She Used Her Own Words and Everybody Else’s

“Some of the world’s greatest pieces of art were made out of it. Michelangelo’s dreams were of that material. Yes, marble. The color of your face reminds me of marble. What a work of art you are!” Those were the words I got her attention with on Facebook.
She liked books, most of them religious. But she was beautiful, really beautiful.
Same week was her birthday, not her first one, her thirtieth something… it doesn’t matter. She was out of my league.
I asked her out with sweet, plastic but controversial words and she said yes. Attaboy, Johnny!

I arrived at her house. She came through the front door, opened the door of my car and got in. Marvelous hair, feminine shoulders, a cleavage deeper than the Pacific ocean. The circularity of her behind and its shape were equal to rounded numbers, firm as the faith of the pope. Hey man! I know where to look. Her feet? You can have them for breakfast. I told you, beautiful.

Without further ado she started talking about her day and how her mom’s hip-replacement thing was going good. That I didn’t ask about and will never do. I interrupted her to ask where she wanted to go and, with an air of pride, she said she’ll show me the way and continued narrating her saga.
It was a less than average looking Café-Resto which was a block away from her house. We could have walked here, Einstein!

When we got out of the car, she was still talking. I could even hear her talk behind the car as she crossed over to my side so that we could go up the stairs of the Café.

We sat down, looked at the menu (she read the menu out loud) and ordered. She then asked me for a light; I had a glimpse of hope that she’d shut up while smoking at least. Well, not tonight, Johnny, not tonight. she was blowing out smoke and words at the same time: Now that’s what I call multitasking.

What was she talking about? How she met famous people “back in the day”, how she could help me publish my poems and stories by giving me moral support, how she hated her sister’s kids, how she had no privacy living with her mother, how her friends left her and migrated (let me take a wild guess why)… She talked till the cows came home and left again!

All I did was nod and smile. It was worse than the lectures on Ethics I used to attend at the university.

She took only two bites of her food and smoked half of my cigarettes.
Thank you, Facebook!

She said it was time to go home (God answered my prayers). We got to her house, and she told me it would be nice to have beer at her place the next time. I did what any other guy would do and said, “sure”. My God, she was talking about how she predicted her father’s death and how she hated her sister’s kids…

I swore to myself never to do that again. At least never again with her.

You know, I’m remembering all of this while sitting face to face with a girl who thinks UFO pictures are true and phones cause cancer.
The Eagles are playing in the background and I think that all of this has a lot to do with Facebook. And the song goes: you can check out anytime you like, but you can never leave…

Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience

Thoreau, Civil Disobedience, Politics, Philosophy
Thoreau’s Civil Disobedience and Coffee With Cream

I look around me and all I can say is that Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience” (1849) still applies today.

I read it a couple of times since last night, and I must say that this essay prompts me to stand up and fight for what’s right. (“What’s right” might be debatable though). I just feel like starting a revolution right now…

But since I have no plans of writing a review or a response on this, and since this work is already in the public domain, I think sharing it is a good idea.

Download the pdf version of the essay for free: Civil Disobedience – Henry David Thoreau (1849)

Or, if you’re too lazy to read it, here are some quotes from Thoreau’s “Civil Disobedience”:

I heartily accept the motto, – “That government is best which governs least;” and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I believe, – “That government is best which governs not at all;” and when men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they will have.

All men recognize the right of revolution; that is, the right to refuse allegiance to, and to resist, the government, when its tyranny or its inefficiency are great and unendurable. But almost all say that such is not the case now.

All voting is a sort of gaming, like checkers or backgammon, with a slight moral tinge to it, a playing with right and wrong, with moral questions; and betting naturally accompanies it. The character of the voters is not staked. I cast my vote, perchance, as I think right; but I am not vitally concerned that that right should prevail. I am willing to leave it to the majority. Its obligation, therefore, never exceeds that of expediency. Even voting for the right is doing nothing for it. It is only expressing to men feebly your desire that it should prevail. A wise man will not leave the right to the mercy of chance, nor wish it to prevail through the power of the majority. There is but little virtue in the action of masses of men.

Any man more right than his neighbors constitutes a majority of one already.