First Things First

June.  It's hard for me to believe, but we're six months into this year already.  Only half a year until Christmas.  Yeah!  But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
This month I have a small update of the site.  I added four pictures to Vista Dr, two in the Black and White gallery and two in the Color gallery.

My first day of kindergarten class I walked into the classroom terrified.  I didn't know a word of English, and having to stand in front of the class while the teacher introduced me wasn't something that instilled any kind of calmness to my psyche.  That moment is the first moment I became afraid to speak to strangers.  Up until that point I was a gregarious youngster, who would go up to total strangers and begin talking to them.  I spoke to them in Spanish, so most people didn't understand a thing I was saying to them.  Standing in front of the class, with everyone's eyes focused on me caused a little switch to go off inside my brain that caused me to start to close up.  I stayed like that for a long time.  Ah, the traumas of youth, how well they scar us for life.
But, this story was supposed to be about a crush I had on my first grade teacher.  That nearly 25 years ago, so I don't remember all the details.  What I do remember is that I had such a crush on my teacher Miss Villasenor.  She had long black hair, light skin and great legs.  Funny thing is, at the tender age of six I didn't know a thing about sex... yet I knew that I couldn't keep my eyes off her legs.  If I stared at the sun the way I stared at her legs I would be totally blind right now.  She always seemed to wear semi-short skirts that came up just above the knee... and further when she sat down on her desk.  I didn't even understand what it was about her that I was attracted to, only that I was so very attracted.  I have many types of women that I like, but if I see a woman who has a very proper skirt, black top, and shoulder length dark hair it sorta reminds me of Miss Villasenor.  I wonder whatever became of her.

Editorial : Barbara Streisand Sucks!

I have never understood the whole Barbara Streisand phenomenon.  The other day I was in a store, and for a moment I noticed what was playing in the PA system.  Very lightly, like OJ in the night, the sound stalked me.  It was Barbara Streisand singing a song out of West Side Story.  It cut through me like a knife simply because of its banality.  I listened, and searched for some sort of passion in her voice and found none.  Her voice could not evoke one shred of pathos from me, because it contains none.  Oh sure, Barbara Streisand can belt a song out, like a donkey brays out a harsh cry.  But is volume the only measure of a singer?  No.  I will concede that Barbara Streisand can hit the notes that she's supposed to.  My problem lies in her inability to render any passion to a song.  A song sung by her is bereft of its feeling, and passion.  Of her singing, I can only say that it's robotic.  An exercise of simply going through the motions.  While technically she hits her notes, the whole thing comes off trite.
I think that Barbara Streisand's success comes from the same notion that gave Pat Boone a career.  There is always a need for middle class people to listen to safe music.  It's the need for conformity.  The need for safe music that doesn't impassion, doesn't excite, and doesn't inspire.  Impassioned music causes people to get excited, to try new things, and to question the status quo.  All things that your typical member of the bourgeois doesn't want to happen.  And so, like a cup of plain yogurt, Barbara Streisand sits well in the stomachs of those who don't want, or need, passion in their lives.
For those who want to hear music with feeling I suggest listening to the greatest, most passionate, singer that has ever lived... Billie Holiday.  Billie lived her music.  Every tragedy, every wrong, and every bit of pain that she suffered was infused into every note she sang.  When I hear Billie Holiday sing something inside me wells up, and I often find myself crying.  I cry because of the sheer beauty saturated in every note.  I cry because I feel her pain and her joy, as I feel my pain and joy.  I've never felt that from listening to Barbara Streisand.

Etcetera : Favorite Diaries

As a journal writer myself I can appreciate putting your thought online for all the world to read.  On my travels online I have found quite a few journals.  Some are OK, with no real insight into the person who is writing.  Some journals are simply boring.  Then there are those that say something.  Those quickly become my favorite places to visit online.  Here are a few of my favorite journals, and why.

a-secret - Not a Personal journal, but rather one where people can post their secrets.  There are some incredible revelations made on this journal.  Truly a surprise every time I check it out.

cornflake1 - A great portrait of a girl.  Honest, truthful, and always human.  I wish that there were more people like this in the world.

erica2175 - Some people come around and show you just how lonely the world is, but that it doesn't have to be.  So much of who we are is simply craving kinship with all of humanity.

sleepygirl - I don't have the words for this journal, so I'll use a quote to show you how incredible it is.  "Shyness makes me a very thankful girl though, when it acts as a defense mechanism from the words that might otherwise come out of my mouth.  This lets me have friends."