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Bajai
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Name: KC
Interests: Updating now for '08 it's been nearly 2 years since I changed the page. Many things have changed.
Here are some highlights
With Tomo in Philly
Urbanathalon In Chicago
Wonder Bar in Amsterdam
Amsterdam again
Connecticut Kayaking for a Cause
Expertise: 
Getting Ripped (Philly)
DJ SOMA at Gorgeous (Philly)
Worship Records'
Rob Paine 10 annual Pisces Party (Philly)
Training the Big Man
Me and Lorenzo in Philly
These are the hands that protect you
and the eyes that watch you.
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
AIM:  noxsoma
MSN: kcbajai
Yahoo:  Avantcity
Member Since:
8/29/2003
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| Don't Doubt My Magic
The only doubt that I have magic and wield it issss... maybe there's no such thing as magic. No problem, let's just redefine.
One film that I can watch over and over again is The Twelve Monkeys. Before you ask if I'm a Brad Pitt or Bruce Willis or Madeline Stowe fan; ok, I'll admit to liking them. Maybe it was this movie that made me like them a little bit more, however I'm a bigger fan of the film. I don't know how many times I've watched it, but the first twenty times I swear I've noticed more and more about it. The basic premise is that Bruce Willis has to go back in time to get a sample of a virus that wiped out 5 billion people in 1996. Even in this future where humans live underground due to the contaminated surface time travel has not been perfected. Most of the time Willis (James Cole) doesn't know where or when he is. The people of the past think he's crazy and the people of his time think he's doing drugs. In time Cole is convinced that he caused the events that he's been sent back to fix.
And this, my friends is the essence of my magic and my doubt.
I'm wondering if the things I predict that come true are due to my experience(s) with life in general or are they self fulfilling prophesies? Do I predict my future or do I perpetuate my future or is it a combination of both?
I have told people in my circle things I think will happened. I have "wished" for people o come into my life and they have (seemingly) magically appeared. I have witnesses to some of these events. I have warned friends of deeds others might do to them and in some cases these deeds were actually attempted. I don't know whether this is my understanding of human behaviour and motivation or lucky (magic) hunches. The weird thing is, no matter how much and how confidently I profess my "magic" I really don't believe in it. When things happen that I've actually predicted might happen, I strut around and say, "Pisces Magic," but behind the hype is a true wonderment as to why & how this REALLY happened.
I have read that it is possible to train our subconscious to affect our conscious behaviour, so I tried it. I used self hypnosis and conscious reenforcement (such as telling myself over and over again something I want to achieve; by telling my friends what I want to achieve I feel obligated to make good on my plans.) I have found that when i do this the universe responds and things fall into place.
Here's a for instance. It's only been a year since I've been group fitness training. I was considering going back to LA Fitness (my first gym job) and applying to get on the roster. On a street in a town where I happened to be only because I was very early for an appointment, I run into the former GM of the facility who gives me the contact info I need. I've yet to follow up, but it seems like one of those "meant to be/magic moments." Perhaps I'll go out there today.
Sometimes, even though I shouldn't, I tell people what I think will happen to them. The reason I say I shouldn't is because there's a fine line between prediction and influence. If I told someone they'd probably fall in love in some exotic location, have their heart broken or score their dream job and have to radically change their lives, the power of suggestion will ultimately influence their behaviour and their expectations.
I've seen this happen.
One of my favorite quotes is, "My only vice is advice," which although wasn't created by me, seems to fit me to a tee. One year I made a resolution not to give advice, this lasted until the first person asked me for advice and I had to modify the resolution to, "unless asked." I don't mind giving advice these days because it's usually fairly accurate. I have magic but i don't, I can predict the future, but I can't (really). I understand two basic things about people, primarily that we all will (eventually) act in our own best interest and in order to manipulate, encourage and/or control people you have to find their motivation. (This also works for those who are interested in greater self control.)
A friend of mine who's into numerology tells me that this is a "one" year (2+0+0+8=10, 1+0=1) which means renewal. A lot of my friends have had and are having babies this year. How's that for renewal? Another friend of mine is embarking on an academic journey for about five years. I knew my social life was going to have to change this year. I knew I'd have to find new challenges and opportunities and in true Pisces Magic fashion, this is happening.
Progress never stops until it stops, then i guess it's no longer progress. Perhaps this philosophy and that which is espoused in this essay is the essence of my "magic." Combined with what I've learned and lived and feel and want, that which I covet, desire, pursue and everything I can discard, leave behind, and have lost - My Magic... be dutifully skeptical, but don't doubt it. Don't
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| TRANSIT BLOG #17 -- A Long Journey by Air
Philly to Miami to Puerto Rico to Philly
Part I
This started out as being ten reasons not to fly American Airlines, but
as in any of my essays/adventures something happens that softens my
edge.
This story starts when I was invited to meet up with an art school
friend and her kids in Puerto Rico. I searched the internet and got a
very good price on American Airlines, later that week American’s fleet
was grounded for some electrical inspection violations and flights were
cancelled and people got pissed. Just as a note this wasn’t very long
after Heathrow Airport’s Terminal Five (British Airways) opened to
disastrous malfunctions involving the automated baggage handling system
resulting in cancelled flights and pissed off travelers. I figured
American would be in the air again by the time of my flight.
Time comes to leave and before I head out to the airport I check
American’s online departure schedule and see that my flight is delayed
– so what else is new? Most times I’ve been delayed it’s had to do with
leaving from or arriving to Philadelphia (I’ve got a few stories by
now.) I get there and the delay is due to weather (I guess) so I tell
myself better safe than charred and I wait patiently and people watch.
One of my favorite yet morbid things I like to do while waiting to
board an airplane is imagine who would survive a crash landing on a
desert island (note; I watch neither Lost nor Survivor but I know these
programs exist), who would freak out, who would take charge and who
would follow whom. This most likely comes from grade school writing
exercises where we chose from an assigned cast of characters and wrote
a story of survival and personality. I look around at who seems to have
military bearings, who used to be athletes and who might be an unsung
hero. And before I know it, it’s time to board.
With the flight 30-35 minutes delayed I ask the woman at the check in
desk how it will effect my connection, and offers to change my seat
closer to the front of the plane so I can get off faster. This, as most
good deeds would through no fault of mine or hers, would backfire.
If you’ve ever seen The Twelve Monkeys there’s a very authentic scene
at the end. It takes place at Philadelphia airport between one of the
main characters and a security guard – this film was released about
five years before Sept. 11, 2001 – so this person didn’t have the
“finesse” demonstrated by the newly formed TSA’s. I mention this to
give those unfamiliar with the Philadelphia attitude a clue as to what
to expect.
These days airlines board by groups. Your group number is written on
your ticket. This, for those who don’t know, is to expedite the
boarding process. After first, business class and those who need extra
help, Group 1 is “invited” to board. These are the folks in the back of
the plane. Basically the plane is boarded just as you’d fill a glass of
water. I’ve never seen a glass filled from top to bottom. So you get
the idea.
Quite a few people besides myself were making connecting flights; Miami
it seems is a hub to the Caribbean, etc. so lots of folks were
understandably a bit concerned about this, so I classic human form they
crowd the gate anxious to board the plane. The irony is this strategy
actually holds things ups. The woman announcing the group numbers had
to ask people not to crowd the gate.
By the time they called Group 6 most of the people were already on the
plane. I was in row 10 and all the overhead compartments were already
filled. I had to go 8 rows back to find a place for my bag (I don’t
check luggage) and I knew that this would be a problem, especially on a
delayed flight full of impatient Philadelphians (et al) trying to make
a connection.
I might mention that this particular air craft had some graffiti of the fuselage, it said, in indelible ink, “KIKI.”
The flight was uneventful and we landed it dawned on me that if my
flight was delayed the connecting flights might be delayed as well, so
I wasn’t too frantic as I fought the tide of deplaning passengers to
retrieve my bag. I went back seat by seat ducking into empty seats half
heartedly explaining that I had to go back to get my bag. Some people
were very polite and cordial about what I was doing. The only problem I
had was with a short fat woman who displayed attitude that I find quite
typical about people who take up a lot of space, but that’s a whole
‘nother blog.
I finally get close enough to ask a guy to grab my bag for me, “This
big bag?” he asks, almost reluctant, “Yes, that one. Thank you, sir.”
And I was out.
I have written in one forum or another that I’ve begun to observe
humans as one would observe wild life, and what better place to do this
than in a cramped, hurried condition where specimens from many
backgrounds are squished together?
The trophy wife (or girlfriend) definitely lost points with her man,
when she clock-watched, saying, “If were not out in ten minutes we’re
going to miss the plane.” It struck me as very selfish. Of course as a
social scientist with an active imagination I created an entire profile
of this couple.
Anyway, first thing I did was look at the departure board and sure
enough the Miami-San Juan flight was delayed giving me time to freshen
up in the casa de caballeros get a drink and board the plane without
having to wait. This time around I was Group 6, middle seat (How did
this happen?) When I get there I find myself between two guys. The one
guy asks if I can switch seats with his girlfriend, I agree. Seconds
later a woman sits beside me and asked me in Spanish (which I hardly
understand, which makes for some funny scenes) if I have a companion,
she wants to switch seats so she can be with her husband. Later a new
woman sits to my right, having switched her seat. Minutes later the
window passenger arrives, an attractive somewhat thick woman. She’d
switched seats with an Asian man (she showed me his boarding pass) who
probably wanted to be with his wife. Thus, everyone in row 31 didn’t
belong there; I knew it would be a casual flight.
American Airlines will feed you, for a fee. My advice is don’t travel
hungry, I usually come with a bag of trail mix I compile myself. Three
dollars for a cookie is nuts. American will also sell you cheap
headsets for $2.00 so you can listen to their lame channels and watch a
dull movie. I’ve been spoiled by AirTran’s XM radio; they have a deep
house channel. I might as well just start bring my iPod shuffle along
with me.
We landed in San Juan only 30 or so minutes behind the original
schedule, no biggie. One passenger didn’t make it back to his seat
before the plane the runway, so for the first time in my life I
witnessed someone standing up during landing, even as the flight
attendant hollered, “Rapido!” to the guy.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot – as the plane was pulling out of the gate the
power went off! I was cursing American Airlines as the speaker said,
“Let’s see if we can get the power back.”
Part II: The Return Trip
I would take me too long to explain why I spent 12 hours in San Juan’s
Luis Munoz Marin airport for a direct flight to Philly. The short
answer is, although we all arrived separately, two from Philly, one
each from Texas and Florida, we all got back to the airport at the same
time. My previous record for an airport stay was 6 hours in Atlanta,
awaiting a flight to San Diego; this was coincidentally was due to a
flight that originated in San Juan. So what does one do for 12 hours
when one isn’t part of the laptop/wireless generation? Sit, sleep, read
the random book I brought along and of course watch the airport come to
life. San Juan wasn’t very busy for a Friday, at least not at the gate
we ere waiting for our plane to show up.
Flight 1738 to Philadelphia started at Gate 14, then changed to Gate 1
and back to 14 and finally boarded at Gate 7. Gate 7 is where the
flight to New York left right before ours.
One time when I was cheap enough to travel between New York and
Philadelphia on the Chinatown Bus I was hurried in broken English to a
bus that was pulling out. As I looked for a seat I noticed something
unfamiliar about the passengers, I couldn’t put my finger on it until
the lady came to collect my ticket to Philadelphia – turns out I was on
a bus to Washington DC. This is when I noticed, or perhaps I realized
that Philadelphians have a look about them (us), most of us anyway.
If you ever have to spend a few hours in an airport take a walk over to
the gate that waiting for a flight to JFK and then check out the
passengers waiting to go to Philadelphia, see what, if anything, that
you notice. I clocked one chick as a Philly girl by the body
posture/language and the bad wig she was wearing and the way she led
around the man she was wit. Sure enough she was on my plane.
Oh yeah, “da plane.” After waiting twelve solid hours I’m happy to say
the plane was on time. Boarding went smoothly, I had a window seat on
the west side of the plane and was looking forward to watching the
sunset. A middle aged white man got into the seat next to me and I was
having flashbacks of the “Fart Flight” from Phoenix to Milwaukee a year
or so back. Luckily the aisle seat was vacant and he moved to it
leaving us a little breathing room. I needed it too because this guy
had a persistent cough – at least he covered his mouth.
I tried plugging my headphones into the seat plug, but got nothing. I’m
waiting patiently for them to turn on the system. I later find out that
the system on my side of the plane doesn’t work. I found this out by
overhearing the flight attendant say, “This side doesn’t work, that’s
why we’re not selling headsets over here.” They were sure enough
selling the $3.00 cookies and the $5.00 sandwiches. I requested a cup
of tea with cream and sugar – I figure two thirds of my request was
fulfilled, so that wasn’t bad. I soldiered through without cream. This
is when I started my ten reasons NOT to fly American, the list I never
even started.
That’s okay – I’m prepared. Trail mix and water, I’m good for 4 hours.
I might mention that American ran the same film as a week ago on the
way down. I could tell with no sound that this was a movie I had no
interest in seeing (27 Dresses).
The flight was quite chill for the first 2 ½ hours. I did my daily self
portrait, photographed some clouds from above and the sky as the sun
set out my window. Then I dozed off.
When I woke up this old Puerto Rican man was standing in the aisle
beating his (presumed) wife. Most of the attendants on this flight were
male, and four of them appeared to calm and (as was necessary) restrain
this guy. I don’t know the details, but for the last hour of the flight
the unruly passenger was monitored by a cock diesel man who may have
been one of those air marshals we hear about. He may also have been any
number of things including a bilingual passenger who happened to be
seated close by.
One woman moved her seat to the back of the plane, she looked scared
and I actually heard someone say, “I don’t want to get involved.” Yes,
apparently people REALLY say things like that.
In a rare display of group participation the collective, as requested
by the airline staff, waited to start their deplaning ritual until the
unruly passenger was “gotten off” the plane.
I called for my ride as soon as we got the “use cell phones” okay and
headed out to the mess that is Philadelphia International airport.
Temperature, 52 degrees. After a week of high 80s to 90s and the open
spaces of the island I could feel Philly close in on me like a cold
clammy handshake. I had withdrawals for two days – two days of rain.
One of these days I’m going to fly off to some tropical island, or
maybe even southern California and not come back.
FIN
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| The 4th Dimension Have you ever been asked (or had to ask) "Where were you five years ago?" Timing is the oft missed element of relationships. That time you meet that special someone and a week later your dream mate shows up. Or the person that stole your heart shows up repentant and single at your wedding, and while you still feel a sense of satisfaction that his/her face is filled with regret, you can't help but wonder what life would have been like. We all have our standards, likes and dislikes, and what we hope for and what we'll settle for in mates and lovers, but as in all things the timing has to be right. People are sometimes radically changeable and the guy who seemed like he'd be a good father at 26, may not be at 31 - or vice versa. This comes to mind as I reflect upon people who've told me they wished they'd met me earlier in their lives. There are some people I probably should have met later in their lives. I look around me and despite trying to maintain an attitude of "things simply happen" and the Zen axiom, "It is what it is" sometimes I feel I was born too early. Yet on the other hand "it" being what "it" is, I realize that I came along during the best time for ME to come along. The generation ahead of me wants to live for ever and thus there has been much more scientific research done in medicine, on nutirition and exercise. Meanwhile the generation behind me feels so marginalized and pressured by illusions of success, respect, power and esteem, that they are killing themselves and each other in record numbers. Sometimes when cool things happen, it's often due to starting my journey a little bit late. Rushing out of the house I catch a late train, I run into a friend/acquaintance also late, catching the same train. We talk about fitness training, I pass on to her some information that might help her career. How many times have we crossed paths without seeing each other? How long have we known who each other was before both of us got into similar fields? Usually I'll quip somewhat cavalierly, "Timing is everything," and while it may not be "everything" it certainly counts for a lot. The person you met five years ago who was plain and ordinary may have blossomed into someone special, while another individual may have spiraled downward for whatever reason. There are all sorts of little sayings that suggest the element of timing in careers, entertainment and life in general. I think a lot of us don't take its importance into consideration. "I was in the right place, but it must have been the wrong time." Dr. John Most of the time I like to think I'm in the right place at the right time. The right state of mind, the right geographical location, the right place in my life and despite feeling a bit out of touch with my generation or feeling that I was born too early, or on the wrong coast, when I REALLY stop to think about it, I was born at the exact time in the exact place I was meant to be. I may have waited twenty years for some of my friends to be born, but that's okay, I've seen a lot and I've learned a lot, so I can kind of show them around. | | |
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Super Bowl Stuff (of Lovers & Haters)
I didn’t know who Tom Brady was until October of last year.
I was in Chicago with a friend of
mine who’s impressed by guys who date super models, make lots of money and are
good in sports. He was saying how Tom Brady’s in all the ads, so I asked him, “Who’s
Tom Brady?” That’s when I found out.
What I learned this year about football is how it reveals
peoples’ personalities. If you’re from Boston
or anywhere in New England, you naturally are for the
home team, likewise if you’re from New York,
(or New Jersey). As for the rest
of us, it’s a matter of whether we’re “lovers” or “haters.”
Lovers rooted for the Patriots because they were looking to
see and somehow experience by fan association a “perfect season.” Haters wanted
to see New York take the patriots
down. They wanted to New York to
spoil New England’s perfect season. 18 and 1 isn’t so
bad unless the one game you lose is the championship game.
Then there’s the aspect of personality that roots for the
underdog as opposed to the powerful. The Patriots, in my mind, represented the
Evil Empire, while New York (who
I’m normally not a fan of) represented the rebel underground, quite literally
the Wild Card. I admire tenacity and the defiance of the odds, I frown upon
easy victories, unless of course I have some sort of personal interest.
A few years back I thought the Philadelphia Eagles could (and
should) have had a perfect season, but in one game after they’d clinched the
division championship, they put their second stringers in and lost the game.
They went on to lose the Super Bowl that year as well. Had the Eagles easily
rolled through a perfect season, I’d have been pleased and would probably still
be talking about it like the 1972 Miami Dolphins are still talking about
theirs.
As for me, I reluctantly admit to being part hater part
supporter of the underdog (more so the latter). Once I became aware of who Tom
Brady was I was inundated with hype, he was put into the category of Oprah,
Madonna and other mega-hyped celebrities I hear too much about. I wanted the Pats
to lose just so I wouldn’t have to hear his name associated with a perfect
season – I don’t think I could have stood it. Now, no doubt I’ll have to hear
about Eli Manning, Payton and Archie and references to perhaps gene pools, or
whatever clever things sports journalists write to cleverly mask their
heterosexual man crushes on sports heroes.
Generally speaking, I don’t watch sports events – some
people think this means I don’t like them, or know little if anything about
them – don’t get it confused, I’m simply disinterested. The games are pretty
much the same only the faces (and uniforms) have changed. The reason I don’t
watch sports has more to do with commentators whose comments I can’t take,
sports celebrities and commercials than the games themselves.
Yeah, I watched the Super Bowl, while I was DJing at a Super
Bowl Café party; music in my ears while the boys played their game, while the
crowd cheered and jeered. I missed all of the commercials. I can’t believe people
still play Carmen Electra to show up in front of a camera and I have yet another
reason NOT to drink Pepsi.
The truth of the matter is, I can’t really say I’m glad New
York won – I’m elated that New England
lost (apologies to my Beantown peeps) – it could have been any team beating the
Patriots. Maybe that makes me a hater, if so oh well.
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It’s Funny How…
(A not 2007 Recap)
It’s funny how our world is dictated by the worst it has to
offer. We can only drive as fast as the slowest car in the lane; a chain is
only as strong as its weakest link; it’s the squeaky wheel that gets the
grease; a society is judged on how it treats its poorest members. The worst
news makes the headlines; the worst behaviour of society’s supposed best and
brightest, or at least most celebrated sells the most newspapers. The worst
behaviour makes for the best voyeuristic fodder; i.e. daytime talk shows, court
programs and Dumb Ass type stuff. The media defines the year ending by those
who have died, and not those who’ve been born.
I’ve read a few editorials and it seems that some editors
are trying to influence us into believing that 2007 will be remembered as one
of this century’s worst years. A year that might be compared to wading through
a dark swampy mess; a year of confusion, violence uncertainty, anger,
disappointment and economic tribulation.
Most of my peers, my generation, my readers are more aware
of what’s going on in the world than I am. Since 2004 I’ve been in a state of
ignorant bliss. Mildly aware that certain events are taking place – I need not
list them. However the rebel without a cause (or perhaps the advocate with too
many causes) has altered focus and strategy to take care of, change and affect
that which is within my reach. Writing blistering opinions on events based on
information that may or may not be accurate doesn’t sway public attitude and
thus doesn’t affect change.
The radical might charge that this is exactly what they (the
establishment) want. In fact my younger more idealistic Self would look upon
this more moderate egocentric Self with a level of contempt reserved for a
hippie who sold out to The Man. Maybe so; any explanation would sound like an
excuse even to me.
Friends of mine were discussing recently how this government
has effectively silenced America’s Black leaders, in most cases by threatening
to expose indiscretions, dig into their bank accounts or otherwise threaten to
take away or restrict what they’ve built/earned. American dissent is met with
character assassination, restriction of cash flow or worse. The reason we don’t
see the kinds of numbers at demonstrations that were common in the late sixties
is because people don’t have the luxury of time or money (except in Berkeley)
or consciousness to take a day off.
Personally 2007 was a year in which some positive events occurred
for and around me. It was a year of change – a rebirth year – for my close
circle of friends and even some distant (geographically and socially speaking) friends
made some uncomfortable decisions, whether it be jumping into the void or into
someone else’s arms; leaving the comfort of home and family for career and/or
independence, making a major purchase, such as a home or a business, and in
Philadelphia we elected a new mayor – which isn’t as radical an event as one
might be lead to believe; the old mayor’s term was up and limited. It would
have been more intrepid to have elected a new mayor 4 years ago – but that’s
just my opinion.
Whenever the calendar changes it’s a good reason to get a
little excited. We imagine this year will somehow be different. In our society
change is scheduled; every four years we get to elect or re-elect a President; Congress
changes (or at least we have a chance for change) every two years and the Senate
supposedly every six years, so we are given the illusion of change, whether e
take advantage of it or not is another story. Anyway, 2008 is being set up to
be an “exciting” year simply because it’s an election year. There’s still
enough optimism in me to watch and hope; there’s enough history behind me not
to get my hopes up and there’s just enough cynicism (which I call realism) to
be prepared for 10-12 more years of the same old stuff.
A HAPPY and SAFE New Year, friends.
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