tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26842726038032135282024-03-14T01:26:14.510-07:00Madeira RivieraWhere one man's thoughts on music, art, fashion, poetry, women, and romance are put forth.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-41000714325698572152012-01-16T22:04:00.000-08:002012-01-17T22:09:05.711-08:00Makeout Makeup episode 1Ladies, dark eye makeup. Mascara and dark eye shadow, give it a try. It's irresistible.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8z_ODhsb-4C9lT34aICqqrRgx5xRHHmtb6xV504KKRvIG1-_M-VPYEk9WGTeq-LZflaQaIDQBNL5zm2lkmOtH4OaVkmSZIUMi235-KUjJ7X2Wcl4xfuDBmJNFKBxEqul1kR1VtgcveNCD/s1600/10.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8z_ODhsb-4C9lT34aICqqrRgx5xRHHmtb6xV504KKRvIG1-_M-VPYEk9WGTeq-LZflaQaIDQBNL5zm2lkmOtH4OaVkmSZIUMi235-KUjJ7X2Wcl4xfuDBmJNFKBxEqul1kR1VtgcveNCD/s400/10.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698849971232175714" /></a>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-44612018424493342782012-01-16T18:40:00.000-08:002012-01-16T18:46:06.153-08:00Golden GlobesI don't know if any of you watched the Golden Globes. I certainly didn't. But I sure as hell would have had I known that Kate Beckinsale was going to look like this:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM76XwjhzP1dkbEFxbkgL-zWnvwV4aBz2yHq5zuAGZFfgveFcPuAtU4jxREca_8B-Zw-yNOMCwWd3rxD_SqWluWyXaTysf29fxjx2b9rJcKLDIr7DNuwtepGhnIHUOEvjrpucrb0jzlD1/s1600/Kate%252BBeckinsale%252B69th%252BAnnual%252BGolden%252BGlobe%252BAwards%252BgRGRAWTnfiOl.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 277px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZM76XwjhzP1dkbEFxbkgL-zWnvwV4aBz2yHq5zuAGZFfgveFcPuAtU4jxREca_8B-Zw-yNOMCwWd3rxD_SqWluWyXaTysf29fxjx2b9rJcKLDIr7DNuwtepGhnIHUOEvjrpucrb0jzlD1/s400/Kate%252BBeckinsale%252B69th%252BAnnual%252BGolden%252BGlobe%252BAwards%252BgRGRAWTnfiOl.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5698425915731072322" /></a><br />She looks drop dead gorgeous. Stunning! I would kill to be the guy who gets to escort her anywhere. Women out there, take notes!B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-43816788170935529802012-01-13T14:38:00.000-08:002012-01-13T15:13:36.176-08:00White picket fence<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Qt8i3o7_w4ys6PQmMWFmfbDXPSvi5g6IdnjMe3xG9n5N_i43enXXqbkPsXMR1FzKxpdZxhaOAPTu_av178lntTpR7R39ehQoESRhlNGw-d1iYhuNgYqKSeeFpgkKr2t4x2Uhw-EOj9Fd/s1600/picketfence.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Qt8i3o7_w4ys6PQmMWFmfbDXPSvi5g6IdnjMe3xG9n5N_i43enXXqbkPsXMR1FzKxpdZxhaOAPTu_av178lntTpR7R39ehQoESRhlNGw-d1iYhuNgYqKSeeFpgkKr2t4x2Uhw-EOj9Fd/s400/picketfence.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697253972019628834" /></a><br />I'm terrified of banality. Truly freaked out by the thought of living a life that is anything less than spectacular.<br /><br /><br />"I'd rather die enormous than live dormant"-Jay-Z. <br /><br /><br />So no offense to those who love the white picket fence, but I was meant for something more. I guess you could say i'm of the "sex on the beach" variety. The "if it's banned, it's planned" sort. I live for adventure, for those incredible moments when you're out of breath and your heart is pounding in your chest. The times your skin is covered with goosebumps and you don't know whether the chill that just went down your spine was from fear or something more alluring.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXdpQxIzir28uztghvb_CLtKWXARzuAWd5jJNMYE6AqBe-OGZhG3a1S_CfCrOx70eBcLbtqMymZI6tr_A_EVG0eFykMfba42BqjQD5MKH682X0iWWXczAFjxTe4RvlTv-kqzd3J6AU70N/s1600/love-me-lust-romance-31000.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtXdpQxIzir28uztghvb_CLtKWXARzuAWd5jJNMYE6AqBe-OGZhG3a1S_CfCrOx70eBcLbtqMymZI6tr_A_EVG0eFykMfba42BqjQD5MKH682X0iWWXczAFjxTe4RvlTv-kqzd3J6AU70N/s400/love-me-lust-romance-31000.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697249916692592642" /></a>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-36266234332471914042012-01-04T22:22:00.000-08:002012-01-13T15:18:12.183-08:00And they say all we think about is sex<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisO-9m10ZHtrrhv0_1jwgBrsfW14xbe5TBBlr9JZglvVTdaiE8Foq5gdn3oKUrJCB2148UuTHCWTTizkPidTj-HQ9he0WwN9PnWI9YCD2OlRD_JOJDcLV1GcSO-EE2djIpczcaDwKoerfZ/s1600/PYR3770.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 270px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisO-9m10ZHtrrhv0_1jwgBrsfW14xbe5TBBlr9JZglvVTdaiE8Foq5gdn3oKUrJCB2148UuTHCWTTizkPidTj-HQ9he0WwN9PnWI9YCD2OlRD_JOJDcLV1GcSO-EE2djIpczcaDwKoerfZ/s400/PYR3770.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5697259889558044562" /></a><br />At work yesterday I saw one of the most romantic things I've ever witnessed or heard of. While a patient of ours was doing her therapy, her husband, who is slowly losing his memories one by one, found it imperative to tell me exactly how he first met his wife. He glowed while he recounted how they met, even with periodic pauses as he searched frantically for words that slip constantly from his mind. It was as though no other memory of his was as cherished and he would gladly forget everything else if it guaranteed the survival of their first encounter.<br /><br />As she finished her therapy session he nearly ran up to her trying to plant a kiss on her lips. It was humbling to me to see the level of intimacy they obviously shared. He needed her and he had no shame in admitting it, I understood his feeling to be shared by her. Also, I can't stop thinking about how he kept on repeating "She's a hell of a woman isn't she?" As though he was so proud of his girl because she was unique in all the world. I like that. I certainly hope to find a "hell of a woman" someday.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-4690696440507967192011-12-28T23:46:00.000-08:002011-12-28T23:47:28.518-08:00Fashion; finally (Fashion NO NOs)Well I know I profess to talk about fashion on this here blog, but I've done a lousy job thus far of discussing even the most basic of trends. So today we rectify this injustice! I hope to bring my sardonic wit to bear on a few of my least loved pieces of "cutie" couture. <br /><br />1) Thong platform sandals. If you're short and you want to look tall: wear heels. Otherwise you should just jump off of a really tall platform somewhere. This is of course assuming you don't want to look like you stepped out of a trailer. Maybe that's why these were invented, to make the step from the trailer to the ground less arduous for meth head trailer trash. My apologies, that was staring in my face the whole time. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Na2W20kL1aQbit30Yc-h_vUg9qvomI9qA3OXlFVckuqgLaeHsyV2djyAQO1kT795qLWHMq7rYk8eUkadEwV6cQ0mZeEcsmj6kCrCbiad0dTXmE-4OYNQzx6iXdIG5b6plYcmQi3luRYd/s1600/41xt02Y0ZbL.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Na2W20kL1aQbit30Yc-h_vUg9qvomI9qA3OXlFVckuqgLaeHsyV2djyAQO1kT795qLWHMq7rYk8eUkadEwV6cQ0mZeEcsmj6kCrCbiad0dTXmE-4OYNQzx6iXdIG5b6plYcmQi3luRYd/s400/41xt02Y0ZbL.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690318708257311506" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3Gn05G-BBpLfueYMKh35CFNUXmLHC6Zf6Sjb2nzBgv-oV9fclPMysp_9U2vSOa5afkZipkUOmPf6qy4TymTaqIhczPbF0a386f23ZmeGFwi71eTzRvEtdF8RwY6ySDul1O_G6vpBiwNO/s1600/41fA-D2cmPL.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 395px; height: 395px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo3Gn05G-BBpLfueYMKh35CFNUXmLHC6Zf6Sjb2nzBgv-oV9fclPMysp_9U2vSOa5afkZipkUOmPf6qy4TymTaqIhczPbF0a386f23ZmeGFwi71eTzRvEtdF8RwY6ySDul1O_G6vpBiwNO/s400/41fA-D2cmPL.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690322779831410338" /></a><br /><br />2) Bedazzling. This trend is sad and pathetic. Fashion should never include glue and kid's art supplies. The only time this is okay is on Paris Hilton's phone. We already know she's a sparkly whore so she needs to advertise. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_va3fyQ3ebJM9iWTf6gdyylTViqM3pu_GDypOMFfsb-6gMImxo56sQ8ltSTNvFloDCCyz6blFjkar6as9T66vnoYDECjINQx0EAiZcqIqIJNxMjnNEiG2u_5OBH0SYfpVQQIzFozhCl3/s1600/bedazzled_g1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_va3fyQ3ebJM9iWTf6gdyylTViqM3pu_GDypOMFfsb-6gMImxo56sQ8ltSTNvFloDCCyz6blFjkar6as9T66vnoYDECjINQx0EAiZcqIqIJNxMjnNEiG2u_5OBH0SYfpVQQIzFozhCl3/s400/bedazzled_g1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691445651022930082" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfCovICL5zyaVOEgIKCq8LdhozeCvAxJP6eIo-1z8EK4_phJuNxou6izO_L7yTAie-VbxhAQQ1mSP7Skltaer5pafV2dgBkgy5JA8XQReS_FyVip0cFFIrEsrdIC5tPg-QlHjLmmUUQAz/s1600/bling%252520cell%252520phone.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggfCovICL5zyaVOEgIKCq8LdhozeCvAxJP6eIo-1z8EK4_phJuNxou6izO_L7yTAie-VbxhAQQ1mSP7Skltaer5pafV2dgBkgy5JA8XQReS_FyVip0cFFIrEsrdIC5tPg-QlHjLmmUUQAz/s400/bling%252520cell%252520phone.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691445151118294386" /></a><br /><br />Also! This doesn't count! These are sexy and not tacky:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpz-lhDwDkFqESuC2Lv5GjR58CjSDf4PTMwhhBqkYByzk2abH4Al2wb3MpReyPk28w3a8KH53H_ZLffVuV0NA4KlCaRLeZz_5ymrK9sMLdR8tMtPakSaclXYOcf3kEJZqzqcHEgzRZPul/s1600/bling_%252520bedazzled_shoe.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSpz-lhDwDkFqESuC2Lv5GjR58CjSDf4PTMwhhBqkYByzk2abH4Al2wb3MpReyPk28w3a8KH53H_ZLffVuV0NA4KlCaRLeZz_5ymrK9sMLdR8tMtPakSaclXYOcf3kEJZqzqcHEgzRZPul/s400/bling_%252520bedazzled_shoe.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691445385091151794" /></a><br /><br />3) Circular framed sunglasses. These are heinous, we're talking warcrimes ugly. If you're a girl (or guy in my opinion) do you really want John Lennon to be what you look like? That's what I thought. Here are pictures as evidence of the uglyness. Wear sunglasses to shield your eyes from the horror (do I need to repeat this-not round sunglasses).<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFz5eltmILdmf1FxYq4qJu1nPRW9OMao-b_Cp1MR2oGgq_hZQupdDxgcG0mehwbeaXlArPJTN2C7EJqKNh3So0QKYvD0AwuJyL88XuExVgF2uvUjBTzCT3zuyHqLOqkdIx8fRaMo_uybH/s1600/6a00d8341c630a53ef0148c81bcd9d970c-500wi.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 288px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuFz5eltmILdmf1FxYq4qJu1nPRW9OMao-b_Cp1MR2oGgq_hZQupdDxgcG0mehwbeaXlArPJTN2C7EJqKNh3So0QKYvD0AwuJyL88XuExVgF2uvUjBTzCT3zuyHqLOqkdIx8fRaMo_uybH/s400/6a00d8341c630a53ef0148c81bcd9d970c-500wi.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691452676567518290" /></a><br />Uncanny resemblance no?<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfI2lU8JJqf-zts2qCQQw5H2HyZy_PDmnCw-Z1Tb0hFdhNgu9y3lAp5B8PGKV6IDb1GflbGNjfWuq3C8HIwMsGAZAVXdxZY9b98ovk8FwlTgC6a2XX2CuDORZzo_TP0hOPhL1PwfSaCvm/s1600/john-lennon.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 281px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAfI2lU8JJqf-zts2qCQQw5H2HyZy_PDmnCw-Z1Tb0hFdhNgu9y3lAp5B8PGKV6IDb1GflbGNjfWuq3C8HIwMsGAZAVXdxZY9b98ovk8FwlTgC6a2XX2CuDORZzo_TP0hOPhL1PwfSaCvm/s400/john-lennon.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691452826929303682" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLiXNezOY0tQVz2X9ZxeOMIFhkqC9tC1Dxcy5G56XOIV9IhoISeEbuBGr9aRrUupNPN-f-kMCFehm8vNyu5Q1dY7emvF9scOT9dcUq8S9xoLMYMftXK16yDeQC1fgPH132Ryx9-j52w09/s1600/gagathumb2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 350px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTLiXNezOY0tQVz2X9ZxeOMIFhkqC9tC1Dxcy5G56XOIV9IhoISeEbuBGr9aRrUupNPN-f-kMCFehm8vNyu5Q1dY7emvF9scOT9dcUq8S9xoLMYMftXK16yDeQC1fgPH132Ryx9-j52w09/s400/gagathumb2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691453034660142706" /></a><br />What a babe!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VeH_2TMvIbmwLBQmG_D353mz3L5UijTcMtWQIG_cqqEGzv6352Gd238s50t20XIrIuoO7YQhBuTvYalz0_wmmWqZtJoo0DWZ03rlrIz9DkFpDMB7oxwxyQQe5DOKGXDuW04PSAKvkT0G/s1600/ozzy_sunglasses.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 327px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4VeH_2TMvIbmwLBQmG_D353mz3L5UijTcMtWQIG_cqqEGzv6352Gd238s50t20XIrIuoO7YQhBuTvYalz0_wmmWqZtJoo0DWZ03rlrIz9DkFpDMB7oxwxyQQe5DOKGXDuW04PSAKvkT0G/s400/ozzy_sunglasses.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691453154336804626" /></a>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-35712562510122898422011-12-27T23:48:00.000-08:002011-12-27T23:52:22.740-08:00Just a thoughtIf pictures were really worth thousands of words.....<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUGIKIpu5SjKjYOHSGAC2IrnkqpaEbF2b-jwlZAEm_Ee_R4sAujfgnnwiYU0d6Jh-o-SYVqwnEbSBq5ddCpBxrf2Q_ph2s9zlSO5HFBYiHHm-JcMTF8ugCaoQ2MessEDpksn0H9YfaUti/s1600/tumblr_lrj6lzJo3v1r2abzlo1_500.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 284px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghUGIKIpu5SjKjYOHSGAC2IrnkqpaEbF2b-jwlZAEm_Ee_R4sAujfgnnwiYU0d6Jh-o-SYVqwnEbSBq5ddCpBxrf2Q_ph2s9zlSO5HFBYiHHm-JcMTF8ugCaoQ2MessEDpksn0H9YfaUti/s400/tumblr_lrj6lzJo3v1r2abzlo1_500.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5691083603465927474" /></a><br />.....what would this one say about the life I want to live with the woman I want to love?B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-3431417256913485702011-12-26T23:40:00.000-08:002011-12-27T00:22:35.561-08:00The Thrill<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObgd0QGaKm2lt8eTuhxlXjog8mHojMTenA8gPX9Q_PPR_X1UniaslqrN0lK-9WCnOkcf79YswRV8M6ZIFaraYcI9Y6wb7N07DSmF2h_fqGubiJVhDFv7Fqlr_6jZhLNA9MAKYWsdWjUdC/s1600/money.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhObgd0QGaKm2lt8eTuhxlXjog8mHojMTenA8gPX9Q_PPR_X1UniaslqrN0lK-9WCnOkcf79YswRV8M6ZIFaraYcI9Y6wb7N07DSmF2h_fqGubiJVhDFv7Fqlr_6jZhLNA9MAKYWsdWjUdC/s400/money.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690720640699318146" /></a><br />Twice now i've experienced the thrill of betting everything I own on my own success. Literally every cent I own and two million, seven hundred thousand I don't on what I normally consider a very safe bet: myself. As self confident as I normally am, cocky even, there's still this tremendous fear that I'll botch it all. I fear that I'll drop the touchdown pass and be relegated to a life of normalcy and financial toil forever. But back to that enormous feeling. It's like a weight. Like a physical weight I can feel on my shoulders pressing down on me and it makes it difficult to breathe. Add to that the fiscal hurdles I have to jump over while holding this invisible elephant on my shoulders and you can understand why it is that I pinch pennies and poach ponies. Horse meat taste's terrible but desperation is desperation and hunger is hunger (chill out PETA, no ponies are actually being eaten, I'm speaking metaphorically). So on that day that I don that cap and gown for my third and probable final time, I plan on being wealthy. Filthy rich.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-92123730412461145332011-12-25T12:23:00.000-08:002011-12-25T13:59:49.650-08:00Intimacy<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8b12lrhKpcKNj2WwAC3YXDh-eSvADrhYjLr83-Ao8LNSrsQtexqrv5r1BCTQe_YdMF1cbfKiPmwaZasS0YlA6NYHk4l7u-Uqhgd2sRG1_1sDDK1mBQIgemiSmTnxFtfjz2hpTnPTGQry/s1600/beach-love-couple-silhouette.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge8b12lrhKpcKNj2WwAC3YXDh-eSvADrhYjLr83-Ao8LNSrsQtexqrv5r1BCTQe_YdMF1cbfKiPmwaZasS0YlA6NYHk4l7u-Uqhgd2sRG1_1sDDK1mBQIgemiSmTnxFtfjz2hpTnPTGQry/s400/beach-love-couple-silhouette.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690187996838261842" /></a><br /><br />I've long since tried to make this blog as candid as I could. Sometimes I end up not writing exactly what I'm trying to say, but c'est la vie . Today we're going to take an honest look at intimacy. Now for those of you who thought I meant sex. I don't, for once. I'm talking intimacy as in the real deal Holyfield bare your soul to another kind. The kind of nakedness that we rarely consider in a world where even marriage, the most intimate journey a man and woman can embark on together, even that marriage is oft cut short of the "death do us part," intention. So now we live in a world where prenuptial agreements ensure that there is no risk (financially speaking) to that which is rightfully ours (heavy sarcasm here). This way when the marriage goes belly up--because, it's bound to do so eventually right?--we won't really have risked anything. And when I say anything, I mean anything. We're not capable of sharing our vulnerabilities with our spouse these days. We all fear we'll have a Kim K. marriage and end up having spilled out our most cherished secrets, the stuff we tell only one person ever, to someone who will take us to court and smile as they ask for half of all our earnings, child support payments, and the dog. <br /><br />Now please don't misunderstand me. I am the product of a hideously broken home, a marriage that crashed and burned and burned me. So when I write/rant about these things, I do so with my bias, there's really no way around it. That being said, I think the knowledge I've gained is invaluable, and my scars serve the purpose of any other scar; to protect me from injury and remind me of the route I ought not go. This knowledge is extremely lucid in my mind. There's no escaping it. So here I am garrulously writing about nonsense (know you know what I was saying in the first two sentences) when I want to share the knowledge I've gained. <br /><br />True intimacy is a state of complete vulnerability. It's taking off all the armor we wear to protect ourselves from the terrors of others and providing the person we choose to trust with a kill shot--should they decide to take it. Make no mistake, intimacy is a risk, a HUGE risk. It's a high stakes wager. On the one hand you have given them the ability to hurt you greatly, on the other you have allowed them insider information on the real you. They are privy to things that no one else should ever know. And THAT is where intimacy begins. It's a beautiful thing and so it's a great tragedy that our culture has abandoned it in lieu of facebook friends and prenuptial agreements, because with great risk comes the possibility of great reward. <br /><br /><iframe width="480" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3hgFP8p5Suk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-59607760704220623572011-12-24T22:28:00.000-08:002011-12-25T12:23:14.828-08:00Christmas for Adults<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjZiOpXdj9Q4qNrYt2Simi8b4jjwuxLnSgERwiMq5T821unsXQc6MXa9KkYWEH2YgPnLLBSGCJ2620CoPGNiBrvteO_fF7zkkvsr6Dio8YLt_slCU9WCfRnpB2tlqGnBiJbz3iXZuqi2k/s1600/sexy-christmas-girls-hd-wallpaper-1-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnjZiOpXdj9Q4qNrYt2Simi8b4jjwuxLnSgERwiMq5T821unsXQc6MXa9KkYWEH2YgPnLLBSGCJ2620CoPGNiBrvteO_fF7zkkvsr6Dio8YLt_slCU9WCfRnpB2tlqGnBiJbz3iXZuqi2k/s400/sexy-christmas-girls-hd-wallpaper-1-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690163156469079922" /></a><br /><br />Isn't Christmas the most romantic holiday around. The cold makes snuggling and hot cocoa a daily treat. And who wouldn't like to hang out underneath a lil mistletoe with their beau? Merry Christmas!B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-6792979978123454152011-12-22T22:45:00.000-08:002011-12-23T19:37:28.502-08:0010 things I did in Hawaii this Christmas break<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3rrwDVcJuvp4deMu0rCKTjdZeJeD_G3hnOVPJF5Sj5_CK0fFmM4VN2lPQ8DmH8paWv8ZS31SOaLaTZe6yMX6yOQW2bqcj7vUqPFwnBhz_fc1xmyzoUy9rVGoCMfGwIwXhvrhls59IkdQ/s1600/beautiful_tropical_islands_vol_1_189496.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV3rrwDVcJuvp4deMu0rCKTjdZeJeD_G3hnOVPJF5Sj5_CK0fFmM4VN2lPQ8DmH8paWv8ZS31SOaLaTZe6yMX6yOQW2bqcj7vUqPFwnBhz_fc1xmyzoUy9rVGoCMfGwIwXhvrhls59IkdQ/s400/beautiful_tropical_islands_vol_1_189496.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689531471424741522" /></a><br />1. Ate a coconut I personally escorted out of a coconut palm in a jungle.<br />2. Snuck into disney's Aulani resort pool area with three friends and ate Hawaiian shaved ice in the shade by the pool<br />3. Watched a Waikiki sunset with that empty feeling that accompanies knowing you should be sharing a kiss with someone at that precise moment in time.<br />4. Ate steamed shrimp from a shrimp farm in a tropical rainstorm under a canopy in 80 degree weather. <br />5. Went to 7 beaches in one day, swam in each and every one.<br />6. Snorkeled a half mile offshore over a reef that went at least that far up and down the beach.<br />7. Hiked a mile through dense rainforest to overlook a gorgeous view of a bay I can't pronounce the name of.<br />8. Drove around an entire island in a day with two fantastic friends getting lost on adventure after adventure.<br />9. Wore flip flops, swim trunks, sunscreen, and a smile like it was my Hawaii uniform.<br />10. Discovered that California and Colorado have the most beautiful women in the world. Hawaii has a bevy of obese polynesian women who ride around in motorized wheelchairs in costco. P.S. I haven't been to Colorado.<br />11. (Bonus Event) Searched for and found the Black Pearl ship from the "Pirates of the Caribbean" movies. <br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWbzhCjptn3oxE-xp-yEn34kwp25DwnSXk0B7Eo_O9ugaWOr_VCMx2BGy5ydgXDCnCjYdMrYWoK5aufEBa0GC4KeKhy8tG0PuCGbbxPzFexOpPMS01vSbFJxdrCc01FlfabRSINsKNPFMn/s1600/2127300025.gif"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWbzhCjptn3oxE-xp-yEn34kwp25DwnSXk0B7Eo_O9ugaWOr_VCMx2BGy5ydgXDCnCjYdMrYWoK5aufEBa0GC4KeKhy8tG0PuCGbbxPzFexOpPMS01vSbFJxdrCc01FlfabRSINsKNPFMn/s400/2127300025.gif" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689532922607030578" /></a><br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/meZfzx7UP0E" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-27771522566815603172011-12-07T23:01:00.000-08:002011-12-07T23:54:26.644-08:00Lunch Break<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphd94fZ8jyKLhg-feNZNZcwXRTbn4DyMJ66eWJl7Fuj4BRfUKPoQSReMhPMkCLPcZ7-aZlThm0ysWvmeUggxba2VB3UaVw7erOUUowCee9IoEyMJw85vxaKE2q6i6Or7idRGel02t2aZD/s1600/1powerblack.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiphd94fZ8jyKLhg-feNZNZcwXRTbn4DyMJ66eWJl7Fuj4BRfUKPoQSReMhPMkCLPcZ7-aZlThm0ysWvmeUggxba2VB3UaVw7erOUUowCee9IoEyMJw85vxaKE2q6i6Or7idRGel02t2aZD/s400/1powerblack.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683655317729103794" /></a><br />The clinic I work at is in a business complex. This piece of information is relevant because businesses mean business people. Business people dress up. When I say business people I mean women because I couldn't care less about what the guys are wearing. GORGEOUS business women. Nothing says sexy like a woman in a power suit with heels. I have always considered myself a feminist and I will continue to be one because I love a woman who is successful. A mellow housewife that has 2.5 kids and a white picket fence--not for me! I loath boring. <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSqZn5hYlrCPHT2D7EmdvncYbp51OEVIVRz1kx1vU839W2GhrCtnQb9yleD8ETuBkqdWN5v7LjtKa9uzqvDtn3HARlv36Lbk8vqL9EY6tz07C2s9KKkUh-tkxtvLOOJaFHsI0z8-sqFQX/s1600/173.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSqZn5hYlrCPHT2D7EmdvncYbp51OEVIVRz1kx1vU839W2GhrCtnQb9yleD8ETuBkqdWN5v7LjtKa9uzqvDtn3HARlv36Lbk8vqL9EY6tz07C2s9KKkUh-tkxtvLOOJaFHsI0z8-sqFQX/s400/173.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683662185329134322" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bGg7uviw0_fHbZnjQ6OnO6yhobDyPNewIRo37NpE5dVf4izNqkEFPJHgR6setC8l-nMc5zdjTv9BZ5NPL33KRpTLEYrGremDKEd7jNi1qpS2aRKFUeHvuTYUYw6Sojm5A7FxXvBhcP7C/s1600/images.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 220px; height: 229px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8bGg7uviw0_fHbZnjQ6OnO6yhobDyPNewIRo37NpE5dVf4izNqkEFPJHgR6setC8l-nMc5zdjTv9BZ5NPL33KRpTLEYrGremDKEd7jNi1qpS2aRKFUeHvuTYUYw6Sojm5A7FxXvBhcP7C/s400/images.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683662465344031378" /></a>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-53469564541413012452011-11-27T09:18:00.000-08:002011-11-27T14:01:33.218-08:00Relationships: A dialogue<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM1PZitFN16r66Mt44BpA1mmfHaLBbITnNDvPryF6Dt0tiPLCN7voq36hcZC6_n6UTcHuDBbF8swq8eDvljLizP2asyOqKxDtlmEIlNT0iMybAWaf0PJGa81XLtReAIzES53qAoAm2s6p/s1600/85048-.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 270px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAM1PZitFN16r66Mt44BpA1mmfHaLBbITnNDvPryF6Dt0tiPLCN7voq36hcZC6_n6UTcHuDBbF8swq8eDvljLizP2asyOqKxDtlmEIlNT0iMybAWaf0PJGa81XLtReAIzES53qAoAm2s6p/s400/85048-.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5679798427722265698" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Spend four minutes (or four years in a major and minor dominated by women) in the presence of a group of women and you will quickly find out the favored topic: relationships. Women are obsessed with them. It's the difference between any "chick flick" and the bevy of explosion heavy, blood and guts movies targeting the testosterone infused men in America. Women love to talk about, read about, watch and dream about relationships. And for millennia we have been hearing them talk about, write about (Jane Austen anyone), act out, and relate their dreams about--on three everyone--RELATIONSHIPS! Now before I lose all my women readers here please allow me to let you in on a little secret about men: we're not terrified of relationships. Most of us are just particular about the woman we'd be willing to take that joint venture with. Please allow me to explain more. </span><br /><br />There are a few red flags that send guys running for the hills away from or out of relationships. I'll rattle off a few here along with how to avoid them. <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Women who remove our identity as an individual. Some women forget that men are fiercely protective of who they are as individuals. We're proud of who we are and we are terrified of losing our identity and becoming one of those men who used to exist before they were swallowed whole into an ambiguous existence in a relationship. The women of our dreams cherish our identity and find ways to make us consider them a part of it. One way they do this by encouraging time spent doing hobbies we enjoy without them. That way when we do come back home to them we have a profound appreciation for their respect of who we are. A woman like this is indispensable.</span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;"><br />-Drama. There are a lot of truly sad and tragic things in this world, another girl wearing the same dress as you at a party is not one of them. Don't be THAT girl. Instead, don't sweat the small stuff. There are few things as sexy to a guy as a girl who is nonchalant when she has reason to be upset. We find you fascinating and want to know more about you. So instead of crying when something embarrassing or awkward happens, laugh it off, your guy will appreciate your poise. <br /></span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Speaking of poise. Women that lack poise! Class is every bit as important to us as looks. Don't let the slutty girls fool you. We may look at them and find them appealing short term, but we all want a woman we can respect and cherish. The girl who gives it up all the time is not that girl. I hate to pull the economics out on you, but when there is a surplus of any commodity that commodity loses value. Think of the slutty girl as the piece of gravel you find in dirty parking lots. The woman (notice I didn't say girl) who knows she's worth the wait and doesn't sleep around is a diamond in the rough; she's hard to find and extremely valuable to us. Emulate Audrey Hepburn instead of Paris Hilton. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Snooping. A woman who is confident doesn't go snooping around because she's worried her guy is about to or may be cheating on her. This is juvenile behavior and indicative of her own lack of confidence in the relationship. If you're hot stuff you don't worry someone's going to steal your man. Being sexy is all about confidence and snooping shows a lack thereof. </span> <br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Phone. I talked to a bunch of my guy friends and the results were nearly unanimous. Stay off the phone when we're together. We find it admirable that you have such gifted fingers, really we do, but please text less when you are on dates with us. If you want brownie points, visibly turn off your phone at the start of the date, that tells us we are a priority. We will reward you later. <br /></span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Complaining. If you are one of those girls that is always complaining about minor inconveniences we will quickly classify you as high maintenance. So complain less and smile more. Happiness is contagious and everyone likes to feel happy, a girl that makes you feel that way via proximity alone is a catch indeed. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Manners. This goes hand in hand with poise. We expect you to know how to say please and thank you. I personally find it appalling when anyone is rude to a waitress or waiter. I would jump ship immediately if I ever saw a girl I was dating be rude to a person serving them. <br /></span><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">-Money. This one is both simple and yet somehow still complex. Be responsible with your money. There are free programs out there that help you manage it; to not take advantage is just irresponsible. </span> <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Alright, enough with the red flags. So we've covered a few of the biggest pet peeves, now it's time for the dessert. Lets talk about the things that drive us crazy in a good way. In reality there are far more reasons we fall head over heels for you than there are reasons we run away. Now every guy is different when it comes to the things that drive us wild (once again in a good way). So obviously I will be giving a few of my personal favorite qualities. Lest you think this is an exhaustive post I'll have you know that so many of the things I find appealing about the women I fall for are impossible to articulate. Poetry is a better medium, but here goes for prose:</span><br /><br />I women I fall for are walking contradictions. They are spontaneous, wild, and completely unpredictable and yet irreconcilably conscientious. Articulate and well-read, yet street smart too. As comfortable in a library as they are on a dance floor. Rebellious and witty but not sardonic. I'm fascinated by their ability to be both naughty and nice. They understand that like Drake "Sometimes I need that romance...sometimes I need that pole-dance." To quote Alex McCord, "She's a thug in a cocktail dress." The girl I'd be willing to date is an unsolvable riddle, but she's so fascinating to me that I would spend all of eternity trying. She's ambitious to a fault and is always pursuing some further goal. She doesn't need me in a possessive clingy way but she does desire me. She's feisty and can stand up to me without hesitation. She knows all my buttons. She is clever and her wit shines in the back and forth banter we so love. She LOVES to dance and doesn't get embarrassed if I start dancing with her in public sans music. She has an excellent sense of humor. She loves to explore and adventure with me but would be just as happy curled up on the couch watching The Office together. She lets me have time without her and she wants time without me. She's romantic and enjoys being romanced. Family is extremely important to her and she wants children in the future but they're not all she wants. She has excellent taste; whether it's interior design or outfit selection she's fantastic at it. She loves to exercise and is very competitive. She loves to travel to exotic places. She works hard at whatever she does. She's passionate both about her interests and about life in general. She is trouble and I LOVE trouble. But most importantly she loves Jesus. Oh, did I mention she's exquisitely beautiful? Yeah, that too.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-82421467184282542952011-11-21T23:13:00.000-08:002011-11-21T23:33:14.141-08:00My new girlMiranda Kerr was my last model crush. I stopped crushing on her when I read that she married Orlando Bloom (what a pretty boy, such a disappointment). With Miranda Kerr off the market I had to find a new beau. She has been found: <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyld26UIbxB5HxCEElOkgzwf9k1wsTxXzouD9jXEREee0h225i2J4U1UDXRQvxAzcO2w9RG3aUtbKOtCA4H7TlGGdKW2i4WJQoyMTX0pedM1q-1R5KlGBnBS4wxW2MUDd7kai0K5X9SEI/s1600/Ariadne-Artiles.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 258px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZyld26UIbxB5HxCEElOkgzwf9k1wsTxXzouD9jXEREee0h225i2J4U1UDXRQvxAzcO2w9RG3aUtbKOtCA4H7TlGGdKW2i4WJQoyMTX0pedM1q-1R5KlGBnBS4wxW2MUDd7kai0K5X9SEI/s400/Ariadne-Artiles.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677717348852733474" /></a><br /><br />May I introduce <span style="font-weight:bold;">Ariadne Artiles </span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VZAlNQc69NMnPdAstCJ-sGRptN8QjH508ioY6DFEO6ulw3qfx1b8ak6fewRBwsYqiDLGCU-Q7oVrO_1t4q8Rm4FGh9CgVU9o8EFUxJm1fYXsp0dalSvBFhZf9ZCfstPYo6FnMuxvjFQv/s1600/600full-ariadne-artiles.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8VZAlNQc69NMnPdAstCJ-sGRptN8QjH508ioY6DFEO6ulw3qfx1b8ak6fewRBwsYqiDLGCU-Q7oVrO_1t4q8Rm4FGh9CgVU9o8EFUxJm1fYXsp0dalSvBFhZf9ZCfstPYo6FnMuxvjFQv/s400/600full-ariadne-artiles.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677717538059652834" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBQPFbtsVCZVU_wq1vzBkGUlFDSsto-SqittOwM0fwSTmh20ZfeKI6My4FBNyBV9hV3C8FOrAQjbJOoMyrj1A1NacwJ3KNXg6DBBolnb_lKVtujQM72bfBfjmG8Aeemyvmy9MsilH6dPl/s1600/Ariadne%252BArtiles%252BPromotes%252BGran%252Bcanaria%252BModa%252BfOhFuT0Bchcl.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 261px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwBQPFbtsVCZVU_wq1vzBkGUlFDSsto-SqittOwM0fwSTmh20ZfeKI6My4FBNyBV9hV3C8FOrAQjbJOoMyrj1A1NacwJ3KNXg6DBBolnb_lKVtujQM72bfBfjmG8Aeemyvmy9MsilH6dPl/s400/Ariadne%252BArtiles%252BPromotes%252BGran%252Bcanaria%252BModa%252BfOhFuT0Bchcl.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677717838227236498" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg4WQCPP2tOI0IXrY0eGjUjyKsdgxH9qy4XR5UoM-x-eDTgf6uL2lRxgfJtuFs9p1lvAXgiQt8ro5Z_BWYEs-T-koyXeEqgcXMpneX1fG3KwvFEikSvUU6h2kwV_NLCzMKMraOPAT1Djp/s1600/Ariadne%252BArtiles%252BCelebrities%252BAttend%252B2009%252BMarie%252BBvJC2SryaLHl.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 256px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdg4WQCPP2tOI0IXrY0eGjUjyKsdgxH9qy4XR5UoM-x-eDTgf6uL2lRxgfJtuFs9p1lvAXgiQt8ro5Z_BWYEs-T-koyXeEqgcXMpneX1fG3KwvFEikSvUU6h2kwV_NLCzMKMraOPAT1Djp/s400/Ariadne%252BArtiles%252BCelebrities%252BAttend%252B2009%252BMarie%252BBvJC2SryaLHl.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677717988091930194" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlYpDMACStUS1E1JKgApEDHz-UFJt0EraSVQX60VzhkuyuaM5pJRcU6XKVjFQuk-xDEZ-Z3AvGjR9moYunk6E5GcLShymkKtx7Iz8uL1xELlshKE5TOt8NSWq4q_ITDdRhwkbwcCQJ4CB/s1600/Ariadne_Artiles%25257Cariadne-artiles05281005.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUlYpDMACStUS1E1JKgApEDHz-UFJt0EraSVQX60VzhkuyuaM5pJRcU6XKVjFQuk-xDEZ-Z3AvGjR9moYunk6E5GcLShymkKtx7Iz8uL1xELlshKE5TOt8NSWq4q_ITDdRhwkbwcCQJ4CB/s400/Ariadne_Artiles%25257Cariadne-artiles05281005.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677718613452106370" /></a><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuUb4EXMkGT5oFFxCfWDrxfQf-bl0CPPzbv89OwGETOIvn7GFBAu2WD0mgdnJL2hQhk0VT04vpHndZoxtkdzu1V0NKo37ax3tWI1qO5tBe5nlJwK-08ZGdHBRD0dm36F_HpgMj007gbyG/s1600/Ariadne_Artiles%25257Caa-magazine07-msk9.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 254px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSuUb4EXMkGT5oFFxCfWDrxfQf-bl0CPPzbv89OwGETOIvn7GFBAu2WD0mgdnJL2hQhk0VT04vpHndZoxtkdzu1V0NKo37ax3tWI1qO5tBe5nlJwK-08ZGdHBRD0dm36F_HpgMj007gbyG/s400/Ariadne_Artiles%25257Caa-magazine07-msk9.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677719617236184866" /></a><br />Sorry if I went overboard with pictures. She's easy on the eyes, can you blame me?B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-64925413204586542072011-11-06T13:50:00.000-08:002011-11-06T15:58:57.041-08:00Serendipity<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39cWHqBBrXhUZCUKJiXey6yf5xu51M0gxe1CqeqkonBhPE-81IXzAIjOS5F5kLh_u7rMX12bZls8zarFIPVqjuPJP3KCCfT9NFtBhINSPakoPC18CNmuGUq9LiF4uXqyG__Aid_PDDu2x/s1600/340x_custom_1276199812360_disney.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 340px; height: 332px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh39cWHqBBrXhUZCUKJiXey6yf5xu51M0gxe1CqeqkonBhPE-81IXzAIjOS5F5kLh_u7rMX12bZls8zarFIPVqjuPJP3KCCfT9NFtBhINSPakoPC18CNmuGUq9LiF4uXqyG__Aid_PDDu2x/s400/340x_custom_1276199812360_disney.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672034698741929858" /></a><br /><br /><br />Dear readers,<br />I'm terribly sorry for neglecting you for the past several months. I think I will resume blogging more now. I've found a new muse of sorts and I'm running with it. Today I'd like to discuss the topic of serendipity. <br /><br />What a wonderfully complex and terrifying world this is, am I right? When we stop to consider the infinitesimal nuances of our interactions with other people we begin to get a grasp on how fragile our reality really is. Consider for a moment your best friend in the world or your significant other (for those of you fortunate enough to have one). How did you meet this person? I know for me my interaction with my best friend would have never occurred had his mom not intervened one day in fourth grade. My story is an exception of sorts because another person pushed fate aside and forged a new reality, a reality where two people had no choice in the matter and became instant friends. But what of other scenarios. There are a million little details that lead up to any interaction. Let's dream up a common scenario where boy meets girl. In nearly every boy meets girl scenario there is a tremendous amount of luck (is it really luck though) that leads up to their first glance at each other. Time is probably the biggest factor as demonstrated by this video from a movie I love "serendipity" <br /><iframe width="560" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/rrvKt7GNSco" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br />When you stop to think about how chaotic this world is you come to appreciate the relationships that by some miracle of chance happened. Destiny or serendipity or fate or chance; they are all words that still fail to capture the magic of meeting someone who you will spend the rest of your life with. The beauty of these incredible instances is that we all know how empty our lives would be without the people we love and yet somehow we live in a world where one step in another direction, one minute later or earlier out our front door and we end up not ever knowing the person we can't imagine our lives without. THIS is why I love serendipity, because it's pure magic.<br /><br />Now I know some of you might be thinking that this stuff only happens in movies. So just take a look at Alex and Donna Voutsinas' story.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.wesh.com/r/23830238/detail.html#.Trcadk6K-JI.blogger">Couple Recalls Disney Meeting As Children - Orlando News Story - WESH Orlando</a><br /><br />Moral of the story: believe in chance! And if you found someone who you can't live without hold onto them real tight because you now realize what a miracle it is to be with them.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-88208415551482739582011-09-01T00:25:00.001-07:002011-09-01T01:00:54.800-07:00She's just not that into youLast night I saw the movie "He's just not that into you" with my best friend. Now sadly it took about an hour and twenty minutes before the two of us realized nearly simultaneously that we were watching a chick flick. But as startling/traumatizing as that moment was for the two of us. I think I can speak for the both of us: there were a few lessons in that movie of redeeming value. In the movie numerous characters are all chasing the guy/girl of their dreams and nearly no one's love is returned by their potential beau. I appreciated this realistic look at life because in the real world your hypothetical hottie almost never returns your affection. I wish the wisdom in this movie had been a little more apparent to me a little bit earlier. The reason I say this is simple. I, like one of the major protagonists in this movie am clueless about other people's intentions. I wish my most recent love interest had sat me down and simply told me she wasn't interested and wasn't going to call me back. In the movie a kind character sits the protagonist I spoke of earlier down and tells her the famous line "he's just not that into you." I feel like he did her a kindness by trying to save her the potential heartache that comes with a dearth of information and a surplus of romantic interest.
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<br />Personally I think that we would all benefit from a little more "straight talk." A few more people telling us exactly what is going on in their silly little heads. Imagine all the time we'd save if the person we liked told us "eff off, I'm not interested." Problem solved! In the words of the great reverend Jay-z, "On to the next one." I'm sorry if this comes across as a rant (or in fact is actually a rant), but I feel that a little more translucency in romance would save us all a great deal of heartache. Like the scenes in the movie I would pace without taking my eye off of the phone and panic at the thought of missing the call that never came. In the future I guess I'll take my own advice and unequivocally pronounce my feelings to the girl I like. I will then find out rather quickly whether she's into me or not. I'm curious what stories my readers have on rejection. Feel free to email me.
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<br /><iframe width="560" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/WM1RChZk1EU" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-90043404990871816692011-05-25T00:55:00.000-07:002011-05-25T00:57:14.493-07:00Standing in my roomI wrote this quite a while back when I was crazy about a girl who shall remain nameless. Sleepless nights were common back then. I wish I had written less about said girl on this blog, maybe things might be different. Whatever the case, I haven't posted in a while and this is decent enough to post. Just ignore the time references.<br /><br /><br />This past weekend I made a trip down to San Diego and spent Valentines day weekend with my mom, brother, and best friends. Sunday was Valentines day and that night I couldn't sleep. Whether it was my disappointment with my solitude or the fact that the gal I am crazy about didn't return my call is of no relevance. Whatever the case, a quiet moment snuck up on me and my thoughts ambushed me as they so often do when I am not running around. As I stood in my old room I reflected on my surroundings. My bare feet felt the cold wood floor as I surveyed my room and what an excellent representation it was of the one who once resided there. I took two steps to the door and glanced at the wall where my old football jersey hangs, to the left I perused my old cork board with its multitude of comics, pictures, inspirational quotes and old science awards from junior high. I am sentimental to a fault and my room makes this abundantly clear. On the opposing wall there hangs five of my most prized possessions: my old presidential fitness awards. Those blue patches demonstrate to me that I have always strove for excellence in any athletic endeavor, but more than that, they show how damn resolute I was and indeed am in pursuit of that which I crave: success. Below the patches to the right there are numerous patriotic sayings and the flag that I will always find most beautiful. Inumerable pictures of my friends adorn the walls my room. There are two 8' shelving units that bookend my bed, one of which is overflowing with athletic awards and trophies and the other is chalk full of books (a perfect representation of my time spent in High School). My Desk is cluttered with nearly every financial matter one could think of. It is apparent that money is important to me (either that or I must be related to an accountant). My eyes are heavy and my mind runs in circles, I'll describe the rest of my room when I have a clear head. Sweet dreams!B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-39246515524822723822011-05-13T20:56:00.000-07:002011-05-13T21:12:08.653-07:00Overheard:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEKtzp6kfYo_7p6tWWXLaaMlkdfD97QM74W_arBKqvPsipSe-ZFVb0H0hczBlRxaoMj_JcoeLzAb9euhWGzp-2neaQRUbwlla6A6XQFaxgBxzSm00oiIiPQAN2JQ7Ff2UIQnPwROsgYDR/s1600/LM-couple-dancing.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 265px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEKtzp6kfYo_7p6tWWXLaaMlkdfD97QM74W_arBKqvPsipSe-ZFVb0H0hczBlRxaoMj_JcoeLzAb9euhWGzp-2neaQRUbwlla6A6XQFaxgBxzSm00oiIiPQAN2JQ7Ff2UIQnPwROsgYDR/s400/LM-couple-dancing.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606419762377472690" /></a><br />Her: You're absolutely fantastic at couples dances, so why aren't you that good at individual dances?<br />Me: Maybe I wasn't made to dance alone.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-85153698574828821832011-04-26T12:50:00.000-07:002011-04-26T23:08:05.483-07:00Pros and cons of inebriation<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvY-3c6AuEZtmVaiP73mcEzUSS3z-B5bnYCSOykgBlFiC06O7MVGl-3NCI0GjJq6SNBouQzgy65p3c0v_5Enks_OgcfjVZqkQOEcCPO5gvtKA_HkcP1urmLqPZveL3N6v79xsNqE7Db2F/s1600/5030-confessions-on-a-dance-floor.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvY-3c6AuEZtmVaiP73mcEzUSS3z-B5bnYCSOykgBlFiC06O7MVGl-3NCI0GjJq6SNBouQzgy65p3c0v_5Enks_OgcfjVZqkQOEcCPO5gvtKA_HkcP1urmLqPZveL3N6v79xsNqE7Db2F/s400/5030-confessions-on-a-dance-floor.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600140454238419906" /></a><br />Pros:<br />incredible dance moves (at least you thought so before the youtube video)<br />increased flexibility (minor joint damage)<br />increased vocabulary (lots of neologisms)<br />instantaneous confidence (and instant rejection)<br />the ability to turn every sidewalk into a catwalk<br />intense curiosity <br />magnificent ability to start conversations you have no intention of finishing<br />unreasonable interest in the banalities of furniture despite ignoring it while in locomotion <br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kKjEdFAvhM6RBWAgBHrpbyikXlv2Z0RgHNWVmYjBEjWIZxzNyFhDB-U2BHlYdPVYN89pKvtZDswXKh6_VVa6RhnBxi7xNd21DNIEV5vIhm-ockfdrzAeMKITuWNOl23GPGGBJtv2S-68/s1600/a43e7e0af7f9d1b0_carrie_sex_city_drunk.preview.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 297px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kKjEdFAvhM6RBWAgBHrpbyikXlv2Z0RgHNWVmYjBEjWIZxzNyFhDB-U2BHlYdPVYN89pKvtZDswXKh6_VVa6RhnBxi7xNd21DNIEV5vIhm-ockfdrzAeMKITuWNOl23GPGGBJtv2S-68/s400/a43e7e0af7f9d1b0_carrie_sex_city_drunk.preview.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600140932923159010" /></a><br />Cons:<br />Waking up with a concussion <br />Unexplained bruises all over your legs<br />Dirt in your bed<br />Random trinkets in your pockets<br />Text message records<br />Porcelain god <br />Policemen lacking a sense of humor<br />Calories<br />Doughnuts (see above)B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-16479562479563771802011-04-15T18:38:00.000-07:002011-04-15T18:45:18.179-07:00New Blog!There's a new sheriff (blog) in town. I recently came to the conclusion that not all my readers have the same taste in music as I do. For those of you who do however, I have created a new blog. This new blog is dedicated to music. It will ONLY feature music. I won't bore those of you who have no interest in me or my random rants with any of my oddities. Instead you can listen to my music at "http://lovelyandloud.blogspot.com". If however by some miracle of zeus you find both me and my music the slightest bit entertaining, then by all means follow both this blog and my music blog. Obviously you get ultimate brownie points for following both blogs. Cheers!B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-5931131450343814722011-04-11T00:03:00.000-07:002011-04-11T00:24:39.167-07:00My favorite song<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYRL3oxZV7NRTQ2548k6xYraQomAptLSy__RAoRMXvHq8G0xgJOqipWSGS69UILpxnBPNfc2UY5pz59CDIbb1oZLvEHth2gQVxzScysdevVgmvt5FbrySE0n2c2deg7aSeUn3fdhWAsrI/s1600/seal_pub2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 385px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNYRL3oxZV7NRTQ2548k6xYraQomAptLSy__RAoRMXvHq8G0xgJOqipWSGS69UILpxnBPNfc2UY5pz59CDIbb1oZLvEHth2gQVxzScysdevVgmvt5FbrySE0n2c2deg7aSeUn3fdhWAsrI/s400/seal_pub2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594223473199335346" /></a><br />I haven't the slightest clue why this song resonates so much with me. I can listen to it for an hour on repeat and not get tired of it. It always sounds new. I remember exactly where I was when I first heard it. I remember the emotion that overcame me then and I still feel it, though not nearly as strongly. My mom and I want to see SEAL in concert together because we both love his music. If I can credit anyone with my great taste in music, it would have to be my mom. She has always had music playing in our house, and if it isn't playing, then she's making lovely music of her own. That woman has the voice of an angel. Anyway, here are the lyrics to Kiss From a Rose, by SEAL. Listen to the song and read the lyrics. Maybe you'll be as obsessed with it as I am, but I doubt it. <br /><br />KISS FROM A ROSE<br />There used to be a graying tower alone on the sea<br />You became the light on the dark side of me<br />Love remained a drug that's the high and not the pill<br /><br />But did you know<br />That when it snows<br />My eyes become large and<br />The light that you shine can be seen<br /><br />There is so much a man can tell you<br />So much he can say<br />You remain my power, my pleasure, my pain<br /><br />Baby, to me you're like a growing addiction that I can't deny<br />Won't you tell me is that healthy, baby?<br /><br />But did you know<br />That when it snows<br />My eyes become large and<br />The light that you shine can be seen<br /><br />Baby, I compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave<br />Ooh, the more I get of you, stranger it feels, yeah<br />Now that your rose is in bloom<br />A light hits the gloom on the gray<br /><br />But did you know<br />That when it snows<br />My eyes become large and<br />The light that you shine can be seen<br /><br />Baby, I might compare you to a kiss from a rose on the grave<br />Ooh, the more I get of you, stranger it feels, yeah<br />Now that your rose is in bloom<br />A light hits the gloom on the gray<br /><br />I've been kissed from a rose on the grave<br />Ooh, the stranger it feels, yeah<br />Now that your rose is in bloom<br />A light hits the gloom on the gray<br /><br />This is the acoustic version of the song.<br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/p2JoWR7t0Sk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-22812735939876728052011-03-26T23:42:00.000-07:002011-04-26T23:44:08.080-07:00Selina Kyle<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCrN-I4dRb-Y5_aCXzI9k8AKkKIBQPAtzL3aXkjoJWb0-hJIEYwZOrX82FkJ1ktp8g64gBzB0azua8d6xjYCV-ub14E2qhW8QVio8Dg76sQUgwBGnUA5U9UYC4-GkNGJby3E2E1fMTU1F/s1600/Catwoman-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 295px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCrN-I4dRb-Y5_aCXzI9k8AKkKIBQPAtzL3aXkjoJWb0-hJIEYwZOrX82FkJ1ktp8g64gBzB0azua8d6xjYCV-ub14E2qhW8QVio8Dg76sQUgwBGnUA5U9UYC4-GkNGJby3E2E1fMTU1F/s400/Catwoman-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600150135317332178" /></a><br /><br /><br />Reason's that Selina Kyle is my perfect woman:<br />(In no particular order)<br /><br />1)She's a bad girl.<br />2)She's witty<br />3)She wears leather like it's going out of style<br />4)She purrs<br />5)She is a lady on the street....<br />6)She might kill you or kiss you, you never know which<br />7)She has a thing for Batman<br />8)She's naughty <br />9)She's a thief <br />10)She's more than she appears to be<br />11)She's a paradox<br />12)She breaks the law<br />13)She is crafty<br />14)She is completely unpredictable <br />15)She wears lipstick a lot<br />16)She's independent<br />17)She's a tease<br />18)She's passionate <br />19)She doesn't take shit from anyone<br />20)She's extremely intelligent<br />21)She's vengeful<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjM-RkR4z27WJ6ZVURDPvzrFEF3JQar0vFem1tPlFzswxshQ6YJXuZv3J9x6SXcrQTk1D_ABQ4mHMUnsJkmMBfM5iAinmPjC7pRNOk7AspheAVHu3LRNAjNkNejmQqzca4QRyb5TI1LB2/s1600/img-bt_catwoman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 311px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOjM-RkR4z27WJ6ZVURDPvzrFEF3JQar0vFem1tPlFzswxshQ6YJXuZv3J9x6SXcrQTk1D_ABQ4mHMUnsJkmMBfM5iAinmPjC7pRNOk7AspheAVHu3LRNAjNkNejmQqzca4QRyb5TI1LB2/s400/img-bt_catwoman.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587916467733836562" /></a>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-60937121061264075692011-03-25T00:06:00.000-07:002011-03-25T00:29:06.905-07:00Every open door<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCvWFXwgHDiy-HD3JVdgG_hVHljXIgzHzdkfNbrQWdrD6yBWyQLnPIoh0v94D9S7etfjYUEMlLggjdmZzLJ2DJM629hUHjC670MfG6aqu-RHxcOUZeXQTPgkq5GAdqV6bPmiEygM8AX4O8/s1600/SanDiegoCoastlineSunset_01.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCvWFXwgHDiy-HD3JVdgG_hVHljXIgzHzdkfNbrQWdrD6yBWyQLnPIoh0v94D9S7etfjYUEMlLggjdmZzLJ2DJM629hUHjC670MfG6aqu-RHxcOUZeXQTPgkq5GAdqV6bPmiEygM8AX4O8/s400/SanDiegoCoastlineSunset_01.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587916015152895474" /></a><br />I always sit facing the door<br />thousands of booths<br />and just as many sunsets <br />restaurants with bells on the door<br />and a cold hand that longs for the warmth of yours<br />I hear the bell jingle<br /><br />and I always look toward the door<br />granted I haven’t a clue what you look like<br />not the faintest idea<br />but my heart doesn’t know that <br />and neither do I<br /><br />each pretty girl I see<br />plays the part in my mental drama<br />I dress them in white with a veil<br />and I undress them too<br />but somehow, someway<br />they’re never you<br /><br />can’t say that I like the waiting game<br />but then again, I’m the one who claims<br />“anything worth having is worth waiting for”<br />I know you will be worth the wait<br />but until the day I meet you<br />I’ll look toward every open door<br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7tvG8TrUJH0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-50793228597656902522011-03-20T23:04:00.000-07:002011-03-20T23:36:25.453-07:00Style iconsI have three style icons who's fashion sense conveys the style I most want to emulate. They embody more than just the fashion sense I admire in them. Each of these men represented something that I value. They were rugged, adventurous, devoted, romantic and manly. They drove fast and they took chances. They pulled no punches and they lived every day as though it might be their last until it was. Ladies, I think this post might be your dose of erotica for the day.<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Paul Newman </span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJTRtqhEaBEgksxPok9I2vYh1lg9nv_Qa_Qod-kGiOmL4ULi6yhaYsWlScZqp_x2_WG6vBH1BCwYz0ORlmeNNMONetn-Qq_qw-eY0gsgJvHclt5l4_1HUlkR7OsPrIGMKEjZzrhwKXQdc/s1600/tumblr_lh37s7mnxY1qbyoq9o1_500.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 319px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZJTRtqhEaBEgksxPok9I2vYh1lg9nv_Qa_Qod-kGiOmL4ULi6yhaYsWlScZqp_x2_WG6vBH1BCwYz0ORlmeNNMONetn-Qq_qw-eY0gsgJvHclt5l4_1HUlkR7OsPrIGMKEjZzrhwKXQdc/s400/tumblr_lh37s7mnxY1qbyoq9o1_500.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586414084176718946" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORcvISVkXm6Fk0n7LC-J6vr2TwCdCF18dszUbMbNER_HB6GX8i3C5WIATJr0289gGiRQeU529Ew_LaeUPMc71H05oNXPV28L3jMRnNuKEj4WWd-xEIz3kMU5XNkfyupHB1Z8oK0C1eXiy/s1600/tumblr_lcho2rjLxj1qcazjwo1_500.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 393px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORcvISVkXm6Fk0n7LC-J6vr2TwCdCF18dszUbMbNER_HB6GX8i3C5WIATJr0289gGiRQeU529Ew_LaeUPMc71H05oNXPV28L3jMRnNuKEj4WWd-xEIz3kMU5XNkfyupHB1Z8oK0C1eXiy/s400/tumblr_lcho2rjLxj1qcazjwo1_500.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586414184865643586" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtM9j4WEYSvW6VA_OkD9w8RvR6MjZwjZZG-i-ep_PPQ_X_JRIACUOPJx6Qg3gRf5TzHttZY69Tzc8kZywDenIZmnRGKf1swc1B9gvaPjxr_ugsJVdlpIhflqWaptEUMDkbei2cUwxiA2D/s1600/gal-newman.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 303px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbtM9j4WEYSvW6VA_OkD9w8RvR6MjZwjZZG-i-ep_PPQ_X_JRIACUOPJx6Qg3gRf5TzHttZY69Tzc8kZywDenIZmnRGKf1swc1B9gvaPjxr_ugsJVdlpIhflqWaptEUMDkbei2cUwxiA2D/s400/gal-newman.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586414316697065042" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTqgnI08ONNxwlBR2LLt0hWe3UsZIz5HmNOB35SbRjqnfNKXmwIFFYZDIaf-bQIFdwf0onD5PZ5i4Vymdofcq62FDwcFqBQgQeUEdkYYUq43y1cHklkGRDR4phdLuABEX06K8PMcMBydk/s1600/600full-paul-newman.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 330px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpTqgnI08ONNxwlBR2LLt0hWe3UsZIz5HmNOB35SbRjqnfNKXmwIFFYZDIaf-bQIFdwf0onD5PZ5i4Vymdofcq62FDwcFqBQgQeUEdkYYUq43y1cHklkGRDR4phdLuABEX06K8PMcMBydk/s400/600full-paul-newman.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586414422995359442" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Steve McQueen</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiHH_vlZBhQJmEFeafyn9cVMCI9wCEsIs0olejvhWozr5ITGMPcLF04O_2gxEISb-Bt6awzLD7_-dNodyXxvp772itdB_S2C0NJP8TjHn3aUBGCDE5t271eb-4n1PZm9s2PvX_WMVVjhU/s1600/Steve+McQueen+Life.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 269px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhiHH_vlZBhQJmEFeafyn9cVMCI9wCEsIs0olejvhWozr5ITGMPcLF04O_2gxEISb-Bt6awzLD7_-dNodyXxvp772itdB_S2C0NJP8TjHn3aUBGCDE5t271eb-4n1PZm9s2PvX_WMVVjhU/s400/Steve+McQueen+Life.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586414865913731154" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6o8j3FW7pwRc2NsJ0iCR0QqkPEaljIogV5qjWuAKyQbkW8VaIOtS3UTg5l_3vGtmyrQZjQ6ksmF_fm6wk2cHTVYcdPW8pE5tuCskPjhl6AZgwK65TTx0vLPKQBTDoCuWYTFQeJdJf2f4n/s1600/stevemcqueen.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 299px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6o8j3FW7pwRc2NsJ0iCR0QqkPEaljIogV5qjWuAKyQbkW8VaIOtS3UTg5l_3vGtmyrQZjQ6ksmF_fm6wk2cHTVYcdPW8pE5tuCskPjhl6AZgwK65TTx0vLPKQBTDoCuWYTFQeJdJf2f4n/s400/stevemcqueen.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586415027302877634" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5bHe-EFspBTxXlO8n5IZ2M4huIJ24w6YgJfSbrZgTGZnUq-czuKwtrtzi8fysoDOzdTKgMOVFZQVgyiofJ4BN-tTcJE9llwfAgOgfgDLI8kHgX6CN2IPmG_qSyvJc9jtsOlXXmeoaZZP/s1600/persol-steve-mcqueen-po-714-sunglasses-1-540x359.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhq5bHe-EFspBTxXlO8n5IZ2M4huIJ24w6YgJfSbrZgTGZnUq-czuKwtrtzi8fysoDOzdTKgMOVFZQVgyiofJ4BN-tTcJE9llwfAgOgfgDLI8kHgX6CN2IPmG_qSyvJc9jtsOlXXmeoaZZP/s400/persol-steve-mcqueen-po-714-sunglasses-1-540x359.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586415173423982386" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7212mn1hYrS6KFQHxktdmOqp0Rr-wFdYOD_S7JODLJQrv_4aiXlRHCg_hVrSa8Klua5Z8mpkxORyoVm-U8PLGOaDHnIS4xUGP2bPF2-xXOH8vvogRM7PF9AvFo1flY6QVKwj1t6uSsson/s1600/SteveMcQueen-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 362px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7212mn1hYrS6KFQHxktdmOqp0Rr-wFdYOD_S7JODLJQrv_4aiXlRHCg_hVrSa8Klua5Z8mpkxORyoVm-U8PLGOaDHnIS4xUGP2bPF2-xXOH8vvogRM7PF9AvFo1flY6QVKwj1t6uSsson/s400/SteveMcQueen-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586415290975173458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPtqKzAuAqapS-RGkEP9tCUqgJ8-nqx2QIOmFNN3phWJnxDQAaoCZIE36qQtcWuoOFu5Ks1jr6yv1hrEmnNCwQx_IRa4UHbRAL7b8b0n-B5tHu_kCmUUXClJKbZ1OqsBwlRojQWTzkGkE/s1600/img_steve_mcqueen_husky_2.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaPtqKzAuAqapS-RGkEP9tCUqgJ8-nqx2QIOmFNN3phWJnxDQAaoCZIE36qQtcWuoOFu5Ks1jr6yv1hrEmnNCwQx_IRa4UHbRAL7b8b0n-B5tHu_kCmUUXClJKbZ1OqsBwlRojQWTzkGkE/s400/img_steve_mcqueen_husky_2.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586415393879818066" /></a><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">James Dean</span><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYHmapT-7GMZY8L2OrW_prXLTM12GschGfEF6SQyi_6D1BkVjKuCXLQabbf5C7lV1sRKxwAfAstfK_P3DgZwedT7JoILOb4EAiFFXfsNCuhiNSRW_JzbT5MaX8CWxmD8a4QAw5NZ7ifjc/s1600/jamesdean.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 379px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFYHmapT-7GMZY8L2OrW_prXLTM12GschGfEF6SQyi_6D1BkVjKuCXLQabbf5C7lV1sRKxwAfAstfK_P3DgZwedT7JoILOb4EAiFFXfsNCuhiNSRW_JzbT5MaX8CWxmD8a4QAw5NZ7ifjc/s400/jamesdean.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586416532881791586" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyMflvgNGxgcYS5bNqm6srfOG7B214_RQ2Ktrh9fV2MQJ56SVRqLXn_ZeQFDiVLInQMkIFfHGFbiH_DCqqOt989tBo5P246jLql8Z782iNHPS7N9wFoDxOHP60Kdp4le89kxlf_zdNNkB/s1600/james_dean_01.jpg.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 276px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSyMflvgNGxgcYS5bNqm6srfOG7B214_RQ2Ktrh9fV2MQJ56SVRqLXn_ZeQFDiVLInQMkIFfHGFbiH_DCqqOt989tBo5P246jLql8Z782iNHPS7N9wFoDxOHP60Kdp4le89kxlf_zdNNkB/s400/james_dean_01.jpg.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586416664068076674" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKN5XDkctUHjKFfMOsjZHGqkVjHTuLN-g8LfaKxQR1M4g1IGAMXle1noxB8n-wUUdR0Ao_vqZM5FODeQPvzEyc23DjogIuljgKWWNmr-UsAlerfWorhEkniPVUNKANZsGuA1ScZLKGew/s1600/james-dean-1.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 385px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_mKN5XDkctUHjKFfMOsjZHGqkVjHTuLN-g8LfaKxQR1M4g1IGAMXle1noxB8n-wUUdR0Ao_vqZM5FODeQPvzEyc23DjogIuljgKWWNmr-UsAlerfWorhEkniPVUNKANZsGuA1ScZLKGew/s400/james-dean-1.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586416797831675458" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdhred6N5kwT_PmkNsRZ8tZbWpqiWamhpbd6LnIQJIoBXsJBuS5b_TQmt_s2R4n1v2lt6LuF4xpa7LX9_opyyU-YS5PoY0vnYJRzEPMdZy1fQgtGqPfDHCa0G7VJVwX3i2geTHlBOBYGn/s1600/james-dean.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 322px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSdhred6N5kwT_PmkNsRZ8tZbWpqiWamhpbd6LnIQJIoBXsJBuS5b_TQmt_s2R4n1v2lt6LuF4xpa7LX9_opyyU-YS5PoY0vnYJRzEPMdZy1fQgtGqPfDHCa0G7VJVwX3i2geTHlBOBYGn/s400/james-dean.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586416908852114178" /></a><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/bFSRuAOLBqs" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-33774840774258618132011-03-14T15:22:00.001-07:002011-03-14T15:47:15.559-07:00Why I like rap<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu78uropvoR1Lhu8nomaDrXQViF-snS03nn4AS4_wR2ftkxH_Tzoej6jqePNpmkDzATjjJQJbcsh4swJMWWCMkZ2LpcElA9Yz_Z0IL_bswZVqqIn07HLOCr_0bHHSCUIbVI0xPJsqXDpv/s1600/biggie.jpeg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 350px; height: 354px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheu78uropvoR1Lhu8nomaDrXQViF-snS03nn4AS4_wR2ftkxH_Tzoej6jqePNpmkDzATjjJQJbcsh4swJMWWCMkZ2LpcElA9Yz_Z0IL_bswZVqqIn07HLOCr_0bHHSCUIbVI0xPJsqXDpv/s400/biggie.jpeg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5584070934175323394" /></a><br />Ever since I was 9 or 10 I have been an avid rap fan. I used to not know why this was and not really care. I just liked to bob my head to the beat and listen to the constant rhythms and rhymes that fascinated me. Rap was a mind teaser to me. I loved the riddles, the analogies and the tongue twister lyrics. As I've grown I have started to wonder why I like rap. The lyrics are often objectionable, the politics in rap are usually opposite my own beliefs, and the lifestyles that are glorified in rap are equally divergent from who I consider myself as a person. Yet somehow my love for rap has only grown with time. Now I have the mental faculties to actually consider the deeper reasons that rap resonates with me. Why does it resonate with me, the real me, not the external projection that everyone in the sidelines of my life sees?<br /><br />I think my love affair with rap is a story of feeling. Like a movie or a good book, rap tells a story. It has characters: protagonists, antagonists and everything in between. The harsh realities of urban ghetto life are objectionable to be sure, but the feeling within the lyrics is raw and uncensored. I think that I like the ability of rap to bare the soul. It's poetic, it's perverse, and it's cathartic. When I listen to rap I take part in a story I didn't live. I am transported to the Bronx, to Philly, to Compton and Inglewood. I hear the bullets thud into chests and the sobs of parents who have lost their children to gang violence. I hear the anger, the frustration, the pain, and I feel human. It's the empathy component that makes rap interesting. The ability of the story to bring the listener in and involve them in a drama, much like a good book or movie. I know there is still more to rap that I like, but at this point I can't articulate it. Jay-z, my favorite rapper, does an excellent job of explaining (from the perspective of one who did live it) the emotional aspects of rap. Check out this short clip to hear how rap has filled a need to voice a cry for help and to tell a story that is often overlooked in popular media. <br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/OQqwkycc6yk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe><br /><br /><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="640" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/zxtn6-XQupM" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2684272603803213528.post-45401115617626253812011-03-06T20:03:00.000-08:002011-03-06T20:05:40.001-08:00How to be an assholeSay something like this:<br />http://www.stylehog.com/did-demi-moore-find-the-fountain-of-youth/<br /><br />I think that is so terribly rude. You can compliment the mom without insulting the poor daughter. Go back to junior high if you're going to stay stupid things like that.B@manMadeirahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05826326742156731503noreply@blogger.com1