Gemma de la Cruz Gosuico

PHOTOS: Comic-palooza, Houston, TX

2011-01-08T20:25:00.000-08:00

Iron Man, Captain America, and I...before Iron Man got Captain America killed ;)

BOOK REFLECTION: You Majored in What? : Mapping your path from Chaos to Career by Katharine Brooks

2010-04-12T18:12:00.000-07:00

Every wandering college graduate should read this book but probably never will - at least not until the disparity between how he or she thought life should be and how it actually seems to be turning out starts to crack through that invincible, college ego. For all those too lazy to read, here is a brief overview of what you could learn from this book (lessons you didn't learn in college):

Lesson #1: It is normal to be confused.
There are many people who subscribe to a linear theory of life. For example, if you like science, then major in biology and become a doctor. Or, if you play the flute well, then major in music and play in the symphony. End of story. Get married, settle down, pay your mortgage until you retire and kick the bucket. Sounds fun, right? Some people do have one interest and one passion and do follow it for the entirety of their lives with great satisfaction. There is no problem with that. However, for many people, life actually happens according to a phenomenon known as chaos theory.

Lesson # 2: A brief survey of Chaos Theory
In chaos theory, life unfolds as you follow different point attractors (people you like to be around, events that catch you interest, classes which inspire you, hobbies that interest you), so your actions don't often seem to make sense. You appear to be wandering about, confused, crazy, lacking in direction and purpose, working countless of random jobs, etc. In reality, to change one's mind and want to explore and discover oneself is human nature. Contradiction is the seed of consciousness, and not to ever wonder, doubt, question yourself, be confused, or make mistakes is to remain very immature.

The most important thing to note when discussing chaos theory is that chaos theory does not imply that all of life is destined to be a series of random, disconnected ventures. No, the heart of chaos theory lies in the fact that amidst all the chaos, an underlying pattern inevitably emerges. Systems ultimately reveal an order. It's science.

Lesson #3: Shit happens.
Pardon my French. Sometimes, you have a singular path that you want to follow, but obstacles will inevitably pop up. At that point, you have to decide whether you want this thing badly enough to keep going after it despite the obstacle or sometimes, you have to open your mind to the idea that perhaps the obstacle is there because this singular path you want to follow may not be the right one for you. In chaos theory, making this decision is called phase shifting. It's a fancy-pants word for evaluating a situation and then changing your mind based on the new information that you've gleaned. It's okay to do that. Not everyone can live out their childhood dreams of being Indiana Jones. It does not mean you are a failure.

Lesson #4: There is something to learn from every situation and sometimes it's just, "Wow, that sucked and I am NEVER doing that again."
What you are pursuing now may, "fall through the roof," three months later. Who knows? The reality of it is that we cannot predict the distant future with great certainty, but we can step back and evaluate our lives objectively by taking into consideration what we know right now, what we stand to gain, and what we are willing to learn.

As our lives evolve and as we evolve as people, we partake in that crazy, chaotic thing known as the human experience. In doing so, we fulfill our purposes here on earth, we find satisfaction within, and we are able to serve the world around us in our own unique way.

PHOTOS: Christmas '09, Sugarland TX

2010-03-02T12:21:00.001-08:00

My boyfriend and I

ART : Speechless

2010-01-01T08:48:00.000-08:00

Title : "Speechless"
Medium : Charcoal on notebook paper

POEM : She

2009-12-22T11:45:00.000-08:00

I spotted her from across the room, radiating a smile, authentic with good cheer and crinkled eyes, two wide rows of strong, pearled teeth between caramel-pink lips.

Her earrings, creamy sea-pearls capped with antiqued sterling silver bows dangling near her cheek, lightly skimming her face as she moved to sip from her glass of white-golden champagne. As she sipped, her eyes flickered up at me for the briefest of moments, and in that moment,

I saw a shimmer in her eye and suddenly her past and future were blinking in brief flashes in my mind.

Although she wore the same green and white, plaid skirt and knee-high white stockings in high school with the rest of them,

staring listlessly at the ceiling fan revolving in repetitive rhythm while the nuns droned on about the cosmos,

she was different.

She didn’t need scrolled paper degrees to proclaim her abilities in the schmaltzy arts. She strolled the pebble-specked, dirt trail to happiness already.

She would not be one of them : predictable, pencil-skirt suits, tight-lipped mouths, Botox-still faces over-powdered with white, trawling to galas to gossip, a lavish existence of trips to Nicaragua and Tahiti, cruise ships and operas and nights out with three-hundred-dollar tabs of wine all to cover up an empty interior, attic-like with one moth twirling lazily in the air, home to unwanted tiny socks and pampers.

No, there was something about her that reeked of a dangerous lust for life, adventure, sunlight, salt and sea-soaked skin.

Something about her hair, the way she let her dark roots spin down into carefree split-ends wildly dangling at the tips of sun-lightened brown and caramel tresses.

Something about her laughter, an explosive release of Santa Claus-like jolliness, complete abandonment, followed by a bubbling energy of charmingly uncontrolled giggles.

She was everything that we, trapped in our starched-collar tuxedos and sequin-stitched gowns, wanted to consume, to own, to capture, to tie-down, if not out of lust then out of envy for the kind of unshackled joy that we, having spent so much time crafting constructed selves, could not possess.

PHOTOS: HBU RJ's Conducting Recital Oct. '09, Houston TX

2009-12-20T12:12:00.000-08:00

ART : Dolphins

2009-12-17T13:41:00.000-08:00

Title : "Dolphins"

Medium : Watercolor and pastels on heavy, white paper

PHOTOS: Moody Gardens Summer '09, Galveston TX

2009-12-13T10:31:00.000-08:00

POEM : Morning Coffee

2009-10-12T08:13:00.000-07:00

How often you spoiled her with your

masculine, musky aroma,

slightly sweet like cinnamon cloves

yet rich like warm vanilla swirled with a teaspoon of forbidden rum.

The hem of her white T-shirt grazed her young thighs,

the tips of her toes pressed quietly into the dark-oak, wooden floors,

her honeysuckle perfume like candied pecans

lingering lazily in the air behind her.

Parted lips revealed her tiny goose-pimpled, pink tongue,

tracing the inside rim of your hardened, ceramic lip.

Heated essence of life, hot liquor rushing through her body like

fingers curling around, grasping the collar of a starched, cotton blouse.

Drowning in the scent of cedar and nicotine,

one intoxicating hour early in the morning while

the muted white-glow of dawn softly massaged the sheer window curtains

and the rest of the house still slumbered, obliviously unaware.

BOOK REVIEW : Musicophilia, Tales of Music and the Brain by Oliver Sacks

2009-09-01T09:23:00.000-07:00

RATING : 3/5

MEMORABLE QUOTATION : "Most of us can hope that there may be some harmony, some alignment, between our desires and our powers and our opportunities, but there will always be those...whose abilities do not match their desires, and those...who seem to have every talent except the most important one: judgment or taste."

REVIEW : Written by a brilliant neurologist and author with a strong musical background, Musicophilia is a collection of short stories exploring the mysterious influence that music has on the brain. Most readers will enjoy the odd and entertaining real-life stories such as the man who got struck with lightning and developed an all-consuming obsession with Chopin. The book is, in general, as unpretentious as a genius neuroscientist could possibly make it. In fact, it is very readable; however, I wonder if the occasional medical lingo such as, "with a transient aphasia and hemiplegia," or casual references to gabapentin and levodopa (epilepsy and Parkinson's drugs respectively) might prove to be irritating to some. In spite of that, the book really does deserve bestseller-list ranking. It is a nice collection of true accounts told mostly in layman's terms that compiles plenty of interesting conversation-starting/trivia-type knowledge. In short, an excellent glimpse into the minds of those whose brains and lives are inextricably linked, more so than the average person, to music.

ART : Tiger

2009-08-29T08:30:00.000-07:00

Title : "Tiger"
Medium : Crayola markers (the fat kind) on a piece of notebook paper

BOOK REVIEW : Why your life sucks and What you can do about it by Alan H. Cohen

2009-08-13T20:42:00.000-07:00

RATING : 3/5

REVIEW : I think this book is great to use as a rapid pick-me-up. Reading it is like popping a happy pill-it works immediately, but the effects wear off just as rapidly. It's crammed with loads of good advice and quotations of self-empowerment, but a sentence or two in it seems to reek a bit of cult-thinking. Also, the unchecked "seize the day" cheesiness in it might actually leave you in a more sour and cynical mood than when you first started reading it.

MEMORABLE IDEAS :

I like how Cohen points out that your life "sucking" is a wake-up call or an invitation to do something different. I can relate that idea to the concept of "pain" in the medical world. Physical pain is your body's first defense, a very sophisticated alarm system that lets you know something is wrong and needs to be addressed. I never really thought about thinking of "depression" in the same manner (as a wake-up call to change your circumstances) until I read this book.

MEMORABLE QUOTATIONS :

"If you do not value who and what you are, you will seek to borrow worth from the outside world."

"When you finally trust yourself, you will know how to live."

PHOTOS: Summer '09, New Orleans LA

2009-08-07T16:56:00.000-07:00

SHORT STORY : Slipknot to Suicide

2009-07-21T18:49:00.000-07:00

EDIT : This story was selected to be the featured flash fiction for the month of January 2010 by Underground Voices Magazine. Click here to read it at their site.

CHAPTER THE FIRST

His body slammed spread-eagle onto the grey, gum-stained concrete thirty-nine stories beneath his office window. Moments before, he watched the ground and the entrance to the subway station speed towards him, his silver, blue, and white-striped tie fluttering madly in his peripheral vision. Crunch.

“He had everything going for him.”

“He seemed so happy and so together.”

“He’s the last person I would have expected to do something like that.”

No one expected John Joseph to shut his burgundy office door, crouch down in his pressed Dockers pants and take a running start from his desk before leaping out of his office window with one shiny silver-buckled, black leather shoe out in front of him.

CHAPTER 2

John sold his soul on an ordinary summer day in late July. It was no momentous occasion. The ground did not split open beneath him and there were no rapid, maniacal whispers pulsating over his eardrums. The pockets of his indispensable khaki shorts failed to swell with thirty pieces of legendary silver.

The pact was complete when John uttered five syllables, “MBA? Okay,” and walked out of the Windex-swiped, automatic doors of South City Mall, his hands leisurely placed in his pockets, serenely whistling a nondescript tune while his loafer-clad feet strolled towards his SUV.

From an outsider’s point of view, John looked like any other guy on a day off from the office. If he had committed a crime, his police description would have pointed to every other 20-something year old man: commonplace brown hair, average height, medium build, polo shirt, khaki shorts, and loafers.

Inside, John’s mind was a fury of thoughts and numbers, one identity shoving knotted arms against another, a battlefield of indecision, what-if scenarios, images flashing, regrets replaying, mouths whispering, voices shouting, musical snippets looping, buzzing, one after the other, spinning, twisting, throbbing out of control.

Serenely, he strolled back to his SUV.

CHAPTER 3

Quite some time had passed since John passively agreed to get his MBA as his father had suggested in the domineering way of giving commands in suggestion-form that only John’s father could do. There were only six months left to go before finishing business school, and although he would have to deal with everyone’s eye-rolling criticism and incredulous disgust, John quit. Unceremoniously walked through the glass doors of the mothball-scented, university library and didn’t even bother to glance up at his rearview mirror as he drove away.

This was not the life that he had chosen for himself. It was a life he had chosen by default because it was guaranteed to win him those coveted nods of approval, looks of admiration, and words of praise. He would be respected, have job security, a sense of identity, and money. Mom would be proud. It was all laid out before him, shimmering in front of him like a glittering island mirage, an alluring easy life. All he had to do was take it. But he couldn’t.

As he walked out into the parking lot, he knew that he did not intend to come back. He climbed into his car and the door whirred, snapped and clicked shut.

CHAPTER 4

His black, loafer-clad shoe pushed forcefully into the metal pedal of his SUV. The car lurched forward and visions of the life he had wanted synchronously materialized. He saw himself in a bright orange raft on the water, piercing the white-foam of the water with a commanding, wooden oar. He pushed the pedal closer to the floorboards of his car. The colors in his vision sharpened into focus. He saw distinct blades of green grass mingling with gray pebbles and spike-tipped pinecones poking out of green-needled trees. The pedal met the floorboard of his car. He now felt himself skydiving, the wind flapping his cheeks against his face, surrounded by nothing more than simple sunshine and a lucid, cerulean blue sky. He was driving, driving fast down the highway, escaping. Speeding towards the end of the road, to Mexico, to Canada, anywhere, everywhere, wherever he ended up when he ran out of highway. He was free. He closed his eyes and let the pure air and authority of his self-directed emancipation whirl into his lungs. He opened his eyes.

The black rubber wheels of his car were slowly crackling against gray pavement. His driveway.

It was the same dreary, gray driveway that matched every driveway of each mass-produced, identical house in his suburban neighborhood.

CHAPTER 5

The next morning, John opened his eyes and blinked twice. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment and in the haze of his half-asleep and half-awake semi-consciousness, he remembered how he had walked out on class the day before and had planned to drive to the end of the world. Somehow he had ended up at home again and today was the day he was supposed to start his accounting internship. As he stared at the ceiling, he slipped into a daydream and thought about not showing up at the office today. He had walked out on class rather abruptly the day before with the intention of quitting and never going back, so maybe they would not expect him to show up at the internship anyway. Maybe they kicked him out of the program already, flunked him, and now he was free. He smiled. He could leave right now. This time he could really leave, really drive away and finally be free of everyone’s unspoken expectations.

Three minutes later, John’s alarm went off and he reluctantly pulled the blinds down on his daydream. He got up, and out of the corner of his eye, he spotted his blue jeans and sandals crumpled in a corner on the floor. He stared at his closet and felt himself in an out-of-body experience, floating, foot after foot lifting him towards the abyss of suits and ties. He heaved out a robotic, deep sigh in an attempt to lift the invisible heaviness he always felt pressing on his back. As the air flowed listlessly out of his lips, he realized that he was already at his closet, and he helplessly watched, as though he were watching a movie, his hands automatically reaching out for a dress-shirt and tie.

CHAPTER 6

His feet lugged him into the silver and hematite-colored office building and his eyes stared listlessly straight ahead as he rode up the musty elevator, thirty-nine stories to the office where he had been assigned for the next six-months. Six months. Only six months. That’s what they all said.

“Only six months more to go, John!”

“Aren’t you excited to be so close to the finish line?”

“Just finish up those six months. Why not? I mean it’s just six months.”

No one understood.

It wasn’t just six months. It was the rest of his life, the rest of his life living out a passive choice that he made because he believed that other people’s opinions were more valid than his own.

Didn’t anyone understand that? It’s not six months. It’s the fact that John doesn’t matter! John doesn’t exist! John is dead!

John is just an empty can with everyone else’s desires filling it up!

It disgusted him. He disgusted himself because he knew he would always sit back, powerless, doing what everyone else wanted, motivated by a desperately sad need to please everyone, win everyone’s approval, doomed to helplessly watch as his hands reached for a tie every single morning until he retired an old man or died.

A life lived by default.

He sat down at the desk. Bored already, he double-clicked the Internet icon and the window popped open to Google. He typed, “John Martin,” into the search field.

The results read, “1-10 of 44,500,000 for John Joseph.”

He sighed.

CHAPTER THE LAST

Several moments later, John’s decently muscular arms ripped through his dress-shirt as he charged at the sunlight, crashing his way through millions of glittering pieces of crystal. He spread his arms out in skydiver-form as a robust rush of wind came straight towards him, zigzagging through his hair. Against the force of the wind, John lifted his arm to loosen his tie, and as the slipknot unraveled, a stray gust of wind sent his silver, blue, and white-striped tie fluttering away.

He smiled and laughed.

POEM : Ike

2009-07-11T06:34:00.000-07:00

He was no Southern gentleman,

predictable clear-blue eyes crinkling up with a car salesman-smile and wink, a swift tip of his striped fedora at the

ladies flapping their fans at their moist, white necks, pigment-smeared lips sipping on five-cent, green-glass bottled, sassafras soda.

No, he was dark brown hair speckled with dust, leaving a trail of spicy, sun-aged sea foam and salt loitering after him,

mud-crusted brown boots stomping with dominance over maroon-wood planks, yellowing blue-jeans swelling over his muscled loins.

His breath, heat like an aura of gas exhaust escaping from an engine, spinning against her cheek,

wisps of her baby-duckling soft, white-blonde spiraled hair floating from her temples, giving way to a glistening, orb-like dewdrop of sweat,

sliding, in slow motion down her inflamed cheek.

Her lash fringe flickers down to the oil-smeared, wooden bar, a bright copper penny spinning angrily, a shimmering mini-tornado,

slowing, flattening its rotation into broad circles,

rocking flat against the mahogany wood, and just like that,

he was gone.

BOOK REVIEW : Evil Genius Series by Catherine Jinks

2009-06-16T11:38:00.000-07:00

NOTE : The Evil Genius series by Catherine Jinks currently consists of two books, Evil Genius and Genius Squad; the third book in the series, Genius Wars, is still in production with no available release date as of today. This review covers the first two books in the series.

RATING : 4/5

REVIEW of EVIL GENIUS : While this book is intended for "young adults," the hero-villain's search for a sense of identity combined with the implications that good and evil are not mutually exclusive are actually quite "adult". The first fifteen or so chapters of this book offer little more than excessive, pedantic chatter concerning number theory sprinkled with some rather predictable character development. However, author Catherine Jinks quickly redeems herself as she settles into a skilled and steady rhythm that displays her true strength as a writer of suspense. So fast-paced are the subsequent chapters and so accurate and moving are the main character's moral dilemmas and emotions that the book more than makes up for it's slow beginning.

RATING : 4/5

REVIEW of GENIUS SQUAD : Out of the two books in the series thus far, this book is much more committed to being a children's/young adult book. That is, the characters and events are much more predictable, there is more action than character development, and the conclusion is a little bit too fairy-tale perfect to satisfy older readers. Still, Genius Squad is a paradigm for excellent suspense-storytelling, and the two books in the series so far make for a quick and entertaining summer read.

PHOTOS: Pearl Bar Summer '09, Houston TX

2009-06-08T10:43:00.000-07:00

BOOK REVIEW : The Mom Factor by Dr. Cloud and Dr. Townsend

2009-06-04T16:27:00.000-07:00

RATING: 3/5

REVIEW: The best thing about this book is that it is not a book of hate; it is a book of understanding, logic, and forgiveness. It does not tell you to blame mom or hate mom. Instead, it urges you to look behind the reasons of your mom's actions, attempt to see from her perspective, and then take action to either improve your relationship with her or learn to accept and change what you are still able to change.

The overall tone of this book is sound and rational; however, it is written from a Christian perspective. Therefore, if you are very averse to believing in any kind of higher being or cringe at the sight of Biblical references, you may be a little apprehensive about reading this. It isn't overly preachy; the Christian references are in good taste (no fire and brimstone here). Overall, it's worth a quick skim if you feel like you've ever had mom issues.

PHOTOS: Riverwalk Marketplace Summer '09, New Orleans LA

2009-05-23T13:28:00.000-07:00

POEM : Summer

2009-05-22T21:08:00.000-07:00

We were like children,

pudgy, pink, fleshy toes gripping grains of beige summer sand,

chasing that gigantic primary-colored beach ball striped in alternating chunks of red, white, yellow, and blue.

Fresh rubber paint, bouncing in loops and arcs around our heads, our stubby arms

stretching out after it, grabbing at its horizon-like circumference with fully-spread wingspans.

Facing the white sunlight, crystal eyes

blinked away burning white spots while sticky salt

gilded our hair with the scent of seawater, pastel taffy, and orange-red sun.

EDITORIAL-This is the Beginning of the End: Why America is Headed for Inevitable Disaster

2009-05-19T20:29:00.000-07:00

The idea of a “social contract” consists of an unspoken understanding between generations in which older and younger generations agree to take care of each other in a kind of symbiotic relationship. This unspoken promise inevitably leads to a guarantee that hard work and education will be rewarded with success and stability. That is, the older generation will provide for the younger in terms of things like education and job opportunities and the younger will provide for the older in terms of things like social security and healthcare. However, in order for such an idealistic relationship to exist, certain conditions must be met. Economic trends, government policies and the mindset of the public must all work together in order to cultivate a properly functioning social contract. In her book, Declining Fortunes: The Withering of the American Dream, author Katherine Newman argues that in the United States, the contract has been broken and its destruction has created a ripple effect in which new social contracts have difficulty forming in the aftermath of previously broken social contracts.

Newman begins by elaborating on certain traditions upon which America has been built. Among these traditions are the idea that middle-class Americans tend to hope that the next generation will fare better than the present generation and tend to believe that hard work will lead to upward mobility. However, it appears that younger generations are worse-off than their predecessors and that forces such as the economy and job market no longer guarantee that hard work and a good education will lead to success. Newman poses the ultimate question: will the United States and those in power reverse this trend and lead generations back to a mindset in which the older helps the younger and vice versa or will social responsibility continue to decline as each person becomes increasingly concerned with only his or her own welfare?

Let's explore the destruction of the social contract with a specific example: the American public school system. Newman begins by discussing how the public mindset has contributed to the lack of funding for public schools. Taxpayers increasingly reject school budget proposals and retirees no longer feel the need to pay for services like education that do not directly benefit them. Next, Newman discusses the economy’s contribution to the problem of funding public schools; higher mortgage rates create a mentality that there is no money to spare for schools and businesses that would normally invest in public school systems to produce more skilled workers, are looking for ways to cut corners on expenses because the market for many businesses is no longer favorable. Last, the government itself contributes to the problem of funding for public schools. Federal contributions toward financial aid have declined and universities are forced to make admissions decisions based on who can pay and who can receive government aid while the greater majority of the middle class is left out. In short, public mindset, economic trends and government policies all contribute to the decline of the American public school system, and a poor educational system continues the cycle of destruction as it pumps out workers who are ill-prepared to deal with what awaits them.

Will anyone step up and become responsible for the destruction of America’s social contracts? Are we beyond the point of repair? Newman believes that great nations are built upon unspoken concepts of social responsibility and she outlines a grim fate for the United States if nothing is done to repair its broken social contracts. She pleas for government action, action by the private sector of society, and a commitment from every individual to become socially responsible in order to start repairing America’s broken social contracts.

BOOK REVIEW : Gaining, the truth about life after eating disorders by Aimee Liu

2009-05-19T16:25:00.001-07:00

RATING : 5/5

REVIEW : I urge you to read this book first over any medical textbook or personal narrative on anorexia or bulimia if you truly want to understand what it is like in the mind of someone with an eating disorder. The problem with medical books are that they never fail to oversimplify the disease, labeling and compartmentalizing the real people who suffer from these diseases. The problem with most narratives are that they only tell one person's story.

Aimee Liu gives us the best of both worlds by simultaneously weaving the latest, most-up-to-date clinical research concerning eating disorders with a plethora of personal narratives from a number of real-life victims, including herself. I strongly believe that there is no better text out there to read if you have ever struggled with an eating disorder or want to understand someone who has one.

MEMORABLE QUOTATIONS : "The thirst for normalcy is often the first signal of recovery."

BOOK REVIEW : The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath

2009-05-17T12:39:00.000-07:00

RATING : 3/5

REVIEW : Bright young women of college-age or older often experience difficulty defining their identities and confidently choosing which roles to play as they begin to carve out their place in the world. If you happen to identify with those characteristics, this book is an interesting read. It won't solve your problems, but Plath's ability to articulate the unique emotions of an intelligent woman who doesn't know quite where she belongs might make you feel less alone. If you're a boy, skip this one. It will bore you to death unless you want to understand your psycho ex-girlfriend (kidding).

MEMORABLE QUOTATIONS :
"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree...I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet." -Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 7

"I felt like a race horse in a world without racetracks..."

BOOK REVIEW : Harry Potter Series

2009-05-17T12:35:00.000-07:00

RATING : 5/5

REVIEW : It is impossible to deny J.K. Rowling's very evident and extremely rare talent as a writer. The storyline itself is simple good versus evil, but the subtle and realistic development of believable characters is impeccable. Kids will enjoy the story, but adults can appreciate Rowling's attention to the intricacies of each character and the obviously well-thought-out scenarios that are skillfully spread out over multiple books. The Harry Potter books are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, classics.

PERSONAL NOTE : Writers like Rowling only come around once in awhile just like musicians like Bach. I really believe that there has not been another writer since Charles Dickens and his intricately-weaved Tale of Two Cities who, like Rowling, has the rare and unusual gift for weaving a story that works itself out in a puzzle-perfect way without being predictable or cheesy.

PHOTOS: HBU Christmas Concert '08, Houston TX

2009-05-16T19:45:00.001-07:00

BOOK REVIEW : Glimpses of the Devil by M. Scott Peck, M.D.

2009-05-16T16:26:00.000-07:00

RATING : 5/5

REVIEW : This book is the perfect cross between page-turning, suspenseful horror story and personal narrative of spiritual evolution. The true story of self-proclaimed, "scientific man," psychiatrist and author, M. Scott Peck, M.D., and his personal encounter with exorcisms is told in a matter-of-fact manner which allows the reader to truly appreciate his journey from objective scientist to discerning believer .

PERSONAL NOTE : The character Malachi Martin is a fascinating and ideal hero-villain. It's hard to believe he was a real person-I would have loved to have met him. Or, I'd love to meet someone exactly like him.

RELATED : I've also read People of the Lie and The Road Less Traveled, both by M. Scott Peck. Glimpses of the Devil was my favorite by far. People of the Lie was just way too disturbing for me personally.

The Road Less Traveled was the last book I read by this author. I don't know if I was just sick of his writing by the time I picked up this book, but I was generally unimpressed with it. It felt a little too much like preaching to me.

What if I had said Yes to Coffee?

2009-05-15T07:30:00.000-07:00

Chapter 1

My body was found at approximately 11:37 AM on a quite ordinary day, in the empty bathroom of a starkly furnished apartment located somewhere in the middle of a very dull city. Every circumstance surrounding my death was plain and unremarkable. The weather was neither too hot nor too cold; somehow even the weather had found a way to straddle the line between comfort and discomfort so as to remain completely uninteresting to the people moving about that day. When my body was found, the proper authorities showed up in their routine manner and snapped the requisite number of pictures and delivered the same tired and monotone, "Sorry for you loss." My death was as mediocre as the life that had preceded it.

It was a nasty funeral. My grave was next to a stagnant, mosquito-infested body of water that smelled like the lingering spit of sneeze whirling out of a mouth full of un-brushed, plaque-covered teeth. The hot, sticky residue left over from the rain hung obstinately in the air, and as passengers stepped out of their cars, sweat immediately began to ooze from their pores. People held their breaths and blew their noses not because they were crying or stifling tears but because the rancid water and the heat mixed with stale, wet air swirled slowly to a strangling stop in everyone’s lungs. When one gasped for more air, one simply sucked in more of the humid, putrid stink which left everyone with the curious sensation of drowning in colorless, weightless vomit. The women kept shifting back from one foot to the other as their heels got stuck in mud and the men were pulling at their ties and trying to air out their armpits inconspicuously while checking their watches. People feigned sad faces and dabbed at their eyes when it seemed appropriate to do so, and as soon as the priest hurriedly rambled through the last part of the service, they all lined up with watery eyes and tissues over their mouths, trying not to inhale the putrefaction, and they all quickly tossed handfuls of dirt and careless flowers atop my box which ended up looking like a hastily put-together, lopsided wedding cake. Then everyone retreated to the cool air of the church cafeteria and ate beef brisket and left to watch the big football game that was coming on at 3 pm in the afternoon.

to be continued...