Take Advice from the Profanity & Live in the Moment

I wrote this earlier in the past semester, but reading Lily's latest blog on the subject of "The Past" reminded me of it. So I went back to my archive of stacks and stacks of papers... (Okay, okay, fine. I just looked through my USB drive) and found that short essay again.

Lily's post can be viewed here: http://musingsonthe5.blogspot.com/2008/12/past.html

And finally, without further ado, here it is:

On Profanity

There is a quote that I once saw a few years ago: “Fuck the past; make love to the future.” To me, this simple statement holds so much meaning and power – and it’s not just the choice to use the profane word “fuck.” It all comes down to diction and syntax in order to catch the attention and linger in the mind. I think that a simple sentence can emanate power if the profane word or phrase is used effectively – chosen carefully, strategically placed in a certain spot within the sentence, and used sparingly to fully express meaning.

Yet, when you live in such a wonderful place as New York City, you either meet or hear its wonderful people cursing on a daily basis. Sometimes you would hear the same four-letter “f” word uttered several times, taking on different forms to convey just a single thought or a smattering of emotion. While this shows that language can be used as a creative outlet, it can, however, detract from the power that profanity can hold as a sign of rebellion against what is accepted and proper in society. Words like “shit,” “fuck,” etc., are just words, like any other word in the English language. But people give power to these words by shunning them, thus making them forbidden. Constant use of these socially forbidden words, however, takes away from their power. If used on a regular day-to-day basis, especially in a city where virtually every person has either heard, seen, read, or said curse words, then the use of profanity becomes mundane and loses its initial purpose – to rile and provoke.

Profanity is dirty, or so people say in reaction to someone using it: “Wash that mouth!” or, “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” But I think that the statement “Fuck the past; make love to the future” can actually be beautiful, in the sense that it expresses an insightful approach to living life in the simplicity of its wisdom. The placing of “fuck” as the first word in the sentence joggles someone into paying attention while also emphasizing that the past does not necessarily matter in terms of moving forward in life. “Make love” is one alternative meaning to “fuck,” and takes on a different connotation than its four-letter synonym – in other words, revere and take pleasure in the future, come what may. Metaphorically, the statement advises one to cherish and embrace the future with no more qualms of what may have been a troublesome past. A wise and thought-provoking statement – and it’s all because of careful word choice, strategic placement of the words, and its simplicity that gives it so much power and beauty.

So there it is, friends. "Some vital information for your everyday life," as they say in the old t.v. show All That. hehe. ;)

Manic Monday Debacle

I should really be studying Philosophy right now. I have a final at 9:00 AM the next day. But for some reason, I'm just not in the mood. I pretty much know the material. I mean, I passed the other two exams with A's. How hard can this next one be?

I refuse to crack open my notebook, for fear that I might crack a fissure in the already volatile thought bubble that is my brain. I refuse to fall into that chasm called worry.

But I'd rather splurge in chronicling my cluttered cognitive formations surrounding yesterday here.

Right now, I'm hungry. There's this cozy restaurant called Spice along 8th Ave., close to NYU, that serves yummy Thai food at affordable prices. For only $5, I ordered a Crispy Calamari Salad, which filled me up right away. It tasted heavenly. A frenzy of flavor tantalized my tongue: the fried salty goodness of the calamari, the fresh mix of veggie greens and tomatoes, and a melt-in-your-mouth minty cool sauce of sweetness. I'm definitely eating there again and I'm definitely going to google the recipe.

That was yesterday evening's dining experience. Just before that, Priscilla, Lily, and I tried going to Washington Square Park. We'd heard that there was a free Fall Out Boy concert going on at 3:30 in the afternoon, thanks to Pete Wentz calling up Z100 and announcing it. Pris told us about it, and so we wanted to check it out. Note that FREE was the buzzword that got our ears signaled to this goal... honestly, it's been a LONG while since I last listened to FOB and I kind of outgrew them. But in any case, it seemed like a cool experience. We figured that it would maybe/sort of make up for the fact that we MISSED a free concert by Adele, one of our favorite artists, at the Apple Store in SoHo a couple weeks before. Unfortunately, we got to the park at around 5:00, and it was pretty much empty. Just our luck for being late (thanks a bunch, MTA!). Not that we were overly bummed out or anything.

(According to Z100 this morning, it turns out the concert didn't even last that long. The police came and said that FOB didn't have a permit to play, so they couldn't set up their instruments. Instead, they performed a capella. Thus, the whole she-bang was relatively short.)

As we stood amid the emptiness of the park, I started hearing drumbeats in the distance, thinking that the band was still there. But as we followed the sounds, it turned out to be a street performer doing a rendition of what must be some kind of cultural, Native American music - complete with chanting and trills.

"Do you really think Fall Out Boy would play that?" Lily said with point-blank sarcasm. Obviously, not. We erupted in laughter right then, and laughed even harder as Lily started to kind of mosh in front of us. Eyes closed, head bouncing, hair flailing, hands and hips gyrating - she looked outright ridiculous. Passers-by shot stares at what looked like three young women who've lost their grasp on reason. Honestly, though, it was fun. :D

While we were at Spice later, Priscilla "introduced" (since Liliana contested that there was no such word in the English dictionary) debacle in one conversation. She pronounced it as "de-BOK-l." But I'd only heard it pronounced as "deb-a-kel" (short a phonetic sound). We got into this whole debate that itself proved to be a debacle, as there really wasn't much of a resolution. We even went so far as to walk into Barnes & Noble on Union Square to look up the pronunciation in a dictionary. When that didn't help, Pris asked a man what the correct pronunciation was.

"Excuse me, sir. But my friends and I would like to know if there is such a world as debacle?" (Here she said it as "de-BOK-el")

"Yes, there is," he replied.

"And can it be pronounced as 'deb-a-kel'?"

A brief, puzzled look came over the man's face but then disappeared into amusement. "Ah, I see. Well, there could be two different pronunciations for the same word."

Liliana looked absolutely affronted. "Well, you know what, Priscilla? I have never in my life heard of such a word as 'de-BOK-el'! I mean, WHAT NORMAL PERSON SAYS THAT?! De-BOK-el!" She started waving her right index finger in Pris's face and doing her trademark head-roll, typical of a Hispanic New Yorker incensed with an affluency for attitude.

"Thank you so much, sir," Pris said as we tried to hush Liliana over to the escalator.

"Not a problem. Have fun!"

The guy must have thought we were obsessive - and in Lily's case, obsessive compulsive - over a single word. We were so engrossed in our stupid debate that we walked towards the wrong escalator.

Pris and I couldn't stop laughing at her persistence, and it continued even as we went to Starbucks to satisfy Liliana's chronic caffeine cravings. (Okay, well not "chronic." Lily just happens to be an avid coffee enthusiast. So to speak. Hehe.)

We were even planning to go so far as to double-check with Mr. A, our English teacher in high school, on Alumni Day (which is scheduled for January 9th). It's kind of sad that we were having this debate when all three of us took AP English during senior year.

Finally, we gave it a rest as we joined the sewer rats in the subway to get home. That was one of the funniest arguments I've ever come across. It was a debacle in itself, if you catch my drift. The only thing that was really solved was Lily's denial of the word's existence. But for me and Pris, it was a win-win situation.

But after all of this absurdity, what can I tell ya?
It was just another manic Monday.

Twilight... Zone?

So...

I saw "Twilight" a couple weeks ago... and I must say, the movie wasn't as bad as I thought. Although some of the acting could use some work, the film was true to the book, something that I'm happy about at least.


I had misgivings about Robert Pattinson playing Edward Cullen at first, but he wasn't actually that bad. His performance was believable - he really embodied Edward's mannerisms and personality (his moodswings, his mysteriousness, his intensity, his protectiveness, and his capacity to love fully). Heck, I even found myself saying in my head, "Move over, Kristen Stewart. I'M BELLA." hehe :)


Don't get me wrong, though. The hype still kind of bothers me. I could swear that whenever I take the subway, there's at least one girl sitting there, reading the first novel on the train. I've become a bit disillusioned about it that I have a tendency to roll my eyes. Most likely that girl is only reading because her friends are reading it, because it's the FAD. Not because she has a genuine interest in the story. Would she have picked the book up had the hype NOT been there? I hate to sound like a killjoy, but I honestly don't think so. And that's what bothers me, coming from someone who's read the series when it first came out, way before it became an international sensation. It's just becoming so cliched that it saddens me.


But anyway, watching the movie was just my little way of relieving some of the pressure I'm under right now. I had three papers due within this past week, as well as finals. I'll be really glad once everything's finally finished. I'm really looking forward to catching more hours of sleep.


And to recap some other highlights of my life so far in December...

• I just started reading another book called Confessions of a Jane Austen Addict. Although it sounds a bit corny, I couldn't help but indulge. It's about this 21st century woman from L.A. who one day wakes up and doesn't know where the heck she is or why her body is not her body. At first, it sounds a bit Kafka-esque in this sense. But the scenario is funny and definitely more optimistic than the Metamorphosis. Courtney Stone wakes up in the middle of early nineteenth century England as Jane Mansfield. She tries to find her way home, but eventually falls for someone in the wrong time period. She has to try to converge this dualism, to reconcile who she really is with the life that she only dreamed about (thanks to Austen's novels). It just sounds like an entertaining read.
  


• Nowadays, I keep noticing really cute guys, especially on the train and around Union Square. Is it just my hormones acting up? Or the fact that I'm boyfriendless and subconsciously craving for romance?
  
  On Thursday, Pris and I were on our way to meet up with Lily and Bianca at Union Square. We were riding the 6 to get there, and during the brief commute, a young man sat directly across from us. He was tall, handsome, stylish, and clean-cut, with a gold piercing on the upper part of his left ear (like a pirate. OMG. What's WRONG with me?). He was meticulously reading this paper, trying hard to concentrate. Then, most likely feeling cramped from where he was sitting (because the other people were pretty much hogging the space), he got up and sat next to Priscilla. And resumed reading his paper in deep thought. He struck me as the artsy, creative, intellectual type. I tried to keep myself from smiling, from laughing, from bursting out with "OH MY GOD, PRISCILLA, DID YOU SEE HIM? HIS GORGEOUSNESS?"
  
  Thankfully, I was able to contain myself and my irrational urge to go crazy. It wasn't until we exited the station and emerged to the street, that I finally told her. The funny thing was, we were both thinking the same thing. Maybe that was why she was covering her face, pretending to close her eyes and sleep on the train? Because he was sitting right next to her. LAUGH OUT LOUD.
  
  Sigh... We are losers, indeed.
  


• Here's the weirdest part of my day on Thursday...
  Have you ever recognized someone, but weren't sure it was really that person?
  
  After Bianca left and went to her class, all three of us - Lily, Pris, and I - went to look for another shoestore that might sell rainboots. It was pouring all day, especially that night. Pris wore suede flats, and was in dire need of rainboots. She picked out these cute, olive green rainboots, but Shoemania unfortunately ran out of boots her size. So we walked towards NoHo/SoHo and entered a shoe store called David Z.
  
  As soon as we walked in, there was a guy with thick-framed glasses and a lazy look in his eyes who worked there. I felt like I saw him before, but wasn't exactly sure...
  
  "Hello, welcome to David Z's," he said. "You could put your umbrellas over there in that box." Normal enough. I decided to think no more of it, figuring that my mind was playing tricks on me again.
  
  We walked around the store, browsing the different boots they had there. When we were standing by a table with UGGS on it, the guy said, "You ladies look like you might need them. It's winter now, so you'll want to keep your feet warm!" He sounded cheesy, like he was trying too hard to sell us something, anything from the store. But I have to admit, it was actually quite funny.
  
  Finally, we spotted the jackpot - about a few feet away was another table with shiny boots laiden on top. "Well, would ya look at that?" Lily said. "Those boots are tall, sleek, and dark! Just like you, Priscilla!" We burst out laughing.
  
  All the while, I was trying to suppress this weird feeling that kept piquing up.
  
  There were moments while we were in there when I felt like he was watching me. Sure enough, when I finally looked at him, he had the wisp of suspicious sarcasm on his mouth when he smiled. If you can even call it a smile.
  
  When Pris went to the cashier to pay for her newfound rainboots, Lily called me over to show me the cozy, warm moccasins she had bought about a month earlier. He walked over to us, and tried to smoothly ask Lily, "Do you go to Hunter, too?"
  
  "Uh, no," Lily replied. "I go to Brooklyn College."
  
  And that's when it hit me. It truly was him.
  
  "Don't think that I don't know who you are," Julien D. said to me. "I see you sometimes at Hunter. Remember? I was the guy who kept bothering you during Math class a couple years ago?"
  
  That kid who was still stuck in a Math A class during his junior year of high school, used to annoy me in Math A when I was a sophomore. That kid who said to me, "You stole my name and you stole my grade!" But was it my fault that our names sounded alike? If it was any consolation to him, people would sometimes misprounounce "Julianne" as "Julien." As for that test grade, I worked hard to get it. Of course, I knew he was just trying to bug me.
  
  After that one year of being in the same Math class, he finally stopped bothering me. Despite the fact that the Academy of American Studies was a small school, we became pretty much invisible to each other. He was a smart but lazy photography geek, who hardly ever combed his hair, wore a crazy montage of shirts and tight jeans with chunky disproportionate sneakers, and dated girls that were years younger than him.
  
  Now, after about two and a half years, he expects me to say hi to him. Like old pals. Right.
  
  "OH, Sorry," I said, nervously laughing and feeling odd. "I was trying to place your face. I sort of recognized you, but I just wasn't really sure."
  
  Then, since Priscilla was finished, she and Lily moved to grab their umbrellas. To minimize the weirdness that pervaded the atmosphere, I told him in the best cheerful voice that I could muster, "Well, thanks a lot for your help!"
  
  And we emerged into the pouring rain, on our way to get some Starbucks.
  
  Does this mean that I'm obliged to say hi to him in the future? I don't exactly know why this one incident lingered on my mind this past weekend. I don't even like the guy that way. I guess I'm just paranoid. It's hard for me to get over things, especially if it's something that throws off my expectations and teases me with a strange feeling in the pit of my stomadch. But I guess I'll get over the oddity and the awkwardness.

I have much more to write about, but right now my thoughts are scattered. I'll update later, loves. Hopefully with something that actually makes more sense.

Here's to the future.