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.

A Mumbled Jumble of Thoughts about the Week...

Here is a collection of random thoughts that have crossed my mind so far this week:


1) All the Christmas songs playing on the radio make me feel nostalgic... and it's not even Thanksgiving yet! But whatever... Advent starts on November 30th. "It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas..."

2) MoMA

• Priscilla and I went there last Wednesday to fulfill the "In a New York Minute" assignment for FYSH (First Year Seminar @ Hunter), which required us to visit a place of interest and write about the experience.
  
  There were some fascinating exhibits, but there were also some that didn't really make sense to us. For one thing, some of the so-called artwork featured a virtually blank canvas and dubbed "Untitled." Another so-called piece of art was composed of a tall pink slab leaning against the white wall. How are we supposed to interpret any of these? These were just way too ambiguous.
  
  One artist, however, captured my attention. Josephine Meckseper made social commentaries using her photography and mixed-medium installations to "cunningly expose the links between politics and the consumer worlds of fashion and advertising" (http://www.moma.org/). My favorite piece is called "Kriegsstrasse," a mixed-medium shown here:
  
  The piece is separated into three parts: a clear mirror with a picture of protesters and political symbols, an opaque reflective surface with bathroom products, and a clear mirror with another photo of protesters.
  
  I like to think of it as a newsreel. Imagine yourself watching the news on television, seeing the world objectively at all angles. Then, a commercial break: you cannot focus anywhere else but on the advertised products and subconsciously envision yourself possessing that product. After a few minutes, the news comes back on, with more stories of the real world. Apparently, consumerism is a dark void that employs subtle suggestion to suck you into it. Or at least, that's my understanding of Meckseper's "Kriegsstrasse."

3) Last Thursday in Union Square: Liliana, Priscilla, and I cannot do mental math.

• Lily wanted to buy rice cakes for her family, so we went into Whole Foods. I wondered how much she would save if she still had her employee discount, and so I asked her while we were standing on line for the cashier.
  
  "Well, I used to get 20 percent off my purchases," she said. "Let's see... Priscilla, you take math, right? What's 20 percent of 3 dollars??"
  
  Pris didn't even bother. Meanwhile, Lily and I were standing there writing invisible numbers in the air with our fingers, stretching the muscle in our brains responsible for performing mental math. The seconds stretched on.
  
  Until someone next to us whispered, "6..."
  
  "OH," we all said, feeling stupid that we were stumped by such a simple calculation.
  
  And let me tell you, the voice belonged to a tall, attractive man with a suave, friendly smile on his lovely face. Of course, this just made all three of us blush and feel even more abashed. Were we that obvious in our quest to find the correct answer to our mathematical query? It makes me laugh and wonder at how people can eavesdrop on a conversation you're having with someone.
  
  Not that I minded Number 6 offering a helpful hint. Hehe.
  
  It's also a coincidence that we happened to see him on the L train on our way home, too. I don't think he saw us gawking awkwardly at him. The funny thing was that once we were on the train, we realized that 20 percent of 3 dollars is not 6 cents, but rather 60 cents. Looks like Number 6 was incorrect in his calculations... unless he was giving us a hint that it was in fact 60. Was he?
  
  Like it really matters. Oh well. Anyway, the whole thing was yet another hilarious experience that I just had to chronicle.

4) Yesterday:

• It was really nice seeing Amy and spending the day with her, since the last time we saw each other was in June. Amy, Pris, and I played "Are You Smarter Than A 5th Grader?" on her iTouch during Psych. She pretty much slept through the rest of the period, hehe. I tried paying attention but the lecture was kind of long and boring. But anyway, after class we met up with Lily, went to Applebee's in Times Square, and caught up with each other. We walked to Bryant Park soon after so that Lily could buy the hat she's had her eye on at H&M.
  
  It sounds absurd, but we were really excited to use the restrooms at Bryant Park right before heading for the subway. Once you walk in there, you feel as though you are transported to a lavish lavatory, as swanky and updated as a five-star hotel.

5) I started another draft for a story, redefining and reshaping the traditional ideas people have about vampires. Still have to work out the kinks, though. Not spilling the details just yet. For some unknown reason, I have the urge to use the word "iridescent" in my draft. ;)


6) Just today, I bought my own copy of Juno Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. I probably should have bought a used copy online at Amazon.com, but I couldn't resist and instead walked into Barnes & Noble after philosophy. As soon as I was on the train, I cracked the fresh pages open and began to read. According to the back cover, it's the story of a man named Oscar, "a sweet but disastrously overweight ghetto nerd, a New Jersey romantic who dreams of becoming the Dominican J.R.R. Tolkien and, most of all, of finding love." But Oscar never really gets what he wants out of life. The cause? "Fuku - a curse that has haunted Oscar's family for generations, following them on their epic journey from the Dominican Republic to the United States and back again." I finished the introduction and just started the first chapter of Part I. So far, the story looks promising. Diaz even offers sidenotes about Dominican history and customs throughout the book, so I feel like I'm being educated as well as entertained. The next time he comes to Hunter for a lecture or at a Barnes & Noble for a book talk, I'm definitely going to try to get it autographed.

7) Finally, last on my list of mumbo jumbo thoughts: Did you know that saying "Thank You" has it's health benefits? Jason Mraz basically quoted an article from USA Today entitled, "Gratitude is Good for Your Health."

Read it here:
http://freshnessfactorfivethousand.blogspot.com/2008/11/gratitude-is-good-for-your-health.html

Just something to keep in mind not just for Thanksgiving, but throughout life. ;)

Twilight... not so dazzling?

I don't know if it's the media hype getting to me, or the fact that people are only starting to read the novels because of the movie. But I feel somewhat disappointed. I'm not even sure why I feel this way, and I haven't even seen the movie yet. It starts playing in theaters today.

There are some mixed reviews that I have read in the papers so far. I don't know if it's false advertising or simply the hormonal craze to be seduced by a supernatural predator ravaging the minds of young, impressionable girls. Supposedly, the movie is good. However, it might as well depend on who you're asking. These "Twilighters," let's just call them for now (I'm one of them, but I'm not as carried away as most), might be more likely to tell you that the movie was awesome and that Edward Cullen is a sexy beast.

But according to Mina Hochberg, the movie critic in amNY, " 'Twilight' might be too anemic to hold your interest." It's kind of amusing how she calls Edward (played by Robert Pattinson) an intense, brooding fellow with a staring problem. Now that I think about it, he actually is. But can he help himself when he's so attracted to the sweetest thing he's ever encountered? She's like chocolate to him. As Hochberg puts it, "If you thought hormones made men act up, try blood-lust." HAHA. But that's besides my point.

Hochberg wrote that when it comes to the dialogue between the two forbidden lovebirds, "you can't tell if the awkwardness comes from teen angst or clumsy acting." She says, "The stilted script makes it difficult to relate to the characters... Even as a romance, the chemistry is tepid... It's not enough to make a compelling love story. Or an action story, for that matter."

That is precisely what I fear - the movie may not measure up to the high standards that I have developed for the plotlines and Meyer's storytelling style.

I don't know if it's just me, or if it's the way that the movie was advertised, or if something is lacking in the actors' enthusiasm (based on what I've seen in the trailers), but somehow I'm not as excited as I thought I would be.

Or perhaps I grew out of placing Edward Cullen on a pedestal. He's too perfect, even for a vampire. I mean, for crying out loud - Instead of turning her into an immortal, youthful-looking vampire, Edward wants Bella to live her life fully as a normal human being (which means that she would grow old... I honestly don't blame her for being upset on her birthday).

He's just too perfect, it's unnerving. And unrealistic... Maybe living vicariously through Bella Swan's experiences just aren't cutting it for me.

Perhaps I crave for something more, something real. Someone real. Someone... three-dimensional, soft-spoken, clever, funny, somewhat serious yet also laid-back, and humble. Someone who makes me feel comfortable in my own skin, just the way I am. His only superpower would be to make me swoon, causing my heart to melt with a single goofy, lop-sided smile. Someone who I don't fear, but who I would fear losing. So there's my ideal guy. Or not even an ideal... more like just an idea of what he would be or should be like.

Anyway, I might watch the film sometime within the upcoming week. I'll give it a chance just to see how it goes and how it compares to the book (which I still think will prove disappointing). But whatever, I guess. I'll toss my whims to the winds of chance and see what happens.

Skin

As I was researching body art and different cultural perspectives on this topic, the creative spark set my mind aflame. I began thinking of body art as a mark of identity. I wanted to write something about an individual claiming the right to an identity, overcoming suppression and turmoil in order to get it, and finally feeling the freedom and satisfaction that the identity brings. I thought it was some kind of cycle, a metamorphosis that one goes through.

And so, this poem was born:


Skin

'Tis a sin
To alter the skin,
The elders say.

Obey this holy example:
The body is the temple;
The soul the altar.

'Tis a crime
To pillage this shrine.
A savage sacrilege.

The gift of free will
Sits dormant and still,
Shackled by sanctity's sanction.

Yet still you
Want, crave, do
What you will.

Somehow, you escape.
You rape
Your temple.

Penetrate your flesh,
Letting the elements mesh
From the needle.

A piercing, a tattoo.
This taboo
Inflames your soul.

A scar, a mar.
They say you've gone too far.
And so you die.

Hellfire.

Your insides Turn.
Cowardice and malice burning -
Ashes in an urn.

Dust to dust,
But you must
Rise as sinew, shadow, smoke.

Rise, Avian. Emerge.
Brilliance and light take flight on the verge.
Breathe in the breeze.

No longer tame
From shame, from blame,
You shine brighter than the shrine.

'Tis a sin
To alter the skin.
Yet 'tis sin that seeps in the skin.

This truth the elders deny.
You must defy them and purify
The self to save your skin.

Only then shall you win.

On a lighter note...

Here are two completely random phrases that keep making Priscilla and me laugh:

1. Turbo's nuts
2. Chafing nipples

Yes, I am aware that we are a couple of chuckle-heads who have a bad case of the giggle gas. But honestly, they are the most hilarious things that we have ever come across so far. I love inside jokes. :)

Let me try to break it down for you, if you deem us insane:

1. Turbo's nuts

• After reading one of his old blog posts, Priscilla and I could not get over the fact that Jason Mraz wrote about his cat's scrotum sacs and the surgical procedure that was to remove them. Although we kind of sympathized for the poor thing, we couldn't help but laugh hysterically. Jason, was it really necessary for you to include a picture of your feline's furballs (so to speak)?

2. Chafing nipples

• There was an episode of The Office called "Fun Run." Micheal Scott, the bumbling boss of Dunder Mifflin Paper Co., hit one of his coworkers with his car. He thought that rabies was the culprit to her present condition, in addition to his carelessness. To atone for his mistake, Micheal felt that he and the employees should sponsor and run a race - a race to cure rabies. Apparently, he didn't get the memo that the solution to rabies has already been found long before. Anyway, one of the employees named Andy feared the chafing of his nipples while running. So, he wrapped tape around himself to prevent it. However, later on during the race, as he was running as fast as his feet could sweep him away, two spots of red appeared on his shirt. Alas, poor Andy had no idea that his nipples were indeed chafing. The sheer stupidity of it incites the giggle gas to rise up in both of us.

It got to the point where Pris and I would laugh out of nowhere during our Psych class and even on the 6 train. We may have looked like a couple of weirdoes, but honestly, we blended in with the rest of the kooks on the subway. After all, this is New York City. That's the beauty of it. Embrace it. Breathe it. Live it.

Crazy is just another level of genius that no one else can understand.

I am hungry.

I am hungry.

Philosophy is a whirlwind that takes you on a ride, twisting this way and that, turning here and there, across a universe of question marks. But just when you think you've made it to Emerald City: WHAM! You land with a thud on your ass, right back on square one.

Can the existence of God be proved?

My faith was challenged on Wednesday. I had to argue for the con side of the argument. But my opponent argued her pro position from the perspective of intelligent design, making it harder for me to make a good rebuttal. To top it all off, I was getting an odd feeling in my gut telling me that it was futile to even question the existence of God.

Professor Hausman said that faith is not congruent with reason. Faith can still persist despite reason or when there is no reason to have faith. In psychology, this is called belief preservation. So why do we choose to believe in someone, or something, that we lack the capacity to fully conceive? It all seems so arbitrary.

And what is the purpose of life? To go to heaven? Too bad if you fail: welcome to hell. What is heaven, and what is hell?

But isn't it also possible that even if there is no purpose of life or to life, we can still have purpose in life?

Enter the age-old debate of Dualism. Is the mind the seat of the soul? Do we still live on even after our brain malfunctions and decays in the earth?

Am I a bad Catholic, a bad Christian, for doubting God? Sometimes I feel like religion is a scapegoat, some fabricated system of ideas and ideals to help explain the things that we feel have no answers. Perhaps we're just not advanced enough to uncover the truth yet.

Sometimes I find that Oscar Wilde's quote from one of his plays seems more rational:
"We are each our own devil, and we make this world our hell."

Perhaps heaven and hell are here on earth. When one feels euphoria, one likens the pleasant sensations and emotions to the atmosphere in heaven. However, when one experiences anger, anguish, sorrow, confusion, one thinks that it must be some kind of punishment, some kind of hell to be paid. In this case, heaven and hell are simply states of mind. In the future, psychology might find the reasons why.

But right now, philosophy is a tornado of question marks coiling around you, grabbing you from the ground you've stood on for so long. It picks you up and sucks you into an abyss, then spits you out when it is done with you, leaving crumbled debris of confusion in its wake. And you're wide awake, trying to recover from the aftermath of its impact. You ask yourself, "Will I ever find the yellow brick road?"

Nope. Instead, you're back where you were standing, mercilessly tossed aside to the ground like a ragdoll, still as clueless as when you first started.

So after this long journey, I am hungry. Hungry for the answers. Hungry for the truth. But no matter how long or how hard I hunt for the answers or cultivate the knowledge I already possess, I think that I will still starve. Maybe my quest is all for naught.

Are you out there God? It's me, Julianne. Forgive me for being so ravenous.

"Ha la la la la... It's all about the wordplay"

It started with a rhyme
In the midst of finding time.

The perfect word,
perhaps one absurd

Phrase can describe
the vibe of my day.

^ Just a tidbit of poetry to start this post off. I'm feeling creative.

So here's a recap of the past couple of days:

Yesterday, I hung out with Pris and Lily again. At first, we planned to watch Changeling, since Pris had free tickets. But it already started by the time Lily came (she had to travel all the way from Brooklyn College to Times Square, where we decided to meet), and the schedule of the other movies were too inconvenient for us. Instead, we walked to Chipotle because Lily got hungry. After grabbing a table and settling down, the inspiration was born.

Maybe it was the tortilla chips. Or the salsa.

But either way, we became electrified, excited, feeling an extra spice and zing. It's all thanks to our common love for writing and the musical stylings of Jason Mraz, the "wizard of ooh's and ahh's and fa-la-la's." The conversation soon jumped to the things we like and freestyling. We saw some videos on Youtube of Jason playing his ukelele and doing a freestyle session with his friend, Bushwalla (a unique, funny-sounding name, right?). They were hilarious, riveting, and just pure AMAZING. Jason Mraz uses this technique in many of his songs like "The Dynamo of Volition," "Geek in the Pink," "Wordplay," and "The Remedy." If you ask me, the new (yet often crappy/trashy) hip-hop songs on the radio should be more like this. See Jason's awesomeness for yourself!:

***Note: If it helps, you should press pause on my music playlist. It's most likely playing "Wordplay" in the background as you read this. My playlist is all the way at the bottom of my blog page. Just press pause and you'll be able to hear the video better.




Long story short: we wanted to cruise down the freestyle aisle ourselves.

So on Facebook today, Priscilla wrote "Battle. Lets take it outside Julianne." Here's her piece:

I like... music
The way my itunes lets me groove it
with the lyrical stylings and musings
of jason mraz who makes me lose it
in a good way that lets me fuse his
eclectic style satisfies my Tuesdays

I responded with this:

I like... the idea
of romance with Mraz
'cause he's all that jazz
and his poetic groove
puts me in the mood
to dance, sing, and steal things,
'cause I know he stole my heart strings
I could steal it back
but I faced the facts
Jason could keep it
I'll just wear his hat

I have yet to hear Lily's rendition of what she likes. This should get interesting.

Wordplay status, yo!

Wishful Fishing

Reminisce on a lake of bliss.
Float on by and drift.
Go ahead and make a wish.
Fish for the one true thing
That will give you the wings
To try and fly.

Sit back, relax.
Shutter your eyes,
Pretend to flutter by
Like the butterfly.

But you're no flying fish.
And as you realize this,
You slowly kiss
Your bliss goodbye.

So you fall
And can't recall
The reason
You ever wished
For such a thing
At all.

Keep on fishing, clenching
The net in your fist.
Maybe, just maybe
You'll catch a wish
And not be so wishy-washy
That you captured it.



*Note: Just for the record - At first, I had absolutely no idea what I was writing about in this poem.