Again, I've been slacking. My apologies once more, things have been pretty busy.
Music makes everything better. Truly. It's an odd phenomenon that happens when metered, rhyming words are paired with a melody. Something inside gets going, gears start churning, and an entire day can be turned around. A new mood can arise. A skip in your step can appear. A smile might sneak its way out. Music inherently possesses an incredible ability to make everything better.
The weather last week was frightful, but my music made it so delightful. Streets were sloshy and wind was howling and snow was pelting my face, coating my clothes and seeping through my jeans. NYC was being blasted by another round of February snow, as 2010 has seen all too much of. I didn't want to take out my mp3 player for fear of water damage, but decided I needed it anyway.
With it firmly tucked into my jacket pocket, my hand holding it securely as an extra safeguard, I stuck my headphones in both ears so as to keep the wind out. Usually, I only wear one bud so I can hear what's happening around me on the streets--because I'm safe like that--but today was different. I turned it on, set it to random shuffle play all, and pressed play. Immediately, as if my player knew, it put on the one song that can ALWAYS make me feel incredible.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2seAJsrtIbQ
Thank goodness I had both buds in. Instantly, I perk up. With the music completely enveloping me, I start dancing to myself, just like in that video (great movie, by the way. Definitely see it.). I'm singing along, twirling down the street, and things are great.
Next song to come up, "A Walk Through Hell" by Say Anything. Again, another song that can make me feel wonderful. And it was pretty applicable to the times, even if it was talking about fire rather than ice. I pushed repeat about three or four times on the way to my next class!
Once I finally let go of Say Anything, song after song of great rhythms, awesome bass beats, and catchy melodies were coming up. And yes, the two examples I gave are poppy, happy songs, but some sadder, sweeter songs came up too in addition to some harder, heavier rock songs. All of it just worked though. Instead of huddling and shielding myself, I was looking up and smiling at the snowflakes. Sometimes, the world is a lot prettier the more you get to look at it.
Once I finally got home and changed into not-wet clothes, I thought about what had just happened. I realized that I would have been completely miserable at that exact moment had it not been for my music. I literally danced the entire way home all because of some random songs. Out of thousands of songs, every one that came up put me in some new mood that made the outside world and outside weather just fade away. The songs seeped into me and I melted into them.
This odd blending of body and soul and mind and music is universal, I feel, when we let it happen. So many times, we seek refuge in our music. We seek solace or comfort. We seek inspiration or motivation. We seek confirmation or explanation. Music is more than just words or a tune. Music has a wonderful power to it that I fall so short of explaining. All I know is that music has helped me through many things in my life, as trivial as snow to as grave as deaths. I've gone to music for fun, for boredom, for love, for inspiration, for comfort, for help, for just about anything you can think of.
We run to it, we work to it, we dance to it. Music is all around us. Music is in us. Music can become us and we can become music. Music can create. Music can change. Music can embrace. Music can heal. Music is otherworldly. So next time you're having a bad day, just put on some Hall & Oates. I promise, you'll feel better.
Singing in the streets,
The A.S.S.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Insomniac Revelations
So lately, I've been having a LOT of trouble trying to fall asleep at night. I don't know why, but it's been pretty bad. I'd lie in bed for hours, struggling to fall asleep, watching movie after movie in an attempt to ease my mind. If I did sleep, I'd sleep for two hours, max, and then wake up for no reason. Then, I couldn't fall back asleep for at least three and a half hours, if at all. Simply terrible.
Why was this happening? I'm eating better, I'm being a much better student, getting all of my work done earlier so I'm not staying up later, doing little exercises while I have large amounts of reading, etc. I've been very pro-active and healthy and I've been very proud of myself. ...But I can't sleep. Lying there in bed for hours every night made me keep thinking, "What a waste of time. I could just get up and go write a paper or something, but I really just want to go to sleep." And it's SO FRUSTRATING.
So I got to thinking, there HAS to be a reason for this. It's not like I was drinking lots of caffeine right before I go to sleep, jacking myself up on sugar or anything. It wasn't anything physical that I was doing. I had finally gotten myself into a healthy routine, so why was it going wrong?
A routine. Maybe that was it. I sort of always lacked a routine--I like doing things in whatever way I so choose, rather than being bound to one strict method. Now that I had a routine, my mind was going crazy at night. I was using my time during the day to do all my work and just going straight to bed. Maybe this was a sign for my to stop the mundane. Stop the routine. Be spontaneous again. To not conform to the routine of the working world just yet. Be fun and do my work while still making time for me.
Do what needs to be done, but never forget about yourself. Yes, the rest of the world is out there and there are expectations for you, but don't dedicate yourself solely to them. You need your own time too. Don't abandon yourself at the price of your happiness and sanity. Even if it's just ten minutes, do it.
Yours,
The A.S.S.
Why was this happening? I'm eating better, I'm being a much better student, getting all of my work done earlier so I'm not staying up later, doing little exercises while I have large amounts of reading, etc. I've been very pro-active and healthy and I've been very proud of myself. ...But I can't sleep. Lying there in bed for hours every night made me keep thinking, "What a waste of time. I could just get up and go write a paper or something, but I really just want to go to sleep." And it's SO FRUSTRATING.
So I got to thinking, there HAS to be a reason for this. It's not like I was drinking lots of caffeine right before I go to sleep, jacking myself up on sugar or anything. It wasn't anything physical that I was doing. I had finally gotten myself into a healthy routine, so why was it going wrong?
A routine. Maybe that was it. I sort of always lacked a routine--I like doing things in whatever way I so choose, rather than being bound to one strict method. Now that I had a routine, my mind was going crazy at night. I was using my time during the day to do all my work and just going straight to bed. Maybe this was a sign for my to stop the mundane. Stop the routine. Be spontaneous again. To not conform to the routine of the working world just yet. Be fun and do my work while still making time for me.
Do what needs to be done, but never forget about yourself. Yes, the rest of the world is out there and there are expectations for you, but don't dedicate yourself solely to them. You need your own time too. Don't abandon yourself at the price of your happiness and sanity. Even if it's just ten minutes, do it.
Yours,
The A.S.S.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Rain Pains
Yes, I know I slacked over the weekend, and it's only been one week, but in my defense, I did say that I couldn't guarantee a daily post, only that I'd try to. The weekend got a little busy, so I failed at the daily thing, but I don't think anyone really cares. So whatever.
Today, it rained. And it was that really obnoxious rain that makes it look like it's kind of misty and barely raining, but by the time you walk two blocks, you're already soaked. That kind of rain. And, as any city-goer knows, umbrellas are a futile effort, so you've just gotta tough it out.
I look outside the window after I wake up late and realize the state of the weather. I do NOT want to go to class. But, I get myself out of bed and sport a wool hat (they're good at keeping the water out), a hoodie with the hood pulled over my hat, and my pea coat. I look down at the perfect angle to shield my face from the rain but to also be aware of what is coming up ahead. I don't want to get poked in the face by someone's umbrella, seeing as everyone who does choose to sport one fails to realize it is an attachment to themselves and recklessly wave them at fellow pedestrian's eyes.
Even with all my protection and my perfect defense angle, the wind seemed to pick the rain up and whip it right at my face. Directly. Head on. From a downward angle. If I looked up to lessen the blow, the wind decided to blow the rain horizontally. I turned corners and walked down streets I knew to be less windy than others. Nope, no difference. Everywhere I went, the wind and the rain kept attacking me. All the while, I keep thinking I should've just stayed back home where it was dry and warm.
I finally get to class and our pre-class discussion consists of everyone sharing the same sentiment. We all sat, half-joking and half-infuriated with Mother Nature. The weather seemed to love messing around with us, if not just simply hate us. The professor walks in and class begins, and thankfully, it was a very interesting and heated class discussion.
As class ended, I put all my gear back on and prepared myself for the battle I was about to forge in my attempt to get back home. I angle my head down, adjust my hood and hat, brace myself for impact, and step outside of the building. But nothing happened. It was still raining, just as hard as it had been before, yet it wasn't attacking me. It was just gently dancing this time. It was less vicious, more inviting. And the wind never once picked up on my way back. The only gusts there were were on my back, helping me get home faster and easier.
Once I got back and changed into dry clothes, I thought about it. Nature put up such a fight, trying desperately to deny me the chance to go anywhere. But once I battled through it, it sent me on my way back home with no objections.
This can be seen as a "home will always welcome you back, don't be afraid to go back home" sort of thing, I suppose. But I see it more like "Fight through it, persevere" sort of thing. I thought so many times about not going or turning around, but I just went anyway. As it turned out, I had two very great classes today, despite the trouble it took to get there. You can sit at home and remain status quo, no harm done. But pushing through it, surviving the struggle, and working towards something will reward you. It may be small, it may not even be apparent at first, but some tiny reward will result from the fight. So always battle. Always fight. Keep going and push through it. I know walking through rain is the lamest universal metaphor for the struggles that life can bring about, but it's still applicable. Just keep pushing forward. If you can't, home will be there waiting and the walk back will be fine. But you'll never know what could've been unless you just dive into the forward motion.
Stay strong,
The A.S.S.
Today, it rained. And it was that really obnoxious rain that makes it look like it's kind of misty and barely raining, but by the time you walk two blocks, you're already soaked. That kind of rain. And, as any city-goer knows, umbrellas are a futile effort, so you've just gotta tough it out.
I look outside the window after I wake up late and realize the state of the weather. I do NOT want to go to class. But, I get myself out of bed and sport a wool hat (they're good at keeping the water out), a hoodie with the hood pulled over my hat, and my pea coat. I look down at the perfect angle to shield my face from the rain but to also be aware of what is coming up ahead. I don't want to get poked in the face by someone's umbrella, seeing as everyone who does choose to sport one fails to realize it is an attachment to themselves and recklessly wave them at fellow pedestrian's eyes.
Even with all my protection and my perfect defense angle, the wind seemed to pick the rain up and whip it right at my face. Directly. Head on. From a downward angle. If I looked up to lessen the blow, the wind decided to blow the rain horizontally. I turned corners and walked down streets I knew to be less windy than others. Nope, no difference. Everywhere I went, the wind and the rain kept attacking me. All the while, I keep thinking I should've just stayed back home where it was dry and warm.
I finally get to class and our pre-class discussion consists of everyone sharing the same sentiment. We all sat, half-joking and half-infuriated with Mother Nature. The weather seemed to love messing around with us, if not just simply hate us. The professor walks in and class begins, and thankfully, it was a very interesting and heated class discussion.
As class ended, I put all my gear back on and prepared myself for the battle I was about to forge in my attempt to get back home. I angle my head down, adjust my hood and hat, brace myself for impact, and step outside of the building. But nothing happened. It was still raining, just as hard as it had been before, yet it wasn't attacking me. It was just gently dancing this time. It was less vicious, more inviting. And the wind never once picked up on my way back. The only gusts there were were on my back, helping me get home faster and easier.
Once I got back and changed into dry clothes, I thought about it. Nature put up such a fight, trying desperately to deny me the chance to go anywhere. But once I battled through it, it sent me on my way back home with no objections.
This can be seen as a "home will always welcome you back, don't be afraid to go back home" sort of thing, I suppose. But I see it more like "Fight through it, persevere" sort of thing. I thought so many times about not going or turning around, but I just went anyway. As it turned out, I had two very great classes today, despite the trouble it took to get there. You can sit at home and remain status quo, no harm done. But pushing through it, surviving the struggle, and working towards something will reward you. It may be small, it may not even be apparent at first, but some tiny reward will result from the fight. So always battle. Always fight. Keep going and push through it. I know walking through rain is the lamest universal metaphor for the struggles that life can bring about, but it's still applicable. Just keep pushing forward. If you can't, home will be there waiting and the walk back will be fine. But you'll never know what could've been unless you just dive into the forward motion.
Stay strong,
The A.S.S.
Friday, February 19, 2010
The Olympian Gods
Today marks the one-week anniversary of the 2010 Olympics! And what a week it's been. The Olympics are easily one of my favorite things ever. When I watch the opening/closing ceremonies and an American win a gold, I always get chills. And that music! The theme song, when they play "The Star Spangled Banner," ugh! Honestly, it's not uncommon for it all to make me teary-eyed as well. Something about the Olympics is so spectacular and so unimaginable that watching them puts me in this extremely surreal and spacey mood.
First, the opening ceremonies. The ceremony itself is always beautiful. It's so true and authentic and so evoking and it always fools me into feeling as if I am or desiring to be a citizen of that country. And when the Olympics officially start, the world seems to stop, just for a moment, and welcome everyone. Mankind is somehow magically unified when the Olympics begin. It's mind-blowing to me. So many hostilities are just pushed away and forgotten, even if only for two weeks. The Olympics have curing powers.
Second, simply being a competitor there must be completely mind-blowing! I mean, I know everyone who's there deserves it and has worked incredible amounts to be there. All the same, however, I canNOT imagine that dedication and perseverance. I've never been enough about anything that I was willing to dedicate the rest of my future life to it! It's just so incredibly admirable that these people have that quality. Additionally, this choice they have made is so unstable--one bad crash and your career could be out the window. One minor slip up, and you could be instantly out of the running, and maybe you don't get to come back next time. If it's really bad, as we saw with the tragic loss of the Georgian athlete, your life could be taken. Athletes, to me, are perhaps the bravest and biggest risk-takers out there.
Third, the event itself. The nerves these players must be undergoing! SO incomprehensible! I mean, sure, I've had my moments where I know people are watching me and there's pressure to be perfect, but there's no comparison. The Olympics? The gathering of the world's greatest athletes? All eyes on you, TV cameras, millions watching YOU from all across the world. I don't know if I'd ever be able to handle that sort of pressure. Again, only the deepest respect to these athletes.
Fourth, the results. It takes an incredibly strong person to come to a competition after consistently being one of the best, and then being told you're less than. Those who handle it with dignity and professionalism have all my respect in the world.
(SIde note: Plushenko, you got the silver because you couldn't execute your tricks well. Suck it up and admit defeat. And by defeat I mean second best IN THE WORLD. Calm down. We all know that that was what you were thinking, but professionalism needs to step in and overcome your gut reaction because you were given immense respect and you need to reciprocate it. Punk.)
Winners, on the other hand, are another story. Of course, I expect them to be courteous and respectful of the other competitors, but winning an Olympic gold (or getting any medal, for that matter) is truly an unparalleled life event. The moment they realize that they've won and it's caught on film, my heart melts. I can't even imagine that moment. Realizing that YOU are the best in the whole world. ...that's so insane! I once had the honor of being named best in my state, and that put me on top of the world! To be the absolute best, unrivaled by anything on this planet, is such an honor and such an incredible achievement that it is IMPOSSIBLE to undermine these people.
Fifth, the closing ceremonies. I can only imagine how an experience like the greatest sporting event in the world and becoming a piece of this ongoing history can change someone. Being in a place like that with people like that at a time like that must be absolutely unbelievable. It would truly be a milestone in someone's life, a moment that is impossible to forget, and closure for whatever events may have happened in that strange place and strange circumstances.
I love the Olympics. I love what they can do to a person, a country, the world. I love what they represent, I love the passion they display, I love everything about them. I think everyone can learn something from these people--be it sportsmanship, dedication, passion, perseverance, professionalism, composure, mind power, etc. These people are truly role models and authentically outstanding men and women worthy of all the praise we have to give; I can't say I've met many people who I feel the same way about. So, to you Olympians, I respect you all so deeply that I have difficulty finding the words to express myself. You're amazing and you represent so much to all of us back home, so thank you for being such incredible people. We love you and we back you 100%.
Sincerely yours,
The A.S.S.
(And I would assign 12 Olympians to the 12 Olympian Gods, but the Olympics aren't over yet so that simply wouldn't be fair! =) But super kudos to all the medalists and to all who have done so well!)
First, the opening ceremonies. The ceremony itself is always beautiful. It's so true and authentic and so evoking and it always fools me into feeling as if I am or desiring to be a citizen of that country. And when the Olympics officially start, the world seems to stop, just for a moment, and welcome everyone. Mankind is somehow magically unified when the Olympics begin. It's mind-blowing to me. So many hostilities are just pushed away and forgotten, even if only for two weeks. The Olympics have curing powers.
Second, simply being a competitor there must be completely mind-blowing! I mean, I know everyone who's there deserves it and has worked incredible amounts to be there. All the same, however, I canNOT imagine that dedication and perseverance. I've never been enough about anything that I was willing to dedicate the rest of my future life to it! It's just so incredibly admirable that these people have that quality. Additionally, this choice they have made is so unstable--one bad crash and your career could be out the window. One minor slip up, and you could be instantly out of the running, and maybe you don't get to come back next time. If it's really bad, as we saw with the tragic loss of the Georgian athlete, your life could be taken. Athletes, to me, are perhaps the bravest and biggest risk-takers out there.
Third, the event itself. The nerves these players must be undergoing! SO incomprehensible! I mean, sure, I've had my moments where I know people are watching me and there's pressure to be perfect, but there's no comparison. The Olympics? The gathering of the world's greatest athletes? All eyes on you, TV cameras, millions watching YOU from all across the world. I don't know if I'd ever be able to handle that sort of pressure. Again, only the deepest respect to these athletes.
Fourth, the results. It takes an incredibly strong person to come to a competition after consistently being one of the best, and then being told you're less than. Those who handle it with dignity and professionalism have all my respect in the world.
(SIde note: Plushenko, you got the silver because you couldn't execute your tricks well. Suck it up and admit defeat. And by defeat I mean second best IN THE WORLD. Calm down. We all know that that was what you were thinking, but professionalism needs to step in and overcome your gut reaction because you were given immense respect and you need to reciprocate it. Punk.)
Winners, on the other hand, are another story. Of course, I expect them to be courteous and respectful of the other competitors, but winning an Olympic gold (or getting any medal, for that matter) is truly an unparalleled life event. The moment they realize that they've won and it's caught on film, my heart melts. I can't even imagine that moment. Realizing that YOU are the best in the whole world. ...that's so insane! I once had the honor of being named best in my state, and that put me on top of the world! To be the absolute best, unrivaled by anything on this planet, is such an honor and such an incredible achievement that it is IMPOSSIBLE to undermine these people.
Fifth, the closing ceremonies. I can only imagine how an experience like the greatest sporting event in the world and becoming a piece of this ongoing history can change someone. Being in a place like that with people like that at a time like that must be absolutely unbelievable. It would truly be a milestone in someone's life, a moment that is impossible to forget, and closure for whatever events may have happened in that strange place and strange circumstances.
I love the Olympics. I love what they can do to a person, a country, the world. I love what they represent, I love the passion they display, I love everything about them. I think everyone can learn something from these people--be it sportsmanship, dedication, passion, perseverance, professionalism, composure, mind power, etc. These people are truly role models and authentically outstanding men and women worthy of all the praise we have to give; I can't say I've met many people who I feel the same way about. So, to you Olympians, I respect you all so deeply that I have difficulty finding the words to express myself. You're amazing and you represent so much to all of us back home, so thank you for being such incredible people. We love you and we back you 100%.
Sincerely yours,
The A.S.S.
(And I would assign 12 Olympians to the 12 Olympian Gods, but the Olympics aren't over yet so that simply wouldn't be fair! =) But super kudos to all the medalists and to all who have done so well!)
Thursday, February 18, 2010
HOW 'BOUT I PUNCHISIZE YOUR FACE.
Remember that time on Jersey Shore when "Snooki" got punched in the face?! Who doesn't. After all the damn media that covered it and endless commercials advertising this new cRaAa4zZyY ep1s0d3, everyone knew about it and everyone had seen the clip countless times. It was an outrage and responses were everywhere. The was so much controversy over the event that MTV eventually decided to cut the scene from the airing. Even though they had aired it endlessly in the commercials advertising the episode.
Because a woman getting punched in the face is so terribly offensive.
Okay, I'm a woman. If I were a dude, I'd punch Snooki in the face ANY day. Plus, she seems to be asking for it. But why does the media and the population freak the fuck out over a girl getting punched!? The show aired ENDLESS scenes of man on man fighting, girl on girl catfighting, and chicks slapping dudes. BUT WAIT. As SOON as a guy comes at a girl, all hell breaks loose. He gets fired from his job and MTV won't even show their viewers such a horrendous atrocity!
...Am I the only one who doesn't think that makes sense? I mean, yeah, I'm all for men not hitting women, but why is it that when they do, they're suddenly the most evil person on the planet? And why is it that women can do it to men without any consequence? Yes, men are bigger than women, but whoop-de-frickin-doo! Equal rights? Equal punishments. Women don't get to be exempt from this rule, in my eyes.
Another example of this exact same thing is the viral YouTube video, "How can she slap!?" In this video, however, the woman makes the first physical attack. She slaps the man, no one does anything. He slaps her back as a reaction (there was very little wait time, leading me to believe it was involuntary), and suddenly all of production and everyone on the set starts to swarm him and takes him to the ground. Yes, the video is more funny because of the way he then continues to scream and eventually cry about getting hit, but that's not the point. Why did no one do anything when she attacked him? What gives her the right to physically abuse him? Why did it take his reaction to instigate any interference?
I don't know, maybe I'm some weird form of feminist. Or sexist. I never considered myself to be one, but I guess I am? I'm simply saying that women attacking men should not be dismissed. If men can get in so much trouble for it, why don't women? Just something to think about.
All for now,
The A.S.S.
(The Amplified Shadowed Side. It's all I've got for now. Plus, I am an ass.)
Because a woman getting punched in the face is so terribly offensive.
Okay, I'm a woman. If I were a dude, I'd punch Snooki in the face ANY day. Plus, she seems to be asking for it. But why does the media and the population freak the fuck out over a girl getting punched!? The show aired ENDLESS scenes of man on man fighting, girl on girl catfighting, and chicks slapping dudes. BUT WAIT. As SOON as a guy comes at a girl, all hell breaks loose. He gets fired from his job and MTV won't even show their viewers such a horrendous atrocity!
...Am I the only one who doesn't think that makes sense? I mean, yeah, I'm all for men not hitting women, but why is it that when they do, they're suddenly the most evil person on the planet? And why is it that women can do it to men without any consequence? Yes, men are bigger than women, but whoop-de-frickin-doo! Equal rights? Equal punishments. Women don't get to be exempt from this rule, in my eyes.
Another example of this exact same thing is the viral YouTube video, "How can she slap!?" In this video, however, the woman makes the first physical attack. She slaps the man, no one does anything. He slaps her back as a reaction (there was very little wait time, leading me to believe it was involuntary), and suddenly all of production and everyone on the set starts to swarm him and takes him to the ground. Yes, the video is more funny because of the way he then continues to scream and eventually cry about getting hit, but that's not the point. Why did no one do anything when she attacked him? What gives her the right to physically abuse him? Why did it take his reaction to instigate any interference?
I don't know, maybe I'm some weird form of feminist. Or sexist. I never considered myself to be one, but I guess I am? I'm simply saying that women attacking men should not be dismissed. If men can get in so much trouble for it, why don't women? Just something to think about.
All for now,
The A.S.S.
(The Amplified Shadowed Side. It's all I've got for now. Plus, I am an ass.)
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
"Where do you get the confidence?"
(Introduction: Lavender. One of los chicos, but the least present one of them all. Chill, very laid back, calm, funny, genuine. Student, musician, smoker.
Introduction: Volcano. One of los chicos. Absolutely hilarious, absurd, goofy, outgoing, illogical. Student, filmmaker, foreigner.
Introduction: Leggings. Roommate. Bubbly, tall, friendly, laid back. Student, actress, sleep talker.
Introduction: Zero. One of los chicos. High class, city-savvy, short, sexist. Student, baller, gym rat.
Introduction: Eclipse. One of los chicos; doesn't live with them, but lives across the hall. Very relaxed, adorable, sweet, gentleman, intelligent, tall, respectful. Student, baller, close friend for many years.
Introduction: Ron Jeremy. One of los chicos. Laid back, hilarious, sexist, adorable. Student, musician, foreigner.)
Last night, while spending some time with los chicos for Lavender's birthday, Volcano said to Malibu, Leggings, and myself something he loves to say to me.
So, Malibu, Leggings, and I were simply in los chicos' room just hanging around and talking with them. There were no open seats, so the three of us were standing and just being silly and goofing off. In the midst of our completely random behavior and slightly immature nature, Volcano busts out the line. Soon, Lavender, Zero, Eclipse, and Ron Jeremy decide to join in. All the guys are ripping on us, continually. We just laugh along and roll with the punches.
But suddenly, Volcano goes, "No, seriously. Why do you guys always do this? you come here and act so strange. You never do this around other people, do you. How can you just be so carefree?" He was genuinely confused. Lavender chimed in and supported Volcano's confusion.
This baffled me. They were confused as to why we were having a good time and just relaxing? Wait, what.
So I say, "How is that confusing? We're comfortable enough with you all to act whatever way we feel. I don't see the issue here."
And Lavender takes a few seconds to just stare at me. "Wow," he eventually says. "I guess I never thought about it that way. Is that true? Huh..."
Why do men get so confused at the concept of women being simply friends? I, personally, NEED to have my core group of guy friends who I can just go to and sit around with and not even particularly do anything with. I just need guys who are good company, accepting of me, and willing to bro-out, as Malibu calls it, when I need that down time. Luckily, I found los chicos and they have been that solid group for me at school. I honestly have no clue as to why all of them were so truly perplexed by our comfort with them and our openness to be who we want to be. If anyone has any explanation, please share.
I guess I'm more shaken by it than anyone else in that room because that's what I expect from my friends. I don't want friends around whom I have to be only one particular way. I need that freedom and comfort level to be me and all sides of me, whenever I want. I need to know and be sure that I'll be accepted for that and the comfort is mutual. Best friends can take me out for a fun night or just stay in and talk for a few hours. Best friends can discuss my papers with and with whom I can run through the streets and pull Trigger Happy TV stunts. I need versatility and the assurance that my friends know ME and accept ME. And, perhaps even moreso, I want to be that friend as well. I try so hard to be as good of a friend as I can, and I definitely feel that no one is a true friend who can only accept one tiny piece of someone.
So my final note is just to be as open to your friends as you can be. If you want them in your life, you have to open up to them. Give a little and offer to take a little. Let them in. Take the plunge. It's scary as all hell, but a true friend is perhaps the greatest thing this world has to offer.
Introduction: Volcano. One of los chicos. Absolutely hilarious, absurd, goofy, outgoing, illogical. Student, filmmaker, foreigner.
Introduction: Leggings. Roommate. Bubbly, tall, friendly, laid back. Student, actress, sleep talker.
Introduction: Zero. One of los chicos. High class, city-savvy, short, sexist. Student, baller, gym rat.
Introduction: Eclipse. One of los chicos; doesn't live with them, but lives across the hall. Very relaxed, adorable, sweet, gentleman, intelligent, tall, respectful. Student, baller, close friend for many years.
Introduction: Ron Jeremy. One of los chicos. Laid back, hilarious, sexist, adorable. Student, musician, foreigner.)
Last night, while spending some time with los chicos for Lavender's birthday, Volcano said to Malibu, Leggings, and myself something he loves to say to me.
"Where do you get the confidence?"Now, Volcano likes to say this to me when I hum along to music playing, when I dance around the room, anything really. It's completely a joke and he usually apologizes for saying it within thirty seconds, but los chicos love to toss it around.
So, Malibu, Leggings, and I were simply in los chicos' room just hanging around and talking with them. There were no open seats, so the three of us were standing and just being silly and goofing off. In the midst of our completely random behavior and slightly immature nature, Volcano busts out the line. Soon, Lavender, Zero, Eclipse, and Ron Jeremy decide to join in. All the guys are ripping on us, continually. We just laugh along and roll with the punches.
But suddenly, Volcano goes, "No, seriously. Why do you guys always do this? you come here and act so strange. You never do this around other people, do you. How can you just be so carefree?" He was genuinely confused. Lavender chimed in and supported Volcano's confusion.
This baffled me. They were confused as to why we were having a good time and just relaxing? Wait, what.
So I say, "How is that confusing? We're comfortable enough with you all to act whatever way we feel. I don't see the issue here."
And Lavender takes a few seconds to just stare at me. "Wow," he eventually says. "I guess I never thought about it that way. Is that true? Huh..."
Why do men get so confused at the concept of women being simply friends? I, personally, NEED to have my core group of guy friends who I can just go to and sit around with and not even particularly do anything with. I just need guys who are good company, accepting of me, and willing to bro-out, as Malibu calls it, when I need that down time. Luckily, I found los chicos and they have been that solid group for me at school. I honestly have no clue as to why all of them were so truly perplexed by our comfort with them and our openness to be who we want to be. If anyone has any explanation, please share.
I guess I'm more shaken by it than anyone else in that room because that's what I expect from my friends. I don't want friends around whom I have to be only one particular way. I need that freedom and comfort level to be me and all sides of me, whenever I want. I need to know and be sure that I'll be accepted for that and the comfort is mutual. Best friends can take me out for a fun night or just stay in and talk for a few hours. Best friends can discuss my papers with and with whom I can run through the streets and pull Trigger Happy TV stunts. I need versatility and the assurance that my friends know ME and accept ME. And, perhaps even moreso, I want to be that friend as well. I try so hard to be as good of a friend as I can, and I definitely feel that no one is a true friend who can only accept one tiny piece of someone.
So my final note is just to be as open to your friends as you can be. If you want them in your life, you have to open up to them. Give a little and offer to take a little. Let them in. Take the plunge. It's scary as all hell, but a true friend is perhaps the greatest thing this world has to offer.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
We are Stardust
My professor today was singing Joni Mitchell as he was getting ready to start the class up. I'm not all too much of a fan, so I was unfamiliar with the lyrics, but one line stood out to me.
"We are stardust."
As cheesy as it is to focus on something so metaphysical, it truly caught my attention.
I love space and have always been fascinated by our universe. I find it so impossible to comprehend in every way--how we got here, what lies beyond the boundaries, where the boundaries are, the sheer magnitude of our universe, life beyond our tiny speck of existence, etc. Although I'm sure I've forgotten many of the things I was once told, several have stuck with me to this day. One thing I remember being taught is that every atom in existence, every part of our being, was one part of a star. The air we breathe, the food we eat, our skin and bones and heart and brain, all of it. Everything we know was once part of that celestial sphere we see as so intangible and so distant.
How can it be that the most incomprehensible, unrelatable, distant things are what created us? Stars, those massive burning superclouds are the same as us, and we are the same as them. It's just something odd to think about.
Additionally, the line is so simple. So definitive. There's no doubt, no logic that leads to it--just the statement. And I mean, it IS a fact that we are the particles of stars, but we never think of ourselves that way. And so many of us, when thinking about the universe, look at ourselves as these tiny, infinitesimal grains with no significance. But I feel that this lyric can inspire just the opposite.
We are stars. We are that which has mesmerized and stunned and fascinated billions of people for millions of years. We create solar systems and galaxies. We shine and when together, we can create something truly beautiful and truly magnificent. We are worlds within ourselves. We are our own worlds. We can learn every corner of ourselves, yet we are also bigger and more than we can ever comprehend.
I guess my message is this: screw the rest of the universe. Focus on your own world. The people you meet, the lives you become a part of, those form a universe. And our existence is more than we can imagine. We are not infinitesimal. We have the power to form worlds and change lives and shape futures and create true beauty. If I had never had just one of my siblings or one of my friends in my life, I know I would not be the same person. Every person is powerful, influential, consequential.
So when in doubt, think of one inside joke you have with your best friend. Think of one home video your parents filmed. Think of one present you gave someone. Remember the memories you've been a part of and know that you have contributed to a universe bigger than you know. We don't have to be world famous to be important or significant. We are stardust.
"We are stardust."
As cheesy as it is to focus on something so metaphysical, it truly caught my attention.
I love space and have always been fascinated by our universe. I find it so impossible to comprehend in every way--how we got here, what lies beyond the boundaries, where the boundaries are, the sheer magnitude of our universe, life beyond our tiny speck of existence, etc. Although I'm sure I've forgotten many of the things I was once told, several have stuck with me to this day. One thing I remember being taught is that every atom in existence, every part of our being, was one part of a star. The air we breathe, the food we eat, our skin and bones and heart and brain, all of it. Everything we know was once part of that celestial sphere we see as so intangible and so distant.
How can it be that the most incomprehensible, unrelatable, distant things are what created us? Stars, those massive burning superclouds are the same as us, and we are the same as them. It's just something odd to think about.
Additionally, the line is so simple. So definitive. There's no doubt, no logic that leads to it--just the statement. And I mean, it IS a fact that we are the particles of stars, but we never think of ourselves that way. And so many of us, when thinking about the universe, look at ourselves as these tiny, infinitesimal grains with no significance. But I feel that this lyric can inspire just the opposite.
We are stars. We are that which has mesmerized and stunned and fascinated billions of people for millions of years. We create solar systems and galaxies. We shine and when together, we can create something truly beautiful and truly magnificent. We are worlds within ourselves. We are our own worlds. We can learn every corner of ourselves, yet we are also bigger and more than we can ever comprehend.
I guess my message is this: screw the rest of the universe. Focus on your own world. The people you meet, the lives you become a part of, those form a universe. And our existence is more than we can imagine. We are not infinitesimal. We have the power to form worlds and change lives and shape futures and create true beauty. If I had never had just one of my siblings or one of my friends in my life, I know I would not be the same person. Every person is powerful, influential, consequential.
So when in doubt, think of one inside joke you have with your best friend. Think of one home video your parents filmed. Think of one present you gave someone. Remember the memories you've been a part of and know that you have contributed to a universe bigger than you know. We don't have to be world famous to be important or significant. We are stardust.
Monday, February 15, 2010
All That Hype
Another Valentine's Day come and gone. Yippee. Though I didn't see the movies pervading the theaters, I know that the holiday inherently comes with abundant images of lovey-dovey stuff, happy couples, heartbreaks that eventually find their soulmates, happy and fairytale endings, etc etc. Then, of course, there's the dichotomous side of February 14th--the single people's holiday. S.A.D., or Single's Awareness Day. This is the side that highlights the unfortunately single people loathing in their lonesome state, eating chocolate they bought for themselves and only the fattiest ice creams on the market, watching the sappiest love stories and romantic comedies that Blockbuster hadn't yet sold out of, and clearly, bawling their eyes out. Maybe there's a strong, independent lady tossed into the mix somewhere. But where's the in-between? In the true, cliche spirit of The Amplified Shadowed Side, I'll tell you about my boring-ass, average day.
I woke up from sleeping on an aerobed with Malibu.
(Introduction: Malibu. My roommate. Outgoing, unique, beautiful, individual, artistic, juxtaposing, creative, innovative, sugar-addicted. Photographer, student, gamer, model, SpongeBob enthusiast.)
We had made a delicious batch of mac n' cheese the night before and fallen asleep watching one of our favorite movies. We had planned to make this Sunday one of the best days ever, especially with no classes on Monday.
So we wake up, lay around for quite some time, get ourselves ready for a day out, and go to Chinatown for some dim sum. Amidst the beauty of the district, the excitement of the Chinese New Year, hundreds of short men whispering "handbag?" at me as I walk by, firecrackers popping under my feet as children throw them at me, hugging my bag tightly at my side and hoping no one pickpockets me, and searching desperately for an open dim sum restaurant, I can't stop talking about this guy, Peachy Keen.
(Introduction: Peachy Keen. Friend. Cute, hilarious, sweet, outgoing, southern, artistic, boy. Sister tried to set me up with him; I'm in. Student, economist, musician.)
He and I have been talking a lot, talking about random things and the next time we'd see each other. He said he'd text me and we'd do something since he had bailed on our plans the night before. All day I was talking about him; I was freaking out about what to wear when I saw him, thinking about topics for small-talk, waiting for my phone to beep with the sound of a text, checking it even when I hadn't heard anything and the light wasn't flashing. To say the least, I was a pretty bad date for my roommate.
Dim sum took quite the while to finish up, and Malibu and I had a good times, but we headed back as soon as we paid. We were exhausted, for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was the stress and anxiety of waiting for a text that would never come, or the effort put into the facade of dating my roommate. Whatever it was, Malibu and I passed out on that aerobed for another two hours or so.
When we awoke, we watched the Olympics for another few hours. We sat in silence, captivated by the sheer beauty that happens when you put two people together. They way they can glide and move as one and float and jump and twirl and tell a love story was simply mesmerizing. Soon, Ritz arrives back home.
(Introduction: Ritz. Another roommate. Silly, sleepy, hardworking but procrastinating, determined, sophisticated, Diet Coke addicted. Student, fashionista, Jason Mraz fan.)
Apparently, three is enough to break the curse of admiration and jealousy. Once she joined us, we were able to criticize the performers rather than admire them, even though we were fully aware of how absurdly talented they are and how we could never compare. Malibu and I decided to make a run for some groceries, and by that, I mean chips and queso and ice cream. On our way to go pick up these necessities, we decided to stop by our guy friend's room (I'll get around to introducing them later; just know that they're kind of one functioning unit and I'll be referring to the collective whole as los chicos). They welcomed us, as usual, and for no good reason, we had a wonderful time just sitting there. We felt bad keeping Ritz waiting so we dashed to get the foods, returned to our room to get ourselves ready, and headed back over (Ritz decided to stay back), fully-armed with our queso and chips. The night played out as just a bunch of kids, sitting in a room, inhaling chips and queso, and talking up a storm.
When Malibu and I returned to our room some hours later, we were devastated that our chips had been obliterated and there was still queso, begging to be eaten. With all that cheesy goodness tempting us so, and the late night delirium making all of our decisions for us, we decided there was only thing to do--make more mac n' cheese. We surfed the channels and settled on a SciFi (not SyFy) channel movie called Bitten, which seemed as promising as they come at 3:30 in the morning. So there we were. We had found ourselves, once again, with mac n' cheese in hand, snuggled in our blankets and cozied up on that same aerobed from less than 24 hours before.
And that was my Valentine's Day. Nothing unusual, nothing exciting, nothing movie-like. Nothing terrible, nothing heartbreaking, nothing like any of the stereotypes. Just another day and just another night.
Yes, I'm a little upset that I didn't have a real Valentine. Yes, I'm upset that it was another reminder that I'm single and that I've never had a Valentine. But I'm equally upset that I wasn't able to simply embrace the day as a proud, single woman by pushing men and Peachy Keen to the side. It was only 24 hours and I couldn't do it. I couldn't just enjoy myself--I fell victim to the commerciality of it all.
I understand the purpose of the holiday is to serve as a little reminder to display our true feelings and do a little something extra for the people we love. I understand that sometimes people need a little goading. But why does it get to us so badly? Why does it manage to incite such passion from some and inspire deep depression in others? When all is said and done, although it may have had some fine print in the box, February 14th was just another X on the calendar.
I woke up from sleeping on an aerobed with Malibu.
(Introduction: Malibu. My roommate. Outgoing, unique, beautiful, individual, artistic, juxtaposing, creative, innovative, sugar-addicted. Photographer, student, gamer, model, SpongeBob enthusiast.)
We had made a delicious batch of mac n' cheese the night before and fallen asleep watching one of our favorite movies. We had planned to make this Sunday one of the best days ever, especially with no classes on Monday.
So we wake up, lay around for quite some time, get ourselves ready for a day out, and go to Chinatown for some dim sum. Amidst the beauty of the district, the excitement of the Chinese New Year, hundreds of short men whispering "handbag?" at me as I walk by, firecrackers popping under my feet as children throw them at me, hugging my bag tightly at my side and hoping no one pickpockets me, and searching desperately for an open dim sum restaurant, I can't stop talking about this guy, Peachy Keen.
(Introduction: Peachy Keen. Friend. Cute, hilarious, sweet, outgoing, southern, artistic, boy. Sister tried to set me up with him; I'm in. Student, economist, musician.)
He and I have been talking a lot, talking about random things and the next time we'd see each other. He said he'd text me and we'd do something since he had bailed on our plans the night before. All day I was talking about him; I was freaking out about what to wear when I saw him, thinking about topics for small-talk, waiting for my phone to beep with the sound of a text, checking it even when I hadn't heard anything and the light wasn't flashing. To say the least, I was a pretty bad date for my roommate.
Dim sum took quite the while to finish up, and Malibu and I had a good times, but we headed back as soon as we paid. We were exhausted, for no apparent reason. Perhaps it was the stress and anxiety of waiting for a text that would never come, or the effort put into the facade of dating my roommate. Whatever it was, Malibu and I passed out on that aerobed for another two hours or so.
When we awoke, we watched the Olympics for another few hours. We sat in silence, captivated by the sheer beauty that happens when you put two people together. They way they can glide and move as one and float and jump and twirl and tell a love story was simply mesmerizing. Soon, Ritz arrives back home.
(Introduction: Ritz. Another roommate. Silly, sleepy, hardworking but procrastinating, determined, sophisticated, Diet Coke addicted. Student, fashionista, Jason Mraz fan.)
Apparently, three is enough to break the curse of admiration and jealousy. Once she joined us, we were able to criticize the performers rather than admire them, even though we were fully aware of how absurdly talented they are and how we could never compare. Malibu and I decided to make a run for some groceries, and by that, I mean chips and queso and ice cream. On our way to go pick up these necessities, we decided to stop by our guy friend's room (I'll get around to introducing them later; just know that they're kind of one functioning unit and I'll be referring to the collective whole as los chicos). They welcomed us, as usual, and for no good reason, we had a wonderful time just sitting there. We felt bad keeping Ritz waiting so we dashed to get the foods, returned to our room to get ourselves ready, and headed back over (Ritz decided to stay back), fully-armed with our queso and chips. The night played out as just a bunch of kids, sitting in a room, inhaling chips and queso, and talking up a storm.
When Malibu and I returned to our room some hours later, we were devastated that our chips had been obliterated and there was still queso, begging to be eaten. With all that cheesy goodness tempting us so, and the late night delirium making all of our decisions for us, we decided there was only thing to do--make more mac n' cheese. We surfed the channels and settled on a SciFi (not SyFy) channel movie called Bitten, which seemed as promising as they come at 3:30 in the morning. So there we were. We had found ourselves, once again, with mac n' cheese in hand, snuggled in our blankets and cozied up on that same aerobed from less than 24 hours before.
And that was my Valentine's Day. Nothing unusual, nothing exciting, nothing movie-like. Nothing terrible, nothing heartbreaking, nothing like any of the stereotypes. Just another day and just another night.
Yes, I'm a little upset that I didn't have a real Valentine. Yes, I'm upset that it was another reminder that I'm single and that I've never had a Valentine. But I'm equally upset that I wasn't able to simply embrace the day as a proud, single woman by pushing men and Peachy Keen to the side. It was only 24 hours and I couldn't do it. I couldn't just enjoy myself--I fell victim to the commerciality of it all.
I understand the purpose of the holiday is to serve as a little reminder to display our true feelings and do a little something extra for the people we love. I understand that sometimes people need a little goading. But why does it get to us so badly? Why does it manage to incite such passion from some and inspire deep depression in others? When all is said and done, although it may have had some fine print in the box, February 14th was just another X on the calendar.
The Necessary Evil
Hello, anyone who might be reading this. I have to gain some sort of street-cred before I get this going, right? Or else, who would ever give a damn what I have to say. Well, in all honesty, I don't have any street-cred. Seriously. I literally am just another girl. I'm a college student privileged enough to be studying in New York City, and I realize every day more and more how blessed I am to be here. Besides living in such an amazing city, I don't see myself as being anything too above average.
So why would I start a blog, with the intention of having people read it. Well, in case anyone is interested in what life really is like for so many of us, I'll be writing about it here. It's not the movies. It's not the books or TV shows. It's what really happens every day on the streets, in the dining halls, in the dorms rooms, in cities, wherever. It's not explosions and car races and love scenes and picture-perfect moments; it's the people you meet, the things you see, the stories you hear and share and create, the revelations you come to, the places you make a life out of, time passing by, unrequited love, music and art, secrets and drama, desire and passion, pain and reality, and it's so much more. But, it's just life. So welcome to it.
So just a few explanations to go up before I get this thing rolling. I'm going to keep things anonymous on here so as to protect anyone from harm, revealing secrets, etc etc, all that jazz. I want to be completely free to say the whole truth, no limitations. I'll have code names and introductions and what not so it won't be "and then the first guy told the guy who came in the room twenty minutes after us that the chick in the pink halter top is totally into him, according to pink-halter-top-chick's best friend, that girl with the lipstick and red stilettos" blah blah. I'm going to attempt to write frequently, no matter how trivial, because that's what this is about. My goal is to write daily, if possible. Of course, studies come first, so if I don't get to it, I hope you forgive me. Not that I think this blog will really be all that important to anyone out there. But anywho, all I plan to do is report on everyday things, maybe add some commentary of my own, and just invite any followers into this world so many people share with me. I do hope to write an entry later in the night, but I have some work to finish up. So, here's to hopefully talking to whoever you are later.
Prost.
(I don't have any sort of cool blogger name yet. I'm working on it.)
So why would I start a blog, with the intention of having people read it. Well, in case anyone is interested in what life really is like for so many of us, I'll be writing about it here. It's not the movies. It's not the books or TV shows. It's what really happens every day on the streets, in the dining halls, in the dorms rooms, in cities, wherever. It's not explosions and car races and love scenes and picture-perfect moments; it's the people you meet, the things you see, the stories you hear and share and create, the revelations you come to, the places you make a life out of, time passing by, unrequited love, music and art, secrets and drama, desire and passion, pain and reality, and it's so much more. But, it's just life. So welcome to it.
So just a few explanations to go up before I get this thing rolling. I'm going to keep things anonymous on here so as to protect anyone from harm, revealing secrets, etc etc, all that jazz. I want to be completely free to say the whole truth, no limitations. I'll have code names and introductions and what not so it won't be "and then the first guy told the guy who came in the room twenty minutes after us that the chick in the pink halter top is totally into him, according to pink-halter-top-chick's best friend, that girl with the lipstick and red stilettos" blah blah. I'm going to attempt to write frequently, no matter how trivial, because that's what this is about. My goal is to write daily, if possible. Of course, studies come first, so if I don't get to it, I hope you forgive me. Not that I think this blog will really be all that important to anyone out there. But anywho, all I plan to do is report on everyday things, maybe add some commentary of my own, and just invite any followers into this world so many people share with me. I do hope to write an entry later in the night, but I have some work to finish up. So, here's to hopefully talking to whoever you are later.
Prost.
(I don't have any sort of cool blogger name yet. I'm working on it.)
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