Thrill seeking

Lately, my definition of an adventure seems to stem from Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment.

Before going to sleep last night, I read about the graphic and heartbreaking slaughter of a horse.  And the mental anguish, numbness, and delirium that welcomes themselves after unmotivated murder.

“Good God!” he cried, “can it be, can it be, that I shall really take an axe, that I shall strike her on the head, split her skull open… that I shall tread in the sticky warm blood, blood… with the axe… Good God, can it be?”

Oh, Raskolnikov.  Intelligence is such a destitute and ungracious burglar.

But…the book so far is amazing.  Tenuously detailed, yes, but the mental progession or regression from smartass to raving madman is so interesting.  Plus it poses some philosophical questions one would be very interested in asking and answering.

And oh my god, Dostoyevsky looks like Jonny Depp gone Amish.

Homoerotica between straight men. How’s that possible?

I should be showering right now and start by Christmas reading, but when one is pressured [mentally] by time, one blogs.

Other than dropping my cousin off at the airport so he can endeavor on another Apocalypse Now reenactment and bidding my less-cool/awesome-incompetent lover goodbye, my break has been wonderful.

Yesterday was another typical hangout with some amazing friends; it really feels like none of us left for college.  To innocent eyes, all that humping and moaning and breast-rubbing between my fortunately male friends would be the analog of showing a child 2girls1cup and would leave even the most conservative ex-gay believer convinced that perhaps his program works the other way around.  Aw, I really love you guys.

Contending with Adam Smith, our little game of Monopoly essentially proves that economics and laissez-faire sync together like…well they actually don’t sync together at all.  Because there will always be the cocksucker, the monopolist, the crushing cartels and the ones that are illegal.  There will always be the rich bastards who bargain and give infinite immunity and team up.  And there will always be the losers who are conspired against to be bankrupt and destitute.  Such is human nature.  Take that, Adam Smith!

Later came my little salvation/ silver lining on the cloud/ uglier and less spectacular me: Vicky.  I love you, but you have got to stop referring to yourself as Casper who died half-way through puberty.    I can’t believe you didn’t write anything nice in that Christmas card.  Haha.  Ah, virulent, pithy words speak volumes of one’s own inferiority complex.  I understand; it’s hard measuring yourself up to someone SOOOOO incredible as myself.  Our nights we filled with food and movies and arrogant boasts about how we planned to stay up last 5 and potentially pull all-nighters.

As the clock ticked past 2 then 2:15 then 3, we died somewhere between Home Alone’s Kevin running away from the hotel and the white guy with the ‘fro getting electrocuted.  God really hates our super-inflated egos, doesn’t he?

Spending time with the best friend, aside for our one-up manship and incessant bragging and sardonic remarks, was probably one of the best presents I ever got this Christmas.  Those sock monkey slippers were pretty groovy, though.  Even though we live so far apart, we still click…maybe we should take it further than sleepovers and go barhopping.  Sometimes it feels like nothing has ever changed, and I doubt nothing ever has.  Long live those side conversations, whispered secrets, bitching and moaning about lame guys, and most of all, spontaneous laughter.

I love you, besteresteresssdjfsdkhfdskjhfsdf friend.  Like how Hobbes loves Calvin.  Quite obviously, I AM the smarter, cooler, wiser, and better looking one, anyway.

Miss you, babycakes. ;]

And hi, Chris.  Thanks for cockblocking me.  HAHAHAA.  Kidding.

Aimless meanderings and the like

Upon returning home, sitting on my swivel chair with nine holes bulleted through the back and scrunching my toes to make them…feel-able, I felt a freedom  liberated from thinking about Homo sapiens and Festinger and my professor’s darling “orgasm phenomenon”.  With a mind no longer occupied with academic pitfalls, you tend to feel like there’s a huge chuck of something carved out of your life and left on a silver platter to be infested with bugs and maggots.  For some reason, freedom always begets boredom.

And with excessive energy not yet habituated to days filled with absolutely nothing, I began to think of the most completely random of situations.

What constitutes as imagination?  A creative imagination, at that?  Can’t Albert Einstein and Jack the Ripper both have mentally cultivated minds, bent to different tasks?  Sure, Jack didn’t give us a meaning to life, but he fucking killed those hookers with such pizazz.  At what point can we, as a society, determine if individual imagination is detrimental or holistic?  What if Gandhi’s message of peace and love and probably weed inhibited social growth, possibly even encouraging stagnant progress?  We’d never know.

Now that I’m happier [at least to a certain "I'm not going to go ape shit and murder people" extent] I find it harder to write.  A certain postsecret I read a couple weeks/months ago reminded me of this.  It went something like, “The only way I can write is because I’m fucking emo, but I’ve learned that apparently happy people can crank out pretty damn good literature, too.”  That’s me, without the latter.  I find myself so much more…cynical and critical of everything now that I’m NOT depressed.  Wow, XMRB, I didn’t know I drew from you such a magnitude of inspiration.  Not.

I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with this Christian… I lack the last word.  Should it be group, fellowship, cult, or evil organization of baby Jim Jones’s?  Whatever it is, I can say that I am either on the periphery of becoming a Christian or that I find it slightly… scary that they want to be so invovled in all parts of my life.  Understandably, there’s a lot of appeal with you’re walking around whoring yourself out with—unlike prostitutes and sex— kindness and smiles and free food.  Plus who doesn’t want to be smothered with great friends and compassionate people if you’ve been living like a pathetic loser or misunderstood adolescent for your entire life?  After reading psychology, there’s methods that people use to get you to do what they want.  Uhm…I think you’re definitely trying somethin here…

This argument for God [Sorry, but not you, Chris] doesn’t make sense for me.  I can’t grasp the logical implications and extrapolations you’re making because I don’t understand the base.  And people have told me that religion/faith isn’t like participating in the mental analog of gymnastics; it’s something that you experience and feel.  Fine, but surely there must be some level of intelligent reasoning behind this.  Besides, if you want to believe in something enough, won’t it come true for you?

There’s a lot of talk about moral disintegration and ethical cataclyms, but this is still the most peaceful era we’ve ever lived in.  Is there a correlation?  Maybe it’s Jin being mesmerizingly sexy.  I don’t know.

Fuck, I forgot my anime back in the dorm, :[

On another note, the platitude of being an early sleeper/waker equates to being happier, wealthier, and wiser might be coming true for me.  I woke up at 6:45.  That’s the earlier I have EVER woken up this entire year.  My roommates and I usually KO in our beds until 12 when we glare at the sound of the knocks on our door telling us to eat lunch.  Generally I don’t ascribe to conspiracy theories, but in all honesty, my bed and comforters plot against my emasculated good habits.  What a tragedy.

Well, have fun guys.

Oh, by the way.  I’M FUCKING HOME. WHOOHOO.

Kama Sutra Come to Life

This is like having mind-blowing, intensely satisfying, simultaneously raunchy and passionate, climatic, teasingly edgy, and simply magnificently orgasmic sex.  There’s no jokes here; I swear I felt like I had the bext sex in my entire life.

Australopithcecus afarensis gives rise to Homo sapiens sapiens

Though we might not have evolved from monkeys, as many would like to contest, our ape relatives aren’t far from our genetic pool of fuck-ups and the occasional weird looking oddballs.  Just a few hours ago I finished my first final; I’m officially done with physical anthropology, done with studying lineages and confusing geological time scales, and definitely done with memorizing obscure African localities.  Oddly enough, I’m a little sad. I’ll miss these lectures and the sadistic glorification after vicoriously raping the essay questions.  Talk about Homo cultural traditions from Habilis to Sapiens Sapiens?  Bend over right now!

Alas, my final didn’t exactly go like that.  With increasing crescendo, this girl right next to me started crying…and crying…and crying some more.  I might be understating this, but it’s a little (only a little) disheartening and saddening to take your final next to someone who witnessed her grade being pummeled by her fossilized ancestors. I wonder if this is suppose to happen.  Am I suppose to see people cry everytime I take a test?  Not exactly something I aspire to.

And though I’d love to say that I spent the last few days of freedom wisely and efficaciously, I actually stayed up until 3 or 4 with my roommates talking about food and watching Samurai Champloo.  About the ending: I don’t get it.  I feel simultaneously satisfied yet really sad.

“What was this trip for?”

“Bye.  See you someday.”

To a very sentimental girl who still clings onto happy endings (the unromantic ones, of course) Samurai Champloo might as well have been the apex of torrents of “What the fucking shit is this?!”  It made sense…and a nonsensical way.  Whatever.  You just have to watch it.  And admire how Jin looks SO sexy at the end when his glasses are ravishingly taken off by a sword.  …And the plot.  Oh yes, the plot.  Admire that, too.  But most of all how hot Jin and Mugen look. DDD

And instead of studying for my Psyche final, in which a question will quintessentially be: Why the fuck are people so screwed up?  I’m blogging.  Maybe this is cognitive dissonance.  Maybe I’m bargaining here.  Why are people so screwed up?  Please don’t deny it.  You’re extremely guilty of being a fucked up individual, too.  But hey, revel in camaraderie; there’s plenty of equally, if not more so, screw-ups in this world, too.  So, I’d love your input.  Please and thank you.

Again.

Why are people so screwed up?!

Cold feet and other things I definitely think God should add to his “Things I wish I didn’t create” list

My dorm is so old I can hear the heater crying just to crank the temperature up to 60 something degrees.

As I snuggle underneath my fluffy blanket at 1:30 in the morning, my sinking slumber is all of a sudden interrupted by some prepubescent voice shrieking the American anthem from the laundry room.  Okay, not like I understand your undying love for America, but 1:30…really?  And on dead week…really?  And when EVERYONE is studying…really?  And who is holding that magnifying over my head to put me right next to this laudry-room by day, kareoke and all things detrimental to entertainment by night, sort of thing?

For the next…1 or 1.5 hours…I laid in bed effervescently wishing violent, violent death to that man singing next to me, the man so fervently careening to a nation —and for once the misconception of singing louder doesn’t necessitate singing well applies here.  I now hate that song as George Bush hates atheists.  So exercising my right to petition, as every American should [not to the extent of abuse, of course], I wrote a very polite letter, taped it on the laundry room, and secretly prepared rusty nails and a chainsaw for the next son of a bitch who dares interrupt my beauty sleep.

Thanks for listening.

Love, your neighbor.

In impersonal incidents arise personal revelations…not quite.

Isn’t it so funny, when you hear a familiar voice on the phone?  You’re in tune with its familiar valleys and hills, the light laughter or hearty guffaws.  You know, even without looking at the caller ID, at the first intake of breath and the first “Hello?”, who’s calling.  And then you’ve internalized these vocal idiosyncrasies until they’ve become so distinguishable from everyone else’s voice that, eventually, you know it’s your best friend calling before you even hear her voice.  Excluding the fact that you might have a separate ring tone for this person.

Upon hearing about an incident quite separable from myself yet so tragically ubiquitous to every single person existing on this pale little blue planet, I really have to take a step back.  And think.

Everyday I wake up, go to class, sleep through class and if I’m lucky my professor won’t smile devilishly at me and quietly mark me down, run, eat lunch, maybe go to more class, come back, eat dinner, study [usually this is the exception] and then sleep.  I use the convience that AIM gives me to talk to my friends, but these never go beyond “How are you?”or “Dude, I saw this hot guy/girl today.”

So today, or rather tonight, I just want to take time off from memorizing where Homo Habilis remains were found and if Australopithecus garhi really means Gandhi to say that I really, really, really appreciate my friends.  Here’s your typical shout-out: I LOVE YOU GUYS.  LIKE A FAT KID LOVES CAKE.  Oh, let’s poke fun at those suffering from obesity, shall we?

Jokes aside, I want to live through each day knowing my friends and family are here to make my life the awesome, spectacular mess of spiraling entropy it is today.  Seriously, I wouldn’t be the messed up, perverse, and overtly egregious perosn I am today without the love of my friends; they make every single miniscule moment…magnificent.  I don’t want to hold back or hold onto petty grudges because I’m filled with spite or anger.  Because…every moment deserves something new, each new day or hour or second is another new one filled with potential for wonderfully devious things.  Why ruin that with trivial frustration and anger?

To live up to the conventional platitude, “Live like there’s no tomorrow.”  I want to love you guys like no tomorrow. Of course I mean that in a totally non-creepy and conspicuously copacetic way.  Cause…what happens if…

If something truly terrible…[something like Twilight displacing Shakespeare and Tolstoy] should happen?

Whoa, okie, so I totally left this thing open-ended.  But to recapitulate all this gooey goody PC stuff, I love that you’re in my life.  I love how you’ve influenced me in ways that God would shudder in horror.  I love how you’re there when I need rides, or how I can creatively combine any cuss word and it’d still be awesome.  I love how we make the stupidest jokes at the stupidest moments and come off as insentitive and egotistical assholes, but a the same time how you can be the most empathetic individuals I have ever met.  Who else would stand one of my tantrums?  So here’s to a couple of people who’ve made such impressionable and everlasting footprints in my life.

Sir Ken Robinson on education

Instead of studying for finals

Roughly speaking, I spent—more like wasted—2 and a half hours watching my friend play Assassin’s Creed II.  And it wasn’t even like he was killing the Pope or anything; he was looking for feathers…that look like mutated alabaster DNA sequences.

I wasted 2.5 hours of my like watching a rugged Italian man defy the laws of physics and jump from 30 story tall buildings into haystacks.  There has got to be something wrong with me.

Moreover, watching my supposedly angelic friend stab a civilian with a poisoned knife and participate in pseudo-rape has convinced me that Freud’s theory of sexuality and aggression as prime motivating forces—nonconscious as it may be—is completely true.  It seems like these “PC gooey yuppies” are the most susceptible to the pervasive ramifications of sex and violence.

Not to sound like a total sex/gore obsessed nutcase, and not to belabor my studying anymore, I want to interject with a meandering.  I ran today.  And it was certainly a beautiful day today.  As I ran up and down the hill, dodging colorful yellow leaves and shivering against Berkeley wind, I’ve never felt so…complete.  Sure, maybe this holistic integration comes because I want to believe healthy dieting and exercise makes me into a wealthy, healthy and wise individual.  But sometimes I can’t help but feel happiest and most …sentient of my surroundings than when I’m running.  I’ve never noticed the skies were so blue, the clouds stark and white streaks, and the uneven concrete with tiny weeds poking through the random cracks.  As lactic acid races down my legs, my lungs almost collapse from lack of air, my breathing turns to panting, my eyes stare at the most brilliant sky as I run…well, towards nowhere. There’s something beautiful in that, going to no destination but just for the sake of going.  Of course I don’t recommend doing this in high heels or stripper stilettos, but you should try it sometime.  Just put on some shoes, open that door, and take the first step outside.  See where it takes you.  Who knows, it might be spectacular.

Let’s talk about sex

I find this strangely hilarious and insightful.