As I was studying

…for my anthropology midterm, my roommate was doing math homework.  All of a sudden, I hear.

“si-FAAAAAAA-ka….AYEAYEAYEAYEAYE…monkey lemur.”

Yes, those animals belong to the superfamily of Lemuroidea.

Right now, I’ve past the Platyrrhini [New World Monkeys] —> Ceboidea—> Callitrichidae [Marmosets and Tamarins, of which have the dental formula 2:1:2:3] or the Cebidae [of which are spider, owl, and howler monkeys with d.f. 2:1:3:3]

I’ve moved on to the Catarrhini [Old WM/apes/humans] —> Cercopitheodea [OWM] and Hominoidea [humans and apes].

I think this is the only way I study…

But my roommate and I recently burst out laughing when we read a fail on some phobia that starts with an ‘A’ which means fear of being watched by a duck.  So when you feel that a duck watching you becomes so intense that it disrupts your everyday life, you’re fucking batshit crazy. :/

What made it fail was there was an advertisement for Aflac insurance RIGHT NEXT TO IT.

WIN.

AHH.

Too.

Many.

Names.

To.

Remember.

But I’ve decided to forsaken blogging at this moment, or at least accept its exploitation as an excuse to procrastinate on studying. :/

Lost humor

Before today, I was about to post something funny, maybe something light-hearted and cute, something that would make your hearts smile, but I’m here to bemoan my B+ of an essay for English.  Not really.

Walking from class, holding my essay in hand and thinking of an excuse to procrastinate more on this anthropology midterm I have coming up—of which I’m sure this blog serves as an excellent one—I was intensely distressed by this B and the plus sign that appeared next to it.  Oh, how sad is that!  Then something caught my eyes.

“WARNING: Genocide pictures up ahead.”

Genocide pictures?  Like pictures of black people being macheted or burnt during the Darfur or Rwandan genocide?  Perhaps black and white photos of Jews carried to the gas chambers and terrified faces out of the furnaces?  Like that kind of genocide pictures?

“Berkeley Students for Life.”

Sounds fair enough.

In the middle of Sproul Plaza, with a sign idolizing Savio for his free speech movement—because without that, throngs of pro-lifers would probably be ripped to bloody shreds for the infantilism of their own “agenda.”  You might think that I’m biased because I’m pro-choice/pro-situation.  But seriously, the shit load of propaganda would make Hitler blush in shame.  He’d tell his fellow Nazis to dismember German babies and plaster evil Jews standing next to them.

They were bloody dismembered and irrecognizable fetus arms and legs and fingers on little coins, agonized and butchered and decapitated heads held so cruelly by sticks and metal implements.  it made Saving Private Ryan look like some Barney episode.  It hurt, because these are just babies, or they could have been babies.  But what hurt the most, and was probably the most disgusting shit of propaganda was that each one of these overblown and sensationalized pictures had Barak Obama’s face on them with a quote that was suppose to show him as some hypocritical, uncaring, senseless, and evil bastard.  There’s also a certainty in discerning the difference between the Rwandan genocide and apartheid and abortion, of which most people are acutely aware of.   And I’m pretty fucking sure Obama doesn’t deny aid to aborted babies who survived the fucking processes, dipshit.

At the same time, it says a lot about Berkeley spirit.  Across the plaza, people were engaged in heated debate.  Is abortion legal?  Is it moral, ethical?  When is the life of a fetus determined?  And so on and so forth.

I’m just slightly disappointed that one of the most intellectual campuses would resort to such perverse forms of propaganda to get people to talk about the subject.  I mean, am I really a baby murderer if I supported a woman’s choice to have or not have her baby?

And so the debate continues.

I suppose this blog is rather pointless if I did not talk about something that was strikingly inspirational to me, and this is no particular exception.  This is another post on another blog about a day in the life of me.  It’s not interesting or moving in any way, but I just thought that what I saw today as something so stretched and amalgamated with gory pictures that it reduces any sort of discourse into an argument of “Do you want MORE dead babies?  You actually want that kind of shit to happen, you heartless bastard?”

Then again, I guess most people argue like that anyway.

Back Home

As I sit back, silently watching  the yellow colors of  the flourscent street lamps flash off of my friend’s head, I suddenly caught a case of homesickness.  Weird, because I was already home.

Today has been a really amazing day, filled with great food, great people, great adventures, and great laughs of all kinds.  We got food, went window shopping, played cards, then went to a family dinner.  “My IQ is greater than God’s,” proclaimed my precocious cousin.  The pieces of a familiar puzzle fell into place; I’ve already solved this piece before.

Today has been a really amazing day, filled with great food, great people, great adventures, and great laughs of all kinds, yet, as I sit comfortably on the floor typing up this blog, a feeling that is all too foreign in happiness suddenly snatches in my chest. Instead of feeling ecstatic, joyous, incredibly and extraordinarily high off of happiness, everything that’s suppose to be synonymous with great times…I’m disconcerted.  Why am I so unhappy after a fucking amazing hangout with some of the most amazing people who’ve entered my life?

Because they aren’t at Berkeley.  Yes, as stupid and clingy as that sounds, they aren’t at Berkeley.

Everything that happens there and doesn’t happen there reminds me of my high school friends.  Berkeley, as fun and diverse and ridden with homeless and creepers as it is, doesn’t have anyone like you guys.  All my perversion and vulgarity are lost to disgusted and scornful ears, my sexual remarks are drowned in a sea of pious abstinence, and any sort of snarkology and meanness so synonymous to my personality requires being toned down to suit the easily offended, the gentle, and the soft-hearted.  I haven’t punched anyone, I haven’t cursed as much, I haven’t even talked as much.

I once remembered a person writing on being alone, and how liberating it was.  Now I can’t even all that self-proclaimed beauty and freedom to “not fit in a mold” and to “not fit into any expectations.”  I never had a mold to begin with.  All that comfort and easiness that comes with the falcon punches, nasty remarks, sexual jokes, and whatever terrible and horrid thing I brought in was who I wanted to be.  And they’ve accommodated to that, amazingly.  I still admire your capacity for beat-downs and physical abuse.

Today I relived all of my memories.  Every time I heard a penis joke, every time Kevin and Bao did that chin-scoop, every time I saw Marcus and Eddie arm wrestling, or every time I’d just curse at them or hear the guys cuss each other out in the stupidest and most idiotic fashion, I thought of every memory that was just like that one.  And I became sad.  These are snapshots of the past, put into little picture frames and placed on a wall that expands bigger and bigger and soon cluttered with unimportant things.  Confining and tiring things.  I like Berkeley.  I like the people there.  I love my roommates, tremendously and dearly.  It’s just I can’t, figuratively of course, pop out of that metaphorical birthday cake in a skimpy suit and slather everyone with whipped cream and shit.

Then, after 6 hours of hiatus from typing up this blog, playing games, and solving ridiculous and slightly disturbing riddles, I’ve clearly lost my train of thought.  There’s only a remnant of what I had wanted to say, and it was this.  I shouldn’t be sad.  I shouldn’t be ending the day with my friends feeling so depressed and down, because it’d do the awesome memories I’ve made with them an injustice.  I should be happy, deliriously and fantastically happy, that I still see them, still talk to them, and still hit and abuse them like I used to.  And I bet you guys wanted that bit reformed in me, didn’t you? Too bad.

I guess I have to be busy crafting my own little perverted niche in Berkeley somewhere, someplace, and with some very special someones.

I’d always, always and forever, have a place for you guys in my heart.  And I’ll always have time to hang out with you.

GOD, I LOVE YOU GUYS.

And, can you solve this riddle?

http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080828133144AA7jtO3

The yetis live in China

Lack thereof an interesting title, I’ve resorted to fun facts I’ve gathered over the past few lectures from antrhopology, that is to say, if the yeti/abominable snowman lives, it lives in China.  Or they.  They’re a species.

While walking to buy a reader for my class, I was reminded how appreciative I was of Berkeley’s diverse and impressionable environment, how utterly thankful I was for Berkeley’s mingling multitudes of people.  This homeless guy tried to bargain for my privacy.  “Give me two dollars and I’ll leave you alone.”  Then he resorted to guilting me and my apparent miserable species. “FUCK YOU HUMANS.”  Berkeley, I am ever entertained.  All I have to do is walk 5 minutes, and I’m in a wonderland of body piercing, tattoos, buxom girls in platform shoes and bondage, and homeless people confusing this city for a scene from My Fair Lady.  This guy tried to sign to me to give him money.  What a mellifluous voice he had.

It rained Monday.  Or rather, it was God masturbating for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, because He fucking flooded my school, and forgetful little me and my high and mighty sense of pride forgot to bring ranboots, so every single step was a leap from muddy wet concrete to a puddle 4 inches deep.  So this is what Noah felt like.

In psychology, we’re learning about the juxtaposition and interaction between the unconscious mind and consciousness.  Before, we learned about illusory concepts/forms, where our eyes will purposely make sense of shapes that normally don’t make sense to make everything easier for us to deal with.  This also extends to internal processes, such as falling in love, something my psychology teacher quite fondly talked about.  Glancing over homosexuality and the homo-erotic themes in Plato’s work featuring Socrates and his young hot quasi-lover, we found out how much his themes resonated in today’s world of angsty teenage romance and putting that bitch/fucker on a totally undeserved pedestal, or in the case of my teacher’s friends, ever since his highschool girlfriend broke up with him.  But, we do conceptualize an idealistic image of our boyfriend/girlfriend and project that image into everyone we see.  Then my teacher asked if anyone would care to give examples, preferrably of a friend or aquaintence, because Christ, that’d be fucking awkward if I have to sit through class knowing someone in there is wilding obsessed with someone they’ve only talked to for 30 seconds.  Psychology is so cool.  I can actually use it in real life, and now I have names to diagnoze my troubled lifestyle.

So that was my day.

I really don’t know what else to put.

Ever since I’ve jsut been going to school and “living the life,” I’ve been like, totally blank.  Well, not exactly.  Sleep deprivation destroys with capacity for long-term memory I have, and what duration I had ever possessed in terms of short-term memory.  God, my midterm isn’t coming up yet.

This is so randoommm……….What’s the point in posting anymore other than giggling with mischievous knowledge that you frequenters click on random videos, especially of that cat fight.

AHHHHHHHHHHH.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

Uhm….

….

…

..

…

……………..

I like how every third dot is like, …connected.  Oh god.  Let’s just this misery already.

Goodbye.

BASTARD

I hate cheating  boyfriends.

I was a virgin. WAS.

Go live with your slut.

Dear cousin,

I will eagerly and willingly overlook your incessantly persistent and intermittent questions pertaining my love of chemistry and physics and math.  But mostly chem.

I STILL FUCKING HATE IT.

:O

I don’t see how chemistry is the equivalent of sexy to you, but whatever.  I do not think chemistry is sexy.  I do not think science is sexy.  So obviously I harbor a deep and resonating belief that chemistry does not turn me on, nor does it sexually excite me, much to your disbelief.

Once again to recapitulate the ever grounding point, I DO NOT LIKE CHEMISTRY.  IT IS AN ABOMINATION EVEN JESUS WOULD HATE.  :O

There’s your answer.

But yeah.  I love you even if you find really weird things sexy.  Haha.

Ukraine really does have talent

OMGKITTENSMEWMEWMEW

Thank you, Chris.  That was an excellent title.  So deep and provacative.

I have homework and reading piling up, not to mention obnoxious names of animals I have to memorize for a midterm in a couple weeks.  Pongos, Hominidae, something that sounds like a STD.  I don’t even know.

After eating lunch and having that cyclical conversation, my roommates and our friend went to eat at this other dorm place.  Why must all the good food be stuck in the middle of the ghetto.  You might as well put up a neon sign calling it a festing ground for rapists and murderers and people with weird, voyeristic fetishes.

But we stayed in there for around 2 hours…talking about sex.  Well, it wasn’t so much a very mature discourse on the culturual attitudes of sex, but more of a whispering, giggling, 6th-grade “OH MY GOOD, BOOBIES” approach to sex.  We talked about the first time we were exposed to it, the first time we’ve ever heard of it, and about what it is like now.  Shits and giggles aside, I find it interesting how, although sex is so intrinsic to people’s lives, that it becomes such a socially forbidden topic.  It’s not like I’m talking about child pornography, here.  Oh, I can imagine the NSA wiring in on this.

But why is sex so…bad?  Why can’t we talk about it openly, as long as we’re not obstreperously vulgar and disgusting and disrespectful?  What is it about the quality of sex that makes it so terrible, anyway?  Maybe some of us need to get laidddd.

We basically talked for a while on sex, the menstrual cycle, when not to have sex, the duration of an egg cell, and —GASP—condums.  Apparently there’s this store in Japan called Condomania, and—you guessed it—an entire store devoted to birth control…condoms.  But I’m reminded of a funny story that my roommate told me.

Her friend got a “super extra large” condom for his birthday, and it basically looked like someone skinned a horse’s penis.  Plus they got him a phallic lollipop…in the most literal way possible.  I mean, it was really shaped like a penis.  He actually sucked on it.  Haha.  To myself, I thought it jsut meant he could do deep throat, but that’s another story.

Fun day.  I truly enjoyed my weekend here.

And.  OMGLAZERSPEWPEWPEW.

Sum

Short for summary.  There’s no real meaning to the title of my blog posts anymore.

Let’s start with Saturday.

Marcus and Bao came over, and we basically took them out to eat and do random stuff.  The best part though, was definitely dinner.

And Bao, do THE magic trick.

But we went to this Ethiopian restaurant, where the proper etiquette was to feed your friend, which I did.  I have to admit, it was very sensual.  “Here comes the choo choo train!”  But other than that, the food was amazingly good.

After dropping them off at the Bart station, we went back home, and I have no idea what I did for almost 3 hours, but around 1, my roommates and I watched Koizora, which translates to Sky of Love, and despite the amazingly corny sounding name, it fits.

Well, here’s that long-awaited for take down of this classic romance tragedy.  First of all, the sex—all three times—was awkward.  Like, I don’t know how you can have awkward sex, but just the scene of him on top of her and both of them wearing clothes [not that it was terribly awkward in itself] and moving in weird, off-beat patterns on top of each other reminded me of two robots trying to have sex with each other but can’t.  And the rape scene, though not as tragic and disconcerting as A Clockwork Orange’s, was kind of…funny.  I don’t know why.  After she gets raped, her boyfriend finds her, breaks down because he feels useless, and she has to comfort him. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SHIT?  Oh, I just got violated, but it’s okie because I need to comfort you while you’re whining about how you couldn’t stop me.  That, and that chick’s life is just one long soap opera.  Pregnancy, rape, sex, abortion, etc., etc. all in a couple years.  Now all that needs to happen is that someone gets cancer.  Oh, wait.  I have to admit, the movie was rather sad, especially the ending.  The part where my roommates broke down crying and sobbing was when she dates this nice guy and he tells her to go back to her absuive cancer-having boyfriend because that would make her happier.  I mean, the guy fucking saves her parents’ marriage and became the crux of her happiness after her the other dude dumps her.  I failed to see the logic in this scenario, which evidently, the main male lead subscribes to: I have cancer, and rather than telling you, I’ll purposely cheat on you, break your heart, dump you, yet at the same time wish that you’d come back to me, which in the end you do.  Character development sucked monkeyballs, yet you really have to cry at the scenes where the guy dies [I mean, he was fucking sexy] and where she leaves the nice guy for the fucked up guy.  Why do all romances have to end this way?

But yeah, serious roommate bonding time right there.  We all cried ourselves to sleep.

Except I got a nice phonecall, in which case afterwards I got knocked out and woke up at 12.

THEN.

Our floor ate lunch.

Really, Berkeley conversations are so…abstruse.

This guy asked, is it controversial to say that people are better than animals?

Then launched an entirely ethical philosophy based discourse on why or why not this may be the case.  According to my RA, or actually Bentham, morality is pain and pleasure based, meaning, our moral behavior maximizes pleasure and minimizes pain, and through this over-arching objective view, animals can be on the same plain with humans, where equality can be achieved.  My other floormates argued on a perspective based on Kant’s philosophy, that humans are better based on our ability to rationalized, or better yet, based on human dignity.  But, if we see it this way, it also means that we’re creating a stratisfied system within humanity, that intelligence becames the factor that compartmentalizes us, so that geniuses are worth more than vegetables.  But of course, we can just say that based on Bentham’s view, our saving our own species or at least thinking of ourselves on a higher level than animals — humans— maximizes pleasure.  And the conversation lasted for over an hour, and there came no tangible concensus. My god, is this what philosophy is like?

District 9

Was a really awesome movie, though the guy was a total and complete pussy until the last few, touching moments of robot/alien tragedy.  But really, interspecies sex? The fuck is that?  Ew.

But other than that…my day was good.

Yeah, nothing meaningful to say now.  Bye!