Quotation and Music

"I found a love letter on my calculator." (JH on opening a calculator from the 10th grade). And, for a minute, he stopped to think if he was cheating on his soon-to-be fiancee only to remember that no, he is not.

Sometimes, you get used to the niceties of the superficial -- the hand that skims carelessly through the first layer of ripples that skate the surface without truly reaching the tidal wave. Let's avoid that.

A few songs to start off Summer 2011 Playlist: 
- Skinny Love (Bon Ivor)
- Caravane (Raphael Haroche)
- Chanel (Modern Skirts)
- Soul Meets Body (Death Cab for Cutie)

ATL, MIA, LIM, AQP

Two weeks ago I survived a sixteen and a half hour long flight. Even though the flight from Miami to Lima was only five hours long, it was a struggle. Maybe it had to do that we sat in the plane for about an hour before it actually took off or that there were no movies or TV shows to keep me entertained.

We reached Lima around midnight, and had at least four hours to kill before we could even re-check our baggage. Here I realized how handy my high school Spanish vocabulary could be. Sure, I couldn't speak in completely proper sentences, so maybe I partially fail. But I could sure understand enough and speak enough to buy the things I needed. I think that's all right for the first day.

The nigh

t we spent at the airport in Lima has to be one of the most uncomfortable nights, evaaaaa. I hurt. I slept, slouched, curled up, and tried anything to fall asleep in a small, compact chair. Needless to say, I crashed on the next flight and woke up to this:

Imma just gonna say it: I felt like I was looking at a scene from Lord of the Rings. NO HATERADE ALLOWED. We walked off the plane to the airport, which is absolutely adorable. It's a bit old-fashioned, small, and totally efficient.

The whole city is surrounded by mountains, making the weather outside pleasantly chilly. The clinic we're staying at has five floors. Because of the mountainous terrain, the entrance and actual clinic is the 4th floor and most of the rooms are below on the first three levels. However, we still have an amazing view:

We had a late light breakfast, and mostly everyone is catching up on their sleep right now. I'm mentally preparing myself to take a freezing cold shower in an already cold house. LEGGO.

Also, we are going grocery shopping tonight. I am so so so excited. They even mentioned maybe going to a farmer's market. Eeeeeek. Words can't explain.

En Route Conversations

Airport conversations are always interesting.  This is your chance to break from the bubble of your life and, for one brief hour's flight (or 11 hours overseas) enter into another's world. Someone who is unfamiliar and coincides with you purely on basis of buying a ticket.  Nothing could be more serendipitous.  These conversations can affect you. One may experience a variety of emotions: The realization of a common humanity. Understanding of a lifestyle so different from one's own. Or pure exasperation of, 'Really? This is the American public?'

Some highlights:
Hour and half conversation (Detroit to Atlanta). A naval doctor-in-training named Rory with whom I  discussed on gender psychology, post-traumatic stress disorder, our 20-something point in life and a psycho-analysis of his friend.  We ended it with insight into one another as if we had been friends for years.

Reagan INTL (DC to Atlanta).  Overheard: 15 minute discussion between two 20-some girls about facebook tagging. They were trying to tag each other but couldn't figure it out.

11 hour flight (ATL to London). A retired woman who sucked on her dentures but sweetly inquired about religion and family history.

Detroit Airport. The airport features its own set of internal sparrows.  One propped itself nearby, chirped and then flew over my shoulder.

Detroit Airport.  Sitting next to a college girl, I look over and gasp in delight as I realize she is watching Episode One of The O.C.  We have a brief discussion where I tell her I love this episode and cry.


Reagan INTL. "I am not checking in at Atlanta (on facebook) because I don't want anyone to know that I wa in that Godforsaken town."  A girl as she waits at the terminal surrounded by people destined and many originating from Atlanta, GA.

Objection: Basis on Patheticness

As I conclude this night of studying, I was watching a soap opera where the guy (lawyer) is cross-examining the witness and then the cliff-hanger is: "Have you ever had sex with the Defendant?"

I just finished reviewing Evidence.  I started screaming objections at the screen based on the context of the trial (you had to have known the whole story to understand that my objections had a strong case of being upheld).  And then, I countered myself. And then, I offered further support for my original objection.

Conclusion: Lame.

Book v. Movie War: Something Borrowed

As a novel, I place Something Borrowed in the same categories as Confessions of a Shop-a-holic (without the comedy). Both are stories that lightly address hard subject matter--one, a story about the 'other girl' that wrecks the monogamous relationship and the second a story about a girl in debt. I know--no one sees Shop-a-holic like that but it IS a comedic take on a bumbling young woman's life and modern consumerism.  One solution to escalating Something Borrowed into a more serious novel would have been to round the male characters (particularly Dex).  Regardless, it's a fun read (I thought), and I liked the ending. Too often you have the 'I'm independent and happy.' No one says that happiness and spontaneity require independence. 

As for the movie--good start. Obviously, there were some twists from the novel; however, they were well executed and actually contributed more to the movie-goer audience.  Overall, I liked the beginning and thought it reflected the mood/content of the book (right through Dex's confession at the bar and after). Then it fell flat. Basically, the writers forgot to develop the new relationship and skipped to the 'I love you.' Similar to the book, they forgot about the guy.  Yes, they spent a few extra scenes on him--but, once again, you were left with a really good-looking guy playing the part of a really good-looking guy. The movie was well acted and the reviews give credit to the actors (except the really good-looking guy). I don't think that's his fault--he worked with what he had (which was a type-cast part). 

The movie did a good job in portraying the friendship between Rachel and Darcy.  However, it falls short of the great insight provided in the book of two friends who, as opposites, suffer from a 'grass-is-always-greener' mentality.  You get a sense of that as Ethan relays to Rachel that Darcy never got into Notre Dame--however, this speech only pounds in the message if you had the layers of the relationship already explained up to that point.  Overall: The book wins on this regard but the movie fails somewhat.  However, both succeed in at least portraying the internal conflict experienced by the female protagonist (the movie falls short, again due to the fact that it skipped the development of the Rachel-Dex relationship). 

Regardless, I'm adding this movie to the chick-flick pile.  It's the kind of movie that I will probably pull off of the shelf after a rough week when I don't want any hard thinking and just images flashing before my eyes ending in a rounded and simple conclusion. 

The Law isn't Justice, it is Procedure

It is not about responsibility--whether it was your job to do something and you failed to accomplish the deed. More so, I think of it as whether you had the opportunity to do something and failed to perform in this given window of potential.

There is one lesson of the law that everyone should learn: For the whole, there must be individual failings. Society prospers at the blemishes of "ones." We stick to the procedure of the law because, overall, it produces net benefits. Yet, what about those case-specific instances where the procedure fails the truth and falls flat of justice? Oh well, we just let those slide. Because, the Economist would say, cost-benefit analysis shows that, as a whole, the one individual is less than the whole (the latter that benefits). The gross benefit of society outweigh the loss of the "one."

Try knowing the "one." Try surrounding yourself on a daily basis with those "ones." The Economist is the academic, with his head in Cloud 9, untethered to the land. He is the man who works blindly on the basis of procedure and thinks in theoretics. He has forgotten the Rule of Our Existence: There is no Perfection. Only a strive towards the unattainable state, a pursuit that ensued at the moment of the Fall.

I am sad because today, because I know a "one" and his story. And the likely end of it, too.

This is my life

I am a clutz. A spaz, person who falls over air, runs into doors, you get the picture. And I just can't help it. Most of my friends ask me to stop, and no offense, but that is the most ridiculous piece of support I have ever heard. Do you think I choose this? Do you think I want to make an idiot of of myself by tripping over a chair in the dining hall or something as equally stupid? If you say yes, then you're the one with a problem. Let me take you on a journey of some memorable moments:


1. You know how really nice kitchens in movies have those cool swinging doors? Whenever I saw those in movies, I imagined myself just going back and forth through that picturesque door. In the few moments of my life in which I've been able to experience that, I've felt amazing and fancy. I felt like a pro.

There is a set of double doors to a building on campus, and both of them swing back and forth. Maybe I wrongly assumed the best in people when I thought that the person leaving and the guy in front of me entering were both holding the door open. How wrong I was. I tried walking right through the middle of the doorway and the swinging doors (emphasis on swinging) hit me in the back of the head and right in the face. On a brighter note, the people around seemed concerned. They asked me if I was okay. After they stopped laughing, of course.



2. Today, a biker biked into me. I didn't know that was possible. The sad part is that I didn't even realize what was going on. All of a sudden, I noticed that something was making me walk crooked and in a different direction than what my brain was telling me. I looked around and saw a guy next to me patting my shoulder repeating over and over again, "I'm so sorry. Man, I didn't mean to. I am so so sorry." I didn't know what he was talking about, and frankly, I didn't care. I just wanted this stranger to stop touching me so close to my face. I starting twisting my torso back and forth trying to throw his hand off and told him not to worry about it. Maybe the uncertainty in my voice and my weird movements encouraged him to keep on patting, to keep on apologizing. When I realized this wasn't working, I looked down to move my feet. That's when I realized that his bike was between my legs. It pretty much looked like I was straddling his front tire. I disentangled myself, busted out laughing, and quickly walked away.

I try to keep it classy.