Many thing weigh on my mind, but nothing culminates to a point where it becomes blog-worthy. It's like having a million stars, but none of them become a supernova. Pointless no? So instead, I think I shall just sit back and let my fingers do the talking. Apparently, this would lead to a lot of wandering around all over the place.
You know what's the first thing on my mind? I'm thinking that there should be a toilet seat heater. Seriously, there's nothing worse than in the cold winter, having to relieve myself and then despairing at the thought of raw skin having to touch the extreme cold plastic that sends cold shivers of shocks up the spine. Seriously, that so puts me off, puts me out of the right mindset for settling down in the toilet with a newspaper to read for ten minutes. It's like sitting on a block of ice, and I am pretty sure that if you had to sit on a block of ice to do something, pretty soon you'll forget about whatever you were suppose to do and just wonder, why the hell is your ass on a block of ice. That's my case for heated toilet seats, to a nice ambient temperature, slightly lower than body temperature, for a nice warm feeling that makes people happy.
But speaking of the cold, I'm very intrigued by the word cold. It seems to describe everything. A cold winter, a cold person, a cold car, a cold book, a cold meal, a cold anything. It has certain connotations, about being cold. But I am more interested in what image it invokes in my mind. When I speak of cold, I think of cold words. Cold words, reflecting the insensitivity of some people, the inner chill coated by the sound of each word that brings the frost right to the heart. Words that freeze the soul, that hardens the heart and shivers the nerves. I wonder how do people utter those words carelessly and heartlessly. And then, those words pass by, but the coldness stays on, in the residuals of memory and then I still shudder when I hear the echo of those words.
Today I had an interesting conversation with a friend over lunch. He was explaining his position of being a man-whore. His definition of a man-whore is that he's mostly a man, except when it comes to drinks, he expect girls to buy drinks for him. That's his whore part. I suppose he likes it that way. But I shall not comment. Anyway, he had this predicament, which I thought was kind of ironic, and I think this is the start of a really bad date movie plot. He has this chick friend, whom he tells everything to. And I mean everything, from his "manly" sexcapades to cheating on his girlfriend, to every conceivable way he picked up chicks and swooned them with his suaveness. And yeah, here's where the bad date movie plot comes in, he happens to fall in love with this chick. Yup, the one chick he told all his secrets to, the one chick who knows all his underhanded methods, and the one chick who is positively resistant to his charms. He's gonna confess his love for her tomorrow, so I suppose that it's kind of a good thing for him, to actually like one chick only. I got to say, watching it in real life is a lot better than watching a Hollywood movie, Hollywood has a tendency of wrecking movies.
I was thinking whether I'm superstitious or not. Maybe I am, I like to think I'm a modern sophisticated person, above the superstitions and weird practices, but somehow, I don't think so. Perhaps I'm as base as the next person, but I think that if I place too much hope in something, I'll actually jinx it and then bad sh*t happens. It always happen to big things; maybe that's why I don't like talking about stuff that happens to me.
I've just finished Crime and Punishment. Erick said it was... okay let me quote him directly:
E: Wow, you read those kind of things, huh.
Me: what do you mean, "those kind of things"?
E: Long boring books. Or at least that's the impression I have.I don't know, but sometimes I get this deja-vu-ish feeling when I read a book, that somewhere I've read that book before. Towards the end, I get the premonition that I've read this before and I remember the ending, though I can't remember that I've read it before. Then I suppose that kinda wrecks the story for me. Life's kinda like that too, that some things become so predictable that it wrecks whatever ending I was hoping for.
But that aside, I was reading Crime and Punishment, then I had to put the book down because of the usual life interruptions, classes, professors, homework... I hate dog-earring books... it's contemptuous, undignified and unscholarly. Disfiguring a book by putting a crease through it's pages is a lack of respect. Don't get me started on those who write in their books... even textbooks. I only wrote in one book, in my life, and that was under the threat of death. Yes, those who went to RI with me know of the reality of the threat of Albar... Mrs Albar. But that aside, I firmly believe it disrespectful to disfigure a book. So I took out my wallet, pulled out an American dollar bill and stuck it in the middle as a bookmark. Then I realised what I did and started laughing at the irony.
I need an apartment right now. I'm going to be kicked out of campus housing within 4 weeks, and I don't have a place to go to right now. I know I should be worried, but somehow I doubt I will be worried. The most is that I'd be reduced to sleeping at the library like how that NYU kid did. But then again, I heard that there was another kid sleeping at the Kimmel Student Center. So yeah, given the sad state of NYU housing for next semester, I won't be surprised at all one bit to find a bunch of homeless NYU students sleeping in the library.
Sometimes a person's blog starts to suck. Plain does. It happens, I've seen it before. No, I'm not talking about my blog, I think I've been rather consistent with my rants and bs, so if you know what to expect from my blog, I don't think I can even disappoint your expectations. Some blogs are witty, funny, tongue-in-cheek black humor, then suddenly their writers get girlfriends, and soon it becomes all mush and online professions of love to their significant other and somehow... yeah... err... I think that's rather personal...
But speaking of black humor, my professor today had a brief lapse of morbidity. We were on the chapter of joint survivorship and joint life, and then basically we take a couple, usually a husband and a wife, and the insurance basically works that the other person gets paid when one dies. So for calculation purposes, we, being the practical actuarial students that we are, assume their deaths to be independent of each other. (Btw, any person should know what independent means. One of the essentials of education is the basics of statistics.) But my professor went along and said, "But of course, their deaths are not independent. They could both die in an airplane crash or something. We could get as morbid as we want." At that point, I had a film reel running through my head of ghastly car accidents, or suicide bombings, or mass murderers, or avian flu, or genocide, or bizarre natural disasters, or Martian attacks, or walking zombies, or... or morbid actuarial students who watch too much nightly news.
Sometimes I'm insomniac, and I don't know why. It's not like I'm worried about anything in particular. Maybe it's more of because I'm worrying about everything in particular. Meh, I don't know. My vocabulary these days have expanded to include the two words, meh and bleh. I guess that kinda makes me sound like a sheep. But sometimes, when people tell me something pseudo-tragic that happened to them, the most I can go is, meh.
