New Orleans - Part 3 (NOLA for Literature Fans)

If you missed earlier posts about New Orleans, read them here: Part 1 and Part 2

Is it just me or is #biking now more accessible than ever? With #bikeshare programs available in most major cities around the world, bike rentals are now less and less needed. No bike share in New Orleans means that if you want to bike, you'll have to rent one. I warmly recommend Crescent City rental place for bikes. I like them because of the location (edge of French Quarters, right by St. Louis Cemetery No.1), environmental awareness (they recycle maps and lights), bikes (with character instead of branding), and friendly service. It will cost you about $35/day.

NOLA Biking

You don't necessarily have to rent bikes to see the Quarter. If you have couple of days in New Orleans, no reason not to be able to cover the same ground on foot. But if you're like me and only take weekend trips and enjoy a busy schedule, then bike is probably your best option.

French Quarter

The Quarter is National Historic Landmark that dates back to 18th century. In short, it's historic, beautiful, and quaint. There's nothing more enjoyable than strolling down the streets and admiring the architecture. It's also one of those place that are difficult to capture with the camera.

 Example of French Quarter Architecture

The #Quarter is easy to traverse on foot or on bike. Another unique option is via horse carriage. There are number of tours to choose from. As for me - I think biking is the best way to see everything. I'm happy to say that I've biked down every single street in the Quarter.

French Quarter District, NOLA

NOLA for Literature Fans - French Quarter

I read Street Car Named Desire on the plane ride from Chicago to New Orleans. Really great play by Tennessee Williams which takes place in the French Quarter. The street car referenced in the play is St Charles line in NOLA, which is (almost) one of the characters in the book.
So of course, one of my first stops in NOLA was to visit the building in which the play took place and to yell out Stelllllaaa! Yes, I got some looks and I scared a tourist of two, but it was totally worth it.

I Did my Best Acting out a Scene from Streetcar Named Desire: Stellaaaaa!

If you visit NOLA during the New Orleans Literary Festival, be sure to sign up for 'the Stell-off'.

Another literary place to visit in French Quarter is William Faulkner's house, which is today Faulkner House Books. Be sure to pick up a book or two and support this beautiful, independent bookstore (where 27 year old Faulkner rented rooms in 1925). Like with most awesome bookstores, beware of the 'time trap': you walk in during daylight and by the time you walk out it's hours later and night. That is, if you're a bookie like me.

Find a Book from Local NOLA Author to Take Home as a Souvenir

To walk the steps of names such as Mark Twain, Oscar Wilde, and Theodore Roosevelt, step into another historic landmark - the Old Absinthe House. It's really a dusty dive bar and yes you can get an absinthe cocktail here if you wish.

Old Absinthe House sing on Bourbon Street

There are other French Quarter literary experiences that I haven't embarked upon yet. Those are left for my next trip to NOLA.

NOLA for Literature Fans - Garden District

While traversing on foot in the Quarter is easy, in order to visit other NOLA neighborhoods, you will need either a street car, cab, or a bike. I enjoyed biking from the Quarter to the Garden District.
On the way there I made a stop at popular and 'happening' Magazine street. From overpriced boutiques, specialty stores, and hip restaurants, there's something for everyone here.

Magazine Street, NOLA

The Garden District is popular for its architecture tour, featuring elaborate, show-offy, and wealthy residences.
For literature fans, stop #1 is the Garden District Book Shop, which is located inside a historic property called the Rink. Inside, you will notice that the district takes pride in local author's Anne Rice work.

Inside Garden District Book Shop

Anne Rice's vampire theme makes much more sense, when you realize she lived in proximity of Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, which is another stop during Garden District architecture tour.  

Anne Rice's Garden District House

The self-guided architecture tour can be found here. There are couple of celebrity houses listed, such as Sandra Bullock's house.

Sandra Bullock's Residence in Garden District, NOLA

NOLA will continue in Part 4 - Dusty Beignet Fingers. 

New Orleans - Part 2 (All that Jazz)

As I mentioned in Part 1, there's something about NOLA that makes one feel, breathe, and crave jazz.

Help Preserve Jazz

There's no better place to see traditional NOLA Jazz than in the Preservation Hall, where jazz is preserved in its original artform. If you're lucky (like I was) you'll see the Preservation Hall Jazz Band preform and you will never feel the same way again about brass instruments.

You'll probably end up standing in the line for ~2 hours but you won't regret it. Even if you can buy tickets online, I urge you don't do it.

How else would you be snubbed by a 'real' jazz lover who will sniff out your jazz virginity faster than you can say something incriminating when asked why you like jazz? Yes of course he was from New York. Then there's a girl from Texas who talked about What-a-Burger (Water burger) and now I need to go to Texas to try it for myself. Or how about finally meeting someone whose job title is a lobbyist?!

Waiting in the line to see a show at the Preservation Hall

Another thing do while waiting in the line is to watch what's happening right across the street in the famous voodoo shop - Rev Zombie's House of Voodoo. Here's that chance to go inside - someone can hold your place in the line while you find the most perfect tool to jinx your enemies.

When they finally let you in, you and your newly made friends will squeeze into this tiny tiny room and now you're ready to start. And when they say to put away your camera and phones - listen to them. Unless you need a picture for a blog post, of course.

Preservation Hall Jazz Band will brass your socks off

Once they start playing, you will forget about everything else and disappear in 30 minutes of absolute admiration and enjoyment. They are awesome. I'll never forget that trombone. The venue itself contributes to the awesomeness of this experience because it's so divey, dusty, and intimate. If you think I'm using awesome too much you are wrong.

All That Jazz

Music is everywhere, like at a random street corner, or in a restaurant where you'll have your meal, even if your hotel. This is especially noticeable as you get closer to the Jackson Square. 

Street musicians are very common in NOLA

But rumor has it, Frenchman's street is where locals go for jazz. Sleepy during the day, this area comes alive at night. Couple of cool jazz clubs are located here, like Spotted Cat, Negril, and DBA*. The area right next to the Spotted Cat was transformed into a night market filled with street vendors selling art and trinkets. 

A trip to this neighborhood isn't really a walking distance from the French Quarter, more like a short cab ride. Or about 10 minutes on your bike, which is the smartest way to get around French Quarter and surrounding area. 

Frenchman's Street is where locals go

Seeing a jazz band assembling somewhere is also very common. If you're lucky, they'll honk at you.

Shiny brass on a Bourbon street

NOLA will continue in Part 3. 

*I can't help but think Database Administrator = DBA

New Orleans - Part 1

Every time I get back home from a trip, I plan on writing a blog post about my experience. I continuously use the excuse of being too busy (more like lazy) to write about it.
This time around, instead of using excuses, I've decided to write in parts!

Getting from the airport:
If you're staying in the French Quarters neighborhood, which you probably are, the easiest way to get to the hotel is by getting a cab. It will cost you $33/trip plus tip. There's no good public transportation alternative. The 'shuttle' is actually more expensive. There is no train.
Cab drivers are very likely to use the 'broken card reader' excuse, so it's good to have cash with you.

Hotels:
There are plenitude of hotels to choose from that will fit your preferences/budget. Both times I've been to NOLA, it seemed that hotels get booked pretty quickly, so reserve in advance. I think NOLA hotels run on average a bit more expensive than your typical hotel rate elsewhere in the States.
There are 'historical inns', which can run pricey, but in turn can pay back with unique atmosphere. One such Inn is St Pierre that I stayed at in 2011.


Yes, the lobby and the outside building atmosphere is adorable and what a charming little inn! However, none of it is reflected in the rooms, so not sure if I would pay the same price again.
Location is unbeatable and it's only steps away from most of the French Quarter attractions.

What to do AS SOON as you arrive:
Make your way to the Bourbon street (of course). Stop at the first bar you come across and get an Abita beer. It's legal to walk and sip your drink in NOLA.

Every bar and every restaurant has plastic cups. It's so common to do this that no one will look at you funny when you ask your leftover drink in a to-go container. Even in the nice restaurants (yep, did it) - I should say ESPECIALLY in the nice restaurants.

It's legal to have a beer while LEANing, NOLA 2011 

2nd Thing You Should Do As Soon As You Arrive:
Look for and find some jazz. Duh, you're in the birthplace of jazz. Now, don't you worry if you're not really into jazz. Neither am I. You jazz people (like my friend Eugene), don't hold it against me.
You will find yourself enjoying jazz despite your personal preferences. There's something in the NOLA atmosphere that makes one feel, breathe, and crave jazz.
Right on Bourbon street, there's Fritzel's European Jazz Pub. It's got all this German stuff on the walls and it serves good German pilsners on tap. I'm sure there's a great story about the origins of this bar, but unfortunately, I don't have it/don't know it.
On my trip there in March 2014, I was lucky to get to hear some banjo jazz. It was super awesome 'cause I'm little bit country. ;-)

All that Jazz will continue in the next blog post...

Twitter Workforce or Losing my Internet

I haven't been this excited about a concept for ages! I don't even know where to start.

So, I’ve been paying a company for a while even though their service has been unreliable. Why? Because I’m lazy and busy, and because they have monopoly on this kind of service.

Busy - yeah, I’ve got a job and typically don't have any free time Mon-Fri 8am-5pm. Lazy - I could call over the weekend, but just the idea of going through series of 'press 5 (if you have blue eyes)' or 'press 7 (if you want to speak to the machine)', etc..., made me feel so enraged, I couldn't get myself to do it. Even when I did call, I'd get transferred somewhere else or end up being hung up on or get an appointment for which I had to wait at home 1pm – 4pm for someone to show up. I'm sure you can relate.

Being busy and lazy, what was I to do? I’ll tell you what - I was to express my frustrations to anyone and anything that would listen.

And who listened? Twitter did!

Not only did it listen, it actually reacted through first I’ve heard of Twitter Workforce.

I'm not gonna mention the name of the company (Comcast), but it has a very lousy reputation. I think my first tweet was just a frustrated commentary on how it's the worst company in the whole wide world (WWW). I really felt that way.

My # (hash-tag) attracted attention of their workforce. Soon after @s followed.

Not only was this communication instantaneous, but also duh, I didn't need home internet for it. It was all over my phone either via twitter client or texting.

Am I paid to advertise Twitter or the cable company? No (not yet - if you're interested, please let me know, I'm willing and cheap). I'm just amazed how technology can and is changing perception.

Perception? Yes. Because, was my Internet fixed? Nope, it wasn't. For one whole week! Yet, am I a happy customer? Honestly, I think I may be.

Twitter workforce picked up my desperation tweet, responded to it, and actually did something about it. They setup an appointment for time that was convenient for me. In the meantime, we did a bit of troubleshooting over the tweets. They setup a customer service call for me – so THEY called me. 

Not only did they call me (yes, I tweeted a lot), they had their 'Executive Customer Relations' people call me (yep, I got VIP treatment). Here's what they did for me:

• gave me a refund because they finally confirmed I've been paying for a service I wasn't using (despite the fact I've argued over the phone over and over again about how my bill is incorrect)
• when I asked them to refund 5 days loss of service they actually treated me like a human being and negotiated with me. I got 3 months free premium channel(s) instead of asking to speak with a supervisor. And YES, you should compensate your customers for disservice any time you cause it especially because they may end up paying for it after 3 months - happened to me: addicted to Torchwood :)
• arranged for their top experts to visit my home and actually diagnose the problem and fix it!

Could it be that (*insert company name here*) cares?

Apparently they care about fixing their online image.

And I, what do I care about? I care about being treated like someone cares. I care about having Internet service that's fast but also reliable. I care about getting an immediate response, even if it is: “Sorry for the trouble. DM the phone # on your acct. I'll check on this for you. “

If you're interested in reading more about this Twitter Workforce this BusinessWeek article from way back in 2009 talks about how this all began.

Y-ning

I conveniently have a swollen ankle couple of days before the run.  I don’t know what’s upsetting me more– the pain and inability to walk, or all those days spent running for nothing. Yes, that’s right – FOR NOTHING!

And I’m totally freezing now from trying to keep my ankle on ice for two days AND I have a muscle cramp from trying to keep my leg elevated (obviously, not one of my talents) AND I haven’t seen a person in two days. I am certain I’ve exceeded the number of legally allowable ANDs in a sentence.

I do remember back in February thinking I was crazy for signing up for something like this. And then I remember saying it in caps “I’M CRAZY FOR SIGNING UP FOR THIS”.  

It was so cold back then. I had no gym membership, but I did have a dream. When I say a dream, I don’t mean it in the MLK way, I mean, literarily, I had a dream. I dreamed couple of times I was outside running.

That very first run was awesome (remember, I was dreaming). It was the prettiest day of fall with shuffly leafs on the ground, that intense, bright yellow color I adore. I run like someone was chasing me, like my life depended on it, like I was leaving everything unpleasant behind. It felt so liberating.   

The reality was different. It was 20F outside, with piercing winds. I had 4 layers of clothes on me. But still, I run like someone was chasing me, like my life dependent on it, like I was leaving everything unpleasant behind. For 5 minutes.

So then, gradually, I started running more and more and I started liking it. Kind of. And craving it. Kind of. Especially once it got nice outside.

I tried running with my regular music. Then I tried classical music. Then I tried no music. I finally settled on Black Eyed Peas and Gwen Stefani.

Then I decided I needed new shoes. 7 days before the run. That’s where the story ends. Go ahead, point out that I ‘should have never gotten new shoes so close to the race’, that ‘everyone knows that…’… I heard it all.

My only run in the new shoes was 4 miles long. With 3 under 1 minute breaks. Ankle hurt a bit at around 2nd mile, but I thought I was just getting used to the new shoes. 

Argh....The worse of it all, they were also ugly!


And someone please, GET ME OFF TWITTER!

Braces {}, Or How I Run Away From Things

Everything sounded really good on paper. I got approved for all sorts of things. It was quick, effortless (done over email), and reasonable {lly good deal}. It was scary, because I was one word away from a done deal.

Problem is, despite all the research and rational exploring and reasoning I do, that part of me that makes decisions is really really fast. Like Jimmy John’s fast. Freaky fast. And it has a mind of its own.

Since I can’t paint:

Imagine a dude (CEO) sitting in a big-a$$, expensive, intimidating, comfortable, leather chair --> Sabina’s brain. Then imagine another dude, sort of a skinny little guy in a cheap suit, with glasses and a serious attitude --> Sabina’s analytical and reasearch abilities. The little dude is going out of his way presenting this and that, giving this or that statistic, showing off with all the numbers and fancy calculations.

The CEO leans forward and buzzes in his assistant and says: “Make an appointment, I’m getting braces” and then turns around to the little guy with “…and you were saying…”

The End

So yes, instead of looking at facts, numbers, pre-approvals, deals and everything I collected for months, my friggin’ brain instead makes me get braces.

And let me tell you, I’m the happies person alive.

Well, maybe not the happiest.

Let’s just say I’m pretty happy. J

Fine, alive. I’m alive!

And I’ve avoided a decision.

Would I recommend braces as a decision-awoiding method for others? No, not really. There are other, less painful and cheaper ways of avoiding decisions. I will have to remember that for the next time.

But speakng of braces, there are some things sort of unique to this experience I was unaware of:

•  I now conduct electricity even better than before. Keep the light outlets out my reach, unless you have a big supply of light bulbs lying around.
• I don’t really care for meat, but chances are a cow was born somewhere whose T-Bone I’ll be eating in 1.5 years.
• People think it’s OK to openly stare at your teeth when you have braces. It’s not.
•  I am so happy that I like things like yogurt, banana, and hummus.
• I am counting months till I can eat nuts again (nuts like almonds).
• No matter how desperate I get, I will never make the blended chicken noodle soup again (don’t ask).
• I never realized it before, but I like chewy stuff.
• I also like(d) taking big bites of things.

There’s more where that came from, but frankly, the CEO just buzzed, I got to go see what he wants NOW!

Gifting and Uncomfortable Shifting (In Place)

As much as we all like giving presents to other people, the actual act of buying for people we love/care for is like the extrusion process in manufacturing: input materials are what we think of when thinking of that person; output is what we mold our gift into.

Sounds simple.

It isn’t.

Some people are easy. You know the type: something to make them laugh and something that’s usable/practical. If this ends up being a combo, even better. Done.

Some people are difficult. I’m not saying their personality is difficult. I’m saying their taste is refined and their interests vague. Vague to us, I mean, not to them. Getting/buying a gift for them is not impossible, just time consuming. Difficult. It is paved with insecurities. It is a constant question mark. What’s worse, it makes you question your own taste. As such, it’s frustrating. It’s like a quest for a/the Holy Grail. Every year, couple of times per year...

Am I complaining?

Yes, yes indeed, I am.

It’s a general complaint. Not against anyone specifically, not against anything in particular. It’s just a frustration of wanting to please people you care for, yet feeling like a loser, because you just can’t.

Sometimes what I want to give is so unidentifiable, it’s impossible to find. What’s worse, I have no idea where to start. Add to it my dislike of traversing numerous stores, each one confirming the thought that all stores are just crap. I have an aversion towards pre-packed gifts with a bow. It’s a gift in multiples of hundreds. It says give this to everyone, as if everyone is the same person. They are not. Cookie cutter gifts for cookie cutter husbands, wives, friends, grandfathers, boyfriends…

Gag reflex right now.

A big one.

(Excluded are [grocery] gift baskets.)

Please don’t ask about Internet shopping. That requires premeditated planning. Or forward thinking. Or thinking in advance. I got neither - when it comes to shopping.  When it comes to murder, I’m pretty good.

Yet I Google often. Most of it is could have/should have googling. It’s of course accompanied by the inevitable “Next time I’ll…”, even thought I know I won’t. I won’t, I won’t, I won’t.

I just won’t.

Sometimes gifting is with good intentions, but with bad implementation. Let’s take, for example, souvenir shopping. While you’re buying souvenirs, you’re thinking great. It’s not until  you’re giving them that you’re thinking cheesy and sometimes inappropriate (or what was I thinking???).

I wish I could bake. If I could bake at all, I’d make everyone a pie. People are specific about their pie preferences.

I like pecan pie.

Sometimes I say peacock pie instead.  

If you hear me say it, don’t worry, it’s not my foreign nature, it’s my EASL (English as a Second Language): Easel.

That’s how I weasel myself out of that one…

As for gifting, I got nothing.

At all.

Et al.

K. and S. in Amsterdam

Travel 6: Kathy and Sabina’s Amsterdam “Smelly Fish” Deep Thoughts Experience

Everything is bruin in Amsterdam. Brown buildings, brown river, brown bicycles, greenish-brown substance rolled in a white paper... The persistence of brown didn’t depress me though. Just the opposite: Amsterdam rocks brown.

And it’s a charming place, charming like hell (figuratively speaking). Maybe my perception was slightly off, if you know what I mean…

Or maybe I’m just a hopeless romantic that finds the cafes by the canals adorable with tempest of narrow housing architecture surrounding them and leaning towards the bridges, as if willing to touch them or smell them or embrace them, ignoring everything there’s to ignore (and  there’s a lot). Somehow I felt the buildings were scooping me up in an embrace, tilting forward and looking down at me as if to say:” Hoe doe je, Sabina?”

*Let’s hope google translate captured this as “How you doin’, Sabina?”

But I think what captured me the most was the type of conversations you end up having there. Some of those will challenge your views, some of them will confirm your views, and some of them will teach you what your views are. Freedom of everything is twisted in and out, until you untie that knot with exactly what your opinion is. It may end up surprising you. That is, unless you allow the seduction of couch potatoe-ing take over. Which you shouldn’t. Thus say I. Just don’t…

Amsterdam essentials: umbrella and boots. Don’t let the summer fool you; you need boots no matter what time of the year it is. I felt sorry for K. Her jeans were soaked to her knees, her shoes hardly providing any cover. Not that it bothered her.

I like travelling with K. We’re both no nonsense travelers. We see a lot, because it’s important to both of us. Regardless of what’s on the agenda, we always end up having so much fun. How can I summarize it? It took me over ½ a year to complete this blog post, simply because I couldn’t capture the essence.

What would it be for this trip if I could?

Would it be that we walked miles and miles never even thinking of asking each other if our feet hurt?

Would it be that we laughed like crazy when I informed her I broke something made of glass in the bathroom of our tiny hotel room (the tiniest so far), but couldn’t identify what it was. I will not disclose what it was, only that after 10 minutes of frantic searching and debating of what it could possibly be (me, terrified it was one of her expensive face creams), that piece of glass flew out of my hands with the biggest force my arm could muster never to be spoken of again.

Could it be that we learned we have such conflicting views of common topics in Amsterdam, views we never touched upon in our 10 year old friendship? Despite them, or maybe because of them, we talked and talked and the conversation chatter carried through tiny little streets, some of it soaked in rain, some of it glittery in sunshine, some of it swallowed by the canal. And mind you, some of it definitely killed by the potent smell of raw herring.

Is it that our search for an authentic bruin pub took us to an Irish pub where we companied with other people, other people/company that urged one of us to whisper “Make ‘them’ go away!” We ended up going away, I guess we compromised.

Is it the simplicity with which we typically find our way around: me -- stuck with a map, K., in her usual ‘can you tell me where so and so is…’ Well, I have to say, Amsterdam is one city in which I was map-less.

Is it how different things capture our attention, so we end up pointing this or that to one another, each polite enough to acknowledge or patient enough to wait for the other to stop indulging. Or even discovering a new interest and being grateful for a new passion or piece of information.

Would it be that despite our grumpiness the day of travelling back, as we inevitably end up in an argument over breakfast, an argument I always blame on the lack of coffee, we always conclude with acknowledgement that we’re bitchy because we don’t like leaving, we like going. Incidentally, it just happened that we barely avoided being soaked up with water accumulated in a tent over a coffee place in front of our hotel, where we begged them to give us coffee as we were in a hurry to catch our flight. Karma saved us from that one.

Could it be, at least for me, the relief of finding her, as we both have a tendency to wander off? I typically walk faster (don’t let that fool you, K. walks even faster than I do, to be heard in the next Travel blog), while K’s camera directs her walking path. We lost and found each other a lot in Amsterdam.

Or is it all the girl talk, over and over again the same topics? We churn and churn events, people, emotions, all that’s precious to us, without any pressure to change topics or a reminder we already talked about it?

I don’t know what it is. I don’t really want to know. I’m almost afraid that magic would be broken if it was put in common words. Common, defined words of our language, instead of the mush that goes through your head as you think of things. I want to keep the mush going. Mush compromises of some words (keywords in at least two different languages), mixed with smells, acoustics, tactile(s), texture, feelings, emotions (are feelings and emotions the same – they are not. Feelings are just there, emotions are [I think] reactions to things, or the other way around…) Mush is able to distinguish things without defining them. When I think Amsterdam, mush brings a lot of stuff. When I talk about Amsterdam, words come out, but they’re never perfect, I almost want to scream “You had to be there!”

There, that defines it.

Summertime 2010

There’s an eternity between last summer and this one. I am able to cross it in one long step/strut. All it takes is that playlist and it instantly transports me back, one year back. This teleporting technology is not susceptible to reverse engineering, so don’t bother trying.

Transported back, I immediately feel the breeze of cool air of the last year cool summer on my face, the smell of grilled steak on my old patio, accompanied with an unusual beer selection. There I am, Kindle and I, and my afternoon reminiscences and mediations on meaning of life, love, happiness, longevity. I was reading Last Man on Earth by Marry Shelly. Like the title suggests, the book will turn you inside out, no way to bypass it.

Maybe it was a hard read for the summer, harsh topic to absorb, even if it is a beautifully written story, oh so believable. Maybe my musical selection was too emotional, maybe I travelled too much, maybe I worked too hard, and maybe I crossed too many railroad tracks…

Whatever it was, it awoke me from sleep. And I haven’t been back since.

In a way, all we are is randomized. Decades merge into one, today same as yesterday, same as year before. Pictures are blurred. But our mind enters clarity from time to time. If it happens that a single moment of clarity hits a randomization that brings back centuries old philosophical questions, then for a second you think you got it. That momentarily flash of light is enough to illuminate your whole life and that’s your signal. No, not from imaginary higher being, sorry to disappoint you; it’s that clarity that senses it’s a moment in life that matters, not life as a whole.

Thus begins my new philosophy. I didn't invent it. No one did. It always existed. It’s eternal.

Happiness is a moment. The longer you’re able to hold on to that moment, the longer you’re happy. The more you allow external distractions to interfere with the moment, the less chance for happiness you have. Happiness is hidden in every single day; we just never bother to notice it. We’re too busy fussing about things in a day that annoy us to see it.

If you stop and remove everything but happy moments from a single day, you are left with pure happiness. Yes, in every day. In every single day in your life. And I have scientific proof for you skeptics.

Damn YOU Aristotle!

Someone told me recently I was a very logical person. I didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult. It certainly made me think. Ah, I can be so logical when needed. Deep down, I am logical. It’s when the struggle of emotional vs logical occurs, well, sometimes (lately very often), the logical part loses. Although, I am aware of it, but of course when seen logically, there’s nothing I can logically apply to help it. So I struggle so much.
My logical part just ruins my life. I am neither here nor there. I am just kind of lost in thoughts. For every feeling there’s a logical explanation. For every action, there’s a logical justification. For every failed moment, there’s a logical accusation. I can’t escape feeling guilty. My own logic makes me feel guilty for not being logical all the time.

So then, damn you logic! I want out! This is so not what I signed up for!

Should I brush up on Aristotle’s teachings? Wasn’t he also teaching us about golden middle ground? Didn’t he also regard women as lower forms of life? Since I’m angry with him tonight, I’m taking this against him and simply (and irrationally) choosing to ignore all his teachings!

As much as we let our mind lead us through this life, deep down, we’re all animals. Animal instinct is also what drives us. Yes, maybe we need to be under influence of alcohol or exhausted or too tired to think, but, bottom line, we still have some of the cave mentality left in us.

So let me quote some of our new age philosophy - take this Aristotle!

I'm at my best when I'm at my worst
I'm at my worst when it's not rehearsed
I don't want to know the goddamn words
I don't want to have to spell it out
Don't want to mumble what I'm trying to say
I want to scream it from my foaming mouth
Shoot out the lights and ride away


I'm in my worst when I'm at my best
I'm at my best when I'm trying to look and think and talk
And sing and read and write like all the rest
We're all just trying to play our roles
In a play that runs ad nauseum
I hate this damn enlightenment
We were better off as animals

By Cursive

Image courtesy of Ru-Ru: http://www.pticica.com/slike/-/549871