Me at the End

I'm writing this blog 3AM on the day
It's due, soon, 6th period philosophay
I sit, staring, still, stumped on what to say-
Realizing not only how this poem is bad
But that I had already ruminated on my past
My present, but not my future, not certain on my beliefs
Yes, maybe, but not no, cause I don't know, can't know, won't know
if what I believe is right, trouble telling tricks from truths
But just between me and you, is that all we knew?
Lies and deceit that clouded our minds.
Stubborn and firm of our own place in time.
Our importance, and on the line was our pride.
And prejudice, Austen would say
Often leading to austere debates,
We just had to emancipate our ideas and thoughts
let them be free, to learn only wisdom should be sought,
like the great minds, famous and those never talked about
Because those great thinkers, great minds, great philosophers
Those great people in books, sir, madam' and her
mind, his mind, my mind, our mind, are just as great
just as large pondering subjects we all do,
we all share, because we are all human.
We have our differences, our tastes, our beliefs
that we teach, we heave, we leave, we find,
constantly changing, leaving lost ones behind.
Because we are continuously growing,
On our own, alone, slowly, but there is more,
cause I care to share what's there 'neath my hair
in my brain, must explain this knowledge.
Spread it far like a global telecommunicast
Because the curtains finally cast, I've seen the past,
written by the winners, not those who finished last.
But those who did last are those who populated
The world with their thoughts on how it operated.
Elated, fated that others seem to tend
the same thoughts in their head, torn beliefs to mend.
But as this is my last blog post I will send.
I will just leave this: This is me in the end.

LETTER

Dear prospective philosophy student,

Congratulations for choosing this class. This may be the highlight class of your year; at times it’s starkly different from other classes, especially the English ones. Many English classes are filled with writing, reading and busywork or a combination of the three such as a long summary and analysis of themes of a couple books comparing them, and/or story questions of a book. Yes, those are in this class as well, but most questions are not story-based, or even theme-based. They seem to be more reflective, going beyond the theme and applying it to one’s self and the world around us.

This is especially the case for movies. While some questions may be the typical “movie questions” of the plot and idea, many truly try and get one to think about the underlying message and how it affects themselves. There’re a lot of movies in this class. And a lot of books. Pay attention to both of them, because this class is truly what you make of it. The philosophy will only come if you participate in the discussion, pay attention to the movies and books and most importantly reflect on it all. But yes, there’s a lot of discussion. And I feel like that’s where most of the fun and learning in this class is, discussing our thoughts related to whatever book/movie we have been keeping up with. But then we also get to learn from each other.

There are also blog posts due e’ry Friday. They’re a way for reflection. Just do those, and have fun with them. And that’s pretty much the message of the class. It’s a fun and educational class if you, as a student, make it. So do it.

Good luck,
Dohyun Bae

Thoughts on Earlier Thinking.

Throughout this class, I think I've learned a lot. I don't feel as stubborn on my views and have started to question everything, especially in these last couple weeks with the latest movies, books and discussions. I don't know what to think anymore. I probably have my own philosophy somewhere deep, but it's almost as if it's become muddled with questions.

I don't think my earlier thinking before this year was wrong however. I just have learned more? It's not as if there has been a sudden revelation, completely upturning my original thoughts. Just some amendments constructed from what I have learned. Although now everything is questioned. Maybe I'm not sure about my philosophy.

Earlier, I was stubborn on ideas such as a lack of a god, but with recent discussions pertaining to the Higgs-Boson, perhaps I’m not so sure. I’m still adamant on the lack of a Christian or any large religious human god figure, but maybe this god is nothing more than something we cannot comprehend, something more comparable to a force than a human being.

And stuff like that has changed and revised, and I am sure it will continue to be changed and revised.

Surrounded by Cuckoos, but I was the crazy one.

What does it mean to be crazy? Who defines what crazy truly is? Is it the state of simply being "mentally unwell"? "Unfit for society", deemed "a hazard to others", living in "a state not of this world".

We see others as crazy. When something goes wrong, we jump to blame others who were related. It couldn't be us. We couldn't make the mistake. But yet when someone else is involved, it has to be the. Confirmation bias, as psychology calls it.

And this works for insanity, I suppose. Maybe they aren't the crazy one. Maybe we are.

We have been just too blind to see that. In the end, we're all crazy. We're all flawed. We're all human. We have more in common than we like to believe, especially when feelings of such aversion from what we deem crazy is large.

We're all crazy. It just depends on when you accept this fact. Have you? Because I already have.

Together

We need each other for survival. Just like the old Aesop fable. The fable where the old father takes his three disagreeing sons out to the woods and tells them each to break a stick, and they easily snap the twigs into two. But then the father brings a bundle of sticks for them to break, and alas, they cannot.
There is power in numbers, in unity.

And I suppose that is right. Together we create an army, a force. We cannot live in isolation, for those that try to do so end up going mad. There have been unethical tests on babies, leaving them in solitary confinement, and they do not develop normally.

We do not develop normally mentally if we mentally isolate ourselves. Aloof, away, hidden, shy, whatever the reason, it only feeds the problem.

Together, together, together at last.
Be thankful for others, realize that you do make mistakes and so do others. Realize you would not be anywhere without others.

This has not become rambling, it has always been a stream of conscious. But now, here I am, together with everyone in the world, expressing what I feel and what I know about being together.
As a human being.

Alone? More like Alone Journey.

A blog post, in spring break. This ain't even for real.

Well, I didn't feel like writing a story, so instead, I'll write a review of a fantastic artist known as Blazo. Living in Kraków, Poland, his music is a mix. Instrumental, he combines jazz-influences with the beats of hip hop all with a piano and other instruments deemed to be "classical". Through it all, he makes each track unique, with different influences, while still keeping each of them beautiful.

I'll let the music speak for itself:

Save the Earth, Do this!

To save the Earth, people ight tell you to recycle. Drive less. Do something for the environment.

But really, to save the Earth, we need a revolution. A revolution in people. We need everyone to change, not only small aspects in their life, but their beliefs and lifestyle. We must work together, everyone for this common goal. In the end, we see in politics, school or any other projects that demand group effort to be hindered because of a lack of cooperation. And with the daunting task of saving the Earth ahead of us, full cooperation would be necessary to even think of it as being even remotely possible.

But Saving the Earth will take more than just being "open-minded". We need to be completely new people. The same person with the right idea. The large number of people on Earth can either be a bane or a blessing. We need it to be a blessing.

Much like how we disagreed on those questions, we will find ourselves disagreeing on ways to save the Earth. Maybe that's why this is the blog topic. You sly old coot, Mr McCarthy. How very sneaky.

Invisible

"pitpatpitpat"

Each step he took made small splashes on top the wet cobblestone, imitating the drizzle just two hours before. He made each stride small, yet sure, placing his foot carefully each step. His face contorted to a disgruntled look as he looked down at his noisy feet He had to be quieter. He had to be invisible. Up above the only source of light was the gibbous moon, and its scattered stars. Night brought a sense of calm to the streets of London. Everyone snuck into their houses until daybreak, not only from the lack of light but because of the newfound fear.

"pitpatpitpat"

He cursed his feet, for making such loud din. He had to be invisible. He had to be invisible. The nights of London had many shady figures lurking, hugging each corner and slipping through each alleyway. They would find him. There was no comradery between these shrouds. And he was one of them. Albeit, a simple messenger, but he was a messenger of the night. Dressed in the darkest fabrics, from his breeches to his messenger hat to cover his dusty face. His jacket was buttoned as tightly as he held his small bag, holding the precious notes he carried. Then he swore he saw something. His heart leapt, and his eyes darted around, as fear began to grip his spine. His pace began to match his pounding heart.

"pitterpatterpitterpatter"

He wanted to scream at his feet. He wanted to shout for giving him away. He wasn't invisible. He wasn't invisible. Not anymore. Not ever. There were shadows twisting in the moonlight beside him. They had found him. They had found him.

"pitterterpatterterpitterterpatterter"
Then he stumbled once, and then twice. His feet betrayed him for the last time. In the night, he saw the glisten of silver against the silver moon, as in flashed down into him. he collapsed, hands outstretched, reaching for his infernal feet. And then all was still. Except for the slow, rhythmic drips of crimson onto the damp cobblestone roads.

"pitpatpitpat"

Books to read

I'm a sucker for fiction. Teen fiction.
Let me amend that, *Well-written teen fiction.
*Well-written teen fiction that contains a premise that interests me.

Maybe I'm not a deep reader. I like to read for entertainment, for the story. The books that keep me reading until 5 AM cause I need to know what happens next.

And Scott Westerfeld fits that entire bill perfectly.
While he's mostly known for his Uglies/Pretties/Specials series, I actually found that to be the least interesting, and never got around to reading anything past the first book.

His other series, "Midnighters", and more recently the in-progress "Leviathan" trilogy have both captivated my attention.

Midnighters paints a land in the U.S. where time stops for an hour for a specific group of people. A hint of realism in the fantasy, and with the variety of characters bouncing off each other dynamically, there is always one that one can relate to.

The Leviathan trilogy has to be my favorite however. The setting is an alternate steampunk WWI. I love steampunk. The visuals and feelings that it gives, of complex yet vintage machinery, the theme of exploration through the sky, the immense power this old technology has developed all make it a thrilling setting. That along wit the great story-weaving and beautiful illustrations, truly giving visuals for the vibrant world the words paint, make it an entertaining read.

What can I say?
I'm a sucker for teen fiction.

Movie Review

Limitless just came out in theatres, an I must say, was entertaining and captivating throughout. Bradley Cooper plays a charismatic Eddie Morra, a disillusioned writer whose life is on the fringes, until he meets an old connection and is introduced to a drug. Known as NZT, it is said to unlock all the potential of the brain. Needless to say, this changes Eddies life, for the better and worse.

The idea of such a drug, one that would enhance our brains, is a large and fascinating topic. It is very open to possibilities, and in a sense, Limitless does not cover it all. But then again, it'd be impossible to. There's also the complaint that such a drug wouldn't make sense, but of course not. This is a work of fiction, and if one nitpicks at unrealistic ideas, then this is not the movie for them. But there are other flaws, including little fleshed out supporting characters, and a couple plot points that just seem to vanish.

The things that made this movie so captivating were the cinematography, charismatic performance and narration by Bradley Cooper. The constant action makes it a good thriller. Everyone wants to be able to unlock their hidden potential, and Limitless makes a pretty good movie out of it.

ART REVIEW

American Gothic. Everyone knows the piece. Everyone can visualize the ubiquitous old man and woman standing next to each other, one holding the pitchfork, his eyes boring into our very soul, while the other simply glances to the side. A symbol of rural America people say. And it's true.

But people don't know the whole story. There's a lot more. Grant Wood was an American Regionalist from Iowa, and the man in the piece was based upon his dentist, while the woman was based upon his own sister. It won 3rd place in a contest at the Art Institute of Chicago, and was bought for $300. The piece, while many thing to be a man and his wife, it is thought to be of a man and his spinster daughter by art researchers or some people like that. I guess the overexaggerated wrinkles and lighting of the face, and the entire setting capture the feeling of a rural farmer more than a naturalistic painting would. This captures the essence. There is also a lot of artistry in it. Have you seen the repetition of the pitchfork shape in the window, and more bluntly in the man's overalls? The woman's face matches her brooch, while her apron is identical to the fabric in the curtains.

This piece has shown me that there's so much more in an art piece that we miss. We glaze over the details. These little details add up and is able to change our entire view on a piece.

There's a lot more to this piece, and all other pieces of art.
We just need to look deeper.

My fellow countrymen

We are standing here today, gathered as a mass, for no reason but for ourselves. The media will deem us selfish, revolutionary, or even terrorists, but that is only because they are scared. They are scared of us.
They are scared of the power we have. Every day we get our message out, every day we breathe and think, we grow in power. We are a rock, and the rest of the people are Sisyphus. They will try, oh yes they will try! They will try to stop us, by rolling us up the hill, hoping to keep us at the to[. But no! Everytime, we will simply tumble down, stronger gaining momentum! There is nothing that can stop us. Anytime they try to stop us, realize this: we are an unstoppable! We are Batman and Robin, inseparable and unbeatable as long as we stay together!
Ladies and gentleman, that is what we must do! We must stick together like putty and glue! Like wood and wood glue! Like tape and itself when it accidentally folds!
This way, we can be the rolling rock, the large mack truck, a river of never ceasing water.
We need the right, you see. They are trying to suppress our right to have assemblies! Suppress our right to make bad comparisons! Absolute nonsense! We must fight! They also want to stop our right to ask rhetorical questions. Who are they to stop what we do? Who are they to make decisions for ourselves?
Men and women, children and the elderly, hear my call- hear our call. We need the right to misuse cliches in speeches, because without that right, who knows what else we could lose? We would be lost like fish in a barrel. And no one wants to be that last man standing.

Thank you.

DEAR MR. MCCARTHY

THIS BLOG POST SEEMS AWFULLY SILLY.

I HOPE YOU HAD A GREAT BIRTHDAY, FILLED WITH PHILOSOPHICAL DELIGHT AND TURKISH DELIGHT. I HAVE NO CLUE WHAT THAT IS.

I HOPE YOUR BIRTHDAY WAS AS DELICIOUS AS TURKISH DELIGHT.

I'VE NEVER HAD TURKISH DELIGHT.

X is Known

CLIENT: [ITEM EXPUNGED: WILL BE NOTED AS X]
INTERVIEW #016
TIME: 7:05 PM
INTERVIEWEE: [ITEM EXPUNGED]

Q: Did you know X?
A: X? Yeah, I knew him, if by knowing him you mean I wanted to beat the shit out of his head. He was a cocky bastard that one. He would come into my business, well knowing I hated his guts, and proceed to waste my time.

Q: And did other people see X as such?
A: Yeah, most of us did, I'm sure. X was known, he didn't hide anything about himself. And as soon as people got to know him, they were either used by X, or saw through him and hated his sly ass. Although there was one person that was close with him, they're very similar. What's his name again? Oh right, it was [ITEM EXPUNGED].

Q: How were X and [ITEM EXPUNGED]?
A: Worked too well. Everyone hated them both. Good riddance X died. I kneeled down and kissed the ground knowing there was one less scumbag on the land.

Q: And yet you had nothing to do with it?
A: I don't like the accusation you're making there. You think I had a part in this? Let me tell you, I wish I did, I wish I did. But no, 'pparently he died of his own accord? I heard it was [ITEM EXPUNGED], and let me tell you, I got no pity. I will dance, laugh and spit on his grave.

Q: And you know of no one who was part of it?
A: Look, I said, I wish I was part of it. I don't know no one who been a part of this. Now I'm going to kindly ask for you to get your ass out of here before I'm forced to be a part of something I didn't wish I was a part of.

[INTERVIEW ENDED AT 7:12 PM]

X Marks the Spot

The large vessel tipped and turned as each wave pounded incessantly at its underbelly. The dark skies rumbled in tune with the seas, giving no indication of being night or day as jagged bolts danced to this macabre tune in the distance. Onboard the ship were men; men at war with the ropes and water, screaming and fighting for every last inch. As they struggled, a jaded old man grabbed tightly to the main mast in one hand and raised his cutlass with the other. His single glass eye glistened with the dark color of the sea with every crack of lightning.

"These are the nights that summon fear and swallow the frail!", screamed the man above the roar of the tempest. "Stand your ground as brethren and Davy Jones himself will tremble in panic!" The crew clamored in agreement, as the ship shoved against each wave, fighting. The men knew that the crash each time the ocean heaved upon the sides of the ship, the crack following each lightning whip in the black skies, were all equal to the clash of swords and the burst of gunfire. It was a battle. A battle between the deep and mankind. The men knew that there would never be peace, only an uneasy tension. They were at the mercy of the spirits of the sea.

The din of the rushing water grew louder and louder, and sailors struggling near the bow looked ahead to see Davy Jones' eyes staring back. The sailors struggled no more, only fixated in horror at the whirling cyclone that lay ahead. Some broke free and ran back, in hopes the Captain would have the necessary actions. The old sea dog stood silent, lips pursed. From his experience, he knew what he was facing. He was facing the fickle waters of the sea. The waters that would gamble upon the lives of men. And the sea had not rolled in their favor this time.

The weathered wood of the vessel cracked and flooding began as it began to sink. The men that had accepted their fates dove right in, their date with the abyssal plain had come. Others fought tooth and nail to the bloody end, breathing air for only seconds more than their weaker brethren. Chaos described the landscape, a typhoon of lumber, cloth and lives, masked by a storm of screams that echoed in the air.

And then.
Nothing.
--------------------------
Bodies would wash up days later upon the shores that marked the map. The map that was now lost, torn into mulch by the arms of the ocean. Carried by the currents, the empty carcasses would rest, only footsteps away from the faint X in the ground. The X that marked the spot. The spot that would always and forever, be out of reach.

SO MANY ALBUMS

There's so many good albums, so I'll just review a couple of my recent favorites.

Girl Talk makes some of the greatest pump up music. Starting with Night Ripper, his latest three albums have all been an eclectic mix of samples, taken from a variety of genres and mixing them to make something that sounds simply amazing. Each time you listen to it, you’ll discover something new. Who knew Black Sabbath and Ludacris would work so well together? Feed the Animals was his fourth album, the second latest album, and, what I think to be his best. The beginning and ending encapsulate the entire album so well. While his latest All Day seems to just end at a stop, Feed the Animals goes out with a bang. [Play Your Part Pt. 2 | http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-ek9CchVpWE]

Matthew Thomas Dillon is a genius. I remember when I first discovered Windmill, and like many others, I could not get past the voice. But after a couple listens, I realized how beautiful it was, and how the voice is the only voice that would fit. Almost ethereal and child-like, it captures the lyrics, style and idea behind his albums, especially his latest, Epcot Starfields. Based off the Disneyworld attraction and his childhood memories and feelings from that visit, the album is haunting and beautiful. [Ellen Save Our Energy | http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YIYXu-GLdt8]

Misteur Valaire is a Quebecer band that is hard to describe. They have some jazz influences, but their sound is electronic with twee pop and hip-hop mixed in. They have so much variety; at times it reminds me of the Gorillaz, but also so much more. On their latest album, Golden Bombay, it’s hard to pick a song because they are quite different, yet cohesive. November Number 3 is one of my favorite tracks [http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTJrPonsFfc]. But all of the other tracks on Golden Bombay deserve a listen to.

Honorable mentions to Albums and artists I wanted to talk about but couldn't:
Bromst by Dan Deacon,
Devil's Music by Teddybears,
Lust, Lust, Lust by The Raveonettes,
Treats by Sleigh Bells

FADE IN FROM BLACK, DOOR CLOSES, GANG ENTERS

“I know it means something!”Seymour shouts to the rest of the gang, “I just don’t know what!”

We see Seymour sitting at the dinner table in a classic 80’s home, with his friends around the room, waiting for him to finish.

They turn away, facepalming and showing signs of disgust as they collectively groan. Seymour sits, troubled over the scrap sheet of paper, inspecting it thoroughly, turning it over and over several times.

“Give it up Seymour”, snaps Martha, “It’s obviously nothing special.” She takes out a compact and starts working on her make-up, “We have a lot more important things to care about.” Light chuckles emerge from the audience.

Skip stops pacing and spreads and slams his hands on the table, emanating a no-nonsense attitude, “Guys, we need to focus on the soapbox derby race if we want to beat those smug Robinsons!” Everyone minus Seymour cheers and shouts crude vulgarities at the name of the rich kids down the street.

Always the joker, Boris speaks up, “Hey guys! But this could be the ULTIMATE RECIPE Seymour always talks about!” The audience laughs uproariously, with a wheezing old laugh piercing the din, slowly dying out with each wheeze sounding more and more sick, while the crowd’s laughter dies to nothing more than a couple of “hoo-hoo-hoo”s.

Martha replies without looking up from her compact, “Oh grow up Boris, you can’t even say anything. Your parents are dead!” The crowd responds with cackles and jeers, deep, raspy and throaty, there are claps and kneeslaps. Saliva flies through the air with such mass that it is audible as it whizzes around the studio. One man kneels, screaming primitive guttural cries until he collapses of exhaustion. Soon after a minute of collecting themselves, the laughter dies down to wheezes.

Seymour suddenly stands up, holding the sheet in his hand, “I know what it means guys!” Everyone, even Martha, pauses to look up. Some in the audience guffaw, in preparation for the next line. “It says that we have a blog entry due Friday and no one has any clue what it means!” The audience starts slowly, with childlike giggles, growing with each second, as more people join, increasing the volume. It passes the decibel levels of an Usher concert, then a jet, then an Usher concert if the audience was nothing but jets, and Usher himself was Jetsher. Some audience members crumple to the floor from the force and start spasming, while others begin to vomit. They cannot stop. There is no end. The cacophony rings throughout the tri-state area, igniting forest fires, and the cries of the forest animals in pain mix with the continuous laughter. It continues until the end of time, creating an area that has to be quarantined. No one dares to step in it. In the future there are legends of the pain if one would step into the area. There are always a couple fools that do not believe the stories that are lost every year. All because of a blog entry.

This is what it means.

CAN YOU FEEL IT? CAN YOU SMELL IT? CAN YOU TASTE IT?

IT’S THE ULTIMATE RECIPE. THIS DESCRIPTION WOULD DEMAND EXPLETIVES, BUT SOMETHING KNOWN AS SCHOOL-APPROPRIATE CONDUCT PREVENTS IT. EVEN ULTIMATE THINGS WILL TRY AND CONTAIN ITSELF WHEN NECESSARY. BUT THE CAPS LOCK IS NECESSARY. I CAN’T BELIEVE WE HAD A BLOG ENTRY THE DAY AFTER FINALS. A DAY WHERE WE HAD NO SCHOOL. THIS BLOG ENTRY SHOULD NOT EXIST. THEREFORE IT DOESN’T? I DON’T KNOW. THIS IS A PHILOSOPHY CLASS. YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER. THIS IS A PRETTY DISGRACEFUL BLOG ENTRY TO BE HONEST. IT CANNOT CONTAIN THE FEELINGS OF ENDORPHINS OOZING OUT OF EVERY LAST PORE IN ONE’S BODY IN RAYS OF SHIMMERING LIGHT WITH EACH SHIMMER A MINIATURE UNICORN WITH A SMALL WIRY ITALIAN MAN SITTING ON IT WAVING A MIRROR REALLY FAST. EACH COPY OF HIM GRINS AT YOU CREEPILY, TWIDDLING THEIR MUSTACHES WITH SUCH SPEED THEY NEARLY CATCH ON FIRE. YOU CAN FEEL THE CREEPY AWKWARDNESS, BUT ARE TOO BUSY BEING PREOCCUPIED BY THE ENDLESS CARNIVAL IN YOUR HEAD. YOU CAN FEEL YOUR NOSE HAIRS IN YOUR NOSTRILS ENTWINE WITH EACH AROMA, AS EACH OF THEM MAKE SHADY DEALS TO TAKE YOU ON A JOURNEY. A JOURNEY TO A WORLD OF WARM CHOCOLATEY GOODNESS WHERE THERE ARE WATERFALLS, NAY, ENTIRE WATER CYCLES IF THE WATER WAS NOT WATER AND INSTEAD MOLTEN CHOCOLATE. IT WOULD BE KNOWN AS A CHOCOLATE CYCLE THEN. CAN YOU TASTE IT? NO YOU CAN’T. YOU HAVE NEVER TASTED IT. YOU WILL NEVER TASTE IT. THE ULTIMATE RECIPE IS THAT COOKIE. THAT DELICIOUS COOKIE IN YOUR HEAD. THE PERFECT PROTOTYPE OF A COOKIE. IT JUST GOT LIKE INCEPTION. YOU KNOW YOU CAN FEEL THAT WARM MOIST COOKIE IN YOUR HAND, FRESH FROM THE OVEN WITH THE SMELLS STILL LINGERING IN THE TOASTY AIR. AS YOU TAKE A BITE THE SOFTNESS MELTS IN YOUR MOUTH AND CRUMBLES INTO NOTHING BUT SENSORY TRIGGERS, TRIGGERING ALL THOSE PLEASURE SPOTS YOU NEVER KNEW YOUR MOUTH HAD. YOU SAVOR EACH BITE UNWILLINGLY, MILK OR NO MILK, IT DOESN’T MATTER. THE COOKIE WAS ALREADY PERFECT. ONLY THE PERFECT MILK WILL WASH IT DOWN.

TOO BAD YOU WILL NEVER HAVE THAT EITHER.

Good Food Review

Is this asking for a review on a good food? Or is it asking for a good review on food? Or is it supposed to be about what constitutes a good review on food? These blog posts really need to be explained. But I'll do the latter, because that is what I assume you [Mr. McCarthy] meant.

First of all, a good review of food takes in more than just the food. It has to evaluate any other factors that affect our impressions of the food. A good restaurant review takes in all that adds to the food. The ambiance, the service, and especially the people. The people one eats with to the other customers all make a difference to the impression the place and the food leaves on someone. When making an unbiased review on a restaurant, one should go alone. When making an unbiased review on simply a dish, someone must travel and eat that dish prepared by various people to get an overall feeling. Our memories of a restaurant, and the food ate are formed by the sum of the factors mentioned before. When we are asked if we would go back, we do not simply remember how the food tasted, but how we felt as we ate it. The environment is the strongest spice for food.

THE KING

I cannot believe one would believe the King is still “the king”. First of all, the King was never “the king”. Ever. Secondly, just because it is labeled as the King, does not necessarily make it “the king”. Look at Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson. Is he a rock? No, of course not. There is nothing rock-like about him, except for his acting. He was wrestler, then a slave to Disney, making terrible, terrible family movies. Now that the contract ended, he is a slave to making terrible, terrible movies in general. But I digress.

The King has tried many different aspects. By calling oneself a king, one brings a sense of automatic power and authority. But then, realizing the lack of true power it had, it switched its tactics. It started to reach out towards the people, telling them they could have their methods of choice. The King has become a subservient, asking the people for answers. It had lost its throne to the power of democracy, by its own accord. Kings of countries have lost their power to the people in many places, and have become figureheads of tradition and celebrities, because the people decided. In other places, the kings keep an iron grip among the population.

But the King lost its power by simply taking on a new ad campaign. Asking people for their way as a change of face. Too bad it has still lost its power. McDonald’s has better fries anyway.

I am a shoe

Oh god, what happened? Why am I a shoe? Maybe this is a dream. A dream with all those fancy hidden meanings, depending on my situation. Am I worn or sitting in a box? Do I have laces, velcros or are they just nice slip ons? There are so many different types of shoes. Are we supposed to compare ourselves to a type of shoe and see how we relate parts of ourselves to different features?
That's some bs.

One could use anything for any shoe.
I can be a sandal as a symbol of my openness to everything that comes my way, from the breeze that blow across my toes, that symbolize the stages of my life. The breezes are opportunities throughout my life, as well as impediments, seen as leaves and rocks and etc. While I get to experience, many more things, I am also open to pain.
That's some quality bs there.

Maybe I'm a hiking boot?
Rugged, trampling over any obstacles in life. Cold, emotionless, as the weather has no effect. The rough leathery exterior represents the rough outer shell, but inside, like any other shoe, is a warm foot. Inside any shoe is a sole, and inside any body, is a soul.
Boom. Did you just see that? That's right, that's some more high-grade bs right there.

Maybe just some simple sneakers.
Fitting, normal, with little bits of color and flair to the regular colors of white, and gray to differentiate from the other masses. Useful for a variety of things, sneakers are a necessity in this fast-paced life. We are able to move quickly through the urban landscape that forces us to continuously be busy with something.

So what was the point of all this?
This blog entry topic is pretty silly.