A Day at the Cafe

It's 5:00 PM and I find myself packing my things once again. Calculator, check. Lap-top, check. Number two pencil thats been vigorously gnawed by a pair of angry teeth, check!
I take a sweeping glace over desk to see if there is something I have missed. For once you leave, there is no turning back. My work will not take place at home, where eventually, I will fall victim to one of the gazillion enticing objects that lie all around my room. My guitar, for one thing, is not conducive to my studies. Before you know it, I will be strumming away, leaving my essays and math problems for later.

So, I mercilessly close the door of my room and set out. Where am I leaving for you ask? Café Pascucci. Second floor. Red round table by the window. I position myself on the chair, let the books and papers fall in their place. I begin my work.

Now, I have grown accostumed to working with chatter and music playing around me. It really depends on the person; if you let yourself be distracted by the group of highschool kids chatting away on the couch, or the seductive woman in the skimpy blouse smoking away on the balcony, or Sinatra's snazzy trumpet solos flowing out from the speakers all around, you might as well stay home. But these things do not bother me. Once I am here, I am able to concentrate on what I am doing; frequent sips of my vanilla latte will be the only thing that distracts me from my task.

6:14PM. I shift my eyes away from the computer screen and let them readjust to reality. I take time to observe the things that are going around me. There are many interesting things that your eyes may indulge on in a place like this.

Just then, a dashing young man walks in. He is followed by a woman, who, judging by the lines on her face, is not happy. They don't bother to order, and take a seat in the far corner of the room. The woman sits with her arms crossed, back against the chair. She looks down at her feet. Her lips are smugly sealed. They refuse to open.

The man, on the other hand, sits on the edge of his seat, his whole body leaning over the table. His arms are outstretched. His eyes, moist, are begging for the womans' to meet them. But the woman, sitting across from him, effortlessly deflects them. The man opens his mouth and begins to talk. The woman takes no interest. His hands clench to form fists, and they strike the table. Wham! He demands her to listen, the veins on his forehead pulsing with frustration.

But the woman does not comply. The man's arms now lie limp on the table. He slumps back in his seat. He lets his eyes wander. Nat King Cole's 'Autumn Leaves' plays on the background.

As amusing as this situation may seem, I look away. I glance back at my computer screen.
I take another sip from my vanilla latte.
I press 'publish post.'

Taylor Swift - country music sensation

At age nineteen, she is one of the most eminent and successful country music artist of all time.
Her Madison Square Garden show was completely sold out in 59 seconds.
Her album Fearless has one four platinum labels
She has made country music palatable to the ears of people all over the world
She is Taylor Swift.
All this, for a girl who learned how to play guitar on her computer.
I am awestruck. I have liked a few of her catchy songs, but I had never fully realized the extent of her fame until now.
Being an avid guitar player myself, it surprises me how musicians find themselves on the pedestal of fame in a blink of an eye. How it must feel to have millions of people listen to the songs that you wrote, and be on tour performing on the stage infront of thousands of people!
It is something that I can only dream about.
Another interesting fact about Swift; she is the only country musician to have won the VMA video music award. It was one fretful night; while she was making her acceptance speech, she was rudely interrupted by rap artist Kanye West, who, begged to differ on the decision.
This unexpected and snobbish intervention only meant good news for Swift; her sales only accelerated after the incident.
So, its been all sunny and blue skies for this young musician.
Her talents have been recognized all over the world, and she reminds us once again that America is the land of opportunity.

Battle Studies. JM still gots the stuff.

John Mayer released his new album 'Battle Studies' yesterday.
I've been following up on his new stuff for some time now(being an avid fan of his), and
I have to say that this album is as genuine and John Mayer as it gets.
After a dizzying period of big bucks, fickle love, and grammys, John has finally come back
to his deep, songwriting side.

He's all about business, and this resolve really shows in his songs.
Some of my favorites are 'Heartbreak Warfare' and 'Edge of Desire'.
They are really mellow, although less bluesy than his previous songs, they inspire a feeling
of moist, lonely, autumn rain-shower kind of sensation in your heart.
His lyrics are still imbued with meaning, which I really like about this artist. JM is truely a poet.
But his new album, has definitely sought some criticism.
Many accuse him of being a sell-out artist--especially after Continuum.
Detractors say that his new music has lost 'soul' and demand that he go back to his blues.
I beg to differ; if he really were a sell-out artist, he would safely pitch tent with his old Continuum stuff. But, he has developed as a songwriter, and as a muscian. With that said, his new songs reflect that improvement.
I would agree that Battle Studies has shed some of the bluesiness found in his previous album. But his new songs definitely has soul and gravity. He has put a lot of care and thought in writing his songs, and that is what I value in him as an artist.

How religions persist in the Modern world

One cool fall Sunday afternoon, I was walking from the parking lot of Onnuri Church to my apartment four blocks away. Walking hand in hand with my parents, I noticed many other families and groups of people strolling by, also on their way home after church. They each had their Bibles either tucked under their arms or gripped in their hands. ‘An indispensable tome of words’ my mother once told me. I looked at my Bible askew. The tattered leather sheathing fluttered in the autumn breeze. Truly a timeless compilation, one of the oldest works in history. Yet, we still refer to it today. Why? How do religions persist in a world determined my logic, science and empirical evidence? What drives people to put faith in something so elusive as the divine spirit?
I felt sorry for myself for asking this question so late in the progression of my life. For all this time, I had obediently attended church and prayed to a god whose presence I took for granted. Not once had I questioned my parents or whomever else on whether a divine entity really had effect on our lives. Going to church and praying to god had become a ritualistic pantomime rather than a genuine spiritual pursuit. The church atmosphere was soothing; the thought that I was surrounded by people who sought the same god was comforting.
But, coming back to the question that had me befuddled-why do people believe in god? I read somewhere that only 1 out of 20 people 'connect' with god. And yet, people choose to spend hours of their time, heaps of money, on something so subtle.
This evokes my intellectual curiosity, for the modern world is one that is so driven by scientific reasoning; determined as either black and white. Yet, in this world whose very existence is corroborated by logic and sound evidence, exists the realm of divinity.

Lesson learned

Gravity took its toll on me.
It happened at the gym.
There I was, sheepishly lifting weights that were clearly too heavy for my scrawny arms.
But I did so anyways, with great effort; my stubbornness had taken the better of me.
Not only after I had finished 4 sets could I find the luxury to wipe the sweat off my temples and look out the window.
The day was beautiful; the green trees swayed in the wind
People strolled by, enjoying the warm sunshine and the crisp autumn air.
What I had not noticed
was the 20 kilo dumbbell rolling slyly towards the edge of the press bench.
It inched closer and closer towards the edge, like a hungry mongoose preying on a defenseless rodent, before making its plunge.
It, fueled by the force of gravity,
mercilessly struck down on my unguarded toe.
It was the sound that surprised me at first; the solid thump that made everybody in the gym cringe.
Then came the pain.
It shot through my leg like an electric shock
The weight had come down on my fourth toe of my left foot.
It didn't seem too bad at first, for the pain was soon replaced with a strange numbing sensation
But later the pain came back,
It was kind of a throbbing pain, that shed its presence in minute intervals
Pulsing.
Palpitating.
It didn't stop.
I was forced to take off my shoe and take a closer look.
The little toe was so distended that it seemed out of place
Like an ugly brute, it stood out grotesquely in the line of polished toes.
I cringed and swore.
It sucked.
'I wish I hadn't come here in the first place' I thought.
'I should have just stayed home and read Conrad' I thought.
But no. I had to come to the gym and let fate work its magic.
I guess it could have been worse
At least I learned my lesson:
never go do something when you know you should be doing something else.

So Real yet So Far-fetched: The Afghanistan War

There is a war going on in the same continent that I live in, yet I do not readily feel its ramifications in my life. The only effect that these seemingly 'fairy-tale' wars have on me is
that they ruin my appetite when televised broadcasts of yet another military deployment hums through the television screen as I am about to eat dinner. And yes, I feel very ashamed for saying and thinking this because, whether you like it or not, the war is REAL and it is happening. There are tens and hundreds of innocent civilians, oblivious sufferers, and American troops dying from this conflict each day. And I shudder in disgrace as I find myself complacently pitching tent in my safe little home and pointing fingers at the 'aggressors' and calling them names.
What I, and the rest of the public that is so vehemently opposed to the war has to understand is that it is not so easy to just pull out. America, by entering the war, has made a commitment. This war is, as we can see, wearing that commitment down to its bones. America came in Afghanistan almost as an instinctive response to the 9-11 attacks. It was a natural reaction, I suppose, and people roiled with feelings of insecurity were supportive of it in the beginning. The goal was set: exterminating the Al Quaeda and its purveyors, the Taliban.
Now, as the US struggles to tie the strings together and bring the war to an end, the whinny American public has been anything but supportive. Now that it has been 8 years since the 9-11 attacks, maybe the feeling of invincibility has been restored in the heart of Americans once more, that's great. But what we have to understand here is that terrorism still poses an unsurmountable threat to the US. It is a matter of domestic security that the troops need to be in Afghanistan. It is a matter of safety for the American citizens. If US pulls out, that means that the Americans are asking for another 9-11. Troops need to be there and apply that constant pressure on the terrorist forces. The unfettered commitment and religious devotion that the terrorists forces work with are what makes them so dangerous and volatile. Who knows what will happen if the Americans are not there to subdue their treacherous religious zeal?
Now, today it is un-cool to be supportive of the war. The youth is against it. Violence is not cool. Catcalls are heard when images of Condolezza Rice appear on the screen. "Pulling out is not an option for America" she says. And as I am boo-ing along with the rest the viewers, I can't help but to agree. America will stay put in Afghanistan, at least for now.

Shades of U2: Keane

I swear I could have heard young Bono's voice as I was listening to 'Is it any wonder' by a rockband called Keane