Brains are so annoying sometimes.

Well, most of the times.
I mean, really! You think it could, for once, like what its currently doing right? But no. Always, always it makes me want to do things I can't at a particular time, and then when I can, IT WON'T FEEL.
Ugh.
When you want to work, they wander away to fantasize about Hugh Jackman's mouth, and when you're merrily stalking they sneak up behind you and nag you about how much work you need to do. Make up your mind, stupid brain! Why can't you just focus on one thing?! And your ideas have inordinately bad timing. Every single time. The wonderful blog post comes in the shower. The thing you needed to Google you remember when you switch off the laptop. The soap you needed to buy you remember when you're on your way home. Always. Why?


Equally annoying as brains are brothers. I mean, for 364 days of the year they'll act like total jerks and probably ignore your very existence (exaggerating here, but whatever, exaggerating is fun). And then one fine day they'll go out and do something so absolutely brilliant, sweet, beautiful and unexpected that you forgive them completely for the next 364 days of jerk-i-ness. And no, it wasn't my birthday. Which made it even sweeter. They have the right idea. Get your expectations of them so low that you're thankful when they remember to call you once in a while, and then boom, blow them away with a kind act out of nowhere so that you're walking on air. Stupid, useless, smart, caring, lovable idiots. Hunh.


~Sam

Birdies in the sky.

If I ever got a tattoo, I think I'd get one of a bird, simply because they symbolize so much-both as an inspiration, and as a caution. [Update: As of now, my tattoo status is this: Never getting one, because pain, and AIDS, and permanence, and deciding, and ew, but hypothetically, I'd get a trio of a nightingale, a mockingbird, and a bluejay circling on the part where my wrist meets my palm.]

Love. Fragility. Strength. Perseverance. Peace. Determination. Beauty. Sharing. Togetherness. Simplicity. Belief. Innocence. Naivete.

There's just so much to learn from birds. How to overcome, everything. Rebuild, again, and again, and again. Migrate, again, and again, and again. Love, live, lay.  I sat in my garden today and just watched them. There was a little water on the ground, waste water, left over from when the garden had been watered. They'd creep in, in twos or threes, always in pairs-a bird was never alone for long, even if it came down alone. Some would drink, taking a sip and then looking all around, bobbing their little heads, looking out for danger. Some seemed to be bathing, sinking their upper bodies into the water, then shivering violently to get rid of the droplets, and flying away to perch on a tree, preening. Then again, they'd hop down, repeat the same procedure over and over again, four of them, in a little puddle of water, completely ignoring the little birdbath kept near the tree for their leisure.

Until I looked up once and they were gone.

It would be cliched to say I learned so much from that half an hour's experience, and also false, because I didn't learn anything new. Everything which was to be said about birds, has already been said. We've all thought about being them, and they've been the muses of poets for decades.I even have an unfinished post sitting in my own drafts box, entitled "This is me thinking about being a bird."

And yet, this post.


I would want to be a bird, for their freedom, for their togetherness, for their innocence and for their simplicity, everything I mentioned above. I wouldn't want to be a bird, for their life, for their dangers, for every moment fraught with risk, for their misplaced innocence--sit still for long enough, and a bird will fly its way right into your hand, to be crushed, destroyed, or frightened away.

Birds, butterflies-they were not made for this world, like flies were, or humans. And yet they survive, and they show us how to survive. A tiny, tiny little creature, inquisitive, daring, bright, beautiful--showing us the way of life. And, perhaps, its meaning.



~Sam

More ramblings. (This is what I do when I have things to say but not enough to make an entire post.)

Hi.
If you're a hyper-sensitive guy well aware of his manliness who refuses to carry his girlfriend/mom's handbag, you should probably leave right now.
As should sane persons and other people who like coherence in their blog posts.

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So first up, if having a baby is anywhere near as uncomfortable as the processes that make childbirth possible, I'm never doing it. Screw experience, one magical moment is not going to make up for nine months of torture. I'll just adopt and pledge my soul to Greenpeace instead.

(Greenpeace because I'm being all eco-friendly by not adding to the population, and because everything-literally everything, from sushi to sanitation- can be linked to the environment. And therefore by extension to Greenpeace.)
(Also, congratulations. You now know that I've never experienced the joys of childbirth.
 (or have I?)
 Bravo.)

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God.
Why, God, why? Why do you hate me? And if you don't, why do you act like you do? Why do you ignore all my sorry's and pleas and thank you's? Do you not care about me? Why did you make me, then, if your plan all along was to leave me?
Why do you not listen to me? Why do you not acknowledge my existence? Why do you ignore all my thousands of thought-messages? Are you not telepathic? But you're God. If you're not telepathic, what hope do the rest of us have?

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Google.

If Google was a person (a guy person) I would marry it. It has everything I want. It's amazing and it's popular, it's successful and it knows everything without being an idiot about it, it looks good and it plays pranks on people, it's unique and it's accessible, it's multifaceted and it has a sense of humor, it's ultra-cute and I bet if it had a smile, it would have dimples.
So there you go. My perfect man is a search engine. 

Though I totally love Sergey Brin, too. Marry me?

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And that is what PMS and a soppy Valentine video from Google does to me.

This post is probably going to come back to haunt and embarrass the life out of me later.

Meh. I'll go eat my Subway now. (Subway <3)

~Sam

" When I Grow Older, I Will Be Stronger"

I love how we always have more faith in our future-selves than our present-selves. Like, project due in May? No problem! I'll work my ass off in April, work 18 hours a day and get it done with in a week flat. No need to stress myself out ahout that now. 


Come April, and you wonder what the hell you were thinking, putting so much faith in your abilities.

So you know what K-naan? You won't be stronger. Or harder, or faster, or free-er, or better in any way. You'll be exactly the same, only a little older.
And none the wiser.

~Sam

Hypocrite

They tell you to follow your heart; they tell you to use your head.

They tell you to revel in life; they tell you to think twice. 

They tell you everyone makes mistakes; they scream at every one of yours. 

They tell you to do your best; they scorn if it doesn't make you the best. 

They tell you to dream; they expect you to be realistic. 

They tell you to think big; they tell you you're one small voice. 

They tell you you're free; they shackle you with judgement. 

They tell you to believe.
They teach you to behave. 

~Sam