Like a Virgin

Sometimes it's important to say no. Especially when it's your first time. Sure, he may tell you everything he thinks you want to hear. He might think he's pushing all the right buttons. He might even try to convince you that the smaller, less 'popular' alternative isn't good enough for you. It's very tactical. One might also say he's reading it from a script. You're almost convinced...But, when caught off guard, it may all come out that even he 'tweaks' the truth sometimes.
In his defence:
"Sometimes, in the heat of discussion, you go a little bit further than you would if it was an absolutely calm, considered, prepared, scripted remark..."
Oh, Tony.

Yes, on August the 21st I will be voting for the first time. Some might say that I am a 'virgin voter'. As are 90 % of my friends. We will number our preferences at the polling booths and finally directly influence this democracy of ours. To many, 18-years-old is young and naive. Sure, I know plenty of idiots. But I've come to realise that age is not a factor when it comes to being an idiot. On the contrary, I know plenty of 18-year-olds who aren't idiots at all. And, many of my friends all take quite an interest in the upcoming federal election.

The perfect example: A few days ago, my very good friend Sophie posted a link on my Facebook wall. It was a link to a page on the Australian Greens' website about Asylum Seekers and Refugees. I commented the link, as did she. Then, a handful of my friends joined in on the discussion. By the following day there were over 60 comments from people between the ages of 18 and 20 on the link. It was a sustained and analytical discussion, with each person eager to express their opinions and learn about other things.

I've heard of a number of people who refer to Generation Y-ers as those ‘damned adolescents’ with no respect for authority or the elderly. We are the ones who quit when the going gets tough. We drink too much and neglect our responsibilities. We spend too much time on the internet.

Whether any of the above is true or not for certain individuals, it is in our interests to partake in this society. It is a responsibility that some will probably neglect, but others won't. And, sure we use the internet too much. But it enables us an outlet to talk about the important stuff.
And facebook helps us plan the election parties we're going to have, where we can drink some more.

Yesssss.

Now, consider the options before you give it up guys. You don't want a man who wears speedos and you don't want a lady who doesn't stand up for her beliefs.

I know stuff, now.

Sometimes I feel dumb.

Or, maybe not dumb exactly, but 'un-informed'.

I don't know many 'facts'. I don't know about many things in this world, why things are the way they are or how something came to be. I don't know how stuff works. I wish I did!

I wish I could partake in discussions about medicine or volcanoes or tofu. Anything!
I know bits and pieces about society and sociology and politics and people...but I don't know about other abstract stuff.

But, as usual, the internet has come to my rescue!

The other day, a friend and I were having a heated discussion about how stupid people become when they are 'in love'. Obsession, irrationality and just plain stupidity. Ditching their friends, losing their values, losing their minds! In the midst of the conversation, I declared that I would become a scientist and get to the bottom of the chemistry within our brains that can make us so fucking retarded just because of another person.

Of course, there was very little substance to this declaration. But, I thought, maybe someone's already done it!

So I went to my trusty source to learn about all things great and small, insignificant and things of catastrophic importance:
HowStuffWorks.com.

This website is no new discovery of mine, but I only recently acquired such an appreciation for it and all it can teach me!

All I did was type in 'Love' to the search bar, and it came up with many clickable titles. Including one, 'How Love Works'.

Here is what it had to say:

If you've ever been in love, you've probably at least considered classifying the feeling as an addiction. And guess what: You were right. As it turns out, scientists are discovering that the same chemical process that takes place with addiction takes place when we fall in love.

Yes! Someone had already done the handiwork for me.

The article then went on to numerous subheadings: What is Love?, What Makes us Fall in Love?, Aphrodisiacs, Lust and Attraction, Attachment, The Chemistry of Love, Chemical Bonding, The Long Haul?, Are We Alone in Love?

Amazing. All questions answered. From here, the opportunities seemed endless: photos, light, talent, singing, pain, laughter.

Thank you 'HowStuffWorks' for giving me knowledge. Next, I'll be getting on to Bill Bryson's 'A Short History of Nearly Everything'. Then I'll just drop out of uni and become a wise gypsy in Scandinavia. Yes.

Go on, ask me anything.

No more talk

“If I’d learnt one thing from travelling, it was that the way to get things done was to go ahead and do them. Don’t talk about going to Borneo. Book a ticket, get a visa, pack a bag, and it just happens.” - The Beach, Alex Garland.

Thailand, Cambodia, Laos I’m coming for you. Vietnam, I’m coming back for you.

Or maybe I'll go to Europe. I just need to buy a god damn ticket. Blagggh!

Revelations over a Chai

Last night, while enjoying a chai and chocolate-chip cookie with my dear friend Amelia, I had a revelation. And, it wasn't even that I should put down the cookie or give the poor barista a break from brewing those wretched chai lattes.

Rather, I realised I have a serious problem with drafting. I don't mean the sort of drafting that dear Lucinda Strahan encourages all good Professional Writing students to undertake, either. I mean, I rarely send a text message without exiting, erasing and redrafting dozens of times. The 'Drafts' folder of my beloved HTC hit a startling 200 + messages.
Why is this so?
Well, apparently I think too much.
Many people close to me have tried to convince me of such at times, but I usually dispute their claims: I don't think too much, I just think before I act, speak and write. That is responsible, I argue. Unlike you silly boys that are tactless and stupid and silly and really should empathise more with others. (Hmph)
Well, after coming across my overloaded Draft section I realised that maybe their claims were something I should keep in mind (like there aren't already enough things floating around my mind, right?).
But, how do you think about not thinking so much? Doesn't that just defeat the purpose?
So, my solution: I will express all these 'thoughts' in writing. Perhaps then, I will get to 'know' my thoughts. Then, once recognising these thoughts I can redistribute these thoughts: I can throw away the silly ones, keep the ones I like and recycle the rest so that maybe they can return as something a little better in the future.
But, this posed another problem. Where to write about it? I thought well and hard, as usual, and came up with two possible outlets for my expression, in order of preference: diary or blog. As the diary is universally regarded as the place in which one may express one's deepest and most intimate 'thoughts' and feelings, this was the obvious choice. I scrounged around my bookshelf for a home-brand Moleskin that I'd purchased earlier this year and flipped open the first few pages. There was an entry! A full one at that. Pats on the back for Josie. Oh... wait. Why is there writing beneath the writing, in a grey yet faded shade? I snapped the book shut. Apparently I can't even express my 'deepest and most intimate thoughts and feelings' in pen. Instead, I wrote it in a trusty 2B grey-lead. And I rubbed most of it out. Disgraceful!
Furious at the fact that I apparently lack any sense of creativity or value for my own expression, I grabbed my laptop in search of the other alternative. And then I remembered that I'd already started a blog. As I should, considering I'm studying media and journalism (and PR, but we don't like to dwell on that).
But I couldn't remember what website it was with, nor any usernames or passwords or anything else worthwhile. Then, as I searched my history, it started coming back to me that I've started a number of blogs. The compulsory one for Professional Writing (Pebble Pad sucks, that's all), a Tumblr, and this one. Wow, great initiative Jose. Well done, starting your own blog. Practice writing, find your voice, gain a following, woooo. Pity nobody knows about any of them. And, pity that there are FIVE UN-POSTED, HALF WRITTEN DRAFTS!!!
So, now I'm going to bite the bullet. I hereby declare that this blog will be my blog. Yes it will yes it will. And I'm going to punish my past-self by publishing some unpublished 'drafts' from either my Tumblr or my drafts section of this blog.
Back to the subject of Chai lattés and revelations, Amelia and I also discovered that not only does the Chai serves as a delicious metaphor for many things. I hereby declare, again, that I will discuss this matter in a future post. And no, I will not draft. Even though Lucinda says that I should draft. I will not. Okay, maybe I will. Purely for the sakes of my 'readers' (ha), and to uphold the proper use of the English language. But I will publish! Because I need to stop thinking and start doing stuff. Yeah.