in praise of the men i know.

D. he is faithful

N. he is hardworking

R. worldly things don’t entice him

P. he is disciplined

J. for he will do right

A. he knows laughter

(simultaneously published here).


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in a perfect world.

Much to my own disappointment, I am pretty much a disappointment. If you are a Christian, you might know that bit of Paul where he writes a confusing paragraph about how he does things he doesn’t want to do and doesn’t do things he does want to do and etc. That is me exactly.

Sometimes, I do things I don’t want to do. Sometimes I want to do things and don’t do them. Sometimes I want to do things and find myself uncapable of pulling them off. Sometimes I don’t want to do things but can’t seem to find a way not to.

As I near the dawn of my twenty-third year, I could look forward with optimism. Hope that in the year of my birth three and twenty, I’ll shape up. But I thought that about myself before the new year, and before I came to England, and before I graduated from college. On the approach of any major time-marker, I usually imagine that this will be the dawn of an irrepressibly good era.

But I’m slowly catching on.

It’s not worth talking about how it’s very frustrating to constantly know you’re not measuring up. If you’re any bit of a candid human, you’ll admit that sometimes (at least once or twice year) you feel frustration, and just maybe it might be directed at yourself.

My wish for the ideal even extends to my humble blog(s). I just bought a custom domain. I decided to do this because I’m unashamedly smitten with blogging, and I thought I’d like to have one url that I really liked. And maybe, if I really liked it, I could use the umbrella domain to encapsulate all my blogging tendencies.

Then, just maybe, I could just blog at one sight instead of three. If my plan goes according to specifications, soon I’ll start blogging exclusively at Get it?

This has been Philosophizings from the Flat. And I like that concept. I have had to scrap mythopoetic name, though, as from the flat has sprung from that blog. Without giving too much away (to avoid creating too much expectation), I hope to include what I like to write about here there, along with what I like to write about there.

To my fewer boy readers, among my few readers, please don’t be afraid. Sometimes I may be compelled to put something somewhat girly, but I hope to not diminish my beefier thoughts, and will post them whenever I discover them burgoening in the collection things I’m mulling over.

So when everything is neat and tidy, I’ll make a big announcement, post a big link to over there, and shamelessly plug the new super-blog. Until then, keep an ear here and as well as at


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burns night.

It’s a Scottish thing. For being a connoisseur of obscure and other people’s holidays, I’m ashamed to say that before this past week, I knew hardly anything about Burns night. But I’ve done my research since and also attended a Burns night celebration.

It’s a night to celebrate the Scottish poet Robert Burns (no relation to me). Among other things, he wrote “Auld Lang Syne”. These appear to be the main components:

– haggis (if you don’t know what it is wikipedia it)

– an address to the haggis. this is sweet. here is the traditional address.

– eating tatties and neeps alongside the haggis. tatters= mashed potatoes and neeps= swede or rutabaga

– ceilidh dancing (scottish dancing)

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hard, hard girl

If you read my previous post, you’ll see it was from 2007.

I recently dug up archives of my maiden blog, a little xanga affair begun a year or two before my 2007 post. It’s funny to read it now, how I gush on and on. Surprising too, because I ardently avoided being overly personal with this blog -not that you could tell from my recent postings.

I haven’t had earth-shaking hypotheses or super-intellectual queries lately, and you have to keep the readers occupied. In this old blog, I shamelessly gush about how my day went, what I am thinking, almost like stream of consciousness. It was suitable for me then.

I feel much more guarded now. Just stay back now, and we’ll keep the details sketchy. When I wrote the posts I’ve been reading through, I was a sophomore in university. I had been out of my parents’ house for a bit over six months, and I can still remember how wide-eyed and optimistic I was. My roommates could have told you.

That apartment housed me for three years. Same bed, same window. When we first moved in, I remember wistfully looking out my window. At night, the street light cast a romantic haze on the sidewalk and I could imagine exciting worlds through the glass. By the time I left, I imagined no adventure or worlds.

Generally, I describe me to myself as a pillar of strength unto myself. But not as if that were admirable. Is this my innocence turned shrewd? I don’t think I’m too tough yet. But I’m definitely sporting some awesome armor. A good thing?

And now, despite my better judgment, this is much more first-person than I should wish, but so be it. With any luck, I’ll move on soon, and will post some dry, interesting bit of philosophy.

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me, three years ago.

“The preceding is stuff that I was thinking about today while I was working (i.e. vacuuming Jenny’s floors).

We often talk about how words are powerful. I was thinking about how powerless words are. Think about it, a word is just a set of sounds, or set of symbols, in the case of writing. We add all the meaning, intent and purpose. By themselves, words hold absolutely now power, influence or persuasion. Isn’t that cool how we get to use these little tools to do everything we do in the world.

Also, I was thinking how even in communication over all, words are probably toward the list of most powerful communication devices. Everyone talks about how actions speak louder than words. So there’s that. Then also nonverbals always carry more weight than verbals, especially when the verbals contradict the nonverbals.

So really its people that have all the power, I guess. No word is intrinsically bad, good, derogatory or otherwise. Weird to think about. If anyone ever wants to talk to me about stuff like this, you should, because nobody ever does, or at least I assume so, so I use this forum to talk about this stuff.

I also came up with this new idea of how to learn about people. Ask them what they like to talk about. Of course, you can tell things about people from what they talk about, but it’d be cool to ask them what they like to talk about, because, it seems, people like to talk about things that they don’t necessarily [get to] talk about.”

originally written and published January 12, 2007

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cockney rhyming slang

dustbin lids- kids

trouble and strife- wife

apples and pears- stairs

china plate- mate

rosey lee- tea

lady godiva- fiver (five pound note)

barney rubble -trouble

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sorry boys

I have bumped up against an unpleasant reality. I don’t know how to cook.

I can read. I can follow a recipe, and I can usually succeed at the above. But I can’t really cook. I don’t have scores of recipes or dishes wrought of my own experimentation. I get by.

Especially over here in Europe. There is some sort of subtle differences between even the basics, dairy, flour, and probably the baking powder. My pancakes have been less than impressive over here, at the least.

Part of me would really like to conquer this realm, despite it being so stereotypically girly. This year is a good place to begin. But where to start? And it seems a hard thing to seem justifiable to spend time and effort on. But I tend to devalue the merit of pretty much anything, so I shouldn’t trust myself.

I have also discovered I am the biggest recipe hater. No legitmate reason, expect when I’m restrained by what ingredients are on hand and forced to improvise. I have a lot of misplaced confidence in myself. Thus, I frequently deviate outside of my gastronomic knowledge, often to my detriment.

I can cook to please myself, but it’s time to move on and put a little dedication into it.

“‘ I couldn’t care less what she’ll wear or what she looks like. It all depends on what she cooks like.'” Mulan


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