But there’s lipstick on your teeth…

I HAVE A WHOLE new respect for… flyers. No, not the people who fly something, but people who do flyering — handing out flyers to some random people on the streets. Mad props to you all, boys, girls, old men, and well-aging ladies. Well, flyering is not that difficult, but definitely not so easy as well. Especially given today’s modern people who have a tendency to say “no” to almost everything (oh, you better admit that!). Second: of course because it’s winter (meaning: you don’t get to show those random people your super cool t-shirt that will dazzle and make them say: “yes, of course I’ll take one, cool girl in a super cool t-shirt!” PS: I have a very cool the Flash t-shirt btw).

“Hey, wanna take one? International Development Conference!” “No”

“Hello, want one? International Development Conference next month” “No, no, thanks”

“Hi, International Development Conference?” *straight face*

So yeah, 30 percent of people I randomly approached today rejected me. Many of them said the “no” politely, of course (some were very polite even, and some with their straight faces), but still… I want them all to take my flyers. Because these are flyers for the Newcastle University’s 2013 International Development Conference!!

Oh, oh, but I have a funny story I can share tho. I gave a lady a flyer, and said:

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Coz I’m a hippie hipster hybrid

GUESS WHAT? YEAH OF course, I am still alive. Doh. Guess again! Yes, Agathon visited me. He said my poetry sucks (oh the pain in my chest!). But that is not the story. Like my buddy Christina Gonzales, Agathon screamed in my ears, loudly saying that my Facebook profile is very hispter right now. Yes, Agathon said that, believe it or not.

For crying out loud, what is hispter anyway? So I looked up on the internet. No, on the Urban Dictionary I mean. And look what I got:

Definition 1:
A person who does not believe in today’s pop culture because it is too “mainstream” (my motto: mainstream is boring! right there, I am a hispter!). However, a good hipster would not admit to being a hipster because hipsterism itself would be considered too mainstream… (uh oh)

Definition 2:
A mainstream label referring to someone who rejects mainstream labels – (OK, I need to lol here, is lol a mainstream’s expression, how do hipsters l-o-l then?)

Definition 3:
Hipsters are a subculture of men and women typically in their 20′s and 30′s that value independent thinking (say hello to momma!), counter-culture (my iTunes will attest! Opera and classical music are also counter-culture right?), progressive politics (it’s so me, do you know that I hate the world?), an appreciation of art and indie-rock (holly, I love Band of Horses. wait, are they still an indie band?), creativity (I write poems, although Agathon said they suck), intelligence (my IQ is not two digits), and witty banter (what does banter mean?).

Hipsters reject the culturally-ignorant attitudes of mainstream consumers (consumerism is stupid, apart from the fact that it helps the economy), and are often be seen wearing vintage and thrift store inspired fashions (I bought a cute one for only seven quid the other day), tight-fitting jeans (because my legs are woohoo baby), old-school sneakers, and sometimes thick rimmed glasses (shit! haha).

Consequently many hipsters tend to have jobs in the music, art, and fashion industries (well, I am unemployed at the moment, sadly, but beware art industry! because I am a Picasso or Andy Warhol, pick one you prefer). It is part of the hipster central dogma not to be influenced by mainstream advertising and media (of course, I hate the media!), which tends to only promote ethnocentric ideals of beauty. The concepts of androgyny and feminism have influenced hipster culture, where hipster men are often as thin as the women they date (what can I say? I cannot stand Rambo. muscles are a total turn off. but I love smaller ones like those Arnold Schwarzenegger has).

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Holden, the ducks stay during the winter

Okay. So I haven’t finished my assignments, but whatever. This is more important and urgent.

I have just discovered a bitter fact. A sad revelation. Well, to be honest I didn’t discover it by myself. A friend gave me a link after I wrote this sentimental status update on Facebook just an hour ago.

The story: Do you know that I am obsessed with Holden Caulfield? Yes, a fictional character — but don’t you poor girls love Edward Cullen? (right, so shut up!) Yes, I love Holden, that witty guy who got kicked out of his school because the whole education system failed to understand him (shame on you mainstream education! Anita, stop, that’s another issue you can cover later! OK). So Holden, yes, I love him! What is so special about Holden? Well, everything about him is. But there’s this one thing that always makes me go “aawww” every time I think of him: the ducks. Yes, those short-legged waterbirds.

“You know those ducks in that lagoon right near Central Park South? That little lake? By any chance, do you happen to know where they go, the ducks, when it gets all frozen over? Do you happen to know, by any chance?” Holden once asked.

Holden was afraid that someone picked those ducks and put them in the zoo. Oh, such a caring young man!

Central Park South is in the sleepless city, New York. One of my dream cities. Anyway. So. Because I felt so sentimental and shits hours ago, coz of the winter for your information and not anything else, I copied that line on my Facebook without even crediting Holden (Facebook is no academia!). A dear American friend, Trish, then shared this link.

That link literally broke my heart </3 because apparently, those ducks stay during the winter. So WTF was Salinger talking about? Did Holden know shits he talk about? Holden knew stuff in NYC, why didn’t he know that the ducks stay? Was he trying to make himself sound so romantic? A caring hero? Phoney. Oh Holden, I am sad. And mind you, for decades scholars have been debating on the exact meaning of his fuss about the ducks in the winter.

SO WTF SALINGER? Oh but I still love you. But WTF the ducks STAY! Oh but who can hate Salinger/Holden? Nobody can.

When I get older, I just wanna be a catcher in the rye, ya know, just like Holden. And make sure that nobody hurts those ducks.  Sweet, I talk shits again. Time to go back to my books. Ciao!

This image is taken from the above link

Needle in the hay

E is for your Emanating voice, that I am currently listening to.

L is for Lazy, lazy, lazy, I am in the library at the moment but why am I so

Lazy! Not doing my assignments, but instead listening to your Needle

In The Hay. Repeating it over and over, roller coaster! Anitaaaaaaaaaaa!

Oh, well. O is for your hometown, Omaha, that one day I will sure visit.

T is for the Tears I sometimes shed when singing, “Gonna walk, walk, walk, four more blocks,” Oh,

The drama (HAHAHA). I did not cry, Elliott, I am not. I just feel

Saaaad. Sad when looking at the stupendous image of your Figure 8 Memorial.

M. Hmmm. M is for the Massive love I have for you.

I is for every Idiot kid that feels like… being struck by lighting when hearing your voice, including me.

T is… what the hell, what Time is it now? My essay hisses, “get back to me!” … Needle in the

Haaaaay, he’s wearing your clothes. Head down to toes a reaction to you. I gotta go, Elliott!

A tale of window seats (and fighting for my right!)

PEOPLE SAY WE create rules to make our lives easier. Well, at some point, I kinda agree with that (although I must say that many of them are just nonsense and not subtle, hint: “Do not eat this apple I put right in front of your face, Adam” so God’s rule was printed in big letters; huh, why not put it on top of a high mountain, far from Adam’s hands if You do not want him to bite it?).

So what I really meant by “at some point kinda agree” is rules for airplane seating. So if you get 20C, stick to that. If you insist on sitting on 20A, you’ll be sorry. Especially if the 20A’s name is Anita Rachman (yeah, that’s me). Airplanes’ window seats had thought me one important lesson: stand up for your rights.

It was last year when I got a window seat, but a douche in a uniform took it from me for his girlfriend. He was an army dude, wearing his green uniform, looking very serious — in a way was kinda saying “hey chick, don’t mess with me, I’m with the army.” Next beside him, sat a young woman looking all very spoiled, despairingly glued on my seat. Her lips were bright red and, again, she sat on my window seat.

Me: “Excuse me, that’s my seat.”
Douchebag: “What? You want the window seat?” (he narrowed his eyebrows and moved his head, like, again, saying: “chick, this is a second warning, give up the seat for my girlfriend. You pity civilian, don’t try me!). “Leave it for my girlfriend!” (he said challengingly).

I shuddered.

But then I picked up my phone, dialed one of my sources, a top general at the army, “Hello, General X, it’s me Anita. Yes yes, Anita the journalist. I have a situation here. One of your lowest-range soldiers is here taking my seat for her girlfriend who wears red lipstick. I suggest you to immediately fire him, or send him to the deadliest spot in Indonesia. No no, I do not mean the presidential palace, oh but if you think that’s the spot, then I’ll leave it to you,” I said, then I waved my manicured fingers to him.

The douche crawled on his knees and begged for mercy.

Shit. Of course that only happened in my head. Yeah, including the manicured fingers part (I’ve never done my nails; besides, using your profession for a source’s help is unethical).

What actually happened after “I shuddered” was, I gave up my seat for his girlfriend. I got all yellowed. Shit. I hate myself for not doing anything (made me remember what my Briton English teacher used to say “I don’t understand why most of Indonesians do not stand up for their rights”), but, again, I got all chickened out. It was the Idul Fitri holiday, I did not want to risk my life (and trust me, the army dude was in a manner that made me think he was going to pull his gun at me).

Nevertheless, I told myself, that that was going to be the first and last time people robbed me of my seats. I will stand up for my rights, my window seats.

Six months after the tragedy, I successfully secured a window seat. But it looked like Zeus has been playing with Batavia Air’s system when I, again, got an army man sitting on my window seat!!

I was stunned, I couldn’t believe it.
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