Escapade #4: An Evening with George Takei

28 Mar

Few on earth, or most likely this galaxy, have the kind of suave yet powerful voices of George Takei. Combined with flawless eloquence and strewn with humor, his presentation is at once tragic, comedic, and endlessly inspiring. Takei fluidly maneuvers topics from the social transcendence of the Star Trek Universe, to his experiences of the Japanese-American interment during World War II and advocating for the LGBTQ community. While these subjects generally lie flat on a printed page, a far off reality or past that we may not always ream a stirred spirit from, Takei’s zealous energy illuminates them with a new flame.

It’s difficult to even attempt to summarize the contents of his lecture in short form, though the event was only an hour and a half including the afterwards Q&A session. I have so many memories of each topic, yet every word condenses this message: Optimism and hard work. Change will happen, however slowly, as long as there is always the struggle, and we must fight for those wonderful ideals no matter the opposition.

I advise that, should the chance ever arise, to take advantage of the opportunity to hear Takei speak. You will not be disappointed. And if you believe that the audience might not be your crowd of interest, which was the answer I have received by a few students who did not attend, that idea is quite irrational. Don’t underestimate this speaker and believe that his words are meant to reach only specific group of people – that is far off from the truth. As revealed in the Q&A, there were students, adults, children, Trekkies, and every orientation of human in existence in that auditorium, but most importantly was that these groups cross. I am a student, a Trekkie, heterosexual, and I support the LGBTQ movement. Think of any combination of the above and a person fitting the description was there. Takei’s presentation, more than educating the audience, brings people together under both common and varied grounds, allowing them to meet and understand each other in a much different and nonthreatening fashion.

Though I was not in attendance at the after even VIP meet and greet, I probably would have fainted, the evening is one of, if not the, most memorable of my time here at FSU so far. I hope that more experiences such as this will be granted to me in the future, and am grateful to Mr.Takei for coming to the university.

…Maybe I’ll post some “Takei-isms” from last night later.




So the Escapades Seem to Have Stopped

27 Mar

In sincere apology, I reference the title of this post. There has not been much worthy of update here as of late, and there’s always a little trouble in the paradise of college life. However, in about fifteen minutes, George Takei will be speaking in Ruby Diamond Auditorium, and I am so excited.
I’ll update more after the event.

Live long and prosper!

The Library and other adventures

31 Aug

Before anything else:Stozier's never-ending rows

Our university’s ridiculous library. This is a row on the fifth floor. This is how this library is. This is what other libraries wish to be. They cry themselves to sleep at night out of envy. This library doesn’t do that – this glorious haven is open 24/5. It’s like the Las Vegas of college libraries. Speaking of Las Vegas, that is the only place in the world with a Starbucks that grosses more annually than the one in this library. It’s also the first double-sided Starbucks in the nation. As exaggerated as it surely sounds, I was afraid I was going to get lost in this library the other day. Stozier is a god amongst men libraries.

The Coleridge section, starting at the left edge of the picture to Sueno’s finger (0ur literary snobbishness has not waned)

Continuing in our adventures, we got invited to our first party by a classy notice under our door. Of course, I still can’t go, because it specifically has rules for both 21 year olds and 18 years old. I do not meet the minimum height age requirement. So soon, yet so far away…

We also have a tendency to practice very early in the morning, between 12 and 2 am. For some reason, we prefer practicing on the top floor of the secondary music building, which is surprisingly creepy when you’re alone and it’s dark out. I shudder at the thought of the bathroom. I claimed the green on one of our trips back the dorm from the music school, as it was temporarily devoid of any human life in the deep of the night (ignore me, I’m inexplicably tired.)

I’m sure I have other adventures, but Sueno just waved a jug in my face shouting “Don’t you have the urge to make a GALLON of something?!” so I think it may be time to draw this post to a close and deal with my crazy roomie.

Escapade #1: College

29 Aug

My first day of college was today. It was interesting enough – Music Theory then Piano, Psych, a butchered placement audition and Colloquium at five. It seems that even on the first day, I’ve learned that napping is a better catharsis than many other things. Being mildly feverish and having a bruised and bleeding lip at a brass audition while realizing that your college location is terrible for asthmatics is one of the worst omens. Getting lost along with all the other people, even if they’re older, trying to find the audition room, however, is kind of fun.

One thing did feel like high school though. I failed to eat lunch. I ate half of one of those little one serving boxes of Special K for breakfast before shipping out for nine-o-clock class (Yes, I was at least smart enough to not get the eight-o-clock one.). My roommate, who just happens to be Ppeo, didn’t eat either, so we had some major minfood going to the cafeteria. College cafeterias are amazing places. You want fruit? You got it. You want salad? You got that too. You want pizza everyday (ew) or barbequed meat on garlic bread or a custom made grilled wrap or sandwich? Oh yes, you can have it.

Even with all this food, I don’t understand how people can gain weight in college. At least not here. There are hills. Lots of hills. Large. Hills. I think you can roll down the sidewalk if you wanted in places. But who knows. Maybe not everyone takes classes in a building across campus from their dorm and on the highest point on campus. Maybe then you can gain weight. And if you don’t live in the fifth floor and refuse to use the elevator, even when carrying large amounts.

Alright then, we have a hall meeting in about a half hour. More than this exposition to escapades will come. Till then, adieu, aloha, annyeong, and goodbye.

That Awkward Moment

18 Aug

when you listen to Yo-Yo Ma for the first time in over a month and feel as if the heavens opened up to enlighten you.

It’s an odd feeling, and the prelude of Cello Suite No. 5 (Bach) will never be the same.

Really Guys???

13 Jul

Wow. I just looked at the Coffeewanted stats, and what a sudden fluxuation since… ever, I guess. Over the past two days, views suddenly exist.

And I think I know the cause!

That’s right, you guessed it: Yunjae.

Tag a post with Yunjae and readers come running, and all I can say is:


Just kidding. I think it’s awesome, and I can’t stop laughing every time I check the stats and there are more views.

And here’s another thing to guess, since I’m overusing that word right now. Guess what I’m going to tag this post with… What? I’m referencing it!


a terrible(y telling) introduction

6 Jul

I had lots of crabs when I was little.

Not the genital kind, you sick freak. Shisus.

No. I mean hermit crabs, fiddler crabs, you name it – I was the unchallenged god of crab hunting amidst the (admittedly small) circle of people I knew growing up in Puerto Rico. It is common, at least in the southeast of the island, to take buckets and collect inordinate and unnecessary amounts of crabs at sunset when they are scurrying about to escape the tide. It may seem crude, but the minor danger of pissing off busy hermits crabs becomes exponentially more exciting when you are battling Navy EOD guys to fill your bucket first. [EOD = Explosive Ordinance Disposal, or the guys responsible for taking care of things like radioactive waste and IEDs in Afghanistan. oh yeah.]

Whenever I moved, which was quite a bit, i would always take a hermit crab with me. i remember losing one in St. Croix, when my stepmom’s cat knocked the battle-worn plastic cage over outside in the middle of the night. i guess i found several more in the short time that i lived there – at some point they stop losing their differentiation. they’re somewhat…shallow, tbh.

The Islands are really interesting in the fact that we have one of the most intense sports ever created – hermit crab racing. In this, you go into the biggest market on your current island sometime in the late afternoon and find the best outside restaurant on the shoreline (f.y.i., the best markets will -always- be on the water). You should quickly spot a guy surrounded by a few big plastic buckets. He will dump these over when a small crowd has formed. You pick your favourite crab, as everyone else does; Crabman lines them all up and they are magically released by some feat of human hand dexterity at the same time. Depending on what island you’re on, the prize for winning can be quite good. I once won tickets for a free ride to another neat island known for an extremely friendly, huge stingray, and a population of very bold and dangerous mongoose(s).

My 6 year old ego when triumphing at the races

My most memorable hermit crab experience, however, was the death of my final hermit crab when i moved to Florida. He was my last link (besides my still-lingering feral child tendencies and broken Puerto Rican slang) to my life wandering about the Caribbean. I kept him in a nice big terrarium and gave him a beautiful shell to move into when he grew a bit.

All was well for a time. One day, however, I got home from school to a strange, sickly-sweet aroma in my room. My child-mind was already spinning in hyper-sensitive overdrive, my reflexes and senses honed from innumerable hours spent alone in a rainforest. I slid into my room James Bond style, and after peering around for a while, found the source of the scent: my terrarium.

there was my crab, stretched out in his dying agony almost out of his shell, his alien muscle tissue sadly weak compared to the ants tearing away at him with gusto. he must have died during the night, either of old age or by the nefarious ants that infested my house. either way, my mother’s crack-addict boyfriend managed to gruffly dispose of my pet without causing me further trauma, something that i look back on with surprise today.

I always wonder what i named that crab. I’ll probably never know, though, as I’m fairly certain it was Cruxian slang.

(this post is totally irrelevant to my life. but I think I inhaled something at the hospital today and all I can write about is this and bologna. so. lesser of two evils.)

Unfortunately, hermit crabs are not as cuddly or cute as Boston Terriers or Taeyang.