me vs monsoon rain

hujan memang selalu membuat gw gelisah..eits bukan geli-geli basah yah hahaha...kayanya setiap hujan turun suasana jadi berubah..alunan air hujan seperti membius gw untuk menjadi sentimentil, jeleknya ini didukung oleh saluran radio yang slalu memutar lagu2 mellow..jika dibahasakan dengan kata2 puitis 'hujan membuka kotak pandoraku' (gaya banget lu Hadijah)..tapi memang sepertinya suasana hujan selalu begitu..mungkin ketika hujan suara bising teredam oleh air hujan yang turun dan suasana menjadi sepi karena orang2 memilih untuk berlindung di rumah atau berteduh..tapi sepertinya hujan beberapa hari ini begitu mengena buat gw...

mulai dari hari Jumat minggu lalu
saat gw harus pulang naik Transjakarta dari kampus tercinta..hari jumat yang ada di bayangan gw adalah gw harus pulang cepat sebelum shelter Dukuh Atas penuh sesak dengan manusia..jadilah gw pulang lebih awal dan demi mendapat tempat duduk gw harus memutar ke arah Pulo Gadung untuk turun di Bermis supaya bisa dapat tempat duduk untung saya tidak sendiri, gw ditemani oleh dua wanita tangguh, sesama warga Tangerang..tapi kami harus berpisah d Bermis..gw beruntung sekali Dukuh atas memang ramai tapi antrian ke arah Kuningan-Ragunan lenggang, ternyata penumpang menumpuk di antrian jurusan Pulo gadung..yess..beruntungnya

lagi saya dapat tempat duduk disamping laki2 tampan euyy..gw akui hari itu gw mmm engga banget, ga heran teman saya bilanng..saya seperti anak alay..tapi gw memang alay..alaydrus kan..hari itu gw pakai topi hitam..cardigan crop belang-belang dan skinny jeans hitam plus kaos polos bertuliskan i love men dengan tanda silang di bagian huruf n nya hahaha sangaattt gw sekali
tapi tujuan saya berpakaian seperti ini karena gw sedang masa pemutihan diri maklum waktu itu mau wisuda malukan pake kebaya terus badan gw belang2 hiiiy..jadilah gw tidak melepas topi itu bahkan sampai ke dalam bus transjakarta..ga heran lah gwjadi pusat perhatian maklum penumpang jurusan ragunan 80% adalah pekerja kantor yang selalu rapih..jarang2 perempuan tetap pakai topi didalam transjakarta..ok kembali ke keberuntungan gw..duduk disamping cowok cakep jarang2 nehy jadilah gw sok cool gt dah..sengaja memang gw duduk di bangku belakang dan di pojok pula biar bisa liat pemandangan Kuningan yang sangat Jakarta..pemandangan Kuningan jadi tambah indah rupanya karena bayangan si cowok memantul di kaca..weeww..3 menit setelah bus jalan dari Dukuh atas...buuurrrr...hujan derassss..beruntung gw sudah di dalam bus..heheu, tapi rupanya hujan bertambah keras..seperti badai..parahnya air masuk dari pintu belakang bus, ga tanggung tanggung air yang masuk bak pancuran air terjun..gw merasa beruntung lagi dong gw pake topi selamat yah..saat itu gw tersenyum puassss...

jarak tempuh Dukuh atas-Duren 3 emang bisa memakan waktu 2 jam saat hujan..kali ini tak masalah selama si cowok cakep tetap disamping gw yah kan hehehe..5 jam juga gw bersedia

hujan bikin ngantuk..duduk di samping cowok cakep ternyata ga mempan mengusir kantuk..ngucek2 mata..1 jam berlalu..bosan..si cook ga lagi menarik perhatian gw..hujan badai di Kuningan mengalihkan dunia ku haha..gw terjaga di dalam lamunan dambil men-juggling botol minum ge..juggling???maksusnya main2in botol minum gw..tiba2 Byurrrr...perfect..bravo saudara2..berhasillll gw ketiban air terjun dari pintu transjakarta bobrok itu...basah topi gw, baju gw..dan maluuu karena semua mata tertuju pada saya..ya mereka dapat melihat saya dengan jelass...dalam hati gw 'ketewa aja lu pada daripada ditahan2 gituh'..dengan jurus sok cool karena gw sadar ada cowok cakep samping gw gw langsung melepas topi dan mengusap muka masih kekeuh dengan gaya elegan dibuat2..
sejenak gw melihat tangan gw yang hitam...man, koq hitammmm???bingung gw mwgan apa yah??
aduh neh dari botol minum gw dari karet kaca bus..gw cek dari bangku bus juga bukan...ah gw pikir ini karena pegangan bus yang ada di depan gw aja kali..perjalanan panjang gw sampe juga..yah walau harus keluar dengan basah kuyup..yah cakep pas gw keluar ..astaga mana dah payung gw..perfectooo..strike..gw lupa bawa payung..hoho terpaksa berteduh..wess rame banget shelter Duren3 boleh lah setidaknya gw ga sendiri..tapi kog knapa neh orang2 ngeliatin gw dengan pandagan geli campur kasian..ugghh ya bodo amat dah..sampai seorang ibu2.."mbak2 maaf kayanya eyelinernya lunturr"...gw "haaaa..yang bener bu?"..baiknya ibu2 ini dia langsung ngasih gw tissue.."terimakasih bu"...berarti dari tadiiiiii..ya ampuuuunn, karena malu yah udah cabut aja gw dari shelter menerobos hujan...what a rain..fiuuhhh..pelajaran berharga dari musim hujan

#1 bawa payung kemanapun Anda pergi
#2 jika Anda wanita penyuka eyeliner seperti saya, kenakan waterproof eyeliner
#3 jangan melamun ketika hujan saat Anda berkendaraan dengan bus, tetap konsentrasi, jangan sampai pria atau wanita cantik mengalihkan pandangan dan pikiran Anda
#4 bwalah tissue
#5 jangan dengarkan radio jika Anda tak ingin terbawa suasana melankolis sok romantiss

selamat menikmati musim hujan
well Jakarta cantik juga saat hujan, apalagi daerah Kuningan, yang pas jembatan angkatan 66 yah
I heart Jakarta
oh iya menurutt Accuweather.com Jakarta hujan akhir minggu saat notes ini diturunkan jadi bawalah payung setiap saat

to my night-and-day-friend

losing someone special merely a hard thing to be faced up
someone have ever been so special, named it, a friend
a friend of your night and day...

kulangkahkan hatiku, mataku tertuju padanya namun tak segaris senyum dari bibirnya kudapat
tak sepatah sapaan hangat kutangkap..

tolong, temanku aku ingin sapaan hangat itu lagi
aku ingin kau memanggil namaku dengan lengkap lagi
aku merindukan lika-liku rambutmu

apa salahku padamu
tolong, teman susahkah hatimu menyapaku lagi
katakan satu kata biar aku yang menyelesaikannya dalam satu kalimat.
katakan lah apa susahmu dalam satu kalimat biar aku yang melengkapkannya dalam satu paragraf...
katakan apa salah ku dalam dalam satu, dua paragraf biar nanti dari hatiku keluar satu kata maaf
untukmu
maafkan aku...

The Invitation

One day, in a seminar my lecturer came in with a great introduction. He read a poem for us, a poem that I would never forget in my entire life, deep and meaningful, I feel in love in love for this poem since my lecturer read its first paragraph. The words had harassed my soul, send me to a higher level of my life. One thing for sure this poem, The Invitation by Oriah Mountain Dreamer, had been a sweet redemption for me. Making myself believe that we shouldn’t see others by their achievements but assessed them on their efforts to gain those achievements. I think it will be sweet to share this poem to all people who read my blog. And here is the poem that I love; hopefully you’ll feel the same for…

The Invitation by Oriah

It doesn’t interest me
what you do for a living.
I want to know
what you ache for
and if you dare to dream
of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me
how old you are.
I want to know
if you will risk
looking like a fool
for love
for your dream
for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me
what planets are
squaring your moon...
I want to know
if you have touched
the centre of your own sorrow
if you have been opened
by life’s betrayals
or have become shrivelled and closed
from fear of further pain.

I want to know
if you can sit with pain
mine or your own
without moving to hide it
or fade it
or fix it.

I want to know
if you can be with joy
mine or your own
if you can dance with wildness
and let the ecstasy fill you
to the tips of your fingers and toes
without cautioning us
to be careful
to be realistic
to remember the limitations
of being human.

It doesn’t interest me
if the story you are telling me
is true.
I want to know if you can
disappoint another
to be true to yourself.
If you can bear
the accusation of betrayal
and not betray your own soul.
If you can be faithless
and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty
even when it is not pretty
every day.
And if you can source your own life
from its presence.

I want to know
if you can live with failure
yours and mine
and still stand at the edge of the lake
and shout to the silver of the full moon,
“Yes.”

It doesn’t interest me
to know where you live
or how much money you have.
I want to know if you can get up
after the night of grief and despair
weary and bruised to the bone
and do what needs to be done
to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me
who you know
or how you came to be here.
I want to know if you will stand
in the centre of the fire
with me
and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me
where or what or with whom
you have studied.
I want to know
what sustains you
from the inside
when all else falls away.

I want to know
if you can be alone
with yourself
and if you truly like
the company you keep
in the empty moments.

By Oriah © Mountain Dreaming,
from the book The Invitation

Broke-and-Heart

It is heart but it is broke
It is not really broke as if a broken window
crack and fall into pieces
It is not bleeding, it is just hurt
It just like someone had stabbed you from your back
and ripped your soul out of your body
I am broke
Not because I have lost some money on a business deal
It is more because my heart had lost you
had lost you...
had lost you...
I can not count how much thorns torn my heart
how much tears run out of my eyes
When I realized that I had lost you
lost you..
you are lost from me
I lost you

Kita Punya Padanannya Lho!!!

antologi= bunga rampai

bias= elon

bibliografi= senarai pustaka

abstrak= niskala

kolom= lajur

deadline= tenggat

konteks= sangkutan

denotatif= mantuk

Profil= tampang

stok= tandon

stainless= nirmala

Survei= sigi

verifikasi= tahkik

akselerasi= percepatan/ pemercepatan

konsep= anggit/ anggitan

korelasi= penasaban/ nasaban

konfigurasi= gegambar

error= galat

dinamis= cergas

external= luar/ jaba

globalisasi= penyedunia

fundamental= mendasar

internal= jero/ dalam

interaksi= persitindakan

plot= rajah

penetrasi= pengasukan/ asukan

relevansi= kepenadan

signifikan= bena

simulasi= penimakan

scanner= pemayar

download= unduh

upload= unggah

steril= awahama

resonansi= talunan

ratio= nisbah/ angkabanding

variabel=peubah

monokrom= ekarona

malu saya

Saya adalah manusia yang apatis dan egosentris..saya benar-benar manusiawi dalam hal ini
tentunya..terkadang sering kali membicarakan kekurangan orang lain, mencela tanpa sadar, mengatai tanpa batas, menghina karya Tuhan demi kepuasan pribadi demi menyanjung diri sendiri bahwa saya jauh lebih baik..padahal nyatanya saya mungkin tidak saya tidak seujung jari pun lebih baik dari mereka…

Sampai suatu hari..saya ingin menjatuhkan muka saya, lebih-lebih air mata saya saat saya menunggu seorang teman di shelter Transjakarta, Matraman..pagi itu saya memang kurang tidur, saya tidak focus karena saya takut dihipnotis maka saya memasang headset dan mendengarkan Mp3 dari ponsel saya sambil berjuang melawan kantuk yang mendera..saya benar-benar tidak peduli akan sekitar saya..saya seakan tenggelam bersama Lady Gaga, The Script, The Ting Tings, Paramore, Secondhand Serenade, Katy Perry dan Lifehouse..alih-alih saya hampir saja bernyanyi bersama mereka melagukan kebosanan menunggu.. saya mengerjapkan mata berkali-kali, mengecap lidah, mengoyangkan kaki..di samping saya wanita cantik, putih, berwajah oriental..menariklah..dala

m hati saya sempat mencela bagaimana cara ia menggariskan eyeliner pada kelopak matanya..terlalu tebal, mungkin agar matanya terlihat berkelopak [masalah bagi kebanyakan wanita bermata sipit]..tapi usahanya adalah celaan bagi saya..demi Tuhan saya hanya manusia [hahaha]..di sebelah kiri saya Ayah beranak..sang ayah membiarkan si anak perempuannya duduk dan ia berdiri di sampingnya..tidak ada yang menarik sang ayah anak menunggu di pintu penurunan penumpang yang juga dipakai sebagai pintu khusus bagi lansia, ibu hamil, dan orang cacat…saya mulai sadar, puluhan pasang mata penumpang yang mengantri tidak harap-harap cemas melihat ke arah datangnya bis..

Mereka melihat ke arah saya dengan tatapan aneh seolah-olah saya makhluk Mars yang berkepala besar datang langsung dari planet saya untuk mencoba naik bus Transjakarta I was alienated by them..saya menghela napas mencoba menganalisa tatapan mereka..ternyata tatapan ini adalah tatapan penasaran bercampur heran, kasihan, jijik dan kelegaan bahwa mereka terlahir sempurna..rasa kantuk saya sirna tak berbekas, suara vokalis Paramore ‘Haylie’ yang kuat terdengar seperti bisikan..saya tidak merasa sedang memakai celana jeans robek-robek yang tempo hari mengundang tatapan sinis dari penumpang bis Transjakarta koridor 6 [Ragunan-Kuningan-Dukuh Atas] yang rata-rata adalah pekerja kantoran..tidak ada baju warna neonlight..saya merasa cantik..rambut saya dibuat ikal, I was matchy-matchy-bag-and-shoes girl, saya tidak dandan mencolok..hanya memakai bedak bayi dan my lucky lipstick Maybelline Buff 813..saya melakukan check n recheck, saya mengeluarkan kaca..lipstick saya tidak keluar dari garis bibir, tidak ada cabe menempel di gigi atau bracket saya..lama saya tersadar bahwa tatapan itu bukan diarahkan pada saya , namun melainkan untuk anak perempuan di samping saya..saya memalingkan muka ke arah anak kecil itu..saya terkejut bukan main..kaki saya lemas, jantung saya seperti ditonjok..saat itu juga saya merasa kecil, saya ingin memaki para penumpang yang tak henti menatapnya..saya ingin membubarkan antrian panjang itu..

Anak perempuan itu kurus, berambut pendek mengenakan jaket jeans dan celana pink yang terlihat kedodoran..ia diam seperti patung menatap antrian penumpang di depannya..hidungnya bukan seperti hidung kita yang normal..tidak pesek, tidak mancung..seakan hidungnya menyatu dengan pipinya yang terlihat bengkak..matanya menonjol sebesar bola pimpong..ayahnya dengan sabar berkata “sabar yah nanti kita naik bis yang berikutnya”...memang mereka harus menunggu lama karena di jam padat seperti ini sulit untuk mencari bis Transjakarta yang penumpangnya tidak berjejalan..

Malu luar biasa melanda saya..saya merasa rendah..anak perempuan ini lebih indah dari saya..ia manusia yang lebih manusia dari saya, mereka bahkan kalian..ia lebih sabar menunggu..ketimbang saya yang resah..ia diam, gerakannya tidak lebih dari 3 kali...ia khusyuk dengan diamnya..saya mencoba mencari permen yang biasa saya jejalkan ke dalam saku tas saya..permen lollipop…kemana perginya lollipop..saya ingin memberikan permen lollipop pada anak perempuan itu..tapi permennya tidak ada…saya menunduk malu..tak lama berselang teman saya datang..ia duduk di antara saya dengan anak perempuan itu..saya mengatakan untuk tidak beranjak dulu pada teman saya, karena saya masih ingin melihatnya pergi..saya ingin melihat punggungnya menjauh..saya ingin berdoa semoga Tuhan memberinya apa yang terbaik dan menempatkannya dalam lindungan-Nya..ayah beranak itu pergi, saya dan teman saya juga berlalu meninggalkan Matraman 1..saya belajar banyak hari itu..pelajaran yang tidak saya dapatkan dari pendidikan formal apapun

Antara saya, Aristoteles dan Plato

Saya sangat berterimakasih kepada Alm. J.D. Parera yang memperkenal kan saya kepada filsafat, yang mengairi otak saya yang gersang dengan pikiran-pikiran luar biasa dari tokoh-tokoh filsafat yang hebat.

Saya tidak akan pernah lupa kuliah pertama saya dengan beliau. Kuliah dasar-dasar filsafat di semester pertama saya di UNJ. Saya benar-benar buta akan filsafat pada saat itu, sekarangpun saya masih meraba-raba, kaget bukan kepalang Alm. Pak Parera bertanya satu pertanyaan dasar. Pertanyaan pembuka tema kuliah yang sederhana namun mendasar, pertanyaan yang akan selalu terkenang seumur hidup saya. Beliau bertanya dengan sopan “Alaydrus, apa itu filsafat?” luar biasa saya tidak tahu apa itu filsafat. Saya terdiam lama sekali, mencoba mengingat-ingat buku filsafat yang saya baca beberapa hari sebelum kuliah perdana, ternyata itu sia-sia belaka karena tak ada satu kalimat lengkap yang saya ingat dari buku tersebut. Seadanya saya menjawab. “filsafat itu seperti menengadah keatas, mencari jawaban dari apa yang kita pikirkan” jawaban yang sungguh dangkal. Beliau menanggapi dengan raut muka yang tenang “Alaydrus, maka kamu adalah Plato.” Pernyataan beliau ini yang membuat saya bertanya-tanya, kenapa saya Plato kenapa saya bukan Aristoteles yang agung. Aristoteles yang saya kenal semenjak saya SMP. Aristoteles, yang mewarnai buku Biologi dan Tata Negara saya saat SMA. Astaga!!

Saat itu beliau hanya menjelaskan dengan kalimat tersirat bahwa Plato selalu melihat ke atas dan Aristoteles selalu melihat ke bawah. Butuh waktu yang lama bagi saya untuk memahami penjelasan beliau. Saya sadar bahwa Plato pendiri akademi Plato, Guru dari Aristoteles, murid Socrates, penyair, Plato yang hidup di dunia idenya mencari jawaban dari semua pertanyaan melalui ide-ide bawaan. Dia meyakini kebenaran abadi, keindahan abadi an kebaikan abadi sesungguhnya hidup di balik dunia material, hidup di dunia ide. Sedangkan muridnya Aristoteles, murid pembangkang yang menyempurnakan ilmu sang guru, murid yang mememisahkan diri dari filsafat kemanusiaan sang guru. Dia, Aristoteles memilih untuk merendahkan diri kepada alam. Maka dia adalah seorang filsafat agung sekaligus ahli biologi pertama di daratan Eropa. Dia menyempurnakan pemikiran sang guru, dia mengeluarkan ide-ide bawaan sang guru menjadi lenbih nyata dari sekedar fenomena alam. Jika sang guru, Plato, menggunakan akalnya maka Aristoteles menggunakan akal dan perasaannya pula. Aristoteles berpeganggan dengan substansi dan bentuk dalam kesatuan realitas. Dia memilih hidup dalam realitas dan berpisah jalan dengan sang guru yang hidup di dunia ide.

Ketika saya sedikit memahami meraka, saya tidak ingin menjadi Plato. Saya ingin menjadi Aristoteles yang akal dan perasaannya sejalan. Sya tidak mau selalu menenggadah keatas. Saya ingin merendahkan diri kepada alam, berjingkat-jingkat di tangga alam Aristoteles. Saya ingin substansi dan bentuk. Saya ingin hidup di dalam realitas bukan sekedar ide semata.

Hal ini berkelebatan di kepala saya sampai pada suatu hari [2 tahun setelah itu] dosen saya Bpk. Ifan Iskandar memaksakan murid-muridnya di kelas sejarah pemikiran modern untuk membaca sebuah novel filsafat yang luar biasa ‘Dunia Sophie’ karya Jostein Gaarder dari Norwegia. Novel ini mengajak saya berdialog singkat dengan Plato dan Aristoteles, saya terbuai sekaligus patah hati dengan Aristoteles The Great, sang pujaan hati dan pikiran. Ternyata dia pernah memandang kaum saya sebagai ladang. Ternyata dia tak seindah Plato saat memandang wanita. Dia cenderung percaya bahwa wanita tidak sempurna dalam beberapa hal. Dia mengatakan bahwa wanita adalah ‘pria yang tidak sempurna’ dan dalam hal reproduksi wanita bersifat pasif dan reseptif [sungguh berharap seandainya Aristoteles pernah membaca Cosmopolitan haha..]. Dia juga percaya bahwa semua sifat anak terkumpul lengkap dalam sperma pria [oh my God!]. Dia berpikir bahwa jenis saya adalah ladang yang menerima benih dan menumbuhkannya dan pria adalah petani yang menanam. Maka dalam bahasa Aristoteles pria menyediakan bentuk, sedangkan wanita menyumbangkan substansi. Ternyata My Ari had missed interpret the relation between man and woman sexually. Dia lalai dalam hal ini mungkin karena dia tidak punya banyak pengalaman praktis dengan wanita dan anak-anak [kali ini benar-benar berharap Dia membaca tabloid Mom and Kiddy]. Sangat disayangkan ternyata pemikirannya lah yang berpengaruh sepanjang abad pertengahan dan bukan pemikiran Plato yang praktis tentang wanita.

Karena buku ini saya berubah pikiran, saya tidak ingin menjadi satu orang saja, saya ingin Plato dan Aristoteles. Saya egois, ya saya egois, untuk pikiran Anda terkadang memang harus egois. Tidak konsisten, bukan ini bukan tidak konsisten, ini yang namanya berkembang. Maka saya ingin berpikir bak Aristoteles dan mencintai bak Plato. Toh saya tidak akan selamanya memandang ke atas dan tak selalu harus melihat ke bawah. Memang sudah sepantasnya ide berpasangan dengan realitas, walaupun para pemikirnya berpisah jalan.

P.s. this writings dedicated to Alm. Jusuf Daniel Parera who had introduced me with philosophy and Ifan Iskandar, M.Hum who had pushed us, his students, to read a lot.

Love is a fallacy

Love is a Fallacy

by Max Shulman



Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Espy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it love. Why?”

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing , nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.







“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.







I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Poll’,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.







Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact.”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ ... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start ... Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think—examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.

“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

Wanita dalam Keterbatasannya

Banyak hal yang luar biasa yang dapat dilakukan wanita dari pria, antara lain kami dapat melahirkan bayi dari lubang yang berukuran tak lebih dari 5 cm, kami mengeluarkan banyak darah setiap bulannya tanpa harus memerlukan transfusi darah karena kekurangan darah, kami memproduksi susu sendiri , kami pelakon terhebat sepanjang sejarah because we can do it 'fake orgasm' dan yang terbaik adalah we are Eve, Adam’s temptation. Terlepas dari semua itu kami memiliki kelemahan sebagai wanita, kami adalah susu ultra, benar kami melewati proses UHT layaknya susu kemasan namun kami tetap memiliki tanggal kadaluarsa maka dari itu wahai pria ketahuilah bahwa kami memproduksi estrogen terbatas dan kami membutuhkan Anda, pria, untuk menghargai kami. Kami tahu kalian bangga bahwa kalian, para pria adalah wine yang semakin dimakan waktu semakin bermutu. Jadi Adam kami ingin Anda setia minum susu.?????? Ok by all means we need you to stick around when we no longer produce estrogen.
Bukan hanya itu, kami wanita memiliki kekuatan fisik di bawah Anda, kaum pria. Jadi tolong be our superman and please do not be our boss. It is more like an instinct that we love superheroes, especially superman, well I guess because he really put his underwear outside his pants. For your information guys, being bossy is totally unsexy. We do not need you to be our boss; we need you to be our fireman who comes on time when we are on fire.
Terlebih lagi ketahuilah bahwa kami seringkali berpikir dengan hati, tak diragukan lagi kami dua kali lebih sering ‘makan hati’ dari Anda, Pria. Kami wanita melihat suatu masalah dari berbagai sisi sedangkan pria hanya dari satu sisi, yaitu bagaimana cara menyelesaikan masalah tersebut dengan cepat dan tepat terkadang Anda luput menggunakan hati dalam hal ini, untung saja long torso diciptakan untuk wanita.
Kami wanita acap kali berbohong jika kami mengatakan kami tidak membutuhkan Anda, kaum pria. Karena pada dasarnya kami ingin melihat Anda dapat bertahan dengan kami. Untuk hal ini inisiatif dan kreativitas Anda dibutuhkan. Harap maklum kami terkadang tidak dapat jujur dalam hal ini. We are just too complicated as a gender, but we love being complicated.
Anda para Pria yang telah membaca kelemahan ini, dengan segala hormat, hargai kami bukan dengan angka-angka tetapi lebih karena kami priceless, tidak ternilai. Lihat kami sebagai pasangan Anda yang seharusnya (kami tahu sebagian dari Anda menemukan kepuasan dari jenis sendiri), bukan semata sebagai penghasil estrogen.

p.s. this writing is dedicated with all respect to women, it is not about to disgrace women. It is more likely to give a sight to men that they have to respect us. And kids (under 17th) are not allowed to consume this writing. Thank you for your attention. Love Dj

apa yang terselip di agenda 2006-ku

the fountains mingle with the river
and the rivers with the ocean
the winds of heaven mix for ever
with a sweet emotion
nothing in this world is single
all things things by a law divine
in one another's being mingle
why not I with thine?
see the mountain's kiss high heaven