Hungry for Knowledge

There's always something new to be learnt. Everyday and everywhere.

Funnily enough a lot of the things that I've learnt as I continue to stumble through this bizarre jungle gym of a life, seem to have come not from my expensive education but from pure and simple experience. Cioè, quite simply from living it (surprise surprise).

Today, I learnt that the part of the human brain that controls our appetite and regulates how hungry or satiated we feel is called the appestat. How did I learn this?

By going to Appestat of course (and googling it whilst waiting for my saucisson sandwich).

It's a great little café-cum-pantry tucked away on Islington High Street, within skipping distance from Angel station, new to the 'hood at just 10 weeks old. I had originally planned to haul my laptop, and my arse, to The Coffee Works Project (which I still have yet to try) just a couple of doors down, but the low-key cosiness of Appestat prevailed and before I knew it I was inside.

They've got the simplicity of the decor spot on - not wannabe-rustic nor try-hard hipster; a small pantry-shop section at the entrance with cheeses chilling and cured meats resting and further along a nice lounging area for sitting with a cup of tea or coffee, alone or with a pal, as you like. Plain, clean, simple and functional furniture, friendly staff and no offensively loud music. Indeed, the perfect place to work your appestat.

The discovery of this haven was not my only lucky encounter of the day. I also bumped into an acquaintance precisely as I was being drawn in to this very café. In the end I had the added bonus of new friendly company with my cup of coffee.

I realise my opening remarks may have set a false tone to this post; it may have seemed, initially, as though I had something profound to say about the things that we learn in life. 

Alas, I don't. 

All I can say from my own jumbled efforts to reach the end of each day as unscathed as possible, is that no matter how hard I try to design and shape and select what I learn, what ends up sticking will often come either in an uncontrollable avalanche of events, at times emotionally shattering, or as little trinkets of knowledge and happenings that are swept up along the way and leave individual marks on me and the way I see things. What is more, no matter how hard I try to learn from my mistakes or avoid getting myself in certain situations, from time to time, I will always manage to wind up in those very situations. To put it more poetically, the poo on the road will always somehow find its way Conti the sole of your shoe when you least expect it (as, indeed, it did with me today. Literally.)

Maybe all one can really do, in that case, is learn to deal with it better when it happens. 

Today I discovered that I had the developed the ability to laugh and shrug things off
-albeit after some justified swearing-
and that this little trick is probably a big factor, if not the key, to happiness in my humble existence.

That and remembering to continue being curious, inquisitive and explorative.

Toodaloo

P.s. Do pick up after your dogs though folks. Spread the word.

(TED) Talking about Time

It's certainly been a while. Too long in fact.

Weeks have whizzed by; flitting between cities, houses and faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, and finally things have begun to settle down, starting with my achieving the unachievable (finding a house in London). All in all it has been a blur of a couple of months and now that time of the year has come again; the time for gawking at the sight of the Christmas decorations and bright orange leaves that adorn the streets of London. The time when it dawns on you that winter is on the horizon and yet another year is, indeed, coming to an end.

The wise out there, who have hit riper ages beyond their late-twenties, will be able to recall that their early twenties were an awkward few years of self-realisation, frustration, and uncertainty. In fact, this may well still ring true now and continue to do so until much later on (dare I say it may never end)?

Well, the rut that I find myself in now is precisely that which I have taken the liberty to call:

"Being 22"

Not quite fully independent, financially or socially, being a 22 year old 4th year undergraduate has been characterised by face-offs with my laptop, night after night, looking for jobs for next year rather than writing my essay for next week. An overwhelming sensation of rootlessness and lack of definition in my daily activities has temporarily (one would hope) debilitated me from doing anything meaningful in the intervening minutes and hours that sneak in between lectures, trainings, meals and bedtimes.

I say this very much aware of the fact that this is a rather poor argument laden with faults: laziness, poorly constructed excuses, and too much time-wasting to mention a few. These little intersections - the awkward 37 minute gap between the moment you finish your lunch leading up to your next appointment or that 1 hour and 24 minute train journey to your next destination - are the little pockets of time which are so often undervalued when they are actually golden nuggets there for the taking. Too often do we let them slip through our fingers, when we should be scooping them up selfishly and pocketing them with care.

When tired and ready to switch off after a long day, evenings are habitually set aside for dinner, faffing around online, replying to emails, tidying up bits and bobs and various loose ends that are relatively unimportant but nevertheless need to be seen to. These are some of the faux-productive activities that lull us into a sensation of being organised and productive. Leisure reading is sent to the back of the queue following work and academic reading and a film is a guilty treats on a night off. Awkward gaps in the day are filled with more aimless scrolling and surfing  - and so, rather than picking up my half-finished summer read, my days are marked with intermittent breaks browsing facebook and other relatively useless social media websites.

Well my friends, an inch an hour a foot a day.

These little nuggets of time add up and by the time you know it, your daily dose of dispersed 5 minute Facebook sessions amount to a considerable amount of lost time; irretrievable minutes which you would have been better off spending day dreaming or going for a walk in the park.

You're better off kicking back and relaxing, or pondering, or staring into space - because at least this way your mind is free to wander.

Stefan Sagmeister: The Power of Time Off

A couple of little things that I have introduced into my daily routine includes listening to podcasts.
It's a great awkward-time filler and, having selected informative ones, it jogs the mind a bit as well.

Freakonomics and Stuff You Should Know are particular favourites.

It's time to spend time more meaningfully.

Happy Tuesday!

In search of a silver lining

Every shit storm has a silver raindrop. 

There's no telling if it is my prickly Ligurian sunburn or something far beyond my fluorescent epidermis, but an inexplicable wave of restlessness is bubbling up to the surface. 

All in all it has been a month of sweet memories, shit storms, lessons learnt and ongoing damage control.

Mental souvenirs of my last moments in Italy - outdoor aperitifs, chaotic train journeys, too much food and humid summer storms. 

As the fruits of my culinary therapy jiggle about on various parts of my body, my anti-social therapy has given me the opportunity to marinate in my thoughts. 

I am usually a stirrer of thoughts; I toss them all into a big pot, mix and mash them aimlessly and hope for the best... so a relatively still marinade is a novelty (and I'd say a plus).

As my plane took off from Bologna Airport and the sanctuary of San Luca became no more than a little  orange dot in the distance, it struck me just how much the red-roofed city had come to feel like a place I could call "home". The city which had initially felt stiflingly small turned out to be perfect for a bite-sized getaway from the busy hightreets of London. There is not a shred of doubt, however, that the people that I stumbled across in this brief bolognese break were the parmesan on my pasta... the cherry on my sundae... you know how it goes.

Whining over wine made the shit storms seem like little more than pebbles on the road, mere lessons to pocket and take home with me. The obvious ones being fairly generic: know when to firmly say "thanks but no thanks", learn to stand up for yourself etc. But the important ones were those sifted out of little chats before saying goodnight and parting ways, or in short watermelon breaks on park benches.

After an ordeal that had left me feeling like a doormat - that had just been walked all over (in stilettos) - it was the friendly openness of my parmesan pals that reminded me of what I've really gained from this experience.

My childhood friends with whom driving on the motorway in a broken car can feel like a sound decision.

The one-on-one chat that concluded my final pilgrimage to the Mercato della Terra.

Being driven to the middle of nowhere for a ridiculous barnyard barbeque followed by star-gazing on the back of a pick up truck.

A friendly invitation to go for a drive and a dinner in the Bolognese hills.
And finally my last chat in my favourite piazza, across from the Sette Chiese, before heading off home and preparing to depart. And those are just a handful from my last month.

These, my friends, are the silver raindrops and golden clouds that I was able to spot in my particular shit storm.

Patient parmesan friends peppered with solo trips to nearby towns turned out to be the recipe for a perfect plate of parting pasta.

Mesmerising Moments and Musings

I have two favourite moments in the day: 

One is at around 6-7am in the morning when the air is fresh and crisp

 and the streets are still deserted.

The other, especially around this time of year, is sunset.

Not sunset in that romantic, blazing-red-sun-disappearing-over-the-horizon sort of way that such a statement may bring to mind.
My room is facing the wrong way for me to see that side of it, and the only glimpse of said blazing sun that I do get, is in the reflection of the hotel windows opposite my building. 

No - what I am referring to is that time around 7pm, when the busy-ness of the day is behind you but there is still a good chunk of evening left ahead of you. It's when big puffy clouds take over the dimming sky, above endless red tiled roofs and orange brick church towers; some amazingly fresco-esque, others threateningly charcoal grey. The bats are out flying in a frenzy and there is a cool breeze that filters through the narrow streets and high buildings of the old Jewish ghetto. There is the static excitement of a potential thunderstorm - but then, it could all just roll into another quiet balmy evening. It's a conflicting moment of relief and regret; time to relax but also the end of yet another day, one in which I probably could have been more productive.

Just yesterday at exactly this sliver of the day, it hit me that another chapter [or sub-chapter let's say] of my life is reaching it's closing sentence. The little black dot marking the end of the last phrase is a mere metre away and once it's done, it'll really be done.

Granted, I will probably come back, and there is not need to be quite so dramatic, but never will it be under the same circumstances, and nor will I be the same person by then. My days of watching bats fly at dusk from my Jewish ghetto room as a twenty-something student will be behind me for good.

And yet "As soon as I get through exams"// "As soon as I get this essay in" //"As soon as I do this and that" // "As soon as, as soon as..." seems to have been on repeat all year long. Only to be followed by: "Then I'll catch up with that friend of mine"// "Then I'll read that book I've been meaning to read"// "Then I'll prioritise staying fit and exercising"

It seems that

As soon as I [insert pending boring task], then I will [insert desirable task]

Has defined the past few months that I've spent here. Far too often, far too much.

For a condition with such a simple remedy, it seems it can also be a chronic one.

Putting off what we really want to do and things that we enjoy for the sake of doing what we feel we ought to do, happens too often and too easily. And the scary thing is that for so many, by the time they realise that they might be in the right place, whether physically or mentally, or setting to finally do what they want to do, half their lifetime is behind them. Which is rubbish!

I mean You Only Live Once, right?

Why do we we let our happiness fall so low on our list of priorities?

Of course we need grit and determination and hard work.
It is important to be productive and, from time to time, do things that just have to get done.
But it's also important to remember, that once you finish a chapter of your life,
or a paragraph of it, or even a simple sentence of it,
once that little black fullstop is in place, it ain't budging. Full stop.

So we need to keep on asking ourselves if what we're doing is really worth our time and effort.
If it is going to get us where we want to be and eventually make us happy.

Cos if the answer to that is 'no'...

It's time to stop filling the page for the sake of it, and flip to a fresh a one.

.

La Dolce Vita

It's nearly 4 in the morning

When I slip through my front door and tip toe to my bedroom.

A bottle of bubbly pignoletto and two glasses of red in, 

Much has been said - many a bean has been spilled.

Two hafus sway precariously on a step,
In a piazza,
Somewhere in the city centre

Perhaps it is the shared mix

Perhaps it is the bubbly

But somehow I feel I can wear my own skin,

A celebratory evening has snowballed into a great discorso not quite alla italiana
[but a bit alla-everything]

A snowball of our theories, still modest and in the making,
(topped with our worries and our doubts, blooming in time for spring)

The worries and doubts of two twenty-something hybrids,
Caught somewhere between two continents,
On the buckle of a boot

A great big snowball on a mild mid-may evening

It's nearly 4 in the morning

When I wipe the remainders of the day off my face,

And as I slip into my blue boxers

Pulling my striped pyjama top over my tired head

I heave a great big sigh,
About as big as the moon

Sometimes you just need to be understood;

Your worries and stories and jokes, all of those,

The dialect you spill from the corner of your lips,
The label sewn on to the tips of your toes

The one listing the materials that make you complete,
(the one that says "only hand washing" - "no tumble drying please")
The one next to the roots sprouting on the soles of your feet.

His first talk that he refers to can be found here.

Buona notte

Ramblings of an Escapee

It is official – I have been defeated by my dissertation.
My quasi responsibility-free year is coming to a close with just two months to go, yet rather than frolicking in the sweet spring sun, fuelled with tortellini and parmesan cheese, as I should be, I am sat at home trying to pull a draft out of my ar… nose. And so I raise my white flag in surrender. I throw my hands up in the air (in true Italian fashion), and with an expression of unapologetic, resignation (essential for pulling this off - see below), I let loose a big shrug (might as well embrace it while I can) and sit back. And that is the story of how I ended up here, committed again to my blog.

Somehow, however, I feel it’s not a coffee shop reviewing sort of day, so forgive me as I unload a handful of my thoughts onto my pristine, blank, word doc of a canvas.

In fact, my absence here has largely been due, not to my dedication to my dissertation (hence aforementioned lack of frolicking freedom), but more to the fact that I have come to find the sheer sight of this blank canvas of mine rather daunting. Something about the anticipation of the white page with it's little flashing line, waiting to be busied, and eventually filled, with letters and words and wit and what not.

Having been replanted in Italian soil, away from my roots, my family, my more matured and cultivated friendships, and my boyfriend dog, whatever time I have not been in class or out for a quick drink, I have spent sprouting little buds of semi-thoughts, semi-ideas, semi-opinions, basking in the bliss of my solitude. But somehow I have been unable to nurture them to the point of blooming. Which is fine. These things need to come from somewhere and often take time to grow, before - if ever - reaching their full potential. Why is it then that they now seem to have become more burdensome than promising or stimulating?

I have managed to pinpoint a couple of possible suspects to my new found, rather incessant series of uncertainties and, thankfully, a couple of prescribe-able remedies (even if only placebos). 

Suspect Number 1: Failure to address and resolve pre-existing insecurities.

Compliments - I have always had a bit of a problem dealing with them. Blame it on having grown up in a country where modesty and humility are the basis to everyone's character. Or on having grown up with a mother whose affection is not shaped by the conventional mould of motherly love (though still very much present). Or even on having grown up being showered with compliments as a "hafu" or rather, an "exotic" hybrid of Asian and Western physical traits, in a relatively homogeneous society (more on that another day). Whatever the underlying cause, compliments have always made me feel uneasy.

The two very separate events which, not only brought the existence of this issue to light, but identified it as a major weakness, were both a bit out of the blue. The first was when my boyfriend's mother was praising some dish I had cooked and I kept on rejecting her compliments, shaking my head and avoiding all eye contact, hoping it would all be over soon - until she finally put her index finger to my lips and said "just say 'thank you' and accept it." This simple piece of advice launched me into a completely new realm of awareness, both of social interaction and of myself, totally alien to me, yet fascinating and pleasant all the same. The second event, I admit, is slightly bizarre, but came from a procrastinating session when I stumbled across Kanye West's appearance on the Jimmy Kimmel Show. Ok - I do find him sliiightly arrogant and obnoxious, but Kanye sort of hit the nail on the head when he justified his reference to himself as a "creative genius", by rejecting this now well-diffused idea of "false humility." Cioè, feeling the need to be humble with regards to everything. Even the things that we know ourselves to be good at.

But my problems are not only limited to the receiving of compliments but also to giving them. Mainly due to some inexplicable concern on my part of coming across as insincere, even if I genuinely admire whatever it is that I am trying to praise. All in all, I just don't know what to do with myself when faced with the giving or receiving of a compliment. But what has that got to do with anything, you say?

Just about everything, that's what. Being able to praise other people is not only a great social skill, but largely reflects how secure you are with yourself. Just like jealousy and bitterness manifest themselves in insecure subjects, compliments and praise roll out of the most secure. Before you can run around, beaming at other people's successes and nice outfits, and new haircuts, you first have to come to terms with what you possess. And don't possess. Acknowledge it all, evaluate it all, identify what can and cannot be changed. Take a deeeeep breath, accept the things that are here to stay and mooooove on. 

Suspect Number 2: Ignorance (is bliss only up to a certain point)

The more I think about it, it is actually no surprise that I have difficulty getting my mini mental florets to blossom. Quite simply I have a gaping whole in my small, shallow reservoir of knowledge. Luckily there is an equally simple explanation behind this. The cause being, the lack of exposure to other wise people and their thoughts, often left in the form of articulate, beautifully bound books. The more I venture down the path of literature, the more I am able to appreciate its value (and the more unable I am to keep myself from gaping at how observant, articulate and profound some of these writers were and are).
To be able to really form an opinion, or push towards the realisation of an idea, or even to have thoughts that go beyond what outfit to wear and what to buy at the supermarket, one must be curious, informed and, to a degree, assertive: three magical ingredients promoting your mind to another level. Great, so what to do now?

Remedies: 
The suspects that I have just publicly shamed, are as it turns out, partners in crime. 

Have a think about the people in your social network that are most confident, sure of themselves and outspoken or opinionated. At least in my web of pals and professors and people that I look up to, they are the ones that are, or even unjustifiably believe to be, knowledgable and well-informed. Whether through reading books, exploring google and wikipedia, watching programmes, studying art or having a passion which leads them to develop an area of expertise, they are undoubtedly the inquisitive, knowledge-hungry or passionate ones. They are also often the ones that have scoped out a way to express themselves, whether through painting, singing, talking, blogging, vlogging, dancing, debating - there are an infinite number of ways one can express themselves. And this, my friend, is a necessary form of therapy.

So there we have it.

1. Learn to give praise and to accept praise. 

2. Find a medium through which to express yourself (as corny as that may sound).  Or a hobby of some sort.

3. Read. Read, read, read. Appreciate and question what you read. Oh, and don't forget to read.

On that note, as I retract into the depths of my dissertation dungeon once again, I leave you with a parting gift (something to remember me by if I never make it back out). Two and a half minutes of Mark Grist's genius, which my old English teacher (female, nothing weird going on here) emailed me after I graduated. 

Happy Friday! 

Lovely image of Berlusconi excelling in the art of shrugging was from here.
Others here, here and here.

The Perfect Swiss Getaway

I've just returned from a couple of weeks outside the small city of Bologna, knee-deep in my overdraft but happily refreshed after treating my eyes (and nose) to a view other than red walls and poo-laiden porticos. (No offense Bologna.)

Zürich and London were my two stops, and since there are already plenty of pointers on where to go in the latter, I will take this opportunity to propose a couple for the former, just in case you ever manage to find the opportunity (and by all means, if you do, grab it) to drop by.

Having a sibling that has lived in Zürich for the past four years not only means free accommodation, but a lot of good spots already picked out for you. No guidebooks or faffing (though a couple of minutes perusing this page would be well spent).

A Poushe strudel to salivate over 

Skipping breakfast and moving on to lunch might not be such a bad idea when you head over for your mahoosive Poushe strudel.
They have sweet and savoury strudels as well as cakes and cookies, and for under 20 CHF you can get this big baby with as much salad as you can fit on the rest of your plate (stacking, piling, squishing are key techniques).
The Poushe I popped into was here and is not hard to reach from the city centre. Italy has left me ever grateful for clean, functioning public transport and Zurich definitely has that in the bag.


An Afternoon of Art at Kunsthaus Zürich 

I'm usually not much of a gallery-goer, but on this occasion was ordered to visit Kunsthaus by an artist friend back in Bo. I ended up spending an entire afternoon here. They have an expressionist exhibition on at the moment, until the 11th of May 2014, which is definitely worth a visit. As a student I paid 17 CHF (full price is 22) and spents hours devouring every detail with my eyes. (On Wednesdays you can visit the galleries main exhibits for free.)


A Peaceful Pause at Piazza


Piazza is perfect for a catch up coffee with a friend or a quiet tea break after a long day of strudel-munching and art-gazing.
I've been here on a few occassions now and there are always people tapping away on their laptops, sipping coffee with friends or having a quiet tea with a newspaper at hand.

It's located in Idaplatz and has been my go-to cafe for study sessions and blog-writing afternoons during all of my stays in Zürich. (It's also close to Poushe, the strudelhaus I mentioned above - bonus!)

Just outside, dotted along the piazza in which this place is located, there are some other small places worth a peek; stationary shops, restaurants and cafes.

Unwind by Bouldering at Minimum

After a long day of desk-work and tram-riding, there is nothing like a good climb.

This happens to be the place where I popped my bouldering cherry and I must say it has me hooked. It's a great way to build strength and is much more difficult than it looks, not to mention much less dull than pumping iron in the gym.

The nicely challenging routes, fascinatingly good-looking and muscular climbers, and vibe of the place are only a few of its charms that will having you going back for more.

It is open until late and has a nice cafe/bar area where you can sit for a break between climbs or have a lounge around with a beer and a slice of quiche afterwards. It's here.




So there we have it, a few things that you could fit in to a day or two if you ever visit Zürich.
A bit of an unplanned, off-topic post but hopefully of interest to some all the same.

To anyone staying in Bologna, it is only a 5 hour journey by train up to Zürich with one change at Milano Centrale. The views between Milan and Zürich, through the mountains and past the lakes, make the whole trip worthwhile and enjoyable and it is definitely a journey that I can recommend.

Happy Sunday!

A small Word on Dreaming Big

The world is your oyster.

You ain't got long on it.

So you better make the most of it.

That was the conclusion that my nutty friend and I reached over our steamy bowls of pumpkin soup on her last night visiting me in Bologna.

She is one of a handful of friends that I can have these occasional heart-to-hearts with, whether it be over sloppy soup or as a bed time chat - concluding with deep sighs freckled with wisdom (perhaps) and a series of mumbles, before finally rolling over and falling asleep.

She is one great big character concentrated into a petite, peppery package of dreams (she's also a bit of a juice-junkie). 

And she always reminds me of how important it is to create your own path - even if you don't know exactly where it will take you.

A wise one she is. And a talented one too.

Dream big, even if you're small. That is the moral of the story, I think.

The Head Hunt

I'm in a bit of a pickle. In a jar full of worries and anxieties and doubts that have been pickling away. Wedged between bits of gherkin and soaking up a whole lot of vinegar. That's where I am: in a pickle. 

My thoughts are in a pickle too. I have 10 half written, half-arsed drafts of blog posts. Ramblings and reviews and writing. Words. Mainly just a product of distracted procrastination.


It's true, this isn't the first time I've lost my head, in fact it happens quite frequently. Just ask the boy. And my closest friends. They have sat patiently over cyber catch up sessions and, with a bit of luck, over coffee, on numerous occasions while I've unloaded buckets of my problems on them. Luckily, despite being completely bananas outside of these "pull sammy together" sessions, they are all deceptively wise and they never fail to hand me back barrels full of wisdom.

So back to that head of mine, as big and round as it is, I still manage to lose it every now and again. Just like I have done now. Sometimes I'll find it under my bed (could be there now - good thing I hoovered yesterday). Other times I'll get that "epiphany" moment, like when you lose your keys and can't find them all day, and hours later you'll be doing something completely different - like plucking your eyebrows - and it'll hit you. And you'll be drawn to your coat like a magnet and there they are, sitting innocently in the silky pocket lining of your jacket. Just like that, sometimes I'll eventually find it again.

But I keep on losing it and I've lost it again. I know where it has been (stuck in the fridge for the past 48 hours, seeking bits of edible comfort in the dire misery that is called 'night-before-exam-revision time'). And I have a fairly good idea of where it will be later (out for a beer to celebrate end of said revision). But where the heck has it got to now?

To be honest, it's probably on strike or something. Or left home, maybe for good, disappearing over the horizon as we speak. Now that I think about it, it's had a good battering over the past couple of decades. I'm pretty sure what you'd find in my head (if you were to slice it open and check out its contents) would be a jumbled mess, like the one that suddenly materialises on your bed after you've tried every item of clothing you've ever owned before an evening out. The odd japanese word gathering dust in one corner, a great network of indecisive cobwebs, a wet coat of contemplation and regret over decisions that have been and have yet to be made, a bed of insecurities, a lamp without a light bulb and the curtains drawn shut. But what did you expect? It's been bobbling about as I've fumbled my way here. It's bound to get a little bit messy.




So let's just breathe and reboot. Brush away all the dust and the cobwebs. Draw the curtains and air it all out. (And replace that bloody light bulb.)

- Make time; there is always time. Make time to chat to friends (which, for me, are scattered across the globe to my dismay. Along with my family. And my dog). Make time to unwind; do yoga, play music, learn a new skill, make a new friend. Watch a film, waste a couple of hours (not on some social media website but actually doing something.) Dance. Knit a hat. Build a chair. Buy a train ticket. I don't know. But there is always time, so do something with it and stop moaning about how little of it you have.

-Send Lazy on it's way. You've already parted with sugar, next in line is Lazy. Otherwise Lazy will be the end of you, it will consume you and it will be deceptively comfortable but be the biggest of bitches in the end.

-Find a go-to something. Anything. Preferably not food - or at least the act of eating food. Cooking something elaborate would be okay. But just find Something to take the edge off of a rough day. Something to make you feel better on a sour gherkin day like today.

-Find a way to express yourself and something you are truly passionate about. Become a song-writer. Or a poet. Or a painter or a plumber. Be whatever you want to be, essentially, but don't be satisfied with just being. Full stop.

-Stop comparing yourself to other people. No good has or ever will come of it. You will always have stubbier legs, a squarer jaw, less wit, or lack in something or other if that is your main unit of measurement. And when you are not lacking you will just be contemptuously satisfied. And that ain't how we roll.

-Stay hungry.

...

That way you can eat your way out of any pickle you may be in.

And as far as the head goes. Well you're still gonna lose it every now and again, so just make sure you keep hoovering under your bed.

Gotta grab life by the balls.