I am a fan of house music. I like playing the role of the amateur bedroom disc jockey during my free time. Here is a minimix of three tracks that I made:
http://www.4shared.com/file/118175185/cb08119d/Minimix.html
Enjoy!
-B
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Eleven
There are simply too many great things to mention about this past weekend, which was spent in the Big Apple with two of my closest acquaintances. Here's what happened.
It started off with a day with a Broadway show (The Lion King) with the girlfriend. During intermission, we were granted access to seats at the front of the mezzanine, a free one hundred dollar upgrade. The show was a creative one, though some of the dance sequences were awkwardly dodgy (for example, why would you insert a techno-themed promenade in the middle of Scar's ominous anthem "Be Prepared?"). Still, for the most part, the show successfully instilled feelings of nostalgia and satisfaction.
We then made our way to the Museum of Sex, where my girlfriend and I learned a lot about the sex lives of animals and (some other) people. Sketchy? A little, but we were reminded at the entrance not to steal, lick, mount, or stroke the exhibits. Touching is okay though, and the exhibits give you ample opportunities to do that.
After dinner at Cascina, a visit to the M&M factory store, and a good night's rest, my girlfriend and I tackled Saturday afternoon. This was no ordinary Saturday - this was the Fourth of July in New York City. We spent a few hours in the American Museum of Natural History (me for the fourth time, my girlfriend for the first). We visited the "Extreme Mammals" exhibit, watched two beavers build a dam in IMAX, and viewed fifteen types of fauna that I would normally have classified under the general term "deer." It was all very fun though. Plus, my girlfriend was essentially one-upped in her knowledge of animals by a spectacled-ten-year-old-Asian child ("That is not a flying squirrel.") as well as by yours truly ("Bats are mammals, sweetie.").
Upon exiting the museum, my girlfriend and I convened with a close friend of mine, and the three of us went to Chinatown for some cheap but delicious food. After three large bowls of Pho, and some walking around, we headed off to Pacha, my NYC nightclub of choice. Unfortunately, Pacha was closed (seriously? On Independence night?) and we had to defer to a club named Cielo, also known for its house music. We almost did not make it, as our cab driver decided to smash into another cab pulling out from the curb. This was the first automobile accident that I have ever been a part of. I was not too frightened for the most part, but the scariest moment occured right after the crash, when I realized that smoke was seeping out from under the front hood and that all three of us had to exit the car right away. Nobody was seriously injured, so everything was fine.
Cielo was a great time, but the house music was different from the popular Pacha-style. The beats were deep and the bass was smooth. Deep progressive house music filled the air with perpetual rhythm and funky vibrations. The girls were pretty and the guys were on the hunt. That night was all about the funky, groovy beats.
In the end, the best part of the weekend was not about what we did, but about what we felt. It is always nice to spend some time with the people that you love. And it is always nice to feel loved by those closest to you as well.
-B
It started off with a day with a Broadway show (The Lion King) with the girlfriend. During intermission, we were granted access to seats at the front of the mezzanine, a free one hundred dollar upgrade. The show was a creative one, though some of the dance sequences were awkwardly dodgy (for example, why would you insert a techno-themed promenade in the middle of Scar's ominous anthem "Be Prepared?"). Still, for the most part, the show successfully instilled feelings of nostalgia and satisfaction.
We then made our way to the Museum of Sex, where my girlfriend and I learned a lot about the sex lives of animals and (some other) people. Sketchy? A little, but we were reminded at the entrance not to steal, lick, mount, or stroke the exhibits. Touching is okay though, and the exhibits give you ample opportunities to do that.
After dinner at Cascina, a visit to the M&M factory store, and a good night's rest, my girlfriend and I tackled Saturday afternoon. This was no ordinary Saturday - this was the Fourth of July in New York City. We spent a few hours in the American Museum of Natural History (me for the fourth time, my girlfriend for the first). We visited the "Extreme Mammals" exhibit, watched two beavers build a dam in IMAX, and viewed fifteen types of fauna that I would normally have classified under the general term "deer." It was all very fun though. Plus, my girlfriend was essentially one-upped in her knowledge of animals by a spectacled-ten-year-old-Asian child ("That is not a flying squirrel.") as well as by yours truly ("Bats are mammals, sweetie.").
Upon exiting the museum, my girlfriend and I convened with a close friend of mine, and the three of us went to Chinatown for some cheap but delicious food. After three large bowls of Pho, and some walking around, we headed off to Pacha, my NYC nightclub of choice. Unfortunately, Pacha was closed (seriously? On Independence night?) and we had to defer to a club named Cielo, also known for its house music. We almost did not make it, as our cab driver decided to smash into another cab pulling out from the curb. This was the first automobile accident that I have ever been a part of. I was not too frightened for the most part, but the scariest moment occured right after the crash, when I realized that smoke was seeping out from under the front hood and that all three of us had to exit the car right away. Nobody was seriously injured, so everything was fine.
Cielo was a great time, but the house music was different from the popular Pacha-style. The beats were deep and the bass was smooth. Deep progressive house music filled the air with perpetual rhythm and funky vibrations. The girls were pretty and the guys were on the hunt. That night was all about the funky, groovy beats.
In the end, the best part of the weekend was not about what we did, but about what we felt. It is always nice to spend some time with the people that you love. And it is always nice to feel loved by those closest to you as well.
-B
Friday, June 26, 2009
Ten
I skipped Nine because it has been a while since I have written here. I thought that was appropriate. During the past four months, my life has changed multiple times, marked by three important events which have shaped the end of my college career and the beginning of my medical career next year.
Number one, I graduated from Princeton. In itself an achieve, receiving a degree from Princeton University has been a dream for many and a reality for only a few. I am honored to become part of the Princeton tradition. During graduation celebrations, plump and bittersweet strawberries were served at each and every event, reminding us that such luxuries that the University can (afford to) offer will soon be obsolete. It was a time for lukwarm amigos to realize how much they mean to each other, and a time for the closest friends to hug, cry, kiss, and make tentative plans to meet sometime within the next few months or years. It was a good time and it was beautiful.
Number two, I will be going to Yale next year for medical school. If you knew me during that week in which I found out that I no longer had to look for an apartment in Houston, you would have thought I was bonkers. For many reasons, the Yale acceptance has made my life more manageable. It is only a three hour train ride from the Princeton area, for example, or a less than three hour drive from my house. Yale is not too shabby of a school either.
Number three, I found someone to share these times with. Many people have told me that in order to find someone, I had to stop actively looking for a relationship. They were right. I stopped, I was surprised, and then I fell in love. She is a beautiful girl and I am a lucky guy.
Till next time, folks.
-B
Number one, I graduated from Princeton. In itself an achieve, receiving a degree from Princeton University has been a dream for many and a reality for only a few. I am honored to become part of the Princeton tradition. During graduation celebrations, plump and bittersweet strawberries were served at each and every event, reminding us that such luxuries that the University can (afford to) offer will soon be obsolete. It was a time for lukwarm amigos to realize how much they mean to each other, and a time for the closest friends to hug, cry, kiss, and make tentative plans to meet sometime within the next few months or years. It was a good time and it was beautiful.
Number two, I will be going to Yale next year for medical school. If you knew me during that week in which I found out that I no longer had to look for an apartment in Houston, you would have thought I was bonkers. For many reasons, the Yale acceptance has made my life more manageable. It is only a three hour train ride from the Princeton area, for example, or a less than three hour drive from my house. Yale is not too shabby of a school either.
Number three, I found someone to share these times with. Many people have told me that in order to find someone, I had to stop actively looking for a relationship. They were right. I stopped, I was surprised, and then I fell in love. She is a beautiful girl and I am a lucky guy.
Till next time, folks.
-B
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Five
When I said, "People need their MTV, and I need my QVC," I did not mean for "People" and "I" to be mutually exclusive. Believe it or not, I am, in fact, a quite personable person.
This afternoon, I enjoyed a bag of Strawberry-flavored fruit snacks. However, it wasn't an ordinary sack of treats - this pink plastic pouch was tenaciously sealed. There are two ways of opening a closed bag without using tools. There's that half-an-inch-or-less vertically-aligned-along-the-back folded flap for the two-hand-pull technique, and there are those ridges along the top edge of the bag for the "Tear Here" approach. And then there's the person who designed these fruit snack pouches - the "pull-here" flap was an entire three millimeters wide (I measured) and the "tear-here" ridges had a striking resemblance to the graph of y = sin(x). I could only manage to distort/stretch the bag in several directions, after which I spent the next ten minutes looking for a pair of scissors. Nonetheless, in the end when I got to them, those 25 pieces of chewy goodness (I counted), were by far worth the effort.
In other news, I killed a whopping forty-three worms in lab today. When I say worms, I really mean microscopic nematodes (before any earthworm lovers start heckling). Imagine thousands of tiny, slithering, transparent creatures.
A few days ago, as I was packing personal belongings in my house for the end-of-winter-break-and-back-to-college excursion, I found an old sweater from Old Navy that once had "OLDNAVY" printed on the front. Except now, the letters "OL" and "VY" had somehow fallen off, leaving "DNA." A sign of things to come? Of course. D. It was written.
-B
This afternoon, I enjoyed a bag of Strawberry-flavored fruit snacks. However, it wasn't an ordinary sack of treats - this pink plastic pouch was tenaciously sealed. There are two ways of opening a closed bag without using tools. There's that half-an-inch-or-less vertically-aligned-along-the-back folded flap for the two-hand-pull technique, and there are those ridges along the top edge of the bag for the "Tear Here" approach. And then there's the person who designed these fruit snack pouches - the "pull-here" flap was an entire three millimeters wide (I measured) and the "tear-here" ridges had a striking resemblance to the graph of y = sin(x). I could only manage to distort/stretch the bag in several directions, after which I spent the next ten minutes looking for a pair of scissors. Nonetheless, in the end when I got to them, those 25 pieces of chewy goodness (I counted), were by far worth the effort.
In other news, I killed a whopping forty-three worms in lab today. When I say worms, I really mean microscopic nematodes (before any earthworm lovers start heckling). Imagine thousands of tiny, slithering, transparent creatures.
A few days ago, as I was packing personal belongings in my house for the end-of-winter-break-and-back-to-college excursion, I found an old sweater from Old Navy that once had "OLDNAVY" printed on the front. Except now, the letters "OL" and "VY" had somehow fallen off, leaving "DNA." A sign of things to come? Of course. D. It was written.
-B
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