I smell ya.

I think the sense of smelling is underrated. A relatively recent study has shown that 7 out of 7 people prefer to have unbelievably yellow teeth (immune to whitening) rather than irreversibly bad breath. Granted, the study was a tiny one but its significance is not to be disregarded.

In a world where appearances matter HIGHLY, who would have really thought that scent would top it? Not that the result surprised me (I, myself, chose the former), but I find this worthy of a blogthought.

Just like seeing something, even for a second, smelling can reveal SO VERY much. Walking into a classroom, you can find out which classmate doesn’t shower/brush their teeth, which one chews the gum you want to try, which one you might date because he/she smells like heaven, and which one you’ll never talk to (and probably hate on for the rest of the term). Walking into a kitchen, you can judge immediately if the cook is marriage material, how hungry you are, if the sink needs cleaning, and even predict if how happy or miserable you’ll be around the next mealtime.

The idea of writing about smell happened upon me when I read about it in The Poisonwood Bible (dark read). I’m not yet done with the book (far from it), but there’s a part that mentions how a smell can revive a memory. I stopped reading and suddenly remembered when I walked into a random room (many years ago), but for a fraction of second I was instantaneously transported back to the small room I occupied in the house of my host family. The smell wasn’t anything especially strong or special, but rather a particular brand of soap I think…I don’t even know.

That one whiff of soap smell was enough to make me stop where I was though, scan the room with unparalleled speed, and sniff around frantically, muttering all the while, “I swear it smells like Argentina…it smells JUST like my room in Argentina…”

The story has a disappointing end. I never located the source nor smelled it ever again.

“Practice makes perfect,” she said. “So be careful what you practice.”

I just finished reading A Piece of Cake by Cupcake Brown. Reading that dictionary-length memoir (not really, but the 470 pages seem MUCH longer when you’re reading about a life that was so ludicrously terrible that you can’t help but read it over the span of a week) was a tedious but inspirational journey.

I could have easily finished it in two days, but I found myself constantly making faces of disgust and disbelief, closing the book, sighing, and walking away…only to pick it up again a few hours later. If I had any interest in trying drugs before, they’d be completely obliterated after reading Cupcake Brown’s horrific past with every nightmare imaginable. Heck, she markets it that way:

“There are shelves of memoirs about overcoming the death of a parent, childhood abuse, rape, drug addiction, miscarriage, alcoholism, hustling, gangbanging, near-death injuries, drug dealing, prostitution, or homelessness.

Cupcake Brown survived all these things before she’d even turned twenty.”

She’s not a great writer (fairly decent), but she’s got a story…which leads me to believe that this will be her only successful book. Who knows?

Onto more books…and job-searching. Any recommendations?

Like a gold ring in a pig’s snout is a beautiful woman who shows no discretion.

I swear…my insufferable trait of being a perfectionist will really kill me someday, so I’ve decided to stop caring. Or at least…sorportar the mistakes as best I can so I can start AND keep a blog. The wonderful yet aggravating thing about knowing different languages is when you can’t find certain words or expressions in other languages. Like that word sorportar. In English, it would be “to stand” I suppose, but that phrase just doesn’t carry the same feeling. It’s funny how there’s also aguantar…you’d think that there’d be at least one English word to describe the action if there were two (or more) in Spanish.

Hence, I will switch from language to language (as above) whenever my English vocabulary fails me. It won’t happen often, but it will from time to time.

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It so happens that the darkness (of day) is directly correlated to my tendency to ponder and spew philosophy. Night is seductive and inviting, so I indulge her occasionally by pedaling down the streets of Arcadia when she comes around. I was out biking last week, when…

I started thinking about wisdom, maturity, and intelligence and how these terms are related. The terms are often used interchangeably, which is…problematic.

The three terms are positive, and it’s entirely flattering when someone says that you’re “wise,” “mature” or “intelligent,” but seems that our society is more obsessed with maturity and intelligence, though wisdom kicks both of those terms in the butt.

So what does it mean to “be” those terms? My thoughts are completely open to judgment, so I invite debate eagerly:

Intelligence is simply- inherent sharpness. You never hear of “ol’ Tom the dim bulb” or “Aggie the nitwit” who became intelligent.

Maturity deals more with age (in a figurative sense), and differs when applied to thoughts and actions. It is one matter to be aware, but another matter entirely to act harmoniously with this awareness. Don’t we ALL “know better” and act differently?

Wisdom is to be gained by age, but more through experience. It means to have moral judgment AND act accordingly to one’s convictions: the ideal marriage.

As in Proverbs 1:2-7:

² for attaining wisdom and discipline;
for understanding words of insight;
³ for acquiring a disciplined and prudent life,
doing what is right and just and fair;
⁴ for giving prudence to the simple,
knowledge and discretion to the young-
⁵ let the wise listen and add to their learning,
and let the discerning get guidance-
⁶ for understanding proverbs and parables,
the sayings and riddles of the wise.
⁷ The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge,
but fools despise wisdom and discipline.

It seems that you cannot be wise without having matured. Perhaps that is the reason adults are always praising their children for having “become so mature!” Intelligence, on the other hand, is altogether too generously attributed to far too many people.

I think people should start proposing “wisdom” more and encouraging it as the ideal, instead praising others as “intelligent” or “mature” and letting these people mistake it for “wise.” They might just content themselves with these milder honors and never realize that wisdom is the destination for all those smart and…slow.

Why did I choose Proverbs 11:22 as my blog entry title? Because it reminds me of who I am and that I need to be more persistent in my journey of becoming “wise”.