The Universal Symbol of Connection

There is nothing I crave more than the human connection - an emotional bond with someone because of a shared common interest, whether it's an object, event or even one another. So how better to celebrate this magnetic gravitational pull than with the high five.

I know what you're thinking. The high five is dated, a thing of the past. Au contraire, my friend. Au contraire. Yes the "cool" thing now is the fist bump; even the President is doing it. However I beg to differ and offer this: The fist bump is not a true connection; the high five is. Allow me to explain.

The fist bump is when two people create a fist with their respective hands, then proceed to have those fists make contact. It is used to symbolize the human connection; however it falls short of doing just that.

First, the vehicle in which to deliver this accord is a contradiction. How can someone make a positive connection when the hand is closed AND is a fist, which is typically used for violence when ushered at a rate equal to or greater than a certain velocity due to a negative motivation? (violence=intent+fist(fist delivery rate≥certain velocity))

Secondly, you hardly see people with pure joy on their faces before, during or after the act of the fist bump. The fist bump seems to be accompanied with an air of coolness and a head nod.

To you open hand high fivers, I salute you. Or rather high five you. You put yourselves out there with all your vulnerability. You put your hand up high for everyone to see; open, just like your heart, for that human connection. The sheer jubilation on your face shows your excitement for the anticipating bond. And when your open hands meet, the slapping sound confirming contact, bliss overcomes you. For in that split second, you know you are best friends for the moment.

And if the high five attempt is rejected, oh the sorrow and humiliation! For that hand was held up high for everyone to see, and the rejection they did indeed witness. A fist bumper isn't vulnerable. The fist can be hidden or played off as something else because that arm is held low and inconspicuous. Or worse yet, if the rejected human requesting the connection is violent, the fist bump could become a knuckle sandwich.

Friends, hear me now. Do not be fooled by the fist bump, a fleeting fad. You want to make a real connection? Then feel the joy of a true bond that can only be delivered and consecrated by the open-handed, slaptastic high five - a universal symbol of connection that will never grow old.

Let Me Drink You Please

NOTE: Received feedback that this post is VERY long. Cutting to the chase, would love to hear what song moves you. But please feel free to read the post if you have a couple of free hours.

It's hard writing this post because the topic I'm about to delve into almost leaves me speechless. And for those of you who know me, I hardly have a lack for words. But trust me, I'm so passionate about this one, words I will find (you may be concerned for my mental health when you're done reading this).

In 1998 I became obsessed with something (surprise, surprise). This obsession left me dizzy and breathless and foggy and craving more. It is a song that to this day, puts me in another atmosphere. Yes, this is one of the few obsessions I will have, hold and love forever.

Here's what I love about music and what you should keep in the back of your mind when reading this post. Otherwise you'll be convinced that I've lost it. Think about a song you absolutely love. The emotion you feel and where the song takes you. The connection you feel to the artists who created a sound that tells a story, a story that speaks to you. You feel this connection because the music is not just coming from a musician. The music is the musician - beautiful notes, lyrics and sounds that are pieces of someone's soul, bared for all.

So I've played this song over and over. I've dissected it and am amazed at the layers upon layers of passion. Dying to know the song yet? It's Crush by Dave Matthews Band on their album, Before These Crowded Streets. I LOVE this song. And for your enjoyment, or concerned pity, I'll dissect it for you. Note: The following analysis is expressly the crazed opinions of Vicky Cullison and is not endorsed nor verified by Dave Matthews Band and their affiliates. :)

Crush tells a story. If you listen to it 11,293 times like me, you'll discover that it is structured like a piece of literature, except via sound. There is an introduction, slow and heavy. It starts with a bass, thumping like a heartbeat. And if you turn the volume up loud enough, it's like feeling the song's pulse. A saxophone then comes in, inserting a jolt of heat.

The song then begins the transition to the body of the story, which is filled with bits of yearning and happiness. The string instruments begin playing beautiful long, whole notes and if I could explain yearning with music, it would sound like those strings. Dave Matthews comes in with the most believable and honest vocals, breathy and almost raw with emotion (which is even better when you hear a live version). Then with a combination of instruments, the mood changes to light and airy - the sound of happiness from being with the one you love, the one who crushes you. The song's body moves this way - back and forth with yearning and happiness.

The sound continues to build until it reaches a climax with an intense crescendo. That's when a string solo takes the lead and feverishly belts out some serious passion. If you listen to some live versions, the sax takes the song to its height. And let me tell you that LeRoi Moore isn't just playing the sax. That sound, that passion, is him.

The song then softens again with the conclusion. That soulful electric guitar combined with little flits of a flute and strings weave the yearning and happiness into a single emotion. THe song has come full circle. What exquisite storytelling. And I'm not even talking about the lyrics yet.

The song is called Crush and the lyrics seem to be about a crush, but it's so much more. The song says "crush me," like the storyteller has a yearning so intense that he wants to pull her into him. My favorite piece of lyric, "let me drink you please," likens the lovely lady to a basic necessity for survival. A tall glass of water he wants to take in in any way that he can. And the lyrics end with Dave Matthews pleading to let him hold his love always. But the way "let me always" is delivered seems like a plea for more than that, like he's grappling with wanting more.

Wow. Either you think I'm insane for over thinking this song, or you're a music lover like me who can appreciate a song's power to take you on an emotional rollercoaster (hope you are the latter). Every time I hear this song, my heart beats a little faster and flutters, my chest tightens and I can feel the emotions the artists feel. Fellas, just a little hint. If you let your lady know how she crushes you, how you yearn for her because her love is paramount to living, then I highly suspect the feelings will be reciprocated.

Unless you're a stalker and complete stranger. Then it's scary. And creepy.

That's What She Said

 

Okay, people. I'm preparing you for a topic I will likely come back to over and over again. The passion I have for food. I LOVE food. I love to smell it, look at it, prepare it and most importantly, eat it.

 

So much to my delight, a couple of friends and I decided to partake in some of the best food Alabama offers. A very special kind of down home southern cooking. A comfort like no other. And after engorging yourself, the only way your body can cope is by leaving you in a blissful lethargic stupor. Sounds heavenly, doesn't it.

 

I am talking about some Dreamland BBQ ribs. One word. DELICIOUS. Okay, two words. Delicious and MESSY. Now, I know some of you aren't rib fans, but I'm here to tell you that you are crazy. There is nothing better than eating meat covered in a sticky sauce off a bone (refer to blog post title). Meat on a bone is juicy and succulent. Ribs are like sauce-covered manna from heaven. God put ribs here for us to devour, so why deny yourselves.

 

You rib virgins out there who are contemplating diving in head first, heed my advice. As delicious as ribs may be, eating them is not a pretty sight and preparation is needed. Here are my recommendations.

1. Only eat ribs with family and CLOSE friends.

2. NEVER eat ribs on a first date (unless you need a reason to quickly end the budding relationship). Ribs are a 10 date minimum.

3. Most rib joints have toothpicks. Toothpicks are not good enough. You must plan rib eating ahead of time so you can take floss and stealthily remove pounds of meat in the restroom. Otherwise your mouth will be semi-permanently full of meat until you get home (TWSS).

4. If you are already a food lover, be prepared to stuff your face with scrum-dilly-umptious-ness. Wear pants/skirt with an elastic waistband. Really. Wear them. No one will judge you.

5. Ribs + sauce + eating frenzy = stained clothes. Ribs are slippery so wear dark colors. You've been warned.

For those of you frightened by ribs, just give them a try. Unless you're a vegetarian. I'm not going to peer pressure you veggies out there. But for you omnivores, I promise that ribs are worth it.

Freakin' FARKLE

Obsessions are tricky things. You are consumed by your obsession. You long for your obsession. So this can put one in a quandary when you loathe your obsession. That's right. Not love. LOATHE. The ideal obsession is one that you love, but unfortunately not all obsessions are made equal.

I blame my friend Ben. Ben is awesome. He's funny, smart and will willingly challenge the office Sudoku champion (yes, it's me and no, I'm not a nerd). The not-so-awesome part of Ben is that he knows my weakness - competitive nonathletic games (no, I'm not a nerd). Case in point: I play/practice Sudoku in my free time so I can crush my frenemies. Did I mention that I'm not a nerd?

Just last week Ben urged me to play a new game based on chance, a dice game that pits you against competitors vying for the highest score. FARKLE. Freaking FARKLE. I LOATHE this game. Yet for some reason, perhaps due to my obsessive nature, I absolutely CANNOT stop playing it. Click the cup to roll the dice. Click the cup to roll the dice. Click the cup to roll the dice. Yes! A new high score and I'm beating Ben!

So when I went to bed tonight, I knew I had a problem. I played FARKLE and didn't beat my highest score. And the dice kept rolling in my head, urging me to get up to play more. Not so I can hone my skill, because frankly it's just rolling stupid dice. It's because I have to beat Ben. Damnit, Ben!

Well here's the good thing. I think I'm on the road to recovery. I think I can kick this habit. Instead of going straight to FARKLE, I came here to tell you about this ridiculous obsession. The question is should I ease off or just quit cold turkey? I struggle because I don't want Ben to think I'm forfeiting. Heaven forbid that I let him win. Perhaps I can engage him in another competitive nonathletic game, but this time one that I can love. Suggestions?

Hello Again, My Love

Yes, I admit it. I'm having an affair. I discovered a sumptuous sweetness last fall that I couldn't live without. Then suddenly, POOF, it was gone. I mourned the loss but resigned that maybe my life is better without such temptation and distraction. I thought I was finally over it, but this past week, I ran into my love again. Most people would try to resist, but my desire was too great and I dove in with wreckless abandon. Who cares if the relationship is unhealthy.

My lover's name is Pumpkin Spice Latte, Starbuck's most delicious seasonal treat. When I tasted it for the first time last year, I knew that I couldn't live without it. Then to my dismay, the holiday season ended and so did Mr. Pumpkin Spice. Oh the joy I felt when I found Mr. Pumpkin Spice again, my lost love. I came across it this past Thursday and I've already indulged more than I care to admit.

Every time I partake, I can't help but close my eyes and savor the taste, the feeling. With just one sip, the sweet pumpkiny goodness, warm and velvety, warms you from within. The heat first slides down your throat, then warms you from the core to your fingertips. I tell you, the experience is almost sinful.

It saddens me to know this love affair will cease come season's end. I will yearn for this latte, its absence making my heart grow fonder. But I can't jump ahead of myself. Mr. Pumpkin Spice is here and I will enjoy every moment I have with it. And I delight in the fact that when it's over we will be together again, the reunion just as sweet as the last.

Something From the Archive

Just so you can get a taste of what I'll be posting, here's something I wrote in 2006. My fervor for the said topic has died down, but I nonetheless still have an undying appreciation.


Wednesday, November 1, 2006

My Not-So-Secret Obsession

My obsession started at an early age. And I blame my family.

As many of you know I am Korean, and apparently Koreans have tiny hineys. I never really noticed. Then all of a sudden everyone in my family was checking out my hiney and said it was the fullest of the bunch. I was grabbed, poked and prodded. Certainly I was flattered, but compared to the rest of the world my rump was not much of a shaker.

My derriere often was the topic of conversation, especially while getting ready for school. According to my sisters, jeans definitely did my body – the posterior – good. So every morning I would look in the mirror before leaving the house to make sure my butt did indeed look good. And then I began to look at other butts to see if they looked good. But only girl butts.

I was stealthy at first, sneaking quick glances and then quickly averting my eyes. But that was all the time I needed. One quick glance and I immediately knew if the hiney was too hard, too soft or just right. But slowly I became braver, even offering comments about my observation to the victim.

Then came the pivotal moment when I realized I truly had an obsession and it stemmed from my family. The year was 2002 and the family was celebrating a cousin's wedding. It was a beautiful and joyous occasion. Food and drink were plentiful and the company, wonderful. After the reception was over, the party spilled over to a hotel suite. The drink was still pouring and definitely having a merry affect on the partygoers. I was completely sober (I cannot drink, but that's a whole different story).The company, though getting thoroughly sloshed, was still wonderful. Then a member of my immediate family, that will remain unnamed but was not my dad, started grabbing other guests' (female) bottoms. And instead of being appalled and wondering how much this person actually had to drink, I wanted to join in on the fun. Again I say, I was completely sober.

Years have since passed that turning point and I no longer try to hide my obsession. I have come to terms that I love girl butts and have an appreciation for all shapes and sizes. But please don't be confused. I may love girl butts, but in a squishy, endearing way – like the way people look at babies' butts. My girlfriends know this and still love and accept me for the weird, grabby person that I am. And they are no longer considered victims but contributors to my obsession. And to them, I thank you.

A Simple Introduction

Hi. I'm Vicky. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Reasons for this blog:

1. I need a creative outlet and writing is really the only option. I don't sculpt. I don't draw. I don't play an instrument anymore (used to play the oboe). I don't sing (unless in the shower or in the car). I don't dance (unless forced, preferably by a handsome stranger). Wow. I sound fun.
2. To say I have a love or passion for something is an understatement. When I fall for something - a new marinara sauce, sudoku or a coworker's arse - it becomes an obsession. I absolutely cannot get enough of it. And I want to scream it to the world. However I warn you, the obsessions are mostly short lived. I hope you don't get too attached to me getting attached to something. It won't last. I promise.
3. I'm gonna force a third reason because lists feel right with the total number of points being odd numbers less than seven. Got that? So, the third reason... I hope my posts will bring you some sort of joy, answer, question, something. I hope it's as beneficial for you as it will be for me.