Why I Am The Way I Am

A Typical Thought String Of Mine

2010-10-26T19:21:00.000-07:00

Recorded on October 27th 2010, between 9.30am and 10am. Subject is driving to work.

Nuts. Nuts! Why's there so much traffic at this hour!?
Damn it. God damn it.
Red Hot Chilli Peppers' Suck My Kiss is playing on the CD player.
Oh, haha, I get it. He says suck my kiss, but you can easily replace 'kiss' with 'dick'. 'Your mouth was made to suck my dick'. Clever!
Ah, crap. I'm gonna be stuck in this car for the next 30 minutes.
There is no God.
But I'm Catholic.
Whatever, I'm just repeating a cliche, shut it, conscience.
Maybe Stephen Hawking was right, there is no God.
Hmm, but a few years ago he ALSO said that the universe existed in such a way as to allow for the existence of God.
This guy has a forked tongue. Like a snake. Stupid paraplegic.
Red Hot Chilli Peppers' Parallel Universe is playing on the CD player.
Oh, sidewinder. Yeah, that's a snake too!
Moves sideways...uh, no, weaves from side to side to move forward across sand dunes in the desert. No traction and all that.
But it's kind of hot in the desert. I know reptiles cannot regulate their own body heat, so sidewinders need the sun to push their bodies into activity, but I don't think that 'more is better' in this case. You'd lose too much moisture. So maybe it only travels in the mornings and evenings.
Horn blast from nearby truck.
Oh fuck. Ok, it was nothing. Nothing to do with me.
Anyway.
Hmm, dinosaurs were also reptiles.
What's that dinosaur with the sail on its back? Dimetrodon. So the sails on its back helps it to gain more heat by increasing the surface area of skin exposed to the morning sunlight. It probably means it was more active than other dinosaurs during that time. It would probably stand perpendicular to the sun's rays in order to maximise light and heat absorption in the mornings.
Oh yeah, there's another dinosaur that does something similar. Plates on its back. Stegosaurus, I think. That one could move its plates up and down, to catch the most rays. Heheh, sunbathing dinosaurs. With suntan lotion, an umbrella, sunglasses, beach towel. Heheheh.
Didn't it have spikes on its tail for self-defense? Yeah, it did. So the spikes were probably made of bone.
Ugh, bone sticking out of your flesh. I wonder how that would work without you bleeding to death. How would your skin cover your body while still letting certain bones stick out?
Looks at fingernails.
Yeah, I guess that makes sense.
Oh, i'm almost at the office already. Awesome.

The soundtrack of your death

2010-09-07T00:53:00.000-07:00

Imagine that you're on your deathbed. You've lived a long, eventful life. You've made your peace. The body you've inhabited for the past 8 or so decades has finally worn out. You're ready to move on. Fuck this world, fuck it all, I'm gonna go now and I'm not sorry to be gone. Y'all behave now. Or not. I don't care.

At this point, would it not be EXTREMELY COOL if someone (or yourself, it doesn't matter really) played one of your favourite songs to serenade you into the afterlife? Imagine drawing your last breath just as Red Hot Chili Peppers' By The Way comes to its final refrain, its echoes fading away as consciousness slips from you like a soft blanket sliding off the bed...

In that vein, here are the top five songs that I want to listen to just before I die, in no particular order:

1. Switchfoot - Dare You To Move
2. Tina Turner - Simply The Best
3. Aerosmith - I Don't Wanna Miss A Thing
4. Lifehouse - Take Me Away
5. Dashboard Confessional - Don't Wait

Any one of these songs would be an appropriate requiem. I know it.

The many uses of face-to-face communication.

2009-11-21T03:07:00.000-08:00

If you want conversation, we can talk.
If you want a sympathetic ear, let's get in the car, I'll drive, then we can talk.
If you want an opinion, be open-minded about whatever I'm going to say, and we can talk.
If you want me to know you, tell me about yourself as we talk.
If you want to know me, listen and observe as I talk.
If you want me to know what you're feeling, the direct approach works best as we talk.
If you want to know what I'm feeling, ply me with alcohol, and be prepared for long pauses as I struggle to get over my natural reticence about letting others know exactly how I think and what I think about...and just let me talk.

The unwashed masses are among us.

2009-05-27T22:43:00.000-07:00

This is to all of you who use public washrooms and yet somehow gain amnesia when it comes to flushing:

You have no place in the civilised world. I hope you get rabies, you and your ilk. If you defecate like a dog, then die like a dog.

You are entitled to yell at me if it's my fault.

2009-03-30T23:26:00.000-07:00

Unless, of course, it's not.

And if it isn't but you insist that it is, I WILL HUNT YOU DOWN AND EVISCERATE YOU. I WILL TEAR YOU LIMB FROM LIMB AND FEED YOUR BODY TO THE CROWS. I WILL HUNT DOWN EVERY ONE OF YOUR DIRECT LIVING RELATIVES AND DESTROY THEM. I WILL HUNT DOWN EVERY LAST ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS OR ASSOCIATES WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT YOU, AND OBLITERATE THEM FROM EXISTENCE. I WILL ENSURE THAT THERE WILL BE NO ONE ON THIS GOD-FORSAKEN EARTH TO EVER, EVER MOURN YOUR PASSING.

I tolerate no false witness.

Epiphany #4

2009-03-13T01:01:00.000-07:00

I can't change who I am. The best I can do is suppress the negative parts of me through forced introspection and rationalisation.

Having a camera does not make you a photographer.

2008-12-23T22:58:00.000-08:00

I admit, I'm addicted to Facebook. It's a lot of fun finding out what your friends are up to without the hassle of talking to them, or, God forbid, feigning interest in maintaining an actual conversation. It's kind of like reality TV: you satisfy your voyeuristic tendencies of what goes on in other people's lives without the need to actually get involved. Hooray for Facebook!

One thing I've noticed is the upcoming trend of people attempting their hand at amateur photography, then putting them up on Facebook for all to see, and comment on. With the advent of cheaper digital cameras and built-in cameras in today's mobile phones, nearly everyone can snap pictures with ease, anytime, anywhere.

I generally do not have a problem with people putting up photos and adding their own comments to the photo. Heck, I completely understand the appeal of camwhoring. The vanity aspect of having people commenting on the photos you put up is also totally understandable. Something caught your eye, a thought occurred to you concerning that image, you snap a photo and add your addendum. Completely normal.

What I cannot abide, though, are the poser amateur photographers. This subset of people run around everywhere with their digital handhelds, or, if they splurged, DSLRs and go on some kind of photo-snapping spree. They hang the cameras around their necks (making them great mugging targets) or otherwise tote their DSLRs with oversized flash modules in these boxy cloth bags, snapping anything and everything that captures their fancy.

What separates the posers and the actual, earnest amateurs aren't their techniques, surprisingly. The posers read enough and know enough about depth, focus, lighting and other photography jargon that I can't bear to look up. What separates the posers from the real McCoys/amateurs are their subjects.

People who are actually interested in photography try to capture stories in their pictures. The idea that 'a picture is worth a thousand words' is something that they adhere to. Good pictures evoke thoughts and get people thinking about what the photographer is trying to say. There is real meaning behind such photos, and the best ones are those that describe the world and the human condition in both subtle and aggressive tones.

Posers, on the other hand, snap pictures of things they think would look good. There's nothing wrong with the photos they take, visually. They use camera effects like foreground focus, lens flare and whatnot. The problem here is that the only thoughts they evoke run along the lines of,"oh, I like the angle of that shot" and "that is a nice colour!" and "good closeup", and the automatic "that is a nice shot. Good job!". Notice how all they can do is describe the photo. Nothing else. It doesn't make them think, it doesn't make them feel. It's just a photo.

When I look at such photos, I get thoughts like "boring" and "so?" and "huh?" and "it's a flower. Great. Good for you. You're definitely winning a Pulitzer for this" and "it's a picture of a pair of Crocs. Purple Crocs. Oh my GOD. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PRETENTIOUS ASSWIPE."

They are airheads. They are fishing for compliments. They are wasting their time, and yours.

Losing ground.

2008-12-18T18:38:00.000-08:00

The world isn't fair.

Equality is an illusion.

Fairness is simply a holding pattern while someone figures out a way to screw you over.

We are not all equal. Heck, we were not even created equal. There's always someone out there with the short end of the stick.

I used to fiercely believe that everyone had an equal opportunity to make something of themselves. This is slowly starting to ring hollow. Each person may have different strengths, but the fact that they have strengths doesn't make them equal. Some qualities are worth more than others. There will always be someone greater, and someone lesser. I used to think I was one of the former.

But I am a lesser, to my growing realisation and dismay. My advantages, strengths, and good qualities are easily overshadowed by my weaknesses. When compared against those I pit myself against, I come out the loser.

I detest my station.

Epiphany #3

2008-12-18T09:04:00.000-08:00

If you want to make someone bleed, cut their skin.
If you want to make someone angry, cut their pride.
If you want to hurt someone deeply, cut their heart.

Of these three, the last is the hardest, because the only way to cut their heart is for them to give it to you freely in the first place.

Despondency #2

2008-12-14T21:50:00.001-08:00

I am never good enough.

How A Programmer Goes Through Work And Life

2008-12-12T01:03:00.000-08:00

I am a programmer by trade. I write ERP software for retail chain stores. It's a decent living.

As a programmer, any code I write has to be completely unambiguous. Everything must be as literal as possible. As many likely scenarios that I can think of which may be encountered by a user must be recognised, accounted and prepared for. My code structure is crisp, clean-cut and heavily commented, so that programmers after me can read my notes and have a clearer idea of what my code is trying to do. It may not be the most optimised or fastest code out there, but it is certainly well-planned and can be figured out easily enough by anyone else.

When customers put in a request for a new function, I interview them by trying to find out exactly what they want. I set parameters and software limits, trying to gauge their scope, their uses, possible points that they may have neglected to include. Once I list it all out to them, and they agree that nothing has been left out, I start work. I make sure that my software fulfills all their requirements. If I cannot, then I meet up with them to explain the problem and work out an alternative. Everything must be clear, literal and detailed to a certain degree. I do this because I hate repeating work, which wastes time and frustrates both myself and the customer. Thus it pisses me off greatly whenever the customer changes their expectations halfway, or signals get crossed and I misunderstand what it was they actually wanted.

In a way, I apply the same values and principles in life. I go about every day based on routine, clear instructions and boundaries, and performing tasks with an expected end result or goal in mind. Unfortunately, unlike code, the world and the people in it rarely follow predictable patterns. It is this kind of unpredictability that lands me in all sorts of trouble and makes life difficult.

I must admit that I have an appalling lack of instinct, especially with regards to other people. I miss obvious facial cues and subtle undertones in conversations. I am lousy when it comes to inventing things on the fly, which makes it very obvious to anyone when I attempt to embellish the truth or outright lie (so I never bother to - everyone finds out nearly instantly anyway).

When the unexpected happens, especially if its for the first time, (a car accident, winning a prize, dog goes missing) I find myself caught more flat-footed than others. I get tongue-tied, struck dumb, I flap my arms around ineffectually, I get frustrated and unnecessarily angry. Being caught unawares, or having something negative happen outside my initial expectations is something I hate very much. It offends my sensibilities. It shouldn't happen. I did it exactly the way I was supposed to do it, so why is everything falling apart? Why can't everything be systematic and clear-cut, like a well-defined scientific experiment? Follow the instructions and any established scientific fact can be replicated and proven, consistently.

I wish life was more like this.

I have a death wish while driving.

2008-09-19T11:10:00.000-07:00

I've noticed that I cannot tolerate rudeness and aggression from other drivers while I am driving. I'm not sure why I behave like this; most of the time I simply ignore such behaviour and move on. This pattern gets thrown out the window, though, while I am behind the wheel. I present to you 3 cases:

I am in a parking lot. As I'm inching forward in a parking lot jam, trying to get home, a car in a lot in front of me starts reversing out of a parking spot, getting in my way. I wait until the car clears the spot and moves on. While I am waiting, the impatient driver of the SUV behind me starts gesticulating wildly and honking me. I get irritated, so I flip him the bird. He promptly replies with self-same gesture and then proceeds to hound me ALL the way through the parking lot, hitting the horn as he goes while he tailgates my car. I eventually get tired of the whole thing and manage to give him the slip.

I am once again in a parking lot. The car in front of me starts parking in an inappropriate spot, blocking my way. I get annoyed and frown very hard at him. Suddenly the driver rolls down the window and starts gesticulating wildly at me, at one point even lifting his steering lock and shaking the contraption at me. I am puzzled, but pay him no mind when he finally drives away. After parking my car, the same driver stalks towards me and starts yelling obscenities at me. Suicidally, I insult him right back (in a far more articulate and sophisticated fashion, of course). Now he's steaming mad and rushing at me with his fists balled. Suicidally (again), I stand my ground and prepare to get caught up in a fistfight. (I think I did this because I had a female passenger with me, and had this momentary need to protect her from the harm that an apparently crazy motorist can visit on nearby onlookers.) This seems to give him pause, and he stops his violent advance. Negotiations reopen, and we discover that there was some "miscommunication" (obviously a face-saving gesture). He thought I was insulting him in my car while he was trying to maneuver out of a tight spot. I assure him I was not. Apologies are made and the situation blows over.

I am driving down the highway, about to shift into the higher-speed middle lane. I check my mirrors, take a quick look to my right and start switching lanes, signal lights flashing. A really fast-moving vehicle from way back (right lane) suddenly switches to the middle lane and before you know it, is blaring his horn at me for obstructing his way. It's too late for me to switch back into my original lane, so I ignore him and finish the lane switch. The driver is incensed by my brazen move and continues to honk at me, flashing his high beams. When he gets no reaction, he draws up parallel to my car to do...I don't know what. Instead of ignoring him, I flash him a cheery smile and a wave. This really gets his goat. This uncouth middle-aged man then continues to tailgate me nearly all the way to the office, obviously going out of his way to do violence onto my person. I briefly considered driving straight to a police station, but instead manage to give him the slip by making an unscheduled (and therefore, dangerous) turn, leaving him stranded on the highway.

If I keep this up, one day this will all end in tears. I really need to learn to be less impulsive on the roads.

I refuse to say what I want you to know so badly.

2008-08-20T23:02:00.000-07:00

Contrary to popular opinion, the idea that "if you don't know, then I'm not going to tell you" is not predominantly ensconced within the female domain. The trend is alarmingly popular among males too. The difference here is that guys simply do it differently...and are possibly even more prone to misinterpretation compared to the fairer sex.

Many guys will clam up and bunker down whenever an argument arises with their significant other. There are many reasons for doing this: it may be to avoid provoking her and fuelling the argument, to stop himself saying really hurtful things that he doesn't mean, or even to give himself time to think and prepare a proper response. The reasons are legion, and I cannot cover them all. What interests me, however, is the stony silence that occurs once the girl runs out of steam and quiets down herself.

This is the time when the man starts yelling in his head, screaming out everything he wants to say within the confines of his skull. He vents, he rages, he gets very emotional. He doesn't hold back; anything he wants to say will resound in his head there and then. Every retort or answer he thought of during her tirade will be presented at this time. The problem here, of course, is that it all stays in his head. The girl has no clue about what's going on. She thinks he's being cold, or even worse, disinterested.

Why doesn't he just let it all out, let her know, get it over with? Again, the reasons are too many to consider. But one common reason is that he expects her to know what he wants to say. It should be obvious, right? She's been with him for so long, she should understand him. He doesn't need to say it out loud. She can probably even read it all off the expression on his face. And this assumption is a bad mistake to make.

Stop assuming, be blunt, get it all off your chests, work it out.

Shut up, sit down, and listen.

2008-08-06T23:34:00.000-07:00

I'm a very good listener when I want to be. Among my friends, I am the premier vent-o-matic and shoulder to cry on. Let me share with you the secret techniques I employ so that one day, you too can earn the dubious honour of 'Best Person To Talk To When Shit Hits The Fan'!

Which technique I use depends on the personality of my patient/tormentor. Some people just want to talk and rant and bitch, some are looking for comfort, some want to feel vindicated about their decisions and some are actually looking for advice on what to do. Of course, these aren't hard and fast rules. Use your own judgement. Mix and match if and as required.

I generally fall back on 4 main techniques:
- the void (or sponge)
- the acolyte
- the tear-stained pillow
- the wise man

With these 4 techniques, or any sensible combination thereof, I guarantee that you will be the target of every rant and crying session, or your money back!

Now, let's get into the techniques themselves and you can see for yourself how effective they are. The key is choosing the right one for the situation at hand.

The void (or sponge) is the persona you assume when the person who's ranting at you is supremely confident of themselves, quite intelligent and has difficulty accepting criticism. Such people are susceptible to long rambling monologues , and they HATE to be interrupted in any way. These are the easiest to deal with, usually. All you have to do is shut up and listen. Even if they say something you disagree with, don't say anything, unless they prompt you to. You can show signs of displeasure on your face if you wish, but don't expect them to react unless you strike a nerve. Preferably, don't strike a nerve. When prompted to respond, do it in a neutral fashion that does not invite too much argument, or keep your answers short. However, you MUST be attentive to what they say. This is because as they are winding down their monologue, you will be expected to cut in and give your opinions. There will be some debate; be prepared to defend your opinions properly. Don't worry too much though, these people eventually come up with the most logical solution to their problems and all you have to do is tell them that they've arrived at the only possible conclusion to this bloody mess.

The acolyte, on the other hand, is quite a vocal creature. You assume a stance of righteous indignation, a man who has been grievously wronged. Your target is easily excitable, has great belief in their (probably) skewed version of right and wrong, and can get quite violent if not properly handled. You have been warned. Assume this persona only if you actually believe their cause is just. Otherwise, it is safer to be the void. All you have to do is infect yourself with their agitation and energy. Get yourself a little worked up. Raise your voice. Agree with them a lot. "That fucker/bitch deserves a good kicking!" is a good exclamation to throw in every now and then. However, your goal isn't to work them up into a frenzy so that they actually go out and do something horrible to right the perceived wrong. You want them to vent in a controlled fashion, waste the energy away until they calm down. Therefore, learn to read them; the moment you note a moment of hesitation, cut them off and play the devil's advocate. They will direct some of their anger at you, but if you play your cards right, you can get them to doubt themselves enough so that they see the issue more clearly. Once they've lost a bit of their reason to get angry in the first place, you can gently lead them back to a semblance of control. They'll get a little grumpy, maybe sheepish. Do what you can to allay their discomfort.

The tear-stained pillow is the one that tries my patience the most, and is usually only required by a small subset of people, and they are invariably women. They will be crying. They will want comfort, and they will want you to understand them. They don't really want you to take their side, only to show sympathy. Lots of it. "There, there, it's alright. Let it all out." and "Oh, you poor thing." are good phrases to use repeatedly. Things may get messy. You may be required to provide hugs and tissues. Do not, under any circumstances, provide solutions to their problems, no matter how trivial or easily fixed they are. They'll figure it out on their own. Just sit tight and bear it out until they feel better and go home/away. Alternatively, you may have to cheer them up somehow. Good luck with that.

Last, but not least, is the wise man. This can be either the easiest or the hardest of the lot to accomplish, because you have to come up with REAL solutions. It is usually used in combination with any of the other 3 techniques, and doesn't really stand on its own except in particularly rare situations. In this form, you listen to the problem and give your own honest opinion on how to fix the problem. It has to be fair, and considerate to all sides implicated in the issue. The delivery varies, though. You can be professorial, straight to the point, or couch it as delicately as appropriate. You must also be able to determine if the target really wants to hear your opinion or is simply spouting rhetoric.

There you have it, my secret to winning the unsought-for title of 'Best Person To Talk To When Shit Hits The Fan'! Follow these steps and you'll be well on your way to losing sleep due to impromptu trips to beaches in the next state at 3 in the morning and silently hating yourself as you use the truth like a knife to hurt others when they come to you for help.

For questions, or to arrange speaking arrangements by yours truly, please record your statements in the comments section below. Thank you, and good luck!

I wait for no man.

2008-08-02T23:12:00.000-07:00

I hate waiting. Waiting implies inactivity, and I am a perpetually restless person. I cannot sit idly by unless I know I am accomplishing something by doing so. I cannot be patient unless I know doing so draws me closer to my goal. Even then, I chaff at the self-enforced walls of restraint.

Now don't get me wrong. I am not impatient. I am not the kind of person who must have everything quickly, who must get quick results all the time. I am not about instant gratification; I can be deathly serene about waiting, as long as something is there to occupy my attention. As long as I am doing something, my mind and body can vent all its excess energy safely, if not productively. This is one of the reasons why I enjoy music; my mind runs through the lyrics as the song plays, anticipates the note changes and instrument flourishes, and my legs tap to the beat. I have to keep moving, all the time, until I tire myself out and sleep.

When it comes to waiting for events to happen or circumstances to change, I can be equally restless. This usually results in me falling into all sorts of emotional moods and going through mental anguish while I internally debate the pros of waiting versus the cons of lost opportunities that occur from my restraint while I vacillate, trusting the day will come. It is quite a horrible predicament. It's not even faith that keeps me going; at least with faith, you put all your hopes into a God who answers you all the time(I think)...just not in the way you expect. But when you wait for a person....you can't even call it faith. Instead, it is self-delusion, illusions of hope and grandeur, self-inflicted promises and encouragement to hold on for just that little bit longer. It is rubbish, there is no value in it, you cannot trust it, there is no institution that would back such currency. "This dream is good for 1 metric kilogramme of gold, vouched for by the Bank of False Hopes." Hardy har har.

I am so tired.

Yet still I wait. Resilient, unchanging, and constant.

Something significant has happened.

2008-07-23T00:33:00.000-07:00

Well, shit. This wasn't part of the plan.

Honestly speaking, I don't think I ever had a plan in the first place. Just a really really vague idea of how I want my life to be in the indeterminate future. I don't have a 5-, 10-year plan or whatever it is that other more ambitious/confident people have. All I had was a vague idea where I lived a pretty comfortable and decent life, all my needs fulfilled and some luxuries thrown in for good measure. Maybe a small family. Nothing fancy. No expensive cars, no multiple properties. Working 5 days a week, maybe a weekend once a month, nothing too strenuous. My nights would be untouched. I would be free.

Things have taken a VERY sudden turn now though. It all started when I decided to pick up a freelance project from my boss. I would basically do it out of office hours. After studying the project, I knew I was way in over my head if I were to do it alone. So I decided to recruit my colleague to work on the project with me. We would split the payout and workload equally.

Near the end of the project, we started thinking about how we would want to be paid. After some thinking, we decided that we did not want to be paid a lump sum for our efforts. We weren't willing to just let go of something that took so much of our time and energy for a simple sum of money, no matter how large. In the end, we decided to work out an arrangement with our employer, where we would take a smaller initial payout in return for monthly royalties, based on how how many customers used this little software.

After some initial wrangling, we came out of the discussion mostly intact. But something had changed. We initially wanted chump change every month for as little responsibility as possible. But after negotiations with our employer(curse you Vincent and your rationalisations!), it looks like a very real possibility that I and my partner are on our way to owning our very first commercially-viable intellectual property. We would license the software out to our employer, who would pay us royalties periodically, based on how many of his customers used it. We would be responsible for maintaining and updating the software as and when required. Our employer would be mostly concerned with selling it.
This has essentially turned into a formal business arrangement, with negotiations, and contracts, products, services and goodness knows what else.

I am now effectively a businessman. Oh, the horror.

Nowhere in my shitty little plan for the future did it say that I would actually be involved in business. I'm not a visionary. I don't come up with sweeping business strategies. I'm not driven to succeed. I don't want to work so hard in order to make oodles of money. I am shell-shocked, overwhelmed and more than a little terrified of what this all means, and will entail. I don't know what kind of price I'll be paying in order to run a freaking business of my own. I am not prepared. I don't have the right mentality. I'm just a simple, lazy guy trying to make a little more money, that's all. I am afraid that this is going to be well over my head, and it will all come crashing down like a skyscraper being demolished. Neat, controlled, utterly devastating and somewhat spectacular(fuck the house of cards simile. This will hurt.).

I can't think about it. I'm afraid to think about it. Something has changed, and I am fearful of it, and yet, I am curious to see how it will all pan out. The cat has yet to figure out that his curiosity will kill him.

I think I had better buckle up. Life is about to get somewhat interesting, I think.

A perfect evening.

2008-07-14T23:33:00.000-07:00

It was the 19th of May, 2008. A public holiday, I had spent the afternoon wrangling around with some work that needed doing. At around 5pm, I had gotten very bored and decided not to waste the whole day completely on working. I took a book, my iPod, my phone and my car keys and headed out the door.

I drove around a bit, trying to decide on where to read. After a while, I decided to head to a small playground of sorts. It was a pretty sort of place, with huge fir trees around the perimeter, well-kept grass and aging but sturdy playground equipment and benches, as well as gazebo-like things scattered all over. I chose a seat on one of the spring-fulcrum see-saws and started to read, bouncing up and down gently like a vertical-motion rocking chair. It gave my restless legs something to do while the rest of my body was engaged in other more useful tasks, such as holding the book in place and reading words off the pages. I began reading.

The sun's rays were muted, filtering through a bank of puffy white clouds. It provided a very comfortable light to read by, and warmed my skin slightly where it struck. It was quite a pleasant feeling. To top it off, there was a light breeze blowing through the grounds, heightening the idyllic sense of being I was beginning to feel myself slip into.

After a while, a car pulled up and the driver released a pack of truly adorable dogs into the playground, two Labradors and a chihuahua! The chihuahua was especially friendly, it came up to me and immediately started prancing about. After a few friendly overtures, I left it to tear up and down the field, chasing the other dogs. Ah, a dog's life!

Eventually the dogs had to go home and I was left to my own devices again. The sun was going down but the breeze still had not abated. I relocated to one of the gazebo-like structures, put on my headphones, piped music from my iPod through them and continued reading. I had multiple trains of thought running through my head at this time. Number one, that I had not felt this relaxed in a long time, revelling in my self-imposed solitude. Number two, Bobby Shaftoe, please stop hallucinating, pull yourself together and help Lieutenant Root toss that decoy off the plane already before AA fire completely ruins the whole mission and you die for nothing. THERE ARE NO GIANT LIZARDS HERE. Number three, if only I could replicate this setting more often. Or ever.

Eventually the sun dipped low enough and I had to stop reading. I packed up, got in the car and headed home.

I want more evenings like that.

Epiphany #2

2008-07-07T00:39:00.000-07:00

It's funny how my most enjoyable vacations usually require another, more sedate, vacation with which to recover. I am so tired.

I've got a little black cloud and thunderstorm hovering over me.

2008-07-01T18:44:00.000-07:00

You know how people are always using light and darkness as metaphors for good and evil? From a scientific point of view, darkness (or shadow, as some are wont to argue) is simply an absence of light. If you relate this property back into the good/evil metaphor, it means that evil is merely an absence of good. Therefore evil in inherent, all-pervading, natural. Good is the usurper here. Being good is unnatural. So when we complain about how fucked up the world is, it should cross our minds that it really isn't so much of people being selfish or self-destructive. Rather, the majority of us are simply being true to ourselves, and our own nature.

Sad, right? I'll leave it at that.

People need to think through things more thoroughly...

2008-06-26T21:45:00.000-07:00

...before coming up with signs like this. I love poor design, there's so much potential hilarity in it.

The consequences of failure.

2008-06-23T08:45:00.000-07:00

You know that saying,"Reach for the stars; that way, even if you fail, you would have at least reached the moon."? Something like that. That saying really isn't applicable to a great many situations. Many times, when you fail to reach said stars....you fall from a very great height. The results won't be pretty.

First up would probably be the initial damage to your self-esteem and confidence. You build yourself up quite a bit just so you develop enough balls to go through with this hare-brained endeavour. Upon failing, the house of emotional cards collapses faster than you can say, "Fuck." Then there's probably some kind of residual fallout that may affect others around you. Your failure may reflect on them, actually hurt them in some way, such as when you fail to pull your own weight in a work-related project, delaying the progress of others that depend on your success. Of course, one cannot ignore the reputation damage that may possibly occur, as well as the loss of any time and/or other resources that you pour into the effort. I'm sure there's more, but these are the more apparent consequences of failure.

So, why try to achieve something that is so difficult to attain, comes with great inherent risk, especially if the prize isn't even certain? What if the rewards of success is merely a stepping stone to an even greater challenge? You're not even guaranteed to taste the fruits of your initial labour.

I would try, I think, because a part of me is quite romantic. For all my cynicism, I can still harbour quite a lot of optimism, I can be extremely stoic when need be, I can eventually shrug off all sorts of emotional damage given time without too many scars. Someone told me it's because I was born under the auspices of Gemini. This duality in nature is apparently inherent in such persons.

So yeah. I have hope, and I think I can succeed. I am willing to take chances, after weighing the potential reward against the risks. If I succeed, this could potentially be life-changing. It could be the best decision I've made in my entire life. I have great faith in my abilities, and in what I can do. And even if I fail, heaven forbid, at least I tried. I hate asking myself,"...what if...?"

No regrets. Life is too short for that kind of crap. I'd rather fall a long, long way than not try.

Besides, I'm resilient. I've made it alive for 25 years, I think I can take a catastrophic failure from time to time.

Why my job is hard.

2008-06-16T22:22:00.000-07:00

My job is hard because no sane person wants to handle the details of designing, building and maintaining complex informational and logistics management systems.

My job is hard because in humanity's rush to get better (while slowly killing ourselves), we keep coming up with new technology that makes existing ones obsolete too quickly. I find it near impossible to keep up.

My job is hard because customers and bosses would rather see results in a short amount of time than implement the necessary amount of proper design concepts, which in contrast takes a longer time BUT ensures system maintenance becomes more manageable as time passes.

My job is hard because developers before me (myself included) have abandoned most said best coding practices for short-term results, rather than design purity.

My job is hard because short-sighted customers are always changing their minds on how they want their systems to work.

My job is hard because sales support staff are always trying to appease said customers by giving in to their demands, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous.

My job is hard because of the high turnover rate in my industry. Apparently operator burnout doesn't faze anyone here anymore. Rather than seeing it as an overarching problem, employers simply assume it is a problem endemic to those in the IT industry, and don't bother doing anything about it.

My job is hard because people invariably make mistakes, and it's my job to fix them. People make a LOT of mistakes, it seems.

And my job is hard because while I am good at it, I don't really like it all that much anymore.

Malicious intent or no, it is wrong to bad-mouth.

2008-06-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

I caught myself ranting about this dude that I get exasperated with sometimes to another friend. It was all about how this person was unreliable, opportunistic and selfish. After about a minute into the rant, I began to feel guilty and stopped. It was a pretty cowardly thing to do, bad-mouthing/complaining about someone behind their backs without giving them a chance to defend themselves. Now, to set the record straight, I have openly confronted him about his shortcomings and how much it annoyed me. However, this does not give me the license to continue attacking him like I did, behind his back. I got pissed with myself then. If I don't want other people to do this to me, why do I still persist in doing it to others? Is there some kind of instinctive flaw, or ingrained cowardice that makes me do this?

It is wrong, I know it is. Better to be blunt and upfront than malicious and cowardly. But better yet, to just keep your gripes to yourself.

A form of selfishness.

2008-06-05T18:31:00.000-07:00

I used to have a problem with watching romantic movies while I was still attached. When bugged about it, I fell back on the standard male-chauvinist response,"It was made for women." The truth is, watching them back then made me feel conflicted. On one hand, I had the impression that the movies were unrealistic depictions of real life. On the other, I caught myself thinking,"I want my life to be like that. But I don't want to change a single thing about myself to get there." Not in so many words, but in retrospect, I'm sure that what I meant. So sorry for bursting your righteous bubble, me-in-the-past. I'm such a selfish bastard.

Epiphany #1

2008-05-17T11:07:00.000-07:00

Those who cannot lie (but have to) should simply shut up. Silence affords ambiguity. Sometimes that is preferable to the knife-edge of truth and revelation.

*Edited because the first version did not properly reflect my meaning.

I love it when you rush-inhale.

2008-05-15T23:28:00.000-07:00

You know what I find sexy? That sharp intake of breath you hear just before a singer sings a verse, especially if the verses are close together. It's usually only audible on studio recordings, since in live shows, the microphones are rarely that sensitive. I get a little thrill every time I hear it, particularly if the song is emotionally-charged. I cannot really explain why I get such a kick out of this phenomenon, hereby known as 'rush-inhaling'. Shut up, I can't think of anything better at the moment. Also, my attraction to rush-inhaling is gender-neutral. Singers who rush-inhale include Rob Thomas (from Matchbox Twenty), Liam Gallagher (from Oasis), Ingrid Michaelson and Marié Digby.

I don't know. There's just something vulnerable, crucial, precarious about it. "I need this breath, and I need it fast. I can't sing this next verse without it. I can't live without it." Oh, God. That's just so incredibly sexy.

P.S.: Damian Kulash from OK Go, especially on the song 'Oh Lately It's So Quiet'.

The incessant babbling of the young.

2008-05-14T19:18:00.000-07:00

I was standing in line for an autograph from Marié Digby (yay! she was awesome!). Directly in front of me were two young girls, roughly 13 to 14 years old. I could tell because they had what I assumed would turn out to be boobs in a few years' time, even though they dressed much older and sluttier.

I spent about 40 minutes waiting in the line, half of that was spent in total agony. This was because I was forced to listen to the brain-dead chatter between those two. There were somewhat loud and I could not come up with any bright ideas at the time to shut them out without leaving the line.

For 20 minutes I listened to who was 'dating' who, which teacher was a 'hater' and why random girl X was such a slut for going out with whoever crossed paths with her. There was also an enlightening discussion on why getting a barely-passing grade was more than enough for most subjects. There was probably more to this but I've always had a poor short-term memory span and this one time I am grateful for it.

After a while I realised that I was carrying my laptop with me. It took me a few minutes, working feverishly on the stupid touchpad and balancing the weight of it on one forearm, but I eventually got the machine to completely rip Marié Digby's album on the spot(which I had purchased an hour before for her to autograph) and then...beautiful music and emotive, sensitive lyrics piping through my ears via earphones. Blocking out bullshit. Excellent.

This episode has given me a bit to think about, though. Does every age group find the topics that interest those younger than them to be trivial, inconsequential and immature? Do we all listen to such talk and smirk privately to ourselves, thinking,"Heh. Mere children. They have no idea what's in store for them later." or "My gods, why are they so interested in stuff that doesn't really matter anyway?"

The 13 year-old dismisses his 5 year-old brother's fascination with Lego bricks as childish. The 19 year-old scoffs at her younger sister's experimental forays with the opposite gender as clumsy and embarassing. The 25 year-old rolls his eyes and groans inwardly when he listens to 2 teenagers going on and on about the "dramatic events" going on in high school. The 35 year-old smiles indulgently and shakes his head when the 24 year-old dithers about whether or not to finally move out of his parents' house, wanting the freedom and independence but worrying about self-sufficiency.

Perhaps each of us forgets that were also once that age, once upon a time. Or maybe I'm just the stereotypical anti-social who can't be buggered about other people and their concerns.

The fears of the young and helpless.

2008-04-23T00:43:00.000-07:00

When I was very young, around 4 to 7 years old, I used to have a particular recurring nightmare that would wake me up in the middle of the night, in tears.

As usual, details of the dream are hazy and certain parts would change, but it usually ended up with my parents being killed or put in prison. In my childish thinking, there was no difference in the circumstances behind it. The end result was what mattered; I would have to fend for myself. I was effectively an orphan. And I had no idea what I was supposed to do.

I would be alone. I would ALWAYS be alone.

It scared the crap out of me, every single time. Sometimes I am glad that I have difficulty remembering my dreams.

When a personal interest actually helps at work.

2008-04-21T18:58:00.000-07:00

I had to call a customer back this morning on some matter. Sadly, I did not have his phone number on hand, and the only person with it was going to be coming in late. Go me.

Fortunately, my misfiring brain recalled the fit of giggles I got into when I first dialled this particular customer's number. It turns out that the keypress tones the phone makes when dialling this number is an exact copy of a fragment of the Mission: Impossible theme.

So instead of dialling a number, I played a song on the phone. And I got the right person.

Freaky huh?

Sometimes it's not the thought that counts, it's the amount of thinking that went into it.

2008-04-14T02:29:00.000-07:00

My colleague recently returned from a trip to Bali. As expected, she brought back a few trinkets for the rest of us. Look at what she got each of us:

In case the awesome resolution of my phone's camera didn't clue you in on it, it's a miniature wooden slipper fridge magnet. The whole thing is about the size of my thumb. Note the flowing white script along the bottom that, with a little imagination, can be taken to read, "Bali".

This cute little doohickey will now be stuck onto my fridge door, forever reminding me of the wonderful and relaxing trip that my colleague went on and I did not.

Now, I like and appreciate souvenirs as much as the next greedy bloke, but it's gifts like these that generate more resentment than happiness. If she had gotten us something actually useful, practical, or wearable, this would not be such a sore point for me. Hey, you went on a trip, and I got a free t-shirt. Everybody wins.

With trinkets like these however, I gain no use or satisfaction from it apart from seething envy. When someone looks at it, they'll say,"Oh! So how was Bali?", to which I will answer,"I have no idea. I've never been there." Then truth dawns on the commenter, and an awkward silence descends that can only be broken by vodka or a dirty joke.

Or maybe I'm just an ungrateful piece of shit. Anyway, thank you for this thing. Regardless of any feelings of jealousy that may spill over from your gift, I still find it abominably cute.

A negative thought about marriage.

2008-04-06T18:36:00.000-07:00

I get the feeling that one reason people get married is because marriage offers the assurance, the guarantee (no matter how false) that the other person will not stray, will stay committed, will remain devoted to them for the rest of their lives. In this light, would it not seem that marriage is, rather, an institution of MISTRUST?

I don't really believe in the above statement, I just thought it was worth thinking about, for the sake of objectivity and posterity.

The spoken word.

2008-03-26T20:28:00.000-07:00

I am not a phone kind of guy. My cellphone is so old I don't even know its model anymore. It is one of those first-generation colour screen and polyphonic ringtone Nokia types, no mp3 playback, no camera, nothing. It is at least 4 years old, ancient by today's standards, and about the only thing going for it now is that the battery runs out quickly if someone tries to hold an extended phone conversation with me.

Yes, I admit, I don't like phone conversations lasting more than 3 minutes. They try my patience, make my ears burn, and are either totally one-sided with me shutting up most of the time or filled with awkward pauses. If I want to talk to you for more than 3 minutes, there are better ways to do it. ONE: instant messengers. TWO: I fucking drive to your place or we meet up somewhere and talk face to face. Long phone conversations strike me as the lazy person's way of catching up with someone, or ambushing the callee (I may be making this word up but I don't care) to entertain you while you're stuck in traffic or doing something equally boring.

If you live reasonably nearby (within 40-50 kilometres) then I would rather meet up with you, drive if I have to. If you don't, there's the ubiquitous instant messenger software. The only time I would actually call you for a long phone conversation or entertain a long call is if I have not seen you in a while and genuinely miss your awesome company. Then, and only then, would hearing your digitally recompiled voice for more than 3 minutes be welcome, rather than resented.

Confession: I like chick flicks.

2008-03-19T10:52:00.000-07:00

I go alone. I catch them in the cinema, so as to leave as little proof as possible. Another plus of watching these movies alone is that when I react emotionally, no one significant is around to see it. No witnesses.

So I'm a real sucker for chick flicks. They do the same thing for me as truly great romantic love songs do. For a moment, strings of empathy and emotion bind me to the characters, and I feel as they do.

It gives me hope. Hahaha.

Arrogance #1

2008-03-18T21:29:00.001-07:00

The only difference between Mr. Random Famous Philosopher and I is that he is published and dead while I am not.

A dream is a wish your heart makes.

2008-03-18T20:17:00.000-07:00

A sentence, a point, an idea that has existed since 1950, when it debuted as the title of a song in Cinderella. Being the poster boy of sloth, I am too lazy to troll the net looking for scientific theories on what dreams actually mean. I have a vague recollection of reading somewhere which theorised that dreams are simply a collection of thoughts and images that the subconscious strings together while the body rests. There is a rough storyline involved(usually) in a dream, but it is mostly just the subconscious playing in the dream sandbox to keep it from being bored to bits while you sleep.

But what kind of idea, concept or image actually makes it into a dream? A part of your brain is trying to stave off boredom, so it needs to come up with interesting situations and ideas with which to amuse itself. Depending on what it feels like experiencing, there's a quite a variety to choose from. You can have a dramatic, emotional dream filled with heartache and sorrow, or go for an action-packed dream filled with explosions and heroic achievements. Or maybe you're one of those who like to be scarred psychologically, so you dream of ghosts and zombies and other stuff that horror movies are made of, with a liberal helping of blood and gore. And then there's the standard romantic dreams, and dreams where you are the opposite of what you are in real life.

The topic that interests me here is the one where your dreams are based on possibilities, the different routes your life might have taken if certain circumstances had occurred. So the question is, when you get this sort of dream, is it simply a random production of your brain, or is it really a wish your heart makes?

I ask this question because I have been having dreams with a certain recurring theme, on and off for a while now. It pops in every once in a few weeks.It is a nice, fanciful dream, that COULD happen, but most likely will not. As in, I MAY be able to make it happen if I wanted it bad enough, but the possible repercussions involved as well as the initial effort expended to achieve it...I don't know. It's fantastic if it were to come true. But I know it won't happen. Yes, I'm being deliberately vague. Shut it.

What I'm wondering here is, in my heart of hearts, do I wish it would come true, or is just another patched-together play my gambolling subconscious puts on to entertain itself? Are such dreams really wishes of the sleeping heart?

The argument for pessimism. Or not.

2008-03-18T09:36:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you wake up and all you want to do is grunt, roll over and go right back to sleep. Sometimes you're stuck in a jam, but don't take the right lane which seems clear at the moment because with your luck it will probably stop moving 5 seconds after you switch lanes. Sometimes you eschew a new way of working that is potentially better for the tried-but-not-so-true method since the new way will probably backfire anyway, with worse results. Sometimes you see an opening in a chess game that may give you a significant advantage if you take it, but refuse to do so in case the opponent knows something that you don't. And sometimes you don't make the effort to talk to that cute girl reading a book you've read before (and liked very much) in the cafe because she'll probably ignore you or think you're a loony for being so uncouth and brazen.

Being cautious, being negative, refusing to take chances....it keeps me safe from disappointment. It places me in familiar territory. It gives me confidence. It protects my pride. It shields me from potentially hazardous results. And it keeps me wondering, "What if I had just..."...

Despondency #1

2008-03-12T01:01:00.000-07:00

My heart is a lump of coal. It is a cold, black thing; small, ugly and insignificant. At its best, it flares up brightly, vividly, but only once and never again. Only ash marks its passing.

When people say 'I know him/her well'.

2008-02-29T22:26:00.001-08:00

I find it privately hilarious when someone says,"Oh, person X would/wouldn't do that. I know her, she wouldn't do it." The claim that you can know someone so well that you can predict their actions and thoughts so accurately is ridiculous. I don't care how close you are to that person, I don't care how long you've lived with that person, I don't care how much that person talks to you...you can NEVER know EVERYTHING about someone so as to predict their thoughts, movements, actions and reactions. Making such a statement is simply the height of conceit. The most you can do is anticipate....give yourself an 80% accuracy rate. That's it, no more than that.

Does your victim follow a fixed schedule to which you are privy to? Are you telepathically linked to the victim? Does your victim pander to you and is willing to live her life around YOUR expectations? Are you the victim's personal deity?

You may think it unfair of me to label the subject as a victim, but that's definitely what she is. If you subject them to your high-and-mighty assumptions without their knowledge, then you ARE victimising them.

I describe myself the way I am not.

2008-02-18T17:39:00.000-08:00

I am a walking contradiction. I am a mini-paradox. I'm pretty sure other people are, too, but let's focus on what we can genuinely confirm here. I go through life doing stuff I don't like. I occasionally tell people what they want to hear rather than what I really feel. I sometimes blatantly lie about who and what I am. I wake up each day thinking about how to achieve goals I don't really believe in. I tell myself that I am something I am not. There are parts of me that I suppress, for the sake of myself and others.

The ideal is for me to do what I want, when I like it. This is almost never possible. My actions are governed by social guidelines, my regard and concern for others, my need to present myself in a certain light to people, and their own expectations of who I am (or who I should be). In order to preserve this delicate ecology of My Reputation and How Others Perceive Me, I am forced to speak, think and act in certain ways, ways that I naturally balk at but have to conform to.

Why do I do this? Why do I toil at going against my nature every single day? Why do I expend any effort at all cultivate a not-entirely-true picture of myself?

Realistically, the benefits are manifold. Some aspects of my nature can be classified "detrimental". My inherent sloth, my tendency to procrastinate....these are all properties that are best suppressed, since we all know that no one really changes, and therefore such "qualities" cannot be scoured away from my psyche under most circumstances. Overriding such tendencies provide immediate benefits that may or may not affect society at large. The most important thing here is that, for a while, I do become a better person.

Other benefits become apparent only in the company of others, and then perhaps only in certain situations. These include my habit of speaking plainly and bluntly, as well as my tendency to automatically stereotype a person based on whatever quality I happen to latch on about them, especially if I do not know them very well. Obviously, indulging in my nature in such situations could have disastrous results.

I like to think that we should all be free to just be ourselves. I like to think that this subtle game of charades I(we) play on a daily basis is totally unnecessary. I like to think that most of us are sensible, reasonable and tolerant individuals who understand and accept variety and differences within each person. I like to think that I am all that which I have described previously. But I'm not. I am ruled by emotions. I am a selfish, miserable soul that sometimes fails to rise above my own petty thoughts and inadequacies to think better of others. I am occasionally too lazy to give other the benefit of doubt, because it is so much easier to assume. And if this is how I function...how can I expect others to do otherwise?

It is far easier to pretend to be something that you are not, if only for a little while, than to actually change yourself. We are the generation of materialistic convenience. We want it fast, we want it easy. Apparently, this also applies to our personality matrices.

It is far easier to pretend, than to actually be.

Let's talk about Henry Thoreau and what a bitch he was.

2008-02-14T01:00:00.000-08:00

I'm going to ignore the significance of today's date. It doesn't apply to me.

Anyway, a sweet, well-meaning soul sent me a little e-mail which had some religious significance, bla bla bla. The important thing here is that one of the comments within the e-mail implied that in order to live a better life, one should simplify. It gave the late Mother Theresa as an example, who had very little personal posessions and still led a life many people would be envious of.

So naturally this led me to think about simplifying my life. It took me all of 10 seconds to dismiss this ludicrous thought. Egads! Just 2 weeks ago I was trying my best to be as shallow as possible,"money is everything" and all that jazz and now I'm thinking of simplifying?! What would be left of me if I started dropping all the stuff such an ascetic lifestyle would deem unnecessary?

My new goal in life is to make more money, faster. My secondary goal is to use that money to do other stuff. Stuff like learning new things, picking up new hobbies, finding new friends, doing more travel, buy new STUFF....you know what I'm talking about. If I were to simplify, it would mean dropping all those goals to work towards another goal. And what goal is that? The lack of a proper mission in life is what led me down this dark, empty, materialistic, shallow road in the first place. I don't have anything to look forward to. I don't have someone to give my life to. In absence of such things, is trying to be a little richer than I already am so bad?

Strip away such materialistic ambitions and its rewards and all you've got is a guy who doesn't know what to do with himself.

I need this. I need to work for something, no matter how shallow, or ultimately worthless. I need to know that I am doing something beneficial with myself, no matter how temporal the results. I need to shield myself from the stark reality: that I am a reluctant rock, an island I didn't mean to be.

This is the new year.

2008-01-31T19:26:00.000-08:00

Alright. I'm eating crow. I'm going back on what I said a few weeks ago. I admit it. Stop hounding me already.

Last weekend, while I was slaving away on this as-yet unfinished freelance project in a hot and stuffy office, all alone, I noticed a stunning difference.

I'd stopped complaining. I had gotten used to it. It was like I didn't care anymore. It seemed as if I no longer minded working a few extra hours on weekends and holidays. Hmm.

At that juncture, I had a choice: I could REPENT, and decide to never work like this again, and preserve what I'd considered my steadfast principles....or leave the old perspective, let it die, and embrace the new opportunities that this new attitude and focus afforded me.

I took a look at last year and tried to pinpoint where my current principles and focus had led me. End result? Decent money, but I always felt I was a little short. I had a lot of free time, but I frittered most of it away on stuff that didn't really matter. I did not manage to find love as I had hoped, and activities that originated as hobbies became obsessions and started defining who I was. My goals of trying to be happy were not met. Instead, I was left indulging in multiple forms of escapism while waiting for THE BIG THING to happen. in hindsight, my intentions were noble, but what really disappointed me was the stuff I was doing in between.

For this year, I want things to change. I'm going to make money this year! I shall spend more of my time finding ways to increase my financial income. I will not neglect my hobbies and interests, I am merely scaling them back. I want to spend less time moping and being depressed and wistful; less time brooding and reflecting on memories. I want to be less dependent on others when it comes to the use of my time. I will even make slightly more effort to be a social animal! Im going to fucking travel too! Hahahahahahahaha.

This is the year I increase my nett (financial) value significantly. This is the year I make a little something more of myself, my way. This is the year I learn new things, meet new people, change perspectives, attitudes and views, and visit new places. This is hopefully the year I meet someone that.....you know.

So. This is the new year. New year, meet the new (and slightly improved) me. Nice to meet you, how do you do.

Music, direct from their throats (and strings) and straight into my ears.

2008-01-28T20:21:00.000-08:00

Switchfoot is coming to town in a few more days!

I can't wait. I've been anticipating this for a month now. I've had tickets to the show for 3 weeks. I went out and bought their albums and have been listening to their songs regularly so that I can sing along during the performance. I made the effort to memorise the lyrics of the songs that I like very much, and to get the chorus down pat at least for the less-liked ones. I've been trying to predict which songs will make the cut.

The last time I went to a concert was a show by My Chemical Romance, last year. That was also my first time attending a rock concert. It totally blew my mind away. I was screaming and singing and bouncing up and down and pumping my fists in the air and waving them in time to the music. And all this under a light rain! I scream-sung for so long that I was hoarse near the end. I also managed to scare this girl next to me with my incessant scream-singing and jumping. She was so cowed that she sat down and eyed me nervously for the rest of the night. My sister later commented that she had gone deaf in one ear solely from the noise I was making beside her. But, you know. Whatever. I don't hear the other 3 thousand-odd spectators complaining.

The experience of a live rock concert is incredible. The lights, the music, the antics of the performers on stage all combine to create a sensory high that you can't get anywhere else. But what really gives the shows that critical mass is the audience. A thousand or more fans screaming and jumping and singing to the songs in unison....a thousand minds tuned in simultaneously to the same melody, being affected by the same lyrics, reacting in more or less the same ways....You could almost describe the whole thing as spiritual, at the risk of bordering on blasphemy. The fans are the acolytes, the band members are the servitors, and the singer is the fanatical archbishop who whips the followers into a screaming cacophony of praise to the gods of rock.

Don't knock it until you try it.

Pedal to the metal.

2008-01-24T17:36:00.000-08:00

I discovered a new potential hobby a few weeks ago: go-karting. Yes, you read it right the first time. Go-karting. An old friend introduced me to the thingie, I decided that no one's going to miss me too much if I crash and burn, so I said what the heck.

Things I learned about karting:
1. The kart feels ridiculously fast even though I'm only hitting about 50km/h. This is because it has no cabin to speak of and no safety belts.
2. I finally got to use all those dangerous driving skills I picked up playing computer racing games.
3. Karting is expensive. It's like RM30 for 10 minutes.
4. Karting is crazy fun. Especially under slick conditions. Driving in the rain is recklessly exhilarating.
5. I need to learn how to restart a stalled kart. The stupid track monitors are too lazy to respond quickly to a stalled kart, and every minute that passes by is precious.
6. It is important to make sure that a moving kart NEVER runs over your foot. Ouch.
7. I may be the most reckless driver in the whole of karting history. My driving mates were avoiding me like the plague.
8. Buy your own freakin' helmet. Try your level best not to use the communal helmet. It is....unhygienic.

Daredevil stunts aside, I think that this extravagant hobby is something that I will take to, although not regularly. I may need to get my own helmet though.

VROOOOOOOOOOMMM.................wahahahahaha.

I'm not cut out for this shit.

2008-01-19T23:04:00.000-08:00

It's the third Sunday in a row that I've been in the office half-heartedly working, all alone in a stuffy office with no air-conditioning and no windows.

I want to die.

But wait! you ask. What is yours truly putting in extra hours into a job he complains about continually? In truth, I am not. What happened was, I got sweet-talked by the devil himself into taking on a freelance job to earn a little extra cash. It seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, I'm single and alone and waste most of my weekends lazing around anyway.

Unfortunately, I found out the hard way that I have little motivation, inclination and drive to do freelance work while also being gainfully employed. I just can't summon the enthusiasm. Coupled with the fact that I'm going to be late handing this in and that the devil is getting nervous with the impending deadline and me not showing much progress, you can get the pressure I'm under. In fact, today is the projected deadline I told him. So much for commitment, haha.

Obviously I am not that hard a worker as I thought. I promise myself to never do such a silly thing again. Whatever money I may make from this ill-fated endeavour may very well be blown away in a spending spree just to make up for the mental pain and suffering I'm under right now. Working on a Sunday! How stupid.

I need a new everything.

2008-01-08T18:08:00.001-08:00

So, it's the new year. Supposedly time for resolutions, to try and make yourself a better person. So be it.

I resolve to be a more considerate person, to think more about the welfare of others.
I resolve to nurture a slightly better work ethic.

Alright, now that that unpleasant piece of business is over, I've realised that I'm running around with a lot of old and outdated gear. This includes college-era clothes, an old phone that is starting to develop problems, and lack of my own working computer. My athletic shoes are a shambles, I want new glasses and a more mature watch. I may need new loafers, or a pair of new sandals, of which I have not worn for at least a year (I love my hush puppies too much, poor loafers.) I want a kickass laptop, dammit.

Therefore, what better way to celebrate the trap of consumerism, of which many of us are willing captives, than by splurging on a new pair of headphones for my venerable iPod? I like my new headphones very much. They keep the music in, while keeping financial reality out. It's great.

The year in retrospect...

2007-12-30T19:00:00.000-08:00

This is the last day of 2007. I felt it appropriate to take a brief look at all the significant stuff that happened to me over the year. Let's make a list!

- I broke up with my girlfriend of almost 4 years.
- I got myself a new job.
- I bought a new car.
- am now saddled with a loan. oh, joy.
- I had to move out of the house for a few months because my grandmother moved in, and she took up my room.
- I moved back in after she left.
- She proceeded to die a week ago.
- I effectively left my band due to various reasons.
- I got into a few new games(e.g. Heavy Gear) and temporarily lost interest in a few existing ones(Warhammer 40K).
- I read a lot more, bought more books.
- played a lot more World of Warcraft.
- started playing basketball again.
- had a few friendships cool off or die, for some very odd reasons that I still cannot fathom.
- made some new friends via basketball and World of Warcraft.
- an old friend who was living in Australia decided to return for good. yippee!
- got into Facebook. sigh. doomed.
- started blogging.
- computer died twice this year, taking all of my lovely data with it.
- bought an electric guitar. white elephant really.
- bought a second-hand ipod. truly awesome.
- bought a kick-ass jacket.
- bought a whole lot of CDs.
- got a credit card.

Right....so the list above doesn't look too good. Basically a series of unfortunate events, coupled with a lot of spending. I'm beginning to see how shopping therapy actually works. My verdict for this year: it sucked. It was mostly bad. I went through a series of minor depressions, realised that I don't really like my chosen career path, and have absolutely nothing to look forward to.

Here's to hoping the new year will be better, and not worse. Status quo would be quite horrible too.

You can't take it with you anyway.

2007-12-21T11:30:00.000-08:00

My last surviving grandparent passed away yesterday. She was 80-ish, I don't know the details. May God find a nice place for her soul, wherever she's bound for. I'm not particularly sad. She had a good, long life.

Anyway, what I really want to write about here is the tangent my mind went off after turning to concept of death and mortality over and over in my head after a while. Specifically, I was thinking about wills and inheritances. I can understand the rationale behind such things, I just don't agree with them. Barring some very specific circumstances, I cannot understand why families would bicker over who gets what when the patriarch/matriarch leaves this mortal coil.

Reasons range from a sense of entitlement and what is "proper and appropriate", to wondering who the geezer loved more based on who got more loot, to just just plain greed and avarice. Frankly, I find it all utter bullshit.

I don't like the idea of segmenting whatever wealth I have to any hypothetical progeny I may sire when I finally bite it. I figure that I would have raised them up to be independent and stable, they shouldn't need anything from me after they're all grown up. I don't want the family fracturing over something as trivial as inheritances. Therefore, I plan to blow most of whatever retirement money I may have or give it away to charity when my time finally comes. The kids would get a few sentimental mementos and personal effects. Perhaps a little money, for very specific uses like education and whatnot, but nothing else. "Assets" like the house and other baloney will be sold off, the proceeds donated to whatever cause strikes my fancy before I kick the bucket. The argument "but I want to make sure that my children are taken care of when I die" is highly condescending and insulting. Do you really think they are so worthless that they would not be able to pull through life without your post-mortem assistance? And if they are....well who cares, you're already dead. They are no longer your problem.

Likewise, I have no problems if my parents decide to do the same thing, or give everything to my sisters and me nothing at all. It's their stuff, they get to choose what they want to do with it. I don't need their material wealth to make me happy. Fighting over any sort of inheritance is stupid, and the blame for any negative effects should be equally shared between the deceased and the squabbling siblings and God knows what other parties decide to lay claim to the booty.

Your subconscious opinion on certain things.

2007-12-11T18:21:00.000-08:00

Specifically, what home is, or was. "Oh bother, ANOTHER dream-based topic." I can hear the groans already.

As usual, I can't remember the specifics of my dream. All I can recall is that I was leaving home, and I didn't want to, but I had no choice. I was going around the place, shutting windows and closing doors and covering stuff with dust protectors (I know! So unlike me!) and sighing and feeling vaguely angry and yet powerless to stop the unseen power forcing me to leave my humble abode.

The interesting thing here is that, the message driven was that I was leaving home, but it wasn't my CURRENT home. The home in my dream was an old apartment that we moved out of some time in 1998. I can still remember its details clearly, and come to think of it, whenever I dream of the concept of home, that's the place that pops up. I suppose the place where you spent the majority of your rational childhood is the one which your subconscious mind will forever call home. It need not be a particularly happy place, or a safe one (There was a death in the opposite house...hahaha). As long as it is constant, and familiar.

This growing up thing sucks. I want to go back to a time when I had less concerns, less worries, less heartache and pain. I want to return to the state where I did not have any dreams or ambitions apart from doing well in all those silly annual school examinations. I want to revert to a time of utter irresponsibility, where my mistakes did not directly affect someone else's livelihood.

I want to go home. The home in my memories.

P.S.: I am the king of tangents.

I wish I could remember my dreams.

2007-12-02T20:37:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning with the rapidly vanishing hint of a dream on the tip of my mind's tongue. I froze and tried my very best to remember what it was all about, but failed to garner any useful details. As I sit here typing this, all I can remember of it was that it had the heady rush of new love and an old VW van in it. I mean, new romance and an old hippie van in the same dream? It must have been really something.

This can be really frustrating for me. I don't dream a whole lot, but when I do, I get a sense that there's probably some kind of genius storyteller deep within my subconscious. It comes up with all sorts of impossible and entertaining situations where I am usually the star of the whole thing, kind of like bad fan fiction. The best part is that it seems to be fully grounded in the whole 'alternative universe' theme, where everything still follows the laws of gravity and physics and yet is completely impossible for me to replicate in real life. But it could have happened that way. Somehow.

I have thought about keeping a dream diary, but honestly, I cannot fathom myself furiously scribbling into a spiral-bound notepad upon awakening. I'm more likely to stare at you blankly for a few seconds before lurching over the bedrails and shuffling to the kitchen to get a glass of water. This body was not made for instant action.

From my hazy recollection (and probably imagination) of what dreams I have had, there are never any action-filled scenes and explosions. All I get are hints of possibly strong emotions and drama going on. People speak directly into my mind instead of moving their lips, and I already know what's going to happen but am unable to do anything about it as my avatar in the dream acts out his role flawlessly in a story that has me gripping the edge of my ethereal seat.

I have read opinions which surmise that dreams are basically fragments of feelings and memories that the mind drags up and manipulates for its own amusement and play, while the body rests. It does not necessarily reflect inner feelings or the subconscious mind itself. I'm not sure how accurate this is, so I'll be ignorant and think that this is probably partly true, but that the parts of you that you repress in your waking hours for whatever reason also surfaces at this time. This is why I can empathise with the actor playing me in my dreams, but it's not something that I can repeat in real life.

I am glad that dreams are only dreams. But there are some times that I wish fervently for them to come true, even if all I can remember of them is the lingering sense of some deep-seated emotion and a familiar face or two.

I'm not making sense, I know.

I fear many things.

2007-11-25T19:30:00.000-08:00

I fear the death of my parents. I am afraid of the day that I am unable to call on them, ask how they are doing, have dinner with them. I am afraid of not being able to tell them that I love them, that I care for them, that I am grateful for all they have done for me. I am terrified that I will not be able to gather the courage to ask them if they are proud of me before it is too late.

I fear the possibility of leading a solitary existence. I am afraid of going through life on my own. I cannot fathom not being able to talk about my insecurities and my worries with that special someone. I cannot imagine having no one to bear witness to my triumphs, my follies, through every step of life's journey. I find it painful to think that my concern and love for another is so worthless that it is unappreciated, discarded, goes unnoticed.

I fear that I am too blind to see my own character flaws. I fear that I am too selfish, or too critical, or judgemental, or too insensitive. I fear that I am too narrow-minded, or too proud, or too lazy. I am afraid that what I take for confidence is nothing more than an overly-inflated sense of self.

I fear that I may be fucking up my life with the way I view my career. I am afraid that my current goal of trying to be happy rather than rich is too unrealistic to sustain. I fear that the way I restrain my advances in order to maintain my sanity and freedom is nothing more than an excuse to be lazy and irresponsible.

I am afraid of living a life that bears no fruit. I am afraid that I will end up being just another parasite in society, that does not contribute in any sense, not even by having children who will end up being useful citizens. I am afraid of leaving this world without improving it in any meaningful way.

I fear diseases and disabilities. I do not wish to be a burden unto others.

I fear a loss of independence and freedom, no matter how it is brought about.

I fear death. I fear dying. I fear I will never be prepared for this eventuality.

I fear so many things that one wonders why I am not paralyzed by it. The answer is simple: I don't think about it. And yet the very act of not thinking about such things is what makes them so devastating when they finally manifest.

I love this game.

2007-11-22T17:57:00.000-08:00

So, I've just finished my second game of basketball in 3 years or so. My hamstrings and calves ache like hell, my back is sore, my shoulders and upper arms feel stretched beyond their intended stretching limits, and every step I take makes me want to curl up in a corner and die a quiet death. Even my non-existent ass hurts. In short, I feel great!

I am not what you would call a naturally athletic person. I have skinny arms/legs/everything, and really shitty stamina. The only sports in which I am interested in is basketball and pingpong, and never to the extent of watching such sports on the idiot box. I just want to play them.

Now, I am no expert in the game, even though I used to play it competitively at school level. I have no cool tricks and don't play to impress. What really drives me to play is the rush of adrenaline that floods my veins as I run around the court trying to score, making opportunities for a short pass or trying to rebound a shot. I feel super-alert; my senses feel heightened and refined. Things slow down and speed up dramatically. My body movements are efficient and exact, every limb is at the right place, at the right time. The fatigue and tension in my muscles seemingly disappear for a few seconds as I burst forward to intercept a pass, drive the ball closer to the hoop, pull a jump shot and watch as the ball swishes silently through the net. Okay, that happens rarely, I admit. But when it does, it's beautiful. All the muscles stiffening up, and skinned knees/elbows and resulting pain and fatigue the following day is always worth it. Always.

Is the answer really 42?

2007-11-19T00:05:00.000-08:00

So I've watched the movie adaptation of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy. I've never heard the original radio version no read the book, so I can't say whether the following was an addendum by the film's writers or if it really is part of the original thing.

Near the end of the story, the protagonist is pressed for the Question to the Ultimate Answer. His response?

Is she the one?

Now, I'm not going to speculate on how other people think, and besides, this thing is all about me and why I am great. Therefore, in my not-very-humble opinion, this really is one of the greatest puzzlers pertinent to my life. It is a question that elicits all sorts of emotional responses, ranging from nervousness to worry to hopeful optimism to barely-contained frustration.

Is she the one?

How does one know the answer to that question? The obvious way is to go ahead and ask her out and find out from there. But what if you can't even get your foot through the door, a.k.a. get shot down? You ask yourself the question again, because if the answer is no, then you give up and go do something else. If its yes, then you keep trying and trying until you succeed or she hates your very guts because you won't take no for an answer.

Is she the one?

Assuming you got your foot through the door (you lucky dog you!), how much time does it take before you can answer the question completely and confidently? How many fights, how much grief must you both go through before you would dare give that question a resounding 'NO' for an answer? Give it too soon, and you may be jumping the gun. You may be making the biggest mistake of your life by giving up too soon, by not having the tolerance required to achieve happiness, by not cherishing what you already have and instead trying constantly for what you could have. On the other hand, taking too long to answer 'no' would result in a lot of pain for very little gain, and lost time.

And if you want to answer 'yes', conversely, wouldn't saying it too early simply up the chances that you may eat your own words later on? And even worse...what if that answer comes to you too late? When it's all over, and words have been said that cannot be taken back, and the damage is done...and you stand alone in the aftermath, and in the ashes of your relationship, it hits you that you've made a terrible, terrible mistake. And that the answer to that question was actually a simple, quiet 'yes'.

This question implies that there is a perfect someone for everyone. Or in the very least, someone with the highest compatibility rating. So, would you settle for less and build up from there? Or do you try to find the best fit and start from theoretically solid ground? Hence, is she the one?

I hate this question.

This is a stupid entry.

Hair-flipping and its terrible consequences.

2007-11-05T19:19:00.000-08:00

Most women with shoulder-length or longer hair will flip it from time to time. I am using this term in its most general sense. I take it to mean anything from brushing strands out of their eyes to a full flip after putting on a jacket. I have studied this curious action for quite some time now, and the reasons are many and varied. Some of them are:

- to remove visual obstruction
- to stop the jacket or some other article of clothing from pinning the hair down
- to brush away hairs that are sticking to one's neck or face
- out of habit

One unintentional effect of hair-flipping is to make me fall in love with you. I don't know why it is so, it just is. When a woman flips her hair, the whole scene goes into bullet-time for me. Her fingers seem to run effortlessly through the shining, unique strands. A breeze appears out of nowhere and gently sculpts the delicate waves of shimmering silk into a vision of glory. In short, it looks exactly like a television commercial for some hair product. I am devastated and floored by such a fleeting, yet wondrous display of femininity.

So if you are one of those who is in the habit of flipping your hair, don't blame me if I develop a crush on you.

I need my sleep, you goddamn dictator. Go AWAY.

2007-11-01T18:40:00.000-07:00

One idiosyncrasy I have is that I prefer absolute silence for the first 20 minutes upon awakening. This only applies in the morning, not for afternoon naps and whatnot. During this time period, I do not wish to hear pots and pans clashing and smashing in the kitchen, no noisy engine start-ups, and most importantly, no TALKING. It gets my dander up when someone dares utter words in my direction or tries to engage me in pointless conversation so early in the morning. I mean, come on, I've just been dragged out of blissful sleep into this dark, uncaring universe against my will. Give me time to grouch and reset my initial discontent at the world, please.

Which brings me to the true point of this post: my dad has retired and he's driving me mad. Ever since he stopped working a few days ago, he has been on my nerves and set everyone else' teeth on edge. He wakes up real early in the morning and seems to take offense that some of us like to wake up when it is 2 hours or so away from noon. So he goes about the house banging and clashing and moving furniture about. Even worse, he starts up the vacuum cleaner. Oh, how I hate him for that. He takes the accursed thing and vacuums just outside my fucking door.

Also, I have some flexibility in my work in that I can go in 30 minutes late and no one would bat an eyelid. Except my father. He sticks his head through my door and wakes me up and asks if I'm skipping work today, 1 hour before my allotted wake-up time.

I'm going crazy here. Someone save me from my father.

I wish I was cycling instead.

2007-10-16T19:01:00.000-07:00

I've not hopped on my creaking mountain bike and pedalled around the neighbourhood in years. I blame this partly on work, but mostly on my own laziness and a shift in priorities. But on slow work days, it seems like a really good idea.

I used to cycle a lot when I was younger, primary school age. I'd grab the bike and carry it down 4 flights of stairs (we used to live in a rundown apartment unit) and cycle all over the place. I'd weave in and out of little lanes and backalleys, ride across fields and even once, rode all over a construction yard. This was illegal of course, but it was after work hours and there was no one to annoy me.

I had a few biking friends, although I can no longer properly recall their names, and I won't embarass myself by trying to get them right here. We'd roam all over our neighbourhood with no real objective, wandering around aimlessly. The fun came from the journey, not the destination. We loved the feel of the wind in our hair, the stupid and pointless conversations, the impromptu races, the personal challenges (like daring one another to climb steps and jump over drains), and the sheer mindlessness of it all. Sometimes we had little accidents, and then the whole thing ended with the bunch of us helping the wounded dude back home, wheeling the bike along while someone else helped propped the poor victim up.

Then there was the urge to modify your bike. Now that I think about it, it was kind of like 'pimping our rides'. They'd have stuff like longer wheel forks, metal foot pedals, fore and aft suspensions, lights, and I'm not too sure what else. I was too poor for those things, so I had to be content with a set of neon yellow mudguards (ooh! bright and shiny!), which never seemed to actually work anyway. I still got mud sprayed onto the back of my shirt of wet days. Although, if you realised that the REAL function of those gaudy things were to attract attention...

After my family moved to a new place, I cycled around my new neighbourhood mostly to explore the place. I was still in boarding school then, so I felt it was important for me to catch up on geographical data that I sorely lacked about my new home whenever I came back for the holidays. I'd cycle all over, finding little pockets of shops, houses with exotic cars parked in them, small parks and gardens, big beautiful houses lavishly landscaped, houses with cute dogs. Of course, the occasional accidents still happened here, like the time I cycled straight into a low tree branch, but this time I mostly cycled alone so there was no one to either laugh at my predicament or help me get home. I'd traded companionship for freedom of direction during these later cycling excursions.

Alright, that last sentence just sent me on a tangent, and I need to record it before it blows away. Trading companionship for freedom. Is this a good trade? Is it worth it to go through life alone as long as you retain (more or less) absolute control of your life's direction? Is it worth it to link your fate inextricably to another's and face the possibility of not fulfilling your dreams due to values like "responsibility" and "honour" and "sacrifice"? Is it alright to put aside your selfish and wants and desires for the comfort and security that comes with having a special someone share your life? Would you trade your greatest ambition for the chance to share your smaller successes with the one you love? This sounds like something that deserves its own entry, so I'll leave it at that for now.

My free time these days are spent on "sophisticated" pursuits, like going out with friends, doing the MMORPG thing, going out for drinks (non-alcoholic - I can't hold my liquor), and playing all sorts of complex games. I just can't bring myself to drop those things for an evening just to grab the old bike, shift to low gear and ride up a hill just to coast down it again. To feel my muscles strain against gravity. To feel the blood pounding in my head. To feel the wind rushing past my face. To think about nothing apart from whether I should make a left turn here or go straight on down the road. Just for the heck of it.

Why I like virtual violence.

2007-10-12T01:04:00.000-07:00

Let me start by saying that I am not a fan of guns or bombs or tanks or wars or nuclear warheads. I am repelled by any sort of tool designed solely for the purpose of taking human lives. I cannot justify the reasoning behind the creation of such tools, whether in self-defense or as some sort social justice edict. It is wrong, plain and simple. It is no man's right to decide if a fellow human being lives or dies.

That said, man do I love first-person shooter games! I love the idea of moving around in a virtual environment and shooting virtual things and virtual people and watching them bleed virtual blood and die horrible (but virtual) bloody deaths. I love it that I can pump so many rounds of virtual shells per minute into a target with my virtual automatic shotgun with nary but a flick of my wrist and frantic left-clicking. I love the adrenaline rush that runs through me as a stalk pixel-based corridors and well-rendered hallways looking for my next kill while subsequently escaping the notice of my would-be hunters. I love it when my character somersaults towards her target with blinding speed and dismembers him with 2 smooth, quick strokes of her wrist blades. It's just so much fun!

I also find real-time strategy games to be particularly riveting. I've always been a tactical game nut, and ever since I played my first game of chess I knew I savoured the heady feeling that takes hold of you when you subjugate your opponent with the power of your mind alone. Usually I lack the micromanagement skills that is required to play such games very well, but I love them anyway.

The question here is, how does one who admits to hating and being afraid of real violence reconcile that with his love of imaginary violence? The issue of video-game violence is a hot topic in the United States, with the detractors stating that children who play such games have a higher tendency to emulate those games and commit real crimes outside. The supporters claim that the OVERWHELMING MAJORITY of people who play violent video-games do not get the urge to go out and shoot someone in real life. I'm sure you can see my bias in this case. I'll put in my two cents here just to make a stand and move on.

First, I think they're both right. Most people who play violent games don't commit violent crimes after that. I may not have the data at hand, but if you bother to look around the net a bit, you'll see what I mean. There's no study out there that draws direct correlation and causality to imply that violent video-games instigate violent behaviour in those who play them. On the other hand, younger children who play such games DO tend to emulate what they see and experience in such media. The vivid realism that is increasingly present in such games makes it even more difficult for this class of gamer to differentiate between what is acceptable and what is not in normal society.

What do we do then? Simple. Parents, DO YOUR JOB. If you have young kids who may not be mature enough to handle such games, don't let them play. I personally think children below 13 years of age shouldn't be playing video-games at all. In the case of older gamers who commit violent crimes, assuming they are not mentally unstable or suffer from other emotional and psychological disorders, rest assured, the question of whether they play such games or not does not factor in. They are just as likely to commit those crimes with or without the subliminal and devil-worship prompting of violent games. Most of us know that hurting someone intentionally is not only wrong in the eyes of the law, it is also morally abhorrent. If you don't, then someone has been highly negligent in explaining to you why it is wrong to shoot someone else with your father's pea-shooter. Also, go away.

I see this is turning into a rant. Time to stop the digression train.

Anyway, I've thought about the reason behind my attraction to such games. Being someone who cannot bring himself to injure or cause any kind of physical pain to a fellow human being (I can't even pinch someone. Sorry.), it is interesting to note that I readily look forward to ripping huge holes in virtual avatars. Do I have some kind of secret violent streak, that can only be expressed safely through playing such games? Maybe. Do I feel the need to unleash the short, violent and primal instinct to cause bodily harm and destroy public property when I feel threatened or angry? Perhaps. Or what if this is my way of rebelling against my puny physical stature, to express the frustration of being physically intimidated in real life? Highly possible.

While I do not deny that the reasons given above probably contribute in some minor way, I think I have found the real reason I like such games: I crave competition. To this end, violent video-games are merely a subset of the myriad things I like to do to test myself against others. I like basketball and ping-pong. I like chess and Scrabble. I like miniature tabletop wargames. And I like multiplayer computer games, including violent ones.

I've noted that puzzles like Sudoku do not interest me at all, mostly because of its solitaire nature. In fact, puzzles and games that do not pit me against another living, breathing human being fails to attract my attention most of the time. It is the excitement i derive from striving against the will and skills of another and beating them that compels me to play these games. In short, I love winning. I don't mind losing many, many times, as long as I retain the conviction that I will one day win, that one day I shall emerge triumphant and victorious, and bask in the warm glow of accomplishment and success.

Yes, I'm talking to you. There will come a time when I will BEAT YO ASS in Scrabble. Repeatedly. Count on it.

Take what you need, and be on your way.

2007-10-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

Stop Crying Your Heart Out, by Oasis.

Apparently, it's a fairly old song, but one that I only recently found. When I first heard it, I was in my car stuck in a traffic jam, heading home. The first verse was fairly unremarkable that first time, and my mind went on to twiddle its imaginary thumbs until the song built up to the slow, grand chorus. And then I got hit by the tidal wave.

Certain songs speak to me on an emotional level so deep and stark, I lose focus in whatever it is that I'm doing at the moment, and just stop to listen to it. I have caught myself completely abandoning all pretense of paying attention to traffic conditions while driving just to listen, really listen to such songs. The fact that I am not yet dead or severely injured from such preoccupations speaks volumes of my autopilot capabilities (Ha!). The combination of the melody, lyrics and tempo of such songs is enough to send my mind hurtling through space and time, feelings of empathy flooding my neural pathways and shocking me with its stark, naked, all-too-real truth.

My mind freezes, I seem to take the song's message all in at once. I begin to develop feelings of euphoria and a sense of wonderment. I am blind and deaf to my surroundings. I ask myself, "Why didn't I see it this way before? It's all so damn obvious!", sometimes without even having a very clear picture of what is being sung about. Even worse, I my eyes well up with tears. In that state of mind, I wouldn't bat an eyelid if angels descended from the heavens in a lazy spiral, playing their lyres and singing sweet nonsensical hymns.

Anyway.

The song spoke to me of some grand, monumental failure, tragedy or disappointment on the part of the subject, and yet the singer still tries to instill some sense of hope that perhaps, the next attempt will succeed. So in the meantime, pick up the pieces of your life, do what you can to survive, because life goes on. And stop crying your heart out. You'll need it for later. Liam Gallagher's vocals are fantastic here, meshing wonderfully with the orchestra, a slow, grand, heart-wrenching chorus that rips reality away so gradually and completely. Or so it seems to me.

This is something that most of us will have gone through at least once in our lives (provided you're not some rich bastard/bitch who reeks of fermentation due to all the spoiling by your parents. If so, go away. I hate you.), the feeling of having your hopes dashed, your dreams shattered, your whole world swept out from under your feet. You're near rock bottom, and things look grim and hopeless, the world feels strangely distant and uncaring. Your friends don't understand. Your family shrugs it off. And all you have is yourself. So the singer comes to you like some friendly stranger who says," Yo. You're pretty screwed, I know. Feels like shit, doesn't it? I know. I've been there too. It feels like you'll never recover from it, damn the world to hell and back again. I'm hopeless. I'm destroyed. I'm nothing. It has finally come to pass, the world as I know it is gone, will never come back again. And yet, all I'm saying is, you can still pick yourself up. You can stand tall again. Not right away, of course, but in time. Have faith in yourself. Hold on. It'll get better, I promise."

Because when I'm completely busted up inside, when my self-confidence has crumbled to dust, when I have no self-esteem left...all I want is for someone to sit beside me and say that they empathise with what I'm going through. That they know what I feel like, even if they may not have gone through the same experience. And they have to be sincere when saying it. I don't need words of consolation, or solidarity or whatever. I don't need to be built up (although a little wouldn't hurt). What I want are the words, "I get it. I get you.".

That's what I want.

'Looks like someone's got a case of the Mondays.'

2007-10-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

I hate Mondays.

On second thought, I think that may be a little bit of an understatement.

I ABHOR Mondays. I am repelled by it. It symbolises the start of another cycle of self-inflicted agony, responsibility and deadlines. It reeks of hopelessness, claustrophobia and depression, a certainty that one will never escape the cycle of failed objectives for a long, long time.

I celebrate every Monday by projecting a semblance of misery, neglect and mourning. My hair is wild and uncombed, my eyes are black coffee rings left by some dumb fuck who doesn't use a coaster, my expression is one of utter dejection. I shamble my way to my desk and plop down onto my chair unceremoniously. My shoulders are hunched, I sigh a lot and my responses are just a touch slower than usual. I do not wear socks (thus increasing my own suffering as my toes turn blue from frostbite due to freakish central air-conditioning). I would wear sackcloth and rub ashes onto my forehead and moan throughout the day, but I like the prospect of unemployment even less.

On Monday, my inbox never fails to delight me with one of my boss's "insights" into how I can improve my productivity and teamwork skills. On Monday, multiple customers will call up with requests for "enhancements", whether viable or not, coupled with unrealistic deadlines. On Monday, my desire to curl up and fall asleep under my desk peaks at dangerous levels. On Monday, the spectre of deadlines and test schedules loom over my head like a dark cloud threatening hail and lightning. That strikes the same place repeatedly. Every 5 minutes. On Monday, Death beckons.

I understand that my condition isn't unique. I understand that I am not the only one who gets melancholic when Sunday night comes around, because we realise that there's work tomorrow. I understand that some people have it far more rough than I do, and may not even have a weekend to enjoy. But damn it, this is about me, and I really hate Mondays.

Fuck you, Monday. Fuck you. Just go and die somewhere else and leave me alone.

The reason, or ,'What am I doing here?'

2007-10-04T21:27:00.000-07:00

2 posts back-to-back! Oh, the horror, the agony, the HUMANITY.

Fret not, this isn't permanent. I just started this, and I have a bunch of things to work out, so maybe the next few posts will be coming in hard and fast. Figuratively speaking. I totally expect this bubbling brook of thoughts to peter out and eventually settle down to a more relaxed pace after the first 5 to 6 posts. Maybe 1 every fortnight. No promises.

So, let's list a few questions that I intend to answer here:
- why am I blogging in the first place?
- why does it have to be a blog? why not just a simple diary, online or hard copy?
- why is there a tear in my cargo pants, over my right thigh?

First question. Why am I blogging? This is probably due to an amalgamation of smaller reasons, which I will try to expound on as clearly as I can. Considering that I once felt (and publicly announced) that publishing your thoughts online for all the world to see will, WILL eventually come back to bite you in the ass, this is definitely a strange thing to do. Ye gods, you've rescinded your words! How will anyone every trust your lying tongue again??! Shut up, that which is my conscience.

So why would I contradict myself? That's easy. Because I am a fickle idiot. Also, from time to time it's really easy to convince myself of certain things (which has led me to much heartache, but that's for another time). And yesterday, I convinced myself that having an outlet to record my often weird, sometimes philosophical, usually rubbish thoughts would help me keep track of what I think about. What makes me, me.

I've always been kind of an oddball. My sense of humour changes and fluctuates by the day. I'm interested in stuff that would mortify the mainstream. I have beliefs that contradict the religion that I hold to, and yet am able to continue living with myself. My plans for the future whip and buck like an angry bull with a crazy cowboy dude trying to hold on to its back for 8 seconds. I can display moments of brilliance in one moment and act like a total ignorant redneck jerk the next. Therefore, I think by recording such thoughts and events that occur, there may be some hope of me perhaps seeing a pattern, a method to my madness if you will. I may be able to understand my personality, and perhaps even plan contingencies.

Second question. Why an online diary? Why allow persons of unknown motivations and behaviour, or (shudder) people I know get a glimpse of what I think about? Wouldn't that give them some kind of hold over you later on? Two main reasons, I think. The first would definitely be vanity. I like to entertain the thought that someone out there may be interested in what I think about or what I have to say. I'm pretty sure I'm completely deluding myself here, but the beauty of the delusion is that I can indulge in it without being shown concrete evidence that I am wrong.

The second reason is linked to the first one. Assuming that someone I know miraculously finds this, then congratulations! You've hit the mother lode. Now you have a rough idea of what goes through my mind when we are sitting around discussing battle tactics for war games, or when you're telling me about your latest squeeze, or when we're driving around to some location and I am uncharacteristically silent throughout the trip. This is my roundabout way of letting people know the stuff that goes through my head and understand me better. So that they can plan contingencies of their own when shit hits the fan. As they will, eventually. Trust me.

Third question. I think I have solved the mystery. Directly over the tear, I can see my pants' pocket lining. Inside that pocket, I keep my bunch of house keys. I surmise that years of hard-edged metal rubbing against cloth (sounds vaguely dirty, I know) while I walk about would eventually wear away the fibres of said cloth, resulting in it becoming threadbare over time and eventually turning into a rip. And since I have no mending skills whatsoever, and it IS a pretty comfortable pair of cargo pants, I'm just going to ignore the rip and pretend it was never there until someone points it out. Which no one has. I'm not sure if they don't out of politeness or that they are secretly laughing at me behind their backs.

White means safe, terracotta red means death

2007-10-04T02:05:00.000-07:00

I have this strange habit that surfaces every time I walk across a tiled floor. You know how shopping malls and certain paved sidewalks have different coloured tiles/bricks arranged in a set geometric pattern? When I walk on such floors, I play a little game with myself where I have to step only on certain coloured tiles, and avoid all other tiles like the plague. I try to be as casual as possible when I do this, but occasionally I get stares from people who notice my strides are irregular as I try to step only on the "safe" coloured tiles. Sometimes I switch things around a bit and pretend that I am the knight from chess, and may only step on tiles that form the L shape in relation to the last tile I stepped on. This amuses me to no end, and occasionally lands me in trouble as I concentrate too much on the floor instead of where I am going.

Why do I do this? I don't really know. Theories that have come up include:
- I get bored walking from point A to point B without doing something. Anything. Apparently the act of counting tiles solves this problem.
- I may be unknowingly suffering from a mild form of OCD. I have other idiosyncrasies that are similar to this, but I can't be bothered to recount them now. No, I won't. Go away! What are you, my mommy?
- I'm an idiot. This sounds like the most plausible explanation at the moment.

Note how I cleverly slip into 'ye olde blogging rhythm' even if this is actually my inaugural blog post, ever. I'm so awesome.