A form of selfishness.

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.