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.

A negative thought about marriage.

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.

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.

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

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