It's funny to think that I'm here, finally able to blog, sitting in front of a less competant PC at the college CIT and downloading advertisements that're way too large and far too long to copy (why are things way harder to deal with when it comes from Sheetal?).

I'm utterly sleep deprived at the moment, owing to the cascade of assignment deadlines that are relentless as they are insane, and it's rather a miracle that i can type under the weighty influence of a can of RedBull and a lot of bullshit from teammates that annoy the veins out of me. I haven't been updating in a while, and i guess i won't justify myself with reasons i'm sure you know... that is if you know me enough. I best spare you the cliches i use in my vindication. Let's just say that i'm busy enough to shun away from a few blissful hours of blogging.

i'm surprised i haven't puked out a murderous amount of blood at the moment, and if you're one who is weak of mind and heart you'll most probably try and find various ways to utilise your bottle of Dettol that can cause you grievious bodily harm if you're here in my place. Pardon the pompousity; this is mere pressure and strain from a few days of crazy assignment workloads and horrendously irresponsible teammates, and honestly nothing compared to whatever mid-life crisis some poor individual might be under. But things are getting very out of hand at the moment, and if i survive this gallow of bloody-as-hell assignments i'll treat Michelle to Nando's and Eragon.

Meh, what am i to complain about? This is brought upon myself; hammered down by my own laziness and perpetual procrastination habits that never does seem to learn. What's crappy enough is that my usual teammates are also subject to such irresponsibility (even more so than I), and things never does get a head on unless I start panicking enough to start work. It's as though the word incentive and initiative never existed in their dictionary (maybe it doesn't, i mean, once you think of their grasp of the english language) (man, i'm mean).

Now i face 2 deadlines and incomplete work that doesn't look like it even started. Ladies and gentlemen, i present to you my Death in glorious Technicolour and Dobly 5.1 surround. Popcorn sold at the outside booth.

It sucks. Someone taser me at the balls. No, just kidding... really...

How often do you get someone telling you that “you need to get a grip of your life”?

As far as I can remember, or even if I do try to remember, those words have been shovelled into my conscience just as much a juvenile delinquent would receive from doting parents. Every time it struck the heart, sinking a rusted anvil down my gut. It was funny how I wouldn’t develop immunity towards it, much as I often do to things that were constantly bulldozed over me, and the familiar feeling would clog my throat until I mentally whisper enough consolation to myself. Consolation... hah! How proper that word fits… I console myself that I need not rise to grasp my life into perpetual order. It’s pathetic.

Yeah, perhaps it’s about time to grab life into a Russian chokehold and drop it with a German suplex. Much as I hate to admit it, I am a pampered brat. Pampered by the existence of a maid, and pampered by my own optimistic thinking… words that I fill myself with that tell me that life would in fact unravel peacefully like red carpet, and all I have to do is strut like Jude Law towards the opening night of Cold Mountain. I’ve allowed sheer naivety to govern what I decide, and haven’t most of my decisions faltered shatteringly into shards of disappointment?

My brother had issued me the newest “you need to get a grip of your life” line a few days back, successfully drenching me with a cold bucket of reality and realisation, after dad nagged me for not getting my hair cut over the week when I promised I would by Thursday. I’ve been telling myself that there were circumstances to my not going to the barbers, but all I did was feeding me with concocted excuses for jumping into decisions that were selfless in a less fancy manner. And after that I didn’t what to think. I didn’t know what to tell myself. I was, once again, in a loss of answers.

And until now, I haven’t even answered myself.

I still haven’t overcome my pride and admit my arrogance to tell myself that my life needed a whole new overhaul.

People, as far as I saw, find it hard to change. It is always easier to raise a barrier than to break it, though the phrase that I should go is: it is always easier to gain weight than to lose it. To lose weight is not exactly hard, in fact (as my brother had pointed out); all you need to do is just starve yourself. But there were a few things to vault over when you intend to lose weight; hunger, temptation and habit. It’s always hard to fight hunger, just as it is hard to fend off the dangerously sweet voice of temptation. Over the years you raise your mind with habit, and stays in the vicinity of the habit without will to leave.

Healthy people would tell you that you need 3 general things to lose weight; discipline, willpower and determination. Sadly, when your life revolved around hunger, habit and temptation, those 3 things either never come or come in short temporal moments.

Just like me and life.

When they say that it’s hard to break out of old habits, they weren’t just giving a half-assed attempt at philosophy. Discipline. Willpower. Determination. These never came to me when I do things for myself.

Senseless selflessness. Someone told me that sometime.

I’ve… known the lessons and what there is to learn. Just that I’ve never gotten around learning them. Like reading your course layout, knowing the chapters and topics but never studying them anyhow (it’s what I do, until my exams). No lessons learned.

What the hell am I playing at?

How do I suddenly come to despise the one subject that I’ve been looking forward to since last year? It was as though I was kid eagerly waiting for Christmas to come only to find that Christmas is nothing more that a day at the gas chambers in a POW camp (which is not, I apologise, and Christmas is still the best celebration ever Christmas is good Christmas is cool deck the halls with boroughs of holly mistletoe nice jingle bells please don’t hate me…).

This is the deal here; photojournalism. Sounds cool? Heck it sounds cool. It sounds like Linkin Park bashing it up at the KLCC Park, and if things don’t sound cooler than that, Eminem decidedly joined in the party with Snow Patrol and Sum 41 bringing up the ante. So here I was expecting things to be cool, and I mean COOL baby, and yeah is it COOL. In the other sense, that is.

Because I was freezing off my buttocks as I sit waist-high in utter boredom while trying to fend off the bloody swarm of exhaustion and starvation, all while the lecturer thought it was a great time to tell us his daring(!) and amazing(!) tales of his as he tried to survive his campus days with crappy meals and antique cameras.

And that’s what we need, don’t we? We need grandmother stories to further fortify our knowledge and talents as we brace the cruel harsh world of journalism, and the boredom of listening to it is only the easy part my son, for when you face the reality of the cold barren lands of adulthood you will be a man for all to see…

One word: Fuck you. (Oh wait, sorry, there were 2 words).

No, I’m not exactly glad to sit myself under the insane cold of the damn air-cond (who in the right mind would blast it to full? It’s the rainy season for sakes of sakes) while the lecturer thought it would be cool to share a ‘little’ experience of his own. Oh well, I shouldn’t really mind too much, well, one can’t normally help but to tell a story, no? I mean, yeah sure, numb our minds with a tale as long as The Long Walk itself and wow us with the intense(!) and insurmountable(!) adventures(!) you had when you were young, and by all means help yourself thank you very much, because we really care oh we do we do we love it I want to know what happens next yay joy someone ask him to freaking shut the fuck up before I ram the damn keyboard down his throat…

Sigh, I’m not saying that he’s bad, because he’s not, really. Still, I’m not glad to have to put myself at risk of hypothermia (first of its case involving an air-conditioner) and having to listen to stories that I don’t think is very relevant, and especially after having to sit through a gruelling 8 hours of class before. I love the pics, and sometimes stories are good but I don’t really need to know what happened when you went to Indonesia and saw a natural monument that tells the tale of Si Tenggang the Dastardly Asshole and having to listen to you to tell us the whole Tenggang folklore yourself…

Honestly, if I take any more of this, I’ll pull a Di Caprio and shout “Give me a bottle of scotch and a freaking handgun to blow my fucking head off,” at the local psychiatrist so that I can get a prescription of anti-depressant drugs.

Things can often feel like a painting, sometimes. I would usually stare at one trying to understand its complexity (as well as things I only to know), wondering what’s within…

What’s it trying to tell? What does it mean? What’s that thing that dwells beyond the confines of the colour and strokes, that thing that keeps hovering in your mind waiting to be deciphered?

I didn’t realise that sometimes simplicity is the answer.

Sometimes the answer is just so simple, almost as simple as answering yes or no. The complexity and befuddling thoughts of the human mind has ways to make things intricate. We often think that the hardest, most profound answer is the best, but just as powerful (in all of its simplicity) are answers that are, well, simple.

Last Friday, during PR tutorials, the tutor gave the class a question; “Why does the source need not pay the media?” (Perhaps not the actual question, but it went like this). The class went into a state of confusion, browsing notes and leafing through the text book. My poor friend Derwoei was tense as he was clueless, uttering answers that were neither wrong nor right. Sometime later the tutor leant close to Amanda, and she said “The media need not be paid because it is free.”

Oohs and Aahs left the mouths of my fellow classmates, and I was stumped by it in a way. Free. It was simple… why didn’t I think of it earlier? Plunging through and through into confusing definitions and lacklustre descriptions hoping the find the answer, only to discover that it is merely free. Simple. And when you think of it properly, yeah, it IS free. Everything opened up, and the light from the doors poured seamlessly into the mind. It is free because the source merely needs to announce, and media will gather by itself. One simple answer would open up into the proper more definitive one.

The trouble is that we, just as often as we can, tend to complicate things.

Like falling in love… love, simply, is just a strong feeling of affection for one another (ie; I like you, you like me. We happy). And yet we just complicate it. I shan’t go into details regarding it… I’m sure you know the complications we seem to create when it comes to love.

Now I sit here with a strangely gentle regret… for not seeing things as something simple. If I had forsaken the complexity that I had slowly built around me, perhaps things would be different from now. For better or worse, I wouldn’t know, but one can’t help but to wonder. Wonder about that question that is always there, that question can both spawn bliss and lament. What if?

What if?

But had it actually happened, perhaps, I wouldn’t be able to see things as it is now. Had I departed myself from the course that I had chosen now, what I feel now never would’ve been stronger and heartfelt. I never would have realised what I’m feeling now, and I never would’ve known the magic of it. The realisation, the discovery… the understanding. Things that had happened, and are happening, were in a way forming into something amazing.

My decisions from the past had formed something powerful here. And I don’t think I should hesitate on this one. I hadn’t seen it as it is before, but now I see it in all its beauty and grace.

My apologies if the above are beyond comprehension, for I have not the ability to makes thing comprehensible. But if you see it, or understand it somehow, then I must applaud you.

For you may see what I see. And boy is it beautiful.

Bla bla...

I beg pardon for somewhat abandoning this blog, and also from ignoring a few well-meant messages from friends asking if I’ll update soon enough. The past week had been rather eventful, though I believe I shall blog about it when I feel that I should.

I haven’t been purposely ignoring my blog entirely, because I had been somewhat occupied by typing down my Nanowrimo novel; something which I had neglected to inform due to a few circumstances (mostly involving the thing we call laziness). There’s supposedly a participant icon at my sidebar symbolising my, well, participation, but apparently the HTML is screwed. Perhaps I should consider putting it in place of my picture instead.

Progress is extremely slow, in case you’re wondering. I’ve only done 3000 words in 5 days, which I blame it on a strew of things that somehow got in the way (like cleaning out my room… geez, leave me in peace), and there’s also that time when I discovered that I was typing without direction + care and thus causing the damn thing to sound idiotic (it still sounds so, only severely less). So I retyped the whole thing, and now i'm twice slower than the average participant.

Still, I am glad to say that I’ve been having a great deal of fun with it. Nothing beats a good run of uninterrupted, inspired typing/writing (that is if I don’t count in eating, and also a great sleep after a long long day). The novel’s pretty rough, and I am doing it impromptu with barely some planning… only the basic plot’s fleshed out, and no other characters planned apart from my lead and his mother. I read back a few lines earlier and it gave me shudders. No time for editing, by the way.

I’m ‘bout one of 102 people in Malaysia participating in it, and most of them already have great progress. 24 more days and 47000 words left… my future seem doubtful.

I guess I’ll crash in earlier tonight, probably waking up to see if I can make some progress. And I don’t want brother to occupy the whole mattress… our new double-decked bed is coming on Tuesday, so on the meantime we’ll be sleeping on the floor. And we’ll have to share a mattress. Shit.

Goodnight people.

No Offense, but...

I hate dentists.

It’s more than a mere dogmatic creed, no, my hatred towards dentists has long since escalated to beyond loathing (and possibly further beyond).

Today, my abhorrence is at someplace we call infinity. Another trip there and I’ll be sure to quote Buzz Lightyear. Throw in a third consultation and I’ll murder anyone who utters the word dentist, orthodontist and teeth. I’m serious. Dead serious.

I have many reasons to dislike dentists, and perhaps I should be well inclined to inform you first that my hatred is purely irrational repugnance over several horrible experiences. It all began when my primary 3 dental nurse harshly forced me to brush my teeth with my fingers during an annual school teeth-brushing demonstration. Hey, I was a kid, and I happen to forgot bringing a toothbrush despite 14 reminders from my mother. Big deal. The nurse must’ve had a very bad day with a guy friend and that monthly thing to scold – yes let me repeat that obviously repulsive word – SCOLD at me for forgetting a stupid toothbrush. And she wants me to brush my teeth with my fingers, something I’m feeling uncomfortable doing because I happened to be the only boy apparently dumb enough to forget my toothbrush. Hence I stated my refusal, but no she can’t have any of that. So toothpaste on your forefinger, boy, and brush like I TELL you to.

And suddenly my entire vision and sugar-coated imagery of grinning dentists swirled into a revolting painting of sneering she-devils and a rather large beaver with a chainsaw for a toothbrush. If you ever wondered what The Ring video actually reminded me of, it’s dentists.

Then there was that dentist I had a couple of years later, who didn’t do anything particularly spiteful until I had the misfortune of watching him treat my brother. Which wasn’t so bad actually, but when I look at his EYES and I was like holy shit! Is he looking like he’s actually enjoying it? My brother was there squirming in pain, panic and fear and he looked like he was having the best freaking time of his life (I was too young to analogise it to orgasm, but I swear I remember him looking like he had his third coming). It’s traumatic, man.

A psychotic, insanely orgasmic looking dentist took his place beside the large beaver, sniggering while putting on his rubber gloves with a snap. The beaver revved the chainsaw.

Today, I almost deflated into a lumpy mash of skin at the sight of the dentist and that chair. He was a balding, meaty man with a belly the size you could only get by being pregnant or consuming 5 pieces of roti canai every morning. He looked jovial and kind enough, but it didn’t stop me from refraining myself from sinking a fist into his crotch when he started work on me.

OH MY GOD IT FUCKING HURTS. Bastard.

“Don’t panic,” he said. “Relax.”

How the fuck do I relax while having something that sounded like a miniature chainsaw plunged into my mouth? (Images of beaver rather vivid here)

“Relax. Open your mouth.”

Oh my cow from the plains of Minnesota, I want to punch him.

“Oops, there. Just relax.”

Tiu nia ma chiu chee bet…

“*mumbles*”

Am I dead? What’s he saying to mom? OMG I’m dead. It explains the numbness and the light I see shining so brightly to my eyes. He must’ve dropped that whatever thing into my throat and I’m immediately killed. That’s it. I’m going on a ghostly rampage on every damn dentist in town. I swear I won’t rest my soul unless I haunt off every single…

I walked out of the room feeling like a virgin sexually desecrated by a bubbly old man, and I had to pay for it. God damn, dentists not only operate on teeth but they slit your throats as well with paper cut from a very hefty bill.

God I hate dentists.

Oh, please note that I only hate dentists while they’re working. I’m sure they’re mostly fine, respectable people with a loving family and a Mercedes Benz in their car porch parked beside a Toyota Altis. Not to mention doing a great deed to the society by solving our tooth problems (for a price) and cleaning off a cavity or 2. Props to you!

Now leave me alone. Please. For your sake…

The over-protective me.

Is it alright to be particularly protective over a female pet dog? I’ve had Lanna for a couple of years now, and I don’t think I’m ever more affectionate towards a dog. And now I’m feeling a tad… father-ish. In the sense that I don’t want certain things to happen due to a personal stack of selfishness, much like a father unwilling to see his beautiful daughter marry a man he deems a malevolent pig under the skin of some random handsome dude.

The premise is this: Lanna had her period today. Dad has been going on for months now about letting her and Max, my pet Boxer… well, get married? Which is for the sake of the ‘next generation’ (of little Lannas and Maxes). To be honest, I’ve always expected… wanted, rather, for Lanna to bear the sons of Maximillion ‘Max’ Maximus De Moreallis (the full name for Max, which my brother gave). But somehow I can’t seem to stomach the fact that it’s happening now. I don’t know how, but I have this feeling that Lanna’s just not ready for it. Or rather, I’M not ready for it. In a naïvely idiotic way, I’m afraid that… that Lanna will change, and I don’t want her to change. I love the way that she’s incredibly hyperactive, overly enthusiastic and bursting with enough spunk and personality to drown Avril Lavigne in slobber (exaggerated).

But there’s nothing I can do to change my father’s mind (like something ever would), and I DO have to think on behalf of Max, who is getting rather old on his dog years. And particularly after those incidents where he managed to bust his testicles, perhaps he should quickly have a descendant or 2 before becoming permanently impotent (and with dad threatening to rid of those ‘manly-hoods’ if he damages either one of them again, I guess things should happen with haste).

And hence, under the dimming crimson sunlight of the evening, I led a surprised Max into Lanna’s cage.

It was a peculiar moment for me later when I went into the house. I found myself feeling restless and oddly anxious, and strode around the rooms in unease. Dad was retelling his story of X, one of our previous dogs, and its painful injuries caused over a female stray and a pack of some junkyard macho-hounds (with some added information, presumably exaggerated). Brother was thoroughly carefree. Mother was watching Chinese dramas in the room. The maid shot me a look whenever I happen to pass her in my strides. The dogs were noisy at first, barking and whining and rattling the cages (my imagination ran wild), and then… silence… (At this point the imagination is close to hysteria, fortunately subdued with television and The Simpsons).

Dad didn’t ask me to check to see if they’re ‘stuck’ or not until it was 20 minutes past contact.

And when I went to take a look…

I saw both their bemused head poking above the gates, hoping I would let them out for a game of catch.

Whether or not something happened during those 20 minutes, I doubt I’ll ever know (until a couple of weeks, if Lanna’s body undergoes some changes). But from what I saw, I don’t think something did, and I certainly hope that nothing had ever occurred

Anyhow, dad wanted to leave them there until morning, which is something I can’t have (I mean, both of them, in a cage together… heck, even wet wood would catch a fire in that situation). So I (secretly) tried to place them back to their respective cages only to have them barge into the garden (prompting dad’s discovery) and causing a massive bruise to my maid’s arm when she was trying to help.

Got a “WTF are you being such a bothering bother?!” scolding from dad, almost got into a quarrel with bro who was being an ass and now I’m riddled with guilt for causing injury to my maid because of my something somewhat ridiculous.

But can you blame me for being stupidly protective?

Hate, abhorrence, loathe and irrationality.

How often do you find someone which you loathe so much, that despite not seeing them for almost a year now you still find yourself flaring just by listening to their voices? Why is it that despite understanding my own reasons for such an enmity, and the silent efforts I make in order to forsake such a creed, can shatter explosively just at the very sight of her? Where is the forgiveness I normally reserve to people I believe that on second chances can make me overlook their fucking crappiness? If I may answer that myself perhaps there may never be certain forgiveness for her.

I guess now the answer is simple: I hate her. I abhor her. I loathe her.

Screw conscience, for once. I’ve been reflecting with myself for sometime now, and I admit that at times I may have been inconsiderately ticked at her for naïve and brash reasons. Now I can say they somehow fucked off into an orgy honeymoon at the Haiti prairies. Gone is my rationality. Hello late-teenage angst.

You may be wondering who this particular person is, and if you’ve been reading this lacklustre blog for a while now you might remember a certain fiery rant regarding a lecturer I dubbed as TMJ, and you’ll know that I have been rather relentless in verbally abusing her. Why? I sense you ask. She’s personally the WORST lecturer I ever had, the WORST tutor I ever know, the WORST teacher in my short history in life, and now she claims the only spot as the THE bitch-head of the century. That a good enough answer? Let’s get her a trophy, someone.

Pardon my being unduly harsh on her, but there are times when you can’t resist yourself.

Sigh… I thought I’ve seen enough of her and her annoying face to last the turn of a new millennia, and now she’s lecturer cum tutor for my Production & Publication subject. Great. Smashing, in fact. Here’s a pumpkin, knock yourselves out.

The same infuriating voice… the familiar, constipatingly excruciating boyish look… the gender-confusing appearance… the jokes that makes sure the Antarctic freezes twice over… and God forbid that now it seems like she’ll repeat the her exact crappy, pathetic, incomprehensibly un-understandable form of teaching.

What is she, like, a demon or something sent to mentally torment me into a worthless lump of potato (as if I do not resemble one enough)?

“With the power of Soap, cleaner of all that is dirty, bane of all that is disgusting and purifier of all that is stubbornly oily; I compel you, Demon of Immense Crappiness, to LEAVE and forsake the evil deeds in your dastardly planning!”

Gargles of agony and hisses of hatred left the snarling mouth of the Demon, her eyes wide with the very enmity that plagues fear and darkness into the minds of men as she writhes in pain of the overwhelming power cast down upon her cursed existence.

“BEGONE, demon, incarnation of all that is Annoying, physical form of all that is Irritating, origination of all that is Exasperating! I command you, Boredom personified, to BEGONE from this world!”

With the final phase of the spell cast, the Demon released a final howl of angst, and the world shook and trembled as though fearing her undying loathing. Its skin melted into mud most foul, with a stench so thick it killed 2 squirrels making an untimely detour. Her bones slowly crumbled into ash as dark as night itself, and the winds scattered her wretched remains across the ocean so that it shall never recover. And the world lived in peace ever since.

Well that was childishly fun.

I’ll be seeing her a hell lot more in this semester, and I guess I’ll just have rely on a little bit of imagination and a lot of daydreaming to get those days by.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

qua
In the capacity or character of; as.

Song of the Day: Nami Kaze Satellite by Snorkel (Naruto OST)

Currently playing: God Hand (ps2)

In the morning…

The glare was killing, the hunger staggering (had I been on my feet at that time) and the music irritating. And I thought I caught wisps of my brother singing as well. At 6 a.m. in the morning? You got to be kidding me.

I tried turning away, shifting to positions with hopes that the light would not reach my eyes. But sleeping on the top bunk of a double-decked bed 3 feet away from the dazzling light… sometimes it’s just too much. I’d plunge my face into the pillow, but if there’s something I hate while attempting to sleep under difficult circumstances is restricting my breath and ultimately suffocate myself to ‘sleep’.

And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Stomach-dissolving sort of hungry, where you can feel the digestive juice literally slopping against your interiors anticipating your very first morsel of food. Which is rather, erm… rare, if I may say, for someone of a massive gut like me (or is it the other way around?). But wait, I had not eaten anything proper apart from a late-night cup of chocolate yesterday after my late lunch/early dinner of sate. I guess that explains it.

Michelle and Amanda had dropped by yesterday for some Kajang food (possibly the only good thing in this town). We didn’t eat until 4, though, because the H.J Samuri restaurants don’t serve until then due to the fasting season. In the meantime I took them to my home, and dad even got to meet them (Michelle looked stunned at dad, and said that he looks very young O.o). We spent hours at the restaurant, eating and chatting like we always do, and then we went off to hitch Pei Ling to another restaurant and had a drink there. The girls didn’t leave until after 8, and we had time to pay a short visit to Pei Ling’s house. Perhaps the best day I had in this Goddamn holiday.

Eventually the lights went off, the music died and my brother exited the room in reasonable fashion. Sleep should’ve come in torrents of bliss, like falling into the greeting arms of Pamela Anderson as she holds me to a makeshift water pillow of her enormous bosoms (albeit synthetic ones… what’s synthetic?). But curses. Bubbles of colours were dancing around my closed eyelids, occasionally morphing into shapes that strangely resemble Powerpuff Girls. I Write Sins Not Tragedies (by Panic! At the Disco) is annoyingly stuck in my head. And I’m hungry. Very hungry. Stomach-dissolving sort of hungry, where you can fee- wait I said that before. Ignore.

Panic ran through my veins as my dick suddenly disappeared. WTF I uttered.. fuck… what the fuck is happening. It must have been my imagination I thought, but nevertheless… it is real. I’m a dickless bitch now. And without my dick, my balls hid behind my pubes in desperation to cower from the sudden emptiness.

Fuck bro, GET OFF MY LAPTOP!

*ahem*

Anyhow, sleep had eluded me, so I thought it best to wake and perhaps have a glass of milk to stifle my stomach’s groaning demands. Rachel had popped me an IM sometime at 2 in the morning, which I had not been able to reply. Sigh… I haven’t been able to properly chat with her for more than 5 minutes since the holidays, thanks to a bout of untimely bad luck. Sorry Rae. I shunned the milk idea and had a cookie instead.

It was still too early for me to drive to town and get breakfast for the folks, so I took the time to read the online Powerpuff Girls doujinshi.

Before you barf about due the idea of it, let me first tell you that it’s very much unlike the TV series (or that Demashita! PPG Z version). It’s very much darker, anime-style artwork and with a ton of other Cartoon Network characters thrown together. Can’t picture it? Let’s imagine Samurai Jack as the school gym teacher, an older Dexter who’s cool and LOOKS cool, Invader Zim who’s forced to do some servant labour and a plethora of major cameos from others like Time Squad, Megas XLR, etc. I’m glad I knew enough of them to appreciate it (it’s been years since I watch something from Cartoon Network… dad cut it from Astro years back).

I also took the time to watch the anime Michelle borrowed me… and it was… graphic …

If I said I enjoyed it, I may be severely misunderstood. Very severely.

The haze was light this morning as I drove mom to the market, and on top of Bukit Mewah the town looked like a quaint neighbourhood engulfed by fogs of a winter morning. Had my early morning bliss at the chee cheong fun stall, which was so busy I had to cut the stuff myself (it wasn’t as easy as it looked). I practically ate under people’s arm flitting above me to passing plates of their selected yong tau foo picks. I was rather surprised by the chee cheong fun auntie’s English. Pardon me firstly, for I had a shallow speculation that above middle-aged Chinese ladies selling goods/food at the morning market only know enough English to state the prices of their products. But auntie proved me wrong, because she spoke very well indeed. I wonder if it’s because a good bulk of her customers are Indian uncles and aunties.

The hustle and bustle of it all, coupled with my immense sleepiness was soon too much to bear with my pathetic blubber of a body, and by the time I got home I slept all the away into noon.

Thus ends my morning, and the beginning of a noon/evening/night as dull as grey in a shade of grey.

College is another day away, and the time table is crap this semester. Sigh.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

concinnity

1. Internal harmony or fitness in the adaptation of parts to a whole or to each other.
2. Studied elegance of design or arrangement -- used chiefly of literary style.
3. An instance of concinnity.

Song of the Day: Country Roads by John Denver

Movie of the day: Whisper of the Heart (a coming of age story about discovering yourself and the hardships that follow the path you choose, all told in glorious animation and colour by the great folks of Ghibli Studio. 5 out of 5).

A random post of musings…

It’s well into midnight now, and I sit alone in the quiet serenity of my gloomy dining table (also my study table, my laptop table and my PS2 table) as I’ll Be by Edwin Mccain softly soothes my rather frustrated self. I’ve been on the PS2, having my usual romp at Pro Evo Soccer 5 and almost breaking the DVD in 2 due to immense exasperation; I lost to the same team for 3 times in a row. (Ok, I can face it. I SUCK. But the CPU is CHEAP. Dirt cheap I tell you! It’s injustice! Where art thou fair gaming?*@&#@% Konami…)

I’ll Be, the song, has a spot somewhere deep in me. A song I reserved for an occasion that my or may not come, depending on my competency. Every time it’s soft, entrancing tunes flood into my listening I’ll drown myself in thoughts of it. On some days it may become more vivid; closer and real, until its taste can grasp my vague senses… and I’ll be lost to it. Deluged under a self-concocted sweetness numbing in its wake, and blissful in its melody

(That, my friends, is what I call fantasizing).

Today was a rather peculiar day, in a way I can’t really describe. Perhaps it was a slight departure from the monotony of my dull, colourless holidays, yet everything did feel the same. The same awakening. The same food. The same form of entertainment. The same means of passing time. It felt like the usual, yet all the same unusual. Weird. I guess I’ve eaten sour Skittles a packet too many.

I woke up to a clay pot of leftover chicken porridge, which I shared with my brother while watching Lee Rock on DVD (not the Rock Lee Naruto character, but the 1991 movie starring Andy Lau). I just realised that despite having known the movie for ages, I haven’t actually sat down and watch it till the end. It was surprisingly good, I have to admit, though rather odd at times (typical of early nineties Chinese movies). A grittier and darker remake would be nice, but I concur that at times classics should be left classics.

Lunch was instant noodles with an egg… not exactly a healthy diet but I guess a poor student on his semester break shouldn’t complain much. Dinner could’ve been much better; I was initially rather enthusiastic to be able to cook sweet and sour pork (with a newly procured instant packet of the sauce), and cooking can be immensely satisfying on good days. But dad decided to come and ruin it by mixing the sauce mixture to be fried together with the pork (T-T), and the gravy is done instead with ketchup. What came out was an overwhelmingly sour + salty + sweet rendition of Cooking Gone Bad (and very shocking coming from my dad). It was horrible to honest, and I was close to barfing at every piece I forced to eat out of gratitude for my dad’s hard work. Mom complimented it after a small piece, and I never seen her touch another one after. Dad was utterly convinced that he made something innovative and good, albeit a ‘tad’ out of hand, asking me if it’s good at times and then just noting that it’s good anyways. I noticed he never actually eaten any. I abandoned after a 4^th piece, and the dish looked untouched. Great. Lousy leftovers.

(Well, the good thing is that a somehow failed attempt at a ‘salted-egg fried cuttlefish’ was completely devoured by everyone).

The 3 pieces of tofu I bought just turned bad today, thanks to a lot of dad’s interfering, so I guess I won’t be cooking anything for the week. So much for having an experimental dish in mind… sigh.

Argh, my terrapin died. The maid found it ‘white and completely severely dead’ this morning. I wonder if dad plans to get another…

Alright, it’s rather late now, so I guess I’ll be turning in. I have a movie with my aunt and cousin to look forward to in the evening (finally!). And Michelle said that she may be planning to come down to Kajang for a sate lunch with Amanda and another friend. I hope H.J Samuri is open for lunch during the fasting season.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

hypnagogic
Of, pertaining to, or occurring in the state of drowsiness preceding sleep.

Song of the Day: Snow, the original soundtrack for Noir (anime).

Movie of the day: Lee Rock Part 1 (Eh… no comments).

Currently reading: The Eldest (0% progress since last reading… which was last week today).

Currently playing : Okami

Well, following Rachel’s title on this particular post:

Warning: The following does NOT bring any meaning to you whatsoever. NOTHING. In fact, watching your cacti grow at the window sill bears more significant meaning than this (be there for its first prick!). In an event where you actually found the following actually MEANT something to you, you should 1) Call an ambulance, 2) Down a bottleful of aspirin while waiting and 3) Watch the entire set of Dr. Hibbert’s Psychological Miracle! Healing Your Mental Trauma in 10 DVDs after you’re discharged. Remember, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Read with caution.

Okay, now to the subject at hand:

This post is a book survey, which had been tagged to me by mon belle ami and delightfully fascinating junior Rachel (sorry for taking so long to get it up). May I first point out that despite having a liking for reading, I’ve not exactly read a lot.

1) What is your favourite genre?

- Fantasy with a dash of Sci-fi

2) Name some of your favourite books and give some explanation as to why they are your favourites.

- The Amber Spyglass by Phillip Pullman. While the previous books in Pullman’s His Dark Materials trilogy are great, The Amber Spyglass is simply phenomenal. What I feel about it is ineffable… I just simply love it. At the end of it I was shouting WTF!?, and was deluged in a flood of certain wanting which could only be vaguely subdued by mindlessly surfing the net for everything about it (even fanarts). This book is classic.

- Artemis Fowl and The Lost Colony by Eoin Colfer. The newest book I’ve read in this list, possibly. I only finished it a week back or so. It has everything the previous books in the Artemis Fowl series bear: an intensely paced plot, cheeky humour and dialog, great characters and the winning mix of fantasy elements and high-tech gadgetry (all of this great enough already). What made it better was how much darker it the story got, and the plot is simply amazing IMO. And a possible love interest for our juvenile criminal mastermind? Whoa yeah!

- Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire by J.K Rowling. I don’t know why I actually preferred it over the others. Perhaps because it has more action, and the tournament thing got me pretty excited. Or maybe because it seriously marked the series’ transcend into the dark territory. I don’t know.

- The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon. I have only one word for this novel: Genius. Everything, from the cover to the narrative utterly brims with it. Very well written in the perspective of an autistic boy, and the book is filled with interesting stuff like chapters in odd-numbers, puzzles and maths solutions that I understand nothing of and pictures that are just plain odd. One of the non-fantasy books that completely drew me into its world, and so funny yet scarily true.

- The Green Mile by Stephen King. I don’t know how to explain it, but this book left me shivering for a moment. Not out of fear, no (just to clarify things up, cause King’s name is more widely associated to the horror genre), but everything is just so powerful about this book. How it deals about life and death, and how it gets by with its characters and plot… I don’t think I’ll ever know why, but this book is simply amazing.

3) List 10 of your favourite authors. (I don’t think I have ten…)

- Philip Pullman.

- Neil Gaiman

- J.K Rowling

- Eoin Colfer

- Stephen King (though only 2 of his books)

- Tom Holt

- Mark Haddon

- Dan Brown

- Diana Wynne Jones (erm yeah, only 2 books as well)

- Roald Dahl (I haven’t exactly read something from him, but I know I’ll love him. I’m SURE)

(Okay there’s ten XD)

4) There's always that one book that you could never finish... what's that one book for you?

- The Harmony Silk Factory by Tash Aw. I guess people should this book as the one written by a Malaysian and it sold pretty well. It’s a good book, mind, but I’ve tried 3 times now to finish it and never got pass the first 5 chapters. It’s not bad, but after a while I found myself with a fresh fantasy book off the college library. I fear I may never finish it.

5) What book did you hate the first time you read it, but grew to love as you read on?

- The Land of the Blind (cripes I forgot the author). NOT related to an upcoming movie of the same title. I got the novel during a stock clearance at some mall, and it was RM6 for a novel (pretty damn cheap if you asked me). I didn’t read it until I went up to Genting Highlands with my uncle to help him with his shooting. At first the book was pretty darn boring, and the plot isn’t getting anywhere. And then the first funny part came, and I was laughing myself silly. Then the plot thickened into something interesting. For some particular reason the humour got me, often sarcastic, vulgar and crude, but I was sniggering off when everyone was working late into the night (they though I was reading a comedy novel, and were shocked to see that it’s a crime thriller). It didn’t end as well as I hoped it’ll be, but overall it’s good and I liked it since.

6) Which type of character appeals to you the most?

- Characters that contradict what they seem to be… how do I put it? It’s like they in one way are portrayed to be villains and evil but in another is revealed to be kind and respected all the same. Like Lord Asriel and Mrs. Coulter in the His Dark Materials trilogy, or Artemis Fowl. Lady Eboshi in Princess Mononoke would be the best example, but it’s not a novel…

7) Which book completely changed your point of view? Why?

- Shite I don’t think I have one that gave such an impact… let’s see… well The Amber Spyglass changed my view on how a great story should be; memorable characters that you care about, a complex and epic plot that deals with many other perspectives… how death could be viewed, about religion, or what is indeed the true good and what is true evil. My copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray taught me how words could be played, and how beautiful a sentence could be if you use the right words and the right angle. I have yet to read one that’ll change the very way I live and think.

8) Which book did you read as a child that made you fall in love with the literary world?

- I don’t think I can quite remember, but the book that got me into reading was a toned down version of The Swiss Family Robinson which my mom got for me when I was in primary 3 or so (one of those with illustrations in it, and revamped so that children can read with ease). I think it’s the first ever English novel I read, and I’ve been reading anything since.

9) Who is your favourite character of all time?

- Erm… I think I have the tendency to like every main characters from their respective novels, like Harry, Hermione, all the Weasleys, Dumbledore, Sirius, Lupin from Harry Potter… Artemis, Butler and Holly from Artemis Fowl… Lyra and Iorek from His Dark Materials… but I think my favourite is William Parry from His Dark Materials. I like his determination, his maturity when facing situations, and also his will to protect the ones he loves. Most importantly is his selfishness; that form of selfishness where he sets everything aside to save the ones he care, and also to achieve his goals.

10) Finally, who is your least favourite?

- Eh… Delores Umbridge from Harry Potter. For some reason she reminds me of my Form 5 chemistry teacher, and boy do I want to bitch slap her.

Haha, here comes the fun part where I tag the poor unfortunate souls…

1) Amanda Lee! (Roll out the Stephen Kings!)

2) Ma Dearie Diane

3) Pei Ling

4) Wai Y33

Inspired, since sometime.

I apologize for my previous post, if it somehow managed to lobotomize you and cause a few disruptions to your brain and nervous system. I don’t think you can sue me for it, but you can, of course, drop in a comment or 2. Flame, frame, blame or phlegm me all you like; I’m just glad I got feedback =)

Sorry for not updating consistently, despite my being in a holiday now. I have no excuse for it, apart from utter laziness. And Okami, which is turning out to be one of the best ps2 games ever (I’m clocking at least 3 to 4 hours on it daily). I’ll blog about it sometime, if possible. Though I guess it won’t become something of your interest anyways (as if this blog is, but I’m glad I have a couple of readers. Thanks).

I owe Rachel two tags, which I haven’t been getting around doing. I promise I’ll get it up sometime soon. Here’s my apology first, and a hopeful smiley =P

The holidays are faring better this few weeks, thanks to Okami and a few good hours of writing/typing. I have another to thank; Finding Neverland, the 2004 movie starring Johnny Depp about J.M Barrie and how he came to write the famous boy who never grew up. Hands down one of the best movies around, IMO, and well into my list of Inspirational Thingies (among Big Fish and Whisper of the Heart). The movie itself is beautiful, touching and warm, etc, but what got me most is the theme of Unlocking Your Imagination. Something Johnny Depp (as Barrie) said:

(Not in actual script. This is a vague reconstruction. Finding Neverland and script is copyright to the studio that published it).

J.M Barrie: (Johnny Depp in Scottish accent) Write about it, about flying the kite today with your brothers. Write about that talking whale.

Peter: (acted by Freddie Highmore, Charlie in Charlie and the Choc Factory and soon Arthur in Arthur and the Invisibles) Talking whale? What talking whale?

J.M Barrie: That talking whale that is bursting in your imagination. Write it down.

After the movie, I sat down in front of my laptop and got to work on the 2 junk you read below with a rekindled joy in writing.

I’ve been so often plagued by the dogmatic fear of messing anything I though out by writing it down that I’ve been afraid to write. But I guess I should take a step in writing it, make it my best and learn from it. I’ve been fearful of criticism, wanting to live in a cocoon that tells myself that my stories stay however I like it if none shall read it, and undermining the very basis of being a writer; What is a writer without a reader? What is communication without feedback, or an expression without an impression? (Pardon my immense corniness).

I’m set to improve, so bear with me =)

Goodnight people, and whoever that is reading this, I thank you.

And Mr. Barrie, thank you (though I’m aware that Finding Neverland is merely based on actual events and bears a probability to be untrue, I’m pretty sure you live by the same philosophy of imagination and you weren’t smoking weed when you wrote Peter Pan. But, I mean, a boy flying around in green leaves/tights? You leave me wondering…).

Word of the Day:

indomitable
Incapable of being subdued or overcome; unconquerable.

Song of the Day: End of the Innocence by Don Hedley.

Currently Reading: The Eldest.

Currently Playing: Okami

Movie of the Day: Finding Neverland (5 out of 5 stars. ‘Nuff said).

Outer Sanctum Security Post NR755.

Peninsular Malaysia.

Personnel Log

Name: Cajun Hans Kar Chun

Age: 21

Status: Class 3 Transport Personnel

Entry: 0016 Hours, 20^th September 2011, Friday.

I’m beat today. The Chief rounded us up to clear the unused supply crates at the facility storehouses today to make way for the transport and supplies. It was a big mess, and we’re not only dealing with supply crates. There were also cargo containers, broken machinery and two unused big ass water tanks (why it was in the storehouses still baffled us). There were several bodies too, found trapped behind wooden crates and inside most of the cargo containers. Most of them were military personnel, but we also found a few bodies that we presumed were some of the Demented killed during the March 3^rd upsurge. Jim found a poor soul that seemingly had gnawed at his own wrists till death. I figured that he must’ve been infected, but the chief said that sometimes someone can become a Demented without an infection. I couldn’t agree less.

We discarded the bodies into the incinerator alongside with a few others found scattered around the post. NR755 was said to be housing 200 or so soldiers before its capture, but there were only 32 dead bodies found and 21 of them were military personnel. I believe the remaining 168 soldiers must’ve become the Demented, and had left.

We caught up with a couple of the tech guys at the canteen who wanted some of Lawrence Hanky’s VIVID videos (which I traded in for some Pall Mall). Since they had to re-wire up the entire facility, I asked them what’s our superiors hiding from us, but they said the re-wire work was only at the basement and main control panel at the entrance which is nowhere near the interior. They hinted that their chief knew, though, which prompted me to badger the Chief later when we were parking the trucks into the storehouses, and he made me wash the bunker toilets for asking.

Carl from the infantries stopped by our bunker to trade out some booze he found at the A bunkers (a six-pack for the Playboy Playmate specials, and I threw in a Devon movie for good measure). Apparently the infantry guys know nothing about the facility too. The secrecy is bugging me somehow, like there’s some secret experiment of sorts or something. I mean, there are the scientists, and the unknown cargo we transferred. Maybe they’re working out something about the Demented, but don’t they have a lab somewhere at the Haven?

Sometime at 10 p.m. some rogue Demented hammered at our eastern walls. We could hear the howling from the bunker, and then the gunshots when the snipers picked them off. It was unsettling, and what followed was a silence that lingered like after a funeral… hymns from the great beyond. It struck me that the Demented were once humans… in fact, they are humans in every way. Just soulless, and mindless. The monster within all of us, when the mind and soul fails to govern our bodies.

I miss Emily, and I hope that she’s alright. The satellite phones aren’t fixed yet.

Outer Sanctum Security Post NR755.

Peninsular Malaysia.

Personnel Log

Name: Cajun Hans Kar Chun

Age: 21

Status: Class 3 Transport Personnel

Entry: 2317 Hours, 19^th September 2011, Wednesday.

I’m surprised to find this computer working. NR755 was one of the first Outer Sanctum post to be attacked during the March 3^rd upsurge of the Demented, which destroyed half of the western shore in the peninsular. No one survived the attack of NR755, though the entire place is still in one piece… most of it, anyways. Marco said the sanitary pumps were busted, and the toilets are not to be flushed unless you want 5 tanks of excrement to ooze out of every pipe in the facility. He’s working on repairing it with Jim now, and advices that we avoid eating anything laxative for a day or two. The power generator is running fine, and just later the tech guys managed to have the entire mainframe system running. This computer is better than I expected; the previous user, Lawrence Hanky, somehow managed to install Counter-Strike into this baby. He even managed to stuff a bunch of VIVID DVD videos and some Playboy Playmate specials in one of the drivers. Some of the guys are coming over with flash drives to see if they can copy it over to their bunks. Too bad the broadband system is out, or I could’ve e-mailed Emily. She’s in the 17^th Guang Zhou Settlement at the moment, and I heard the food there is good. Beats our frosted Canai bread (standard military ration). I’ll give her a call when the satellite phone system is up.

NR755 is larger than I expected, though I know it’s the largest security post in the western shore, which was made to accommodate 200 or more soldiers. There’re 15 bunkers surrounding the main building, which is an unusual facility of sorts; us lower ranking officers are unauthorized to enter. All this within the walls, of course. The rooms are great, by the way, apart from the blood stains at Robbie’s mattress (which he didn’t care sleeping on, that sick bastard). It belonged to Lawrence Hanky, whom we believe must’ve shot himself either before or after he became a Demented. We dumped his body into the garbage incinerator at the southern walls. God rest his soul.

The more I look at it, – NR755 - the more it doesn’t look like a security post to me. For one thing it’s about 5 times larger than the average security posts. And then there’s that facility thingy. There’s got to be catch to it, I mean, why would several scientists from Sector 1 want to come to this forsaken post? And we’ve just transported cargo consisting of the best defense system and supplies enough to last us a good year, from Haven 65 at Kuala Lumpur. The chief’s crews were in charge of transporting some cargo that we know nothing off, and they’re immediately shipped into the facility building. Something’s rather fishy here, but I guess it’s not my business, and rank, to look into it.

When days are lonely…

I woke with a soft start this morning, prior to a peculiarly bizarre dream, in which I was attending classes in my old high school block that was miraculously set on a cruise ship. The girl I’m having a crush with is somewhat marrying an old friend of mine, Daryl, someone I used to call my best friend during primary school. I remembered saying “You both look good with each other,” (while going GARGH!!! inside) before pushing past a throng of reporters and photographers called to witness the biggest wedding of the year. I was at the ship’s lobby when a lot of weird stuff happened; droplets of water was floating from the floor to the ceiling where it formed a big bubble of water. The in burst into a heavy shower and flooded the corridors, and mice were swimming about looking fairly menacing. I was at the point of swatting at them with a yellow pipe when I woke up with my left arm completely limp. Turned out that I was sleeping on my arm, and it took a lot of lifting and finger-flexing to bring it back to function.

It was 5 in the morning. The aircond was menacingly cold, but I was feeling stuffy for some reason. I tried to sleep, but the dream came back to haunt me a little bit (especially that part where Daryl and her blushed when I uttered my line), so I sat up in frustration. In the midst of darkness, under the serene hum of the aircond and the quiet whirr of my computer, there was this sudden sense of utter loneliness. I reflected this for a while as the blood circulation of my previously limp hand stung me into total wakefulness. How long was it into my holidays now? I had spent everyday in the confines of the house, only heading out for a few chores and foods, and devoid of communication with fellow friends, save a few of those who stuck to their Internet services like rust to nails. And that’s only a few people. I haven’t been texting anyone, and no one in particular had sought the initiative to text me (not that they have reasons to, anyways). I’ve practically holed myself up for the holidays, and now it has hit me with full force. It’s going to be a very, very lonely month.

Mom skirted off to another vacation (yet again). I fetched her to the station this morning, and waited with her for the train to arrive. The sky was a canvas of depression and immense gloominess that only someone demented like Dorian Gray could paint, and it was one particular morning where the winds were being an ass for once. I watched mom’s train disappear down the tracks before making my way back to the car (and stumbling up the stairs in my haste… stupid slippers). I stopped by the chee cheong fun stall at the market for my usual morning bliss (people have coffee and toast; I have chee cheong fun with chili and chili only). It was a comforting, warm ordeal of eating and listening to gossips that I cannot comprehend, where the marketing uncles and aunties flock by to enthusiastically convey their news in a deluge of multiple Chinese dialects while picking fishballs from the steaming pot of soup.

Home soon became an empty haven. Dad and bro was off to work, and mom would be at work as well on normal days. The maid is often too busy or exasperated (by me) to keep me company and the PS2 quickly becomes old. I couldn’t bring myself to start on The Eldest, having forgotten everything from the previous book. And ever since I accidentally deleted something I’ve written halfway through, I’m rather unmotivated to write for the moment. No one to chat with, online or off. No one to play the PS2 with. No one to play badminton with. No one for anything. One shouldn’t have reasons to be bored, but I guess loneliness is an exceptional excuse.

I was even wishing that dad would come home soon.

At 7.45 he called home to say that he won’t be having dinner with me. By then the maid had already cooked for 3, so I sat alone at the dinner table watching Shaolin Soccer and trying not to waste the food. The maid retired to her slumber early, and I was left to my own solitude. Nothing was on TV, and as if I haven’t had enough of it for the evening. I was afraid to go into the room to chance for someone on the internet for fear that someone would come home and have no one to unlock the doors. Dad called just earlier to say that he’ll be late. Brother came back at 11 p.m. (while I was close to singing ‘All by Myself’ quietly at the living room), but as usual he was soon in the room doing whatever he does.

Here I sit, typing this at the laptop with Sugar Sugar from The Archies playing softly through the in-built speakers, wondering what the heck is heck and pondering what in blazes are blazes.

And this is what boredom+loneliness can do: an ugly pic :P

I’m having an urge to SMS Amanda, but stole I glanced at MSN earlier and she’s not online, so I guess she’s asleep. I’m wishing that she’d send me one of those random midnight sms-es too… those that I often regret not being awake to reply. Because for once I’m able to reply, and will very gladly do so.

For now, I guess, what’s left in to say goodnight.

Goodnight mon belle ami, and goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

opprobrium

1. Disgrace; infamy; reproach mingled with contempt.
2. A cause or object of reproach or disgrace.

Song of the Day: Sugar Sugar by The Archies.

Currently Reading: The Eldest.

Previously Finished: Artemis Fowl and The Lost Colony (personal favourite!)

*Ignore if possible. For your sake*

I noticed that I’ve been rolling my eyes behind my father for some days now. Apparently he somehow managed to take a jump at me at every opportunity possible; and by opportunity, I meant every single mistake I made, minor or large regardless of whether I’m right or wrong. Yeah, well, I can’t say that I’m not used being subject to a few nags every now and then, but things are getting so notoriously ridiculous lately it’s making the exasperator exasperated.

Take tonight for instance. I was in the toilet when my super-ultra-sensitive car alarm blared (my bro somehow managed to open the doors despite me locking it), and hence was late in shutting it off. Well it woke mom (and possibly a few neighbours) and dad came out like Clint Eastwood cocking a couple of revolvers; glint in his eyes and ready to say “You want a piece of me, PUNK?”. He asked me why I was late to shutting the alarm, and of course I said I was at the toilet. And then he said in Cantonese:

“What the hell are you doing at the toilet?”

Wha-?!?

I was about throw a handful of sarcasm, but for some strange reason all I could say was “I was at the toilet, dad.” Mmhmm, there’re lots of reasons for me to be in the toilet. A select few are:

1) Erm… nature’s call?

2) Seeking solace from the depression of a dark, realistic world by cooping up in a small little room with a stack of comic books and the lovely toilet bowl.

3) Dropping my old LEGO sets into the water tub, and see if they float or drown. Heck, I may even play Jaws with them.

4) Smoking weed, and spelling my death as I puff (he’ll skin me. ALIVE).

5) Mast- ur… erm… blowing bubbles.

Then he said:

“People in the toilet, you’re in the toilet. Always in your room, toilet, room…”

*Rolls eyes*

Ok, well, he was just back from a trip to Ipoh so I shan’t blame him for being unreasonably cranky, but what about those other occasions?

“(After distracting me with a long winded order) why’s the curtain not closed? Always forget this, forget that…”

*Rolls Eyes*

“Why is the backlight not on? Such a simple thing and it can’t be done daily…”

(Well I happen to turn it on every time I walk past for a drink before my sleep and he can’t wait until I do, which is just 10 minutes away… but oh well)

*Rolls eyes*

“(While I’m fixing a faulty component cable to the DVD player) Why is there still no colour? And I send you to school…”

(Uh, they don’t teach me about component wiring and progressive scan at primary, middle and high school. They teach me how to make musical cabinets and solve chemistry… all which are unrelated to this).

*Rolls eyes* @_@

Keep this up and I’ll have to do eye surgery soon =). Someone will like that, very much.

Goodnight people.

Word of the Day:

solace
1. Comfort in time of grief; alleviation of grief or anxiety.
2. That which relieves in distress; that which cheers or consoles; a source of relief.
3. To comfort or cheer in grief or affliction; to console.
4. To allay; to soothe; as, "to solace grief."

Song of the Day: Tong Hua by Guang Liang

Anime of the Day: Blood+ ep 46

Movie of the Day (actually, yesterday): You, Me and Dupree.

(The movie quickly falls into familiar territory, and while sweet, lacks that inspiration that normally makes an impact. The laughs only fall on the average. Owen Wilson is still cool, though. 2 ½ stars out of 5).

Currently Reading: Artemis Fowl and the Lost Colony.

Currently Playing: LEGO Star Wars 2: The Original Trilogy.