Something random I found. Smileworthy stuff..

A woman has a close male friend. This means that he is probably interested in her, which is why he hangs around so much. She sees him strictly as a friend. This always starts out with, you're a great guy, but I don't like you in that way. This is roughly the equivalent for the guy of going to a job interview and the company saying, You have a great resume, you have all the qualifications we are looking for, but we're not going to hire you. We will, however, use your resume as the basis for comparison for all other applicants. But, we're going to hire somebody who is far less qualified and is probably an alcoholic. And if he doesn't work out, we'll hire somebody else, but still not you. In fact, we will never hire you. But we will call you from time to time to complain about the person that we hired.

I don't know what to call this.

I’m aware that I haven’t updated in a long, long time. Not that there isn’t anything to write about, I just didn’t feel like writing. But today was a tipping point in my life, and I think it would be criminal if I didn’t write about it.

I’m not even sure where to begin or what I really want to write about, but I know that my state of mind at this very moment needs to be recorded in the servers of Google. I think I’m normally quite careful with what I put up here, disguising everything I write with a thick veil of mysticism. I don’t think it would be necessary today. I don’t think my regular readership stretches that far.

Sudden realizations that my things are not as they could optimally be seems to be some kind of permanent fixture in my life. I’ve had enough epiphanies to start questioning if they were really epiphanies to begin with. These things are supposed to be rare and life changing. If it happens too often, then I’m either ridiculously good at self reflection or the realizations that I have been having are much less epic than I seem to make them out to be.

Anyways, I don’t know how far this new one will go, but the last one brought about change that has held together quite well thus far. It’s been what, two years since I decided that blatant cynicism and constant caustic remarks to strangers don’t work in my favour? This new found vigour for all things seems to be a little harder to sustain, but I suspect it could be here to stay. It is somewhat ironic that the person who caused this second moment of realization is somewhat skeptical my ability to affect such change upon myself. I can still vividly remember the life drain out of me when I read the explanation to the speechlessness that I seemed to have caused. I was quiet for the evening, thinking and fretting. But I smile when I recall the follow up to the message that had made my guts sink. “Hoping for external factors to change you. That’s tough” or something along those lines. I almost replied, “Well, you’re an external factor, and I think you just changed me”. Perhaps she underestimated the kind of effect that she had on me. Perhaps I was the one to blow a seemingly innocuous spark into a solar flare. Whatever the reality of the situation, what has happened has happened, and I think I came out of it a better person. The results are yet to be seen, but for once, I have a sense of anticipation for life. All the clichéd lines that we hear from the likes of ‘Stranger than Fiction’ suddenly start to make a little more sense. I know I can. So why not?

Of course, like every other sticky situation of this nature, there will be issues unresolved. But in this case, I think they are petty. The big questions have already answered themselves, and although I would love to have a chat to satisfy my curiosity, I can live without having asked those questions.

Of course, there are regrets. Aren’t there always, eh? I wish I had told you how lovely you are without having minced my words. I wish that I had the courage to be a little more honest and not have played the game of cloak and dagger. I wish I told you how much I enjoyed your company and the conversations that we had.

But I suppose you always were the wiser one. The one with the clearer head to see what we had for what it really was, and to nip it at the bud. I could sense it too, but that voice was drowned out by a cacophony of lonely moans and curious squeals.
I really doubt you would read this, but I want you to know that I will always think of you as a friend. You make that part remarkably easy.

So there you have it. I give up. Probably should have a long time ago, but some blind sense of optimism and the aforementioned chorus of voices kept driving me on. I shall respect your broad and tactfully dropped hints and leave you at peace. And I wish you luck, not that you are going to need much of it. =)

It was a long, ornately decorated table. Gold and purple tapestries hung magnificently along the walls of the room, giving the room the regal feel that it needed to exude. Each chair was elaborately decorated and matched the rest of the room. In fact, every bit of furniture or decoration in that chamber seemed to blend in with the room. Nothing seemed out of place.

The noisy chatter coming from the room was starting to get to me. I almost always enjoy the sessions that I have at the council of rulers, the operative word being almost. This was one of those exceptional days. The day had started pleasantly enough for me, but the sudden arrival of the Secretarial Minister happily chatting with the Aesthetics Minister about God knows what had soured my mood considerably.

Alicia saw right through my badly disguised frown and settled herself beside me. She put her hand on my arm and smiled that warm, knowing smile of hers. She knew what I was thinking. She was also telling me that I was an idiot.

Years of working with her has led us to be able to communicate without actually saying anything. We knew what the other was thinking, even if the thoughts were intentionally obscured. She was my dearest friend, and closest adviser, but we both knew that we were much too similar to be of much use counseling each other. Sometimes an alternate perspective is needed, and she couldn't provide one, since her perspective was almost always mine. But she knew me, and she could put things into perspective like no one can.

"You know you are wasting your time right?"Her question was cautious, probing.

"Yeah, I do."

Alicia sighed. "You're messed up you know. They are just good friends. They talk a lot to each other. They like each other's company. So what? Why are you so affected just seeing them?"

I stared at her. She stared straight back at me and then looked away, rolling her eyes.

"You don't know," she said. "Bloody brilliant. Of course you don't."

She kept talking. "Let me tell you why. You hate one of them. You like the other. People you like, you want to befriend. And knowing you, you like him enough to want exclusive rights. It doesn't work that way. And you know that. Thats why you're not saying anything about it. You'd be the laughing stock of the council. But its gnawing at you, eating at you everytime you see them share a joke or tell each other about whats bothering them. You want to end it, but you know its impossible. So you sit there, grit your teeth and be miserable."

"I'm not miserable," I retorted. She snorted and shook her head.

She leaned in close to me and said, "Let it go. Its not worth it."

Then she stood up, gave my shoulder a friendly squeeze and left me.

Meep

Eddie Saguero glanced down at the controls that lay beneath his fingers, caressing them lightly. They glowed eerily in the darkness of his cockpit, the symbols of each button clearly visible. Eddie had done this so many times, it had become second nature to him, but this time, there was something different as he prepared to leave the hangar. He couldn't quite place it, but he knew that something wasn't quite right with the mission. Some people called it a warrior's instinct. Others dismissed it as superstition or a bad lunch that was back with a vengeance. It didn't really matter. Eddie wasn't in any position to be picky about the missions he had to run. The Clan raids had already taken a considerable toll on the Inner Sphere war effort. He was a soldier, an instrument of war. He received orders and executed them. It was't his place to ask questions or wonder what the point of all his missions were.

"When you're ready, Eddie,". The voice startled Eddie. He snapped out of his pensive stare at the console and moved to power up his 60 ton harbinger of death. Harbinger of death. At least thats the way he would like to call his mech to distract himself from the fact that the 90 ton machines that he might run into would turn his 'harbinger' to scrap metal quite easily. Still, nothing like a good dose of self delusion to get the spirits up before a mission.

Eddie powered up his mech and listened to the comforting sound of the fans of his fusion reactors starting to spin. His heads up display lit up immediately, and he heard the clinical, yet strangely seductive female voice of his on board computer running him through his system diagnostics.

"Nav Baker Three"

"Ambient tempetature, 24.49 degrees"

"Local time is seven five, three five, seven six, GST"

"All systems nominal"

On that cue, Eddie eased the throttle forward, making the mech take its first few tentative steps away from the support beams that surrounded it as it docked. The mech produced a resounding thump everytime it took a step, its metal legs hitting the concrete floor of the hangar with the same comfortingly familiar sound it always made. Eddie toyed with the torso controls a bit, turning to get a feel of the machine he was piloting. His eyes wandered over to the screen that showed his weapon statuses. They were highlighted in green, each of them showing a full stock of ammunition. He wondered inwardly if he had chosen the right armanent for his mission. He favoured energy weapons over everything else, which explained the extensive heat sinks on his mech. He knew that he would outlast most projectile or rocket oriented builds in a long fight, but wasn't quite sure if he could evade the onslaught long enough to take advantage of his relative independence from ammunition constraints. After all, he didn't have the most well armoured unit in the hangar.

As Eddie stepped out of the hangar, he hammered the throttle forward and made towards his nav point. The fine dust that his mech kicked up only served as a reminder of just how dry and hot this planet was, which in turn brought him back to questioning the wisdom of being dependent on beam weapons. He shrugged to himself. The choices had been made. Any cock-ups would be his to bear.

Passing the first nav point, nothing had yet happened. Not a life form in sight. Another boring patrol.

Then his sensors beeped. A red triangle showed up at the right of his radar. Eddie perked up.

"Control, I'm getting signs of an anamoly in sector seven. I'm moving to check it out," Eddie relayed speaking into the mike.

"Copy that Delta 3. Be careful out there," came the reply.

As he drew closer to the target, Eddie could see a crater smack in the middle of where he was headed for. A small, wispy slither of smoke rose out from the middle of the crater. Dust billowed around the blackened center, obscuring the line of sight through his cockpit. Eddie decided to draw closer, his thumb resting on the trigger of his primary weapons group.

Visibility was almost zero at this point. He turned of the image enhancement system, and everything went black. The contours of the hills before him were represented with coloured lines, as was the object that had made the crater. It was metallic, that much he knew. And very, very hot.

A million possibilities raced through his head. Was it a clan probe? Was it a scout? A single light mech sent to record data and clear the landing for a invading fleet? Blood rushed through his veins as his heart thumped.

Eddie drew closer and the image of the object got sharper. It had jagged edges and a fairly irregular shape. It certainly didn't look industrial, much less space age. He ran a quick scan on it when he got close enough. His computers beeped and whirred as the numbers where crunched.

The green fonts of his heads up display flashed "Object identified".

Below it, the results flashed. Meteorite. It was the most anti-climatic moment in his life. Eddie sighed.

In the monotony of the daily patrols, he sometimes wished that something will happen. But nothing ever did.

Of Epiphanies and a mid life crisis

I think I probably call the tiniest of revelations epiphanies so I guess the word in itself tends to lose a bit of impact. But when you have an experience that leaves you brooding for a few hours, thinking, and then feeling like you just had a mid life crisis because nothing around you seems to matter very much, then I'd say its probably worth paying more than a little attention to it.

Now there is only the small matter of encapsuling the feeling and sustaining it, because if it does go away, then I suspect it will be next to impossible to recapture in the short term.

Feeling like shit, but knowing that you need to feel this way for your own good sucks.

Random post

It was a strange feeling really. Not that he wasn't used to it, but most of the time it slid under the consciousness. It was covert, but always let him know that it was there. Naturally, he learned to ignore it, as he did so many other slightly unpleasant experiences that he encountered. And it never really pushed the issue. It was content being a needle in the side, constantly harassing him with a little prick here and there and waiting for his measured response that would inevitably come out of frustration.

But this time, it chose a very interesting time to surface. Its likely that its caused by the general disillusionment that he felt about the subject matter that lay before him. It happened when he stared at the clock in front of him and noted that he had plenty of time to complete the tasks that lay before him. His brain decided to take a short detour. Some might call him irresponsible for doing that. After all, the questions he was answering was part of the system that is supposedly his only purpose in life for the time being. Admittedly, he had stopped caring about his purpose a long time ago as the people who watched his slow but steady slide.

But I'm rambling. We're here to talk about recent history, not well established facts about our subject.

If he were to be perfectly honest with himself, he probably wanted it to happen. He doesn't really remember what happened actually, and what I write here is just based on a very clinical account of his version of the story. I suspect he was being quite honest though.

The amazing part about this situation is that he never goes into those really disturbing bouts of emotional upheaval that have become part and parcel of his life. I wonder if this is a unique case, or if he is actually changing.

It serves him quite well, this state of mind. Treating it like it was inconsequential does help him get on with things, but the inevitable doubts of whether he is trying hard enough surface. I've lost count of the number of times that I have seen him flinch when he hears Jason Mraz on the radio. I can hear him sigh, even if no one else can. I think he is heading in the right direction though. Nice good dose of confidence coupled with his usual sincerity by the truckloads. And for once, believing that it is not the end of the world if the next phase of life that he has hyped up to be a make or break doesn't work out.

I still cheer him on. Good luck mate.

Ohy, Ashley Cole. You bloody cunt faced git.

Did you know that Ashley Cole has written a biography? Yep, he has joined the ranks of the hundreds of footballers that think that they have been misunderstood in some way and writing about it will somehow miraculously bring about comprehension of their side of the story.

Well, I normally wouldn't care what happens in the personal lives of footballers, but I just so happen to be linked to the review of the biography. Lets see what Ashley has to say.

"One day I was just chilling with my homies, when this geezer call Jose come round me manor giving it large, saying he wants me to go hang with the Chelsea massive. Well, at the time I has got the hump with Arsenal, right, cos that David Dein has just offered me a contract for 55 long uns a week when I is expecting 60, minimum. Don't get me wrong, blood, it's not about the money. I is an ordinary lad from an ordinary background, for me money ain't what I am in the game for. I'd play for nothing, any day of the week.

"Which is roughly what Arsenal is expecting me to do. 55 a week: it's a joke. This Dein is dissin me, right? He is well out of order. So I says to this Jose: 'what you got then?' And this bald geezer what is with him gets out this like humungous cheque book and I'm telling you, the moment he gets it out, I feels six foot tall. Which is just as well, as this Jose says he ain't interested in left backs what are midgets.

"Now, as I say, Ashley Cole is just an ordinary lad what has supported Arsenal all his life, and he plays for the love of the game, that is his only motivation. Money and that, that's for others to work on. So from there on in, I leave things to my team of six agents, five accountants, three lawyers and seven actuaries. Plus the bloke what advises on off-shore investments in Chilean bearer bonds and Argentine footballers [they tell me, at the last count, that Ashley Cole owns three of Carlos Tevez's toes].

"While they is chatting, I just gets on with being part of the best team England has sent to the World Cup in 40 years, full of world-class players in every position. And I tell you what, we is that close to winning the thing. In fact, we would have done if we hadn't lost to the team that lost to the team that lost in the final.

"After that, I gets married. And that's another thing that the media gets all wrong. People think that me and Cheryl is just interested in seeing our picture in the papers, but that's rubbish, we is not like that. For Ashley Cole and his missus, it's magazines or nothing.

"Eventually I sign for Chelsea. I have to pinch myself to believe it's happening to me, an ordinary kid from an ordinary north London family: almost winning the World Cup, marrying the girl of every bloke's dreams and then joining the club I've supported ever since I seen the size of Peter Kenyon's wad. And the best thing is, I can walk away from Arsenal with my head held high. For Ashley Cole it has never been about money. It's all about respeck, innit."

When I finished reading it, the only thing I was thinking was WTF was that? I know people always say that footballers are stupid, but that is just in a league of its own. Thats not even english that he is writing. What the fuck is up with the nigga talk? Since when does a rich ass spoilt brat qualify to use street talk like that? And the ego, dear god!

Oh, and check out his analysis of England's performance in the World Cup. They lost to the team that lost to the team that lost the final. And he calls that close to winning. How is being beaten in the quarters even considered close to winning? The statement is so delusional, I don't think I'd be able to come up with shit like that if I smoked a joint, did some blow and downed 3 graveyards in the same night.

Misguided, egoistic and stupid, Ashley Cole has just cemented himself as the stupidest footballer since George Best. I think its amazing to note that he is going to spend the rest of his life in a delusion about just how great his life is without ever realizing how much of the real world he has missed.

Dumbass.

How a debate is viewed.

Obama is taking on McCain in what is likely to be the most important US election in recent memory, but strangely enough, a lot of the attention is centered around their running mates. And because I was bored and didn't want to study, I was reading a little on the debate that they had recently. I didn't watch the debate per se but the reactions to the debate are interestingly varied. Lets start with what is likely to be a clearly pro-McCain camp.

Dick Morris declared the debate a clear win for Palin. He was raving on and on about how in touch the Republican was with the people and how well she connected. I checked him out a little. Apparently he used to help Mr. Clinton, but later got disillusioned by both husband and wife. He even wrote a book to diss on Hilary's book. And while he makes a living from giving advice to politicians, his predictions on politics are famously off the mark. (According to him, we are supposed to be seeing Mrs Clinton take on Ms Rice in the 2008 presidential race. LOL) Plus, there is a youtube video of him insulting a co-anchor of a FOX program after the co-anchor started questioning his analysis of the debate.

Then there is the BBC. They called it a draw, which is the safest thing to say. But their take on it was a little different. According to their correspondent, both the running mates have a tendency of screwing up in public, and the fact that they both gave solid performances is an achievement for them both.

Finally, there is the debating world. Some of the best adjudicators in the world came together and blogged about the debate using the world's debating format and scoring system. They gave the debate to Biden in a 6-1 split. 2 of them decided that Biden hammered Palin. They gave a 12 point margin. Let me put that into perspective. If an adjudication core saw such a margin in any round of a tournament, they will assume that there is a mistake and call up the adjudicator that gave that score to make sure that the debate really was that one sided. Its a proper trashing, the kind you see when University of Sydney takes on a bunch of stammering non-english speakers and are in a particularly unforgiving mood. The other 4 gave clear wins to Biden and the one dissenting fellow said that Palin nicked it by the breadth of an Alaskan snowflake. http://electiondebates.wordpress.com/ for more information.

So the world of debating thinks that Biden pwned Palin. But thats just the world of debating, a somewhat ideal place where facts and logic matter more than they usually do in the real world. And more often than not, elections are won by emotion and empty rethoric which the McCain camp has by the gas guzzling truckloads. They have the gun-toting rednecks on their side, the kind of people who believe foreign policy involves negotiating with Canada and Mexico because everyone else is just too far away to matter. The kind that will actually buy Palin's line of how Alaska's proximity to Russia makes her a more competent person in dealing with Putin and his trigger happy regime. As hard as I find it to believe, Obama's calm and level headed approach to the problems that the US is facing is being described as a disadvantage for him.

Thanks to two terms that will immortalize Bush as the worst president that the US has ever seen, people have called this election unlosable for the Democrats. I don't have anything against the Republicans as a general group, but seeing how they managed to pick a Bush clone as their nominee, I certainly hope, for the sake of humanity that those people are right.

English 101.

People, the words extend and extent do not have the same meaning and cannot be used interchangeably.

extend - to stretch out; draw out to the full length: He extended the measuring tape as far as it would go.

extent - the space or degree to which a thing extends; length, area, volume, or scope: the extent of his lands; to be right to a certain extent.

I know I'm just being a stickler for rules here coz people who read the words in context will know what is being said, but its important. So please get it right.

Ktnxbai.

LOL!

Don't watch if you are opposed to creative violence.

Political correctness. LOL.

I like his sarcasm. Heh. There are good people in there after all.

Man in the mirror.

Its a funny thing, these identity crises. Its like having a bunch of mirrors in front of you and each one shows you a different image. And you don't like any one of them. And you know that you shift from one image to the other.

Here is the tricky part. Image A hates image B. Image C hates image D. And as you shift from one persona to another, you think back to what you have done and you hate yourself. You tell yourself that it wasn't you. But 5 minutes later, you're back to thinking that whatever you did was the right thing to do. And you admonish yourself for ever doubting that. Making you hate yourself even more. Its what people who like big phrases like to call a vicious circle.

It must be nice to have little care about the ethics of things. To just do things and expect people to allow you to get away with it for one reason or another. To never have to hold yourself accountable because doing that is just 'so hard'. To be able to tell yourself that you have a problem, but you can't solve it because..... well because you just can't. To be able to shift from image to image and still remain blissfully ignorant of what you are doing.

I envy people with the capacity to self delude.

You tell me what to think of this.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_east/7613575.stm

Seriously?

Murder

Arthur looked distinctly out of place in the market that he walked in. His dark clothing contrasted sharply with the gay surroundings of a bustling square. It was a wonder that he had not aroused any suspicion just yet, but that was probably because none of the guards expected any trouble. No one ever did in this part of the country. Especially not in the early summer when everyone was in high spirits. The village clowns were out entertaining the children with their decidedly idiotic antics while an elaborate stage showcased the latest work by the maddeningly emo writer, Jasper Erathor. Arthur could feel the jolly energy grate at his conscience like a spiked mace dragged across the back of a condemned criminal. But he had to contain himself. He would get the last laugh yet.

Slowly shuffling himself, he maneuvered so that he had a good view of the crowd. His arm shifted slowly, creeping towards his waist. His mind cleared in anticipation of the rapture that was in store for himself. The rise and fall of his chest steadied, his earlier agitation put behind him.

Then he exploded. In two quick strokes, he had drawn his weapon and sliced open the chest of the nearest person. Before the first scream could be heard, the curved blade had already slashed two more times, each one slicing deliciously into the flesh of the victims. Arthur was ruthless, and he was in his element. The people would pay for what they have done to him. Not even the knights will stand in his way.

The crowd understandably stampeded. They bowled each other over and trampled the ones unfortunate enough to slip as they ran. But the roads of the marketplace were narrow, and the exits, narrower still. The square was turning into a cauldron of insanity. Arthur knew that he had to bring some form of order to the chaos that was before him; the irony of the fact that he had started everything eluded him completely.

The methododical murder kept its pace until Arthur's eye caught a glimpse of a familiar face. Sprawled on the ground, and trying desperately to get back up again was a woman in a long skirt and jet black hair. She had a subtle tuft of brown hair at the front of her head, marking her as a sorceress. One gifted in the magics, who use it when necessary, but are completely unaware of their immense power. Arthur had long advocated the purging of these witches, but no one ever seemed to be agreeable to his cause. Even if they did see the threat, they were quick to change their minds the moment they made any attempt to destroy one of the sorceresses. He wasn't surprised.

Arthur paused for a while. He looked her in the eye and saw the terror that he inspired. But he also saw a grim determination to survive and a glazing over the eyes that normally marked a subconcious invocation of elemental magic. Grinning like the like a demon in hell's torture chambers, he flung one of his daggers at the woman. He could vaguely remember the face. He remembered that it had existed in a time when times were not quite as dark as they were for him now. It was in the distant past, a memory so clouded in conflicting emotion that everything seemed warped and unreal.

The dagger sunk itself into her eye, ending the threat that she posed. He felt a strange vindication, like he actually had done some kind of service to humanity. It was a strange sense of misplaced heroism, something that he rather enjoyed. For a while. Before long, his objective of systematic murder overruled everything else and his face went blank again.

And his blade kept singing the song of death.

Okay, the Premier League sucks

I hate the people who just bought Manchester City. By extension, that means that I hate Man City now. Seriously, if you think Chelsea spending was bad, these Sheikhs will blow your mind.

I imagine that they will be spending in one season the same amount that Chelsea have spent over the entire Chelski era.

Its retarded, really. Rich man comes in and tells every club in the world - I want your best player. Here is his rated value, and an extra 20 million pounds just to help your decide. It is totally going to spoil everything that is fun about football. I swear, the season that Manchester City wins the premier league is the season I stop watching it. Bring on the La Liga.

Now will be the perfect time to introduce the foreign player cap. Do it next season as a big fuck you to all these rich bastards who think that a football league is their playground to have a bit of fun.

And the Brits are sitting there and taking it like a bunch of pussies. Man City fans parading in the streets in their Arab headwear. Well, fuck you, you bunch of sell-outs. Fuck you and your new Arab masters. Have fun being hypocrites, worshipping them on one hand and condemning their most fundamental idealogies on the other.

Hahaha! RPK got blocked.

I used to think that the Badawi administration weren't afraid of a little royal pain in the ass (pun intended) called Raja Petra. Now I know that they really are shitting their pants.

They blocked his website. There was a directive to all local ISPs to do so. Of course, there will be the usual excuses about sedition and all, but seriously? Blatant censorship? I didn't think it would actually come to this.

I really, really had no idea that RPK was such an annoyance to the government. There is a line that you don't cross unless absolutely desperate. The backlashes from such a ban are obvious. I can almost see the BBC article now. And of course its going to affect our transparency rating. But like in Maslov's hierarchy of needs, survival always comes first. (Okay, I know food and sex comes before safety, but you get the idea). Upholding freedom of speech only makes sense if your ricebowl isn't threatened.

There are only two explanations to this.
1. The administration thinks its safety is threatened.
2. The painfully short sighted policies that have so far infested the lower levels of administration in this country have crept upwards and nested.

Yep, we have reached a new low. But hey, I don't even read RPK, so why do I care right? The government is just openly doing now what they have been sneakily doing since forever. Good on you Badawi! At least now you have the nuts to say, "Watch me do it! I am not ashamed or afraid!" Although following that up with, "What you going to do about it, punk?" might now be the best of ideas, given the current climate.

Bad move, guys. But who am I to say, eh? I'm just an apathetic and inconsistent blogger with a tiny readership and a very incomplete picture of the politics in this country.

Family guy?

I hate this guy so much I feel like exploding. He embodies chaos, the thinking that you can get away with anything as long as your intentions are good. Or if you are completely oblivious to the evils of your actions. The "I don't think, I just do" kind of mentality. Essentially saying that its ok to act like a big baby even though you are 40 years old with kids. What makes its worse is that he is always forgiven no matter what he does. What the fuck is that about? People like him should be quartered, minced and fed to cockroaches.



I absolutely adore this kid. He has to be the cutest attempted dictator in the world. Mum walks up to new neighbour and introduces Stewie to the new guy on the block. Kid looks up at him and glares. "Bow before me!" You just have to love him.

How does one show have both the most despicable character in the history of cartoons and the most amusing little bugger ever?

Quiet contemplation.

Lost in thought. Such a picture of peace, but you can somehow sense the turmoil within. Or is it just me?

The Shield.

An old man with wire frame glasses sat at the desk, staring intently at the notes that lay before him. In one hand, he held his pencil which occasionally moved to scribble some little note on the already messy papers. In the other, he had the bottle of cheap alcohol that he always kept in in drawers. The air in the room was dank and moist. The only illumination came from a lamp on the desk he was working on. He seemed absorbed in his work, not noticing the distinct chill that the air had, nor the annoyingly persistent sounds of the dripping faucet in the attached bathroom. This was his world. The very place that gave birth to the scourge that I was here to destroy.

"Working late again, I see," I said.

He didn't reply. He just stared straight at his papers and kept mumbling under his breath. If he had heard me, he didn't show it. I repeated my statement.

"I heard you the first time. I merely assumed that my ignoring of your obvious observation would be ample evidence that I have nothing to say to you, nor am I remotely interested in what you may have to say to me," he replied.

"Charming as always, Arthur. You know, not everyone thinks that your smart mouth is cute. If you kept it clammed up a bit more, I suspect you would not have driven away those women that were insane enough to even give you half a chance."

"I am well aware of my alleged character deficiencies, Cassandra. Unless you are here to proposition me with a night of passion, I suggest you leave me to my work."

I smiled. "I don't think either one of us wants that, Arthur."

"Really? I always imagined you would look rather nice underneath me. Of course, you could go on top if that's what rocks your boat, but my imagination always puts you firmly between me and the poor creaking mattress."

"You know why I'm here, Arthur."

"Of course I do. And you already know what I'm going to say. You know your coming here is pointless, but you just had to go through the motions so you can tell yourself that you did something." He was facing me as he spoke now, his eyes staring straight at me as if he was trying to bore a hole in my skull with his gaze.

"You are going to help me Arthur."

"Am I? A bit presumptuous aren't you? Tell me, Cassandra. Why would I suddenly decide to do something that I have refused to do for the past 40 years? My conviction of the evils that lie outside are still as strong today as they have always been. I have no reason to listen to you."

I bit my lip. He was being a pain in the ass, as I knew he would be.

"And yet you are talking to me, Arthur. My presence here is still worthy of your attention. What do you think that means?" I retorted.

He chuckled. "Mind games! Lovely!"

There was a pause. "You think that I feel guilty about building that shield? You think that I have changed my mind?" He shook his head.

"You weren't even born when I drew up the designs. You have no idea," he continued.

"The necessity of the shield was brought into question even then Arthur. I've read the parliamentary transcripts. There were those that opposed you alarmist reaction to the 'evil' posed by the rest of the world." I wasn't about to let his squirm away.

"Alarmist? My observations were sound and if it weren't for your stupid press and their ridiculous spin, I'd still have a good number of people believing in the greater good of this shield. How do you think the city's prosperity from the past 20 or so years came about? You think we would have grown so well if we weren't so well isolated from the filth that live outside?" He was getting angry now.

"The filth you talk about seem to be doing pretty well themselves. I don't see why they would be holding us back," I said.

Another pause. "Look, Arthur. We are going to break the shield whether you like it or not. I'm just offering you the chance to help us minimize the casualties that will be incurred when we do it. The desire to break out is becoming overwhelming, and someone might just do something stupid. Like lob a nuke at the damn thing. You know what would happen if someone did that don't you? Do you want that kind of blood on your hands?"

I continued. "You built it a long time ago. It has long outlived its usefulness. Its a dangerous relic of an isolationist past. Let it go, Arthur. Help us bring it down."

I moved over to him and straddled his lap. Giving him a crooked smile, I whispered in his ear, "You know where to find me if you change your mind."

I probably left him in a pool of drool and I felt a bit dirty inside for doing what I just did. But it didn't matter. It was all for the greater good.

What happens in my head.

Well, I'm not exactly going to talk about everything that goes on in my head. No. That would be much too disturbing.

You know there are certain thoughts in your head that are just taboo. You know, stuff that is in your brain, but your consciousness will never acknowledge exists. Its a condition that I frequently call self delusion. I'm guilty of that to some extent, but thankfully not to the point where people around me get worried enough to want to forcibly snap me out of it.

Well, my brain has a very weird way of shutting out all these unpleasant thoughts. I think I'll call it the ninja reflex.

Everytime I come across something I don't want to think about anymore, I think of violent sword fights.

I know. Its ridiculous, and I have no explanation for it. When I drift off and suddenly arrive at the memory of some embarrassing moment that I have had in my life, my brain takes over and shows me scenes of sword fights. Its quite an international affair, really, so the ninja reflex might not be that appropriate a name. The blades come from all kinds of popular culture that we see. Japanese, old english, high fantasy. They are all there. No curved Arabian blades so far though.

I'm not sure what this means. I'm not even sure I care what it all means. It probably explains why my metaphorical fiction stories are so graphic and violent. Those stories normally provoke memory of unpleasant emotion and fear.

So yeah. I'm a sadistic little arse-head. So there.

Prostitution is legal in Malaysia.

For all practical purposes at least. I suppose this discovery is one that came with a mixed bag of emotions. Mostly cynical vindication at the kind of hypocrisy that this stands for mixed with a tinge of surprise, mirth and a little bit of sadness.

Remember all those Hollywood cop movies where the hardest part about taking out organized crime is finding the locations? I used the believe that was partially the case in this country, but then I discovered the locations of all these 'hot-beds of crime' on the internet. Took me all but 5 minutes. Talk about being untouchable enough to flaunt your presence. Pft.

Makes me wonder about those vice-raid pictures I have been seeing all this while. I suppose those pimps forgot to pay their monthly dues. Heh.

Saya anti-rasuah my ass.

Please use Gtalk.

Okay, I know a lot of you already use it, so this post is not directed to you.

But for those who don't, I'm begging of you, make the switch. Its not that hard. I think Gmail is the least invasive of all the email providers, (meaning they ask you the least questions). The process is fast and relatively painless.

If you need more reasons, gmail is run by google which stands for not being evil. Windows live messenger is run by Microsoft, the giant evil corporation that was slapped with a bunch of anti trust suits in Europe.

Gtalk is infinitely more stable, meaning it will be less likely to dc you in the middle of a conversation. So if you use ixora's line, you know what to do. (Hint hint) =P

GTalk's installer is really small, meaning it can be installed really quickly on any new computer, or freshly reformatted one. Windows live messenger is like 50 MB.

GTalk saves all your chats in your mailbox, meaning you can access it anytime.

Gmail owns hotmail in every aspect.

I can go on, but I really don't want to sound like a long winded google fanboy.

So switch already! Then I'd be able to talk to you people a lot easier. Oh and if you have Gtalk, but haven't added me, please do. blad3wing@gmail.com.

Ten jew berry mud.

I need help.

If any of you happen to know anyone who studies geography, could you please give me a heads up? Actually, if you know anyone in public universities, it would be really nice if your could ask them if any of their friends study geography.

I'm badly in need of a consult for my FYP. Successful leads will earn dinner on me. =)

Thanks.

Some hippie article in some newspaper.

Picture of a newspaper article condemning the Vietnam war.

Swearing in a newspaper. Didn't think I'd see the day. lol

Yes, a political debate happened in Malaysia. Guess what? I don't care.

Okay, so I have gotten a good number of people getting excited over the debate that happened between Anwar and the information minister, and they were all somewhat puzzled by my lack of interest. And because I don't really see a reason to be surprised at all, I'm writing this.

What happened in the recent election wasn't a political tsunami to me. Sure, I got all excited over the results, but that was because I didn't think that something like that would happen. Once reality set in, however, the outlook changed somewhat for me. I see Malaysia going back to the way it was eventually.

Personally, the change that everyone is talking about is overhyped. The reason I say this is because all the avenues that allowed for Mahathir to rule the way he did still exist. They were not exercised this election around, for one reason for another, but I really see no reason why the oppression of the past will not return in the near future. (In about 2 years if you believe our holy leader)

My personal sentiments are not particularly patriotic, and thats because I'm pretty cynical about this. The odds don't look good for the pro-'competent democracy' camp.

And yes, I am getting very tired of all the mudslinging that has been going on. The conspiracy theories are all very interesting, but there is only so much of slander and name calling that I can take.

I suppose the difference between me and the rest of the Malaysian blogsphere is that I never really paid much interest to all this to begin with, so I have very little interest to lose.

Meh

Castfire, you suck.

Whoever you are, wherever you might be based. The fact that you have somehow gotten the escapist to show all its zero punctuation in your prissy format is really pissing me off.

Because 99% of the time it doesn't load. Yeah, sure, maybe I have some settings wrong. But if you player doesn't work on my browser, then it sucks. Because then it wouldn't work on many other browsers seeing that I don't go tweaking around with my settings and everything is basically on default.

I don't care if your's is faster or is more efficient or is sharper than the others. I hate it, coz it is broken.

Can't we just have things in youtube? God damn it.

Like a little boy.

Thats me when they announced Diablo 3.

Blood haze on Centre Court

I stared at the other end of the court, glancing at the icy composure of my opponent. He had good reason to be calm. He was two sets up and on his way to winning the third very comfortably. Shoulders slightly hunched, legs apart, he stood ready to return whatever I could throw at him. It was almost like he was challenging me to give him my best shot. I grasped the ball in my sweaty palm, trying to tame my nerves. I was serving to stay in the game, and I knew that I needed to come up with something special to get past the legend that stood before me.

But I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. It never is against him. Three before me had tried and failed spectacularly, every one of them sent home with their tails between their legs. And I wouldn’t even say that I’m particularly good at the game. I was fast becoming one of those Kournikovas. Plenty of potential, but never actually gets there. And it was pissing me off. The thought of what I would read in the tabloids tomorrow made me want to fling my racket at the unsuspecting cameraman that sat at the side of the court. I knew it wasn’t his fault, but he worked in the same newspapers as those nasty writers, and that made them accomplices.

I stared at the sky for a moment, as if hoping for diving intervention. As I leveled my gaze again, I saw it. The one thing that could rile me up like nothing else can. My grip on the ball and racket tightened reflexively, my fingernails digging into my palms. My breathing quickened and my pulse started racing. I didn’t really feel like playing anymore at that point, but I knew that I needed to see the match through. I wanted to throw up on the grass I was standing on. And any moment now, the umpire was going to ask me to get on with the game. Further delay would get me into a lot of trouble.

So I served. But this time, it was different. It was like all the passion and festering frustration that I felt for the figure that now sat in the stands was channeled into the ball. My opponent threw himself across the court, but to no avail. He didn’t have a chance. Ace.

I wasn’t thinking anymore. I just played. Shuffling across the baseline to the other side of the court, I tossed the ball. I could feel the ball bounce cleanly off the strings as my overhead swing made contact. Another screamer, but he was much too good to be aced twice in a row. He was at full stretch as he returned the service. Seeing my chance, I moved forward. The ball came back short and I smashed it into the ground, making sure it would second bounce somewhere in the spectator stands.

Thirty - love. The crowd was stirring a little. I could hear my own heartbeat pounding in my chest. Without realizing it, I was gritting my teeth. I felt like I had a demon in me and I was having some kind of blood haze. A state that can only be corrected with liberal swathes of blood-letting. Whatever I saw just now was still there, unknowingly baiting me to new levels of aggression.

I didn't like what I was becoming, but I didn't really have a choice. Struggling to keep my composure, I sent another stinging serve across, leaving my opponent dumbfounded. I was back in it.

Now all I needed to do was not to kill him literally. And hope the bloodhaze passes before it causes any lasting damage.

Rumblings of doom.

The grassland was a picture of peace, the rolling hills covered by soft tufts of green. A soft wind blew across the plains, scattering the dandelion seeds into a cloud of yellow. Jackson sighed. "The calm before the storm," he thought to himself. The day almost seemed too perfect to spoil, yet he knew it would be.

He shifted about in his suit of armour. The metal plates had served him well over the years, and despite the shining sheen having disappeared to be replaced by dents and scratches, he still wore them with pride. His shield was equally battered, the metal edges notched my the blows of war axes. Jackson took a deep breath and looked around him. His friends and blood brothers stood beside him, all similarly suited and armed, staring at the space ahead of them. No one said anything. There was no need to. They were all waiting.

A distant rumbling signalled the end of the wait. They all knew what the sound meant. The horde was approching. As they drew closer, the sound of the wardrums being beatenbecame clearer, the bloodcurling screams of their green skinned adverseries growing louder.

It wasn't the first time he found himself facing a sight so terrifying. He had fought battles before, and he knew what would entail this one. And while he had always faced such a situation with the grim determination of a patroit defending his home, it was different this time. The sounds of war were no longer a rallying cry for him. They sounded like a death knell. He could tell, just by hearing the sounds before a battle, if it would be won or lost. And he knew it would take a miracle of sorts for him to come out of this one triumphant.

The signs were there. His instincts had spoken.

And still, he refused to listen.

Don't want to think about it.

I think I've just reached a new phase in life. One where I'm willing to let go. Control is nice, but its not always the best thing to try and do. Some situations really are like clay; the harder you grasp, the more of it slips out.

I'm not sure if I know what I'm doing. I don't normally sweep problems under the carpet. Not willingly, anyway. But even as I do that now, I don't really think I care that I'm breaking one of the most sacred of rules that I live by.

If its important enough, I normally grab the problem by the scruff of the neck and try and wrestle it into submission. My current response seems to be to let it be and go have tea while it resolves itself. Naturally, I'd butt in once in a while to steer it along. But I'm almost resigned to the idea that the problem is beyond me and trying is pointless. Its not only pointless, it will only make things worse.

I'm not used to doing this. The sense of helplessness is quite crippling. At least in the past I busied myself with throwing myself against an unmovable stone wall. Even if it didn't achieve anything, it gave me the illusion that I was doing something about the problem.

Now, I shrug at the stone wall, turn around and plant a tree or two. Ultimately, the latter is the more productive, but it sure is harder to do. The offending wall chews at my consciousness everytime I dig a hole or water a sapling.

I don't know what it is. Its not anger or annoyance or depression. Maybe its much worse. Maybe its defeatism.

Random fiction.

The shouting from within the chamber was too much to bear for Snayph. He had to walk out; another minute of that rabble about the most inconsequential things would have snapped his nerve and driven him berserk. And that would have been really ugly. Flexing his considerable muscles, he strode towards the window. Unlatching the lock, he pushed it open, admitting the cool evening breeze. He could see most of the city from where he stood; such was the size and height of the building that he worked from. People feared his organization, and for good reason. They were the true Kings of Alanar, not Cedric III. Their military arm dwarfed the Alanarian defenders. They had superior numbers, better weapons, better training, and most importantly, better intelligence. That would be a given, since his organization started out as the espionage division of the government. Normally, spies content themselves with the trade of information. They uncover and sell secrets, make a nice tidy sum and then move on to the next juicy piece of news.

But Jackson Borelaran wasn't a typical spy. He had big ambitions, and the skill to back them up. With careful manipulation and a generous stroke of luck, Jackson turned the organization from a shadow at the mercy of the King to the shadow that had a dagger at the King's throat. But he remained true to the artform that brought him such power, and declined to take the throne for himself. He contented himself to rule from the behind the curtain, interfering only when he felt he needed to. He did however, surround himself with advisors, his shortcomings in administrative matters quite obvious to him. Those very advisors were bickering in his chamber now, not being able to decide if the city needs to do something about the rat infestation.

Snayph was no politician. In fact, he had a distinct distaste for politicians, believing them to be all talk and no action. He was born into a farm household that observed strict discipline and little room for negotiations. His father had taught him to respect authority, and those lessons served him well when he joined that shadow regime's training academy. He graduated a firm teacher favourite, earning praise and prophecies of greatness from those he had worked with. He quickly made it up the ranks till finally, he sat at the council as Jackson's strong arm.

He didn't know why he had been summoned to the council in the first place. He was only ever summoned when his presence was absolutely necessary. Today, they were talking about a rat problem, hardly the kind of situation that Snayph would consider a security crisis. So, in the confusion of all the shouting in the chamber, he slipped out to the relative quiet of the hall outside.

"You think I wouldn't notice you leave the room, Snayph?" The sudden emergence of a voice from behind him startled Snayph. He spun around to see the dimunitive figure of Jackson standing behind him. He was hunched as always, and walked with a funny gait. He had picked up that habit some years ago to lull his enemies into a false sense of security when facing him. The trickery served him well.

Blink

1. A reflex of your eye to clear out dust particles and irritants that have settled on your cornea. Characterized by rapid opening and closing of eyelids.

2. A metaphor used to describe a very short period of time.

3. A term popularized by Blizzard to denote teleportation over short distances. First appeared in the Night Elf Warden. (I think)

4. A book about the 'power of thinking without thinking'. Provides insight to the human subconscious.

5. Shorthand for a very annoying piece of a Magic deck. Designed as a mostly defensive tool, it became one of the most annoying things that I came up against at the Magic Nationals.

This house believes that All-Asians motions pwned AUDC motions.

I looked at the motions for both tournaments. The Asians motions were mostly brilliant. Nicely balanced, and potentially explosive motions. AUDC motions were dry, political, and symptomatic of the mindset that brought to the birth of the AUDC in the first place. They had 3 motions related to conditional aid. 3! Sure, they were to be debated under different contexts, but at least show some form of imagination. There is so much more to the art of argument than just world issues.

Here are a few of the Asians motions that actually got me wide eyed and wanting to debate.

THBT humanity will not reach the 22nd Century. Duh. Of course I'd love to debate this. I've been building the case file since I began forming logical thoughts.

THW not eat whales and sharks. How is that for a motion. I'd love to do this value judgment.

THBT standardized testing is the enemy of learning. Anti-establishment motion! And totally related to students at that!

TH prefers need based higher education scholarships to affirmative action in admissions. Malaysian university quota systems!

THW require all elementary and secondary schools to include debating in the curriculum. Need I say more?

The semifinal theme was Buddhism! Dude!

THBT the Dalai Lama uses his position for personal gain.
THBT all Buddhist orders should ordain woman as monks.
THBT non-violent Buddhist social movements do not lead to social change.

How cool is that? How many people know enough about Buddhism to debate? No one really cares about what Buddhism stands for, and it has never been a debate before. The second and third motion would require at least some basic understanding of the workings of Buddhism. Which is totally cool considering how everyone seems to need to have a basic understanding of Christianity and Islam in debates before this, but never about any other religion.

The south Asians seem to be having all the damn fun. =S

Sigh.

The male crisis.

I have spent the greater part of my 'stare into space' time wondering if the male crisis actually exists or not, and I always find something better to do soon after. The question simmers until I come across something that will remind me of this nagging concern. Every so often, a social commentary piece will appear before me and ask me to wonder again.

Men like damsels in distress. They like to have a clearly defined role and to stick to it. I suppose when they swoop in to rescue a poor helpless waif from a burnt lightbulb, they feel needed and are imbued with some sense of purpose. Which explains why many women respond accordingly. But then again, the wave of feminism seems to have changed some of that, and strong independent women have come along and lived quite happily. To that, some men have responded, changing some old ways to fit with the new woman. But only some.

The problem with this situation is that the two scenarios are complete opposites of one another. And I have witnessed some clashes between the two and it can get quite ugly. And it has made it just that much harder for people to hook up. I suppose with the dissolving of social class barriers to marriage in most places around the world, something else will have to take its place.

Remember that typical single, but approaching 40 woman griping about how all the good men are either gay or married? Well, thats because their selection pool is the minority. I suspect there are more women happy to embrace the new empowered female identity than there are men willing to put up with it. There is now an inherent imbalance between the two. And old fashioned, archaic men who insist on having a subservient woman are making up for the deficit in the number of women in their pool by buying their brides from overseas. How better to control something than to be able to say that you own it? (by the merit of you having bought it).

Those are the extremes. Then there are those that straddle the fences. Some that have decided that they want the best of both worlds. And they change their mind all they time. Finding a level of independence that you are comfortable with and sticking to it is a perfectly reasonable way of straddling the line. But flip flopping from one end of the scale to the other is going to get you nowhere. You cannot be helpless and dependent one minute, and dominant and in total control the next. Thats like having a mild case of multiple personalities.

I touched something similar in my feminist's worst nightmare post. You simply cannot call yourself a feminist if you enjoy subjecting yourself to sexist ideas.

Admittedly, most people never actually 'think so much' about something as petty as this. But I think the problem is real. Realizing who you are, what you stand for, and what you want in life is more important than people are willing to admit.

Random rant.

Okay, lets just get through the usual motions. I need to put up my usual disclaimers here. I'm not talking about anyone in particular, or any one experience in particular. This is a random rant brought on by what I suspect is a hormonal imbalance fueled by some insecurities and some disturbing revelations. So if you think I'm talking about you, I'm not. Don't perasaan.

For some reasons, there are activities that are considered universally enjoyable by humans, and young humans in their twenties in particular. So the general perception is that people who do not enjoy the same things that everyone else enjoys is a repressed loser. It is inconceivable for the majority that their favourite pastimes are not enjoyed by others.

I suppose its because the enjoyment of these activities is almost primeval. (no, I know what you are thinking. I'm not talking about sex) Since our primeval instincts are the ones that we can most readily identify with, it becomes almost blasphemous to live on the idea that there are some people out there whose neurons are networked in such a way that makes such experiences unpleasant instead of orgasmic. (Again, I'm not talking about sex. Its a figure of speech)

At this point, most of you are probably wishing that I get to the bloody point and say what I have to say. The funny thing is, I feel like I'm being bound by some literary chains that are telling me that my writing is probably going to alienate people from me. But then again, what I'm railing about all this while is so ingrained into the observable society that I'll probably be written off as a bitter loser who just doesn't get it. And as much as I would like to say that I do get it, no one will believe me, because the assumption is that, if I did understand, I wouldn't be writing this post in the first place. Confusing isn't it? Circular logic normally is.

Let me first introduce you to pet peeve number one. Alcohol. Actually, its more like getting high in general. I think this is where the problem is the worst. Sure, drinkers respect people who don't drink, but the respect comes from the assumption that there are external factors that are stopping the person from drinking. 'Religion says cannot' is a favourite, followed closely by 'parents won't approve'. Drinkers tend to assume that barring all repressive cultural influence, non-drinkers will be downing shots like there is no tomorrow. In a sense, non-drinkers are prudes. Its like how I tend to assume that given free will, Asian children will not allow their parents to dictate every aspect of their lives. I know its an unfair assumption to make, and in the same way, assuming that a non-drinker is lying when he or she says 'I don't like the feeling of getting high' is unfair. It won't stop them from thinking that though.

The same reasoning applies to clubbing. I have found people who genuinely dislike loud thumping music and flashing lights. And one common complaint that I have heard from them is that everyone else seems to think that they are losers with no life. Clubbers cannot even begin to understand why anyone would not want to sway rhythmically to catchy beats. (Yes, I'm trying very hard to be nice, as is evident in my choice of words). Again, in this case, people who don't subscribe to that school of thought are written off as pussies who don't dare give it a go. At risk of contextualizing this a little too much, I have tried it out. And I can conclude that it blows. Probably not as much as, say being held captive by a World War 2 Japanese general. But as something that I would willingly put myself through, it ranks pretty low.

Yes, I'm being judgmental, and a lot of you will be up in arms and pointing your fingers at someone else, trying very hard to convince yourself that you would never do such a thing. Here is the kicker : You Do. And it not a particularly bad thing, I do it too. I admitted one scenario in which I make liberal assumptions about the history and reasoning of an entire demographic group and come up with conclusions that are likely to be as untrue as they are unfair. If you think that you don't, thats because you have convinced yourself that you believe in the politically correct opinion. Thats lying to yourself.

And yes, I have just made many assumptions about you, dear readers. I am in actual fact, ranting about myself, which isn't really a smart thing to do and an even less smart thing to admit to doing. But I am having such a blast writing this very convoluted post.

And now I'm all out of ideas. So I bid you adieu.

Depressing truth - food being wasted

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/7389351.stm

5500 chickens thrown away a day?

1.3 million pots of yogurt disposed of in a day?

That is just one country.

=(

Empowerment?

Call me old fashioned, but I find the ideas of female empowerment to be a little strange. There are aspects of some feminist movements that don't really make any sense to me.

I forgot where I read it, but one article once claimed that women will only be truly empowered if they are truly equal to men. Meaning they get to do whatever men do, and not be judged for it. The more provocative of the ideas behind that theory is that women should be able sleep around, wear whatever they want, and feel good about doing it. In a very convoluted kind of way, it does make some sense. Not making assumptions about a person's morality and way of life based on their lifestyle choices is giving that person the benefit of the doubt. That entails a certain level of respect for that person's autonomy, and ultimately, a recognition of individuality.

So, some women have gone out of their way to prove that point. I'm not sure that I fully understand the point that they are trying to make, but it is something that I can let slide. The funny thing is, some people are using the same argument to justify TV shows in the US that are clearly demeaning to women.

I was reading this book recently (I forgot the title, I forgot the author) about the direction that the female consciousness was taking as a whole. The first chapter talked about this show called 'Girls gone Wild' that featured very happening girls flashing for the cameras, all in the name of getting the special GGW T-shirt and hat. The author visited the set and found the girls clamouring for a chance to show themselves off the the rest of the country. That show has achieved brand recognition, and everywhere the crew goes, the girls turn up in droves. One particularly attractive one masturbated for the camera.

When asked why they were doing this, the standard reply was, "Its just a little bit of fun". More articulate girls then justified the show by using the above argument of empowerment. They say that they are just doing as forward thinking feminism encourages them to.

There are important differences. Actually, there is one overwhelming obvious difference; the end goal. The feminists were doing this for themselves. They had sex because they wanted to have sex. They showed cleavage because it made them feel good. The intentions were selfish. It was me, me and me. Their ego was all that mattered.

The GGW girls are not doing it for their own pride now are they? They are doing it to please the guys, the kind of work that a stripper does. I don't have anything against stripping to make a living, but you can't exactly say that it is empowering now can you? How exactly is doing something that panders to the whims of others empowering? Unless you mean those manipulative housewives who manage to stroke their husbands ego, but have him by his balls at the same time. But thats a different scenario altogether.

Putting yourself in Hustler and Loaded, knowing full well what men are thinking when they see those pictures is not empowerment. Its neo-slavery.

This guy makes me feel lame.

In a good way, of course. Strange how stimuli for me to do something with my life only seems to be coming to me as I approach my final year. Makes me a rue all the lost time.

Oh well, there is always the rest of my life. =)

It shouldn't matter.

Breathe. Exhale. You'll be alright.

I thought I hated Chelsea.

I did. I thought it was the club that I hated. But now I know that I hate only one person. Didier Drogba.

He is the very embodiment of all that is wrong with humanity. He is petty, vindicative and such a bitch that a teen queenbee will be hard pressed to out-bitch him. If it wasn't for his incredible skill with the football, I don't think anyone would even put up with him.

Micheal Ballack probably hates him. Referees probably hate him too. I mean when you get some really ostentatious, muscle bound giant in your face everytime you make a slightly debatable decision, I think you would get annoyed too.

Most of all, he is arrogant. He must have his way, or he will kick up a big fuss. It is the same kind of behaviour that we see on Super Sweet 16. If someone kills his football career, I'm sure he will be able to find work at some Ivorian soap opera. He is plenty talented in that area. Some argue that he has a right to be arrogant. That doesn't change the fact that he doesn't have to be. We generally don't see Ronaldo or Fabregas make a complete pain of themselves. I remember them because of their football. I remember Drogba because he makes himself such a pain in the neck.

He is one of those people that think his abilities should compensate for everything. Maybe to Chelsea, it does. As long as he keeps scoring, they will put up with his crap. But every neutral I know seems to think that Drogba can shove the football up his arse.

Benitez was an idiot for starting a war of words with him. Drogba isn't worth anyone's time, especially not a manager's. But I think that outburst only underlines the contempt that Rafa has for Drogba. I'm sure he wished he can say everything that I am writing here in a press conference and smile as every journalist in the room nods in recognition of the truth that no one says out in the open. But because he can't character assassinate Drogba the way that I am doing now, he does the next best thing. He attacks the footballer's character on pitch and calls him a cheat.

Chelsea isn't evil. There are plenty of good people there. On the surface, at least. But one Drogba is enough to turn the club into Satan's vessel.

Disebabkan setitik nira, rosak susu sebelanga. Perfect way to describe this.

My faithful friend.

If there is a song that can make me feel for the singer, I think this has to be it. It starts slow, so you might want to wait a bit before you write it off. =)

Does America need a democracy?

I find the principles of democracy strangely amusing now. I like the ideas, but there are bits about the world that point to democracy being sub-optimal as a form of governance.

I was forwarded this article in the Time magazine recently that discussed the Democratic party in-fighting that some analysts say are going to cost them the presidency. That may be true, but the bit about the article that really got me thinking was the part when they started looking into the tactics that both candidates employ.

Obama projects the calm, collected, and controlled persona. He avoids using negative campaigning and has an almost detached feel from the rest of the country. And apparently, its costing him dear. "In his 1991 book, The Reasoning Voter, political scientist Samuel Popkin argued that most people make their choice on the basis of "low-information signaling" — that is, stupid things like whether you know how to roll a bowling ball or wear an American-flag pin." Obama tried a different tactic. He tried to see the bigger picture and deal with the biggest problems that Americans are facing. But the Philadelphian people were not interested. Apparently, the debate that he was involved in recently "will go down in history for the relentless vulgarity of its questions". In short, the American public prefer having one of their own SUV-driving, big mac munching dude next door as their president.

But are they really making the right choice? I honestly don't think the average American understands the state of their country at the moment. And I also think that if they did understand, they would care a lot more about their national healthcare policy than flag pinning or bowling balls. But democracy works by giving the power to the people. My question is, what if the people don't know what they are doing?

I know that I am taking a very dangerous line here. I know that I have no right to tell a polygamist red neck how to live his life, or what to believe in, or who to vote for. Who is to say that my line of thinking is superior to their's? But I also know that there is an information imbalance in this case. Unless of course, the American people intentionally choose to not take the war in Iraq and their battered economy seriously, which is too weird to even contemplate.

In the end, this is how I see it. In America, the questions they should be asking are 'Can he help our economy?' or 'What does he want to do to our health system?' But the questions that they are instead asking are 'Does he like barbecued pork ribs?' and 'Does he own a pick up truck?'. It is pretty damn obvious to me that the first two questions are far more important, but for some reason, are brushed aside in favour of the third and forth ones. It is in their best interests for the people to vote based on the big issues, but they are choosing not to.

Can we still say that democracy represents the best interest of the people?