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. =)
Monday, November 10, 2008
Monday, October 27, 2008
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.
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.
"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.
Thursday, October 23, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
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.
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.
Sunday, October 05, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, October 04, 2008
Thursday, October 02, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 20, 2008
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Monday, September 15, 2008
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.
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.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, September 12, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
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.
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.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
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.
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.
Monday, August 18, 2008
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?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Quiet contemplation.
Lost in thought. Such a picture of peace, but you can somehow sense the turmoil within. Or is it just me?
Thursday, August 07, 2008
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.
"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.
Monday, August 04, 2008
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