'nuff said

i'm fine

I was, anyway. Fined, that is. For the very first time in my life. For parking without a ticket. I was visiting my grandmother, for goodness sake! And they say the government supports cohesive families. I could have been fined for a million other things I've done -- littering, jaywalking, smuggling, stealing, beating a red light, etc. Any of those things. But they chose to fine me for parking at a barely occupied carpark in the middle of a weekday at my grandma's. Grrr. Broke my never-been-fined record. Now I'll always be fined.

PLAYLIST

Hurt -- Johnny Cash

Heaven Sent -- Keyshia Cole

Used To Love You -- John Legend

Empty Walls -- Serj Tankian

Viva la Vida -- Coldplay

don't mess with the livni

Ex-Mossad Agent, Zippi Livni, Poised To Become Next Israeli PM

Cool name. Although one question remains: is she a good hairdresser?

deconstruction of self

Okay, one hour after my last post and I'm already described as being overly-negative about everything. That people younger than me posting violent videos of their helpless victims being repeatedly kicked in the head, or that demented souls who are inclined to blow themselves up into smithereens at crowded places, or that we are consuming non-renewable energy at an exponential rate and giving back the Earth nothing but mountains of waste and tons of carbon dioxide pollution every single day, or that two billion people living in the 21st century are constantly a pocketful of change away from utter indigence, shouldn't affect me because they don't affect me in any direct way.

Well, I can't apologize for always seeing the bigger picture because it's not my fault. And I think these things should affect me in some way, or I'll be living in my own world of indulgence and obscene luxury -- and looking at that from the outside, it just seems unthinkable. Selfish. Depraved. It's just plain wrong.

And really, it's not my fault. Blame it on the chemicals in my head sloshing around and telling me what to think. What, you think I can control my right brain to work less and let my left brain be the dominant side? In fact, my male brain has a diminished corpus callosum compared to, say, most of the readers of this blog (whom I like to think are mostly female). Which means I can't switch between being moody and analytical as quickly.

And I can't help it if the left inferior gyrus of my frontal lobe cortex -- better known as Broca's area to the initiated -- is just itching to say something when confronted with such horrors of the world. Better than keeping quiet, I should think (I'm not sure which part of my brain is telling me that).

And them chemicals, them neurotransmitters, there's never enough of what I need, and there's always more of what I don't. For instance, where's the dopamine when I'm upset and depressed about my life? And where's the serotonin when I need to relax and curb my reflexes before I do something stupid?

And my pituitary gland, always so over-active at all the wrong times. Too much myelin around my neurons, and there's no way of knowing whether there's a shortcut between those two, making me susceptible to increasingly morbid bouts of depression. I'm like a 16-year-old again! Where everything is working the wrong way! Makes me feel young.

Okay, I will deconstruct myself more next time (read: blaming everything but myself), because right now someone else needs to use the laptop. Boo-yah!

fun and murder

Here's the fun part: Spider-Man 3 is coming out in two days; Manchester United is creeping closer towards the Premiership crown; I think I'm starting to get the hang of my new camp and it's not so bad after all; Manchester United is also in the semi-finals of the Champions League; and I'm actually moving on from my previous hang-ups. Yippee-kay-yay. Oh yeah, and that's a line from Die Hard, which has yet another sequel coming up, so that's another fun thing among other fun stuff.

Here's the murder part: Kids are brutally beating each other up and putting up their videos on YouTube; the war in Iraq doesn't seem to be letting up on its vicious cycle of death and destruction; global warming is still a big issue, but it seems only now that there is a concerted effort, which begs the question: is it never too late?; suicide bombers don't seem to want to stop, and it still doesn't make any sense where they're going with this; and yeah, basically there's a lot of murder in the world of suck.

I think the murder overwhelms the fun this week, so I'll be going back to my shell.

23

I saw the new Jim Carrey flick and it's not that bad, although it pretty much becomes just another psychological thriller towards the end. The parts are definitely better than the whole, with a very interesting turn for Jim Carrey trying to look intense, lost and crazy all at the same time. He does the "I'm totally lost here" shtick really well (as he always does) and we've always known him to be somewhat unhinged, so the crazy part was convincing enough. It's the intensity that is... well, not really quite there. I think he mistook 'intense' for 'lost and crazy'.

The storyline is rather humdrum, with the reveals not really shocking you so much as giving you a hardly-emphatic "oh, so that's what it is" reaction. The fun is in watching Carrey's mind (and, as a consequence, his life) unravelling as we delve further into his shattered psyche. And also in his determination to convince the audience that he can actually act (not really there yet).

Virginia Madsen, as the wife to Carrey's Walter Sparrow, is also fascinating to watch as she straddles (no pun intended) the dual role of wholesome housewife and vamped-up man-eater. Just watch the movie and you'll understand. She pulls it off really well, although personally I do think there was not enough scenes of her in black lingerie.

I thought the idea of a book taking over your life with numbers was pretty funny; just one of those silly, 'suspension of belief' moments that we all have to bear with when watching a movie or reading a book because without it, there wouldn't be a story. But then halfway through the film, while laughing at the idea, I started making my own calculations...

I was born on the 26th of March, right? That's like 26/3.

And 26 - 3 = 23.

OK, at this point I was still laughing at the silliness of it. But wait, I'm also 23 this year...

And I was born in 1984. That's... hmm... 1 + 9 + 8 + 4 = 22.

Just add one, and you get... 22 + 1 = 23.

And then, starting to freak out now, I looked at the time on my watch and it read 00:23.

Ha ha, funny, right? I wasn't sweating yet, but I felt like I needed a cigarette. I had two packs with me, one opened and one unopened. I was carelessly counting the leftover in the opened pack, and there were three left. Cursing at my chain-smoking ways, I suddenly realised how many cigarettes I had with me.

No. of cigarettes = 20 + 3 = 23.

At this point, I stopped having anything to do with numbers and just concentrated on watching the movie until it ended. I don't believe there's any significance in such minor coincidences, but hey, when you're all alone in a building and it's past midnight and there's a cemetery just across the road, you don't mess with these things. Whatever it is.

I was laughing at myself the next morning for being so easily freaked out, though. It was funny, wasn't it? Should I have tempted fate and just kept on going? I would've missed the film. This side story is just a 'just so you know'.

Anyway, back to The Number 23. Without a doubt the most violent Jim Carrey movie you'll ever see, unless he tries to outdo himself in his next flick. A collaboration with Quentin Tarantino will do the trick. Although I hope he doesn't, because honestly there's just something very unsettling when you see the nonchalant look on Jim Carrey's face as he slits a girl's throat.

PLAYLIST

Man In Black -- Johnny Cash

At The Hop -- Devendra Banhart

The Hardest Button To Button -- The White Stripes

Only This Moment -- Röyksopp

We March As Millions -- Nas

*

forest for the trees

I'm at a loss, because it feels like I'm talking to myself (and God knows I do enough of that in my free time). And even after little to zero creative output of any kind from yours truly for the past several weeks, I'm still at a lost. The human brain is an interesting thing; too bad it's not made use of most of the time.

My fortunate escape from the prison they call an army camp yields nothing except a desire to watch more soccer on TV and a propensity to smoke until my throat is parched. Behind bars, I alternate between hibernating and watching American Idol and Desperate Housewives. And taking smoke breaks, of course. Nothing doing here.

My only opiate left -- cigarettes. There I go again, lighting another cigarette. No love. No life. Anti-social tendencies begin to accumulate. I can no longer sleep with someone else in the same room. I try to limit conversations with others to a bare minimum. I'm starting to dislike everyone I meet. I have nothing much to say to anyone, and even if I do, I don't feel the need to start a conversation. I decline offers to meet new people. I'm not even trying to find something to look forward to. I sometimes forget that eating is a required daily activity.

There I go again, lighting another cigarette. I feel like a child again, sans innocence, energy, and a sense of wonder. We live in a beautiful world, but I can't see past whatever mess I've made of everything. I know I'm going to hell; I just wish they'd make the processing faster. Can someone please take me away?

Or at least do something. Make it all a vanishing act, or a stage. Make me remember things I've never experienced. There I go again, lighting another cigarette. Make it interesting, because life is boring me to death. Or I'm boring myself to death. But then I can't escape myself, can I? I'm really losing it, and at this point I don't really care. Let you entertain me for a change.

Okay, maybe I just need more sleep.

PLAYLIST

The Nobodies -- Marilyn Manson

Use It -- The New Pornographers

Little House Of Savages -- The Walkmen

The Rescue Blues -- Ryan Adams

Cross Bones Style -- Cat Power

*

twiddling thumbs

I won't be able to post anything for the next two weeks at least, because I'll be stuck in my new barracks. Whoopee-frickin'-doo. Twiddling thumbs, that's what I'll do. Just so you know. And today was supposed to be a special day, too. Maybe it's not of any significance to anyone anymore.

(I don't feel it, either.)

coincidence like a kick in the head

I've been meeting quite a number of people recently; some old, some new, some family. Some I don't even remember. And all in the unlikeliest of places. Who woulda thunk it? What a small world, indeed. Sometimes smaller than is privately comfortable, but then again if it was any other way such pleasant surprises would never happen.

In the search for love, a tarot card reading presents me with some very interesting scenarios. Basically, a hundred different mediums can read it in a hundred different ways, and honestly I'm not one to believe in this occultish stuff. I just thought it'd be interesting. The present situation sees me as being Le Mat, or The Fool. I kinda expected that. In the near future, however, justice (La Justice) will prevail. Story of my life, dude. At least, that's how it was supposed to pan out, anyway. Obstacles in my way include fortitude (La Force) for some reason. My own? That is, the lack of it? Hmm...

L'Amoureux is in some way involved with my future energies, so choice is a big factor. And sacrifice too, I'm told. This always happens, but you know, it's so vague anyway. Whatever the case, at least there's temptation and something sensual in it. Sounds like fun. But the best part? The outcome of all this is Le Monde (The World), so in the end I'll be happy and whole. This is a positive sign that I'm in a position to realize my heart's desire. Fulfilled and blessed. Happily ever after. I'm looking forward to that. I hope it doesn't involve turning into a woman and being surrounded by vegetation and some of God's weirder-looking creatures. Because that's what it shows on the card.

PLAYLIST

Easy -- Barenaked Ladies

Hand In My Pocket -- Alanis Morissette

Bang Bang You're Dead -- Dirty Pretty Things

Walking On The Sun -- Smash Mouth

Paper Bag -- Fiona Apple

*

rubber gloves and catheters

So next week will be my last in military medical school, after which they'll shove me somewhere fitting. As always, I'll only know my posting right before I'm posted. A policy that has been long adhered to since perhaps the inception of the Ministry Of Defense. Ergo, no one is actually prepared for where they're going, maybe so we won't have time to protest against going somewhere before we're already there. After which there is no point in protesting. The only thing you can do, really, is to be declared medically unfit -- something I don't see myself doing.

The past fifteen weeks (wow, already?) have been interesting, although mostly unengaging. On the first day, we were given nineteen textbooks to read. Obviously, there are some I haven't even touched. I thought burrowing my nose in books was a thing of the past after getting my diploma (even if university is looming beyond the horizon, it's still a long way off). Also, I think I'm putting on weight. On the bright side of things, I aced most of the tests without much effort. This is turning out to be my mantra (the lack of effort part, not the scoring part).

I would say the hospital attachment sucked big time. The ambulance attachment was one hell of a ride. Everything else was just meh. Incidentally, is it just me or is it the norm for the military to take in surly, obnoxious halfwits with attitude problems to be trained as medics? I'm not one of them, so why am I here? I think I've been put here to be the savior of the medical department, lest everybody loses faith in us.

Much has been learned and forgotten. Much more had been taught, but the schedule clashed with my beauty sleep more often than not. Many friends have been made, and fortunately more than enemies. At least, in my head; most of them probably don't know I hate their guts. I think it's better that way -- I don't have to waste my breath or my time proving I'm right.

I think that's about it, really.

*

PLAYLIST

Bandages -- Hot Hot Heat

Scared -- Albert Hammond Jr.

Another Saturday Night -- Cat Stevens

Hospital Beds -- Cold War Kids

Back in Town -- Everclear

*

work in progress

"Art is never finished... only abandoned."
--Leonardo Da Vinci

spam is the new shit

I have several newfound friends. They have delectably quixotic names, and they speak in indecipherable jargon the likes of which I have never encountered before except in sweet, inchoate dreams of overloaded balderdash. And guess what? They're humanitarians at heart; magnanimous to a fault. Why, they only have my well-being in mind.

For starters, there's Fay Bowman. I presume it's a she, as far as gender can be applied to such non-entities (they're real to me though, these dear friends of mine.) She begins her e-mail with the header: Have on profligate. Which I'm sure means something; I'm just not sure what. She goes on to say: "THE HOTTEST ALERT!!! Promoting sym: GDKI Price $0..."

And the rest, as they say, is history. Or three full stops in a row, anyway, because I don't dare open up the e-mail in case some malevolent virus with a life of its own somehow hooked itself up onto our correspondence. In today's wild, wild world wide web, who knows? Ms. Bowman, of course, has no affiliation with such random viciousness. If only I can make out what exactly she is trying to convey. Perhaps she is selling stuff for cheap. That proves they go the distance for me. Oh, shiny happy friends. You make me smile.

Eve Alvarez, another newfangled acquaintance, makes her stand on her to wainscoat. She goes on to exhort: "This gem is really moveable. Target sym: GDKI blah blah blah..."

I think she is trying to send me the same message. Could it be something prophetic? Is it a warning of an impending doom set to befall this lovely place wherein we live and breathe, this neon-colored monstrosity we call home, i.e. cyberspace? Probable.

Chip Ingersoll is at limeston (that's really far from here, Chip!) selling Viagra and Valium at $1.25 a pop.

Jody "This one will explode" Delgado begins with: To propaganda it saturnine, showing more than a little misguided dependence to poisonous hearsay, and rightfully telling us to steer clear. I'm sure she's a swell person in real life.

Cathleen Parsons proclaims, I of chalcocite, being a die-hard fan of the periodic table and Isaac Asimov's wonderfully clever science fiction novels.

Olga Pitts dreams of He the perfect, while extolling the virtues of a bull market.

Mallory Fox, stuck in an existential conundrum, asks the rhetorical My canvas the inefficient?

Reba Warner ponders in ocean do carbide, while a close associate Cassie Rivera talks about In select to leftmost, whereas Gena Barber thinks his puffery is expressible, being of the more romantically-inclined.

Tameka Oliver, a closet poet, speaks Of fibration it portend.

Ivy Shannon loves political rumors, telling me to pay attention since, according to her, "Bush can't answer that question", due to "harsh criticism" or something (she may be onto something here).

Jerri Elliot, a good friend of mine, tells me to Be chamberlain to procrastinate while she regards the "characters of all the considerable people..." while Mai Schaffer thinks that there's A millions no importunate. As you can probably tell, she's an optimist.

In discussing "growth and the decline of ancient and modern empires", a favorite topic of mine, Marva Fowler starts off with a queer yet endearing, But in mahoney!

Ricky Hardeno writes about "air traffic controllers" and "small airplanes" in his thesis: We know it'll go off tomorrow. You have to admit, that would make an excellent title for a movie. I hope everything is smooth sailing in the wide open skies, Ricky!

Yes, these are people from all walks of life, from all over the world, sharing stories and interests and being sociable to one another, especially to me. I feel so loved in this large and varied community, building strong bonds between brothers and sisters who believe everyone is equal in buying stocks and viagra in gratuitous amounts, all in the name of friendship. They make me feel special like no one else can.

Indeed, my inbox is filled to the brim every single day of the week. Not a cigarette break goes by without some well-wisher or entrepreneurial compatriot surprising me with something sweet, or funny, or new and exciting and out of this world. Don't you wish you had friends like these?

Only, I wonder what happened to those Nigerian millionaires...

gobbledegeek

Bryce Dallas Howard, the girl I fell in love with in The Village, will portray Gwen Stacy, the girl I fell in love with at the age of five, in the upcoming Spider-Man 3 flick. When old school crush meets new wave love, you just know it's destiny in the making. Scarlett Johannson is gonna be sooo jealous. And the transformation is incredible. From demure, anaemic-looking, blind-girl-next-door to full-blown, drop-dead gorgeous party animal.

I can't wait! She has the acting chops to pull it off, as evidenced by the afore-mentioned M. Night Shyamalan film (flawed though it was). And yes, her character in Lady In The Water lacked emotional range, written to express vulnerability and fear throughout the entire film, but she aced looking vulnerable and scared in spades. OK, I'm getting my metaphors mixed up, but that's just because I'm really excited. In the meantime, here are some pictures to whet your appetite:

It's in her eyes. The eyes! The eyes have it! Can you tell? Can you tell? Huh? Huh? Huh? She has the eyes! How can you not fall in love with either of them? No? Yes? Ugh. It's hard to deal with you non-believers...

In other news, have you seen the new Transformers trailer? I have my doubts, no doubt, including but not limited to the choice of Michael Bay as director, who is not known for subtlety. But then I'm thinking: this is a movie about giant robots smashing everything in their paths to have a go at each other, so is there really a need for subtlety? And I especially enjoyed Armageddon in all its abject inanity.

And at least it's not that Van Helsing director, whatsisname, Stephen Sommers or some sort or another. Whatever. If that guy doesn't represent over-the-top, bombastic crock that is the bane of real film-making, then I don't know who does. Michael Bay may not be the best choice, but he's definitely not the worst, either.

And to top it all off, those teenage mutated turtles with ninja training are coming back on the big screen in an animated feature. Oh, and a bunch of superheroes called the Fantastic Four will return too, this time with the Silver Surfer (he's silver, and he travels to far-flung galaxies on a surf board; is that cool or what?!). This is truly the year of the geek. I'm so glad I was born in the 80s.

personal essay

In 300 words or less, write about an event or a person that has had an influence on you.

My father, more than any other, is the person I wish most to emulate. His is the typical rags-to-riches story -- from a small village house with ten other siblings, he has charted his own success on little more than sheer drive and ambition to become a head of state and a leader. And yet he has never forgotten his roots, taking care of the thousands under his charge, listening to their grievances every week at meet-the-people sessions and finding solutions for them whenever he can.

All this, while developing policies in various government departments; tackling nationwide issues such as drugs, censorship, and education; maintaining a presence, debating, and sharing ideas as a member of parliament; and being a good father to five children, to name just a few (and in my opinion, the five children were probably some of the hardest challenges he has had to face).

And after eighteen long years in politics and garnering recognition as a caring and compassionate community leader and a formidable head of state, and gaining immeasurable gratitude from the people, he has stepped down from office to pursue his life-long dream of starting his own business from scratch, and charting his own success yet again.

To say he has been a major influence in my life would be an understatement. Directly or indirectly, his success is the yardstick with which I measure mine. Honorable, tenacious, and always giving while asking nothing in return, he has lived life with few regrets. His legacy will be remembered and aspired to for many years to come. He is, in my opinion, a great man not only because he has overcome great obstacles to realize his dreams into reality, but also because he has been a loving father to me.

That's my personal essay for a university application. Didn't want to take too much time on it, because I find this type of essays trite and unimaginative. So that's what I came up with; just thought I'd share.

big brother is watching

"We do have a saying in America: if you're in a hole, stop digging... erm, I'm not sure I should have said that."
--Donald Rumsfeld

my, what big teeth you have

©Alex Ross

going postal

I have been writing songs in my head, whenever I have free time. Unfortunately, this mostly happens when I'm in camp because I don't waste time contemplating the meaning of life on weekends. Which means I didn't write any of it down somewhere. Which is sad, because it's better than most of the crap they play on the radio. Oh well.

Training will end in about three weeks, after which I'll be posted to some unit or medical center or something. Hopefully it'll be interesting. And hopefully somewhere I won't have people dying or losing their limbs everyday. I don't think I can live with someone dying on me again. Or perhaps after the nth time, I'll be completely desensitized. Neither sounds inviting to me, really. Oh, and no more jokes about CPR from me. Ever. Somehow, it's just not that funny anymore.

I have not been catching any of the new flicks out in cinemas, and I've been missing out on a bunch of good films lately. They'll probably come out on HBO in a few months, but by then nobody would be talking about them anymore. This is primarily because the people I go out to watch movies with have left me stranded (you know who you are!). Ho-hum.

PLAYLIST

Dig -- Incubus

Out Of Exile -- Audioslave

Lovelight -- Robbie Williams

Wise Men -- James Blunt

A Million Ways -- OK Go

*

vote 2008

He's just as qualified as the current one, wouldn't you say?

bringing out the dead

Ever tried bringing someone back to life? Well, it's not easy. And everything becomes a blur, and yet every single moment unfurls in slow motion. For instance, you find her lifeless body on the floor and the first thing you notice is that she's terribly pale and unmoving. Her eyes are dead white, and you realise later that it's because her pupils were upturned -- a pathophysiological sign of a person being dead, or dying. You don't remember her face, not exactly, but you can recall the unnaturally slack jaw on her small countenance, so you must have been looking at her. Looking for any evidence, or hint, or sign, or trace, or indication of life. There were none.

And you panic. You can't think. But you have to do your job; you have to look calm and composed, and you surprise yourself for managing that at least. The sight shocks you, and it jolts you into action. You rush to her aid: you check for the pulse (none!), for breathing (none!), and you trace the rib line to find the exact spot they teach you in medical books and lectures to pound the heart back to life. You hear her mother in the background, and whatever information filters through to your brain makes the situation even harder to comprehend.

She's only 21! A history of heart problems! And you start to think: "What madness is this? I don't belong here!" You feel like you're out of your depth, and you're sinking fast, but it's too late for that now. You have a job to do; you have to bring someone back to life. But her ribs are amazingly sturdy, and you have to push down harder, and notwithstanding whatever they teach you in regards to life over limb, you still fear the sound of ribs cracking under all that pressure. And every compression on her chest makes her head bang slightly against the floor but the senior paramedic is telling you to keep up the pressure so you do as you're told.

Then you notice the other trainee paramedic fumbling with his equipment, and you stop to help the incompetent whelp, and the fool is still rummaging through his bag and looking absolutely lost even though he's been working in an ambulance for, what, four months now, and this is only your second day and the first time you're actually trying to resuscitate somebody. Panic begins to set in again, but you force your way through that cloud and you manage to insert the airway device in her mouth to keep her tongue from blocking the trachea, and you feel like screaming at the idiot trainee to do his part but the senior paramedic is already screaming at you to restart CPR again.

It's all beginning to get messy, and the shot of adrenalin you prepared on the way here is unused because the senior paramedic can't get a vein open, and the defibrillator is completely useless at this point because she has no heartbeat. And so everyone is rushing back to the ambulance downstairs to get her to the hospital, and she's completely limp.

The ride to the hospital feels like forever, and you're still banging on her chest to get a rhythm at least, and you're banging against the inside of the ambulance and you hit your knee against something hard and metal and it starts to bleed. And the ride still feels like forever. Your arms start to get tired, and the senior paramedic is trying to get the IV infusion working, so you tell the other trainee paramedic to take over while you do the oxygen bagging.

As you touch her head to realign the neck, you feel that it's still warm. It's still warm! And there's a feeling of weight being lifted, a glimmer of hope that she can still make it. It's still warm! You pump oxygen into her lungs with renewed vigor, hoping against hope. "Please don't let her die on me," you start pleading to whoever is up there watching this whole thing unfold. Please.

And finally the ambulance stops, and everybody's rushing out and into the A&E. You're still compressing the heart again and again on the stretcher, on the way in. The staff nurse takes over and calls some doctors to the room and your job is done. You pull away, asking yourself if you did the whole thing right, running the events in your head in a loop, questioning your actions in every single detail. The senior paramedic goes to the registration counter to fill up some forms, and you feel like you really need a smoke, but you want to see if she makes it out alive. You're left alone to think, and only then do you remember the throbbing in your left knee.

You walk back to the ambulance to get a band-aid and a print-out from the lifepack machine. And as the ticker-tape paper rolls out, the ECG reading makes it look like there actually was a heart rhythm; the spikes between the flatlines. But that was when you were doing CPR. The rest is flat. So you wait. The senior paramedic tells you this will help in an inquiry; proof that, if she dies, we had tried to help revive her heart on the way to the hospital.

Then you hear someone sobbing, and its her mother. And someone who looks like her sister, she's crying too. Then her father puts his hands to his face, and his body starts to shake. And this young boy, probably her kid brother, and a few other relatives who've just arrived, they start crying too. There's a lump in your throat and your heart starts to feel heavy, like a guilty man about to face the gallows.

And that's when you know she's dead.

riding dirty

Hope is starting to become a bad word for me. As Terry Pratchett so eloquently puts it, Hope is the Greatest Gift. And that's that. So what's the point? New year's resolution: to live without hope, hence avoiding any form of disappointment whatsoever. Don't hope for anything, and all your wishes will be fulfilled, because you didn't wish for anything in the first place. World peace? Fat chance. A nice car? Don't bet on it. A stable job? Go fish. The woman of your dreams? In your dreams.

In other news, cars collide and people die. Oh, and the Internet is becoming a better place with this. Cool or what? Now you can learn everything (well, it seems like everything) under the sun without having a degree to show for it! Employers will love that! This is the new shit. Actually, I'm all for it, paper qualifications be damned (due mainly to my lack of said coveted items). This trend should be made to continue; kudos to MIT for being such phat kids and hopefully a trailblazer for others to follow suit. The signal to noise ratio will finally cease embarrassing the human race, heralding a brave new world of expanding horizons. A world wherein intellectual discourse on worthwhile topics such as the impact of convergent technology on human sociology and its repercussions takes precedence over captivating gossip on the malleable existence of Britney Spears' knickers. And the information superhighway will finally live up to its billing. Ha ha! Oh, how I wish!

Oops.

My short albeit still-ongoing life in the military is at the moment interesting or boring, depending on my mood. Currently undergoing training to be a medic. Saving lives is not my forte, but what the hell it is better than nothing. At the very least, perhaps screaming, "I know CPR!" at a fancy restaurant upon seeing an individual collapsing in fits will get the attention of a few blue-blooded girls of independent means. But, hey, I'm not hoping for anything.

My wireless internet connection is beginning to suck. Might not even be able to post this by the time I finish. Ah, well, at this point, does it matter? No one's reading. Therapy, therapy, therapy.

i've got soul...

Update:
Be The Best You Can Be. A Career In The Army. My next vocation: Infantry Leader. That's what I'll be. A sergeant. After six months of training. Six more months of crap and digging trenches and living in the jungle and other equally stimulating activities. And then to have new recruits going, "Yes, sergeant!" and "No, sergeant!" for the rest of my short life in the military.

Hmm... okay. This better be worth it.

we'll see

I hate that phrase. Literally means: "You can hope, but don't bet on it." I hate it. Right up there with 'who knows' as one of the many phrases in the English language that I hate. Whoever improvised the English language to include such throwaway lines in our speech patterns must never have thought about what the words would imply, or what it would bring. The hang ups, the anxieties, the hope against hope, the hubris, the disappointment.

It means I can't be with who I want to be with. It means I can't do what I want to do. It means I have to give up a lot of things. It means nothing really happens, and when something does happen, it's not what you were hoping to have happened.

I need more 'Yes' and 'No' in my life. This or that, one or the other. As it is, I'm usually stuck in limbo, in the gray areas of somewhere in between. When you can't tell if it's night-time yet, but it surely isn't day-time anymore, that's where I am mostly.

In other news, where I'm going next will be posted to me soon. We'll see (hah, there it is again!) how far I can get in my army career. If you can call it that. I get paid for doing what they tell me to do; that's something like a job, right? I hope everyone I care about everywhere around the world is doing okay.

A thought just occurred to me. I really shouldn't feel down about anything relating to myself. Not only is it a waste of space in both the heart and mind, but I'm not even sure if I have the right to, all things considered. Next time I'm wallowing in self-pity, all I have to think about is some kid in China, or India, or South America, or Africa plying his or her trade in a grimy, old, dilapidated sweatshop in 12-hour shifts for thirty cents an hour, dreaming big about life if only their parents could afford to pay for their education.

Maybe that'll wake me up. We'll see.

PLAYLIST

Never There -- Cake

Lucky You -- Deftones

Too Much Too Soon -- Green Day

New Girl -- Third Eye Blind

Ex-Girlfriend -- No Doubt

*

gone too soon

I came close to meeting him once (okay, not really that close, but it would have been possible), at which point I would have offered my services at zoo keeping if only to work with someone who had so much love for God's creatures, big and small. And I know someone who will be deeply affected by the news (I'm sure he's in a better place, Jezs, taking care of animals like he always does). Sad to see you go, Steve. And here I thought you always had more than just nine lives.

feeling cagey

So much for remaining anonymous. Now just about everyone I know knows who I am. Which is just as well; point your telescope far and wide enough and you're sure to find a telescope pointing back at you. I thought maybe I could spy on all of you without being spotted. *snigger snigger, snort snort* Seems I underestimated the power of the Internet, or the intellect of its users. Well, it was fun while it lasted. I'll try my best to keep this blog as raw and real as possible, but I can't promise anything. Nyeh nyeh nyeh.

Finishing about three months of basic military training -- wonder where I'll be posted to after that. Wait-and-see situation, mostly. I guess I tried my best, but it feels like I'm beginning to slack off now. Bad, bad! Just when I'm becoming a hot bod again... Bad, bad! Must... put... Oreos back... where... they came... from...

For someone who just had his girlfriend move halfway across the world, I may seem to be in good enough cheer. Not that I relish being single or anything, don't get me wrong. It's just that I don't seem to be feeling as down as I expected. Who knows why. Maybe I have a lot of faith in us going the distance. Maybe I am more in control of my emotions. Maybe I stopped being so depressed all the time somewhere along the way. Maybe we're missing each other so much there's no time for stupid luxuries like fighting every twenty minutes. And I miss you, babe. Tremendously.

All in all, a pretty good start to whatever lies ahead. It could be a temporary state of mind, I'm not sure. The calm before a storm? I hope not. I have built a great many things in life which have disintegrated into nothing right before my eyes and sometimes when I wasn't looking; let's pray that God spares me a thought and, maybe, if He doesn't mind (and even though I know I don't deserve it), some mercy as well.

PLAYLIST

Chasing Cars -- Snow Patrol

Shadow Stabbing -- Cake

Lonely Day -- System Of A Down

New Slang -- The Shins

Across The Universe -- Fiona Apple

*

m.i.a. again

Having almost absolutely no time for myself these days, I have left this place to rot on its own. Still looks okay (if a little outdated), and there's nothing that smells as funky as my socks. It's been... hmm... seven weeks now. Seven weeks as a recruit in the army, and last week was when I spent six days with insects and wild boars in the jungle. I've got a tan to show for it, blisters all over my hands and feet, cuts and bruises, and an aching back (from digging a one-man trench, for when, ya know, in case a war comes we'd have time to dig a trench while the enemy's shooting at us). Every shirt feels tighter, every pair of jeans feels looser.

I feel dumber, too. Like I'm having difficulty just thinking, after all day every day just receiving commands from the higher ups. No time for individuality; just follow orders and you'll be fine. I wonder what will happen to me in the next few months. Stubborn and hot-tempered, I'm not well-known for being told what to do. I miss doing the things I usually do, whenever I want, wherever I want. Maybe it might be good for me, to live the regimented life for a while. We'll see. Till next time, this recruit is signing off.

PLAYLIST

Paranoid Android -- Radiohead

Left, Right -- Chemical Brothers (feat. Anwar Superstar)

Dark Of The Matinee -- Franz Ferdinand

Harajuku Girls -- Gwen Stefani

In The Ghetto -- Elvis Presley

*

proving yourself a dweeb

Your Dating Purity Score: 80%

You are an innocent dater. You're either lacking in dating experience or have had a long serious relationship. Either way, there's still plenty of fish in the sea out there for you to sample!

Dating Purity Test

a cat's eye

How is it that cats can look so cool while they're licking their own ass? How does it feel to have no shame and still look like a million bucks at the same time? To be totally poised and majestic; to have so much attitude; to look like you own the world. To not have a care in this world. My cat is like that. I have tried to be like my cat but I don't think I've succeeded. As the Disney film 'The Aristocats' expounded, Everybody wants to be a cat/ Because a cat's the only cat who knows where it's at.

And how true. So calm and self-assured; who wouldn't want to be a cat? My cat looks at me with contempt and such haughtiness when she is satisfied. She slowly blinks and looks away as though I am the least interesting thing on Earth. My cat is telling me that she is above such things as the human condition; that whatever we do or say is not worth her time. She'd rather be indulging in something far more important -- like cleaning her fur, or scratching the sofa, or just lounging on the living room carpet.

And when she's not satisfied -- when my cat is hungry or has a tummy ache -- she mews so pleadingly that you have to give in to what she needs, or you'll feel like a heartless bastard and that guilty conscience will haunt you to the point where you won't be able to forgive yourself for ignoring her cries for help. And when her needs are fulfilled, she looks at you -- at which point you will think she is about to give an acknowledgement of thanks -- and blinks really slowly, and looks away. She doesn't even acknowledge your existence! Then you will feel totally used, until the next time she pulls at your heart strings and you give in to whatever she wishes.

Just like in the Garfield comic strip, a cat is always the center of personal attention. My cat will climb onto the desk and make herself comfortable on the keyboard. She only does this when I'm typing. When I'm engorging myself with food, my cat will inevitably make her presence known. She gives me the you-are-totally-below-me look, and stares at the food. I can see her face every time I look up from my plate.

She is telling me: "Look, who are we trying to kid? You know you want to give me a piece of that steak; I'm your cat, for God's sake! I deserve a piece of that steak, so why don't you just give it to me right now? You want me to beg? How can you treat me so cruelly--" and on and on, until I give her what she wants.

And once my cat has had her fill, she looks at me and says, "You're still here? Who are you, again? Nevermind, that's not important. Make some room so I can stretch myself on your lap, and maybe if you don't annoy me I'll grant you the privilege of scratching my neck."

And if I brush her off the keyboard or doesn't do what she says, she'll casually walk away like I'm not even there. I can almost hear her indignation. "I'll find someone else to pamper me, you pompous brat. And to think I've tolerated your presence in my house... Hmph!"

Who doesn't want to be a cat? I love my cat. Very reminiscent of having a baby sister or a girlfriend.

PLAYLIST

Beautiful Ones -- Suede

Yeah, Whatever -- Splender

Comin' Up From Behind -- Marcy Playground

You Belong To Me -- Tori Amos

God Knows -- Mando Diao

*

identity crisis

I sometimes feel like I really don't know what I'm doing anymore. Hell of a rollercoaster ride, though, which is probably what makes life more exciting (I'm not even sure about that anymore, either). I should really get a job, start paying for my expenses instead of sponging off my parents. Hur-hmm. A mind is a terrible thing to waste; must catch up on my reading A.S.A.P. or I'm going to sound dumber by the next post. Maybe I already do. Toodle-y-hee-hoo.

Still having trouble sleeping, for whatever reason. No more reason. Totally mindless absurdity. It's giving me killer migraines that I feel like cleaving the right side of my brain with a surgical something (can't remember that word even) and sell it on e-bay. "Right brain hemisphere of underachiever/slacker/genius on sale, going for cheap! Delivery upon payment. Price negotiable." Nope, no reason. The pain hurts my right eyebrow, and makes my left index finger twitch. I wonder what it's trying tell me.

Somehow, not having a life is (a) expensive, (b) taking up a lot of my time, and (c) criminal. The latter part refers to downloading music like there's no tomorrow [theft] and lying to parents about expenses [fraud]. Ha ha, I am such a terrible person it's not even funny. Must remember to pay back with interest when I can. Really need to get some sleep. Life is bittersweet; better get that first million before turning thirty.

PLAYLIST

Sorry Sorry -- Rooney

Evil Ways -- Carlos Santana

In The Crossfire -- Starsailor

Street Spirit -- Radiohead

Extreme Ways -- Moby

*

super birthday

Good stuff, wot! I had a blast, and I have to thank everyone who had a part in making me king for a day. Or for a few days. Mom, Dad, thanks for being there and for the ice-cream cake. To all my sisters, I love you guys so much. The hand-written notes mean a lot to me, especially the part where I became Willy Wonka for some reason. And yes, Willy Wonka would like to go to the zoo again! Jun, thanks for the self-help book (I think I really need it!). Darius, Pie-Man, Wan-meister, thanks for remembering. Jezs, thanks for making it truly special. Happy happy joy joy! I love you all, thanks a bunch! Okay, enough of this lovey-dovey crap; I'm making myself sick.

PLAYLIST

Lucky You -- Deftones

Right Here, Right Now -- Fatboy Slim

Extraordinary Girl -- Green Day

Come Out And Play -- The Offspring

It's Only Us -- Robbie Williams

*

v for vendetta

©David Lloyd

Remember, remember the fifth of November
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I see no reason why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

Guy Fawkes, 'twas his intent
To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.

By God's mercy he was catched
With a dark lantern and lighted match.
Holler boys, holler boys, let the bells ring
Holler boys, holler boys, God save the King.

what shoes to fill

It just blew me away. I am overwhelmed, amazed, and definitely proud of you. I knew you would one day leave the job you've had for the past eighteen years, but I never thought it would be by choice. Wow. Since I was four. Wow. I have always thought how perfect this job was for you, being the selfless and ambitious person that you are. Wow. Look back and be astonished by the legacy you have left, the people you have helped, the things you have done. Wow. From rags to riches, literally. Wow. What big shoes to fill.

I'm glad I had that talk with you. You have allayed my worries and fears. You have lifted the weight in my heart. You made me smile again. I hope you succeed in whatever endeavors you wish to pursue next, not just because it would be financially beneficial for me, but because you deserve to be happy after all the light you have shone into the hearts of so many. If you would like me to be part of it, I'd be more than happy to help. I can almost hear your usual refrain: "There's no such thing as a free lunch." But this time, it will make me smile even more.

And here I was thinking they didn't want you anymore. How could I ever have doubted you? And your reasons, as always, make perfect sense. It's been eighteen long years, and you're looking for something new to do. And with your heart condition, there would be times when you wouldn't be able to strive for the people with such vigor and dedication. And the long hours and late nights would be increasingly harder to keep up with, and you'd rather spend that time with your family.

I love that reason the best. I hope we'll be best friends again, like the good ol' days. I can't wait. Sure, sometimes you can be emotionally distant, but that must be partly due to the job taking its toll on you. I cannot ask for a better mentor, teacher, father, provider. In such matters, I am blessed. To have someone like you in my life, even the sky is not the limit. That, you have shown to be true. All the things you've been through, your experience must be invaluable. I aspire to be like you, with a few minor tweaks here and there (I hope you don't mind). What big shoes to fill.

PLAYLIST

The Masterplan -- Oasis

Supersonic -- Jamiroquai

King For A Day -- Green Day

Frank Sinatra -- Cake

Provider -- N.E.R.D.

*

big me

I'm finished with my exams, and now I'm free to do anything. But do what, exactly? Be a librarian? A teacher? A mercy relief officer? The money isn't spectacular, but they're all for a greater cause. And I'd be proud to say I contributed something to this greater cause, no matter how little the contribution may be. But knowing me, the chronic procrastinator with performance anxiety, I may end up doing nothing at all. Is it the thought that counts? In such matters, surely not. I am stagnating, nonetheless. Where is my resolve and determination? I do not know.

A sense of foreboding, an ominous latency -- I hate it! I hate the uncertainty, but nothing can provide me the stability I need. Perhaps it is for the best; perhaps this is what I need, or at least deserve. The ghosts of past sins haunting my very soul. A sinner wishing to be a saint; such hypocrisy. I speak of dignity and morality as though I am an expert, but there is no honor among thieves. But I know what it is, and I wish my wife and children -- when I have them later in life -- will live through their lives with virtue. Surely I can hope.

Easy money. Easy come, easy go. But is there anything to proud of? I have no right to judge. Let he who is without sin cast the first stone, and I would be last in line. It is just too difficult to accept, the chemically-imbalanced person that I am. And I am ashamed of myself too, for the easy money I make. Or take. Whichever. Lifestyles of the rich and famous which I cannot support, but which I like. And who wouldn't? Sell my soul to the devil and live a care-free life, why not?

But we will all grow older, and I have matured in some ways since my wild partying days. And I am glad to be over and done with, with such insubstantial things. I have to settle down one day, and put aside all the obstacles in my way -- both within and without -- to create a better future for my children, and my children's children. The flesh is weak, and so I cannot do this without guidance. God, grant me serenity. Grant me Your light that I may see the evil of my ways.

A soldier-to-be, in a few months. I hope I will be fighting for a worthy cause. I hope it will bring back my resolve and determination. I hope I will do what is right. Only time will tell. For the moment, I am lost. For the moment, I will keep looking for my moral compass for a sense of direction. May the sword of justice smite evil right between the eyeballs once more.

PLAYLIST

Curbside Prophet -- Jason Mraz

Change The World -- The Offspring

Handbags And Gladrags -- Stereophonics

On Mercury -- Red Hot Chili Peppers

Money -- Michael Jackson

*

the never-ending story

Dear Jun,

I am heartened by the fact that you wrote so much to counter my arguments for the simple reason that you were worried about me, and all you intended was to give me a hug. You are truly a great friend; most people I know wouldn't bother. The number of people I know who would can be counted with one hand. For that, I thank you. I am eternally grateful to these people, of which you are one of them.

The reason I wrote what I wrote was not because I was on the fence regarding the matter; my mind was already made up before I started writing it. There was no dilemma to begin with, hence I did not create a false dilemma. I was merely asking the reader to which camp they thought they belonged to, after much deliberation on the topic at hand. Much of which was biological.

How else can you explain a concept as abstract as love? Can anyone explain where love comes from, apart from what I have described? Does love even exist, or is it just a cute little name for something that is inherent in our genetic make-up, including that of animals? Sure, science doesn't always explain everything that occurs in this universe. Science is not perfect. Yet. And that is only due to the shortcomings of the human mind; I am sure in time, as science and the human mind progress in tandem, we will unravel the theory of everything.

For now, though, science is still the best we have. And in trying to understand this concept called love, many hypotheses have been formulated. Some true, some speculative, the rest merely apocryphal. But there is no denying what happens on the biological level. The chemical reactions are there, whether we choose to accept it or not. No matter how high the human brain has climbed the evolutionary ladder, the 'reptilian brain' is still dead set in the centre of it, whether we like or not.

Besides controlling our breathing, heart rate, and fight or flight instincts, the reptilian brain establishes the fundamental needs of all evolved life -- that of survival, physical maintenance, hoarding, dominance, preening and mating. The principal ruling emotions of love, hate, fear, anger, lust, and contentment emerge from this first stage of the brain.

Indeed, thick layers of the rational brain that surround the reptilian brain theoretically puts us humans above all other animals, but think about it: the rational brain is built on the foundation of the reptilian brain. No matter how complex and sophisticated we get, in the larger picture we are all ruled by the instincts and primary functions of life that stem from the reptilian brain.

Love is a fundamental need, is it not? How then can you posit the idea that the rational brain takes precedence? No matter how much the rational brain sometimes tries to pretend it isn't true -- that we don't all need love, that we don't need to be loved -- we all want to be loved. Whether at home, or at the workplace, or in the eyes of our lovers.

If hate can be dismissed as an irrational, instinctual, reptilian emotion, then why not love? Hate can occur in an instant, just like love. Hate can be cultivated, just like love. Hate can take over our minds, just like love. Hate can build slowly through time, just like love. Hate can lead to disaster, just like love. Can we truly depend on an emotion that is just as irrational, instinctual and reptilian as hate?

Just because we can rationalize our thoughts and feelings does not mean love is a uniquely human phenomenon; here, the only uniquely human phenomenon is that we can concoct reasons and excuses to do the things we do. As well, we can describe love in paintings and poetry, we can regard love as a wholly-exclusive human emotion, we can place love on a pedestal and contemplate it with reverence -- this is what separates us from animals, the fact that we can lie to ourselves with such grand eloquence that we perceive it to be the truth. (Oh, the humanity!) Yet, the basic principle remains the same.

Whether an animal depends on smell or sight is not the issue here; I assume you are well aware of that. Robert Stenberg's attempt at explaining love as a combination of intimacy, passion and commitment does not disagree with my explanations as to where intimacy, passion and commitment originate from -- the chemical reactions in the brain.

Indeed, just like hate, love can start slowly. Did you know, there is a type of bird whose courtship ritual involves building a home from scratch (usually, the silly males do it to attract the females), after which it is presented to a potential mate for approval. If all goes swimmingly well, the couple goes on to reproduce young of their own. Upon rejection, on the other hand, the potential mate completely destroys the carefully-made home and flies off to search for a worthier soul to mate with.

I call it a 'home' because it looks exactly like a house; with a neat lawn, an entrance to the den, and a roof. The entire thing is made of twigs, shoots, branches and the like. Tiny, glittering things that could be mistaken for jewels are placed neatly on the lawn at the foot of the doorway. Ornithologists who have observed this natural phenomenon were astounded by the perfect symmetry of this bird's creation, from the doorway to the semi-circle lawn; from the precise weaving of every single element to produce an intricate whole that is a thing of beauty.

Imagine the passion and commitment needed for such a task. The bird faces the prospect of being rejected for the duration of its entire life, but doesn't give up. Compelled by its reptilian brain? Almost certainly. Can that be called love, the desire to do anything for its mate? Hard to tell, especially from the point of view of a human being. The courtship ritual could take time it doesn't have in its relatively short lifespan; proportionally, some human beings go through courtship, then mating, and into marriage in less time. Are we really any different when it comes to such things?

I am not saying that love only leads to disaster. There is no discounting the sacrifices that people like Mother Theresa have made out of love. Love can lead to a great many things. The Taj Mahal was borne out of love. Love is the basic tenet of religion, whether through the teachings of Buddha, or Muhammad, or Jesus, or whoever.

I was merely criticizing the idea that love is the be-all and end-all; that we shouldn't be blinded by love the way we are almost every single time we fall in love even after past experiences have taught us to tread with caution, to think otherwise; that we shouldn't get caught up in the web of paralyzing emotion; that we shouldn't put too much stock and faith in something that cannot withstand the scrutinizing light of science; that we should see and understand it from a different perspective; that we should probably not regard it as anything more than it really is.

And after professing the claim that I committed a fallacy by calling the opposing camp as "hopelessly, carelessly trusting in blind love, in love-at-first-sight," I see no attempt on your part to correct my wording and substitute them with the right ones, or to explain how love works and where it comes from, or to clarify why exactly you disagree with me.

Or maybe you have. Love is magic, you say. Magic, you call it. Magic? I can see the appeal; Einstein himself couldn't support the notion that there is no such thing as magic. It's hard to imagine life without some mysteries in it, without magic. But I am seeking for the truth, not for some vague, unfounded, unquantifiable flight of fantasy. I am not looking for an unreliable abstraction, which was what made me question the concept of love in the first place. You have basically offered me the same thing -- believing in something that cannot be proven. Who is using the rational mind now?

Believing in magic is comforting. Believing in God is comforting. Believing in heaven is comforting. Believing I am always right would be comforting. Believing in eugenics was comforting to the people who believed in them. Believing in racial superiority was comforting to the people who believed in them. Does that make it true? Does that make it real? Perhaps I wasn't mistaken at all when I described the opposing camp as "hopelessly, carelessly trusting in blind love, at love-at-first-sight." But hey, that's just me.

PLAYLIST

I Predict A Riot -- Kaiser Chiefs

Well That Was Easy -- Franz Ferdinand

Accidents Will Happen -- Elvis Costello

The Seer's Tower -- Sufjan Stevens

What I'm Trying To Say -- Stars

*

a passing

A quiet, gentle old man passed away today. I am glad to have known you, old man. You possessed a sublime benevolence to which I can only aspire. You were a great father and husband, and an outstanding influence to your grandchildren.

It's funny and quite amazing that this old man admired the Japanese for their military efficiency and discipline even after what they did to him during the war. His stories were always inspired and inspiring, and I loved listening to them when I was growing up.

Thinking about it, technically, you were family to me only through the marriage of your son to my aunt. Nevertheless, you were always family to me -- blood relation or no. I am nothing like you, but I wish to emulate all the good you have done in your life. I am glad to have known you, old man. I should have spent more time listening to you.

You were a simple man enjoying the simple pleasures in life, but you were never one to indulge. I will pray for you at your funeral today, and I will take comfort in knowing that you don't need my prayers; they will welcome you back with wide open arms in heaven, where you truly belong.

sabbatical

Posting suspended due to such urgent matters as exams, women, and life in general. A door opens and closes, but nothing pushes through. Only the scent of a bygone happiness and a mistaken forecast of sunshine in the near future.

Do not look through the door to see what is on the other side. It will blind you, deceive you, make you think everything is all right. You are looking at the wrong door; this one is merely a portal to the past -- leave it, do not cultivate anything.

The front door, the one that leads you to the future, this is the door through which you must traverse. No matter how barren, how cold, how lonely. It is good for you. God doesn't love you. Stop pretending. There is no cellar door for you to make your escape. Stay tuned; the usual broadcast will resume shortly. We regret any inconvenience caused.

father figure

"I don't know the key to success, but the key to failure is trying to please everybody."
--Bill Cosby

february fourteenth

Fuck Valentine's Day.

There is no such thing as pure love. Love is a blanket concept, to cover up the inadequacy of the human race in distancing itself from animals. Saying "I am falling in love with you, deeper and deeper" can be accurately translated as "I really want to get into your pants, now more than ever."

Love depends, literally, on chemistry. No, no, not the metaphorically poetic kind, but really, literally, on the biochemical pathways of your brain. Love is a chemical reaction in the caudate nucleus and the ventral tegmental area, which store and dispense a type of neurotransmitter called dopamine. That motivation, that exhilaration, that euphoria you feel when newly in love are all caused by dopamine spreading towards its receptors.

Dopamine is energizing, intoxicating, and addictive (why else do you think they call it 'dope-amine'?). Over time, your body builds a tolerance to dopamine, and you begin to need more and more of this chemical to feel the same high you did when you were first madly in love. The same way the body develops a tolerance towards alcohol or nicotine or every other drug you can think of. This is the reason why, over time, passion fades.

People with obsessive-compulsive disorder have the same chemical imbalance as people in love, this time due to the very spectacular neurotransmitter called serotonin. The level of serotonin in the blood of obsessive-compulsives are 40% lower than those in normal people. The exact same 40% deficiency exists in the blood of people who declare themselves as 'presently being in love'.

Hence, it is virtually impossible to tell them apart. People with a mental affliction in the brain exhibit an identical chemical imbalance as people with love in their hearts, putting a new spin to the phrase 'crazy in love'. Couples on the verge of divorce have been known to get enraptured in the throes of passionate love the very instant they stop taking anti-depressants, which suppress serotonin levels in the blood. As one woman succinctly puts it, "I started having orgasms once more, and now we're in love all over again."

The average time for relationships to break up is four years, coincidentally the average time it takes for a child to be physically independent from its parents. Perhaps that is not coincidence after all. Biologically, it allows the male to copulate with other females while ensuring that his hereditary legacy remains safe from harm for as long as he is needed to protect it, but any longer and it would prevent him from spreading his seed.

Question: At what point does a relationship turn from romantic, passionate, physical lust into sedated, level-headed, happily-married companionship? Answer: When oxytocin takes over the role of dopamine in the body. Oxytocin is a powerful hormone that bolsters feelings of attachment and bonding; the clingy and the nostalgically-inclined are overflowing with such hormones.

Prairie voles are animals with high levels of oxytocin in their bodies, which is why they mate monogamously for life. Block their oxytocin receptors, as was done in a study, and these rodents stop forging life-long relationships; choosing instead to mate like every other animal on the planet. Like every other animal, including the pretentiously-sophisticated Man.

Translation? If you meet a person who openly declares a lack of commitment in relationships, then beware: the warning signals are right there in front of you. Stay away. Abandon hope all ye who enter. No good will come out of it -- trust me, I should know. Clingy people may be a nuisance to your everyday life, but think of it this way: they are that much more dependable. A slight headache is preferable to a major heartache. Better the devil who irritates you than the devil who leaves you hanging, to paraphrase an age-old saying. Stability or uncertainty; your choice.

In the end, where does this leave you? Which camp do you belong to? The hopelessly, carelessly trusting in blind love, in love-at-first-sight? Or the carefully, mindfully skeptical in exact science, in medically-proven facts and statistics? You decide. Preferably, cold and detached as it is, I am beginning to fall into the latter category. I choose not to put my life in the grasp of emotion. I choose not to expose myself defenceless in this impulsive, unpredictable, capricious whim called love.

The chances of a relationship continuing is increased when, on the first date, you go on an exhilarating roller coaster ride. Remove a chemical receptor in the brain and, as the song goes, "wherever you lay your hat is your home." How hollow is this thing called love, anyway? How much more emptier can it get? Put all your hopes and dreams on something baseless, something with a non-existent foundation? Something unfounded? Unproven?

Call me bitter, or sad, or depressed, or luckless in love. Doesn't matter; quantifiable, empirical science will back me up all the way. Until proven otherwise, I will stick with it. But hey, that's just me.

PLAYLIST

One Head Light -- The Wallflowers

Meet Me In The Bathroom -- The Strokes

Violent Pornography -- System Of A Down

A Crow Left Of The Murder -- Incubus

Who's Got My Back? -- Creed

*

of such fleeting things

A walk
Down the aisle
Feels a million miles away

A rot
In my brain
Leaves me where I am today

A smile
On the train
Makes my day

A thought
In my head
Takes away

the killing joke

"Hell is other people." -- Jean-Paul Sartre

media whore

I am appearing on TV again tonight. Which is, like, the 8th time or something -- I stopped counting because I take it for granted I'm going to appear on TV again anyway. I can't wait to laugh at myself. People have described me (with envy, at times) as photogenic, but I'm never quite sure when it comes to video. I bet I'd sound great on radio, that's for sure. And it seems like I look gorgeous in photos, as they say. I bet I look ten pounds heavier on television. Ahh, well, just another step on the road to fame and glory.

I can just picture in my mind everyone watching and laughing; I expect them to! There is no greater feeling than being appreciated, and I'm sure the viewers will appreciate me. Do not worship me on the altar of the benign television; I may be the god of romance, but I am not the god of media... yet.

Updated: I don't believe it; they cut out half of what was filmed. Especially the parts where I had something to say! To the point where I almost looked like some mute guy put there just to beautify the scenery. They even cut out the part where I was giving good advice to teenagers, which I was especially proud of! I mean, duh!, good advice was exactly what the producers were looking for in the first place. Maybe I'm just too verbose and intellectual for them; god forbid they should include something mentally-stimulating that might not appeal to the lowest common denominator.

At least I looked good; I did not put on ten pounds in front of the camera! I seemed confident, smart, perhaps a bit too suave, and definitely pleasing to look at, if a little disinterested. I'd rate this one a 7.5 out of 10; more if they had not left out the good parts. At least I make a nice backdrop. And the audience appreciated. Maybe next time.

the great divide

As the rich get richer, we all know what happens to the poor.

The richest 1% of households -- those with incomes above $237,000 for 2003, the latest year analyzed -- owned 57.5% of all income from capital gains, dividends, interest and rents in 2003, the Congressional Budget Office analysis found. That was up from 53.4% the year before and 38.7% in 1991.

Long-term capital gains were taxed at 28% until 1997, and at 20% until 2003, when rates were cut to 15%. The top rate on stock dividends was cut to 15% from 35% that year.

The poorest fifth of Americans owned 0.6% of corporate wealth in 2003, down from 1.4 percent in 1991.

The CBO analysis excludes the stock held in retirement accounts such as 401(k)s and IRAs, which isn’t subject to taxation and was thus unaffected by the tax cuts.

Although these tax cuts are slated to expire in 2008, Congress is already debating whether to extend them through 2010. The Bush administration has been calling for the cuts to be extended or made permanent.

An analysis by the Urban-Brookings Tax Policy Center found that an extension of the tax cuts would save households with incomes under $50,000 about $11 in 2009. Those with incomes above $1 million would save about $32,000.

Read the whole article

first impressions of earth

Am I a prisoner to instincts
Or do my thoughts just live
As free and detached
As boats to the dock?

Just like when music was born
And detached from your heart
Is your free time to free minds
Or for falling apart?

--Ize Of The World, The Strokes

subtracting the abstract

A cute little thing happened today. My baby sister started crying because she got upset. She got upset on account of a ball she got for her birthday. The ball, just one out of the four billion presents she received, is a multi-colored soft toy the size of your palm with an electronic device inside. The electronic device detects pressure, and so every time the ball is squeezed or bounces on the floor it lets out a plaintive mewing -- the kind a dejected, melancholic cat would make.

Upon hearing this, my sister ran in the direction of her father and started bawling real loud. The funny thing is, I saw her playing around with it just a minute ago. But the second I left the room and she was alone with the toy, it must have grown fangs and tried to to bite her head off. My sister just turned seven. Happy birthday, baby girl! Now grow up, will you?

Meanwhile, as I was trying to sound all scholarly and smart by reading up on George P. Lakoff, I realized just how shallow my mind is. Here is a guy who starts linguistic wars because he probably thinks it's fun, and there are not many things in life that a genius with a multi-layered mind would consider fun. And so, between trying to understand the reappraisal of a metaphor and visualize what an embodied mind would look like in my head, I gave up.

I didn't even know what a transformational grammar was, or generative semantics and syntax, or conceptual metaphor, or cognitive psychology and linguistics, or foundation ontologies and empirical validation -- what do these words mean?! What the hell is an empirically responsible philosophy?!! I think it is good to admit when I'm out of my depth, and here I am practically sinking.

I tried to read up on those things too but, really, they're just beyond me. The more effort I made, the less insight I gained. It was giving me a headache, and I'm already having diarrhoea from the worm. I think I'll just play with my guitar, get a good workout done, and maybe watch some television if I have the time. Yeah, that's the way. Shallow minds rejoice!

PLAYLIST

Knife Party -- Deftones

Talk Show On Mute -- Incubus

I Like Dirt -- Red Hot Chili Peppers

Don't Stop Dancing -- Creed

TV Pro -- The Vines

*

fiat lux!

Imagine eating a worm that, unknown to you, was festering in your dinner. Imagine the worm waiting for a warmer place to call home. Imagine that warmer place to call home your stomach. Now imagine, after consuming said worm, the neurons in your brain start linking up faster than you can think.

It gets complicated for awhile. The perikaryons become permeable, starting a chain reaction that allows dendrites and axons to travel at speeds unimaginable through the labyrinthine network of telodendrons in the trilobed structure of the cerebral hemispheres.

But those are just mere details. It is easier to think of it as a one-dimensional printed circuit board, with switches opening and closing, and gates selecting the appropriate functions, the resistors and conductors overloading, and the main body of the programming language being overworked with little or no delay, with data conveyed at 1.3 terahertz per second. Somewhere in there is the smell of plastic burning.

Or to think of it another way, a very complex subway system that goes over and under and sideways while working along its usual routes, carrying more commuters than is permissible under the public transport system regulations code, with said commuters cruising at the speed of thought both backwards and forwards at the same time (perhaps due to some fluke in an area of quantum physics still lodged in the section of "dubious and abstruse").

Imagine -- while all this is happening in your brain -- that the enlarged, saclike portion of the alimentary canal you call the stomach is ingesting aforementioned worm with ever-increasingly rapid contractions of the intestinal fats, drawing all kinds of nutrients previously unbeknownst to man.

Chief amongst this macrobiotic concoction of sustentative nourishment is a mnemonic virus not unlike the straight rod-shaped gram-negative bacillus escherichia coli, found in the human gastrointestinal tract, and more affectionately known as the bacterium that causes 'mad cow disease' by boring holes into brain tissue.

However, unlike the e. coli, this mnemonic virus makes its way to your brain and sets off a dramatic series of events -- producing hematopoietic stem cells that eradicate wear and tear through time and misuse, strengthening channels and connections you thought never existed, creating explosive bursts of energy that swells the amount of blood in your brain twofold, and plugging up whatever holes and leakages that were heretofore latent.

With all this occurring concurrently with a two-punch combination of sleep deprivation and nicotine overload, your mind is bombarded with seismic waves of superlative intelligence and cosmic omniscience. Every aimless dart that your mind throws in the dark hits a bullseye. Every question that you manage to ask gets an answer. Every moment in your life attains an infinite significance on a universal scale.

Imagine, if you will, experiencing epiphany after epiphany of the mind faster than you have the time to reflect upon each one or write them down for future reference. Imagine, in this heightened state of perspicacity, you are able to discern the world through the eyes of every human being on the planet. You feel an aura of celestial space emanating from within and your ears ring with a supreme, transcendental voice of truth from above.

Imagine everything you have done, everything you have felt, everything you have experienced, all melt into a milky white radiance in the very center of your soul. Imagine overcoming every obstacle you will ever face with nonchalant ease, confronting your fears with a cavalier attitude, meeting every hardship that comes your way with eminent grace. In these fleeting moments you have found a panacea for the heart and mind. Now imagine every engram of this specific experience etched in the corners of your mind forever.

The reason why I have described all of the above in detail is because I think I ate that worm. It is now difficult to comprehend what exactly happened, or to explain it in words. The feeling of utter contentment was so complete and so perfect even my thoughts could not invade it. Nothing worried me, and the impression that I got was bliss. I would never have imagined the uncomfortable sensation in the pit of my stomach would lead to that. I would never have thought eating bad food would turn out to be so good.

The physiological repercussions were apparent enough; I am still experiencing the side-effects right now. I am having a bout of constipation, there is a pinched nerve running down my right leg, my ass cheeks (especially the right one) feel like someone slapped them really hard, and if I didn't know better the soreness around my *ahem* sphincter would have led me to believe I had spent a night in jail as the... umm, resident prison bitch. I guess there is always a price to pay for achieving enlightenment. Pop quiz! Should I take two worms, get some rest, and call God in the morning?

PLAYLIST

Needles -- System Of A Down

Bring Me Down -- Kanye West

Where Are You -- Our Lady Peace

The Meaning Of Soul -- Oasis

The Worm -- Audioslave

*

state of the union

Ladies and gentlemen, the state of the union is a mess. Let's make it messier.

[Applause! Applause!]

Thank you. Let's see... first on the agenda: America is addicted to oil. Yee-haw! Hot-diggity-dang, look at the smirk on my face! My vice-president is rich because we are addicted to oil! We're in a war because we are addicted to oil! Your children are dying, our lungs are blackening, the world is choking on pollution; all because we are addicted to oil!

And we're damned proud of our SUVs! We're damned proud of our wasteful attitude! We're damned proud of our soldiers dying for oil! Hell, that is the American Way of Life! Freedom (for ourselves), liberty (for all whom we force it upon), and the pursuit of happiness for oil!

[Applause! Applause!]

But let me pay lip-service to clean, renewable energy. We cannot depend on unstable regions around the world to provide us the energy that our insa-- insta-- insatitia-- insatiable appetite requires. We need to increase spending in our search for sustainable energy sources. Although we are really cutting down on such needlessly excessive spending, my speech writers will make it look like we are actually increasing it! And so I believe we are at the threshold of realizing technologies that will bring about unlimited, renewable, sustainable energy for the future of America. And that is a job for the next President in line. Cheney, baby -- *wink wink* -- I'm looking at you.

[Applause! Applause!]

We will never surrender to evil! Pre-emptive strikes on third world countries is key! We will invade their countries and terrorize their neighborhoods! We will bring the war to their doorstep and open the floodgates of hell so there will be more terrorists for us to shoot at! We will prolong this offensive in Iraq for as long as it is politically-beneficial! Not to mention the oil! We will act boldly in freedom's cause! And we will call it 'Operation: Iraqi Freedom'!

[Applause! Applause!]

We will remain vigilant on the offensive against terrorism at home! We will invade your privacy, we will listen in on your conversations, we will track the websites you visit, and we will do this to whoever the hell we want, whenever the hell we want! If you speak to people of middle-eastern origin, the terrorists have won! If you like pornography, the terrorists have won! It is inevitable. Inevitable! Inevitable!

[Applause! Applause!]

We will confront the rising cost of health care head on! I am fully aware that the revolutionary health care policies introduced throughout the first term of my presidency are in shambles. But who cares?! I will put forth newer, more revolutionary health care policies that will make it affordable to all Americans. Or not. Maybe. I'm not sure anymore. But who cares?! Power to the people!

[Applause! Applause!]

We will build the prosperity of our country by making the tax cuts permanent and increase the spending on war. Budget deficit? What budget deficit? National debt? What national debt? These are conspiracies created by liberal lefties and dog-eat-dog Democrats to undermine the confidence of the American people during this time of crisis... uhh, Crisis? What crisis? There is uncertainty in people's minds right now. People are uncertain even though the union in this country is strong in support of the war. Union? What union? Haha. No, that's not it. War? What war? Haha. Yeah, that's it.

[Laughter! Applause!]

That is a joke, by the way. I haven't seen Brokeback Mountain but I intend to see it next week with my very burly and very manly vice-president, Mr. Dick Cheney. I hear the movie is about ranchers and cowboys, and I ain't ashamed to say that I am a true-blue American Cowboy by any standards. You know that Dick and this Bush are gonna have a hell of a time at the cinemas next week! Heh heh.

[Laughter! Applause!]

I believe human being and fish can co-exist peacefully, and America needs a military where our breast and brightest are proud to serve. And proud to stay. If you are a single mother with two children, which is the toughest job in America as far as I'm concerned, and you're working hard to put food on your family, really the question to ask: are is our children learning?

[Applause! Applause!]

Too many OB-GYNs are unable to practise their... their love with women all across this country. See, I don't think this should be. There is an old saying in Tennessee I know it's in Texas probably in Tennessee that says, "Fool me once... shame on... shame on you... If you fool me you can't get fooled again."

[Applause! Applause!]

Three words are going to determine the outcome of our economic future. Ladies and gentlemen, the three words are: nuk-u-ler. They will shape the civil liberties of our beloved nation, expedite our wholesome political agenda, defeat the enemy, strengthen the foundations of our imperialism, and basically make this country a great place to live in. Hell, I'm tempted to call it the silver bullet. Repeat after me: nuk-u-ler. Nuk-u-ler! Nuk-u-ler!

[Applause! Applause!]

And so, in my state of the...my state of the union our state my speech... to the nation... my speech to the nation. Whatever you wanna call it. My speech to the nation. Err... God bless America!

[Applause! Applause! Standing Ovation! Applause!]

PLAYLIST

The End -- The Doors

Fire Water Burn -- Bloodhound Gang

Born In The USA -- Bruce Springsteen

Attack -- System Of A Down

Bodies -- Drowning Pool

*