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.