Curse of the Dad

Ok, I got in trouble with my Dad. Again. So he took away the modem. Again. So now only my sister can use in front of him. Again.

So here I am reduced to typing this post in Ngee Ann. What to do, may as well get used to not being on the internet and blogging and chatting on MSN as often as I like.

Again.

Writer's Block stinks.

True story: When I was a lot younger, I had ambitions to be a writer. Not surprising considering I was probably the biggest bookworm in Bukit Gombak. Ideas keep floating in my head. Most of 'em pretty dumb, e.g. Earth on a collision course with asteroid THRICE it's size. I even envisioned myself as a secret agent, going to each continent to fight crime in all its forms. I planned a grand death scene for myself in Antartica. Heck, I even imagined the covers, with me posing ala James Bond. With horrible teeth and baby fat.

And how about this? A story about people who see an apparition, which looks like a ghostly circle. And the people who see that apparition would die in 7 days. And what did I give it as a title? "The Ring". Years before Sadako haunted movie screens everywhere. I swear on my handphone it's true.

Ah, those were the (very imaginative) days. What happened? Y'know, the reason I usually get such high marks in my essay writings back in secondary school was not just because of my grammar and vocab. In fact, I knew my command of both was excellent so I concentrated on trying to actually entertain the teacher marking the paper, making 'em laugh or cry. Good vocab, good grammar, and damn good story-telling. That's what I counted on to pass my essay writings. Oh, and lots of practise too, which I got in school. Ah, but no more. For three years now, I've let the story-teller in me lay dormant. And the result? You're looking at it. Periods of brightness but overall, a snoozefest. One huge reason for me getting a blog was to just plain and simply write. About anything really. But, well, I was never good at non-fictional stuff, was I? It's always fiction I excelled at.

I'm not saying I'm going to write The Great Singapore Novel and publish it or anything. I'm just going to doodle a bit and see what I can come up with. I might even tackle that very interesting sci-fi story my cousin told me. If she doesn't mind of course, it is her story after all.

To jumpstart my creative juices a bit (and kill the ever-increasing boredom enveloping me), I've given myself a personal challenge. Borrow Homer's The Iliad, William Thackeray's Vanity Fair and James Joyce's Ulysses from the library and finish them all in the three weeks I'm allowed to keep them. That's over 2000 pages.

Can I do it?

Probably not. But I'll have fun trying anyway.

As a final sidenote, I'm getting rid of the old Tagboard. Nothing wrong with it, but I just find myself preferring CBox nowadays. And I might as well start to actually reply to all your tags. It'll be rude not to.

Taken from Tomorrow.sg.....

First, a party hosted by the Young Deluded Fools PAP.



It's on a Friday, so I may not be able to go. But it's still an interesting sounding party isn't it?

And a point I want to make: the party hosted by the PAP at Zouk, with all-white dress code and Dear Leader Lee and all a few months back? Candidate for 'WTF? Moment of the Year'.

And then there's this:

Rock scissors paper stone Concert

According to Alan from that site: ""Joie de Vivre" - 'Joy of Life', is our way of allowing local bands to display their creativity when it comes to music by performing their original compositions. These songs consist of several different kinds of genres ranging from rock to blues. Through this event, we hope to raise the public awareness of local music and the undiscovered talents of budding bands."

Didn't I say I wanted to go to a concert like this? Sweet.

Not all limericks have to be funny or, for that matter, good...

I always avoid any strife
Don't hate, it's much better to like
But when Granny's at home
Yelling hard at the phone
I wonder, what's wrong with this life?

Never blog when you're feeling messed-up.

Wow. That last post was...embarrasing.

Should I delete it?

Naaah. Though maybe I'll just censor the F words.

So, in the world of me now.

Original Sin, well, it's been good to me...financially wise. But honestly? I don't belong there. I never belonged there. I felt like an atheist in a church/mosque/synagouge/whatever everytime I step into the place. Ok, fine, I've had my cock-ups there, but I improved, really. But the point is, I'm miserable there, and I can't work being miserable. Yes, I'm aware that I'm going to be in more miserable jobs than this. But at least now, I don't have a family to feed, so I still have a choice. So two weeks notice, and I'm out.

So what's next? I tried Cathay Cineleisure. In fact, I got interviewed yesterday. Unfortunately, I was late for that interview because the stupid bus broke down. I got there 30 minutes late. And when I finally got interviewed, 'sigh', let's just say I didn't talk well, even by my standards.

So, one "We'll call you later" and a day later, no call. The one job I might have actually enjoyed and I probably didn't get it.

Did I get depressed again? Nope. Just resigned. In some ways, that's a little worse.

Cheer up, mate. Harry Potter this Saturday at GV Marina.

Some points about GV Marina. I went there twice, a few months ago for Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, and 2 years ago with my dad for Austin Powers in Goldmember. And one thing I noticed both times? Ads. Lots and lots....and LOTS of ads before the movie. There wasn't many people for Charlie, but for Goldmember, the theatre was packed, and the people were pissed. The movies only started 15 minutes later.

Oddly enough, that's why I picked GV Marina again. What can I say, I love ads. And it builds up the anticipation.

A lacklustre post to follow a bizarre post. Nice.

This post is pointless!

(Time to be lame.)

What the hell do I write now? I mean, I'm feeling down in the dumps, again, yet at the same time, I feel on top of the world! (In short, Everest in the Marianas Trench)

Can someone just please tell me how to talk properly, it really would be nice. No more uhs, ums, stutters and Bugs Bunny voice. (Meh, the voice is cute sometimes, I must admit.)

Imagine no possesions? Sorry John, can't do that. You wanna be a hermit, fine, be my guest. And say hi to George for me. (Hi, Fiz!)

Toot sweets, chaps! CloretsTM makes you go all minty fresh inside! (No, no, Listerine is the way to go!)

All the imaginary friends in the world can't help cure my acne. (Well, of course they won't. They're not trained dermatologists.)

Did you know that Champagne is used to worship fleas? (I prefer to use a nice Chardonnay.)

I'm a topsy-turvy mad-man, flipping about with a chained keyboard. (Pfft, mad-MAN? Don't flatter yourself!)

Am I making sense? Is Bush a moron? (Un-American! Oh wait...)

Who ordered this lava lamp anyway? (The 70s. They want it back by the way.)

I just got married...to my hand. (Well, at least you don't need to talk to it anymore.)

I may be a creep, I may be a loser, I may even wonder what the hell I'm doing here, but funk, funk, FUNK IT! ;) I'm going to make damn sure that I do belong here! (Somewhere, Thom Yorke is seething.)

So ends this post. Cheerio! (Cheerio then! And don't write crap like this again!)

Get your White Elephants right here!

Whether you know about the Buangkok White Elephant or not...is irrelevant. (Personally, I think it was Over-Reaction 101 on the part of the authorities.)

What matters, is that it inspired a few 16-year-old RGS girls (hate them yet?) to make a t-shirt.

A political comment from a bunch of supposedly apathetic Singaporean teens? Maybe. But who cares? I've been wanting to buy a t-shirt anyway. Why not this? After all, it goes with my eyes. And you can't tell me that elephant doesn't look cute.




Naturally, to avoid a call from those guys in white, they've added a little something in their infosheet.

"We would like to remind the public that even though the White Elephant has become our mascot and symbol for the project, we are in no way attempting to judge or condone the Buangkok MRT incident. Rather, we are using the accidental fame of the elephants to spark interest in our project; they also serve as a reminder that legal boundaries are important and should be adhered to even while expressing one's views and opinions about political issues."

Translation: PLEASE DON'T SUE US, LEH! WE PROMISE TO BE GOOD LOYAL SINGAPOREANS AND NEVER MIGRATE, EVER!

Ring 'em up at proj.white.elephant@gmail.com for purchase details. That's if you decide that the shirt goes with your shoes. More info here.

Note to self: Cancel Psychiatry as career option

I've always wanted to see a psychiatrist. Ever since that one episode of Animaniacs, with the Warner brothers and sister seeing that "Pee-see-ky-atrist". Always wondered what they would make of my own mind. Heaven knows, I often wonder if I'm sane at all at times.

I basically have 2 versions of myself I use in public. The "quiet" guy, who would just sit there, a glazed look on his face, lost in his own world, smiling only feebly at people when he was addressed. I usually use persona that in front of strangers, like new classmates. Sure, some people would find this silent person interesting, and try to get through to them. But the "quiet" guy, ever skeptical about the intentions of these people, would always try to back away from them. He suceeds with some of them, losing possibly good friends in the process. This guy usually pops up whenever I get depressed, which I must add, is getting more frequent.

Then there is the "cartoon" guy. He usually pops up when I'm in a good mood and surrounded by people I know and love. He's talkative, interested in everything around him, a joker with a plethora of lame jokes, a very sociable person (believe it or not) and just flat-out crazy. Some find him weird, some find him charming. This guy, I swear to God, nearly got me a few girlfriends. The reason I still don't have one is because here, the skeptical trait of the "quiet" guy creeps in, and I back out at the last moment. I try to use this persona every day, but the world being what it is, and me being a natural pessimist, I can't help but let the "quiet" guy take over, even for a few minutes.

But whatever persona I use, some traits of mine remain the same. I'm dopey, a blur-toad and a little slow on the uptake. See, I may have just said the same thing three times! It's my need to impress people, my need to repent for the horrible mistakes I made regarding my social life in the past. But I still cannot get myself over the teases, taunts and outright bullying I endured in Primaries 1 to 3. I think from then on, I have always treated new people with a little apprehension. "Are they going to like me? Are they going to make fun of me? Call me names? Oh God, I better not risk it, I have to stay away from them!" All that really came to a head when the teasings reached a vindictive high, my attention span mysteriously dropping which lead to a near-catastrophic fall of grades, and a damn tuition teacher which went too far in disciplining me for the aforementioned attention span drop that led to me having a hatred to anything to do with tuition.

It may be ten years ago, and it may seem nothing to some of you, but honestly, I don't think my confidence and self-esteem ever recovered from that year on. From one of the best students to a mediocre one. Thank God my English actually improved after all that, or I may have ended up somewhere worse that Yusof Ishak Secondary School. (No offense, YISS, I still love you! :D)

After reading that article of parents using hypnotism to improve their child's minds, and more recently, Wigan Athletic using hypnotism to help their players reach an unbelievable 2nd place in the English Premiership, I'm considering begging my parents to send me to Woodbridge or wherever pronto. Does it really work? Does it have scientific merit? Hell if I know. But after the last few months of harboring very bad thoughts (of the bloody variety), I'm willing to give it a shot.

Anything's better than another day with the knowledge that the Internet may be my only hope of getting more friends.

Smack those strings!

Oasis' Wonderwall and George Harrison's My Sweet Lord are 2 songs that are part of the reason why I bought that guitar for my birthday. You know, the one collecting dust bunnies at the foot of my bed.

Ok, I am now aiming to play those 2 songs well by this time, in 2 years.

I know, I know. But come on, my NS call-up letter could be in the post box any month now. I'll be too busy training, doing drills and being some guy's bitch to practice.

We need a new camera...

I think I know why I never look good in photos. It's the damn camera itself! It's true what they say, the camera adds 20% to your size. It probably explains why Jamie looks so unbelievably skinny in a not-sexy-at-all way in person, not at all like in FHM.

Damn, my cheeks are chubby.....

Aaaand cue Saloma....

You know, I think this goes without saying, but well, I have to say it anyway.

To all my Muslim friends and relatives and anybody else who's a Muslim reading this (unless you're planning to bomb the US Embassy in which case bugger off), Selamat Hari Raya Aidilfitri, Maaf Zahir dan Batin. To all the rest of you, go ahead. Lean back. Relax. Take off your shoes. Try to ignore the fact that your work/end-term project needs to be done yesterday.

I did plan to put up an MP3 of me singing Selamat Hari Raya up here, but then I figured, why ruin this happy day?

Now go forth and eat Ketupat!

Evil 18

(Before I start, I just to say something in response to something I just found ouut. If you want to know what it is, MSN me, cuz I ain't sayin' it here. And that something is this:
OH MY MUTHAFREAKIN' !#%$@*&!^$!$ GOD!!!

And now, today's blog entry.)





Dear sweet Sister, even though you're 18 today, it doesn't mean you now have the right to go out at night, shop till Dad's bankrupt and kiss all the cute guys out there. It just means you can watch naked boobs in the cinema.

Happy 18th Birthday, Ili Izyani. Just a few more years until you work full-time for your money to buy your clothes and cosmetics. And by work, I don't mean begging and pleading and flattering me, Mum and Dad.

And remember, I love you. MUACKS!!!