It's New Year's Eve eve today. The last Sunday of 2007.
Alot's happened this year; mostly good, for which I am thankful.
I'm not one for well-thought out resolutions (or well-thought out anythings, come to think of it), so I hope everyone who reads this has had a good year behind them, and a good year ahead.
Sunday, December 30, 2007
Friday, December 21, 2007
Sunday, December 16, 2007
Sunday, December 09, 2007
In Short
Lately it seems like I've been watching a load of movies; here's my take on a few.
The Golden Compass
Imagine, if you will, a cross between Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, Star Wars and Dr. Dolittle. That's essentially what you get here, minus Legolas, lightsabres and a black man. You do, however, get a small person with a shiny golden artifact, mysterious parentage and talking bears. A thin plot peppered by flat acting from some of the supporting cast doesn't help matters either, and lines like "You'd better hope they're on your side if they choose to attack" really spoil what might have been a somewhat decent movie. Cheap thrills of crying out "Dooku" and "Saruman" perhaps salvaged the experience.
3/5 from me, having risen from 2 just for the "I am your mother." "Noooooo!" exchange.
Hitman
I'm a huge fanboy of the series from Eidos. Every other game glorifies killing, but Hitman makes it stylish and innovative. In no other game can a skinny bald dude be so cool. The movie, sadly, takes every element of what makes the game awesome and rubbishes them all. Firstly, 47 talks. Alot. And he jokes. And flirts. No fibre wire. A single instance of disguising as a bystander. A long, drawn-out sword-fight with three other hitmen. Need I go on? Again, a plot thinner than tissues serves little to detract from the fact that the absolute best candidate for 47, Jason Statham, is not in it.
Another 3/5.
The Tattooist
On of the best ever locally-made films. But that's only because it was co-produced by a foreign company and I don't really have that many things to compare it to. As a horror film, it's actually pretty lame. The biggest scare was a scene where a girl hurls a cup or vase at the lead actor, shattering it against the wall. Only because it was unexpected. The "ghost" or "demon" is about as scary as Katie Holmes' new hairdo, and the leading girl isn't anywhere near hot or cute. In fact, her nose looks like she's been in a few bar-room brawls. The other girl, which I previously mentioned, is actually better looking, but she acts about as badly as Dida.
2/5, and I'm being kind.
30 Days of Night
I Am Legend is the reason I am looking forward to Christmas this year. But I thought I'd settle for this vampire flick while waiting. And realised I would have been better off watching Buffy. The TV series, not the horrendous movie. At least that one had a hot Sarah Michelle Gellar.
2/5. Seriously.
The Mist
1408 was a total letdown. With that in mind, I watched this new Stephen King movie expecting more of the same. However, I've had three days to watch this, and I'm not done. There's still the better part of an hour left, and I can't see myself going through with it at this point in time. I'm not sure what that says. The visuals are cheesy though.
?/5
Ones to watch out for:
I Am Legend - I hope the reviews are wrong
Awake - Alba
Cloverfield - Looks killer
Jumper - I want to see this, surprisingly
Iron Man - The latest poster is so badass
AVP:Requiem - Fanboy
The Dark Knight - Ditto
Ones I am not keen on watching:
Alvin and the Chipmunks - The Christmas carols have killed any semblance of hype
Mr Magrioum's Wonder Emporium - Ripoff of Willy Wonka
The Golden Compass
Imagine, if you will, a cross between Lord of the Rings, the Chronicles of Narnia, Star Wars and Dr. Dolittle. That's essentially what you get here, minus Legolas, lightsabres and a black man. You do, however, get a small person with a shiny golden artifact, mysterious parentage and talking bears. A thin plot peppered by flat acting from some of the supporting cast doesn't help matters either, and lines like "You'd better hope they're on your side if they choose to attack" really spoil what might have been a somewhat decent movie. Cheap thrills of crying out "Dooku" and "Saruman" perhaps salvaged the experience.
3/5 from me, having risen from 2 just for the "I am your mother." "Noooooo!" exchange.
Hitman
I'm a huge fanboy of the series from Eidos. Every other game glorifies killing, but Hitman makes it stylish and innovative. In no other game can a skinny bald dude be so cool. The movie, sadly, takes every element of what makes the game awesome and rubbishes them all. Firstly, 47 talks. Alot. And he jokes. And flirts. No fibre wire. A single instance of disguising as a bystander. A long, drawn-out sword-fight with three other hitmen. Need I go on? Again, a plot thinner than tissues serves little to detract from the fact that the absolute best candidate for 47, Jason Statham, is not in it.
Another 3/5.
The Tattooist
On of the best ever locally-made films. But that's only because it was co-produced by a foreign company and I don't really have that many things to compare it to. As a horror film, it's actually pretty lame. The biggest scare was a scene where a girl hurls a cup or vase at the lead actor, shattering it against the wall. Only because it was unexpected. The "ghost" or "demon" is about as scary as Katie Holmes' new hairdo, and the leading girl isn't anywhere near hot or cute. In fact, her nose looks like she's been in a few bar-room brawls. The other girl, which I previously mentioned, is actually better looking, but she acts about as badly as Dida.
2/5, and I'm being kind.
30 Days of Night
I Am Legend is the reason I am looking forward to Christmas this year. But I thought I'd settle for this vampire flick while waiting. And realised I would have been better off watching Buffy. The TV series, not the horrendous movie. At least that one had a hot Sarah Michelle Gellar.
2/5. Seriously.
The Mist
1408 was a total letdown. With that in mind, I watched this new Stephen King movie expecting more of the same. However, I've had three days to watch this, and I'm not done. There's still the better part of an hour left, and I can't see myself going through with it at this point in time. I'm not sure what that says. The visuals are cheesy though.
?/5
Ones to watch out for:
I Am Legend - I hope the reviews are wrong
Awake - Alba
Cloverfield - Looks killer
Jumper - I want to see this, surprisingly
Iron Man - The latest poster is so badass
AVP:Requiem - Fanboy
The Dark Knight - Ditto
Ones I am not keen on watching:
Alvin and the Chipmunks - The Christmas carols have killed any semblance of hype
Mr Magrioum's Wonder Emporium - Ripoff of Willy Wonka
Tuesday, December 04, 2007
A Visitor
Not quite Comic Relief this time. Here's something a few of you might have heard before. If you haven't, I hope you enjoy it, as much as anyone can, at least.
The square of light flickered in the darkness, a blackness that seemed almost liquid in its fluidity. Or perhaps it was only because his glasses were cast aside as he prepared to embrace his slumber.
The air chilled his skin even as he lay beneath the green and white cotton blanket, thrown over his prone form more out of habit than as a ward against the artificial elements. He stretched, and yawned, and stretched again. The fabric of the admittedly kiddish sheets bunching beneath his back, joints cracking like dead branches on a forest floor. Lazy eyes drifted again to the light; dull vision and dull visions. His toes peeped over the edge of the bed and out from under the blanket, like so many knobs, shapeless.
From outside, a claw tapped and raked and scratched and pawed at the window, a low howl accompanying the subtle greeting. But tree branches had never posed a mortal threat, and this one seemed no different. The claw persisted, and stopped, as the howling died.
The light, however, had a life unbound to the wind.
And from the light, there was darkness.
There is a certain innate ability inherent in nearly all creatures that allows them to recognise one of their own, even from a silhouette. And a certain terror that overcomes one who knows he is not alone, but not who he is not alone with.
The shadow in the light stumbled with an infant's gait, hunkering silently as the darkness it seemed to be made of.
Horrifyingly, it stopped. And turned.
Eyeless, it stared with reptilian patience, for what could have been years or heartbeats, unwavering and unflinching.
Demons and fiends and phantoms and spectres are often portrayed as large, horned, flaming behemoths, all teeth and fangs and eyes that glow red with hate and malice. But when such a child-shaped darkness simply waits, not two feet from your exposed toes, a hint of a snarl or a flash of talon would have been respite from the torment of the shadow.
A cotton blanket seemed a feeble buffer against even the most insubstantial of dangers, his pounding heart was sure to have drowned out a scream if one could be conjured from between parched lips. Quaking against a wall, he stared into the interloper as it stared back.
He was afraid.
Afraid to move, to brighten the room, to call for someone, to breathe. Afraid of what he would do if the figure moved. Abruptly, he was even more terrified of what he might be faced with if it remained.
And darkness befell him from all around.
Cursing the sleep timer on the television, he fumbled out of bed, expecting at any moment to feel small, cold, fingers wrap dreadfully around an ankle or wrist. Miraculously, the light switch materialized under his trembling fingers and he threw it.
And it was gone.
The square of light flickered in the darkness, a blackness that seemed almost liquid in its fluidity. Or perhaps it was only because his glasses were cast aside as he prepared to embrace his slumber.
The air chilled his skin even as he lay beneath the green and white cotton blanket, thrown over his prone form more out of habit than as a ward against the artificial elements. He stretched, and yawned, and stretched again. The fabric of the admittedly kiddish sheets bunching beneath his back, joints cracking like dead branches on a forest floor. Lazy eyes drifted again to the light; dull vision and dull visions. His toes peeped over the edge of the bed and out from under the blanket, like so many knobs, shapeless.
From outside, a claw tapped and raked and scratched and pawed at the window, a low howl accompanying the subtle greeting. But tree branches had never posed a mortal threat, and this one seemed no different. The claw persisted, and stopped, as the howling died.
The light, however, had a life unbound to the wind.
And from the light, there was darkness.
There is a certain innate ability inherent in nearly all creatures that allows them to recognise one of their own, even from a silhouette. And a certain terror that overcomes one who knows he is not alone, but not who he is not alone with.
The shadow in the light stumbled with an infant's gait, hunkering silently as the darkness it seemed to be made of.
Horrifyingly, it stopped. And turned.
Eyeless, it stared with reptilian patience, for what could have been years or heartbeats, unwavering and unflinching.
Demons and fiends and phantoms and spectres are often portrayed as large, horned, flaming behemoths, all teeth and fangs and eyes that glow red with hate and malice. But when such a child-shaped darkness simply waits, not two feet from your exposed toes, a hint of a snarl or a flash of talon would have been respite from the torment of the shadow.
A cotton blanket seemed a feeble buffer against even the most insubstantial of dangers, his pounding heart was sure to have drowned out a scream if one could be conjured from between parched lips. Quaking against a wall, he stared into the interloper as it stared back.
He was afraid.
Afraid to move, to brighten the room, to call for someone, to breathe. Afraid of what he would do if the figure moved. Abruptly, he was even more terrified of what he might be faced with if it remained.
And darkness befell him from all around.
Cursing the sleep timer on the television, he fumbled out of bed, expecting at any moment to feel small, cold, fingers wrap dreadfully around an ankle or wrist. Miraculously, the light switch materialized under his trembling fingers and he threw it.
And it was gone.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Sunday, December 02, 2007
Saturday, December 01, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
Comic Relief #64
Of course, it was said in jest, but it just goes to show, anything you say can and will be used against you.
Have a good night!
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Friday, November 23, 2007
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Comic Relief #57
Of course, that was followed by the classic "Just get her hammered la."
Hmm. Tempting.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Comic Relief #56
I left my laptop unattended today for a while, and came back to see someone attempting to do what I do best, provide Comic Relief. As such, I've decided that becase you all love me so much, I'll accept these amazing "guest strips" from all you wonderful people.
The above is the actual complete thing, probably some invisible family or something. Oh well, you decide.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Friday, November 16, 2007
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
With Friends Like These
You can't choose your parents, they say.
But you can definitely choose your friends.
In the time I've spent breathing, I've been fortunate enough to have been surrounded by generally nice people to call my minio - I mean, people. I remember the ones I've long since lost touch with, those I went to school with before the Internet made the world such a smaller place. I'm talking even before IRC and ICQ. I'm talking Windows 3.1.
But I can say that the ones I still talk to, those from school, the army, random people, have made my world that much more interesting. Of course, we've all had our conflicts. I've yelled at friends in the past (and have been yelled at because of some friends), more than once, and other, less vocal but nonetheless more intense disagreements have occurred many a time. Still, I'm happy with what I have, I can't really complain.
I can hardly recall what my primary school friends look like. Perhaps it's got something to do with the fact that I didn't wear glasses back then, even though I needed to. I do remember silly games that boys played before they hit puberty, just when they were starting to learn the meaning of sex. No, not those kinds of games.
I remember running a friend's house, playing Doom and football in his study, breaking the lights. Engaging in the guilty pleasures of watching a particular Japanese cartoon and talking about how cool it was with a classmate. Going all the way to Toa Payoh about once a week to play single-player Counterstrike on the PC. Entertaining some who made it their goal in life to beat me at FIFA 99, not leaving my place till after dinner. Being surprised with a birthday present (and a little cake) on someone else's birthday because they missed mine. Sudden phone calls from multiple people when someone hears I might be upset over something.
Unfortunately, some try too hard to hold on to friendships. It's like pulling a cactus out of quicksand. The harder you try, the more you bleed. And eventually, you sink to the bottom as well.
OK, that wasn't very poetic, forgive me.
But friends are supposed to be the ones who make you feel better, the ones who give you something to laugh about, smile about, joke about, think about. Not the ones who annoy you to no end, who do nothing but belittle your beliefs, who put up a facade and spread insidious half-truths about their so-called "friends".
It's too bad some can't really see this.
Someone once told someone else that they were too nice "to a fault", and that "you've never really lived, until you've hated". While this might sound pessimistic, at best, it's kinda true in its own twisted way. Nice guys (and girls) finish last may not be the most accurate motto to build the foundation of your character on, but its true to a certain extent.
The term "you deserve better" rings truer than usual for two people in particular right now, and perhaps to more who are reading this.
Stop trying and hoping to salvage anything when there is nothing left to salvage.
But you can definitely choose your friends.
In the time I've spent breathing, I've been fortunate enough to have been surrounded by generally nice people to call my minio - I mean, people. I remember the ones I've long since lost touch with, those I went to school with before the Internet made the world such a smaller place. I'm talking even before IRC and ICQ. I'm talking Windows 3.1.
But I can say that the ones I still talk to, those from school, the army, random people, have made my world that much more interesting. Of course, we've all had our conflicts. I've yelled at friends in the past (and have been yelled at because of some friends), more than once, and other, less vocal but nonetheless more intense disagreements have occurred many a time. Still, I'm happy with what I have, I can't really complain.
I can hardly recall what my primary school friends look like. Perhaps it's got something to do with the fact that I didn't wear glasses back then, even though I needed to. I do remember silly games that boys played before they hit puberty, just when they were starting to learn the meaning of sex. No, not those kinds of games.
I remember running a friend's house, playing Doom and football in his study, breaking the lights. Engaging in the guilty pleasures of watching a particular Japanese cartoon and talking about how cool it was with a classmate. Going all the way to Toa Payoh about once a week to play single-player Counterstrike on the PC. Entertaining some who made it their goal in life to beat me at FIFA 99, not leaving my place till after dinner. Being surprised with a birthday present (and a little cake) on someone else's birthday because they missed mine. Sudden phone calls from multiple people when someone hears I might be upset over something.
Unfortunately, some try too hard to hold on to friendships. It's like pulling a cactus out of quicksand. The harder you try, the more you bleed. And eventually, you sink to the bottom as well.
OK, that wasn't very poetic, forgive me.
But friends are supposed to be the ones who make you feel better, the ones who give you something to laugh about, smile about, joke about, think about. Not the ones who annoy you to no end, who do nothing but belittle your beliefs, who put up a facade and spread insidious half-truths about their so-called "friends".
It's too bad some can't really see this.
Someone once told someone else that they were too nice "to a fault", and that "you've never really lived, until you've hated". While this might sound pessimistic, at best, it's kinda true in its own twisted way. Nice guys (and girls) finish last may not be the most accurate motto to build the foundation of your character on, but its true to a certain extent.
The term "you deserve better" rings truer than usual for two people in particular right now, and perhaps to more who are reading this.
Stop trying and hoping to salvage anything when there is nothing left to salvage.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Comic Relief - Not
Again, Blogger chooses to hate me, so no Comic Relief tonight.
Don't worry, loyal fans, I'm alright.
That being said, Aston's has a tendency to never disappoint, an observation which I was reminded of so deliciously tonight.
Don't worry, loyal fans, I'm alright.
That being said, Aston's has a tendency to never disappoint, an observation which I was reminded of so deliciously tonight.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Monday, November 05, 2007
Comic Relief #45
By the time most of you read this, it would be our 78 month anniversary. To the one who I celebrate it with, thank you, sorry and I'll talk to you soon.
Rumpled Sheets
Staring across my checkered sheets, blanket thrown back over a strage lump which I assume is a collection of socks and books, I see the door of my room. And find myself wondering about things.
People change all the time. Be it for good or bad, change is the only constant in this big party we call life. I remember my first day at school when I was in Primary 1, Secondary 1, JC 1 and now here. Add the "school" on Tekong, and I've had my fair share of first day changes, which are usually some of the most traumatic someone can have.
Sometimes you don't realise how big a change something really is until you're on the verge of making it. Then it hits you, like a truck in the chest. Shit, really? Yeah.
You catch your breath, your heart skips a beat. But not the feel-good kind of heart-skipping breath-catching. It's more along the lines of fear and hesitation, confusion and depression perhaps. So you call off your decision, like how you've postponed everything.
And you sit alone, silent except for the incessant cackling of the air-conditioning, wondering.
Wondering about the consequences of going through with something you're so afraid to do. Wondering if it's all one big ungly mistake. But when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, you're faced with but the illusion of choice. Hobson's choice.
We all make decisions, but in the end, our decisions make us.
I haven't made mine yet.
What does that say?
People change all the time. Be it for good or bad, change is the only constant in this big party we call life. I remember my first day at school when I was in Primary 1, Secondary 1, JC 1 and now here. Add the "school" on Tekong, and I've had my fair share of first day changes, which are usually some of the most traumatic someone can have.
Sometimes you don't realise how big a change something really is until you're on the verge of making it. Then it hits you, like a truck in the chest. Shit, really? Yeah.
You catch your breath, your heart skips a beat. But not the feel-good kind of heart-skipping breath-catching. It's more along the lines of fear and hesitation, confusion and depression perhaps. So you call off your decision, like how you've postponed everything.
And you sit alone, silent except for the incessant cackling of the air-conditioning, wondering.
Wondering about the consequences of going through with something you're so afraid to do. Wondering if it's all one big ungly mistake. But when you're stuck between a rock and a hard place, you're faced with but the illusion of choice. Hobson's choice.
We all make decisions, but in the end, our decisions make us.
I haven't made mine yet.
What does that say?
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Double Jeopardy
What do you do when you are wrongly accused, judged and punished for something that you didn't do? Do you come out of the whole ordeal and try to make amends for whatever had contributed to the whole situation?
Or do you go ahead and do what you are said to have done and be what you are called?
I loved the concept of double jeopardy that was the focal point in the movie of the same name. You can't get punished twice for the exact same crime once you've been handed and have served your sentence. Woman is accused of killing husband, goes to prison, comes out and sees husband. Plots to kill him. In public.
In real life, few such dramatics occur (You blow his head off in the middle of Mardi Gras and walk away) though it can be equally argued that life is but a play and we are but players in this huge drama.
When someone is wrongly accused of something, despite his denial, by someone supposedly close to him, what are his options?
When you judge someone guilty, you can only really do it once.
Or do you go ahead and do what you are said to have done and be what you are called?
I loved the concept of double jeopardy that was the focal point in the movie of the same name. You can't get punished twice for the exact same crime once you've been handed and have served your sentence. Woman is accused of killing husband, goes to prison, comes out and sees husband. Plots to kill him. In public.
In real life, few such dramatics occur (You blow his head off in the middle of Mardi Gras and walk away) though it can be equally argued that life is but a play and we are but players in this huge drama.
When someone is wrongly accused of something, despite his denial, by someone supposedly close to him, what are his options?
When you judge someone guilty, you can only really do it once.
Writer's Block
I started off this post with a few cliche phrases and whatnot, knowing full well that I hate them. Since then, I've revised it about seventeen times, all the while trying to get rid of a bothersome itch between my shoulderblades and having the feeling of an important idea just at the edge of your mind, tantalisingly out of reach.
Fuck.
There goes another three annoyingly idiotic paragraphs.
Screw this.
Everyone deserves a second chance, I'm told.
But do they really?
Fuck.
There goes another three annoyingly idiotic paragraphs.
Screw this.
Everyone deserves a second chance, I'm told.
But do they really?
Friday, November 02, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Comic Relief #34
So, Lars and the Real Girl is actually brilliant. I say "actually" like I didn't expect it, but that's false. The trailers already looked great. To anyone who watches the movie and doesn't like it, GTFO.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
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