The world is filled with people of questionable character. I've never professed to be a saint myself, but recent observations of someone I still categorize as a stranger have made me sick to my stomach. I won't give out any names, and all of you loyal, avid, intelligent, fantastic readers can make your own assumptions.
One thing I've never stood for is for someone in a relationship to cheat on his or her other. Perhaps one of the only things that I despise even more is someone trying to make a move on someone else who is already taken.
Sure, sure, it might be labelled as just a "friendly gesture", but come on. No one persists in attempts at contacting someone day in and day out asking over and over again to meet up for supposdly innocent get togethers and meals and drinks and what not.
I don't like judging people, and I've always had the mentality that everyone deserves a chance, but few deserve a second one. In this case, I make no judgment, but those of you involved should be able to live with the consequences of your actions.
Now that I'm done rambling, I need to get back to studying.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
Comic Relief #110
Trust Jonno to randomly greet you on MSN with the weirdest and most disturbing things ever, and to offer the most honest opinions on homework as well.
Wrong Number
So here I am, sitting in front of my nice Sony Vaio with its faded "ASDQWE" buttons, trying to finish my write-up of Barack Obama's speech a while back. It's due tomorrow, and I need to be very optimistic to say I'm halfway through. Yet, I found myself clicking link after link ofrandom videos, starting with Obama's appearance on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, which soon led to, among other things, a rather obnoxious video of Uwe Boll all but begging anyone to start a "Pro-Uwe Boll" petition and another video of a few people playing rugby only to be anally probed by the unwelcome finger of an opponent.
Here's where my phone rings.
Now, it's not an exaggeration to say that everytime I look at my cellphone a little part of me dies as I envision myself wrestling with its user-unfriendly format and annoying strap. A phone is a phone, but this has got to be one Nokia that I'd like to trade in.
As the generic tone beeps, bleeps and chimes and the little black and red casing vibrates with all the energy of a newborn caterpillar, I think to myself, "Didn't you just call me less than five minutes ago? I'm trying to do my last minute work here." A private number, so I assumed that the girlfriend was calling me from the home of her pudgy little tuition kid. But I was wrong.
So wrong.
(Cue dramatic music)
As I answered the call ("picked up the phone" wouldn't be exactly accurate here, though I did have to physically lift it to my face), an unfamiliar voice greeted me like some disembodied soul sent to haunt a stranger. Only... this one was speaking something that sounded like English, but like it was being spoken by one of those weird Japanese people who are forced to read random English words on a game show, or else they'd be electrocuted.
"Hah...lo! Yoooo tock Chy-neese?"
"Err... what?"
"Ni shang sheh moh?"
"Wrong number."
"Ha?"
"Wrong number."
"Oh."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Wei?"
Here is where my patience runs out and I terminate the call. I swear, if there is a way to punch someone in the ear via a cellphone, I'd do it.
But back to my paper, I still need more than 2 pages to be safe.
My phone is ringing again.
Here's where my phone rings.
Now, it's not an exaggeration to say that everytime I look at my cellphone a little part of me dies as I envision myself wrestling with its user-unfriendly format and annoying strap. A phone is a phone, but this has got to be one Nokia that I'd like to trade in.
As the generic tone beeps, bleeps and chimes and the little black and red casing vibrates with all the energy of a newborn caterpillar, I think to myself, "Didn't you just call me less than five minutes ago? I'm trying to do my last minute work here." A private number, so I assumed that the girlfriend was calling me from the home of her pudgy little tuition kid. But I was wrong.
So wrong.
(Cue dramatic music)
As I answered the call ("picked up the phone" wouldn't be exactly accurate here, though I did have to physically lift it to my face), an unfamiliar voice greeted me like some disembodied soul sent to haunt a stranger. Only... this one was speaking something that sounded like English, but like it was being spoken by one of those weird Japanese people who are forced to read random English words on a game show, or else they'd be electrocuted.
"Hah...lo! Yoooo tock Chy-neese?"
"Err... what?"
"Ni shang sheh moh?"
"Wrong number."
"Ha?"
"Wrong number."
"Oh."
"..."
"Hello?"
"Wei?"
Here is where my patience runs out and I terminate the call. I swear, if there is a way to punch someone in the ear via a cellphone, I'd do it.
But back to my paper, I still need more than 2 pages to be safe.
My phone is ringing again.
Monday, April 14, 2008
The Long Ride
Been a while since I took a ride on the train alone, something I was forced via circumstance to do this morning. I guess it's these little mundane tasks that many of us hardly give a second thought that can seem so interesting once you detach yourself from them.
Stepping through the automated doors, the first thing I noticed, to my dismay, was the number of poor souls trapped in the carriage, their fate soon to be shared by yours truly. Finding myself a reasonably miniscule portoin of dusty floor, I attempted in vain to wrestle a book from my sling bag in the hope that some light reading would pass the time on the train.
First lesson learnt today: When people are packed so closely that they can probably overhear you thinking, one cannot remove a book from a bag unless everyone makes a conscious effort to give you the room to do so. Of course, knowing the general helpful nature of your average Singaporean, I would have been better off attempting to outrun the damn train.
I contented myself, instead, with listening to my iPod, after a few carefully-planned minutes of untangling the wires that connected the earphones to its scratched silver body. As Never Let You Go by Third Eye Blind echoed against my skull, I started to look around at my fellow commuters.
Before I go into detail, I will make one small confession. I don't actually check out girls, but I do notice, - because I am, among several things, male and not blind - if there are females in the vicinity whom I would not classify as having fallen through the ugly tree. That being said, I didn't find any this morning. But no worries, I was still happy because Man Utd beat Arsenal.
Pregnant lady to my left, thankfully without shopping bags. Standing, looking hopefully and mournfully at the seated youth before her. He looked slightly younger than me, with streaks of gold and yellow punctuating his floppy hair, and even more outlandish tones crawling over his cell phone. You all know the type. I could hear the techno music over the drone of the train. On my right, an Indian man who seemed particularly pungent this morning, an issue that was not helped by the fact he had both arms extended overhead to grasp the metal bar-pole-thing like his life depended on it. Behind me, a middle-aged Chinese aunty. I expected trouble from her, and she duly obliged a few stops later when she politely shoved my bag out of her way with her bags of groceries.
A few more sorry individuals entered our little world a short while later; among them, a youngish-looking man who was dressed to attend a business meeting, but was playing something that looked like Puzzle Bubble on his PSP. I never understood the public's sudden fascination with that thing. I mean, I love playing games, though I never owned a PSP myself. But when it was first released, it wasn't the overwhelming social phenomenon that some had predicted, and kinda died down. But in recent months, it seems everyone and their Ah Lian girlfriend are busy mashing the little buttons on their pink mini-consoles.
I spent the rest of the train ride going over how I was supposed to fabricate two days' worth of interviews and responses, as well as listening to Mercy Drive, Linkin Park, Funeral For a Friend and Michelle Branch, before arriving in school and all but bumping into Princess Tongue-Stud herself, Kania.
The rest of the day went well, hopefully it sets the tone for the rest of the week.
Stepping through the automated doors, the first thing I noticed, to my dismay, was the number of poor souls trapped in the carriage, their fate soon to be shared by yours truly. Finding myself a reasonably miniscule portoin of dusty floor, I attempted in vain to wrestle a book from my sling bag in the hope that some light reading would pass the time on the train.
First lesson learnt today: When people are packed so closely that they can probably overhear you thinking, one cannot remove a book from a bag unless everyone makes a conscious effort to give you the room to do so. Of course, knowing the general helpful nature of your average Singaporean, I would have been better off attempting to outrun the damn train.
I contented myself, instead, with listening to my iPod, after a few carefully-planned minutes of untangling the wires that connected the earphones to its scratched silver body. As Never Let You Go by Third Eye Blind echoed against my skull, I started to look around at my fellow commuters.
Before I go into detail, I will make one small confession. I don't actually check out girls, but I do notice, - because I am, among several things, male and not blind - if there are females in the vicinity whom I would not classify as having fallen through the ugly tree. That being said, I didn't find any this morning. But no worries, I was still happy because Man Utd beat Arsenal.
Pregnant lady to my left, thankfully without shopping bags. Standing, looking hopefully and mournfully at the seated youth before her. He looked slightly younger than me, with streaks of gold and yellow punctuating his floppy hair, and even more outlandish tones crawling over his cell phone. You all know the type. I could hear the techno music over the drone of the train. On my right, an Indian man who seemed particularly pungent this morning, an issue that was not helped by the fact he had both arms extended overhead to grasp the metal bar-pole-thing like his life depended on it. Behind me, a middle-aged Chinese aunty. I expected trouble from her, and she duly obliged a few stops later when she politely shoved my bag out of her way with her bags of groceries.
A few more sorry individuals entered our little world a short while later; among them, a youngish-looking man who was dressed to attend a business meeting, but was playing something that looked like Puzzle Bubble on his PSP. I never understood the public's sudden fascination with that thing. I mean, I love playing games, though I never owned a PSP myself. But when it was first released, it wasn't the overwhelming social phenomenon that some had predicted, and kinda died down. But in recent months, it seems everyone and their Ah Lian girlfriend are busy mashing the little buttons on their pink mini-consoles.
I spent the rest of the train ride going over how I was supposed to fabricate two days' worth of interviews and responses, as well as listening to Mercy Drive, Linkin Park, Funeral For a Friend and Michelle Branch, before arriving in school and all but bumping into Princess Tongue-Stud herself, Kania.
The rest of the day went well, hopefully it sets the tone for the rest of the week.
Comic Relief #109
Introducing the newest member of the cast of everyone's favourite Comic Relief, Verena. That isn't a crumbs or anything on the skirt, just "fashion faux pas", according to her.
And I'll choose to take the above quote as a compliment. I think.
And I'll choose to take the above quote as a compliment. I think.
Comic Relief #108
My latest attempt at replicating the super-lashes of a certain Miss Elizabeth. Not fantastic, probably far from it, but oh well.Saturday, April 12, 2008
Tuesday, April 01, 2008
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