mp3 mission

Going to Low Yat after class. Looking forward to returning a happier but much poorer person.

A personal mission to listen to Canon in D for an entire day has solidified my resolve to get myself an mp3 player. I want crystal clear piano notes, thank you. And I don't want to have to periodically readjust the headphone socket because the stupid connection decided to take a break.

Hence, Philips GoGear Spark. But will probably end up getting the Sansa Clip. You know how it is. You research like hell and you say "Yes! This is it! This is the one for me!" and then you go there and they don't sell that particular model you want. "Try this model lah! Same wan!". But not the model you want (and it's twice the price). Come to think of it right, same thing happens with boyfriends also.

But sometimes right, you just wander around and wonders happen. You suddenly find yourself face to face with the very item you have been looking for all this while but never knew you were looking for it. And you can actually afford it. Rare, but it happens. Of course, if I were to keep with the format of the paragraph above, yes, this happens with boyfriends also.

So, it's either you decide on one, or you fall in love. One is a flame, the other is an explosion.

Of course, there's always eBay.

the rain keeps me up

human heads

cow heads

pig heads

when they blur

things become clear

***

It's all a cycle, isn't it? Empires prosper, empires decay, revolutions start, empires go down, empires start over, empires prosper, empires decay, revolutions start, empires go down. All empires start out as revolutions, and all empires end with revolutions. Everything, no matter how well-intentioned it starts out to be, ends up rotten to the core. Ends up replaced.

***

Amazing, but the girl with no sense of direction managed to locate the pork noodle place to which she had followed a posse of people while trying to talk (and walk) intelligently. It (apparently) serves heavenly pork noodles for which people are willing to wait hours. Pork noodles which I have not tried, as mine was not pre-ordered and there wasn't enough time. So I had coke at a place which (apparently) serves heavenly pork noodles.

I had a debt to collect.

So, yes. The girl with no sense of direction managed to find the place that she does not know the name of in a street she has only seen once during which she was too busy trying not to embarrass herself. All in the name of honour. I will not leave a pork noodle place with a stomach full of coke. So Beatrice and I ordered and we waited for 25 minutes. It was above average. I mean, of course I wouldn't be incredibly impressed after all the hype.

ignore the green

But it was good. Yellow noodles, salty soup, tubes of intestines, slices of liver, real meatballs, bunches of deep-fried fatty skin. You know, the really badass type of food. The this-is-going-to-take-away-two-years-of-my-natural-lifespan-but-screw-it type of food. Oh yeah. Don't know if I can ever find the way back again.

***

After a few false starts, finally, it is confirmed. Amy will be setting foot in Taiping for the Raya holidays. Bus tix all bought and all. She can't back off now! Hah! I will give her the tour of Taiping that I wished I had but never had until it was too late. Will probably skip the tranny part of the tour. Probably. But will definitely show her the saddest place in all Taiping. Tesco. Will also show her hideous former high school. Will not sign her into club swimming pool, but will make her go boating in lake. Maybe tales of mutated Flower Horns will awaken dormant ability to swim.

The sad thing is, I told her so many (embellished) stories of Taiping, but her eyes only lit up when I mentioned I have a decorative piano lying around the house somewhere. Some people, I tell you. I bet my Mum will love her. They will (if I may be so vain) stay up all night talking about me. I might end up having to do a DNA test just to make sure.

Suddenly I have a strong feeling I will be replaced.

***

New book = Contentment

on books

VS Naipaul did not manage to remedy the situation. Yes, he won the Nobel Prize for Literature. Yes, he writes books that are lauded by people better-versed in books than I am. Yes, his insights on life as an Indian in Britain is mind-freshingly blowing. But he's boring. I don't get it. It's just the way he writes. Heavy. Carefully chosen words, yes, but somehow carefully chosen to make me speed through the darn book so that I can get it over with. Maybe it's just his material. He finds it so interesting to distinguish between East-Indians and West-Indians and whatnot. I cannot even begin to fathom how different the East Indies are from the West. Maybe his real books will be different. I hope to god they are.

Onwards to a better book! Animal Farm by George Orwell, currently a beloved writer of mine. I read it before, but was too young to appreciate what's going on beneath the writing pigs. I hope I'll see better this time around. Already promised myself to read 1984 when I am planning to vote (which seems like a long long time in coming). Here's to an insightful journey! I have a feeling it's going to be beautiful. This copy is old and yellow and indestructible, just like mine was.

Also stumbled upon The Secret Life of Poems by Tom Paulin. Awful title, I know, but it has this bit about nursery rhymes I want to read. They sound so pleasing, they don't have to make sense! And when you put sense and keep the meter, the magic's gone. Fascinating. It's like Kurt Schwitters' Ursonate performed by Jaap Blonk. There is much to read into gibberish.

Beatrice said something about going to Ampang this Saturday? Should I go? The flesh is willing but the mind is weak. Next week is going to be hell and I don't have a Calculus 3 slave chained to my bedpost ready to swallow questions and vomit explanations. But I'll probably just end up watching more Top Gear episodes. But I don't know for sure. Gaaaa.

periodic ponderings

Today we shall conduct a short discourse on another topic that is distasteful to the general population. So distasteful, in fact, that it had spawned many many euphemisms: That-Time-of-The-Month, My-Best-Friend, The-Monthly-Visitor, Aiyah-That-Wan-Ah, and my personal favorite, One-Over-Frequency.

Let's get to it. My period is 2 weeks early. Last time, it didn't come for 7 weeks! I found myself muttering "You did not have sex. You did not have sex." and was quite relieved when the blood finally started. Now, it comes early. Compensating, maybe? Not a very nice way to compensate, if you ask me. I thought menstruation should be regular by the time a girl hits the late teens. Guess my hormones just won't behave. But it's okay. That means I get to swim when I get back to Taiping!

I wonder how the world would be like if guys get the period too. You can see them clutching their hips, you can see them complaining about how it messes with their exercise, you can see them comparing how fast they can change their sanitary pads, you can see them throwing things at people who get on their frazzled nerves, you can see them drink tea from thermos flasks, you can see them poking critically at the inviting-looking sanitary pad on display, and so on. What! Funny mah! It's not that hard to imagine Shahril menstruating and throwing tantrums and getting all snappy and emo and stuff. Go on, agree with me.

***

A friend just told me that he will never ever be gay because the thought of another person's balls hitting his own is simply too awful to bear. Is it just me, or is it just really hard to imagine? If any of you die from this strenuous mental exercise, let me know if you see anything.

***

A pseudo-plan to go Irish this Saturday has been shelved in favor of staying in Akasia watching Dr Who while everyone else studies for Calculus 2.

***

My comment on the cow-head incident: My comment will have to be censored.

***

Also, Disney bought Marvel. And I had a blast breaking the news to Amy and Charis. Poor souls.

***

To the girl who waved to me in the library: My cornea was dented because I was sleeping with my eyeballs pressed to my arm. I was not frowning at you; I was squinting. Couldn't see properly, so if I know you, I'm sorry. If I don't know you, then yes, I do always look that good when I wake up ;)

Guys, this is how I score with girls.

***

This has got to be the weirdest period-induced blogpost I've ever done.

semi-collected thoughts

It's amazing how lonely it can get here, considering the population per unit area. Oh well. Maybe it's just me. Non-existent conversation with Amy today, which is, honestly, unheard of. She just looks so tired, I didn't dare to even try to make her agonize over a (probably) disastrous Bio test. We didn't even laugh at horoscopes from The Onion today. And I think she's mad about something. I don't know exactly what because she never said. But she did watch a bit of Dr Who, so she's (probably) not depressed (yet). Come to think of it, I didn't hear her laugh today.

Am I starting to sound lesbianish? I'm beginning to suspect myself too. The signs are there. But the interest in checking out guys is still there, so maybe I'm bi. Can't say I'm surprised. A bisexual has everything to gain, and nothing to lose. Besides, easier to find attractive girls than attractive guys. Probably because I go easier on girls. On second thoughts, scratch bisexual. This feels more like pansexual.

Am I creeping you out? I'm sure I am, with all this uncomfortably voyeurish accounts of my roommate and disturbingly honest reflections on my orientation. And these are the things I put in my blog. Imagine what I think and keep to myself. I just realized that I am very probably creeping people out when I talked to KayJay about 'the shifting middle' and how the average always shifts whenever an extreme is introduced so there is no point telling people it's good to be average when people are discovering more and more ways to do evil stuff, so if they keep to the middle they're going to get progressively more evil anyway. This naturally leads to a realization that individuals have their own notion of 'a normal person' and that I might not entirely fit comfortably in that range for a great number of individuals even if I think I am being 'normal'. I am only interested in this so that I know what not to do when hanging out with people so that they don't do the scrunched-eyebrow-i-don't-know-what-you're-saying-and-i-don't-want-to-know thing. Normally, had I had enough human-human interaction, I would probably say "Screw their normal. I am the normal."

Renuhaa tried to pair me up with a guy today. She had to think for about 5 minutes and had to run through about six names before settling on one. And even then, she didn't get any joy :D I am THAT unthinkably unpairable! I feel a misplaced sense of pride. Funny, you'd think people would learn by now that I keep my love life private and that they'll never hear about it from me until it's over (special people excluded). Speculate all you want, but the guy you think I like is never the guy I really like.

The pimple-formation is fading away. For 5 days, I had a pentagon on my forehead. It was awesome :(

A bad book has very detrimental effects on me. That Tractor book by that Lewcyka woman was chick lit, no matter how many high-brow publications laud it for being 'hilarious' and whatnot. Too bad I can't stand not finishing books, so I spent days skipping sentences and putting up with cookie-cutter 'round' characters who rediscover familial ties while battling a deliberately busty 'flat' character. Bah. It was one of the very rare times I return library books before the deadline. I hope V.S. Naipaul can remedy the situation.

It seems that posts filled with random topics like this one rarely generates much comment. I am still wondering why.

Friendships decay. They do. No matter how many times you say forever, no matter how many plans you have for the future, the day will come when you realize you have nothing to say to each other. And everything falls apart.

And, as if the gods are trying to play me like a marionette, right after I typed the last line, Yan and I are having so much fun talking about car trips.

Ironically, the greatest thing about life is the irony of life itself.

He really is hot, you know.

Really?

Really.