grasshopper and the ant...

It was summer. In that time of plenty, two absolutely different, but equally fascinating personalities became the focus of a story.

Food was plenty in the summer. It was like a constant sushi line, only without the icky seafood. Everyone had their fill of grass, seeds, leaves, pollen, nectar, and other bugs. An abundance of food and a total lack of work emerged as an absolutely divine reason for partying, and so the bugs did.

The Grasshopper was one sleek dude. An avid musician, he was popular among the other bugs, with his services in high demand during the endless parties in summer. Soon, he had assembled a cult following of sorts and become a legendary rock-god, quite like Marilyn Manson, only with more backbone. And as with any rock-god with groupies, the Grasshopper was getting plenty of hot steamy action each night as well.

Then there was the Ant. This industrious bug was up 9-5 out collecting grass, seeds, leaves, pollen, nectar and bits of other bugs to build the stockpile that would soon be needed during the coming winter. Soon, the Ant had assembled a large pile of random bits of food that was growing mold, all the better since that meant more food. Since the Ant was basically a sterile androgenous serf, it wasn't getting much action, nor was it thinking much of it at all for that matter.

Sometimes, the Ant would look at the Grasshopper and feel very envious of him. Still, it was secure in the knowledge that when winter came, it would be nice and snug in its hole with the rest of its androgenous brethren eating the festering pile of random bits, while the foolish sex-stuffed rock-god Grasshopper would be frozen or become food himself or something. So the Ant made it a point to point out that fact to the Grasshopper each time he walked past the Grasshopper, who was tailing groupies from the BeerCan Concert Hall.

"You know, rock-god Grasshopper, when winter comes, you'll be very sorry that you didn't collect food all summer and be all cold and starving and you'll come knocking on my door for help."

"Tuh. Right."

"You'll be sorry and you know I'm right! Don't come knocking on my door to get at my yummy-licious pile because I'll be busy snacking on it with my other androgenous brethren!"

"Yeah. Like, whatever. You're not getting any, so that's why you're so bitchy."

"We're sexless, and besides, random sex spreads STDs."

"I use protection, dude."

"..."

Soon autumn came around. The fruits on the late fruiting trees became ripe with juicy sweetness, so ripe that it was practically raining sugar on the bugs. The Ant was busy hoarding away the rotten-ly good fruit, while the Grasshopper sipped the falling ambrosia.

Soon, even that abundance grew short. The crowds to the Grasshopper's concerts became thinner and thinner as the bugs went into hiding for the cold weather, or just dropped dead. Still, the Grasshopper, in true rock-god fashion, kept at it with numbingly stupid persistence. The Ant on the other hand, was still at hoarding away what remained of the last fruits of the season, surprisingly not dead from all the overexertion.

The first snowflakes of winter descended upon Bugland. The Grasshopper was still giving concerts, but the BeerCan was filled mostly with either dead bugs who had just dropped dead in the middle of one of his previous concerts, or bug skins, which was far more gross.

The Ant thought to gloat at the now-starving Grasshopper. So it made a trip to the BeerCan, with a leaf-basket full of fermented bits to give to the Grasshopper, which is strangely reminescent of the Chinese method of showing off wealth.

"Hungry, dud-god Grasshopper?"

"Like, totally."

"Didn't I tell you? Hahaha! Now you'll have to live off handouts from me and my still as yet androgenous siblings!"

"Like, whatever dude. Just hand over the chow."

"Bwahahaha! I rule you now, you over-sexed twig of a stick-like bug! Who's your daddy?! Bwahahaha... *insert additional gloating*"

"Yea, like totally. I'm like, so absolutely owe you, like, totally. I'd like, get down and suck your non-existant parts, but I so, like, totally gotta eat first..."

"Bwahahaha! *insert even more annoying gloating typical of those you see in James Bond movies*"

Then, somebody picked up the can and flung it into a trash compressor.

muf-ing...

I had an interesting topic to post, but as usual, the moment I come to this screen, I totally forget what it is that I'm on about. So, no Kim, can't write about it. Besides, this isn't an anonymous blog, and you know who reads this.

Okay, topics be damned. Finally got the frisbee. Glow-in-the-dark coolness!


Yeah! We have cheesy looking mascot which I repeatedly redesigned to much better effect during Stats lectures! Of course, I can't be bothered to post it up here. Maybe when I come up with something really cool I will. Hmm, maybe Jay can think of something for me?

You know how Ultimate players always have to dive to get the disc? Well, since we're all MUF members, that would make us all MUF divers, won't it?

Ah well. And Jay, you have a hyperactive imagination. The mignons do not EXACTLY look like something that's just been circumcised.

cook and clean...

To be politically correct, I think I'll probably make a good homebody. Lotsa cooking, essentially. Anyways, I know for sure now that I've got a few working recipes.

I whipped a little sweet sauce together, not really sure what the exact proportions are, but according to common concensus, it was good.

Honey Lemon Seasoning/Sauce/Whatever

2 tablespoons honey

8 tablespoons hot water

rind from 1 lemon

juice from 1 lemon

2 tablespoons olive oil

lemon pepper to taste

salt to taste

3 cloves of garlic, minced or chopped finely

Basically just throw everything together, stir well. The garlic should float midway between the oil and the watery stuff. Makes good seasoning for fish, especially pacific dory. Just place the fish in aluminum foil, drown in the sauce, leave in the fridge for 2 hours. You can then bake the fish in an oven preheated to 220 C for God-knows-how-long. Should turn out fine. Best eaten with garlic butter rice; same as rice, only boiled with garlic, and after cooked, add in slabs of butter for that fatty butter goodness.

Chicken Mignons

Okay, while I technically get these at Wishbone in Chadstone Mall, it's quite simple to make.

1 strip of back bacon, cut away rind

1 chicken fillet, preferably thigh

1 tablespoon garlic butter

salt to taste

First, rub the chicken fillet lightly with salt. This isn't really necessary, since the butter and the bacon are usually salty. However, you might want to do that to make sure that the chicken has a bit of flavour itself. Roll the fillet into a little roll, and wrap the bacon strip around it. Pin into place with a toothpick. On top of the roll, put a generous tablespoon of garlic butter. Preheat an oven to 200 C. Pop in the mignons into the oven for about 20-30 minutes, or until you can smell the bacon crisping.

Chocolate Fondant

Got the idea from my random cousin Jee Kwan after a refreshingly amusing Valentine's Day story. Was supposed to get the recipe from him, but sorta forgot, so I grabbed it off this site. This is my version of the recipe:

280g dark chocolate (the darker the better)

200g butter (more or less, depending on how fat you feel)

7-8 eggs (if it gets too gooey, try with fewer eggs)

230g sugar (again, depending on how fat you feel)

160g flour (don't use the self raising type, this is NOT supposed to expand)

rind of 1 orange

juice of 1 orange

1 teaspoon cinnamon powder

Preheat the oven to 180 C. Melt the chocolate and butter over boiling water. Do this by placing a metal dish over a small pot of boiling water. Make sure not to get any water into the chocolate butter mixture, or it will seperate into oils and be totally gross. Beat the eggs into the sugar until a nice thick consistency. Sift in the flour and beat until you get a nice gooey batter. At this point, your chocolate butter mixture should be ready, so add that in. Throw in the orange rind and juice, as well as the cinnamon. You can use orange liquer instead of the juice if you're so inclined. Pour into smallish-medium sized greased moulds, or you can use little paper cups instead. Put the little cup things into the oven for 15 - 20 minutes. If it seems short to you, that's so the fondant doesn't become chocolate sponge. Take out hot, and serve with ice cream, fruits, or biscotti. You may choose to dust it lightly with icing sugar if you like, but it's not like this isn't already a potential diabetic shock. Do note that this is a heavy dessert, and should only be attempted if dinner was light.

So, Kim, Kian and Mich came over for a previewing of Jin's cooking extravaganza. They stayed after, putting on my clothes and basically laughed at how grotesquely loose they were on them. Mich wanted to go back early, but knowing things for what they are, there was no possibility of her accomplising that safely, so my room was host to 4 weird people that night. Mich and Kim in the bed, and me and Kian on the floor.

I had no idea that my bed could hold 2 people. Hmmm...

Anyways, that done we woke at 6-ish, and went to Clayton station for them to take the train back to God-knows-where. Missed two trains, which was quite frustrating, I suppose.

I'm telling you, one of the reasons why I'm NOT getting married is the insane amount of cleaning to do with 4 people in the house. And not to mention the laundry.

Anyway, do try the recipes, and get back to me on how they go.

Edit: For the sake of.

eww...

So mushy. I've decided I don't like doing memes, because for one, they smack of unoriginality, but since I've got nothing to write right now (besides that stupid stats report which also smacks of unoriginality), I'll do this. Curse you, Kim!!!

One song from your early childhood
Baa-Baa Black Sheep. I sometimes sing random lines of this at, well, random. Leads to interesting public response.

One song you are associating with your first big love
Oh, wow. There are a few. I suppose at least ONE of them would be Guang Liang's Tong Hua.

One song which reminds you of one of your holidays
I don't usually listen to much music during any holiday. Mostly I sit and mope. But if I have to choose one, I'd say it's Maksim's rendition of Handel's Sarabande. Moodyness...

One song you like, but you have got problems confessing to
Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. I tell you, I love the music, but due to certain reasons, I fucking hate the whole thing.

One song which accompanied you while you where lovesick
Woohoo. Erm. Okay. This one, there are actually a whole lot of them. But since I tend to be in a very depressed aura, I suppose it was Hoobastank's The Reason. Strange how many songs are called The Reason.

One song you listened to most often in your life
I usually obsesses over a song for a short while, then forget about it. I think one that applies in this situation would be the original Lover's Concerto by The Toys.

One song which is your most favoured instrumental
Now this is a funny one, because technically a song is music with words. Instrumentals have no words. Current favourite is Brahm's Hungarian Dance No. 5. Of course, if you mean song that is ALSO an instrumental, I'll say probably, erm, Angel Eyes by Jim Brickman.

One song which represents one of your most favoured bands
I don't have a favourite band. I sorta prefer soloists, so I'll say Pavaroti's rendition of Funiculi Funicula.

One song in which you recognize yourself or through which you feel somehow understood
Haha. Not possible to understand me. Even if I were to hand you a roadmap. But a song to listen to while traversing that map, possibly, Five For Fighting - 100 Years.

One song which reminds you to a certain occasion (and the occasion)
Oh. Err. The Carpenters - Close to You. The occasion: whole of friggin Form 3.

One song you like and which belongs to the Hip Hop / Rap genre
I don't like Hip Hop OR Rap.

One song which is the best for you to relax
Kevin Kern, Yanni, any emo shit. Of course, I like anime soundtracks too, so Full Metal Alchemist's Bratja.

One song which symbolizes a great time in your life
Err, okay. Not sure. Because the FEW great times in my life I wasn't listening to music. But I suppose Il Divo & Celine Dion - I Believe In You. You have no idea how great a lack of that I have.

One song which is your most favourite song at the moment
Yuki Kajiura - Hear Our Prayer. Tsubasa Chronicle's soundtrack is teh bomb!

One song which you would dedicate to your best friend
I'd cook, rather, but erm. Not sure. That Il Divo & Celine Dion thing.

One song where you have got the feeling that no one besides you likes it
Haha. This is quite funny. I suppose a few selections out of the Ragnarok Online Background Soundtrack.

One song you like because of its lyrics
Jem's They. Because it's so hyperactively accusational. Wahey!

Talk about too the free weh. There SHOULD be an interesting post later.

religion...

I was having a conversation with an acquaintance last night, and basically it went along the lines of how weak we are and that the only way we can get anything done is by turning to God and the whole complimentary she-bang of preaching.

Now, it's not that I have anything against that, and in fact, I DO believe that God is the source of out inspiration and our guiding hand and all that, so I'm definitely not an aethist. But I also believe we are not powerless in the world, otherwise we wouldn't be around.

Anyways, this acquaintance went on to point out that I'm the one with problems and should go to church and pray over all these things and also how being gay is bad and whatnot, and if I'm not mistaken, also how being gay is a choice and people who can't change that should become monks and whatnot. And this reminded me EXACTLY why I stopped going to church. People who are either so secure of themselves, or so insecure (either way), that they think the best way to get people to think like them is to insist they are wrong. There may be only ONE truth, I'll give you that much, but what makes you think that I'll so readily accept that what you say is that ONE truth? If I'm misguided, don't you think you also may be?

Another pointed case is how being gay is wrong (which is really a moot point, based on individual ideas of morality) and how this acquaintance of mine really hates gay people for no other reason than they are gay. It's curious to note how prejudiced people are. I have male friends who are extremely homophobic, which kinda amuses me. Think about it, just because a girl is chatting with a male friend doesn't mean he wants to hump her brains out, no? So what makes you think your gay friend wants a buttfuck?

So many times I've contemplated going back to church, if anything to commune. But one thing I've noticed to the few I've been to, that they do not seem to welcome the very people they are supposed to reach; the rejected, the outcast, the downtrodden. More often than not, the place is filled with elitist bigots who only accept their own kind (which is fine because most people go to church to become better people). But given that, you're ALSO supposed to be a role model unto others (heehee, old English doesn't make much sense), giving with your hands what you can't find in your heart to be, in the very least. If you're going to reject everything other people say and think, you can very well expect them NOT to agree with you.

I was blog hopping this afternoon and came across this letter. For the benefit of those too lazy to click on links, I'll reproduce the letter for you:

Note: Vermont was the first American state to legally recognise civil unions of same-sex couples in 2000.

A Mother's Reflections

"Many letters have been sent to the Valley News concerning the homosexual menace in Vermont. I am the mother of a gay son and I've taken enough from you good people. I'm tired of your foolish rhetoric about the "homosexual agenda" and your allegations that accepting homosexuality is the same thing as advocating sex with children. You are cruel and ignorant. You have been robbing me of the joys of motherhood ever since my children were tiny.

My firstborn son started suffering at the hands of the moral little thugs from your moral, upright families from the time he was in the first grade. He was physically and verbally abused from first grade straight through high school because he was perceived to be gay.

He never professed to be gay or had any association with anything gay, but he had the misfortune not to walk or have gestures like the other boys. He was called "fag" incessantly, starting when he was 6.

In high school, while your children were doing what kids that age should be doing, mine labored over a suicide note, drafting and redrafting it to be sure his family knew how much he loved them. My sobbing 17-year-old tore the heart out of me as he choked out that he just couldn't bear to continue living any longer, that he didn't want to be gay and that he couldn't face a life without dignity.

You have the audacity to talk about protecting families and children from the homosexual menace, while you yourselves tear apart families and drive children to despair. I don't know why my son is gay, but I do know that God didn't put him, and millions like him, on this Earth to give you someone to abuse. God gave you brains so that you could think, and it's about time you started doing that.

At the core of all your misguided beliefs is the belief that this could never happen to you, that there is some kind of subculture out there that people have chosen to join. The fact is that if it can happen to my family, it can happen to yours, and you won't get to choose. Whether it is genetic or whether something occurs during a critical time of fetal development, I don't know. I can only tell you with an absolute certainty that it is inborn.

If you want to tout your own morality, you'd best come up with something more substantive than your heterosexuality. You did nothing to earn it; it was given to you. If you disagree, I would be interested in hearing your story, because my own heterosexuality was a blessing I received with no effort whatsoever on my part. It is so woven into the very soul of me that nothing could ever change it. For those of you who reduce sexual orientation to a simple choice, a character issue, a bad habit or something that can be changed by a 10-step program, I'm puzzled. Are you saying that your own sexual orientation is nothing more than something you have chosen, that you could change it at will? If that's not the case, then why would you suggest that someone else can?

A popular theme in your letters is that Vermont has been infiltrated by outsiders. Both sides of my family have lived in Vermont for generations. I am heart and soul a Vermonter, so I'll thank you to stop saying that you are speaking for "true Vermonters."

You invoke the memory of the brave people who have fought on the battlefield for this great country, saying that they didn't give their lives so that the "homosexual agenda" could tear down the principles they died defending. My 83-year-old father fought in some of the most horrific battles of World War II, was wounded and awarded the Purple Heart.

He shakes his head in sadness at the life his grandson has had to live. He says he fought alongside homosexuals in those battles, that they did their part and bothered no one. One of his best friends in the service was gay, and he never knew it until the end, and when he did find out, it mattered not at all. That wasn't the measure of the man.

You religious folk just can't bear the thought that as my son emerges from the hell that was his childhood he might like to find a lifelong companion and have a measure of happiness. It offends your sensibilities that he should request the right to visit that companion in the hospital, to make medical decisions for him or to benefit from tax laws governing inheritance.

How dare he? you say. These outrageous requests would threaten the very existence of your family, would undermine the sanctity of marriage. You use religion to abdicate your responsibility to be thinking human beings. There are vast numbers of religious people who find your attitudes repugnant. God is not for the privileged majority, and God knows my son has committed no sin.

The deep-thinking author of a letter to the April 12 Valley News who lectures about homosexual sin and tells us about "those of us who have been blessed with the benefits of a religious upbringing" asks: "What ever happened to the idea of striving ... to be better human beings than we are?"

Indeed, sir, what ever happened to that?"

It's people like this that will bring the masses to God, rather than the self-righteous bigots I've found in the Houses of God.

It's not just about being gay (which if you're wondering, I'm not). It's about a whole lot of other things. Everything, from common problems to suicide. Why discriminate? You're not showing much compassion, for all your religion is worth. Because of this, I've decided to look for God without other people telling me how.

Try becoming those you want to reach before you stretch out your hand. You might find your own hand wanting.

baseball...

So since we were so bored, Kim and I began discussing OTHER people's sex lives, which is very sad since we don't have any ourselves (YES, Mom, still as virgin as that olive oil in the pantry). Which, like I've said, is sad.

Anyways, suddenly, it somehow occured to her to ask me to which base I've gotten to. And this is how she put it, in the American measuring system:

First base: Frenching, or anything to do with heavy mouth to mouth action.

Second base: Upper body nudity, plenty of mouth and hand action.

Third base: Anything orally induced.

Home: Sex.

Now, the engineer and statistician in me found something wrong with that scale. It doesn't take into account people who are brand new into a partnership, which in itself, I think, is an achievement unto itself. So I devised another revised scale, more to fit with the general public, and to allow for greater variations.

First base: Normal stuff, like holding hands, and pecks, and stupid googly meaningless words that sound great regardless. Rated U.

Second base: Frenching, stuff to do with mouth and hands and for the more dextrous, the feet. Nothing visible, but definitely under the PG rating.

Third base: Full frontal nudity, mutual masturbation, oral sex. Stuff of a pin-up-ish nature. Rated R.

Home: Sex, and any of the undeniably sex-related practices (let's not even get to that). Rated XXX, without question.

Since I haven't put up a survey in months, what say you tell me which base you people have reached? If you so choose, your results will be totally anonymous, provided you're smart enough to do that. Put it according to my new and improved scale. Waha!

In other notes, I tried a new recipe today, came out perfect. Except presentation. Pictures on those on Saturday. Bah kut teh today also. Pork doesn't taste so nice in this country, or I need to put in more salt.

Oh, I won't say which base I'm at.

it doesn't rain...

When I said I wanted things to write about, I didn't think it would be so costly an affair. So costly that I have to reduce a photoblog into a long worded one.

Immediately after class yesterday, I rushed back, threw my things on the floor, and sped down to Clayton station on my bike. So I got on the train, met Kim at Flinder's. We went to this huge park near a graveyard to toss the disc.

Met Michelle there, and we flung the platter around. I was inordinately hyperactive, so actually managed to surpass my usual physical limit, what with all the catching and gaya moves. Kim got a blister from cleverly wearing canvas shoes while running around (not helped by my absolute lack of aim). We quit after awhile, and headed to Little Bourke for something Chinese.

Went to this dumpling place in what is quite reminescent of one of those back alleys of any damn Chinatown. Dumplings were oil-saturatingly good, and the beef noodles were about one of the best I've had in awhile (Seremban noodles still the best). This Anglo lady and her son shared our table for the simple reason being that the place was crowded, and to say the least, their choice of orders were quite interesting. Equally as fascinating was that while our waitress was quite hot, something about her just about fucking screamed ah kua. I think it was the makeup. Or the deep set eyes.

Back to Kim's place with 8 Smirnoff's and something else orange. Had a random chat, were apparently the sugar in the very thin Smirnoff's was getting to me. Seems that I let spill certain things I wouldn't normally in a level condition. Interestingly, I wasn't drunk, hence the ability to give what can be best stated as 'useful' advice, much like the ones I typically give but never follow.

At about 2-ish, I suspect, one of Kim's roomie's knocked on the door, and very nicely, but quite forwardly put that we were making a hell of a racket. Since I had most obviously missed the last train back, I bunked over at Michelle's aparment, since St. Mary's was most definitely Catholic, and let's just say that friends have almost been expelled over the sharing of rooms of two members of the opposite sex.

Was supposed to help Mich with her Psychology paper, but I wasn't much use. Her roomie wasn't in, so I slept on the couch. I vaguely recalled getting up in the middle of the morning, or rather, sitting up, mumbling something, then going back to sleep.

Took leave of Mich the next morning (thanks, Mich), having had an appointment with Kelvin and Kim to do some quasi-gay stuff; clothes shopping. Kelvin conveniently couldn't come for reasons that kinda still elude me (what the hell do you mean house shopping?), so we called Kian out. Met at this Pancake Parlour, where they have beautfiful pancakes, good bacon and eggs that Kim wouldn't eat. That muchly covered lunch, especially with the pricetag.

Random walking, bought a black hoodie and a laundry basket. Mostly more pointless walking, going back to Kim's place to style Kian's hair because he didn't make an appointment with the stylists, and me and him leaving Kim's place to Melbourne Central. I endured a long and mostly half concious trip back with a funny feeling I would meet a situation that was potentially blog worthy but not something particularly pleasant.

My bike was stolen.

a slice of heaven...

... or hell, if you're trying to lose weight.

Ham sandwiche with random iceberg lettuce and cheese on toasted cottage loaf! Wahahaha!

Teh-O ais limau with lotsa ais, lotsa limau, but not much teh. Wonderful.

Peach!

Berries. Blackberries are like, nice. Raspberries really are damn gross.

I'm probably acting quite gay right now. I think it's the tea.

other people...

People are probably the most infuriating things possible, next to a heat rash. You need them, but they're not reliable. Quite the opposite of a heat rash.

Like, write already people. Sigh. Nobody's interested in anything anymore. Either that, or they're too stuck up with their own lives to give too much attention to mine. Is it too much to ask that you all selflessly pour your otherwise wasted hours onto me? That said, keep your sticky hands off my things and I won't beat you to death with a meat cleaver.

People can't write anymore. Embarassingly, it seems that most Malaysians can't. And also, it seems neither can my usual haunts, or they just couldn't give a rat's ass about it. Maybe if I only ask for hamster bottoms.

Like, nobody's interested in chatting anymore either. They can't make small talk and stuff. It seems that the only time they'll come up and say hi is when they want something from me. That's fine, just don't expect me to respond promptly anymore, or if at all. I have more interesting things to do than send you music files and write your assignments for you, like cooking, cleaning, and masturbating. Yeah, compared to you sad dolts who would rather spend the time getting me to do your work for you. And give back a bit if you have to. At least update more than once every geological era or something!

You're busy with your lives. Well, fuck, so am I. Yet I find time for your trashy things. Can't you people just amuse me? So what if I endlessly and meaninglessly complain about your deficiencies? At least I give a fuck enough to help you people no? Why can't you do the same and just write something witty ONCE a FUCKING day?

People have asked me why I shut down my blog once every so often. Why the hell not? Keeping it up is no novelty if other people can't be bothered to make it a worthwhile timewaster. Hell, if I'm gonna be bothered to waste my time doing pointless things nobody cares about, well, everyone else is gonna do that too!

And what is this about me having to adapt to the world, eh? I don't see why I have to put in a ton of effort trying to make myself fit in when everyone else can just do a little bit and adapt themselves to me. Hah.

Warning: This is a ranty post. Wait. I shoulda put that at the top. But nobody cares anyway. So neither should I.

assisted writing...

Hmm, since there are SOME people that read this that wouldn't approve, to the more, erm, kinky of you out there, go here for today's post.

childlike politician...

I vaguely recalled having wanted to run a supermarket when I was a kid. Guess I was just entralled by the fact that there were so many things there, and even back then, it was sorta obvious that I was a true blue capitalist. Not to mention all the delicious toys in the kiddies section.

Later on, I decided I'd prefer to run a department store, cuz people always seemed to spend a ton of cash there on absurd things, that to my mind, would not cost more than a fraction of what they were paying (guess I'm right).

Sooner or later, I suppose in my teens, I'd grown power hungry. This is the time most of you would remember, where I'm sure I'd either become insanely rich, or insanely powerful AND rich. You'd likely recall the I'll-rule-the-world-because-I-can-mooharharharhar. And believe me, I had plans all drawn up.

That sort of thing sorta came to an end for awhile during the seriously warped period (December 2004 - March2005). It was the first time I actually recall being hormonally driven. Yeah, that sort of hormonally driven. Most plans for complete world domination took a backseat, and although I kept the ruse up, I'd more or less spent quite a bit of time being depressed and all that shit. Also, I realised the financial implications of trying to run the world, and decided that my 17 bucks a week allowance would never cover the expenses.

After that interesting period, in which I determined it would be easier to do things randomly (which turns out I've been unconciously doing all along anyway), I sorta got attached to someone. That put the whole political thing out of head, out of mind, out of sight. There's a small difference between unrequited fawning, and a true pairing; that difference being the moping, the near suicidal ramblings, the joining-of-support-groups-of-like-situationed-friends-who-really-have-no-fucking-reason-to-be-fucking-depressed-because-my-problems-are-way-bigger, and also a greater monetary committment, the final point being the murder of total world domination itinerary. It was a worthy tradeoff.

About half a year later, when it sorta passed that stage, I confirmedly took on the political view of they-can-fucking-do-what-they-like-as-long-as-they-don't-fucking-piss-me-off. It allowed the retarded elected officials and even more retarded voters to do anything they wanted, as long as they didn't interfere with my still-childlike bliss.

That political stance expanded to include social interactions, where I'd confirmed the sexual orientations of quite a few many long-time friends (why did everyone choose the same fucking time to come out in the open?); that being if it didn't hurt my ass, go ahead and do what you like.

Upon serious pondering, it's obvious that I've always been like this. I've never really been as conniving, sneaky, backstabbing, eville, as I thought I was. I was particularly, and still am, as naive as I was ever, albeit with more wisdom (I think) of how things work. In a way, I'm a childlike politician. I don't really care what other people do as long as they don't touch my playthings.

To fully understand the simple complexity of this, I should probably state that I'm writing this because I'm sitting in the computer lab waiting for stupid people to come in.

Meh.

gears and stuff...

It seems that I've been going to the city quite a bit. Metcard ticket prices are rape, I tell you.

The thing about second hand vehicles is that no matter how good a condition it is in, there are always a few kinks that you have to straighten out. In my case, the rear brakes were too tight, the gears needed tweaking, and a whole long list of things, so the trip was mostly to locate a competent bike shop to fix things up.

There are weird things in Chinatown. Of course, I can only wonder what sort of conversation the previous user was having.

Dessert was interesting today. Very visually appealing, I must say. Ah. Mousse at Max Brenner. Excellent.

There's this grocers called Laguna, where the Asian stuff (at least the bare essentials) are cheap enough that if you robbed a homeless man, you'd be able to give him back change. Got some Haw Flakes there. And it seems that have pepper soups!

Went to Kian's place. Nice apartment, on the 24th floor. Spectacular view from the window.

(Note: I just noticed the effect of lens curvature on this picture. The hugeass block of concrete on the right isn't exactly straight. Not so sure it's actually queer though.)

Of course, that's only if you can sorta ignore this view:

Oh, right. The bike shop. I went to Big W, seems they have the kit for tweaking bikes yourself, so now the shop's sorta unnecessary. Whee.

simple thought...

At the platform for the train home from the city this morning (12.08 IS morning), this guy walked up to the crowd, and suddenly started preaching. Some of the crowd told him to shut up, some threw coins at him. I just stood there, staring at the train tracks. In my mind ran a train of a different kind.

I almost admire these kind of people; people with conviction enough to speak what they feel is the thing to speak. Then again, I also hate these kind of people, people not bright enough to see that this very method is working AGAINST the grain of what they're trying to achieve. Oh well.

This is one of the best reads I've come across in a long time. His writing style reminds me a lot of my own, back when I was a lot less retarded than I am now. Still, his content is definitely more interesting than mine, so I guess it's all good. Nice to know that there are people out there who can write so simply and be amusing.

Glad I could be of help, Kim. Next time you feel like that, you can come over anytime. Just call me when you reach.

And then, there are some things I just have to face myself. Nothing that a good vodka couldn't cure.

P.S. Just before I forget. Sorry, Lou, for that unexplicable delay on Friday. Maybe next time we should schedule for Thursday meets instead.

trust...

Where do you go when you realise that you don't really have it? Nobody gives it to you, and you have none yourself.

I was in the shower, and I've come to a realisation. Nobody trusts me. At least, nobody did. The times when people actually tell me things in confidence, are the times when nobody else would listen to them. I am always, and ALWAYS the last resort. And even now, the people who say they trust me lie to me.

Not that I have a problem. I've been lied to and backstabbed as long as I can remember, although I wasn't always aware of it. You tend to get used to a broken mirror if you can only recall seeing shards. Each broken piece in itself is a mirror, but although I didn't use to get the whole picture, I can see the frame for what it is.

Nobody trusts me. And I don't blame them. And by the same coin, why should I trust them? I'm insulted, sometimes, by the amount of time it takes some people to tell me things they'd readily tell other people in a flash. I really would be, except, I'm used to it. Why am I the last to know? Then again, do I really want to hear the answer? While I have gotten used to the broken pieces, it doesn't mean I'm not cut.

They say you have to earn trust. Fair enough. Except I'm not spending trust on myself. If people who want to be so secretive want my help, I don't see why they can't trust me enough to tell me everything.

It has come to my attention from a few, rather, quite many, parties that the expressions use here are rather explicit and offensive. I hear you. Then again, hear me this. What is a blog? Basically, it's a diary. An open diary of sorts. While I agree that in this case everyone is free to access it, does it mean you should? I did not start this to whore out my daily life. I know enough that people are hardly fascinated by me (and seriously, those of you who are really got to get yourselves checked). I started it because I can't read my own writing, and I kinda want to remember things that happened to me.

I understand that people are bound to read it. And I'm fine with that. It's not up to me to decide what you want to do with your time. Rather, I'm quite flattered that you would take time to even bother coming here. That said, the reason you come here is to read what's written here. If something here offends you, then it offends because you came here to be offended. I do not go out of my way to do anything. This is how I feel, so this is how I write. I will NOT go out of my way to write it in such contrite manners just to protect some people's sense of dignity. If my life is so harsh and rude, then it is your choice not to come here. If you are offended by this, that is not my doing.

Remember, reading someone's diary without their permission is breaking their trust.

I guess I understand. I don't even trust myself.

"It's the ones you know you'll miss the most who leave you the soonest..." - Aramaki, Chief, Section 9; Ghost in a Shell.

what the...

...fuck. This isn't my week. Hope I don't come down with food poisoning.

I don't think the first piece was contaminated. I should really learn to watch what I eat. Literally.

bike...

Well, since no one else is writing anything, and I'm really bored, I might as well do this.

Got another random one from Dad:

Why Chinese Should Not Have English Names

Anne Chang (Mandarin) - Dirty
Anne Chin (Mandarin) - Keep quiet
Faye Chen (Mandarin) - Dusty
Carl Cheng (Hokkien) - Buttock
Monica Cheng (Hokkien) - Touching your buttocks
Lucy Leow (Hokkien) - You are dead
Jane Tan (Mandarin/Cantonese) - Frying eggs
Suzie Leow (Hokkien) - Lost till death
Henry Mah (Mandarin) - Hate your mum
Corrine Tai (Hokkien) - Poor fellow
Paul Chan (Mandarin/Cantonese) - Bankrupt
Nelson Tan (Mandarin) - Bird laying eggs
Leslie Tong (Mandarin) - Rubbish bin
Carmen Tng (Hokkien) - Long haired leg
Connie Mah (Cantonese) - Call your mother
Danny See (Hokkien) - Squeeze you to death
Rosie Teng (Hokkien) - Screws and nails
Pete Tsai (Hokkien) - Nose droppings/shit
Macy Koh (Cantonese) - Never die before/never try before

Okay, that done, something interesting happened today. But before that, I must remind myself to never order that two piece chicken meal at that Peri Chicken place at Campus Center. Cheeseass ripoff.

Got the bike today. Wakakaka.

Funny thing was that as soon as I reached the house, my knees started shaking. It got to the point where I felt like throwing up when I stepped into my room. I basically just blacked out on the floor, and halfway through changing at that. Swt. I had two missed calls from Kim, and plenty of nudges at that. Damn, I must be seriously out of shape.

Okay, nothing else to report. Except that I must fix the rear gear cables. Too loose. Swt.

saturdays...

Okay, this is quite stupid. I just noticed that you can actually load photos directly into Blogger. What the fuck?

Focusing, there are quite a few photos to share this time round. First is the grotesque art I mentioned at the entrance to the Hargrave-Andrew library:

This one is called the Sun Embryo. Gross.

This one is the Homage to Lawrence Hargrave. What the fuck?

On Saturday night, I went down to the city to meet up with some old friends, and to celebrate Michelle's birthday (1 month belatedly). So we went to this place where we got this pizza (yeah, it was so fucking huge it even blinded the camera, like, woah):

Toppings, although I sorta disagree with the selection (like what the hell would you eat rot-feeders for?), were generous:

If anything, ambience was appreciatively nice. Notice that the waiters here are so fast that they only register as blurs:

All in all, extremely acceptable dining place:

This part here is long overdue. It seems that there's this once-in-a-fucking-lifetime event called the Clayton Festival. So exclusive that they even made a fucking signboard for it:

Mostly, it is just random parades of sorts. This one featured elementary school kids walking about, with teacher parading these grotesque looking effigies of what appears to be the Queen, and a skeletal vulture (what the fuck are they teaching kids these days?):

There are more conventional parade options, like the walking of normal looking people doing normal looking things:

Of course, no festival would be complete without some weird-shit activities, like these two skinny white ladies pretending to be some fat yellow men:

I'd write more but:

ageing again...

Another month and I'll be old. -er. And to think of all the things I said I'd do in the past year. I've only done some. Some, I'm extremely thankful to have been able to do. Some, not so.

In reflection (there's this hugeass pane of glass next to me, so that can't be helped), I might say that nothing much has changed. And a lot has. Where I am right now, is nothing like where I was a year before this. And somehow, it just feels like it always has. Minus the smoglike humidity.

It's not even a month yet, and already it's like I've known this place forever. Except the tram lines. Those are shit-ass weird. Half of the time it doesn't make sense, and the other half of the time it's nonsensical. I so need to get a friggin car.

A year ago, I was sorta wallowing in myself, but not so figuratively. I suppose all the emo-depression-shit was helpful in a sense, though not particularly efficient in that way. I still believe I should have gone through with plans back then, but had I done it then, I'd have told myself that I should have done it back at 14. And perhaps it's all for the best that I didn't. For one, I wouldn't have been able to actually seen some things through. And for another, I wouldn't get to be so mentally stoned for 4 months.

Me being depressed = me being too extremely lucid. Which in turn allows me to notice that everyone else is constantly depressed anyway, and usually with bigger problems than mine but fuck that other people aren't me. People who have no or little control over things tend to be selfish, meaning EVERYONE is.

Would you keep a friend who could offer you nothing? As in, absolutely nothing. They can't do things for you, can't give you anything, not even amuse you? You wouldn't. There's no such thing as friendship for friendship's sake. Which is particularly useful to remember that the next time you feel worthless. You'd have no friends if you had nothing to give.

There are a few pictorials to put up, but I'm too lazy, plus the battery is going to die soon. And I have a lecture in awhile. Life's like that.

Prudes amuse me. They really do.

flattery...

Edit: corrected the phone number. Sorry about that.

Flattery is the best form of praise, they say. But I say fuck that. Even the word cliche is cliched, and I can't get that little tilde/line/whatever thing over the e. So let's forget that. The Asianism post was the most plagiarised post I've ever posted, not that I didn't plagiarise it myself. Thanks Dad.

That said, I'm in the Hargrave-Andrew library stealing bandwidth. Telstra, or one of the many fucked up ISPs in this country still can't sort out a simple simple problem. Like what the hell?

On another note, I'll probably do some construction work part time. I heard that those people digging holes in some garden for concrete laying get paid up to 200 a day. And that it's great for bulking up (not that I need the extra mass, swt). Compared to a white collar (what's with all these collars anyway? From what I can tell, blue collar workers have the tendency not to wear shirts.) jobs which, if I'm lucky, will give me an average of 12 an hour, if I'm lucky. And blue collar part time jobs do not require tax declarations. Mwahahaa.

Where the hell are you Louis? What's with all that let's-play-Magic if you're not gonna call? Swt. By the way, and that goes out to everyone, anyone who wants to spam me can do it at this number (international calling code included): +61406678937.

It's so strange being average height. I'm not used to having my horizon shortened to a few feet in front of me. That said, I still get looks from people I pass by. I think there's something wrong with my aura. Or my face. Erk.

Why is everyone so emotional these days? It's getting pretty annoying. Especially when I don't have MSN access to hear all their whiny problems. That part is fun. Can't you people wait until I get it back to be all emo?

Might be getting a bike soon. 140 the guy's asking. Plus safety gear, not that I'm liable to use it. I hate hats, what makes you think I'll wear one that's harder than a jock support? And looks like one. Of course, any guy who needs a sports cup that large is fucking scary.

Okay, bored. Someone amuse me.

overview...

Just a quick overview of the thoughts in my head in the past 10 minutes:

~I think that's where those Malayian whatchamallcallit people are. Should I join them now? Hmm, like 2 and a fucking half hours late. Nope.

~I think I miss her. Fuck. I do.

~Why so emo one?

~Internet is so screwed. Why can't these stupid voipex people like kill Telstra and take over the Australian tele-network?

~Should I eat at the Den? But I have curry at home. Aiks. Then again, libraries aren't exactly known for their food. Hmm.

~I wonder if Louis was at that Malaysian thingabob. Oh well.

~Going to the Matheson library. Or at least, I think it's the Matheson. Fuck.

~The art at the Hargrave-Andrew library is really gross. Especially the one in the lobby/stairwell. Looks like a collection of dehydrated infant heads and bodies stuck on a wall. Eww. I hate kids.

~I don't know whether to laugh or cry. I just saw one of the buffest guys I've ever seen. But he's short. I think I'll laugh.

~Uncle Peter just called. Sydney side said to disconnect the fucking modem and restart it for internet connections. Swt.

~The last post really wasn't good. It didn't make any sense, and didn't generate much response. How the hell am I supposed to plant insidious ideas in people's brains if they aren't giving enough subconcious feedback for me to know it's working? Oops.

~Maybe I really SHOULD go to that Malaysian doohickey. It's until six anyways. Erm. No.

~Interestingly, the breasts in this country are huge. Of course, they are usually proportionate to the persons they're on. Hahahahaaa!!!

~Weather today is total rape. What the hell is it 33 degrees out for?

~Fuck. I forgot to take out the laundry.

~I can't possibly think this much in 10 minutes.

Meh.

time shortage...

Don't really have time for a proper post, so here's something I got from Dad:

Factors of Asianism:

You know you are INDONESIAN if... (courtesy of CHRISTA)

1. when u talk really fast, with rapid tongue movements.
2. when u wear thongs or sandals everywhere, yes even in winter.
3. following above, always get bagged for wearing sandals
4. mie goreng is in the top 5 of ur fave foods
5. if you love taking photo studio pics
6. u like travelling in big group of frens, and talking VERY loudly irrespective of your surroundings.
7. almost a weekly ritual to go to church

You know you are JAPANESE if...

1. You're obsessed with you hair, your car and your clothes.
2. You want to marry a Korean American or Chinese American woman (for males) or you want to marry a white guy (for females).
3. You're afraid of black people.
4. You only drive Japanese cars.
5. You know you are superior to all other Asians.

You know you are KOREAN if...

1. You smoke and drink too much.
2. You wear pink Polo collar shirts, have loose beige pants, and have blonde highlights in your hair.
3. You know what a Dalki, Pucca or Mashimoro is?
4. You're afraid of black people.
5. You drive a Hyundai even though you won't admit it.
6. You know you are superior to all other Asians.

You know you are CHINESE if...

1. You think you're the smartest people in the world.
2. You have a mobile with you at all times.
3. You know the abbreviation of a.b.c.
4. Today's steamed rice is tomorrow's fried rice.
5. You're afraid of black people.
6. A bicycle was a good form of transport before.
7. You know you are superior to all other Asians.

You know you are HONGKIE if...

1. Sentences begin with 'Aiya?' and ends with 'la?'
2. Your mobile phone as a form of toy dangling off it.
3. You're offended if someone thinks your from the mainland.
4. You're afraid of black people.
5. You're moving away from your Honda onto Vw's and Peugeot's.
6. Ripped jeans on guys look attractive (either way).
7. You think you are on the same level to Japanese.

You know you are VIETNAMESE if...

1. You MUST have fish sauce with every meal.
2. You eat at a restaurant that has "Pho?" on the signage.
3. Guys wear green mircofibre pants with Nike sneakers, and girls wear their flared black pants over their high sole shoes.
4. You know the abbreviation of f.o.b.
5. You have some relative who is Chinese.
6. Cabramatta makes you feel home sick.
7. You're afraid of black people.
8. You're fond of 2nd hand Japanese import cars.
9. You know you are superior to all other Asians.

You know you are Philippino if...

1. You want to be a dancer, a singer, or an actor, even though you have a day job as a nurse, an engineer or an accountant.
2. A member of your family back home is a politician or a movie star or knows one.
3. Guys with jeans and white sneakers anyone?
4. You're always late for any engagement, and practice the art of Philo time?
5. You're not afraid of black people. In fact, you wish you were black.
6. You love your Toyota's and Honda's.
7. You don't care if you are superior to all other Asians or not, because being Philipino is just cool in itself.

You know you are THAI if...

1. People want to pay you for sex.
2. No matter what you eat, it's not greasy or spicy enough.
3. You mum seems to workout at the local gym.
4. Without glasses your eyes would be the size of ants.
5. You're not afraid of black people, because in some cases you're just as dark as they are.
6. Any car dump to the shit house is good?
7. You know in your heart that you will never be superior to all other Asians, but you've learned to live with it.

You know you are Malaysian if...

1. You believe everything the Government tells you
2. But are willing to change your mind if someone slips you $50.
3. The whole world (and Soros) is out to suppress you and your country.
4. You think that Mahathir will be around in 2020.
5. You welcome all people (be they black or otherwise) who invest in the MSC.
6. You think you are superior to most other Asians, but $50 can change that too.

You know you are SINGAPOREAN if...

1. You eat, sleep, have sex and smile according to the policies stipulated by the Government in the Red Book they gave you when you were born.
2. The Red Book does not state that you have to be afraid of black people so you aren't.
3. You know you are superior to all other Asians, because it says so in the Red Book.

You know you are ASIAN AUSTRALIAN if...

1. You regret the fact that you did not learn Mandarin or other Asian language properly in Saturday language school.
2. You say you're Australian, totally forgetting your roots.
3. During childhood you didn't have much Asian friends, played bullrush or handball and ate 'sunny boys' for lunch.
4. A form of choosing was done by 'dip.dip dog shit?!'
5. You know you have to shop at an Asian grocery store but you have no idea what you are buying nor can you read any of the food labels.
6. You cheer for Australia during the Olympics, know local Australian bands, and know what a Vb is.
7. You can speak fluent English without an accent.
8. Know what a Commodore and Falcon are. Yes..... they are cars!
9. You know you are superior to all other Asians, despite the fact that they beat you in Maths in the VCE, can speak an Asian language fluently and know what they are buying in Asian grocery stores.

Top Ten Reasons Why There Won't Be An Asian President Anytime Soon

10. White House not big enough for in-laws.
9. Engineering, medicine, and law always preferred over politics.
8. Oval Office has bad feng shui.
7. Can't find decent roast duck inside the beltway.
6. Secret service can't handle nagging from mother.
5. Dignitaries are generally intimidated by chopsticks at state dinners.
4. No chance for promotion.
3. Lactose intolerance not considered politically correct.
2. Senior aides won't take off shoes before coming in.
1. Air Force One: No frequent flyer miles.

How To Be The Perfect Asian Australian Parent ( From the second generation perspective)

1. Be a little more lenient on the 7:00 p.m. curfew.
2. Don't ask where the other point went when your child comes home with grade on his/her report card.
3. Don't "ai-yah" loudly at your kid's dress habits.
4. Don't blatantly hint about the merits of Habad (Harvard), Yeil(Yale), Purinsiton (Princeton), or Stamfud (Stanford).
5. Don't reveal all the intimate details of your kid's life to the entire Asian community.
6. Don't ask your child, "What are you going to do with your life?" if he/she majors in a non-science field.
7. Don't give your son a bowl haircut or your daughter two acres of bangs.
8. Don't try to set your kid up on a date in anticipation of their poor taste or inept social skills.
9. Incorporate other phrases besides, "Did you study yet?" or "When are you getting married?" into your daily conversations with your children.
10. Don't ask all your kid's friends over the age of 21 if they have a boy/girl friend yet.

50 Ways To Know If You're An "ASIAN" (The NEW List From the 1st to 1.5 Generation Perspective)

1. You were/are a good student with very high GPAs.
2. You majored in something practical like engineering, medicine or finance.
3. You have more than one-college degree, especially more than one Master's.
4. If you play a musical instrument, it must be piano.
5. You have a vinyl table cloth on your kitchen table.
6. Your stove is covered with aluminum foil.
7. Your kitchen has a sticky film of grease over it.
8. You beat eggs with chopsticks.
9. You always leave outdoor shoes at the door.
10. You use the dishwasher as a dish rack.
11. You keep a Thermos of hot water available at all times.
12. You boil water before drinking.
13. You eat all meals in the kitchen to keep your dining room clean.
14. You don't use measuring cups when preparing foods.
15. You save grocery bags and use them to hold garbage.
16. You have a rice cooker.
17. You're a wok user.
18. You fight over who pays the dinner bill.
19. You wash rice 2-3 times before cooking it.
20. You make sounds when you have a bowl of soup.
21. You don't dry-clean clothes, even if they need to be dry-cleaned.
22. You iron your own shirts.
23. You like congee with thousand year old eggs.
24. You always cook yourself, even if you hate it.
25. You use credit cards, and pay monthly bills in full.
26. You do either soccer, swimming, badminton, volleyball, basketball, or ping pong, and have an obsession with making the Beijing Olympics.
27. You buy Christmas cards after Christmas, when they are 50% off.
28. When you hand wash dishes, you only use cold water.
29. You hate to waste food:
a) Even if you're totally full, if someone says they're going to throw away the leftovers on the table, you'll finish them.
b) You have Tupperware in your fridge with three bites of rice or one leftover chicken wing.
30. You don't own any real Tupperware-only a cupboard full of used but carefully rinsed margarine tubs, takeout containers, and jam jars.
32. When toilet paper is on sale, you buy 100 rolls and store them.
33. You have a collection of miniature shampoo/conditioner bottles and little soap bars that you take every time you stay in a hotel.
34. The condiments in your fridge are either Price Club sized or come in plastic packets, which you save every time you get take out or go to McDonald's.
35. You carry a stash of your own food whenever you travel (and travel means any car ride longer than 15 minutes).
36. You spit bones and other food scraps on the table.
37. Your dad thinks he can fix everything himself.
38. When you go to a dance party, there is always a group of guys surrounding the dance floor trying to look cool.
39. Your house/aparment is always cold in winter, and hot in summer.
40. Your Mom drives her Mercedes to Foodtown, or Shoppers Food Warehouse regardless how far it is, even if the dairy is next door.
41. You always look phone numbers up in the phone book, since calling Directory Assistance costs 50 cents.
42. You only make long distance calls after 11pm or during weekends.
43. You prefer your shrimp with the heads and legs still attached.
44. You never call your parents just to say hi.
45. You think ONLY Japanese can make good CARS!
46. You use a colored face cloth every morning.
47. You starve yourself before going to all-you-can-eat places.
48. Almost all your money is in a savings account.
49. You never discuss your love life with your parents.
And Last But Not Least
50. You take this message and forward it to all your Asian friends.

From 1 proud Asian to another, forward this to every damn Asian you know.

Sure beats having to cut and paste a bajillion times, no?