apples...

And now, back to the ancient daily blogging routine.

On my desk are three green apples. They're much like any other green apples. They are apple shaped and they have little stalks. They are about apple sized and they smell like apples. They are on all counts, apples.

Only problem with them is that they're ugly. Ugly looking apples. So ugly that I didn't want to eat them. But then, I figured it would be pretty sad if they were thrown away on sole qualification of their looks. They probably have perfectly nice insides.

So I've decided to peel them, to find the nice insides. Of course, if they have worms and shit, they're yesterday's trash.


People are terribly like apples, aren't they?

week 13...

I don't even know why the hell they bother having a week 13. Nobody does any lectures on week 13, and there are no tutorials or stuff. If anything, it's only like a deadline extension.

Besides, 13 is supposed to be bad lack, isn't it? What are they trying to do? Jinx us!? Gah! They want us to fail so we'll keep having to retake the same blardy units over and over again.

Hmm, seems that I have a little suitcase problem. How I'm going to get it to move to the airport. Taxis sound viable, but unlike the small mosquitos we get in KL, these things are the size of twin engine Cessnas. Looks like that can of Ridsect is gonna need a flame-thrower dispenser.

I've become a boring writer. Woot.

heatwave...

Lovely weather today. Wearing a collared shirt for the first time in a long time.

One thing about this place is that the weather can be a really fucked up thing. Like the other week, we had a 30 degree heatwave, and the next day it was 12. Yesterday was deballing cold, but today it's a lovely 19 degrees out.

Three more weeks. Just three. Friggin. Weeks.

Looks like all the splashy holiday plans we made are shot executioner style. Bound, gagged, and two bullets to the back of the head.

old...

I haven't been to a terribly many lectures this week. It's not as if I don't fall asleep in enough of them already, revision lectures are just downtown Snoozeville for me. So I decided to do what is probably the last grocery shopping trip in Melbourne this year for me.

If you ever want to get a taste of what it's like to feel like part of a mummy-dust generation, go to Clayton town on a Friday morning grocery shopping. Coles kinda smelt like mothballs. And interestingly, I was about the only Asian there.

A quick aside, I'm getting the feeling that I have this kind of aura that disgusts people or something. Smiles dry up faster than Barisan Nasional charm after an election when the service people see me approaching. I'm wondering if I look terribly imposing six feet tall, or if it's my hair.

Anyhoo, I got a real nice cashier lady. If tipping was customary to checkout clerks, she'd have gotten my 10 bucks change easily. Also, it turns out I wasn't the only Oriental there. This pushy old lady with a face to match a wrinkly elephant butt just charged up to the counter, that spot where a customer stands so they can swipe their charge card.

The bitch must either be real constipated or blinder than that old ah pek in the old Wong Fei Hong movies who painted his glasses black when he sees all the gwai lous with their sunglasses. Probably as stupid, too.

Outside at the trolley bays, I saw this old lady who was looking bloody frustrated at her trolley. Something about the locking key on the trolley in front being lost, so she couldn't get her dollar back. But that's not the important thing. Besides being otherwise perfectly normal, as far as old people go, she couldn't speak consonants. All she could speak were the vowel sounds.

It scares me to think that this might happen to me when I get old. Losing bits and pieces of the personal interaction interface. Like speech, "patience", even bladder control. You're still the same person inside, but you're being locked away.

I never want to get old. But it looks that few people have a choice.

nervy...

Feeling very irritable recently. Every damn thing is rubbing me the wrong way. Yes, even THAT.

Don't know what's up. It's taking lots of willpower not to snap at random people who walk past me. The air turbulence they're causing pisses me off too. Even this keyboard is annoying me.

I can't talk to anyone about it. If looks could kill, mine would eviscerate.

Maybe I should fly home and visit a parliamentary proceding. The resulting massacre should be most noteworthy.

slice...

Everyone tries to get their own slice of heaven. The closest piece of heaven on earth is a cake made up of many different earthly pattiseries. There's the economic pie. There's the space tart. There's the social quiche. And there's the heart shaped cake.

The first three are fairly easy to juggle. Pies, tarts, and quiches are all quite to bake. You can make the crust seperate from the filling, so if you screw up one, you still have the other half left. And you can try again.

Cakes on the other hand, are pretty easy to fuck up. And best part is you won't know until after the baking.

Baking aside, it seems to me that quite a few friends of mine have their own slice of heaven. While I'm pretty okay with not having much of a dessert to speak of, I'm just wondering at the people who are actively being stopped from having their own.

There IS more than enough heaven to go around.

P.S. I am exactly 19.5 years old. My brother is exactly 6. Today, that is.

beans beans...

...the magical fruit. The more you eat, the more you poop.


These beans won't take it too kindly to being eaten OR turned into poop.

"Ne'er was more savage a beast that appeared cute, fluffy, adorable, or collectible."