Friday, 30 July 2010

truth by points of authority

i've always wondered how 'knowledge' is passed down. obviously we stand on the shoulders of giants, for who could be expected to plant their own beanstalks, then climb them and ransack some pitiful (yet innocent) mythical creature of his deservedly-earned plunders. especially when said beanstalk keeps growing from the time someone uppercuts that golden '?' box.

what we need in this picture is some goombas. maybe a singing harp, too.

that horrible train of thoughts is just to say that, we've run so far, delved so deep and mined so tirelessly into each and every (currently-known) area of knowledge, that we just can't expect everyone to start from scratch. that, and we risk waking up balrogs.

YOU. SHALL. NOT. PASSSSSS!. yeap, i went there.

following from this, i'd just like to give a triple example of something that's been fermenting in my mind, but i have yet to be able to express it in a coherent way. this way i seem artistic, articulate, knowledgeable and i get to make bad analogies. like about ideas and fermentation. who the hell does that, anyway?

ahem. so let's start with an easy one. science. when you're young and innocent, and the world is full of buttercups and chocolate rainbows, you are a tabula rasa of sorts. and so how do we know how electricity makes the world go 'round? how do birds fly and why do onions make mom cry like a little emo kid on his birthday? how, oh how, do fricken magnets work?

so, we have teachers. and books. and magazines, and the discovery channel. we read, and listen, we see and we absorb, everything is taken for truth and we build the unseen world of bacteria and atoms and black holes in our minds. and it all makes sense. kinda. then we grow up a bit and we realise that, though awesome, our teachers weren't perfect :( things are smudged over, and gray areas are avoided. sometimes (dear god) stories are made up for 'brevity' and 'convenience', and one day we would learn the more complicated truths ourselves. for example, i remember when i was in high school, my teacher would teach us of how simplistic the atom is, with its protons and neutrons in the nucleus and the orbiting electrons way out there somewhere, magically spinning. for all i knew, this could be witchcraft and wizardry. then i go to university and it all falls apart, and we learn about schrodinger and his silly cats and all that jazz.

so how do we know what's 'real' in science? what's really 'true' and what's just made up for the convenience of today's understanding (and let's not even go into the differences of time/space/scales/and whales, like how newton preceded einstein and his colleagues. but that's for another day). authority only gets you so far, after which you need empiricism. and for that, i think it's only fitting that you find out what empiricism is, for yourself. (i'm just lazy that way, and this post is hella long).

second on the agenda is something from the opposite pole. arts. for those taking arts and literature and maybe some related subjects, i'm going to go with the disclaimer straight off the bat 'there is no wrong or right in arts'. there is no 'truth' and 'falsities'. at least, not to yourself. but, how can you tell what is 'more true'? what is it that the people want? what is it that you want? what is it that the world wants from your form of art? here, maybe even more than in science, authority holds sway. and empiricism is just as important, although the facts or truths themselves are less important in arts than the interpretation of them, as opposed to, say, in science. now we introduce logic. although being the hallmark of mathematics and philosophy, in this context, i'm gonna go out on a limb and say 'you can't logic your way through discovery'. or something to that extent. science requires the hard facts to come from their natural sources. experiments, observations, singularities and phenomena, all go through a vigorous scientific process to come up with your microwave and ipod. of course, there's logic in putting the pieces together, but here we're talking about the obtaining of the pieces. the ways of knowing.

this opens a whole new door, but i'm trying to drive home the authority vs. empiricism thing, so i'll just leave that part hanging for today. maybe you can think about what logic really is in your free time. yeah, you're definitely going to do that, aren't you? wait, are those pigs flying outside my window? ah, nevermind, it's just an undead on a raptor on a shark with fricken laser beams.

sweet world of warcraft jesus, we're all fscked, now!

okay, let's wrap this up post-haste, because. hey. keep reading. god damn it, nobody walks away from raptors and sharks and lasers. ahem. yeah, the last part is about the in-between. limbo of sorts between science and art. enter religion: does it use the aforementioned methods of knowing?

1. authority? check.
2. empiricism? sometimes. i guess.
3. logic? yeahhhh... not gonna touch this one with a 10 foot stick.
4. enlightenment. revelation. intuition. inspiration.

well, well. what's this. all the prophets and buddha and yoda and sweet gleeful jesus and his mom (no disrespect here, mary) all have 'real' ways of knowing. well that's a relief. but just how relieved do you feel knowing that everything you hold dear and makes the world go 'round is all just... possibly someone tripping on acid weed from columbia? or having an unfresh moment, drying up in the desert sun like a prune on independence day? don't get me wrong, i'm not dissing religion. i'm not an atheist myself, and i believe in stuff higher than the equations in my math book. but i have to confess, sometimes, i don't really fall asleep feeling very confident with... certain things. then my tired a$$ dozes off and i wake up all reset like buzz and his spanish mode.

and here's where everything becomes complicated, right? yeah, i'll just leave you before i mindfrick everyone with my random banter. 'til next time, kids, toodles.

Tuesday, 27 July 2010

wake up... another day

life is a big cost/benefit analysis. every buck earned is from simple investment, every item procured is with the presumption that it's worth at least the amount we pay for it, every decision is a setup for future ones and every girl (or guy) gone out with has to place favourably on the crazy-hot curve.

in fact, the world is so binary that most of the time i think that we're all just dominoes falling into place starting from whenever the first one did, be it the big bang, spontaneous creation, when one universe decided to get drunk and hit up the singles' bar and forgot to bring a pack of rubber, jesus-on-a-dare (more on this another time) or oprah winfrey. wait no, the last one is the destruction of the universe, not creation. or is that rosie o'donenll? hmmm, i'm thinking it's possibly miley cyrus.

take the red pill, and you get molested in the as$ by a big, black dude. take the blue pill, and you get molested in the as$ by a big, black dude.

ahem. anyway. that's just sometimes. other times i think the world is so wacky and batsh*t crazy that, there's just too many red pill/blue pill situations that there has to be some green pill or purple pill options somewhere, right? i mean where would we all be if there wasn't any grey areas in life? probably vegas, or downtown shinjuku, but let's not digress.

those japanese are just so funny, it's not. reminds me of reality.

i guess, apart from me just trying to rant it out here that 'life is crazy as crazy does', and any of you readers probably already knowing this, i wanted to make one thing clear. and it's about parenting (whodathunk). if i ever get a kid, not that i actually really want one of them... another on this some other day. as soon as (s)he can understand the words that are coming outta my mouth, i'm going to teach the little monster this: life is cruel, ruthless, unforgiving, and above all, a b*tchy ex-girlfriend pms-ing moby dick on a stick. and because of that, we should relish the feeling and perish the thought of escape. and love it all the same.

now where did i put that prozac?

here's a whale. not on a stick. but look at it. it's huge. and it flies. moby dick ain't got sh*t on this.

Wednesday, 21 July 2010

doctor m

on tuesday the former prime minister of malaysia, tun dr. mahathir mohamad humored the students of perth with a 'meet and greet' session in a crowded and musky room at the malaysian consulate building. i've never been a big fan of the politics scene. local or otherwise. but, i guess since the guy has been out of the (mainstream, and drama-laden) spotlight for quite some time, it wouldn't hurt much to check it out, right?

and so i went.

let's be clear and up front about this: i don't have anything bad to say about his government and the way he ran it. and i don't have anything good to say about it either. well, that's not really the full truth. i have my opinions. but i went into this with a pretty much open mind. i mean he's not the prime minister anymore, right? no love lost, no hate spared.

what he had to say wasn't particularly insightful. the same old politician / bureaucrat rabble that you always get when someone of import comes into town. but, the way he said it was kinda impressive. he's 85 but he speaks like he's not a day over 40. yes, i honestly think he's past his prime, but he's still probably the sharpest tool in the shed. especially when the shed we're talking about is a metaphor for malaysian politicians.

he's laid back, he's witty, he thinks as he speaks, he's poignant and he's by far, more analytical than the whole cabinet put together. he didn't script his speech, he took notes when others talked and asked questions, and he handled questions diplomatically and intelligently.

it's funny, i set out to write this as an analysis and commentary of what he said, but so far i've ended up saying this:

he's the type of politician we need back home, and it's sad to say that we haven't seen anyone even close to what he had been.

like i said, he mentioned a lot of things, and most of them were your classical derogatory dribble. you'd think that leaders would look upon their own people with some credibility. i guess it wasn't as bad as some of the talks i've been to, though *cough* dpm m yassin *cough*.

one thing that did catch my eye was his severe thrashing of pure pwnage sauce brief criticism of the current government. true, this may be, as some people say, him just being an old elitist, coming down hard on and and all of this successors. but the facts do speak for themselves. i won't quote or link them here, because my blog has never been (and will hopefully never be) a political platform of any sort. if you're really interested, you can go out there and find the plethora of information that's readily available (most of which are biased anyway, but here's where you get to be the academician). but yeah, to have the former pm criticise the current government. pretty harshly, too. the vote of no confidence is just astounding. and the implications are plentiful. i like where this is going.

wow, i haven't really said anything and already this is getting super long. so yeah, i guess i'll end up with an interesting point that i picked up, a bit of a paradoxical set of statements brought up by tun (paraphrased, of course):

1. the country is run as a democracy. the people have a choice of government, and therefore the fault of bad leadership cannot be the ruling party's (alone), but should be shouldered by the people (as well).

then he goes on to say:

2. the ruling party is pure crap-ass bullshit quite incompetent, and the opposition is sweet depotism jesus kinda bad not that great either.

so how do we chose between the two evils? how do you differentiate tweedle dee and dum? how do you watch 'battlefield: earth' when 'gigli' is showing?

some sh*t is just whack. but then, there's gigli-level horrible. not that i've watched it.


1. the government no longer gets academics, intellectuals and people who actually use their brains to think instead of as a festering pool for pornography and child-torture, into the political scene. because of the petty reason of them being threatened, humiliated, egocentric retarded, stupid fricken sonuvabishes and all that jazz.


2. our governing body is in ruin. we need an injection of new blood. people who... i dunno... aren't fscking idiots.

come on guys. what the sweet mother of paradoxical jeebus?

it's like a paradox. but it's not. but it's kinda like one. you know?
so yeah. gonna stop here. 'til next time, kiddies. same inconsistent time, same inconsistent channel.

Monday, 19 July 2010

what a girl wants

this is a bit out of the norm of my blogging scene, but, having just read 5 consecutive entries / rants of girls complaining, i think it is my duty. nay, my obligation, to bring their asses back to the ground counter-argue their points.

1. if you can't get a guy, you're doing it wrong.

i don't know what world you come from, but here on earth, men are generally receptive to the thought of hooking up. you don't even have to play on the fact that they're horny, desperate and have low expectations. what's this you say? you're not attractive? you're too fat? you have emily rose tendencies in the middle of the night? there's the thing from aliens popping out of your belly button? no. these are not valid arguments. men are easy. they do not care of your flaws and do not worry about your shortcomings. if you approach a man; no, if you even hint that you are interested to a man... bam! you're set. not even kidding. males may be the more superficial of the genders, but that doesn't mean the prospect of getting laid won't negate any and all things going through his mind.

sweet phallic-shaped alien jesus, it's going for my eyes! (i'd still tap that)

2. those jeans do not make you look fat.

okay, i'll say it up front, some girls are going to be skinny ass b*tches, and you have your right to hate them. especially those who eat 3 tubs of haagen dazs, a dozen double whoppers and 7.82 pastries per day. with a side of fries. and some girls are going to be downright fat. not big boned. not horizontally challenged. not chunky. just fat. and there's obviously going to be girls who fall in between the two extremes. most of you complaining about waist size are going to be in the lattermost group. because it's a normal distribution. and you are probably normal. now, if you're fat, well, are you happy being fat? if yes, then stfu and move on. if no, then exercise. and stop eating a hippo every other day. it's not rocket surgery.

it's a fat chick. get it? well i couldn't find a picture of a real baby chick, because when i googled fat chick... what has been seen cannot be unseen omggggggg.

now, i'm not here to lecture you on being fat or healthy or whatnot. but i am here to say that you should be happy with your body image. you're probably not fat. in fact, you're probably that close to being underweight on the bmi scale, but you complain as if you borderline the obese. just be happy with what you are. or who you are. whichever. that jeans is gonna look great on you, irrespective.

3. your life is not the oc. or desperate housewives. or sex in the city.
yes, i know our lives are pretty much boring. everyone wants a bit of drama in theirs. that bit of spice to make the smorgasboard of daily existence that much more bearable, instead of the dry, sinewy crap that we forcefully swallow every fsckn day. but, that doesn't give you, or anyone, the right to blow every single thing out of proportion. guy blew you off on a date? welcome to a guy's world. suck it up and move on. boss being a d*ck and sexually harassing you? sue that sucka's ass and make bank. mom on your case and demanding you pop out some grandchildren from between those hips? ummm. yeah i can't help you with this one.

even if you have the face of a horse hybridised with the ass of a baboon, you can still be hot. and lead a non-drama-queen-ish life. i think.

i guess it's a woman's prerogative to be a bit emo at times. at least once a month. but know that everyone has their woes and i think the world would be a better place if we were open and constructive about that, rather than turning into a hurricane of amy winehouse drug-and-alcohol wreck, with the annoyance of 13.8 on the hannah montana richter scale. wait, what? nevermind.

4. you do not need to get those pair of shoes. and even if you do, your guy does not need to pay for it.
honestly, i don't get feminists nowadays. back in the day i could see fighting for 'equal rights', but now it's more like 'equal treatment when it's convenient, but when it's not, then we're still the fairer sex'. what the what is this, guys? we should call it unequal-treatment-in-favour-of-feminines-all-the-time-ism.

wait, this is thin ice on a slippery slope of melting ice caps and thinning ozone layers. i don't have it in for feminists. i don't hate that some people want more rights where they deserve it. i do hate little poodle-princesses (or princes, for that matter) who want stuff done their way, in their time, with my money. or your money. or the people's money. with great power comes great responsibility. and all that jazz. just stop right there.

and no, you still don't need those pair of shoes.

peter, your aunt may is sucking me dry of my hard earned moolah. so, i've decided to take all my money and run away to ibiza. with that stripper, molly. just tell her i died in some freak accident involving some petty crook and you've gained super powers. thanks, kid, i owe you one.

5. having a penis is not the sign of the devil. no, really.
contrary to what you may believe, 666 is not written 'penis'. this is very counterintuitive for many of you, i know, and it baffles me, especially when we just discussed point number one. what, you can't get a man, but you don't want a man? whattttt.

now, i'm not going to lie, guys have it wrong all just the same. especially in the post break-up scene. oh, boo hoo, all women are b*tches. but i can't get a woman to love me. that's like saying 'omg this ice is cold. but i'm too hot out in this desert sun, so i won't even go near that ice'. or something like that.

ahem. anyway, not all guys are jerks. serious, cross my heart and hope to die in green fire. what's this you say, all your exes are stupid, jackasses, retarded, emotionally detached, crazy, or a combination of the aforementioned? then you're probably choosing the wrong guys. no, i'm not making this sh*t up, and no i'm not quoting some feel-good movie. i'm dead serious. dead like elvis presley.

just because he has a penis, he's not necessarily the devil. well yeah he has horns... and that freaky beard... wait a second.

stop going for the eye candy and the jocks. you criticise men for being superficial? well, have you ever tried giving that nerd a chance? did you actually listen to that emo kid surreptitiously serenading you between his hellos and asking you about internal audits? did you ever spare a smile. no, a real smile, not that plastic barbie one. for the pizza guy who's been stalking you for the past 3 years coincidentally delivered your pizza every time, like he's the only one working at that place? well, there's your problem.

6. when you're happy, everyone else is, too.
now, i'm not saying you should put on your game face every time, all the time. if you're sad, you have a right to show it with running mascara. if you're angry, you have the right to punch that ballsack ex-boyfriend in the face. if you are ecstatic, you have the right to sing out to the world like you're in the sound of music. but that still means, i don't want to hear your screaming in the throes of passion, especially when it's 3 a.m. and i ain't gettin' none. know what i'm sayin'?

look at how stupidly happy she is. she doesn't give a flying fsck if you're out to get her firstborn child. she's just. that. happy.

there's this arabic expression i learned way back when, thanks to mufasa:

it means something like, to think the best of the situation or person. in my book, this goes a long way, both personally and socially. and it portrays a very amiable image, not just of you but for you. and when you're (superficially, at the very least) happy, it rubs off on others. which makes getting things done, wayyyyyy easier. and the world goes round faster. and unicorns prance in the meadows and sh*t fanciful rainbows and glitter.

god. effing. fricken. damn it. if i had known my brother was going to kill me, i wouldn't have been so husnu-zon. circle of life my shiny metal ass.

and if you can't even do that... then maybe it's time we sat down, had a little pow-wow, pass 'round the peace pipe. and smoke some green. man, those hippies in the '60s knew what it was all about. free love, y'all.

Sunday, 18 July 2010

halitosis hogsbreath

i hate halitosis and i'm kinda self conscious about it. when i say self-conscious, i mean i'll continually check myself after a meal; i'll not talk to anyone in the morning unless i've had my teeth brushed; and i definitely won't live a day without mouthwash. okay, i don't use mouthwash but, i think i make my point.

he's ugly. poor. stupid. and bad in bed. but he still stood a chance, until she found out his breath was like dead rabbits drenched in hydrogen sulphide. left to dry in the sun.

anyway, this applies in the opposite direction, too. i mean, it's a social thing, right? it should be mutual. if i do my part to make your day free of toxic death by rancid dragon's breath (and this has nothing to do with medieval roleplay, which has the potential of being epic), i think it's my right to expect the same. don't get me wrong, though. i have nothing against natural bodily emissions - i don't have a problem with you letting one rip in my presence, or burping the alphabet while i'm watching telly. although, if my shows are on, and you're disturbing me, you stand a pretty big chance of getting cut with a blunt arsenic-laced scalpel. but, i think it would be nice if people could keep their putrid odours to themselves. takes like 20 seconds to pop out of the room to pop one out of yourself, if you know what i mean. god, no. that's not an euphemism for masturbation. jesus effing christ, what the hell, guys?

even sister halitosis says, 'dude, what the sweet mouth-hygene jesus, guys?'

anwyay. what i'm getting at is, keeping your breath fresh isn't hard, and (at least for me) it's kinda a big deal. and i'm here to help you out so you don't suffer and make other suffer from bad breath.

the most common cause of horrible mouth laser blasts is bacteria. if you've got crap living in your mouth, then your mouth probably smells like. crap. so, brush your tongue, palate, and gums when you brush your teeth. use breath mints if you really have to. and by all means, gargle that mouthwash like you're learning how to give a sloppy one. and brush three times a day. at least once. i mean, come on, guys. once. not that hard.

e. coli. i must have posted this guy a billion times, already. you should know him by now.
if i ever wake up one morning after a drunken haze, and find myself in some 'girl next-door'-esque situation, in a universe where the north and south poles are reversed and where george bush gets elected yet another time... i will still up and effing dump that girl that very second if she says 'good morning' and knocks me unconscious with her breath. no sh*t. wait, where was i going with this... digressing again.

so yeah, if you actually read thusfar, besides keeping your mouth clean, there's also this small matter of your stomach. people with e. coli persistence (and some other gut fauna) have a high chance of developing fetid effing face poison. so if you think you have a problem, and it's not to do with your mouth because you brush 7.81 times a day and gargle so much you might as well drink that sh*t. then you could try getting rid of a potential stomach infection. additionally, it would help you with any related digestive problems. maybe even reduce that gas problem you have, too. two birds one stone. oh yeah, and maybe even get rid of potential cancer, too. that's one big bird you'd probably be happy to knock down.

big bird. get it? aw, come on. well, eff you, too.

trust me, you don't want your duodenum ending up like this. sh*t's nasty.

and if you still have a problem... well, what can i say? do you have a metabolic deficiency? is your family cursed for 7 generations with the breath of death? are you a mythical animal that only lives on a diet of rotting flesh and garbage? are you planning on assassinating the president of a certain country using bodily methods that will get past any level of security (albeit probably killing the security in the process, anyway)?

remember, mouthwash is your friend. and no, i don't get paid by listerine. although if you know a job opening, i'm open to suggestions.

also, something off topic, here's something 'exciting' that has happened in perth, recently. it's about as exciting as this place gets.

Saturday, 17 July 2010

my cup runneth over

what attracted me to the edition was the cover story of 'the christian exodus from the holy land'. as i am reading the june 2009 edition of national geographic, i am a year off being current. however, i find the first feature story, 'the end of plenty', to be more to my liking, and, far from being out of date, is an issue that we should all consider.

the images introductory to the article paint a very simple but profound message - we're using up more food than we're producing. to this, i preach simple messages, which i can only hope to set by example. for those who have been my housemates, you may roll your eyes at how anal i am about 'waste not, want not'. i will eat every grain of rice from my plate, with nary a single one left when it is popped into the wash. i will eat cereal and bread 3 days after its displayed expiration date. i will not cook a new meal, lest that dried up, stale and sinewy fried chicken has been consumed. and as long as that cup of milk in the corner of the fridge's second shelf doesn't smell funky, you can damn well bet i'm going to down it.

and still, if you've been my housemate, i criticise you. and i cry for every time you cook too much, and dump it all the next day, because it is not fresh. have you no shame? do you spare no thought for those wanting, and those waning for want of anything. anything, at all. to eat? disgrace.

i digress. but, my means are simplistic at most. things do not start or end by eating diarrhoea-inducing leftovers. you cannot change the world with and solve its hunger problems with empty preaching. you can, however make a difference by doing the small things in a multi-pronged approach to related problems.

everyone's abuzz with the global fuel crisis. oh, sweet hypnotoad jesus, we're running out of highly-pressurized-over-billions-of-years dinosaur fossils, whatever will we do? stop puffing the magical viscous black dragon, that's what. renewable energy is the quantum physics of our generation, and if someone doesn't discover something revolutionary soon, we're kinda f*cked. but that doesn't mean we shouldn't try what we already have at hand.

recycling; reducing carbon-prints; limiting energy, water and resource usage; all of these things tie in with making better on our promise to gaia of... things. which i won't really mention because that's going off topic. pulling it all together again, was my point that energy and foodstuff really is more related than you think. from the article quoted, up to 30% of american corn production in 2008 was government-mandated to use as ethanol-soaked biofuel. excessive energy use has limited agriculture and farming in various developing countries and negated the potential of lands for such use. solving our energy problems could play a huge part in solving our hunger pangs, too.

so, get rid of that gas-guzzling suv. nobody's falling for your overcompensations.

al gore was a huge advocate for global environmental awareness. though we may laugh at manbearpig and wave off global warming as a government conspiracy, there is truth behind the doomsday heralds' words.

disequilibrium of the meteorological nature impacts our lands from the overt floods, to desiccating droughts, from ominous typhoons to ravenous earthquakes. taking care of the planet really does take care of ourselves, and i guess this extends much further than the simple argument of cattle-farming and sorghum-planting. lest we forget katrina, haiti and indonesia.

again, i need lessons in cutting to the chase. there's so much more i would like to write about on this issue, as it is close to heart to me. but i think, it ties up very well at this point, with another one of my social criticisms, that of 'oh ye, monetary'. in the immortal words of kevin carter, i leave you here with his pulitzer prize winning image.

I am haunted by the vivid memories of killings and corpses and anger and pain ... of starving or wounded children, of trigger-happy madmen, often police, of killer executioners...

the inspirational article can be found here.

Friday, 16 July 2010

take me out to the movies

it's a good thing our kids don't learn from the movies, because this is what i've gained thus far:

1. shooting a car in the gas tank makes great scott bejeebus explosions. and you can survive these by jumping at the very second it goes off.
2. all asians know some type of martial arts, and will kick your ass if you mess with them. that's right, cuh.
3. all black people like to rap, are pro at b-ball, and are 7 feet tall.
4. all girls are hot. no exceptions.
5. everything conveniently concludes and finds closure in themselves in at most, 3 hours. goddamn you titanic / lotr / 300 / etc.

6. jocks are out to beat your ass. no exceptions. they are also good looking, retarded as monkeys, have the intellect of 3 1/2 goldfishes and are always buff.
7. people talk to random strangers. regularly. anywhere. seriously, where do the writers come up with this crap?
8. science is amazing, every bit revolutionary, extravagant and elaborate. if there aren't any explosions, lasers, nanotechnologicalbullcrappardonmylanguage, mutated rabbit-lion-aliens, then it's not science. and scientists are cool.

9. your average joe can take on trained, galactic-grade henchmen. and drones. as long as they're disposable. might need some help with the ones with some character.
10. everyone can dance. just. no. wtf is this.

11. people can fall in love at first sight, or at most after meeting 3 or 4 times. really, do the scriptwriters even go out on dates? or are they repressed nerds still living in their grandparents' basements? more stereotypes to come.
12. the hot babe can fall for the nerd.
13. the hot babe can fall for the underachiever.
14. the hot babe can fall for the jock.
15. the hot babe can fall for [any social outcast / niche lifestyle].
16. the hot babe can fall for the hot babe. mmmm.
17. everyone gets laid. high fives all 'round. woooooo.
18. every day, we're under the threat of international terrorism, biological warfare, nuclear threat and zomgwtfbbq space asteroids colliding into earth. the fact that all of this goes unaware of is all thanks to super-government agencies and covert ops. with the help of superman in there, somewhere.
19. nobody goes home disappointed. nobody. except the villain or antagonist. sucks to be you.
20. werewolves and vampires can be cute, articulate and self-sacrificial. the fact that they ravage your flesh, rip up your limbs and suck your very living essence is negated by that they are model-esque heartthrobs. who apparently don't know how to wear shirts. yeah, i'm talking about you, twilight... things. i hate you with a burning passion comparative to that of a thousand burning suns. i hope you all die in an acid cloud. of fire. and brimstone. with lasers and napalm. die.

p/s: i also watched a crap-load of movies over this break (which is coming to an end, oh noes). one in particular, 500 days of summer, which was recommended to me very highly by captain america, did disappoint. severely. it's good and all but, eh. very aloof. very unreal. i like that 3rd rock guy, though, he's cool and stuff.

Wednesday, 14 July 2010

the root of all evil is a carrot

there are many things that could be the reason for all humanity's problems. polyfactorial. i like to use that word a lot. but, if someone were to ask me what's the sole and singular source of our woes, i would not hesitate to answer: penis.

no, this is not one of those [rule 1 and 2] memes, where you reply penis to everything, but it's a valid answer. anti-freudians would scramble to disagree, and of course, not having found eel genitalia as a solution, might resort to the answer, 42. but, if you think about it, it makes quite a bit of sense; why are men compelled to jump through hoops for a woman? penis. why do men have e-peen and real-peen comparisons (with the addition of compensation and competition)? penis. what are wars fought over, fortunes faded, children forgotten and wives abandoned? penis.

more accurately it is the penile drive that's an attribute to this, and the biologist argues that it is testosterone (produced in the zona reticulata of the kidneys, and converted via successive pathways in the testes, not in the penis) which produces this effect. however, this is all analogous, and penis in this sense is a metaphor and a symbolism, as it may refer to the same drive(s) in women. (ha, i totally cut that off in the bud, all you feminists and people going to counter-argue with 'what about women?'). that, and all women cannot be the source of evil, and are but byproducts of corruption in men (dodging bullets here, give me a break).

but really, i think if everyone could suppress their 'phallic drive', the world would be a better place. this is not to be interpreted as saying that the penis is evil. no, no. it's awesome! just like that best friend you may have. awesome, but not clean of all ills. and just like that bff, it also is probably the one that drives you to make that wrong decision. especially when you're both high or tipsy. because sometimes, it's that push in the wrong direction that truly makes you feel alive. or makes your 'penis' feel that way.

i've just finished watching (after reading) 'a clockwork orange'. and, though i have drafted this post way before watching it, i find that a lot from the movie (but not from the book) supports the 'phallic theory of sin'. ironically, the protagonist, having his penile tendencies controlled for him (both physiologically and psychologically) did not make him a better person. even phenotypically. and i think this supports the 'phantom penis' analogy even better than many examples i could come up with.

but anyway. if anything, let us consider the use of the phallic word here as being a source of carrot analogies. penis. tee hee. here, have something funny to finish yourself off (double entendre intended).

Monday, 12 July 2010

viva lo españa

well, my team didn't win the world cup 2010. that's okay, i'm not a die-hard fan, and although at heart i honestly thought brazil, argentina and germany played the best, that's not necessarily how the tournament is won. there's always that dash of luck, brilliance, misfortune, whatever you want to call it. and so, in the finals, spain (rightfully) defeated holland 1-0.

first and foremost, let me just say that both teams weren't exactly stellar, and for a final match there was so much lacklustre to go around, you could fill a 10-gallon hat with extra to bake a chocolate sea-cucumber cake. and when i say lacklustre, i mean sweet anime jesus boring-as-hell with a side of fries. no kidding. but, among the two evils, spain was by far the lesser one, and so they deserved the win fair and square. with a pentagon in there, somewhere. you're all probably bigger football enthusiasts than i am, so i won't really elaborate much. but really, this was supposed to be football, not foot-to-face, or in de jong vs. alonso, foot-chest. take a look:

there is no way in heaven, hell, purgatory and everything in between, that that doesn't deserve a red card or two. de jong should count his lucky stars (and i bet he did) and just for that mortal kombat-esque farce of a challenge, i now hate holland as a team. well, not just because of that, but because holland played more wrestling / kickboxing than football. i've seen football from the ghetto with less violence. and they use knives, metal chains and knuckle dusters, too. i exaggerate.

anwyway, another thing that totally made me go -_- lolwtf? was the aussie commentators throughout the match early this morning. i'm not particularly articulate nor am i saying i could come up with engaging banter while making commentary on a football game. however, the two commentators (don't know who they are, bless their souls) were just downright horrible. i'm talking like holland-football horrible. damn straight, i went there. again. and they got the players' names mixed up at least twice. that's totally unprofessional, ignorant, face-palmable and downright sad. baby easterbunny jesus weeps for both of you. for shame.

rants aside. good game, spain. gtfo netherlands. truly football from some nether... region... ish... pun... something. maybe once your players learn to control their tempers and actually play the beautiful game, you guys might deserve a win. and to think i rooted for you guys to an extent. disgraceful!

now i need to find a replay of the 3rd-place match, which is apparently, much more entertaining than last night's. that, and catch up on some zzzz.

p/s: every single match that i watched this world cup, the team i've supported lost the match. this has to be some kind of record. i've got a better track record than that stupid octopus, i deserve my 5 mins of fame for this. now that i think of it, i totally shouldn't have watched any of the argentina matches until it was all over.

Saturday, 10 July 2010

taking back saturday

okay, so. i was kinda hoping to write on comparative religion, which is what i'm supposed to be talking about later in the evening. or the basics of philosophy, because i was pretty keen to write about this earlier on when i started blogging. but, after writing so 'seriously' over the past month or two, it has come to my attention that there's actually some readers out there who want me to write something a bit 'happier'. what the deuce, but this is all good news. so i'm kinda stumped as i had all these things lined up but now i have to find something else to write about. gfdi.

it's the world cup season. like that ad goes, eat football, drink football, sleep football. i'm a pretty casual follower of football (or soccer, if you may, but i still prefer the term 'football'). i'll watch a game if it's interesting or if one of my favourite teams are playing. and i'll hang out with friends if they're watching something, too, provided it's not like one of my 'summer of '98' stories, but that's for another day. but i don't really buy into the waking up at 2 a.m. just to watch it alone in my room or stream it when the internet is having a digital constipation with haemorrhoids. it's kinda funny when i get into conversations with people who follow football, because in all social obligation i try to relate and talk about it, just toss in some buzzwords here and there like 'manchester united', 'liverpool', 'offside', 'yellow card'. here's a sample sentence...

damn, that ronaldinho is such an awesome winger defender. he can totally hattrick an offside flag with his in-turtle volley linesman, and fool all his opposing shimmy backheel liverpool. i don't agree with the fourth official's call on the through pass trap that happened last friday, though. that was totally long ball square ball and sometimes the triangle with a great assist from argentina johann cruyff. that sh*t is whack.

... that you shouldn't use. i'm just that horrible.

anyway, the recent flavour of the week is this clairvoyant octopus, paul.

i think paul is a pretty cool guy. eh, predicts game outcomes and doesn't afraid of anything. but yeah, he can apparently predict the results of football matches, and has been doing so since euro 2008. that's pretty cool, except that he's only got a 10/12 record. good enough, you say? well for the avid statistician, that's more like:

he choses (let's say randomly) from two teams so has a .5 chance to be right each match. the chance that he's gonna be right 10/12 times (just like flipping a coin) would be:

12C10 (.5)^10 (.5)^2 = 12C10(.5)^12 = 0.016

which is pretty okay i guess. that's like 2 in every 100 octopuses making the cut. and since there's probably a billion octopuses with which we could shoot to stardom with this premise, well, i'd say it's all just chance.

that being said, it's kinda quirky and funny to read about paul. poor thing probably doesn't even know what the eff he's getting all this attention for. all he wants is the oyster in the box so he can have his lunch. or something like that. i like how he predicted germany to fail, though (him being british-born german or something along those lines). maybe some top chef will cut him up and make some cuisine de force of him :/ i do like me some takoyaki. mmmm psychic takoyaki. delish.

p/s: i've always supported argentina on the international scene. damn you, maradona for failing us yet again. you may have been one helluva player but your coaching sucks sweaty monkey balls.

Wednesday, 7 July 2010


oh man, i thought i was done blogging for the day, then xkcd comes up with this gem. i love this strip so much. nearly as much as i love another type of strip, if you know what i mean. aw yeah.

Tuesday, 6 July 2010

exclusively into a finale

finally, we reach the end of our arc, which started here.

many years pass, and with great pomp and celebration, exists the marriage between alphonse and fermastika. however, not all is perfect and there is trouble in paradise - not a day has passed from their consummation and already alphonse is wrought with boredom and complacency. so, like any respectable man, he keeps up a facaded, but behind closed eyes, his hearts is a coffin for souls and a sacrophagus of sins. sins of the flesh. and born from these travesties, borne of unwanting, are the progeny of despise, the children of hatred.

however, product of what should be right and what should be fair, is a single daughter, though cursed with the ailment of blood, and hexed with the luck of sinners. with the fate of the failing light and trust of all but none, an orchid amongst roses, a star of anise amongst fenugreek, is the princess disowned of throne and fallen from grace - mahsuri. banished to the islands of the north, her story diverges from ours and takes a course of its own, and of this, we warrant forfeit for now.

and though some things are cover to the eye, nothing is more overt to the minds of people than a blatant lie, especially one as blasphemous as that pertaining to love and its counterpart, lust. some say within days, some say after weeks, and yet others say after years of the desecration of fermastika, amaru approaches alphonse to gain freedom for his love, and hence for his heart. although alphonse is eager to part ways with what had become a burden, for things as simple as trinkets from lore and monetary exhumations of ethics; fermastika is not a trophy to be won. so, she fades into the ages and disappears into a moonlit, but cloudy night, never again to be seen or heard of. we believe that she is in a near-eternal slumber, waiting for the day a pure love awakens again, or for the first time. but we also believe that this is an euphemists play on words for a never-coming hope; hope for something so innocent, something so tempest, that it only exists in the hearts of angels, in the promises of demons and on the tongues of devils. but, who is to say what the new ages have brought us, and what this holds for fermastika and everything that surrounds her fate and our belief in it.

however, we do know what happened of amaru, and his story is as tragic as it is real - forsaken of heart and abandoned of words, amaru dwindles shortly around the peaks of gunung ledang. slowly and degeneratively losing his mind, it is said that amaru left behind a piece of his soul and a fragment of his love with every step he took, from which footsteps arose the tallest trees upon the peaks, which will live until fermastika finds reconcile and forgive - or in our belief, never.

as of what happened to alphonse, this is of no import, except for those historians interested in the development and eurocentric-making of colonial nations. and though this is academic and important, it is neither particularly romantic nor is it ambiguous, so we leave his story in the hands of curators, lawyers and antrhopologists.

though there are many (or no) morals to be begotten from this story, many retellings of the story concentrate on a single theme. but, my time has run astray and my tongue has lied and laughed. so with that, i leave you to regret, to relish, and maybe, to re-tell this story, with any given theme of your own.

Thursday, 1 July 2010

exclusively for the puja

as per usual, the first installment of this series can be found here.

now, rash generalisations and racial stereotyping play a significant role in the development of many epics. this, however, is not one of them. nonetheless, it is sufficient to say that where alphonse has been the antithetical foreigner or gai jin, amaru is not the paragon of eastern values we have come to know and sometimes love. instead, we should think of his role in this story as an extreme personification of 'eastern' values, though not all of them, as we will find, are admirable.

while alphonse wiles his ways and dears his days in the procurement of hedonism and pursuit of fermastika's lips, amaru toils silently in the shadows, watching and waiting for a moment most opportune. a single flower of the white lotus, that blooms only once every twelve fortnights, corresponding to the summer solstice, is symbolic of amaru's first element of puja. and, unlike one who would pay handsomely for such a gift, while sitting atop his throne in the safety behind green eyes, amaru would climb the northern peaks of gunung ledang, where the biting cold of nights are the only temperature permissible to the growth of white lotuses - and to do this he is warmed only by his devotion and fed only by his persistence.

three months pass before amaru is able to satisfy his offering, and satisfy himself in an offering; in this time alphonse has progressed well beyond the touch of fermastika's skin to the scent of her locks and the taste of her lips, but nevermore would amaru come to know of these things. instead, he has busied himself with his next task, of rectifying the wrongs and soliciting the rights fermastika has left in her wake, descent from her ephemeral abode in the sky above gunung ledang. as unbeknownst before and ever to come, fermastika, at the end of amaru's task, would be absolved of all sin, however little she may have had, and offered good will wherever she may go, however how far she may have travelled. and this task takes amaru through the cycles of years up to seven.

now amaru returns home from a world of unknown faces and unfriendly gestures, but he is ready with his white lotus and an offering of purity. alike his father, he sets home sailing the south china sea, and arrives in malacca only to discover his coup has long been left to its demise and his people have long passed from oppressed to complacently acceptable. the world has changed, and so has his home - amaru knows nothing any longer, of what has been his past, of what will be his future, but he knows that in the present, in the now, only one thing remains the same and that is his puja.

it is said that though fermastika has aged per decades of human life, her return to humanity had made her vulnerable to the senescence of man, and so, now at the age of 25, ready to be wed to her dreams and hopes, one that her mother-and-princess never could have had, fermastika sets home to gunung ledang, awaiting the hand of someone, anyone who would be so bold as to offer her the dreams of life.

as per his workings, alphonse has set such that he would parade with and on his wealth to the pinnacle in the formality of gaining fermastika's favour. at the head of his entourage, he rides upon his white elephant. fanned by mystical sirens and fed by maidens from the arab peninsula, he rides in style and leads with command. accompanied by a thousand men and three thousand women of various statures and races, in his offering he brings:

a bridge of gold
a house of silver
seven jars of pristine, virgin diamonds
seven bowls of sangiunar uncut rubies
seven trays of gold dust, purified by the tears of natives from the new world
seven phalanges of viallic ambrosia, bought from the greek pantheon
and the promise of the blood of any sons and daughters he would ever have

before we break and follow the quest of amaru, it is pivotal to the story to note that alphonse promises this unworldly gift of children's blood only because his consulting physicians have informed him of his 'malady of the blood' in which his offspring will suffer an agonising, premature death, brought on by malignant impurity of the white blood. and to this, his ends, what they may be, we will never know.

three weeks and sixfold days journey on foot, amaru approaches fermastika's refuge and temple, to witness alphonse's elaborate ceremony in motion. disheartened by the glitz and glamour of the occasion, amaru looks into his satchel to compare; falling short, he realises all that he could ever afford to offer:

a white lotus frozen in time and in space
absolution and ablutions from past and future human interactions (though this remains eternally intangible)
a poem wrought of dreams and stylised with ennui, a dreamer's catching of lost and forgotten reveries

and so he faces away and sits, to ponder.