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.

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).

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.

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.

analolgy

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.

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.

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.