Put two guys and a girl in dbl o, throw in a ridiculous amount of alcohol and weird things can happen. I won’t elaborate.

I am so frickin’ bored. All I do is sit around and wait for something to happen. Occasionally, a wrestling match breaks out between Carine and Ivan which makes for some entertainment. I am usually the referee which essentially equates to making lots of lewd jokes about both parties. I have been rewarded for my efforts with bruises on various parts of my anatomy. It’s amazing how violent some women can be.

If I’m lucky, some work comes in. Yesterday it was some “campaign”. “Campaign” in this agency really means a whole bunch of bloody eDMs and a slew of websites to link them to. Pfffffftt. And so I wrote and wrote and wrote. And then I edited and edited and edited. And this morning, I was told I’d left something out. Ah screw it.

But on to more serious matters. In between the writing and infinitely long lunch break yesterday, I tendered my resignation. It’s been in the pipeline for awhile though I thought I’d let the opportunity slip through my fingers when I bungled the interview. (“Er… I would like to do ATL at some point in my career.” “But we do mainly BTL!” “Ah…”) Still, they kept faith with me and I suppose I’ve gotta show them they made the right choice. I will do that by keeping religiously to the stated lunch hours.

It’s weird that the people around me seem more excited than I am by this job. I’ve had countless congrats and hi-fives and permutations of the phrase “lucky bastard” thrown at me in the past 48 hours so much so that I’ve started wondering if they’re all on crack. I mean, sure, the money’s good and there’ll be opportunities for travel but the job scope’s essentially rather boring i.e. how many direct mailers can I write before I start picking up relatively boisterous hobbies such as bonsai planting?

Still, I suppose it isn’t healthy to be a habitual pessimist. So yes, I am rather pleased with myself. Smirking is now something that I do at least twice a day, usually in between sniggers. It’s amazing how uplifting freedom can be.

I’ve got other things to worry about right now though. The CEO doesn’t seem too pleased that I’m leaving so I’ll probably be stuck with loads of shit jobs. I suppose he thinks that I’ve been rather ungrateful in making such a quick exit but it’s been one year since I started; I’ve paid my dues and now it’s time to move on. Surely he can understand that. Still, whether he wants to smile or cry or curse me to hell is his choice. Either way, I’ll be out of here in a month.

(From Slashdot)
This is just amazing.

I have run out of hair.

Apologies

Jolene has told me that some of her friends read this blog with some form of regularity. So without further ado, I would like to offer my sincerest apologies to these unfortunate people. After perusing the mindless droning published here, you will no doubt have gone on to rip your hair out and subsequently that of whoever happens to be within arm’s reach.

Still, depilation or not, I must commend you on your perseverance for it takes nothing short of a steely will and a double shot of vodka not to end your misery with the cross located so conveniently at the top right corner of your screen. The inanity on display here drives even the author to the brink of insanity which explains why I never read what I’ve written. Many a night, I have woken up sweating with the guilt of ruining the literary expectations of the odd blog surfer, but yet I continue to rant, somewhat like Danielle Steele but that’s another story.

So, as compensation for turning all of you into unwitting literary masochists, I will now go on to read all of the blogs listed on Jolene’s “jardinière”, whatever that is. I will stop when I run out of hair.

Amore

Valentine’s Day. The day where much love is made, in every sense of the phrase, a few unfortunate hearts are broken and tonnes of dead or dying flora are presented into the eager hands of blushing females.

I’m sure many will remember their first tentative forays into this most daunting of territories. Andy, for example, has never been allowed to forget the time he presented a bouquet to a certain member of the opposite sex and ended up redder than the roses. Chye, good grief, presented flowers to what many have failed to identify as a girl. I, myself, have had irrational thoughts about serenading women with the Stone Temple Pilots on this hormone-filled day. Thank goodness that never came to pass.

Still, despite the follies of our youth, we remain undaunted. Why? Because while failure merely ends in us getting laughed at for life, success sometimes leads to a meaningful relationship which, if not managed carefully, can lead to children in November. But that’s not my point. Hey! Go clean out your brain. The point is the meaningful relationship! Such as the one I have with Pat (no, it isn’t gonna get soppy and no, we don’t have any bloody November babies/babies in general!).

So while I may have a private snigger at all those poor souls out there investing in teddy bears and roses and chocolates and writing effusive poems promising the sun and the moon and an elephant’s toe to their respective sweethearts, the fact remains that it is all for a worthy cause. And, at the end of the day, by showing their love (or lust) so unreservedly, they perhaps deserve the last laugh. Then again, I did piggyback Pat round the hall just now.

On a more redeeming note though, at least I didn’t sing That’s Amore.

Witness…

When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie
That's amore
When the world seems to shine like you've had too much wine
That's amore
Bells will ring ting-a-ling-a-ling, ting-a-ling-a-ling
And you'll sing "Vita bella"
Hearts will play tippy-tippy-tay, tippy-tippy-tay
Like a gay tarantella

And that's only the first stanza.
Alright. Bed.

This Chinese New Year, I visited Pat’s family for the first time. About time really. After all, I’ve been dating her for more than 3 years. Apparently, her granny decreed that I had to come this year and, rather than risk losing my one and only life (to Pat, not her granny), I duly obliged.

As these things go, terror is a word that is inescapable. You step into the lift with trepidation. Walking down the corridor feels like walking the plank. The gaping doorway brings images of electric chairs to mind. Not very festive at all.

And so I step in. The transformation is immediate. I am now a goat. And leading me around by the leash is Pat as her parents and grandma fawn (ah… so close to a pun) over me. Her grandma seems especially pleased and starts talking to me in Cantonese. I bleat something incomprehensible. Pat tries to intercede, telling her that I understand Mandarin only. Her grandma starts speaking in Hokkien. Pat tells her again that it’s Mandarin that I understand. Granny starts speaking in Cantonese again. I am led out of the room.

Like all animal shows, feeding time is primetime and I am fed vegetarian stuff made with hair and what I’m told is fermented tofu. So far so good. Everyone seems happy and starts giving me money. Brilliant.

After food and money comes boredom so Pat parks me in front of the TV where I witness the powers of Pokemon. (A fire-breathing chicken-like thing roasted a cobra and what looked like a lump of shit with eyes.) Amazing stuff.

That’s it really. I’ll probably have to do this again next year so I’ll just save a copy of this. I will, of course, change the TV program.

More stuff

They are very magnamous. (magnanimous)

[an sms] I’m going for a flu jap today. (jab)

[another sms] thank

We have to go through Mirinda Square. (Marina)

I’m at Pissple Park. (People’s Park)

someone to someone else: “Hey, I drew your thing.”
me: “You drew his thing?!”

The Matrix in ASCII

In order to counter the atrophying effect Harry Potter has on my mind, I decided to browse through a few of my old philosophy textbooks and was reminded rather rudely that:

1. my mind may very well be bubbling away in a vat in some evil scientist’s lab.
2. all of you may be mere figments of my imagination.
3. the King of France may or may not be bald.
4. I never really understood ANY of my philosophy texts.

However, I’ve managed to deal with all this in the most sensible manner possible i.e. by not thinking about it. Nonetheless, I’ve endeavoured to re-read Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling if only to prove point #4. I suppose that Kierkegaard (with his existentialist tendencies and what not) deals with points #1 and #2 somewhat. I’ve never really known what existentialism means but it surely seems like he’s taking things (and himself) way too seriously.

(It’s been 3 days since I started and I’m at page 32 which makes for an average of slightly more than 10 pages per day. This, needless to say, is comparable to the rate at which a dyslexic gerbil might read Noam Chomsky. And surprise surprise, I’m still at the introduction written by the translator!)

Oh yes, I’ve also been reading the crap listed below and, of course, doing work, which consists mainly of more reading but with the enjoyable addition of making assorted markings in indelible red ink.

Why do women live longer than men?

Philosophy Comics

Young solar systems are like cosmic snooker games, and the universe is flat

Book-A-Minute Classics
English teachers have the inconsiderate habit of assigning mammoth-sized works of literature to read and then actually expecting you to do it. This wouldn't be so bad except that invariably the requisite reading is as boring as fly fishing in an empty lake. Half of those books don't even have discernible plots. And let's face it -- the Cliff's Notes are pretty time-consuming too. Worry no more. Your troubles are over. We here at Book-A-Minute Classics have come up with a solution. We've taken all kinds of great works of literature and boiled them down to their essence, extracting all the filler (and believe me, there's a lot of it sometimes). In just one minute, you can read entire books and learn everything your teachers will expect you to know.

Here’s an example of a one-minute book.

Gandalf
Bilbo Baggins, your Ring is evil. In a couple decades, we'll try to destroy it. In the meantime, leave it for Frodo to play with.

Bilbo Baggins
It's not evil. It's mine. My precious. Mine! MINE, I TELL YOU!! MOOHOOHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!

(Frodo takes it to RIVENDELL. Some FRIENDS come with him. They are attacked by black riders a LOT, and it is SCARY.)

Elrond
Frodo Baggins, if Sauron ever gets this Ring, the world will be destroyed, and evil will reign forever. We must act quickly. Take the Ring to where he lives.

(They do some travelling. Some more FRIENDS come with him. Gandalf DIES in the mines of Moria, but will later be RESURRECTED in GLORIFIED form having triumphed over EVIL, an obvious literary ALLUSION to that movie where the guy comes back as a DOG.)

Boromir
Frodo Baggins, give me the Ring.

Frodo
No.

Boromir
What have I done? (dies)

A bunch of films featuring the BMW Z4. (Yes, I know they’re kinda old.)

I somehow couldn’t stop laughing after reading this definition.
lemming - Any of various small, thickset rodents, especially of the genus Lemmus, inhabiting northern regions and known for periodic mass migrations that sometimes end in drowning.