A friend's work of art. Cool no?

You know, I just saw an amusing product on the supermarket shelf. It was Green Tea shower gel.

*Thunder crashes and lightning flashes*

This is truly a devious product placed on the shelves. I cannot believe my eyes when I saw the thing. I could see the transparent bottle with hideous, radioactive green goo oozing around. Green tea shower gel is one of the most deadly substances that has plagued mankind and it's sitting right here on a supermarket shelf.

Okay, now what's the big deal with green tea?

Green tea kills sperm. Yup. It does. Okay this may be a rumour, but I have a friend who always tells me green tea kills sperm. This is unjustified as of yet, but I've also read some newspaper reports that green tea might affect sperm count. Now of course, there are also reports that green tea helps fertility. But until there's a clear correlation or lack of it between consumption of green tea and sperm count, I am staying away from that kind of stuff. Really.

So green tea's shower gel is really heinious as after all, if green tea does kill sperm, would any guy want to use green tea to wash his... err... erm... I think I shall shut up here.

You know how it is that you can't choose your family? I wish I could.

My mom loves gardening. I hate gardening. Unfortunately, my mom loves gardening.

Of course I hate gardening. My mom's definition of gardening would make anyone hate it. After all, it's like a multi-tier corporation, where she sits at the management level and I am the lowly production worker. First, my mom would walk out to the garden and think, Hey, the arrangement of the pots in this garden is wrong. I'm sick of it. It's time for a change. How I dread those words that are echoed every month or so.

In the next hour, my dad and I would be moving and carrying heavy pots of earth around, shuffling plants and lugging around the heavy stuff. And yes, in gardening, everything is "the heavy stuff". My mom would point that she wants this pot here with her nicely gloved hands and that pot there, and then suddenly, she'll want to switch the pots around again, and then move that a bit to the left, no it's slanted, wait, it probably looked better in the original place. Though the plant might look nicer from this angle. Maybe you should move the pot and the stand one inch to the left. No, wait, now half inch to the right. The ground isn't flat. Move that piece of wood over there. So many mosquitoes out here. Water the plants. Is this better here or there? Should I plant this over here or over there? Doesn't matter, I'll try both.

And after one hour of incessant bossing around, she'll look contently around, and say, My garden is very nice. You should come out and enjoy it more rather than sit in front of the computer all day. Yup. Of course it's her garden, I thought to myself panting from all the heavy lifting. She put our blood and sweat into it.

That's gardening, according to mom.

You know, my mom has two suitcases lying on the bed in the extra bedroom that we have. One black, one grey, both measuring approximately 2.5 feet by 1.5 feet by 1 feet. To me, these suitcases were huge. After all, most of the travelling I did was with one orange Spalding gym bag which many people have seen me lugging around. I could with all of my clothes, shopping and essentials in there easily. It just surprised me that my mom has already two suitcases sitting ready on the guest bed, with sweaters, long-sleeved shirts and other winter clothing sitting snugly in it.

Reality doesn't just tap you on the shoulder but it hits you in the face with a bagload of bricks. Especially when you are not expecting it.

I don't really know when the countdown began. Maybe it began when I recieved that acceptance letter. Maybe it began all the way back when I sent in my application. Maybe it was always meant to be and that it was bound to happen anyway and the countdown began from the very day I was born. I was about to go to New York, begin my life as a freshman. A freshman, what an appropriate phrase. This is a fresh start. A new beginning. Like in those songs, where you leave the past behind and start a new life. And the days are counting down to this new start.

I don't know what sort of apprehension I am feeling right now. I was sure I did not feel anything else besides boredom, hunger and sleepiness. When I see those clothes there, this is going to be heck of a long trip. Maybe even a one-way trip. You know, I'm on a highway to hell and I'm not coming back? Okay, I'm coming back. Or at least I plan to.

The reality of the suitcases is striking. You know the song, Leaving On A Jet Plane? Yeah exactly like that. Going, going, gone. Everyone is. So long farewell.

I know a girl who puts her nickname on MSN as 16 more days to go!!! Holy [expletive]!!!. I guess I should be counting down as the days go by. Oh well. Seems depressing to have to count down and know that there's so little time left.

I just got an SMS early this morning. It went like this,

"roadkill!! haha.. i just ran over a frog..

So apparently my blog about roadkill made an impact on some people. Anyway, while I was coming back from the airport yesterday, I saw roadkill again. Sorta a way of welcoming me back to my hometown. There was this monitor lizard, about 1 foot long, lying sprawled on its back on the side of the road. I should have got down and took a photo, but I didn't have a camera with me.

And the guy thought it was really funny.

Football season is in. Football fever is at an all-time high. The last epidemic was during the 2002 World Cup, but this time due to the awkward timing and constant barrage of football shown on television day after day after day, the prognosis of this epidemic would only get worse.

Look, just speaking personally, my sister is pissed off with her boyfriend for paying more attention to football than anything else, including his studies, his life and to his risk, my sister.

It's about time that all girls who have boyfriends suffering from football addiction give some love and attention to their television-glued boyfriends. Serious, football addiction is an addiction where there is no control. I've observed withdrawal symptons as insomnia, quivering hands, inability to concentrate and a loss of coherence when speaking. So, girls, instead of taking it out on guys for watching too much football, try to help them pass through this stage of addiction by being there for their guys. Its only for a month every 4 years. Now girls understand what guys have to put up with every month.

Some ways which can help is to prepare popcorn and prep the couch. Make sure everything necessary for 90 minutes of ball kicking action is within arms reach; the junk food, the remote control, the phone and maybe a bedpan. Although it is unlikely that a phone call would come as most guys would be also watching the match, one has to prepare for emergencies. Make sure there is enough grub to last 90-minutes, or at least 45-minutes where there is a 10 minute intermission to grab extra snacks and quickly visit the necessary sanitation facilities.

Girls can also learn to watch football, know the terms, understand why guys scream "Bloody foul" and "Offside!" all the time at the deaf referee on television. Show a bit of interest in what their boyfriends are interested in. Besides they might also enjoy looking at 22 young, healthy, muscular, sweaty guys on television. Just don't start making comments like, "Beckham is so cute!*" or "Who is that cute player? He so handsome!" or "I wish they can have more close-up shots of (insert name of footballer here)" or as someone I know always go, "Pires! Pires! Pires! Pires! Pires! Pires!".

Really it hurts the guys pride and ego when their girlfriends are busy oogling at other guys.

Also, make dates around football times when couples can curl up on the couch together and enjoy watching football together. Although guys usually watch football with their friends, getting drunk on beer and then running around like England hooligan fans, I'm sure that guys would want to spend time with their girlfriends and football at the same time. It's all about multi-tasking.

So at the end of it all, what's in it for the girls? Expect big rewards. Or give out threats. Mention things like they have to put up with their boyfriend's addiction. Play the guilt card, mention the late nights, the neglect and the emotional distress. Of course crying helps, but we guys don't like tears at all. At the end of the day, going along with guys football addiction would bring in many great returns for those who are patient. Really. Guys would sacrifice that much for a game of football, even if its just on television.

Much has to be said about video game violence. Me, myself, being an avid fan of polygon massacre and head-shots galore, especially with nice graphic colours have to say a bit about video game violence for fear that one of my favourite past times do not disappear in the face of Senator Joe Lieberman, an evil archenemy of the gaming community who attempts to take away games like Grand Theft Auto and Manhunt.

I don't like people who decide what is good for me and what isn't good for me. This senator is one of them. He assumes that minors and young adults like me are highly impressionable people who once have had a taste of blood, whether virtual or not, would further lust for more. My mom also makes this flawed assumption. My mom insists that I am a violent person because I play too many computer games. I refuse to point out to her that my temper seems to be genetically passed down from her as her kids all have that sort of temper.

I wonder why he takes video game violence so seriously when GTA does indeed mimic real life, but not in its full glory. I mean, that's life. It's life that people kill, rape, steal and blow up things. It is out there already and it has been that way since time immemorial. To say that video games are the cause of it, well, maybe he has a point. So if we stop playing games, murders and rapes would be reduced.

Yeah bloody right. Note that games are particularly expensive, and that a luxury such as a video game is mostly available to middle and upper class people, with decent paychecks and lives. Maybe its their deepest darkest fantasy to see what's it like to be a crook and a murderer. Maybe they wanna try be a drug lord for a day. Most murders are those murders that happen in the squalid areas that the government conveniently forgot. The slums, the squatter area, the dark alleys and the forgotten lanes, strewn with homeless people. I'm sure they all each have a Sony Playstation 2 there, sitting there playing GTA III and then taking out a gun and shooting whoever they feel like just because they can.

Oh yeah, Joe Lieberman did vote for the bill in March 2004 for legal immunity for the guns industry in favour of token gestures like trigger locks and assault weapons ban and showroom loopholes. Sure, I see trigger locks capable of preventing accidental deaths, and assault weapons reducing armed robberies. But honestly, the gun industry cannot be held liable for whoever they sell their guns to? That's like a green flag to sell more guns to anyone as long as they have money. He also believes that Americans have the right to bear arms. Read it all here. So wait, we can own guns but not allowed to own violent video games? Is this what he is saying? Its not okay to own games which kill, maim and disfigure polygons, but it is okay to own weapons which can kill, maim and disfigure real people? Honest man, he is nothing but a politician, and please, stay out of this. He doesn't know what he's talking about.

My final say is that, once after a short session of blowing away the ugliest, nastiest monster and saving the world once again (we always get that, we kill things to save the world) I would return to my daily mundane life and do my homework, watch a little television and go out for a game of football with friends. C'mon it's just a game! If I know that, every gamer knows that, but Joe Lieberman doesn't know that, then well let's play on!

Life sucks. The post office sucks. I must declare my contempt for the mail. If normal mail cannot reach me within 3 days, I must admit, that normal mail should be banned, all post offices closed, and the brains of all postmen sucked out and left to dry. No, the transit time of normal mail is way too slow for anything today. 2 weeks to receive a letter from the US?? Yeah right, damn well, yeah right, if it can't be faster, it shouldn't be there.

So I propose the burning of stamps, envelopes and other postal goods. It's time for the post to give its last salute and make way for e-mails. It's just not good anymore. No damn good at all. Especially when I receive my mails late.

The clown is dead,
The clown is dead,
Alas, alas, the clown is dead,
Shall we mourn him?

No more laughs and slapstick jokes,
No more slipping on banana peels,
Gone is that pale white face,
Leaving behind that red big haunting smile.

I hate clowns, I hate clowns,
Alas?
The clown in me is dead,
And I shall laugh no more.

A cynic is a person who knows the price of everything and the value of nothing.

I take offense and pride in that statement, in a very perversed way. No doubt, I would regard myself as a cynic, perhaps sometimes at times the most sarcastic and sardonic one I've ever met, told without hint of ego or pride, but in-a-matter-of-fact way. I need not show my cynism or scorn towards everything and anything including, but not restricted to people, lawyers, campaigns, politicians, rules, laws, organisations, environmentalists, feminists, people who align themselves with a movement, preachers and people who believe that their actions bring a lot of good to the society.

Sure, I am a selfish person by nature, but not by action. And although my conviction does stand that people are generally, typically and often truly selfish, this belief of mine has more or less evolved into a fierce kind of truth which I have seen and no less bother to deny, and dismiss other allegations to simply the naivete of those who have not opened their eyes. Selfless stories are told each day, because for the sole reason that these selfless stories do happen far and few in between that we have time to tell them and recite them to the children of the world to make them believe that this world is indeed a selfless one. Bah, humbug!

But why do I take offense in the statement that cynics know the value of nothing? Because, I am a cynic and I do know the value of a lot more things in better perspective than people who dismiss cynics as the doomsayers and apocalypse-criers of today. I know the value of a glass of water, as it is, and as certain circumstances demand. A glass of water could be worth 2 cents or a human life as seen fit and demanded. The price of water could be worth 20 cents or 20 dollars, but more importantly the question which should be asked is that, is this glass of water worth more than 20 dollars to you? If so, then 20 dollars is a fair price and value.

But like the duality nature of the universe, I do take pride in that statement because I interpreted the statement as something completely different. Cynics know the value of nothing. They know the value of not having anything. This simply translates to knowing the value of a person without anything. Knowing what's it like to have nothing and own nothing. And knowing what's it worth. A man who has nothing, is a man who has nothing to lose, and that man has everything to gain. And that's the value of nothing.

So far, after 4 paragraphs, I have not even reached the beginning of what I wanted to say in this post. I did most of my thinking while driving, and listening to the radio, and I seem to find that my thoughts are clearest and best organised when I'm driving. Okay, this is another digression. I just want to talk about the price of friendship and the value of friendship.

Friendship has a pricetag and a value. I've just realised this and I am a bit disturbed by it. Apparently, some of my friendships do come with a pricetag and an exceedingly low return value, making such "friendships" way below levels of acceptability as well as poor investment returns. I may be speaking as a financial advisor, but really, in layman's terms, some friendships are not worth the amount of effort a person puts into, as we all have some sort of experience in this sort of matter before.

I just learnt of a friendship of mine that has a value of less than USD2 (the price of a taxi fare from the station to the shopping mall). The pricetag of this friendship seems to be long distance phonecalls. Though it's sad to see that my friendship or any friendship has only the value of USD2.

Some friendships are even worse of, with a value of less than USD0.10 (the price of a phone call) and a hefty pricetag of return calls and emotional distress. Then there are friendships with a pricetag of USD4 (the amount owed) and a value of only USD0.01 (the price of an SMS). Then there are friendships with pricetag of USD600 (the price of a return ticket from London to New York) and a value of USD0.00 (the price of having to put up with emotional tantrums). This honestly brings into perspective of some of the friendships that really are friendships until the pricetag and value are considered.

Then of course, on the other hand, there are some friendships with the pricetag of USD10 (the price of gas for long endless drives around town with no destination in particular) and the value of USD500 (a return trip to Melbourne and a 2 week stay in a house). Then there are friendships with the pricetag of USD20 (the price of Internet SMS as well as countless emails including Internet access charges plus some comics and a few loans) and then there's the value of USD500 (the price of editing essays, some things bought off eBay and a Rubiks cube).

All in all, this isn't exactly a foolproof way of evaluating "friendship" and not all values indicated above are exact. If you do happen to realise that I'm talking about you, good for you. I hope this means something to you. Otherwise, price continues to rise while value continues to drop. And price here means to physical price, as in expenditure, receipts and everything that has to do with the market price and all those sort of things, while value is personal valuation, as in what's it worth to me.

Personal reflection? I think I am suppose to be bitterly disappointed with some of my "friends", but then I realise, I really could not care less anymore after this.

Okay, minutes have just passed from the shocking conclusion of the France vs England match in Euro 2004. I remain stunned and amazed at the final ticking minutes of the match.

Jh, Uncle, my sister, I have sadly predicted this match all too well. The omnious words that, "Lampard will score, but France would win." echoed in my mind, as I was going to give up my future of being a psychic. Then just as I thought I made a wrong prediction, England self-destructed and resulted in a really unexpected, surprising win for France.

Match report? The first 90 minutes of the match was never as exciting as the last 3 minutes of injury time. France attacked without much gusto, and their performance seemed sorely lacking. I must admit I'm an anti-Viera fan, and he did seem to really go out there to cause problems with other players, deciding to mess with Lampard this time and get on his nerves. Just like with Van Nisteroy earlier in the Premiership.

Pires had this great attack early on always down the right flank, only to be stopped always by Ashley Cole. After his energetic attacks, he seemed to die down to oblivion for the rest of the match, only with brief resurgence to touch the ball before retreating to obscurity. Henry was blanketed out by England tactics, who chose to defend right outside the penalty box instead of nearer to the midfield. That way Henry hardly touched the ball, and his only contribution to the match was a very nice break away attempt at the end to give France the very much needed penalty to win. Zidane, well his free kick started the self-destruction of England, and yeah, this match truly belongs to him.

England side, there were no notable honorary mentions. Other than Lampard and Beckham who managed to deliver a beautiful free kick and header to score the 38th minute goal. Then Beckham had to spoil it all by screwing up his penalty kick, when Silvestre tackled Rooney in the penalty box. Fabian Barthez did manage to block the penalty shot. That kick stank of overconfidence and swagger. Then David James was out of place when Zidane scored from that free kick in the 1st minute of injury time. He seemed stunned and amaze that the ball would go far right. Its like completely unbelievable after all that good defending that England did. Okay, Beckham did good defending, always there when needed. Finally about the last minute penalty, it was up to David James to see whether he could do the same as Barthez and save a penalty. Unfortunately he was a class apart and well, history comes down as France 2, England 1.

I saw roadkill again today. It must be some sort of omen that I keep seeing roadkill wherever I go.

This time it was a cat. A grey cat, with matted fur as a few tyres have ran across its midrift many times in some sort of sick, twisted, psychotic vengeance. It was pretty mangled and I cannot be sure whether it was a cat. And I swerved to avoid it. Seeing roadkill everyday must have numbed my mind to the death of small animals that cross the roads that I am speeding at 120km/h on.

I wonder if this is the right inspiration to feel poetic and philosophical about, but seeing the fragile carcass sprawled lifeless on the road seems wrong. Unjustified to leave a life there, a bloody mark left to be washed away by the rain and picked up by a garbage truck like another piece of garbage or mess on the road which we happen to value a lot because roads takes us places and roadkill is just another stain.

Why am I so affected by roadkill? Well, I guess I haven't ran over my first dog yet, nor squash a cat. I wouldn't know if I did run over a frog or two, I must have, and I sit uneasily in the knowledge that maybe I did. Just feels evil if I do happen to run over one...

Tasteless Joke Of The Week
Q: Why can't women get sensitive, caring and emotionally mature men?
A: Because they all have boyfriends.

Overheard
Why, if I were a girl, I would be lucky to get a boyfriend as great as me.

Take a trip down memory lane,
Through the streets of black and white,
Seeing faces, faces once again, young and whole,
For now, once upon a time, forever.

Walking up to those familiar smiles,
Laughing together once again,
A history made together, once before,
And again tomorrow.

Hugging, and never letting go,
And running back to dreams held dear,
Tell me, is it wrong,
To live in the past.

And memories are where all joyful things happen,
A perfect world we once lived in, together,
And that perfect world which is in the past,
Its up to us to remake in the future.

My mom is freaking out as usual, and as I type this post, she's yelling in my ear, "I told you so!"

Apparently a six-foot long croc was caught in my neighbourhood just on Saturday. It sounds all too like out of a newspaper, and yeah, the crocodile was from the river which flows right behind my house about 6 feet from my back yard fence. Yes, despite what other reports may have been, the crocodile is six feet long. There's a picture of it in Sunday's papers.

Yeah, speaking of which, yes I did bring my dog for a walk along that very same river on Friday. And I can almost hear some people saying, "Damn, why didn't Jason get eaten?"

Extract from a conversation.

devineX: cmon, u are a controversy by urself =)
Me: how so?
devineX: i dunno? i guess its just the nature of things
Me: how am I a controversy? what have I done?
devineX: hmmm... defame Harry Potter, attempt (explicit content deleted) speed on the highway, and declare yourself the center of the universe

I'm not all that bad, as declared by devineX. He somehow forgot to add sexist pig to the list.

Okay, honestly I'm not sexist. I don't draw lines about what girls can do and can't do and I have very little belief in gender roles. I strongly believe that there are some things that a girl can't do as well as a guy, and vice versa. I also do believe that girls aren't as strong, fast or physically just anything compared to guys. My younger sister gave me a strong verbal berating just for mentioning it, but I think she's just deluded. The proof is simple in the fact that in physical things such as 100m runs, or 400m freestyle swim, or weightlifting, or any other sport, there always is a category for women. Why? Because, there is, admittedly a physical difference between male and female. The world acknowledges it, and there are proof in timing, numbers and statistics.

Also the world doesn't seem to mind when women compete in a men's competition. However, men cannot compete in a women's competition. That's called equality of sex.

I refuse to be labelled sexist because what has been said is true. C'mon, call a spade a spade. Admit it, there are differences, even if the differences don't matter, there are still differences. And who are you to say that these differences don't matter?

Hmm... controversy. I sound like Slim Shady.

Now this looks a job for me,
So everybody just follow me,
Coz we need a little controversy,
Coz it feels so empty without me. - Without Me, Eminem

Now this is a ride that is worthy of me.

Now, because I have nothing better to do, I shall post a review of the latest Harry Potter movie, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban.

Never before have I seen a movie adaptation of a book that is so mercilessly brief, lacking in character development and as confusing as an essay on supersymmetry and P-dimensional spaces. The movie doesn't even make the assumption that the public has read the book, and instead, I keep feeling that the entire movie is just 2 hours and 30 minutes of a sneak preview of the actual movie.

The director commits character assassination of the worse kind, reducing characters such as Harry Potter to a demented poor actor, Hermione to a tough, action packed b*tch, Ron to a daft wimp, Professor McGonagall to a old gossip, Dumbledore to a doddling old fool and a lot of other twisted parts of the story. Really. The characters are also very shallow, and perhaps Rowling has too many characters that there are not enough screen time for each person, making the film seem rather, well, weak.

Secondly, the entire movie is a mess of things, as well as really really bad plot, and some things just are not explained. Instead, the movie swings from one scene to another, assuming that the audience has read the book, and more often than not, I have to rely on references from the book to actually know what is going on. There is this one part where Professor Lupin just happens to know what map Harry Potter is carrying, but without explaination of how he knew, where he got that idea from and the audience has to infere from the book that he is actually Moony. These kind of references to the book does not even make this movie a wholistic movie and this is why I insist this must be a sneak preview of the actual movie.

Thirdly, the acting of the actors and actresses remains atrocious. While I thought they did improve in the second movie, apparently their acting skills had peaked already. I'm a tough critic, but I know bad acting when I see it. Hermione shoots of her lines way too fast, Harry Potter makes a terrible cry-baby and Ron looks dazed all the time as though he doesn't know what is going on. I lost all respect for Dumbledore as he just doesn't look as tall, regal and impressive anymore. His aura of command is gone. (No I didn't play too much WarCraft III)

Fourthly, I must say that the director's image of a werewolf remains unconvincing and extremely skinny. In fact it looked pink and scrawny. Doesn't inspire as much terror as the magnificent beast that Hugh Jackman transformed into in the much better, makes more sense movie, Van Helsing. The werewolf from Harry Potter looks well starved, and despite all those who defend it by saying its suppose to be a hungry beast, well, it's just not as cool and wonderful and plain ol' nice as Van Helsing.

Okay, but at the end of every tough review I write, I must have at least some words of praise for anything, no matter how badly performed, showed or directed. The only redeeming quality of this movie, other than its a Harry Potter movie which I must watch for the sake of completion, is Hermione. Yes, Hermione. Not her acting, not her lines, not her character. Just Hermione. Yeah, she looks way much better now than in the two movies, and perhaps, the only reason I would watch the next sequel other than for the sake of completion.

Today, I remain commentless.

This isn't the first time I suffer from writer's block.

Okay, you don't need to say that I'm not even a writer for all the crap I've put up here.

No wait, its not writer's block, I've just run out of crap.

Television, window of my world, is showing reruns, therefore, my life is put on hold.

Don't know anything interesting going on out there.

Mr. Snuggles is in fact a delusional paranoid bunny who is very insecure.

I need to do something else with this blog.

Don't you wish there was something more interesting to read?

The cat ate a rat with a baseball bat on a smelly mat.

If love is blind, marriage is the cure.

I'm rambling.

I'll stop.

Mr Snuggles has a death wish.

This is Mr Snuggles. He is a depressed bunny.