FORTY-EIGHT TROPHIES!
That's if you don't count Teach Yer Creature who should have got a silver, and Superstitions Team A who might have got a Third Runners-Up. Anyway, two teams with top Spontaneous and heading to World Finals. It's like Carlsberg: It doesn't get any better than this.
Again, cheering and screaming and clapping like a madman does wonders for your adrenaline system. Totally rock, and totally worth it. Got lots of friends, whom I hope will remember me ten, twenty years down the road. Might be interesting to see who they all grow to become.
OM: Can't Live Without It
The Edna Man
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
The problem is choice
I made a girl cry today.
We have to make a lot of decisions in life. That's what life is all about, that's what free will is all about. Most of the time, those decisions are superficial, are pointless, are insignificant in the grand scheme of time and space. But occasionally, just occasionally, we need to make the hard choices. The difficult and enigmatic choices which involve people, their emotions, their feelings. Their lives.
The average person can't deal with life-and-death choices. Would you push the button to blow up another ferry full of people knowing that by midnight a lunatic in a purple suit is going to blow up both boats anyway? A handful of people would relish in the prospect of having complete and utter control over another life. Then there are others who don't want anything to do with the control over another life, but have to make the tough decisions anyway.
Unfortunately, scattered across existence are these hard choices, and the world needs people to make them. It needs people to press the red button to launch nuclear war. It needs people to lay off the less-productive employee during a recession. It needs people to pick a group of five out of seven for a creative problem-solving competition. The tough choices have to be made. Sometimes, you have to be the person to make them. And I still don't know if I made the right choice. The greater good, over the individual. Maybe, one day, she will understand.
Maybe, one day, she'll forgive me.
The Edna Man
We have to make a lot of decisions in life. That's what life is all about, that's what free will is all about. Most of the time, those decisions are superficial, are pointless, are insignificant in the grand scheme of time and space. But occasionally, just occasionally, we need to make the hard choices. The difficult and enigmatic choices which involve people, their emotions, their feelings. Their lives.
The average person can't deal with life-and-death choices. Would you push the button to blow up another ferry full of people knowing that by midnight a lunatic in a purple suit is going to blow up both boats anyway? A handful of people would relish in the prospect of having complete and utter control over another life. Then there are others who don't want anything to do with the control over another life, but have to make the tough decisions anyway.
Unfortunately, scattered across existence are these hard choices, and the world needs people to make them. It needs people to press the red button to launch nuclear war. It needs people to lay off the less-productive employee during a recession. It needs people to pick a group of five out of seven for a creative problem-solving competition. The tough choices have to be made. Sometimes, you have to be the person to make them. And I still don't know if I made the right choice. The greater good, over the individual. Maybe, one day, she will understand.
Maybe, one day, she'll forgive me.
The Edna Man
Sunday, April 05, 2009
Predator's Gold
And a big thanks to Jonny for lending me his library book. I've never been able to find the second book of the series and I didn't want to continue reading them and spoiler. But thanks to Jonny I've read the second book and like the first one, it's AWESOME.
I can't wait till they make it a movie.
OM has been fun, and it's competition week so it's gonna be even more time-tight from here on. Especially since this looks like the week of multiple homework deadlines. And I still don't know if I can miss Thursday afternoon, with all that red tape blocking my way. I really would like to, of course. And I can barely wait for Saturday.
Believing in the power of stories,
The Edna Man
I can't wait till they make it a movie.
OM has been fun, and it's competition week so it's gonna be even more time-tight from here on. Especially since this looks like the week of multiple homework deadlines. And I still don't know if I can miss Thursday afternoon, with all that red tape blocking my way. I really would like to, of course. And I can barely wait for Saturday.
Believing in the power of stories,
The Edna Man
Friday, March 27, 2009
Comic Life
I just experienced something at dinner tonight. See, my dad took the bus to work today; normally he drives. My brother asked him why, and he says that he takes the bus to work when he's late; his office is undergoing renovations and the car park space is halved, so if he's late it's so much more convenient for him to take the bus. So when I heard that, I said, "Life is weird." So my parents as me why, and I say, "When dad's late, he takes the bus. When we're late..."
Aside from the fact that it's one of the few times I actually made my parents laugh, I felt really good about it and I just had this urge to repeat the joke sometime in the next few minutes of conversation. But I knew that you just can't do it again, because most jokes are one-time-deals, and it's worthless repeating the same joke to the same audience within a short span of time. It's useless because they're not unsuspecting anymore.
And you see how the above two paragraphs relate to life. People only like to talk about what they're interested in, which is the reason for the explanatory paragraph leading up to the punchline. Comedy is all about timing, and when the moment passes, it's often a good idea to give up the joke for the time being. Which is why you should learn to be opportunistic, and keep the timing of everything in consideration. Repeated jokes have no kick; people get bored with repetition, even in things like the personalities of their friends. So the comedian keeps coming up with new ideas to keep things fresh.
Life's a laugh anyhow,
The Edna man
Aside from the fact that it's one of the few times I actually made my parents laugh, I felt really good about it and I just had this urge to repeat the joke sometime in the next few minutes of conversation. But I knew that you just can't do it again, because most jokes are one-time-deals, and it's worthless repeating the same joke to the same audience within a short span of time. It's useless because they're not unsuspecting anymore.
And you see how the above two paragraphs relate to life. People only like to talk about what they're interested in, which is the reason for the explanatory paragraph leading up to the punchline. Comedy is all about timing, and when the moment passes, it's often a good idea to give up the joke for the time being. Which is why you should learn to be opportunistic, and keep the timing of everything in consideration. Repeated jokes have no kick; people get bored with repetition, even in things like the personalities of their friends. So the comedian keeps coming up with new ideas to keep things fresh.
Life's a laugh anyhow,
The Edna man
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
The Right to Vote
I still haven't found anything more suitable, so here it is again.
"It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well."
"It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it. Those who, like you, have leadership thrust upon them, and take up the mantle because they must, and find to their own surprise that they wear it well."
--Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
Perhaps you can ponder this quote over as you mull over the idea of the limits (or lack thereof) of human greed. Like they've never seen a burger before. Then there's old Chinese women who lived in mountain who've never seen a car before. Or little African kids who've never seen a digital camera (or even themselves) before.
But well, that's life for you. And democracy.
The Edna Man
But well, that's life for you. And democracy.
The Edna Man
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Dream Sequence #002
Okay, hey, I just woke up from doing my math portfolio, and I had another awesome-ish dream that I don't want to forget.
If I remember correctly the Joker managed to capture a bunch of superheroes but I can't remember where or when or what for. I do remember it was in some wooden crate thing and all he was using to keep them in there was some demoralizing taunts. So there's this whole bunch of superheroes stuck in the wooden crate but one of them, a girl with completely blue skin (I don't have details; don't ask me) isn't affected by the demoralization and slips out "disguised" as Harlequin. I say "disguised" because she wasn't wearing different from her original costume (which looked like one of Santa's elves except it was red, not green - but heck, I'm colourblind). So in the corridor she meets the Joker and her "disguise" works; the Joker asks who she is, and she replies that she's Harlequin. Then (I remember this very distinctly) the Joker bends over to sniff her, and says, "Well, you do smell like Harlequin... off you go then." So she roams around the lair, which is (I think) some modern castle with marble handrails and stairs and solid oaken doors, and she's rummaging around the place for clues and stuff. I can't remember exactly but I have a vague idea of Joker's plans to do something with packaged food. So little blue elf girl is sneaking around and I remember she narrowly avoids another face-to-face with the Joker while darting down a corridor. Then the whole cinematic tension-building scene where she runs through rooms and corridors until she reaches an area which looks like a delivery area full of plain white delivery trucks and large blue vats of dark liquid, which is in darker shades (dark blues, clinical colours, etc.) than in the other parts of the dream, and she swerves around another confrontation with the Joker by avoiding eye-contact and slipping into the shadow of a nearby pillar and walking in the shadows (a la Golden Sun Cloak Ball Psynergy) annd I remember hearing something about "Yes Mr. Joker, the delivery is in place..." or something like that. But when she gets to the dark blue double doors and bursts through them, the Joker is standing there with Two-Face, and they both look sad; Two-Face is leaning on the Joker's shoulder and crying. I can't remember what the Joker said at this juncture but it was something about how disappointed he was with Harley for something, but then he pulls out a gun, so little blue elf girl starts running past him into a large room with a black-and-white mosiac tiling on the floor. All this is in first-person view at this point, so she hears the gunshot and she turns round to look; at the same time flipping backwards (Matrix style) so that the bullet just misses her and as she lands on the floor she catches the bullet, which is considerably more like a silver ammunition shell than a tiny bullet. So as she was lying there on the floor with the cold bullet in her hands and the sounds of sobbing echoing off the walls, I woke up.
Wouldn't it be cool if I just psychically saw some upcoming DC comics issue?
The Edna Man
If I remember correctly the Joker managed to capture a bunch of superheroes but I can't remember where or when or what for. I do remember it was in some wooden crate thing and all he was using to keep them in there was some demoralizing taunts. So there's this whole bunch of superheroes stuck in the wooden crate but one of them, a girl with completely blue skin (I don't have details; don't ask me) isn't affected by the demoralization and slips out "disguised" as Harlequin. I say "disguised" because she wasn't wearing different from her original costume (which looked like one of Santa's elves except it was red, not green - but heck, I'm colourblind). So in the corridor she meets the Joker and her "disguise" works; the Joker asks who she is, and she replies that she's Harlequin. Then (I remember this very distinctly) the Joker bends over to sniff her, and says, "Well, you do smell like Harlequin... off you go then." So she roams around the lair, which is (I think) some modern castle with marble handrails and stairs and solid oaken doors, and she's rummaging around the place for clues and stuff. I can't remember exactly but I have a vague idea of Joker's plans to do something with packaged food. So little blue elf girl is sneaking around and I remember she narrowly avoids another face-to-face with the Joker while darting down a corridor. Then the whole cinematic tension-building scene where she runs through rooms and corridors until she reaches an area which looks like a delivery area full of plain white delivery trucks and large blue vats of dark liquid, which is in darker shades (dark blues, clinical colours, etc.) than in the other parts of the dream, and she swerves around another confrontation with the Joker by avoiding eye-contact and slipping into the shadow of a nearby pillar and walking in the shadows (a la Golden Sun Cloak Ball Psynergy) annd I remember hearing something about "Yes Mr. Joker, the delivery is in place..." or something like that. But when she gets to the dark blue double doors and bursts through them, the Joker is standing there with Two-Face, and they both look sad; Two-Face is leaning on the Joker's shoulder and crying. I can't remember what the Joker said at this juncture but it was something about how disappointed he was with Harley for something, but then he pulls out a gun, so little blue elf girl starts running past him into a large room with a black-and-white mosiac tiling on the floor. All this is in first-person view at this point, so she hears the gunshot and she turns round to look; at the same time flipping backwards (Matrix style) so that the bullet just misses her and as she lands on the floor she catches the bullet, which is considerably more like a silver ammunition shell than a tiny bullet. So as she was lying there on the floor with the cold bullet in her hands and the sounds of sobbing echoing off the walls, I woke up.
Wouldn't it be cool if I just psychically saw some upcoming DC comics issue?
The Edna Man
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Eighteen
Happy Birthday by Weird Al Yankovic
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, it's time to celebrate your birthday, it happens every year
We'll eat a lot of broccoli and drink a lot of beer
You should be good and happy that there's something you can eat
A million people every day are starving in the street
Your daddy's in the gutter with the wretched and the poor
Your mama's in the kitchen with a can of Cycle Four
There's garbage in the water
There's poison in the sky
I guess it won't be long before we're all gonna die
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, what's the matter little friend, you think this party is the pits
Enjoy it while you can, we'll soon be blown to bits
The monkeys in the pentagon are gonna cook our goose
Their finger's on the button, all they need it an excuse
It doesn't take a military genius to see
We'll all be crispy critters after World War III
There's nowhere you can run to, nowhere you can hide
When they drop the big one, we all get fried
(Come on boys and girls, sing along, ok?)
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
wow! (background screaming, sound effect)
Well there's a punk in the alley and he's looking for a fight
There's an Arab on the corner buying everything in sight
There's a mother in the ghetto with another mouth to feed
Seems that everywhere you look today there's misery and greed
I guess you know the Earth is gonna crash into the sun
But that's no reason why we shouldn't have a little fun
So if you think it's scary, if it's more than you can take
Just blow out the candles and have a piece of cake
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
wow!
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
(Happy Birthday!)
And a pinch to grow an inch!
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, it's time to celebrate your birthday, it happens every year
We'll eat a lot of broccoli and drink a lot of beer
You should be good and happy that there's something you can eat
A million people every day are starving in the street
Your daddy's in the gutter with the wretched and the poor
Your mama's in the kitchen with a can of Cycle Four
There's garbage in the water
There's poison in the sky
I guess it won't be long before we're all gonna die
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Well, what's the matter little friend, you think this party is the pits
Enjoy it while you can, we'll soon be blown to bits
The monkeys in the pentagon are gonna cook our goose
Their finger's on the button, all they need it an excuse
It doesn't take a military genius to see
We'll all be crispy critters after World War III
There's nowhere you can run to, nowhere you can hide
When they drop the big one, we all get fried
(Come on boys and girls, sing along, ok?)
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
wow! (background screaming, sound effect)
Well there's a punk in the alley and he's looking for a fight
There's an Arab on the corner buying everything in sight
There's a mother in the ghetto with another mouth to feed
Seems that everywhere you look today there's misery and greed
I guess you know the Earth is gonna crash into the sun
But that's no reason why we shouldn't have a little fun
So if you think it's scary, if it's more than you can take
Just blow out the candles and have a piece of cake
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
wow!
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
Happy birthday
Happy birthday to you
(Happy Birthday!)
And a pinch to grow an inch!
Friday, March 13, 2009
On the Brink
It's Friday the Thirteenth, the one just before my birthday.
Tomorrow I'll be eighteen. This is probably the last moment I'm can be a juvenile delinquent, or sneak into a M18 movie illegally. The last moment before I start getting drunk, or driving (or both), or smoking, or taking dru- no wait that's illegal whatever age you are. Uhh, before I start having sex or getting married or childbirth (oh wait that's not for me). The last moment I can be a little boy, or think and act weird and interesting because society doesn't let adults do that. Far beyond getting children's price at restaurants and buffets, and the last moment I have leglistative immunity from being a child soldier. The last chance at Hogwarts sending my invitation letter, and to be young and sweet, like a Dancing Queen. The end of years of haiku syllables, and of distinct wallpaper groups, and of fashion magazines.
So once that clock strikes twelve, in three seconds, I'm- oh, it's twelve.
Damn, I'm old.
The Edna Man
Tomorrow I'll be eighteen. This is probably the last moment I'm can be a juvenile delinquent, or sneak into a M18 movie illegally. The last moment before I start getting drunk, or driving (or both), or smoking, or taking dru- no wait that's illegal whatever age you are. Uhh, before I start having sex or getting married or childbirth (oh wait that's not for me). The last moment I can be a little boy, or think and act weird and interesting because society doesn't let adults do that. Far beyond getting children's price at restaurants and buffets, and the last moment I have leglistative immunity from being a child soldier. The last chance at Hogwarts sending my invitation letter, and to be young and sweet, like a Dancing Queen. The end of years of haiku syllables, and of distinct wallpaper groups, and of fashion magazines.
So once that clock strikes twelve, in three seconds, I'm- oh, it's twelve.
Damn, I'm old.
The Edna Man
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Animusic
Boredom and monotony are the mothers of discovery. And this is what I discovered while doing my ToK essay:
Once again, I marvel at the brilliance of human ingenuity. And I laugh in the face of the people who look down on Midi music; this is all driven by a Midi file. Absolutely amazing. It's like a combination of Rube Goldberg machines, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and One-Man Bands all rolled into one. Brilliant. Go check out the others if and when you've got the time, or need to distract yourself from work.
Pipe dreams,
The Edna Man
Once again, I marvel at the brilliance of human ingenuity. And I laugh in the face of the people who look down on Midi music; this is all driven by a Midi file. Absolutely amazing. It's like a combination of Rube Goldberg machines, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and One-Man Bands all rolled into one. Brilliant. Go check out the others if and when you've got the time, or need to distract yourself from work.
Pipe dreams,
The Edna Man
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
The Billion Dollar Question
I have just finished reading the book Q&A, reprinted as Slumdog Millionaire because of recent silver screen popularity. How did I find it?
a) I picked it up off the floor.
b) With a bloodhound and a magnifying glass.
c) Using a GPS and Google Maps.
d) Absolutely brilliant.
It is my great fortune to have been able to finish yet another unparalleled piece of storytelling. This novel by Vikas Swarup has completely blown me away. Aside from the insights it gives us about modern India, which I cannot claim anything about because I don't know how accurate the depiction is, it does show us a lot about human nature and life in general. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. I love the plot twists. There's even a cipher in one of the chapters. This book has everything.
Because luck comes from within,
The Edna Man
a) I picked it up off the floor.
b) With a bloodhound and a magnifying glass.
c) Using a GPS and Google Maps.
d) Absolutely brilliant.
It is my great fortune to have been able to finish yet another unparalleled piece of storytelling. This novel by Vikas Swarup has completely blown me away. Aside from the insights it gives us about modern India, which I cannot claim anything about because I don't know how accurate the depiction is, it does show us a lot about human nature and life in general. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant. I love the plot twists. There's even a cipher in one of the chapters. This book has everything.
Because luck comes from within,
The Edna Man
Monday, March 02, 2009
Lost Generation
Lost Generation by Jonathan Reed
I am part of a lost generation
and I refuse to believe that
I can change the world
I realize this may be a shock but
“Happiness comes from within.”
is a lie, and
“Money will make me happy.”
So in 30 years I will tell my children
they are not the most important thing in my life
My employer will know that
I have my priorities straight because
work
is more important than
family
I tell you this
Once upon a time
Families stayed together
but this will not be true in my era
This is a quick fix society
Experts tell me
30 years from now, I will be celebrating the 10th anniversary of my divorce
I do not concede that
I will live in a country of my own making
In the future
Environmental destruction will be the norm
No longer can it be said that
My peers and I care about this earth
It will be evident that
My generation is apathetic and lethargic
It is foolish to presume that
There is hope.
And all of this will come true unless we choose to reverse it.
--------------------
Brilliant. Simply brilliant.
Which generation do you belong to?
The Edna Man
Sunday, March 01, 2009
The Secret to Success
Yes, I've finally figured it out. It's not whatever all those grown-ups or principals or self-help books tell you. It's very simple actually, and everyone can do it.
You see, when I was doing my EE, I realized that I got distracted very easily and went to do other stuff to procrastinate. So I managed to do a whole lot of stuff, but my EE took very long to do.
THEREFORE
All you have to do to succeed in life is to find an immensely monotonous, long-term project which is VERY IMPORTANT. By putting it at the top of your "Things To Do" list, your procrastinative tendencies will ensure that all your other goals and work gets done, because they look more interesting by comparison. Voila!
Okay, now I should probably go do my English outline.
In other news: YAY EE DONE HAHAHAHAHA
The Edna Man
You see, when I was doing my EE, I realized that I got distracted very easily and went to do other stuff to procrastinate. So I managed to do a whole lot of stuff, but my EE took very long to do.
THEREFORE
All you have to do to succeed in life is to find an immensely monotonous, long-term project which is VERY IMPORTANT. By putting it at the top of your "Things To Do" list, your procrastinative tendencies will ensure that all your other goals and work gets done, because they look more interesting by comparison. Voila!
Okay, now I should probably go do my English outline.
In other news: YAY EE DONE HAHAHAHAHA
The Edna Man
Monday, February 23, 2009
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Ocean
The harassed mother rushed frantically around the room, grabbing a handful of toys and throwing them into a nearby box. "Nicole!" she shouted, while attempting to fold up two blankets and nudge a teddy bear under the bed in one fell swoop; "Nicole! Come here and clean your room!"
The little girl wandered over to the doorway. "What's wrong, mommy?" she asked. "My room's always been like that."
"Your uncles and aunties are coming over," said the mother, untangling the books from the half-folded bedsheets, "and I want them to see how neat and tidy your room is."
Nicole stood silently in the doorway for a moment. "But mommy," she said, "isn't that like lying?"
--------------------
Seriously, Question your Aims
The Edna Man
The little girl wandered over to the doorway. "What's wrong, mommy?" she asked. "My room's always been like that."
"Your uncles and aunties are coming over," said the mother, untangling the books from the half-folded bedsheets, "and I want them to see how neat and tidy your room is."
Nicole stood silently in the doorway for a moment. "But mommy," she said, "isn't that like lying?"
--------------------
Seriously, Question your Aims
The Edna Man
S-A-M-A-N-A-S
I wrote this on Sunday, but because of my self-imposed boycott of Euler's constant I couldn't post it. There are some ideas that just hit you without warning, and then you start parodying a song in the middle of planning for your English Set Text Essay.
S-A-M-A-N-A-S, parody of Hollaback Girl by Gwen Stefani
Uh huh, ascetic
All the elders stomp your feet like this
I left home, no turning back
Met my best friend beside that shack
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
The Brahmin don't work for me
So I seek my ultimate destiny
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
I heard those three walking through town
Silent and unselfed and cloaked in brown
People hear you talking like that, getting my own daddy fired up
So I'm ready to be last, gonna start to fast
Gonna get very numb, gonna reach transcendence
That's right, put your full name down, getting everybody signed up
A few times I've astral project
But I'm still not just that perfect
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Everything just stank of lies
My gave grew icy when it reached my eyes
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
I use my soul, entered different creatures
Lived through their lives, just like my preachers
Both of us wanna be enlightened, but there can only be one (true path)
So I'm gonna die, gonna be born again
Going through the pain, of another cycle
That's right, I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust
Many paths traveled my soul
But we're still not yet reached out goal
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Ever since that I left home
I still haven't heard the "Om",
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Let me hear you say
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
A rumour's been going round
Of Gautama Buddha, much renowned
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Sublime One, I have no doubt
So we're all leaving to check him out
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
--------------------
Disclaimer: This parody is not intended to make fun of any Indian religion or culture whatsoever. It makes reference to Herman Hesse's Siddhartha, written in a fit of sian-ness and inspiration.
S-A-M-A-N-A-S, parody of Hollaback Girl by Gwen Stefani
Uh huh, ascetic
All the elders stomp your feet like this
I left home, no turning back
Met my best friend beside that shack
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
The Brahmin don't work for me
So I seek my ultimate destiny
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
I heard those three walking through town
Silent and unselfed and cloaked in brown
People hear you talking like that, getting my own daddy fired up
So I'm ready to be last, gonna start to fast
Gonna get very numb, gonna reach transcendence
That's right, put your full name down, getting everybody signed up
A few times I've astral project
But I'm still not just that perfect
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Everything just stank of lies
My gave grew icy when it reached my eyes
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
I use my soul, entered different creatures
Lived through their lives, just like my preachers
Both of us wanna be enlightened, but there can only be one (true path)
So I'm gonna die, gonna be born again
Going through the pain, of another cycle
That's right, I'm the last one standing, another one bites the dust
Many paths traveled my soul
But we're still not yet reached out goal
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Ever since that I left home
I still haven't heard the "Om",
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Let me hear you say
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
We are the samanas, S-A-M-A-N-A-S
A rumour's been going round
Of Gautama Buddha, much renowned
And I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Sublime One, I have no doubt
So we're all leaving to check him out
'Cause I ain't at Nirvana yet
I ain't at Nirvana yet
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
Oooh, ascetic, ascetic
--------------------
Disclaimer: This parody is not intended to make fun of any Indian religion or culture whatsoever. It makes reference to Herman Hesse's Siddhartha, written in a fit of sian-ness and inspiration.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Victoree!
And the time has passed, and the lipogrammatic restriction has been lifted. It really is quite challenging to write continuously without using that glyph; think of the sabotage one could do if the whole world's "e" keys went mysteriously missing. It was most difficult to speak in past tense, because of all the -ed suffixes, as well as comparatively, because of the -er; and the present participle, because of the -en. This language really uses a hell lot of "e"s. But well, it was kinda fun while it lasted, but I didn't really talk much to many people.
Egad!
The Edna Man
Egad!
The Edna Man
A Void
So, tonight I commit my linguistic skills through a most taxing trial. Owing to my four-thousand-word horror-of-horrors, I will abstain from using that most common symbol in any digital communication for 24 hours. If it is fact that a book could abstain from that irrational not-a-consonant, this small dry run should turn out as a portion of pi.
Yours truly,
(Mom or dad's bro) (That short lady from that Pixar animation about a Fantastic family)
Yours truly,
(Mom or dad's bro) (That short lady from that Pixar animation about a Fantastic family)
Saturday, February 21, 2009
What EEducation?
[[As an aside, I slept through 13 and a half straight hours from last night to this morning. Total system crash, if you know what I mean.]]
Seriously, you learn more about everything else than what you're supposed to be researching on for your EE.
After another trek to the Central Library, I learnt that the Burger King at Raffles City has been closed for renovations; and I can't stick my umbrella in my bag for "look ma, no hands!" weather protection; today is National Tour Guide 2009, with free tours all around major parts of the city; I found out what modulus means (clock numbers!), as well as thinking in Euclidean space, finding the lies in statistics, and squaring the squares (pluperfect!); a good boyfriend is worth 6 times his weight in gold, and Hell has less people per square mile than Jarkata (according to Dante).
There are a billion books about everything else you'd want about maths, but not a single one about e.
Natural, my Arithmetic Series (AS).
The edna Man
Seriously, you learn more about everything else than what you're supposed to be researching on for your EE.
After another trek to the Central Library, I learnt that the Burger King at Raffles City has been closed for renovations; and I can't stick my umbrella in my bag for "look ma, no hands!" weather protection; today is National Tour Guide 2009, with free tours all around major parts of the city; I found out what modulus means (clock numbers!), as well as thinking in Euclidean space, finding the lies in statistics, and squaring the squares (pluperfect!); a good boyfriend is worth 6 times his weight in gold, and Hell has less people per square mile than Jarkata (according to Dante).
There are a billion books about everything else you'd want about maths, but not a single one about e.
Natural, my Arithmetic Series (AS).
The edna Man
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
What'cha doooing?
There's a hundred and four days of summer vacation,
'Till school comes along just to end it,
So the annual problem for our generation,
Is finding a good way to spend it
Like maybe...
Building a rocket, or fighting a mummy,
Or climbing up the Eiffel tower,
Discovering something that doesn't exist,
Or giving a monkey a shower
Surfing tidal waves, creating nano-bots,
Or locating Frankenstein's brain,
Finding a Dodo bird, painting a continent,
Or driving your sister insane
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
Crossing the tundra or building a roller coaster.
Skiing down a mountain of beans,
Devising a system for remembering everything,
Or synchronizing submarines,
Racing chariots, taming tiger sharks,
Constructing a portal to mars,
Building a time machine, stretching a rubber tree,
or weaving a web of guitars,
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
Let's put our heads together and design a master plan,
We may miss dinner, but I know mom will understand...
We got our mission and suppliers, purple gumballs and desires,
A pocket full of rubber bands, the manual on handstands,
A unicycle compass, and a camera that won't focus,
And canteen full of soda, grab a beach towel here we go!
(This is Ferb-tastic!)
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
(Seriously this is gonna be great day)
This could possibly be the best day ever (Today's Gonna be a Great Day)
This could possibly be the best day ever (Today's Gonna be a Great Day)
I know what we're gonna do today!
The Edna Man
'Till school comes along just to end it,
So the annual problem for our generation,
Is finding a good way to spend it
Like maybe...
Building a rocket, or fighting a mummy,
Or climbing up the Eiffel tower,
Discovering something that doesn't exist,
Or giving a monkey a shower
Surfing tidal waves, creating nano-bots,
Or locating Frankenstein's brain,
Finding a Dodo bird, painting a continent,
Or driving your sister insane
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
Crossing the tundra or building a roller coaster.
Skiing down a mountain of beans,
Devising a system for remembering everything,
Or synchronizing submarines,
Racing chariots, taming tiger sharks,
Constructing a portal to mars,
Building a time machine, stretching a rubber tree,
or weaving a web of guitars,
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
Let's put our heads together and design a master plan,
We may miss dinner, but I know mom will understand...
We got our mission and suppliers, purple gumballs and desires,
A pocket full of rubber bands, the manual on handstands,
A unicycle compass, and a camera that won't focus,
And canteen full of soda, grab a beach towel here we go!
(This is Ferb-tastic!)
This could possibly be the best day ever,
And the forecast says that tomorrow will likely be a million and six times better,
So make every minute count to one,
Jump in and seize the day,
And let's make sure that in every single possible way,
Today is Gonna to Be a Great Day!
(Seriously this is gonna be great day)
This could possibly be the best day ever (Today's Gonna be a Great Day)
This could possibly be the best day ever (Today's Gonna be a Great Day)
I know what we're gonna do today!
The Edna Man
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Better to have Love and Lost
...than to miss doing something awesome on V-Day (or in commemoration of Valentine's Day - as an aside, V-Day makes it sound too revolutionary; remember, remember?).
Going back in time: there's no other way to spend Valentine's Day except by converging on a fast-food restaurant somewhere and dragging out your corporate lunch to abominable lengths just so that you can hold a board meeting and not get kicked out, all the while cracking up and watching Jarrel shred up his plastic drink cap. Romantic, no?
Before that: Friday the Thirteenth! Paraskavedekatriaphobia aside, nothing really freaky happened; had OM as usual, oh but Jarrel dropped a test-tube during Chem prac. Nothing freakishly abnormal or superstitional. What a waste of a good Friday the Thirteenth, eh? Oh well, at least there's another one coming up in a month's time!
Even before that: King Lear (Princess Leia?) screening was vaguely amusing but mostly boring-ish. Call me an evolutionary mutant, but I can't appreciate whatever it is that people appreciate about Shakespeare. The guy playing Lear looked a bit like John Cleese, I thought, and I think the most fun role to play (if I ever became demented and agreed to perform in a staging of King Lear) would be the Fool. Aside from that, the entire cast looked like they just stepped out a (low-budget) Lord of the Rings prequel, complete with the big beards and everything, and the especially-large characters all sound like Gimli when they're raging or shouting or angry. Aside from that, the King of France had no French accent, and Kent had a vague southern drawl. And totally out of the picture (haha motion picture, get it?) as well, it was quite interesting to see a mostly empty lecture hall progressively get emptier and emptier.
I sat through the whole King Lear screening and all I got was this lousy T- hey! I didn't even get a T-shirt!
The Edna Man
Going back in time: there's no other way to spend Valentine's Day except by converging on a fast-food restaurant somewhere and dragging out your corporate lunch to abominable lengths just so that you can hold a board meeting and not get kicked out, all the while cracking up and watching Jarrel shred up his plastic drink cap. Romantic, no?
Before that: Friday the Thirteenth! Paraskavedekatriaphobia aside, nothing really freaky happened; had OM as usual, oh but Jarrel dropped a test-tube during Chem prac. Nothing freakishly abnormal or superstitional. What a waste of a good Friday the Thirteenth, eh? Oh well, at least there's another one coming up in a month's time!
Even before that: King Lear (Princess Leia?) screening was vaguely amusing but mostly boring-ish. Call me an evolutionary mutant, but I can't appreciate whatever it is that people appreciate about Shakespeare. The guy playing Lear looked a bit like John Cleese, I thought, and I think the most fun role to play (if I ever became demented and agreed to perform in a staging of King Lear) would be the Fool. Aside from that, the entire cast looked like they just stepped out a (low-budget) Lord of the Rings prequel, complete with the big beards and everything, and the especially-large characters all sound like Gimli when they're raging or shouting or angry. Aside from that, the King of France had no French accent, and Kent had a vague southern drawl. And totally out of the picture (haha motion picture, get it?) as well, it was quite interesting to see a mostly empty lecture hall progressively get emptier and emptier.
I sat through the whole King Lear screening and all I got was this lousy T- hey! I didn't even get a T-shirt!
The Edna Man
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
All the World's a Stage
Who is the performer when he leaves the stage? For one whose life revolves being someone else, man of a million faces, who needs to entertain others, to see their enjoyment and smiles; who is he when the audience leaves and there is none to see?
Merely a player,
The Edna Man
Merely a player,
The Edna Man
Saturday, February 07, 2009
Death of a Blog and other short stories
And another blog has been dragged silently to the graveyard of dead blogs. This one is different though; instead of dying from neglect and forgetfulness (like a hamster would), this one has been purposefully abandoned (as far as I can tell) because of changes in personal philosophy. I don't think I'm allowed to say anything here, but juzt in case, if you happen to figure out who I've been talking about here, then go find him and cheer him up for me.
--------------------
You know you're getting old when people give up their seat to you on the train.
In Singapore, you know you're getting old when people studiously avoid eye-contact so they don't have to give up their seat to you on the train.
Just an observation.
--------------------
Arun has a hell lot of friends. I have no idea where he gets them all from. Which reminds me, I have to try and get him a present. Oh and his house is hilarious to get to from the MRT, but only if you're not alone. Zeng Jie has awesome sense of direction.
--------------------
I think I'm slowly getting tangled up in a complicated web. I don't know if what I'm doing is right, or maybe it's misinterpretation, or maybe I'm just too oblivious to the conventions of society. And GG to you Boey if you're reading this, but it's meant to be vague and ambigious. Hahaha.
--------------------
I think what I need now is a song.
The Edna Man
--------------------
You know you're getting old when people give up their seat to you on the train.
In Singapore, you know you're getting old when people studiously avoid eye-contact so they don't have to give up their seat to you on the train.
Just an observation.
--------------------
Arun has a hell lot of friends. I have no idea where he gets them all from. Which reminds me, I have to try and get him a present. Oh and his house is hilarious to get to from the MRT, but only if you're not alone. Zeng Jie has awesome sense of direction.
--------------------
I think I'm slowly getting tangled up in a complicated web. I don't know if what I'm doing is right, or maybe it's misinterpretation, or maybe I'm just too oblivious to the conventions of society. And GG to you Boey if you're reading this, but it's meant to be vague and ambigious. Hahaha.
--------------------
I think what I need now is a song.
The Edna Man
Thursday, February 05, 2009
The Pursuit of Happyness
"What are you doing?"
"I'm trying to balance these accounts."
"Why?"
"Because my boss wants them by the end of the week."
"Why?"
"Because it's my job to balance them."
"Why?"
"Because they're paying me."
"Why?"
"Because I need the money."
"Why?"
"So I can buy food."
"Why?"
"So I can survive, maybe?"
"Why?"
"So I can make more money."
"Why?"
"To buy other things."
"Why?"
"Then I'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Isn't that what's important in the end?"
--------------------
"What are you doing?"
"I'm helping my friend."
"Why?"
"So that he'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Then I'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Isn't that what's important in the end?"
--------------------
Different routes to the same outcome. Just an idea. Okay now back to EE.
In the end,
The Edna Man
"I'm trying to balance these accounts."
"Why?"
"Because my boss wants them by the end of the week."
"Why?"
"Because it's my job to balance them."
"Why?"
"Because they're paying me."
"Why?"
"Because I need the money."
"Why?"
"So I can buy food."
"Why?"
"So I can survive, maybe?"
"Why?"
"So I can make more money."
"Why?"
"To buy other things."
"Why?"
"Then I'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Isn't that what's important in the end?"
--------------------
"What are you doing?"
"I'm helping my friend."
"Why?"
"So that he'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Then I'll be happy."
"Why?"
"Isn't that what's important in the end?"
--------------------
Different routes to the same outcome. Just an idea. Okay now back to EE.
In the end,
The Edna Man
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Backlog
Due to the infernal harassment that is "important schoolwork", I have been unable to cope with the increasing amount of blogging backlog. So, for all you lucky fans and dedicated readers out there (about... five?) here's a list of what I have to remember to do in the next week - er, I mean, a sneak preview of what's coming up on Genes on the Internet:
1. Talekeeper
2. Soul Story
3. Chingay Explosives
4. Inner Children and Webcams (Or, Adults and Technology)
5. Lazy Susan of Fortune
Don't touch that dial!
The Edna Man
1. Talekeeper
2. Soul Story
3. Chingay Explosives
4. Inner Children and Webcams (Or, Adults and Technology)
5. Lazy Susan of Fortune
Don't touch that dial!
The Edna Man
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The Horror.
The pure, unadulterated, first-person-point-of-view-with-a-ten-year-old's-perspective horror.
Every single blog post which recounts an event or a day seems to written in the style of Paddy Clarke. And then the problem is, I can't tell if it's the writers being affected or the reader being influenced.
Curse you IB Literature and your infernal reading material!
The Edna Man
Every single blog post which recounts an event or a day seems to written in the style of Paddy Clarke. And then the problem is, I can't tell if it's the writers being affected or the reader being influenced.
Curse you IB Literature and your infernal reading material!
The Edna Man
Running of the Bulls
So I managed to get well by Chinese New Year and managed to eat all the awesome awesome stuff that only comes round once a year. This year's stash seems smaller that last year's though, and it's nothing compared to what we used to have maybe five, seven years ago? That was a CNY snack BONANZA.
Moove media is really capitalizing on what could be a once-in-twelve-years event. There are like, super-cows everywhere. My dad said their goodie bag came with two cans of Red Bull - another lucky opportunist.
I got better at Mahjong this year too. I love all the special winning hands with the long cool-sounding names, and I like all the colours on the tiles. I played at my aunt's house a bit, and then a bit more at Charmaine's house. Charmaine's grandparents are like, Mahjong masters. They had a lot of new diciples; Justin and Jun Siong and Guangda, who all seem like the type of people who know how to play Mahjong but they didn't, apparently. Neil is awesome at it though.
Well, I can't wait for next year's CNY, because that's the year of the TIGER and you all know what that means!
Happy Chinese New Year!
The Edna Man
Moove media is really capitalizing on what could be a once-in-twelve-years event. There are like, super-cows everywhere. My dad said their goodie bag came with two cans of Red Bull - another lucky opportunist.
I got better at Mahjong this year too. I love all the special winning hands with the long cool-sounding names, and I like all the colours on the tiles. I played at my aunt's house a bit, and then a bit more at Charmaine's house. Charmaine's grandparents are like, Mahjong masters. They had a lot of new diciples; Justin and Jun Siong and Guangda, who all seem like the type of people who know how to play Mahjong but they didn't, apparently. Neil is awesome at it though.
Well, I can't wait for next year's CNY, because that's the year of the TIGER and you all know what that means!
Happy Chinese New Year!
The Edna Man
Thursday, January 22, 2009
In Sickness and in Health
Joy of joys, I got sick again. I've been stuck at home for the past two days with nothing to read except Paddy Clarke. The horror.
Anyway, recent records show that I haven't fallen sick since last last year, when I got hospitalized for five days with mycoplasma. So anyway the doctors said that if my adenoids were removed this sort of thing would happen less often and less drastically. Well it was true, kinda; I haven't gotten sick in over a year and this time the fevers weren't so bad and the temperatures weren't so high.
So anyway I went to look up all the animated series that was released in the past two decades and I found some old classics that I watched during my childhood days (oh man I have childhood days; I'm getting old). And because of prom, I've rediscovered the insane genius which is the Mask.
I remember watching the green-headed superhero way back in the day. I was amazed by the way he could transform into so many different types of people and speak in all those different accents. I loved it; it was hilarious. I think that's where I picked up all my accents from. It's brilliant.
Somebody stop me!
The Edna Man
Anyway, recent records show that I haven't fallen sick since last last year, when I got hospitalized for five days with mycoplasma. So anyway the doctors said that if my adenoids were removed this sort of thing would happen less often and less drastically. Well it was true, kinda; I haven't gotten sick in over a year and this time the fevers weren't so bad and the temperatures weren't so high.
So anyway I went to look up all the animated series that was released in the past two decades and I found some old classics that I watched during my childhood days (oh man I have childhood days; I'm getting old). And because of prom, I've rediscovered the insane genius which is the Mask.
I remember watching the green-headed superhero way back in the day. I was amazed by the way he could transform into so many different types of people and speak in all those different accents. I loved it; it was hilarious. I think that's where I picked up all my accents from. It's brilliant.
Somebody stop me!
The Edna Man
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Singing Security
There are awesome people in the world. You just have to look in all the wrong places.
There's an awesome security guard in our school. He can sing; Ernest was playing for him yesterday. He came in second in a Talentime when he was in the army. He knows you have to sing with feeling. He tells awesome jokes. He seems fascinated by differing meanings of words and their multiple usage.
"Our school employs damn interesting security guards." -- The Seah
Ain't no mountain high enough,
The Edna Man
There's an awesome security guard in our school. He can sing; Ernest was playing for him yesterday. He came in second in a Talentime when he was in the army. He knows you have to sing with feeling. He tells awesome jokes. He seems fascinated by differing meanings of words and their multiple usage.
"Our school employs damn interesting security guards." -- The Seah
Ain't no mountain high enough,
The Edna Man
Monday, January 19, 2009
Collective Heartbreak
It's such a drag to be alone, but sometimes you've got no choice. Maybe it'll take you off on a world of adventure.
I went down to the Esplanade Library yesterday to borrow a couple of music scores for my EE. And since I was there, I thought I'd drop by the Museum of Broken Relationships, an art exhibition originating in Croatia, with items and memories donated by people from a number of Eastern-European countries and Singapore, the first Asian stop on the tour. I don't really frequent art exhibitions, but this one was quite intriguing. I took lots of pictures; there were some really unusual objects. There was this film of the hunting areas around some Croatian place I think, and the caption said it won the award for the Fastest Loss of Concentration during a Screening. There was a whole bunch of memories and stories behind them; one item, a key bottle-opener, had a caption that explained that the previous owner's lover kept getting her gifts but refused to sleep with her. Then, "I never knew how much you loved me until you died of AIDS."
After my borrowing, I noticed that there was music coming down from the bayside amphitheatre. The was a cool jazz/blues band there, with a harmonica as lead, which was quite awesome. I had time to sit through three songs before I had to go. I never knew what they were doing it for, because there were no posters or anything, but I think I will forever remember the name of the band as "Sound Check in Progress", because that was the only sign they put up. Oh, and there was this really big ang moh lady sitting up at the front whose pink underwear had rode up to her lower back and she was completely oblivious to it.
Yeah, so that was my adventure at the City Centre yesterday. I went into MPH and realized that there was a whole bunch of books I wanted to read, but I don't think I'll ever be able to read them.
Ally got hit by a car on Friday. She's apparently okay, with no head trauma or internal bleeding or mental scarring or anything. Just bruises, and a scratch. I think when I want to get knocked down by a car, I'd look around and make sure that no deputy principals are around, who will come around and visit me in hospital. Oh and I got knocked down today too, but not by a car, during the PE run, and I got this huge gash in the palm of my hand which until now would not stop oozing blood plasma (at least I think that's what it is). I'm now incapable of clenching my fist or holding chopsticks or giving anyone high-fives. Sorry.
Charmaine and Lorraine have two gu-zhengs in class and are frantically practicing at any free moment in class. It's a very fascinating instrument, the gu-zheng, like a cross between a harp and a guitar. It has the very Chinese-oriental sound which is awesome for Chinese-oriental music. A bit of their song sounds like When You Believe from Prince of Egypt though. There's another bit that's stuck in my head and I can't get it out.
My mom got me an external hard disk drive today. It's 250 Gigs, which is about four times the size of my desktop hard drive. I'm going to test it out now.
On hindsight, this post seems too much in the style of Paddy Clarke.
Ha ha ha,
The Edna Man
I went down to the Esplanade Library yesterday to borrow a couple of music scores for my EE. And since I was there, I thought I'd drop by the Museum of Broken Relationships, an art exhibition originating in Croatia, with items and memories donated by people from a number of Eastern-European countries and Singapore, the first Asian stop on the tour. I don't really frequent art exhibitions, but this one was quite intriguing. I took lots of pictures; there were some really unusual objects. There was this film of the hunting areas around some Croatian place I think, and the caption said it won the award for the Fastest Loss of Concentration during a Screening. There was a whole bunch of memories and stories behind them; one item, a key bottle-opener, had a caption that explained that the previous owner's lover kept getting her gifts but refused to sleep with her. Then, "I never knew how much you loved me until you died of AIDS."
After my borrowing, I noticed that there was music coming down from the bayside amphitheatre. The was a cool jazz/blues band there, with a harmonica as lead, which was quite awesome. I had time to sit through three songs before I had to go. I never knew what they were doing it for, because there were no posters or anything, but I think I will forever remember the name of the band as "Sound Check in Progress", because that was the only sign they put up. Oh, and there was this really big ang moh lady sitting up at the front whose pink underwear had rode up to her lower back and she was completely oblivious to it.
Yeah, so that was my adventure at the City Centre yesterday. I went into MPH and realized that there was a whole bunch of books I wanted to read, but I don't think I'll ever be able to read them.
Ally got hit by a car on Friday. She's apparently okay, with no head trauma or internal bleeding or mental scarring or anything. Just bruises, and a scratch. I think when I want to get knocked down by a car, I'd look around and make sure that no deputy principals are around, who will come around and visit me in hospital. Oh and I got knocked down today too, but not by a car, during the PE run, and I got this huge gash in the palm of my hand which until now would not stop oozing blood plasma (at least I think that's what it is). I'm now incapable of clenching my fist or holding chopsticks or giving anyone high-fives. Sorry.
Charmaine and Lorraine have two gu-zhengs in class and are frantically practicing at any free moment in class. It's a very fascinating instrument, the gu-zheng, like a cross between a harp and a guitar. It has the very Chinese-oriental sound which is awesome for Chinese-oriental music. A bit of their song sounds like When You Believe from Prince of Egypt though. There's another bit that's stuck in my head and I can't get it out.
My mom got me an external hard disk drive today. It's 250 Gigs, which is about four times the size of my desktop hard drive. I'm going to test it out now.
On hindsight, this post seems too much in the style of Paddy Clarke.
Ha ha ha,
The Edna Man
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Carbon Battery
So we watched The 11th Hour in Physics today. I think one of the more awesome ideas which I haven't been exposed to before this, is the fact that right now, our civilization is living on borrowed sunlight. Normally we'd only be able to harvest energy from whatever plants grow over the course of the year; but because we found all these carbon batteries in oil and coal and all the fossil fuels, we got supercharged into advancement and technology. But like all batteries, they'll run out eventually, and so when that happens (in about 50 year's time according to conservative estimates), life as we know it is pretty much screwed. Unless we're able to fine-tune our alternative sources like fission and fusion or whatever. It's an interesting way of looking it that I've never heard of before. It's quite awesome.
Oh oh oh most hilarious thing today was Shaun's Michael Jackson/X-Box joke. AHAHAHAHAHAHA BLACK THEN WHITE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Uh, yeah that's most of what I wanted to say today. If you were expecting a story, sorry, I haven't had any ideas or any time to write them down.
Life goes on,
The Edna Man
Oh oh oh most hilarious thing today was Shaun's Michael Jackson/X-Box joke. AHAHAHAHAHAHA BLACK THEN WHITE AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Uh, yeah that's most of what I wanted to say today. If you were expecting a story, sorry, I haven't had any ideas or any time to write them down.
Life goes on,
The Edna Man
Wednesday, January 07, 2009
Special
"Emma! Emma, over here!"
Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. Nudging her way through the crowd of chattering students, she reached her friend, who promptly flung her arms around her.
"Ahhh! It's been so long!" Rachel squealed as she squeezed. Eventually, Emma managed to wriggle out of her grip.
"Hey Rachel," she said, with an embarrassed smile. "You didn't have to hug me that hard, did you?" she asked. Then, "People were staring," she added.
"Oh, come on!" Rachel laughed, "I don't see my best friend for two months, and I'm not allowed to be excited?"
"It's great to see you again, too," said Emma quietly, grabbing her friend's wrist. "Come on, they're all moving to the auditorium already." She started dragging Rachel towards the staircase.
"So how's the job?" Emma asked, as they climbed the stairs. "The boss still harping on your paperwork?"
"Not any more!" Rachel replied brightly. "I've been shifted to do sales. And the boss is really impressed with my - what did he call it? 'Interpersonal skills and marketing prowess'." She drew herself up in mock pride, and laughed. "What about you?"
Emma showed her the cover of the book she had been reading, a finger carefully slotted between two pages to mark where she had left off. "I decided to do a bit more reading first. Anyway, I doubt that anyone would want to hire such an unimpressive person like me."
"Still as pessimistic as ever," sighed Rachel, but she was grinning. "Come on, let's sit over there."
The girls edged down the row of chairs and dumped their bags on the floor. They watched the other students filing into the auditorium for a minute. Rachel broke the silence.
"So, results!" she said. "I'm really nervous, aren't you?"
Emma mumbled something in reply, with a non-committal shrug.
"How well do you think we did? I know I screwed up Econs, because of the stupid question number; and then Maths was a killer, I left the last question blank! And of course, I don't think the markers are going to like my essay; it's so unique they probably didn't know how to-"
"Shut up, Rachel, I'm nervous too," Emma muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, but smiling. "It's really cold in here."
"Yeah, I know," said Rachel, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered over the crowd in silence.
"Do you think you'll get 42?" she asked. "I don't know, I think I'll get 40 if I'm lucky. Maybe even 39. There's no way I'll get 41, let alone 42. Even-"
"Rachel, I fully expect that you'll get 45, like you did for the Prelims and the tests before that. There's no way you're sitting here throughout the ceremony. You'll be up on stage eventually."
"No...! I told you, I didn't write the question number for Econs and- okay, okay! I won't start that again," she said as she noticed the look on her friend's face. "But I know you'll be on stage with me too! You're going to get at least 43, definitely."
Emma just smiled faintly. "I've been an average girl all my life, Rachel, not like you. I'm never the best in anything, I only manage to do enough to get by. I'm not going up that stage. I've resigned myself to that fact of life."
Rachel was silent for a moment. "But you would like to, wouldn't you?"
"Wouldn't anybody?" she asked, and then laughed.
"I think you should get a score over 41," said Rachel, unusually serious. "Wouldn't it make you feel... I don't know, special? That's a bit of what I feel when I do so well for exams and stuff, I guess that's why I try so hard."
Emma started to reply, but was cut off by the Principal, who had begun to speak from the podium on stage, his voice echoing around the hall, which had fallen silent with every student staring at him with an abnormal amount of attention.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," said the Principal. "I have the results for the year, right here..."
********************
"Emma! Emma, over here!"
Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. She saw her push through the chattering crowds of graduates and run down the steps off the stage.
"Congratulations," Emma said. "Just like I predicted."
"Oh, shut up," Rachel said, grinning. "You didn't get up on stage?" her grin faded. "Why? How much did you get?"
"39," said Emma, nonchalantly. "Just like I predicted."
"Oh."
They were silent for a moment, both at a loss for words.
"Well, d'you want to go out for lunch and celebrate?" asked Emma.
"Yes I do! But - I'm so sorry Emma - they want an interview with all the 45-pointers. And that's after the photo taking and everything. I don't know how long that'll take."
"Oh, well, we'll just have to celebrate some other time, then," Emma said.
There was another pregnant pause.
"Well," said Rachel, "I've got to go back now." She turned to go, but changed her mind and flung her arms around her friend again. "I'm special, Emma," she whispered in her friend's ear,"and so are you. They just don't know how to see it."
Emma broke out of the hug. "Yeah, Rachel, you're really special." She forced a smile, and glanced at the hundreds of happy students still milling around on stage, dozens of handshakes, congratulating each other with a thousand cheers of delight.
"Unique. Just like everybody else."
Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. Nudging her way through the crowd of chattering students, she reached her friend, who promptly flung her arms around her.
"Ahhh! It's been so long!" Rachel squealed as she squeezed. Eventually, Emma managed to wriggle out of her grip.
"Hey Rachel," she said, with an embarrassed smile. "You didn't have to hug me that hard, did you?" she asked. Then, "People were staring," she added.
"Oh, come on!" Rachel laughed, "I don't see my best friend for two months, and I'm not allowed to be excited?"
"It's great to see you again, too," said Emma quietly, grabbing her friend's wrist. "Come on, they're all moving to the auditorium already." She started dragging Rachel towards the staircase.
"So how's the job?" Emma asked, as they climbed the stairs. "The boss still harping on your paperwork?"
"Not any more!" Rachel replied brightly. "I've been shifted to do sales. And the boss is really impressed with my - what did he call it? 'Interpersonal skills and marketing prowess'." She drew herself up in mock pride, and laughed. "What about you?"
Emma showed her the cover of the book she had been reading, a finger carefully slotted between two pages to mark where she had left off. "I decided to do a bit more reading first. Anyway, I doubt that anyone would want to hire such an unimpressive person like me."
"Still as pessimistic as ever," sighed Rachel, but she was grinning. "Come on, let's sit over there."
The girls edged down the row of chairs and dumped their bags on the floor. They watched the other students filing into the auditorium for a minute. Rachel broke the silence.
"So, results!" she said. "I'm really nervous, aren't you?"
Emma mumbled something in reply, with a non-committal shrug.
"How well do you think we did? I know I screwed up Econs, because of the stupid question number; and then Maths was a killer, I left the last question blank! And of course, I don't think the markers are going to like my essay; it's so unique they probably didn't know how to-"
"Shut up, Rachel, I'm nervous too," Emma muttered, pulling her jacket tighter around herself, but smiling. "It's really cold in here."
"Yeah, I know," said Rachel, casually tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes flickered over the crowd in silence.
"Do you think you'll get 42?" she asked. "I don't know, I think I'll get 40 if I'm lucky. Maybe even 39. There's no way I'll get 41, let alone 42. Even-"
"Rachel, I fully expect that you'll get 45, like you did for the Prelims and the tests before that. There's no way you're sitting here throughout the ceremony. You'll be up on stage eventually."
"No...! I told you, I didn't write the question number for Econs and- okay, okay! I won't start that again," she said as she noticed the look on her friend's face. "But I know you'll be on stage with me too! You're going to get at least 43, definitely."
Emma just smiled faintly. "I've been an average girl all my life, Rachel, not like you. I'm never the best in anything, I only manage to do enough to get by. I'm not going up that stage. I've resigned myself to that fact of life."
Rachel was silent for a moment. "But you would like to, wouldn't you?"
"Wouldn't anybody?" she asked, and then laughed.
"I think you should get a score over 41," said Rachel, unusually serious. "Wouldn't it make you feel... I don't know, special? That's a bit of what I feel when I do so well for exams and stuff, I guess that's why I try so hard."
Emma started to reply, but was cut off by the Principal, who had begun to speak from the podium on stage, his voice echoing around the hall, which had fallen silent with every student staring at him with an abnormal amount of attention.
"Good morning, ladies and gentlemen," said the Principal. "I have the results for the year, right here..."
********************
"Emma! Emma, over here!"
Emma finally spotted Rachel bouncing up and down, waving frantically above the sea of heads. She saw her push through the chattering crowds of graduates and run down the steps off the stage.
"Congratulations," Emma said. "Just like I predicted."
"Oh, shut up," Rachel said, grinning. "You didn't get up on stage?" her grin faded. "Why? How much did you get?"
"39," said Emma, nonchalantly. "Just like I predicted."
"Oh."
They were silent for a moment, both at a loss for words.
"Well, d'you want to go out for lunch and celebrate?" asked Emma.
"Yes I do! But - I'm so sorry Emma - they want an interview with all the 45-pointers. And that's after the photo taking and everything. I don't know how long that'll take."
"Oh, well, we'll just have to celebrate some other time, then," Emma said.
There was another pregnant pause.
"Well," said Rachel, "I've got to go back now." She turned to go, but changed her mind and flung her arms around her friend again. "I'm special, Emma," she whispered in her friend's ear,"and so are you. They just don't know how to see it."
Emma broke out of the hug. "Yeah, Rachel, you're really special." She forced a smile, and glanced at the hundreds of happy students still milling around on stage, dozens of handshakes, congratulating each other with a thousand cheers of delight.
"Unique. Just like everybody else."
Tuesday, January 06, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
From Miss to Missus
Not really much time to write a novel or anything, but I (along with the entire Get the Message OM Team and the original MPac exco) went to Ms Loh's wedding today (yesterday at time of writing). I don't really have much to say but I think that this is the most interesting church wedding I have ever been to, because the pastor was so funny and the then Ms Loh was really spontaneous (hahahahaha OM) and all that, so it was an extremely enjoyable experience. It's really nice to see her married finally, but I don't think I can get over calling her Ms Loh. Mrs Tay sounds so weird, and Mdm Loh sounds worse.
I think if or when I actually get married, I'm gonna try to squeeze in as many awesome things as possible. I dunno; I thought weddings are supposed to be happy; I don't think we're supposed to be so serious and stuff.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha... no, no, I'm sorry, I do."
The Edna Man
I think if or when I actually get married, I'm gonna try to squeeze in as many awesome things as possible. I dunno; I thought weddings are supposed to be happy; I don't think we're supposed to be so serious and stuff.
"Hahahahahahahahahaha... no, no, I'm sorry, I do."
The Edna Man
Thursday, January 01, 2009
It's 2K9!
Let's Make A Resolution
I'll Drink To That
Let's Always Stay Friends
Tho' We May Have Our Disputes
This Family Tree's Got Deep Roots
Friendship Is Thicker Than Blood
That Depends
Depends On Trust
Depends On True Devotion
Depends On Love
Depends On Not Denying Emotion
Perhaps
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
I Guess
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
You're Right
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
Maybe this year it'll come true.
Happy 2009!
The Edna Man
I'll Drink To That
Let's Always Stay Friends
Tho' We May Have Our Disputes
This Family Tree's Got Deep Roots
Friendship Is Thicker Than Blood
That Depends
Depends On Trust
Depends On True Devotion
Depends On Love
Depends On Not Denying Emotion
Perhaps
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
I Guess
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
You're Right
It's Gonna Be A Happy New Year
Maybe this year it'll come true.
Happy 2009!
The Edna Man
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Worth It
In two days, the year ends and school begins again.
On the downside: strict teachers, homework mountains, surprise tests, Internal Assessments, Extended Essays, hour-long speeches, exams, counted exams, IB exams, projects, control, deadlines, oppression, inflexibility and the discouragement of creativity and individuality.
On the plus side: friends!
Yeah, I know. Totally worth it.
The Edna Man
On the downside: strict teachers, homework mountains, surprise tests, Internal Assessments, Extended Essays, hour-long speeches, exams, counted exams, IB exams, projects, control, deadlines, oppression, inflexibility and the discouragement of creativity and individuality.
On the plus side: friends!
Yeah, I know. Totally worth it.
The Edna Man
Monday, December 29, 2008
You Are Not Designed For This World
You Are Not Designed For This World
"Thomas Leonardo Tan Chuang Xiang?"
The school counsellor eyed the tall boy over her horn-rimmed glasses. He was standing in front of her desk, arms behind his back, staring at the ground as though deep in thought. At the sound of his name his head jerked upwards.
"Sit down, please," said the school counsellor, indicating the chair in front of her desk.
As he took the seat, the years of counsellor experience kicked in. She noticed the grin on his face which made him look slightly aloof, as well as the relaxed seating posture, with a slight slouch off the back of the chair. He had clasped his hands together and spread his legs slightly apart, and instead of looking ashamedly at the floor or at the walls, he was looking at her with apprehension. Immediately, she knew that this one was going to give her some problems.
"You do know why you're here, don't you?" she asked. The first question was always the rhetorical guilt-checking one; standard protocol. Obviously, she expected him not to reply.
"I haven't submitted fourteen worksheets, five assignments, two projects and an essay over the past three weeks," he said, almost matter-of-factly.
"I... er... yes, well," she said as she struggled to regain her poise, "Your teachers are worried that you are falling behind in your studies, Thomas."
"Please," he smiled, leaning forwards in his chair and placing his clasped hands on the desk, "call me Tom."
This small movement disarmed her; he almost looked like a bank manager or corporate director, sitting like that. A small part of her brain chipped in and warned her that she might be dealing with someone who was far older than he appeared to be. Then her years of experience interrupted and she realized that this was just a little punk with a superiority complex and no respect for any authority.
"Well, Tom," she said, "I hope you realize that you need to do your work and hand it in on time. Don't you know how much trouble you're putting your teachers through, never having a full set of papers to mark and-"
"It's just a couple of assignments," he said, as his gaze shifted to the window. "It's not like I killed anyone."
She thought she caught the edge of sarcasm in his voice. "Of course it's not like killing someone, but it's a serious misbehaviour nonetheless. Now, if you don't start doing all your-"
"Funny how everything is relative, isn't it?" he said, never looking away from the window, "Imagine if I had murdered one of my classmates as well. We wouldn't be here discussing a few tardy worksheets, would we?"
Alarm bells were going off in the back of the school counsellor's mind, but she was the captain and she knew how to steer this misguided soul back into sane waters. "Well, if you had murdered one of your classmates, you'd be at a police interrogation centre, being interviewed by a couple of police officers."
His gaze shifted back to her face. "I know. Pales in comparison, doesn't it?"
"Look, Tom," she said, grabbing a sheaf of papers and squaring them on her desktop, a quick respite from looking at that face, "murder is not the reason you are here, and thank God it's not. You're here because you haven't been handing up your homework, and-"
"I have murdered someone," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
"I've killed someone," he said, looking down at the desktop. The school counsellor could see that his face was flushed with remorse. Either he had really committed homicide, or he was a brilliant actor. She was utterly at a loss at what to do with this confessional manic; years of experience hadn't prepared her for this. Eventually, she decided to play along and see where it went.
"Who?" she asked, keeping her voice steely.
"Her name was Loretta. She was on a journey to find her father, along with this boy named Roland. They were just passing through but I made the Dark Lord's henchman to incite the butcher into an angry rage, and he killed her-"
"I'm sorry, what?" The tension was building up in her like a coiled spring, but it was dampened by a new layer of confusion. "You made the Duck Lord's henchman- what...?"
"The Dark Lord Naxxarim's evil henchman Gilgore," he corrected her, "in the story I've been writing."
"Story...?" then the spring melted back into wire, and she couldn't help making a small, relieved chuckle. "It's just a story?"
"It's not just a story," he said, a hard edge in his voice now. "It's a whole new world."
"Is this what you've been doing instead of your homework? Writing stories?"
"Yes." She was too intoxicated by her relief and returning confidence that she didn't notice that the boy had none of the earlier relaxed air about him. His mouth was now lined and unsmiling, and the grip in his hands had tightened.
"I'm sure you know that schoolwork is more important that these fantasies of yours," she said.
"Really," he said. "In this past week alone I've formulated a whole compendium on the rules of magic in my world. I've done dozens of drawings of the type of creatures which might survive in such an environ-"
"Thomas," she said loudly, cutting across his explanations, "I'm sure your world is amazing and all that, but you must realize that you are wasting too much of your time and energy on all these things which aren't real."
The was a pause. Then, "They're real to me," he said quietly.
She fell back into her chair with a sigh. Another idealistic dreamer without a realistic view of the world he lived in. Maybe she should try another tact.
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Thomas?" she asked, expecting the obvious answers: writer, artist, movie director, game designer.
"I'd like to personally go and help less-fortunate children in remote rural areas around the world."
Once again she was surprised at his reply, and frustrated that she couldn't read this kid at all. "I see. And how are you going to do that?"
"I'll travel to all these places with stuff they might need and-"
"Yes, but where will you get this 'stuff'? And the transportation?"
He was quiet for a while. "From friends," he said.
She barely heard his reply. "You'll need money for these things, Thomas," she said, "and how are you going to get money unless you get a good job? And how are you going to get a good job unless you get a good education? So you see, it all comes back to you not submitting your homework on time."
He was silent for a moment. "Thomas?" she asked. "Are you listening?"
"You think that all your problems can be solved with money, with a job, with an education," he said. "We spend so much of our lives chasing degrees and the perfect high-paying job so we have lots of money - and then what do we do with it? And all the while our creativity is restrained, imagination is discouraged, dreams are squashed into the harsh ground of reality."
"Think pragmatically, Thomas," said the school counsellor, slightly irritated now. "The world might not be what you want it to be, but you can't change it. People need money to survive in this world, Thomas. You need to work hard if you want to achieve anything."
"I have worked hard, ma'am. I spent so much time and effort in creating the world my story takes place in, and-"
"You need to work hard in the things that matter," she interrupted him, "like your mathematics and your sciences and your history and your economics. These things have a real use in life, not like your stories. You need to learn the skills of the world to survive in it."
"Skills? What skills? Knowing when and where and who to lie to? Fighting for yourself before considering the needs of others? Controlling people from your seat of power? Killing the stories one by one?"
She looked at him. There was a fire in his eyes, a passion which burnt with the fury of a thousand ideals. And the sad thing was, she thought, he actually believed them.
"You are impossible," she said. "Thomas, you will finish your assignments by the end of the week and you will hand them in to your teachers promptly." She grabbed the sheaf of papers again and opened her drawer. "The world needs realistic, practical people, Thomas, and it would benefit you, and the people around you, if you started to grow up and realize that. Good day to you."
She bent down to file the papers, and when she looked up again, he was standing there, behind the chair. His body was rigid; his fists were clenched in his jaw was set.
"You're wrong," he said. "You're completely wrong."
"You were not designed for this world, Thomas," she said, exasperated, "so it might do you good if you would redesign yourself to fit in."
For a moment, his eyes locked on hers, and in that fraction of a second she though he would storm out through the door, or burst into tears, or lunge toward her and hit her. Anything but what happened next.
His hands started to glow orange, and so did his eyes. A streak of energy arced across his stomach, from fist to fist, crackling like lightning. His feet lifted slowly off the floor, such that he was levitating in the middle of the room.
"Wha-what's going on?" she screamed.
"I'm rewriting reality," he said calmly. "I wasn't going to do this for a while yet, but you forced my hand."
"Wh-what?"
"It's going to be a new world, ma'am!" he shouted excitedly. "A world with caring, compassionate people, without greed or deception. People would need stories to survive, so let's see where all your education and jobs and money gets you now!"
"Stop! Stop it right now! You're insane!" she cried, as he room exploded with orange light.
-----
Wow finally. The original idea for this story was supposed to be an exploration if the people who were not designed for this world switched things around so that the would would be designed to fit them; over the course of writing it kinda got overshadowed and squeezed into the end there. Well, the story's kinda moot now, but it was a fun exercise in body language and expressions.
By the way, Leonardo is named after Da Vinci, the only creative dreamer whose name I could think of at such short notice.
Not created for this world,
The Edna Man
"Thomas Leonardo Tan Chuang Xiang?"
The school counsellor eyed the tall boy over her horn-rimmed glasses. He was standing in front of her desk, arms behind his back, staring at the ground as though deep in thought. At the sound of his name his head jerked upwards.
"Sit down, please," said the school counsellor, indicating the chair in front of her desk.
As he took the seat, the years of counsellor experience kicked in. She noticed the grin on his face which made him look slightly aloof, as well as the relaxed seating posture, with a slight slouch off the back of the chair. He had clasped his hands together and spread his legs slightly apart, and instead of looking ashamedly at the floor or at the walls, he was looking at her with apprehension. Immediately, she knew that this one was going to give her some problems.
"You do know why you're here, don't you?" she asked. The first question was always the rhetorical guilt-checking one; standard protocol. Obviously, she expected him not to reply.
"I haven't submitted fourteen worksheets, five assignments, two projects and an essay over the past three weeks," he said, almost matter-of-factly.
"I... er... yes, well," she said as she struggled to regain her poise, "Your teachers are worried that you are falling behind in your studies, Thomas."
"Please," he smiled, leaning forwards in his chair and placing his clasped hands on the desk, "call me Tom."
This small movement disarmed her; he almost looked like a bank manager or corporate director, sitting like that. A small part of her brain chipped in and warned her that she might be dealing with someone who was far older than he appeared to be. Then her years of experience interrupted and she realized that this was just a little punk with a superiority complex and no respect for any authority.
"Well, Tom," she said, "I hope you realize that you need to do your work and hand it in on time. Don't you know how much trouble you're putting your teachers through, never having a full set of papers to mark and-"
"It's just a couple of assignments," he said, as his gaze shifted to the window. "It's not like I killed anyone."
She thought she caught the edge of sarcasm in his voice. "Of course it's not like killing someone, but it's a serious misbehaviour nonetheless. Now, if you don't start doing all your-"
"Funny how everything is relative, isn't it?" he said, never looking away from the window, "Imagine if I had murdered one of my classmates as well. We wouldn't be here discussing a few tardy worksheets, would we?"
Alarm bells were going off in the back of the school counsellor's mind, but she was the captain and she knew how to steer this misguided soul back into sane waters. "Well, if you had murdered one of your classmates, you'd be at a police interrogation centre, being interviewed by a couple of police officers."
His gaze shifted back to her face. "I know. Pales in comparison, doesn't it?"
"Look, Tom," she said, grabbing a sheaf of papers and squaring them on her desktop, a quick respite from looking at that face, "murder is not the reason you are here, and thank God it's not. You're here because you haven't been handing up your homework, and-"
"I have murdered someone," he said quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
"I've killed someone," he said, looking down at the desktop. The school counsellor could see that his face was flushed with remorse. Either he had really committed homicide, or he was a brilliant actor. She was utterly at a loss at what to do with this confessional manic; years of experience hadn't prepared her for this. Eventually, she decided to play along and see where it went.
"Who?" she asked, keeping her voice steely.
"Her name was Loretta. She was on a journey to find her father, along with this boy named Roland. They were just passing through but I made the Dark Lord's henchman to incite the butcher into an angry rage, and he killed her-"
"I'm sorry, what?" The tension was building up in her like a coiled spring, but it was dampened by a new layer of confusion. "You made the Duck Lord's henchman- what...?"
"The Dark Lord Naxxarim's evil henchman Gilgore," he corrected her, "in the story I've been writing."
"Story...?" then the spring melted back into wire, and she couldn't help making a small, relieved chuckle. "It's just a story?"
"It's not just a story," he said, a hard edge in his voice now. "It's a whole new world."
"Is this what you've been doing instead of your homework? Writing stories?"
"Yes." She was too intoxicated by her relief and returning confidence that she didn't notice that the boy had none of the earlier relaxed air about him. His mouth was now lined and unsmiling, and the grip in his hands had tightened.
"I'm sure you know that schoolwork is more important that these fantasies of yours," she said.
"Really," he said. "In this past week alone I've formulated a whole compendium on the rules of magic in my world. I've done dozens of drawings of the type of creatures which might survive in such an environ-"
"Thomas," she said loudly, cutting across his explanations, "I'm sure your world is amazing and all that, but you must realize that you are wasting too much of your time and energy on all these things which aren't real."
The was a pause. Then, "They're real to me," he said quietly.
She fell back into her chair with a sigh. Another idealistic dreamer without a realistic view of the world he lived in. Maybe she should try another tact.
"What do you want to be when you grow up, Thomas?" she asked, expecting the obvious answers: writer, artist, movie director, game designer.
"I'd like to personally go and help less-fortunate children in remote rural areas around the world."
Once again she was surprised at his reply, and frustrated that she couldn't read this kid at all. "I see. And how are you going to do that?"
"I'll travel to all these places with stuff they might need and-"
"Yes, but where will you get this 'stuff'? And the transportation?"
He was quiet for a while. "From friends," he said.
She barely heard his reply. "You'll need money for these things, Thomas," she said, "and how are you going to get money unless you get a good job? And how are you going to get a good job unless you get a good education? So you see, it all comes back to you not submitting your homework on time."
He was silent for a moment. "Thomas?" she asked. "Are you listening?"
"You think that all your problems can be solved with money, with a job, with an education," he said. "We spend so much of our lives chasing degrees and the perfect high-paying job so we have lots of money - and then what do we do with it? And all the while our creativity is restrained, imagination is discouraged, dreams are squashed into the harsh ground of reality."
"Think pragmatically, Thomas," said the school counsellor, slightly irritated now. "The world might not be what you want it to be, but you can't change it. People need money to survive in this world, Thomas. You need to work hard if you want to achieve anything."
"I have worked hard, ma'am. I spent so much time and effort in creating the world my story takes place in, and-"
"You need to work hard in the things that matter," she interrupted him, "like your mathematics and your sciences and your history and your economics. These things have a real use in life, not like your stories. You need to learn the skills of the world to survive in it."
"Skills? What skills? Knowing when and where and who to lie to? Fighting for yourself before considering the needs of others? Controlling people from your seat of power? Killing the stories one by one?"
She looked at him. There was a fire in his eyes, a passion which burnt with the fury of a thousand ideals. And the sad thing was, she thought, he actually believed them.
"You are impossible," she said. "Thomas, you will finish your assignments by the end of the week and you will hand them in to your teachers promptly." She grabbed the sheaf of papers again and opened her drawer. "The world needs realistic, practical people, Thomas, and it would benefit you, and the people around you, if you started to grow up and realize that. Good day to you."
She bent down to file the papers, and when she looked up again, he was standing there, behind the chair. His body was rigid; his fists were clenched in his jaw was set.
"You're wrong," he said. "You're completely wrong."
"You were not designed for this world, Thomas," she said, exasperated, "so it might do you good if you would redesign yourself to fit in."
For a moment, his eyes locked on hers, and in that fraction of a second she though he would storm out through the door, or burst into tears, or lunge toward her and hit her. Anything but what happened next.
His hands started to glow orange, and so did his eyes. A streak of energy arced across his stomach, from fist to fist, crackling like lightning. His feet lifted slowly off the floor, such that he was levitating in the middle of the room.
"Wha-what's going on?" she screamed.
"I'm rewriting reality," he said calmly. "I wasn't going to do this for a while yet, but you forced my hand."
"Wh-what?"
"It's going to be a new world, ma'am!" he shouted excitedly. "A world with caring, compassionate people, without greed or deception. People would need stories to survive, so let's see where all your education and jobs and money gets you now!"
"Stop! Stop it right now! You're insane!" she cried, as he room exploded with orange light.
-----
Wow finally. The original idea for this story was supposed to be an exploration if the people who were not designed for this world switched things around so that the would would be designed to fit them; over the course of writing it kinda got overshadowed and squeezed into the end there. Well, the story's kinda moot now, but it was a fun exercise in body language and expressions.
By the way, Leonardo is named after Da Vinci, the only creative dreamer whose name I could think of at such short notice.
Not created for this world,
The Edna Man
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Christmas Decay
Once, on a Christmas day a long time ago, our presents didn't come to us. They were delivered to, opened by, re-given to us by higher-ups in the genealogy tree. They were colourful and made of plastic, with flashing lights and wonderful sounds.
A little later, our presents were retrieved at the cost of a simple "thank you!" They were filled with toys, wonderful instruments of storytelling and intrigue. Imagination ran rampant, as we played with the same toys again and again, reinventing its use each time and spinning a new tale from the debris of past ideas. We eagerly looked forward to Christmases, filled with curiosity and anticipation of the potential new universe concealed within a layer of paper and cardboard.
As time passed, the stories slowed to a trickle. Toys were scarce, as though age stoppered the flow of imagination; the stories came pre-packaged, in tomes and books and volumes. Uncles and aunties were less eager to buy something which we might not like, and so resorted to ang paos and chocolates, the universal gifts which can be given to anyone.
Later on, chocolates, food, clothes are all normal presents. Who needs giving the gift of stories when you can get something practical, something realistic, something you can use. Anticipation turned to dread as people realized that, oh man, Christmas is coming again and I'm gonna get another pile of shirts; meanwhile I don't know what to get them.
At the end, Christmas becomes just another day in the calendar. As the young folk go around giving their gifts to even younger folk, the old people don't even remember that it's Christmas.
And the stories fade away.
Merry Christmas from The Edna Man
A little later, our presents were retrieved at the cost of a simple "thank you!" They were filled with toys, wonderful instruments of storytelling and intrigue. Imagination ran rampant, as we played with the same toys again and again, reinventing its use each time and spinning a new tale from the debris of past ideas. We eagerly looked forward to Christmases, filled with curiosity and anticipation of the potential new universe concealed within a layer of paper and cardboard.
As time passed, the stories slowed to a trickle. Toys were scarce, as though age stoppered the flow of imagination; the stories came pre-packaged, in tomes and books and volumes. Uncles and aunties were less eager to buy something which we might not like, and so resorted to ang paos and chocolates, the universal gifts which can be given to anyone.
Later on, chocolates, food, clothes are all normal presents. Who needs giving the gift of stories when you can get something practical, something realistic, something you can use. Anticipation turned to dread as people realized that, oh man, Christmas is coming again and I'm gonna get another pile of shirts; meanwhile I don't know what to get them.
At the end, Christmas becomes just another day in the calendar. As the young folk go around giving their gifts to even younger folk, the old people don't even remember that it's Christmas.
And the stories fade away.
Merry Christmas from The Edna Man
Monday, December 22, 2008
This Post is a Distraction
Hmm. I just realized something. When you're doing something so immensely monotonous and repetitive, you tend to get distracted a lot more, because everything else just seems so much more interesting by comparison.
Sigh.
Oh well, back to my data collection.
Hmm but first I think I'll have a bath.
The Edna Man
Sigh.
Oh well, back to my data collection.
Hmm but first I think I'll have a bath.
The Edna Man
Friday, December 19, 2008
Look Up
At precisely 11pm the image on the screen flickered, and dissolved into static for a few seconds. Instead of returning to its regularly scheduled programming, a figure dressed in black was sitting in front of a red curtain, his gloved hands lightly clasped together. His hair was long and manicured, and a wide brimmed hat cast a shadow over his pale, masked face.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," said the figure. "I apologise for the mild inconvenience but I really do wish to say something."
Meanwhile, the National Security department was in an uproar. Harried agents rushed between the cramped desks, transferring documents and slamming down phones.
"Who the hell is that guy?!" shouted the chief in exasperation. "What the hell is he doing on national TV?"
"Looks like that guy from that movie," said his assistant, calmly. "What was it called again? Victory or Venison or something like that." They stared at the screen in their office, watching the figure make his announcement.
"Since the dawn of the twenty-first century, there have been so many major advancements in modern technology. Electricity has lit up even the darkest corners of the farthest ends of the Earth, bringing light to the uncertainty and darkness. Yet in all this time we must have forgotten the light that we always had, always there in the sky."
People were staring at their television sets across the island. The masked figure had hijacked every broadcasting system, every network station. And he was definitely being heard.
"So this is what I'm going to do. Tonight, at exactly midnight, I will be detonating a device I have planted in the city's central power grid. It would be wise to make preparations for the temporary island-wide blackout. And for the hundreds and thousands of citizens who will be plunged into darkness, I merely ask you to appreciate the rare spectacle that you will be treated to. Tonight, midnight."
The image flickered, and dissolved into the blue standby screen. "Dammit, sir," one agent called from his computer terminal, "he was too fast for us to get a trace on the signal."
Frowning, the Chief of National Security folded his arms. "Get a bomb defusal squad to the central power grid. Bring along as many S.W.A.T. as you can. I don't want that power supply to even flicker for a second, you got me?"
* * *
Three minutes to midnight. The bomb defusal squad had raked the entire building, but had found no trace of any explosive device. Everyone within a five kilometre radius had been evacuated, and hordes of people were standing around in the streets, shunted behind the lines formed by the riot police. No sign of the masked man on the television was seen anywhere.
"I don't know how he's doing it," muttered the Chief of National Security, "but he's not going to win his little game. There's no explosives anywhere in the building, but if he somehow cuts the power, I want the backup generators to kick in as soon as possible, you hear me?"
"Already on it, sir," replied his assistant, unclipping his phone and pressing a number on speed-dial. "Done half an hour ago. If the power really does cut, the reserves will come online in under five minutes."
"Five minutes is too long!"said the Chief, angrily. "Who knows what will happen in a five-minute island-wide blackout? Half the island is out on the roads now, and if there's looting and rioting, I'll personally have your head for-"
The Chief of National Security stopped in mid-sentence. The lights in the building that housed the central power core just extinguished.
"Damn," he swore.
Lights winked out across the island. Lampposts flickered off. Bulbs, both incandescent and florescent, closed their eyes and gave way to darkness. The blackout was total and instantaneous. The island was plunged into darkness.
The crowds began to get nervous. Murmurings broke out; they washed over the sea of heads like rustling waves. People started shifting restlessly, uneasy in the gloom.
And suddenly there he was, standing in the middle of the herd of police cars, masked face upturned at the night sky. He spoke, and his voice was clear, and filled with wonder. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Instantly, a dozen guns were swivelling in his direction, laser sights dotting his black cloak and hat. But the figure didn't flinch; he continued staring upwards. An order was yelled, "Get him!" Policemen closed in on the figure, grabbing his hands and cuffing them behind his back. And still he continued to gaze towards the heavens.
The Chief of National Security stood in front of the figure, with his arms folded, a smug look on his face. "Your blackout failed, whoever you are," he said triumphantly. "If you were trying to throw this country into chaos and disorder, it didn't work. Our backup generators will be restarting power across the island. You've lost."
"On the contrary," he said in his clear, ringing voice. It carried across the shouted orders, the police sirens, the murmuring crowds. "It all went according to plan."
"How did you shut down the power?" the Chief of National Security asked roughly, while the figure's cloak was being frisked. "We found no bomb in the building, nor any structure within five kilometres."
"I used a virus to crash the power grid's computer systems," the figure said. "It's not permanent; once the power cut it should have unwritten its own programming."
"You said you would use a bomb?"
"I lied." The figure turned his masked face towards the Chief. "I am no comic-book villain, my good man. I don't reveal my plans to the authorities and purposely get caught for no good reason."
"And yet here you are," said the Chief of National Security, grinning again.
"That's because I had a good reason."
The Chief of National Security was getting slightly irritated. He grabbed the figure by his collar and lifted him bodily into the side of a police van. "And what, pray tell, might this reason be?" he asked coldly.
The figure's expression was unreadable; the mask just grinned its unreal grin. Then, he said, "Look up."
As the Chief of National Security looked skywards, so did the rest of the population, who had now realized that the night was not as dark as it should have been. And the night sky greeted them with a million pinpricks of light, twinkling for light years across the galaxies. The moon hung high in the sky, a brilliant silvery orb shining down upon them all. The constellations danced their eternal song across the sky, and the pale white band of the Milky Way could be seen, splashed across the starfield. The crowd gasped in collective amazement as a shooting star streaked across the sky, flaring brilliantly for a second before burning out into the darkness.
For a minute the wonders of the night blazed down upon them all. Then the backup generators kicked in and the lights began snapping, blinding out even the brightest starlight. As the Chief of National Security turned back to face his captive, he noticed that his masked face was cast half in shadow once again, and the painted smile seemed strangely real.
"Even if people stop noticing the stars," the masked figure said, breathless, as if assuring himself, "they won't fade away."
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," said the figure. "I apologise for the mild inconvenience but I really do wish to say something."
Meanwhile, the National Security department was in an uproar. Harried agents rushed between the cramped desks, transferring documents and slamming down phones.
"Who the hell is that guy?!" shouted the chief in exasperation. "What the hell is he doing on national TV?"
"Looks like that guy from that movie," said his assistant, calmly. "What was it called again? Victory or Venison or something like that." They stared at the screen in their office, watching the figure make his announcement.
"Since the dawn of the twenty-first century, there have been so many major advancements in modern technology. Electricity has lit up even the darkest corners of the farthest ends of the Earth, bringing light to the uncertainty and darkness. Yet in all this time we must have forgotten the light that we always had, always there in the sky."
People were staring at their television sets across the island. The masked figure had hijacked every broadcasting system, every network station. And he was definitely being heard.
"So this is what I'm going to do. Tonight, at exactly midnight, I will be detonating a device I have planted in the city's central power grid. It would be wise to make preparations for the temporary island-wide blackout. And for the hundreds and thousands of citizens who will be plunged into darkness, I merely ask you to appreciate the rare spectacle that you will be treated to. Tonight, midnight."
The image flickered, and dissolved into the blue standby screen. "Dammit, sir," one agent called from his computer terminal, "he was too fast for us to get a trace on the signal."
Frowning, the Chief of National Security folded his arms. "Get a bomb defusal squad to the central power grid. Bring along as many S.W.A.T. as you can. I don't want that power supply to even flicker for a second, you got me?"
* * *
Three minutes to midnight. The bomb defusal squad had raked the entire building, but had found no trace of any explosive device. Everyone within a five kilometre radius had been evacuated, and hordes of people were standing around in the streets, shunted behind the lines formed by the riot police. No sign of the masked man on the television was seen anywhere.
"I don't know how he's doing it," muttered the Chief of National Security, "but he's not going to win his little game. There's no explosives anywhere in the building, but if he somehow cuts the power, I want the backup generators to kick in as soon as possible, you hear me?"
"Already on it, sir," replied his assistant, unclipping his phone and pressing a number on speed-dial. "Done half an hour ago. If the power really does cut, the reserves will come online in under five minutes."
"Five minutes is too long!"said the Chief, angrily. "Who knows what will happen in a five-minute island-wide blackout? Half the island is out on the roads now, and if there's looting and rioting, I'll personally have your head for-"
The Chief of National Security stopped in mid-sentence. The lights in the building that housed the central power core just extinguished.
"Damn," he swore.
Lights winked out across the island. Lampposts flickered off. Bulbs, both incandescent and florescent, closed their eyes and gave way to darkness. The blackout was total and instantaneous. The island was plunged into darkness.
The crowds began to get nervous. Murmurings broke out; they washed over the sea of heads like rustling waves. People started shifting restlessly, uneasy in the gloom.
And suddenly there he was, standing in the middle of the herd of police cars, masked face upturned at the night sky. He spoke, and his voice was clear, and filled with wonder. "Beautiful, isn't it?"
Instantly, a dozen guns were swivelling in his direction, laser sights dotting his black cloak and hat. But the figure didn't flinch; he continued staring upwards. An order was yelled, "Get him!" Policemen closed in on the figure, grabbing his hands and cuffing them behind his back. And still he continued to gaze towards the heavens.
The Chief of National Security stood in front of the figure, with his arms folded, a smug look on his face. "Your blackout failed, whoever you are," he said triumphantly. "If you were trying to throw this country into chaos and disorder, it didn't work. Our backup generators will be restarting power across the island. You've lost."
"On the contrary," he said in his clear, ringing voice. It carried across the shouted orders, the police sirens, the murmuring crowds. "It all went according to plan."
"How did you shut down the power?" the Chief of National Security asked roughly, while the figure's cloak was being frisked. "We found no bomb in the building, nor any structure within five kilometres."
"I used a virus to crash the power grid's computer systems," the figure said. "It's not permanent; once the power cut it should have unwritten its own programming."
"You said you would use a bomb?"
"I lied." The figure turned his masked face towards the Chief. "I am no comic-book villain, my good man. I don't reveal my plans to the authorities and purposely get caught for no good reason."
"And yet here you are," said the Chief of National Security, grinning again.
"That's because I had a good reason."
The Chief of National Security was getting slightly irritated. He grabbed the figure by his collar and lifted him bodily into the side of a police van. "And what, pray tell, might this reason be?" he asked coldly.
The figure's expression was unreadable; the mask just grinned its unreal grin. Then, he said, "Look up."
As the Chief of National Security looked skywards, so did the rest of the population, who had now realized that the night was not as dark as it should have been. And the night sky greeted them with a million pinpricks of light, twinkling for light years across the galaxies. The moon hung high in the sky, a brilliant silvery orb shining down upon them all. The constellations danced their eternal song across the sky, and the pale white band of the Milky Way could be seen, splashed across the starfield. The crowd gasped in collective amazement as a shooting star streaked across the sky, flaring brilliantly for a second before burning out into the darkness.
For a minute the wonders of the night blazed down upon them all. Then the backup generators kicked in and the lights began snapping, blinding out even the brightest starlight. As the Chief of National Security turned back to face his captive, he noticed that his masked face was cast half in shadow once again, and the painted smile seemed strangely real.
"Even if people stop noticing the stars," the masked figure said, breathless, as if assuring himself, "they won't fade away."
Saturday, December 13, 2008
The Graveyard
An idea I've had for quite some time now. This might infuriate a whole bunch of people, who've never thought of it that way, but oh well.
-----
I shiver as I stand outside the Graveyard. Its very existence is contrary to my two greatest fundamentals: futurism and environmental protection. Yet before me stands one of the largest cemeteries for some of the Earth's most important life-forms.
As I walk through the gates, the gravekeeper shuffles up to me. "Can I help you with anything?" she asks, in that sweet voice that you know is never sincere.
"Uhh... no thanks," I reply, "I'm just... getting something for my mother."
"Alright then," she says, retreating back to her counter, eyeing me with a steely stare. I try not to look at her.
I walk slowly through the crypt, trying not to bump into the other people jostling around. The bright colours of the headstones hurts my eyes. I can't help feeling for the dead surrounding me on all sides, piled together and stacked up on hundreds of shelves, crammed into niches all over the place. With all the computers and digital information and everything, why all these useless deaths? All these murders?
A couple of the tombstones are accidentally knocked over, and they spill over the ground with loud thudding sounds. As the customer hurriedly picks them up, I notice that some of the bodies are all bent, the eulogies on the backs dented. We humans show so much respect to our dead, even out own dogs and cats; why not show that same respect to the trees?
I find the right section and lift a fragment of dead forest gently off the shelf. I shudder to think of what it would feel like, if someone sawed me off at my ankles, chopped me into little pieces, mixed the bits in with chemicals and then printed words all over the product. And my mom wanted me to get one of these things! Doesn't she understand at all?
I brought the mangled corpse over to the gravekeeper. A graveyard of trees, that was what it was. "$19.70," said the lady, roughly stuffing the body into a plastic bag and sealing it with tape. I handed over the money, feeling dirty and sacrilegious as she passed the bag over the counter. "Thank you, come again," she said brightly.
"Not on your life," I muttered, as I left the bookstore.
-----
Well yeah, not the most epic of ideas, but I thought it would be vaguely interesting. A bookstore or library is still just a vast graveyard of trees, after all.
I still love reading though,
The Edna Man
-----
I shiver as I stand outside the Graveyard. Its very existence is contrary to my two greatest fundamentals: futurism and environmental protection. Yet before me stands one of the largest cemeteries for some of the Earth's most important life-forms.
As I walk through the gates, the gravekeeper shuffles up to me. "Can I help you with anything?" she asks, in that sweet voice that you know is never sincere.
"Uhh... no thanks," I reply, "I'm just... getting something for my mother."
"Alright then," she says, retreating back to her counter, eyeing me with a steely stare. I try not to look at her.
I walk slowly through the crypt, trying not to bump into the other people jostling around. The bright colours of the headstones hurts my eyes. I can't help feeling for the dead surrounding me on all sides, piled together and stacked up on hundreds of shelves, crammed into niches all over the place. With all the computers and digital information and everything, why all these useless deaths? All these murders?
A couple of the tombstones are accidentally knocked over, and they spill over the ground with loud thudding sounds. As the customer hurriedly picks them up, I notice that some of the bodies are all bent, the eulogies on the backs dented. We humans show so much respect to our dead, even out own dogs and cats; why not show that same respect to the trees?
I find the right section and lift a fragment of dead forest gently off the shelf. I shudder to think of what it would feel like, if someone sawed me off at my ankles, chopped me into little pieces, mixed the bits in with chemicals and then printed words all over the product. And my mom wanted me to get one of these things! Doesn't she understand at all?
I brought the mangled corpse over to the gravekeeper. A graveyard of trees, that was what it was. "$19.70," said the lady, roughly stuffing the body into a plastic bag and sealing it with tape. I handed over the money, feeling dirty and sacrilegious as she passed the bag over the counter. "Thank you, come again," she said brightly.
"Not on your life," I muttered, as I left the bookstore.
-----
Well yeah, not the most epic of ideas, but I thought it would be vaguely interesting. A bookstore or library is still just a vast graveyard of trees, after all.
I still love reading though,
The Edna Man
Friday, December 12, 2008
Memorycraft
Our minds are constantly being bombarded by information. Thousands of megabytes of audio, video, text, and smells, feelings, emotions that programmers haven't been able to digitally replicate yet. But like a computer, the information that we need or want, we store in the large hard drives of our minds. As memories.
As far as human memory goes, it isn't perfect. We haven't managed to develop an efficient search engine, for one. Also, there are some memories that can't be deleted, but like some buttons, can only be repressed. Finally, there are those memories that you need to keep around forever, but are lost because of corrupted disk space (or because the search engine can't find them - because they aren't there). The problem is that only the biggest, most impacting, or most frequently used memory tracts retain their youthful vigor and keeps the connection between the synapses fresh and on-the-go. Which brings us back to this.
I am a Memorycrafter. My job is to create memories from the raw material of the present. To surprise, delight, or amaze you such that your mind just has to keep that experience, to store it safely for retrieval at a later date. I have many skills which are suitable for my task. I am a performer, with the knowledge of the importance of grand effect and crucial timing. I am a comedian, who knows what you find hilarious, and is able to make you laugh. I am a master of stealth and subtlety, at least if other people didn't spoil the surprise. I am a dreamer, creating something out of nothing but the pure power of imagination. I am a perfectionist, which keeps me gunning for the grandest effect, the show-stopper, bringing the house down. Finally, I like making people happy. It's what I do.
On the rare occasion, I also help you recollect your memories. By dredging through the past, finding the links you had with other people, I can find the triggers to jumpstart your memory, for all the big events, the special occasions, the fun times. Each a fragment of time, locked forever in a glossy silver nitrate frame.
In the grand library of human existence, the memories I forge are probably just footnotes at the bottom of a page. But at least they are there. And when the universe ends and the shelves are full, and when whatever entity succeeds us enters our library and goes through the archives, they might find my name there. And hopefully, it won't just be in my book. It'll be in a chapter here, a paragraph there; works of art captured like a snapshot made of words. There'll be whole books about people who changed the world, or pushed the frontiers of science, or spent their entire life helping the poor and the homeless. But I think I'm content with having my name appearing occasionally, a faint murmur attached to each fragment of memory. Because we can't all be someone in the world.
But we can be the world to someone. Happy birthday, Jarrel and Charmaine.
The Edna Man
As far as human memory goes, it isn't perfect. We haven't managed to develop an efficient search engine, for one. Also, there are some memories that can't be deleted, but like some buttons, can only be repressed. Finally, there are those memories that you need to keep around forever, but are lost because of corrupted disk space (or because the search engine can't find them - because they aren't there). The problem is that only the biggest, most impacting, or most frequently used memory tracts retain their youthful vigor and keeps the connection between the synapses fresh and on-the-go. Which brings us back to this.
I am a Memorycrafter. My job is to create memories from the raw material of the present. To surprise, delight, or amaze you such that your mind just has to keep that experience, to store it safely for retrieval at a later date. I have many skills which are suitable for my task. I am a performer, with the knowledge of the importance of grand effect and crucial timing. I am a comedian, who knows what you find hilarious, and is able to make you laugh. I am a master of stealth and subtlety, at least if other people didn't spoil the surprise. I am a dreamer, creating something out of nothing but the pure power of imagination. I am a perfectionist, which keeps me gunning for the grandest effect, the show-stopper, bringing the house down. Finally, I like making people happy. It's what I do.
On the rare occasion, I also help you recollect your memories. By dredging through the past, finding the links you had with other people, I can find the triggers to jumpstart your memory, for all the big events, the special occasions, the fun times. Each a fragment of time, locked forever in a glossy silver nitrate frame.
In the grand library of human existence, the memories I forge are probably just footnotes at the bottom of a page. But at least they are there. And when the universe ends and the shelves are full, and when whatever entity succeeds us enters our library and goes through the archives, they might find my name there. And hopefully, it won't just be in my book. It'll be in a chapter here, a paragraph there; works of art captured like a snapshot made of words. There'll be whole books about people who changed the world, or pushed the frontiers of science, or spent their entire life helping the poor and the homeless. But I think I'm content with having my name appearing occasionally, a faint murmur attached to each fragment of memory. Because we can't all be someone in the world.
But we can be the world to someone. Happy birthday, Jarrel and Charmaine.
The Edna Man
Sunday, December 07, 2008
Kingdom Come
Meanwhile… in an office in the Pentagon…
General Alexander looked up from his paperwork to see his secretary standing there, in front of his desk. She was clutching the strap of a duffel bag in one hand, and what appeared to be an official-looking envelope in the other.
“Miss Brant,” the General said, in that low voice of his that would be what a dog would sound like if it started to talk, like a cross between a bark and a growl, “can I help you with anything?”
She had barely registered the sound of her own name, staring at her feet the whole time as though deep in thought. But at the General’s question, she seemed to regain her senses, and stepped forward.
“Yes,” she replied, placing the envelope on the desk. “You can approve my resignation.”
General Alexander was surprised, but he didn’t show it, save for his left eyebrow ascending several millimetres. “Sit down, Miss Brant,” he said. An order, not a request. He picked up the envelope, slit it open, and began to read.
Hesitantly, Miss Brant sat down in the char facing his desk, letting her duffel drop to the floor with a thump. She didn’t cross her legs as she normally did, but kept them both on the ground, hands clasped in her lap. She started staring at her feet again, trying to look anywhere but the man in front of her and the office he sat in.
The General’s eyes reached the end of the page. “It doesn’t explain why you want to leave, Miss Brant.”
“Isn’t that better for you military types?” she replied scornfully, barely raising her head. “Commands and directives and orders and no explanations? Isn’t that how you were trained, General?”
He smiled slightly, a smile devoid of any mirth, and leaned back in his leather office chair. “Let’s just say, this time, I’m curious.”
There was an uneasy silence in the office, with the only sound coming from the low hum of the ventilation units. “I’m leaving, Alexander,” Miss Brant said, “because I’m sick of being a murderer.”
A frown appeared on General Alexander’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t get you, Miss Brant.”
“You seem to think I’m not speaking English, General,” she said, looking up at the man’s weathered face and his thin white moustache. Her hands had unconsciously moved to the armrests of her chair and were now gripping them tightly. “I’m sick of being a murderer.”
Suddenly, her face is in her hands. “Oh, God, I’m… I’m a killer. I… I actually let so many people… I let so many people die.” Her shoulders shake uncontrollably.
“What are you babbling about, Miss Brant?” The General leaned forward in his chair again, but it was a gesture of curiosity, not compassion. “You’ve never killed anyone, not that I know of, and you’ve never picked up even a pistol your entire career here.”
“I may not have killed anyone directly,” she said, voice still quavering, “but I as good as did.” Her fingers ran through her hair, nails scratching her scalp. “I typed out those extermination orders… all those war clearance papers… and yesterday I handed you the slip of paper which gave you the ‘authority’,” here her fingers sketched quotation marks around the word, “to launch three massive ordinance, multi-megaton nuclear missiles right into the heart of the United States of America.” She laughed derisively. “It may not sound like murder to you, General, but it is.”
“I thought you had been properly briefed on this,” said the General, picking up his mug of coffee and taking a sip. It was cold and bitter. Just like him. “These metahumans - these so-called ‘superheroes’,” it was his turn to sketch the quotation marks, “masked vigilantes and whatnot, are the biggest threat to national security today, not just in America, but in the world.” His mug came back down. “You shudder at the thought of nuking Kansas? As I recall, that’s already been done. And they didn’t do it with three massive-ordinance missiles. Kansas was nuked by one single man. Captain Atom’s explosion killed over a million people and disintegrated thousands of acres of farmland.”
“And now you’re going to wipe it out again, incinerating thousands of superheroes,” her voice had risen, and she had stopped shaking. “Thousands of men and women whose sole purpose of existence is to protect humanity.”
“I told you already!” shouted the General, slamming his fist down onto his mahogany desktop, “Metahumans are dangerous! Look at their power! How do we fight that kind of power if it goes rogue? We have to eliminate the threat before it turns around and bites us in the rear!”
“General, your military has been keeping three massive nuclear bombs in a secret bunker well underground.” Miss Brant pointed an accusing finger at him. “‘Look at that power!’” she said. “‘How do we fight that kind of power if it goes rogue? We have to eliminate the threat before-’”
“The United States will never do that,” the General interrupted her quickly.
“From where I’m sitting, General,” said Miss Brant, “it looks like you’re the one who is the biggest threat to the world today.”
They were both staring into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“The way I see it,” said Miss Brant, breaking the silence, “is that you’re acting on a potential threat. Killing the cub before it grows into the tiger, just because it has the potential to come back and eat you.”
There was a pause, then: “And so what if we are? Prevention is better than cure, Miss Brant, and if these metahumans cause another global catastrophe, we might not be able to cure it anymore!”
“Which is another thing I cannot understand about this country. We have the right to bear arms, for God’s sake. We have legislation in place to put ballistic weaponry into the hands of hundreds and thousands of killers, rapists, drunks, and muggers. People are dying every day from gunshot wounds and-”
“It was never on the scale of a metahuman crisis! Millions of people dead-”
“And yet thousands more die each year, not by intercontinental missiles, but small firearms in our own backyard! If you think a million human lives have more worth than a thousand, you’re wrong, General.”
She leaned forward until she was inches away from his face. “Life is priceless, and one death is just as bad as a million deaths.”
There was another lengthy silence. The General had got up to stare out his window at the orange sunset, arms behind his back.
“You’re not a killer, Natasha,” he said, back still facing her. “You never pushed the button that dropped the bomb; you never pulled the trigger which killed all those people. You never killed anyone before.”
“I may not have killed anyone in cold blood, General,” Natasha Brant said, standing up and slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder once more. “And neither have you. But guns don’t kill people, General.”
She had reached the door. Her hand resting on the handle, she turned to look back. General Alexander was still by the window, half his face blossoming with orange sunset, the other half thrown into deep shadows. His face was a blank slate; no emotion could be gleaned from it, since it had reverted to his characteristic frown. Natasha Brant pushed down; the door swung open, and she stepped through it, and said:
“People kill people.”
-----
This was kinda inspired by Kingdom Come, the limited comic series by Mark Waid and Alex Ross. It refers to events from that story, but this should be taken as Fan Fiction and not a breach of copyright agreements. Oh yes, no offence to the US of A too. But I really don't understand the legalized arms. Really.
Does the world need a Superman?
The Edna Man
General Alexander looked up from his paperwork to see his secretary standing there, in front of his desk. She was clutching the strap of a duffel bag in one hand, and what appeared to be an official-looking envelope in the other.
“Miss Brant,” the General said, in that low voice of his that would be what a dog would sound like if it started to talk, like a cross between a bark and a growl, “can I help you with anything?”
She had barely registered the sound of her own name, staring at her feet the whole time as though deep in thought. But at the General’s question, she seemed to regain her senses, and stepped forward.
“Yes,” she replied, placing the envelope on the desk. “You can approve my resignation.”
General Alexander was surprised, but he didn’t show it, save for his left eyebrow ascending several millimetres. “Sit down, Miss Brant,” he said. An order, not a request. He picked up the envelope, slit it open, and began to read.
Hesitantly, Miss Brant sat down in the char facing his desk, letting her duffel drop to the floor with a thump. She didn’t cross her legs as she normally did, but kept them both on the ground, hands clasped in her lap. She started staring at her feet again, trying to look anywhere but the man in front of her and the office he sat in.
The General’s eyes reached the end of the page. “It doesn’t explain why you want to leave, Miss Brant.”
“Isn’t that better for you military types?” she replied scornfully, barely raising her head. “Commands and directives and orders and no explanations? Isn’t that how you were trained, General?”
He smiled slightly, a smile devoid of any mirth, and leaned back in his leather office chair. “Let’s just say, this time, I’m curious.”
There was an uneasy silence in the office, with the only sound coming from the low hum of the ventilation units. “I’m leaving, Alexander,” Miss Brant said, “because I’m sick of being a murderer.”
A frown appeared on General Alexander’s face. “I’m afraid I don’t get you, Miss Brant.”
“You seem to think I’m not speaking English, General,” she said, looking up at the man’s weathered face and his thin white moustache. Her hands had unconsciously moved to the armrests of her chair and were now gripping them tightly. “I’m sick of being a murderer.”
Suddenly, her face is in her hands. “Oh, God, I’m… I’m a killer. I… I actually let so many people… I let so many people die.” Her shoulders shake uncontrollably.
“What are you babbling about, Miss Brant?” The General leaned forward in his chair again, but it was a gesture of curiosity, not compassion. “You’ve never killed anyone, not that I know of, and you’ve never picked up even a pistol your entire career here.”
“I may not have killed anyone directly,” she said, voice still quavering, “but I as good as did.” Her fingers ran through her hair, nails scratching her scalp. “I typed out those extermination orders… all those war clearance papers… and yesterday I handed you the slip of paper which gave you the ‘authority’,” here her fingers sketched quotation marks around the word, “to launch three massive ordinance, multi-megaton nuclear missiles right into the heart of the United States of America.” She laughed derisively. “It may not sound like murder to you, General, but it is.”
“I thought you had been properly briefed on this,” said the General, picking up his mug of coffee and taking a sip. It was cold and bitter. Just like him. “These metahumans - these so-called ‘superheroes’,” it was his turn to sketch the quotation marks, “masked vigilantes and whatnot, are the biggest threat to national security today, not just in America, but in the world.” His mug came back down. “You shudder at the thought of nuking Kansas? As I recall, that’s already been done. And they didn’t do it with three massive-ordinance missiles. Kansas was nuked by one single man. Captain Atom’s explosion killed over a million people and disintegrated thousands of acres of farmland.”
“And now you’re going to wipe it out again, incinerating thousands of superheroes,” her voice had risen, and she had stopped shaking. “Thousands of men and women whose sole purpose of existence is to protect humanity.”
“I told you already!” shouted the General, slamming his fist down onto his mahogany desktop, “Metahumans are dangerous! Look at their power! How do we fight that kind of power if it goes rogue? We have to eliminate the threat before it turns around and bites us in the rear!”
“General, your military has been keeping three massive nuclear bombs in a secret bunker well underground.” Miss Brant pointed an accusing finger at him. “‘Look at that power!’” she said. “‘How do we fight that kind of power if it goes rogue? We have to eliminate the threat before-’”
“The United States will never do that,” the General interrupted her quickly.
“From where I’m sitting, General,” said Miss Brant, “it looks like you’re the one who is the biggest threat to the world today.”
They were both staring into each other’s eyes for a moment.
“The way I see it,” said Miss Brant, breaking the silence, “is that you’re acting on a potential threat. Killing the cub before it grows into the tiger, just because it has the potential to come back and eat you.”
There was a pause, then: “And so what if we are? Prevention is better than cure, Miss Brant, and if these metahumans cause another global catastrophe, we might not be able to cure it anymore!”
“Which is another thing I cannot understand about this country. We have the right to bear arms, for God’s sake. We have legislation in place to put ballistic weaponry into the hands of hundreds and thousands of killers, rapists, drunks, and muggers. People are dying every day from gunshot wounds and-”
“It was never on the scale of a metahuman crisis! Millions of people dead-”
“And yet thousands more die each year, not by intercontinental missiles, but small firearms in our own backyard! If you think a million human lives have more worth than a thousand, you’re wrong, General.”
She leaned forward until she was inches away from his face. “Life is priceless, and one death is just as bad as a million deaths.”
There was another lengthy silence. The General had got up to stare out his window at the orange sunset, arms behind his back.
“You’re not a killer, Natasha,” he said, back still facing her. “You never pushed the button that dropped the bomb; you never pulled the trigger which killed all those people. You never killed anyone before.”
“I may not have killed anyone in cold blood, General,” Natasha Brant said, standing up and slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder once more. “And neither have you. But guns don’t kill people, General.”
She had reached the door. Her hand resting on the handle, she turned to look back. General Alexander was still by the window, half his face blossoming with orange sunset, the other half thrown into deep shadows. His face was a blank slate; no emotion could be gleaned from it, since it had reverted to his characteristic frown. Natasha Brant pushed down; the door swung open, and she stepped through it, and said:
“People kill people.”
-----
This was kinda inspired by Kingdom Come, the limited comic series by Mark Waid and Alex Ross. It refers to events from that story, but this should be taken as Fan Fiction and not a breach of copyright agreements. Oh yes, no offence to the US of A too. But I really don't understand the legalized arms. Really.
Does the world need a Superman?
The Edna Man
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
I'll be Bach
So I was playing around with a bunch of chords the other day and I came up with a song. Like, with actual music to actually go along with the lyrics. This is like, the very first song I composed! Just think: I'm like the Terminator pretending to be a musician!
Anyway here's the lyrics. It sounded like a love song so I wrote love song lyrics. And if you think writing lyrics is easy when you've done so many parodies, I can tell you, it sure isn't, 'cos you have no other inspiration to work from. I think I'll stick to parodies after this one.
Tonight, a not-parody-song by The Edna Man
[Verse 1]
Sunlight is fading
And the darkness invading
It's getting late; we have to go
And the sound of stars soaring
Right for tomorrow's morning
One more goodbye, one less hello
[Chorus]
I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
If only for
Tonight
Tonight
[Verse 2]
I can't figure these feelings
I don't know I'm concealing
Could be I just don't understand
And time just keeps on flying
And I just keep on trying
Why must good things come to an end?
(If they don't start again)
[Chorus]
And I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
Just one more time
Tonight
Tonight
[Bridge]
When we're apart
You know it's breaking my heart, now
If I had the courage to say what I feel
And under the moonlight
Everything might seem alright
Yet I don't know whether it's real
[Chorus]
I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
Just one more time
Tonight
[Second Chorus + Ending]
I wish that you were right here beside me
And I wish I could see you again
I wish that we could last forever
When you are here
Don't disappear
Just hold me near
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Jarrel says it sounds like Disney; he obviously hasn't heard enough Disney.
The Edna Man
Anyway here's the lyrics. It sounded like a love song so I wrote love song lyrics. And if you think writing lyrics is easy when you've done so many parodies, I can tell you, it sure isn't, 'cos you have no other inspiration to work from. I think I'll stick to parodies after this one.
Tonight, a not-parody-song by The Edna Man
[Verse 1]
Sunlight is fading
And the darkness invading
It's getting late; we have to go
And the sound of stars soaring
Right for tomorrow's morning
One more goodbye, one less hello
[Chorus]
I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
If only for
Tonight
Tonight
[Verse 2]
I can't figure these feelings
I don't know I'm concealing
Could be I just don't understand
And time just keeps on flying
And I just keep on trying
Why must good things come to an end?
(If they don't start again)
[Chorus]
And I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
Just one more time
Tonight
Tonight
[Bridge]
When we're apart
You know it's breaking my heart, now
If I had the courage to say what I feel
And under the moonlight
Everything might seem alright
Yet I don't know whether it's real
[Chorus]
I wish I could reach out and hold you
And I wish I could just do this right
I wish I could tell you I love you
Just one more time
Tonight
[Second Chorus + Ending]
I wish that you were right here beside me
And I wish I could see you again
I wish that we could last forever
When you are here
Don't disappear
Just hold me near
Tonight
Tonight
Tonight
Jarrel says it sounds like Disney; he obviously hasn't heard enough Disney.
The Edna Man
Sunday, November 23, 2008
I Am Legend
Just finished watching the aforementioned movie on rented DVD. It was kinda awesome, but I think in a theatre it would be a lot more scary.
Wonder what it would be like to be the last man on Earth. I don't think I'd survive it. I mean, I don't know how it happened, but I'm a people person. Humanity intrigues me, somehow. For all the lies, the anger, the hate, the suffering, the turmoil, the savagery, the destruction, the imperfections; I still need people for their love, laughter, kindness, compassion, friendship, life.
It confounds me, how much effort is put into making a short two-hour movie. I guess for the impression it gives the audience, the two months of prep for the two seconds of shot is worth it. It's completely amazing, watching the behind-the-scenes and finding out that, wow, you had to do that much for a passing glance on screen? Which is why I think that some film critics have standards set too high. Sigh. But I guess, two years of producing something useless still gets you something useless.
Something that I noticed as I was watching the clips: my family doesn't have much patience for these sort of things. Once again I find myself isolated from the rest of the world, taking interest in things that the people around me don't. I guess I don't need a global pandemic to be the the last person in the world.
In my eyes, I'm already alone.
The Edna Man
Wonder what it would be like to be the last man on Earth. I don't think I'd survive it. I mean, I don't know how it happened, but I'm a people person. Humanity intrigues me, somehow. For all the lies, the anger, the hate, the suffering, the turmoil, the savagery, the destruction, the imperfections; I still need people for their love, laughter, kindness, compassion, friendship, life.
It confounds me, how much effort is put into making a short two-hour movie. I guess for the impression it gives the audience, the two months of prep for the two seconds of shot is worth it. It's completely amazing, watching the behind-the-scenes and finding out that, wow, you had to do that much for a passing glance on screen? Which is why I think that some film critics have standards set too high. Sigh. But I guess, two years of producing something useless still gets you something useless.
Something that I noticed as I was watching the clips: my family doesn't have much patience for these sort of things. Once again I find myself isolated from the rest of the world, taking interest in things that the people around me don't. I guess I don't need a global pandemic to be the the last person in the world.
In my eyes, I'm already alone.
The Edna Man
Friday, November 21, 2008
All For Five Point Two
Hey hey, back from China, yippee, hooray, etc. Currently writing out the entire experience; in the meantime, enjoy this song.
-----
Five Point Two, parody of All for One from High School Musical 2
One whole week in China
Nothing could be finer
Having fun with the kids there
Going mountain climbing,
Singing and a-rhyming,
And cow excretion everywhere
Let's take it to the bus
Which never stops rocking
We're gonna stop here
Though the toilet's really shocking
I can't move on
There's a goat in the way blocking
Gonna dance all night
Everybody Five point Two,
Back from China and missing it too!
Now WoW is done; we had such fun,
We're the perfect helping crew
On the plane we flew right through
Under skies that were oh so blue
Everybody, two point five, and five point two!
Five point two, two!
Cars that don't stop horning,
Same food every morning,
The most overused bathroom
LANning until midnight
Cockroaches such a fright
Firecrackers go kaboom
Dancing with the kids,
Drawing them doodles
Giving them our lunch,
Then eating instant noodles
Really friendly dogs,
All cuter than poodles
We only dared drink Sprite
Everybody 一二三!
把你的手放下来
上面滚，下面滚
打鼓；达！
转，转，跳！
把你的手放下来
走前一步；我，你，大家，一！
Making fun of names,
And nobody stopping,
Following the girls
To going out and shopping
It's sad that all the future
Turned into the past
Should have made every single day
Last and last and last!
Low Jun Siong
And Lorraine: so sweet
And Wang Cong
Makes the family complete now!
(Everybody, e-everybody now!)
They really have parental expertise
Hugged them tight, never even let them freeze
Hard to believe they're not Chinese!
Guys!
Wanna come see shooting stars, hey!
Girls!
Wanna ride the three-wheeled cars, oh!
Here, and now
We're gonna finish WoW
Everybody jump in!
Everybody five point two,
Stuffed toy pandas and real bamboo
We ate the food that was quite good
And the pastor's liver stew
Did anybody learn Lisu?
Can you remember how to say "Thank you"?
Temperature was two point five;
Everybody five point two,
(Instrumental)
No mountain climb, no shopping time,
Guys in girls' rooms is taboo
There was a panoramic view
And if you only had, had a clue
It really was a blast
Can't believe it went so fast
Let's make this memory last!
Five point two!
Five! Point! Two!
Whoo!
-----
Five Point Two, parody of All for One from High School Musical 2
One whole week in China
Nothing could be finer
Having fun with the kids there
Going mountain climbing,
Singing and a-rhyming,
And cow excretion everywhere
Let's take it to the bus
Which never stops rocking
We're gonna stop here
Though the toilet's really shocking
I can't move on
There's a goat in the way blocking
Gonna dance all night
Everybody Five point Two,
Back from China and missing it too!
Now WoW is done; we had such fun,
We're the perfect helping crew
On the plane we flew right through
Under skies that were oh so blue
Everybody, two point five, and five point two!
Five point two, two!
Cars that don't stop horning,
Same food every morning,
The most overused bathroom
LANning until midnight
Cockroaches such a fright
Firecrackers go kaboom
Dancing with the kids,
Drawing them doodles
Giving them our lunch,
Then eating instant noodles
Really friendly dogs,
All cuter than poodles
We only dared drink Sprite
Everybody 一二三!
把你的手放下来
上面滚，下面滚
打鼓；达！
转，转，跳！
把你的手放下来
走前一步；我，你，大家，一！
Making fun of names,
And nobody stopping,
Following the girls
To going out and shopping
It's sad that all the future
Turned into the past
Should have made every single day
Last and last and last!
Low Jun Siong
And Lorraine: so sweet
And Wang Cong
Makes the family complete now!
(Everybody, e-everybody now!)
They really have parental expertise
Hugged them tight, never even let them freeze
Hard to believe they're not Chinese!
Guys!
Wanna come see shooting stars, hey!
Girls!
Wanna ride the three-wheeled cars, oh!
Here, and now
We're gonna finish WoW
Everybody jump in!
Everybody five point two,
Stuffed toy pandas and real bamboo
We ate the food that was quite good
And the pastor's liver stew
Did anybody learn Lisu?
Can you remember how to say "Thank you"?
Temperature was two point five;
Everybody five point two,
(Instrumental)
No mountain climb, no shopping time,
Guys in girls' rooms is taboo
There was a panoramic view
And if you only had, had a clue
It really was a blast
Can't believe it went so fast
Let's make this memory last!
Five point two!
Five! Point! Two!
Whoo!
Thursday, November 06, 2008
Municipal Darwinism
What giants walk among us men...
I just finished reading the first book of Phillip Reeve's The Hungry City Chronicles, Mortal Engines. Once again, I was completely absorbed in the world that the author dreamed up out of his head. Basically, it's this post-apocalyptic future, millenia after the Sixty Minute War in which most of humanity wiped itself out with devastating weapons of mass destruction. Computers are things of history now, but cities are now built on giant traction wheels and trundle along the countryside. That introduces the astounding idea of Municipal Darwinism: bigger cities go along devouring smaller towns and villages, ingesting the smaller settlement and ripping it apart for raw materials. What a concept! To make the connection between the theory of evolution and urbanization, and transform it into this fantastic universe; truly the work of a genius.
I picked this book off the library shelf because the author's name caught my eye. Phillip Reeve, the illustrator of numerous Murderous Maths books, wrote a novel? But after reading the blurb on the jacket, I got hooked immediately. I never expected Reeve to be an author; I always thought he was an amazing cartoonist, the best one Murderous Maths ever had. (Why, Poskitt, why did you replace him with someone else?) I guess it just goes to show that there's no limit to what latent talents you might have.
And once again we are presented with the proposal that love conquers all. I have yet to read a book in which the main villain can love. Like Pullman, Reeve presents us another pair of protagonists who begin to love each other across the novel. Power of love. Never underestimate the power of love.
"Was this what falling in love was like? Not something big and amazing that you know about right away, like in a story, but a slow thing that crept over you in waves until you woke up one day and found that you were head over heels with somone quite unexpected...?"
The Edna Man
I just finished reading the first book of Phillip Reeve's The Hungry City Chronicles, Mortal Engines. Once again, I was completely absorbed in the world that the author dreamed up out of his head. Basically, it's this post-apocalyptic future, millenia after the Sixty Minute War in which most of humanity wiped itself out with devastating weapons of mass destruction. Computers are things of history now, but cities are now built on giant traction wheels and trundle along the countryside. That introduces the astounding idea of Municipal Darwinism: bigger cities go along devouring smaller towns and villages, ingesting the smaller settlement and ripping it apart for raw materials. What a concept! To make the connection between the theory of evolution and urbanization, and transform it into this fantastic universe; truly the work of a genius.
I picked this book off the library shelf because the author's name caught my eye. Phillip Reeve, the illustrator of numerous Murderous Maths books, wrote a novel? But after reading the blurb on the jacket, I got hooked immediately. I never expected Reeve to be an author; I always thought he was an amazing cartoonist, the best one Murderous Maths ever had. (Why, Poskitt, why did you replace him with someone else?) I guess it just goes to show that there's no limit to what latent talents you might have.
And once again we are presented with the proposal that love conquers all. I have yet to read a book in which the main villain can love. Like Pullman, Reeve presents us another pair of protagonists who begin to love each other across the novel. Power of love. Never underestimate the power of love.
"Was this what falling in love was like? Not something big and amazing that you know about right away, like in a story, but a slow thing that crept over you in waves until you woke up one day and found that you were head over heels with somone quite unexpected...?"
The Edna Man
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