Toys

After dinner last night, we walked past a row of toy vending machines -- you know, the ones where you put a dollar in and twist the knob and out falls a cheap plastic toy? Perhaps it was the lack of sleep -- I don't know -- but I played along with XL and we went to get a toy each. :)



So even though I've often dissed the mindless nodding of the Hidamari no Tami toys, I now have one hanging from the rear view mirror of my car. (But mine doesn't nod so it isn't annoying!)

Speaking of things I diss (and also cheap toys), McDonald's latest toy giveaway (which is not really a giveaway at $2 each) are book thongs! Last week's promotion was Hello Kitty (shut up) (a different character every week), so I bought them for Z and XL (I was only allowed to buy two). (There are too many parentheses in this paragraph, I know; once you start you can't stop.)



You probably can't see it clearly here, but there's a string attached to the Kitty, and a little felt flower at the other end of the string. I can't imagine that anyone would actually use it, because the string is too short, and the toy is too bulky, but it's a book thong, and you can't expect me to walk right by it.

Past, present, and crystal ball

12:30 AM - Friends on Channel 5.

1:00 AM - Membrane Science term paper.

2:00 AM - Membrane Science term paper.

5:00 AM - Membrane Science term paper.

7:00 AM - Done! Just kidding. Hur hur. Still Membrane Science term paper.

8:00 AM - Ladeedum.

9:00 AM - Now I'm done. Whee! :)

10:15 AM - Pick M up to go to school together.

11:00 AM - Tutorial

12:00 PM - Lunch!

2:00 PM - Lab

6:00 PM - Membrane Science lecture (YEEECK!)

9:00 PM - Should I eat or sleep first? Can I do both?

Breaking the news

Cousin: "Ma, you want to go overseas for holiday this year?"

Aunt: "Why this year?"

Cousin: "Because you can't go next year."

Aunt: "Why not?"

Cousin: "Because you have to help us take care of your FIRST GRANDCHILD! HAHA, SURPRISE, WE'RE PREGNANT!"

Aunt: "!!!"

***

Another baby, wahoo! This one due late April! :) Thank You, God.

Mishy-mash

A couple of days after a badminton session with the boys...

Me: "Ow, my butt still hurts from Tuesday."

EG: "M smacks pretty hard, huh!"

Me: "Yeah, he smacked so hard that the string on his racket snapped!"

Z (overhearing; positively horrified): "WHAT IS THIS I AM HEARING?!"

Me: "..."

Smacking of the shuttlecock, babe. Nothing else, I promise. What were you thinking?

***

Check out these funky book labels! (Via Boing Boing.)



This is just the sort of thing I get nosebleeds over. I kid you not. I'll be at the bookshop scouring for adhesive sheets tomorrow, if anyone wants me.

(What do you mean they're just for kids?!)

Disgrace

"All right, I'll handle the dog-meat, I'll offer to dig for Petrus. What else?"

"You can help at the clinic. They are desperate for volunteers."

"You mean help Bev Shaw."

"Yes."

"I don't think she and I will hit it off."

"You don't need to hit it off with her. You have only to help her. But don't expect to be paid. You will have to do it out of the goodness of your heart."

"I'm dubious, Lucy. It sounds suspiciously like community service. It sounds like someone trying to make reparation for past misdeeds."

"As to your motives, David, I can assure you, the animals at the clinic won't query them. They won't ask and they won't care."

"All right, I'll do it. But only as long as I don't have to become a better person. I am not prepared to be reformed. I want to go on being myself. I'll do it on that basis." His hand still rests on her foot; now he grips her ankle tight. "Understood?"

She gives him what he can only call a sweet smile. "So you are determined to go on being bad. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know. I promise, no one will ask you to change."

***

One at a time he fetches them out of the cage at the back and leads or carries them into the theatre. To each, in what will be its last minutes, Bev gives her fullest attention, stroking it, talking to it, easing its passage. If, more often than not, the dog fails to be charmed, it is because of his presence: he gives off the wrong smell (They can smell your thoughts), the smell of shame. Nevertheless, he is the only one who holds the dog still as the needle finds the vein and the drug hits the heart and the legs buckle and the eyes dim.

He had thought he would get used to it. But that is not what happens. The more killings he assists in, the more jittery he gets. One Sunday evening, driving home in Lucy's kombi, he actually has to stop at the roadside to recover himself. Tears flow down his face that he cannot stop; his hands shake.

He does not understand what is happening to him. Until now he has been more or less indifferent to animals. Although in an abstract way he disapproves of cruelty, he cannot tell whether by nature he is cruel or kind. He is simply nothing. He assumes that people from whom cruelty is demanded in the line of duty, people who work in slaughterhouses, for instance, grow carapaces over their souls. Habit hardens: it must be so in most cases, but it does not seem to be so in his. He does not seem to have the gift of hardness.

***

Of the dogs in the holding pens, there is one he has come to feel a particular fondness for. It is a young male with a withered left hindquarter which it drags behind it. Whether it was born like that he does not know. No visitor has shown an interest in adopting it. Its period of grace is almost over; soon it will have to submit to the needle.

Sometimes, while he is reading or writing, he releases it from the pen and lets it frisk, in its grotesque way, around the yard, or snooze at his feet. It is not "his" in any sense; he has been careful not to give it a name (though Bev Shaw refers to it as Driepoot); nevertheless, he is sensible of a generous affection streaming out toward him from the dog. Arbitrarily, unconditionally, he has been adopted; the dog would die for him, he knows.

***

It gets harder all the time, Bev Shaw once said. Harder, yet easier too. One gets used to things getting harder; one ceases to be surprised that what used to be as hard as hard can be grows harder yet. He can save the young dog, if he wishes, for another week. But a time must come, it cannot be evaded, when he will have to bring him to Bev Shaw in her operating room (perhaps he will carry him in his arms, perhaps he will do that for him) and caress him and brush back the fur so that the needle can find the vein, and whisper to him and support him in the moment when, bewilderingly, his legs buckle; and then, when the soul is out, fold him up and pack him away in his bag, and then the next day wheel the bag into the flames and see that it is burnt, burnt up. He will do all that for him when his time comes. It will be little enough, less than little: nothing.

-- Disgrace by J. M. Coetzee

Easily one of the best novels I've ever read, and on so many levels.

I must've stopped to cry at least three times just typing this out.

Cheesy goodness

We were watching Glenda Chong on Channel NewsAsia earlier tonight -- or at least, some of us were trying to, while someone else channel-hopped -- and Mom mentioned that she (Glenda) looked better with long hair.

"I think she looks good either way," I shrugged, and picked the bones from the fish that I was eating.

"This girl? You think she's good-looking? You call that pretty?!" Dad exclaimed incredulously, while scowling at the TV.

I guess if you know my dad, you'll know this isn't surprising at all. My dad can find bad things to say about anything and anyone, and some days this frustrates me to the point where I have to ask him to keep quiet and speak only if he has something good to say. He usually keeps quiet.

Today, however, I recklessly replied: "She's Glenda Chong! You don't think Glenda Chong is pretty?!"

"I have very high standards, you know?" Dad retorted.

"Yeah," Mom piped up in sudden interest. "That's why he chose me! HAHAHAHAHA!"

"..."

Dad pretended to choke on his food, and I rolled my eyes. There's nothing more cheesy than having your parents make cheesy jokes.

Do not read this post

Even though it's supposed to be mid-term break, I'm up to my eyeballs in work. Four days of supposed vacation, two of which I have to go back to school for mandatory activities. Add to that a mid-term presentation to rush out prepare for, and a ton of miscellaneous readings to complete, and that leaves me with... 0.12 seconds of free time.

Maybe I should stick to this list of Things Not To Do if I'm to get any work done at all. Here are some that I'll admit to being I'm guilty of, that I should really stop doing.

• Do not take a nap.
• Do not update your address book.
• Do not make a list of things to do.
• Do not start to think you don't have what it takes to actually do your project.
• Do not read any further on this post – caught you! Stop reading now and get to work on your project.
• Do not start wondering if that mole that seems a little bigger than the last time you checked it might be skin cancer.
• Do not make a list of all the things you have to get done at work.
• Do not start thinking you are never going to finish.
• Do not go to IMDB to see who that actor was in that movie you saw the other night. Or what that girl from that show from way back when is doing now.
• Do not start perusing your own bookshelves.
• Do not organize your computer files.
• Do not clean out your inbox.
• Do not start going through your photos.
• Do not start reading your old journal entries.
• Do not start thinking about how your project is lame.
• Do not post to your blog.
• Do not start worrying about all the time you've already wasted.

-- "A Not-To-Do List" by Jeffrey Yamaguchi, 52 Projects (via Daniel Bergey)

Ah, the irony.

Have a little hope

Here's a little something hopeful after a somewhat depressing (or it was for me) post. Michael and Amy Main have taken in a family displaced by Hurricane Katrina:

"At a shelter in Louisiana, [the Gomez family] witnessed a rape and a murder. One of their dogs drowned. The other one is presumed dead -- they saw her swimming back and forth between the house and a place of safety. She wasn't ready to give up her home. But the family couldn't coax her away so they had to leave her. They have a few clothes with them, but their bags were dragged through filth and muck and water. I'm sure we'll take some time to wash things and throw things out can't be salvaged.

"So far, they've been very open about what's happened so far. Not one tear has been shed (by them, at least... I've been crying off and on all day)."

In the aftermath of Katrina, as its airtime lessens, let's not forget that there are people whose lives will never be the same again; they may never return to the place they call "home." But let's also not forget that there are people with hearts big enough to open their homes to embrace these strangers in need.

***

I was blind, now I see
Chained to fear, now I'm free
I was blind, now I see
I wrote the book on apathy
But now I care about something

You can call me a fool
'Cause it's nothing I can prove
I just had to tell you

A million people try to find their way
Over coffee in this little cafe
Like the neon in the window
Some things will never change

Have a little hope on me
Nothing else in life is free
Have a little sweet release
This is everybody's cup of tea
I got lost one day in a saving grace
And there's more than enough for both of us
So grab yourself a window seat
And have some hope on me

I was lost and alone
I was naked, I was cold
I was deaf, now I hear
And the sound is so clear
Would you come with me to the symphony

Everybody's got to run away
Everybody's got to feel their way home
Everybody needs a reason to feel anything at all

In the moonlight
Under a neon sign
This could change your life

-- "Have a Little Hope" by Paul Alan (Click for sample clip)

Gathering online thoughts

I wanted to make a joke about sedition (click for extensive coverage and background) -- word of the season -- in my previous post, but the more I thought about it, the more I realised that it wasn't funny at all. And I don't know which is sadder: that there are horrific racists in our midst, or that people think that the way to eliminate racism is to throw these racists into jail.

Huichieh of Singapore Angle puts the conundrum in perspective while many other bloggers are quick to take sides:

"... it is tyranny to think that a society can or should legislate on what can be thought. The point is not that thought does not lead to action, or that action does not exemplify thought; rather, the point is that any attempt to do so is inevitably little more than men pretending to be God--pretending to be able to see to the hearts of men when their thoughts have not yet become action. The bone of contention, however, is the middle of speech: neither thought simply, nor action yet."

Prevailing opinion (which I am going with simply because I lack the legal know-how to determine otherwise) seems to be that the charges are very much valid, but that's all I'm going to say about the matter, simply because I have yet to determine where the line between stupidity and pure evil is. That, and Huichieh has summed things up really nicely.

On a somewhat related note, but moving away from specifics, Ball of Yarn reminds us of something we all know, but often fail to put into practice:

"... while more [people online] are now aware they have to exercise care when it comes to community sensitivity and political-correctness, they are still blissfully complacent about the understanding that what they say today can have far reaching consequences tomorrow."

And while "censorship" has become a dirty word these days (frankly, it's also painfully troublesome), Ball of Yarn is refreshingly honest in his endorsement:

"... all that you get to read about me has obviously passed some internal censorship process and however personal those thoughts may appear, they're here because I'm 90% sure a sibling, a parent, a cousin, a friend or even an acquaintance will not be harmed by my opinions."

Sometimes, this internal censorship fails, and that's where we slip up. Other times, it works (too) well, and the silence that ensues is often mistaken for indifference. (Conversely, behind the verbosity of the fervent is sometimes nothing more than cantankerous, self-righteous dribble; what you see is not always what you get.)

Adrian Loo of A Life Uncommon explains the thought process behind just one of many instances of holding one's tongue (italics mine):

"I have found it far preferable to engage in a heated discussion of such issues with someone who genuinely cares or works in the field, rather than try politely to enlighten clueless gentlemen about why public transport/buildings should be made accessible to the disabled, or that Singapore schoolchildren are simply not learning enough about their less privileged peers, and then have them go home and forget all about it."

Sometimes that's exactly how I feel, and I feel terrible for feeling this way. I'm constantly espousing the need for us to stand up and be counted for what we believe in, but the truth is that sometimes I'm just so tired, and I have to wonder what the point is -- of us extensively discussing this over and over again -- if people don't care anyway. And suddenly, I'm not sure which it is that I should be more fearful of -- fanaticism or apathy.

I guess this brings us full circle, back to racism and how to tackle it, and back to the point where all I can say is that I don't know. I do know that racism is not countered by more intolerance, or by merely stifling freedom of speech. Beyond that, I can only pray and hope that we will come to realise the senselessness in skin-deep prejudice and hatred.

Greener pastures?

(Warning: Reading piece in full may incite emigration desires.)

"I remember as a young girl my kindergarten teacher told us we had to colour the trees in our pictures green. So I did. Light green, dark green, just green, all green, only green. During my schooling years, I proudly donned a starched uniform of white and blue. When I got married, I wore white. When I got divorced, I wore black. I rarely questioned the diversity in my life's palette."

-- "The Surreal Life" by Chin Chin Toh, The Canadian Immigrant Magazine

I'm sure that life on the other side comes with its own set of challenges, but it's always interesting to take a glimpse into the lives of those who've decided to take that leap of faith.

Still learning

In his time here, Rocky taught me countless lessons about people. I once read of some lady who would bring all her dates home, and if they didn't get along with her cats, she'd dump them instantly. It wasn't that straightforward with Rocky. I'm all for animal instincts -- I'm not surprised that they can sense impending natural disasters -- but I just don't think that Rocky was made to be my personal compatibility detector. I don't think dogs can sniff out "good" and "evil" people, partly because I don't even think any one person is wholly "good" or "evil." We all have our moments, our moral conflicts, our internal struggles. It doesn't mean anything to a dog if their human is evading taxes or if he's having an extra-marital affair.

That said, Rocky knows the difference when I accidentally kick him off the bed, and when my cousin kicks him (he did this once, and never again) just because he was "barking too loudly." In the first case, he gets back up and snuggles again; in the second, he barks even louder and bares his teeth with hostility. And that has taught me about context. There are many things that people do that offend and annoy me, even when they don't mean it. Part of the reciprocity in any relationship is to discern the important stuff from the unimportant ones; if previous experience shows a trend of someone who speaks before he thinks, yet earnestly accepts advice and rebuke afterwards, then there is a better way to handle them than flaring up and walking away.

***

A lot of what I learnt from Rocky is in the interactions that he had with my friends. Sure, I had the odd few be extremely rude, but the rest mostly gave me nothing but positive revelations.

Some of them were sickeningly sweet to Rocky (read: grown men talking in baby voices); they may have raised some goosebumps, and I don't know if they were being genuinely affectionate, or if they were just being that way because he was my dog. Either way, they made the effort and showered him with attention; they made him happy, and for that, I'm grateful.

Some of them didn't particularly take to him -- I could see from the way they flinched when he came near -- but they were considerate enough to be civil. I appreciate even this, because I know that there are people who use forwardness as an excuse to be rude; you don't call someone's dog "stupid" when you're in their house, just as you wouldn't tell someone's mother that her cooking sucked when you're invited to dinner for the first time. That's manners.

Rocky was by and large a people-dog, but there was a select group that he just couldn't get over. He snapped at them when they tried to touch him, and wouldn't take any food that they tried to feed him (most peculiar, because Rocky would take food from anyone). Unlike the cat lady, that didn't give me reason to chuck the friendship. Rather, I watched, as they came back time after time again, and made every effort to get to know him, even though after two whole years of making no headway, they had every reason to give up and ignore him. I watched as they did this -- getting exasperated at times, but always holding out their hand to him again on their next visit -- and it made me hopeful, that in them, I had friends who would take me back, if and when I do screw up. Again and again.

***

With Rocky, I learnt that "chemistry" is over-rated; while it may contribute to forming rare breed of friendship (or more), the lack of chemistry is no reason to give up on a relationship. With time, any two people can be expected to form real emotional and intellectual connections, no matter how little "chemistry" there may have been at the start.

On her first sleepover at my place, AY insisted on keeping the lights on, and she screamed every time Rocky so much as lifted his head (this caused the bell on his collar to jingle); I don't know how we slept that night. She once used my stools and pillows to build a fortress around herself to keep Rocky away; of course, the flurry of construction activity only served to make Rocky more curious, and -- much to her dismay -- he stalked her the entire night, trapping her helplessly in her little grid of cushions.

A couple of sleepovers later, when XL came over for the first time, she had the same adverse reaction to Rocky, and AY was the one who came to her "rescue" each time; this time it was AY's turn to laugh at XL for being unduly frightened by the dog that wouldn't hurt a fly (except for those he unintentionally squished on the wall when he fell down).

Two months ago, when she read of Rocky's passing, she called me: "I really did love him too, you know?" she sobbed. I know, of course I know.

Two lives that shared nothing, that knew nothing of each other, that had no "chemistry," to... this.

***

Three years ago, he was someone I would have never seen myself being firm friends with. He was chauvinistic, sexist, loud, uncouth -- everything I didn't appreciate in another human being.

Two years ago, I watched as he met Rocky for the first time, and it struck me how he was the only one of my friends who talked to Rocky as if he were a human being -- to actually have a conversation with him, pour out his frustrations, and then laugh at himself for talking to a dog. There was something special, right there, I knew that, and -- despite the fact that I didn't particularly take to him then -- I let him know just how I felt.

Today, while most of my closest guy friends are still tight-lipped about their emotions, choosing to let their actions speak for themselves -- which I appreciate, but in a different way -- he remains the one person who has sat down, and told me in those words, how much the depth of our friendship has touched him, and how much he will miss the shared moments when we graduate.

Two lives that shared nothing, that knew nothing of each other, that had no "chemistry," to... this.

***

This is by no means an exhaustive list of what living with Rocky has taught me -- after all, 11 years of lessons can hardly be condensed into a single post -- but these are right up there with the best. And because I'm such a slow-learner, I'm still grasping these things along the way, long after he's gone.

***

Thank you. While no amount of words will suffice, thank you. You have no idea. Thank you, and I miss you.

***

Shell vs Coca-Cola

(Click for bigger, via Little Pink Soap Dinosaur)

Caption reads: "You know the world has changed when your car's drink costs more than your own." Hur hur.

Hello World

Overheard in the toilet today -- some girl to her friend: "Hey, do you think I need a passport to go to Hong Kong?"

I've been trying, but I still can't think of any context in which the answer to that question would be something other than the affirmative. I didn't hang around to hear the end of that conversation.

***

It's been almost a week since I've blogged here, and more than two since I've watched any TV apart from the news. Huh, no rash! :)

***

Here are some puzzles (to use the term loosely) that kept me entertained this week. :)

• Avoider: Keep the evil, evil man from stealing your cursor. Stupid homing missile. (Mindlessness level: High)

• Differences: The age-old spot-the-difference puzzle; I don't know why it's so addictive anyway. The pair of pictures at each stage is random, which means that difficulty doesn't increase as you move up the stages, and you will get repeats from time to time. Speaking of time, it gets tighter with each stage. (Mindlessness level: Medium)

• God Tower (via Singapura): Madness -- this one is. No one has managed to unlock all the levels yet, although I have a classmate who's up to level 63. Hints for the first five levels here. Madness. (Mindlessness level: Low)

Mixing work with pleasure

Tagged by the very hirsute Woof!. :p

Here are my seven celeb crushes:

1. Clay Aiken
2. Jonathan Foreman
3. Dennis Quaid
4. Andy Garcia
5. All of the Baldwin brothers Alec Baldwin
6. Ewan McGregor
7. Andrew Lincoln (above)

Order of preference subject to time of the week, month, year, and/or alignment of planetary systems.

That's the best I could do. :( Seven is too big a number for some of those lists, and too small for others. I'll post them if and when something hits, but don't hold your breath!

In the meantime, I have two essays due and two mid-term tests in the coming week. See you after Thursday! :)

***


Baby Blues by Rick Kirkman and Jerry Scott

A big heart in the little things

Don't worry about that extra line
That's creeping up upon your face
It's just a part of nature's way
To say you've grown a little more
Trees have rings and thicker branches
Kids' shoes get a little tighter
Every year we're getting closer
To who we're gonna be
It's time to celebrate
The story of how you've come to be

Happy Birthday, my friend
Here's to all the years we've shared together
All the fun we've had
You're such a blessing
Such a joy in my life
May the good Lord bless you
And may all your dreams come true

So light a candle on your cake
For every smile you've helped create
For every heart and every soul
You've helped to grow a little more
A few more pounds, a little more grey
Don't count the years, just count the way
It takes a little time
To go from water into wine
Don't ever lose the wonder
Of that child within your eyes

-- "The Birthday Song" by Corrinne May

HW now thinks that I'm a genius because I taught him how to insert hyperlinks and pictures into his new blog; let's keep it that way. ;)

I remember the first birthday we celebrated for him some three years ago. He emerged from the crowd decked in a bright white top and white jeans; I stared at him in bewilderment. "Peace, lah," he explained. September 11, you see. To this day, I still don't understand his train of thoughts all of half the time -- and he always has to explain it to me, sometimes to no avail -- but it's been a wonderful journey nonetheless.

Happy Birthday, HW. Thank you for all these years of laughter and friendship. Even though you don't say the words, it shows in the way you're always the one to labour in the kitchen, the way you're always the one person who can be depended on to show up, the way you're always willing to lend a listening ear. If I don't say it often enough, I am immensely grateful for these little things, because they're not that little at all.

***


Garfield by Jim Davis

Random word association #1242

That's the tray from the stall that we ordered our soya bean milk from on Thursday night. I don't know if it's just me, but the first thing I thought of when I saw the name of the stall was: Sadako. And I've never even watched The Ring. Hur hur.

Two months

I'm not the biggest Mitch Albom fan (I'm sure someone could find that blasphemous); I think that Tuesdays with Morrie could've been summed up with "Don't wait until it's too late." But I came across this, and I couldn't get it off my mind. Alright, I'll give Albom another chance.

"Lost love is still love, Eddie. It takes on a different form, that's all. You can't see their smile or bring them food or tousle their hair or move them around a dance floor. But when those senses weaken, another heightens. Memory. Memory becomes your partner. You nurture it. You hold it. You dance with it. Life has to end," she said. "Love doesn't."

-- The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom

I asked, and Albom answered.

That's not the answer, but it is an answer. And that's enough for me, for now.

Overkill

Chocolate-filled Hello Kitty cakes all the way from Japan! :)

***

I don't have a problem with the cat per se; it's the excessive merchandise that's creepy.



Hello Kitty pantiliners. Now I've seen it all. (Via IZ Reloaded.)

***

[Edit: There's also a Hello Kitty fire extinguisher. Oh, joy.]

Little-known facts

Tagged by the lovely A L. :)

List three random facts about yourself that your friends might not know. And then tag five other friends to do it.

1. I was bitten by a neighbour's dog when I was eight-ish. It wasn't a ferocious attack or anything; we were just playing and his tooth accidentally hooked into my flesh. But try explaining it to my dad, who was absolutely livid. He woke the entire block up as he pounded on my neighbour's door and demanded they pay for my "medical fees." I can't remember how much it was; I only remember getting a jab in my tooshie. I still have the scar on my right thigh to show for it. I don't remember being in much pain. I was, however, mortified to be standing in front my neighbour in only my underwear as my dad showed my neighbour the "proof" of the bite.

2. My friend, X, calls me her "fellow four-stomach friend." We were having dinner at Clementi one evening, when we suddenly realised that everyone was staring at us. We still don't know how it happened, but we counted 10 plates of food on our table that night, on top of the claypot rice we each had. Yes, it was just the two of us. No, there was no special occasion. We pretended to be waiting for other friends; we kept glancing at our watches and asking each other, "They aren't here yet, ah?" And no, there were no leftovers.

3. I used to give tuition to primary and secondary school children. I taught half of them as a favour to a friend of a friend's sister, a full-time tuition teacher who went to China for a few months. As I left the house of one of my students one evening, I wondered why the ground felt so cold beneath my feet. I then realised that I'd left my slippers in their house, and I had to ring the doorbell to get them back. It was not my most glamourous moment.

I actually cheated a little, because I'm pretty sure most of my "offline friends" know at least two out of three of these; which ones they know depend on what point in time they entered into my life. :) But hey, now you know them all. Although, I'm not so sure that's a good thing at all.

So here goes the tag. Same old, same old: don't feel obliged to do it -- it's all in the name of fun, and I was never very good at tag anyway. ;) I'm tagging: Raymond (because these things make him happy), Vandice (who was curiously absent for most of last week; maybe this'll get him to tell us why), Ball of Yarn (because I know this'll be a treat to read if he does come up with something), Woof! (because this might moisten a dry spell that he was complaining about recently), D W (because the guy recently spilled all the beans about himself; let's see if we can squeeze anything more out of him, just for fun).

How do you mend a broken shelf?

I had to clear out my bottom shelf this morning. Last night I awoke to a loud clatter as my books and CDs fell from the shelf, but I was too lazy to get up and examine the damage, so I just stirred and went back to sleep. I thought maybe something hit some other thing and everything dominoed.



It turns out that the shelf gave way, no doubt under the weight of the new semester's textbooks. I'm no carpenter, but that doesn't look good. :(

Perils of geekhood

Over SMS this afternoon...

Me: "Hey, we're going to the canteen. Do you want us to get you anything?"

XL: "Can you get an Avogadro milkshake for me?"

Me (incredulously): "AVOGADRO?! You want a 6.023 x 10²³ milkshake?!"

XL: "Haha, don't know how to spell, lah!"

Avocado, she meant. Avogadro must be flipping in his grave.

Order

For Photo Friday, which I haven't done in a long time, I know.

Those of you who've been following probably know that my sister is studying in Perth, but I don't think I've mentioned that she's studying to be a vet. It's an extremely tough course; I'm very proud and occasionally envious of her. And the answer to your question is: yes, she has had her arm up the rear end of a cow.

Anyway, my sister and her housemate (also a vet student) are taking care of this pair of kids (as in, baby goats) until November. Their mommy died, and the farmer whose care they were under has his hands full with eight orphans, so they're helping out. That's Nala on the left, who will go on to be a mommy when she grows up. Simba, the kid on the right, "will unfortunately become someone's dinner."

And intruding on the shot is Bunny, the androgynous bunny. Hur.

Meh meh.

Linkage

• "Cry Out to Jesus" -- A new song released early by Third Day, for the victims of Hurricane Katrina. The link will bring you to the Third Day site, where you can download the song and lyrics for free (registration required). In the extended version, there is an excerpt of an interview with a man who has just lost his wife. It's absolutely gut-wrenching, and the reporter breaks down crying. There is also a link to World Vision, where you can make a donation if you are so inclined. (Via Mark.)

• The teams for The Amazing Race 8 are out. They're mostly made up of the typical nuclear family, with two teams of siblings. The Linz family looks particularly strong on paper; siblings aged 19 to 24 (another reason to have more children?). But the most interesting one has to be the Aiello family: father-in-law with three of his sons-in-law!

• DIY paper organiser -- Because you know these are the things that thrill me so. (Via Boing Boing.)

• "Do you like dry cerial?" -- Milk thieves in England leave misspelled notes. Crazy, fun, or just plain annoying?

Outside looking in

Someone asked me the other day if the rest of the world cared about what's happening in the US, and my answer is that, yes, some of us do.

I read, recently, this article about how bloggers tend to form (online) communities by physical proximity, which is ironic, considering that the internet is the medium to break down geographical barriers. But Sitemeter appears to substantiate this phenomenon, at least where the readership of this blog is concerned. Nevertheless, there remains a fair amount of non-Singaporean blogs that I read on a regular basis. Familiarity and diversity; I enjoy them both.

When something big happens, like the tsunami of December 2004, the London bombings, and now, Katrina, I instinctively go over in my mind the people I know who may be affected, and when I'm sure everyone's okay, the next list that goes through my mental search engine is the people whose blogs I stalk.

Unfortunately, there is one person on my watch list that is caught in the midst of all this.

I first came across Danielle's LJ during the second season of American Idol, where she made this wonderfully touching Clay Aiken collage -- it made me cry (shut up). So I dropped her a note, she replied very kindly, and I've been reading her blog ever since.

Danielle started blogging about Katrina a week or two ago, but on August 29, they lost all power, and from then on, she's been blogging via phone; that's the sobering reality. Her LJ friends have been nice enough to transcript her audio messages.

This is a rare insight to what it is like on the inside; the fear and sobs in some of her posts are absolutely heart-wrenching. As I'm writing this post, though, Danielle has just posted another audio, and she seems to be doing better. I hope and pray that everyone else is too.

Vandalism: the new friendship?

So there's this guy, let's call him Edison (because he looks like Edison Chen; at least, I think so but no one else does). My friends started getting these funny ideas in the past couple of semesters about me having a crush on him (I really don't; I just think he looks like Edison Chen).

In the last couple of weeks, the jibes have come in faster and more furious than usual; Edison seems to have entered himself in one of the many pageants on campus, and posters of him (together with the rest of the participants) have been ubiquitously displayed on the notice boards all around school.

As if the teasing wasn't enough, my friends, XL and Z, STOLE these posters for me in the past week! I'm supposed to hang these up in my room, they said. With that, they thrust the posters into my arms (and into my bag)...

Sigh.

I don't know if I should be touched that my friends are willing to commit (unsolicited!) vandalism for me, or be disturbed that my friends... um, are willing to commit vandalism for me.

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Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson