Lesson Six : Carpe Diem! Or “Poke it! Poke it, poke it now!!”
(Disclaimer : The following ‘Lessons’ segment is not in anyway naughty despite its suggestive title.)
“How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”
(Author’s note : Again, its not naughty. Read on.)
I’ve never been very adventuresome. A a matter of fact, the sole reason why I am sometimes known to have ‘spur of the moment’ moments is just ‘cause I procrastinate till the very last minute. Keith and Bri tells me I’m boring because I won’t do that Jello thing with them.
(Really! Not of the naughty!)
I have a Flintstones collapsible wading pool that’ll fit about three people. ‘Course, our knees would come up to our ears, elbows would be poking into eyes and our toes would be jammed up Keith’s posterior orifice.
“It’s *so* stupid,” I sneered. “Do you *know* how much Jello we would need?”
“You’re saying it wrong, Doc.” Keith interrupts, clearing his throat and pitching a tone near to mine, “Its so *stupid*. Do you know how much *Jello* we would need?’” Complete with a goofy grin and a slightly maniacal gleam in his eyes.
I roll my eyes, “That’s what I just said.”
“In the wrong tone.”
“Shut it, you dumb*ss.”
“You’re so boring,” Bri sniffed. “Have some sense of adventure!”
I do too. I eat dodgy Hokkien noodles at a place called Cockroach Alley and once I ran a red light. Of course, it was night and the streets were empty. And the red light was for a school crossing and more of a ‘Berhenti’ sign rather than an actual traffic light.
“I am not boring.”
“Are too!” The both of them said together.
“Am not!”
“Prove it!”
Bear in mind, we were in our late teens and the physical evidence of growth was not an indication of maturity. Or brains.
I sigh. “How are we even going to make so much Jello?”
They sport matching grins of triumph as Keith pulls out his notebook. Pails of hot shower water, a big pot of boiling water and all the Jello in South East Asia made up the list of ingredients. We would cook the Jello in pails, leave it to cool then stick ‘em overnight in Keith’s room which resembles an icebox in Alaska. Next day, we pour it all into my Flintstones wading pool and voila! Instant (rather, overnight) Jello pool.
“That’s stupid,” I reiterated. “It’ll never work. Besides, getting into a vat of viscous matter? Ew.”
““How do you know you won’t like it until you’ve tried it?”
“You’re *so* boring!”
By the way, did you know cherry Jello mixed with lime Jello turns into grey slush and not into Christmassy chunks?
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In a story I read once, a character was explaining her life's motto- "See a bear in the forest, walk up and poke it with a stick" (With regards to Ms. Bowers). It's a go-getter, You-Only-Live-Once kinda attitude which I've never really been accused of having.
I used to believe in trying anything once. Well, twice if I was too busy puking my guts out the first time. (Never go to theme parks after lunch and slightly hungover.) Yet I don't find myself doing so now. I make excuses, projections of the supposed outcome, claim a lack of ability, etc. I'd put off so much assignments and chores that I have now done so with Life! Have I put my life on hold for the sake of existing in a safe risk-free zone? Whatever happened to the 'try-it-you'll-like-it' and the large-scale 'all-or-nothing' person I used to be?
Perhaps my ideas have been shot down too many times that I now stop myself before I get stopped by others (and severely disappointed). Or big ideas were deemed 'too complex' to be used that they get shelved, or worse- executed by the Uninspired who compromise the vision and thus making it substandard. Stuff that I helped produce go through so many changes that it really isn't mine anymore and I'm literally ashamed to even be credited for it. Getting yanked off something you've worked on for a whole year. My heart actually aches when that happens. I've never wanted to hit a person more than I did then, I'm ashamed to say. I had a million words on the tip of my tongue, every fourth one crude. Did some serious internal auditing that day, I have to admit.
(Author's note: Don't get scared. Did I trick you into thinking that this entry would be funny all the way? LOL! Heh.)
I got told that it's wrong to get so involved with something. Then you'd commit too much into it, thus being too attached and getting self-centred. B*LLSH*T. That's all I can say. What about Jesus then? Should we not commit to Him and get 'too attached' and thus being Christ-centred? What happened to giving your all and giving your best?
'No more'. I've said this once a long time ago though it meant something else then. Then, it meant 'no more giving ideas', 'no more participation', 'no more getting p*ssed on by the Uninspired'. From hereonin, I'm takin' a new meaning on the phrase- 'no more sitting around waiting', 'no more need to censor myself', 'no more compromise', 'no more fear'. I'm takin' my business to places that visionaries can only dream of going.
Here's a coupla lessons I learnt:
~ have a sense of Adventure and go all out. You'll never get Jello in your pants until you wade into a vat full of it.
~ rejecting someone's idea is akin to tearing up their heart, spitting on it, lighting it on fire and crushing the ashes beneath your feet (at least that's how it feels when it happens to me). Small, big, stupid or not- every idea is worth something. Even th' terminally dumb one of having 40 gallons of flavored gelatin dumped pail by pail into the drain.
~ don't dump Jello into the drain during the draught.
~ week-old lime/cherry Jello smells like dirty socks after gettin' mixed up in drain gunk.
Didn't mean to get so introspective. Had Jello today and I remembered the Big Jello Adventure, is all...
Go ye therefore- seize days, poke bears, have a Jello shooter and remember never to wear your favorite pair of underwear when getting into a wading pool full of grey Jello. Also, run like h*ll when the bear wakes up.
Monday, October 10, 2005
Thursday, October 06, 2005
Postcard Series : Midweek Musings
My first week at a new job and I've already worn more skirts than I have in the past two years. I dress so girly now that I freak myself out. Break out the hose, slinky cardigan and sleek office wear. Add some bling from ears to fingers, slap on the makeup, put up my hair, spritz on some expensive perfume and I'm good to go in my hot-to-trot strappy heels. Perhaps I should be more freaked by the fact that I actually have all this stuff. And that I know how to use 'em. I can dress fancy for two weeks straight and not even need to repeat my outfits- that's how freaky this is.
And no, I can't tell you where and what I work as. It's a top secret, hush-hush, need to know basis and I'd hafta kill you if I told you. So, Lyd, you won't get any pictures. Ever.
PS- No, its not a night job la. Th secrecy is just to avoid paparazzo like you. :)
And no, I can't tell you where and what I work as. It's a top secret, hush-hush, need to know basis and I'd hafta kill you if I told you. So, Lyd, you won't get any pictures. Ever.
PS- No, its not a night job la. Th secrecy is just to avoid paparazzo like you. :)
Tuesday, September 20, 2005
As Political As I'll Get
Idle chatter about politics can turn into a full-blown ugly debate. And people wonder why I’m not the most patriotic of citizens. I don’t participate in National Day celebrations and the only way I can even remember the year of our Independence is by singing “Tanggal tiga puluh satu, bulan lapan, lima puluh tujuh…” (really singing with arm-pumping gusto). I don’t exactly know how many states we have nor their full names. I can’t (not for lack of trying) chronologically name all our Prime Ministers’ either (did we have five?). But, I tear up when I hear the recording the Merdeka declaration and bristle when I hear people diss the Prime Minister. I love my country, just not the people in it.
I was just telling them about how I once saw this leather-jacketed guy carrying a white cat (by the way, so the classic villain) getting off his bike- an ordinary kapchai-looking bike with a helmet compartment at the back. Now, the focus of the story was the bike which had shiny stenciled-stickers of slogans and statements that were extremely offensive about the state of government and Dr M. Vile statements in educated English, which probably makes it worse if you think about it. Any moron with a can of spray paint can decorate the whole of Petaling Street with “Dr M sucks large eggs!” and it still wouldn’t be as offensive. I was half-tempted to tip his motorcycle over, except that this dude was walking with the aid of a cane. Maybe someone else got to him first.
“I swear, if anyone insults Dr. M in front of me I’ll knock their blocks off!” Mike snarled, punctuating his sentence with a right uppercut. I don’t actually doubt he’d carry out his threat, should the occasion arise. He’s all principles and testosterone- the kind of guy who’d cling tenaciously to his values and fight for it without a moment’s hesitation. Also, he’d likely be the sort of guy his fellow prison-mates would call ‘Seng-Kor’ were he inclined to join a street gang.
Mae looks a little discomfited at all the staring we’re getting from the other patrons. I’d actually expect Mae to be the one all rabid about Dr. M since she actually owns every single piece of literature related to him including newspaper and magazine articles. She didn’t speak to me for a whole week when I accidentally recorded over the story CNN did about our previous PM. Putting in her two-cents worth, “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of, um- being a tolerant, harmonious society and muhibbah- as per his vision?” she asks.
“Y’know, I never really knew what Vision 2020 was really all about. I only recently got the witty optometry wordplay.” I mused.
Mae frowned disapprovingly, “You’re such a traitor. Why don’t you just defect south?” I made a face- the Sterile South? I’d rather be tried for treason first.
“Look, I just wanna know if I can bash their heads in, okay? To puckery with th’ Vision,” demands Seng-Kor. Better start saving up money for a good lawyer now.
“No-lah, you idiot.” I slap him upside the head. “It’ll be like smacking people who diss Ghandi.”
“Yes,” Mae acceded “Cause that’d be, uh- against his… um,”
“Teachings?” I ventured.
She grimaced, “I wanted to say that but it sounded so Rajneesha cultish with the whole crimson robe-wearing, little bell-clanging and selling of daisies in airports.” She’s never been the same since her first Hare Krishna encounter overseas. It must have been quite the spiritual experience to have affected her so deeply.
“Okay,” Mike looked confused now. “So, no beating up of the Ghandi-dissers ‘cause that would mess up his peace mojo, right?”
“Oh, but the delicious irony! T’would be something to behold,” I expressed dramatically.
“Yeah, c’n you imagine?” Mike wraps his fingers around an imaginary neck in front of him and starts to throttle the air violently. “You little pr*ck! You take that back- Ghandi’s not a tree-hugging loony!” We laughed raucously as people started to stare at Mike who was really roughing up his imaginary foe. “…and take that, an’ that! So there, that’ll teach ya!” he ends his tirade with a spectacular left hook-right jab combo as Mae giggles non-stop at his antics.
And people say that youths nowadays have no sense of loyalty to the country.
END
Author’s notes : ‘Cept for leather-wearing, white cat-carrying, offensive lame dude and the part where I actually have to sing th’ song to get the year of Independence; it’s all fictional. Cool people like Mike and Mae only exist in my head.
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An exclusive sneak preview of my in-progress project ‘Road Trip’.
SCENE : [The rest stop. Andrew (driver) and James (backseat driver) are fooling around with the camera. They drop it as Mel and Lydia get onboard the car. Camera is now sideways on right backseat (wedged between backpacks) and pointed towards front passenger seat. We don’t see much, but can see general movement of butts and hear voices.]
Mel : (gets into front passenger seat) Okay, let’s go.
James : I wanna sit in the front.
Mel : (sighs) Fine.
[They get out of car (we hear car doors open and close) and exchange seats. Mel sits on the cam and screen goes dark.]
Lyd : Where’s the cam? (muffled)
James : You’re sitting on it, Mel.
Mel : Oh. (she lifts the camera to film Andrew pulling out of the rest stop) Ew, its all wet. What did you guys do with it?
James : Andrew got sweaty hands.
Andrew : Eh!
[Everyone falls silent as Lydia takes a tissue and starts to wipe it down.]
James : I wanna go to the toilet.
[Collective tsk and sighing]
END SCENE
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Plus, because you’ve all been so very good- a quote from '8-Ball : The Future Movie'.
Mel : Will the blind date go well? Is he hot? [shakes 8-ball] (NO). Okay, okay-
ask the right questions. Uh, let’s see… will I find him attractive? (YES)
Alright! [pumps fist in air]
[beat]
Mel : Crap. My standards have totally gone down the toilet.
-------------------------------------------------------------
I was just telling them about how I once saw this leather-jacketed guy carrying a white cat (by the way, so the classic villain) getting off his bike- an ordinary kapchai-looking bike with a helmet compartment at the back. Now, the focus of the story was the bike which had shiny stenciled-stickers of slogans and statements that were extremely offensive about the state of government and Dr M. Vile statements in educated English, which probably makes it worse if you think about it. Any moron with a can of spray paint can decorate the whole of Petaling Street with “Dr M sucks large eggs!” and it still wouldn’t be as offensive. I was half-tempted to tip his motorcycle over, except that this dude was walking with the aid of a cane. Maybe someone else got to him first.
“I swear, if anyone insults Dr. M in front of me I’ll knock their blocks off!” Mike snarled, punctuating his sentence with a right uppercut. I don’t actually doubt he’d carry out his threat, should the occasion arise. He’s all principles and testosterone- the kind of guy who’d cling tenaciously to his values and fight for it without a moment’s hesitation. Also, he’d likely be the sort of guy his fellow prison-mates would call ‘Seng-Kor’ were he inclined to join a street gang.
Mae looks a little discomfited at all the staring we’re getting from the other patrons. I’d actually expect Mae to be the one all rabid about Dr. M since she actually owns every single piece of literature related to him including newspaper and magazine articles. She didn’t speak to me for a whole week when I accidentally recorded over the story CNN did about our previous PM. Putting in her two-cents worth, “Doesn’t that defeat the whole purpose of, um- being a tolerant, harmonious society and muhibbah- as per his vision?” she asks.
“Y’know, I never really knew what Vision 2020 was really all about. I only recently got the witty optometry wordplay.” I mused.
Mae frowned disapprovingly, “You’re such a traitor. Why don’t you just defect south?” I made a face- the Sterile South? I’d rather be tried for treason first.
“Look, I just wanna know if I can bash their heads in, okay? To puckery with th’ Vision,” demands Seng-Kor. Better start saving up money for a good lawyer now.
“No-lah, you idiot.” I slap him upside the head. “It’ll be like smacking people who diss Ghandi.”
“Yes,” Mae acceded “Cause that’d be, uh- against his… um,”
“Teachings?” I ventured.
She grimaced, “I wanted to say that but it sounded so Rajneesha cultish with the whole crimson robe-wearing, little bell-clanging and selling of daisies in airports.” She’s never been the same since her first Hare Krishna encounter overseas. It must have been quite the spiritual experience to have affected her so deeply.
“Okay,” Mike looked confused now. “So, no beating up of the Ghandi-dissers ‘cause that would mess up his peace mojo, right?”
“Oh, but the delicious irony! T’would be something to behold,” I expressed dramatically.
“Yeah, c’n you imagine?” Mike wraps his fingers around an imaginary neck in front of him and starts to throttle the air violently. “You little pr*ck! You take that back- Ghandi’s not a tree-hugging loony!” We laughed raucously as people started to stare at Mike who was really roughing up his imaginary foe. “…and take that, an’ that! So there, that’ll teach ya!” he ends his tirade with a spectacular left hook-right jab combo as Mae giggles non-stop at his antics.
And people say that youths nowadays have no sense of loyalty to the country.
END
Author’s notes : ‘Cept for leather-wearing, white cat-carrying, offensive lame dude and the part where I actually have to sing th’ song to get the year of Independence; it’s all fictional. Cool people like Mike and Mae only exist in my head.
-------------------------------------------------------------
An exclusive sneak preview of my in-progress project ‘Road Trip’.
SCENE : [The rest stop. Andrew (driver) and James (backseat driver) are fooling around with the camera. They drop it as Mel and Lydia get onboard the car. Camera is now sideways on right backseat (wedged between backpacks) and pointed towards front passenger seat. We don’t see much, but can see general movement of butts and hear voices.]
Mel : (gets into front passenger seat) Okay, let’s go.
James : I wanna sit in the front.
Mel : (sighs) Fine.
[They get out of car (we hear car doors open and close) and exchange seats. Mel sits on the cam and screen goes dark.]
Lyd : Where’s the cam? (muffled)
James : You’re sitting on it, Mel.
Mel : Oh. (she lifts the camera to film Andrew pulling out of the rest stop) Ew, its all wet. What did you guys do with it?
James : Andrew got sweaty hands.
Andrew : Eh!
[Everyone falls silent as Lydia takes a tissue and starts to wipe it down.]
James : I wanna go to the toilet.
[Collective tsk and sighing]
END SCENE
-------------------------------------------------------------
-------------------------------------------------------------
Plus, because you’ve all been so very good- a quote from '8-Ball : The Future Movie'.
Mel : Will the blind date go well? Is he hot? [shakes 8-ball] (NO). Okay, okay-
ask the right questions. Uh, let’s see… will I find him attractive? (YES)
Alright! [pumps fist in air]
Mel : Crap. My standards have totally gone down the toilet.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Thursday, August 25, 2005
Dream - Prince Of Stories
I almost always remember my dreams. It depends if I was industrious enough (or had enough time) to write 'em down or not. It also depends on whether I woke up to the gentle buzz-sawing of my alarm clock or my mother shouted to wake me. If I have enough time and compunction, I'll just start writing it down. If not, I lie motionless and retrace my dream until I got all the details in my head before I get up. Too bad my dream journal got taken with my laptop on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Reading back your old dreams feel alot like reading a stranger's journal. There are dreams you'd have forgotten about altogether or certain segues you don't remember having.
My dreams are usually in one chronological stretch. Then there are those that do not make any sense- usually a precursor to the next dream. Those'd be th' segues. If I'm really fortunate, I dream of someplace familiar and I'm let loose to basically do whatever I want. The best kind of dreams are the ones where your friends are in.
If you have to spark a riot as a cover to escape from your would-be assasins, there's no one better than to rely on than having Mel head up the other team. Two teams are a little bit more chaotic than one. The only downside is that I wouldn't have anyone I really knew or trusted to watch my back, were we split. All was good and we managed to cause enough ruckus for the schoolbus carrying Pastor Carey and Lois to make it safely 'cross the border and back into JB.
Ange features prominently in all my "Oh Cr*p, I'm late for service and I'm playing keyboard for worship!" Heh. Have I had any bad experiences with you and punctuality? Usually I'd be racing up the staircase and I can hear the strains of the first song already. Or we'd be in worship practice and I was downstairs trying to get up to where you were without having to pass the huge*ss carnivorous dinosaur in the lobby. (Note-to-self: find out where the real fire alarms are in church.) Anyhow, the latest dream I had with her was the one where we were in some sort of military thing doing a face-off tactical drill ala "Capture The Flag" against this other visiting team who had a team leader named Amanda who played bass. They cheated, we lost and I laughed at how bloody brilliant they were into replacing our flag with a decoy so we were running about thinking all was well when they've actually gotten our flag. *snorts* Remind me to tell you about that one. It was pretty detailed.
I had to haul Lyd's skinny ass down several floors via a steep staircase to escape this homeless guy who was about to attack us. Or the one time I was wandering about my primary school looking for her to ask her something about filming the assembly.
Eurgh, speaking of school- I can't remember how many countless times I've had the dream of me repeating Form 5 and *still* unprepared for SPM despite being older and supposedly wiser/smarter. I love school, don't get me wrong. But it stops being funny when I'm 23 and still cringing everytime Mrs Ing asks me why I don't have my homework. I'm an adult, d*mmit! I don't have to do your stupid homework if I don't want to!
Things I can / can't do in a dream:
~ Can't murder something/someone in cold blood even if I absolutely have to. I'm such a wuss when it comes to that. I cringed when I realised I was supposed to strangle a hamster and just started running. Shooting someone who would've killed you is a different matter altogether. Hey, he was going to kill me, okay? Besides, my guns always turn into toy ones and start shooting odd objects like calculators and string confetti instead.
~ Can't die in a dream. Jumped off tall buildings (floated back onto the ground), stood still in the middle of heavy traffic and let a car plow into me (it felt like being gently pushed into a pile of plush pillows), letting some boogeyman catch up to me only to fall to the really soft ground asleep. It's weird.
~ I actually know how to use a gun. Maybe its all that CSI I've been watching. I taught Lois how to take a gun apart, assemble it and load it up. I named all the parts and warned her about the hair trigger and recoil. Apparently, you're supposed to fire in short controlled bursts as not to lose your target because of the recoil kicking your aim off. Hmm. Maybe its all the Hitman I've been playing.
~ Can't use stick shift to save my life. Can't drive without having the car plow into something or getting scratched. Hey, it's not my fault if the car has really sluggish brakes, right?
~ I have both cried and laughed myself awake. There'd be tears on my pillow or I'd be smiling. I'd crack myself up in dreams sometimes and wake up realizing it really wasn't that funny after all. I guess I have lower expectations of myself when dreaming.
Most of the dreams I have end up as premises for stories or ideas. I had a dream in primary school that turned into a universe that I created complete with diagrams, character biographies and a long complex story that I still work on til today from time to time. Most of it was lost on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Here are a couple of snippets I dug up recently:
-------
No one has spoken for the last hour or so, prefering instead to wallow in self-pity. The darkness of the room was threatening to overwhelm us and physically swallow us whole. We were all huddled around the humming space heater which dimly illuminated our faces in muted orange. If someone doesn't say something soon, I'll start bursting into song. Hey, if you squint, Prescott looks like th' Cheetos cheetah dude with the sunshades. Why does she wear those at night anyway?
"So." We all jumped. Libby's voice scratchy from disuse broke our reverie. "We're... saving the universe." The two second pause after that felt longer than the previous hour of silence. "A mad scientist, mechanic, musician, jock, hairstylist, lawyer and a space heater?" I can't believe she just ranked us in terms of usefulness.
"We could mesmerise the enemy with my gift of song," Iris mumbled, her eyes closed. Exactly what I was thinking of earlier. Except that I wasn't being all sarcastic and cynical like her.
Ever the optimist, Paul lights up brightly "Aw, c'mon Lib. It isn't so bad, look at the bright side..."
My dreams are usually in one chronological stretch. Then there are those that do not make any sense- usually a precursor to the next dream. Those'd be th' segues. If I'm really fortunate, I dream of someplace familiar and I'm let loose to basically do whatever I want. The best kind of dreams are the ones where your friends are in.
If you have to spark a riot as a cover to escape from your would-be assasins, there's no one better than to rely on than having Mel head up the other team. Two teams are a little bit more chaotic than one. The only downside is that I wouldn't have anyone I really knew or trusted to watch my back, were we split. All was good and we managed to cause enough ruckus for the schoolbus carrying Pastor Carey and Lois to make it safely 'cross the border and back into JB.
Ange features prominently in all my "Oh Cr*p, I'm late for service and I'm playing keyboard for worship!" Heh. Have I had any bad experiences with you and punctuality? Usually I'd be racing up the staircase and I can hear the strains of the first song already. Or we'd be in worship practice and I was downstairs trying to get up to where you were without having to pass the huge*ss carnivorous dinosaur in the lobby. (Note-to-self: find out where the real fire alarms are in church.) Anyhow, the latest dream I had with her was the one where we were in some sort of military thing doing a face-off tactical drill ala "Capture The Flag" against this other visiting team who had a team leader named Amanda who played bass. They cheated, we lost and I laughed at how bloody brilliant they were into replacing our flag with a decoy so we were running about thinking all was well when they've actually gotten our flag. *snorts* Remind me to tell you about that one. It was pretty detailed.
I had to haul Lyd's skinny ass down several floors via a steep staircase to escape this homeless guy who was about to attack us. Or the one time I was wandering about my primary school looking for her to ask her something about filming the assembly.
Eurgh, speaking of school- I can't remember how many countless times I've had the dream of me repeating Form 5 and *still* unprepared for SPM despite being older and supposedly wiser/smarter. I love school, don't get me wrong. But it stops being funny when I'm 23 and still cringing everytime Mrs Ing asks me why I don't have my homework. I'm an adult, d*mmit! I don't have to do your stupid homework if I don't want to!
Things I can / can't do in a dream:
~ Can't murder something/someone in cold blood even if I absolutely have to. I'm such a wuss when it comes to that. I cringed when I realised I was supposed to strangle a hamster and just started running. Shooting someone who would've killed you is a different matter altogether. Hey, he was going to kill me, okay? Besides, my guns always turn into toy ones and start shooting odd objects like calculators and string confetti instead.
~ Can't die in a dream. Jumped off tall buildings (floated back onto the ground), stood still in the middle of heavy traffic and let a car plow into me (it felt like being gently pushed into a pile of plush pillows), letting some boogeyman catch up to me only to fall to the really soft ground asleep. It's weird.
~ I actually know how to use a gun. Maybe its all that CSI I've been watching. I taught Lois how to take a gun apart, assemble it and load it up. I named all the parts and warned her about the hair trigger and recoil. Apparently, you're supposed to fire in short controlled bursts as not to lose your target because of the recoil kicking your aim off. Hmm. Maybe its all the Hitman I've been playing.
~ Can't use stick shift to save my life. Can't drive without having the car plow into something or getting scratched. Hey, it's not my fault if the car has really sluggish brakes, right?
~ I have both cried and laughed myself awake. There'd be tears on my pillow or I'd be smiling. I'd crack myself up in dreams sometimes and wake up realizing it really wasn't that funny after all. I guess I have lower expectations of myself when dreaming.
Most of the dreams I have end up as premises for stories or ideas. I had a dream in primary school that turned into a universe that I created complete with diagrams, character biographies and a long complex story that I still work on til today from time to time. Most of it was lost on the Day I'd Rather Not Have Happened. Here are a couple of snippets I dug up recently:
-------
No one has spoken for the last hour or so, prefering instead to wallow in self-pity. The darkness of the room was threatening to overwhelm us and physically swallow us whole. We were all huddled around the humming space heater which dimly illuminated our faces in muted orange. If someone doesn't say something soon, I'll start bursting into song. Hey, if you squint, Prescott looks like th' Cheetos cheetah dude with the sunshades. Why does she wear those at night anyway?
"So." We all jumped. Libby's voice scratchy from disuse broke our reverie. "We're... saving the universe." The two second pause after that felt longer than the previous hour of silence. "A mad scientist, mechanic, musician, jock, hairstylist, lawyer and a space heater?" I can't believe she just ranked us in terms of usefulness.
"We could mesmerise the enemy with my gift of song," Iris mumbled, her eyes closed. Exactly what I was thinking of earlier. Except that I wasn't being all sarcastic and cynical like her.
Ever the optimist, Paul lights up brightly "Aw, c'mon Lib. It isn't so bad, look at the bright side..."
"I can run very fast." Brett says hopefully. "An' lift moderately heavy stuff." Yessir you can indeed, I supress a grin; making out his muscular outline through the darkness.
"There, you see? All is not lost."
"Yeah! And I've got mad skills with the kung-fu and I'm a wicked cool demolitions expert to boot. We'll blow them bad guys away!" Everyone stared at Cheyanne like she had something hanging out of her nose. It's nice when that look isn't directed at me sometimes. She shrugged, "Just displaying my lawyering superpowers- quite convincing, don't you think?" I think I can hear Iris' eyes rolling.
Not wanting to be outdone, I contribute my two-cents worth "I'm moderately heavy."
Liberty sighed and rubbed her face "We're doomed."
Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?
----
----
(Scene: In the rebel makeshift lab where Callie Resident Genius Scientist has been hidden, working on super secret project to save the day. Cue dramatic music as camera flys through the cavernous space. Blue sparks, flashing light, fog rises from the ground and our heroes enter waving the smoke away, trying to walk without tripping over anything.)
"There, you see? All is not lost."
"Yeah! And I've got mad skills with the kung-fu and I'm a wicked cool demolitions expert to boot. We'll blow them bad guys away!" Everyone stared at Cheyanne like she had something hanging out of her nose. It's nice when that look isn't directed at me sometimes. She shrugged, "Just displaying my lawyering superpowers- quite convincing, don't you think?" I think I can hear Iris' eyes rolling.
Not wanting to be outdone, I contribute my two-cents worth "I'm moderately heavy."
Liberty sighed and rubbed her face "We're doomed."
Why does everyone keep looking at me like that?
----
----
(Scene: In the rebel makeshift lab where Callie Resident Genius Scientist has been hidden, working on super secret project to save the day. Cue dramatic music as camera flys through the cavernous space. Blue sparks, flashing light, fog rises from the ground and our heroes enter waving the smoke away, trying to walk without tripping over anything.)
(Pan to Liberty who cranes her head up to look at the contraption Callie built. Camera follows her gaze.)
Liberty : What the heck is that thing?
(Dramatic pause as we cut to Cal who gestures with a flourish. Music swells)
Callie : It's a- Time Machine.
(Music stops. Cut to everyone else. Cue collective WTF looks- shock! awe! raised eyebrows! resigned faces! rolling eyes! etc! )
Iris : (deadpans) I knew it.
Liberty : No, Cal- really...
Callie : We're all gonna hop onto the Time Machine and take us back to the past, right the wrongs and stop Kamisaka from killing people.
Iris : I knew it all along. Four words- Sci-fi soap opera. Maybe three words.
Brett : (stage whispers to Cheyanne) She's cracked.
Cheyanne : On crack.
Paul : Time travel... my God, it's like- Science Fiction!
Callie : (looks smug) Yep. Like a particularly bad episode of Star Trek, we will go back in time to save the day. It'll be like the war never happened.
Liberty : Quit jerking around, Prescott.
(Liberty and Callie walk up to the machine leaving the others standing behind. Camera tightens on them.)
Iris : (still mumbling to herself) Maybe more like a particularly bad season of Dallas... and we wake up realizing its all a dream.
Devlynn : There wasn't no time machine in Dallas.
Iris : Well, there's a time machine on this show.
Liberty : (off camera) It's not a bloody time-machine and this is not a show. Now get over here, all of you.
Iris : You know what's going to happen next? We gonna get thrown into the future instead where Noriko is the dark neo-empress of the galaxy and make us all her hentai slaves.
(end scene)
(Cut to Noriko Kamisaka sneezing.)
-----
Liberty : What the heck is that thing?
(Dramatic pause as we cut to Cal who gestures with a flourish. Music swells)
Callie : It's a- Time Machine.
(Music stops. Cut to everyone else. Cue collective WTF looks- shock! awe! raised eyebrows! resigned faces! rolling eyes! etc! )
Iris : (deadpans) I knew it.
Liberty : No, Cal- really...
Callie : We're all gonna hop onto the Time Machine and take us back to the past, right the wrongs and stop Kamisaka from killing people.
Iris : I knew it all along. Four words- Sci-fi soap opera. Maybe three words.
Brett : (stage whispers to Cheyanne) She's cracked.
Cheyanne : On crack.
Paul : Time travel... my God, it's like- Science Fiction!
Callie : (looks smug) Yep. Like a particularly bad episode of Star Trek, we will go back in time to save the day. It'll be like the war never happened.
Liberty : Quit jerking around, Prescott.
(Liberty and Callie walk up to the machine leaving the others standing behind. Camera tightens on them.)
Iris : (still mumbling to herself) Maybe more like a particularly bad season of Dallas... and we wake up realizing its all a dream.
Devlynn : There wasn't no time machine in Dallas.
Iris : Well, there's a time machine on this show.
Liberty : (off camera) It's not a bloody time-machine and this is not a show. Now get over here, all of you.
Iris : You know what's going to happen next? We gonna get thrown into the future instead where Noriko is the dark neo-empress of the galaxy and make us all her hentai slaves.
(end scene)
(Cut to Noriko Kamisaka sneezing.)
-----
Believe it or not, the story is supposed to be very dark and post-apocalyptic. People dying, losing hope and all that. LOL! Dunno why my drabblets always turn out weird. Noriko Kamisaka rocks! She's the coolest villian since Darth Vader... I wish there'd be more movies with bad guys like her. Heh. Doesn't take a Callie Prescott to know which side I root for most of the time. The good guys always get battered around. Poor Liberty.
Speaking of Liberty, here's a snippet from Vagabond Viking.
---
The seneschal sputtered upon seeing Hrafn's fingers run through his mistress' hair, "My lady! The vagabond is too familiar..."
She raised a hand to silence his shocked tirade, "Monteroy, liberty is scarce in this day and age. If my guest can find any with me then I welcome him to take as much as he pleases."
Hrafn raised his brow, mouthing "Liberties?" The Baroness merely smiled sweetly in a benign manner as though she did not just invite the Norseman to molest her.
"And furthermore," she continued, "You would do well to remember that my guests are to be treated with the same respect you treat me."
---
And no, its not a love story. Hrafn (Raven) the nomad viking who washed ashore ends up raiding the baroness' castle with his ragtag band of rebels to free the down-trodden province from her dominion. I had fun writing it. Just don't ask me to do it again.
By the way, go read Ange's stories... they're pretty good. Plugplug.
Have a good night and sweet dreams.
Speaking of Liberty, here's a snippet from Vagabond Viking.
---
The seneschal sputtered upon seeing Hrafn's fingers run through his mistress' hair, "My lady! The vagabond is too familiar..."
She raised a hand to silence his shocked tirade, "Monteroy, liberty is scarce in this day and age. If my guest can find any with me then I welcome him to take as much as he pleases."
Hrafn raised his brow, mouthing "Liberties?" The Baroness merely smiled sweetly in a benign manner as though she did not just invite the Norseman to molest her.
"And furthermore," she continued, "You would do well to remember that my guests are to be treated with the same respect you treat me."
---
And no, its not a love story. Hrafn (Raven) the nomad viking who washed ashore ends up raiding the baroness' castle with his ragtag band of rebels to free the down-trodden province from her dominion. I had fun writing it. Just don't ask me to do it again.
By the way, go read Ange's stories... they're pretty good. Plugplug.
Have a good night and sweet dreams.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
A Short Story Not Necessarily For Children : "The D*mn Dog"
I have a dog named Pepper. It is a brown toy poodle. It is very special. Pepper knows nifty tricks like how to hold in your pee until you're let out of the bathroom so you can pee in places that are difficult to clean. She is honing that skill now by peeing a little bit on the paper in the bathroom to con people into letting her out so that she can go pee in places that are difficult to clean. You see, the trick is to know the proper ratio of pee to use as the diversion and storing up the remaining amount of pee for a 'puddle effect' in those hard-to-reach, hard-to-clean places. She secretly calls it "Mission: Make Grace Clean The Floor On Her Hands And Knees Repeatedly Everytime She Lets Me Out To Play. Muahaha."
Just before the act...
...and right after, she'll run like a lunatic for the safety of the bathroom in self-punishment whilst smirking in the pride of a successful mission (note slightly evil unrepentant smirk).
Also, my dog Pepper enjoys a steady diet of newspaper, toilet paper and anything that moves- like bugs and hairs on the floor blown around by wind. She has more toys than I do and gets bored of them at an alarming rate. I love dog. Especially in a soup or a quiche. Maybe quiche- need to buy eggs and flour then.
The End
I've never asked for a dog in my life. Not that I didn't want one, only that I knew my mother hated large-ish animals. So it was hamsters, fish and the occasional turtle. What's an occasional turtle, you might ask? Well, it looks just like any other turtle, but its only there occasionally. But I digress... back to what this post is really about- th' dumb dog. (It just peed all over the floor and I had to wipe the hall. Again. Can you tell?) Anyway- guess what my mother asks for last mother's day? Now, I daren't call my dad in case he asks for a horse or something.
Aw, I don't mind the dog-ler... just frustrated that I actually might have to give the excuse of needing to go home early and 'feed the dog' someday. At least I've never given the 'water my mother's plants' excuse as of yet. Heh. Terasa or not, Ange? Pepper's really not a dog- she's a cat-pig-baby sort of creature. I'd call her a cat, 'cept that cats are way cleaner. She actually sulks and refuses to look at you if you offend her. She rubs herself all over your legs. She pounces. I mean- if I wanted a danged cat, I'd have gotten a cat. I like cats, but not a dog who prances about like a feline hopped up on catnip.
Now I gotta go let her out to play 'cause I've cooped her up in the bathroom all day.
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
A 'Lessons' Spin-Off...
Tips and Tools For Shrinking Your Best Friend.
By Dr. Grac “Doc” Chang; MD, PhD, MBBS, PESS, DKNY, FYI, ETC.
Tool One : The Obligatory Question
Everyone has one. When I talk to someone, I always ask them their Obligatory Question. Sometimes it’s the same question for a few people; but everyone is special, so they have their own unique question. Obligatory Questions range from “Had dinner yet?” for acquaintances/colleagues to “How’s life?” and “Are you wearing underwear?” for closer friends.
~ Deidi’s is “Are you drunk/high?” Be it while we’re on the phone, online or meeting face-to-face, I have to ask her this because she behaves like a tipsy bimbo at the best of times. Plus, she’s actually a pretty heavy drinker. And I’m talking margaritas in the afternoon. Tsk. Oh heck, who’m I kidding. I had margaritas for lunch during a mission trip when we were supposed to be tracting, for crying out loud.
~ During her stint as a girlfriend back in ‘Nam with ‘Charlie’, “Pregnant yet?” seemed to be the world’s best contraceptive. Well, not really… but at least it was a good reminder to make frequent trips down to th’ pharmacy. For pregnancy test kits as well as condoms.
~ “Still a virgin?” no longer applies to my first two clients-slash-best-friends, so th’ dubious honor of this Obligatory Question goes to the Eternal Virgin Mel ‘Tight Flower’ Sim (crosses both fingers in the ‘Tight Flower’ Signal) It’s a little weird how ‘still a virgin?’ passed down so quickly from one client to another like hand-me-down cloth diapers. I’d worry if I were you, Tight Flower.
~ It used to be “What are you actually studying, ha?” for Ange. A question that I still cannot answer up till now even though she’s been working for a year or so. Nowadays its more of- “What do you work as, ha?” Some computer thing, I’m told- but I’m not too sure what. I doubt she knows either.
~ There’s the all-famous “Are you PMSing?” for Bri and occasionally, Keith- who has the worst b*tchfits for someone without ovaries.
For me, the Obligatory Question I seem to be asked by one and all is: “Guess what?” Which brings me to our second tool- how to counteract the dreaded ‘Guessing Game’.
Tool Two : The Worst-Case Scenario (WCS)
It can take the form of either a monologue or dialogue.
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sputter. “Wha-? No! I just got a promotion, you ass! What were you thinking?!”
You see how it works? The trick is to tailor your worst case scenarios according to th’ client/friend. If your WCS is vile enough, they’ll give up at the guessing game fairly quickly.
~ Red
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sighs exaggeratedly, “No.”
“Space aliens abducted you and probed your orifices.”
“Dude.”
“Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa are being held captive by orifice-probing space aliens.”
“Dude.”
“Scully broke up with Mulder and declared her undying love for Krychek.”
“Dude!” Pause. “Metaphorically? Yeah.” She sighs.
Long night. I should really start charging for consultation.
(Send your postal order and cheque to P.O. Box 12155 for a 2-disc set of “Tool #247- The Metaphor Game”)
~ Deidi
“Guess what?” she giggles.
And I am reminded once again to ask, “Are you drunk?” before progressing further in WCS.
“Nooo-ooo...” she sing-songs.
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.” More giggles.
“You did the naughty with a total stranger?”
Giggling. (Beware the future that is Malaysia’s legal system when Deidre starts representing people in court. Hair-twirling and girly giggling abound!)
“You snogged a total stranger?”
“I know him, okay?” A little exasperation in her tone amidst the giggling now.
“And were you drunk then?”
“Maybe.” Let’s just assume that she’s giggling all the way throughout this conversation, okay?
“You aren’t supposed to drink. It’s bad for the baby.”
“Grace!”
~ Keith
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.” (Tip: It works for all genders.)
“Whuthfck?”
“You knocked someone up and she’s pregnant.”
“No!”
“I’m tellin’ ya- she’s pregnant, and her father’s gonna come stick a shotgun in your mouth and force you to marry her. But what you don’t know is that she’s pregnant with some orfice-probing space alien’s kid and it’s gonna come bursting out her tummy and eat you both alive.”
Silence. “I was going to tell ya that I found your Babylon 5 DVD, but you can forget it now.”
(Tip: Try not to go too far out and piss them off in the process.)
~ Mel
“Guess what?”
“You went out with him.”
“N- hey! How did you know?”
My finely honed psychic powers. “You told me yesterday.”
“Oh… yeah.”
Disclaimer: I am not obsessed with baby making and/or naughty space alien loving despite evidence to the contrary. I’m not, I tell you…
Next week on ‘Tips and Tools™’: How To Hone Those Nifty Mind-Reading Skills. Also available on CD or cassette for $9.99. Just send your cheques or postal orders to P.O. Box 12155 now and receive a free limited edition “Tips and Tools™ Spatula Holder”!
By Dr. Grac “Doc” Chang; MD, PhD, MBBS, PESS, DKNY, FYI, ETC.
Tool One : The Obligatory Question
Everyone has one. When I talk to someone, I always ask them their Obligatory Question. Sometimes it’s the same question for a few people; but everyone is special, so they have their own unique question. Obligatory Questions range from “Had dinner yet?” for acquaintances/colleagues to “How’s life?” and “Are you wearing underwear?” for closer friends.
~ Deidi’s is “Are you drunk/high?” Be it while we’re on the phone, online or meeting face-to-face, I have to ask her this because she behaves like a tipsy bimbo at the best of times. Plus, she’s actually a pretty heavy drinker. And I’m talking margaritas in the afternoon. Tsk. Oh heck, who’m I kidding. I had margaritas for lunch during a mission trip when we were supposed to be tracting, for crying out loud.
~ During her stint as a girlfriend back in ‘Nam with ‘Charlie’, “Pregnant yet?” seemed to be the world’s best contraceptive. Well, not really… but at least it was a good reminder to make frequent trips down to th’ pharmacy. For pregnancy test kits as well as condoms.
~ “Still a virgin?” no longer applies to my first two clients-slash-best-friends, so th’ dubious honor of this Obligatory Question goes to the Eternal Virgin Mel ‘Tight Flower’ Sim (crosses both fingers in the ‘Tight Flower’ Signal) It’s a little weird how ‘still a virgin?’ passed down so quickly from one client to another like hand-me-down cloth diapers. I’d worry if I were you, Tight Flower.
~ It used to be “What are you actually studying, ha?” for Ange. A question that I still cannot answer up till now even though she’s been working for a year or so. Nowadays its more of- “What do you work as, ha?” Some computer thing, I’m told- but I’m not too sure what. I doubt she knows either.
~ There’s the all-famous “Are you PMSing?” for Bri and occasionally, Keith- who has the worst b*tchfits for someone without ovaries.
For me, the Obligatory Question I seem to be asked by one and all is: “Guess what?” Which brings me to our second tool- how to counteract the dreaded ‘Guessing Game’.
Tool Two : The Worst-Case Scenario (WCS)
It can take the form of either a monologue or dialogue.
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sputter. “Wha-? No! I just got a promotion, you ass! What were you thinking?!”
You see how it works? The trick is to tailor your worst case scenarios according to th’ client/friend. If your WCS is vile enough, they’ll give up at the guessing game fairly quickly.
~ Red
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.”
Sighs exaggeratedly, “No.”
“Space aliens abducted you and probed your orifices.”
“Dude.”
“Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa are being held captive by orifice-probing space aliens.”
“Dude.”
“Scully broke up with Mulder and declared her undying love for Krychek.”
“Dude!” Pause. “Metaphorically? Yeah.” She sighs.
Long night. I should really start charging for consultation.
(Send your postal order and cheque to P.O. Box 12155 for a 2-disc set of “Tool #247- The Metaphor Game”)
~ Deidi
“Guess what?” she giggles.
And I am reminded once again to ask, “Are you drunk?” before progressing further in WCS.
“Nooo-ooo...” she sing-songs.
“Are you pregnant?”
“No.” More giggles.
“You did the naughty with a total stranger?”
Giggling. (Beware the future that is Malaysia’s legal system when Deidre starts representing people in court. Hair-twirling and girly giggling abound!)
“You snogged a total stranger?”
“I know him, okay?” A little exasperation in her tone amidst the giggling now.
“And were you drunk then?”
“Maybe.” Let’s just assume that she’s giggling all the way throughout this conversation, okay?
“You aren’t supposed to drink. It’s bad for the baby.”
“Grace!”
~ Keith
“Guess what?”
“You’re pregnant.” (Tip: It works for all genders.)
“Whuthfck?”
“You knocked someone up and she’s pregnant.”
“No!”
“I’m tellin’ ya- she’s pregnant, and her father’s gonna come stick a shotgun in your mouth and force you to marry her. But what you don’t know is that she’s pregnant with some orfice-probing space alien’s kid and it’s gonna come bursting out her tummy and eat you both alive.”
Silence. “I was going to tell ya that I found your Babylon 5 DVD, but you can forget it now.”
(Tip: Try not to go too far out and piss them off in the process.)
~ Mel
“Guess what?”
“You went out with him.”
“N- hey! How did you know?”
My finely honed psychic powers. “You told me yesterday.”
“Oh… yeah.”
Disclaimer: I am not obsessed with baby making and/or naughty space alien loving despite evidence to the contrary. I’m not, I tell you…
Next week on ‘Tips and Tools™’: How To Hone Those Nifty Mind-Reading Skills. Also available on CD or cassette for $9.99. Just send your cheques or postal orders to P.O. Box 12155 now and receive a free limited edition “Tips and Tools™ Spatula Holder”!
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
Big D-U-H
Huh. Here's another thing I didn't know about meself.
Gacked from Krystle's site. Thanks.
Your #1 Match: INFP |
| The Idealist You are creative with a great imagination, living in your own inner world.Open minded and accepting, you strive for harmony in your important relationships.It takes a long time for people to get to know you. You are hesitant to let people get close.But once you care for someone, you do everything you can to help them grow and develop. You would make an excellent writer, psychologist, or artist. |
Your #2 Match: ENFP |
| The Inspirer You love being around people, and you are deeply committed to your friends.You are also unconventional, irreverant, and unimpressed by authority and rules.Incredibly perceptive, you can usually sense if someone has hidden motives.You use lots of colorful language and expressions. You're qutie the storyteller! You would make an excellent entrepreneur, politician, or journalist. |
Your #3 Match: INTP |
| The Thinker You are analytical and logical - and on a quest to learn everything you can.Smart and complex, you always love a new intellectual challenge.Your biggest pet peeve is people who slow you down with trivial chit chat.A quiet maverick, you tend to ignore rules and authority whenever you feel like it. You would make an excellent mathematician, programmer, or professor. |
Gacked from Krystle's site. Thanks.
| Your Dominant Intelligence is Linguistic Intelligence |
 You would make a fantastic poet, journalist, writer, teacher, lawyer, politician, or translator. |
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