we can get them

for you wholesale

schweet.

#09

Saturday, November 26, 2005

Moved.

Please direct your attentions here.

en at 1:44 am

|

Sunday, October 02, 2005

Signs That You're Gaming Too Much

1. You view university facilities as a means of gaming

2. You use university facilities for gaming.

3. You use university facilities for gaming on a daily basis.

4. You leave university past midnight due to gaming.

5. You stagger out of university dreary-eyed at 3 in the morning because someone wanted their character's sword upgrade at melee level 15, just to discover that it looks just like their regular sword.

6. You stagger out of university at an incredulous 3 in the morning also because you wanted to see your own axe upgrade at melee level 15 and also realise it looks just like your regular axe, albeit prettier.

7. You stagger out of university at 3 in the morning after an entire day of classes because everyone decided they might as well finish the game after progressing so far.

8. Your friend realises he has to wake up at 9 the same morning only after 6 hours of non-stop gaming.

9. Your friend realises he has to wake up at 9 the same morning to participate in a World of Warcraft raid.

10. You continuing associating with such people.

[EDIT]
11. (kudos to tinkertailor) You blog about gaming.

12. You discover that the 1cm-thick WOW manual isn't comprehensive.

13. When instead of gaming as much, you blog about gaming and read comments on your post about gaming - during midterm week.

14. You update your post about gaming too much.

en at 9:23 pm

|

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Well. I needed that.

When you have both academic mediocrity and a oddly resilient, hugely deluded sense of complacency, disaster is quite inevitable.

Having bombed my first test with spectacular indignity and stomach-churning bafflement, I see reality has finally turned around and smacked me upside the head. Needless to say, the feeling is highly unpleasant and mildly nauseating. Nothing leaves as much a tangible impression as failure when it kicks you in the teeth.

And... On a lighter note, the use of live-action blended with computer-animation is an old trick. In old games like my more-recently-sampled Phantasmagoria, one could obviously tell where the actors and props were and where dotty, plastic virtual reality begun.



Not that it was any less fun, of course. If anything, the blatant artificality and all the effort it implied was charming on it's own.

Live-action game production, as you may have guessed, was short-lived. Focus was shifted to glorious life-like freewheeling CGI. Although the charm still persists.

Like the teaser videos for the upcoming Marvel Nemesis game. It was like being a kid in a comics store. "Hey! New superheroes! Coooool...". New backstories and (sorta new) powers and back-to-basics film-noir-style storytelling!



Distractions, distractions...

en at 2:06 pm

|

Tuesday, September 20, 2005

Loose Change

Considering I'm 5 weeks into term in my first spankin' year as a university undergraduate, it occurs to me that I should say a few words of some importance - what importance precisely, I cannot fantom - pertaining to my current state and the events leading up to now. This occurance of thought is no doubt related to the homework I have sitting across from me, staring at me in that incriminating beady way homework tends to do.

Nothing is more compelling a muse than the other um, thing you have to get doing at that very instant.

To a university-bound candidate, I say, university isn't all that different. The food doesn't get all that much better and the prices are less forgiving. You also tend to walk alot more to get to where you want to eat. More people are putting in the effort getting into that whole 'Adult' phase. Others have either given up or do not bother very much. I personally applaud the attempt, although it sometimes looks just plain silly.

University is also the place where, walking through Campus Green this morning, totally without the influence of any drug whatsoever, I discover someone had left their giant dried rotting cherries and bleached sinister-looking giant polyps on the Green.

And their giant metal killer skewer sculpture, but that's not so bad.

I propose someone with a proper camera take pictures before they're removed by mass protest or burned to the ground. My phone-camera does no justice to the horror.

And I suppose this bad-dream-manifested-artwork speaks of some meaningful insight into University Life. The only thing I can think of is that things are alot looser - for better or worse. Your principal might make your school a whole lot uglier by building unncessary attachments, but your university can get alot more gross by appearing to grow some new ghastly pale appendages in the name of Art. You could walk into class an hour and a half late. Your professor could also decide to take away your entire class participation grade because the coffee you fetched for him wasn't blended with low-fat soya-milk and had the wrong flavouring.


We few, we happy few, we band of buggered...

en at 10:47 am

|

Monday, September 19, 2005

That girl.

I'm the girl who could resist a meme. Who didn't for this one.

I'm the girl you were too afraid to get near because she was too tall, too fierce, too weird, too laconic, too deep, too smart, too dim, too slow, too artsy, too quiet, too invisible.

I'm the girl who split a cohort of teaching staff in unspoken controversy, even if only for a forgotten passing moment.

I'm the girl who watched you sleep less than ten arm lengths afar and felt a pillar driven through the chest. Who then sought comfort in the prickle of twilight and the blankness of the night. Who then sought comfort in various other things and places within and out of one's head. Who still continues looking.

I'm the girl all of you could only describe as "creative" and "a good draw-er" because that was all I was to you.

I'm the girl who stared conventional wisdom in the face, writhed in actual agony before the open webpage and rejected Law minutes before the deadline. Who still wonders.

I'm the girl who drank so much canteen kopi and starbucks in a stretch, that her head nearly split open and what was left of her lunch threatened a hasty evacuation the long way home from Marine Parade.

I'm the girl who fell asleep on the bus after school and woke up, feeling an instant passed, but riding on the opposite side of the road.

I'm the girl who never kept a best friend. And still hasn't. Who believes that maybe such people belong in the fictional character category.

I'm the girl who has killed every aquatic animal she has ever owned, except the turtle. Who has killed salamanders as well. And then brought cats home without anyone's permission.

I'm the girl who used to hardly cry. Who cried in front of two teachers, consecutively. And then ran off to the toilet to finish up.

I'm the girl who couldn't quite insert the joss sticks properly at your mom's funeral. Who almost burnt her hand while making a total ass of herself. Who knew that it was going to happen.

I'm the girl who really doesn't like chocolate all that much.

I'm the girl who laughed because it was so absurdly wrong. Who was misunderstood because you thought I really was laughing at you. Who got so mad because you thought so wrong.

I'm the girl who left for school and then scrambled back because she heard one of her cats was hurt.

I'm the girl who gave 10 dollars to a complete stranger because she asked for it.

I'm the girl who probably knows way more Star Trek and Star Wars trivia than any girl in her age group and country. Who feels like a little boy when she reads about a new computer game coming up entitled Marvel Nemesis: Rise of the Imperfects. Who grew up playing with GI Joes and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

I'm the girl who was 18 when you tried to teach to ride a bike. Who failed. Who cried like a silly baby who takes most things too seriously and some things too little.

I'm the girl who is afraid she'd end up like her parents.

I'm the girl with a kitten's claw marks on her arm, four scratches arranged in a circular paw. Who still feels sad everytime a kitten dies, even though it's been way past the thirteenth one.

I'm the girl who blogs to show herself that she can write. Who doesn't blog enough to ever convince herself.

So, who're you?

en at 2:31 am

|

Thursday, August 25, 2005

Euphemism

Today I got word that a friend's mom had passed away. To be exact, the message I remember hearing over the phone was truncated to simply "[she] passed this morning". To the ever-versatile and very economical Singlish speaker, this makes complete sense. In retrospect, it draws attention to itself.

You have passed away or passed on or departed (as though Life were nothing but an unavoidable, alas mildly unpleasant stuffy stopover at some soon-forgotten airport terminal). Like an exhalation, a sigh, an expulsion, we are gone, off into far country like a somebody's second thought. Or the relaxing of a tense muscle; a gentle crossing over still waters into green pastures under a clear blue sky

Quite the peaceful transition, it seems.

After all, we would like to see our loved ones going gently into that good night, not futilely raging against the dying of the light. Now that's not a pretty sight: being dragged kicking and screaming out the door, or whacked across the head and dragged across the room, or drugged beyond comprehension and taken for a one-way ride. Or self-combustion.

Also, I notice that no one ever seems keen on leaving. No one seems to leap into that great beyond or swing away into that biggest mystery; or soar into the big unknown. There is no initiative, no gusto toward what lies ahead.

When one or , it almost implies some measure of control. After all, it is you who is the performer, who is the one in action; the change embodied. There is no mention of a greater force pulling the strings. You have passed on, as if always of your own whimsical choosing; an afterthought; a casual gesture. No one is ever taken away, or abducted by unseen powers, or kindly but firmly asked to leave the premises.

Even the simple, perhaps curt: she died. She did something, as though she took Death and wore it as a hat.

As though we hide our hopes for a final say in matters of the gravest importance.

en at 1:10 am

|

Friday, August 19, 2005

Cow me

My tongue is sore. It would appear that keeping me hungry is unwise. Having only a slice of pizza to tide me from morning till five in the afternoon, I ploughed through a big serving of hot tomato soup in a bread bowl. Now even eating bananas hurt.

Food has always been a constant in the family. And I've always eaten fast. My Grandmama recalls how when I was a kid, I ate my porridge (lovingly boiled full of meaty, carrot and fishy yumminess) without chewing enough and how I made my demands for continuous spoonfuls. I only remember the feeling, that nagging tug of impatience and hunger as I was told to chew and swallow first. My five-year old world then focused on a hovering spoon with a narrow, bewildered intensity, already questioning the wisdom of adults.

A few years back, I hit a rough patch. In my haste to get the food down, I was swallowing rice that wasn't chewed. It felt as though I was trying to ram a fist down my oesophagus. Or a freight train. I'd actually pause at the table, wheezing and spluttering in muted agony, at the mercy of rice grains.

I was warned about fish bones but anything consumed at high velocity becomes dangerous. Or at least, incredibly painful.

I'm not sure whether my chewing technique has improved or that my insides have somehow undergo miraculous overnight evolution to endure my speedy food consumption habits. I finish before everyone else (not all guys, of course, but some) and begin my study of others' eating habits; whether they insist on picking every bit of their sandwich apart using utensils or trying all the given sauces ('Dude, I think that's ginger, not garlic.')

And yes, scalded tongue. Still eating.

en at 11:04 pm

|