Thursday, November 28, 2002
Especially the ones that go off right after you've sat down, and spray your ass. Dont'cha just hate that?
What pisses you off?
Created by ptocheia
HA! Exactly! Everyone should flush their own hole. Learn, honey, learn, it's not that difficult....
chucKie
Angel In The House
Well, not my house. But a certain institution where they house our money, assets and perhaps financial policies.
I entered the cold looking building and found myself shut out from the rumbling traffic. The air was thin, cool and pleasant. Outside, the sun has begun to scorch the cyclists, drivers and pedestrians. I was fortunate to be running this particular errand when the smiling light came out to greet the cold summer spells.
The branch was particularly unique with squiggly letters as translation beneath every English sign that either says, 'Queue here' or 'Term Deposits'. I immediately recognised the foreign font to be the vietnamese language. It doesn't take a genius to gather that. After all, this is the corner of the beginning of the Richmond suburb - where the vietnamese dominate the main population. Even the only two tellers working at the front desk were of asian origin. It would be safe to assume that they're probably vietnamese or spoke fluent banking facilities vietnamese translations. Is there a proper term for the language instead of calling it just 'vietnamese language'? It's like Tagalog for the Phillippines and Mandarin for China and, well, English for Australia.
The position in front of me was soon vacated ...
"Hi, Howayiuw?"
"I'm good, thanks. Howryu?"
"I'm very well today, thanks for asking..." I smile, she smiled, as she processed the cheque I handed her.
And next to me ...
"Mr Smith, Howaryiuw todaiee?"
"I'm awrighd, could be betta, could be in bahamas havina drink, relaxin ..."
"Ah, you're doin awright..."
The pretty, shoulder length haired asian girl finished banking in my cheque, stamped my receipt, tore it along the perforation and handed me the customer copy ...
"Thanks, Charles ..." and smiled the sweetest smile I thought would have made her an instant angel.
It's one thing to have cheery smiling aussies. You get that everyday and you assume that every white being is nice, polite and easy going. It's quite another to have pretty smiling asians with perfect features, polite and confident.
And get this, the countenance on her petit face was sugar sweet and 100% fat free, if you know what I mean.
I took my receipt, slipped it into my wallet, smiled a big "Thanks!", turned out towards the door, with one hand pulling down my shades and the other pushing out the door in the suave way every confident, single male species would.
now, where did my heart melt to? *bending low, looking under the fridge*
chucKie
Well, not my house. But a certain institution where they house our money, assets and perhaps financial policies.
I entered the cold looking building and found myself shut out from the rumbling traffic. The air was thin, cool and pleasant. Outside, the sun has begun to scorch the cyclists, drivers and pedestrians. I was fortunate to be running this particular errand when the smiling light came out to greet the cold summer spells.
The branch was particularly unique with squiggly letters as translation beneath every English sign that either says, 'Queue here' or 'Term Deposits'. I immediately recognised the foreign font to be the vietnamese language. It doesn't take a genius to gather that. After all, this is the corner of the beginning of the Richmond suburb - where the vietnamese dominate the main population. Even the only two tellers working at the front desk were of asian origin. It would be safe to assume that they're probably vietnamese or spoke fluent banking facilities vietnamese translations. Is there a proper term for the language instead of calling it just 'vietnamese language'? It's like Tagalog for the Phillippines and Mandarin for China and, well, English for Australia.
The position in front of me was soon vacated ...
"Hi, Howayiuw?"
"I'm good, thanks. Howryu?"
"I'm very well today, thanks for asking..." I smile, she smiled, as she processed the cheque I handed her.
And next to me ...
"Mr Smith, Howaryiuw todaiee?"
"I'm awrighd, could be betta, could be in bahamas havina drink, relaxin ..."
"Ah, you're doin awright..."
The pretty, shoulder length haired asian girl finished banking in my cheque, stamped my receipt, tore it along the perforation and handed me the customer copy ...
"Thanks, Charles ..." and smiled the sweetest smile I thought would have made her an instant angel.
It's one thing to have cheery smiling aussies. You get that everyday and you assume that every white being is nice, polite and easy going. It's quite another to have pretty smiling asians with perfect features, polite and confident.
And get this, the countenance on her petit face was sugar sweet and 100% fat free, if you know what I mean.
I took my receipt, slipped it into my wallet, smiled a big "Thanks!", turned out towards the door, with one hand pulling down my shades and the other pushing out the door in the suave way every confident, single male species would.
now, where did my heart melt to? *bending low, looking under the fridge*
chucKie
Saturday, November 23, 2002
Call of Duty
Woke up on Friday morning to an australian accent over the other side of the phone. My superior called me in the morning to check if I was free this weekend. In my comatose state, I was able to remember the Killing Heidi appointment on Saturday night. So, that was out. That leaves Friday, which I was supposed to have dinner with some friends to catch up with, particularly Miriam. But on our way to her place, she rang and told us she had to cancel due to work fatigue. Just as well, cos I was required at work.
The guy who was supposed to work met with an accident the night before. He's fine but just too mentally damaged to work so I was called in. So after a brief dinner with Saz & EG, I left for work
Went to the function all dressed up. Suit, tie, the lot. My AM set up the gig for me in the arvo and all I had to do was show up at 8.30pm and deal with the playlist and pack up after.
The set was fairly alright for a virgin suicide. Yes, it is virgin cos it's my first night. It's suicide cos I just got activated that morning. My debut was to be at the end of the month. So there I was, scrambling for JLo's Let's Get Loud and a million other requests. It's one thing to be working with someone and another to be spinning all on my own. This was the first time I saw the dedicated music set the company had catalogued for me and I had only 30 mins to familiarize myself with it. Tried to scribble a bit of a plan for a list but time was not on my side. So, decided to just play by ear.
And boy, was that a bad idea.
I moved from Paul Mac, Kylie style aussie dance set lists to a complete dive into the classics of YMCA and ABBA of the golden years to R&B, Hip Hop of Destiny's Child and Lady Marmalade. I was doing very good in the first hour till I screwed up with an ABBA Waterloo skipping track. As if it wasn't bad enough, frequent requests made my head spin. At that point, a pretty girl came up to me to ask for Belinda Carlise. I was shocked to hear that from a 16 year old. But at the same time intrigued by her sweet smile and flawless face of an angel, I didn't know how to say no. Cos the truth was, my answer was a definite NO. Not that I hated Belinda Carlise. Hang on, wait, I kinda do. Cos she reminds me of my bad dress sense days of the embarrassing vest doning 80s. Anyway, back to this angel. Truth be known, I was sure I didn't have any BC in my music set. So I gave a nice, "I don't think we have it, but I'll play it if I find it." That was so lame. I was sure she saw through the politically correct well rehearsed line of defence. Still she smiled and thanked me and left the console.
Then Waterloo ended. Just like that. *snaps fingers* That short lived 2 minute of a song just ended as the angel disappeared from my sight. *shaking my fist and shouting in my head, speedy gonzalez!!!*
And there I was faced with the silence and the staring crowd waiting for this dumb green horn DJ to keep their butts and feet moving. I literally did an ostrich thing - bent my head down low and half hiding my face from the crowd to fiddle with the play button and fader. I wasn't just doing it to hide tho, cos I really needed to bend to look at the black buttons that were already in the dark, cos it's a dance thing honey! No one dances to bright flourescent flood lights. Think dark smokey rooms. Mirror balls. Blinding flashing traffic lights put on caffeine overdose. You get the idea. So the console I was working on was literally a dark room. Plus, the small lights fixed on the console wasn't working.
The last 30 minutes was like a high school crash course revision of all genres and time zones. I went from one R&B song to a classic track to a Kylie groove and back to an R&B jiggy followed by another latino pop sensation .... and eventually ending off with Tina Turner's nutbush. Goddness gracious me, they must have all gone for classes on this or something cos everyone on the dance floor and I mean, everyone was totally in absolute sync - line dancing! It was quite a sight. No wonder they kepy bugging me to play nutbush even tho I dangled Elvis and Roy Orbison in place of Tina's song. Actually I couldn't find nutbush so I had to put on two oldies to buy time.
My CDs were sprawled everywhere and I was also quite spaced out by the last hour. There was a point where I had the CDs placed wrongly into wrong jewel cases and had to figure out which is which. For your info, some of these were burned compilatiions, so they look identical!
And oh. This had to be the classic line of the night. Some lanky half drunk high school kid came up to me with a mug of beer in hand told me this - I'm a DJ myself too. Let me give you a tip. Maybe you should fade in the next song before the previous song finishes. I leave you to decided how I felt at that moment.
Then, the night ended with no dramas. As if.
After packing up two boxes worth of leads and cables, I realised I was pumping the sound from not one, not two, but 4 speakers. 4 humonguous speakers! Each half my body size and 3/4 my weight. Then there's the console almost double the size of the speakers, there's the two heavy heavy heavy and did I say heavy amps and one huge box of CDs and another of tapes. And not forgetting the large traffic lights (yes, they are as big) recovering from a night of flashing and stands and cable boxes and nice little accessories.
One man show. One man pack up. One man manouvre. And I had to do it in my suit. Well, half of that. Cos by the time I got down to moving the big speakers, all the paying guests were gone and I could pull out my tie and leave my jacket in the van. As Chris always said, the gym sessions paid off eh?
As I was loading up the van at the back alley, I heard surreal "Thank You" cutting through the thin cold air seeming to be catapulted in my direction. I looked up and across the carpark was a smiling middle aged lady waving to me as she was walking away towards her car. Must be one of the teachers. I smiled back and with whatever energy I had left, I gave a last final burst of "Cheers! Enjoy the rest of the night!"
God, I'm beat!
chucKie
Woke up on Friday morning to an australian accent over the other side of the phone. My superior called me in the morning to check if I was free this weekend. In my comatose state, I was able to remember the Killing Heidi appointment on Saturday night. So, that was out. That leaves Friday, which I was supposed to have dinner with some friends to catch up with, particularly Miriam. But on our way to her place, she rang and told us she had to cancel due to work fatigue. Just as well, cos I was required at work.
The guy who was supposed to work met with an accident the night before. He's fine but just too mentally damaged to work so I was called in. So after a brief dinner with Saz & EG, I left for work
Went to the function all dressed up. Suit, tie, the lot. My AM set up the gig for me in the arvo and all I had to do was show up at 8.30pm and deal with the playlist and pack up after.
The set was fairly alright for a virgin suicide. Yes, it is virgin cos it's my first night. It's suicide cos I just got activated that morning. My debut was to be at the end of the month. So there I was, scrambling for JLo's Let's Get Loud and a million other requests. It's one thing to be working with someone and another to be spinning all on my own. This was the first time I saw the dedicated music set the company had catalogued for me and I had only 30 mins to familiarize myself with it. Tried to scribble a bit of a plan for a list but time was not on my side. So, decided to just play by ear.
And boy, was that a bad idea.
I moved from Paul Mac, Kylie style aussie dance set lists to a complete dive into the classics of YMCA and ABBA of the golden years to R&B, Hip Hop of Destiny's Child and Lady Marmalade. I was doing very good in the first hour till I screwed up with an ABBA Waterloo skipping track. As if it wasn't bad enough, frequent requests made my head spin. At that point, a pretty girl came up to me to ask for Belinda Carlise. I was shocked to hear that from a 16 year old. But at the same time intrigued by her sweet smile and flawless face of an angel, I didn't know how to say no. Cos the truth was, my answer was a definite NO. Not that I hated Belinda Carlise. Hang on, wait, I kinda do. Cos she reminds me of my bad dress sense days of the embarrassing vest doning 80s. Anyway, back to this angel. Truth be known, I was sure I didn't have any BC in my music set. So I gave a nice, "I don't think we have it, but I'll play it if I find it." That was so lame. I was sure she saw through the politically correct well rehearsed line of defence. Still she smiled and thanked me and left the console.
Then Waterloo ended. Just like that. *snaps fingers* That short lived 2 minute of a song just ended as the angel disappeared from my sight. *shaking my fist and shouting in my head, speedy gonzalez!!!*
And there I was faced with the silence and the staring crowd waiting for this dumb green horn DJ to keep their butts and feet moving. I literally did an ostrich thing - bent my head down low and half hiding my face from the crowd to fiddle with the play button and fader. I wasn't just doing it to hide tho, cos I really needed to bend to look at the black buttons that were already in the dark, cos it's a dance thing honey! No one dances to bright flourescent flood lights. Think dark smokey rooms. Mirror balls. Blinding flashing traffic lights put on caffeine overdose. You get the idea. So the console I was working on was literally a dark room. Plus, the small lights fixed on the console wasn't working.
The last 30 minutes was like a high school crash course revision of all genres and time zones. I went from one R&B song to a classic track to a Kylie groove and back to an R&B jiggy followed by another latino pop sensation .... and eventually ending off with Tina Turner's nutbush. Goddness gracious me, they must have all gone for classes on this or something cos everyone on the dance floor and I mean, everyone was totally in absolute sync - line dancing! It was quite a sight. No wonder they kepy bugging me to play nutbush even tho I dangled Elvis and Roy Orbison in place of Tina's song. Actually I couldn't find nutbush so I had to put on two oldies to buy time.
My CDs were sprawled everywhere and I was also quite spaced out by the last hour. There was a point where I had the CDs placed wrongly into wrong jewel cases and had to figure out which is which. For your info, some of these were burned compilatiions, so they look identical!
And oh. This had to be the classic line of the night. Some lanky half drunk high school kid came up to me with a mug of beer in hand told me this - I'm a DJ myself too. Let me give you a tip. Maybe you should fade in the next song before the previous song finishes. I leave you to decided how I felt at that moment.
Then, the night ended with no dramas. As if.
After packing up two boxes worth of leads and cables, I realised I was pumping the sound from not one, not two, but 4 speakers. 4 humonguous speakers! Each half my body size and 3/4 my weight. Then there's the console almost double the size of the speakers, there's the two heavy heavy heavy and did I say heavy amps and one huge box of CDs and another of tapes. And not forgetting the large traffic lights (yes, they are as big) recovering from a night of flashing and stands and cable boxes and nice little accessories.
One man show. One man pack up. One man manouvre. And I had to do it in my suit. Well, half of that. Cos by the time I got down to moving the big speakers, all the paying guests were gone and I could pull out my tie and leave my jacket in the van. As Chris always said, the gym sessions paid off eh?
As I was loading up the van at the back alley, I heard surreal "Thank You" cutting through the thin cold air seeming to be catapulted in my direction. I looked up and across the carpark was a smiling middle aged lady waving to me as she was walking away towards her car. Must be one of the teachers. I smiled back and with whatever energy I had left, I gave a last final burst of "Cheers! Enjoy the rest of the night!"
God, I'm beat!
chucKie
Friday, November 22, 2002
Can't get you outta my head...
Now that I started singing the AAMI ad jingle ("Lucky, you're with AAMI..."), I can't stop singing it. Argh, Must replace!
Sarah better wake up. Sang the jingle to her three times. Maybe that's why it's stuck in my head.
good morning, ya'll!
chucKie
Now that I started singing the AAMI ad jingle ("Lucky, you're with AAMI..."), I can't stop singing it. Argh, Must replace!
Sarah better wake up. Sang the jingle to her three times. Maybe that's why it's stuck in my head.
good morning, ya'll!
chucKie
Disfunctionality
We're all broken in some sense, aren't we? Some of us see it, some of us don't. Some of us see it in others and some of us are blind. Some of us use that to color our perfect visions but some of us take that as our right to donate to charity by calling the presidential all-star-celebrity charity show toll free number.
We've all been in denial before. Some of us take a while to notice the cracks forming on the edges of our faces. Some of us live through those cracks afraid to face it squarely. Some of us freak out at the realization. Some of us go into therapy hoping for the light at the end of the tunnel to arrive soon.
I'm a patient myself in my own right. I couldn't stand being alone and now I couldn't stand being with too many in the crowd. Both ends of the pole, there's danger. But the flip side of each coin is the truth of a certain strength embossed into the palm of my hand. A strength to know and make sense of why I am like this. A paradigm revolution. I don't think you get it. You have to be here to know what I'm talking about. Truth is, I don't even know if you'll arrive.
And there are the nurses, the would be doctors and bomoh miracle healers who come into the tent with the little black books. I find these faces pretty familiar because I've seen the enactment played out in full glory before. And some of these characters, sadly, were part of my repetoire as well.
What I don't get is why some of the patients don't think about themselves? They are eloquent, smart, fluent in the ideologies of difficult jargons but fail at the simple small things of life we are called to be faithful in. When we're consistent in the small little chores, we'll be more in tune with the bigger grace of the outside. They are quick to correct. They are even faster in defence technology. They choose to listen to sweet things that appeal. They ignore and judge the ones who gently glaze their wounds with wisdom. How I wish Proverbs were a virtue easily understood. But maybe this is the part where some of the chaff falls outside the good fallow ground.
Faced with such adversarial attitudes, do I leave them to their own devices or try to save them with my own hands? I better trust in the greater good of the sovereign and leave it behind. It aches to see the waste and mud piling high. But it hurts even more to be slashed with unrequited love and outright resistance.
So, here I go, closing the door for the last time. You go figure it out. I've no more credibility left.
chucKie
We're all broken in some sense, aren't we? Some of us see it, some of us don't. Some of us see it in others and some of us are blind. Some of us use that to color our perfect visions but some of us take that as our right to donate to charity by calling the presidential all-star-celebrity charity show toll free number.
We've all been in denial before. Some of us take a while to notice the cracks forming on the edges of our faces. Some of us live through those cracks afraid to face it squarely. Some of us freak out at the realization. Some of us go into therapy hoping for the light at the end of the tunnel to arrive soon.
I'm a patient myself in my own right. I couldn't stand being alone and now I couldn't stand being with too many in the crowd. Both ends of the pole, there's danger. But the flip side of each coin is the truth of a certain strength embossed into the palm of my hand. A strength to know and make sense of why I am like this. A paradigm revolution. I don't think you get it. You have to be here to know what I'm talking about. Truth is, I don't even know if you'll arrive.
And there are the nurses, the would be doctors and bomoh miracle healers who come into the tent with the little black books. I find these faces pretty familiar because I've seen the enactment played out in full glory before. And some of these characters, sadly, were part of my repetoire as well.
What I don't get is why some of the patients don't think about themselves? They are eloquent, smart, fluent in the ideologies of difficult jargons but fail at the simple small things of life we are called to be faithful in. When we're consistent in the small little chores, we'll be more in tune with the bigger grace of the outside. They are quick to correct. They are even faster in defence technology. They choose to listen to sweet things that appeal. They ignore and judge the ones who gently glaze their wounds with wisdom. How I wish Proverbs were a virtue easily understood. But maybe this is the part where some of the chaff falls outside the good fallow ground.
Faced with such adversarial attitudes, do I leave them to their own devices or try to save them with my own hands? I better trust in the greater good of the sovereign and leave it behind. It aches to see the waste and mud piling high. But it hurts even more to be slashed with unrequited love and outright resistance.
So, here I go, closing the door for the last time. You go figure it out. I've no more credibility left.
chucKie
Monday, November 18, 2002
His Sense of Humor
Some think He's overrated. Some can't quite figure him out. Some leave in frustration. I just think he likes to have a bita fun with his kids somedays. Like today. It was my turn.
Woke up ... hang on, ... Was up till 6am. Had my supper of pasta at 5.30am. Sleepless bugs biting at the edges of my toes again. Gave up and decided to just settle for a night without rest. I watched as the sun rose at 5.58am while I finished the last speck of penne. Three more hours to the sale of the third Pearl Jam concert. Sarah alerted me to the new show and I was so up to it not to screw it up again this time. I've been waking late late late for the past weeks and when the ticket sales went online, the two shows were sold out within 20 minutes or so into the opening of the online box office! The last time something like that happened was Counting Crows in San Francisco - tickets sell out in 45 mins.
I wonder what would happen if Kurt Cobain was still touring with Nirvana.
But this is Pearl Jam. The one surviving Seattle grunge that did not give way to drugs, guns and other destructive elements of rock and roll. Or so I've been told by the current issue of Rolling Stone, Australia. So there I was on the couch feeling sleepy again. Refused to get back to my room to hit the sack because somehow I knew that if I did, I would drift into utter unconsciousness and wake from a coma many hours later. And three wasn't many enough for me. So I wanted to stay up and stick it out. But the flesh is weak so I went back to bed, pulled the quilt over me and immediately snoozed. The alarm went off at 8.30am but my gut reaction simply turned it off and went back to my sweet pillow and warm fields of gold.
12.40pm. This is not funny. Did he really not want me to go? It's Pearl Jam for crying out loud! This is the third time I've missed the boat.
Went online and searched for tickets and the darn office didn't allow more than two tickets to be bought for the floor section. It was ridiculous and I settled for the seats instead. Called up ticketek and found out that the seats that came up online were good seats: H 233 and 234. 8 rows from the first row of seats directly facing the stage, right in the middle of the row. What more could I want? Great. But wait. Panic, phone calls and trigger happy clicking landed me with this message: Time Out. Your offer has expired. Please refresh and try again. Argh! I swore I could have wrung off some beanstalk with my pinky alone. Don't ask me why the beanstalk. This is not happening!
I did the instructed and this time the seats I got was row T - that's 20 rows from the front!!! The angels must have tumbled off their harps.
But I was street wise, didn't I say? I called up ticketek again and spoke to a nice lady asking for good seats: meaning directly facing the stage, as near as possible. "Ah, how about J then?" Ok, J... G, H, I, J, K .... good good. That's good. 10 rows behind now. "Your seats would be Row J 233 and 234. I just need to grab your credit details and address and we'll have them to you in 3 days".
Very funny huh?
At least I know I will be safe from the mosh pit sitting down in my comfort. Hmm. How about some bootleg?
it's all good
chucKie
Some think He's overrated. Some can't quite figure him out. Some leave in frustration. I just think he likes to have a bita fun with his kids somedays. Like today. It was my turn.
Woke up ... hang on, ... Was up till 6am. Had my supper of pasta at 5.30am. Sleepless bugs biting at the edges of my toes again. Gave up and decided to just settle for a night without rest. I watched as the sun rose at 5.58am while I finished the last speck of penne. Three more hours to the sale of the third Pearl Jam concert. Sarah alerted me to the new show and I was so up to it not to screw it up again this time. I've been waking late late late for the past weeks and when the ticket sales went online, the two shows were sold out within 20 minutes or so into the opening of the online box office! The last time something like that happened was Counting Crows in San Francisco - tickets sell out in 45 mins.
I wonder what would happen if Kurt Cobain was still touring with Nirvana.
But this is Pearl Jam. The one surviving Seattle grunge that did not give way to drugs, guns and other destructive elements of rock and roll. Or so I've been told by the current issue of Rolling Stone, Australia. So there I was on the couch feeling sleepy again. Refused to get back to my room to hit the sack because somehow I knew that if I did, I would drift into utter unconsciousness and wake from a coma many hours later. And three wasn't many enough for me. So I wanted to stay up and stick it out. But the flesh is weak so I went back to bed, pulled the quilt over me and immediately snoozed. The alarm went off at 8.30am but my gut reaction simply turned it off and went back to my sweet pillow and warm fields of gold.
12.40pm. This is not funny. Did he really not want me to go? It's Pearl Jam for crying out loud! This is the third time I've missed the boat.
Went online and searched for tickets and the darn office didn't allow more than two tickets to be bought for the floor section. It was ridiculous and I settled for the seats instead. Called up ticketek and found out that the seats that came up online were good seats: H 233 and 234. 8 rows from the first row of seats directly facing the stage, right in the middle of the row. What more could I want? Great. But wait. Panic, phone calls and trigger happy clicking landed me with this message: Time Out. Your offer has expired. Please refresh and try again. Argh! I swore I could have wrung off some beanstalk with my pinky alone. Don't ask me why the beanstalk. This is not happening!
I did the instructed and this time the seats I got was row T - that's 20 rows from the front!!! The angels must have tumbled off their harps.
But I was street wise, didn't I say? I called up ticketek again and spoke to a nice lady asking for good seats: meaning directly facing the stage, as near as possible. "Ah, how about J then?" Ok, J... G, H, I, J, K .... good good. That's good. 10 rows behind now. "Your seats would be Row J 233 and 234. I just need to grab your credit details and address and we'll have them to you in 3 days".
Very funny huh?
At least I know I will be safe from the mosh pit sitting down in my comfort. Hmm. How about some bootleg?
it's all good
chucKie
Sunday, November 17, 2002
Last night in between sets and playlists, a certain conversation dominated the dinner table...
Me: Well, I've only been here for like 2 years or so.
Adam: Wow, then where did you learn your English?
Me: ... er, ... in... Singapore?
Adam: Oh.
Me: ... It's actually our first language...
Adam: Then what's the second language?
Me: It'd usually be your mother tongue.
Adam: Well, not mine...
Me: Yeah, of course not, your mother tongue would be aussie...
Adam: Yeah...
dude!
chucKie
Me: Well, I've only been here for like 2 years or so.
Adam: Wow, then where did you learn your English?
Me: ... er, ... in... Singapore?
Adam: Oh.
Me: ... It's actually our first language...
Adam: Then what's the second language?
Me: It'd usually be your mother tongue.
Adam: Well, not mine...
Me: Yeah, of course not, your mother tongue would be aussie...
Adam: Yeah...
dude!
chucKie
Saturday, November 16, 2002
Millions of Pieces
Someday I'm going to put this title into a song. But right now, I am in the midst of that millionth time thinking about what to write about. Thinking about a lot of things for the blog, for the online fire to spread, for the next 5 year plan. And of course the immediate. Time slips and it doesn't stop doing so. Every minute I'm in the gym, I am dreaming up some idea, some song, some storyboard for a possible release. Every minute on the thinking seat, I dream about repentance and definite change, a paradigm shift for the thousandth time. Every minute before I actually drift into unconsciousness, I dream about the chores of the day, the deep desires that sometimes come up to eat me, wrestle me to the ground. Maybe I should just shut down for a few days. But I think my system is just too corrupted to even attempt something like that. And the punishment of having to clean up after the boogie and mess follows.
I'm cycling on that stationary bike wishing I was somewhere else, sometimes, completely somebody else. But I wouldn't change a thing right now. Paradox or Paradise. I think I just slipped off my balance. Right foot getting distracted.
Then when I finally arrive on ground zero, things change and the commitments come welling up my nose like a rushing river of wasabi concentrate. It wakes me up but it also means I've gotta dress up, smell good, shave the face, anoint myself with thousands of oils and incense to get to the party. Then I spend the rest of the evening wishing it would be over soon so that i could get back to my little sanctuary to put up my pieces of thoughts on the wall and try to re-figure it out. That time spent sometimes wastes me away as I get back into the state of millions of thoughts bouncing against the walls of my mind in a total state of frenzy. And the next four hours become a constant back alley gang fight. With another hour after for recovery to calm me down to drift into rest. Why is rest such an arduous task? It was the easiest thing to do. Now it's the thing I wish I could do without.
How can I crush this bug without having the rest of the well wishing human race try to clinically disinfect me? Maybe I should get a dog soon for company.
time to dress up for the party...
chucKie
Someday I'm going to put this title into a song. But right now, I am in the midst of that millionth time thinking about what to write about. Thinking about a lot of things for the blog, for the online fire to spread, for the next 5 year plan. And of course the immediate. Time slips and it doesn't stop doing so. Every minute I'm in the gym, I am dreaming up some idea, some song, some storyboard for a possible release. Every minute on the thinking seat, I dream about repentance and definite change, a paradigm shift for the thousandth time. Every minute before I actually drift into unconsciousness, I dream about the chores of the day, the deep desires that sometimes come up to eat me, wrestle me to the ground. Maybe I should just shut down for a few days. But I think my system is just too corrupted to even attempt something like that. And the punishment of having to clean up after the boogie and mess follows.
I'm cycling on that stationary bike wishing I was somewhere else, sometimes, completely somebody else. But I wouldn't change a thing right now. Paradox or Paradise. I think I just slipped off my balance. Right foot getting distracted.
Then when I finally arrive on ground zero, things change and the commitments come welling up my nose like a rushing river of wasabi concentrate. It wakes me up but it also means I've gotta dress up, smell good, shave the face, anoint myself with thousands of oils and incense to get to the party. Then I spend the rest of the evening wishing it would be over soon so that i could get back to my little sanctuary to put up my pieces of thoughts on the wall and try to re-figure it out. That time spent sometimes wastes me away as I get back into the state of millions of thoughts bouncing against the walls of my mind in a total state of frenzy. And the next four hours become a constant back alley gang fight. With another hour after for recovery to calm me down to drift into rest. Why is rest such an arduous task? It was the easiest thing to do. Now it's the thing I wish I could do without.
How can I crush this bug without having the rest of the well wishing human race try to clinically disinfect me? Maybe I should get a dog soon for company.
time to dress up for the party...
chucKie
Friday, November 15, 2002
Time Space Compression
I'm beginning to feel the likes of the social disorder closing in. So many obligations and people to entertain. Sometimes I want to be alone and ignore the knocking at the door. Sometimes I just want to put on my headphones and dive into the dream world with my angels. Do you feel like that sometimes? I thoroughly enjoyed the stress of the essay crunch period knowing that the stress I felt would end at a certain time frame. Even through the birthday weekend, I know the noise, the celebrations and the virtual bright sparks would die down in a matter of time. I just needed to give it space. And when the curtain is dropped, I can turn my back and scurry away into my favourite corner and fall asleep, resting my tired eyes and sore lips.
But it's almost the end of the first week of my holidays and I am feeling the aboding blade of panic. I worry too much. Stop distracting me. I worry that I might just waste my time away. Like the many months of vacations, holidays and well stocked resources that I abused away, leaving me with nothing, coming back to square one. I worry too much. Stop distracting me. Haven't had coffee with my beloved today. Guess I need to make it up tomorrow. I feel bad. Distracted again. I know I shouldn't but all things will fall into place when the centre of my being is grounded in the maker of this uniting verse. Stop it, stop it. I want to kill that growling disturbance ...
Sacrificing, streamlining, prioritizing. Arrangements, schedules, recipes. Resolutions, decisions, contemplation. Single minded, caffeine loaded focus and tight lipped stubborness. Am I moving one level up?
waste not the dew of your youth
chucKie
I'm beginning to feel the likes of the social disorder closing in. So many obligations and people to entertain. Sometimes I want to be alone and ignore the knocking at the door. Sometimes I just want to put on my headphones and dive into the dream world with my angels. Do you feel like that sometimes? I thoroughly enjoyed the stress of the essay crunch period knowing that the stress I felt would end at a certain time frame. Even through the birthday weekend, I know the noise, the celebrations and the virtual bright sparks would die down in a matter of time. I just needed to give it space. And when the curtain is dropped, I can turn my back and scurry away into my favourite corner and fall asleep, resting my tired eyes and sore lips.
But it's almost the end of the first week of my holidays and I am feeling the aboding blade of panic. I worry too much. Stop distracting me. I worry that I might just waste my time away. Like the many months of vacations, holidays and well stocked resources that I abused away, leaving me with nothing, coming back to square one. I worry too much. Stop distracting me. Haven't had coffee with my beloved today. Guess I need to make it up tomorrow. I feel bad. Distracted again. I know I shouldn't but all things will fall into place when the centre of my being is grounded in the maker of this uniting verse. Stop it, stop it. I want to kill that growling disturbance ...
Sacrificing, streamlining, prioritizing. Arrangements, schedules, recipes. Resolutions, decisions, contemplation. Single minded, caffeine loaded focus and tight lipped stubborness. Am I moving one level up?
waste not the dew of your youth
chucKie
Monday, November 11, 2002
Virginity
Me boss just dropped a bomb on me two nights ago and today the bomb was set off by the HQ. I'll be doing my first function, aka Celine Dion-esque, All By Myself... My first function! My virgin night! My debut! My first public appearance as a real DJ! No more trainee goofy looks. No more hand waves, "not me, not me", and point to someone else, "He's da one, he's da one.", for song requests. No more getting CDs and track listing all planned and handed to me. No more readily set up console. No more of all that comfortable lean on the back and relax thing. Cos I'm ripening to a bright yellow soon. I'm going bananarrrrssssss!!!
Two weeks. 19 days. 30th November. It's like the next exam. Argh!
I'm actually pretty excited. Cos I know I will receive many many pay checks and experience many many things. Bring it on brutha!
chucKie
Me boss just dropped a bomb on me two nights ago and today the bomb was set off by the HQ. I'll be doing my first function, aka Celine Dion-esque, All By Myself... My first function! My virgin night! My debut! My first public appearance as a real DJ! No more trainee goofy looks. No more hand waves, "not me, not me", and point to someone else, "He's da one, he's da one.", for song requests. No more getting CDs and track listing all planned and handed to me. No more readily set up console. No more of all that comfortable lean on the back and relax thing. Cos I'm ripening to a bright yellow soon. I'm going bananarrrrssssss!!!
Two weeks. 19 days. 30th November. It's like the next exam. Argh!
I'm actually pretty excited. Cos I know I will receive many many pay checks and experience many many things. Bring it on brutha!
chucKie
Sunday, November 10, 2002
Turn the Page
I've just turned another page 3 hours ago. A full 28 years worth of striving, recycling and straying all gone by. How do I feel? Old? Aged? Mature? Wiser?
Well, I feel good. Feels good to be able to now use that patronizing phrase I've been envious about. Ask Sarah, that girl who cannot stop ranting on my flooble even though nobody's noticing her, and you'll know what I mean. I've been her patron for as long as we've been friends. But our weird relationship became more obvious after we crossed continents and time zones 16 months ago.
Feels good really. I have to reiterate. Feels good to be able to look back and say that they were good years, even though some of them were horrible, nasty and bloody. Feels good to know that I'm at this place, at this time and nobody can really understand how that feels. Feels good to be alone. Feels good to have no one invading the time frame, the aura of my space and distracting me with french fries takeaways. Feels good to know that even though I've felt like an unwanted non-entity all these years, the reality is that a personal saviour had been waiting for me all this time. And that hasn't changed a single bit.
But most of all, it feels good to be breathing, crying and tasting the full sweetness of the atmosphere thick with a divine presence.
I'm looking forward to the sequel to this road trip I've been on. I've not been the best companion all the time. Most times I kicked the one who led me out and did the appalling just to get attention. Foolish I was. Didn't realise that everything was under divine sovereign control and no matter how I screamed and kicked, the bumpy ride wasn't going to just stop. It would have stopped eventually whether I jerked my knee or slept through it like a baby. These days I'm choosing to return to the real child in me. Never really had a chance to live it out and be appreciated for being one. Always a zoo under the coffee shop tables waiting to be hung up on a monkey wrench to be flogged. You like pork floss? Not me, they're deceivingly unhealthy. But the point here is that I am learning to nurse these broken pieces with the water I get in the secret garden only my beloved and I have access to. The beauty I've seen have encapsulated me and I've actually taken the road to no return. It means a lot to me. Not just in a mushy two part rhyme scheme way but in a way that costs me. Have you had to give up before? I hope you have. Because otherwise, you've not really understood and experienced the true reality of living. And here I go hiring a patron wagon again. I hope you sound the same when you find yourself wearing these red shoes.
So here's a toast to the canvas that's about to receive a complete make-over.
Yahlelujah! God, it's great to be alive!
chucKie
postscript: If I was in Asia, the page would be turned like only 30 minutes ago. Darn, does it mean I age faster in the daylight saving south? What a copout!!!
I've just turned another page 3 hours ago. A full 28 years worth of striving, recycling and straying all gone by. How do I feel? Old? Aged? Mature? Wiser?
Well, I feel good. Feels good to be able to now use that patronizing phrase I've been envious about. Ask Sarah, that girl who cannot stop ranting on my flooble even though nobody's noticing her, and you'll know what I mean. I've been her patron for as long as we've been friends. But our weird relationship became more obvious after we crossed continents and time zones 16 months ago.
Feels good really. I have to reiterate. Feels good to be able to look back and say that they were good years, even though some of them were horrible, nasty and bloody. Feels good to know that I'm at this place, at this time and nobody can really understand how that feels. Feels good to be alone. Feels good to have no one invading the time frame, the aura of my space and distracting me with french fries takeaways. Feels good to know that even though I've felt like an unwanted non-entity all these years, the reality is that a personal saviour had been waiting for me all this time. And that hasn't changed a single bit.
But most of all, it feels good to be breathing, crying and tasting the full sweetness of the atmosphere thick with a divine presence.
I'm looking forward to the sequel to this road trip I've been on. I've not been the best companion all the time. Most times I kicked the one who led me out and did the appalling just to get attention. Foolish I was. Didn't realise that everything was under divine sovereign control and no matter how I screamed and kicked, the bumpy ride wasn't going to just stop. It would have stopped eventually whether I jerked my knee or slept through it like a baby. These days I'm choosing to return to the real child in me. Never really had a chance to live it out and be appreciated for being one. Always a zoo under the coffee shop tables waiting to be hung up on a monkey wrench to be flogged. You like pork floss? Not me, they're deceivingly unhealthy. But the point here is that I am learning to nurse these broken pieces with the water I get in the secret garden only my beloved and I have access to. The beauty I've seen have encapsulated me and I've actually taken the road to no return. It means a lot to me. Not just in a mushy two part rhyme scheme way but in a way that costs me. Have you had to give up before? I hope you have. Because otherwise, you've not really understood and experienced the true reality of living. And here I go hiring a patron wagon again. I hope you sound the same when you find yourself wearing these red shoes.
So here's a toast to the canvas that's about to receive a complete make-over.
Yahlelujah! God, it's great to be alive!
chucKie
postscript: If I was in Asia, the page would be turned like only 30 minutes ago. Darn, does it mean I age faster in the daylight saving south? What a copout!!!
Friday, November 08, 2002
Grand Final Touchdown
I've nuked it! All of it. I felt so unreal. Had to take a warm shower to wash off all the bad sticky vibes that have grown all over my body. Now I'm relaxed, in my shirt and jeans, ready to get out to a movie night out. Possibly Red Dragon. But Sarah's being a scary little pain in the air, so we might have to forfeit the legend and go for something like Scratching Jessica's Stain. I'm completely washed over with the trauma of tranquilizing myself against anxiety and racing against time. So here's that itchy and scratchy show for you. Expected recovery time in approximately 16 - 18 hours. Visitors will be prosecuted.
The performance on Thursday was all right. In fact, I was quite surprised at the outcome. My lecturers loved it and one of them said it was excellent. But then, so were the rest apparently. I guess the thing is, if your life depended on like 30 minutes of drama mama, you had better flood the audience and fill the room with tears and goose pimples. Apparently my years of drama training 10 years ago hadn't quite left me.
Incidentally, it's Jimmy's birthday today. Just found out.
So much to do ahead of me, so little dough. Sigh. I need a windfall or another job to finance my projects. Guess I'll have to make do with what I have.
chucKie
I've nuked it! All of it. I felt so unreal. Had to take a warm shower to wash off all the bad sticky vibes that have grown all over my body. Now I'm relaxed, in my shirt and jeans, ready to get out to a movie night out. Possibly Red Dragon. But Sarah's being a scary little pain in the air, so we might have to forfeit the legend and go for something like Scratching Jessica's Stain. I'm completely washed over with the trauma of tranquilizing myself against anxiety and racing against time. So here's that itchy and scratchy show for you. Expected recovery time in approximately 16 - 18 hours. Visitors will be prosecuted.
The performance on Thursday was all right. In fact, I was quite surprised at the outcome. My lecturers loved it and one of them said it was excellent. But then, so were the rest apparently. I guess the thing is, if your life depended on like 30 minutes of drama mama, you had better flood the audience and fill the room with tears and goose pimples. Apparently my years of drama training 10 years ago hadn't quite left me.
Incidentally, it's Jimmy's birthday today. Just found out.
So much to do ahead of me, so little dough. Sigh. I need a windfall or another job to finance my projects. Guess I'll have to make do with what I have.
chucKie
Thursday, November 07, 2002
In Transit
Do you ever hate the point where you are almost there, yet you know you have to wait, like it is now or never and you could have died if you blinked?
I'm sitting here imagining how tomorrow will be like. How my voice will crack up. How my diction will sound. How my accent will keep up. I have to do a poetry recital later in my lecturer's office. Wordsworth. Tintern Abbey. It's my final paper and think about this as a thousand times more demanding than the English Oral Examination you've had to take. It's worth half my life in this module. Managed to anchor myself with an 'unclassified' grade with the second essay which is completely bollocks. How can I justify my reading properly tomorrow? Will I fumble and shiver so badly that I can't even begin to read not to talk about recite and perform it? What makes it worse is that both my lecturers will be there. Although they are the nicest academic staff I've met, it still doesn't take the pressure off. Maybe I'm just too worried. It won't be that bad. Only a short 100 odd line poem. Won't kill.
Well, I did a few full readings of it. A few such that the freshness won't be loss. I've had my bakcground research done and a corresponding write up completed and printed. I've drawn out the sign posts in my head and on the sheet I will use. So it should be fine. Hold your neighbours' hands and turn off the TV at 12.20pm today (Australian EST,DST). Talk to God with me and maybe He might transport you to my side just for company.
Whatever happens, thanks, Abba Father, for holding my hands.
one more essay...
chucKie
Do you ever hate the point where you are almost there, yet you know you have to wait, like it is now or never and you could have died if you blinked?
I'm sitting here imagining how tomorrow will be like. How my voice will crack up. How my diction will sound. How my accent will keep up. I have to do a poetry recital later in my lecturer's office. Wordsworth. Tintern Abbey. It's my final paper and think about this as a thousand times more demanding than the English Oral Examination you've had to take. It's worth half my life in this module. Managed to anchor myself with an 'unclassified' grade with the second essay which is completely bollocks. How can I justify my reading properly tomorrow? Will I fumble and shiver so badly that I can't even begin to read not to talk about recite and perform it? What makes it worse is that both my lecturers will be there. Although they are the nicest academic staff I've met, it still doesn't take the pressure off. Maybe I'm just too worried. It won't be that bad. Only a short 100 odd line poem. Won't kill.
Well, I did a few full readings of it. A few such that the freshness won't be loss. I've had my bakcground research done and a corresponding write up completed and printed. I've drawn out the sign posts in my head and on the sheet I will use. So it should be fine. Hold your neighbours' hands and turn off the TV at 12.20pm today (Australian EST,DST). Talk to God with me and maybe He might transport you to my side just for company.
Whatever happens, thanks, Abba Father, for holding my hands.
one more essay...
chucKie
Wednesday, November 06, 2002
Capital Gains
It's one thing to see your seniors grow up. It's another to have your peers out grow. It's another to see the next generation move on to that not so far away familiar ground. And pass that. While you remain, like a nun waiting silently in the sanctuary.
I tried filling up the base station with the tin ore I dug out a few days ago. But the material was too raw and it won't stick. So I'll have to look around for others while I watch the running water trickle out of this domain. It's frustrating, I know. The cracks are just too deep. Such is such and much, well, isn't much.
Whose standards do we measure against? With those who were born with an endless stream flowing through their apartments or with the kind dirty dude down the motel lobby? Somehow, getting in between the crowd isn't a good idea. Leaving isn't such a great thing either. So where can we go to rest these tired soles?
Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I wished I didn't wake. But here I am, still holding on to this rusty key, balancing myself on the edges of my seat. If I fall, will you catch me? If I fail, will you despise me? If I fumble, will you hold me? Would you show me once again the mistakes on my back? Weren't you supposed to protect me? I try not to laugh. I try not to wake you. I tip toe beside you. I try. I tried not to run away. I can't predict you. I don't know when you'll smile or when you'll pull down the curtains on me. I try to keep it in. I tell no one. I stay within the lines. I walk across the room to clear up the mess. I mop the floor and do the dishes. I come home early. I arrive early. I miss my sleep. I stay up late. I mend your broken shoes. I clean up after the guests. I smile in the face of adversity. I stand up straight. I try not to embarrass you. I keep the scars to myself. I tell no one. I try to look perfect. I tried and it's beginning to kill me. But tonight the pleasure is all mine. I know what you are going to do next. I know you will never be happy. I know you will never be satisfied. I know you will never understand. I know I will never hear those words. I know you'll never be proud of me. I know it doesn't hurt to push the bill a little further. I know I can run wild out of your sight. I know the things you wish you knew. I know I am breaking up the silence. I know you are uncomfortable. I know the lies you bag behind my back. I know the deeds of your one fisted hand. I know time is mine to keep and yours to lose. I know I am now out of control but so were you when you tied me to the window.
I know I won't give up cos I know I'm made to be more than this. I'm moving on and maybe you should too. STOP TRYING TO MESS ME UP!
scrap metal, love and tin ore
chucKie
It's one thing to see your seniors grow up. It's another to have your peers out grow. It's another to see the next generation move on to that not so far away familiar ground. And pass that. While you remain, like a nun waiting silently in the sanctuary.
I tried filling up the base station with the tin ore I dug out a few days ago. But the material was too raw and it won't stick. So I'll have to look around for others while I watch the running water trickle out of this domain. It's frustrating, I know. The cracks are just too deep. Such is such and much, well, isn't much.
Whose standards do we measure against? With those who were born with an endless stream flowing through their apartments or with the kind dirty dude down the motel lobby? Somehow, getting in between the crowd isn't a good idea. Leaving isn't such a great thing either. So where can we go to rest these tired soles?
Sometimes I pray. Sometimes I wished I didn't wake. But here I am, still holding on to this rusty key, balancing myself on the edges of my seat. If I fall, will you catch me? If I fail, will you despise me? If I fumble, will you hold me? Would you show me once again the mistakes on my back? Weren't you supposed to protect me? I try not to laugh. I try not to wake you. I tip toe beside you. I try. I tried not to run away. I can't predict you. I don't know when you'll smile or when you'll pull down the curtains on me. I try to keep it in. I tell no one. I stay within the lines. I walk across the room to clear up the mess. I mop the floor and do the dishes. I come home early. I arrive early. I miss my sleep. I stay up late. I mend your broken shoes. I clean up after the guests. I smile in the face of adversity. I stand up straight. I try not to embarrass you. I keep the scars to myself. I tell no one. I try to look perfect. I tried and it's beginning to kill me. But tonight the pleasure is all mine. I know what you are going to do next. I know you will never be happy. I know you will never be satisfied. I know you will never understand. I know I will never hear those words. I know you'll never be proud of me. I know it doesn't hurt to push the bill a little further. I know I can run wild out of your sight. I know the things you wish you knew. I know I am breaking up the silence. I know you are uncomfortable. I know the lies you bag behind my back. I know the deeds of your one fisted hand. I know time is mine to keep and yours to lose. I know I am now out of control but so were you when you tied me to the window.
I know I won't give up cos I know I'm made to be more than this. I'm moving on and maybe you should too. STOP TRYING TO MESS ME UP!
scrap metal, love and tin ore
chucKie
Monday, November 04, 2002
Diagnosis
chucKie
chucKie
Feeling like a Star
I've just gunned down another goliath that is known as Rove McManus and Postmodernism. Bliss. I'm thankful that I didn't go to work tonight. If not, there wouldn't be this blog and the death of another subject.
I'm also thankful for the triple pass. I laughed uncontrollable and yelled in elation when I saw for the third time that there was an empty space, just like the other two I found sitting innocently waiting for me. Didn't have to compete. I just felt in my heart a sense of hope and by faith turned down the same street for the past few days. God's a great provider. Just ask.
I hope the transfer comes soon. I'll need to pay off my bills and loans and start stocking up on the essentials. Out of toilet paper, out of tissue boxes and out of maybe even dish washing liquid. But it's all the last drabs and it worked out just fine.
Alright. Wordsworth, Robin Hood and William Wallace - who should I devour first?
darn, i'm feeling obese...
chucKie
I've just gunned down another goliath that is known as Rove McManus and Postmodernism. Bliss. I'm thankful that I didn't go to work tonight. If not, there wouldn't be this blog and the death of another subject.
I'm also thankful for the triple pass. I laughed uncontrollable and yelled in elation when I saw for the third time that there was an empty space, just like the other two I found sitting innocently waiting for me. Didn't have to compete. I just felt in my heart a sense of hope and by faith turned down the same street for the past few days. God's a great provider. Just ask.
I hope the transfer comes soon. I'll need to pay off my bills and loans and start stocking up on the essentials. Out of toilet paper, out of tissue boxes and out of maybe even dish washing liquid. But it's all the last drabs and it worked out just fine.
Alright. Wordsworth, Robin Hood and William Wallace - who should I devour first?
darn, i'm feeling obese...
chucKie
Sunday, November 03, 2002
The Bug Song
Had a good destresser laugh with THE BUG SONG. Found it linked from Milton's Blog. Go take a poo, it'll really perk you up.
chucKie
Had a good destresser laugh with THE BUG SONG. Found it linked from Milton's Blog. Go take a poo, it'll really perk you up.
chucKie
Dancing Game
Sense of humor is so subjective. I bet the angels must have had a rolling good time.
I was about to get out of the house when I peered through my window blinds to discover that the outside world is now flooded with bright beaming sunlight.
How ironic that it was just gloomy and threatening to hail just a moment before I put on my socks. It was funny, cos I was already running late. The advent of the dancing light among the trees and rooftops meant two things. 1. Put down my things and 2. Go wear my contacts. Why? It's got nothing to do with vanity but a simple health reason. The health of my eyes that is.
You see, in a dry dry contour of the desert, the sun light or UV rays as you might call it, is much more lethal than the ones found around the equator region. Protecting your eyes and skin are just two simple essentials. It's like going into space without a space suit.
But such is the unpredictable weather here, so I shouldn't have railed and screamed at the sudden change. I laughed at my own expense knowing that I would have enjoyed going out in sunnies anyway. He knows me best.
So I guess it's Thank You and get me butt back to work. I'll be there in a 5 days debbie. You just wait...
chucKie
Sense of humor is so subjective. I bet the angels must have had a rolling good time.
I was about to get out of the house when I peered through my window blinds to discover that the outside world is now flooded with bright beaming sunlight.
How ironic that it was just gloomy and threatening to hail just a moment before I put on my socks. It was funny, cos I was already running late. The advent of the dancing light among the trees and rooftops meant two things. 1. Put down my things and 2. Go wear my contacts. Why? It's got nothing to do with vanity but a simple health reason. The health of my eyes that is.
You see, in a dry dry contour of the desert, the sun light or UV rays as you might call it, is much more lethal than the ones found around the equator region. Protecting your eyes and skin are just two simple essentials. It's like going into space without a space suit.
But such is the unpredictable weather here, so I shouldn't have railed and screamed at the sudden change. I laughed at my own expense knowing that I would have enjoyed going out in sunnies anyway. He knows me best.
So I guess it's Thank You and get me butt back to work. I'll be there in a 5 days debbie. You just wait...
chucKie
Saturday, November 02, 2002
Howlloween
It's not even a big thing here. Or perhaps I was too sheltered mugging away at the LRC to notice the painted faces and terrible costume choices. But it was here on the last day of October.
Interestingly, Sarah and I were joking about dressing up with traditional chinese lanterns and walk the neighbourhood chanting the time of the hour in typical chinese martial arts movie style and scaring the daylights out of them aussies. Think Stefan's "happy moontern festival" impersonation.
Then I read about the issue of fear being the fundamental of the 'pagan celebration' at The Homeless Guy Blog. Here's an excerpt...
Fear is an intricate part of Fundamentalist religion, and it is this practice of fear that causes many people to reject the Fundamentalist perspective of Christ and Christianity. But, during the Halloween season, Fundamentalists take advantage of the ritualistic acceptance of fear, to draw people back to their church. They do this by creating Haunted House style attractions, albeit, under the guise of bibilcal themes. Still, these Churches are participating in secular, and even Pagan activities in an attempt to draw people into their congregation. This reeks of hypocrisy.
Jesus said that the most important commandments were to "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." and to "'Love your neighbor as yourself." I do not recall reading in the Bible that scaring people, or causing fear in people, is an attribute of love. [31st October 2002]
Food for thought. Maybe I should change the title of this post to Helloween.... alright, enough.
chucKie
It's not even a big thing here. Or perhaps I was too sheltered mugging away at the LRC to notice the painted faces and terrible costume choices. But it was here on the last day of October.
Interestingly, Sarah and I were joking about dressing up with traditional chinese lanterns and walk the neighbourhood chanting the time of the hour in typical chinese martial arts movie style and scaring the daylights out of them aussies. Think Stefan's "happy moontern festival" impersonation.
Then I read about the issue of fear being the fundamental of the 'pagan celebration' at The Homeless Guy Blog. Here's an excerpt...
Fear is an intricate part of Fundamentalist religion, and it is this practice of fear that causes many people to reject the Fundamentalist perspective of Christ and Christianity. But, during the Halloween season, Fundamentalists take advantage of the ritualistic acceptance of fear, to draw people back to their church. They do this by creating Haunted House style attractions, albeit, under the guise of bibilcal themes. Still, these Churches are participating in secular, and even Pagan activities in an attempt to draw people into their congregation. This reeks of hypocrisy.
Jesus said that the most important commandments were to "'Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind." and to "'Love your neighbor as yourself." I do not recall reading in the Bible that scaring people, or causing fear in people, is an attribute of love. [31st October 2002]
Food for thought. Maybe I should change the title of this post to Helloween.... alright, enough.
chucKie
