Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Insight
Once upon a time insight was all it took to keep oneself apart, aloof, watching inwards.
Once in a while, though, insight fails as he stands on the precipice, teetering on the brink of plunging into an act of incongruous irrationality.
Wants, needs, and desires. The differences are subtle, and easy to overlook. Insight is supposed to make things clearer.
Once in a while, though, insight fails as he stands on the precipice, teetering on the brink of plunging into an act of incongruous irrationality.
Wants, needs, and desires. The differences are subtle, and easy to overlook. Insight is supposed to make things clearer.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Running
I've been meaning to write about running for a while now; everytime I mount the treadmill I think to myself... must write about running.
Doesn't seem like there'd be much to write, you just put one foot in front of the other. Once upon a time before I turned pseudo gym-bunny I would have scoffed at the very idea of running on a treadmill. Boring. Boring, boring. Hamsters on a treadmill, going nowhere in a hurry.
Give me the wide open spaces of the open road, anytime.
Once when I was very very bored a very long time ago during some silly science research thingummy, I ran around the NUS track twenty times because I needed to run.
That comes to about eight kilometers I think.
It was boring as hell, seeing the same signpost, oh, there it is again - and again! and... over, and over again.
Henceforth, I resolved to stick to the hills and bumps that make up the place where I live. I get a kick everytime I try to sprint up the hill that leads to my house. Once, as I crawled up the summit on my hands and knees feeling good about myself, a caucasian chap cruised past me and did the friendly "y'allright?" brit thing. I felt like kicking him back down the hill into the abyss. It's a steep hill, okay??
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I never imagined I'd wind up on a treadmill in an airconditioned gym someday, staring out over a city skyscape and running on the spot.
But there's something about running... your mind is crystal clear, and focused... on nothing. Intentionally focused on nothing; all the daily worries of your world tuned out, no feeling. No thoughts. No quandries. No worries. No fears. No love... no love lost. No risks. No... complications.
Nothing.
Just putting one foot, in front of the other.
Pushing the envelope, going a little bit faster, feeling your lungs exploding and pushing for that something extra, that little bit more... of nothing.
Perhaps one day I will reach a little too far, and that horrible feeling that you're about to collapse will come into being. It doesn't bug me too much.
After the pain, you can look down at the numbers (in the gym anyhow) and realise you've cut another two seconds (ARGH ONLY TWO!!! FOR ALL THAT EFFORT?!?!) off your time, and after you've caught your breath the buzz begins.
Yeah. That's why I love running.
*****
In a strange cab heading to a strange place.
He wondered what he was doing with his life; what exactly he wanted. Where he wanted to be.
She was leaning against him a little - not much - just enough for her shoulders and arms to press against his, skin on skin.
He liked it.
It was odd; he normally shied instinctively from human contact; he didn't like it, ever. Even with the ex, he'd... tolerated it. Her skin was... a little bit cold, he'd always thought. But he'd made the effort because he'd wanted to love her.
But the feeling, right here, of the smoothness and warmth of her skin, and even of the fine hairs on her arm against his ... felt somehow comforting.
He went on wondering what the heck he was doing with his life, and where did he really want to be?
It was crazy.
******
Don't try to fix me - I'm not broken.
Doesn't seem like there'd be much to write, you just put one foot in front of the other. Once upon a time before I turned pseudo gym-bunny I would have scoffed at the very idea of running on a treadmill. Boring. Boring, boring. Hamsters on a treadmill, going nowhere in a hurry.
Give me the wide open spaces of the open road, anytime.
Once when I was very very bored a very long time ago during some silly science research thingummy, I ran around the NUS track twenty times because I needed to run.
That comes to about eight kilometers I think.
It was boring as hell, seeing the same signpost, oh, there it is again - and again! and... over, and over again.
Henceforth, I resolved to stick to the hills and bumps that make up the place where I live. I get a kick everytime I try to sprint up the hill that leads to my house. Once, as I crawled up the summit on my hands and knees feeling good about myself, a caucasian chap cruised past me and did the friendly "y'allright?" brit thing. I felt like kicking him back down the hill into the abyss. It's a steep hill, okay??
Anyway, to cut a long story short, I never imagined I'd wind up on a treadmill in an airconditioned gym someday, staring out over a city skyscape and running on the spot.
But there's something about running... your mind is crystal clear, and focused... on nothing. Intentionally focused on nothing; all the daily worries of your world tuned out, no feeling. No thoughts. No quandries. No worries. No fears. No love... no love lost. No risks. No... complications.
Nothing.
Just putting one foot, in front of the other.
Pushing the envelope, going a little bit faster, feeling your lungs exploding and pushing for that something extra, that little bit more... of nothing.
Perhaps one day I will reach a little too far, and that horrible feeling that you're about to collapse will come into being. It doesn't bug me too much.
After the pain, you can look down at the numbers (in the gym anyhow) and realise you've cut another two seconds (ARGH ONLY TWO!!! FOR ALL THAT EFFORT?!?!) off your time, and after you've caught your breath the buzz begins.
Yeah. That's why I love running.
*****
In a strange cab heading to a strange place.
He wondered what he was doing with his life; what exactly he wanted. Where he wanted to be.
She was leaning against him a little - not much - just enough for her shoulders and arms to press against his, skin on skin.
He liked it.
It was odd; he normally shied instinctively from human contact; he didn't like it, ever. Even with the ex, he'd... tolerated it. Her skin was... a little bit cold, he'd always thought. But he'd made the effort because he'd wanted to love her.
But the feeling, right here, of the smoothness and warmth of her skin, and even of the fine hairs on her arm against his ... felt somehow comforting.
He went on wondering what the heck he was doing with his life, and where did he really want to be?
It was crazy.
******
Don't try to fix me - I'm not broken.
"I can tell"
"I can tell..." She said, as they drove back.
She could tell from a single, fleeting meeting what a person was like and whether she liked him or not; it was enough to stop her ever calling him back; enough to prevent another meeting.
He thought it strange that she could speak with such absolute certainty.
He was different. Sure, he could tell from the get-go if he found someone attractive or unattractive; he had enough humanity left in him to do that.
But it took weeks of meetings to turn that hunch into a certainty; hidden unappealing / appealing facets of personality show up over time through the span of a friendship. Kindness. Inconstancy. Hypocrisy. Warmth. Generosity. Spiritedness.
These are traits that transcend looks; and even chance meetings which give us only a glimpse of the person inside.
*****
What is a date?
(to be continued)
She could tell from a single, fleeting meeting what a person was like and whether she liked him or not; it was enough to stop her ever calling him back; enough to prevent another meeting.
He thought it strange that she could speak with such absolute certainty.
He was different. Sure, he could tell from the get-go if he found someone attractive or unattractive; he had enough humanity left in him to do that.
But it took weeks of meetings to turn that hunch into a certainty; hidden unappealing / appealing facets of personality show up over time through the span of a friendship. Kindness. Inconstancy. Hypocrisy. Warmth. Generosity. Spiritedness.
These are traits that transcend looks; and even chance meetings which give us only a glimpse of the person inside.
*****
What is a date?
(to be continued)
Tuesday, June 21, 2005
Weightless
It's strange that everytime I meet someone, they invariably tell me I've lost weight.
It's a lifelong thing I guess; mine is a curse to dwindle till I vanish.
I suppose maybe people just remember me from my NS days, or perhaps from the days when I was with the ex (her sister's... special female friend... was a good cook) and very slightly chubby.
Perhaps they see it in the face, or the eyes; my face is pretty angular these days and an old friend from london told me that my eyes were haggard. (I did not return the favour, seeing as her eyes were on holiday and all starry. grr.)
The strangest part is that I haven't. Lost weight. I'm probably at my heaviest ever in this lifetime. Standing on the scales yesterday shocked me. I'm actually a lot heavier than I ought to be for my height. About five kilograms over.
Weird.
*****
Standing on the balcony of the gym looking out over a blood-red sunset, he thought, about things. You know, just things.
And he looked down; everytime he stood here he looked down.
There's a little metal suspension wire thingummagig just under the handrail, on a little ledge thing that he guessed was what the window cleaners clipped their rig onto when rapelling down the side of the building.
Everytime he stood here, leaning out over space, he felt the urge to take a light vault over the rails, one foot on the ledge, lightly, leap into thin air. He didn't know why.
Just under seven seconds would be all it took, in his estimation.
Seven seconds to live.
It's a lifelong thing I guess; mine is a curse to dwindle till I vanish.
I suppose maybe people just remember me from my NS days, or perhaps from the days when I was with the ex (her sister's... special female friend... was a good cook) and very slightly chubby.
Perhaps they see it in the face, or the eyes; my face is pretty angular these days and an old friend from london told me that my eyes were haggard. (I did not return the favour, seeing as her eyes were on holiday and all starry. grr.)
The strangest part is that I haven't. Lost weight. I'm probably at my heaviest ever in this lifetime. Standing on the scales yesterday shocked me. I'm actually a lot heavier than I ought to be for my height. About five kilograms over.
Weird.
*****
Standing on the balcony of the gym looking out over a blood-red sunset, he thought, about things. You know, just things.
And he looked down; everytime he stood here he looked down.
There's a little metal suspension wire thingummagig just under the handrail, on a little ledge thing that he guessed was what the window cleaners clipped their rig onto when rapelling down the side of the building.
Everytime he stood here, leaning out over space, he felt the urge to take a light vault over the rails, one foot on the ledge, lightly, leap into thin air. He didn't know why.
Just under seven seconds would be all it took, in his estimation.
Seven seconds to live.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Miyagi is a complete Wanker!
Sorry Miyagi. I just had to do that... ha. Really, he's not folks. He's an incomplete wanker. Well, he did ask for it... shrug.
Anyhow, I found this description of (clearly) someone else's writing on, well, someone else's blog.
"... subtle, articulate, laced with a certain wry humour, very sexy sometimes, atmospheric and manages somehow to reach right into you to where your heart is hidden... The impression I get off his blog is that he's someone deeply intelligent, articulate, yearning, melancholic, intrinsically alone (but not lonely), and blessed with an appreciation for the finer things in life."
I'd give a lot to be able to really write like that.
Strip away the oestrogen, infatuation, and obvious delusion of some of my more extreme readers, and my writing - the way I see perceive it anyhow - is perfectly (as some people often like to remind me)... ordinary. Just random words and thoughts, finding their escape - or perhaps seeking some pointless immortality in the enduring, and infinite canvas of the internet.
Five words touched a chord though... "intrinsically alone"... (but not lonely).
But I am.
I've been lonely for the longest time.
We are all of us intrinsically alone, born unique into this universe, to live and laugh, and love other unique individuals.
We are narcissists who revel in our uniqueness, our little beauties that nobody else possesses, our moments of magic that only we can craft. We ensnare members of the opposite (or same... shrug) sex with our mystiques, we unconsciously lure people into friendships.
And then we meet a counterpoint... an exact equal.
A fascimile soulmate. Completion, and complementation.
And in the aftermath of that when we lose them... when we lose ourselves - we are lonely.
Perhaps it will be enough, to find another person to be enamoured by, to lose ones head to, to forever appreciate their uniqueness, to live and die in their arms in bliss, warmth, and laughter.
But the loneliness will stay with the few of us - the lost - always.
Anyhow, I found this description of (clearly) someone else's writing on, well, someone else's blog.
"... subtle, articulate, laced with a certain wry humour, very sexy sometimes, atmospheric and manages somehow to reach right into you to where your heart is hidden... The impression I get off his blog is that he's someone deeply intelligent, articulate, yearning, melancholic, intrinsically alone (but not lonely), and blessed with an appreciation for the finer things in life."
I'd give a lot to be able to really write like that.
Strip away the oestrogen, infatuation, and obvious delusion of some of my more extreme readers, and my writing - the way I see perceive it anyhow - is perfectly (as some people often like to remind me)... ordinary. Just random words and thoughts, finding their escape - or perhaps seeking some pointless immortality in the enduring, and infinite canvas of the internet.
Five words touched a chord though... "intrinsically alone"... (but not lonely).
But I am.
I've been lonely for the longest time.
We are all of us intrinsically alone, born unique into this universe, to live and laugh, and love other unique individuals.
We are narcissists who revel in our uniqueness, our little beauties that nobody else possesses, our moments of magic that only we can craft. We ensnare members of the opposite (or same... shrug) sex with our mystiques, we unconsciously lure people into friendships.
And then we meet a counterpoint... an exact equal.
A fascimile soulmate. Completion, and complementation.
And in the aftermath of that when we lose them... when we lose ourselves - we are lonely.
Perhaps it will be enough, to find another person to be enamoured by, to lose ones head to, to forever appreciate their uniqueness, to live and die in their arms in bliss, warmth, and laughter.
But the loneliness will stay with the few of us - the lost - always.
Media most Foul (Part Deux)
Sometimes one has to wonder why exactly our media thinks it has the right to confabulate news. Perhaps they're just too indolent or incompetent to actually get off their butts and do some real reasearch.
Perhaps a simple google-search from the terminal they're busy writing bovine excrement from is beyond their abilities.
Anyhow, I've gotten hold of this email exchange. Posted without consent from either party, and bound to have repercussions for both. Tough luck - we deserve to know the why behind everything (even if the answer is only forty-two). Some say a picture says a million words... but sometimes words say more. This exchange appears to be a genuine attempt to understand the mindset of the press (sorry MrBrown, no disrespect intended) and a disturbing mindset it is, too.
In this strange society when the press quotes wantonly, indiscriminately and above all inaccurately and without permission... perhaps 'tis sometimes wiser to strike the first blow.
*****
> ________________________________
>
> From: Anonymous
> Sent: Mon 6/13/2005 7:12 PM
> To: Today author
> Subject:
>
>
>
> This is in regards to your article at the following
> URL :
>
> http://www.todayonline.com/articles/55682.asp
>
> I have no doubt that by now you have received a
> large
> amount of feedback about this article. There must be
> a
> reason why it appears to have been pulled from the
> online version of the paper.
>
> I am disappointed that you appear to be following in
> the footsteps of several of your predecessors in the
> straits times, which is to write ill-informed and
> semi-researched articles of little worth which
> mislead
> the public.
>
> The public furore elicited during the class 95fm
> morning show was a direct consequence of your
> article.
>
> I would advise you to try to do the following the
> next
> time around before you write an article of this
> nature
>
> 1) Read up around the subject.
>
> Withdrawal of treatment is legal in countries around
> the world, including the United States of America,
> and
> the United Kingdom.
>
> Withdrawal of treatment falls in the realms of
> medical
> ethics.
>
> If you wish to know the difference between
> euthanasia,
> and withdrawal of treatment, do the following
> websearch for "medical ethics, acts of omission, and
> acts of comission".
>
> This will also afford you a medicolegal perspective
> on
> the issue.
>
> 2) Verify your sources with a doctor. Asking an
> organisation to comment without giving it ample time
> to formulate a response will invariably result in no
> comment. Very nice if you're trying to put a
> conspiracy theory spin to things, but not terribly
> informative if you're really trying to find out
> information.
>
> No doubt, you have doctor friends, or friends of
> friends who could have easily put you straight, and
> afforded you a glimpse into the subject you wrote
> with
> so much authority, and so little research about.
>
> 3) At least attempt to write neutrally. "Cold and
> curt
> doctors" versus "tenderly cradling her daughter in
> her
> arms" hardly counts as objective reporting.
>
> 4) Find out both sides of the argument.
>
> This is the basic tenet of objective reporting.
> There
> are reasons the doctors offered (and did NOT FORCE)
> the option of withdrawal of treatment (surely
> offering
> all forms of options to the patients is a good
> thing?
> isn't concealing treatment options negligent, and
> nearly criminal? How does one make an informed
> decision without being first informed?). Your
> article
> appears to imply that offerering this option was in
> some way inhumane.
>
> Further reasearch (please feel free to just sit down
> at your computer terminal and do a google search)
> will
> explain to you how certain medical conditions carry
> a
> dismal prognosis with the threat of repeated further
> traumatic interventions and poor outcomes including
> the possibilities of severe disability and death,
> and
> devastatingly poor qualities of life (including
> being
> bedbound or institutionalised for life, and picking
> up
> repeated nosocomial infections)
>
> Consider that just possibly, although the doctors
> sounded callous, they were somehow trying to be -
> ironically - humane, in the long run. After having
> watched many of their patients suffer in the past.
>
> Consider also that doctors are people just like you
> -
> capable of learning through the mistakes of the
> past,
> through the mistakes of others, and through their
> own
> mistakes.
>
> This is called "evidence based medicine" (do a
> google
> search for this and you will find resources which
> will
> help you write future medical articles - that are
> INFORMED), and anecdotally-based practice. This is
> how
> they decide what options to present their patients.
>
> Three of four doctors presenting the same option
> imply
> to the objective reader that the conditions these
> children had (which you did not go into much detail
> about, unsurprisingly enough) must have been severe
> in
> the extreme.
>
> Instead you have somehow spun it to read that the
> majority of the doctors were incompetent. Well done.
>
> Because right now you read like just another
> singaporean reporter - unprofessional,
> ill-researched,
> and over-authoritative.
>
> If you had any convictions about the nature of
> truth,
> and seeking to bring the truth, and news to the
> public
> before you signed up your job, I sincerely hope that
> you recover them someday.
>
> It would probably be too much to ask for you to pull
> the article with an apology to the public.
>
> In fact, you're probably feeling irate and angry
> right
> now after reading this. You're probably going to
> embark on a long career of doctor-bashing.
>
> Is this all you want your life to amount to?
> Second-rate journalism?
--- Today Author wrote:
> Dear Sir, thank you for your feedback.
>
> I'd like to clarify some things.
>
> 1) The article was not pulled from the online
> version of the paper. It is common for our morning
> and afternoon cover stories to differ.
>
> 2) Ample time was given to hospitals and many
> doctors. After waiting for more than a month for
> official comment, an editorial decision was made to
> run the story.
>
> 3) I have no intention of 'doctor-bashing'. I have a
> deep respect for doctors and the work that they do.
>
> Regards,
Today Author
************************
thank you for your reply.
I apologise if I made assumptions as to your practice;
however your organisation must by now be familiar with
the stock response hospitals and healthcare
organisations in singapore offer to the press. Perhaps
you need to develop closer working relationships with
them to elicit a response.
Might I ask which departments within these hospitals
you approached for comments?
may I also in return ask if you have read up around
the subject you wrote about, and discovered the
distinction between withdrawal of support and
euthanasia - and the rationale for offering it as a
treatment option?
Might I also ask how offering it as an option is such
an affront to patient dignity - when it is ultimately
up to the patients to choose for or against the
option?
********************
(Today journalist)
I approached their corporate comms departments as is the usual practice. As to the distinction between euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment, my enquiries to the experts sought to distinguish the two and obtain the explanation that withdrawal of treatment when offered in context of medical options is an acceptable medical practice. However I was unable to elicit any responses from hospitals; a number of doctors I spoke to, wished to comment off the record, which was unfortunate.
As explained, an editorial decision was made to run the stories without the responses from the hospitals.
If you wish to clarify the issue further, you are very welcome to write in to news@newstoday.com.sg with your comments.
Regards,
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Anonymous
Sent: Tue 6/14/2005 12:06 PM
To: Today Author
Subject: RE:
***************************
Please find my responses attached within the body of
your email; and thank you very much for taking the
time out from your schedule to answer me. Your effort
is unexpected, but appreciated.
--- Today Author wrote:
> I approached their corporate comms departments as is
> the usual practice. As to the distinction between
> euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment, my enquiries
> to the experts sought to distinguish the two and
> obtain the explanation that withdrawal of treatment
> when offered in context of medical options is an
> acceptable medical practice. However I was unable to
> elicit any responses from hospitals; a number of
> doctors I spoke to, wished to comment off the
> record, which was unfortunate.
again I find it strange that your enquiries to the
experts seeking to distinguish the two (I'm probably
being pedantic but your sentence was not quite
gramatically sound) returned unanswered, but rather
than seek to pursue the truth with a simple
google-search (it's really not that hard to key in the
words "withdrawal of treatment" and "euthanasia", or
even the phrase "what is the difference between
euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment" on
askjeeves.com) you chose to paint the two in the same
light.
I take it you still have not learnt the difference
between the two, then. It is the fodder of
medical-student medical-ethics - your equating the two
betrays your ignorance to the medical community at
large at the outset... and also misleads the public.
Euthanasia is an act of comission; it is illegal in
many countries, and involves an active step towards
ending a life; a lethal injection for instance. It is
an answer to an individual's desire to die (because
otherwise it is obviously murder), some would argue it
is based on compassion; many others would argue that
it is based on dispassion. Evidence suggests that
those who actually perform the "mercy killing" become
psychologically debased and traumatised by it.
Withdrawal of treatment is an act of omission; it is
the withdrawal of active or unusual measures to
prolong life. This includes cardiopulmonary
resuscitation, and ventilation with a mechanical
ventilator; in some instances it includes
cardiac-drugs used in conjunction with CPR in advanced
cardac life support - drugs which are used, for
instance, to "re-start" a stopped heart.
To the layman (which includes yourself) this is
somehow intuitively offensive; a life that could have
been saved is allowed to slip away.
Know that CPR is traumatic, and can involve broken
ribs; cardiac defibrillation ("shocking") can be
traumatic and involves burns to the chest and chest
pain on regaining consciousness... and most tellingly
of all, prolonged resuscitation (involving all the
"heroic" measures above) brings with every passing
moment the increased risk of brain damage, and
subsequent death after the initial resuscitation.
In lay terms, a prolonged resuscitation can make you
come back, only to live for a prolonged period as a
bedbound vegetable, or to die in pain, and suffering
several days later, still in possession of your
faculties.
Withdrawal of treatment, as in the case of terminal
conditions (such as cancer) -- is it really such a bad
thing? It is a decision based on compassion for the
patient, as well as clinical knowledge as to prognosis
and path of the illness.
One does not withdraw treatment on a patient one
expects to make a full return to health, or at least
to an acceptable quality of life.
Extrapolating the argument to the cases you alluded to
(without really giving the public any medical DETAILS
- but affording them plenty of unsubtly placed
"biasing" phrases - cold doctors, caring parennts) -
perhaps the doctors in question thought along these
lines and were simply too pessimistic in their
estimations...
... Or perhaps not; perhaps they really were the
uncaring, clinically unsound murderous bastards that
you imply to your readers that they are (without
explicitly stating it).
The thing is, we as readers will never know, since all
we have is a dearth of facts, and a lot of your
opinions weaved into the piece as coloured adjectives
- which do not really belong in an objective
newspiece.
switching off a ventilator falls in a slightly grayer
realm; whether it be an act of omission or comission
is slightly more confusing. Not many centres do that
these days.
> As explained, an editorial decision was made to run
> the stories without the responses from the
> hospitals.
As such, it would appear to be an unfortunate decision
which betrays at least in part the quality of your
editorial committee.
> If you wish to clarify the issue further, you are
> very welcome to write in to news@newstoday.com.sg
> with your comments.
>
> Regards,
> Today Author
> TODAY - News Desk
You will well know that I have no wish to carry this
to an "official" level. In writing to you I sought
only to communicate with you as an individual, and
understand your rationale for penning an article as
misleading as you did. And perhaps to give you a
glimpse into the reality of the matter behind what you
wrote.
In a sense, I pity you. I have friends who are
reporters as well, and I know how tied your hands can
be sometimes.
It must be frustrating, doing what you do - if you
were acting under orders.
If however you were acting out of your own initiative,
then I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but please do your
research next time - read up around the subject; ask
doctor-friends... NOT for official comments (please,
that is such a stupid singaporean media thing to do,
seek carefully selected "expert" opinions without
first seeing the whole picture) but for guidance as to
where to turn your eye for enlightenment.
In the future before you write anything medical, do
the following : It will place you head and shoulders
above your fellow medical-writers, and it will also
give you a glimpse into the international medical
communities' takes on medical issues, and ethics -
google search for "pubmed" or "the Cochrane
Collaboration" -- then in turn try your search inside
these search engines.
In the United Kingdom, we often have public
medic-ethical debates held between doctors, lawyers,
and laypeople; they are interesting, and enlightening.
It is unfortunate that in Singapore the press, in
their infinite wisdom, seek to speak with such
authority on subjects they have tenuous grasps of. If
such be the case, please at least be one of those
responsible enough to shoulder the burden of bringing
the truth to your readers.
Don't just take the easy route out and fabricate.
Be well.
(Anonymous)
Perhaps a simple google-search from the terminal they're busy writing bovine excrement from is beyond their abilities.
Anyhow, I've gotten hold of this email exchange. Posted without consent from either party, and bound to have repercussions for both. Tough luck - we deserve to know the why behind everything (even if the answer is only forty-two). Some say a picture says a million words... but sometimes words say more. This exchange appears to be a genuine attempt to understand the mindset of the press (sorry MrBrown, no disrespect intended) and a disturbing mindset it is, too.
In this strange society when the press quotes wantonly, indiscriminately and above all inaccurately and without permission... perhaps 'tis sometimes wiser to strike the first blow.
*****
> ________________________________
>
> From: Anonymous
> Sent: Mon 6/13/2005 7:12 PM
> To: Today author
> Subject:
>
>
>
> This is in regards to your article at the following
> URL :
>
> http://www.todayonline.com/articles/55682.asp
>
> I have no doubt that by now you have received a
> large
> amount of feedback about this article. There must be
> a
> reason why it appears to have been pulled from the
> online version of the paper.
>
> I am disappointed that you appear to be following in
> the footsteps of several of your predecessors in the
> straits times, which is to write ill-informed and
> semi-researched articles of little worth which
> mislead
> the public.
>
> The public furore elicited during the class 95fm
> morning show was a direct consequence of your
> article.
>
> I would advise you to try to do the following the
> next
> time around before you write an article of this
> nature
>
> 1) Read up around the subject.
>
> Withdrawal of treatment is legal in countries around
> the world, including the United States of America,
> and
> the United Kingdom.
>
> Withdrawal of treatment falls in the realms of
> medical
> ethics.
>
> If you wish to know the difference between
> euthanasia,
> and withdrawal of treatment, do the following
> websearch for "medical ethics, acts of omission, and
> acts of comission".
>
> This will also afford you a medicolegal perspective
> on
> the issue.
>
> 2) Verify your sources with a doctor. Asking an
> organisation to comment without giving it ample time
> to formulate a response will invariably result in no
> comment. Very nice if you're trying to put a
> conspiracy theory spin to things, but not terribly
> informative if you're really trying to find out
> information.
>
> No doubt, you have doctor friends, or friends of
> friends who could have easily put you straight, and
> afforded you a glimpse into the subject you wrote
> with
> so much authority, and so little research about.
>
> 3) At least attempt to write neutrally. "Cold and
> curt
> doctors" versus "tenderly cradling her daughter in
> her
> arms" hardly counts as objective reporting.
>
> 4) Find out both sides of the argument.
>
> This is the basic tenet of objective reporting.
> There
> are reasons the doctors offered (and did NOT FORCE)
> the option of withdrawal of treatment (surely
> offering
> all forms of options to the patients is a good
> thing?
> isn't concealing treatment options negligent, and
> nearly criminal? How does one make an informed
> decision without being first informed?). Your
> article
> appears to imply that offerering this option was in
> some way inhumane.
>
> Further reasearch (please feel free to just sit down
> at your computer terminal and do a google search)
> will
> explain to you how certain medical conditions carry
> a
> dismal prognosis with the threat of repeated further
> traumatic interventions and poor outcomes including
> the possibilities of severe disability and death,
> and
> devastatingly poor qualities of life (including
> being
> bedbound or institutionalised for life, and picking
> up
> repeated nosocomial infections)
>
> Consider that just possibly, although the doctors
> sounded callous, they were somehow trying to be -
> ironically - humane, in the long run. After having
> watched many of their patients suffer in the past.
>
> Consider also that doctors are people just like you
> -
> capable of learning through the mistakes of the
> past,
> through the mistakes of others, and through their
> own
> mistakes.
>
> This is called "evidence based medicine" (do a
> search for this and you will find resources which
> will
> help you write future medical articles - that are
> INFORMED), and anecdotally-based practice. This is
> how
> they decide what options to present their patients.
>
> Three of four doctors presenting the same option
> imply
> to the objective reader that the conditions these
> children had (which you did not go into much detail
> about, unsurprisingly enough) must have been severe
> in
> the extreme.
>
> Instead you have somehow spun it to read that the
> majority of the doctors were incompetent. Well done.
>
> Because right now you read like just another
> singaporean reporter - unprofessional,
> ill-researched,
> and over-authoritative.
>
> If you had any convictions about the nature of
> truth,
> and seeking to bring the truth, and news to the
> public
> before you signed up your job, I sincerely hope that
> you recover them someday.
>
> It would probably be too much to ask for you to pull
> the article with an apology to the public.
>
> In fact, you're probably feeling irate and angry
> right
> now after reading this. You're probably going to
> embark on a long career of doctor-bashing.
>
> Is this all you want your life to amount to?
> Second-rate journalism?
--- Today Author wrote:
> Dear Sir, thank you for your feedback.
>
> I'd like to clarify some things.
>
> 1) The article was not pulled from the online
> version of the paper. It is common for our morning
> and afternoon cover stories to differ.
>
> 2) Ample time was given to hospitals and many
> doctors. After waiting for more than a month for
> official comment, an editorial decision was made to
> run the story.
>
> 3) I have no intention of 'doctor-bashing'. I have a
> deep respect for doctors and the work that they do.
>
> Regards,
Today Author
************************
thank you for your reply.
I apologise if I made assumptions as to your practice;
however your organisation must by now be familiar with
the stock response hospitals and healthcare
organisations in singapore offer to the press. Perhaps
you need to develop closer working relationships with
them to elicit a response.
Might I ask which departments within these hospitals
you approached for comments?
may I also in return ask if you have read up around
the subject you wrote about, and discovered the
distinction between withdrawal of support and
euthanasia - and the rationale for offering it as a
treatment option?
Might I also ask how offering it as an option is such
an affront to patient dignity - when it is ultimately
up to the patients to choose for or against the
option?
********************
(Today journalist)
I approached their corporate comms departments as is the usual practice. As to the distinction between euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment, my enquiries to the experts sought to distinguish the two and obtain the explanation that withdrawal of treatment when offered in context of medical options is an acceptable medical practice. However I was unable to elicit any responses from hospitals; a number of doctors I spoke to, wished to comment off the record, which was unfortunate.
As explained, an editorial decision was made to run the stories without the responses from the hospitals.
If you wish to clarify the issue further, you are very welcome to write in to news@newstoday.com.sg with your comments.
Regards,
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From: Anonymous
Sent: Tue 6/14/2005 12:06 PM
To: Today Author
Subject: RE:
***************************
Please find my responses attached within the body of
your email; and thank you very much for taking the
time out from your schedule to answer me. Your effort
is unexpected, but appreciated.
--- Today Author wrote:
> I approached their corporate comms departments as is
> the usual practice. As to the distinction between
> euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment, my enquiries
> to the experts sought to distinguish the two and
> obtain the explanation that withdrawal of treatment
> when offered in context of medical options is an
> acceptable medical practice. However I was unable to
> elicit any responses from hospitals; a number of
> doctors I spoke to, wished to comment off the
> record, which was unfortunate.
again I find it strange that your enquiries to the
experts seeking to distinguish the two (I'm probably
being pedantic but your sentence was not quite
gramatically sound) returned unanswered, but rather
than seek to pursue the truth with a simple
google-search (it's really not that hard to key in the
words "withdrawal of treatment" and "euthanasia", or
even the phrase "what is the difference between
euthanasia and withdrawal of treatment" on
askjeeves.com) you chose to paint the two in the same
light.
I take it you still have not learnt the difference
between the two, then. It is the fodder of
medical-student medical-ethics - your equating the two
betrays your ignorance to the medical community at
large at the outset... and also misleads the public.
Euthanasia is an act of comission; it is illegal in
many countries, and involves an active step towards
ending a life; a lethal injection for instance. It is
an answer to an individual's desire to die (because
otherwise it is obviously murder), some would argue it
is based on compassion; many others would argue that
it is based on dispassion. Evidence suggests that
those who actually perform the "mercy killing" become
psychologically debased and traumatised by it.
Withdrawal of treatment is an act of omission; it is
the withdrawal of active or unusual measures to
prolong life. This includes cardiopulmonary
resuscitation, and ventilation with a mechanical
ventilator; in some instances it includes
cardiac-drugs used in conjunction with CPR in advanced
cardac life support - drugs which are used, for
instance, to "re-start" a stopped heart.
To the layman (which includes yourself) this is
somehow intuitively offensive; a life that could have
been saved is allowed to slip away.
Know that CPR is traumatic, and can involve broken
ribs; cardiac defibrillation ("shocking") can be
traumatic and involves burns to the chest and chest
pain on regaining consciousness... and most tellingly
of all, prolonged resuscitation (involving all the
"heroic" measures above) brings with every passing
moment the increased risk of brain damage, and
subsequent death after the initial resuscitation.
In lay terms, a prolonged resuscitation can make you
come back, only to live for a prolonged period as a
bedbound vegetable, or to die in pain, and suffering
several days later, still in possession of your
faculties.
Withdrawal of treatment, as in the case of terminal
conditions (such as cancer) -- is it really such a bad
thing? It is a decision based on compassion for the
patient, as well as clinical knowledge as to prognosis
and path of the illness.
One does not withdraw treatment on a patient one
expects to make a full return to health, or at least
to an acceptable quality of life.
Extrapolating the argument to the cases you alluded to
(without really giving the public any medical DETAILS
- but affording them plenty of unsubtly placed
"biasing" phrases - cold doctors, caring parennts) -
perhaps the doctors in question thought along these
lines and were simply too pessimistic in their
estimations...
... Or perhaps not; perhaps they really were the
uncaring, clinically unsound murderous bastards that
you imply to your readers that they are (without
explicitly stating it).
The thing is, we as readers will never know, since all
we have is a dearth of facts, and a lot of your
opinions weaved into the piece as coloured adjectives
- which do not really belong in an objective
newspiece.
switching off a ventilator falls in a slightly grayer
realm; whether it be an act of omission or comission
is slightly more confusing. Not many centres do that
these days.
> As explained, an editorial decision was made to run
> the stories without the responses from the
> hospitals.
As such, it would appear to be an unfortunate decision
which betrays at least in part the quality of your
editorial committee.
> If you wish to clarify the issue further, you are
> very welcome to write in to news@newstoday.com.sg
> with your comments.
>
> Regards,
> Today Author
> TODAY - News Desk
You will well know that I have no wish to carry this
to an "official" level. In writing to you I sought
only to communicate with you as an individual, and
understand your rationale for penning an article as
misleading as you did. And perhaps to give you a
glimpse into the reality of the matter behind what you
wrote.
In a sense, I pity you. I have friends who are
reporters as well, and I know how tied your hands can
be sometimes.
It must be frustrating, doing what you do - if you
were acting under orders.
If however you were acting out of your own initiative,
then I'm sorry if I sound harsh, but please do your
research next time - read up around the subject; ask
doctor-friends... NOT for official comments (please,
that is such a stupid singaporean media thing to do,
seek carefully selected "expert" opinions without
first seeing the whole picture) but for guidance as to
where to turn your eye for enlightenment.
In the future before you write anything medical, do
the following : It will place you head and shoulders
above your fellow medical-writers, and it will also
give you a glimpse into the international medical
communities' takes on medical issues, and ethics -
google search for "pubmed" or "the Cochrane
Collaboration" -- then in turn try your search inside
these search engines.
In the United Kingdom, we often have public
medic-ethical debates held between doctors, lawyers,
and laypeople; they are interesting, and enlightening.
It is unfortunate that in Singapore the press, in
their infinite wisdom, seek to speak with such
authority on subjects they have tenuous grasps of. If
such be the case, please at least be one of those
responsible enough to shoulder the burden of bringing
the truth to your readers.
Don't just take the easy route out and fabricate.
Be well.
(Anonymous)
Saturday, June 18, 2005
My Immortal
Here is someone who does not apparently worship sarongpartygirl's celestial orbs in quite the usual Singaporean way.
Truth be told, she has a point... and I'm sure partygirl would rankle at the collar if she saw read her post.
But then again, what exactly was the hoo-ha about?
Nudity?
Indiscretion?
A pair of titties and a bit of bush? (unfortunately, this is probably the part I agree with Indiscreet about : Not quite enough to rhapsodize about, but the parts were clearly in working order.)
Pinkerton Syndrome?
Actually, I think the crux of the issue, which few have managed to see past the jpg to is about online expression, and freedom, and setting precedents.
Sarongpartygirl didn't just express herself with her words - she expressed herself with her body.
And set a dangerous precedent. Our virginal fresh-faced beauties are fading faster than a white guy with bad teeth can say fuck-mi (fuckyew). Good lord, Singaporean girls... have discovered sexuality! Whip out your weapon!!! Up my beam, Scotty! Put on a Klingon!
...She's breaking the rules. First Annabel Chong (ah but she didn't just break the rules, she fucked and sucked them too) and now Sarongpartygirl.
It doesn't matter to me if partygirl gets off on white guys (I've asked her why before, and hers was an answer which I could respect.)
It doesn't even matter if partygirl acts like a slag and shags men, women and snails.
The point is that she has done something which few in our uber-conservative society would have dared to do -- and she has done it in a relatively tasteful way that doesn't reek so much of exhibitionalism (eg amateur porn) as it tastes of individualism.
And while I barely gave her nuddie photo a glance, I can respect her for what she did, even if albeit unintentionally.
No amount of lamely salacious media propaganda (thinly disguised as pseudo-objective coverage of local events) penned by some halfwit journalist will quash the partygirls that emerge and fade away today and the day after tomorrow - like perennial flowers of freedom in a bland meadow of tired confucian-conformism.
Perhaps we shall meet someday, partygirl, and I'll be able to shake your hand.
*****
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
You used to captivate me
By your resonating life
Now I'm bound by the life you've left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along
- My Immortal, Evanascence
Truth be told, she has a point... and I'm sure partygirl would rankle at the collar if she saw read her post.
But then again, what exactly was the hoo-ha about?
Nudity?
Indiscretion?
A pair of titties and a bit of bush? (unfortunately, this is probably the part I agree with Indiscreet about : Not quite enough to rhapsodize about, but the parts were clearly in working order.)
Pinkerton Syndrome?
Actually, I think the crux of the issue, which few have managed to see past the jpg to is about online expression, and freedom, and setting precedents.
Sarongpartygirl didn't just express herself with her words - she expressed herself with her body.
And set a dangerous precedent. Our virginal fresh-faced beauties are fading faster than a white guy with bad teeth can say fuck-mi (fuckyew). Good lord, Singaporean girls... have discovered sexuality! Whip out your weapon!!! Up my beam, Scotty! Put on a Klingon!
...She's breaking the rules. First Annabel Chong (ah but she didn't just break the rules, she fucked and sucked them too) and now Sarongpartygirl.
It doesn't matter to me if partygirl gets off on white guys (I've asked her why before, and hers was an answer which I could respect.)
It doesn't even matter if partygirl acts like a slag and shags men, women and snails.
The point is that she has done something which few in our uber-conservative society would have dared to do -- and she has done it in a relatively tasteful way that doesn't reek so much of exhibitionalism (eg amateur porn) as it tastes of individualism.
And while I barely gave her nuddie photo a glance, I can respect her for what she did, even if albeit unintentionally.
No amount of lamely salacious media propaganda (thinly disguised as pseudo-objective coverage of local events) penned by some halfwit journalist will quash the partygirls that emerge and fade away today and the day after tomorrow - like perennial flowers of freedom in a bland meadow of tired confucian-conformism.
Perhaps we shall meet someday, partygirl, and I'll be able to shake your hand.
*****
I'm so tired of being here
Suppressed by all my childish fears
And if you have to leave
I wish that you would just leave
'Cause your presence still lingers here
And it won't leave me alone
These wounds won't seem to heal
This pain is just too real
There's just too much that time cannot erase
When you cried I'd wipe away all of your tears
When you'd scream I'd fight away all of your fears
And I held your hand through all of these years
But you still have
All of me
You used to captivate me
By your resonating life
Now I'm bound by the life you've left behind
Your face it haunts
My once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away
All the sanity in me
I've tried so hard to tell myself that you're gone
But though you're still with me
I've been alone all along
- My Immortal, Evanascence
Thursday, June 16, 2005
The Outsiders
Step by faltering step, she passes
and, entranced, we watch;
fingertips pressed to the pane separating our worlds,
each breath misting her image
outside, looking in
praying that she may never fall;
never hurt.
and, entranced, we watch;
fingertips pressed to the pane separating our worlds,
each breath misting her image
outside, looking in
praying that she may never fall;
never hurt.
Hello
Playground school bell rings again
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she´s not breathing?
Hello, I'm your mind giving you
Someone to talk to
Hello
If I smile and don´t believe
Soon I know I´ll wake from this dream
Don´t try to fix me, I´m not broken
Hello, I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide
Don´t cry
Suddenly I know I´m not sleeping
Hello, I´m still here
All that´s left of yesterday
- Hello, Evanescence
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she´s not breathing?
Hello, I'm your mind giving you
Someone to talk to
Hello
If I smile and don´t believe
Soon I know I´ll wake from this dream
Don´t try to fix me, I´m not broken
Hello, I'm the lie, living for you so you can hide
Don´t cry
Suddenly I know I´m not sleeping
Hello, I´m still here
All that´s left of yesterday
- Hello, Evanescence
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
Battered and bruised
The day after fencing I'm bearing the scars (and bruises and welts) of my folly.
Never trust your coach to pair you up in a "duet" with an "appropriate partner".
Appropriate partners are not half your age, twice your speed, and medal winners at national competitions.
On the bright side, I knocked him senseless quite a few times :p
The coach was taken by my speed, and precision after five months off from fencing. The sad truth is that it's been so long since I fenced, and work has been so frustrating that it just felt so good to hit someone... I wanted Moooooree.
*****
So I've been invited out "dating" tonight (although, with typical womanly wiles, the invitor contrived to have it seem that I was doing the asking... ha. Women... think you can get away with wordplay all the time eh? Re-minisce is having none of that).
Naturally, being the sexless, unfunny, uninteresting, utterly boring and ordinary bloke that I am (I am, I am, really. My fingers are possessed by the spirit of a hot nympho but the rest of me is really rather ordinary I swear. Damn! Even that came out dodgy. bugger.) I declined, in favour of "hanging out" with the same person. Hanging out, less stress, less effort la, and still can get to know each other.
*****
Hellllloooooo, how ya doin'?
Okay, still needs work.
*****
Irresponsible medijournalism, part Duh.
I've gotten hold of a chain of emails which is making me seethe a little.
But wait, wait. Bide your time.
Never trust your coach to pair you up in a "duet" with an "appropriate partner".
Appropriate partners are not half your age, twice your speed, and medal winners at national competitions.
On the bright side, I knocked him senseless quite a few times :p
The coach was taken by my speed, and precision after five months off from fencing. The sad truth is that it's been so long since I fenced, and work has been so frustrating that it just felt so good to hit someone... I wanted Moooooree.
*****
So I've been invited out "dating" tonight (although, with typical womanly wiles, the invitor contrived to have it seem that I was doing the asking... ha. Women... think you can get away with wordplay all the time eh? Re-minisce is having none of that).
Naturally, being the sexless, unfunny, uninteresting, utterly boring and ordinary bloke that I am (I am, I am, really. My fingers are possessed by the spirit of a hot nympho but the rest of me is really rather ordinary I swear. Damn! Even that came out dodgy. bugger.) I declined, in favour of "hanging out" with the same person. Hanging out, less stress, less effort la, and still can get to know each other.
*****
Hellllloooooo, how ya doin'?
Okay, still needs work.
*****
Irresponsible medijournalism, part Duh.
I've gotten hold of a chain of emails which is making me seethe a little.
But wait, wait. Bide your time.
True Beauty comes from Within
He examined her fingernail with a puzzled frown, his face drawing closer to it as he saw the lightly-charred edges. He commented about a hundred dollar manicure gone up in flames...
"Oh, it's sponsored." she shrugged.
Sponsored fingernails. Gee.
*****
He'd heard her say it before; he'd even written mockingly about it in a story; but somehow he'd always assumed it was equal parts hyperbole and egocentricity; the creation of a new urban legend.
But as she walked down the corridor, it happened as if in slow-motion. Heads turned to follow her passage; all eyes were her possession. Elderly men watched with suddenly-young eyes; elderly women with impassive malevolence; young men watched with seething desire; young women with... something else, much akin to jealousy.
They stepped onto the ward, and still it continued; every head swivelled on every neck.
It was almost unreal, walking beside her. He didn't need to glance out the corner of her eye; he could feel her beside him... drawn up tall. Regal. The queen... of hearts.
A beauty that turned heads.
And yet as he listened, and laughed at her (? with? her?) through the evening, as they clowned around and fooled with the table lighting, he realised how wrong people would be to judge this book by it's cover.
For beneath the (probably largely sponsored) veneer lurked a hidden quality - a sort of - warmth - that didn't need to turn heads... but lay siege to his rapt humour and attention.
As one of her readers put it - a beauty that came from within.
He wondered at all the many men from her past, blinded by that radiance, and lying, in the aftermath, by the wayside.
Were they the brave... or the foolish?
Or perhaps just... the honest souls who spoke their minds, and wagered their dignity.
"Oh, it's sponsored." she shrugged.
Sponsored fingernails. Gee.
*****
He'd heard her say it before; he'd even written mockingly about it in a story; but somehow he'd always assumed it was equal parts hyperbole and egocentricity; the creation of a new urban legend.
But as she walked down the corridor, it happened as if in slow-motion. Heads turned to follow her passage; all eyes were her possession. Elderly men watched with suddenly-young eyes; elderly women with impassive malevolence; young men watched with seething desire; young women with... something else, much akin to jealousy.
They stepped onto the ward, and still it continued; every head swivelled on every neck.
It was almost unreal, walking beside her. He didn't need to glance out the corner of her eye; he could feel her beside him... drawn up tall. Regal. The queen... of hearts.
A beauty that turned heads.
And yet as he listened, and laughed at her (? with? her?) through the evening, as they clowned around and fooled with the table lighting, he realised how wrong people would be to judge this book by it's cover.
For beneath the (probably largely sponsored) veneer lurked a hidden quality - a sort of - warmth - that didn't need to turn heads... but lay siege to his rapt humour and attention.
As one of her readers put it - a beauty that came from within.
He wondered at all the many men from her past, blinded by that radiance, and lying, in the aftermath, by the wayside.
Were they the brave... or the foolish?
Or perhaps just... the honest souls who spoke their minds, and wagered their dignity.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Utterly Inappropriate
He watched in fascinated silence as she pressed her finger into the fiery depths of the waxen volcano on the table top, looked him in the eye and said it wasn't hot.
Ok ok so it was a candle. And the fiery depths : just hot wax.
but still...
And somehow she got him to do it too. (IT WAS HOT) After years of abject sanity, suddenly he was fooling around at a dinner table just having a laugh and being silly, and utterly ignoring the waitor (with posh voice) who was probably having consecutive strokes and mini heart attacks just watching them play, and hearing them piping up in utterly inappropriate dinner conversation about multiple orgasms, and how SMALL THE SERVINGS WERE, HOW DID YOU FIND YOUR SCALLOP, OH I TURNED OVER A LEAF AND...
In hindsight, it was slightly reminiscent of a dinner from another lifetime ago. But then and there, it was just... fun.
Or maybe it was just the bellini and white russian talking.
Ok ok so it was a candle. And the fiery depths : just hot wax.
but still...
And somehow she got him to do it too. (IT WAS HOT) After years of abject sanity, suddenly he was fooling around at a dinner table just having a laugh and being silly, and utterly ignoring the waitor (with posh voice) who was probably having consecutive strokes and mini heart attacks just watching them play, and hearing them piping up in utterly inappropriate dinner conversation about multiple orgasms, and how SMALL THE SERVINGS WERE, HOW DID YOU FIND YOUR SCALLOP, OH I TURNED OVER A LEAF AND...
In hindsight, it was slightly reminiscent of a dinner from another lifetime ago. But then and there, it was just... fun.
Or maybe it was just the bellini and white russian talking.
Saturday, June 11, 2005
Discretion (not) Guaranteed
The hot nurse and her colleagues are under the impression that re-minisce is a nice guy. (ie clearly delusional)
Of course, compared to some of the people he knows, he might not be so dodgy after all.
heh heh heh. Them poor security guards'll be gibbering in terror the night she asks twenty guys over for a party.
Of course, compared to some of the people he knows, he might not be so dodgy after all.
heh heh heh. Them poor security guards'll be gibbering in terror the night she asks twenty guys over for a party.
Friday, June 10, 2005
Yeah right...
The True You |
| You want your girlfriend or boyfriend to be more relaxed, calm, and composed. |
| With respect to money, you spend as little as possible. |
| You think good luck doesn't exist - reality is built on practicalities. |
| The hidden side of your personality tends to be easily attracted to fads and fashions. You are showy and want to be noticed. |
| You are tend to think about others' feelings a lot, perhaps because you are so eager to be liked. |
| When it comes to finding a romantic partner, you make opportunities to interact with many people through club activities or a hobby, then select someone you like. |
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Unforced
Speaking of useless force powers, how's coming back as a flickering low-tech ghost equate with immortality, anyhow?
Tuesday, June 07, 2005
Star Warp
Perhaps being inclined towards someone isn't so much about their innate attributes, as wanting to be inclined towards him or her.
Perhaps that is what transforms the schizophrenic humanity in all of us, into something quirky and interesing.
*****
There was something different there; it had little to do with the demands of the profession (or perhaps we of unsound mind gravitate towards out endlessly repetitive lives of medi-slavery).
Somewhere in those large, provocative eyes lurked an uncommonly encountered quality : kindness.
*****
I've had it up to here with people rhapsodizing about episode three. I'm nice, I just sit here and seethe politely, but enough is enough.
Sitting down for tea with my reg ripping the movie apart felt good.
Firstly, the Romantic Element. Seriously, folks. Only someone who hasn't ever experienced it in real life could possibly fall in love with a love so weak that the two lovey dovey protaganists never ever looked each other in the eye.
Romance is about subtlety (vs sex, which is about sex). Romantic comedies capture these subtleties over "still" scenes where lovers sit down across from each other, or walk alongside each other, and the camera scans their faces for those hidden moments we know so well from real life - catching him looking at you. Catching her eye. That moment of recognition, the smile that plays about both your lips as you catch each other watching. That certain imperceptible leaning-in as you listen to her; that chance brushing of skin on skin, lingering for just an instant. Engaging someone with your... soul.
Episode three had as much romance in it as a porn flick starring pinnochio and a blow-up doll.
And story, story, story.
It tied in well, didn't it? I hear people say.
Unspoken : at bloody long last.
I don't think it did tie in that well; I had the feeling throughout the entire movie that Lucas was grasping desperately at plotlines and trying to string them together into a half-credible storyline after ? deliberately ruining everything he had achieved in episodes 4, 5 and 6.
I mean, one minute Anakin's getting his skin burned off, and the next he's strapped into a huge metal mobile ventilator cum scary voice modulator. It's a good thing there weren't more people getting third degree burns in the galactic empire or they'd be knee deep in black clad metal death lords innit?
And let me see. The Jedi Order, mistrustful of the senate's intentions and more paranoid than our boys in white, at their time of greatest peril and crisis, naturally split up so that they can be as defenceless as possible, gape prettily at their troops turning rogue (hello?? Force Push anyone?) and get cut to shreds by laser fire which any halfwit padawan in the computer games would be able to deflect without so much of a flick of his logitech gamer's moue...
Ah yes, while they're at it, they also leave their seat of power - a large, blocky concrete fortress - virtually undefended (except by little younglings with big eyes and squeaky voices) with the doors wide open. They might as well have put out the Welcome Evil Sith Lords Cum Kill Us Pansies doormat.
I dunno, most other orders with even an iota of self-preservation would have at least have had a guard of about a couple hundred jedi waiting for anakin when he walked in the front door all evil-eyed.
Ah yes, they discover (thanks to good old ana-gumshoe) that their senator incumbant is an evil, powerful sith lord with intentions to take over the known universe. It's only logical they send a measely three (instead of thirty) jedi "masters" to arrest him, of which two are only adept at dying noisily in slow-motion, and a third who's really good with a sword but not so hot with his peripheral vision. Mmm. (Anakin, what's that big glowing thing you're holding over there and swinging at my...)
Ever wonder what that scene with the little jedi-child survivor-of-the-apocalypse rolling out of absolutely nowhere to save the life of the good senator only to get cut down in a hail of laser bolts was all about? Yeah, me too. Seeing as how the script writers didn't bother to tell us who he was.
I mean, why a child-jedi anyhow? Why not a nekkid woman-jedi? Or a big doggy jedi with four arms, two legs and an automatic pistol in each paw?
Force powers. Anyone who's ever played the Jedi Knight series knows the ins and outs of being a jedi.
When encountering dark jedi carrying big lightstaves approximately twelve times faster than and twice the range of yourself, always
1) wait for them to show off their fancy swordplay then grab them and hurl them off the canyon wall / bridge / very tall building you're standing upon.
2) wait for them to take death-defying leaps up thirteen stories to reach the little platform you're standing upon, then push them back down just as they're about to land and go into their combat stance.
3) roll hard and stab them in the crotch / butt
No, but seriously, these are real-world dynamics here. You have to believe you're really one with the Force.
Some guy leaps up out of a big shaft thingie in front of me, I don't wait for him to force-pull his lightsabre out from behind me, land behind me, turn around in flabbergasted surprise and get sliced open like a can of tuna from head to toe.
I just force push him, or better yet, kick him back into the endlessly deep shaft and eternal oblivion. (barring the odd millenium falcon bug.)
Heck, if I had the wits about me, I might give him a friendly prod on the way down with my dual-bladed light-stave too. Just for good luck.
Same again, you're on a little raft fighting a furious light sabre duel with some goody two shoed jedi master. Do you
1) fight hard and furiously with your sabre
or
2) kick, bite, scratch, and force push him into certain fiery death when he is distracted?
I think the computer-game programmers had a much better grasp of the star-wars universe than did the screenplay writers.
Hell, next time I vote THEY write the storyline.
Jedi academy had some really priceless moments, when Luke Skywalker himself says "I sense a disturbance in the force", and Kyle Katarn (smart-talking wiseguy duke-nukum with force powers character, who unfortunately got pipped to the big screen by some irritating jamaican sea slug) says "You always sense a disturbance in the force."
Someone else explain this to me.
Yoda's this exotic creature who's like seven thousand years old, yet spry enough to give evil sith lord Count Dooku a near flogging (and the odd balaku. sorry. rhymes) in episode.. two was it? And even nearly best Darth (In)Sidious himself.
Twenty years down the line when luke's all grown up Yoda's seven thousand and twenty, and suddenly he's got senile dementia, wants to eat the porn magazines in Luke's backpack, and terminally ill with some mystery condition which makes doesn't stop him lifting big heavy starfighters, but apparently makes him die peacefully in his sleep.
Them little green men sure do age sudden.
Chewie the big fuzzy bear thingie has friends and family (unlike poor yoda) on his homeworld, where they soundly trounce the republic troops after their initial pre-battle hiccup of that weird collective epileptic fit they had together (oh, sorry was that a war-cry?)
Next thing we know, he's flying around the universe with a space-pirate. The rest of his kind presumably get spacesick.
Ah yes, the spunky, fiesty princess wossname, you know, with the ugly princess leia hair and the bad attitude, suddenly turns into this teary-eyed near-mute extra gazing mournfully into the distance and destined to die by the end of the movie regardless of how many unbelievable turns the storyline takes.
Pregnancy does that to a woman. Hormones and all, you know.
Ah yes, why is it dark force users turn all ugly with bad contact lenses the second they employ their powers, but light force users don't sprout halos and angel wings (but instead get their hands chopped off)?
And why is it in a perfectly normal young man's sojourn to the friendly dark side he has to constipatedly squint beetle-browed into the distance every three seconds? Oh wait, I forgot, that's called acting.
And why, why, why if someone has the "high-ground" (ie defender's advantage) would anyone in their right mind try to jump over them and get their legs lopped off in the bargain?
Oh yeah, it worked for obi wan when he sliced and diced Darth Stone-Maul from behind. I dunno about the other dodgy Jedi Knights out there, but I prefer to go in from in front...
Me, I'd just have force-pushed good old Anakin back into the lava.
Heck, for that matter, you've just despatched one of the most dangerous dark-jedi in the known galaxy.
Do you
1) Leave him behind to be picked up by his evil cronies, be repaired, modded and overhauled into the meanest dark lord the galaxy has ever seen, or
2) take him with you so you can lock him away forever in some dark hole, or
3) poke out his eyeballs with your trusty lightsabre, or even
4) force push him back into the lava to die a fiery death?
No prizes for guessing which option I'd have chosen, but then again I have trouble getting my mind around the concept of a 100% squeaky-clean Jedi Knight. Give me Kyle Katarn anyday.
Perhaps that is what transforms the schizophrenic humanity in all of us, into something quirky and interesing.
*****
There was something different there; it had little to do with the demands of the profession (or perhaps we of unsound mind gravitate towards out endlessly repetitive lives of medi-slavery).
Somewhere in those large, provocative eyes lurked an uncommonly encountered quality : kindness.
*****
I've had it up to here with people rhapsodizing about episode three. I'm nice, I just sit here and seethe politely, but enough is enough.
Sitting down for tea with my reg ripping the movie apart felt good.
Firstly, the Romantic Element. Seriously, folks. Only someone who hasn't ever experienced it in real life could possibly fall in love with a love so weak that the two lovey dovey protaganists never ever looked each other in the eye.
Romance is about subtlety (vs sex, which is about sex). Romantic comedies capture these subtleties over "still" scenes where lovers sit down across from each other, or walk alongside each other, and the camera scans their faces for those hidden moments we know so well from real life - catching him looking at you. Catching her eye. That moment of recognition, the smile that plays about both your lips as you catch each other watching. That certain imperceptible leaning-in as you listen to her; that chance brushing of skin on skin, lingering for just an instant. Engaging someone with your... soul.
Episode three had as much romance in it as a porn flick starring pinnochio and a blow-up doll.
And story, story, story.
It tied in well, didn't it? I hear people say.
Unspoken : at bloody long last.
I don't think it did tie in that well; I had the feeling throughout the entire movie that Lucas was grasping desperately at plotlines and trying to string them together into a half-credible storyline after ? deliberately ruining everything he had achieved in episodes 4, 5 and 6.
I mean, one minute Anakin's getting his skin burned off, and the next he's strapped into a huge metal mobile ventilator cum scary voice modulator. It's a good thing there weren't more people getting third degree burns in the galactic empire or they'd be knee deep in black clad metal death lords innit?
And let me see. The Jedi Order, mistrustful of the senate's intentions and more paranoid than our boys in white, at their time of greatest peril and crisis, naturally split up so that they can be as defenceless as possible, gape prettily at their troops turning rogue (hello?? Force Push anyone?) and get cut to shreds by laser fire which any halfwit padawan in the computer games would be able to deflect without so much of a flick of his logitech gamer's moue...
Ah yes, while they're at it, they also leave their seat of power - a large, blocky concrete fortress - virtually undefended (except by little younglings with big eyes and squeaky voices) with the doors wide open. They might as well have put out the Welcome Evil Sith Lords Cum Kill Us Pansies doormat.
I dunno, most other orders with even an iota of self-preservation would have at least have had a guard of about a couple hundred jedi waiting for anakin when he walked in the front door all evil-eyed.
Ah yes, they discover (thanks to good old ana-gumshoe) that their senator incumbant is an evil, powerful sith lord with intentions to take over the known universe. It's only logical they send a measely three (instead of thirty) jedi "masters" to arrest him, of which two are only adept at dying noisily in slow-motion, and a third who's really good with a sword but not so hot with his peripheral vision. Mmm. (Anakin, what's that big glowing thing you're holding over there and swinging at my...)
Ever wonder what that scene with the little jedi-child survivor-of-the-apocalypse rolling out of absolutely nowhere to save the life of the good senator only to get cut down in a hail of laser bolts was all about? Yeah, me too. Seeing as how the script writers didn't bother to tell us who he was.
I mean, why a child-jedi anyhow? Why not a nekkid woman-jedi? Or a big doggy jedi with four arms, two legs and an automatic pistol in each paw?
Force powers. Anyone who's ever played the Jedi Knight series knows the ins and outs of being a jedi.
When encountering dark jedi carrying big lightstaves approximately twelve times faster than and twice the range of yourself, always
1) wait for them to show off their fancy swordplay then grab them and hurl them off the canyon wall / bridge / very tall building you're standing upon.
2) wait for them to take death-defying leaps up thirteen stories to reach the little platform you're standing upon, then push them back down just as they're about to land and go into their combat stance.
3) roll hard and stab them in the crotch / butt
No, but seriously, these are real-world dynamics here. You have to believe you're really one with the Force.
Some guy leaps up out of a big shaft thingie in front of me, I don't wait for him to force-pull his lightsabre out from behind me, land behind me, turn around in flabbergasted surprise and get sliced open like a can of tuna from head to toe.
I just force push him, or better yet, kick him back into the endlessly deep shaft and eternal oblivion. (barring the odd millenium falcon bug.)
Heck, if I had the wits about me, I might give him a friendly prod on the way down with my dual-bladed light-stave too. Just for good luck.
Same again, you're on a little raft fighting a furious light sabre duel with some goody two shoed jedi master. Do you
1) fight hard and furiously with your sabre
or
2) kick, bite, scratch, and force push him into certain fiery death when he is distracted?
I think the computer-game programmers had a much better grasp of the star-wars universe than did the screenplay writers.
Hell, next time I vote THEY write the storyline.
Jedi academy had some really priceless moments, when Luke Skywalker himself says "I sense a disturbance in the force", and Kyle Katarn (smart-talking wiseguy duke-nukum with force powers character, who unfortunately got pipped to the big screen by some irritating jamaican sea slug) says "You always sense a disturbance in the force."
Someone else explain this to me.
Yoda's this exotic creature who's like seven thousand years old, yet spry enough to give evil sith lord Count Dooku a near flogging (and the odd balaku. sorry. rhymes) in episode.. two was it? And even nearly best Darth (In)Sidious himself.
Twenty years down the line when luke's all grown up Yoda's seven thousand and twenty, and suddenly he's got senile dementia, wants to eat the porn magazines in Luke's backpack, and terminally ill with some mystery condition which makes doesn't stop him lifting big heavy starfighters, but apparently makes him die peacefully in his sleep.
Them little green men sure do age sudden.
Chewie the big fuzzy bear thingie has friends and family (unlike poor yoda) on his homeworld, where they soundly trounce the republic troops after their initial pre-battle hiccup of that weird collective epileptic fit they had together (oh, sorry was that a war-cry?)
Next thing we know, he's flying around the universe with a space-pirate. The rest of his kind presumably get spacesick.
Ah yes, the spunky, fiesty princess wossname, you know, with the ugly princess leia hair and the bad attitude, suddenly turns into this teary-eyed near-mute extra gazing mournfully into the distance and destined to die by the end of the movie regardless of how many unbelievable turns the storyline takes.
Pregnancy does that to a woman. Hormones and all, you know.
Ah yes, why is it dark force users turn all ugly with bad contact lenses the second they employ their powers, but light force users don't sprout halos and angel wings (but instead get their hands chopped off)?
And why is it in a perfectly normal young man's sojourn to the friendly dark side he has to constipatedly squint beetle-browed into the distance every three seconds? Oh wait, I forgot, that's called acting.
And why, why, why if someone has the "high-ground" (ie defender's advantage) would anyone in their right mind try to jump over them and get their legs lopped off in the bargain?
Oh yeah, it worked for obi wan when he sliced and diced Darth Stone-Maul from behind. I dunno about the other dodgy Jedi Knights out there, but I prefer to go in from in front...
Me, I'd just have force-pushed good old Anakin back into the lava.
Heck, for that matter, you've just despatched one of the most dangerous dark-jedi in the known galaxy.
Do you
1) Leave him behind to be picked up by his evil cronies, be repaired, modded and overhauled into the meanest dark lord the galaxy has ever seen, or
2) take him with you so you can lock him away forever in some dark hole, or
3) poke out his eyeballs with your trusty lightsabre, or even
4) force push him back into the lava to die a fiery death?
No prizes for guessing which option I'd have chosen, but then again I have trouble getting my mind around the concept of a 100% squeaky-clean Jedi Knight. Give me Kyle Katarn anyday.
Monday, June 06, 2005
Cheekopek
She was pretty. It wasn't something you kind-of noticed after deliberate scrutiny; it was glaringly obvious that she just was.
But why?
It struck him that it was her eyes, large, liquid and expressive.
They were surprisingly animated tonight, but perhaps that was because the formality of mundane life had melted away tonight.
Beyond that, they were framed by... perfect brows. And a very attractive face indeed.
*****
Double Standard
It was funny. That one, she was so pretty, and capable of so many things yet she became a model. It struck him then as odd.
This one, she was so pretty, and capable of so many things, yet it struck him as odd that she didn't become a model.
But why?
It struck him that it was her eyes, large, liquid and expressive.
They were surprisingly animated tonight, but perhaps that was because the formality of mundane life had melted away tonight.
Beyond that, they were framed by... perfect brows. And a very attractive face indeed.
*****
Double Standard
It was funny. That one, she was so pretty, and capable of so many things yet she became a model. It struck him then as odd.
This one, she was so pretty, and capable of so many things, yet it struck him as odd that she didn't become a model.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
Exciting Emergency Medicine
He was a no-hoper with a down time of too-long. We were just going through the motions.
The blonde sister was performing chest compressions automatically, competently, without really thinking about it.
The brunette was scribing.
She looked the blonde sister in the eye; the two of them were absolutely mad when they were on together.
Oh sister, you look all hot and bothered. That button looks too tight...
The blonde sister grinned and licked her lips.
The brunette reached over and unbuttoned it.
The blonde sister pouted and put on her bedroom eyes, without breaking her cycle of compressions.
You still look hottt...
She reached over and unbuttoned another button.
The paramedic bagging the patient sniggered.
He, standing by after cannulating, and not-really commanding this particular resuscitation coughed, and said I think I'm... too young for this...
One of the others said it's a good thing the curtains are drawn innit...
*****
Most people would probably give anything to spend an evening with two hot young female nurses...
Me?
Yeah I would too. Heh heh heh.
The blonde sister was performing chest compressions automatically, competently, without really thinking about it.
The brunette was scribing.
She looked the blonde sister in the eye; the two of them were absolutely mad when they were on together.
Oh sister, you look all hot and bothered. That button looks too tight...
The blonde sister grinned and licked her lips.
The brunette reached over and unbuttoned it.
The blonde sister pouted and put on her bedroom eyes, without breaking her cycle of compressions.
You still look hottt...
She reached over and unbuttoned another button.
The paramedic bagging the patient sniggered.
He, standing by after cannulating, and not-really commanding this particular resuscitation coughed, and said I think I'm... too young for this...
One of the others said it's a good thing the curtains are drawn innit...
*****
Most people would probably give anything to spend an evening with two hot young female nurses...
Me?
Yeah I would too. Heh heh heh.
Friday, June 03, 2005
Late Night Nocturne
He listened as she told him her story.
It was a bad story. He'd heard worse before, but he knew there were thing she wasn't telling him.
We falter, we fall.
We get back up again, and find our paths.
Eventually.
*****
The old woman's face contorted in agony and her eyes filled up with tears as she saw her son lying in a profound coma. Her face lay half in shadow, backlit by the soft orange glow of the ward's night lights. Her eyes glistened with a burning intensity; there was something she had to say.
She didn't even ask the attending doctor how bad it was, and whether he'd wake up again; she just latched onto him and started babbling.
They gravitated towards her; it was the human thing to do, it was almost a natural reaction to grief; they brought her food and drink and sat her down.
He listened the way he'd learnt to in his year in A&E counselling people who had lost close relatives, as she poured forth her grief, and felt comforted by the listening presence of the (hot) nurse by his side, leaning lightly against him since he'd taken the only other chair available to sit down eye to eye across from the pre-bereaved.
His ability with oriental languages and dialects had never been brilliant, and what with the little old woman launching into three of them all at once and all, he felt rather lost.
But after a while he began to realise that she wasn't talking about her son at all; or even about her grief at seeing him transformed into a shell of who she once was.
She kept beating her chest and talking about herself, and how she would have nobody to look after her. And about how bad a son this one had been, how he had failed her so often.
How wonderful she had been rearing him, and what an ingrate he had been.
The minutes slid by and his eyelids began to feel heavy.
At last she reached the pinnacle of her tirade, and asked him, implored him not to send her son home because she couldn't look after him. Send him to a home; send him to social welfare.
But of course, he said.
Of course.
It was a bad story. He'd heard worse before, but he knew there were thing she wasn't telling him.
We falter, we fall.
We get back up again, and find our paths.
Eventually.
*****
The old woman's face contorted in agony and her eyes filled up with tears as she saw her son lying in a profound coma. Her face lay half in shadow, backlit by the soft orange glow of the ward's night lights. Her eyes glistened with a burning intensity; there was something she had to say.
She didn't even ask the attending doctor how bad it was, and whether he'd wake up again; she just latched onto him and started babbling.
They gravitated towards her; it was the human thing to do, it was almost a natural reaction to grief; they brought her food and drink and sat her down.
He listened the way he'd learnt to in his year in A&E counselling people who had lost close relatives, as she poured forth her grief, and felt comforted by the listening presence of the (hot) nurse by his side, leaning lightly against him since he'd taken the only other chair available to sit down eye to eye across from the pre-bereaved.
His ability with oriental languages and dialects had never been brilliant, and what with the little old woman launching into three of them all at once and all, he felt rather lost.
But after a while he began to realise that she wasn't talking about her son at all; or even about her grief at seeing him transformed into a shell of who she once was.
She kept beating her chest and talking about herself, and how she would have nobody to look after her. And about how bad a son this one had been, how he had failed her so often.
How wonderful she had been rearing him, and what an ingrate he had been.
The minutes slid by and his eyelids began to feel heavy.
At last she reached the pinnacle of her tirade, and asked him, implored him not to send her son home because she couldn't look after him. Send him to a home; send him to social welfare.
But of course, he said.
Of course.
Wednesday, June 01, 2005
The Pragmatism Conundrum, and London Cabs
She thought that all Singaporean men were wimps.
He asked her what she meant. It was about needing emotional support, she said. About being clingy.
He flirted with the idea of disagreeing, then caved in and conceded the point. For one, she wasn't Singaporean by a long shot. Or even South East Asian. And for another... he agreed. The women, too.
On a whim, he asked her if he was a wimp.
She said No, you're not. She paused for a moment, then added You're pragmatic and sensible.
It brought back shades of a memory from another lifetime.
A very different woman, different in every way. Expressing her disbelief at something he'd just done... But you're the practical one. You were always so sensible!
Her voice held a tinge of bewilderment... and perhaps something more?
*****
I've noticed a lot of london taxicabs cropping up on the roads recently. They remind me a little of London, and how much I miss it.
But the cabbies who drive them haven't got a clue, chugging along at sixty kmh in the extreme right lane. That's not how a london black cab is driven. It's meant to be driven with wild abandon at breakneck speeds, weaving in and out of traffic like a drunken kung-fu exponent cleaving through hordes of murderous villains. (Kung Fu Hustle, anyone?)
*****
They were discussing the concept of casual relationships; she asked him what he thought about them.
He said he didn't believe in them once, but as time wore on he wasn't so sure anymore.
She said that she couldn't see him in one; he was too practical. She, she needed intimacy.
How strange. Too practical... for casual intimacy. Surely casual intimacy is the epitomy of pragmatism, and romantic lifelong love the realms of the romantics?
He puzzled over this in silence. She had a point too. Why enter a casual relationship if the endpoint is near-certain failure?
And he wondered whether intimacy was important to him at all. Perhaps she was right, and it wasn't. Or perhaps... as he'd like to believe... intimacy was important.
But only with the right person.
Without, it would be... somehow trivial. And very much unnecessary.
*****
Anyone remember the good old days when computer games were more than just fancy graphic fluff and storylines cheesier than a gouda wheel? When games (and, for that matter, movies) were about compelling stories and carefully thought out teasers to keep you enthralled and wondering what would happen to you next... aside from the ubiquitous bad guy with the BFG?
I do.
Based loosely on the ultima series, this modern-day massively multiplayer remake may not be true to the spirit of the original (pah, making potions be damned) but it's free, and it's actually pretty engrossing.
Well people my age would probably think so, anyhow.
God. I sound so old.
He asked her what she meant. It was about needing emotional support, she said. About being clingy.
He flirted with the idea of disagreeing, then caved in and conceded the point. For one, she wasn't Singaporean by a long shot. Or even South East Asian. And for another... he agreed. The women, too.
On a whim, he asked her if he was a wimp.
She said No, you're not. She paused for a moment, then added You're pragmatic and sensible.
It brought back shades of a memory from another lifetime.
A very different woman, different in every way. Expressing her disbelief at something he'd just done... But you're the practical one. You were always so sensible!
Her voice held a tinge of bewilderment... and perhaps something more?
*****
I've noticed a lot of london taxicabs cropping up on the roads recently. They remind me a little of London, and how much I miss it.
But the cabbies who drive them haven't got a clue, chugging along at sixty kmh in the extreme right lane. That's not how a london black cab is driven. It's meant to be driven with wild abandon at breakneck speeds, weaving in and out of traffic like a drunken kung-fu exponent cleaving through hordes of murderous villains. (Kung Fu Hustle, anyone?)
*****
They were discussing the concept of casual relationships; she asked him what he thought about them.
He said he didn't believe in them once, but as time wore on he wasn't so sure anymore.
She said that she couldn't see him in one; he was too practical. She, she needed intimacy.
How strange. Too practical... for casual intimacy. Surely casual intimacy is the epitomy of pragmatism, and romantic lifelong love the realms of the romantics?
He puzzled over this in silence. She had a point too. Why enter a casual relationship if the endpoint is near-certain failure?
And he wondered whether intimacy was important to him at all. Perhaps she was right, and it wasn't. Or perhaps... as he'd like to believe... intimacy was important.
But only with the right person.
Without, it would be... somehow trivial. And very much unnecessary.
*****
Anyone remember the good old days when computer games were more than just fancy graphic fluff and storylines cheesier than a gouda wheel? When games (and, for that matter, movies) were about compelling stories and carefully thought out teasers to keep you enthralled and wondering what would happen to you next... aside from the ubiquitous bad guy with the BFG?
I do.
Based loosely on the ultima series, this modern-day massively multiplayer remake may not be true to the spirit of the original (pah, making potions be damned) but it's free, and it's actually pretty engrossing.
Well people my age would probably think so, anyhow.
God. I sound so old.
