stupid idiot cow!

It's always the people with the little jobs who go bonkers trying to asphyxiate you with the rule book. Paragrah one, page one. They have jobs nobody else would want, if given a choice, and they clutch tightly their designations lest they slip through their fingers and crumble down onto the floor, a Pollock painting of a job gone wrong. These people are, generally, the bulk of my disgruntled attitude towards this country.

They are maniacal losers, the bottom rung of the rat race, and they hate themselves for being where they are. And so it ricochets back to the rest of us. "No, sorry, rules are rules and I don't want to bend any rules for you, as pitiful as you are 'cause my self importance is tied so tightly to my hourly wage job that if I fail in this then I have failed in every part of my life which is why I tell my children to study hard and you see my son is now in NTU/SMU and my daughter is Miss Singapore Gooniverse, etc etc, blah blah." Morons!

I know I made a mistake by deciding to switch cards at the very last minute. But so what, you anal-retentive geriatric cowboy? There's my face, my name, my (quite nice sounding) identification number (because in this country, really, all we are are statistics) so what's your problem, chief?

OH MY GADZZ.

fifty-five cents; and heat

That's my worth. 55 cents. And half a meal of deep fried chicken.

*

Someone wave a flag and tell me just what's up with global warming.

I think it's beautiful that the rays of the sun (yes, the very ones that are currently melting me like farm fresh butter) are minutes or hours old. Lightyears and other astronomical wonders. (Funny how the only thing separating astronomy and gastronomy is a 'g'.) Old they may be but these rays are making stir-fry of my cells at the speed of light in the true sense of the phrase.

I've done my turn-water-off-when-soaping and switch-lights-off-when-not-in-use bit to save the environment. Still, how far can I really go? The frogs are going extinct; the trees are dying; the lands are thirsty, and it's going to happen anyway whether I leave my lights on or off. One feels really pathetically small right now.

If I could write a letter to Mother Nature I'd say, "Hey, I don't know what it's like to be a single mum with kids who are ungrateful, and maybe you really need the welfare but could you protest some other way?" I've thought about it, considered my options, such and such. In an intimate poll with myself I voted for freeze in Would You Rather Freeze to Death or Scorch to Death. (I mean, hey, if I get frozen maybe someone could thaw me. But when you're burnt, you're burnt. You're just the cancer causing black stuff on your barbecued chicken wing.)

To go back in time and say, "Moses, smell the roses and tell those Israelites to quit washing their dirty things in the sea, et cetera" just isn't possible mostly because a) time travel is debatable and who knows if it's even possible; b) me no speak any Hebrew. Moses may burn me for witchcraft: "What be'est thou vile person?" But at least I'll get recorded in the Bible. And translated. And one day while flipping through the book of Exodus someone may spot me.

In the meantime, what can I do but burn, baby, burn?

allaroundbackgroundsound: Play - Flunk

just a thought

My father finally applied for his PR here. Finally. After 20 years. The funny thing is he's not here to get the letter. He's back in New Zealand. But it's just a thought.

I absolutely cannot stand it when people chew with their mouths full. It's terrible to watch. My insides cringe and I feel like all my appetite is lost in an instant. My mother always told me the best way to see what kind of person someone is is to see how they eat. I quite agree. But it's just a thought.

I think certain people are becoming too familiar with me and, well, familiarity breeds contempt. Also I am done with the stereotyping us girls get. Egos do not need to be fed this way. But it's just a thought.

People really need to get to know other people better before formulating opinions on what kind of person he/she is. Honestly. But it's just a thought.

I don't want to have dinner alone at home tonight again. But it's just a thought.

allaroundbackgroundsound: Crips - Ratatat; Crazy Little Thing Called Love - Queen

does it matter anymore who we give our love to?

"And high up above or down below
When you’re too in love to let it go
But if you never try you’ll never know
Just what you’re worth"

*

"Did I drive you away?
I know what you'll say,
You say, "Oh, sing one we know,"
But I promise you this,
I'll always look out for you,
That's what I'll do."

*

"My song is love, is love unknown?
And I've got to get that message home."

Indy 2007

Was Indie ever really that independent? Last night I was caught in a crowd of nail-painted, ear-pierced, screaming teenagers who, basically, screamed all night. It wasn't The Winx Club coming to town. It wasn't even Britney. (I now doubt her holding power over these profitable cows.) It was Anberlin, Copeland, and ear aches post-moshing.

I must say Anberlin is better live. On my iPod or over my speakers, they're just another Dashboard. But this is not the point of me sitting here. I came to rant, and rant I will do, on the comical scene Indie now is. Indie, if you haven't heard, is the new pop. Once, I remember, my college days when I would gush about Franz Ferdinand and people would ask, "Who's that?" In History class, we learnt the ill-fated Archduke's ill fate and people would proclaim with revelation, "Oh, you mean him." Now, Franz is everywhere. Same for The Strokes and The Arcade Fire. And some say The Thrills. (Noooooooooo.)

Now Indie seems like just a mad rush to be the first to claim the throne of who discovered who first. It's almost as if we're so afraid that being one of them would make us lose whatever it was that made us special. And then, when we're in the crowd of people who are doing the same thing, we're boars and deers and antelopes caught in headlights of the best quality.

It's become so much more. It's in your clothes, in your politics, in the colour of your nailpolish, the shape of your hair, the size of your glasses (and are they plastic or metal? yes of course it matters!), the words you use, the places you go, the things you buy, the people you stick with. It's a lifestyle. It's an entire industry that spends its time decrying industries and capitalising and profiteering but, lo, those merchandise tables.

What ever happened to Corey Haim what we used to know?

allaroundbackgroundsound: Emily Jean Stock - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah; Homewrecker - Hellogoodbye