Ok, maybe me talking about vomiting in the last post, and now this, falls under the 'too much info' category. But hey, I haven't done so in 10 years. That's a record I'm very proud of.

Here's something peculiar about myself. It seems the most creative time in my brain's life so far is whenever I get horribly, bed-riddenly (sic) sick.

(Wait, was that a bad pun in that last sentence?)

So, last night, I took mum's advice about inducing vomiting. (Toothbrushes are good with that). Oddly enough, while I was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, my brain was at that very moment creating a little nursery rhyme, replacing "1, 2, Buckle My Shoe" (or was it "1, 2, Freddy's coming for you"?), with this:

1,2, Out came all the goo
3,4, Horrid smells galore
5,6, How'd I get in this fix?
7,8, Am so full of hate
9,10, Never eat again

Hey, gimme a break! Consider what I was doing while that rhyme was forming in my head.

Let me just say this, without going into the gory details: having not vomited for a decade, my body sure made up for lost time last night.

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Taken from the blog of my friend (and incurable Francophile) Shanaz:

It was getting pretty crowded as the MRT was approaching Raffles Place and a group of young Malay girls and boys entered at Redhill (or was it Tiong Bahru??) Anyways, they were all dressed up in those current, hip sub-culture clothes. You get the picture. Red and black tie, thick eyeliner, ruffled hair, My Chemical Romance t-shirts, knee length socks etc. Whatever you call it lah. They were talking and talking.....and then.....the bombshell dropped.

One of the girls turned to the guys and asked loudly "Eh, asal Ronaldinho tak main untuk Barcelona kat World Cup ah? Asal dia main untuk Brazil pulak??"

Translation from Minah to English: "Why is Ronaldinho not playing for Barcelona in the WC? Why is he playing for Brazil instead??"

Heh, what do you know? A good dose of laughter is the best medicine!

You know you're really sick when your mother actually encourages you to induce vomiting. Better out than in, I guess.

Timecheck: Exactly 2 weeks until NS. Hopefully, this would be 2 of the most hectic weeks of my life. I've songs to listen to, movies to watch, games to play, people to curse, parents to love and beg, sister to make nice to, friends to chat with, computer to fix, noodles to eat, Coke to drink, and so on and forth.

But first and foremost, I've got a fever to cure. This would be my third in two months. That, gentle readers, is what we call a BAD SIGN.

You'd think the pinples would start to go away once you reach the big 2 Oh.

You'd think wrong.

I am currently suffering from the worst acne breakout of my life. You watch Superman Returns. You see Superman's shell of a homeworld, Krypton. That'll be my face.

Why do I care? Good question. I didn't once. Blame it on love I guess.

Did I say too much there?

-ahem-

I just hope that slopping Nivea, Clean & Clear AND SilkPro on my face would clear it up soon. Gotta look good for NS.

I feel the need.

The need to blog.

About what?

Heck if I know.

Pesky writer's block.

The fingers are willing, but the little grey cells, zey are weak.

Ok, quick question: is my Cbox tagboard working for you? If not, put in a quick note in the comments link just below this post and I'll change it lickety-split.

Here is a video game I like to play now and then, combined with a song that I like to sing to myself quite often.

Ladies and gentlemen, Denis Leary and the Master Chief.



And since I know most people surfing the internet are slobs too lazy to search for the lyrics themselves (hey, I'm an asshole, didn't ya hear the song? :D)

[Spoken]
Folks, I'd like to sing a song about the American Dream. About me. About you. The way our American hearts beat down in the bottom of our chests. About the special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts, maybe below the cockles, maybe in the sub-cockle area. Maybe in the liver. Maybe in the kidneys. Maybe even in the colon, we don't know.

I'm just a regular Joe with a regular job
I'm your average white suburbanite slob
I like football and porno and books about war
I've got an average house with a nic hardwood floor
My wife and my job, my kids and my car
My feet on my table, and a cuban cigar

But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like me interested
(Oh no) No Way (Uh-uh)
No, I've gotta go out and have fun
At someone else's expense
(Oh yeah) Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

I drive really slow in the ultrafast lane
While people behind me are going insane

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, such an asshole)

I use public toilets and piss on the seat
I walk around in the summertime saying, "How about this heat?"

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

Sometimes I park in handicapped spaces
While handicapped people make handicapped faces

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's a real fucking asshole)

Maybe I shouldn't be singing this song
Ranting and raving and carrying on
Maybe they're right when they tell me I'm wrong.....

NAAAH!

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

[Spoken]
You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, hot pink with whaleskin hub caps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights, yeah! And I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115mph getting one mile per gallon, sucking down quarter pounder cheese burgers from McDonald's in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable styrofoam containers and when I'm done sucking down those grease ball burgers, I'm gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag and then I'm gonna toss the styrofoam container right out the side and there ain't a God damned thing anybody can do about it. YOu know why? Because we got the bombs, that's why.

[Spoken]
Two words. Nuclear fucking weapons, okay?! Russia, Germany, Romania - they can have all the Democracy they want. They can have a big democracy cake-walk right through the middle of Tiananmen square and it won't make a lick of difference because we've got the bombs, okay?! John Wayne's not dead - he's frozen. And as soon as we find the cure for cancer we're gonna thaw out the duke and he's gonna be pretty pissed off. You know why? Have you ever taken a cold shower? Well multiple that by 15-million times, that's how pissed off the Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get the Duke and John Cassavetes...
(Hey)
and Lee Marvin
(Hey)
and Sam Pekinpah
(Hey)
And a case of Whiskey and drive down to Texas...
(Hey, you know you really are an asshole)
Why don't you just shut-up and sing the song pal!

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

A!
S-S!
H-O!
L-E!
Everybody!
A!
S-S!
H-O!
L-E!

[Barking]
Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf
Fung achng tum a fung tum a fling chum
Oooh Oooh

[Spoken]
I'm an asshole and proud of it!

Flashback time

Note: The author has written this for four reasons, to write something in conjuction with the ongoing World Cup, to wax nostalgia, to stretch his composition muscles and to show off his knack of remembering the most useless stuff from long ago, e.g. the time when the school bus he was on crashed into a motorcyclist, 15 frickin' years ago.

This happened in 1997, in Primary 5. The boys in my class, as you might expect, were nuts about football. And in those days, so was I. I made a pretty good defender in street footy. Really, I did! Ah, but my friends were better, so of course I was only the standby player for the inter-school football tournament.

Quite a lot of people were watching that first game, boys and girls. It was the first round, 5/3 (my class) against 5/4. I have to say, we were the favourites. We had, among others, Faiz (yes, THAT Faiz), prolific goal scorer, and (it's hard to forget this name) Nabawi, the Beckham nut. Styled his hair, played on the right and everything. We couldn't lose, surely!

So the match started, refreed by my Mother Tongue teacher. It was real neck-and-neck stuff, they scored one, we scored one, they scored two more, we scored two more. All the while, I was on the sidelines, watching the game eagerly. Before the game, everyone on the team promised me a place on the squad if they won. Actually, it didn't matter to me if I played or not, I just wanted my class to win. Hey, don't you want to be in the champion class too? Anyway, the score was tied 3-3, with 5 minutes to go. Now, Nabawi only started idolising Beckham when he scored this goal. Ever since, he wanted to emulate it. And, on the halfway line, with the ball on his feet and the goalie on his line, he got his chance. And he took it. The ball was rising. All eyes were on the ball. Rising..falling...goalie slipped! GOAL!!!

Naturally, my class started cheering. Nabawi was grinning like the dickens while he was mobbed. But see, I wasn't cheering. See, the goal posts? They had no nets. Blame it on the school ignoring the sports program. I wasn't cheering because I wasn't sure if the ball had crossed UNDER the crossbar (thereby leading to a goal) or OVER the crossbar. if there had been a net, the ball would have landed on it. Therefore, no goal. But no net means the ball continuing down to the ground. It doesn't matter. Everyone thought it was a goal.

Except, of course, the referee.

He blew the whistle and said 'No goal!'. In his opinion, the ball went over, not under, the bar. On hindsight, it was funny. Every single person in the school, even the opposing team, thought it was a goal except the one person who mattered.

Now, if you know Faiz (keeping in mind that he was pretty much the same in secondary school as in primary school, except that he knew more curse words), you can probably guess his reaction. To this date, that was the only time I've ever been in a situation close to a riot. Every single one of my classmates on the field was mobbing the ref, who was quite old mind you. Goodness knows what kind of names he was called. But, in a show of firmness that I could learn from, he made sure his decision stood. Play on, after 5 minutes of protests.

Wouldn't you know it? 5/4 scored the very next minute. 3-4. And that was the scoreline on the final whistle. We were out.

Looking at the guys after the match, it was like Princess Diana's then-recent funeral all over again. This, more than any other thing, was a permanant reminder of the power football holds over its true followers. I was disappointed not to be able to play, yes, but I brushed it off easily. But the guys, they were absolutely heart-broken. Think Singapore Idol rejects. Triple it. There you go, that was their reactions. The worst of it was Nabawi hugging me, tears and snot dripping on my shirt, apologising to me profusely for me not having the chance to play. I wish I was exaggerating. It was a good thing the exams were over, they were all so despondent from that day until the start of the December holidays. Every single guy. Except me, which the girls wondered about. I felt bad for them, of course, but it's hard to feel sad when your uncle just bought you your very first PC, you know?

The tournament was also notable for me getting hit HARD by a wayward ball in another match. At least the girls paid attention to me for a day afterwards.

There is a happy ending to this story: the next year, me, Faiz, Nabawi and one other guy were transfered to another class, 6/2, until now still my favourite class, primary or secondary. On that year's tournament, there were finally nets on the goal posts (shows you how big the controversy was, Dazhong Primary was a bit slow when it came to upgrades back then) and the guys made it to the final. I played 10 minutes of that match before being replaced by Faiz, who basically started murdering the other team. So, basically we won. I got my one and only sports medal.

Is it real gold or not? Pfft, who cares?! I have a Gold medal!

Bottle of Coke: 2 dollars

Bag of chips: 3 dollars

Fridge to replace the old one which suddenly inexplicably broke down on us: 1000+ dollars

Hearing people go 'GOOOAAL!!!" from here, there and everywhere around 4am in the morning:

Yup, you got it. Priceless.

If you search for "peter crouch" in YouTube, you'll find some videos of his now famous (among soccer fans) robot dance celebration.

Now, I've been doing it ever since I've heard of the robot dance. (BTW, domo arigato everyone!) When I've done it in front of a few people, they laugh and dance along. All in good fun though, I know that. And you know what, I do a pretty good robot if I do say so myself.

That beanpole Crouch does it, and it becomes a national phenomenon. No, I'm not sore that I wasn't the reason it became a phenomenon. It's just another way for Life to amuse me, that's all.

Interest in World Cup: nominal at best. Interest in Half-Life 2 Episode 1: off the charts!

Me being a casual sci-fi fan, I suppose it is odd that I hated Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All those kids running around, killing demons, getting caught in life threatening situations.....'sigh' makes my life unbearably boring.

But I gotta admit, looking at the show again, Joss Whedon did a fine job creating the stories, making memorable characters, writing the snarky lines. It's that and a lot more that makes people consider that TV show the greatest of all time (believe it or not, cause I don't).

So, there's another show similar to Buffy coming. Nothing supernatural this time, it's just about a fledgling private detective who just so happens to be gorgeous. But that's not why I'm going to watch it. I've heard a lot of things about this show and it's all good. They say it's better than Lost (and I love Lost), which says a whole lot, doesn't it? Despite that, it's not a big hit in the US, which is why it's not surprising that Channel 5 is showing it at the Sunday 6PM slot, starting tomorrow.

Yeah, NOW you bring this show on air, with my NS in 37 days. Huh.

Anyway, the show? Veronica Mars. Watch it!

I'd like to remind everyone to be careful when making friends with pre-teens. They're great to talk to, maybe even to hang out with, if you don't mind the occasional stares. But talk and hang out with them long enough, and you may begin to start acting and thinking like a pre-teen. Trust me on this, it's not pretty.