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Friday, June 30
Hopeless.
But honey everything you do just leaves me needing you.
Tuesday, June 27
Sexy the suicide monkey.
On the train today I observed a bunch of whom I presume were students from a special school. (A presumption solely based on physical appearance, and not any rogue behaviour on their part.)
And then my surge of sanctimonious pity gave way to an inexplicable wistfulness.
Must be nice to not feel the remote need to be normal. (And here I mean normal in the most relative terms.) Must be nice not to be burdened by the superficial necessities we've all created in life - like Nike dunks and Crumpler bags. It's satisfaction we crave, and I like to think they have it.
So, making my way (amidst the aesthetically-pleasing symmetry of palm trees that line Woodlands Ave 2) through the stream of students in their deliberately faded denims, every one armed with laptops and smiles that convey varying degrees of social consciousness - I can't help but wonder how long each of them spent in the bathroom this morning trying to be normal.
Joga Bonito.
Italy sure win lar, cause they got Mafia.
Saturday, June 24
Kick snap punch!
I've come up with a new theory, namely - We are what we watch.
Based predominantly on intense studies of my own behaviour and train of thought after I've subjected myself to any particular TV drama at length, here's why: After watching 2 whole seasons of Lost, I find myself not only bathing less (because the grungy look is in) but also wondering what my bathing less could mean (because everything means something); Smallville brought about a strong suspicion that my neighbour's hitherto inexplicable ability to know all the latest gossip may be Kryptonite-induced; and Desperate Housewives made me smash my pipe to get the plumber over.
So you really can't blame me for accusing that lady on the bus with the horrible B.O. of being a suspected suicide carrier of some new biochemical airborne viral infection, can you? Blame Alias.
Wednesday, June 21
Janie's got a gun.
If there's one phrase people like to console themselves (and, even worse, other people) with, besides the proverbial and ridiculous "Time heals all wounds", its that-which-can-be-applied-to-almost-any-situation-with-appropriate-insertion-of-tiny-grimace-and-shake-of-head: "Things change".
...Dude, words of consolation come from cheesy one-liners that Confucious made up, not statements you can find out of a Physics textbook.
Because, you know, it's a fact. Things do change.
Like how you and that particular someone don't talk anymore; or how you don't even have the number of your best friend in primary school in your handphone when you used to be able to dial it with your eyes closed; or how your biggest worry was Polly missing from her Pocket; or how you used hug your dad when he came home and all you can manage now is a guttural noise from somewhere at the bottom of your throat; or just how that old BSB poster which you professed your undying love to a million times is now sitting rolled up at the back of your closet (read: NOT ME).
I guess there's some things I'd really like to change - like my increasing anti-romantic notions, and there's things I wish I could go back to, like eyeing cute guys in the CJ canteen. But change is here to stay (an oxymoron if there ever was one), so deal with it, buddy.
So the only answer I have as to why Ronaldo looks like he put on 20 pounds, had a hangover, then decided to play in the World Cup - well, things change. Hahaha ha ha. So deal with it, buddy.
Monday, June 19
Goooooo Brasil!
Nothing like watching Brazilian soccer with Brazilian soccer players. Spent the wee hours of this morning surrounded by a sea of green and yellow, homemade popcorn, and several victory dances.
I have fun neighbours.
Damn, I'm addicted to Shaun's blog music (It's Boston by Ausgustana).
Finally managed to catch Xmen 3: The Last Stand today - I must say it was an elaborate plethora of good effects, tantalising characters and superhero fighting that almost managed to cover up its cheesy one-liners. Almost. I mean, srsly. It was like watching a desaturated version of Power Rangers. High body counts and 360 degree twists at every corner do not guarantee a good show, Mr X3 Director. The proposed storyline about the dilemma between curing mutancy and embracing it was promising - but I guess promises can be broken. Since we all know how bad I am at reviews - I'll sum it up in one word: Grey.
I'm the juggernaut, bitch.
Yeh, we'll rule the world someday. In the meantime, let's just play in it.
(And damn, newurbanmale has hot guyz.)