Well then! Happy Birthday to Me eh? 28th of March and i'm another year older - also presumably wiser, more mature, and slightly more failing in health. Most, however, consider that last element to be in bad taste.


I definitely feel older. Its a rather depressing thing, truth be told.

But still, it was a great birthday. Thanks must go out to all those who sent me well-wishes - i appreciate it greatly.



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Here's an interesting phenomenon!

I'm sure that all of you, (isn't it wonderfully arrogant how i ASSUME there are readers? such hubris!) evidently being IT-savvy enough to get onto this blog, have heard of the Apple iPod, and also the Creative Zen players. Now, question: Which player strikes you as infinitely more cool?

Here's what happened to me. I was surfing the web (Net? which do you guys prefer? Personally i favour web. God knows why) checking out mp3 players. I was mainlly doing a cross-comparison of the Creative Zen 20gb player, and the Apple iPod 20gb player. Now the former (according to the information on Yahoo's shopping site, which turned out to be slightly spurious. For the purposes of my discourse here, however, that fact is irrelevant) was 1/10th the weight, had a battery life 3 times that of the apple, was about half the size and had far more functions (microphone, radio, contacts, organizer etc). It was even slightly cheaper! and higher ratings on the sound quality, too.
Despite the Creative player being the clearly superior product, however, I couldn't help but feel that the Apple was somehow a better thing to buy. That the iPod was, in some indescribable way, more COOL than the Creative Zen player. Steve Job's little beauty just had this certain je ne sais quoi to it - something so strong that even while consciously acknowledging that Creative was the thing to get, still thinking "But damn the iPod is so cool!" (by this point my brain wasnt really working - this allows me, when recreating the process in writing here, to use the word "cool" twice, and so close together. Under other circumstances i would, of course, never do this, having a massively expansive vocabulary. Really!).


And then it hit me. I had one of those moments for which that seldom-used, but very beautiful word can be used: an epiphany. (note it down!) The Apple iPod wasn't the better product. It was clearly not as good as Creative's gadget. Neither was it, in itself, cooler - because what IS cool anyway? Naught but an arbitrarily assigned tag, given to various items/places/people by a fickle minded species. What MADE the iPod cool then? BRANDING. MARKETING. IMAGE. that's what. I must confess to watching TV sometimes, and the Apple ads are positively ubiquitous. That means they're EVERYWHERE. when a new product's being launched, of course. Another example: Ostensibly the hottest teenangst show on TV these days, The OC's Marissa has, of course, an iPod. They're all over the place, in all the right shows (read: Larry King, sadly, has NOT been paid to be seen with an iPod.) and that's created this aura of special-ness around the product.

First of all would be hats off to Apple's marketing team. They've obviously done an amazing job, which isn't really any suprise (look at the iMac revolution!). The second thing is that i'm rather disturbed by this phenomenon. I prize my individuality and ability to think for myself (whether or not i'm correct in assuming i HAVE these attributes, i leave to you) and being shown just how much my mind can be influenced by the media leaves me highly unsettled. I felt positively brainwashed. not the nicest of feelings in the world, really.


The good thing is that now i'm even more metacognitive than before. Plus, i feel like I should worship successful marketeers =)



Oh, in the end i got the Creative player. Its great. And no, i receive absolutely no monetary benefits for saying that.


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Its now about 1 1/2 weeks till you get back. It feels like forever since i've seen you (which is strange because forever is a good deal longer than 5 days. I'm sure on this) but at least the time is ticking past. Love is pumping thru my veins/driving me insane.






And with that i think my time has come
Let me trot off home, away.
My time is done, i've had my fun
By keyboard no more shall i stay.



(cheap rhyme is such a delight)

Leaving tomorrow, leaving me, leaving me without a shred of joy aside from that ever-so-tenuous connection of telephone-satellite-transferred data - all that stands between me and what feels like losing my mind. Rather like standing on the edge of a precipice with only cotton thread preventing the plunge.


To say that its not the best of feelings would be somewhat of an understatement. You getting that sort of vibe?

To say that its about the worst feeling in the world, short of white-hot wire being inserted behind your eyeballs, inserted straight into your living, pulsing braing... that might come close.



Truth be told, even that doesnt seem to cut it.



Come back safe, baby.


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Its been a while since I last blogged. The muse which normally haunts me (incidentally, this muse is NOT a three-metre tall, terrifyingly nightmarish sculpture of blades and thorns. Martin Silenus i am not) when I blog has been channeling its divine inspiration (oh come on do you actually BELIEVE any of this?!) to the writing of my book, instead. yeah you heard me right. I'm TRYING (that horrible word in CAPS being the operational one in that sentence) to write one.

If I succeed, I happen to think it will be rather good. But then if I were to say otherwise, you people would know this isn't really me blogging.



Question: Is it really me blogging, then? Could I be an impostor, who has cunningly revealed the knowledge that I must write like Tim in order to fool people into believing 'tis truly him? Utilising a disarmingly guileless and open "honesty" to win your hearts?


(Probably Answer: Do you really think I care?)

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In the time between my last post and this one, however - or has any time really passed? What IS time, anyway, other than an artificial construct, created to fool our pretty little brains into believing something MEANINGFUL is happening? That we're progressing, because each day we mark another 24 hours off the calender? - i've had some decent experiences. The foremost is that every day i seem to fall deeper in love. Yes, the mushiness in that sentence is well-nigh unforgivable, i acknowledge, but there's no denying the truth! That photo shall be kept and treasured (starting with wrapping it in a plastic bag so as to preserve its newness =) very much.
Last tuesday (i.e. 2 days ago) was also kinda fun, in a sick, let's-abuse-tim-oh-wait-i-AM-tim-ah-what-the-hell kinda way. Got drunk sufficiently to be puking all over the place ("FUN? that's fun to you?" pray for me, my brothers and sisters. Pray hard). Strangely enough, there was none of the "my my the room is spinning! How pretty! How beautif-- *insert gagging noises here*" that usually goes with throwing up after inebriation. Well, that's what usually goes for ME. This was more like "Oh my. I've eaten something pretty fucking bad. Let me stagger to the toilet. Gee that's strange. Feet dont seem to be working too well. Maybe I should - Ah there's the cubicle. Quick, quick! " ................. you know what happens then. Didnt feel like anything was majorly WRONG (well, of course, having to puke is some bad shit in itself, but aside from that). The only thing different was that the ground, when gracefully descended to (read: I didnt fucking fall la i swear!), was remarkably comfortable. As in why-bother-with-mattreses? comfortable.





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"The pain it sleeps inside/It sleeps with just one eye/Only leaving, when you're next to me" I think its safe to say this pain will be around for a good 17 days then. Love is a many-fangled thing indeed, but i wouldn't change a thing, or even pop a pill to stop the ill.

My com crashed. Fuck. Moving past that short but succint expression of angst. I'm sure there are people who'll want to know my results viz. the A levels - whether because you want to laugh at my miserable failure to succeed, or to commiserate with me, or whatever. I dont give a fuck. but far be it from me to deny ye lesser beings the perverse joy of gloating. so here it is: A A B B No more, no less. Thing is, many people I'm sure are well-nigh overwhelmed with a desire to kick me. "It's a decent score!" they'd say, I know. But this is my space, so please (and i'm saying this with utmost sincerity - call CNN!) don't mind me being morose. I should count my blessings, though, because it really IS an ok score. coupled with my SATS there isnt really anything i want to do that i can't. so.......... i'm blessed, i guess. it just strangely doesnt feel like it.



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(Count 'em!)


The good news is that my SATS, coupled with my A level results, gives me a score in Australia which grants me entry to any course i could possibly want - 98/100. (Any course I could possibly want means NOT courses like Bachelor of Liberal Studies: Advanced. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT ANYWAY? AND WHY DO YOU NEED 99 TO GET INTO IT?!)

so that's pretty sweet. still, it leaves me with the big 5 choices: Music Law Literature/History Philosophy Psychology.

So that's no fucking good!

Its a tough time, it really is. frankly speaking i find it fairly ludicrous that we're expected to choose something so momentous on our own. Maybe the traditional Chinese have it right with choosing for their kids.



throw it up and spin it around
turn and -splat- fall flat on your face;
Struggle back up, look around, say "why bother!"
Return to your groundside disgrace.





There's a funny feeling i'd like to share.
Ruminating by my windowsill one day upon events of my younger years, i ------

Ok that sounds like i'm 50. Take Two!

I was sitting a coupla days ago, just chilling, and thinking about stuff from when i was a younger dude (how's that?) and i realised that so much of my life seems like it just occurred yesterday. Yesterday I was in secondary school, laughing my way thru life. Yesterday I was sitting for the final paper of the PSLE, and then running, running down the halls (which strangely seemed much shorter) and screaming down the staircase to freedom - for a time, at least. Yesterday I was learning Chinese for the first time, a fresh-faced, cherubic little Eurasian kid from Down Under, only eight years old, and loving it. And just the day before that I was a little kid of five, learning to ride a bike.

All of that happened just days ago! Or so it seems.



My point is, memories stay fresh with me, and, i'm guessing, with most people. Something from 5 or 15 years ago can seem as recent as something that happened last week. The tragic thing is, your body ages. And therein lies the sorrow: I think the flesh slowly fails, growing old, wrinkly, aged, crickety, rickety, gnarled and overly-veined, arthritic, joint-troubled and generally un-cooperative, whereas the mind stays - discounting unfortunate events such a Alzheimers and the like - sharp, and fresh - an organ to which Time is not so much an occurrence as a convenient agent to sort out files for storage.
What that means, of course, is that each and every person ends up feeling trapped in his own body - watching, screaming soundlessly inside with a mouth the world cannot perceive, whilst his form slowly decays without any similar decline in mental fitness. it must be incredibly frustrating to have that happen - to not feel that much older, to feel like you SHOULD be able to do the things you used to, while people around you say to take it easy. To act your age.


And that you look "fantastic for a 50 year old!".





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I think the human race as a whole is a pretty weak, whiny, whingeing and all-round pathetic snivelly snot-nosed thing, today more so than ever before.
We've got Quit Smoking! support groups - complete with nicotine patches, nicotine gum and counsellors. oh yeah we all need dem damn counsellors alright! fuck man! what about doing things for yourself these days! tough it the fuck out! What're you gonna say to a counsellor anyway?
Week 1: Today my friends laughed at me, and i wanted to smoke

Week 2: Today my friends laughed at me, and I wanted to smoke

Week 3: Today my friends laughed at me, and I wanted to smoke

Week 4: Today my friends laughed at me, and I wanted to smoke

Week 5: Today my friends laughed at me, and I wanted to smoke. In fact, they havent stopped laughing at me since Day 1, and they probably won't stop. But you know this already.



We've got the people not taking any blame for their own fucking faults. We've got the "Oh I was scarred as a child. That's why I do drive-bys". We've got the "I didn't get attention when I was a child. Hence I take drugs." And, of course, everybody's favourite: "I wasnt loved enough - that's why I'm gay." For the love of everything that is holy! Do what you please, but take some responsibility for it! Everyone's finding ways to explain things away - I've got this complex! I've got that syndrome! Do they sell that problem at the chemist? Its perfect for my latest misdemeanour.


Anyone who's seen Fight Club might have some inkling of what i'm talking about. But still, i love ya'll. Peace out, Earthlings.