Right now, I can't quite think of a word or phrase to use for the title so yea good old J.K. like the Doctor said in The Shakespeare Code. Will be blogging in more seriousness and enthusiasm in Shanghai from Wednesday on - yes time to kill, milk to spill and foots to bills. Till then in 2 days time.
As a tribute to the violin which I cannot play that got broken due to an unfortunate human error by a semi-virtuoso and inferior make - the snapped tailgut rendered it useless and somewhat stupid to repair - the case+violin costs less than the electronic tuner and what of an instrument I can't play? A wallpaper by Vladstudio on the desktop to mourn the lost of a space filler making the area under my secondary desk feel less empty, though I'm not too sure if it will be up for long. As of now, I'm not even sure if the sound post is still left intact and standing with the tension provided by the bridge lost.
Thrashing it really seems like a waste with all that classical wooden polished finish, a rare sight/commodity in the concrete jungle of urbanised today. Meanwhile, Knight Rider 2008 seems to be bringing the point of idiomatic 'hot cars goes along with hot girls' thing too far-fetched for enjoyment of an hour of plot-oriented drama. No I wouldn't say quality since my following is more for the sake of old times and the foreshadowed appearance of KARR. In other news, Lego, Playmobil and Tomica have turned into outrageously non-affordable toys/collectibles for kids as pocket money is bent on getting lower.
The economy looks set as evident proof of human speculation/illusion brought to ever newer levels of blinding faith everyday - at least in the past decades before the bad wake up call of the 1920s. Escapism just can't seem to escape the oh-so-feeble human minds, we need to keep living in those goddamn dreams of utopia and end up dealing with ghetto-like neighbourhoods today. Fiddler on the Roof, Nero Burning Rome - whatever you call it, sitting on the fence unswayed by so-called worldly momentums and turmoils seems to be the way to go for life to be a tad less boring knowing 'survival, through tradition and joyfulness, in a life of uncertainty and imbalance' is really all there is.
In light of the upcoming 007 film, I present to you the original iPod commercials:
These were from the opening sequence of the first Bond film, Dr. No (1962). Uncanny isn't it? Apple ≠ Microsoft? Doesn't seem that way anymore. Bond films are also known to feature Helvetica as the default typeface, however what you're reading is in Arial (an 'non-subtle' change done not too long ago) due to yet another Apple-Microsoft controversy thanks to an accident.
Feeling empty or emotionally uptight? Let's have a look at what the 'rapidly connected and globalised world today' have to offer:
1. I'm Lonely
2. Inner Peace
3. I'm Scared
The first two links yields something constructive - a PostSecret-ish anonymous confession (with no credentials whatsoever which kinda points to logging your IP while you wait for a SWAT team to burst into your compound while you confess) and the innerpeace.org software - which really is like a self-help book with writing exercises without paper. The lack of interactivity is epitomised in the search terms of, 'I'm Scared' where none of the links really help without a credit card of some sort. The problem with the world is that when you question, 'what's wrong,' the reply turns out to be, "nothings wrong." People just can't seem to see that there is something not right going on or if you need it blunt: hypocrisy.
I once did a minor study on psychology services/helplines based on the Internet and the conclusion didn't make much of an impact on my grey cells as it turned out as far as IM and forums are available - they only serve as a dangling fuse line before you reach the big problem because the human touch cannot be replaced adequately (as we still do not have holographic/telepathy device). Oprah-inspired/PostSecret/Samaritan/Post-Katrina styled aid programmes make use of distinctive embellishments like lower-mid piano tunes, soft approach interview segments and the occasional white balance distortions to 'soften' the picture. My opinion? You want to capture the attention of a particular audience? Hire an advertising agency to do the job instead of making stereotypical heartwarming family time stuff (Disney it quite adept at doing that you know). It is almost like working at an opposite end inspiring further self-degradation and jealousy from the people you aspire to help. I shall end my piece and dwell upon the integrity of what is meant by social and aid/social welfare workers because they have a part to play in this Fresh Kills. Though it is interesting to note that:
Under local pressure and with support of the United States Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), the landfill site was closed on March 22, 2001. However, after the September 11, 2001 attacks on the World Trade Center, the landfill was temporarily reopened in order to receive and process much of the debris from the destruction. The debris was never removed and is buried in a 40 acre portion of the landfill. The New York City Medical Examiner in a written affadavit has stated that he is virtually certain the debris contains human remains.
Assuming you believe in hell, you'll be offered warmth in the afterlife departing a pathetic civilisation. For the atheists - hold everything dear. What I just did in the latter is almost like search No. 3 - doing what the Internet does best. Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast
"A runny nose is the one true nemesis of a well-thought out study plan - and it makes you look stupid too."
The pseudo-flu symptom was yesterday's thing but just for keepsakes. Speaking of keepsakes, a recent switch flick on the TV remote brought back Hasselhoff from the past in the form of Baywatch, and yes those giant assets of Pamela Anderson that looked ever so ridiculous. Now that the wheels of fortunes have turned, Hasselhoff have in his company a couple of ridiculously crude yet humorous asset acts to judge in America's Got Talent. Perhaps not quite the Hawaiian sun but sunny afternoon re-runs of sun-kissed Californian tan brings to mind Sweet Valley High (the series into just screams of Cranberry goodness) and its latest reincarnation Gossip Girl - without the Sunnydale goodness of Buffy of course (there were a couple of werewolf-vampire incidents in SVU).
"Yeah, I have that same Sweet Valley High Book," said Mars as Devlin tries to convince her that a teacher seduced her (the character of Gossip Girl herself was voiced by Mars, Kirsten Bell). Sweet memories from the 80s huh? Does anyone ever noticed how well sculpted those bodies from Baywatch as compared to the botox laden hags of Desperate Housewives? High school hunks and It girls eh - I have an unspoken grudge against them but 50 years down the road when Lucian Freud portrait look-a-likes start turning up at gatherings it might have been wiser to start off life as an old miser growing young.
How nice to Wiki and Youtube stuff from the post just to find illuminated write-ups of things you didn't catch and/or understand when the world of before had a serious on the demand information database shortage. Now, who can remember that 90s series about this speedboat blistering with high-tech goodness like visual camouflage and transforming outer shell? No it wasn't Viper, that was about a car and it was a Knight Rider ripoff.
You start with Hoff, you end with Hoff on a high note.
(Knight Rider > Baywatch) Labels: One Liners, Random Rubbish, Rant
The Macbook/Apple Keyboard (current) keys are thrash really. At least the Apple Keyboard has its typing surface slated at an angle but the Macbook is flat which makes the keys feel slanted when typing as though you are throwing it off-centre every time you trigger a key. In other news, Razer has released a 'mirror' edition of the Lycosa (a gleen shiny surface like that of the Optimus Maximus) and two other keyboards known as the Arctosa in black and Silver. Oh yes and you can see that I'm one of the few who got the first word while the guys are Razer were uploading and testing links on the main site. Wait a go me! -.- Right, while Emoji might be coming to the iPhone I should stop myself from sounding too much like a Starfire and more like Raven from Teen Titans. The Arctosa really is just a Lycosa shell without illumination and Das Keyboard style black keys or silver for the non-typist wannabes. One word stares in my face: Rip-off.
Meanwhile, I've developed a fetish with the NZXT Avatar and NZXT Whisper and Hush tower cases. The cases themselves is begging me to return to Windows/Hackintosh once more. The slim profile of the Avatar is attractive and at a 2600 dpi optical peak, the 800 dpi of Logitech's MX Air and Revolution just seem all too weak considering my 1800 dpi Deathadder. Laser sensors just aren't as stable as you'd like them to be - they don't work everywhere and are twitchy if it goes any higher than the 2000 cap.
I need a new phone, but due to certain conscription restrictions, the choice of a non-camera phone really narrows it down to one model to rule them all - the Nokia E51 Non-Camera. While I await the penance of the enlistment notice, I visited the cellphone shop the other day and is appalled for the second time at how unattractive Nokia phones are once more. To make matters worse, competitior brands are very much worst off with bad user interface and intuitiveness. That is bad news to me, a victim of mass consumerism. Thus, as a while-studying side project, I shall attempt at imagining a new phone - an iPhone killer, but really the lack of tactile feedback turns on the Blackberry as the Swiss Army Knife of do-it-all-ness. The singular battery of the iPhone/Pod is just horrible - not to mention that it is not hot-swappable (though you have to turn your phone off but that's really better than doing on the spot take aparts of your high tech pebble). And Sunday's episode of the Simpsons (Season 20, Ep 2) on the unhealthy obsession of US youths with 'better' phones was really apt in this topic of discussion.
3 more chapters and I'll be done with Prisoner's Dilemma by William Poundstone; the following would be some reflections on the previous 10 chapters - I love reading non-fiction books because you keep living the fantasy of having to consume all the print till the very last page but really - the bibliography and grossary just pops up like that long overdue life buoy. I recall Critical Path by Buckminister Fuller getting really dry progressively no doubt interesting content but it's just not the kind of book you are eager to get your hands on after a depressing line up of activities related to school. Prisoner's Dilemma is not just a book about Game Theory, it brings into context events before, during and after the Cold War and how what started off as a Hungarian genius' obsession with poker turned into now highly regarded field of applied mathematics (please don't correct me on that since I'm referring to it's impact on other areas e.g. genetics) and most importantly about the genius himself - John von Neumann. The book is illustrative of von Neumann's life and where I've stopped it is around where his life ends and it was really one heck of a ride. You can almost feel for that guy ailing on the deathbed (he died of bone cancer attributed to the Operation Crossroads blast). Perhaps that is just applies to me a couple of similarly styled writings have been implanted into my head in recent times which include Buckminister's book above, Richard Feynman's Surely You Must be Joking Mr. Feynman, Species of Spaces by Georges Perec, Umberto Eco's How to Travel With a Salmon and Illuminations by Walter Benjamin. There is something so similar about these writings and my familiarity with Los Alamos due to Mr. Feynman is further elaborated with the workings of RAND in Poundstone's book.
While non-fiction writings may be interesting, the covers are somewhat contrived and demeaning. Pure evil, if you decide to be extreme. But that is not quite untruthful either since packaging can often be referenced to the poison apple in Snow White or if you're more of a 'modernist', Desperate Housewives advertising and opening sequences. After all, Labyrinths of Reason dealt my mind a cruel shockwave in addition to bad reading conditions on the latest Euro IV Volvo buses whose interior is just so puke encouraging already. After all Mr. Alan Fletcher once said, "if you let keep your mind too open, lots of rubbish tends to get in." I can't quite remember how it sounded like exactly since I haven't got Ways of Seeing at my disposal and my Moleskine for recording seemingly obscure workings of the mind has been mailed off to a friendly female 'Chuck' for safekeeping. Congrats if you're reading this whoever you are - you're now the new Intersect...
Ahh and yes, imagining the ideal cellphone, here's a starting point and I'll try to progressively work from here and come up with a decent render by the end of the study period:
So much for Core77's 1HDC - they need you to video yourself doing it in one hour? What is I need 7 days to create my mini world? Say 1 hour is like a metaphor for 7 sevenths of an hour time intervals? It's too much trouble and they must have assumed everyone uses a Mac with a built-in in-your-face webcam.
Don't expect too much out of me - I'm no Johnny Ive designing Macs and Wall-Es.
Oh yes, and one last thing to add about Game Theory - for those of you who know much about it the Minimax Theorem and Zero Sum games might suggest that the best possible account is a case whereby both players defect, the Game Theory is a rational attempt at contemplating the game. While Poundstone has succinctly pointed out that the Game Theory is yet another reflection of the highly competitive and shrewd nature of human behaviour (or the world in general ) I perceive his insight as a further emphasis on the importance of emotions (irrational behaviour as it is referred to in better mathematical likeness) for it stops us from defecting all the time to reach the ultimatum of mutually assured destruction (MAD). So yes, go scream, cry and laugh rather then turning into a measly logical stooge. Von Neumann might have just realised that when he was about to die, seeking emotional refuge in religion despite a largely atheistic life.
Alright, either there's something wrong with my head or the world just hates me - but really even if there's something wrong with my head it is because the world hates me ultimately... now nevermind that circular logic since we're all stuck in this human device of thought. While I'm listening to covers of Hush by Kula Shaker and Deep Purple (of which the latter is so infamously featured on the Jaguar XF tv spot) in an attempt to sooth and comfort the unbearable soul due to the failure of driving test once more (the mistake was much more stupid this time), I shall contemplate the possible existence of a possible biological kink in my brain. As circular as you can get people! It's like asking if the madman knows that he's mad. But really, in some rare cases you do get to know if you there is a biological kink like when everyone appears to you as potatoheads which is well ideal - since you don't really need to bother about non-human organisms.
That aside, there was this punk ass on a full suspension bike with a Pike front shocks. Why is he a punk ass? Firstly, it could be due to bravado or simply moronic behavious that while navigating pedestrain walkways, it is not polite and practical to speed up fast only to come to a stop in a few blinks of an eye. Even more idiotic, quick acceleration in front of a bus stop when there is already an incoming bus unloading passengers. Of course with the bob of the badly tuned rear suspension, he not unlike an idiot on a pong stick with two wheels. After the bus stop comes the long stretch of road with a traffic light. Ah, the thrill and rush of the evening wind beating the road light with the peak period crowd - perfect setting for teaching that punk ass a lesson. While he was struggling with the bob of the suspension and shifting, I was already hot on his tail at 32 km/h maxing out at 33.7 in a blink of an eye. Sweet. And now it seemed that the stinking world was woozing by until I caught sight of a police car on the left of junction. That ended my short transcendental session of windtalking. No really the wind does talk if you listen hard enough.
In short, with increasing toll gantries, rising fuel prices and a spiteful grudge which the world has against me, biking seems to be last bastion of the feeling free. If you were wonder, free was meant to be literal and non-literal. Life in mono - void of colour, lacking the splendour in which Death perceive the world to be in Zusak's Book Thief. 33.7 is the top speed recording since the purchase of the Velo 8 cycle computer or speedometer as so many people know it to be despite the Cateye website clearly stating as the former. And if about the apparent greyscaled downcast ending, I'm using a Vista machine to do up this post. I figure that the absence of my wife (the Macbook with a busted fan and power management unit), the lonesome sadness and disoccupied gaps of time has turned me into a shrunken, writhered creature arching over on a crooked back, very much like a gargoyle. Anymore of such blows and I'm gonna turn to stone and give up on life completely, transferring my consciousness to the epitaph sinking into eternal sleep while the flesh rots.
The stranger sang a theme
From someone else’s dream
The leaves began to fall
And no one spoke at all
But I can’t seem to recall
When you came along
- Life in Mono, Mono
Oh and I almost forgot - the moral of the story about the punk ass is to not try to compete acceleration on a full susp. with a hardtail - you'll only get hurt without lockout. Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast
Firstly I would like to apologize for the crappy paragraph formatting
courtesy of blogger-mail scriptun kinks.
Today was one heck of a day - and I'm still typing this at while
waiting for the train. I set off to use the time gap before and after
driving lesson to hunt them a few of these items. They are: Topeak
Aero Wedge Pack (it's a saddle bag for the bike), some Egmont
published cartoon about this brother and sister pair with an
experimental monoplane if which the name I can't seem to recall since
the last one month plus and lastly the Schick Quattro Titanium
Freestyle as advertised on TV. You guessed right if you thought this
was just another possible bad denting opportunity just to spice up my
miserable life a tweeny bit. Oh hey - I bought a new ten year series
today too - ain't that neat...
So before lesson began I ventured into this monolithic brutalist
building otherwise known as a warehouse in search of this basement
bike shop - tea I found it alright but the whole place looked and felt
so blardy huge that you had to be twice the man or something to feel
normal. After a few liliputian walks away, I managed to locate the all
so secret lair of two-wheelers only to be greeted by lousy customer
service. A cross on Item 1 it seems. According to the random fella I
sought directions from, there is another bike shop on level 3 - which
really means nothing when the building is compartmentalised into 9+
blocks. So eventually I found it - it
was another shop renowned for bad service thus gave it a miss and
another cross for Item 1.
Item 2 well, what was it again? Oh yea the books, well no 'x' marks
the spot again as try weren't there outside the display anymore after
an hour plus session of dealing with an almost worn out clutch. Item 3
was found but it didn't have a price tag on and the addition of a
trimmer, dildo-like sized vibrator handle and the same quattro 4
blades just made it seem kinda crap. Gleen people GLEEN - that us the
word fir do not always buy that shiny gloss that covers advert
renderings. Cross.
Another cross goes to Item 1 again since another bike shop on the
return trip was closed. On the bus I was enjoying a bout of Piazolla
tango pieces and Peréz Prado's mambos. What a way to ride into the
evening rain. Really reminds me if the days interning at the architect
firm returning home exhausted with a failing brain trying to keep up
with the bamdeneons.
Alright, my left thumb hurts now due to a flexible joint not present
on my right thumb. Congrats you human interface developers at Apple -
what's with the non-existent landscape mode in Mail.app? Oh and my
Macbook has been sent for repair due to an apparent fan failure. In
addition to a hotbook, a mishevelled Dad got misled into believing it
was a harddisk failure that costs about a bike to replace and
service. Next time check if it is your son that you're enquiring about.
And after installing new meters, the power agency decided it's time for a price hike. 'Incoherent' bullshyt just doesn't quite say it.
While being inspired and attracted to the eponymous song by Depeche Mode I shall highlight a few of my eclectic obsessions with silence:
1. Cars should be blardy quiet. Modified exhausts are irritating. Sound = Vibration = less efficiency so go figure.
2. Mouse Clicks - need I say more?
3. Keyboards - try working with earphones or music.
4. Bike Free Hubs - and on a serene trekking trip beside the sea, that farkin' clicking sound totally upsets the mood.
5. CPU fans - please we don't need anymore pseudo asthmatic wheezing at rapid intervels.
6. Harddisks - ditto above
7. Fans - as in wall fans, ceiling fans that shouldn't sound like WWII Merlin-powered aerial attack craft
8. Air-con - ditto no. 4 and 1
9. Television (CRTs) - the humming noise from a really old set was used to make the lightsaber buzzes you know...
Update
10. Rain hitting on stamped metal a.k.a car
11. Windshield wipers set at 'high' Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant
1. Cars should be blardy quiet. Modified exhausts are irritating. Sound = Vibration = less efficiency so go figure.
2. Mouse Clicks - need I say more?
3. Keyboards - try working with earphones or music.
4. Bike Free Hubs - and on a serene trekking trip beside the sea, that farkin' clicking sound totally upsets the mood.
5. CPU fans - please we don't need anymore pseudo asthmatic wheezing at rapid intervels.
6. Harddisks - ditto above
7. Fans - as in wall fans, ceiling fans that shouldn't sound like WWII Merlin-powered aerial attack craft
8. Air-con - ditto no. 4 and 1
9. Television (CRTs) - the humming noise from a really old set was used to make the lightsaber buzzes you know...
Update
10. Rain hitting on stamped metal a.k.a car
11. Windshield wipers set at 'high' Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant
After a hazardous and almost heartbreaking strive of another year, coursework ended up as a tried but lost attempt - the final submission piece was really a last minute ditch because of programme failure. All necessary precautions within my means were taken so really it just seems that a masterpiece quality product was not meant to be. It might be saddening to learn that despite another year of effort seems lost to a cruel twist of fate and thus the hopeful 'A' cannot be but letting go now - knowing that the possibility of a failure for the subject is as real as it gets and that a pass would probably be a distanced shot could be the best and better of options now - since I tried, I fought hard but like I said it was never meant to be.
Maybe the whole point of this one year was so as to walk away finally and not regret about not given a chance, having tried but failed. I'm just hoping that I can make it to Architecture School assuming my feelings and thoughts towards the environment hasn't changed (you can call i the world view) with a beheaded subject grade. Why early retirement? Because the Macbook is now really a Macbook and not a super slim slab CPU unit. I would like to take the chance to say thank you to my various companions who have stood by me which involved a spider and a couple of snakes unlike the rest of the filthy humans (oh, I'm sorry if anyone's hurt but ask the selfish you if you've ever really don't that). Disconnected is the trusty 19" Philips display, Lycosa keyboard, Deathadder, Krait, Creative Speakers, Goliathus mat, Mantis Control & Speed mats, QCK Steel mat, n52te and lastly my Macbook. You my dear reader, might think that I must be some mentally unsound creature which abnormal fetishes towards electronic devices but for the music and continuous physical contact (the mouse really is a personal device) time they do deserve my gratitude and after all it is the synergy between man and machine that really make things happen.
Now there are only 5 icons on my Dock - Finder (default), iTunes, Safari and Sys Prefs - the bare minimum.
I'm already missing that almost saintly feel of the Lycosa already and thus ideas about an ideal computer design have already start popping out in my head. I bet I'll go sketching and onion-peel modeling mode in my dreams tonight. This really represents a shift in my computing practices because I normally stick to an entourage of high-geekery and performance peripherals, kinda like revving around a small town in a supercar for groceries. I really have qualms about a one size fits all operating system when it comes to bone picking on a portable and a desktop - things like the Dock work well on confined screens using touch pad navigation while the Vista side bar works better on a giant screen with a high dpi mouse. Just look at the menubar on OS X and the puny icons on window at the right end of the taskbar for comparison - need I say more? I guess that means extra work in the dreamland later. And for old school fans, Knight Rider is back with KITT as a mustang. Shall catch it later.
I'm financially drained (not in an unacceptable manner but just drained) after getting Illuminations (collected writings) by Walter Benjamin (shown right) from the Frankfurt School and the Verb Boogazine issue, Crisis. I'm contemplating on cycling to school tomorrow since the father's in and the car's available. A 'no' means that I would not be able to stop by the bike shop to get that derailleur upgrade. And now my physical desktop is tabula rasa - free to be violated with messy scribbles of working while the final exams draw near.
Blood shall be spilled this time round and it will not be mine. Uncanny it seems that there was an urgent call for 'O' type blood today. I sense an uncanny affiliation with Count Dracula, despite living for centuries in loneliness, thriving on the very species that he despises like little pawns. Don't start on the brides - they're like my companions whom aren't actually there.
I'd like to have company during thunderstorms
I'd like you to fall for me but it would soon turn lousy and wrong
I meant what I said, all I want is to be one of the best
- I Don't Do Crowds, Camera Obscura
I find myself somewhat like an influenza - there is bunch more of Mac converts due to me and now Camera Obscura fans (just to list a few). In related news, the tickets to the 29th October concert is now in my physical possession. Dang I miss those multimedia keys on the n52 and Lycosa. Switching tracks is now going to be a lot of strenuous on the wrist. Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast
Gone were the days where entire football teams were crammed into a van and by the time they arrived at the stadium - no warm up is required. That aside, I made a rather unexpected trip to the temple today considering the rather atheistic me - the believed higher powers are other a bunch of nut heads or I'm really smaller than a puny speck of prokaryote to be ignored. Let's not all get comfy and edgy here. Interesting proposition, the conservation between Sarah Connor and Reese about praying to Jesus in the age of overruling machines. Could it be the ending might turn out as having a ghost in the shell? Then again, T4 might be terminally messed up continuity wise.
Okies, so about the juggling joss sticks (it was spelled otherwise above to make it twice 2-syllabyed words). You see what happened at the temple was the lighting up of joss sticks. This is really a logical problem because you see what happened is that there a certain number of 'pit-stops' at this particular place and you have to deposit 3 joss sticks at each point. It's really like a game of Amazing Race with a really slow pace and short distance. Joss sticks are being counted and distributed in packs of 27 and it is not smart to remove the packaging and grab them all in one hand to light them up - 54 flammable sticks in your hand with glowing ash constantly falling off the tips. I got burnt on the toes but luckily not in the rather expensive pair of sandals while counting them to separate in two the original two lots. Here comes the statistically unfortunate part - one lot came with an extra/one less joss stick and you really don't know but stick to an odd number sum when dividing by two since 3 joss sticks is the standard for non-ancestral praying a.k.a. when ranting away to the heavens.
Disastrous.
And congratulations in successfully lighting up 54 joss sticks with a puny candle - the rules of this game states that joss sticks from your group are to be lit only by your own candle. It's like bringing a lighted match into a library of books you're supposed to set fire to. Books aren't like incense paper which catch fire easily (I should know better since I razed my sketchbooks and related materials to ashes along with books I bound while learning the craft). The saying goes that there are 18 levels of hell and when coupled with the stigma of books being sacred and not to be mistreated (stepped upon, torn pages etc.) they really need to construct a few more levels for me when I'm gone from this world if a single book destroyed constitutes a level of torture. Then again, the irony is that I dispose off the very books I made with the same hands that bring about their end.
So yesterday was the last day of exams for most people and I still have one more essay paper to go. Not that I feel any real sense of displeasure whatsoever - it's almost utter disdain.
I got lugged along to Settler's Café (see that's the way you're supposed to spell the word 'café', but blimey - you Windows people just seem to be unable to call up all the typographic accents/circumflexes...my oh my... the deprecation of language and culture yea whatever.) So we played Puerto Rico - almost mafia-ish resource control board game that reminds me of Chocolatier. I bought out the game - though not winning because I had to make a trip down the airport. It was a wonderful feeling and stroke of genius! Even though I was the runner-up, I orchestrated a windfall of 11 victory points as finale despite a first timer at the game. Before the airport that I lugged this bunch of people to the bookshop and got Poundstone's Prisoner's Dilemma quietly awaiting collection by me at the end of the exams. Another title off the list.
Of course unlike showy-dowey blogs, I don't post up pictures of a certain new café that seems so nice and wonderful to visit. In my opinion, that's just plain ignorance and narrow exposure. Dang, I said it. It's hurtful, ouch but what the heck - I'm misanthropic. Want to know why I hate reading blogs yet started one? It's seemingly depressing to peek at other people's life and get all numb and woozy about it when it's all gay and joyful somewhere over the rainbow. I'm miserable. Yes. M-i-s-e-r-a-b-l-e. In response to someone else's retrospective post about 4 years ago, I would say I'm a changed being, uncertain of being sentient or human. It might be denial, the human bit that is. Of course evident from this paragraph of writing, I meant ranting; having a blog gives me a platform on par with those I dreadfully despise on which I can rant on. If showy-dowey blogs were matter, I'm that piece of resident anti-matter waiting to spark off that explosion.
So yes, I admit my mood is fouled up when I see all so gay and happy postings on blogs or rather happy events in the lives of others. My mood is fouled. The mind spirals downwards into a myriad of treacherously crafted questions. How do I get out of it? There's the Afternoon playlist concocted with simplistic melody and lyrics from the 50-60s. These 22 songs don't make much sense at the end of the day (by that I mean mantra-istic resolution to the almost paradoxical problems of above) but that's the whole point:
1. Mr. Sandman - The Chordettes
2. Never On A Sunday -The Chordettes
3. Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps - Doris Day
4. Qué Será Será (Whatever Will Be, Will Be) - Doris Day
5. Mister Sandman - Emmylou Harris
6. Istanbul (Not Constantinople) - The Four Lads
7. Move In A Little Closer Baby - Harmony Grass
8. Fly Me to the Moon - Julie London
9. El Paso - Marty Robbins
10. Blauer Montag - Mary Roos
11. On Days Like These - Matt Monro
12. Just Because - McGuire Sisters
13. Ciao Baby - Montana's
14. L'Appuntamento - Ornella Vanoni
15. Tennesse Waltz - Patti Page
16. Begin The Beguine - Perry Como
17. Mi Casa, Su Casa - Perry Como
18. Magic Moments - Perry Como
19. Baby Love - The Supremes
20. Get A Bloomin' Move On! - The Italian Job (1969) Cast
21. Perfidia - The Ventures
22. Walk, Don't Run - The Ventures
Oh why you smug music lover, there is one song not from the 50-60s period - that is Mister Sandman covered by Emmylou Harris in 1981. Well if you wanted to be technical, you can argue that being a cover, the date of composition is still valid. But the original by The Chordettes had this creepy part whereby a radio male voice responds 'Yes' to the plea for a dream guy.
When boys think about girls, they think about their eyes, their legs, their breasts. Girls think about boys in exactly the same way. - Odile, Bande á part
Let me pick a historical figure and I'll pick Emperor Nero, playing the lyre while watching Rome burn, unfortunately I'm currently allowed the luxury of a paper one :
Nero Burning Rome, Nero Burning Rom - doesn't that strike a chord? Now you know how the name of the premiere pirate craft came to be. Labels: Rant
Paper was a disaster today. Well at least I thought i understood the cyclotron/linear accelerator bit well but that's not quite enough to scrap past either. Had to escape from the clutches of the scary head matron figure to prevent myself from going downward spiral again. I guess not one really understands that. "I'm sure there are many things that you know," the head matron person said - but hey things aren't always what they see, which reminds what Stephen Hawking once said,
Changed the front tire to another Crossmark after the escape that required the summoning of a disgusting amount of courage. Yea it was worth it - both the escape and the money spent. The front Panaracer Dart was cracking and due for change anyways. Evening came (the bike shop owner was kind enough to give me a new fixture to mount the old tail light on the now larger seatpost) and the Crossmark pair was put to the test! Awesome. I meant BRilliANT - since words like wonderful and great are too often used by the seemingly all-embracing and sugar coating attitude commonly potrayed by Hollywood people and the corporate word like a blardy influenza. BRilliANT is more like David Tennant from Dr. Who hmm... Correctamundo! That's a word I would never use again... Ok, cutting back to the chase (in this case literally), ride quality was almost plush and dreamy, I enjoyed every stroke pedalling (in addition to the consistently present feedback of getting back on a hardtail). Add in the Alps and daytime as the backdrop and it would be like the iconic scene of the Miura cruising to that Matt Monro song. 
Just so you know. 'Brilliant' was spelled that way reminiscence of mechanical typewriters - those using a lowercase 'L' for the number '1'. Spelling the same word in different cases screws up my memory image of the word now. Crap. Yes, I read things in a generalised form manner - not really by recognised individual letters. Again another just so you know fact, the Crossmark was designed by Christoph Sauser, Swiss mountain bike cross country champ. See the connection between the tires and the Alps.
And yes, you shall now find the original Italian Job featuring Michael Caine (for the non-oldies, Alfred from the Dark Knight/Batman Begins) and Bande á part by Jean-Luc Godard. Anna Karina had this unsaid attractiveness in Godard films and she couldn't have said it better in the 1964 New Wave flick, "people on the metro always look sad and lonely." Zazie dans le metro totally upsets that statement when I comes to mind. If left to me, a misanthropic son of a b*tch, I'd say we gotta send everyone in the metro to the ghettos.
What I really meant was guillotine. Please forgive the impudence of lesser images and links to click around - the idiot is having exams now or rather an excuse to be downright less dutiful.
On lighter note, House M.D. is back - so is Season 14 of MadTV. Now all that's left is Chuck and Knight Rider...no Hasselhoff though. And one more thing:
Notice the similarity between The Italian Job poster and Michael's tattooed body? We can all see how the emphasis of having well-defined curves shifts from flesh to graphics.
I'm pissed. Seriously cause I skidded and fell from my bike yesterday. It was so damn stupid - I could see the whole thing unfold before me as though time stalled. It was not supposed to happen while on Kenda Klaw front-back distinct grip monsters but apparently that was the cause of the accident - the large and wider spaced knobs became susceptible to reduced contact on wet pavement with moss partially growing on it. So fortunately, only the rear derailleur and right brake lever got paint scratched off, no bent cages or frame damage. It's only 4 days since I got the bike. Driving yesterday was new too - I got a 4 day old car too. The clutch was much lighter but the car seems less responsive - pickup was kinda sluggish. Must be the CVTV at play.
I'm switching back to the Crossmark-Dart combi until I replace the ageing Dart to complete a Crossmark pair while I suffer from some butt pain. Meanwhile, the stock Kenda Klaws goes to the old bike. I just realised that I got the rear tire direction wrong.
Okies, so featured on Dezeen recently is Leonardo Glass Cube by 3Deluxe:
Uncanny similarity to Philip Johnson's Glass House but bigger and whiter?
And a comment by yours truly on Dezeen on someone's comment on the Glass Cube:
zuy says,“Great! inspiration is running through my veins”
Because it looks like a vein-artery-capillary network of sorts?
Seriously, what kinda inspiration are we really talking about here? Unless bad Xerox is your idea of inspiration so yea. Otherwise, the Teletubbies-ishly lush greens and unnaturally teeth whiteness seems kinda vexing. We need some thing more truthful of the real natural environment around us i.e. what if it rains, at night or snows? I found this picture here which more or less brings across my point regarding idealistic rendition of projects.
Now, idealistic rendering is like telling your mum you don't take drugs but you don't tell her that you traffic em' either. Sweet. No, really it's eye-candy sweetness. Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant
So yes, I'm using Build 5528.1 of Safari. Even though it passes the Acid3 test, RSS support is more or less messed up - the Quartz RSS Screensaver (if it is your current screensaver) doesn't seem to work out and keeps jamming Sys Prefs. One way to resolve this is to go to ~/System/Library/Screen Savers and move the screensaver file out of the way (you need Admin privileges to do that) and launch Sys Prefs than deselect it and viola! Done. Remember to move the screensaver file back though but not to use it until you have the delta release of Safari 4 installed.
Okies, now for that post I promised. Regarding The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction. This shall be a more serious academic discursive, in which I will go through points brought up by Walter Benjamin, John Berger, John Walker, Nigel Warburton and some of my own.
The picture you are looking at is Las Maninas (loosely translated to the Maids of Honour) by Diego Velásquez. Notice how I used the word picture instead of painting because really - are you looking at the image as a painting itself or the subject matter, composition and all the allegorical features that is present in the original painting or really just lines and pixels that gives the eye the illusion of the painting? To tackle with this issue of physical vs. relic status of work of arts (let's just keep this to paintings), Walter Benjamin suggested the presence of an Aura, a seemingly spiritual and almost mystical presence of a work of art - its attributed authenticity and cultural value. This really is quite close to the Institutional Theory of Art, whereby art is defined as art due to the nay sayings of a particular institution or authoritative canon. As much as this reminds you the overbearing workings of the church, it should be noted that paintings started off in them - they were used as illustrative pieces to depict the story of God and the teachings of the bible. Therefore it would only seem fitting that the original paintings were unique due to the presence of such an Aura.
That aside - what makes a painting so different from a reproduction? We are reminded of a certain workhorse artists (I would rather call it painter's) village in China whereby near (if not) perfect copies of famous paintings are churned out by the hundreds. But really, if a painting were to be defined clearly and stringently down to exactly when and where the paint was mixed and appropriated and placed to form the painting by a specific painter then there would no doubt be any complications left. However, paintings are more than just snapshots most of the times (we shall deal with photography later). The Judgement of Paris, The Inspiration of St. Matthew - biblical themes and sooth-sayings that have some form of moral or deeper content is seen to be end point of what a painting is to be. Plainly put, it just means that painting an image is really just a way of representing an idealism, thus it presents a slap in the face regarding the uniqueness of a painting since a reproduction can do that too as long as the key elements of the idealism is being aptly represented i.e. The Judgement of Paris: A bunch of girls, with obviously one more pretty than the rest, a guy and an apple to be given to that pretty girl. Thinking along this line is really the root of conceptual art - art as idea, but this shall be thrashed out another day. just for the record - I'm not really a fan of Greeks and biblical stories, they're just apparent in Western art.
So now what then of forgeries, I'm sorry, I meant reproductions - which so readily provided us with another means of gaining insight into an artwork without flying over to some obscure gallery on another end of the globe. There are largely two types of forgeries in the context of paintings -
This post has been put on halt due to the dizziness arising from suckerpunching music and 'sticky' typeface typical of web interfaces. The typist is contemplating churning the write-up beforehand instead and its cognitive processes are currently in a state of flux. Characteristic of the typist, it usually does the ending speech well before the write-up has reached a decent level of entirety.
But isn't it curious how John Berger smokes and guests invited to the show to discuss issues are given a drink or two rather than water? Casual as it may seem, it just reminds me of Serge Gainsbourg appearing on French TV on many occasions drunk and not making coherrent sense. Maybe it's just the way humans are - they're not as rational as they envision themselves to be. No seriously, it's ok to be drunk and smoking because it's just the way humans are - it just destroys the credibility of the show just a tweeny weeny bit don't you think?
This was really meant to be yesterday's post thought up when reading Guardian's feature on Josef Koudelka, the Czech photographer who sneaked out pictures of the Russian Invasion during the Prague Spring. As shown above, Koudelka got a passerby to volunteer his arm to 'tell time' as the Russian tanks rolled into Prague. His account of documenting the lives of gypsies through the camera was simply insightful. The above photo also reminds me of the 'Tank Man/Unknown Rebel' (below) which I encountered in yet another insightful book.
In the article, the term Saudade was mentioned. Perhaps one of the best translations of the word while preserving it's linguistic peculiarity/context would be, 'to tidy the bedroom of a son who has already died,' as said by Chico Buarque de Hollanda. While it feels like the word to describle my current predicament, I recently got to experience it once more this afternoon at the bookstore while browsing through a copy of Frankie magazine.
The pictures, colours, layout and the models, individuals and fashion sense featured seemed ever so ethereal that it would just like to grab a copy of it and hang that poster that comes along with every issue up on the wall in the room just to make my place busk in a bit of that ethereal lightness. Then a reality check script activates in the head and Shout Out Louds' Impossible starts ringing in your head. Congratulations and saudade sets in and I'm thinking of renaming this blog as saudade. A normal would never be possible anymore - what more of a seemingly ethereal one? Nouvelle Vague's cover of Teenage Kicks by The Undertones will do too. And now to add on to that Bossa Nova hype, Chega de Saudade (No More Blues):
"Chega de saudade
A realidade
É que sem ela não há paz
Não há beleza
É só tristeza
E a melancolia
Que não sai de mim
Não sai de mim, não sai."
I promise I'll write an article on wall pinups vs. framed pictures - just to consolidate stuff I need to know academically at the same time. Instead of feeling outcast, it might be good to say put things in perspectives - you've just made a bunch of idiots obsolete and it just happens to be the world surrounding you. Oh how enthusiastically exciting - Satellites by September is playing now. Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant
No puns or sarcastic remarks here. I'm disabling Dashboard to release more ram and transferring the stuff on the stickies here since having a new text file on the desktop is both ugly and disorderly.
By Oscar Niemeyer from The Curves of Time:
"It is on paper that a boy amuses himself, on which he draws houses, trees, land and sea animals, the sun and the moon. He enjoys these magical moments in which beauty arises, pure and pontaneous, as it always should be. After that and throughout his lifetime, paper accompanies him in all his activities."
By Alice Rawsthorn from one of her articles on design:
"Full-bleed pictures and huge type are very much the norm. That's something I've always admired about French book design: books being packaged with dignity and respect for the reader."
Time Machine backup was smooth today (Firewire owns USB's theoretical ass), as for qualms about Leopard (I almost typed Leopold), I hate Stacks. Labels: Random Rubbish, Rant
It's 4 plus in the morning and I absolutely love breaking that stillness of the winds with classics ringing into the night. The only trade-off is that I get extremely irritated when I get rudely interrupted and robbed of my divine prowess as the night fades away and the household starts waking up starting with that highly irritable toilet-going light...
Has the iPod destroyed what music originally stood for? I'm speaking of songs and worded tunes in general (let's not go into chamber and classical music forms which gets a bit too tedious for reading and writing). The advent of portable music players has led to music being carried around such that you can listen to it as long your battery pack still has juice and not in enough mortal danger to put those earphones on. It all started with the portable FM/AM radio but that wasn't quite as 'desire to air' as you can get. No doubt listening to the radio with washing detergent advertisements occasionally interrupted every Pat Boone song (not that I like him) or popular hits did help while away Depression or working hour blues. However the Walkman was the true perpetrator of really portable music. The only possible pitfall of the Walkman and its successor Discman was the lack of storage space as quality audio was gradually made available. The era of the iPod heralded the infamous line by Steve Jobs at the launch of the original iTunes:
"5 GB is a lot space - a thousand songs which is almost an entire library for most people."
That unfortunately does not seem to be the case in the current day context. A case for the Walkman can still be fought - carrying only enough songs that you would have the luxury of listening to if your road trip was long enough. We listen to music on buses, trains and even in the air. However the expanse of songs which you can have travelling with you has offered the option of choice - any song any time - again provided you have enough juice if not you'll just be carrying another high-tech brick.
This album cover of Fernando by ABBA released in 1976 carries with it the core of my supposition. Music has always seemed to serve the function of entertainment - stress relief of some sort (I haven't found the exact word/expression here) that somehow happens at the end of the day or some gala function of sorts. I'm envisioning the imagery of tribal dances and songs alongside wedding ceremonies. Songs are sung while ploughing the field or during a bloody road march in the military. People don't just turn on and listen/sing along songs for nothing.
My point here - are we using songs like fuel at such a frequent expanse that perhaps a deficit was created somewhere and could possibly lead to the decline in the Spiritual in Music itself?
Could this perhaps explain why the Chinese music industry of today (or rather the largely Taiwan based one) has suffered a serious decline in songs that are actually worth re-listening to once the trend is out? I recall the 'good ole days' of the 80-90s period whereby lyrical compositions were earnest and well thought in stark contrast to the rhyming forms that lyrics stand for to match the beat of a tune despite them being a bit less upbeat in attitude.
There was something in the air that night
The stars were bright, Fernando
They were shining there for you and me
For liberty, Fernando
And soon campfire songs would get forgotten along with what they stand for and we might all be beatboxing into a starless night with Hilton though baked beans might still not go away since starting campfires might get banned in the near future. Labels: Rant, Speculations About the Universal Law of the French Toast
So I shall attempt to make this post short and concise. In essence, I have not been initiated into the worldwide clan of petrol heads due to a single stupidly fatal error which was in part due to human err or test condition, I am not sure of. Everything seems to be overcast and gloomy once more as I was contemplating the issue of failure on the way home from school. It seems that I can't and haven't been getting anything right in recent times and destined to fail.
The World Hates Me. As much as I try to indulge (not the appropriate word here) complex multi-tiered exposés and philosophical arguments with myself to oppose this flow of thought, the world seems to disprove my counter-arguments at that very last make-or-break moment of which a good example is today.
I have still not come to terms with myself on this issue.
How do you live with yourself!?
I probably don't since I'm not even self-aware 90% of the time.
It rained on the way back home as it I was crying or the heavens were pitying me (then why let another misfortune befall me?). This reminded me of a plot line in Men in Black II once more:
"It doesn't rain and you feel sad. It rains because you are sad."
How I wish that were true - being some form of powerful nuclear alien. Even Mr. Bean was an alien according to the animated series. Could it be retribution for hating people? Seriously I doubt so since the world kinda started the fight to begin with. Oh how easy it is to shrug the blame on to others. But there's a British saying that goes:
"It's not my fault mate, I don't run the bloody place."
In this life that we live we only make do and the way that we feel might have to be sacrificed. Give me the words that tell me nothing. Give me the words that tell me everything. Labels: Rant
Ok, the original posting got eaten up when the router decided to have a horrid mind of its own and hence I initially attributed the problem to the iPod and ended up restoring it and ZHAMM! The e-mail was gone - before it even got a wifi signal to send it out, so here I am re-typing most of what was left of the incomplete post on the way back. And great news - the replacement gear cassette won't be in till 2-3 months later, may Providence blesseth thee with good fortune to pass the driving test! It's more of a desperate cause here unless suffering from major heart burns due to an erratically unpredictable bus service is commendable in some weird upward society.
Having the last driving lesson today (hopefully) meant another quarter hour or so spent at the bus stop once more waiting for an erratically unpredictable bus service. This time, it involved a bunch of primary school boys and their soccer/football dealings. It started off as a who's better contest and involved bouts of 'lousy' being spouted around without and conclusively concrete backing evidence as to whose skill is better. Seriously it's like watching the a miniaturised quarrel going in - cut down to the chase with just either side putting down the other. They get tired, gives up and then boy who has cable TV takes over - he preaches about the Manchester United match last night which ended in a 1-1 draw against who, I don't know. Then Rooney was stretchered out and Christiano had to get out due to an ankle injury and that was really all I could catch of the conversation since his speech was rather sketchy. It's like shouting, "Friends, Romans, Countryman, Lend me your Beers," while the other boys could not really be bothered with his preaching.
Finally the bus came and leaving me thinking that kids these days - yeah, I mean kids, the products of mass media and marketing bombardment are very much high potential potheads going to the lottery counter placing bets after the initial teenage idiosyncrasy goes away. I got stopped in the bus because the driver thought I was a cheat abusing a concession card. How nice. It really makes me wonder why I'm still using a concession card for students and how literal bus stop can get.
The trip back started off with Tegan & Sara's Floor and then two women talking about the sad state of affairs in today's corporate world - the lack of human empathy and relations in the working environment. Woman A is currently a worker at a sandwich bar and Woman B is a friend of hers whom they met along the way on the journey. While Woman A was trying to convince Woman B to take up a job offer at her sandwich bar, day-to-day job details pop up along the way. Transcripted into (there is no such word as 'transcripted' just for the record) a more concise and readable form, she details how the different batches of colleagues differ through every cycle of crew changes. The original and first when she started her job were easygoing people and could along with them well starting off with a group breakfast and morning coffee itinerary for the day. The subsequent ones led to the collapse of such a practise as cut-throat practices became increasingly rampant. Disappointed at the collapse of moral society/peaceful utopia, she continues the morning practice albeit alone and possible only if she was the earliest at work so as not run into the others. Remarks were also made about the influx of foreign workers and descriptors include 'three-headed snakes'. Resignation was not quite an option as whiling time away with fours walls and a ceiling (and a floor) with little or no human contact due to a working household meant that it would only be a matter of time before delirium and disease sets in. Woman A however consoles herself that the job has its perks like getting rid of the boredom and lonesome home environment on weekday afternoons alongside the love of what she does and serving regulars. At this point in time, I got to alight and Gandara by Godiego unwittingly starts playing in my head as I left the bus.
As promised a picture to lighten things up, the eclectic mix of items shown under the warm evening sun are new curtains that looks dated as if pristine from the 60s and a matching Olivetti Studio 46 of that same time period, Rotring boxed cartridges whose design hasn't changed circa 1970 and a Matchbox Jaguar XK 2006. Despite being weird a random juxtaposition of items, it brings to mind where have all the good stuff from the past gone to? So many of them abandoned (I'm assigning say a few articles to each person) in the namesake of modernity? It does seem very much to be a farce of some sort. 
Here's a link to a live performance of Gandhara by Godiego in more recent times. Godiego is a band from the 70s - surprising modern sounding music for their time.
It's raining now at this point of rewriting. This is really a bad attempt at preserving the tradition of stating the kind of weather before every diary entry.
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