My Mind, Your Screen

The Return of the King

2007-09-21T23:57:00.000+08:00

The Return of the King

King Solomon's back, baby.

Why the staggering amount of time between the last post and my new one? Cos I got bored with it, that's why. And after wading through Google account's insanely complicated method of recovering passwords, I got my blog back. Yippee.

Oh God.

Okay, I'm a writer. What do writers do? They write. So if I'm gonna be a writer, I darn well better start writing. Okay, here goes...

Well it feels like one of those WWE recaps from TheWrestlingFan.com when they look at wrestling events from a few years back and things as they are now. What's changed? A hell of a lot.

I seem to recall that my last post occurred at a time when I was still a hopeful member of IRON on CyberNations, an online game. All these months later, I've been a member of IRON's government, fought a lot of wars, made a lot of friends, and lost a lot of friends when I decided to stop playing the game. It's a fading memory now, but yeah. It happened. Things have changed.

I'm a valued and reasonably well-liked member of A05 now. It took the better part of two years, but hey, I got there in the end. Once hated enemies have miraculously turned into good friends. Mild acquaintances have become closer than brothers. And as for one particular guy whom I thought was my friend...well...it looks like the tide has shifted, cos for once I'm with the majority on this one. I'll say nothing more.

Exams! I seem to have scored charitably high marks for my mid-years, CCE, with a B in GP and a failing grade in Math. And my dad still busted my balls over it, cos he doesn't know squat about the TPJC system, but in retrospect, yeah, I still suck. I need to frantically buck up because as I sit here and write, the As are like less than 40 days away, God help me.

Prelims, hmm, let's see...GP's alright, Math was an utter abortion, despite all the free tuition I received from Uncle Guan. I am so ashamed of myself, jokes aside. I need to get an A or something in the real exams to make it up, even if this means no more Xbox 360. Lit is half good and half bad, Econs is looking up, History started out bad and ended being pretty okay.

Of course, this is all speculation and it may very well be the case that next week you'll hear the faint cry of desperation echoing over the rooftops of Pasir Ris.

What else? Oh yeah, I made a film for Cheryl's video class, based on a movie which is showing on cable but I still haven't seen it yet. It was pretty cool, even if none of the hot girls seemed interested in checking me out and Cheryl still hasn't fulfilled my wish to meet up with Danielle The Sexy Momma tm.

I've joined and quit TornCity, yet another online game, the ramifications of which were I lost a friend and gained another, so not too bad on the whole. Who knows people are willing to act like utter assholes just to gain a slight advantage in an online game. It's unreal.

I've completed my collection of Sandman and Preacher comics, the whole lot will be heirlooms passed down to my children someday, you may count on that.

My guinea pigs died like long ago, and I was sad, but I've got a new hamster now and his name is Mr. Hyde. He's a grumpy little dude who bites me when I try to pick him up, but what the hell, I remember the time I saw him at Whitesands and brought him home for 10 dollars. He was so small back then. Sniff. They grow up so fast.

I've read a few good books and hung out in a few cool forums, like Giantitp.com, and made some way towards preparing for the exams that will determine my future life on this planet.

No pressure.

Ah well, the only person who can decide whether I'm a rich successful writer who gets condemned by the government but still manages to make out with the hottest of the Singapore single scene because he's so darn cool or whether I'm a struggling salaryman trying like hell to keep my head above water while my unappreciative future wife screams at me, my kids are doing drugs and my dad berates me for making less money than him...

Is me.

Crunch time, King.

Can you go all the way?

Here and now, it's all up to you.

Feedback! Now!

Lol. Love you all, especially, you, you and you. You know who you are.

5 hours and counting

2006-10-06T08:53:00.000+08:00

5 Hours And Counting

As I type this it's almost going to be 9 o' clock. In about 5 hours or so, I'm going to take one last Literature exam, and I'll be free. For two whole months. FREE.

George Michael/Hady Mirza: FREEDOM! FREEDOM! My freeee-eedom...you gotta do what you saaaay...

Let's go over them. Xue will know this part, because I practically SMSed her every single day for every single exam. I hope my phone bill's okay.

Let's see...Econs was alright lah. I could draw graphs for a few questions although I didn't know how to complete one or two.

Lit poem was one of the freakiest things I ever encountered. I'm going to go back in time and murder Seamus Heaney. Everyone had different interpretations man. I thought the couple liked each other but couldn't say it (which reminds me of something). Oh well, whatever, nevermind. (With apologies to Kurt Cobain)

Great Ex, I'm just relieved I don't have to read about Pip and Magwitch and Estella and Ms Bloody Havisham for at least a year.

Maths was hilarious. Didn't pay attention in class for the whole year, studied like mad with Jeffrey's help in the last week. When the exam rolled around I could answer about half the questions. There was this one where they asked you to find the value of 'a' and I had naturally no clue what a was. So I wrote 'the value of 'a' lies somewhere between negative infinity and infinity.'

I hope KKK doesn't kill me.

History was fiendish, but I found enough time, unlike poor Lionel. I hope I didn't misinterpret the hell out of my source-based, everyone said something different. The essays were alright, but I think I repeated my points a little in question 4 and 5. Well of course, they involved my pal Gorbachev. I had no choice.

One more, one more and I am done. I will set into motion my plans and return next year a new man. No one will recognise me. That I guarantee. I'm really going to do it this year. If I don't do it now, I never will.

(I just thought I'd mention I'm going to name my other son Kennedy. Really. Rafael, Kennedy, and my daughter will be Gabrielle. No negotiations. That's what their names are gonna be.)

No Food = Good

2006-09-30T07:46:00.000+08:00

No Food = Good

Well Ramadan has rolled around again and I couldn't be happier. Every year that goes by I find myself looking forward to the simple pleasures of fasting. Now I'm not particularly holy, but there's something to be said for going for twelve hours eating and drinking absolutely nothing, and feeling just fine. It shows me, it can be done, y'know? The trick is to persuade myself to do it all-year-round. Hmmm.

My writing has been sporadic because I have little time, but I know that's just an excuse. I love it, I need it, but sometimes it's so hard to start it. I live for the times when I can sit down at the com or my pad and turn out four pages of nearly-unconcious words. Sochenda asks me how I do it, and to tell her the truth, I don't know. Of course, reading all those books helped somewhat.

It's an interesting thing, but I believe the technique of immersion is real. Fr'example, I hang around the Scousers and read more Terry Pratchett and my writing - my writing, not my speech - suddenly becomes more British. It's great. For now I'm starting on a couple of Dean Koontzes. The man's not bad, his horror is of the more personal variety than Mr. King, although both use the supernatural. But his overflow of adjectives can be a little weird at times, although it was much cleaned up in the second book I read, Odd Thomas, than The Face. Good enough to try more, that's for sure.

My chess sucks, Bala can whip me, I haven't played Paul but I know he can whip me, and I'm too scared to play Jian in case he'll whip me. I simply cannot keep concentration for the duration of the game, which has always been one of my weakest points. I gotta work on that, it could be a set-up for a much bigger problem in the future.

I'm feeling happy again, in very large part due to the fact that I have been misreading certain signals from my classmates. They're not hostile after all, and I really should never overreact again. Looking back I can't believe how dumb I was. It's a teenage thing. But I can certainly understand how some high school massacres can occur. The seeds are planted everyday in the pit of loneliness. Smile at people you meet, even the geek who picks his nose. It'll make their day and it won't cost you anything. Who knows, he might not decide to send the bullets flying after all. (Sorry Ragui)

That's about all there is, I'm gonna list the reasons why I feel happy again so I don't forget. Silly me, but I sometimes need to do this.

1. Exams are okay
2. A05
3. Mafalda and Irm and the rest of SXI. God, I knew I loved it, but you don't realise how much it means to me. Going into a political forum and watching narrow-minded idiots bash my religion with chilling callousness really taught me how to appreciate my little haven. If I ever see Martin, I'll kiss his feet and thank him for making our home for us.
4. Rafa's starting to win again (Crouch!)
5. This diet-plan's the best in the world
6. Mom offered to split the cost of a new Xbox 360 with me if I get promoted okay
7. Xue and Charm and Maridol and Jeffrey for being there

Might not seem a lot to you, but they do to me. Now when I feel emo again, I'll come back here and read this entry. Promise.

Hair Trouble and Assassinated Presidents

2006-08-30T21:31:00.000+08:00

Hair Trouble and Assassinated Presidents

Man I don't know what's up with my hair. I want it long but it's not getting there. Instead it's more of...big. And puffy. Eurgh. I may scrap the Twohill project after all.

On a more pleasant note, I have more or less made peace with my emo dark half. Maridol and I are friends again (yay!) and I have decided to cease my daily fantasies of slicing off body parts of certain people with a lightsaber. It wasn't all that fun being consistently emo.

Poor Grissom's still in mourning over losing Catherine and his four babies. (Caramel, Gunther, Paul and Hybrid) I think he might die of depression. Emo guinea-pig and his emo master, lol. He looks almost as sad as I felt.

The IMF coming to Singapore really cracks me up. We've got security all over the damn place, helicopters and snipers and armed guards oh my like the bleedin' Pope is in town or something, and he's brought the Dalai Lama and Castro with him. And to make things even funnier, I learned the IMF attracts a little rag-tag band of protestors who apparently follow them around, protesting in each country it goes to. Seriously, GOT NOTHING BETTER TO DO, ISSIT?

Haha, and they got OWNED by the government too. "Under Singapore law, any form of protest is illegal!" So now they've set aside a little room for them to go and protest. Hilarious. You can't make up this shit.

No English football this week, we've got the bloody internationals again. Boring man. I wanna see Rafa, not McClaren.

I've come to realise I suck at playing chess. I can't seem to concentrate for a whole game. That sucks.

Whoa, totally random post so far. I wanna end off with a public declaration of my gorwing fondness for JFK. KEHN-NAH-DEE!

"Womanising, macho stud who conquered the moon!"

JFK rocks man. I wanna be a Kennedy.

Before I forget...big thank you to Xue, Charmaine, and Lionel. For reasons I can't explain.

Kennedy out.

There's gonna be a million people...

2006-08-18T18:48:00.000+08:00

There's gonna be a million people...

"That love Allen Iversen. There's gonna be a billion people that hate Allen Iversen. Concentrate on the ones who care about you, and keep steppin'."

Sage advice.

I fluctuate between angry/indifferent/cheerful nowadays. This is a very common disease, known as adolescence.

Well my class is not perfect, I figured that one out. But then again, what is?

It's so ridiculous on many levels. I have tons of friends in the J2. I have lots of friends in the J1s too. When I went to the SMUN, Pre-U Sem, I made lots of friends. I don't really think I am the problem.

So why can't I make some in my own class? Of course, there the good people. And there are the bad. And there are the indifferent, which is nearly as bad as the bad.

I don't say much, I am reserved, I like to keep to myself, I like to listen to Axl and Slash rockin' out on my iPod better than chatting with people. Is that a crime? That's how I was made, man. It might not be the most sociable behaviour but I've gone this far.

I had my tag up. 'I don't want to hate A05'. And it's true. I desperately don't. But it's hard sometimes, especially when I feel that the sentiment is mutual. One girl in particular. I never fucking did anything to her and the sneers, the snide looks, the rude interruptions when I'm talking? Oh please bitch, you're way out of your league.

I didn't go to the stupid sea-sports carnival, ok. Fine. I wasn't even bloody rowing anyway, I asked Jian if I could row and he said better not...so I stayed home. But it looks like it was akin to a sin, according to some.

I'm gonna do what AI says and divide up my list of people I know. Okay, first. People who really should be somewhere far from me. Then my reasons for living.

Targets

S34
Some A05
The racists on the Cybernations forum

That looks like it really. I'm not vengeful, I've mostly forgotten whom I've fought with.

Allies

Mum, dad, and annoying little sis
Assorted cousins and baby cousins
Assorted uncles and aunts
The members of the WHO
The IRON Alliance
Dun-Man-Gang- Tng, Nick, Luq, Belly, and et al
SXI- Mafalda, Irma, Ragui, Maridol, Andy, Nata, Mariana and Martin. You guys mean more to me than you'll ever know
El Psycho and the rest of the Drama Crew
And not forgetting- some of A05

Whoa. I am much-loved.

I have allies, friends, people who are good and strong and worthy of respect.

I'll concentrate on them, and keep steppin'.

Remember Grobbelaar!

2006-07-27T21:25:00.000+08:00

Remember Grobbelaar!

Yesterday was brilliant, a nice shiny spot in an age of dullness and dreary drudgery. (What's the noun of dreary? Drear? I don't think I know. If you do please tell me.)

My two lovely little guinea-pigs, Grissom and Catherine, finally had their babies. Four of the most adorable, squeaking little bundles of fur you'll ever see. There's a black one like Grissom, one with a white head and brown body, and two creamy brown ones. The epitome of cuteness. The sister insisted on naming one after Paul Twohill (UGH), and I acquiesced. One of the brown ones will be named Caramel, white-head is...well, White-Head, and the last one doesn't have a name. Suggest away.

Well later in school Choy pleaded with Nordin to let Ben play goalie for the team. Nordin agreed to show mercy (GASP SHOCK HORROR) but the Leadership Training Camp deprived us of his services again. Bala played on despite the camp, but big Jian didn't, so they still needed the keeper. And my name was on the list.

I was feeling bloody nervous, I tell you. I hadn't played keeper in an age. But walking out on the field was a great feeling. Paul sent a couple shots my way, which I somehow kept out. I started to think 'hey, we can do this'.

We needed a win to progress, so they attacked right from the off. Bala won a penalty and Choy stepped up...and sent the ball flying over the top right hand corner. My heart dropped. We could have used that goal...but there was no time to think. They counterattacked down a flank, and my first act as keeper was to cut out a dangerous cross by smacking it away.

Beginner's luck?

Anyway I was feeling fine and the second half began. I kept out another near-post shot, swatted away a long-range effort, and it all seemed to be going so well. Until Nordin blew the whistle and pointed to the spot.

I didn't know he'd given a penalty until Choy ran up to me.

"Pick a direction and dive there!"
"What the heck? A penalty?"
"Remember what I said!"

Visions of Jerzy in Istanbul dancing in my head, I slapped my gloves and stared down Daniel, the guy from the college team. It was a stroke of luck no one told me he was the star, or I would have been freaking out. As it was, I actually didn't feel terror at all, more of detached interest.

I did the Dudek dance thing and when Nordin wasn't looking, stepped forward a yard or two off the goal line. Daniel then began the run-up.

Choy told me to dive left or right, but I was watching him and I somehow KNEW he would go center. So I stood my ground and waited for what seemed like forever.

The ball flew over the crossbar.

YESSS! I jumped up and accepted the wild congratulations of the lads.

Attacking with what I like to think was renewed impetus, Haziq scored a beauty of a goal. We were one-nil up and cruisin'.

Maybe that was why I did what I did next. I get dumb when I'm relaxed. Choy cleared a dangerous chance and I yelled "I fucking love you man!"

Nordin immediately blew the whistle and pointed at me.

"You want to argue, is it? What card do you want?"

"Er, no sir. Yellow sir."

"Talk some more and you get a red. No vulgarities!"

Well I bet Peter Schmeichel never got a card for just swearing. Unfair, I tell you.

But we did hang on to win, and qualify for the semis. So no harm done I guess. But the best part was playing for a class team. I'd forgotten what it was like. And I was given a sweet reminder yesterday.

A05 all the way!

Academic Achievements

2006-07-09T11:38:00.000+08:00

Academic Achivement

I'm quite happy today, a rare occurrence. The reason for this is the pleasantly surprising nature of the results of my mid-year common tests.

Far be it from me to brag (well actually, I suppose I am a little bit arrogant sometimes. It's a character flaw, shared by me, Thierry Henry and Steven Gerrard), but I really do feel I deserved this.

Take my maths, for example, I got a 72%. Good God, was I surprised. I told Johann that this was the first time I had passed a maths test in the college, and I was telling the truth. Last year was a horrific nightmare of failure to grasp concepts and constant failures period. It was bad. Even the sympathetic Mr. Chow couldn't help much. I remember getting an E for my promos last year and just sinking into a pit of misery.

But this turnaround...it speaks of something new.

I scored a 61% for Economics, not bad at all. Also my history. I got 60%, a C! Which is a great mark for a subject as fiendish as history. And I got second in class too. Not bad, eh? Considering I've never taken O Level history or even actually studied for the test.

I'm being serious. I'm a procrastinator. I remember being thoroughly miserable near the tail-end of June this year, trying to study but then just giving up. I told Ms. Cheng that I spent three days to study history, when the truth was I only picked up the text half an hour before the exam began. The truth would have hurt me, I'm sure.

I'm no genius, but I did work really hard during classes for history, so maybe that helped despite my non-studying during the holidays. And history is a skill good journalists should be able to ace- the answering of a question is not unlike researching and writing an article after all.

Well, there's just the Lit left. I'm beginning to hate Lit. I've realised you can never score well in Lit- either you get the concept or you don't. It's a lottery, it's a gamble. Hopefully I would have gotten it during that CT, I distinctly remember the questions as being easy to answer. I really want my tests to be a success, I've gone so long without academic achievement I've nearly forgotten how it used to taste.

That's the point of this post. It's just so nice to be able to celebrate something which you thought you had lost.

A modest goal- just pass all the CTs. I set that goal before I took them. But a goal that was thoroughly impossible last year could be cleared with room to spare this year. That's remarkable, for me.

This is me, this is where I belong. The Arts stream. The writers, the thinkers, the creative masters. The results of the tests have just proven it once and for all, put my doubts to rest and helped calm my parents. Forget science- I'm going to ace my Arts, or die in the attempt.

Hope I can catch Talisa, by all the gods that girl is an absolute monster. Topping the class in Maths, Econs, History and soon-to-be Lit as well? A worthy rival. She's just lucky we didn't have a GP test- I'd bet my Liverpool shirt I can top her in at least that.

At last...the world has another chance

2006-07-08T22:10:00.000+08:00

At Last...The World Has Another Chance

I'm talking about Jamie. Jamie's the reason for my rekindled hope. You don't know Jamie? No, not Carra. That Jamie.

Jamie Lynn Spears, ladies and gents. Take a moment and admire. Go on, I'll wait.

...

Right, that's enough. Why am I gushing over Jamie? And why has it been such a bleeding long time since my last update? Well...I can't answer that one. But I cna answer the one about Jamie.

Of course you know her sister. Well, unless you've been down a Latvian coal mine for the last two decades. And then you won't know her. Which is tragic, because even Latvian coal miners should be able to bask in the glory that is Britney.

Gasp, I hear you say. Why would you Finno, lover of classic rock, profess such open admiration for the Britster? To be honest with ya...I don't really know. What am I saying. Of course I know. She's hot!

Ms. Spears, the woman who gave us that performance with the snake, the almost naked turn in Toxic, and various other displays that made the blood pump and certain anatomical parts of the body become stiffer than it usually was (ahem), wasted it all on a White Trash named Kevin Fuckerline.

What. A. Waste.

But you see, God is fair. Oh you might not think he is, but he actually is. If he isn't, please explain why the world has been given a second shot at nailing a Ms. Spears?

Jamie looks uncannily like her sister. Close enough for government work. In the dark anyway. Heh heh heh.

Ahem.

Before I get out of control, I think I've made my point. Even when a treasure has been so senselessly wasted on the underserving, another one comes along. Rejoice!

Not again?

2006-04-21T20:45:00.000+08:00

Of Cloth Merchants And History Essays

On Wednesday, I gave up trying to act rationally and decided to play Warcraft instead. This meant Ms. Cheng's History Essay Of Portentous Doom lay lurking in some forgotten digital corner of my computer. Did it prey heavily on my mind? Sadly, no. This student was too caught up in trying to level up Chen the Pandaren Brewmaster to level 15 instead.

'No worries, mate' intoned my id, trying to convince my ego.

'You'll regret it later' retorted my ego.

'How the heck would you know?' sneered the id.

'Something will come up. Something always does, and you'll have no time to finish MCHEOPD. Come on, this is Solomon's life we're talking about? How many times has something like this happened?' monologued the ego.

Turns out the bastard was right.

So I walk into the sacred portals of TP the next day, swearing to God and all mankind that I would rush home immediately after school ended to tackle the essay. How easily the best-laid plans of mice and men are laid to waste.

'Oi Sul' called Pang. 'I need ya to go to Joo Chiat and get some tablecloths for our Carnival Stall.'

'But I need to get that history essay done...'

'I put you in charge man' said the Pang.

And bigod he was right. I had volunteered to do something for the decor comittee for Carnival Day. (Cue laughter) If any of them knew...

This was so 180 degrees as to the Finn of last year. The Finn of last year would have sawn off his own fingers with a metal ruler before offering to do something for [f*ckin] 05S34. That's all changed now. I don't mind going out of my way to help, cos I love this class of mine. All there is to it.

So on the stroke of 12.50 me and Raj were off to Paya Lebar. I had recalled seeing something like a Spotlight shop in the big post office building, where we could get cloth. Raj, poor native of Clementi that he is, had no clue whatsoever to the areas east of Jurong. I stopped laughing when he pointed out he could sleep in his own bed if he went to NUS, whereas the majority of us would have to book rooms. Darn.

Paya Lebar MRT, a place that still held significant memories. As a first-three-monther at Millennia Institute, I knew the place quite well. Not as well as I thought I did though, as we found out later.

'See Raj? That's the shop I was referring to'

Raj looked.

'That's a boutique, Sulaiman'.

And so it was.

After the obligatory mental D'oh!, we had no choice but to press on towards Joo Chiat, wherever that was. It was bleeding hot, I can tell you. As we trudged on, the surroundings began to seem suspiciously familiar. Then it hit me.

'Aiyah, this is Geylang lah! Every Hari Raya my family comes here to buy stuff. It does look different from a non-Hari-Raya perspective though' I confided to a long-suffering Raj.

I had passed the place countless times in car...haha, apathetic youth that I am, I never bothered to find out the name of the big shopping center with all the cloth merchants.

We got the banner cloth from a nice auntie, 2 metres by 1 metre, and pleasantly cheap it was too. 4 bucks! Pang had given us 40. 'This is gonna be so cheap' I grinned to Raj.

You know, I seriously think God overheard me. God overheard me and either wanted to punish me for the evil sin of arrogance, or maybe he was just really bored of counting all the stars in the sky, or something, and wanted to have some fun. It's the only explanation I have for what happened next.

Having got the banner cloth for a song, we wanted to get a nice one for the table cloths. Now Sochenda had wanted 3 by 2.5 metres, which seemed enormously big to us. So we confirmed with Pang again. He wanted three cloths, and they had better be 3x2.5. Haha, got owned by the Pangster. It was thus I made my first big mistake.

FUCK-UP 1: 'Hey Raj, that pattern looks nice.'

FUCK-UP 2: 'Ooh, look at the sign. It says special offer, just 2 bucks!'

Oh my goodness me. I know from long experience that I am not a bargaining person in any way whatsoever. I always want to avoid a confrontation, even if it means paying stupidly high prices. Generations of ancient Chinese ancestors glare down upon me in shame and ridicule. I deserve it.

FUCK-UP 3: 'Uncle, can you help us? We don't know exactly how much to get because we want to cover three sets of three tables joined together.'

So the uncle does some funky calculations and convinces me that 3 pieces are not enough, 6 are needed. Drunk on a combination of triumph after buying the banner for 4 bucks and a 7-11 Super Slurpee, I did a Picard.

'Make it so, my good man.'

Uncle starts cutting up the cloth, Uncle 2 starts wrapping it up. I ask for the price. Uncle taps away at calculator again.

'$39.60'

Hahaha, uncle, surely you mean $3.96? Or maybe 19.60? Come on for fuck's sake, it can't be that close to 40 bucks...

It was.

FUCK-UP 4: I don't want to make that bastard mad any more than he already is Raj, let's just take it and leave.

Thus I parted with four lovely brand-new polyester orange Yusof Ishaks. I'm sure I saw one of the ten-dollar bills cry in sympathy. And if it wasn't enough, the devious Fu-Manchu of a Cloth Merchant made us wait unnecessarily long for the receipt.

Outside, me and Raj were in a state of shock over how Mission: Possible suddenly turn into Mission: Get Punk'd. I decided to take it like a man and call Soh pronto to report my latest findings.

'Soh...the cloth together cost 43.60'

I could almost literally see Sochenda turning in her seat to yell at a bunch of nameless 06A05'ers.

'Eh, the cloths alone cost over 40 dollars!'

Then Pang was on the phone. 'How much?'

'Erm...43.60 altogether Johan.'

'But the banner, you said it cost only 4 dollars!'

And so I had. Hmm, that should be FUCK-UP number 0.5, or something.

'Never mind Sul, for the table cloth just get the same type as the banner. Cheaper that way.'

'Um, we bought the thing already...'

Gods. No one deserved this, least of all my man Johann. But at least he didn't go off on me, of which I was extremely grateful for. Haha, people like him in last year's class? Not a chance.

Well, I had to do the decent thing and offer to pay the difference of twenty bucks, ten when shared with Raj, even though I guess I was more to blame.

And as if to complete the picture, the heavens opened up and rain fell in torrential deluges, completely making a mockery of my sweltering forehead due to the sunny weather just twenty minutes earlier. We had to shelter under a little bus-stop, watching the rain fall and mentally replaying the great Joo Chiat foul-up.

I swore that somewhere, far above the dark clouds above us, I could just make out the sound of God, rolling around on the celestial floor of Heaven, laughing His sacred ass off.

And MCHEOPD was still unfinished. I had to stay-up until 2.30 am to finish it. Of course, if I didn't spend half the time visiting redandwhitekop.com after writing about colonialism for a line or two and googling for pictures of Sarah Silverman and Rachel McAddams, I suppose I might have gotten a few more hours of sleep.

What can I say? Procrastination is a disease. I haven't been given the cure.

Update

2006-04-18T18:49:00.000+08:00

A Meeting

I've finished Great Expectations! Wonderful, except that Sochenda's finished both GE and Handmaid's Tale! Which throws my achievements in sharp relief...but hey, Talisa hasn't read GE yet, only HMT, and GE is longer, so I come out tops. :p

I finished GE on the MRT today, travelling all the way up to Dhoby Ghaut to meet up with Maridol's friend Xue to collect my birthday gift (in advance). Why did she have to pick a cold, rainy, thundery Monday? I had to construct an Osama-like headdress out of my TP shirt (haha, that's all it's good for) and bravely battle my way through the wind...and rain...yet I walked on, walked on, with hope, in my heart...

Heh heh, enough Liverpool allusions.

Well Xue was nice enough, so it went well...I wish I could say the same of my trip back home. Being drenched is not a nice thing to experience while riding on the MRT, and if that wasn't enough, I seemed to have picked a carriage containing every kissing couple in Singapore to ride in.

Things I learned today: Cathay Cineleisure isn't fully constructed yet, Dhoby Ghaut is right beside SMU, stay close to a handlebar and stare up at the ceiling to survive MRT trips. (Or alternatively , wrap two hands around the handstrap thingys that dangle from the ceiling and lean forward and pretend you're a puppet from that asinine N'Sync video)

YNWA 96

2006-04-15T20:13:00.000+08:00

In Memory Of Our 96 Lost- Gone But Never Forgotten

I'm rather ashamed of myself.

I went off on a venomous, emoesque, angst-filled tangent last post. But there are some things in life more important than petty little school problems.

Today is April the 15th. On this day, seventeen years ago, 96 Liverpool fans lost their lives at Hillsborough Stadium.

Poor crowd control, inept policing...the horror of the lies published by the Sun the very next day...Hillsborough was a disaster that should never have happen.

God bless you, Anne Williams, for fighting on for justice. God bless your young son Kevin, may he rest in peace.

Anne

WHAT HAPPENED TO KEVIN.

It was Friday night when we said no Sheffield was to far for Kevin to go, he went in a sulk he looked so sad, " Kevin studies hard let him go" said dad. On condition Kevin catches the police escort train to take him safely to the game.

Kevin entered the ground at 1.30.pm that day to get his spec to watch Liverpool play. First Kevin went into pen 4 then he changed to pen 3, where he found a better place to see.The first mistake the police made that day was to let he fans build up that way. Police should have been posted at the turnstiles, to lead the fans in, in single file. The second mistake was to open the big blue gate, without letting the police know inside the ground, the had no commander the inquiry found.The fans were let in they did not know were to go, they made for the tunnel they did not know, that there would be danger at the other end and somebody might loose a friend.

Kevin stood in his pen waiting for the match to begin, he was happy nothing was worrying him, a surge came it caused some pain it eased off, Kevin and Andrew where alright again. Kevin turned to Andrew and said "its getting a bit packed in here" poor little boy was full of fear, a second surge came, Andrew never saw Kevin alive again.

Fans getting crushed shouting and crying, "open the gates people are dying in here" the police ignored them, the fans began to shout and jeer, the police pretended they did not hear. The police smacked the fans hands off the wire cages, help did not come for ages and ages. The police pushed the fans back into their pen, little children and grown up men.

The fans who stood by gated 4 and 3 began to shout began to plea, Grobbelaar Grobbelaar open the gates let us out before it is to late. They tried to blame the fans they lied, only for the fans many more would have died. The where fans pulling fans up to safety in the west stand, helping each other hand in hand.The police lifted Kevin out at 3.28.pm they had left him so long it was nearly too late. The Liverpool fans carried Kevin up the pitch to the North stand hoping he would get a helping hand. Kevin lay on his back that day being sick in a bad way. The police had made a cordon in front of the stand; they would not break it to give Kevin a hand.

A Liverpool fan made his way down from the stand, to see if he could help Kevin who was moving on the ground. All around people where shouting and crying “Help my mate will yeah, don't let my mate die." They were the words that the Liverpool fans cried. An ambulance passed the north stand at 3.37.pm the fan tried to stop if for Kevin, if it had stopped Kevin would not be in heaven. The fan who had been helping Kevin was told he had passed away, upset he left and went on his way.

The police lady came to take Kevin to the gym, “hurry I can see life in him," then she found a pulse on him, if only they had some oxygen. The police lady laid Kevin on the floor of the gym where she started to resuscitate him, Kevin started to breath again, she picked Kevin up in her arms and held him like a baby, I am so grateful to the police lady.

Kevin opened his eyes and spoke a word, at first the police lady was scared, she told me Kevin did not look at her he stared the other way "MUM” was the word she heard Kevin say. Kevin closed his eyes; he tuned grey and then blue the police lady new there was nothing else she could do. The police lady washed Kevin's face and combed his hair, the things I would have done if I had been there. All dead by 3.15.pm is a lie at 3.55.pm that dreadful day my lovely son passed away, he died in the arms of a Special W.P.C. calling for his" MUM" perhaps Kevin thought she was me.

He was so young. Younger than me at the time. Aged only 15, Kevin should never have had his whole life stolen away from him.

In remembrance. Peace be upon you, our 96 lost. We will never, ever forget you.

In Remembrance:

John Alfred Anderson (62)
Colin Mark Ashcroft (19)
James Gary Aspinall (18)
Kester Roger Marcus Ball (16)
Gerard Bernard Patrick Baron (67)
Simon Bell (17)
Barry Sidney Bennett (26)
David John Benson (22)
David William Birtle (22)
Tony Bland (22)
Paul David Brady (21)
Andrew Mark Brookes (26)
Carl Brown (18)
David Steven Brown (25)
Henry Thomas Burke (47)
Peter Andrew Burkett (24)
Paul William Carlile (19)
Raymond Thomas Chapman (50)
Gary Christopher Church (19)
Joseph Clark (29)
Paul Clark (18)
Gary Collins (22)
Stephen Paul Copoc (20)
Tracey Elizabeth Cox (23)
James Philip Delaney (19)
Christopher Barry Devonside (18)
Christopher Edwards (29)
Vincent Michael Fitzsimmons (34)
Thomas Steven Fox (21)
Jon-Paul Gilhooley (10)
Barry Glover (27)
Ian Thomas Glover (20)
Derrick George Godwin (24)
Roy Harry Hamilton (34)
Philip Hammond (14)
Eric Hankin (33)
Gary Harrison (27)
Stephen Francis Harrison (31)
Peter Andrew Harrison (15)
David Hawley (39)
James Robert Hennessy (29)
Paul Anthony Hewitson (26)
Carl Darren Hewitt (17)
Nicholas Michael Hewitt (16)
Sarah Louise Hicks (19)
Victoria Jane Hicks (15)
Gordon Rodney Horn (20)
Arthur Horrocks (41)
Thomas Howard (39)
Thomas Anthony Howard (14)
Eric George Hughes (42)
Alan Johnston (29)
Christine Anne Jones (27)
Gary Philip Jones (18)
Richard Jones (25)
Nicholas Peter Joynes (27)
Anthony Peter Kelly (29)
Michael David Kelly (38)
Carl David Lewis (18)
David William Mather (19)
Brian Christopher Mathews (38)
Francis Joseph McAllister (27)
John McBrien (18)
Marion Hazel McCabe (21)
Joseph Daniel McCarthy (21)
Peter McDonnell (21)
Alan McGlone (28)
Keith McGrath (17)
Paul Brian Murray (14)
Lee Nicol (14)
Stephen Francis O'Neill (17)
Jonathon Owens (18)
William Roy Pemberton (23)
Carl William Rimmer (21)
David George Rimmer (38)
Graham John Roberts (24)
Steven Joseph Robinson (17)
Henry Charles Rogers (17)
Colin Andrew Hugh William Sefton (23)
Inger Shah (38)
Paula Ann Smith (26)
Adam Edward Spearritt (14)
Philip John Steele (15)
David Leonard Thomas (23)
Patrik John Thompson (35)
Peter Reuben Thompson (30)
Stuart Paul William Thompson (17)
Peter Francis Tootle (21)
Christopher James Traynor (26)
Martin Kevin Traynor (16)
Kevin Tyrrell (15)
Colin Wafer (19)
Ian David Whelan (19)
Martin Kenneth Wild (29)
Kevin Daniel Williams (15)
Graham John Wright (17)

You'll Never Walk Alone.

This is so annoying

2006-04-15T01:48:00.000+08:00

This Is So Annoying (Or, Here We Go- Again)

The title of the entry should give you something of an outline of my feelings.

I've been harbouring a vague sense of uneasiness in the past few weeks. It escalates, it plummets, but the bastard never really goes away. Maybe getting it down on digital paper might make me feel better. Or maybe not. Ah what the hell. In the immortal words of Herr Goebbels, Adolf Hitler's right-hand man, 'No one will ever find out'.

My perfect class, well, to put it bluntly, ain't as perfect as I thought it would be.

Oh don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. After being dragged through the shite last year, A05 is still a darned sight better than bloody S34.

But people whom I thought were good friends are keeping their distance, looking as though I hit them when I ask them something, you know the drill.

I. Don't. Fucking. Get. It. At. All.

Am I really such a repulsive bastard? Am I as arrogant as Mourinho, or do I stink like a bile demon, or do I have the trustworthiness of Judas, or WHAT?

Subhanallah, what do I have to do to please people...

Bah. Meiling and Emily, the inseparable Temasek Twins, must have their reasons for making me feel like persona non grata. As well as Benjamin and Bryan.

The last thing I want to do is slander anyone over the Internet. No matter what you may think, I am not that kind of person. However, this is my blog, and those are my feelings, and I relate tell them as personally and as honestly as I want.

So I feel they are far from friendly, and I will say so. Nothing amounting to slander. Just to get that all clear.

So...this post is just a venting of frustrations, really. Like Old Faithful, I need to mouth off every now and then or I'll explode like the lizard Royston and me saw getting stamped on back in Secondary 3.

For further intellectual debate that stimulates the mind and is a recognized Finn Solomon product, please see the entry below. For those who sympathise and identify and can bear to stand my angsty mutterings, read on.

Tum-tum-te-tum...

Oh, you're still here? Wow, you must be more interested than I thought.

Yeah...

Well maybe you really 'can't win them all'. If you don't have a body of Adonis, that is. Maybe if I had Schawzenegger's physique and a Spanish name I could breeze through life with mindless girls falling at my feet, kissing the ground I walk on. Fucking hell, those guys absolutely kill me.

Why do I have to be so relentless in my pursuit for ultimate popularity? Well maybe not ultimate popularity, but why am I so god-damned thin-skinned and emotionally sensitive? I want to be more like Cheryl or Irma, who can laugh off an insult like nothing. I want to be more like Ragui, bless him, who takes a slandering and keeps on ticking. I know I can never be famous. I would wither from the criticism, and it really, really despairs me that I can suffer from such a debilitating weakness.

I have to find a way to not let it affect me.

Maybe I'll take Andy's advice. Just throw all the plans I've made for my life out of the window and go drinking and find a party to crash instead. Yes, I will take a book with me. No, I don't think there's anything wrong with that.

See you around in a bit ladies and gentlemen. Hopefully by the time you come back, Dark Solomon will have been banished and the Finn you all know and love will hath returned unto thee.

- Dark Solomon, angst-ridden teen.

Cyber rule

2006-04-13T22:35:00.000+08:00

You're The Ruler? Well, I Didn't Vote For You.

Damn, I haven't posted in ages. Lots of things going on.

Let's see, is Finno still here and accounted for? Loves Liverpool- check. Loves classic rock- check. Loves his class- check. Loves Irmy- double check. Righto, here we go.

Part of the reason why I have neglected my poor blog is my growing fascination with political simulator games. Blame it on history classes. When I read about what some of the idiots have done in the past, I feel a burning desire to go out there and take my own country.

Sadly I am not handsome enough to win over the hearts of millions of people and lead a new revolution. Therefore I have resorted to those games to satisfy my curiousity.

For a while I've been using Nation States. It's quite adequate, with very good tongue-in-cheek humour and a nice clean design. You make a nation and decide your position on a number of issues each day and see how your opinions shape your country. I currently have three, but don't tell anybody. My first is a republic where I try to do everything right, my second is a corporate empire straight out of the pages of Nineteen-Eighty-Four, and my new third is a nation dedicated to being as religious as possible. Beautiful.

If you are sufficiently interested, the link is www.nationstates.net. Tell 'em Finn sent you.

But then someone sent me a link to a new game. Now Nationstates is fun enough, but you can't go to war or trade, which is such a waste as you have to make frequent military and economic decision. Cybernations, a new game, has added these features and more. Also it's much more of a challenge because you have to juggle the economy and the environment and military strength and resources available and most important of all, the happiness of your population.

If I like Cybernations enough, I might think of abandoning my nationstates account. Looking forward to the day I get a nuke and use it on someone.

I am a wiki whore

2006-04-02T02:49:00.000+08:00

I Am A Wiki Whore

I confess, I think Wikipedia is one of the greatest inventions that we have managed to come up with in this modern day an age.

Think about it, what has been essential to the continued progress and development of any society? Yeah, the dissemination and assimilation of knowledge. Call me superficial, but I believe Jimbo Wales's invention is right up there with the Gutenberg Bible in terms of milestones in the development of human knowledge.

One of my favourite things to do right now is to go on the Wikipedia main page, take a look at the events of the day, and just explore. I recall as a Secondary School student I once suggested I do a similar 'Event of the Day' to be written on the whiteboard every morning before school begun. The fledgling project was discontinued after I ran out of ideas, sadly.

But now Wiki does it for me. The most amazing thing that I can attribute to it is my waking up from a sort of daze after a 'Wiki Journey', and discovering that almost an hour has passed between my first link click to my final word read.

That's the thing about Wiki that impresses upon you, everything's connected in more ways than you can realise. For example today I went to search 'April Fool's Day', discovered that certain cartoonists switched strips to commemorate the occasion, leafed through a description of Foxtrot, which led me onto Boondocks, a great commentator on political issues, which finally led me on to the issue of interracial marriage which was discussed within it.

I've lost track of how many times I've undertaken such a journey. It's great. It also resonates within me the ancient Taoist idea, hijacked by George Lucas for his Star Wars series, that all things are interconnected, every thing has an effect on another thing. Go onto Wikipedia.org and find out for yourself, you'll find yourself idly clicking on one link, and then another, and then another, and you'll won't realise an hour has gone by while you were enlightening yourselves.

This is the sort of thing that needs to be invented more, rather than robots who can play football.

Ambition vs Practicality

2006-04-01T19:47:00.000+08:00

Ambition or Practicality?

Me and Ragui and Maridol and Ace had a talk the other day. Ragui wanted to go to England or Spain to pursue his dream of becoming a professional footballer, a sentiment which was encouraged by Ace and Maridol. Along the way I advised caution, saying something like not everyone makes it in the business and he should be prepared to face rejection. Which was when things got interesting.

Ace, being Canadian, has an intriguingly Western attitude of total belief in ones abilities and that individual hard work coupled with natural talent can result in achieving the impossible. My stance was that sometimes some things don't work out the way you want, and that there are things beyond your control. For a footballing example Ragui could meet a coach that didn't like him, or he could get injured, and so on. We had an interesting half-an-hour going back and forth over the subject.

Maridol generally took Ace's side in the argument, which ranged all over the place. Like, which is the harder achievement, getting a medical degree or becoming a pro footballer? I said becoming a doctor was easier, cos if you study and really mean it, you're guaranteed that degree. Ace said you can't compare it to a division three footballer winning his spurs.

Also about sacrifice. Ace was of the general opinion that personal sacrifice was routine if you wanted to get what you want. I agreed, but pointed out some things could not be sacrificed, like an education or financial stability.

Then it went to family time, cos they were saying quality means more than quantity. Me, being inspired by a Reader's Digest article, said that quality time had to be quantity, cos a meaningful heart-to-heart talk or a romp in the grass hardly meant anything if it was limited to 10 minutes.

Well we came to the conclusion that your culture and your upbringing had more influence on your personality than you think. I'm Asian, with its emphasis on society above self, ambition weighed with practicality and the heavy emphasis on education and being sensible. My parents have echoed similar sentiments when I was a little lad. Ace by comparison told me his parents had always pushed him to believe in himself and to do anything he wanted.

It's nice to have talks like these. I always learn more, about the world and about myself too.

Football jokes

2006-03-31T23:07:00.000+08:00

Some of the best jokes in the land here lads, have fun.

Before the Merseyside Derby begins, Rafa walks into the changing room to talk to his team. He sees Stevie, Jamie et al sitting around looking a bit glum. "What's up?" he asks. "Well boss," says Stevie, we know its the derby and all, but we just can't get ourselves bothered about the match. We've beaten Everton so many times it's gotten boring." Rafa looks at the team and tells them "If you all feel that way, you can go down to the pub, I'll take on the blueshite by myself."

So Rafa walks out onto the Anfield pitch to play Everton single-handedly while the team go off to have a few beers. After a while someone wonders how Rafa is getting on so the lads ask the barman to turn on the teletext. They see the live result 'Liverpool 1 Everton 0 (Benitez 10 min')' and a huge cheer goes up. Rafa's beating Everton by himself! They resume their drinking and the game is forgotten until Didi remembers to check the score at the end of the match. The scoreline now reads 'Liverpool 1 Everton 1 (Cahill 90 min')'. The lads don't mind however, as Liverpool is sitting proud at the top of the table and a draw is enough to get Everton relegated.

So in a merry mood the team returns to Anfield and go into the changing room to congratulate Rafa. "Good work boss, you managed to get a draw all by yourself!" says Xabi. Rafa, who is sitting on a bench with his head in his hands, looks up. "No no, Xabi, I let you down, I let the team down." "You're talking rubbish boss, you got a draw all by yourself and they only managed to score in the last minute of extra-time!" says Jamie. "No, Jamie, I have let all of you down. I got sent off after 12 minutes."

*****

A man arrives at the gates of heaven, where St Peter greets him and says, "Before I can let you enter I must ask you what you have done in your life that was particularly good." The man racks his brains for a few minutes and then admits to St Peter that he hasn't done anything particularly good in his life. "Well," says St Peter, "have you done anything particularly brave in your life?" "Yes, I have," replies the man proudly. St Peter asks the man to give an account of his bravery. So the man explains, "I was refereeing a championship decider between Rangers and Celtic at the Ibrox. The score was nil-nil and there was only one more minute of play to go in the second half when I awarded a penalty against Rangers at the home end." "Yes," responded St Peter, "I agree that was a real act of bravery. Can you perhaps tell me when this took place?" "Certainly," the man replied, "about three minutes ago."

*****

Kenny Dalglish, Alex Ferguson, and Arsene Wenger were on a boat crossing a huge lake. Suddenly a storm blows up and buffets the boat, causing it to leak. It's clear that the boat is going to sink. Arsene Wenger, being the smart man that he is, knows that there are a series of stepping stones hidden under the water and he uses them to get to shore. He sees Kenny Dalglish getting out of the boat and also crossing the lake to safety. However Alex Ferguson remains on board and sinks beneath the waves, never to be seen again. Back on shore a dripping Wenger walks over to the exhausted King Kenny. "Why didn't Fergie get off, didn't he know about the stepping stones?" Dalglish looks at Wenger. "Stepping stones? What stepping stones?"

*****

Gary and Phil Neville are in a pub garden with their dog, having a beer. After a while a man comes out of the pub, lifts the dogs tail and looks hard at its arse. Eventually he goes back in. Gary and Phil thought it was weird but carried on drinking. After a few minutes another man comes out and checks the dog's arse, even feeling around to make really sure. When a third man came out to do the same thing Gary has enough and shouts at him "Oi, why is everyone so interested in my dog's rear end?" The man replies "Well there's a Scouser in the pub who told everyone there's a dog in the garden with two arseholes."

*****

A Scouser dies and goes to heaven. On his first day he's shown around heaven with all its wonders and meets all his childhood heroes. He sings a duet with John Lennon, talks politics with Churchill and has a romantic dance with Marilyn Monroe. Eventually while walking around he comes across a football field and sees Robbie Fowler scoring a goal for a celestial Liverpool in front of thousands of fans. The Scouser is a little surprised and asks a passing angel. "Isn't that Robbie Fowler? When did he die?" "Oh, that isn't Fowler," says the angel. "That's God Himself, He just likes to play for His favourite club when He isn't watching them."

*****

A man and his son are watching the news together when a reporter announces that a set of Da Vinci paintings have recently been sold for 20 million pounds. The son asks "Is it worth the money, dad?" The father, being a little surprised at his son's interest in fine art, replies "I suppose so son, why do you ask?" "Oh nothing dad," the son says, "it's just that Chelsea paid 25 million for Didier Drogba and he's absolute shite."

*****

Two Sunderland fans are fed up of their team and go fishing instead. After a long day one of them checks his watch, thinks for a while and tells his friend "Sunderland have lost again." His friend is astounded. "How can you know that just by checking your watch?" "Easy," the first man says, "the match should have ended by now."

*****

Steve Bruce is walking into St. Andrews when a robber accosts him, waving a gun and demanding money. Bruce throws himself at the robber, but falls and knocks himself out on the ground. The robber flees. A bunch of Birmingham fans carry the wounded manager to a nearby Coca-Cola factory where a van is available to take him to hospital. Suddenly, Steve opens his eyes and grabs the arm of the nearest man. "What happened? Where are we?" The man tries to reassure him, "We're in the Coca-Cola-" Steve Bruce cuts him off with a horrified yell. "Goodness me, has the season ended already?"

*****

This just in, Newcastle United are under investigation for tax fraud. Apparently they've been claiming money for silver polish for the past fifty years.

*****

Mick McCarthy is wheeling his shopping trolley across the carpark lot when he sees an old lady struggling under the weight of two huge bags. Taking pity on her he walks over. "Can you manage, dear?" The old woman looks suspiciously at him. "Not on your life Mick, you got us into the relegation zone and now you sort it out yourself."

*****

A Celtic-supporting van driver liked to scare any passing Rangers fans he saw swaggering down the street by swerving as if to hit them and at the last minute swerve back onto the road. One day when he was driving along he saw an old priest thumbing for a ride by the roadside. He thought he'd do a good deed and help out a man of the cloth, so he asked the priest to get in.

"Where are you off to, Father?" "I'm going to give Mass at the St. Michael church, it's about four miles down the road." "Well get in, and I'll give you a lift" says the Celtic fan. The happy priest gets in and they set off. Suddenly the driver caught sight of Graeme Souness walking on the pavement and he couldn't believe his luck. He swerved close to Souness, but remembering the priest beside him, hastily turned back onto the road. However he heard a loud 'THUMP!' and checked his rearview mirror. He sees Souness lying motionless on the pavement. The priest, noticing him, spoke up. "What are you looking for, my son?" "Oh nothing Father, I nearly hit Graeme Souness just now and I was just trying to see if he's alright." "No need to worry, son," replies the priest, "I got the bastard hard with the door!"

*****

A Scouser walks into an antique shop and spots an ornamental gold rat. He thinks it would make a nice gift for his daughter and asks the shopkeeper for the price. "50 pounds" says the man. "Fifty pounds, that's ridiculous. Why is it so expensive?" "It's more than just an ornament. For fifty more pounds I'll tell you the story behind it." The Scouser considers, but just buys the golden rat. As he walks out of the shop and down the street, a rat comes up from a gutter and follows him. He walks faster, and more rats follow until the whole street is covered in them. The Scouser runs to a cliff and throws the golden rat over the edge and all the rats follow, plunging to their deaths. He returns to the shop and the shopkeeper says "Ah, I'll guess you're back to hear the story of the golden rat then?" "Forget the story. Have you got a golden ornamental Everton fan?"

*****

Best Eleven

2006-03-29T20:06:00.000+08:00

Best Eleven

The product of a history lecture, an air-conditioned room, a bored mind, and an equally bored friend sitting beside you.

Andriy Shevchenko Thierry Henry

Ronaldinho Xabi Alonso Kaka Steven Gerrard

Javier Zanetti John Terry Jamie Carragher Carles Puyol

Iker Casillas

Here is Lionel's pick:

Jose Antonio Reyes Thierry Henry

Ronaldinho Xabi Alonso Cesc Fabregas Lionel Messi

Roberto Carlos John Terry Alessandro Nesta Jamie Carragher

Iker Casillas

Oh, and Ms Cheng is super-cool. Like, really. Finn off.

The reality of class spirit

2006-03-27T21:11:00.000+08:00

Class Spirit: It's More Important Than You Think. (A05, THANK YA)

DISCLAIMER: This is not an entry you might feel comfortable with because it may seem entirely too sentimental and intimate to you. To those of you that feel this way, DEAL. It's something I need to say.

We had a relay race today, 12 by 100. The boys were our usual jokey selves, swearing up and down that we would walk to the finish line, roll over it, and come dead, absolute last a la B. Wong during the road run.

But then we got to thinking. Yeah we could fart around and have fun. Or we could run our asses off, and deal out severe smackdown to the rest of the classes unfortunate enough to be having P.E on a Monday and secure bragging rights for...well...as long as we choose to hype it.

Guess what we did.

Yeah, we ran like fury! KP, Russ and Paul were the real stars, but everyone ran their own damn bit and we won, we won, we won we won we won. Who cares if it was just a test relay, we won and there's all there is to it.

Then we turned around and cheered on the girls, who fully deserved their four member victory. Score two for A05.

(Cheer: Ao5! Cherie! A05! Talisa! A05! Minah! A05! Shallot!)

After the whole buzz wore off, I realised something was very very different about me. No, I wasn't on drugs nor had I forgotten to wear pants. It was the realisation that me, Sulaiman D, was actually participating in a class event...and enjoying it!

It shocked me to the core (Well, not right to the core, but it sounds better that way). Rewind back a few months ago, and that Solomon would never even contemplate such a thing. Nope, that boy would definitely be overcome with bowel-clenching aversion whenever the need to do something as a class came up.

Skipped Dragon Boat, Sports Day (ah, the Black Day), skipped this, that and the other. Totally detached myself from all things 05S34, in other words.

Well actually, ever since the Road Run (alluded to above, the one where Bryan came in dead last), I've come to realise that this class is just a little bit different. I actually got up at 5 to meet Radi, Khairi and Talisa at Bedok MRT one hour later so I could participate in physical activity with an academic class. And I did that because I actually wanted to.

It's the effect A05 has on me.

They're an amazing bunch. No, seriously. I give you my honest word that I have never felt so much like part of a real, living 'enthu' group of like-minded teens. Not even in my days of Dunman was I having as much fun. (Sorry guys)

Well maybe 4B was better. I really can't tell. But perhaps, just perhaps the horror of 05S34 has made the reality of A05 stand out in sharp, vivid contrast. Decency. Honesty, a great sense of fun, passion for speaking, reading, actually working like a team. Something S34 lacked. The same things A05 has in magical abundance.

So in effect, I will like to commend my new Band of Brothers (and Sisters) for making Round 2 of TPJC worth it. Now I know what lies ahead of me, I no longer fear it. My purpose is to achieve a great A Level score in the path of so many others before me, the path well-trodden by historians, scholars, thinkers, philosophers and poets. You can keep your physicists and doctors and scientists. They study life. We study the art of living.

And I'll do all this in the best traditions of my Liverpool creed- Never Walking Alone, cos A05 is right there with me.

Say thankya, Johann, Radi, Jian, Soh, Minah, Khairi, Bwong, Emily, Poo bear, Der Fuhrer, Chocolate, Garinkz, Sam, Hui Qi.

LIVERPOOL UPDATE: MERSEYSIDE AFTERMATH

2006-03-26T22:37:00.000+08:00

LIVERPOOL UPDATE: MERSEYSIDE AFTERMATH

Whew, what a match. Don't worry, part three of the whole J1 memoirs will be up soon. I just gotta record me thoughts on one of the best matches I've ever seen! (tm)

Steven Gerrard is an idiot. I mean, seriously. You're on a card, you don't hack down Kevin Kilbane right under the referee's nose just three seconds later! You should know better, you bloody idiot. Red card was deserved, and all the blueshite were ecstatic. They thought they were finally going to discover some meaning in their bitter blue lives for once.

They thought wrong, cos cometh the hour, cometh the ALONSO. Xabby's been having a bad season (by his excellent standards), but last night he was unbelievable. He was so good, Liverpool didn't even miss STEVEN FRIGGIN' GERRARD one bit!

One-man team? What one-man team? Us? Nah, we're Liverpool. We're too good to be a one-man team.

Alonso was playing football to make Shanks himself sit up in his celestial chair and take notice. Every single touch of his turned to gold. Those poor blueshite never got a chance.

In fact, every single man (bar the captain) stood up to be counted today. Sissoko was his usual wrecking ball. Sami again bossed the air better than King Kong on the Empire State roof, Luis Garcia had a 'Jekyll' game, Crouch worked well, and Harry managed to get on the score sheet with a breathtaking strike. Some strikes just make you want to stand up and applaud, and the ponytailed Aussia provided us with one.

Oh, Carra. You know Carra. He's a living legend. When Carra plays, you're guaranteed a lesson in defensive masterclass. Same old, same old today.

The Anfield crowd was fantastic as well. Every single word of 'Fields' could be heard, and Ring of Fire was great as well. It's something to hear 42 000 Scousers sing of glory 'round the Fields of Anfield Road in perfect, and I stress this, perfect harmony. They'd win any choir competition in the world.

Every game has its bad point, but the bad point today was not the sending off of our captain and a fool (same man), but Rafa's refusal to let Fowler get onto the pitch. Shame. Would have enjoyed watching 'god' wave five fingers to the Bitters, who were wondering how on Earth could they get dominated by a team with ten men.

Memorable moments: Phillip Neville scoring an own goal just before half-time! Van Der Meyde's red card, complete dominance and superb movement of the boys in Red.

Now for Chelsea. Let's twat the other bunch of Blue bastards and bring the FA Cup home.

2006-03-25T17:54:00.000+08:00

Out With The Old, In With The New (Part 2)

If you feel inclined to read up the first part of this tale, simply scroll down.

So having made the switch, I was stuck on the left side of the hall talking to Hadi every few minutes. Meanwhile I was surreptitiously checking out the organics who made up OG 9. A few kids caught me eye. There was a tall VS Eurasian named Josh (incidentally his first words to me were: Where's the toilet? To which I pointed wordlessly to the left). A Chung Cheng guy called Leonard. Another VSer, Edwin. And various girls, some cute, some not. For purposes of security I will not be referring to them by name. Or I will suffer at school. Trust me, I will.

The initial talk was nothing spectacular (three cheers for TP mediocrity!) but at least it was short. Then Simon Reynolds took the stage, and I began to pay attention. Reynolds, as always, was dapper and concise. The 06ers had to be taken back, many of whom were seeing their first ang moh teacher. Then as he was leaving, he called to me to talk to him.

I could feel the stares on my back as I left the hall with Reynolds. Haha, or am I being too bloody melodramatic for my own good? I'm just telling it as I remember it.

Reynolds asked me what I was doing in the Orientation. (He hadn't heard of my decision yet) After setting him straight, he looked somewhat pleased.

"I really think this is the right choice for you, etc. etc."

Whoa, an endorsement from the big S.R himself. I agreed, and asked him if he would be teaching the J1s for Lit. He said no, and I was genuinely disappointed. Reynolds is an excellent teacher and lecturer, and the noobs won't know what they're missing.

Well the rest of the day went by without much comment. I had some fun following Hadi on his tour of tpjc, chipping in with little nuggets of information whenever one crossed me mind. (The track's not where you want to do your push-ups, the canteen is always filled to the brim around 9.40, the library is 3rd floor at E block. Good place for sleeping and surfing the web.) I slipped out from the college at 12.50 sharp, of course. Orientation games? Not for me, thank you.

The next two or three days were pretty similar. Talked to Jeff in the morning, Josh, Deborah and Leonard in the afternoons, flee the school at 12.50. Class 98.7 visited and Umar the lucky bastard managed to score a hug from Carrie Chong herself. Not until the last day of orientation with its traditional concert did things begin to perk up.

Retro theme. I mean, retro? Well, okay, but what would you like me to do about it? Oh, go home and get retro clothes. I don't have any. I'll be wearing my big sports shirt my dad got from the Phillipines for me and my tp pants as always.

Which is why I ended up on stage later that night as the only guy wearing uniform. Well okay, half-uniform, but still uniform.

The concert was good though. ABBA's was definitely the best. My memory's a bit shot, but now I realise it was Radhika on stage acting as Ryan Seacrest for their American Idol skit. Was Amalina and Alfie part of the imitation ABBA band? No wait, Alfie definitely did sing Final Countdown. Ah, who cares. ABBA was the best. Ariff and Zaini got to play guitars, and Syafiq got to act like, well, basic Syafiq, pretending to worship Zaini as he played that particularly difficult chord.

We the Beatles came up with that Grease-like act. Josh was of course typecast as the hero, while the OGLs blatantly ignored my SYF bronze award and awarded me the part of hero's friend. Hmph. Well, can't complain. It's more fun when you don't have lines.

Earlier in the day Mandhip had nearly killed me through laughter with his pelvic-thrusting endeavours (yeah Cheryl. That was the one) . Unluckily though, he was kicked out of the scene. The entire hall would be collapsing with mirth if he had taken his act onstage.

(AND NOW, BROADWAY PREEEESENTS....MANDHIP! AND HIS PELVIC THRUSTS!)

What? Stranger things have happened (Though I would be hard-pressed to name one).

After a long rendition of "Beatles Boleh" (incidentally I invented that), we finished our act. And it was good. I met Paul Yeo around this time, and he suggested a bunch of us invading the stage during the Eagles act. Too bad there were too many people onstage at the time.

Orientation was over and done with. But what would lie in store next week? What kind of class would I get? I turned my back on Science because of a bad class. I would not be able to bear it if I was stuck in a similar class for Round 2 of The JC Career Of Sulaiman Bin Daud. All I had was hope.

You know how sometimes it seems like God never gives you a break? Well in that week he gave me one I've been hoping for the whole of last year. He cut me some slack. He had decided to go easy on me, and show me some mercy.

In short, He gave me 06A05.

2006-03-25T17:26:00.000+08:00

Out With The Old, In With The New (Part 1).

As some of you might know, I changed course from the Science stream in 2005 to the Arts stream of 2006. The trials and tribulations (pardon the cliche) of last year was a main reason why I wanted to make this blog. Someone has to record what happened to me, what I did, and how I felt last year, even if no one reads it. Because one day I'll read it, and I'll laugh like someone watching a Simpsons marathon over how stupid I and others have been.

This entry, however, is not the story of last year. (Slight Douglas Adams reference for you Hitchhiker-heads)

This entry is an attempt to assess my new class. 06A05 has a double meaning nowadays. We have the 06A05 hardcore...and we have the 06A05 hardcore plus some people added in. For purposes of clarity, let the hardcore be called...um...the core batch shall we? And the class right now be simply A05.

Stick with me, it gets simpler.

Let's wind back the clock to a time before Dick Cheney shot his friend in the face with a shotgun, when Liverpool was still in the Champions League, and before there were riots in both the Phillipines and Thailand. Let the mind's eye view...the first day of Orientation 1.

I can recall it quite clearly. There came a call in the middle of the night before.

Mysterious caller: Hey, is this Sulaiman.
Me: Um, yeah. Who is this?
MC: I'm your new OGL.
Me: OGL? What's th- oh. Right. Orientation.
MC: Yes, the orientation. Your group is Beatles 10.
Me: The Beatles? Really? (At this point my current interest in the Beatles had not reached its full extent, but I was still somewhat a fan. Blame Nata.)
MC: Yup. Bring 20 bucks. Goodbye.
Me: Twenty dollars? For what? Oh...you hung up...

After pleading with maternal parent for the required cash the next morning, I arrived at tpjc with a vague sense of dread like always. I said hi to my usual morning table-mate (hey Jeffrey) and we discussed the merits vs the pitfalls of an orientation. Jeff assured me it would not be bad as I thought.

I really, REALLY hoped he was right.

The bell goes. Various cyan-clad students drifted towards the direction of the parade square. I even took two steps to it until I remembered. You're J1 now boy. Go to the hall.

I wandered into the hall trying to look nonchalant, or as nonchalant as a terrified 6-foot Asian man clad in the uniform of a J2 can be while listening to 'Highway to Hell' on his iPod. After a few agonizing moments, I saw familiar faces. The resident Mats were all apparently OG leaders, and this was good news. However, the resident Mats had decided to all take charge of the ABBA group. Which was not so good.

A couple of high-fives with Ariff and Amad later, I found the Beatles, and the mystery caller of the previous night.

Me: Hey Filzah. It's me, I'm in your group.
F: (Vaguely interested) Oh right. Hello.
Me: Hey! Is that John, Paul, Ringo and George? (Referring to the sign she held)
F: You actually know their names?

Well alright. No small talk here.

I decided to abandon OG 10 for OG 9 cos me mate Hadi was leading the Nines. On retrospect, maybe I shouldn't have. And oh yes, I didn't find out Emily was in OG 10 until much later.

To Be Continued...

2006-03-25T12:36:00.000+08:00

LIVERPOOL UPDATE.

The Merseyside Derby is in a few hours. God bless ESPN Asia. We get more live coverage than the Brits themselves, if you can believe that.

We need a win. Not because the points can help us in getting 2nd spot and keeping 3rd. Not because we're on a roll. Not even because we're hungry after hitting the back of the net 15 times in the row.

Simply because...we're Liverpool and they're Everton. We're successful and they're bitter. That's all there is to it really.

I want Peter Crouch to rub it into their bitter, blue, spiteful faces and show them that what you look like is not worth a damn on the pitch. Maradona was fat, short and ugly. The greatest player in the world right now is as ugly as sin, but plays like heaven.

Crouch is good, Crouch works hard, and Crouch is ours. Go on Peter, show them what you're made of.

Also of note, Robbie 'God' Fowler must be dreaming of this match all week...no, all month...no, make that ever since Houllier turfed him out of Anfield. Four long years, and he's back where he belongs.

God bless 'god'. Seeing him score tonight would be a fantastic end to a fantastic week.

So it's come to this eh?

2006-03-24T22:55:00.000+08:00

I never thought I'd do this.

I'd never thought I'd get a blog. Seriously. My mom always said- "Never leave behind records of your thoughts in black and white". My mom's good at security huh? So I've never blogged, diaried, or jotted down the thoughts of the day.

But I suppose inside each and everyone of us lurks a closet narcissist, a character who wishes to tell the whole world what he thinks of it.

Well sorry, but a blog isn't the best way to go about doing it. As I type these words a thousand other bored teenagers will be getting their own blogs. A million more will be updating theirs. 2 million more will be adding pictures of themselves, their friends, their pet turtle, and their urinal pan for all I know. I don't want to, incidentally. The chances of this particular journal being discovered in that ever-growing mountain seems infinitesimal.

So why do this?

Three reasons, laid out on the table right here and now.

1. I have a life, but not such a good memory. And as the days go by some things will have been forgotten that I wish I never had. As that weird dude in Metal Gear said, "the Internet is eternal". Maybe so, weird dude. Maybe not. But close enough as makes no difference. Close enough for government work, for you fellow Stephen King fanatics.

2. Writing practice. I write. A lot. And I'm good at it. No, I'm not arrogant or a show-off. I'm simply recognizing one of my few talents. Computer programming...I cannot do. Dancing the Tango...I cannot accomplish. Cooking anything beyond my famous hotdog-and-triple-cheese sandwich...I cannot achieve. Whistling the entire score from the Lord of the Rings trilogy...actually, that I can do.

But writing...ah, writing is my for-tay, my niche, my sole purpose and role in life. I read, I write, I go on forums and have flame wars, I debate, all that, I do. I've been in forums for people who like Russian military weapons to forums for people who'd rather discuss the impact of the elections in Thailand to people who argue back and forth whether Crouch or Cisse should lead the line at Liverpool.

So one of the functions of this digital device is simply to hone my wordplay and article-grinding abilities. I have hazy dreams of becoming a political commentator in the far-off future, so this is a small step in a journey of a thousand miles. But...at least it is a step in the right direction.

3. I'm on the Net all the time anyway. What the hell. In the words of Edison; "It seemed like a good idea at the time".

So many things to write about. So many things to discuss, to lambast, to exalt, and to simply laugh over.

I can't wait.