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February 21st, 2010


02:39 am
   
 Amazing. The presentation went well, and yet there was no time to celebrate. More stuff due soon, distressingly soon. Onward to Lacan, blockbuster theory, and BlazBlue!

  And I've got this bit in, haha:

Each avatar is fully animated, takes up about half the screen's height, and is drawn to articulate different discourses of either hypermasculinity or hyperfemininity. The eyes of the steam-powered ogre, Tager, for example, burn bright whenever his exaggeratedly muscled arms close in fearful symmetry around an unfortunate opponent, and the inflated breasts of the voluptuous Oriental martial artist Litchi jiggle constantly and hypnotically in her low-cut, high-slit cheongsam.

Small pleasures, that's the ticket.
mood: stressedstressed

(1 year of solitude | miao?)

February 13th, 2010


09:36 pm
 Reunion dinner was great!

 Currently: I'm stressed like fuck. LIKE FUCK. 

(miao?)

03:40 am
 
  Reunion dinner later. Aunty AG called, asking to speak to Mom.

  "She's taking a shower. I'll pass your message on."

  "Oh. Shower. Tomorrow reunion dinner come early. About 4."

  "OK loh. Hey, we'll be bringing curry veg. along. Don't cook so much OK?"

  And at this, Aunty sounds really happy. Turns out her whole household's waiting for it, especially L. In fact, L even asked Aunty to check for the curry veg's availability during the call.

  So woo. Aunty and co. shall feast soon! Hopefully then they'll overlook me being five kinds of distracted. One, I don't like curried vegetables. Two, I'll be obsessing over how WWII-era American propaganda posters articulate yet problematise Mao Zedong's idea that modern art should be didactic. All the better to educate the uncommunised masses with, yes? 
 
  *sigh*

  I'm enjoying the whole postgrad experience. I really am. Never mind that I'm horribly retarded in  "Asian and Other Modernities", and my initial proposal for the cultural studies one was scuppered. I'm getting unanticipated glee from analysing Shakespeare, and learning about misc. post-colonial literature. In fact, I look forward to the afternoon when I will sit in Coffee Bean, nibbling on madelines while reading Proust, and be horrifyingly unironic about it.

  But what was I thinking? Taking extra modules? Which I didn't need to graduate? Not dropping them when I could, never mind that I was busy enough as it was? And never mind that I'm still a slow writer, yet stupidly predisposed to do extra work for each individual piece, looming deadlines be damned.

  Chairman Mao, you'd better be easy to pick through! May your speech be concise. Short sentences. Unambiguous thesis. All the better to educate me with, yes.
mood: rushedrushed

(miao?)

January 14th, 2010


08:20 pm

First set of notes finished! A session of Blazblue shall be my reward! Then I'll type up the next set.

edit: Freaking Unlimited Rachel. Goddamn her tea-drinking gothic lolita ways. And especially goddamn her electricity frog which stays on the screen forever, tails you, and blockstuns you, and sets you up for a painful combo. Goddamn you. Antiquis temporibus, nati tibi similes in rupibus ventosissimis exponebantur ad necem.

(miao?)

December 25th, 2009


04:43 pm
My family bought a car. A nice car.

This is the true meaning of Christmas.

(2 years of solitude | miao?)

December 7th, 2009


04:33 pm
Currently helping a friend with some admissions essays and personal statements. One paragraph suddenly segues into how our governemnt is very good and the foreign media paints Singaporeans as automata. I *understand* the thrust of the statement, but it's not good to become suddenly defensive in a personal statement. Not when the staement is meant to sell one as a positive person on whom you will throw ludicrous amounts of money and expertise at.

Great statement overall though.

(miao?)

November 25th, 2009


09:37 pm
A reasonably old post I made on SA's Wrestlehut regarding the main event for that week's WWE RAW. References ahoy!

-------------------------------------------

McMahon, McMahon, why hast thou forsaken me?Collapse )

-------------------------------------------

Really, I wish that Cena hadn't been scripted to become Superman after suffering that particular Walls of Jericho. It's supposed to be one of the most painful submission moves in WWE. =(

And both Cena and Orton have awesome body language. Cena's this very classically heroic whitebread big brother figure, and Orton plays a cowardly bully very well. It helps that Orton is ridiculously lean, and has sunken eyes, and long arms. All the better for stalking down people with. In fact, the dude looks like the sort of neo-Nazi who'd shiv you in prison because the voices told him to.

Yay Orton!

(miao?)

November 11th, 2009


07:30 pm
 
  Ow. Ate too late, gymed too early. Stomach still rolling. At least I did an adequate number of weight-lifts -- the ones where you sit down and pull this weighted bar straight down towards you.

  Ach. Time for me to finish writing those letters. Or I get physically beaten. It is not good to be laid about by an irate lady with a steak. =(

(miao?)

02:00 pm - bradbury!



  I've bought the newest Discworld, Unseen Academicals, and it's good. Very much a love letter to Discworld with all its cameos and references. Currently, I'm looking for Ray Bradbury's Green Shadows, White Whale. Not necessarily because I've heard good things about it, but -- Hmm. How shall I put this? 
 
  Ah.
 
  See, Bradbury, he's famous for Fahrenheit 451, his sci-fi stories (Martian Chronicles), and his horror stories (that one about the crowd, goddamn goddamn). Green Shadows, White Whale is a collection of his Irish stories. You, I wager, have not heard of them before -- this is telling. 
 
  To call them hokey, and/ or twee would be accurate. The plots and/ or twists aren't as memorable as his other work, and his dialogue... His dialogue!
 
"Look here now, McGuire, admit it, you've driven but little in Ireland, right? Then, listen! Driving to Meynooth, fog and all, you'd best make it fast! Raise a din! Why? Scare the cyclists and cows off the path, both sides! I you drive slow, why you'll creep up on and do away with dozes before they know what took them off! And another thing: when a car approaches, douse your lights! Pass each other, lights out, in safety. Them devil's own lights have put out more eyes and demolished more innocents than all of seeing's worth. Is it clear now? Two things: speed, and douse your lights when cars loom up!"
 
  It's a bit of dialogue trying too hard to say too much. Too long sentences, that's for one, and entirely inappropriate for a harangue. And... syntax and sentence structure-wise, it sounds entirely identical to how his midwestern American characters speak. That sort of Bradburian dialect:
 
"And this farmer, in order to get his son up out of the crush, why, he hefts the boy up to sit on his shoulders. There the boy, nine years old, a frail encumbrance, becomes ears to the man, for the man indeed cannot hear nor see but only guess what the President is speaking across a sea of people there at Gettysburg and the President's voice is high and drifts now clear, now gone, seized and dispersed by contesting breeze and wind."
 
  It's like this very formal dude trying too hard be informal, salt of the erf, hear de people sing de song of angry men, etc. It *is* nice to let the tide of words wash over you. Lots of spaces for dramatic stresses and lowered voices there when read out in your head -- and indeed, that's the fantastic thing about Bradbury's prose -- but entirely damn inappropriate for some agitated Old Man to be saying. Too erudite by half. (Or is that 'alf?)
 
  That all said, I *do* want to read the stories again, all nicely fixed-up (they were originally short stories published intermittently over 20 years) in one book. It's like "What the heck did I just read? That was terrible. But...  I should read them again. Just to make sures." 
 
And... I *did* enjoy the story about the old lord and his priceless artworks about to be smashed, and the other one about the house which remembers its past occupants. I'm open to the idea that the other stories'll grow on me. I'm a mark for Bradbury's short stories anyway. I even enjoyed Dandelion Wine, which is essentially stories about how it's good to live in the Boy's Own America of the 1920s, about how girls have cooties, and about there was no time better than last time. Both ironic liking and genuine appreciation, mark you.



EDIT: Oh wow. The Crowd was Youtubed by some kind soul. Just the thing to watch while having lunch. Which today is simply ramen with garlic, mushrooms and nuts. I've been busy.

(8 years of solitude | miao?)

September 24th, 2009


03:45 am - The Million-Year Picnic

From tarzanic -- Brisvegas covered in a miasma of red-orange dust. All over - country highways, Storey Bridge, the ferris wheel at South Bank.

And then, Jimbo was the Martians.






(miao?)

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