Si vis pacem, para bellum

Like most people, there are two sides of me, generally speaking. The nice side and the not-so-nice.  The ideal is usually to remain on the path of goodness, therefore the 'nice side' is what we should strive for. Kindness, forgiveness, altruism.

But what if we're wrong?

We've got this 'bad angel' and 'good angel' on either of our shoulders respectively, guiding us to good or goading us to evil. And we assume the good is telling us to be self-effacing and turn the other cheek. But really, what if we've all got it mixed up?

Suppose being good was really a device of the devil - to make us weak, reliant on others through our dependency of our good acts toward them. What if each time we hold a door open for another creature, the army of 'good angels' are groaning, because they know that we are succumbing to the manipulations of a very well-executed plan of action by the spawn of hell.

What if the good angel is the one actually telling us to not move over and give your seat to the next dude, and is telling us to just tell the fellow to fecking find another seat because there are lots of them all over the damn bus? Because we got to put our feet down and do unto others as we ought to because everyone is goddamn different.

I'm not even going to elaborate. I'm just going to leave this here to chew on.

Vemödalen

Why spend money on botox and also spend money on eradicating household pests - just get yourself bitten by a spider on your goddamn lips already.

Why feast like a glutton on junk food and more calories than is needed per meal and also spend on gym membership?

Why poison yourself with tonnes of chemicals - pesticides, preservatives  - only to have to spend just as much, and more, on more chemicals - prescriptions, pharmaceuticals - to counteract the effects.

I find myself perplexed by the ignominious state we have deluded ourselves into as a species. We waste so much. We buy into this whole practice of what makes us this modernized society and yet, we have in the very same process sold ourselves short. 

Once it was money that really demarcated the disparity in class heirarchy. Either you had way too much or you had none, and if you were in between - which most of us were - you still compared your dollar to your neighbour and resented or gloated. To truly and honestly not care about the weight of a dollar you had to either have too much or none. 

Now, it's technology that  becomes a telling identifier. It has, by the same means of furthering our society as a whole in the name of progress, simultaneously dumbified its individuals.

We don't think anymore. Like really think. Now computers think for us. We just take what we are given and recycle-reuse-reduce it even further. We repackage what has trickled down to us through osmosis, and wait for our recognition and praise for doing so.

Maybe technology only heightens this; maybe we've always done this, and are no more than glorified hairless monkeys that only do as we see. Maybe imitation is all we are capable of, and to rise above is an escape from a cycle of the mundane to a state of intellectual nirvana. We've invented this thing, and patted our own backs, but at the same time we collude at the other corner of the room to send us right back to where we began. 

We've become so less efficient and so bloody lazy.  We've become hostages to our own lack of will-power. Slaves to those seven masters - wrath, greed, sloth, pride, lust, envy, and gluttony - who we thought that by just identifying and recognizing them as enemies on the radar we preempted their subcutaneous encroachment into our psyches - and fail to in spades by the consequential lax state of awareness without the diligent vigilance warranted. The smallest dose has already made us too lazy and too unconcerned to make the effort to repair ourselves.

We have the potentiality to go far but we won't. We won't really make a long-lasting flavour of gum because then our buyers won't buy more. We won't create a  tungsten filament that won't break because then our bulbs won't sell as fast. And it's not just at the top. We won't let ourselves have a dollar more because then we won't get social assistance. We're OK with being down there if we just have to work a little less and get smaller income if it means the taxpayers will provide the rest. And we won't create a cure for cancer because, hey then who will buy our medicines and who will pay us doctors for our services? Let's all remain sick! It's okay! We can buy an iPhone that will tell us how to fix our symptoms.

Tone and Mood

Today morning, for some inexplicable reason, I am in a mood for poetry.
That vague abstraction wherein all moods tumble in the way leaves newly fallen glide along a pathway toward a lazy destination, and while it may be a tumultous sensation for some, for me, it is of having two feet not entirely touching the ground, of lost and stray thoughts coming and going, and a sense of the past interlocking with a lingering sensation of a forgotten future.

Tone has always been important to me. How someone says something to me is almost as effective as what they say. Sometimes, more so, depending on the person and context. Sensitivity being one of my stubborn characteristics (Achilles heel), I am quite susceptible to inflections in tone and vibrations carried across.

So goes it with tones in written content. I have read and appreciated the sensation of a writer's ability to create and cultivate a landscape of mood by tone while variously being criticized by others for lack of credibility in technical aspects such as plot, characters and/or intellectual proficiency of the writer him/herself.

I have a guilty pleasure of reading both chic-lit and YA (young adult) fiction simply because of this very reason: the whole feel that is generated out of reading these genres resound pretty well with me. Perhaps there is nothing profound about the actual story, or perhaps the concepts involved are those belonging to a younger generation or age, but somehow they still appeal to me simply because of the way the writer has written.

Likewise, I have browsed around on blogs, and observe how some bloggers (writers) produce a quantity of writing that is lauded by many readers, but after reading much of these pieces, I've felt something lacking in quality. In some instances, somehow sincerity starts to wither away in the writing produced, perhaps by repetition of similar themes, or rather I may get fed up of the same mushy-love-gratitude-sentimentality that keeps getting repackaged up in different wrappings and ribbons but, when you really consider it, remains the same. And the frequency of it happening also perhaps is influencing my perception because somehow it somehow negates sincerity. I also get literary turned off by pieces sounding like they had been written as school assignments; the expression of genuine thoughts and emotions becoming sadly wooden by trying to conform to a solid structure of formality. Or perhaps, this paragraph can be simply considered a rant, and we shall move on.

Mood. Isn't this such an amazing thing? On one hand we take it for granted in our everyday lives, because, well obviously it is part of our everyday lives, what gets us going each day, and more specifically what demarcates each day as different from the next. But then again, less intensely speaking, we often encounter this specimen of being 'not in the mood' or having 'mood swings'. Yet, imagine how absolutely mundane life itself would be if we were living just one baseline of a mood the entire time. Oh, certainly, that is what - in zen realms - we ought to aim for: walking the middle path, balancing all forces, that precise edge of contentment. But we were given (if you accept that something or some external force has the power to be a Giver) this glorious spectrum of colour; are we expected to learn to moderate so much that we relegate all these colours into one tone of mud brown or gray, or pristine black and white?

But we have it, and this is why one day we can say 'Mmm, why yes, today I feel like [having] a chocolate chip cookie, thank you!' and then tomorrow we decide, 'Ugh, no, are you insane? Chocolate? Ew, please.' Sure, it can be annoying, but - aha - it is annoying because it seemingly reflects a sense of fickleness, which for the most part certainly shouldn't be a good thing, but takes us to the idea of unpredictability. Which is, essentially, life.

The unpredictability of life is what injects that very colour (oh God please, Blogger, stop marking my non-American spelling as incorrect! SLAP) into it, and our capacity to experience an equally unpredictable spectrum of moods allows for a greater probability of possibilities.

And for now I shall allow you to assimilate this in all the glory of your multitude of moods, and will take up from where I have left off (hoping that I remember exactly where I was going with this) in my next post.

Resipiscent

Sometimes I wonder what would happen if everyone so inclined to act negatively in any way didn’t. People do such stupid things at times. They do it out of spite, just because they can. Because it makes them feel better about themselves. That they have this power over another person by doing this act. What if every act that was meant to be done to ‘teach someone a lesson’ or just to make another person feel something less positive by that act was eliminated? It seems like the idealist cliché, but then again sometimes one needs to continually consider just things.

Why do people do these things? Because they think they are right, when they are not – but ignorantly believe so, and thus that the other person is wrong, and therefore needs to be taught a lesson or given this treatment. Or perhaps, they don’t see the act they are doing as one that is wrong. Maybe they do it just because they lack quite a lot in their own self, and lash out with acts that make them feel better about themselves somehow.

I guess we could go on speculating about why a person would be or do things spitefully, with malice or why we as humans need to do things at all that cause a negative effect. Maybe it’s as basic as our need to survive. Sometimes, though, one wonders.

If I did everything so that no one was affected negatively – what would change? Or rather, ask myself, what things occur as part of the natural order of things in which a person or thing is affected negatively by something I did, and if that were to be eliminated, what would change in who or what I am?

If I get a job position that is only granted to one person – the other candidates are eliminated. But is that the same thing? Maybe what I’m really addressing is the intentional act of a person to construe negativity directly or even indirectly by an act deemed unnecessary by reasonableness.

So the example I thought of previously – which was the only thing I could think of in my life which does – ah, I thought of another: mocking individuals for their immature and inane behaviour! Comments of which type I have made a several times on this blog (see previous blog). I laugh and mock these individuals because of their behaviour: threatening and abusing and harassing. I feel that I am right in doing so, because their acts allow me the prerogative as an individual with moral judgement.

So therefore considering by this example alone that – taking the individuals as members of a social ecosystem – that moral judgement varies quite substantively even within such a small population, we would then understand that the greater that population grows, the greater the realm of morality stretches.

This is why – despite my annoyance at certain people for performing disappointedly in such spiteful and negative manners – I need to be able to accept this variable in others. I cannot hold on to it, despite its direct adverse affect on me. My karma is mine, theirs is theirs. I rise above, a better person.



And yes, that’s all what all this is about: it’s me, ranting.

Rantable

Okay, so I haven't really been in a mood to blog. I mean I WANT to blog, I just seriously...seriously... have nothing to say. Then there's that whole May challenge which although I already disclaimed as not taking literally, it's still there and I know I want to get through it some time or the other. But procrastinating that sort of, to be honest, makes me want to procrastinate the whole blogging thing. Not a direct relationship but still one I can't say doesn't exist.

The last two weeks have been sort of 'blah'. I mean not that anything really bad is happening or ... well I don't know. I just feel blah. You know, there are some days you wake up and jump out of bed ready to go, or you're just happy. But I can't remember the last time I really felt that way. 

And I'm dwelling on this fact moreso because it's been raining the last two days and Summer has just disappeared. Okay okay so it hasn't disappeared. It's there or well not literally here yet, it's still Spring and as such this is supposed to be typical but the last bout of really hot nice weather makes one instinctively think to themself, 'yay, summer is here'. BUT ITS NOT.

Okay, now you're wondering where this is all coming from. I don't know either. I just need sunshine. And a nice drink. And ummm ok I won't push my luck.

But seriously this blahness is kind of pissing me off. I wake up in the morning and still feel absolutely sleepy, so what do I do? I shower and brush and then jump back in bed. Then I sleep. Or try to sleep. For another 20 minutes. And if that doesn't make me a lazy lump of lethargy then I don't know what does. Oh, wait maybe also sleeping the two hours on the way to work does. I need to stimulate my brain cells. I'm becoming a vegetable. I need to go out in the morning sunshine and take a run around the fields. Or something. I need to wake up to awesome music and spring out of bed ready to dance with my hairbrush. 

Speaking of hairbrush. Even my hair is feeling blah. I love it, don't get me wrong. But then, I go out in this windy rainy weather and somehow I just feel it all go limpy and soggy and whatever. Cue more blahness. I don't even look in the mirror in the morning really- not because I'm scared of what I'll see, trust me I'm not that far gone. But I don't care to make that extra effort. I comb my hair, put on my lotion, and that's it. 

And what just takes the cake are those smelly and annoying weirdos on the transit. If there is anything I cannot take that's really bad [body] odour. I mean....ugh. Okay cannot think about this in too much detail or else will have to go throwup. But yeah. And then they sit all smirky across from you and cross their legs over the knee in that weird not-straight fashion. Um okay. First you're all pervy at me and now you're acting all gay? This is a true story from not so long ago mind you (yesterday evening). And, speaking of which, he was wearing somewhat effeminate flats (shoes) and when he crossed his leg over his knees, the way women do, his pant leg rose up his leg. Ewww. Body odour, now flaky dry skin dust on top of bad weather. Cannot breathe.

Plus everyone is sneezing sporadically. I'm sneezing, my coworkers are sneezing, even my poor little kitten is sneezing.  It gets hot then cold then hot then cold. And then wonders why everyone is miserable with the sniffles. Gosh! Bloody weather.

This post is sponsored by the Blog Every Day in May Challenge:

Day 22, : Rant about something. Get up on your soapbox and tell us how you really feel.

Coke

Phew. It's not really cold out there, but phew. I've got a headache. It's really throbbing and making me feel light-headed. I haven't had a headache like this in a long while. Or rather, I can't remember having a headache in as many days either. Nevertheless, it's there.

I eyed the half chocolate left on my desk suspiciously. Perhaps it's laced with something. I was forced to take three chocolates, from the just-returned-from-Fiji-and-Australia  big boss. I broached the possibility with a few co-workers, only to their amusement. They think I is funny. Psh, headaches are not funny.

So I went to get coffee. Returned, and now wishing, longing, desiring, craving ice cold Coca-cola. Ah. Oh well, hopefully this caffeine does the job. Or else the gun shall.

Oh yes, happy Monday!

Deconstructing Happiness

This is how you do it. Choose a sad song. Preferably a song that brings tears to your eyes unbidden the moment it starts. In my case, it was Yaariyan from Cocktail. I didn't choose it so to speak, it just came on randomly while I was listening to music.

Then you get a baseball bat, and break loose. Break it against the windows, against the door, against the walls, against the mirrors. Line up your favourite possessions and break them to smithereens, one by one, or all together if that's what you want. Take everything that belongs to you and smash it all to pieces. Everything that ever brought a smile to your face, anything that made you happy, break it all apart.

Happiness is a futile emotion. It comes so fleetingly that you wonder if it were ever there. It's that sand castle you built when you were a child with innocent hopes and it all fell apart. Another kid running over it, a wave overcoming and washing it away, a parent telling you to stop making a mess and kicking it over. That's what happens to happiness. When you summon up every ounce of yourself to rebuild it, someone else comes to knock it over.

So pick up that bat, and break it all down. Break it all down before you break again.

Re-Solution

Happy December!

I normally write after I think through a lot of what I've been feeling or experiencing, and usually I write up something that's already sort of a solution of some kind, that leads to us all - myself mostly - feeling something akin to inspired.

It's almost the end of the year, and when January kicks in, we reach that clichéd time where we're all expected in an ambiguous sort of way to make New Year's Resolutions. I have always hated that, growing up,  having to write out a list of resolutions that was first and foremost a dreaded chore, and secondly that list having to meet the approval of said parent, and thirdly the entire thing weighed down by those damn expectations.

But, lately I've been telling myself that there are bits of me that I need to change. And this is what I'm writing about, I'm making my own Old Year's Resolution right now. I, IQ, am going to battle my inner demons and hopefully conquer that quietly raging fire that's inside me. My anger.

What anger? I know, most of you might never - and how God has blessed you - have come across my anger. But it's there, and boy is it ugly when it rears its fiery head. I can be cool as a cucumber on the surface, but there seems to be something - and yes it is when I get extremely close to people that it seems to awaken - that's like a volcano. There was a time when I rarely got angry, and when I did it was like Armageddon. I'd figured out a relationship - the frequency of my anger was inversely proportional to the magnitude of my anger.

And I know that some of you *stares at someone* think I just need a vacation from all the stressors of life. But that's just it. It's sort of like a drug addict or alcholic never really coming to terms with their addiction, because they've always avoided the stressors that stimulate the cycle of them reaching for their stash. No matter what, life is always going to be there, but the people I care about may not - not if I continue to lose my temper. I need to work through and live through the stress and be able to do so without the temper being unleashed.

I need to remember that this is only my starting resolution, I'm not meant to find any solution just as yet. But I am going to work on it. That's a promise.

Out, Out, Brief Candle

Phew.

It's Friday. It almost seems as if the entire week was one breathe all held back...until now. Now I can breathe.

I'm not sure if it's just been the past week, or the past month, now all the days seem to have blurred together and was a chaotic mix of emotions, weather, illness, and stress.  In the back of my mind these days, when I step out and the wind blasts frigidly against my face, I damn the spectre of Winter and long to Summer how I miss her.

Well, it actually hasn't been that bad, I actually love stepping out in the mornings, at least while the sun is somewhat there. What I really dread is waking up in the dark, cold mornings without a hint of hope that life exists out there in the world. When coldness seeps through the outer boundaries of the bed and sneaks slyly under the blankets. When it curls its fingers around the windowsill and fits in between the panes of glass.

I'm a weakling when it comes to cold. Sometimes I have face the option of becoming absolutely delusional in order to cope and survive with the cold. I used to boast to my friends that I'm not cold, all I have to do is imagine a hot tropical breeze and that's it - I'm not cold.

And now I'm here with mixed blessings. It's the end of the work-week, and yet Sunday is daylight's saving. To be catapulted into the darkness of winter. Oh, woe, is me!

11.11

Yesterday, or the day before, well sometime over the weekend - and I can't really remember because, that's how under the weather I was - I remember looking at the clock, and just then it was 11.11. AM or PM, I again don't recall. Most likely it was at night, because during the day I'd have busied myself with numerous chores, multitasking to keep mind and body distracted from that vague dystopia I had found myself in.

But this time, I recall sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed, and turning just a bit to see that the clock had just clicked into position at 11.11. And I looked at it and realized, there was a time I eagerly used to close my eyes and make a wish.

Silly thing to do. I know it. There is that little girl in me, always, that seeks to remain in a fairy world, where Cinderella sang about dreams and wishes and waited for her prince charming. Silly. But regardless, when one was in a position to make a wish and lose nothing from the act, I took the opportunity and made the wish.

At the moment when I saw the green numbers aligning with perfect parallels, I suddenly lost a sense of realism and found myself falling into different parallels of time. Why had I stopped wishing at 11.11?

One might induce from operant conditioning that it was a case of extinction. But no, not that the wishes never came true. If one was a confidante of the heart one might learn that they came true, of a sort. Rather this would be positively reinforcing the act of making the wish, because they came true.

Was this a case of taking things for granted? I would hope not. Perhaps it was that when the clock was set at 11.11, I was preoccupied with an act that negated my ability to perceive that the clock was at 11.11.

Maybe, I 've begun to expect (and therefore wish for) too much.  My wishes have gone from simple requests   to wishes, stemming from deepest fears,  that someone would do this or someone would do that. And perhaps, by the wishes having stopped coming true in that light, that's the actual behavioural extinction.  By them never coming true, I've given up.

What happened to the wishes made at 11.11, on the many shooting stars, on the birthday candles that were so rare? Perhaps I've really grown up? Or do I only grow up when I stop thinking about silly wishes and hopes entirely?

Consolation

Hey you. Me? Yeah, it`s me! Who did you expect to be? Did you really expect it to be anyone else? No, it's me. I know, you're disappointed that it's me. Let me let you in on a secret: It's always going to be me. You don't want to listen to the ones who would say anything, and the ones you'd really want it to be won't be doing it. You'll just end up sinking deeper into that pit of desolation. So here I am!

So you want a word of consolation. Guess what, you are in luck. You need a shoulder to cry on, you've got mine. You just remember this: you don't need anyone. Everyone else will be twiddling their thumbs on the sidelines, hoping that you get over this quickly. And hey, we know you're going to get over this quickly, but it sucks to hell and back when you realize no one is going to jump into the quicksand along with you, doesn't it?

Did you really expect anyone to? Think about it. Who in their right minds would want to get pulled into that mess, and dirty their nice clean selves up? And if you're expecting it, then stop right this minute. You're the one who has to be cheerful and talkative for everyone else. If you don't talk, no one else will. So how will the world go on?

And listen. Cut out those tears. They annoy me, and they probably annoy everyone else who has to put up with them. You remember when you were a small little girl alone in the big bad world, and thought you would always be alone? Yes well guess what Einstein, you were right.

So stop looking for pity, or sympathy. You don't need it. You want a strong hero to come save you and give you a happily ever after, well you're the only one who can be your hero. If you want your life to get on track, you're the only one who's going to be picking up the rope and pulling the whole train behind you. No one else will help you.  Oh there will be those who will walk alongside you, or even take a rope and tell you they're there at your side, but the second things go wrong, you know you'll be back to fixing things on your own and no one else will be there. Remember that, kid, no one.

So take a deep breathe, and let it all out. Even when you've got the whole weight to pull yourself, the one thing you need to remember is, you can.

Black

It's funny. Not in a haha-funny way, but a sardonic-funny way. But yeah, it's funny. Writing, for me, is a way to open up and express the things that I am experiencing. But right now, I'm thinking to myself that I can't write a word about it all, because it's just a whole lot of emotions and stuff, and when written in words, seem to be at play for everyone to mock and roll their eyes at. That's the problem with opening the heart, you have to prepare for the censure. Oh, I know, I'm being very negative, but sometimes it's better to be this way.

I tend to close up and go into my cocoon when I'm not feeling quite myself. I'm not sure why I am writing all this and I might regret it when I get a hold of myself and compose myself into the expected smiling face. I guess I am writing this because I don't want to have to answer any more questions about "what's wrong" or demands for "cheering up". I'll cheer up in no time at all. The thing is I just need to vent.

I'm in the process of cutting parts of myself out again. Yes, again. As they say, we're all in a learning process.  There was a time when I was too nice to everyone. Apparently that's not cool any more. Maybe I've learnt the hard way. I don't know. Do I sound like I'm wallowing in self-pity? If I do, please excuse me.

Is there an end to this? I don't know. There is no use in being distraught because once I let myself, I'm really in for it. Teetering on the brink of the black hole with all probability favouring the fall. Come on superpowers, do your magic.

October

October. This is one of my favourite months of the year. I don't really know why, but you can safely bet that it has to do with the weather and season. There are these small tiny frames of time wherein all the most magical elements are experienced.

Sometimes, with the mundane parts of life take away from our ability to really experience it all. I've gone through days these past weeks where my mind is so full of so many thoughts, and just watching the world go by when I do get a chance to take a breather, that I've found it somewhat sad that I haven't been writing here.

There is this guilty feeling when I come on, and feel I need to post the next episode, because that's what you want to read. But then, for whatever reason, my mind has been so scattered that I cannot sit still enough to write a sequel.

That's one side of the guilt, but then again there is the other, when I feel guilty to myself and to my blog, because what I should be doing is putting down a few words that describe what I'm feeling and thinking. That's the whole premise of the blog, at least for me. There is part of me that feels, oh why would you write anything other than the story, everyone is just going to ask where's the next episode, and don't care about what you're thinking. Everyone is thinking, so what?

I feel a bit subdued, and I'm not sure why. It's as if my center of gravity, or the axis my being is centered through with is out of alignment. My mind and heart and soul aren't all in tune. There is a dissonance that jarrs every breath I take to focus myself, and I still remain off balance.

I realize this is not just me; every which way I look, I see reflections of this sense of unease in others. What is it about this time that permeates a feeling of lost? Transitions that are uncertain? Transitions that we feel and sense by looking out at the falling leaves, and the vacuum-like sense of the eye of a storm. We're stepping out of one portal into another, and yet, this place in between, is this considered a place of its own or just a temporary corridor?

There are expectations of the future that pull and tug us, and yet we dig in our heels wanting to slow down and stop for a moment. I need to find all the pieces of myself that I've loaned out and put them all together again. This is the time for changes, and in change, to heal.

A Word

There are those of you asking where I am, and those asking if I've got writers block.  To answer shortly, I'm right here, and no, I don't have writer's block.

I guess one might say I've been taking a bit of a break. There are reasons why I haven't been writing further episodes to the Back to School series, and part of that is that the sole purpose of writing it was because of my love for my friends who are depicted in the story, and consequently I cannot do full justice when things are a bit murky in terms of that friendship. I'd rather have a clear head and full heart when I write anything so that I don't later on regret that I could have made a scene better if I had cleared the air.

Not to make things any further dramatic, anyhow, but I can assure you that BTS will be on-track soon. In the meantime, please shmile. :)

Mucho loves, ♥

Septembah

Four unproductive days. That's more than enough luxury for me. Or so I thought, until  I woke up at 6.30 before the fated Alarm-That-Never-Gets-To-Ring rang. "Oh dear lord, not work.." All of a sudden, the four days weren't long enough. I so did not want to crawl out of bed and begin the process of waking up.

As I sat up sleepily and rubbed my eyes, I went through the many possibilities that I encountered at that juncture in time. I could perhaps call in sick? No, that won't work. Faint memories of a dream where I was at work and being told off by a boss who usually doesn't tell me off glimmered at me. I shook more sleep out of my head. Maybe Isaac happened to dance himself all the way from south USA? Eh, yeah sure. I glaced hopefully at my curtain-drawn windows, because although curtain-drawn, I could tell it was boding rain out there. Don't ask me how. Superpowers.

I kind of don't remember what else I told myself, but I did finally get myself out of bed, after a few minutes of stretching. Out of the shower again, I had one of those irksome humid mornings where nothing I put on felt comfortable enough. Why oh why could I not just wear my pyjamas? I froze in thought, when I realized that my pjs just consisted of a single tee. Erm, yeah, ok IQ, you're not showing up at work in just that. Get your clothes on and quit fussing.

Rain man, it's been raining. Gloriously, I might say, except, the whole way to work I was sleeping.

Holympics

Word of the Day 

July 24: olympics

n. Loose assemblage of activities undertaken quadrennially by over-ripped folk with an odd view of life and difficulty prioritising. Small trinkets on coloured ribbons and needlessly ostentatious flower arrangements are commonly given to several of the better entrants as stirring tunes play. Flags and advertising signage tend to be prominently displayed and portly men in suits shuffle about needlessly.

It's that time again. The Olympics. Get me my gun. 

Don't get me wrong, I love sports. Rather, I love playing sports. I am not so much into watching sports. But this isn't the source of my grievance. 

I recall many projects over the years in school spent on the Olympics. I liked the thrill and challenges about the games. I also recall when I was old enough to actually realize that it costs money - one lucid memory is of the startling realization of how much athletes are actually paid. For what? 

If there are governments that want to cut costs or salaries or jobs of regular citizens, or those who believe that doctors are overpaid, I can't fathom how athletes get away with it. Of course, the question can be widened to a greater field: to actors, performing artists, or other celebrities, for example.

But, the Olympics? I've lost my respect for it. I do like the idea of an international convention where all countries can battle without an actual war. But the costs, for crying out loud. 

One of my friends had some sort of economics assignment. A writing assignment. So that means you know who she'd turn to for help writing it. Moi. 

Despite my vast knowledge of various subject matters, economics is most likely the one that I really haven't ever spent much time on.  I mean, can probably recount an entire list of all the subjects I've taken, and it would amount to all subjects possible minus the business ones. 

But, no. She would not allow this to be the conclusion of my contribution to helping her. And, in this friend's case, helping her means writing her paper for her. Why would I do that, you might ask? Well I don't entirely, but I do somewhat, because that's the friend she was to me. But yes, she would take not take no for an answer. She needed this paper done so she would pass the class. Which essentially meant that my knowledge of economics was probably more than hers. 

I, having absolutely no clue what topic to raise for her research paper, I handed over my grievance about the Olympics to her. She liked the idea. (Well, not as if she had much choice.)

The China Olympics. 40 billion dollars. Not million. Billion.


In building the infrastructure with their Olympic facelift to China, they've had people forced to move out of their homes that got destroyed, with little compensation, and then you take a look at the fact that it is still a developing country that normally is at loose ends on how to deal with their poverty.

I can't wrap my mind around that.

For The Love Of Animals

Most of you who know me, know I love nature. And a big part of nature is my love for animals. I'm all for compassion and goodness. I can't put the idea of the violence and cruelty that accompanies killing out of my head and separate it from an act of just indulging in something for the sake of pleasure.  Anyways, I know almost all of you will hate me for bringing this topic up and doing the goody-goody two shoes act, but then again, I am definitely not ashamed of believing in goodness.

I came across some inspiring thoughts and while most of you will tune out and stop reading, I hope it also makes you think. I'm not going to shy away from a topic that's usually brushed away. The idea itself is not closing your own eyes to certain flaws in a general mindset of humankind. I have an idea about the act of altruism and sacrificing material pleasures being somewhat "good" karma. I can go into the topic evolutionary speaking, but I think I'm going to save you that headache also.

A man can live and be healthy without killing animals for food; therefore, if he eats meat, he participates in taking animal life merely for the sake of his appetite. And to act so is immoral. ~Leo Tolstoy

There slowly grew up in me an unshakable conviction that we have no right to inflict suffering and death on another living creature, unless there is some unavoidable necessity for it. ~ Albert Schweitzer, M.D., Alsatian philosopher and medical missionary, 1952 Nobel prize recipient, (1875-1965)

In fact, if one person is unkind to an animal it is considered to be cruelty, but where a lot of people are unkind to animals, especially in the name of commerce, the cruelty is condoned and, once large sums of money are at stake, will be defended to the last by otherwise intelligent people. ~Ruth Harrison, author

Poor animals! How jealously they guard their pathetic bodies . . . that which to us is merely an evening's meal, but to them is life itself. ~T. Casey Brennan

Life is life--whether in a cat, or dog or man. There is no difference there between a cat or a man. The idea of difference is a human conception for man's own advantage.~Sri Aurobindo

Flesh eating is unprovoked murder. ~Ben Franklin

Greetings, World.

Can you believe that the last time I've written was almost a full week ago? Okay, it's right there, the proof in front of our faces, so yeah, we can believe it.

I'm back! "Back from what?" you might ask. Well, I'm not very sure what that answer is. I guess, back from not being here. Here, meaning my blog. (By the way, can you believe that this auto spell checker in my blog editor that's checking my spelling as I type this post up is telling me that the word 'blog' is incorrect? Irony.)

What I detest about the summers: The rowdy neighbours who have a need to stay up until the wee hours of the night, blaring their ghetto music from their cars that are parked in the middle of the street. It being so hot and humid you have your windows open to catch those tendrils of chilled breeze that intermingles like a silver thread in a hot and thick blanket of heat. So you're simultaneously tossing and turning in the heat and tossing and turning with the racket that's pounding in your ears, music, cars slamming, loud shouts and conversation, bright lights.

This is night. People sleep. I need to sleep!

In my frustration, I resorted to listening to my own music. In the dark, I rummaged and pulled out my trusty old mp3 player. I turned it on and stuck the ear buds in my ear. As the music started at random, I found myself listening to a song from one of my old favourite albums, after years. I put it on repeat.

Tu Hi Tuuuuuuuuuu, Har Jagah

Tu Hi Tu Jeene Ki Wajah

On Grammar

As many of you who know me know, I am a bit of a perfectionist (it's my star-sign, I tell you). Not that I am not guilty of making misteaks myself (oops?). I confess, I have to make mistakes, or else my true identity as a perfect alien would be revealed, and one of the first things I learnt when I beamed down to this planet Earth was that it is human to err.

However, that does not stop me from pointing and laughing at those mistakes people do make.
(Not that I really do, they tend to just make me shake my head and cringe.)

These are several of those grammatical bloopers that really give me neck exercise:




Spelling 

Your vs. You're

"Your so mean to me!" She typed out in protest.

"You fool, it's you're!" I rolled my eyes.

"NO, YOUR MEAN TO ME. I AM SO NICE"

"You're!"

"No I'm not!"

"You're as in YOU ARE."

"I'm not!"

"YOU'RE really in over YOUR head, aren't you" I sighed.

You're: Contraction of  "you are" (the apostrophe replaces the 'a').
Your: Belonging to or associated with the person or people that the speaker is addressing: "What is your name?".

Quite vs. Quiet

"Your so quite today."

"I'm quite what? And it's you're!"

"Am not quite."

"Quite what?"

"I mean to say, why are you not talking..."

"Oh, quiet."

"Yes, that's what I said?"

"No you misspelled it."

"Oh... thanks. Your quiet nice."

*facepalm*



Quite: Absolutely; completely: "You are quite nice!"

Quiet: (Making) little or no noise. Still. "You are very quiet today."


Loose vs. Lose

"You looser!"

"Loser."

"I called you that first! You can't think of anything just because you loosed!"

"Lost."

"Whatever. Watch, I will never loose like you!"

"So...you're tight?"

"Huh?"


Lose: opposite of win.

Loose: opposite of tight.



Weird vs. Wierd

Considering wierd is not even a word, this is just wrong.

You've heard the "I before e, except after c" rule right? It's not true for all cases (especially when it's an "ay" sounding word, like neighbour), but the best way to remember it in this case, is that weird is just weird, so it doesn't follow the rule.

Punctuation

These aren't so obvious as the bad spelling. Most often bad punctuation just stems from not knowing better. I've got two friends who make a deal about punctuation. Nerdyy asserts that his beloved math teacher taught him that "Punctuation maketh a man, no punctuation maketh a mouse." Another friend, who we refer to as the Punctuation Baba, demands that song lyrics be 'typed out' (i.e. 'sung') with proper punctuation. (Go figure.)

Space before question mark/exclamation mark/other punctuation mark

I've always wondered why people put spaces before their punctuation mark. Not that I've actually been taught to do it one way or the other (or, maybe I have, and I simply do not recall), but as far as I know there was never a need for these spaces. So I looked it up and this is what my darling Wiki told me:

Some writers put a space between the end of their sentence and the question mark. This is thought to come from a French practice and is called French spacing. In French a space is always put before question marks, exclamation marks, colons, and semicolons. In English, however, using this space is thought of as bad form. The Oxford English Dictionary does not encourage it. 

No space after comma/period/punctuation mark

This is another of those that also make me feel uncomfortable just seeing, because it feels disorganized. I always think of sentences as one frame of thought, and these thoughts are either separated by period (full stop) or joined with a comma. And these thoughts just as you think them, need the proper pauses. Hence the space (and pertinent punctuation).  So again, I looked this up:

Wiki Answers :
Q: How much times do you space after a comma?
A: After each and every comma there should be a single space.The same as with fullstops, colons and semicolons.

(Not to mention, the bad grammar in the Q, with 'how much times' vs. 'how many'. If it's a countable quantity, use "many".)

Apostrophe Catastrophe: "Plural's" 

I am sure whoever is guilty of making this mistake is just as guilty of skipping the grammar class that taught this simple rule.

You would think that people would know better, but it's (contraction of "it is") amazing to see the number of signs (not sign's) you would encounter that actually have plurals with apostrophes.

In looking up material relevant to this case, I found this awesome site that directly addresses this problem: http://www.apostrophecatastrophes.com/.

Apostrophe with letter s is used to show possession, or in some instances a contraction with "is", and not plural.

E.g. "That is the boy's store." The store belongs to the boy.
E.g. "The boy's going to the store." Used as a contraction for "The boy is going to the store."

The apostrophe is not used for plurals. There are exceptions, such as using it to show a plural of an abbreviation (CD's), however this is the most fundamental rule.

_____________________________________________________________________________

Okay, so Miss Know-It-All, aka Miss Perfectionist is done for now. This wasn't really a rant (if you're inclined to think so).  I just came across many instances recently that have always made me want to point it out, and simultaneously shake my head.

The best of them all: 

Person: "I am such a genious."

Me: "Wonderful. A genius who can't spell genius." 

"DONT CORRECT MY GRAMMER'S !!!"

Ey See

As the work day winds down, I slouch back in my chair, almost sliding out of it onto the floor, and stretch lazily from toe to fingertip.

Heat? What heat?

 I take in a mouthful of warm air and yawn. I've got a few hours to go and then I'm so out of there. I visualize myself swimming laps in a cool swimming pool, or racing my bike down the street while the air washes past my face, and stifle yet another yawn.

As I contemplate taking a walk outside and getting myself an ice cold drink, my coworker returns from a "walk" to the departments downstairs, a walk in hopes for some chance of cooler air, and she narrates a conversation she had while on the way back. "So D was like, WOW you know its HOT if IQ is HOT!" This being a proverbial elbow in the ribs at my cool temperament and low tolerance for cold.

"Yo," I replied, "I'm going down now, to inform her that IQ is ALWAYS hot *wink wink*"

(Apparently lame one-liners go hand in hand with sweltering weather.)

Anyways, we figured out how to get the AC (that we thought was pretty much nonexistent) going. For the duration of whatever remained of the day, that is.