BB concert July '07

Today was the day of Storm at ACS Barker.

I reached at 11 am.

It was mostly waiting and more waiting. The ensemble wasn't difficult but it was kinda awkward for a moment for me when C asked me to take over for a while, possibly because I was the 'deemed' qualified percussionist ..but I am insignificant. (>.<)

And I didn't quite know how to get them to move around without issuing orders. So I didn't..that period was quite..erm..*ahem..

Anyway, it went quite ok and even though I bought a black T-shirt, I ended up wearing my black halter. Ok lah.. I think I save the black T-shirt for school then.

It doesn't feel like a week since my stint at the school. It feels like more than that. A few weeks maybe? It felt so long. I told that to Mel and she immediately got it. She asked if it is because time has passed so slowly.

Yeah.

I like being in action.

And now?

Even though I have occupied myself with shopping with Lun and stupid darn lappy and other whatnots, most of the time, I don't really know what to do with my time. Being busy keeps one from thinking about how empty life really is.

Fish, CY and I went over to some plaza to makan. Yeah. Really nice brownies and basically just 'nua-ed' a bit. Then... went back for the evening show then supper and chit-chat.

The shows went quite ok, in the matinee, Mrs G. dropped her wok, in the evening one, CY slammed the lids so hard that bits of plastic flew around the stage. I couldn't help grinning.

I took some photos with the kids but they don't know how to use my camera !!! My camera has a anti-shake function. Photos should come out clearer than from other cameras even without a flash.

They didn't focus. (-_-")

Sigh.

That's what always happen with people who use my camera for the first time.

Here's me and a naughty boy.

Everybody was playing with CY's monkey..haha

And here's when the series of pictures all turned out blur. I should have just take the pictures myself. (>.<)

Me being strangled...

With Hy...Me with YT and WL... Here's me with P.
The 3 babes.........................erm... the 2 babes + CY (he can't be classified as a babe)

Most of the Storm-troopers....


I must say that even though I am not photogenic most of the time, I look quite ok in some of the pictures.

But of course, I only put up the more flattering ones.. heh

And I'm thinking I am blogging like a student.

I've other thoughts but...it's a bit late and I will need to organise them a little.. let's leave them for another day...

Night.

My cranky lappy

My lappy had been cranky for quite a while. It refused to talk to the mouse. I wanted to bring it to the lappy doctor but I have been procrastinating. I guess I was worried that it would be pronounced dead.

However, school will be starting soon and I need to see if I need to break off with my old lappy and get a new love. Predictably, like a typical male, once you contemplate ditching it and giving it once last chance by trying to fix it, it was on its best behaviour again. It started working again..you see when you need it, it's never there but when you want to ditch it, suddenly it will try ways and means to prove why it should not be ditched.

And I bet like a predictable male, it was probably still sulking over something. Before, both USB ports rejected the mouse. I never thought to test them with a thumbdrive then Lun and Ty2 gave me the idea so I could check to see if it was my lappy or the mouse. So yesterday, I pulled out the dusty lappy from the darkest corner, hidden behind a CPU and plugged the mouse in.

Nothing.

I then tested the same port with a thumbdrive.

That cranky lappy of mine had no problems with the thumbdrive.

I then plugged the same mouse into the other USB port. That fickle-minded lappy probably decided that it would talk to the mouse on his own terms because my mouse could dance happily around the screen. *roll eyes.

The best thing was, I lugged that monstrous thing to SL square today and the lappy read the repairshop guy's mouse on both ports!

What the...

Probably trying to represent me as a dumb female or something...so typical !!

So the guy was going..."Ok leh..."

(-_-")

I asked him to try my mouse. Luckily the dumb lappy's pettiness took precedence over his desire to embarass me and he would only talk to the mouse on one port.

Even male lappies have periods.

My lappy is a male because us girls would never exhibit such behaviour.

God forbid.

Yeah..anyway I paid $15 for the guy to clean my horrid lappy for me. He sure doesn't deserve it. I warned him sternly that if he ever tried to be funny again, 4 years or not, he will end up sleeping in the dumpster with rotten rubbish.

And seeing how he is old and probably with some brain-wasting disease, I was contemplating upgrading his RAM so he can remember faster. But in case he decides to kill himself in a year or two, I am quite reluctant to pay too much for him, not when I can get a new lappy who will give me way less trouble. *sniffs

Well, I called Ty2 to see if he is willing to sell me cheap some of the lappy's brain space. And he agreed. My lappy definitely don't deserve this, not after all the whole male surliness performance he put up. But I guess everybody deserves a second chance, even grouchy lappies with periods. *roll eyes.

Since I had to go to SL square, I went to do a lot little shopping too. I bought this nice yellow brolly that is super small *beams, as well as earrings and carebears handphone straps. I also bought a USB hub (in case the horrid lappy gets cranky again), card-readers and fixed some of my shoes. I contemplated getting a printer/scanner too..super cheap, it was only like 160..maybe next week if I have a RAM for the repairman to fix in.

And you know what? The most hilarious thing happened when Hy asked me..."NETS is key in ATM number hor~..." Apparently it was the first time he was paying by NETS because usually he draws and pays by cash and....he nearly keyed in the number in the wrong receiver.

The only reason why he didn't was....because the guy told him it was not 'this receiver'.

And the guy commented, "You don't go out very often isit?"

I said," No he usually carries a few hundred around with him..."

You know what that means?

Let's rob him. --> (JOKE)

P/S: Of course as a teacher, I am never at the scene of any crime, ok..lolz

Love is a Fallacy

This simplifies "logic" a lot. I went to search for this after I read excerpts from JD's notes the other day. It's a riot.

Love is a Fallacy by Max Shulman

Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute and astute—I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist’s scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And—think of it!—I only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Bellows, my roommate at the university. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it—this, to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. “Don’t move,” I said, “Don’t take a laxative. I’ll get a doctor.”

“Raccoon,” he mumbled thickly.

“Raccoon?” I said, pausing in my flight.

“I want a raccoon coat,” he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical, but mental. “Why do you want a raccoon coat?”

“I should have known it,” he cried, pounding his temples. “I should have known they’d come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbooks, and now I can’t get a raccoon coat.”

“Can you mean,” I said incredulously, “that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?”

“All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where’ve you been?”

“In the library,” I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. “I’ve got to have a raccoon coat,” he said passionately. “I’ve got to!”

“Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They’re unsightly. They—”

“You don’t understand,” he interrupted impatiently. “It’s the thing to do. Don’t you want to be in the swim?”

“No,” I said truthfully.

“Well, I do,” he declared. “I’d give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!”

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. “Anything?” I asked, looking at him narrowly.

“Anything,” he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn’t have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly for a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer’s career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house—a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut—without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

“Petey,” I said, “are you in love with Polly Espy?”

“I think she’s a keen kid,” he replied, “but I don’t know if you’d call it love. Why?”

“Do you,” I asked, “have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?”

“No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?”

“Is there,” I asked, “any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

I nodded with satisfaction. “In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?”

“I guess so. What are you getting at?”

“Nothing , nothing,” I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

“Where are you going?” asked Petey.

“Home for weekend.” I threw a few things into the bag.

“Listen,” he said, clutching my arm eagerly, “while you’re home, you couldn’t get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?”

“I may do better than that,” I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.







“Look,” I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

“Holy Toledo!” said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. “Holy Toledo!” he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

“Would you like it?” I asked.

“Oh yes!” he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. “What do you want for it?”

“Your girl.” I said, mincing no words.

“Polly?” he said in a horrified whisper. “You want Polly?”

“That’s right.”

He flung the coat from him. “Never,” he said stoutly.

I shrugged. “Okay. If you don’t want to be in the swim, I guess it’s your business.”

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First he looked at the coat with the expression of a waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn’t turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

“It isn’t as though I was in love with Polly,” he said thickly. “Or going steady or anything like that.”

“That’s right,” I murmured.

“What’s Polly to me, or me to Polly?”

“Not a thing,” said I.

“It’s just been a casual kick—just a few laughs, that’s all.”

“Try on the coat,” said I.

He complied. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. “Fits fine,” he said happily.

I rose from my chair. “Is it a deal?” I asked, extending my hand.

He swallowed. “It’s a deal,” he said and shook my hand.







I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey; I wanted to find out just how much work I had to do to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner. “Gee, that was a delish dinner,” she said as we left the restaurant. Then I took her to a movie. “Gee, that was a marvy movie,” she said as we left the theatre. And then I took her home. “Gee, I had a sensaysh time,” she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl’s lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to think. This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey. But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. “Poll’,” I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, “tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk.”

“Oo, terrif,” she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. “What are we going to talk about?” she asked.

“Logic.”

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. “Magnif,” she said.

“Logic,” I said, clearing my throat, “is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight.”

“Wow-dow!” she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. “First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter.”

“By all means,” she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

“Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise.”

“I agree,” said Polly earnestly. “I mean exercise is wonderful. I mean it builds the body and everything.”

“Polly,” I said gently, “the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?”

“No,” she confessed. “But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!”

“It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve,” I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. “Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can’t speak French. Petey Bellows can’t speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French.”

“Really?” said Polly, amazed. “Nobody?”

I hid my exasperation. “Polly, it’s a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instances to support such a conclusion.”

“Know any more fallacies?” she asked breathlessly. “This is more fun than dancing even.”

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting nowhere with this girl, absolutely nowhere. Still, I am nothing if not persistent. I continued. “Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let’s not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take him out with us, it rains.”

“I know somebody just like that,” she exclaimed. “A girl back home—Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic—”

“Polly,” I said sharply, “it’s a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn’t cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker.”

“I’ll never do it again,” she promised contritely. “Are you mad at me?”

I sighed. “No, Polly, I’m not mad.”

“Then tell me some more fallacies.”

“All right. Let’s try Contradictory Premises.”

“Yes, let’s,” she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. “Here’s an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won’t be able to lift it?”

“Of course,” she replied promptly.

“But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone,” I pointed out.

“Yeah,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, then I guess He can’t make the stone.”

“But He can do anything,” I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. “I’m all confused,” she admitted.

“Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?”

“Tell me more of this keen stuff,” she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. “I think we’d better call it a night. I’ll take you home now, and you go over all the things you’ve learned. We’ll have another session tomorrow night.”

I deposited her at the girls’ dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a perfectly terrif evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.







Seated under the oak the next evening I said, “Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam.”

She quivered with delight.

“Listen closely,” I said. “A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he replies that he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming.”

A tear rolled down each of Polly’s pink cheeks. “Oh, this is awful, awful,” she sobbed.

“Yes, it’s awful,” I agreed, “but it’s no argument. The man never answered the boss’s question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss’s sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?”

“Have you got a handkerchief?” she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. “Next,” I said in a carefully controlled tone, “we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examinations. After all, surgeons have X-rays to guide them during an operation, lawyers have briefs to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn’t students be allowed to look at their textbooks during an examination?”

“There now,” she said enthusiastically, “is the most marvy idea I’ve heard in years.”

“Polly,” I said testily, “the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren’t taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can’t make an analogy between them.”

“I still think it’s a good idea,” said Polly.

“Nuts,” I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. “Next we’ll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact.”

“Sounds yummy,” was Polly’s reaction.

“Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium.”

“True, true,” said Polly, nodding her head “Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me.”

“If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment,” I said coldly, “I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can’t start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it.”

“They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures,” said Polly, “I hardly ever see him any more.”

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. “The next fallacy is called Poisoning the Well.”

“How cute!” she gurgled.

“Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, ‘My opponent is a notorious liar. You can’t believe a word that he is going to say.’ ... Now, Polly, think. Think hard. What’s wrong?”

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence—the first I had seen—came into her eyes. “It’s not fair,” she said with indignation. “It’s not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?”

“Right!” I cried exultantly. “One hundred per cent right. It’s not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start ... Polly, I’m proud of you.”

“Pshaws,” she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

“You see, my dear, these things aren’t so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think—examine—evaluate. Come now, let’s review everything we have learned.”

“Fire away,” she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, I began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this took, but it was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for my many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved the perfect woman he had fashioned, so I loved mine. I decided to acquaint her with my feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

“Polly,” I said when next we sat beneath our oak, “tonight we will not discuss fallacies.”

“Aw, gee,” she said, disappointed.

“My dear,” I said, favoring her with a smile, “we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched.”

“Hasty Generalization,” said Polly brightly.

“I beg your pardon,” said I.

“Hasty Generalization,” she repeated. “How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?”

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. “My dear,” I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, “five dates is plenty. After all, you don’t have to eat a whole cake to know that it’s good.”

“False Analogy,” said Polly promptly. “I’m not a cake. I’m a girl.”

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

“Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk.”

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

“Ad Misericordiam,” said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

“Well, Polly,” I said, forcing a smile, “you certainly have learned your fallacies.”

“You’re darn right,” she said with a vigorous nod.

“And who taught them to you, Polly?”

“You did.”

“That’s right. So you do owe me something, don’t you, my dear? If I hadn’t come along you never would have learned about fallacies.”

“Hypothesis Contrary to Fact,” she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. “Polly,” I croaked, “you mustn’t take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don’t have anything to do with life.”

“Dicto Simpliciter,” she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. “Will you or will you not go steady with me?”

“I will not,” she replied.

“Why not?” I demanded.

“Because this afternoon I promised Petey Bellows that I would go steady with him.”

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! “The rat!” I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. “You can’t go with him, Polly. He’s a liar. He’s a cheat. He’s a rat.”

“Poisoning the Well ,” said Polly, “and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too.”

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. “All right,” I said. “You’re a logician. Let’s look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Bellows over me? Look at me—a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey—a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who’ll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Bellows?”

“I certainly can,” declared Polly. “He’s got a raccoon coat.”

simple fun at KH

Ok, I think the concert yesterday went quite well. It could be better but since it could be worse and wasn't, I am relieved.

I am kind of morose that I won't be practicing 'Kelaqin' again. I love that song. It's so full of graphics and images. The music literally composes the images.

Post-concert was fun.

It's an awfully good feeling when I can find friends to just sprawl on the floor and do silly things with. We are comfortable enough to just lie on each other and put our legs over each other. Yeah...I guess its as close to coming to how puppies would just curl up to each other.

Anyway the pre-concert pictures:

I took JD's costume and put it on. I love the guy's outfit. It was slimming! You know what? Girls should have one made in red. Gan was giving me a weird look when I rushed to her with JD's costume but then she couldn't resist it either eventually.

Here's me with a Wong Fei Hong's pose. Super street-fighter like.


Here's Gan with a Wong Fei Hong's pose. She looks as if she knows all about gongfu.

But looks are deceiving !!

I'm the one that got the girl ! Bleah....

Here's us in our PINK uniforms:


Post-concert: We had a lot of fun. It felt like the vacation period. Nobody was in a rush to go home, at least not us.

Here's JD strutting his stuff, shaking his butt. He is super flexible, it's scary.

Here's the younger percussies (minus 3), with our 'leader' on the chair.

Here's us again with our 'leader' petrified of us.

And then we decided to take some 'harem' shots. The idea all started from him and Yanz looking so 幸福:



See lah.. having 2 girls and talking to a 3rd one somemore.. the funniest part was he didn't even realise that his picture (with us posing) was being taken.

And so, that started a series of 'harem' pictures...

Here's us with our beloved percussie 弟弟.The other one is busy mugging for his A-levels...Yanz has perfected the art of looking blissful...

Here's us with our well-loved Iv...

We had to drag and pull QJ to take this picture and he looked petrified by us.. possibly because Gan was looking at him as though she was going to eat him up.

Then came back to the man again..
Last but not least, of course we did stupid stuff like trying to put our foot behind our head. And of course. I shall put up Gan's solo piece:

And.... after playing our drum routine for so long, the only challenge that remains is, how fast can we go?

It really isn't easy. When I first learnt how to play that, I hit my fingers with the drumstick countless times.

And lastly.. guess which leg is whose? *winkz

a typical busy Saturday

Tired.

Attended the rehearsal for the fund-raising school concert today even though I am technically not working anymore.

I asked myself why was I there. I felt out-of-place and I wonder if it is due to my own over-sensitivity. It was initially to be the 3 of us. But one will be in camp on the day of the concert, the other will be celebrating her birthday. That left me.

I wanted to say no and go for my CSC annual dinner at Suntec but I know myself well enough that to back out just because I am the only ex-contract teacher there is cowardly and given a choice between embarassment and despising myself for being cowardly and going back on my words, well, I chose embarassment. I think everybody is suprised at how 'dedicated' I am to the school. Letting them think that is the lesser of two 'evils'. At least I won't be seeing much of any of them after next Saturday but it will take some time before I am able to get over that 'loser' part of me.

I am trying to 'psycho' myself into thinking that nobody cares about me enough to even spare time thinking about me.

The percussion ensemble put up by the teachers went ok. I was told that I was needed because they needed more people with a sense of rhythm but the stuff was quite simple. Everything went so well without any practice. The part that I was given didn't seem as though it needed me.
Ok, I need to get over the whole negative, thinking-about-backing-out funk.

At least Fishy and some nice colleagues that I consider friends already will be there.

It was ok today even though Fish wasn't there. Got a lift and it was a nice ride. I missed riding pillion. Turnings still freak me out a little and I still love speeding along a straight road.

It was rushing to KH after. I was a bit irritated because the conductor snapped at us. Some percussies hadn't reached yet and we were still trying to get our instruments. He asked if we were ready and I told him to give us half a minute. He said, "didn't you all reach a long time ago, why is everything not ready yet?!"

Ok, I reached like 5 minutes before 4 pm and because I was famished, I was rushing to finish my food in that 5 minutes, along with ZW. I was told not to rush by the 'oldies'. I still did, mind you. I went in after, we got our scores and were in the process of moving the instruments around in the horribly cramped space and we were snapped at.

In our frenzy, I was trying to adjust the height of one instrument when the whole thing fell on my thumb and cut it. It was throbbing and I was bleeding and I couldn't understand why he was so harsh. It seems that he is always harsh towards us.

We arrived on time and yet we got snapped at for not being ready. We were in cramped surroundings and the instruments weren't exactly portable. If we had more space, we definitely could have just moved ourselves. But, the entire orchestra seemed to be expanding backwards and we were allocated little space that it actually takes me a few seconds looking around before I spied the instruments needed.

It was un-called for.

And I AM pretty sore about my thumb.

We actually had to stand in for the percussies who were not around before QQ put a plaster on my finger. I don't mind standing in for the percussies, it was just that can't people understand that it is not easy for the percussionists to ready themselves immediately especially if there is limited space?

Thoughts about taking a long break rose in my mind.

Sigh.

P/S: and...I haven't bought the latest Harry Potter book (probably will never have any time to sit down and read) if anybody is dying to know how it all ends, one can check Wiki. It's already out.

....full circle...

Christina Georgina Rossetti. 1830–1894

Remember

Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

My favourite poem, with my favourite lines:

Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.

Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.

Even when I was a child, I was already fixated by the transience of a moment. Before I could savour it, it would be over and I was always too late, always rushing against time.

And when death gets too close for comfort, time always seem awfully short and I was always late.

Last day tomorrow.

It would not seem half as bad if I had not met up with my primary school friends earlier today. It turned out that Terri stayed opposite the school before she moved to the condominium nearby. On my first visit to the school to tour the premises, I saw the playground from the classroom that was to belong to my form class. It looked so familiar.

I didn't think it was the same one. The government had a tendency to build similar structures and design similar layouts everywhere. I stood there silently and gave a moment to myself. I stared out of the dusty window panes, smiled and thought to myself, "I used to while away the time at a playground so very like this one."

On the way to the appointment venue, I actually bumped into Terri, who took the bus from the city. How coincidental to be on the same bus with someone whom you are about to meet.

She called me a "Poot poot" for not recognising the place. She called me a "Poot poot" for getting the address wrong. I have apparently told her that the school was at Toh Yi Drive when it was at Toh Tuck Terrace instead. She said I could have dropped by her place for dinner in my 4 weeks there.

Somehow, realising that the playground that I thought familiar when it WAS the same playground about 10 years ago when we would hang around and get stuff from the shop during the times spent at Terri's house, came the particularly poignant bruising feeling of the heart. It feels as if I have come full circle, as though the surroundings were just waiting for me to acknowledge them, to brush off the dust of memories from them.

I felt blue. How could I have forgotten? Especially when the place had not changed. Terri said that her house had a blue roof. I shall watch out for it tomorrow, on my last day.

How funny, to discover the connection on my second last day.

Our white skirts would billow in the wind as we traverse the path. Tinkling on the piano, having lunch at her place, eating ice-creams at the playground, the leaves would sway with a gentle rustle.

At the bus stop on that last day of school, our voices broke saying goodbye when our buses came. Our first encounter with change.

Being trapped in the past is terrible. However, to realise how much I have forgotten makes me feel so sad.

And yet, I know when I walk the path tomorrow on the last day of school, pausing in my path, half-turn to go and yet turning stay, tied between my desire to move forth and stay with the familiar, and wondering how much I would remember, and wondering how much of my heart I would leave behind, I know the same trees will rustle in the breeze and tell me that better by far I should forget and smile than that I should remember and be sad.

10 years.

Full circle.

10 years later, would I pass by again?

On ballet wings

Take me to far away
where the softness gently lay
of vibrant dancing rays
in petals-circled May

Happiness wings on radiant light
that soar and glide
with a secret smile
that keeps ever bright

I would dance till the morning light

I cannot keep still

Twirling on ballet swirls
gentle pink of delightful curls
absorbing more than the heart can fill

Ballet swirls of gentle pink curls
with happiness wings on radiant light,

My heart,
it dances till the morning light

I remember 04's FOC

3 years ago in '04 June, I looked like this:

I think I look better back then.

*sigh.

If I lose a few kg, do you think I will look like that again?

I conclude, a mere 2-3 kgs can change my face drastically.

I miss those days of familiar faces. These people.. they took a part of my heart to stay.

I want a re-enactment of FOC..*sobs