Sunday, July 09, 2006
mood tired
music Classifieds (The Academy Is. . .)
Okay people it doesn't get any simpler than this.
It was a wet night and this Blog wasn't wearing its helmet. It rounded the corner too quickly and died.
I've moved to schlockandroll.livejournal.com .
(Owing to a recent and inexplicable penchant for change I've contemplated switching e-mail addresses as well, but the idea of manually transferring individual contacts onto a new MSN list is liable to send me screaming into the night. Anyway, good-bye; it's been a very long passage.)
music Classifieds (The Academy Is. . .)
Okay people it doesn't get any simpler than this.
It was a wet night and this Blog wasn't wearing its helmet. It rounded the corner too quickly and died.
I've moved to schlockandroll.livejournal.com .
(Owing to a recent and inexplicable penchant for change I've contemplated switching e-mail addresses as well, but the idea of manually transferring individual contacts onto a new MSN list is liable to send me screaming into the night. Anyway, good-bye; it's been a very long passage.)
the great big bonanza
Friday, July 07, 2006
mood indescribable
music Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol)
music Chasing Cars (Snow Patrol)
the great big bonanza
Thursday, July 06, 2006
mood indignant
music Gin-Soaked Boy (The Divine Comedy)
Now that my volatility has lessened considerably it would be prudent to survey the reasons behind Germany's humiliating defeat in a systematic and logical fashion.
. . .OH WHO AM I TRYING TO KID I'M STILL LIVID AS HELL!!!!!!!!! Mere seconds after the Italian goal(s) I was bombarded with pacifying SMS-es from the likes of Lee Wenting compelling me to refrain from throttling the television set and/or bounding from an open window. I thought I was going to die when footage of Odonker and my Aryan prince Ballack crying was aired alongside that of hordes of elated Italians and Mediterranean girls being lobbed in the face wih their own melon-sized bosoms as they leapt up and down in celebration; I was so upset.
An intensive, rational, and impartial examination of the issue at hand procurred the following possibilities of blame -
1) The entire Italian squad. For scoring.
2) Lehmann. I swear Letitia is probably jetting off to Germany to assassinate him as we speak.
3) Dietary discrepancies. The Italians have pasta as a national staple and the additional carbohydrates in their immune system provides them with an added advantage on the pitch! Nutritionist kayu!!!
4) Commentators. Jinxing everything by blathering merrily on about how Germany have the game in the bag as opposed to the Italians' abysmal penalty-shootout record.
5) Hitler. The celestial bodies have selected this pivotal moment to wield the gauntlet of retribution onto the local populace due to the merciless slaughters during the Holocaust. Couldn't they have waited until after the 120th minute.
6) The Butterfly Effect. If my mother had consented to my watching the game at Gardens with Mitch, this small but vital increment in the size of the international German fan base would have heightened the morale of the players via the collective channeling of positive karma. Also, the consumption of more German beer by Singaporean fans while watching the match would have boosted Germany's GDP and made for a heartening piece of news for the local players before the commencement of the second half. (Never mind how all this could have occurred within the brief span of 45 minutes; I'm not interested in specifics.)
7) Podolski. The aerial perspective of the pitch was characterized by a minuscule white form crumpling onto the ground every ten seconds or so, provoked or otherwise, like an egg being cracked open on a skillet. Chances were ten to one that this player would be subsequently identified as Lukas Podolski.
Alas; there are more. Klinsmann! Putting prized players like Neuville and Odonker only in the latter minutes of the game! Was he trying to be funny or what. Mori! Why did you not conceal yourself in the cargo compartment of a Germany-bound flight.
Etc.
I had been foraging my refrigerator industriously for food to keep me awake during the game so my mother was most astonished to behold the cornucopia of Julie's biscuit wrappers and empty Chacos bags littering the couch and rug when she wandered into the living room on her way to the toilet. Frankly, I don't know which was more unnerving - the sight of me blubbering in a mound of bio-degradables at 5.20 in the morning or the fact that I was watching an ongoing soccer match wearing an expression which was neither of perplexed disgust or bored apathy.
In short, I have expanded my soccer allegiance to include Les Bleus (because Portugal eliminated Hargreaves) and during the finals on Monday morning I'm going to order pork knuckles and wienerschnitzel and denounce Barilla products loudly in front of all the Italian fans at CHIJMES.
music Gin-Soaked Boy (The Divine Comedy)
Now that my volatility has lessened considerably it would be prudent to survey the reasons behind Germany's humiliating defeat in a systematic and logical fashion.
. . .OH WHO AM I TRYING TO KID I'M STILL LIVID AS HELL!!!!!!!!! Mere seconds after the Italian goal(s) I was bombarded with pacifying SMS-es from the likes of Lee Wenting compelling me to refrain from throttling the television set and/or bounding from an open window. I thought I was going to die when footage of Odonker and my Aryan prince Ballack crying was aired alongside that of hordes of elated Italians and Mediterranean girls being lobbed in the face wih their own melon-sized bosoms as they leapt up and down in celebration; I was so upset.
An intensive, rational, and impartial examination of the issue at hand procurred the following possibilities of blame -
1) The entire Italian squad. For scoring.
2) Lehmann. I swear Letitia is probably jetting off to Germany to assassinate him as we speak.
3) Dietary discrepancies. The Italians have pasta as a national staple and the additional carbohydrates in their immune system provides them with an added advantage on the pitch! Nutritionist kayu!!!
4) Commentators. Jinxing everything by blathering merrily on about how Germany have the game in the bag as opposed to the Italians' abysmal penalty-shootout record.
5) Hitler. The celestial bodies have selected this pivotal moment to wield the gauntlet of retribution onto the local populace due to the merciless slaughters during the Holocaust. Couldn't they have waited until after the 120th minute.
6) The Butterfly Effect. If my mother had consented to my watching the game at Gardens with Mitch, this small but vital increment in the size of the international German fan base would have heightened the morale of the players via the collective channeling of positive karma. Also, the consumption of more German beer by Singaporean fans while watching the match would have boosted Germany's GDP and made for a heartening piece of news for the local players before the commencement of the second half. (Never mind how all this could have occurred within the brief span of 45 minutes; I'm not interested in specifics.)
7) Podolski. The aerial perspective of the pitch was characterized by a minuscule white form crumpling onto the ground every ten seconds or so, provoked or otherwise, like an egg being cracked open on a skillet. Chances were ten to one that this player would be subsequently identified as Lukas Podolski.
Alas; there are more. Klinsmann! Putting prized players like Neuville and Odonker only in the latter minutes of the game! Was he trying to be funny or what. Mori! Why did you not conceal yourself in the cargo compartment of a Germany-bound flight.
Etc.
I had been foraging my refrigerator industriously for food to keep me awake during the game so my mother was most astonished to behold the cornucopia of Julie's biscuit wrappers and empty Chacos bags littering the couch and rug when she wandered into the living room on her way to the toilet. Frankly, I don't know which was more unnerving - the sight of me blubbering in a mound of bio-degradables at 5.20 in the morning or the fact that I was watching an ongoing soccer match wearing an expression which was neither of perplexed disgust or bored apathy.
In short, I have expanded my soccer allegiance to include Les Bleus (because Portugal eliminated Hargreaves) and during the finals on Monday morning I'm going to order pork knuckles and wienerschnitzel and denounce Barilla products loudly in front of all the Italian fans at CHIJMES.
the great big bonanza
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
mood pissed
music MakeDamnSure (Taking Back Sunday)
I hate soccer.
music MakeDamnSure (Taking Back Sunday)
I hate soccer.
the great big bonanza
Tuesday, July 04, 2006
mood questioning
music Neighbourhood #2 [Laika] (The Arcade Fire)
The Scavengers stopped by Retail Therapy yesterday afternoon bearing a half-downed cup of McDonald's strawberry milkshake which, prior to this, had been shared three ways (between Ping, Daph, and Jess) because that was the norm for anything consumed beyond the perimeters of Scotts' food court, and even then we were sometimes wont to splitting cheng-tng or Yami Yoghurt (often Daph's) among the six of us.
Anyway their visit was extremely entertaining, albeit brief - Ping was fabricating all these stupid stories about how the vanity table was actually possessed by the murderous spirit of a Victorian woman who would materialize in the mirror and grin at you as you were brushing your hair etc. And she thought Dora's candle-holders were vintage lightning rods. At this, Daph and Jess, who were both nearly weeping in exasperation, exclaimed, "BUT THE DESIGN IS CLEARLY CONTEMPORARY!"
Germany VS Italy tonight, my heart is your heart Ballack baby.
On my face live four moles; I think they may be trying to tell me something.
music Neighbourhood #2 [Laika] (The Arcade Fire)
The Scavengers stopped by Retail Therapy yesterday afternoon bearing a half-downed cup of McDonald's strawberry milkshake which, prior to this, had been shared three ways (between Ping, Daph, and Jess) because that was the norm for anything consumed beyond the perimeters of Scotts' food court, and even then we were sometimes wont to splitting cheng-tng or Yami Yoghurt (often Daph's) among the six of us.
Anyway their visit was extremely entertaining, albeit brief - Ping was fabricating all these stupid stories about how the vanity table was actually possessed by the murderous spirit of a Victorian woman who would materialize in the mirror and grin at you as you were brushing your hair etc. And she thought Dora's candle-holders were vintage lightning rods. At this, Daph and Jess, who were both nearly weeping in exasperation, exclaimed, "BUT THE DESIGN IS CLEARLY CONTEMPORARY!"
Germany VS Italy tonight, my heart is your heart Ballack baby.
On my face live four moles; I think they may be trying to tell me something.
the great big bonanza
Sunday, July 02, 2006
mood contemplative
music From Her Lips To God's Ears (Against Me)
When a wildly exulted Lee Wenting delivered the news of France's unexpected victory over the Brazilians this morning (coupled with several heavily redundant comments about how Henry was her undisuputed "king" and "something something Zidane something"), the soccer neophyte in me concluded sagely that the tournament's finals will probably be contested between the French and the German team, which, incidentally, is fronted by my very cute and sinewy spouse Michael Ballack.
Re : England VS Portugal yesterday; save for the marvellous dexterity of Hargreaves, the vicious antics of that Infamous Nincompoop formerly known as Wayne Rooney and Crouch's truly ghastly motor skills made for a very, very dismal performance by the English. Now that Owen Hargreaves, Ahn Jung Hwan, and Cho Jae Jin (whatever happened to South Korea seriously) have bowed out from this year's World Cup festivities, Ballack remains the Last Man Standing in my pool of desirable soccer players. Germany is going to wipe the pitch with Italy on Tuesday morning.
Anyway I have been extremely conscientious in my attempt to convince Michelle Wong-Kimura Yu Min that remaining awake at 3 am is a completely reasonable compromise where matches involving Germany are concerned. YEAH SHE HAS PLENTY OF TIME AT HER DISPOSAL TO BID FOR TAKUYA KIMURA VIDEOS (wtf) ON E-BAY BUT NOT TO WATCH MY COMELY HUSBAND LEAD HIS SQUAD TO INTERNATIONAL SOCCER GLORY.
In between his customary Jewel-bashing and nicotine-ingesting, Jon divulged on his very colorful love life over coffee (Wheelock's Coffee Bean outlet this time, because the Ultimate Ice-Blended is. . .well, the ultimate) although I was momentarily distracted by the 04.30 movie trailer beaming from Lido across the road. By the way I totally champion the government's newly-implemented policy (the first and possibly the last time I'll utter such a statement) on designated smoking tables in eateries. Because Hello, Hospice! people like Jon constantly insist on being seated outdoors I frequently leave diners reeking of Eau de Pall Mall.
Scavengers' lunch tomorrow afternoon, and then work.
Jon - I swear bitch if you tell anyone about Ah Morr's Greatest Ambition I will pulverize you with an oar borrowed off a dragon-boater. On a less severe note let's watch 04.30 soon and on a weekday please because movie tickets (like public transport fares) are getting ridiculously sexpensive.
music From Her Lips To God's Ears (Against Me)
When a wildly exulted Lee Wenting delivered the news of France's unexpected victory over the Brazilians this morning (coupled with several heavily redundant comments about how Henry was her undisuputed "king" and "something something Zidane something"), the soccer neophyte in me concluded sagely that the tournament's finals will probably be contested between the French and the German team, which, incidentally, is fronted by my very cute and sinewy spouse Michael Ballack.
Re : England VS Portugal yesterday; save for the marvellous dexterity of Hargreaves, the vicious antics of that Infamous Nincompoop formerly known as Wayne Rooney and Crouch's truly ghastly motor skills made for a very, very dismal performance by the English. Now that Owen Hargreaves, Ahn Jung Hwan, and Cho Jae Jin (whatever happened to South Korea seriously) have bowed out from this year's World Cup festivities, Ballack remains the Last Man Standing in my pool of desirable soccer players. Germany is going to wipe the pitch with Italy on Tuesday morning.
Anyway I have been extremely conscientious in my attempt to convince Michelle Wong-Kimura Yu Min that remaining awake at 3 am is a completely reasonable compromise where matches involving Germany are concerned. YEAH SHE HAS PLENTY OF TIME AT HER DISPOSAL TO BID FOR TAKUYA KIMURA VIDEOS (wtf) ON E-BAY BUT NOT TO WATCH MY COMELY HUSBAND LEAD HIS SQUAD TO INTERNATIONAL SOCCER GLORY.
In between his customary Jewel-bashing and nicotine-ingesting, Jon divulged on his very colorful love life over coffee (Wheelock's Coffee Bean outlet this time, because the Ultimate Ice-Blended is. . .well, the ultimate) although I was momentarily distracted by the 04.30 movie trailer beaming from Lido across the road. By the way I totally champion the government's newly-implemented policy (the first and possibly the last time I'll utter such a statement) on designated smoking tables in eateries. Because Hello, Hospice! people like Jon constantly insist on being seated outdoors I frequently leave diners reeking of Eau de Pall Mall.
Scavengers' lunch tomorrow afternoon, and then work.
Jon - I swear bitch if you tell anyone about Ah Morr's Greatest Ambition I will pulverize you with an oar borrowed off a dragon-boater. On a less severe note let's watch 04.30 soon and on a weekday please because movie tickets (like public transport fares) are getting ridiculously sexpensive.
the great big bonanza
Friday, June 30, 2006
mood gleeful
music With Whom To Dance? (The Magnetic Fields)
Argentina's going down tonight.
[11.48 pm] Half-time andneither team Germany has yet to net a goal! THIS IS A TRAVESTY.
[12.53 am] It's 1-all, we're in extra time, and my father is lauding over the possibility of an Argentinian victory. I retaliated to such blasphemy by flinging a throw pillow at his head.
[1.58 am] GERMANY - 4, ARGENTINA - 2 to penalties so good ol' Deutschland is through to the semi-finals of the tournament. Klose is THE MAN and Ballack, I will sail 99 luftballons for you.
music With Whom To Dance? (The Magnetic Fields)
Argentina's going down tonight.
[11.48 pm] Half-time and
[12.53 am] It's 1-all, we're in extra time, and my father is lauding over the possibility of an Argentinian victory. I retaliated to such blasphemy by flinging a throw pillow at his head.
[1.58 am] GERMANY - 4, ARGENTINA - 2 to penalties so good ol' Deutschland is through to the semi-finals of the tournament. Klose is THE MAN and Ballack, I will sail 99 luftballons for you.
the great big bonanza