blood and glory pt 2

So we're having the usual session on a nice cloudy sunday.

The drizzle stopped at around 330pm and the courts dried up nicely and all was well until a guy and his gf (at least i think it was his gf) shows up and informs us that they booked the EXACT 2 courts that we were playing in.

But he was SOOOOOOOOOOO compassionate that he decided, "Eh, nvm la, u all can play until my friends arrive." Something along those lines.

So anyway, we continue. And the couple sits down and girl starts going off about her adventures yesterday. A guy would take 2 sentences MAX. A girl would take 2 hours MIN.

So she starts blah-blah-blah-ing about the how she went shopping with her friends and how they liked the same thing, but that thing is cheaper somewhere else, but the best things come from wherever, but they're all girls and cant go there, or some SHIT like that.

Anyway, zs is serving. I think the position of where they were sitting and where zs was serving is largely relevant at this point.

But anyway, the girl is yaking louder and LOUDER with each passing minute. Im a little irritated, but i was too busy kicking hh's ass to do anything about it.

At this point, zs had had enough with her tongue wagging and gum flapping.

For a guy who cant really serve, he was pretty good that day.

Zs tosses the ball over his head, arches his back, shoulder comes around, brushes the side of the ball, racquet ploughs through the yellow fluff, sending a vicious wicked lefty spinning serve into the court.

I dunno whether it was in or not, but who gives a shit?

The ball whizzes off the court... AND HITS THE GIRL RIGHT IN THE THROAT.

I am not making this up. It was hilarious.

It hit her precisely while she was mid-sentence of another shopping spree. The serve had "STFU la slut!" written all over it.

And the sound she made was MAGICAL. Its the kind of sound you would make if u were gargling with listerine and suddenly choked and coughed and half-sneezed at the same time.

Whatever it was, it sure turned the volume down low. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY down low.

Nice serve. Second serve now?

blood and glory

So im at the courts on a cloudy and windy thursday afternoon.

Of course the bugger is late. No one's ever on time anyway - it's Singapore. I've just bought a brand new KPS88 strung with the gut hybrid i've been looking for, but the conditions are humid, and im not about to ruin a good stringjob.

I take out the other racquet, the not-so-new KPS88 strung with PHT and Xcel. I go thru the usual warm up routine. Serves. Serve 10 up the T. Serve 10 out wide. And 10 into the body. Followed by 20 second serves into anyspot i want.

Got bored really quick.

Anyway, i notice that the guy in the opposite court is also all along. He's serving too. I figure "Eh, maybe i'll ask for a hit."

Th guy is reluctant at first - he's gg to have a match with his friend later and doesnt want to tire himself out. I offer a warmup hit instead - just light hitting. He's fine with that.

The guy immediately takes position as though to receive serve. Im like WTF? I tot we were just warming up? So i feed a nice slow ball to him. He winds up, and cranks a continental grip forehand. It's good. I block it back and he begins to pound away.

All this time im just stroking on the rise - hitting back to him near the service line.

He comes to the net, runs around forehands, goes for a dropper. But eh, i dont care. I just keep putting the ball back right in the centre of his court. After all, he said he was saving up for a match.

Fine.

Finally he cranks a forehand right at me. At my freakin shoes. Now im standing still, and im not prepared for a body shot, so i reach defensively, I come over the ball and just topspin it back in to his side.

The ball lands short, but has tons of spin.

He's not prepared. The ball jumps up right at him. He's too close. The ball smacks him dead on the forehead. But REMEMBER, his trying to hit the ball right? His racquet comes around and smacks himself - right on the bridge of his nose.

First thing he yells is "Oh SHIT!"

Im asking are u all right?

Then i see the blood. He's bleeding from a large gash on his nose. Eeeewww... and he's bleeding all over the place like a stuck pig. It's literally dripping on the floor. He rushes for some tissues.

I keep repeating sorry sorry sorry. But he's fine. He blames himself he says.

Luckily the bleeding stopped after he washed it.

I never made anyone bleed from tennis before.

It's powerful shit. Glorious.

compete.

I remember walking out of the NUS SRC with zs and hh on a Sunday evening and we were debating the merits of running. Not just running for leisure, or sport - truth be told, i do my fair share of running at night.

I just found it ridiculous that someone would PAY good money to go and run 42.150km. It's not as if that's a copyrighted distance. You can run that distance ANYTIME u want. No amount of money is ever necessary. Just a pair of shoes, a soft pair of socks, an iron will and an open road.

My argument was: Why run and not win anything, when u can play tennis, run and actually WIN?

The answer was: It's not about winning. It's about a sense of achievement. Self-achievement.

And I put it forth to you. ALL of you : Self-achievement is worth NOTHING if it isnt validated by another.

What sense of accomplishment you feel coursing in your veins is nothing more than an effort on your part to feel special, to self-validate. A self-illusion. A mirror, distorted at your own design. It's like working out in the gym, an empty gym, and posing in the mirror. You may THINK you look good. But the only reason u feel that way, is bcos there's no one to prove you otherwise.

Have you ever stood on one end of a tennis court, or ANY court for that matter, and looked over the net, at your opponent, and realize that he is waaaaaaaaay better than you? He is faster, has a better forehand, more experience... EVERYTHING.

And then imagine now, that you have BEAT him. Now *that* is an achievement. And the feeling that you get when u realize this, dear gawd, it is insurmountable. A newbie beginner, celebrating his first win over an entirely superior opponent, has more achievement in him than all the runners in a Standard Chartered Run.

And just recently, i read a small article on Yahoo. It was, once again, about the influx of foreign talents, and the outcries of the locals. The line that struck a chord with me was that the locals "fear competition".

So I guess that's what it boils down to.

The fear of competition.

I'm always asked the question, "Why're you so competitive?" My typical reply is "I like to win."

But that applies to everyone doesnt it? I mean, EVERYONE likes to win! Who doesnt?

So i guess my honest reply, whenever someone asks "Why're you so competitive?", is a simple "Why not?"

When u finally reach the end of that 6 hr long run, u fall in a heap on the floor, covered in sweat. They shake your hand. You embrace your running partners. They give you shirt, proudly declaring that you RAN, and you MADE IT. U survived. Under the gaze of the hot sun, you bask in the glory shared my hundreds, even THOUSANDS. The thousands who survived. The thousands who made it. And they say "Congratulations."

"Congratulations. You're an ANT."

One of the thousands. One of the millions. Another face in a massive photograph that pple will overlook.

When you beat that one person in the middle of a tennis court. No one is around to witness. No trophies are given out. The only handshake you get is the handshake from a reluctant opponent. No shirt, no laughter, no partnerships. You won. And you are one of two. And no one will ever say "Congratulations."

"Congratulations. You are the better ONE."

However insignificant you may have been, no matter whatever shortcomings in your life - YOU are better than someone else. There is someone below you. You are one of two, and you are the better one. The one who won. And the glory. The glory is SHARED BY NO ONE, except YOU.

It's Communist vs Monarch.

And everyone knows it's good to be the king.

That's why I will never pay to run. I prefer to do what I constantly itch to do. I prefer to kick someone's ass. I prefer to dominate. I prefer to fight. I prefer to lose. I prefer to win.

I prefer to compete.

storys from beyond balestier...

I highly recommend running at night to anyone who loves a good ghost story. It's quite an experience, especially when you're tired. Not physically - physically, u're fine, bcos u just sat in an office all day long doing little to no hard labour at all. But MENTALLY, u're a wreck - tired and all, judgement is all whoozy and preception is a little taxing on the brain.

And when u're running, and ur heart rate's jumping, but u're mind is all weird and unbalanced. That's when u start seeing things. I mean, just tonight, i thought i saw a little girl sitting on swing in the park as i was running past. A quick turn of the head and nope, no one there.

Sent a chill up my spine. Running speed increased by about 12%.

And as I was doing pullups at the park gym, out of the corner of my eye, I thought i saw someone sitting on a tree branch in the distance. Later confirmed to be an umbrella.

Yes.

It was a fucking UMBRELLA. ELLA ELLA ELLA... In a tree. Looks like Mary Poppins isnt immune to lightning after all.

Didnt matter, I run the hell outta there. Running speed increased by an additional 20%.

And the lights play tricks on u. A car coming from behind, shines it headlights on me and on the wall to my left, it looks, for a split second, like a dog is about to pounce on me. Turns out it was a cat. It failed. And i killed it. Hehe...

And as i close out the last 200m, i think i can see black figures lined up against a fence near the Singtel building. Probably disgruntled iPhone subscribers.

And then i reach my aparment and as I enter the gate a swarm of the most hideous women appear and float past me, cackling and giggling like banshees on a howling spree.

I rub my eyes. Turns out they're real.

Oh, it's the prostitutes. CHeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey...

Merry Christmas btw. *grinz*

trees.

The road to your workplace is just as important as the road home.

I never understood nor felt the impact that it would have on me, until today.

Putting it into perspective, when I started work at the Sands IR, I was utterly dismayed to find that there was no walking path to get to the site office. The only way to get to the site office from Marina Bay MRT was a 500m winding main road, where u had to walk on the road shoulder and pray that no lorry came by and minced you to shreds.

Fucking depressing.

The road is uneven, with different layers of tar added overlapping each other, forcing you to watch your step. So in the morning you will see a whole train of pple walking with their heads down (yourself included).

On Saturday night, they finally closed off the old road and opened a new one. A SLIGHTLY shorter walk this time, but still in the hot sun. But now, it had a pathway. An actual walkway, with handrails, like the kind you see at a housing estate. It even had a concrete drain and, DEAR GAWD, there were TREES. Small trees planted.

As mundane as it sounds, it made the walk to work MUCH EASIER on the mind.

In other words, sold the old k90 to HH. Will stock up on another KPS88 with gut, and use the old one for wet-days, since its strung with synthetics. I think this makes perfect sense. Especially since I have pretty much decided that its the best racquet i've ever laid my hands on.

Surprisingly, i volleyed pretty well on Sunday with the PHT, weird.

I WORKED THE WHOLE SATURDAY AWAY UNTIL GODDAMN BLOODY FUCKING 11PM!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck the RAIN!!!

flipping

Finally got it. "Obtained" it, as you will, through means that require little to no explanation.

Finally sat down, on a Sunday evening, and watched The Cove. Yes. The one that you've heard about. Yes, the one where dolphins are slaughtered.

The challenge when watching The Cove, is not to stop the slaughtering of dolphins and saving these beautiful creatures. Dolphins show remarkable intelligence. The display the ability to learn how to use tools. They also learn how to use ornaments to decorate themselves when courting a mate. And they show the ability to differentiate between themselves and their own reflection in a mirror.

And yet, they are driven into a sheltered cove yearly in Taiji and the Faroe Island, and slaughtered mercilessly.

The challenge is not to stop all this. No. The challenge is to regard it with ruthless precision and logic.

The fact remains that the Cove is, for all its emotion and passion, for all its sadness and sorrow, for all its melodramatic music and teary-eyed journalists, is PROPAGANDA - an exaggerated report, interwoven with emotion-stirring images to lead the viewer onto a path of sympathy.

That said - it was an awesome movie. And there were moments in the movie where I felt like jumping from my chair and starting a protest to save some cetaceans.

But after it is all said and done, when the emotions have settled. We have to understand - that slaughter of dolphins does nothing to affect the population of all of them throughout the seas. They are still doing fine.

The only stirring facet of the documentary is that the mercury-laden dolphin meat is distributed to the local schoolkids as a free lunch. Wow... that's SICK.

Good luck with that.

Sunday tennis wasnt such a good idea after all. Played a huge match in the morning. Went home. Did the groceries and cleaned up. Felt good that i had the rest of the day to slack. Took a short "nap" at around 10pm. Woke up at 430am. Just bolted right up. Oh my gawd...

Totally screwed up my body clock. Oh well. I guess...

Oh, and i guess - it's TAMPINES HERE I COME.

a short horror story

I am currently re-watching the entire season of Bakemonogatari in some insane frame of mind thinking that I may have missed something important. And since there's no one in my apartment right now, except me (i think), the internet has been very very fast, and very very complying.

So im watching this intriguing series until I reach episode 6, which is about a young girl whose arm is possessed by a monkey's paw, or at least they think it is. Whatever the plot of this episode is, it does not matter. One of the characters mentions that it is actually a fabled talisman from a short story by William Wymark Jacobs, appropriately titled "The Monkey's Paw.

It is a horror story. One that sent a chill down my spine. Just one chill. But i'll be damned - it's been quite a while since i'd been so momentarily petrified.

I will provide a summary, but I must say, the ORIGINAL, is a much better read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story involves the White family, consisting of Mr and Mrs White, and their grown up son, Herbert.

They are a well-off family, nothing much to want for. Just a regular family with a regular life. They pay their bills, and they eat until they are full.

But one day they are visited by an old friend of Mr White's. Sergeant Major Morris - a returned soldier from India. And as the whiskey flowed and the tales began to pour from his lips, he mentions how he came into possession of a strange talisman.

A Monkey's Paw - dried and preserved to a mummified state. It had a spell put on it by an old fakir, an indian holy man, who wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives and that those who seek to change fate at their whim, do so to their own sorrow.

The family presses him for more.

"Well why don't you have three wishes, sir?" said Herbert.

Morris turns pale as he utters, "I have."

"And did they..." Herbert asks again, "... did you get what you wished for?"

Morris chokes as he nods, "I did."

The old wife is quick to ask the next question, "Has anyone else had three wishes?"

Morris nods, "The first man had his three wishes, yes. I don't know what the first two were..."

"... but the third was for his death."

And there was silence around the table.

Morris casually flicks the monkey's paw into the fireplace. And just as it begins to fizzle, Mr White snatches it up. He wants to keep it. Morris will not let him. But Mr White insists.

"At the very least," Mr Morris finally warns as he begins to leave, "Wish for something sensible."

He leaves.

Herbert doesnt believe that the paw will work. Neither does the wife. Mr White is adamant, and, on suggestion from his son, wishes for something simple - 200 hundred pounds.

The very next day, Herbert leaves for work. But he doesnt come back. Instead, a company man is sent to the White's to inform them of their son's death - he had been caught in the machinery at the factory, mangled and mutilated and died, with no way to save him.

The mother collapses in a fit of tears. The company man offers his condolences, and the condolences of the company, in the figure of compensation.

"How much?" asks the horrified father.

"Two hundred pounds, sir."

The mother begins to scream hysterically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Months later, eventhough the funeral had ended, and visitors had left, and the condolence letters had stopped, the mourning in the couples' hearts hadn't.

The mother had stopped talking to the father. And they treated each other with coldness, as if what sense of warmth, died with their son.

And now it has reached a breaking point.

The mother snaps one night, laughing hysterically.

"The Monkey's Paw!" she screams, "You still have it!?"

"Yes," the husband acknowledges.

In a fit of madness and despite the pleas from her husband, the wife asks for the unthinkable - to wish their son alive again.

Her husband is distraught with fear and grieve, but his wife wouldnt stop, and pressed him, with increasing madness until he gave in. Holding the shriveled paw in his hand, he wished out loud that his son be alive again.

But no one came, no matter how long they waited.

But at the stroke of midnight, a faint knock is heard on the front door. Jumping from his sleep, the husband begins to tremble in fear and horror - his son has returned. The wife, beside herself with hysterical euphoria, belts from the bed and rushes to the door, screaming and howling in joy.

"I forgot!" she cried, "The cemetery is almost 2 miles from here!"

The reality of it dawned on the husband - he couldnt let his son in, as his appearance would be too horrifying to behold. He had been mangled in the machinery. He was the one who had identified the body. And god forbid he would have to do it again. Whatever was standing there on his front porch - it couldnt be his son. Not like that.

As his wife struggled with the front door lock, he struggled in the darkness, fighting to find the monkey's paw. And as she finally slide the latch open, his hand found the paw, and with it, he wished, for his son to be dead again.

The wife throws open the door and screams in distress. The husband finally bolts down the stairs to the front door. There is no one, nothing, at the front door, save the creeping patter of night drizzle and a swinging latern from the main gate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good night.

so as I pray...

a random thought popped into my head as I was flipping thru facebook.

~~FAVORITE SUPERPOWER~~

Oh yeah. I mean, i've heard about the LAMEST superpowers, like that fish dude in Hell Boy. WTF kind of power is that? Aqua Man?

Logically speaking, if people were to have superpowers, it wouldnt be like in Heroes or X-Men. That's bullshit. SUDDENLY, a man can conjure up a nuclear explosion when his parents had absolutely nothing to do with one. Or a man who can just FLY suddenly. Superpowers wouldnt just HAPPEN. They'd evolve. Slowly. A man might suddenly be able to levitate a little for a short period of time. A generation later and this power might increase in magnitude and duration until presumably tens of hundreds of generations later, his predecessors would be able to fly.

In that case, I FOR SURE would NOT want Peter's powers. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too messy. Something simpler would be better - like controlling fire, or the awesome control of metal, like Magneto.

A more intriguing source of superpowers would be blaming it on the stars. In other words: IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE!!! The prime example of this would be Superman. Guy crashes onto earth and comes with superhuman strength, speed, flight, and the inability to hide one's underwear. BUT IT'S ALL OKAY. Why? Bcos he's from outer space. So this kinda shit can happen.

Instead of raising our minds to the stars, let's just presume that human beings ACQUIRE powers. And just like *that* too. Without warning and with instantaneous efficiency. Enter Darker than Black. A world of "contractors". Beings who can use their superpowers, so long as they pay off their power in some way. An example would be the ability to stop time, with the payment being that the person ages backwards. Or the ability to conjure electricity, with the payment being having to sleep. That's a little more logical. And the source of this phenomenon, according to the storyline, is much too complicated to explain. Read it yourself.

As such, it would seem that the logical BEST superpower would be something PRACTICAL, USEFUL, DISCRETE and FREE.

And based solely on this, I choose Magneto's mutant power. The ability to control metal, with the advanced level of this being the ability to control electromagnetic waves.

HOWEVER, after a little deliberation, the better side of me kicked in. Out with practicality, usefulness, discretion and savings. Eventually, this power would become my life. I would rely on it. And turn myself into a fat, lazy piece of useless crap bcos of this kind of superpower.

And so, I put it to you: Your superpower should not make your life. Your life should shape your superpower.

Your superpower should be a product of your past experiences, lessons learned, gains, losses, regrets, future hopes and security. It should be your safe haven. A reflection of you and your persona.

Your superpower should be EPIC, and EPIC from your point of view, and yours alone.

And in my search, there is no superpower that fits the bill of EPICNESS better than UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS.

The workings are simple. Unlimited Blade Works is a spell, upon which, it encases you and your opponent in a reality marble (a plane of reality of your making). And in this reality marble, it is littered with all the weapons and equipment you have encountered throughout your entire life. A conjuration chant of Unlimited Blade Works itself is poetic verse which is pretty easy on the ears.

Truly Epic. (There's a few vids of it on youtube im sure. Go and check it out.)

Oh ya, and New Moon STILL SUX.

a sad day indeed...

New Moon ticket sales have outsold Dark Knight ticket sales, and in just the midnight opening only.

It is truly sad day for humanity when the number of fat obese pimple-faced, low self-esteemed girls outnumber guys. That's what the ticket sales indicate. But i guess I should be happy. Since there are less guys than girls, wouldnt that make the stock value of guys go up? Great. I guess guys are now definitely worth more than the uncultured swine of the earth.

But in all fairness, I find it HIGHLY amusing - the portrayal of vampire and werewolves.

And i am also SADDENED.

There was a time, when vampires were truly HORRIFYING. They were chilling reminders of supernatural evil. And the very sight of one... could keep you sleepless for NIGHTS at an end. They would feed, mercilessly and indiscriminately, and spread plague and disease.

Badass shit.

Somehow... somewhere down the line... vampires and EMO became intertwined. And I blame the BLADE movies for that. Slowly but surely... Vampires became goth and emo and in the end, vampires were portrayed like stray dogs - lonely, sad, lacking human companionship, and always doing UTTERLY STUPID SHIT (see Edward in New Moon for example).

Someone needs to bring back the true VAMPIRE. The real horror of the night. The kind that you DONT want to bump into along a dark alley.

Now onto Werewolves. I subscribe to a Movie Trailer user on the tube, and i came across the New Moon trailer. And this time, they mentioned something about Werewolves. And the first thing i thought was "HOLY SH*T! The Beast of Gevauden! The prowlers of the night!" I remember seeking Jack Nicholson transform into a ravenous beast and i almost shit my pants.

As Peter Chao said, "[In New Moon] he turns into a DOG. Are u kidding me? Are u fucking kidding me?"

In the New Moon trailer, the guy jumps and turns into a large, overfed DOG. WTF. Not menacing at all. Not in the slightest bit. The only thing that scared me about it was godforbid that it mistake me for a fire hydrant.

So sad. Inglourious Basterds is the best shit ever.