Tuesday, November 4, 2008
2 weeks
Today I was supposed to tell him this:
" Dear P, you have the biggest and meanest laugh i have ever heard. It is so hearty. Yet, everytime I am around you, I feel that you have this sorrow. It makes me want to reach out to you and give you a very big hug. It makes me want to make it better for you. From the very first day.
Maybe God said I should be your angel. Maybe 2 weeks of hugging will cure your sorrow. Maybe just 2 weeks with me."
Course, how do you say something like that? Course I was way too tongue tied. Course upon one sway vibe, i was convinced enough to regress.
Sigh. Too fuckin chicken shit to live.
" Dear P, you have the biggest and meanest laugh i have ever heard. It is so hearty. Yet, everytime I am around you, I feel that you have this sorrow. It makes me want to reach out to you and give you a very big hug. It makes me want to make it better for you. From the very first day.
Maybe God said I should be your angel. Maybe 2 weeks of hugging will cure your sorrow. Maybe just 2 weeks with me."
Course, how do you say something like that? Course I was way too tongue tied. Course upon one sway vibe, i was convinced enough to regress.
Sigh. Too fuckin chicken shit to live.
Everyday I'm Hustlin
Goodbyes are never easy, save for the times you just can't wait to get out of that awkward situation. Evasive eyes and shifty feet make for very very quick exits.
As my ex-boss would quip, to every proper English school teacher's daughter, even the bad feeling byes must seem good. Even riddance is good!
And yes, just in case you did catch my quick thrown in, yes, i did say ex.
So i quit my job. The job I always thought was my dream, the one i saw when i closed my eyes and imagined. And yet in a day filled with goodbyes (which I must admit i avoided like the plague) , never did i really once feel all that good.
Don't get me wrong, long ago it was decided that there was little room for any kind of regret whatsoever. But I guess after you have given so much to the war, the irony is that it becomes hard to sleep without the sounds of the guns.
Where the struggle has taken its toll on the sunshine of your glow, why does liberation bring forth renewed emptiness?
Maybe we complain about the dirty rat race, but secretly shudder to leave the cage, content to circle within the boundaries of bottle- neck familiarity.
It truly is a big big world where the power to roam free draws in its counterpart of uncertainty.
The toss up. The neccessary statistician in all of us, always weighing the pros and cons.
For tonight, I think i will celebrate choice despite the risks it brings.
Maybe tomorrow I will celebrate the power of my liberation despite the doors that have already been closed.
Perhaps bye is good for on we move.
As my ex-boss would quip, to every proper English school teacher's daughter, even the bad feeling byes must seem good. Even riddance is good!
And yes, just in case you did catch my quick thrown in, yes, i did say ex.
So i quit my job. The job I always thought was my dream, the one i saw when i closed my eyes and imagined. And yet in a day filled with goodbyes (which I must admit i avoided like the plague) , never did i really once feel all that good.
Don't get me wrong, long ago it was decided that there was little room for any kind of regret whatsoever. But I guess after you have given so much to the war, the irony is that it becomes hard to sleep without the sounds of the guns.
Where the struggle has taken its toll on the sunshine of your glow, why does liberation bring forth renewed emptiness?
Maybe we complain about the dirty rat race, but secretly shudder to leave the cage, content to circle within the boundaries of bottle- neck familiarity.
It truly is a big big world where the power to roam free draws in its counterpart of uncertainty.
The toss up. The neccessary statistician in all of us, always weighing the pros and cons.
For tonight, I think i will celebrate choice despite the risks it brings.
Maybe tomorrow I will celebrate the power of my liberation despite the doors that have already been closed.
Perhaps bye is good for on we move.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Some girls aspire to appear on the cover of Vogue. Some girls will burn their best friends for a shot on Forbes top 100 list. Some girls believe that tupperware is enough to warrant a fetish. Some strokes suit some folks.
All women are different. But dare i commit that all women (and men quite frankly, even though most of the time it IS hard to believe) ALL women desire to fall in love, even if they won't admit it. Being in love of course is very different from lov-ing.
Puppy love is really where it starts. Where that intense rush called "catch me I'm falling" (thank you boyz 2 men) really sinks its teeth. And before you know it. You're addicted. It's really not your fault. Can anything feel better? What else should compel a girl to rip off her clothes and allow her peeing device to interact with someone else's peeing device? Okay. Never mind. Dont answer that, especially after tupperware fetish.
Anyways. The academics claim that we, like all other creatures on this earth, strive toward an ultimate fulfilment only to be found in procreation. Survival of the fittest has rendered the laws of attraction to go beyond the mere scope of physicality, despite the true nature of the reproduction act. So why not fall in love with the new microwavable "glad-tainer" happily prolonging the macaroni and cheese casserole in your fridge for tomorrow's lunch and not about to displace itself. You don't eat, you don't live. One has to admit, "Glad-tainer''s qualities are beckoning.
Qualities! We fall in love with qualities. That nose, those eyes, that exquisite taste in cars and sometimes even just that plain good heart. Not all of us have checklists at the forefront of our consciousness. Yet we constanty seem to be running through personal preferences.
So what makes you tick?
Some grave reflection has enlightened me on the exemplary qualities that make up my Starbucks concoction of a dreamlover:
Firstly, since physical appearance is the first point of contention. You would walk down the street and not notice him, the preference lately seems to sway towards short, fat and physically as unhealthy as possible.
Secondly, he is a man in a position of power, ever so ready to teach me a thing or three, thus furthering my stubborn insecurities pertaining to the bottomless goal of perfection.
Thirdly it is his dark cancerian nature, which almost instantaneously homes me in and gnaws at my desire to soothe all his sapping insecurities. Your rock of gibraltar? Please. Allow me.
And fourth and finest, his exceptionally stunted attention span. Where all the right was bestowed on him to squander his loving affections on me one day, and Mr Scrooge them for the rest of the 364 days. Christmas does only come once a year.
So as you probably have already thoughtfully concluded. I fall in love with men who usually fail to fall back in love with me. Which is really quite awesome, because it just means that tomorrow I get to wake up and dream about love all over again. Dear covergirl, you tell me whose smiling now?
All women are different. But dare i commit that all women (and men quite frankly, even though most of the time it IS hard to believe) ALL women desire to fall in love, even if they won't admit it. Being in love of course is very different from lov-ing.
Puppy love is really where it starts. Where that intense rush called "catch me I'm falling" (thank you boyz 2 men) really sinks its teeth. And before you know it. You're addicted. It's really not your fault. Can anything feel better? What else should compel a girl to rip off her clothes and allow her peeing device to interact with someone else's peeing device? Okay. Never mind. Dont answer that, especially after tupperware fetish.
Anyways. The academics claim that we, like all other creatures on this earth, strive toward an ultimate fulfilment only to be found in procreation. Survival of the fittest has rendered the laws of attraction to go beyond the mere scope of physicality, despite the true nature of the reproduction act. So why not fall in love with the new microwavable "glad-tainer" happily prolonging the macaroni and cheese casserole in your fridge for tomorrow's lunch and not about to displace itself. You don't eat, you don't live. One has to admit, "Glad-tainer''s qualities are beckoning.
Qualities! We fall in love with qualities. That nose, those eyes, that exquisite taste in cars and sometimes even just that plain good heart. Not all of us have checklists at the forefront of our consciousness. Yet we constanty seem to be running through personal preferences.
So what makes you tick?
Some grave reflection has enlightened me on the exemplary qualities that make up my Starbucks concoction of a dreamlover:
Firstly, since physical appearance is the first point of contention. You would walk down the street and not notice him, the preference lately seems to sway towards short, fat and physically as unhealthy as possible.
Secondly, he is a man in a position of power, ever so ready to teach me a thing or three, thus furthering my stubborn insecurities pertaining to the bottomless goal of perfection.
Thirdly it is his dark cancerian nature, which almost instantaneously homes me in and gnaws at my desire to soothe all his sapping insecurities. Your rock of gibraltar? Please. Allow me.
And fourth and finest, his exceptionally stunted attention span. Where all the right was bestowed on him to squander his loving affections on me one day, and Mr Scrooge them for the rest of the 364 days. Christmas does only come once a year.
So as you probably have already thoughtfully concluded. I fall in love with men who usually fail to fall back in love with me. Which is really quite awesome, because it just means that tomorrow I get to wake up and dream about love all over again. Dear covergirl, you tell me whose smiling now?
Monday, September 8, 2008
Zing me in the morning
its official.
i have become an OL O ah. Proclaimed in the famed Hong Kong way, slang marang. Office Lady ah.
Yup. Rushing to my desk at 9 am. popping vitamin c, berrocca and whatever other kinds of drugs you think are "good" for you but really just get you through the day psychologically, as your ancient laptop chokes to start-up in the morning (cue the windows anthem)
Worrying about secretary spread as you insert potato chip after potato chip (hand carried from Italy but of course, by your devilishly skinny colleague after her insane buying trip last week, oh darling)- but still you shove on because somehow it momentarily takes the strain off the slew of commands your female boss just hurled in your direction, before she marches off to some 4 hour luncheon, which you can but only thank your lucky stars for.
To be continued...
i have become an OL O ah. Proclaimed in the famed Hong Kong way, slang marang. Office Lady ah.
Yup. Rushing to my desk at 9 am. popping vitamin c, berrocca and whatever other kinds of drugs you think are "good" for you but really just get you through the day psychologically, as your ancient laptop chokes to start-up in the morning (cue the windows anthem)
Worrying about secretary spread as you insert potato chip after potato chip (hand carried from Italy but of course, by your devilishly skinny colleague after her insane buying trip last week, oh darling)- but still you shove on because somehow it momentarily takes the strain off the slew of commands your female boss just hurled in your direction, before she marches off to some 4 hour luncheon, which you can but only thank your lucky stars for.
To be continued...
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Dear T
I never wanted to make this blog about me. I mean its nice to have some sort of a directional point of view and I always thought on expressing with a more social conscience. However as you are hearing ( or reading, whichever seems to work better for you, if anyone does or will ever read this), tonight it is and shall be about I,I,I.
Me.
I will admit, I have neglected this blog. Just as I seem to "neglect" a lot of things in me life. My buddette says I'm just so easily distracted aka all over the bloody place. I realise i am always 199% in one moment, that everything else may go to waste. But that is me, so god damn bloody focused when it comes to something I want and must have. Infected with daddy-lets-me-have-whatever-i-want syndrome, will someone out there offer up THE CURE?
Yet my heart has been infested with the "we can always make things better, so how shall we?". I always need to make you happy.
hmm a little give and take. Maybe this equation is not so bad after all. Maybe I should just keep wanting to make things good and people happy and hey, no one can fault me. Of course, the logical conclusion for the shameless people pleaser that inhabits my shallow skin. Who am I kidding, I just want you to love me. So afraid of being the passed over, the forgotten and the ditched to the side, hiding in a corner yet begging to be noticed, doesn't matter by who. Perhaps it is more reinforcing when you are picked out of the shadows, really makes you feel like THE ONE
Maybe I miss him and I want him because he gave me that high. He made me feel like THE ONE. Maybe I tell myself I am so in love with him because I am just chasing that adrenalin rush again, that whirling feeling of the world really just revolving around ME. Maybe?
I need a crash course in Vegas 101, because calculating my odds still leaves so many possibilities. I guess for now, at least I know what I want. So maybe it's just about how to go and get it.
Me.
I will admit, I have neglected this blog. Just as I seem to "neglect" a lot of things in me life. My buddette says I'm just so easily distracted aka all over the bloody place. I realise i am always 199% in one moment, that everything else may go to waste. But that is me, so god damn bloody focused when it comes to something I want and must have. Infected with daddy-lets-me-have-whatever-i-want syndrome, will someone out there offer up THE CURE?
Yet my heart has been infested with the "we can always make things better, so how shall we?". I always need to make you happy.
hmm a little give and take. Maybe this equation is not so bad after all. Maybe I should just keep wanting to make things good and people happy and hey, no one can fault me. Of course, the logical conclusion for the shameless people pleaser that inhabits my shallow skin. Who am I kidding, I just want you to love me. So afraid of being the passed over, the forgotten and the ditched to the side, hiding in a corner yet begging to be noticed, doesn't matter by who. Perhaps it is more reinforcing when you are picked out of the shadows, really makes you feel like THE ONE
Maybe I miss him and I want him because he gave me that high. He made me feel like THE ONE. Maybe I tell myself I am so in love with him because I am just chasing that adrenalin rush again, that whirling feeling of the world really just revolving around ME. Maybe?
I need a crash course in Vegas 101, because calculating my odds still leaves so many possibilities. I guess for now, at least I know what I want. So maybe it's just about how to go and get it.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Mr West and Mr Williams
Caution: contains whiny female voice
Double Caution: repeated viewing may cause a warm tingly sensation of excitement to form around the chest area.
Whose Your Daddy?
"Happiness is emotion in which one experiences feelings ranging from contentment and satisfaction to bliss and intense joy. This definition is, however, a synonymous one rather than one based on analytic evaluation, because of the varied and elusive nature of happiness. "
-Mr Wikipedia-
Singapore is on a hunt this month for the 'Happiest Singaporean'.
Top of the list Criteria: Everyday acts of kindness done with a smile must come easily. Not happy one day, down the next.
Quest Organizer: Mr Philip MERRY
Notable 'Happy Recipe' : A poor memory, so you can erase all the unhappy things from your mind.
I never knew it was possible to be HAPPY ALL THE TIME.
Philip was born to be Merry.
And if you ask me, constant re-allocation of daily memories sounds like good old DENIAL and a recipie for disaster.
Of course there is nothing like a little competition to bring out the "Kiasuism" a.k.a. inability- to- lose- out- spirit in all of us. And IF as a result, Singaporeans are challenged to smile more and walk around feeling happier and more kind, then hey, que sara sara.
Someone please refresh my memory- Is the President's Star Charity on in May or something?
To add to the mix, funny thing is when I flipped to the very next page of the Singapore Straits Times, there was an article titled: " Who says money can't buy happiness?"
Apparently, 2 Wharton business school economists contend that the richer a country, the happier its people TEND to be.
Isn't that a fine coincidence?
Fellow Singaporeans, best to chuck the Monday Blues. Work your bum bums off and make your country some dollar dollar bills. Apparently your smile depends on it.
On that note, could the Happiest Person in Singapore possibly THAT MAN, smiling above with a cool 3 million in his pocket every single year?
Oh Daddy, if I should be so lucky.
-Mr Wikipedia-
Singapore is on a hunt this month for the 'Happiest Singaporean'.
Top of the list Criteria: Everyday acts of kindness done with a smile must come easily. Not happy one day, down the next.
Quest Organizer: Mr Philip MERRY
Notable 'Happy Recipe' : A poor memory, so you can erase all the unhappy things from your mind.
I never knew it was possible to be HAPPY ALL THE TIME.
Philip was born to be Merry.
And if you ask me, constant re-allocation of daily memories sounds like good old DENIAL and a recipie for disaster.
Of course there is nothing like a little competition to bring out the "Kiasuism" a.k.a. inability- to- lose- out- spirit in all of us. And IF as a result, Singaporeans are challenged to smile more and walk around feeling happier and more kind, then hey, que sara sara.
Someone please refresh my memory- Is the President's Star Charity on in May or something?
To add to the mix, funny thing is when I flipped to the very next page of the Singapore Straits Times, there was an article titled: " Who says money can't buy happiness?"
Apparently, 2 Wharton business school economists contend that the richer a country, the happier its people TEND to be.
Isn't that a fine coincidence?
Fellow Singaporeans, best to chuck the Monday Blues. Work your bum bums off and make your country some dollar dollar bills. Apparently your smile depends on it.
On that note, could the Happiest Person in Singapore possibly THAT MAN, smiling above with a cool 3 million in his pocket every single year?
Oh Daddy, if I should be so lucky.
Friday, April 4, 2008
"I love GOLD"
My most favourite snack in the whole wide universe are GOLDFISH CRACKERS from Pepperidge Farm.
mmmm. yum.
Cheesy, crunchy, bite-sized, cute fish-shaped little pockets of wholesome goodness. Who could ask for more?
I'm sure we have all read the packaging on our favourite cereal, cookies or chips before. What goes into that instant delight? After you've read it the first time, or the second time, do you remember ever reading it again?
As I was popping some Cheddar (baked with REAL CHEESE har har) goldfish today, I glanced at the back of the bag.
And this is what I found (I know its tiny, just click on it to make it bigger):
I understand that tracing mazes is what 5 year olds indulge in. But the newspaper crossword puzzle fan in me, just could not resist.
Trying to start, made me think back to when I was 5, I used to always start a puzzle from the end and trace backwards.It just seemed easier and more efficient. It gave me a sense of direction.
How would you solve this maze?
Isn't it funny how what you thought at 5 would still seem to make so much sense to you at 25?
Where did I leave my early philosophy? Why do I find myself struggling at the mere beginnings of my ULTIMATE goal, when it is truly the end that matters the most.
So thank you Pepperidge Farm. I think you embody everything a favourite snack should be:
Goals .
Goodness .
Wholesome .
Fun .
A little inspiration for old and young.
Check out their website, http://www.pfgoldfish.com/default.aspx, you can read a comic about Finn the goldfish, and pick an ending for the story. There are 4 choices. A little cheese for the five year old in everyone. :)
mmmm. yum.
Cheesy, crunchy, bite-sized, cute fish-shaped little pockets of wholesome goodness. Who could ask for more?
I'm sure we have all read the packaging on our favourite cereal, cookies or chips before. What goes into that instant delight? After you've read it the first time, or the second time, do you remember ever reading it again?
As I was popping some Cheddar (baked with REAL CHEESE har har) goldfish today, I glanced at the back of the bag.
And this is what I found (I know its tiny, just click on it to make it bigger):
I understand that tracing mazes is what 5 year olds indulge in. But the newspaper crossword puzzle fan in me, just could not resist.
Trying to start, made me think back to when I was 5, I used to always start a puzzle from the end and trace backwards.It just seemed easier and more efficient. It gave me a sense of direction.
How would you solve this maze?
Isn't it funny how what you thought at 5 would still seem to make so much sense to you at 25?
Where did I leave my early philosophy? Why do I find myself struggling at the mere beginnings of my ULTIMATE goal, when it is truly the end that matters the most.
So thank you Pepperidge Farm. I think you embody everything a favourite snack should be:
Goals .
Goodness .
Wholesome .
Fun .
A little inspiration for old and young.
Check out their website, http://www.pfgoldfish.com/default.aspx, you can read a comic about Finn the goldfish, and pick an ending for the story. There are 4 choices. A little cheese for the five year old in everyone. :)
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Kimchi dance farts
The Missy in me is aching to watch this:
cos "I loveeee, being a b-boyy"
wouln't K-OS agree?
cos "I loveeee, being a b-boyy"
wouln't K-OS agree?
I Covet a Mars Bra
Women are from Venus, Men are from Mars. Fact? Scientific speculation? Metaphor? I'm sure even whiny, blanket- toting Linus could bear to part with his strawberry-flavoured right thumb to answer that. "Elementary, my dear Watson".
Not that I am one to credit myself with keen critical prowess or the likes. But a mission to Mars? Men really living on Mars?(We shall excuse Cambridge for its lack of gender diplomacy)
A hundred years?
Google?
Virgin?
Fuschia pink, titanium lined Mars bras?
The possibilities. The riddle.
My finger couldn't resist the click.
Would I play backgammon for three months with the same person to live on Mars? Tick.
Did I understand that light frequencies hitting the lunar system before the solar one could afford the possiblity of human transference from Earth to Mars based on the accuracy of intricately calculated action potentials deriving from the gradients of the universe? ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Tick.
Did I just answer 15 multiple choice questions on an application to live on Mars in a hundred years? Tick.
Was April a fool? tick.
Aw Branson, to think you actually had my hopes up.
Not that I am one to credit myself with keen critical prowess or the likes. But a mission to Mars? Men really living on Mars?(We shall excuse Cambridge for its lack of gender diplomacy)
A hundred years?
Google?
Virgin?
Fuschia pink, titanium lined Mars bras?
The possibilities. The riddle.
My finger couldn't resist the click.
Would I play backgammon for three months with the same person to live on Mars? Tick.
Did I understand that light frequencies hitting the lunar system before the solar one could afford the possiblity of human transference from Earth to Mars based on the accuracy of intricately calculated action potentials deriving from the gradients of the universe? ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Tick.
Did I just answer 15 multiple choice questions on an application to live on Mars in a hundred years? Tick.
Was April a fool? tick.
Aw Branson, to think you actually had my hopes up.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
youtube for education!
On an extremely irrelevant side note: March 29th, 2008- 8pm your local time is apparently Earth Hour.
I wonder exactly what 1 whole hour can do to save the world?
The Pilgrim Express
I thought admist all this bad press about Tibet and the Dalai Lama in the news, I would share a snippet of the joy that I encountered in a simple shangrila, rising 3000m towards the sky.
In my ideal world:
Headlines worldwide March 26th, 2008- "China extends a hand to the Dalai Lama"
Of course, from time to time, my universe has been known to be devoid of calculator-crunching economists.
Monday, March 17, 2008
Productive Pot
Don't you just love irony?
The active chemical in Marijuana, with a most unfortunate unpronoucable chemist- given name, one I shall not even bother to include here (bla bla bla tri bla bla bla bla), is bringing a little sunshine to Alzheimer patients in the western world. It apparently delays the progression of the terrorizing brain disease.
Who would have ever thought that pot (as it is affectionately termed to many) would someday become Pulitzer prize worthy?
"Fascinating", I quote the CNN presenter at the end of this news segment. My sentiments exactly.
Isn't Marijuana supposed to contribute to brain drain? Did it not inspire propaganda-ist movies like Reefer Madness, sending clear messages of an unproductive society high on pot, destined to become like french fries on their linen furniture?
I sometimes forget that what destroys always creates.
Calling all aging hippies, time to puff puff pass.
The active chemical in Marijuana, with a most unfortunate unpronoucable chemist- given name, one I shall not even bother to include here (bla bla bla tri bla bla bla bla), is bringing a little sunshine to Alzheimer patients in the western world. It apparently delays the progression of the terrorizing brain disease.
Who would have ever thought that pot (as it is affectionately termed to many) would someday become Pulitzer prize worthy?
"Fascinating", I quote the CNN presenter at the end of this news segment. My sentiments exactly.
Isn't Marijuana supposed to contribute to brain drain? Did it not inspire propaganda-ist movies like Reefer Madness, sending clear messages of an unproductive society high on pot, destined to become like french fries on their linen furniture?
I sometimes forget that what destroys always creates.
Calling all aging hippies, time to puff puff pass.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Time to invest in some E.Lauder stock
I just love surveys and polls. Statistics statistics statistics. Can you blame me? Psychology major, enough said.
So, yesterday during my breakfast run-through of the daily newspaper, I was tickled by an article citing a survey that Singaporean men placed a women's physical appearance at the top of their list when it came to evaluating their dating partners. The results were near unanimous.
Of course, this was necessarily polled from an assumed randomly selected population. Size: around 3800 men. Considering the minute amount of people that inhabit this little red dot- 4.5 million, and guess-timating that about half belong to the non-female species (2.25 million), 3800 does not even make 0.2 percent of all Singaporean men.
Nonetheless, the main argument of the article was not one I could dismiss. Women of Singapore: Run out and buy that bottle of creme de la mer already, you are certainly going to need it. The verdict is in, its no longer about the good girl/ bad girl (sorry Rhianna) , its all about that immaculately packaged barbie-doll. There is no running from the Mattel generation.
Le sigh, they always told you that men were visual creatures anyways, right?
So, my question is- how is that blind men still fall in love?
So, yesterday during my breakfast run-through of the daily newspaper, I was tickled by an article citing a survey that Singaporean men placed a women's physical appearance at the top of their list when it came to evaluating their dating partners. The results were near unanimous.
Of course, this was necessarily polled from an assumed randomly selected population. Size: around 3800 men. Considering the minute amount of people that inhabit this little red dot- 4.5 million, and guess-timating that about half belong to the non-female species (2.25 million), 3800 does not even make 0.2 percent of all Singaporean men.
Nonetheless, the main argument of the article was not one I could dismiss. Women of Singapore: Run out and buy that bottle of creme de la mer already, you are certainly going to need it. The verdict is in, its no longer about the good girl/ bad girl (sorry Rhianna) , its all about that immaculately packaged barbie-doll. There is no running from the Mattel generation.
Le sigh, they always told you that men were visual creatures anyways, right?
So, my question is- how is that blind men still fall in love?
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Hi, my name is..
I suppose this is an inaugural moment. My very first post. My foray into the trendy world of cyber-blogging. I suppose it was just about time to jump on that bandwagon.
I used to dismiss bloggers. I used to think they were a bunch of whiny-attention-seeking geeks with nothing better on their plate than broadcasting their routine everydayness online. " I woke up, watched the sopranos, ate lunch, took a shit and then took a piss." Great. No wonder the diary got bored.
But of course, as all phenomenons go, boy did this blogging business bloom to boom. Add a little advertisment space in the top left corner, blog about the latest band scheduled at your neighborhood pub, and while your at it, why not post a couple of pictures of the wedding you photographed the week before. Blogs stayed true to the philosophy of the cyber information highway. It became an invaluable resource-sharing tool and marketplace for commerce. From the struggling writer trying to build an audience for his work to Vogue.com reiterating to you why it should be your information source through its entire section dedicated to blogs. Start a blog and maintain your relevance.
I suppose thats all I'm trying to do. Profile myself in this alternate cyber-universe we now co-inhabit. Get with the times. I have been stubborn for too long.
So I guess this is hello and welcome to my frequency. If it is a piece of me i must share, then i sure as hell strive for it to be the best piece.
I used to dismiss bloggers. I used to think they were a bunch of whiny-attention-seeking geeks with nothing better on their plate than broadcasting their routine everydayness online. " I woke up, watched the sopranos, ate lunch, took a shit and then took a piss." Great. No wonder the diary got bored.
But of course, as all phenomenons go, boy did this blogging business bloom to boom. Add a little advertisment space in the top left corner, blog about the latest band scheduled at your neighborhood pub, and while your at it, why not post a couple of pictures of the wedding you photographed the week before. Blogs stayed true to the philosophy of the cyber information highway. It became an invaluable resource-sharing tool and marketplace for commerce. From the struggling writer trying to build an audience for his work to Vogue.com reiterating to you why it should be your information source through its entire section dedicated to blogs. Start a blog and maintain your relevance.
I suppose thats all I'm trying to do. Profile myself in this alternate cyber-universe we now co-inhabit. Get with the times. I have been stubborn for too long.
So I guess this is hello and welcome to my frequency. If it is a piece of me i must share, then i sure as hell strive for it to be the best piece.
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