What he said...

There is only one inborn error[in humans], and that is the notion that we exist in order to be haapy... - Arthur Schopenhauer-

Dear blog,

Oh how I've neglected thee.

Death accompanies a birthday. The ironies in life...

To Shobaan

The world will never know what a great, mother-chucking gynecologist you would've been.
Rest in peace my brother.

Oceanchild, calls me...

Ah The Beatles. During the last 6 days, I've had 6 Beatles song stuck in my head. Joy. At least it's good music eh. Beats having to listen to Umbrella-ella-ella-ella.

Murakami = Gold

Word....

So fucking bored......

Right. So apparently my blog's a bit emo. Now personally I don't quite like the word emo. What does it mean? What would one mean when one labels a person emo? I have a vague idea of what people consider emo to be, but honestly how the fuck is that considered emo? A person who condones killing himself constantly but doesn't do it but talks a lot about it anyway=emo? Or is it a person who doesn't like to mingle? I mean I don't know. There goes my vague idea about emo. There's no real definition is there. In fact, there's no logically cognitive way in which one can adress the situation of being called emo. Simply because the term itself is contradictory. I mean the semantics of the term is debatable at best. And emo music. Don't get me started.

So having said that. I've got one more exam. If that's remotely informative to you, dear valued reader. Probability. Come on Poisson process!

Also, apparently actuaries are very good at crossword puzzles. They say it's because actuaries have a high degree of memory retention and cognitive ability or something like that. Interesting.

Honestly, I've got nothing to blog about. Suffice to say, I'm killing time.

Times up. That was enjoyable. Slaying time! Binomial random variables rock!

How many people do you know whom you consider a real friend? Not so much the slightly superficial and materialistic notion of a friend i.e. someone who lends you their assignments/homework or a person who can get you into a club at half the price. The more deeply rooted kind, a person who knows you inside out, emotionally tuned into your frequency I suppose would be a good phrase. The question in retrospect could've been phrased slightly better, but I think you know what I mean. I suppose one could argue that a true measure of a friend encompasses the sharing of notes/assignments and then some. That would be a fair testament. Ah fuck it. Too many variables to think about.

Anywho, that was just a passing note. Something a person does when it's late at night with nothing to do.

What's the deal with God?

Seriously.

Right. Blog.

Personally I think this blog is a waste of space in cyberspace, but then again cyberspace is infinite in nature to begin with; so in a sense there can essentially be no waste in cyberspace. Such is the nature of cyberspace I suppose.

Having said that, I have nothing to blog about. Suffice to say, I don't get out that much.

One question. Why the FUCK do people insist on doing the pointlessly stupid meme on Facebook. The "How well do you know me" shit. It's a pandemic. A bloody pandemic I tell you. It's spreading faster than e. coli on a toilet bowl covered with shit. If you need a test to tell you how well you know another person than you are very much fucked indeed. Worst part is they keep coming up with new versions of the test. NEW VERSIONS!! One's not enough? How desperate can one get? And genius Facebook doesn't let me filter this shit. Thumbs up, Zuckerberg! You'd think after FIVE or so versions you'd at least allow this kinda shit. But NO! Fucking geniuses said, "Hey, let's not let them filter shit out so it annoys the living shit outta the people using Facebook so that we can change the layout again and annoy the living shit outta them again!" Brilliant!

I get that it's fun, although I can't conceivably conceive how doing a test on another person is fun, but seriously, versions of the same fucking test? VERSIONS? It's like asking you to name the colours of the rainbow in different orders. What's the point? It's still a bloody rainbow.

It's the mob effect I tell you. It's like that vampire thing game shit that went round last time.

Anywho. Angels and Demons. I'd recomend. It's not brilliant, but it sure as hell ain't bad. I think it's better than the Da Vinci Code. Tom Hanks still rules. Prob time. Out.

It's an odd feeling when someone dies. From a third person's POV I mean. Like those random deaths you hear of super stars, or when you flick through the obituary section of the newspaper. It's a bit weird isn't it. It's like the world stops for just a bit. Not long enough to cause a fuss, but short enough. It's like a winter's breeze on a midsummer's night, or a summer's breeze on a winter's day. It's not pleasent, but it's not rude. We know the propensity is there. The certainty of death breeds the uncertainty of life. But what is supposedly a vulgar necessity of life is shrugged off as a subtlety at that instant. And it's not sad. Not particularly. It's more pity. We think about who the deceased was when he was alive. What they did. Were they law abiding citizens. Was he a prick. How's the family coping. Was it expected. Did he have a religion. Did he really believe in God. Did he do what he wanted too.

Then it leaves us. We read the next page of the papers. Or some headline on the global financial crisis attracts our attention.

I find that aspect of death intriguing. It's a lingering feeling. It disappears conciously, but it stays. Subconciously, you're thinking about old people, they're kids, are they happy, are they alone. But I'm awed sometimes at the simplicity of it. It takes a woman 9 months to conceive. Years to become who you are. And gone in an instant. That's one heck of a process, dying.

But ultimately, we move on. C'est la vie. C'est la guerre.

All righty. Are we ready for a new post?

"Yeah!"

Can I get an 'Amen'?

"Amen!"

I said CAN I GET AN 'AMEN'?

"AMEN!!"

Peace.

That's what goes on in my head. Right. So what's been happening. I've been sick. As sick as one can get without having to skip Uni. In other words not really that sick. More uncomfortable.

So what to blog about. Noodle time....

I got nothing. Seriously. I mean, unless you'd be interested in random variables and Poisson distributions I highly doubt you'd want to hear what I have to say. Although, Far from the Maddening Crowd by Thomas Hardy. Good stuff. I like. I think we should stop comparing which book is better Beve. They're all pretty good books. I mean, we did manage to read through it eh. I just prefer Wuthering Heights to Little Women. What can I say.

Enough said. I've got to get back to my studying. Me falling sick and all didn't do me any good I can assure you. I'll come up with a proper post soon. Probably this weekend or so.

So long amigos.

Little Women by Louis May Alcott is a rather 'potong' book if you catch my draft. It's too lovey dovey I feel. Rather unnatural honestly. Meh. I like it and I don't. It's a 2 way thing. I reckon it's probably the era. Middlemarch was pretty lovey dovey, also, but much much less. I love Elliot's metaphorical representations, how she depicts moods and subtle juxtapositions. Quite sublime. I can't quite describe Little Women honestly. I suppose one can't help be drawn to the characters. But Geraldine Brook's March was quite exquisite really. Good stuff. But it's a much easier read Little Women compared to Middlemarch I find. The English was much simpler, descriptions less vivid. I feel it's a book quite reliant on dialogue. Not entirely uncommon.

Right. Now that that's done with. Some might be wondering.
"SHIT!! It's only been a week! But he's blogging! OMG!!"
Yea. I'm bored. I was bored before but I'm still bored so I'm blogging.

So let's get right into it. I went to get my Aussie license last week. So, I woke up early, round 12 ish. And with quite high hopes fuelled by mother dearest, I drove to the Vic Road office near by to get my license translated, or so I thought. So I walk in. Many people. Take number. Wait. number gets called. See lady. Asks, "I want to transfer my Malaysian license into a Victorian one, can I book a test now?". Now because of our-by that I mean Malaysian-very excellent driving-and testing I should add-standards Victoria, or specifically Australia doesn't allow a straight forward and very direct translation of licenses which merely requires you to show up at the bloody place, show them your non-Malaysian license, look pretty, take a picture, wait 10 minutes, and PRESTO your license! But NO!!! We Malaysians have to take a test. 3 tests in fact. So fine. I concede. Gimme the bloody tests. Or so I thought.

Right, I'm staring at the chick and the chick is staring at me. And she says.
"Nah, can't do love."
"Excuse me?"
"You've gotta take your L's, hold it for a year, then sit a test for your P's after a year, hold P1 for a year, then another 3 years under P2 then take another test, THEN get your full license."
"WTF!!!!!?????"
At this point I would like to shed some light. L=learner's permit as everyone should know. To advance from L's to P's is 3 tests. That's fine. 3's a bit much but hey that beats sitting in a stinking lecture room for, ah, 12(?) hours listening to some arsehole talk. It includes the hands on driving by the way. But here's the fucking beauty. You hold your P license for 4 years. 4 YEARS!! HOLY SHIT ANYONE?? But NO. That's not good enough. I've got to wait for 1 YEAR BEFORE I can dream of taking those tests. Which means I'm going to be an ILLEGAL driver in the state of Victoria until AT LEAST the 9th of February 2010. Sweet right! Now I wouldn't give a shit if I were studying in La Trobe or RMIT which is 10-15 minutes away from the crib. But I just so happen study in Melbourne University which ISN'T 10-15 minutes away. On top of that there are NO train stations near my house and the tram takes 1 and a half hours AT LEAST to get to uni.

That's just for starters. Once you've done your P's you've got to sit ANOTHER test to get your full license. *SIGH*(I'm trying not to curse too much nowadays) To be honest it isn't quite fair. I know why their doing it. Bloody Aussie kids can't stop killing themselves. Binge drinking is a big deal here. And naturally, DUI's are too. But I say can't you give allowance to people who already have a valid license? I mean sure, don't translate our licenses on the spot like the bloody Singaporeans. But the most they should do is subject us to the 3 tests and be done with it. I mean, I'm not a learner. I've already had my full license in Malaysia. It's quite retarded frankly. Just because the Aussie's are hoons, doesn't mean all foreigners are.

I'm not going to stop driving. Unless I move to the city which is never I can't stop driving. I could take a tram but it's 30 minutes to the tram stop. It takes me 45 minutes tops to get to uni by car. In my opinion this all stems from one original root. I won't dwell on it because it just makes me bitter. Suffice to say, I never really wanted a car. So, winging it this year then. Pray I don't get caught eh.

So I'm back in Melbourne. Good old Melbourne. Stinking hot Melbourne. 40 something degrees Melbourne. God I love this place.

I get asked a lot, "Why you go back so early?".

For instance:

A: Eh, when you leaving for Melbourne la?
Me: Ah, 29th January.
A: Oh, OK. Ah, when does uni start?
Me: 2nd of March.
A: Hah?! So late? Then why you go back so early?

OR

We are somewhere out.

Me: Hey man. I'm gonna call it a day man.
B: You going back already?
Me: Ah, yeah?
B: Why so early?

The conversation usually goes like this. My response is usually monotonic. Who'd blame me really, after getting asked so many times, who wouldn't have a semi-automatic like response. It's like when someone says "Hi" to you. You say "Hi" back. If your feeling particularly good you say "Hi!" with a vengeance. Just so we're quite clear, I never answer the question. People might think it a legitimate question, I find it rather rhetorical. I used to try justifying my statement but somewhere along the line it just became redundant. Like the thing hanging off the large intestines. Appendix. That's it. Frankly it's like asking why the grass is green. Sure you could go through the whole trouble of telling the other person what cells are and that-form 4 Biology, fail me not-chromoplasts(?) contain pigments which give it it's green colour which also help in photosynthesis. But at the end of the day no one really wants or needs to hear that. So in the end you just say, "Of course the grass is green what other colour could it be?". Now ignoring the fact that autumn comes that is an answer that would suffice.

Now I suppose you are reading a rather biased view to the arguement. Some curiosities are incurable. Like a cat who's waiting to be skinned you just can't help it. Dare I even say that to some it is a rather automatic response to my statement.
"Dude, I'm going back man."
"Why?"
I suppose on certain occasions my untimely statement does warrant a question. Some even an accusation not really wanting a response anyway. But really, what else is there to say. I mean there are reasons of course, but in the end do you really really want to hear about them? I'm not on the brink of some wildly informative breakthrough. So I like to leave it at that. Keep them guessing you know.
Why's he going back?
Hmm, maybe he's got to wake up early tomorrow.
Or maybe he's got an engagement to attend to.
Maybe he's turning into a zombie, the blood curling, body eating, semi-blind one but he isn't yet but he's feeling it and still has the presense of mind to excuse himself before he starts devouring his friends and cause a ruckus.
Or, on the outside chance, he's just tired and needs some rest.

They almost sound plausible eh.

I don't know. I don't think my self-imposed system of putting a time constraint to my posts is working. In retrospect it matters little. I'm supposedly supposed to write for me. That works I guess. Bygones.

So would you believe me if I said that all I have to say is up in my head and I'm too lazy to type it out. Fat chance I'd say. This leads however to an interesting paradox. Well, it's not really THAT interesting like the birthday paradox or I don't know, something else. Although if you think about it, the birthday paradox isn't really that surprising. Right, so if one thinks about it, one should realize that fat in Chinese culture means prosperous. In other words it's an indication of wealth, happiness, fortune, you know, good stuff. So-if you can't see where I'm going with this you must be pretty dense frankly speaking-if fat is a symbol of good fortune, then shouldn't the phrase "fat chance" be used to describe a relatively favourable situation. Rephrased, shouldn't the term "fat chance" be used in a sentence where by the outcome(s) or intended outcome(s) in question are favourable/likely?

Example:
A: Oh, the grass is going to be green tomorrow!!
B: Fat chance!

OR

A: Is Murray going to win the Australian Open this year?
B: Fat chance man.-Based on how he's playing, I really think he's going to win by the way-

See?

BUT

Such...ah...cognitive thinking-sounds about right-fails under inspection. Realize that the word fat in this "proof", if you will is, biased. I have taken an utterly one sided view in this argument i.e. the that only Asian people-Chinese was too narrow a group-associate fat people with prosperity. And since social norms are set by society at large and the general consensus is that "fat chance" is to be a negative remark, at times cynical, it has remained so. Probably due to the stigma that fat people are ugly. Of course many of would beg to differ while simultaneously condemning my remark, however it is alas true. After all, do you not call a person fat when you feel particularly vindictive after a period of absence? The list goes on. Society wills it. Of course there's also the fact that fat people are generally unhealthy. That frankly is probably where it all started, the stigma I mean. Obviously the Buddhists didn't see the link between heart attacks and getting fat. And from there who knows. Maybe fat bookies were always lucky. Or maybe there was a guy named Fat who gave lousy odds. Speculations.

Fact is, my paradox is quite localised. But what can I say eh? Love those societal norms!

Thats about it. By the way, any good books? Most of the books I'm reading are by dudes who've been dead for at least 20 years. I figured I needed something...ah...fresh. Meh. Fat chance anyone's going to reply me frankly.