I try my best to be a good person. And I realise I fail at it more often than I succeed. But the key thing is not to stop. Whatever happens.
Archive for July 2008
LOLCat Lively
OHAI. Yeah, I’m giving Lively a try because David Lian suckered – I mean, enticed me into it.
My very first attempt at creating an avatar left me with a cat…in a blonde wig. So not on.
Not that a cat, in a hat, in a red dress, is all that much better. I find Lively less of a tax on resources compared to Second Life. But perhaps lag will start to show once the user base increases. So far, I quite the like how easy it is to get used to. Create avatar, walk around, talk in rooms and explore, explore, explore.
Not sure what Google aims to achieve with Lively. Do we really need more ways to create cute avatars? Still, it’s cute. Anything that allows me to lolcat with impunity has to have some merit to it…
Hello, I’m a monster
One band I’m sentimentally attached to is Jars of Clay. Their song, Worlds Apart, was a personal anthem for many years, aptly describing how torn I was between what I was and what I thought God wanted me to be. But I’m less enamored of it now as I see some of the song’s lyrics exemplifying what I call the ‘Christian Guilt Complex’.
Did you really have to die for me?
All I am for all you are
Because what I need and what I believe are worlds apart
It irks me when I see the CGC-inflicted constantly self-flagellating themselves. To paraphrase Brutha in Pratchett’s Small Gods – you die for your family or your country, but for a God, you live a long, full, life. If you think you deserve judgement and punishment, you’ll find it in the afterlife. It’s called Hell.
So I have a new favourite song from Jars of Clay. The band’s sound changed quite a bit when their vocalist, Dan Haseltine, confessed to his bandmates that his life really was ‘worlds apart’ from the lyrics they were singing. In an interview, he related finally opening up to his bandmates and attempting to let them in, where once he put up his walls.
"OK, let me help you dissect this monster that I am, because it matters
to me that you know who I really am, not the guy that I’ve been
presenting to you."
He also said things that reverbated with me about my own personal and work relationships:
"We don’t really know each other. We’re
not really helping each other live out the bigger struggles. We all
have this stuff we’re dealing with, and it doesn’t even seem safe to
talk to each other about it."
So here and now, I’m going to attempt to stop hiding behind my walls. But I think I’ve learned some about the difference between being open and hurting the ones I love by disclosing things that should remain in the domain of quiet places.
Here and now, I admit I am a broken, imperfect individual. I am quick to anger, prone to tears and easily affronted. I wear my heart on my sleeve and sometimes, though I present a cold, stoic face to the world, I’m scared. And yeah, it’s OK to cry myself to sleep sometimes about things that really won’t be all that bad when I look back on them lately. Because maybe, maybe even angels cry.
"Even Angels Cry"
I whisper,"You don’t have to worry, we’ll survive"
Forced smiles underneath the brittle, frozen light
No proof that you’re alive
Cold fingers find the curve below your tired eyes
No comfort in familiar places, not this time
You hold it deep inside
Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
Walls are falling, letting in the light
No need to worry
Baby, even angels cry
No flood warnings, still the waters rise
Flowers through asphalt, Diamonds in the pockets of your eyes
Turn your face and hide
I saw a woman with ribbons in her hair
Old and lonely, so beautiful I had to stop and stare
The well will not run dry
Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
Walls are falling, letting in the light
No need to worry
Baby, even angels cry
Oh sister, if you wake up in the night
Walls are falling, letting in the light
No need to worry
Baby, even angels cry
Cry Sister, if you wake up in the night
Walls are falling, letting in the light
It’ll be alright
Baby, even angels cry
Baby, please don’t worry
Not tonight
Can’t we all just get along?
One of my housemates is moving out so now comes the absolute mafan-ness of finding someone to take his room.
And yes, I get quite a few inquiries but no one’s come to view it thus far.
Since said housemate is moving out next month, my tulan-ness sudah mencapai takat maksima.
Or so I thought until I got this one question in my inbox about said room.
"Are all the tenants Chinese?"
I felt like replying, "No, one’s from Zambia, the other’s from Afghanistan and another one’s Cambodian."
But then I realised this is West Malaysia where tolerance means "saya tak kacau kamu, kamu jangan kacau saya".
O my countrymen. You make me want to get a lobotomy.
Self-help or Psuedo-Crap?
So I am perving on Lifehacker again. I can’t help it. I love the site to bits – though my productivity goes to zero when I’m in the middle of lovingly perusing its archives.
And I find this excerpt of a book I feel I MUST HAVE. Scott Berkun’s Making Things Happen. It’s a book about project management.
David Lian says I remind him of a friend of his who loves self-help books.
Well, I like some of those things.
Brain Rules, for instance, RULES.
Another friend of mine, who I shall refer to as My Favourite Monkey or MFM, hates the things.
MFM says: "They’re all common sense wan!"
Well, some people just need telling.
Of course, some self-help books are merely stinking masses of psychobabble-ish crap.
But I can’t name the books because
1. I could get into trouble. I really don’t feel like dealing with the legions of cultists who will leave long, ranty comments on my blog.
2. Some of my friends swear by some of the titles I detest.
I don’t read the books about making money or getting to the top.
But I do read books like Rabbi Kushner’s When Bad Things Happen to Good People.
Sometimes you need reminders that you aren’t the only one hurting. And sometimes, the best people to talk to when you’re in a dark place is someone who knows what it’s like. Who can say, with truth, that they sat in the long darkness and waited for the light to come.
And it came. You know it’s true, because they’ve seen the end of the dark tunnel. So now that they can see, they can reach a hand out for you to hold on to until that day you can see too.
When things go to hell, I remember
I remember my Father who loves me.
The other father, who loves me too.
And the man who calls me his ‘good girl’. Ironic because it reminds me of a song I used to sing for the man who came before.
Underneath your clothes
There’s an endless story
There’s the man I chose
There’s my territory
And all the things I deserve
For being such a good girl honey
When faced with slander in the blogosphere
What do you do when people bring up old wounds?
Call you names?
Or complete strangers speak about things they know nothing about?
I’m going to do what I should have done all those frickin’ months ago.
I’ll shut up.
I Can Haz Neu Jobz?
more cat pictures
Well, I’m no longer editor of The Mag.
Instead, I’m editor of The Mag’s Website.
Which is made of supreme awesome.
I have a feeling that working on it will involve severe drama and massive amounts of stress.
But it’ll be fun. When it’s not giving me heartburn, that is.
I will also stoically accept the fact that due to my combustible nature and my innate attraction to drama, things are never going to be simple.
At least life’s never going to be boring, eh?
A shared addiction
Lainie and I have a habit in common-an unhealthy love of stationery. My newest fetish is the Moleskine. Beautiful but pricey notebooks.
And I picked up another one. With a faber-castell mechanical pencil. And a pretty canvas cardholder. I am doomed to materialist leanings.
Torres and Tolkien
I got flak from one person for having my signature in Tengwar in my Editor’s Note for The Mag.
Well, I feel vindicated to see Spain’s Fernando Torres with a huge tattoo of his name in Tengwar.
I consider this the best ‘up yours’ in any language. Hah.
