If

I told you I'd prefer not to join you for lunch because I'm not hungry at all, and then proceed to get takeaway from the cafeteria, what do you think that means? If upon your return before lunch hour is over, you find that I had shut my usually open office door, how would you interpret that change? If I failed to acknowledge your presence in the clear floor-to-ceiling window pane next to my door, despite it obviously being in my field of vision; if I do not at all respond to your knocking, what, pray tell, would you take that to mean? If, after you decide to enter my office anyway, and to seat yourself without being invited to, and yet I continue to type away at my computer without looking up or giving so much as a grunt, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE THAT MEANS???

Those among you with at least weak grasp of thought and reason would realise that I do not - I repeat, DO NOT - want to be disturbed. But I must remind myself of the law of parsimony; that the explanation of any phenomenon should make as few assumptions as possible; that all else equal, the simplest solution is the best. I must cease to assume that intelligence exists amongst my colleagues. Until I accept and embrace this, I will have no peace.

Meanwhile, I'll just start being really bitchy about it.


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Coming up next...

Remember how I said that I wouldn't rant about my colleagues because it's pointless etc etc?

Well, according to facebook, Nostrils (a colleague) has started a quiz called "How White Are You?". It sums him up perfectly (that he's started the quiz, not that he's white - which he's not). It's a frickin' sign I tell you, a sign that it's time to introduce you to the people who've put the phrase "piece of work" in the urban dictionary.


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I was going to get into a big rant about my colleagues, but then I thought what's the use, it won't change anything, it'll just make me angry on a pleasant Sunday afternoon, and it won't be of interest to anyone who isn't in my worksphere.

So I decided to post this link instead. Enjoy!


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Follow the yellow-brick road.

The government agency charged with maintaining the population's mental well-being has chosen to commemorate World Mental Health Day (10th October 2008, in case you were wondering) with a free outdoor movie event.

The film? Wizard of Oz.

Stroke of psychotherapeutic genius or facetious choice that appeals to the masses? I'm torn. Perhaps the government is subliminally signalling support for the gold standard in a time where no place is safe for your cash. Or maybe it's the only film they can screen publicly without having to pay a royalty fee. It's probably that last one, hey.

Click here if you're (really) bored.


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I have had it with

spreadsheets. And curiously invisible dodgy cells that become apparent only after the fact. And cashflows, cashflows, cashflows. And converting millions to thousands. And making illogical assumptions sound perfectly reasonable. And then trying to translate into numbers. And trying to figure out formulas. And forgetting to stretch formulas across the entire project horizon after figuring them out. And horizons that move. And switching between countless versions of the same spreadsheet. And projecting forty years into the future. And then doing it all over again, repeatedly, until I get the NPV that won't get my head rolling. And being extremely careless in the meantime because after a while 4s look like 9s and 7s like 2s and dots look like commas and the subtotal row looks like the total-total row and everything JUST BECOMES ONE BIG UGLY CELL.

Beertime.


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I wish

people would stop talking about the financial crisis. It's not going to boost confidence in markets, and that's not good for any of us (except those who were smart enough to cash out several months ago - DAMN YOU). I am sitting on (unrealised) losses that could otherwise go towards releasing me from indentured slavery. I hate the lazy American folk who couldn't keep up with their mortgage payments. I hate wanker bankers. I hate Republicans.

I especially hate the fact that the people around me are almost thankful for the crisis because it gives them something to talk about, other than food.


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Keepin' the back where it belongs.

This morning I read that Jennifer Lopez finished a Nautica triathlon - a half mile swim, 18-mile bike and a 4-mile run - in 2 hours, 23 minutes and 28 seconds. If you recall, she had twins in February this year. Fathered by a man likely to be a vampire. (Matthew McConaughey also did the triathlon, and if you're having ripped-body-withdrawal, as I imagine most girls in The Pore do, I would strongly recommend checking out pics of him emerging from the swim.)

I haven't been to the gym in over a month and although I lost weight for P's weddings, it has slowly but surely crept back in the most unflattering places. So this is me making an online commitment to get back to the treadmill and weight machines, STAT. Because if I don't then you have the right to point and laugh at my saggy butt.


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Aww...

I'm...

...thinking of getting BOTOX injections to reduce my masseter muscles thus giving my jaw a slimming effect. Thoughts?

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Every horoscope I've read predicts that my "ego energies", "physical energies" and "intellectual and mental energy" will be running at an all-time high for the next few weeks, putting me in the mood to be "cruising for a bruising". Just yesterday I very nearly succumbed to getting dragged into a (e-mail) fight with an astonishingly immature and bitchy man at least twice my age (who spends much if his office hours designing nets and traps for wild birds - another reason why he doesn't deserve to live).

Hence the need to identify various new insanities where I can channel this overflowing fountain of energies, instead of picking fights at work.

(Although I reckon I could give that wimpy bucket of lard a good beat down in five seconds flat. Even my colleague's nostrils - which are larger than his beady little eyes - are starting to offend me in a way that begs for some sort of physical remedy.)


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It's lunchtime.

And since I'm not eating and sick of work, it makes sense to spend time enriching myself with the vast but often useless or questionable information available on the interwebs.

Might I trouble you to direct your attention to this Wikipedia article?

I would also like to highlight the following para, for its unbeatable GROSS factor:

"The first lip balm was actually made out of earwax. It was functional, but the taste was undesirable. However, its popularity has grown in recent years. A small but growing fan base, committed to the use of all-natural products, touts its use as a superior organic alternative to other varieties of lip balm."

So what are you? Wet or dry?


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Ramadan Watch (I)

Day 2:

Light-headed with significantly diminished response time. Example being frantic search for mobile phone which was located literally right in front of me exposed on a white sheet of paper. Extreme air-conditioning not making it any easier. During three hour meeting, only thought in head was big bowl of steaming hot and extra spicy beef and kimchi noodle. I've never tried kimchi before. But I sure love beef. Also having to go to the loo fairly frequently despite not consuming anything. Rather embarrassing.

On bright side, belly has returned to flatness similar to that when was 18.


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Hunger.

It's been too long for it to be jetlag; the dogs, frogs and other neighbourhood animals have let silence prevail; and the blasted beetle has finally been banished from my bedroom. And yet sleep is far removed. Is this - insomnia in a person who can usually fall asleep as long as there's something to lie on - a symptom of the quarterlife crisis I thought had been exorcised some months ago?

The spate of weddings this year, particularly that of a good friend in recent weeks, have forced me to question if I can continue believing that my life as is would satiate the hunger of my remaining 20s (and perhaps, early 30s).

It would be an easier question to answer, if I could first figure out what exactly I'm hungry for. Knowledge? I'd like to think that I've already, successfully, taken an active approach to fulfilling that need. Travel? I believe I'm doing as much as I can within the constraints of time and money. Job satisfaction? As before, getting as much as I can within the constraints of time and money. Money? I occasionally envy people with the infamous "hunger" to make a whole lotta money, simply because it makes life so much easier in terms of knowing what to do. But I do just lack that passion. Physical prowess? Work in progress. And then there's the social life - I have what I need and anything more depends on the quality of supply.

Oh yes, companionship. The sort that provides for solicitude and empathy, acceptance and understanding, with liberal lashings of sexual desire and gratification. Emotional sustenance you can't get from a cat (or dog), or any amount of alcohol or chocolates, or religion. Thus far I had embraced the belief that the Big Ones were knowledge, travel and job satisfaction (and physical prowess, although I'm certain the reader would disagree). Companionship was something that happened to most but not to others, and that even when it does, it's just something that comes along when you least expect it.

This afternoon I had lunch in a restaurant next to a table at which sat a man who looked to be in his 40s, and his parents who looked well into the twilight of their lives. The mother, stooped and trembling, just barely managed to slowly ease herself into a restaurant chair, while the father remained in his wheelchair. The man did not bother to run through the menu with his parents, possibly as his choices were limited to the few dishes that his parents could actually consume, given their advanced years. When the food arrived, the man took turns between arranging more manageable pieces on his mother's plate, and spoonfeeding his father with a broth into which some rice was mixed. Every now and then his father would let dribble what which he could not ingest, and the man would have to clean this up with a blue towel that must have been thoroughly soaked by the end of the meal.

How fortunate it was for the aged couple to have each other, and a son who clearly cared for them despite the obvious inconveniences imposed upon him.

What happens when I get that old? I'm doing what I can to ensure that I maintain physical and mental health in old age, but shit happens you know. And when it does, only a lucky few have the real option of ending it all. I've always thought it faintly disgusting that some parents, particularly Asian ones, have children as a sort of "insurance policy" for their enfeebled futures. But wait, children aside, can I really leave it to chance that I might spend the next 50 years devoid of companionship? Is "alone but not lonely" a sustainable concept? Is this PMT masquerading as a quarterlife crisis?

In any case, there's not much I can do about it. So I guess, proceed as is. I'm starting to feel sleepy anyway, and I haven't decided if I should go to Thailand or the Philippines next. Or maybe Laos?

Cambodia?

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Enough of the broody soliloquy click here for some retro Japanese craziness!


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