That is kup from n.y.d.c. by the way. Cool header, isn't it?

So cool that the whole n.y.d.c. idea is now incorporated into our website design project.

FYI, we are Alliance Designs. We are designing the webbie of Cafe by the Quad foc. While our classmates are dealing with 'imaginery' clients like Bill Gates and the Dean, we have edged out by working with real people like Sebastian and Aishah. We are damn cool lar.

Look out for it once we are done!

NTU's jam band plays at the Cafe by the Quad from 630pm to 830pm every wednesday. Cool place to hang out at, with great music muffling the chatter of the night crowd. But their spag sucks. Ha.

I get excited over simple things lae. A simple phonecall can get my heart beating to the max, exceeding the levels achieved pre-presentations and operations. What the hell right? Pulse racing at Alonso speed is not healthy I realised, especially when you had a very filling dinner before that. I felt breathless and unable to digest before and after. Although the objective is not met in the end, the 10min is enough to make me go high and yaya and sleepless for the night. Good since there is a pile of projects waiting for me to input my energies into and Champion's League tonight. Lala~ One More Chance (7/10) has been watched [alone] and wept upon.

Quote - 法官判我十年, 社会判我死行! 梁静茹 - 丝路 (8.5/10) is currently playing on iTunes. Ed's Quick Note:

One thing I found about ratings - a ten can't be awarded no matter how good they are, for what is left to give should a better one is uncovered? Make sense right?

The crowd @ SMU Us @ work The gals. Quoting Kyun-woo from "My Sassy Gal" - Just My Type Lar! The other side, but still fun lae.

When you are super cool but somehow got stuck in a mediocre school like NTU, feeling out of place will soon become inevitable. Having stepped into the cool realms of SMU, a fantastic 5min walk from either City Hall or Dhoby Gauht, one can't help it but feel a tinge of regret - what if I had chosen the road less taken. Nabeis. NTU sucks to the core la. Coming back from SMU, I have no moods to study or continue in this hugely depreciated scrap building whatsoever. Argh. From super cool underpasses, security systems, to lifts and escalators and kopithiams, everything's perfect man. It's little wonder that NTU students look weird when they dress up to school, while it's perfectly alright if SMU students did the same in their schools. 'Cos the surroundings and environment call for good dress sense mah. Duh! We suck lar. Sigh. On a consoling note, SMU offers 4 years courses, means higher living expenses [who won't when town is just nearby], means more money spent on clothes, means more chiobus to see, means more eye-candy, means we will study betta...OHH!! Sian 1/2. Considering that I had spent a bomb living in this screwed up place, I would be better off staying at home but studying in SMU right? I know. I shall save up from now and then move over to SMU for exchange next semester! Yesh, I shall. Failure is never an option now.

It's a wonderful weekend, especially so when I brought nothing back to study, instead concentrating on enjoying myself while it's still early. To mug that is. I did not:

#1. Update my bank book. Paper scraps are sticking out from it b'cos the book's run out of pages and every transaction my mum did for me has done the trick. #2. Come up with a transfer price for my Swedish Thonsten classmates. #3. Update my project management website, due Saturday midnight. #4. Design the flyers required of tomorrow's SMU trip. #5. Design the cafe gimmicks as required of me. #6. Rub my scarred fingers with Vit E cream. #7. Send out that pathetic sms already.

Close proximity is a strange thing because when you are that close, you appear further from it. As if making a point to prove the statement of irony correct, the amount of water I'm drinking is increasingly diminishing despite the fact that the cooler is just outside my room. And I mean just. Or like how I gotten late to school everyday despite the fact I have moved a good 10mins nearer to it by shifting halls.

1. Graeme Souness didn't show up on my tv screen. 2. Steven Taylor got sent off much earlier. 3. The referee is not such a weakling. 4. Shearer not scored. 5. Newcastle emerging victorious in a game which we were clearly the better side.

Knn. If every weekend is like that, I rather quit soccer.

You look forward to watching your team win every weekend and reading ESPN over and over again about a triump. But then when your fuck up team wins 1 in 6, never wins on the road, never wins 2 in a row, never having a fantastic record at home, you would very wish you can at least be at the stadium hurling vulgarities at the cocky opponents.

Today was very much worse. Newcastle's the vistors. The very man that had sold all the best players at the club, only to sell out on the club days later is coming back to Ewood. Knn. Fucking cocky face. He is only a-tenth as good as what plundits agreed. He is your average weekend fantasy football manager. He buys players any CM player will buy at overrated prices at desperate moments. Selling Robert, Bellamy, O'Brien, Hughes and Butt on the cheap. Getting Parker, Emre, Brumsong, Luque and Owen for so many millions. Then selling Jenas to plug the increasing debt. Fuck up management.

Newcastle won b'cos Given [former Rovers] is their only player that is good. They won b'cos Shearer [former Rovers] enjoys scoring against us. That's 10 goals against us since leaving. Nabeis. Lastly, they won b'cos the referee was weak. He should have sent off Taylor ages ago. If it was Savage or Bellamy or say Rooney in the shoes, they would be off. Knn. Eventually when he was sent off, the commentator would say we were losers, we were always trying to get players sent off. Eh, take off that screwed up commentator, whoever he is lar. Knn.

I hope Newcastle crash and burn from now on. I don't think I need much hoping b'cos any team with Souness at the helm would never make it into the top 4. I'm sorry Owen made a huge mistake by quitting 1st L'pool, and then Madrid, and now joining this bunch of losers from the North East. I hope they go bankrupt in the years to come.

I like my current batch of players. They are full-blooded males throwing themselves into tackles that would crippled anyone. Savage, Neil, Tugay, Bellamy, Neilson, Mokoena, Todd, Dickov, Flitcroft, Reid. We are branded as dirty. I don't care. I hope Mark Hughes can solve our attacking. We can't score and we can't win and it's fucking frustrating for my weekend viewing.

I don't care if we're the dirtest team around.

Carrying a bagful of posters, a laptop, and 2 mega huge banners, I looked for my mates in a sea of steamboat tables and steam. Not looking the smartest in my lok kok attire, I found my primary school friends sitting at a table in the middle, thus forcing me to squeeze my way in, saying a few sorries along the way. People were amazed when I told them I still have primary school outings now. I mean not 2 or 3 lae. It's 14 this time, and on a more fortunate day, it can easily hit 20. Anyway, everytime we met, I perform my formalities of asking around where they studying/where they working/when they ord, which has served me well in my interaction. It's strange because we only told each other these 9 months back. We were obviously not listening then. It's like asking how old your relatives' kids are at every CNY. Formalities lar. Starting mah. Shy. The guys were shy, sitting at one table chatting among themselves, with me entertaining the 4 gals, looking like the confirmed chao buaya to the common outsider, until Kaven came along. I not buaya lar. I believe that ying and yang interacts better and talking to guys can be a real bore. Fuck, now I sounds like one.

The thing about Zhen Fa is that they are conjested and their food is poorly done (we have to wash the crabs and clams ourselves). The meat are so full of zup that makes the hotplate so watery and easily chao tah. The need to change the aluminum foil arises after every round of cooking. The poor service from their employees didn't improve things.

It was the third consecutive 'sleep at 4 and wake up at 8' session. The previous 2 were due to resume writing and BS recruitment interviews. Today was the day I would remove my stitches and end my regular visit to SGH, K Clinic. Despite having less stitches this time round, the nurse was particularly unfriendly. When the pair of scissors were not cutting the thread, they were nibbling at my flesh. Just imagine lar. Before going for the scheduled Bloomberg workshop, I found myself laxing in the sofas of National Library. It was super condusive, I tell you. And the books there are aplenty. Impressed me alot. Bloomberg was less fun. The main office was impressive, the training room was top notch. But seriously, other than being impressed, I learnt nothing. Ok, I learnt something. Like ESPN was a subsidary of Walt Disney. Or the wrestlers in WWE were important business players in the listed WWE company. Or Bloomberg has a very tempting open-concept pantry where the employees are free to eat the huge variety of candies. Or that Ron Sim looks more like a provision shop owner to me. Moving on, I'm changing my URL to http://whenweplayitshakeyourass.blogspot.com in a week's time. That's a fair enough warning, I guess. I can't stand the suspicious comments and links lar.

I'm damn sick of those comments. It's like a viral attack. I'm sure nobody was writing it. In an effort to remove myself from such shit, I'll move my blog to a damn cheem and hard to even comprehend URL in a week's time. Should I write down the damn URL here? Guess not. Afraid that those comments would just follow me around. But that would mean I lose a great deal of readers, if I ever have readers. HA. Frankly speaking, who writes a blog without the intention of having readers. That will be a total conflict of interest with the own self and he/she would be better off writing a mini diary right? Nvm, I got some time to think about this issue. And an URL. Any suggestions are welcomed. HA.

The previous bad experiences at Polyclinics failed to educate me sufficiently. After skipping the grooming session that formed part of AB218, the keh zhua me decided to do something good to myself. Online I went to search out the nearest polyclinic, which was a good 45minutes [15min bus 15min train 15min bus] away from me. But I reminded myself that this wound will not be assigned to any cleaning till I take out the stitches. Part of me very much wanted to keep the original bandage b'cos it was superbly done with little fuss, 'cept that it was threatening to fall off. The other part of me concluded that the Metro doc must have forgotten to give me cleaning instructions. In the end I would end up worse. The polyclinic nurse simply could not dress my stupid fingers. Flashbacks of the grumpy 'bee-cee' at Hougang began to haunt me. This time, minus the grumpiness. I don't know if it's true but I actually blamed the sloppiness to the cheapness of the medical services. Polyclinics have in fact become a hunting ground for students, disgrunted workers, NS men and Banglas, jamming up queues for real patients like me. A huge bunch of perfectly alright xiao-hun-huns and a Bangla were my enemies today, with the latter creating a huge din with a doctor b'cos he wasn't given a MC. Fuck off lar. Before I get carried away, I must remind myself the news bulletin that I saw earlier on. It was regarding the charging of 2 chinese males for portraying extreme racism in their blogs. Curious me immediately plunged into the midst of the action, navigating my way around the famous blogs in an attempt to get a hold on what was exactly written. I mean, maybe what they wrote have some truth in it. We don't hate them for no reason, do we? Oh yes, we do. -Endnote- Has Mr Miyagi become the spokesman of all local bloggers? His articles were all over Today, and now he is been interviewed by CNA for this incident. I now declare him the Chief of Blog. He wins all lar.

The hol is unlike one. I still have a module in this mini week, some career talks and resume and interview course, plus the grooming crash course that Prof Soh has been pushing us to go. "It's free, it's useful, you guys need it." Quite true lar..we guys need it. Plus projects plus BS recruitment plus readings plus preparing for cashflow and forex plus talking to nus and smu yayas plus tis plus tat. I need a life. A breather. Breathe breathe.

I'm back! Back on the rag, and ovulating Shan't go through the minute details of the op. The faint-hearted surely would not want to hear about it. I swear, you won't want to be in my shoes. The op was like erm..imagine extracting 20 teeth, brute force coupled with pliers and hammers. I'm not exaggerating. I was conscious for the entire hour. It was an eyeopener and I tried to absorb and observe as much as possible in this fruitful-once-in-a-lifetime event. Hearing from me is worth so much more than watching E.R., but then again mine is a small op, although to me it's a great deal. I tried to make it as light hearted as possible before going in, part reason being that I desperately wanted to keep the nails, which made interaction with the medical staff more than just a mere formality. In worse terms, I was simplying sucking up to them, degrading myself to clown status in order to get what I want. I gathered that I would have succeeded even without trying, just by seeing how foolish I looked in the operation gown, which I wore the supposed-insides, outside. When I finally got it right, I walked out casually, fiddling with the white 'cap' which I concluded that it must be my operation cap. "You haven wore it ar?" "I'm going to wear it now." "Wear here? The disposable underwear?" Shucks! And so I made my 3rd trip to the changing room, attempting to wear this disposable thing, but to no avail. It had to be a woman's undie, or a child's. And so I went in, underwear-less. The surgeon was a lady who looked more fitting in a Metro Store selling comestic. Her assistant had captivating eyes that generated a great deal of interest within me. I had to constantly remind myself to observe the surrounding, and at times I had trouble peeling my eyes off her. It was a local operation, local meaning only my right hand was numbified. My arm was handcuffed at 2 critical areas to stop blood from flowing into my hand altogether. So you can imagine how stifling and uncomfortable my right chest was feeling. Westlife music was playing in the room. Her eyes are damn beautiful. My hand was treated like that of a pig's for that hour. It was cleaned and washed with antiseptic solutions that looked like the thick bbq sauce from Mac. And then the injections. They were all over the place, at locations where you thought would be most painful. That weak and soft spot at the wrist, the palm, into the fingers. Dammit! And off they go, cutting open the skin, hammering my bones into place and pulling the screws out with sheer strength, blood spluttering out. Awwww... I was getting restless. Despite being painless, it was very uncomfortable lying on half a bed with the right hand extending into mid air for an hour. It was like standing still in a parade. I had to fidget my toes to keep my body from excessive shaking. Cooperation with the doc is of utmost importance here, I decided. Rocking the table while she's operating is a nono. And then it ended. I was bandaged up, and they returned me the implants. There were 20 screws and 3 bronze plates and one long wire. At first, I thought there were only 3 big screws in my fingers, as observed from the X-rays. The 'big screws' were actually the long bronze plates used to join my bones together, and the 20 screws were used to punch into my bones so that the bronze plates are in place. That explains the grunts' strength used in extracting. After changing into my civilian clothings and collecting my mc, I'm back home with a disability. Disability to write, disability to type fast in MSN, disability to pull out whatever are in my right pockets, disability to bath properly, disability to eat properly. For a good 2 weeks. At least it's over. And I can bullshit about it for the weeks to come. I had the imagination that this experience could give me bargaining powers over anything. Y'noe those 'been there done that seen it all' feel. I know it's false, but it makes me feel good. Everything that is good about my life has been taken out from imagination. Hehe.

Knn. I feel weird somewhere. People are posting 'encouraging-on-the-surface' comments in my blog almost as soon as I post a new entry. Let's see whether the praises keep coming in..hmn.. Me blog no place for free advertising, you knnbccb mother-fucker-son-of-a-bitch! Bleh!

12 hours from now, I will be suffering from 皮肉之痛! On the impending surgery which will mark a remarkable comeback for my once crippled-beyond-a-flicker-of-a-doubt right hand, I wish myself great luck. I would have gladly accepted the fact that the metal screws will stay in me forever. Even though that will mean I can never crack those knuckles again. Even though the metallic part of me will create eternal problems at the customs. I am damn proud of these screws. My right fist looks mean and full of menace. It smells powerful and feels capable of punching the living hell of any punk. It makes me feel special, invincible, X-rated, super, super X-rated, etc. I hope the doctor will let me keep the screws. Then I will hang it round my neck and show it to my friends. But first I have to overcome the dreaded excruciating pain that comes with prying open the skin to remove something that is so embedded within the flesh. Ouch! Wish me well!

I safely conclude - Project Superstar thrash S'pore Idol left right center. On Kelly vs Kelvin, I guess the biggest losers are those who always claim Kelvin kelong his way to victory. Conspiracy theories evolved just about anywhere from every mouth. 'He won b'cos he is the first blind singer and this would be good for the market' or 'Kelly lost b'cos Universal music is superior to Play Music' or 'He won b'cos he has alot of aunty fans' and many many more. The fact that the final result is so dependant on the voting means that you can never rule out a lousy winner. No kelong k? Singapore very fair. He won fair and square, albeit with the help of aunties. But aunties still S'porean leh. Talk cock right, only young pple can vote ar? I guess Kelvin is a good winner. He very much wanted to win, seeing from his sian look after losing every round to Kelly. He is a modest person as well. And he is damn brave. Just imagine the amount of bad publicity that is already on the various forums. Good thing he won't be able to read them. And talking about reading, he makes the greatest champ. Great champs spent lotsa hard work. Imagine him memorising lyrics. Not easy k? How often have we tried to figure out what the fuck Jay is singing, only to fall short and turn to the Internet for help? Kelvin probably has to forward and rewind his mp3 player till it lan diao lor! Knn. And I believe this victory meant alot to him. More than any other Superstars out there. He will go far, trust me. Talks about him being an one-album wonder are rubbish lor. Thrash talking. These pple aren't even in the business in the first place.