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The bridge between superhero comics and literary snobbery
Starting around the last quarter of last year, I began to take a renewed interest in comics, in a parallel to the black hole of intense Japaholic anime binging my other friends seem to have been sucked into, especially with Naruto. By the way, it is interesting how anime fans get all prissy when others mock them, when so many of them are quite the elitist bunch. What's wrong with calling what they read cartoons and comics? Because people, that's what they are. Anyway, I'm not here to say comics are art or not art or yadda yadda yadda, since such pretensions mean nothing to me. I just find it curious why many readers of comics seem to disdain Superhero stuff, giving the stories the same disdain others reserve for their own medium. It's a lot like how the fantasy genre needs to be re-packaged as speculative fiction or magical realism. Somehow, fantasy has come to mean "a poorly written rip-off of Tolkien, see: Goodkind, T." And if a comic book has superheroes in it, it's automatically a teenage boy wankfest of powers. I just finished reading DC's Identity Crisis and it was really quite good. Other notables I've read in the past few months: Fables (first six issues) Bone (first four books) Persepolis Watchmen Kingdom Come Maus Sin City Supreme Power (first 2 issues) The Hedge Knight And I can't remember any others. So, essentially, what I'm asking is, I'd like some recommendations. I'm not really planning on reading Gaiman or any more Moore for a while. I heard that Blankets is very good --- has anyone read it?
A random collection of words
You are not old yet, only twenty-five. You have still much to do: Causes to fight for, worlds to change, institutions to undermine, monsters to slay, princesses to rescue. It is only the beginning of your life. Every new day is the beginning of your life. Unless somebody bulldozes your house while you are sleeping and you get crushed by debris, then it would be the end of your life. You never know. But let us assume you survive the morning. That's the normal thing to do. You wake up. You pull open the blinds and the sunbeams crash through the glass, dazzling you where you stand. You blink. You stare in the mirror and see a pimple, ripe to be squeezed. Your fingers come together and the gunk splatters on the looking glass. Now there is blood on your fingers. And you lick them. You can do anything you want. You are young and you are beautiful. Nobody ever sees the bulldozer coming.
But that's what you do to earn your daily wage
Krafty Some people get up at the break of day Gotta go to work before it gets too late Sitting in a car and driving down the road It ain't the way it has to be But that's what you do to earn your daily wage That's the kind of world that we're living in today Isn't where you wanna be And isn't what you wanna do Just give me one more day (one more day) Give me another night (just another night) I need a second chance (second chance) This time I'll get it right (This time I'll get it right) I'll say it one last time (one last time) I've got to let you know (I've got to let you know) I've got to change your mind (I've got to change your mind) I'll never let you go You've got to look at life the way it oughta be Looking at the stars from underneath the tree There's a world inside and a world out there With that on tv you just don't care They've got violence, wars and killing too All shrunk down in a two-foot tube But out there the world is a beautiful place With mountains, lakes and the human race And this is where I wanna be And this is what I wanna do Just give me one more day (one more day) Give me another night (just another night) I need a second chance (second chance) This time I'll get it right (This time I'll get it right) I'll say it one last time (one last time) I've got to let you know (I've got to let you know) I've got to change your mind (change your mind) I'll never let you go Just give me one more chance (one more chance) Give me another night (just another night) With just one more day (one more day) Maybe we'll get it right (You know I'll get it right) I'll say it one last time (one last time) I've got to let you know (I've got to let you know) If I could change your mind (change your mind) I'll never let you go (New Order, from Waiting for the Sirens' Call)
E-mails hurt IQ more than marijuana
You can't help but laugh! BAN EMAIL! This was a piece of news on the CNN. In 80 clinical trials, Dr. Glenn Wilson, a psychiatrist at King's College London University, monitored the IQ of workers throughout the day. He found the IQ of those who tried to juggle messages and work fell by 10 points -- the equivalent to missing a whole night's sleep and more than double the 4-point fall seen after smoking marijuana. This explains a lot.BAN EMAIL!
I Love The Gods
First act as Pope, Benedict declares war on gays. Interviewed in the Italian newspaper, Corriere de la Serra, Cardinal Lopez Trujillo said the Church was making an urgent call for freedom of conscience for Roman Catholics and appealing to them to resist the law. He said every profession linked with implementing homosexual marriages should oppose it, even if it meant losing their jobs. "Freedom of conscience" eh? I love the way these guys spin it.Gay rights, like almost nothing else, tests the ability of religion to live within a democracy. I'm not picking on the Catholics. I have read worst sentiments from Protestants and Jews during my short Googling for data. Hell there was a Muslim writer writing for a Muslim online news blog that I will not name that made me want to puke with repeated use of false analogy. But none of these people are the fucking Pope.
To my DOTA Buddies 2 Part Two
Now here are the rest of Team Suxx0rs James Overview: Now in terms of gaming, I am most familiar with James. We go back a long way with Everquest, which had some of the best and worst gaming sessions ever. Well, if you consider sitting in a corner waiting for a spawn to be gaming. James is someone you can depend on. To illustrate this, I remember when I was in Kurn's as a lizard monk and he's the shaman, and I got swarmed by skeletons. I knew he was there to heal me, so I just went on until my life dropped into the red zone, before typing, "Heal please," and true to his trustworthy character, the next thing I knew I was back in my spawn point, naked, with a chunk of xp gone.Psycho "Paiseh... I was talking to Angeline, not paying attention." Wait a minute... Now James, in my observation, is either very, very good, or like me, utter wank. There have been games where the asshole has been utterly unstoppable, or completely anonymous, Marcus fodder. It might be because he is psychotic. Now some of us only seem psychotic. For example, LingW sometimes takes outrageous risks, which gets him killed a lot, which has fed characters like Kai's Death Revenant into unstoppable uberness. But this is not because he is psycho; rather, it is because he is new and does not really understand the risks he is taking. (This is not actually true; see his entry below.) But James knows that whatever he is going to do has a 0.5% chance of succeeding, but fuck probability, he's doing it anyway! This usually involves trying to kill a Centaur, equipped with a Blink Dagger and behind a strong creep wave, with a Silencer at half life. Spectacular when it comes off, LOLtastic when it doesn't. Recommendation: See a doctor, get medicated. Kai Overview: If there's a scale for gaming aggression, from a fully pumped-up James at 10 and Terri Schiavo at 1, Kai would be a 3. Notorious for the monstrousness of his sexual member, Kai has no need to prove his manliness in displays of wanton, self-destructive aggression, preferring to let other people do his fighting and dying for him. This is why he will succeed as an officer in the Singapore Armed Forces and as a lawyer.Humji Kia ("It's not humji... it's tactics.") But before I continue, let me state that his humji-ness (cowardliness) is not the overt, get-you-court-martialled kind. No, the difference is he doesn't even get into situations where bravery is required. After all, with a dick so big, he has no need for balls. In fact, he is quite aware of the other kind, screaming (rightly) when Cheehao or I retreat from the fray with a 2500 hitpoint Centaur at full life. Unlike such gratuitous faintheartedness, the sort of chickenshit behaviour Kai displays is the kind that lets one go places. I admit I have a grudging respect for it. Perhaps the only member of this fraternity who believes that reading is a virtue, Kai loves perusing strategies and stealing them for his own use. Literacy is a good substitute for creativity. Every child should learn this as soon as possible. Recommendation: Grow a pair. LingW See below.LingK's Brother LingK Overview: All I know about LingW and LingK is this: they are brothers. When they play, I cannot tell them apart, seriously. The only difference is that LingW has massive problems with Teamspeak and has to type to communicate, while LingK doesn't. The reason for this has nothing to do with hardware. No. The real reason?LingW's Brother LingW and LingK are the same person! Although playing against the "brothers" you might think they are newbies, the fact is W/K is a guy with unbelievable skills, capable of playing two characters on two computers at the same time, and often on opposite teams! Absolutely fantastic. W/K is the DOTA equivalent of Zhou Botong, from the Louis Cha novels. LingW does not actually have microphone problems. Rather, it is impossible for him to emulate the speech of two people over Teamspeak, so he created this excuse to not have to. Recently, "LingK" left Singapore to "visit Nepal". Obviously he was tired of playing two characters and wanted his free hand for other, more nefarious, purposes - possibly "visiting" the exotic, hilly place represented by "Nepal". Recommendation: Drop the sham... I'm on to you, "bro". Marcus Overview: There is no doubt whatsoever that, among us, Marcus is the perfect specimen, the ultimate human being. Despite spending absolutely every moment of his time playing or thinking about gaming, he is somehow able to satisfy the ravenous needs of a Rafflesian girlfriend, while sculpting his pectoral and abdominal muscles into a state of buff-ness usually seen only on covers of romance novels and photoshopped covers of gay porn magazines. He radiates goodness. He is so wonderful that sometimes, I fantasize about becoming him and taking over his life, through emulation and homicide, like Jennifer Jason Leigh's character in Single White Female. I won't even need to dye my hair.Maphacker But as the cold, pragmatic skeptic I am, I realise that it is impossible that anyone could be that good. How could anybody be that much better than me? And why does he always know when to stun me, swap positions with me, and then proceed to own my pathetic ass with pulses of Eye of Skadi power? After many sleepless nights, I came to the only possible conclusion: he is a MAPHACKER! He always fucking wins. Because he lies, cheats and steals (cf. Eddie Guerrero). That's why I usually try to be on the same team as he is. Recommendation: Stop fucking cheating, asshole.
To My DOTA Buddies 2 Part One
Before I start, some perspective. We suck. To illustrate the magnitude of our suck, imagine AC Milan vs Paya Lebar Punggol FC. Now imagine one of the ballboys of Paya Lebar Punggol FC playing defence against Shevchenko. That's kinda like us, except that in general football clubs don't hire ballboys with psychomotor problems. Defence of the Ancients: All-Stars is a custom map for Warcraft 3: Frozen Throne. I've been playing with this pack of dorks for months, and it has been sucking up our lives. We can only blame our uselessness on incompetence, not a lack of practice. Perhaps we are constitutively unable to play well. But we persevere. Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul. But I fear at this point it's been plucked and stuffed into a pillow. Here are the players: Adrian Overview: Because of his continued inability to stick his microphone jack into the correct damned hole, everytime he comes on Teamspeak everyone else suffers the sort of feedback that can drive one mad and make me invoke Cthulhu. How difficult is it not to stick the damned jack into the speaker hole? Sometimes I fear for his girlfriend. Other people tell me it is probably just a software conflict, but like the Indian kid in Life of Pi, I prefer the better story. My story.No, over here Adrian! What happens then is that we have to mute him, and while he can hear us speaking on the network, we can't hear him. This is a pity, because I am sure he has a good explanation for never responding to the million pings in the middle of the map and the screams of "COME TO MID NOW!!!" as he farms his way on the far right of the map blissfully as the rest of us are gang-raped by yet another of Marcus's gay ass attacks. Perhaps for this reason he never seems to get that many deaths. Recommendation: Stick the right thing into the right hole. Cheehao The Screamer Overview: It doesn't matter if it is one-on-one, one-on-two, two-on-one, two-on-two, or what character each person is using. If there's nothing to whine about, Cheehao will make up something. Sometimes i feel like recording the sounds and passing it to James, and then, at a lecture in NUS, he will play it at full blast, the sound of Cheehao screaming: "WHY??? AGAIN?? WHY ME?" The damned thing is, he's hardly a bad player by our standards. If he would just shut up and play the game instead of doing his nightly rendition of Avril Lavigne he may find out that he doesn't actually suck, and that numerically speaking, in a 5 v 5 game, that it is not within the bounds of the reality of this universe to have a 3 to 1 advantage on every lane. Recommendation: Use his astonishing vocals to get Adrian to come to mid. Choonhou MLM Sniper Overview: Ever since Choonhou went for that Multi-Level Marketing talk he has become a changed man, by his own admission. Because of the mind-altering powers of a new marketing and product selling strategy that I reiterate is not a pyramid scheme and is in fact very popular in the non-corrupt economic powerhouse that is Indonesia, his skills, particularly at playing the Dwarven Sniper, has come on in leaps and bounds despite his usual absence from our late night escapades in the world of Sex. In life, somebody's gonna get fucked over, and your worth depends on how many people you manage to get beneath your sweaty, heaving self. And when that Assassinate killsteals for the 15th time in the game you know who's getting fucked. Recommendation: The only character I ever remember him using is the Dwarven Sniper. I think he's played Vengeful Spirit before. But he's the Sniper... in soul. So play him. Chunkeat Defeatist Bastard Overview: This man is a mystery. I've known him since I was 13 and I've still no idea what the hell goes through his mind. Other than having fetishist tendencies towards Japan and strong antiestablishmentarian ideals, he's an amorphous mass of something that you can't be sure is entirely sublunary. But now I have another absolute to hold on to in my construction of this character. For some reason Chunkeat starts off every game with the assumption that he is going to lose. This makes playing against him a pleasant experience. Unlike The Screamer he takes defeat in his stride. All I can is, for the love of Atrioch man show some grit. Recommendation: You usually only start losing AFTER the game has started. FOR NEXT TIME: James Psycho Kai Humji Kia ("It's not humji... it's tactics.") LingW LingK's Brother LingK LingW's Brother Marcus Maphacker
To My DOTA Buddies
I am thinking of doing an analysis like I did for the soccer team. I would like some feedback on the various players.
Oww
Back in my Everquest days, I roleplayed a drunken dwarf cleric (not sure if there is any other kind) and it was really fun. All I did in the game was pretend to consume metric shitloads of beer, I think. Sadly, in real life, one mug is enough to devastate my senses. I wish I'd remember, before I am sprawled on my bed at home nursing a rash and a devastating headache. On Thursday after probing from Kuan I went to Brewerks for the monthly SCI alumni bash (or something). Chat and Adrian managed to convince Cisoux to come along too, despite her discomfort. She's Sunni, you see. I saw lots of faces I hadn't seen in ages, notably one of my ex-colleagues from Str--ts. I even talked to my old internship supervisor, Dr D, when usually we'd never be inebriated enough to do something like that. It was fun, though I found the crowd a little scary. Of course being allergic to alcohol I was quickly submerged with allegations that I was drunk. "I'm not drunk!" I whined. "That's usually the first sign that you're drunk," said D. "Yes, exactly," said anonymiad. I can't remember whether it was before this or after that I spilled beer on anonymiad.
The Hairdresser
Like with all things aesthetic, getting a haircut for me can be a frightening experience. I approach the whole affair with a sense of irrelevance. After all, what does it matter how they cut it? It'll be unruly again the next day. Anyway, I've been getting haircuts at one of the shops at Far East Plaza. I can't remember the name. I think Rave something or the other. It's a relatively cheap and I sort of know the hairdresser now, at least, there's a shared look of recognition when I enter. It's not one of those trendy shops; it feels like it belongs more in a housing board estate than in town. Also, she doesn't seem to know English. At least, she doesn't respond when I speak in English. "The last time you cut your hair... that was before Chinese New Year right? That's a long time," she said, after shuffling the messy mop on my head. A long time, I agreed. "Never use gel?" she asked. "My hair too long already lah," I replied. "Yes, too long," she said. She chuckled. She made pulling motions over her head, "If gel..." "Then will look like mohawk already!" I said. "Heh, good also what, new style." As it is with people in professions where they have to give personalised care to strangers we made pointless small talk. Being very Chinese, she asked me whether I went to do grave sweeping on Qing Ming. I told her yes, we do it on Bright Hill. She didn't go this year. Too busy, she said. "Have to go to Malaysia, my dad goes a week earlier to cut the grass. Only cut once a year, if don't cut, then the graves cannot be seen any more!" she said. "Wah, quite troublesome ah," I replied. "Yah, and the graves are not in the same place. When grandfather died, we actually booked a few spots nearby. But grandmother lived a lot longer... so other people took the spots first," she said. "But still not too far away. So why did you go?" "Oh, I have to," I said. "I'm the oldest grandson." "Good good. But nowadays even eldest grandsons don't always go respect their ancestors anymore. You're quite traditional, ah?" "I'm not traditional lah, but once a year only mah. Should do." "Yes, that's what Chinese should do." "I think so."
Qing Ming 2005
It is my mother's fault I don't want to learn to drive. She is the backseat driver supreme. Every time I go out with the family, and my dad is driving, I want to die. I mean, seriously, does it matter when a guy changes from the outer lane into an inner lane? Sure it might be less efficient but come on, just leave the driver alone. Yeah I know dad's a crappy driver like he is at everything else, we know already. Give the man a break. I can't imagine the kind of crap I'd get from Mrs Micromanagement if I ever got a license. Qing Ming's on Tuesday, but we can make offerings within ten days before or after the actual date. That was why I was stuck in the car where my mom attempted to nag my dad to death. I had completely forgotten we were supposed to perform this annual pilgrimage today, my only pseudo-religious experience the whole year, and when my mom woke me up I was grumpy as hell. My brother had gone to fetch the relatives and I was stuck alone in a car filled with paper representations of what the dead needed in the netherworld. Every year we bring the same things: two big chests of stuff for grandpa and grandma, and two smaller packages for great grandpa. This year however mom found a store selling the packages at $3 instead of $5 so she got an extra set of make-believe cigarettes for great-grandpa at $1.50. Its consoling to think that the spectre of nicotine follows you into death. This year, the highlight of the trip was the new parking lots Bright Hill built on temple grounds. The residents of the nearby private housing estates must have had enough, with the zillions of cars blocking up the narrow roads in front of their gates whenever Qing Ming comes around. My mom was excited, she kept saying, "Wow, a car park! What a nice car park!" That was, right before my dad tried to park and my mom started complaining about how he should have tried to park at some other spot, because, you know, it's important to get the absolute most optimal parking space you can get. Me, I was being amused by the fact that if you put Lots in front of More you get More Lots, but if you put Lots behind More you get Lots More! Hahahaha. Ha. Heh. Hmm. Alright. Let's move on. My brother and a few of my relatives joined us after we found a suitable point to put down the offerings and the prayer stuff (incense, candles, etc). Before they did, my father and I went to pray at the large Di Zhang Wang Bodhisavatta statue. He stands at the opening of the columbarium. From my conversations with dad I understand that he is a redeemer. "I shall not become a Buddha until Hell is freed of all souls," is his warcry. Buddhists aren't really into the concept of eternal damnation. It's good to know there's a guy working to give you a second chance after you've died. Anyway, the point of praying at the Bodhisavatta was to invite the spirits of my deceased ancestors out of the Realm of the Dead over to where we were (Singapore, near Bishan). A smiling man stood at the incense urn. He was probably a lay disciple of the temple. I couldn't understand how he could possibly be smiling when he had to repeat the same words over and over. I bet he would have made a good salesman. "Take two sets of three sticks of incense! One set for the Bodhisavatta, and one for your ancestors! But pray to the Bodhisavatta first! He is more important, show respect," he said. Dad paid for a few petals and we lit our sticks on a small flame floating on a bowl of sweet smelling oil, and then we left, with grandpa and grandma in tow. Later the relatives fetched great-grandpa and my mom's cousin over as well. This dead uncle was a friendly young man about whom mom always said, "He was a very, very good man. What a pity." Thirty years ago during National Service the poor boy, a boxer, was on a bus home when he suddenly vomitted blood all over himself, went into a coma, and died. He was not even twenty then. After the rites were finished, my mom took the food offerings, mainly biscuits gramps used to love, and put them into a plastic bag. As I held it I asked, "Hey mom, since this food is for grandpa and grandma, how come we're taking it home?" "To eat," she said. "But, hasn't grandpa and grandma eaten it already?" "Oh, they cannot finish, so we tar pau (pack)!" she replied. We descended into the columbarium and squeezed in between the many many wide ladders that the temple had decided were suitable for the narrow alleyways between shelves piled with urns containing cremated remains. We clasped our hands before our dead forefathers, not in worship, as our monotheistic brothers and sisters like to malign us, but in remembrance and respect. Inside, the name of the Bodhisavatta is chanted over speakers over and over, and it lent an incredible aura of peace. I can't imagine, for example, sleeping in a graveyard alone. But I don't think I would have any problem staying inside this place by myself all night. After leaving the labyrithine corridors, we passed a bunch of recycling bins on the way to the cars. Old clothing, soft toys, etc were all solicited. I pushed one of them opening and found stuff like Risk boardgames. "Wah, these kinds of things, how can recycle?" one of my uncles said. He drives a lorry and one of his jobs involves taking stuff people put in recycling bins. Then he added: "You know ah, sometimes people throw away things that are really new, really nice... In fact, only last week, I found this one that..." So guys, if you have ever wondered if the nice teddy bear you donated ended up in the hands of a little orphan, it probably didn't. It probably ended up in my uncle's house.
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