Month: January 2006

This is getting ridiculous. I’m not making this up; another one of my friends just got engaged. This time I know the guy well too, and they’re perfect for one another, so I’m actually quite elated; which is a first.

But still, I mean, come on.

Now onward to site news. Firstly, after collecting some backlog, all your comments and e-mails have been answered. If I’ve missed you, please holler. Secondly, since rumours were brewing about the recent silence in these parts, here are the facts:

0. All I’ve really been doing when I sit at a computer is drool over new computers.
1. My computer, though resurrected (in the loosest sense of the word), is extremely flakey.
2. I have enough ideas and material for a couple of aural logs. But they’re stuck in my X5L, which I broke. I’ve shipped it off for fixing, but knowing my luck, stuff will probably be erased while they’re “fixing” it. Meh.
3. A couple of posts I’ve written up rely upon photos I shot with my brilliant (sarcasm) camera phone. It is only after I got home did I realise I hadn’t the means to run their software to snag these images from the phone. Yes, I’m locked out of MY IMAGES, from MY PHONE. Bah.
4. You slackers haven’t in the least been forthcoming with stellar articles after my call a couple of days ago. Shame on you.

I am extremely pleased I waited (for the first time, ever). Over the past day or so, there were a couple of additions to the ThinkPad line, and I’ve decided on what I want. Some highlights:

Rugged build.
As low as ~3 lb (1.36 kg).
Dual core, ~2 GHz each.
Extended battery life of ~10 hrs.

This is what I’ve been waiting for, Apple. Unless you can wow me in a couple of days at Macworld, you know where my money is going.

Update: And apparently, they have. I love choice; I hate choosing.

Premise: Being rather socially stunted, I’m not always aware of the signals I’m giving out or those that I’m expected to pick up on.

It being Friday evening and everything, I was easily convinced to join someone for a night out in the town. After the obvious fun times ogling over drooly clothes (and finally making the inevitable selection) came the fancy wining and dining. I hadn’t had this much fun in a long time, just talking about the most interesting things in a most understatedly elegant ambience.

During the course of all of this, a palm that innocuously rested on a knee at first slowly worked its way a little up a thigh.

I think I should have freaked out at the time, but I smiled softly—flattered—but gently pushed his hand away; nodding slightly in disfavour, but not really wanting to cause much distress. The event passing, the conversation soon dried up. Later, on the walk home, the implication of what’d happened began to sink in.

I’ll probably bring this up again once I’ve calmed down from my state of hysteria.

The scariest things in a little kid’s life usually involve the hair-raising monster under her bed or the creepy hunchback lurking down the road with the odd protrusion on his forehead. But that’s not the story for this kid. The most intimidating thing in his life has always been his dentist. Not only has she been around (and caused) some of the most physically painful experiences I’ve ever had[1], but having known her since I was a little kid, she’s also assumed that it’s her right to double up as a stern mommy. The evil kinds of mommies that kick cute sleeping puppies on the sidewalk out of their way. The kinds that poke and prod you with their sharp tools, and then yell at you for being a baby as you start to cry.

Growing up, I was mortified of her, but for whatever reason (she was a stellar dentist, apparently), my mom kept dragging me—kicking and screaming—back to her year after year. She even got socially involved in our lives when at some point she became our neighbour as well. Needless to say, that didn’t bode well with this little kid. I assumed this feeling would pass as I got older, but the phobia only got progressively worse. The unfunny part is, I’m something like a quarter century years old now, and a shiver still goes down my spine every time her face flashes across my mind.

When I was home for the holidays over the summer, I had not the slightest hesitation in meeting my parents shaggily clothed, pony-tailed and pierced. I didn’t in the least worry about what they’d say as trudged down to one of my grandparents’ village. But this woman I was still mortified of. She surely already had enough reasons to yell at me (or so I thought), I couldn’t possibly face her looking like I did, giving her more ammo. What would she think? Would she approve? Would I be lectured and yelled at while she’s hurting me? Would there be a never-ending stream of questions I didn’t want to answer?

Then, it happened. Not being able to take it anymore, I cheated on her. I found a woman who lovingly cared for me, treated me with respect, and actually complimented my oral hygiene as she was gently prodding my mouth. Something I longed for and never once received in all those years.

And I hate that I feel guilty about what I did.

[1] Men don’t have to endure things like childbirth. We get to experience only the more pleasant aspects of baby-making.

Postscript: I am quite proud of the way I worded and structured this post. And I’m curious as to who you fear the most. Don’t be afraid to scream it out.

Though the occasional pretty young thing walking by is a very pleasant change of scenery, getting work done at a coffee shop isn’t always a trivial venture. Being computer-less however, I’ve had little choice but to spend a lot of time outside of home even to satisfy my primal needs; like checking e-mail. I was going to write about my trials and tribulations in the process, but I know you’re all tired of my verbosity, plus the following strip of my favourite comic (and yours) sums things up nicely.

And yes, if you’re reading little-miss-I’m-so-important, please shut the fuck up.

Anyway, on another note, I am planning on doing something a little different with actuality dot log. Do you have something to say you really want heard? Would you like to reach a fairly large (1000–3000 people per day) audience? If you do, please get in touch. I plan to start featuring “guest-columns” bi-weekly (once in two weeks, not two in one week) initially and increase the frequency if there is more demand.

Anyone is welcome. Any topic you care about. Your views can even be opposed to my personal opinions. All that I ask is you spell your words and punctuate somewhat sanely.

Delineate exists to prevent posts like these. Obviously, it’s not doing a very good job.

Since our dirty little friend was dying,

I decided to open her up and prod her insides,

and then ceremoniously drove a stake through her heart,

ending her misery. But rather than grieve, I went onto do other things.

I’m looking into alternatives. It’s a pity I can’t wait for the Apple Intel Powerbook I’ve salivated over since it was announced.

Ah well.

In response to my earlier post on lacking companionship, I received this via e-mail; from this talented woman.

hey…i remembered this fwd when i was reading your lacking companionship post. Girls whose eyes light up when they talk to you(and the rest), may not be otherwise engaged. Half the time they’re lamenting how correct this is/seems:

1. The nice men are ugly.
2. The handsome men are not nice.
3. The handsome and nice men are gay.
4. The handsome, nice and heterosexual men are married.
5. The men who are not so handsome, but are nice men, have no money.
6. The men who are not so handsome, but are nice men with money, think we are only after their money.
7. The handsome men without money are after our money.
8. The handsome men, who are not so nice and somewhat heterosexual, don’t think we are beautiful enough.
9. The men who think we are beautiful, that are heterosexual, somewhat nice and have money, are cowards.
10. The men who are somewhat handsome, somewhat nice and have some money and, thank God, are heterosexual, are shy and NEVER MAKE THE FIRST MOVE!!!!
11. The men who never make the first move, automatically lose interest in us when we take the initiative.

NOW ….WHO IN HELL UNDERSTANDS MEN?

Men are like a fine wine. They all start out like grapes, and it’s our job to stomp on them and keep them in the dark until they mature into something you’d like to have dinner with.

It’s by the grace of God that we live!!!!

Honestly, I’m somewhere between 8 & 11, depending on my mood, and the ambient lighting.

Need more detail? Here you go:
8—Sometimes you just don’t find her attractive. It’s not a crime. What is a crime is the way men handle it. We (at least I) can never tell that straight to a woman. So we (I) will concoct numerous (even if implausible) stories and weasel our way out; somehow always breaking her heart.
9—We aren’t being cowards. Sometimes, when you are attractive, in a waaay-out-of-our-league way, we just save you the trouble of having to shoot us down by shooting ourselves down. It’s not a crime, it’s a defence mechanism.
10—Same as 9.
11—This is weird, but only because it’s partially true. If a random hot woman makes the first move on us (us, of all people), she has to have some issue. And I can do better than a woman who’d want me. (Of course?) I lose interest.

Happy?

But these admissions are not why I put this up. The reason I’m putting this up here is to get feedback from the women in the audience. Are these the sorts of things that run through your minds? Does this mean, hypothetically, that if the guy is nice, somewhat-handsome, somewhat-brave, heterosexual, somewhat-rich, thinks you’re beautiful, doesn’t think you’re after his money, won’t be threatened by you making the first move—you’ll make the first move?

Men can chime in too. But your words will be gleefully ignored.