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1/31/2005 Blues

Monday blues are really terrible. Just imagine forcefully waking yourself in the wee hours of the morning only to realise, upon looking at the silver surface, that the bags on your eyes unknowingly doubled themselves overnight. As if thats not bad enough, a pair of bloodshot eyes follow you everywhere you go, as well as a weary body which was used for tennis. That definitely wasn't a good start.

I for one, didn't think it was all that bad until i remembered why i actually woke up so early. Common test at 8:30 am. Supposing we analyse the mood in the hall at 830. Do you think the examnees(doubt this word actually exist) are fresh in mind? I tell you the obvious truth: "No...duh..." But hey not to worry, you can always sleep in the examination hall.

Heading towards a brighter future, I sluggishly dumped all the AEL(Analogic Electronics) facts i had onto a precisely stapled stack of paper. Sure it was a torture, but its for a brighter future. Reluctant to fall asleep, I flooded the paper with everything i actually process and think of a possible correct answer. Not too bad, not too bad at all! That was what i thought after leaving the exam hall half an hour early, plus the half hour in front of this half hour which was spent doodling with a pencil and the back of the answer booklet(the longest duration one can stay in the hall is 1.5 hrs).

Upon checking out the appriopate answer with the top student(the smartest and retardest all at the same time), realisation of making 2 dumb mistakes and 1 real mistake flooded my remaining brain cells. Never the less, yong to fu was really sweet(it really just was the sauce).

Following the present events, I, along with my trusty sidekick(who happens to be the retardest student...that sidekick part was just a joke), unknowingly raced with 2 others to westmall. Coffeebean's coffees maybe rich and wholesome, it definitely comes for a price of $6 ! Day light robbery! Ah! Another bunch of kids entered the coffee outlet 15 minutes after us. They blatanly sat there, not buying even the cheapest cookie, doing their studies. I dare assume they are from some polytechnic.

At 11am, close to every shop was closed. Whats the use of an opened shopping mall with closed shops? Might as well close down. Maybe its just the feared and well known "Monday blues". After browsing through Watson's hairdye shop for quite some time, my shop finally opened(surely you didn't think i'll come to westmall for fun?!). However, even though i've been patronising the same shelf for weeks, i couldn't find my precious .

Tanequil is the continuation of a 3 book sub-series.The whole series is currently around 15 books heavy. In case you guys are wondering what kinda crap this is, its a fantasy story(obviously its fantastic, otherwise it won't be called fantasy). Really really really really long winded. Let me emphasize again. ITS DAMN LONG WINDED. However, where the climax approachings, i usually, unknowingly,willingly get sucked into the faerie's tale for as long as the action continues, which is probably 25 pages of so. Gee, i can't wait for the next part of the series(straken) to appear on the shelves. .


Today is a good day. Out popped a mei mei for me today. Ok, i shall end this entry already. I guess i'm very very very very very long winded too. I'll end off with this.

In a posh cafe, at 3am in the morning, the last guest was sleeping on the table. Wanting to go home, the cleaner asked the proprietor why he did not send the guest off on his way, even after waking him up on 5 different occasions. The proprietor replied," Everything I wake him up, he asks for the bill, pays it and goes back to sleep."


9:26 PM


1/30/2005 10 Things not to do on the sunday before exams.

1. Sleep at 2am, and wake up at 930am.
2. Go to church 15 minutes late due to reason number 1.
3. Going to chruch with an empty stomach and a tired body.
4. Watch a movie in chruch, even though it was quite good. (5th sundays are reserved for special events such as games and stuff)
5. Eat sweets during a movie which results in a drastic lost of appetite for the fast approaching lunch.
6. Indulge in an expensive lunch(Bak Ku teh) which you will surely not be able to finish. Refer to reason 5 for more information.
7. Not finishing the rice and soup and vege.
8. Eat really slowly.
9. Enter the World of warcraft upon arrival at the sweetest place on earth: Nicholas' room.
10. Play tennis at the same place one would take his/her exam the following day.


2:13 PM


1/29/2005

Ah, I was told the pictures ain't loading... Damn it.


9:15 AM



Hey dudes! I decided to add more colour to my so called diary which by now, you should have noticed that its more like a scrap of paper torn from my real diary. Haha, but this paper torn off has lots of stuff. I'm not saying my real-life biography is super interesting and fulled to the brim... I don't even own a stupid diary for goodness sake! Nevertheless, take a look guys. Mind you, it might be a little unglamourous, but it doesn't matter.

Please, please please enjoy :D !





Me and Jialing fooling around. No bad thoughts now...but if you really want to, you could always try http://www.sex.com




Ha! Choir Terroritory. Many of our band's inspirations were derived from the belittleing of that sector of music.



My natural doggy-life face. Hey guys, i want you to meet Jonathan Tan! He is youthful, intelligent and a councilor(Yuck! Vomit!). Definitely have lots of respect for him. He has an amazing ability to talk to a huge number of people on a heart to heart basis. Too bad he is a nice guy. The only punishment he ever gave was to make the whole fairfield band hold in situp position for 15 minutes and give us a cute little pep talk(i think i was talking about something).




Acjcband's Concert At VCH in 2004 i tink it was in june. The pretty one in blue is Samantha. She claims that i'm a shorty, all along failing to notice she is shorter than me. And Jia! Jialing was also in acjc for a few weeks ... until her appeal case was unsuccessful.




Boredom inevitably breeds mischef. Need i say more?




My dad's big yellow ass and a small dog. Do admire the artistically craved bins in the background. Do you really think i'll put the dustbins there for fun?







Caught in his act, the act to confiscated illegal equipment during a sermon for the better sake of all. Mr Steve Ow (bet you think he isn't married, but he is), the big man who drives a van to school, teaches history using star wars(its really an excuse to slack) and the man whose eaten everything under the sun(OBVIOUSLY!).





Hey look! Close up! Sam! For the sake of safety, silence is golden. If Silence is golden, then all husbands must be really rich.





Arh, Dial 1900-save me! Just look at the vein sticking out of eric AKA doom's neck. It shows the hidden strength. Definitely a restrained picture.





Nick's hypothesis: Prata = abstract art .
After years of research, it is proven to be absolutely correct.






Unglamour. Not too bad actually. Considering the naughty one is a councilor(YucK!)




Sexy!!!!!





The day before talent time, 3 hours after rehersal. Definitely too tired to move. The best part is, we missed 4 buses...sort off sleeping. Then again, if we were sleeping how do we know we missed the bus?



Acjcband's most unique section: Clarinet! wooowoo! Spot The Cute little Nick!






Looking dumb as always, Nicholas never ever looks straight at the camera. Ever wondered why? Its probably the camera man's fault.








Its really the camera man's fault. Operation "I Want Sponge Bob!!!"
My really cool acjc 1st 3 month Orientation group. And the ACS boys don't dominate...there were only 4 of them. I subdued everyone of course.




My O level DnT Project. Its a blackboard duster cleaner. You put the specially handmade duster ,with protection enough to prevent chalk from dropping onto your delicate hand frame when being utilized, on the top, turn the handle and wala, the dust drops onto a tray at the bottom. You can clear the chalk pit tray if you want to.
My suggestion: Don't. Its more fun to blow the chalk.



Syf2003: Band number 123(its really 123, I REMEMBER) Fairfield Methodist Secondary School Band....pause....*more pause*.......#@%^%#@&#@ even more pause @#^%@&#^#@&. GOLD! And the crowd goes wild. Ok, maybe only those from fsb(Fairfield Symphonic Band). I belong to the batch who brought fairfield up to gold level, the first ever gold for fsb in its 50 year history since 1960+.





Ha! This represents me. Nothing more.






Recess! Taken by Melvyn Kekekekeke, the joker in 1sg2. Hey look, its Dilys (from my og, latune) in the background.






1 thing you shouldn't do when a crazy man is binded to a camera: Walk in a straight line towards the camera and shun away when facing it head on. Quit Kissing! Yuck!




Arranged in height order. The days of the high pants , bed hair and Ten year Series. I have a friend whose initials are HYS. In honour of her aged lifestyle, i ordained her the title: Hundred year series.






Definitely the picture of the day. I won't be amazed you cover ur nose upon sight. Please remember, computers don't generate stenches.




1:23 AM


1/28/2005 Joke of the day...

i really like this one .... its a hahahahaha for me.

Pete enjoys 2 holidays a year. One when his wife goes to visit her mother and two, when his son goes away for boarding school.

Based on a survey, a bank concluded that joint accounts between couples were never overdrawn by the wife, it simply was under deposited by the husband.

"Do you know i own a bank now?"
"Oh really? What is the name of your bank?"
"Piggy"


"Judging by your complaint, it seems your sickness is heritary."
"Thank you doctor. In that case, send the check to my great-grand father"





1:11 AM


1/27/2005

Ha ha!

Some of my pictures. Bet you guys are drooling all over



Meet Gycna, my silly untrained Tauren Shaman. This demonstration shows us how a passive buff can become offensive.





This next picture shows how the dead can die again. My Undead rogue is lying in her death position....under the gullotine's heavy blade. Ok, its actually just the chair which the king sits on.


11:20 PM



: Q: How many RJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: 4 whole faculties. One fac to design the
new bulb,one fac to test it out, one fac to market
it and
one guy to write a stupid Email about lightbulbs.

Q: How many HCJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb?
A: The whole school.....to compete with
RJC.........

Q: How many VJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb?
A: The whole school.......one to screw it in and
the rest to cheer and wave flags and
banners to give him/her support.

Q: How many NJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: NO LIGHT STILL CAN STUDY!!!!!

Q: How many AJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: They're too busy trying to be one of the
top 5 JCs...

Q: How many ACJC students does it take to
change lightbulb??
A: None......they use all their money to
employ YJC to do it for them.

Q: How many YJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: None.....only one teacher to tell them
what a lightbulb is in the first place and to
demonstrate (how do you think they're able to
change it for AC?)

Q: How many CJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: They'd prefer it darker..........
(hmmm...*raise eyebrow*)......

Q: How many JJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: None......Their physics is so bad that they
make the male teacher cry.....

Q: How many TPJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: Would they bother??

Q: How many MJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb?
A: None.They're too busy studying. trying not to
get expelled..

Q: How many SAJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: None.....they believe in praying for it.

Q: How many NYJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: None.....they are still using oil lamps.

Q: How many SRJC students does it take to
change a lightbulb??
A: Huh, wat litebarb ...

Q: Dun you guys wonder who wrote this?
A: TJC!

Q: How many TJC students does it take to
change the lightbulb?
A: None. They think they are very bright
already.


11:24 AM


1/26/2005 Love Is a Fallacy!

I ripped this short story off a site introduced by a friend. Definitely very very entertaining, that is if you like reading in the first place.


Love is a fallacy by Max Shulman


Cool was I and logical. Keen, calculating, perspicacious, acute --- I was all of these. My brain was as powerful as a dynamo, precise as a chemist's scales, as penetrating as a scalpel. And - think of it! - I was only eighteen.

It is not often that one so young has such a giant intellect. Take, for example, Petey Burch, my roommate at the University of Minnesota. Same age, same background, but dumb as an ox. A nice enough fellow, you understand, but nothing upstairs. Emotional type. Unstable. Impressionable. Worst of all, a faddist. Fads, I submit, are the very negation of reason. To be swept up in every new craze that comes along, to surrender oneself to idiocy just because everybody else is doing it - this to me, is the acme of mindlessness. Not, however, to Petey.

One afternoon I found Petey lying on his bed with an expression of such distress on his face that I immediately diagnosed appendicitis. "Don't move," I said, "Don't take a laxative. I'll get a doctor."

"Raccoon," he mumbled thickly.

"Raccoon?" I said, pausing in my flight.

"I want a raccon coat," he wailed.

I perceived that his trouble was not physical but mental. "Why do you want a raccoon coat?"

"I should have known it," he cried, pounding his temples.

"I should have known it they'd come back when the Charleston came back. Like a fool I spent all my money for textbook, and now I can't get a raccoon coat."

"Can you mean," I said incredulously," that people are actually wearing raccoon coats again?"

"All the Big Men on Campus are wearing them. Where've you been?"

"In the library," I said, naming a place not frequented by Big Men on Campus.

He leaped from the bed and paced the room. "I've got to have a raccoon coat," he said passionately. "I've got to!"

"Petey, why? Look at it rationally. Raccoon coats are unsanitary. They shed. They smell bad. They weigh too much. They're unsightly. They..."

"You don't understand," he interrupted, impatiently. "It's the thing to do. Don't you want to be in the swim?"

"No," I said truthfully.

"Well, I do," he declared. "I'd give anything for a raccoon coat. Anything!"

My brain, that precision instrument, slipped into high gear. "Anything?" I asked, looking at him narrowly.

"Anything," he affirmed in ringing tones.

I stroked my chin thoughtfully. It so happened that I knew where to get my hands on a raccoon coat. My father had had one in his undergraduate days; it lay now in a trunk in the attic back home. It also happened that Petey had something I wanted. He didn't have it exactly, but at least he had first rights on it. I refer to his girl, Polly Espy.

I had long coveted Polly Espy. Let me emphasize that my desire for this young woman was not emotional in nature. She was, to be sure, a girl who excited the emotions, but I was not one to let my heart rule my head. I wanted Polly For a shrewdly calculated, entirely cerebral reason.

I was a freshman in law school. In a few years I would be out in practice. I was well aware of the importance of the right kind of wife in furthering a lawyer's career. The successful lawyers I had observed were, almost without exception, married to beautiful, gracious, intelligent women. With one omission, Polly fitted these specifications perfectly.

Beautiful she was. She was not yet of pin-up proportions, but I felt that time would supply the lack. She already had the makings.

Gracious she was. By gracious I mean full of graces. She had an erectness of carriage, an ease of bearing, a poise that clearly indicated the best of breeding. At table her manners were exquisite. I had seen her at the Kozy Kampus Korner eating the specialty of the house - a sandwich that contained scraps of pot roast, gravy, chopped nuts, and a dipper of sauerkraut - without even getting her fingers moist.

Intelligent she was not. In fact, she veered in the opposite direction. But I believed that under my guidance she would smarten up. At any rate, it was worth a try. It is, after all, easier to make a beautiful dumb girl smart than to make an ugly smart girl beautiful.

"Petey," I said, "are you in love with Polly Espy?"

"I think she's a keen kid," he replied, "but I don't know if you call it love. Why?"

"Do you," I asked, "have any kind of formal arrangement with her? I mean are you going steady or anything like that?"

"No. We see each other quite a bit, but we both have other dates. Why?"

"Is there," I asked, "any other man for whom she has a particular fondness?"

"Not that I know of. Why?"

I nodded with satisfaction. "In other words, if you were out of the picture, the field would be open. Is that right?"

"I guess so. What are you getting at?"

"Nothing , nothing," I said innocently, and took my suitcase out the closet.

"Where are you going?" asked Petey.

"Home for weekend." I threw a few things into the bag.

"Listen," he said, clutching my arm eagerly, "while you're home, you couldn't get some money from your old man, could you, and lend it to me so I can buy a raccoon coat?"

"I may do better than that," I said with a mysterious wink and closed my bag and left.

. . .

"Look," I said to Petey when I got back Monday morning. I threw open the suitcase and revealed the huge, hairy, gamy object that my father had worn in his Stutz Bearcat in 1925.

"Holy Toledo!" said Petey reverently. He plunged his hands into the raccoon coat and then his face. "Holy Toledo!" he repeated fifteen or twenty times.

"Would you like it?" I asked.

"Oh yes!" he cried, clutching the greasy pelt to him. Then a canny look came into his eyes. "What do you want for it?"

"Your girl." I said, mincing no words.

"Polly?" he said in a horrified whisper. "You want Polly?"

"That's right."

He shook his head.

I shrugged. "Okay. If you don't want to be in the swim, I guess it's your business."

I sat down in a chair and pretended to read a book, but out of the corner of my eye I kept watching Petey. He was a torn man. First, he looked at the coat with the expression of waif at a bakery window. Then he turned away and set his jaw resolutely. Then he looked back at the coat, with even more longing in his face. Then he turned away, but with not so much resolution this time. Back and forth his head swiveled, desire waxing, resolution waning. Finally he didn't turn away at all; he just stood and stared with mad lust at the coat.

"It isn't as though I was in love with Polly," he said thickly. "Or going steady or anything like that."

"That's right," I murmured.

"What's Polly to me, or me to Polly?"

"Not a thing," said I.

"It's just been a casual kick - just a few laughs, that's all."

"Try on the coat," said I.

He compiled. The coat bunched high over his ears and dropped all the way down to his shoe tops. He looked like a mound of dead raccoons. "Fits fine," he said happily.

I rose from my chair. "Is it a deal?" I asked, extending my hand. He swallowed. "It's a deal," he said and shook my hand.

I had my first date with Polly the following evening. This was in the nature of a survey. I wanted to find out just how much work I had to get her mind up to the standard I required. I took her first to dinner.

"Gee, that was a delish dinner," she said as we left the restaurant.

And then I took her home. "Gee, I had a sensaysh time," she said as she bade me good night.

I went back to my room with a heavy heart. I had gravely underestimated the size of my task. This girl's lack of information was terrifying. Nor would it be enough merely to supply her with information. First she had to be taught to "think". This loomed as a project of no small dimensions, and at first I was tempted to give her back to Petey.

But then I got to thinking about her abundant physical charms and about the way she entered a room and the way she handled a knife and fork, and I decided to make an effort.

I went about it, as in all things, systematically. I gave her a course in logic. It happened that I, as a law student, was taking a course in logic myself, so I had all the facts at my fingertips. "Polly," I said to her when I picked her up on our next date, "tonight we are going over to the Knoll and talk."

"Oo, terrif," she replied. One thing I will say for this girl: you would go far to find another so agreeable.

We went to the Knoll, the campus trysting place, and we sat down under an old oak, and she looked at me expectantly. "What are we going to talk about?" she asked.

"Logic."

She thought this over for a minute and decided she liked it. "Magnif," she said.

Logic," I said, clearing my throat, "is the science of thinking. Before we can think correctly, we must first learn to recognize the common fallacies of logic. These we will take up tonight."

"Wow-dow!" she cried, clapping her hands delightedly.

I winced, but went bravely on. "First let us examine the fallacy called Dicto Simpliciter."

"By all means," she urged, batting her lashes eagerly.

"Dicto Simpliciter means an argument based on an unqualified generalization. For example: Exercise is good. Therefore everybody should exercise."

"Polly," I said gently, "the argument is a fallacy. Exercise is good is an unqualified generalization. For instance, if you have heart disease, exercise is bad, not good. Therefore exercise is bad, not good. Many people are ordered by their doctors not to exercise. You must qualify the generalization. You must say exercise is usually good, or exercise is good for most people. Otherwise you have committed a Dicto Simpliciter. Do you see?"

"No," she confessed. "But this is marvy. Do more! Do more!"

"It will be better if you stop tugging at my sleeve," I told her, and when she desisted, I continued. "Next we take up a fallacy called Hasty Generalization. Listen carefully: You can't speak French. Petey Burch can't speak French. I must therefore conclude that nobody at the University of Minnesota can speak French."

"Really?" said Polly, amazed. "Nobody?"

I hid my exasperation. "Polly, it's a fallacy. The generalization is reached too hastily. There are too few instance to support such a conclusion."

Know any more fallacies?" she asked breathlessly. "This is more fun than dancing, even."

I fought off a wave of despair. I was getting no where with this girl, absolutely no where. Still, I am nothing, if not persistent. I continued. "Next comes Post Hoc. Listen to this: Let's not take Bill on our picnic. Every time we take it out with us, it rains."

"I know somebody just like that," she exclaimed. "A girl back home - Eula Becker, her name is. It never fails. Every single time we take her on a picnic..."

"Polly," I said sharply, "it's a fallacy. Eula Becker doesn't cause the rain. She has no connection with the rain. You are guilty of Post Hoc if you blame Eula Becker."

"I'll never do it again," she promised contritely. "Are you mad at me?"

I sighed deeply. "No, Polly, I'm not mad."

"Then tell me some more fallacies."

"All right. Let's try Contradictory Premises."

"Yes, let's," she chirped, blinking her eyes happily.

I frowned, but plunged ahead. "Here's an example of Contradictory Premises: If God can do anything, can He make a stone so heavy that He won't be able to lift it?"

"Of course," she replied promptly.

"But if He can do anything, He can lift the stone," I pointed out.

"Yeah," she said thoughtfully. "Well, then I guess He can't make the stone."

"But He can do anything," I reminded her.

She scratched her pretty, empty head. "I'm all confused," she admitted.

"Of course you are. Because when the premises of an argument contradict each other, there can be no argument. If there is an irresistible force, there can be no immovable object. If there is an immovable object, there can be no irresistible force. Get it?"

"Tell me more of this keen stuff," she said eagerly.

I consulted my watch. "I think we'd better call it a night. I'll take you home now, and you go over all the things you've learned. We'll have another session tomorrow night."

I deposited her at the girls' dormitory, where she assured me that she had had a "perfectly" evening, and I went glumly home to my room. Petey lay snoring in his bed, the raccoon coat huddled like a great hairy beast at his feet. For a moment I considered waking him and telling him that he could have his girl back. It seemed clear that my project was doomed to failure. The girl simply had a logic-proof head.

But then I reconsidered. I had wasted one evening; I might as well waste another. Who knew? Maybe somewhere in the extinct crater of her mind, a few members still smoldered. Maybe somehow I could fan them into flame. Admittedly it was not a prospect fraught with hope, but I decided to give it one more try.

Seated under the oak the next evening I said, "Our first fallacy tonight is called Ad Misericordiam."

She quivered with delight.

"Listen closely," I said. "A man applies for a job. When the boss asks him what his qualifications are, he has a wife and six children at home, the wife is a helpless cripple, the children have nothing to eat, no clothes to wear, no shoes on their feet, there are no beds in the house, no coal in the cellar, and winter is coming."

A tear rolled down each of Polly's pink cheeks. "Oh, this is awful, awful," she sobbed.

"Yes, it's awful," I agreed, "but it's no argument. The man never answered the boss's question about his qualifications. Instead he appealed to the boss's sympathy. He committed the fallacy of Ad Misericordiam. Do you understand?"

"Have you got a handkerchief?" she blubbered.

I handed her a handkerchief and tried to keep from screaming while she wiped her eyes. "Next," I said in a carefully controlled tone, "we will discuss False Analogy. Here is an example: Students should be allowed to look at their textbooks during examination. After all, surgeons have X rays to guide them during a trial, carpenters have blueprints to guide them when they are building a house. Why, then, shouldn't students be allowed to look at their textbooks during examination?"

"There now," she said enthusiastically, "is the most marvy idea I've heard in years."

"Polly," I said testily, "the argument is all wrong. Doctors, lawyers, and carpenters aren't taking a test to see how much they have learned, but students are. The situations are altogether different, and you can't make an analogy between them."

"I still think it's a good idea," said Polly.

"Nuts," I muttered. Doggedly I pressed on. "Next we'll try Hypothesis Contrary to Fact."

"Sounds yummy," was Polly's reaction.

"Listen: If Madame Curie had not happened to leave a photographic plate in a drawer with a chunk of pitchblende, the world today would not know about radium."

"True, true," said Polly, nodding her head "Did you see the movie? Oh, it just knocked me out. That Walter Pidgeon is so dreamy. I mean he fractures me."

"If you can forget Mr. Pidgeon for a moment," I said coldly, "I would like to point out that statement is a fallacy. Maybe Madame Curie would have discovered radium at some later date. Maybe somebody else would have discovered it. Maybe any number of things would have happened. You can't start with a hypothesis that is not true and then draw any supportable conclusions from it."

"They ought to put Walter Pidgeon in more pictures," said Polly, "I hardly ever see him any more."

One more chance, I decided. But just one more. There is a limit to what flesh and blood can bear. "The next fallacy is called Poisioning the Well."

"How cute!" she gurgled.

"Two men are having a debate. The first one gets up and says, 'My opponent is a notorious liar. You can't believe a word that he is going to say.' ... Now, Polly, think hard. What's wrong?"

I watched her closely as she knit her creamy brow in concentration. Suddenly a glimmer of intelligence -- the first I had seen -- came into her eyes. "It's not fair," she said with indignation. "It's not a bit fair. What chance has the second man got if the first man calls him a liar before he even begins talking?"

"Right!" I cried exultantly. "One hundred per cent right. It's not fair. The first man has poisoned the well before anybody could drink from it. He has hamstrung his opponent before he could even start ... Polly, I'm proud of you."

"Pshaws," she murmured, blushing with pleasure.

"You see, my dear, these things aren't so hard. All you have to do is concentrate. Think-examine-evaluate. Come now, let's review everything we have learned."

"Fire away," she said with an airy wave of her hand.

Heartened by the knowledge that Polly was not altogether a cretin, began a long, patient review of all I had told her. Over and over and over again I cited instances, pointed out flaws, kept hammering away without letup. It was like digging a tunnel. At first, everything was work, sweat, and darkness. I had no idea when I would reach the light, or even if I would. But I persisted. I pounded and clawed and scraped, and finally I was rewarded. I saw a chink of light. And then the chink got bigger and the sun came pouring in and all was bright.

Five grueling nights with this book was worth it. I had made a logician out of Polly; I had taught her to think. My job was done. She was worthy of me, at last. She was a fit wife for me, a proper hostess for many mansions, a suitable mother for my well-heeled children.

It must not be thought that I was without love for this girl. Quite the contrary. Just as Pygmalion loved mine. I determined to acquaint her with feelings at our very next meeting. The time had come to change our relationship from academic to romantic.

"Polly," I said when next we sat beneath our oak, "tonight we will not discuss fallacies."

"Aw, gee," she said, disappointed.

"My dear," I said, favoring her with a smile, "we have now spent five evenings together. We have gotten along splendidly. It is clear that we are well matched."

"Hasty Generalization," said Polly brightly.

"I beg your pardon," said I.

"Hasty Generalization," she repeated. "How can you say that we are well matched on the basis of only five dates?"

I chuckled with amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons well. "My dear," I said, patting her hand in a tolerant manner, "five dates is plenty. After all, you don't have to eat a whole cake to know that it's good."

"False Analogy," said Polly promptly. "I'm not a cake. I'm a girl."

I chuckled with somewhat less amusement. The dear child had learned her lessons perhaps too well. I decided to change tactics. Obviously the best approach was a simple, strong, direct declaration of love. I paused for a moment while my massive brain chose the proper word. Then I began:

"Polly, I love you. You are the whole world to me, and the moon and the stars and the constellations of outer space. Please, my darling, say that you will go steady with me, for if you will not, life will be meaningless. I will languish. I will refuse my meals. I will wander the face of the earth, a shambling, hollow-eyed hulk."

There, I thought, folding my arms, that ought to do it.

"Ad Misericordiam," said Polly.

I ground my teeth. I was not Pygmalion; I was Frankenstein, and my monster had me by the throat. Frantically I fought back the tide of panic surging through me; at all costs I had to keep cool.

"Well, Polly," I said, forcing a smile, "you certainly have learned your fallacies."

"You're darn right," she said with a vigorous nod.

"And who taught them to you, Polly?"

"You did."

"That's right. So you do owe me something, don't you, my dear? If I hadn't come along you never would have learned about fallacies."

"Hypothesis Contrary to Fact," she said instantly.

I dashed perspiration from my brow. "Polly," I croaked, "you mustn't take all these things so literally. I mean this is just classroom stuff. You know that the things you learn in school don't have anything to do with life."

"Dicto Simpliciter," she said, wagging her finger at me playfully.

That did it. I leaped to my feet, bellowing like a bull. "Will you or will you not go steady with me?"

"I will not," she replied.

"Why not?" I demanded.

"Because this afternoon I promised Petey Burch that I would go steady with him."

I reeled back, overcome with the infamy of it. After he promised, after he made a deal, after he shook my hand! "The rat!" I shrieked, kicking up great chunks of turf. "You can't go with him, Polly. He's a liar. He's a cheat. He's a rat."

"Poisoning the Well ," said Polly, "and stop shouting. I think shouting must be a fallacy too."

With an immense effort of will, I modulated my voice. "All right," I said. "You're a logician. Let's look at this thing logically. How could you choose Petey Burch over me? Look at me --- a brilliant student, a tremendous intellectual, a man with an assured future. Look at Petey -- a knothead, a jitterbug, a guy who'll never know where his next meal is coming from. Can you give me one logical reason why you should go steady with Petey Burch?"

"I certainly can," declared Polly. "He's got a raccoon coat."



10:25 AM


1/22/2005

For all you people who say, "I love you" when
you have no clue what love is exactly!!!
Something to ponder upon...

Are your palms sweaty, is your heart racing and
is your voice caught within your chest?? -It
isn't love, it's LIKE.

You can't keep your eyes or hands off of
her/him -
It isn't love, it's LUST.

Are you proud, and eager to show her/him off?? -
It isn't love, it's LUCK.

Do you want her because you know she's/he's
there?? -
It isn't love, it's LONELINESS.

Are you with her/him because it's what everyone
wants??
It isn't love, it?s LOYALTY.

Are you with her because she/he kissed you, or
held your hand?
It isn't love, it's LOW CONFIDENCE.

Do you stay for her/him confessions of love,
because you don't want to hurt her/him?
It isn't love, it's PITY.

Do you belong to her/him because the sight of
her/him makes your heart skip a beat??
It isn't love, it's INFATUATION.

Do you pardon her faults because you care about
her/him?
It isn't love, it's FRIENDSHIP.

Do you tell her/him every day she is the only
one you think of?
It isn't love, it's a LIE.

Are you willing to give up all of your favorite
things for her sake?
It isn't love, it's CHARITY.

======================================
===========

Does your heart ache and break when she's sad?
Then it's LOVE.

Do you cry for her/his pain, even when
she's/he's strong?
Then it's LOVE.

Do her/his eyes see your true heart, and touch
your soul so deeply it hurts?
Then it's LOVE.

Do you stay because a blinding,
incomprehensible
mix of pain and relation pulls you close and
holds you to her/him?
Then it's LOVE.

Do you accept her/his faults because it's a part
of who she/he is?
Then it's LOVE.

Are you attracted to others, but stay with
her/him faithfully without regret??
Then it's LOVE.

Would you give her/him your heart, your life,
your death??
Then it's LOVE.

Now, if love is painful, and tortures us so, why
do we love? Why is it all we search for in life?
This pain, this agony? Why is it all we long
for?
This torture, this powerful death of self? Why?
The answer is so simple cause it's...LOVE. It is
such an addictive thing that even people who are
not having it wish to experience it and share it
with others as well.

Pass this to all your friends so they don't make
the same mistake with their LOVE LIVES!! I like
the dreams of the future better than the history
of the past...

Love hurts our feeling, but it's also the reason
our soul heal..

But one day when u truly fall in love..remember
to let the 'someone' know..to suffer a moment of
embarassment is better than letting your
happiness fly away forever...


6:50 PM


1/08/2005

Woo hohoho! Egon is always the best weapon in half-life deathmatch! Wooo! At 1pm, when i might have been in ngee ann poly band practicing(even though i'm quitting), there i was, within 1km from the music room playing lan at mechmaster. A half-dozen rounds of Counterstrike, warcraft3,halflife and team fortress classic. Cool isn't it?

Yesterday, i met up with old people of the same age as me(darn i'm getting so old already), we went back to fairfield to "see" miss ng about Fairfield symphonic band's possible alumni band, that would surely replace FAW(Fairfield alumni winds). Anyway, being the Nicholas that i am, i can't even remember what i did except to play 3 instruments at the same time and sight-read lots of scores. Well, i finally learnt something new by analysis. I can play better with very very thin reeds, but the tone just sucks. Don't ask me to explain what i just said, think yourself. Bye!


5:40 PM


1/05/2005 Biophysics Essay

Darn, i spent much time on this, only to realize i'm off-topic. Btw, this is last semester's work haha. Comments by teacher marking it:A bit too anecdotal in tone,not technical,off topic. Good english and organisation(thankfully something to be proud of :| )

Topic : Slimming programmes that can be proven to be (near) impossible.

Here goes....

Have you heard of "slim your body to its ideal in 10 days?" Should you believe such newspaper advertisements that psyche you up just staring at it? Many Singaporeans refer to such advertisements as a total load of tripe where its just a money-wasting scheme. Even so, many people still undergo these slimming treatments. let us find out why.

The media(mainly television, newspaper and internet) has caused many to believe that a beautiful lady should have slim(almost bone and skin),tall and have ridiculously out-of-proportionate cleavages and buttocks. This has caused a recent exponential uptrend in the number of unnecessary customers visiting a slimming centre.....blab blab blab. Ok its boring you already. Enough enough enough!

Well, this few days of events haven't been making me feel happy. Definitely a period of trials. Mainly cause i think about the biggest choice i made in my life and whether i did the right thing. Once again, its poly and jc. Surface-wise, I try to be cheerful. But i havent got much motivation to talk too much about anything to anybody. Maybe just talk to pass time. But well, thats about it. Darn, so emotional already......


10:53 PM


1/04/2005

It comes again. Looking at acjcband's webpage and occasional catching up with some ac friends, it is very obvious..the difference between a poly and jc. Everything goes down to this one thing : Company.


8:55 PM


NICK



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