tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-335099342024-03-14T20:02:08.693+08:00j*sSexiness, here I come!Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.comBlogger200125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-37602588580371973352009-09-19T11:19:00.001+08:002009-09-19T11:20:56.170+08:00Jump!Well, here it is. With tumblr taking its place as my main blog, I am officially putting this blog on an indefinite hiatus. I won't retire it or delete it outright, as you never know when I might use this space for something. Everything here will be left as it is.<br />
<br />
But this place does have some connection to my new tumblelog, namely my cbox and the pic-links. I've transplanted them to my new tumblelog. Just go there click the little "i" icon.<br />
<br />
For those of you who don't read good, see the picture example below.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SrRNlMrk41I/AAAAAAAABHQ/8oC2xF3LxhA/s1600-h/clicky.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="176" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SrRNlMrk41I/AAAAAAAABHQ/8oC2xF3LxhA/s400/clicky.png" width="400" /></a><br />
</div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-56291436446275986752009-09-10T19:05:00.001+08:002009-09-10T19:06:30.642+08:00tumblrIs it just me or is the world one big bandwagon? Funny thing... I never knew anything about <a href="http://www.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> till 20 mins ago when I read it on <a href="http://inevitablyours.blogspot.com/">Ecks' blog</a>. Even then, it wasn't until I read more about it and signed up for my own account that I was sucked into it.<br />
<br />
I now have my very own tumblr spot. Doesn't take a genius to figure out the link. Might start writing there now. With the advent of both my personas on Twitter and tumblr, is my bloggery bloggy Blogger blog doomed?<br />
<br />
We'll see.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-21209835222208661522009-08-26T18:40:00.005+08:002009-08-26T19:23:22.014+08:00Slow patch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SpUYWUDIXAI/AAAAAAAABGw/oVBL0m80g5Y/s1600-h/Twitter_Bird_by_freakyframe.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SpUYWUDIXAI/AAAAAAAABGw/oVBL0m80g5Y/s400/Twitter_Bird_by_freakyframe.png" /></a></div><br />
Like so many others, Twitter is effectively strangling my main blog by becoming my microblog of sorts.<br />
<br />
Well, I suppose really the two major factors in post frequency (or lack thereof) are time and location. Given my current hectic schedule due to the two jobs with 6 different student groups to balance, I'm either always too busy, or am nowhere near my PC. It's much easier to tweet, so random thoughts and snippets of my day usually find their way onto my <a href="http://twitter.com/jadesimian">Twitterfeed</a>, and now I tend to only put up major posts on the blog, or usually things I can't express in 140 characters.<br />
<br />
In any case, new template! Comes complete with Twitterfeed in the sidebar for those of you who don't follow me on Twitter (or for those of you who haven't yet discovered <a href="http://twitter.com/about">the simple joy of Twitter</a>). So even if I don't post here very often, you can keep up with my happenings and doings and goings-on and other such funky words.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-16894736567578666052009-08-25T16:58:00.002+08:002009-08-25T16:58:06.645+08:00Results<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SpOneOwvVcI/AAAAAAAABGg/inAhL-GO8mo/s1600-h/B%26A.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="306" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SpOneOwvVcI/AAAAAAAABGg/inAhL-GO8mo/s400/B%26A.png" width="400" /></a></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-86176111511023869602009-08-18T20:11:00.001+08:002009-08-18T20:14:13.299+08:00True story<span style="color: #1a0a13; font-family: georgia;"></span><br />
<ol><li>In Ancient Egypt, people wore glittery eyeshadow made from the crushed shells of Chester.</li>
<li>The patron saint of Chester is Saint Eugenie.</li>
<li>India tested its first nuclear Chester in 1974!</li>
<li>Chester can turn his stomach inside out.</li>
<li>Bananas don't grow on trees - they grow on Chester.</li>
<li>Japan provides over thirty percent of the world's Chester supply.</li>
<li>Reindeer like to eat Chester.</li>
<li>All the moons of the Solar System are named after characters from Greek and Roman mythology, except the moons of Uranus, which are named after Chester.</li>
<li>Chester has 118 ridges around his edge.</li>
<li>Chester can be very poisonous if injected intravenously.</li>
</ol><div></div><div>I particularly like number 8. Any sentence with Uranus in it is always funny.</div><div></div><div><span style="font-size: x-small;">Made with </span><a href="http://thesurrealist.co.uk/trivia.pl?"><span style="font-size: x-small;">this</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">.</span></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-20297095750030382802009-08-06T16:44:00.006+08:002009-08-06T17:10:46.113+08:00Reminiscing futureConversations with old friends.<br />
Wistful, carefree, but troubling, if only because we see change,<br />
Mayhap good, often not so.<br />
The fallibility of all, so evident in its persistent pervasiveness of people,<br />
That it leaves no stone unturned, no rock unmoved, no character unblemished, no spirit unbroken.<br />
<br />
No faith untorn.<br />
<br />
Oh, how the mighty have fallen, that those we hold in such regard would find themselves in the fall,<br />
To know the depths at which they sink, could and would and have.<br />
Look in the mirror of their faces, and see the apparition of ourselves staring back,<br />
Love in its smile, death in its eyes.<br />
<br />
The pedestal is high, which, in seeing the idol violently descend,<br />
We realize isn't fit for anyone to grace save for Grace Himself.<br />
For He is able to remain steadfast in the malevolent storms we as our own gods create in ignorance to destroy ourselves.<br />
The veil was rent only to be restored by hands that would claw at it,<br />
Bloody, rampant, desperate, blinded.<br />
<br />
The choice remains ours, as it ever was, and for now, still is.<br />
Are we to meet death on our own terms, or His?<br />
That we, that you, that <b><i>I <span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;">would choose to die by, for, with, and in GRACE,</span></span></i></b><br />
<b><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-style: normal;">And not apart from it.</span></span></i></b><br />
<br />
That perchance, when we gods die, He will bring d<b>L</b>e<b>I</b>a<b>F</b>t<b>E</b>h.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SnqW8SxaZ0I/AAAAAAAABGY/MiAp5adLAIo/s1600-h/And_The_Veil_Was_Rent____by_Falco101.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SnqW8SxaZ0I/AAAAAAAABGY/MiAp5adLAIo/s400/And_The_Veil_Was_Rent____by_Falco101.jpg" /></a></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-57411999899688750992009-07-10T19:27:00.000+08:002009-07-10T19:27:37.266+08:00GH & RBThe truth comes out. ^_^<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SlclWMdC56I/AAAAAAAABGE/Jq1woCuDwFY/s1600-h/20090703.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SlclWMdC56I/AAAAAAAABGE/Jq1woCuDwFY/s400/20090703.gif" width="107" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Click to enlarge</span></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-29369655899124281472009-07-08T13:29:00.001+08:002009-07-08T13:32:04.161+08:00Think before you flushI once watched an episode of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_Investigation">Medical Investigation</a> where one of the characters explained the aerosol effect that occurs whenever you flush a toilet. Ever since then, I have put the toilet lid down before I flush. This is to minimize the cloud of faecal/urinal water vapour that would geyser its way onto every surface of the toilet. This of course includes shampoo bottles, soap, <i>toothbrushes, </i>etc.<br />
<i></i>And anyone who happens to be in the toilet at the time. <img src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y109/ches_k/its_raining_shit.gif" /><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SlQsoArTR5I/AAAAAAAABF8/B2u88YkZuhU/s1600-h/28115f4cdab1447589a7a2ecbe2156ae.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SlQsoArTR5I/AAAAAAAABF8/B2u88YkZuhU/s400/28115f4cdab1447589a7a2ecbe2156ae.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Click to enlarge.</span></div><br />
<br />
It's pretty disturbing. Just thinking about it is making me feel a little queasy.<br />
<br />
Even without the current pandemic-scare atmosphere, I recommend that everyone <b>always</b> close the lid before they flush. For more info, <a href="http://serendip.brynmawr.edu/exchange/node/1839">read this</a>.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-70408598479723700872009-06-28T14:23:00.004+08:002009-06-28T14:39:15.629+08:00RetrospectiveI was driving home with an adolescent entourage in the backseat. Michael Jackson was blasting on the radio (from the iPod via FM transmitter) and those of us old enough to remember the awesomeness of MJ were grooving to the beat.<br />
<br />
One of the pubescents piped up, "He sounds like a girl."<br />
<br />
I immediately thought how callous and ignorant a statement that was. First of all, this man just died. Secondly, this was <b><i><span style="font-style: normal;">Michael</span> </i>freakin'<i> <span style="font-style: normal;">Jackson</span></i></b>.<br />
<br />
But it got me thinking bout how we're all products of our upbringing. We're all results of the things we're exposed to as kids. No doubt when the next generation grows up, they'll be able to say to their friends, "Hey, remember that thing with the music and the stuff they did?"<br />
<br />
The great thing is, you could use those exact words, and your friends would still agree and say "Yeah! That was cool!"<br />
<br />
For me, it was <a href="http://www.britishknights.com/">British Knights</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fun_House_(game_show)">Fun House</a> (with the ubiquitous Hawaii vacation prize-- Waikiki!), <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/M.A.S.K.">M.A.S.K.</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thundercats">Thundercats</a>, Michael Jackson, Sesame Street (pre- Elmo),<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Centurions">The Centurions</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Super_Mario_Brothers">Super Mario Brothers</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Contra_(video_game)">Contra</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Axe">Golden Axe</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Streets_of_rage">Streets of Rage (a.k.a. Bare Knuckle)</a>, and so on. The mere mention of these would cause the faces of many of my peers to light up with that "I-just-ate-an-ice-cream-covered-cupcake" look. Even the themes to many of these childhood mainstays are ingrained in our minds. Try playing the Super Mario Bros theme around any 80's child and watch his/her face. Heck, even non-80's kids will recognize it. Or you could try saying "Poweeeeeeer EXTREME!" and watch them smile.<br />
<br />
All these different media had a way of squeezing into your subconscious and making being a kid awesome. Case in point-- Contra. I remember running around the levels of Contra and yelling at my brother because he stole my Spreadshot power-up, then laughing in disdain as he got shot in the face by a stray bullet from one of the enemies that looked like what can only be described as a projectile-spitting alien version of female genitalia, not unlike what you would see at a ping pong show, except in Contra the ping pong balls kill you if you touch them.<br />
<br />
Hmm, maybe it's not so different.<br />
<br />
But Contra definitely has the advantage, since you could easily get <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Konami_Code">30 lives to spare</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SkcHR5i3MwI/AAAAAAAABF0/1YwttnIGtUQ/s1600-h/contra.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SkcHR5i3MwI/AAAAAAAABF0/1YwttnIGtUQ/s400/contra.png" width="267" /></a></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-44679028218654770292009-06-26T10:28:00.003+08:002009-06-27T12:00:27.339+08:00Michael Jackson has died.<div style="text-align: left;">Those words seem so surreal somehow. Here was an icon many of us grew up with and marvelled at. His music changed standards so many times, and many of his songs are the definition of the word "classic".</div><br />
He was a legend, both for his music and his eccentricities, but in every way he was and is incomparable in the music industry.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SkQyKUKWpcI/AAAAAAAABFc/l5jQXC6so9s/s1600-h/Michael_Jackson_by_Pussycat.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SkQyKUKWpcI/AAAAAAAABFc/l5jQXC6so9s/s400/Michael_Jackson_by_Pussycat.png" /></a></div><br />
Farewell, King of Pop. And thanks for the music.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/-tqYUTjQIc0&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/-tqYUTjQIc0&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-21063712978324343172009-06-15T22:39:00.000+08:002009-06-15T22:39:48.615+08:00Idioms and suchGot this in an e-mail a while back. Thought it was pretty cool:<br />
<br />
The next time you are washing your hands and complain because the water temperature isn't just how you like it, think about how things used to be. Here are some facts about the 1500s:<br />
<br />
Most people got married in June because they took their yearly bath in May, and still smelled pretty good by June. However, they were starting to smell, so brides carried a bouquet of flowers to hide the body odor. Hence the custom today of <b>carrying a bouquet when getting married</b>.<br />
<br />
Baths consisted of a big tub filled with hot water. The man of the house had the privilege of the nice clean water, then all the other sons and men, then the women and finally the children. Last of all were the babies. By then the water was so dirty you could actually lose someone in it. Hence the saying, "<b>Don't throw the baby out with the bath water.</b>"<br />
<br />
Houses had thatched roofs, i.e. thick straw piled high, with no wood underneath. It was the only place for animals to get warm, so all the cats and other small animals (mice, bugs) lived in the roof. When it rained it became slippery and sometimes the animals would slip and fall off the roof. Hence the saying "<b>It's raining cats and dogs</b>".<br />
<br />
Moreover, there was nothing to stop things from falling into the house. This posed a real problem in the bedroom where bugs and other droppings could mess up your nice clean bed. Hence, a bed with big posts and a sheet hung over the top afforded some protection. That's how <b>canopy beds</b> came into existence.<br />
<br />
In most houses, the floor was dirt. Only the wealthy had something other than dirt. Hence the saying, <b>dirt poor</b>. The wealthy had slate floors that would get slippery in the winter when wet, so they spread thresh (straw) on floor to help keep their footing. As the winter wore on, they added more thresh until, when you opened the door, it would all start slipping outside. A piece of wood was placed in the entrance way. Hence the saying <b>a thresh hold</b>.<br />
<br />
Getting quite an education, aren't you?<br />
<br />
In those old days, they cooked in the kitchen with a big kettle that always hung over the fire. Every day they lit the fire and added things to the pot. They ate mostly vegetables and did not get much meat. They would eat the stew for dinner, leaving leftovers in the pot to get cold overnight and then start over the next day. Sometimes stew had food in it that had been there for quite a while. Hence the rhyme, "<b>Peas porridge hot, peas porridge cold, peas porridge in the pot nine days old.</b>"<br />
<br />
Sometimes they could obtain pork, which made them feel quite special. When visitors came over, they would hang up their bacon to show off. It was a sign of wealth that a man could <b>bring home the bacon</b>. They would cut off a little to share with guests and would all sit around and <b>chew the fat</b>.<br />
<br />
Those with money had plates made of pewter. Food with high acid content caused some of the lead to leach onto the food, causing lead poisoning death. This happened most often with tomatoes, so for the next 400 years or so, <b>tomatoes were considered poisonous</b>.<br />
<br />
Bread was divided according to status. Workers got the burnt bottom of the loaf, the family got the middle, and guests got the top, or <b>the upper crust</b>.<br />
<br />
Lead cups were used to drink ale or whiskey. The combination would sometimes knock the imbibers out for a couple of days. Someone walking along the road would take them for dead and prepare them for burial. They were laid out on the kitchen table for a couple of days and the family would gather around and eat and drink and wait and see if they would wake up. Hence <b>the custom of holding a wake</b>.<br />
<br />
England is old and small and the local folks started running out of places to bury people. So they would dig up coffins and would take the bones to a bone-house, and reuse the grave. When reopening these coffins, 1 out of 25 coffins were found to have scratch marks on the inside and they realized they had been burying people alive. So they would tie a string on the wrist of the corpse, lead it through the coffin and up through the ground and tie it to a bell. Someone would have to sit out in the graveyard all night (<b>the graveyard shift</b>) to listen for the bell. Thus, someone could be <b>saved by the bell</b> or was considered <b>a dead ringer</b>.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-65103082671572720242009-06-09T16:16:00.001+08:002009-06-09T16:19:01.578+08:00Thin thoughtsFound an article that explains <a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_16708_p2.html">6 Of Your Favorite Things That Are Secretly Making You Fat</a>. In a nutshell:<br />
<ul><li><b>Caffeine</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"This gets to be a problem when drinks like Starbucks' famous Frappuccino have around 500 calories per cup. Even worse, the human brain has a logical disconnect when it comes to liquid calories. That is to say, it doesn't acknowledge them at all.<br />
<br />
So for instance, a personal pan pizza from Pizza Hut has 610 calories. Therefore, your Starbucks beverage is like a little pizza transformed into a little fruity coffee with training-wheels. The difference is that the pizza will make you feel full. The Frappuccino won't.<br />
<br />
The biggest thing caffeine does is jack your stress level through the roof, which steers your metabolism straight into "Survival/Conservation" mode. While it's doing that, it also increases your appetite, which makes you seek a whole pile of comfort foods to swallow in order to cope with that stress we just mentioned."</blockquote><br />
<ul><li><b>Saving Money</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"All that careful, thrifty shopping you're doing isn't only making you fatter, but it's also probably wasting your money. You can bulk-shop in two different ways; you can either buy a single huge unit of a foodstuff (say, an eight-gallon tub of pretzels) or you can buy a whole bunch of single-serving packages (a pallet of 48 juiceboxes.)<br />
<br />
What you're thinking at the time of purchase: "For the price of one trip to a restaurant, I can have a year's worth of pretzels and juiceboxes!" You then cart your purchases home and immediately start devouring them at twice the rate you would if you didn't have so damn much of them (according to a survey published in the Journal of Marketing Research)."</blockquote><br />
<ul><li><b> Air-Conditioning</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"The body has to burn energy to maintain its temperature. Make it too cold or too hot, and the body has to burn calories to adjust. But put the body in a room that's 72 degrees all the time, and those processes don't run. No energy is burned and no calories are spent.<br />
<br />
This energy burning varies from person to person, but it's generally works out to a couple hundred calories a day, which adds up over the lazy summer months. And that's not even the whole story, according to a report published in the International Journal of Obesity, whose valiant researchers of all things pudge-related recently found a link between being hot and not eating very much. Go figure, right?"</blockquote><br />
<ul><li><b>Your Friends</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"In a study that the Psychological Bulletin briefly titled 'Effects of the Presence of Others on Food Intake: A Normative Interpretation', it was discovered that each additional person at the dinner table means another 20% or so consumed by all present.<br />
<br />
Think about it: assuming you actually like the people you're eating with, chances are you're going to engage in some form of pleasant conversation over the meal. A happy mind is a distracted mind, one that pays less attention to food intake and feelings of fullness.<br />
<br />
Of course there's also the way people reinforce each others' bad behavior ("No desert for me. Unless you wanted something... okay, waiter, we're both having the bacon ice cream cake").<br />
<br />
Since these folks are your pals, you're probably going to want to linger over your meal, get a dessert or some booze, or coffee. Three slices of stale cheesecake, a bottle of vinegary red, and 90 minutes later and you find yourself wishing for larger pants (when you should probably just wish for healthier friends.)"</blockquote><br />
<ul><li><b>Your Mom</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"Remember when your mother told you to clean your plate? You know, because of those starving kids in Africa? Most of us are programmed to eat until we see the bottom of the dish.<br />
<br />
But why are we still following Mom's advice well into adulthood? Well, basically your stomach is an idiot. It has absolutely no way of quantifying exactly how hungry you are. Your brain is the smart one, it handles the numbers and shit. Except for the little fact that your brain has no idea how hungry you are either, because your stomach, the stupid one, is pretty much completely in charge of the whole diet operation.<br />
<br />
It takes your stomach about twenty minutes to even signal to your brain that it has received food."</blockquote><br />
<ul><li><b>Using The Internet</b></li>
</ul><blockquote>"There are these neat little communiques between your stomach and your brain called 'orosensory signals of satiation'. They're the signals your stomach sends off when it's full to let the brain know when it's time to stop shovelling Cheetos down.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, orosensory signals are like anemic little schoolgirls when pitted against all the other things that constantly vie for your brain's attention, and have a nasty habit of getting shoved aside by bigger, stronger signals. Distracting signals like these clog up your brain all the time when you're doing something fun, like surfing the net.<br />
<br />
So you're sitting there, eating chips with one hand and moving the mouse with the other. Have you had four handfuls, or five? How full was the bag when you started? Don't ask your stomach, it's retarded. And your brain is too busy handling the sensory information provided by that .gif of the dramatic hamster to care.<br />
<br />
So that pretty much leaves... well, no one. According to a study from the American Journal of Clinical Nutrition, the damage works out to eating about fifteen percent more of your snack while distracted. You might as well have a monitor that fires little sausages into your mouth."</blockquote>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-11738790641049497282009-05-18T22:51:00.001+08:002009-05-18T22:53:32.135+08:00My mom is a jediWhat follows is a conversation between my mom and me with literal (sorta) translations from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hakka_%28language%29">Hakka</a>. Pardon the lousy romanization. It sounds a lot funnier in Chinese.<br />
<br />
Mom: <i>Ngi oi yim </i>barley<i> mau? </i>[You want drink barley or not?]<br />
Me: <i>Moi</i>.<i> </i>[Don't want.]<br />
Mom: <i><b>Oi</b>! </i>[Want!]<br />
<br />
Talk about a Jedi mind trick. Incidentally, I did end up having a glass. <br />
<br />
I was also playing "Nothing Else Matters" on <a href="http://www.google.com/url?sa=t&source=web&ct=res&cd=1&url=http%3A%2F%2Fmetallica.guitarhero.com%2F&ei=UWgRSpWpIKHqsgP1t4TmAg&usg=AFQjCNE4n6_r6RIYKWfjCcIb9lWAh24P8w&sig2=27RBD8EKhWnTTOnIzWUi-Q">Guitar Hero: Metallica</a>, and she commented about how she likes that song because my brother used to listen to it continually.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/prWq00wVi_s&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/prWq00wVi_s&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-83808942739003505412009-05-15T23:58:00.001+08:002009-05-16T00:00:42.861+08:00Tummy GrumblesInspired by <a href="http://kangta164.blogspot.com/">Ron</a> and coaxed by a friend, I've started my own little weight loss blog of sorts. My friend wanted to know how I've been dropping the pounds, specifically what my meals are like, so I thought I'd set it up nicely and put it in nice presentable posts hehe.<br />
<br />
Got a few posts on there already, so feel free to <a href="http://tummygrumbles.blogspot.com/">give it a look</a>. Also added the link to the Portals tab above.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Sg2RB5vF3-I/AAAAAAAABA8/A_lkD6Qp0b4/s1600-h/yum.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Sg2RB5vF3-I/AAAAAAAABA8/A_lkD6Qp0b4/s320/yum.png" /></a></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-37230392431128312172009-05-12T12:44:00.003+08:002009-05-12T12:44:47.610+08:00Hellooooooo, nurse........?!<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/srzrfuw8QqM&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/srzrfuw8QqM&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-17484807475021538422009-04-30T09:39:00.003+08:002009-04-30T09:42:15.453+08:00It's coming.<a href="http://www1.ap.dell.com/content/products/productdetails.aspx/desktop-studio-slim?c=sg&cs=sgdhs1&l=en&s=dhs">I can't wait</a>.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-34076385085446836412009-04-29T11:29:00.003+08:002009-04-30T09:35:29.253+08:00I want a lightcycleNot many people are old enough to remember Tron. It was made in 1982, and was kinda old even by the time I saw it, but I became an instant fan. It made computers seem so cool and funky and interesting, which was a pretty hard thing to do in the 1980s.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SffILDVxWwI/AAAAAAAABAs/Iy9wtw0496Y/s1600-h/Tron_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SffILDVxWwI/AAAAAAAABAs/Iy9wtw0496Y/s400/Tron_poster.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I recently watched Tron again, and it's still a great movie. Although a little dated, the special effects, the costumes, the colours, the music and sound, all of it is as smile-inducing as I remember. And even watching it all these years later through more adult eyes, the plot is still good, though I wouldn't call it Oscar-winning.<br />
<br />
And now, almost three decades later, comes Tron 2.0 (a.k.a. <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tron_2.0_%28film%29">TR2N</a>). Thus far, there hasn't been much to show how things are going, but a blurry bootleg trailer captured at the recent San Diego Comic-Con this year has been making its rounds on the web.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/rOy6OQgvWOw&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/rOy6OQgvWOw&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div><br />
<br />
Despite the blurriness, watching that trailer has me really psyched. And the inclusion of Jeff Bridges?! Frickin' wicked. If I'd been in that crowd, I'd be cheering too.<br />
<br />
Man, 2011 can't come fast enough.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SffINauhaZI/AAAAAAAABA0/YH4YBGNPBD0/s1600-h/Tron_in_effects.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SffINauhaZI/AAAAAAAABA0/YH4YBGNPBD0/s400/Tron_in_effects.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">TR2N concept art</span>.</div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-5720121947306331772009-04-19T22:53:00.004+08:002009-04-25T11:36:38.177+08:00Notes Adrift<div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Prologue</b></span></i></div><br />
"Sir!"<br />
The shrill yell from the crow's nest startled me out of my reverie. I had just been gazing out to sea, watching the sunlight dance on the waves like so many precious diamonds. I had been lost in thought, as one tends to be after being at the helm of a ship for as long as I have.<br />
I looked up at Johnny, the young cabin boy moonlighting as our lookout, as he shimmied down the mast like an excitable gibbon. The scowl on my face must have been quite evident as he immediately got a sheepish look on his face. <br />
"Apologies, Cap'n!" he said. "But I thought you'd be wanting to know I spotted an island on the horizon due south of our position."<br />
I smiled wryly. <br />
"Your keen eye is the only reason I let you up there, lad," I said.<br />
The boy blushed. <br />
"Sorry Sir, but I love the view, is all. It's really something."<br />
"Yes, it really is spectacular," I agreed.<br />
"You been up there before, Cap?"<br />
"Of course, lad! I had my fair share of lookout duties when I was around your age. I wasn't always in charge of the Clarion, you know. She's been around a fair while, and I dare say I've been one of her most faithful sailors. Now, go tell the first-mate the news. Give her the new heading and tell her to set sail immediately. We may just save the poor soul yet."<br />
Johnny gave a salute and ran off. I looked due south to see if I could see the island he had spotted, squinting as I did so. Alas, these poor eyes weren't what they used to be, and I could make nothing out but the ostensibly infinite expanse of the sea, stretching out to meet the horizon.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Ses4zryz22I/AAAAAAAABAU/YZMq_333qog/s1600-h/Ship_by_Jujika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/post-edit.g?blogID=33509934&postID=572012194730633177" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Ses5LtKU4XI/AAAAAAAABAc/sb_5WfeTvhE/s400/Ship_by_Jujika.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><i><b><span style="font-size: large;">Chapter 1</span></b></i></div><br />
After speaking with Lumeria about how long it would take us to reach the island, I returned to my cabin and picked up the message lying on my desk. The paper on which it was written was old and brown, and beside it sat a small green bottle, uncorked. I read once again, trying to spot any new clues or detail I’d missed. Then again, even without the message, there was ample detail. <br />
I am proud to say that the Clarion has one of the most learned (albeit eclectic) bunch of sailors to ever make up a crew. Each one of them has continually braved the sea for at least six years, at least two of those under me. And a handful of them have become my most trusted companions, despite (or perhaps because of) their particular odd traits.<br />
There's the first-mate, Lumeria Somro, who was once a navy commander serving in the Palantean War ten years ago. She may be a gruff sort of character, but it's no exaggeration to say that she's a better handler of the Clarion than even I am, despite all my years. <br />
There's Euram Wilde, the bosun, who just so happens to be an expert (some would claim obsessed) botanist. One look at his quarters and you'd fancy you stumbled into a miniature lost paradise, what with all the colourful flora scattered about. His faux greenhouse also seems to support a small ecosystem of insects, and it is for that reason that Lumeria avoids his quarters at all costs. I've always found her phobia of insects amusing.<br />
And then there's Johnny Egret. Now there's a sad story. Father killed in the war, mother tried to dump him in a ditch at birth but was instead found out, caught and hanged. I found him in a filthy little workhouse when he was seven, and immediately procured his freedom and gave him a new home and new family on the Clarion. He proved to be a valuable member of the crew with his insatiably inquisitive nature, cheerful demeanour and sharp eyes. And it was precisely those eyes that had spotted the little green bottle floating in the sea, decided it was important, and pointed it out to us. How he had managed this from high up in the crow's nest, I can’t imagine.<br />
Fishing it out of the deep blue waters and prying the cork loose was quite the crowd-puller. For some reason, every member of our fifteen-man crew was present, craning their heads and even standing on crates trying to get a better look at it. Given all the exciting tavern stories of life at sea, you'd have thought that messages in bottles were commonplace, but really, most sailors never encountered any. Or rather, if they did, it was almost shrugged off as flotsam.<br />
When I pulled out the cork, I immediately noticed how old the paper was. Judging from the wrinkling, it had obviously gotten wet and then been dried. It was quite dry still, as the bottle had been quite watertight. There was also a slight odd odour, which I later realized emanated from a small rotting flower.<br />
"Mr. Wilde?" I said to Euram as I handed him the flower's remains.<br />
"I can’t say for sure what genus it could be, Captain. Given its state of rot, this will require closer examination before I can say for certain."<br />
Lumeria put a finger to her lips. <br />
"I'm more curious as to why it was put in there in the first place," she thought aloud.<br />
The neck of the bottle was narrow, and only Johnny's youth-nimble fingers could prise the rolled-up piece of paper out. He was about to unroll it, then realized every eye on him, some sterner than others. He blushed and sheepishly handed it to me.<br />
Lumeria and Euram stood beside me as I read the spidery writing aloud to the crew.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y109/ches_k/notesadriftletter.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Ses4fr2AFzI/AAAAAAAABAE/CuNUtoESABw/s400/notesadriftletter.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
I looked up and was greeted with silence. No one spoke. No one moved. Some of the crew looked at each other.<br />
"Umm... Cap'n?"<br />
All eyes turned to Johnny.<br />
"We gonna try and save 'im?" he asked.<br />
"Sounds like a good idea to me. Let's get to it then!" I said, turning to the crew.<br />
I asked Euram to thoroughly examine the flower as quick as possible and told Lumeria and the rest of the crew to wait for further information before setting off. With that, I clapped a hand on Johnny's shoulder. <br />
"Not to worry, lad. If this man's still alive and waiting, we'll bring him home."Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-68635948581502911492009-04-13T22:30:00.002+08:002009-04-13T22:34:01.337+08:00I <3 badmintonI love badminton. No, seriously, I <i><b>love </b></i>badminton.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNDOYAUQeI/AAAAAAAAA_g/5mkpLu3Mek4/s1600-h/Badminton_by_nishika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNI4rctM0I/AAAAAAAAA_w/0TLZY28DPfo/s1600-h/Badminton_by_nishika.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNI4rctM0I/AAAAAAAAA_w/0TLZY28DPfo/s400/Badminton_by_nishika.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Ever since my <a href="http://jadesimian.blogspot.com/2008/02/ha-hah-feathery-cocks.html">return to the sport</a>, something about it just gets me. The split-second reaction times required to return a smash, the stretching and bounding to hit a shuttle, the awesome drop-shots, the fact that it's the fastest racquet sport (<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Badminton#Comparisons_with_other_racquet_sports">except maybe for table tennis</a>), everything. I don't know what it is; I just like everything about it. And it's a pretty Asian thing to like, <a href="http://www.asian-central.com/stuffasianpeoplelike/2008/04/29/69-badminton/">it seems</a>. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNDMyXCMBI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/KFZzxhK7ung/s1600-h/jitcrunch.aspx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNDMyXCMBI/AAAAAAAAA_Y/KFZzxhK7ung/s400/jitcrunch.aspx.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><a href="http://t-shirts.cafepress.com/item/real-men-play-badminton-dark-tshirt/99966319">I want this shirt</a>. Like, <i>now</i>.<br />
</span></b></div><br />
<br />
But recently I discovered, on upping my game and playing a little harder and more competitively, that the game isn't without its dangers. After a particularly brilliant and strenuous session of badminton, I noticed a stinging sensation, and after some research, I realized I suffered from nipple chafing. I mean, c'mon... <i>nipple</i> chafing? I've never chafed a nipple in my life!<br />
<br />
Oddly enough, it's officially known as "<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jogger%27s_nipple">jogger's nipple</a>" (<i><b>hairy nipple alert!</b></i>) since it commonly affects runners, most notably those that run long marathons. Luckily for me, I've never experienced the full brunt of it.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNKPRDKHDI/AAAAAAAAA_4/RN97rJQKam8/s1600-h/nipple-chafing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SeNKPRDKHDI/AAAAAAAAA_4/RN97rJQKam8/s400/nipple-chafing.jpg" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Seriously ouch.</span></div><br />
<br />
After the initial disbelief and embarrassment (and realizing that many male athletes also suffer from it), I thought about maybe investing in some <a href="http://www.nipguards.com/irp10a.html">nipple guards</a>. But then I read somewhere about a cheap alternative-- <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Medical_tape">medical tape</a>. And after trying it out over a few sessions, I can safely say it works. No more chafing, no more stinging.<br />
<br />
The only drawback is removing the tape. Them's sticky buggers. Slowly pulling it off works best. I discovered the hard way that the "1, 2, 3, RIIIIIP!" method is often worse than the actual <i>chafing</i>.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-85447642534724356062009-04-06T18:15:00.001+08:002009-04-06T18:16:52.957+08:00Woo hoo, we're in Dilbert!Does this mean we're famous?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SdnWbD8hrOI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/sKsX1Z2b2Zg/s1600-h/dilbertbrunei.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="123" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SdnWbD8hrOI/AAAAAAAAA_Q/sKsX1Z2b2Zg/s400/dilbertbrunei.gif" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Click to enlarge</span></div></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-15913474097455370672009-03-28T22:24:00.003+08:002009-03-28T23:03:00.456+08:00Leaning is inI went for a photoshoot earlier this month. One of my lecturers had asked me to pose as a postgraduate model, so I obliged. It's not everyday I get to live a model's life haha. The picture later appeared in a couple newspapers, which was kinda fun.<br />
<br />
I had no idea what was coming.<br />
<br />
Today I drove to campus a little earlier than usual since I had a meeting. I was pretty engrossed in my thoughts and didn't even notice my face plastered on a massive poster at the entrance. It wasn't until a few metres in that I noticed the first poster on the lamp post.<br />
<br />
"Oh! How flattering," I thought.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Sc4ur4v4whI/AAAAAAAAA-4/NxwVtBOQdB8/s400/postgrad2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And then I noticed the second poster on the second lamp post. And then the third poster on the next lamp post. And then the fourth, then the fifth, and the sixth, and... repeat <i>ad nauseum</i>.<br />
<br />
After work I decided to go off to the Chancellor Hall with <a href="http://maurina.wordpress.com/">my colleague</a>, and here's what I found.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Sc4uun-fxmI/AAAAAAAAA_A/NqybCfwNgns/s400/postgrad.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Hehe well, it's not everyday I get to be on a ten-foot long poster. Looks like <a href="http://ubd.edu.bn/academic/program/pgce/index.html">I'm even online</a>!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ubd.edu.bn/academic/program/pgce/index.html" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/Sc4uwKxnriI/AAAAAAAAA_I/QE-lmzB9thE/s400/postgradubd.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
And the irony in all this? I might not even be pursuing my Master's degree in Brunei.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-74296779663358828372009-03-19T11:53:00.003+08:002009-03-19T11:56:30.935+08:00Best game eveeeer!<div style="text-align: center;"><object width="425" height="344"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/v0TOV-qaINg&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/v0TOV-qaINg&hl=en&fs=1&rel=0" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-30539550634528258242009-03-08T23:34:00.001+08:002009-03-08T23:34:04.120+08:00WalkwalkwalkwalkinthelightThis makes me laugh. Should try this sometime haha.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FSMSOOY5Ykg&hl=en&fs=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FSMSOOY5Ykg&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-82039880755241007572009-03-02T10:45:00.000+08:002009-03-02T10:45:37.243+08:00Jesus on a couch<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHeK2HLzI/AAAAAAAAA-I/tVyCWz1rOeU/s1600-h/IMG_0441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Was at Dennis' place the other night hanging out with the gang (Haha, we're "the gang" now) just watching TV and talking. I happened to be running my fingers over the couch. You know the kind-- you rub it one way, there's a dark streak. You rub it the other way, it goes lighter.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHeK2HLzI/AAAAAAAAA-I/tVyCWz1rOeU/s1600-h/IMG_0441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHeK2HLzI/AAAAAAAAA-I/tVyCWz1rOeU/s400/IMG_0441.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Well anyway, Dennis saw that and he got an idea for a bit of late night artwork. Here's what he came up with:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHhCo3K5I/AAAAAAAAA-Q/P62t6l28D7g/s1600-h/IMG_0442.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHhCo3K5I/AAAAAAAAA-Q/P62t6l28D7g/s400/IMG_0442.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHi8L052I/AAAAAAAAA-Y/sMBN6LYQcQE/s1600-h/IMG_0444.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_9tsIgLI00rY/SatHi8L052I/AAAAAAAAA-Y/sMBN6LYQcQE/s400/IMG_0444.jpg" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div><br />
Hehe what can I say? The boy's got talent.Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33509934.post-58418392842577685332009-02-24T09:45:00.001+08:002009-04-13T22:44:54.845+08:00Ninja VS PirateWho would win, and why?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i4.photobucket.com/albums/y109/ches_k/Ninja_vs_Pirate_by_CookiemagiK.gif" style="cursor: move;" /></a></div>Chesterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00850491788724438955noreply@blogger.com7