He could not forgive himself for that silly smile

Poetry

2006-11-15T19:53:00.000+08:00

it's a

mystery to me

why nobody can see

that French manicures

are ugly

A Sure Way of Breaking a Man's Spirit

2006-11-12T17:25:00.000+08:00

Make a list of all the movies, books and TV shows a man really wants to watch/read. Then seat him in a room, and slowly, painfully, tell him every single story ending, one by one by one by one.....

He will never desire again, never be excited again. What's novelty anymore? Ah, what bitterness!

P.S. But then he might just get a life and start doing more useful things out here, in the REAL world.

One day I will have to battle my own roaches

2006-01-24T23:21:00.000+08:00

But for now I will seek shelter behind the shining figure of my mom, arrayed gloriously with a broom and a bottle of magic clean, facing off with a mighty one of the family of Blattidae.
...
Ah, childhood!

Nursery Rhymes

2005-12-19T10:52:00.000+08:00

My friends and I have a strange habit of recounting nursery rhymes. In escaping the rigours of law school, childhood may be our only refuge. So this one is dedicated to the circle of four:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In desperation, (Frodo) began a ridiculous song that Bilbo had been rather fond of (and indeed rather proud of, for he had made up the words himself). It was about an inn; and that is probably why it came to Frodo's mind just then. Here it is in full. Only a few words of it are now, as a rule, remembered.

There is an inn, a merry old inn

beneath an old grey hill,

And there they brew a beer so brown

That the Man in the Moon himself came down

one night to drink his fill.

The ostler has a tipsy cat

that plays a five-stringed fiddle;

And up and down he runs his bow,

Now squeaking high, now purring low,

now sawing in the middle.

The landlord keeps a little dog

that is mighty fond of jokes;

When there's good cheer among the guests,

He cocks an ear at all the jests

and laughs until he chokes.

They also keep a hornéd cow
As proud as any queen;
But music turns her head like ale,
And makes her wave her tufted tail

and dance upon the green.

And O! the rows of silver dishes

and the store of silver spoons!

For Sunday there's a special pair,

And these they polish up with care

on Saturday afternoons.

The Man in the Moon was drinking deep,

and the cat began to wail;

A dish and a spoon on the table danced,

The cow in the garden madly pranced,

and the little dog chased his tail.

The Man in the Moon took another mug,

and then rolled beneath his chair;

And there he dozed and dreamed of ale,

Till in the sky the stars were pale,

and dawn was in the air.

Then the ostler said to his tipsy cat:

'The white horses of the Moon,

They neigh and champ their silver bits;

But their master's been and drwoned his wits,

and the Sun'll be rising soon!'

So the cat on his fiddle played hey-diddle-diddle,

a jig that would wake the dead:

He squeaked and sawed and quickened the tune,

While the landlord shook the Man in the Moon:

'It's after three!' he said.

They rolled the Man slowly up the hill

and bundled him into the Moon,

While his horses galloped up in rear,

And the cow came capering like a deer,

and a dish ran up with the spoon.

Now quicker the fiddle went deedle-dum-diddle;

the dog began to roar,

The cow and the horses stood on their heads;

The guests all bounded from their beds

and danced upon the floor.

With a ping and a pong the fiddle-strings broke!

the cow jumped over the Moon,

And the little dog laughed to see such fun,

And the Saturday dish went off at a run

with the silver Sunday spoon.

The round Moon rolled behind the hill,

as the Sun raised up her head.

She hardly believed her fiery eyes;

For though it was day, to her surprise

they all went back to bed!

- by J.R.R. Tolkien, in The Fellowship of the Ring

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think I'll teach this one to my kids instead. It's a lot more fun.

Brief Hiatus

2005-12-04T01:14:00.000+08:00

Hello everyone!

I will be away at a church camp for a week, so do not expect any thought-provoking posts from me for a while. I know no one really reads this blog. But tellimg people not to miss me makes me feel important.

So humor me.

Blog Spot on my Hankerchief

2005-12-01T01:50:00.000+08:00

I was just out (yes, it does feel like travel) reading blogs. And I feel a little ill now. A connection lieth therein. I know it! =)

Pardon me if I have grieved a dear friend...

2005-11-29T04:59:00.000+08:00

My previous post aroused my curiosity. So I did a little research on carrier pigeons. And what I found... blew me away.

Just about 80 years ago, carrier pigeons were being used for an all-important mission: to communicate in the battle fields on WW1. Sometimes their little legs were fixed with cameras to take pictures of eemy positions. They soared in the skies together with planes, skilfully dodged the bullets that were rained upon them, and alas, many also gave their lives.

And there was the story of Cher Ami, (translated, Dear Friend), who saved the lives of over 200 American soldiers. These 200 men who were trapped in a depression on the side of a hill, and surrounded by enemy forces, were in danger of being bombed to death by their own artillary which was accidentally bombing them, not knowing the precise location of where the 200 men were trapped. So Cher Ami, the only pigeon available to the men, was sent with a message to their commander.

As he took flight from the depression, the German army saw him and opened fire. For several minutes, he was in the midst of the terrible bullets zipping past him. But, thank goodness, he made it. And the men were saved.

On a subsequent mission, Cher Ami was badly wounded. He was blinded in one eye, a bullet had hit his breast bone, and the leg carrying the message was almost completely severed. Yet, he completed that final mission.

He lived for a year after that, a much celebrated and decorated war hero, with a special wooden leg carved just for him. Why, poems were written about this bird!

I might be tempted to wish such fate upon myself if he were not lovingly stuffed by a taxidermist when he died so that his corpse could be displayed to future generations.

So Dear Friend, pardon me for belittling your efforts.

First Post

2005-11-29T00:09:00.000+08:00

I would like to celebrate my first post by paying tribute to the carrier pigeons who were one of the pioneers of posting, but whose tiresome journeys would be useless today. Still they are an object of mild curiosity.

Caveat: I do not propose to be an expert on carrier pigeons.