You all owe me.

Yes, you all owe me. I want and need my reviews asap. Do it. And that is an order.

-Cap'n

Mass Spam

Sounds kinda like Mass Effect. But that is not the point.

Don't you dislike those people who take three seconds to craft a message (the standard blah) then select everyone on their contact lists, and send it out. So 342 people got the same message as you. Oh yay.

Look. If you're too lazy to even craft a proper message to wish others a happy whatever, then don't send it. Yes, too little time, yes, too difficult, yes, you're lazy.

Then why in the world send it at all?

If you have too little time, send it to the people who matter and if they do, you could at least spend some time writing a unique message for each one of them. That shows that you care enough.

Too difficult? Again, limit it down to five or six people who really matter.

You're lazy? Worse excuse. Don't waste my time reading your message, there are another 341 people who will read it anyway, so don't send it to me.

For me, I don't do Mass Spam, so yeah, I'm exempted.

-Cap'n

(Oh yeah, you could Mass Spam this along to your contacts?)

Face Off

Face off your darkest sorrows

Touch the deepest shadows.

Light the torch of hope.

For the end is not nigh.

Firstly, I want to say: Damn you all.

Not you my dear readers, of course not. Now who am I damning? Well, read on.

From the heart: Damn you, this is MY holiday. And I chose to do what I damn well please. Threaten me will you? Hold a knife to my throat and force my head down? Put a test before me and tell me it'll be counted, and I better study during the holidays?

*A whole string of expletives*

I don't give a damn. You hear me? That is MY rule. This is MY life. I live it MY way. The more you force, the harder I fight. Oh no, yes, I seem to bow, but careful! You do not want to face an enemy who smiles at you.

So this is my holiday, leave me alone. I do not want to be bothered by scores. I will do it, but at my own time. You do not have to rush me, I will do my own rushing. Please, I need the rest.

Thank you.

And if you step on the trap outside of the door, good riddance.

*Spits*

-Cap'n

Currently Busy

The Captain is currently busy, so I'll not be doing any blogging as of anytime soon.

*Silent night...Holy night...*

Cheerio!

-Cap'n

Lee Wei Ling

Buy the Sunday papers, if not for the comics section and the pictures of food, then for this author's columns. It shares a life of thoughts and mild lessons to be learnt, yet not being too obvious at times. I sometimes sigh to reach the end.

Go read it, it might invoke something in ye.

-Cap'n

Restablishing connections Captain, stand by.

Well, firstly, I'll start off by saying that I usually skip articles which I see to have more than 3 strings of numbers.

Why?

Those strings of numbers usually represent to me financial issues - who is going to be investing in what and where...etc(You know the story). Furthermore, those statistics usually announce to the reader that the writer has nothing else to go upon and relies on these numbers to drag up old stories to lengthen the article, else, the essentials would be about two, or one paragraph long.

Next, I'll also avoid articles with lotsa, <<*******>> in them, since they represent a book or a title which I have never read before and the author goes on to say how this book is related to the article itself, which makes it extremely confusing to me as I have never personally read these books.

And so on, so forth, am I making sense so far? No? Good.

-When I think up of something else to write later.

A piece of candy

The windows were smeared grey with grime. Hummer approached the building quietly, pistol at the ready. There was no telling what might turn up here. Shades perhaps. Maybe the monsters they called Wraiths. There was no telling.

Wraiths. Strange word. He thought as he closed in on the glass displays. There was a strange sense of detachment, with one mind running through the standard procedures of securing a building and checking for any signs of movement at the same time, while another mind was quietly sorting through the data he had accumulated.

The data that they had given him on these creatures were mostly vague recounts. But from sifting and matching the information, he concluded that it was somewhat of a higher species of Shades, the name they gave to the changed humans. Those were easy to eliminate, they made for you directly, not caring for any obstacles in their paths. They weren't like the zombies they showed in the movies though, they didn't make moaning noises, and that made them slightly more efficient. But something disturbing that was they sometimes looked like perfectly normal humans, and that brief indecision of a second worked to their advantage.

Overall though, they were easier than any human targets he had came across.

He looked around for a moment, pausing before the grimy glass. There wasn't any other sound, except his own, hard breathing. Nothing else.

He raised a hand to rub the glass, then stopped before he touched it. Something didn't feel right here. He pulled his hand back, then hesitated for a moment, before moving it forward to its previous position.

The fingers stretched and relaxed. He looked about again. Nothing.

Hummer laid his hand on the glass and rubbed a small circle.

Inside seemed untouched, the items still on their shelves and neatly placed, although they seemed to be gathering dust. He rubbed a bigger circle with his arm and peered into the store. It seemed as though nothing had been moved in four years, or was it five?

He shrugged, it didn't matter. Looking about again, and deciding that picking the lock on the front shutters was too troublesome, he proceeded to smash the window with the butt of his pistol. He snapped back almost immediately when the window shattered, pistol at the ready to shoot anything that might creep up behind him from the noise, but he doubted it. The monsters, much like their cousins, relied on what seemed to be their sense of smell rather than the usual senses, such as light and sound.

Nothing, silence.

He readied his torch in his hand, the other wielding the pistol. Despite the light of the day, the grocery store was sure to be dark. He crossed over the broken, jagged glass and into the shop.

The dust rose, stirred by his feet. It was a thick layer, and that indicated how long this shop had been left empty. Hummer moved around, the beam of light revealing expired items still on the shelves. He stayed away from the refrigerators.

Snacks... Instant food... Drinks... Ah canned foods

He unfolded the small packet that he had carried along. It became a small but strong bag, prefect for storing cans of essential food. He quickly selected a few that didn't seem expired, although everyone knew that the expiry date was just an excuse to throw out food so that you would have to buy more, but he couldn't take any chances on this one. Having a stomachache in the middle of a freezing wasteland wasn't the best of plans.

He zipped up the bag and hoisted it over his shoulders. He stuck back the torch into his belt and gave a last glance about lest he had forgotten anything.

No nothing.

He turned around and headed back for the bright sunlight of the day.

-

And when he shouts 'Teach!', you say, 'How interesting?'

"And the desire of Singaporeans to master Chinese has grown. Nobody any longer asks, 'What is the point of wasting time on this?''

Obviously this man hasn't been on the ground. Or hasn't heard the cries that I have.

"So in an exam, you can bring an electronic dictionary along and ideally, everybody should have a keyboard rather than have the burden of struggling with the mechanics of memorizing and writing characters by hand.."

Ok, not good. While I support the part about electronic dictionary (YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN THE LOOKS OF THE CHINA STUDENTS FACES WHEN I SAID THAT WE WERE ALLOWED TO BRING IT INTO EXAMS), I don't really like the part about keyboard.

Why?

Firstly, let me establish that my Chinese is not exactly amazing (Having problems talking in Chinese, disgrace, I know.) but for this point, I am and will be violently fighting against it.

Why?

Firstly, writing the characters by hand is the heart of Chinese language. Look, the han yu pin ying are only placed in to help weaker students like us read the language easier. But take away the writing and hell, what the heck are you testing? The 'mechanics of memorizing and writing by hand' is a part of Chinese. Take that away and why not let us just learn French huh? Or Indian(Another upcoming superpower)?

Look, there is something called Chinese calligraphy, and I'm sure as hell there isn't any English calligraphy.

End of point.

-Mook

Will you look at that.

Did any of you see what was on Life today? One bit of criticism I'll say. Seeing as how many fans there are for Twilight (I'm only putting this name up so I won't have to always refer to 'THAT STORY') this critic might be or not, headed into trouble.

You can very much rely on common sense nowadays. But it varies. A crowd of screaming teenage girls aren't very much imbued with common sense at the moment, as a crowd of teenagers won't be very much imbued with a sense of consideration for others at the moment. Hey, its the 'ME' generation, you don't expect much of them. Except, of course, to further mess up the world for what I suspect to be the 'WE' generation (seeing as how they would most likely have to work together to survive whatever apocalypse the 'ME' generation creates for them. But that is another story.

Back to Twilight. I laud the author for coming up with a vicious attack on the Twilight movie but no, I will not be sending in an armed squad for his protection. Wise of him too, to not include his email in the column, but I believe his name might be marked down for the blacklist no Twilight fans?

Anyhow, I hope I am very much wrong about this and that Twilight fans are mostly sane, level headed people who are just poorly informed of better vampire writers such as Anne Rice.

Who am I to say?

The Cap'n, thats who!

-Cap'n Mook

Where did they go?

I'm always curious to find out where all the youngsters have gone these days. Trust me, I've checked from the Fourth Bridge to the Yellow Depths. But they seem nowhere to be found. Even in that newfangled town on the outer reaches... What was that name again? Facebook? It seems as though they aren't there. Plenty of activities there I'll say, but everyone cooped up in their own homes, not out in the streets, talking, walking, and living I'll say. It seems almost a ghost town.

Brr.

-The Cap'n

Thats great.

After all those years, finally, someone senior owes up to their mistake. But what conclusive fix-up was planned? Only more creative teaching? You've been doing that for 30 years but it doesn't really seem to work does it?

My view, on how we may improve our lingua franca, is that we do not try to be too greedy and stick our hands in two pots at once. Look, I know the policy means well, and I am not protesting for a complete overhaul, but the fact remains: We are not all linguists. Heck, we can barely manage one language, and you demand that we master two? I don't think many will agree that we can master two in a short space of time. And in the end, what do you get? Only a half pot language of each where the world doesn't understand us. And that goes right against the policy's aims.

Perhaps one shouldn't demand. But entice. Make it not a requirement. The minds of students work against their teachers - The more you push them, the more they want to walk the opposite way. Let them discover for themselves, the wonder of each language, and when they push themselves, see them fly.

-Cap'n Mook

Gaming - cause or effect of poor results?

Today, while reading the papers, I came across this article with the title - 'Long hours on the computer linked to poor results: Poll'

Well, they linked long hours to poor results, that meaning, academic results. But what I found consistently missing in the article and subsequent 'study' was the lack of description of the condition the gamers were in before they were classified as 'addicted'. There is no reason one who spends time on the computer would improve his results if the time spent were playing games. Just as if I tried to read English books to improve my maths. It is a moot point actually, to state that long hours on the computer is linked to poor results. And this brings us to my next point.

Computer games are created to be fun, and through fun, it is to transport the player into an alternate reality with different rules which he must play by to 'win'. Developers consistently seek to create engaging game worlds for the player to escape into. Therefore, games are actually a portal to escape the reality of life, it is true across the board, the sense of immersion only being more or less. It is also true, for many developing manuals, that the developer must 'create an engaging game world to provide a total immersion for the player'.

So establishing that game worlds are fantasies that people may escape to, it can be consistently found that students, those that play these games tend to be of poorer academic results as compared to this counterparts. What is it that draws these students to these games? It is the alternate reality which it provides for these students to escape, even if for a moment, from the stresses of life. To talk about it in the opposite way round, who would buy a game which is harder than life itself? Games are made to be possible for the player to win, and thus feel satisfied. When they are satisfied, most players would continue playing the game for that satisfaction and the cycle repeats. If they do not succeed in real life, they at least my succeed in-game.

Taking an excellent student, he or she, it may be found, will most likely to be found to spend less time on the computer than others. Those that perform well in school have less reason to escape reality if life is fulfilling in itself.

Therefore, gaming is an effect of poor results and not a cause, as much studies claim, for they do no formal report on the student's ability before they start playing games.

(Argument fix up pending)

-Cap'n Mook.

Taking the fight to the enemy!

Recently, I engaged somebody else on Facebook on a certain topic concerning what was better - Speech or writing. But that was the aftermath. What really sparked me off was what the other person said about writers. Really un-based remarks.

Of course I replied(or this post wouldn't be here) and thus we engaged in a debate which morphed into the aftermath.

But then, he turned to making nasty remarks on the writer(yours truly) on other places of Facebook in places where he knew I would see em'.

An open provocation.

A wiser man would have said, 'Ignore it.' But the allure was too much to resist. I had to take him on.

So here we go. Gather the artillery! Dust the jeeps and roll out the tanks!

We are taking the fight to the enemy!

-Cap'n Mook

Unknown

Of an unknown beat, a soundless whisper.
Time spun, wound, lost.
Unknown, of what all.
Perhaps the world, that rushes on by.

Lamblasting

My analysis of writers in Trilingual Digest.

Here, I'll be doing a short commentary on the quality of writing found in the trilingual digest with namely, a few well known writers: ShuLei, Ruth, and Silas. I believe and assume the reader should be familiar with these names.

First up, ShuLei. In essence, this writer has churned out a number of works that are commendable in nature, unfortunately, I can't say the same for her latest one. There are a few points which went unexplained in her writing and a few extra terms, such as 'get' right after the hyphen. It will have made for better reading if she had removed this term, as well as 'It would be quite a pleasant...' The would indicates and impossible choice, and this is clearly not the case, as before, she had already mentioned about stepping outside. There was also a general overdose of advanced terms which saturated the writing and dulled the otherwise powerful impact the rainbow had on the reader. ShuLei, a word for you - Don't waste your paint on everything, for when you reach the main picture, you find that your palette is dry.

Ruth. As compared to the above, it was much more readable but also much less believable. While it took place in a school, the storyline was a fantastic one, and it bears a close resemblance to Twilight. For such a storyline, the background must be developed clearly through the use of stereotypes or otherwise. The author failed miserably in this aspect as she tried to derive an alternate storyline of an invalid suspicion within five pages, which was clearly not enough. Also, there were too many characters introduced within a five page essay and this made for poor characterization of most of them, making the writing seem patchy. The ending was a little feeble too, with the teacher not punishing the students for such an act, even though it wasn't malicious, it will not have been what a real teacher would do and this further alienates the reader from the essay. I will generally discourage students to write fantasy in a modern context as such a storyline would frequently clash with its background without strong development of the environment.

Silas. Now this essay, while with its small errors, is what each student should aim to aspire. Assuming that the writer wrote without aid of any material, it will be one of the 'stand-out' essays from the standard mush of others. He provided a clear context of events that occurred in a informative yet interesting manner by introducing irrelevant titbits from time to time. While he might not have explained some things, ie, how does the joke about four-dimensional objects reinforces the notion that the objects described are four dimensional, it can be overlooked easily by the reader.

There you have it, my analysis of the writers.

Should you want a more in-depth review of this, please contact me.

Moving out

After a year on the high seas, I've decided to move out.

Yes. Move out of this ole ship so you may drop a post of (Dead) beside it. It has been fun posting answers and other stuff, but I've found my loyalties and they are not on the seas. I may come back once in awhile to touch the rails and to breathe the salty air, but I don't think it'll be anytime soon.

See ya me hearties!

-Captain Mook, over and out.

Answer loophole in Maths!

Hey people, lucky you that I found another loophole in Heymaths, other than sharing answers of course.

Did you know that the programming is slow enough for you to look at where have you gotten wrong? Of course, this might not be much, however, for the four seconds that it gives you, you may.. Heh, select another answer, quickly scroll down to 'submit test' click on it and score it correct!

And there, my hardworking friends, may you get your answer.

Captainmook.blogspot.com is not liable for any consequences that the user may suffer through use of our answers.

Monster Hunter Freedom 2

Recently played a game on my PSP called the above. It was recommended to me by a couple of friends and thus, I purchased the game, looking to see what was so addictive about it.

I started slightly turned off by the main menu's graphics: They looked like the menu from an old arcade game. I mean, this was supposed to be quite an advanced game right? Ok, putting the menu aside, I started the game.

Again, turned off. No intuitive controls. For about fifteen minutes, I was stuck in the house, tapping away frustratedly at any key in an attempt to exit the house.

When I finally exited, I was disppointed. I just had a small town, nothing more, to wander about in, seems like the developers threw out all the exploring elements: the town had only the most essential elements, a smithy, a weapons shop, a general supply store. There were no other domestic houses in sight. Even the people were placed there for a specific reason, nobody more, not to mention that they stayed the exact same place.

Seems like they are just there to serve you.

Also, there is an option to go direct to a shop, cutting travel time even more. This totally dropped my suspension of disbelief, that meaning that I wasn't immersed in the game any longer, also, I had to attend a boot camp before even starting on a mission (I didn't know what to do during the missions). I spent about 45 minutes on the boot camp, then went straight into the mission.

Horrible it was, the first mission I tried, I couldn't even kill the monster after two deaths and 45minutes. After that, I gave up. There is nothing else in the game except killing monsters, collecting items and buying stuff. Thats it.

Total score:4.3/10

Final statement: This is a game definately not for the casual gamer.

-Alson

Warfront

May 14 ~ D-Day

The night held a mist over the dark sea, concealing all. Such that it was that the defenders knew nothing as they chatted over glowing cigarettes, laughing at jokes that had grown old with much use.

The a wave crashed, and it would be long before it would be as clear again.

The metal planks dropped, and squads of men rushed out, yelling battle cries. The defenders jerked to their nerves, dropping their cards, their smokes. Grabbing the guns and loading chains. 

The battle of the beachhead had begun.

Streams of bullets streaked across the sandy beach. Men scrambled over those that had came before, firing wildly at the holes which the machine guns poked out from. Those who paused to aim were shredded by unforgiving metal slugs, tearing chunks of living red meat out. The first wave made it to the anti tank defences, but half their number was lost. The second wave landed, but they were not a lucky to have the element of surprise. Many opened to death of the bullets, killing all within the landing craft. Artillery started to whistle overhead, one ship lifted over the crest of a wave, and was blasted to smithereens, men and parts of men flew out in all directions and the remainder of the craft turned over like a dead whale.

But the assault continued.

The first wave rushed forwards. Half of their number were killed the moment they emerged from their hiding places. Bullets ricocheted around the metal structures, turning the entire area into a deadly pinball game. As men rushed forwards, others at their side fell. Those who stopped were killed, those who rushed were shredded. All around, men rallied for a charge, but the missiles of death destroyed those notions, blasting groups to smoking craters and bloodied corpses.

None of the several hundred men of the first wave made it.

The second wave used the first wave as human shields. Men crawled under the shrieking bullets, those who were unlucky were killed. Those who survived died the next second. Men leaned down, picked up corpses and marched forward. The bodies jerked as bullets pounded into them like sweeping waves. But the defenders wised up, and concentrated their fire at those moving dead bodies. Good defence as they were, the bodies couldn't stop the concentrated pinpoints of fire.

The assault stopped.

But slowly slowly, the few random bullets from a few rifles replied to the screaming whail of the machine guns. One suddenly jerked, then leaned over, silenced. Men yelled, then surged forwards. Bombs blew up groups, but they still surged, an unstoppable wave. Something screamed, not a shell, overhead. Men looked up and saw a flight of bombers crossing overhead, carrying their insigna. They cheered, even as their number fell, as one, two, turrets exploded, leaving smoking structures.

There was nothing that could stop them now.

The defenders reconised this, and abandoned their posts, firing wildly back as they retreated. The men captured the beachhead, but at a cost of many of their number. Some died in the boats, some died on the beach, cowering behind inpromptu defences, some died rushing, catching a bullet in the throat, still yelling, gurgling as they died. But some made it, and some would live to tell the tale.

The tale that I tell you now.

-End

-Alson

*My thoughts as we made past the exam days. Great job guys!*

Sparkring: Chapter 6

"I had no idea," He puffed as he cycled up a particularly steep incline, "That you have grown so heavy."

I twacked him on the head with my free arm before quickly latching back onto his bike lest I fell off. After searching throughhalf of the flat, we were dismayed to find only one bicycle that was still in working condition, or at least, Mich was. Nevertheless, we still set out upon the old and creaking bike, with me sitting sideways on the small platform behind.

"Keep your eyes to the road mister and your mouth shut mister,"I growled, "Or you may find yourself with more than a bruise on the head."

"Seriously..." He said, but continued no more as I made a threatening noise in my troat.

The streets were small and snaking in this area, along with various ups and downs. There were small roads leading off into even smaller roads and narrow alleyways no bigger than for a child to pass through. Sometimes, in those narrower areas, wet clothing were hung out to dry, crisscrossing the above with so many bamboo poles that it almost seemed that they formed a continuous, wet, dripping roof overhead; it was too sometimes I wondered if those clothes ever dried. 

However, now we were on one of the 'main roads' or so they called it here, it being no wider than a two way line for cars to pass by each other. It was precarious riding on those roads; with cars zooming past no further out than an extended finger on one side, and a deep drain that could swallow a bicycle whole on the other. It was also too, why we often rode on the roads.

Beyond the deep drains, sometimes with a board lain across parallel to serve as a bridge, were various sleepy storefront houses. These flaking two story houses usually served both as a shop and a house, the first story for being the latter and the second former. Mostly, there was a five foot way leaping from storefront to storefront, mainly for people to traverse. And being set back further into the building, these storefronts were usually  shrouded in a veil of shadows, giving it an atmosphere of a secret time long past. Family run coffee shops selling nothing more than a hot breakfast were commonplace here; indeed it was such so that people would flock to certain famous shops for that very special yet simple breakfast of eggs, bread, butter and coffee. Of course, there were also many other shops seeking to ply their trade: from saloons to art centres, whether the glass fronts or an open wall, each had its own special service to offer to each traveller that walked past if they would only glance in the right direction.

"Where to?"

He didn't reply, keeping focused on trying to catch his breath. He gave a final push and we were over the incline. Then, accelerating, we swerved right and down one of those one-way lanes. Cycling for no more than several minutes, he turned left at an intersection and down an incline. A sharp jam right again with me clutching on the bicycle for dear life, he braked suddenly. I crashed into him with a yell and scream and into a confused tangle.

"Can't you ride properly?" I said, rubbing my head after it had cracked against Mich's. 

He grinned apologetically, "Can't help it."

I shook my head, then turned towards the building we had stopped at. "So this is the place?"

"Um hmm." Mich replied, righting his bicycle and wheeling it past me. "Come on."

It was and open front shop, except that from the faint smell, I suspected and was proved correct that it was a fish store. Row upon row of blue illuminated tanks, with fishes of assorted shapes and sizes swimming about their turquoise environment. From bulbous goldfishes looking out with their equally big eyes, to tiny tetras in small swarms that went this way and that in perfect corordination, and even a few fresh water lobsters twitching their antenne, there was, what I felt, every single type of fish each in their glorified wonder.

"Well kids?" Someone addressed us as we turned around from watching the fishes.

He was in his fourties, late forties I suspected. Dressed in simple bermudas and a singlet, he came towards us with an easy smile reflecting in his eyes. Not exactly well-built, but good enough to do some heavy lifting when the circumstances needed it; he gave an impression of a laid-back store keeper, more interested in his art than selling it.

"Uncle," Mich addressed anybody who was older than himself as such and this man was probably his father's friend, "My father sends his regards."

"Thank him for me then." He replied, his voice a light merry tone, accepting the tin container. He gave it a wiff, "Congee? Thoughtful."

"Erm, we might have mixed up the other incredients slightly, so..."

He gave a laugh, a pleasant sound it was. "They were going to be mixed up anyway so no worries. I'm not particular about my food." Coming back, he continued, "Well I'm going to have it now, no better time then the present as they say; and if I'm not wrong you might be raring to go off somewhere yes?" He quirked an eyebrow, "Teenagers these days..."

"Not really."

"Then you may wish to browse the shop if you wish", he indicated it with a wave of his hand as he turned his back. Probably off to eat in breakfast in peace.

"Who was he?" I asked Mich quietly as soon as he was out of earshot.

I reckoned wrong however, as he whirled around, eyes glinting with humour.

"What? What poor manners you have boy! Not to introduce me to this young lady." He turned to me, face suddenly serious, "I am the student of four honour rolls, degree holder of Organic Studies, friend of many and a trekker of continents. Which do you want to know me by?"

I paused, at a lost of what to say.

"Or" He continued, a smile playing on his lips, "You can call me Dong, One Hand Dong as they call me around here parts."

Facebook

Facebook. How that name sullies my tongue. I do not believe what is the hub-dub all about it. It is just another networking site. And what do networking sites hold for me? Networking site = Random useless infomation + time wastage.

Currently, with the new revamp of facebook, they have introduced all sorts of lil thingies that feed you, well, feeds, every other second, every other minute, every other hour, every other hour; if you get my point. I do not want to know what have you scored in blah game, in blah quiz.

Quiz.

Another one of the site's devious creations. Useless tests set to 'test' you on your intelligence on certain specific things. Like DOTA? What character are you? Why the bloody heck do I want to find out? So what if I do? I just don't get the point! I've got better things to do if you ask me.

Again, games.

Granted, the games there are great, so great until some of my friends treat the site as a gaming site rather. Digressing...

I don't see the point of Facebook. Or any other social website. Social is to interact, to interact with fellow human beings. I don't see how comparing results from a certain game or tagging each other's boards help in any interaction. It is just a computer, a stoic screen. I'd prefer the good ole method of verbally, verbally guys, talking if you still remember how is it done. They say it builds it good social network without stepping out of the house. I say seeing is believing.

Friends.

So what if you've got 13024 friends on facebook? Do you know them? Do you know their lives? Can you share your innermost feelings with them? No? Then they are not friends. I've got a small circle of whom I consider friends, less than twenty if you were wondering, but I can share things, little facets of life that you'll never hear or find out on any social website or other.

There. I've said my piece, if you'll excuse me, I'll say Facebook ain't worth your time.

A mark of a successful social being is having a small but true circle of friends. Not having a large army of apes that do nothing to help you when you're in need.

So leave that computer! And venture into the world beyond!

Probability Theory

In the probability theory,  every possible event has a non-negative number between 1 and 0.

For two random events to happen, like for 0.3 for stock market to go down and 0.6 for it to rain, it is 0.3 x 0.6 = 0.18

Therefore, if you want to know two exclusive events happening for the stock market to go up, like a clown striding into the room(0.0004102) and the lights going out for 1 second(0.000032).

Add them up to find out. 0.0004102 + 0.000032 = 0.0004422

Why these murmured sentences and when I ask, you say nothing?

Why?

Why you you look away when I talk to you? Is it me? Is there something wrong? Why do you just shake your head?

Why?

Is answering me that difficult? Am I a hindrance? Am I annoying? Do you need me to go away?

Please. Just.

Just tell me
-Alson

Sparkring : Chapter 5

One thing that my uncle and father were similar in was their love for cooking. I had heard vague stories about this coming about as a result from my grandmother being something just short of a legendary cook. While my father tended towards western cooking, my uncle preferred eastern style dishes. 

Thus so, when I first stepped out of the room, a wild mix of distinctly Chinese cooking assailed my nose. Making my hair and turning the corner of the corridor, I glimpsed the dining table crammed to the teetering edge with small plates filled with various types of food; half of which I couldn't even start to identify, and the midst of it all, sat a black pot of congee.

My uncle, a stout balding man in his late forties, dressed in a simple garb of a t-shirt and trousers was already halfway out of the door, fitting his left shoe on as he half-hopped, half walked out of the house. "You kids enjoy yourself ok? Just don't let me find firefighters at my gate when I come back."

As casually as he had said that, Mich replied calmly, without missing a beat, "No dad."

"Hmm." And he was out, the door closing gently behind him.

"No homework?" I said as I sild into the chair before Mich. He shrugged, giving a grunt as a reply. "What about the food?" I eyed the massive display before me; I had no doubt that this was some propaganda-ish challenge. I would mention this meal to my father, and he would in turn prepare a meal that would raise a few eyebrows. I was a messenger of sorts I suppose, in this unique style of sibling rivary.

"Pack it up, donate." He paused long enough to reply, then slurped another spoonful into his mouth.

"Ok." I replied, finding no other sources of conversation and ladled myself a bowl of congee.

With about fifteen dishes to choose from and someone used to three or everything piled on a single plate, the myriad was intimidating at best. But seeing Mich randomly picking from a different dish each time with no bias, I tried following his example and soon found out why.

Each dish was a different experience. Out of the four tastes; sour, sweet, bitter and salty, each taste was mixed in a different order to provide each dish with a exceptional taste that was its own, told its own story, whether it was from the cold mountain tops, or the placid fields; each story was like its taste, unique. I tried each one to the other, resetting my taste buds with the plain white congee from time to time. So for the entire breakfast, it was the simple click-clacking of porcelain spoons on similar bowls. Gradually, by the side of which light from the sun streamed into the living room from the balcony, the soft morning light gave way to the harsh mid-morning beams, serving to wake up those who were still lazing in bed.

I finished my meal with a sigh, it being a wonderful trip to the finish. Mich wordlessly took away my bowl to the slushing of water in the kitchen. When he had lost his mother at a young age, Mich quickly learnt the ropes of cleaning and generally keeping the house clean. When other boys were running about with their soccer balls, Mich, as I've heard, would be stuck figuring how to best unblock the toilet's drainage system without causing a devastating flood. To date, the largest event I had participated in cleaning was the sweeping out my room. 

But still, I offered my help; and yet on time like a ritual, Mich declined staunchly, stating that I would be of a better help watching the news. To that, I playfully stuck out my tongue at him while he just rolled his eyes.

"Just tell me what happened yesterday will you?" He said, precariously balancing a array of bowls and plates into the kitchen.

"Earthquake, blah blah blah. Turmoil, blah blah blah. Threat of war, blah blah blah." Now it was my turn to roll my eyes, "Honestly, why do you care?"

"Why?" He repeated my question from the kitchen as I moved to the grid-patterned couch, "Knowledge is power."

"This doesn't seem much like knowledge to me." I said, flipping through the newspapers that lay, scattered all over the coffee table. Probably the work of my uncle. "Besides, reading the news will turn your head to mush."

"A quote from your literature text?" Without waiting for an answer, he continued "Actually, it goes by reading about local news, not world news. To know the - "

"Hey yeah. Here's an interesting article." I cut across loudly. While Mich's advice was usually for the better, they were long winded in a way. 

I began to recite the article, cutting to the main points and leaving out the statistics, to me, they really weren't relevant. For example, out of a full page article, the statistics could fill up to half to three-quarters of the page. And they were only there for show, I mean who would check up on your numbers? I could just place an extra zero or put in a nine and no one would notice. The main meat was the content.

"Oh, Andrea." He poked his head out through the kitchen doorway as I turned up from the article I was reading, "We will need to do a little walking. Or cycling. Chose." His head disappeared from the doorway and I heard the tapwater being gradually turned off before he emerged again, carrying a tin carrier of sorts. It was devided into various segments, each, I suppose, for storing different kinds of foods to avoid getting them mixed up.

"What do you think?"

He looked at me for a moment, puzzled; then mock-slapped his head "Oh, I forgot who I was talking to. Going against traffic or walking?" He shook his head, "Cycling it is then."

Hmm... Seems like history is repeating itself in Thailand.

Let us remember last year where the pro-government yellow shirts sat out in Bangkok's international airport, causing distruption in the country's tourism as well as tarnishing its image.

The yellow shirts now seems to have completed that and further.

During the ASEAN summit. Premier Wen Jia Bao had to turn back due to the yellow shirts storming the hotel. Various other leaders also had to be evacuated via helicopter. All this happened while the world's eyes were trained on the summit. For weeks before, the Thailand's prime minister had assured that everything would go well.

Apparently, it didn't.

Now, as I see it, history is going to either repeat itself once over.

Ah well.

(edit: And the yellow shirts have captured an army tank)

-Alson

Sparkring : Chapter 4

Day 4
Time : 12.42am

We make our way along the side of Black Forest, a plateau with steep sides. As I look out of the window, the mountain falls away from the winding crude path that we are traveling on. The jeep holds up, thankfully, as the wheels beneath me skid slightly as they try to find purchase on the crumbly gravel. Hopefully, as our driver says, we will reach the guesthouse by nightfall.

.

I blinked. The words were blurry and somehow at a strange angle. Then, upon realising it was me who was at a strange angle, I straightened up, pushing my blanket off. I felt around for my torch, a hard round cylinder, found it, and switched it off. It must have burnt through the entire night.

A knock attracted my attention and I looked up, Mich was standing by the door, hand posed for another rap on the open door if need be. "Morning."

"Morn' Mich." I yawned and stretched my cramped muscles luxuriously. The book fell away somewhere beneath the folds of the blanket. For some reason or other, I was slightly surprised to find myself feeling protective over the book as soon as I saw Mich by the door. By most counts, I was generous with my items, a favor returned by Mich. But this time however, I didn't want to share my find with him; not yet anyway.

"Dad," He said, referring to his father and my uncle, "Made breakfast."

I waited expectantly for him to continue, sitting in my current position with my hands folded over each other. Mich made to open his mouth, paused, thought for a moment, then jerked his thumb helplessly towards the kitchen in an indication that I should get going before disappearing from the doorway.

I shook my head. He had been like this for the past few times, getting tongue-tied the first day or two. While I didn't exactly know why, I had a mild suspicion that he had been getting those adrenaline rushes and sweaty palms, translation: He had fallen for some girl.

And without telling me too. I shook my head.

Ah well, there is plenty of time to wheedle it out of him later. Scratching my head, I pulled my grumbling body from the bed and dragged my feet towards the toilet.

A day in time of an endless river.

After looking through the few other blogs that I linked to, I realised that my blogging is a little under the water. Ah well, my english proficiency isn't that high anyway, all lil' Ben can do is just managing a little primary writing.

Nods to MK: Love the expression, sets your blog away from the rest. Good eye for detail too. I'm sure Ms Foo had told you or will tell you that you'll go far. Yes I'm green. :]

Lan : Watching you. So far so good.

Javier: Noted. Trying to pick on my lil' errors will ya? As a outright defiance to you and the rest of the English literate world, I'll leave it as it is.

Went for CIP today. Fun would be an understatement, since I had two hours of outright insanity of delicious fun. I'm never going to go for another Flag Day again. Never again false smiles and thrusting of metal cups under a pedestrian's nose and utter humiliation!

Nothing much to report. As I'm sitting here with an ancient computer and a scratchy internet connection. While the fan stirs, not lazily, but steadily above me.
-Alson

Sparkring: Chapter 3

A coin flip.

Heads.

We had spent many a moment in this house, devising various plans and ideas, testing out theories. But it wasn't like that, it wasn't always like that.

When I had first came here, sent by my going-overseas parents, I wasn't pleased. I was old enough to stay in the house by myself, old enough to make my own meals, old enough to clean up after myself; and old enough to hold my own parties it seemed. They made arrangements the night before and before I knew it, I was pushed out of the door and unceremoniously dumped at the front of the door with only my luggage and a threat that if I ran away, I would be grounded for an indefinite amount of days. 

The threat worked.

But they didn't leave me without anything though. Armed with the technological marvels of the twentieth century, I had planned to surf my way through the holidays. 

However, my laptop crashed on startup, leaving me largely unconnected to the rest of the online world. I had my phone however, but it couldn't compensate for a working laptop. I didn't sleep well that night, listening through four albums of Nine Inch Nails twice and listening to the night sounds of the estate around me. A cat yowing and the cymbal crash of the dustbins echoed the yelling of voices somewhere out in the night as a stale smell of refuse seeped into the room; I huddled tighter, wishing I was someplace else.

I awoke to daylight and the dancing dust. Blinked a little, then registered the strangely familiar shape at the doorway. It said, "Good morning. Up for a bike hike?" before I had fully recognized it for what it was. That was the most significant memory of the first night of I had ever stayed here, the rest blurring into a mixed concoction of various activities, both insane or dangerous and sometimes a mixture of both.

A coin flip.

Tails.

I, under the blanket and in the soft light of my LED torch, opened the tattered cover of the book. 

I had found it two days back, jam-hidden in the midst of some other annual reports of companies long gone and forgotten. It had my father's name on it on the bottom left corner, nearly faded, nearly invisible, but I caught sight of it as I jerked the book up from its dusty hiding spot in the attic. The handwriting too, a scrawling of wavy lines, affirmed this. With some pre-flipping, I apparently had discovered my father's journal of his travels; him in his younger days being an avid adventurer.

Paying only the slightest of attention to the soft murmurings of the late-night television outside, I began to read.

Sparkring : Chapter 2

His room was swept clean; it always was. Sometimes, it just made me wonder if he was human for all the neatness that occupied, dominated, reigned over the room I peeped in. Desks devoid of any loose sheets of paper, books stacked neatly to one side and no trace of any visible stationary. The bed, made to as though no one had slept there the night before. Nothing on the ground except his bag and some other typical stuff that a teenager might own, yet still, were placed in that infinitely neat order that somehow seemed to irritate me mildly.

"What?"

Thump, thump, thump.

Michael struggled with my suitcase behind me. From the doorway to his corridor was about ten, eleven steps; yet he seemed like he had travelled ten metres. To tell the truth, he wasn't any physically gifted hulking teenager. A lanky and awkward one perhaps. A little weird too, considering that his favourite hobby; when he thought no one was looking, was watching the little potted cactus in the balcony grow. But he was fun to be around, with all his quirky ideas and... schemes, never a boring moment.

"Your room, how do you keep it so clean Mich?"

"Erm... well I basically pack up stuff after I finish, you know... the standard. And how many times have I told you not to call me Mich, Andrea? You know how I hate that name... Sounds like midget..." He trailed off as he gave a last despairing shove at the luggage that sat immobile.

"You really are a sorry excuse for a teenager."

"Hey!"

"Oh well, guess I have to move this myself." I grabbed the handle and pulled, the thing moved easily, leaving me to wonder how had Mich managed to struggle with this thing. "Oh yeah, where's uncle?"

"Out. Busy with his work." He replied, following me to the room specially set aside for me during the holidays. It was, as the house had three rooms and two occupants, leaving a guest room, which I claimed after the third visit. So this was offically, my room.

Measuring slightly over five by six, it had a spratan look and feel. A wardrobe, a single plain wooden desk and a bed were all placed in a neat symetrical manner, no doubt the work of Mich, a lover of neatness. Well that was one thing on my list of things-to-do: One, mess up the arrangement of my room. 

The walls were whitewashed, making the room seem brighter and bigger than it was, along with a bedside table and my alarm sitting neatly on where I had last left it since I came here, it was kind of cozy I suppose. Over time, I had left things here; a book, a pencil, making it all the more, well, me-like.

I was home.

A math

A math

M^3=343

47days

8=5^(log58)

none of the above

log497=1/2

x=4 y=36

x=24 y =2

1

x-5

1989

Chemistry

As I could not find the rest, here is question one and two workings

1)Mass/Mr = 9.7/(65+32)

            =0.1mol

 

0.1 x 2 = 0.2mol

0.2mol x 24dm^3 = 4.8dm^3

 

ANS: D

2)Looking at reaction, we would need the mole ratio of 2 to 1

 

1.0/100=0.01mol

0.01mol x 2 = 0.002mol

0.02mol/1.0mol/dm^3 = 0.02dm^3

                                    = 20cm^3

 

ANS : B

-Alson

OK, as of 7.30

Phy - completed, posting of answers -pending

Chem - completed, can't see the chem MCQ

Now - 8.10

Geog completed, answers coming up.

Now - 10

A math -completed

Emath - completed

-Alson

Sparkring : Chapter 1

My cousin

 

I rang the doorbell, three long, three short. 

It was my special code, mine only. Of course, the internal occupants would certainly know it was me out here. I fidgeted nervously as no sounds of awakening came from within. Behind, a happy scream of a small child carried out through the grills and across the short corridor; five steps away from where I stood. To my left, as I glanced out, beyond the railing, was a view of the swimming pool of the condominium and a couple walking along its still waters. The soft overhead sky cast a deep orange hue over the place; the walls, people, water leaving none in its wake of changing. 

Soon, it would be night. 

With my boredom, I glanced at a spider spinning its intricate webbing of structures consisting a delicate blend of physics and chemistry. The lines radiated out in... I counted, in six different directions, holding up its own net of lines. I briefly contemplated the possibility of it branching out like a huge silvery tree. 

I think it was said that a spider's thread is stronger than a steel wire of the same diameter.

The door unlatched with a creaky click and swung back all the way to reveal Mich in his slight tan and accompanying smile. Unlike the house behind me, his didn’t have grills, probably because of my uncle’s family philosophy of what goes around comes around. There was no need to fear anything if you’ve done nothing wrong, was his favorite phrase to instill into anyone who unfortunately happened to be close by.

Mich pushed the door back further, latching it and turning towards me, that small smile still plastered on his face.

“Hello again, come to stay for the holidays?”

"Believe it as you will. The Cresendo awaits those who can walk the path."

~The forth line of the Charter.

New prologue coming up. As well as answers on most topics on thursday, just give me some time on the day itself to do the work. Check in at about 9am, the first answers will be here.

-Alson

Codename: Alpha-Tango-Charile

"Hold."

Ok, wish I could sent a covert operations team with Kang, but hey, apparently, no. I don't have the standard one million to support the team for at least five days. Too bad I suppose.

-Alson

Erm, yo guys? I believe Earth hour, while a commendable effort, is a wasted one. Yeah, I switched off my lights, cool right? Literally. My air con was running at 16 degrees, awesome yeah! I voted Earth!

Seriously? It doesn't help.

I'm telling you, I save more energy than my whole block by using, or rather, not using air-con alone (My usage is hovering at 4~5 times a year). Hah! In your face, so-called-Earth-advocates!

Ah well, on to other topics.

Did you know that there are some places in Singapore that have parking lots designed for ladies? I mean, wow cool, Girl Power! But do they really help?

There are some reports of people parking into those designated spots. Now, before you go on saying 'kiasu', I want you, as my reader, to muse upon this. Are those designated spots necessary?

In my opinion, no. I reckon that they should change it to family parking lots as with their current method, it kinda makes girls seem weak to need a space set aside just for them. Don't get me wrong, I fully believe that girls are more, and I mean more than, capable to find their own parking lots. Besides, people could always move the barriers away and park there.

Times up. Gotta go.

-Alson 

(Edit: answers are correct apparently I forgot to include the last one) 

-Alson

90% of the blogs I see are about what they ate for last night's dinner. Oh god. Why would anyone want to know what you ate? Oh, that was speaking metamorphically. But seriously? I don't want to know what you did yesterday, or the day before or what are you going to do tomorrow, because chances are, you're going to do the same thing all over again, and again, and again(unless I was your girlfriend or boyfriend that is). What I really want to read, are the interesting facets of your life.

Pictures do well for awhile, but after about the tenth picture; unless you were an extremely good cameraman, which most of the people aren't, it tends to get boring after awhile. 

Heck, why am I even posting this. This is getting stupid.

-Alson

(Who will not likely be returning anytime soon due to other pressing concerns, like engaging in intellectual discussions with others)

I-manage

Hmm. I do suppose i should get a hook up to the blogging ecosphere as I do believe that my blog is rather obscure.

Spring cleaning isn't done yet! I'll have to sweep out those links and get rid of unimportant, random stuff to place in The Treasure Chest.

Oh well, back to work
-Alson