I've never been a stickler for rules, and I really missed writing crap that people will actually read, which won't happen until Literature lessons start proper. So I'm back, with half the enthusiasm, half the number of posts, and twice the need for crutches (lame). 

There is a catch, though. For all the innocence those of my gender claim to have, we are, in the end, still fickle-minded and lecherous nematodes. Which is why I have decided to move on and leave this blog to find a better person to take care of it.

As for where these greener pastures are located, ask! And you might be answered. 

That's all for what looks set to be a very very very long time, so. Sayonara!

- Obeseturtle

I'm sorry, I know I said that the previous was the last but this can't wait. As I wandered downstairs for a bit of supper, my poor deprived ears heard the strains of a familiar tune coming from the television. 

Guess what.

Glee's finally here! =D

I finally got to watch Mr. Schuester perform the jetplane song (I'd only watched the cut version before this), and though it isn't really his style, at least the story now makes more sense and Emma's crush on him becomes way more obvious.

If you haven't got a clue what I'm talking about, Glee's this really really really cool television series about a group of kids who get together and sing songs. And the teachers join in too, sometimes, when the kids do well in Spanish class.  If that isn't good enough for you, I don't know what is. :D

So watch! I'm not entirely sure what the schedule's like, but if it's anything like today, then um it'll be Wednesdays, 9-10pm, Star World. If you don't have cable or you can't wait to do something illegal and ruin your scholarship chances, watch here. I know you're more than capable of doing it yourself *cough Joel*, and it's obviously going to be on Torrent, but I'm just trying to make life easier for you so I will have someone in school that I can talk Gleek with.

i.e. April April April April April April April April April April April April April.

Maybe then, I'll be back. But for now, 

I'm leaving on a jetplane, don't know when I'll be back again, la la la la la la la... I don't know the rest of the lyrics. >< You get the drift!

So my computer messed up a few days ago and I lost all my files and data, but everything's up and running now and it's good that I get to start with a clean slate this year. Unfortunately, this also means I've lost my Humanities Programme essay, and having a memory the length of a Pocky stick, I am very much chicken kebab come Tuesday.

On the other hand, school has been extremely lenient and disappointingly free of scandal, and I'm starting to think I can get used to this! Sure, the prospect of orientation seems daunting, especially with the revelations of Davin's comprehensive OG List (Oolala. :D ), but with a healthy serving of faith in mankind, we'll get along. :)

*bubbles in optimism*

Keeping in touch with someone I miss and probably won't ever see again has been an oddly profound experience, and it got me thinking about my future, or lack thereof. The fact that university is only two or four years away hasn't sunk in properly, but put in perspective, A's are only weeks away (yes they are, don't argue) and with other commitments and duties factored in, there are but hours left to study for them.

(Yeah I'm usually rubbish at maths, but tote it up and you'll find it's true. Somewhat.)

Taking into consideration my hazy future and the deal I've made with someone to not fail our first Econs test (us being in different schools), I'm really hoping to make good with what I've got. I'll never regret throwing my sciences away and eloping with the Humanities Programme, because that's where all the hummy yummy people are, and with 4C making up more than 10% of HP '11 (in case you guys haven't counted, we have 10 from our class!), these two years look set to be well and truly awesome.

But while all good things must come to an end, all bad things must, too, come to a terrible, sticky end. I have loved blogging, even though I'm still not sure what and who I'm blogging for, and it is with a smile and a bow that I bid adieu. As you throw your summer-ripened tomatoes and wish me a good riddance, I can only apologise for the rot and splot that discoloured your Friends Page and hope you didn't mind the extra expenditure on Harpic. To those who have never experienced the joy of blogging, try it. Never mind that you're writing nonsense that sensible people wouldn't bother to read; somewhere out there is a friend who will plough through word after word and smile after he or she's done.

And even if there isn't, just imagine.

Farewell! If you need to contact me to tell me how much you hate me, there's always Messenger.

Open House would have been bearable if not for the disastrous performances by most of the music CCAs.  To be fair, Street Dance and Chorale were really well-rehearsed, but the rest were just - wretched.  Sorry Jian Yang if you're reading this, but as a Rafflesian, I'm disappointed by how the school isn't even trying to give a good impression to outsiders simply because we have results to boast about. :( I don't hate Raffles, I just don't like the way exclusiveness and elitism seems to permeate every aspect of school life.  Just because most of the people there were family didn't mean Open House wasn't important.

Despite my now very muddled image of RJCE, I'm definitely going for the auditions. I used to wonder why seniors kept coming back to help out at rehearsals despite graduating long ago, but now that I'm nearly their age, I guess it's almost instinctive to have dedication and passion for the team. Plus strings people have always been an odd bunch, so hopefully we'll get along like a house on fire. :)

Am not looking forward to the first day of "school"! :( Bubbly ex-classmates, hamster-like seniors, and camwhoring are the last things I want to be associated with. I feel antisocial, but I've always been the sort who prefers to tuck himself away in a corner with a good, papery read. Useless, useless, useless me.

:(

Edit: My opinion of the Open House is, typically, opiniated. Please don't kill me or anything, I was just hoping that some seniors would impress and I guess my expectations were a tad too high.

"Love the ones that need it most." - Richard, Facebook

----

Not going to talk about It, but that said, I'm still very proud of 4C, the class uncomfortable with words but comfortable with each other.

In what I thought was a brilliantly cunning plan, I hopped over to Orchard to get the RJ uniform while classmates went raiding Shao's house (sorry I couldn't go ):  ). After all, purchasing scholarly outfits of daft colour schemes would be the last thing on anyone's mind after It.  

Or so I thought.

As did a dozen other equally brilliantly cunning minds, all of whom had flitted their way there while I bumbled through the scorching streets of god-knows-where until I ended up at Shaw House.  Which, as I found out after noticing the alarming abundance of movie posters on my way up, is where you go to watch films rather than buy uniforms.

Rather than risk whatever shreds of dignity I had left, I called Mum up and asked her for directions (oxymoronically). Funnily enough, she was more concerned about my results than the fact that her son was lost in the world's most predatory shopping belt, and was liable to spend all her hard-earned money on the Borders across the street.

I did eventually find Shaw Centre, but the store was packed.  Hoping to avoid the tedium of meeting someone I knew, I grabbed clothes of undetermined sizes, tried them on without actually noticing whether they fitted, and then bought them.  Only to turn around and catch sight of a mystery acquaintance and her imaginary Weimaraner.  Very rudely (I apologise on the offchance that mystery acquaintance reads this) I departed without saying goodbye.

And so karma came round and when I got home I found out the pants were too small.  

I have grown fatter!  Sadly, not any taller at all; Daryl, Jeremy and Suwe now tower over me more than ever.  I feel like a potato next to the bean sprouts of youth that surround me.

Listening to Yiruma play gives me a wonderful feeling of happiness of hope, and it's nice how each time I listen to his pieces there's something new I haven't heard before.  The nuances are so well-played and expressive, and the emotions hit all the right notes in the heart. 

Inexplicably, I feel the urge to start practising Yiruma pieces again, but I haven't played River Flows In You for so long I've forgotten how it goes.  I might try the other pieces though, at leisure and with will.

I've spent the last two hours poring over the Chinese dictionary deciphering a list of words for my sister.  Her school's mad; they're making her memorise a huge list of specially picked out words and some of them are horrendously hideous and difficult.  It's nice that I'm still able to recognise some characters, but for the most part they elude my memory.  What frightens me is that I think this was how I felt minutes before the Higher Chinese 'O' level paper, which doesn't harken happy days ahead of me starting 2pm Monday afternoon.  

That said, here's wishing you all the best for tomorrow!  May your efforts, whether late or consistent, bear opulent, full-bodied fruit!  Preferably apples.  Grade A1 apples.

Here's a thought: if you were lost in the jungly, savage suburbs of Singapore with no compass, no map, no Bible or any other implement that could give you a sense of direction in life, would you rather take directions from the Geography student or the History student?

The common layman would, of course, go for the Geography student, rationalizing that a person who can point out Turkmenistan on the map should therefore possess knowledge of every Lorong and Jalan of his or her native island.  Four years in RI, however, have shown that this could not be further from the truth.  85% of Geography students are hopeless buffoons when it comes to giving directions, 14% would have better luck finding their way around with an ouija board, and 1% think Turkmenistan is a species of rhubarb.  Only thrill seekers without a sense of self-preservation would go on an expedition with a Geography student.  It's suicide!

So if you value your life, take History.  As a smug History student once told me, History trains one to "think critically" and "ask relevant questions".  Questions such as "How do we get there?" are substantially more relevant and imminently more lifesaving than the questions Geography students are trained to ask, such as "Are we there yet?"  

It also helps if you are of the fairer gender.  While boys are naturally better at reading maps, your average male never thinks to actually bring the map.  We are slovenly and dangerously overconfident people who will put our shoes on first and then remember to put on our socks.

So it's really a case of double fatality when you're a male Geography student of massive ego and titchy courage trying to find your way to a friend's house.  It was my first time taking a Circle Line train, MRT Station Exit B was tucked away in some secret corner, I left through Exit A thinking I could easily walk to Exit B from the outside, spent half an hour walking in the wrong direction, turned back, discovered Exit B, wandered around for ages until I ended up in another constituency, walked back, then surrendered after an hour and called Tey Guan for help.  Who, incidentally, does not take Geography.

As fate would have it, I was standing mere metres away from the house.  "Idiot" would have been a good word to describe me then.

But as primary school gatherings go, it was pretty good.  More people turned up than usual, though mostly it was the usual we-still-want-to-keep-in-touch crowd.  I had miraculously bad hands at bridge, watched Darren hit castrati pitch on Rock Band, and solved the Who Shall Sit on the Yellow Chair Paradox.

I do miss primary school life a lot.  I can't remember huge chunks of it though, which was why I was shocked when someone called Amanda added me on Facebook and recounted to me how I was a terrible prefect who swore all the time and was rude to people.  It's extremely perturbing, because for one, I do not remember making friends with an Amanda, and for another, it doesn't sound very much like who I am at the moment.  Although I do recall being a very lousy prefect who avoided doing work and I still swear occasionally like any healthy boy does.  Unless I was abducted by aliens somewhere between PSLE and Secondary One, there really is no other explanation, since it's unlikely she mixed me up with another Weng Hong.

I have such a bad memory.  It'd be terrible if I got to JC2, looked back, and realised I couldn't remember anything about secondary school life.  People would add me on Facebook and recount to me what a turd of a monitor I was in Secondary Four, and I'd look blankly at them, flutter my eyelashes, and agree.

Rapturous joy!  Our JC 'relationships' talk is going to be handled by an organisation that thinks gays are the reason marriages are down and divorces are up.  On the other hand, they are taking the birds and bees analogy one evolutionary step further to Post-its and thumbtacks, which in my opinion would be the greatest literary achievement since Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things, so it should be interesting to watch.

It's amusing how they've segregated the genders unnecessarily for a lot of the talks and electives, like they're afraid we'll catch the boy-meets-girl equivalent of the Paris syndrome.  They aren't that far off though; according to Wikipedia, triggers of the syndrome include language barrier, cultural difference, idealised image, and exhaustion.  Spot on!

It's been a very very unproductive day, the most part of it was spent working on a lousy wood Merlion I bought for $16.90 (rip-off) and it looks horrible:


Size relative to a Pikachu:


I'm actually supposed to stick fake eyes on, the sort that have the rolling black pupils, but the image of a boggle-eyed national icon is a bit too much to bear.  It looks bad enough already anyway, I couldn't stick the scales on properly and bits of it are missing.

And then I spent the rest of the day playing Monopoly with my little sister and snapping up all the good property until I felt so bad I gave my property cards to her and promptly lost.