Not horribly sick, just slightly so

Dear reader,






I'm sick. Not horribly sick, just slightly so. But I still feel phlegmatic and out of sorts. You know that gravelly, sandpapery feeling you get in your throat when you're fighting a flu or fever? I hate that feeling. It's so undermining...it makes you feel subhuman, as if you've morphed from a perfectly average, functioning member of society into some sort of husky-voiced, achy-jointed, mucus-filled excuse for a human being. There's some sort of flu epidemic going around here, everybody's getting sick lately. I think I'll be relatively well by tomorrow, though.


I stayed home today on the pretence that I was too ill to get out of bed. Honestly, I was just too tired and lazy to deal with...everything. I walked into the kitchen earlier today, at around noon--my hunger effectively bringing me out of my comatose state--and my mother said she thought I had classes, were they cancelled? As an afterthought, probably remembering me complain yesterday that I wasn't feeling well, she asked me if I was sick. I answered her and my voice sounded quite unlike itself, surprising me for a second. I croaked, "Of all the days to be sick, Monday is the best because I only have one class."

Oh, as a side note, there was a lovely storm today. There was thunder and lightning everywhere, intermingled with the sound of heavy rain beating down on the roof. Pity it didn't last longer, though. I know I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I love rainstorms.


I have a presentation on Wednesday. I hope my voice reverts back to its usual pitch before then. It's distracting, having a strange sounding voice come out of your mouth, then realizing a split second later that its actually your own. I haven't even finished up the slides yet. But then, what else is new? It's only English anyway. My topic is: Technology promotes laziness and is creating 'dumber' generations. Yeah. Not the juiciest presentation topic out there, but I chose it myself, so I have absolutely no excuse. I went through my outline with my English lecturer last Friday, having only just finished and printed the thing minutes before showing it to her. Incidentally, she's quite an interesting character...as most of the English lecturers in Swinburne seem to be. There was this one English teacher in my school as well, who I can only describe as eccentric. I wonder why all us word-lovers (all these English teachers and lecturers, at one point or another, have expressed an interest in linguistics) manage to find each other. It's like we're drawn to one another. Like Anne Shirley and her kindred spirits. 


So anyway, once I finished explaining to her what I planned on saying in each slide--I was winging it quite desperately at this point--she told me that I was on a different wavelength than my classmates. 
Oh, dear, I thought to myself. Is that a good thing?
I asked her as much: "Is that a good thing?"
She assured me it was. She said I was a very thoughtful person, whereas she noticed my classmates were more of the touch-n-go variety. I wisely kept my thoughts to myself; I was having flashbacks of me frantically rushing through my main points, sifting through web page after web page for relevant information, staggering down to the library to print the darn thing off, almost having a conniption waiting in line for the printer, then jogging to the next block and up two floors to arrive in her class, a whole half an hour late.

So I'm not touch-n-go, eh? If you say so, Madam Lecturer. Needless to say, I was flattered by her comment. I'm glad someone thinks I'm a thoughtful person. I'd rather be thoughtful and quiet than noisy and silly any day. Not that these qualities are mutually exclusive. You can be thoughtful and silly at the same time. I consider myself to come under this category.

Well. I suppose that's all I have to say for today. I'll catch you later, dear reader. Til next time, I remain...



Yours,



Figgy the Phlegmatic

Awkward. Erratic. Memorable.

Dear reader,




I'm supposed to be in class. I'm not...I played hookey. Obviously. It was just graphic design anyway, lots of principles and theories and terminology like composition, line weight, unity, negative space and saturation. I'll just read up on the material myself later. No harm done. But that's not what I wanted to share with you today. I just wanted to get that nagging feeling of guilt off my chest. I know, I'm a total square. Today's real topic is: old movies, and why I love watching them. So, let's commence, shall we? Commencing...


I just love old movies. There's something so unassuming and endearing about them. For example, the fist fights are always so awkward and unchoreographed. Fists flying everywhere, limbs grappling, the hero decking the bad guy and making him sprawl back on the ground, his arms flailing. Other than the silly sound effects--BAM! DUSH! UFF!--it's actually more realistic and believable that way. Not everyone is a ninja assassin/shaolin warrior superhero...or Matt Damon's stuntman in the Bourne movies. Which is pretty much the same thing. Anyway, I think when two ordinary guys get in a testosterone-fueled fight, that's probably what it would look like: fists flying everywhere, limbs grappling, the hero decking the bad guy and making him sprawl back on the ground, his arms flailing.


Another thing I love about old movies is their lack of plot build up. The plots were so erratic, full of so many tiny little things happening all at once, that it's hard to remember the exact sequence of events. Just like in real life. The stories tended to focus on the characters rather than the events happening around them. I like that, it makes the characters feel more human.


Oh, another thing I love, the conversations between the characters. Why can't people talk more like that these days? It's like they weren't just talking, they were...building. One person would speak, then the other would reply, picking up where the first had left off. And they would continue like that, their replies building and growing and becoming something. Something substantial. Something memorable. Something real.


I know I'm not exactly an old movie buff or anything, but to emphasise my point, I'd like to show you some examples of what I mean. Read on, dear reader.

Why I Like Old Movies (with accompanying examples)
1. Awkward fight scenes: watch an old Western, any old Western. The hero will inevitably duke it out with the bad guy at some point in the film, sometimes more than once, if the bad guy was particularly vindictive. Or particularly stupid. Old Westerns have the best awkward scuffles. Not to mention bar fights.










2. Erratic plotline: 'Rebel Without a Cause'. If you haven't watched this yet, dear reader, you should. It's so sad and moving and funny. And the plot is indeed erratic. It never seems to climax, at least not until the very end. You know, now that I think about it, it has at least one awkward fight scene in it as well, involving a high school bully, something about cars, a concealed knife and a planetarium. If I recall correctly.

3. Memorable conversations: 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'. Well. Enough said, I suppose.

Incidentally, have you ever read the original story? I saw it at a book store and skimmed through a few pages. The movie was much more innocent compared to the story. The on-screen version left more things to the imagination. Well, what do you expect with a story written by Truman Capote? 


Oh, another movie with memorable conversations: 'Casablanca'. I loved the interaction between Captain Renault and Rick. Their sarcasm and dry humour is lovely to watch.

Captain Renault: I've often speculated why you don't return to America. Did you abscond with the church funds? Run off with a senator's wife? I like to think you killed a man. It's the Romantic in me.

Rick: It was a combination of all three.

I suppose the reason why I like old movies so much is because they feel real. The characters are real people, not just Hollywood actors. I also love how the actors weren't even all that good-looking. They weren't ugly or anything, they were just average. Take Humphrey Bogart, for example. Not exactly Brad Pitt, at least in the looks department. But then again, there's just something about him that grabs your attention, that makes you follow him with your eyes as he walks across the screen, waiting to see what he'll do or say next. Or is it just me? Ah, charisma. That's the word I was looking for. And presence. Another word I was looking for. Humphrey Bogart had both, in generous amounts.


Anyway. I suppose I should just stop here. I have homework to do. I'm an official design student now :)
So, til next time, I remain...








Yours






Figgy the Awkward, Erratic and Memorable

My Generation

Dear reader,








Musical Monday was a big flop, wasn't it? Well...my inconsistency knows no bounds then. Anyway, speaking of music, I love songs that inspire; songs that provoke thought, that are sources for the imagination. Imagination fountains: those are the only things worth listening to--or watching, or reading, or thinking about, for that matter. Sometimes we get caught up in the world, and we lose ourselves and our purity. Now, I'm not saying that people are all worldly, spiritually-depraved degenerates. I'm merely suggesting that there's a lot of unnecessary hanky-panky and silliness going on in this life, and we'd all be better off if we just stopped ourselves from getting involved in stuff like that. 


Paul describes it better than I can. In 1 Corinthians 6:12 he says: "All things are lawful for me, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful for me, but I will not be mastered by anything." 


And he says something extremely similar in 1 Corinthians 10:23; "All things are lawful, but not all things are profitable. All things are lawful, but not all things edify." 

When he says 'profitable', he doesn't only mean profit in terms of money. Something that will develop us, help us grow, something positive. He means, pretty much: everything is permissible, but not everything builds us up. How very true. Sleeping in on weekends, watching a movie when we should be studying, badmouthing someone--even if it's done in total confidence--won't kill us, it's all harmless. We justify our actions by saying they won't do us any harm. We always forget that these actions--more often than not--won't do us any good either. If every single person on this earth made a conscious effort to limit their pursuits to purely positive and edifying ones I wonder what the world would be like. On the other hand, perfection tends to get boring after a while, don't you think, dear reader? I wonder if it's a good thing humans can never be perfect, at least not in this life. It's all about the process, after all, not the end product. Well--while we're mortal--we won't ever reach perfection, but the least we can do is to strive for it.

I came across this quote one day...I forget when and where I got it, or what wild Internet goose chase led me to discover it in the first place. I don't even know if it ties in with my current ramblings--refer above--but I figured I'd just throw it in here for some diversity.

A person will worship something, have no doubt about that. We may think our tribute is paid in secret in the dark recesses of our hearts, but it will out. That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives, and our character. Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping we are becoming. 

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

That quote gave me chills. It's a scary thought, don't you think? The thought that 'we are worshipping what we are becoming.'


Anyway. I'm meandering. Very much so. The real reason I'm writing this is to share a song with you, dear reader. The song is called 'Generasiku' and it was sung by OAG, you know, my favourite Malaysian band. It means 'My Generation' in Malay. Oh, this song was on the soundtrack for a Malaysian movie called 'Gol & Gincu' (Goals & Lipstick), which was about a female futsal team, I think. It was an average-type chick flick, nothing spectacular, in my opinion. Anyway, that explains the football elements (or soccer, depending on which side of the Atlantic you hail from) in the music video. So, without further ado...hey, have you ever wondered where the word 'ado' came from? Such a funny little word, isn't it? A-doo. Much ado about nothing. Ah. Doo. If you say it enough times, it starts to sound like a foreign language. Ado. Aaa-do. Ahhh. Dooo. Ado.


Oh, right. The song, Here you go...enjoy!

















'Generasiku'
OAG
Pagi terjaga ku dari mimpi
Terasa hati senang sekali
Pasti dunia ku yang punya di hari ini
Bersama kawan-kawan ku pergi
Ketawa riang senang hati
Indahnya dunia ketika kita muda remaja


[Chorus]
Segalanya dalam genggaman
Walau apa pun tak kan menjadi halangan
Hidup ini sedia menanti
Generasiku bersinar bagai mentari
Oh-oh...


Malam ini bertemu di pesta
Berdebar membalas senyumannya
Manisnya, oh, jatuh cinta kali pertama
Bersama melukiskan impian
Cinta, cita-cita dan harapan
Di usia ini...tiada yang tak mungkin, oh sayang


[Chorus]


Jangan gentar mengejar mimpi
Yakin, berani, percaya diri
Dan mula dengan 'hello'
Oh-oh...


Jangan takut jatuh ke bumi
Bingkas bangun melangkah lagi
Ke depan, lari dan terbang menuju bintang
Hanya kau saja yang bisa menentu
Arah hidupmu yeah...
Oh-oh...


Pagi terjaga ku dari mimpi
Terasa hati senang sekali
Indahnya dunia ketika kita muda remaja


[Chorus] x2
Oh-oh...


Segalanya dalam genggaman (Oh-oh...)
Hidup ini...
Generasiku...

English Translation

'My Generation'

OAG

This morning, I woke from a dream

My heart felt so light

Surely, the world is mine today

With my friends I go

Laughing happily, with a light heart

The world is so wonderful when we're young

[Chorus]

Everything is within our grasp

Nothing can stand in our way

This life is ready and waiting

My generation shines like the sun

Oh-oh...

Tonight, we meet at the festival

My heart beats as I return her smile

It's so sweet, oh, falling in love for the first time

Together we draw out our dreams

Love, ambition and hope

At this age...nothing is impossible, oh [my] love

[Chorus]

Don't be afraid to chase your dream

Confident, brave, believe in yourself

And start with 'hello'

Oh-oh...

Don't be afraid of falling down to earth

Resiliently rise and take another step

Forward, run and fly, heading for the stars
Only you can decide

The direction of your life, yeah...

Oh-oh...

This morning, I woke from a dream

My heart felt so light

The world is so wonderful when we're young

[Chorus] x2

Oh-oh...

Everything is within grasp

(Oh-oh...)

This life...

My generation...

Great song, right? An inspiration fountain if there ever was. The world really is wonderful when you're young. If you try hard enough, you can see the years stretching out in front of you, like a path or a river, and it just goes on and on until it disappears into the horizon. The future is like that horizon in the distance: vague and unknowable at the moment, but you'll get there soon enough.

And on that note, I shall leave you, dear reader. See you round the bend. Til then, I remain...

Yours,

Figgy the Youthful

Overlap

Dear reader,



I love long car rides, don't you? I wonder if this is a result of my family's annual pilgrimage to our longhouse each Christmas. Talk about long car rides. It takes about 15 hours by car, give or take a few hours for pit stops and dilly-dallying. And that's only after they fixed up the roads. We used to have to go by the muddy logging roads, quite an experience. One on occasion, one of my uncles was driving us. He insisted on skidding the car sideways on every time the road sloped downhill, causing me and my three siblings to squeal in delight and mock fright. And before there were even any roads connecting the cities to my longhouse, we had to go by express boat. I remember playing with my siblings while we waited for the express to arrive; hopping around in the black river mud pretending to be mudskippers. I loved it when I would hop a particularly large hop, and the suction from the mud would suck my slippers clean off my feet. Well, in a manner of speaking. There was nothing even remotely clean where the mudskipper game was concerned. If you managed to stay clean after a round of mudskipper, you weren't doing it properly.

I just realized how old I sound. "Why, back in my day..." Or perhaps it's just because Sarawak is actually a very young state. We're only about 47 years old, after all. We're a baby compared to other countries and states in the world. In the 19 years I've been alive, we've gone from express boats, to muddy logging roads, to proper tar and cement roads--albeit with gigantic potholes from logging trucks passing through. Pretty impressive, if you ask me.

Anyway. Back to the topic of long drives. The reason I love car rides is it gives you time to think. To sit down, be quiet, stare off into space, and just think. So I was being driven home one day, by my driving instructor, ironically. In the midst of my sitting and staring and thinking, I happened to look up out the window, and I saw an aeroplane. Or airplane. Whatever. It was flying relatively low, low enough for me to see the details on the underside of it as it passed overhead, but you still had to squint a little to see them clearly. And it got me thinking:

How many people are on that plane?
Are they looking down out of their windows, the same way I was looking up out of mine?
Can they see the car I was riding in, or was it lost in a swarm of other cars, milling about the winding streets like ants in an ant farm?
What were they thinking about as they gazed out of their windows? About the ant-sized people in their ant-sized cars, perhaps?
For every woman on that plane, there is a daughter. A sister. A mother. A wife. A grandmother.
And for every man; a son. A brother. A father. A husband. A grandfather.
For every person; a cousin, an uncle, a lover, a teacher.
Each person; a soul.
A life.
A story to tell.

Then the plane flew over the car, and out of sight.

Honestly. Why is it there are such selfish people in the world? How can someone live their lives in a bubble when every minute of every day, our lives overlap with the lives of the people next to us?

I don't know. This 'lives overlapping' thing seems to be a recurring theme to me. I think about it all the time. It's comforting, I suppose, in a vague way. It means that we're never truly alone in the world. Whatever we've been through, no matter how embarrassing or degrading or seemingly insurmountable it may be, someone else in some other corner of the world has probably gone through far worse at some point in history. The elasticity and endurance of the human spirit, and all that. On the other hand, it's also awesomely humbling. We realize that, in the grand scheme of things, considering the Universe and everything in existence, we're nothing but cosmic ants. Busy, busy, busy living our lives, running here and there, helter-skelter. All the while some higher power--the One who gives and takes away--is watching us, loving us, judging us. Compared to Him, we're nothing but stars in the sky. Grains of sand on the shore. Ashes blowing in the wind.

And...I'm officially out of metaphors.

I should go to bed now, I suppose. I really need to start sleeping like a normal human being again, instead of some nocturnal creature. Til next time, dear reader, I remain...




Yours,


Figgy; Found in Faith, Lost in Thought

Adolescent angst

Dear reader,


I wish I could sing. Or play an instrument. Or something. I don't know. Have you ever felt like you weren't accomplishing anything in your life, dear reader? When I was younger I thought I was going to take the world by storm, become the next Christopher Paolini. Make my mark on the world, a blazing fire of glory and wit. Like some Shakespeare-quoting shooting star. Instead I'm a burnt out little candle. I just feel so old and cynical. Jaded. How is that even possible? I mean, I'm 19 not 91. Why do I feel like such a has-been when I never even was? Ah, maybe that's it. I can sense my time running out, the years slipping past me and I can't do anything to stop it.

I thought only teenagers go through angst over absolutely nothing. Well, I'm technically still an adolescent, right? Adolescence, defined as 'the period between the beginning of puberty to adulthood'. There you go. While we're on the subject of adolescent angst, I hate the way teenagers are portrayed on TV. Not every person between the ages of 13 and 20 are that...stupid. We don't throw random temper tantrums or nearly die when our parents walk with us at the mall. I enjoy shopping with my mother! And I have never, ever shouted that my parents were ruining my life. Stereotypes, bah!

Maybe this sudden depression's got something to do with me not being busy anymore. After two months of frantic activity, to have it suddenly come to an end is...disorientating. One minute you're spinning out of control--cursing the stupid deadline, drinking gallons and gallons of coffee, wondering if this thing will actually kill you, then not minding the thought of being dead because at least then you could get a decent night's sleep--and then the next minute, your life is at a complete standstill. It's like you were in a speeding car which collided head-first with a wall of molasses. Our project is officially over. All we have left is the presentation; the pitch, if you will. We're trying to get people to give us money so we can do another book, but better this time. I guess I need another project, another goal. Another thing to live for and pour little pieces of my soul into.

Anyway. I just watched a slew of YouTube videos today. Where did all these ridiculously self-assured and confident teenagers come from? Prattling away on their webcams and camcorders, sounding so witty and funny and articulate. Was I this nonchalant and cool when I was their age? No. No, definitely not. My feelings, my thoughts, my personality...even now they haven't formed themselves into anything concrete or permanent. I'm convinced of something one day, and then the next day my mom says something that makes me pause and change my mind. Or I suddenly see the flaw in my own argument, so I discard the whole idea as a mistake. I mean, forget about being articulate and expressive, I'm not even sure of what I want to express yet.

So yeah. I'm starting classes again later this March. That's something to get excited about anyway. I can't wait for Drawing and Illustration! It's going to be so awesome. We're probably going to learn about stuff like perspective and anatomy. You know. All that cool artsy stuff.

Oh, wait. Another possible explanation for my depression: I can't connect to the Internet at home. I'm typing up this post in my college library. Yes, I'm at the library even though I have no classes. What, is that just too nerdy of me, dear reader? I love the library. Just sitting in the library makes me feel smarter. More scholarly and knowledgeable. Anyway, my home wireless thingy is shot.  I have no idea what happened to it. I think I'm going through withdrawal symptoms. I'm completely useless at home. Every time I turn my laptop on, all I can do is stare blankly at the screen. I can't even do normal things that don't require Internet access because it just doesn't feel the same. Like when I'm writing or drawing. It just feels wrong, like I'm boxed in. Google is my homepage. No fooling. I like to know that, if I ever get the urge to, I can just pop on over to Google and search my little heart out. Not having Internet access makes me feel handicapped or disadvantaged somehow.

Oh. Abrupt subject change time. You know what would be cool? A drawing of a boy or a girl, whatever; and they're texting someone with headphones on while playing a video game and surfing the net at the same time. I'd call it 'Generation of Electricity'. Well? Whaddya think? Get it? It's a play on words...you know. Generation, generation. Of electri...yeah. It is a bit lame. I have so many ideas for possible drawing projects, but sadly I lack the motivation, discipline and skill to carry them out.

Okay, I guess I'd better go now. Seeing as I've run out of things to say and all. So...bye.



Yours,



Figgy the Angsty and Borderline Depressed Adolescent

Birthday Girl...the big One-Nine

Dear reader,



Well, hello there. And how are you today?

As you can probably guess from the title of this post, it's my birthday today. I am now 19 years old. It's sad really. I was just getting used to the idea of being 18, and now I'm suddenly a year older. Every time someone asks me how old I am I'll probably have to think for 30 seconds before I answer them. Which do you think is most embarrassing, dear reader? Looking like you're actually calculating your age on the spot, deducting your year of birth from the year you're in--and carry the one--or first saying you're one age, then having to take it back and say, oh I forgot, I'm actually this old. Yeah. I've actually done both, so...I don't know what that says about me.

I just pulled an all-nighter, the second or third one this week, I'm not entirely sure--the days kind of blurred together and I lost track of time about 18 hours in--followed by an extremely unhealthy breakfast at about seven this morning. I should cherish these years while they last. The years where my body is still young and buoyant enough that I can put all sorts of crap into it, and subject it to all sorts of crappy treatment, and not have it bloat to enormous proportions or run myself in the ground.


Anyway. I was looking at last year's Birthday post, and I've realized that I actually have grown somewhat over the past year. Well, not exponentially, you understand. But gradually. Very gradually. I've been maturing, I swear. And last year, I was just sitting around home and devolving into a state of boredom-induced vegetation. This year, I've been working. A lot. I'm working right this second, actually. Honest. I've been looking for a software to install my decrepit scanner into my Fujitsu-baby. 


There's an interesting story about that, actually. I just noticed I say 'actually' a lot. Oh, yeah, okay...the story. It happened like this: I was looking for my sad relic of a scanner, and found it in one of my Dad's cabinet drawers. I got it out from its dark corner where it had been very effectively collecting dust for the past few years. I checked around, no wires. No power supply cables, no USB cables as well. I figured, no problem, I'll just use the ones from the printer. The USB cable fit perfectly, but--cue gasp of horror--the power cable didn't. Desperate, I looked around for any one that looked like it would match. The hole was round for Pete's sake. I was pulling out the wires from all the laptops in the house, seeing as they were the only round power cables I could think of. I tried my Fujitsu-baby's one the last, and, lo and behold, it fit! The light came on and Fujitsu-baby made that 'du-DUH' sound computers make when something has connected successfully. I was so relieved, you wouldn't believe it.


And after that whole ordeal, of course, it just won't install. Of course that would happen. That's just how life works. You think everything is peachy-keen and hunky-dory...til you get that alert that says something is incompatible with something else, and the stupid machine didn't install properly. Would you like to reinstall? It's so annoying. Maybe I should switch to Mac after all. Do Mac-bookers have to deal with the kind of aggravation Microsoft users go through every time they turn on their computers?


Anyway. I'm still trying to install the hopelessly antiquated scanner. I'm cranky. Did I mention I haven't slept? At all? Since last night? Well, I'm mentioning it now. I was working, damn it! And this stupid, dilapidated scanner is seriously throwing a monkey bar into my schedule! We're supposed to finish the thrice-accursed thing this afternoon! It's already ten something! I'll never be ready on time! And I'm using way too many exclamation marks! Exclamation mark!


Sigh.


Oh my gosh, look at that! It's an abrupt topic change! So there's this song I'm really into recently. It's from the soundtrack of House Bunny, interestingly enough. Hey, don't dis the Farris, dear reader. The movie was...okay. Well, the music was good anyway. So the song is 'New Soul' by Yael Naim. She's French-Israeli, I think. I'm not sure if this song goes with this post at all, but I feel like it does somehow. Maybe I just really need to sleep. Enjoy the song, dear reader.












The girl in the middle of the video with the red hair isn't Yael Naim...I have no idea who she is or what she's doing there. I didn't make the video, so. Yeah. I love the part in the song where she goes "communi-cate". I love songs where the singers aren't native English speakers, then you have an excuse to sing the song in a foreign accent. Not that you really need an excuse, though.

Okay, I'm going now. It's 10:52 and the dusty artifact I call a scanner still isn't installing. I'll go flail my arms in panic somewhere you can't see me, dear reader. Til next time, I remain...





Yours,




Figgy the New Nineteen-Year Old Soul

Getting into the holiday spirit

Dear reader,


I'm back! It's funny, isn't it...I said I probably wasn't going to post up anything new til March or something, but instead I've been remarkably prolific in that department. 'Tis just further proof of my contrary nature. Anyway. Valentine's Day is just around the corner. Talk about your idiotic, over-commercialized holidays. I mean, Christmas is bad enough--seriously, you expect any person with an ounce of common sense to believe that a fat, red-clothed, white-bearded man whooshes around the globe in a sleigh pulled by magical flying reindeer and delivers presents to every single child in the space of one night. How exactly did kindly St Nicholas of Myra evolve into this way-too-jolly, rosy-cheeked, glorified cat burglar? Yes, glorified cat burglar. I mean, come on, he breaks into your house in the dead of night, and steals your cookies. The truth is, Christmas isn't about giving or receiving presents at all. Or Christmas trees. Or candy canes. Or elves. Or even snow. You know, it's summer in Australia during Christmas. Most people seem to forget that Christmas is Jesus Christ's birthday, and the only reason we celebrate it is to remember the day he was born, and to contemplate what the world would have been like if he hadn't. That's why it really ticks me off when people say Xmas instead of Christmas.

So, to get back to Valentine's. Oh, such a sweet holiday. Those naked, flying babies who look way too young to be handling a bow and arrow without adult supervision aren't scary or disturbing in the least. Have you ever noticed how well-meaning but painfully condescending adults warn little kids not to run with scissors, but then turn around and buy a card that's emblazoned with a design of swaddled infants with angel wings brandishing lethal weapons? It's just so silly. And what exactly is the relation between these infant cupids and St Valentine the martyr anyway? And do we really need a public holiday to remember to love someone? That's really sad. We should treat every day like it's Valentine's Day. Sans the arrow-yielding, barely-clothed babies, of course.

You know, some people refer to Valentine's as 'Singles Awareness Day', otherwise known as S.A.D. Don't get me wrong, dear reader. I'm not one of those bitter singles who pretend they're perfectly happy going solo, but are actually desperately lonely and just too proud to admit it. I'm one of those infuriating, genuinely-happy-to-be-single people, who are so independent and satisfied in their single-hood that it starts becoming obnoxious after a while. I don't think anyone should get into a relationship just to feel like they've achieved something in life. That's just not fair, to you or the unfortunate person who's just being used to boost your shattered self-esteem. I'm not denying that receiving a box of chocolates or an 'I Love You' card would be nice, romantic even, but the principle behind it is still silly to me. Why show your love only on specific days? Why not give your girlfriend, boyfriend, sister, cousin, grandmother, whatever, a present just for the heck of it? Hmmm, I wonder if they make 'Happy Wednesday' cards. If they don't, they should. And if they won't, I will.

Okay, I'm done bashing commercialized, consumer-oriented holidays now. Wow, I never realized what a hippie I am...stick it to the man! Power to the people! Next week's post topic is 'Easter: Bunnies and Eggs. What's Up With That?'

No, seriously...what's up with that?

And on that note, I leave you, dear reader. Til next time, I remain...

Yours,

Scrooge McFig