I remember back in school, at the back of the class, when Mojam whipped out a guitar and played the intro riff to Sugar Ray – Every Morning. He then doubled it with bassline.

I thought he was God.

There isn’t going to be any consistency in this blog post.

There are only two things that really depress me to the point that I am incapacitated. The first, I have already settled with some major wrist-aching capacity; the second, I have always been in a quandary.

Just when you find you can achieve something, you find that it cannot be used in the current situation.

Like a nightmare, you run from one corner to another, in search of an elusive item. The thing that matters to you most. Weird things happen. The second floor disappears. You do a MacGyver, or Lara Croft, depending on your gender and how well you are blessed.

There really is no need to reply this, because I understand how hard it is to reply something like this which has no definite hooks to weave strings of text around. However, if you can do so profoundly, I salute you, and will probably copy take inspiration from how you do it.

Maybe I should pay more attention to girl friends who write emo posts like these. It takes me quite a lot to get me to this point… so I can’t imagine how you guys girls take it.

But here’s something that you can reply to:

I watched 300 and Perfume: The Story Of A Murderer in cinemas recently. Of course, having watched 300 way after everybody else’s cajoling (I didn’t want to watch it because I don’t go out of my way to watch gory movies like Saw 3.) Yeah, you know they’re gonna kill some, and they’re gonna die too. Yeah, you know what’s to become of them in the end. I didn’t feel a strong sense of empathy for them especially when things were going too well. It was good, but I did not feel the same compulsion to tell everybody to watch it.

I have a feeling that at least 300 angry people will come after me.

Random Photoshopped-to-censor-MSN-addresses screenshot!

With Perfume, however, you root for the murderer! The show is full of real, non-CGI-ed French slum grit. It felt like Edward Scissorhands (ironically, Tim Burton turned down the job) meeting Powder (at the ending).

I love predictable endings. I love wack endings. As long as they’re good endings.