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/u:bæ∫Ik/[n] The greatest, most superlative of its kind;[n] Elegant and stylist;[n] amalgation of German-Franco lexicon, describing hypercool translinguistic supracultural phenomenon.

Tuesday, October 26, 2004
What a online matchmaking website spat out to me after I spat to them my answers to their "personality test".

"eHarmony is based upon a complex matching system developed through extensive testing of married individuals. One of the requirements for it to work successfully is for participants to fall into our rigorously defined profiles. If we aren't able to match a user well using these profiles, the most considerate approach is to inform them early in the process.

We are so convinced of the importance of creating compatible matches to help people establish and enjoy happy, lasting relationships that we choose not to provide service rather than risk an uncertain match.

Unfortunately, we are not able to make our profiles work for you. Our matching system is not suitable for about 20% of potential users, so 1 in 5 people simply would not benefit from our service. We hope that you understand that we regret our inability to provide service for you at this time. "

OK. So even dating sites don't want to match me. What the heck. One rare moment where I am truly speechless.

Tuesday, October 12, 2004
From the Wu-Name Generator comes this:

"Ho Wei-Hao, Joses from this day forward
you will also be known as Intellectual Lover."


Tuesday, October 05, 2004
I have been stuck in a whitewashed fluorescent-lit room staring at monitor screens and wall-sized maps. Yes, it's that insane thing they call "wargaming", which essentially is what happens when the Army wants to play Command and Conquer. It goes all out. You plan on the wall-sized map. You stuff the input into the computer. You watch the simulation run.

Problem is, our superiors shortchanged us of 2 hours of planning. We ended up doing 4 hours worth of work in 1 hour. I zonked out immediately after that.

To make my situation even worse, I've got an examination on thursday. The Army intends to gauge my vocational knowledge. (Yes, they DO have written exams in the military.) So its been 26 hours of wading through Army doctrine and staring at indecipherable maps and sleeping at ungodly hours. I honestly lost track of time back there. When all the light you've got is artificial and dirtywhite, you go into hyperalert/hypertired modes.

But least Jovian was there for the first night, but because I had to hit the books, he sorta wandered around aimlessly amongst the tangle of cables and tables. And the beer after last night's dinner was a totally bad idea. I couldn't study after that.

Today, I managed to sneak out of the wargame centre and borrow William Gibson's Idoru. Occasionaly glancing at the haugty model's face on the book's softcover perked me up a bit. Am going to resolve to finish reading this before the date due.

Of late I've been really into fiction of the cyberpunk variety, set in dystopic technofutures with girls that run around naked with blazing guns. (OK, that's only in G.I.T.S.) I've got this really farout idea for a story set in the Singapore of 30XX, but the concept didn't sell so well with my family. But I think it'll work. If I can figure out the loveconsipracy philisophy. Heh.

OK. tonight I return to the room of wargames. Yes, war's just a game men play to keep themselves alive. Just ask any soldier.

Friday, October 01, 2004
Just back from the youth group's newcomer party (on when else but 1 October?). I gladly popped by at the bequest of Hilmay. Just to meet the timing, I came straight from camp in my uniform, a decision which I now regret after stinking it up in absolutely demented (but harmless) fun.

There is a overpowering sense of singlehood that has laid claim to me lately. I haven't hooked back up with my pals from yonder days. I end up gawking at the girls from For Love Or Money 2 with my fellow PCs who are stuck in camp like me. The girls I've loved before keep popping up in my dreams. The ones that loved me don't. I invariably wake up in the morning with the impression that I'm late for my A levels and that even if I got there in time, I couldn't start to write my GP essay because all I've written (and read) these past 2 years are linguistically bland, vocally frozen military reports.

I suspect I need a girlfriend or a guitar, but I have the latter in my bunk already (its first E-string, sadly, snapped last week).

Crap. This is the very kinda online expose I slammed.

I should start a diary, but I wouldn't dare to read what I wrote before.

Relax, I not balding yet. Gaaak.