Desmond and the Winter Hiatus.

-photo by sam2cents

World, I must take some time to express my disappointment. No, it's not the lack of festive cheer. So far, the festive spirit this year is moving along pretty smoothly. Me thinks it should peak just before Christmas, which is splendid for me.

No, World, I wish to whine about the lack of December-worthy movies. And this little pain-in-my-holiday-tushie called the Winter Hiatus.

What are the holidays without TV-surfing!?

Desmond and "Christmas is Here".

-photo by Garibaldi McFlurry

School is finally out, and with its exit comes the beautiful month of December! A month devoted to blogging, Irish-photo-surfing and Christmas-fanboying.

Ahhh. Truly 'tis be the festive season!

Desmond and the UnCourage and UnEsteem.

I realised that today is the last day of November and in a last ditch attempt to round me up some monthly figures, I'm blogging on the eve of my exam. One might wonder at the nerve I must have to even dare attempt this, but really, 'Courage' and 'Esteem' have little to do with it.

Instead, I will borrow loosely from the Industrial Revolution and call my seeming disregard for my papers a 'Steam Issue' -- specifically, a "Loss of Steam". My mind's burnt out from days of studying, and it seeks the curious comfort of adding to November 09's numbers.

Plus, writing is the poorer cousin of Ben and Jerry.

(He thinks it's nice if you were incensed at his lack of concern for his studies. This Individual must clarify though: he is not as reckless as he puts himself to be. He has studied and was actually in the midst of an audio lecture when he started this entry. Besides, Blogging is an uncontrollable need to win.)

Desmond and The Uncanny Wind.

Today was uncannily windy. I wonder why it was. Perhaps a butterfly was flapping its wings somewhere in Wisconsin. Or maybe brown bears ate wild honey and that sent the bees swarming south. I couldn't tell either way. I wasn't there.

Today was uncannily windy. And I was here. I had to be. I wasn't there you see. The pages of my book were flipping, and for breakfast I had tea. Then it was pancakes for lunch. I would have had my milk in a saucer, but I wasn't a cat. I was here.

And Here was uncannily windy today.

Desmond and Winter Songs.

You know Christmas is coming when these winter-ish albums start hitting the stores. It gets me all excited! Also? It's Ronan Keating! It's like a wonderful festive mix of my favourite things: Christmas, Keating and Ireland. The Christmas cheer is surely here!

(This Individual thinks Keating sounds more seasoned than ever. The worn, raspy voice works well in a holiday time when people sit by fireplaces and ponder a closing year. A grab-the-hot-chocolate-contemplative.

This individual really needs a fireplace.)

Desmond and the Million-and-One-Things.

-photo by Cormac Phelan.

"It's been a long two weeks, and I've really missed my blogger-baby. Don't leave me ever, n'kay? Hugs and kisses repeatedly(.blogspot.com)."

Or maybe something that sounds less teen-sy and affectionate. But with the same sentiments.

After a two week break from Blogosphere, there are a million and one things I'm dying to say. I am finally done with my major assignments for the semester and all that's left for the school-year is a mini assignment and, well, the exams themselves -- The ugly-headed, test-my-moral, grade-my-performance exams.

But really, I'm just glad to be blogging again. Hee!

(The million-and-one-things will have to wait for another day. He says he's "dying to say" them, but really, it's just a figure of speech. If this Individual actually attempted to discuss them all, he could die. He'll leave you this though: The Gallagher brothers are at it again. They're really entertaining. Click here for the drama mama.)

Desmond and the Walker Reading.

It's all in the delivery. Therein lies the power of the spoken word.
And Christopher Walker.

(And if I may push it over all limits, literature!)

Desmond and the Relaxi-mood.

I'm now in relaxi-mood, with my essay finally over and done with. My beloved Irish lecturer has it, and I'm pretty certain that if he had a blog, somewhere in the vastness of cyberspace... he wouldn't be making a big deal of it, as I have.

But I think I'm allowed my neurotic little rants and google searches. Heck, even a little Irish photosurfing is fine! One must consider the proverbial oil that I've burnt in completing my essay. Oh! the body-clocks I have messed up. (Well, actually just the one. But one is bad enough, I assure you.)

So I will indulge myself, with shows and photos, and stupid little articles. I will sleep and refuel, and I will nap and rewind. Clock gears wound to Greenwich precision, fuel tanks filled with green-earth oil (it's not even real petrol!).

And then I'm ready for the next essay.

Bring it on, baby.

Desmond and The Five Years Younger.

I took my glasses off in class yesterday, and gave me Irish Professor (the less fun of the two) a face lift. Five years gone, just like that.

Yes, I'm generous that way. I give perfect strangers face lifts and hair implants. Glasses on -they've got eye bags and bad nose jobs. Glasses off and - BAM! Face is wrinkle-free, nose is perfectly symmetrical.

I reckon I'm like Clark Kent. Or rather, his superhero-alter ego. Who, if you realise, also saves the world sans eye-wear. But he probably does it as a favor to the world - "Earthlings, I feel more compelled to save you when I can love your pretty faces."

What a superficial jerk.
No wonder I love Batman.

(This Individual would like you know it is mock-anger that he feels. Of course he loves Superman. The guy's Batman's buddy! He's just saying the Man in Tights might want to consider the hazard he poses to pilots, what with flying half-blind. )

Desmond and The Deliberate Oversight.

Yippee! It's a rainy morning that looks set to carry on to the afternoon! (Edit: So it stopped raining. I never professed to be a meteorologist.)

And there's more to my weather-incited bliss. Last night, I found out that my Irish tutor extended the dateline for my essay submission. Again.

How much do I love the Irish?!

(This Individual must confess to a deliberate oversight of the nationality of his other tutor to whom he owes his other essay. See, Other Tutor is also Irish, but Other Essay is all kinds of pains in the tushie. No matter -- there is joy to be found in a week's respite from one essay.)

Desmond & Seamus O'Loughlin.

With all the sad news I've been reading recently, I think watching something ridiculous would be like a much-needed breather.

Stephen Gately passed away.

Be safe, reader.

Desmond, Friend-of-Keating.

Ronan Keating was in the papers a few days back, and I must say I've forgotten how much I enjoy listening to him. Admittedly he isn't the best singer, but I have a strange... let's call it, 'affection'... for him.

There's something about his songs that always cradles me into a contemplative air on quiet nights. Maybe it's his raspy, scratchy, voice that nudges me into dreaming my rusted dreams of some grass-is-greener life. Or maybe it's his good track-record with the media -- his commonness and everyday quality -- that makes me feel like I could be, and actually am, "Friend-of-Keating".

Whatever it is, no other singer has exuded such a sense of silent familiarity, for me at least.

So here's to Ronan Keating: "Cheers, mate."

(This Individual knows it sounds like a bromance. You know what? It probably is. But Keating really does all these for him. And come on, the guy's Irish!)

Desmond and the Winged-Banshee.

I spent the first few moments of my morning arguing with what bird-enthusiasts call 'sparrows'. Me? - I think they're more canine than bird. Or a cross of both. (Read: Winged-Banshee.)

After a sleepless night, I woke up to find many screeching sparrows outside my window. And in my half-asleep state, I threw my pillow at the window. (I never throw my pillow at anything. Or at least, "never did before".)

But these were persistent banshee-birds, and they just kept coming back, bringing friends like it was Bring Your Sparrow-friend to Desmond's Window Day. And clearly, this day does not exist, so I started arguing with them - all the while, still groggy and half-awake, and mostly oblivious to the people staring from the neighbouring block.

Then, in what must have been the height of my bird-induced irritation, I made a gesture. And if you'd be one of em' Bird-enthusiasts, I reckon ya cover yer ears and eyes.

World, I made a Finger-Gun. And shot the birds.


(This Individual would like you to know he was barely awake when he perpetrated his wanton act of violence. He only realised what he had done upon waking up a few hours later. And besides, no birds were harmed. They didn't even leave after being shot. Screeching, audacious, little creatures, these Winged-Banshees.)

Desmond and the Neglect.

School's out!
Time to (neglect the assignments and work and) party!!

(-picture by Éole)

Desmond and the Coping Device.

I love this time of year -- even with the midterms and due dates coming.

You see, in light of the many shows returning from hiatus, my mind instinctively shuts out all things depressing, and goes into celebratory mood.

Denial, delusion, or simply a coping device, who cares what you call it -- SHOWS ARE RETURNING. The warm sun rises to melt the winter frost away. Spring is here. Or you know.. Fall Season on American TV.

(This Individual really prefers if you see it as a coping device. It makes him sound saner. But if you do see it otherwise, he must remind you that his mind will instinctively shut you out. )

Desmond and that Morning Rain.

Always, always, a joy to find it raining when I wake.

Desmond & the Broken Playlist.

Playlist has been down for a couple of weeks now and I miss it. Terribly.

But one mustn't mistake my missing it for an unshakable affection for all things Playlist. If I could, I would smack Playlist on the head for being so incredibly difficult. Youareforme.

(This Individual misses convenient music. Youtube is not nearly as convenient and fun as playlist. But if you have alternatives, he gladly welcomes them, and sends you a million thanks in advance.)

Desmond and Calender's Coincidence.

I can't marry or give birth, so that part of today's nine-nine-nine opportunity is lost to me. What I can do, is blog.

So I am blogging, even if for no better reason than Calender's Coincidence. Because these numeric systems don't repeat themselves (at least not authentically) and bandwagons are enticing communal vehicles.

Yeehar.

Desmond and Some Smokey Horror.

It's that time of year again, when Stupidstition gets the better of men and women - who should know better - and rallies them into a burning frenzy.

I pity the environment, but maybe even more so, I pity me. Oh! think of the smoky horror that assaults my senses.

But there is little that can be done, except to shut the windows. That's the smokey remedy then.

Welcome, World, to September.

(This Individual realises most pity-parties are lame. But he would ask you to consider the Smoky Horror, and be entirely honest: "Don't you pity yourself too?" If you do, then join the fun. If you don't, he requests you save your judgement for someone who bothers. That, and a nasal checkup.)

Desmond and the Gallaghers.

Noel Gallagher quits Oasis

"The future of rock group Oasis was plunged into doubt Saturday after lead guitarist Noel Gallagher dramatically announced he was quitting because he can no longer work with his brother Liam." (Full article here.)

I've followed their current (rather amusing) feud for quite awhile now, but I have to say, I did not expect the split. Sure, it's been intense, but it's the Gallagher brothers we're talking about! They've always been antagonistic to each other, and in spite of the sibling rivalry, Oasis has still delivered year after year of good music.

I would have created a playlist of their songs in honor of them (or rather, their incredibly understanding bandmates). But playlist has also decided on the path of antagonism, and so you can really just guess how my said attempt went.

So here's to Oasis: It was a good run, and I'd love to see what happens next. And here's to Playlist.com: Work!

Desmond and The Lightning-Strikable Piece.

Maybe it's another squall or just simply a bout of rainy weather, but I welcome it with open arms.

Open arms.

And the preoccupation with lightning and thunder never seems to end, in spite of a fear of getting struck by said-lightning. But so far, so good. This man is still in one lightning-strikable piece. His photo-ambitions however, leave much to be desired.

-To more windy nights, and days.

Desmond & the Light of Blogging-Day.

One week is way too long for an entry-consumed-nutcase like myself. I could really do with more blogging.

But scurry, scurry... My time's been hurried away. Buried under books I'd rather not read, and books I should have read four days ago, I have yet to see the light of Blogging-Day. That is, until Now.

Now, I have inched my way out of Book-abyss, emerging like some Book-Mining-Warrior, victory cry all a'ready.

I am Hero and Legend, Miner-Extraordinaire.
I am valiant knight and victorious king.

I am blogging, now.
Or maybe I am just Fraud. Maybe I am disillusioned, driven insane by the sheer volume of books to read, that I've imagined a world where completed readings are possible. A world that only exists in some states (of mind). Denial's one of them.
(It sure sounds as if this Individual resents his post-holiday prison. But he really is enjoying most of it. For now. Still, every now and then, blogging brings him a much-needed break from work. We all have our stress-relief-ice-creams.)

Desmond and the Glee Explosion.

It turns out my first tutor of the new academic year is a visiting professor from Dublin, Ireland. And he discussed writing-writing with us.

Can you say, "Glee Explosion"?

YIPPEE!

(He swears he's not crazy, but this individual really enjoyed class today. And he'll not lie. A small part of the enjoyment came from his Irish professor who just arrived on our Sunny-island, because said-Professor was constantly referring to Ireland. Which, in itself, is enough cause for a mini Glee Explosion.)

Desmond and the Limbo That Lies Between.

I can feel myself snatching desperately at the scraps of time I have left... Desperately trying to prolong my time in the limbo that lies between Post-Holiday and School.

It's hard to give that time up. It's as if I've been delivered a package that I'm reluctant to receive. And now, if I acknowledge receipt, then the transaction is complete. Then... then, I would have left the Lesser-comfort of Limbo, and crossed into the Non-comfort of School.

And so I refuse to give my signature. "My pen has run out of ink," I'll say.
"How convenient," you'll say.

And then Post(Holiday)man will attempt to lend me a pen, and I will refuse even that.

Never accept gifts from Strangers.

Desmond & The Uncontrollable Need to Win.

The next time I can write this regularly (for my personal pleasure, might I add), could well be weeks away from now.

That makes me sad.
Incredibly sad.

I confess to an unhealthy obsession with watching those little bracketed numbers in my archive jump. Every entry adds to that number. Every month is a challenge to trump myself. It's a battle with Me. Fight, fight, fight. One, two, three, ten.

And the best thing about this? Either way, Desmond wins.

Don't end, holidays.
(You can't win, if you can't enter the competition. This Incredibly Bummed Individual realizes that. It's actually the reason he's bummed out. He would appreciate an extended holiday, so he may take part in more competitions with himself. Call it a uncontrollable need to win.)

Desmond and the Perpetual Tick-Tock.

It's not a lament of my aging existence on this bright blue-green marble... but really, time flies.

Put aside those 21 years that tick-tock perpetually in my mind's ear, nagging about how old I'm getting. Put that all aside, and just consider that my holidays are ending. (It pains me to even type it out.)

I still have a lot unaccomplished... a lot I wished I'd done, but my consolation is that the holidays have yet to end. And till then, I have the chance to make up for lost time.

Although, I must also say this: I hardly think I've wasted and squandered my holidays away. It has just been spent in a way contrary to what I had imagined it to be. Just because a different purpose has been fulfilled, hardly subtracts from fruitfulness.

(This individual knows it is a premature end to the entry, but he insists on stopping now. Because denial is the cheapest plastic surgery, ever. And if you never look into the mirror, you'll never see yourself age.)

Desmond and the No Show.

And so the historic moment passes. No sun to watch, no neck to strain, no eye to blind. Just rain and grey clouds. And cold air that calls for warm sweater.

The morning couldn't have been more perfect.

Nothing beats waking up to rainy weather. Nothing. Not even 500year-cycle solar eclipses. Plus, I got to wear real layers on our Sunny Island.

Yes, sweaters count.

Desmond and the Strained Neck.

I've been searching for a link to an official news article, but it seems that that's impossible. Regardless, (or really, 'linkless'), I will say this: Between 840 to 940am tomorrow, 22nd July, a solar eclipse will occur in our Sunny Island Skies. (Edit: Article here.)

Well, a partial one at least.

I'm not sure if we'd be able to see much, but I have a hunch I'd be up anyways. A man, crazy to the uninformed, straining his neck, staring into the sky.

It could be fun!

CAUTION: NEVER, EVER, LOOK DIRECTLY AT THE SUN. WORSE STILL, NOT THROUGH YOUR CAMERA LENS, VIEWFINDER, OR ANY OTHER MAGNIFYING DEVICE. YOU COULD GO BLIND.

(This individual gets his infomation from reliable sources. Honestly, he does! He read it online a while back, and heard about it again today. Although, this individual also bears no responsibility for the waste of a good sleep-in, should there be no partial-eclipse. Awaken at your own risk.)

Desmond and The Cheering Room.

The pillow beckons, and the room around you cheers in agreement. Sleep! Sleep! Sleep!

You are smitten, taken in. So you pull a willingly blanket over yourself, all snuggled up. Then, half a minute into gorgeous sleep, you beg for the fan to shut it, because his constant shrilling sends shivers down your spine.

But once that's over, you fall into deep slumber, as image after image nudges you into a sleep that's deeper still. Cradled in fantastical dreams of flying. Rockabye rockaboo... Until you jolt up, shivering again.

The blanket's off.

But best to sleep on.
Because sleep is key.

Desmond & The Fresh Dosage.

Ever so often, one is faced with the prospects of a better life.
Ever so often, one is presented with alternatives to existing lifestyle.

Ever so often, one is forced to remember his dreams and fantasies, then watch as they take off with someone else on some runway. And he's left behind, as if he missed his flight. Where's my passport? Shoot! My ticket! I should have checked, I should have packed... It should have been, could have been...

I've got a fresh dosage of wanderlust.

And considering that on any given day, I already have so much wanderlust, I think it's perfectly safe to say that I'm at a new wander-high. What the heck, I am wander-highest.

- For now.

Desmond & the Westlife Call.

I love British & Irish Boybands. I played some Westlife tonight, because when Westlife-Craving knocks, you always answer.

man, i am so tired. it's so tempting to give up.

Desmond and Worm Journalism.

It is nearly 6am, and having just woken from what must have been the world's sorriest excuse for Sleep, I am awake.

It is as it sounds -- World, I am awake.

And while Awoken Workers work, and Awoken Birds catch worms... somewhere on (in) this earth, Awoken Worms curse their sorry excuse for an early morn' walk. The irony? While the massacre happens, Awoken Bloggers make light of dying worms. We are Worm Journalists: Morbid, Cruel, and Awake.

I'm certain I will pay for this predawn musings later in the day, but I have given in to sleepless-ness. The sheep is counted and the milk is drunk, but the mind still wanders.

Maybe writing is the lullaby of the mind. For Worm Journalists, Writing is Counting Sheep. Writing is methodical. Who dies? Where? From What? How? Why? Why, why, why in the world, am I awake.

My writing is done. My mind is tired.
And I quit.

(But really, the resignation is necessary. This individual has been leeching wifi for almost an hour now. He requests that you look at his Morbidity, Cruelty and general Awake-ness, instead of judging him for leeching. Journalism is tough.)

Desmond and Michael Owen.

Michael Owen is joining United?!?

Of all clubs!

I have a usual disregard for all news sports, meaning that portion of the papers is moot to me. But Michael Owen is one of those very few football players I know, since the 98' World Cup. He and Alan Shearer were the first players I knew, and liked.

I don't have a clue about his playing now. To be quite frank, I don't care either. It's just that Shearer and Owen remind me of a younger-me. With younger-take on younger-world.

Owen was just 18 when he played in the World Cup! Watching him then, I used to think 18 was old. And when 18 finally came, it passed by so quickly, I didn't realise I was already 19.

The United fans might have an adverse reaction to this addition, but for me, I will always remember him as England's youngest player in the World Cup (at that time). He was good. And I liked him then. Even his sickly days will not discredit him in my memory.

At least, not until the next I see him play (for the meh team). But if my disregard for sports holds, that might be never.

Desmond and the Flickrish.

I like hanging out at Flickr. It's a hobby that on most days is obsessive. I sometimes spend hours just photo-surfing.

But it's more than looking at that one picture. I love scrolling through someone's photostream. (That would be Flickrish for 'album'). It says a lot. I learn a lot about some stranger who's willing to share little tidbits of his/her life with me. And I'm not obliged to react.

It's a window into a different view of the world. Often, it's crazy and wacky. And it does not overwhelm you. They accompany their photos with clever lines, which is always a welcome in my book. Like "Can't believe Pluto has been downgraded! My faith in science has gone. (must do religious backflip)". Or "Even after all the cosmetic surgery, Molly couldn't change the fact that inside she was still an awkward primate. And, "Before the cleaning lady comes to make my bed... man I'm spoilt. Thanks Tourism Queensland."

All that said, I have to admit this has got to be the longest I've worked on an entry. I've been feeling a great desire to write, but I've just about run dry discussing my love for rainy weather. Not that that's a written agreement to never blog about it again, because it is my blog.

I know this entry reads jump-ily, but I've typed each part in blotches of concentration. Yes, that will be my official excuse. And I want to go on rambling randomly. Really, I do. But all good things must come to an end.

And if even good things end, then nonsense should too.

-Dear me, am I tired.

Desmond and The City of Black & White.

Whoopee! Mat Kearney's sophomore album is out!
(And in my opinion, better than his first!)

Changing my playlist to this, since playlist has the entire album.
And because I can.

Desmond and the Cold Tap-water.

Weather-wise, Today has been splendid.

The morning started off with a rain shower that did two things for me. First off, the soft sound of rain falling on the ground, gently nudged me awake. Second, that very same splishing, splashing, rain-is-falling, cradled my consciousness into a state of indecision -- "back to precious sleep, or get up to a beautifully cold morning?"

My said-Consciousness finally settled for "laze in bed half-awake". I agreed, of course.

The cold morning carried on to a cold afternoon which, considering the recent spate of oven-weather, I welcomed with opened arms.

I love waking up to cold mornings. And snuggling under my oft-unused-blanket. And turning the tap to find cool water drenching my hands. Rainy days like today do these for me.

Even now, 60 ticks to midnight, the roads outside are covered in a sheet of fallen-rain, reflecting the warm orange glows of the street lamps.

I love these sights.
I love rainy days.

Desmond and gRoss.

Of all the Friends, Ross is my least favourite by a far mile.
Enough to want to blog about it.

Desmond and Other-Him.

It is the bustle removed from the room. The TV droning no more. The sink always unfilled, uncluttered. The water boiled a day ago still sitting unfinished in the jug. The claustrophobia breathing down on you expelled. Make space for Space.

You are silent for the most of the day, because being alone dismisses the need to talk. Until you realise you should talk, even if out loud to other-You. So you begin a necessary self-monologue, the starting of which startles you -- "has my voice always been so low and muffled?"

Therein lies the necessity of talking: because I need me to sound like me. I need my voice opened, not closed. Posture straight, chest out, deep breaths. Chest out (again). Resonating the things already known to myself out of my head, through my head. Am I more supported now? Maybe.

Maybe support is not as pressing as the need to remember voices. To clear your head. So we talk, of bustling rooms and jugs half-full. Of blackened TVs and empty sinks. And of Claustrophobia as a man. We talk to empty our heads.

Or maybe, we talk to our empty heads.
Shush, other-Me.

Desmond and the Modified Ice Cream.

(Click to view video: How Smelly is the Durian?)

Durian season is back in town, and so demands the arising of the Pro and Non-pro-durian factions.

For the record, I am Pro-durian.

Why? Because I love the durian, and it's creamy goodness. There is a bittersweet taste that lingers after you bite into the soft, tangy, flesh of the yellow drop of heaven. It's like ice cream that has been modified to melt slowly, so that the delight of the durian is prolonged, stimulating every tastebud. That, and because it irritates my friends who hate it.

That said, I have to admit I'm not a fan of the durian's interesting smell. I don't appreciate its funky smell on my fingers, even if I do not think it is as smelly as the video above suggests.

But we must pay the price for the things we love: Smelly fingers, and ten dollars a box.

(You may go out into the highways and the by-ways, into markets and super-markets, to feast on the wonderfully-and-fearfully-made-durian. Afterall, it is the durian season. And while this individual does not hate the smell (prefering to say he is unappreciative of it), you might want to use a spoon or chopsticks, like he has done in the past. Although, he reckons bare-fingers is the way to go.)

When the doctor said, "2 servings of fruit a day," he probably didn't mean the durian.

Desmond and Stupid Game Show Answers.

Suddenly the 1980s seem so much cooler.
Although, 1987 has always been so.

(While it may be so that I embedded the videos, view at your own risk. I take no responsibility for the things you might hear, or the stares you might receive from bewildered family members.)

(Not kidding about the stares. Turn volumn down.)

Desmond and the Sky High Mic.

Along with Carrie Underwood and Melinda Doolittle, Michael Johns shares a special place in a part my brain that's labelled Memorable American Idol Contestants. (Kelly Clarkson doesn't count because I didn't watch the first season.)

"Michael Johns," you say?

"That Australian guy who sang Bohemian Rhapsody? Who got axed on Idol Gives Back? With that quirky-jerky-dancing? Who sticks out his butt, and lifts his mic high into the sky? That Michael Johns?"

YES.

I still think he got prematurely booted out of Idol.

Season 7 of American Idol was crazily fun. With Brooke White's restarts, to David Archuleta's lyric flubs... right up to the disastrous cover of Shout to the Lord, where they colour-coded white, as if Idol night was Laundry night... Season 8 never replicated such insane fun, in my opinion.

(Not like it matters though, because this individual had to strain his brain to remember the names of this year's finalists, Adam Gokey and Kris Lambert. Guess they're just not in my MAIC happy place.)

Desmond and the Overdriven Glands.

I honestly believe in global warming, as I should, with the irrefutable evidence that is the sweltering heat of our Sunny Island.

How I hate that self-declaration, 'Sunny'. As if we don't already have enough sun on a normal "island-day". Seriously, I'd love to apply for citizenship to a country that declares itself Rainy Island.

(This individual believes we should switch off appliances that are not in use for the sake of our sweat glands. His are already in overdrive on a normal-sunny-island-day, and he shivers at the thought of the liquid output that should occur on a global-warmed-sunny-island-day.

And warm shivers should never be.)

Desmond and the Bejeweled Bandrocket.

That's it. Full Bejeweled Blitz BETA Embargo.

Incidentally, as I was looking for bejeweled pictures on the net, somehow forgetting that one page on facebook I have a love-hate relationship with now, I found a woman who sells a bejewel guidebook.

That actually sells.

Yes, I lift my eyebrows in quizzical wonder.

(If you have not jumped on the bandrocket that is Bejeweled Blitz, and want to foolishly do so as this fool has, click the link above. Be forewarned: the only way off the bandrocket is a self-imposed embargo, in less severe cases, and full-on exile from facebook in the worst.)

Desmond and His Merry Land.

(Edit: The video does not work on my laptop, and I am rather disappointed. But I'm going to post this entry anyways, because it's my party and I can cry if I want to. Click here for Danny and Kris' duet performance of Styx's Renegade.)

In my happy little world, where I am happy King of my happy little people, I can understand why I even know this song by Styx. And in my happy reign with my merry making and cherry drinking, I can even accept why I like the song.

But dethrone me, and oh my word... I listen to the weirdiest things.

I haven't been following American Idol as much as I could have, considering the holidays, but when I saw this video, it triggered a Royal Monologue, sans the trumpet players: "

I know this song. Dear me. I know this song. Why do I know this song. Shoot. It was on repeat for awhile. On repeat?! Why in the... how could... No I was... EH. The original was better!"

Taking a line out of Simon's many, I say, "no disrespect to either of them, because they were brilliant," but the original was better.

In any case, it was a mighty good season with Kris, Danny and a few others. And while I will not disclose the results from last night in respect for the ones who have not watched it, I will say this: Kate Perry is weird.

That's that folks, Desmond, out!

Oh what the heck, Desmond, in! IT WAS DANNY! WHY!?

Okey (G)okey, Desmond, out.

Desmond & the Steam Roly-poly.

I woke up this morning feeling strangely like a failure. You know how it's like -- you wake up one morning and your hair rejects all commands to "stay down"; the tube of toothpaste is almost all out, forcing you to take on the role of a steam roller, flattening out whatever little mint-flavoured paste there is left for the toothbrush -- that you've just knocked into the toilet bowl. You can't find a proper shirt to hide the beerbelly, your pants are splotched pink from what you suspect must be your lucky red underwear (which probably isn't red, or lucky, anymore) and OH MY WORD MY HAIR JUST WON'T STAY DOWN!

Well, this morning was something like that, except the rush of negativity hit me before I even got out of bed.

The moment I awoke, I stared into the ceiling wondering why I was feeling frustrated and unaccomplished. It took just a few seconds, and then I realised that I was dreaming about being confined in a guarded semi-abandoned house with secret passages. In the dream, I was about to escape when I met an actress and some guards, and decided to help them open a chute, thereby forgoing my chance to escape.

That was why I felt so frustrated. I didn't get to escape! Some dreams feel so distant and unachieveable.
Must have been all those reports of quarantines in the papers. (That said, I'm glad the situation is getting better.)

Sometimes dreams make for great fun.

Desmond and the Un-embed-able Video.

This is Shaun Smith.
This is a (bad) picture of Shaun Smith, on Britain's Got Talent.

This is not a video of Shaun singing, because somehow the 59865 videos on youtube are ALL un-embed-able.

Anyhow, the picture is a link to the video on youseless youtube, so if you want to watch the video, click it! Or if you can't find the picture (I don't see how someone can't, but strange things do happen), click here.

Shaun here is on the rugby team, and he can sing quite excellently. I love the song, and Kris Allen sang it on American Idol a few weeks back too. Shaun's got talent. Britain's got talent.

I was talking to a friend the other day, and I said some people have everything.

And I know they say we all have our own talents, and that each person is entrusted with different things, in different amounts. But sometimes, you can't help but feel lousy about yourself, or that life is unfair. Especially after watching AI, or BGT, or just hanging out with your friends, who are incredibly talented.

I mean, being able to fold origami cranes out of sweet wrappers the size of your thumb?! Seriously.

Okay, I'll stop here. Being unable to post my video is upsetting. I hate you!tube.

Desmond and "All Over Again".

I'll admit it. I'm a fanboy. I like to think it's an alter ego that is only activated when the object of my fan-dom appears before me, but that's just a thought, and I could be terribly wrong.

Well, today, Ronan Fanboy was beeped. Kinda like the batsignal. I see something Ronan, I know it's a sign to throw on my fanboy costume and emerge.

If you do read the li.fe.sec.tion of the STs, which you should because the Stonesoup, Foxtrot and Babyblues comics are awesome, you'd realise Ronan Keating has an interview with ST on the 3rd page. That's one, two, THREE, for the fan-person in you!

I think Keating started off much of the Irish Lovin' for me. And although he's dropped out of my blog and my music in recent months (years), I still like him.

I think I might just make a playlist of Keating and Boyzone songs later. Hmmm. (Edit: Since I'm too lazy to make a new playlist, I'm going to put my Irish playlist up again. With more Keating in it. )

(If you're a closet Ronan Fan-person, and want to read the online article, click the picture of Ronan. If not, just get the onetwoTHIRD page of today's li.f.e!)

Desmond and Falling Slowly.

I was searching for videos of last night's performance, and I remembered that the americanidol website finally decided to upload the performances this year. I don't recall them doing so for previous seasons. My "did so did not did too" routine aside, the performances are on the site, and really, that's all the matters.

Plus I wanna try uploading the video, because blogging is fun like that. -HEEE! Grins uncontrollably to self-

If it works it should be between this paragraph and the one before. (Edit: Yay it does!)

Of all the performances this season, I've really enjoyed this the most. Nice, melancholic song that, as things would have it, was from an Irish film. I swear I'm not seeking nice Irishy things to like. They're seeking me out instead, and I'm falling for them like trees in the woods of Woodcutters Ville.

HEEEE!

(Edit: I just realised that the song title and my paragraph complement each other like puns. I did not intend for that but.... HEEE!)

Desmond and the Request for Change in Battery.

It's true, I am the kinda person who needs a lot of sleep. I often say, "I love me my sleep" and dear me, I do mean, "I love me my sleep".

As it is, Eight Hours sits on the fence between the two neighbours 'Satisfactory' and 'Unsatisfactory'. Ten hours is very much preferred.

Somehow, all the assignments and studying in the last few (late) nights have left such a lasting impression on me that my sleep-early wires have shorted out. All that's left is an incredibly tired energizer bunny who's begging to stop banging on those blasted drums. "Stop, stop. Take out the energizer and stuff in a duracell. MAKE IT STOP!!"

Oh boy, I need me my sleep.

Desmond and the Weather-related Catalyst.

I was studying for my paper when I found in my lecture slides, a link to this article : "London's day of innocence". It is not exactly an under-one-minute read, but I really liked it.

The article talks about how a day of snow lifts the city from its pessimism and discontentment, even if only for a day. Jeffries described Londoners to typically be economy-driven cynics who grumble of the inefficiencies of the tube, late buses and the like. Practicality and functionality edges out space for warmth and community. Seems like the London pace of life is normally so fast that it leaves no room for enjoying simple things.

(For what it's worth, I never thought London to be like that. But it sounds like our little Island huh. We, too, rush through our work day, and return home to rush some more. We crave instant gratification, "everything must happen NOW!" )

But all that changes when snow falls on the city, on a perspective-altering day in February this year.

"In London, this doesn't happen often. We trust our dour reflexive, self-poisoning moaning as a lifestyle philosophy instead. We like it that way: strangers are strange and Britain, [curse] everything about it, doesn't work. Why don't the buses run on time? Why are we so hopeless? Why can't something be done (usually by someone else who we can blame for their shortcomings)?

[But on this day] we surrendered to delight. We found better questions to ask: how do you roll a snowman? Where [in the world] are my galoshes(rubber boots, in case you were wondering ah! -Des.)? What have you done with my sledge? Can one get to work by sleigh?"

I think my lecturer meant to draw similarities between our city and London. In essence, I think this just reminds us that there is beauty to be found in our country, in spite of our cynicism towards it. London needed snow. Could we do it without? Yes, I hear you, we have no snow here to speak of anyways. But could we find something to be thankful for without first needing a weather-related catalyst? I'm sure we could. I'm sure I need to.

Desmond and Chandler's Claw.

"Former Friends star Matthew Perry was forced to seek medical attention after damaging his hand playing videogames." The actor admits he spends days on end glued to the screen playing war games on his XBox, ruining the muscles and tendons in his hand.

It's actually quite hilarious for me, because in this particular episode, "The One Where Joey Dates Rachael", there's a scene where Chandler's hand is "messed up" (in his own words) from playing 8 hours of Ms Pacman.

[Scene: Monica and Chandler's, Monica is entering to find Chandler playing Ms. Pac-Man.]

Nice going Matthew Chandler Perry Bing. I see the professional dedication.

Desmond and Good News Singapore. (With Sydney Pictures).

I realised I have no real pictures of GNS. With the crowds or during worship or the audience!! Oh well.

These past few days have been tiring. But so worth it. I have to say I miss GNS already. I walked out of the stadium reluctantly last night... certainly wasn't something I expected. It's been so long since we've done such a big event, and to be honest I've never seen so many people accepting the salvation call. (In COI, we were always backstage so I never got to see the throngs of people).

It's crazy. Good crazy. People crowded in desperation, hands thrown up in need... God's amazing. The messages were so simple, so easy to understand. And isn't that what the gospel is about anyways? Accessible by all men, for all men. No other clutter attached to God's simple truth.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life."

So many things got me thinking over the past three days. And I don't have answers for everything. But somehow seeing the good that did happen reminded me that God is good. He's seriously good. And even with the things I don't understand, I know this: I can trust in the character of God.

Aside from all the amazing things God has been doing, I think another reason I loved GNS was because the days and company, reminded me a little of Sydney and the Hillsongs conference. At the Acer Arena the entire day; then at Gloria Jeans or some hotel lobby, eating simply and sharing food. Then pretty cool music (Planet Shakers at GNS, and Hillsongs at... erm... Hillsongs) and then taking photos in a stadium.

And God's the same God in Sydney and in Singapore.

I'm sorry for the Sydney photos. But I really had nothing GNSy to post!

I can't remember who suggested taking the photo, but I do remember why we took it. Because this man was at the conference everynight, urshering us in with a huge smile. Has little to do with the fact that he was on a wheelchair, but much to do with the servanthood he displayed.

Because I have no pictures from GNS, I'll use this to thank the many people who served at GNS. From the logistics and AV crew who were there setting up, to the ushers and choir and many others who helped made the event run properly, to the consolidators and data-input people who worked through the wee hours of the morning. It's so great to see church members working well together.

Victory Family Centre.

Desmond and the Peppermint O.D.

I realised that I really hate cough syrup. They can put all the wood peppermint they want in the cure and it'll still taste horrid. Same goes for the gooey pipagao.

The past few days have been all about assignments and words and pages and sleepless nights. I don't really know how I managed all the work but somehow everything worked out. That's 4 thousand down, and 5 more to go.

But that's for another time.

Now I'm looking forward to my beauty sleep. Oh, how I love me my precious sleep!

Yippee yaya yippee yippee yay!

Desmond and the Jones Conclusion.

Newcastle to name Alan Shearer as Manager.

Woohoo!!

I don't watch much soccer. (Okay. Lying. I don't watch ANY soccer at all.) But I do have a team I support -- Newcastle. It was the first team I knew, and Alan Shearer was the guy who started it all for me. (Not like it became a huge part of my life eventually.)

The WorldCup 98' was the only time I actively watched soccer matches with my dad, and like alot of other people, I was rooting for England, and Shearer was captain then. (I could be wrong, considering I don't even remember who took the cup.)

Anyways, it's nice to see he'll be in charge of Newcastle for awhile.

On a sidenote... It dawns on you, just how old you are, when you look at pictures of your childhood heroes and realise they've aged. Indiana Jones, anybody?