Oh man I can't wait for this game. It's like Tim Schaefer is only allowed to produce Concentrated Awesome and if he doesn't he gets sent to jail, so he has to hit projects out of the park to stay out of prison. He should be the posterchild for brilliant game design. Activision has no idea what it's done.

Bizarro piracy, or Is it still piracy if you pay for something?

Now, apparently this isn't all that new but it is new to me - the short story is: People buy CD keys from... less than reputable places online, which allows them to 'legally' play some games online. For all intents and purposes, they own the game, since they still own a CD key, albeit a heavily discounted one that originated from another country.

We all know that for the longest time, CD keys were pretty much the only obstacle blocking the way of game pirates from playing online - after all, online play is one of those benefits dangled tantalizingly in front of gamers, so they'd pony up the dosh, leaving those filthy, barnacle-encrusted game pirates high and dry - everyone wins!

But now, since it's easy enough for someone who wants to play online to get a much cheaper CD key (how they 'acquire' the game is, of course, another matter), the question is whether or not it's still ethical. After all, the developers are being compensated - the games stripped of their CD key in a different country, are, for all intents and purposes, still moving off the shelves, putting money in the devs' pockets. Just not quite as much as they'd get in the original country to begin with.

Does this prove, then, that Price is a major deterrent? Should games be sold at a standardised price?

For further reading:
http://savygamer.co.uk/2009/07/question-of-what-is-right.html

Yes, we've heard of the song parody video. But when the parody uses the complete same video to make fun of it that takes it to a whole new level.

IT COMES BACK, said the Sleer, with satisfaction in its smoke-tendril voice. IT ALWAYS COMES BACK.
- The Graveyard Book, Neil Gaiman.

And so it is, as it always is. Maybe I should never have stopped. Part of the fear of blogging is just being afraid of being seen as self-important and self-absorbed, writing about how many times you brushed your teeth, how many times up and down, how many times to the side. But maybe it was just being silly.

Of course it's nice to make the excuse of Facebook and Twitter doing it all for you. First from Facebook giving a more complete picture of your life, and then Twitter basically being micro-blogging. But then again words are the craft, the clay in my thickening, callousing fingers, and if I don't enjoy writing, I may as well bind my fingers and hands together and form big meaty clubs. I think you can still eat with those so maybe it won't be too bad. (A lot harder to pick your nose, though.)

I'd almost forgotten how liberating it was to blog.

I suppose it's somehow odd that the more connected the world becomes, the more of our lives we share, the more afraid we are to live in it. The world's changed so much in the past 4 years. NS this, and Uni that, but the world's changed ever so much. Carving out your 15 megabytes of fame on the internet just gets more and more intimidating. But somehow, like the San Francisco Gold Rush, even though you've missed it by years and years, it's not too late to stake your claim.

Holy crap, an update.

It's been extremely busy onboard the ship. Amid investigations into letters to the chief and my pending downgrade I barely get a chance to take a breather these days, save the weekend which I happily spend with my kitten. A lot's been happening, but at the same time nothing at all. It's odd how you can get so caught up with small mundane things that ultimately don't amount to much, but at the end of the day you still feel like you haven't made any progress.

You know what I mean?

I can't wait to get out of the ship. It's not really a fun place to be at all. They're mostly all nice people over there, but I can't really get any satisfaction from the things I do over there. Over at the squadron, at least I have videos to do, and even somewhat important. Heh.

I am grateful that I have an NS life different from most of my peers, who're crawling in the mud (poor them), but I'm not suited for that life, I think. It's not for me. Just counting down the days now, is all. Can't wait to go on leave.

I just need a break.

Latest favourite song. I strongly encourage all of you to check out Sondre Lerche, I could listen to his songs forever.

Sondre Lerche - Counter Spark

You could be sad but never torn
You saw the light when it was on
You never turned or looked away
Your eyes were focused, mine were grey

Your sentences were concentrated
You made your points so understated
Where I would mumble, you would say
Your eyes were focused, mine were grey

I made up conversations with my symbolic language
Saying everybody wants to be like you
But I'd rather fall in love with you

You got the picture from the start
You saw right through me in the dark
You saw that I couldn't behave
with eyes so focused, yet so frail

I chose you from a million
You were the choice of billions
wishing they would try to be like you
But I'd rather fall in love with you

You questioned men and called them whores
But you would never burn your bra
You held your head up in the rain
Your eyes were focused, mine were grey

You had relationships that worked
and yet experience with jerks
So well adjusted, but with charm
Your eyes were focused and yet calm

I'm fairly realistic
But my thought are out of lip-sync
when I say that I'm not one of those
who pass you by and fall in love with you
who pass you by and fall in love with you
who pass you by and fall in love with you

I'll pass you by and fall in love with you

Today, in The New Paper - apparently Singaporeans are a self centered bunch whereas our American counterparts get White House passes and are valued political commentators. Can you imagine if WE tried? In SINGAPORE? Are you suicidal or something?

Also noticed how many hits girls who put up "sensual", "tastefully nude" and "camwhoring" (okay, that last one was mine) pictures of themselves get. I had no idea it was that easy. Now all I have to do is take pictures of myself naked, post them, and watch the hits come rolling in. To hell with witty, expository posts about life, the universe and everything, debates and insights into the human psyche, nubile young bodies are where it's at. Brace yourselves for the onslaught.

Apparently, Singaporean TV is only now going down the drain - talk about being slow to the party. With such quality (I use this word loosely. Very loosely) shows such as Phua Chu Kang, Living with Lydia and Police and Thief suffering a drop in the scriptwriting department, it seems that local TV really is doomed. If they're only now noticing what I've been saying for years, that really can't be good. If their standards haven't been met, what about mine and other people with half a frontal lobe?

Speaking of a brain, I just had an idea - we haven't had a good TV show, much less reality (Singapore Idol? Laff) for ages. And as it seems, local "blogebrities" are getting massive amounts of readership. Everyone loves reality shows. Also, everyone loves being a kaypoh. So... are you thinking what I'm thinking, B1? Why not have reality shows based on the lives of blog writers? The viewership for Xiaxue's reality show alone would probably make Phua Chu Kang look like a tricycle next to a Ferrari. Lord knows the lives they lead are much more exciting than ours. Imagine the camera following Xiaxue everywhere, shopping, clubbing, in the toil- okay, maybe not everywhere.

Seeing how she already has a column in the New Paper, a TV show is only the next logical step. I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to seeing how she'd run the country. You know it'll happen sooner or later. I mean, if she ran for Prime Minister or President, who wouldn't vote her? Everyone loves voting celebrities into positions of power. Look at Reagan, Schwarzenegger... Estrada... well, you know what I mean.

I haven't had a good idea like this in a long time. I love having good ideas. Even if they don't work out right. I remember when I tried to glue my sister to the floor. It was a perfectly sound plan for a 5 year old, involving:

1. Put copious amounts of glue on floor
2. Convince sister to step inside and remain there.

Of course, seeing how my sister was 2 the latter was a Herculean task. Eventually, as all 5 year olds are wont to do, I got bored and found something else to do. And the government was worried we wouldn't have creative thinkers.

So remember, when you see the trailer for Xiaxue's reality show on Channel 5, remember you heard it here first. I'm reserving the Thursday night slot right after the news.

When did everything change?

I jolted awake from my catnap as footsteps came thundering down the stairs. I looked at my watch and cursed, I'd dozed off and had about 10 minutes to get to my job half an hour away. I was going to get fired, again.

When the hell did I get here?

A couple of years ago all I wanted out of my life was to share what I had with anybody I could, to share my love of Music, of electricity. Somehow I ended up in my own personal Hell. It'd all started (or ended?) with Mary, whose cacophonous footsteps shattered my slumber. All she seemed to want this time was just to see if I was still asleep, which pretty much answered itself. Like a child who throws stones into a pond to see if it ripples.

Long ago she gave me the Ultimatum to find a job or sell my guitar, seeing as how I'd be paying rent to stay with her from now on, she wasn't taking No for an answer, and how it was for my own good. In a move not very carefully worded to seem like an afterthought she wanted payment that very week. I hadn't even worked anywhere before. Who'd hire me? I pawned my dreams and joined the working world.

She wasn't even worth the effort to despise anymore. I picked up the phone and prepared to call in sick. Or rather I would have if it hadn't died on me. Piece of junk I got cheaply from Fred, the drummer from my ex-band who kicked me out when their guitarist wasn't able to play anymore. He was the only one who remotely treated me like he actually knew me, after what happened.

I hear they still practice in the same garage, every Saturday, like we always did. I was saving for a new guitar, a better one, but at the rate I was going I'd get one of those cheap mass-produced ones in about 10 years. Having to pay rent to Mary made things worse. At that rate I might as well be dead, no music meant no soul. At this point, all I had was my Discman.

how long am I gonna can stand
with my head stuck under the sand
I start before I can stop
before I see things the right way up


Chris eased my thoughts, calmed my mind. Should I risk a few seconds on my cell? I did, but I might as well have not called - no one was there yet. There was still time. Work as usual was one disaster after another. I didn't have a choice, it paid the best out of all the places I'd been. Could maybe cut it down to 8 years. I set out to another day of drudgery and despair that others called work.

I don't know what it was that snapped me out of my brief, but always satisfying reverie. Whatever it was, I snapped out of it just in time to hear my cell-that-was-only-to-be-used-in-emergencies-and-nothing-else-under-pain-of-death-and-torture ring, it was Fred. He excitedly jabbered on about a gig that the old band had finally gotten through friends of friends, and that they were going to be playing at The Jungle, and would I like to play with them for old times sake?

My jaw dropped for all of two seconds before I realised I didn't have a guitar. My chance of a lifetime was finally here and I didn't have a fuckin' guitar. I thought he knew that. Asshole, I thought to myself, and let him know in not so civil terms. He returned the favour and hung up. I felt like kicking something. It hung over me for the rest of the day, which thankfully passed quickly. It's amazing how quickly things pass when your mind is focused elsewhere.

I was such an idiot. It wouldn't have been difficult to just borrow a guitar. I'd blown it. I sat down heavily on the couch. I must have seemed even more depressed than usual since even Mary sat down next to me, concerned for my well-being. There wasn't a point to keeping it from her, so I told her everything. It was at this point that it was her turn to look shattered.

I might not like her much, now, but she was still my mother. I asked her what was wrong.

As it turned out all that nagging and scolding was her way of striking back against my Music. She hated it, and tried to find a way to take it away from me. She eventually succeeded, but now that she saw the end result and what it did to me she could bear it no longer. I listened to her, and try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to despise her. Not this time. I hestitated, and embraced her as one might embrace an old friend unseen for years.

She started to sob. I went to bed, and slept more soundly than I had in ages. The next day was a Saturday. I woke up to see a note on my bedside table. It was from Mary. About how sorry she was for doing what she did to me, etc, etc, and how she hoped it would be enough... What was enough? I looked back at my table and saw a sum of money. Enough to buy my guitar back...

An hour later, I held her in my hands again. My beloved. I walked the familiar route to the garage, scarcely believing that everything would be as it was, that finally these fingers would fly, that electricity would flow once more. Now my only worry was that Fred would hate me for what I'd said to him. But as I turned the corner onto that familar driveway, hearing the comfortable strains of Music, I learned my worries were for nought. Fred and the rest greeted me like an old friend, and howled with delight at the sight of my instrument.

I took my place over by the grease stain on the floor, to the left of the tool cupboard, instinctively swinging to avoid the stack of hubcaps left lying in my path. The drummer knocked his sticks together, and we launched into the beginnings of our favourite song. I settled back in the hole, it was like I'd never left.

I was back.

***

The crowd at The Jungle threatened to suffocate. I honestly hadn't expected that many. They milled about, almost aimlessly, as the band tuned their instruments for the third time that evening. Couldn't blame them for wanting it to be perfect. Occasionally one of the people in the crowd gestured in our direction, from the look on their faces they were getting restless.

Finally we were ready. As the lights went out, so did the surrounding din. I shut my eyes, and prayed to all the rock gods I knew... this was it, this was what I'd always lived for. What I'd always been waiting for. My dream.

The bassist's fingers danced across his strings, as the lights flared. The drummer's arms whirled and beat out their tune. The crowd cheered appreciatively, and then went insane as I began my piece. My hands moved on their own, and I marveled at how the rest of the band were lost in their trance, dedicated devotees of the rock deities.

This was it. The culmination of all I'd gone through in my life, it'd all led up to this point. All I wanted. All I needed.

Pure magic.

Yeah, it was a pretty good day today. Spent the first part of the day relaxing and preparing myself for what was to come. I wasn't too sure about it since well, my driving instructors have a knack for making me feel like a quadriplegic behind the wheel, but I aced it! Only 6 demerit points too, which makes me a happy camper.

Went out to celebrate with me kitten and had ourselves a good old feast at Moonfish at Millenia Walk. Pretty good Italian food there, but it's a bit pricey. Worth it if you have some extra cash. Had dessert at Bakerzin, or Baker's Inn, or Bacardi or whatever they want to call themselves. Very addictive as usual.

I don't know, this has been a pretty good week for me. I pretty much needed this long break to spend with loved ones and friends, and mostly just to feel like myself again. Been trying to write again, inspiration will come when it will. You can see part of my latest story down below, it'll come together as soon as I can piece together what I want to happen next, and hopefully it won't be the trainwreck that was my supposed "noirish detective" story.

There's a lot I have to be thankful for. If I haven't taken the time to thank you for whatever you've done, know that you folks are always appreciated.

Muffled words and banging on the door. I looked up just in time to see Mary barge in, her lips moving. I slipped the headphones off, and it was just like turning the mute button off in the middle of a song. It went on at full force, and if you weren't ready for it... She made the usual noise about jobs going nowhere, and my uselessness as a human being. I replied when I had to, nodded at opportune moments, and Mary finally left.

I never called her Mum.

Looking over at the clock, I decided it was time for bed. As I stripped off my clothes to go shower I glanced in the mirror. I stared through myself, barely registering how long it'd been since I shaved, my unkempt features, the untidy mop I kept on my head. Some people called this scruffy. I just called it me. I climbed into bed and slipped off into limbo, dreaming of screaming people and clashing cymbals.

It was the weekend, so I was meeting the guys for the usual jam. Our bassist had to work today, so we'd just have to do without him. It didn't matter, the only thing that did was the Music. I didn't know how to describe it to others. Not that I wanted to. The Music was sacred to me, it was my religion. As long as I held onto it - it would never let me down. I think - I think that's what others call faith. I didn't know about that stuff. I just played. My sole enjoyment in life was just to hear, to create, to experience - the Music; it was just the melding of the sounds, nothing was more magical to me that that.

My fingers danced over the strings as the drummer's sticks rapped their tune. Our other guitarist wasn't that good yet but he'd been getting better. I could see it in him too, Music was his life too. I admired that. But I wanted nothing more than to share my Music with others as well. I wanted most to be on that stage, any stage, if only to share what I had. For others to love Music as well. I wanted to perform.

I dreamt of flashing lights and thundering bass. I yearned for blinding lights and a deafening roar. I longed for electricity in my veins and echoes in my soul. It was just unfortunate that everything else got in the way. We stopped practice for the day, and we split up for the day.