It's over! It's over, and I didn't do so badly after all. Clean win, and best speaker on top of that! But I'd never have made it through without my team: Aaron & Fahd, Malcolm, and Joon Faii. I'd say it isn't a bad start to our season. It's just the beginning though... must train hard this month.
On the downside of things, my homework is in shambles. Shambles I tell you... after a week of almost obsessive preparation I've got basically every other subject teacher after my skin. To worsen the situation, it's currently Winter-een mas celebrations for me so instead of catching up on my homework I'm gaming like a madman. All you gamers out there, go to www.wintereenmas.com . I guess I'd better get started on things.
- Adam
Sunday, January 30
Thursday, January 27
take deep breaths
What a wreck. It's the night before and I'm already trembling... I can't relax without shaking anymore. Gotta get out of this state before tomorrow. I'm so worried about it, I can't think straight anymore. Take deep breaths. Nothing to worry.
JGs are tomorrow. 8.30, at First Toa Payoh sec. Against St. Nick's. Leader of opp. Take deep breaths. I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Two and a half years of training comes to this. It's useless telling myself that, won't make it any better. Just be clear and logical. Clear and logical. I've done all I can this week, at the expense of everything else. No point worrying anymore. Take deep breaths; just say a little prayer and dive in.
Fear is the mind-killer.
adam
Litany against fear taken from Frank Herbert's Dune.
JGs are tomorrow. 8.30, at First Toa Payoh sec. Against St. Nick's. Leader of opp. Take deep breaths. I must not fear.
Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.
Two and a half years of training comes to this. It's useless telling myself that, won't make it any better. Just be clear and logical. Clear and logical. I've done all I can this week, at the expense of everything else. No point worrying anymore. Take deep breaths; just say a little prayer and dive in.
Fear is the mind-killer.
adam
Litany against fear taken from Frank Herbert's Dune.
Monday, January 24
gulp and grimace.
Invited to tea by some unruly gang of stimulant-sipping hooligans. Namely, wang derrick and cheng. Thursday, for several hours at least... I think I might go if I don't crop up some debate stuff. My initial reaction was something along the lines of 'pretentious little fuckers.' Although I didn't really say that. But then again I really should reserve judgement, because I've occasionaly been a pretentious little fucker and hiding it isn't going to make it any better. Besides, who knows? The combined genius of the three aforementioned hooligans might actually have come up with something useful this time.
At LEAST I don't have to suffer that diabolical substance the school serves. 'Gulp and grimace' I call it. It tastes slightly akin to shredded cardboard boiled to a warm soupy consistency, and it feels like having your intestines scooped out with a blunt ice-cream spoon. Which some people might resort to after having too much of it.
Oh my goodness. I've done it again. I wanted to write something on my blog and then it all spiralled out of control and now I'm writing about tea and cardboard and ice-cream spoons and using the phrase 'pretentious little fuckers' and immense run-on-sentences which don't really make sense nor actually get to the point for quite a bit and then proceed to take up more space than is really necessary from the actual post and then I quite forget what I was talking about, maybe I should come back tomorrow
When I'm making more sense.
Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. High Charity/Ghosts of Reach/the Last Spartan.
Martin O'Donnell really is a genius. Some of the most distinctive soundtrack music I've heard since Star Wars. And if you've ever played Halo 2, fits beautifully with the story.
Keep rocking!
At LEAST I don't have to suffer that diabolical substance the school serves. 'Gulp and grimace' I call it. It tastes slightly akin to shredded cardboard boiled to a warm soupy consistency, and it feels like having your intestines scooped out with a blunt ice-cream spoon. Which some people might resort to after having too much of it.
Oh my goodness. I've done it again. I wanted to write something on my blog and then it all spiralled out of control and now I'm writing about tea and cardboard and ice-cream spoons and using the phrase 'pretentious little fuckers' and immense run-on-sentences which don't really make sense nor actually get to the point for quite a bit and then proceed to take up more space than is really necessary from the actual post and then I quite forget what I was talking about, maybe I should come back tomorrow
When I'm making more sense.
Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. High Charity/Ghosts of Reach/the Last Spartan.
Martin O'Donnell really is a genius. Some of the most distinctive soundtrack music I've heard since Star Wars. And if you've ever played Halo 2, fits beautifully with the story.
Keep rocking!
Saturday, January 22
TV, my ass.
It was to my consternation that I woke up this morning with a blinding headache and the realisation that the standard of TV is now in a very sorry state.
However, it would currently take too long to bitch about the WHOLE sorry state, so I shall just bitch about American Idol.
There is nothing wrong, in itself, with the concept of American Idol. Nothing wrong. In fact, I would salute whoever came up it for a genius idea that might possibly bring out the never-seen-before talent of various Americans. Unfortunately that only works in theory... the show has degraded into some awful farce that I can scarcely bear to watch.
Nevermind that you can vote twenty-thousand times for the same person as long as you have enough money, and presuming that your handphone doesn't dissolve from beta decay first. Nevermind that the voting process reflects pretty much none of what the American population really wants, and has degraded into some form of state-politics-rivalry thing. As long as it seems to be turning out people who appear to be credible enough, I shan't complain.
No, what I really need to gripe about are the shows. I fear they no longer (perhaps never did?) represent the idea behind American Idol; about finding -talent- amongst americans. I watched the show last night (which undoubtedly contributed to my presently blinding headache); I must report that it has become some kind of 'let's laugh at the losers who didn't make it' thing, which I find tremendously abhorrent.
I don't deny that there are failures. I don't deny that there are people out there who honestly think they can sing, and honestly have no talent whatsoever. The judges can say what they want to them; I think they probably brought it upon themselves. But when the show crosses the point where it's no longer about finding talent, but laughing at the people who have none, I say enough is enough.
So much for tolerance, then. So much for 'societal maturity'. If you're going to have a show that -publicizes- and makes fun of who we perceive to be failures, then I think that your TV shows are destroying the very 'mature society' that you're trying to create in your own country.
Imposing judgement and broadcasting, anybody? Sounds like Hitler, if you ask me.
I say American Idol has to go.
-Adam
Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. In Amber Clad.
However, it would currently take too long to bitch about the WHOLE sorry state, so I shall just bitch about American Idol.
There is nothing wrong, in itself, with the concept of American Idol. Nothing wrong. In fact, I would salute whoever came up it for a genius idea that might possibly bring out the never-seen-before talent of various Americans. Unfortunately that only works in theory... the show has degraded into some awful farce that I can scarcely bear to watch.
Nevermind that you can vote twenty-thousand times for the same person as long as you have enough money, and presuming that your handphone doesn't dissolve from beta decay first. Nevermind that the voting process reflects pretty much none of what the American population really wants, and has degraded into some form of state-politics-rivalry thing. As long as it seems to be turning out people who appear to be credible enough, I shan't complain.
No, what I really need to gripe about are the shows. I fear they no longer (perhaps never did?) represent the idea behind American Idol; about finding -talent- amongst americans. I watched the show last night (which undoubtedly contributed to my presently blinding headache); I must report that it has become some kind of 'let's laugh at the losers who didn't make it' thing, which I find tremendously abhorrent.
I don't deny that there are failures. I don't deny that there are people out there who honestly think they can sing, and honestly have no talent whatsoever. The judges can say what they want to them; I think they probably brought it upon themselves. But when the show crosses the point where it's no longer about finding talent, but laughing at the people who have none, I say enough is enough.
So much for tolerance, then. So much for 'societal maturity'. If you're going to have a show that -publicizes- and makes fun of who we perceive to be failures, then I think that your TV shows are destroying the very 'mature society' that you're trying to create in your own country.
Imposing judgement and broadcasting, anybody? Sounds like Hitler, if you ask me.
I say American Idol has to go.
-Adam
Listening to: Halo 2 soundtrack. In Amber Clad.
Monday, January 17
blame me for laughing.
I am the sort to think in silly ways
about the sun and moon
and to be thoughtful on some evenings
and frivolous other times
I could hum you a tune
or write poetry to the whispering grasses
I could give darkness a thousand names
and one;
but I'm afraid- and sorely so
of that which is tuneless;
nameless, yet sweet
and kindly giving
but I'd let go of my sunsets
and silly tunes and
useless philosophies;
if only you'd teach me
what's missing.
- adam
about the sun and moon
and to be thoughtful on some evenings
and frivolous other times
I could hum you a tune
or write poetry to the whispering grasses
I could give darkness a thousand names
and one;
but I'm afraid- and sorely so
of that which is tuneless;
nameless, yet sweet
and kindly giving
but I'd let go of my sunsets
and silly tunes and
useless philosophies;
if only you'd teach me
what's missing.
- adam
Wednesday, January 12
Thursday, January 6
buttercups
Here's my commonwealth essay for this year... Finally finished the first draft. I hope you like it... one of the better things i've written.
Slow down, we're going too fast
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said to me.
It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see and then invariably waste when you do. I'd taken her by the hand, crashing through the meadow, the grass-stains on our clothing smelling fresh and green - such that even the flowers might've smelled less beautiful, if equally pretty. I'd grabbed a handful of them - buttercups - and flung them playfully towards her, watching as she fumbled to catch them, succeeding only in losing her balance and collapsing the both of us into a grinning heap. There was a large one resting on the grass; I'd picked it up and offered it to her. The laughing stopped - abruptly she'd looked away, almost embarrassed to be caught like this. She'd closed her eyes slowly (I always thought she was cuter that way) and shook her head.
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said. We'd had this conversation before. She was right... but I couldn't help wondering, "Too fast for what?"
"I know." I'd said simply; we were both too smart to get into anything we'd have regretted.
We parted with some understanding -she'd left the meadow quietly. I let her.
All this I thought of as I idly fingered the wasted buttercup. I had taken it impulsively out of the jar of water it sat in. It was dead, the three paper-thin, dried-brown petals crunching silently between my fingers - two were missing. The stem was hard and brittle and I knew it would snap if I bent it just that much. I sat on my bed, chewing my lip thoughtfully as I pondered this. "Too fast for what?" I queried the empty air. The buttercup didn't answer.
We were sitting in the cafe, sipping tea. I could almost perceive, just sitting on my bed, the trickle of people going in-and out, making noncommittal greeting noises as they rushed to some place. The tea was too sweet, and there was too much milk in it. There'd been a sort of awkward silence hovering in the air between us expectantly; I'd opened my mouth and said nothing at all. A waiter approached the adjacent table, exchanging bills and inane pleasantries. I sighed and gave up on speaking ; she giggled as I reached over to get something out of my bag. It was the buttercup - I'd taken it home and placed it in a jar of water, and it seemed even more sprightly this time, if anything.
The sight of it seemed to do something to her - was that a blush? But when she looked at me I could hear the words before they reached me.
Oh my gosh... I can't really take this. We're- we're going too fast. You know it - we're just sixteen. I've got things to do, and you've got things to do... It's not that I don't like you, but maybe this isn't the time...
She never said any of that, but I knew it. We'd had this conversation before. The passing of a breeze brought a pained look to her features, shifting her hair quietly as she sat motionless, eyes fixed on the little yellow flower. She tried to smile - and then the breeze died off. She left the cafe quietly, leaving me with the buttercup, whose petals seemed to be drying out somewhat. I considered placing it in the thin porcelain vase that adorned the table with other sorts of flowers.
The cafe was playing some muzak. It was terrible, but I pretended to listen to it. She was right and I knew it. I wasn't bitter - we were both too smart to regret anything. I paid the bill and left, pocketing the buttercup.
I stared, hunched over the flower, slumping on the edge of my bed. If I cry, could you use the water? I stared, as if that would make words sprout from it. Fast enough for what? I could just hear the whisper of what she would've said. It won't work. Not in this time. Maybe not ever - who knows? But I've got things to do, and you've got things to do. Me... I'm just not ready. We're going too fast, I've got a future to build! Maybe... sometime after. Who knows? A little ghostly face somewhere gave me a plaintive look, somewhat awkward on its stoic, yet somehow beautiful features, as if begging me to understand. I think she wouldn't have known either.
Who knows? But the buttercup won't answer me.
We were outside the restaurant. "Thanks for dinner." she said. She'd agreed shyly when asked - I know she still had reservations but I was happy she'd come. It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see. The air was crisp when I breathed it in, crisp and strangely refreshing... There were small silvery highlights on her blue shirt, and on the rims of her spectacles (she wore hers this time) cast by the full moon. We stood by the roadside, ankle-deep in grass. Cars could be seen approaching in the distance; they'd pass us by, getting to somewhere else. It seemed for a moment that we were still in the vast ocean of frantic movement...
There was a soft rustle as she shifted her weight awkwardly. "I... uh, I should... you know. Go. It's late." It was dark but I could see her smile a little. I grabbed something from my pocket and pressed it into her palm. I heard her gasp. I turned away. "Good night" I said. At that point something tugged on the shoulder of my jacket. It pressed something into my hand, closing my fist over it, trembled a tiny hesitation ... and departed.
In my palm was a buttercup with three petals... just three. I smiled a little. For real or not, there was something wonderfully raw here... something new and fresh that I didn't quite understand fully. It was good, though, in my heart of hearts I knew that. If she hadn't left we'd have shared a sober nod... it was good.
But that was two days ago. Two petals out of five, two days out of five - I knew what it meant. We're going too fast. Too fast for what, I wonder? It was a start, but too late. That was her last word to me; she died yesterday. Car accident - broke her spine. She was rushed straight to a hospital, but she never stood a chance. I can almost smell the irony of it... she was killed for going too fast. I found out this morning and the tears haven't come yet. I sense it's futile.
I would tell you that I can't encompass my grief, but I'd be lying. It's something else, something raw and painfully fresh that I don't understand. She left the world quietly. She was right, and I know it - we were going too fast. But sometimes when I'm alone I wonder...
Too fast for what?
I'd flung the buttercup against my cupboard door, cursing against tears that would never come and never be used. The buttercup was dead; it wouldn't grow on crocodile's tears. I'd picked the frail thing up gently... almost afraid that I'd hurt it. I'd gritted my teeth and pulled out the last three petals, hearing the brittle things snap quietly.
Maybe I'll never know.
-Cheeeers!
EDIT: Latest version as of tuesday 8.21 PM. This will be the final version, unless somebody finds a huge flaw and points it out before I retire.
Slow down, we're going too fast
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said to me.
It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see and then invariably waste when you do. I'd taken her by the hand, crashing through the meadow, the grass-stains on our clothing smelling fresh and green - such that even the flowers might've smelled less beautiful, if equally pretty. I'd grabbed a handful of them - buttercups - and flung them playfully towards her, watching as she fumbled to catch them, succeeding only in losing her balance and collapsing the both of us into a grinning heap. There was a large one resting on the grass; I'd picked it up and offered it to her. The laughing stopped - abruptly she'd looked away, almost embarrassed to be caught like this. She'd closed her eyes slowly (I always thought she was cuter that way) and shook her head.
"Slow down, we're going too fast." she'd said. We'd had this conversation before. She was right... but I couldn't help wondering, "Too fast for what?"
"I know." I'd said simply; we were both too smart to get into anything we'd have regretted.
We parted with some understanding -she'd left the meadow quietly. I let her.
All this I thought of as I idly fingered the wasted buttercup. I had taken it impulsively out of the jar of water it sat in. It was dead, the three paper-thin, dried-brown petals crunching silently between my fingers - two were missing. The stem was hard and brittle and I knew it would snap if I bent it just that much. I sat on my bed, chewing my lip thoughtfully as I pondered this. "Too fast for what?" I queried the empty air. The buttercup didn't answer.
We were sitting in the cafe, sipping tea. I could almost perceive, just sitting on my bed, the trickle of people going in-and out, making noncommittal greeting noises as they rushed to some place. The tea was too sweet, and there was too much milk in it. There'd been a sort of awkward silence hovering in the air between us expectantly; I'd opened my mouth and said nothing at all. A waiter approached the adjacent table, exchanging bills and inane pleasantries. I sighed and gave up on speaking ; she giggled as I reached over to get something out of my bag. It was the buttercup - I'd taken it home and placed it in a jar of water, and it seemed even more sprightly this time, if anything.
The sight of it seemed to do something to her - was that a blush? But when she looked at me I could hear the words before they reached me.
Oh my gosh... I can't really take this. We're- we're going too fast. You know it - we're just sixteen. I've got things to do, and you've got things to do... It's not that I don't like you, but maybe this isn't the time...
She never said any of that, but I knew it. We'd had this conversation before. The passing of a breeze brought a pained look to her features, shifting her hair quietly as she sat motionless, eyes fixed on the little yellow flower. She tried to smile - and then the breeze died off. She left the cafe quietly, leaving me with the buttercup, whose petals seemed to be drying out somewhat. I considered placing it in the thin porcelain vase that adorned the table with other sorts of flowers.
The cafe was playing some muzak. It was terrible, but I pretended to listen to it. She was right and I knew it. I wasn't bitter - we were both too smart to regret anything. I paid the bill and left, pocketing the buttercup.
I stared, hunched over the flower, slumping on the edge of my bed. If I cry, could you use the water? I stared, as if that would make words sprout from it. Fast enough for what? I could just hear the whisper of what she would've said. It won't work. Not in this time. Maybe not ever - who knows? But I've got things to do, and you've got things to do. Me... I'm just not ready. We're going too fast, I've got a future to build! Maybe... sometime after. Who knows? A little ghostly face somewhere gave me a plaintive look, somewhat awkward on its stoic, yet somehow beautiful features, as if begging me to understand. I think she wouldn't have known either.
Who knows? But the buttercup won't answer me.
We were outside the restaurant. "Thanks for dinner." she said. She'd agreed shyly when asked - I know she still had reservations but I was happy she'd come. It was one of those moonlit nights, the kind that you almost never see. The air was crisp when I breathed it in, crisp and strangely refreshing... There were small silvery highlights on her blue shirt, and on the rims of her spectacles (she wore hers this time) cast by the full moon. We stood by the roadside, ankle-deep in grass. Cars could be seen approaching in the distance; they'd pass us by, getting to somewhere else. It seemed for a moment that we were still in the vast ocean of frantic movement...
There was a soft rustle as she shifted her weight awkwardly. "I... uh, I should... you know. Go. It's late." It was dark but I could see her smile a little. I grabbed something from my pocket and pressed it into her palm. I heard her gasp. I turned away. "Good night" I said. At that point something tugged on the shoulder of my jacket. It pressed something into my hand, closing my fist over it, trembled a tiny hesitation ... and departed.
In my palm was a buttercup with three petals... just three. I smiled a little. For real or not, there was something wonderfully raw here... something new and fresh that I didn't quite understand fully. It was good, though, in my heart of hearts I knew that. If she hadn't left we'd have shared a sober nod... it was good.
But that was two days ago. Two petals out of five, two days out of five - I knew what it meant. We're going too fast. Too fast for what, I wonder? It was a start, but too late. That was her last word to me; she died yesterday. Car accident - broke her spine. She was rushed straight to a hospital, but she never stood a chance. I can almost smell the irony of it... she was killed for going too fast. I found out this morning and the tears haven't come yet. I sense it's futile.
I would tell you that I can't encompass my grief, but I'd be lying. It's something else, something raw and painfully fresh that I don't understand. She left the world quietly. She was right, and I know it - we were going too fast. But sometimes when I'm alone I wonder...
Too fast for what?
I'd flung the buttercup against my cupboard door, cursing against tears that would never come and never be used. The buttercup was dead; it wouldn't grow on crocodile's tears. I'd picked the frail thing up gently... almost afraid that I'd hurt it. I'd gritted my teeth and pulled out the last three petals, hearing the brittle things snap quietly.
Maybe I'll never know.
-Cheeeers!
EDIT: Latest version as of tuesday 8.21 PM. This will be the final version, unless somebody finds a huge flaw and points it out before I retire.
Tuesday, January 4
thinking about feelings.
Been thinking about stuff.
Feelings are somethings I rarely understand. I seldom tell anybody how I feel, because more often than not I'm just confused about it. For me it always smacked of fluffly things from fairy tales... which is probably wrong, but it sure seems that way. I hide away, never quite trusting, but sometimes bound to feel a certain way.
I'm sure it seems that i'm just cold sometimes, but really when it comes to these things I'm... afraid?
I shan't say anymore. Nobody likes a basket-case.
- Adam
Feelings are somethings I rarely understand. I seldom tell anybody how I feel, because more often than not I'm just confused about it. For me it always smacked of fluffly things from fairy tales... which is probably wrong, but it sure seems that way. I hide away, never quite trusting, but sometimes bound to feel a certain way.
I'm sure it seems that i'm just cold sometimes, but really when it comes to these things I'm... afraid?
I shan't say anymore. Nobody likes a basket-case.
- Adam
Monday, January 3
First day of school.
It wasn't that bad, for all the cringing and hoping I wouldn't die today. I didn't, as seems pretty evident, but for those slack-brained amongst you I shall spell it out.
On a good note, I've dropped all my advanced modules except one, being Chemistry, which I hate, but I never liked advanced physics and maths any better.
Had a rehearsal straight after school, which is really a bummer on the first day... but it wasn't so bad because 1) Our conductor wasn't there to scream at me for not practicing, and 2) we're actually practicing for the Raffles Trail, which is this big event where we advertise our CCAs to the little sec 1s, shortly after which we devour them. I mean, recruit the interested parties. We're playing some hideous monstrosity of "Glory Days' from The Incredibles soundtrack arranged by Goh Zhaohan. (I'm sorry Zh.) AND i'm being made to play second violin principal. But all the same it was fun... can't say I didn't enjoy screaming at people to read the key-signature.
Now that i'm writing this I'm wondering what I always wonder when I read peoples' blogs...
Who the fuck wants to know about my life? I mean, seriously! Don't you have more enlightening things to be reading? Well all the same I'm an entertaining person and my life must be exceptionally entertaining, so I guess it's alright.
Oh yes. Go to www.100words.net ... the best idea some half-drunk bunch of crazed witless nerds have come up with this side of the century.
-Adam
Listening to: Bits and pieces of various music going through my head. Tchaikovsky Serenade! And that obscene Incredibles thingie.
On a good note, I've dropped all my advanced modules except one, being Chemistry, which I hate, but I never liked advanced physics and maths any better.
Had a rehearsal straight after school, which is really a bummer on the first day... but it wasn't so bad because 1) Our conductor wasn't there to scream at me for not practicing, and 2) we're actually practicing for the Raffles Trail, which is this big event where we advertise our CCAs to the little sec 1s, shortly after which we devour them. I mean, recruit the interested parties. We're playing some hideous monstrosity of "Glory Days' from The Incredibles soundtrack arranged by Goh Zhaohan. (I'm sorry Zh.) AND i'm being made to play second violin principal. But all the same it was fun... can't say I didn't enjoy screaming at people to read the key-signature.
Now that i'm writing this I'm wondering what I always wonder when I read peoples' blogs...
Who the fuck wants to know about my life? I mean, seriously! Don't you have more enlightening things to be reading? Well all the same I'm an entertaining person and my life must be exceptionally entertaining, so I guess it's alright.
Oh yes. Go to www.100words.net ... the best idea some half-drunk bunch of crazed witless nerds have come up with this side of the century.
-Adam
Listening to: Bits and pieces of various music going through my head. Tchaikovsky Serenade! And that obscene Incredibles thingie.
Saturday, January 1
New year
Another new year. Time really starts to zip around your head when you're not paying attention, and then one more year's over and you're left wondering where your past 12 months really went. Well, mostly it was crap, trying to do too many things at once and frantically zipping around, but fun.
I guess another year would mean ... further responsibilities, further things that I don't know how to deal with, further assorted mayhem... all of which is incredibly vague. To tell the truth, I just don't knows, but I've decided to stop worrying about all the shit that's headed my way next year.
After all, even I'm not immune to a little new year cheer. I guess there's only so much you can sit around and worry, and then you just have to dive in.
'05 won't know what hit it.
Cheers,
Adam
Listening to: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Take that, Rayner!
I guess another year would mean ... further responsibilities, further things that I don't know how to deal with, further assorted mayhem... all of which is incredibly vague. To tell the truth, I just don't knows, but I've decided to stop worrying about all the shit that's headed my way next year.
After all, even I'm not immune to a little new year cheer. I guess there's only so much you can sit around and worry, and then you just have to dive in.
'05 won't know what hit it.
Cheers,
Adam
Listening to: Eine Kleine Nachtmusik. Take that, Rayner!
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