'$100 laptop' production begins
Five years after the concept was first proposed, the so-called $100 laptop is poised to go into mass production. Hardware suppliers have been given the green light to ramp-up production of all of the components needed to build millions of the low-cost machines.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Jeszcze Polska nie zginela! (Poland has not yet perished!)
Polish spirit
The Poles have got money and markets out of the EU. But they haven't got an apology. Some Germans feel that without their friendship and aid Poland wouldn't have been allowed in the club so soon. Maybe. But a long-lost brother has returned to the family home, still simmering about a past upset, when the rest of the family has made up and forgotten long ago.
The Poles have got money and markets out of the EU. But they haven't got an apology. Some Germans feel that without their friendship and aid Poland wouldn't have been allowed in the club so soon. Maybe. But a long-lost brother has returned to the family home, still simmering about a past upset, when the rest of the family has made up and forgotten long ago.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
A Star's Tale
As we know, many stars live far far away in the sky. If you look out your window, you will find the star whose story we are about to tell. It is the one twinkling in the top left-hand corner of your window-sky.
This star is a very old, lonely star, and has gazed down upon this earth for longer than any of us can imagine. The star remembers a time when there were no humans; it also remembers when it started to see the two-legged humans. The star recalls an age - a long one - in which darkness meant sleep and rest for humans. It recalls the recent birth of many human stars that shine as brightly as the stars in the sky, and remembers that as the human stars grew in numbers, the humans also started to wake in the night, and no longer slept as long or as often. Instead, in the light of the human stars, the humans laughed and wept and worked and danced with wild abandon. Sometimes the humans also gazed back at the star. The longer the star looked upon the distant and strange humans, the more it grew to love them, for love often grows out of memory, and the star had a long memory indeed.
However, when the sun rises each morning, its bright rays blind the star and the star can see no more, save for a brief instant in the grey light of the dawn, when it gazes its last upon the humans till night arrives again. Each dawn the star glimpses a little of the sort of life humans lead in the day - a girl packing her bag for school, a night watchman glancing at his watch, eager to be home, a bakery alive with delicious smells, roads increasingly crowded with vehicles bringing humans to places that remain unknown to the star.
As the star's love for the humans grew, so did its desire to understand the humans. What did humans do in the day, the star wondered. Why does the schoolgirl bring home sheets of paper that make her so unhappy? What family does the night watchman have? Why does the freshly baked bread disappear everyday? Where do humans go to in the day? The star loved the humans, but it never really knew them, and this made the star sad. It envied the sun, and hated it, and wished that somehow, day could come without the sun's rays, so that it could finally see its beloved humans in the day.
But the laws of nature are not like the laws of humans, which can be broken and paid for in prison-years, or even human lives. Nor are the laws of nature like the laws of children's fairy-tales. In children's fairy-tales love always triumphs, and while unfortunate events do occur, sadness is never eternal. The laws of nature cannot be broken and they care not for love or sad stars, so everyday the sun rises, and everyday the star is blinded. Hence, everyday, the star sheds tears of stardust that streak across the sky like fireworks, and the star lives in an eternity of loneliness, always loving but never knowing.
If some evening, while looking out your window, you spot that star in the top left-hand corner, stand on your toes and stretch your arm as far out of your window as you can, and wiggle your fingers. For while stars live far far away in the sky, every little bit closes the distance between stars and humans. And who knows? If you stretch far enough, you might just touch a lonely star.
Friday, July 06, 2007
Oh justice!
My layman understanding of matters of justice and law. Most of the extracts below (italicised) taken from NYT "In Steps Big and Small, Supreme Court Moved Right":
Fully a third of the court’s decisions, more than in any recent term, were decided by 5-to-4 margins. Most of those, 19 of 24, were decided along ideological lines...
Once again proving that Justice is not blind, but it certainly wears blinkers.
In its most important patent ruling in years, the court tilted away from patent owners and made it easier to find that a patent had been improperly issued for an invention that was “obvious” and therefore undeserving of patent protection.
Finally. The list of patented 'inventions' in the US is a bit too long methinks.
The court made it easier for prosecutors in death penalty cases to remove potential jurors who express ambivalence about the death penalty. Writing for the 5-to-4 majority, Justice Kennedy said appeals courts must defer to a trial judge’s decision on whether a potential juror would be able to overcome qualms about capital punishment and be open to voting to impose a death sentence. The dissenters, in an opinion by Justice Stevens that Justices Souter, Ginsburg and Breyer also joined, said this set the disqualification bar too low and would skew juries toward those most likely to vote for death.
Hmmm... On one hand a person who is, in principle, opposed to the death penalty has no place in a jury deciding whether a defendant should receive the death penalty. On the other hand, we're talking about ambivalence towards the death penalty. My gut feeling is that any person who is violently opposed to the death penalty would be disqualified without much controversy. So the question is whether this results in a tendency to disqualify those who merely feel hanging someone is distasteful (which is, I must add, the proper and normal human reaction), meaning that you end up with the probability of having a jury of rednecks who're too ready to bay for blood. (Yes yes... stereotypes! I admit!) I tend to lean liberal on the death penalty, and therefore the prospect of a jury of rednecks terrifies me. You see what secondary school Lit does to you? (I'm looking at you, Harper Lee.) I don't really know much about law (have I mentioned this already?), so I guess the answer might be obvious to the brilliant legal minds out there already. Ah well.
A deadline for filing a federal appeal could not be excused by the fact that a federal judge had given an inmate’s lawyer the wrong date, the court held in a 5 to 4 opinion by Justice Thomas.
This sucks. The poor guy is penalised because the federal judge screwed up? Punishing innocents for mistakes/crimes that are not their own sucks big-time.
Unfortunately that happens in Singapore too. I've talked a lot about the case of Amara Tochi elsewhere, so I won't say too much about this again. Suffice to say that he was put to death (killed, murdered) for bringing drugs into Singapore, even though he (almost certainly) didn't know that they were drugs. And it's not a case of a judge ruling overly harshly, or a mistake made in the sentencing (even though that would also suck). It's just the way it works in Singapore. I would encourage you to look at the section on the trial if you follow the link to the Wiki article.
What is justice and what is the law? Sometimes if you think about it, the divergence between the two is chilling.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Randoms
I hate going out in the day because the weather is too darn warm. These days I slap on sunblock on my hand, wear gloves, grab a thermometer, stick it outside my window. Is it less than 28C? Yes? Ok, now my foot can venture tentatively out my door. And EVEN if it's less than 28, if the floor burns my foot, the foot retreats. No suicidal battles to be fought with the weather!
So I tend to get home late-ish. And I don't mind really, because the sun is a Bad Bad Thing, and mid-year nights are so clear, and if you haven't noticed (people never do), the moon has been gorgeous.
BUT the one thing that is bad about getting home late is the wildlife at my place. I'm convinced it's bat mating season because at night, bats - nay, a swarm of bats has been circling crazily mere inches above the ground, and more importantly, blocking my way home! Horror! Horror!
So I tend to get home late-ish. And I don't mind really, because the sun is a Bad Bad Thing, and mid-year nights are so clear, and if you haven't noticed (people never do), the moon has been gorgeous.
BUT the one thing that is bad about getting home late is the wildlife at my place. I'm convinced it's bat mating season because at night, bats - nay, a swarm of bats has been circling crazily mere inches above the ground, and more importantly, blocking my way home! Horror! Horror!
Monday, July 02, 2007
a goblin's tale
I'm in a strange mood today, perhaps partly because I read Robert Anton Wilson's Schrodinger's Cat trilogy in one sitting without really understanding many of the references and becoming practically delirious by the end of the 3 books.
(I'm beginning to think that the sound of words is sufficient enjoyment, even without understanding of the content. Why else was I hooked on the trilogy for the better part of today when I'd already lost track of the multiple characters in the multiple plots in multiple universes smothered in multiple references?)
(Is the pure aesthetic of poetry words without content?)
It could also be because the weather is swear-wordedly warm and the mechanical hum of my laptop is irritating me and threatening to give me a headache.
I also feel an overwhelming urge to speak in italics. Which I might or might not indulge in later in this post. Let's keep you in suspense for now.
And as always, stories surface and then drown in my mind, unconnected and unthoughtof, and then resurface again. One that has been on my mind for a long time is a tale of a goblin.
I don't see the point of writing a story about a goblin since everyone knows that goblins are at best secondary characters, and are never successful in the roles that really matter - Nordic heroes or Byronic heroes or Shakespearen heroes or even vampires. Some authors have maintained that even the smallest of creatures (like hobbits) can matter, but the truth is - and we're not talking about fiction here - the smallest of creatures seldom matter in significant ways.
So I don't see the point of writing a story about a goblin.
Nevertheless.
This goblin was small, even for a goblin, and was born in a goblin village, which was ruled by Authority. Authority came dressed in a pink lace dress. The other goblin inhabitants of the village disliked Authority in principle, and went about discreetly defying Authority as best they could.
One day, Authority left the village, instructing the goblin inhabitants to behave themselves. The Majority of the goblin inhabitants formed a Group, and while the individual goblins disliked Authority, the Group claimed to uphold Authority's rule, and in fact, became Authority itself (except without the pink lace dress).
The Authority-Group decided to enforce all of Authority's rules. The rules that they enforced included those rules that individual members of the Authority-Group used to break when Authority was around. As a result of the Authority-Group, the enforcement of Authority's rules was much stricter and harsher than it used to be, when Authority was around. Many goblins were drowned or burnt at the stake for the smallest of transgressions.
When Authority finally returned to the village, the Authority-Group reported all its enforcement actions to Authority, and Authority was well-pleased. The Authority-Group then disbanded, and previous members of the Authority-Group continued their discreet defiance of Authority, seeing no contradiction in their actions.
The non-hero who is our goblin played no significant part in these happenings (as tends to be the case with the smallest creatures), but was deeply troubled by the inconsistencies he saw. The goblin decided that a Group was a strange and complex entity that was more than the sum of its individual goblins. The goblin decided that he was afraid of Groups because Groups were motivated by chaotic, unpredictable impulses and an unyielding logic of their own. Groups, he thought, were impossible to understand, and dangerous.
The goblin went on to do many other things in his life. However, as I've said before, they are not very significant. Goblins are very insignificant creatures. Goblins, like humans, are never heroes, even though heroes are sometimes disguised as humans or goblins. But that is not very important.
(I'm beginning to think that the sound of words is sufficient enjoyment, even without understanding of the content. Why else was I hooked on the trilogy for the better part of today when I'd already lost track of the multiple characters in the multiple plots in multiple universes smothered in multiple references?)
(Is the pure aesthetic of poetry words without content?)
It could also be because the weather is swear-wordedly warm and the mechanical hum of my laptop is irritating me and threatening to give me a headache.
I also feel an overwhelming urge to speak in italics. Which I might or might not indulge in later in this post. Let's keep you in suspense for now.
And as always, stories surface and then drown in my mind, unconnected and unthoughtof, and then resurface again. One that has been on my mind for a long time is a tale of a goblin.
I don't see the point of writing a story about a goblin since everyone knows that goblins are at best secondary characters, and are never successful in the roles that really matter - Nordic heroes or Byronic heroes or Shakespearen heroes or even vampires. Some authors have maintained that even the smallest of creatures (like hobbits) can matter, but the truth is - and we're not talking about fiction here - the smallest of creatures seldom matter in significant ways.
So I don't see the point of writing a story about a goblin.
Nevertheless.
This goblin was small, even for a goblin, and was born in a goblin village, which was ruled by Authority. Authority came dressed in a pink lace dress. The other goblin inhabitants of the village disliked Authority in principle, and went about discreetly defying Authority as best they could.
One day, Authority left the village, instructing the goblin inhabitants to behave themselves. The Majority of the goblin inhabitants formed a Group, and while the individual goblins disliked Authority, the Group claimed to uphold Authority's rule, and in fact, became Authority itself (except without the pink lace dress).
The Authority-Group decided to enforce all of Authority's rules. The rules that they enforced included those rules that individual members of the Authority-Group used to break when Authority was around. As a result of the Authority-Group, the enforcement of Authority's rules was much stricter and harsher than it used to be, when Authority was around. Many goblins were drowned or burnt at the stake for the smallest of transgressions.
When Authority finally returned to the village, the Authority-Group reported all its enforcement actions to Authority, and Authority was well-pleased. The Authority-Group then disbanded, and previous members of the Authority-Group continued their discreet defiance of Authority, seeing no contradiction in their actions.
The non-hero who is our goblin played no significant part in these happenings (as tends to be the case with the smallest creatures), but was deeply troubled by the inconsistencies he saw. The goblin decided that a Group was a strange and complex entity that was more than the sum of its individual goblins. The goblin decided that he was afraid of Groups because Groups were motivated by chaotic, unpredictable impulses and an unyielding logic of their own. Groups, he thought, were impossible to understand, and dangerous.
The goblin went on to do many other things in his life. However, as I've said before, they are not very significant. Goblins are very insignificant creatures. Goblins, like humans, are never heroes, even though heroes are sometimes disguised as humans or goblins. But that is not very important.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
Strawberry marshmallows to you too!
My butt hurts very much because in an uncharacteristic burst of courage, I've been cycling (well, wobbling and squealing and just stopping short of running over people) these 2 days. If you were at ECP yesterday and you heard someone screaming 'my butt hurts' non-stop it was probably me. It's like confetti. You scatter the 'my butt hurts' as you cycle down the road, and some of it inevitably lands on the heads of innocent passers-by. Now and then you punctuate the confetti-scattering with little bits of 'sorry! didn't mean to almost run you over!' or 'help! I'm losing control of my bike!' or 'get out of my way I don't know how to ring this bell!' or 'don't cycle so close to me or I'll die!'
Oooh strawberry marshmallows... I love strawberry marshmallows. They could represent so many things. Strawberry marshmallows represent 'hello' and 'goodbye' and 'how do you do' and 'I never want to see you again'. Strawberry marshmallows are vulnerability, the feminine ideal, violence, soap operas, the earth, the essence of essence (like the mistress of the mistress or the son of the son). In fact, life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates is like strawberry marshmallows. But only like strawberry marshmallows with strawberry jam filling and not the ones with yucky strawberry cream filling. Because marshmallows with strawberry cream filling don't represent anything except hello kitty and lawyers, and everyone knows that hello kitty and lawyers are not really part of life except in hell, and life in hell is nothing like life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates. (Has anyone noticed how difficult it is to type with hyphens? Not that hyphens aren't pleasant creatures. Just difficult. Maybe it's a phase.) Strange isn't it, how chocolate is sinful but not hellish? But we were talking about strawberry marshmallows. Lollipops though - I don't need to say what lollipops represent, because lollipops mean different things to different people. Lollipops are subjective. On the other hand, strawberry marshmallows represent everything to everyone. Especially life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates. Strawberry marshmallows are transcendental. I like strawberry marshmallows. (but not the ones with the strawberry cream filling.)
Oooh strawberry marshmallows... I love strawberry marshmallows. They could represent so many things. Strawberry marshmallows represent 'hello' and 'goodbye' and 'how do you do' and 'I never want to see you again'. Strawberry marshmallows are vulnerability, the feminine ideal, violence, soap operas, the earth, the essence of essence (like the mistress of the mistress or the son of the son). In fact, life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates is like strawberry marshmallows. But only like strawberry marshmallows with strawberry jam filling and not the ones with yucky strawberry cream filling. Because marshmallows with strawberry cream filling don't represent anything except hello kitty and lawyers, and everyone knows that hello kitty and lawyers are not really part of life except in hell, and life in hell is nothing like life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates. (Has anyone noticed how difficult it is to type with hyphens? Not that hyphens aren't pleasant creatures. Just difficult. Maybe it's a phase.) Strange isn't it, how chocolate is sinful but not hellish? But we were talking about strawberry marshmallows. Lollipops though - I don't need to say what lollipops represent, because lollipops mean different things to different people. Lollipops are subjective. On the other hand, strawberry marshmallows represent everything to everyone. Especially life-which-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates. Strawberry marshmallows are transcendental. I like strawberry marshmallows. (but not the ones with the strawberry cream filling.)
Thursday, June 28, 2007
humour
My friends used to stare at me when I laughed out loud while studying.
From the BBC: "The [American] president is only allowed to serve two terms in office. He spends most of his first term trying to get re-elected and most of his second being described as a lame duck. No wonder they give him the shiny plane and the armoured limos. There have to be some perks to this job."
Isn't that funny? It's not just me right?
And
Politicians sign new climate pact
Leading international politicians have reached a new agreement on tackling climate change, at a Washington summit.
It's always sort of difficult not to feel optimistic when you get such news. Of course it's a non-binding agreement blah blah blah, but as the constructivists would say 'Non-binding? Pfft. Who cares?'
(Between, yes, I'm one of those who watched that Captain Planet show when I was young, and can still remember the song.)
From the BBC: "The [American] president is only allowed to serve two terms in office. He spends most of his first term trying to get re-elected and most of his second being described as a lame duck. No wonder they give him the shiny plane and the armoured limos. There have to be some perks to this job."
Isn't that funny? It's not just me right?
And
Politicians sign new climate pact
Leading international politicians have reached a new agreement on tackling climate change, at a Washington summit.
It's always sort of difficult not to feel optimistic when you get such news. Of course it's a non-binding agreement blah blah blah, but as the constructivists would say 'Non-binding? Pfft. Who cares?'
(Between, yes, I'm one of those who watched that Captain Planet show when I was young, and can still remember the song.)
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Amusement & Insecurity
After my last post, someone was concerned enough to refer me to a counsellor. While the thought and concern are very appreciated, I don't think I need a counsellor just yet. Give me some time. :P
Also, given that the post was about why the Marxist revolution never occured, and posited that counselling (or 'self-help' and therapy in general) was part of the reason, it was pretty amusing. A post claiming to be a 'radical critique' of (and hence resistance to) this 'hegemony' that is buttressed partially by modern counselling eliciited almost immediately an invitation to counselling...
Omg it's just too precious.
I also got a comment about that post being uber-cheem and impossible for normal people to understand.
My initial reaction: Are you trying to be sarcastic? Am I not normal? Why do you say I'm not normal? Do you think I'm trying to act cheem? I'm normal!
My 2nd train of thought: Why do I care what people think? What makes me think he thinks I act cheem? What makes me think he was being sarcastic? Is it because I'm so insecure that I feel the need to blend in with the rest? Do I need to feel accepted? Why am I acting like an angsty teenager? I thought I left all that behind! I'm an adult! All grown up! Why am I so insecure? Me? Insecure? Of course not!
My 3rd thought: I can't believe I'm being insecure about being insecure.
There you have it. The nutcase who is the author of this blog.
Also, given that the post was about why the Marxist revolution never occured, and posited that counselling (or 'self-help' and therapy in general) was part of the reason, it was pretty amusing. A post claiming to be a 'radical critique' of (and hence resistance to) this 'hegemony' that is buttressed partially by modern counselling eliciited almost immediately an invitation to counselling...
Omg it's just too precious.
I also got a comment about that post being uber-cheem and impossible for normal people to understand.
My initial reaction: Are you trying to be sarcastic? Am I not normal? Why do you say I'm not normal? Do you think I'm trying to act cheem? I'm normal!
My 2nd train of thought: Why do I care what people think? What makes me think he thinks I act cheem? What makes me think he was being sarcastic? Is it because I'm so insecure that I feel the need to blend in with the rest? Do I need to feel accepted? Why am I acting like an angsty teenager? I thought I left all that behind! I'm an adult! All grown up! Why am I so insecure? Me? Insecure? Of course not!
My 3rd thought: I can't believe I'm being insecure about being insecure.
There you have it. The nutcase who is the author of this blog.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Spectres of Marx
There's a voice in my head that won't stop. I wish it would go away because it disturbs me even while amusing. It doesn't allow me to feel any sense of achievement, and it screams when I try to find comfort in a group. It haunts me and forbids rest... like a spectre.
--------------------------------------------
Let us go back to a hypothetical fief in the dark Middle Ages and look at 2 scenarios.
Scenario A:
A peasant works in the fields every day without rest. He is impoverished, his wife is ailing, he has lost 4 children to disease already, and his last remaining child is starving. He is unhappy because really, there is no reason to be happy. He looks at the privileges enjoyed by his lord and feels that the world is unfair.
The peasant asks his lord, "Why is it that I have to work so long and hard and you don't? I am unhappy."
The lord kicks him away.
The peasant organizes a rebellion, and even though he and many others are killed, they lend impetus to a movement that, a long time later, results in a better life for people like him.
Scenario B:
A peasant works in the fields every day without rest. He is impoverished, his wife is ailing, he has lost 4 children to disease already, and his last remaining child is starving. He is unhappy because really, there is no reason to be happy. He looks at the privileges enjoyed by his lord and feels that the world is unfair.
The peasant asks his lord, "Why is it that I have to work so long and hard and you don't? I am unhappy."
The lord tells him, "I can sense that you're dissatisfied. I cannot change the system for you, but let me refer you to a counsellor."
The counsellor is a good one, who genuinely cares for the peasant, and empathizes with him.
At the end of the session, the peasant says to the counsellor, "Life is hard, but you have made me feel better simply because you have listened to me. I have thought calmly and rationally about what I can do about my problems, and because I know there's a listening ear for me, now I feel as if I have the strength to go on."
So the peasant returns to the fields, and life goes on.
--------------------------------------------
Let us go back to a hypothetical fief in the dark Middle Ages and look at 2 scenarios.
Scenario A:
A peasant works in the fields every day without rest. He is impoverished, his wife is ailing, he has lost 4 children to disease already, and his last remaining child is starving. He is unhappy because really, there is no reason to be happy. He looks at the privileges enjoyed by his lord and feels that the world is unfair.
The peasant asks his lord, "Why is it that I have to work so long and hard and you don't? I am unhappy."
The lord kicks him away.
The peasant organizes a rebellion, and even though he and many others are killed, they lend impetus to a movement that, a long time later, results in a better life for people like him.
Scenario B:
A peasant works in the fields every day without rest. He is impoverished, his wife is ailing, he has lost 4 children to disease already, and his last remaining child is starving. He is unhappy because really, there is no reason to be happy. He looks at the privileges enjoyed by his lord and feels that the world is unfair.
The peasant asks his lord, "Why is it that I have to work so long and hard and you don't? I am unhappy."
The lord tells him, "I can sense that you're dissatisfied. I cannot change the system for you, but let me refer you to a counsellor."
The counsellor is a good one, who genuinely cares for the peasant, and empathizes with him.
At the end of the session, the peasant says to the counsellor, "Life is hard, but you have made me feel better simply because you have listened to me. I have thought calmly and rationally about what I can do about my problems, and because I know there's a listening ear for me, now I feel as if I have the strength to go on."
So the peasant returns to the fields, and life goes on.
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Poem for my sister
I was clearing some of my old stuff today (and there's a lot of that). Some day I shall type out some of the more embarrassing writing from my teenage years. Absolutely excruciating. I've been wondering all day whether to burn those old diaries. *shudder* At one point I dropped the offending diary and buried my face in my hands because... oh the agony! Such agony! How could I ever EVER have written something like that?
Haha.
I also discovered this poem I wrote for my youngest sis about 8-9yrs ago, and while it's no masterpiece (no false modesty here heh), it does remind me of how she was as a little kid lolz.
[Youngest sis] is a little maiden
Of about 5 or 6;
She's all the experience and certainty
That comes with age.
Mummy belongs to her, no doubt,
And Daddy does as well.
Jie jie's a slight nuisance,
But kor kor's mean as hell.
The only one who's a bit of fun
Is [2nd sis], but only when she's around.
The sun and the moon and the stars in the sky,
Doggy and bear-bear and charming lullabies
Belong to Her,
Our Queen of the World.
But she is young and pretty and dances too,
She prefers to be Princess, thank you.
Haha.
I also discovered this poem I wrote for my youngest sis about 8-9yrs ago, and while it's no masterpiece (no false modesty here heh), it does remind me of how she was as a little kid lolz.
[Youngest sis] is a little maiden
Of about 5 or 6;
She's all the experience and certainty
That comes with age.
Mummy belongs to her, no doubt,
And Daddy does as well.
Jie jie's a slight nuisance,
But kor kor's mean as hell.
The only one who's a bit of fun
Is [2nd sis], but only when she's around.
The sun and the moon and the stars in the sky,
Doggy and bear-bear and charming lullabies
Belong to Her,
Our Queen of the World.
But she is young and pretty and dances too,
She prefers to be Princess, thank you.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Not a screaming fangirl... really!
Mayday concert:
This was my first rock/pop concert. I kept wondering where the druggies and drunkards and strippers (or the drugged, drunk strippers) were. Is no one keeping the spirit of rock and roll alive?!?!?!
I never realised how good Mayday is. The lead singer went out of tune quite often actually, but I'm amazed that his voice lasted the whole concert. Talk about stamina. Also, he's cute and so earnest heh. The guitars & drums were good too! Though they still sound better on the record. What really impressed me was how sincere they sounded. No tongue-in-cheek glibness there. I believe they might actually believe what they're singing.
But I still say we should have shouted political slogans during the less noisy intervals. I wanted to shout "中国统一，反对台独!" (trans: One China policy, oppose Taiwanese independence) but my friend didn't want to shout with me. :(
The funny thing was, at one point in the concert, they had images of Che Guevara onscreen. And at another, they had images from what I think were paintings of the American Revolution. They even had Abraham Lincoln! Talk about strange bed-partners. Communists and Americans. But I suppose the idea was resisting oppression, fighting for ideals etc, which would kind of fit into their overall theme of leaving the earth - transcending the material, searching for utopia, idealism and so on. (According to my friend they're Beatles-inspired.)
Strangely enough, while they were singing about revolution, leaving the world behind, abandoning pragmatism for idealism, they also made sure to sell their concert tickets for a very exorbitant price. They also read out the list of sponsors, and prompted the audience to cheer loudly for the sponsors. I didn't know the concert was supposed to have a commercial break. :P
So revolutionism and idealism are constantly subverted, and turn into commercialism.
I doubt many members of the audience would go home and live the ideals in the Mayday songs they so fanatically sang/screamed to during the concert.
I did a lot of screaming and singing myself, if only because I was determined not to let my money go down the drain. So for me it was a conscious decision to 'suspend disbelief', as the literature/arty-farty types would say, and participate. Besides the desire to make the most of sunk costs though, I also noticed that there was a desire to participate for the sake of being part of entire performance. I wanted to sing along so that I could be part of the music-making myself. Yet this sense of participation was more or less false, largely because I couldn't even hear myself in all that ruckus.
But the sense of participation was important. It's a sense that what you do is important to the concert. Hence they make you scream for an encore, even though they've already planned to return to the stage. They make you do silly things like jump in time, and spell out LOVE with your arms. They tell you that it's your voice that's beautiful (which, trust me, is a bloody lie). All in all your screaming and singing is not particularly important to anyone except yourself.
The whole concert looked a lot like a cult gathering. Wild-eyed people were waving glowing phallic symbols (lightsticks) to the same throbbing beat, they were screaming the same songs, they robotically performed the same motions, they stomped their feet and swayed, and they fanatically adored Mayday. No wonder there're so many associations between rock music and satanic cults. The whole thing was like a mass hypnosis. Some people even raised their hands with both palms facing out, the way I've seen Christians do in church while they're singing.
Come to think of it, lightsticks are pretty much like candles aren't they? Why do you even need lightsticks at a concert? To show that you, the individual, are here? Because it makes you feel seen? And therefore contributes to the (false) sense of participation? In the dark, without a lightstick, no one would notice you. But even with the lightstick, who sees you, the individual?
In any case, people filed out quite matter-of-factly when the concert was finally over.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
- Shakespeare
This was my first rock/pop concert. I kept wondering where the druggies and drunkards and strippers (or the drugged, drunk strippers) were. Is no one keeping the spirit of rock and roll alive?!?!?!
I never realised how good Mayday is. The lead singer went out of tune quite often actually, but I'm amazed that his voice lasted the whole concert. Talk about stamina. Also, he's cute and so earnest heh. The guitars & drums were good too! Though they still sound better on the record. What really impressed me was how sincere they sounded. No tongue-in-cheek glibness there. I believe they might actually believe what they're singing.
But I still say we should have shouted political slogans during the less noisy intervals. I wanted to shout "中国统一，反对台独!" (trans: One China policy, oppose Taiwanese independence) but my friend didn't want to shout with me. :(
The funny thing was, at one point in the concert, they had images of Che Guevara onscreen. And at another, they had images from what I think were paintings of the American Revolution. They even had Abraham Lincoln! Talk about strange bed-partners. Communists and Americans. But I suppose the idea was resisting oppression, fighting for ideals etc, which would kind of fit into their overall theme of leaving the earth - transcending the material, searching for utopia, idealism and so on. (According to my friend they're Beatles-inspired.)
Strangely enough, while they were singing about revolution, leaving the world behind, abandoning pragmatism for idealism, they also made sure to sell their concert tickets for a very exorbitant price. They also read out the list of sponsors, and prompted the audience to cheer loudly for the sponsors. I didn't know the concert was supposed to have a commercial break. :P
So revolutionism and idealism are constantly subverted, and turn into commercialism.
I doubt many members of the audience would go home and live the ideals in the Mayday songs they so fanatically sang/screamed to during the concert.
I did a lot of screaming and singing myself, if only because I was determined not to let my money go down the drain. So for me it was a conscious decision to 'suspend disbelief', as the literature/arty-farty types would say, and participate. Besides the desire to make the most of sunk costs though, I also noticed that there was a desire to participate for the sake of being part of entire performance. I wanted to sing along so that I could be part of the music-making myself. Yet this sense of participation was more or less false, largely because I couldn't even hear myself in all that ruckus.
But the sense of participation was important. It's a sense that what you do is important to the concert. Hence they make you scream for an encore, even though they've already planned to return to the stage. They make you do silly things like jump in time, and spell out LOVE with your arms. They tell you that it's your voice that's beautiful (which, trust me, is a bloody lie). All in all your screaming and singing is not particularly important to anyone except yourself.
The whole concert looked a lot like a cult gathering. Wild-eyed people were waving glowing phallic symbols (lightsticks) to the same throbbing beat, they were screaming the same songs, they robotically performed the same motions, they stomped their feet and swayed, and they fanatically adored Mayday. No wonder there're so many associations between rock music and satanic cults. The whole thing was like a mass hypnosis. Some people even raised their hands with both palms facing out, the way I've seen Christians do in church while they're singing.
Come to think of it, lightsticks are pretty much like candles aren't they? Why do you even need lightsticks at a concert? To show that you, the individual, are here? Because it makes you feel seen? And therefore contributes to the (false) sense of participation? In the dark, without a lightstick, no one would notice you. But even with the lightstick, who sees you, the individual?
In any case, people filed out quite matter-of-factly when the concert was finally over.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
Are melted into air, into thin air:
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp'd towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind.
- Shakespeare
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)