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Saturday, August 18th, 2012

Time:9:40 pm.
...Anybody got an AO3 invite sitting around that they wouldn't mind tossing me way? I'm cool with the queue too, but I figure I could just ask.
The Spittoon: 2 globs - So spit yours, already.

Sunday, August 5th, 2012

Time:12:18 am.
Mood: sleepy.
Wow, it's been a while. I don't know, I just...didn't feel like there was anything worth putting in this journal for the longest time. Even if there was interesting stuff, it was all right just sitting in my head. 'Course part of that was the insanity of MED SCHOOL EXAMS, but still.

Have seen babies being born, this rotation. I do like it, despite not having any of the motherly hormone instinct things. Secretly a guy, right. Still, there is something uniquely fascinating about listening to a baby's first yell. It genuinely is some sort of magical, though make no mistake, there's blood and shit and mucus (oh so much of it) and amniotic fluid everyfreakingwhere and sweat and it's not the greatest smell in the world. I'm just glad I read all that James Herriot as a kid; lambings and calvings preparing one for human birthings, ye ken. At least the faeces didn't take me by surprise. We're all animals at the end of the day. But--magic, for all the gore. I like that sort of magic. When it's surrounded by crap, you know anything that shines through has to be real.

The other thing--the real big thing I wanted to post about--was going to New York, and like the derpiest of derpy cliches falling bang splat in love. I wanted desperately to pen this down whilst I was there, but no puter on vacation, and then life, etc, madness, whatever. This is what I wanted to get out of my system:

1) I wanna get this out of the way first because it deserves pride of place: real friends are people with whom you can strike up a conversation after years of radio silence, and promptly fall back with into old patterns so fast, without a hint of awkwardness, it's like you never left. That was a poorly-constructed sentence but I cannot grammar right now. This is less of a new thing and more of a THANK GOD, IT'S STILL TRUE thing. Damn and blast, I've missed you guys.

2) All Cities are The City. All Subways are The Subway. After having stayed in this many cities--SG, Taipei, HK, Melbourne--and having visited lots of others (too many to enumerate, I daresay) I think I have a feel for that indefinable quality of cityness that makes cities what they are. There's just this je ne sais quoi to'em. I always knew I was a city brat--though there was that period of time where I wanted to live in bugfuck nowhere, and I still like real bugfuck nowhere places (which is to say, a genuine wilderness as compared to a mere country town)--and The City is becoming synonymous with Home, for me. Which maybe explains why NYC felt so familiar, from my first step out the door. We landed in the afternoon, and not wanting to waste daylight I hauled Dad out of the hotel and down from Grand Central to Times Square (look, my logic was "see Times Square on day one, get it over and done with, spend rest of trip in museums", perfect planning right) and from the very beginning the streets felt familiar. The subway felt familiar--confusing, god only knows what the hell runs on what track at what time, but familiar nonetheless.

3) New York City is a City among Cities. NYC...had more of that cityness than any other city I've known. I don't know what it is. I was trying to compare with other cities I know; HK is loud and small and crowded, SG is middling loud and also small and crowded but not to the scale HK is, Melb is big but quiet, as cities go. NYC is loud and big and still bloody crowded and for the first time ever I knew what it meant to be able to lose yourself in the anonymity of a city. It takes some doing to make a city kid feel that way, I'll say. So many people in this space, I think that density is what made it feel like that. It was gorgeous. I guess this ties in to NYC feeling familiar; if I know The City, and NYC exemplifies The City, then, well, it makes sense that in some damn strange mystic way NYC was known to me.

4) The City Must Be Learnt On Foot. Or by public transport, but preferably you gotta stomp her streets. Fuck tour buses, you'll never get anything out of that. Cabs are fair enough especially if you're going far, but really you want to take PT if you wanna learn a city. Bus, train, tram, whatever. The City talks to you if you bother to put your skin to her veins. Walk the lifeblood of The City. Listen to the hum of her heartbeat, made of cars and talking and construction and a thousand thousand footfalls. I walked all over Manhattan--yes I do know that NYC consists of more than just her smallest island, but I was somewhat pressed for time (one week, okay) and I don't pretend to have learnt the boroughs--walked until my feet were sore, every day. Rambled across Central Park and the Museum Mile and most of frikkin' Midtown and much of the southside, NoHo and SoHo and Nolita and Little Italy and Chinatown (picked up this snazzy straw hat in Chinatown, even), and yes I know I've still barely scraped the surface. That drives me crazy, actually, because NYC already talked to me so much in that short trip, and I just--I want to learn her secrets, you know? Get my mouth on all her soft places and glut my eyes on her charms. Listen to all the rest of what she wants to tell me.

She said, "I own a bit of the rest of the world." There was the United Nations (for whatever that's worth), and the people of every stripe all over the goddamn place. With one thing and another I find that I'm comfortable when I don't understand all the language I overhear in coffeeshops, and NYC certainly does that. They're not the languages that I'm used to not-understanding--not much Spanish in Melbourne--but it's the same feeling. And there were the HQs of however many MNCs--Citigroup among them, like I could forget that, and you gotta admit, however grudgingly, that things happen in this city that affect the rest of the globe.

She said, "Look at my bones, see how long I've stood." I hadn't even had a sense of her history before this, but then I went to the exhibit at the NYPL and it kind of smacked me in the face. And the architecture, hah, all the marble arches, NYC evidently thinks it's Rome. You just look at the Museum of Natural History; that's a triumphal arch, right there, it cracked me up when I saw it. But arches aside the architecture is a mix of old and new, and I have a massive soft spot for cities that do that.

She said, "I live. I change. You will never walk the same street twice." I remember posting here, some time ago, about not knowing if I could root in one place. I've considered Melbourne--too quiet. I've considered SG--too fucking SMALL, the place and the people and the utter banal boring homogeneity--okay, I have issues with my home country, skip that for now. I like Transience and new things and exploring and strange random encounters. And I never thought one city could provide enough of that--until now. Something about NYC, that mad density of people, or its insomniac nature, the unending vast variety it provides, I think that could scratch my itch. My endless roving wanderlust satisfied by this one place.

She said, "I think I could be yours."

In love, just a little bit. Or at least a gigantic infatuation. Goddamnit.

Without a doubt some of this is tourist-vision, at least. But I have a decent grasp on my eyes and I know when I'm kidding myself; this doesn't feel like that. Perhaps I don't know everything, haven't experienced the bitter winters and the grey slush, or the "fuck off" local temperament (actually, that appeals, in a funny kind of way), or just other things I can't guess at. I'm willing to say that those might well change my mind. But right now...right now this city felt like everything I want from a lodging-place. Kind of blows my mind.

5) Melbourne, you seriously fucking suck sometimes. New York's two-hour ride fare is $2.50. Yours is $3.28. You are more expensive to PT in than NEW YORK CITY. JFC. Fucking hell.
The Spittoon: 4 globs - So spit yours, already.

Wednesday, March 7th, 2012

Time:3:51 pm.
The funny part of this post:

I realized that "motherfucker" has the same cadence as "Mississippi"--meaning that my new method of counting seconds is "one-motherfucker, two-motherfucker" etc.

The less funny part of this post:

Dear brain, it is time once again to have that conversation about what constitutes an acceptable dream and what does not.

Things that make for acceptable dreams: Trek, Rome, benthic stuff like squid, other things related to interstellar travel, winning, being awesome at medicine, being awesome at killing shit, being a cyborg, being a goddamn paladin, you get the gist

Things that do not make for acceptable dreams: TRIGGER WARNING for sexual assault I am not even remotely joking, this is why it is not acceptable, brain, I have to warn for triggers, for the love of fuckCollapse ) I mean, what, brain? Seriously what? Why would you even do that? Why would you not autowipe that shit as I wake up? I forget my music dreams and this is what I'm left with? hhhnnnrrrrrrrrrrrrrggghhhhh
The Spittoon: 11 globs - So spit yours, already.

Sunday, October 30th, 2011

Time:1:43 pm.
Mood:disgusted amusement.
Like I needed more triggers and scars.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Monday, October 17th, 2011

Time:5:20 pm.
Mood: amused.
Mom came and visited for the weekend, and then left, leaving me in something of a funk as always; not to mention, leaving me very short on sleep, because I have trouble sleeping when AAA PARENTAL ABANDONMENT TERRORS AAAAAA (why I am secretly a two-year-old, I don't know); I've caught something grotty probably from a colleague, leaving me with nasal conchae filled with what feels like cement; and to top it off I'm now on a surgical block that begins with rounds at 0730h every freaking day, except Friday where it's 0700h unit meeting. It don't rain but it pours.

On a completely unrelated note, I am being a TOTAL CREEPING GOOGLESTALKER. But for a good reason. I think. Concern for other people is a good reason, right? Feel free to discuss below. The somewhat-less-retarded bits of me are also breaking the very-retarded-impulsive-whimsical-moron bit's hands again in an effort at restraint; the first time that happened it was for reasons of emu, but now I think it's rather rapidly and hilariously turning into a standard method of impulse control, even for small retarded things like aforementioned stalking. Oops. Strange patterns I set in my head.
The Spittoon: 2 globs - So spit yours, already.

Tuesday, October 11th, 2011

Time:6:54 pm.
Mood:exsultate, jubilate.
So he passed over, and all the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.

Realized something in the shower (where all my best thinking gets done) that made my hair stand on end, or would've anyway if the water hadn't been quite hot. It hit me like a cosh across the back of the head. PROBLEM SOLVED! SYSTEMS CLEAR!

Also, did a much less fail long case today. Fuck yeah getting better at med school...very very slowly. *snrk*
The Spittoon: 1 glob - So spit yours, already.

Friday, October 7th, 2011

Time:5:17 pm.
So...Absolute Lithops Effect is going to be for these two semesters the rest of my life the foreseeable future what This Year was for 12th grade. Right. Good to know.

Wall, crucible, forge.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Friday, August 12th, 2011

Time:6:00 pm.
Awsum things from yesterday:

1) IV cannulation SUCCESS FIRST TRY! Pt had huge veins, went smooth as butter. Huzzah huzzah.
2) Admitted a patient. MY NOTES ARE NOW IN THEIR FILE TO BE PRESERVED FOR ALL TIME. Kind of freaked, kind of stoked.

And then today I got to present that pt at rounds in front of the consultant because the team I'm with is kind of awesome and amazing and totally cool about the twitchy wigged-out medical student doing shit. Seriously. So cool. So terrifying. But it seems to have gone awright.

Last night I had two dreams that were "oh dear god what", albeit in two very different ways. First I dreamt about someone quizzing me on the difference between metoprolol and either sotalol or propanolol, I can't remember which. I GUESS THIS MEANS I'M LIVING AND BREATHING MEDICINE THE WAY I SHOULD, EH. Then I had one of my classic fucked-up dreams.

It was like a scene out of a police procedural show (*headtilt* <-- now I wonder if anyone will get that reference) in that there were cops, and somehow I was with the cops--I don't know, maybe part of the emergency medical team?--and we were all outside this guy's flat because he was threatening to hurt this kid. So shit goes down inside, we bust into the flat, and...nobody's there. The flat is very nice, two floors, wooden floor and banisters, full of light and modern decor, very to my tastes. Everybody is kind of ???bzuh? and cops go secure all the rooms and confirm that it's empty. Now that there's no threat we're all wondering where the guy went, and where the kid is, and they're sending out bulletins for the dude and speculating on where he might have taken the kid...

And then someone notices that the oven's on.

There is a universal moment of "oh, fuck no". Someone opens the oven door and pulls out the tray, on which a number of dishes rest.

Taters with gravy; vegetables that I think were carrots and something; and a toddler's arm and half a head, lightly browned.

I think that lifetime of horror movies is starting to have an effect.
The Spittoon: 10 globs - So spit yours, already.

Saturday, July 9th, 2011

Subject:atrocious puns and groanworthy jokes
Time:1:23 pm.
I just heard my dad singing "Down by the liver, down by the liver, you'll find my stomach there". I come by it honestly.
The Spittoon: 1 glob - So spit yours, already.

Sunday, June 5th, 2011

Time:9:11 pm.
Mood: amused.
This is the week for my family to get accidents, I think. First Dad burnt his hand on the steam nozzle whilst steaming pants for Mom. Then Mom slipped in the bathroom, dislocated her finger (we think), and popped it back in again (yeah, ikr, that's my Mom); no impact fracture, but bruising/tendon damage etc. Then I did not treat my weights with enough respect, caught my finger on the edge of the rack when reracking (11 kg ow ;_;), and chunked some skin off the proximal interphalangeal of my left index finger. Aren't we hilarious?
The Spittoon: 2 globs - So spit yours, already.

Friday, May 27th, 2011

Subject:this is nat's brain. this is nat's brain on dreams.
Time:3:52 pm.
Mood: amused.
Yesterday I dreamt of being sexually harassed by an obese black intersex person, who had some unnamed medical condition that caused mental problems and balance problems and these really terrible cracked skin lesions, whilst riding on a Melbourne tram (either out to Footscray or Richmond, I'm not sure which) on the way to a clinic to schedule an abortion, possibly mine. Requisitioning several pints of blood from a blood bank was also somewhere in the story but I'm not sure where.

Today I dreamt of a really sweet love story in which a guy falls in love with a woman who is in love and eventually in a relationship with another guy, and also she'd been scarred from a previous abusive partner, but it's okay because they reach an Understanding and even though she didn't love him back he was cool with that and basically hung around to dote on her (not in a creepy way, she did like him) and help her raise her kid who basically thought of him as a second dad. There was some gorgeous train imagery--train crossing suspension bridge over water, that sort of thing--and some juxtaposition with old married couples.

Suck on this, dream analysts. My subconscious brain loves to flip y'all off.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Sunday, May 15th, 2011

Subject:my insides are pink and raw and it hurts me when I move my jaw but I am taking tiny steps forward
Time:2:13 pm.
"You're a good man, Mister Oats?" said Granny, conversationally, as the echoes died away. "Even without your holy book and holy amulet and holy hat?'"
"Er...I try to be..." he ventured.
"Well . . . this is where you find out," said Granny. "To the fire we come at last, Mister Oats. This is where we both find out."

The Spittoon: 6 globs - So spit yours, already.

Monday, May 2nd, 2011

Time:7:05 pm.





Also, that black dude on Penn. Av., does he have a beautiful sense of tempo or what? Long-form, Correspondents' Dinner, dead Bin Laden. Take the piss out of the Tea Party/birthers/Trump, prove yourself capable of one of the most serious victories of the past decade. Even his gags at the Dinner--lulzing about Trump's leadership re firing Gary Busey? Dear god what a setup. What a setup for this. I'm like chessgasming over his game.

Yes, I know he couldn't have known the outcome of this mission in advance. I know he couldn't have controlled all the variables like the precise timing of the mission to come after the dinner and shit. But he would've known WHAT the variables were, he coulda planned around them; strategy is all about taking your opportunities where you find them, and by god he did that to the hilt. It would've been worth it to fuck around with the Tea Party even had this victory not occurred, and you cannot tell me he didn't consider this possibility in his calculations. The bookending about the seriousness of the presidency and the respective leadership capabilities is too perfect to be coincidence. He set it up just in case, he played a good move (aggressive defence--making the birthers look like fools whilst covering his ass on his legitimacy), and a bit of luck (and great work from the spec ops side) turned it into one hell of a brilliancy. That's strategy!

(I mean, when I say "he" I do include his team in that, he's not an island, but regardless.)

And the story itself, the analysis that went into this, the secrecy (no other countries told!), everything is pitch-perfect. Even the length of the planning--a few months, not years, how do you spin that into this being Bush's legacy? Oh, they'll try, but everything points towards this being one for the black guy.

Just say "gg wp" and try again in four years, GOP. You'll look better that way.

ETA: oh wow Hitler's death anniversary is also today? Duuuude that is freaky shit.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Wednesday, February 2nd, 2011

Time:6:34 pm.
Watching a stream of Cyclone Yasi coming in; a quote from the chat: "Cyclone Yasi is OP and Valve should nerf it". The internet is a magical, magical place.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Sunday, January 16th, 2011

Time:4:23 pm.
I am now the sheepish owner of a Nespresso machine! It was a gift, and we already have far superior coffee machines in HK and SG, so we schlepped it to Melbourne to fuel my addiction. Ayup. I would like to be able to choose my own bean, of course, but I think the Nespresso-only limitation can be circumvented with careful use of foil. (Long story.)

Coming into Tullamarine Airport, I could not help but notice that the Australian government itself seems to want to spread the internet's terror wrt this continent. Their tourism posters share a common theme. A life-sized image of an 8.5m croc (the largest found here, apparently), pointing out that the tiiiiny box jelly beats out sharks and snakes and crocs for the title of "most dangerous aquatic lifefo FUCK THERE'S ONE RUN AWAY FUCKING RUN AWAY", describing just how many poisonous snakes there are in this country. Personally I love it and find it hilarious, but I think you may be fucking up your cause a little, guys.

My head is very full of thoughts at the moment; I recall now that I wanted to post a few musings on being Catholic, and how the church is like the Mafia (no, it is not the Italian connection), but not right now. Later tonight, maybe.
The Spittoon: So spit yours, already.

Thursday, January 6th, 2011

Time:2:36 am.
I'm getting soft and sentimental in my dotage. Either it's that, or the hormones are kicking around again. Wrong time in the cycle for them, though, I think. I don't know.

Of late other people's pain seems to be hitting me hard, in strange unexpected ways. I'm really not used to sympathetic pain, you know? Other people are other people, and I don't expect to feel for them and I don't expect them to feel for me. But...yeah. It's a symptom of paladinity, I'm sure. S'funny, actually, I was thinking that maybe the paladin thing was waning a little. The natural ebb and flow of life, as such. Reconsidering my plans for the future (which are, mostly, "JOIN MSF"), or at least planning for burnout. But then you find out that someone you know may or may not have breast cancer, pending investigations, and all that doubt goes out the window and your head echoes with the ringing of swords and the weight of impotency. It would be funny, if I could only pry its death-grip off my skull.

Or is it real? Can I really say I'm a paladin? I haven't done anything to follow through on it, after all. And it...well, it doesn't really bother me, but the objection is there in my head. It doesn't bother me because I know that the job itself will be paladining, and I'm committed ain't I? I've picked this path, though they don't make us swear oaths until graduation; hell, I don't think they make us swear oaths anymore. And I'm in no great hurry--right now I want to study hard, do well, learn the right skills, AND have a life outside of that. But at the same time, “Kung hindi ngayon, kailan pa? Kung hindi tayo, sino pa?” In English, "If not now, when? If not us, who?" (I don't know if there were any Jews in the UofPhilippines campus paper, but the Tagalog and not Rabbi Hillel is where I first ran into that sentiment, so.) So. There's those two sides to that coin, and I'm sitting on the third side. I have the belief but not the actions, and I shouldn't fret about the actions just yet, but shit like this makes me think about it.

There was something amusing that I wanted to add, because urgh srs post is srs, but I can't remember it. OH WELL.
The Spittoon: 3 globs - So spit yours, already.

Wednesday, November 24th, 2010

Subject:only going forward cos we can't find reverse
Time:2:19 am.

Mehndi is faint because I am fail. Thanks go to bromantic, who gave me tips and put up with my extreme retardation. She is not in any way responsible for said fail. It's really fucking awkward to use the application tubes on your chest, they just were not designed for that. Also, because I suck at art, I made a stencil first. Tube + stencils are also not friends. But we got there in the end! And I'll get better, because I intend to maintain this little thing. Maybe swap to the later insignias on occasion, rotate the lot.

For now, it is unquestionably a 2270s-era Starfleet insignia, or the original Enterprise's ship assignment badge. And that, my friends, is Good Enough.
The Spittoon: 17 globs - So spit yours, already.

Tuesday, November 16th, 2010

Time:7:13 pm.

my brain is on HYPERDRIVE

*clutches temples*


time to listen to bach. and glass. and more bach.

The Spittoon: 2 globs - So spit yours, already.

Monday, November 8th, 2010

Time:2:41 am.
Mood: accomplished.
My little pony, my little pony,
What will today's adventure be?
My little pony, my little pony,

or, Aren't you a fucking medical student, how much goddamn free time do you have?

Okay so! A bit of preamble: a while ago, I decided that grimdarking My Little Pony would be hilarious, mostly for the brainbreak. I wanted a setting with black thorny tentacles and walls of organs and pools of oil and lots of murder, rape, and dismemberment. Not quite fortykay, but definitely heavily-inspired by it. A bit after that, it occurred to me that you could actually mod the toys (originally I was thinking of a long epic fic with PTSD ponies and lesbian sex--um yeah). People have done Pyramid Head mods, for instance, and I thought they looked fucking sweet. Last December I finally got off my arse and procured two of'em, as well as some Games Workshop paints and greenstuff. I already had the tools; bought a woodcarving set when in Japan, figuring I'd use it some day.

I've been working on it on-and-off, in a really half-assed fashion, over most of this year, and I've finally finished one. Well, more or less, I might touch it up now and then. On the whole, though, I'm right pleased with how it's turned out. I've been really stoked about making this post since the idea's inception; so without further ado, let me present: my very first demented pony!

cut for images; may or may not count as horror, depending on how closely your sense of humour aligns with mineCollapse )


This pony is based off Event Horizon's Dr Weir--I really can't be fucked uploading a picture of him, but if you google image search "dr weir event horizon" you'll see what I mean. Yeah I'm really way too fond of that movie, I know. That's where the "where we're going we won't need eyes to see" line comes from. It was either that, or "liberate tuteme ex inferis", which doesn't really rhyme with the MLP theme song (and is bad Latin, too).

I was going for an "old blood" look, which is why it verges on black in some places. It's almost all paint, but I did nick myself a couple times, so there is a bit of real blood on it. I'm just sayin'. :D That's supposed to be a badly-docked tail back there, not a buttplug as someone first thought. Not that buttplugs would be inappropriate, but, well, not for this character. I thought about varnishing some of the wounds so they'd glisten with blood, but honestly I don't know how that'd turn out. I might try it on some inconspicuous area and do it if it works, but not sure about that.

Ridiculously, it started life as one of the scented ponies, and the smell is still there. I think it's impregnated deep in the plastic, because seriously this thing has taken acetone baths and been covered in paint and washed multiple times, idek.

I have one more pony, a white one. I'm not entirely sure what I'm going to do with it yet. I was thinking a Slaaneshi pony, all bright colours and genitalia, but tentacles + eyes also beckons. Will have to think on that. Either way, it's going to be a real stylish motherfucker. Suggestions welcome!

...yeah I can't think of anything else I wanted to say. woot woot signing off
The Spittoon: 6 globs - So spit yours, already.

Thursday, November 4th, 2010

Time:2:20 pm.
Mood: amused.
I stuck the lab pH meter into a beaker of Coke today--pH 2.56 was the reading. It's pretty well-calibrated, too, kept in buffer and all that. Don't drink that stuff, you guys.
The Spittoon: 6 globs - So spit yours, already.

LiveJournal for The Nat That Walks By Herself.

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