Deepayan/Uberhero/Confidence Man/Cleo/Eric/other personalities to be added later
Monday, January 29, 2007
Give fate a chance
Yeah, you're just the same the likes of you,
Oh I've set it off again now,
Maybe my mistake for judging you,
Maybe now I'll say I'm wrong
I wonder sometimes about the concept of fate. I've seen quite a few examples of it myself to not dismiss it completely, but what exactly is the reasoning behind it? I encountered it again over hte last week. On Thursday, we saw bits and pieces of North Country in our Law class, enough to get me intrigued to see the whole thing. (Looking up the bio, I noticed it was largely passed up by award shows, and if Hotel Rwanda is any indication, the losing films are usually better than the winning ones. Which, by the way, if you think Million Dollar Baby was the better movie, please share why)
But I digress. I saw parts of North Country in my law class on Thursday. On friday, I got word from my library that a hold request I had put in had arrived. Now, this arrived at the location close to my house, where I had routed all the hold requests I put during the christmas break. I have since routed all holds to a location closer to Humber that falls on my route. So anyway, this hold comes into my old location. I dropped by there today to pick up my hold and as I'm on my way out (it was Wham Bam Thank you Ma'am; it had to be, I was timing it to catch a bus) when I see one DVD on display near the exit. Guess which one it is? Yep. North Country.
Now I know the argument against fate is that it is nothing more than a series of coincidences, but I have trouble swallowing that concept. I don't believe it's God's hand guiding our life either (God wants me to see North Country? Really? That is the high-priority item on his agenda right now?) but I do think there is some science behind fate. It may be an obscure calculus formula that no human will be able to truly comprehend, but it's there. Like I say, science is perfect; it's our understanding of science that's lacking. I think fate falls in the category of unknown science. There's a series of books by Isaac Asimov, called the Foundation series, where a scientist named Hari Seldon develops a formula that accurately predicts civilization's actions for a great number of years, including otherwise unforseen calamities and windfalls and the like (excellent series, by the way, but it is Asimov, so you expect no less). I think there is, in real life, a similar formula that can predict an individual's actions. I wonder if we'll ever crack it. It's obviously a secondary priority to, you know, curing cancer and showing people Britney Spears' crotch (I'm not sure which one of those is higher priority, though) but it'll be interesting to see if anyone ever cracks that code. Of course, the science vs. religion debate that'll spout over that is something I'm equally not looking forward to.
And there goes the fat lady, so that's all for tonight.
¶ 7:05 PM 3 Comments
Oh I've set it off again now,
Maybe my mistake for judging you,
Maybe now I'll say I'm wrong
- Sorry Again, Tomi Swick
I wonder sometimes about the concept of fate. I've seen quite a few examples of it myself to not dismiss it completely, but what exactly is the reasoning behind it? I encountered it again over hte last week. On Thursday, we saw bits and pieces of North Country in our Law class, enough to get me intrigued to see the whole thing. (Looking up the bio, I noticed it was largely passed up by award shows, and if Hotel Rwanda is any indication, the losing films are usually better than the winning ones. Which, by the way, if you think Million Dollar Baby was the better movie, please share why)
But I digress. I saw parts of North Country in my law class on Thursday. On friday, I got word from my library that a hold request I had put in had arrived. Now, this arrived at the location close to my house, where I had routed all the hold requests I put during the christmas break. I have since routed all holds to a location closer to Humber that falls on my route. So anyway, this hold comes into my old location. I dropped by there today to pick up my hold and as I'm on my way out (it was Wham Bam Thank you Ma'am; it had to be, I was timing it to catch a bus) when I see one DVD on display near the exit. Guess which one it is? Yep. North Country.
Now I know the argument against fate is that it is nothing more than a series of coincidences, but I have trouble swallowing that concept. I don't believe it's God's hand guiding our life either (God wants me to see North Country? Really? That is the high-priority item on his agenda right now?) but I do think there is some science behind fate. It may be an obscure calculus formula that no human will be able to truly comprehend, but it's there. Like I say, science is perfect; it's our understanding of science that's lacking. I think fate falls in the category of unknown science. There's a series of books by Isaac Asimov, called the Foundation series, where a scientist named Hari Seldon develops a formula that accurately predicts civilization's actions for a great number of years, including otherwise unforseen calamities and windfalls and the like (excellent series, by the way, but it is Asimov, so you expect no less). I think there is, in real life, a similar formula that can predict an individual's actions. I wonder if we'll ever crack it. It's obviously a secondary priority to, you know, curing cancer and showing people Britney Spears' crotch (I'm not sure which one of those is higher priority, though) but it'll be interesting to see if anyone ever cracks that code. Of course, the science vs. religion debate that'll spout over that is something I'm equally not looking forward to.
And there goes the fat lady, so that's all for tonight.
¶ 7:05 PM 3 Comments
Friday, January 26, 2007
Things you hate about me
List them out; I want to hear about them. Be honest; you don't need to shoot my kneecap, but don't pull punches either.
Why this kind of note? Just cause. No real reason.
If I don't get too many responses, I'll start tagging people. So get to it :P ¶ 8:29 PM 4 Comments
Why this kind of note? Just cause. No real reason.
If I don't get too many responses, I'll start tagging people. So get to it :P ¶ 8:29 PM 4 Comments
Wednesday, January 17, 2007
I'm too old, err, 'mature' to think up a name for this post
So scared of getting older
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game to
find a way to say that life has just begun
I'm only good at being young
So I play the numbers game to
find a way to say that life has just begun
- Stop this Train, John Mayer
¶ 4:13 PM 1 Comments
I'm getting old, although I prefer to think of it as getting 'mature'. I suppose it's a good thing, as it shows character development and all those other things that platitudes are made of. At the very least, it gave me a chance to make this list, as milestones of a sort that signified that I was getting old. Excuse me, 'mature' :P
So how do you know you're getting old? Here may be some indicators
- U start 2 find ppl hu talk lyke dis all teh time annoyin n jus want to punch dem
- The women you know, when talking about their babies, are referring to their actual progeny and not their boyfriend du jour (this is actually something; I don't think any of my male friends have children. Hmmm)
- You find yourself actually watching Award-winning shows and movies, and finding out what a scam said award shows really are
- You want to go back in time and strangle your old self for your previously horrible taste in music. (That, and you actually remember what CDs are)
- You can recognize historical events they mention on TV because you remember hearing about them when they happened e.g. watching Roger Federer play before he used to massacre every male tennis player to play against him
- You start lists like this with a load of points, only to forget half of them halfway through
- Reading this list sounds more attractive than whatever you're currently doing (As a child, very few things aren't enjoyable. Of course, this may just be because kids always get their way)
On the flip side, if I'm 'maturing', how far away can gray hair and menopause be? Well, I already have gray hair, so I'm just waiting for the menopause at this point. The horror, the horror...
(Yet another sign you're getting old; you quote Marlon Brando instead of 50 cent)
Any other points to add to this? (yet another sign you're getting 'mature'; you begin to actually listen to opposing opinions and thus lose any chance you ever had of getting into politics) Do tell if there are. After all, these milestones must be recognized; whether they are greeted with cake or a pitchfork upon recognition is another matter entirely. (Yet another sign of 'maturity'; you actually recognize the bad jokes you make and continue to make them anyway)
So how do you know you're getting old? Here may be some indicators
- U start 2 find ppl hu talk lyke dis all teh time annoyin n jus want to punch dem
- The women you know, when talking about their babies, are referring to their actual progeny and not their boyfriend du jour (this is actually something; I don't think any of my male friends have children. Hmmm)
- You find yourself actually watching Award-winning shows and movies, and finding out what a scam said award shows really are
- You want to go back in time and strangle your old self for your previously horrible taste in music. (That, and you actually remember what CDs are)
- You can recognize historical events they mention on TV because you remember hearing about them when they happened e.g. watching Roger Federer play before he used to massacre every male tennis player to play against him
- You start lists like this with a load of points, only to forget half of them halfway through
- Reading this list sounds more attractive than whatever you're currently doing (As a child, very few things aren't enjoyable. Of course, this may just be because kids always get their way)
On the flip side, if I'm 'maturing', how far away can gray hair and menopause be? Well, I already have gray hair, so I'm just waiting for the menopause at this point. The horror, the horror...
(Yet another sign you're getting old; you quote Marlon Brando instead of 50 cent)
Any other points to add to this? (yet another sign you're getting 'mature'; you begin to actually listen to opposing opinions and thus lose any chance you ever had of getting into politics) Do tell if there are. After all, these milestones must be recognized; whether they are greeted with cake or a pitchfork upon recognition is another matter entirely. (Yet another sign of 'maturity'; you actually recognize the bad jokes you make and continue to make them anyway)
Thursday, January 11, 2007
Untitled Story Chapter 3
"So you're Eddie Martelli?" Martin said, disbelief still plain in his voice. The suited man across the room nodded.
"THE Eddie Martelli?" Another nod
Martin looked over at Lana. She shrugged. "I didn't let them in. I walked into the living room and here they were. They haven't touched anything," she added, "and Joseph's still sleeping."
"How'd you find out about me?" Martin asked, his brow furrowing, carelessly playing with the gun.
"Lewis here," Eddie motioned towards the man sitting on the couch, "took your snapshot the day you saved my daughter. He was very impressed with your prowess and sheer courage.
We know all about you, Martin," he continued, "we know you work as a TTC bus driver. We know you moved out of your parent's house after you graduated high school, forfeiting postsecondary education even though you had scholarships. We know you took in Svetlana when she was pregnant with Joseph, even though you're not the real father. We even know little Joseph is named after Stalin."
Martin shot a quizzical look at Lana at this last statement. She shrugged "He guessed it. I just confirmed."
Martin turned back to Eddie, continuing to play carelessly with the gun. "That's all well and good, but none of it explains why you chose to break into my apartment to talk to me. Seems a little extreme just to thank me for saving your daughter's life, doesn't it?"
Eddie laughed. "A flair for the dramatic is a useful asset in my line of work, Mr. Martin. But you're right, that wasn't the sole reason Lewis and I decided to visit you. Like I said," he continued, "Lewis was impressed by your prowess and sheer courage. And he's not a man who gets impressed easily. I, however, was more impressed with your ability to track and photograph a man who had been able to successfully elude even the federal authorities." Eddie shook the day-old newspaper he was holding in his hand. Splashed across the front was one of the pictures Martin had taken two nights ago in the alley. "You've done something quite extraordinary here."
"Can't be all that extraordinary," Martin responded, "if you were able to duplicate that with me."
"Ah yes, but I'm one of the most powerful figures in the North American underworld, with infinite resources at my disposal. You're a measly bus driver. There's a slight difference between us."
"What are you driving at?"
"Mr. Martin," Eddie leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, "how would you like to work for us?"
P.S: Let me know what y'all think of the new layout ¶ 5:23 PM 1 Comments
"THE Eddie Martelli?" Another nod
Martin looked over at Lana. She shrugged. "I didn't let them in. I walked into the living room and here they were. They haven't touched anything," she added, "and Joseph's still sleeping."
"How'd you find out about me?" Martin asked, his brow furrowing, carelessly playing with the gun.
"Lewis here," Eddie motioned towards the man sitting on the couch, "took your snapshot the day you saved my daughter. He was very impressed with your prowess and sheer courage.
We know all about you, Martin," he continued, "we know you work as a TTC bus driver. We know you moved out of your parent's house after you graduated high school, forfeiting postsecondary education even though you had scholarships. We know you took in Svetlana when she was pregnant with Joseph, even though you're not the real father. We even know little Joseph is named after Stalin."
Martin shot a quizzical look at Lana at this last statement. She shrugged "He guessed it. I just confirmed."
Martin turned back to Eddie, continuing to play carelessly with the gun. "That's all well and good, but none of it explains why you chose to break into my apartment to talk to me. Seems a little extreme just to thank me for saving your daughter's life, doesn't it?"
Eddie laughed. "A flair for the dramatic is a useful asset in my line of work, Mr. Martin. But you're right, that wasn't the sole reason Lewis and I decided to visit you. Like I said," he continued, "Lewis was impressed by your prowess and sheer courage. And he's not a man who gets impressed easily. I, however, was more impressed with your ability to track and photograph a man who had been able to successfully elude even the federal authorities." Eddie shook the day-old newspaper he was holding in his hand. Splashed across the front was one of the pictures Martin had taken two nights ago in the alley. "You've done something quite extraordinary here."
"Can't be all that extraordinary," Martin responded, "if you were able to duplicate that with me."
"Ah yes, but I'm one of the most powerful figures in the North American underworld, with infinite resources at my disposal. You're a measly bus driver. There's a slight difference between us."
"What are you driving at?"
"Mr. Martin," Eddie leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, "how would you like to work for us?"
P.S: Let me know what y'all think of the new layout ¶ 5:23 PM 1 Comments
Tuesday, January 09, 2007
The understanding of sorrow
It's not a silly little moment
It's not the calm before the storm
This is the deep and dying breath of
this love that we've been working on
It's not the calm before the storm
This is the deep and dying breath of
this love that we've been working on
- Slow Dancing in a Burning Room, John Mayer
¶ 7:07 PM 4 Comments
So I watched The Pursuit of Happyness over the break (excellent movie, by the way, one of the rare ones that leave you thinking without showing you something you hadn't seen or considered seriously before). Something's been nagging at me ever since. Now, we say that happiness is relative; but is it the same case for sadness? They showed Chris Gardner going through some pretty brutal times (I won't spoil it for anyone who hasn't seen it, but very few people I know have had to suffer that badly. Some people I know have had to suffer even worse, but that's another story). The question is, if you've never been in that situation yourself, can you really feel his pain? Or would you equate it to something more benign that would probably be extreme to you? I think this is what people tend to do. For example, consider the following scenario; there's a person A, to whom the worst thing that's ever happened is a broken nail. There's also a person B, who lost both his parents before he was 10 years old. Now, if person A heard person B's story, he'd say "I know how that feels; I broke a nail once" So, does that mean that person A can never trult understand person B? Or does it mean that just because the measurements are different, it doesn't mean the scope is?
I suppose this comes down to how emotion works. Does limited experience with sorrow lead to a limited capability of understanding sorrow? We do make leniencies for happiness and joy, after all. If a person derives joy solely from playing music, we don't say she can't understand the level of joy of solving a complex calculus problem on your own. If a person derives joy from understanding chemical reactions, we don't say she is unable to comprehend the level of joy of listening to Pavarotti in peak form. We say they understand joy in different manners, but don't question the range of their joy. So perhaps sorrow works in the same way? Can the level of sorrow felt at failing a course be equal to losing a child? Or is the world doomed to a permanent disconnect because people fail to really grasp what others are going through because they've never gone through it themselves? I fear if it's the latter, because people's experiences are drifting farther and farther apart. So I do hope it's the former. But I wonder...which one is it? And why?
I suppose this comes down to how emotion works. Does limited experience with sorrow lead to a limited capability of understanding sorrow? We do make leniencies for happiness and joy, after all. If a person derives joy solely from playing music, we don't say she can't understand the level of joy of solving a complex calculus problem on your own. If a person derives joy from understanding chemical reactions, we don't say she is unable to comprehend the level of joy of listening to Pavarotti in peak form. We say they understand joy in different manners, but don't question the range of their joy. So perhaps sorrow works in the same way? Can the level of sorrow felt at failing a course be equal to losing a child? Or is the world doomed to a permanent disconnect because people fail to really grasp what others are going through because they've never gone through it themselves? I fear if it's the latter, because people's experiences are drifting farther and farther apart. So I do hope it's the former. But I wonder...which one is it? And why?
Monday, January 01, 2007
Untitled Story; Chapter 2
You'll notice that I've removed the title of the story. That's because I had one idea of where the story would go; the story itself, however, had another idea, and wrenched the steerign wheel away from my grip. So I'm going to refrain from naming it until I have an appropriate title for the story. I have another idea now of where it's heading, but it's just as likely to change. Enjoy!
Creeping carefully along the wall, Martin silently cursed himself for not dry-running through his plan at least once. Martin kept a close eye on his target, knowing that he was too busy watching the couple to notice Martin. As the glow from the exit lamp finally hit his face, Martin reached the garbage can he had kept. With his force, he kicked over the can, causing a loud clatter that was like a sonic boom on the quiet road.
After that, everything happened instinctively. The couple and Martin's opponent both turned towards the noise, Martin's opponent caught in the full glare of the light. Martin raised the camera in his left hand and pushed down hard on the shoot button, hoping that keeping it depressed will lead to atleast one good shot. His right hand, the one with the gun, came up at the same time as his opponent's; somehow, Martin got off the first shot, ricocheting it off the wall behind his opponent. As he started shooting back, Martin--still keeping the shoot button firmly pressed--dived behind the garbage can and continued to fire. The couple, initally paralyzed, finally snapped out of it and made a break for their car, their heels making an odd musical accompaniment to the gunfight. Seeing his targets running--Martin made sure to provide an adequate screen so he couldn't run after them--their would-be attacker made a break for it himself in the opposite direction. Martin fired after him, but continued to shoot away, so as not to injure his opponent. After all, he wanted the police to bust him in good health, so he would have no viable defense at the trial. After Martin was convinced his oppenent had fled, Martin got up, dusted his jacket off and proceeded to walk towards the nearest bus stop and get home, so he could upload the first facial pictures anyone had gotten of Toronto's serial killer onto his computer and send them to the newspaper outlets.
Unknown to Martin, someone had witnessed the entire proceedings from another shadow, up until the couple had driven away, at which point he drove away with them. But not until Martin had had his own picture snapped. ¶ 6:49 PM 1 Comments
Creeping carefully along the wall, Martin silently cursed himself for not dry-running through his plan at least once. Martin kept a close eye on his target, knowing that he was too busy watching the couple to notice Martin. As the glow from the exit lamp finally hit his face, Martin reached the garbage can he had kept. With his force, he kicked over the can, causing a loud clatter that was like a sonic boom on the quiet road.
After that, everything happened instinctively. The couple and Martin's opponent both turned towards the noise, Martin's opponent caught in the full glare of the light. Martin raised the camera in his left hand and pushed down hard on the shoot button, hoping that keeping it depressed will lead to atleast one good shot. His right hand, the one with the gun, came up at the same time as his opponent's; somehow, Martin got off the first shot, ricocheting it off the wall behind his opponent. As he started shooting back, Martin--still keeping the shoot button firmly pressed--dived behind the garbage can and continued to fire. The couple, initally paralyzed, finally snapped out of it and made a break for their car, their heels making an odd musical accompaniment to the gunfight. Seeing his targets running--Martin made sure to provide an adequate screen so he couldn't run after them--their would-be attacker made a break for it himself in the opposite direction. Martin fired after him, but continued to shoot away, so as not to injure his opponent. After all, he wanted the police to bust him in good health, so he would have no viable defense at the trial. After Martin was convinced his oppenent had fled, Martin got up, dusted his jacket off and proceeded to walk towards the nearest bus stop and get home, so he could upload the first facial pictures anyone had gotten of Toronto's serial killer onto his computer and send them to the newspaper outlets.
Unknown to Martin, someone had witnessed the entire proceedings from another shadow, up until the couple had driven away, at which point he drove away with them. But not until Martin had had his own picture snapped. ¶ 6:49 PM 1 Comments
