Fuck you VPN! Fucking CUNTivity client of motherfucking hell!! I haul my ancient brick laptop home, try to do my work, TRY to be efficient and what do I get?

So you know what? Just-
Now that my rage spasm has passed, it is obviously a very stressful time for me. I failed to appreciate how my teachers used to handle this examination mark (grades) entry before the COCKpit (an aptly named knowledge management system for the education system) era. Technology doesn't help make our lives easier. Not yet and not always. When it comes to knowledge managements systems for something as massive as the Singapore Education System, we still know too little about human information processing for us to make the system a help more than a hinderance. The intentions are good, believe me, and I'm sure it speeds up data collation. The problem is that it is often an extremely roundabout process to even enter the data in the first place.

It takes me about 10 minutes to even login to the system to access the intranet. 10 minutes! Do you know how long that is in Internet Years? 10 minutes can get me 5 songs off the web - 10 minutes can load a 30 minute video off Youtube - 10 minutes, at 100mbps, should transfer up to 60,000mbs of data. Why do I have to wait 10 minutes to send probably 100b of data just get into a system to spend 5 minutes updating 1 absent pupil's attendance record EVERY DAY? It just doesn't make sense - and now I have to haul home bricktop to key in marks because I refuse to learn the HIGHLY complicated method of downloading the Excel file that will allow me to key in marks without logging into the system; because, considering the economy of time, the amount of time spent LEARNING how to download, use, and upload that file's data, could have been spent typing shit into the system immediately. 

Then you get fuck-ups like this that just negate any benefit of using the system because you can't. fucking. use. the system.

So you know what? Fuck it. Fuck it all. I will play Prince of Persia and I don't care.

And it has been done. I have submitted my first assignment for university. I feel understandably proud of myself, though my next assignment looms before me now. I put in a lot of effort, so much so that I am tired. I wonder if I'll be able to keep this up till the end.

This year has been unbelievably hectic for me. I can't believe how much I have to do in school. I can't believe how tiring classes can make me. I can't believe I'm doing all this on top of a new puppy in the house. Something has to go. I've chosen my fresh water fish tank. Sayonara. It's swarming with malaysian trumpet snails anyway, which disgust me to no end because not only are they horrifically unsquashable, they also swarm around like roaches. And just as amphbians are to Brightside, I despise the sight of roaches and all roach-like organisms. Fucking disgusting creatures.

Therefore, I'll move my marine tank, which is prettier and melts MTS, to my freshwater tank, which is bigger. Bye bye MTS. I'll cook up toxic sludge for you to die in - just for you. It'll make Captain Planet cry, but what the hell.

With one less tank in the house, I'll have more time on my hands. I'll also be able to dedicate more time to Lady, who's so retardedly cute, and Bonnie, who's just retarded (no, I jest. I love my old bitch Bonnie, even if she hates my new sweet young thing). I'll also be able to study and work on all the crap I have to finish for school.

I've told my mother about my intention to trash my freshwater tank, and understandably, I think she will be pleased with more room for HER (despite the fact that I do all the work and bought the fish) marine fish to swim in. While on the phone with her in Malaysia, I pondered telling her about Lady, whom she still has no idea about yet. My heart raced just at the thought of it and I decided not to.

In the first place, I chickened out.

In the second place, I knew she'd just get mad in Malaysia, not enjoy the rest of her holiday, insist the dog be gotten rid of, refuse to listen to me when I tell her the dog's poo doesn't smell and just be forever stubbornly biased against my poor Lady - whose only crime was to be cute and poo and pee and sometimes step in it because she's excited to see me.

Therefore, I've decided to go 'Surprise!!!1' when she gets home. Lady's cute retardedness, gangly, uncoordinated walk and soulful eyes won my dad over in a day. I'm hoping that same magic will work on mom, and I can employ the Homer-Style cop-out of: "You laughed! I'm off the hook!"

In other news!!

A nine-year-old Malaysian boy in Singapore has written a painting application for the Apple iPhone.

Lim Ding Wen created the finger painting program, known as Doodle Kids, for his two younger sisters aged three and five.

"Doodle Kids is an extremely simple program that can be done by anybody. Everybody can program - if Ding Wen can, so can you," he wrote.

Surly Cur says (1:34 AM):
WAAAHHH
he's the sort who'll mysteriously disappear one day
and work for the MOD
in a bunker
churning out hacks to govt computers in china and shit

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
yeah. totally.

Surly Cur says (1:35 AM):
if Ding Wen can, so can you
fuck you!

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
LOL
Go on my son
hahahahahahahahahaha

Surly Cur says (1:35 AM):
just crap on my diploma right now
crap on it

Brightside says (1:35 AM):
what a heading

Surly Cur says (1:36 AM):
and all the hours it too me to learn fucking JAVA

Ever wonder why mother-in-laws and daughter-in-laws never get along? Why mothers and daughters go through many phases of 'fights'? It's something I have come to call the "Lioness Syndrome". Eventually, the head honchette of a group will be faced by a new female addition, who is sometimes percieved as a threat to the head honchette's position of power and social standing. This new female addition will be put through seven kinds of hell until a balance of power is struck once more. It's quite similar to how prides work out in the wild, or even among wolves. Just like our animal brethren, we seek an equilibrium of power in the group we belong to.

Looking at things in such a pseudo scientific way helps me keep things non-personal. And sadly, as much as I have tried to stay out of office politics, I have stepped onto the toes of the 'lioness' [lioness \ˈlī-ə-nəs\ n. : 1) a female lion 2) a woman of quasi-prominant and long-established social position of power. Synonyms: bitch] of the Village Well [village well \ˈvi-lij\ \ˈwel\ n.: 1) a pit or hole sunk into the earth to reach a supply of water of a settlement usually larger than a hamlet and smaller than a town 2) a meeting place for people, mostly women, to gather for gossip. Synonyms: slander pits.]

It was, quite frankly, a misunderstanding over who takes which cupboard in the classroom. Frankly, I have my case just as she may have hers. Right or wrong isn't the issue, because that's what misunderstandings are. However, she was sensitive and I am brusque. Not a good combination, and not a problem I haven't faced in the past. I still have things to learn and communication is one of them. After apparently settling the issue by drawing lines in the sand in terms of classroom storage space territory, she evidently isn't satisfied and wants more blood. However, wanting to report to my supervisor about something as petty as this is so ridiculous I don't even know if I should be angry about it.

Understandably, words can be used to make a petty matter damaging to my performance as a teacher, and others can also add fuel to the fire. Thankfully a colleague of mine has suggested to mediate, for which I am grateful. Reports from said colleague apparently indicate that said lioness is 'intimidated' by me. As far as I know, I'm a total greenhorn who hasn't even learned the ropes of the school system yet. Hell, I can't even apparently communicate to people without 'intimidating' them. I'm prettsure that there are MBA teachers, Action Reachers, Pupil Developers, spearheads of other prominent projects or even prettier, younger girls that are way more worthy to be intimidated by than me. I'm just doing my best at my job and learning as I go. Apparently, now she wants my liver [note image].

I'll apologize to the lioness, if it makes her feel better and less 'intimidated'. Frankly, I didn't realize I was being offensive when I spoke to her nor had I set out to be. If I had offended her, of course, I'll apologize for the mistake in communication that I had made (not for hurting her feelings, though, which are not protected in any bill or constitutional right). I still have lots to learn. She is, however, welcome to continue to talk about me, if that's all the conversation she has in her life that makes her happy. After all, I am not part of the Village Well nor am I anything like her and her possey who delight in the mean, malign and low-grade production of evil and bad-blood for no reason other than peer-pressure and a desire to be accepted among their racial group.

Like my dad, I will put my faith in the system and the relationship I have built with my supervisor, to trust that the Cupboard Furore does not equate to me being a 'bad teacher'. After all, my performance appraisal form, last I checked, does not include a grade competency of 'Making Lioness Happy'.

How do you become a workaholic? Easy, just open your mouth and speak. The minute words leave your mouth you have, amazingly, brought work upon yourself. I have 28 things on my To Do list. I have 2 items which will become Holiday Homework.

I've recently discovered the joys of the Music Committee and realize that, hey... this isn't so bad. Music here is a dead subject, coming alive only during Music Week. Maybe we can have vocal training classes for P2s. Open Mouth; Speak. Gosh! Another item on my To Do list - how exciting! Well, it can't be that bad, I can get a quotation. Next week? Deadline next week as in Friday? No? WHEN?!

It is through such methods that poop is placed on my head,

Everyone knows work is shit. However, today that theory has become academic. Observe these series of events to see how this well known theory along with some behaviour modifying drugs, can alter the events of a humble school teacher:

8.15 - Wake up earlier than usual, feel tired.
8.45 - Leave for work to... work. Feel tired on the way. Drink coffee (aforementioned behaviour modifying drug).
9.30 - Arrive at work. Work. Meeting at 10.30.
10.30 - Attend meeting. Talk about work. Feel sleepy from tiredness, rain and possibly-subzero air-conditioning. Drink coffee.
12.15 - Feel twinges in belly. Go poop.
12.20 - Proceed to do Hall Duty. Need to poop. Stand on stage and nag at 500 children. Nagging alleviates need to poop.
1.00 - Duty done. Go poop.
1.20 - Pooping done. Make strong tea. Contemplate going home early but find that staying in school with incessant pooping is less troublesome than going through red tape to go home.
1.30 - Go poop.
2.15 - Pooped out. Fire in anus. Not having diarrhea fun. Red tape to go home early.
2.55 - Leave school.
3.20 - Go to doctor's. Get Meds. Need to poop seemingly reduced once out of school boundaries.

Diarrhea caused by too much coffee, imbibed due to the need to do work. Ergo: work -> shit. Mathematically, the increase of work in relation to the amount of fecal matter produced by an individual can be represented by the equation of w=5h!7

(P.S. only true nerds would get that equation. If you don't, you're probably more socially acceptable than I am. However, let me help you.)