In less than a week's time, the Transformers return to glory (hopefully).
When news first broke of a live-action CGI Transformers, in typical fanboy form, I instantly became critical. "Man, they'd better not **** it up or it's gonna suck balls!" When I heard about how Optimus had flames painted on his body and Bumblebee wasn't a VW Beetle, I lost all faith I had in the movie. I knew I would see it, but I imagined myself pouting like a little 10 year old kid forced to attend a party he never wanted to go to.
This is NOT Bumblebee.
THIS is Bumblebee!!!
A few months ago, I heard that the trailer had come out. I thought "Whatever." But my friends, who also have fanboy-ism in them, told me that it actually looked pretty good. "If they like it, it must be good!" But I still never got around to bothering with it until I saw the trailer in theatres.
My jaw dropped at the action on the screen. OK, so Optimus had flames on his body and it made him look somewhat flaming, but I was still in awe. The transforming bits were done really well, even though they're lacking the trademark sound from the cartoon.
"Autobots....transform and roll out!"
My friend and I can't get over the bit where Josh Durmal yells "No no no NOOOO!!!" as a jet swoops down on them, only to transform into Starscream, kicking up gravel as he slides across the road. The first time I saw that I went "HOOOOOLLLYYY SHIT!!!" Or when a Decepticon (don't know which) charges into Optimus on a highway.
And now, as a preview for the upcoming movie, let us relive one of the most glorious moments in Transformers history - when Optimus Prime was revived (NSFW - trust me).
It may still suck, it may not. But I now am feverishly awaiting July 3 with the joy of a 10 year old kid counting down till Christmas.
Classic socializing beverages may soon be rendered obsolete by technology.
I have been a Facebook user even before it became a craze in Toronto, something I am quietly proud of. You know how people like to say that they were on board the hype train before it picked up steam? It's like when people say that they were listening to N'Sync back when they were underground. Yeah.
Anyway, a friend of mine from grad school (Hi Viara!) had invited me to join an online social network called Facebook. Without fully understanding what I was getting into, I registered. I added a couple of notes to my profile, wrote a few witty comments about how my feet smelled pretty bad on a distinctly hot summer day, then logged off (for reference, this was around August 2005).
My profile then sat dormant for over a year.
Socializing in the pre-Facebook era.
At teacher's college, a lot of my fellow teacher candidates began talking about their Facebook profile. "What the hell? People actually use that thing?" I curiously asked myself. The fascination of it all simply hadn't dawned on me. "You share pictures with friends, write messages to them - sounds a hell of a lot like e-mail to me." I decided to look up some old friends from high school and grade school to see who else had it.
And that's where I got hooked. Finding and reconnecting with old friends, if only for a message or two, was exhilarating. Memories of friendships past triggered memories of other friendships past, and the cycle continued.
Prior to Facebook, what took me an entire afternoon or evening to meet up for coffee/drink with an old friend (and bitching to myself for being so stupid as to actually agree to said meeting) now only took minutes. What's more, I could do it from the comfort of my own home, or even during school/work. Amazing!
Could the day ever arise where socializing beverages are no longer needed? Have we reached the point where technology threatens the marketability of drinks? Imagine that!
As I continuously reconnect with old friends and add new ones, I'm beginning to develop an inclination to log on Facebook everytime I hop online. It's bordering on addiction, much like my hook for coffee.
I need to crack the habit.
This woman is actually attending her high school reunion through Facebook. Notice the lack of a beverage.
UPDATE: This post was actually written in January 2007. Anybody who has me on Facebook has surely noticed that my activity has since dropped considerably. The crack-high only lasted so long. Now if you'll excuse me, my coffee is getting cold.
After numerous threats from the loyal fanbase that I apparently have, I have returned. What have I been up to in the past three months or so? A helluva lot. So much in fact, that I'm not even going to bother going through the motions of talking about it all.
Instead, I thought it would be nice to talk about nothing in particular. The task of recounting the major events of the past three months is much too daunting. Allowing myself to post with no direction whatsoever has encouraged me to write. So here I am.
For no reason, I've decided to post something I read out of Scientific America this past weekend.
A man was in Africa on leisure. In addition to the hat on his head, he had five hats with him. On a particularly hot day, he found shade under a tree and fell asleep. Upon awakening, he saw that, much to his dismay, five monkeys had taken five of his hats and perched themselves up on a tree, staring at him.
The man didn't know what to do. In frustration, he threw his hat to the ground. Unable to control their "monkey-see, monkey-do" compulsion, the monkeys threw down their hats. The man happily collected them and went on his way.
Decades later, the man's grandson happened to visit the same area. Again, he had five hats (in addition to the one on his head). He went to sleep under the same tree, and upon awakening, found himself in the same dilemma as his grandfather did.
Following the tale his grandfather had told him, he threw his hat down to the ground. Unfortunately, the monkeys didn't follow suit. Curiously, one monkey came down. He walked up to the man, slapped him upside the head and asked "You think you're the only one with a grandfather?"
I am currently in the midst of my second teaching practicum. This time around, I was placed at Markville Secondary School teaching math. I have two grade 11 classes, both of which are full of very focused students who have full intentions of going to university to become doctors, dentists, etc.
As soon as I arrived, I began teaching the quadratics unit (i.e. parabolas). Within a week and a half, I was given the responsibility of writing the unit test for all of the grade 11 classes. Forget about a student writing it, drafting the damn thing from scratch was a long, arduous process.
So, after about ten full hours, many revisions, and several arguments with other teachers in the math department ("This solution is just as good as the other!" "No! It doesn't demonstrate full understanding! And it doesn't factor in...."), I have two final versions of my first full unit test!
"No, you may not write it after March Break."
I thought tonight would be stress-free, not needing to prepare for anything other than my grade 9's. But oddly enough, I find myself a bit anxious.
I'm constantly wondering, "Is it too hard?" "Will they do well?" Not only am I worried for my students sake; they don't all get it, but bless their souls, they give it their all. But a poor test mark from my students, in my opinion, reflects poorly on me; both as a teacher of the principles and as the evaluator. Either I didn't teach it well, my method of evaluation was poor, or a combination of the two.
So, to my kids....and I know some of you may be reading this since some of you clever bunch found me on Facebook; log the hell off of your computer and study!!! For both of our sakes.
Friday afternoon, walking underground to reach the subway, I was jamming away to some tunes. Then I heard a voice, and don't ask me how, but I knew it was directed at me.
Removing my headphones, I looked to my left, and saw a man. Sensing my confusion, he repeated himself
"(in tagalog) How you doin'?"
"(tagalog) Fine thanks. Yourself?"
"(Also fine, thanks.)"
I was impressed. His accent was spot on, and he sounded very confident in what he was saying. I thought he may be fluent.
"Your tagalog is excellent! Are you fluent?"
"No, not really."
"Well, either way I'm impressed."
"Actually, I do become fluent when I'm attracted to someone and I want to impress them."
A face that sets off gaydars the world over.
"Whoa...this is new." I thought to myself. Never had a dude hit on me before. As we reached the bottom step, he went to his right, I went the other way, and my oncoming train roared into the station, drowning out the awkwardness.
"Anyway, have a great weekend!"
"Yeah, you too."
You can see it in his face, the realization that I was not "his type". It sorta said "OK, I get it, you're straight." Not that I was trying to bugger him off, I thought I ended the conversation nicely, and deserve a pat on the back for being nice whilst yet establishing non-gayness.
And I guess it's cool to be thought of as attractive enough to approach. Still, kinda wish it was good-looking girl. Oh well, I'll take the ego boost.
A nice story I thought I'd share. ------------------------------- Thief repents after 21 text messages
A Chinese thief has returned a mobile phone and thousands of yuan he stole from a woman after she sent him 21 touching text messages, Xinhua news agency said.
Pan Aiying, a teacher in the eastern province of Shandong, had her bag containing her mobile phone, bank cards and 4,900 yuan ($A800) snatched by a man riding a motorcycle as she cycled home on Friday, Xinhua said, citing the Qilu Evening News.
Pan first thought of calling the police but she decided to try to persuade the young man to return her bag.
She called her lost phone with her colleague's mobile phone but was disconnected. Then she began sending text messages.
"I'm Pan Aiying, a teacher from Wutou Middle School. You must be going through a difficult time. If so, I will not blame you," wrote Pan in her first text message which did not get a response.
"Keep the 4,900 yuan if you really need it, but please return the other things to me. You are still young. To err is human. Correcting your mistakes is more important than anything," Pan wrote.
She gave up hope of seeing her possessions again after sending 21 text messages without a reply.
But on her way out on Sunday morning, she stumbled over a package that had been left in her courtyard only to discover it was her stolen bag. Nothing had been taken.
"Dear Pan: I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Please forgive me," a letter inside said.
"You are so tolerant even though I stole from you. I'll correct my ways and be an upright person."
