Finding The Cure

Yes, my traineeship has officially started, and I have roamed the grounds with a stethoscope for 3 days now. Fortunately the seniors were helpful and understanding, as they guide and orientate me back to clinical work. 2 years really do make a significant difference, so I urge those who are still in NS to keep up with their medical skills and knowledge.

I made a couple of mistakes on my first day of work, and that totally ruined my mood as I headed home (which also explains my Facebook status). Nonetheless I have picked myself up, and I am moving along, trying to learn as much as I can from the seniors. A special moment came on day 2 of work, when I helped to stitch up the lacerated lip of an elderly lady. She didn't speak much during the consult. Despite the multiple wounds she sustained during the fall, she was quietly resilient. All she did was flinch a little as I inspected the wounds. In the OT, I did what I was trained to do, and completed the T&S. She was very cooperative, and hardly moved as I put in the 10 stitches. After I removed the sterile drapes around her, and told her the stitching was done in Hokkien, she broke her silence, and said a simple “Thank you”, in Cantonese. I didn't know how to reply in her dialect, and I all could do was pat her hands, and said “It's ok” in Hokkien. She probably didn't see my smile, concealed by the surgical mask, but at the point in time, I was reminded of something I told the panel during my admissions interview: "Being a doctor, is about helping people."

I am not about to sermonise about ethics and the idealism of being a healthcare professional here. All I want to say is, many times, we lose track of what our profession is ultimately about. It is a tough job, and contrary to popular belief, doesn't pay as well as you may think. Most, if not all, of us can share stories of horrible calls where cases never stop coming in, cannulas never stop dropping out, and nurses don't seem to be as helpful as they should be. Understandably we begin griping about the system, and some of us eventually question why we signed up for this in the first place, then move on to supposed "greener" pastures. I have done my fair share of griping and complaints. I have had my fair share of doubts as I wonder if this was the wrong job for me. Yet, once in a while, moments like a simple word of thanks wake you up amidst the distraction of self-doubt. It reminds you that, you are there simply to help; either to cure, or just to alleviate pain. No, I am not expecting “Thank you” cards from every patient I see. Whether the patient lets you know or not, as long as you know you have helped him in one way or another, because of what you are trained for, you will be happy.

I realise what I have written may seem highfalutin, but this is as best as I can express what I felt that day, which I thought would be useful to share with my friends. I am not a noble man. I know that when the crunch comes, I will still complain about unreasonable people (either patients or colleagues), then wonder, amongst other things, why can't I just be a simple Starbucks barista and have time for my dragon boat. Nonetheless, I hope I will be able to revisit this post whenever I feel bogged down by work, and make myself happier after that.

And I hope it'll work for you too. Either that, find your own happy moment, and record it down.

All the best, everyone.

And The Plot Thickens...

Ris Low continues to hog the headlines, and as I read more about her, I become increasingly disappointed, and somewhat betrayed, to learn that my empathy has been misplaced all along. Perhaps she wanted the crown - and the recognition - so badly that she remains deluded and incapable of grasping the gravity of the situation. Not only is she guilty of credit card fraud (and imperfect English), she now faces charges from the Miss World Singapore organisers because she has conveniently omitted the fact that she was previously convicted, and this would have disqualified her right from the word Go!, though in a strange twist of fate, she actually went on to clinch the title, complete with the ignominy of leopard preens and matching jeens.

Considering all the above, I now join the growing group of dissidents who feel she should give up her crown. It is quite unfortunate that she has to bear such public scrutiny at this young age, but then again, to take part in such pageants only mean that she craves such attention, though things did not quite turn out the way she probably would have envisaged. Let's just hope she picks up the pieces from here and go on to lead a meaningful, and honest, life.

The other story that dominated headlines, besides Hamilton's flawless victory on the Singapore F1 tracks, was how Taufik messed up our national anthem. I didn't exactly catch this part of the broadcast, so I am not certain how obvious the error was. Honestly though, how many of us non-Malay speaking people truly understood what our anthem meant? I believe Taufik made an honest mistake, and he has apologised sincerely for it; something which Ris Low should learn, instead of questioning why news of her fraud came out in the first place.

Exciting weekend otherwise, watching F1 and Beyonce in the comfort of my home. Though, for the same reasons, I have not learnt anything more for my exams except that Wellen syndrome is highly specific for critical stenosis of the proximal LAD. Huh?

Yes. I am actually stressed over my exams now...

Fallen From Grace

And here we go again. Miss Ris Low, who was in the center of controversy for her less-than-perfect enunciation, returns to the limelight (in yet another ignominous manner) when reports revealed that she was convicted of credit card fraud in May 09 and was sentenced to 24 months of supervised probation. In the middle of all this, she was crowned Miss World Singapore, and is scheduled to visit South Africa for the international pageant. You would have wondered why she was allowed to participate (let alone win) the competition in the first place, and as it turns out, the organisers knew nothing of it until she was due to sign the contract.

Whilst it is heartening to hear that she is repentant and would "definitely would not want to make the same mistake" if she could "turn back time", the dilemma now, is whether she should give up her crown (either voluntarily or by order of the organisers).

Winners of beauty pageants are embodiments of virtues; they are figures whom girls will admire and look up to. Arguably, we do not expect perfect "Stepford ladies" to take the victory walk all the time. A little trip down the runway, a tear-jerking story of how imperfect her life was and how she overcame adversities, make for a human being that we all can relate to on a personal level, and it is exactly these shortcomings that will make a beauty queen (or any public figure) endearing.

For Miss Low, the story is not so straightforward. She first came under public scrutiny (and was accused of setting a bad example on spoken English) for her fashion statements on "leopard prings with khaki gins". Then she demonstrated criminal tendencies with her fraud charges. I applaud her for remaining steadfast amidst all these setbacks and embarassment. She had made mistakes in the past, she was suitably punished, and now she is simply pursuing a dream. Yet, she must not forget that she is now a Miss World Singapore. I do not think organisers of the international pageant will take it kindly to know that one of the participants is a convict, because it is, after all, a pageant, a celebration of the strength and beauty of the female spirit.

I am not saying that offenders will never have a chance to raise their heads again. However, for Miss Low, she has a tough case at hand, because of the title she now holds. It is entirely understandable why netizens are hurling abuses at her, because she is now a public figure who is about to represent the nation, so she has social responsibilities to fulfil. She needs to protray herself as someone who has fallen because of an wilful act, but is now picking herself up to walk towards her goals, head held high.

As you would have now surmised, I adopt a rather soft stance towards Miss Low. I give her the benefit of the doubt; that she is probably a nice girl by nature. And she has to work a lot harder to meet the responsibilities that she now shoulders: she will be an ambassador for Singapore, so she must speak better English (no more "boomz" or "studying steel", and if I want to split hairs, you don't quite "major" in a diploma), and she has to show that she has indeed mended her ways since her criminal past. Let's not condemn her just because she made a mistake. Instead, let's now put her to the task, and challenge her to rise above our expectations.

I await with bated breath, what her next move in the public eye will be.

*Afternote (added 26 Sep 09): Of course, rules are rules. The fact that Miss Low lied to the organisers that she has never been convicted before, is a punishable act. If she gets stripped of her title, it will only be fair. If the organisers are lenient, and let her keep the title, it would be unfair to the runner-up. I last heard that they are "going legal", so I guess Miss Low will be embroiled in more lawsuits soon.

Food, Sports and Booze...

In case you guys were wondering, this blog is not dead. The long weekend was an exhilarating but tiring one. Went clubbing on Sunday, took the whole of Monday to get over my, erm, hangover, and went out to gym today. Simple things for a simple man. Ok perhaps clubbing isn't so simple, considering I remembered imbibing red wine and champagne like what you do to Gatarode after a race, and then getting really tipsy, followed by a random round of people hugging. But I must say the music, the crowd, and my friends were absolutely fantastic, making it a thoroughly enjoyable experience, albeit in an inebriated way. Nope. The insectosaurus is hardly a party animal, but when the atmosphere is right, you gotta let your hair down.

There were quite a few pieces of sensational news over the weekend which I had wanted to write about, but in between being sword bearer for my friend, dragon boat training and clubbing, I lost the time and energy for it.

First, there was Malaysia's desperate attempts to stake claim at chicken rice and chilli crab - amongst other things - which spurned a whole series of articles about how the nationalities of food can never be accurately determined. This reminded me of a scene from the play MenApause, which claims, on the contrary, that all foods come from India, like how a pizza is actually a hard-crusted masala thosai. Malaysia is so rich in her heritage, cultural diversity and natural landscapes (even Survivor did their pilot series there), she has much to sell rather to harp that "the nasi lemak belongs to me" in their publicity pamphlets.

Next we have the confirmation that Renault has indeed crashed into the wall deliberately to give Alonso an unfair advantage (and eventually the win) for the 2008 F1 leg in Singapore. It goes to show how far people will go, even at the risk of their lives, to get an edge. John Keating from Dead Poets Society said, "Sports is a chance for others to push us to excel." We have seen how Usain Bolt burnt the tracks with his record breaking sprint, and the list of accomplished sportsmen and sportswomen goes on, with familar names like Michael Phelps, Carl Lewis, Lance Armstrong, Roger Federer, and perhaps less familiar ones like Sergey Bubka (as our Coach always love to quote). These figures have inspired generations of athletes to challenge their limits on the playing field, and showed the world, in the words of Michael Jordan, that "limits, like fears, are just illusions".

Yet at the same time we have doping incidents, dramatic "divers" on the pitch, and the lesser known Bloodgate, where rugby player Tom Williams used a red dye capsule to feign a blood injury (not unlike Lady Gaga during her Paparazzi number in VMA 09) and in turn allow the team to receive an unjust player substitution. Bloodgate is further complicated by the fact that Tom Williams was actually pressurised by the team's top brass to use the capsule, and he was asked to undergo a real cut on the lip by a scapel-wielding doctor to make the whole incident authentic.

All involved have been persecuted, including the doctor who agreed to corroborate with the team. Yet, what cannot be undone, is how all these incidents have tainted the reputation of sports, which originally was an event designed to celebrate the feats of the strongest and the fastest. The Olympic Games used to be attended by athletes in the buff, who challenged one another with nothing but their raw strength, grit and determination. Nowadays, performance enhancing suits in the pool separate record holders from mere participants, and as records continue to crash, you wonder if it is meaningful anymore because the athlete with the right sponsors, and not the athlete who trained the hardest, will go home with the gold, the fame, and the glory, at the end of the day. I am not against technology, but the playing field should be level, especially for major international races. FINA has made the first move by making new swimsuit specifications, and I await the new season to see what all effects this will have.

We all still need our heroes; our Muhammad Ali, our David Beckham, or Tao Li, to inspire ourselves onwards. We don't need orchestrated crashes, various forms of steroids, or even blood capsules, in our games. We want real sweat, and real blood, to make us believe that achieving the unimaginable, like Team Hoyt, is possible.

Feel like clubbing again... dang... alcohol is addictive.

*In case you are wondering, I am not against technology, nor am I hoping that Maria Sharapova will start playing tennis in the buff (ok maybe a little for this one). But, it depends on the sport. If it's F1, I am all for higher budgets and faster cars, because the race is about the engines, the carbon fibre, and the driver that learns to wield the vrooming monster. But if it's swimming and you get faster simply by putting on a polyurethane suit, it defeats the entire purpose of racing in the pool.

Operationally Ready

For the first time in 2 years, I am now carrying a pink card in my wallet. Yes, I am now an NSman, and I have had a fruitful time in my unit, picking up skills as a staff officer which I would otherwise not be able to acquire while working in hospitals. Of course it wasn't smooth sailing (no puns intended, for those who are familiar with codewords); there were challenges along the way, and times when I had to learn things the hard way. Nonetheless, I am sure I emerged, though bruised, a wiser man, and I thank everyone who have contributed to the meaningful experiences I had.

I was clearing up my table 2 days ago when I unearthed the 六五英雄传, a nondescript little blue book that chronicled our days as cadets in training. It then dawned upon me that we have come a long way since then. So many of my friends have exchanged marriage vows with their loved ones, and some others are already fathers. Many more have passed exams and are poised for the next phase of their career.

I guess I have been somewhat apathetic about things during NSF, for I have yet to take Part 1 of MCEM, and I have not even started on my driving practicals. Yes, I know very well that sloth is one of the 7 deadly sins, and the evil grips of procrastination have rooted me to the ground. Yet, during these 2 years, I have embarked on exciting adventures. I started on dragonboat, I did a Grand Slam, and now I'm in the YEC. I am prepared to take my craft to a higher level, though I understand fully that my career should probably take centerstage. This is why I'm religiously studying my Kalra now, and as I would like to tell my friends, I wish I could just burn the whole book and drink the ashes in Milo to acquire all the knowledge in between the covers.

As Celine Dion crooned (you will soon begin to realise I like making references to random songs), a new day has come. Here's wishing all the best to my fellow platoon mates who have (or are going to) ORD. Enjoy your block leave, and see you guys in hospitals!

Girl, Interrupted

For those who are still unaware, Kanye West has been universally condemned for his uncouth behaviour during the 2009 MTV Video Music Awards, when he stormed the stage and interrupted Taylor Swift's acceptance speech to proclaim that Beyonce should have clinched the Best Female Award instead. This left Swift visibly shaken, though it was heartwarming to see Beyonce inviting her back on stage later in the show to complete her speech.

It is somewhat befitting to note that Kanye was snubbed in all his nominated categories, and celebrities were quick to show their disdain towards the hip-hop artiste, often in the form of unceremonious, expletive-enriched Twitter updates. President Obama joined the crowd and called him a "jackass" as he was speaking to a CNBC reporter. It has been postulated that Kanye was tipsy (and emboldened) following an overdose of cognac, yet from his track record of wild behaviour, you will find it difficult to exonerate him on the simple basis of inebriation.

I doubt he had recovered from his stupor when he penned the following apology on his blog for Swift, which had to take hours to manifest: "I'm soooooo sorry to Taylor Swift. I like the lyrics about being a cheerleader and she's in the bleachers! I'm in the wrong for going on stage and taking away from her moment! Beyoncé's video was the best of this decade!"

He remained similarly confused when he replaced the earlier apology with "I feel like Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents when he messed up everything and Robert De Niro asked him to leave. That was Taylor's moment and I had no right in any way to take it from her. I am truly sorry."

Contrary to what Elton John may have believed, I don't think "sorry" is the hardest word for Kanye, because he is able to exercise the apology with absolute nonchalance, perhaps even with a dash of artful sarcasm. You can't doubt the talent that he is, as a recording artiste. But if he remains recalcitrant and continues to draw flak with these controversies, his demise will be nigh. This is also high time for 19-year-old Taylor Swift to understand that show business is tough business, although following this incident she could have attracted a new legion of supporters who pitied her for the embarrassment she had to endure, standing dumbfounded for 10 seconds in an elegant, sequined dress while on live, national TV.

In other news, I am thoroughly bitter to learn that tickets for F1 Rocks on 26 Sep 09 have sold out. Grr...

Mind Your Language

Recently, the infamous interview of Ris Low, Miss Singapore World 2009, has been making the rounds on Facebook and other social networks. And when Mr. Brown spoofs the whole thing, you know it's big news. In between laughing at "zipbras", the diploma in "horse-pee-telly-tee" and "boomz", I sometimes feel we probably should not be too harsh on the girl because, honestly, I think many of us Chinese-educated folks went through the "leopard prings" phase as well.

I came from an all-boys school, taking Higher Chinese for first language. My parents know as much English as an architect would know about the life cycle of the red-eyed tree frog, so Mandarin is naturally my mother tongue and only tongue. I spoke a smattering of English, and I struggled to keep up with my classmates during PSLE.

My vocabulary was limited, due in part I rarely read in English, and my only source of vocabulary was from popular media. I watched Candid Camera a lot and I laughed so much, when the question paper asked what candid meant, I shaded option D for "funny". (I am not kidding, this was a real question, and in retrospect, I felt the setter was rather devious to put "funny" as an option.) In Primary 1, when the school bully spat in my face, I went to the teacher and wailed, "Mrs. Goh! He spit... er... mouth water on my face!"

Yup. They didn't teach the word "saliva" on Sesame Street, nor on Candid Camera.

In Sec 2, I met a friend in the Students' Council. He was the direct opposite of me; a typical "banana man" who looked Chinese but spoke Ang Moh. During our retreat to Malaysia, he sat next to me on the coach, and got me conversing in English. I started grabbing for words so that I can at least answer in a complete sentence. Fortunately he was a friendly chap, and at least didn't look disturbed at my dismal command in English. And this was how I seriously started to build up my foundation in English.

I went through secondary school memorising arcane English words to help expand my vocabulary. I would write archaic things like "the wisps of filamentary clouds floated across the welkin, and the balmy zephyr caressed the blades of grass on the verdant meadow". Rest assured I never touched these words again, not even when preparing for my SAT.

My days in JC changed everything. Forced by circumstance I started to converse more in English, and GP was so demanding I had to imbibe Newsweek and BBC religiously. Studying the SAT word list also helped, though words like "piebald" are not really that useful to pick up.

As such, I fully understand the plight of Miss Low. Who knows, if you get her started in Mandarin, she will inundate you with the profound teachings of Confucius, and urge you to discuss the merits of Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

Let's laugh with her. Not at her. =)

*Afternote: learning English by memorising individual words is a risky affair. Like any language, there are nuances that you will fail to appreciate if you do not understand the exact meaning of the word. So, do use the thesaurus with caution. I am saying this because, I once used "eulogise" on a living person, when all I really wanted to do was praise him for his good work. You've been warned.

Evil Little Things

I get asked a lot of times why I don't eat raisins. Heck, I don't even wish to smell or touch raisins. As I have alluded to in my profile, I cannot get near these wrinkly dried things because they are fatal to my very being. They induce nausea and possibly vomiting if any one of them actually entered my system. It is not a physiological allergy, but it is definitely a mental aversion. Raisins, besides being wrinkly and dried, are also sticky and squishy. How can anything that look so putrid be suitable for human consumption?

I know I sound like a loser getting all squeamish over a dried fruit, but I really do not know where this fear of mine originated from. I remember however that this definitely started since I was young, because there were times I had to skip breakfast (and get my mom all piqued) because she bought raisin bread in the morning. Perhaps during my formative years bullies used to throw raisins at me. Hmm... don't think this story exonerates me from the "loser" label... Oh well, perhaps my brain is just hard-wired the way it is.

Since then I have learnt to avoid raisins from all nooks and crannies, including all varieties of apple crumbles and unlabelled muffins. Prunes are a giant version of raisins (pomologists may foul me on technicalities but hey, prunes are HUGE and wrinkly, aren't they?). Fortunately these are easier to spot because of their size, so I have never quite gagged on one of these before. I almost died last year when the team served up an imaginative (boy, ain't I good with euphemisms) raisins + onions sandwich during Regatta. I will always remember their gleeful anticipation of the impending torment as I bite into the bread. Sun-Maid will probably describe the bite to "release the natural goodness of raisins in bountiful bursts", but I will just call the whole experience a ghastly one.

I teared, not because I'm a wuss. But because of the onions.

By extension, I avoid cranberries, blueberries, sour plums and all other sorts of similar foods that may be wrinkly or dried. And I remain a happy man, so I don't see what's wrong with that.

Interestingly, raisins.com bring you to a site selling bikinis. I wonder why... ;P

The Week Ahead

Was a little annoyed with training yesterday, but I guess all teams have their ups and downs. I am confident our team will be able to pick up the pieces and move ahead in the right direction, so here's looking forward to that come weekend.

There are other things to look foward to this week: it's less than 5 days to my ORD, I am clearing leave before that, and I will be a sword bearer for my friend's wedding at Rasa Sentosa.

The problem with taking leave is, sometimes you have no idea what you want to do. Everyone else is hard at work or studying, and you are the only one with the luxury of lounging in front of TV, watching re-runs of Mythbusters or America's Next Top Model. Once in a while you feel compelled to start studying, but after realising you cannot even remember what an Austin Flint murmur is, you give up and head to the gym (alone!) instead of imbibing more of Kalra.

I gotta start clearing my table (stacked chokeful with copies of Men's Health, Pioneer, Pointer, unwrapped SMJ and wedding invitation letters), otherwise studying on bed will continue to be a distracting, unproductive affair. And I gotta start catching up on news, because Goggle Reader is so efficient, you stockpile enough unread news to jam a server if you forget to log in for just a weekend.

As the Black Eyed Peas loudly proclaimed, let's get it started...

Lycanthropy Gone Wrong

I wanted to keep to a maximum of 1 post per day for this new blog, lest I get carried away and allow the loquacious side of me to rear its ugly head. However, this issue needs to be addressed urgently.

When I first heard Shakira's She Wolf on the radio, I was mesmerised. A catchy tune, interesting lyrics, complete with a sensual howl in the chorus (repeated at least 3 times in the song) elicit responses oysters and Tongkat Ali are probably capable of. Okay I may have exaggerated a bit but the bottomline is, it was a refreshing change since her last sensation about hips that always speak the truth.


Then, just now on MTV Asia, I saw the words She Wolf emblazoned across my newly acquired flat screen TV, and boy was I aroused, erm, I mean, excited. Finally, I get to see the music video! Unfortunately, what went on for the next 3 minutes was a painful experience. There she was, dressed in spandex, dancing with an impressive flexibility but in a way that was distasteful and resembled a worm, a spider, a fish, but not a wolf. Why Shakira, why?! Why do you have to spoil a song like this?! Why can't you hire Jonas Akerlund and do something Oscar-worthy like Lady Gaga's Paparazzi? Come on, she was dancing in crutches and it still looked decent! You were just in spandex, a short short translucent black skirt, and gyrating all the wrong parts of your body!

End of announcement.

*rest assured it is uncharacteristic of me to go into a tirade like this, but some artistes simply push the "sex sells" envelope a little too far... tsk tsk.

Cocaine Gives You Wings!

Clement's obsession with the horny goat weed reminded me of our team's experience with drugs. I was in Austria last year for work and chanced upon the Red Bull Cola. Our team is seriously addicted to Red Bull, so I thought this would be an interesting item to bring back to Singapore, just in time for the 5-crew race by the way.

It received mixed reviews from the guzzlers, with some saying it tasted like medicated oil, whilst others just can't get enough of it. It came as a surprise when it was later reported that each can of Red Bull Cola contains trace amounts (0.13 mcg) of cocaine, due in part to the use of coca leaves, which will probably explain why all 12 cans disappeared after a couple of hours, and Roger was left asking if we can get more of this stuff locally.

Energy drinks have never managed to please everyone, and I personally had a near-death experience with Red Bull. This bovine-inspired drink was meant to give me wings but I ended up clawing my way to the finish line, because I had to endure bad palpitations along the way. Fortunately I lived to tell the tale, but caffeine pretty much never entered my life again, except maybe in the form of a grande mocha frappucino.

This explains why I stick to Milo for energy, raw egg optional. After all, "it's marvellous what Milo can do for you".

Just Do It?

Registration for the Nike Human Race has finally opened, though I'm not certain if I'll be participating this year. The experience last year was horrible, starting with a vexing wait for race packs, though fortunately we met Geraldine in the queue (poor girl she was in line for more than 2 hours and nursing a running nose at the same time) and we handed her 8 IDs at one go, much to the ire of those behind her who had no qualms making their feelings known with folded arms, uprolled eyes, and the reptilian "tsk", complete with a fearsome frown. Then came the actual race day where a preceding downpour made Clarke Quay so wet I was sliding my way along and making sure I negotiate turns like how a learner driver would on his 12th driving test attempt. It did not help that I downed 1x McChicken, 1x Fillet Burger and 1x Small Iced Milo before flag-off, thinking I need to carbo-load after dragonboat training in the morning. Fortunately I did not regurgitate any of those, and as expected, completed the race in an abysmal timing.

The only draw for the race was a Nike bottle that came with the race pack, though I wonder if Nike would repeat this feat, considering that the registration fees are now lower compared to last year. I certainly hope Nike would re-plan the race route, otherwise running past beer-guzzlers and Hooters can be rather distracting.

Of course if I miss this, I will have no more running events for the rest of the year, following my AHM attempt last month. I did not sign up for Stan Chart because I procrastinated for too long and 50,000 runners clicked the "Submit" button faster than me; though my official reason is I am not a New Balance fan. I may have to eat my words if the race and finisher tees turn out to be must-have collectors' items.

In related running news, my Asics GT2120, which have served me well for the past year, needs a makeover, or should I say, a complete replacement. I am quite certain I will stick to Asics because it has seen me through many exciting events (except, obviously, the swim leg for Singapore Biathlon) and has never given up on me. Not exactly a shoe geek but I am eyeing the GEL-NIMBUS 11 with IGS Adaptive Technology simply because it sounds cool, and although I have no idea what it means I am sure it will work magic like how the NIMBUS 3000 did for Harry Potter.

Time to rob the bank...

Flashback

For those who are unaware, I used to keep a blog at surge-on.blogspot.com, speaking in the form of herbivorous zebra from Uzbekistan. This schizotypal tendency unsettled me a little, which is why I transmuted to something that at least looks a bit more like me, and is decidedly omnivorous.

I look forward to more exciting posts ahead, and I thank all for getting bitten by this monster.