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The worst pothole any writer experiences, in this road of wannabe and pretentious journalism called blogging, is writer’s block. It is a bitch to be stuck I’m telling you. That is exactly what I have been going through the past couple of months. Production is bad, my brain and concentration are not being cohesive to each other and the words just do not slide that much from my tongue and straight onto my keyboard as rapidly as before. It is true though. This predicament of mine I have slowly realized is indeed a reality I have to face. Age has taken over and my brain is not as fresh a pulp as before. Sigh, if only there were anti-ageing creams for the mental and cognitive faculties LOLLLL

But hopefully as I struggle through this I will finish one before this rather nice coldish afternoon in Shanghai makes way to the unpredictable clime in the evening.

I want to talk about blowjobs again! Hahaha. I wrote before that the greatest gift a man could give his woman/ wannabe woman is long, lustful and slobbery oral sex that will make her forget nomenclature of any sort including her own! Now that has to be one of life’s greatest moments…
But I am going to write about the process of giving head in a more personal light. I do not want to sound too technical or too “back-page-of-an-anal-virgin’s” diary LOL. I think I want to make it more special for someone who I think has evolved at giving oral pleasure to me. He was a virgin of all sorts when it came to experiencing special girls like me. This is a very abused word in my world though. I’m a first-timer, I’m a virgin, I have yet to be baptized, bull-crap all of it! LOL I think you have wanked to too much porn with special girls like me in them and you can probably blow a 60 year-old c+ck to life the way you have practiced on that silly cucumber or whatever vegetable you use! Haha.
Back to me and my man, I do wanna give my boy credit because it was really awkward for him at first. He needed some practice and he lovingly submitted to my loving i
nstructions. He is a great lover – submissive when he needs to be, pounding when I want it hard from him. Although looks-wise he can be mistaken for average, I think I have truly transcended judging people on looks alone. I think when I feel appreciated, loved and wanted as well as desired, I truly believe it is one of the greatest formula for attraction. But that’s after you know each other well already. He becomes more and more attr
active every time we see each other.
The last couple of months though he has succumbed to giving me head wonderfully. Has he given the carrots, aubergines and eggplants in his kitchen a good workout? LOL.
I would like to believe that but it is absurd to make love to something inanimate, I mean hello don’t bring me back to Ryan Gosling in “Lars and the Real Girl” (see IMDB.com) because it was quite disturbing for me let alone veggies as your bed partners! hahaha..
I would love to believe though that the affection level has gone up which is why he is so keen to make me experience intoxicating sensations by giving me beautiful head. I think this goes with every new sexual venture any set of lovers experience. Unless it’s a perversion to begin wit
h, the act of making an effort to become better at anything pleasurable or your partner must be similar to addin
g adhesive to the ropes that bind you together. The more superlative his performance becomes, the more glue he must be adding to the connection.
This is fatal and this is major. We have our own sets of baggages
and we do not want to burden each other with this unfathomable weight. So we will have to remain lovers in the dark, never seeing the light of day but always knowing that the knot that ties us together is real and present. We will enjoy our bodies, our hours, our mutual blow-jobs and everything included in the experience but it shall remain in the shelter of night for that is where lovers best experience everything
– under a cloak of anonymity and away from the prying, calculating eyes of the monsters of reality.
(Credits: thank you to fratboy82’s flickr stream for the pic: http://www.flickr.com/photos/52660657@N08/favorites/?view=md)

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Yekaterinburg revelations…


Mysteries have always been a fixture in my interest in anything from biology to history to current events. The more questions unanswered, the more boxes opened to reveal more boxes inside, the better. Perhaps this is my obsessive immersion in the strange , the unknown and the questionable, a product of a childhood trauma where my friends never showed me answers to their riddles which came from a silly newsletter published by a giant Chocolate drink brand for their young market. This explanation is becoming too lengthy and is making me digress from my main point. One true thing is I have been a sucker for mysteries for a long time now. And I have had many blog entries anyway to prove that too! There you are.  

As I turned on my television for a highly anticipated program, I brace myself for the final say on a near-century old mystery which has tickled my imagination to no end but has plagued the whole world which persistently demands for answers. The House of Romanov ruled Russia for hundreds of years and was the last Imperial dynasty of the country. Czar Nicholas II became the last Emperor of Russia when he and his family were executed by members of the Bolsheviks in 1918. They were thought to have all died within the confines of the cellar in the house were they were kept for more than a year under government arrest.

Mystery then surrounded the whole family and the circumstance of their deaths from then on. The original story was all of them, the family and the members of the Royal Staff, eleven in all, died in that instant. But because of so many details being spewed forth by the higher levels to both local and international entities and units curious about what befell the Romanov family that fateful night in July 1918, the whole story became obscure and muddled. The most popular story to have come out of this and the initial reason that drew me to the Romanov mystique though is the belief that their youngest daughter Anastasia somehow managed to cheat death coming at her in the form of bayonets and bullets. Another side to the story was that she had indeed been shot and wounded but she managed to cling onto dear life and pleaded with a kind soldier, while they were on their way to the burial site, to release her. Anyhow the premise is she managed to live to tell her tale.

That was the point where history mixed with myth and to tell you the truth I would have nothing against any of that because I love the elusive search of Anastasia and the mystical fate of the Romanov siblings! The power of the unknown is just so irresistible for me! But for some perverse reason I guess I am also thankful that National Geographic muscled such great effort to research, examine and exhaustively solve the Russian Royal family mystery finally provided the missing piece of the puzzle. The whole world has been remedied off one thorn and can heave a collective sigh of relief.

The final verdict is….Yes they all died during that night of the execution. Nobody survived and the claims to being the heiress or heir to the Romanov fortune are totally bogus. Nine bodies were found in 1991 in the Koptyaki forest and after a massive scientific and historical blow-by-blow study resulted in the verdict that yes, these were the bodies of the Romanovs with their staff buried with the purpose of concealment from the whole world. The absence of two bodies from the burial site found in 1991 because they would be found more than a decade later a few meters from where the original nine were found. The reason for this slight geographical gap was that way back in the morning after the killings, the executioners attempted to burn the two bodies first but they could not with the weather not cooperating plus the conditions of the soil not helping their cause. They were also fearful of the incoming daylight and the possibility of eyewitnesses to their inexplicable cover-up.

Cutting-edge DNA testing plus a lot of scientific applications as well as mind-boggling research through the historical archives of the Communist party chambers KILLED my Romanov mystery obsession! Their conclusion certainly nailed the coffin on the Russian family’s fate. My feeling is ambivalent though in the sense that as much as i want the fire of the enigmatic fate of Russia’s last Imperial Family to keep burning, the scientists and the historians who contributed to this historical unraveling of a ninety-year old Pandora’s box DO deserve all acknowledgment, papacy(!!!) and command the highest respect! They are champions of this world obsessed with science. The scientific realm is always seeking to dispel myths and mysteries and I am one who recognizes the premise, “Seeing is Believing” greatly.


….may be found in this chat transcript…..

———————-

Liisa Winklergirl says:
shall we tackle the gay issue concerning transsexual lovers today?

Antony says:
sure why not if ur bored
where do u stand on that issue?

Liisa Winklergirl says:
transsexual lovers are a species all their own
they are NOT gay
BUT THEY definitely are NOT STRAIGHT
look..there has to be SOMETHING DIFFERENT ABOUT YOU
if you want to caress, cavort with, lollipop, ride on or even just look at SHEMALE C**K
in the act of intercourse…..dont u agree with me ANTONY?

Antony says:
yea I agree its impossible to hang on to hetrosexuality when ur thinking of having a di*k in you or even if the partner of choice has one

Liisa Winklergirl says:
many men who love TSgirls are afraid of being called or thought of as homosexuals…
and i dont know what the stigma is all about there but I love gay MEN too!! Gay men are handsome, cultured and very well-mannered…
and i would f**k a gay man too as long as he doesn’t try to look as close to being a woman like me
LOL

Antony says:
however i agree that it cannot be gay, as by definition homosexual men are attracted to other men, and manly attributes

Liisa Winklergirl says:
which is why THEy are not gay too right?

Antony says:
yep
the only label which fits even a little is bi

Liisa Winklergirl says:
so men who love tsgirls are….remotely close to Bisexual?

Antony says:
yeah its the only publicy accepted label that can come close
as it really covers all bases

Liisa Winklergirl says:
let us not talk about dispelling the labels game…it will always be dragged into this conversation no matter what we say or not say…LET us PLAy the LABELS GAME

Antony says:
well even if we try to avoid it society and people in general love labels
everyone wants to be pigeonholed into a category
there is a fascination with it
i think for some ts lovers, it’s because they want to belong somewhere, they don’t wanna be outcast into a non existant box
thats why so many of them ask the whole “am I gay?” question as they want to be categorised
they want to know that they belong to some group
at least thats in my opinion

Liisa Winklergirl says:
so what you are saying is…many of guys who love TS do not want to be left out in the open or in a gray area or not type-casted (as it is the norm of the normal world)? which is why in an unconscious manner they are begging to be labelled too right?

Antony says:
yeah i think it’s part of basic human nature
it’s not a conscious thing, i think people just want to belong

Liisa Winklergirl says:
ahh belongingness needs….which is part of Maslow’s hierarchy anyway…i don’t see how it shouldn’t apply to sexual preferences and deviations or the lack of these…

Antony says:
this of course is just my opinion, i could be utterly wrong, but it just makes sense to me

Liisa Winklergirl says:
it makes a lot of sense to me….this is a very good perspective and a pretty respectable one anyway…

Antony says:
whenever anything is discovered one of the first things we do is try to categorise it, why would it be any different for sexual behaviours

Liisa Winklergirl says:
very intelligent statement too…now
the question….possibly bisexual cannot describe a man who has chosen to just scr*w TS girls exclusively right?
bisexual is someone who f**ks men and girls…

Antony says:
i don’t think it’s as simple as that
by definition bisexuals are attracted to either sex
therefore they would easily find a ts girl attractive, as there are characteristics of both sexes
even if the man himself has no attraction to any other male features, he has to concede that ts women have one pretty damning male feature that they obviously like
personally I find the idea of sleeping with a man abhorrent, it does nothing for me at all, as I’m attracted to a female body
but at the same time i cannot deny that i do find c**k to be something which does appeal

Liisa Winklergirl says:
i think what I can derive from your statement is…we, Tsgirls, might as well be the OBJECT of every bisexual’s dream….a man and a woman in one, don’t you think so? I mean this is just a conclusion to your rather insightful statements above

Antony says:
it would appear that way, but again this is just going from the society accepted definitions
there are some guys whom cannot fall under that label as although they are attracted to ts women, they do not find themselves attracted to genetic females
in some parts of the world they have it right, by accepting TS women as a third sex

Liisa Winklergirl says:
i wonder how we are going to label…bisexual men who adore men and women but have a great disdain for TS girls….normal bisexual men?

Antony says:
nothing is as simple as black and white, we’re all really varying shades of grey
some guys will adamantly claim that they’re 100% straight, but they just like a lil bit of c*ck
which is an oxymoron

Liisa Winklergirl says:
haha it is an oxymoron haha i have to second that hahahaha …even the men who don’t want to touch c**k but like seeing TS c**k when theyre screwing them *Hint Hint DOUCHEBAG*

Antony says:
in an ideal world, it would be considered straight to be attracted to ts women, but that all falls apart as soon as they bottom for a girl

Liisa Winklergirl says:
they still like a lil bit of c**k…the sight of it hahahaha

Antony says:
from my experience ts women themselves only want straight men, which is fine as they are basically women, and it makes sense they’d want to be with straight men

Liisa Winklergirl says:
yes the ideal world however crumbles too when you begin to define it with the appendage or the lack of it between your legs hahaha
when you define sexuality that is

Antony says:
but by their very nature of who they are makes that almost impossible as any man that accepts them for who they are, becomes a fag in their world and therefore not suitable
it’s a fine line

Liisa Winklergirl says:
somewhere in my career as a Psychology student we were introduced to scales of homosexuality etc
whatever…i have long since forgotten what that was….but i think the scale had one criteria which is incidence of homosexual acts among others..
forgotten it
so how GAY you are is defined by the incidences hahahaha
how screwed up is that?
and by saying that…how screwed up is the Psychological Society
but then again it has always been a gray area science…

Antony says:
i think we’re all bisexual by default, but at the end of the day it shouldn’t matter as long as your happy

————

what do you think folks?

————————–

nomenclature:

transsexual, ts, tsgirl – a person who strongly identifies with the opposite sex (in this case a man who identifies himself as WOMAN) and may seek to live as a member of this sex especially by undergoing surgery and hormone therapy to obtain the necessary physical appearance.

bisexual – a person possessing the tendency to direct sexual desire toward both sexes

homosexual – a person possessing the tendency to direct sexual desire toward another of the same sex

c**k – male genitalia


What is the connection between an oldish and rather crazy man who has the ability to talk to cats and an insecure, deeply passionate and impulsive young lad? A lot, apparently, according to the latest Murakami creation I devoured….

The Japanese author who has the witchraft-like ability to weave mysticism into the most mundane of situations has once again impressed me with his “Kafka on the Shore.” This ability he possesses in his writing is executed so smoothly that the transition from realistic to mystic is most natural and as a result easy to read and digest. He never delves too deeply into the realities of life to bore you and definitely has yours truly hooked on his books!

The story revolves around the parallel but in most ways dissimilar lives of a young and restless Japanese lad called Kafka (coincidentally!) who tries to find his place on earth, feeling unloved and unwanted by family, and an old man, Nakata, whose simplistic external lifestyle is a fabulous cover for the fantastical world he EXISTS in. The two never meet in the story but their experiences have profound consequences on their daily existences.

Kafka develops an identity and familial crisis at the tender age of fifteen and decides to find himself by running away from home and discovering the world for himself. He is in dire need of finding the rationale behind the realities of his own life -his dad abandoning him to devote himself to his craft and designating his own life with a rather uncanny prophecy….his mother and sister leaving him when he was very young…..his own burgeoning sexuality.

He meets several characters along the way, the first of which is Sakura, who he thinks is his sister but proceeds to lust after her. Oshima, a female to male transsexual who becomes his dearest friend during his sojourn. Oshima acts like an older brother/mentor to Kafka, and helps him by giving him work at the library in Takamatsu where Kafka meets the unrealistically beautiful but trapped middle-aged librarian Miss Saeki who also works there. The two find that there is a rather bizaare connection between them and it is because Saeki is Kafka’s mother. But this does not happen until after they have both made love and dreamt about each other. This was the prophecy laid out to him by his father….he would make love to his sister and mother and kill his own father. The demise of his own father at Kafka’s hands would best be explained by the events in the life of our second most important character…

….Nakata, is an old man who acquired a mental ailment when he was young. This results to a lack of coordination and many basic cognitive skills. But he acquires this magnificent ability to communicate with cats and predict certain unworldly events on a miniscule scale. Surviving on government subsidy he augments his income by informally working as a seeker of lost cats. Because of his magical way with the cats, he has a hundred percent success rate and is rather famous around his neighborhood for this. But the moment he kills the man responsible for the murder of many felines, Mr. Johnnie Walker, his life changes. This is the moment in the story where everything becomes symbolic and hazy (for me at least). Mr. Walker is actually the symbolic representation of Kafka’s father, and is murdered by Nakata. So we can then assume that at one point or maybe the whole time, Nakata is or becomes Kafka’s alter ego. Because he executed the prophecy laid out for Kafka.

The consequence of Nakata’s action brings him to flee where he lives to avoid police detection. He meets Hoshino, a truck-driver who lives a sedate and cookie-cutter life. Their friendship blossoms because in Nakata, Hoshino realizes that life can be spontaneous, natural and free-flowing. There is no need to worry about the future by living in the present and letting life take its course.

The two set out on a journey charted unknowingly by Nakata himself. There is a mission that must be accomplished. I personally think that his mission is to open Kafka’s eyes to the harsh realities in life. They must be dealt with and not abandoned. This is the moment where the mystical and unconscious begin to merge with the real and tangible again….the magic of Murakami weaving through the plot and it is gorgeous beyond belief hehehe…

The two characters never meet though, Kafka and Nakata. The demise of Nakata in the end signals that Kafka is nearing the end of his own quest for his place here on Earth. The story leads me to believe that Nakata is a figment of Kafka’s unconscious self but he is tangible in many ways so I am quite stuck on what to believe…Anyway there are certain portions in the book which makes me think that sometimes the acceptance of what takes place in life is easier than questioning and squeezing your head for their meaning and depth. So the caveat is I must follow this philosophy when I am reading a Murakami book! Hahahaha!

 

This book dragged a little in certain parts I have to admit but I think most of this is purely because I have been lazy to read and tackle it. But all in all it is another Murakami masterpiece and I am looking forward to the next one in my shelf hehehehe.

The weekend was quite a drag for me and it would have been a total bone-marrow-deep bore had it not been for DANCE DANCE DANCE. This is a literary creation brought to life by a truly magnificent Japanese author called Haruki Murakami. And the first I devoured among his many works. After reading this book I shall forever pontificate and exalt the talent and imaginary skills of this man. He is deep without being boring and he is rational but very imaginative.

Some of the websites which have chronicled this man’s work as well as some of the publications who critiqued him have compared his genius to that of Alfred Hitchcock. The capability to pluck ordinary individuals with ordinary lives but surround them with unusual circumstances and phenomena. The very essence of many of his books I presume( As I have not read them all yet).

DANCE DANCE DANCE is about a man who is purposedly and mystically led to a hotel in Sapporo, Japan, he once stayed in many years ago. He is looking for a lady he used to live with in the past. She has left a deep scar in his heart and being and he wants to find out how she has been and her current whereabouts. Staying in the hotel he stumbles upon some Divine Being who reveals to him that there are connections in his life that must be severed, healed or abandoned to give a semblance of completion in his every being. He also meets a young, conservative but struggling-to-liberate-herself lady who works as a receptionist in the hotel and in my opinion is a reincarnation or retransfiguration of the woman he stayed with in this hotel some years ago.

When he comes back home to Tokyo his heart is still very much into the quest for that one woman in his past he thinks can complete his being. Along the way he reestablishes contact with an actor-classmate of his who is linked in a way to that woman. They forge a friendship which is bounding but not completely unstrained. He also comes into connection with the eccentric daughter of a world-famous female photographer who has nothing in common at all with him and yet a deep-seated fascination and liaison is forged between the two of them. He meets her mother too, the photographer and her partner, a one-armed ex-Army American who exists for a short time only in the plot.

Perhaps the greatest revelation the main character finds out in the end is that there are connections that will be severed in order for more important ones to become binding and strong. Several deaths and the instances of morbidness abound near the end of the story perhaps as a way of clearing the path for our hero to achieve completeness with the one woman who remains at the back of his mind, the purported reincarnation of his beloved, Miss hotel receptionist.

Murakami has an extraordinary talent of giving life to inanimate objects and giving them a role in the main character’s metaphysical existence. One example is the description of the “telephone” as a less than pure idea. It is technology that has mastered communication for us but unless there is a will on either party to communicate, the phone remains useless…Amazing isn’t it? Of course he places this with such relevance so that it doesn’t seem absurd to talk about a phone in a novel…He is also very adept at fantaisical imagination and creating scenarios transcending history, filmography and current events. He places the main character’s admiration of Jodie Foster as Cleopatra, one who deserves the highest accolade among the Egyptian set of characters he has created in one of his lazy mental meanderings. He links her to the main character’s admiration of his personable actor classmate who is the official swimming trainor of the Pharaoh’s ancient Egyptian kingdom.

I have already bought five books excluding this one, of this astounding author! I would like to thank the people who have given me this opportunity to explore more of this author’s amazing range of literary and creative skills. You are forever close to my heart and cheers to the next five I am going to have to read! Hahahaha

 

When i was younger my summer days were dotted with lots of wonderful experiences, playing games till I could move no more at the end of the day, more fun during the night time as there were no classes the day after, watching basketball leagues filled with lots of gawking for cute, guys in action haha. It was a heady time of the year for me.

Well probably the highlight of each summer was the official crush of the season. I always seem to develop a liking for a cute face in the middle or beginning of the summer season. Come to think of it though most of the boys I would like where not really statistically handsome. I mean they would not have to necessarily fit the definition of clear-cut cute. But they always seem to make something skip a beat inside me hahaha

There would be stolen glances, and stuck tongues, whenever I saw THE crush of that season. Somehow I could never get to admit to him that I like him as I was always the shy young kid. More so because friends would be more than ready to make fun of how silly I acted whenever he was around. I would try to act as normally whenever he was near but deep inside I also wanted to just let know I wanted to be great great friends with him. But somehow I could not. It would feel like getting torn between forces I could not define.

The crush crush trend gradually began to disappear as I went through college and then never really picked up after I graduated. I guess it just got lost in the search for greener pastures or finding new hobbies to indulge in and new interests to pursue. Meeting more people also perhaps helped make the trend vanish as well as understanding the nature of the male creature haha. I guess there it was also just a matter of personal growth. Growth involving realizations from experiences. I guess the reality that how you feel towards someone would not be necessarily reciprocated made the experience lose its magic. For me at least haha.

But this summer, it’s back to haunt me haha. There is a sweet guy who is hovering around me and somehow it’s all galloping heartbeat again but none of the tongue-tiedness and awkwardness. I seem to be a bit more confident about handling guys now. We talk a lot and he seems but God knows I can’t afford to be anything serious now hahaha. It’s really funny. Somehow something is flitting in my head now and I guess I look forward to seeing him, of course with my friends and his.

I guess this is just the summer crush trend returning again. Somehow I have to admit it couldn’t be anything but a mere crush or specifically a fling thing because I don’t wanna get into anything I really do not want to yet. Plus I guess I am not ready. But for sure i am going to indulge in the presence and fun of it all. It is a nice way to dispel the heat aside from hitting the beach too much!

 

isn’t it striking how some moments in our lives are etched forever in our brain for no apparent reason?

 
one of those moments in my tired existence is a simple class reading of a literary piece…a poem…in our Literature class when i was in fifth grade…

 
The poem is entitled “Be the Best of whatever you can be”

 
I remember some lines and have forgotten the others but the essence is embedded inside my pathetic self…

 
One of the lines is:
“Whether you are a mighty oak or a humble bush, be the best of whatever you can be…”

 
Life has become very unpredictable for me…if you would ask me 15 years ago if I would become what I am today, I would stare at you incredulously in an act of defiance and ridicule. I would have told you, “I would be an engineer fifteen years from now. I would be successful, progressive, and I would attend Sunday church once a week….” I would be the storybook life with the happy ending, the life that my parents have laid out for me. A cookie-cutter existence…

 
But life is not a movie script…it is not prewritten…your father cannot be the director of the motion picture of your life…your mother cannot decide the climaxes and plots of your play…

 
I cannot say I am completely happy nor completely sad about the cards life has dealt me… I know I never was able to fit the mould my mother and father tried to create for me. But they cannot blame me too for veering away from their best-laid plans. After all what power do I have to control the effects of an unhappy childhood, parental misguidance, peer maltreatment and early sexual awakenings among other factors?

 
If ever there is something I can be proud of it would be that even if I was a pathetic weed in the eyes of society, I can clearly say I am a healthy, highly parasitic and among the fastest-growing of wild grasses. I served out my role well in the plant world, didn’t I? Because given those qualities I am among the best of the weeds! If people spit at me because I never became a stately pinetree then so be it. We all have our place in the ecosystem called the world. Not all of us can become giant redwoods. Life is too short to try and grow to become a massive sequoia when all you can ever be is a rootless mushroom….

 
As my professor in Reading and among the most influential figures in my aptitude for English and Literature said after the reading of the poem, “Find your place in life and flourish in it!” Boy was he right…

 
I will never forget that poem, that lesson, that discussion, that room, that subject, that professor….

 


waaaaaaaaaa! I can only whine and bitch about not being able to see the French Open tennis tourney on Hongkong television and just looking at meaningless scores on the Roland Garros website just now….i mean nothing beats watching a live match of course….but it certainly depresses the hell out of me to just view numbers and figures taking me back to my my Chemistry subject where I labored over balancing equations and the numbers associated with “IDE” and “IC” in Sodium Chloride or Chloric acid LOL …pathetic ain’t it?

but then again it’s not too late to make a tribute and i just made it in time for the ongoing Wimbledon competition as of writing….



January 27, 2005….2005 Australian Open
women’s semifinals: Serena Williams def. beat Maria Sharapova 2-6, 7-5, 8-6 ..

if this is not the greatest game among the new generation of stars in today’s tennis then it has to be the noisiest wouldn’t you agree? Bwahahahah…

 

On one side of the court is an American girl who is a legacy of great American tennis and black pride in sports as well…On the other side, a tsarina, with covergirl looks, from the bowels or should I say steppes of Russia, but trained in the tennis academies of the United States…

What’s similar about them?
For the tennis insider, one word…power. Lots of it too. Serena can disembowel an opponent with well-placed several mph-serves and unbelievably accurate groundstrokes while Maria can eviscerate a foe with relentless groundstrokes and winners from both sides of the racket….
For someone new to tennis, NOISE….grunts, moans and screams and high decibels are part and parcel of each other’s game. No matter how deep the rally, how long the point has gone, these two players’ vocal chords produce guttural sounds which are a combo of pain, force, effort, and I don’t know maybe perversely orgasmic vocal calisthenics for the discerning male LOL
If there was a setting for this classic confrontation or maybe not classic but thunder against thunder it would be this stage. It’s held in January, early part of the year where everyone is healthy, not too many players have indulged in too many tournaments, injuries are few and far between….
The atmosphere was a Roman circus…the circumstances leading to it a mediaman’s dream….
Sharapova had shocked Serena Williams in the past year by beating her in the Wimbledon finals and the Women’s Season-Ending Championships where the top women players based on the year’s final rankings competed. And both occasions in the finals…

Sharapova wanted a cementing of her mastery, Serena was a hound for revenge….
The first set seemed like Serena would once again be outduelled. Sharapova’s groundstrokes were too piercing, even her shrieks too I would believe, deafened Serena’s ears. For a set and a half, Serena was forced side to side and was playing catch-up. Her forehand was failing her.
(For outsider’s information, the Williams sisters as most experts seem to notice have remarkably better double-handed backhands than forehands which is very unusual for the outsider like us I think. But not for the tennis people. They know there are certain grips to the backhand which will make it a better offensive weapon. However this grip does not usually favor the forehand stroke or you would need to change grip as soon as you switch to a forehand stroke. hehehe i knew i would know that! :)) 

 

The searing heat is a staple at the Melbourne tournament. Temperatures can soar really high and if one can remember it became so hot that it became a factor in Hingis’ defeat at the hands of Capriati several seasons ago.
But anyway back to this match, the heat seem to sink deep into the ground and soak into the player’s feet…and necks. Sharapova served for the match and had a match point in the encounter but was saved by Serena whereby Serena went on to win the second set and forced a third!
I was so happy at this point! Well you knew who i was rooting for huh? LOL ….
Never had I watched a match and sat at the edge of my seat literally. The third set was going to be quite the battle.
serena eventually prevailed in the third…holding her nerves in the third set and earning a revenge for the previous year’s defeats in two of the more important events of that year to the russian girl…
as for sharapova, well she looked really frustrated after the match but then she could never really blame herself…the match was too close to ever be called serena proved better in many departments…

and as in many professional tennis’ matches both men and women, there is little margin between the skills level…many times it’s the athlete who steels her nerve during the crucial moments who come up with the win….victory is just a narrow margin, a two-point difference, an inch off the baseline, or an inch under the net…. 

 

that’s what tennis is all about…
 


(Note: Thank you to
http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2005-01/28/content_413219.htm for the pictures!!! You guys are amazing!)
i have to be the only one in Singapore right now who has “Advice for the Young at Heart” and Head Over Heels” on her pod unless someone has a titanic megabyte memory Pod which houses all the music ever created and which are as varied as Italian arias to Indian chants to the top ten songs in the US BillBoard Charts…right? hehehe I knew you would say yes….but maybe not…

But if you are a fan of one of the biggest influences in my love for music, the well-loved but slightly underrated “Tears for Fears” then you have those songs obviously on your music player I believe. No other music from my childhood has ever been as emblazoned on my brain as theirs. Well except for Madonna but then no one ever forgets Madonna anyway LOL. And what is so weird about their music is I have no idea why I have loved listening to them then and why I continue to love listening to them now!

You do have to agree with me though, the band’s lead singer, Roland Orzabal, has a very distinct voice which can soar to very difficult falsettos for the normal male singer. I mean you can find their songs on any karaoke bar songlist I would assume but very few men would actually probably dare to sing their songs because of the degree of difficulty. But then again we are digressing from the main point here. Orzabal, in my opinion, has one of the most flexible voices in the music industry so far. I have heard many male singers but technically it’s one of the reasons why I love him. And I love male singers who can simplify a high note by not shouting or screaming at the microphone…hehehe…

Also I have to admit, 80’s music lyrics had so much weight to them…there is so much meaning to the words and the sentences and the song that that is probably one of the reasons I have many songs from that period in my pod. Tears for Fears’ songs were songs which carried so much undertone to them. I can somehow visualize the words in their songs real well although basically it’s Orzabal’s voice which I like listening to. It also helps that in my mind the beats which filter the songs take me to a time when in moments of fun and games with cousins, the faint music of the electric guitar strummings of Tears for Fears from my hippy/grunge-esque male cousin’s casette player inside his room would penetrate the musical environment along with our shouts and screams and yehey’s and hurrah’s.

It could be a combination of nostalgia, musical preference, personal significance, and awe at pure vocal power which has led me to love this band and their songs. But then I think I am being crazy by trying to disseminate and dissect what I love about this band. It’s practical to say I am giving myself a headache where there should have been none but just pure enjoyment at feeling the embrace of Orzabal’s voice when he sings:

“And when I think of you and all the love that’s due I’ll make a promise – I’ll make a stand…
Cos to these big brown eyes, this comes as no surprise We’ve got the whole wide world in our hands “

or when he belts:

“We will find you acting on your best behavior …Turn your back on Mother Nature…. Everybody wants to rule the world”

or when he haunts me with:

“Shout, Shout…. Let it all out ….These are the things I can do without… Come on…. I’m talking to you Come on… “

or when he makes me succumb to:

“I wanted to be with you alone….And talk about the weather…
But traditions I can trace against the child in your face….Wont escape my attention…
You keep your distance with a system of touch…And gentle persuasion…….”

Long live “Tears for Fears!” Their music rules and their musical legacy lives on!! They have been such a big influence in my musical preferences and of course in terms of getting lyrically orgasmic with male vocalists…hahahahahhaa!!!!

the biggest trap I have created is my own…

 

whether it was set up with purpose or not, it seems that the bars of my own cage is stronger than steel, and as close to each other as molecules in a solid matter…an inescapable space…

 

I have often told myself, I am a person of many unbelievable qualities. I should be confident, firm and proud of myself…and yet not once in my life have I ever felt so inept, and incapable than little more than a few hours ago when realization struck me that I was enshrouded in a life that prevented me from enjoying the raw and natural me. In a serious conversation I found out that I was never really happy. I was never really free. I was living a caricature life. I was a drawing inside the four lines of a quadrilateral in an editorial. My life is one big boardgame. Every moment is a chessboard move. Calculated, unnatural, awkward and very stiff….governed by the machinations of rules and moves.

 

What is this Venus fly-trap I am in? It is unlike any wall I have ever faced. What kind of glass encases me that I can see and even appreciate the beauty, dynamism and positivity of others and yet I am unable to feel natural and let them feel that this is what I am?

 

In a world where masks are necessary to let the world know that we are not just mere pawns but also a character which has worth, significance and value, I am geisha. You will not recognize me because of the pallor of the paint that criss-crosses my face, the crimson hue that caresses my lips, and the comical shades that slices through my eyes.

 

My movements are the theatrical motions of Geppetto’s creations….attached to every joint of my being are strings which are pulled by the selfish desires and wants of a cruel world. I will move with the dip of a forefinger or the tap of a thumb because the hands that move me are the hands of materialism, greed and distorted views of what is deemed beautiful and what is not. I am not so special after all. I just realized it.