Y2kk Update: Okay. Gulp. Now she's really going to kill me. Not just because of what I'm going to say this week, but because of what I wrote last week. Of what I said to her last week, of a joke gone bad... and of course, she'll especially kill me once she finds out that I have websites where I talk about her non-stop, but hopefully, that's besides the point... Because my only hope now is that I'll write enough good things about her in the future, that it'll balance out the scales of what I've said these past few weeks, but I digress...

Short story short, I could tell that she was mad at me Monday morning. The thing was, as the stereotypical guy that I am, I couldn't quite figure out why she was mad at me, or what she was mad about. But one thing's for sure: she didn't seem happy to see me... hell, she didn't even look like she wanted to talk to me, although knowing me and the loser that I am, I guess I can relate... But the thing was, she was missing out on all the little things in life that I cherish about her, like the way she tries to keep eye contact with me, no matter what idiot thing I'm ready to say. Or the way she tuffles and truffles her hair from time to time, just to shine off the sparkles she dibs on her eyelids. Or the way she comfortably scratched her nose the other week around me, while refusing to let go of the papers she had in hand for anyone else on the train. And the thing is, it's the little things in life I always treasure, and that's why I felt so damn paranoid on Monday. She was doing none of her trademark things the last couple of times I saw her, at least not around me, and I was seriously questioning whether I should ask her what I did wrong as we were about to part ways.

Okay, this is how it goes. Even though we are in different "sections" of computer engineering and share none of the same classes, the brainiacs at the registrar board decided to give all us engineering students the same lecture time periods as each other, just to spite us in case we miss a class and want to catch it some other day... Anyhew, so that's how I know when I'm going to find her on the train, and that's how I know whether I'm going to have a one-on-one conversation with her that day. It all depends on tutorials this and me skipping classes that, and I couldn't help but make sure that I was on the right train on Monday, right on time, just so I could cure my conscious of whatever the hell I did or didn't do to bother her... and the thing was, when I found her on the train, she seemed reluctant to look at me at first. She wouldn't take her eyes off her homework down below, not until I tried to lighten the mood with jokes that is. And eventually, when I started on my usual rant of how I have no ambition in life, how I'm scared of getting my first job this summer, one that actually requires intelligence, some Insurance Broker guy or something that was sitting next to me, just happened to overhear our conversation, then laughed at my own patheticness, joking that he's going to remember my face from now on when he fills out insurance forms... And his rude and crude but rather apt remark did get the girl I talk too much about to actually smile at me for the first time that day. And me being the white livered coward that I am, I was too smitten by the possibility that she wasn't angry at me, that she was just tired or angry at someone else, to muster up the courage to ask her what was wrong.

And, well... lucky me, I guess... because eventually my subconscious stupidity was able to drag the truth, truth that I couldn't handle, out of her... I forget what we were talking about now, but I do remember her telling me how much I love "drama", of how I love prying away from others gossip, of how I love learning how they're feeling, about all their privates and their private thoughts that night... I Tesla contested against her argument of course, even though I knew she was right. I sort of stomped my foot on the ground like a bull-headed, well, bull, and mentioned that everyone likes drama, which I defined as the process of making life more interested than it actually is... But the thing was, she wasn't smiling. In fact, she was sort of huffing and puffing like that bull I was bullishly trying to be before... And she told me then and there, that that's exactly what pisses her off about me: that I always talk about my theories as if they're facts. That I'm always so damn firm about my ideas, that I never let anything go, that I never let her have a say... and I had only a matter of fleeting seconds in my mind left until memories of being called "mean" in Grade 9, and of thinking myself to be "smarter than God" in Grade 10, started flooding and gushing back into my piddly little pond of a brain. And, well... what can I possibly say about how I was hurting? except for... well?...

Ow.

That hurts. That really, really, ridiculously hurts. And I was just thinking to myself, she's hurting me... and it hurts!... But seriously, I tried not to get myself down. Sure, I think I felt a tear choke up the corner of my eye when I started remembering all the times I've shot down her ideas, exactly like I had just done that day... It's not that I ever tell her she's wrong or point out that I'm right. It's just that, instead of acknowledging her side of the story, I just move onto my own, as if I'm ignoring her... and that hurts... So all I could do was divert to my tried and tested sense of twisted humour, hoping to twizzle this puzzle of a situation back at her. I sort of stomped my foot there, and heaved softly, "you're right...", which provoked a stunted giggle from her, since I had just made a bull-headed statement yet again, though this time on purpose. But my release from Tartarus guilt didn't last very long, as she started lambasting me about generalizing everyone and everything, as if I had all the answers and none of the observations. And she didn't really didn't seem to want to hear an apology from me. She just seemed intent on making me open my eyes wide shut and realize that I really never think of her or her feelings, which really hurt, now that I was truly realizing that history was repeating itself all over again... Eventually, neurons starting jogging and jotting, pinging and pinning into my head painful remembrances of all the times I called someone arrogant, or ignorant, or irrelevant, and all that crap from my bloody, forsaken past... I couldn't help but smack my virtual head with a virtual ugly stick then and there, for being so damn intrusive and being so damn insensitive to her feelings, for just being the arrogant bastard of a loser that I guess I always will be... I sort of realized then and there that there wasn't just one thing that pissed her off, like I was hoping it would be. I was praying she had just felt slighted from my awkward return of her phone number or some crap like that, but it wasn't that. It wasn't to be. Because it was me. It was me, the whole damn package. She was criticizing me. Not something that I did, but who I was, just like I had always feared. All my insecurities started everlasting gobstoppering, gushing and rushing to my head from my feet, as if I had just been nailed upside down to a cross or some crap like that. And honestly, who throws a shoe? Honestly, because, well...you know the only thing that I was thinking about then and there?...

Ow. Double Ow.

I solemnly slithered my head into a spiral shape after that, looking down at the floor as if it were the stars, and I really didn't have the courage or the strength to ever lift my head again. As we walked out those doors to the buses to take us home, I remember thinking to myself... well... I was thinking absolutely nothing... I had a perfect moment of clarity, although not a perfect moment of happiness. I almost started smiling though, as I started to realize the irony of all this. I eventually turned my attention back to her and noticed that she really seemed antsy to get me to talk... Sad to say, but I was right. I had told her I talk too much, and if I wanted proof? It was that now that I was finally silent, she could definitely sense that something was wrong... not like I was hiding it... I wanted her to see it, because honestly, when have I ever convincingly been able to hide how I'm feeling?... She whimpered something along the lines of, "say something!", out of hopefully what was guilt for my broken heart and bastardized pride of a predicament. We then stopped in front of my bus, and I finally was able to look up at the stars... or the stars in my mind that were dizzying my head from all the damn flashbacks I was having, considering it was a cloudy day that afternoon. And the thing was, I let loose with the irony... It was then and there, where we were standing as we speak, that I told her half a year ago, or maybe just a month ago, that nothing I say is meant to be right or wrong. That I'm only trying to make conversation. That I'm only reading off the top of my head, the thoughts that peruse my proverbial Peru, so that I'll always have Paris or some crap like that. That I'm only being honest with the ideas that I've been unable to tell anybody about but her, simply because there's no-one else that I've been able to trust... and, well... I pretty much told her all that on Monday, or at least have over the course of several months. And almost as a reflex, whether she meant it or not, she told me out of quippy, quilt guilt like a puppy, that "Oh, I remember that...", as if that was actually going to make me feel better... I then boarded the bus, waving goodbye with a solemn look of sadness on my face. Because here I was, feeling all alone and goddam stupid for the first time since my last crush crushed me... I have been writing and writhing on this website for so damn long now, that I wanted something, anything to break my crush up on the girl I talk too much about... because I don't want a crush on someone who's actually my friend... and, well... be careful what you wish for, I guess... because in the end, she did bite me in the ass... flying dick, my ass... and oh, the irony... I asked for it. I got it.

And Ow. Make that triple Ow.

I spent my entire evening that night pondering over the meaning of my existence... or, well, not really... I was really just laughing at my own clown of an ass for ruining yet another friendship with my arrogant, stubborn, and stereotypical ways. There was a ghastly, funny moment though, as I was silently sobbing and swiffering on the bed... I was resting not far from where I am now, on my bunker of a bunk next to the portable heater I have in the room... at one point, I sort of had this stark and stake and startling vision of her, condemning me for always condemning her. And out of reflex or something (or a seismic tremour of a seizure of mine), my leg just sprang up from the depths of hell, rammed my foot right into the furnished furnace, cracked one of my toe-nails in half, burnt the pink hide and Jekyl and Hyde underneath my pretty nail pretty damn badly, enough for me to finally register the pain, sprawl out from under the covers, and hit my head on the desk besides me as I flipped off the bloody bed... and, well, not bad for one day's worth of contemplation, don't you say? Sounds like a hell of a lot of fun, I say. I had a splitting head-ache when I woke up the next morning, and a damn painful hangover from the mere thought that I'll never be better than I once was. I had been hoping that she was the one who could accept me for who I am, all faults included, especially my Frasier-Freudian, egotistical kind of a complex... But alas, I now feared that she was just the same as everyone else. I woke up so damn paranoid that I would never be good enough for anyone, and I had a bloody, bleeding, chipped toe-nail to prove it.

And I would say Ow here... except, well... except for... Ow...

But you see, looking back at the past few months or so, what really started the chain of events where I started opening up to her, even more than I do on my websites (or for anyone I've ever known, for that matter), was the day that I ran away from her in the computer lab, lest I ever forget... But things are different now, whether I want to admit it or not. She's now my best friend here at university, and I intend to keep it that way. I'd be lying if I claimed that the thought of avoiding her on the train never crossed my mind on Tuesday... and I'd be lying if I was half hoping, and half terrified that she would pull a me and avoid me as well... But I chose to abide by my guilt and sucked in my pride, and I absolutely made sure that I would make that train, even though I had to damn run my legs off in the end, just to catch the damn ride in time... And when I finally saw her on the train? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't hoping that she'd be crying or something, that she couldn't live with herself after what she said to me or some damsel in distress kind of crap... I was hoping to be a hero, her knight in shining armour, not a loser like I've always been. But, well... a loser is what I was and forever shall be... not that I'm complaining...

Because she was already there next to someone else. I tried to be virtuous and courteous with her at first, asking how she felt and what she thought of the reading we were studying for History class. I wanted to listen to her, like I did when we first met years ago. I didn't want to be the loud-mouth than I am yet again, who talks above the crowd just to be heard, loud and clear. I wanted to be what she told me yesterday that I should be. I wanted to be a better man, for her... And, well, that's when her groggy friend finally came to kicking horse pass, and ironically, he became exactly everything that I feared that I was going to be... and he did it all, by criticizing everything that I am... Now, he didn't know who I was. Hell, he didn't even bother to notice that I was there, talking to his friend. But this guy? He just starting crapping about some other girl he knows, for talking too damn loud, for not letting him sleep on the train in the morning, for embarrassing everyone around him with her gossip, and for never realizing that others want her to shut the hell up... and, well... I guess you can surmise that I wasn't exactly the most emotionally secure, happy camper when I heard him say all this Starbucks stuff. But suffice to say, he did me a favour... by shutting me the hell up... I didn't say a word on that train. I really felt out of place, like I didn't belong... and what scared me most of all was that the girl I talk too much about was laughing too damn much at his jokes. Maybe I was just especially paranoid at the time or something, but honestly, I was sort of jealous of the fact that she was ignoring me for him...

Ow again. Baby tea of an Ow.

Which led to even more irony, I assure you of that. Because as soon as we exited the train and parted ways with the muscular guy who was everything he claimed to hate, the girl I talk too much of started to let loose with the bashing of her own, criticizing her friend for, um, putting me on the spot without knowing it... I'm not sure whether she was telling me this out of guilt, or simply out of politeness or some crap like that, but at least her confidential confidence did get me talking... I started trying to apologize for the day before, telling her that I know I'm so damn judgmental about everyone and everything that every person I touch seems to turn away from me in ashes. And the thing was, maybe she was still feeling guilty for the day before, but she finally revealed to me the truth, why she actually was mad at me... She claimed she didn't really mean the stuff she said the day before. I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, but I did believe what she told me after... She was really hurt the week before, when I joked about her being jealous. She couldn't stand how I generalized her as a cat fight girl, or how every woman must hate the other. She said my words really did dig down deep, and at that moment in space and time, I really did feel like my own fingernails or that damn toe-nail I goddam cracked was jabbing into my heart, or my gut, or my crotch, or anywhere that it would really hurt.

Because Ow. More Ow. Note to myself: never talk about jealousy again... because I felt like a cow, ready to be slaughtered... or raped for milk... mmmm, milk... don't you know...

And judging from what I wrote last week down below, about the whole jealousy joke that seriously went wrong, she really is going to kill me if she ever finds this website. Because if that one comment alone made her hate me for five days straight, I can only imagine how long she'll make me sleep in the gutters with the fishes and the frying pans once she figures out the crap I've been spouting about her... And yet the thing was, I actually felt relieved. The thing was, she actually made me feel a hell of a lot better by telling me the truth. Simply put, I had been terrified all night long that I was wrong, that she hated my personality and hated me for who I am. And yet all along, as painful as it was for me to hear, she was just upset at my sheer, far-out stupidity, which is definitely something that I can handle. I asked her before we parted ways that day, whether she was like my brother, who forgives me no matter what and accepts me for who I am, despite all the times I've hurt him... or whether she's like my sister, who refuses to forgive me, refuses to pity me, and only tolerates how I am, refusing to even acknowledge me until I choose to change for her, or what she deems is for the better... Of course, the girl I talk too much about chose the former, whether she meant it or not. And I saw a little sparkle in her eyes - besides the ones she sprinkles on her lashes in the morning - that she finally realized something profound about me: that I don't want to change. She then pleaded with me then and there, that I'm perfect the way that I am, that I shouldn't be scared that she's trying to change who I am... but shouldn't I? Shouldn't I be? Yesterday, she had told me that pretty much everything I say and do is wrong... but I now see that she was just blowing off steam, just like I do on these webpages. The fact is, although I say some (okay, lots of) naughty things about her and my flagellent soya bean, I only do so because I'm trying to be entertaining. I do the wrong thing for good intentioned reasons more often than not, and as long as she gasses and flabbergasts me for the things I do wrong and not for my reasons? Then maybe she is the perfect woman.

I forget how we ended that day. I remember standing by the bus, and she r begging me to say something. She was now the damsel in distress that I was dreaming she would be, so that's when I finally chose to rescue her, the only way I knew how: with truth, and justice, and honesty... and, oh, screw it - none of the above. Just humour. To diffuse a situation, I always add a pinch of salty goodness humour... I told her the honest truth, that I was only being silent because I was now terrified about saying something wrong, because the last thing on earth that I would ever want to do is hurt her. I explained to her that I was hurt, at myself for never knowing better... and sort of at her, for not telling me the honest to God truth a sunrise and a sunset earlier, for it really could've helped my achy breaky toe... But eventually, she starting horsing around with me again, beaming me up with her cheery, cherry grin. And honestly, how can I possibly resist the urge to smile my ugly smile back when I'm under the influence of such beguiling charms? Short story short, although I was still hurting, I was no longer paranoid, simply because I could see in her eyes, that she was actually looking back at me - at me - and actually accepting what she saw. The first snag of a scuffle in our non-relationship of a relationship had finally been done, finished and over with, and I couldn't help but breathe out a sigh in relief, knowing that hopefully, her conscious conscience was now Scot and scotch tape free too... Of course, I was hoping for some of that make-up sex couples always seem to rave about, but, um, considering she'll kill me if she ever finds what I just said, I guess I'd better stop talking right about here...

Okay, just one last paragraph. Or maybe two... When I arrived home that day, I rested my laurels on my bed for the second day in a row. But I didn't snare my foot. I didn't shiver my quiver of a spine. I didn't crack a crease in my toenail. And I didn't bash my head against the boards. Instead, I found that I honestly didn't care anymore - about my insecurities, I mean. When it came to my other crushes, the moment I would say just one thing wrong, they would roll their eyes, spoil and slay my pride, and I would slam myself against lockers for months without end, just because the savvy pain of doing the wrong thing at the wrong time was just too damn unbearable for me to take lying down... But I don't mean to sound all lovey-dovey, smoothie and slutty, and unrealistically smitten or any crap like that, especially considering Valentine's day is just around the corner, but honestly... I felt cured... about feeling bad about myself I mean, if only for one day... I didn't have a single paranoid, delusional thought left in my mind. Hell, half of what happened those two dates of days of mine had already left my mind before I even began writing this God-knows-how-long update, simply for one reason and one reason only... Because she forgave me. No other girl, or no other person except my only remaining close friend from high school, has ever done that... outside of my family, I mean... and take it for what you will, but I can't help but feel hopeful, because she smiled back at me when I actually apologized... I don't want to set myself up for yet another chronicle of a Chrono crush that condemns me to hell, but... honestly, she didn't brush me off. She smiled, and she's been smiling ever since...

And honestly, why do you think I rarely ever report anything about my brother on these websites of mine? Because more often than not, he accepts me. And when I feel accepted? There's never a dark cloud in my head. And honestly, if I ever want to stop talking about the girl I talk too much about, realistically speaking? It's by becoming more and more comfortable around her. It's by accepting who I am, for what I am, when I'm around her. Because then, well... without a shadow of a doubt in the world, I'll have absolutely nothing left to talk about... Dare to dream I say, but hey, as long as I don't drop a chopstick today on Chinese New Years Eve... I say, dare that dream to, um... dream... that she doesn't kill me when she finds this website, I mean...

ATI: John Carmack tells all about his tests between the nVidia NV30 and the R300 on Doom3 over at Shacknews. He mentions that the NV30 has slightly superior performance... when the graphics are specifically tailored to its hardware, that is... and if not, then the R300 wins hands down. And Carmack did mention that the loud whirl of the NV30 does annoy him at: http://www.shacknews.com/docs/press/012903_carmackplan.x .

ATI: Some R350 news has been leaked over at DigiTimes. Although its performance will be comparable for to the GeForceFX 5800 Ultra, it consumes a lot less power, which is normally a good thing in terms of overclocking at: http://digitimes.com/NewsShow/Article.asp?datePublish=2003/01/29&pages=03&seq=13 .

nVidia: Saw over at Savagenews that some new nForce drivers have come out... and, well... I didn't even know the nForce came out. So sue me... anyhew, version 2.3 adds some IGP support or something, and is available for WinXP at: http://download1.nvidia.com/Windows/nForce/2.03/nForce_2.03_WinXP_localized_WHQL.exe . It seems they refused to update their Win9x drivers, so get the Win2k ones at: http://download1.nvidia.com/Windows/nForce/2.03/nForce_2.03_Win2k_localized_WHQL.exe .

Via: Okay, this belongs on my MSN site, but since I've been too lazy to put any motherboard news on that site, I might as well post it here. Some new Via Audio drivers have arrived. Don't know what cards they're for, but version 3.40b for Win9x to WinXP is over at: http://downloads.viaarena.com/drivers/audio/ComboAudio_a1u340bp3.zip .

Y2kk Update: God, this was a frustrating day. Sure, I got to sleep in, but at what cost?... I spent my entire morning in the front seat of my father's mini-van. He was driving to work, so I thought I'd tag along, just to skip the agony of public transit all the way to school. The problem was, although the long road ahead usually isn't very long, it definitely was today, as a goddam road accident caused the entire freeway to pretty much stall to a crawl for nearly a regoddamdiculous, bloody hour... I literally did see people walking faster than we were alongside the highway, laughing and staring and maniacally pointing at our slow and sturdy, hares of hairy asses. And after that bloody hour of Holden holding back my motion sickness the best I could, I opted to take the not-very-scenic route and switch to the subway from that point on. And yet conviently, for the first time since I can possible remember, the stupid subway diet station that I was at suffered a delay, and I was stuck standing in the frigid cold for almost fifteen minutes, waiting for any goddam train to appear... and, well... just great... It almost took me two and a half hours just to get to university, and after that, I had to suffer through my first Electronics lab where nothing seemed to go right. And all thanks to my pent up road rage and my pure, unbridled, unrivaled incompetence when it comes to circuits, I'm now ironically far more tired and far more deprived of virtual sex than I ever would've been if I had just woken up on time to take the damn morning train, but I won't force you readers to suffer through the hellaciously tiresome details of all that... Instead, I'll liken and larken and harken back to the Wednesday that I had, which in retrospect was at least a day worth remembering... well, at least, it all sounded like so much fun to me, didn't it? Maybe not...

It all started out with a dare... I have a friend who's obsessed with Chinese movies and traditional culture, and yet oddly enough, he doesn't seem to be interested in Chinese food one damn bit... except for Chinese buffets, which don't exactly count as Chinese food, or even food per say, but I digress... So I dared him. I challenged him. I took him to the limit with just a single, simple, daycare of a careless dare. I brought to school with me a simple juice box of... well, not juice... and not fruit punch... and no, I did not throw it at him... or, um, nevermind... What I had in hand was perhaps the only Chinese drink I've ever been able to swallow down with pride: Vitasoy Soya Bean Drink. It's literally one of the best drinks you can possibly find in life... when you're sober, I mean... And I'm sure it's the main source of content and Zen enlightenment in those Tibetan monestaries in the mountains or whatever... when they're not binge drunk, I mean... And here I was, offering this gift fit for a god to my commoner friend, just to see if he would chug it all down or vomit it all out in a spew of Asian milk and malty malk... I really was hoping for a good show... But the thing was, he chickened out. The thing was, he bottomed fed out... and being the Chinese wannabe that he is, he completely wimped out, whatever the hell that's supposed to imply... Because simply put, he wouldn't take it. He wouldn't even take a sip. And honestly, when a wannabe doesn't want the real goods, synthesized to the greatest of perfection, what is the world coming to? Honestly?

That's when I went to my contingency plan. If I couldn't con my friend into sucking down my soya bean, then by all means, I would use it as a means to an end with that girl I talk too much about... And yeah, I guess I did conjure up possibly the worst milk dud of a pick up line that day that I've ever heard before: wanna take a nip and sip out of my soya bean drink?... and, well, okay, so that wasn't exactly the exact line. So sue me. Or sue Vitasoy, as long as I get free non-juice, juice boxes for life... And the thing was, although she was skeptical at first, she definitely was no chicken. Sure, she kind of spoiled herself by kind of cheating, considering she's had soya milk before (good girls always love their health products, don't they?). Nevertheless, I still have to give her gg, triple D props, because it didn't take long for her to take that drinking box from my hand and scarf that livelihood of mine all the way down her gullet. But the thing was, my contingency plan didn't exactly work... First of all, I was hoping for a simultaneous orgasm... or, um, I mean, 'orgasnism'. No luck there... Secondly, I was hoping that she'd become the bard of barfing. But no, she didn't even scoff. Instead, she actually smacked her lips at the sweet taste of my soya bean drink as she smoldered her saliva all over my straw... it wasn't the best of sights, it wasn't exactly the blurst of sights, although I certainly wished a certain part of me was riled up and ready to burst... the drinking box, I mean... And, well, a gift is a gift, although I was hoping to reap more of the rewards. But no such sparkle, skittles luck for me I suppose, for she didn't get the punchline, and she didn't even get my guff or rise her stuff, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... Instead, I was the one who felt punched in the face on that train ride home, when I heard from the distant corner of my eye an all too familiar and not too welcome voice at the time...

No, it wasn't my obsession. No, it wasn't any of my former major crushes... But rather, it was my brother's obsession from a long time ago, in a high school not very far far away... who also was a crush of mine for a very, very short time, with emphasis on the word or verb or whatever of short... I forget if I've ever talked about her before, but I guess I haven't, considering she's never really impacted my life or anything... until now... Because as I heard that hello kitty "hello" of hers, I just slowly arched my neck all the back, committed myself to going all the bubbly tea way, and almost cringed and cried from my lower eye as I whispered back my own hello. Because with all due respect, although she is a nice person, I really didn't want her to be there... not then and there at least, when I was with her, I mean... I felt a B sharp pain knife across my chest, as if I was some deer caught in the headlights, or a Saddam Hussein caught in the headlines, or a friggin' IvanF idiot caught on candid camera, and why? Because I felt exposed... I felt scooped. I felt scoped. I felt Golden Globe Grammy snubbed, without all the cool Shrubs to be cancelled for the third bloody time... On that train ride, I had been talking too much to the girl I talk too much about. I had even given her the revered gift of soya milk, which a true Chinese man's man never gives away until, well... you know what... when you're sober in the monasteries, I mean... And the thing was, it was all caught on live action camera by the girl that my brother still talks to all the time. And as sad as this sounds, considering I'm supposed to be all about truth and honesty and chastity belts or whatever, I really do keep God knows how many secrets hidden and venomously secreted from my family.. and, well... It's not like it's important that I talk too much to this girl I talk too much about or whatever, considering even my mom roots me on, about getting some good time in with some bad, bad girls.... or, um, maybe not...But the thing is, I never wanted an outside source to be the one to tell my brother about my so-called, femme fatale instinct of a third act. Because if anything ever happens (not like anything ever will happen), I want to be the absolute first to give the good news. And besides, my principle also stands, that I refuse to be the source of idle gossip and idealic manipulation... and ay, there lies the rub, for the life of irony always seems to find a way...

Maybe it was because I was nervous, or maybe it was because I'm too importantly impotent to ever keep my damn mouth shut, but either way, I made a damn fool of myself that day. I started ignoring the girl I talk too much about, just to distract the other girl from thinking out loud that a thing was going on between the two of us or something. Thus, I began MTV popping up pop quiz questions about that other girl's love life or whatever, about the boyfriends she talked about last time I met her on the train, and about all the people she plans to dump for being dumb or the sum of all fears. I even started talking about my sister's boyfriend and his love of chocolate soya milk, as lovely as that sounds, a speech which also may end up biting me in the ass someday as well, if my brother ever hears that I talk all the time about my sister's privates and private life behind her back... and in the end, not only did I feel guilty for leaving the girl I talk too much about on the Superbowl Sunday school sidelines, but also because I think I was annoying that other girl with my incessant, whiny, ranty, Reese Weatherspoon of a chatty, hairy potty mouth. I was literally trying to debunk and thunk up absolutely anything to say, anything at all. And in the end, I couldn't help but feel relieved when it was all said and done, and I could finally wave goodbye to the snitch who would be queen of the Pokemons.

But, um... I didn't exactly get the honeymoon suite of a Just Married ending to this pointless, mundane story of mine. The thing was, the moment that other girl exited our lines of Predator sight, the girl I talk too much about started talking a little too much about me... She claimed that I changed overnight the moment (or, um, night...) that I started talking to that other girl. She claimed that I acted different, that I acted fake, and heavens forbid, that I actually acted like the most gossipy of Aniston, good girls... and, well... That's right. You heard me right. She compared me, Mr. Chinese, 250oz soya bean man, to a 14-year old, Friends favouring, Lavigne loving, Bachelor brimming, slumber party of a skanky kind of girl. And, well... on one of my better days, I would've taken that as nothing else but a compliment, simply because she was actually noticing something real about me for once... except for one thing... that, um... She was right. I did change, and as soon as I realized it, I felt so goddam embarrassed. Then again, I've always fully and open closetly admitted that my personality does change, depending on whoever else is in the room. If any member of my family is there, I act all cuddly. If it's a high school friend I see, I usually act all sarcastic and bitter or something. If an university friend is there, I usually act as the subtle joker in the room, considering I'm not smart enough to reign and take the reins of the reindeer of the room. And when I'm around the girl I talk too much about? Simply put, I talk too much. I talk too much about everything, and it hurts, knowing that I blab and blurt and boy with a bubble blob out so much useless information that it really might come back to haunt and bite me in the ass one day... when I'm sober, I mean... flying dick, my ass...

And the thing was, during that little panic room moment of mine on that train, I was doing the same damn thing that I do with the girl who talks too much, with that other girl I haven't seen in months. I was literally blabbing out everything I could to her. I just couldn't stop talking, as if I was cursed or some crap like that. The only difference was, I sounded desperate for redemption as I was doing so. I mean, when I talk too much to the girl I talk too much about, at least I feel comfortable. And at least I enjoy it... But nevertheless, looking back, I did sound like a teenie bobber blubber on that train, asking about relationships this and bad breakups, big heads that. I know there was really nothing else I could've talked to that girl about, considering relationships are all she ever married and mentioned to me in our previous conversations... but honestly, who throws a shoe? Throw me a frickin' bonus here, because I should've just kept my mouth shut. And because the girl who talks too much wouldn't keep her mouth shut as she patronized and Patriot missiled me for being dishonest, I couldn't help but play the one ace left up my crotch, and slip down her throat the little soya bean truth that, um... she was acting a little jealous of that other girl on the train... or, um, okay, maybe she wasn't, but I certainly had hoped that she did... And after that, a quite humourous bit of bantha banter occured between the two of us then and there, as she kept dying and denying that she was essentially calling either me or that girl a fake tit bitch (or okay, so maybe I am a fake tit bitch. So sue me...). And I was vehemently beaming and quite benevolently content that I had intelligently alleviated the stark tensions that were amassing and paramounting on my shoulder blocker of a mountain, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... Short story short, I got the last word. I didn't deserve it, considering I break my principles each and every day by changing lanes and personalities per person, per player, more often that any of us ever change the oil in our cars... but I still can't help smirking that I got the final word... the 33 and third inch, final insult... And, well... that's why I feel quite guilty... that's why I deserve no Valentine's day, petty pity...

Because I always get in the last word. I always must have the final answer. Because I always talk so damn much that it really, really, ridiculously hurts. The next day, when I mentioned that jealousy thing again to her, she didn't even acknowledge the joke, which got me pretty damn scared about a whole slew of things... I was feeling guilty for shutting her up the day before. I was feeling guilty for always telling her that I try my beauty and the beast best to be honest, yet prove to her time and time again that I do nothing but lie through my yellow, raisin stained teeth. And I felt quite lonely and ashamed as she pretty much bypassed me this morning for routers and Reuters... When I finally got to school after hours of timeless transit, I sat my ass on a bench with my soya bean drink in hand, when she crossed my path with a girl of a friend by her side, and she barely even Wonka winked a hello. She could've had me if she just said hello... The thing is, whenever I hear her talking with her friends, either male or female, she sounds pretty much exactly the same as she does with me. We're quite polar opposites in that retrospect I suppose, unless she actually was jealous the other day when I was half treating that other girl the same as I always do with her... I talk to the girl I talk too much about differently than anybody else, because I've learned to trust her, and also because I have this goddam subconscious crush on her, simply because a) she actually talks to me, and b) there's literally no other girls at engineering school to stare and poke bosom at. And I know I'm only taking this from my own perspective, but honestly... she seems equally as happy with some smucky smore of a smoe off the streets as she is when she's talking to me, her so-called trusted friend. She laughs no matter what, whether I crack a joke, or some pot smoking Clerk of jerk cracks a fart or some crap like that... From everything that I gather, she treats me as if I'm special, yet she treats everyone else identically the same damn way. And although it shames me to grimly death, knowing that I change my personality subroutines whenever a new face walks through that door, it scares me even more knowing that she doesn't see me any differently than anybody else in my damn school... I don't know what's worst: changing and lying about it, or flirting with every guy in engineering, just to make me crazy for you... and now I feel so damn stupid, because there really is no meaning. It's just another damn crush that I don't want... and hell's bells, I'm not even sure if she sees me as a friend... I mean, I'm not hoping that she sees me as a man or anything. I just wish she saw me more than I am, that's all... like if I was some head spear boy at a Tibetan monastery or something, although considering all the soya bean drinkers there, that doesn't exactly sound too good... although it definitely sounds like fun, doesn't it? Or maybe not...

At least, I did let her suck on my soya bean, and it did feel good while it lasted. But I have to face facts: she's a people person, even if she denies it. She molds seamlessly into the mob, and thus, she's pretty much liked by everyone, simply because she can't help but smile all the damn time... And while one on one, that sure as hell makes me feel damn good, that Lord of the ringolo magic is suddenly stripped and teased and Demi-god, semi-evil lost when a third Harry party comes into the fold, beckoning the three fold rule of reckoning, and I realize... like always, there was absolutely nothing by the candle-lit, fireplace in the first place, was there? Except shadows on the wall of a cave... and hairy pot to smoke... when you're sober, I mean... and the hopes and shattered dreams of one pathetic excuse of a mind... And, well... since this update now hinges and borders on terroristic patheticness and run-on, Ivan the terrible ballisticness itself, I'll shut up right about here, to save myself the disgrace of falling in love with my own echo of a face, just because I'm the only one who sees myself as special, as the ripple of the nipple I so wish I could drink soya beans from... but I digress, because that doesn't sound too good, does it? I honestly can't tell, and that's what's most sad...

ATI: Well, my cousin hasn't even called his uncle yet to find if my video card has arrived. That's service with a smile for you. And to think, I was considering giving him a tip sometime, but now that's out of the 1000-word picture... Anyhew, saw over at Rage3d that a new Rage3d tweak was just released. Version 3.7 probably does something, which I leave up to the beaver and the user to figure out at: http://www.rage3d.com/r3dtweak .

nVidia: Just to let you know, saw over at Savagenews that some new Detonator drivers came out. I'll never know what version 42.70 does, if it even does anything, but if you simply love higher numbers and thus hate WinXP for having no year of a name, then go ahead and find your soulmate at: http://www.warp2search.net/article.php?sid=10022&mode=&order=0 .

Y2kk Update: Well, this sure was a week of surprises, both of high and lows... I won't try to jazz or salad dress this up or anything, so simply put, all my doubts and fears were cast away to the side, and proved to be unfounded and utterly fallible, when not only did I pass Calculus, but somehow my mark actually soared up from where it was, ending at a 65%. And quite frankly, that scared the living daylight shit out of me. First of all, there was no way in hell that my mark could've been bell curved, considering the class average going into that exam was 80%, while mine was hovering below 60%. That means I somehow actually did well on the final, even though I did leave that exam room with my head burrowed deep in my ass in utter shame. Secondly, I now feel goddam embarrassed, for being so damn pissed at my university friends for fraudily believing in me, pretentiously reassuring me that I will do well. Because when I claimed to them that this term might be my last term at university if everything went to hell for me, although I did think I'd pass, I sincerely did believe that I would barely muster even 50% dead on in all of my deadman walking courses. And, well... I was proven wrong... dead stop wrong... I just hope I'm proven wrong again this second term as well... And thirdly, and most importantly, my dad just doesn't understand how much of a fluke my course marks were to me after they were posted a week or so ago. I had no absolutely clue or warning that I would boost so much in almost all my courses, so of course I was goddam shocked at my undeserved success. But my dad on the other hand was not very impressed with my efforts, even though I mustered a 69% average (nice number, eh?) for all my courses. So what does he end up doing, but pat me on the back of the head and tell me to get at least 75% the next time around?... and, well... I've really ditched and cornered myself into some gutter or some crap over here, haven't I? I know my dad will never be pleased, no matter how well I do, but at least I hope that my marks won't drop from here on in, otherwise his missing link of a void of a facial empression may just turn a wee bit upside down whenever I get within his line of sight...

Well, that was my Monday. Surprise, surprise, I passed... unfortunately for me, somebody I know didn't... I couldn't find one of my friends that Monday, so I e-mailed him later that night. You might remember him as the guy I record labelled as the best listener in the world last summer. But goddammit, he won't be around any longer to listen to me whine... or he just won't be around period... Because you see, I got an e-mail back from him on Tuesday, telling me that he was switching majors. I knew what was his reason though... He told me the week before that he had failed one of his courses. He didn't know at the time that failing one course meant he was out for the entire year, and it stabbed me in the heart to be the one to tell him the sorry, game of life truth. And now all I feel is guilt, sort of like a bitter war veteren or some crap like that. I almost feel like I should've been the one to take the bullet, not my friend. While I was celebrating in the streets about almost becoming a B student, my friend was left to rot alone in the gutters that I always claim I'm in... and simply seeing his hopes dashed to derelict debris that day made my very eyes wince and wilt in guilt. Of course I'll still talk to the guy, but things just won't be the same anymore. Because it just doesn't sound right, it just doesn't feel right for me to complain anymore, now that I know someone, now that I know a good friend who has it a lot worse than I do... but the saddest thing is... you readers know me... by next week, I'll be complaining about something new, probably something meaninglessly academic, and I'll sadly act almost as if my friend and his drowned sorrows never once existed in the narcissitic echoes of my mind... for he will be like a war hero, a statue of liberty with no history left in memory, lest we forget... since we always forget...

And that was my Tuesday... or actually, that wasn't the whole of my Tuesday, because as stupid as this sounds, considering I just complained about complaining, I've got something else embarrassing to gripe off my chest... I had a quiz Tuesday morning for my Discrete Math course. The thing was though, that we students sort of knew what would exactly be on the quiz. We were assigned twenty, maybe thirty homework problems the week before. We knew that exactly two of those problems would compose the entire quiz. But while everyone else was diligently doing their problem sets, I was playing video games like Metroid Prime back at home. I felt I needed one last weekend off for holidays, so I didn't even bother getting the Discrete Mathematics textbook until the day of the quiz... and, well... I know, I know, I deserve to have a horse's ass right smack down in the middle of my ass of a mouth, because if I had just done the math, put two and two together, and actually did the homework the night before, that quiz would've been sure as hell the least of my problems... because, um... Quite frankly, even though I didn't necessarily know the answers to those quiz questions, it was painfully obvious to even oblivious me, that it was the easiest damn quiz I've ever had since even bloody Grade 11... all the TA wanted was a one line answer for each question. That's all. And goddammit, I could've gotten perfect without even learning a damn thing, if I had just looked at the back of the textbook and remembered the answers to the damn problem set questions... But nooooo, like the good jackass of a mule that I am, I was too lazy that morning to even bother with such a trivial pursuit form of idealistic idolatry. So short story short, everyone finished the quiz within literally twenty seconds, maybe thirty, myself included. The only difference was, while my friends were all laughing hysterically at how damn, Joe Doe dirt easy the quiz was, I was sort of just blinking my eyes to the left and right, blushing like a bride left at the altar, hoping that no-one would ever ask me about what I thought about my own primal peak of a performance that day... and, well... That officially was my Tuesday... heh... I couldn't even do a damn quiz my friends were labelling as kindergarten cop quality... just great...

Wednesday was a relative non-factor for me, except that I was bashing myself over the head once again for talking too much to that girl that I talk too much about. But the real ordeal for me came yesterday, when she finally did the math herself, and realized that on a repeated basis, I sure as hell was telling her a hell of a lot of private facts about what went down between me and the past crushed crushes of my life... So then she finally and fatally asked me that foam at the mouth, kick in the balls question: have I ever told others anything private about her?... and, well... I almost burst into tears there, realizing that if she knew the truth, she would do the same. So since I could muster no sincere lie, all I did was play that sad puppy face card of mine, and tell her the reasonable truth that I only bitch and complain about my former crushes because they hurt me quite badly, while she has never done such thing... well, mostly anyhew... I told her that I only spill the beans about those who cross my path, shove me off their crosswalk, and make me cross and close my eyes wide shut, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean...

And the thing was, I was so petrified at that moment, at her lone star question, that I couldn't even muster up the fortitude to feel guilty at what I said and what I always do, even now as I write this update. Because let's face facts: although I don't tell anything private about her life on my websites, I definitely talk about her a hell of a lot, in relation to me and how I'm feeling. And the thing is, right now, I'm so damn slack-jawed and shivering at the mere idea that one day, she will find out what I write about her, that I have decided to finally set things straight on this whore of a website, for myself at least, with a little dose of IvanF honesty. Because while I keep claiming that I beat her out of my head with an "ugly stick", I don't ever mean that she isn't beautiful. I feel the exact opposite actually, because when I complimented her hair cut a month ago, I really did feel that it was benevolently, delectably beautacious... I used to complain about her shrill of a shroom of a laugh, but quite honestly, she's the only one who ever laughs around me, or ever with me... I've been trying to condition myself to never again believe that I'm funny. But truth be told, if only I weren't so embarrassed about my comedic routines, her lone snicker would mean all the gold godivas in the world to me. And truth be told, if only my brother and so many of my friendly foes in high school hadn't made me so damn insecure about my extreme volume of voice, I too would find her siren song enchanting, simply because I hardily admire how she's not afraid to speak her mind and actually be heard... well, she speaks her mind to me at least... she trusts me... I think... and that's what counts, and that's what hurts... Because her smile? No, it doesn't exactly make me weak at the knees or caress my cartilage, but at least she does smile when I'm around, instead of just turning the other cheek and walking away like so many flames and femmes from my past. And while I always try to shove her out of mind with such superficial crap as her loudness, I never have achieved such a task... for I never talk about her smile, do I? Or her hair. Or her eyes. Or, well... her whole personality as a whole, per say... I don't really talk about what actually makes her special, or what hopefully makes her different from the rest of the girls I talk too much to her about.

And I won't. I still won't talk about such things that make her her, simply because I simply will not allow myself to fall into such a stupid, trepid, squiggly squid of a goddam trap in my bloody life yet again... In all honesty, I knew the moment that I met her a year and a half ago that I would eventually develop a crush on her. Today, she keeps remarking to me how remarkable it was that I talked so much to her from the very day that I met her, while today, I still pretty much ignore everyone else that I've barely met or haven't gotten to know. And I keep lying through my teeth to her, claiming that I don't know why I was always so chatty around her, even though I know the cold, hard-on, fusion truth, that it's simply because she's the first girl I've met in a long time with a personality that actually mirrors mine so damn well... And you see, I don't just try to beat her out of my head with my own goddam stick because I want to keep her in the frame of mind of a friend, but because I'm so damn sick of being the goddam sick lapdog, puppydog when it comes to goddam fatal attractions. I'm sick of writing prose and melodramatic poetry about women who never tell me the truth, about women who refuse to talk to me, about women who insult my intelligence, and about women who never once realized that I was ever there, lest we forget. And ironically enough, now at this very moment when I'm finally ready and bitter enough to give up on goddam crushes for good, I become even better friends with the only girl who actually does see that I'm there, and the only girl who ever does talk to me like a person. And yet I'm sick about writing about girls, because that's exactly what I said about all the other girls that I've ever liked. I don't want a new crush. I don't want anything that my brain tricks me into believing is real. I don't want any sort of crap like that right now, or I might not want anything like that ever again. What I want is to not feel so goddam ridiculously stupid, from falling in love and realizing it was all fake. And yet here I am, flailing my own ugly stick, feeling so damn gullibly stupid for being too stubborn to admit that I do feel something...

The ugly stick isn't meant to represent her. It's meant to represent me. It's a metaphor that speaks volumes that I'm not just an ugly stick , but that I'm a bunch of sticks... you see? Oh, nevermind... And what I want is to get through the rest of my university life with her as the great friend that she is, but not anything more, even though I want it to be more. Because what I want most of all it to continue being me, living like me, rather than always dreaming of a Christmas future that will never come to passe compose. I know I sound contradictive and contraceptive right now, all because I do feel so damn guilty for grudgedly writing all the warnings I've ever written about her. Sure, I can shrug my shoulders, slug it out, and claim that it's all natural to fall knee deep in blood and love and bloody war, that I am being real by wanting everything that's fake, whatever the hell that means... but that still doesn't excuse my shattered pride, for all my insults and slurs towards her were really meant for me. No matter how many times I try to fume her, frame her and depict her in a manner more akin to Shiva or Vesta, or goddam giddy Xena rather than Venus, she always ends up proving me wrong. She's always there to say the kind words, and she's always... well... she's always there, period, which is completely opposite of what I'm used to from girls... except those goddam evil girl guides with cookies, or them Wilderness girls selling cocaine on the streets, but that's besides the point...

And I realize that even now, I'm just falling into the same gullible trap like I've always done before. First came crap love through beauty from my first ever crush (whom I now shall refer to as the First Evil), then came love through friendship from that ILuvYou girl, then came love through prithy, pretty, petty pity from Sleepless in Seattle, then intellectual stimulus through my obsession, then from beauty yet again from that Vanilla Sky girl, and then like any good full circle or Discrete Mathematics question, I end up right back to the very start, feeling something thanks to goddam friendship all damn over again... I knew it was inevitable, which is why I've been trying to fight it, even though I know fighting often makes it stronger. But at least it worked for all those teacher crushes I had in my pet of a past... Which is why I will try not to depict the girl I talk too much about in either an atrocious or a pygamalion perfection kind of limelight. Sure, I'll still talk about her too much, but I'll just try to be honest from this point on. If she pisses me off, fine, but I will no longer say cruel intentional things about her just to be cruel to myself. Because that's always been what my websites have been about... not about being cruel per say, but about being honest, which is, um, sort of the same thing for me... and also because I sure as hell hope and elope that she doesn't bite my ass in the future when she inevitably finds out what I write about her on these websites, although, um, I guess that sounds more desirable than it should...

Okay, premature shoot, short story short, yes, I have feelings for her. Although I've now dedicated my life to shunning out false prophets and fake ideal women, the problem is, she becomes more and more real to me each and every damn day... but isn't that what I always say?... Which is why I'm doing my best to ignore my feelings for her, which is also why I sound so damn cruel and buttox bitter against her on this website. Because as the cliche goes, as ironic as it is to wear and stain the very pants you're returning, it's not her. It's me. And there, happy now?... Hypocrisy now? Apocalypse now?... well, no... not really. I know I said just a few paragraphs above that I wouldn't complain, but then again, that wouldn't be me either I guess, lest I ever forget... lest I ever be honest for once and tell her about this goddam website... and, well, that for you dear readers was my ever classic, IvanFian Thursday. Sounds like so much fun, doesn't it?

ATI: Apparently, Xbit Labs is having a lot of fun now, flashing new bioses and repositining chip wafers in order to change the Radeon 9500 to a Radeon 9700. Practical wise, it's not very bright of someone to possibly ruin their video card just to get a minimal performance boost, one that an extra $30 or so could've bought you with warranty... but then again, we computer nerds have never been real logical at: http://www.xbitlabs.com/news/story.html?id=1042578447 .

ATI: ATI's always fun to have around, considering their insider trading possibilities always leads to fun. Read the Globe and Mail's ongoing converage of this lovely business practice stuff at: http://www.theglobeandmail.com/servlet/ArticleNews/front/RTGAM/20030116/wbatiosc/Front/homeBN/breakingnews .

Matrox: Saw over at Savagenews that new bioses have been released for Matrox cards. Don't know what version 2.57.001 does for the G200, G400, and G550, but then again, I guess nobody does, considering no documentation was released along with the bioses at: ftp://ftp.matrox.com/pub/mga/archive/bios/2003/setup257.exe . Some new Parhelia drivers came out as well, I think. Version 1.03.01.002 for Win2k and XP is over at: ftp://ftp.matrox.com/pub/mga/archive/2kxp/2003/2kxp_103_01_002.exe .

nVidia: Saw over at Rage3d that a new RivaTuner has come out. Don't know what version 12.1 does, but at least it adds updated Detonator support at: http://www.guru3d.com/rivatuner/ .

Y2kk Update: ... heh... you've gotta love Canadian winters. I was walking down the university sidewalk this afternoon, when at the exact moment a beautiful vixen crossed my path, she slipped and tumbelled straight to the ice, headfirst to the ground, weak at the knees. And me being Mr. Gentleman of course, I offered to help her up, but she wouldn't allow me within a sixty nine foot radius of her or something. She even showed me a restraining order, I think... and she pretty much crawled her way out of my line of sight before I could utter another word... because, um, me being the Mr. Gentleman that I am, I sort of, um... was so damn clumsy while trying to catch her as she fell, that I sort of um, instead... pushed her down to the mat faster and harder than she would've without my generosity... And the saddest part of the whole ordeal was, this wasn't the first time or the only time this kind of thing has happened. In the past two years at university alone, three seperate women have slipped on ice exactly when I crossed their paths, as if I were some black cat or some walking, reverse black widow curse, or the computer virus that some claim me to be or some crap like that. But the thing was, the two girls that I didn't know managed to megaflop to the floor, begging for mercy, starstruck and superstrung as far away from me as they possibly could get. It was as if as soon as they smelled my semi-evil presence, they were knocked out by the whiff of my guff scent, and sent flying as far as their wobbly legs could catapult them across the ice... But then of course, there was always that girl I talk too much of, who was the only one of the three to actually fall into my arms and bask in my grasp, rather than fall away from me in abnormal freight and abhorred fright... and, well...

I personally prefer to think that I've got a knack for sweeping girls off their feet, or in the case of the two women I didn't know, I even knocked them dead and flat on their backs before I even said hello, all thanks to my toilet paper looks and my Prince Charmin personality... And, well? As for the girl I talk too much of, the one who actually was the first in history to lean on me for support, in more ways than one, in more places than one? Well, I sometimes think back to that moment, when push came to shove, and wonder over wonderbread whether it meant anything or something... and then of course, I do my usual routine and beat her out of my head with an ugly stick... or at least, that's what I did until a few days ago, when I finally realized I was getting horny off of using that pilar of a phallic object of mine to exert my repressed aggression against her, but that's besides the make-out point...

There was one other thing to note about that girl who talks too much this week, and that is, simply put, that she sort of talked too much... or at least, she talked a bit too much fresh French to me, all of which I couldn't understand a damn bit... It wasn't her fault though. She had spent her Christmas with her relatives in Montreal, Quebec, and kinda got tongue tied with English after reverting back to her native language for two weeks in a row-row-row boat. And the thing was, she mentioned how one of her francophone relatives or whomever had married a person who barely understands French, just like me... and my friend also sort of blurted out to insecure me that whenever that certain anglophone espousal spouse or whatever was in the room, she and her family made sure to only speak English around her, just to make sure that person didn't feel left out and offended... but the thing was, if her relative wasn't offended, then quite frankly, I'm offended that she wasn't offended, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... eh?

Because simply put, the girl I talk too much of also got me to realize a little too much this week. And that is, I will forever be the ugly duckling, no matter where I run and hide in life. I mean, I took four years of French classes in high school, even though I hated each and every single one of them with a certain French Kiss of death passion, and I knew none of them would help my linguistic skills even one bit or 10110 byte, and why? Because I was solely seeking some sort of redemption, or at least some semblance of solaris solace when it came to my inability to speak my native language of Cantonese... I feel like such a goddam idiot every time my relatives speak English around me. Sure, if they spoke in Chinese, I'd only understand half the conversation, but still, I just hate the feeling that I'm being the beast of burden, dragging my relatives and family down until my semi-evil half finally liquidates our breakthroughs in group through personal retaliation. And, well... I was hoping that feeling of mine would finally be vanquished and vanish, if only I could prove to myself that I could learn French. I mean sure, living in a Chinese household and taking six years of Chinese speaking school didn't help me one bit for what I really cared about in life, but I figured I might as well stick with French, just to see if I was completely inept at learning languages or not... and, well... simply put, I am completely inept at learning languages. I didn't understand a word that girl was saying to me the other day, and it's not like I would've understood her any better, even if I was still at the so-called intellectual level that I was during my final days of French lessons. I've always felt like an ugly duckling in my own family, and now I'm sort of getting the same sense of panic around her... and wow... she's already feeling like family... it's almost like she's met the parents... and how sugar and spice and everything nice, eh? Just like donuts... mmmm.... donuts...

... and then, of course, to top the centurian cherry on top, we all know about the incident last year, when a certain friend slash foe of mine criticized me for not knowing his native language from Pakistan, and kinda told me to my face that I was dragging down all his friends, forcing them to speak English... I've always felt like an outsider with my friends, because I always feel so damn awkward and so damn guilty everytime I break the mold on the cherry, cheery mood, just to ask for a rough translation of what the hell they're gaggling like geese about. But until this week, I've never quite realized that I truly was the ugly duckling of this university group of mine... or at least, the ugly duckling that chooses to swim amongst the swans... although, um, I can't swim, to the digust of the girl who I talk too much of, but I digress...

I could've easily went to any university where English was the first and foremost only language. And hell, I could've been surrounded by students that actually speak Canadian, if only I even picked a different major in my own university. But the thing was, I chose this life. I seem to enjoy the pain and wonder-pain (get it? It's French?!... oh, nevermind...) of being the ugly duckling, as if I'm some masochist or macho machinist or some crap like that. I chose my engineering course not just because I'm trying to live out my father's outlined dream, but because I was hoping I could finally fit in with some Chinese herbal students for once, all to no avail... Because once again, I made a choice. I chose my current friends over those Chinese ginseng geniuses, who kept ditching me for prom dates with their own brains... always punctual, never late to acupuncture me in the ass, lest we forget, but that's besides the acupoint... And although my current crop circle of friends aren't exactly the most loyal of brady bunch families (considering they rarely ever tell me where they're going, or what they're doing), and they're also not the most interesting people per say (they have no frickin' laser beams attached to their heads), at least they seem honest. And at least they seem to accept me for who I am...

Or at least, they accept me for who I am, except for that whole language sonic barrier thing, which is something I've had the opportunity to get used to for a very long time... my whole life, actually... feels like family, really... which is probably why I'm starting to blindily, romantically see my university life as my home away from home... which it kinda literally is, considering I've only either been there or back for the past two years or so, but that's besides the point... because this is my family. It is small and broken, but still good... yup, still good... although I guess this Lilo and Stitch line has lost all meaning to me, considering I substitued the family part of it for a McDonald's hamburger today, but I digress...

And speaking of school, just to let you know, some of my first term marks are finally in, and short story short, I'm stunned. I'm stone cold shocked. I'm solvently stupefied. And hell, I'm even... um... well, something else that starts with an s, although not with a SS... Anyhew, my Circuit mark went down from about a 68% to a 60%, which kind of disappointed me, considering I crammed for five or six days straight for that exam, with barely any washroom breaks (and luckily no crapping in my own pants this time around), with barely any wisdom breaks, without any wisdom teeth breaking, and without the time to even break some wind, or catch the fair lady chance of scenting the aroma of my own Lady Swiffer brand. I dedicated my entire life and death of Superman to that exam, even though it was so damn boring - episode one boring - and yet my mark ended up dropping 8% anyhew, like the non-existant flies did in Lord of the Flies... Not that I'm really complaining about all this though, considering I failed or almost failed literally every single one of my Circuit tests during the term. And I only had a near 70% in the course thanks to all those bonus marks my lab partner donated to me in class, even when I was sick and vomiting all over his blue suede shoes, but I digress...

My History of North American Technology mark remained steady around 81%, I think. I was hoping for a bit more, considering there really wasn't much to learn or memorize in that course. Then again, I did almost fail that mid-term, and I did get bored enough to quit on the final exam kind of a few hours before I should've, but that's besides the point... My computer mark shot up to 77%, or at least, I think it shot all the way up to there... If you few e-readers can recall, I did sort of fail that programming mid-term rather miserably, but my mark should've at least been leveled and balanced out by the dark side of the force and that 85% average or something that I got on the assignments. So in the end, I really don't know whether I did well on the programming exam or not, but at least I didn't drop 10% like I did after last year's final, all thanks to those stupid preordered pizza definitions or whatever, but that's besides the point...

And the mark that vexes and boggles and Yahtzees my mind the most, is the fact that miraculously, I shot up 13% in Advanced Engineering Math, from a 50% to a 63%. Per chance to dream, I say... And yet you few readers out there know that because I was so damn spent and Michelin tired from all my Circuit studying, I really didn't study more than a half of a day for that damn Engineering Math course, even though I was literally at the brink of failure in that course, the Martian, Martin point of no return... And seriously, I would've preferred a 50% as my final mark rather than a 63%, because I'm so damn petrified and paranoid that I didn't actually earn that mark or something, that's it's all some galactic sized mistake or some crap like that. Because I mean, there's no way in hell my mark could've been pulled that high, considering I left practically a third of the questions completely Grosse Point blank on the exam, unless there was some sort of bell curving involved with the final for the first time in a long time... although after inquiring and inquisiting all my friends, using English of course, it seems their marks all stayed about stable, so either they all did miserably on the exam, or there was simply no normalization in the end... and, well...

Maybe the fates decided to play nice with me for once instead of playing dodgeball, with me being the ball to Chrysler dodge that is. Because the day before my Calculus exam, simply because I had whispered in my ear half a year earlier that I would do this before Christmas, I finally gave the begger that's always sitting in front of my subway station some spare change from the bowels of my pocets. It wasn't much, probably not anything more than a measly buck... But still, as glutton and selfish as this sounds, I couldn't help but new hope that my pathetic act and art of goodwill would somehow generate revenues when it came to the up and coming, big screen venue of my life... And, well... Of course, that one fair day, I ended up faring rather miserably on theat Calculus exam, and naturally, Calculus being the only course I was ever honestly worried about failing, of course my damn university professors still haven't uploaded the marks for that damn course, just for mello yello jello, melodramatic effect and a Sir Yankovich of my two front teeth, but that's besides the point...

The point is, I love Canadian winters. With women falling at my feet, kissing the ground that I walk on as if I were some George Lucas god, how could I possibly not enjoy the fruits of the Northern Arctic's Labrador and labour? Sure, I hate shovelling snow and getting plastered with snowballs. Sure, I hate returning back to school early in the mornings, just to find it's all dark and gloomy, and that nobody ever gave a damn that I was gone. And sure, I hate Jack Frost nipping at my nose and nuts, or the fact that I can't even make snow angels properly (they sort of turn out as spheres or crop circles instead), or that one time, a snowman actually lunged at me and buried me in its own frozen hell, but that's besides the point... And oh, don't forget about the damn cold weather! The damn cold weather should burn in hell, but I digress... Because besides all that, if you could just take all of those little nuances away, then you can plainly see why I truly do love Canadian winters. Because it's the best time of year to be a real Canadian whiner, and that's all Mr. Y2kk, Olympic Skater Gentleman over has ever asked for. To be an ugly duckling, in hiding and hiberation, in a season too cold for swans to swim.

ATI: Well, this doesn't benefit me much, but saw over at Rage3d.net that ATI has made an alliance with DivXNetworks, and will build in DivX playback technology into their 9500 and 9700 drivers from now on. Since I'm hopefully getting my paltry 7500 PCI this weekend, which ATI has abandoned for cannon fodder, it doesn't look like my DivXs will benefit from this partnership whatsover... not like I download DivXs, mind you... so, com, um... I'll just use the CSS excuse here and claim I wanted to play DVD movies on my Linux system, even though I don't have a Linux system, but that's besides the point... at least I'll still win in court...

ATI: Apparently, Digit Life has come to the rescue of your digital lives. They've reported a way to change your Radeon 9500 64MB into a Radeon 9500 Pro 64MB, simply through software or something. Go ahead and test out this new age of tweaking and dweaking at: http://www.digit-life.com/news.html?1093#1093 .

ATI: Xbit labs has done a little comparison between ATI and nVidia solutions for laptops. Don't know what they were trying to solve, what they compared, or what they used as the solvent, but go ahead and check out their solution at: http://www.xbitlabs.com/mobile/compaq-p2810t/ .

Y2kk Update: Out with the old news, out with the new news, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... There's good news and bad news for you few readers, with the bad news being that I absolutely have nothing to write about. It's January 3rd, the go happy happy happy happy happy anniversary of this website, and yet I'm absolutely dumbfounded as to what to write... And the good news? Well... that I have absolutely nothing to goddam write about. I'm not even in the mood to rehash old download.mycrowsoft.com history and nostalgia like I did last year, or the year before that, or the year before that... Hell, AOL, what is wrong with me? The day IvanF sheds his skin of nostalgia, is the day that IvanF... um... sheds his skin of nostalgia, but I digress...

Okay, one little, paltry thing did happen in my life, but it's almost not even worth mentioning, even in my no-name book. I'll eventually report on my tweakui suite of a juicy fruit site about laptop shopping with my brother over the holidays, and anybody who knows IvanF knows that laptops are not my bag, baby... well, okay, maybe they're my barf bag, baby, or maybe that Ally McBeal baby in a bag, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... Short story short, after purchasing the precious Presario laptop of his choice, my brother sort of went on a Nazi tirade with the thing, shoving me out of his existence whenever he wanted to be alone with his new boy toy... When he caught me optimizing some of the system control panel performance properties, he snapped at me for ruining his computer. When I was trying to help him fix a Winamp echo problem, I accidentally shifted a window border by reflex, and he kicked me out his room because he felt it was "wrong" and morally unjust for an outsider like me to change around his settings on his computer... It took him an entire day to finally warm up to the fact that everything I did "wrong", I did by accident and by subconsicous habit, not to mention the fact that he used to do the same damn things to my computers, and yet I've never cared... Or actually, he's never cared about this sort of crap before either. He never stayed mad at me for an entire day just from one lousy moved menu bar or any computer crap like that... instead, he normally stays mad at me for other stupid cupid things in life, but I digress...

Anyhew, things have returned back to normal between the two of us, which is both good news and bad news. Good for me, because I love my brother like a... um... brother, and as my best friend in the known world. But it's also bad news considering, well... when I'm actually content, I really have nothing to write about, hence the good news and bad news of this goddam pointless Y2kk Update. I'm so confounded as to what to write, that starting today, I'm making a small and subtle yet...um... also subtle change to the texture and dexterity of this website, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. Short story short, I have now officially transferred and transplanted and transposed the ATI news from my essentially defunct MSN website to this one, considering PowerVR is now dead, both S3 and Matrox are essentially missing in action, BitBoys never once existed, and I despise nVidia too much to bother reporting anything else than their latest Detonator drivers and their Dow Jones going all the way down... or at least, dare to dream, I say... Elsewhere in the world of IvanF, I've got special Y2kk Updates in the works for my other sites. Although noname is out of concussion missile commission this week, my tweakui site is getting my Y2kk Year in Review, whever the hell I finish that one, and my MSN site will get chapter 1 of some of the stupidest, most insignificant crap in my life that I actually still cringe about to this day...

And, well, sounds like fun, doesn't it? But nope... rope-a-dope... Not at all, both to read and write and write to disk. Because it's simply not fun to write when I have absolutely nothing to write about at all... which is kind of a quirky paradox, because I've never really had anything to write in my life... not since January the 3rd, three long years ago... so why the hell am I still writing? Why the hell am I still writhing? Why the hell am I still whining? Why the hell am I still here?...

Because I'm IvanF, that's why... whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... and okay, I'll just shut up here right about now, as my happy happy happy happy happy anniversary gift to you few cumsome readers out there...

ATI: Just to let you know, it feels weird that I'm reporting ATI news for the first time in the longest time... I was never the biggest ATI fan, as my first video card besides that god-awful Trident one was an ATI Mach 64 2MB, and it never worked real wonders for me... I instead staked my trust in PowerVR and the PCX2 4MB, only to have it lose badly to 3dfx's Voodoo 2... I then believed in the magic of the S3 Savage 3 8MB, only to have it crushed by the nVidia competition... I then turned to Matrox, hoping that the G400 32MB and so-called Condor would be able to turn things around for the little guys, but it was only a matter of time until Matrox stocks fell to the floor, and ATI ones shot through the roof... So now, my vote goes to ATI, the lesser of two evils compared with nVidia. Because although I've never liked ATI products that much (except for the Nintendo Gamecube, but I digress), it's at least nice to know there's a successful video card company just a few cities from me down the road... Of course, it seems that every company I choose to take under my wing seems to die a horrible, infamous, yet unglamorous death, so maybe ATI won't want my support afterall? But that's besides the point...

The point is, the Radeon 9100 card was just announced from ATI. Once again, it's just another bargain board like the Radeon 9000 meant to compete against nVidia MX440. I'm not sure what was stripped from the 9100, but go ahead and thank Rage3d.com for the link to: http://www.digitimes.com/NewsShow/Article.asp?datePublish=2002/12/26&pages=05&seq=21 .

ATI: In the spirit of tweaking, Aselabs has an article up that explains how to flash your Radeon 9500 Pro card so it can be overclocked to hell. Go ahead and indulge in fires at: http://www.aselabs.com/articles.php?id=49 .

ATI: Bjorn3d has a review up for the Radeon 9000 Mobility. My brother got a Radeon Mobiliy U1 or whatever shared memory crap with his laptop... it can barely play NHL2002 at minumum graphics level, I'm sad to say, but I digress... at least it's better than the S3 Virge MX on my old laptop, and at least it ain't a nVidia card, but I digress again... Anyhew, check out the best ATI card for laptops at: http://www.bjorn3d.com/_preview.php?articleID=93 .