Y2kk Update: My family and I were just discussing something over dinner... I mean, if we had gone to Vancouver this week, we wouldn't have been able to see the Canadian Rockies, or Kamloops, or - gasp - even Calgary... goddammit, Calgary!@!... right now, all those roads that lead to Rome are closing thanks to forest fires. I mean, while we were in Vancouver - I found it fortunate that it didn't rain on us once. It was perfect gentlemen weather the whole nine yards and ten days through... and as soon as we left, well... this was the aftermath. The province has gone ablaze. It's hell on earth, especially for all those tree huggers. And all the places that we visited... hell, they may never be the same again... considering all they were in the first place, were goddam trees...

And blah blah blah blah. Do I really care about little towns like Vernon, BC? Hardly... but I will miss the few memories I do have from there... Because you see, my Vancouver vacation is already slipping from my mind. I mean, I can't even remember much from my New York, Washington DC, or Chicago trips from years past anymore, and I only remember Florida because I nearly drowned there when I was six years old (which nobody else bloody hell remembers...), so... Short story short, I don't seem to retain vacation memory very long, as if my damn memory goes on vacation as soon as I get back... Or at least, the places I've been to are already fading, as the vagueness in my Tweakui update glaringly points out, at least to me. But vacations just aren't about places - they're about people. And rest assured, I did meet a few personalities that I won't be forgetting anytime soon... whether I like it or not...

First up is our Chinese tour guide... you see, my auntie sort of runs a travel agency or something. She got us cheap tickets to Vancouver and back thanks to the SARs crisis, and she got us a discount on our Rocky mountains tour for a week. But the thing is, she just had to work for a Chinese tour company, now didn't she? And the thing was... well... sigh... I had spent enough time around Chinese in that little berg they call Richmond. I didn't want to spend yet another week with those little, FOBby, "MacGoy" burgers of buggers breathing down my neck... But I figured, I've been on Chinese tours before. What could possibly go wrong or go worse this time around, right?... but the only thing is...

I'm Cantonese. I speak what Hong Kong speaks, or at least, I can understand the damn language at least... But the problem was... I mean... Huh?!... What the fuck?! Do they not understand the goddam words coming from my mouth?... I mean, the damn tour bus was littered with Mandarin speaking Chinese everywhere. And it was annoying enough when elders would come up to me and spout a bunch of Beijing talk that I couldn't understand one damn bit or byte. But what pissed me off the most, was that the goddam tour guide just never did learn... I mean, first of all - my condolences to him... he looked like a friggin' idiot. I know he was forced to wear that ridiculously coloured shirt that read "Super Vacation", but did he really have to wear the cap? I mean, my brother and I couldn't help but joke on the bus that our tour guide looked like a friggin' baseball coach, unemployed and left out to Canadian dry, and for all we knew, we could've been right... And I felt no qualms about making fun of this dick, when every single fuckin' day, he would walk up to me and start speaking goddam Mandarin morse code. And every single frickin' day, I would politely but verbally spit back in his face, that either he speaks English to us, or goddam Cantonese. And for the rest of the hour, he would normally oblige... But sixty goddam minutes later, he would walk his strut back up to us again, and open his fat mouth to proclaim some badly accented Mandarin crap to us, and all we could do was roll our eyes and try to get this guy to just remember who the hell we were... Maybe he's having tough times or something. Or maybe he's taken too many damn baseballs to the goddam noggin' or some crap like that. But honestly, I could tell that he was born Cantonese from his accent... So why the hell wouldn't he goddam speak the language?!

But like I said, he wasn't the only one who refused to even try to communicate with us with a language we could understand... Because there was this one guy, this one kid, who will forever stand above the rest... he was this fat kid who wore overall-like clothes all the time (or at least, he always hiked up his pants to even levels I've never heard of...). He couldn't have been more than eight or nine, and the funniest thing was, every single damn time he tried to talk (and he only spoke Mandarin), he frickin' sounded like he had goddam chocolate all smothered on his face... So how could we possibly resist? We named him "Uter", after the German exchange student from the Simpsons, because goddammit, except for the Chinese thing, the resemblance was ungodly uncanny... But there was more to this Uter than first meets the eye. Or, well... maybe not... but still. His idiot habits led to some of the best goddam laughs I've had in the longest of whiles... and some of the most painful as well...

I mean, first of all, he kept smacking people out of the way. No matter where we goddam went to, he would shove his way through the bus' only aisle, all the way to the front to make sure he was always the first guy off the bus. And logic dictated that maybe he always needed to go the toilet or something, considering he sure as hell looked like he was retaining a lot of water... But the even stupider thing was, whenever we all lined up to get back onto the bus, where we all had prearranged seats, this damn Uter guy would start his running and huffing and shoving poutine of a routine all over again, knocking over children and the elderly, just to get back on the damn bus first... And it didn't even stop there! I can honestly say that he rammed his ass - yes, rammed his ass - into my goddam face at least three times a day. Whenever I drifted off, I tended to sort of lean my head just a bit off to side... not even off my seat, but just to the side... But the thing about Uter, is that he seems so damn proud of his fat ass, that he literally shakes and waves it around, bootylicious style. And I don't know what the hell he was trying to accomplish, but every damn twenty minutes, as if by clockwork, he would shove his way through the moving bus, and stiff his ass right in everyone's face in the process. He even wiggled his butt cheeks into someone's nose when he decided to turn around... And he even friggin' did this to me right after he took a shit in the porta potty in the goddam back! Has this Uter no respect for humanity? Has this Uter have any humanity?!... I mean honestly, who throws a shoe? Because to me, it sure as hell tastes a bit nutty...

But there was one moment that I will never forget, that still continues to bring a smile to my face every damn time I think of it...We were on an ice trawler on the Athabasca Glacier at the time. The poor gal driving up front - Meagan, was her name - was simply dying up there with the jokes and info she was trying to liven the Chinese crowd with... So in between our heartless laughs, my brother and I started talking about the receding nature of the glaciers according to global warming or some crap like that. And the thing was, that's when for once, Uter stuck his face into mine rather than his token of an ass... And what did the Uter have to say?...

"... whiss-sler..."

And, umm... Whistler. Right. Umm, yeah... we didn't get to visit that ski resort city, but I knew about it. So I kindly said back in perplexion, "yeah, Whistler... ummm... has snow and mountains too... I guess..." And the thing was, as if that was his whole damn vocabulary or some crap like that, the stupid damn Uter then retreated back to his seat, knocking down faces with his ass along the way, and never ever finished whatever the hell kind of point he was trying to make, if he ever had a point to make in the first place... and, um.... yeah... He said one word, and he couldn't even goddam say it properly! I mean, he sort of wheezed it out, as if he couldn't breathe properly in between his chocolate gasps of gulps... and yes, I know I'm being mean, for picking on a kid. But what the hell do you expect from me? I'm the no-name whiner! And I still have the goddam taste of Uter ass in my mouth. And I'm telling you - it was not a pleasant chocolate mocca taste, and definitely not an experience I want to recall...

And it wasn't just him that was a threat to my sanity and the whole of society. His parents just let Uter roam the bus as if he owned it, and didn't even think it was rude that he was shoving his ass in everyone's way (and considering Uter sat in the back of the bus, you better believe there was hell to pay whenever we were about to stop...). But his brother?... well... I'll admit, his four or five year brother was cute, and could already speak more clearly than his elder brother ever could. But the thing was... this kid was dangerous, both to others and himself. First of all, I had to help him a few times because his damn Uter brother kept making him do the dangerous stuff without goddam lending a hand. After Uter literally crawled his fat ass up a 10 ft, 50 degree incline, his brother just had to follow monkey suit and do the goddam same. And instead of even helping him up, damn Uter just sat there with his damn box of freshly bought ginseng, while his parents just stood there and talked about the meaningless trip... And since I seemed to be the only damn one who noticed this four year old kid about to fall backwards to his rocky doom, I had no choice but to go to him and help him up the damn slope since he was too stupid to give up... only to find that the damn kid now wanted to go back down the damn slope, and goddam back up again... and uggh... I can take that from a four year old kid. But when Uter asked for help, since he was obviously getting jealous?... ummm... I ran... stupid, little kid be damned, I ran...

If you read my msn site last week, you'll know that I found myself a little crush on that bus tour trip. Near the end of the tour, I started talking with her about that little kid I helped. Because I felt she wasn't exactly the type to... um... want children, right away... ummm... and I was right. She found the Uter brother to be spirited, but scary at the same time, and I was more than inclined to agree... And of course, that's when the three fold karma thing just had it set in. The stupid kid came along and started roaming the bus as the Uter once did. And the thing was, I was resting my head at the time with the aisle armrest up in the air... and since the little kid had no ass to use for motion sickness support, he had to hang onto the armrests instead... and when he went for mine?... he goddam smashed and smacked the damn armrest into my goddam teeth... and as I was screaming and writhing in pain, I got a few cute looks from the girl I had a crush on, and lucky for me, I finally had found a suitable excuse to stare and glare at Uter and his brother in blind contempt... of course, all I did in the end was pat the apologizing, stupid kid and sent him away, citing the Young Offender's Act in the process to save whatever goddam dignity I had left... but at least the girl - or at least, a girl - noticed me, considering I had just gotten beaten up by a four year old... although that happens more often than you'd think, but that's besides the point... Because full out and full through, this tour ride of the Rockies has scared and scarred the hell out of me in more ways than I possibly could've ever imagined. Now everywhere I go, I literally jump in terror at the slightest sound that even resembles the voice of Uter... which mostly came from ugly women terrorizing the airports, I shit you not... And hell, I wasn't lying when I said I could still taste his damn shit on the tip of my goddam tongue. If only the kid would just realize the irrevocable damage he has caused... then... well... ummm... Uter... he would still shove his ass in my face, I assure you of that. He has no remorse.

And, well... despite Uter's damning and omnipotent presence on the tour, I still did manage to get a few decent licks and sights in, besides his turd of an ass... Most of them were foretold already on my Tweakui site, and I'll save one for my MSN site whenever I get the chance... but before I go, I might as well describe Lake Louise by Castle Mountain. Because the thing was, I've always had dreams of white water... hot, steaming, sticky water made of semen, breast milk, and female orgasm excrements actually, to put it mildly... And as sick as that sounds to write, it does look and feel orgasmically beautiful in my dreams, as I can't help but dream that this concoction of bodily fluids would somehow make a girl horny enough to actually try to tear me apart... And the thing was, when I saw Lake Louise, I couldn't help but be disappointed. Thank God Uter was completely out of sight, but still... it just didn't seem right... White water can be found almost everywhere in the world, but this was my first encounter with it. The water was only white because of mineral deposits and not from mindless sex, I know, but still... I could still dream, now couldn't I?... but it was just water when I looked upon it with my own set of eyes, and it wasn't even sparkling water. It looked downright dirty, even though it was completely clean... and somehow in my dreams, semen infested water is completely sparkling clean, with no Uter shit, I shit you not... And I don't know what this all means. It's just that, I was hoping to live, or at least see, my dreams in full living colour. But whenever I try to, whenever I get a chance to, I always turn away disappointed, because it's the dream I love. Not the reality... of course, I can still dream of those boiling hot, volcanic white lakes around Iceland I've seen in pics whenever I get horny, but still... something just doesn't feel right anymore, and I'm not just saying this because I can still feel Uter ass lips on my goddam gums... I mean, nobody again should ever be forced to know, that his shit smells like ripe chocolate and tangerines, but I digress...

Like I said, my "Super Vacation" is already waning in my mind, but as long as this Y2kk Update lives on, I guess so does goddam Uter... which is both a good thing and evil thing, I suppose... because even though he annoyed the hell out of my guts by stuffing his into mine, I will admit, that now that it's all over, I - sniff sniff - almost miss his ass... I wish I could still beat his ass... and I know that doesn't sound good, but still... ah, oy Oyster Uter, how I'll miss you so... I will never forget you, Uter... I will never forget your evil little twerp of a brother either... I will never forget everyone's favourite, failed baseball coach... and I will never, ever forget the girl I had a crush on, whatever her name was, as we spent those two or so seconds of bliss together, just booed and bored at Lake Louise... and oh, the memories!... all the joys I've felt... my time here has ended, but what an end - and not an Uter end - it may be...

And oh, goddammit... time to wash my mouth... again... the nightmare - it never ends... thank you, British Columbia and Alberta... thank you so very much for hell...

ATI: Not much to report... I was sure that ATI announced something in which Half Life 2 would be given out free with Radeon 9800s or 9900s or some crap like that, but I guess that was just a rumour... But until I find out, there's some Radeon9800 reviews to read if you're that damn bored. Techseekers has one about the Connect3d 256MB version at: http://www.techseekers.net/modules.php?name=Reviews&rop=showcontent&id=67 . UKGamer talks about the Sapphire Atlantis version at: http://www.ukgamer.com/article.php4?id=98&page=1 . And if you're more into budget cards like me, there's a GeForceFX5200 vs Radeon9200 review over at OCAddiction: http://www.ocaddiction.com/reviews/video/fx5200vsr9200/ .

Y2kk Update: Just great... just superbe... just fan-fucking-tastic... I mean, it always happens. It always happens!...

But not this year... Goddammit, not this year!

You see, longtime Y2kk Readers will know that I've never been able to go a full "school year" without crying just once... it's a damn, crying shame, actually... Last June, I ruined what I hoped would be the first time I would finally be able to buck the trend, by crying at my brother's graduation for Christ's sakes... but this year? This school year, starting from July 2002 to June 2003?... voila! I did it! I really did it! I survived a whole twelve, goddam school months and didn't weep or tingle from anywhere but my lower eye even once!... it's just too bad that...

... sigh... too bad my record for 2003-2004 is already tarnished and trashed in the goddam gutters...

If you haven't noticed yet, I just recently got back from my vacation to Vancouver, British Columbia. Now, I already mentioned the most perky and pertinent of moments on my noname and msn sites, and I'll leave most of my remaining guff and gunter trash for my Tweakui site. Because I have a bigger concern to discuss with really nobody but my no-name self today... Because honestly, I should've known! I should've fucking known that I was just ripe for the ripping!... that I was just rich for the weeping... I mean, as soon as my family and I got back from our vacation, we found a little note, stamped from the company that holds my college funds or some crap like that. And according to them, they ain't giving me my bloody damn college money for next year... the money that my parents themselves put into the fund when I was a goddam infant... I mean, it's our fucking money! Why the hell won't they give it back?... and apparently, the answer was that my university registrar didn't indicate anywhere on their form, that I've passed second year and moved onto third... and yes, I know I failed a course. But I called the registrar soon after, confirmed that yes, I did pass second year, and realized that once again, those stupid damn bitches behind the counter screwed something else up in my life again.

But the strange thing was... I was pissed this time... Since when have I ever been pissed about school?... and the obvious answer, was that I hated being reminded that I goddam failed a course, and possibly the entire year. It's obvious that I don't relish the thought of taking that damn electricity course of mine again... But somehow, knowing all that didn't make me feel one damn ounce better. So I did my usual thing, and started singing in the shower, a thing I always used to do when I got pissed off in the past and needed a tank to think... and somehow, just singing in the shower rain gets my thoughts all flowing, no pun if there is a pun intended, and I realized something... Not once on our Vancouver trip did my parents even mention my accolades. Not once did they even winch whether they were proud of me or not. In the meantime, I had to suffer through tall tales of one of my cousins being a PhD pharmacist, another cousin being a broker or some crap like that when it comes to bartering Boxers in Las Vegas, and treks from another cousin who's moved on after graduating from some Ivy League American college or some crap like that... and I realized something. I know how vain and damn shallow this sounds, but it stings and summons in the pits of my stomach, because simply put... it's something I used to have... until, well... my parents haven't once bragged about me since I failed a damn course in first year. They 've even warned me not to tell a living soul that I have failed a course (thankfully, the internet is not living)... and they forced me to pretend like I was passed second year with barely any problems whatsoever to my godparents. And, well... I hated lying... but sometimes, I just have to take loyalty over honesty, as much as it pains me to say it...

And if you asked me, I'd think that this whole, goddam college fund fiasco is just another goddam blotch on my goddam ink blotch test when it comes to blowing up, thanks to a withdrawal in my parents' approval rating of IvanFian me... but still, as I got out of the shower yesterday morning, I really didn't think much of this whole thing. I mean, sure the pain and bread and guilt of not being boastworthy in the eyes of my parents was slowly but surely eating away at the insides of me, but I figured that now that I knew of the problem, at least I'd be able to deal with it on a conscious level... and, well...

Unfortunately for me, today was just a bit too conscious for my tastes... or anyone's tastes, providing that they're sane... Because on the way to family fun work this morning, a pointless argument began between my mother and my brother, over something as goddam insignificant as a goddam cellular phone call... My mother had promised my brother that after the vacation was over, he would get no more calls from her work on his private phone. The problem was, he got a call... and considering how grumpy my brother always is at nine in the morning, suffice to say, he wasn't very pleased... And after twenty goddam minutes of brother-mother-father-traffic jam bickering, I finally decided to break my stony silence, and simply argue that if only my mother had said, "oh, sorry... I forgot to tell you that an important call was coming", or "sorry, I still need to use your phone", then all of the past twenty minutes of yelling and crying could've been avoided (meaning, if only she was polite about it ahead of time, my brother wouldn't have taken it as an invasion of privacy or some crap like that)... or actually, I really only joined in on the argument when my dad started claiming that my brother was a piss poor businessman. Don't ask me how my dad deduced all that about my brother from a goddam argument about cellphones... I admit it. My father's logic is warped... but even still, I just had to defend my brother, even against a claim as ridiculous at that... When my father claimed my brother would fail his business school and fail in the business world if he didn't let my mother use the cellphone without being asked, I just knew that I had to get involved... I just knew that I wouldn't be content, sitting around and saying nothing...

I just wish I knew what I was getting into.

Because the thing was... ooops... I forgot... my dad hates the "sorry"... Hell, last time I asked a parent to apologize to someone, my dad ended up screaming that "if we were in China, I would kick your ass and kick you out my house!"... and yes, my father says that all the time. He says that when I buy a new video game and accidentally ignore him. Hell, he even says that when I refuse to eat a goddam Chinese tuna bun in the goddam morning... and yet somehow, it hurt me a hell of a lot this morning... actually, it hurt. Like suffocating hurt... when my dad said it with such anger in his face... because he meant it... I had forgotten that he meant it... He still dreams that he's living in his old school, childhood family, where his father and mother were never wrong, and the children were never right... No matter what he and his siblings did, according to Chinese tradition and his own warped memories, they had to apologize to the parents, and it was never the other way around. A parent apologizing to a child would have been like bastardized stoning as far as my dad is still concerned, and he swore to keep swearing swear words at me every single time I mentioned his version of the "s" word...

I just wish I remembered all that this morning before I opened up my mouth to a can of whoop ass... because I just couldn't take it. I really couldn't. My dad went on a ten minute tangent, screaming in my ear that I never show him or my mother any damn respect... he said that I treated them like foreigners. Like white devils, if you translate directly... he went on to say that I was essentially a bastard child, that I was no first born son, and no matter how much I tried to protest, he wouldn't hear of it... I mean, he didn't even care that tears were streaming down my cheeks. Hell, he didn't even notice I was crying until he goddam stopped screaming. And I tried to argue, I tried to defend... I told him the truth. I told him that all I've ever wanted was to show respect, and make my parents proud. I'm their kindest child for 364 days a year... but the one time I accidentally screw up? I'm the one who gets drill sargeanted for it?...

... and yeah... it's always one day... one damn fine day that ruins my whole damn crying shame of a record for me...

And, well... I won't go into the details of what else happened today. I worked six hours painting white stucco on the outskirts of townhouses, and I didn't take one damn break... or maybe one, but that's besides the point.... Because I was pissed. By the time the day was done, I was still pissed. And I am still pissed, even though I have no-one to blame but myself... I mean, I know the hypocrisy of the situation. I know that even though I'm a "good boy" for nearly every single damn day of the year, it doesn't make me anymore immune to the 49 lashes that come once a month to somebody's bountiful head of bounty... Because I know that everytime my parents use the excuse, "we work so hard for you every single damn day to put food on your plates, and this is the thanks we get?!", I really don't give a damn. It just seems so generic, and now I truly know that my father doesn't give a damn about my version of that excuse either... but what really hurts. What really, really, ridiculously hurts to me... what hurts like silver lining, slitting my throat and slivering my gut... is the fact that no matter how hard I tried to apologize. No matter how hard I tried to implore. No matter how many times I repeated how I love my father and mother, no matter how many times I reminded him of the respect I have, and no matter how many times I beckoned that I'm so damn regretful of the thing I said... no matter how many tears were choking down my face... the thing was... he just didn't give a damn...

But he gives a damn now... now that he's not morning grumpy without his tea... Ten hours later, he's now smiling and pretending like nothing happened... but I remember something happened. I remember my dad telling me that he'll never, ever forgive or forget this day, for when I told my parents to say they're sorry... and I remember him backing up his claim, by reminding me how he's never forgotten the last time I told him to say sorry (it was about a letter... a university letter of whoopass, thank you very much)... and what hurts even more, was that when I admitted that I was wrong, that I had made a mistake... and when I was most sincere in online streaming it from my eyes... he didn't take my apology. He wouldn't hear a damn word coming from my mouth. And I know it was all in fury... I know it was all in accident on his behalf, I guess... but that doesn't change the fact, that it happened... it doesn't change the fact, that it hurts... it hurts, knowing that after all these years of my father being so proud of his first born son, he just doesn't care anymore... whether he's proud of me or not, I may never know again. All I know, is that he is my father. And though I'm not his Sun, I am still his son... but I just can't help feeling... I just wish... even though I know it will never happen... even though I know that it can't happen...

... that he will apologize... so I guess I never do learn...

... but on the bright side of the force, at least I won't be worried about my goddam crying record for the year anymore... and at least I did twice as much work today as I would've if I was happy, no doubt... and at least, I'm still pissed off enough about this whole damn day to actually write a download update for once, even though I've been too damn lazy for the past few weeks... and I know that probably by tomorrow, I'll be so sick of feeling sick to my stomach, that I'll just forgive my dad anyhew for hurting me so much, since it's only fair that I hurt him so damn much myself... but still, that doesn't change the fact that he hurt me bad. And that doesn't change the fact that regardless of whether I'm right or wrong, I still feel hurt. And that doesn't change the fact that I'm still so sorry, for everything actually... not just for today... but for everything... for being me...

No, wait. I'm not just sorry about that. I'm sorry that I believed my dad was actually still proud of me... when I should've realized, that things just haven't been the same for the longest damn time... or at least, not in his land of the rising sun and raising a son...

ATI: Don't know if much has happened in the world of video cards lately, but I saw over at Rage3d that Gamer's Depot has a review up for the All in One Wonder Radeon 9800 Pro. Don't care what they say, but if you're the type to forgive: http://www.gamersdepot.com/hardware/video_cards/ati/9800pro_aiw/001.htm .

ATI: With Doom 3 being delayed yet again, all eyes are suddenly on Half Life 2... only to find that most lightly, it will be delayed as well soon... In the meantime, the Half Life forums have a lovely thread going on about anti-aliasing problems in the next game. I personally don't care whether FSAA8X can work at 1600x1200, but if you're up to the stuff, go ahead and read a thousand pages at: http://www.halflife2.net/forums/showthread.php?s=&threadid=3071 .

ATI: Last bit of news: saw over at rage3d an article about ATI's efforts when it comes to Linux drivers. Don't know what they say, but do I ever? I guess I don't know anything at: http://marc.theaimsgroup.com/?l=xfree86-devel&m=105852152431578&w=2 .

Y2kk Update: You know, I was hoping to finish most of my homework before setting off for my vacation... You see, I've wanted to write a lot for my websites: a couple of editorials on my Noname site, a few tweaking updates on my Tweakui site, and an actual, real update or two on my MSN site of all sites... and yet I've accomplished none of the above. Hell, I haven't even read through my past year's archives yet for my annual best and worst IvanFian memories of the year review... even with four months of unemployment education, I still haven't gotten off my ass, and back onto my ass to write... and, well... I guess none of it really matters in the end. I still have time... I'll be leaving for the airport early tomorrow morning to fly with my family to visit relatives in Vancouver, BC. And of course, I can pick up my writing right and write where I leave off tonight the moment that I set foot back in Ontario, but still... just something in me absolutely hates the feeling of unfinished business... I just hate the feeling that I haven't gotten the job done...

And as for unfinished business? I sent one last e-mail to the girl I used to always talk about... it's become ritual for me to send her an obsessive, geek stalker letter every twelfth of every month. The thing is, she responded to me last time... she hasn't so far this time, unless she goes two for two and writes back to me as I'm writing this very update of mine... and about that unfinished business part? I just hate the feeling that relations became strained between us two as the latter months wore down. And it's not like I haven't tried to fix things, or at least try to talk about what went wrong... but as a girl, she's more Victoria secretive than I'll ever be, and thus it's not like I'll be getting anything but mindless rhetoric out of her... but still, even though my love for her has seemingly been lost, I just can't help but feel that... well... I miss liking her... I don't know if I miss her. But I miss being her friend... you know?... I just miss the fact that we once had something. And now we have nothing but a poor slab like me, endlessly e-mailing a pretty girl that pretty much got over me a hell of a long time ago.

I guess that's all I have to write this week... too bad, and faux pas for me then... and, well... simply put, this will be the last update from me for the next two weeks. I don't think I'll do much in Vancouver, but considering I now consider my own websites to be homework, it might be nice to actually take a real vacation off for once, and see if I actually can enjoy the feel of a keyboard once more when I finally do get back...

Y2kk Update: It's the little things in life I treasure, and it's the little things in life that I regret... The other day, I was talking to a real, insensitive brute of a guy over ICQ. The problem was, this brute was kind of my friend... and it's sort of his style to be as discouraging and cynical as possible... in that sense, he tore a page right out of my book. Not that I'd ever write a book mind you... it's not like I ever have the free time to write about anything, obviously...

It's just that, I finally got what I thought was a semi-serious and not exactly anti-sentimental reaction out of him... when I mentioned how my grandmother can barely walk... You see, twice each week, my brother and I drive her to an acupuncture place, where she gets those needles stuck all along her neck and what have you. Now, I may not believe in the scientific merits or meticulous methods of ancient Chinese medicine, but even if it's just an expensive placebo effect that we're paying for, I don't give a damn. If it helps my grandmother, it's good enough for me... And when I told this to my friend, the thing was, he actually froze up for a second. It wasn't like he actually cared or anything... eventually, I'm going to have to give up this hope of people actually caring... But he did show signs of respect, which is why I tried to use this to my advantage. Every time he would spite or Diet Sprite or mock me again, I would simply mention something about my grandmother, or the fact that we put our grandfather (from the other side of the family) in a nursing home after his stroke... And the thing was, eventually my friend got sick and tired of me actually trying to pry some goddam guilt out of his arse. Because you see, of course he didn't care. I shouldn't expect him to care... but he did care about one thing. He cared that he had to pretend like he cared... He started mocking me how I was using my own grandparents' plight to my advantage. He criticized me for using them in a cruel, unjustifiable fashion... and, well... he was right. Hell, that was even my intention. It's just that... coming from an ICQ guy who has no scruples or any sense of humanity whatsoever, a critique of my morality really kind of stung...

I guess his little asteroid blastoid of my motives sort of lingered in my limbo for another reason... I mean, my family is already having enough problems with my grandfather in the nursing home. I mean, because of the SARs epidemic here, the private company that owns the joint wouldn't let us see my grandfather for the past two months or whatever, or maybe even longer. And the thing is, although they now let us in (though only one at a time, and after we sign a liability sheet), my grandfather now just shoos us away... and though my dad just scoffs it off as my grandpa always wanting to be alone (he's never exactly been a peoples' person), the thing is... I just can't help shake the guilt, that... well... he's been ignoring us, because he feels we've been ignoring him... My grandpa doesn't know anything about the SARs thing, and even if we told him, we know he wouldn't understand. And I can't imagine what his life is like now... he's got noone in the nursing home he can talk to, and he can't even trust his family to be there anymore...

Which is why I guess I was thinking about all this so much when I was bugging my friend with the details... Because I learned around that time that my mother was now trying to get my other set of grandparents, the grandmother that I love so dearly, into a nursing home as well... simply for one reason and one reason only... because it's convenient. Because it's first come, first serve... You see, my grandfather right now is in an English nursing home, and he doesn't know a word of English. A Chinese facility will be opening in a year or two, and my mother just had to beat the rush and sign my other grandparents up for an interview, simply because she thinks giving up their independence would be safer for them in the end... And I admit, it would help things bit, from a practical point of view. My grandmother can barely walk now. It would be comforting to know that a doctor who speaks Cantonese will always be there, in case of an emergency...

But realistically speaking? And honestly speaking?... What the hell is my mother thinking? My grandfather is still well and able to take care of himself and his wife. And even if he wasn't as well off as he is, then why the hell can't we all spread our time and money to make sure that both of them are fine? We visit my grandparents all the time for one reason and one reason only: because we can... and because we want to... And call me selfish if you will, but I'll be damned if a nursing home takes that freedom away from me. And I'll be damned if my mother takes my grandparents' freedoms away from them, without even asking them... and yeah, I know my grandfather knows what's going on. He knows what the interview was about, and he knows that my grandmother has reached a point where maybe owning a house isn't safe anymore. But what I just wanted to know was, who was making the decision?... my mother, or my grandparents?... and, well...

In the case of my grandpa who had a stroke... he suffered permanent brain damage, and is still in a wheelchair as we speak. We had no choice but to choose a nursing home for him. He didn't have the ability to realize what the hell was going on... But goddammit, my other grandparents have not reached the stage where they have no choice, and have no right to choose. And, well... My mother claims that the final decision will all be up to my grandparents... but I don't believe her... I can't believe her. And I won't believe her. Sure, I know that she's just hiding under a vicarious, vocabulary mask, but it still hurts me when she talks about her own parents as if they were assets and liabilities to be liquidated and squandered... And I don't know. I knew that trying to earn some dark, broody sympathy out of my friend with this sob story of mine was wrong, even by his standards. But I just wanted something out of him, something that seemed real, that's all. I just want something out of anyone... but I never do get anything, now do I? The dark, broody act gets real old to others real fast, now doesn't it?...

... the problem is, it's not an act. It's me...

You know what I need? A friendship version of acupuncture. You know, a friend that pretends like he or she cares. And cares enough to convince me that they do care... and even though I know all the above simply can't be true, I just can't help feeling... that if only I could get a placebo of a friend effect, then I wouldn't give a damn whether it was all real or not... all I want in a sense, is a damn bunch of pricks, poking and prodding me until I goddam feel fine...

Get the point? The acupuncture point?... and, um... oh, nevermind...

ATI: Well, Firingsquad has done a comparison between nVidia and ATI cards or whatever in Unreal Tournament 2003. Now, if I cared about that game, I guess I would care about this review... but either way, I do like Firingsquad, so here's the link if you're as bored as I am: http://firingsquad.gamers.com/hardware/ut2003perf/default.asp .

ATI: And if you're still in the mood for more comparison shopping (not that there's much shopping anymore with just two major video card players left), then you might as well pop over to GamePC as well, where nVidia and ATI cards duke and shoot it out at: http://www.gamepc.com/labs/view_content.asp?id=3x5900u&page=1 .

Y2kk Update: It's just so degrading... the way life's so damn grating... and so goddam, fuckin' taunting... enough so that I times, I just don't care.

I know my life by all accounts is perfectly fine, but that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. I know that my life today is no different than it was yesterday, but that doesn't mean I can't bitch about it... Because yesterday afternoon, I got a little letter in the mail. It seemed that the professor of my electricity and magnetism course did change my mark afterall out of mercy, and apparently my new score was already updated on the university website. So thinking that a miracle had happened and that I wouldn't have to damn take that course over again next year, I eagerly logged onto the school website, only to goddam fine that my mark had changed...

... from a 47%...

... to a goddam 49%...

And there was still a fuckin' F next to my goddam name, standing for a big "Ivan F fuck you" with a lovely smile on the side... And honestly, why the hell did the professor bother to change my mark if he wasn't going to let me goddam pass? It was like he was just damn taunting me, waving before my hungry eyes a fish to feed, then striking and slapping it from my face before I ever got a damn bite... So what else could I damn do but e-mail the professor again? Because yes, I know he's bound by rules. Yes, I know he's bound by honour, and loyalty, and oaths, and blah blah blah. And I know he probably did his "best" or his "most" to change my mark enough to get me to the pass the course, and I appreciate that... but that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. It doesn't mean I can't bitch about it. And quite frankly put, I'm pretty fucked off right now. And why? Is there any question why?

Because I just got a letter back from that professor, and he confessed his condolences, that he tried and tried but just couldn't find the marks to let me pass... so he was hoping the 49% that he did give me would suffice for the committee to goddam pass me at least... but that's not what the fuckin' F says next to my name... and, well... What else can I do but thank him for his time? What else can I do? Beg him on my knees to lie to the committee that I earned a damn spot on the passable idiotF list? I think not... He has his standards, and I have mine. And I know the situation is now out of his hands, unless he wants to dirty his hands... and I understand why he refused to help me any further. I appreciate him trying... but honestly, why the fuckin' hell would he tempt me with a goddam 49%? Why the hell wouldn't he just leave my mark the way it was so that I wouldn't ever have gotten my goddam hopes up again? Why the hell couldn't he just leave me be when I was perfectly accepting of the fact that I was a goddam failure? I mean, honestly, who throws a fucking shoe?... Sure, I know that I'm the one to blame for my mark, not him. But that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. And that doesn't mean I can't bitch about it.

Because you know what? Now I officially know that if I didn't get blamed for goddam cheating by my goddam TA in the course, then I probably would've goddam passed the damn course... I agreed, under the table, with the TA, that I was willing to lose a percent or two of my mark for goddam looking at the back of the book. By his rules, I had cheated, and since he was willing only to dock a percentage point or two from my mark, it just wasn't worth it for me to bring the whole damn Fidel fiasco to the tribunal for retribution... but now I see that I put my goddam foot in my mouth. If only I could get that one mark back, I would pass the damn course, unless the 49% that the professor gave me was pity bullshit in the first place... and I know I was the one who shook hands, nodded my head, and signed away my name as the guilty party in that whole cheating fiasco. I know that I did break the rules, without knowing the goddam rules. I know this is all my fault, and really nobody else's. But that goddam doesn't mean I can't bitch about it. It goddam doesn't mean I can't be goddam depressed.

And what now?... well, I take my pitiful fight to the university committee itself. They might pass me despite that one lost percent... if they have any decency, at least... but until then? Right now, I'm preoccupied with the fact that my brother is damn pissed at himself for not "understanding" the plotline in Halo for the Xbox. I mean, I know he gets the story... he just doesn't absorb as much of it as I seem to do, and thus he gets jealous... thus, he gets compulsive... thus, he gets competitive... and he takes it out on me. Because I feel guilty. When he feels bad, I feel bad. And you know what sucks? He does this all the time, for every single game, and for every single damn movie we watch. He always strikes himself down for being the "dum" one of deh brothas, and I can't stand the fact that he does. He blows the whole situation not just out of proportion, but clear skies right out of the goddam water. And right now, he's down in the basement, brooding that I didn't care that he cares so damn much about a goddam plothole he missed. And why didn't I care? Because I always cater to him. And even though he knows that I'm goddam pissed at the letter my professor just sent me back, he still doesn't bother to cater to me. And sure, I can chalk that up to just human nature and accept it. And sure, I may love my brother for everything he is, and even for the things he does to me. But that doesn't mean I can't goddam bitch about it. And that doesn't mean I can't blow my own steam off on this website of mine.

This website was made for one purpose and one purpose only: to vent my frustrations before they vent me out of my own asshole, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean... and quite frankly, the reason my websites have been suffering lately, the reason why I still haven't updated most of my sites with anything decent for months, is because I just don't feel Mr. furious anymore. I don't feel whiny anymore, because it's all been said and done before, on this website no less... and because I always write as a routine, on Fridays, rather than on whim, when I actually have a thirst to write... But you know what? I may not have solved anything with this Y2kk Update of mine, but I do feel a hell of a lot better, if only because somebody got to listen to my problems for once...

... myself...

I guess I don't listen enough, because I talk too much... but either way, I still wish things would sort themselves out in my life. I know that my life is just grand compared to others'. I know that if none of this university bullshit crap had arrived in the mail, that I wouldn't even be upset right now... but that doesn't mean I can't be pissed about it. And that doesn't mean I can't bitch about it. And thank God I have a website for all the above... otherwise, I just might scream...

Or worse yet, I might just buy Scream, and scream that I bought a movie as bad as Scream, but that's besides the point...