how do i get rid of the blank space on the side?
under "layout" --> "elements" it says i can click and drag, but i can't.
what now?
thanks in advance!
2/9/09
it was mild enough to think while i was walking today
I. this regimen makes sense, let's see if i can keep it
3 times a week: 1 cardio, 1 "beach muscles", 1 back/abs aka core.
II. on the fact and fiction of living at yale
"One of the earliest things I remember from freshman year is a classmate talking about how her family — a longish line of Bonesmen — liked to watch “The Skulls” for giggles. In one sense, this was intimidating: what had I gotten myself into? Moments like this proliferate in the canon of Ivy porn; humble students are forever meeting imposing WASPy families and wondering whether they themselves can possibly belong.
In a more important sense, though, it was sort of disarming: So we are all big dorks.
Our narcissistic fascination with pop portrayals of Yale betrays a deep vein of dorkiness. If we were cooler, smarter, more naturally elite, less striving, we wouldn’t care. But we do. Accuracy tickles our vanity; flaws give us the opportunity to nitpick and feel superior, which we also enjoy. Seeing Yale onscreen — however far removed from reality — reassures us."
the full article at http://yaledailynews.com/articles/view/27557 (emphasis mine)
the writer got it spot on. this is what it feels like to be a "Yale man" in the age of meritocracy and egalitarianism. you have the grand privilege of observing the blue-blooded elites up close - and maybe get to know one or two of them - but you sense the irony immediately. though you fit the label, you are not one of the ones. yet you're somehow grateful, because being separated by a glass wall is perhaps better than being behind a concrete one.
III. if it's not impermeable manners that distinguishes us, perhaps it's this
a friend visiting from penn this weekend commented,
"all four of you think very deeply. i guess i'm glad i didn't get into yale, because life at penn is so much simpler."
he meant two things. the first sentence is self-explanatory.
by the second, he meant that at yale, there are all these social booby traps to circumnavigate. there is a thin line between class and douchebaggery. people are sniping all the time. it's not enough to land a job at goldman - that just means you're a corporate tool. you must be able to land that job, wax lyrical about the intellectual roots of modern economic conservatism, talk about nietzsche and 3rd wave feminism in the same breath, speak chinese or arabic, and groove to T.I.'s "whatever you like" while flipping cups and playing beer pong, all at the same time.
IV. speaking of which
Anytime you want to pick up the telephone you
Know it ain't nothin' to drop a couple stacks on you
You want it you can get it my dear
5 million dollar home drop Bentleys I swear (yeah)
I want yo body, need yo body
Long as you got me you won't need nobody
You want it, I got it, go get it, l buy it
Tell them other broke nigga be quiet
You ain't neva eva gotta go in yo wallet
Long as I got rubberband banks in my pocket
5 6 rides wit rims and a body kit
You ain't gotta downgrade, you can get what I get
My chick can have what she want
And go in any store for any bag she want
And no she ain't neva had a man like that
To buy you anything your heart desire like that (yeah)"
RUBBERBAND BANKS IN MY POCKET! this dawg ain't just loaded, he's a poet!
V. from majority to minority
going from well-bred and well-schooled to "i'm from singapore" "singapore? how cool!" is possibly the biggest lesson i've learnt in four years.
it is a shell you learn to hide behind without even knowing it.
i wish there were some magical country where the blair waldorfs of this world could go to to learn what i've learnt. i believe in affirmative action, you know.
11/10/08
yes we can!
the most important win this week for me was this one.
victory is always sweet when the odds are stacked against you.
football is a funny game.
victory is always sweet when the odds are stacked against you.
football is a funny game.
10/2/08
football is life
there was once a boy who grew up in bolton, a little red dot on the map of england that was slight, but remarkable - it was the home of reebok. as in the guys who make reebok sneakers.
like many other boys, he liked football. he played it a lot. in fact, he liked it so much and played it so much that he got rather good at it. it was a combination of talent and hard work, as his coaches would say.
spotted by his local club's talent scout, our friend signed a professional contract, albeit a somewhat peculiar one. he was to fly to argentina to train at a school that maradona had set up (imagine maradona had aged gracefully, without the booze and drugs - this is just a story after all), after which he would return to play for bolton wanderers for a couple of years. a pretty neat deal for all involved, wouldn't you say? training with the hand of God himself, and a guaranteed spot on a professional club's roster. which self-respecting english lad wouldn't want that?
so far so good.
in the summer before he was supposed to return to bolton and play for the wanderers, our boy went on loan to arsenal. just for the summer. bolton thought he'd be able to learn a thing or two from playing with the gunners.
and learn he did. he learnt to play fluid, attacking football. he did little tricks and flicks. he even fancied a shot at goal once in a while. he had the time of his life. the skills he had cultivated over the years were finally put to good use. not that there isn't aesthetic beauty in sheer technique, but football is a sport after all - skill is nothing without results.
the summer at arsenal was fruitful in more ways than one. for our dear boy (almost grown up now) not only had a ball of a time, it turns out arsenal liked him so much they offered him a contract. now, given a choice between arsenal and bolton wanderers, it is clear which team any self-respecting english lad who happens to be a professional footballer would choose. no surprises with billy bolton-turned-balla: he wanted to sign the contract real bad.
there was, of course, a problem. the contract with bolton, the club who had spotted and signed him way before arsenal was even a distant dream. billy knew that he had to go on home and play for his hometown team. the glamour of reebok had not changed how bolton saw the world. he would be labeled traitor by his half-drunk moustachioed uncles and vilified in the local press if he so much as mentioned the possibility of moving to london to play for arsenal.
and so, head on home he did. it wasn't going to be so bad after all. he had followed the wanderers with all the keenness of a local lad, even when he had gone off to argentina. he never, no God forbid, considered himself an argentinian, or even a londoner for that matter. it would be an honor to pull on his own white jersey and blue shorts, he told himself.
"i don't really know what kind of football they play in argentina. it most certainly ain't the football you're gonna play as a bolton wanderer. just cos we thought you were one of the best bolton had, isn't gonna guarantee you a spot on the team.. not until you show that you can scare your opponents just by looking at them. not until you appreciate how hard it is to lump a perfect long ball down the field. not until you run like a terrier on ecstasy when you're playing defense, which is almost all the time, by the way. get it in your head: play like us, or you'll sit on the bench. i don't care how good you are, i just want you to do your part and keep quiet when spoken to."
it was a rather harrowing dressing down that billy boy got on his first day at training.
so with tears rolling down his reebok kit, he bit his lip and handed in a transfer request the very next day.
and who would have blamed him? arsenal were going to pay him twice as much, and the manager there seemed to like him. he had no doubt which team had more fun on the pitch.
football is life, and life is a beautiful game, if only you know how to side-step the old-fashioned tackles.
like many other boys, he liked football. he played it a lot. in fact, he liked it so much and played it so much that he got rather good at it. it was a combination of talent and hard work, as his coaches would say.
spotted by his local club's talent scout, our friend signed a professional contract, albeit a somewhat peculiar one. he was to fly to argentina to train at a school that maradona had set up (imagine maradona had aged gracefully, without the booze and drugs - this is just a story after all), after which he would return to play for bolton wanderers for a couple of years. a pretty neat deal for all involved, wouldn't you say? training with the hand of God himself, and a guaranteed spot on a professional club's roster. which self-respecting english lad wouldn't want that?
so far so good.
in the summer before he was supposed to return to bolton and play for the wanderers, our boy went on loan to arsenal. just for the summer. bolton thought he'd be able to learn a thing or two from playing with the gunners.
and learn he did. he learnt to play fluid, attacking football. he did little tricks and flicks. he even fancied a shot at goal once in a while. he had the time of his life. the skills he had cultivated over the years were finally put to good use. not that there isn't aesthetic beauty in sheer technique, but football is a sport after all - skill is nothing without results.
the summer at arsenal was fruitful in more ways than one. for our dear boy (almost grown up now) not only had a ball of a time, it turns out arsenal liked him so much they offered him a contract. now, given a choice between arsenal and bolton wanderers, it is clear which team any self-respecting english lad who happens to be a professional footballer would choose. no surprises with billy bolton-turned-balla: he wanted to sign the contract real bad.
there was, of course, a problem. the contract with bolton, the club who had spotted and signed him way before arsenal was even a distant dream. billy knew that he had to go on home and play for his hometown team. the glamour of reebok had not changed how bolton saw the world. he would be labeled traitor by his half-drunk moustachioed uncles and vilified in the local press if he so much as mentioned the possibility of moving to london to play for arsenal.
and so, head on home he did. it wasn't going to be so bad after all. he had followed the wanderers with all the keenness of a local lad, even when he had gone off to argentina. he never, no God forbid, considered himself an argentinian, or even a londoner for that matter. it would be an honor to pull on his own white jersey and blue shorts, he told himself.
"i don't really know what kind of football they play in argentina. it most certainly ain't the football you're gonna play as a bolton wanderer. just cos we thought you were one of the best bolton had, isn't gonna guarantee you a spot on the team.. not until you show that you can scare your opponents just by looking at them. not until you appreciate how hard it is to lump a perfect long ball down the field. not until you run like a terrier on ecstasy when you're playing defense, which is almost all the time, by the way. get it in your head: play like us, or you'll sit on the bench. i don't care how good you are, i just want you to do your part and keep quiet when spoken to."
it was a rather harrowing dressing down that billy boy got on his first day at training.
so with tears rolling down his reebok kit, he bit his lip and handed in a transfer request the very next day.
and who would have blamed him? arsenal were going to pay him twice as much, and the manager there seemed to like him. he had no doubt which team had more fun on the pitch.
football is life, and life is a beautiful game, if only you know how to side-step the old-fashioned tackles.
9/17/08
one lesson i've learnt
if there's one thing i will keep with me for life after my first 3 months at work, it is this:
keeping your people happy is as important, if not more, than making money. (money being a metaphor for whatever your organisation's goal is.)
teach them, empower them, challenge them, and most of all, don't impose non-sensical rules.
and i guess first of all, hire people who want to be challenged, empowered and taught. these are the people you can get the most out of, because they want the most out of themselves.
never hire a monkey who will follow your non-sensical rules. if he accepts non-sense from you, he will accept non-sense from himself.
this is all. you heard it here first.
keeping your people happy is as important, if not more, than making money. (money being a metaphor for whatever your organisation's goal is.)
teach them, empower them, challenge them, and most of all, don't impose non-sensical rules.
and i guess first of all, hire people who want to be challenged, empowered and taught. these are the people you can get the most out of, because they want the most out of themselves.
never hire a monkey who will follow your non-sensical rules. if he accepts non-sense from you, he will accept non-sense from himself.
this is all. you heard it here first.
8/9/08
on flying
i'll say it straight up: i like flying. not flying places, just flying.
from the childhood excitment and bewilderment, to the bravado of my biannual 24-hour jaunts, and now the short hops i take to make a living, i've always liked being crammed up in a seat next to strangers with no scenery outside save clouds and sky and nothing to do but read or watch tv.
childhood excitment, yeah everyone's been there and done that. but packaged food in too dainty portions can be pretty dreadful. as is of course, the annoying hour-long trip to even get to the airport, the interminable and inexplicable waits in line, and the rigor mortis that sets in almost immediately in cattle class.
but here's the thing, i like flying because flying clears my mind. on that hour-long taxi ride, i don't think about where i'm going - and what i'm leaving behind begins to fade. my luggage is in the trunk, but i left a whole lot else back home: my files, my engagements, the book i'm sort of reading but know i won't get to over the next couple of days.
i used to say, "airports and hospitals are the two most emotional places on earth". well, look closely enough and you'll see them. the people who walk briskly through the airport like it's a train station. no baggage checked, no free internet browsing, no mistakes at the "you can't bring water or cosmetics past this point" point. there are four uniformed staff who matter, the person who gives you your boarding pass, the person who stamps your passport, the person who scans your stuff with an x-ray, (and to bring it full circle,) the person who tears your boarding pass and returns you the stub. the rest are fake roadblocks. smile at them and say hello, they'll probably smile back.
people take the eurorail to see the continent roll past them. i take planes to see nothingness for as long as it lasts. you tried to call me? i don't think i got the call, i was on the plane. i'll send you the attachment in a couple of hours. oh i'll be on the plane, can i just look at it tomorrow? being "on the plane" is my antidote to connectivity. "on the plane", i can pray, or sleep, or read, or think. i can do those in any and no order, and you would be none the wiser.
you could say that the plane is just an accessory, and what i really crave is time alone. but sitting in a hot-tub or a well-appointed study is just not the same. the rituals of flying are cathartic in and of themselves. furthermore, time alone with the door shut and no one knocking, is a luxury for the important and self-important. the rest of us have to make do, and flying is our only excuse.
these days, i sleep on planes so often that i don't even open my eyes when the plane lands. i get woken up, sure, but i know we're going to taxi around a bit before the lights come on and the show starts again. so i hit the mental snooze button, and let my thoughts stir themselves back to life. i prepare to hit the ground running (which i now surmise must be an aeronautical metaphor), and make sure to grab the disembarkation form that i stuffed in the seat pocket in front of me - i'll fill it up while i'm standing in line at customs.
i like flying because it clears my mind. yes, that is several hundred dollars' worth of mind-clearing every week. but as long as i'm not paying, i don't begrudge the pilot his livelihood, and i'm sure he doesn't begrudge me mine either.
from the childhood excitment and bewilderment, to the bravado of my biannual 24-hour jaunts, and now the short hops i take to make a living, i've always liked being crammed up in a seat next to strangers with no scenery outside save clouds and sky and nothing to do but read or watch tv.
childhood excitment, yeah everyone's been there and done that. but packaged food in too dainty portions can be pretty dreadful. as is of course, the annoying hour-long trip to even get to the airport, the interminable and inexplicable waits in line, and the rigor mortis that sets in almost immediately in cattle class.
but here's the thing, i like flying because flying clears my mind. on that hour-long taxi ride, i don't think about where i'm going - and what i'm leaving behind begins to fade. my luggage is in the trunk, but i left a whole lot else back home: my files, my engagements, the book i'm sort of reading but know i won't get to over the next couple of days.
i used to say, "airports and hospitals are the two most emotional places on earth". well, look closely enough and you'll see them. the people who walk briskly through the airport like it's a train station. no baggage checked, no free internet browsing, no mistakes at the "you can't bring water or cosmetics past this point" point. there are four uniformed staff who matter, the person who gives you your boarding pass, the person who stamps your passport, the person who scans your stuff with an x-ray, (and to bring it full circle,) the person who tears your boarding pass and returns you the stub. the rest are fake roadblocks. smile at them and say hello, they'll probably smile back.
people take the eurorail to see the continent roll past them. i take planes to see nothingness for as long as it lasts. you tried to call me? i don't think i got the call, i was on the plane. i'll send you the attachment in a couple of hours. oh i'll be on the plane, can i just look at it tomorrow? being "on the plane" is my antidote to connectivity. "on the plane", i can pray, or sleep, or read, or think. i can do those in any and no order, and you would be none the wiser.
you could say that the plane is just an accessory, and what i really crave is time alone. but sitting in a hot-tub or a well-appointed study is just not the same. the rituals of flying are cathartic in and of themselves. furthermore, time alone with the door shut and no one knocking, is a luxury for the important and self-important. the rest of us have to make do, and flying is our only excuse.
these days, i sleep on planes so often that i don't even open my eyes when the plane lands. i get woken up, sure, but i know we're going to taxi around a bit before the lights come on and the show starts again. so i hit the mental snooze button, and let my thoughts stir themselves back to life. i prepare to hit the ground running (which i now surmise must be an aeronautical metaphor), and make sure to grab the disembarkation form that i stuffed in the seat pocket in front of me - i'll fill it up while i'm standing in line at customs.
i like flying because it clears my mind. yes, that is several hundred dollars' worth of mind-clearing every week. but as long as i'm not paying, i don't begrudge the pilot his livelihood, and i'm sure he doesn't begrudge me mine either.
7/11/08
desert island cds, or the torrent equivalent
as some of you may know, my laptop died a couple of months ago. it has since revived after consultation with numerous technological physicians.
what do you do when your computer comes back to life with nothing in its memory?
you build an itunes library, of course! (not before installing open office and skype, though).
for those of you who, like me a couple of years back, did not buy music because it can be downloaded for free, but did not download too much because it was hard to find what i wanted, your days of stagnant itunes libraries are over. check out azureus. it is the best thing since sliced bread and ipods.
i'm blogging now because i did a very rare thing about ten minutes ago. i started downloading elvis, frank sinatra and ella fitagerald. never would my alt-rock teen self have imagined i would ever attempt to acquire such music.
i've been d/l-ing like crazy the past couple of weeks, but sometimes, in the midst of all that partyzone music, one feels the urge to tell the speakers that they should be seen and not heard. and sometimes, you just want to slow dance in a burning room and revisit the memories of all those times.
so i've sold out, it seems. but you know, as bon jovi once sang, like frankie said,
i did it my way.
---
list of stuff i downloaded upon discovering azureus, in rough order. (this is the desert island part of the post)
1. all that oh-so-hot-right-now party music (lil wayne, timbaland, t-pain, akon, flo-rida, sean paul etc.)
2. the good stuff that never dies (radiohead, john mayer, muse)
3. disco rock (panic, franz, arctic monkeys, killers, fall out boy)
4. black music classics (kanye, fiddy cent)
4. my teenage rock heroes (foo fighters, rhcp, green day)
5. the height of brit rock (oasis, blur)
6. the classics (beatles, beach boys)
7. the singers who were known for their voices (what i talked about just now)
8. power pop hell yeah (weezer, fountains of wayne and, yes i dare admit it , 'nsync)
bands that should figure, but as this "revive your music collection" real time experiment has shown me, i don't really care for that much
1. coldplay
2. U2
take your stadium rock home with you. oh, i apologize, you guys actually do stuff outside of music that i think is cool - bono with angelina jolie, and chris martin with oxfam. or maybe that is exactly why the music isn't all to stellar.
stuff i will get in days to come:
1. all that jazz, the stuff a noob like me knows and likes (miles davis, john coltrane)
2. campy electronic music (danity kane, kylie minogue, pet shop boys and hottest group from sweden that is not abba, ace of base)
3. random one hit wonders that surface from my sub-conscious every once in a while (the middle, come on eileen, born slippy, two princes.. this is going to be hard to nail, but i'll get there)
what do you do when your computer comes back to life with nothing in its memory?
you build an itunes library, of course! (not before installing open office and skype, though).
for those of you who, like me a couple of years back, did not buy music because it can be downloaded for free, but did not download too much because it was hard to find what i wanted, your days of stagnant itunes libraries are over. check out azureus. it is the best thing since sliced bread and ipods.
i'm blogging now because i did a very rare thing about ten minutes ago. i started downloading elvis, frank sinatra and ella fitagerald. never would my alt-rock teen self have imagined i would ever attempt to acquire such music.
i've been d/l-ing like crazy the past couple of weeks, but sometimes, in the midst of all that partyzone music, one feels the urge to tell the speakers that they should be seen and not heard. and sometimes, you just want to slow dance in a burning room and revisit the memories of all those times.
so i've sold out, it seems. but you know, as bon jovi once sang, like frankie said,
i did it my way.
---
list of stuff i downloaded upon discovering azureus, in rough order. (this is the desert island part of the post)
1. all that oh-so-hot-right-now party music (lil wayne, timbaland, t-pain, akon, flo-rida, sean paul etc.)
2. the good stuff that never dies (radiohead, john mayer, muse)
3. disco rock (panic, franz, arctic monkeys, killers, fall out boy)
4. black music classics (kanye, fiddy cent)
4. my teenage rock heroes (foo fighters, rhcp, green day)
5. the height of brit rock (oasis, blur)
6. the classics (beatles, beach boys)
7. the singers who were known for their voices (what i talked about just now)
8. power pop hell yeah (weezer, fountains of wayne and, yes i dare admit it , 'nsync)
bands that should figure, but as this "revive your music collection" real time experiment has shown me, i don't really care for that much
1. coldplay
2. U2
take your stadium rock home with you. oh, i apologize, you guys actually do stuff outside of music that i think is cool - bono with angelina jolie, and chris martin with oxfam. or maybe that is exactly why the music isn't all to stellar.
stuff i will get in days to come:
1. all that jazz, the stuff a noob like me knows and likes (miles davis, john coltrane)
2. campy electronic music (danity kane, kylie minogue, pet shop boys and hottest group from sweden that is not abba, ace of base)
3. random one hit wonders that surface from my sub-conscious every once in a while (the middle, come on eileen, born slippy, two princes.. this is going to be hard to nail, but i'll get there)
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