One final reminder. Migration has been completed to brobosblog.wordpress.com, and this will be my official last post in this site. See you all there...
Thanks to my blogger-buddy I've found a better place to throw the contents of this dreary abode and post in without the pain I normally experience in Blogdrive - Thanks alot.
As such, I'll now commence migrating my blog over to brobosblog.wordpress.com - a pretty damn long process looking at the progress almost two years of posting has accomplished. Keep your eyes here for the final heads-up of migration completion; and do remember to alter your RSS-s or email notifications and whatnot.
I'm looking forwards to this - I love Wordpress's UI, the speed at which it loads, and the opp to try interfacing with it through Windows Live Writer. It's been a long 2 years in boblog.blogdrive.com, and I hope you, my dear readers, have enjoyed the process thus far.
This time for me though, my favourite holiday of the year had significantly less cheer. A dubious change in work direction on the horizon, my school project always at the back of my mind (and pretty much driving me bonkers as a result), my usual friends heading for their rendezvous with their God, other parties, or Santa (lucky, lucky *^%*)...quiet was the theme of the season this year.
So much so however that I nearly forgot the reason for the season. Not the whole birth thing; that's highly overrated to me (eh-heh-heh). Not this time the whole 'Peace on Earth, respect each other' bit that's really important too, but just not now; but rather the idea that It's Time to Give; with no thought for the Receiving. This year some gifts came along that I totally did not expect (or perhaps deserve), and it reminded me that friendships and relations were waiting that needed time and appreciation to grow, and all the time I (and quite likely many of us) was absorbed in my troubles and commitments my friends still took the time to stand by me. I'd forgotten all that; for one who supposedly treats friends as a very important part of my life.
And so I went out on a walk; late as usual compared to the mobs of crowds that had rushed the stores and consumed-literally consumed-the offerings available. I took a deep breath, mentally assigned a modest amount to certain people i had in mind, and let 'What would he/she be able to use?' be the mantra for the next few hours. And surprisingly, the result was amazing. Choosing gifts for friends really is a frightfully fun experience; akin to chasing out personal goodies on retail-therapy day. Testing and refreshing one's knowledge of those closest to one makes for much-needed reflection and attention, and the joy of putting requirements and products together is akin to playing sim games. Hmmm. A game like that needs to be made, one day.
So now I wait, fingers crossed, for friends that I hope haven't given up on me, both before and eh, after they get what's coming to them. The next post most probably will have me bitching about how materialistic people are with the gifts they recieve but that'll be the next post. For now; Merry Christmas 2009, and I await 2010.
A Twist on the song that's been playing on my head this particular season (curse you; Kenny!...)
I give a short bark of laughter, and then it hits me: the Moment.
It's a typically warm night in the West, but the fan overhead keeps things cool and airy, giving the impression of wind over a backdrop. And there is one, actually: a view of the light Chua Chu Kang jungle off in the distance, extending itself down off the side of the restaurant. The lights overhead; a string of warm, vaguely festive yellow bulbs, casts just the right amount of light over us. A good view, just the right weather, good food and company...just the right scene for wine.
And what wine. Two bottles of easy whites, increasing in tannins to a nice red finish, and as I sip my glass of the red, my vision slows. Some would call it the wine, but I've felt it before: those moments where time slows down just so you know: this moment is special. My smile fades, my eyes dilate, I lean back out of conversation, and I observe the team before me.
The team I'm about to say goodbye.
My eyes fall first on my old 'battle-brother'; the partner I once said goodbye to then found myself battling the good fight alongside once again the past seven months. The Big Brother of the team. His Cheshire-Cat grin beams at a cleverly-chosen joke, and his strong, sure hands grasp a wine glass in a relaxed manner that exudes confidence and a strong familiarity with his settings. I silently nod, remembering the lessons on professionalism I have learned from him, and I wish him all the best for whatever path A will soon take. Leadership comes easily for one like him, and I hope it comes soon enough: he deserves it.
My gaze shifts to the left, at the quietest member, and also the latest, in the team. His more gentle demeanour hides a cool confidence and a quiet competency that only needs more experience and confidence to grow. He tries to suppress a smile and fails, raising his hand in his signature 'punk' gesture at a comment across the table. I know the path he takes will intersect mine in the near future, and I admit a tinge of jealousy at the things he will learn. I don't doubt that he will be tested, and I don't doubt that he would meet it in kind. Laid back, relaxed, he injects a much-needed sense of calm balance from a man who enjoys Life and knows not to disrupt it. "No scared, no scared!" he replies, and we laugh at his oft-repeated mantra.
A short bark of laughter erupts further to the left, and I rest my eyes upon the man I have perhaps become the most familiar with through this time; the man I was still slugging it out with, a full year to this day. His dark skin shows the sun-baked age that has somehow crept into his face over the past months, and he is uncharacteristically silent as he watches the team strut their stuff around the table. Perhaps it's the new kid in his new family that's tired him out or he's just not in the mood, but it's also a familiar expression I've come to experience from our leader-for-a-time: He's analyzing the team, just as I am. The wine and the fatigue does nothing to hide the glint from S's eyes, and I silently toast the pillar of barely-restrained power that sits before me.
A distraction: A- hints mischieviously at another to his side of dangerous driving ahead, with dangerously tipsy passengers. The other grins a tired smile, an action we're comfortable with by now. A disarmingly charming adorable-boy sort, he exudes the most competency I have ever seen from one so humble. I find myself as eager to learn from him as he is to learn from everything else, and I know that W will make his mark in wherever his path, different from ours, might take him. With a sharp intellect, calm competency under fire and a charm that will melt any girl's heart, His is talent I hope will not be wasted.
I find the time to insert a short, vaguely lewd comment that makes the table erupt in guffaws, and smile to myself at the effect. It gives a much-needed break in pace, and lifts us a little from (or with) the wine.
W raises his glass of water (as the designated driver) in mock toast to another, who seems to fill the whole room with his enthusiasm and energy. His over-punctuated reply is amplified by the wine that brings a redness that threatens dangerously to spread from his ears, and he flashes the grin-with-faraway-look that has become a hallmark of one extremely positive fascinated with Life. He doesn't seem to notice his volume, and we don't really care. Everyone grins with the power K brings to the table, and attention falls easily on the man more comfortable with paperwork than he lets on.
Drifting, my eyes fall finally on the last member at the table, the sole lady and a considerable Yin to a whole team's worth of Yang. Another quiet but powerfully competent member in a team full of gems, the well-loved Big Sister and glue of the team, S brushes off the concern they show on her with a well-practiced dismissive swipe of her hand, and continues to swirl her red wine for the aroma. A person comfortable with being away from the limelight yet always being thrust into it; her ease with it betrays a familiarity with the attention and a self-confidence that like so many things, lie well hidden under a charming veneer. I hope good things for her, and wonder what she would make of her duties in the time to come.
Like some personal version of the Last Supper, the scene in front of me freezes and my mind slips comfortably into remembering a milestone in my Life. I steal a quick glance at the watch, and hope no one caught it. It's getting late, and I suspect everyone knows it, but I know: no one really wants this to end.
My thoughts drift away for the moment, for the people who had laid their hands on the keel, but were somehow not able to be with us at the moment. The overbearing, boisterous yet ultimately well-meaning E that brings an interesting amount of emotion to everyday worklife; the first Leader C whose quiet, friendly presence helped defuse and soothe any situation we found ourselves in; the introspective yet fiercely assertive M who did his very best in spite of the escalative confrontations he seemed all-too-common with, the equally assertive 'everyone's mentor' K who had a powerful opinion of the right way to lead Life and would not give way to anyone for it, the superspy-like V who had the cool calm to carry any day and the technological horsepower to solve it himself, and the quiet but magnetically mischievious A who could bring a smile to anyone's day and turn any situation into its very best.
My thoughts settles, like a man on a pilgrimage, on every stop on this 1.5-year-long journey we've all made to further define our lives, and comes to rest, right where I began. Time begins to speed up, like water that rushes in to fill the gap; and the table comes back to life before me. I feel the moment fade, and silently toast to that too. I think on it awhile, then go ahead to raise my glass for the occasion. Almost immediately, six glasses are raised with mine: we clink - loudly - and toast the occasion.
"Sliante." I murmur to myself, and knocked the rest of the glass back.
I haven't done a movie review in sometime, so here goes nothing.
I know this comes late, but it ain't my fault - Singapore is slow on the uptake with movies like this, but I finally got to see Coraline the Movie about a few weeks back. Done completely in stop-motion animation like the Nightmare Before Christmas about 16 years back by the same creator (Henry Selick), the story is based on the best-selling children's novel by my old favourite author; Neil Gaiman.
About the story: like almost anything Gaiman does, everything about the story is an enigma that leaves you asking if there's more. It's a children's book, about an 11-year-old child; yet it's also a fantasy/horror story, with an antagonist that has unexplained origins or purposes, in a quiet, secluded section of the world that gives the story ample time and space to unfold. A few themes of his are once again dominant, though: Coraline is the young and plucky, and strong-willed female (again) heroine who experiences strange events that are once again ignored by all the other grown-ups in her life, and again she exhibits strength and a strong sense of calm and common sense that seem unlikely in any ordinary protagonist.
Coraline moves into an old apartment in the beginning of the story, following her parents to this new place that is also co-habited by a pair of retired actresses Spink and Forcible and an eccentric old man Mr. Bobo (yes, familiar name, ain't it). Ignored by her loving but perpetually busy parents, she explores the house and slips, Alice-in-Wonderland style, in and out of a parallel dimension where everything is much better and more fun. And, at the center of it all stands her Other Mother, who has buttons for eyes, like everyone else in this world does. It is revealed later that it is all a trap (rather like another Gaiman story about a boy and manticore). Although she manages to escape it, her parents are abducted, and it is up to her, and an interesting ally in the form of a cat, to make things right.
The movie, which is I think only the 2nd Gaiman conversion ever to be made (I still await the Sandman conversion!), nicely twists the story, adding more visual splendour, character in the form of animation and lovingly, achingly real and cute expressions, and comes up a winner. Curious about how far it's come, I looked up the classic example of the art - Nightmare before Christmas - and I can truly say, it's come a long, long way. From the colours, to the character given each human and anthropomorphized member of the cast, to the voices, the animation is not only believable, but made even more real than I could ever imagined, in full 3D.
Music is also a treat. A dreamy, choral piece full of children singing in a light-hearted, nonsense language, it's now the music I play to myself at work. Bruno Coulais is quite a composer, this being his first work that I've heard, so I'll be paying more attention to his works from now on.
And lastly: the hidden gem underneath it all. A new character (above) - Wybie - introduced to be Coral's foil, succeeds tremendously in melting hearts and adding pzazz to an already magical story, not to mention reinforce the Gaiman 'boy protagonists are lovable but bumbling and nervous' archtype. A quick search on the net yielded quite a few Wybie fan sites...looks like quite a few share my thoughts.
All in all, one of my fave movie views this year, and a good one to end it with. Highly recommended you give it a spin.
And at a pretty dark tone too, I might add. I apologize; it's been quite a tight few months (one heck of a quarter-of-a-year), though I have much in my mind I need to unload. Let's start with a mild article.
The world is full of coincidences, I'll garner that. Maybe it's not a surprise when given the scope of time, distance and sheer manpower that's made up history that certain things are not unheard of. Money is universally appreciated. Consequently, gambling's a sin. Love for another is profoundly magical, and consequently marriage (and all the headaches that come along with it) seems a logical choice. These may seem to be coincidences when you think on it, but one agrees they make sense.
What makes sense more, unfortunately, are humanity's vices. Sadly, greed, lust, pride, jaywalking...they are universally prevalent. Every civilisation is plagued by them, and universally felled by them. The insidiousness and universality of the darker side of Men has become such a common sight that we've become inured, familiar, and even scandalously close to it (witness Desperate Housewives). It is often no surprise that the surest way to link humanity across time, space and culture is in its all-too-familiar flaws.
But what really made me do this article is the reverse: that Mankind's beautiful moments are perhaps more (or as) universal as we think. As an engineer, I've marvelled at how the discovery of brewing a type of ordinary-looking, sun-dried leaf resulted in the beverage known to us as Tea, and subsequently the bean that goes through all manner of roasting, high-pressure hot water infusions, and a special mixing with margarine and corn (among others) to form the coffee that the world loves. And don't get me started on wine and beer.
It isn't just about food, forgive the impression. The pride we all find in the development of culture. The common concensus of the need for a higher form of management (the government). The joy in art and thirst for exploration and knowledge. The undeniable beauty of love, and the embarrassing sweetness of a crush. The invention of the wheel, of agriculture (well, for most of us). Sweet, oh so sweet technology. The link really isn't so obvious sometimes, and it does well for us to sit back once in a while to marvel at what we can achieve, and unanimously, at that.
Speaking of which, I've had the remarkably heart-warming experience recently of seeing a straight-laced (and usually detested, come to think of it) person open himself up to the simple experience of karaoke. Watching him take of that figurative tie and cut loose (never mind the actual quality and even choice of song) was an experience worthy of books (and blogs!). Reminded me a little of me.
Note to my future self when I am to again read this: remember how Pride has brought you to this day. Keep this close, and never allow this to happen to you again. I stand once again at a crossroads and once again I will have to bid my teammates (one of them a second time) goodbye. My next entry will be a solemn one.
Lastly, the token tune of the day: the one currently playing on my phone (and my poor head): Gnarls Barkley's Crazy.
There was once a father and his son, who were never on the best of terms. One day, in his selfish, arrogant manner he offended and insulted his son for the last time, over an act that would was forgettable in its details but undeniable for its consequences. From that day on, though the family still resided in the same home and ate the same meals, the two would never speak to each other again.
The silence was eerie, to say the least. Both refused to acknowledge the other's existance, and both refused to care. Meals were eaten separately, interaction became merely a dodge in a narrow corridor, and through it all, a beleaguered mother, saddened by the rift but unwilling to take sides, observed in silence.
And through it all, in their obstinate pride and stubbornness yielded not one perceivable bit.
If the father was sorry, or cared more than his actions would speak, he showed no sign. For all intents and purposes, he was right, and the opposer was wrong. This was a man who ignored his kin's cries for reconciliation upon his deathbed, and nothing would shake his faith in himself.
If the son was willing to swallow his pride enough to pronounce himself wrong or take the humiliation meted to him graciously as he was wont to countless times before, he was not now. With a corresponding faith in himself that surprised and dismayed his family and friends, he did not step down in the slightest bit.
In time, the only remaining factor that contributed to their awkward silence vanished: the young man had grown enough to support himself, and promptly left without much fanfare for lodgings of his own. After he bid farewell to his mother at the doorstep, she, believing in a religion founded on forgiveness and goodwill, asked him if he would consider healing the rift that no one could mistake was there.
If he had heard his mother's words as he turned his back to leave, he showed no sign.
Years; decades would pass before the prodigal son would return.
But return he did: his father, struck down by vagaries of mortality, was on the final hour of his life. "Please come back for him," his mother pleaded through tears, "for he is delirious with regret and sorrow. He misses you so, and cries constantly for you. He is so very sorry."
Without further ado, the son dropped everything and rushed home, where the remainder of his small family awaited. As his family looked on in silence, he approached the bed where his father, for the first time in decades, addressed him in person.
"My son," he spoke, barely legible through tears. "Time has not been good on my body, and also on my mind. The terrible event that had torn us apart as father and son has weighed so very heavily on my soul, and so much time has passed that the event and the reason are forgotten to me: all that is left is the terrible pain and guilt it has left in me." His voice was weak, so close he was at death's door. "I plead to you, my son, now that all that regret and pride has brought me to my conclusion, for your forgiveness. Nothing more, not my money or my works or my desire to live, matters now than this. I am sorry. Please...forgive me."
For a while, the son stood there in silence, his face unreadable. Then he smiled softly, and replied for the first time in what seemed like an eternity.
"No."
As all present reeled in shock, he went on. "After decades of silence, hate and bitterness, you remember only the pain that has led you to this scene, but not why. I remember; I have never forgotten. All my pain, all my suffering, all these years; and Why." He pointed his finger accusingly at the man on the bed. "Your pride and stubbornness have yielded only at your deathbed, where you have finally had ample time to consider your affront to me. Not one hour earlier. And for that, for your pride, where you could never have said sorry for just one time to me, we have both suffered, our lives stunted by the rift we created between us." His eyes were narrowed, his stance tall and imposing. "I am Not Sorry: I never Was. The years have only hardened my resolve, and if I should suffer the rest of my life for my pride; Father, I gladly embrace my choice. If I am indeed still your son, it is because I have learned well from you. I will - Not - offer you the luxury of your last selfish act."
And with those accusing words, he turned and walked away, his mother crying out his name as she wept.
The Father was dead before he had left the room.
It is all too possible to be Too Late to be Sorry. Repentence and Forgiveness are but hollow gestures in the face of a lifetime of blind Pride.
I've often felt and preached that though I am considered a weak contributor to the world of programming, I love what I do. A friend asked me recently about why or if I like programming. That was kinda when I was coding an impromptu name re-arranger on the spot during a gathering at Burger King. An interesting experience, if not bloody stressful, yet kinda fun. :D So now when I need to assign random people random names to do a Christmas exchange, I don't have to find paper to tear up and write names on or worry about someone getting his name back. Lol.
Where was I. Right. My answer surprised me for its spontaneity. Two things, that pretty much guaranteed I like it here.
First off: Architecture. This is where the God complex starts: you analyze a task, no matter how big or small it is, then isolate its distinctive traits. Inheritance, polymorphism to handle similar behaviors. Sectioning off of various parts to better tackle individual problems. Design patterns to standardize and structure repeatable behavior. And most importantly allowing for easy maintenance in the future, be it debugging, changing, or even adding supposedly different modules with minimal effort. It's so structured, yet so dynamic, it always puts a tingle i my spine as I set about creating the veritable house of cards. It doesn't stop there. The very act of maintenance is like reading and re-writing a story: the discipline involved in making sure every line, every for and while loop communicates clearly its purpose, with grammar vocabulary and - heck - enunciation that's similar to all others of its kind. How do I describe it...it encourages anal-ity more so than a table full of work items and even a computer's desktop, to good effect.
Secondly, and the really big thing: whatever you do in code, if good, stays good. Because a large amount of the beauty of programming lies in dividing a task into the smallest possible, solvable pieces, you solve them easier and know that they stay solved: you can commit even the toughest algorithm you can find (from school, at least :p) to code, and then forget about it: if need be you can always come back to it a long time from now, and if it is well documented, continue from there. It's much easier to solve an equation if you don't have to worry about falling back because of a forgotten value or remember a solution method you just learned but kinda forgot. Now you won't have to wince if you were to try throwing in random values to an equation just to see their effects: let the computer crunch the numbers. Recursive functions? Barely a problem. Just watch that while loop ;) Coding takes care of the need for impossible and wasteful amounts of memorization, both for complex functions (getting the inverse of a matrix) and remembering things that will probably be obsolete soon (enumerating the various types of menu choices), while freeing up your ability to concentrate on the bigger picture. Knowing the way my memory never extends past a month, it's a godsend.
Still, it has its ups and downs. As a person who primarily inherits and re-arranges codes, I've seen my fair share of pain. But it's in setting the thing right breaking down what your pedecessor could not handle, that gives me a high, and given a choice I'll probably still stick to inheriting code: no better way to learn than from another before you.
I guess that's why when someone asked me if I would prefer lazing about at home all day with a rich spouse or go out to save the world one starving child or one disaster survivor at a time, I chose none of them. Not for me decadence (well, too much decadence :p) or sappy altruism: I love my job too much now to change it.
Well, at least except for anything with guns and tanks :)
Brandon sat down upon the bench with a heavy sigh. His old friend sat beside him, arm outstretched over to clasp the bench behind him as if in support.
"It's good to see you again. I admit it's not been easy to catch up." He said. "Times have been hard. But I'm sure you don't need to hear that." In reply, his friend merely offered a smile, as if in encouragement.
"Here's something more interesting: a personality test. I've been pondering over it for some time, because it's actually a very simple test, but with very difficult to read results." He counted off his fingers. "It says that everyone falls basically within four characteristics: Sanguine, Melancholic, Choleric, and Phlegmatic. If they sound familiar and vaguely disgusting you're right: they correspond to the four Humours. You would have heard of them some way or another."
When his friend didn't reply, he continued. "The four Humours. Sanguine, Melancholy, Choleric, and Phlegmatic, corresponding to Blood, Black and Yellow Bile, and well, Phlegm. It was one of the oldest methods of medicine, something like the Chinese 'Heaty' or 'Cooling'. For example if you were suffering from heatiness you were too sanguine: treatment involved careful draining of your blood, hence the term: exsanguination. But I digress."
He composed himself. "A friend of mine brought a book in to work today talking about this. I took a liking to it, simply because I became quite good at classifying people into these groups. Everyone I guessed at took the given test and confirmed my results. It's a little fun, really." His eyebrows narrowed. "But for the strangest thing: I can't seem to classify myself."
For a moment there, Brandon thought he heard his friend chortle. "Jest how you might. Here, maybe you can help me with this. We'll go in sequence. First up, there's Sanguine. These guys are happy people, always getting stuck in with the boyz. They're the life of the party, source of the sound. They're the ones always with a smile on their face." He paused, and stared at his taller friend, practically grinning back to him. "Much like yours. But you ain't fooling me. Sanguines are also a little lazy and too-fun-loving for their own good, prefering to live too much in the moment. I for one am not sanguine, and in this respect we all got that one right. I do exhibit the occasional childish tendency to want to have fun and make some noise, but this just isn't me totally."
He smiled. "On to the next. Choleric. These are the compulsive doers, people who just want to get their hands dirty making things happen. They work on practical facts and see no point in wasting time deliberating or asking for opinions. I know quite a few cholerics and I know enough to say that I am in no way like them. The friction between us shows. So, strike that."
His ever silent friend remained unmoving at his side of the bench, with a look in his eyes that seemed to indicate attentiveness. Brandon continued. "This is where things get tricky. Melancholic. Unlike what the word sounds like, these people aren't necessarily suffering artists or chronic depressants. It rather describes people who are meticulous; who think alot on everything. They are very tidy people who like to see things done *just so*. As you can imagine, some do take these traits to the extreme and develop a sort of naivete, musing about how the world works and perhaps being a little angsty." At that last word, he shot a glare at his friend "I know what you're thinking, so cut it. I might whine quite the bit, but I'm not meticulous enough to fit the description correctly. Believe me, I've seen meticulous melancholics."
He sighed. "Which brings me to the last one: Phlegmatics. These people are the bystanders of life, preferring to observe and contribute at a distance, away from the limelight. They're peacekeepers, self-sacrificers who make great playmates or parents. They're very likable, and to prove the point I identified a strong phlegmatic who's a very lovable character in my circle. I must admit, it's hard not to develop a crush on her."
He rubbed the back of his head, suddenly self-conscious. "...yet conversely, in that person's reflection I find myself not quite there as well, though lots of people seem to agree on me being a phlegmatic." His troubled expression returned. "The problem is that I'm not humble. At least, not any more. Lately at work I've been pretty defensive, striving to make myself heard after one too many 'not being recognised' episodes. It's causing quite a bit of unnecessary tension I feel, and pretty much making me unhappy."
He shook his head, and looked at his friend, still beaming that smile back at him in silence. "So what do you think, smug guy? You're no choleric or melancholic, and you're certainly not a doer. People say you're sanguine, but I know the truth. You just sit there the whole day, smiling at idiots like me who come here to pour our woes out at you." Mild irritation crossed his face. "You're just a bloody statue."
Unmoving, his stoic friend stared right back at him, his smile the only answer.
Brandon smiled in return, and lapsed a little back into deep thought. "Maybe they're right, maybe I'm a phlegmatic who only just recently lost his way and is suffering as a result. Stars above, I'm definitely not happy playing the 'getting attention' bit. It's time I played my part on this stage and stopped fooling myself."
He nodded, mind set, and stood up, feeling quite better. He waved a casual goodbye to his companion. "Good bye then friend. Take care of yourself, and hopefully I'll be back with less things on my mind." Pausing awhile as if awaiting his reply, Brandon nodded, and then set off on his way home.
Draped eternally in his relaxed, outstretched pose across the bench, Ronald McDonald watched him leave.
This is another one for the geeks. Let me first start with the insights, and the story. I'll give the geek alert at the end so it's clear when to stop reading :)
The Singapore army opened its doors one more time to the general public this year, showcasing its newest and future developments. So naturally I went down (after realising no one I know can match my geekiness and COME DOWN WITH ME -sic-), and had the rare opportunity to have my writer side, photographer side AND geek run amok simultaneously. Quite the experience.
My photographic side has only just begin to manifest itself so there's still so much more to learn, but I can comment straight away on one thing: people do so love to pose next to things. At the risk of sounding like an Adeptus Mechanicus acolyte, I fail to see how one's posing next to a mechanical thing of beauty, filling up just about as much of the screen as it is, makes a picture better. If anything, it kinda spoils the perfection, breaks the beautiful, streamlined symmetry - hmmm. Ok, there's a little bit of the geek mixed in with this too. What is most annoying however, is the way people can blithely get in the way of a person setting up for a good shot and stay there: the pictures I took were incredibly hard to compose, and still they were full of people. I even saw a woman ignore her husband's warning that I was taking a picture, to stand right in front of me and take her own.
Aside from that, I also realised looking at another person's (more professional) shots that I still had lots more to learn as a photographer, but also that there is a limit I must stop at. As I have observed earlier, taking good pictures demands too much that one step back; remove himself from the scene. Caught between the geek and the photographer, priorities came first. There will be more chances later :)
The writer in me however, had less of this limit: all I needed were my senses. And what an experience it was. Standing tall and unmoving as blanks of new and old calibres were fired in the distant display grounds, and the unaccustomed flinching or plugging their ears as they walk on nearby. Sensing and identifying old sounds: choppers clearing the trees or rooftops just before screaming past overhead, IFVs revving their engines as they filed past. Seeing hated technologies disappear, while new exciting ones take their place. Observing kids as they struggled with an assault rifle's unexpectedly significant weight, fathers shaking their heads at the cammo counter to give the dubious honour to their wives (there's a reason behind that, for all you non-Singaporeans :D), fellow geeks grilling politely bemused display staff...my own unmaskable joy at finally coming face-to-face with the main objective: my first Leopard II tank. The highlight was singularly the technology/vehicle displays at the parade grounds. So, without further ado...
...Geek Alert!
The statue points the way. This statue, apparently called Sgt Rocky, has quite the bit of history I hear, and is a mascot of sorts to our specialist training center.
Me, inspecting a decked-out Sar-21 with maglight, forward grip, reflex sight, and laser among other stuff. 'Eavy, too.
Bionix II: our equivalent of the American Bradley IFV, down to the Bushwhacker.
Living out the Gunner Fantasy :D
Loading end of our artillery piece. I quite like how this picture turned out.
The Leopard II A4, with what looks like an angry horde storming it. This one took some skill and elevation.
The opposite direction. Note the tank's German heritage, in its treads, turret, and extra tread link mountings.
Something really new: the Terrex IFV, with all-round viewports, gunfire direction sensor and remote-controlled turret, this thing looks like that APC out of Aliens.
Finally, the tank that will make mine clearing much easier: the Trailblazor. Sporting Sherman Crab-like flails and a mine trail corden-layer, this thing should have been invented ages ago!
mhmacleod November 9th 1982 (Age 29) Male Singapore A humble blog of personal insights, as a curious Scorpio attempts to understand Life, Humanity, and maybe a little Song on the side.
