i opened my eyes
and looked up at the rain,
and it dripped in my head
and flowed into my brain,
and all that i hear as i lie in my bed
is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

i step very softly,
i walk very slow,
i can’t do a handstand—
i might overflow,
so pardon the wild crazy thing I just said—
i’m just not the same since there’s rain in my head.

-shel silverstein

watching champs league now. i might have to get used to streaming cause singapore's cable networks are being such dickheads. i'm strangely awake and loving the fact that there's no school tomorrow. maybe i'll watch the world series for a bit before drowning myself in my essay. game 6. it's do or die for the phillies. actually, i'd rather them do than die cause the yankees annoy me. they're sort of like the manchester utd of baseball. so basically, there's nothing much to like.

oh well. at least we went down fighting, eh? 4 goals at the bridge is pretty awesome. especially that aurelio free kick. what a fucking beaut. other than that, drogba is a diving bastard. but i'm sure you all know that already. so, here's to barca owning che£$ki in the semis.

anyone wants to go see kaiser chiefs? they're playing next tuesday at fort canning. i've got one ticket up for grabs. $70. if you're interested, let me know.

SOLD.

i'm getting goosebumps watching chris martin sexing his piano in japan. fuck, i really want to go now.

Star Wars: Retold (by someone who hasn't seen it) from Joe Nicolosi on Vimeo.

god, this got me laughing all over the place.

today, a monster of a cockroach crawled up my arm. i shit you not. i was happily talking to joy and eating my lovely cranberry toast when it came out of nowhere. naturally, i screamed bloody murder and in my attempt to shake it off, i flung my bread onto the floor. this upsets me more than it should.

i don't want to be that person who complains after a win, especially one that is as awesome as this. (it's still too early to tell) but there's a pesky little devil in my head telling me that it would majorly suck to lose the trophy to chelsea, or anyone for that matter, based on goal difference.

i'm just saying.

my mind is muck
i'm out of luck
seems like i'm stuck
in this clusterfuck.

i gave in to the f1 fever and finally dragged my ass down to city hall to catch some of the action. being cheap and therefore ticketless, i resorted to hunting for lobangs and managed to find a pretty damn good spot to watch the race. as most of you should know by now, the ferrari team tanned it big time. seriously guys, way to go. i suppose it made the whole thing more exciting, though. watching the crowd became quite entertaining. when you know fuck-all about the sport (or have a limited view of the track), you can always depend on the fans' expressions to tell you what's going on. fist pumps, good. exaggerated wild hand gestures, bad. heads buried in their hands indicate the extent of the damage.

well, almost.

My dad makes me laugh. I found out today that he likes to watch Mr Bean (once in a while, he admitted sheepishly).

DAMN IT ALL TO HELL.

EDIT: TORRES YOU FUCKING BEAUTY.

EDIT2: PLS READ FIRST LINE.

somebody? anybody?

really, was that even necessary?

LOST JUST BLEW MY FUCKING BRAINS OUT. THIS EP KICKS ALL OF THE OTHER EPS' ASSES.

LJKASDASLKL;K'ASD;LASJKLSDAKLJ I LOVE THIS SHOW.