I went to buy some wristbands, because rule number 3.4.4.1.2 of the 2004 ITTF Handbook basically states that people can only towel off once or twice a game. I look around for some Adidas wrist bands, since I usually play in Adidas trunks, but unfortunately, every place I look either has no Adidas wristbands, or they have the Adidas non-racquet-sport wristbands, the ones that are twice as long and constrict the wrist. There was a set that was some brand I never heard of, but it was half price and the logo looked like the skip button on an MP3 player so I decided to buy it anyway. Turns out that this brand is actually Karl Kani, a brand name in urban fashion.

Let me back things up for a second here.

I’m pure Chinese by blood, raised in a neighbourhood of subtle families who paid off their mortgages, bought mini-vans to drive all their kids to hockey practice, and spent the weekends planting new sets of flowers in their gardens. I went to a high school for the sons of rich couples and government officials. MY FREAKIN NAME IS JEFF. I’m probably the last person who should be wearing “urban fashion”.

So yeah.

wut wut.

So today I woke up at around eight, checked my daily blogroll, found out that I have $6 in my bank account, cooked some breakfast, went back to bed. I got a call letting me know that I’ve been hired for a new job, my highest paying one to date, ending to my fourteen month unemployment stretch. Got dressed, bought a bus pass, went to school, ate lunch, skipped the last half of class. On the way home I bought a book, looked for a wristband, finished reading a chapter from my economics textbook. Got another call, letting me know that my application with Trolley and Wheaties into a beautiful 16th floor apartment has been accepted. And here I am, sitting in my furnished apartment next to my cat, watching people improv characters on a GO train.

I start work tomorrow. I’m scheduled for a table tennis marathon with Pat this month. My pork chop defrosted in time for dinner. Things are getting even better.

More than 170 people were killed today, in a war I know nothing about, concerning things I don’t understand, with people I’ve never met, at a place half the world away.

This is the first time that I’ve ever felt guilty to be happy.

Doesn’t it suck to find two copies of the same book with different translations, and the inferior translation is the one in hard-cover or the better design? I’m a sucker for a nice looking book.

It’s funny to be nervous about talking to someone, and then realize that they’re just as nervous when the time finally arrives. The double nervousness makes for some awkward pauses.

I had the chance to witness (as opposed to being involved in) such a thing once on the bus. A guy and a girl, who must have been in their early 20’s and both rather obviously attracted to each other, sat in adjacent seats separated by the aisle. I could just hear the thought processes going on in their heads as pause time seemed to stretch out towards infinity. Every so often, they would turn to each other and say something. Of course, they’d blurt out things at the same time and struggle to see who would get to talk first, resulting in further awkwardness.

I think that the key to recognizing this kind of nervousness is all in listening to what’s not being said.

I like to sleep with my window open slightly when the weather goes above 1°C.