People who are incapable of seeing that the world doesn’t revolve around them are completely undeserving of respect. I just cannot fathom how people work themselves into a fury over something that wasn’t their business to begin with. 

Take for example a recent argument of mine: I was changing the fish tank. My birthday fish – Hall, Oates and Boyle – were beginning to poop, triple-time, and it was just one of those lazy afternoons where old reruns of Friends could take you so far without making you feel like an unproductive potato.

I was changing the tank, when my mother strolled in unannounced and started nagging five ways to Sunday about “all the wrong steps” I was taking that were most probably killing my fish. I rolled my eyes and shrugged it off. She pursued her nagging relentlessly, going on and on about how she used to rear fish and I was just screwing it all up.

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“If everyone has a issue with a person, the problem probably lies with said person. But if you’re the only one with an issue with this person, then the problem most likely lies with you.” 

It’s a common phase found in self-help articles on Psych Today, ‘advice’ from YouTube strangers in too much eyeliner that you’ve never met, or a caption emblazoned on the bumper sticker on some random persons car that you spotted on the road, probably as a giant “F*** YOU” to other randos on the road with bad driving etiquette.

This sentence, though popular, is far from serving its assumably intended purpose of making you reflect and adjusting your attitude and outlook on life accordingly.

What. Utter. Rubbish.

This sentence is the essence of bullying. 

I’m a self-professed ambivert, having stated on numerous occasions of my predisposition in getting mentally drained after each conversation – no matter how energetic or engaging I started out the day being.

I’m not talking about the exhaustion of coordinating project work in school, or the need to collaborate with lesser (or lazier minds), where one was forced to communicate with others with different frequency levels and/or who disagreed with your opinions. Those conversations – though tiring – had a structure and were predictably irrational. Yes, they were tear-your-brains-out irritating, but at least people were honest with their feelings – disagreeable or otherwise.

But it’s as if I’ve fallen into a reverse Wonderland and Alice is nowhere to be found. A place where honesty is in critical short supply and people seemingly rewarded for wasting everyone else’s time.

Long time no see, understandably so, given my last post was basically a giant exhaustive rant about Ready Player One and all things wrong with the movie industry. I’ve been recuperating since last, but I’ve got a new one for you today.

April has basically flown by, leaving me with little to be desired from May. It’s a dreaded month, hay fever and attack-of-the-sinuses aside, because of the impending doom that comes with hitting the Homerun of turning twenty-something (yet again).

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I am a major MAJOR Ernest Cline fan, especially when it comes to his hit novel, Ready Player One. It was recommended to me by Aaron – a man who has never voluntarily picked up a book in his life – yet could finish this one in a single afternoon. “Man,” I thought to myself. “This had better be good.”

As a result of my insane vertigo, I opted for Audible’s narration of the hardback instead, featuring Will Wheaton, aka. everyone’s favourite nemesis on The Big Bang Theory. Thanks to Wheaton’s incredible articulation and zealous narration skills, I have listened to Ready Player One at least 25 times from cover to cover, and I have yet to be disappointed.

That is, until Steven Spielberg’s film version of Ready Player One hit theatres this March. 

He’s my dog. I liked Neil Gaiman’s 1999 short story so much that I decided to bequeath it to my 8-year old (at the time, 5-month old) Shih-Tzu-Pekingese cross-breed. Behold, my dog, Quinn.

Now I’m not sure if you know this about Shih-Tzus, or much about Pekingese dogs, but they are incredibly lazy. They like to eat, sleep, and have their bellies rubbed. They don’t particularly fancy taking walks, baths, or much else. They’re also not affectionate creatures, ultimately defeating the purpose of having a dog as a pet in the first place.

I might as well have gotten a goldfish.