Does the moon exist only when someone is looking at it?

Was reading this article on the net that touched on antirealism.. Sometimes I think some people really have too much spare time...

The link to the article is here, in case anyone is interested:

http://www.eequalsmcsquared.auckland.ac.nz/sites/emc2/tl/philosophy/moon.cfm

Interesting Observation @ the faculty of Engineering

Currently reading: Fowler My autobiography

Bought this book since it was going for only $20, which must be a bargain coz its a holy book! A book written by GOD... What else could it be other than the bible?

Interesting excerpt from Gerrard: My Autobiography

Saw this interesting excerpt on the net. What can I say? Life is good when you have a homegrown superhero playing for your team.

I HAVE never known hatred like Manchester United's and the poison dripping from their fans never ceases to shock me.

Growing up in Huyton, I was taught to loathe United, their fans, players, manager, kit-man, mascot — everyone associated with Old Trafford. And during 90 minutes of football I want United to die. Everton fans have grown to despise me because I score against them so regularly and because I keep saying I love beating Everton.

They loathe me but I think they respect me as a player. At Old Trafford it's different. Everyone there hates me because I'm Liverpool. Visiting Old Trafford is like negotiating an assault course as it rains vitriol.

A winter's day trip there in 2000 was no different. Liverpool's coach was belted and the United fans were jumping up at the windows, their faces contorted by sheer hatred. We got the full welcome: V-signs, w***** signs, knife signs. "F*** off, scum!" they'd shout. "We'll f****** kill you!" And they sang: "In your Liverpool slum..."

S***, the United fans really loathe us. Bang! A window splintered and a brick nearly bounced off my head. Here we go again. I ran for the dressing rooms. I almost couldn't hear the first whistle because of the booing. "F*** me." I thought, "This is show time. Get on my game or get f*****."

As a kid I once wore a United shirt with Bryan Robson's name and seven on the back. I detested United with a passion and loathed the idea of putting on one of their strips, but this was different. A mate of mine owned this Robson top, the old blue-and-white one with dashes. I asked him whether I could be Robson.

I put on the Robson one. It felt fantastic. I wore it for an hour, charging all over, flying into tackles, scoring brave goals, pretending I was Robson. Because the shirt had Robson's name on it, I forgot about the United bit.
It didn't seem like treachery, more homage to an England god.

Unfortunately, Dad looked out the window and went ballistic. "Get inside now!" he screamed. Scarcely through the door, I ran into a right grilling. What the hell are you playing at, wearing a United shirt?" he asked. "But Dad, it's Bryan Robson's shirt!" I explained. Dad couldn't have cared less. "You should know better," he said. Dad was not having any son of his dragging the Gerrard name through the Huyton gutter. What would the neighbours think?

Honest to God, I thought I was going to have to move house! I was only a baby, but was convinced Dad would kick me out for putting on that shirt. At 14 I put on a United shirt again! I wore the red of United in two trial matches.
After doing well in those games, United offered me a three-year pro contract.

I even met their legendary manager. A group of trialists had dinner with Mr Ferguson, as he was then.
Michael Owen was meant to be at the meal, but didn't turn up. We sat and listened in awe to one of the managerial greats. He had heard about me and desperately wanted me to sign, but I was never going to sign for United. I looked around other clubs partly to pressure Liverpool into giving me a YTS contract.

But almost 20 years of being conditioned to hate Man U went up in smoke on my first England call-up. The other Liverpool boys introduced me to the rest of the squad. The last table I visited belonged to Manchester United. Phil Neville, David Beckham, Andy Cole and Paul Scholes looked up and smiled at me.

What the hell was going on? Shock-waves ripped through me. These people were supposed to be my enemy. We don't smile at each other. We snarl. I was thinking: "But they hate me and I them."

But they didn't hate me. They were brilliant at putting the new boy at ease. I ran out the next day for practice, looking for any sign of an ambush. Surely this would be normal United versus Liverpool, in a neutral venue? No. Again, the United lads were fantastic. I spoke to Gary Neville about the tension between his United and my Liverpool.
At the time, Gary was getting stick for something he was supposed to have said about Liverpool supporters. He got misquoted. What Gary actually said was: "I have been brought up in my area to hate Scousers." The same way Liverpool fans are raised to hate Mancs. But it was printed as "I Hate Scousers."

I don't know whether Gary was telling me to get the message across! He certainly got on with this Scouser. But the biggest, and probably only, compliment someone from United ever paid me came from Sir Alex Ferguson in the papers. "I couldn't believe my eyes as I read his view of me. ‘Gerrard is physically and technically precocious, has a good engine, remarkable energy, reads the game and passes quickly. I'd hate to think Liverpool have someone as good as Roy Keane.'

For Ferguson to compare me with his captain was some accolade. After reading Ferguson's comments, I just wanted to prove him right, to let him know Liverpool did have a Keane of their own.

Gerrard: My Autobiography by Steven Gerrard is published in hardcover by Bantam Press on September 2, priced £18.99 © Steven Gerrard 2006.

Taking it out on the bus driver

Today, Mr Goh encountered one too many paranoid/rude SBS bus driver and committed an act for which he feels remorseful.

It might be the sense of loyalty towards their organisation, or a genuine concern for public commuters who sometimes unwittingly commit an offence by forgetting to tap their Ezlink cards. Or it could simply be the fear of getting caught / "bau-toh" by the ever vigilant bus inspectors. Whatever it is, our Singapore bus drivers are fiercely committed to upholding the integrity of the Ezlink system and mercy for those who dare cross the line.

The problem is, our righteous bus drivers do not believe in "you are innocent until proven otherwise". No, the moment their bionic ears fail to register a "beep" while you are boarding the bus, they turn all paranoid and start yelling at passengers to wise up. It doesn't matter whether you are seated all the way at the back or if you have indeed "tapped" the damn card. Prove your innocence or be prepared for more abuse/embarrasment from the bus driver.

The worse thing is, they don't even bother apologising for false accusations. I wonder if such mentality/empowerment is encouraged/bestowed by their management?

Well, the exact same thing happened today. After falsely accusing the poor ah-pek, the young malay bus driver turned his attention to me and duly started the finger pointing. Not in the best of moods, I challenged him "What if I have already tapped my Ezlink card?" Sneer from the bus driver

"Entry Okay" read the display.

Seeing that he wasn't apologetic at all, I snapped and loudly demanded "Say SORRY". Well, I got my apology but not without humiliating the bus driver in the process. It did not feel good shaming someone in public. After all, he was just doing his job, and for how much? A miserable $2k per month? Why can't Singaporeans be civil and polite? What
is the point of welcoming our foreign visitors with 4 million smiles when we cannot even smile to a fellow Singaporean?

Higher Singlish/Singlish as the 1st language

My colleague recently taught me what can only be described as a highly sophisticated line of Singlish poetry:

"You take come, I bring go"

Wah, Saad Saad no laugh man...