Terrence opened his "My Music" Folder. He had a lot of good music, or so he felt, ranging from Ghostface Killah to Dizzy Gillespie, Rachmaninoff to Nicholas Tse. But the problem with music, or indeed any other sensory material, is that the longer you are exposed to them the less stimulating to the mind they become, and Terrence had slowly become apathetic and disinterested towards his current music collection. He shuffled through an assortment of folders and files for a few minutes, and upon failing to find a track that would enhance his current sentiments, he took upon an unorthodox operation to remedy the situation - if he wasn't able to find suitable music, he would create his own instead. Terrence had long had an interest in music production and composition, and with such experience and the necessary tools of digital media, he was able to go right about doing so.
He opened Fruity Loops 7 and started playing with the instrumental effects. He wanted a lush, sweeping sound of melancholy with a hint of optimism, and settled for a string ensemble with a simple minor scale played in syncopation to the repeated drum loop in the background. He added an orchestral harmony to strengthen the presence of the melody, and then some broken chords on a clavinova for added mystique. A flute solo, some sound effects, a sampled Winston Churchill speech...
It was easy to create simple looped patterns on instruments, but it was much harder to string them together into a proper song, together with intro and outro and all. It took Terrence the better part of a day to complete the song, and by the time he was done it was perhaps no longer an accurate reflection of his current mood anymore. Nevertheless, he was fairly proud of what he had accomplished and exported the finished song into mp3 format and played it out loud on his M-Audio desktop audio monitors.
The panning on the ambience in the intro was a little messed up.
The timing on the drum fill-ins were not rhythmically precise.
The flute solo was too soft, and faded out too quickly.
The song needed rap lyrics.
Terrence felt that all those issues were minor enough to be ignored, except for the problem with the lack of lyrics. The track was good, but it would be too boring without lyrics, he thought. He had never written lyrics before, but he was determined to try. For the first 5 minutes he looked around his room, desparately trying to draw some sort of lyrical inspiration from his Obama posters and patterned curtains, but it didn't really work, so he gave that up. He had several business textbooks on his desk too, but those didn't really help either.
Terrence let out a long sigh, lit up a cigarette and let the smoke surround him. Drawing from the nicotine stimulation, he started scribbling words down onto a piece of lined paper.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Chapter Six
The computers were lined up, the mice were clicking, the fingers were tapping. Eyes were glued to monitors the way children were mesmerized the first time they saw fireworks. The room was otherwise silent. There was a heavy intensity in the air - not the type of intensity that you felt when you watched a horror movie, it was the type of intensity that you felt when you were observing a game of chess between two masters. But then Terrence screamed and broke the silence.
"MotherFUCKER, get that fatass fucking Reaver out of my FUCKING base please!"
"MotherFUCKER, get that fatass fucking Reaver out of my FUCKING base please!"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It was a unique gathering for the Karen house, being that few previous social activities of theirs have demanded such focus of its members. But for some reason or another, their entire house - Sam, Mike, Gorav and Mubi - had decided to start playing the decade old computer game of Starcraft several days ago, and Terrence, being close to all the house members, was sucked into the fad.
Terrence had been a competitive player in real time strategy games before, and was thus a little unnerved by the low standards of his friends' playing. "Nubs", he would call them. But Terrence also realized that the intrigue of LAN parties wasn't necessarily the competitive aspect of the game, rather, it was the anticipation of the twisted reactions on other players' faces when you pulled off sneaky tactical moves on them. So with that understanding in mind, Terrence correctly predicted Mike's second Reaver drop and promptly killed off that fat slug before it could do any more damage to his base.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Chapter Five
It was Cassian's birthday today, and Gabriel's two days ago.
Terrence had not forgotten about his brothers' anniversary celebrations, he had simply been too absorbed in his own daily dealings to have found time to properly compile a meaningful gift for either of them. Until today. He already had in mind what he was going to buy for them, so the trip to the mall was quick and efficient, like a mouse who had already memorized the route through the maze to get to the cheese. A light green jacket for Gabriel, a belt and some boxers for Cassian - he felt confident that these would be to their liking.
But the presents were the easy part. The hard part was that he had to attach his birthday wishes to these presents. He had wanted to make it meaningful, and it was in his own experience that anything meaningful takes at least 2 hours to write. He had also neglected to buy a birthday card at the mall, and thus had to make do with a piece of lined paper. He spent the next half hour thinking up excuses to justify the scrappy presentation.
Terrence had not forgotten about his brothers' anniversary celebrations, he had simply been too absorbed in his own daily dealings to have found time to properly compile a meaningful gift for either of them. Until today. He already had in mind what he was going to buy for them, so the trip to the mall was quick and efficient, like a mouse who had already memorized the route through the maze to get to the cheese. A light green jacket for Gabriel, a belt and some boxers for Cassian - he felt confident that these would be to their liking.
But the presents were the easy part. The hard part was that he had to attach his birthday wishes to these presents. He had wanted to make it meaningful, and it was in his own experience that anything meaningful takes at least 2 hours to write. He had also neglected to buy a birthday card at the mall, and thus had to make do with a piece of lined paper. He spent the next half hour thinking up excuses to justify the scrappy presentation.
Dear Gabriel and Cassian,
Happy Birthday! I apologize for the meagre substitute that I have used in place of an actual birthday card, but environmental conservation has become such a prominent public issue now that I felt compelled to participate towards a solution. Besides, all the packing for my anticipated move back to Hong Kong has left me accessible to few useful instruments of writing, of which fortunately included a black pen and a piece of lined paper. However, history is full of examples of greater writings being documented on lesser parchments, Fermat's Last Theorem for instance, so I feel that this marginal arrangement should not detract from the sincerity with which I bid the best of wishes to both of you for your 18th and 21st birthdays. Both of these ages represent a legal transition into adulthood (depending on the jurisdiction, of course) and I hope that it will bring about increased opportunities and liberties for you...
The letter then proceeded to address Gabriel and Cassian individually on some more private matters, and concluded with a final reiteration of the birthday wishes. The letter took longer to write than Terrence had anticipated, and by the time he had finished the post office had already closed for the day.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Chapter Four
Starting...5...4...3..2...1
He moved his drones to the minerals mine and started evolving his larvae into more drones. He sent his overlord to the opposite corner of the map to scout the opponent. After the 9th drone came out he built a spawning pool and started pumping out some zerglings. He built a second hatchery near a second mineral source for faster unit production, and built an extractor to mine vespene gas. He sent his zerglings to harass the enemy base, but then his overlord scouted the marines and bunkers and he decided that he had better not be too impulsive with his offence.
All this happened in about one minute. He knew he had to be fast.
Terrence, aka. mis.click, knew it was a futile game - he was playing against his friend Dong, aka. Rori313, who had participated in amateur Starcraft gaming leagues before. But still, he had to at least try.
He evolved his hatchery into a lair and instantly started constructing tier 2 buildings. His plan was to mass mutalisks and zerglings and hope that through some miracle law of large numbers (he had been taught this in Statistics 371 not long ago) his swarm would be able to defeat the Terran army.
It worked for a while, and the mutalisks were able to take out a few SCVs, but then the missile defence towers started picking them off one by one and they were forced to retreat temporarily. He had not realized that during this time, Rori313 had already started building his third expansion in a hidden corner of the map, and was well ahead in technology as well as resources. As the game went on mis.click upgraded his buildings to produce stronger units, and then Rori313 countered him with even stronger ones, until each of their armies became a bastard mix of vultures and tanks and goliaths and hydralisks and ultralisks and defilers. But while all this was happening, Rori313 had sneaked units onto the inaccessible hill adjacent to mis.click's expansion and had erected an extensive horizon of missile defense towers along the edges, wiping out an entire section of his Zerg base. He had no more resources and his army had been outclassed.
That's game, he thought, and typed GG.
He moved his drones to the minerals mine and started evolving his larvae into more drones. He sent his overlord to the opposite corner of the map to scout the opponent. After the 9th drone came out he built a spawning pool and started pumping out some zerglings. He built a second hatchery near a second mineral source for faster unit production, and built an extractor to mine vespene gas. He sent his zerglings to harass the enemy base, but then his overlord scouted the marines and bunkers and he decided that he had better not be too impulsive with his offence.
All this happened in about one minute. He knew he had to be fast.
Terrence, aka. mis.click, knew it was a futile game - he was playing against his friend Dong, aka. Rori313, who had participated in amateur Starcraft gaming leagues before. But still, he had to at least try.
He evolved his hatchery into a lair and instantly started constructing tier 2 buildings. His plan was to mass mutalisks and zerglings and hope that through some miracle law of large numbers (he had been taught this in Statistics 371 not long ago) his swarm would be able to defeat the Terran army.
It worked for a while, and the mutalisks were able to take out a few SCVs, but then the missile defence towers started picking them off one by one and they were forced to retreat temporarily. He had not realized that during this time, Rori313 had already started building his third expansion in a hidden corner of the map, and was well ahead in technology as well as resources. As the game went on mis.click upgraded his buildings to produce stronger units, and then Rori313 countered him with even stronger ones, until each of their armies became a bastard mix of vultures and tanks and goliaths and hydralisks and ultralisks and defilers. But while all this was happening, Rori313 had sneaked units onto the inaccessible hill adjacent to mis.click's expansion and had erected an extensive horizon of missile defense towers along the edges, wiping out an entire section of his Zerg base. He had no more resources and his army had been outclassed.
That's game, he thought, and typed GG.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
Chapter Three (2)
Lana was here. Why was Lana here? Terrence had played in several UW Orchestra concerts now and he had never remembered seeing Lana at any of them. Who invited her? Who was she here to see? Was she here to see him? Probably not.
There was a white guy sitting with her. Was he her date? He had a pasty white face, round glasses, well-trimmed hair - he was not particularly attractive, but he had a composed and sensible look that gave Terrence the impression that he was a calm and knowledgable man who appreciated the finer aspects of life. But then he didn't, because after a few minutes he started looking impatient and ill-at-ease, and when he started reading the concert programme it reminded Terrence of a 10 year old boy who was left outside the casino by his father and was struggling to pass time by reading an incomprehensible instruction pamphlet on the rules of Blackjack.
Terrence focused on his music instead. The concert was going very well. The audience looked engaged and no-one was about to doze off any time soon, possibly due to the sheer volume and intensity of Rimsky-Korsakov's Russian Easter Overture. Some of the previous concerts had been tedious, and the music had moved so grudgingly that it seemed to needlessly prolong the night into eternity. But this one was spectacular - Erna waved her baton more vigorously than he had ever seen, the strings bowed the full length of their bows, the brass fanfared and the timpanis rumbled with the adrenaline of a wardrum. The mesmerizing sounds rang through the hall, and when the orchestra struck the final A major triad that spanned three octaves with synthesized conviction and precision, the crowds involuntarily stood up and thundered their applause. Bravo, Bravo!
Terrence felt very good and went back to the dressing room in high spirits. The celebrations continued well into the night, and the noise of spirited chatter was matched perhaps only by the clatter of brass in Tschaikowsky's Capriccio Italien earlier in the evening.
Terrence had wanted to talk to Lana. It had been a while since they last talked, and he was genuinely curious as to how she had been since then. But she had been sitting in the middle of the escalated section just below the balcony, and Terrence lost sight of her as the crowds began shuffling out of the hall. He decided to message her instead.
SMS: So, what's up?
SMS: Great performance.
SMS: Haha thanks yah this time was really good. Good that you came and nice of you to come.
It was sort of an awkward message. Terrence wanted to thank her for coming, but deep inside he had the feeling that it was more her privilege to have been there. He didn't receive a response after the last message, and wondered whether he will ever see Lana again in his life.
There was a white guy sitting with her. Was he her date? He had a pasty white face, round glasses, well-trimmed hair - he was not particularly attractive, but he had a composed and sensible look that gave Terrence the impression that he was a calm and knowledgable man who appreciated the finer aspects of life. But then he didn't, because after a few minutes he started looking impatient and ill-at-ease, and when he started reading the concert programme it reminded Terrence of a 10 year old boy who was left outside the casino by his father and was struggling to pass time by reading an incomprehensible instruction pamphlet on the rules of Blackjack.
Terrence focused on his music instead. The concert was going very well. The audience looked engaged and no-one was about to doze off any time soon, possibly due to the sheer volume and intensity of Rimsky-Korsakov's Russian Easter Overture. Some of the previous concerts had been tedious, and the music had moved so grudgingly that it seemed to needlessly prolong the night into eternity. But this one was spectacular - Erna waved her baton more vigorously than he had ever seen, the strings bowed the full length of their bows, the brass fanfared and the timpanis rumbled with the adrenaline of a wardrum. The mesmerizing sounds rang through the hall, and when the orchestra struck the final A major triad that spanned three octaves with synthesized conviction and precision, the crowds involuntarily stood up and thundered their applause. Bravo, Bravo!
Terrence felt very good and went back to the dressing room in high spirits. The celebrations continued well into the night, and the noise of spirited chatter was matched perhaps only by the clatter of brass in Tschaikowsky's Capriccio Italien earlier in the evening.
Terrence had wanted to talk to Lana. It had been a while since they last talked, and he was genuinely curious as to how she had been since then. But she had been sitting in the middle of the escalated section just below the balcony, and Terrence lost sight of her as the crowds began shuffling out of the hall. He decided to message her instead.
SMS: So, what's up?
SMS: Great performance.
SMS: Haha thanks yah this time was really good. Good that you came and nice of you to come.
It was sort of an awkward message. Terrence wanted to thank her for coming, but deep inside he had the feeling that it was more her privilege to have been there. He didn't receive a response after the last message, and wondered whether he will ever see Lana again in his life.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Chapter Three (1)
Terrence had arrived early.
Hagey Hall was University of Waterloo's only theatre performance venue, and being one of the oldest buildings on campus, it had developed an aged charm that had only grown through the years of Terrence's undergraduate life. It had brick walls varnished in a passionate red, and a majestic flight of stairs that ascended to its entrance, and sturdy wooden doors that required the force of both hands to open.
Terrence found Mitchell in the dressing room.
"You're early."
"Yeh man I needed to practice, I haven't looked at the music in like a week! There's like dust on my violin! Have you practiced the Mendelssohn Scottish Symphony? Oh and hey man, did you bring a stand? We have no stand again!"
"Yeh I brought a stand!"
Terrence held up the music stand with one hand like an Olympic athlete posing with a trophy.
Terrence and Mitchell were an odd selection to pair as stand partners. Terrence kept to himself during rehearsals, and in fact, largely kept his eyes to the music save for when the conductor shot glances at him as an indication for him to look up for directions. Mitchell, on the other hand, could never seem to fight back the urge to make crass remarks at any and every comment that was voiced during the course of practice. This obnoxious behaviour sometimes irritated Terrence, but all-in-all he liked the guy. And really, he needed him too. Mitchell was organized - he kept all the scores well marked and notated, counted the bars and rests, turned the pages, played loudly during the hard passages - and on a more personal assessment, Mitchell's claim to lack of practice had always made Terrence feel a little less self-conscious about his own irresponsibility.
Having completed his typical pre-performance rituals, Terrence moved into his seat in the second desk of the first violins and looked back behind him. There was Wallace and Anthony, Bill and Nancy, Edwin and Joanna...all of them characteristic and a little eccentric in the ways that violin players usually were. Wallace just got a haircut, he noticed, and it was most likely a preparation done just for the concert, which seemed to confirm that he was indeed the most committed player in the orchestra. Anthony played Warcraft and had recently been busted by the cops for making too much noise at his house party. Bill had a nerdy affection for pure mathematics. Nancy played all the notes with passionate dynamics and technical ease, which made it obvious she practiced a lot at home. Edwin was a graduate a few years ago, and now worked as a computer science programmer in town. Joanna was in first year and had a twin sister.
Maybe pairing him and Mitchell together wasn't so odd afterall, he thought. And then the concert began and he was starkly reminded that the seating arrangements were, above all else, based on playing ability.
Hagey Hall was University of Waterloo's only theatre performance venue, and being one of the oldest buildings on campus, it had developed an aged charm that had only grown through the years of Terrence's undergraduate life. It had brick walls varnished in a passionate red, and a majestic flight of stairs that ascended to its entrance, and sturdy wooden doors that required the force of both hands to open.
Terrence found Mitchell in the dressing room.
"You're early."
"Yeh man I needed to practice, I haven't looked at the music in like a week! There's like dust on my violin! Have you practiced the Mendelssohn Scottish Symphony? Oh and hey man, did you bring a stand? We have no stand again!"
"Yeh I brought a stand!"
Terrence held up the music stand with one hand like an Olympic athlete posing with a trophy.
Terrence and Mitchell were an odd selection to pair as stand partners. Terrence kept to himself during rehearsals, and in fact, largely kept his eyes to the music save for when the conductor shot glances at him as an indication for him to look up for directions. Mitchell, on the other hand, could never seem to fight back the urge to make crass remarks at any and every comment that was voiced during the course of practice. This obnoxious behaviour sometimes irritated Terrence, but all-in-all he liked the guy. And really, he needed him too. Mitchell was organized - he kept all the scores well marked and notated, counted the bars and rests, turned the pages, played loudly during the hard passages - and on a more personal assessment, Mitchell's claim to lack of practice had always made Terrence feel a little less self-conscious about his own irresponsibility.
Having completed his typical pre-performance rituals, Terrence moved into his seat in the second desk of the first violins and looked back behind him. There was Wallace and Anthony, Bill and Nancy, Edwin and Joanna...all of them characteristic and a little eccentric in the ways that violin players usually were. Wallace just got a haircut, he noticed, and it was most likely a preparation done just for the concert, which seemed to confirm that he was indeed the most committed player in the orchestra. Anthony played Warcraft and had recently been busted by the cops for making too much noise at his house party. Bill had a nerdy affection for pure mathematics. Nancy played all the notes with passionate dynamics and technical ease, which made it obvious she practiced a lot at home. Edwin was a graduate a few years ago, and now worked as a computer science programmer in town. Joanna was in first year and had a twin sister.
Maybe pairing him and Mitchell together wasn't so odd afterall, he thought. And then the concert began and he was starkly reminded that the seating arrangements were, above all else, based on playing ability.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Chapter Two
Terrence picked out his suit from the closet. It was covered in lint and hair, black and white, which was undoubtedly a result of having picked up Hazel in a celebratory manner after a previous adventure with the suit. Goddammit. His phone rang and he ran to pick it up before it catalyzed another one of Hazel's barking fits.
"Yo T! You coming to the lecture?"
"Yah sure, last one today."
"Nice."
"Yeh."
And then Terrence realized that Sam wasn't really calling for the benefit of himself, rather, it was somehow an indirect attempt to help him. Then another thought struck him that maybe it was never Sam's intention to be so considerate. But in any case, each time he received a call from Sam it could not have been more relieving at a more appropriate time. During his warcraft addiction Sam had called to ask him to play a game of squash. During his job searches Sam had called him to discuss the consequences of an economic crisis on the RIM stock.
"Oh yah, hey, um...can I get a ride to the lecture?"
"Yah I can do that. Come over in half an hour."
Sam to the rescue, and the first problem of the day was solved.
"Oh shit, fuck, do you have a spare pair of black shoes? I think I left my only pair in Hong Kong and I have orchestra performance tonight...fuck, do you?"
"Haha...! Yah, I should do, lemme check. Yah, I do."
"Nice. Thanks so much man, oh hey and one more thing. Do you have any empty boxes lying around that I could use to ship some stuff back to Hong Kong? Need to start packing."
"Probably, check in the garage when you come over, I should have some."
"Thanks...thanks man."
The conversation left Terrence with a good sense of accomplishment for the afternoon, and he went to the living room to clean up his suit. In a mindless dream, he wondered if the rest of his day would also be so smooth and favourable.
"Yo T! You coming to the lecture?"
"Yah sure, last one today."
"Nice."
"Yeh."
And then Terrence realized that Sam wasn't really calling for the benefit of himself, rather, it was somehow an indirect attempt to help him. Then another thought struck him that maybe it was never Sam's intention to be so considerate. But in any case, each time he received a call from Sam it could not have been more relieving at a more appropriate time. During his warcraft addiction Sam had called to ask him to play a game of squash. During his job searches Sam had called him to discuss the consequences of an economic crisis on the RIM stock.
"Oh yah, hey, um...can I get a ride to the lecture?"
"Yah I can do that. Come over in half an hour."
Sam to the rescue, and the first problem of the day was solved.
"Oh shit, fuck, do you have a spare pair of black shoes? I think I left my only pair in Hong Kong and I have orchestra performance tonight...fuck, do you?"
"Haha...! Yah, I should do, lemme check. Yah, I do."
"Nice. Thanks so much man, oh hey and one more thing. Do you have any empty boxes lying around that I could use to ship some stuff back to Hong Kong? Need to start packing."
"Probably, check in the garage when you come over, I should have some."
"Thanks...thanks man."
The conversation left Terrence with a good sense of accomplishment for the afternoon, and he went to the living room to clean up his suit. In a mindless dream, he wondered if the rest of his day would also be so smooth and favourable.
Chapter One
It was 1:25pm, and Terrence was still lying unconscious on his bed.
He did not have a particularly long night, nor was he feeling any symptoms of sickness or bodily disorder. It had happened gradually over the months - one late night here for studying, one late night there for playing computer games - he had inadvertently reversed the biological clock in his body, and the glaring streak of sunlight that shone through his balcony window evidently did not prove to be sufficient encouragement for him to awake to the bustling world outside.
On most other days this reckless habit would have been fairly harmless, but today was an important day, insofar as he actually had events listed on his schedule besides that of feeding and other basic human life sustenance activities. He had set his alarm to 1:30pm the previous night (or perhaps it was better described as "earlier today"), and at precisely that moment a series of noises cracked through Terrence's ears and thus rendered further sleep as no longer a viable option. The hooting of his alarm, the bleeping of a truck outside, a roommate cooking lunch with an obnoxiously tinny frying pan, and above all that there was also Hazel's disgruntled barking. She could have been barking at the unpleasant noises that had seemed to occur all at once, or it was entirely possible that she was barking simply because she needed Terrence to wake up to take her for a walk.
Terrence was a tolerant man. Or at the very least he was tolerant to noise - he had fallen asleep to a pumped up recording of Slayer: Angel of Death before, or indeed, Nightwish: Romanticide. So it couldn't have been the growing pandemonium that accounted for his decision to wake up. No. His decision stemmed from a strained anticipation of the day's events to come. It was the anticipation of completing the things that had to be done, menial tasks, like waking up to attend to the house cleaners, or doing the weekly laundry, or taking out the garbage. Although today, it was none of those things.
Today was an important day, and he could not afford to lose any more time.
He did not have a particularly long night, nor was he feeling any symptoms of sickness or bodily disorder. It had happened gradually over the months - one late night here for studying, one late night there for playing computer games - he had inadvertently reversed the biological clock in his body, and the glaring streak of sunlight that shone through his balcony window evidently did not prove to be sufficient encouragement for him to awake to the bustling world outside.
On most other days this reckless habit would have been fairly harmless, but today was an important day, insofar as he actually had events listed on his schedule besides that of feeding and other basic human life sustenance activities. He had set his alarm to 1:30pm the previous night (or perhaps it was better described as "earlier today"), and at precisely that moment a series of noises cracked through Terrence's ears and thus rendered further sleep as no longer a viable option. The hooting of his alarm, the bleeping of a truck outside, a roommate cooking lunch with an obnoxiously tinny frying pan, and above all that there was also Hazel's disgruntled barking. She could have been barking at the unpleasant noises that had seemed to occur all at once, or it was entirely possible that she was barking simply because she needed Terrence to wake up to take her for a walk.
Terrence was a tolerant man. Or at the very least he was tolerant to noise - he had fallen asleep to a pumped up recording of Slayer: Angel of Death before, or indeed, Nightwish: Romanticide. So it couldn't have been the growing pandemonium that accounted for his decision to wake up. No. His decision stemmed from a strained anticipation of the day's events to come. It was the anticipation of completing the things that had to be done, menial tasks, like waking up to attend to the house cleaners, or doing the weekly laundry, or taking out the garbage. Although today, it was none of those things.
Today was an important day, and he could not afford to lose any more time.
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