Take this jewel of a question, "Are you one of those Jesus people?", punctuated with hands clasped in prayer and eyes rolling toward heaven and disdain pouring off in roiling waves off his well fed body.

The correct term is "Christians" (for the layman), you ignorant ill-bred man.

Now I wished I had said, "Yes I am, and I do not appreciate my Lord Saviour's name being taken in such disdain."

Stupid, stupid me. That would have wiped that supercilious smirk off his face.

***

I must admit that he probably has suffered some form of aggravation. There's a Church camp that is being held in my college dorm this summer, and it has been going on for the last week or so. They hold their activities, which include hymns sang for quite a large portion of the day. This singing and praying is somewhat disruptive to outsiders because the room they are holding these activities happen to be next to the recreation room. And I must admit, the times I happened to overhear some of them speaking in tongues, scared me half to death.

***

I must seem like the biggest hypocrite to the rest of the world at large. Sometimes I think I am.

And this obstinate adherence to rules of deportment, manners and moral rights, is merely a crutch for a weak, ineffectual, person to put on a facade. History and psychology has bore witness to this time and again.

Finally, with all the complaining and lack of tolerance I have evinced over the last few entries, I fear I have not been able to keep my New Year's Resolution. You know, the bit about bad karma.

***

It is the New Year. I had blueberries today. Deliciously sweet and grainy. I like examining each round blue-black sphere before eating it.

***

Currently reading White Mughals by William Dalrymple. I finally bought it, after so many months of dithering. Well, Dymocks had a 20% sale on, and I couldn't resist, plus I had a 7 dollar voucher for being such a faithful customer. I'm a third of the way through, and I still have not reached the love story yet.

I also bought The Homeric Hymns and Feast by Roy Strong. The latter should be interesting, dealing as it is, with the history of food and fine dining. Yummy. Although, I must admit it was an impulse buy, because the didactic style of writing takes a lot out of me to read and digest it.

But what entranced me more than those books, was the Olga Berg tote bag I saw on sale at Myers. At first glance, it looked absolutely tacky, with bright primary coloured floral prints. But it grew on me the more I handled it. I had to wrench myself away from it because I overspent this month, and I still need to save for my air ticket to travel to another Australian city of my choice before I return to Singapore.

In the end, the clincher for not getting the bag laid in the fact that it wasn't large enough to contain a book and all the rest of my usual accessories (lip-balm, Listerine pocket-pak, pen, kleenex, panadol, mobile, comb, baby wipes). A paperback yes, but not the current batch of literature that I am reading. I wonder why literary paperbacks are printed in a larger size than popular literature. Another mark of the divide between popular and high culture?