Several researchers, including Kay Redfield Jamison and Nancy Andreasen, have attempted to find out whether there is truth in the during belief that genius is allied to madness. Eight famous American poets, Hart Crane, Theodore Roethke, Delmore Schwartz, John Barryman, Randall Jarrell, Robert Lowell, Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath, many of whom won the coveted Pulitzer Prize, had documented histories of Manic-Depressive illnesses. All almost certainly had bipolar disorder and many committed suicide. These eight poets are among the thirty-six born in the 20th century who are represented in The New Oxford Book Of American Verse, a collection reserved for the most distinguished poets in the country. It is certainly striking that about 20% of these poets exhibited bipolar disorders, given the population prevalence of slightly less than 1%;, but F.K. Goodwin and Jamison think that 20% is probably a conservative estimate, because the twenty-eight remaining poets have not been studied in sufficient detail to determine whether they also suffered from bipolar disorder. Andreasen reported similar results in a study of thirty creative writers, and Kaufman observed that this effect was far more common in female poets even when compared to other artists or leaders. Why female poets in particular? Kaufman and Baer wonder if the independent and sometimes rebellious qualities associated with creativity might be more stressful in a society that puts demands on women to be supportive and affiliative.

Many artists and writers, whether suspected of mood disorders or not, speak of periods of inspiration when thought processes quicken, moods lift and new associations are generated. Perhaps something inherent in manic states fosters creativity. On the other hand, it is possible that the genetic vulnerability to mood disorders is independently accompanied by a predisposition to creativity. In other words, the genetic patterns associated with bipolar disorder may also carry the spark of creativity. These ideas are little more than speculations at present, but the study of creativity and leadership, so highly valued in all cultures, may well be enhanced by a deeper understanding of “madness”.

References:

Barlow, D.H. and Durand, M.V. (2005)  ood Disorders and Suicide? Abnormal Psychology : An Integrative Approach, Thomson Wadsworth

I currently have almost zero motivation to “blog” at the moment after being drained by some mammoth assignments, including a 4000-word report, and some skeletons are best left in the closet. 

What an embarrassment, I really hate being English some nights! Where’s the passion, creativity and Jamie Carragher’s ability to pass forward? To me watching England has become like having a really fit, but frigid girlfriend, everyone else is jealous cos she looks great but what they don’t realise is that she does f*ck all to please you when the action starts. You cant dump she’s too fit, and there’s always that possibility that she might one day come good, but you know deep down its a lost cause.

And the frustration, my god, if there was a football equivalent of w**king I’d be at it after every England game, just to relieve all the tension built up after an hour and a half of bloody foreplay!

Cut the crap and get to the good stuff, even if you don’t win at least put the effort into the performance so that I can enjoy it!
Pete (wishing for either a bird or a decent england performance), Aldershot

Courtesy of www.football365.com

Food review of Kuishin-Bo:

http://www.hungrygowhere.com/restaurant_details.php?recordid=596#review

Food review by me of a seafood restaurant:

http://www.hungrygowhere.com/restaurant_details.php?recordid=1274

I am a lazy arse, one week after moving in, I have yet to unpack. The bulk of my belongings, mostly books, are just strewn on the floor. There is hardly any space available to walk. I did at least organise my clothes though, neatly hung on the racks.

There is hardly anything at home, no bed, no tables, no chairs, no internet, no everything, just the racks, which were mine to begin with. Sounds bare, but it has been like that for the past week and nothing has been bought, since my father has not moved in yet.

I do not mind sleeping on the floor, it seems to restrict the number of hours of slumber. I quite prefer the width afforded as compared to single beds. Although I have had better quality of sleep, I am currently fine with what am I getting.

My father concern for me when we shop for furniture is a bed. My priority right now would be a study desk and perhaps a bookshelf or two. I wanted to pick those up before we go shopping but they would set me back at least $300 and I am broke at the moment. Maybe I should set up a Paypal donation link, but looking at the meagre number of hits my site gets, any potential donations would probably not be enough even for a side table.

Oh well, at least one the items classified in the  cannot live without?category has arrived, in the form of an internet connection.

The sociology paper was the last of the tests. Although I was not looking forward to it, the process of attempting the paper felt good. Writing coherent paragraphs was a welcome relief from the graphs of economics and numbers of mathematics and statistics. The economics module differs greatly from that of the ?levels, and actually seems simpler, as there are no essays to be written, just graphs, mathematics, some simple sentences and graphs. As for maths and stats, they are full of numbers and Egyptian hieroglyphs. I felt like an archeologist who could not read ancient writings to save his life.

Back to the sociology paper, I neglected to do my reading due to a late night out and had not much of an idea what the questions were asking for. I managed to recall a handful of sentences from my tutor and proceeded to eke out answers based on them. I marvelled at my ability to churn out fluid answers which were sadly lacking in content. On a different level, it was more enjoyable than producing blog entries, since academic essays need to be well structured, as compared to the latter. It is lamentable that there are no English modules offered, I would do better at them than my current modules.

Not surprisingly, the sociology paper turned in the lowest score. Oh well, at least I passed.

I underestimated the task of moving house, by a handful of hours. It eventually took me more than twelve hours to pack my possessions and move them to my new abode, two blocks away. It was a physically and emotionally draining task, having to leave the place I called home for the past two and a half years. However, living alone has provided a harder edge to my sentimentality and I did not have much trouble deciding what to discard.

Boxes are rather invaluable during packing and I was glad that I had quite a few of those with me. The smaller boxes were used to hold assorted memorabilia. There was only one large box though and I used it to ferry mostly my books. When my arms got tired, the box was replaced by a sling bag. A trolley was not an option, as I had to climb a total of ten flights of stairs for each two-way trip. Not a lot I could do about lower body fatigue, thankfully not too many of my leg muscles have wasted away from my lack of exercise in recent months.

I lost count of the number of times I had to walk to-and-fro after twenty. It was an awesome feeling upon completion, but tainted by the tinge of sadness at having to leave the room I built up over the last thirty months and never seeing it again. Worse was to follow though, for after putting my bag down, I was hit by the realisation that I had to unpack, or rather, pack all my belongings. Kinda like thinking you have crossed the finishing line, but the tape was actually masquerading as the halfway point.

Damn it.

It was one hell of a shock. The vile stench emanating from the flat floored me, and this was supposed to be my new house, or rather, my father new house. This was not exactly the best way to get acquainted with one new residence, after more than eight weeks of delay. I was not expecting the place to smell like assorted eu de toilettes but this was ridiculous. The odour probably stemmed from the previous owner handful of cats and dogs, or to be more precise, her failure to properly clean away their waste.

I did not have much of a choice and buckled down to washing my father and my room. My father room in particular was absolutely pungent and filthy, the floor caked by a layer of grime. After more than an hour and a half of scrubbing and wiping, I was amazed at myself for being able to tolerate the dirt and scent. I could not complete the rest of the house as I had an appointment to keep.

It was one hell of an experience.

Living alone and being the glutton that I am, settling my meals during the Chinese New Year period is quite a hassle. I do not keep any food in my room apart from energy bars and those are hardly the ideal replacement for proper meals. I thought I would be saved by the Indian food stall one block away, which serves pretty decent grub, but it has been closed since Friday. What the hell? Do they have Chinese blood in them? Although business was decent, they did not seem like they did not need the increase in business during this few days. The coffeeshop specialising in Malay food was open for business but I would not touch the fare they serve with a ten-foot pole, it is absolutely atrocious.

I have been eating at three eateries almost everyday, a 24-hour bak chor mee stall, a tze char stall that is open till 3.30am and Macdonald. Hmmm, I have been stuffing my face at ungodly hours, maybe I should cut down on that. Speaking of Macdonald, it could warrant a separate entry, but I am too lazy for that. Yesterday was the first time I attempted to study there, in the form of completing an essay as an attempt at a coherent piece of work at home was hindered by an inability to think fluidly. Maybe I needed some fresh air, and food, so off I went. After settling down and devouring the obligatory meal, I started on my work.

lthough it was very likely that supernatural explanations were subscribed to when?

hu Xin Nian, Zhu Xin Nian? The high pitched song on the Macdonald television interrupted my train of thought.

umans have always supposed that agents outside our bodies and environment?

arah Michelle Gellar?Happy Ending!?blared the television.

And so this continued for more than an hour before I finally had some success with adjusting to the noise emanated from the television. I was not the only one afflicted, my buddy could not concentrate on his drawings too.

Then along came three teenagers, two guys and a gal, at five plus am in the morning to chat, louder than the television and with less pauses, about common topics, like clubbing, school and polytechnic schoolmates. Oh yes, and sex, but they spoke in hushed tones, or at least tried to, when it came to that.

o-and-so has more than two hundred girls on his MSN list.?One guy marvelled, obviously envious.

o-and-so is a hardcore clubber, she goes clubbing every week.?The girl ventured, half in awe.

irst impression matters a lot to you girls, right??The other guy tried to reaffirm his ideas about the way women are wired.

e all have had a girlfriend/boyfriend before, you slept with your boyfriend right??The nosey chap tried to keep his volume down unsuccessfully. It drew a shy nod from the girl. To which the other guy proudly declared that he was lean?with his ex-girlfriend and adding a feeble stab at humour in the form of  was thinking with my head and not my body? Dude, hinking with the correct head would have sounded a lot less lame.

 got drunk at Double O, I do not remember what happened after that?this other time I got dead drunk at Zouk? The girl offered of her clubbing experiences, stopping short of completing her accounts of the nights, probably too embarrassed to state that she got humped by some guys she would not have gone near had she been sober and whose names she did not remember.

After that, they got into a debate about getting drunk and getting high from alcohol, with different definitions of and attempts to distinguish between the two of them, it was quite messy and not making sense.

Still I soldiered on, doing my best to shut them out. Then a sharp pain hit my belly, probably my stomach not agreeing with the Sausage Macmuffin with Egg that I had (I knew there had to be a reason why I normally abstain from Macdonalds?. I had to take a shit in the smallest cubicle that I have seen in Singapore. The Gents?had two cubicles, but the other is meant for the handicapped and I am not Xiaxue and I do not squat on toilet bowls too. It was so cramped that I had to hitch my left knee up against the wall, it was odd designing that the left side had less space than the right.

After a few splutters and splats, I returned to complete my essay. It was almost eight am and the place was full of kids, which meant noise, noise and more noise. I gritted my teeth and continued my work. I did manage to get it done, but upon proofreading it felt like a halfwit disjointed masterpiece.

Oh well, at least I finished what I set out to do.