Does Santa exist?

There are approximately two billion children (persons under 18) in the world. However, since Santa does not visit children of Muslim, Hindu, Jewish or Buddhist (except maybe in Japan) religions, this reduces the workload for Christmas night to 15% of the total, or 378 million (according to the Population Reference Bureau). At an average (census) rate of 3.5 children per household, that comes to 108 million homes, presuming that there is at least one good child in each.

Santa has about 31 hours of Christmas to work with, thanks to the different time zones and the rotation of the earth, assuming he travels east to west (which seems logical). This works out to 967.7 visits per second. This is to say that for each Christian household with a good child, Santa has around 1/1000th of a second to park the sleigh, hop out, jump down the chimney, fill the stockings, distribute the remaining presents under the tree, eat whatever snacks have been left for him, get back up the chimney, jump into the sleigh and get on to the next house. Assuming that each of these 108 million stops is evenly distributed around the earth (which, of course, we know to be false, but will accept for the purposes of our calculations), we are now talking about 0.78 miles (1.248 km) per household; a total trip of 75.5 million miles (120.8 million km), not counting bathroom stops or breaks. This means Santa's sleigh is moving at 650 miles per second (1040 km/s), or 3,000 times the speed of sound. For purposes of comparison, the fastest man-made vehicle, the Ulysses space probe, moves at a poky 27.4 miles per second (43.84 km/s), and a conventional reindeer can run (at best) 15 miles per hour (24km/h).

The payload of the sleigh adds another interesting element. Assuming that each child gets nothing more than a medium sized Lego set (two pounds), the sleigh is carrying over 500 thousand tons, not counting Santa himself. On land, a conventional reindeer can pull no more than 300 pounds. Even granting that the "flying" reindeer could pull ten times the normal amount, the job can't be done with eight or even nine of them--Santa would need 360,000 of them. This increases the payload, not counting the weight of the sleigh, another 54,000 tons, or roughly seven times the weight of the Queen Elizabeth (the ship, not the monarch).

600,000 tons traveling at 650 miles per second (1040 km/s) creates enormous air resistance--this would heat up the reindeer in the same fashion as a spacecraft re-entering the earth's atmosphere. The lead pair of reindeer would absorb 14.3 quintillion joules of energy per second each. In short, they would burst into flames almost instantaneously, exposing the reindeer behind them and creating deafening sonic booms in their wake. The entire reindeer team would be vaporized within 4.26 thousandths of a second, or right about the time Santa reached the fifth house on his trip.

Not that it matters, however, since Santa, as a result of accelerating from a dead stop to 650 m.p.s. in .001 seconds, would be subjected to acceleration forces of 17,500 g's. A 250 pound Santa (which seems ludicrously slim- 113.6363 kg) would be pinned to the back of the sleigh by 4,315,015 pounds (1961370.4545 kg) of force, instantly crushing his bones and organs and reducing him to a quivering blob of pink goo.

Therefore, if Santa did exist, he's dead now. Merry Christmas.

I took EMode's Rorschach test and I'm happy to share the results. EMode gives probably the most precise answers that anyone could ever get.. The results seem quite accurate to me ^^ well I let you have a look for yourself.

Your unconscious mind is driven most by Love.

Everyone has a desire to love. But your desire is rooted very deeply in your unconscious and affects many of the decisions you make in life - whether you are aware of it or not.

You have an energy about you that inspires people to experience their true feelings of love and act kindly towards others. In this way, you and your drive for loving relationships start a chain reaction of positive experiences.

The reason you are driven by love, may be because your unconscious is trying to avoid the opposite of love - hate. You, more than others, may be afraid of experiencing severe discord with others. That may, in turn, heavily influence your choices about relationships and the way you communicate your ideas, wants, and desires to others.

With such a strong orientation towards loving others, your relationships hold a very special place in your life. Your capacity to love may be greater than those around you, and therefore you may have more to give in relationships than your romantic partner does. Remember that this is a gift you have and one most others don't possess.

Though your unconscious mind is driven most strongly by Love, there is much more to who you are at your core.

To most people, chairs are perfectly harmless. However, recent studies involving a human named Zhenghao have shown that chairs can be deployed as highly effective weapons. More funding should be given to this research to find out the secrets to accelerating chairs to very high speeds.

Firstly, a chair is bigger and has more mass than a bullet. Kinetic energy is 1/2mv^2, and according to Newton's 2nd Law, F = ma. This means that increasing the mass of the projectile would greatly increase the effectiveness of the weapon.

Secondly, we can keep a low profile. Why would Malaysia be worried if we started mass producing chairs? They would be totally unprepared when we show them our amazing creativity and military power.

Thirdly, a chair is asymmetrical. This means that it would begin spinning rapidly after being deployed. The protrusions would hit the target multiple times, causing extreme damage. Also, the damage is not localised in a specfic part of the body, but spread out. This would cause a large volume to blood to spurt everywhere, lowering our enemy's morale.

Fourthly, chairs can be found everywhere. With this new breakthrough, every school can be converted into a military installation. We would be invincible against enemy attack.

The true abilities of pianists do not lie on the sole and crude ability to perform piano literature on an "as-is" basis, which equates to blind regurgitation of piano literature using a different medium that is sound, by performing with the musical instrument based on the score. The art of the piano basically suggests that the piano is a skill or ability that everyone is able to master, but takes the upper skill of most to refine crude pianistic technique and sift through various forms and magnitude of expression from former masters of the instrument, and thus model and crystallize a series of interpretary skills which should be unique and classed as an individual personality, as is the fingerprint or name to a person. These resultant interpretary skills have to be constantly and dynamically applied to the context of any musical literature to exemplify a closest possible rendition of the work.

The set of 27 etudes, classed into 3 separate opus numbers, have been an exemplary set of compositions which display several features concurrently- firstly, the qualification of it as an etude- every single etude has different requirements of the pianist- but ultimately through reduction and simplification every etude has one aim- to uplift or refine a pianistic technique; we may be able to sift through the first set of etude in steps of approximately 5 at a time as a general guideline to the apparent requirements of the Chopin Etudes. The Etude in A Minor, Op. 10 No. 2 is a fine exemplary work refining the skill of chromatic scales on the third, fourth and fifth fingers- often the biggest weakness of the entire hand is the fourth finger, which is, to several people, not independent of either the third or fifth finger, and is usually quite weak and clumsy- and Chopin directly addresses that; it is immediately possible to see in the score he requires for this; for it is the case that he wrote out fingerings for every new phrase of chromatic scales. The Etude in C Major, Op. 10 No. 7, is another work refining the use of repetition of a note using the index finger and thumb, which is apparent from a superficial view of the score. The Etude in C Minor, Op. 10 No. 12, the famed Revolutionary Etude, is a work demanding the litheness of the left hand. A challenging left hand melody is put up to interpreters to perform, whilst the right hand plays the melody and accompaniment concurrently.

The second feature in the Chopin Etudes, then, is the melodic qualities of the song. Not only is it task-oriented; it is also person-oriented. Chopin is a true leader of musical literature. He makes the Etudes as melodious as it is challenging. Unlike Czerny Etudes, which are more crudely textured and focus more on achieving tasks, Chopin, a leading Romantic musical literature writer, creates tune out of technique. Every of his etudes are permeated with the beautiful melody. For example, the Trisette Etude, Etude in E Major, Op. 10 No. 3, has both a demanding requirement for co-ordination of mind and hands, for it is tricky to play several parts at once, and both hands are suffering under the demented mindset that the other hand would execute the middle part. The Etude, however, technically demanding as it is, has been classed as one of the most melodious tunes, less say Etudes, of Romantic music. Chopin's compository styles blend Technique and Tone together to create a new brand of music, one that is unique to him and unique to history.

However, acquiring the best technical skill and melodious interpretation will still depend on the performance of the Leopold Godowsky Etudes on the Chopin Etudes. Godowsky chooses the 23 out of the 24 piano etudes (Op. 10 and 25) and transposes the hands, making more melodious and challenging tunes out of it. It is characterised by the enforcement of discipline and technical demands onto the left hand, instead of the right. This becomes extremely difficult for pianists who are right-handed. We can see that from the fact that most are right-handed and most who compose are right-handed, our right hands tend to develop faster and more exponentially than our left hand, tending to lead to the maturity of the right hand in skill, but still the adolescence lingers in the left hand, and Leopold Godowsky makes use of that common human weakness to target at the majority, as the hand span of the right will be definitely more developed than the left if one is right handed and plays more with the right hand as the primary hand.

One can see in just the more difficult etudes transcribed into opposite hands. Especially taking note of technically demanding etudes like Etude in A Minor, Op. 10 No. 2, and Etude in G-Flat Major, Op. 10 No. 5 "Black Key" and Etude in A Minor, Op. 25 No. 11 "Winter Wind". Being able to play this and having its technical demands appreciated by people who hear it and being the most pleasing in tone will command the most respect as a good, all-rounded pianist.

Being a rounded pianist can mean nothing but mastery of interpretation, not pure technique. It is imperative to master everything that can be mastered; in a bid to be the messiah of the musical world.

The sound which I heard immediately after I lifted my hands from the gleaming levers of ivory, which were gleaming black and white in colour, was thunderous, tumultuous applause that pounded against my ears like the roar of a dragon, and an occasional catcall from the roaring crowd. I pulled back my leather seat quietly, willing it not to scrape loudly against the polished wooden floorboards, and stood up slowly, straightening up. My cheeks were flushed slightly pink and I felt very warm. I surveyed intently with my dark eyes the sea of people below in the clustered seats. There were people in dark black hair and Europeans with blonde hair, Australians with brown hair, and several other people with flaming red hair. I could even make out one or two to be high-ranking overseas officials in their native countries. I took a deep bow, letting my neatly parted jet-black hair fall forwards. One hand was left against my smart black suit, another hand was propped firmly against on the shining black Steinway and Sons grand piano that had guided my fingers and mind through the technically challenging songs like water gushing ceaselessly, tirelessly from a spring of fresh, cool, pure water.

My hand left the piano. I set the piano bench back in place. From the score rack I retrieved my book, a highly thick, battered-looking and dog-eared volume, the colour of the hard cover peeling, in fading pale, mottled green. The yellowish, dappled parchment-like papers were rippling slightly in the light wind that was blowing from above. I closed it. The title, in peeling plain gold letters imprinted at the centre of the page, read “Chopin – The Twenty-Four Études for Solo Piano”. I knew Chopin to be the poet of the piano, one of the most formidable driving forces in piano music ever in history. Chopin was indeed an exponent for the piano- which he almost dedicated all his works to. And his Études were undeniably one of his most technically challenging anthologies of works for solo piano.

I held the volume with both my hands, brought it to my chest and embraced it. With that, I sunk into another deep bow to the people on my left. The applause had still not yet ended. I straightened up, surveyed the crowd from left to right and inclined my neck again. Thereafter I turned and took small strides clutching my enormously thick book. I walked until I was behind the dark, thick maroon velvet curtains that hid me from view of the sea of people, and I lurched myself into one of the small backstage rooms.

My mother and my piano teacher were in the room, waiting. Once I entered the room I threw myself onto the soft silk-blue couch that clamoured to be sat on. I flung the pale green volume of scores onto the table at the side of the room. I leant onto one side of the couch and engulfed myself in sobs and tears. From out of the corner of my eye I saw that my mother had in fact been white-lipped and ashen-faced. My teacher was staring, wide-eyed and she looked on the verge of tears. My sobbing stopped abruptly, and I looked up. All three of us seemed to be sporting tear-stained faces. My mother walked over to me and said, “It’s all over, dear. It’s over. It’s just a memory.” My heartbeat was far from normal; it was pulsating at an extraordinarily accelerated rate. My breathing was short and laboured. My hands were cold and clammy and twitching at odd intervals, and my eyes felt very red and swollen.

My teacher drew another long breath and with seemingly great difficulty, stood up, hands pressed against the table. She paused, and took a gulp before making some words out which I interpreted with some difficulty, “You have made me understand the meaning of music. You have made me understand the meaning of Chopin. You have taught me well. I don’t think I can teach you any more. I wish you good luck in your future endeavours.” Those words bore into me like a sickening drill hammering against a flimsy wooden pane. But she was the one who had guided me through this performance! I watched with horror and shock as she cupped her hand to her mouth. She swiftly retrieved her handbag from the table and walked briskly to the door. She made her exit very quietly and as swift as I had come in.

I vaguely tried to make some noise as she was about to leave, but my throat felt very dry and constricted. My vocal chords held absolutely no desire at all to make out any audible words to my teacher. Instead, it made an odd sort of gulping noise, heard by no one except myself. My muscles, too, felt oddly restrained and bound to the comfortable couch that relaxed my muscles from its strain and exhaustion, willing them not to move.

My mother pursed her lips, frowned but did not speak. She sat down at the other end of the room. It was slightly quieter outside now that it seemed like everyone had made his or her way out of the hall. It was this languid torpor that I uneasily drifted off into a state of semi-consciousness hanging between solid reality and deep sleep and relived the few moments that had brought about my current state.

It would be a common dream of every aspiring pianist throughout the globe to have a dream of making their mark, trying to set their own standards that challenge every limb and muscle of pianists who try to chase them. But I myself almost never dared to dream of becoming an internationally renowned concert pianist. It was too much of a wistful fantasy for such a young boy to think about. But it was at the tender age of eight, some three years ago, that my piano teacher told me, “Unless you spread your wings and fly, you will never know how high you can fly.” Upon that very instant the words bore down on me, I had realized what daring to dream meant. Since then, I had had my very dream of being a concert pianist. It was a magnificent dream, nevertheless I imagined myself walking on the stage, amid the roaring, thunderous clapping, and starting to play some of the most difficult melodies I had ever encountered in my entire life, which I had not even thought of learning.

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And now, some four years down the road, four long years after I considered myself having catapulted to fame with my debut with the Twenty-Four Piano Études, I still look back in time. Along my path I met several people, and one of the people I met included my piano teacher who left me at the age of eleven.

In fact, Mrs. Lee looked extremely calm and composed when she saw me a week back. As I approached her the other day, she asked me how I was doing. I held a small conversation with her, telling her what I did after she left me- pursuing my final diploma in solo piano with the various examination boards, and preparing for my next concert. She herself put in a booking for a couple of the tickets for my next concert.

And just two nights ago, I had held the concert I had been preparing for, playing Rachmaninov’s 3rd (and most technically challenging) Piano Concerto and Tchaikovsky’s 1st Piano Concerto that night, with the Singapore Symphony Orchestra. I could see my teacher’s face glowing with admiration and pride as I delivered the song with flair and technique, materializing music, letting it course through my body like fluid, encompassing my mind, absorbing myself into it. I had relived the history of the concert four years ago in my mind, that night I made my dream come true, the night where I had taken my dream into the making, where I made my dream transcend all boundaries and materialise in the real world.

And the only difference was that I had learnt not to cry.