Dragons' Haven

Change of environment

2006-03-05T15:31:00.000+08:00

If you're still vaguely interested in the ramblings of this nutter, please visit here:

Object of desire

2006-02-13T23:39:00.000+08:00

I never thought I'd say this, but when this phone - the Sony Ericsson K610i - makes its debut here in Quarter 2, I think I'd love to get my hands on its sexy and passionate Evening Red body. Never mind that design-wise, there's hardly any innovation and it looks like almost every other SE phone on the market. And who cares either that it is a 3G phone that sports the Universal Mobile Telecommunications System (UMTS), supposedly the successor to the current Global System for Mobile Communications (GSM)? As for the 2-megapixel camera, please, that's hardly a necessity for me.

But the gorgeous scarlet? Now we're talking! But darn, it's such a sexy 3G phone that it will probably cost upwards of $800 even after I extend my contract and trade in my pathetic SE K700i. In the meantime, off I go to techie sites to monitor reviews of this beautiful thing. Who knows, I may just read something that will wean me off my puzzling fascination with it, considering that I've never really been one to hanker after gadgets and plonk down obscene sums on them prior to this. Well, there's always a first for everything I guess.

Ice queen

2006-02-05T15:39:00.000+08:00

I can't believe I'm so addicted to the ice-cream at Island Creamery that I went there again on Friday, just after I was there on Thursday. Brain freeze notwithstanding, this time, I had the pineapple tart ice-cream again, as well as the pulut hitam. And it was just as wonderful; full of genuine black glutinous rice, and it tasted like an ice-cold bowl of burbur hitam just nicely sweetened with coconut milk, yummmzzzz. GHZ and the boyfriend shared a triple scoop of chendol (bleah, not fantastic), kualat latte (not bad, rather rich flavour) and the reverso (some chocolate flavour). Very satisfying, never fails to disappoint.

Shall go back this coming week again to savour the pineapple tart and pulut hitam flavours before they go into cold storage. Gawd, I'd better prepare myself to start pounding the pavements again, and it's gonna be so hard since I slacked off running since Christmas week.

Pineapple tart

2006-02-02T17:47:00.000+08:00

Did I mention that pineapple tarts are my favourite CNY goodies? It's one item that I must try at everyone's house when I go visiting, and so far this year, I haven't eaten any that beats those made by my colleague's mum. But fret not, because if you can't get fantastic pineapple tarts, you can still get freaking fabulous Pineapple Tart ice-cream.

That's right, pineapple tart ice-cream. At Serene Centre's Island Creamery, that temple of truly unique ice-cream flavours such as Teh Tarik, Tiger Beer Sorbet, and more recently, Pineapple Tart. Embedded in the aforementioned like nuggets of gold and assorted treasure, were chunks of buttery pastry and genuine pineapple, not ethyl butanoate-enhanced gelatin slabs. Oh, it was simply orgasmic...don't wait, go get your scoops or tubs now!

Island Creamery is at: 10 Jalan Serene, Serene Centre, #01-05, tel: 6468-8859. A pity I ate up my double scoop before I remembered to take a shot of it.

Images

2006-01-29T18:58:00.000+08:00

Am digging through my notebook now to make sure I have no incriminating materials inside, in preparation of the gang's visit later. While doing so, I came upon some old photos that I never really shared, so here they are, some from past CNYs, others from other gatherings:

Aaron Pok and his signature gesture.

Yannisms and her Cynic of a boyfriend, PDA-ing as usual, heh...

Boyfriend sharing Eau de Armpit with Pangy and GHZ.

Me and boyfriend, the goofballs.

Yokie looking hilarious and clownish in the photo, hee...

It's been a lovely day!

Happy CNY!

2006-01-28T20:50:00.000+08:00

Chinese New Year is always a good time of the year. I read in the papers, or somewhere else, about how CNY is more often than not associated with wishes for prosperity and wealth whereas Western festivities like Thanksgiving and Christmas place more emphasis on love and togetherness. I don't know how such an impression arose, but in my experience CNY has always been a time for meeting up with relatives, admittedly some closer and dearer than others, and friends. The words "Gong Xi Fa Cai" and other similar, errr, benedictions are more of well wishes than indications of actual desire. Who says we Chinese don't value kinship and love? I am so looking forward to seeing my adorable baby cousin Marcus and my beloved grandparents tomorrow. Not to mention the gang, who seem interested in coming over tomorrow night - Chu Yi night - since two of our party absolutely refuse to go KTV, our other option. It's really one of my favourite times of the year, beating out Christmas flat. A time for pineapple tarts (you can't have enough pineapple tarts!), scrumptious love letter wafers, and Mum's lovingly prepared otah, bar-kng and chicken rice. I can live quite well without cheesy MediaCorp TV's CNY specials and television re-runs though, thank you. It's gonna be a good year, I hope, since my first two angpows are gold packets. A real sartorial breakthrough.

Have a good time meeting up with friends and family, everyone, and Happy Lunar New Year, even those of you who really don't like CNY!

An exquisite respite

2006-01-28T14:26:00.000+08:00

Most of the time, it's almost impossible to feel truly rested and relaxed in the somewhat overpopulated urban jungle that is Singapore. Head to town for a spot of shopping, and you'll have to negotiate teeming crowds every 20m, shorter during the run-ups to various festive holidays. Hit a cafe or restaurant at mealtimes, and be prepared to sit jowl-to-jowl, backside-to-backside in some, whilst diners bore holes in your backs to force you to evict your table to their company. No, thanks very much, but I simply can't stomach crowds and hurried meals at times. And so, Greenwood Avenue was a welcome treasure of a dining experience.

Housing about 15 or so shops and restaurants, including the much vaunted Lana Cakes, the dining stretch of Greenwood Avenue is tucked away in a tiny pocket of chi-chi Bukit Timah. It has actually been lauded in many food review columns as the latest in dining gems, and my fellow foodie friend and myself finally decided to make a trip down to sample its many offerings. We decided on an Italian diner by the name of Peperoni Pizzeria, sister restaurant to neighbouring Sebastian's and Coq 'n' Bull, all owned by the Les Amis Group.

I typically don't like to dine al-fresco as I hate the stench of cigarettes, the metal chairs are usually greasy and cold, there's not much ambience despite the open-air concept and it's usually swelteringly hot as hell. But Peperoni knocked back all these minus points to my immense satisfaction. Its cobblestoned courtyard area sport comfy, old-fashioned cushioned seats and sunny yellow, rough textured walls, bringing to mind a hint of Italy; it's hugely popular with families so there weren't many smokers around; there were also old-world awnings to provide some shady respite in case of hot weather, as well as upright plants to cool down the temperature somewhat. Plus, they had numerous pop art wall pieces, what fantastic taste! All in all, a very beautiful, warm and cosy place to simply chill.

The menu was not very imaginative, offering your typical hearty Italian fare such as about 10 varieties of pastas, over 20 types of pizza and assorted snacks and appetizers.

First time I was there, with aforementioned foodie friend, we tried the Dutch meat balls with mustard, pizza with Shittake mushrooms and chicken and garlic sausage, as well as the seafood linguine (usually termed Frutti Di Mare). Tastes were very satisfying; pizza was full of quality ingredients and the linguine's tomato paste was fresh, not out of a can, and stir-fried to a divine garlicky, olive-ish fragrance. Not the assembly line kind where you boil the noodles, then dunk them in heated sauce. Second time I was there, just yesterday in fact, with the boyfriend, I had the minestrone soup while he tried the leek and potato soup. The minestrone was the real thing, filled with real vegetables and flavoured with sweet, tangy tomato, not the shit that Pizza Hut tries to peddle for, what, $4? Then we each had the seafood linguine minus clams and mussels, leaving just the prawns, squid and scallops. But it was good enough, the paste was just as fragrant and tasty and the seafood was much more fresh than it was the first time I ate there. Both times, we left without dessert as we had another dessert haunt in mind: Estivo Gelateria. Over both days, I tried four flavours: Simply Strawberry, Chocolate Peanut Buttercup, Butterscotch and Banana Sorbetto. Excellent, a tad too sweet at times but I must concur with the critics that the fruit-based flavours are the real winners.

Oh, I digressed. I simply must mention the additional plus points of Peperoni: You pay just what is stated on the menu, no GST or service charge; and for drinkers, they've got a huge selection of alcohol and international beers. Like I concluded with my various companions, I'd rate it 8.5 for ambience and about 7 for food. 4 for location though, although I think it is a major reason for why the area hasn't become crowded and claustrophobic yet. In that case, on second thought, I'd rate the location a 7.

There's really nothing much to do in Greenwood Avenue after dinner, except to take a stroll along the various streets of landed housing. Both times, I did just that, to aid in digesting my considerable dinners. And yesterday, I strolled hand in hand with the boyfriend through the various quiet streets and came upon a playground, where we sat on a bench and talked. Then we got up and contemplated the swing, but eventually decided not to risk the safety of the children who would get on it to play in the days to come, and ended up on the see-saw. And so we sat on opposite sides of the see-saw and bounced up and down gleefully, all the while laughing at the antics of a boy and his dog, a big black and white breed that looked somewhat like a Border Collie. They were both scrabbling down the slide together and each time, the dog would reach the ground first, its mouth open and its tongue hanging out, looking like it was laughing and having the time of its life. It's good for the soul to see animals being loved and cared for, really. And then, a while later, we decided to head to town to catch Jet Li's Fearless. Typical Chinese hero plot, yawn; typical Jet Li moves, meaning really impressive and, WOW. It's been some time since an old-school martial arts, Huang-Fei-Hong-esque movie came along, and for that reason alone, I just had to watch it. Despite it being a bit of a let-down (didn't stir up rah-rah, Chinese pride sentiments, and most importantly, didn't make me cry), I'd rate it about 6 or 6.5 upon 10.

It was a really good two nights. A perfect lead-up to neutralise the hustle and bustle of Chinese New Year.

I've been tagged!

2006-01-27T11:05:00.000+08:00

Yannism's shrinking boyfriend, the Cynic, tagged me to complete this. I think he meant to call me Bimbo, but it turned out as Blimbo instead. Nevertheless, here is is:

Name five of life’s simple pleasures that you like most, then pick five people to do the same. Try to be original and creative and not use things that someone else has already used:

1. Pasta, pizza, char kway teow, dim sum, paprika prawns, chicken masala, gelato, bryani, sashimi, etc.; in short, food. In fact, my friend claims that I'm the best female eater he knows. Bring 'em on!

2. Spend a quiet night in watching DVDs on his 17-inch baby. Even if they were ripped in the wrong dimensions.

3. Hitting a high 'D' perfectly during choir. I mean the one that's about one octave above middle 'C'. Geez, to think I used to be able to sing some parts of Blackbird/I Will.

4. Standing half-dressed in front of the mirror admiring the muscle lines/scoops in my thighs and butt after some strenuous running.

5. Buying new bedlinen with ridiculously high thread counts at a discount, and then snuggling under them with a bag of chips and a favourite well-thumbed novel.

Everybody I know who has a blog has been tagged. Errr, so how...

Telepathy

2006-01-26T11:47:00.000+08:00

I've always liked to read Foxtrot comics for any number of reasons. They're quite obviously funny without coming over too cerebral like Farside, I identify with the sibling bullying theme, and there are numerous references to pop culture. Here's the latest reason why Bill Amend's ideas resonate with me so, even across two continents, hehe...

Bruised souls

2006-01-22T17:47:00.000+08:00

Someone wrote this to me recently: "I find that writing commercially can be quite bruising on the soul sometimes, so I scribble down stuff on my own occasionally..."

As much as I like writing and am glad that it is what I do for a living, at least for now, I totally empathise with his sentiments. Do I really care that this product boasts the latest in antioxidants and is hailed by even dermatologists and aestheticians as THE topical equivalent of Botox? Can I really be counted upon to offer sincere congratulations at the opening of the latest yoga mega-studio in town? It amazes me how product launches, announcements of celebrity endorsements and store openings seem so life-and-death to those involved; there are so many more important things happening out there for goodness sake.

Do I really give a flying fart whether an advertiser's product boasts a "gentle yet effective 15% concentration of hydrogen peroxide" instead of "between 10% and 25%"? No, I really don't care and I don't see why I have to take an advertiser's sales pitch as gospel and include it as such in my article. Hello, this is not an advertorial.

And even when it comes to newsworthy and more soul-enriching events and interviews, sometimes the organisers turn me off with their numerous and persistent requests for continued coverage.

A typical whine goes like this: "Oh, this is really interesting for your readers I would say. Something different, and very informative also."
Sorry dude, lots of things would be interesting to our readers. I can't possibly be writing about you all the time, even if you are a stat board or even a ministry.

But, the best has to be those who insinuate that you are somewhat lacking if you don't cover their event when the newspapers and major broadcasters are. After you explain to them that sorry, the nature of the event is not quite suitable for the magazine, and besides, the coverage it would generate would have to be very timely in order to have relevance, they take offence and turn pissy on you. "Oh, you know, Straits Times and Channel NewsAsia are coming down you know. I'm quite surprised that you guys aren't. Perhaps next time I should just approach them only."

Talk about burning bridges. Fine, I really don't care if you do that. I'm not interested, and so is my editor, in working with people who do not bother to understand our magazine and our operational constraints.

Yes, sometimes I can't help feeling that words are cheap, like what Yannisms groused. Can I take this for long?

The long and short of it all

2006-01-16T19:46:00.000+08:00

MSN's fashion writer Kat Giantis says, "The Long and Short of It: Sylphlike "O.C." starlets Mischa Barton and Rachel Bilson pose hip to jutting hip in va-va-va voomy gowns, with the vertically opposed co-stars hitting a fashion high in their respective raiment. The statuesque Mischa, 19, goes for age-belying glamour in a glittering, nude-hued Oscar de la Renta, while the pocket-sized Rachel wraps herself in a shimmering, sleek strapless number that might have made a lesser woman look like an aluminum-foil-encased baked potato."

This is quite funny; I burst out laughing upon seeing this picture. It's like a photograph of the Entwife and myself, or Fangorn in drag posing with me.

Pretty flat

2006-01-16T12:53:00.000+08:00

That pretty much sums up what I thought of Memoirs Of A Geisha, the movie.

First up, the pretty part. Few Hollywoodisations of Oriental material can pass up the chance to go into artistic overdrive and Memoirs is no exception. Costumes, props and sets were obligingly lush and very gorgeous lit, from the sleazy doorways of the pleasure district (hanamachi) with their sensual carnal promise, to the geishas' exquisite kimonos and accessories. In a nutshell, cinematography was simply breathtaking.

And yet, the movie fell somewhat flat. Yes, the screenplay was faithful enough to the novel, and it retained enough of the essentials to make a rather tight and sensible plot, unlike Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. And although some interesting details were missing (like how apprentice geishas wore more elaborate get-ups than their 'older sisters' and how a virgin geisha arranges her hair differently from one who's already had her mizuage), there was sufficient illustration of the rituals in the life of a geisha to make it anthropologically noteworthy. The movie fell flat, not in the Chronicles of Narnia's it's-entertaining-but-mediocre-and-there-was-absolutely-no-climax sense, but primarily because I felt there was no spark to give it added life and mark it as a stand-alone entity from the novel. Perhaps this is because I have read the novel; the boyfriend had not read the book and he found the movie absolutely wonderful.

Zhang Ziyi's competent enough as Sayuri, although her English was simply too painful to stomach at times. Anyone remembers "Sorry, twaffic was a keeller." and "Ze zoup izz zoo zalty."? Anyway, I felt that Suzuga Ohgo's Chiyo far outshone her. The little girl was really pretty, spunky and yet fragile all at once. Michelle Yeoh, complete with BBC-accented English (Sylvia Toh is so right about this!), was just right as the charmingly benevolent Mameha, the other reigning geisha alongside Gong Li's Hatsumomo. And of course, the latter simply stole the show as the radiantly evil Hatsumomo, the queen bitch from hell in the Nitta okiya. She terrorises the young Chiyo out of fear that the latter, with her unusual grey eyes and promising looks, will one day usurp her position as prime geisha. At the same time, you can't help feeling sorry for someone of Hatsumomo's passions for being trapped in the conundrum that is a geisha's life: That as much as they emphasise they are not common prostitutes, they are still not free to love as they like and must do whatever is in the best interests of their okiya, unless they are as fortunate as Mameha to be a free agent. And even Yeoh's free agent is bound by the whims and orders of her Baron danna.

One thing that bothered me about the book PLUS the movie: The bond between the Chairman and young Chiyo that blossoms into a relationship by the end. I mean, the guy (Ken Watanabe, who I found more swoonsome in The Last Samurai) had kids and was practically in his thirties at least when he first met the then nine-or-ten-year-old Chiyo on the bridge. I'm all for big age-gaps but 30++ and 9 is taking things abit too far. Am I the only one to be somewhat disturbed by the vague overtones of paedophilia and the Electra Complex here? It gets even worse when the Chairman asked Chiyo, "Cherry blossom or plum for you?", referring actually to ice cones; I think I'm taking sexual semiotics too far.

But anyway, the movie's really quite worth a watch. I always like to see how movie adaptations of books turn out, and this is really not a bad one. I'd rate it 3.5 stars out of five. I wish there were more scenes with Gong Li though, she's really gorgeous.

Gong Li as the sexily disheveled Hatsumomo, my new screen goddess

Suzuga Ohgo as little Chiyo.

Zhang Ziyi's Sayuri in a breathtaking solo dance piece. An artfully savage sequence that came through for its "profound emotions"

Sayuri and the Chairman chatting among the picture-perfect cherry blossoms at the Baron's estate; sorry you can't see much of the cherry blossoms here

Not just a photo

2006-01-11T22:59:00.000+08:00

Did I mention I love my old, old friends?
Who were so sweet to buy me my marathon photograph and then frame it up for a Christmas present? I was so touched I almost cried. Thanks Elfie and Fangorn, that was most truly unexpected and beautiful.

Post-leave blues

2006-01-03T20:45:00.000+08:00

It's disgusting. To think that this morning I encountered the worst hell I'd ever experienced in my entire year at this company, when as recently as last week, I was luxuriating in the sheer bliss of my long leave. I swear, today's shoot was the most accursed of all that I'd ever co-ordinated, rivalling even the one with a particularly divaesque pastor-turned-singer.

Settling the artiste was enough of a headache. Our first choice, an illustruous couple in local theatre, took a whole two weeks to decide that they would not be able to spare time for the shoot. Great, what the hell. After some discussion, we decided to approach a news presenter who had finally gotten married to her hunky boyfriend, formerly an actor and now a banker of some sort, not so long ago. At first she said yes, through a contact we used to informally sound her out. When we had gotten her okay, we formally sent in a request with details of the shoot to her manager. That was when she threw us for a loop by saying she'd changed her mind. Fuck. At this point, I was hyperventilating and ready to burst my already dilated blood vessels. So then my editor decided to try for another presenter personality, a sweet and demure-looking host of a morning show. I sent in another formal request to the same manager and we finally got the go-ahead, thereby ending the saga of the Unattainable Personality.

After the artiste was settled, I went ahead to block the dates and time slots of my photographer and styling team. Then, thinking that my ordeal was over, I sat back to relax and plan what I would do when I went on long leave. Then, most unfortunately, I got a call when I was on leave, about one or two days after Christmas, from my photographer saying he had just gotten a booking for a huge commercial job that he just could not pass up, the money being way more than the paltry sums that editorial jobs fetched. "Any way to change the shoot date?", he asked. I would have loved to kill him, but I magnanimously forgave him for saying Yes to money. So I called the artiste manager to check and thankfully, she said fine, we could go ahead to bring forward the shoot by a day. I called my photographer back and he said, "Phew, thanks so much!" But then, he called me back barely three hours later to say that he had once again gotten a call from an agency about another huge commercial contract for the new date, and could I speak to the artiste again? I said no fucking way, the artiste would get pissed off and blacklist the magazine for ding-donging her shoot date. And so, obviously feeling guilty about the whole trauma he put me through, he found me another photographer who used to work for him and I had to call my Art Director to check if she was comfortable with using a new photographer.

So that settled that, I thought with relief. I went on to enjoy what was left of my leave and finally went back to work today, with the shoot scheduled for the afternoon. And then the biggest bomb landed in my lap, I got a call around 11am from my hair and makeup styling team. "Hey, sorry but we can't send someone down today. There was an urgent last-minute assignment overseas. Hope you can find someone else." Click.

I was just flabbergasted. "You can't fucking do this to me!!!", I wanted to shout down the phone, but she'd already hung up. Nabeh, the bitch. Right, sorry, I don't usually profane here but I was so darn pissed. Anyway, that began a whole flurry of phonecalls to all our other hair and makeup contacts, but who would have time to accept assignments on such short, two-hour notice yah? Some don't even have time to do your jobs if you tried to book them three weeks in advance. Anyway, at about 1230pm, just one and a half hours before the shoot, we finally struck gold. Well, maybe copper or silver instead since the girl was relatively untested, like the photographer. And I had to promise her an exorbitant sum for the last-minute notice. But the important thing was, there would be someone to do hair and makeup; it'd be unthinkable otherwise!

So at 1230pm, my co-ordination ordeal finally came to an end, although I was unable to stop worrying fully only when the shoot started and everybody who had to be there had turned up. And by 530pm, we had wrapped up the shoot for the February issue. The flowers and mood were lovely, even if some poses were rather stilted and certain smiles somewhat forced. But considering all the obstacles I bumped up against while arranging the shoot, any kind of ending would be a most satisfying ending. I am SO not looking forward to the next one, damn...

This was me the whole morning. MegaS-T-R-E-S-S-E-D.

It's Christmas time!

2005-12-26T00:20:00.000+08:00

Actually it's not; it's officially 26 Dec 2005 as I type this. Have been too busy in the past few days carolling, bingeing after carolling, and partaking in decadent revelry after bingeing.

Funny how Christmas seems to have lost its appeal for me in recent years. It started with our carols, which started sounding stale to me two or three years back. Plus, the Christmas carolling season was always a lousy, hectic one for us. In one night, we would usually have to sing two sessions at Hotel A, after which we would have to rush down to either Hotel B or Private Club C for another session. And on Christmas day, it had become a routine for us to gather at Hotel B in the morning, then walk the 600 or so metres to Hotel A for another session. Carolling, which used to be the highlight of every Christmas, has since turned into a huge chore; it was almost like having a taste of the service industry, where people have to routinely work on public holidays when everybody else relaxes and lets their hair down.

Yet, this year's carolling season wasn't so bad. Yes, we did start abnormally early, almost kiasuly so, having been block booked for five or six weekends - Friday, Saturday and Sunday - in a row by the world's best airport, starting in mid November. I still remember that our first few sessions were met with bemused, curious stares from tourists and passengers and I could very well imagine what they must have thought, why on earth are these people carolling so early for? After all, "Sleigh bells ring, are you listening. In the lane, snow is glistening..." does sound rather weird in November. And yes, our long-running patron Hotel A made us run around all their F&B establishments for an hour, belting out song after song amidst the clinking and clanking of dining implements and the hisses of woks and grills. At the end of each night, we were simply bushed.

But it wasn't all bad. We were trusted and left mostly to our own devices at the world's best airport, instead of being shepherded around by stern marketing ladies on a rigid schedule. Tourists were often appreciative of our singing and their huge smiles and warm applause made me feel like we made their vacations just that bit more special. At Hotel A, we were accorded the privilege of having nice, proper rooms to rest, change and doll ourselves up in instead of making do in the restrooms; after all, they were not obliged to provide us rooms at all. Hotel guests were largely receptive to our singing, and more often than not, it was not very difficult to do so with a big smile on my face. And at the end of it all, the hotel presented us with a gigantic box of gourmet chocolates from their most acclaimed restaurant. What a nice surprise, and how sweet of them to do so! And the best part of it all has to be those wonderful people who heard us sing and bothered to come right up to us to wish us Merry Christmas, to tell us how much they enjoyed our singing, and to actually thank us for singing to them. At times like these, I feel a bit of the magic of Christmas, I guess you could call it that.

For most of us in the choir, I think the main thing about Christmas is that we are all together at the same place, doing the same thing we all love, and getting to know one another better and deeper with every session. This season has also been about discovering our prowess as a gigantic Christmas-Carols-Automaton, as our gamble on going without a conductor seems to have paid off rather successfully. It's a bit scary that we seem to know intuitively which parts to retard, when to tone down and by exactly how much to speed up; it just speaks of how comfortable we have grown singing together. But of course, we have had many years to do so for carols; I just wish we could be just as comfortable for new songs as well.

All the same, this Christmas, this post, is for all you people who spend Christmas with me year after year, seniors and juniors alike; the distinctions have long ago ceased to matter. May 2006 bring more joy and happiness to us all, and really, in Emma's words, a merry New Year!

Picture of us in our ethnic costumes in Bremen, Germany, in July 2004, lifted without permission from VC's website

Peanuts? My arse

2005-12-21T22:25:00.000+08:00

I wonder, what does NKF's ex-Patron Mrs Goh Chok Tong have to say about the whole saga now, after the KPMG audit was released? Does she think Durai's salary is still peanuts? How can she justify their numerous extravagances? What does she think of the fact that by audit firm KPMG's estimate, only about 10% of whatever was raised went to patients? Peanuts too, I hope she has the sense to see. But judging by her infuriating attitude when the news first broke big time, which seemed to suggest she has absolutely no idea that most of the people donating to NKF will never ever see $600,000 even in 20 years, she probably will not get it.

They are a whole bunch of criminals, running a charity like a family business and doling out money on themselves however they liked. And the following must be among the most despicable things they have to say. When defending the policy of having more salary increments and perks for fund-raising staff compared to clinical staff, apparently former NKF board member Loo Say San told KPMG that the discrepancy was because clinical staff's work was more routine in nature.

Fuck off, you douche bag, more perks for fund-raisers is good and fair I suppose, especially if you pay your fund-raisers measly amounts to begin with and considering that monetary reserves are important to any charity. But fucking eight increments in a year is fucking way too much okay? Plus the increments are backdated. Remember too that you claim to be working for the patients, to provide them the best care and services? Well, your clinical staff are the ones who are facing patients day in, day out yah? Giving them the best care and service that you only know how to talk about with your witless mouth.

I can't believe the fucking criminals got away with so much; Matilda Chua, Ong Su Ying, TT Durai and all the others. Yen's right; they should all be thrown into jail and be raped by animals or something. How can they live with themselves knowing that they've cheated and abused the public's trust and support? And that in doing so, they've effectively thrown all the good work and name that NKF has built up and achieved over the years, making it an uphill task now to raise funds and win everyone's support again? How is it that Ministers go after politicians who supposedly defame them so vehemently, tracking down every little bits and pieces of evidence and yet, with all their resources they are unable to verify and act on so-called annonymous tip-offs about NKF's wrongdoings? It's so disappointing; the Government had better own up to their own lack of efficacy as well as any cover-ups.

It just says an awful lot when even NKF staff are appalled to learn of the many questionable practices turned up by the audit. While everyone's stoning the NKF and its old leadership, have we stopped to think about the betrayal that the staff must have felt on learning the results of the investigation? And yet, we must also remember even in the midst of our collective outrage and anger that the NKF has been imbued with a new direction and a new leadership. I don't believe that people should be condemned for wanting to cancel their donations. After all, for those who already don't earn much and yet donate to charity, why should they continue to donate to an entity that has played fast and loose with their money? But, without the donations, how else can the charity do the work that has become so important to the nation? It's a messy state of affairs.

One thing I noted idly in passing, were there other reasons for the choice of KPMG to conduct the investigations, other than the fact that it had a number of big healthcare accounts? PWC was obviously out, since they were NKF's auditors. Not sure about Deloitte. But am speculating that it would not have been E&Y since NKF's new head Gerard Ee has ties to E&Y. And when lousy corporate governance is the focus of the investigation, it is probably wise to avoid any suspicious business ties.

All I can say now is, all the best to the new NKF. You guys have been left in the lurch with a thankless job, but I'm sure that one day when the outrage has died down, people will come to thank you for all the great work that you have done.

Scraping the bottom of the barrel

2005-12-21T22:06:00.000+08:00

How sad. My expectations are already so low. And he has to still be unable to meet them. What can I say? Like I told him, it's not just a one-off thing, it's the latest in a whole string of very disappointing events. And it just says a lot that when I would ordinarily have shrugged this latest occurrence off with a teasing smile and the slightest irritation, I am instead rather cheesed off and unforgiving.

WTH

2005-12-20T22:43:00.000+08:00

It started innocently enough. Then, it was exam period and understandably, exams are a bitch and I don't expect to go out much or get into lengthy phone calls. Actually, come to think of it, there haven't been any lengthy phone calls since goodness knows when, but that's another story.

After the papers ended, he had to get back into the groove of whipping his choirs into shape for the competition to be held in our northern neightbour. Again, that didn't leave us all that much time to spend together. Then finally came the working trip to our northern neighbour that somehow left him with not even five minutes in the four or five days he was there to have some words with me. I wouldn't even have known which day he was coming back had I not bothered to call and bravely ventured to ask when he was snappy, distracted and obviously in a hurry to get back to work. Twice bitten, thrice shy. When my call on the third or fourth night met with the same irritable, occupied air, I decided to forget the whole damn thing, leave him in peace and speak to him only when he returned.

Then he came back. And even when he had reached home, I didn't even know about it. No call, no message. Until, again, I called to see if he was back on Singapore land, whether he wanted to have a quick dinner somewhere nearby his home. Only then did I know that he had actually reached home. "But why couldn't you have let me know?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory. After all, a message saying he was home but tired and would speak to me the next day or after a rest would have sufficed. But no. All he said was, he was tired.

And now, things have gone downhill, the way I see it at least. No phonecalls, no suggestions of having dinner together, zero dates (or at least, zero dates initiated by him), etc. And when I bring up my concerns, he doesn't seem to understand, nor care, nor do anything about them beyond mouthing infuriatingly patronising platitudes.

One of my closest friends asked if it was possible he had met someone new. Instinctively, I wanted to reply, "I don't think so." For he had assured me not so long ago that nothing would change. And even as part of me wanted to believe it, another part of me really believed it. But now, even when he hasn't really given me much cause to doubt him beyond what could at worst be described as serious inattention or neglect, I feel myself seriously pondering my friend's words. After all, talk is cheap. Words out of the mouth may not be spoken from the heart. This was an epiphany for me, the first time I seriously wonder if I still believe that nothing will change. That we will really get married, have our ideal two kids, grow old together still holding hands and die within days of each other. Can we?

Am I simply hormonal or is there a better reason for the frustration and despair I feel at our lacklustre state?

I wish I was suspended in time, happier times, like this picture portrays. Perhaps it's the wingspan of the bird and its motion through the air over the sea. Very peaceful, especially with the ever so efferverscent rainbow.

Blessed solitude

2005-12-19T21:30:00.000+08:00

When you're swamped with work almost every day and deluged with social get-togethers in the course of a week, no matter how enjoyable, having a day off for some "me" time is frankly quite luxurious. Throw in the prospect of my latest vice - facials - and I was simply tingling all over with anticipation the night before, which I spent carolling, pigging out at the scrumptious Soup Restaurant and watching King Kong.

The day started routinely enough with a session on the Internet, checking mail and surfing blogs, the latter being something that I do about once every two weeks. And then, close to noon, I headed to the wet market for my favourite bak chor mee, done to Al-Dente perfection and garnished liberally with black vinegar, chilli, juicy mushrooms and fresh pork slices. Man, it was good. I just can't say it often enough, that sometimes the best things are the simplest of things, to be found in the humblest of places.

And then it was off to the library for some off-beat tomes to widen my rapidly shrinking repertoire consisting of mainly fantasy and thriller novels. All I can say is, Tampines Regional Library is fast losing its attraction for me; there are hardly any new books, and the popular books are always not around. I guess that means I have no choice but to make a reservation then, unless anyone wants to get me Raymond E Feist's Prince of the Blood and The King's Buccaneer, or Lincoln Child and Douglas Preston's Dance of Death for Christmas. In any case, I still left with about six books. That should occupy me for a week.

Right, so after the library came my facial! Happy happy, I always love facials. They're such a pampering and beautifying experience, especially when you look into the mirror after that and see that your nose is no longer dotted with blackheads, those unsightly bumps on your cheeks have diminished and your skin looks more firm, supple and bright. Of course, it is very important to go to a salon you trust and feel comfortable trusting your face to. In my case, no big names for me, especially since I can't afford them anyway. My neighbourhood salon delivers all the goods I deem necessary for a good facial experience: Meticulous attention, privacy, tasteful and elegant decor that looks suitable even for Orchard Road, and mastery of technique.

Firstly I had my face cleansed and scrubbed. Then, there was a cooling steaming session for my pores to open up for easier extraction. And then, freak, came the extraction part, complete with a contraption with a sharp, needle-like point and a rounded small hoop-like end to squeeze out the muck from my pores.What can I say, it was easily the most physically painful experience I've had this year. The squeezing went on for more than half an hour and at the end of it, I was squirming my toes repeatedly in pain, eyes tearing beneath the cotton wads. However, I felt immensely good knowing that my face would be cleared of muck, so the tears were also tears of happiness and not just pain. After the extraction, the therapist applied some cooling, anti-bacterial gel, slathered on the mask paste, and proceeded to administer an immensely relaxing upper-body massage with masterful strokes that belie her delicately pretty appearance. Ah, what bliss. I suspect I fell asleep at some point and even snored. But who cares, this was one of the best $45 and close to two hours I've ever spent. Superb value for money. The only drawback is that they are always trying to sell me products. And the products aren't cheap, a damned oil control serum is going for $128 for a measly 30ml! Okay I know this is peanuts compared to La Mer, but probably only about 1,000 people in the whole of Singapore can afford La Mer without blinking okay!

The day drew on and around evening, I went for an hour-long run after walking up and down the stairs of my block of flats, reaching home just in time for dinner. Mum cooked yummy fried chicken wings, blah vegetables (not that her cooking is lousy, I'm just not partial to greens) and steamed fish, which we washed down with COB (carrot, orange and bluberry) juice. The darned concoction is a bloody effective detox agent lah, but it tastes superb, dredges and all.

So yes, I must conclude that sometimes, "alone" time is really a rewarding self-indulgence that recharges and reinvigorates a person. Chilling with the boyfriend, catching-up sessions with friends, family time; these are all fantastic for me and I wouldn't exchange the experiences for anything else. But do give me time away to myself every so often; that's the best present anyone can give to themselves, I think.

I'm eyeing a true spa experience in the near future, with all the works: Jacuzzi, full body massage, spa diet, etc. Maybe for my honeymoon, yayee.

Long overdue

2005-12-17T10:35:00.000+08:00

Alright! I've finally gotten down to transferring some long overdue photos, and here they are in no particular order...

Simply heavenly, mmmmm. Two flavours: Apple pie and Tiramisu from Island Creamery at Serene Centre in Bukit Timah. The pictures don't do the ice-cream justice at all, but trust me, it's really good. And cheap. And they are the ones with all the weird flavours like Teh Tarik and Tiger Beer Sorbet.

My boyfriend the vegetating SUPERBUM. How apt.

The national flower at the Botanic Gardens. It's a beautiful place for a jog or slow, romantic walk in the morning or before the sun sets, if you don't mind the occasional stench of rotting plants.

Also found in the Botanic Gardens. I found it slightly contrived and artificial though. It looks like a cave where some thousand-year-old sage had been meditating for centuries.

Remnants of dinner at Spagheddies with old chums: Smoked salmon with cream cheese pizza. Due to the UOB 1-for-1 dining promotion, we got to share four main courses among three people, fantastic! Nothing makes me happier than having loads of food to eat.

The three of us at Haagen Dazs Siglap after Spagheddies. I hate having pictures of myself taken; they always turn out ugly. But I like taking stupid pictures, because then I'm expected to look dumb and ugly anyway.

Brownie at Olio, where I had dinner with another set of old chums. Yum, it was really quite nice though I was too stuffed to have much of it. Plus, one of the guys has always had many sharp words to say about my size and eating habits. But I'm too nonchalant to care much about what he says now, unlike last time, hah!

That's the three of us at Olio. I swear I wasn't trying to act demure; I'm anything but demure. I think you could even say I'm loud and unladylike. But it sure was a good night for catching up, and we'll see each other again on Boxing Day as we wish an old classmate all the best in the next stage of her life. Just don't ask me when's my turn.

Here's the most recent. Drinks at Brewerkz with old chums again, this time the Entwife joined us! The buggers made me rush down to Brewerkz just ten minutes before happy hour ended to order nachos and three pints of the bestselling Golden Ale, hah, but it was quite fun and luckily they arrived shortly after the beers were served. And after their respective pints, they ordered a sample set of eight flavours to try. Very interesting. Apparently one of the flavours, a very dark one, tasted like chilled kopi-oh, damn gross. Too bad there aren't any photos of the four of us that night, but never mind, we'll be meeting up shortly with the rest of the bunch to celebrate the Elfmaid's birthday, plus Christmas and New Year.

Yayee, this discharges my duty for the moment. Maybe Teck will stop bugging me for photos for now. Right, more pictures to come!

That time of the year

2005-12-15T19:53:00.000+08:00

Crap, I've been so uninspired to blog recently. At best, I write about twice every week. At my worst and laziest, I write once a month. I just realised that since setting up Dragons' Haven a year and a half ago in June 2004, there has only been a grand total of 103 entries, 104 including this one. That's 104 entries in about 550 days, which means once every five days. Okay, that's actually not too bad. But let me just say here that I am so darned lazy when it comes to photos. I have pictures in my NIKON from the Spagheddies dinner with Teck and Elfie, the Olio feast with JH and Les, and the most recent Brewerkz one with Teck, Bet and Elfie. Gawd, I'm so darned lazy to transfer them, Doc's gonna kill me.

Some background about this blog. I named it so because of my fascination with the Dragonlance series, authored by the fabulous Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. I devoured the exploits of Raistlin, Tas, Caramon, Flint, Tanis, Laurana and the others voraciously, endlessly, to the point where I was so blinkered I refused to try other fantasy novels for fear they would not match up. But secretly, I lived in fear that one day my treasured Dragonlance would cease to spellbind and touch me, and I would be left with no books to read.

Then recently, I came to try Raymond E Feist's Riftwar series. I started off thinking it still paled in comparison to Dragonlance, but upon reading it a second time, it started to grow on me. I re-read the books with much more attention, feeling my appreciation grow, as well as my admiration for Feist for having crafted a tale of such epic scope and masterful weaving. And at the end of my second reading, I was overjoyed and jubilant at the prospect of having new and wonderful books to savour once again. I think I'm mad, but anyway, that brings me to my very few wishes for the New Year though it's still rather early.

I wish:

That 2006 will bring me more good and enjoyable reads to occupy my nights and train rides with.

For good health and happiness for my family and all my friends; that God will see into our hearts, realise even our smallest hopes and dreams and grant us the strength to bear with whatever happens.

And most of all, that my uncle can leave behind the tumour in his liver and stick around long enough to watch my two-year-old cousin go to school, get a girlfriend, whiz through NS and start a life of his own. I think I'll just go to pieces otherwise.

My favourite Christmas movie, though it's getting a bit stale. I remember watching it twice the year it aired. Quite an interesting, bittersweet experience.

This vignette made me cry; there's just something about unrequitted love under forbidden circumstances that's so depressing.

I love Keira Knightley; she's such a babe, one whom I have no trouble understanding why guys like. I can see exactly why her onscreen husband's best friend loves her to bits.

Left alone

2005-12-07T23:23:00.000+08:00

Everybody close to me is flying off, either for holiday or for work.

The boyfriend will be in Shah Alam for work, Teck's flying off to Taiwan to bonk pretty nutmeg ladies, Elf and the Entwife will be in Bangkok shopping their hearts out.

In the meantime, I'll have to bear with this freaking lousy piece of crap of a company with noone to complain to. Sigh.

Photographic memory

2005-12-07T15:48:00.000+08:00

That's me nearing the finishing line!

Should I buy it, or not?

We did it!

2005-12-05T21:22:00.000+08:00

Yesterday, 4 Dec 2005, was the second time this year that I had to get out of bed before 6am. Both occasions were sporting events; the first was the New Balance Real Run in August and yesterday was the Standard Chartered Singapore Marathon 2005. I ran in what was arguably the 'soft' option of the quarter-marathon, or 10km.

I had hardly flopped onto bed on Saturday night for what felt like a mere 10 minutes before the trusty mobile alarm went off at 5.30am. Somehow, despite my mega-dazed state, my first lucid thought was that I had had only 3.5 hours of sleep. The second was, how the hell was I going to run 10km on just a nap? But never mind, I wasn't going to dawdle in bed any longer any longer and risk missing the start of the race. Very quickly, I ran out of the house with my mom hollering at me, mistakenly thinking that I had only gotten back home at that time, and headed for the Padang.

Luckily the day dawned bright and fine, with bright blue skies and brilliant tufts of white clouds, perfect for running. As we (me, Yann, Yokie and Skunk) made our sluggish way to the Esplanade Bridge starting point at 7am, the race had already started. But as there were so many people in the 10km race, we could stilll squeeze into the back of the excited, teeming crowd behind the starting line, slowly and patiently inching our way to the front. Finally it was our turn to start running and that was a truly magical moment that set me thinking with excitement, why didn't I do this much earlier?

It was a good run, largely comfortably challenging although like Yann, I was shocked to see the 2km mark as it felt like the distance we had already run was longer than that. At the halfway mark at Victor's Bowl in Marina South, I got into my second wind and started pumping a little harder, all the way till the last kilometre when my thigh muscles started aching from the unaccustomed additional exertion. In all my so-called once-weekly practice runs, I'd never ran 10km before, hitting mostly 7km and occasionally, 8km. But I believe I ran faster and longer than I ever did during practice, with an eventual chip timing of 1 hr, 10 minutes and dunno-how-many secs. Just in line with my own desired timing, yayee! According to the analysis of my results, I averaged 8.5km in an hour. A massive improvement from not-so-long-ago when I would be lucky if I managed to run 6.5km in an hour, or the longer-ago annual NAPFA 2.4km runs in school when I usually clocked a miserable 15.30 secs on average.

Yet, personal stisfaction aside, it was the feeling of running with good friends and cheering on other friends attempting the full- or half-marathons that was even more heartening.

Yann was so funny; she told us that she cried with relief when she reached the finishing line as she had started feeling quite cold and terrible halfway into the race. Plus, she had only started to run at least once a week in the past two or three months and yesterday was only the second time she had run in the hot and humid outdoors (she always runs in swanky Fitness First mah) in that time. Good for you babe! Yokie was nursing a sore and injured back and had actually decided not to run, but he changed his mind the night before and ran an amazing 1hr and 9 minutes. Lastly, Skunk, the loveable Shittimonster and our favourite runner of the day, displayed true determination and grit when he battled a raging, upset stomach from race start to race end. I'm truly impressed!

I'm happy to report that Desmond, Lester and Owen all managed to complete the full 42.195km marathon, plus Lester was nursing newly-healed ankles. Congratulations guys, you all are superb! Like I said earlier today, when it comes to the full-marathon, the question of timing is no longer pertinent; that you even complete it at all, that is all that is important.

And so, after some delicious ramen from Marina Square's Kyo-Nichi Ramen Restaurant and cheesecake from NYDC, my virgin StanChart marathon experience ended. Now, I'm left with a lingering runners' high that's made me itching to resume running once the muscles in my legs stop aching, and looking forward to StanChart 2006. The question is, quarter or half? With a year to train, the half-marathon should not be too unachievable. However, is the 10km run the pinnacle of my physical limit? After all, my muscles are already hurting from yesterday's exertion. I guess I won't know until I start training again. By next November, I guess I should be in a better position to decide!

Beauti-food

2005-11-01T10:33:00.000+08:00

Straits Times food writer Teo Pau Lin wrote in a column yesterday that she cannot stand women who fear packing on the poundage to the extent that they rattle off "magic numbers" like calories ingested and kilograms lost, and dither and vacillate over whether to order a side or dessert. In particular, she takes offence to the latter.

"What I find especially annoying are women who always titter over the dessert menu, coquettish and undecided about tiramisu because they just had pasta. By doing so, they think they're adorable, like cherubic Lolitas about to do something really, really naughty."

Wow, that's harsh.

This is something close to my heart. I love to eat, like anybody who has had more than two meals with me can attest to. Specifically, dessert is my one big weakness. I am always thinking of what dessert to end off the meal with, even before I place an order for the main course. I never deny or hide that I'm a gluttony food whore, despite my far from slim figure, but I can understand why the women she abhor act the way they do because I've been there myself not so long ago.

No, I didn't really count calories religiously, but I ate mainly kway teow soup, had very small portions of rice for meals, cut out snacks, refrained from eating as well when I went with friends to supper spots, and exercised, of course. In about a year or less, I dropped about 7kg from 56kg. And as the fats melted away, the clothes fit better, I gained in confidence and the compliments started pouring in. Cumulative effect being: Losing weight and staying slim appears to be good for the self-esteem.

I was lucky not to have slipped into an unhealthy obsession with my weight. At one time, I was extremely stressed as my weight loss had hit an unyielding plateau, and even shot up. Whenever it did, I made myself do more exercise and eat less, until one day when I asked myself why I was punishing myself over something so insignificant.

It wasn't as if I had been left on the shelf for being fatter than what was socially desirable; at my fattest, I had a boyfriend and my boyfriend still loved me for who I was. So what more now, when I was at my slimmest? And did my friends love me more now that I was slim? No, the compliments were just that, compliments, matter-of-fact observations that I had lost weight and looked better now. They didn't treat me any better than they did before, so why was it so important that I held on to my weight? Even for those who had made snide remarks when I was fatter, did it make much of a difference to them when I lost weight? I could only conclude that it was all in my mind; the only person to whom my weight was a big issue was myself. So if I could not accept myself, I would always live in self-doubt, basing my own worth on how much I weighed on the scales, how much I ate for the day, how much I exercised, etc. And that was no way to live at all.

I don't understand myself why some women are so determined to stay thin or get even slimmer than they already are, and I must admit that sometimes I also get irritated by such behaviour and start thinking they are shallow and wallowing in vanity. But in a world where beauty is the ideal, the pressures to look good are very real. Let's say I pose the question: If you could be any race in the world of Krynn in Dragonlance, which would you be?"

I would think most women would want to be an elf, because elves are beautiful, slim and full of grace. I would love to be an elf too, but a female mage doesn't sound too bad either.

Anyway, I agree with Teo. Food is good, and so is eating. It is possible now, with so many choices, to eat both healthily and well, so starvation or deprivation is no longer the only way to beauty. And caving in to temptation once in a while is no weakness. I never thought I would say this, but vegetarian food can be luxuriously divine too. Just check out Whatever Cafe at Keong Saik Road for a better idea. The three cheeses pizza and vegetarian quesadillas are simply too good to describe, and its range of cakes are gluten- and dairy-free. How's that for having your cake and eating it too?

Spooked

2005-10-26T22:30:00.000+08:00

Saw the trailer for the feature film "The Exorcism of Emily Rose" at the movies recently.

Am fairly certain that I would not want to watch it when it hits the theatres, not after a fairly long period where I watched the now infamous "The Ring" and went to sleep every night with a sweater or tee-shirt covering the television set in my bedroom. I never told anyone this except for Joker, but the kind of fear that settled over me after "The Ring" was really gripping, to the point that I had to wonder if there was any truth to FCBC's belief that the movie was cursed. Ditto for "Dark Water", after which I never watched a horror movie again. Well, "Constantine" doesn't count. Each year that passes, more and more I want to enjoy my nights and not spend them quaking in fear whenever I get the urge to pee and have to run to the toilet in the dark from the sanctuary of my room; nor do I want to look into the mirror in the toilet with trepidation that a ghastly, ghostly apparition would look out at me, then reach out and zap me dead.

I guess my morbid fascination with the supernatural and occult genre must be satisfied with just print literature.

NANO milestone

2005-10-23T22:52:00.000+08:00

I'm reaching 1 Gb worth of songs on my pristine white Nano! My 24th birthday present from a boyfriend who's wonderful in many ways, even if he is sadly clinically obsessed with WOW.

Right I realise that to music buffs like Huckerby, Yannisms and her Cynic of a boyfriend, this is rather pathetic. "Why, I could make up 4 Gb in just one sitting!" is what I'm sure they would say.

So guys, wanna help me make up 4 Gb on my Nano?

Self deception

2005-10-21T00:36:00.000+08:00

Stupid men.

So obsessed with their games and the online communities they spawn that every night is devoted to the pursuit of besting their rankings and scores. Or organising some 20-men raid.

And what do they do in the day? Laze and sleep it away because they claim they study best at night.

Or maybe it's just one man.

Much ado about creativity

2005-10-16T13:20:00.000+08:00

Sometimes I think SMU is overhyped by the local media.

Don't get me wrong, I am not belittling the new kid on the block. In fact, aside from offering local and regional students more and different education alternatives, I feel it's great that SMU is shaking the staid complacency out of the established twin giants NUS and NTU. At the very least, the behemoths are attempting to overhaul their image, systems and offerings to make themselves more attractive to prospective students, if not existing ones. Ditto for the private management schools. Which can only be better for students.

Yet, I stand by my view that the local media is making a great big fuss over SMU, not always justified. Take today's (Sunday, 16 Oct) The Sunday Times report "A+ for cross-dressing" for example, which gives an account of how SMU gets its students to do things out of the ordinary to instill creativity. It reads like a news piece desperately grasping at straws on a slow news day to fill up the news hole.

Is the initiative really so incredible? Aside from that SMU decrees that a pass is a requirement for graduation? I can't speak for NUS, but to the best of my knowledge, NTU has also already established its own avenues for creativity since years ago.

I remember Jane the Singapore Girl and Yen taking up the free-wheeling "Improvisation" GE module during our time there. Apparently, students are free to, errr, improvise on the spot and do whatever creative things take their fancy. And in spite of all our hoots of derision at the antics students get up to at the module (apparently students are asked to craft a dance sequence to a piece of music, among other seemingly non-academically inclined tasks), I must ask this. How much less able to instill creativity is this module compared to the SMU one?

In CS (I can't get used to SCI), we used to think up film scripts, dramatise and act them out, film them and add in a variety of cool elements during post production. Or rather, more technically accomplished others did so. My own contributions were limited to the occasional scripting and acting. And when the broadcast final year projects in my year were filmed, I can only say that I had never imagined the depths of creative genius my peers possessed.

In our advertising classes, we were tasked to develop our own portfolio of briefs and ads. The wilder, more creative, out of the ordinary and off the beaten track, so much the better. And as much as the process of finishing up our portfolio was great fun, of even more value was the time we took in sharing with the class our own ideas and ads, bouncing gems of one another and generating even more in the process.

The engineering students have their own ways of stimulating creativity, apparently. JL told me that they were asked to visit old folks homes, spot a need or problem, think up a device to address that need or problem, build that darned thing up from scratch, AND formulate a marketing plan. How daunting, for me. But for the engineering students, what a great way it must be to test their skills, what a useful exercise in shedding their inhibitions and moving out of the comfort zone of just building things.

My point is, there are so many things that help to instill or stimulate creativity, if it can even be instilled at all. Who says that it must be formalised and institutionalised into an official module bearing the words "Creative Thinking" to have any effect? Are non-SMU students any less creative than SMU students? Are non-SMU efforts at creativity less worthy than SMU efforts? Why must the local media pick up every single little step that SMU takes and then trumpet it all over their pages?

Shudders.

Ill tidings

2005-10-15T21:33:00.000+08:00

A diagnosis of terminal illness sucks big time and despite supposedly comforting adages like 'blessing in disguise', 'test from God', yadah yadah, I suspect I will never be able to treat such an occurrence so positively. More so now than ever, I really wonder how people with cancer and other life-threatening chronic illnesses are able to wake up each day and come to terms with their wasted bodies, with some even going so far as to do something so extraordinarily noble and selfless, like Terry Fox and his run of hope which continues to inspire so many each year.

Illness maims and destroys.
Many strike without warning and others proclaim their dawning loud and clear with symptoms. Unfortunately many of those stricken do not recognise the signs and by the time they become terminal cases, it really is too late.

In almost all cases, even as those who are ill sink into the murky depths of despair and depression, their loved ones suffer almost as badly too. Faced with the possible death of one so dearly loved, their grief weigh heavily on them, yet, cutting through the grief are shreds of hope that there will be a cure, that a miracle will happen and maybe, just maybe, their story will be one that gives others strength and hope.

And so, in spite of the odds offered by learned experts, they ask around for things that can help, pray faithfullly and sincerely night and day, visit their dearest unfailingly, take time off work to see to logistics such as hospitalisation and loosen their pursestrings to give monetary assistance, among many other loving gestures. All in the hope of realising that 10, 20, 30 or even 35 per cent survival odds.

Having seen an elderly but otherwise hale and hearty woman gaze upon her youngest son lying in a private ward undergoing chemotherapy, his hair seeming almost newly shorn like a baby's and his face bloated from the powerful drugs, I feel like there is nothing on earth much worse than such an experience. And when she speaks lovingly of
him and things he did before he fell ill, tears fall and her face contorts with agony so deep that I had to turn away, my own eyes blurred, for her grief seemed too sacred and heartwrenching to witness. Even if she is my own grandmother.

Occupational hazard

2005-09-29T22:14:00.000+08:00

Months of reporting on all things health and beauty tends to do one thing to you. It makes you more conscious of both issues and suddenly, that yummy plate of char kway teow comes across way more sinister than it did in the past, when all you thought of was how the egg-coated oddles of rice noodles would burst into smoky sweet yet salty flavours on your tongue and glide smoothly down your throat. Now, you pause and shudder at the thought of all that saturated and trans fat, from those crunchy pork lard squares, rushing down your oesophagus to plug up the vascular structures leading to that chambered muscular organ that is also your central repository of emotions and sensibilities.

You didn't use to give a flying fart whenever you tanned, whether unwittingly or consciously, and you shunned sunblock as it left a disgustingly oily whitish layer on your skin. Now, you are the one slathering on sunblock every morning and advocating everyone you know who has a penchant for tanning to leave off sun worship, because of all those talks with dermatologists and aestheticians who have shown you countless pictures of solar lentigenes, deep, deep wrinkles, huge bulbous growths of squamous and basal cell carcinoma and mottled pigmentation.

I can go on and on about all the changes my job has induced in me, but that can take forever. To those few who drop by, I just want to share these pearls of wisdom (from heads and mouths wiser than mine):

1. If you have hepatitis B or are a hep B carrier, please do get a liver ultrasound and tumour marker blood test every six months.

2. If you are normally eligible for blood donations, do consider donating your baby's cord blood in future when you give birth. Extracted from the umbilical cord, it is a non-invasive procedure that poses absolutely no risk to mother or child. But that blood, rich in stem cells, could save the lives of those with blood-related disorders like leukaemia. All we need is a cord blood bank of at least 10,000 units and everyone would have an 80% chance of finding a good match.

3. Trim your brows, and I really mean it. Even on days when you dress really down, some loose powder and filled-in brows can sharpen your looks no end.

4. You can't leave off exercise. You don't exercise because you want to lose weight, you exercise because you want to stay healthy. Healthcare costs are not cheap at all, and neither is buying health insurance plans. I just can't emphasise enough the importance of a healthy heart.

5. Be sensible about eating. My friends would gawk at this and say I am the last person to talk about this but I don't care, I'm having my say. Yes I eat a lot, okay a hell of a lot, but I do ration myself, incredible as it may sound. Weekends are usually pigging out sessions, so on weekdays I limit myself to soupy lunches, light dinners and fruits. Potato chips are my major weakness, especially after I discovered Terra brand chips, but luckily they cost an arm and a leg and so I can't afford to buy them often.

Okay, there you have it. My community service for the year accomplished!

Yumyum, my favourite brand of potato chips. This one is Roasted Garlic and Parmesan.

Bliss indeed! This is Sun-dried Tomato and Balsamic Vinegar.

More meat than I can stomach

2005-09-27T22:58:00.000+08:00

I had been looking forward to this since last week, dinner at the Brazilian Churrascaria (I hope I got the spelling right) at Sixth Avenue. Like what I kept messaging the good ol' doc, "I simply can't wait!" Alas, it was not to be the gorgeous pigging out session I imagined it would be.

First up, my tummy was slightly uncomfortable. Since I had a very late breakfast today, I decided to have just fruits and some plain crackers for lunch. So down went two slices of papaya, two apples and a pack of Meiji slightly salted plain crackers. Feeling comfortably sated, I carried on with work. But barely two hours later, my stomach felt bloated and started churning with hunger, almost painfully, and I simply had to go. After that, the tummy felt better but I continued to feel slightly light-headed and hungry. I conclude that dieting and subsisting on fruits is an entirely unachievable and alien concept to me; I would need, like, an entire basket of fruits to feel really full!

I never thought I would say this, but too much meat is definitely too much of a good thing. Now, my family and boyfriend could tell you I'm an utter carnivore. Though I've forced myself in recent years to diligently eat fruits and vegetables for better health, my first, only and forever love is MEAT. I would take a juicy, medium tenderloin from Angue House over a platter of Tung Lok's finest poached spinach anytime. But 12 courses of meat cuts is simply too much for even as dedicated a meat eater as I am.

We began with some truly excellent chicken thighs, delicately seasoned and imbued with a smoky grilled fragrance. Next up came chicken breast wrapped in sizzling bacon dripping with melted fat. And after that, the waiters whizzed by so fast with their carving knives and spits that I simply lost track of what we were served, until the waiter carved us some super divine fish coated lightly with yoghurt tarted up with a hint of lemon, and a bit of what seemed like curry or tandoori spices. Yummmm...the fish was rather orgasmic...oooh...

Right, I must admit the grilled pineapple was a refreshing pick-me-up in between meats, but after a while, the taste of each meat cut started to melt into one another and the whole experience just went flat after starting on a high note. Maybe I'm just not that sophisticated a carnivore after all, but I can't imagine going back there again and paying well over 40 bucks for limitless meat, and the doc agrees with me.

After footing the bill, we stumbled to the good ol' doc's poncy car moaning about the state of our tummies, and drove off to Siglap where we promptly regained our appetites and dropped in on Gelare to take advantage of their half-priced Tuesday waffles. We ordered a large waffle and a scoop of ice cream each (All White Chocolate Chip for me and Pistachio-something for him), and proceeded to do further damage to our stomachs. And though both of us are alike in that we seem to have different stomachs for digesting main courses and desserts, our stomachs had a finite capacity after all. Before long, we were clutching our stomachs in agony again.

I think I need help. There's something wrong if I suddenly develop an overwhelming compulsion to turn vegetarian. I wonder if I have compulsive overeating disorder.

Undecided and disjointed

2005-09-26T21:17:00.000+08:00

I'm not sure if I will go to Xiamen.
It sounds like an interesting change from the previous European Olympics venues, and I have been wanting to revisit China in recent years. Not to mention that this means I only have to endure about six hours of motion sickness compared to upwards of 13.
But I'm just not sure right now. Funny how the boyfriend and I have sort of exchanged inclinations.

In other news, I'm happy to rediscover the joy and pride I used to take in my work up till about three months ago. That I've been busting the stipulated starting hour like mad notwithstanding, I can feel myself getting more creative and confident of my own stories. And though I absolutely hate the obligatory schmoozing sessions that follow some press conferences, I'm able to grit my teeth, smile through my gums and make small talk so small as to fit into my pinkie. But that's not being fair to some of the PR companies, who are really cool, sophisticated and learned in the industries they represent.

I don't understand the appeal of bull fighting. As I blog, I'm watching the news and it shows some segments of a Spanish bull fight. All the attempts look similar to me: The matador comes on, swaggers in his poncy tight pants, the bull lowers its head and charges, and then rams into the matador. What the hell is so appealing about it?

Befuddled by The Myth

2005-09-25T20:46:00.000+08:00

I can't decide how I really feel about The Myth, you know, that latest Jackie Chan movie.

I didn't bother reading the reviews about it, but from what I saw of the publicity efforts, I thought it would be something arty farty along the lines of the gorgeously filmed Hero. Turns out they couldn't get more different than, say, a 250g tenderloin Ladies cut from Angus House compared to sambal stingray from Esplanade Glutton Square's Boon Tat Street seafood stall. Both satisfying yet as different as can be.

In The Myth, Jackie Chan is a modern day archaelogist who is plagued by recurring dreams of himself as a general from China's Qin dynasty, his life inextricably linked with that of a perfectly beautiful Korean princess who happens to be the Qin emperor's newest concubine. The Korean princess is played by the gorgeous Kim Hee-Seon. Therefore, Chan sets out on an Indiana Jones-like series of adventures to unpuzzle his dreams. No prizes for guessing that ultimately, the myth central to the movie and for which the movie is named, is that surrounding the whereabouts of Qin Shi Huang's mausoleum, as well as the supposed Immortality Pill that he commanded to be developed.

A major portion of the show was spent chronicling Chan and Kim's star-crossed romance, but I thought it was one of the show's weakest links. In his get-up as an ancient Chinese general, Chan elicited laughs just with his long-suffering, lovelorn, moony-eyed gazes at Kim, whom he guarded and escorted to the Imperial capital. Kim was perfect, all flawless porcelain skin, huge dewy eyes and ruby red bow-shaped lips, but she was so typically helpless, weak and vulnerable that the romance turned out insipid and banal. Trademark expressions of love: Stitching up wounds with human hair and thread, tenderly proffering water from a stream with an upturned helm (fuck, damn gross lah) and the standard shedding of clothes to share body heat and overcome frost bite. If it ain't original, it's too incredible.

The last time time I found an onscreen romance so laughable was during Star Wars: Revenge of The Sith. It seems as though Hayden Christensen and Natalie Portman have found their match in Chan and Kim, but I must admit that the latter pair were much less cringeworthy.

I found the plot fairly meandering and unclear for the better half of the show; it wasn't clear until much later what relevance the first half had to the second half transpirations. In fact, the whole Indian sequence in Dasar, starting from the wrecked helicopter escape, could have been done away with and it wouldn't have affected the plot much. I suspect it was thrown in only for comic relief and to showcase both the requisite Chan stunts in any Chan movie, and the devastatingly sexy Mallika Sherawat. Seldom has Yoga been so sensual.

Now you may ask, so how come I enjoyed the show then? Well, the truth is that the movie was hugely entertaining from beginning to end, largely due to the inimitable Tony Leung Kar Fai. Man, this guy is noticeably old and no longer the sex symbol I once idolised him as, but his comic chops are first-rate man! I suppose you could also call it slapstick, for want of a better term. In any case, it's been a long time since I was so tickled at a movie. There was hardly a dull moment, unlike the DUH Brothers Grimm, and while it hardly has the epic grandness of Hero, it escapes that utterly ridiculous banality and incoherence that plagued Seven Swords.

Do I think $9.50 is a fair price to watch The Myth for? Going by the drought of good movies lately, I would say $9.50 was still acceptable. I would have been perfectly happy to have caught The Myth at $7 or even $8.50 though. Go ahead and watch it, it should provide some laughs.

WHY?

2005-09-08T22:52:00.000+08:00

Having interviewed deathly sick people and doctors in my job over the past ten months, sometimes talking to them with tears standing in my eyes, I would've thought that I would be able to handle yesterday's news better. But apparently not.

It never comes easy; it strikes as forcefully as Hurricane Katrina did, leaving those most closely involved reeling from shock and despair. And after the initial shock passes and some semblance of hope sets in, there comes another wave of crushing winds that lash out and flatten ruthlessly.

And so, the refugees seek shelter and relief from one place to another, taking whatever small comfort they can find along the long, hard road to recovery.

Tagged

2005-09-05T12:02:00.000+08:00

List three random facts about yourself that your friends might not know. And then tag five other friends to do it.

Kena tagged by she-who-just-frolicked-on-the-beach-at-Batam to spill on the above, so here goes:

1. I'm convinced that I'm cursed to spoil my friends' readings of Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince. Aside from spoiling Yann's reading when she was halfway through the book, I unwittingly gave away the ending to Elfmaid. Right after she had told me she hadn't read the book. The irony of it all was that I had been happily relating how poor Nelly K had his reading spoiled by the newspapers in China, who had splashed across their front pages that Rowling had killed off Character XXX and devastated countless fans worldwide. I could have bitten off my tongue when I turned and saw her face...

2. I used to take a damn long time to fall asleep because I would wrap a blanket around my waist and pretend I was a princess with long, flowing gowns. Sometimes I also pretended that my bolster was a real person (shite, yann and I are equally deprived).

3. I am one of the very very few people in Chorale who went co-ed in secondary school. Man, how come we're so endangered?

Okay, I just realised that I don't know who reads my blog, but I'm passing it on to:

Joiciewoicie
Mandy no Moore
Cap'n Facetious and Intrepid (I hope I got his name correct)
Le' Elfmaid
Dr Fangorn (start your blog with this!!!)

Half or quarter?

2005-09-01T12:24:00.000+08:00

Okay, I have more or less decided to enter the Standard Chartered Marathon. The only dilemma now is whether to go for the half-marathon (21km) or quarter-marathon (10km). Tempted to choose 21km cos that would give me the impetus to diligently train till I reach that level of fitness. I'm quite confident of managing 10km, perhaps the challenge is in conditioning myself to complete it in under an hour.

How now brown cow????

A hectic Sunday

2005-08-29T22:09:00.000+08:00

Yesterday was one of the most hectic Sundays of my life.
In the morning, there was the New Balance Real Run. Barely two hours later, I was to begin the final dress rehearsal for my choir, Victoria Chorale's annual concert: In Song 2005 - Perfect Fourths. At night, the concert proper would take place.

On Saturday night, throughout practice, I was really tempted to give up the run. Like, how can I run a bloody 10km, 1.6 of which was to be a sand route, in the morning and still have the energy to sing for the rest of the day? But then, I was reluctant to be a wuss and finally decided to go ahead. After all, I had already been most generously outfitted from head to toe in running gear by New Balance as part of the media challenge, and I had been training (sort of) for the run. And so, I headed home straight after practice to get some sleep as I had to wake up the next morning at 7am.

The next morning dawned bright and early. Upon reaching the Seah Im interchange where I was to meet my colleagues, I had a shock when I saw hordes and hordes of people in jogging outfits milling around. Call me sua ku but I'd never seen so many sporty people in one place in my entire life before! VJ's annual wussy "cross country" run to ECP don't count, :)

Anyway, media members were accorded somewhat special treatment, so the whole experience was rather pleasant and smooth. We had a special entry pass, which meant we didn't have to pay Sentosa's entry charges; there was a special media tent where we could register, rest and do all the admin things instead of queueing all over the place like other participants; we had access to the VIP/Media breakfast reception tent where we had an endless flow of Delifrance sandwiches and pastries, while others had to buy from food vendors; and there was this really shiok complimentary post-run sports massage.

The race started at 845am, and about an hour and 20 minutes later, it was all over, for me at least. I had ran about 8+++km worth of fairly undulating route, and trekked through 1.6km worth of sand, soft-as-flour sand. I swear, the sand part was much worse than the undulating road!

But it was really scenic, Sentosa is really quite pretty, if you ignore the fact that it's largely plastic beauty. I was really quite excited and happy during the run; I didn't even curse at kiasu, brawny guys who kept shoving people aside in a bid to overtake. Act seh for freak? Want to show off your fitness, go join the StanChart 41km marathon lah! Besides show-offs, there were also some weirdos. Like this woman who ran in long sleeve shirt and long track pants. She must have been absolutely BAKING...

After the run, I bumped into Topo and Les. Really cool to meet your friends at such a huge event like this! Topo is really zai man, she missed the start of the run because she went to the toilet and she ended up at the finishing line way before me. Now I know how she gets her perky and firm butt. Les was with Sharon, looking blissful happy, haha, but didn't get to talk to him much. Shall get him out for dinner soon.

So, I left the event at about 11 plus. Took the bus out of Sentosa and a train to City Hall, where I walked around Citilink Mall emanating the foul reek of sweat and looking super out of place among the hip and trendy. Luckily, the boyfriend and some of our VC friends arrived at Esplanade not long after and we proceeded to have lunch.

After lunch, I had only 40 minutes to bathe (in Esplanade's dressing rooms' shower) and get dressed in our sari. ARGGGGHHH, horrors, no time to dry my hair so was forced to tie it up while it's wet, ARGGGGHHH! Gross! Sorry, I'm really particular about my hair...

Anyway, rehearsals were a mixed bag of affairs. I think most of us had nerves and didn't do as well as we did the previous night at practice. But luckily, we loosened up by the time the actual performance rolled around and previously shaky, insecure parts were more or elss perfect. Unfortunately, previously perfect parts screwed up somewhat but thankfully we kept our heads and kept singing and managed to cover them up rather well, I thought. All in all, a great concert! Not so much our singing and performance, but the entire experience was just surreal and so magical. I was on a major adrenaline rush the whole day; I didn't even feel sleepy or zonked after the performance ended! I'm so glad I decided to go for the run after all.

A major note of thanks and appreciation to all who attended our performance; I hope you have all enjoyed the pieces and our singing. It is because of people like you that encourage us to keep on singing and improving on our art. To all my friends who attended to show their support, I can't tell you enough how much it meant to me, even if I didn't have much time to spend with you guys backstage. Thanks for the chocolate strawberry, beautiful flowers and most of all, continued encouragement, you guys really are the best!

IN SONG

2005-08-23T21:32:00.000+08:00

Come Sunday, the fruits of our labour will be on public display at the Esplanade for all and sundry to evaluate. Well, maybe not all and sundry, but those who have bought tickets to In Song 2005: Perfect Fourths, organised by the VIctoria Chorale.

Preparations for the concert began in the beginning of 2005, concurrently with the Hua Yi - Chinese Festival of Arts collaboration with Singapore Chinese Orchestra. Coming on the heels of our achievements at the Choir Olympics 2004 in Bremen, Germany, and with the unprecedented influx of bubbly and lovable newbies fresh out of VJ, it seemed like we had gotten off to a promising start and would see a glorious finale come 28 Aug 2005.

Now, with less than a week to go to the concert, things seem kind of worrying. Ticket sales have been dismal so far; media response has been downright cold (typical) and certain friends have acted deaf and dumb when asked to support the concert.

I bear some glimmer of hope that things will turn around for the better, truly. But even so, I'm steeling myself for the possibility of us singing to a barely half-filled hall. And I pray that if that happens, each and every member will be strong enough to still give of our best and convince those who believed in us enough to attend the concert that we make good music, that the Victoria Chorale is an excellent choir. If not in skills and musicality, for those are truly subjective qualities, then at least in spirit.

Have you gotten your tickets? Get them here

Peeves

2005-08-23T21:12:00.000+08:00

1. Stop bumping my articles to the next issue just because an ad has to squeeze into the already close-to-bursting issue. I know the ads pay all our salaries, but for goodness' sake, there's something to be said for editorial integrity, no? It sometimes seems as if editorial is akin to the butter spread in between two slices of bread: JUST SOMETHING TO HOLD THE BREAD TOGETHER. In this case, some words to hold the ads together.

2. Stop asking reporters to write all the darned advertorials. We're not SPH; we don't have a pool of hundreds of journalists; we don't even have a special projects team of writers to handle contract publishing and you expect us to write and translate endless advertisements and advertorials?

3. If you say you're going to pick me up at a certain time, please have the decency to call to let me know if you're going to be late by, like, 15 OR MORE minutes. Don't stay silent and incommunicado; don't snap at me when I call you to ask if you've gotten lost since it's an unfamiliar place; don't say you're on your way when you're still at home drying your hair; and most of all, don't clam up and give me the silent treatment when you finally arrive and i ask you what exactly happened to make you so late. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO GIVE ME A LIFT, SAY SO FROM THE BEGINNING. I UNDERSTAND THAT DRIVING CAN BE A CHORE AND AM CERTAINLY NOT DEMANDING TO BE FETCHED HERE, THERE AND EVERYWHERE.

World class food city?

2005-08-10T22:19:00.000+08:00

In Inside Track, the 9 Aug 2005 The Straits Times Guide To Singapore, critics roundly denounced us as a world class food city.

"Singaporeans feel that just because they have money, they can go into any restaurant and eat what they want to eat, not how it's supposed to be eaten. They have money but no taste, and I'm tired of trying to educate them. Ninety per cent of Singaporeans who go out to eat just want to be seen."

"Instead of always looking out for cheap deals, be willing to pay good money for good food."

I am so irritated by comments like these.

Why can't creamy pasta be eaten with tabasco sauce if people like it that way? I can't stomach the full Western works of a soup, an entree, a main and then a dessert, and so can't most Singaporeans. It's a matter of habit; so we usually head straight for the mains and sides. What's wrong with that? If the Germans can eat smoked fish with apple-flavoured sour cream, why can't I eat chilli sauce with steak, especially if the steak is substandard? Who dictates all these so-called haute cuisine rules anyway?

And what's wrong with looking out for cheap deals? I like to eat cheaply, so I head for places like East Coast Food Village and obscure coffee shops in the heartland, where over 80% of Singaporeans live. That's where some of the best food on the island can be found, and that's also where Singaporeans can hang out in all their unglam glory. Tatty tees, sloppy slippers, uncombed hair, faces shorn of any trace of makeup and no disconcerting armamentorium of cutlery -- that's the Singapore citizen at his most unpretentious for you, like the food we grew up with.

Au Jardin or Triple 3 buffet dinner? NO WAY, THANKS VERY MUCH. Overpriced, average food and so-so service, I would have put that $130+++ to better use if I had spent it over six hawker meals for two at the Esplanade's Glutton Square instead. Or two wondrous dinners at Spizzico, a small and intimate Italian outfit at UE Square. It serves up the most fragrant and delicious seafood pasta (sorry, the Italian name's kinda long, it keeps slipping my mind), with a tomato-based sauce that is almost certainly stir-fried to aromatic perfection with olives and garlic. The tiramisu's sublime, and they also serve up unlimited servings of home-made bread that's crisp on the outside and warm, soft and fluffy on the outside. It tastes nothing like your cookie-cutter Delifrance baguette, and my advice is to dip it in olive oil or unsalted butter. Now that's one heavenly place I wouldn't mind blowing a hole in my pocket over.

See, I don't mind spending money on good food. But please remember that not many people can afford to regularly shell out $220 per head for a dinner. And stop bashing the so-called sub-standard cafe joints. Yes, I agree that at best, their food is passable. I mean, how wrong can you go with deep frying chicken and slapping burgers together right? But they do fill a niche, one that these haughty (pun intended) cuisine places find beneath them to fill. Haven't you noticed that those who frequent the cafes are usually the young people who haven't all that much money to spend, but would like a taste of Western and International cuisine beyond what the local coffee shops' Western food stores offer?

I know, because I used to be, and still am at times, one of them. And I'd rather bring my money to places that accept me and my tastebuds and try to service me to the best of their ability, than to suffer the know-it-all arrogance of another who thinks that I need to be educated on how and what to eat. Thank you very much, but I have a mind of my own, unlike that weird Korean girl in Tsui Hark's Seven Swords, and I know very well what I like. Maybe that isn't the best of what's out there, but it's enough for me. Perhaps that will condemn me to the blackest depths of gourmet Hell, but so be it.

I'm an unrepentant fine cuisine-ignoramus and I'm happy to be one.

Where we are one big family

2005-08-10T10:13:00.000+08:00

How do you get annoyed with Singaporeans, ugly though they may be on every other day, when they turn up in droves clad and painted in red and white at the main NDP parade, as well as the other heartland fringe events?

When not just the Tampinesians converge at the Tampines event, but a sizeable horde from the northeast and rest of the east as well, such that snaking long queues formed up at the bus interchange, and that was just a drop in the ocean compared to the millions of people milling about the area?

When, although the pedestrians jaywalk and take their time crossing the roads, cause jams to form and render traffic lights useless, noone cursed and swore and bus drivers and passengers alike looked on indulgently with a smile?

In short, how can you not be touched when all across the nation, people took time out and paid tribute to this little red dot that we all call home? And like I always do every year when National Day rolls around, I bless the Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew and the rest of his Old Guard team, because I'm always reminded of how they are the far-sighted and passionate founding fathers of the country.

Happy Birthday Singapore, and may we have even better years ahead!

Great night out

2005-08-03T23:22:00.000+08:00

Today was a good day for many reasons.

First up, I hit 9km for the first time in my entire life. I had gotten up at 7.15pm, lazed in bed for another 20 minutes, and then headed to the reservoir to run. By the end of the run, my legs felt like lead, I was sweating like mad and my knees seemed about to collapse and give way. Maybe I should seriously think about taking glucosamine supplements regularly if I'm going to keep running.

But anyway, I felt really good. I'm just keeping my fingers crossed that I won't do too badly at the New Balance Real Run later this month. It's one thing to run on level ground, and another to run on Sentosa's undulating terrain. Huckerby has checked it out and I think if I can get past the first 5km of uneven ground, I should be able to finish the run decently. Ganbatte!

Next, at an event in the afternoon at Fullerton, the guests were invited to help themselves to the impromptu mini supermarket shelves set up at the sides of the room. I had loads of fun hauling bags of organic potato chips and cartons of organic soy milk into the grocery bag provided, but was rather appalled by well-dressed, rich-looking women who just swiped the shelves clean, especially the skincare products. One woman didn't even bother to see what she was grabbing, she just walked up to the shelf and cleared out five bottles with her arm! How disgusting. And the poor men had to content themselves with hovering behind hordes of women, since they probably aren't used to sales-like behaviour.

And then, while I was at Fullerton, I got a call from J and C, asking me to go down to a cocktail event my ex-company was holding tonight. They, my ex-boss V included wanted to see me and catch up. I had originally intended to put in OT tonight to finish up some stories, but decided to heck it and have some fun. So off I went to the cocktail, and luckily I was dressed atypically in a white shirt, grey skirt and patterned scarf ensemble that passed off as business wear. Otherwise, V would have made me stay outside the room.

The only edibles at the cocktail were canapes and assorted dainty desserts, and the crowd was the same old, same old. The speeches were also no different from those in the past two years. But never mind, after the cocktail ended, the four of us headed across the road to the Glutton Square (Bay?) at Esplanade. V bought us fried Hokkien prawn noodles and fried carrot cake, yummy. And then as usual, we talked about various stupid people in the company and their stupid ways, and exchanged other trivia. Like how a rather prominent key management personnel, who's also a fairly well-known social and political figure and must be drawing a six-figure salary, asks for discounts at budget drugstores or makeup stores.

Lulled by the cool, gentle night breeze and the gastronomic satisfaction of yummy local comfort food, I think we simply enjoyed one another's company without having to do much. For a moment, perhaps a misguided one haha, I almost wished for those days back when I was an intern in the department assisting them all.

Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince

2005-07-17T19:13:00.000+08:00

I have a new read!

Or rather, I had a new read. In a matter of hours, I polished off the entire Harry Potter And The Half-Blood Prince, which is only about three-quarters the thickness of Harry Potter And The Order Of The Phoenix but no less a satisfying read. Actually, now that I think of it, Prince satisfied me much more than Phoenix did.

The adventure began Saturday morning, when I woke up at 11am to find that the precious hardback was waiting for me on my bedside table. A really pleasant surprise, considering that I had been ticked off severely by Mum for getting back after 3am the previous night and not answering my mobile in all that time. Well done, SingPost! And, despite having to bathe and get ready to go out and attend some work-related events immediately after getting up, I actually brought Prince out with me as I went about my events, snatching ten pages during each cab ride and more over my lunch of tom yam ban mian.

Won't say more about about the story, lest I spoil the experience for anyone. In fact, I'd already spoiled my pal Yannism's reading, mistakenly thinking that she had finished the book, and smsed her to ask what she thought about He/She/It-Who-Was-Killed-Off and the Person-Who-Had-Killed-He/She/It-Off. And she replied with a "Shit lah I haven't read abt [insert appropriate possessive noun-modifier] death yet." I'm so so so sorry. But Prince was a really good read.

Each book in the Harry Potter series gets progressively darker and plumbs ever-deeper depths of human cruelty, dark and murky alliances, confunding allegiances, ambition and hubris. Yet, through it all, Rowling keeps a thread of hope running, whether it be love that is strong enough to sacrifice all, loyalty that inspires one's friends to stand alongside oneself even in the most deadly of dangers, or that even those on the side of evil have the capacity to love and care.

It doesn't seem like the Hogwarts boarding school setting for the series will endure for long after Prince, and although that was one very appealing factor in my massive enjoyment of the series, I do look very much forward to Rowling's next instalment. Till then, I must re-read over and over again the entire series, and find other books and authors to occupy my free time with.

NKF aftermath

2005-07-14T22:25:00.000+08:00

And so the backlash has begun. In fact, I'm late to be blogging about this now.

Just watched the news. An NKF Donor Relations staff was recounting how a particular donor had insisted, no, demanded, that his $12 donation be refunded to him there and then, on the spot, despite one of the staff explaining that the refund could only take place through other channels. And so, that particular staff brought out her wallet, fished out $12 and gave it to the man.

That few seconds of coverage made me cry and I don't know which is sadder.

That the frontline NKF staff who have to bear the brunt of massive public displeasure, such as the unfortunate employee in the above incident;

Or that ordinary working class Singaporeans who work long and hard for their money, yet willingly donate regularly to NKF to support kidney patients, have been driven mad enough to withdraw their support in such a brusque way;

Or that such a hugely successful charitable organisation has been brought to its knees, after so many years of good work.

I think many of us grew up watching the NKF fund-raising shows and year after year, I never fail to be touched by first-hand accounts from the kidney patients. This year, for the NKF-Cancer fund-raising project, I heard over the radio stations this woman talking about how, because of cancer, she had to sell her flat for over a hundred thousand. She spoke matter-of-factly of how she'd never seen so much money in her life before, and of how a mere four months later, the money was all gone. Then, she mused, "Long before the illness kills you off, worrying about the financial burden will already have finished you."

It's important to give, one way or another. Really, what amounts to just a little on one person's part can build up to a massive lot when everybody contributes, and it really goes a long way towards helping whoever is in need. I interviewed a wonderful lady recently, who, at the very young age of 18, donated bone marrow to a leukaemia patient. It's been ten years and the transplant patient is still alive, very much a healthy and dynamic man. All because of an operation that was 'little more than a blood test', and the blessed courage of a very wonderful and inspirational young teenager who, until now, thinks of what she did as 'no big deal'.

I believe that most of us give because we want to help, simple as that. Even if we don't wish to donate to NKF any longer, do continue to give to other worthy charities, other people who need help.

Assorted musings

2005-07-13T22:00:00.000+08:00

Non-profit organisations in Singapore

Seems like they're going to the pits.
I don't begrudge TT Durai his $25,000 a month salary. It may seem grossly excessive for a non-profit org, but how else will they be able to get quality management if they can't offer salaries on par with those in the private sector? Of course, this necessarily begs the question of whether management calibre equal to that in the private sector is needed for the NKF to function, but that's not the main point here. What most people take offense to is the revelation that Durai is paid a grossly handsome 10-to-12 month bonus.

Excuse me, but I always thought, with my limited working experience, that bonuses are usually pegged to the profits earned by a company in a financial year? And supposedly non-profit orgs have some other way of compensating their employees for this, such as the civil service, which dispenses one-month bonuses? Maybe I'm ignorant for even asking this, but do the management at corporate giants like SIA, Venture Corp, HP or Philips get paid such big bonuses?

Seems deplorable and infinitely disgusting that it takes 60,000 ordinary working folks like me and most everyone else to donate 10 bucks each, before we finish paying off Durai's salary. Then who knows how many hundreds of thousands of us must continue to pay 10 bucks each again, before we finish paying off the rest of the NKF staff's salaries and our money finally starts reaching those who really need it.

What really irked me were the comments made by a certain prominent lady NKF patron, also the wife of a certain local political luminary. In today's TNP, she was reported to have said, "What does SPH have to gain from this lawsuit?" Well excuse me, duh, NKF brought the lawsuit against SPH, not the other way round. What a freaking idiotic comment to ask. Another comment she reportedly made was something to the effect that all NKF wanted to achieve with the lawsuit was for SPH to retract certain defamatory paragraphs that gave readers erroneous impressions, and why did SPH have to blow up the whole matter into one of NKF's transparency. My gawd, that's an even more stupid comment. If NKF had done nothing wrong and was above board in all its conduct and dealings, then what did it matter even if SPH had pursued the issue of its transparency during the suit?

Madam, you're probably one of the precious few left in Singapore who continue to have steadfast trust in NKF. Most of the rest of the people must be furious, and who can blame them? First the blardy PTC approved the public transport service providers' requests to raise the fares of public transport, when the standards and quality of service had dropped so awfully that you have to wait at least 15 minutes for a feeder bus during peak hours; then the cab companies decide to raise peak hour flag-down rates from $2.40 to $4.00, when their rogue drivers cause accidents and deaths with their hooliganish and fucking dangerous driving. Then such a high-profile misuse of public donations at one of Singapore's most iconic charity organisations. Add on to this the fact that year after year we are told to bear with higher taxes and low or non-increasing salaries and bonuses because of the lousy economy. No wonder Singaporeans are getting so cynical and dispassionate about our country. I'm starting to pine after the kangaroos and didgeridoos in Oz myself, sheesh.

Face/Off the MediaCorp way

MediaCorp Press, okay, TODAY, ran an interesting article today, a departure from its usual competent but fairly run-of-the-mill editorial. Nothing intellectual, mostly good fun, but quite cute and attention-grabbing, an interesting twist on the Project Superstar saga on Channel U.

Instead of profiling the latest finalists to make it through to the next round, they zeroed in on deciphering the puzzling technical terms proffered by the judges, especially Lee Wei Song and Xu Huan Liang. Namely, 'head voice', 'chest voice' 'qi yin', 'groove' and a whole host of others. Of course, coming from a choral background though not at all distinguished myself, these terms are rather simplistic and basic but I have realised that many audience members are unaware of their meanings.

At home, my parents badger me about what the terms mean and I don't know how to explain to them, especially to a father who is so utterly tone-deaf and music-averse that back in primary school he'd rather fail music than to sing the school song in front of the teacher. At work, when my colleagues gossip about the show, their favourite topic aside from bashing a particularly showy and irritatingly 'fake'female contestant, is inadvertently the judges' comments. And sure enough, when I ask them what they didn't understand, they always say 'head voice', 'nasal' and the likes of which the judges like to bombard the contestants with.

My verdict: A fun, light-hearted read to perk up your mornings. Could have done with more examples, but excellent still! A good lesson for me in what my editor always says about putting a fresh new spin on an old topic.

Then later at night, I was watching this new Channel 8 drama starring Michelle Cheah, Joanne Peh, Huang Wen Yong, Ix Shen and others. Michelle's character was so utterly boring and 2-dimensional that you wonder if she was still under instructions to reprise her absolutely infamous and horrible Turn-Back-The-Clock Lux advertisement. Ix was cast in the same mould and that's no surprise, since his acting chops are solely in his delectable body and abs. Too bad he walks around in a dumpy polo tee and berms most of the time in the show. Seems like MediaCorp also likes to build in these slightly idiot-esque characters in their latest shows, such as Mo Jing Jing (Jeanette Aw) in He Lan Cun, then Pierre Png's character in Tong Xin Yuan and now, Ix Shen in this new show. I think it's a curse. I think they end up looking and speaking like idiots even after filming, just look at Jeanette Aw in the Soo Kee ads.

One of the things I can't stand about the show is that it later pairs Michelle with Wen Yong, brrrrrr, what a gross pairing. I mean, when he made his TV debut in Wu Suo Nan Yang way way back, Michelle was probably still in Pampers and bottle-feeding. Talk about mismatch. Yuck.

And then, the storyline seems vaguely reminiscent of Korean dramas. Girl's parents die in her childhood, girl is brought up by a foster family, brothers in the foster family fall in love with her, yadah yadah... So, the only way to get out of this is to make her fall in love with some other guy right? So in comes Tay Ping Hui. Or so I guess lah. What do I know right, maybe it turns out to be a blockbuster that will be screened in the whole of China at 3am in the mornings.

Never mind. I'm no expert on the broadcast media. Would any media research executives like to comment?

Sky high one moment, deepest of pits the next

2005-07-10T15:45:00.000+08:00

How does it feel to be London?
Soaring with beer-soaked elation after being awarded the 2012 Olympics, then brought crashing down the next day to the grim horrors of bomb blasts orchestrated by terrorist groups?

I've always been a bit of a Brit-o-phile from young.

I devoured Enid Blyton books and fed off the adventures of The Naughtiest Girl In School, wandered around the different magical worlds that arrived every so often at the top of The Magic Far-away Tree, and imagined myself embroiled in the Famous Five's numerous thrill-chasers. Through Enid Blyton's descriptions of hot buttery scones and crumpets, strawberries and clotted cream, savoury mince pies with nuggets of hard-boiled eggs and ham, I began my lasting fascination with literary food descriptions. Because of Enid Blyton, I learnt about pixies, fairies, gnomes and brownies.

One of the childhood games I remember playing was that in which two people held each other's hands high up while singing "London bridge is falling down, falling down, falling. London bridge is falling down, my fair lady", as others walked through that 'bridge' in procession. The point of the game was to move fast and avoid being the one to be right under the 'bridge' when the song ended, as the party would then be forced to do a penalty. Pointless, yeah, but from then on, 'London bridge' was stuck in my mind.

Then there was Mr Bean and his slapstick TV antics that had me in stitches week after week, before I moved on to appreciating more verbal wit than visual camp. Nevertheless, that precious little vintage Minnie came to be one of my all-time favourite cars.

In JC, I went on a Europe competition tour with the college choir. We spent a few days each in Polheim (Germany), London and Paris, and that stopover in London was like a childhood dream come true. We visited the River Thames and, naturally, got to see London Bridge. Plus other more nightmarish stuff like the Tower of London, which I'd already read about in my one-time favourite book on supernatural happenings, complete with illustrations. Perhaps it was my prior knowledge of the Tower's bloodied history, but in broad daylight and surrounded by so many people, I still felt massively chilled just looking at it, as everything that I had read rushed back to my mind in a flood of vivid details.

We braved pigeon droppings on Trafalgar Square, dined on overpriced but delicious Italian (10 freaking pounds for a pizza! okay, I know it's normal for them but it was a fortune to an 18-year-old student) in a cosy little roadside restaurant, ventured into Covent Garden where Brit couples snogged as we stuffed ourselves with hotdogs from street vendors and gawked at glitzy British High Street stores (then unavailable here).

Like many Londoners, we got around by the Tube and I finally made my acquaintance with familiar Monopoly names like "King's Cross Station" and "Liverpool Street Station". The stations were nothing to crow about; they were old, dirty and often dinghy. The trains were rather narrow and I remember thinking that our own MRT was much more comfortable. We were warned also that it could be dangerous at night and that punks and louts were common. Still, there was something vastly magical about having childhood icons come to life and I treasured the experience very much. That, or maybe I was just a sentimental idiot.

Later on, at Madame Tussaud's Wax Museum, while searching for something to buy Pangy, who had not gone on the trip with us, I chanced upon a lovely deck of playing cards which were illustrated with a mini-map of the London underground system in bright red and yellow. I thought it would be nice to get him something I myself would love to receive, and bought it for him. And now, these very stations and train lines lie in a mangled wreck of metal pieces, assorted body parts and mundane everyday artefacts that belong to the passengers.

I keep asking, Why? Take away all religious and political motivations, strip the catastrophe down to its barest, most basic digits, and what we are looking at is life, human life, each one of which is linked intimately and richly with countless others. Take away one and watch as endless waves of shock and grief ripple outwards.

It's horrible.
I would not presume, with my ultra-superficial, shortlived and limited claim on London's pulse, to mouth any platitudes of grief. I can only add on my condolences, however unhelpful, to that from the rest of the world, and hope that the perpetrators will die a most horrible death.

Bungled attempt

2005-07-05T22:00:00.000+08:00

to rehaul this dusty blog, that is.

Have incorporated the most essential features, but have not managed to get rid of that annoying little bar at the bottom which says "width="1012" height="573" border="0". Man, something must gone screwy with the darn html. No idea how to get rid of it. Sigh.

It's been a while...

2005-07-05T11:33:00.000+08:00

and I don't feel that good today.

Aside from the mgiraine, I feel uncertain and insecure about myself, my capabilities, what I want from life, and more.

Tired of earning a pittance, meeting snooty contemporaries, shamefully asking for the sky from certain 'suppliers' on the most modest of budgets because of company constraints, and more.

Fed up at desperate PR companies who call up 5 times to ask if I'm going to an event, then keep cajoling and pleading for me to go when I say I can only stay for a while as I have another event to attend, because they're "scared that nobody'll be around to finish the lunch."

But never mind. Did some research for an upcoming article and found that sometimes when people feel unhappy or superficially depressed, they make a list of the things that make them happy. And running through that list brings to mind fond memories and delightful associations, thereby righting their foul moods. So here goes:

My favourite things

1. Fun dinner with friends, where we can be our most unglamorous selves and yet have the most fun

2. A nice evening in with family, exchanging family gossip and childhood escapades over Mum's dishes

3. After-meal dessert of durian, mango, chendol and some nice cheescake

4. Playing Ninja Turtle on PS2 with boyfriend

5. Boyfriend teaching me to play various self-invented card games

6. A well-written article

7. Going to Holland Village for lunch and eating fried fish bee hoon

8. Many new books lying before me waiting to be read

9. Re-reading a favourite book, like Goblet of Fire

10. Renting a DVD to watch together with the boyfriend on his Powerbook

11. Snapping up a great new book/top/skirt/pant/belt/scarf/jacket. Better still if at rock-bottom prices

12. Getting new freelance assignments as it's an external affirmation of my abilities, hopefully, and not because I'm cheap

13. An exhilirating and scenic run around the reservoir, with an endorphine rush thereafter. Though I'm fully aware most people hate running

14. A fantastic meal the likes of kway chup near Pangy's place (but which now seems to be under reconstruction), steak at Angus House, Italian at Spizzico, Japanese at Japanese Dining Sun and Megumi, beef noodles and BBQ chicken at the coffeeshop near my house, dim sum buffet at Tung Lok Seafood Gallery at East Coast, durian pengat at Merchant Court's Ellenborough Market, Penang fried kway teow in Malaysia, BBQ sambal seafood at Circuit Road Food Centre, and many others. Yummy...

15. Walking along the beach when it's nicely windy yet slightly sunny, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and swaying palm trees. Can almost make believe you're on vacation. Thrown in a bicycle, a pond, and some bread to feed the fish in the pond and voila! Heaven, it is...

16. The joy of a newly cleaned-up and de-cluttered room/cupboard/wardrobe/table, although with me, the state of cleanliness never lasts long

17. Having friends over to stay the night, or everyone congregating at a chalet or someone else's house, and passing time playing Bluff and assorted lame games

18. The thrill of doing mass dance year after year despite having left college for so many years. Sounds a tad cryptic, this, hmm..

19. Boyfriend, plain and simple. Though he makes me so mad at times though..

Okay, I'm getting hungry. But 19 things that make me happy ain't too bad for a start.
What makes you happy?

Late But No Matter

2005-05-22T15:10:00.000+08:00

This is embarassing but the first Star Wars movie I watched was Episode II: Attack Of The Clones, in 2002 at the boyfriend's incessant begging and pleading. Not that he was a skirt-fearing wimp or I a masocistic domineering bitch, but I simply had zero prior interest in SW. I'm still uncertain as to how he managed to persuade me to abandon my total apathy, but I remember emerging from that movie a convert.

Wooden Christensen didn't turn me on at all but Portman was gorgeous; Ewan MacGregor as suave Jedi Master Obi-Wan haunted my dreams for days on end and I thought Yoda was the cutest thing ever (until this past week when I caught the little Jedis, okay okay Younglings, in Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith).

I have always had a thing for movies set in a time and world totally different from ours, entirely new universes conceived by the incomparably fertile and rich imaginations of creative others. The earlier SW trilogy featured sets that were frigging advanced for their time (the 1970s and 80s). Heck, the sleek Star Destroyer and futuristic space battle scenes impressed me when I watched Episodes V and VI for the first time yesterday, and I have grown up in an age of immense technological revolutions after all. The planes and shuttles would not have fared too shabbily in modern productions, at least to my not-so-critical eye.

However, the monsters, like Jabba the Hutt and that white Yeti-like beast that attacked Luke Skywalker at the beginning of V, were a pain to watch. They looked like big ugly Muppets manipulated by strings, so awkward and jerky were their movements. I fully understand why THE MAN George Lucas spoke of technology finally enabling him to fulfil his vision of SW, when comparing the filming of Episodes I, II and III with that of IV, V and VI. Yet this is perhaps one reason why the prequel trilogy came in for much criticism when its predecessor opened to much acclaim; technology in the prequel was so advanced and seamless that the below-par character development became painfully obvious. Maybe Jar Jar Binks had a part to play too; it seems like he is hated fervently by both SW fans and critics.

I have yet to watch Episode I: The Phantom Menace, but so far the best installment in my opinion is Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back. It has the most action and Harrison Ford is such a wise-cracker and manages to sport a carefree yet masculine swagger as Han Solo that he reminds me somewhat of MacGregor as Obi-Wan. Of course, there's also my favourite Yoda who's so funny as he masquerades as a cranky old green elfin swamp thing to test Luke and fights with R2-D2. I sulked and almost cried when he died in Episode VI and became one with the Force like Obi-Wan before him. Boyfriend had to coax me with chocolate at that point.

And so that ends the last of those trilogies that had greatly enthralled movie-goers these past years and gotten us all tingling with anticipation year after year for each continuation. First was The Matrix which ended with Revolutions, then Lord Of The Rings came full circle with The Return Of The King. Now, Star Wars, which continues to capture the imagination of countless millions of new viewers the world over, rounds off with us finally knowing why and how the angelic Anakin Skywalker turned to the Dark Side to become Lord Vader.

Like what I lamented after watching LOTR: Return Of The King, the boyfriend moaned after Revenge Of The Sith, "No more Star Wars, so sad." Agree sadly, I must.

Lost And Not Found

2005-05-08T22:17:00.000+08:00

Phone is still unrecovered, and in the meantime, have gotten a new phone and retained the old number. Whoever's kind and free enough to do so, do sms or email me your numbers and that of other friends. Thanks!

Lost And Not Found

2005-05-08T22:01:00.000+08:00

As my mobile and trusty old SIM card remains unrecovered, I have decided that both items are as good as dead and I should just go about getting myself a new phone. With the boyfriend in tow, I set off to land myself a SE K700i.

Yes, I know that in the fickle world of mobile communication devices, the months-old K700i model is considered somewhat passe and lacklustre beside its newer and swankier 3G cousins. But I'm not one to mind owning a not-quite-advanced gadget, as my former purchase of the now-unrecovered, really basic Nokia 3120 will prove, and I suspect I'll be pretty happy with this one for quite some time.

Already, in relativity to trends at the time of ownership, this must be the most advanced phone I've ever owned. Furthermore, financial circumstances dictate certain frugal measures and so, having to buy at non-contract prices, I simply cannot bring myself to purchase the most desirable Motorola V3.

Thankfully the boyfriend was around to intimidate sly salesgirls into giving better deals; I'll never have the patience to haggle and uncover details of fine print and stuff on my own. Whatever will I do without him?

A friend is facing some sort of career crisis, but I'm confident she'll keep her head above water in the same way she has weathered other storms in her life thus far. Ganbatte!

Feeling Lost

2005-05-05T23:19:00.000+08:00

Without my mobile, that is. I surmise that the unfortunate occurrence must have taken place on board the cab I took to Holland V while on business, so to speak. Boo Hoo, I feel blardy lost without it. Anyone picked up a light blue Nokia 3120 in an SMRT cab this afternoon (Thursday, 5 May 2005) about 12.30pm onwards? If you did, please contact me...please please please, it's such a horrible feeling; as if I've been cut off from the world.

In other news, Kingdom of Heaven is really an Orlando Bloom vehicle that more than vaguely reminds one of another Bloom vehicle, LOTR. The Holy City of Jerusalem looks like a replica of Gondor (although as Masscular says, siege fortresses all look alike); the siege resembles that at Helm's Deep; the undulating and massive Muslim army seems borrowed from LOTR's uruk-hai army; Bloom seems to have transplanted Vitto Morgensen's "Aragorn" hairstyle for his own; and certain blonde warriors look so much like Boromir.

Not too stirring, I admit; Gladiator was certainly much more arousing, I mean, rousing. Then again, Bloom looked really handsome! And he played a more heroic character in Kingdom than his wimpy Paris in Troy. But okay, I admit that he still looks way too beautiful and refined to convincingly portray a rugged, reluctant hero. Salahaddin is way cool though! He reminded me of Jaffah from Aladdin!

Errm, this is a damn lousy movie review, I think I shall leave it to others to pick apart its cultural and artistic merits.

I'm looking forward to my Pattaya hotel with its personal balcony overlooking the swimming pool. Or is it the sea? Hmmm, doesn't matter, it'll be quite nice I'm sure, though nowhere as swanky as Yann's Wynner IR in Las Vegas.

Kuishinbo must be compacting my brain cells; I'm not making much sense. I think I shall go to bed and mourn the loss of my darling mobile. Actually it's not really the phone I'm worried about; it's my SIM card. Sigh, hate having to re-compile all my contacts...

Out Of Place Newbie

2005-04-22T13:13:00.000+08:00

You know that you're from a different world or generation than the other reporters you meet at press events because they all group together talking about things you have to process three times before you finally believe they're actually serious about it.

There I was, at an event in a swanky hotel with a waterfall awaiting the launch of new formulations of an internal skincare product, when I realised that the other occupants at my table were talking very enthusiastically about "...injections...", "...downtime...", "...plastic...", "...facelifts..." etc. They must have gone on for about fifteen minutes before the emcee asked everyone nicely to please switch their phones to silent mode because the pretty manager was going to start her presentation soon. Okay, they ceased their conversation and listened rather attentively.

Then at the end of the whole event when we all proceeded to partake of the buffet lunch (the mushroom salad was fantastic, yuummmy), they picked up where they had left off.

"Oh you know ah, after my Botox, I felt so stiff and unnatural leh. Cannot make BIG expressions you know, in case wrinkles form!"

"Wah, IS IT? But you look okay leh, not unnatural what!"

"Yah lor, lucky ah. You know ah, I don't dare to keep going for these operations leh. I got friends of friends ah, who got addicted after the first few times. I'm so scared of being like them, wait feel very lousy about yourself!"

And so they went, on and on about plastic surgery procedures.

Errrr, okay. I cannot comment cos I have no money to buy a bottle of La Mer, let alone pay for periodic Botox. They must be very rich indeed, and why shouldn't they be since "Ass Pee Age" is now charging even their print subscribers to access their online edition? Oh I forgot, they are making a loss because they are charging their print subscribers only half price. Poor Ass Pee Age...

Speaking of them, there's something wrong with some of the reporters they hire. Which part of "Please turn your mobiles to silent mode" do they not understand? No less then four mobiles went off during the entire event, and each of them went off more than twice. One idiot let her phone ring four times from a call, and three times for an sms.

Asses...

I Miss...

2005-04-19T13:59:00.000+08:00

Ja*ne and Cha*is...

I miss those times when the three of us traipsed around Raffles Place during lunchtime looking for fantastic food to fill Cha*is's three stomachs with.

I remember we always went to the prawn noodles restaurant in Far East Square, the beef noodles place also in Far East Square, our favourite roast meats stall and fish bee hoon stall in Golden Shoe, scrumptious Fig & Olive sandwiches, deliciously crispy yet chewy pancakes and savoury prawn noodles in Arcade etc.

Then over lunch, we would bitch about uncle S*Y and his numerous inconsiderate and super-kiasu antics. Or say stupid things in general. After that, we walk around Raffles Place for a bit of shopping. Cha*is was always fascinated by toiletries and perfumes, I get sidetracked by clothes, shoes, and bags, and Ja*ne is like a mix of us both.

Then back at work, we always eavesdrop on Le*ngva's phone conversations, stifle our giggles whenever she eats a telemarketer for lunch, and roll our eyes at the antics of yet another clown in the marcomms dept. This clown can't transfer files from location to location without taking at least five minutes, hee.

I don't think I'll ever be able to get used to the firm culture of endless audit paper trails even for non-audit work, nor the practice of having to wait a week to get clearance for changing even a comma or period. But I do wish I was still working with them...

Yes To Casino

2005-04-18T16:16:00.000+08:00

Like there was ever any doubt that the casino would not go ahead.

The only slightly surprising thing is that they've already said 'Yes' to two casino plans--one at Marina Bayfront and the other at Sentosa.

I thought the rule of the PAP game was always to take changes one step at a time, so as "not to upset the status quo"? I guess when it comes to government revenue, big bucks is never enough. I wonder what kind of 'social safeguards' they will put in place.

Weirdly In Sync

2005-04-08T21:59:00.000+08:00

Some girls spend a lot of time with each other and their period cycles
start syncing with each other's.

Tooch and I, on the other hand, start to experience the same cravings. It
used to be char kway teow from siglap's soy eu tua, hong shao rou mian from
NTU's canteen A, and countless others. Most recently, it's the Levi's
Lady's Style.

I had decided to buy the Lady's Style over the past weekend as the range
was really gorgeous. So I called tooch yesterday morning to ask if she
wanted to go with me to buy the jeans together at the end of the month as
she was also a fan. And she went: "Oh, I bought already!" And I found
out later that she had bought hers just this Monday. To sidetrack a bit, she
scared me by saying that I shouldn't wait till end of april to buy it as
they run out very fast. So yesterday I hurriedly grabbed my pair and now
I'm a blissful but very very broke woman.

What can I say, besides that I'm glad we don't go for the same men?

Scintillating April Fool 05

2005-04-02T14:34:00.000+08:00

Scintillating sight 1: Chocolate-coated bananas at Swensen's.

Scintillating sight 2: Dr Tan's, ahem, assets on proud display. All you need is a set of bow and arrows to practise archery.

Scintillating sight 3: The Nation 05 party comes early to Breko Cafe, with two inebriated patrons losing themselves in drunken passion. Balaji would so so so frown on this.

Cinema Fee Hikes

2005-03-31T21:23:00.000+08:00

Hell, from1 May 2005, going to the movies is gonna gouge a deeper hole in all our wallets.

Shaw, Eng Wah, and Golden Village cinemas will raise weekday ticket prices by 50 cents and weekend prices by $1. This means a future price range of between $6.50 and $9.50.

Kenneth Tan, managing director of GV, says that while GST rates have gone up twice in the past three years (incidentally, he glosses over the increase of a mere 1 percent each time), ticket prices have remained unchanged.

Okay, so now the bloodsucker assholes implement a one-time increase of between 8.333 percent and 11.764 percent, supposedly to cover the increasing "utility costs for exhibitors". Does that refer to those huge stand-up posters and gimmicky exhibits like a giant blown-up Shrek for example? If so, why isn't Cathay increasing prices since they seem to have the best and largest collection of such exhibits? Even the larger GVs like Plaza Sing don't seem to have as many exhibits. Seems like a bleddy loopy excuse if you ask me.

Looks like we've gotta cut down on weekend movie outings after chorale. Then again, we don't seem to be watching that many movies now compared to pigging out. I'm just waiting for the day to come when buying a DVD becomes cheaper and more value for money.

Or when they increase prices of snack items by 10 percent, in a socially responsible bid to "deter our valued customers from excessively consuming potentially fattening and harmful processed snacks". Oh, and if they happen to double their profits in doing so, all the better because what can be better than a win-win, right?

What's On Jimmy's Wish List?

2005-03-28T20:17:00.000+08:00

Saw this in the Apple store at Wheelock Place last Friday and couldn't resist. So Jimmy, is this beautiful machine reserved under your name or is it another jimmy?

Boh-liao Photos

2005-03-28T19:46:00.000+08:00

First up, a close-up of the pretty rosette and ribbon that adorned the wedding favour chocolate box at Elizabeth's Sheraton Towers wedding. Incidentally, Mandy loved the rosette and Yann suggested she attach it to her bra. Methinks it may come in useful for her potential matrimonial adventures into NUS's medical library, eh Mandy?

Next up, in response to criticism from nosy quarters that my blog is devoid of photographs, I shall be narcissistic and post a picture of the boyfriend and myself, taken also at Elizabeth's wedding. Yes yes, my head is bigger than his and my face is also oilier and shinier. Can I help it if he's slimmer and has better skin, sobz?

Premature

2005-03-28T00:46:00.000+08:00

The Sunday Times columnist Catherine Lim (not the author) today mused about the tussle in US over severely brain-damaged Theresa Marie Schiavo. Her husband had succeeded in a bid to remove her feeding tube, insisting that she would not have wanted to be kept alive like that. Meanwhile, her immediate family insisted too that there was still hope for her as she exhibited signs of consciousness in that she smiled and responded to their attention. Both camps had been battling each other for years.

I can only imagine the pain gnawing away at her parents and siblings, watching their beloved daughter and sister waste away bit by bit over the years, going to bed each night filled with hope that the next day would bring good tidings, and waking up every day to the tormenting realisation that for today, hope was dead. And with that insight, I'm sure their hearts died a little too.

I can't comment on her husband Michael Schiavo though. Accusations of him lusting after insurance payouts aside, I can't really pass a judgement on a man who apparently had already embroiled himself in affairs with two women within three years of his wife's collapse. Rationally and intellectually, I can understand the loneliness and weakness of the flesh that comes with an enforced celibacy, but really, it's not surprising that people have questioned how devoted can such a man be.

I would never want my loved ones to come to blows in the event that I should end up in a persistent vegetative state with little hope of awakening. It may seem morbid, but I have given some thought to establishing a living will soon, perhaps after marriage. God forbid that my husband and parents will be slugging it out in court over whether or not to pull the plug on me. More importantly, I think that personally I would rather be allowed to go early, with dignity and no extra cost to my loved ones even though I know they would fight tooth and nail for my life with the merest glimmer of hope.

It's such a small world, because later on in her article, Lim goes on to talk about how the whole saga got her thinking about the three deaths she has encountered in this past one month. And one of them, according to her, was the death of a premature baby who had been in the ICU for seven months. Baby Hannah. And this was like a small lightning shock for me, because how many Baby Hannahs are there in Singapore who are premature, had been in the ICU for seven months, and had just passed away in the previous month?

Baby Hannah was my colleague's, let's call her L, daughter. Born exactly three months premature, she was a teeny wee bundle at birth. With her lungs and eyes not developed fully then, doctors predicted that Baby Hannah was most likely to be almost completely blind in future. In fact, L told me before that Baby Hannah was almost given up upon at one time, but being the feisty little fighter that she was, she clawed her way back.

When I joined the company, she had already been in hospital for three months. Pinned up on the walls of L's cubicle were printouts of Baby Hannah, tubes and all criss-crossing her tiny body. When L showed us albums with Hannah's pictures, it was all we could do not to cry, because in that album too were pictures of many other ICU babies, too heartbreaking to express in words. But I never once saw or heard L lose heart, or voice any bitterness.

When she showed us pictures, it was always with a fond smile while we struggled to find appropriate platitudes. L shuttled between numerous clients' offices everyday, and still managed to find time to run to the hospital twice ever day to be with Baby Hannah and hold her and tell her she's loved. This was really important to her as she told me before how sad it was because there was an ICU baby boy with cerebral palsy who didn't seem to have any visitors, not even his parents. At work, in the office, she was upbeat and unfailingly cheerful to the extent that it was only about a month into my work that I found out she had a very sick baby daughter. Through it all, she never once complained about the burden she and her husband had to bear; in fact, they even bought a bigger new car to ferry Baby Hannah around in comfort once she could be discharged from hospital.

On chu san of CNY this year, I found myself with ony three other souls in office, the rest having taken leave. One of them was L, and being bored and lazy with noone around, I chatted with her and found that Baby Hannah was not doing so well lately. She had developed some pressure problems in her organs and, as I understood it, was not coping well since her lungs were already very weak. And about one or two weeks after that, we received an email message in the morning from the boss that started thus: "I regret to have to inform you colleagues that Baby Hannah has gone home to be with the Lord...".

I remember that day well, because it was the day of Chorale's Lei Yu performance. Seven months in the ICU. I wanted so much to go to the wake, but couldn't.

It's been about a month after Baby Hannah passed away and I think, after reading what Lim wrote, that it's true that Hannah's life, though short, had been extraordinarily blessed. She had devoted parents who loved her and did their best for her, and she had in return blessed them with the discovery of a strength and love from deep within that they had perhaps never realised themselves capable of before.

It is said that Jesus loves the little children, and I am sure that Baby Hannah is one of the blessed and loved. L says that she'll take a long time to recover, but is hoping to have kids again. I hope and pray that her next pregnancy will be easier and that Baby Hannah will bless her mother with another child. God Bless.

Decisions, Decisions

2005-03-17T10:15:00.000+08:00

I can't bleddy decide which I hate more.

Having painstakingly written stories I'm proud of cancelled or shortened just because the weeklies beat us to a similar angle, or because sales keep coming in with weirdly-sized ads,

or,

Incompetent, cheapskate, irritating, pesky, two-faced, and toadish PR people who treat you like shit but fawn over your editor, then in the same breath wonder why your publication isn't giving coverage to the same people esteemed media like ST and BT are interviewing. Fark off, bitch...

or,

Cheapo clients who demand coverage when all they have for us in return is a teeny one-eight page classified. Either that or they want their products or brands to be weaved into my stories. Assholes...

Object Of Desire

2005-03-13T22:26:00.000+08:00

I've never been a fan of that stuffy pantheon of luxury goods Louis Vuitton, having found their bags boring, stuffy, and lacking in fun.

Recently however, their partnerships with japanese contemporary art visionary Takashi Murakami have yielded numerous temptations yummy enough for me to consider conversion.

Presenting!!!

The Cherry Blossom Monogram series.

The Eye Dare You LV.

And, the Multicolore LV.

Aren't they loads of fun? I think these are already a few seasons old, and as for exactly how old, I couldn't begin to say since I'm no fashionista and am unlikely to ever be one. Anyway, I liked the Eye Dare You most since it's so bright and colourful and cheery. But then I still hesitated to consider myself a fan since I was never seriously tempted enough to even get a Grade AAA Korean replica.

Until I chanced upon Murakami-Vuitton's latest-Monogram Cerises. Darned, I am so so so hooked. Check them out.

So cute and round!

And number one on my current wishlist. So elegant and glamourous!

Cherries are so 50s chic and glamour, and they add so much fun, colour, and vibrance to the staid brown lines of LV's monograms. Oh no, I so so so want to get my hands on the cherry granny!!! Ebay and other auction sites haven't really gotten in on the action as yet, but I'm counting on the trusty pirates to deliver the goods really soon. Failing which, perhaps the pasar malams of KL and BKK will turn up some Grade AAAs too, judging by the thousands of Eye Dare You models I saw a few months back.

ARGGGHHHHHH!!! I wish my surname was Melwani and I am a socialite who collects LVs like the real me withdraws money from an ATM. Why can't I be born rich???

I Have A New Toy!

2005-03-13T13:33:00.000+08:00

And it goes by the name of the Nikon Coolpix 5900, a nifty little silver package that sadly is equipped with merely three times optical zoom. Would have loved one like yannism's Panasonic with a droolworthy 12 times optical zoom and damn pro-looking lenses, but it would have been a waste since I'm not really one for photography.

From now on, Fangorn, you can shut your big trap and quit going on and on about my ancient, clunky Minolta with its humongous external battery pack. Be nice and you may even get to preview the pics.

I never meant to leave a friend out when I met up with another friend lately. Like I said, we worked across the road from each other (he was doing his internship at a company across the road from mine) and from the start I had always wanted to give him a welcome lunch. But he's always out with his colleagues during lunch so we thought we'd just do dinner instead. Ah well, I don't know what to say that doesn't sound lame so forget it.

I'm really happy for fur that she'll be returning to school soon to start on her teaching course. Many people turn to teaching because it's relatively well-paying and provides an iron rice-bowl. But fur has always had teaching in her long-term plans and I can really see her sweet, caring, and nurturing person hard at work in our institutions moulding the minds and characters of our, errrr, "future generation of leaders".

Aside. Argh, how I hate these overused platitudes. Why can't we ever think of anyone or anything in non-utilitarian terms? Can a parent not desire to educate his or her child for the simple reason that he/she wants to empower the child with knowledge, intellect, and skills so that the child can be a complete, thinking person? I trust fur not to subscribe to such rubbish.

Anyway, it takes much courage to junk one's comfort zone, though the question remains as to whether fur's old place could be rightly considered comfortable. I even wrote a trite crappy short story on the same topic for the short story GE I took in our last semester in school.

Like last year when I temped at my former internship company after graduation. I liked the CBD area and enjoyed the company of my colleagues (those around my age chummed together and the older ones indulged us like they would their daughters). I settled in the routine after a while and slacked off in my search for a job of my own. Even as I moaned about finding it hard to land a job, I was too comfortable where I was to be more pro-active and aggressive about marketing myself, either cold or in response to recruit ads. As it neared the psychological barrier of six months (from graduation), I started to panic and that was when I picked up my pace.

Fur's not the only one to be quitting her job. ~Y~ has also done so, though I don't really know what are her plans. I don't know how far I can go in my current job, even though I enjoy what I'm doing. But should the time come when I feel a need to move on to something different or if my pay is way below par with my contributions, I hope that I will be able to throw off the shackles. For if I can't even find the courage to do that at a time when I have so little burdens and obligations, how am I going to do so when I get married and have kids?

On a different note, sometimes I am amazed at the most inane and stupid things the Government can come up with. Most recently, it was senior minister of state for Health Dr Balaji's suggestion that the spike in new HIV infections could be attributed to homosexual parties. I mean, the parties take place once or twice a year and he chooses to blame that instead of fingering the 24-hour activities in red-light districts? Or effing dirty ah-peks who go to Batam and wherever else for nubile young things?

Previously, acting minister for youth, community and sports also warned that bar-top dancing can bring about social instability. I Googled this ludicrous idea and found this gem on TalkingCock.com. It is my humble opinion that the contributors to TalkingCock are total geniuses. Who says our smartest people have all become 'quitters' and migrated overseas, or are to be found only in Parliament?

Bar Top Dance Leads to Riots, Collapse of Nation
Date: Sunday, October 06, 2002
Topic: Local News

Minister for National Development Vivian Balakrishnan's warning last week on the price of liberty proved prescient when a bar top dance led to the collapse of the nation.
The devastating chain of events began when a Miss Zhao Yangren, 22, leaped onto the bar counter at popular nightspot The Devil's Butt at Orchard Porridge Hotel.

Wearing clothing that eyewitnesses consistently described as "like dental floss, only thinner", Miss Zhao immediately attracted the attention of all the expatriate men in the room.

Apparently, most local men simply ignored her. Said Mr. Quah Kao Hsien, 28, "See what? It was just the usual Coyote Ugly routine. Some more she look like ugly coyote. If ang mor like, then let them take, lah."

To the pulsating beats of the music, Miss Zhao then allegedly engaged in a series of calisthenics which involved the vigourous quivering of her gluteus maximus muscles.

An argument rapidly broke out between the expats, over whether her gluteals should be properly described as her "bon bon", or her "booty".

According to a Mr. Fidel Castrato from Puerto Rico (currently playing for the Bukit Gorblok Bodohs FC), "bon bon" is more accurate, as the repetition better represents the dual buttocks, and besides, that was what Ricky Martin called them.

However, Master Sergeant Redd Neckk, on shore leave from the USS Warmonger presently docked in Sembawang, said that "booty" was preferable, as it alluded to Miss Zhao's hidden treasures, and besides, Ricky Martin was a wussy.

This immediately led to a fist fight amongst the expats, which soon embroiled locals in it too. Apparently, this happened when the fight caused a lot of locals to spill their beer.

"Na beh," spat Mr. Lim Chuay Chiew. "Alcohol here so bleddy espensive and the chao ang mor make us spill! Of course we hoot them, lah!"

Mr. Lim also added, "Anyway, this is Singapore, so her kachng should be called, um, 'kachng', lor."

The fight became truly explosive when the police arrived to arrest Miss Zhao. She protested, "But bar top dancing now allowed, what!"

Inspector Chin Tua Kow, however, informed her that by her gyrations, she had overstepped the O.B. markers. Her performance, she was told, was now beyond a "bar top" dance - it was now classified as a "buttocks" dance, an offence under the Penile Code (Cap. 666) punishable by spanking and a fine.

When Miss Zhao said that it was unfair to prosecute her for contravening an OB marker whose boundaries are unknown, the policemen simply burst into laughter.

Fuelled by alcohol, the mob stopped fighting amongst themselves and turned their attention to the police, and vented their anger at what some of them claimed was unjust treatment of Miss Zhao.

Some of the men started stomping on the roofs of cars, shouting, "No bar top dancing? Then arrest us for car top dancing, lah!"

Some women even got in the act by removing their brassieres and trampling on them. "What about bra top dancing? Lai, lah! Scared what?"

The riot police had now arrived, and had intended to use a water cannon to quell the crowd. However, HQ apparently radioed to deny them use of the water cannon as Singapore had to conserve resources to make Newater.

Unable to deal with the growing mob, the SAF had to be roped in. NSF troops were sent in, which proved to be a huge mistake. On being briefed that the incident had arisen from a sensual dance, the deprived teenage soldiers' hormones proved stronger than the threat of court martial, and they all defected to the rabble instead, in the hope of seeing repeat performances. Said Lance Corporal Khee Choe Pheng, "Ho say, ah! Who needs the cheapo tigershow at Kanchanaburi?"

By now, news of the small rebellion had spread to the rest of the island, especially the heartland.

Thousands of senior male citizens, on hearing that people were shaking their butts and trampling their brassieres in Orchard Road, promptly thronged the buses and MRTs, causing a total public transport shutdown.

Meanwhile, some opportunists had taken advantage of the confusion to start looting some stores, which somehow led to a rumour that the Great Singapore Sale had organized an impromptu shopping marathon. Soon, hundreds of thousands of screaming women citizens began to rampage through shops, engaging in bloody cat fights over the best bargains.

The Gahmen's attempts to use the media to restore calm failed, because all the Ah Liens in Mediacorp, constituting 92.8% of their workforce, were down in Orchard Road fighting. Similar messages broadcast over MediaWorks went unheeded, because no one watches them anyway.

The cabinet were being advised to leave the island for their safety, but were thrown into a moral dilemma as to whether they would thus be considered "quitters". Eventually, they decided that they would not be "quitting", they would just be "taking leave".

As the nation spiraled into anarchy and chaos, Dr. Vivian Balakrishnan was found kneeling in the lobby of the Ministry of National Development, surrounded by commando bodyguards, sobbing, "I told them! I told them it would happen, but would they believe me? Noooo!"

TalkingCock.com will bring you more news on the rapidly deteriorating situation in the once orderly country of Singapore, after our reporters join the looters at Best Denki and Harvey Norman.

Source: the very venerable, irreverent, and clever TalkingCock.com

Friends Of Old

2005-03-10T22:55:00.000+08:00

Tis a week for meeting people I've known for years but haven't been in touch with for some time.

First up was bumping into Zijia from CS at Japanese Dining Sun, a new Japanese restaurant at CHIJMES that has really nice decor, food (especially the tofu cheese cake and sukiyaki!!!), and ambience. We were both there for food-tasting. As there were actually four slots that the media could pick from, it was really coincidental that we both chose the same slot. We stuck together, united in the relief that for once we newbie reporters had a familiar face around at an event and weren't pretending to read the press release for the seventh time or replying mobile messages. The only other time I felt so excited at an event was at the Singapore Heart Foundation press conference for their fund-raising event, where I met Jeanine and Hwee Leng. Anyway, both of us chatted with the cute captain, who was rather stiff and formal at first but soon loosened up and rubbished around with us. Then both of us took eons to decide what to order from the menu, dithering over whether or not to order the lobster sashimi (priced at $95). Throughout the lunch, ZJ told everyone that both of us went way back to our first day of orientation in the same OG.

That very same evening, I was scheduled to meet the bloggies for our usual bimbo evening. Bloggies are uni friends, the only really good uni friends I have, may I add. How sad right. Dinner was at Magic Wok, around a too-big table where I had trouble following the conversation. Then we moved on to Coffee Club at Raffles City, where noone wanted to have dessert with me. Sigh, and then we took our usual unglam photos with topo's camera. Cue oily faces, narcissistic self-portraits and ugly poses. At one point, we wondered how come we weren't like one of those groups of yuppie women who sat poised and pretty, coolly sipping at a fancy drink and chatting sophisticatedly to one another. For sure you don't hear hysterical roars of laughter or giggles out of them. But then, we had fun and always have! Nothing gets better than that.

Day after. Met up with Pamela from CS at her client's event at chi-chi Whitebait & Kale @ Camden Medical Centre. The place's really damn white lah! But anyway, I was late by twenty minutes yet ended up the earliest there. Tells you all you need to know about our country's beauty writers eh. Pam's really steady at her work, I must say. She's enlightened, so to speak, and very friendly and informative without being pushy. If I ever intended to switch to PR, which was what I was initially trained for, I would want to be a PR person like her.

After the very white Whitebait do, I left to meet caustic Jianhao for dinner, or JH for short. Now, JH and I go way back to DHS, even if I didn't know he existed then while he said he knew of me but didn't know me. We met at Heeren and were just walking around when we bumped into Mr Teo, our civics tutor during our time in the "only college by the sea". He was sitting around in a boutique, comatose while waiting for his wife to finish plundering and pillaging the racks. The three of us talked for about twenty minutes, and the conversation turned to the subject of my future marriage. Mr Teo demanded to be invited to my wedding, and if not, he would personally turn up at XH's house to pummel him into insensibility. Anyway, after we left him, JH and I had Korean and thereafter walked around aimlessly chatting. Funny thing about JH and me is that we never seem to run out of things to talk about, even though I can count on one hand the number of times we've met up like this in the past four or five years after leaving college. Then again, the bulk of our conversations always end up with him laughing at me about something, so I'm not really sure if you can call that talk. Haha...

That kind of sums up my experiences with old friends this week. It's been quite a hectic week; been having events every day. Sometimes that's really wonderful, but on days when I need to catch up with actual writing, I wish we had more staff so that I wouldn't have to go out. Oh well, no point lusting after such luxuries. After all, I do enjoy all the freebies and education.

Nostalgia

2005-03-06T21:56:00.000+08:00

I caught a programme this afternoon on Channel 8 which left me nursing a huge wave of nostalgia for the glory days of drama serial theme songs.

In a nutshell, the programme was a journey through the present MediaCorp's drama serial history, beginning with the very earliest blockbuster 雾锁南洋 starring Huang Wen Yong and Xiang Yun. It focused on how drama theme songs of the past were customised to the contents and storyline of the shows to make it as realistic and memorable as possible.

The producers of 雾锁南洋 had gone all out to make it as outstanding as possible, and the theme song wasn't spared. They apparently held a competition inviting people to send in their own original compositions that would capture the essence of the serial-which was to detail the hardships and indomitable spirit of the immigrants who landed on our shores and made good. I had heard a lot about the show despite it having aired way back when I was a kid of three (it aired in 1984), and was really interested to hear the chosen composition. As I would expect, it sounded vaguely 'communist' (the term is bandied around rather loosely these days) with its stirring majestic 'ching chong' chords, operatic singer, and soulful lyrics. IMHO it sounded rather cheesy and contrived in my living room, but somehow it seemed to convey the determination, strength of will, and almost overwhelmingly despairing circumstances I imagined my own ancestors would have faced. In any case, the 1980s were still a period of economic growth and nation building, and I believe the drama and its theme song would have greatly resonated with the adults then.

Next came songs and shows that I remember even now, even though it took the act of listening to the theme songs to dredge up the memories. I even remember how to sing the songs. Next up was serial 芝麻绿豆 and its theme song 小人物的心声 . Lyrics as follows:

也许我一个人

不能成就一番大事业

让我努力贡献一份微薄的力量

也许我自己

不能发出万丈光和亮

但我能为斗室带来足够的光芒

我从来就不在乎

自己不是个大人物

因为平凡也是一种幸福

看到名人总是忙忙碌碌

我的时间于我控制

平凡日子一样会充实。

Other memorable songs included Kopi-O from a serial of the same name 咖啡乌 (which means kopi-o), sung by 巫启贤. Who can forget the hearty shouts of "kopi-o、kopi-o，喝一杯浓浓的kopi-o；kopi-o、kopi-o，把不愉快的事情都遗忘…”? I think both Kopi-O and 小人物的心声 successfully captured the colourful dalily lives of so-called heartlander Singaporeans like you and me; our dreams, struggles, relationships, and routines.

No less outstanding were 城里的月光 from豆腐街, performed quite excellently by Mavis Hee with her quietly intimate and pensive voice, and 走出去就有路 from 出路, by the band Power Station 动力火车. These two serials were set in the war-time periods, I think, and were very nicely complemented by their respective themes. Instead of the blaringly loud, almost ostentatiously patriotic songs like that for the pioneering 雾锁南洋, it seems that over the years theme songs have evolved to sound more pensive, introspective, and close to the heart.

While watching this excellent documentary, I found myself able to sing along to all the songs, and sing along I certainly did. I have always appreciated beautiful themes to the movies I watch, such as May It Be for Fellowship of the Ring, but all these years gems were to be found in my own country and I had been blithely ignorant of them the whole time. It set me lamenting the state of things now, with shallow, inane cookie-cutter songs carelessly plonked into just any drama serial. Perhaps I watch much less television nowadays compared to in my teens, but I seriously can't think of any drama theme song in recent years which touched me and embraced me to the show.

Is it that the production process had changed over the years, such that timely completion for the sake of maximum productivity was of utmost importance? Or could it be that it made no economic sense to compose just one great song for merely one local drama serial? After all, customising the song to our local shows necessarily demands the expectation that the song may be localised, and hence of little appeal beyond Singapore shores. Also, music genres have exploded and it is so so so easy to find a song to suit any theme with just five minutes of Google. Or is it that we're producing less niche shows, with unique selling points? Such that there is absolutely no need to customise the song to the serial. Maybe, just maybe, there's no demand for such songs anymore because teenagers, who I presume watch the most television, would be most receptive to pop songs. Note that I am making a whole lot of assumptions here and that this is purely my own hypothesis.

In any case, I mourn the dearth of such songs of identity, so to speak, and I would consider them to be as much a part of our socio-cultural-national fabric as the Esplanade, the National Day Parade, National Service, the iconic HDB block, and the national flag. I wish that many people other than myself had also caught the show and likewise experienced a sweetly nostalgic hour.

Lastly, my sincerest congratulations to The Moving Visuals company who produced the documentary. While it wasn't the sleekest of works, nor the most sophisticated and impressive of effects, sound or otherwise, it was a production that spoke to me where it mattered most.

Dreams

2005-02-27T16:12:00.000+08:00

I swear, somewhere in Elfmaid's computer engineering shell lurks the soul of a poet or a gifted writer. "Selling my time to buy my dreams". What a succinctly lovely summary of the drudgery most people our age trapped in less-than-satisfactory jobs feel.

Valentine's - Long Overdue Muses

2005-02-19T14:21:00.000+08:00

A long CNY holiday meant the following week would see us in a mad dash to complete production. Add on almost-consecutive nightly Hua Yi rehearsals that same week, and boy, it really was the most hectic five days since I joined the company.

Valentine's was a non-issue since we had to rehearse. No matter that most of the time the choir sat around and commented on the retarded younger son. Also, as the boyfriend and I approach our sixth year together, Vday doesn't seem that big a deal anymore. Flowers, chocolates, restaurant dinners, expensive gifts, and the whole nine years-why should we let merchants hold us ransom to exorbitant rates for these overrated romantic expressions?

I've only ever received two bouquets from him, though I don't remember if they were for Valentine's. The first was given me when I was still working in Singapore Exhibition Services after JC and he had just enlisted. I think they were red roses with some nutty-looking buds and small, frilly purple flowers. I don't think very much of flowers and wouldn't have minded not receiving any for the rest of my life, but I remember being immensely touched because they must have cost a bomb for him, as far as NS allowances go. I scolded him for being silly and made him promise never to buy them again, and left the flowers in office where I could see them every day. Unfortunately, someone threw them away after a few days and I was surprisingly devastated when I found out.

The second bouquet was given one or two years ago, and I don't remember why he bought them. I only remember that we were ready to go out somewhere and he had driven over. Instead of waiting downstairs as he usually did, he came up to my home and gave me the flowers. Apparently he had intended them as a surprise. My mother put them out to dry, then placed them in a pretty vase on my shelf. The warmth in me then was not due to the flowers, but the fact that he still bothered to give me little romantic surprises.

The best thing that ever happened to me, really, is the boyfriend and my life is so much the richer and colourful for his presence. We have a volatile relationship-fiery quarrels and all, but really, I wouldn't trade it away for anything.

He'll never read this entry, since he's one of the very rare weirdos who have abundant connectivity tools and technology but never use them to connect. Or rather, I should say, he's exclusively connected to the World OF Warcraft community. But it doesn't matter, because this is a mini-tribute to him. From me. A Vday gift of sorts.

Oh, and I haven't gotten him anything for this year too.

An Old And Renewed Flame

2005-02-12T01:45:00.000+08:00

Watching divinely broody Neo, I mean Keanu, slug it out with slimy demons and half-breeds, then snuggling up to the equally delectable Rachel Weis, is a delightful way to spend an otherwise quiet Saturday night. The guy's forty-one (gleaned this nugget of information from Yann), but he sure kicks ass several times round younger Hollywood hunks. Hell, he even made me wonder for a whole minute if Legolas was just a teeny bit poncey...

As a hunky policeman who attempted to stop a bus with a planted bomb in Speed, Keanu made my teenage heart race then melt everytime the camera panned to that chiselled face and the oh-so-sexy buzzcut. Normally, buzzcuts remind me of burly US Marines in need of image-upgrading ala Joshua Gracin from AI2, but on him, WOW! And I don't mean World Of Warcraft.

Everytime he placed his hands over Sandra Bullock's, I itched with an urge to slap her into insensibility and monopolise his attention for myself. I was so besotted with his sex appeal that whenever his cheek twitched that same fraction of a micron whether with anger, joy, sadness, grief or whatever, I took that for Oscar-winning acting. Just as silly as the time when I insisted to all who thought otherwise that Andy Lau had the most swoon-worthy voice I'd ever heard, complete with a devastating vibrato that stoked tingles all along my spine.

When the Matrix trilogy came around, however, I had just begun to discover the fundamental essentialness of a good plot and no longer thought with merely estrogen. I acknowledged his enduring brooding good looks with a great many sighs, but also attempted seriously to grasp the logic behind the trilogy. Alas, I gave up at Reloaded when it ventured into Einsteinian sci-fic chatter between the Architect and Neo , even though I thought the whitish Twins were the epitome of COOL. I went along with Revolutions only because what the heck, I might as well come full circle and finish the entire trilogy. All I gathered at the end was that there was a mega battle between the Machines and the Humans, Neo made a sacrifice and all was well then. I suspect they could have left out the Oracle, the Architect, gorgeous Persephone and many others and the story wouldn't have made any difference for me.

I am so gonna get stoned for saying this, and the boyfriend will probably weep at my blinding stupidity, he being a hard-core Matrix fanatic. (Name me anyone else who snapped up the PS2 Matrix game, agonised an entire year over the delayed launch of the entire Matrix DVD set then grabbed it for over a hundred SGD once it hit the shelves. But not before valiantly struggling to refrain from buying it in Thailand for 200 SGD.) I do think the stylo trenchcoats were the best part of the movies, for me at least. Look at the way that stylish, longish and neo-oriental trench became a casting wardrobe staple in every Hollywood production after that.

But no trenchcoat can top Keanu, of course. I may just watch Constantine a second time. Perhaps all that sex appeal can even be bottled into a supplement to treat the diminished sex drive of menopausal women.

Chronic Computer Fatigue

2005-02-08T22:50:00.000+08:00

I haven't been online for about three weeks, hence this neglected blog. Or, to be more precise, I haven't gone online from my home lappie for three weeks.

As I was telling Bimbo Alto 2, I get so sick of trawling the Internet and staring at Word Docs for eight straight hours at work that I simply can't bear touching my lappie when I get home. Not even to say hi to friends on ICQ, go online shopping (the stupid stores update their stocks very infrequently anyway), or update my blog. I would much rather snuggle up in bed with a new book and stuff my face with Hershey's Cookies and Cream chocolate bar, or actually meet up with friends in person and laugh ourselves silly over great food.

Speaking of Word Docs, I just hope to goodness my computer literacy isn't going to the dogs. As one who currently writes for a living, I rarely dabble in programmes outside of Word and Photoshop (to check out photos from PR companies and clients). I've actually used Excel only once, to create the editorial calendar for the chinese mag. And not surprisingly, given the way my brain is wired, I spent a whole lot of time changing the fill colours of various column and row headers, only to finally dither and agonise between a sweet, minty green, a girlish pale peachy pink and a strident, bright blue. Sometimes, I surprise even myself with the depths of my own frivolosity. Or should it be frivolousness?

Be warned, my thoughts flit around like clouds on a windy day, if you don't know it already. I've noticed that each of my blog entries consist of disjointed paragraphs, and rarely do they focus on just one topic.

If I haven't said it already, let me just say it here on record, once and for all. Nadya H is simply the most gorgeous woman I've ever seen in my life. She's a total babe, with simply natural beauty. She's got freckles on her cheeks and some crow's feet around her eyes even with makeup. BUT, you just overlook it all because she's so arresting and glamorous on her own that you see her as a whole person, not the sum of all her different parts. She's no bimbo either. Her answers are all spontaneous and refreshingly forthcoming; or perhaps they just sound that way and it happened to be that I didn't ask anything sticky.

I got myself a SAYE account already! Yayee! Operation Wedding-Kitty is underway, and at the bank, we spotted some promising investment plans that hooked our interest. I don't have the capital to start up an account right now though. Maybe when I get a pay raise.

I just want to say that I love what I'm doing right now. I like writing and researching on health issues. I enjoy the challenge of interviewing experts like doctors and pharmacists, and thinking up new and interesting story angles. Also, now that one of the magazines has been revamped to include an expanded lifestyle section, I have been assigned to cover a number of interesting stories like watches, and personality interviews with more depth than celeb interviews. It gives me a sense of satisfaction too, when the celeb photoshoot I co-ordinate from beginning to end turns out well and results in a great cover photo.

Lastly, the perks really aren't that bad. You get to run out of office several times in a week to press conferences, interviews, shoots and shopping trips to choose clothes. Big big deal if your office happens to be an ulu ulu dull boring first-gen sciencey tech park. I shudder to think of the dreariness of a day in the life of my receptionist. Oh, and the truckload of freebies and media perks. I can only imagine how much more they get over at the big mags like FEMALE.

Working in a small outfit like ours is a double-edged sword. On one hand, I have to handle so many things - from writing to co-ordinating photo shoots to editing to taking calls from callers who speak in chinese to some marcomms. On the other hand, you get much more recognition for your efforts in a small team. I must really give thanks for the fact that my team has got zero office politics; everyone is so affable and co-operative, all they want is to produce as good a magazine as they can. Cool, unlike horror stories I've heard of other magazines. Oh well, you've gotta make tradeoffs everywhere.

I owe ASH lots for getting me this job, and I haven't repaid her at all. A meal seems so inadequate, even an expensive one. Someone, please give me an idea.

It's about 15 minutes to the Year of the Rooster. This brings to mind a funny exchange with my colleague the other day.

Me: "Hey, it's the year of the rooster! My year! I'm a rooster baby!"
She (looking aghast): "My gawd, I'm 12 years older than you!"

Ha, okay it isn't that funny in print, but it sure was funny when she said it.

All Rooster babies, best wishes for the year. Actually, that goes for everyone. May we get more prosperous, gain some wisdom, and have a clearer direction of our futures. Happy New Year!

X:ODUS

2005-01-22T01:50:00.000+08:00

It would seem that in this one month (third quarter dec to third quarter jan), I've purchased three pairs of shoes.

One, a brown pleated satin imitation of LV's gorgeous pumps. Saw it in BKK and it immediately seduced me with its irresistable siren call, full of wistful yearning and promises. Never mind that it cost a fortune by BKK standards, or that I had vowed never to buy another pair of odour-inducing, toe-pinching pumps. I JUST HAD TO HAVE IT!!!!!!
I'm sure every girl understands and approves of the sentiments underlying these six words in caps. And I can't resist showing off what I'm talking about...the heels are much less killer though. Imagine, too, my delight when I came back to SGP, went to Metro to shop and found really similar shoes selling at 140 dollars!

Two, a darling pair of flats from X:odus. Dark brown with brightly coloured circles of different sizes. Yayee, i've needed a nice pair of flat sandals after my darling URS ones died on me.

Three, green tropical flowered strappy wedges from X:odus. Suede-like material with blackish mock croc straps. Funny how I've lusted after the wedges for about a month plus already, resolved to buy it just this Tuesday after seeing them again at Holland V branch and then reached office this Wednesday to discover that K had just bought the same design in pink. Guess I'm fated to buy it after all...hahaha, happy!

But then the guilt set in. I'm supposed to be saving money. X works hard for his money, so hard that I ache whenever he finishes school by noon, rushes off to 2 schools in the afternoon and still has to go for theory and voice lessons. Though he does splurge on A/X clothes (when on sale, which works out to about twice a year), MATRIX DVD box set, Star Wars trilogy DVD and WOW collector's edition (shipped from the US, mind you, simply because waiting for the SGP edition to make it our shores would cause him to fall behind his international counterparts by several levels).

But anyway, we sort of made a pact that I would save at least 200 dollars each month when I start work proper, and the money would go into our wedding+honeymoon+flat fund. But knowing him, he wouldn't hold me to it. And knowing me, without him holding me to it, I would probably be too weak to keep my end of our deal.

But maybe not. I shall designate a day to bring my passbook to the trusty bank and arrange for a Save-As-You-Earn scheme. Have decided to get them to set aside 200 bucks every month. It's peanuts compared to what he earns, but at least I'm doing my part for our future, and for us.

Now, which day should I pick?

Bananas And Apples

2005-01-17T23:01:00.000+08:00

Yes! Bimbo posting coming up, as can be seen from the title..be warned.

Lions won, yayee! But that's enough of that. What I really want to say is, I think the Lions looked damn cool in red.

Blardy bugger, you may say, the Lions have always worn red what! Bodoh!

But then, I haven't actually seen them play for so long. The last time I panted all hot and heavy over the Lions was back during the Malaysia cup days, when the policemen wore shorts and I had only three pairs of shoes - white BATA school shoes, sneakers and a pair of clunky boots. Yesterday, I finally saw them play an entire game. Oh, so cool, those fired-up devils all clad in red-hot RED speeding up and down the pitch totally flattening the Indons. They almost stole my attention away from the bitchy conversation at the table, almost but not quite. Just when I was ready for more, it was half time already. Aiyah...

At half time, I happened to catch some shots of the Malaysia vs Myanmar match. My gawd, I was bowled over by the strident yellow jerseys. They positively screamed for attention; the mortified, embarassed kind you reserve for overweight aunties in psychedelic tights and leopard print camisoles. What's wrong with whoever picks uniforms for the Malaysian team? Oh wait, or did the yellow jerseys adorn the backs of the Burmese? Hmmm...errr....

Freebie Makeover - Who Wants One???

2005-01-10T22:49:00.000+08:00

I've got gift vouchers to Eastarz Coverlooks, located at Mandarin. Don't ask me if it's Marina or Meritus, because I don't know. Anyway, it's good for one outfit change (your own, how lame right...), one make-up, one hair, the usual photography and one 4R print. Not inclusive of digital touch-ups.

I think that's all, but there may be more so I'll update when I go in to office tomorrow and double check. Additional stuff like soft copy photos and all will be charged according to their standard price list. Anyway, I have three vouchers so whoever wants one just drop me a msg. Valid till end of march.

I love freebies. I'm thinking of telling V tomorrow I want the Witch Hazel make-up remover. And I especially love it when I get free body lotion; a girl can never have enough body lotion. Especially those infused with oh-so-precious Rose Bulgar essential oil; a truly divine indulgence for lizard skin like mine that turns dry and rough in the freezing igloo that happens to be my office. I just wish Sisley would send some samples instead of the usual release and slides, anyone doing PR for Sisley? Thought not, hee...

Don't mean to sound disrespectful, but why do we need to designate an island-wide minute of silence for the tsunami disaster and its victims? Or rather, I don't have anything against observing that minute of silence, but I take offence at the implication that you don't care if you don't do it. Which is what appeared in our national paper, something along the lines of "If you care, you would ...".

Some people don't need an up-down, institutionalised initiative to feel or do something; they just do it on their own, at their own time. Some grieve everyday for those who died, who lost their loved ones and possessions. Others shed instantaneous tears at home when they see piles of dead bodies on TV, and volunteer their time, effort and money so that the victims can sooner rebuild their lives. Why should their responses be judged and found lacking compared to those who turned up at Singapore Expo? Even if some went shopping, fully ignorant of that minute of silence, why should they be deemed callous and uncaring? Different people have different ways of coping, or is that too difficult a concept for our esteemed local paper to grasp?

Yet, even as I don't want to judge people's responses to the disaster, I can't help but feel disgusted at the publicity some parties are milking out of this. I remember in the early days of the disaster, I saw on CNA a clip of Maria Sharapova (yes, the tennis babe) donating USD 10, 000 to Thailand. But it was not just a press announcement or a pledge. It was a full-fledged ceremony, complete with the cheque resting on a golden pillow or some such nonsense. And then, Sharapova handed over the cheque to Thai PM Thaksin, and both of them posed for your standard handing-over-the-cheque photo. Maybe I got the amount and it should have been USD 100, 000 instead. Or perhaps it was too early and noone knew the full extent of the disaster, hence USD 10,000 was a really generous amount then. But still, I can't help my revulsion.

Perhaps being trained in PR has increased my cynicism for whatever smacks remotely of gimmicks, even if that's not what we were trained to execute. Then again, does it really matter that much that the rich get publicity if the needy get in return what they so desperately require to survive?

Virgin Suicides

2005-01-09T22:37:00.000+08:00

Just finished watching Virgin Suicides, and yes, i know it is embarassing to catch it only now, when the film was screened years ago. But no matter, because the movie was haunting. Heavily and beautifully so.

I remember reading the book years ago, and being immensely saddened yet intrigued by it. The stark loneliness and stifling isolation the Lisbon girls must have felt simply jumped off the pages at me. They were young and beautiful, yearning for the same freedoms their teenage peers did, and nurturing the same ideals and hopes. Yet, instead of finding the strength of will or rebelliousness with which to defy the overzealous protectiveness of their mother, they chose to commit suicide.

But this is trivialising the intensity and depth of emotions the film stirs up. What touched me most was actually the devotion of the neighbourhood guys who loved them, or so they say they did. To establish contact with the girls, who had been taken out of school and were in home exile, Chase & Co. looked up the girls in the telephone directory, called them, and played them records over the phone. Particularly significant because prior to that, Mrs Lisbon had ordered Lux to burn her rock records. Somehow, as the camera panned to both parties over the phone as the records played, it really brought new meaning to the phrase "Silence is Gold". Silence here meaning the lack of conversation, but what meaningful and soulful silence it was, that it brought about an exchange of souls. At least, that's how it seemed to me. Sadly, that did not draw the Lisbon girls out of their room and into the world.

Sofia Ford Coppola is fantastic; I absolutely love her quietly intimate films. Some arty films depict reality in all its gruesome detail, even the tiniest one. But Coppola is so subtle. Although named Virgin Suicides, all the film did to convey the suicide scene was to show a mere glimpse of a pair of bound, dangling feet and a lifeless arm hanging from a car window with the fingers clutching a cigarette. And that had the emotional impact of a three-tonner speeding along at hundred twenty an hour.

I wouldn't recommend the book to everybody. It's depressing, haunting and sad. But that's life, and sometimes a dose of reality jolts us out of complacency and back in touch with the grimness of the world.

Pratice Makes Perfect

2005-01-06T23:00:00.000+08:00

Yeah, I believe in the above maxim. Practice makes perfect. I shall hence practise blogging in house style, so I won't keep making house style mistakes at work. House style house style house style...

I've been enjoying my work so far. Sometimes I feel super sian about belonging to such a small outfit. So small that we've gotta do everything ourselves, from writing to subbing and admin. Then again, being involved in the entire production process is good training, i guess. Having to sub other people's work opens up your eyes to the silly mistakes that writers commit sometimes, such as silly headlines and rambling thoughts.

One part of my work I really enjoy is reading press releases, or as some people like to term it, media advisories. It really amazes me, the terrible way some of the PR people write. Fragmented sentences, screwed-up grammar, chunks of useless information at the beginning of the release, etc.

Now, you may say I blog fragmentedly too. But the point is, I'm not writing in a professional capacity when I blog. PR people are. And when a journalist reads a release that reads like it was written by someone with O'Level standard English, it doesn't say very much about the PR company or the client it represents. In fact, I think I wrote better at O'Levels than they did. Luckily though, most PR people are more impressive than that. After more than a month on thejob, I'm beginning to form my own list of Top 3 and Bottom 3 PR companies.

Oh, I just got scolded a bitch on icq again. how sad....

Anyway, is fats kiat or sam? I forgot...

Back Online At Last

2005-01-03T22:46:00.000+08:00

After six months of wholesome Pasir Ris life, I've moved back to Tampines again.

Why wholesome? Wholesome because I had no internet connection over there, plus I was in possession of a mere, measly two books. JUST TWO! Because mum forbade my books to traipse along on the journey north-east, muttering something about my possessions outnumbering hers, dad's and my bro's. Combined. Okay, perhaps there's some truth to that (Even I was shocked at the number of huge black trash bags my bags filled up, but that's another story). Anyway, that translated into a severe lack of pre-bedtime activities aside from boring FTA TV, meaning I slept around 1130pm every weekday night. Oh, so provincial!

Anyway, so now i'm back blogging with a vengeance. Not that it matters because most probably noone bothers reading this blog anymore, not when it's been left out in the cold for six weeks. But, never mind, it's an outlet for my own expression.

I love my new wardrobe. It's got loads of hanging space, how marvellous! But appallingly enough, once I finished hanging up all my clothes, I was rather astounded to realise that once more, I was left with not much space. And this is not counting the ten or so pieces that I had stashed away somewhere, far from mum's all-knowing senses. This is crazy, I really should go cold turkey. My only comfort is that K tells me she used to do the same thing with her mum --- hide clothes --- and now she does it with her sharp-eyed hubby, who, unlike most men, is able to detect any new item she accessorises herself with.

I kinda miss Chorale. Haven't seen the buggers since I took off for BKK two weeks ago. Could have met up on Friday, New Year's Eve, but was hanging out with 4B the whole night. Then, was supposed to have gone for practice the Sunday that just passed, but was too swamped with moving house and unpacking stuff that I forgot all about it. By the time I returned the tooch's call, I was knee deep in a pile of bags that I had forgotten I owned, and several beloved books that I was attempting to sort into my mini-mini-mee library. Absolutely no way to take off for practice there and then. No matter, I'll see those buggers this Saturday.

Speaking of 4B, this was the first New Year's Eve and New Year's Day that we all spent together. So fun! Though I wonder if it's my influence that somehow we ended up on a gastronomic adventure that night, like the ones that Chorale has undertaken so recently. Hmmm, it must be no coincidence that my pants feel like they're close to bursting their seams recently, and why I shun my spaghetti strap tops after seeing myself in the mirror. D, time to get back on the treadmill or dance floor! To get back to the point however, 4B, the one unchanging reference point in my life. I wish good health and happiness for each and every one of them, the very very least they deserve. Let us spend another year celebrating everyone's birthdays, in ways more weird and adventurous than the last (8 people in Teck's four-seater MPV comes to mind, hah!)! Specially to Teck, all my blessings...oh wait a minute, you just called me a bitch on ICQ, you asshole!!!

Lastly, I just wanna ponder my tech guru status. My huge, lumbering lazy arse of a brother laughs at me all the time for being a tech idiot, but somehow everytime our wireless broadband runs into problems, I'm always the one who solves it. Weird huh...

On vegetables

2004-11-18T09:18:00.000+08:00

Never did like vegetables much, save for sambal kangkong, spinach and stir-fried cabbage. I still eat them though, for a balanced diet and to prevent constipation. Sometimes, mum even manages to cook vegetables in a most appetizing manner. If forced to make a choice though, I would still rank vegetables after meat (Oh glorious meat!) and fish.

Therefore, I was amazed to find myself rating the vegetable dishes as the best among those served from the vegetarian menu last night. Mushrooms (Or rather, what tasted like mushrooms if mushrooms were crunchy) masquerading as stir-fried eels, fishcake passing off as fish and blocks of flours heavily dyed to emulate roast pork. I have never been tempted to go near ve getarian food and after last night, I was really glad the attraction was never there. In any case, I was so relieved last night to munch on the stringy, fibrous texture of natural vegetables after a slew of 'mutton dressed as lamb'.

Perhaps the hotel should have a better conceptualization of vegetarian food. I remember reading somewhere that vegetarian food need not comprise just deep-fried mounds of gluten, as was the case last night. It is as if they were trying to up the sin factor in order to compensate for the lack of taste and textures. And I'm curious, is going vegetarian a choice made out of religiosity, or a healthier alternative to the normal so-called balanced diet? I'm sadly unenlightened on this.

Praise be to vegetables. Give me vegetables over so-called vegetarian any time!

The weirdness of life...

2004-11-17T15:11:00.000+08:00

When I am on the verge of signing the letter that will usher me into the working world of magazines, I get inundated with calls to go for interviews.

The most recent call was from the national body in charge of the arts, asking me to turn up for an interview for the position of Manager for the Music division. No biggie, nothing out of the ordinary, except that the application in question was submitted almost a month ago.

Man, I would love to give it a try though!

Rigid.Boring.Traditional.Down-to-Earth.

2004-11-16T09:08:00.000+08:00

So the verdict goes of NTU students.

How sad, because in comparison, SMU students are perceived as taking on the personality of a charismatic rising star, while NUS students are apparently intelligent, established leaders.

Are we NTU students really purveyors of drudgery, advocates of geek-dom, guilty as accused?

In some ways, perhaps the findings are justified. NTU's dreary maze of inter-changeable grey buildings are reminiscent of ancient factories. It is also said that the uberjeans/bermudas and t-shirt combi is the attire of choice among most segments of NTU students. As far as facades go, NTU definitely doesn't win any prizes.

Then again, facades don't tell the whole story. I remember one all-girl FYP group who won over the entire cohort at the FYP screening earlier this year with their impressive multimedia project titled Domed Survival, for which they won some IDA prize. They belonged most of the time to the bermudas and tee gang, and kept a rather low profile for their four years in school. I did not expect such expertise from them, but it was a sweet experience. I took pride in the fact that my school could produce such talents, that my course mates were so gifted, unlike myself.

I hear too, of business whizzes from NBS excelling at the annual L'oreal Challenge, as well as of engineering geniuses who developed some new membrane or some such thing. We have a vibrant school paper, headed by an Engineering student none other than Hucks.

Perhaps it doesn't matter what others think, as long as we know what we are worth. Having said that, I am sure no one meant to stereotype.

In other news, thanks to dear Ash, I will be gainfully employed soon! The pay's nothing to crow about, but it sounds like a dream job and the company gave me good vibes. I really hope everything go well...

Later...

Ode to Hawker

2004-11-11T21:39:00.000+08:00

When I daydream about food, which incidentally happens every hour or so, most of my fantasies revolve around hawker fare. By 'hawker', I mean those little kopitiams that dot most HDB towns, as well as their larger cousins, the hawker centres. Usually bereft of air-conditioning, many of these eating places also play long-term host to a myriad of disgusting pests like rodents, cockroaches and lizards. BUT, where else in Singapore can one find cheap, yet totally scrumptious food?

Soy Eu Tua in Siglap dishes up a pretty decent char kway teow, sweet and salty in just the right proportions, as well as dry fishball noodles that come slightly al-dente to ensure the chilli and vinegar based sauce does not render the noodles soggy; Old Kallang Airport offers delectably piping hot fish been hoon soup, chewy yet crispy guo tie or potstickers, and goreng pisang bursting with the sweet taste of fragrant bananas; Bedok Reservoir Food Centre serves delicious kway chup - firm slices of rice dough swimming in a tasty brown broth, accompanied by succulently crispy pig innards and pork slices bathed in gravy and accentuated by a truly excellent chilli sauce both sour and sweet at once; Golden Shoe Market's extensive range of fine dishes range from cheap and good Nasi Lemak (excellent coconut rice and a fantastic chilli!), to a tongue-numbing Tom Yum fish bee hoon (which always draws a queue of at least 10 people 15 minutes before the unofficial lunch time of 12pm at Shenton Way), and a roast meat stall at which I always go berserk and heed the siren calls of my greedy stomach into ordering way more than I can comfortably eat.

Not that it really matters, because in the end I finish everything anyway and have to waddle back to office.

Like the Evil Fat Brat, I can't really stomach food courts. More often than not, food court dishes turn out below average, so untasty that upon first tasting the dish I wonder in anger how they dare charge 3.50 SGD for the lousy crap food. Food is really important to me, and I like to enjoy all my meals, if circumstances permit. The few food courts at which I had ever tasted something worth a second visit are the now-defunct Orchard Point Food Court, and Jurong Point's Halal Banquet Food Court. The Orchard point place had this vendor selling great authentic Korean BBQ (the BBQ beef and spicy chicken/beef/pork soup sets are particularly delicious!). The Halal place served a mean tahu telor (the halo widow's recommendation) and strangely addictive tom yum ban mian.

All this talk of food is making me hungry. And I haven't even got started on places like prata shops in Simpang and beancurd in Geylang and Chomp Chomp. No mean feat considering I just had hawker food barely 3 hours ago.

Oh shoot, now I'm craving for an ice-cold tub of egg-milk beancurd from Chomp Chomp. Somebody save me from my stomach....

Of all the most unlikely of places

2004-11-10T16:36:00.000+08:00

I waddled into the main lift lobby of my office today, tummy sagging and chin wobbling after an overly sumptuous and potentially heart attack-inducing lunch at Ellenborough Market Cafe. Just as I was despairing over the sensation of having a tonne of wet cement bump and grind against my stretched stomach walls, I looked up and my heart sank with envy. For before my eyes stood a vision of loveliness.

Three tall, slim, leggy and curvy women, with dyed locks tumbling about in sexy disarray, were waiting for the lift. They sported trendy casual wear, stylish shades, and flicked back the occasional stray lock of hair with grace. Looking at their profiles and backs, I could only wonder wistfully at how nice it would be to be born blessed with excellent looks and a fantastic figure.

The lift arrived. The three beauties entered and a squat, flabby hobbit maiden shuffled in behind them.

Giving in to the rush of drowsiness that typically follows a large meal, I closed my eyes and switched off. 5 seconds later, I registered a gruff male baritone speaking in Thai, followed by 1 other baritone and a bass. Realizing that something was wrong, I woke up and looked around me. Upon closer inspection, I perceived some disconcerting features on the three lovely facades.

Such as adam's apples, overly broad shoulders (some may say that I, too, am in possession of those) humongous pores, huge bulbous joints and tell-tale hairs (the coarse and long kind!) on the knuckles. Couldn't tell if the mammaries were god-given or silicon-ified though.

It's so bizarre to run into a group of transvestites / transsexuals in the middle of the day, in the heart of the CBD, of all places.

Sometimes I wonder how they can bear always being on the receiving end of condemning gawks, stares and lusty leers. If I were in their shoes, I would feel like a 4-headed freak-show exhibit instead of a human being. Then again, perhaps nothing is more important than escaping their biological prison.

Gawd, I am still so full from my lunch that I can't think. Perhaps I'll blog more another day. Happy Holidays, everyone...

Detestable Cockroaches

2004-11-09T11:18:00.000+08:00

Hands up, those of you who have fallen victim to the sudden appearance of these disgusting, hard-shelled black blobs from the smallest of crevices and corners. Oh, the very nerve of them, how I wish I could get rid of them all!

I have no idea why I detest them so much. After all, they're small. In terms of looks, they don't fare as badly as snakes and crocodiles. They have 2 less legs than spiders, and they certainly don't bite like sharks do. BUT, they just give me the creeps, such that I involuntarily shudder at the thought of those feelers touching my hands. At the sight of one, even a baby one, I just jump up and run away, afraid to even kill it with a piece of tissue or rolled-up newspapers.

The worst of them are those that fly. Their flight floods me with dread and impending doom, their wings harbingers of gross discomfort and revulsion.

Once, I woke up in the middle of the night to get a drink and wash my hands. Unwittingly, I reached for the tap and and was rinsing my hands
when I looked down into the sink and saw a huge black roach nestling against the pristine silver metal. I backed away hurriedly, instinctively, the repulsive sight having caused me to miss a few dozen heartbeats.

Just last week, a baby roach infiltrated J's desk. Jon, armed with a Superman-esque girth, was at her desk at that time, and proceeded to destroy the vermin. The offending creature was sighted among the bouquet of dried flowers on J's table, and Jon went after it with rolled-up newspapers. After whacking it a few times, we then all realized that he had been hitting a piece of dried leaf for the past minute or so, while the vermin scuttled off unharmed. Men! So blind and silly sometimes, though endearingly so. Then again, I guess they think the same of women, when we go into palpitations while reading new magazines and choosing new bags.

I strongly feel that roaches should be wiped off the face of the earth forever, banished from the food chain entirely.

Then boyfriends will never again have to stifle their giggles as they help steer their shrieking girlfriends away from a stray roach that happened to pass their way.

Edward Scissorhands / Scissorshand

2004-11-08T09:12:00.000+08:00

I need a good haircut desperately;
fringe is flopping any-o-how right now and my layers, while nice, look boring and dowdy.

How I wish I had the features and facial structure to carry off a short bob or a Halle Berry-Catwoman's crop. Why do I have to be cursed with a round face that requires some semblance of length to create a slimming effect???

Someone recommend me a good hairstylist please...

Lost in Your Eyes

2004-11-04T14:56:00.000+08:00

Was listening to Class 95 at work today, when I heard Lost in Your Eyes being played. Last I heard this song was way way back, when it was damn hip to own a WalkMan and the MegaHits 3 compilation tape was the epitome of COOL. I loved the song, loved Debbie Gibson.

12, 13 years on, I now find the song cheesy. But Debbie Gibson's effortless, soaring vocals still sound as sweet as ever.

I'm still waiting for Madonna's La Isla Bonita to be aired on the airwaves.

Fool, or Not: Part II

2004-11-03T10:28:00.000+08:00

Nothing much to end off with, actually.

After suffering through an entire night of anxiety and stress following the disastrous signing of contract, I decided that nobody should ever have to feel so badly, so stressed, after signing on with any company. Worries like "will i like my colleagues", "i wonder if the pantry will be well-stocked" and "what's there to eat for lunch around the area" are perfectly fine, but mine were much more fundamental than these. I fretted about whether I was being exploited, whether they would exert other forms of coercion and whether they had any sinister reasons for making me sign on the very spot.

And so, I called them the next day to, errr, tender, though technically that's not the right word. Of course they weren't happy, but to the Abyss with them.

I will be a virgin to these intrigues no longer.

I would gladly start off my working life accumulating experience with little monetary rewards and benefits, but I draw the line at having my basic benefits withheld from me.

So, I'm sorry Xiaoming, that you won't be hearing from me about whether the hunk is really as cocky and fast as he claims to be. You're right, 2000 bucks is not to be scoffed at, but I absolutely refuse to be exploited.

Thanks to all who asked after me, =0)

I will continue on my merry way looking for a job, but I'll be more wise. This was a horrid experience, but it's one more valuable life lesson learnt

Divided

2004-10-31T17:28:00.000+08:00

I love to read, and I read almost anything.

When I do read, however, I somehow abhor complicated romances, unforgotten loves and the likes. The rest of the plot could be twisted as hell, pure and simple, or heroic and uplifting, and I would devour them, accept them just the same. But not when it comes to affairs of the heart.

In Dragonlance, I detested Tanis Half-Elven. I could not understand his obsession with the cold-blooded Kitiara when Laurana's love for him was all-encompassing, forgiving and compassionate. In other books, other television shows, I grew impatient with snivelling men and women who, despite being loved whole-heartedly and sweetly, could not release their feelings for one whom they loved long ago, and who perhaps left them heartbroken and tear-soaked.

How can they bear to hurt those who love them so, I thought.

But, do I really not understand the sweetness of a first love, forged long ago in the impetuousness of youth?

Is everyone slave to the lingering memory of a particuarly loved one, with whom a relationship came to naught?

Do I not comprehend or do I not want to understand because perhaps I am able to understand all too well?

A Fool, or Not?

2004-10-28T13:01:00.000+08:00

I did something foolish two days ago.

I went to an interview at this in-house PR boutique agency for a chain of leading wine retailers, distributors and producer. Everyone wore pretty. flowy skirts and jeans that are a rare sight in my current firm except on Fridays, and the working environment seemed rather relaxed and informal. As for the interview, I blubbered my way through, as usual, with the Marketing Director, an admittedly cute and hunky guy who obviously works out quite a lot.

He challenged my expectation of 2000 bucks monthly, demanded to know which bar chok mee I especially liked and what under-done noodles are termed (Al-Dente, as I learnt incidentally), and raised eyebrows at my announcement that I could not stomach alcohol without suffering the Mother of all Headaches. Everything went fine up till then, and I was getting into the groove of things exchanging barbs with the hunk despite some discomfort regarding the topid of salary. And THEN, he proceeded to name the terms of employment under which the candidate would be hired.

Such as zero entitlement to paid annual leave for the first year of employment, and a 5.5 day work-week, both of which filled me with horror. To be brutally truthful, I had hoped with all my heart that I would not have to work a 5.5 day week. Or at least, not every week. Okay, I'm spoilt. Furthermore, no paid annual leave for the first year of service was a new one to me. I'd never heard of such a condition before and thought it exploitative. In any case, we concluded the interview after some more irrelevant questions and I went on my way back to EY to do OT, thinking to myself that I would have jumped at this job if not for all the unfavourable terms.

When I had left the agency and was a mere hundred metres away from it, my phone rang and I answered. It was the Marketing Director, asking me to return to the office for a while. I said okay and went back up, thinking they needed to ask me more questions. To my shock, after ensconcing me in the room, they offered me the job, with my expected salary. I was so taken by surprise that all I managed to blabber was "Oh, that was fast". To which he replied "Yeah, I'm a fast worker. I do everything very quickly, including making decisions.". And then he had the cheek to add "I don't believe fresh graduates should receive 2000 bucks starting pay, but I'll give you that."

At that point, I got increasingly flustered, especially since I had been entertaining doubts in my mind regarding the terms, and there I was, expected to make a choice right there. I asked to take the appointment letter back to read before returning it, but he said very firmly that I could not do so. Another black mark against the company. But STUPID me just sat there like a fool, read the contract and signed, all the while feeling like I had been duped or co-erced to sign under duress. (I can just imagine Sam and Nelson's lawyerly horror on my signing legal documents just like that.) After that, the hunk blabbered something about getting me a ThinkPad and brought me around the office to introduce me to my supposed new colleagues. Dazed and feeling extremely out of my depth, I went through the motions, mumbled my name and other social niceties with my insides contracting with cold dread.

That whole evening passed with me in a daze, worrying about being sued if I decided to cancel the appointment, yet wondering if I should just take up the job to gain experience even if I was being exploited. Some part of me feared too, that I would be being irresponsible to my family if I did not accept. Damned if you do, Damned if you don't. I felt anger at the choices presented before me, and envy, at the fact that my friends did not have to grapple with such difficulties.

Or perhaps they did, just that I never knew.

Ramblings...

2004-10-21T09:48:00.000+08:00

I haven't been blogging the past few days, because I was busy catching up with dragons, kender, gods and mages. No more obscene jokes about dragons, PLEASE!

Speaking of mages, I really do love the Legends trilogy in Dragonlance. It details the lives of the twins, Raistlin and Caramon, after the War of the Lance, and was such a heartbreaking read that I teared many times. Of course, being a slightly psychotic and emotional fool, I read and re-read on average five times those parts that made me tear. By the time I finally put down the last book, I was bawling like a baby for two reasons. One, I was touched immensely. Two, there was to be no more Raistlin, darling darling Raistlin right Ash? Or so it seemed.

So you can imagine my delight when I picked up Dragons of a Summer Flame and rediscovered to my delight that Raistlin appears in this book as well! Yayee! Still snappy, intriguing and totally mysterious, despite exhibiting disconcerting signs of an ability to love and care. Disconcerting because I loved his enigmatic personality of old, that intensity of ambition and power. Ah well, noone comes close to Raistlin in the area of well-loved evil villains, EVER! And I'm sure countless others will agree with me on that. Tanis? Nah. Tasslehoff? Hmmm, maybe, just maybe. The kender is wholly adorable and loveable.

In other news, I have no idea why I bothered to stay late last night. This morning, I got to office late and twiddled my thumbs until now with nothing pressing to do. What is so urgent that it can't be done tomorrow, right? Ah well, working with a bunch of paranoid and perfectionist workaholics does have a warping effect on you.

Intermediate-advanced Salsa is a whole lot of fun! And now that I've gotten myself a pair of bling-bling, megawatt-shine dancing shoes, I can turn a lot faster now, and wear swirly skirts! While I was still tramping about in my sneakers, I felt like Princess Fiona trying to salsa on a postage stamp.

Looking forward to Friday, Saturday and Sunday. Dancing, more dancing and the gang!

Life is great, the only blight being the lack of a job. Ah well, I shall just plod on and try harder!

A stray...

2004-10-15T23:41:00.000+08:00

Today, I did something rather out of character.

Never one to go overly gushy over animals, I actually knelt down today and scratched a stray cat on its neck, chin and body. The cat, let's call it Bai, was as beautiful as stray cats got; a smooth, snowy white pelt of fur that would have marked it as pedigree if not for two patches of gray near its behind. Nevertheless, it cut a most elegant, though lonely figure on the topmost step of the staircase landing. A long-nurtured abhorrence of loneliness and a certain something within me that had always remotely protested our indifference towards strays gave way, and I found myself on bended knees caressing Bai.

After some time, I got up and proceeded to walk back home, only to find Bai rubbing itself against my shin. It got up when I did, padded on soft paws as I climbed the stairs, and followed me to my unit. My heart almost broke when I unlocked my door and let myself into my house, leaving Bai mewing and whining outside. Before I shut my door, I stared at the cat for a while, and clear black eyes rimmed with a brilliant yellow stared back intensely, unblinkingly. Then suddenly, the cat stretched and yawned, and for a heart-stopping moment, that endearing pointed little face transformed into the face of a tiny tiger cub ready to strike.

Then it mewed again.

This time, I shut my door. But I can't keep the cat out of my mind.

I want to...

2004-10-08T08:49:00.000+08:00

fly on the broad, scaly back of a metallic dragon of Krynn.
A scholarly or mage-ish Gold that breathes fire and chlorine gas would be great. Silver's a good second choice, since they can shape-shift into humans. I would just love to sit down in a crowded tavern, drinking dwarf spirits brewed by gully dwarves, with a silver in human form, then enjoy the screams and chaos that will ensue when the Silver shape-shifts back into its dragon form.

If I can't have a metallic dragon of my own, I would want a chromatic dragon. Preferably either White or Black. The Whites can breathe frost, how cool is that, and the Blacks are fiercely independent, like how I want to be. Somehow, I feel the other chromatic dragons like the Blues, Reds and Greens will look like wrongly-colored Barneys.

Perhaps, as my dragon steed spreads its massive wings and bears me away on its strong, unfailing back, I can pretend that I am almost near enough to the cousin moons of Solinari, Nuitari and Lunitari.
Close enough to reach out my puny fingers and dabble in the soft, swirling mists of their mighty magical realm, worshipped by many, including the most fascinating Raistlin Majere. He of the hourglass-shaped golden eyes, the golden skin, the single-mindedly self-serving ambition borne perhaps of his consuming devotion to his craft, the complex and multi-layered personality.

The mention of this mage brings to mind the gully dwarves, to whom Raislin seemed to have shown the most tenderness and compassion in his entire life. They are truly the embodiment of stupidity and cowardice, and sadly, most of them live out their lives in wretched service to others.

I long to visit the elven woods of Silvanesti and Qualinesti, bear witness to the beauty of trees coaxed to grow tall, majestic and unfailingly lovely by the loving words and tender care of their elven masters. What a joy to the soul it must be to lay down on the softest moss of the river bank and listen to waves lapping gently over one another, breathing in the sharp, intoxicating scent of roses and lilacs. The sight of an elven maid with the
heart-stopping beauty of the Golden General, Lauralanthalasa, ought to cap off the pleasures of the elven experience.

There are so many wonders in the world of Krynn, the world of Dragonlance, such as the kenders, minotaurs and the Gods, just to name a few, that I can't put words to them.

Such is the genius of the authors and magical thrall of Dragonlance, that leaves me eagerly anticipating each and every new book in the main series, and takes my soul a willing captive. Amber & Ashes, the first in a new trilogy by Weis, marks my next agonising wait for the paperback version. I really have no words to describe how thrilled, and almost grateful that Weis has decided to give life to the main Dragonlance story after War of Souls.

Suffice to say that I must really thank Skunk for challenging me way back to give up Eddings for Weis and Hickman.

The regional whipping boy...

2004-10-03T01:38:00.000+08:00

For such a tiny country that relies almost exclusively and solely on its human resources and has precious little by way of political clout or might, Singapore seems to have an amazing ability to incur the wrath of its neighbours on a fairly regular basis.

It used to be remarks like 'small red dot', 'an irritating pimple that refuses to burst' (wow how graphic, every girl who has gone through an acne-ridden teenage phase can certainly imagine the huge pain in the arse people imagine Singapore to be) and 'fair weather friends who are by our side only when times are good'.

Now, we have been likened to being 'as small as a little piece of dried mucus (pi sai)' and accused of 'licking China's testicles (lampa)'. By no less august a personage than THE Foreign Minister of Tai-blardy-Wan somemore, well done! Out with the photoshopped, euphemized diplomatic bullshit; In with the blemished, un-airbrushed heartfelt sentiments!

Like what a dear friend says, what else can you expect from a country whose Parliament can't even conduct a Parliamentary session without breaking out into brawls worthy of boorish drunks plied to their gills with stout and gin in an Irish pub? Not to mention my own personal conviction that Hokkien is one dialect that sounds somewhat vulgar and unpleasing to the ear, so what more its obscenities and vulgarities right.

Factor in those Taiwan-produced grossly melodramatic series, like Ah Seng or Fiery Thunderbolt, stretching past 2000 episodes or so, which incidentally fill many a Pi-Sai and Lam-Pa Singapore housewive's afternoons and essentially contain loads of weeping and incest, and one must really forgive the supposedly most intelligent of Taiwan citizens for being prone to episodes of mental imbalance and outbursts of rudeness.

I just can't wait for the next great insult. What will it be this time?
Fucked-up bitch?
Or, *gasp*, Hokkien for the female genitalia?
How exciting! I suppose now's one of the best time to peruse TalkingCock for gems that the gifted people over there have possibly come up with.

Off I go!

*Note: i'm not one to be too delicate in print in times of agitation, despite my supposedly gentler gender, so do forgive me if this posting offends your sensibilities.
Not that I particularly care though.
There, you have it, the unblemished truth!

All Toes!

2004-09-29T23:34:00.000+08:00

I love these two photographs of my section in choir, the altos. They were taken this July in Germany, when we went for the 3rd Choir Olympics.

Note: Photos courtesy of Tooch, taken with her chio-chio Panasonic.

I love this photo because it's so colourful!
We looked like a bunch of red and yellow peppers!
Incidentally, the chorale girls were supposed to take their pick of red, blue and yellow saris for the Olympics. For some reason, most of the sops picked blue and most of the altos picked red.
Oh, I photoshopped away some ugly building on the left and cloned in some clouds from the right to the left.

This was taken during sectionals in Jiahui's room, our SL + piano genius + brainiac. Evil Fat Brat, not all altos are bimboes okay!
Anyway, this was taken really early in the morning, and our voices were like so raw and croaky that we just gave up for a while and started setting up our cameras for a photo shoot! That's the altos for you; we take a break every ten minutes of sectionals and are always the first to end.

Alright, putting up the photos now seem abit off, but I just felt compelled suddenly to blog about the altos and how much rubbishy fun we have. Also cos it's kinda sad that people are leaving for various reasons. I just want you all to know how much you mean to me and how our sectionals always bring me loads of joy, =>

Bad way to start the week...

2004-09-27T09:47:00.000+08:00

For some reason, I felt unhappy this morning when I got to work.
Not the usual sian Monday blues, which has to do with a general inertia in getting back to work after a weekend of debauchery and sloth, but a really black mood arising from deep within.

There's really no reason for me to feel this way. No quarrels with Joker, no squabbles with friends, zero family crises. Perhaps it has to do with my inability to land a job even now? Hmmm, possible.

Jem says he has yet to find a job too, and that I'm in good company. But I can't help feeling otherwise cos knowing Jem, his situation is probably by choice, whereas I really am trying. Maybe not very hard though, cos I keep procastinating when it comes to cover letters.

Fact is, the whole thing is so denting to my morale. Cos what is wrong with me, that makes it so difficult to land that elusive job? My grades are fine, I'm not that inarticulate; neither am I socially inept or overwhelmingly confident to the point of coming across arrogant.

Since I was a kid, I always said I wanted to teach. My uncles and aunts told, and are still telling, my cousins that I want to be a teacher when I grew up (which I have already done). I do think I would enjoy teaching GP in JC, or English and English Literature in Sec Sch. But unlike Yann, I am not so sure now that I want to go into teaching so early on. Not because of that silly nonsense about "Those who can, do. Those who can't, teach.". But because I know that I enjoy doing stuff at work that relates to my major in PPC. And that while I'm still young, I want to try my hand at making my mark in the corporate world. If that means making an acquaintance with all the rumoured hypocrisy, politicking and pretentiousness that is apparently widespread, so be it. Let me learn to deal with all the shit that life has to throw at me.

My greatest fear is that I won't have a chance to do so.

On a related note, I envy Joker sometimes, for his passion for the work he does.

A passion that drives him to juggle both full-time work (in his line, the hours he keeps are considered full-time, I think) and full-time tertiary studies, that gives him the impetus to keep upgrading himself with voice and theory classes on top of his already crazy schedule. He's so driven that even my mom has voiced her concerns about his packed timetable.

I wonder, when it comes to my job, will I ever take possession of a passion like his?

Office Techie

2004-09-24T13:18:00.000+08:00

I'm somewhat of a tech idiot.

It took me two years to begin to learn how to use the dictionary function on my mobile, and I never did learn how to operate the 'second line' and 'on hold' functions.

On my darling iRiver, I am satisfied with basic operations like 'play', 'pause', 'stop', 'back to previous track', 'forward to next track' and how to switch between radio and CD.

I don't own a PDA, and never could navigate around the interface of the boyfriend's lovely orange PDA (which has since sinked into obscurity, never to see the light of day ever again), except for Bejewelled.

So it astounds me to be unofficially regarded as the office techie.

Anything involving CD-Roms, please look for D. Ditto for digital photos and digicams. LCD projector? No worries, D will set up everything. Can't figure out how to operate the fancy colour copier? D's the expert.

Last year, some principal tried to play a VCD on his lappie, and concluded that the disc was spoilt, so he asked my boss for a new CD. Boss was surprised, cos it played fine on hers previously, so we had our suspicions, but she sent me down with a new one anyway. So I went to him and gave it to him, but asked to try the old CD. Turns out he didn't know that the required file was in the MPEG folder when you open the D drive.

I am frequently called upon to answer questions such as these "D, I have a digital photo here, size 45 KB, is it good enough for print?" or "How can I copy 50 files into a folder, all ar once, without having to copy 50 times?", or "How do I rename this file huh?".

Today, a director asked for a duplicate CD of some data files cos she couldn't get hers to open properly. Happens that the woman opened the file directly from the zip file, which contained at least 50 other files, instead of extracting or unzipping it first. Which explains why it couldn't open properly.

So funny... I must remember, though, that these people are in their late thirties or forties. Hence, less adept at computers than us. Doesn't explain why my boss is so zai though...

The Bubonic Plague of our time

2004-09-20T09:58:00.000+08:00

Way back when I was still a nerd labouring in lower secondary studies, I happened to chance upon an article detailing the Bubonic Plague which occurred in the 14th century, otherwise known as the Black Death. Twas a nightmarish account of people "(having) lunch with their friends at home and dinner with their ancestors in paradise.", black boils erupting all over the body, how relations were strained as parents abandoned sick children and priests abandoned congregations, the failure of Medieval Medicine and the resistance of the plague, which saw it return each spring to bear away more victims each time. It is documented that about 25 million people were dead from the plague after five years.

It appears that we have a similarly horrifying disease on our hands even now, when medical science is at its pinnacle and scientists talk about cloning entire humans. It maims, takes away dignity and pits humans against one another, just before it kills.

AIDS, or Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome.

Most media reports on AIDS focus on statistics. How many people tested positive for AIDS in year XXXX, how many of these were homosexuals, heteros and bis, how many were men and how many women, which are the most common transmission methods, how the gay community has the highest rate of infection, how three cases go undetected for every one that comes to light, etc.

Cold, factual and objective. It almost seems as if by avoiding the more sordid details, by putting numbers to the whole tragedy, we could perhaps sweep the whole saga under the carpet and not have to deal with it.

In science lessons, I was taught the different symptoms of various STDs. Absolutely horrifying to see the human body mutates while under attack by viruses. The most traumatizing of all for me was Karposi's Sarcoma, in which huge, angry purple or brown lesions appear on the skin in the mouth, nose or rectum. A close second would be the pus-like genital discharge.

ST columnist, Alan John, put the most poignant human face to the whole AIDS situation in Singapore in his column 'Sorry is the hardest word' yesterday, 19 September 2004. To date, that's perhaps the most personal AIDS account I've read locally, aside from Paddy Chew, who died in 1999. AJ wrote of seeing up close and personal how individuals handle being informed that they have AIDS. If they're lucky, they have their families with them. He also wrote of how difficult it is for volunteers to have to deliver the bad news, as well as the empathy and heartache they feel for those who are awaiting their own blood test results.

Widows of AIDS victims, 15 year old girls, 16 year old boys, successful yuppies reckless in the face of temptations, middle-aged bachelors who buy sex. It seems like they've seen all types at the DSC Clinic,Singapore's only annonymous AIDS testing site. And for no client does the deliverance of a positive blood test get easier.

Most of the time, I wonder why we are asked to show compassion and kindness to AIDS patients. After all, statistics show that most of them were promiscuous and had unprotected sex with multiple partners. Or were infected through sharing needles for drugs.

Who were they thinking of when they bed-hopped?
Do people who cheat on their partners and spouses with multiple sex partners deserve our compassion and sympathy?
Isn't the gay community known worldwide as a creative and intelligent circle? If so, don't they have noone to blame but themselves for their predicament, especially when anti-AIDS campaigns and safe-sex education intiatives had been launched years ago? After all, we are not talking about some place like primitive Africa, where you could walk ten miles and not encounter anything else besides a bush or shrub. We are talking about cosmopolitan Singapore, where advertisements are plastered on almost every inch of public space possible.

I really don't know how to answer my own questions. Like a certain volunteer AJ mentioned, I feel angry. Why did they not protect themselves, at the very least, if they could not curb their lust? So much was at stake, and the very act of protection could do so much against the spread of AIDS. Yet we hear of ignorant fools who believe that having unprotected sex with young virgins will protect them against the possible destructive consequences of their bed-hopping ways.

Am I judgemental and self-righteous? I feel with all my heart for those who were infected accidentally, like the victim of a botched blood transfusion or a trusting spouse of a cheating shit. But much as I wouldn't wish AIDS on my worst enemy under any circumstances, I can't help feeling that the perpetrators of AIDS have only themselves to blame. And it even irks me sometimes when media reports come across as too hard-sell and hint that perhaps society is too callous to shun AIDS victims and leave them in the lurch, so to speak. I mean, people are rightfully scared of being infected, so what else do you expect them to do?

And so, I wonder if I am too unfeeling, too cruel, prejudiced and bigoted.

Yayeee!!!

2004-09-13T08:42:00.000+08:00

I have the entire ST of Les Choristes, so happee....

A slow, lazy Saturday afternoon...

2004-09-11T14:24:00.000+08:00

It's 2.25 pm as I begin writing this, and I am overwhelmed by a crushing lethargy, an immense inertia. Mangled remnants of O' Level Physics waft through my woozy brain (Why O's and not A's, you may ask. Well, I remember absolutely nothing of what was taught in JC; not Maths, certainly, and definitely not Chemistry or Physics), and I start thinking that perhaps it's because of my ballooning mass that I always experience so much inertia.

Fridays are always fun, because I have salsa lessons at night. This makes me pass the day not by the usual going-through-the-motions-at-work, but with a sense of purpose; anticipating fantastic Italian at Spizzico, UE Square, as well as the dizzying twirls and sensual grooves to be learnt and performed later. The latter, upon successful completion, never fails to fill me with glowing accomplishment. Really, I've come to regard dancing as a RA-RA-RA-FUN workout, instead of the chore that swimming, jogging or stepping sometimes come across as. Ditto for tennis. Next up, perhaps I really ought to get myself some slinky and sexy dancing shoes, instead of the 3-year-old sports shoes I, errrr, sport with work attire, since I go straight from work to salsa. Talk about mismatch! And let's not mention how if I wear heels to work on Friday, I sometimes forget to bring socks along with said sports shoes. And if there's one thing I've learnt, it's that Raffles Place has only one shop selling socks.

It's another 45 minutes to go before I leave for Chorale. It's really funny how I am now one of the lao3 ren2 in Chorale, when 4 plus years ago, I was one of the greenies. Wet behind the ears and feeling super out of place, I developed a slight inferiority complex as I found my own voice lacking in comparison to my seniors.

Can't go low enough (a sin for an alto),
can't go high enough (an abomination for a girl),
not enough support (a sin for any singer),
shallow breathing and insufficient air (yet more sins for a singer),
etc etc.

And now, this year, year 2004, I suddenly developed a case of over-pitching, otherwise known as going sharp. So now, whenever the choir goes sharp, I make a joke of it and step out to say 'sorry'. Most of the time, it's really for fun, cos I'm quite universally known as a bimbo, but deep down I really am quite worried as to whether I really am causing us to over-pitch. So, to make myself feel better, I claim responsibility for it before people can take their turn to joke and turn round to 'blame' me. Classic defence mechanism. Most people tell me it's cos of my tone, but Nelly tells me it's because I really am sharp. Sigh, what's wrong with me.

Sometimes I feel really mediocre. Average in most things, really deplorable at some, like statistics, drawing and painting.

I have no great talent of my own, unless you count my penchant for bimbotic encounters which I swear I never meant to achieve. I am not even really smart, like Geek the Beer Belly is, but merely above average in brains.

I love to read, but unlike some others, I can't stomach stuff by Descartes and other wazzisnames. Which makes me a consumer of books up to level 6 or level 7, if books were ranked on an intelligence-of-contents quotient from 1 to 10 in ascending order of intelligence. I can write, but not as well as I would like to.

I run faster and play sports better than most girls I know. But still, I can't be remotely considered skilled.

Worst of all, after so many years of singing, I am now stuck in a rut. I'm not improving, I've developed faults that I always counted myself lucky to have escaped.

In a nutshell, I feel I am just not GOOD enough at anything.

Which makes me just about rubbish at everything.

Gawd, what a despondent entry. Let's hope The Choir Boys make me feel better by tonight.

Falling in Love

2004-09-07T15:46:00.000+08:00

An interesting read...

By Kent Nerburn
From "Letters to My Son"

Falling In Love

It is a mystery why we fall in love. It is a mystery how it happens. It is a mystery when it comes. It is a mystery why some love grows and it is a mystery why some love fails.

You can analyze this mystery and look for reasons and causes, but you will never do anymore than take the life out of the experience.
Just as life itself is more than the sum of the bones and muscles and electrical impulses in the body, love is more than the sum of the interests and attractions and commonalities that two people share.
And just as life is a gift that comes and goes in its own time, so too, the coming of love must be taken as an unfathomable gift that cannot be questioned in its ways.

Sometimes, hopefully at least once in your life - the gift of love will come to you in full flower, and you will take hold of it and celebrate it in all inexpressible beauty. This is the dream we all share.

More often, it will come and take hold of you, celebrate you for a brief moment, then move on.

When this happens to young people, they too often try to grasp the love and hold it to them, refusing to see that it is gift that is freely given and a gift that just as freely, moves away.

When they fall out of love, or the person they love feels the spirit of love leaving, they try desperately to reclaim the love that is lost rather than accepting the gift for what it was, then moving on.

They want answers where there are no answers. They want to know what is wrong in them that makes the other person no longer love them, or they try to get their lover to change, thinking that if some small things were different, love would bloom again.

They blame their circumstances and say that if they go far away and start a new life together, their love will grow.

They try anything to give meaning to what happened. But there is no meaning beyond the love itself, and until they accept its own mysterious ways, they live in a sea of misery.

You need to know this about love, and to accept it. You need to treat what it brings you with kindness.

If you find yourself in love with someone who does not love you, be gentle with yourself. There is nothing wrong with you. Love just didn't choose to rest in the other person's heart.

If you find someone else in love with you and you don't love her, feel honoured that love came and called at your door, but gently refuse the gift you cannot return. Do not take advantage, do not cause pain. How you deal with love is how you deal with you, and all our hearts feel the same pains and joys, even if our lives and ways are different.

If you fall in love with another, and she falls in love with you, and then love chooses to leave, do not try to reclaim it or to assess blame. Let it go. There is a reason and there is a meaning. You will know in time.
Remember that you don't choose love. Love chooses you. All you can really do is accept it for all its mystery when it comes into your life. Feel the way it fills you to overflowing, then reach out and give it away.
Give it back to the person who brought it alive in you. Give it to others who deem it poor in spirit. Give it to the world around you in anyway you can. This is where many lovers go wrong. Having been so long without love, they understand love only as a need. They see their hearts as empty places that will be filled by love, and they begin to look at love as something that flows to them rather than from them.

The first blush of new love is filled to overflowing, but as their love cools, they revert to seeing their love as a need. They cease to be someone who generates love and instead becomes someone who seeks love. They forget that the secret of love is that it is a gift, and that it can be made to grow only by giving it away..

Remember this, and keep it to your heart. Love has its own time, its own seasons, and its own reasons for coming and going. You cannot bribe it or coerce it, or reason it into staying. You can only embrace it when it arrives and give it away when it comes to you. But if it choose to leave from your heart or from the heart of your lover, there is nothing you can do and there is nothing you should do.

Love always has been and always will be a mystery. Be glad that it came to live for a moment in your life.

If you keep your heart open, it will come again.

Scintillating Morning Conversations (SMCs)...

2004-09-06T10:56:00.000+08:00

SMC #1

Me: Hi, morning, do you have the June issue of SGX Pulses please? I just need it to make a few colour copies.

Resource Executive: Yeah, we do, it's over at the magazine rack.

Me: Right, thanks a lot.

Me goes over to rack, finds what i want, and proceed to ask how to borrow.

Me: Where do I sign out?

Resource Executive: Here, just sign your name...

At which point we get interrupted rudely.

Resource Manager: That is a Not For Borrowing publication. You cannot take it out.

Me: (thinks) WTF? Then why is it in the library at all?
(says) Oh, I just need to make a few colour copies of some stuff
inside, will return it within the hour.

Resource Manager: (in a superior tone) The copier is just outside.

Me: COLOUR COPIES. That's not a colour copier.

Resource Manager: You can't take it out, it's not for borrowing. People may want to borrow it.

Me: (thinks) Well yeah, I need to borrow it now right, fool!
(says) Look, I said I just need to borrow it for an hour or so to make
colour copies. Why don't I just leave my extension and name
with you?

Resource Manager: You can't hang on to it, you know. People may want to borrow the issue. Tell you what, leave your extension, name and department here. And return it as soon as you have finished.

Like, helloooo??? Any brains at home?
Didn't I say all that already?
And what the flying fart are all the publications doing sitting placidly in the library for, if not to be used by people in the company who need them?

SMC #2

Me: Hi, about the colour copier on 22nd floor, it's flashing an error message "Replace waste toner container." Can you tell me what is a waste toner container and where I can get one?

22nd floor admin officer: (sounds exasperated) Can you ask the general admin department on 19th floor? Fong or Cheok. I wouldn't know.

Me: (thinks) Right, whatever, evidently you're not very good at your job.

Me (calls 19th floor admin dept): Hey Fong, Dawn ah. The 22nd floor colour copier flashing error message. Something like "Replace waste toner container". What do I do ah?

Fong: Huh, I dunno leh. Replace toner lor.

Me: But it says waste toner. Normal toner i replace before what, and different error message. Even so, is it black toner or colour toner. Both were fine before I reloaded paper what.

Fong: I dunno leh. This one you got to check with 6415 extension, Printers, hor, bye.

Me: *expletives*

Me: Hello, Printers side right. What to do if the "Replace waste toner container" message flashes for the 22nd floor colour copier?

6415: (Mat-rock tone) Alamak, replace toner lah!!! What you want?

Me: But the usual error message is different what! And what is a waste toner container???

6415: What? Waste toner? I dunno lah, tak boleh! 22nd floor, which machine?

Me: The colour copier, there's only one on 22nd floor. I'm at my desk now, not at the machine, dunno what machine number.

6415: So, which machine number???

Me: I just said I don't know. It's the only colour copier!!!

6415: Okay okay, I go check lah.

Right, I've come to the conclusion that to be an admin staff, you must be blessed with inflexibility and stupidity. Any glimmer of initiative or intelligence is highly redundant and unwelcome. You must be adept at tennis too, to bounce people who come to you for help back and forth, here and there. You should also be moronic enough to think that you are very smart and officious, in order to speak to people in smug, superior tones while informing them that you cannot help them because there are such and such rules in place.