Bangkok Abridged

Oh gosh. If I don’t make good my promise and finish journaling Days Two thru Four, I’ll never get down to writing about all the other happenings (IF you could call them that) in my life. Initially, I wanted to wait till all the photos from Daphne’s camera are in my hands, but I think we could make do with the re-sized ones. I really don’t have to be anal about it ‘cause after all what makes it to the net are just bite-sized versions of the originals, right? Right.

Come next morn, I found my friends were more far gone than I’d thought they’d be. Well actually come to think of it, Daphne, who was sleeping closest to the window – we’d forgotten to draw the curtains – was the first to awaken. But it was early, and you know how it’s like to be the first to wake up, right? No one else is awake! It’s not really nice to be the one to wake the rest. It is seems so loserly to go brush your teeth and stare into space ‘cause you can’t do anything else since your two other friends are still fast asleep. I know about such conundrums because for the rest of the trip, I seemed to always be the first to wake up. Which was a weird experience for me, because I never, ever, am the first to rise when traveling with my family. Maybe it was due precisely to the fact that it was my first trip alone. At the back of my mind, I always had this pressure to prove to my parents that yes, Julia is old enough to take care of herself. She can go on overseas trips on her own without mucking up.

Throughout the trip, I kept uttering irritating lines as “Who has the hotel room keys?” while double-checking to make sure the hotel room door was locked; “Be careful of your things!” whenever we passed by a dark/crowded street; periodically reminded my companions to “Drink more water”; and made sure we did not get ripped off by another cab driver again. As you can tell, a lot was at stake. By Day Four Ching was rolling her eyes at every such sentence. I don’t blame her.

Oh but all this just distracts from my exhibitionist urge! Talking about being the first to wake up early was only meant to be a way to initiate another one of those photos I took. It was going to segue in, right after I talked about my friends being far gone and that weird feeling I got to be having to be waiting for them to freshen up and go down for breakfast, this wait giving me the time to take silly pictures of myself like the one below for no other reason than to entertain my blog readers for a tenth of a second:



But because I went off on a tangent, I couldn’t possibly do that anymore. Bummer. That’s okay, though, because I can still show you guys the pictures I took at the breakfast table, while waiting for Daf and Ching to get the food. It was really crowded – I’d picked the wrong time for us to wake up and go down, my bad again (although why I make it seem like it naturally is my responsibility to make decisions such as these elude me) – so one of us had to reserve a table by planting ourselves at one of them. Shenton Way customs don’t apply in Bangkok, although bags do, which was what a couple of men did at the table I thought was surprisingly unoccupied, but by then it was too late to change to another, so I just shamelessly uprooted a chair from one of the neighbouring tables and added it, very uncomfortably, in the space where our table ended and the next began.

These are the men I was speaking to you about:



Our hotel was rather old and a teeny-tiny bit creepy (though I didn’t tell my friends that), but it has some nice décor in the breakfast room, whatever you call it, nonetheless:





The croissant looked yummy, but in reality was heavy and not in the least flaky.



By the way, in the hotel lobby was a lounge that had cakes on display, for sale. Each day we saw the same forlorn pieces of baking sitting there not being eaten, and joked about how we should take pictures everyday, just to see if any were sold at all. We never did, but on the third day (I think) one of the cheesecakes looked noticeably skinnier, and on the following the cakes were cleared (correct me if I’m wrong, girls). Maybe whoever it was that bought the slices of cake threatened to sue?

Thanks to Dad, our hotel was located really conveniently. Everyday, all we had to do was walk down this little stretch of road, maybe a 5 minute walk, probably less, and we’d hit the main road, where we’d usually take the train or catch a cab (which we took a lot. Cabs are actually cheaper than trains in Bangkok!). While there were cabs and cab drivers heckling on the way out, somehow we (rather, I) was wary. For what reason I think you guys know as well. At night for some reason (grocery shopping at Foodland, a supermarket-cum-eatery near the main road; we walked home after dinner at a nearby hotel) or other we’d walk in too. There was only one time that the cab took us right to the hotel door. By day, that stretch of road is nice and bright and friendly.



At night, the street comes alive, with hookers, street meat stalls, fruit stalls, what-have-you. Smaller hotels dot the street all the way down, together with little shops offering long-distance calls home at dirt-cheap rates, internet connection, and so on. And did I mention the numerous massage parlors offering Traditional Thai massage (which we considered patronizing on our last night but in the end we were too broke to. And maybe we wanted to shop just that little bit more.)? Or hairdressing salons promising a good wave or two?



But we never did check out what exactly was on the fourth floor of our hotel…



Shopping. Shopping in Bangkok involves some degree of dexterity. If you thought the changing rooms in Far East are bad, you were wrong. Usually the places we went to were cramp and small, with no space to fit in a fitting room (no pun intended), so we had to make do with sarongs. Again, for your amusement, I illustrate:



The coolest thing we did that day, and I think the highlight of the trip for me, was to take one of the public buses. We’d just ran out of money shopping at Siam Square (yes, it can happen to you too), and so were on our way back to our hotel to refuel and recharge. But we had trouble getting a cab, and since we were already at a busstop, we asked a local which bus to take, and at the same time put the Thai we learnt to use: “Soi Ha. Soi Ha. Soi Ha.” (Translated, it means: “Street Five. Street Five. Street Five.”)



You can’t tell, but that day was swelteringly hot. That night, I noticed small red welts all over my neck. Over the next two days they morphed into pimples, and the skin on that area got really scaly and altogether very unpleasant to look at. Thankfully it didn’t irritate me much.

Bangkok has quite a few old-school theatres, screening movies that are, I heard, much cheaper than what we have over here (duh). I took down pics of some of the more interesting ones.







Did I mention we ate at Foodland that afternoon? The food’s really good for the price (S$3-5). On our last day we ate there again, and met this old Swedish guy who was really friendly (maybe a little too much). He’d been here every year for twenty-eight years, each time for a stretch of two months. Mostly to Pattaya for the summer sea breeze, so he says (Ching wondered aloud after what he meant by his “girlfriends”), but he has friends here as well so he drops by.

At Foodland, you order with the waiter, and you wait while they cook your food on the spot for you.





After you’ve eaten you slip the cash into this little green container where they have your order written on a slip of paper, and wait for someone to take it.



Your change gets returned on a small metal tray, whereupon you usually leave a small tip since the food was so dirt cheap and as a gesture that you enjoyed the food and so that the cooks will not send you off with a scowl.

Foodland was good, but this little Japanese restaurant served really nice food. Slightly more ex, though, with company of slightly more dubious backgrounds and agenda as well (local women with Japanese men. Go figure.). We went back again the following night, even though we made our next stop Chinatown.



Our last day was spent at Chatuchak Weekend Market, where the weather was sauna-hot. It was so hot it tested Ching’s patience - this being the girl who sleeps with her windows opened a silver and with the fan off. But they had everything but coffins there, so the sights and buys made up for it quite a bit, at least for me.







Us humans, with no fur, were already wilting in the heat. Imagine how the animals must’ve felt, sharing cramped quarters with twenty to a hundred others (there were Syrian hamsters, fur matted, packed so close they hardly had space to manoeuvre) for hours and hours on end. You wonder how many survive through the weekend. All kinds of creatures abound: from puppies and kittens to hedgehogs, stoats, squirrels and chipmunks, and even snakes. There were a lucky few which had the luxury of air-conditioning, though.





Chatuchak was huge. We got lost.



And in the end, the heat got the better of us (burnt a hole in my pocket!), and we headed back to the hotel earlier than we’d planned. Which was fine by us, because we were badly in need of a shower. But because we had checked out of our room earlier on, we could only bathe in the pool loos. At first we were worried the personnel wouldn’t allow us to, but luckily they were quite obliging and left us alone. Which was a good thing, too, because as things turned out the weather was bad and our flight was delayed some three hours. I was surprisingly okay about it, while Ching was surprisingly grumpy. To pass the time, we took pictures and gave each other massages. We changed three boarding gates, the last one at the farthest end of the airport. We’d been in the loo washing up, and so were one of the last to leave, so we rushed down to the boarding gate Amazing Race-style. That turned out to be completely unnecessary, because they were, once again, late to let us through, although this time it was a mere twenty minutes. The flight home was turbulence-filled (though everyone asked very politely what exactly it was that caused the long delay) but the view was rather breath-taking.



May I also mention, by way of conclusion, some of the more thought-provoking things I saw that is simultaneously current yet already talked to death?

At MBK, Bangkok’s Ngee Ann City. Our bags were searched. :



At the airport:

Bangkok, Day One

I am now standing at the promotions counter, on what will be my final day of being a working gurl. After returning from the bustling streets of Bang Cock – I couldn’t resist it any longer – I had to get back to work, get prepared for The Boyfriend's arrival back to Singapore and various other things, none of which involved trying to Get A Real (meaning permanent – after this stint, salesgirls/cashiers have earned my respect) Job.

But what a pity it would be if I were not to record down, for posterity's sake, my experiences while there! Adventure lay in wait for us the moment we stepped off the plane:

Where were the immigration counters?

That bit I wrote on Sunday. Ok ok, in reality we were not quite so pathetic as such. We did find the immigration counters without any problems, who'm I kidding right? There're signs all over airports so that even dumbos like me can follow them without much trouble. After standing in line for 10-15 minutes, it was finally Ching's turn to walk up to the counter. We were naturally excited: it was for both girls the maiden voyage to the city and my first on my own, with friends instead of family. In fact, we were so excited and giggly like girls go when they're excited we snapped pictures of seeming non-importance-complete-mundanity like this one below:



We watched with bated breath for Ching to get that first stamp on her then untainted passport, only to see the lady behind the counter sternly shake her head no, looking at us as if we'd brought some contraband into the country, raise her hand as if directing her elsewhere – a flat denial of entry.

Turns out, at Don Mueang International Airport, T1 and T2 are connected, and being the travel virgins we were – well, kind of – we strolled into the T2 immigration counters instead of the ones at T1. Normally, this wouldn't be a problem at all, 'cause all we'd have to do is to follow everyone else as they walked out. But
1) This was a small plane, being a budget airline that we were taking
2) The plane didn't take off at full capacity
3) Everyone made a bee-line for the loos (for what, your guess is as good as mine. Plane no got meh?! Past the immigration counters no got meh?! Hotels no got meh?!).

So, yeah, we had to queue up all over again. It was like one of those funny moments in FRIENDS where they screw things up the first time, and on the second try, they try and do the same thing in exactly the same way, with the same brimming enthusiasm and goofy actions. We even took another one of those pictures:



Okay I was kidding. Gotcha! But I really did go: Yay!!!! Welcome to Bangkok, guys! I can't believe we're here! Yippity-yippity-jump-jump-jump. And all that trite, again.

Sadly, my stupidity did not end there. I got me and my friends cheated the moment we stepped foot on Thai soil!!! As we were pushing our trolley out, we saw people beckoning to us from behind a counter that read "Airport Taxi". The glint in their eyes served to swerve us away from them once, but like I said, we were duped. A second counter full of people with the same glint and over-eager smiles were lying in wait for us next to the exit. I really should've listened to my gut instinct and walked on, but I was worried about having to eat humble pie should we have to come back to them again, so we handed over the 700 baht (not inclusive of the additional 60 we had to pay for the highway toll), but not without some amount of uncertainty. That came up to about 10 sing pax, which isn't very ex by Singaporean standards, but I'm guessing there's a very good reason why there was that hungry glint in those people's eyes. And the most pathetic thing? I only realised why I'd felt so unsure when our limo drove past the normal city "taxi meter" cabs. I was quite pissed, at the airport staff but most of all with myself, for failing to see the dupe that was about to happen. That man must've been laughing inside when I shot back a defensive "No" when he asked if this was our first time in the country. All the way to the bank. I was duly rapped on the knuckles by my dad when I called him that night, because I really should've known better. (But that didn't stop me from nursing my bruised ego with the retort: "You told me so long ago!") What I lousy guide to my friends I was.

But ah, I'm willing to let that go. After all, Bangkok treated us quite well, as you, dear blog reader, will find out soon. One of the first things we did once we checked into our room was to, in Daph's words, "season" the mattress.



But we were focused girls, so we didn’t waste much time on stuff that ate into our shopping time. Our first stop: Pratunam, land of the Wholesale Price.

But not before Ching reports to her boyfriend.



And also, lunch.



In Thailand the food courts operate on a coupon system: no money is actually exchanged when you buy your food, all payment is made at a counter, and you pay for your food with coupons of equivalent monetary value. All unused coupons at the end of your meal you get a refund. It's a really cheap way of settling mealtimes, but not the most appetising of choices (although when I was last there in December, all our meals were decent enough for us to continue scrimping money this way – all the better to shop with!). The two prawns in my tom yum fried rice dry were black, soft and crumbly, having been left on display with nothing but some ice to sit upon for jeez knows how long. Suffice to say, this was the first and last time we ate at a food court in our four-day stay.

Now at this juncture I must add that we really didn't have many photos taken whilst shopping, because of the aforementioned reason that we are Very Focused Girls. But here's a picture taken while we were on the Skytrain there (which was a mistake, because we ended up having to walk quite a distance, due to my miscalculations. The Skytrain, by the way, worked very much like the way our trains did before the days of EZLink-to-your-not-so-small-change) :



Wow, looks like I've inadvertently given a blow-by-blow. Tune in next time for Day Two of our fumbles and wumbles!

Arigato

Today, I sold a bottle of bath salts to two Japanese women who could hardly understand what I was trying to say. How triumphant I felt after. This accomplishment was made all the more of a feat because there was no wild gesticulations involved, no loud, long drawl of words of foolishly thinking that talking like I had low IQ would allow the tower of Babel to reach heaven. Only a polite pointing to the feet trying to tell them "you can soak your feet in it too". Hyiuk hyiuk.

I coud hardly believe it when they walked away with the bottle. And, in my glee, I forgot how to say thank you so very very much (as the literal translation must be) until I didn't need it anymore.

Bangkok, by the by, was fantastic. To orgasmic proportions for shopaholics (not that I am one). Will blog and post pics later, when I have the time.

Hello, Can I Help Chew?

The tiniest incidents I report to you, dear blog reader. Yes you, Adrian. My life has taken a less shake-leg turn the past couple of days, morphing into one led by the Department Store Salegirl. Not that Adrian doesn't already know of course, but this is for the odd other netizen that surfs in out of boredom or pure accident. But I really should get on with my story now, shouldn't I?

I was taking my dinner break today, savouring one of the better ba chor mee I've tasted of late - soft, juicy ba chor, noodles cooked just about right, no pig's liver (oh thank you), actually edible "pig's navel", and the requisite stewed mushroom - the big ones, not the misery looking ones we sometimes get and which you can hardly get the taste out of (only problem was that it was a little on the oily side.). Naturally, I did not want to share my dinner with the odd fly that came by, trying to score a meal out of mine. But, not wanting to put down my utensils to shoo the fly away, or run and risk of inadvertently hitting the bug with the end of my chopstick, I blew at a particularly sluggish bugger. Back it came again, no doubt agreeing that my $4 bowl of noodles was quite appetizing. So, again I blew.

I should've known better.

My aiming has never been good (in school, whenever we had competitions involving some kind of spherical object I've always played defence, never offence). And this turned out not to be an exception, because the dirty little thing which no doubt had been foraging in the rubbish bin somewhere nearby right before he landed on my food well, landed on my food. For two flustered seconds I did not know what to do - pick it out with my icky hands which touched two dozen different similarly germ-infested hands while at work, or use my utensils and contaminate them? I chose the latter. Faster, mah. I left the struggling, oil-drenched body on the table, in front of me, and continued eating while watching it, simultaneously captivated and disgusted. At this point it is needless to say that I was dining alone. For this to be the highlight of my meal, it has to be.

In any case, the determined little fella managed to get off its back, despite being trapped by the oil, and onto its feet again. It made what seemed to be failed attempts at flight, lifting its rear end up, but not going anywhere. It continued to do that for about a minute or so - yes I chose to watch it instead of that Channel 8 drama that was playing on the telly further down the foodcourt, I have rather weird viewing habits - until finally, it keeled over and died. Kaput. Just like that, it rolled over and its legs went stiff, resuming its position unwittingly taken when I first fished it out of my bowl.

Gee, I didn't plan for such a long description on such a negligible happening, seeing as such that bitching about my protagonist's human counterparts would suit readers' tastes more. But to tell the truth, there weren't that many. All the people I've met so far have been friendly and polite. Sure, there was the aunties who brought their friends/family/lady they met in the loo so that they could redeem more freebies (today this auntie boasted to us that she had 6 already!). Or, that lady who stuck out her hand while at the same time saying, with perhaps a little disdain, "I don't want this." But nothing hard to handle, no angry, displeased customer marching up to our counter with any you-bloody-liar-refund-me-my-money-or-burn-in-hell! fiasco. So yeah, all is well (except for the aches and pain from standing for a good 9 hours straight) and good.

Metamorphosis

While waiting to cross at a traffic junction on my way home just now, I saw what appeared to be a bent-over wasp in the throes of death. It looked really bizarre, that black bug, jerking around in a tight circle on the ground, so that I had to stare. No one else seemed to have noticed it, or, even if they had, were too preoccupied with the task at hand - crossing the road - to pay any attention to it. I, on the other hand, find bugs rather interesting (with the exception of roaches, because they are brown and big and flat and have disgusting hairy legs), so I was quite fascinated by it all.

But, upon closer inspection, it turned out to be not a wasp, but two of your standard-issue houseflies (they come free with the preserved salted fish), joined together to form one tiny insect beast. The reason why this beast looked bent was because one housefly was on top of the other - it was in throes, alright, the throes of passion.

It was quite cool, really. For them to choose to mate (well, not that they really did choose it, but you get my drift) right at this here traffic junction, for me to discover. But that wasn't what was going through my mind at that moment. I was thinking: Boy, it would be pretty easy to kill the both of them right now, since they are pretty much grounded. (Because I've had this weird preoccupation with killing houseflies, once killing a few which were trapped in a packet of preserved plums or something like that at my neighbourhood grocery store, smashing them to bits with my fingers. No escape. And then this other time, when a buzz of flies followed us up a tour bus because we'd been to some place that flies like to be, I trapped them behind the curtains of the bus, one by one, and squashed each to death. No, I am not proud.) But then I thought it'd be really cruel to kill them while they were mating. And not very fair, too. A right tragedy it would be to die in the throes of passion.

Tighty-Whities

For some strange, unknown reason, the words "tighty-whities" kept recurring in my head for the past few days. Maybe it's got to do with my obsession with getting Chye a pair of CKs.

In any case: while Ching, my sis and I were waiting to board the bus to get to Zouk's Flea & Easy, I overheard this Jap boy on the line with his friend, and I could swear I heard him go "tighty-whities"! And he repeated it a couple of times for his friend who apparently needs a good ear candling session. Bizarre (or maybe I'm the one truly in need of the therapy).

After that the word stopped appearing in my head. Told JW and Eugene and they had a good laugh over my (supposed) delusion.

While we're on that topic, they even sold underwear at the flea market, no kidding. A box of women's underwear, those stripey cheapo ones that are cut high up your thigh were going for a buck each. Not a lot of people saw them though, I'd expect, because it was so so crowded (unlike Zouk on a Friday night, erhem) and especially because the box was placed, in a bad-marketing decision, on the floor at the front of their table.

I bought so many things. A bag at the aforementioned stall, a Topman tee for Chye, an Adidas tee I have no idea what to do with, a Golden Breed tank (in yellow), a funky looking top with organza and what-not, a pair of black, patterned stockings, and this:


my best buy of the day! A mossimo dress, at a steal for but $8. Yep, I think that's about it. Set me back a good $70+ but oh well, everything was going for a song. Even Ching, who's usually tight-fisted about her purse strings, spent a good 40-odd dollars. My sister rung up the registers to the tune of erm, also $70+ (but managing to clinch the Top Spender of the Day award).

On another note: Had a weird dream last night/this morning. I dreamt some woman was chasing me up the stairs, I think to kill me or inflict some such other pain/torture on me. Now in these dreams, I somehow always manage to run out of steam really really quickly, way before my pursuer does, to the point that I feel like I'm in that Gatorade advert where that swimmer is erm, swimming in a pool of lead, only I feel that my legs are lead. At this juncture I get really panicky for my life, not knowing I'm really in a dream, silly me, that's the only reason why I can run in that manner and seem to hover for a good 5 seconds in the air before landing 2cm from the spot I was before that - and so I run out of the stairwell, out into the carpark of the shopping centre. Looking for a way out, my brain attempts that deus ex machina trick and a Rastafarian-looking guy materialises out of nowhere and I run with what's left of me to hide behind him, safe and away from that women hell-bent on hurting me.

Then she comes and tells me I'd dropped my wallet.

From "Choke"

"It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed. Even if it's for sure unexplainable. Even God."

- a novel by Chuck Palahnuik.

Bored.

Because I have nothing better to blog about, my life reduced to such ennui, here's a nothing quiz I took some days (or was it weeks?) ago. Found it at Janice's blog. You scored as Hedonism. Your life is guided by the principles of Hedonism: You believe that pleasure is a great, or the greatest, good; and you try to enjoy life's pleasures as much as you can. "Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die!?" More info at Arocoun's Wikipedia User Page... Hedonism 95% Existentialism 70% Strong Egoism 65% Justice (Fairness) 60% Utilitarianism 45% Kantianism 35% Apathy 30% Nihilism 15% Divine Command 5% What philosophy do you follow? (v1.03) created with QuizFarm.com

My New Cap

Yay. Now I can deliver newspapers in style.

In Memory of Wu Ming - 10th May 2005

Was at my class chalet when I received a call from my sis, telling me the news. We found a tree to bury him under. He went in style - an old Miracle box was used as his coffin. Don't worry guys, I'm fine, only pity is that his owner didn't come back in time to see him. Rest in peace, little one. You were a delight to have.

First Day of Being Miss Nuah

This was what my schedule for today was supposed to look like:

Wake up at nine-ish.
Go for a jog at ten-ish.
Go to the bank at twelve-ish (hmn. elvish.).
Go to SSDC at one-ish.

But this is what transpired:
Woke up at ten-ish.
Went to the bank at eleven-ish.
Was rejected by the bank for not bringing my ic, at late-eleven-ish.
Pissed off at twelve-ish still.
Went for a jog at twelve-ish.

My god, the hot sun beating down on my back. I'd never felt so weak. It took me a good 15minutes to complete my route, which was only slightly less than 2km. I'm so lousy. A few hundred metres into the run, my right lung started hurting. But I continued to plod on, refusing to give in to that little bit of discomfiture. Then, another few hundred minutes into the run, the pain gradually beat a retreat. Only to be followed by a vague pain in the abdomen. This was then joined by a compadre, pain-in-the-knee-joint. And finally, the best part - I felt like I needed to go poo-poo.

At the end of my run, heading to the void deck to cool down, I let out a big yawn. Geez.
This void deck, by the way, is also home to a PAP kindergarten. Boy, are those men in white starting them young. I noticed as I headed towards the void deck that the kids were lining up outside their classrooms. I thought, "Oh goody their teachers must be taking them for a walk. At least that's one of the perks of being in pre-school. No need to be studying all the time. There's always time for play."

But then, as I walked out of sight of them, but not out of earshot, I heard the little 'uns chanting: “慢慢走！ 慢慢走” and I thought, gosh, these pre-school teachers nowadays really have a way with kids. But, just as I expected to see two neat rows of kids come staring at the big jie jie sweating like a pig, their chant morphed into “坐下来！坐下来！” and slowing fading into silence. Turned out they were headed to the comp lab. Wah piang eh, well-trained or what, man.
I went home, legs a little jelly, then sat down to stretch a bit more.

My toes seemed a million miles away.

Then,
Lunch at two-ish.
Back to the bank at three.
Took a slow walk to the driving school after that.

I tell you, the weather was so hot and humid, my tee stuck to my 'pits because they were soaking wet. I was uncomfortable, and also very conscious about the possibility that people were staring at my sweat stains. Ew. How unglam.

When I finally arrived at the school, I decided to ask the ladies behind the information counter about how to go about enroling into the school. Bad choice. Without as much as an explanation, one of them whipped out a few brochures, together with a queue number and told me to go to the "breathing room". Huh? What's wrong with the air down there? Was I really sticking that bad?

Confusion ensued until the younger lady next to her clarified, upon looking at my bewildered face, that it was the briefing room I had to go to. Apparently these people aren't a safety school for nothing.

But it was such a waste of time, really. Almost everything I needed to know was already in the brochures they gave me. Well, ok, I found out I could take some complusory test online instead of trudging down to the school again, and also the amount I needed to pay, but hey, nothing vital there.

In fact up till I got into the room, I was just plain confused. What was the queue number for? Was I supposed to go queue for something before this? Pay first perhaps? What was the briefing about? Yeah, yeah, I'm a swakoo. But I feel it was basic courtesy (not to mention part of the job) to just say "Okay Miss, before this you have to attend a briefing session first, take these brochures and go upstairs, second floor first door to your right. The queue number is for registration after you've viewed the powerpoint presentation. It's really boring - you are duely warned. Have a nice day!"

Anyway, so I sat there for a good 20 minutes before someone came along and delivered a polished but bored presentation. After that we signed our forms like good little pupils and went downstairs.

And guess what awaited me? Come on, just try, it's a no-brainer. What's it you say? You got it! More waiting. Well at least there was CNA on mute. Wondered why they were interviewing a horse acupuncturist. Or why breeding jackals had got to do with the channel... (On a totally unrelated note: Did you know they broadcast local soccer matches on CNA as well? Really, the incongruity of it all.)

When it was finally my turn, I was informed that the school was fully booked up to July. My eyes opened wide in disbelief. But I just went on with it anyway. But after leaving the place, it finally sunk in: in all likelihood, that would mean I wouldn't get my license til August. August?! What the hell am I supposed to do with my time till then?! And I told my dad I was going to look for a job, no more hand-outs from him thankyou. Why did I not take the hand-outs? Why? Now I'm not sure what to do. Get a job? Where? Intern? But what about my practicals?

That just leaves me with temp jobs. Gee. I need cash. I need it to play.

Bloody friggin' 5th July!!!!!

Anybody Wants to Go?

Some words to help you decide:
The last time I went there, I bought lots of earrings (special designs at reasonable prices), a granny-style cardi I love so much at $5, a white small-girl tank top at $5, a necklace I never wore at $1, and that's about it. But it was great fun I'm gonna go again! So, any takers?

Time to Hang Out Again

As I was telling Adrian, seeing the cheeky, grinning faces of my friends just brings a smile to mine. These people have a camera radar hardwired into their system. Each time a flash goes off, the synapses in their brains tells them "Gotta... get... into... that... picture!!!" Gotta love 'em.

And the excuse for our get-together? Celebrating, belatedly, the birthday of this here 23-year old man-boy.

Painting the Town Red

The last adacamic exercise of my life (well, for now, anyway) that will judge me according to some arbitrary criteria based on how much muck I could churn out in under two hours IS OVAH. This is me celebrating on a night out at Phuture:


It was awfully cold at Zouk. Awfully boring, too. Everyone was just standing around, boogieing in their seats; it was obvious they were there to be seen. But we had drinks coupons that came along with our entrance tix, and we took some pictures while we were at it. Well, that was until the bouncer came along and shook his finger at us. And like meek little lambs, we complied (we'd better! That's my bro's precious cam!)

I was trying out my "sultry" pose. More like "sloshed". Without the ruddiness, thankfully.

And here is proof of Ching's legendary prowess behind the camera, bar none.

P/s I really don't know why my page looks like this now. I suspect it's the size of the pictures that caused it. Thumbnails, help?

闭关修炼 - 可为什么总是炼不成仙？

So, like every hardworking student at this time of the year, I've been holing myself up at the CC mugging away. Not that I'm really working very hard - obvious in the fact that I'm writing this entry instead of poring over my notes like a good student ought to do. But, this being the last exams I'm going to sit for in my career as a professional student, I was getting nostalgic of the places I'd see everyday as I chose to hermitize myself along with other like-minded people. As a result, the idea of capturing snapshots for keepsakes germinated.

P/S Not that you could tell if you didn't already know, but I shuttle between two CCs, one newly-renovated and nearer my home, and other one staked out during the refurbishing works of the former. Surprisingly, it is the older one that I have more fondness for, probably because it and the neighbouring shops radiates in that old-school familiarity which takes me back to my childhood.


On my way to the CC today, I spied a sleepy cat. Needless to say, he wasn't too thrilled about making his impending debut on the world wide web.

I always thought these beams would make a nice picture. Too bad I don't make a nice photographer.


I was surreptitiously (or so I thought) taking pics of this birdshop at the CC, and upon the third photo taken I stopped because the flash from my camera went off - I didn't want the portly uncles from the shop to come marching over to the magazine stand behind which I was standing, rip the camera out of my helpless hands and smash it onto the floor in indignation for not having been paid their due royalties - or otherwise infringing upon their privacy. It was also at this point that the young salesgirl of the shop I was staking out at came by and took me by surprise with her quizzical what on earth are you doing look, asking me what it was that I was taking, having lurked around their shop for so long.


Our spanking-new study room. You'd think NUS hired the same contractors to do up the place.


But nevertheless, a study room made for kids-at-heart like us in mind.


And... guess whose hairy appendages these are?

Another Reason Why We Shouldn't Wear Fur

Wu Ming abandons his "Fairprice Softness" comfort and roughs it out on his usual pee corner in a bid to stay cool. Talk about being unglam:


Seriously, the weather's been freaking hot, so much so that some people have wondered aloud how many suns there are in the sky (true story). Wu Ming, especially, entering that geriatric stage in his life (well he's not yet quite as ancient as Cuddles lived to be), has been finding the going rough. Of late, every breath he takes is laboured and quick, every step wobbly and unstable. I do hope he can at least last this last month or so before his rightful owner returns. It's quite bad, even my mum has noticed, and a few nights ago suggested that he be moved to join me and my sis in our sleeping quarters. So now, he gets to sleep in air-conditioned comfort - I hope - about a third of the day.

I said I hope, because when the room starts to cool, he starts to disappear under his sheets of the afore-mentioned brand of tissue paper (two-ply @ 3 sheets per hand-out), so much so that I'm waiting for people to start asking me whether there's actually a living creature in that cage or am I just breeding the bacteria that will eventually decompose the bio-degradable wood shavings? You can hardly see he's there at all. But when he does deign to poke his little nose out from under his nest, he's as cute as can be. Which is why I couldn't resist taking these pictures below (with captioned-accompliment):


This is his "OI!" face. For having been disturbed in his sleep with a spotlight (mind you, cataracted though his eyes could be, and previously thought to be already blind, he is still quite sensitive to light.). Grumpy like the old fogey he is.


This is him investigating my handphone-holding appendix. Probably hoping I'd drop him a snack.


And this is him retreating back into his bed, having found none. The End.

My Fingernails Are Exam-Ready

But the rest of me is not.

In any case, the battle has begun...

Extra-Ordinary Day

Today was a normal day. A very normal day. But somehow, the little things that happened around and to me made feel - and this is a rather rare event - very blessed indeed, on so many different levels.

It first started with an sms my dad - yes my dad! an unusual phenomenon in itself, haha - telling me tell managed to squeeze the hotel we're booking for Thanklian - oh, how on earth did I manage that typo? - Thailand a few hundred baht more on the room rate - a trifling S$15 in total, but the fact that he went to the trouble to get it means so much more. I gave him a big grin when he came back home today, my way of saying "thank you" to him, even know he doesn't know it. Daddy's the best.

I went home soaking in the sights today, stopping a bit to look for a bird in the tree singing its song, stooping to give a kitty cat a few pats on the head, just enjoying being in the here and now. I just felt this simple contentment in being where I am now. Maybe it's the fact that I'm studying for my finals - in the true sense of the word - now.

But in any case, as I was walking to the MRT station to meet Ching for her to pass me something (that she did as a favour to me, to boot), my friend messaged me. Part of her message contained the sentence: "God bless yr studying!" I was so touched. The concept of God is real in the sense that he is manifested through people around us who care and show they care; through them this benevolent entity "exists". And that's enough for me, for now. Like Ching, who gave me some home-made mango pudding and herbal tea for me and my family, and the fact that she came down to meet me even though she was feeling a lil under the weather.

And finally, the icing on the cake I so relished: On my way back home from the station, from out of the blue, I started humming Chye's favourite song. I got to my block, opened the letter box - which was literally brimming in its excitement to see me (and get the load off its insides) - and saw, among the mountain of mail, a letter, in unmistakeable handwriting, from Chye. Now you busybodies, I shall not reveal to you its contents (no you didn't ask, but yes you'd like to know) but amazingly enough reference was made to that very same song.

Maybe it's telepathy?

Or maybe just the little miraculous coincidences of life?

Whatever the case is, today has been a most ordinary of days, yet, in a sense, it also has been the most extraordinary. And the most beautiful. Know what the best part is? With a bit of luck, I have my whole life ahead of me to enjoy such days.

Stardee Fast Food Restaurant: A Great Place to Mug!

Was having a conversation with Chye earlier today. Here's an anecdote that tickled me:

Me: i can't stay much longer, have to go stardee.
Him: Where is it?
Him: We have one Stardee fast food restaurant nearby too!
Me: huh?
Me: hahahahha
Me: I meant I was going to study!
Him: hahaha

hahaha.
Me and my unpredictable switches between proper-sounding English, and, typical of net-speak, the usage of novel re-formulations of the way words are spelt. Really, if I decide to be a prude, I ought to stick to it. That way it won't confuse people who're trying to have a decent conversation with me. But sometimes it's just fun-ner to take control over cultural tools. Rather post-modernist, no?

P/s I've changed the template of the blog in response to comments about how hard it is to read my entries. Not that I didn't already know that, but let's just say I've had a change of heart.

ETA: Darn, there goes my attempt at telling a joke. Turns out it's a Hardee Restaurant, no thanks to someone's delusional memory. But well, the jokes we could spin with that name...
(Let's try one on for size:
I am Hardee at home now that I've discovered the pleasures of Hardee Fastfood Restaurant! Boy, they sure give the best hard-ons...)

(Another) Postscript: Ah Chye got it wrong again. It's Hardee's, and the only reason I found out was 'cause of the saucy ad Paris Hilton did for them (www.spicyparis.com). All I can say is, well, they sure live up to their name.

Some Musings; A Statement

Inertia was preventing me from settling down to do my work, even though it's really quite urgent, so I visited a classmate's blog I hadn't gone to in a while. When I read it, it struck me, really struck me. So many thoughts were running through my head. He's an eloquent writer. Obviously, this guy really knows his stuff. He is passionate about his - our - major. Reading all the references he dropped about all that we've learnt the past four years, made me realise how little I'd absorbed. How superficially I know the concepts, ideas, arguments of the people I've been reading. It made me wonder, if I'd had enough passion for the subject, if I could be a bit more like him. To have a passion. Where is my passion?

His musings about the world as it is today really hit home too. Some of it reminded me of Mark, and the me when I was with him. Presently I feel really cynical about the world. Really callous. "Nothing I'll do is not going to change anything anyway, so why bother?" Sometimes I think I don't think. Just floating through life. I've just been taking the path the state carved out for me. And after this, what? Well, do what everyone does after this. Into the corporate world. And the thing is, I've been preparing myself for it so well, getting rid of my cognitive dissonance, it scares me. I don't care anymore. And I don't pretend to care. In the past, when I did at least pretend, I could still console myself that the internal struggle still continued. Where is it now?

And the way he wrote about his grandmother. She moved away; no wonder I keep hearing him talk to her on the phone. It put a smile on my face, the way he reminisced about the times he spent with her. When you see the tender side of a person, you'll never look at him quite the same way again. Awwww. It also made me wonder if I'd made any good, lasting ties with any of my family. I don't know how to express it, but it just made me feel so self-centered.

Unbelievable. All these stirrings-up in me just by reading this one guy's blog. If you're ever reading this, Wei, thanks. May I never want to aspire to sell my soul. Yes, I want to be "bourgeois", but may I never betray my values in order to get there.

Post-note: Reading this again just makes me feel embarrassed, but I'll keep it up for now (albeit with a slight edit) because it is a rather accurrate portraylal of how I felt at that point in time.

I Seem to Have an Affinity with Birds

Then again, this is Singapore, and I live in a high-rise building.

Anyway, this is how the story goes:
My brother came to loserly me, who, as usual, was seated on her bed in front of the computer, beckoning to me to come with him. His face had this "I have something really cool/interesting to show you" look on it, he seemed so amused. I thought my mum had fallen asleep on the couch in a funny position. But, as it turns out, that was not so. My mum was simply reading on the sofa in an odd position. But nevermind that. So he pointed to the window in his room, and there the little adolescent was, resting on his window sill. His - well, I don't know for sure, I just have a habit of assuming every living creature is male until proven otherwise (and every non-living thing as a "she": country, house, car etc. Go figure.) - parents had been scared off when by brother, upon hearing some noise from the window, turned from his laptop to take a look. The parents must've had the shock of their lives. They forgot to take their son - offspring - with them when they fled the creature whom, unbeknownst to them, couldn't eat them for dinner even if he'd wanted to, because he was separated from them by a sheet of glass.

So anyway, after talking about it for a bit, and marvelling at how, out of the myriad of tiny window sills in the neighbourhood, the three decided to take a breather at one of ours, we did the only thing all self-respecting Singaporeans would do: meld their love affair for fancy gadgets and gizmos with their penchant for kiasuism - and took a photo for remembrance. I joined in too (hey, I'm a self-respecting Singaporean too ok!). And this, my dear (not-so) hypothetical reader, is the result.

Gosh, how I pamper thee with boring stories about mundane affairs painted in a romanticized light.

(For those of you - very few, I know - who are interested in finding out how the story ended, well, it ended with the clumsy human (me) making a sudden movement, after having crept closer to the animal, and scaring the little thing off. He flew to a nearby block. Alright, the end.)

On the Bus Route to School

I smiled at a mynah today.
There he was, peering up at me from
Below when the double-decker pulled up alongside it.
He cocked his head up, his yellow-ringed eye
Looking at me inquiringly.
I gave him a plastic grin.
He cocked his head to the
Other side, and then, deciding
I was too plebeian for him,
Took flight into the dense foliage.


* * *

All these years in uni, and I've never really known the places I passed by every time I took the bus to school. One day, I ought to cycle past all the places on my bus route, and take in the sights. Before corporatism takes over my life.

With Love, There's No Making Up For Lost Time

With finite, measureable things you can. Like catching up with that module you were slacking off on the whole sem. It may take a whole lotta effort, but it can be done. You could also catch up with a tv series you had been too busy to follow. Sure, coz as long as you can find it, there are only so many episodes you'll have to sit through before being up to speed with what your friends know - supposing you'd want to do that in the first place, of course.

But, though we always say it, can we catch up with sleep?

Once that night has passed us by, that windowfor your skin to rejuvenate itself, for your liver to regenerate its lost cells, are gone forever. Perhaps once in a while it's ok. But not for extended periods of time. There's a reason why they call it beauty sleep, after all. I guess you you conceiveably make up for it over time, but sometimes, when the damage is done, the damage is done.

What about catching up with friends? I think we've all been there before. After you've ceased to contact someone for a period of time, you similarly lose touch with what's going on in his/her life. Sure, that person could update you, but those tidbits are necessarily compressed to an extent that the details (which are really the most juicy and important bits) have been lost a great deal. Then you find that you really don't know what your friend is going through anymore, the life she/he is living as she/he lives though it. You feel less and less close to that person, and you wished you'd kept closer touch with him/her. I'm not saying, of course, that reparation to the damages cannot be made. With enough effort, it's possible.

So. Can you make up for lost time with someone?

Are relationships like modules you can cram?

Can spending all your time with someone for the next three months make up for the six you haven't been around?

Maybe you can, like with sleep. Or with some friendships, if you're lucky.

But maybe, like sleep, the damage would have already been done.

The One Where Julia Becomes Mr Heckles For the Day

I was having my nap, having slept only about 4 hours last night, when I was awoken to the sounds of the girl upstairs jump-jump-jumping away. What was she doing, playing out some school-girl fantasy? There was so much running. I'll bet there was some twirling around in circles, too.

Naturally, I was pissed off.

So I went to the kitchen, picked up thetek kor propper (does it have a proper term? Laundry stick, perhaps?), went back to my room, and knocked on my ceiling. With vengence. But that reminded me of Mr Heckles, a grumpy old man in Friends who lived in the apartment below the girls' - only people in America have no need for tek kors and by extension, tek kor proppers either, so he used a broom. Why didn't I use a broom? Because - well, it just didn't cross my mind to use a broom - so I stopped being grumpy sleepless Julia after a while and, instead of going back to my work, went and did a search on Friends episode transcripts. Hoorah for the ever well-disciplined Jules.

FaceAnalyzer

When I submitted this photo:



These were the results:


83% South East Asian
17% Chinese

Gender: Female


Intelligence: 5.7 Average Intelligence
Risk: 5.4 Average Risk
Ambition: 5.9 Average Ambition
Gay Factor: 1.9Very Low Gay Factor
Honor: 5.1 Average Honor
Politeness: 5.3 Average Politeness
Income: 6.4 $30,000 - $50,000
Sociability: 5.8 Average Sociability
Promiscuity: 3.8 Low Promiscuity

Archetype: White Collar




100% South East Asian

Gender: Female


Intelligence: 5.3 Average Intelligence
Risk: 6.1 Average Risk
Ambition: 6.2 Average Ambition
Gay Factor: 3.1 Average Gay Factor
Honor: 3.6 Low Honor
Politeness: 3.3 Low Politeness
Income: 5.6 $30,000 - $50,000
Sociability: 5.3 Average Sociability
Promiscuity: 3.5 Low Promiscuity

Archetype: Gambler



89% South East Asian
11% Chinese

Gender: MALE

Intelligence: 5.9 Average Intelligence
Risk: 4.3 Low Risk
Ambition: 5.9 Average Ambition
Gay Factor: 1.3 Very Low Gay Factor
Honor: 5.2 Average Honor
Politeness: 6.4 Average Politeness
Income: 6.2 $30,000 - $50,000
Sociability: 5.7 Average Sociability
Promiscuity: 2.7 Very Unpromiscuous

Archetype: White collar

Conclusions:
1. I don't look very Chinese.
2. With a doll fringe, I look like a guy.
3. For some reason unknown to me, wearing a flower on my hair makes me look like a gambler.
4. It also made me look gay.
5. Guys take note: I am, based on my looks, not a very promiscuous person.
6. (Too lazy to post a picture up, but apparently, with glasses I am very intelligent as well as very polite. Hmn.)

My Life As A Paper Cut-Out Doll

doll
Originally uploaded by stygian_feline.

Haha. Meanwhile, in other happenings of my day...

Was taking pics today for a job application, and my brother took this candid of me. Commented to Adrian (sorry, haven't learnt how do that nifty link "trick" yet - I know it doesn't really qualify as a trick since 'most everyone knows how to do it - where you place your cursor over the name, click on it, and be magically transferred to the URL, so I can't link to your blog as yet) how I looked like a paper cut-out doll, and suggested that he added some tabs to me, since he was already Photoshopping my other photo. And so he did! Thanks for fulfilling my life-long fantasy of being a life-less, two-dimensional cardboard character Ad! You're such a pal. :>

ETA: Yes I know the tabs are on the clothes of the doll, not the doll itself. Details-schmetails.

And hey, I figured it out! Visit Adrian's blog here.

I Like My Showers Warm, Thankyouverymuch.

Of late I've been taking showers cold.

No, it's not some new health fad scientists/doctors/people in the field are highly-recommending, no, not at all. Far from that.

It's something a little, sorry, make that a lot, duller than that.
It's a technical malfunction.
It's my heater.

And what's worse is, it's one of those gas-powered heaters that warrant a lot of ventilation, so it needs to be installed outside the confines of one's bathrooms. And the offshoot of that is, everytime I goes cold on me, I follow the following steps:
1. Turn on the faucet.
2. Stand, stark naked, with your ear cocked next to the semi-translucent blue door of the bathroom (the kind when, if there's light coming in from inside, you can see a silhouette (albeit distorted) - a word I need to enlist the help of dictionary.com in order to spell, by the way) so as to listen up for the "pop" of the flame being ignited.
3. If not, turn off the tap, and repeat steps two and three.

A Visitor

I think I just spotted a male olive-backed sunbird perched on my tek kor just now. I was just going about my business, having just finished my lunch of hokkien mee, when I heard a distinct bird call, twittering away outside the window of my kitchen. I looked up from the mess that was the rubbish bin - and voila! - a tiny bird was there, surveying the area. For about 3 minutes, I just stood at the sink, not paying attention to the cutlery I was washing, staring all the time at the tiny little relayer of Spring that was barely two or three metres away from where I was standing. From the secrecy of the darkened window panes, I think, the bird, though it could hear my clumsy human ways, could not really make out if there was anything/one there. And then, with a little hop to position himself sideways, he took off. I scurried to my window and saw him joined by another bird, probably his mate, at the tek kor-ed window of another kitchen adjacent to my block. Ah. It's so nice to have Nature visit you every once in a while.

Here's the link to a picture of the olive-backed sunbird, taken by Paul Huang:
http://www.naturestops.com/gallery/photo.php?photo=388

Sado-Masochism on the Trains of Singapore

I really ought to be working on my term paper, but boredom set in and here I am, about to recount some weird thing I saw on the train some time last month - one of the side effects of living in an urban, claustrophobic country: so there I was, on my way home and minding about my own business like everybody does. But I was standing close to this couple, standing at the glass panels near the doors, and I couldn't help but indulge in my voyeuristic tendencies in the episode that ensued - they were practically inviting me to do so.

But it's not as if I was listening in right from the beginning, so when I started to tune in, the girl was already in the thick of a plot trying to do-in some person she didn't like staying together with her - a sister? A cousin? A roommate?

(in Mandarin, loosely translated from memory):
"Hey, help me think of something to frame her (I'm assuming it's a her, since Mandarin doesn't have a gender noun in the spoken form, ya) lei" (Spoken in a sweet voice belieing her apparant taste for schadenfreude, as it later turns out.)
(Her boyfriend keeps quiet, as far as I remember.)
" I know, I'll cut up all her clothes, and then make it seem as if somebody else did it!" (Boyfriend says some disparaging remark about her stupidity or something to that effect.)
"What, can what, she'll never think it's me lor. Who else can it be? Can only be her."

And I, realising that I have been quite quietly impolite, decide to tune out. But I only manage it for a while, because for some strange reason this girl started slapping her boyfriend, as if for the fun of it. That naturally pisses him off, and he utters the requisite swear word in Hokkien. So she changes tactics, and starts flicking him in the ear instead. Now he really loses his cool, and chee bye he said, this time with more menace, holding his fingers on the ready to flick her back - "Do you want me to do it to you? Huh?" The offending girlfriend finally desists and turns on her womanly wiles, acting all coy and demure... and before I knew it the two were back in lovey-dovey mode again.

At that point I was thinking: Gee, if they're like that in a public crowded cabin of a train, goodness what they do in the privacy of a bedroom. Bondage and whips? Seriously, that rates as one of the weirdest couples-I-am-unaquainted-with. Couples are always mysterious and uninterpretable entities in the first place, but this pair.... gosh.

Gettin' to know me...

The below is something I've just wrote - the only thing I've written in relevance to schoolwork, and this being a personal introduction, is a pretty sad state of being. Graduation-mode needs to be purged out of my system. Anyway. So, seeing as I haven't been writing, let me be lazy and post something that already will be "published" elsewhere:

Life in NUS, Sociology Department:

I'm a very ocular-centric person, so the media and its influence on popular culture (and vice versa) hold much fascination for me. Being someone who grew up glued to the goggle-box, the power of the media to me is an important and immediate dimension of human social life. Sociology helps me be more aware of how images and stories are manipulated to suit the aims of the press (and also to remind myself that a Xando pill does not a skinnier Julia make).

In general I'm more interested in the micro, qualitative aspect of social life. (But that is not to say the Marx and Weber are crap. They are not. They are to be highly revered, yessiree.) So gimme gendered constructions of sperms and eggs, and gimme the inner workings of the recording music industry. Social life as it is lived, no? Of course it would be very nice to be able to extrapolate from higher abstractions of society, but sadly it is something I still have to work at.

ISM Topic:

An ethnographical study of how social gambling may or may not mediate social relations (in terms of hierarchy within the family, for example) within the extended kin group. This is based on the idea that gambling, as an activity that involves some matter of chance, provides a form of equality between actors and might therefore act as a mitigating factor for social norms of respect for elders, distance between in-laws (especially those of the opposite sex) and such-like.

Life, Post-NUS:

Enough studying for now. I would like to see the world. So if I cannot secure a "proper" job that can allow me to do so, I might pack my bags, learn feeling management, commodify them, and fly the skies in a sarong kebaya. But that would presuppose my writing up a resume, and seeing how long it has taken me to get down to writing this, it’s obvious I’m very bad and highly reluctant at giving descriptions of myself. That would also reduce the possibility of me pursuing the more lofty ambition of research in conservation (nor the more self-indulgent ones like a career in singing). At the end of the day however I would like to do something media-related, perhaps in writing or production. (Goodbye, superstar dreams.)

____________________________________________________________________

The Cat with the Notice Tacked on its Back

I had a dream the other night. I was at this farm, and for some reason it was having some kind of open house. So the whole place was did up like it was a fair, replete with ribbons and ponies and excited children zipping through your legs. It was really pretty too, the fields awash in golden light and the grass rippling in the breeze. So there I was, strolling along with a friend of mine (I can't quite remember who now, but maybe it was Daphne), and we came to the top of this small hill where a building stood, I know not for what purpose, but running alongside the building there was a nice long row of cages waiting to be explored. This is probably where my mind confuses between farm animals and pet shop, but let's be forgiving. My friend and I walked up to the first bunch of cages, admiring the pretty bunnies inside when, from nowhere, a meow rings out. Thus we take a few steps backwards, and sure enough, under the cages, was the prettiest little cat I'd ever beheld. It had a white band around its eyes, the neatest, cutest pair of ears, a long, thick, creamy orange coat that reached down to the ground like a nicely combed wig parted in the middle, all topped off with a set of quaint, stubby legs. I bent down to try and pick it up - this part is reminiscent of the time I went to SPCA and took a cat out of her cage and then she decided she'd like to hide under them and never come out again. It took me a long time to accept this, but in the end I ran to the staff with my tail between my legs pleading for help with the Cat Planning Her Escape Route Out of 0.5x0.5x0.5 Hell - and she just dashed out from under them, down the cobbled steps of the stairs next to the cages. And I gave chase, because she really was such a charming creature, and that was when I noticed that, tacked somehow on her behind, was a notice that read: Please Do Not Use As A Mop.

Snitch And You Shall Be Rewarded

In her continued bid to become (yet another) world-class hub, this time for R&D, Singapore has introduced yet another scheme (re: link below) to catch those miscreant flouters of the law. Now I don't know about other companies, but my dad bought the OFFICIAL version of Windows Office Professional for a rather hefty price, somewhere in the region of S$400 not too long ago. I thought it'd be a good time for me to stop my miserly ways and use the legal version too, and (upon the exhortations of my dad) decided to install it into my machine. Alas, and hour later, when I tried to (well, I had to) register the software, I was none-too subtly informed that This Software Had Been Installed On A Computer Once Preceeding This Attempt, which effectively rendered my copy a very white elephant 40 uses henceforth. How generous of the people at Microsoft.

So for the next month or so, I gingerly side-stepped any encounters with Windows Excel, Powerpoint and most especially my best friend till the day of the incident, Word for Windows, unless in cases of utmost urgency and of sheer necessity (like doing up my timetable for this semester). Wordpad was my new best friend. And for a while, everything I sent people was in RTF format, but since no one complained or asked why I suppose this doesn't affect the lives of the Microsoft-enriched very much. Oh, the wretchedness of being dependent on the IT juggernaunts of this world. Any juggernaunt, for that matter. Thankfully I have long extricated myself from the fat, trans fatty arms of McD's, and was never once part of those enthralled by the caffeinated wafts of Starbucks. Bush Jr I still can't quite shake off.

But I digress. So this morning, during my newly-embarked attempt at keeping up-to-date with the daily happenings of the world deemed important enough by the powers that be to be reported to the island at large, I came across this ad. Commissioned by the Business Software Alliance (never heard of it before), it calls for employees of companies to Take the Moral Stand, and report any of those opportunistic Capitalists (who also happen to be overworking and under-paying them) aiming to increase profit for under-licensing. Luckily for Microsoft, they've already got their asses covered and thus need no extra protection from the lads at BSA.

But perhaps there is nothing really to get worked up about. Lip service needs to be paid at times for the big daddies to get off our backs. I'm referring to the recently-concluded USSFTA. Along with clamping down on online piracy (don't look at me, you'll find nothing here. No, honestly.), this may be another step they need to take in order to fulfil the clauses of the Agreement. In view of the culture here, it is not likely that the hotline is going to get a significant number of calls, and perhaps this is why such a scheme was introduced in the first place. Besides, the government has never really liked to get its hands involved in such matters (as far as I can see) unless it was imperative for them to do so, being the pragmatic organisation that it has always been. So has The Man won? Maybe, but maybe we should count whatever small blessings there are that come our way.

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Who Says Engineers Aren't in Demand Anymore?

With my impending "desperately seeking job" status, I went down to the career fair organised by my university with a bunch of my honours mates yesterday. What greeted me, besides the stale, stuffy air of the badly-ventilated Multi-purpose Sports Hall like the pong of a herd of secondary school boys boarding the bus after PE, were the rows and rows of companies looking for engineering grads. Or the representatives from the insurance/banking industries. Sure, there were a few stalls manned by the good people at the stat boards or related organisations, but of those, very few(rather, almost none) interested me. HR? Managerial positions? I'm still dreaming of that stint on Discovery Travel. Or writing for SPH/Mediacorp. Damn. Looks like I'm gonna get stuck in that dead-end job nobody wants. Idealisms. Bah, humbug.

Fuzzy Navel, Out!

After enduring weeks of a fuzzy navel full of hairs of an assortment of lengths, the curse that is Procrastination was finally broken by my sheer grit and determination to go fuzz-free whenever I pair hipster jeans with that tiny cropped top. A few good yanks with the salon-style wax strips I bought eons ago in Watson's and I was good to go. But, despite exhortations from fashion gurus of magazines and the like, I've only waxed my underarms ONCE. Do they, the style-philes of the So-Hip-It-Hurts world, realise what an irony it is when they tell you to do so (in order that one does not suffer the painful, bothersome and embarrassing fate of in-grown hairs) and then in the next paragraph reveal that you need at least 2cm of hair (starting count from the outside of your body, ie not inclusive of that bit of the root that gets pulled out when you use other, less sophisticated methods of hair-removal like plucking) in order for the wax to get a firm grip on your follicles? Needless to say, you can imagine how many day's I'd gone out in tees with longish sleeves, and how oh how it itched when I walked.