No, not Christmas. Not yet, anyway.
Just the season for celebration, it seems. Three weekends running, it looks to be. A wedding, a surprise birthday party, and...well, Chinese New Year. The last one isn't much of a big deal to me personally, but that'll mean that the crowds are going to be killer and/or most of the shops won't be open this weekend. Plus an added day off next week. Two, for some. And don't forget today. Valentine's.
Another wedding a couple of weeks ago, this time I was actually pleasantly surprised to have been invited. I'm not antisocial, but I guess I wasn't really close to the guy during my school days, and this was probably the first time I've seen him in years. Most of the people there we like "Hey, wait a minute, he has a girlfriend?" Well, not anymore! I won't even go into the discussion of hair extensions that someone started. Or the very over-the-top "speech" given by one of the guys, talking about how they were 14 and stuff.
On to the surprise birthday party. I've never been part of a surprise birthday party. This one went well, I guess, with about half the balloons comitting suicide before the birthday boy arrived. And us dressing him up as a pink fairy was the icing on the cake. Which I didn't have. I'll put up the pictures if you guys want. We also got introduced to Taboo. A great game. But how in the hell do you describe Rod Stewart without saying short, blond or singer??
And last, but not least, today is the big day. Some think Valentine's is just a gimmick to sell more flowers at inflated prices. Others think that it's the day to express how much you love someone. Lots of people will be looking to reveal their hidden tendencies to stalk unsuspecting friends today, lots of people will be smiling while silently resenting the cheap perfume that their boyfriend got. Others will be gushing and rewarding their significant others with a well-deserved... err... reward. I know/hope none of the above applies to me, but it's all good. Hopefully.
All in all, a very eventful end-January and early-February 2007. If the rest of the year continues at thisr ate, I'll definitely be occupied, but broke.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Friday, February 02, 2007
Jeng Jeng
Like Syai so eloquently said on the right, "Singapore! *jeng jeng* Singapore! *jeng jeng*"
No, I'm not suffering a sudden fit of patriotism, just the aftermath of the ASEAN Nations Cup Final of Singapore vs Thailand on Wednesday. First Leg, of course. How could I forget.
Often have the escapades of the national team on the footballing pitch been criticised. Even today, the last trophy we won is still attributed to the "Shoulder of God" and teams playing beneath themselves, scoring own goals. Not the kind of win you'd like to revel in. Like Inter Milan winning the Serie A in 2005/6.
I was there when Singapore beat Pahang in the last Malaysia Cup were in, at the Shah Alam Stadium. Painted faced and screaming fans, the "away" fans as Singaporeans were labelled, outnumbered the Malaysians by at least 4:1. It was a sea of red with a little quiet patch of yellow. And yes, we beat them 4-0.
Now, 2-1 isn't exactly a guarantee that our Lions will bring the trophy back home from up north this weekend, especially with the Thais being the way they are; silky smooth passing and gut-busting pace throughout the whole 90 minutes. The added fire that they'd surely have after the first leg is yet another obstacle for Precious and Daniel Bennet to face.
But that's what I'd like to talk about. Sportsmanship. A long time ago, back when I didn't have to shave and I thought that blaring Linkin Park in a crowded train was cool, I wrote an essay on sportsmanship. It was supposedly good, and I was reminded of it after Wednesday's game.
Thailand, playing away, had pulled back after Singapore got a shock lead. 7 minutes or so before the final whistle, Singapore were awarded a penalty. Replays weren't really conclusive either way, and of course, the team feeling aggrieved protested. Every team does. Most of the time, nothing comes out of it. Maybe an additional booking or two.
But when your whole team walks off the pitch for over fifteen minutes, there really is something fundamentally wrong there. As the commentators in the press-box said in bewilderment, "Get on with it already!"
I really didn't understand the motivation or the logic behind the act. What if the whole team didn't come back on? What if a brawl ensued? What if the ref had fallen after being rough-housed by a few overly-offended Thais? What if I had more cash?
The incident reminded me of Zinedine Zidane. No, not the headbutt. But years ago, France faced Portugal in the European Championship Semifinals. A late penalty was awarded, and Figo threw off his jersey and walked off in disgust. Not Zidane, but I thought it was him at first. Other equally atrocious acts have occured, and will occur (sadly) in the future: Eric Cantona's impersonation of Bruce Lee. Roy Keane taking Alf-Inge Haaland OUT. Arsenal vs Ruud van Nistelrooy. Jens Lehmann and Didier Drogba taking shots at each other and falling like lilies. Paolo Di Canio pushing over a referee. Pires, Ginola, Robben and countless others diving. And diving.
Unsportsman-like conduct happens everywhere, of course. Tyson bit Holyfield. NHL games regularly degenerate into slug-fests (so much so that ice-hockey computer games have the same feature). Basketball matches turn into mass brawls where the fans get involved.
What's exactly happened here? Many say that sport has become too commercialised. Massive amounts of money are being spent in the industry. David Beckham, possibly with his best days gone, is to move to American club LA Galaxy in a deal that will see him net US$250m. Let me spell that out for you. Two-hundred and fifty million US Dollars. That's US$250,000,000.00 Alot of zeros. The team that finishes bottom in the EPL will earn at least an eight digit sum in TV revenue alone. Chelsea's weekly wage might be able to run most third-world countries for a year.
Back to the Thais. I wish our guys all the best this Sunday, but me being pragmatic tells me that the first-leg win is the best they can do. Always a chance, of course, but unless the Thais face disciplinary action prior to the match (as they should), I don't see Singapore beating them. A draw would win it, I know, but don't hold your breath.
Still, jeng jeng.
No, I'm not suffering a sudden fit of patriotism, just the aftermath of the ASEAN Nations Cup Final of Singapore vs Thailand on Wednesday. First Leg, of course. How could I forget.
Often have the escapades of the national team on the footballing pitch been criticised. Even today, the last trophy we won is still attributed to the "Shoulder of God" and teams playing beneath themselves, scoring own goals. Not the kind of win you'd like to revel in. Like Inter Milan winning the Serie A in 2005/6.
I was there when Singapore beat Pahang in the last Malaysia Cup were in, at the Shah Alam Stadium. Painted faced and screaming fans, the "away" fans as Singaporeans were labelled, outnumbered the Malaysians by at least 4:1. It was a sea of red with a little quiet patch of yellow. And yes, we beat them 4-0.
Now, 2-1 isn't exactly a guarantee that our Lions will bring the trophy back home from up north this weekend, especially with the Thais being the way they are; silky smooth passing and gut-busting pace throughout the whole 90 minutes. The added fire that they'd surely have after the first leg is yet another obstacle for Precious and Daniel Bennet to face.
But that's what I'd like to talk about. Sportsmanship. A long time ago, back when I didn't have to shave and I thought that blaring Linkin Park in a crowded train was cool, I wrote an essay on sportsmanship. It was supposedly good, and I was reminded of it after Wednesday's game.
Thailand, playing away, had pulled back after Singapore got a shock lead. 7 minutes or so before the final whistle, Singapore were awarded a penalty. Replays weren't really conclusive either way, and of course, the team feeling aggrieved protested. Every team does. Most of the time, nothing comes out of it. Maybe an additional booking or two.
But when your whole team walks off the pitch for over fifteen minutes, there really is something fundamentally wrong there. As the commentators in the press-box said in bewilderment, "Get on with it already!"
I really didn't understand the motivation or the logic behind the act. What if the whole team didn't come back on? What if a brawl ensued? What if the ref had fallen after being rough-housed by a few overly-offended Thais? What if I had more cash?
The incident reminded me of Zinedine Zidane. No, not the headbutt. But years ago, France faced Portugal in the European Championship Semifinals. A late penalty was awarded, and Figo threw off his jersey and walked off in disgust. Not Zidane, but I thought it was him at first. Other equally atrocious acts have occured, and will occur (sadly) in the future: Eric Cantona's impersonation of Bruce Lee. Roy Keane taking Alf-Inge Haaland OUT. Arsenal vs Ruud van Nistelrooy. Jens Lehmann and Didier Drogba taking shots at each other and falling like lilies. Paolo Di Canio pushing over a referee. Pires, Ginola, Robben and countless others diving. And diving.
Unsportsman-like conduct happens everywhere, of course. Tyson bit Holyfield. NHL games regularly degenerate into slug-fests (so much so that ice-hockey computer games have the same feature). Basketball matches turn into mass brawls where the fans get involved.
What's exactly happened here? Many say that sport has become too commercialised. Massive amounts of money are being spent in the industry. David Beckham, possibly with his best days gone, is to move to American club LA Galaxy in a deal that will see him net US$250m. Let me spell that out for you. Two-hundred and fifty million US Dollars. That's US$250,000,000.00 Alot of zeros. The team that finishes bottom in the EPL will earn at least an eight digit sum in TV revenue alone. Chelsea's weekly wage might be able to run most third-world countries for a year.
Back to the Thais. I wish our guys all the best this Sunday, but me being pragmatic tells me that the first-leg win is the best they can do. Always a chance, of course, but unless the Thais face disciplinary action prior to the match (as they should), I don't see Singapore beating them. A draw would win it, I know, but don't hold your breath.
Still, jeng jeng.
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Technical Recall
"Rush to wait, wait to rush."
That is perhaps the most famous phrase when one speaks of his time during National Service. That, and "do anything but don't get caught", of course.
But the former is very much evident when one takes a close look at the inner workings of the SAF.
I was recently instructed to report to my ex-unit for a "technical recall", something that most NS-men are aware will happen sooner or later. However, the way this was done has raised more than a few issues, some of which have perhaps been asked before and some undoubtedly unvoiced.
A friend of mine called me early Saturday morning telling me he had been recalled, and I, like many, would have been feeling privately gleeful that I had "escaped" the same fate as my handphone and house phones showed no calls missed or otherwise. My friend, who was actually in the midst of a Saturday class in his degree program, had to then rush home and get changed into his uniform and lug his Army equipment to the "Mobilisation centre" located not too close to his home.
Later, I did receive the same instructions and also followed suit. Now, I am not annoyed that I was recalled. It is very much expected that all NS-men are recalled sometime or other, but what irks me is the mixed messages that all of us received.
Asking around at the Mob Centre (because we had so much time to), we found that nearly everyone was told to report at different times, from 2pm to as late as 8pm. The ones who had made a herculean effort to rush down to the centre were, as you might expect, very aggravated, to say the least. Timings aside, all of us were told to "sit and wait for furthur instructions". This meant a few hundred grumbling twenty-somethings sitting on bare concrete in a poorly-ventilated vehicle shed. A large shed, but poor conditions nonetheless. Even asking the Regular Officers there (ranging from Lieutenant to Major) procured little reward, they were as baffled as we were regarding what was to happen.
In the end, we were released late into the night, a bunch of angry men with bulky eqquipment. Cab-drivers in the area might still be echoing "Wow, late book-out today huh?".
Now, the questions I would like to raise would be pertaining to such recalls and mobilisations in the future. My friend who I mentioned earlier, for example, had to leave in the middle of a class to get to the Mob Centre, fearing reprimandation should he arrive later than the stipulated timing. I know the SAF grants deferment should an NS-man studies overseas, but what of cases like his? There were also so many who clutched their tickets to Singapore vs Malaysia at the National Stadium as they tore at their (somewhat coloured) hair as the clock ticked.
Such situations like an NS-man being the best man at a friend's wedding, having a relative in hospital, etc would also have to be addressed. The last time anyone I knew asked about this, the blunt answer was "Unless YOU are hospitalised, you jolly well report."
Of course, I understand the government's and MINDEF's stance on national defence, and the military is an integral part of any nation's safety. I spent two years and four months as a soldier in the SAF, and it has left me a better man, and given me many joyful experiences that I can laugh about with my friends.
I also understand that an NS-man should always be ready to report to camp, such is the unexpectedness of any war or conflict that Singapore might be unfortunate enough to be involved in. But so much can be done to improve the core efficiency of the whole process.
The mindset of "wait to rush and rush to wait" is still predominant in the Army, especially, and hopefully can be rectified in the near future. Even a simple means of informing the men of the unit that there is a chance of being recalled at any given weekend would alleviate many of our concerns.
That is perhaps the most famous phrase when one speaks of his time during National Service. That, and "do anything but don't get caught", of course.
But the former is very much evident when one takes a close look at the inner workings of the SAF.
I was recently instructed to report to my ex-unit for a "technical recall", something that most NS-men are aware will happen sooner or later. However, the way this was done has raised more than a few issues, some of which have perhaps been asked before and some undoubtedly unvoiced.
A friend of mine called me early Saturday morning telling me he had been recalled, and I, like many, would have been feeling privately gleeful that I had "escaped" the same fate as my handphone and house phones showed no calls missed or otherwise. My friend, who was actually in the midst of a Saturday class in his degree program, had to then rush home and get changed into his uniform and lug his Army equipment to the "Mobilisation centre" located not too close to his home.
Later, I did receive the same instructions and also followed suit. Now, I am not annoyed that I was recalled. It is very much expected that all NS-men are recalled sometime or other, but what irks me is the mixed messages that all of us received.
Asking around at the Mob Centre (because we had so much time to), we found that nearly everyone was told to report at different times, from 2pm to as late as 8pm. The ones who had made a herculean effort to rush down to the centre were, as you might expect, very aggravated, to say the least. Timings aside, all of us were told to "sit and wait for furthur instructions". This meant a few hundred grumbling twenty-somethings sitting on bare concrete in a poorly-ventilated vehicle shed. A large shed, but poor conditions nonetheless. Even asking the Regular Officers there (ranging from Lieutenant to Major) procured little reward, they were as baffled as we were regarding what was to happen.
In the end, we were released late into the night, a bunch of angry men with bulky eqquipment. Cab-drivers in the area might still be echoing "Wow, late book-out today huh?".
Now, the questions I would like to raise would be pertaining to such recalls and mobilisations in the future. My friend who I mentioned earlier, for example, had to leave in the middle of a class to get to the Mob Centre, fearing reprimandation should he arrive later than the stipulated timing. I know the SAF grants deferment should an NS-man studies overseas, but what of cases like his? There were also so many who clutched their tickets to Singapore vs Malaysia at the National Stadium as they tore at their (somewhat coloured) hair as the clock ticked.
Such situations like an NS-man being the best man at a friend's wedding, having a relative in hospital, etc would also have to be addressed. The last time anyone I knew asked about this, the blunt answer was "Unless YOU are hospitalised, you jolly well report."
Of course, I understand the government's and MINDEF's stance on national defence, and the military is an integral part of any nation's safety. I spent two years and four months as a soldier in the SAF, and it has left me a better man, and given me many joyful experiences that I can laugh about with my friends.
I also understand that an NS-man should always be ready to report to camp, such is the unexpectedness of any war or conflict that Singapore might be unfortunate enough to be involved in. But so much can be done to improve the core efficiency of the whole process.
The mindset of "wait to rush and rush to wait" is still predominant in the Army, especially, and hopefully can be rectified in the near future. Even a simple means of informing the men of the unit that there is a chance of being recalled at any given weekend would alleviate many of our concerns.
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Feeling Old
So yesterday was a big day for one of our friends, a day that (should) come along once in a lifetime. And in truth, a day that most of us didn't see coming for maybe another couple of years.
Not that I'm saying it's wrong or too soon or anything.
And someone said while we tip-toed at the back of the gathered crowd of family and friends, "Wow, I feel old."
He also said he was sad, which was met with a few incredulous looks, but then he asserted himself with the comment that said he didn't feel sad sad but rather happy sad so I guess all is well.
But yes, as I've mentioned before, I already found the girl I want to marry, and I'm happy for anyone and everyone who can say the same thing (or guys for girls, or whatever you fancy, you know). Watching a good friend of mine get married is really a new experience for me, especially since I rarely go to any weddings at all. I don't like the normal wedding food. But I guess this is an exception for a few reasons, eh?
All in all, a very enjoyable ceremony, though that in itself sounds weird. I'm not sure why. One of the highlights would have been the cake which seemed to be the epitomy of chocolate, while the low point might be the mystery of my socks being stained brown after walking shoe-less for a few hours...
But when is it really time to tie the knot?
Someone once said, "A man never really knows true happiness until he gets married, but by then it's too late." While I obviously take that with a pinch of salt, I guess that comment might be pertinent to some. Being married is, of course, an obvious commitment and one which can't be taken lightly. Unless you're a siliconed-chested pop-star who has a crush on one of her dancers I guess.
So we were talking and found out that most of us felt that the optimum time to get hitched was around the ripe old age of 25. Seeing as how most of us as 21 right now, maybe a year or two yonger, I guess that's reasonable. I'd have been with Khadi for close to a decade by then, but that's OK right? Hehe. Course, sometimes circumstances might retard or accelerate the date, but I won't really go into that...
So... married life. Not much else to say, really. I'll just leave you with the quote of the day from one lost girl in particular.
"You should be more like Naz, he doesn't make any comments!"
Which is almost as good as...
"...I was driving along the road and there was an old woman walking in front of me and I haunted her but she didn't hear me and..."
And followed closely by...
"You know, it just doesn't feel like one of our friends is married."
The above really isn't spectacular or anything, just something to think over, I guess. And I really didn't want to publicly state my reply to that!
Not that I'm saying it's wrong or too soon or anything.
And someone said while we tip-toed at the back of the gathered crowd of family and friends, "Wow, I feel old."
He also said he was sad, which was met with a few incredulous looks, but then he asserted himself with the comment that said he didn't feel sad sad but rather happy sad so I guess all is well.
But yes, as I've mentioned before, I already found the girl I want to marry, and I'm happy for anyone and everyone who can say the same thing (or guys for girls, or whatever you fancy, you know). Watching a good friend of mine get married is really a new experience for me, especially since I rarely go to any weddings at all. I don't like the normal wedding food. But I guess this is an exception for a few reasons, eh?
All in all, a very enjoyable ceremony, though that in itself sounds weird. I'm not sure why. One of the highlights would have been the cake which seemed to be the epitomy of chocolate, while the low point might be the mystery of my socks being stained brown after walking shoe-less for a few hours...
But when is it really time to tie the knot?
Someone once said, "A man never really knows true happiness until he gets married, but by then it's too late." While I obviously take that with a pinch of salt, I guess that comment might be pertinent to some. Being married is, of course, an obvious commitment and one which can't be taken lightly. Unless you're a siliconed-chested pop-star who has a crush on one of her dancers I guess.
So we were talking and found out that most of us felt that the optimum time to get hitched was around the ripe old age of 25. Seeing as how most of us as 21 right now, maybe a year or two yonger, I guess that's reasonable. I'd have been with Khadi for close to a decade by then, but that's OK right? Hehe. Course, sometimes circumstances might retard or accelerate the date, but I won't really go into that...
So... married life. Not much else to say, really. I'll just leave you with the quote of the day from one lost girl in particular.
"You should be more like Naz, he doesn't make any comments!"
Which is almost as good as...
"...I was driving along the road and there was an old woman walking in front of me and I haunted her but she didn't hear me and..."
And followed closely by...
"You know, it just doesn't feel like one of our friends is married."
The above really isn't spectacular or anything, just something to think over, I guess. And I really didn't want to publicly state my reply to that!
Monday, December 18, 2006
So Many People, So Little Time...
I may have mentioned this before, and most of you who know me know this too.
I hate crowds.
No, no. Really. I hate crowds.
This is probably the single most determining factor in me not liking such festivities as clubbing and shopping.
I hate crowds.
Lately, this problem has grown worse, with the onset of the year-end holidays. Khadi wanting to go to town to get stuff or do something aggravates it as well, of course. Let me tell you how it's like.
Take a walk along Orchard Road, Singapore's pride and joy when shopping is the key to your existence. Oh wait, you can't. Can't walk, that is. Yes, there are too many people. Rain or shine, the streets will be packed. That's a guarantee. Zara, Mango, Tangs, Nike, Forever 21, Lee Hwa, Topshop, every single outlet on our little island seems to be packed with shoppers, which is a relief seeing the angry mob outside each shopping centre.
It's a well-known fact that Singaporeans can't resist the allure of a sale, and old saggy aunties with varicose veins can be seen sprinting during the worst weather when a random brochure of 10% off some trivial item is thrust into their jade-fingered hands.
One week to Christmas. You know what that means, don't you? Last-minute Christmas shopping. And even more "Christmas joy" in the central business district. This actually makes the whole situation worse. I know whoever set it up means well, but it's just not practical.
I'll take a moment from my babbling to explain myself.
Recently several booths or stall-thingies have been set up along Orchard Road. Now, that in itself isn't anything new, there have always been booths set up there, but rarely have so many been erected in such close proximity to one another. And labelled the "Nativity Village" if I recall correctly.
What exactly is the "Nativity Village"? Well it's a series of booths and stall, as you might have guessed already, set to the theme of Christmas. Now, that's alright, I suppose, but like I said, they make the problem of overcrowding in the area much, much worse. Firstly, the sidewalk isn't all that wide to begin with, and when half of it is taken up by these things... during peak hours... you can't even swing a cat in there.
That, and the whole idea is a little tarnished by the fact that little old women are playing "children" and pimply schoolkids are dressed as Greco-Roman soldiers, broom-helmet and all. Oh yeah, spectacles too. Can't forget the glasses!
Sigh, I hate crowds. At least I won't have to deal with the town crowd this weekend, seeing as how most of us will be busy with a common prior engagement.
And I do mean engagement, eh? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.
I hate crowds.
No, no. Really. I hate crowds.
This is probably the single most determining factor in me not liking such festivities as clubbing and shopping.
I hate crowds.
Lately, this problem has grown worse, with the onset of the year-end holidays. Khadi wanting to go to town to get stuff or do something aggravates it as well, of course. Let me tell you how it's like.
Take a walk along Orchard Road, Singapore's pride and joy when shopping is the key to your existence. Oh wait, you can't. Can't walk, that is. Yes, there are too many people. Rain or shine, the streets will be packed. That's a guarantee. Zara, Mango, Tangs, Nike, Forever 21, Lee Hwa, Topshop, every single outlet on our little island seems to be packed with shoppers, which is a relief seeing the angry mob outside each shopping centre.
It's a well-known fact that Singaporeans can't resist the allure of a sale, and old saggy aunties with varicose veins can be seen sprinting during the worst weather when a random brochure of 10% off some trivial item is thrust into their jade-fingered hands.
One week to Christmas. You know what that means, don't you? Last-minute Christmas shopping. And even more "Christmas joy" in the central business district. This actually makes the whole situation worse. I know whoever set it up means well, but it's just not practical.
I'll take a moment from my babbling to explain myself.
Recently several booths or stall-thingies have been set up along Orchard Road. Now, that in itself isn't anything new, there have always been booths set up there, but rarely have so many been erected in such close proximity to one another. And labelled the "Nativity Village" if I recall correctly.
What exactly is the "Nativity Village"? Well it's a series of booths and stall, as you might have guessed already, set to the theme of Christmas. Now, that's alright, I suppose, but like I said, they make the problem of overcrowding in the area much, much worse. Firstly, the sidewalk isn't all that wide to begin with, and when half of it is taken up by these things... during peak hours... you can't even swing a cat in there.
That, and the whole idea is a little tarnished by the fact that little old women are playing "children" and pimply schoolkids are dressed as Greco-Roman soldiers, broom-helmet and all. Oh yeah, spectacles too. Can't forget the glasses!
Sigh, I hate crowds. At least I won't have to deal with the town crowd this weekend, seeing as how most of us will be busy with a common prior engagement.
And I do mean engagement, eh? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
Hey Ladies
So this has been on my mind for quite some time. Something that most guys and girls do in public places. Riddle me this, ladies, what do you do in there?
I am, of course, speaking of public restrooms. The fact that you ladies spend an eternity in there while us guys walk in and out. I mean, you have to queue for crying out loud. What's taking so long? I do realise that some ladies are a little more "high-maintenance" than others, with them having to redo their eyeliner, foundation, etc etc every chance they get, but this still borders on the ridiculous.
Take guys, for instance. We find the lil' boys room, walk in, whip it out, take a whizz, zip up, (usually) flush, wash up, f*ck off. But our female counterparts seem to use the restrooms for other matters. It's a mystery I feel will never be solved. Especially when I try asking a girl what took them.
"Can't you see the queue?"
Indeed, I can. Which is why I'm asking you in the first place! The presence of a queue obviously means that there's more than one female in there who's taking her time. And this phenomenon looks like a global one. Certain towns in America have made it commonplace to install at least twice as many female restrooms as male ones in high-traffic areas, in an attempt to ease the congestion.
Yes, congestion, because that's what it is, a human gridlock. Reminds me of a petrol station giving away free car-washes, you see all sorts of models and makes crawling towards to scene, end-to-end. The slim and sporty ones, the old and vintage ones, the new and funky ones, the obviously too-big-to-attract-anything-but-an-eww ones too.
So I'm begging for someone to enlighten me here, what is it that causes the ladies' room to be the hot-spot in the majority of public places. And don't give me the crap about the queue. That's as useful as a c*ck-flavoured lollipop.
I am, of course, speaking of public restrooms. The fact that you ladies spend an eternity in there while us guys walk in and out. I mean, you have to queue for crying out loud. What's taking so long? I do realise that some ladies are a little more "high-maintenance" than others, with them having to redo their eyeliner, foundation, etc etc every chance they get, but this still borders on the ridiculous.
Take guys, for instance. We find the lil' boys room, walk in, whip it out, take a whizz, zip up, (usually) flush, wash up, f*ck off. But our female counterparts seem to use the restrooms for other matters. It's a mystery I feel will never be solved. Especially when I try asking a girl what took them.
"Can't you see the queue?"
Indeed, I can. Which is why I'm asking you in the first place! The presence of a queue obviously means that there's more than one female in there who's taking her time. And this phenomenon looks like a global one. Certain towns in America have made it commonplace to install at least twice as many female restrooms as male ones in high-traffic areas, in an attempt to ease the congestion.
Yes, congestion, because that's what it is, a human gridlock. Reminds me of a petrol station giving away free car-washes, you see all sorts of models and makes crawling towards to scene, end-to-end. The slim and sporty ones, the old and vintage ones, the new and funky ones, the obviously too-big-to-attract-anything-but-an-eww ones too.
So I'm begging for someone to enlighten me here, what is it that causes the ladies' room to be the hot-spot in the majority of public places. And don't give me the crap about the queue. That's as useful as a c*ck-flavoured lollipop.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
Meet the Parents, Part II
So, this past Sunday I traevelled all of 300 metres or so, by car, to Khadi's house. With my family. For the return leg of the first encounter. How'd it go?
Well, it went well, for the most part, I'm very happy to say. We got there more or less on time, and I looked supposedly dashing in that shirt I tend to wear for "important" events. At least that's what she told me.
I've been there before, several times, in fact. I've been there to eat, to take random stuff, take a look at a sick cat, even feed a toddler. Who I didn't even kick. But this time was different, of course. It was to Meet The Parents.
Although, that might sound a little redundant as it already took place. So yeah, the away leg, as it may. First leg was a success, now all we need to do is to stay steady...
Dinner was great, surprisingly. I'm not saying they're bad cooks; on the contrary, I've never tasted anything less than delicious spewing from their kitchen. But this time it was briyani. I don't do briyani. But it was alot better than expected, and a real smile eclipsed the half-cringe I had plastered all over my face when I took my first bite. She was, of course, staring at me the whole time, probably admiring how dazzling I looked, but I think I mentioned that already, eh?
But back to reality, the only downside would be that my bratty little sister behaved well, brattily, for lack of a better term. Now, she's someone who deserved to be kicked. Even the best efforts of Khadi's grandma, bribing her with kittens, could only garner a silent nod. Fazlee, of course, provided one of the highlights of the night when "confronted" by Khadi's grandma.
(Conversation in Malay)
Grandma: So, you're still schooling?
Fazlee: (Pause) Oh, yes. I'm studying in a polytechnic.
Grandma: Oh, I see, I see... Finished with your exams for now?
Fazlee: (Less brief pause)
Grandma: (Being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee Uh...
Grandma: (Still being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee: What?
I guess it goes without saying that my brother needs to brush up on his Malay if he wants to speak to my future grandma-in-law...
So that's how it went really, nothing "bad" happening, alot of laughing filling in the gaps in between dinner and random chit-chat and cat-sightings. I must say, the fact that our moms hugged each other bodes well for the future, eh?
To Khadi: Love you babe.
Well, it went well, for the most part, I'm very happy to say. We got there more or less on time, and I looked supposedly dashing in that shirt I tend to wear for "important" events. At least that's what she told me.
I've been there before, several times, in fact. I've been there to eat, to take random stuff, take a look at a sick cat, even feed a toddler. Who I didn't even kick. But this time was different, of course. It was to Meet The Parents.
Although, that might sound a little redundant as it already took place. So yeah, the away leg, as it may. First leg was a success, now all we need to do is to stay steady...
Dinner was great, surprisingly. I'm not saying they're bad cooks; on the contrary, I've never tasted anything less than delicious spewing from their kitchen. But this time it was briyani. I don't do briyani. But it was alot better than expected, and a real smile eclipsed the half-cringe I had plastered all over my face when I took my first bite. She was, of course, staring at me the whole time, probably admiring how dazzling I looked, but I think I mentioned that already, eh?
But back to reality, the only downside would be that my bratty little sister behaved well, brattily, for lack of a better term. Now, she's someone who deserved to be kicked. Even the best efforts of Khadi's grandma, bribing her with kittens, could only garner a silent nod. Fazlee, of course, provided one of the highlights of the night when "confronted" by Khadi's grandma.
(Conversation in Malay)
Grandma: So, you're still schooling?
Fazlee: (Pause) Oh, yes. I'm studying in a polytechnic.
Grandma: Oh, I see, I see... Finished with your exams for now?
Fazlee: (Less brief pause)
Grandma: (Being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee Uh...
Grandma: (Still being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee: What?
I guess it goes without saying that my brother needs to brush up on his Malay if he wants to speak to my future grandma-in-law...
So that's how it went really, nothing "bad" happening, alot of laughing filling in the gaps in between dinner and random chit-chat and cat-sightings. I must say, the fact that our moms hugged each other bodes well for the future, eh?
To Khadi: Love you babe.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wrestling
I enjoy watching pro-wrestling. There, I said it.
Many people look down on wrestling fans, and I find that very irritating. Not as irritating as people who think they're wrestling fans, but don't know a damn thing about it. But I'll get to that another time.
"Why do you watch wrestling? Don't you know it's fake?"
Definitely the number one retort that anti-wrestling folks shoot at fans like me. Do you watch Friends? CSI? Prison Break? Sienfeld? Don't you know that's fake too? Yeah, we know wrestling is fake.
Not really.
Owne Hart really died. Eddie Guerrero really died. Granted, not due to wrestling per se, but take a look at Darren Drozdov, or "Droz", as he was known, who broke his neck in a match against D-Lo Brown a number of years ago, and has been paralysed since. Kenta Kobashi, a Japanese wrestler who made the "Burning Hammer" famous, has reputedly killed more than one person due to that very move. Which he still does on a regular basis, and is cheered by almost every Japanese wrestling fan.
I do dislike the over-dramatisation of that prevalent in wrestling today, however. This is especially relevant in WWE programming. Weddings and vampires? Oh come on.
But I love watching wrestling for the pure athleticism that's on show night after night. I remember the first time I saw a hurricunrana, and thought it was the most beautiful and impossible move ever done. Now, the era of 619's and Canadian Destroyers put others to shame.
My favourite wrestler is Bret Hart. Not was, but is. I used to feel so broken-hearted whenever he lost a match (back when I thought everything was legit). And with the screwjob in Montreal, it just reaffirmed my admiration for the man.
Wrestling has come a long way since I first started watching it, no doubt. From the time when a "Japanese" sumo wrestler was unstoppable and a balding man got stronger the more punches he took, to a trash-talking rapper, and the same balding man, but balder. Not too much, I guess.
But to the "point" of all this.
Some of you might know that the "dominant" brand of "sports entertainment" today is the WWE (formerly known as the WWF, formerly known as a WWWF). There's NWA-TNA too, but I won't go into that today. Those among who who are even more enlightened would also know that WWE has a few "shows" and those "shows" are Raw and Smackdown. (ECW, Heat, Velocity, etc wont be discussed today...).
What flashes across the screen before every WWE broadcast?
No, not titties.
The "Don't try this at home" segment. Now, apparently, some people can't read. Those of you who can read, take a look at this. Now, this isn't the first case of some idiotic kid hurting another equally idiotic kid because "they were trying to imitate what wrestlers do on TV."
So the Indonesian authorities have banned the broadcast of Smackdown in the region. Bullshit, you know?
If a kid hurts another kid because he or she is copying a wrestler, the first people who need to be shot are their parents. You let your kids watch things like this, deal with it. Or at least explain to them that the big man in tights isn't really tring to smash the other guy's skull with a chair. And that if you jump of a ladder, you get hurt.
Speaking of jumping off ladders and getting hurt and wrestling being "fake", take a look at this.
The second batch of people who should be shot, are of course, the Indonesian broadcasters who apparently have either (a) telecast a show with definite adult themes during prime-time or something or (b) editted out the "Dont try this at home" segments.
If they aren't guilty of those, of course, feel free to shoot the parents again.
Isn't it moronic, how the media are so quick to blame violent TV shows and video games for the behaviour of a few dumb kids? The Columbine High tragedy was almost attributed to the shooters listening to Manson and playing Grand Theft Auto. I listen to Manson and play Grand Theft Auto. You don't see me guns a-blazin, do ya? Baby kicking is another issue.
So why blame pro-wrestling? Studies have shown that the average Saturday morning cartoon has more instances of violence than a standard episode of Raw or Smackdown. Hard to believe? Well, listen to your own arguments.
"I used to watch wrestling, you know. But know it's so lame! All they do is talk and talk and ony fight for like five minutes."
Now watch Tom and Jerry or Road Runner or something and count the instances of "violent acts" that are shown on-screen. There we go.
Still, this little page of me venting my fustrations won't really affect anything in the long run, oh well.
So, I've come to the end of my rant, quite suddenly.
Many people look down on wrestling fans, and I find that very irritating. Not as irritating as people who think they're wrestling fans, but don't know a damn thing about it. But I'll get to that another time.
"Why do you watch wrestling? Don't you know it's fake?"
Definitely the number one retort that anti-wrestling folks shoot at fans like me. Do you watch Friends? CSI? Prison Break? Sienfeld? Don't you know that's fake too? Yeah, we know wrestling is fake.
Not really.
Owne Hart really died. Eddie Guerrero really died. Granted, not due to wrestling per se, but take a look at Darren Drozdov, or "Droz", as he was known, who broke his neck in a match against D-Lo Brown a number of years ago, and has been paralysed since. Kenta Kobashi, a Japanese wrestler who made the "Burning Hammer" famous, has reputedly killed more than one person due to that very move. Which he still does on a regular basis, and is cheered by almost every Japanese wrestling fan.
I do dislike the over-dramatisation of that prevalent in wrestling today, however. This is especially relevant in WWE programming. Weddings and vampires? Oh come on.
But I love watching wrestling for the pure athleticism that's on show night after night. I remember the first time I saw a hurricunrana, and thought it was the most beautiful and impossible move ever done. Now, the era of 619's and Canadian Destroyers put others to shame.
My favourite wrestler is Bret Hart. Not was, but is. I used to feel so broken-hearted whenever he lost a match (back when I thought everything was legit). And with the screwjob in Montreal, it just reaffirmed my admiration for the man.
Wrestling has come a long way since I first started watching it, no doubt. From the time when a "Japanese" sumo wrestler was unstoppable and a balding man got stronger the more punches he took, to a trash-talking rapper, and the same balding man, but balder. Not too much, I guess.
But to the "point" of all this.
Some of you might know that the "dominant" brand of "sports entertainment" today is the WWE (formerly known as the WWF, formerly known as a WWWF). There's NWA-TNA too, but I won't go into that today. Those among who who are even more enlightened would also know that WWE has a few "shows" and those "shows" are Raw and Smackdown. (ECW, Heat, Velocity, etc wont be discussed today...).
What flashes across the screen before every WWE broadcast?
No, not titties.
The "Don't try this at home" segment. Now, apparently, some people can't read. Those of you who can read, take a look at this. Now, this isn't the first case of some idiotic kid hurting another equally idiotic kid because "they were trying to imitate what wrestlers do on TV."
So the Indonesian authorities have banned the broadcast of Smackdown in the region. Bullshit, you know?
If a kid hurts another kid because he or she is copying a wrestler, the first people who need to be shot are their parents. You let your kids watch things like this, deal with it. Or at least explain to them that the big man in tights isn't really tring to smash the other guy's skull with a chair. And that if you jump of a ladder, you get hurt.
Speaking of jumping off ladders and getting hurt and wrestling being "fake", take a look at this.
The second batch of people who should be shot, are of course, the Indonesian broadcasters who apparently have either (a) telecast a show with definite adult themes during prime-time or something or (b) editted out the "Dont try this at home" segments.
If they aren't guilty of those, of course, feel free to shoot the parents again.
Isn't it moronic, how the media are so quick to blame violent TV shows and video games for the behaviour of a few dumb kids? The Columbine High tragedy was almost attributed to the shooters listening to Manson and playing Grand Theft Auto. I listen to Manson and play Grand Theft Auto. You don't see me guns a-blazin, do ya? Baby kicking is another issue.
So why blame pro-wrestling? Studies have shown that the average Saturday morning cartoon has more instances of violence than a standard episode of Raw or Smackdown. Hard to believe? Well, listen to your own arguments.
"I used to watch wrestling, you know. But know it's so lame! All they do is talk and talk and ony fight for like five minutes."
Now watch Tom and Jerry or Road Runner or something and count the instances of "violent acts" that are shown on-screen. There we go.
Still, this little page of me venting my fustrations won't really affect anything in the long run, oh well.
So, I've come to the end of my rant, quite suddenly.
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Here's Your Sign
So, I haven't written anything here for a long time, it seems, other than the odd one-liner here and there at the right side of your screen. I might attribute the lack of updates to studying for exams, but most of you know me better than that.
Today my rant will be about stupid people.
The "here's your sign" comedy routine has been said to have originated from comedian Bill Engvall, though I think that most people familiar with it might have heard it during a Jeff Foxworthy skit of some sort, maybe. The ideology behind the "sign" routine is simple, really.
Stupid people should be made to wear signs, so the rest of the world will know beforehand that they are dealing with such tards.
Now, I don't claim to be the smartest feller in the world, I don't even think I'm the smartest person among the people reading this or anything, but stupid people do annoy the hell out of me. I have a feeling I mentioned this before, so I'll not repeat the phone conversation about the use of foldable beds I once had with an outdoor retailer.
Anyway, I was skimming through our wonderfully named local tabloid The New Paper a couple of days ago and I found a few very "interesting" articles. The bulk of the people who should have the afore-mentioned signs stapled to their heads seem to work in or around the American airline industry.
Case 1: Young couple gets thrown out of an airplane because male had his head on female's lap before takeoff.
Case 2: Undercover US Air Marshall throws someone out of the bathroom becuase he enters less than a half-hour before landing. Rest of flight is made to have their hands on their heads for the remainder of the flight.
Case 3: Jewish man is thrown off a flight because he prays before takeoff.
Case 4: Young white mother is admonished for breast-feeding her child.
ROFLZOMGWTFLBBQLOL
To the (few) Americans reading this, are you all insane, paranoid or just stupid?
Forgive the question, I probably get the impression from your leader.
Anyway, other instances from the same paper that day itself include the story of a young Malaysian man who drowned after trying to save 2 people. Now, that might not seem too stupid, considering he'd also save 8 others before meeting his demise, but the whole situa
tion is. You see, the "incident" happened at some sort of Civil Defence sort of thing, a training exercise as far as I can tell.
Ten people, needing to be saved, during training? And it falls upon the shoulders of one man to do it? He's not Superman, my dear northern neighbours. He's not even Lat. The concept of lifeguards, instructors and/or safe training escapes you, I gather.
Of course, the same country also built a bridge to nowhere recently, so I guess it's only natural. For those who don't know, Malaysia and Singapore are connected by two causeways, the first being the aptly-named "Causeway" and the second link equally originally titled, "The Second Link". Apparently Malaysian authorities took it upon themselves to create a third bridge of sorts, perhaps aiming to replace the "evil" Causeway which apparently hinders economic growth of the country depicted in such blockbusters as Entrapment and Zoolander (I really enjoyed Zoolander).
So they built a bridge. And then asked that Singapore comply and join it up from our end.
scoff
–verb (used without object)
1.
to speak derisively; mock; jeer (often fol. by at): If you can't do any better, don't scoff. Their efforts toward a peaceful settlement are not to be scoffed at. –verb (used with object)
2.
to mock at; deride. –noun
3.
an expression of mockery, derision, doubt, or derisive scorn; jeer.
4.
an object of mockery or derision
That's from dictionary.reference.com, very useful.
Suffice to say, they now have a half-bridge.
So I'll leave you pondering the profoundness of my ranting with this simple quote from my brother.
"Wow, dogs eat meat?"
Today my rant will be about stupid people.
The "here's your sign" comedy routine has been said to have originated from comedian Bill Engvall, though I think that most people familiar with it might have heard it during a Jeff Foxworthy skit of some sort, maybe. The ideology behind the "sign" routine is simple, really.
Stupid people should be made to wear signs, so the rest of the world will know beforehand that they are dealing with such tards.
Now, I don't claim to be the smartest feller in the world, I don't even think I'm the smartest person among the people reading this or anything, but stupid people do annoy the hell out of me. I have a feeling I mentioned this before, so I'll not repeat the phone conversation about the use of foldable beds I once had with an outdoor retailer.
Anyway, I was skimming through our wonderfully named local tabloid The New Paper a couple of days ago and I found a few very "interesting" articles. The bulk of the people who should have the afore-mentioned signs stapled to their heads seem to work in or around the American airline industry.
Case 1: Young couple gets thrown out of an airplane because male had his head on female's lap before takeoff.
Case 2: Undercover US Air Marshall throws someone out of the bathroom becuase he enters less than a half-hour before landing. Rest of flight is made to have their hands on their heads for the remainder of the flight.
Case 3: Jewish man is thrown off a flight because he prays before takeoff.
Case 4: Young white mother is admonished for breast-feeding her child.
ROFLZOMGWTFLBBQLOL
To the (few) Americans reading this, are you all insane, paranoid or just stupid?
Forgive the question, I probably get the impression from your leader.
Anyway, other instances from the same paper that day itself include the story of a young Malaysian man who drowned after trying to save 2 people. Now, that might not seem too stupid, considering he'd also save 8 others before meeting his demise, but the whole situa
tion is. You see, the "incident" happened at some sort of Civil Defence sort of thing, a training exercise as far as I can tell.Ten people, needing to be saved, during training? And it falls upon the shoulders of one man to do it? He's not Superman, my dear northern neighbours. He's not even Lat. The concept of lifeguards, instructors and/or safe training escapes you, I gather.
Of course, the same country also built a bridge to nowhere recently, so I guess it's only natural. For those who don't know, Malaysia and Singapore are connected by two causeways, the first being the aptly-named "Causeway" and the second link equally originally titled, "The Second Link". Apparently Malaysian authorities took it upon themselves to create a third bridge of sorts, perhaps aiming to replace the "evil" Causeway which apparently hinders economic growth of the country depicted in such blockbusters as Entrapment and Zoolander (I really enjoyed Zoolander).
So they built a bridge. And then asked that Singapore comply and join it up from our end.
scoff
–verb (used without object)
1.
to speak derisively; mock; jeer (often fol. by at): If you can't do any better, don't scoff. Their efforts toward a peaceful settlement are not to be scoffed at. –verb (used with object)
2.
to mock at; deride. –noun
3.
an expression of mockery, derision, doubt, or derisive scorn; jeer.
4.
an object of mockery or derision
That's from dictionary.reference.com, very useful.
Suffice to say, they now have a half-bridge.
So I'll leave you pondering the profoundness of my ranting with this simple quote from my brother.
"Wow, dogs eat meat?"
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Hair
Everyone has hair. If not on their heads, then on other parts of the body. And yes, I do realise that shaving is a viable option for some people (or couples...) but that's not my concern. At least not right now.
I've always had short hair. OK, there was a period of time where it grew to cover my eyes, but it was only for a few weeks. I like having short hair. Or at least non-long hair. Have a preference for a rather spiky look, which, admittedly, doesn't always come off the way I envision it but it usually works.
One time Khadi told me I had "sexy hair". But that was when it wasn't syled up at all, so... I dunno.
I like girls with long hair, more or less a prerequisite for me to look twice at them (or once, if at all). Only on rare occasions do I even think for a second that short hair actually works on a girl. The winner of one season of America's Next Top Model would be a good example for an exception to the rule. Zahrah, unfortunately, does not fall into that same category. As Erfen and a few others so eloquently put it, "You look like a very pretty boy."
In addition to the length of hair, curls and/or wavy hair adds more brownie points to the general look of a girl, in my humble opinon. I'm still trying to convince Khadi NOT to straighten her curly hair. If some of you don't know or remember, it was straight before this more glam look.
Fazlee had a pseudo-mullet. I stress had because he did the right thing and had it killed. For the past year or so, he hasn't had a haircut, other than trimming the back a little a few months back. He had even considered a hairband for a time, but decided against one because my sister's ones were "too girly". I'd hate to break it to you, dear brother, but our sister isn't exactly one for tomboyish looks. At least nowadays. Now he's got the "army" look.
Alot of people have a tendency to look semi-good with little or no hair. Francesco Totti and David Beckham don't look too bad. Michael Scofield from Prison Break or the guy from One Tree Hill don't look like complete retards either. I'm not saying Fazlee looks like a moron with his current hair (or lack thereof), but if he wanted the look, he could have looked at this.
Anyway, everyone has their own opinions on hair. Some like it long, other like it short. Light, dark, curly, straight. Dry, frizzy, slick, shiny, whatever. Make your own calls.
I've always had short hair. OK, there was a period of time where it grew to cover my eyes, but it was only for a few weeks. I like having short hair. Or at least non-long hair. Have a preference for a rather spiky look, which, admittedly, doesn't always come off the way I envision it but it usually works.
One time Khadi told me I had "sexy hair". But that was when it wasn't syled up at all, so... I dunno.
I like girls with long hair, more or less a prerequisite for me to look twice at them (or once, if at all). Only on rare occasions do I even think for a second that short hair actually works on a girl. The winner of one season of America's Next Top Model would be a good example for an exception to the rule. Zahrah, unfortunately, does not fall into that same category. As Erfen and a few others so eloquently put it, "You look like a very pretty boy."
In addition to the length of hair, curls and/or wavy hair adds more brownie points to the general look of a girl, in my humble opinon. I'm still trying to convince Khadi NOT to straighten her curly hair. If some of you don't know or remember, it was straight before this more glam look.
Fazlee had a pseudo-mullet. I stress had because he did the right thing and had it killed. For the past year or so, he hasn't had a haircut, other than trimming the back a little a few months back. He had even considered a hairband for a time, but decided against one because my sister's ones were "too girly". I'd hate to break it to you, dear brother, but our sister isn't exactly one for tomboyish looks. At least nowadays. Now he's got the "army" look.
Alot of people have a tendency to look semi-good with little or no hair. Francesco Totti and David Beckham don't look too bad. Michael Scofield from Prison Break or the guy from One Tree Hill don't look like complete retards either. I'm not saying Fazlee looks like a moron with his current hair (or lack thereof), but if he wanted the look, he could have looked at this.
Anyway, everyone has their own opinions on hair. Some like it long, other like it short. Light, dark, curly, straight. Dry, frizzy, slick, shiny, whatever. Make your own calls.
Monday, November 06, 2006
The Aftermath
They came, they saw, they... ate.
Went pretty good I guess, sandwiched between impulsive phonecalls from hyperactive aunts who are convinced that this meeting of the minds is a herald for a grand wedding sometime soon.
Well, it won't be sometime soon, but it'll be grand. Or so I'm told.
Anyway, they arrived under cover of darkness, bedecked in hues of gold and green. And a pen through a shirt-collar. A feast awaited and the guests dined atop the wood and marble. I hope they liked the murtabak.
Enough with the dramatics, it went well, if a bit one-sided. But then, what can I contribute to the conversation when the topic is of rumoured embezzlement and laundering within certain religious organisations? Was I supposed to just go "Hmm, yes. I see your point." or something?
Actually, that really was the bulk of my side of the talking, but still, laughter and smiles from your (not so) soon-to-be father-in-law on your first real meeting would be a good sign eh?
All good, and I'm still getting "So, how do your in-laws love you?" from all sides, and while the L-word wouldn't be suitably-placed in that context, at least it started off on the right foot.
Plus, I got a new cat (OK, kitten) though she's having some problems settling in...
Went pretty good I guess, sandwiched between impulsive phonecalls from hyperactive aunts who are convinced that this meeting of the minds is a herald for a grand wedding sometime soon.
Well, it won't be sometime soon, but it'll be grand. Or so I'm told.
Anyway, they arrived under cover of darkness, bedecked in hues of gold and green. And a pen through a shirt-collar. A feast awaited and the guests dined atop the wood and marble. I hope they liked the murtabak.
Enough with the dramatics, it went well, if a bit one-sided. But then, what can I contribute to the conversation when the topic is of rumoured embezzlement and laundering within certain religious organisations? Was I supposed to just go "Hmm, yes. I see your point." or something?
Actually, that really was the bulk of my side of the talking, but still, laughter and smiles from your (not so) soon-to-be father-in-law on your first real meeting would be a good sign eh?
All good, and I'm still getting "So, how do your in-laws love you?" from all sides, and while the L-word wouldn't be suitably-placed in that context, at least it started off on the right foot.
Plus, I got a new cat (OK, kitten) though she's having some problems settling in...
Friday, November 03, 2006
Sleepers
In 1973, Woody Allen released "Sleeper", a love story about two people who hate each other, 200 years into the future.
"Sleeper" was also the name of a British band in the 1990's, a type of fish, a chokehold and a kind of railway car.
I'll focus on the last definition, tweaking it slightly.
As I mentioned before, I often make use of the generally excellent public transport system here in Singapore, with little or no complaint on most days, other than the odd maniacal cab-driver or late bus.
But, I get annoyed (very easily in most cases...) when someone infringes on my "personal space" in a bus or train. I don't usually have an aversion to human contact, and I'm not anti-social on most days, except for my urge to kick babies I guess.
Anyway, what irks me is how some people love to sleep on the bus or train (the bus, predominantly) and lean on you. Now, sleeping on a bus in itself isn't a bad thing. I used to sleep on buses everyday. But yeah, leaning.
It's inconsiderate, to say the least, when someone is trying to get from Point A to Point B and someone he/she is unfortunate enough to sit beside decides that their shoulder is doing a brilliant impersonation of their bedroom pillow.
Let's not even get started on those who drool too.
Here's what I tend to do when I get on a bus.
-Get a seat near the back doors.
-Sit by the window
-Keep an eye out for anyone who might sleep beside me and lean on me
If the third point (sadly) occurs in its entirety, I'd be forced to carry through with the sure-fire way of making sure they only rest on me once.
A good hard shove. Into the isle.
Works every time.
Try it!
"Sleeper" was also the name of a British band in the 1990's, a type of fish, a chokehold and a kind of railway car.
I'll focus on the last definition, tweaking it slightly.
As I mentioned before, I often make use of the generally excellent public transport system here in Singapore, with little or no complaint on most days, other than the odd maniacal cab-driver or late bus.
But, I get annoyed (very easily in most cases...) when someone infringes on my "personal space" in a bus or train. I don't usually have an aversion to human contact, and I'm not anti-social on most days, except for my urge to kick babies I guess.
Anyway, what irks me is how some people love to sleep on the bus or train (the bus, predominantly) and lean on you. Now, sleeping on a bus in itself isn't a bad thing. I used to sleep on buses everyday. But yeah, leaning.
It's inconsiderate, to say the least, when someone is trying to get from Point A to Point B and someone he/she is unfortunate enough to sit beside decides that their shoulder is doing a brilliant impersonation of their bedroom pillow.
Let's not even get started on those who drool too.
Here's what I tend to do when I get on a bus.
-Get a seat near the back doors.
-Sit by the window
-Keep an eye out for anyone who might sleep beside me and lean on me
If the third point (sadly) occurs in its entirety, I'd be forced to carry through with the sure-fire way of making sure they only rest on me once.
A good hard shove. Into the isle.
Works every time.
Try it!
Monday, October 30, 2006
Worlds Collide
4th Novemeber 2006.
This weekend.
Her folks and mine, or at least the possibility of a meeting.
Well, considering we've been together for five and a half years, and are "practically married" as some of you accuse, it's kinda weird that our parents have never met eh?
Khadi thinks her folks won't be too keen on coming, but you never know. I've met her dad once, never actually spoken to him. Her mom seems to like giving me food and comparing me to something which I won't repeat here for fear or ridicule.
My parents are (thankfully) very accepting of Khadi, though she insists that she does things to piss them off, and thus checks on her "status" with me and my sis from time to time (read: every chance she gets). She's also very motivated to be the "favourite" significant other, and it's really very funny, the way she compares some things.
Still, this weekend would probably be good. Lots of people, food, Prison Break, laughter, money exchanging hands, old friends meeting up for the first time in years in some cases.
If all else fails, I guess her dad could talk to my uncle about badminton...
This weekend.
Her folks and mine, or at least the possibility of a meeting.
Well, considering we've been together for five and a half years, and are "practically married" as some of you accuse, it's kinda weird that our parents have never met eh?
Khadi thinks her folks won't be too keen on coming, but you never know. I've met her dad once, never actually spoken to him. Her mom seems to like giving me food and comparing me to something which I won't repeat here for fear or ridicule.
My parents are (thankfully) very accepting of Khadi, though she insists that she does things to piss them off, and thus checks on her "status" with me and my sis from time to time (read: every chance she gets). She's also very motivated to be the "favourite" significant other, and it's really very funny, the way she compares some things.
Still, this weekend would probably be good. Lots of people, food, Prison Break, laughter, money exchanging hands, old friends meeting up for the first time in years in some cases.
If all else fails, I guess her dad could talk to my uncle about badminton...
Thursday, October 26, 2006
So...
Hypothetical question/scenario here, give me your feedback.
A girl, who I'll call A, has been with her boyfriend, who I'll call H, for a while now. They seem really happy with one another, getting over their age gap, H sneaking into her home for some hanky panky and what-not now and then and again and again. Doing things that people in love do, you know?
So, anyway, A has a "good friend" who she's known for longer than she's known H. And as some of you might have already figured "The friend must be a guy." Yes, you're right. THE FRIEND is indeed a guy.
So, A and H, happy couple right? Wrong. Well, Right, but not totally, or something. Apparently H isn't happy that A is spending too much time with THE FRIEND or something along those lines.
Now, some of you might think "Wait a minute, he's bloody insecure and/or possessive!" but then you're probably a girl. Most guys would think that H has got a point. How'd you feel if your girl was hanging out with another guy alot, going out with him ("But we just go out to eat and stuff!"), taking a ride with him (car ride), etc. Just A and THE FRIEND, one on one.
Personally, I think that there are very few cases where a guy and girl can be totally, 100% platonic. In most cases, it's because the guy is already attached to someone he rates higher than the girl. That might sound crass and really crude, but hey, alot would agree (no offense to all my female friends though...).
It's natural for a guy to try and woo a girl. Look at the animal world. Males try to bang as many females as they can in as little time as possible. Females tend to sift through the crowd, looking for what's in their best interest. It's fact. Sad, but true.
Now, translate that to what's happening between A, H and THE FRIEND, and what do you get?
Yeah. A pretty f*cked up situation where the girl is all "don't worry, nothing's going to happen" and the guy is like "but I don't want you to see him alone anymore, I think he likes you" and THE FRIEND is probably like "holy shit, I think she likes me."
Feedback.
A girl, who I'll call A, has been with her boyfriend, who I'll call H, for a while now. They seem really happy with one another, getting over their age gap, H sneaking into her home for some hanky panky and what-not now and then and again and again. Doing things that people in love do, you know?
So, anyway, A has a "good friend" who she's known for longer than she's known H. And as some of you might have already figured "The friend must be a guy." Yes, you're right. THE FRIEND is indeed a guy.
So, A and H, happy couple right? Wrong. Well, Right, but not totally, or something. Apparently H isn't happy that A is spending too much time with THE FRIEND or something along those lines.
Now, some of you might think "Wait a minute, he's bloody insecure and/or possessive!" but then you're probably a girl. Most guys would think that H has got a point. How'd you feel if your girl was hanging out with another guy alot, going out with him ("But we just go out to eat and stuff!"), taking a ride with him (car ride), etc. Just A and THE FRIEND, one on one.
Personally, I think that there are very few cases where a guy and girl can be totally, 100% platonic. In most cases, it's because the guy is already attached to someone he rates higher than the girl. That might sound crass and really crude, but hey, alot would agree (no offense to all my female friends though...).
It's natural for a guy to try and woo a girl. Look at the animal world. Males try to bang as many females as they can in as little time as possible. Females tend to sift through the crowd, looking for what's in their best interest. It's fact. Sad, but true.
Now, translate that to what's happening between A, H and THE FRIEND, and what do you get?
Yeah. A pretty f*cked up situation where the girl is all "don't worry, nothing's going to happen" and the guy is like "but I don't want you to see him alone anymore, I think he likes you" and THE FRIEND is probably like "holy shit, I think she likes me."
Feedback.
Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Dun Dun Dun
That was supposed to be dramatic music.
So, I haven't written here in a while...
I've been busy, you know? Lots of things to take care of and... well, not really. Lack of any real topic to be honest. Heh.
It's Hari Raya today. What's that? Well, for one thing, it's the day I get lots of cash.
Hari Raya Aidilfitri, today, is one of the two big events celebrated by Muslims across the world. There are others too, but I don't really know much about them so I'll just say two. Shush.
We've all been fasting for a month, as I mentioned earlier, and now, we riot!
I mean celebrate. Yeah, that's it.
Spent most of today visiting people, hugging grandma's, looking dashin, same old same old. Got me a nice wad of cash too. Pimpin ain't easy you know. Unrelated, but I felt it had to be said.
So, I haven't written here in a while...
I've been busy, you know? Lots of things to take care of and... well, not really. Lack of any real topic to be honest. Heh.
It's Hari Raya today. What's that? Well, for one thing, it's the day I get lots of cash.
Hari Raya Aidilfitri, today, is one of the two big events celebrated by Muslims across the world. There are others too, but I don't really know much about them so I'll just say two. Shush.
We've all been fasting for a month, as I mentioned earlier, and now, we riot!
I mean celebrate. Yeah, that's it.
Spent most of today visiting people, hugging grandma's, looking dashin, same old same old. Got me a nice wad of cash too. Pimpin ain't easy you know. Unrelated, but I felt it had to be said.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
The Trainman
Today, like most everyday when I go to and from school, I took the train. Yeah, I don't drive. Working on it. But that isn't the point.
Singaporeans can be proud of their public transport system. At least, the MRT. I've been to Britain and Germany, where they boast "impressive" public trains for intra-city travel, and quite frankly... I'm sorry Europe, but you suck, for lack of a better word.
Well, maybe only in comparison to Singapore, at least. Now, I'm no patriot. I hate how Singapore is rather dull and routine. Life in Singapore is often mundane at best, and even "breaking news" is mediocre on a good day.
Good evening, Singapore. Our top story today, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Long visits Aljunied GRC. In other news, the national football team lost again to The Association of BLind Paraplegics...
But I digress. As I was saying, I was on the train today, and like most any day, a series of unfortunate events befell your friendly neighbourhood Naz.
Firstly, I was fleetfooted enough to procure myself a seat. Yay. No yay. On the right, a rather large woman. What kind of large? Well. The happily-coloured plastic seats are all joined, right? With those bum-shaped indentations to regulate passenger seating arrangements. She was intruding in my personal space.
If that wasn't enough, the guy on my left was a sleeper. Now, I once launched a rather long and fairly humourous tirade against "sleepers" on the bus and/or train (and I might revisit that in the future...), but this one takes the cake.
He looked like a bum. Dirty striped shirt, half-unbuttoned. Dirtier fingernails. Long fingernails. Patches of hair that were alternating between invisible and out-of-control. Shorts. Broken sandals. Veins.
Now, some of you might argue that "Hey Naz, you aren't quite the fashionista yourself!" but I don't smell of beer.
Which is what this charming fellow did. Very well. I hate the smell of beer. On people. Not wielding a glass. In public. In close proximity.
So in between Drew Carrey's sister and Mr Tiger Beer, I remained seated, because as much as it pained me (a combination of breath-holding and contorting of my extremities), the scene in front of me was one out of a porn flick. From HELL.
Two middle aged (and I'm being generous) Chinese men, holding the hands of two rather skinny Chinese girls. Against their fruit packages. Take a moment to envision that, folks. I had almost a full half-hour to try and not notice.
On a somewhat-related note, why is it that in Singapore, nearly every instance of Paedophilic Displays of Affection occur between members of our large Chinese community? Ok, I get that being the largest racial group would statistically increase the likelyhood of one such as myself catching an unwanted peepshow on the train, but that's just not right. I don't see some old Pak Cik or some old Indian fella doing the same thing. Oh well. No offence, Chinese dudes and dudettes, but is that why China has a billion people? Eh?
So, there I was. Stuck between a drunk and a soft place. Being mentally tortured by the twin visions of poor public porn. Sigh.
Some poor chap dropped his strangely heavy wallet on my shoe as well. And I was gracious enough to point out to the oblivious fellow. But we all knows good deeds are overrated anyway.
Sigh. Only on a Singapore train.
Singaporeans can be proud of their public transport system. At least, the MRT. I've been to Britain and Germany, where they boast "impressive" public trains for intra-city travel, and quite frankly... I'm sorry Europe, but you suck, for lack of a better word.
Well, maybe only in comparison to Singapore, at least. Now, I'm no patriot. I hate how Singapore is rather dull and routine. Life in Singapore is often mundane at best, and even "breaking news" is mediocre on a good day.
Good evening, Singapore. Our top story today, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Long visits Aljunied GRC. In other news, the national football team lost again to The Association of BLind Paraplegics...
But I digress. As I was saying, I was on the train today, and like most any day, a series of unfortunate events befell your friendly neighbourhood Naz.
Firstly, I was fleetfooted enough to procure myself a seat. Yay. No yay. On the right, a rather large woman. What kind of large? Well. The happily-coloured plastic seats are all joined, right? With those bum-shaped indentations to regulate passenger seating arrangements. She was intruding in my personal space.
If that wasn't enough, the guy on my left was a sleeper. Now, I once launched a rather long and fairly humourous tirade against "sleepers" on the bus and/or train (and I might revisit that in the future...), but this one takes the cake.
He looked like a bum. Dirty striped shirt, half-unbuttoned. Dirtier fingernails. Long fingernails. Patches of hair that were alternating between invisible and out-of-control. Shorts. Broken sandals. Veins.
Now, some of you might argue that "Hey Naz, you aren't quite the fashionista yourself!" but I don't smell of beer.
Which is what this charming fellow did. Very well. I hate the smell of beer. On people. Not wielding a glass. In public. In close proximity.
So in between Drew Carrey's sister and Mr Tiger Beer, I remained seated, because as much as it pained me (a combination of breath-holding and contorting of my extremities), the scene in front of me was one out of a porn flick. From HELL.
Two middle aged (and I'm being generous) Chinese men, holding the hands of two rather skinny Chinese girls. Against their fruit packages. Take a moment to envision that, folks. I had almost a full half-hour to try and not notice.
On a somewhat-related note, why is it that in Singapore, nearly every instance of Paedophilic Displays of Affection occur between members of our large Chinese community? Ok, I get that being the largest racial group would statistically increase the likelyhood of one such as myself catching an unwanted peepshow on the train, but that's just not right. I don't see some old Pak Cik or some old Indian fella doing the same thing. Oh well. No offence, Chinese dudes and dudettes, but is that why China has a billion people? Eh?
So, there I was. Stuck between a drunk and a soft place. Being mentally tortured by the twin visions of poor public porn. Sigh.
Some poor chap dropped his strangely heavy wallet on my shoe as well. And I was gracious enough to point out to the oblivious fellow. But we all knows good deeds are overrated anyway.
Sigh. Only on a Singapore train.
Monday, October 02, 2006
Home Away From Home
Alot of you reading this would be familiar with the experience of living away from home for an extended period of time. Guys, NS would have forced that upon you, and as for the rest, well, I dunno.
Khadi's in University. But she's been there for over a year now. Enrolled there, at least. But right now, at time of writing, she's in the University. Yeah, staying in a dorm/hall or whatever you want to call it.
It's a big step for her, since she's blatantly close to her family ("I think I'll miss my sister...") and being away from them for three or four days would be a major change. But, of course, she's in the same hall with "Her Besh Fren" Aisyah, so I guess it'll be easier, in that sense.
And, as Aisyah did so eloquently confess in her blog (Link on the right), the two of them are going to raise hell. So much for an education eh?
But I jest, I know the two of them will be studying hard, almost as hard as they party, of course. I can only wonder what will become of Wednesday nights when Khadi doesn't actually have to go home.
Not seeing her as much is going to be hard. I know, some people ask "Oh my god! You've been with her for five years and see her like every other day! Aren't you sick of her?"
And I say No. Hell, if you want to marry someone (and I do want to marry her so), you're going to see him/her everyday anyway. If you can't deal with that right now, you either aren't as mature or advanced (relationship-wise) as some others, or need to take a look at your relationship proper.
Note: I do realise there are folk who love each other enormously but don't talk to/see each other everyday and are quite adamant about their supremacy. To them, I say "Good for you." Everyone's entitled to my opinion.
But back to Khadi, I will miss her. Of course, I'll speak to her (several times) everyday and the wonders of modern technology allow me to deliver my sweet words of lurve to her every five minutes, or (more realistically) when I can think them up. And when she isn't too busy to read them. Hooray for romance.
Some people say (and repeat endlessly) that you don't know what you got till it's gone. Now, I abhor cliches, but this one is particularly poingant right now. It's her first night in the University Hall (other than candid sleepovers after a semi-wild night out...), and I'm sure it's a big test for her.
But I've got every faith in my girl, and she wants to learn to be independant, if only for a semester, and she'll be fine. Great. Study hard, party hard. As usual.
Ah well, Yo Momma is on, and we all know that spewing gibberish will always take a back seat to strangers badmouthing each other.
I keed.
But really, Yo Momma is on now.
Love you babe.
Khadi's in University. But she's been there for over a year now. Enrolled there, at least. But right now, at time of writing, she's in the University. Yeah, staying in a dorm/hall or whatever you want to call it.
It's a big step for her, since she's blatantly close to her family ("I think I'll miss my sister...") and being away from them for three or four days would be a major change. But, of course, she's in the same hall with "Her Besh Fren" Aisyah, so I guess it'll be easier, in that sense.
And, as Aisyah did so eloquently confess in her blog (Link on the right), the two of them are going to raise hell. So much for an education eh?
But I jest, I know the two of them will be studying hard, almost as hard as they party, of course. I can only wonder what will become of Wednesday nights when Khadi doesn't actually have to go home.
Not seeing her as much is going to be hard. I know, some people ask "Oh my god! You've been with her for five years and see her like every other day! Aren't you sick of her?"
And I say No. Hell, if you want to marry someone (and I do want to marry her so), you're going to see him/her everyday anyway. If you can't deal with that right now, you either aren't as mature or advanced (relationship-wise) as some others, or need to take a look at your relationship proper.
Note: I do realise there are folk who love each other enormously but don't talk to/see each other everyday and are quite adamant about their supremacy. To them, I say "Good for you." Everyone's entitled to my opinion.
But back to Khadi, I will miss her. Of course, I'll speak to her (several times) everyday and the wonders of modern technology allow me to deliver my sweet words of lurve to her every five minutes, or (more realistically) when I can think them up. And when she isn't too busy to read them. Hooray for romance.
Some people say (and repeat endlessly) that you don't know what you got till it's gone. Now, I abhor cliches, but this one is particularly poingant right now. It's her first night in the University Hall (other than candid sleepovers after a semi-wild night out...), and I'm sure it's a big test for her.
But I've got every faith in my girl, and she wants to learn to be independant, if only for a semester, and she'll be fine. Great. Study hard, party hard. As usual.
Ah well, Yo Momma is on, and we all know that spewing gibberish will always take a back seat to strangers badmouthing each other.
I keed.
But really, Yo Momma is on now.
Love you babe.
Thursday, September 28, 2006
Jurassic Park and Me
Remember Jurassic Park? Yeah the movie that spawned two quite laughable sequels. The movie that sort of revolutionised special effects. The movie that scared me shitless when I was a kid.
You see, ever since I was a wee lad, I've always had a fancy for dinosaurs. I could name you the estimated height and length of nearly every "mainstream" dinosaur and tell you approximately when and where they lived. I could tell you the difference between a Brontosaurus and an Apatosaurus. Which dinosaur was theorised to have a trunk. Feathers.
Anyway, being a dino-loving kid, the opening of Jurassic Park naturally became a religious event for me, and I dragged my father to watch it, only because I was deemed too young to watch it on my own.
And I got scared. Shitless.
Now, don't get me wrong, JP isn't a horror movie per se, nor is it a light-hearted comedy. It's scarier than Evil Dead or Barney, but will never be Ju-On. But I don't really need to explain what the movie actually is, do I?
Anyway, what scared me the most about JP were the Velociraptors. Now, in my many (about 2) years of dino-research, I always envisioned raptors as cold-blooded killers, much like how they were portrayed in the movie, but not quite as cunning and... merciless.
When the guy gets ambushed by the group of raptors ("Clever girl...") I was amazed.
But when the two raptors stalked the kids in the kitchen, I was scared. (Shitless).
The next few months (seriously) saw Naz checking everywhere for raptors. Behind my bed. In my closet. Under the car. Waiting for me at the dinner table. I was one paranoid kid.
Course, back then I also thought that the raptors and other dinosaurs used in JP were real. Now, I knew dinosaurs had been extinct for millions of years. But I thought the technique they used in JP (extract dino blood from amber-preserved mosquito, copy and modiy dino-DNA, die gruesome death) actually worked and that was how they filmed the damn movie.
I grew wiser, of course, and like any other kid, got over my irrational fear.
It seems the movies do indeed induce mass hysteria sometimes though. Look at The Ring (the Japanese version, not the cheesy Hollywood remake). Till this day, hordes of people still scream and faint and run and cry and wail and generally panic everytime someone so much as flashes the opening scene of the cursed video.
Watch this.
Don't get me started on Ju-On (The Grudge, for those of you more Hollywood-inclined, though the only saving grace of the remake is Sarah Michelle Gellar). I was like, what? 17 when I caught it? And it creeped me out. I remember shampooing my hair a few days after catching it and freaking out when something knocked against my bathroom door (stupid cat).
Yeah, we've all been scared out of our minds due to some movie or other, and if you haven't, pity.
My list of favourite scary movies (not neccesarily in terms of scariness):
*Ju-On
*Signs
*The Village (At least the first half...)
*The Sixth Sense
*House of Wax (Gore, FTW)
I'd add Final Destination, Saw, and a few others, but they're not really horror, and even if they are, aren't really billed as such.
Ah well.
You see, ever since I was a wee lad, I've always had a fancy for dinosaurs. I could name you the estimated height and length of nearly every "mainstream" dinosaur and tell you approximately when and where they lived. I could tell you the difference between a Brontosaurus and an Apatosaurus. Which dinosaur was theorised to have a trunk. Feathers.
Anyway, being a dino-loving kid, the opening of Jurassic Park naturally became a religious event for me, and I dragged my father to watch it, only because I was deemed too young to watch it on my own.
And I got scared. Shitless.
Now, don't get me wrong, JP isn't a horror movie per se, nor is it a light-hearted comedy. It's scarier than Evil Dead or Barney, but will never be Ju-On. But I don't really need to explain what the movie actually is, do I?
Anyway, what scared me the most about JP were the Velociraptors. Now, in my many (about 2) years of dino-research, I always envisioned raptors as cold-blooded killers, much like how they were portrayed in the movie, but not quite as cunning and... merciless.
When the guy gets ambushed by the group of raptors ("Clever girl...") I was amazed.
But when the two raptors stalked the kids in the kitchen, I was scared. (Shitless).
The next few months (seriously) saw Naz checking everywhere for raptors. Behind my bed. In my closet. Under the car. Waiting for me at the dinner table. I was one paranoid kid.
Course, back then I also thought that the raptors and other dinosaurs used in JP were real. Now, I knew dinosaurs had been extinct for millions of years. But I thought the technique they used in JP (extract dino blood from amber-preserved mosquito, copy and modiy dino-DNA, die gruesome death) actually worked and that was how they filmed the damn movie.
I grew wiser, of course, and like any other kid, got over my irrational fear.
It seems the movies do indeed induce mass hysteria sometimes though. Look at The Ring (the Japanese version, not the cheesy Hollywood remake). Till this day, hordes of people still scream and faint and run and cry and wail and generally panic everytime someone so much as flashes the opening scene of the cursed video.
Watch this.
Don't get me started on Ju-On (The Grudge, for those of you more Hollywood-inclined, though the only saving grace of the remake is Sarah Michelle Gellar). I was like, what? 17 when I caught it? And it creeped me out. I remember shampooing my hair a few days after catching it and freaking out when something knocked against my bathroom door (stupid cat).
Yeah, we've all been scared out of our minds due to some movie or other, and if you haven't, pity.
My list of favourite scary movies (not neccesarily in terms of scariness):
*Ju-On
*Signs
*The Village (At least the first half...)
*The Sixth Sense
*House of Wax (Gore, FTW)
I'd add Final Destination, Saw, and a few others, but they're not really horror, and even if they are, aren't really billed as such.
Ah well.
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
2 Dollar Dares
"Two bucks"
"What?"
"Go up to the police guy and ask him if his daily routine is as exciting as what we see on TV."
That was really the only "two bucks" dare I ever did.
The concept of the "two bucks" dares spawned from the semi-popular series Ed, when me and a few of my friends started daring each other to do idiotic things for a measly two dollars. Though most of the dares were not really serious, some, like what I mentioned before, actually happened.
Here's a list of some of the dares I can remember:
Tell that girl her skirt is unzipped
Ask the teacher why the anus is included in the diagram of sexual organs
Call your girlfriend (who is older than you) "Kakak" (Malay for big sister) Actually done!
Stand on the table and profess your undying love to a random person
Scream at a random person, in a public place, "NO I WILL NOT MARRY YOU!"
Childish and immature, I admit, but a sure bet for laughs. Oh the glory days of cheap thrills.
Alot of the best dares cropped up in (invariably) random conversations with my good friend Sajivan. Yes, the same Saj I pointed out that had split his head a few weeks ago (he did it again recently too). The Saj who was accused of having no less than, what? Fifteen girlfriends? Including mine? And my sister, of course.
Speaking of which:
Hoopy Frood says:
eh... wat has happened to your sis ah
nAz says:
?
Hoopy Frood says:
neva see her online anymore...
Hoopy Frood says:
heh
nAz says:
miss her?
Hoopy Frood says:
u cant begin to fathom how much
nAz says:
hahaa
Hoopy Frood says:
nAz says:
i'll send her your love
Hoopy Frood says:
haha...
nAz says:
im so going to copy and paste this...
Hoopy Frood says:
ure gonna tell khadi arent u...
nAz says:
of course
Hoopy Frood says:
maybe i shud have thot of tt before i tried to be witty
So, Saj, I didn't actually tell Khadi...
Hoopy Frood = Amazingly together guy
Credit: The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, one of the funniest things I've ever had the priveledge of reading (thanks to Saj). Though it took me to remind him of the phrase.
So, to all of you reading this, I dare you this.
Two Bucks.
(65) 6293 4388
Call that number, and ask what's the soup of the day.
PS: Only if I'm around to hear it!
"What?"
"Go up to the police guy and ask him if his daily routine is as exciting as what we see on TV."
That was really the only "two bucks" dare I ever did.
The concept of the "two bucks" dares spawned from the semi-popular series Ed, when me and a few of my friends started daring each other to do idiotic things for a measly two dollars. Though most of the dares were not really serious, some, like what I mentioned before, actually happened.
Here's a list of some of the dares I can remember:
Tell that girl her skirt is unzipped
Ask the teacher why the anus is included in the diagram of sexual organs
Call your girlfriend (who is older than you) "Kakak" (Malay for big sister) Actually done!
Stand on the table and profess your undying love to a random person
Scream at a random person, in a public place, "NO I WILL NOT MARRY YOU!"
Childish and immature, I admit, but a sure bet for laughs. Oh the glory days of cheap thrills.
Alot of the best dares cropped up in (invariably) random conversations with my good friend Sajivan. Yes, the same Saj I pointed out that had split his head a few weeks ago (he did it again recently too). The Saj who was accused of having no less than, what? Fifteen girlfriends? Including mine? And my sister, of course.
Speaking of which:
Hoopy Frood says:
eh... wat has happened to your sis ah
nAz says:
?
Hoopy Frood says:
neva see her online anymore...
Hoopy Frood says:
heh
nAz says:
miss her?
Hoopy Frood says:
u cant begin to fathom how much
nAz says:
hahaa
Hoopy Frood says:
nAz says:
i'll send her your love
Hoopy Frood says:
haha...
nAz says:
im so going to copy and paste this...
Hoopy Frood says:
ure gonna tell khadi arent u...
nAz says:
of course
Hoopy Frood says:
maybe i shud have thot of tt before i tried to be witty
So, Saj, I didn't actually tell Khadi...
Hoopy Frood = Amazingly together guy
Credit: The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, one of the funniest things I've ever had the priveledge of reading (thanks to Saj). Though it took me to remind him of the phrase.
So, to all of you reading this, I dare you this.
Two Bucks.
(65) 6293 4388
Call that number, and ask what's the soup of the day.
PS: Only if I'm around to hear it!
Monday, September 25, 2006
Singapore Idle
Ramadhan (or Ramadan, if you prefer) is upon us!
For those of you not in the know, Ramadhan is the Muslim fasting month, where all Muslims (are supposed to) fast during the daylight hours. Of course, refraining from food and drink isn't the only thing. During the daylight hours, we can't
Eat
Drink
Swear
Have sex (some argue that contact with anyone of the opposite sex is also a no-no)
Smoke
Or permutations and combinations of the above.
Now, I'd like to think that I could lose a little weight this month, maybe even drop down to the (supposedly) slim figure that I miraculously had in early April, after a month in Thailand. I doubt that such a drastic change would take palce though, even if we're talking about the same amount of time here. In Thailand, I was on a diet of chocolate milk and prawns, with the occasional Pringles and daily soccer match under the Siamese sun. Now, I fast for about twelve hours a day, but then usually gorge myself afterwards.
Lets take a look at Naz's menu over the past three days.
Saturday: Buffet family lunch, various dishes. Big dinner, at the expense of a friend.
Sunday: Prata in the early morning, Indonesian buffet dinner
Monday: Khadi's home-made roti kirai in the morning, KFC and the rest of the roti Kirai for dinner.
Well, I can safely say that I'm full.
With the fasting month upon us, of course, expect an even lazier Naz till end-October. I'm hungry, come on!
And, after breaking our fast this day, most of Singapore tuned in to find out...
Hady Mirza is our new Singapore Idol.
Yipee?
In what is widely believed to be the final edition of the (so-called) hit show, Hady beats Jonathan in the Grand Finals. WHat makes it so grand, I dunno. Throughout the past few months, we have been treated to a mix of raw talent and piss-poor singing, more of the latter though. A performing monkey, an emo-wannabe, fake accents and camera-loving schoolgirls all caved in to the pressure, eventually making way for the final two, who many expected to go this far anyway.
So, what did we get? I'm not quite sure actually. Many people thought that Hady was indeed the more deserving winner, though those same people did also believe that "Taufiq already won the last one, so Jonathan will surely win this time." Racial Harmony at its best!
Of course, the sour point of the night was surely the "performance" of Taiwanese boy-band Energy. Three skinny guys. Who. Cannot. Sing. I mean, if you can mess up "Stand By Me", you need your tongue ripped out and fed to Drew Carrey or something. Seriously.
Oh well, it's all over, much to the squealing delight of Khadi and the financial dismay of my sister.
On a totally unrelated note:
A new meaning to soccer balls.
For those of you not in the know, Ramadhan is the Muslim fasting month, where all Muslims (are supposed to) fast during the daylight hours. Of course, refraining from food and drink isn't the only thing. During the daylight hours, we can't
Eat
Drink
Swear
Have sex (some argue that contact with anyone of the opposite sex is also a no-no)
Smoke
Or permutations and combinations of the above.
Now, I'd like to think that I could lose a little weight this month, maybe even drop down to the (supposedly) slim figure that I miraculously had in early April, after a month in Thailand. I doubt that such a drastic change would take palce though, even if we're talking about the same amount of time here. In Thailand, I was on a diet of chocolate milk and prawns, with the occasional Pringles and daily soccer match under the Siamese sun. Now, I fast for about twelve hours a day, but then usually gorge myself afterwards.
Lets take a look at Naz's menu over the past three days.
Saturday: Buffet family lunch, various dishes. Big dinner, at the expense of a friend.
Sunday: Prata in the early morning, Indonesian buffet dinner
Monday: Khadi's home-made roti kirai in the morning, KFC and the rest of the roti Kirai for dinner.
Well, I can safely say that I'm full.
With the fasting month upon us, of course, expect an even lazier Naz till end-October. I'm hungry, come on!
And, after breaking our fast this day, most of Singapore tuned in to find out...
Hady Mirza is our new Singapore Idol.
Yipee?
In what is widely believed to be the final edition of the (so-called) hit show, Hady beats Jonathan in the Grand Finals. WHat makes it so grand, I dunno. Throughout the past few months, we have been treated to a mix of raw talent and piss-poor singing, more of the latter though. A performing monkey, an emo-wannabe, fake accents and camera-loving schoolgirls all caved in to the pressure, eventually making way for the final two, who many expected to go this far anyway.
So, what did we get? I'm not quite sure actually. Many people thought that Hady was indeed the more deserving winner, though those same people did also believe that "Taufiq already won the last one, so Jonathan will surely win this time." Racial Harmony at its best!
Of course, the sour point of the night was surely the "performance" of Taiwanese boy-band Energy. Three skinny guys. Who. Cannot. Sing. I mean, if you can mess up "Stand By Me", you need your tongue ripped out and fed to Drew Carrey or something. Seriously.
Oh well, it's all over, much to the squealing delight of Khadi and the financial dismay of my sister.
On a totally unrelated note:
A new meaning to soccer balls.
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