Monthly Archives: January 2005

Working things out

Having one of those up and down weekends is good for the soul. Keeps the blood pumping too. Makes you feel alive. And all that.

A two-day anger festival (family matters) came to a head earlier, and I am glad that order has been restored, and all parties involved have been put in their places, and I am always right.

So, anyhoo, me and the boys and some girls went and played touch footy again. This time, it wasn’t sunny. In fact, it rained buckets. But still we had loadsa fun, and a good workout to boot. Just ask LMD. If she’s able to blog about it in the next few days.

I seldom dole out advice, but there are exceptions. Like when I’m feeling self-conscious enough (because a fair number of people read this blog now… so scared…).

Today I want to tell all of youse not to let matters fester until it needs to be released in a manner that threatens the whatsit and whatnot of your family’s all that. And if ever you find yourself so bogged down by the weight of the said festering matters, go get a group of your best mates and have a game of touch footy in the rain.

There is nothing you cannot resolve. If you can’t do it on your own, you have your mates. But always remember, if there’s a wee, there’s a way (via Daryl Sng).

Debris
Table debris, 29th Jan 2005

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Hain’t It Funny – k.d. lang – Drag, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Too much coffee and sugary drinks so cannot blog properly

I’ve just had one of those rare days where I completely lost my temper.

How did I lose my temper? I got angry in the morning, then simmered all afternoon while consuming four shots of espresso and one funky purple/pink drink, deliberated over how I would display my anger, and then went and displayed my anger.

I think there’s a market for my kind of anger management.

But you can’t stay angry for too long (like say, more than a day) when you come home, go online, and find things like this:

Via YJ:


Luke, eaaaaat meeeeeee!

And you know when a blogger has gone off the boil when he, like me, starts taking pittures of his coffee cups:

red gunk
He Starbucks, I Spinelli!

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair – Nina Simone – Verve Jazz Masters 17, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Snippets from high-flying lives

I spent this evening at the poolside (the pool of which has ‘underwater music’) of the swanky serviced apartment complex called ‘Orchard Parksuites’ because a high-flyer uni-mate was back in town for work and for to meet up with some of her treetop-skimming uni-mates.

It is a reflex assumption that money is no matter to these high-flying, high-living uni-mates. But of course, that is not true. They have money issues too, just that the decimal point is usually further to the right of the figures we throw about. But still, I have not felt so comparatively poor in a while.

Then they spoke about mothers-in-law, and how horrible they were. Then they spoke of how marriages between some of our uni-mates had ended before they actually began. Then they spoke about children, and babies, and how it was read somewhere that you can lactate even if you’re not a mother or an expectant mother.

And I’m sitting here wondering if they still wonder why I’m always the one contributing totally incongruent conversation topics.


Gotta add some swank to my income

Surf stop: Men of Clay
iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Oh, what a beautiful mornin’ – 1998 London Cast Recording – Oklahoma!, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Even larger than life in Meatspace (Mr Miyagi forget to bring camera)

So, Adri had to bugger off to the Night Safari, which was a pity, really, because that meant we were short of one very good set of brains to pick. But then, nair mind, the doyen of Singapore bloggers, Mr Brown, arrived soon after, knocking over some chairs and almost a table at Cafe Cartel before he got to the table.

And what a table it was too. I got to sit next to Xiaxue, who sat next to Preetamrai, who sat next to La Idler, who sat next to Agagooga, who sat opposite Myrick, who sat next to Mr & Mrs Acorn, who sat next to The Calm One (Neh? the One, so Calm until stop blogging?), who sat next to Mr Brown, who sat opposite me.

So many things we talked about, and I was in charge of doling out gossip. Everything I know about the bloggers I know is now in the reliable hands of the abovenamed. They might choose to do something about it, so stay tuned!

Of course, one of the more important things we discussed was blogging. My contribution was ‘how to increase your page hits’, although that was only limited to ‘putting up a photo of Fiona Xie’. Preetamrai, on the other hand (where there are also five fingers), offered a solution to parents who want to know if their teenage children have blogs: buy them a gift, then google ‘my mother/father/parents bought me a gift’.

Xiaxue, who I think makes a darn good journo/media personality with her incessant probing and baiting, contributed in her own inimitable way, very generously offering to let me feel her up. (That’s when Mr Brown choked, coughed and sneezed one piece of macaroni back onto his plate, decent family man that he is). I declined, of course, knowing that if I had as much as sampled her offer, I’d be splashed all over her blog as the sleazy old bloke who squeezed her tit at Cafe Cartel. As the others would agree, you cannot buy this kind of experience, man… eh, actually, you can, but that one has got little to do with blogger meet-ups.


Night safari photo taken by Adri

Xiaxue's wallet
What’s in Xiaxue’s wallet? Xiaxue’s photos, lah! What?

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: It’s Just Not Cricket – The 12th Man – The 12th Man, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Household applicants

Been very busy, so I’m relying on a cell of operatives to gather information, useful and not, for this blog.

One of my operatives in Chinatown tells me the Chinese New Year decorations there includes a giant rooster sitting on some giant eggs amidst the recycled Christmas lighting. Rooster sitting on eggs leh. “If this isn’t indicative of the state of the Singaporean male, I don’t know what is”, my operative adds.

Another operative reports the following conversation heard on a train. (Not overheard. Heard. Singaporeans, we talk very LOUDLY):

Eh, any shop got applicants sale or not ah?

What applicants? What shop?

Neh? Like Best Denki, Courts all that?

What applicants?

Neh? Like kettle, microwave all that? Household applicants lah!

Orh. Dunno. See newspaper lah.

My well-trained operative adhered to the rule of non-intervention and resisted the urge to correct the conversation, allowing himself only to mutter, ‘Buy mattress free handphone, dear.

And Chinese New Year buy new applicants appliances one meh? My family just insists on mandarin oranges, tidbits and new cloats.


Get this monkey off my back. I look stupid enough as it is.

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: These Are Days – 10,000 Maniacs – These Are Days [Single], of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

All Sundays should be like this

The sun was out, the weather was great, kids were playing cricket (yes!) and chucking a rugby ball around, and believe it or not, this was at the SMU field, Singapore. Not Paine Reserve, Kingsford/Randwick, Sydney.

So the kids and their parents spoke with Aussie accents, but what the heck, the sun was out and the weather was great.

Our game of touch footy was a shambles, though. Five blokes bailed on us, and so we had to run ourselves ragged again playing three on three till we got bored. Then we played three on three with full contact instead of touch, though self-preservation took precedence and we more or less tickled each other to the ground instead of tackling.

Fun and sunburn was had and enjoyed by all present, and we’re planning to make this a weekly (every Sunday) event. Same place, 5pm. If you’re interested (boys and girls) please apply here.

Right now I am deathly busy, but very glad I had a bit of a run on the paddock yesterday. Doesn’t get any better than this, I don’t think.

Sunday footy
Footy at Paine Reserve, Kingsford/Randwick, 1999

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: I Don’t Like Mondays – The Boomtown Rats – Great Songs of Indifference: The Best of Bob Geldof & the Boomtown Rats, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

With a little help from my wing woman

Mr Miyagi can catch fly with chopstick, Mr Miyagi don’t need help with the chicks. But for those who do, here’s an interesting dating service called a ‘dating mistress’ or a ‘wing woman’.

From the Sydney Morning Herald (Registration may be required):

Keen to meet women, yet sick of rejection by those who have heard every line in the book, a handful of Australian men have decided to conquer the dating challenge.

Men have long roped in their mates to win over the ladies, with varied success. But for those who don’t have female accomplices to do their dating dirty work, assistance is available for a fee of $60 an hour on weekends.

By day, Jessica studies teaching at the University of Technology, Sydney. By night, she moonlights as a dating mistress, or wing woman….

…The 22-year-old says the service is simply cashing in on an existing social trend. “I have some male friends where the guy says to the girl[friend], ‘Hook me up with that girl’ or ‘Bring your girlfriends’,” she said.

Jessica will meet clients in a bar and get them to point out girls they are interested in. Then she will approach the girl and strike up a conversation….

…The man appears and Jessica introduces them, pretending they are friends. But she shrugs off suggestions that such behaviour is deceptive.

I dunno, might only work for Australians.


Could you chat her up for me, please? Yep, the one waving at me.

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Nella Fantasia – Il Divo – Il Divo, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Sure they serve beef, they invited a cow

Last Saturday I attended a wedding banquet I enjoyed for the most part. The only part I only sort of enjoyed was putting freshly withdrawn banknotes into an ang pow just before I got to the banquet. It was only later on that I felt parting with my money was worth it, because it was a pleasant wedding banquet. Unpretentious, short speeches, shorter (2 song) singing performances and decent food that was served quickly. Two spoonfuls of sharks’ fin soup, and the fifth course was already on the table. On hindsight, I should’ve known it wasn’t going to be unbearable, because any event involving Lat and his lot is almost always enjoyable.

A few days before the wedding, I met up with the groom and bride and they told me a funny story about the wedding preparations.

The bride was in charge of the invites, and the groom the banquet seating arrangements. They didn’t take leave from their jobs, so as you can imagine, they were very busy and very flustered. The bride looked up the names and addresses of friends and relatives of both families and hand wrote each card and envelope. Then, as is the way with modern living, you know some friends but don’t know their full names or addresses, only their handphone number and/or email address.

So, the bride goes, ‘Darling, you inviting your friend Carl?’

‘Yes’, replies the groom, poring over details of the banquet, and telling the banquet manager on the phone that there was no way he wants suckling pig on the menu because suckling pigs suck.

‘OK.’, and she starts to write out the invitation, and all is well.

‘Darling, how to spell ‘Carl’?’, she asks a few minutes later, while he is still busy on the phone.

Now, maybe she mumbled, maybe she mispronounced, maybe he was hard of hearing or maybe, and most probably, he wasn’t paying attention.

But he replies, ‘C-O-W’.

‘Are you sure it’s ‘C-O-W’?

‘Yes, C-O-W, C-O-W! Why you ask me this kind of thing?!’

A few days after the invites were written and sent out, the groom and bride were again doing some more preparations for the wedding. The bride handling the RSVPs, and the groom finalising the seating arrangments.

Looking at the list of confirmed guests, he scrolled down alphabetically till he came to ‘C’, and saw ‘Cow’.

‘Oh my God. Darling, why you call my friend Cow?’

‘I asked you how to spell, you said C-O-W’.

‘Since when? Where got people named Cow one?’

‘How I know? You and your Ah Beng friends, maybe got one called Ah Gu, so English name Cow lah!’

Ase
Put me at the right table, I give more ang pow, can?

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Shting Shtang – Joe Clay – Labour Of Love – The Music of Nick Lowe, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.

Summer (day) of sport

How hot was it today? Blue sky, no clouds, and car upholstery hot enough to cure you of piles once and for all.

I got a call from the boys asking to go down to the SMU field to kick some footy for a bit, in preparation for Sunday’s long-awaited touch footy game we’ve organised. It’s been a while since we’ve played, and I don’t think we’ve had a decent game since when we were all in Sydney.

In Sydney, almost every weekend was a sporting weekend, rain, shine or hail. If you were really sick or injured (from playing sport), you’d stay home and watch sport. If not, you’d be out there, playing all four codes of football (rugby union, rugby league, aussie rules and soccer), sometimes in the same afternoon.

But we’re not in Sydney anymore, and it’s hard trying to organize a game of footy, because unlike games like soccer where everyone plays soccer because it’s a simple game, touch footy and its variants require a little bit more grey matter, and most people don’t quite want to work their noodle during leisure time.

Today, there were three of us, and a schoolboy who asked nicely if he could join us, and we ran ourselves ragged after half an hour. I am aching everywhere. But I have a very, very slight tan and I’m happier for it.

So I’m hoping its blue skies, no clouds on Sunday once more. Gotta get as many games in before I grow too old to run around on the field.


Not too foul if you were sick or injured and laid up at home

iTunes’ party shuffle is playing a copy of: Someone To Watch Over Me/I Got Rhythm – Stephane Grappelli – 85 And Still Swinging, of which I have the original CD and therefore didn’t steal music.