Of Generality and Necessary Sculpting of Ongoings

i thought i would make the title more ornate to attract more to read, at least the first ramblings of this post: packaging is everything in this plastic, superficial hoola we live in. yes, it has not been too smooth a ride these few weeks of absentia. but we survive, that's what we do.

work has been taking centrespot these three weeks. not actual working per se, just the mere presence at the office arena and to beg for work when sitting in front of the computer staring at inane websites, heating up your seat becomes too much to bear. i've become quite atuned and sharpened at the skill of proof-reading whilst i was there and gained a quasi-reputation for it that after my first good piece of work, the others streamed in unceremoniously. but well if not for anything, other than it being a good skill to arm myself with for my potential career, it makes for good reading- finding out first hand what big transactions or joint ventures are happening, etc. i've yet to make my court appearance debut yet, make it seems like that's gonna happen next week so stringing up my fingers as we speak. then there are the lunches and the tini-weeny tea breaks which become highlights of the day. and the very maternal (i stand politically corrected) secretaries feeding you food and trying to source out whether you're an intern or a new lawyer and your background and your whatever. darlings all. in all, it's just to experience, and that remains really just that. i have a career of this to followup, there really is no rush to force myself to enjoy it now- at least the lawyers working now agree with me, ever so readily, on this point.

then there was father's day lunch at doc cheng's which was quite a delight, apart from it being a prolonged lunch and wasn't much work to go back to, to speak of. a 3 course treat of foie gras, duck breast and pandan creme brulee is enough to titillate the gastronomic sensories for a while.

yes then there's batman- in batman begins. the most brooding, darkest and credible batman that will almost certainly be the breath of fresh air, much needed to revive the dying batman franchaise. and a batman with real abs, instead of relying on the suit to superimpose them as with the cases of christian bale's predecessors. well moments of tacky retorts and faux pas smart oneliners weren't enough to kill the essence of the whole darkish feel and the entire psychological entrapment of batman was circulated in the film intact and smartly. katie holmes's rachael dawes was more of a dole-eyed barbie walking-vase than a kickass assistant district attorney whose life-agenda to eradicate injustice and uphold the pride of Gotham. otherwise this is quite a keeper film.

i would go on to relate the emotional hiccups that occured over the time and space of these past weeks but i thought the mere trying to remember them to put them in words here would just force me to rethink them which, evidently, is not a very healthy process and is clearly an antithesis to the healthier option of moving along with life, looking forward, et al. many people disappoint but who are we to have expectations of them anyways. the most important person you never should disappoint, is yourself. in any case, the 'use-and-discard' theory was quite a chirpy (plausibly workable) solution to so many unsatisfactory developments that has arisen. that's a grand idea, indeed.

Vladimir Horowitz, the genius with his fingers at the piano, had a Hanon's piano exercises clutched in his hands when he died, and remains with him when he was buried, supposedly. it was (again supposedly) in accordance with his wishes of "I never want to do anything without warming up; that includes dying." In a singularly introspective episode of Desperate Housewives, it was said that human beings are made for a lot of things but loneliness isn't one of them, maybe with Horowitz's mantra, we could be. a rosier future lies ahead..

Functionary People

Thought this might garner some response and/or guilt-pricking in some. otherwise i thought this interesting from an anthropological point of view.

What's a Meantime Girl?

She's the one you call when you're bored because she makes you laugh.

She's the one you talk to when you're feeling down because she's willing to lend an ear and be a friend.

She's not the one you call when you need a date to your company's Christmas party, or to go dancing with on a Saturday night.

She's the one you spend time with between girlfriends, before you find "The One". You know, the one who you keep around in the meantime.

She's not one of the guys, not a tomboy, but you don't look at her as a "real" woman, either.

She's not bitchy enough, moody enough, or sexy enough to be seen in that light.

She's too laid-back, too easily amused by the same things your male buddies are amused by.

She's too understanding, too comfortable. She doesn't make you feel nervous or excited the way a "real" woman does.

But she's cool, and nice, and funny, and attractive enough that when you're lonely or horny and need intimate female companionship, she'll do just fine.

You don't have to wine and dine her because she knows the real you already, and you don't have any facades to keep up, no pretenses to preserve.

You're not trying to get anything of substance out of her.

She's not easy, but you know that she cares about you and is attracted to you, and that she'll give you the intimacy you need. And you know you don't have to explain yourself or the situation.

But deep down, if you really think about it (which you probably don't because to you, the situation between the two of you isn't important enough to merit any real thought), you know that it's really not fair.

You know that although she would never say it, it hurts her to know that despite all her good points and all the fun you two have, you don't think she's good enough to spend any real time with.

Sure, it's mostly her fault, because she doesn't have to give in to your needs. She could play the hard-to-get bitch like the rest of them do, if she really wanted to. But you and she both know that she probably couldn't pull it off.

Maybe she's too short, or a little overweight, or has a big birthmark on her forehead, or works at Taco Bell.

Whatever the reason, somehow life has given her a lot of really great qualities but has left out the ones that men want (or think they want).

You'll joke to her that she should be the best man at your wedding, and she'll laugh and make a joke about a smelly rental tux. She doesn't captivate you with her beauty, or open doors with her smile.

Mainly she blends in with the crowd. She's safe. She doesn't want to be the center of attention and turn the heads of everyone in the room. But she wants to turn someone's head.

She wants to be special to someone, too. We all do. She has feelings. She has a heart. In fact, she probably has a bigger and better heart than any woman you've ever known because she's had a front-row seat to The Mess That Is Your Life, and she likes you anyway.

She obviously sees something worthwhile and redeeming in you because although you've given her nothing, absolutely no reason to still be around, she is.

Anyway, yeah. I'm a Meantime Girl. Been one more times than I care to admit. I don't know the reason, really, and at this point I don't even care.

I just want to let every guy know who's ever had the good fortune to have a Meantime Girl that we may be a lot of fun, but we cry, too. A lot.

And someday we won't be around.

Drop-Shot

in sequel to 'flirting with the line', the french open offers more tennis puns and ultimately great tennis action. with the ushering out of another grand slam event (mario puerta get shot by 19yo raphael nadal), it's another wait to a less exciting grand slam tournament, in my opinion at least. grass is just boring, clay is the surface to beat. the erraticness of play, the much-varied angling and compound reflexes to tackle the capricious mood of clay makes watching all the more exciting. it's really true that the french just does things better huh?and henin-hardenne won her 2nd clay grand slam just yesterday- it seems in the end, the partnership of athleticism and impetuous strategy wins the day.

home seems emptier than usual these days, what with mum in HK and sis in the US of A. but with work creeping in (ever so slowly), it takes the heat off this rarely-encountered emptiness. yes work is creeping in at a pace, directly in contrast with that of the action seen at the french open, at wongP. it's not surprising that we interns are negligible and highly dispensible personnel but sometimes it gets so yawningly boring that reading a conflicts textbook is disneyland-joy. at least lunches are semi-fun but sometimes it just takes one person to cloud the sun. the joy-kill comes in the form of a very uncompromising, demanding, ass-shoving person who has a mean mole to top things off. lucky we're in different departments, lest my anger management classes might just be conveninently thrown out of the window. the working environment is breathable i suppose but as an intern, always only scratching the surface of things, the view of things may just be that as well- skewed and slightly more rose-tainted than most associates and partners would approve of. thus, so far, i've gained knowledge of how beautiful the skyline of Singapore is from 57th storeys above, rental prices at boutique apartment projects and the doctrine of renvoi in conflicts..haha.

i'm supposed to gear up for my french exams tomorrow and i'm here, checking out the tennis gears for the french open. it's just semantics, right?

When Mood and Nature Converse

a song finds its way to communicate with the dormant subconscious- Johnette Napolitano's cover of The Scientist. in the private corner of your sky, the blue silences all other colours, save the white of the clouds and the rainbow in your mind. and then u come to notice the idyllic rearrangement of the clouds according to the random rhythms of the wind and the refusal of the minority streaks rebelliously dancing to their own waltz, creating their own piece of art. the sun spares its mercy of heat and yellow, without which there would be an icicle of distance and space. the burden of your lightness keeps you earthed as you yearn to make a flight of guilty freedom. the unclear manifest of emotional standing of the song then captures your conscious attention for that temporal while, sketching the already-illumined mental postcard on a larger splash of canvas and there you stand deciding if this should be a transparently happy moment or delve into the deepest reflections of melancholy. and there i stood agaped, soothed in the science of the interaction of the conscious and subconscious and the concoction of foggy reality, seamless with this acute sense of pathetic fallacy.

take a moment to feel glad to be alive.

Feminism: The Complete Rationalization of the Demise of Chivalry

i've heard, several of late, of many complaints about how men nowadays are less chivalrous and less inclined to be of a gentleman to fellow ladies: the economising of manners on the womanfolk. and i've also heard how the situation used to be that men change after they get married, all for the worst- with the slipping on the wedding ring, comes the slipping off of romanticism and sensitivity that used to be so familiar and in abundance. i'm obviously in danger of exploding the minefields of over-generalisation but hey, i'm a mere social critic, i serve the perpetuators, am never the perpetuator.

and to that observation, to my kind and genteel womanfolk all around, i present to you a foolproof (albeit not a tonguelash-proof) and complete rationale to this supposed demise of chivalry: the advent of feminism. go stone catherine mckinnon and the likes over this but it's truly your own undoing (or doing, depending on what levels of finger-pointing you want to attribute). see a large component of this should-be-scraped school of thought is the hallmark of equality: what men can do, women can too. yes yes, all hail the woman-might and what-nots you have to prove that you can always do it better than the men can but think about footing the bill next time, holding the door for yourself, driving yourself around without the human-map guide(male of course) next to you and do all the cleaning yourself- well, the woman might can conquer all! so don't complain of chivalry not having a place in our modern times and reminiscing its once ubiquitous presence like you always had it. male chivalry is long taken for granted and for feminists to come up and proclaim that opening doors for the female species is a form of gender belittling and assumption of weakness on the male species' part, you gotta give the men a break. you simply can't be the murderer and cry murder at the same time. and u also can't have your cake and eat it. and if feminists really want to start rationalising chivalry, just strike it down as being antithetical to the propogation of feminism and gamely throw it out of the window, don't still stand around and say that that's just within a man to do it. so i give to you that feminism has itself to blame for a lot of things women want most and lost them through their 'cause'.

to think someone actually gave me a rationalization upon the rationalization of feminism by purporting that women in want of rich husbands still runs atrack with feminist thinking since one should see the woman as the queen bee and the male as the worker bee bringing her deserved honey to her. if ever i want to do that to some dudette, i'm doing it out of the goodness and love of my heart and not the recognition of any superiority of any gender, and of course the recognition that i am obviously the one with the apts of bringing in more money so live with it. all i can say to that 'theory' is, you gotta hand it to some women, man.

you really think virginia woolf was a staunch feminist? in the lunacy of her being, how could she still be able to propound her feminist ideals if not for Leonard Woolf, seriously.

Lucidity of Transcendence

i was pondering over something that spilled from a conversation that had me enthralled for a while: can u actually force someone to keep in touch with you? inane and ridiculous as it sounds it somehow kept the mills of my grey matter running for that bit. and larger issues then followed (the cursed legal train of thinking) like say if one could actually cope with a friend's way of handling matters when it directly clashes with your ideology of sorting things out?and when it does do u try reconciling or stand by your philosophy because you maintain who you are and thus trash things out? people at the bottom of it all do have different ways of dealing with things but when cosmic forces come clashing, is it time to throw out the big bang theory?

i'm often afraid to pose questions of existence or relational questions really. i'm in the belief that they are meant to rhetorical or worse yet, meant to brew nerve troubles. but more often than not when these existential queries present themselves to be that ugly reality we are so keen just to avoid, we often demand hard and fast answers, hoping they would translate themselves into workable solutions that will send these realities flying out of the door. yes, life is also more often than not, never this simple. i had a few of these practicable scenarios of my own. not pleasant of course but when it turns inwards, a self-improving individual might be glad that these things do come up. i'm not sure if it's called coming to terms with things but at least i know knots are being untied. caring too much can do heinous things too. people have different value systems, people have different methods to face up to things that come their way and they don't necessarily have to be in tuned with what you believe in. if they don't come together and say hi, i should let it fly.

i was about to say relationships should be easy, but i stop and thought that blood baths were started just because two individuals in power didn't get along: bush-saddam; mary of scots-elizabeth I, etc. and it's worse when things are so lucid i'm beginning to stop thinking about it. when that happens, indifference is born and degeneration is almost bound to mutate out of that. see, wherever i move is a plunge downwards.

on a much lighter note (or not cos the food consumed is quite the tonnage), i brought mummy dearest on 'her day' (Mother's Day) to Jade@Fullerton. Let's just say we had little piece of heaven on a large piece of my wallet. but all in good stride.

but to end this, questions of life are better left neigh-answered, ain't that the saner route out?

Revived from the almost dead

and now the slaughter is done, the roast is ready.

pretty much sums up my papers, the later one at least. had to end with such a bang, the ugliest form of a bang.

and now i'm skitting off to a glorious start of a vacation which would culminase in my setting off to Edinburgh and the greener pastures of Europe (literally huh? Hansel and Gretel prancing around mental image). i'll try endeavouring to this this little piece of virtuality to update all while i'm not around so make sure to check back of course. gee, i sound like i'm already gone.

like i said, happiness doesn't inspire, one must just live it out and stretch it too all ends of the world and i shall leave with this- the shortest entry ever, perhaps.

Of Fungibility and Helpless Hiatus

it's with deepest regret that this hiatus had to occur. academic slaughter can be quite that pain in the arse, especially when stretched over a protracted period of time. together with ground-breaking results over past assignments, this noxious mix is proving to be the lingering bad medicine in the mouth. i'm suspecting my next update of this virtual journal is likely to occur when the examinations are wiped clean-slated.

but it's not without excitement, this hiatus is happening. a lot of peculiar and excitable events did occur, however small they might come. take for example this book i'm just done with (well not quite, was done with it end last month): Sixty Million Frenchmen Can't be Wrong. it details the idiosyncracies and misunderstood quirks of the French people, rationalizing it with history, embedded beliefs of their land and cultural backlog, complete with lurid examples of their habits and inherent beliefs. it makes for an interesting read and informative at that, just makes u wanna land yourself in France and test the hypotheses provided by the authors. one thing stuck firmly in my mind surfaced from this quote: don't make your lending of money sound like a matter of principle. the french rationalizes their huge public lending and skewed fiscal policies with that and compounded with the infamous French pride, it is easy to see the nuance of the quote.

then there is this episode in the gym which i would kindly label it as 'colonial hangover masked in fake politeness'. well to spare everyone the intricacies of the exact factual matrix of the incident, i was rather cheesed off when some caucasian-expats come around and give you attitude like they are the supreme race, still imprinted with the impression that S'pore is a British colony thereby justifying their faux pas imperialistic overtones. i mean i was just resting b/w sets and this overriped ang moh comes by and says r u fiddling with ur ipod or exercising. oh well until they understand that us Chinese will be assuredly taking over the world in less than 10 yrs' time, they'll forever be in their compromised state. careful we make the United States of America become the United Provinces of Greater China.

oh cinematically wise, Spanglish was quite an unexpected treat. it was more than i prima facie cut it out to be. it was sweet, heartening and the comedy of cultural errors was simple and audience-friendly. characteristically 'mind your language' humour but with more heart and romance. and quotes like 'lately your low self-esteem is good common sense' and saccharine-sweetness things like 'they should name a gender after you' makes you just wanna hug the actors..ha. the drunked mother was the best supporting cast in the show.

meanwhile it's back to my academic progeny- notes materialised from forced discipline and an intrinsic fear of faring poorly. so until then, luck to all under the mercy of this invitation to a beheading.

Life's a Player and All of Us a Mere Stage

Life imitating art imitating life. This concept has been pounded over and over since time memorial and yet there still remains this streak of fascination in the audience at large. So starts my discourse on 'Stage Beauty' which i caught earlier at a preview event thingy. And to pun the title, it was staged rather beautifully.

claire danes and billy crudup at the helm. it's once a self-discovery of the male lead and once a menage a plusieurs of the characters that gives such refined taste and essence to the movie. rupert everett as king is a blast with a finicky sort of humour and a presence that is both imposing and comedically-heavy. he seems to be the fulcrum by which the see-saw of the whole plot rotates since afterall he did affect legislation to the extent that the makeup of the characters revolve around these changes. Claire Danes had this period-beauty that keeps one enchanted throughout the course of the film and is unwavering to the point of being captivating. Her formidable capture of the English accent keeps her credible and her tour de force of acting lands the audience its respect and prolonged interest. it's just that i still can't see how her character of 'Mrs. Margaret Hughes' can be so indulged in kynaston, who is so sexually confused and psychologically screwed-up that when asked who he really is in the end, he slaughters the climax by saying 'i don't know'. twice, no less. Billy Crudup has this clash of ego and insecurity in his acting that i adore. His obsession of being a woman, whom he thinks does all things beautiful (what a crime to think that), does not sit well with a lot of ultra right wing-sexual purists, but his inner turmoil of being compelled to rediscover who he is, is truly applauble and to a certain extent heart-wrenchingly deserving of our sympathy. 'What is life without beauty' rang in my head for a long time after he said it in the film and i guess that's probably one of his downfall, thinking how exhausting it can be, always looking for beauty in life where there's so much ugliness around and that one must encompass or at least recognise this sense of shantiness to realise that beauty does not come easy and relativity makes this aphorisitc pill all the more harder to swallow. and i would have thought that if he tried to recreate this mirage of beauty always or attempts to see beauty in all the things that he does, he could be doubly disappointed when (literally) the ugly head of reality starts rearing its head and refuses to retract itself. rather, over-optimism could be the bitch of life.

one more noteworthy point was i can't quite recall when was the last time i was literally holding my breath in utter anticipation in a movie. it was almost as real an experience as watching the actual Othello right in front of me, as a real theatrical play. it was the death scene and Desdemona was to be suffocated by Iago and it was almost like Iago (Crudup) had simultaneously taken away the breaths of the audience and Desdemona. the theatrics of it was so convincing that it's amazing to watch. and i had to remind myself to breathe again when the resolution finally reveals itself to be otherwise, that Claire Danes remains alive. that was one hell of a movie-moment.

drama aside, today's equity tutorial was much better. much less suffocating than the less, resulting in the much-bleak post. maybe preparedness if the only key to locking the insecurity beast deep in the dungeons of academia-uncertainty. and then again, the culmination of this semester is coming up and i had persist in this preparedness spirit and drive on, light speed ahead.

but all in all, for a film this good, it can, ironically, hardly be only mere theatrics.

The Unculpable Murder of Ego

so it's proven: that academia can be that unculpable murder of ego and self-faith. the slaughterhouse of the seminar room is the crime scene. unculpable because you attract your murderer, you are the sole provoker. this culmination of allegories stem from a very trying seminar i had earlier this evening, accentuated by the fact that the crime date is a friday evening, a very non-inspiring time of the week to get your grey matter cracking. subject matter: resulting trust. and it was very resulting indeed- that never be unprepared for a tutorial that has so much ambiguities and debate over even the core underpinnings. the rattling didn't help and the bull's eye-questions by more knowing coursemates proved that fact even more audibly. so next up i shall be more constructive (dedna: get the deadly pun?) with the next seminar. just for general accessibility to the private joke-pun: the next seminar is on constructive trust. ok now, don't glare.

actually i never did really talk about my bangkok trip did i? i think the climax is enough to talk about really. this climax truly lives up to its name: it's almost orgasmic. bed supperclub- one of a kind. if you haven't heard me raving incessantly about it already, it's this club-cum-restaurant designed by Orbitz Lab. the surprise don't end there, the crust of the club and the 'wow's of the interior were simply foreplay. then there was the dinner. c'est magnifique absolutement. french to suit the avant garde french cuisine we were served. it was a four course surprise dinner. i don't quite recall the last time i was being culinarily surprised really but this was more than just a pleasant one. i only managed to talk down three of the courses:

1. Antipasto: Chilled melon broth with spiced apple bits and crabmeat.

2. Entree: Garlic and lemon thyme roasted snowfish on yellow lentil pumpkin salsa, cherry tomatoes and whipped corn broth.

3. Dessert (you're allowed to hyperventilate): seasonal berries over white chocolate polenta cake with vanilla whipped cream.

so get why it's all so orgasmic? plus we get to enjoy the food right in bed, what more can a fussy patron of chi-chi restaurants ask for?and service was near impeccable. with the whole experience going on for us, we were more than just feeling climaxy about it..haha. and of course there is the company, without which, the experience could not be brought to such refreshing levels. dedna was dead after one coffee liquer, so that doesn't quite count (haha). YS was being himself, 'nuff said. and with dedna (when she was still sober-alive) as the buffer of our humour, or the subject matter of which, it has got to be fun. and dedna was resurrected once we stepped back into our hotel room. talk about untimely. but we love you all the same Ms. D!..hiak.

then to list unexcitingly, we also went for tea at shangri-la, spa session at Banyan Tree, seafood dinner at this semi-dingy restaurant we found by the road in Chinatown and miscellaneous shopping trips in malls and definitely-dingy streets. i guess we had a whale of a time and a reoccurence of it would be just fine.

and now back to reality, the bleakness of equity shall fade away as i consciously abound on a trip of self-improvement and self-realisation that i can achieve more. idealisms get you the high, actual action is an entire thing by itself altogether. let's see about that.

Two-three: The Roomful of Love

yes it's that time of the year again, the crossing of age, the transcendence of time or a minor crossroad reached. i always believed that something within you changes everytime you cross a birthday line. it might be a perspective of something, some weird part of your psychosis or just a maturing or dematuring of some necessary facet that's required for you to move on with life. i think that might just be what's happening with me now, two days before the dawning of my big two-three.

may i first add that twenty three is a rather daunting number. hsien, just know that it applies to men too so stop the whine for that tad. it's the mid age between twenty and mid twenties, an unwelcome march towards ancientdom.ha.ok being dramatic doesn't help but everyone goes through it, might as well deal with it.

it was literally a roomful of good friends. everyone that i wanted to see, who are here in singapore, were there in that room. thinking back it's quite the luck and gratitude of my life. i need moments like these to remind myself that i should never fucking complain about how lonely i am. some people literally dropped what they had to do to be in that room and i'm here sulking how lonely i am. i'm too much theatrics and bullshit sometimes. i have, in this lifetime, the right to say that i have a roomful of friends, who are not simply hi-bye or friends that i need beside me for some higher perpetuatory purposes, they are all friends i keenly wanted to see. it was a very deep sense of joy and gratitude that i'm swimming in right now. it's overwhelming and tithering on the fringes of being emotional especially with ek's card. i have no idea what i have done to deserve such friends to exist in my life. and the best thing is, i'm feeling this at the aftermath of one of the most sober parties i ever had at my place or otherwise. it's a very entrenching feeling and it's more than just feeling warm all over or merely being thankful for what you have. it's a true understanding (albeit i need to learn to embrace it more steadfastly) that i have no cause to complain what i'm lacking in the romantic realm of my life. i always claim that it's always different, that special someone, but i think it's a lot of fluff and overhyped propagandized material that is inflating this feeling. to come down to it all, i have to learn to be content, to always think so many other people can never truly say that they have a roomful of love. ok u can take it the Freudian way but i don't serve to tease here.

so at this juncture, it's this deep understanding and bare feel of this love that i leave all you people tonight. thanks for all who came and made this happen. and it's apologies out if it's like a wussy piece of writing. but looking at the photos, the presents, the cards and the conversations, you would die to be in my position. take that.

Wham-Bam!

' Please don't mistake my natural anal retentiveness for actual affection ' -- Bree van der Kamp (Desperate Housewives)

' You deprive me of my solitude and offer me no company ' --Voltaire

I can't help it, it cracks me out and seems in potential practicability when i come into contact with lines like these. It's too ingrained in my intellectual personality to avoid all these and not remember/record them. So for teaser sake, enjoy and stop judging. Employ them sometime and you might have a ball of a time.

Promulgation of Spring

well that's the essence really. Chinese New Year is like the vernal equinox. so starts the sometimes tedious process of visitations and faux pas recognition of family friends you're not too keen to encounter, even on a yearly basis. and of course how could i go without mentioning the punishing entertainment to the reunion dinner- in the form of the crassest denomination of karaoke. *groans* but as a chinese, a proud one at that, i do recognise the importance of this festival. coming together, catching up, it's at worst a harmless holiday. and for me, salvation came in friendly packages as ek and LW caught each other at wine company. i needed the wine really to numb those perturbing images of karaoke and horrendous lyrics disguised as festive songs. i only barely managed getting by the whole dinner through the tmesis of impossible, i.e. i'm possible. Possible to tide through this knowing how alone i've been the past year. This can't be as bad as the latter. Never.

as i linger around my fingers the public law assignment that's much of an impediment and a wet blanket to this holiday, i realised that i kind of do need this holiday. liberal cash power combined with nuggets of new year tidbits that you somehow can't keep your hands off of. especially my mummy's pineapple tartlet, is such a ball of pleasure (literally, note the shape). and the bah kwa which i'll endearingly miss when the next lunar new year swings by and i'm in dreary edinburgh trying to kickstart the festive mood by myself (hopefully with other solitary chinese in a land of white). i think i'll miss home a great deal during that time. but as of now, edinburgh, i want you close, now.

well friends all, have a divine new year and simply, enjoy!

Ce n'est pas grave

C'est une triste chose que tous le monde est en train de recherche le amour toujours. Peut-etre pas triste mais c'est obsession que est trop temps. Pour moi, je suis seule pour quelque fois. C'est temps j'ai besoin quelqu'un dans ma vie. Mais ce n'est pas facile rechercher quelqu'un que veux etre parfait pour toi. Il y a beaucoup folle personne dans le monde. Mais je pense si je perserve ou continuer espere, alors peut-etre quelqu'un apparaitrai.

De toute facon, quelque fois c'est une bonne chose que on est seule. Donc, je devrais etre heureuse.

Flirting With the Line

ya, if that was what safin did really well with the serves on the Ts, the baselines and the out-lines, he would have been a bona fide 'line-slut'. ha, line-slut. but it was nonetheless a thrilling Australian Open final match between him and the higher-ranked hewitt, very much deserving of the tennis history books. and safin only managed to execute his famous exploding serves with intricate aplomb only in the second set, but then again he might just be testing terra hoste (literally, playing against an Australian on Australian soil) or just, well, toying with his prey. but safin was clearly the more strategic and the more 'know-your-enemy-to-crash-your-enemy' kind of player.

yesterday was ah-hsien's birthday.ha. it was at a rather nicely done up place with food that surpassed expectations a little, which doesn't speak much of it since Ms.D was clearly not in the advocatory mood for it in the first place when we asked for her take on it. It was at Flutes at the Fort, serving what was supposed to be contemporary Australian food (if only someone could tell me what exactly Australian cuisine is..). The entrees were pleasantly delightful, more like flavourful actually, since one should know how typical French entrees are mere whetting of the palattes and to excite, rather than to indulge. Indulgence at the onset, is a bestial concept in haute cuisine left best for American diners: the word according to Europe. my Duck confit was, malnourished, and i was left exactly at that as well, at the end of the dinner. entire new definition to 'you are what you eat'. it was good, but just, unsatisfyingly meagre in portion. well clearly, they have the French cuisine sequence wrong. but then again, we were supposed to have 'Australian'. wine went well with the food though, not so much mine since i was having duck but should have gone well with the rest of the company who had mainly fish and sorts. it was a 2003 Mt. Clair Sauvignon Blanc from New Zealand. a little too young and sweet but did appeal to the general sensories.

we then retreated to the top of the world, nearly, at New Asia Bar by Equinox. lovely place and one of us had the guts to get us a table at the Members' Corner which made things much cosier. free coupon was highly restrictive so bulk of us ended up with terribly unexciting poisons. and thereby, consequently, turned out to be terribly unexcitingly non-toxifying. but was a nice place to chill, and that we did just so well.

and my charitable hair cut today? according to certain 'critics', i look AGED. well they say older, but it my world of age-mathematics, it's the equivalent. and tomorrow, i will be an overaged student strutting the compounds of NUS because his hair was the ultimate impediment to his academic progress and ego development. swines.

(now quick, someone say something nice about my hair, i need it documented here.)

'I'm apathetic too, but i just like to bitch'

it's the worst state a citizen of a sovereign state can be, said a vociferous academic in the field: to be apathetic about apathy. but it's a well and tested theory, and a very much entrenched social phenomenon: that when economic success is so widespread and societal stability begins to be taken for granted, people automatically get politically lazy, i.e. no motivation to be apathetic. i think this point being accentuated by the intrinsic chinese desire to make more money, being probably the most cash-acute ethnicity amongst others. 'why fix it if it ain't broken?'

amidst all the hooplas of constitutionalism that i've been in contact with these days, it's sad to realise at the end of the day, it's not what the entrenching provisions that protect our fundamental liberties that is the concern of the day, or even of the life of an average singaporean. it then reduces down to that our constitution may just well be a fanfare of words, the 'tyranny of language' where even some of the most fundamental liberties are ignored but no one makes a collective voice audible enough to force things to change (like the right to vote and the right to property are all blatantly missing from our constitution). are things really that bad, the situation that bleak? or is it a chinese thing per se? well Hong Kongers often take to the streets their gripes about the dwindling bastion of democracy but critics say they do that because this apparent lack of democracy brought about by the hinterland that is China, is precisely the thing impinging on financial progress and the hick in the prosperity wheel. the foreshadowing of poverty is the only pushing force in those rallies. so it's probably true then, that economic success equate to political stability which in turn equates to a populace being increasingly apathetic, because to shake things up may very well mean the shattering of some major piggy banks or standards of living that had been too comfortable.

but this can't be right, can it? you see singaporeans complain the whole while, pre-Hong Lim Park times, about the lack of forums to speak out to masses, and post-Hong Lim Park era, about some other things that somehow they claim to be political. and often the voices you hear are not featured in our familiar columns of the forums of the major newspapers, but out from the mouths of these people, that disappear into thin air once the topic dissipates. it seems that perhaps Singapore as a nation is of a 'I am apathetic but i just like to bitch' nature?

for a start and for fear of flaming bushes one too many, yours truly is guilty as charged (the charge that i am author of, no less). but this is because i do recognise singapore to be in a vastly unique position, with sensitive demographical concerns and regional socio-political landmines to be taken into account. extraneous and insular issues that come together to present a most quagmire of circumstance.

Proclivities Towards a Columnist

Instead of rightly ploughing through the overstressed-compulsory readings of trust and of public, i'm here writing on things academics and parents all round deem much more secondary to the former. but nonetheless here i am, carving in the weekly happenings, much to the fancy of a columnist, which i'm gradually developing proclivities towards. but instead of dishing out saucy sex advice, i shall mangle you people with the ongoings of my life, of which i'm sure it's divinely much saucier. go, me.

since my life apparently needs to be scurrying around my varsity life, i guess i shall rattle off with that. i think i'm beginning to find thio lee ann's wryness and her quirky hicks rather tiresome if you really asked me. well conversing with her without the relevant academic opportunity cost would be fine but plus that in as a major factor, it's not too much of a joyride. but she is still undeniably a constitutional force to be reckoned with and that much i hold up to her. speaking of which, some lady at another of my module is starting to really piss me off. why i know it doesn't take much but she sure takes a whole chunk of cake in that department. masquerading her 'lessons' into inane games meant for mental retards is just insulting. plus her nag of lectures really isn't the way to go. 4 credits, i can survive this, plus my endurance is way tougher with legal writing under my belt/leash.

and yes, there was the Golden Globes. i have no idea why i waste time watching these things, feeling happy for people i don't know, thanking more people i don't know. anyhow maybe it's true, this moth to a flame theory, that it applies to more people than we know. we're just naturally attracted to things that glitter- fame, power, diamonds...and combined with that ever so subtle streak of voyeurism and voila, we have a tabloid nation.

and how can i go by without a mention of those ubiquitous rude remainders i had of singaporean driving. i swear the benchmark of courtesy and consideration are eroding ever so rapidly down the abyss of caveman-behaviour. it truly gives a whole new meaning to the phrase 'driving is an emotional experience', worded ever so enlighteningly by, me. if automobilic orgasm comes in the form of a mischa burton-clone driving a Maserati Quattroporte, then the erectile dysfunction of automobilism must be the punishing behaviour of singaporean driving. saddening state of affairs, for such a civilised nation, of first world economics and infrastructure, stressing on the wonders of a world-class transport system to still bearing witness to this horrid, churlish and garish state of behaviour.

i've noticed some blogs marvellously ablazed with mutants of self glorification, either pictorally or otherwise, and it just amazes me how much one can mention of oneself. and speaking of which, all the ego-bearing statements and snides must be taken with a pinch of salt, naturally- i would expect my fans to know me better than that (haha). but back to my observation, it's completely like a mirror on the internet, only worse. because u take effort it actually constructing this mirror from scratch and adorning it not with glass but with, well, no prizes for guessing what. this must be a dismal reflection (pun intended) of self-portrayal, in probably one of the worser forms it could take. but who am i to say? i'm merely someone, who recognises that the only person who could truly love oneself is yourself, exclusively mortal references of course.

happy was truly an apt name for that place. we sat at a cosy corner which was simply electrifying with good company. a booth for a company of less than 3 probably and a delightful party could be formed. there were only 2 of us that day but it was equally enjoyable. it's these little things that make clubbing that little bit more special nowadays. people are just so hard to please these days.

in entirety a good weekend, wish things wouldn't need to be so contrived sometimes, this relating of events, but i only take things/events as they come. this week, they came a little too routinal and mundane. but the little nuances did add a bit more spark. so i'm glad and it's time for me to retreat into my appalling realities of cases and vitriolicisms of professor thio.

Of Springing Events

theoretically there is of course no four seasons in Singapore but it's always nice to add a dash of 'spring' in our state of meteorological drone. thus the spring semester has thrashed open with academic loom already amassing itself ever so gradually with pre-readings and pre-readings to the pre-readings, BUT there were some good news to boot.

EXCHANGE TO EDINBURGH!!

(City of Edinburgh's Coat of Arms: 'Except the Lord in Vain')

i really wanted to write on the day that i received this elating news but like i've said before (or mentioned in my subconscious or something like that) that happiness doesn't inspire- it is a true linguistical-inspiration murderer. since obviously one wouldn't have wanted to word down what exactly the state of joy one is in, the simplest and smartest thing to enjoy that moment is to outrightly celebrate it! so i did that, somewhat. and proceeding that, you get into a daze, a sense of foggy surrealism that you are actually going away for a prolonged period of time, all the more for someone who has stayed in this country for all of his life, save for the occasional travelling, which couldn't be prolonged for obvious wallet-thinning reasons. and u think about edinburgh, scotland, bagpipes, gorgeous castle, horrid food with good beer to down, and this sense of surrealism is perpetuated with threads of day-dreaming and yearning that the day would come sooner. but i'm more settled now, it is reality, and the logistics of moving is hitting me right in the head. although magical in everyway and i've gotten what i wanted, the preparatory work of going is quite that thorn in the arse. but i should probably quit that train of thinking and submerge myself, for just that little while longer, in my tub of roses and misty reality.

and it's Edinburgh! i shall learn to cook, fatten my bank account for fashion havens in the heartland of Europe, tugged ever so conveniently at Edinburgh's doorstep, learn to listen to murmured, jumbled-up accents of English, and... miss so many people back home.

so anyone, do come visit me in Edinburgh if circumstances permit, and if they don't: make them happen. by the time you come, i'll be supremely versed in local history and sight-seeing so you shall definitely be in good hands.

The Reoccurence of the Original (Alcoholic) Sin

a massive oversight on my part- i've almost let time zip past me without any documented records of my hit-of-a-cocktail that i've concocted over the NYE celebrations @ the Ritz. heinous indeed. so before my memory turns enemy against me, here's a rough guide to my liquid version of the Original Sin (oh, that sounds so wrong), of which i shall very preliminarily name 'Serenpolitan':

(a) 3 parts Absolut Citron/Kurant (somehow Kurant seems to be more in-sync with the drink as a whole)

(b) 1 1/2 part Cointreau/Triple Sec

(c) 2 parts Cranberry Juice

(d) 2 parts Pink Grapefruit Juice

* obviously the usual requirements of putting sufficient ice into the shaker and shaking it amply all apply. Then strain into a preferably chilled martini glass. I think we can do without any garnishings.

before any smart-ass bartending student comes along and disses me about how 'original' it is (well technically it is a Cosmopolitan replacing the lime with the pink grapefruit instead), try changing any long-established cocktail recipes and make it taste this nice. ok, no hard feelings of course, i'm just a proud createur, defensive of his newborn. and besides i think i've given due credit by subsuming the orignal suffix into my new drink. and if u were wondering, the prefix comes from 'serendipity' since on that faithful day this baby of mine was born, i was planning to get lime juice and make the generic, oh-so-boring Cosmo but instead i chanced upon some pink grapefruit juice and decided to give that a shot.

all about risk management baby.

and i forgot to take a photo of it, together with some really satisfied customers relishing it. Dope. i could have been so much more famous. Dope.

The Back of the Bus

and serendipity has served me well once again. when we were not planning to catch a film and was just harmlessly browsing what was on at the box office at PS, we decided to randomly catch 'Being Julia' since it was at a spot-on time and it was the least of all the evils that were being offered (Kungfu Hustle, etc, not much to argue there). honestly a w. somerset maugham-plot seemed the least inspring of writers to base a film on, but like i said, least of all evils.

spellbound and fascinatingly surprised cynics-turned-converts, were we as we left the theatre.

and i think we might have very well stumbled upon a shimmering piece of cinematic gem. annette bening was in fact very much responsible for the glitter and shine of this piece of work. there's so much to talk about this film but i think this is a good startpoint. her accent, her gravity of acting, her immense power to convey the frailties and dynamic existence of a flamboyant personality and detail to characterization leaves much room for the audience's respect and awe. julia lambert is really quite a personality in her own right and league. but i was as though annette bening recedes into utter obscurity, giving the entire stage and being to julia lambert. the pun on 'stage' is entirely (oops, i did it again) unintended but it does seem appropriate for the story which revolves around a well-known theatre actress (a real one, because real actresses don't act in films- see even this is humour in itself) and her escapades and her play of life. the intricate essence of 'being julia' is brought out ever so refinedly and aptly. well-titled indeed.

then there is definitely the plot. who would have thought that somerset maugham, of 'human bondage' and yawn-inspiring meganovels fame is actually capable of a touche, awe-inspiring novella of such delectable storyline and intelligible humour/wit, running into such rarity in our Hollywood times. and delivered so well at that by the respective actors. it creates a rhapsody of charm, an atmosphere of delight and definitely being entertained at every speck of a moment. because isn't that what any art form is about? profanities delivered with such teasing aplomb, drama with such fine sensitivity and even the stage within the film is treated with such wild and fresh wit. the stage within a stage concept although old is ingenious and refreshing if treated well. in this case, it's hands down so. especially memorable is the climax, at the end of the movie where she gets her full and sweet revenge and the claiming back of her pride on stage, as an actress, where she probably first develops it anyways. this, i can't help but launch into hyperbolic praise but say once again, it's sheer ingenuity.

i figured the combination of the Shakespearean concept of the muse/fool to deal with the conscience of our protaganist, the Wildeian-irreverent wit meshed with contemporary humour, and the wildly original play with familiar human concepts of revenge, love, companionship, and jealousy makes it so attachable to anyone watching.

at the end, ain't 'being' fascination enough? since i can't outwrite nor outwit maugham here, i'll just stand and applause with all surrender and awe.

(the title of this post 'the Back of the Bus' was used in the movie to describe someone butt-ugly, i just thought this film was the antithesis of it and...i could use it as a buzzline, probably in nearer a future as i forsee it.)