Just a few words on the Youth Olympic Games Despite my very heavy schedule, I can’t help but pen down a few of my thoughts on this YOG business… Whether you like it or not, it’s hard to deny that our government and politicians had the best intentions for Singapore when they decided to bid for the YOG. Sure, some of the implementation sucked - you had kids getting volunteered into this, and they were given terrible food. Sure, they might have overestimated local and international interest in the event. Sure, they tried (and are trying) to make things look better than they really are… But opportunities like these happen only once in a lifetime. No wait, this particular one only happens once - there’s only going to be one first Youth Olympic Games (holding the second YOG wouldn’t be quite the same). Imagine if we didn’t grab this opportunity. If YOG turns out to be successful, I guarantee the very same naysayers would then be saying things like “why didn’t our leaders have the foresight to go for this?” “aren’t they trying to encourage a bit of risk-taking - why are they so conservative?” etc. You can’t do anything right in the eyes of these people. Whether you like it or not, we are hosting the Youth Olympic Games. Whether you like it or not, there are many eyes watching us from the outside. (Maybe not as much as we’d like, but still more than any typical day.) Whether you like it or not, it’s better for us if the YOG turns out to be successful. It’s thus in our best interest to do our bit to make it a success. Or at least shut up for now. p.s. I’ve been watching some of the games, and some are pretty entertaining, but maybe that’s because I love sports. Small, small world I was walking home from the bus stop when I saw a girl who looked familiar with a bunch of friends at a barbecue pit near my place. I stopped and stared. Indeed it was Amber. Right beside Amber was Phoebe, another friend of mine. I knew Amber through Phoebe, whom I knew years ago through the internet. I had to say hello. As I chatted with them a bit, I noticed someone familiar at the next bbq pit. It was John, whom I used to play basketball with many years ago. I excused myself from Phoebe and Amber to say hello to John. A few moments after I went back to Phoebe and Amber, a familiar voice said hi to me. It was Henry, whom I knew through the internet years ago, even before Phoebe. Both Henry and I met Phoebe for the first time at the same event. And as I found out not too long ago, Henry is also the cousin of my colleague Jane. Henry explained to me that he was there because his girlfriend Esther is a close friend of both Phoebe and Amber, so I introduced myself to Esther. And as I found out not too long ago, my company was thinking of hiring this same Esther. Then another familiar face appeared. It was Colin. Like Henry, Colin was there because his girlfriend is a good friend of Phoebe, Esther and Amber. I knew Colin years ago through basketball. We were in the same basketball group as John, the guy in the next bbq pit. It’s a small world after all. Accidental faults A friend was involved in a car accident. Apparently, his car collided with another at a junction. No one was seriously hurt. It was the other party’s fault. The other party was this young and reckless 21 year old dude who hit my friend’s car, even though my friend had the right of way. * * * Many of us have friends who drive who have been involved in accidents. I’m willing to bet that almost all of the time, when the friend tells you about the accident, they’ll be blaming the other party. (Except maybe for those few who perhaps fell asleep at the wheel and hit a tree.) Even in situations where it was legally their fault, like when the car in front braked suddenly so they had no time to react so they ended up hitting it, it would somehow still be the other party’s fault. “Dunno what they were doing in the car - they just braked out of the blue so there was no way for me to avoid them.” “They purposely caused the accident by braking suddenly.” So far, I don’t remember any of my friends saying things like: “I screwed up. I caused the accident. It was all my fault.” So if you’re ever involved in a car accident and you’re alive enough to tell me about it, don’t get too upset if I don’t show enough sympathy. Yes Harbor Master, I get the message My favourite game on the iPad so far is Harbour Master HD. (They have a version for the iPhone/iPod touch, but it’s way more awesome on the larger iPad screen.) On the screen is a harbour with 6 cargo docks - all you have to do is to direct the cargo ships into the docks to unload as much cargo from as many ships as possible. The game ends when any 2 ships collide. Things are easy at the start, when you’re only dealing with 4, 5, 6 or even 7 ships. But of course, more ships start sailing in as you progress, and eventually things get pretty crowded and mayhem ensues when you get 15 or more ships of different sizes and speeds crowding the waters. I love the game because it gives me this sense of control, this feeling of mastery, like I’m orchestrating some complex scenario, keeping track of different things going on at the same time. Except that I suck at it. My friends routinely get scores of over 70, and sometimes over a hundred. Me? I must have played it over 30 times today, and I think I managed to hit 53 once today, although more often a collision happens when I’m closer to 40. My personal best is an embarrassing 70. Then it struck me. I love to multitask. But I suck at it. I’m such a man. The Urge Some of you may have noticed that I haven’t been blogging too much. Part of the blame lies with twitter of course. But if you have been following my tweets religiously, your religious fervour would hardly have been reciprocated. This, I blame partly on Facebook - the status updates feature they have. The few lucky ones of you who happen to know me in real life and thus get to have a place on my friends list would know that I’m a somewhat regular updater on Facebook. Somewhat regular. (I’m not talking about my tinker tailor facebook account, which I never use.) I started this blog partly as an outlet for expression. These days, with quicker and more convenient ways of masturbation like facebook and twitter, sometimes the romance and foreplay of blogging has just become a little too much trouble. Ah, the joys of our culture of instantaneousness and quick fixes. Unless, unless you’re stuck in a situation where you have time, and you are, as mentioned, stuck. As I am right now, in an NTUC taxi crawling down the expressway, with 958 playing in the background. At least 958 is less annoying than 933. Ah, the annoyances of mandarin radio stations. Stuck in traffic, somewhat annoyed and edgy, why not channel this nervous energy into the urge to blog? Why not. Making CNY more bearable It’s that time of the year again, where Chinese everywhere are obliged to do things they don’t like to do. Like visit their relatives. At least that’s the impression I get from my friends, particularly those who are single and of a marriageable age. (Of course, there are at least 10 reasons to hate Chinese New Year.) “You don’t like it when relatives ask you awkward questions like ‘do you have a boyfriend’ or ‘when are you gonna get married’ right?” I tell these friends of mine. “Well, why don’t you turn the tables? Like, ask them awkward questions instead?” Here are just a few sample questions you could use. Adapt them as you see fit: “Eh Uncle, do you give Aunty any flowers during Valentine’s Day? Aiyoh you don’t love her anymore isit? Old already take her for granted ah?” “Uncle and Aunty, are both of you happy together? When was the last time you made love to each other? Isit Uncle cannot perform anymore ah? HAHAHAH!” “Aunty, does Uncle cheat on you? Does he have any China girl friends? This kind of things you never know - must be careful!” “Uncle, so how are your investments doing? Aiyoh so terrible ah? / Wah not bad hor! Must open some Martell to celebrate!” “Aunty do you send your son for swimming lessons? Piano? Violin? Ballet? This kind of thing very important leh. Shouldn’t deprive them. I know this family who also send their son to tap dancing classes and poetry lessons. And the gifted education prep school.” “Uncle do you think your daughter will ever amount to anything?” Have a fun CNY How to botch a hot potential date “Would you like me to introduce you to my cousin? She’s very pretty…” This was only the second time I met this lady, and she was already offering me her pretty cousin. I must have done something right. “Is she pretty?” a pal of mine asked about the lady made the offer, after I related to him the incident. “Not bad actually. But she’s married, with a 5 month old baby.” “Then her cousin must be really pretty. Go for it!” I paused a while, trying to comprehend his logic - the cousin must be really pretty because she herself is pretty and she says the cousin is very pretty. Kinda makes sense. “Nah, I botched it.” “You botched it! How the hell did you botch it?” That was easy. Right after she offered to introduce me to her cousin, I asked, “So how many pretty cousins do you have?” “Two…” “How old are they?” As she paused to think about their age, I interrupted her. “Are they above sixteen?” “Yes…” “OKAY ON!” She stared at me, slightly horrified, slightly speechless. “Why? If they’re both above 16, and both very pretty, of course I’ll want both!” 50 and 22 “Did you see her?” my friend elbowed and whispered to me after the woman who just passed us was far enough away. “Yep I saw.” “She must be around 50!” It was a big deal to my friend because she dressed like she was 22 - long flowing brown hair, heavy makeup, tight t-shirt and very tight pants. “Yep, and she happens to be my neighbour as well.” Stunned silence from my friend. That was a week ago. Today, it was my turn to be stunned. On my way home, I saw her get on the bus I was on, followed closely by a guy. They sat together, joked with each other a lot, and leaned a little on each other every now and then. The thing is, I know this guy. He’s 22. New Year Resolution Blog more posts with more words. Blank stare I’m sitting in Starbucks on a Saturday afternoon, and I happen to be staring blankly in the general direction of this youngish guy who is staring into his laptop when he suddenly looks up and our eyes meet and he smiles shyly and looks away then whispers to his guy friend sitting across him who soon turns back to take a look at me. WHY?!? Rollerblading my ass It seems like the older I get, the crazier I become. Which isn’t very normal, since most people tend to mellow down as they age. They become more conservative, engage is less risk-taking activity, and generally become more boring. I can’t say that I’m that old yet - still a long way from middle age, not even eligible for an HDB flat unless I get married, which isn’t going to happen in the foreseeable future. Then again, teenage girls still have crushes on me. (And boys too.) Instead of getting myself involved in high-risk activity with underaged kids, I take up something relatively less risky - rollerblading. I was never particularly interested in rollerblading (I hate the term ‘in-line skating’) as a teen, but for some reason I decided it was time for me pick it up. Perhaps I wanted to learn to ice skate, after watching over many days in subconscious envy many ice skaters gracefully gliding round the rink, and learning to rollerblade would help me learn to ice skate, or perhaps I wanted to rewire parts of my brain by learning a new skill - the result of reading too many neuropsychology books. In any case, rollerblading it was. At the rollerblade shop, the cute shop assistant almost convinced me to buy more than I planned for. I was already prepared to leave with the big yellow cardboard box containing my new pair of rollerblades, but she told me the importance of the knee pads. And elbow pads. And wrist guards. And helmet. To protect that fabulous brain of mine. But that same fabulous brain decided that, someone grown like myself with significant self-control would rollerblade safely, and any fall would be minor enough to render those equipment superfluous. Which proved to be true the first few times I rollerbladed, since anyway my balancing abilities was so pathetic that I would have fallen if I had gone any faster. In fact, in my first ever session one night (I only blade at night to preserve my anonymity), I never fell at all. There were plenty of close calls, but no falls. Nor did I fall on my second night. Nor third. Within a couple of weeks I was already doing decently well. In fact I was already as good or even better than this friend who had far more blading experience whom I subsequently sometimes went blading with. Incidentally this friend wants to get an HDB flat with me, and I have so far declined, but that’s another story. As they say, pride comes before a fall. One night, I decided to venture up this very long slope near my place. As a kid, my parents would warn me against cycling or skateboarding down that slope because it was simply too dangerous - too many other kids had met serious accidents going down that legendary slope. Which meant that I had to rollearblade on it. Being a beginner, I decided to blade down only a quarter of the slope (about 30m), which would be quite safe. And down I went. Within 3 seconds, the rate that my speed was increasing was so high that my brain was going overdrive trying to figure out how to slow down. I couldn’t use the rollerblade brake pad because the speed was already too fast and the road would wear it out in no time. I eyed the grass patch up the kerb on my left but I’d be sliding on the grass for quite a distance while collecting a whole lot of mud on my butt. The obvious choice was just to make a right turn, as gradually as the width of the road would allow, and go back up the slope and let gravity slow me down. So I turned right. But I was going so fast that I couldn’t stay controlled enough to make the U-turn. Instead I was hurtling towards the refuse centre, otherwise known as the rubbish dump. And just as I crossed over to the right side of the road, my right rollerblade went over one of those tiny reflectors embedded in the road. Well, they’re tiny for a car, but not so tiny for rollerblades. The reflector did it. I spun around in high speed before landed on my ass. The momentum ensured that I didn’t just land on my ass - I slid for another foot or so. The first thing I did was to make sure there were no eyewitnesses. With my ego intact, I examined my ass. It turned out to be easier than expected because at the exact spot I wanted to examine, the fabric from my pants was conveniently torn away, revealing my bleeding ass. It was burning hot. It’ll be a while before I visit that slope again. Maybe I should take up knitting. Office chairs “The chairs are here!” someone exclaimed when the delivery man opened our office doors. We had ordered office chairs for everyone as some of my colleagues’ chairs were starting to show their age. The new chairs that came in were all high backed swivel arm chairs, and they were wrapped tightly in plastic. “Time to tear the hymen!” “Yeah! I like being the first. I like virgins!” Soon, one of my colleagues was getting a bit frustrated with the plastic wrapping and was getting particularly rough. “Hey be gentle with her,” someone told him. “It’s only her first time.” Before long, some of us were done with the deflowering and were happily seated on the new chairs. “Nice. I like being on top.” “Yeah and it feels good doing this”, he said while rocking rocking the chair. We soon had to put away the old chairs. “How do we stack them?” “Let them do a 69,” came the reply. It worked. Eventually, one of my colleagues decided he could bring a couple of those chairs back home to use. So they were asking who’s old chair was still in good condition. “My ex is still good,” I told them. “Which one is yours? Is it the blue one?” “Ermm… I really can’t remember. Once I dump her, it’s over. Time to move on. No more looking back.” “You heartless jerk.” “But I have to say, she was pretty good. You should take her - she’s got experience.” We eventually decided to name our chairs. Mine’s called Chairyl. by: andrea Wow i hate jaywalkers so much and all 10 of the reasions are irrelevany. It is just tell everyone that you are lazy and if a car was driving and hit they jaywalker the driver should sue the jaywalker for emotional distress! Happy birthday boy We were all gathered around the table as the birthday boy lit the candles on his birthday cake. When he was finally done, we sang the usual Happy Birthday song. (Okay I didn’t sing but that’s besides the point.) Then just before he blew the candles, someone shouted, “Hope you have a good year and have lots of sex!” He was grinning from ear to ear. Vegetarian meat We were having some male-bonding during lunch at a nearby coffee shop. “Hey check out the menu,” I pointed to the stall just beside us, “they have vegetarian fish fillet, vegetarian fish head, and even vegetarian lamb stew!” “Anyway vegetarians won’t know the difference,” quipped Conrad, “since they’ve never tried the real thing before.” “That’s if they were born vegetarian,” said Jason, “most vegetarians were… converted.” “Anyway I don’t see the point of being vegetarian if you still crave all that meat,” I said. “Yeah, it’s like driving a Toyota with a Ferrari logo,” said Conrad, who was into cars, “it’s still a Toyota.” “Yeah,” I agreed, “it’s like giving a blowjob, without swallowing.” I think they gave me the WTF! look. by: Jaschocolate hmmm.. never read the book so maybe that’s why i couldnt even cry.. Too long for Twitter How many people out there, fully aware of their shortcomings, still dare to stand out to pursue their dreams - and will not back down despite so much pressure? This was a quote from Ris Low, as reported in the Straits Times article ‘I will not give up crown’. Put it this way - there’s no way she could have said that. There’s no way she could have constructed such a complicated sentence. Yeah this is a short post, but I’m posting it only because it’s too long for Twitter by: Kanya West Yo Tinker Tailor, I’m real happy for you and all and Imma let you finish, but Arnold is the most macho person of ALL TIME! Time Traveller’s Wife I posted this tweet about a week ago: Must not watch time travellers wife. A lot of reports of uncontrollable tears. Bad for my tough guy macho image. But due to unforeseen circumstances, I was put in a situation where, to make the long story short, I ended up sitting in a movie theatre that was screening that very movie. Being the tough macho guy that I am, I bravely decided to watch anyway. The movie turned out pretty good (the girl in the movie was cute). Except that I wasn’t sure which was the right place to cry. My friend didn’t shed a tear either, even though she is more feminine than me. (A lot more actually.) Come to think of it, I think those who cried their noses out seemed to have read the book before, and thus filled in the blanks with sadder stuff. * * * Possible spoilers ahead * * * I might have been tempted to eke out half a tear if the final scene was a little different- The part where the wife was running towards Mr Time Traveller? If he had vanished away completely just before they touched… boy… that would have been awesome. And I wouldn’t mind catching the sequel - the Time Travelling Girl. Especially the appearing scenes. by: PH LOL! faint! by: sl have you heard the raffles shopping mall is the informal gay pick up joint? by: sue Wow, flowers for a special someone? ^ ^ by: tinkertailor @mango_ice must be some air freshener thingy somewhere. by: mango_ice HAHAH! then where did the floral scent came from!? by: mreynolds Crossing in the middle of a block allows you time to get out of the way of oncoming cars. Drivers making turns can’t see whats around them if they don’t look. Do you want your life to depend on what someone else does? If lights were so important, there would be one at every school crossing in the country. There isn’t. The state would rather create a job for someone holding a stop sign or let an officer write tickets to bring a little money in. The same state that makes it legal to poison yourself with alcohol, then take someone’s life, makes laws about jaywalking. Has it ever occurred to anyone that the state offices are staffed with enemy aliens and Americans are too ignorant to fight back? In memory of Diane Bonitzer; killed at an intersection where she had the right away, but no time to get out of the way. by: mich LOL. next time i buy real flowers for u la! =X Smelling the flowers SO there I was, standing inside a large florist shop, surrounded by rows and rows of pretty flowers - sunflowers, roses, carnations… and plenty more that I’m unable to name. But who cares about the flower names? It had been a hectic morning at work, so it was really calming to be surrounding by so many lovely flowers. I took in a deep breath, taking in the sweet scent of the flora around me… It was a clever decision of mine. My colleagues and I were having lunch at the foodcourt just a floor below. After lunch, I decided to come upstairs just to explore a little while they went on back to the office. I was sure that none of them knew of the existence of such a beautiful sanctuary so close to our office where we could just pop by to sooth our souls. Standing there in that beautiful and sweetly scented environment, I admired the flowers more closely. The roses looked fake. In fact, they were fake. “So which of these are fake?” I asked the florist. “All our flowers are artificial,” came the answer. I went back to the office. by: Sonia lol. i was shocked to see this.he’s my grandpa! That’s what colleagues are for Jane, the colleague sitting in front of me started groaning. It’s really not that unusual, except that this time it was louder. Then she went “oh my god! oh my god! oh my god!” “Biscuit?” offered Sue, who sits next to her. “Chewing gum?” I offered. Yes, I do have a stash for emergencies like this. “I WANNA KILL MYSELF!!!” went Jane “Scissors?” “Knife?” Sue and I responded simultaneously and respectively. We’re such helpful colleagues. I think twitter is down Twitter seems to be down. The bad news is I’m suffering from withdrawal symptoms. The good news is the withdrawal symptoms are driving me to blog. I suppose I’m someone who just needs some form of release through textual expression. It used to be mostly through my blog and perhaps IM and sometimes email, but with twitter and facebook coming into the picture and being so much more convenient, they’ve largely taken over, like how some guys prefer easy girls than girls who play hard to get (I really need to think harder for a better analogy). Of course, if you don’t know me, you only get to read my blog and twitter. Okay you can email me too, but your mileage may vary. (Girls tend to have higher mileage with me, particularly those who meet my criteria.) In other news, I was just talking to someone about the 8.22pm thing this Sunday, where all Singaporeans are encouraged to recite the Singapore pledge at that time. That’s fine if you’re attending the National Day Parade with a whole crowd of people around you - it feels good to be reciting the pledge with a whole lot of people, hearing it thunder all around you, making you feel like you’re part of something much bigger. But please, if you’re at home with only a few people, you’re gonna feel pretty stupid doing the pledge thing in front of the TV, unless your screen is massive and your surround sound system engulfs you. Or if the whole HDB estate is also shouting out the pledge. As for me, I might just be on twitter, if it’s up.