blood and glory pt 2

So we're having the usual session on a nice cloudy sunday.

The drizzle stopped at around 330pm and the courts dried up nicely and all was well until a guy and his gf (at least i think it was his gf) shows up and informs us that they booked the EXACT 2 courts that we were playing in.

But he was SOOOOOOOOOOO compassionate that he decided, "Eh, nvm la, u all can play until my friends arrive." Something along those lines.

So anyway, we continue. And the couple sits down and girl starts going off about her adventures yesterday. A guy would take 2 sentences MAX. A girl would take 2 hours MIN.

So she starts blah-blah-blah-ing about the how she went shopping with her friends and how they liked the same thing, but that thing is cheaper somewhere else, but the best things come from wherever, but they're all girls and cant go there, or some SHIT like that.

Anyway, zs is serving. I think the position of where they were sitting and where zs was serving is largely relevant at this point.

But anyway, the girl is yaking louder and LOUDER with each passing minute. Im a little irritated, but i was too busy kicking hh's ass to do anything about it.

At this point, zs had had enough with her tongue wagging and gum flapping.

For a guy who cant really serve, he was pretty good that day.

Zs tosses the ball over his head, arches his back, shoulder comes around, brushes the side of the ball, racquet ploughs through the yellow fluff, sending a vicious wicked lefty spinning serve into the court.

I dunno whether it was in or not, but who gives a shit?

The ball whizzes off the court... AND HITS THE GIRL RIGHT IN THE THROAT.

I am not making this up. It was hilarious.

It hit her precisely while she was mid-sentence of another shopping spree. The serve had "STFU la slut!" written all over it.

And the sound she made was MAGICAL. Its the kind of sound you would make if u were gargling with listerine and suddenly choked and coughed and half-sneezed at the same time.

Whatever it was, it sure turned the volume down low. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY down low.

Nice serve. Second serve now?

blood and glory

So im at the courts on a cloudy and windy thursday afternoon.

Of course the bugger is late. No one's ever on time anyway - it's Singapore. I've just bought a brand new KPS88 strung with the gut hybrid i've been looking for, but the conditions are humid, and im not about to ruin a good stringjob.

I take out the other racquet, the not-so-new KPS88 strung with PHT and Xcel. I go thru the usual warm up routine. Serves. Serve 10 up the T. Serve 10 out wide. And 10 into the body. Followed by 20 second serves into anyspot i want.

Got bored really quick.

Anyway, i notice that the guy in the opposite court is also all along. He's serving too. I figure "Eh, maybe i'll ask for a hit."

Th guy is reluctant at first - he's gg to have a match with his friend later and doesnt want to tire himself out. I offer a warmup hit instead - just light hitting. He's fine with that.

The guy immediately takes position as though to receive serve. Im like WTF? I tot we were just warming up? So i feed a nice slow ball to him. He winds up, and cranks a continental grip forehand. It's good. I block it back and he begins to pound away.

All this time im just stroking on the rise - hitting back to him near the service line.

He comes to the net, runs around forehands, goes for a dropper. But eh, i dont care. I just keep putting the ball back right in the centre of his court. After all, he said he was saving up for a match.

Fine.

Finally he cranks a forehand right at me. At my freakin shoes. Now im standing still, and im not prepared for a body shot, so i reach defensively, I come over the ball and just topspin it back in to his side.

The ball lands short, but has tons of spin.

He's not prepared. The ball jumps up right at him. He's too close. The ball smacks him dead on the forehead. But REMEMBER, his trying to hit the ball right? His racquet comes around and smacks himself - right on the bridge of his nose.

First thing he yells is "Oh SHIT!"

Im asking are u all right?

Then i see the blood. He's bleeding from a large gash on his nose. Eeeewww... and he's bleeding all over the place like a stuck pig. It's literally dripping on the floor. He rushes for some tissues.

I keep repeating sorry sorry sorry. But he's fine. He blames himself he says.

Luckily the bleeding stopped after he washed it.

I never made anyone bleed from tennis before.

It's powerful shit. Glorious.

compete.

I remember walking out of the NUS SRC with zs and hh on a Sunday evening and we were debating the merits of running. Not just running for leisure, or sport - truth be told, i do my fair share of running at night.

I just found it ridiculous that someone would PAY good money to go and run 42.150km. It's not as if that's a copyrighted distance. You can run that distance ANYTIME u want. No amount of money is ever necessary. Just a pair of shoes, a soft pair of socks, an iron will and an open road.

My argument was: Why run and not win anything, when u can play tennis, run and actually WIN?

The answer was: It's not about winning. It's about a sense of achievement. Self-achievement.

And I put it forth to you. ALL of you : Self-achievement is worth NOTHING if it isnt validated by another.

What sense of accomplishment you feel coursing in your veins is nothing more than an effort on your part to feel special, to self-validate. A self-illusion. A mirror, distorted at your own design. It's like working out in the gym, an empty gym, and posing in the mirror. You may THINK you look good. But the only reason u feel that way, is bcos there's no one to prove you otherwise.

Have you ever stood on one end of a tennis court, or ANY court for that matter, and looked over the net, at your opponent, and realize that he is waaaaaaaaay better than you? He is faster, has a better forehand, more experience... EVERYTHING.

And then imagine now, that you have BEAT him. Now *that* is an achievement. And the feeling that you get when u realize this, dear gawd, it is insurmountable. A newbie beginner, celebrating his first win over an entirely superior opponent, has more achievement in him than all the runners in a Standard Chartered Run.

And just recently, i read a small article on Yahoo. It was, once again, about the influx of foreign talents, and the outcries of the locals. The line that struck a chord with me was that the locals "fear competition".

So I guess that's what it boils down to.

The fear of competition.

I'm always asked the question, "Why're you so competitive?" My typical reply is "I like to win."

But that applies to everyone doesnt it? I mean, EVERYONE likes to win! Who doesnt?

So i guess my honest reply, whenever someone asks "Why're you so competitive?", is a simple "Why not?"

When u finally reach the end of that 6 hr long run, u fall in a heap on the floor, covered in sweat. They shake your hand. You embrace your running partners. They give you shirt, proudly declaring that you RAN, and you MADE IT. U survived. Under the gaze of the hot sun, you bask in the glory shared my hundreds, even THOUSANDS. The thousands who survived. The thousands who made it. And they say "Congratulations."

"Congratulations. You're an ANT."

One of the thousands. One of the millions. Another face in a massive photograph that pple will overlook.

When you beat that one person in the middle of a tennis court. No one is around to witness. No trophies are given out. The only handshake you get is the handshake from a reluctant opponent. No shirt, no laughter, no partnerships. You won. And you are one of two. And no one will ever say "Congratulations."

"Congratulations. You are the better ONE."

However insignificant you may have been, no matter whatever shortcomings in your life - YOU are better than someone else. There is someone below you. You are one of two, and you are the better one. The one who won. And the glory. The glory is SHARED BY NO ONE, except YOU.

It's Communist vs Monarch.

And everyone knows it's good to be the king.

That's why I will never pay to run. I prefer to do what I constantly itch to do. I prefer to kick someone's ass. I prefer to dominate. I prefer to fight. I prefer to lose. I prefer to win.

I prefer to compete.

storys from beyond balestier...

I highly recommend running at night to anyone who loves a good ghost story. It's quite an experience, especially when you're tired. Not physically - physically, u're fine, bcos u just sat in an office all day long doing little to no hard labour at all. But MENTALLY, u're a wreck - tired and all, judgement is all whoozy and preception is a little taxing on the brain.

And when u're running, and ur heart rate's jumping, but u're mind is all weird and unbalanced. That's when u start seeing things. I mean, just tonight, i thought i saw a little girl sitting on swing in the park as i was running past. A quick turn of the head and nope, no one there.

Sent a chill up my spine. Running speed increased by about 12%.

And as I was doing pullups at the park gym, out of the corner of my eye, I thought i saw someone sitting on a tree branch in the distance. Later confirmed to be an umbrella.

Yes.

It was a fucking UMBRELLA. ELLA ELLA ELLA... In a tree. Looks like Mary Poppins isnt immune to lightning after all.

Didnt matter, I run the hell outta there. Running speed increased by an additional 20%.

And the lights play tricks on u. A car coming from behind, shines it headlights on me and on the wall to my left, it looks, for a split second, like a dog is about to pounce on me. Turns out it was a cat. It failed. And i killed it. Hehe...

And as i close out the last 200m, i think i can see black figures lined up against a fence near the Singtel building. Probably disgruntled iPhone subscribers.

And then i reach my aparment and as I enter the gate a swarm of the most hideous women appear and float past me, cackling and giggling like banshees on a howling spree.

I rub my eyes. Turns out they're real.

Oh, it's the prostitutes. CHeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey...

Merry Christmas btw. *grinz*

trees.

The road to your workplace is just as important as the road home.

I never understood nor felt the impact that it would have on me, until today.

Putting it into perspective, when I started work at the Sands IR, I was utterly dismayed to find that there was no walking path to get to the site office. The only way to get to the site office from Marina Bay MRT was a 500m winding main road, where u had to walk on the road shoulder and pray that no lorry came by and minced you to shreds.

Fucking depressing.

The road is uneven, with different layers of tar added overlapping each other, forcing you to watch your step. So in the morning you will see a whole train of pple walking with their heads down (yourself included).

On Saturday night, they finally closed off the old road and opened a new one. A SLIGHTLY shorter walk this time, but still in the hot sun. But now, it had a pathway. An actual walkway, with handrails, like the kind you see at a housing estate. It even had a concrete drain and, DEAR GAWD, there were TREES. Small trees planted.

As mundane as it sounds, it made the walk to work MUCH EASIER on the mind.

In other words, sold the old k90 to HH. Will stock up on another KPS88 with gut, and use the old one for wet-days, since its strung with synthetics. I think this makes perfect sense. Especially since I have pretty much decided that its the best racquet i've ever laid my hands on.

Surprisingly, i volleyed pretty well on Sunday with the PHT, weird.

I WORKED THE WHOLE SATURDAY AWAY UNTIL GODDAMN BLOODY FUCKING 11PM!!!!!!!! FUCK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Fuck the RAIN!!!

flipping

Finally got it. "Obtained" it, as you will, through means that require little to no explanation.

Finally sat down, on a Sunday evening, and watched The Cove. Yes. The one that you've heard about. Yes, the one where dolphins are slaughtered.

The challenge when watching The Cove, is not to stop the slaughtering of dolphins and saving these beautiful creatures. Dolphins show remarkable intelligence. The display the ability to learn how to use tools. They also learn how to use ornaments to decorate themselves when courting a mate. And they show the ability to differentiate between themselves and their own reflection in a mirror.

And yet, they are driven into a sheltered cove yearly in Taiji and the Faroe Island, and slaughtered mercilessly.

The challenge is not to stop all this. No. The challenge is to regard it with ruthless precision and logic.

The fact remains that the Cove is, for all its emotion and passion, for all its sadness and sorrow, for all its melodramatic music and teary-eyed journalists, is PROPAGANDA - an exaggerated report, interwoven with emotion-stirring images to lead the viewer onto a path of sympathy.

That said - it was an awesome movie. And there were moments in the movie where I felt like jumping from my chair and starting a protest to save some cetaceans.

But after it is all said and done, when the emotions have settled. We have to understand - that slaughter of dolphins does nothing to affect the population of all of them throughout the seas. They are still doing fine.

The only stirring facet of the documentary is that the mercury-laden dolphin meat is distributed to the local schoolkids as a free lunch. Wow... that's SICK.

Good luck with that.

Sunday tennis wasnt such a good idea after all. Played a huge match in the morning. Went home. Did the groceries and cleaned up. Felt good that i had the rest of the day to slack. Took a short "nap" at around 10pm. Woke up at 430am. Just bolted right up. Oh my gawd...

Totally screwed up my body clock. Oh well. I guess...

Oh, and i guess - it's TAMPINES HERE I COME.

a short horror story

I am currently re-watching the entire season of Bakemonogatari in some insane frame of mind thinking that I may have missed something important. And since there's no one in my apartment right now, except me (i think), the internet has been very very fast, and very very complying.

So im watching this intriguing series until I reach episode 6, which is about a young girl whose arm is possessed by a monkey's paw, or at least they think it is. Whatever the plot of this episode is, it does not matter. One of the characters mentions that it is actually a fabled talisman from a short story by William Wymark Jacobs, appropriately titled "The Monkey's Paw.

It is a horror story. One that sent a chill down my spine. Just one chill. But i'll be damned - it's been quite a while since i'd been so momentarily petrified.

I will provide a summary, but I must say, the ORIGINAL, is a much better read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The story involves the White family, consisting of Mr and Mrs White, and their grown up son, Herbert.

They are a well-off family, nothing much to want for. Just a regular family with a regular life. They pay their bills, and they eat until they are full.

But one day they are visited by an old friend of Mr White's. Sergeant Major Morris - a returned soldier from India. And as the whiskey flowed and the tales began to pour from his lips, he mentions how he came into possession of a strange talisman.

A Monkey's Paw - dried and preserved to a mummified state. It had a spell put on it by an old fakir, an indian holy man, who wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives and that those who seek to change fate at their whim, do so to their own sorrow.

The family presses him for more.

"Well why don't you have three wishes, sir?" said Herbert.

Morris turns pale as he utters, "I have."

"And did they..." Herbert asks again, "... did you get what you wished for?"

Morris chokes as he nods, "I did."

The old wife is quick to ask the next question, "Has anyone else had three wishes?"

Morris nods, "The first man had his three wishes, yes. I don't know what the first two were..."

"... but the third was for his death."

And there was silence around the table.

Morris casually flicks the monkey's paw into the fireplace. And just as it begins to fizzle, Mr White snatches it up. He wants to keep it. Morris will not let him. But Mr White insists.

"At the very least," Mr Morris finally warns as he begins to leave, "Wish for something sensible."

He leaves.

Herbert doesnt believe that the paw will work. Neither does the wife. Mr White is adamant, and, on suggestion from his son, wishes for something simple - 200 hundred pounds.

The very next day, Herbert leaves for work. But he doesnt come back. Instead, a company man is sent to the White's to inform them of their son's death - he had been caught in the machinery at the factory, mangled and mutilated and died, with no way to save him.

The mother collapses in a fit of tears. The company man offers his condolences, and the condolences of the company, in the figure of compensation.

"How much?" asks the horrified father.

"Two hundred pounds, sir."

The mother begins to scream hysterically.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Months later, eventhough the funeral had ended, and visitors had left, and the condolence letters had stopped, the mourning in the couples' hearts hadn't.

The mother had stopped talking to the father. And they treated each other with coldness, as if what sense of warmth, died with their son.

And now it has reached a breaking point.

The mother snaps one night, laughing hysterically.

"The Monkey's Paw!" she screams, "You still have it!?"

"Yes," the husband acknowledges.

In a fit of madness and despite the pleas from her husband, the wife asks for the unthinkable - to wish their son alive again.

Her husband is distraught with fear and grieve, but his wife wouldnt stop, and pressed him, with increasing madness until he gave in. Holding the shriveled paw in his hand, he wished out loud that his son be alive again.

But no one came, no matter how long they waited.

But at the stroke of midnight, a faint knock is heard on the front door. Jumping from his sleep, the husband begins to tremble in fear and horror - his son has returned. The wife, beside herself with hysterical euphoria, belts from the bed and rushes to the door, screaming and howling in joy.

"I forgot!" she cried, "The cemetery is almost 2 miles from here!"

The reality of it dawned on the husband - he couldnt let his son in, as his appearance would be too horrifying to behold. He had been mangled in the machinery. He was the one who had identified the body. And god forbid he would have to do it again. Whatever was standing there on his front porch - it couldnt be his son. Not like that.

As his wife struggled with the front door lock, he struggled in the darkness, fighting to find the monkey's paw. And as she finally slide the latch open, his hand found the paw, and with it, he wished, for his son to be dead again.

The wife throws open the door and screams in distress. The husband finally bolts down the stairs to the front door. There is no one, nothing, at the front door, save the creeping patter of night drizzle and a swinging latern from the main gate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good night.

so as I pray...

a random thought popped into my head as I was flipping thru facebook.

~~FAVORITE SUPERPOWER~~

Oh yeah. I mean, i've heard about the LAMEST superpowers, like that fish dude in Hell Boy. WTF kind of power is that? Aqua Man?

Logically speaking, if people were to have superpowers, it wouldnt be like in Heroes or X-Men. That's bullshit. SUDDENLY, a man can conjure up a nuclear explosion when his parents had absolutely nothing to do with one. Or a man who can just FLY suddenly. Superpowers wouldnt just HAPPEN. They'd evolve. Slowly. A man might suddenly be able to levitate a little for a short period of time. A generation later and this power might increase in magnitude and duration until presumably tens of hundreds of generations later, his predecessors would be able to fly.

In that case, I FOR SURE would NOT want Peter's powers. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY too messy. Something simpler would be better - like controlling fire, or the awesome control of metal, like Magneto.

A more intriguing source of superpowers would be blaming it on the stars. In other words: IT CAME FROM OUTER SPACE!!! The prime example of this would be Superman. Guy crashes onto earth and comes with superhuman strength, speed, flight, and the inability to hide one's underwear. BUT IT'S ALL OKAY. Why? Bcos he's from outer space. So this kinda shit can happen.

Instead of raising our minds to the stars, let's just presume that human beings ACQUIRE powers. And just like *that* too. Without warning and with instantaneous efficiency. Enter Darker than Black. A world of "contractors". Beings who can use their superpowers, so long as they pay off their power in some way. An example would be the ability to stop time, with the payment being that the person ages backwards. Or the ability to conjure electricity, with the payment being having to sleep. That's a little more logical. And the source of this phenomenon, according to the storyline, is much too complicated to explain. Read it yourself.

As such, it would seem that the logical BEST superpower would be something PRACTICAL, USEFUL, DISCRETE and FREE.

And based solely on this, I choose Magneto's mutant power. The ability to control metal, with the advanced level of this being the ability to control electromagnetic waves.

HOWEVER, after a little deliberation, the better side of me kicked in. Out with practicality, usefulness, discretion and savings. Eventually, this power would become my life. I would rely on it. And turn myself into a fat, lazy piece of useless crap bcos of this kind of superpower.

And so, I put it to you: Your superpower should not make your life. Your life should shape your superpower.

Your superpower should be a product of your past experiences, lessons learned, gains, losses, regrets, future hopes and security. It should be your safe haven. A reflection of you and your persona.

Your superpower should be EPIC, and EPIC from your point of view, and yours alone.

And in my search, there is no superpower that fits the bill of EPICNESS better than UNLIMITED BLADE WORKS.

The workings are simple. Unlimited Blade Works is a spell, upon which, it encases you and your opponent in a reality marble (a plane of reality of your making). And in this reality marble, it is littered with all the weapons and equipment you have encountered throughout your entire life. A conjuration chant of Unlimited Blade Works itself is poetic verse which is pretty easy on the ears.

Truly Epic. (There's a few vids of it on youtube im sure. Go and check it out.)

Oh ya, and New Moon STILL SUX.

a sad day indeed...

New Moon ticket sales have outsold Dark Knight ticket sales, and in just the midnight opening only.

It is truly sad day for humanity when the number of fat obese pimple-faced, low self-esteemed girls outnumber guys. That's what the ticket sales indicate. But i guess I should be happy. Since there are less guys than girls, wouldnt that make the stock value of guys go up? Great. I guess guys are now definitely worth more than the uncultured swine of the earth.

But in all fairness, I find it HIGHLY amusing - the portrayal of vampire and werewolves.

And i am also SADDENED.

There was a time, when vampires were truly HORRIFYING. They were chilling reminders of supernatural evil. And the very sight of one... could keep you sleepless for NIGHTS at an end. They would feed, mercilessly and indiscriminately, and spread plague and disease.

Badass shit.

Somehow... somewhere down the line... vampires and EMO became intertwined. And I blame the BLADE movies for that. Slowly but surely... Vampires became goth and emo and in the end, vampires were portrayed like stray dogs - lonely, sad, lacking human companionship, and always doing UTTERLY STUPID SHIT (see Edward in New Moon for example).

Someone needs to bring back the true VAMPIRE. The real horror of the night. The kind that you DONT want to bump into along a dark alley.

Now onto Werewolves. I subscribe to a Movie Trailer user on the tube, and i came across the New Moon trailer. And this time, they mentioned something about Werewolves. And the first thing i thought was "HOLY SH*T! The Beast of Gevauden! The prowlers of the night!" I remember seeking Jack Nicholson transform into a ravenous beast and i almost shit my pants.

As Peter Chao said, "[In New Moon] he turns into a DOG. Are u kidding me? Are u fucking kidding me?"

In the New Moon trailer, the guy jumps and turns into a large, overfed DOG. WTF. Not menacing at all. Not in the slightest bit. The only thing that scared me about it was godforbid that it mistake me for a fire hydrant.

So sad. Inglourious Basterds is the best shit ever.

destruction of dreams...

There is no wake up call better.

Pls do not blame me for the following act of cruelty that I most ecstatically inflicted upon a fellow human being. I'm pretty sure it was due to that movie Inglourious Basterds - watching brad pitt's smug look and seeing german nazis getting killed and burned alive and shit - shit being that some of them got beaten to death with a baseball bat.

Therapeutic cinema at its best. And the extended conversations between characters was perhaps the best i have seen in a long time. THANK GOD FOR QUENTIN TARANTINO - I would like to vote the character of Hans Landa as the character of the year. Its been a while since I've seen a villian so insidiously comedic and yet surgically analytical in his dissection of the good guys. Brilliant stuff. Go watch it, or find some scenes on youtube - surely they have some.

Anyway, I spoke about the destruction of dreams.

As i told a few of my friends, i beat 4 club players at the country club over the weekend, 4 OLD GUYS - probably about 40 plus, but i know one of them was in his mid-30s.

But the part I left out was when I was hitting with this young guy, after my parents left to go to the gym. This guy was Federer reincarnate.

He had the bandanna, the shirt, the pants, the socks, the shoes, the wristband, the racquet, even god-damn-it, even the STRINGS. The only he didnt get frm the GOAT, was god-given TALENT.

They say the clothes make the man. Well they did. His clothes made the man in me UBER FUCKING PISSED for some reason. And so, wearing a snake-like grin, I ask the guy, who was free, to play a set. He says YES. He starts telling me about his "kick" serve... and his follow-thru on the forehand and why hits like Federer. "Because its a more reliable shot"... PLS LAH...

The set lasted about 12-15min tops. And of course, when the dust settled, the smell of freshly baked bagels filled the air. I hit 5 aces in that set, 5 return-of-serve winners, and 3 return-of-serve drop shot winners. And i won all my serve-&-volley points. I almost laughed out loud when I sliced a ball low and he scrapped his BELOVED K-90 on the floor. He missed the shot and immediately checked the racquet.

And when the set was done, as if on CUE, it began to drizzle. I shook the guy's hand and thanked him for letting me kick his ass and then grabbed my stuff and ran for the gym. Didnt look back. Maybe he was standing there in the cold raining crying his heart out and letting his gut strings turn mushy.

Yeah whatever. Events like this CHANGE people. Hopefully, for the better.

In other news, I encountered a RHINO today. Had a rhino fight.

Now, a RHINO FIGHT is similar to a bull fight. The only difference is in a bull fight, you GET OUT OF THE WAY OF BULL. In a RHINO FIGHT, you take the RHINO head on, and see who manages to own the other.

Encountered this rhino in the wilderness of Singapore, the heart of untamed animals, parasites and an abundance of food - where herds of wildebeests roam free, feeding and spreading their bullshit everywhere.

I'm talking, of course, about Raffles Place MRT.

I was getting off the train from Marina Bay to alight and board a train for Paya Lebar. Of course, he wildebeests were crowding at the train door, snorting and peering thru the glass like they've never seen a man before.

But as the glass door opened, the sea of wildebeests parted. And i tot for a second - "holy shit, they're actually CIVILIZED!" But i was wrong. They werent giving way to me. They were actually giving way to a RAMPAGING FEMALE BITCH OF A RHINOCEROS.

This rhinoceros-bitch was obviously very experienced, which made her all the more dangerous. The crocs on her feet indicated a certain LACK-OF-FASHION, meaning that she didnt care how messy she got, so long as she got into the train first. Her cheap T-shirt was from a 2001 JC Sports Day. And dear gawd... the HAIR... It looked like a blowdryer went postal on it with a lawnmower and a cheese grater. Barbaric.

And she smelled of socks, ammonia, and death, obviously. The jade bangle on her hand was also a weapon to avoid.

But this was RHINO FIGHT, nevertheless.

And everyone knows - real men dont back away from a RHINO FIGHT.

Thankfully, im pretty experienced in Rhino Fights, having taken out a few old man rhinos, auntie rhinos and sometimes, the young-dressed-up-man-on-the-phone rhinos.

The keys to a RHINO FIGHT are similar to tennis:
- Keep your feet moving
- Weight off the front foot
- Eyes on the target
- Lean into the motion

And just like that, in a textbook tackle, my shoulder collided with hers and she barreled into the nearby herd of wildebeests, who ran helter-skelter from her ammonia rich stench. By the time she realized what had happened, I was already on the next train.

See ya, sucker.

Dont be a RHINO, be a RHINO FIGHTER. Fight the good fight.

inevitably...

I got into the office earlier than usual today. Nothing says "I was really sick and thus i am sincerely sorry for delaying your work and so i am here early" like showing up for work just before the manager walks in.

He walked in JUST as my ass touched the seat of my chair. Praise received and ego boosted. Now on to work.

Thankfully, the day was thoroughly made use of, as i was sent on a whirlwind tour of the site and offices and many many meetings. All of it to make up for yesterday. Submitted about 4 reports, 2 charts, a checklist, and other material submissions. Had a meeting with some china fucks. Shook hands with the head angmoh of facade MEP. Had 2 sandwiches for lunch. And defended myself from a barrage of accusations. Wrapped it all up at 630pm.

And btw, i was STILL sick. While the nose has finally stopped leaking, the phlegm is unbearable. Feel like a 90 year old man, hacking and spitting.

Anyway, fuck that.

Hit the gym for a sweat.

And on the way back, i was treated to the pleasure of serangoon's finest. They boarded the bus and instantly whipped out their phones, and started playing their bangra music. Maybe they couldnt afford earphones? But then again, most phones come with FREE earphones for their music lovers. I will take this as further proof that they steal their phones, since they only managed to snatch the phone and forgot the fucking earphones.

Holiday on Friday. Praise be the lord.

hackz and sniffles...

while the weather has been quite a bitch these last few days, at least saturday and sunday was pretty good.

On the bright side, i finally had to drag out the storm coat and use it. (mentioned in previous post)

However, unusually, for some unknown reason, it was ME who came down with a cold... Eventhough i was the most protected. I guess this proves the theory that germs are self-aware - the choose targets that provide a degree of challenge.

But while im sniffing and sneezing away, i still dragged myself to the office. After all, good things must be shared, and i know a friend or two who is in dire need of some medical leave to save them from insanity.

I coughed and hacked and sneezed my way thru 3 meetings and several piles of documents... Probably left a trail of snot all around MBS...

Gross~...

But anyhow im still alive - barely. May take mc on Tuesday and take some time to recover... We'll see.

And im still a little high frm tennis. Awesome. Played great the last few days. Ever since the lead came off, the shots have come a little more freely. Enjoying it like crazy. Let's see how long this run lasts...

jacket...

Let me get this straight.

The director calls almost every day with an assignment. My Asst Proj. Mgr is absent, so im functioning in that capacity for now. We have a new secretary, and i have to orientate her. The new Proj Mgr is also directionless and keeps asking me for drawings. And my Thursdays are spent collating data for the weekly report. And Fridays are totally spent finalizing, amending and submitted said reports.

That's about it in a nutshell.

And in other words, the Fridge has been replaced with a new one. Jasper is still useless, bcos he has exams, so he cant do ANYTHING, can't wash, can't clean, can't boil water, can't refill the water in the fridge, can't do any chores, can't do SHIT - bcos he has to study. SO FINE. Let him study. STUDY STUDY STUDY. He had better get straight As. If u study SOOOOOO much and spend SOOOOOOOO much time on it, and still cant ace anything, then seriously, you FAIL.

So that's it. That's my life in general now. Until things begin to settle, i'll be crazy mad busy.

But at least, i have time to appreciate the little things.

Firstly, i must thank dad. THANKS DAD, for giving me your Helly Hanson jacket.

Thursday evening, the sky exploded again. The downpour was INSANE. Umbrellas were torn off their sticks and even the work had to be postponed in certain parts of the site.

It was THAT heavy. Like god planted invisible pipes above our heads and just turned them on suddenly. Gushing frm the sky.

The canteen and the foyer area were FLOODED - with people. No one could leave. Bet the designer who said, "Eh, fuck it, MBS doesnt need sheltered walkways", bet he's being crucified somewhere out there. Fuck him. Useless dipshit.

ANYWAY, i stared at the sky and the rain, and went back to the office. Calmly, i strapped my duffel bag to my back and threw dad's Helly Hansen jacket over me, zipped it up to the full, and pulled the hidden hood over my head.

And while everyone was waiting there, I walked thru the foyer, towards the rain. I passed the PB inspector, who was half drenched and cowering in a corner. I waved and smiled, "See u tml." I passed our MBS Package Mgr, who constantly comes in and screams at us, as he stands there helpless. "See u too."

And while the entire site stood there and stared, i stuffed my hands into my pockets and stepped into the rain.

You cannot imagine what that feels like. It felt ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY AWESOMESAUCE.

Thanks for the jacket, dad.

call out to me...

I have been well... sorta kinda... "promoted"...

As of last week, I report mostly to the director, not the project manager anymore. The reason is simple. Cedric, the one who used to be tied to the director, is soooooooooooooo deeply mired in software programming and back-end support, that his job of project planner had to be supplanted. And who else but me? The one who designed and applied and maintained all the progress charts and other various performance measuring graphs in fanciful colors - of course it had to be me. I mean, colorful charts is what project planning is all about!

Fuck it.

Basically means i have even LESS of a life than last time. Since the director is SUPERBLY busy during the day, it means that most of our discussions start after 7pm and end... well... usually around 10pm plus.

On the flip-side, im pretty free during the days from now on. But even that novelty won't last for sure.

I recall a dinner session with 5G1G, where cj pointed out a theory on brainwaves. Apparently cheekiang's friend had entered the restaurant and was standing above him (on a balcony on top) and looking down on him. Somehow, cheekiang knew he was there and looked up. Cj theorised that it was due to the friend sending out some freaky gay-ass brainwaves and shit.

I would like to expand on that theory, because of a revelation I had today. I theorise that even INANIMATE objects, or at least VAGUELY inanimate objects, also produce their own waves, though less gay.

Allow me to illustrate via an experience of mine.

I was on the bus going back home. And i usually pass through serangoon towards balestier. Typically i would avert my eyes from the streets and focus on my blackberry. Not much scenery out there anyway. But today something different happened. I was drawn towards a particular street. For some reason, i had an urge, an overwhelming desire to gaze down that alley, and since the bus was in a bit of a jam, i stared onwards anyway.

SUDDENLY, a figure emerged from one of the buildings. I did not know who she was, except that she had huge boobs. And that her bra size wasnt exactly tight fitting, so as she catwalked on her high heels, they... well... were set in motion. Thank god for newton.

And i realized then that the boobs were actually projecting the same kind of "brainwave" that, like kiang-kiang looking at his friend, made me look at those boobs.

I will release the white papers in about a month's time.

Hehehe...

In other words, a great fridge drama has occurred. The fridge suddenly ceased to produce cold air. Dunno why. I woke up this morning and reached into the fridge for some cold water, except the water wasnt cold. It was just vaguely cool.

First reaction - CHECK MILK.

Milk was still fresh.

DRINK MILK.

Drank milk until no more left.

SAFE! ! !!

Oh well, reported it and i guess we'll be getting a new fridge soon. GOOD. It's about time that we clean out the fridge anyway.

I have also noticed this - women are actually even messier than men when in the kitchen.

OH YEAH.

I mean, i've looked into the fridges of men and the fridges of women (i used to stay in hall remember? and my ex also stayed in hall too). Whenever I look into a man's fridge, it's VERY VERY simple - Soft drink, juice, eggs (for the instant noodles) and cold water - and at most, butter and/or a loaf of bread. The man's fridge is nearly empty and ABSURDLY clean. In the freezer, u will find NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING - not even ice. And in the crisper - one or two apples, AT MOST.

The fridge of a WOMAN, though... ugh... lemme summarize it for u. Women go grocery shopping EVERY WEEK. But each time they do, they buy a MONTH's SUPPLY of food. You do the math. And unlike men, women cant stand having the same thing over and over and over every day. Variety is the spice of life.

Give a man a fish, and he'll eat for a day. Teach a man to fish, he'll eat for a lifetime, and he'll eat it EVERY SINGLE DAY, dun care.

For a woman, one day of pasta and its done, so the leftovers are dumped in the fridge. Cycle is repeated until the fridge is congregation of fermented foods from all races, languages and religions. Kinda like Singapore - even smells like the Singapore, at least like the buses on the way back from work.

Hence, such crisis are necessary, as they make women realize just how big the fridge REALLY is. Suddenly they'll be like, "Holy shit! I had MISO here all along?!?!" "WTF!?? I had broccoli too?"

Stuff like that. You get the idea.

In other news, Ben Jelen rawks. At least for tonight. Song of the day is "Bullet with Butterfly Wings" by Smashing Pumpkins.

darko...

The movie Donne Darko is a mind-fuck. Plain and simple. I mean, usually i'll find out about a movie i like, then before i watch it in a cinema or whatever, i'll check out the storyline on themoviespolier.com. Just to see if its GOOD enough to actually warrant me paying money for it.

Usually, i'll find out exactly what i need to know. Is it in English? Who are the actors? Is the story lame? Any sex? Any violence? Any Optimus Prime (u gotta have Prime in there)? How does it end? Is it a meaningless piece of crap where the protaganist goes thru all this shit, then in the end DIES? WTF?

I tried this with a movie i heard about - Donnie Darko. It's the weirdest sci-fi story i have ever watched. And yes he died in the end. But it was different this time. Even after reading the spoilers, i was as confused as ever. Watched it. And i was still mind-fucked.

Plus, it features probably the BESTEST WINNINGEST MOST TOTALLY AWESOME AND CREEPY BUT STILL HIGHLY AMUSING HALLOWEEN COSTUME EVER.

Go watch it.

Donnie Darko.

Jena Malone is hot too.

Once again, Friday is maddening rush for reports to prep for Saturday's Presentation. While i am playing a piano concerto on my laptop, the other SMs are scurrying about. This Friday is one to be remembered. The hopeless look on the Project Manager was one to remember. Eyebrows raised and mouth agap. I wish i had taken a picture.

Then i swoop in and save him. And he's all like "Thank you thank you thank you." Of course, the info was there all along. I just knew where to find it. This is what you get when u actually PAY ATTENTION during the seminars...

... which is highly amusing bcos i never paid attention in my uni days. I was the first one, first out - as in LIGHTS OUT. I'd be there at 830am, before the lecture starts, with my coffee and notes, and i remembered taking a long gulp of the strong coffee and immediately breaking out into a yawn.

Ironic that the person who sleeps, is now attending the most meetings and doing most of the documentation. I should go back to that chinese temple and let the monk know that someone fucked up my fortune telling.

As per the discussion with Nicholas (our director), the other day, which lasted WELL past 10pm, I will most likely be shifting my focus towards HIS assignments. Mostly, progress tracking, PrimaVera programming and claims. Basically, MONEY. I hate dealing with money - bcos its always so messy and pple are always DICKS when it comes to stuff like that. Operations - fine. Administration - fine. Finance? Fuck that.

But i will be going in the that direction. So fuck it. Here we go.

tic toc tic talk...

All this while i've heard of pple with Tourette's syndrome. And we've all seen the films on Southpark or on youtube watevea... Pple who rhythmatically let out uncontrollable bursts of vocabulary, usually obscene remarks.

So a guy with Tourette's would walk down the road and let out a "FUCK!" or "SHIT!" every 10 seconds or so.

And i knew this was FAKE. I mean, it's a motorised muscule function. I dont think there's such a mechanism for those SPECIFIC words. I would prefer to think that the human body doesnt have a specific function for use only for "FUCK!"

But i was WRONG.

Finally got a first hand glimpse at a real life Tourette's patient.

Was standing in the MRT when this guy walks in, dressed in a thin t-shirt with another shirt over it, carrying a laptop. Looked utterly normal, except that i noticed he was twitching.

Oh yes.

Twitching like you see in the movies when a guy is hearing ghostly voices and going crazzzzzzzzy from them. Something like that. Strange. And i was preparing myself physically for the potential situation where I might have to fight off a psychotic lunatic who was tuning into the Sadako soundtrack.

Then came the first outburst, or tic as the call them in Tourette's vocab.

"Fuck!" he screamed, immediately with a muffled apology. And the best part is - Tourette's is made WORSE when the patient is stressed.

5 seconds later - "Shit!"

5 seconds later - "Uargh!"

5 seconds later - "Fuck!"

5 seconds later - "Ssh-shit!"

And a stream of continuous vulgarities separated by the exact 5 second delay. He makes a good clock, but not the kind u want in ur childrens' bedroom.

Anyway, he got off at the next stop (Orchard), so beware of Tourette's. It's real. And pretty fucking hilarious too.

Back to work.

Tennis was awesome btw.

Ice cream too. Bought 3 quarts of Baskin Robbins over the weekend back in JB. Hopefully it'll help bring jasper and oliver back home.

Flavors are inspiring too. I have a talent for picking icecream flavors they say.

coincidences...

Quite a week of revelations.

Apparently, Agassi did crystal meth - but who really gives a shit anyway? Paul got his ass FIRED. JUSTICE!! And finally, mom and dad ask me to play tennis with them on Saturday.

If you remember the Southpark Ep, the parents of Southpark got their parents to quit pokemon by picking up pokemon themselves. Apparently the only way to make your kids disgusted over something is for the parents to like it. Will my parents' dastardly plan work? Tune in.

Went on a cooking frenzy again this week. Nothing burned. Except maybe a lid handle that was made of plastic. Ooops.

Hawt cousin is cooking up a storm for her new bf. I never knew how important it is for the woman to impress with her cooking. Apparently cooking skills are to women what nike is to tennis. Or adidas for that matter. It is the foundation.

You can't cook!! Afix the bow of shame! Cast her into the pit of ruin.

And OH OH I just heard that the NEW singapore uni has a SNAZZZZZZZZZY and HAPPPPPPPENING new name. Guess what? It's called Singapore University of Technology and Design. SUTD. Sexually and Urinary Transmitted Diseases? Some Unintentional Torn Dress? Super Uber Trans-super Door-stopper? Simply Useless Tea Drink?

SUPER FUCKING BORING NAME.

I am polishing up the racquets and the cleaning the shoes. Tennis at our country club back in JB, where people still stone other people to death, so the dress code is UBER STRICT. To avoid getting my ass stoned or crucified in some godforsaken muslim (is this an oxymoron?) ritual, i have to adhere to the strict dress code. Full collar, white, with non marking soled shoes. So i put together all my white gear and i realized in embarrassment that all my white tennis gear is FEDERER GEAR.

The last thing i want is to walk onto the court looking like a Federer fan-boy. But at least i can play. If anyone laughs, i'll serve a kicker into his throat. Hopefully, i'll meet a few good players whom i play with some time in JB.

Sick of thrashing zs' ass.

U heard that?

hot hawt hooorooooooorrrrrrrrt... ... ugh..

It's these hot days that remind me most of the past, as willful and naive as that sounds. Naivety is a luxury in itself - assuming the obviously obvious used to be something that we could take for granted. Somehow, the night's rest resetted all our problems. The next day, it would be another lecture, another tutorial, another report.

And still we complained.

We complained about the uniforms. We complained about the scheduling. We complained about ending at 1pm. We complained about CCAs. We complained about CCA points. We complained about teachers.

How i wish to be back in that crowded lecture theatre, sitting amongst friends, classmates, berating each other with mock insults.

And as the asphalt shimmered under the cruelest of sunny days, we were sitting in air-conditioned rooms, staring through the glass, munching on our BKs and all we could say was "Fucking Hot, rite?" "Yeah, fucking hot." "Really man, it's the hottest fucking day ever."

We listened to music, commented on how sucky it all was, laughing at the depressed men in their white collared shirts running down the boiling streets in their melting black leather shoes, not realizing that one day, we would be one of them.

Nowadays, it's all a little gray. The complaints are real, almost bringing us to tears. the crowd we sit with is all competition, smiles mask lies and the numbers we toy with are real - real enough to bring departments to clamoring frenzy. The reports dont go away and the night's sleep is getting shorter.

But at the very least, one thing still stays the same.

It is, indeed, a fucking hot day.

it was a long monday, ok?

So im coming back from work and i walk in thru the door, only to trip over a pair of shoes. Instantly, i realize that opportunity that i have literally stumbled upon.

It's a pair of leather shoes. Not mine. I wear Barricades, not some pussy-skin-pockets. Size 10. Too big for jasper. And suddenly i remember seeing them. They belong to that guy that hawt cousin brought over a few weeks ago.

And the place is DEATHLY SILENT. No sound can be heard. No movement. Nothing. Silent. (oops did i just hear sheets moving?)

This can only mean one thing.

IT'S PRANK TIME! ! ! !!!!!11111!!11!!!

So in the spirit of all good things and for the honor of those who arent getting some tonight, or are too shagged frm work to think of something, i present to you...


CHRIS' GUIDE ON HOW TO RUDELY INTERRUPT YOUR NEIGHBOUR WHEN YOU KNOW THEY ARE MAKING OUT


1) MUSIC

Music is always the best thing to use. Just plug it in and crank it up. Imagine, you're about to get it on with ur special one when suddenly... ... ... "SCOTTY DOESNT KNOW THAT FIONA AND ME DO IT IN MY VAN EVERY SUNDAY!!"

Or something holy like with the words Jesus or whatever in it. WORKS ESPECIALLY WELL IF SHE'S A CATHOLIC. Hahaha.


2) EMERGENCY

Put your toast in the toaster TWICE and put the toaster near the door. Then yell, "HOLY SHIT! FIRE~!!!!!!!!!"

Or you could pour some water under the door, though this may take a while for them to notice.


3) FRIENDLY AMBUSH

This one requires your personal entrance. Basically, dress up in a cook's attire and just BURST IN THROUGH THE DOOR, yelling, "Hey, I made WAFFLES! Who wants some WAAAAaaaaaaaaaAAAFFFFLES, whoohooo!!!"


4) THE NOTHING-TO-WORRY-ABOUT SITUATION

Drop something. Like a pot, or a pan, or a chair, and say, "It's ok, im fine, dont worry."

Then drop it again.

Then say, "Oh wow, it's still alive?"


5) SOUND EFFECTS FROM GOD-KNOWS-WHAT

Buy some celery.

Hold celery in hands.

Now pretend to fall, make a thud as you do so.

As you hit the floor, break celery in two.

Then say, "Ow ow ow ow ow... im fine im fine."

Fall again. Break Celery one more time.

Now say the magic words, "OMFG IS IT SUPPOSED TO BEND THAT WAY!!?!?!??!?????"


6) THE REAL ASSHOLE

Pretend you're talking on the phone with your buddy.

Whisper this loudly into the phone, "Yeah dude, im serious. The guy's saying and doing the lamest shit in there. Listen Listen~~!!"


7) BAD MOOD BASTARD

Storm in through the front door, banging the gate as you enter, locking it noisily. Curse under your breath.

Then, kick the guys' shoes and scream, "WHO DA FUCK PUT THEIR MOTHERFUCKING SHOES IN MY WAY!!"

Throw said shoes out the window.

swordfish

The first time i experienced swordfish, it was awesome. I will never forget it. The heavens opened up, angels sang and shit, the lights all got brighter and old pple disappeared frm the streets for a brief moment.

It was perfect, tender and juicy. But it lasted only for a short moment. Then Halle Berry covered up and i stopped the DVD.

The second time, was much better.

And this time, it was an actual fish. As suahkoo as this may sound, the swordfish at Fish and Co. was great. I remember looking at the menu and going "WTF, swordfish is cheaper than the Fish and Chips??"

I ordered one, being universally curious. Turns out it took 25min to prep. But when it came, it was 2 huge chunks of fish bone and meat. Totally didnt expect it. Viva la swordfish. Viva la Halle Berry.

The drive back to Balestier took us through Serangoon, and in typical wong family style, racist commentary ensued.

"Why do they have to sit on the grass?"

"If they see a bus driving down the road, why do they have this sudden urge to dash in front of it?"

"Why do they have to hold their heads when they complain?"

Oh yes, Deepavali is upon us. And in a complete turn around from Hari Raya, the crime rate has kicked it up a notch. Less than a week after opening a brand new goldsmith shop, 4 indians dashed into my cousin bro's store and cleaned it out. The part-time maid suddenly disappeared for 2 weeks then reappeared sporting injuries and bruises claiming that an indian snatched her handbag. And i witnessed a traffic accident along Lavendar road between a car and a motorbiking indian.

Indeed, Deepavali is here. Watch out. If they demand attention, they WILL get it, one way or another.

In other news, shredding documents may be exceptionally calming to the senses, but shredding CDs... ... ah... that is EUPHORIA.

Today, thanks to the release of the latest version of documentation, we had to terminate a few unofficially released versions, which meant shredding papers and CDs alike (yes, our shredder is a certified CD destroyer).

And the office gathered around as i dropped the CD into the shredder and heard the bonecrunching of the gears and the snapping of plastic. Felt awesome.

It also shreds Credit Cards! I will try to find some.

Viva la Shredder! (viva la Halle Berry too, btw)

shame on me...

Oh yes, it's been a long time since the last one. And it's probably gonna get longer.

The reason isnt because of work. Nope. Not because of love, nor money, nor the lack of either.

The reason is simple - I HAVE TO SAVE THE WORLD.

I have to save the world from the jaws of oblivion, journey into the belly of the realm of Mehrunes Dagon and battle the insidious Daedra to put a stop of the invasion of Cyrodill.

*Ahem*

In summary, im addicted to that stupid rpg game, The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion, a free-wheeling rpg with immense playability and morality options. And just as predictably, im an assassin.

So shame on me for abandoning my msn positions and the lack of fb updates, but i have a mission too critical to risk.

Onward shadowmere!!

breasts...

Did i get your attention? GOOD.

Well, YES, this is about breasts. And its about my little bro. And no, didnt catch him surfing porn. That'd be fucking awkward.

Anyway, Jasper got sick. And knowing him, he probably hasnt has enough water or hasnt had a decent homecooked meal. The nervous smses from mom did help make me feel any better.

But thankfully, i had recently gone on a FRESH MEAT spree. I actually knocked off frm work a little earlier than usual (630pm). And immediately rushed over to the nearest Fairprice and bought loads of stuff for cooking.

I bought a shaker of steak seasoning, butter, Sweet Corn, a BIG slab of salmon, 2 packs of frozen unagi (jap eel) and, lastly, 2 packs of frozen chicken breast (yeah, NOW you know why the title says Breasts. Sorry to burst your bubble, pervs).

Within 2-3 days, the salmon and unagi was gone. The salmon was HEAVEN. Defrosted it and applied generous amounts of steak seasoning. Then lightly panfried on medium-low heat until glazed. Then turn off the heat and cover, but not before dropping a small piece of butter on top. Let it simmer in the fish juice for a few minutes and TADAA, Slacker's Salmon Steak. It took me a grand total of 20min to make it.

BACK TO THE TOPIC - Jasper was sick and i wanted to cook him something HOT, instead of the usual warm MacDonalds or watever that he eats.

Defrosted the chicken for 2-3min, until the edges of the chicken begin to turn a little white. Once, again, STEAK SEASONING, to the rescue!! Applied on both sides and made a small 'pocket' in each fillet into which u add - a small piece of butter and a little HONEY (oh yes, this is gonna be GOOD).

I also had a jar of Pasta Sauce, frm abt 5 days ago, when i was eating ham and sausage with pasta sauce. Heated that up for abt a min in the microwave and set aside.

Now, put the chicken back in the microwave, on a hard microwaveable ceramic plate - the reason being that ceramic plates absorb microwaves and basically, turn into a pseudo-grill for the chicken, which will leave a MINOR, browning effect. Of course, this will depend on your microwave oven and its power level. Put a semi-permeable lid over the chicken. What do i mean? U could use a loosely placed ceramic lid, or glass. How loose you make the lid will effect how dry the chicken will become.

Cook on 70% power for 4 min. This was tikam tikam one. I theorized this based on the fact that instant pasta usually recommended abt 4min cooking time. I also observed that my instant pasta was frequently overcooked (pasta hard, and sauce a little dry), so i turned it down to 70% power.

RIGHT ON THE MONEY!! Ngam-ngam, as they say.

Take the chicken out, sprinkle a little pepper, or grated cheese, or watever u want, and top off with the pasta sauce.

Fed this to jasper as an experiment, and he was like, "You made this yourself??"

Yeah, with a microwave.

"WTF?"

free F1...

A little over 7 days have passed since i last blogged. And its been mainly due to the barrage of work that has flooded over this place.

Thanks to Hari Raya and Faizal coming down with the Chickenpox (lucky bastard), a ton of work has been sent flying in my direction.

Meeting on Saturday was VERY mellow. Mr Khoo wasnt there to stir the pot so MBS guys were just asking cedric and I a few minor questions and told us to check up on this and that... blah blah blah...

Then i hopped on a bus and went back to JB for a quick lunch and dinner with mom. Nothing better to do since that bugger zs betrayed me and went home.

Pigged out on sushi and thai food. I have a new place to bring the guys to next time.

Got a free look at the F1 Warm Up on Friday night. The whole gang of us climbed to the top of Hotel Tower 3 to watch the cars go by. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING SPECIAL ABOUT THE DAMN THING. The track is sooooooooo fucking narrow that there's no room to overtake! Even curring corners is SLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.

Anyway, that didnt stop it from causing a massive jam.

Tennis on Sunday was okay. I am NOT playing as well as i used to. SOMETHING IS WRONG. But serves were exceptionally good today. I have no idea why. It is screwed up - this form of mine.

I had some controversial topic to talk abt but now i've forgotten. Fuck it. It'll come later.

Chilli Crab is British...

So we were driving back home in the SNAZZY new Toyota Vios TRD, when the conversation picks up a controversial topic.

I think we all know about the recent malaysian food claims. Malaysia now claims that Hainanese chicken rice, chilli crab, nasi lemak, bak ku teh and laksa, among others, belong to THEM. Singapore APPARENTLY doesnt give a shit. I mean, the minister basically said, "Whatever~~... just as long as they recognize that there is a Singapore version." Which is utter BULLSHIT.

I mean Malaysian version and Singapore version?? WTF? "Excuse me, miss, can i have some Chilli Crab, Malaysian Version 1.1?" LOLZ... I bet they're thinking, "Chilli Crab Version Singapore XP Professional."

Bastards, as if we needed more things to sour the relationship.

IMO, there is no owner, bcos simply put, Singapore WAS Malaysia ANYWAY. I mean the self-professed inventor of Chilli Crab Roland Lim (from the New Paper), made a dead giveaway. He claimed that "Chilli Crab has been around for 59 years." AH HA!!! That was while Singapore was still under the BRITISH. Therefore, hence, ergo, (and other concluding statements), Chilli Crab is BRITISH.

If that fits your definition.

On the other hand, Jasper offered the SIMPLEST method of deciding.

"Singapore Chicken rice sux. Singapore Chilli Crab sux. Singapore Bak Ku Teh sux. Singapore Nasi Lemak sux. Singapore laksa sux. It's all better in Malaysia, hence it should be Malaysian."

Highly debateable, but still food for thought (pardon the wit).

How can you claim that something belongs to you if you cant even do it right??

I mean, i have tried Bak Ku Teh ALL OVER SINGAPORE. I tried in Woodlands, in Orchard, in Clementi, in Tampines... and FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, THE BAK-KU-TEH IN SINGAPORE F-ING SUX!! And a few times i sneaked a peek into the kitchen and into the cauldron of soup there and GUESS WHAT? Pre-packaged soup packets that you can buy in the supermarket. I guess THAT's the Singapore version eh? EPIC FAIL TO YOU.

And i've tried Singapore chicken rice and it SUX to the epic extreme too. I mean the rice is still WHITE! WTF CHICKEN RICE IS THAT!!?!?!?!!??? But also, isnt it called HAINANESE CHICKEN RICE??? So shouldnt it have come from motherfucking HAINAN???!?!?!??? Helloooooooooooo~~~????

It's too bad that these terms werent decided during the great split of Singapore from Malaysia. Just like any good divorce, the assets have to be divided - and these were left out. TOO BAD FOR MALAYSIA.

And most importantly of all, it is FAR TOO LATE for Malaysia to do anything now. It's already internationally tot of that Chilli Crabs come from Singapore (as if they're a species of crab that lives in Sentosa). It's like Apple finally proving to the world that their Macs are head and shoulders above the Microsoft PC - TOO LATE BUDDY.

I would like to know how Malaysia intends to fight this out.

And best of all, i would like to know how Singapore intends to defend its food too.

Chilli Crab is British. You heard it here FIRST.

random word generator

Bored as fuck, bcos im waiting for the semis of the US Open to come on, im mindlessly surfing. And guess wat? I ran out of things to surf for. I youtubed some highlights, watched a music vid, previewed a couple of movie trailers, listened to some music, laughed at pple on STOMP, facebooked (but posted nothing), webcomics, a little work, checked some email... and BAM, i was done.

So i flipped onto a random word generator, into which i commanded it to generate a Noun of Average usage.

The returned result was: "Flipper".

Now flipper can refer to a few things.

Firstly, flipper can refer to that thing u use to keep the ball frm going down the chute in pinball. I've played that game almost all my microsoft life. And i SUCKS that i only discovered a few years ago, that there were actually MISSIONS in that game. SHIT. And all this time i tot going into the hyperspace tube automatically got you the highest points. And if it makes any sense, nobody ever uses the "bang the table" button - tried that too many times ang got penalized for it. Fucking useless.

Also, Flipper can refer to the friendly neighbourhood dolphin. Flipper saves pple. For obvious reasons. Pple feed him, so he gotta keep'em alive else he aint food no more. In the future, Flipper will become the emperor of the world, when polar icecaps melt and sea levels rise, Flipper will emerge as the last remaining hero in this world. Except maybe Batman, no one fucks around with Batman.

But in more RECENT times, Flipper has been in a state of panic. And while i am loathe to act like a tree-hugging environmentalist, Flipper's mates are in danger. They is being turned into fish bait.

I am of course referring to the famous and controversial film, The Cove. A film shot in secret using hidden cameras and stealth microphones.

No, it's not about the dark underbelly of Flipper's nightlife. Heh. WTF mann... And no it aint the latest in Voyeurism.

It's a documentary. In Japan. And nope, it's not anime.

Its abt the slaughtering of dolphins in the hidden seaside coves to fuel the market for dolphin meat. As simplistic and "green" as it is - it isnt. The locals are like they came straight out of The Village, they oppose anyone who would dare threaten their livlihood. Even the police attempted to stop filming.

But never underestimate the Americans. THEY MADE MISSION IMPOSSIBLE, BITCH! Beat That! HAH!

They got all their hidden gadgetry and high tech gizmo together and infiltrated the enemy bases.

(Actually they just put on scuba gear and swam underneath them and planted cameras under rocks to upskirt any dolphins and divers. 'Nuff said.)

So now im dying to watch that film. But i cant seem to find it. Guess i'll get dad to check the local... *ahem*... stores.

uh-oh...

Holy shit, i just realized that in a 5 day work-week, i get less than 24 hrs of sleep!!! I get abt 20 hrs!! I am gg insane!

the fellowship of the ring in modern day singapore...

Those who have read the book will understand what the title means.

That was the first thought as my boots hit the soft muddy ground, and sunk in until water soaked my socks. The chamber stank of mold and dampness. All around, dripping water and the splashing of boots echoed, and while these events were small and insignificant, the long and winding chamber of stone amplified it, bringing it to the baritone grandeur fit for the Royal Albert Hall.

In the middle of this chamber ran two metal snakes, each a meter in diameter, side-by-side, snaking their way through the chamber. And they bore scars - numbers etched in chalk along them, depicting part numbers, fitting schedules and date of import, like the last scratchings of dead messengers from times long past.

Something hits my head. It is a small slab of stone. Appropriately, the chamber is not as safe as it is labelled to be. The stone hits the water spraying foul liquid all over me pants.

And then the ground drops off suddenly and in a split second, i am up to my shins in water. So much for keeping the pants dry.

Indian workers holler from up ahead and the air is getting dustier.

As we move from the wetness of the chamber to its drier areas, you can sense the temperature is rising, moving from the chillness of a flood, to acrid harshness of a mining colony.

They are welding the pipes up ahead. And the metal snakes, which started at one end, are still growing at the other, and like dragons, they spew red hot sparks from their mouths as the workers weld more sections into their scales.

But it is here at the mouth of serpent, that the chamber ends. And like in the movie, the confined space suddenly gives way to open flatness.

Huge pillars rise from the depths to almost three storeys in height. And at once, everything seems small. I tell myself, I am in Moria. And i am almost tempted to summon a Balrog from the depths. How they will report the Balrog in B5, i am almost too amused to consider.

The only passage to the world above is a small elevator. 2m by 4m. It is all that will save us from being imprisoned in this dark chasm. A pile hits the ground somewhere above and dust shakes from the ceiling far far far above. Lights flicker. Work halts for a microsecond.

I take the lift and head upwards, the cold metal box is comforting in its own way.

And i am done with this place. The halls of Modern Day Moria can stay like that a little while longer.

Now on to the Three Towers...

brief movies...

Ok ok, seeing as how Sarah just mentioned something abt The Proposal, it got me thinking abt some movies.

I know i know, i think i made a post abt this before. I think i named a few great scenes frm a few movies i loved. The link is HERE. Good times.

Anyway, this is to CONTINUE that. Except, i'll keep it a little SHORTER. Just a LINE from a movie that i like.

I'll run them off the top of my head.


ETERNAL SUNSHINE OF THE SPOTLESS MIND - By Joel, as he sees Clementine acknowlege him by lifting her cup of coffee in his direction.
"Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?"

AS GOOD AS IT GETS - By Melvin Udall, when asked about how he knows about women so well.
"I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability."

BREAKFAST AT TIFFANY'S - By Holly Golightly, as Paul inquires about her disapproval, as she sprays perfume into his face.
"Tough beans, buddy, 'cause that's the why it's gonna be."

F.E.A.R. (Ok, this is a computer game, but seriously, it could've been a great movie) - By a recorded a tearful Harlan Wade, moments before the daughter he imprisoned in a cryotube, emerges and tears him to shreds.
"It is the way of men to make monsters, and it is the nature of monsters to destroy their makers."

LOTR: THE TWO TOWERS - By Theoden, as he surveys he contemplates his fortress being overrun by the Orcs of Mordor.
"What can men do against such reckless hate?"

THE BLACK CAULDRON (This disney cartoon is special to me. It was released the same year i was born and has perhaps the most sinister cartoon villian EVER. Check it out.) By Dallben, as he laments on young Taran. By the way, Taran finds a magical sword, rescues a princess, finds world threatening artefact, makes friends, invades castle, saves princess again, kills evil badass king AND manages to keep his pet pig alive through it all... all in a span of wat, 2-3 days?
"So much so soon, to rest on his young shoulders."

PULP FICTION - By Captain Koons, as he retells the story of how a priceless watch ended up in his care to be given to the son of a friend of his. Watch it here.
"The way your daddy looked at it, this watch was your birthright."

GIGLI - By Christopher Walken's character. Other than the sexy Jennifer Lopez, this ONE scene is the only reason to watch it. Here, Walken talks about how he WANTS PIE.
"Put some on your head! Your tongue'd slap your brains out trying to get to it!"

Ok, it's almost 1am. Enough of the movies.

they dont allow umbrellas on-site...

At first i thought the building was going to collapse. The cracking came from overhead, like a thousand steel beams crashing down. And i trembled. Verily I did.

The fluorescent lights flickered, but only for a moment. I feel rubble on my face. It is dark and cruel here in the belly of the concrete structure. In a few months time, this place will be a lavish hall, with thick carpets soaking up the wine of the rich and glamorous as they spill it on the hotel floor in the merry dances and drunken stupors. But for now, it is a pit, a hell hole, thick with dust and no oxygen. You cant open ur eyes for fear of blindness and u dare not call out lest to swallow the particles. The ground is uneven and perilous. There are slab openings everywhere, covered with thin ply wood, with hardly any warning. One wrong step or a stupid decision could send u plummeting to the solid cement below, and your ghost will haunt the future carpark.

And they said I never climbed Everest.

My partner signals to me. It's over, he says, Let's get out of here.

We emerge to the sunlight and for a while i am dazed. The clear blue sky, was now a swirling mass of blackness.

Seemed like the end of the world. And here I was, wearing an old nike polo, in PDI jeans, wearing a safety helmet and in safety shoes, and standing in the middle of a fucking construction site.

Symbolic racism, i thought to myself - for as i watched, hundreds of white helmets were scrambling back to the office. The yellow and red helmets carried on, working in the middle of the kicking winds, thinning air and approaching storm. I supposed i should say something abt growing up in Bangladesh, but that would be highly inappropriate.

The white helmetted management staff are screaming to run faster. The storm has started on the far side of the Sands resort. I am at once beset by the enormity of the project.

Running in safety shoes will kill you, and I am in no hurry to return. After my venture into the basement, i have now to survey a different skeleton.

As I step into the bald structure, the thunder bellows once more, sending the scaffolding shaking and more dust seeps from the ceiling. The structure is like a lobotomised patient, the building a huge circular maze, except that the centre is a hollow cavity 4 storeys deep. And there in the centre, is to be Casino Floor.

For now it is a cess-pool, a spawning hive of disease and algae, where rain water collects and festers the stone, and through which the yellow boots of workers thread. The rain will bring new blood to it. I scribble a few notes in my book, this cannot continue.

The sky is now about to explode. The lightning is flashing and the cranes are swaying in the winds. The thunder, like an unfed infant, is crying out with greater and greater intensity.

And now it is time for my retreat. My boots splash through the puddles and i feel mud on my cheek. Another manager shoves past me.

As i pass the exhibition hall, the shit hits the fan. The sky explodes. But it does so with the most magnificent of silences. There is a brief pause, as though everyone knows it is about to happen. And wind doesnt move and the footsteps cease.

And the precipitation coats the land with thundering applause. Whether they like it or not, all are part of this grand instrumentation.

And my footsteps quicken again. Hurriedly, i rush. I can feel the rain on my back. The sensation is bewildering and refreshing.

I reach the shelter and exhale with a flourish. It's as if i havent breathed for the last hour.

And the phone rings.

Work as usual.

random stuff again..

The cruelest of rains are the rains that stop u frm doing what u want to do, and at the same time, u dont want them to stop.

A perfect example would be waking up in an ice cold room on Sunday, find its COLD as FUCK bcos the rain is pouring outside and the airconditioning's still on, and you're wrapped up like a silkworm in bed. And u look at the clock, and it says "1130am" and u think, OH FUCKING HELL, HOW TO PLAY TENNIS LIKE THIS??

And then u go back to sleep anyway, bcos the weather is awesome. Huh? Fuck the weather! I meanl, Fuck the Awesome Weather! Ok, watch as my brains explode.

The only clear thing i can actually remember abt yesterday is a vid that yj posted showing 2 girls squeezing a cyst off a guys' back.

So u can understand how bored i was.

Thank gawd, fate intervened.

(This usually means ur parents called.)

And yeah, we had dinner. And as magical as it was, EVERYONE was free again. Jasper was high as shit after Man-U beat Arsenal (haha zs). And Oliver had just stepped down as Block Head (yes, that is an actual rank). And I... I... I... couldnt... ... play... ... any... tennis.

Dan Ryan's Chicago Grill.

Meat and more meat.

And all in all, it was quite an awesome day. Except the "no tennis" part.

We are getting a NEW CAR! It's a Toyota Vios TRD.

Now wat on god's green earth does TRD stand for??

Dad: TOUR RALLY DESIGN.

Mom: "I'm not playing this game."

Me: THE REAL DEAL!!!!

Oliver: Torque Resistant Design.

Jasper: This Really Drives.

Oh, and a dog bit a waiter while we were eating. I guess SOMEBODY didnt want to be left out of the steak fest.

depressed accomplishments...

Perhaps we should all get depressed.

A life of depression has so much MEANING - "apparent" meaning.

One can sit under a tree, use absolutely no energy and that would be considered WORK in the terms of depression.

But im serious. Seriously. Serially.

Depression DOES seem to pay off. Indiana Jones hearthrob and current fav of my mom, Harrison Ford, suffers from depression. And i tot womanizing was supposed to be inspiringly happy. The talented lead singer of Nirvana Kurt Cobain was a brilliant songwriter and performer, until he peered down the wrong end of a shotgun. And who can forget the great Bootylicious herself, Beyonce Knowles?? Yeap. She's one depressed booty girl.

But depression doesnt just seem to breed careers in the entertainment. I mean they can ACT, so who's to say they aint just acting depressed??

My fav example would be a Japanese man named Hideko Anno. A struggling artist and writer for a small animation company in the middle of Tokyo is not one's idea of a good life. But what did he churn up instead.

My friends, Hideko Anno, is the founder of the multi-million-dollar franchise of Neon Genesis Evangelion - an iconic animation series. And yeah, u guessed it, all the characters died in the end. At least it seemed they did. Every time i watch it, it's a brain fuck.

For those who prefer jolly english examples, look no further than J.K. Rowling, who, suffering from depression, and lack of funds, wrote a series of books abt flying broomsticks, golden snitches, seekers and magical schools. Jeezuz... wat kinda MEDICATION was she on??? Or perhaps no "seeker" was going after her "golden snitch" for TOO long a time?

Let's not forget that depression can spark the trully remarkable.

Let me tell u a story abt a man born 3 months after his father died. Shit. He was born prematurely. Shit. Then his mother remarries a reverend, and he doesnt like it. (Cue Joker voice) Not. One. Bit. He threatens to burn down the house with them in it.

He was bullied in school, and it inspired him to become the top student. But of course, the bullying didnt stop. Hehe, nice try bro.

And JUST AFTER he got his degree with top scores and honors above honors or watever, the uni was closed down. Bcos the SARS was going around. *AHEM* Sorry, i mean the Great Plague. WTF rite? Fuckin sway.

And just as he was out and about, getting all UBER depressed abt how fucked up his life was, he sat down under a tree and wallowed in self-misery.

And even then, he could not be allowed some moment of peace in which he could inflict incalculable mental self-torture. Jeez mann, wat's a guy got to do get some peace and depression around here??? Y'know why?

The idiot was sitting under an apple tree.

And DAMN SUAY ah. One fucking apple fell. Hit him square on his depressed little head.

Issac Newton then went home and wrote abt how deep and tragic this one stupid falling apple. And he named that book... the Principia.

So there u have it. All of our life's work on mechanics and gravity is all the ranting of some goth depressed guy.

Read it and weep.

hail fridays

So yesterday sucked. As do most days. But then again, it's becoming more and more routine, to the degree that if a day sucks, then it's pretty cool.

Today is trully epic. I remember there's this Magic The Gathering card which, when played, returns all cards to the deck and u lose all cards in your hand and basically makes ALL that u've done up to that point COMPLETELY WORTHLESS. Im pretty sure u got to do a dance too... will confirm later.

Im sure the name of the card is something like EPIC UPHEAVAL OF MONUMENTAL FAILURE, so some other quaint title.

And just like the titular card above, today was just as such. Tomorrow (A FUCKING SATURDAY) is the presentation date. Just me and my blur Project Manager facing a panel of MBS clients, to present our progress and all. This progress is compiled from spreadsheets submitted to me frm my colleagues. Typically, its a breeze to prepare.

EXCEPT TODAY.

This morning, to my horror, i find that one of my colleagues has OVERHAULED the programme that SO PAINSTAKINGLY done. And incomplete summore.

Now i got to redo all my tabulations and formulas... It is 9am in the morning.

Nothing says Fuck U like a kick in the nuts on a Friday. I need to burn something now...

In other words, THIS is fucking funny. I will do this the next time i eat seafood.

the night shift cometh...

When we were kids, we would dare each other to venture into graveyards and shit, or haunted forests, or touch a haunted well, or watever. We believed in ghosts like crazy, but of course, they didnt exist.

Now.

Now i am convinced that they do.

1 week after installing a brand new control card in the dark ceiling of the MBS office at Mountbatten Square, it MYSTERIOUSLY started failing. No amount of praying, no cursing, or exorcism could do anything abt it.

I spent 7 hours there, troubleshooting some little shit bug problem bcos my main office didnt have anyone with at least HALF a brain to do this job. I SHOULDNT BE DOING THIS! My job is at the Sands resort - and that's it.

Fucking losers. I AM NOT GOING BACK THERE AGAIN.

taxis

When i was just a little boy
I asked the taxi
Can go faster?

Will it be jammed?
Will it be ex?
Here's wat he said to me

Kanina cb!
U fuck care so much for wat?
It's not like $2 is much!
Kanina cb!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

But anyway, it really used to be that when i flagged a taxi, i would just be head-down, say where i wanted to go, pay the fare and get the hell away from there, like the driver was the friggin spawn of satan.

Things have obviously changed.

In fact, i think i've developed one of those faces - faces that make taxi drivers ask the most ridiculous questions, assume u're frm the most ridiculous of places and start ranting abt the sun, the moon, zeus' pimples and the number of hairs in Obama's nose.

I've met, and conversed with some of the WEIRDEST taxi drivers on the planet.

Once I stepped into a taxi, and the guy was SOOOOOOOO polite, asked how was my day and shit. Then out of the blue, he hands me a PAMPHLET... HOLY MOTHER OF GOD SHIT! (Literally!) The guy was actually a PASTOR! This guy drives taxis as a part time job and also, as he put it, "so that i can meet people and spread the word of God and God's love." I almost smashed the window open, screaming "HELP! Im being baptised against my will!!"

There was another time, when i was in a taxi and the guy was just going ON and ON abt how worthless his life was. His son's were poor, one of them cheated and had to flee the country, and how this taxi driver got beat up on his son's behalf, how his wife had a brain disease and was slowly wasting away and how the only thing he could do was drive a taxi to escape from his life. It was a Channel 8 drama serial condensed into 10min. BY THE WAY, the weeping willow driver took the LONG route and in the end i paid 75% more than usual, but i couldnt scold him could i? He would've probably committed suicide on the spot or something.

And of course, there are the government protestors. This one guy started by asking me if i had read the paper recently (which i dont). And then proceeded to tear apart the latest govt sanction abt service charge and other political crapshit, that i cant even remember. The trick is, of course, to AGREE fully with them, no matter how utterly crappy their takes on politics are. I think by the time i arrived at my destination, we were both screaming to make abortion free or something. Wacko head job.

The most dangerous experience i had was not too long ago actually, where a taxi driver turned behind to look at me and ask, "Are you local?" To which, i non-chalantly replied, "Yeah, local." This triggered an avalanche of racist and nationalistic comments that the world has never held witness to, save now. Dear gawd, i was riding a taxi driven by Hitler's reincarnation. If i had suddenly slipped out that i was malaysian, he would've lynched me and did a Troy on me, dragging my behind his taxi like Hector, except he's no Brad Pitt.

And of course, we can never discount the utterly and totally "THE OUTER LIMITS" kind of experience. I remember riding in a taxi on the way back to jb one night, and i was bleeding from the mouth. Bcos i had bitten my tongue trying not to laugh at the bugger's name. It was abt 4-5 words long and ended something like "Yahya Yudno Kennedy" or some utterly fucked up combination of syllables. I grew a sixpack holding back the laughter.

And then of course, when i got back from jb, and took a taxi back from the customs to Balestier, IT WAS THE SAME DRIVER AGAIN, Mr Yahya Yudno Kennedy. My insides instantly went into convulsion and i couldnt say where i wanted to go, except tear up and laugh like a mad hyena. Thankfully, Yahya Yudno Kennedy didnt mind. (Maybe he gets it a alot?)

Taxi drivers are mental cases. BEWARE THE TAXI PRIEST!!

minor details over a weekend...

Wat the hell. An emotional airport reunion turned sour by the useless pigs back at Amsterdam.

Saturday was a great day, or at least, it was SUPPOSED to be a great day. Woke up late at 9am. Didnt have to go to work, so that was awesome. Took my time to surf the net, have breakfast. Then mom came over at 1230pm. Went out for lunch, did some shopping and had a stopover at a bookshop. Everything was great.

Went to the airport. No jam. Great.

The belt that dad's flight was schedule to arrive at was right in front of the escalator as we got in. Great.

The flight arrived EARLIER than expected!! Great.

Then dad appeared quickly too. Great.

Nothing could've gone wrong now rite?

WRONG.

And after about 10min of waiting, it slowly dawned on us. Dad was here, but his luggage wasnt.

Apparently it was still touring Amsterdam. After almost 15min of checking with airlines and a few more calls, they realized that YEAP, it was back in Amsterdam. Fucking airport services couldnt work fast enough to get the luggage from one plane to the next, eventhough they were parked RIGHT NEXT TO EACH OTHER. Fucking retards.

Anyway, they would have the luggage delivered to JB by the next day, at a local hotel that would call us ASAP. Wateva.

Mom was SIAN beyond words by the time dad came out. Still, other than that, it was a great day. Just that one small detail.

Went back to jb just to spend the night and enjoy some bakuteh and icecream (not served together of course). And then sped on back to sg for some tennis.

Tennis update: Wrist is fine. Wrapping an additional overgrip and depolarizing the racquet with some strategic tape really helped. And i even noticed that my overhead smash was steadier with the larger grip. Perhaps a larger grip really helps for me. We'll see. Zs was suffering a hangover from a yesterday chalet, so no rival to test me. LK and HH were enuff though, and im feeling no pain watsoeva. Let next week by the final test.

Go Fed, Cincinnati is YOURS.

And welcome home dad. We missed you big time.

And welcome to Facebook mom. Here goes nothing.

shouldve taken a picture...

Half way thru after-tennis dinner with zs and we both realize that we're fucking broke. Forgot to cash money.

No prob. I ran out of the building and went to nearest POSB atm.

Passed through the old food court where zs and pk used to gourge themselves on mince meat noodles and other carnivorous delights.

2 TV screens were hanging overhead, both facing opposite directions.

On one screen, The National Day rally, by Lee Hsien Loong, and yes he was still talking. We boarded the 96 bus service from campus to clementi at around 8plus, and he was still talking. We got to the restaurant, ate and now this... ... and he's STILL talking. Singapore is *that* damn small. How much is there to talk abt.

Zs offers a quick summary '08-'09 = "We're all fucked."

On the other screen, Manchester United vs Birmingham. Score 0-0.

One side of the food court was flooded with pple, watching and nodding and commenting. The other was near empty.

GUESS WHICH SIDE.

a roaring good time

~It was an awesome day~. Really. If words could transmit feelings, you'd feel an ENORMOUS amount of sarcasm coming from your monitor. So much sarcasm, that, failing to wear explosion proof masks, the flesh would peel itself from your face, turn into balls, roll upwards over the hills and bury themselves at the foot of Mount Olympus.

Yes, that much.

~~~It was an awesome day, indeed~~~

It started in the morning, when i awoke peacefully to birds chirping, cars rumbling, buses honking, children crying and a silent handphone. SILENT??? HOLY MARY MOTHER OF GOD!!! What time is it????

It was 7:22am. I had sworn to wake up early and prep all my stuff for this morning's meeting, which was to be held at 9am SHARP.

Looks like there's no money to be saved here. Packed up as quickly as i could, heaved my tennis bag onto my shoulders and flagged a taxi to the office. I slept on the taxi, but awoke in time to save the dumb uncle frm making a wrong turn and landing me on the other side of the island.

I got into the office at 830am. SHARP. Had 30min to prepared for the meeting. I paid S$12 for that taxi ride.

~~~It was an Awesome Day~~~

So the meeting started at 9am. And i was out of breath already. Working at light speed for 30min, before a major meeting, and doing all of this on fucking saturday can leave u breathless. Breathless which utter RAGE.

So anyway, i was prepared. But what i wasnt prepared for, was that my BOSS, jolly good chap that he is, got his portion wrong. And we're supposed to be synchronised for this meeting.

And of course, the MBS pple at the meeting are like vultures. They leap at the first sign of blood. And from then on, it was 3 hrs of tearing us to shreds.

It's not professional to say "Oh it's my boss' fault, not me, nah nah nah nah nah...". I could only hang my head and ride it out. And OH, what a wave it was.

Remember those vids that u see of surfers, riding massive tidal waves, and massive as in, The Day After Tomorrow *THAT* kind of massive? Yeah like that, with 20foot LASER SHARKS underneath. Laser sharks are just like regular sharks. Only, they have... LASERS.

When it was all said and done, i felt like i had just been violated by a 30ft electrified pole wrapped with barbed wire, dipped in itching powder.

I was ready to throw up my breakfast, if they would've like to see what Cereal and Eggs look like when half digested.

And that concluded the Saturday Day at the office. And oh yesh, i've got homework to do on Sunday, for Monday.

~~~ It was an AwEsOmE dAy~~~

So i meet up with zs at queensway. He wanted to buy a shirt and all, and guess what, so did I. I had my eye on a red or white sleeveless shirt. Seeing as how the weather SUCKED these past few days, i tot a cooler outfit was in order. I buy the shirt, but seeing as how i prefer a slightly looser fit this time, I bought an XL size, 2 sizes larger than what i usually get.

As we headed down to the tennis court, i took a quick detour and tried on the sleeveless. It was HUGE. Like a fucking wedding ball dress. Really. If a gust of wind caught it, i would've swelled up like a puffer fish.

So we headed back to Queensway to get it changed for a different size. NO CAN DO. The shop said that THIS particular kind of apparel CANT BE CHANGED because it's supposed to be a compression type or something and they're afraid that i've stretched it.

I explained to them. "Look it's TOO BIG, I didnt stretch it at all. If it was TOO SMALL, then i'd understand, but this is different. I just bought this TODAY. Just tried it on for a few seconds and then took it off, no stretching wat so ever."

They wouldnt budge. Fuckers just couldnt understand what i was saying, even when they checked it and turned it around in their hands. The fabric was untouched. FUCKERS.

I spent S$50 on a sleeveless red wedding dress.

I swear. Im gg to sneak back in there and STEAL the shirt of correct size. I WILL STEAL IT. MARK MY WORDS.

~~~ It was an AWESOME DAY ~~~

And lastly, i sucked at tennis today. Everything was off. Either it was the stress from work, or the weather, or the fucking dress-shirt, or all three. I sucked today. I will not suck tomorrow.

But i did indeed, SUCK TODAY.

At least dinner was FINE. KFC always eases the soul.

~~~ IT WAS AN AWESOME DAY ~~~

Can you feel the sarcasm?

misleading dresses...

How noob am i?? I didnt know that u could actually import a blog into facebook. And all this time i saw blog posts that i had read being posted as notes on fb, i was always thinking, "That's retarded. The bloke actually bothered to type out the entire thing AGAIN on a note and post it on fb? WTF mann..."

Turns out i was the numbskull. But enough of numbskullishness (new word).

I was put into a precarious situation today (is that how u spell precarious?), on the MRT. As we all know, utterly bored and totally useless pple have been taking pictures of pple sitting on the labelled "Priority Seats" on the MRT and posting them on STOMP, seeking some sort of self-righteous retribution. These seats have now become HELPLESS PPLE SEATS. Only the trully helpless can use these - the old, the pregnant and the lame.

With all due respect, i can be pretty lame too. Does this mean everytime i say a lame joke, i get to use that seat?

Well, fuck it.

This is how it goes, u idiots, you can use those fucking seats as long as there's no old, pregnant or lame pple around. The seats are not ment to be empty and pple standing around, afraid to sit on them. That's stupid. Plain ol' stupid.

Well, on to my precarious situation.

I was sitting in said Priority Seat, on the way back home frm a frutitious session of tennis. When suddenly, i realize that there's a pregnant lady standing in front of me.

Or is she??

I have no idea.

It wouldve been easier if the lady was pregnant and maybe into a third trimester or something (im pretty sure i got the terms wrong, but i mean "heavily pregnant"). But this lady had a big tummy, big enuff to LOOK like she was pregnant, but still, it was small enuff for me to think that, "Nahz, she's just plain fat."

So im looking and wondering, "WTF should i do? Should i ASK her??"

God forbid i do that. If it turns out she's NOT pregnant... LOLz... it would be hilarious. But she was wearing one of those dresses. The ones that look like THIS, except with the skirt shorter.

On a side note, if any of u girls ever wear something like this, i will AUTOMATICALLY assume u are pregnant, and say that u are. Bcos it's retarded. If u're not pregnant, dont wear a fucking pregnancy dress, or even wear a dress REMOTELY resembling one. It will attract the wrong type of questions.

ANYWAY, i decided to stand up anyway, since my stop was 2 stations away. This is a trial and error method. Bcos if she was pregnant, she would probably say Thank You, and sit down. But if she wasnt, then... well... nothing.

Well, she said Thank You, then she sat down. And as she sat down, that huge protruding belly turned into 2 SPARE TYRES.

I dont think that happens when u're pregnant, not even twins will get u double spare tyres.

So... SHIT, she wasnt pregnant after all. Bloody hell.

Kena conned by that fat auntie. Hope her gut explodes while she's chowing down on her cha kway tiao.