When you come out and start working, you will meet people. And these people will speak in tongues that will send u reeling with horror. No it's the Exorcism, it's just the way they are. So here's a few commonly used phrases that locals use. I will explain the meaning, and also will suggest a similar english word for those who studied the Queen's English to understand.
1) "CON EIGHT" - verb
Meaning: To place in harmonious combination. To place or arrange in proper position or rank.
Example: "You ne'er CON EIGHT la. That's why so jialat lo."
Alternative english word: COORDINATE
2) "LOST STICKS" - noun
Breakdown: LOST - Missing. STICKS - thin linear object
Meaning: The planning, implementation, and coordination of the details of a business or other operation.
Example: "You got plan the LOST STICKS for the container anot? If not, si liao!"
Alternative english word: LOGISTICS
3) "CAN'T DO IT" - noun
Meaning: Pipe, tube or passageway.
Example: "Got la. Yesterday we already got install the CAN'T DO IT for wiring there lo."
Alternative english word: CONDUIT.
4) "YAM ROCK" - noun
Meaning: Abbreviated term for a type of device that uses electricity to charge a magnetic that creates a holding force. Typically used as a locking device.
Example: "Tell you la, your YAM ROCK confirm spoil liao. Tomolo I change one for you."
Alternative english phrase: Electromagnetic Lock / EM Lock
5) "THUMB NATION" - noun
Meaning: The act of completely wiring up or connecting a device. Can also refer to the act of completely dissembling a device, object or organism into its base composites.
Example: "Install liao, now wan THUMB NATION? Siao la u!"
Alternative english word: TERMINATION
6) "BLACK CAT" - noun
Meaning: A base or support structure / extension onto which a primary device is installed.
Example: "The BLACK CAT already installed la. Later we fix the camera."
Alternative english word: BRACKET.
7) "SCARF FOLDING" - noun
Meaning: A system of temporary structures for holding workers and materials during the erection, repair, or decoration of a building.
Example: "The place got SCARF FOLDING block the lift. How to mount black cat liddat?"
Alternative english word: SCAFFOLDING
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
who watches the watchmen watch news, man??
Chris Wong's journal. January 22nd 2010. Tonight, a sultan died in JB.
Sorry i couldnt resist. Watchmen rawks.
I am finding it increasingly difficult to show respect for our state's sultan. But dont get me wrong, i have no ill will towards the late sultan of Johor. My condolences to his family and all his loved ones. May he rest in peace.
What pissed me to the extent of screaming outside of the JB customs, was that the M'sian media decided to plaster it onto the face of every single channel, newspaper, shop, street, bus stop and commercial.
It was like Jesus died again.
I came back on Saturday for lunch with my mom, sushi preferred, and then we'd go for some new year's shopping.
But N-O-P-E, said the media, "Your sultan just died. Forget about that shit."
And just like that City Square turn into a ghost town. The only shop open that day was MacDonalds. Ironic.
No one was allowed to wear bright "happy" colors. No chinese new year songs. No shops were to be opened. No restaurants. No food. If you did any of the above, you'd be fined by the police.
Charming.
I've always hated chinese new year songs bcos they are terribly uncreative. But for the first time ever, i felt like winding the windows down, putting an old tape into the radio and BLASTING THE SPEAKERS.
"DONG DONG DONG CHIANG! DONG DONG DONG CHIANG! GONG XI AH GONG XI GUO XING NIAN!!"
Or some shit like that. Just to spite the police and the media and their fucking ridiculous regimes. By the way, just to seal the deal, Allah = God. Now start a protest, burn a church, why dont you? Nothing better to do? You really need attention THAT much eh?
For a good 2 hours or so, people had to stop their tv shows and watch a son mourn a father on public television. As tears streamed down his face and he took his pledge and all, I actually decided to pick up a nearby Women's Weekly and read it, eventhough it was last year's issue.
I came back to be with my family, relax, enjoy myself and help my mom forget that she's all along at home while my dad's in India - not to moan and mourn and be reminded of my mortality.
I wanna pretend for a moment that i'd live forever. Fucking forever young.
On a lighter note, Sunday's tennis was awesome. YJ brought over some "female blood" as he describes it. Apparently she was supposed to "Kick my ass. Really hard." And i beat yj in another tiebreak. Try again next week. Hehehe...
Sorry i couldnt resist. Watchmen rawks.
I am finding it increasingly difficult to show respect for our state's sultan. But dont get me wrong, i have no ill will towards the late sultan of Johor. My condolences to his family and all his loved ones. May he rest in peace.
What pissed me to the extent of screaming outside of the JB customs, was that the M'sian media decided to plaster it onto the face of every single channel, newspaper, shop, street, bus stop and commercial.
It was like Jesus died again.
I came back on Saturday for lunch with my mom, sushi preferred, and then we'd go for some new year's shopping.
But N-O-P-E, said the media, "Your sultan just died. Forget about that shit."
And just like that City Square turn into a ghost town. The only shop open that day was MacDonalds. Ironic.
No one was allowed to wear bright "happy" colors. No chinese new year songs. No shops were to be opened. No restaurants. No food. If you did any of the above, you'd be fined by the police.
Charming.
I've always hated chinese new year songs bcos they are terribly uncreative. But for the first time ever, i felt like winding the windows down, putting an old tape into the radio and BLASTING THE SPEAKERS.
"DONG DONG DONG CHIANG! DONG DONG DONG CHIANG! GONG XI AH GONG XI GUO XING NIAN!!"
Or some shit like that. Just to spite the police and the media and their fucking ridiculous regimes. By the way, just to seal the deal, Allah = God. Now start a protest, burn a church, why dont you? Nothing better to do? You really need attention THAT much eh?
For a good 2 hours or so, people had to stop their tv shows and watch a son mourn a father on public television. As tears streamed down his face and he took his pledge and all, I actually decided to pick up a nearby Women's Weekly and read it, eventhough it was last year's issue.
I came back to be with my family, relax, enjoy myself and help my mom forget that she's all along at home while my dad's in India - not to moan and mourn and be reminded of my mortality.
I wanna pretend for a moment that i'd live forever. Fucking forever young.
On a lighter note, Sunday's tennis was awesome. YJ brought over some "female blood" as he describes it. Apparently she was supposed to "Kick my ass. Really hard." And i beat yj in another tiebreak. Try again next week. Hehehe...
Thursday, January 21, 2010
45 min...
The first thing u realize as you leave the office is GODAMNIT IT'S FUCKING HOT OUT HERE!! The air-conditioning leaves your skin with a tingling sensation - like you're being electrocuted slowly. The difference in temperature separates you from your skin - you feel like you're WEARING your skin, warm warm skin.
It is one of the weirdest ways to end the day.
The area outside the construction site of the Marina Bay Sands is perfectly apt for the name - it is a literal sahara, covered with sand and rocks, debris, and god knows what other construction material they use. Even after they finally built a pavement leading to and from the site to the MRT station, the sand and dirt still blanket the concrete.
About 20 steps and the sand in my shoes makes me feel 2 inches taller, and nearly 2 tonnes heavier. Maybe it really is the sand - or maybe that's the invisible weight on my shoulders.
120m or so ahead and I reach the traffic light. This is where Bayfront Ave intersects Marina Boulevard. The workers dont seem to give a damn about their lives. They pour across the road in herds even when there's a speeding lorry just 20m away heading right towards them.
Fucking lemmings.
It's retarded, this kind of behaviour. Imagine you spend the whole of your day in a construction site that's been touted as one of the most dangerous sites in Singapore, you heed all the warnings, pay attention, move cautiously, and survive - only to be hit by a truck on the way home because you were too retarded to realize the red man was still on. Whatever. I'm still waiting for the fateful day when one of them does get hit, and his warm blood coats the rest of workers. I would take a bloody (literally) picture.
The traffic lights almost never seem to change at this intersection. And the ground is soft. Loose soil and dried mud. Just a dash of moisture is enough to turn the intersection into a lavatory of quicksand.
When you reach this area - it's usually when it starts raining. Bastard clouds.
The Marina Bay MRT sticks out like a sore thumb. Sleek polished railings and granite tiles and (gasp!) an escalator, in the middle of a mindfield of concrete pilings, re-bars, trucks and raw stone materials. The field outside the station has turned into a mini-Serangoon. The indian workers will congregate outside and sit on the lawn, play their bangra music and breathe the fresh carbon monoxide of society. A lovely way to shorten their already bleak lives.
Finally there's fresh air in your throat as you pass through the turnstiles. And the trains are the only way out of this hellhole.
Then you reach Raffle's Place MRT, and the barbaric horde of workers is replaced by the imperial army of white collar workers, as they shove into the train monotonously, like blooming fools, they will shove and shove just to get into the damn train eventhough the next train is just a minute away. Funny how the white collar ones cant FUCKING READ.
By the time i reach newton, I'm totally fed up with both sides of the coin - the workers are a rude, raw and untamed bunch of smelly clothes and rubber boots while the white collars a bunch of stiff-necked un-courteous, robotic morons. Feeling this way about them makes it easier to get out of the train. I lower my head like a battering ram (im an Aries remember?) and plough my way through the crowd that stubbornly refuses to give way to alighting passengers.
I know im stronger than all of them - I work out at least. There's no pride in having a belly so big, I cant see myself pee anymore. It's true bliss being able to trample kiasu aunties and uncles as I alight, bcos i know that if they complain, i can just point to the dumb-fucked poster of PCK telling all passengers to FUCKING LET ME ALIGHT BEFORE BOARDING, DUMBASSES!!
The feeling is heightened by the blaring of One Republic's All the Right Moves in my eardrums.
This is where it gets a little creepy.
Newton MRT makes me feel like i've somehow ended up in Thailand or Vietnam. It's full of them. With a dash of the occasional ang moh. At the very least, I cant understand them, so i can just imagine that they're saying I'm the most fucking handsome sonofabiatch they've ever seen. It makes them a whole lot easier to tolerate.
The 124 bus service is a slow to arrive, but is almost always driven by a living skeleton of a driver, who has lost control of his feet, such that they're permanently depressing the accelerator. The sheer terror of a speeding bus with me on it is dampened by the fact that i'll at least die in a sea of prostitutes. Too bad they arent pretty.
Seriously why they hell are they SOOOOO many of 'em? And sze li was right - they do have the same cheap ass perfume. Smells like they pooled all their money together and bought a gigantic vat of the stuff that they take turns bathing in - bcos buying in bulk is always cheaper. Am I right aunties?
When I reach Balestier, the bus stop is just a 20m away from a new pasta restaurant that smells AWESOME, and is the only reason I still eat food, eventhough I have yet to try their spaghetti. I prefer to cook my own.
I keep my head low as I approach the condo. Looking into the eyes of a prostitute is like staring at a medusa, except medusa turns you into stone, while a prostitute turns your mojo into stone. Mental impotence is hard to cure, so beware.
The 45min home is just as tiring as the day itself.
It's only when I reach the lift that i can actually feel the weight vaporising. And the rumble of the rising elevator car feels like an ascension from the pits of this world to a small refuge where I can lay my troubled head and rest my weary shoulders.
That is, of course, until the next time the alarm clock rings.
Good night.
It is one of the weirdest ways to end the day.
The area outside the construction site of the Marina Bay Sands is perfectly apt for the name - it is a literal sahara, covered with sand and rocks, debris, and god knows what other construction material they use. Even after they finally built a pavement leading to and from the site to the MRT station, the sand and dirt still blanket the concrete.
About 20 steps and the sand in my shoes makes me feel 2 inches taller, and nearly 2 tonnes heavier. Maybe it really is the sand - or maybe that's the invisible weight on my shoulders.
120m or so ahead and I reach the traffic light. This is where Bayfront Ave intersects Marina Boulevard. The workers dont seem to give a damn about their lives. They pour across the road in herds even when there's a speeding lorry just 20m away heading right towards them.
Fucking lemmings.
It's retarded, this kind of behaviour. Imagine you spend the whole of your day in a construction site that's been touted as one of the most dangerous sites in Singapore, you heed all the warnings, pay attention, move cautiously, and survive - only to be hit by a truck on the way home because you were too retarded to realize the red man was still on. Whatever. I'm still waiting for the fateful day when one of them does get hit, and his warm blood coats the rest of workers. I would take a bloody (literally) picture.
The traffic lights almost never seem to change at this intersection. And the ground is soft. Loose soil and dried mud. Just a dash of moisture is enough to turn the intersection into a lavatory of quicksand.
When you reach this area - it's usually when it starts raining. Bastard clouds.
The Marina Bay MRT sticks out like a sore thumb. Sleek polished railings and granite tiles and (gasp!) an escalator, in the middle of a mindfield of concrete pilings, re-bars, trucks and raw stone materials. The field outside the station has turned into a mini-Serangoon. The indian workers will congregate outside and sit on the lawn, play their bangra music and breathe the fresh carbon monoxide of society. A lovely way to shorten their already bleak lives.
Finally there's fresh air in your throat as you pass through the turnstiles. And the trains are the only way out of this hellhole.
Then you reach Raffle's Place MRT, and the barbaric horde of workers is replaced by the imperial army of white collar workers, as they shove into the train monotonously, like blooming fools, they will shove and shove just to get into the damn train eventhough the next train is just a minute away. Funny how the white collar ones cant FUCKING READ.
By the time i reach newton, I'm totally fed up with both sides of the coin - the workers are a rude, raw and untamed bunch of smelly clothes and rubber boots while the white collars a bunch of stiff-necked un-courteous, robotic morons. Feeling this way about them makes it easier to get out of the train. I lower my head like a battering ram (im an Aries remember?) and plough my way through the crowd that stubbornly refuses to give way to alighting passengers.
I know im stronger than all of them - I work out at least. There's no pride in having a belly so big, I cant see myself pee anymore. It's true bliss being able to trample kiasu aunties and uncles as I alight, bcos i know that if they complain, i can just point to the dumb-fucked poster of PCK telling all passengers to FUCKING LET ME ALIGHT BEFORE BOARDING, DUMBASSES!!
The feeling is heightened by the blaring of One Republic's All the Right Moves in my eardrums.
This is where it gets a little creepy.
Newton MRT makes me feel like i've somehow ended up in Thailand or Vietnam. It's full of them. With a dash of the occasional ang moh. At the very least, I cant understand them, so i can just imagine that they're saying I'm the most fucking handsome sonofabiatch they've ever seen. It makes them a whole lot easier to tolerate.
The 124 bus service is a slow to arrive, but is almost always driven by a living skeleton of a driver, who has lost control of his feet, such that they're permanently depressing the accelerator. The sheer terror of a speeding bus with me on it is dampened by the fact that i'll at least die in a sea of prostitutes. Too bad they arent pretty.
Seriously why they hell are they SOOOOO many of 'em? And sze li was right - they do have the same cheap ass perfume. Smells like they pooled all their money together and bought a gigantic vat of the stuff that they take turns bathing in - bcos buying in bulk is always cheaper. Am I right aunties?
When I reach Balestier, the bus stop is just a 20m away from a new pasta restaurant that smells AWESOME, and is the only reason I still eat food, eventhough I have yet to try their spaghetti. I prefer to cook my own.
I keep my head low as I approach the condo. Looking into the eyes of a prostitute is like staring at a medusa, except medusa turns you into stone, while a prostitute turns your mojo into stone. Mental impotence is hard to cure, so beware.
The 45min home is just as tiring as the day itself.
It's only when I reach the lift that i can actually feel the weight vaporising. And the rumble of the rising elevator car feels like an ascension from the pits of this world to a small refuge where I can lay my troubled head and rest my weary shoulders.
That is, of course, until the next time the alarm clock rings.
Good night.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
a sudden turn of events...
First time I tried it, i almost puked.
Ok, who am I kididng - I DID. I puked. Tore down the hallway, threw open my mom's bathroom door and promptly threw up like i'd never done so before, with the full intention of regurgitating my intestines from my gut.
That was the first time I tried Quaker Oatmeal.
Funny how things change eh?
Bcos right now im sitting here in my room with a hot bowl of Quaker Oat, mixed with a dash of milk with a table spoon of strawberry jam stirred in. And I think it's the most damned delicious thing ever.
It's so funny that it's not even funny.
And I remember 10 years ago, I would've choked on the idea of eating tofu - that wriggley, formless stuff that tastes awfully bean-like and yet has NO texture whatsoever. Now I eat it almost whenever there's the option on the chai fan menu.
Fucking ridiculous.
Yeah whatever. Food rant ending soon.
I still hate durians though. Will never ever like them.
EVER.
Ok, who am I kididng - I DID. I puked. Tore down the hallway, threw open my mom's bathroom door and promptly threw up like i'd never done so before, with the full intention of regurgitating my intestines from my gut.
That was the first time I tried Quaker Oatmeal.
Funny how things change eh?
Bcos right now im sitting here in my room with a hot bowl of Quaker Oat, mixed with a dash of milk with a table spoon of strawberry jam stirred in. And I think it's the most damned delicious thing ever.
It's so funny that it's not even funny.
And I remember 10 years ago, I would've choked on the idea of eating tofu - that wriggley, formless stuff that tastes awfully bean-like and yet has NO texture whatsoever. Now I eat it almost whenever there's the option on the chai fan menu.
Fucking ridiculous.
Yeah whatever. Food rant ending soon.
I still hate durians though. Will never ever like them.
EVER.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
tales from beyond balestier - reloaded
The usual night run brought a different kind of chill tonight.
Was doing the usual round at whampoa (yes, that forbidden zone). And today was a little later than usual. Usually, i make my round at around 11pm, so there's still a few cars zooming by, plus a few straggling kids walking around.
Today, or should i say, tonight, i ran at half-past midnight.
Not a person in sight. No car to be heard.
Just the sound of shoes scrapping on tar.
My route takes me past a kids' playground, surrounded on all sides, by pine trees. Uncommon as they are, yeah, about a dozen pine trees, in a neat box shape, surrounding this playground. And of course, there were no kids.
This time, i decide to run through it.
As I turn the corner and enter the playground - I hear it.
A sharp metallic squeak. The sound of an uncoiled joint being turned. A swing makes the slightest of movement as it swings, with an amplitude of probably no more than 5-10cm. (yeah i actually used AMPLITUDE). I instinctively begin to time the oscillations, unfortunately i dont have a curve ruler to plot the graph and find the gradient.
Now, im sure u realize how odd this is, bcos for those of you who have seen playgrounds, you almost never see a SINGLE swing set. It's typically, 2 to 3 maybe even 4 swings in a row. This set had three.
The middle one was swinging. The other two by the side... were not. And there was no breeze - i mean, we were surrounded by pine trees. Not a rustle to be heard. Only the sound of a single swing moving.
I tot it was kinda odd - i mean, why'd the guy spray WD-40 on the other 2 but not the centre one??
I make the run out of the playground, out to the main road. And just as i get to it, i hear a ringing of a bell. It's coming about 20m frm my right, i estimate.
A bicycle.
No matter. I stop right at the road, preparing to cross after the bicycle passes.
No bicycle ever arrives.
No im a little spooked. I distinctly heard that sound. The sound of a hammer striking a bell several times in rapid succession - the undeniable sound of a bicycle bell. But nothing, not even the sound of rubber on a road, nor the creaking of brakes, nor the sound of pedals shifting as feet pedal them. Nothing.
The final straw comes as I turn the final corner to my apartment and I knock into something. I feel the frizzy hair, and smell the strong scent of lavendar, or some kind of flower. Long sharp nails dig into my skin, and the horrible visage starts cackling and babbling in indescribable words.
OMFG, I bumped into a prostitute! Cheeeeeeeeeeey...
Was doing the usual round at whampoa (yes, that forbidden zone). And today was a little later than usual. Usually, i make my round at around 11pm, so there's still a few cars zooming by, plus a few straggling kids walking around.
Today, or should i say, tonight, i ran at half-past midnight.
Not a person in sight. No car to be heard.
Just the sound of shoes scrapping on tar.
My route takes me past a kids' playground, surrounded on all sides, by pine trees. Uncommon as they are, yeah, about a dozen pine trees, in a neat box shape, surrounding this playground. And of course, there were no kids.
This time, i decide to run through it.
As I turn the corner and enter the playground - I hear it.
A sharp metallic squeak. The sound of an uncoiled joint being turned. A swing makes the slightest of movement as it swings, with an amplitude of probably no more than 5-10cm. (yeah i actually used AMPLITUDE). I instinctively begin to time the oscillations, unfortunately i dont have a curve ruler to plot the graph and find the gradient.
Now, im sure u realize how odd this is, bcos for those of you who have seen playgrounds, you almost never see a SINGLE swing set. It's typically, 2 to 3 maybe even 4 swings in a row. This set had three.
The middle one was swinging. The other two by the side... were not. And there was no breeze - i mean, we were surrounded by pine trees. Not a rustle to be heard. Only the sound of a single swing moving.
I tot it was kinda odd - i mean, why'd the guy spray WD-40 on the other 2 but not the centre one??
I make the run out of the playground, out to the main road. And just as i get to it, i hear a ringing of a bell. It's coming about 20m frm my right, i estimate.
A bicycle.
No matter. I stop right at the road, preparing to cross after the bicycle passes.
No bicycle ever arrives.
No im a little spooked. I distinctly heard that sound. The sound of a hammer striking a bell several times in rapid succession - the undeniable sound of a bicycle bell. But nothing, not even the sound of rubber on a road, nor the creaking of brakes, nor the sound of pedals shifting as feet pedal them. Nothing.
The final straw comes as I turn the final corner to my apartment and I knock into something. I feel the frizzy hair, and smell the strong scent of lavendar, or some kind of flower. Long sharp nails dig into my skin, and the horrible visage starts cackling and babbling in indescribable words.
OMFG, I bumped into a prostitute! Cheeeeeeeeeeey...
Sunday, January 10, 2010
many fails...
I think there's something in the air today. Or maybe it's one of those times of the year where peoples' brains go backward, electric pulses lose meaning, corrupted by iPod rubbish.
Or maybe its just me.
Passing through the Singapore customs, in front of me are two people, an American and a china guy. Now the american is all muscles and shit, singlet and cap and huge duffel bag, which likely contains a ton of guns and bazookas which he'll whip out the moment someone tries to take hostage of a train or something. The china guy looks like he's just escaped from a Nike sweatshop, he's all sweating like crazy, or maybe he's taking drugs, or maybe he MAKES drugs. Ah wahtever, he's sweating like a pig in heat. And he's carrying the world's smallest duffel bag i have ever seen. I mean, i went to a nike shop and bought the SMALLEST size duffel bag available, which is the one most people have seen me carrying. But THIS one was even smaller. If u'd put an evian bottle inside, you'd probably have a hard time closing the zipper.
And as fate would have it, the officers stopped BOTH. To my utter surprise the ang moh was carrying nothing except CLOTHES and a laptop. N-n-n-no missiles??
Well, there were "missiles", just not the type i'd expected. The officers now open the China man's bag and take out a missile. Long and green. And uncharacteristically smooth. The dumb-fucker officer, didnt know what it was. The American was already giggling.
Im sure u guys can guess. Yeap. Dear friends, a vibrator has entered the building.
The poor china man had to spell it out to the officer, before the idiot put it back in. Officer fail. Probably wasnt *that* experienced after all.
Now im on my way back from tennis. And i've heard/seen many instances where the fucked up idiots from bangladesh walk around town with their handphones blaring bangra music.
Now i have seen the *other* kind. Was standing on the bus, and then i realize that im listening to a fucking old shanghai song or something... Guy is singing in cantonese. Fucking stupid and damn loud. And in a bus full of malays and vietnamese... WTF.
Turns out it was this 50 year old guy next to me. When i turned to look at him, he noticed me and immediately got embarrassed, probably bcos he forgot his headphones but NEEDS to listen to this song. It's like audible viagra, most likely. FUCK U la, retarded old fuck.
Well, he's so embarrassed he immediately raises the phone to his ears and pretends to be answering a call... ... WITH THE SONG STILL PLAYING AND BLARING INTO HIS EARS.
And pls dun forget that the music is ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY LOUD. Hope this old pretender goes deaf. Pretend fail.
Or maybe its just me.
Passing through the Singapore customs, in front of me are two people, an American and a china guy. Now the american is all muscles and shit, singlet and cap and huge duffel bag, which likely contains a ton of guns and bazookas which he'll whip out the moment someone tries to take hostage of a train or something. The china guy looks like he's just escaped from a Nike sweatshop, he's all sweating like crazy, or maybe he's taking drugs, or maybe he MAKES drugs. Ah wahtever, he's sweating like a pig in heat. And he's carrying the world's smallest duffel bag i have ever seen. I mean, i went to a nike shop and bought the SMALLEST size duffel bag available, which is the one most people have seen me carrying. But THIS one was even smaller. If u'd put an evian bottle inside, you'd probably have a hard time closing the zipper.
And as fate would have it, the officers stopped BOTH. To my utter surprise the ang moh was carrying nothing except CLOTHES and a laptop. N-n-n-no missiles??
Well, there were "missiles", just not the type i'd expected. The officers now open the China man's bag and take out a missile. Long and green. And uncharacteristically smooth. The dumb-fucker officer, didnt know what it was. The American was already giggling.
Im sure u guys can guess. Yeap. Dear friends, a vibrator has entered the building.
The poor china man had to spell it out to the officer, before the idiot put it back in. Officer fail. Probably wasnt *that* experienced after all.
Now im on my way back from tennis. And i've heard/seen many instances where the fucked up idiots from bangladesh walk around town with their handphones blaring bangra music.
Now i have seen the *other* kind. Was standing on the bus, and then i realize that im listening to a fucking old shanghai song or something... Guy is singing in cantonese. Fucking stupid and damn loud. And in a bus full of malays and vietnamese... WTF.
Turns out it was this 50 year old guy next to me. When i turned to look at him, he noticed me and immediately got embarrassed, probably bcos he forgot his headphones but NEEDS to listen to this song. It's like audible viagra, most likely. FUCK U la, retarded old fuck.
Well, he's so embarrassed he immediately raises the phone to his ears and pretends to be answering a call... ... WITH THE SONG STILL PLAYING AND BLARING INTO HIS EARS.
And pls dun forget that the music is ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY LOUD. Hope this old pretender goes deaf. Pretend fail.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
fish and co. and fish
We FINALLY had our belated New Year Family Dinner. Yeah, i know it's almost a week late, but sorry la, blame work and everyone being really busy and all. But it was great, finally having all 5 of the family together for a nice great dinner.
Mom and dad delightfully exclaim half-way thru dinner.
"On Thursday, we're going to go to 'mo-yuu'!" For those who dont understand, 'mo-yuu' directly translates to "rub fish".
And, oh well, that is EXACTLY what it meant. Yeap, my parents were going to go out of town to some far off temple which has a famous fish that brings fortune to whoever strokes it.
Stranger things have happened.
But it was then that i dropped my fork in horror.
"But dad..."
"Yes, son?"
"We're at FISH AND CO. right now leh."
Irony is frightening, at least to me and my brothers. Holy shit, you're about to ask a fish for blessings and the day before, you were eating its distant relatives.
Noooooooooooooooot the best way to set a respectful tone, eh?
Dad shrugs it off, "Hahaha, who cares."
Fine. I'm sure todays' dinner and the fish-stroking expedition was plain and simple coincidence.
I called them today.
"How was the fish stroking thing?"
Mom was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy.
"Yeah, it really let us touch it leh. Not afraid of pple at all."
Well I'll be damned, the holy fish is pretty perceptive after all. But mom isnt done yet.
"So nice. And after that, we went to eat seafood."
SEAFOOD???? Erm...
Mom and dad delightfully exclaim half-way thru dinner.
"On Thursday, we're going to go to 'mo-yuu'!" For those who dont understand, 'mo-yuu' directly translates to "rub fish".
And, oh well, that is EXACTLY what it meant. Yeap, my parents were going to go out of town to some far off temple which has a famous fish that brings fortune to whoever strokes it.
Stranger things have happened.
But it was then that i dropped my fork in horror.
"But dad..."
"Yes, son?"
"We're at FISH AND CO. right now leh."
Irony is frightening, at least to me and my brothers. Holy shit, you're about to ask a fish for blessings and the day before, you were eating its distant relatives.
Noooooooooooooooot the best way to set a respectful tone, eh?
Dad shrugs it off, "Hahaha, who cares."
Fine. I'm sure todays' dinner and the fish-stroking expedition was plain and simple coincidence.
I called them today.
"How was the fish stroking thing?"
Mom was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO happy.
"Yeah, it really let us touch it leh. Not afraid of pple at all."
Well I'll be damned, the holy fish is pretty perceptive after all. But mom isnt done yet.
"So nice. And after that, we went to eat seafood."
SEAFOOD???? Erm...
Monday, January 4, 2010
New Year's Resolutions
Ok ok, fine, I guess this is a little overdue.
Goals for 2010:
1) Save more $$.
Duh, I mean really. I want more $$. I need more $$. As long as u have $$, u are happy. And you can buy more icecream, tennis racquets, clothes, shoes etc...
2) Enter a Tennis Tourney
Oh yeah, definitely. Gonna find the time to do it. For sure. Sooner or later.
3) Pass the 300 Workout
This refers to the "graduation" test that the actors and stuntmen in 300 took after their months of training.
The workout is:
25 pullups
50 deadlifts at 135lbs
50 pushups
50 box jumps on a 24inch box
50 "floor wipers" with 135lbs
50 "clean & press"
25 more pullups
Just so you know, all the main actors in that movie FAILED it.
4) Get mom and dad something really nice for their anniversary
'Nuff said.
5) Remember the anniversary date for (4)
Just as important as (4).
6) Get a f'kin promotion & a pay raise
7) Get a better computer
8) Smile a little more
Last year wasnt very "smile"-friendly. I intend to make this year much better. It's not about reaching the personal goals to make yourself happy, but rather, to find happiness in whatever situation im in. Worse come to worse, i'll just play more ball.
That's all for my resolutions.
But today also marks the end of 4 straight days of tennis, in whatever time, in whatever weather. Unfortunately, everyone who planned this, or at least, acknowledged this, didnt make it. Only hua hui and I managed to brave 4 days of heat, humidity, courtside noobs and near exhaustion.
The rest FAILED. I dont care why or whatever. FAIL is fail. LOL...
The reason why I made it a point to play for 4 days straight, was not so much to play a lot and feel very suang. No. It's about consistency.
No one can play for 4 days straight and outright thrash everyone for 4 days straight. One day, u'll be one, one day u'll be off. The objective of these days was to find your game and learn how to play for life - To realize how you have to play and dedicate yourself to consistency.
Consistency above power, spin and all that other nonsense. If you can play for 4 days straight with the same style and not feel you have to change much, then u have a tennis game. And u have every right to be satisfied.
Ok, enuff about the fuzzy yellow balls.
Work is calling. My boss had a breakdown while I was absent for 1 day. Boo hoo hoo... can't wait for tuesday.
Goals for 2010:
1) Save more $$.
Duh, I mean really. I want more $$. I need more $$. As long as u have $$, u are happy. And you can buy more icecream, tennis racquets, clothes, shoes etc...
2) Enter a Tennis Tourney
Oh yeah, definitely. Gonna find the time to do it. For sure. Sooner or later.
3) Pass the 300 Workout
This refers to the "graduation" test that the actors and stuntmen in 300 took after their months of training.
The workout is:
25 pullups
50 deadlifts at 135lbs
50 pushups
50 box jumps on a 24inch box
50 "floor wipers" with 135lbs
50 "clean & press"
25 more pullups
Just so you know, all the main actors in that movie FAILED it.
4) Get mom and dad something really nice for their anniversary
'Nuff said.
5) Remember the anniversary date for (4)
Just as important as (4).
6) Get a f'kin promotion & a pay raise
7) Get a better computer
8) Smile a little more
Last year wasnt very "smile"-friendly. I intend to make this year much better. It's not about reaching the personal goals to make yourself happy, but rather, to find happiness in whatever situation im in. Worse come to worse, i'll just play more ball.
That's all for my resolutions.
But today also marks the end of 4 straight days of tennis, in whatever time, in whatever weather. Unfortunately, everyone who planned this, or at least, acknowledged this, didnt make it. Only hua hui and I managed to brave 4 days of heat, humidity, courtside noobs and near exhaustion.
The rest FAILED. I dont care why or whatever. FAIL is fail. LOL...
The reason why I made it a point to play for 4 days straight, was not so much to play a lot and feel very suang. No. It's about consistency.
No one can play for 4 days straight and outright thrash everyone for 4 days straight. One day, u'll be one, one day u'll be off. The objective of these days was to find your game and learn how to play for life - To realize how you have to play and dedicate yourself to consistency.
Consistency above power, spin and all that other nonsense. If you can play for 4 days straight with the same style and not feel you have to change much, then u have a tennis game. And u have every right to be satisfied.
Ok, enuff about the fuzzy yellow balls.
Work is calling. My boss had a breakdown while I was absent for 1 day. Boo hoo hoo... can't wait for tuesday.
Saturday, January 2, 2010
faults and double faults...
The first morning of the new year kinda symbolised the week in general. I mean, it was tennis (of course), and god knows we love our ball games. But thumping down forehands and serves in the blazing hot sun was not easy. While our minds were alive with electricity, the body politely delayed its complaints til later in the day, when fatigue began to sit in, the sun burns started to... well... BURN, and the eyes began to grow heavier for no apparent reason.
That said it simply - fun isnt all fun and games.
And while work has been exciting and trying and pretty much the best learning experience one can expect, it's started to burn. And i mean BURN.
Imagine waking up in the morning, rushing your breakfast, fighting for a place on the bus/mrt, walking in the hot morning sun to your work place, only to be dragged into a meeting. The dreaded War Room.
Patrick, the package manager in charge of overseeing our progress, has made it his personal vendetta to thoroughly screw the living daylights out of my project manager and my team. Me included.
Thank god, my graphs were *correct* (at least for the moment).
Patrick has a knack with words too. At this level of management, i mean, who DOESNT?
Careful positioning and the strategic use of highly intellectual words like "fuck up", "delays" and "you fuck up again and I will screw your package to the ends of the world", have pretty much successfully placed the entire delay of works firmly onto our heads.
After 2 hrs of "this is YOUR FAULT, no one else. YOUR FAULT." It's pretty much all she wrote.
And good ol Pat laid down another stipulation - we'd have to have this meeting EVERY MORNING FROM NOW ONE.
Monday was already tough. Then Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.
And by the time I stepped into the office on Saturday - im pretty much a dead man walking. Scheduled for execution every morning at 9am sharp.
Shit, i didnt even have breakfast proper yet.
So yeah, it's my fault. All my fault. Story of my life, what can I say?
And its not just at work too.
I wont go into details. But yeah, it's all my fault. Whatever. I really couldnt care anymore at this point.
But enough of that crap.
4 Days of TENNIS. That'll fix you up just right.
Rain or shine, we've got time. And the only faults you ever commit, will the ones that you truly hold in your hand.
That said it simply - fun isnt all fun and games.
And while work has been exciting and trying and pretty much the best learning experience one can expect, it's started to burn. And i mean BURN.
Imagine waking up in the morning, rushing your breakfast, fighting for a place on the bus/mrt, walking in the hot morning sun to your work place, only to be dragged into a meeting. The dreaded War Room.
Patrick, the package manager in charge of overseeing our progress, has made it his personal vendetta to thoroughly screw the living daylights out of my project manager and my team. Me included.
Thank god, my graphs were *correct* (at least for the moment).
Patrick has a knack with words too. At this level of management, i mean, who DOESNT?
Careful positioning and the strategic use of highly intellectual words like "fuck up", "delays" and "you fuck up again and I will screw your package to the ends of the world", have pretty much successfully placed the entire delay of works firmly onto our heads.
After 2 hrs of "this is YOUR FAULT, no one else. YOUR FAULT." It's pretty much all she wrote.
And good ol Pat laid down another stipulation - we'd have to have this meeting EVERY MORNING FROM NOW ONE.
Monday was already tough. Then Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday.
And by the time I stepped into the office on Saturday - im pretty much a dead man walking. Scheduled for execution every morning at 9am sharp.
Shit, i didnt even have breakfast proper yet.
So yeah, it's my fault. All my fault. Story of my life, what can I say?
And its not just at work too.
I wont go into details. But yeah, it's all my fault. Whatever. I really couldnt care anymore at this point.
But enough of that crap.
4 Days of TENNIS. That'll fix you up just right.
Rain or shine, we've got time. And the only faults you ever commit, will the ones that you truly hold in your hand.
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