Monday, November 29, 2004

My Pretty Little Mac

I finally got my new laptop. It's an iBook, and I'm gradually being taken over by Apple. Three years at NU using Macs finally convinced me that they were the way to go. They're pretty, easy to use, and don't seem to fuck up as much, especially when they're running OS X. Another important factor was realizing that I'd probably spent more on repairing or replacing parts, upgrading the OS, and getting gadgets for my HP laptop than I did on the actual laptop itself. And it now has a pink screen, despite all my attempts to make it work and keep it up-to-date. Boo Windows. And fuck you, Bill Gates.

It's sitting there on the table, charging. Its little orange light glows happily. It looks content. It's also kinda scary and cool at the same time how Macs seem to have a personality. I haven't used it yet, even though I bought it on Saturday. I've only just taken it out of its styrofoam cocoon of protection, and am starting to calibrate the battery. Shit, I haven't even turned it on yet. I'll probably take a few days to really start using it. I like to ease into my gadgets.

It cost me about S$2800. Well, technically, it cost my dad's credit card S$2800. Which only means that I need to take about half a year to pay him back at a do-able rate of S$500 a month. I bought the AppleCare thingy myself though, and it cost over S$300. There, don't say I'm good for nothing. Anyhow, there goes my budget for the next half a year. Or maybe even longer, if I make that US trip in March. Godammit, I'll just be in debt forever.

I quote myself: Still, it's very pretty. I used the same phrase to describe my iPod. I think I even have iDVD on it, which is cool. The 14" screen looked back at me, blind and dark, when I opened it up to revel in its glory. The outer casing is now gleaming brightly under the fluorescents, insanely, intensely white. Ah! The light just turned green! It's all charged now. Yay.

On another note, I forgot to watch the episode that I ADed when it aired last Monday, the 22nd. If I remember correctly, I was dying from my allergies (or maybe it was acute rhinitis, which was what the doctor diagnosed) and went to bed real early. I guess I'll just have to watch one of the Betas that are lying around the office. No biggie.

I don't have to use this pink-screened monster much longer. That makes me happy.

...Never Been Sicker

I must admit upfront, I have a weak stomach. Or possibly it's overactive, because my vomit tolerance is incredibly low. That might explain both my incredible capacity for digestion and why it doesn't take much for me to empty the contents of my belly after a low number of drinks (say... between five and ten? I never really counted). On the other hand, it ensures that I stay relatively sober even when I drink and so I rarely get completely trashed. Not that I don't want to drink any more, but anything else that goes down just goes right back up, regardless of what I think or feel.

People who drink can roughly be divided into two categories. The first are the type who are able to drink a whole bunch, get piss-drunk, and pitch fuck-all into what usually translates into hilarity or annoyance to other people. The second are the type who tend to stay relatively sober and in return get to clean up puke off hardwood floors, carpets, make frequent trips to the bathroom to check on people passed out inside, etc. I usually find myself in the second group, and to my memory, have only occasionally ventured into Category One territory. A particularly memorable (in all the wrong ways) one was at the party held after the directing premiere where I didn't show my film. Note to self: drinking a shot with every single person that walks through the door is usually not a good idea at a party. Doing those shots within a single half-hour is an even worse idea. But hey, whatever it is, I've never puked on someone else's floor before - I'm somehow always able to get to a bathroom or outside.

Not that I get very pissed off at Category One people. When I drink, I usually do it with friends, and I don't get pissed off easily at friends. It's random Category One strangers at parties that I find annoying. With friends, it's all good. I've cleaned vomit off floors, wiped it off from someone's hair, carried someone downstairs, given more glasses of warm water than I can remember, held hands, checked pulses and breathing (although that wasn't entirely due to drinking... ah, Dillo Day) among other things, and I'm totally cool with all that. So, I mean, don't be afraid to get piss-drunk in my presence or feel you have to hold back because you don't wanna cause me trouble, because I genuinely don't mind doing shit like this. That is, if I'm somewhat more sober than you are. If I'm not, then I don't give a rat's ass anyway, and you can do whatever the hell you like.

Some particularly memorable puking situations:
At 809 Noyes where three people were puking simultaneously.
Liquid vomit cascading down someone's chest because she just bent her head and hurled standing up. It looked like a waterfall.
#2 tossing his cookies first on my entranceway carpet, then over the ledge of the balcony. No hard feelings, yo.
Getting stopped by the police while walking a drunken girl home to CRC, then getting in the back of the police car because the officer insisted on giving us a ride. Immediately realizing it was a terrible idea (not that we could have done anything differently) because the girl proceeded to hurl all over the inside of the car, making a trip to the hospital somewhat mandatory, coupled with the fact that she kept on moaning, "I'm underage, my parents are going to kill me, I'm not telling you my name."
Finding chunks of vomit in my bathtub after a party.
Someone puking on the floor and then rolling in their own vomit while semi-conscious.
Getting drunk at an army function and puking out the back window of a cab on the highway.
Throwing up over the side of an overhead bridge and getting most of it on my new shoes instead.
Spending far more time hugging the toilet at my own party than standing up.

But puking aside, it's always interesting to me how people behave when they're drunk. I've been told I sometimes get extremely friendly - I was giving hugs to everyone at a party... then again it was also the day I drank a shot with everyone who walked through the door, so no big surprise there. Some people get very talkative and start yakking about everything under the sun. Some get all philosophical, though not in a coherent manner. Some get depressed as fuck and cry. And some just get belligerent.

Then there are the competitive type. Whatever you do, do not get two competitive types in a drinking session together. Inevitably, they will end up challenging each other and one or both will end up under the table. Funny thing is, they don't usually show their competitiveness that much. Sure, everyone knows they're driven people and all, but not in such a vocal, aggressive way. When it gets to the stage where one person is hurling taunts while the other is rolling on the ground incoherently threatening bodily harm and swearing to high heaven, then it's probably time to go "uh-oh" and physically separate the two.

And of course, never forget the saying:
Beer before Liquor,
Never been Sicker.
Liquor before Beer,
You're in the Clear.

[Thanks to Weixuan for providing the last line. Over drinks on New Year's Day, no less.]

Kind of a lame note to end this post on. But whatever. Time for a drink.

Maybe next time I'll be the one to get completely trashed. I'm kinda hoping it happens. It's not an entirely terrible feeling, at least it makes one less depressed. I mean, you're kinda feeling too physically sick to feel depressed, so maybe it's a good thing.

Modified on 6 Jan 2005

Saturday, November 27, 2004

The Big R

Yesterday there was a mini-crisis (kinda) at work, and I had to do something I thought I'd never have to do again: write a college application essay.

Well, something very similar to an application essay anyway. See, the kid actor in my sitcom was trying to get into this premier secondary school, Raffles Institution (R.I.). Which is all well and good, except that apparently his grades placed him at the borderline of the application threshold, and he needed a little nudge to get a secure place.

(Side note: Personally, I have not liked R.I. nor any of the Raffles-named schools since forever. There are several reasons, foremost of which is the over-emphasis Singaporeans place on these "brand-name" schools. It's as if the moment a child is accepted into these schools, they will be assured of a future paved with fame and fortune and All That Is Good. It's like someone having that distasteful desire for those ugly-ass Louis Vuitton bags. Of course LV has decent-looking ones too, but even the ugly ones are snapped up like hotcakes by these undiscerning consumer whores, just like anyone from these schools is automatically elevated in the eyes of the common public. Secondly, at the high school level, these are single-gender schools, which to me is quite fucked up. They only breed sexual frustration and the desire to jump on any member of the opposite sex that walks by. Another is the fact that there are too many places and things named after Raffles already. Come on, people, he was a fucking businessman, for crying out loud. He was just here to make some money, and we're elevating him to the status of a fucking god.)

Anyhow, I was saddled with the task of providing said nudge, in the form of a testimonial which was to be signed off by the production manager. So after about twenty minutes thinking of good phrases, I started piecing the whole thing together. It didn't take as long as I thought it would, I got through it in about half an hour. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's bullshitting, as proven by this blog. Basically I just had to imagine the perfect twelve year-old and describe him, and apparently the letter was deemed rather impressive. Hopefully it'll get him where he wants to be.

What is it with child actors and Raffles Institution anyway?

That reminds me of a conversation I had with my mother regarding one of my little cousins. Apparently her mother wanted her to apply to Raffles Girls', but she seemed to favor more "Chinese" schools like Anglican High and Dunman High instead, where her friends were going. Being a veteran of one of these fine institutions (dripping with sarcasm, of course), I shuddered at the thought. Not that I wanted to push someone else into a Raffles-named school, but somehow it seemed that they, or at least the more "English" schools at least were more concerned about promoting independent thought. In fact, Angeline and I have agreed that we count ourselves lucky we weren't more fucked up by our high school, which seemed intent on mass-producing the perfect Singaporean drone.

We don't need more drones, more blind followers of authority. We need people who have the ability and the urge to question everyone and everything. Nothing should be taken at face value, especially not in the world we live in today. Everyone lies. The news lies. Corporations lie. Authority figures lie. It's a matter of course now. You have to learn to see through the bullshit. And the best way to see through that is to cultivate the habit of questioning. Parents can and will fail you. The same goes for teachers and all other authority figures, especially politicians. And kids have to learn that fast. To wait until they enter the real world is to throw them into the deep end of the pool without a life preserver and watch them sink or swim.

If this means herding kids to these goddamned elitist institutions, so be it. They could do worse.

Singapore needs to change its educational system fast. Or I'm fuckin' home-schooling my kid in the future.

A Screening

On Dec 7, Pictures on the Wall, a.k.a. my baby, is screening here.

Note that the link will probably only be valid for about a month. But by then, the event will have been long over, and you will have sucked for not having clicked on the link yet.

That is all.

Friday, November 26, 2004

A Quick Holiday Shout

Hey kids.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Save me some turkey. Or not.

Thursday, November 25, 2004

Measure For Measure

All across Singapore, little 12 year-old children's hearts thumped in their chests yesterday morning as they received a slip of paper that they believed held their futures. That slip meant Life or Death, Success or Failure, Poverty or Fortune.

See, here in Singapore, we believe that there is no time too early to begin bombarding our kids with pressure and stress. We want them to walk by the time they're one, talk when they're two, and know the entire Encyclopedia Britannica by the time they're five. Well, if the neighbor's 5 year-old is having extra lessons, we should get our kid some too. Play? Play is overrated. Play is a waste of time. If kids have time to play, they should be Studying. Studying, not Learning. What's the point of Learning? Learning won't get them into Good Primary Schools, then Good Secondary Schools, then Good Junior Colleges and finally Good Universities and on to Good Jobs. Studying will do all that for them. Then their Future will be secure, they will be Grateful and Give Money to us, their parents, buy us Big Houses, bear 2.5 Kids for us, and repeat the Glorious Cycle of Life all over again.

And so before they leave primary school, every single one of these kiddies takes the Primary School Leaving Examination (PSLE - we love our acronyms too). Inevitably, they're told by parents and society that Their Future Hinges On This Exam. Do badly, and they're doomed to failure forever - they might as well kill themselves now.

Looking back, we (and this is a more enlightened "we") realize that it really isn't so, that history is full of examples to the contrary, that those who were once on top of the world can fall from grace (especially true the higher they were), and that those on the bottom can claw their way up. And finally the enlightened ones agree, "It really doesn't matter." True, but unfortunately so many of us choose to remain on the straight and narrow path and refuse to be enlightened.

Kids don't need to Study. They need to Learn. And there is a huge world out there for them to explore. It's not only science that's waiting (although that's what most parents would believe), there's a whole world of music, of literature, of history, of art, of theatre, of film, of culture, of... The beautiful thing is that it doesn't end. It can't end. If you're willing, there's always something new for you to discover, for you to explore for the first time, for you to Learn. I'm doing it still (though not as much as I'd like), and we all should.

A kid actor in the sitcom I'm doing got his grades yesterday. The following is a conversation I had with him over lunch.

Me: So you got your results this morning, huh?
Him: Yeah.
Me: How?
Him: [ his score ]
Me: Happy?
Him: Very.
Me: That's great.

I don't believe in absolute scores. I believe in setting goals for yourself and then striving to attain them. I believe the value in everything is intrinsic and shouldn't really be measured in a purely academic way. I believe that pleasing yourself is more important than comparing results with everyone else. I believe that if you honestly tried your best, then you have nothing to be ashamed of.

When I create something, my first judge is always myself. If I have lived up to my expectations, if it is what I wanted it to be, or better, then I am satisfied - no, I am ecstatic. If I go, "Eh." and believe I could've done better, then it's a failure in my book. It doesn't matter what other people think. I believe I am my best (and harshest) grader.

Of course, I can't live up to my expectations all the time, or in all facets of my life. And yes, I do berate myself sometimes for slacking off in many areas. But damn, it feels so good when I can think "You did good" that it more than makes up for the rest.

I Love Pixar

So The Incredibles was pretty fucking sweet. The best thing about Pixar, in my opinion, is that they make sure they start with a script that's rock solid. I don't think they've ever made a bad Pixar movie. Even when they did a sequel, they still made sure they did it right. I'm sure most people view Toy Story 2 as at least equal, if not better than, the original. It made me cry, so it must be good (the Cowgirl was so sad).

Loved the "Danger of Capes" montage, the action sequences were hot and tense (especially cool for an animated movie, because we all know it's not real), and Edna Mode was simply a stroke of genius. I adore the way she walks on her little dinky feet in the wide shots. It's hilarious.

I saw it at Century Square, and right next to the theatre there was a good ol' American-style diner called Billy Bomber's. And right outside Billy Bomber's they had these life-sized standees of George W. Bush and John Kerry, with big transparent voting-style boxes in front of them. I couldn't really make out what they were for, perhaps a gimmick for customers to have some fun on Election Day, but the boxes looked really sad now. Bush's had a movie ticket stub in it, while Kerry's was empty. I didn't have time to put anything in them, so in the theatre, before the movie started, I wrote "LIAR" and "MURDERER" in my notebook. I intended to put them in Bush's box afterwards, but unfortunately the diner was closed by the time the movie was over. Oh well, I'll do it next time.


Wednesday, November 24, 2004

Apologies and An Experiment

First of all, I wanna apologize for the fact that the "gimme some mindfuckery" links have refused to work for the past couple of days. It happened, ironically, when I was screwing around with the html text on my template to read "gimme some mindfuckery". Evidently I didn't know what I was doing and fucked something up. After being bombarded with complaints in email and other online places, I finally found the problem this morning and fixed it. Not an easy job, considering that I don't have a clue what html is about. Thanks to the Blogger Help section though, I was able to remedy the situation.

Feel free to leave any comments now, the links should work. If not, bombard me again, and I'll see what I can do.

I've also come to realize, through logical elimination, etc. that my laptop only switches itself off when the external power supply is connected and the bettery is in place. On battery power alone it works fine. I have yet to test the external power supply without the battery in place, so there's something for me to do tonight. Don't you just love experiments?

Oh well, at least there's some way of circumventing that problem.

Race Against Time

My laptop now shuts itself off whenever it wants to, which fucking sucks, because I never know when it's going to just kill my post. I've had it kill two of them already, before I finally gave up this morning. Now I'm just trying again.

Saw Francois Ozon's 5 x 2 a few days back, which was nice and depressing. Sex in arthouse flicks is always, always either depressing or horrifying, because people in arthouse flicks are always fucked up in some way or other, so they can't really have sex like normal people do. Or maybe normal people have depressing sex, and it's only in Hollywood that people have Amazing Sex.

Either way, I have to end soon. Because every single line I type is a race against time. When will my laptop switch itself off? I have no clue.

Puked all over my new shoes today. That fucking sucked too.


Monday, November 22, 2004

A Shallow, Shallow Post

So I'm sitting in the office typing this, breathing through my mouth because my allergies kicked in and my nose is completely blocked off. The sporadic sneezing is annoying too. All these add up to put me in a dazed state. Seriously, this is when I hate myself the most. I really don't know how I ended up with this mess of a body.

Things I Hate About Myself
  1. My (nasal) allergies - to many different things including dust, temperature change, etc
  2. Various reservoirs of fat in places too many to mention
  3. Retarded facial hair growth - I'm never going to get that cooler-than-thou goateed look
  4. Lack of muscular definition - there's stuff there, it's just not visible or defined... perhaps due to item #2
  5. My voice on tape - it's just weird
  6. Somewhat-limited vocal range - sometimes I just wish it was a little wider and higher
  7. Severely engorged nostrils - this is wholly my fault, because I picked my nose exuberantly when I was a kid
  8. Large ugly-ass birthmark - I know this is silly, and it really doesn't piss me off that much... it's just not very pretty
I know, I know, I'm being a little bitch again. Some things on the list can be fixed, and I'm of the opinion that it doesn't hurt to improve yourself, even if it is on the shallow, superficial level. After all, I've been trying to dress better for years, and hopefully it's been working somewhat. Fixing things will cost money though, money which I don't have. So I guess I'll just have to make the best of things.

Of course, the one favorite thing about myself is my mind. There, now you see, I'm not all that shallow.

Sunday, November 21, 2004

A Call For Help

As some of you may know, I have a pretty lame habit (well, to be honest, I have many, this being one of them). I have a notebook in which I write down the titles of all the movies I have seen thus far in my life.

To avoid confusion and possible insanity, I decided when I started it to only limit it to movies I saw projected in a theater or auditorium or some setting like that. Movies I saw in class were also not included.

I began it way back in 1992, twelve long years ago. Right now, the number has reached 951. A while after I started it, I thought I might as well put the movies I'd seen in theaters before 1992 in. Up to that point, I hadn't seen that many, so it was pretty easy. I put the four or five in, and that was that. Or so I thought.

Recently in a conversation, someone noted that when he was a kid, his parents had brought him to bunch of children's movies from China that were being shown in Golden Theatre. Yes, the one with the masturbating D.O.M. I take it that the place has declined somewhat since then.

Then I remembered with a jolt that I had gone to the same movies, movies which my dad had brought me to because they were Good For Me. Invariably, they were heavy with the moralizing, low-budget (but I couldn't really tell then), and really kind of boring.

But still, they're driving me nuts, because I cannot for the life of me remember a single title. Now without titles, it's kinda hard to make an entry in that ol' notebook of mine. And it's pissing me off that I have gaps in there now, because I'm that anal-retentive.

I remember one of them being about this kid who gets a lame-ass superpower. I don't remember anything else about any others in the bunch.

If anyone at all has any recollection of these movies, please please please leave a comment (or "mindfuck", as I'd like to call them henceforth) and put me out of my misery.

Much obliged.

A Seedy Cafe and a Salsa Club

Does anyone still meet up with their classmates from primary school? It's kinda cool and freaky at the same time, to see someone you haven't met for twelve years, and still be able to recognize them with a single look.

Of course the awkward conversations began, and somehow it's funny that the people who I felt were kind of weird and apart from everyone else are still kinda weird and apart from everyone else.

Not that there were that many people there tonight, only about six or so. But out of the six, I'd not seen two for ages. The other people I'd seen last December when we met at the same seedy cafe.

Oh yes, and it seems to be the trend now that whenever we meet, we end up sitting in a seedy little cafe, chain smoking around the table. Funny how almost everyone from my class became smokers.

It was also kinda fun and weird at the same time to learn that two of them were now a couple. If you were to ask me twelve years ago about the possibility of them getting together, I'd be like, "No fucking way!" But now it's a reality. Ah, the twists and turns of fate.

A couple of us then went to a salsa club after sitting at the cafe for over four hours. A dancer friend of one of them went there regularly, and we thought we'd just stop by to say hi and check out the place, since most of us hadn't been in one of these joints before.

It blew my mind. There were all these people gyrating freely on the dance floor, twisting and turning and spinning to the latin beats. It almost defied imagination how they could do all those spins without getting their arms all tangled up. The dancer friend turned out to be pretty damn amazing at it. Watching him and his dance partner on the floor made me want to make a movie with dancing in it, just so I could put that on tape or film and cut together something breathtaking and incredibly sexy.

You really had to pay attention to take in all the moves. In fact, watching them made me so tired I had to go home.

Maybe someday I'll write a script with dancing in it. I have no ideas as of now, but I just know it has to have salsa dancing.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Financial Freakout

I just looked at my bank transaction records online, and I found I withdrew S$50 every two to three days. Throughout the entire month.

Where the fuck does the money go to?

Honestly, I have no fucking clue. I'm freaking out. No wonder I'm always broke by the end of the month.

Well, I guess it doesn't help that I go through a pack of smokes every three to four days. But still.

Do I eat it all? I don't think so.

Do I buy tons of shit? Well, I don't really have all that much to show for it, if that's the case. And I usually buy shit using a credit card and not cash anyway. Cash is so passe.

Do I take cabs all the time? Not really.

Where is it going? Where?!!

The Benefits of Whoredom

Yesterday evening I went over to a colleague's place with a bunch of other people from the office for some Hari Raya dinner thingy. It was tasty, though I'm still not a big fan of lontong (it just tastes weird), nor lychee tea. And after dinner, being the good media whores we were, everyone sat around the TV and watched the Results Show of Singapore Idol.

Now I hadn't seen a single episode since that night it was going on in the background while I was in a mahjong game, and I'm very proud of myself for that. I believe that was months ago, the very first finals episode. After all, why give wannabes any attention? I don't particularly care for any of them, and the most emotional investment I have in the show is that some of the contestants piss me off and I would love to see them get kicked off the show. Or just get kicked. That would be nice too.

So yesterday they were down to three, and one of them was going to get kicked off. Whee. Unfortunately it was the young punk that couldn't sing who remained, while the fat girl who actually could went home to her huge privileged bedroom and wept in her king-sized bed. Ah well, you can't win all in life.

After all, like it or not, this is not about the singing or the talent, but simply a popularity contest. And like it or not, based on the predictions of many of the camera crew (who've been uncannily accurate so far), that hateful Rocker-Wannabe is going to win, because of his huge fan base of teenage girls who are given to throwing hysterical fits whenever he grins his slimy grin. Which is really too bad, since the Malay dude is the one with the Voice.

Not that I care anyway. The best thing about the Finals is that I can get free tickets. And since I'm not going to that damned show no matter what, I can sell them and make a tidy profit. I think silly desperate people will pay at least S$100 a pop, easily. Heh heh. Sometimes being a corporate whore does have its benefits.

Thursday, November 18, 2004

Down's With Normal

I went to see a little charity dance/concert thing tonight, which was done by boys from Anglo-Chinese School and some kids from the Down's Syndrome Association. I have a friend whose 12 year-old brother has Down's, and both this kid and his little brother were both in the show. It was held in an auditorium at ACS, which was ridiculous, but more on that later.

The show was titled Electric Youth, which is a pretty ridiculous title, but everyone seemed to like it, so who am I to complain?

It's already tough to teach dance steps - and steps for multiple dances, at that - to kids with Down's. Add a group of rambunctious high school aged boys to the mix, and you get absolute insanity on the part of the choreographer. Thankfully, they managed to pull through.

The usual bad musical choices, including Mariah Carey, S Club 7, and other such teenybopper tunes. They even had some unidentifiable hip-hop and threw in Coldplay too for good measure.

I won't go to much into details, but suffice to say it was intended to tug heavily at the heartstrings; you were supposed to feel greatly motivated by the efforts of these kids. And I guess in a way, it worked. Except I was constantly distracted by some of the "normal" kids who were worse dancers than the rest. I mean, I can forgive the Down's kids for missing their cues and stuff, but I guess I have to be harsher on the high school kids. Oh well.

There were some pretty nice moments, and little things that just made you go "Awww". Like when my friend's youngest brother (without Down's) went and did a little solo thing, it was adorable. And when a little girl with Down's was supposed to do a cartwheel across the stage, she fell down flat on her face. Some audience members laughed (may they burn in hell), and she ran off and cried in the wings. She was still visible from where I was sitting, and it was really an "Awww" moment. And of course there were the embarassing moments when the high school kids, attempting to hold a position with their feet in the air, lost either their strength or their balance and they slowly lowered their legs to a pretty pathetic-looking position on the floor.

What surprised me a little was how some of the Down's kids were actually pretty decent dancers, who could move in time to the beat and everything. I guess rhythm is an intuitive thing, you either have it or you don't, and this applies equally to "normal" and Down's kids alike.

There was one ACS boy, though, who really grabbed my attention. No, he demanded it. Unlike many of the other kids, this boy's actions were sharp and clearly defined. Clarity of action is half of dancing, I believe, and this kid had both that and rhythm in spades. The kids went into the audience after the show, and I congratulated this boy on an excellent performance. He kinda looked pleased and embarassed at the same time. Offstage, he didn't look like much, just a typical scrawny fifteen year-old kid with not particularly eyecatching features. But onstage, his presence was undeniable. His every move was calculated to the point of perfection, and he seemed to know that all eyes were on him, and every flourish was meant to draw your attention into his world even more. He was just into it. You know, when an actor or dancer just abandons the Self and immerses himself completely into whatever he's doing. These are the people whom you can tell will go far. Even if not in dance, his perfectionism and professionalism will do wonders in any field.

Oh yes, and I was going to talk about the ACS campus at Barker Road. Suffice to say that it's amazing what alumni with very, very deep pockets can do. An underground parking structure. A swimming pool built on top of that structure. A chapel on top of it all. Elevators taking you from the carpark to level ground. A canteen that looked like a cafe along Orchard Road. All the trappings of the bourgeoisie in a high school campus. Ugh. It just made me so... annoyed. The whole place felt so privileged, it really bothered me. No wonder all the kids, even the ushers were well-groomed and well-spoken. I guess I'm just jealous my high school was nothing like that.


Confessions of a Blog Stalker

Yesterday I was told by a buddy that I didn't have to leave so many comments on his blog. Initially, I was a little taken aback, but then I realized that I had, in fact, been stalking his blog. Plus he's such a nice guy that I couldn't possibly read any ill-will in his words. I brushed it off by saying I had too much time on my hands at work.

And I really do. For example, today, I spent a grand total of maybe one hour tops doing work. I read a couple of scripts and did character breakdowns of what kinds of supporting actors were needed. That was it. Done. Finito.

Of course, today I'm more free than usual, but even on an ordinary day, I check my gmail like a demon, and I stalk the blogs that I read obsessively, sometimes up to five times a day. A new post makes my little heart leap, and I eagerly devour every new sentence. Sad but true. And when I stalk, I leave comments.

Well, to be more precise, I only leave comments when something has struck me in the post. Something close to heart, something that I can relate to, that I feel something for. Perhaps I feel more empathy for the contents and topics of his posts then, I dunno. Oh well. Better I feel something than nothing when I read. And I should stop being so sensitive, it's just an offhand remark, and I'm being silly about it by obsessing so much.

Perhaps I obsess so much about little things now because there is nothing to fill my thoughts. I need to get down and write something for myself. Something that means something to me. Now would be the perfect time.

I guess it's the nature of my job, to be free for extraordinary amounts of time, and then super busy at other periods. I mean, I've had to return to work both days of a weekend once, which was shitty, but now I'm pretty much in a lull until new drafts of the scripts and some more concrete instructions from the producers come in. Which is fine by me.

So I nap. I check my email. I stalk blogs. I write excessive blog comments. I blog way too much. I read the Onion online. I finish reading my History of Islam. I start a new novel. I pester friends via SMS. I plan post-work activities like dinner and movies. I like it. Being paid to do virtually nothing feels good. Plus they don't pay me enough to work so hard anyway.

The 6 a.m. Post

So it's almost 6 a.m., and I've been up since 4.30 or so. I don't really know why, I just kinda rolled over and woke up and thought, "Maybe I should try getting my laptop hooked up to the internet". It turned out to be more of a bitch than I thought, even though I'd finally found the software for it, but a couple of phone calls later to my brother (don't ask me why he was still awake, I have no idea), I seem to have succeeded.

Which is a good thing, since I suspect that my PC only wants to work on Tuesdays. I'm relying more on memory than anything here, but that seems about right, even though it's completely bizarre. Anyone know of a virus that does that?

My homepage is still the NU HereAndNow page. Awww, how sweet.

dir. Jonathan Glazer
stars Nicole Kidman, Cameron Bright, Anne Heche (yep, Ellen's ex)

I still have stuff to say about it though, so I will. In nice little bullet points, so you don't get bored.
  • Nicole Kidman - great.
  • Cinematography - Harris Savides, excellent job. Nice tracking shots and steadicam, reminiscent of his own work in Elephant. It looks very pretty, and I almost wanted to use "stately" as my One Word, but decided it was overused.
  • Editing - Nice and well paced-out. Adheres pretty much to "cut only when necessary" rule, which is awesome. Over-cut movies bother me to no end. This had nice long takes that showcase the talent to their max.
  • Directing - Overall nice and subtle, which I like. At least he's brave enough to just stay on his actors and let them do all the work. Dialogue is minimal, and I'm happy he trusts his audience enough.
  • Pity about the writing. It's as if the writers wrote themselves into a corner; they got an interesting premise, and didn't really really know what to do with it, finally going, "Ah, whatever!" and settling on an abyssmal ending. If the twist in The Sixth Sense made you go, "Oh, fuck me", this'll make you go, "No, fuck you".


Tuesday, November 16, 2004

Obscure Words of the Day

Found these words in Life of Pi a few days back. It's amazing how you can get so old and yet have completely alien words appear before your eyes.

Ineluctable: not to be avoided or escaped; inevitable.

And something way cooler...

Onanism: 1. Masturbation. 2. Coitus interruptus.

And from that, we get onanist, which also means "masturbator".

Masturbator sounds like a machine, which I think is pretty sweet.

I know, this is a pretty lame post. I'm sorry. I can't be cool all the time. Especially not when I'm waiting for my auditionee to get his lines ready so I can put him on tape.

New One-Word Review

Ab-Normal Beauty
stars some girl band that I don't care about


Monday, November 15, 2004

I'm a Murderer

I took my first stab (pun entirely intended) at killing a crab just now. I'd wandered into the kitchen where my aunt was preparing dinner, and she had two crabs crawling around in the sink. Well, technically only one, since she'd killed the other already. She told my cousin to do it, since he was the one who'd wanted crabs for dinner, but he just looked at the creature and didn't seem to want to do it. So I volunteered.

I was told to use a chopstick and force it in through the poor little thing's mouth, in essence impaling it on the stick. My aunt held the crab down, which was facilitated by it being trussed up in knots already, and gave me the okay to go ahead. I tried a couple times but failed, I thought it would just go in smoothly, but obviously you had to use steady strength instead of little knocks on the end of the stick. Well, if someone tried to jam a huge-ass stick in my mouth I wouldn't be in a hurry to cooperate, if you know what I mean. In my opinion, there should be chopsticks which are sharpened on the ends just for this purpose.

Finally I succeeded, and we all watched the little guy thrash around in his death throes. His legs flailed around wildly, and he shat himself. Feeling sorry for him, I twisted the chopstick around more so he'd go quicker, but that didn't seem to do much. After a minute, he was still moving, which was pretty amazing to me. If someone impaled me on the end of a stick I think I'd just go, "Ah, fuck it" and die right away. Maybe they just don't know better, or their desire to live is just so insanely strong.

I went to check my email, and when I returned, he was dead.

Such is life. One minute you're happily tied up in a bucket (well, maybe "happily" isn't exactly the right word), the next you're impaled on a chopstick. Now that's an awesome metaphor.

By the way, he was delicious.

Here and There

I lied. My PC is just completely fucked. It somehow works when my brother is around, but the moment he leaves, it screws up again. I'm at my cousins' now, and loving them for having fucking broadband cable access. I swear, I just wanna grab the whole CPU and toss it downstairs, but considering I live so high up, and given my luck, I'll probably hit a little old lady and brain her, and be tossed into prison and have to endure the neighbors "tsk, tsk"-ing and be a little bitch to the big strong men I meet in there. So I restrain myself, because I know I'm enough of a whore in my everyday work that I don't need to be a literal one.

I spent an entire afternoon yesterday at Orchard Road, prowling (thank you for the inspired word, Jingli) for my 15 year-old boy to replace the actor. No luck. First, where did all the fucking kids go to? I mean, normally when I go there they're all over the damn place, crawling around like little colorful roaches, but they were nowhere to be found yesterday. No big groups, just little stragglers here and there. Also, it didn't help that most of them were nerdy-looking, and not the cool kids I needed. When I did find myself a cool kid, they were almost inevitably Japanese. And/or too shy or not interested.

End of the day tally: Zero.

I finally gave up and went for some movies instead (see previous post). Oh, and bought more shoes. Hot damn.

I hope the modelling agency comes through to me on Tuesday, or I'm gonna be pretty much fucked for Thursday.

Just got off the phone with Nate & Zach a while ago. It was real nice talking to them again, and hear Nate moan about his editing and Zach going about his culinary experiments. I told them about my intended visit in March, and we got all excited and shit. I really hope it goes through, and that my travelling companion can manage to go. We're gonna have a grand old time at good ol' 809 Noyes. Maybe we can even pack in a road trip or a camping trip.

It makes me happy just thinking about it. At least there's something to look forward to in the midst of all this bullshit.

One-Word Movie Reviews

I know everyone's busy. We have no time to do anything that we should actually spend time on. We read news headlines scrolling by on the bottom of our TV screens. We make mashed potatoes from a powdered mix (sacrilege!). We can barely tear ourselves away from our workstations, though god knows what the hell we're doing there.

As such, I am proud to announce a brand-new feature of this blog: One-Word Movie Reviews.

Think about it, an entire movie review distilled into a single word. It's not a star rating, those aren't quite specific enough. After all, what difference is there between a 3-star movie and a 3-1/2-star one? I don't quite know. But a word... so much more meaning lies behind a single word.

Some might say it's impossible to convey a movie in one word. I beg to differ. I think there are occasions on which one word more than suffices. For example, in reviewing Showgirls, #1 suggested "juicy", and I decided to go for "wet". Both are pretty effective, I think, in conveying the sleazefest and amazingness that Verhoeven made.

So, without further ado, I present the inaugural edition of Cinewhore's One-Word Movie Reviews!

dir. Olivier Assayas
stars Maggie Cheung & Nick Nolte

dir. David R. Ellis (who?)
stars Kim Basinger, William H. Macy, & some dude I don't give a shit about



Sunday, November 14, 2004

Bits and Pieces

So if you haven't figured it out yet, my internet connection has come alive once more. Apparently all it needed was a defrag. Hopefully this will continue to work. In the meantime, I'm blogging as much as I can to make up.

I have a confession to make: I'm a terrible bowler. Terrible as in you look at me and you think, "What the fuck is he trying to do?" I have no form, no score, nothing. Trust me, it's not that easy to play three games and get a score of 59, 77 and 60 respectively. It takes a dedication to making every shot not count, to get as little spares and strikes as possible, to continue to be shitty in the face of adversity (i.e., your friends getting strikes and spares all over the place, and someone even scoring a Turkey - 3 strikes in a row). In fact, I think I've only hit 100 points once in my entire 24 years of existence.

I had to admit that bowling was just not my game. Actually, come to think of it, nothing's my game. I simply do not do well at games of any kind, especially those involving hand-eye co-ordination. Soccer, basketball, bowling, badminton, volleyball, hell, even tossing crushed paper into wastebaskets. You name it, I suck at it. Even video games are a no-no for me, I never make it past the first stage of any game. Yes, even Mario.

But hey, at least I can make movies, no?

In other news, I've finished Life of Pi. It's a fun read, if you're into the whole shipwrecked with a tiger thing. Just started Karen Armstrong's Islam: A Short History, which is proving to be a fascinating read. It's really sad how all religions today seem to have been corrupted in some way or other by people in power, for their own benefits. It's probably one of the main reasons why I can't subscribe to any organized religion. Still, it's a remarkable look into Islamic history, and I think it's especially appropriate, it being Ramadan and all. Oh wait, that's over today.

Some movies I wanna see: Ozon's 5 x 2, Cellular, Ab-Normal Beauty (if only because it's Oxide Pang directing), The Incredibles, Clean.

Some things I wanna get soon:
An iBook.
Some nice everyday shoes, possibly from Rockport.
Some cool shirts, possibly those in colors other than white and black, which I have tons of.
Wide-angle and telephoto lenses for my G5.
A pair of slip-on shoes that have holes for my feet to air, maybe something from Adidas or Teva.
The fiery-looking New Balance sneakers that I fell in love with.

Hmm, these will probably cost me a lot of money. I might just have to spread them out. Most important is my iBook, since my pink screen is bothering me a lot.

Ooh, and I still have to get air tickets to Chicago for March. Dammit.

Messages From the Heartlands

So last spring I took a road trip with Nate, Naureen and Katie to New Orleans. We drove there in a little rental car, making stops along the way in places like Memphis, Avery Island and Nashville, among others. Needless to say, it was pretty damn awesome. Even though it was only in March, it feels like a lifetime ago.

I have many fond memories of that trip. Memories like:

Eating the tastiest burger ever - with toppings of blue cheese and caviar - in a little bar in the French Quarter, based on the recommendation of this old biker dude standing around outside.

Getting so filled up with beer, Jim Beam and SoCo (Southern Comfort, for those not in the know) later that I threw up said burger into some Osco party cups by the bed.

Nate nursing his Jim Beam every single day.

The crap that was the Knight's Inn.

The ghetto motel with bars on the windows and a one-way mirror where the receptionist was, which freaked us out so much we peeled away as fast as we could.

Getting lost on the highways around New Orleans.

Sleeping in the park in the French Quarter, feeling the warm sun on our faces and the breeze in our hair, and best of all, the cool grass beneath our backs, all the while thinking, "It must be fucking freezing in Chicago".

Meeting Crotty in Nashville and going out on the town... the karaoke bar where Crotty almost took over another dude's song (hey, the guy was also called Brian) by mistake and which we left after a really short while because it was unbelievably lame.

Naureen getting a speeding ticket in Alabama and lying to her parents about being a victim of identity theft.

Her parents actually believing her incredible story about identity theft.

Good, hearty (and fattening) Southern Food every day of the trip.

The little packs of drinks (Jammers, I believe they were called) we popped all along the way in the car.

The Madness that was Graceland. 'Nuff said. Oh, and Naureen danced to Elvis tunes in the line as we waited, which was pretty funny.

Our trusty styrofoam ice box, the cover of which I promptly broke as soon as I set my arm down on it.

Mad-Libs in the car.

The endless supply of CDs.

The awesomeness that was Avery Island, and actually sticking half my body out the sunroof while shooting the video.

The travel video that was never made. Well, at least I never made it. I hope someone did.

The amazingly cool New Orleans Ghost Tour that Katie and I went on.

The girls along Bourbon Street flashing strangers to get beads in return.

The unspeakable wonder that was the French Quarter, and especially Bourbon Street.

The billboards in the South.


Speaking of which, I wrote down what was on some of these awesome billboards, and I'm listing them here for posterity. With people like these, no wonder the heartlands voted for Bush.

A Nation that Kills Its Children is a Nation Without Hope. Stop Abortion.

You're in Jackpot Territory.

Don't Gamble With Your Life. Choose Abstinence.

Multiplication... God's Plan for You.

I rest my case.

Friday, November 12, 2004

The "Am" Post

Am such an anal-retentive I alphabetized my links.

Am kinda pissed that a kid actor dropped out without warning from the sitcom and now I have to wander the streets and shopping malls of Orchard Road, hoping to find someone off the streets.
Am a little amused at the fact that I'll probably be mistaken for a pedophile if I keep on staring at 15 year-old boys to determine their screen presence, but my job has to be done.
Am surprised at above-mentioned kid actor's lack of professionalism - you do not drop something because the role is too small (our guess), not when you've already come for the rehearsals and costume fittings, but whatever.

Am still annoyed that my internet access at home only worked for one morning and is now back to its default condition of being dead.

Am currently reading Yann Martel's Life of Pi, and kinda enjoying it - nothing amazing, but a good read nonetheless.
Am still hoping it may turn into something Amazing.

Am feeling very happy about the late-night karaoke session on Wednesday night, I really needed that.
Am not so happy about paying double because we were kicked out of the first joint on the pretext of there being not enough room - liars.

Am feeling this is pretty cool, and that I might try to impose such limitations on myself again - it's not that easy to start every sentence with an "am".
Am thinking I might in fact be as cool as von Trier, with his Five Obstructions.

Am looking forward to not doing much at work today because of the long weekend coming up (hooray for ethnic holidays and a multi-racial society) and probably leaving early.

Am especially looking forward to next March, when I have two weeks' leave to clear, and a burning desire to experience the Chicago winter once again.
Am looking for someone to offer to house me and possibly, a travelling companion, for the duration of the trip.
Am thinking that would probably be the easy part.

Am ecstatic and flattered Yasmin Ahmad visited this here blog and even left a comment.
Am also pretty damned pleased that my favorite scene in Sepet turned out to be the filmmaker's favorite too.

Am feeling a little bummed about how I spent the day yesterday, walking around aimlessly all afternoon.
Am not displeased about spending some of it with an old friend over coffee, even though it was in the vicinity of the Winnie the Pooh Live Show, a.k.a. Another Excuse For Parents To Throw Money Away Because Of Their Spoilt Little Kids Who Have Terrible Taste.
Am feeling kinda like an ungrateful bastard because the only reason I was wandering around aimlessly was because I was going crazy from being cooped up in the flat with my parents, and how every conversation was turning into an argument.
Am thinking this is kinda ridiculous because aren't these things only supposed to be happening to teenagers and not working adults?
Am thinking this probably needs to be in another post because it's quite frustrating trying to put everything this involves into sentences starting with "am".

Am stopping this post now because I'm getting a little sick of this "obstruction".

Wednesday, November 10, 2004

Ghost in the Machine

In other news, for some strange unfathomable reason, my internet connection at home has decided to work again. I did nothing to the computer at all since the last time it refused to work. Nothing. I swear, all Windows machines are haunted.

Oh well, I'm not complaining. Yippee-kai-yay, to quote a certain Mr. Jim Joyce.

Nice stretch of holidays coming up. Perhaps I shall be able to see all the movies I want and possibly even start on those DVDs. Perhaps I shall even start getting in touch with everyone in the US by sending out nice long emails. Perhaps. We shall see. After all, I did write a postcard to Brian P. at the Cage the other day, I just haven't sent it out yet.

My favorite 20-going-on-21 year-old just started a blog. After I link it here, which I will get around to doing eventually, I expect y'all to leave many words of love. He may sound angry and pissed off at everything (kinda like me, hmm...) but that's just a by-product of living in good ol' Singapore. He's really a sweet kid at heart. So yeah, send him nice thoughts.

SMS of Horror

Angeline told me this via SMS: "I know the feeling that you wrote about. Scary thing is, you might even get used to it someday."

Or something to that effect. I deleted it in horror soon after and am writing this based on memory.

I really don't wanna get used to it. That can't be right.

Monday, November 08, 2004

Deep Blue Funk

Am terribly groggy today. Maybe the lack of sleep on Friday has finally caught up with me. I was surprised I didn't just pass out in the daytime this whole weekend.

Terrible blue funk. Depression. Blah-ness. Whatever you call it.

No reason. Meaningless. Why?

I don't wanna be here. I don't wanna do anything.

Can I just lie by the pool in the sun and nap?

I don't wanna think, don't wanna do, don't wanna feel. Anything. Nothing at all.


Emptiness. Redundancy. Incoherence. Disgust. Random thoughts spiralling into the abyss that is my soul. No, make that just emptiness. Not even random thoughts exist.

Stream-of-consciousness typing. Free association.

Fish. Curling edges of copier paper. Mountains of papers. Phone numbers. Dead bodies. I don't wanna pick up the phone again. Video tapes. Dreary, life-sucking fluorescent lights. Annoying high-pitched voice laughing. Fucking bitch. Shut up.

Dead. Gone. I wanna see pretty clouds. Pretty things.

Picking at food. No appetite. Zero. I just wanna pass out. Maybe for ever.

It would be nice to get really really sick and not have to get out of bed for a week or two.

Kill me now.


Need water. Fill my brain with stuff. No, fill it with nothing, the nothing-ier the better. Clear my head. Need a brainwash.

Rejection, depression, multiplication. Doesn't make sense? It doesn't to me too.

I just type this shit. I don't think about it.

Thursday, November 04, 2004

How "The Da Vinci Code" Screwed Me Over

I've always tried not to stay back in the office after hours. Firstly, I think it's really sad and pathetic. And secondly, I'm too lazy. However, now I'm being forced to, and it is all a result of my own doing.

See, I needed to rewrite this script. The deadline is tomorrow. I've been doing casting - making calls, auditioning people, etc. during the working day, so theoretically I should've been writing last weekend and at night. Last weekend kinda went by in a flurry of shopping and web-surfing, and the nights thus far have been lazy. Then I started panicking yesterday and resolved to start work last night.

Flashforward to the train ride home last night. I dug out this copy of The Da Vinci Code that my good buddy lent me on Monday when I watched my show at his place. Started reading it on the train. Bad mistake.

I only broke for a shower when I got home, and didn't stop reading till 2am. Goddamn. It's like one of those blockbuster movies that just has cool sequence after cool sequence. I know it's ultimately fluff (albeit pretty cool fluff), but damned if I wasn't hooked.

Snuck peeks at it all day today during smoke breaks, and finally finished it half an hour ago. Now I can start on my rewrite. Right after I finish this, of course.

So yeah, I blame you, kiddo. But it's all cool. Not like I haven't stayed up all night writing before. And really, it's probably my fault, what with my procrastinating habits and all. Heh. So no, I don't really blame you. As if I would... *grin*

Hot damn, I said "kiddo". I'm turning into Cameron.

What the Fuck? Part Deux

In 2003, American moviegoers propelled Kangaroo Jack to the top of the US box office, albeit only for a short while.

In 2004, American voters re-elected George W. Bush to the Presidency.

Anyone else see a pattern here?

Time and time again, the American public has failed both themselves and the rest of the world at large. There was an interview or something on TV a day or two back where someone said that the American Presidency should be voted on by the entire world because no other world leader commands the kind of power the US President wields. If that had happened this time, I have the feeling that Kerry would've won by a landslide.

Still, is there no hope left, no recount, no lawsuits, no nothing? If I had a God, I would be praying that there would be, that this was not the final say, that there can be a miracle. I'm not up with political news or procedures, so I can't really say.

What I can say is this: You stupid, stupid fuckers. Look what you've done.

The only benefit to this is that I can continue to wear my "Fuck Bush" shirt for four more years.

Wednesday, November 03, 2004

What the Fuck?

Seriously, what the fuck is happening? The Republicans are leading??! Have the people of the United States gone completely insane? Jesus fucking Christ.

Let's hope this is only a temporary thing.

My internet connection at home is refusing to work, ever since I changed the homepage from one of the sites designated by whichever spyware my brother has loaded to I've been internet-less at home for an entire day, which explains why I have to blog from work. Am going to go mad over the weekend. Still, it meant that this morning I got to go for a swim instead of staring at the monitor before I left for work, which might possibly be a good thing.

I think my brother has a knack for fucking up our computer. Every time we get a new one, it seems that within no time every single virus ever written and every single bit of spyware in the world gets loaded into it. We get hundreds of pieces of spam a day in that email account, which I think no one uses right now. It's simply a pain to filter out the junk like "Hot Grandmas Waiting For A Fuck" from the legitimate email, which amounts to maybe 2 a day. If I can get by on my laptop for three years without getting a single virus infection, I don't see why he can't.

Seriously, that piece of junk is so pathetic, it takes something like two minutes just to startup. *chugchugchug*. I swear, sometimes I hear metal gears clunking around in the CPU. And it's still on Windows 98. Ugh. That's so... um, 1998.

I wrote yesterday about how my statement for the day had to be changed from "Fuck Bush" to a corporate T-shirt. This morning I had the inspiration to put on a "Happy Pothead" T-shirt that I got from Hash Bash as a means of making my complete statement. So the two shirts add up to: "Working in a Corporation makes me so depressed I want to become a Pothead". I think that's pretty sweet.

Saw an episode of a local sitcom being transferred yesterday which made me very happy, in all the right (or perhaps wrong) ways. The opening titles feature the main characters as cartoon drawings on pieces of board, like standees. When they wanted the standee to wave, the hand would be a separate section that would wave back and forth by itself. I was struck by the bold statement it was making: That the entire sitcom was populated by cardboard characters with as much depth as a standee. Then I realized that it was probably unintentional, which made it all the more beautiful. I giggled happily.

And this morning I happened to catch someone scrolling through a one-hour standalone drama that got my attention. She was trying to find ten seconds of it to pick out for showing at the Asian TV Awards, since it had been nominated for Best Single Drama or something. The images that caught my eye were that of a 13 year-old boy running after a truck that was driving away with the love of his life. Ah, the coming-of-age tale, the genre that always gets me, no matter what. I went into the room, and was saddled with the task of picking out those ten seconds, since I had a "fresh perspective".

The title was Princess Moon. It was great. Even Jack Neo was good in it, and I'll give him credit for that. He may not be able to direct, but he can still act alright. The boy was amazing, this Ho Wen Long kid, drawing out all the right notes. Even this old cynic got a little misty-eyed at the end. Golden. He's now in this show every week, which I heard is decent. I'd watch it, if only for his performances. If you caught Princess Moon on TV (it was a winner at the MDA Scriptwriting Competition, which is why it got made), good for you. If not, I hope it gets released on video. I'm thinking of ripping a copy for myself.

That's enough to put me in a good mood for the rest of the day. Hopefully.

Now, as long as Kerry wins... *fingers crossed*


Tuesday, November 02, 2004

Um, I Take That Back

Yes, you heard me, I'm retracting a statement. Namely, what I said in the title of my last post. I am not wearing my "Fuck Bush" T-shirt today, simply because I don't have it.

I woke up this morning and went to my closet jubilantly, about to dig out that lovely T-shirt and make my political statement of the day. But it wasn't there. Neither was it hanging out to dry, or in my drawers or anywhere I looked. That only left one suspect. I called my brother.

*Ring ring*

*Yawn* What?

Did you take my "Fuck Bush" T-shirt?

I only borrowed it.

"Borrowed" means you asked me for it. I don't remember that. You fucking took it.

Fine, fine, go away, I need to sleep.

Sleep? You little fucker, you took my shirt. How am I supposed to make my political statement now? You could've fucking asked! I'm really sick and tired of this bullshit, it happens all the time!

OK, OK, bye.



Honestly. The nerve of the guy. So now in a pathetic attempt to appear even slightly subversive, I've taken to wearing my corporate T-shirt. I'm not sure exactly what or how subversive it is, but it's an attempt. Maybe I should smear blood on it, or something.

Anyway, I got this on the CRC listserve (yes, I'm still on it. Amazing), and had a nice little chuckle, right before I received this link.

Bush Talks to the Kids
George Bush goes to a primary school to talk about the war. After his talk he offers question time. One little boy puts up his hand and George asks him what his name is.


"And what is your question, Billy?"

"I have 3 questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? And third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden?"

Just then the bell rings for recess. George Bush informs the kiddies that they will continue after recess. When they resume George says, "OK, where were we? Oh that's right - question time. Who has a question?"

Another little boy puts up his hand. George points him out and asks him what his name is.


"And what is your question, Steve?"

"I have 5 questions. First, why did the USA invade Iraq without the support of the UN? Second, why are you President when Al Gore got more votes? Third, whatever happened to Osama Bin Laden? Fourth, why did the recess bell go off 20 minutes early? And fifth, what the fuck happened to Billy?"

Yes, Big Brother is watching. All the fucking time. I have this to say: Go fuck yourself.

Now I'm blogging at work because my home internet connection refuses to work for some reason. There are spies everywhere, especially here. I still say, go fuck yourselves.

And butterfly cookies are tasty. Mmm.

Monday, November 01, 2004

Am I Wearing My "Fuck Bush" T-shirt Tomorrow? Hell, Yeah!

It's November 1st now. My episode is showing tonight. But there are more important things at hand.

I think the title pretty much says it all.

To all my friends in the US, please get out and vote that motherfucker out of the White House tomorrow. For the love of God, Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Krishna, Satan, Whoever Else You Believe In, Or Whoever Else You Don't Believe In. The entire fucking world is counting on you guys to make the right decision. Some responsibility, huh?

If you need help in making your decision, here's where to go.

In other, more serious and close-to-home news... My colleagues who're doing these docudramas/crime reenactment shows have some fodder... Unfortunate incident though (that's an understatement if I ever made one), and I bet some heads are gonna roll over at the Woodlands checkpoint for letting the guy through. Gee, I'm not so sure I feel so safe now about you guys keeping terrorist scum out...

I don't know whether it's good that Singapore is so small or not. Because of our small size, every little piece of news is inevitably blown out of proportion, and I never fail to shake my head with amazement at "Tree Falls Over" being in the headlines. In this case it was probably a good thing though, since news got out and people started helping to search.

I can't help but think of the coupons that used to come in the mail when I was still in the US, those with the kids' pictures on one side and a coupon for discount meat on the other. Is that all that's left of them? A picture on a coupon, on a milk carton, on the internet? Reduced to mere statistics showing height, weight, age, hair color? How do people who know them get on with their lives, not knowing what happened? Even if they knew these kids were dead, at least there'd be closure. Gut-wrenching closure, to be sure, but closure nonetheless. But this... what the fuck is this? A picture printed on a coupon every year or so? How the fuck are they supposed to get on with their lives?

There's a screenplay in here somewhere, waiting to be written.

Unless someone's written it already. If any of you think of anything like this that's been done, let me know so I can kill my inspiration right here, right now.

Heading out to watch my episode in a bit at a buddy's place. Like I said, it's just gonna be too awkward to watch it with my parents, hence I'm removing myself from the equation.