Fish Wrangling

My first fishing trip was quite enjoyable.

After we reached Pulau Ubin, CK and I rented bicycles at a small village. I had not cycled in years but somehow I managed to keep myself from falling to my death. Incredible.

We cycled to our first fishing spot – a river bank besides a shop selling refreshment. There, CK had me prepare the chum while he did the fishing lines. I had a difficult time keeping the proprietor’s dogs away from our chum. They should be chasing cats instead of stealing our prawns.

First fishing spot - harassed by dogs.

CK gave me a short lesson on casting the fishing line. My first cast didn’t go far. My second entangled in the branches. While I was struggling with the fishing rod, CK caught his first fish. Then another. We were about to leave when my line caught. I pulled it in and saw my first fish. No bigger than my hand, it was flipping at the end of my line . Success! My very first catch! Like a master angler, I proudly held up the small fish to let myself be photographed.

Our next stop was a bridge farther up. At first I didn’t catch any fish. My lines were stuck in the seabed a few times and CK had to break the line for me. I lost quite a bit of chum. CK didn’t manage much catch. He decided to try his luck on the other side of the bridge. I followed him.

Second fishing spot - my fishing line.

Somewhere deep below are my hooks, lines and sinkers

The fish were biting and we had a few catches in quick succession. My second catch came seconds after I cast out my line. More followed. There seemed to be a lot of catfish in the water; we pulled quite a few in. I nearly got the catch of the day when a massive catfish bit my line. I fought to pull it in – my pole bent dangerously – but in the excitement the catfish flung itself free. We were both amazed at my luck. It was a pity we could not land it. It would be great for the cameras.

I believe you can get this at your friendly fishmonger.

Not to be outdone, CK caught a fish that had just swallowed a tiny crab. The crab popped out while he removed the hook from the fish. It looked dead; we left it on the bridge to bake in the sun.

Cats like me. Catfish too.

Out of the fish came a crab

Things turned a bit bloody a short time later. The hook had completely embedded itself inside the pufferfish I pulled in. The fish flipped about, causing droplets of blood to splatter on the ground. Seeing no other way to remove the hook, CK cut the line and tossed the fish back into the water. I asked my friend how the fish would survive with a barbed hook in its mouth. CK shrugged.

This pufferfish got a real mouthful.

Bleeding like it's nobody's business.

As the hours passed, my skill at fishing improved. I learned how to cast my line farther, and could operate the fishing rod better. CK gave me more pointers. He taught me to observe the terrain so that I could choose a good fishing spot. The last catch of the day was spectacular to behold. Imagine my amazement when I pulled up a crab! A broken line had tangled with the crab’s legs and my line caught it. The fellow tried to scuttle away but it would go nowhere until I had snapped a few shots of it. For a beginner, I certainly did some unusual things. CK called me a terrorist; he was not far off the mark.

This crab looks pissed. I understand how it feels.

It even sulks like a tortoise.

On our way back Chicken showed me the spot where he picked his durian the day before. We parked our bikes before the forest path and walked into the undergrowth, hoping to get lucky. We did. I found a durian at the foot of a durian tree. (We later got an islander to open it for us – it was delicious.) There were several durian trees in that part of the forest. A hiker could get lucky or unlucky, depending on the circumstances.

Spot the durians contest.

If you still can't spot any, get an eyesight check.

We enjoyed a delicious dinner near the pier before returning to the main land. CK observed that the island is unique in its rustic charm. It is a place children can have a real childhood. Swimming, running, catching small animals and cycling are definitely better than spending endless hours on online games. He added that children will grow up healthier and I agree with him. The lifestyle of the islanders is much slower. In Pulau Ubin, the rat race do not exist. The heartless capitalism and mercenary attitudes that are prevalent on mainland Singapore have not yet gained a solid foothold and I hope it never would. I wish the regime will leave this scenic patch untouched. We have more than enough shopping malls; we do not need another Integrated Resort and we certainly do not need manufactured hospitality to replace genuine kampong spirit.

What a way to show appreciation. I like his style!

We will be back another day. More fish wrangling.

Evening time. So romantic....

The only bad thing about the beach is the view of the main land.

Cats & Tortoises

These darlings are so adorable...

Black and proud of it.

Black cats are so special, don't you think?

This cat can do more than touch its toes...

Sun lover.

This cat has had enough of the Straits Times. BORING!

Mini rock leopard.

Cats are great thinkers - buzz off Kant!

This tortoise ponders the meaning of life - there is none.

A second opinion. Nope. Life is still meaningless.

Thank You for Whoring (A Boxing Day Edition)

I met Chicken at Vivo City for the Xmas countdown. While waiting for him to finish his phone conversation with his Chinese girlfriend I walked around in the shopping mall. There were many people but the festive atmosphere felt manufactured. There seemed to be something wrong in the air. I couldn’t place a finger on it. I was glad when Chicken finally arrived. Vivo City was making me increasingly suicidal.

We decided to drive to Orchard Road to look at the bright lights but it was a bad choice. The roads were jammed and the fuzz had to be deployed to ease the traffic. While we were stuck in the jam, Chicken and I talked. He said he went to his wife’s place to give his son the Xmas gift he bought for him but they weren’t at home. Then his wife messaged him, saying their son was sick and the father had gone missing. It was quite depressing.

We drove to some back road near SMU. Chicken told me he used to go for supper with his yoga instructor (later girlfriend) after the lesson ended. He brought me to a coffee shop nearby and the food was great. There were a lot of people, mostly foreigners. I saw quite a few dollies. Chicken told me that many of these worked the KTV lounges and pubs in the vicinity. Sex and great food complement each other.

After we finished our food, I called Hoo and asked him if he enjoyed his Xmas party. He didn’t say much but from his tone he sounded quite frustrated. I don’t see why a xtian bloke - a particularly desperate one at that - could fail to find himself a girlfriend in his church. Chicken and I felt that it should be quite easy to score in that kind of environment. We told him to meet us at Geylang (GL), much to Hoo’s delight.

The three of us met at the fish tanks and began a leisurely stroll towards Darlene hotel, which can be considered the ‘Central Business District (CBD) of GL. The sights that greeted us were a hundredfold more interesting than what we got in the city area. The fuzz walked alongside disreputable characters and cheap foreign laborers from India and Bangladesh. Ladies of the night smiled at us coyly, their handlers openly extolling the virtues of their merchandise. Voyeurs and men in desperate need of young nubile bodies prowled the streets. The coffee shops were busy, their seating filled to capacity. Noises of traffic, dulcet whispers promising pleasure and the bantering in a dozen tongues filled the air. GL never sleeps.

We walked outside the main thoroughfares, much to the chagrin of our xtian friend. Chicken and I told him to relax. He would get his sightseeing soon. Returning to the main streets, we passed a stretch occupied by Indonesian professionals. They charge S$70 – 75 for their services. We were not interested.

Walking farther, we came to China Street. The three of us leaned against the railings and enjoyed the view of the side street. Most of the merchandise on parade was quite enticing. Their shapely figures were captivating, their smiles and sales script of “lai ma…yao ma?” identical, as were their price of S$100. Hoo started to babble about nothing in particular. Chicken and I ignored him.

The area before Darlene hotel was both the CBD and Tiananmen. A bevy of Chinese beauties stood in rows. Occasionally a bloke would make his purchase. The transaction would take place in a room in one of the hotels nearby. The professionals’ handlers sat or stood as they pleased – and looked out for trouble. Chicken commented for the umpteen time about the quality of our women compared to these Chinese ladies. I had to agree. He said that Chinese women are aesthetically more pleasing because in China the weather is cold (apparently this is better for the skin) and they eat natural fruits and less meat and processed foods. He visited his girlfriend in Shanghai and the food they had were a lot fresher compared to the slop we have in Singapore.

We sat down for a break behind Darlene hotel and continued to ogle the merchandise. There was a buxom and bespectacled Chinese professional seated next to me. She reminded me of a teacher. I smiled to myself. Maybe she teaches by day and earns extra income after classes. To think I am considering pursuing a teaching career. Maybe we will be colleagues one day.

Hoo could take it no more and we directed him to the fish tanks. He was still infatuated with the ‘No. 178’ he had on Saturday. After he went in, Chicken and I took a leisurely walk back to the CBD. We visually inspected the merchandise and discussed the merits of the various rental goods. We were accosted by a couple of the professionals. We politely declined and continued our ogling.

We even bought drinks from the ice cream man besides the Darlene hotel. The old bloke looked quite tired – I thought he had the best job in the world. We moved to the back of the hotel and chilled out. The ‘teacher’ was not around; she was probably giving private tuition. Chicken and I shot the shit and carried on our inspection. There were cars driving past slowly. Most of the drivers and their passengers were either voyeurs or jerks out to make fun of the professionals. They should be more respectful. Their mothers/daughters/wives/girlfriends/sisters could join the industry one day.

To our surprise Hoo joined us not long after we sat down. I had thought he might end up paying an additional $50 for the time extension – it happened to him on Saturday. Anyway, we retraced our steps and my xtian friend said he would never visit such places again. He claimed it is a waste of money and he pitied the girl. (That obviously didn’t deter him from exploiting her however – how very xtian.) Hoo said the same thing after his ang-pow performance on Saturday and I believe he would be back,

You don’t need to be a Dawkins or Hitchens to deconvert a xtian. Just bring him to GL. Rather GL than the church I say!

We retraced our steps and enjoyed our last round of sightseeing. Down the dark alleys we went, the professionals from India, Vietnam, Indonesia and Thailand and their handlers seemed to bid us goodbye. The fuzz were walking around but not arresting anybody. They were keeping the peace very well and I hope they can keep up the good work. In spite of the economic downturn, GL industries continue to maintain profitability. When loyal customers come to get laid despite being laid off, you know that the business model GL operates upon is one of effective customer relationship management (CRM). I believe that GL should be used as a case study in all Business classes. Universities and polytechnics should organize a learning tour for their Business students so that they can relate theory to actual application.



(P.S: Gab just asked me about GL. We discussed about business concepts relevant to managing this industry. It is a pity my university course does not require me to write a thesis. If I were to do one on GL, I would definitely score a distinction. Maybe I will do it, just for fun.)

Disability Claim

I found this article 'Ambidextrous People' are Brain-Damaged.

Can I file a disability claim?

Hydrant Day

Some days you are the mutt, some days you are the hydrant.

I went to SP earlier for a temporary job assignment. Unfortunately, it turned out to be a case of mistaken identity.

I told the counter staff that I received a call from them last week. I was told to come for a temporary assignment from 2 to 5 today and another one on the 23rd. However, she claimed that she called me yesterday to inform me that the date has been changed to this Friday.

I was certain that I didn’t receive any calls and I explained this to her. However, she still insisted I had acknowledged the change in date. I checked my phone’s call log and found no received/missed calls from them. I explained my case to the staff and she checked through her files.

To my surprise, she asked me for my student card.

“Student card?’, I asked.

‘Yes, are you a student here?’

‘Was’, I replied. ‘About eight years ago.’

Taken aback, she asked me if I was there for an interview. I told her yes. The she said if I was applying for a job position, to which I nodded.

She flipped through a ring-binded folder on her desk and asked me if I was here for some CPI course.

‘CPI?’

‘Yes, a part-time course. Only for students.’ She asked me if I applied for a job online. I said yes, but I couldn’t remember if I had actually applied for a position in SP. I asked her to check again.

She asked me for my name and I told her. She flipped to a page in her folder. I told her that it was not my name on the page and told her my name again. I also noticed the phone number besides the name was nearly identical to mine.

I figured out what was going on and I explained the situation to the poor clerk. Her colleague dialed the wrong number and got mine instead. Even so, this misunderstanding would not have had occurred if the bloke she was trying to reach didn’t have a name that sounded similar to mine. “Soh Wee Hiang” does sound like ‘Liu Weixian’. I had picked up her call when I was walking along a busy road and the traffic meant that I could not make out the pronunciation very clearly. This was possibly compounded by her mispronunciation of my name (people get my Chinese name wrong half of the time.) Eager for a job, I had agreed, remembered the date and somehow forgot to clarify the details. One thing led to another and I wasted my time as a result.

The clerk and I had a little laugh over it. I looked at the bloke’s number and every digit is exactly the same, save for the fifth one (Contrast XXXX9512 to XXXX3512). The coincidence was uncanny and before I left I asked the clerk about the course the bloke is taking.

‘Triple E’, came the reply. Damn! He is even in engineering as well!

In the end I returned home empty-handed. I went to the betting outlet and bought $2 Big on 3512 and the first four digits of our number for this Wednesday’s draw. I have a sneaking feeling I’ll hit something.

I need to do something about my name. Weixian is not exactly a very good name, considering that people tend to mispronounce it. I have been called, ‘Weixiang’, ‘Wee Xian’, ‘Wee Xiang’, ‘Wenxian’, ‘Wenxiang’ and other strange and funny names. I am sick of it.

From now on I should stop using my Chinese name. I shall get everybody to call me Cayden. The Lass got me this name half a year ago but I have very rarely used it. It is easily pronounced: KAY DEN. I don’t think anybody will mispronounce it but you never know. I am so frustrated I’m just going to give it a shot.

KAY DEN. Repeat. KAY DEN.

AMBIguity

I had a round of football yesterday night. To my surprise I didn’t do too badly. I have just recovered from the flu and should have been struggling for fitness. I still played at a quick pace for two hours straight. My movement was good and my shooting technically excellent. I regained my technique for striking the ball powerfully. And my left peg was not too bad either. If I keep my fitness up, I might join Xinyao for the marathon next year.

Now that I am done with the self-congratulation, I shall move on to my topic today.

Ambidexterity is the ability to use either hand – and to some extent the foot – equally well. The ancient Greek warriors believed that the perfect fighter must be able to use either side of his body with equal ease. It was not unheard of for a Chinese pugilist to wield twin blades in battle. Many modern sports stress the need to be proficient bi-laterally. Modern boxers, especially Ultimate Fighting Championship (UFC) exponents train their weaker side exclusively in order to become a more complete competitor. In football, players are now expected to be able to strike the ball with either foot. Sport scientists emphasize the danger of over-reliance on a favored side, as this can lead to injuries.

I have been trying to attain ambidexterity. It may come across as a waste of time and effort, as I am not a professional sportsman. However, my life experiences have imparted me with an understanding of the importance of over-reliance on any thing, in this case my right or left hand.

Being brain damaged made my life in poly a living hell. I was an engineering student and an abject failure. The lab work caused me endless difficulties. I could hardly remember how each component fitted into the overall system. Understanding a schematic diagram and tracing lines to find out faults gave me headaches. What my peers did in five minutes, I needed half an hour and by the end of it I could not guarantee success. To say I had learning difficulties was an understatement. Pattern and spatial recognition, solids manipulation, and algebra simply denied me understanding. Yet when I did sports, I suffered from no spatial problems. It could be that I was simply more talented when it came to sports. I was not quite sure and in the years to come I would have my answer.

During my army days I was lambasted by my sergeants for not being able to ’hit an elephant from five yards’. I am cursed with cross-laterality. I am left eyed but right-handed. I could hardly put my dominant eye to the sight when the butt on my rifle is set against my right shoulder. I could either switch to a left-handed stance (a danger, considering I was drilled to fire the weapon right-handed) or wear a patch over my left eye and use my right one to aim (which means the loss of depth recognition and the ‘shifting away’ of the target). Needless to say, I hated the range. I wished my instructors were more competent, but then again, this is our army we are talking about.

My misery continued well into my working life. Four years into engineering, I still didn’t know how to do my wire-locking. My hands-on was reasonably okay, but I could never remember if I had to twist the wire clockwise or anti-clockwise. I should have been expert at doing something so basic but even this eluded me. I could never figure where each panel or part fitted into the damn machine and my work life was an absolute nightmare. My pattern recognition and memory processes were very poor indeed. I made many mistakes; a few of which cost me dearly. I was hardly in full control of myself. Having to drag myself to a job I hated was one thing, being utterly confused on the job was quite another.

I do not have a driving license. Procrastination aside, I do not trust myself to drive on the road. In this cuntry, the steering wheel is on the right side of the vehicle and I will find it hard to use my right eye to check on what is behind me. Besides, I sometimes get confused over left and right. Imagine stepping on the accelerator instead of the brake. I might kill somebody.

Being a contact sports enthusiast, I have had my share of injuries. Once I injured my right arm while playing in goal and could not use it properly for two weeks. Thankfully, I was able to do most tasks using my uninjured hand. I cannot imagine how much worse I would fare if I were like most people. I remember an ex-colleague complaining that she suffered strain from playing too much tennis. Her doctor advised her to use her off hand but she lacked the confidence to do so. She didn’t want to use the mouse left-handed because she feared she would make mistakes in her reports. I was trying my best not to snigger. It was quite evil of me, but I was in her shoes once and I earned the right to gloat.

While I can use my off hand well, I regret the fact that I am not truly ambidextrous. Besides his mirror writing, Leonardo Da Vinci was also known for his contribution to math, science and art. He was a bona fide genius and I believe his incredible creativity and intelligence could be attributed to his ambidexterity. If you can utilize both the right and left brains efficiently then it follows that you enjoy greater mental capabilities. Is it not possible that such well-rounded efficiency can unlock the brain’s hidden potential? According to medical science, we are only using 15 to 20 percent of our brains. Is it possible we have limited our potential by over relying on the dominant side, leading to atrophy of the other? If this is true, then it might be likely that this imbalance leads to further deterioration of our mental powers. Meditation is believed to increase mental awareness. Will combining meditation with ambidexterity training lead to superior intelligence?

On the flip side, ambidexterity training may cause more harm than good. When I first started to write with my left hand I felt nauseous and had to force myself to continue. As I did more things left-handed I found myself slightly more confused in my daily life. My directional sense suffered and I had to concentrate to keep my focus. Of course, this could be due to my low self-esteem, which was exacerbated by the abuse I suffered in the army. After all, footballers train to play the ball with either foot and they do not suffer from any apparent side-effects. Another possibility could be that I was brain damaged. I nearly died of illness when I was barely more than a baby. I can still remember the fevers that would not go down, and the desperate attempts of the medical staff to save my life by dunking me in a tub of icy water. Water was all around me, I could not breathe, I was hot and cold at the same time and every now and then they added more ice into my little tub. Years later I overheard my relatives saying I was brain damaged. They might be right. Until today, in spite of my best efforts the skill of swimming eludes me still. I go crazy once in a while and unlike most people I do not fear death at all. I feared many other things of course, but true fear of death does not take the stage. I suspect some parts of my brain are damaged and other parts have strengthened themselves to compensate for the deficiency.

I suspect I have always been left-handed. I could have been ‘changed’ when I was too young to have remembered it. My left hand has always been the stronger, although my right hand is more skilled from years of using it. Unlike most of the people who have undergone such changes, I retain my natural instincts. When I was a kid I always hopped on my left leg during ‘one leg’ games. I throw a better side kick on my left leg. Otherwise, my right leg has been dominant, although I am reasonably competent with either foot. I am comfortable using the chopsticks with either hand. I block better with my left arm and punch better right-handed (I suppose this is the norm for those who have been trained to fight right-handed.) I can write with either hand, although my right hand is faster. Same goes for shooting a firearm; I suffer no penalties in terms of speed. However, I can never use a weapon that demands I look through a sight that is attached to the right side of the casing and/or one that ejects spent cartridges to my right and back (I need a deflector to protect my face). Other laterally negligible tasks include combing my hair, brushing my teeth and other minor tasks. Lastly, I can only swing a baseball bat or badminton racket with my right hand. I am not perfect. Not yet.

A person who is ambilateral demonstrates a mixed hand preference. Some tasks he does with his left, others with his right. In my case this causes confusion. Being brain damaged I frequently experience difficulties deciding which hand to use and as mentioned previously, my directional sense is terrible. My damaged grey matter might have resulted in my speech impairment (I am not as fluent when it comes to oral communication and this is compounded by my stammering) and periods of concentration lapses. While some people are naturally ambilateral, my condition is involuntary. I have never learned to cope fully with my disability. Trying to use merely one side so that my brain does not get confused is impossible in practice. The tendency to use my off-side is simply too strong or impractical to ignore. I go through periods when both sides wax and wane in capability, sometimes independent of each other. For example, I could have a fantastic vocabulary on Monday and come Tuesday, have the linguistic ability of a Neanderthal. There seems to be a lot of frequent biochemical readjustment inside my head. This condition does not follow any predictable cycle and it seems random, like throwing a pair of dice. Everything is in flux and I could be making a subconscious effort on making the chaos into a linear and logical form. The consolation is that I am not suffering from bipolar disorder, psychosis, or some other mental aliment. I am just prone to non compos mentis. I cling to rationality because I cannot allow chaos to win.

This is no telling what would happen as I age. I can neither be purely ‘single-handed’, nor is the continuing ambilaterality a viable long term option. This is hope that I will beat this. I have learned more in this year than I had for most of my existence. I have become much more comfortable with meeting new people. (My social skills are still shite however.) For someone who learned English mostly on his own, I am suddenly making very fast progress in my diction. The standard is still far from acceptable but the learning curve is steep where it was previously gradual. I can remember information a lot better now – a great asset when it comes to preparing for my examinations. I can now think more critically and I have gained new insights into things. I have better spatial awareness and motor recognition when I practise my martial arts tao lu. I even realized the mistakes I have always made when I played football. While I still have periods of irrationality, the lucid periods that come, although brief, are crystal clear. They have always left me with a sense of loss once they have passed, as if I had some cosmic truth or insight within my grasp and when I open my hand it is gone like the morning dew. I remember very little, and I quickly forget even what I remember.

I am not an optimist by nature, but I feel I am on to something here. The Buddhists believe in sudden and gradual enlightenment. Perhaps what I am going through is sudden enlightenment, albeit in no sense religious. I am becoming, for what purpose and to what state I know not. The pursuit of true ambidexterity must continue. I know it is possible. Left and right are but discriminations and labels. I had a senior who is left-handed and wielded the blade brilliantly with his right hand. Your inherent handedness is of no consequence when you pick up a new skill. A person who learns to sew left-handed will be left-handed when he sews. The concept of lateral dominance is a delusion. Exorcising the ghosts of discrimination is the prerequisite of attaining perfection. It can be done. Has my senior not demonstrated with his bladework? The higher my mastery of ambidexterity the less confused I will be. The problems I faced when I first started were but growing pains. The war between the left and right must end in reconciliation. It must, if I am to be confused no more and release whatever is within me. I am becoming. As I write this, my mouse is on the left of my keyboard. I use it easily. If I switch the mouse over to my right and configure its buttons I use it perfectly as well. Perhaps I can split my brains and do different tasks simultaneously without losing efficiency. Nobody has been known to attain such perfection. It is highly improbable I can achieve that, but if improving my ambidexterity can unite my fragmented consciousness then I would be free, free to evolve, free to become. Maybe it will be futile in the end, but nobody ever becomes without struggle.

Wait. What if I am wrong? What if there my pursuit does not merge my shattered consciousness? What if the insights I have been having are merely delusions? The more I write the more I feel things do not make sense. There are some variables I am unaware of, some components that are simply wrong. The logic is all wrong. Could it still be right if it seems illogical? What about intuition? Does intuition take precedence over logic, or should logic come first? Are they irrelevant? Things are thus. And they will remain thus in spite of the presence or absence of conscious feelings and thoughts? Ambidexterity – what does it really do? Nobody knows for sure. Should I persist? Yes. No. I think I should. I don’t know why, but I should. Is my ambilaterality a symptom of a greater condition which is unbeknownst to even myself, or did the overall equation resulted from other smaller symptoms and causes? Neither? Both? Do I care? Am I supposed to?

End of Season

Amazing. Somehow I managed to pull off yet another escape act.

I am absolutely delighted with the results. They are a shade poorer than last season's but being devoid of talent, I have no right to complain. It's been a long and exhausting season and to survive relegation was incredible. There were some very trying times. Working with a pair of imbeciles for my Marketing group assignment nearly did me in. The Project Management racket rocked my resolve. There were times I wanted to pack it in. I felt I didn't have the rub of the green. My season could have ended before the half-way point. I didn't know what I was doing and most of the time my approach play was negative and horribly unimaginative. I was running on my last legs and only stubborn pluck kept me in it.

I have been contemplating my future lately but it seems I'll be hanging around for the next season. With the resources I have it's going to get increasingly difficult. I hope to find a benefactor. However, given the turbulent economy and my limited qualities, that looks an unlikely situation. I'll just have to take one game at a time. The games will come in thick and fast and my paper thin resources will be stretched even further. I'll be struggling to even keep my head above water. Going for honours is an impossible prospect. Surviving the drop will remain the top priority. When you are as mediocre as I am and everybody is above you, you have to ride on luck and take points wherever you can.

I still don't know what I want. I don't know if staying on is the right choice. I am staying because I stayed up this season. To quit now would mean a loss of a year of hard work and hard-earned dough. I am not even sure if I have the aptitude to do well in business. I think I'm doing it because I need a degree to get myself out of this fucking cuntry. Escalation of commitment may yet be the death of me, but will desperation prove my salvation?

No Justice

No. Bluekipper didn't put my comments up. Maybe it was because I am a Singaporean, and therefore a 'bloody foreigner'.

It's not like I wanted to be here. Damn.


The Blues played their best game of the season, but sadly, it wasn't enough to avert another heartbreaking home defeat.

The Blues dominated the whole 93 minutes. The lads had a header cleared off the line, Brad Friedel made some superlative saves, including that save of the season when he somehow diverted Fellaini's point blank header onto the bar. It was all Everton as we threw everything at Villa and if we had any luck the game would have been put out of reach before half time.

Villa, on the other hand, scored from the three real chances they had. Everton played some sublime football, but were punished for three rare lapses. Sidwell was allowed plenty of space to fire a screamer from outside the box before the first minute has passed. Young scored after he latched on to a horrible back pass from Jags. The third was the worst. One of our players lost his eyes on the ball in midfield, Villa broke forward and Young bamboozled our defence to fire pass Howard. To concede like this in the final minute of extra time, and thirty seconds after we pulled ourselves level was unbearable. To play so well and lose in such circumstances: truly gut wrenching.

In short, all three goals could have been prevented. Only Lescott was anywhere near Sidwell when he scored Villa's first. Jags had to play that terrible ball back to his keeper because he could not find a teammate in midfield to pass it to. Again, the third came through the middle. Villa pried us open down the centre with as much ease as a knife through butter.

The lack of communication between Howard and his defenders contributed to the defensive errors. However, the main finger has to be pointed to a questionable team selection. We had five midfielders: Cahill, Fellaini, Peanuts, Arteta and Osman, and they are all attack-minded players. The defence was on their own, and with Lescott foraying forward you could sense that Everton was always susceptible to the quick counter. Castillo could have provided his back line much needed protection but as usual, he didn't get a look-in.

Lescott scored two fantastic goals for us but Fellaini was our best player last night. He won everything in the air, was a menace to the Villa defence and his commitment could not be faulted. He has received a lot of undeserved flak since his arrival from Standard Liege and he proved his idiotic detractors wrong in the best manner possible. His performance highlighted how much better Everton can play if they keep the ball on the ground. As the late Brian Clough once famously said, 'If God had intended for us to play football in the clouds he wouldn't have put grass on the ground.' Indeed, why play like Vinnie Jones' Wimbledon when we got good ball players like Arteta, Fellaini and Peanuts?

We are up against the nouveau riche of Manchester in our next game. It's an away so we should be able to get the three points. If we play against them like we did against Villa, Robinho and his pretenders haven't a prayer and I hope Moyes will be positive again. We must win at Manchester because we got Chelski at home after that. A side that has won away eleven times straight is not to be underestimated.

Nothing for the time being, save to mourn.

My Club My Love

This is what I just wrote to Bluekipper. I don’t know if they will put it on the site though.


We take on the Villans at Goodison in a game that could make or break our European aspirations.

According to fan sites and the media, injuries to Saha and the Yak have left Anichebe the only ‘recognizable’ striker available to Moyes. Moyes himself is saying he’s ‘looking at everybody’ come the January transfer window. Owen, Nugent and Larsson have been linked to the club, although the answer to the striking crisis may be found closer to home.

Much has been said about Everton’s youth academy but the real talking starts on the pitch. Jose Baxter played in the first two games of the season; since then he has not gotten the nod. Moyes is a manager who keeps faith in his players, but if the Yak, who found the net only once in eleven games prior to his injury, had been a regular starter, I don’t see why Baxtor should not get a chance. What is the point having youth development programmes when you don’t let your youngsters play?

The Yak’s unavailability could be a blessing in disguise. He was slow and lacked commitment. It was nauseating to watch him play. Like the Yak, Anichebe is a physical type of player but he always chases lost causes and is a handful in the box. For a young player Baxtor has certainly impressed with his movement. The two would make a good partnership.

The 4-5-1 formation Moyes deploys is hardly a positive one. Instead of packing the midfield and wait for the opponent to make a mistake, why not play 4-4-2 and attack them straight from the start? Moyes should play Arteta and Peanuts on the flanks, with Fellaini and Castillo in the middle of the park. Why Castillo is not playing is anybody’s guess. Since his arrival, he’s been mostly frozen out. If Moyes does not want to play him, why bother to buy him? We badly need a terrier-like player like Carsley snapping at heels, winning balls and protecting the back four. Cars may have hung up his boots but we have Castillo now and it’s high time he starts.

Cahill and Rodwell should be on the bench. The former is simply not at his sharpest at the moment. If we lead against Villa with 15 minutes to go, Rodwell can come on and buffer some of the Villa onslaught.

Lescott is hardly the solid defender he was last season and should be dropped. His performances have been inconsistent lately and Baines is a better choice at left-back. Neville should take the right hand slot, with Yobo and Jags occupying the center.

A goalkeeper is only as good as the defenders in front of him. Howard has been impressive lately but the team cannot keep counting on him to perform miracles every time. The back four must be firm and a lot will depend on how expertly the normally reliable Jags marshals his defence.

Everton’s abysmal home record could be due largely to the Blues’ unadventurous attacking play. One cannot shake off the feeling that the team only attacks more when they are chasing a goal. It’s up to Moyes to be more ambitious. We are at home so attack! It’s easier to score when it is goalless than when we fall behind and the other side parks the bus in front of the goal.

Attack is the best way to obviate the attacking threat Villa poses. Young and Agbonlahor are very fast and if we sit back Jags and Company could be in for a long afternoon. Villa are a very good side but one suspects they play better against the Big Four. If Boro played them off the park it is surely not beyond the Blues to replicate the performance, if not the result.

To do that the boys must play the ball on the ground. All that long balls out of defence are not helping our cause. Yobo has been poor with his distribution; it’s time he shows his class. Arteta can hopefully deliver some quality crosses in for once. Everton have only been impressive in that second half against ManUre and the last 15 minutes against the Hammers. The Goodison faithful are dying for a real performance and Everton must deliver, starting with Villa.



Great site! Keep up the good work mates!


Nil Satis Nisi Optimum!
Liu Weixian

Stupid Media

I have been down with the flu for the past few days. While my fever had subsided, I continue to be wracked by coughing and runny nose. This is the fourth time I have been sick during the last three months. My allergy to this country grows stronger with time. At the rate I’m going I should be dead soon.

The terrorist attack in Mumbai and the Singaporean who died in the massacre make the news still. I cannot see what the fuss is all about. A group of terrorists charged into a building, had a stand-off with the authorities and in the process, contrived to get themselves and 200 people killed. And in the aftermath, opposition parties and the public in India blame the government, who in turn points the finger at the Pakistan regime, who denies all involvement in the terrorist attacks. The blame game is like a musical chair that goes on and on –

And so has been the reporting about the Singaporean who got put in the dead book. For days now, our overpaid and unimaginative media has been going ad nauseam about her. A Singaporean got killed in a terrorist attack. So? Plenty of people had died in terrorist attacks. She was a lawyer as well, you say. Big deal! There are plenty of lawyers to go around; one less makes little difference. However, make that a well-connected lawyer who was related to so-and-so, whom in turn holds some position in the regime, then suddenly the whole equation changes.

I present to you our first martyr since Lim Bo Seng.

Why does the media have to turn this into a bloody circus? She’s dead people! She was connected directly/indirectly to people in high places when she was alive. Now that she’s dead, it avails her not. Just let her rest in peace. Leave the bereaved family alone and if anyone wants to mourn her passing, go to her funeral and be done with it! Why are so many people feeling sad for her when they didn’t even know her? Miliions of people die everyday. You don’t see these sensitive people feeling depressed over their demise. 200 people got wasted in the same terrorist attacks and are they feeling sorry for them? People die in Singapore every hour and they don’t see fit to go into a moaning session. A Singaporean woman died in a terrorist attack and they suddenly go all ‘emo’ about it. Why don’t these hypocritical whoresons drown themselves in the damn Singapore river?!

Did Opposition leader JBJ, who died earlier this year, get the due respect he deserved for sacrificing himself for this soulless country and its equally soulless people? Hell no! His passing was succinctly reported by the lackeys in our media but here we have, a dead lawyer, who was obscure prior to her demise, and elevated to celebrity status after her death. They might as well give her a state funeral, and have our flag lowered to half mast. Better still, declare her death anniversary a public holiday. That ought to make everybody happy.

Maybe it’s the nature of her death that fascinates people. It’s rare enough for a Singaporean to die in a terrorist attack. And it’s rarer still that in this case, a well-connected one bought the farm. If she were just an ordinary Singaporean, would her death have merited that much attention? In principle, probably not. In practicality, yes. From brazen hussies from China spreading their legs to a Singaporean citizenship to the recent financial meltdown, there are only so much a journalist (read: lackey) can write about. Singapore is so boring that a tree that falls and blocks traffic on PIE warrants a page or two in the papers. To these vultures, the Mumbai attack that came with a dead Singaporean – albeit an “important” one – must have been a godsend. Perhaps these bastards wouldn’t mind a few more. Even if the deceased had been an ordinary Singaporean, they would still make him or her a martyr. It’s all about filling the newspaper pages with rubbish. Rubbish equals overpaid salaries and fat bonuses.

Do I care about my dead countrywoman? Honestly, I don’t give a shit. She was nobody to me when she was alive and she is nobody to me now. I rate lawyers as I would a priest, which is just barely above parasites and green slime. I am not going to cry, moan, weep, shed tears, gloat or ejaculate over her misfortunes. I just don’t care.