The Blues look to sign Senderos from the Arse. We just fucked ourselves royally. That lump of Swiss cheese is going to make holes in our defence. His purchase will represent a step backwards.
While we are at it, why not buy Titus Bramble from Wigan? Partner them together. I have no doubt this defensive partnership will win us the first trophy in 15 years – the Division One championship. We may have to wait a season, and face the likes of Newcastle and Leeds United, but good things are worth waiting for, right?
Since we are penniless anyway, we should also sell Jags along with Lescott to the Citizens in a “1 + 1” deal. Give us 30 million for Lescott, and we will throw in Jags for 15 million. While stocks last! Rob those Middle-east terrorists blind I say!
Some riffraff wearing NUSSU T-shirts had been asking for handouts. I saw a couple near my place in the morning and I saw separate groups in Orchard in the evening. I would not have given these mobs my boogie. It is sad to see university students acting like beggars and failing to look the part.
The more I look at my Equity Securities notes the more suicidal I feel. I don’t understand a single fuck about the subject. No wonder we are having a financial crisis. With all that obfuscating mathematical formulas and equations, it must be really easy to hoodwink investors into thinking they are going to make a killing.
To think I signed up for a business course because I hate maths. Oh the irony.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Paper Mills, Anyone?
From the BBC
Universities 'fail on standards'
| By Sean Coughlan BBC News education reporter |
 MPs say degree standards must be made more consistent |
Universities in England are failing to safeguard degree standards, according to a damning report from MPs.
The current system for ensuring quality is "out of date" and should be replaced," the Commons universities select committee concluded.
"Inconsistency in standards is rife," said committee chairman, Phil Willis.
Universities UK attacked the report as "ill-thought through" and rejected the accusation that university leaders were "defensive and complacent".
The hard-hitting report calls for urgent action to improve how universities safeguard the quality of degrees.
It describes as "absurd and disreputable" the claim that the growing demand for courses, including from overseas students, is proof that university standards are being maintained.
'Unacceptable'
The cross-party committee attacks university leaders for failing to "give a straightforward answer to the simple question of whether first class honours degrees achieved at different universities indicate the same or different intellectual standards".
 | REPORT RECOMMENDATIONS Consistent degree standards required across all universities Independent standards watchdog needed Accreditation checks every 10 years Better protection for whistleblowers National bursary system More support for mature and part-time students  |
And the MPs question why universities have failed to explain the rapid increase in the number of top grade degrees being awarded.
To protect the "integrity" of degrees, the committee calls for a radical overhaul of the current watchdog, the Quality Assurance Agency, replacing it with an independent body charged with maintaining academic standards.
The report casts doubt on the reliability of self-regulation by universities and calls for tighter rules for external examiners and a way of comparing standards in different institutions.
"We are extremely concerned that inconsistency in standards is rife and there is a reluctance to address this issue," said Mr Willis, chair of the Commons Innovation, Universities, Science and Skills Committee.
The report says it is "unacceptable" for higher education to receive £15bn in taxpayers' funding "but be unable to answer a straightforward question about the relative standards of the degrees of the students".
As an example, the report says that there was no clear answer to MPs' attempts to find the answer to whether an upper second history degree from Oxford University and Oxford Brookes were equivalent .
Bursaries
Where whistleblowers have revealed worries about degree standards, the committee says they must be given better protection.
 Phil Willis says universities must be accountable for £15bn funding |
MPs also recommend a national system of bursaries to support students, removing differences in the amounts offered by individual institutions.
This proposal for a national bursary has been supported by the National Union of Students and the Million+ group of new universities.
NUS president, Wes Streeting, also welcomed the questions raised about value for money from degree courses.
"Tuition fees in England were trebled in 2006, but students have not seen a demonstrable improvement in the quality of their experience.
"We find it astonishing that universities continue to demand ever higher fees without showing how they make a difference to the people who pay them," said Mr Streeting.
But university leaders have rejected the criticism levelled at the higher education sector.
'Outburst'
"We are rather dismayed and surprised by this outburst," said Wendy Piatt of the Russell Group of leading universities.
"Universities are not schools. An essential feature of a university is its academic freedom and autonomy, with the responsibility to award degrees and uphold standards," she said.
Diana Warwick, head of Universities UK, said: "We reject the suggestion that the way to improve the system that protects standards is to create some super-quango or Ofsted-style Quality and Standards Agency. This seems to us a sledgehammer to crack a nut."
But Paul Wellings, chair of the research-intensive 1994 Group of universities, emphasised the need for maintaining quality across a diverse higher education sector.
The QAA watchdog, which the MPs want to replace, warns that "care needs to be taken that we do not put at risk the benefits of a diverse and flexible higher education system".
The report has also been challenged by Lord Mandelson, Secretary of State for Business, Innovation and Skills.
"I don't recognise the committee's description of our higher education sector, which is in fact world class and second only to the USA as a top destination for overseas students," said Lord Mandelson.
The Conservatives' university spokesman, David Willetts, said the report was a "refreshingly frank assessment of where things stand".
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Littlespeck's Migration in reverse
From: Littlespeck.com
Trends
Migration in reverse
Jobless foreigners leave in droves but Singaporeans don’t seem to bemoan this recession trend. By Seah Chiang Nee.
(Synopsis: Most Singaporeans have no problems accepting migrants. What they resent is overdoing it, letting in such vast numbers.)
A SIMPLE inter-school badminton match has developed into a national debate over how welcome foreigners are in
It began when a little-known sports school nearly became a giant killer through fielding players from the world’s best badminton nation,
The coach of the
He said the complainants should stop acting like cry-babies.
It is happening at a time when resentment is growing about the government admitting too many foreigners in too short a time.
The critics had accused him of resorting to foreign talents, rather than groom its own, to win sports honours.
The girls’ team it fielded was all-China, while of the seven in the boys’ team four were Chinese, one Korean and two Singaporeans.
They swept away all rivals until the finals, when the team lost to Raffles Junior College (RJC), an all-Singaporean team.
It was an emotion-packed encounter that was cheered as a local-versus-foreigner contest.
The furore shows how deep the resentment has grown here over the massive influx of foreigners, who are accused of depriving locals of jobs and opportunities.
With foreigners now making up a third of
“A lot of us feel like we’re playing for
Even some of its fiercest traditional rivals were rooting for the Rafflesians.
“This is a warning sign of unhappy sentiments against foreigners,” said Kevin Kelvin Teo at KentRidgecommon.com.
The local-versus-foreigner divide has become one of the three biggest social threats, admitted Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong. The other threats are an economic gap and race and religion.
Few people expect any large-scale violence, but the authorities are taking no chances.
The Public Order Bill has been changed to require any cause-related assembly to have a police permit, even if only one person is involved.
So far, the resentment of Singaporeans is confined to petitions and online insults, and even these are rising.
Early this year, thousands of residents of
Quarrels between mainland Chinese and Singaporeans frequently crop up over the former’s loud, boorish habits – and “job stealing”.
In a web survey asking whether Singaporeans welcomed foreigners, which is a regular government exhortation, 73% of the respondents said: “No, we’re overcrowded enough.”
The yes vote was 17%; the rest said they were foreigners (thus their views are not relevant).
Ironically, such unhappiness comes at a time when the recession is sending home large numbers of foreigners, mostly the lowly-paid, in a reverse migration.
Economists are predicting that as many as 200,000 migrant workers in
Credit Suisse said this could reduce the population by 3.3% by 2010.
This outflow is a world phenomenon, and is likely to continue. The Wall Street Journal reported that hundreds of thousands of workers from developing countries were leaving the West.
This U-turn will hit
However, many Singaporeans are likely to celebrate rather than bemoan their departure.
Historically, this is a migrant society, and now cosmopolitan and multi-racial.
Hence, the vast majority have no problems accepting the open door policy. What they resent is overdoing it, letting in such vast numbers.
“Unlike the past migrants who came to settle here, the present lot are like leeches, who come just to make money and go home,” said one writer.
Was migration excessivwe?
A surfer posted these comparisons with some advanced countries of comparative size showing the non-citizen ratio of population:
In
They have established an overwhelming presence in almost every part and sector of the city. It is beginning to transform the texture of its society.
Foreign exclaves have been set up in many areas where Indians, Thais, Filipinos and Burmese assemble in large numbers.
“Here Singaporeans are often the minorities,” said a news agency reporter.
As for the mainland Chinese, they are easily absorbed. “We have a one selling roti prata in Little India to India Indians, and unable to talk to each other,” said a resident.
One observer said: “I think the next generation of people born here will have a weaker sense of identity and attachment to this country due to the social upheaval posed by the ‘flood the island with foreigners’ policy.”
Realising this, Minister Mentor Lee Kuan Yew has said it is imperative to cap the foreign population to no more than the present one-third.
(An expanded version of the article originally published in The Star today)
Best University in the World Sequel
This is what I call managing customer relationships!
For those who don't understand what I am talking about, click here.
From document format to PDF. Not bad at all.
Now, this is what I signed up for...
For those who don't understand what I am talking about, click here.
From document format to PDF. Not bad at all.
Now, this is what I signed up for...Sunday, July 26, 2009
A Shite Weekend
The Shite just whipped the Pussies 5:0. After producing a typical insipid performance in the first half, they came to life in the second. Of course, this improvement was facilitated by the Pussies’ changing their players to give everybody a run-out. This caused the formation to be skewed in favor of attack and allowed the Shite the chance to play football.
The English teams must love Singapore. When they cannot win anywhere else they can always count on beating Singapore. They came in 2001 and managed an unconvincing 2:0 win. ManUre came in the same year, played their goalkeeper on the left flank and whipped the hosts 8:1. Judging from the capacity crowd in the National Stadium, you would have thought that the Shite were the home team. When the Analfield anthem “You Will Never Walk Alone” was played, it inspired more reaction from the crowd than what our national anthem could ever have. Not surprising of course. Half the crowd were probably not from Singapore anyway, the same way the Shite are from Norway.
Although the scoreline suggested a convincing victory, the Shite were far from comfortable in breaking down an initially resolute opposition. This bodes well for their Premiership and European rivals. In the footballing sense, the Shite have no culture. The ManUre are famous for their attacking wing play, Chelski for their physical and defensive play, the Arse for their pretty passing football and Everton for their work antics and discipline. It is hard to pinpoint the essence of their football. To call it boring is too charitable. Boring is at least a recognized style. They are as inconsistent as a woman who is having PMS. No wonder they are so supported in Singapore. Like the Shite, we have the money but no culture to speak of. They are like a suffrage national side to us, although I must say that as a decent football fan and reasonably intelligent human being, I support neither.
While the Pussies got creamed 5:0, we went one goal further. To call our performance abject would have been a gross understatement. Words cannot adequately describe our ineptitude, so I shall make use of some numbers here.
Teamwork: 1/10
With nearly all our better players unavailable, we were forced to bring in reinforcements. We didn’t know one another from Adam and our positioning and passing were about as hesitant as that guy from 40 Year Old Virgin trying to score in a club.
Fitness: 2/10
Half the team are in their early 20s, and none of us are below 30. To blame our lack of endeavor on the hot weather would be a travesty of the truth. If our opponents could zip around with energy, I don’t see why we were so zombified.
Goalkeeping: 2/10
As our first choice keeper was injured, we were forced to put our left wing (who had some experience in goal) between the sticks. He could have saved the long range efforts which were fired straight at him. We swapped another player after he had enough. He gave a more convincing display, but our goal kicks were still shite.
Defence: 3/10
Our full-backs were very weak runners. Getting beat for pace is one thing, but the lack of harassing and tacking from them were disappointing. The right-back was particularly atrocious. He basically left the wing empty with his zero positioning sense and his sprinting resembled jogging. Our centre-backs weren’t so bad. At least they did some things right.
Midfield: 2/10
A disgrace. The right winger was a weakling and he kept staying inland instead of hugging the flanks. Obviously he was too unfit and slow to be of much use. The left winger, or rather our sub, was better. The centre-midfield, of which I was a part, were basically outnumbered and chasing shadows. We could have offered our keeper more protection, but we didn’t have much protection from our partners either.
Attack: N/A
We could not muster a shot on target. Our forward(s) were starved of the ball. They could have dropped back to collect the ball but this category is about attackers and not midfielders.
Overall: 2/10
We should have been more negative. My friend said that it was useless punting the ball aimlessly upfield. We did that in the first half and trailed 2:0. In the second half we tried to pass the ball more and shipped four. There is nothing with negative football. Chelski under Mourinho did that to great effect. Stoke City escaped relegation on the back of some very unappealing and agricultural football. Italy won three World Cups with a strong defensive culture. Smaller and less skillful teams cannot swashbuckle their way like the big teams and the best thing is to do the simple thing and stop the opposition from playing. Nothing wrong with this tactic.
It would have worked for us, if our wingers were half-decent. Just punt their ball to the corners and get them to fight for a corner or throw in and try to sneak a goal from these situations. If I had my way I would have played a 4-1-4-1 formation. Four defenders, one anchorman, two strong defensive centre midfielders and two strong runners who are ready to burst forward, plus a striker who will hold up the ball and make a nuisance of himself. Eight defending with three in attack. If we can’t score, neither will they. People keep saying that clearing the ball, defending en masse and punting it high up in the air are not playing football, but I beg to defer. If this is not football, how come it is allowed?
Four games this year. Two catastrophic losses and two hard-fought victories. How cute.
The English teams must love Singapore. When they cannot win anywhere else they can always count on beating Singapore. They came in 2001 and managed an unconvincing 2:0 win. ManUre came in the same year, played their goalkeeper on the left flank and whipped the hosts 8:1. Judging from the capacity crowd in the National Stadium, you would have thought that the Shite were the home team. When the Analfield anthem “You Will Never Walk Alone” was played, it inspired more reaction from the crowd than what our national anthem could ever have. Not surprising of course. Half the crowd were probably not from Singapore anyway, the same way the Shite are from Norway.
Although the scoreline suggested a convincing victory, the Shite were far from comfortable in breaking down an initially resolute opposition. This bodes well for their Premiership and European rivals. In the footballing sense, the Shite have no culture. The ManUre are famous for their attacking wing play, Chelski for their physical and defensive play, the Arse for their pretty passing football and Everton for their work antics and discipline. It is hard to pinpoint the essence of their football. To call it boring is too charitable. Boring is at least a recognized style. They are as inconsistent as a woman who is having PMS. No wonder they are so supported in Singapore. Like the Shite, we have the money but no culture to speak of. They are like a suffrage national side to us, although I must say that as a decent football fan and reasonably intelligent human being, I support neither.
……………………………………………
While the Pussies got creamed 5:0, we went one goal further. To call our performance abject would have been a gross understatement. Words cannot adequately describe our ineptitude, so I shall make use of some numbers here.
Teamwork: 1/10
With nearly all our better players unavailable, we were forced to bring in reinforcements. We didn’t know one another from Adam and our positioning and passing were about as hesitant as that guy from 40 Year Old Virgin trying to score in a club.
Fitness: 2/10
Half the team are in their early 20s, and none of us are below 30. To blame our lack of endeavor on the hot weather would be a travesty of the truth. If our opponents could zip around with energy, I don’t see why we were so zombified.
Goalkeeping: 2/10
As our first choice keeper was injured, we were forced to put our left wing (who had some experience in goal) between the sticks. He could have saved the long range efforts which were fired straight at him. We swapped another player after he had enough. He gave a more convincing display, but our goal kicks were still shite.
Defence: 3/10
Our full-backs were very weak runners. Getting beat for pace is one thing, but the lack of harassing and tacking from them were disappointing. The right-back was particularly atrocious. He basically left the wing empty with his zero positioning sense and his sprinting resembled jogging. Our centre-backs weren’t so bad. At least they did some things right.
Midfield: 2/10
A disgrace. The right winger was a weakling and he kept staying inland instead of hugging the flanks. Obviously he was too unfit and slow to be of much use. The left winger, or rather our sub, was better. The centre-midfield, of which I was a part, were basically outnumbered and chasing shadows. We could have offered our keeper more protection, but we didn’t have much protection from our partners either.
Attack: N/A
We could not muster a shot on target. Our forward(s) were starved of the ball. They could have dropped back to collect the ball but this category is about attackers and not midfielders.
Overall: 2/10
We should have been more negative. My friend said that it was useless punting the ball aimlessly upfield. We did that in the first half and trailed 2:0. In the second half we tried to pass the ball more and shipped four. There is nothing with negative football. Chelski under Mourinho did that to great effect. Stoke City escaped relegation on the back of some very unappealing and agricultural football. Italy won three World Cups with a strong defensive culture. Smaller and less skillful teams cannot swashbuckle their way like the big teams and the best thing is to do the simple thing and stop the opposition from playing. Nothing wrong with this tactic.
It would have worked for us, if our wingers were half-decent. Just punt their ball to the corners and get them to fight for a corner or throw in and try to sneak a goal from these situations. If I had my way I would have played a 4-1-4-1 formation. Four defenders, one anchorman, two strong defensive centre midfielders and two strong runners who are ready to burst forward, plus a striker who will hold up the ball and make a nuisance of himself. Eight defending with three in attack. If we can’t score, neither will they. People keep saying that clearing the ball, defending en masse and punting it high up in the air are not playing football, but I beg to defer. If this is not football, how come it is allowed?
Four games this year. Two catastrophic losses and two hard-fought victories. How cute.
It's a Shite Life.
My season started on Friday. My first act was to be nearly an hour late for class, and my second was to tell the two chatterboxes behind me to quiet down. I was tired, hungry, thirsty and frustrated. If the idiots hadn’t heed my advice the situation would have been very ugly.
Due to the two idiots’ inconsideration and my exhausted state I wasn’t able to concentrate on the lesson very well. My lack of business background exacerbated the situation further. I could probably only assimilate 10% of the lecture, which was pathetic. From the questions several of my classmates posed to the lecturer, it was obvious that I would be competing against people who already had financial background. This means that I might not be able to rely on The Curve, which I did in previous seasons. I must secure a straight pass in order to survive – no easy feat.
I got myself a group mate. The quiet guy besides me asked me if I had a group. I said no and now we are looking for another to ease our workload. I predict that they will handle the maths (I hope!) while I do the writing.
The Shite are in Singapore and will play against the *Lions* this evening. For the past few days the Shite fans here have been going crazy and “following” their idols like good dogs. I don’t know what the big fuss is all about. The ManUre may have offloaded Ronaldo and Tevez, the Chelski squad grown older, the Arse’s obsession with “little boys” will cause them another trophyless season, but the Shite will still not win the league.
You don't need a medical degree to know that shit stinks.
(Image courtesy of www.bluekipper.com)
More bewildering is the fact that people actually bothered to pay good money to watch that mob across the street play. I would not have paid a penny. They haven’t won in their last three friendlies and this tells you they are clearly in the mood for playing holiday football. If I want to see people go through the motions and being overpaid for their *exertions* I would have gone to a whore. At least the whore bothers to pretend she’s enjoying it. The Shite will probably put in 10% effort against the our Lions (pussies), so better to conserve energy when they take on the real pussies in Geylang later in the night.
Our keeper was admitted to hospital on Monday after he ruptured his kidney in the match last Sunday. I think that as a team we had let him down. We didn’t offer him enough protection and he had to put his body on the line to save us time and again.
I hope for a more collective performance when we play our fourth friendly later. Looking at the team sheet it would be yet another collective struggle. The better players are missing and I probably have to fill in for our right-back, who is overseas. We would like to win it of course, but considering the circumstances a draw would be a good result. Time to play negative football and park the bus in front of the goal.
W invited me to his wedding on the 2nd of October. He is making a big mistake. Not by inviting me of course, but in getting married in the first place. He does not even love his fiancée. I hope they don’t have children. Being born in this country is bad enough. They don’t need to suffer more bullshit from their parents.
Due to the two idiots’ inconsideration and my exhausted state I wasn’t able to concentrate on the lesson very well. My lack of business background exacerbated the situation further. I could probably only assimilate 10% of the lecture, which was pathetic. From the questions several of my classmates posed to the lecturer, it was obvious that I would be competing against people who already had financial background. This means that I might not be able to rely on The Curve, which I did in previous seasons. I must secure a straight pass in order to survive – no easy feat.
I got myself a group mate. The quiet guy besides me asked me if I had a group. I said no and now we are looking for another to ease our workload. I predict that they will handle the maths (I hope!) while I do the writing.
-------------------------
The Shite are in Singapore and will play against the *Lions* this evening. For the past few days the Shite fans here have been going crazy and “following” their idols like good dogs. I don’t know what the big fuss is all about. The ManUre may have offloaded Ronaldo and Tevez, the Chelski squad grown older, the Arse’s obsession with “little boys” will cause them another trophyless season, but the Shite will still not win the league.
You don't need a medical degree to know that shit stinks.(Image courtesy of www.bluekipper.com)
More bewildering is the fact that people actually bothered to pay good money to watch that mob across the street play. I would not have paid a penny. They haven’t won in their last three friendlies and this tells you they are clearly in the mood for playing holiday football. If I want to see people go through the motions and being overpaid for their *exertions* I would have gone to a whore. At least the whore bothers to pretend she’s enjoying it. The Shite will probably put in 10% effort against the our Lions (pussies), so better to conserve energy when they take on the real pussies in Geylang later in the night.
---------------------------------
Our keeper was admitted to hospital on Monday after he ruptured his kidney in the match last Sunday. I think that as a team we had let him down. We didn’t offer him enough protection and he had to put his body on the line to save us time and again.
I hope for a more collective performance when we play our fourth friendly later. Looking at the team sheet it would be yet another collective struggle. The better players are missing and I probably have to fill in for our right-back, who is overseas. We would like to win it of course, but considering the circumstances a draw would be a good result. Time to play negative football and park the bus in front of the goal.
-------------------------------------
W invited me to his wedding on the 2nd of October. He is making a big mistake. Not by inviting me of course, but in getting married in the first place. He does not even love his fiancée. I hope they don’t have children. Being born in this country is bad enough. They don’t need to suffer more bullshit from their parents.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Best University in the World
The cover page for Human Resource Management (HRM201) group assignment:
For those with vision problems, please refer to the picture below:
Another Victory
The miracle continues. Against the odds we stole a 2:1 victory. It was a tremendous display and an incredible achievement, considering that some of our better players were unavailable and we had to rely on reinforcements. A reasonable punter would have put his money on us getting creamed. Football is a romantic game however, a game of upsets and giant-killing and we showed that the fight does not necessarily go to the strongest.
To start things off, our midfield were shite. Our left winger could do nothing right and our right winger played like a weakling. The guy who was supposed to cover the centre with me had a propensity to drift to the right. Most of the time I was alone, trying to handle two, three opponents who were my size. I played arguably the most negative football a centre midfielder ever played. Every ball near me I either released first time to the forwards or the wingers, or just cleared it with no regard to its destination. I decided that if I couldn’t get the ball, neither would they.
Ordinarily any team with a modicum of intelligence should have just overrun the centre midfield. Instead, they pumped the ball to our left flank, where our left winger and left-back were being beaten for fun. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was not exactly I was holding my position particularly well. It was just that the left flank was so pathetic our opponents could have just walked around with a cup of tea and still retain possession.
To their credit our two forwards did try their best to drop back and help out. Unfortunately, starved of through passes, they were at times reduced to battling displays. The creativity was so severely lacking that our best route to goal was from corners. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think my mates made a masterstroke in letting me take the corners. We could have scored from four out of the eight or nine corners we had (In fact we scored from one – partly thanks to our opponents’ incompetent goalkeeper).
It was largely a tale of two keepers. While theirs was a joke, ours could have made the great Lev Yashin applaud his sterling display. His positioning sense was perfect, his command of the penalty box impeccable and his reflexes lighting-fast. It is no exaggeration to say that if it wasn’t for him, we would have been looking at a drubbing. His task was further helped by our opponents’ very wayward finishing. They had maybe 20 to 30 chances but only scored one. In contrast we had less than half their opportunities and we got two. Football is about taking chances. If you don’t score you don’t win. Simple.
Our defenders deserved some credit as well. We rode our luck at times, but their efforts could not be faulted. We might have relied on some good fortune but without resilience and honest pluck no amount of good luck would have helped. Towards the end they piled on the pressure and could have levelled matters, but we survived to celebrate a most magnificent result.
To start things off, our midfield were shite. Our left winger could do nothing right and our right winger played like a weakling. The guy who was supposed to cover the centre with me had a propensity to drift to the right. Most of the time I was alone, trying to handle two, three opponents who were my size. I played arguably the most negative football a centre midfielder ever played. Every ball near me I either released first time to the forwards or the wingers, or just cleared it with no regard to its destination. I decided that if I couldn’t get the ball, neither would they.
Ordinarily any team with a modicum of intelligence should have just overrun the centre midfield. Instead, they pumped the ball to our left flank, where our left winger and left-back were being beaten for fun. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It was not exactly I was holding my position particularly well. It was just that the left flank was so pathetic our opponents could have just walked around with a cup of tea and still retain possession.
To their credit our two forwards did try their best to drop back and help out. Unfortunately, starved of through passes, they were at times reduced to battling displays. The creativity was so severely lacking that our best route to goal was from corners. At the risk of sounding arrogant, I think my mates made a masterstroke in letting me take the corners. We could have scored from four out of the eight or nine corners we had (In fact we scored from one – partly thanks to our opponents’ incompetent goalkeeper).
It was largely a tale of two keepers. While theirs was a joke, ours could have made the great Lev Yashin applaud his sterling display. His positioning sense was perfect, his command of the penalty box impeccable and his reflexes lighting-fast. It is no exaggeration to say that if it wasn’t for him, we would have been looking at a drubbing. His task was further helped by our opponents’ very wayward finishing. They had maybe 20 to 30 chances but only scored one. In contrast we had less than half their opportunities and we got two. Football is about taking chances. If you don’t score you don’t win. Simple.
Our defenders deserved some credit as well. We rode our luck at times, but their efforts could not be faulted. We might have relied on some good fortune but without resilience and honest pluck no amount of good luck would have helped. Towards the end they piled on the pressure and could have levelled matters, but we survived to celebrate a most magnificent result.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Ashes and Dust
Death always comes too early or too late.
I wanted to write a review castigating movie critics but that can wait. This is something more important.
Today the football was a bit stale. Towards the end of our game one guy called for everybody to gather. At first we thought the guys outside the court were up to some bullshit but what followed reduced everybody to speechlessness.
With the gang sitting on the floor, the guy softly announced that X had passed away. His body was cremated on Wednesday. His death was unnatural. X’s brother said he was coping but it was just the pride talking. He wanted us not to message, call or send him condolences on MSN and Facebook. All the poor thing needs now is some time to himself. He also wanted us not to “broadcast” it, don’t tell anybody or write about it on our blogs. (That is why I am not using any real names here.)
He then went on to say that the suddenness of his demise caught everybody by surprise. We started to talk about it, to find out what happened but it was more conjecture than anything else. A Said that X looked very downcast when he came for football last week. Then the last week became “past weeks”, and how he had been very quiet. What problems did X run into? Did he break up with his girlfriend? Then B said X had quit poly, albeit unofficially. He had not been attending classes for the past few weeks prior to that fateful day. A said X hated the thought of serving the army. He tried to get a deferral but they didn’t approve it. He was so desperate he even contemplated joining the police force. A said that there was no need for X to fear going to the army so much – every guy in this country has to go through it.
The announcer guy then said that there we should not assume or presume the exact circumstances surrounding X’s demise. When the time comes, X’s brother would talk about it, should he feel like it. He then went on to say that we play football in SP every Saturday because we are like one big family. We could have just played at the void decks but football gives the gang a chance to get together. Many of us may only see one another on Saturday but that does not mean we are not friends on the other six days of the week. Right now, we should contribute to X’s family, see what help they require and give it.
Then someone said X’s brother is a xtian. X wasn’t. I hope the former’s priest and church members would not be so dim-witted and insensitive, making comments about the destination of X’s soul. (By the way, where was Gawd? Taking a shit and watching child porn when It could have saved a life?)
C said that X had a tendency to bottle up his feelings. If he didn’t say anything how could anyone had done anything about it? What happened must have been a kick in the teeth for his brother. Everybody is carrying a bit of guilt about it. If only I had done something, if only I had done more. One can imagine how the family must be beating themselves over it.
It is irrational, but I think on some level we have all failed X. Talking to X about football and shooting shit about stuff are all well and good, but it was a shame that few of us (to the best of my knowledge) talked to him much about the things that matter. We are all guilty of it, I suspect, whether with X or with our other friends. We simply don’t bother enough. I think being friends with someone carries some obligations. You expect something but you also give him or her something in return. It is a reciprocal relationship, based not on monetary values, leverages and advantages, but out from the heart. I don’t bother enough, and if you are reading this, chances are you are just like me.
I remember one of my lecturers, himself a retiree and having “seen it all” , said that one can have many friends. These friends are nothing compared to the rare few who will stick with you through thick and thin. I think he has a point, but unfortunately how many of us actually have even one friend like this in the first place? I am not talking about the kind of friend who will make dramatic sacrifices for you like in the movies, taking a bullet for you or donating his entire fortunes to save you. I am talking about realism, and often realism is very simple. I am referring to the kind who will bother to talk to you, to listen, to find time for you, and try to help you when you have a problem. The kind who actually bother.
Some people will think that suicides are stupid. What do people off themselves when the solution to their problems can be found? These people don’t deserve anybody’s pity. They should be castigated for being weak and by their inconsiderate action brought pain to the people who loved them. Well, I got news for you, you vindictive whoresons. People do not off themselves because they cannot find a way out of their problems. They off themselves because the pain is too fucking much to bear. It is not about finding answers like life is some fucking maths problem but dealing with debilitating pain.
Suicide is not a conscious and clear-headed choice, much like it is impossible not to feel pain when you are ravaged by cancer or tore apart by hounds. Everybody has difference tolerances and a pain threshold for each of these. Some can take lots of physical punishment but are emotionally fragile. Some are stone-hearted but cannot walk up a flight of stairs without gasping like if it’s his last breath. Different people, different tolerances, different thresholds for different tolerances. I have a friend who was a nurse. She told me that when you are depressed, you cannot function at all. It is not a simple thing of “snapping out of it”. You just cannot function. Full stop. Without help you are pretty much fucked. A suicide does not just “cannot function”; he wants to cease to function.
People who simply dismiss suicides as “losers” are more often than not popcorn-munching armchair commentators whose thinking is so magical they do not see the absurdity of complaining about trivial things in their carefree existences while seeing nothing wrong about telling people who are in worse straits how to cope with their fucking lives. I wonder if these insensitive and high-priced twats would have contemplated death if they were gang-raped and at the same time forced to watch the gang rapes of the female family members and the beheading of their male kin. This is an extreme example, but it is a bloody good one. It is a bloody good one because it happened during the war, when the goddamn Japs subjected the Chinese to unspeakable brutalities. What would these callous bastards say to the people who off-ed themselves after suffering shit like this? You are so stooopid?
What happened to X might not be as tragic-dramatic as my example, but it is not us to perceive what is truly horrendous and what is not. What X, or any would-be suicide perceive in his mind really matters. The rest of the world can just fuck off. It could be a relatively insignificant thing like relationship problems, but if the person attaches very great importance to it, then that is what it is: fucking important and a case for great fucking despair. The feelings of other people, and subjective/objective reality and all that claptrap are worthless. When next time somebody you know offs himself/herself, please remember what I said – or will you continue to cry stooopid? Goddamn nimrods.
Gold!
When I woke up this morning I felt suicidal. I had to clear my annual physical fitness test. After a quick breakfast of coffee (holy water) and eggs, I dragged my weary body out of the door. I thought it would be an arduous formality.
Surprisingly, there were not many people taking the test with me - I estimated a few hundred. The registration was fast and efficient and the briefing by the chief physical instructor was succinct. The waiting time was only 30 minutes or so (anyone who has served the army would know this is extraordinarily fast.)
So onwards to the static stations: sit-ups, jumping, chin-ups and sprinting. Everything was electronic. You had a number tag, which had a slot you must put your ID card into and then you had to place the whole thing at the test station you were taking. Do your best (or worst). Your result would be registered electronically. The instructors were only there to make sure nobody tried to be "creative."
I nearly scored full marks for the test, but for the jumping. On my first attempt I was denied full points when the system registered a "fault line." Apparently the toe of my boot had brushed the starting line. My second attempt was poorer, but it was still enough to secure me the points necessary in my pursuit of gold. I could have made another attempt, out of pride, but there is no difference between winning 1:0 and winning 3:0. You still get three points.
One champion did around 20 repetitions at the chin-up station. From the effortless way he went up and down, this human yoyo might have done 30 if the attending instructor had not told him to stop. Apparently the system had problems with the excessively high count. I say this guy was nuts. Even if he was aiming for full points he could have just done 12. Why not save his energy for the 1.5 mile run? I guess strange people are everywhere.
Within 20 to 30 minutes I had cleared the four stations with the minimum of fuss. What next was the BIG ONE.
The 1.5 mile route was conducted on the ground floor of a multi-storey carpark. The person who thought of this should be promoted. Unlike at most other test centres, people could take their 1.5 mile run regardless of the weather. In addition, the terrain was flat and there were no spills, depressions, crevices and other conditions that may upset a runner.
I felt like giving up during my second lap but my need for cash pushed me on. There was also the additional motivation of bragging about it to my colleague when I turn up for work on Monday (We male animals are egoistic creatures.) It was not my best performance - I needed a lap or two to get acquainted with the route - but I got what I came for.
When I got the result slip which confirmed I can add an entry in my Account Receiveable, I felt a measure of relief. Surely, for me to do remedial training just because I missed the test would have been an utter travesty.
My unbeaten streak continues, and when I am in another age category the test will be even easier for me. As I am typing this in my university library's computer room, I feel sexy and beautiful. (Unfortunately there are not many sexy and/or beautiful broads around. Hell, in fact there are none.)
I shall go for football soon. I shall play my usual game, which is negative football and quite like tennis. Ball comes to me, ball goes back. Roger Federer should come and see me play. The things he would pick up will help him cement his place as the greatest ever in tennis. I hope there are good-looking broads in SP. I hope to see the balls bounce and may they be big, firm and beautifully spherical.
Surprisingly, there were not many people taking the test with me - I estimated a few hundred. The registration was fast and efficient and the briefing by the chief physical instructor was succinct. The waiting time was only 30 minutes or so (anyone who has served the army would know this is extraordinarily fast.)
So onwards to the static stations: sit-ups, jumping, chin-ups and sprinting. Everything was electronic. You had a number tag, which had a slot you must put your ID card into and then you had to place the whole thing at the test station you were taking. Do your best (or worst). Your result would be registered electronically. The instructors were only there to make sure nobody tried to be "creative."
I nearly scored full marks for the test, but for the jumping. On my first attempt I was denied full points when the system registered a "fault line." Apparently the toe of my boot had brushed the starting line. My second attempt was poorer, but it was still enough to secure me the points necessary in my pursuit of gold. I could have made another attempt, out of pride, but there is no difference between winning 1:0 and winning 3:0. You still get three points.
One champion did around 20 repetitions at the chin-up station. From the effortless way he went up and down, this human yoyo might have done 30 if the attending instructor had not told him to stop. Apparently the system had problems with the excessively high count. I say this guy was nuts. Even if he was aiming for full points he could have just done 12. Why not save his energy for the 1.5 mile run? I guess strange people are everywhere.
Within 20 to 30 minutes I had cleared the four stations with the minimum of fuss. What next was the BIG ONE.
The 1.5 mile route was conducted on the ground floor of a multi-storey carpark. The person who thought of this should be promoted. Unlike at most other test centres, people could take their 1.5 mile run regardless of the weather. In addition, the terrain was flat and there were no spills, depressions, crevices and other conditions that may upset a runner.
I felt like giving up during my second lap but my need for cash pushed me on. There was also the additional motivation of bragging about it to my colleague when I turn up for work on Monday (We male animals are egoistic creatures.) It was not my best performance - I needed a lap or two to get acquainted with the route - but I got what I came for.
When I got the result slip which confirmed I can add an entry in my Account Receiveable, I felt a measure of relief. Surely, for me to do remedial training just because I missed the test would have been an utter travesty.
My unbeaten streak continues, and when I am in another age category the test will be even easier for me. As I am typing this in my university library's computer room, I feel sexy and beautiful. (Unfortunately there are not many sexy and/or beautiful broads around. Hell, in fact there are none.)
I shall go for football soon. I shall play my usual game, which is negative football and quite like tennis. Ball comes to me, ball goes back. Roger Federer should come and see me play. The things he would pick up will help him cement his place as the greatest ever in tennis. I hope there are good-looking broads in SP. I hope to see the balls bounce and may they be big, firm and beautifully spherical.
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Rant and Rant
While updating the computer system, I saw the hourly wages of the people working for the Editorial department. They are earning little over than $20 per hour, and even the contract staff are getting this amount. One can easily get over $3k a month correcting grammar and spelling mistakes. Comfortable environment, conducive organizational culture, cordial relationships and a cushy salary; what more can one ask for?
For the umpteen time I cursed my academic choices. I should have taken an English Language degree like XH. With the mostly mediocre competition and the almighty Curve, I figure I would not have any difficulty graduating. Maybe a first-class honours would be out of reach, but surely a second-upper is not beyond me. It’s still pretty decent. I may hate Shakespeare, literary studies and all that post-modernism, romanticism bullshit, but hey, they cannot be worse than the fucking Business course I am enduring right now. No online quizzes, the luxury of doing assignments solo, and no fucking video presentation. No maths as well. Just bullshit your way through. My kind of degree course.
Of course, the grass is always greener on the other side. If I were taking English Language, maybe I would be bitching about it and going green-eyed at Business students. Maybe, maybe not. In life we can’t always have what we want. Life’s a bitch and then you die. I had thought that I would be happier in a Mass Communication course. I mean, I would give a decade of my life to be paid for writing about football. Champions League matches in the morning, a hastily written match report, bourbon in the coffee, typing more bullshit for the post match commentary, three sheets to the wind while surfing porn until the next match comes along. Or covering sex scandals for Wanbao. Damn good job.
Anyway, I was a bit affected by what I saw. I felt like a fucking coolie. How much am I paid, staring at the screen for hours and risking my perfect eyesight? I kept switching back to the part of the program where the hourly wages were shown. It was as if I am being masochistic by punishing myself. Then I decided to see how much my colleagues in the Editorial department are earning, but Singapore employees are not included in the system.
Before lunch I remarked to a colleague how much people are earning in Editorial. She told me that they are qualified lawyers who decided that editing legal textbooks are better than practising law. She wondered why they gave up their practice and I replied that lawyers here are overworked and underpaid. Anyway, that is not important. The important thing is that I should have gone to college and studied Law. Okay. Maybe not. Seeing how my Business Law modules nearly relegated me, that doesn’t seem such a hot idea. But the grass is greener on the other side, like I said.
I don’t think a Law degree is a must for editing law textbooks. Most of the time it’s just grammar. The fancy Latin words they love to throw around so much in the legal sphere, ultra vires, bona fide etc, won’t give a decent English Language graduate much of a problem either. (XH, if you are reading this, quit your fucking teaching job and apply to be an editor in a book company/publishing house. Beats having to deal with bloody irritating parents and their obnoxious brats.)
True, $3,000 may not be a lot by any stretch of the imagination. In Canada a waiter can easily earn this amount. Even in Asia, there are many mediocre people earning much more. But when you consider that some skilled technicians here are earning $1.3K and ITE graduates (far better than their higher-educated polytechnic counterparts if you ask me) are offered $1K for doing a 12 hour shift six-days week job, something is fucking wrong. It is obscene. It is obscene not because the people in the Editorial are overpaid. It is obscene because people here are having their every drop of blood squeezed out and getting paid peanuts for it. What the fuck are the trade unions doing? The living costs are getting higher and higher but the wages, especially those belonging to the bottom to middle rungs are stagnant and in some cases, depreciating. Oh I forgot! We have no trade unions. Tsk tsk. People here are just commodities. Once they are past their sell-by dates they are basically like a turtle turned on its back – fucked.
My mood wasn’t helped when I logged on the stupid army website to check my reservist status (read: reslavery). To my absolute horror, I found that I have to clear the goddamn annual physical fitness test before my birthday, which is two months away. If I hadn’t checked I might have been later charged by the army for missing the dateline and then made to do remedial training with the rest of those sorry sods who can’t make it. Imagine a Brazilian supermodel standing in the midst of a truckload of Singapore car queens and you get the picture.
I am disgusted at having my time wasted like this. Instead of making me wake up early on a Saturday morning just so I could go to take some stupid physical fitness test in some stupid obscure army camp, they should just give me the money. I always get gold anyway. So just excuse me for this redundant exercise and give me the $400 so that I can go and get myself some much needed shades. It is a hostile country that I am living in – the sun here can burn your corneas. As if that is not enough I have to face the damn screen for hours every damn day. Hell, if I don’t get some shades or those fancy Transitions eyewear soon I may fucking go blind.
And one last thing. The people in this cuntry are ugly, and getting uglier as we speak. Hell, even the foreigners are looking worse. The women are short and flat, and the men weak and unimposing. There must be something in the water here. It could be the damn sun as well. And let’s not forget the stress. I foresee when the population swell to 6.5 million, abominations will walk the streets en masse. Our already inferior gene pool will degenerate further when inferior people breed with even more inferior people. Under such circumstances, it is better not to procreate. Sometimes being a responsible parent is not to be a parent in the first place.
For the umpteen time I cursed my academic choices. I should have taken an English Language degree like XH. With the mostly mediocre competition and the almighty Curve, I figure I would not have any difficulty graduating. Maybe a first-class honours would be out of reach, but surely a second-upper is not beyond me. It’s still pretty decent. I may hate Shakespeare, literary studies and all that post-modernism, romanticism bullshit, but hey, they cannot be worse than the fucking Business course I am enduring right now. No online quizzes, the luxury of doing assignments solo, and no fucking video presentation. No maths as well. Just bullshit your way through. My kind of degree course.
Of course, the grass is always greener on the other side. If I were taking English Language, maybe I would be bitching about it and going green-eyed at Business students. Maybe, maybe not. In life we can’t always have what we want. Life’s a bitch and then you die. I had thought that I would be happier in a Mass Communication course. I mean, I would give a decade of my life to be paid for writing about football. Champions League matches in the morning, a hastily written match report, bourbon in the coffee, typing more bullshit for the post match commentary, three sheets to the wind while surfing porn until the next match comes along. Or covering sex scandals for Wanbao. Damn good job.
Anyway, I was a bit affected by what I saw. I felt like a fucking coolie. How much am I paid, staring at the screen for hours and risking my perfect eyesight? I kept switching back to the part of the program where the hourly wages were shown. It was as if I am being masochistic by punishing myself. Then I decided to see how much my colleagues in the Editorial department are earning, but Singapore employees are not included in the system.
Before lunch I remarked to a colleague how much people are earning in Editorial. She told me that they are qualified lawyers who decided that editing legal textbooks are better than practising law. She wondered why they gave up their practice and I replied that lawyers here are overworked and underpaid. Anyway, that is not important. The important thing is that I should have gone to college and studied Law. Okay. Maybe not. Seeing how my Business Law modules nearly relegated me, that doesn’t seem such a hot idea. But the grass is greener on the other side, like I said.
I don’t think a Law degree is a must for editing law textbooks. Most of the time it’s just grammar. The fancy Latin words they love to throw around so much in the legal sphere, ultra vires, bona fide etc, won’t give a decent English Language graduate much of a problem either. (XH, if you are reading this, quit your fucking teaching job and apply to be an editor in a book company/publishing house. Beats having to deal with bloody irritating parents and their obnoxious brats.)
True, $3,000 may not be a lot by any stretch of the imagination. In Canada a waiter can easily earn this amount. Even in Asia, there are many mediocre people earning much more. But when you consider that some skilled technicians here are earning $1.3K and ITE graduates (far better than their higher-educated polytechnic counterparts if you ask me) are offered $1K for doing a 12 hour shift six-days week job, something is fucking wrong. It is obscene. It is obscene not because the people in the Editorial are overpaid. It is obscene because people here are having their every drop of blood squeezed out and getting paid peanuts for it. What the fuck are the trade unions doing? The living costs are getting higher and higher but the wages, especially those belonging to the bottom to middle rungs are stagnant and in some cases, depreciating. Oh I forgot! We have no trade unions. Tsk tsk. People here are just commodities. Once they are past their sell-by dates they are basically like a turtle turned on its back – fucked.
My mood wasn’t helped when I logged on the stupid army website to check my reservist status (read: reslavery). To my absolute horror, I found that I have to clear the goddamn annual physical fitness test before my birthday, which is two months away. If I hadn’t checked I might have been later charged by the army for missing the dateline and then made to do remedial training with the rest of those sorry sods who can’t make it. Imagine a Brazilian supermodel standing in the midst of a truckload of Singapore car queens and you get the picture.
I am disgusted at having my time wasted like this. Instead of making me wake up early on a Saturday morning just so I could go to take some stupid physical fitness test in some stupid obscure army camp, they should just give me the money. I always get gold anyway. So just excuse me for this redundant exercise and give me the $400 so that I can go and get myself some much needed shades. It is a hostile country that I am living in – the sun here can burn your corneas. As if that is not enough I have to face the damn screen for hours every damn day. Hell, if I don’t get some shades or those fancy Transitions eyewear soon I may fucking go blind.
And one last thing. The people in this cuntry are ugly, and getting uglier as we speak. Hell, even the foreigners are looking worse. The women are short and flat, and the men weak and unimposing. There must be something in the water here. It could be the damn sun as well. And let’s not forget the stress. I foresee when the population swell to 6.5 million, abominations will walk the streets en masse. Our already inferior gene pool will degenerate further when inferior people breed with even more inferior people. Under such circumstances, it is better not to procreate. Sometimes being a responsible parent is not to be a parent in the first place.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
This is PASSION.
Images courtesy of Bluekipper.com
I don't think we can put up banners like these when we go to a football game eh?
What a boring cuntry. Another reason to leave this fucking shithole.
I don't think we can put up banners like these when we go to a football game eh?
What a boring cuntry. Another reason to leave this fucking shithole.
A Tribute to Monica Bellucci
It is time somebody write a tribute to Monica Bellucci. Michael Jackson may have passed on, but enough has been said about that legend, so let us move on, and contemplate a legend that is fortunately, still with us.
The first time I saw Monica Bellucci – it was in Malena – I truly fell in love. I had never beheld such superb acting skills. Bellucci gave her character life, every piece of dialogue she spoke was heartfelt, and her portrayal of the war widow driven to desperation heartrending. I left the cinema humbled and forever a willing supplicant to this most beauteous of goddesses.
Words cannot adequately describe her charisma. Her screen presence is legendary. She can brighten an insipid script like no other. All the CGI and the convoluted plots combined can never add up to her natural grace and talent as she sashays her way to cinematic perfection.
Her curves can make a blind man see, and her smile turns the darkest night into the brightest day. The form of the most tempting succubus, and radiant with the soul of the purest angel. A one woman Victoria’s Secret fashion show - the Angels look like imposters next to this seductress. Belluci truly embodies the epitome of beauty. She is the perfect woman – all others pale in comparison.
All women should aspire to be like her. If all women were like this, there would be no frustration. Wars will cease, poverty will become a thing of the past, natural disasters will not occur, and universal love and humanistic values will reign supreme unto generations.
Her qualities as an actress are impeccable, and her virtues as a woman beyond reproach. An intellectual’s muse, and a philistine’s fantasy. Had they set eyes on Bellucci, Helen of Troy would have wept in despair, and Narcissus would never have fallen in love with his own image. Men of all races, nations, religions, classes and dispositions will stand united as they pay homage to this living Aphrodite.
Hollywood should be condemned for offering her only bit-part roles in mediocre movies. Tears of the Sun, The Matrix, The Brothers Grimm… - these do not do justice to her immeasurable talent. If there is any justice, Monica Bellucci should have made a clean sweep of every award every time she stars in a movie.
The fact that Tara Reid and Cameron Diaz get more screen time and roles than Belluci in Hollywood movies is a vicious indictment of Hollywood’s detestable parochial attitude. American actresses are too often overrated and it is time the American directors, whose brains have gone south along with their overfed bellies, learn to give foreign film actresses, especially Bellucci, the recognition they so richly deserve.
Monica Belluci should be in Transformers 3. The sight of her will transform any emasculated and impotent man into the most virile Adonis. Even robots will short-circuit themselves as they realize the truth of the most superb piece of engineering before them.
It is often said that a woman depreciates with age. Not so for Monica Bellucci. I would say she is one of the rare few who appreciate as they become older, but to do so would be to put a value on something that is priceless. She is The MLIF of the film industry, and when she becomes a grandmother she will surely be The GLIF. Her timeless beauty puts women half her age to shame. Her smile can launch a thousand ships, and her voice makes them sail.
The world will never see the likes of such perfection again. Each film by Bellucci and every appearance she make should be cherished and treated like the most precious of treasures. It will be a black day when she retires from acting. May her daughter inherit every quality of her talented mother. Let the divine essence of the Bellucci line live forever, so that it inspires future generations as it inspires the current.
The first time I saw Monica Bellucci – it was in Malena – I truly fell in love. I had never beheld such superb acting skills. Bellucci gave her character life, every piece of dialogue she spoke was heartfelt, and her portrayal of the war widow driven to desperation heartrending. I left the cinema humbled and forever a willing supplicant to this most beauteous of goddesses.
Words cannot adequately describe her charisma. Her screen presence is legendary. She can brighten an insipid script like no other. All the CGI and the convoluted plots combined can never add up to her natural grace and talent as she sashays her way to cinematic perfection.Her curves can make a blind man see, and her smile turns the darkest night into the brightest day. The form of the most tempting succubus, and radiant with the soul of the purest angel. A one woman Victoria’s Secret fashion show - the Angels look like imposters next to this seductress. Belluci truly embodies the epitome of beauty. She is the perfect woman – all others pale in comparison.
All women should aspire to be like her. If all women were like this, there would be no frustration. Wars will cease, poverty will become a thing of the past, natural disasters will not occur, and universal love and humanistic values will reign supreme unto generations.
Her qualities as an actress are impeccable, and her virtues as a woman beyond reproach. An intellectual’s muse, and a philistine’s fantasy. Had they set eyes on Bellucci, Helen of Troy would have wept in despair, and Narcissus would never have fallen in love with his own image. Men of all races, nations, religions, classes and dispositions will stand united as they pay homage to this living Aphrodite.
Hollywood should be condemned for offering her only bit-part roles in mediocre movies. Tears of the Sun, The Matrix, The Brothers Grimm… - these do not do justice to her immeasurable talent. If there is any justice, Monica Bellucci should have made a clean sweep of every award every time she stars in a movie.The fact that Tara Reid and Cameron Diaz get more screen time and roles than Belluci in Hollywood movies is a vicious indictment of Hollywood’s detestable parochial attitude. American actresses are too often overrated and it is time the American directors, whose brains have gone south along with their overfed bellies, learn to give foreign film actresses, especially Bellucci, the recognition they so richly deserve.
Monica Belluci should be in Transformers 3. The sight of her will transform any emasculated and impotent man into the most virile Adonis. Even robots will short-circuit themselves as they realize the truth of the most superb piece of engineering before them.
It is often said that a woman depreciates with age. Not so for Monica Bellucci. I would say she is one of the rare few who appreciate as they become older, but to do so would be to put a value on something that is priceless. She is The MLIF of the film industry, and when she becomes a grandmother she will surely be The GLIF. Her timeless beauty puts women half her age to shame. Her smile can launch a thousand ships, and her voice makes them sail.
The world will never see the likes of such perfection again. Each film by Bellucci and every appearance she make should be cherished and treated like the most precious of treasures. It will be a black day when she retires from acting. May her daughter inherit every quality of her talented mother. Let the divine essence of the Bellucci line live forever, so that it inspires future generations as it inspires the current.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Victory at Last!
After the 9:0 fiasco at the start of the year, AS23 – if I had my way, Perverts FC – rebound to record an unlikely 3:2 win.
AS23’s direct style of play pinned the Bonitos in their own half in the first 45 minutes. The Bonitos were largely restricted to punting long hopeful balls forward. With their dominance, AS23 created many chances, but for some erratic finishing, could have found themselves 3:0 ahead within the first 30 minutes.
The weather deteriorated and the wet conditions caused both set of players to play at a fast and furious pace. The pressure mounted and it seemed ominous that the floodgate, like the weather, opened inevitably.
When the goal came, it was from the most unlikely of sources. Kumar, who was filling in at rightback, arrived at the far post to finish with aplomb. It was a well deserved reward for a player who had been sterling throughout the game.
Not to be outdone, Joe charged into the penalty area from the left to blast the ball past a hapless Bonitos keeper. A fantastic goal.
The second half was delayed due to the rain. After the lightning risk was cleared, the game resumed.
Both teams changed their personnel at half time but in the early exchanges, it was Bonitos who proved more effective in their tactical switch.
Within five minutes, they were levelled. AS23 made a mess defending a straightforward corner and were duly punished. Then Bonitos’ left winger tore down the left flank, and with the entire AS23 backline in attendance, somehow still found sufficient space to squeeze his shot past the AS23 custodian.
Worse was to come when a Bonitos striker was adjudged to have been fouled in the box. However, much to the delight of AS23, the resulting penalty hit the post.
More drama was to follow. Great work on the left wing found the AS23 winger cut in. Just when he was about to turn however, he was tripped. AS23 wasted the spot kick.
With the game heading for a draw, the action was end-to-end. Either side could have snatched it. The Bonitos goalie made a miraculous save to keep out a header from a yard out. Where tenacious defending failed, the AS23 keeper came to his side’s rescue with a couple of smart saves. Wasteful finishing from both sides brought howls of frustration from the touchlines.
The substitutes from AS23, by this time had began to exert their influence. The pitched midfield battle swung slightly in AS23’s advantage. A free kick was awarded 25 yards on the left centre of the pitch. With a dramatic swing of his right boot, Shineboi sent his side into raptures. The sheer pace and the skid of the ball on the slippery surface proved too much for the Bonitos keeper to handle.
AS23 endured a few nervy moments, but they held on to record an improbable victory.
Truly, and I say it again here, this is better than sex.
AS23’s direct style of play pinned the Bonitos in their own half in the first 45 minutes. The Bonitos were largely restricted to punting long hopeful balls forward. With their dominance, AS23 created many chances, but for some erratic finishing, could have found themselves 3:0 ahead within the first 30 minutes.
The weather deteriorated and the wet conditions caused both set of players to play at a fast and furious pace. The pressure mounted and it seemed ominous that the floodgate, like the weather, opened inevitably.
When the goal came, it was from the most unlikely of sources. Kumar, who was filling in at rightback, arrived at the far post to finish with aplomb. It was a well deserved reward for a player who had been sterling throughout the game.
Not to be outdone, Joe charged into the penalty area from the left to blast the ball past a hapless Bonitos keeper. A fantastic goal.
The second half was delayed due to the rain. After the lightning risk was cleared, the game resumed.
Both teams changed their personnel at half time but in the early exchanges, it was Bonitos who proved more effective in their tactical switch.
Within five minutes, they were levelled. AS23 made a mess defending a straightforward corner and were duly punished. Then Bonitos’ left winger tore down the left flank, and with the entire AS23 backline in attendance, somehow still found sufficient space to squeeze his shot past the AS23 custodian.
Worse was to come when a Bonitos striker was adjudged to have been fouled in the box. However, much to the delight of AS23, the resulting penalty hit the post.
More drama was to follow. Great work on the left wing found the AS23 winger cut in. Just when he was about to turn however, he was tripped. AS23 wasted the spot kick.
With the game heading for a draw, the action was end-to-end. Either side could have snatched it. The Bonitos goalie made a miraculous save to keep out a header from a yard out. Where tenacious defending failed, the AS23 keeper came to his side’s rescue with a couple of smart saves. Wasteful finishing from both sides brought howls of frustration from the touchlines.
The substitutes from AS23, by this time had began to exert their influence. The pitched midfield battle swung slightly in AS23’s advantage. A free kick was awarded 25 yards on the left centre of the pitch. With a dramatic swing of his right boot, Shineboi sent his side into raptures. The sheer pace and the skid of the ball on the slippery surface proved too much for the Bonitos keeper to handle.
AS23 endured a few nervy moments, but they held on to record an improbable victory.
Truly, and I say it again here, this is better than sex.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Long Live the Curve
I have avoided the drop! Cries of jubilation! The sheer relief! Unbelievable! I checked the table a couple of times. Aye, my eyes did not deceive me, my feverish mind sufficiently clear, barely could I suppress my elation, as I stared at the table again, again and again.
It’s like Hull City all over again. Hopeless for most of the season, unable to lift themselves even on the final day against a second string ManUre side, but they stayed up because their rivals lost. Undeserved, but how they celebrated at the final whistle.
It doesn’t matter how I did it, but I won’t care. The result is all that matters. It has been a long and torturous season. At times I didn’t enjoy the rub of the green. I was blatantly robbed and I could barely rouse myself for the final game, so demoralized I was. I was mediocre, I admit that, but like Phil Brown and all who love Hull City, it doesn’t matter if you play like trash, You can go without a win in 20 matches but if at the start of the season someone told me I would avoid relegation, I would have shaken his hands.
The celebrations will carry on long into the night. The pyrotechnics! The carnival, the dancing girls, the sheer madness and ineffable ecstasy! It had been most improbable, but I have beaten the drop. I shall be playing in the top flight next season. No doubt it’s a self-indulging fest, but hopeless or not, I don’t care. Just let me survive. I am shameless.
Truly, this is better than sex.
It’s like Hull City all over again. Hopeless for most of the season, unable to lift themselves even on the final day against a second string ManUre side, but they stayed up because their rivals lost. Undeserved, but how they celebrated at the final whistle.
It doesn’t matter how I did it, but I won’t care. The result is all that matters. It has been a long and torturous season. At times I didn’t enjoy the rub of the green. I was blatantly robbed and I could barely rouse myself for the final game, so demoralized I was. I was mediocre, I admit that, but like Phil Brown and all who love Hull City, it doesn’t matter if you play like trash, You can go without a win in 20 matches but if at the start of the season someone told me I would avoid relegation, I would have shaken his hands.
The celebrations will carry on long into the night. The pyrotechnics! The carnival, the dancing girls, the sheer madness and ineffable ecstasy! It had been most improbable, but I have beaten the drop. I shall be playing in the top flight next season. No doubt it’s a self-indulging fest, but hopeless or not, I don’t care. Just let me survive. I am shameless.
Truly, this is better than sex.
Mister B. Gone
Embark on an odyssey of wickedness with the demon Jakabok Botch. Bound within a book by powerful magics, the Botch pleads for his own destruction as he recounts his tale.Wretched even by the standards of his infernal kin, the grotesque creature barely escapes the wrath of his merciless father and the hostile environs of his hellish home. Rescued by the demon Quitoon from a slow and agonizing death, the infernal pair makes their way in the mortal world, spreading strife wherever they go.
A strange twist of fate brings Botch to the obscure town of Mainz. Caught in a war between angels and demons, Botch finds himself on his own. Botch's propensity for getting himself into tight situations will astonish the reader. His inner struggles with himself, depraved at times, strangely endearing in others, is a fascinating dichotomy.
Although a fascinating read, this narration is a let-down due to its dearth of atrocities. The momentous event that nearly brought Armageddon is mundane and hardly worth the fuss. For all the potential of its theme, the story tapers off towards the end. It is a poor man’s Faust, and even then, not quite.
Despite its shortcomings, Mister B. Gone is a valiant effort by Barker to portray the human side even irredeemable evil has. Readers who have grown sick of heroic fantasy and tales of derring-do will find Mister B. Gone a villainously refreshing book.
Rating: 3/5
Sunday, June 21, 2009
About Ed
Yesterday during football, Ed told us that 987 FM was organizing a beach party at Siloso Beach, Sentosa. As the entrance fee was free, it might be a good idea to go there to enjoy ourselves.
Shineboi thought it was a good idea and readily agreed to it. The Animal was non-committal because his girlfriend was conscious about prancing around on a beach in a bikini. (If I were a girl and had her figure I would feel the same as well.) Still, he could have gone ahead. I don’t know if he went but seriously, what is the point of having a girlfriend and losing your freedom as a result?
Anyway, The Idea was passed around the guys many times while we waited for our turn on the court. We joked about it, about the shit we would (or would not) do there, about the place overcrowded with smelly ‘blackies’, about how wild inebriated girls could get, the kind of shit high-school or college students would normally joke about when they are half-fantasizing, at the back of their mind, that ‘tonight I might just get lucky’.
Another guy said he wanted in. Considering the amount of discussion and the fact that it was to be on a Saturday night, the response was lukewarm. The reason is obvious: No girls. Why would a bloke want to go to a party, get squeezed in with the crowd, try to look like they are enjoying the company of his fellow blokes and ogling other people’s broads? It’s inexplicable.
Some people are not meant to be singles. Ed is one of them. He should get a girlfriend. Why go to some stupid beach party for no good reason other than to humour some secret need to score with some broads? It’s not like he’s going to walk up to one and ask for her number or something. What is so difficult about getting a girlfriend? True, some guys have this stupid mental block when they talk to girls, others are downright ugly, but if you have a bunch of friends who are sincere about helping you hook up, half the battle is won. Unfortunately, Ed does not seem to have any of such friends. Being his friends we have let him down. We sorry bastards.
I am not saying that he cannot get a partner – okay he cannot. To the Hells with the politically correct horseshit. I mean, this is a guy who just graduated with a degree in business (well-educated), went to Australia for a ‘road-trip’ (wild and romantic spirit) before he embarks on his career. A tight budget made him and his friends eat instant noodles (thrifty) while they were in Down Under, and when he returned he quarantined himself because he feared he had the swine flu (responsible).
Personality-wise he is not domineering or anal-retentive. He is just one of the boys, doing normal things, talking normal things and being normal. Hell, even his political facts and understanding of the totalitarian country he lives in are straight from the social studies textbook. Moderate, not overly critical, certainly not dumb, does sports, a teetotaler, no vices (at least not that I know of), a normal fellow. He may not be tall, dark and handsome, but he is certainly way beyond of what I looked like when I had my funny looking dental ASSets.
If ornery whoresons can find themselves a girl, I don’t see why such a morally upright (I mean this in a loose sense, taking into consideration our prevailing moral and social ‘values’) cannot ‘break the duck’. There is obviously something very wrong with the world. Or is it just our females?
I think women in general are too defensive. As Alex ‘Hitch’ Hitchens rants at Sarah Melas in Hitch, ‘Do you know why falling in love is so damn difficult? It’s because you women are so damn defensive!” ( cannot remember the exact line, but you get the point.) Some women think that a guy who talks to her is either tying to sell insurance, peddle Gawd to her or try to score with her. It has not occurred to their ROYAL HIGHNESS that the guy who talks to them may be just be doing what he appears to be doing - talk. Why slam the door straight in the guy’s face?
Maybe another reason why women behave like this (now I am referring to the local breed) is due to our culture. Contrary to what the regime would have you believe, Singapore is NOT a caring society. People are just commodities, they treat others like commodities, they think in terms of dollars and cents, they are afraid to lose and this applies in love as well. Forget about romantic love in this country. It’s all about pragmatism. No money no honey. From the evolutionary point of view this is not irrational. Females prefer good providers so that they can pass on their genes in relative safety. You may argue that females are getting more promiscuous so what of this evolutionary impulse. You are not wrong. However, there is a difference between finding a prick on a Saturday night for your five minutes of pleasure and finding a provider who is admittedly, more lasting, even in the modern day context of increasing divorce rate. The former is not taking any real chances, save pregnancy and STDs. There is normally no emotional baggage in a good fuck. In love people have to open up their life, and when you open up you risk getting hurt.
Having said that are many people happily (and not so happily) attached as we speak. There are also people who look upon every weekend with dread because they are lonely. Sad , but true. I don’t know about Ed. If he doesn’t play football with us every Saturday maybe he would be doing something else. I don’t know, but I am willing to put money on him staring at the four walls in abject fascination.
I see it in his eyes. Ed needs a girl. Somewhere out there is a suitable female for him and all he needs to do is to seek her out. Easier said than done, given his non-adventurous character. I think he just needs to let loose a bit. He does not seem to be very confident but lots of losers have gotten themselves laid. If they can score, why not Ed?
On a last note, I shall try to be a true friend and advertise his availability here on this obscure blog. I don’t expect success, but people do strike it rich in the lottery despite the odds.
At the risk of sounding like a bloody MSN pop-up ad:
Singapore, male, 25 years old, 1.7m, 55kg, degree in business, friendly, nice, sensitive, faithful, sporty, appreciates the simple pleasures in life. Looking for a nice girl.
Please leave your contact details in the Hate Mail or in the comments. You may also contact me at falloutmeow@gmail.com
All details will be kept strictly confidential.
Shineboi thought it was a good idea and readily agreed to it. The Animal was non-committal because his girlfriend was conscious about prancing around on a beach in a bikini. (If I were a girl and had her figure I would feel the same as well.) Still, he could have gone ahead. I don’t know if he went but seriously, what is the point of having a girlfriend and losing your freedom as a result?
Anyway, The Idea was passed around the guys many times while we waited for our turn on the court. We joked about it, about the shit we would (or would not) do there, about the place overcrowded with smelly ‘blackies’, about how wild inebriated girls could get, the kind of shit high-school or college students would normally joke about when they are half-fantasizing, at the back of their mind, that ‘tonight I might just get lucky’.
Another guy said he wanted in. Considering the amount of discussion and the fact that it was to be on a Saturday night, the response was lukewarm. The reason is obvious: No girls. Why would a bloke want to go to a party, get squeezed in with the crowd, try to look like they are enjoying the company of his fellow blokes and ogling other people’s broads? It’s inexplicable.
Some people are not meant to be singles. Ed is one of them. He should get a girlfriend. Why go to some stupid beach party for no good reason other than to humour some secret need to score with some broads? It’s not like he’s going to walk up to one and ask for her number or something. What is so difficult about getting a girlfriend? True, some guys have this stupid mental block when they talk to girls, others are downright ugly, but if you have a bunch of friends who are sincere about helping you hook up, half the battle is won. Unfortunately, Ed does not seem to have any of such friends. Being his friends we have let him down. We sorry bastards.
I am not saying that he cannot get a partner – okay he cannot. To the Hells with the politically correct horseshit. I mean, this is a guy who just graduated with a degree in business (well-educated), went to Australia for a ‘road-trip’ (wild and romantic spirit) before he embarks on his career. A tight budget made him and his friends eat instant noodles (thrifty) while they were in Down Under, and when he returned he quarantined himself because he feared he had the swine flu (responsible).
Personality-wise he is not domineering or anal-retentive. He is just one of the boys, doing normal things, talking normal things and being normal. Hell, even his political facts and understanding of the totalitarian country he lives in are straight from the social studies textbook. Moderate, not overly critical, certainly not dumb, does sports, a teetotaler, no vices (at least not that I know of), a normal fellow. He may not be tall, dark and handsome, but he is certainly way beyond of what I looked like when I had my funny looking dental ASSets.
If ornery whoresons can find themselves a girl, I don’t see why such a morally upright (I mean this in a loose sense, taking into consideration our prevailing moral and social ‘values’) cannot ‘break the duck’. There is obviously something very wrong with the world. Or is it just our females?
I think women in general are too defensive. As Alex ‘Hitch’ Hitchens rants at Sarah Melas in Hitch, ‘Do you know why falling in love is so damn difficult? It’s because you women are so damn defensive!” ( cannot remember the exact line, but you get the point.) Some women think that a guy who talks to her is either tying to sell insurance, peddle Gawd to her or try to score with her. It has not occurred to their ROYAL HIGHNESS that the guy who talks to them may be just be doing what he appears to be doing - talk. Why slam the door straight in the guy’s face?
Maybe another reason why women behave like this (now I am referring to the local breed) is due to our culture. Contrary to what the regime would have you believe, Singapore is NOT a caring society. People are just commodities, they treat others like commodities, they think in terms of dollars and cents, they are afraid to lose and this applies in love as well. Forget about romantic love in this country. It’s all about pragmatism. No money no honey. From the evolutionary point of view this is not irrational. Females prefer good providers so that they can pass on their genes in relative safety. You may argue that females are getting more promiscuous so what of this evolutionary impulse. You are not wrong. However, there is a difference between finding a prick on a Saturday night for your five minutes of pleasure and finding a provider who is admittedly, more lasting, even in the modern day context of increasing divorce rate. The former is not taking any real chances, save pregnancy and STDs. There is normally no emotional baggage in a good fuck. In love people have to open up their life, and when you open up you risk getting hurt.
Having said that are many people happily (and not so happily) attached as we speak. There are also people who look upon every weekend with dread because they are lonely. Sad , but true. I don’t know about Ed. If he doesn’t play football with us every Saturday maybe he would be doing something else. I don’t know, but I am willing to put money on him staring at the four walls in abject fascination.
I see it in his eyes. Ed needs a girl. Somewhere out there is a suitable female for him and all he needs to do is to seek her out. Easier said than done, given his non-adventurous character. I think he just needs to let loose a bit. He does not seem to be very confident but lots of losers have gotten themselves laid. If they can score, why not Ed?
On a last note, I shall try to be a true friend and advertise his availability here on this obscure blog. I don’t expect success, but people do strike it rich in the lottery despite the odds.
At the risk of sounding like a bloody MSN pop-up ad:
Singapore, male, 25 years old, 1.7m, 55kg, degree in business, friendly, nice, sensitive, faithful, sporty, appreciates the simple pleasures in life. Looking for a nice girl.
Please leave your contact details in the Hate Mail or in the comments. You may also contact me at falloutmeow@gmail.com
All details will be kept strictly confidential.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Cell
H.G Wells would have been proud with this modern retelling of his classic War of the Worlds.The world goes to Hell on the day Clay Riddell, a comic book artist, gets his big break. The Pulse turns cell phones into Weapons of Mass Destruction, causing their users to lose their memory and sanity.
After an initial bloody encounter, Riddell hooks up with Tom McCourt and Alice Maxwell. The friendship among the trio is punctuated with their individual anxieties. Here King does a superb job. His characters stand out with such vividness you experience their fears and the precious little joy they share as they comfort one another in a post-apocalyptic world.
Follow Riddell, as he finds different groups – the apt pupil and his master, and the ragtag group whom, like Riddell’s are bonded by the dire circumstances they find themselves . Their determination shows their fighting spirit, their care for one another bears testimony to their human character, which in spite of all the flaws, is a light in the dark days ahead.
As the world collapses and the afflicted, or Phonies, stalk the streets in murderous rage, where the people are forlorn and reduced almost to animals, the reader is forced to confront the possibility that our carefully cultivated and rigorously maintained society is no more than a flimsy façade, a dam that can crack any moment, leaving us to drown in its raging waters.
Unlike most King’s books, Cell is filled with scenes of violence and fiery destruction that will please any adrenaline junkie. The destruction of a flock of phone-crazies, followed by swift and brutal repercussion from their kind will have you on the edge of your seat. What sets the carnage apart from mere gore and splatter is the depth of feeling, be it crushing despondency or wild exhilaration that accompany the violence. The in-your-face horror does not diminish the story; it enhances it.
The evolution and subsequent de-evolution of the Phonies, are as darkly compelling as the deliberate charting of civilization’s rapid disintegration and the survivors’ desperation and hopelessness. In the world of the Phonies, the Normies are mad, the only cure to their condition conversion to insanity. One cannot help but be fascinated at how humans, having dominated the world for so long, are now merely cattle, yoked and used without a thought.
To some, the ending may be anti-climatic. Not so for me. King has got it perfectly in the final scene. What begins with hope, ends with hope. The open ending suggests a sequel, and I look forward to it.
Rating: 4/5
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Fun with T & T
There are many things we can learn from tortoises and turtles.
The need to exercise. If this fella can do it, so can you lazy potato chip-munching slackers.
Such unwavering determination! This champion puts the rest of us to shame.
If grandma and grandpa can get it on, I don't see why we younglings can't.
I have heard of dildos, vibrators and other sex toys, but this is ridiculous.
The need to exercise. If this fella can do it, so can you lazy potato chip-munching slackers.
Such unwavering determination! This champion puts the rest of us to shame.
If grandma and grandpa can get it on, I don't see why we younglings can't.
I have heard of dildos, vibrators and other sex toys, but this is ridiculous.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Shoppie!
Seeing that my wardrobe was resembling something from a poor-house, I decided it was time for me to get some nice clothes. Fortunately the Singapore Sale was on, and the Lass and Miao happened to be free.
We first went to Causeway Point. We had a strange lunch at Pastamania, where the waitresses all went about their tasks with the vigor of zombies. It took them three tries to get our orders right. I thought they were paid like $2 an hour.
Then with the Lass leading the way, we went around the shops looking for clothes and other accessories. I bought a pair of sexy cute shoe laces and KIV some other items. When we were in the big departmental store there, XH arrived. I was torn between his fashion advice and the opinions the Lass expressed, but in the end, girl power won. You simply don’t argue with a woman when it comes to fashion. Women run the economy. If the bankers were all women we would never have this stupid economic crisis.
I am babbling – okay XH arrived before we went into the store. We had slop at the food court first. (I am 29 going on 92, so excuse my senility.)
Anyway, I got a brown tie and an office belt at the store. The four of us moved on to more shops. It was not my first time shopping with girls but I am always amazed at the variety of female accessories they sell. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, bands, watches, and other items that defy my understanding. It must be both fun and distressing being a woman. So many things to adorn yourself with, and all the colours must match. All the lovely baubles and sexy clothes. I am astonished that they can still retain their sanity!
After we decided we had enough of Causeway Point, we went to the mall next to Sembawang train station. I bought some T-shirts – okay the mall is called Northpoint – and the Lass and Miao helped me look for stuff. The Lass never stopped giving me advice on what to wear and for that I am really grateful. She found her “cool shoes” in the process of teaching a Neanderthal (that’s me). I hope she will get them eventually.
XH left halfway through our shopping. (Bugger still evades the issue of why he didn’t introduce his sexy cousin to me. Sigh…) The three of us went back to Woodlands and did more “see see look look”. We even had dinner together. I think the girls need to eat more. Youngsters need to grow big and strong.
After we got home, we had a conference, of sorts. I achieved the remarkable feat of taking myself wearing three different pairs of jeans and then submitting the photos to my two female panelists for their assessment. It was quite challenging. From where I placed my camera, a good shot of my legs was impossible without having a chair to elevate myself to the required height. If my Sony camera didn’t have a 10 second delay function, I would have to hop onto the chair and risk breaking my neck from a fall. I have done some crazy shit in my life. One more to add to the list.
We talked until two in the morning and then we met at Vivo City at eleven the next day. The Lass, Miao and I were suffering from sleep deprivation but some slop at Long John’s Silver replenished our energy a bit and we carried on our quest. Along the way we took a peek in another big store (like other BIG stores, its name eludes me). We did some shopping and I got a new wallet. My old wallet of five years had finally cracked at the seams and the timing was right for it to be retired.
While transferring the contents of my retired wallet to the new one, we had a look at each other’s university/poly and identification cards. The people in our photos didn’t resemble us one bit. The Lass and I looked like aunties, and Miao was plumper. They had a good laugh at my military and identification cards. I could never get a date back then, was the blunt of jokes and now that I have gotten my teeth fixed and a steel jaw for my agony, there was a sense of déjà vu that my looks could still elicit some guffaws.
The Lass and I were dying to our friend in a dress so we “psycho-ed” her into trying one. Hell, the woman has a waist women would kill for and she does not wear a dress that much. Heart pain lahhhhh…
Talking about trying clothes, I was quite the mannequin (a “cheapo” one in my opinion). The Lass examined me as an empress would at some rare beast and Miao offered her opinion with the air of a court adviser. It’s actually quite fun being fawned over by women, if I may say so myself. All the changing of clothes and the half-assed poses – I didn’t know it’s so much fun.
The Lass and Miao actually share similar tastes in fashion. I think they should shop together more often. It is a match made in the heavens and consummated in the shopping mall. Oh wondrous! I think there is something evolutionary about this “flocking” behavior but never mind, this is a topic for another day.
I thought I would never get anything red in my existence, given my hatred for my national flag and the Shite (for the uninitiated, this means Liverpool FC). Miao told me I didn’t have to give up red for this kind of reason. It’s a good point, but like my prejudice towards pink, this mindset takes time to change.
Or most of the time anyway. In a department store we suddenly saw some hot ties that made us wail that we didn’t come to the place earlier. And guess what? I got a RED tie. My two advisors saw it was beautiful, and I obeyed. (By the way, it’s really beautiful.) I even think I look irresistible to women if I wear it.
Miao even got herself a nice bag – I would swear it was made for her. And yeah, I also got myself an orange shirt – again, the opinions of my advisors carried much weight. If it hadn’t for Miao and the Lass I would never have been so adventurous in my shopping. If we do this on a regular basis I think I may become one of those metrosexual/ulbersexuals/David Beckham.
During the course of our adventure, I discovered that certain items like the EPILATOR and the TONGUE CLEANER do exist. The latter removes body hair by curling it and then pulling it out. (Why not just use a razor?) And the tongue cleaner – who invented these things anyway? They wanted to show me what this contraption looks like, but it was out of stock. OUT OF STOCK! You mean people actually buy these things?!
I will look like my real height if I bother to stand straight. Miao said I look 5 cm taller. Damn. No wonder people rolled their eyes in disbelief when I said I am 1.8m tall.
This is not related to clothes, but we went to the National Geographic shop. They sell really expensive items and I don’t know if people are crazy enough to buy it. Probably. They are even selling photography done by school students. Why not a photo-spread of Denise Milani then? These high-priced ivory-tower popinjays!
These two days have truly been momentous. I had never gone for shopping two days in a row and to cover the distance that we did and the time we spent, it is nothing short of incredible. I want to thank the Lass and Miao for their indefatigable energy, indomitable spirit, endless patience, excellent advice, and last but not least, being great fun.
We first went to Causeway Point. We had a strange lunch at Pastamania, where the waitresses all went about their tasks with the vigor of zombies. It took them three tries to get our orders right. I thought they were paid like $2 an hour.
Then with the Lass leading the way, we went around the shops looking for clothes and other accessories. I bought a pair of sexy cute shoe laces and KIV some other items. When we were in the big departmental store there, XH arrived. I was torn between his fashion advice and the opinions the Lass expressed, but in the end, girl power won. You simply don’t argue with a woman when it comes to fashion. Women run the economy. If the bankers were all women we would never have this stupid economic crisis.
I am babbling – okay XH arrived before we went into the store. We had slop at the food court first. (I am 29 going on 92, so excuse my senility.)
Anyway, I got a brown tie and an office belt at the store. The four of us moved on to more shops. It was not my first time shopping with girls but I am always amazed at the variety of female accessories they sell. Necklaces, rings, bracelets, bands, watches, and other items that defy my understanding. It must be both fun and distressing being a woman. So many things to adorn yourself with, and all the colours must match. All the lovely baubles and sexy clothes. I am astonished that they can still retain their sanity!
After we decided we had enough of Causeway Point, we went to the mall next to Sembawang train station. I bought some T-shirts – okay the mall is called Northpoint – and the Lass and Miao helped me look for stuff. The Lass never stopped giving me advice on what to wear and for that I am really grateful. She found her “cool shoes” in the process of teaching a Neanderthal (that’s me). I hope she will get them eventually.
XH left halfway through our shopping. (Bugger still evades the issue of why he didn’t introduce his sexy cousin to me. Sigh…) The three of us went back to Woodlands and did more “see see look look”. We even had dinner together. I think the girls need to eat more. Youngsters need to grow big and strong.
After we got home, we had a conference, of sorts. I achieved the remarkable feat of taking myself wearing three different pairs of jeans and then submitting the photos to my two female panelists for their assessment. It was quite challenging. From where I placed my camera, a good shot of my legs was impossible without having a chair to elevate myself to the required height. If my Sony camera didn’t have a 10 second delay function, I would have to hop onto the chair and risk breaking my neck from a fall. I have done some crazy shit in my life. One more to add to the list.
We talked until two in the morning and then we met at Vivo City at eleven the next day. The Lass, Miao and I were suffering from sleep deprivation but some slop at Long John’s Silver replenished our energy a bit and we carried on our quest. Along the way we took a peek in another big store (like other BIG stores, its name eludes me). We did some shopping and I got a new wallet. My old wallet of five years had finally cracked at the seams and the timing was right for it to be retired.
While transferring the contents of my retired wallet to the new one, we had a look at each other’s university/poly and identification cards. The people in our photos didn’t resemble us one bit. The Lass and I looked like aunties, and Miao was plumper. They had a good laugh at my military and identification cards. I could never get a date back then, was the blunt of jokes and now that I have gotten my teeth fixed and a steel jaw for my agony, there was a sense of déjà vu that my looks could still elicit some guffaws.
The Lass and I were dying to our friend in a dress so we “psycho-ed” her into trying one. Hell, the woman has a waist women would kill for and she does not wear a dress that much. Heart pain lahhhhh…
Talking about trying clothes, I was quite the mannequin (a “cheapo” one in my opinion). The Lass examined me as an empress would at some rare beast and Miao offered her opinion with the air of a court adviser. It’s actually quite fun being fawned over by women, if I may say so myself. All the changing of clothes and the half-assed poses – I didn’t know it’s so much fun.
The Lass and Miao actually share similar tastes in fashion. I think they should shop together more often. It is a match made in the heavens and consummated in the shopping mall. Oh wondrous! I think there is something evolutionary about this “flocking” behavior but never mind, this is a topic for another day.
I thought I would never get anything red in my existence, given my hatred for my national flag and the Shite (for the uninitiated, this means Liverpool FC). Miao told me I didn’t have to give up red for this kind of reason. It’s a good point, but like my prejudice towards pink, this mindset takes time to change.
Or most of the time anyway. In a department store we suddenly saw some hot ties that made us wail that we didn’t come to the place earlier. And guess what? I got a RED tie. My two advisors saw it was beautiful, and I obeyed. (By the way, it’s really beautiful.) I even think I look irresistible to women if I wear it.
Miao even got herself a nice bag – I would swear it was made for her. And yeah, I also got myself an orange shirt – again, the opinions of my advisors carried much weight. If it hadn’t for Miao and the Lass I would never have been so adventurous in my shopping. If we do this on a regular basis I think I may become one of those metrosexual/ulbersexuals/David Beckham.
During the course of our adventure, I discovered that certain items like the EPILATOR and the TONGUE CLEANER do exist. The latter removes body hair by curling it and then pulling it out. (Why not just use a razor?) And the tongue cleaner – who invented these things anyway? They wanted to show me what this contraption looks like, but it was out of stock. OUT OF STOCK! You mean people actually buy these things?!
I will look like my real height if I bother to stand straight. Miao said I look 5 cm taller. Damn. No wonder people rolled their eyes in disbelief when I said I am 1.8m tall.
This is not related to clothes, but we went to the National Geographic shop. They sell really expensive items and I don’t know if people are crazy enough to buy it. Probably. They are even selling photography done by school students. Why not a photo-spread of Denise Milani then? These high-priced ivory-tower popinjays!
These two days have truly been momentous. I had never gone for shopping two days in a row and to cover the distance that we did and the time we spent, it is nothing short of incredible. I want to thank the Lass and Miao for their indefatigable energy, indomitable spirit, endless patience, excellent advice, and last but not least, being great fun.
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