Sometime back in September 2004 there was a crossing of paths when two men met in a dark room. Both are undeniably major influences in my life.

This little bit of info has got to be the most scintillating piece of trivia I've stumbled across in recent times. Most trivia I bother to read or collect are about people/places/things that I care about. Except for Paris Hilton, who I do not particularly care about, but the amount of trivia concerning her enters my mind via internetomosis.

But anyway.

Who on earth would have ever guessed, that at a taping of The Charlie Rose Show, Jon Stewart sat waiting backstage as Lee Hsien Loong spoke on camera.

I've no concrete proof that they actually met, but I am willing to bet there was at least a brief brushing of shoulders as Jon went on stage.

I stumbled on this while watching this hour-long interview with Jon on C-Span:



Approximately 13 minutes into the interview, he mentions the Minister of Singapore. Of course he does this with his usual flippant wave of the hand and a rather dismissive tone, but I don't really care.

My obsession with Jon grows. Its getting ridiculous. I already have fifty bucks set aside for his book as my birthday present to myself.





Haven't had a chance to talk about Bangkok. So much has happened since I came back, it seems like months ago that I went. But well, it was great.I wouldn't mind living there. You know what they say - same same, but different.

Moving In, Moving Out

I suppose at some point or other I have to talk about the events of the past week, and perhaps its only apt that I do it now.

So now I have a desk and a computer, Prince is wailing over the speakers, the key to the office sits next to me. I will be running out later to grab some coffee and smokes, and right now its just me and my music occupying this very beautiful three-storey shophouse.

I feel like I've been holding my breath for the whole of the past week, and I'm just waiting to exhale.

The line would be nicer if there weren't a Whitney Houston movie with the same title. Fuck.

But yes, I start my new job in a week or so. I've yet to wrap things up at the other end, and I think next week will be crazier than the last.

I was going to write about what its all about, and why I'm leaving, and why this what-the-fuck move seems perfectly logical in my mind - but I've been doing that for the last five days and I really can't do it anymore.

Sawa-byebye-dikap

As I told Malcolm, "There's a massage chair there with my name on it."



Seeya Monday!

Like a Dog on a Leash

Am plugging this video taken off a comment on Zynfandel's blog.

Because personally I've always been intrigued by role-playing as a method of research or teaching. Which is why I liked the movie The Experiment, and why I like this video.



Its a five-parter (although part 5 is missing), and its about a teacher dividing a class into brown Vs blue-eyed kids - all for a lesson in discrimination.

I wonder if animals discriminate.





And oh! Mom brought back a bathrobe, my request, from her office. Clearing of stock and all that. I love bathrobes. Makes me feel like I'm in a hotel. And generally I do like hotels, other than the obviously haunted ones, because of how impersonal and anonymous everything is.

I'd have prefered one in white, a la Audrey H. in Breakfast at Tiffany's. I remember the shock of her waist in the bathrobe. What on earth could there be left under all that material!

I can have the same waist too, I realised, since the belt of this bathrobe ties on quite snugly. Just can't sit or do things like breathing, that's all.



Ah what a beauty. Based on this photo, Lulamae and I have more in common than you could ever imagine.

Men swallow too

Men do too. And not just any man. The Man.

The Man and I, and about twenty-plus people had the pleasure of Item Number 3 on the menu: Cod fish sperm soup.

It might not have been his first time, but it certainly was mine.

The jokes started even before the event, and maybe I wouldn't have been so gleeful if I'd known that I was included on the dinner quota.

Apparently, this spermy dish is an expensive Japanese delicacy (big fucking surprise), and is also used in cosmetic products. I dare say this was the weirdest thing I'd ever tasted. I didn't like it, because it reminded me of foie gras (which I hate), and it looks terrible. We didn't exactly have "sperm", but rather the reproductive male organs. And heck it certainly looked like some sorta organ. Thank god the colour was a nice, safe white.

I think the guys struggled with it more. Hahaha. Anyway, we eat eggs all the time. Its almost the same thing.

Everything else in the dinner though, was great. Authentic home-made wasabi, freshfreshfresh sashimi, the salads... And why wouldn't it be? Chef Nogawa from the Nogawa Restaurant was on hand to make everything perfect.

But hey, as we all know by now, I only enjoyed it because of one reason.



There was just so much waiting, and just when I thought I'd never have a chance to fall asleep during lectures again, I happily dozed off as the supersmart people rattled off during their academic presentations. Felt nice.

Also got funny policemen, security officers and behind-the-scene people to talk cock and make fun of sperm soup. Pun unavoidable.

Liar

Another MRT suicide today, at Clementi MRT. I didn't really have to go down, since we're really trying not to play up any suicide stories and by the time I was heading out the trains had started to run again so there probably wasn't much left to shoot.

But no way in hell I was passing up the opportunity, not after what feels like a million posed/people/food or generally non-adrenaline-inducing shoots.

Accident scenes usually unfold in the same way. There's a body. The police covers up the body. Sometimes the grieving family will come. The police hearse arrives, usually after a while, to remove the body. The end.

Today was slightly different. For starters, no one knew for sure what was going on. Everyone looked confused. There was just so much uncertainty. Where is the body? Has it left? Is it still here? Where!??


And then, for the first time ever, I had the media liason person flat out lie to me. And every single member of the media present. Because, ya know, its their job not to tell the facts.


"The body is not here already! Left already!" *beams*


Malcolm said that it was possible she didn't know. I think its more possible that she's an idiot.


I tell the same kind of lie sometimes. Usually it involves a little kid who wants to have a bit of the snack I'm having. I'd hold the bag behind my bag, wave my other arm around emptily, and tell them Look! No more! Finish already! Generally it works, because the kid probably thinks - hell, why would she lie to me?

And so SMRT PR Lady and I do have something in common, since we practice the same tricks. However while I understand that these lies only work on children, she obviously thinks that it works on everybody.

It was just such an unnecessary, juvenile lie.

Eventually the reporters left, and the remaining photogs headed to the back exit. As we neared the doors, the police hearse pulled up, and I really wished the SMRT PR Lady was next to me. So is this the body you said was not here!!!!!?? Have you heard of the phrase "NO COMMENT"!??




Anyway I was right, they're not using the pic. Not that I mind anyhow. Obviously there were concerns raised about whether this was a copycat after the last MRT suicide case raised half a million bucks in donations. I wonder how TNP is going to cover this one.

But it was a good day. Its really not good that its because of someone's death, but I know what I mean even if you don't.

Shoe-ed

I tried on an expensive pair of heels today in office. It was for some fashion shoot, and the reporter hadn't come to collect it back. I didn't quite know what to make of the colour, which was a strange blue/purple with gold thread. And my legs look weird with ankle straps.

So this isn't a pair of shoes I'd buy even if it cost 10 bucks. But the price tag, and the quality that came along with it, made me want it. Wearing it made me happy.

On the way home I mused over this happiness-gained-from-expensive-things/materialism. So superficial! So totally irrelevant! Think of the hungry and sick and starving! But! They are so pretty!!!



And then it occured to me, that the only reason I was happy wearing those shoes was because I
could wear 'em for free.

It would be a totally different sensation if i had a $300 receipt between my teeth while trying to tie the damn thing up properly.

Although I love shoes to death, it must mean something when my brother buys shoes more frequently than I do. I want them. I don't want to pay for them. I am the biggest obstacle to my own superficial happiness.

I don't know what this means as far as my personality is concerned, but it can't be good.




-------------------------------------------



And. I'll see you on Tuesday.

Boring like fuck

With a capital B.

Gone are the days of two-posts-a-day. It'll be shocking to even have enough fodder to write a small bit.

In my defence, I was busy. See pic above.

In the last five days since I wrote a post I have uttered these words in public to strangers :

1. "Ya ya ya, Fuck Off!" (to two Idiots)

2. "You want to call [the police] then call lah!" (to an Idiot)

3. "I think you are very wrong." (to taxidriver)

4. "I wish the guy sitting on your right would stop staring at us." (aimed at dude on MRT)



So. Maybe it seems I haven't been posting because I have yet to complete my metamorphosis into Ah Lian of the Year.

Instinctively, I want to say that such statements are really unlike me. Me confrontational and rude?? I remember feeling embarrassed by such things. But I did utter them afterall, and I'm thinking its time that I updated my perception of myself. I think the number of times I use the word Fuck has increased exponentially since a year ago. And no, although it would make the most sense, its not because of the job.

Mid--night-mini-newsflash

(Because I really don't have anything else interesting to say. Not that it ever was, it its even worse.)

(shouted) : Its official. My character-judging-radar is kaput.

mid-day-mini-newsflash

whispered : (I still heart Jon Stewart)

Sleeping with the Enemy

Excuse me while I indulge in a bit of camera-whoring with the cats.











Yeah.



I'm off the the Zoo in the morning tomorrow. Off to see the pretty caged tigers. Whoop!!

Fuck the haze

It literally and figuratively makes me sick. Although I do have to concede that sitting in an open field in Sengkang waiting for a photo op has been quite the enjoyable part of the week.

I have not taken an LRT ride in Sengkang, and it startled me a bit to see how ulu-ated some places were. Is nice. Will go more now.

But really, my nose is all blocked up and I've a scratchy throat that won't go away. Screw you winds!!



------------------------------------



And really, men.

Men. All the same. ALL THE SAME. I am exhausted.



"Do you know how old am I?"

"No..."

"Well, how old are you?"

"42."

"Ok, you take those numbers and invert it, and I'll still be younger."

"You're younger than 24?"

"Yup."

- pause -

"Is that a problem?"




And actually, no it isn't. But hey, its a problem if you want it to be a problem, and right now I think it is.

The formula is simple enough. Endless compliments, generous praise - most of them lies, of course - and the system should work its magic. Except of course, if you're not looking for that sorta 'fun'. Don't get me wrong, I am not unappreciative, it helps to keep things nice and happy and we all like to be lied to once in a while to keep egos afloat... but still I've yet to understand why its only the non-locals that do this, and if I've to meet another angmoh who think he's God's gift to local women...

It could've been the location. As one woman from Serbia told me, looking slightly relieved after she realised I was not one of those local girls, it used to be different. But now its "50% whores and 50% normal people". And really, I figured that out during my first minute at the bar waiting for my drink. And it is quite silly of me to expect anything resembling a normal conversation from a place like that.

Tired tired tired.

I remember Eddie once said Emilia and I were both "high-maintenance". And as we both defensively clamoured to correct his delusional judgment he explained himself and we found ourselves sadly agreeing to his definition of the term.

Aiyah, stranger things have happened.

Dear Cat,

We haven't had much time to speak these days, what with my absence from the house for most of the day, and the fact that I've had to lock you out of my room means no more before-sleep chitchat either.

And for that, I am truely sorry. But hey you know how things work, and if I weren't the same person you would not be here with me right now. Whether or not you want to be, is an issue to be debated over another day.

So things are not quite the same here anymore, and they probably never will be. But sometimes I catch a look from you, and sometimes we still sit together quietly (not too close, I know) and it all feels like before.

You would probably chid me for writing this instead of telling you in person. You know how they say that parents shouldn't take favourites, how teachers should always play fair. Well, I'm neither and I play favourites and I am unfair - and you will always be my number one. Numero uno, and all that.

Love, Jess


--------------------------


To the new cat:


You are a suicidal nutcase. Let me lay out the facts for you.

You : Claws trimmed, 0.5 kg
Cat : Claws not trimmed, 3 kg
Odds : Against You

Chinese got a saying, "Mm zhai see".



--------------------------



Oh, and to anyone's who's interested, George Benson comes to town on December 6th. Whoopwhoop!

Young Cow Don't Know Tiger

Translated into Mandarin, the statement apparently makes more sense, and quite nicely sums up the existing relationship.

Possibility : Shoot Wade Robson spinning on homeground soil. WADE ROBSON.

Reality : Shoot local beauty pageant.



I'm all for local talent and all that, but I may never get over the bitterness. This would not happen if the person doing the assigning was female.


WADE ROBSON!!!!!


*sob* : (

Break

The Idiot (temporary name till I forgive her for all the emotional trauma she has inflicted on me) has proved to be anything but a weak runt (the reason we thought we'd pick her in the first place), displaying acrobatic death-defying feats which made me feel jealous on Cat's behalf since Cat was no where as death-defying at this age. Ladies and Gents, I do believe we have on our hands a die-hard hellion.


(My words ring true. Paused this entry to search for half an hour in my room only to find Idiot in a space that was not supposed to be a space. CB to you.)

----------------------

Headed out for an alcoholic break away from the madness in the house. It seems like the only people I shoot for outside of ST are musicians, and this is slightly worrying since my portfolio will be shit.

But I'm not even vaguely trying to get other commercial jobs, and musicians are an addictive bunch, at least those with their heads screwed on right.

And so, in exchange for a drink and chance to rescue his wounded sense of chivalry (never before have I seen someone take so much offence at having a female foot the bill sneakily), Faiser from Columbia has agreed to help find me a job in South America.

And a legit job at that. I didn't not go to Spain without learning anything.



It never ceases to amaze me to hear people go on and on talking about how beautiful their country is, how its so amazing etc etc and in the same breath list out all its problems and shortcomings.

I tried concocting a make-believe conversation whereby I would praise the hell out of Singapore and in the same breath matter-of-factly state how its still not perfect.

"You won't believe how safe it is... and we have all these beautiful trees by the roads, and so many reservoirs!!!!! We have many races living together peacefully... its so amazing."

Nope. Can't be done. Or rather, I can't do it.





And ooh. I found an extra bottle of gin, hiding and cowering in fear right at the back of the cupboard. Poor bottle... too late.

Love Subtracted

While I was not expecting mutual love to fly between the two, I predicted that I would find it hard to figure out how the new cat would fit into my house and my heart. But it certainly did not occur to me that an additional thing to love would make Cat love me less.

Its a fallacy of course, to think that Cat even loved me at all. So I suppose I could say she tolerates me less.

And now faced with the decision of throwing the new cat back onto the streets, or bringing it into my room - thus ending what has been more than a year of sleeping next to Cat and having her bushy tail hit my face (Cat will not enter rooms where the new cat has been) ...

There are of course logical reasons as to why its the above-mentioned either-this-or-that, and at 11-fucking-am in the morning I am already in tears, and I need a drink.

Love Addition

In the days to come, I will learn how it feels like to love two things at once.

And they say it isn't possible... I'll show 'em.

Stay tuned!

Quick Note

Cat just whispered to me from under her paws (she likes to pretend she's asleep when dealing out advice so it seems as if its unintentional sleep-talking) that unless I do something soon I will have the longest list of regrets yet come end of this year.

Fat lot of help, coming from someone who lists her best accomplishment as chowing down a tiger prawn in 1.3 seconds flat.


Did I just refer to her as a someone? Oh dear.

I missed mid-autumn festival. Not so much missed, as completely-forgot-about-it, until I was at a friend's place and saw merrymaking and lanterns at the neighbours next door.

Said friend wasn't even celebrating mid-autumns, but I felt like I should have, at my grandmas with cousins and all the chinesey things we do.

I was a bit upset to have missed out on the millions of candles and paper lanterns and the mandatory phonebook-bonfire at the playground. However, ever since they removed the sand and placed rubber tiles I haven't had a healthy fire for a while. Its amazing how long you can keep a fire going with one phonebook. I really really like looking at fire.

I'm turning my back on all of you.

Random Monday Snippets

And so Darren's wife sent me an SMS today. A strange and bizarre series of messages ensued which are too strange and bizarre to replicate here.

Dear, dear Anne. As you read this blog, I am compelled to blurt out a question I could not bring my fingers to type earlier. I'm sure you're really nice and good person, but still... What were you thinking?

It is, of course, a rhetorical question. No answer required!

(really really)

---

I have recently started to obsess over Cat's size. She appears miniature, compared to the fat lot lounging about in friends' houses and voiddecks.

I blame myself. A kitten cannot grow on a diet of curry chicken. I have stunted her!

---

A taxi driver tried his best to convince me that I looked Japanese. I think its the Cantopop hair. Sadly, I found myself preferring this to the other occassions when they'd ask me in Mandarin, "So! Which part of China are you from?"

---

Really Anne, What were you thinking?

Sekination

I really should continue with the Good Week Part 2, now that the week is over and that title will no longer make sense in a couple of days.

But what to do, no mood leh.

Today was not a good shooting day. Loads of nonsense I wish I didn't have to show.

So! On to mood-elevating things - like this dress Aya wore at her concert which made me mutter under my breath, "I want".

Its actually red, but the orangey lights deceived all of us. It set her back $300 bucks, which I fully appreciate - not because I think money has anything to do with how good clothes are (a bit, maybe) but because I just appreciate performers/entertainers/musicians who realise that their job is to entertain.

A lot of local singers or musicians (in my very humble opinion) are too immersed in their own musical world and trying to show how talented they are - all the while forgetting that the very reason for their existence is to entertain us. That's the point of music isn't it? And acting, and everything else in that industry. I suppose its something you learn along the way.

And there's just something inspirational about watching her play, something about how free her music sounds (I don't know what genre it is) and how free she must feel to appear in an afro-isque-explosion hair with Dorothy shoes and socks.

I'm now on the hunt for green pants.

Good Week Part One

It's been a good, sombre and perspective-realigning week or so.



Monday started out like it always starts out after you work on a Sunday - grumpy.

I wandered around Chinatown before finally stumbling into the Buddhist clinic, trying my best to keep my head down to avoid unnecessary eye contact (and thus conversation) with these volunteers who had so much goodwill and charitable intent radiating from their pores I could literally feel it.

Ok, I lie. At that point I was an evil being with a core of ice and there was no way any positivity could have made it through me.

I find it faintly ironic that it was not a bunch of happy sunshine volunteers who eventually turned my Monday around, but a grumpy old man with arthritis (see above).

Said man did a stint as a karang guni for a bit, which explains the.. treasure trove his house had become :



That's half. I did not and could noat enter the kitchen side. Its organised chaos at its best. It looks terrible, but the dude made it work. He's not some crazy hoarder.

But a grump he is. There were no Thank Yous, no helpless silent pleading done with the eyes, no apologies for making 20 people turn up to help him clear out his stuff. I really quite liked him. (He's a virgo, I checked) As far as he was concerned, he was doing us a favour by letting us intrude upon his space.


And I'm sure I've mentioned this before, but I don't understand why people talk to the elderly like they are retarded. Its bound to make me grumpy if I were old but otherwise perfectly fine and you talk to me like I'm stupid. Maybe its because they are trying to be extra nice.




There are more stories I want to tell. An air steward who can no longer feed himself, a place full of dying people and an Uncle who pleaded with me in Teochew to "Please, remember to talk more dialect.


Tomorrow, tomorrow. Tired now, but feeling more alive than I've had in weeks.

I forgot his name. It got lost in the translation. I keep thinking its Sakura.

Word of the Day

Nadir
na‧dir/–noun
1. Astronomy. the point on the celestial sphere directly beneath a given position or observer and diametrically opposite the zenith.
2. Astrology. the point of a horoscope opposite the midheaven: the cusp of the fourth house.
3. The lowest point; point of greatest adversity or despair.


Just look at what I'm learning from reading trashy blogs! And all this while I thought it was the name of a girl I didn't know.