Arts & Entertainment

Lessons from (pseudo) NY

So here I am, sitting at my computer at 1am in the morning when I have to go to work tomorrow. I could have gone off to bed earlier on but I just had to catch up on one of my favourite shows in the whole world – Sex and the City.

Despite its racy name and even racier reputation, this is one show that is not just about sex, sex and sex. And oh yeah, did I mention the men and the troubled relationships? But seriously, there are lessons to be learnt from this show and it’s not the 1001 sex positions flyer that Samantha bought for a dollar fifty from a man selling it on a corner street.

The first episode of the fourth season (I think I never did finish season three, things just got in the way) was about Carrie, Sarah Jessica Parker’s character, celebrating her 35th birthday. It struck a chord in me because I was just sitting there and thinking, if I am a single in Singapore at the grand old age of 35, would I have a bunch of girlfriends to celebrate it with me and tell me that they are my soulmates and hence succeeding in an area where no man has ever accomplished?

And speaking of soulmates, is there really someone out there for everyone? If you have loved someone before but it didn’t work out, does it mean that he was not the one and therefore the one (this is starting to sound like The Matrix) is still out there in the world? Does it really work that way?

And if my mother were to die one day (I don’t even want to think about it), would my friends come for the funeral and stand by my side, holding my hand without my asking them to? Would they come rescue me when I have a crick in my neck and absolutely cannot move my body? Would they come over to my place with milk and oreos in the dead of the night to help me exorcise my ghosts?

Can we ever forgive and forget? And if we cannot forget, is it ever possible to simply forgive and then move on and start afresh? Or will we end up punishing the other person subconsciously?

Would I ever find someone who would try to help me save my Mac if it dies on me suddenly and then buy me a new iBook and a zip drive to back up my data? Even if he uses a PC and only knows how to use ControlAltDelete? Would he be able to love my friends and help them the way I would?

Suddenly, these are issues that are not just reel and fictitious but things which seem so real and so reality-like.

And then I wonder – would I be able to stand up and walk again after falling flat on my face in front of hundreds of people, the way Carrie did?

I guess I already have.

Little Miss Shopaholic

Playing dress up

I fell in love twice yesterday, within the space of three hours.

Saw two gorgeous dresses, tried them on and as the song goes, I can’t get them out of my head.
The first was at the Oppt Shop at The Heeren. My sister and I were ooh-ing and ahh-ing over the 1950s’ dress, which reminds me very strongly of Julianne Moore in The Hours. The top of the dress is very simple – a u-shaped collar with two not-too-thin shoulder straps. The collar has an embroidered flower on it, breaking the monotony of the u-shape. It tapers down to a very fitted waist (22″, I am told) before it flares out glamorously, with little pleats. The skirt has pretty prints of tulips and they look really exquisite. The back of the dress is a low u, with the zip in the middle.

The dress is made of stiff cotton or linen, I can’t really tell. Plus, the skirt reminds me of the cancan, because of the stiff netting sewn into it. Anyway, I tried it on and the shopkeeper managed to zip it up but my oh my, it’s a dress which you CANNOT eat or breathe in. Twirling in it makes me feel as if I was a suburban American housewife in the 1950s.

In short, I love it. But it costs a wicked $190. No go.

The next dress can be found at one of my favourite shop, Double Index, at Bugis Junction. Now, although this shop sells funky clothes, I was amazed at the dress that I unearthed.

It’s black and made of two layers – the outer chiffon and the inner, satin. It’s a very simple dress, again a u-shape collar with two not-too-thin straps. There is not zip so I had to slip it over my head. It’s very streamlined, the length of it running down to my ankles. But the interesting detail of the dress was a strip of 2″ wide black satin ribbon sewn across the hips. Both ends of the ribbon are left hanging at the side of the dress so you’ll have to tie it up into a bow or something else. The whole look was rather elegant and glamorous. But glamour does come at a price and the dress would have set me back $50. Considering I still have two brand new black formal dresses hanging in my wardrobe, begging to be worn somewhere, it wouldn’t have been prudent to buy yet another dress.

But oh, how I wish I could buy them both, if only for collection’s sake (and gathering dust in the process) and to prevent other people from getting their hands on them.


Brainless journalist (previously an oxymoron)

Now, don’t get me wrong.

I have the utmost respect for many of the esteemed journalists who are writing for our national broadsheet.

Heck, I can even list some of my favourites – Richard Lim, Asad Latif, Sumiko Tan, Chua Lee Hoong….these are journalists whom I admire and whose works I truly enjoy(ed).

But, there will always be some idiots who spoil the good reputation that these hardworking journalists have built up.

My company (for the next four weeks, anyway) handles the account of a certain soda in Singapore. This brand of soda has just launched a new drink and to promote this new drink, my PR team comes up with a novel idea of sending out remote control racing cars to journalists as gifts. The car is attached to a gorgeous lacquer box below it. The box contains a press release, the new drink and the remote control of the car.

Now, the car is sent to all the lifestyle journalists who did not attend the launch itself. My colleague, in charge of the launch, then got a call from an irate journalist who writes for our national paper’s lifestyle section (let’s call her J) a day after the car was sent to her. J complained that she did not receive the press release along with the car and she wanted it immediately. This being a daily read by almost all Singaporeans, it got my colleague frantic. She ticked off another colleague who was in charge of packing the cars and sent him down to J’s office with a new car.

On his return, colleague 2 nearly spat blood out as he related J’s reaction to him turning up with a new car. She had demanded to know why he had brought a new car when she had merely wanted the press release. He asked to see her first car. He took a look, shook his head (mentally) and proceeded to teach her how to open the lacquer box to retrieve the new drink and the press release.

She simply had to slide it open.


Silly things

Me and a strip of toilet paper

Remember my fiasco with a strip of errant toilet paper two years ago?
That happened in the evening, when we were all about to go home from school.


Yeah, I reached home, went for my bath and found it waiting for me sneakily.
I cannot believe that I have done it again.
Am going to bury my head in embarrassment for the next 20 years.

Thankfully, it was a knee length skirt. *phew*

Silly things

The dumbest people on Earth

Believe me, there are such idiots hanging around on Earth, making themselves the butt(s) of all the jokes. I suspect that even the little Martians (alright, they may not be little and I am stereotyping) on the Red Planet are laughing themselves to extinction.< So where will you get to know about these doofuses? They are well documented in this CNET article. Here you will read about a man who was so frustrated with his laptop that he shot it with a gun (yes, a gun) before realising that he had important data saved on it. Well, he obviously wasn’t using an Apple Machine. Yes, I am definitely smirking.

There’s another dumb-dumb who threw his laptop out of the window when he found out that the police was going after him. And the best (in my opinion) story is the following: A man riding a moped dropped his laptop without realising it until after it got flattened by a lorry.

Go figure man.

Arts & Entertainment

Moosic to my ears

Sometimes, I astonish even myself.

I mean, living with me for the past 22 (long) years, I would have thought that I know me very well.
And yet, I do things that even I do not expect myself to be doing.

I am listening to Fatboy Slim!

Alright alright, it might not sound impressive to anyone out there but really, I amaze myself sometimes.

Look, here’s a genre of music that I have not tried before and did not really have the inclination to. My very vague impression of it is techno and we all know what kind of people listen to techno music (looooosers!!). But when my baby came home from the hospital packed with all sorts of goodies, I just had to try them out.

And I actually like it! I actually like Fatboy Slim’s Halfway Between the Gutter and the Stars and I enjoy it tremendously.

Mama mia, I am EVOLVING.

Another fantastic group that comes highly recommended from me – Radiohead’s Hail to the Thief. Experimental and highly palatable.


Silly things

Not such a bitch afterall…..

Well, according to a test that I took at TheSpark anyway. *smirks*

Apparently, with a score of 32%, I am considerably less bitchy than my fellow worldwide females, who average 38% in the test.

How others compare:
2% (same as you)
30% (less bitchy than you)
68% (bitchier than you)

Oooooh so I am not that bad afterall. Wonder what score Claydoll and Dawn the*tooch* Sin (no I haven’t forgiven you for blatantly revealing my bra size at the blardy dining table) would get. Hmm.

Quirky statistics – Of the 7,795,616 test takers so far:
52% can use a gun
51% been in a catfight
50% cheated in a relationship
50% forget birthdays
46% blamed a friend for farting (hey, ME!!!!)
28% gnawed during oral sex (ouch!)
26% wear lots of hairspray
24% stomped on someone with high heels (wish it’s me *sulk*)

The bitchiest age group so far is 29 year olds. 29 year olds average 42% bitchy.
Women who like the taste of beer are more likely to cheat on their boyfriends. (err I like beer so…..)
Canadian women are more likely to consider themselves successful.
Girls with tattoos like authority less.
Girls who sleep with married men are more likely to forget their friends’ birthdays.

Geek Girl

Junk blogs

Was reading through the this very interesting article on blogging today (and no, I wasn’t skiving) and was pretty amused by its contents.

My initial intention was to unearth an article by John Dvorak of PC Magazine, one that is described as “universally panned” by blog circles. In it, he blasted people who started blogs as ego-gratification and stated his opinion that most blogs were full of crap. Anyway, instead of that (in)famous article, I found this one instead, on Wired News.

Now, I admit that sometimes I post crap on my bloggie. I post things that I feel. My point is, so what if people post crap on their blogs? So what if I don’t generate hits from the external world, a world of strangers who are intrigued/interested in what I am writing? My intention in starting a blog was never about getting famous – it was a creative outlet for me to express my feelings and opinions. Besides, it does get a bit boring since the only coherent things that I type at work (nowadays, anyway) are: “Dear XXX, Internet security blah blah blah. YYY from ABC Company is holding a tea/lunch at DEF Hotel blah blah blah”. It’s boring, inane.

So what if I don’t post informative nuggets of news, spectacular and sensational information or helpful and useful advice? So what if my blog looks boring? Hell, to wilfully misquote a song, “it’s my blog and I’ll write what I want to”.

So there.

The organised chaos


Is it that hard to listen to someone’s troubles?
It is that tough to be a counsel, to hear one’s unhappiness and just be there?
Is solving the problem more important that providing a listening ear to someone who is tired?
Is empathy such a difficult word to understand?

Why is pouring out one’s heart and soul always construed as complaining and whining?
Why can’t one just talk one’s thoughts?
Why can’t people just try to understand why such thoughts are being thought of in the first place instead of glancing at the superficial?

I’m so frustrated at people who wouldn’t just listen.

The organised chaos

Where is the passion?

No no, lest you think this is some X-rated posting, this is not about that passion but about passion someone has for something.

I used to be passionate about so many things.

I loved Literature. I used to go to the library to borrow literary works. Some of my favourites include Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning (yes, she of “How do I love Thee, Let me count the ways”), Sylvia Plath and Edna St Vincent Millay. But somehow along the way, I dropped Literature and went into contemporary novels.

I loved being in Theatre Studies and Drama too, back in JC times. Although I was crap at acting, I loved being in the studio and doing improvisation with my classmates, who were all extremely talented. In year one, we bitched about demanding and unreasonable seniors who expected us to stay well till midnight with them, rehearsing. In year two, when deadlines loomed and inspiration just would not come, tempers flared, tears flowed and angry words were exchanged. But through all these turmoil, beautiful works of theatre would flourish and the sense of satisfaction that one got from seeing the audience’s awe was well worth every ounce of sweat and tears. My proudest achievements in life remain my two group pieces. We deserve the As that we got.

And then there is the great love of my life – choir. VJChoir was never just a choir, it was a home away from home, a sanctuary from the humdrum of stressful life. Skipping lessons and hiding in choir room playing scrabble are just some of my fondest memories in life. I enjoyed practising till 9 or 10 at night. I skipped extra TSD classes just so I could go and watch the meteor shower with choir. I cried bitterly when we lost SYF in 1999, sneaking to school late the next day with puffy eyes. I laughed merrily when we won the competition in Germany and had my hands warmed by a very special someone. Hell, I even let two cute Caucasians put their arms around me when we took pictures.

But now, I just don’t feel the drive anymore, especially in Chorale. Sure, I still love singing and I enjoy doing PR but somehow, that motivation to excel is not there anymore. When practices run a little late, I feel grumpy and tired. Yet in VJ, we would all pile on extra sectionals just so that we could perfect our notes.

What has happened? I know we can’t compare, these are two different groups. But how can feelings change so drastically? I love Chorale and it has become like family to me. But I don’t feel the urge to improve anymore. I don’t feel the passion, the intensity, the push, the drive.

Perhaps it’s due to all that has happened recently, what with all the politicking and nonsensical bitching from some immatured souls. I’m more blase than before. And everywhere I look, people either seem to be tired of putting Chorale as their priority only to be disappointed or they treat Chorale as a walk-in hotel. This is not the Chorale that I love.

I fear I am beginning to lose it.