Blogger and I have come to a point in our relationship where I have ended up screaming and wanting to throw things at it. In the end, it failed because this was a relationship of convenience, and blogger just stopped being convenient.

Therefore,

My new stomping ground can be found at http://enougherasers.wordpress.com

Sister: I'll be so angry if I were ordered from the USA

Me: Huh?

Sister: You know mail order brides?

Me: Yeah...

Sister: If I were forced to be one, I'd be so super irritated.

Blogger and I have come to a point in our relationship where I have ended up screaming and wanting to throw things at it. In the end, it failed because this was a relationship of convenience, and blogger just stopped being convenient.

Therefore,

My new stomping ground can be found at http://enougherasers.wordpress.com

Ok, I just finished my internship and drew&napier. I've done all the possible sai kang you can do without having any legal training, had lots of free time spent pretending to be busy, went to eat some very good lunches, tried not to kill kenneth kang, and most importantly, write like a lawyer. Like so:

Statement of Claim

1. The Plaintiff being the first child of co-owners of 37 Symphony Heights #03-04 ("the Residence") was present at the Residence, specifically in her bedroom which is found at the end of the living room and is the only other room besides the masterbedroom which has an attached bathroom ("the Bedroom"), on or about 29 November 2006.

2. The Defendant being the third child of the co-owners of the Residence was also present in the Bedroom on or about 29 November 2006.

3. On or about 830pm, the Plaintiff walked into the Bedroom to discover that her bed, which is the bed situateded closest to the window found on the opposite side of the room facing the door ("the Bed"), was in a unreasonable mess. The quilt, inter alia, was on the floor and the pillows, one a normal pillow found bought at Robinson's and the other a special hypoallergenic pillow were found to be severely askew.

4. The Defendant was seen to be jumping on the Bed without the expressed permission of the Plaintiff. When an oral command was issued through the Plaintiff's mother, who is also one of the co-owners of the Residence, the Defendant refused to comply.

5. In retaliation under the Sibling Rivalry Act Clause 3.4, the Plaintiff took the completely legal action of grabbing the Defendant and hoisting her off the Bed.

6. Under these circumstances, the Defendant proceeded to hurl verbal abuse at the Plaintiff, inter alia, calling the Plaintiff a fat pig, a shit-eater, a doo doo head, and nagger ("the Insults")

7. The Insults caused much emotional distress to the Plaintiff, who will be claiming the following costs:

- Monies that total 2 months of the Defendant's pocket money, or the total sum which this honourable court will allow

- Bondage to the Plaintiff for the month of December, during which all of the Plaintiff's household chores must be completed by the Defendant

- costs on an indemity basis

JULIE CHAN LLC

29/11/2006

cxw/259912

You so ugly, that MTV wants to put you on their new show, Pimp My Face.

Hmmm...what to do, what to do.... I don't know really. Next year will be tough, but interesting. Tough, in caps, bolded, italicised, and in large font.

TOUGH


That's more like it. Going to space out now. Spaaaaace ouuttt. Like floating. Back in the days when people had marijuana and free love to make them forget the Vietnam War and all that was wrong with the world. Freeeee luuuurrrvvv. And lots of free diseases too.

My mother is a very proper person. She doesn’t like people talking about vomit or other expulsions of the human body. She won’t even tolerate an “ew” at the table. And the only swearing that she allows is swearing to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help you Mom. But something happened today that threw her circuits completely out of whack. This is what she said during dinner.

“You know today on the bus home, there was this girl and 2 guys, from the Singapore American school I think. Wah, they were talking normally but they said fuck and shit in every sentence. Fuck shit fuck shit fuck shit, every sentence has at least one fuck. Some have two fucks. Sometimes they use fuck and shit together. I never heard people say fuck or shit so many times.”

This was quite a stunner. I couldn’t stop laughing. Admittedly, she wasn’t swearing, but it is a dramatic change from seventeen years of purity to fucks in every sentence.

Out of complete boredom, I conducted a through examination of the 3 drawers of my desk. The top one is locked, the second holds stationery from me and previous interns, and in the last, I discovered an ancient relic that used to be a Coffee-Made container. When I shook it, the sound was strongly reminiscent of rocks rattling in a plastic bottle. I hurled it into the wastepaper basket in disgust.

Oh.. and on a lighter and more annoyed note, I got stalked again.

How is it that all stalkers are bloody cheekopeks? Why can't they be some incredibly hot guy who will take me out to expensive restaurants, buy me jewellery, take me flying in his brand new private jet, and marry me on a Carribean beach?

This one dressed badly, smelled like smoke, had really really bad teeth and only gave up when I hailed a taxi.

It's terribly hard to let your dreams go. I remember when I was a kid that I desperately wanted to be a model (yeah I can hear you laughing from over here) and then I realised that I wasn't tall enough. Then I went through a phase where all I wanted to be when I grew up was Pegasus. I liked horses, and I liked flying. However, that was when I started reading the Greek myths, and found out that not only did Peggy spring from Medusa's chopped head, but he was in fact, a boy. My dream died when I couldn't find a suitable plastic surgeon.

But really, the most horrible bit is watching other people LIVE them. This is probably why I can't stand people like Tom Cruise and Britney Spears. For all their ridiculous exploits, they are actually living a fantasy. (albeit one with multiple pregnancies and jumping on couches) There are beautiful clothes to be worn, movies to make, and being simlutaneously worshipped around the whole world. The ones that you really need to worship are those that poured blood and soul and came out poorer. Well, I suppose they gained something in a fuzzy, spiritual, we-lost-but-we're-still-a-team kind of way, but hey, I would still rather have the bloody shiny thing on the shelf.

Well well, life goes on. Emo-ness is a pathetic thing really.

I always liked Bambi as a kid. Disney was completely sneaky in killing of Bambi's mom without traumatising the kid audience too much, probably by bringing in the previously absent father (the bastard), and giving Bambi lots of cute friends. My favourite was Thumper, so named because he made thumping noises when he hopped. Thumping may describe the sound of heavy blows, or it may also be taken to mean ass whupping, as demonstrated by Bush after losing to the Democrats.

If this quote from the Straits Times was taken out of context, it would make some kind of sense. Lee Hsien Loong said "It's what makes him a strong leader. I think in shows in these circumstances. Whether the election has a thumping outcome or not, he is in a thumping mood." So Bush is ready to give as good as he gets.

Unfortunately, the PM was really refering to Bush's jovial mood and his promise to keep up the good work in Asia. Evidently, PM Lee needs to go back to reading Enid Blyton. She is an excellent teacher for usage of words like thumping, smashing, crumpet, and golly.

It might be just me, but "thumping" sounds vaguely ridiculous, made worse by being used in the same sentence twice. Maybe the Pm is displaying symptoms of over-exposure to Dubya, and being infected with Bushisms.

Hello everyone. I just went to Caltex House to watch kenneth eat rosti and a sausage. Ben is still not back. There are bright red binders and arch files on my desk from yesterday because we were going through the plaintiff's stuff. We just got our security passes, which by the way, can be easily forged, just paste a passport sized photo of yourself. The security guards don't check these in the mornings, mostly because they're afraid of being trampled to death by a herd of suited and perfumed beasts.

For the third time. someone has given kenneth the wrong name. His security pass, which is stuck with him for one month, reads Drew and Napier LLC
Ocean Towers #17-00
Kenneth Kong

The exec in charge of recruitment has told him that kong is a better name anyway. It sounds refined, unlike kang. which sounds loud. I don't see how you can get any louder than a twenty foot primate beating his chest on top of the Empire State Building. She walked away before I could point that out.

Ben has gone to court, both the Raffles Medical Hospital and the polyclinic, as he calls it. So today, according to his instructions, kenneth kang and I are to take it easy. Unfortunately, there aren't many things to do in a cubicle at Drew and Napier. I know the bloody affadavits as well as Great Expectations, and definitely better than The Great Gatsby. I don't feel so great. It's dress down friday, and even then everyone is wearing freaking stiff collared stuff. Hmm...bored bored bored.

Kenneth has been reduced to opening and closing the CD drive on my com. I have a lousy com. The interns in the other wing have the newer coms with the keyboards that have satisfying "clack" sounds that make what you're doing seem all important and life-saving. I however, have been creating tables on Microsoft Word, because my eunuch computer has no Excel on it. Anyway, Davinder Singh (who everyone here calls DS but Ben doesn't dare talk to) just ambled slowly by. Time to pretend that I'm actually doing something.

Someone told me that you need to control your own emotions in order to manipulate other people's. I'm not very sure about this. Hasn't art portrayed this kind of repressions as the means that everyone else controls us? It all boils down to a power thing, where all of us just want to have the upper hand. May as well be me. It would be great to scream when I want, have people cower when I want, and being able to eat peanut butter and chocolate spread out of the jar. And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Had that H3 briefing today. I probably fall into that class of people who are more unsure than not about the area they would like to research on. Maybe I'll do young children's literature, the kind that only ever has titles that are variants of Spot Goes Running, and is used to teach four year olds to read. It'll be so incredibly asinine that the Cambridge examiners will believe it to be horribly profound and give me an A. I wonder which teacher will be willing to mentor me for that?

I know that I prefer lit any day to history, but I still regreted not doing history h3 slightly. Turns out you can do in on stuff like art history or film history or history of the American development of the doughnut. I would've done something controversial but quite relatable. Perhaps the history of the French Fry revolution and how it came to replace mashed potato as the side of choice.

I must be stoned on something because random thoughts are bouncing around my head, giving new meaning to "freethinker". It is painfully boring, which is why I'm glad that I'm starting work tomorrow, even if its going to be sai kang and pays peanut shells. I am a strong advocate of using formats that please the eye, but since this is an exceptional day, and more exceptional to some than others, I will break my rule.

Happy Birthday Vanessa!!!

Written is response to reading Euthanasia: What's age got to do with it? by John-Henry Westen in today's Straits Times.

Doctors in Britain are trying to get infant euthanasia legalised, something which they call post-partum abortion. They want to be able to initiate it for severely disabled infants as a safer option that will not harm the mother as much as an end-term abortion. Nothing could be more horrific. Let me clarify, that first, I have nothing against abortions before the spinal column has formed, because I don't think that a ball of cells counts as an individual. I also have no problem with abortions done to save the life of the mother. However, late term abortions, where the foetus has developed some form of consciousness is already bad enough. Now, if the doctors get their way, there's no protecting disabled infants whose parents would rather not have them.

Euthanasia is acceptable only because it is the choice made by the individual himself when he wants to escape unbearable pain that will only end after a long-drawn out death. But infant euthanasia is hardly consensual, which is the first reason why it is so wrong. A baby cannot be asked whether it wants to live or die, neither has it developed the mental faculties to make such a choice. It is much better to let nature take its course rather than let other people decide when it's time for a newborn to die. Admittedly, the baby is going to suffer, but this can be alleviated with palleative care.

Suffering is something that some can bear better than others, and is hardly quantifiable. Even if it was, no one knows if the person in question would rather live or die. Granted, in some instances, if the infants were able to make such a choice, many of them would choose to die. But to make the other error of killing an individual that wants to live outweighs letting nature take its painful course.

The article defended its stand first by saying that we should not discriminate the right to die by age. If this were possible, I would agree with the writer. But as established, the right to die has to be a free choice, not a choice made for you. Then the writer says that Holland has implemented this law without the sky falling, so we should all be ok. The non-occurrence of apocalypse is not a good defence for the existence of a bad law. A bad law may not cause total destruction, but the damage done is still principally unacceptable.

Furthermore, there's the slippery slope argument, which is used in about everything and wuite tiresome. But it is here that it is most applicable and the consequences are closer than ever. If we do decide that it is ethically acceptable to kill a severely disabled newborn, then what would stop us from deciding that killing a severely disabled, mentally retarded person to "ease his suffering"? What next? Will we then decide that people with mental illnesses also have lives not worth living, and kill them too? The most disturbing thing is that the article suggests this very thing, that parents be allowed to euthanise their children even in early childhood or even adolescence when severe autism, manic-depressive disorder, and schizophrenia become apparent.

The writer is out of his mind when he tells us that it is acceptable to choose for a large number of children whether they deserve to live. Firstly is is wrong to take away the right to life of an innocent, in fact, from anybody who does not directly threaten your immediate existence. (I am also against the death penalty, but that's another argument.) Secondly, if Britain does decide to follow Holland's example, then they are on the precipice of far worse things. What kind of society do we want? One that fights as hard as it can to save a human life while respecting the freedom of choice, or one that makes the choice for you, essentially abandoning you when you need it most?

Expats are an imported breed here, but I saw something today that shows exactly how much they are in demand. There's this giant black and yellow sign on a window at Balmoral Plaza, and it says Expat Rentals. I suppose now the government has made foreign talent sound so attractive that everyone wants one. Maybe they have different rates for expats. Like your common garden expat, the one with blonde hair, suit, drinks and exclaims alot would set you back $50 an hour. Then the ones who know how to eat Hokkien Mee, live in HDB flats and ride their uncle Bob's bicycle will cost twice as much because they are so scarce. The sunburnt ones will be on discount.

I was on the bus outside the stop at Far East Plaza, and I saw this big-nosed French guy hesitate around this woman whose long hair was hiding her faced. He circled a bit, and peered at her, kind of like a dog deciding whether or not to pee at a fire hydrant. So he decides that he will pick her up, and sits down next to her, startles her with his loud voice, then smiles alot. The woman looks rather flattered, and starts talking to him when really what she should be doing is telling the sod to bugger off. But who knows? It could be the start of something beautiful. And romantic. And that is so strong and deep that he will freeze his butt off while she lies on a floating door in the middle of the Atlantic after their ship smashes into the iceberg. Nah.

"SHITT!!!! WHAT HAPPENED??" screamed Fong Sai. He wet his pants. "I'm BLIND!!"

The smell of urine mingled with week-old bar chor mee in the reception area. Sunlight poked through the clouds, haze from Indonesia, and the dirty glass doors of the police post. It was just after lunch.

Jocks Drap's superhero instincts kicked in. He shoved Corporal Ong under his desk (with normal strength, Jocks didn't have Mr Incredible's powers of superstrength). His eyes scanned the semi-darkness with his X-ray vision. Like Clark Kent, he could turn the power on and off at will, whether to peer through 10 inch thick steel walls or to tell a mega oil company where to dig. Unfortunately, it had rather inconvenient limitations. Jocks vision never allowed him to see through the most hardy of substances, the fabric of a bikini bottom, or a lacy brassiere. Twas such a horrendous weakness and threat to his safety that Jocks cursed his inadequecy daily.

A creeping figure presented itself into the reception room. Jocks stretched out his ultra elasti-arm to grab the man, and promptly tore his long-sleeve shirt. The loud ripping sound seemed to have startled the intruder.

"Eh, you eat too much laksa issit? That time I ate from the coffeeshop across the road and then..."

Jocks got a grip on him this time and pinned him against the wall. "Who the hell are you?"

The man was indignant. "Sorry ok! I service air-con, then something short circuit. Accident OK? Why you so buay song?"

With a sheepish smile, and a profusion of apologies, Jocks let the air-con serviceman down. He had a morbid fear of Ah Bengs. It all started when he was six, and a group of young Ah Sengs saw his tailor-made elasti-suit meant to expand with him, and called it si bei obiang, then tied his arms into a knot. "Fong Sai, you can come up now."

Fong Sai resurfaced with another wave of ammonia. He started a tirade against the air-con serviceman. In the dim light, Jocks could tell that the Ah Beng was pale, skinny, and looked like he was about to die. A suspicion bloomed in his head.

"What's your name?" he whipped out the photo Corporal Ong had given him, "This is you isn't it? Why are you really here? Tell me NOW!"

"I donch telw youuuuuu!" shrieked the air-con Ah Beng, and he bounded out the police post, and into a waiting van that read 'Air Conditioners, Smooth and Silky.

"Should we go after him?" asked Fong Sai excitedly.

"No," replied Jocks Drap, "I'm going to call his company to comprain."

It is a brain aching feeling of knowing that the word is stuck right there. You learnt it somewhere, from a particularly cerebral book, from the cereal label, or from your grandfather when he stubbed his toe and wanted to swear but then realised in time that you were there. Incidentally, my grandfather did teach me the F word, when a rubberband twanged back on his finger. However, being a young and innocent child back then, I thought he was invoking the Far King, who lived in a remote corner of Hell. But that is another story.

Back to the tip-of-the-tongue nonsense. I am no stranger to feeling clumsy with the vocabulary of a language that I grew up speaking. But clumsiness must not be mistaken for laziness or ovine tendencies. Those are the feelings that reduce otherwise very intelligent people to reuse words that are so tired out they should be sent to a retirement home. An example is "rant". I have seen too many tags on blogs or titles that say "A rant" or "Rants". A related misdemenour is "random thoughts" or "random musings". There was once a time when these phrases evoked an image of a solitary, brooding intellectual. Now any booger can muse or rant. This is why I have tagged this tirade as "vociferations". Just to be original.

However, these people pale in comparison to Paris Hilton, and the people who follow her. "That's hot" and "Juicy" don't MEAN anything. They are just phrases that fly out of her actually quite smart mind in her attempt to be bimbo and milk the rest of us of more money. Ladies and gentlemen, can't you feel her little chihuahua biting your buttocks? Why are so many peopel imitating her? Why would you want to be Paris Hilton? (besides the money. I understand that part) Could someone please tell me before I need to be locked in a youth asylum from wondering.

And lastly, what's up with the Singaporean press and parliament calling everyone below the age of 85 a "youngster"? Firstly, its archaic Cockney, and so should not even be used. It's right up there with "thou shalt behave thyself, or I wilst send lightning to split the ground and riccochet into thy arsehole". Secondly, it's a condescending term that shows exactly how little respect the precious "resource" of the country is given. But, what really takes the cake is how people my age start insulting themseleves (fine, insult yourself if you want, but don't insult me) and saying "youngsters these days are rebellious and don't think about the future." Actually, I think that in any other circumstance, they would phrase it more precisely, except that the Singaporean usage of "youngster" is so pervasive that even the people who are being insulted insult themselves. Look, if you must insult yourself, it's better to use the archaic Cockney companion of "tiddler". Like, "He's such a tiddler, he can't walkt properly and he just shat on a turtle."

I'm done.

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there lived an exceedingly dumb hero called Jocks Drap. He was built like a concrete block, and 10 times as dense. It had been a trying time for him. Steriod-laced protein shake prices were at an all-time high due to police crackdowns. Jocks preferred to be a law-abiding hero, but he always found that people liked heavily built and mentally tormented saviours, like Batman. (Bruce Wayne, not Kenneth Kang) Besides, if he showed up looking like Luvis in tights and wearing his underwear outside, people would laugh at him for being a total wanker. People don't laugh at wankers twice their size.

When he got out of bed today, he received a disturbing phone call from the neighbourhood police post corporal Ong "Cheese Pie" Fong Sai. There had been a spate of spark-plug thefts and the police were desperate to find the perpretrator. The case had been given to Corporal Ong, and it was his big break. A conviction would mean a move to better things, like filling up police reports for students who lose their fund raising coupons. So he turned to Jocks Drap for help.

The police post was a dreary place that only police scholars lived their lives out in. The paint was peeling off the walls, but no one could persuade the paint from doing so. The police force were yet to enter negotiations with the paint to leave their walls alone, otherwise the roof will come down. The paint had joined NTUC, and had continued peeling off as many walls as it liked. Such was the environment which necessitated the growth of vigilantes like Jocks Drap. And he was here today once again to provide his help (he got paid leave from his employer Phua Chu Kang when on superhero business)

Corporal Ong was waiting for him at the reception desk. "Here are the photos from the surveillance camaers. As you can see, the suspect is pale, skinny, and looks like he is going to die."

Just then, the lights went out.

To be continued

I would like to say that blogspot is full of shit. I have lost 2 posts about the uniformity and childishness of Singapore universities. It was a rave about how veryone describes themselves as "flexible" and "creative" and "unique" and vibrant" that no one is and the places that really are don't use those awful words anymore.

Today I was catching up with chris on the phone and she said "Kevin Costner ages well, but Alec Baldwin ages like a potato." I have never seen an aged potato, but Alec Baldwin sure as hell doesn't look too good. The closes thing to a aged potato I've seen is a week old crisp I found under the sofa. It didn't look too good either.

Happy Birthday Lydia!!!!

You should blackmail the guys with the neoprints into buying you a diamond ring; unless someone's already done that ;)

One thing that JC has taught me is that gossip spreads like herpes at a hippie convention. It's foul and incurable.

Sometimes you wake up in the morning and you wonder, why am I here? What's the point of dragging myself through the day when my death would've made all the work I've done consigned to the wind? Then there's lots of unpleasant stuff to be dealing with, like telling my parents about my abysmal exam results, and preparing for OP. I might as well find a tower block to fling my pathetic shell off. This would then be the time for various religious leaders to step in and convince me that there is something worth waiting for. But then my staunch disbelief points out to me 2 things.

1. These things either aren't true,
2. Even if they are, I won't believe them anyway, so whatever happens I'll still rot in various unpleasant versions of hell.

So the only conclusion is that a few more decades don't factor in the greater scheme of things. Such a epiphany tends to throw one into the most extreme doldrums.

Then you discover the joy of a freshly baked cookie.

"Last week I stated that this woman was the ugliest woman I had ever seen. I have since been visited by her sister and now wish to withdraw that statement. " - Mark Twain

"Why don't they make the whole plane out of the black box stuff?" -Steve Wright

"Life is a sexually trasmitted disease where the mortality rateis 100%"- R.D. Laing

"First you forget names, then you forget faces. Next you forget to pull your zipper up and finally, you forget to pull it down." George Burns.

"You're about as useful as a one-legged man at an arse kicking contest." Rowan Atkinson.

Some people know how to say everything.

I have nothing against psychologists. I do have something against machine-generated psychology reports that cost 50 dollars and an hour of my time. Hence, it is time to make fun of the 16PF report. It's conclusions are as follows.

• Ms Chan is an unmitigated bimbo. "She can become so focused and tuned in to her ideas that some people may believe that she is not thinking as clearly as she could"
• Ms Chan should join the ranks of Hitler, Napoleon, Brezhnev and Brain (trademark Warner Bros) "She likes to grapple directly with most problem situations in order to build an organization dependent upon strong leadership (me, i suppose), and cooperative subordinates. (you other people)
• Julie is a bitch. "Ms Chan is normally inclined to state her desires clearly and forcefully."
• She is on the brink of a nervous breakdown. "Ms Chan's profile patterns indicate that she may be experiencing enough personal concerns about herself to benefit from seeking helpful and supportive professional counseling.
• Ms Chan, the rebel. "She needs to guard against the effect of showing too little interest in living up to the standards that society values, or doing what is expected of other people."

It also appears to be time to consider a career in the library, a liberal arts college, or in elected public office. I am also similar to dentists, computer programmers and geologists. My personal lifestyle patterns indicate that we will all get along famously.

Smashing.

ASEAN has always had a vision of being the magical problem solver in southeast Asia. Another problem has been highlighted the past few weeks -- the haze. So besides Singaporean and Malaysian leaders complaining to the Indonesian government, and clueless Indonesian farmers, nothing much has happened. All that ASEAN has resolved to do is have ministers meet every quarter. We all know that these meetings are just a farce, to pretend as if somebody somewhere is doing something about the smoke. And even if they were making a genuine effort, they're doing it wrongly.

They shouldn't have meetings every 3 months. That doesn't achieve anything other than having a reporting system which daily measurements by local meteorological stations make pointless anyway. What they should do is have one meeting. Just one. Get all the experts down, then decide on the course of action they need to take, appoint a monitoring body, and follow it through. Although the UN has not been the most efficient organisation, I think ASEAN has something to learn from it. Get other countries involved, because sooner or later they're going to be affected as well.

If Singapore wants to be the big shot again, then it can also take a leaf from the UN's book and send a task forced down to Indonesia, with the sanction of other ASEAN memebers. Then after the full scale of the problem has been ascertained, people will be needed to go to the ground and educate farmers about the alternative options of clearing the land. Or, the Indonesian government could do what was done during the Green Revolution. Subsidise the cleaner methods. No tragedy of the commons here, because Indonesia is receiving the brunt of the haze.

I will not be able to stand another day having my allergies act up. Puffy eyes and a running nose just kill your daily functionality.

Today my sister got an information booklet for choosing secondary schools. Kind of like "Life After PSLE". It isn't so much an information booklet as a very thick advertisement, but I suppose if you're 12, and concerned about points (who isn't?) it serves its purpose.

I looked up Dunman there, and some of it was quite funny. For instance, with the new IP program, they're going to be offering KI next year. Haha. I'm sorry, but the very thought of a place as cheena as Dunman teaching KI is hilarious. When I went back in September, Ken said that he would probably be teaching it. Dunman must think that he's a superhero with all the work that he's been saddled with.

The sister's selection criteria is simple:
1. Must have admission points no higher than 255 (the highest she personally expects)
2. Must have dance.
3. Must not have boys.

She's still in the "Ew...All boys have contagious stupidity viruses that I may catch." stage. I pointed out to her that after 2 years in a single sex school, she's going to become quite desperate, so she should just make room for future impulses. Either that, or go to a school that's located near an all boys one. Like SCGS, except Barker boys are a bit off.

This was supposed to be a joke, but my parents didn't find it very funny. Neither did my sister. I know she's going to live to regret it.

The only worse thing than being lousy at something is watching other people be good at it. I watched that Discovery Channel kungfu thing, where men built like mountains smash through brick walls, men built like cats move like monkeys and women built like bamboo poles whup the asses of the men built like mountains. So like any other mere mortal who has trouble running the 2.4, I spent most of the time exclaiming and wishing that I too could deliver the ninja hammer-punch that crushes the ribcage and kills a man with a single blow.

Which tends to put your abilities into perspective. The only things that I've ever attempted never required me to have muscles or stamina. I mean, how much upper body strength do you need to lift chess pieces? Or how much lung power do you need to debate? I sound like a first class wimp. The kind that never make it pass the door in American high schools, and need to be directly admitted to Harvard at 12 or risk getting beaten to a pulp.

It is important to note that in developing cranial abilities for these weakling activities, the brain needs fats to construct and maintain synapses. This means that I have considerable amounts of fats elsewhere. Wonderful. Sometimes I wish my parents had dragged my sorry little butt to taekwondo class or something, instead of letting me languish into my current state.

Well, when I was about 3 or 4, I did go for this thing called Tumble Tots. (sounds like a brand of disposable diapers) It was to kick the scardy cat out of me, because when I was 3, I was morbidly afraid of stairs, escalators, and lifts. My poor body was forced to do somersaults adn flips and climb strange contraptions in the hope of making me the new Bruce Lee. Didn't work. I was screaming all the way, the last in class to manage anything, and it inculcated in me a strong sense of self-preservation.

I blame this experience for making me the wimp that I am today.

I will stop trying to deny that blogging is anything rather than a narcissistic exercise (i know i just insulted myself). Freedom of speech? Yes. But freedom of speech sometimes gets tiringly self-centred as well. A lot of the time, its a declaration of "Hey!!! Look at me!!! I have an OPINION!!" or at the worst levels, "Hey everyone!! Let me tell you about my day." It is the call of the insignificant, tiny man who has to do his homework, pay his taxes, and buy peanut butter to be noticed. He is sick of stayingin the background while things like newspapers (if he even has the time to read them anymore), TVs, computers, and important people tell him important things that are important in the more important parts of the world.

So in response to that, two blogs are being created every second so that a miniscule section of the WWW will be dedicated solely to the words of this one author, THE last authority on everything in that little chunk of abstract space. But are those really things that are unique to that one insignifcant individual trying not to be swallowed up in the more important, or trying to become more important? No. Duh.

In the end, the little man becomes even littler in the wide space. His musings abuot doing the laundry and being a pooper scooper become another part of a gigantic, indistinguishable crowd of likeminded aunties, serial killers, toddlers, emo freaks, and mid-rung executives talking about what they had for lunch. Even when he does express an opinion about something important, and it may be a very good opinion worth listening to, it will not be heard over the din of the millions and millions of blogs that have sprung up. Like this one will be. These thoughts will be swallowed like a yell at a Live8 concert, and only the friends standing closest to you will hear anything.

And like a Live8 concert, there are the stars that get listened to. Stars like mr brown, the nearly-porn stars who post pretty pictures and the blogs of tyrannical Iranian leaders. Cyberspace is no longer a relief from reality. It is reality.

It doesn't really matter in the greater scheme of things, chinese, you know? No less economically developed countries are going to sink any deeper in the quagmire of bureaucracy or corruption simply because I failed chinese. Singapore is still going to continue its immensely profitable business dealings with China after tomorrow, after I fail my chinese promo. If nothing terrible in the likes of the apocalypse is going to occur when Ms Chan screws up chinese tomorrow, chances are, an asteriod will not collide with the earth if she does not turn up at all.

I am seriously considering that option.

But then I know that my pride will not let me. My pride will force me to take that bloody paper, and get an S (in a best-case scenario) instead of having a blank in my report slip. My common sense also tells me that I may as well get as much practise screwing up as I can, so that I can screw up the real A level chinese exam properly. Most of all, Mr and Mrs Chan will be much more annoyed about being absent for the chinese exam than if I failed it. But they will still be annoyed.

I also am driven to school every morning...and I have no intention of scaling the gate like many other VJC heroes.

Au revoir world. When I put my head on the chopping block for 3 hours toomorrow, I know that you'll still be the same when my headles carcass emerges. But I know that I won't.

Its easy to forget that there are more horrifying things taking place other than the promos and the A levels. However, if anyone bothers to stop mugging for about 5 minutes to read the newspaper (unless you’re crazy and mugging for GP, and reading the newspaper anyway), you’ll see that what’s grabbing headlines is not the Iraq, or Iran, or the Lebanon conflict. It’s organic food, and the discovery of E Coli in organic American spinach. I’m an organic food sceptic myself, and I use this as proof of organic food’s complete uselessness.

To summarise what’s been happening, E-Coli has been found inside the leaves of spinach from Californian organic growers. Many people are ill, some have died, and spinach and other organic food are being pulled off shelves. So you see, organic food isn’t the miracle health cure that people claim it is, it can be as dangerous. "Organic" is just a term to charge three times more than normal food so that you won’t ingest cancer causing agents.

But if you think about it, "organic" really has no meaning. It just means that instead of synthetic fertilizer, your food gets nourishment from, well, bullshit. The thought of having the waste product of cows and all the bacteria concentrated there being absorbed into your food is just revolting. So you aer left with a choice. Eat food contaminated with "natural" pathogens, or risk a death from cancer (which you probably will get anyway even if you eat just organic food)

If you look at it closely enough, organic food is just a symptom of nostalgia, for a time when father and son plowed the fields together with a pair of oxen instead of barely keeping in touch by mobile phone. An offshoot of this feeling is people using typewriters in the computer age, or fountain pens when there are ballpoints. Still, there is a limit to this. Surely with all the technological progress that we’re so proud of, you don’t want to go back to using a quill? Or a club. Ug. Me Man. Me Talk.

The very people who advocate this shift to our ‘natural’ state are really hypocrites. They drive cars, they balance their finances with calculators, and they watch MTV (if not MTV then some TV, but I bet you can’t find TVs in caves).

On the other hand, they reject things like "Western medicine" just because this science allowed us to isolate antibodies and mass produce them. These are the people who advocate TCM. (they used an acronym to make it sound cooler) And really, does TCM make any sense? How do you quantify "cooling" or "heaty"? Likewise, if eating deer penises makes you virile, will eating a whale’s make you…big?? I’d like to see those people try.

This nostalgic feeling may make us realize how far we’ve come, but now its only making us move backwards. Or subscribe to very strange things. Look at "water births", where the woman gives birth to her baby without painkillers, while sitting in a Jacuzzi-thing. There is nothing ‘natural’ about this either. Animals that "naturally" have babies in the water are animals like whales, dolphins, fish, and sea cucumber. Therefore, many claims of human beings going back to the ‘natural scheme’ of things means pretending to be another species.

As for me, I’m going to take a risk. Yes, there is lots of synthetic stuff that can hurt you, but the "natural" stuff is so dubious as well. The important thing is to read the label, and make sure you don’t get duped. If I ever go into contractions in the labour room and someone asks me "You want water birth or not?" I’m going to say no.

Bring on the drugs baby.

Examination means to look at closely. I am to be examined. What a stupid thing to worry about really. There are more important things in life, especially making sure that Falungong members don't insult China by telling the truth. Isn't it strange? In court, they make you swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, then they prosecute you for doing so. Does anyone ever consider what else those people could've said?

"China talks to Falungong members nicely"

"Falungong loves China"

"The Falungong members who disappeared went on indefinite holiday to the Carribbean. China paid for their pina coladas"

We all know how the court case is going to turn out. And we can guess the reasons for doing so. China is an up and coming dragon that we want to suck up to. So that the dragon will give us lots of golden eggs. And when the dragon sits on people, roasts them on a spit, and eats them, we won't bother him about it. Surely we have to strike a balance betwee maintaining "economic ties" which seem oh-so-very important, and being advocates for something that cannot be valued in dollars.

Why is it that human rights are no where a part of our constitution? And hardly mentioned in foreign policy?

American society is terrible stupid and insensitive. You've probably heard everything about the imperialist, insensitive, kaypoh, strong-arm, ignorant population and its government. But you know what's most annoying? Most of the time, the people who are insulting America aren't that bright themselves. They're just doing some American bashing to pretend that they keep abreast (haha...it must've been a man who invented that phrase...keep-a-breast. I keep 2.) with current affairs.

Today I heard a rather intelligent conversation on the bus. It blew my socks off and people should really stop saying that the typical Singaporean has no opinions. This old uncle had opinions alright. And he had sat at the back of the bus, ambushing some poor NJC mugger and started nattering like he was trying to beat the noise of an Airbus taking off the bald runway on his head.

"Eh, boy, you stahdy secandaly issit"

"Uh...no...I study at National Junior College."

"Orhh..like that one...you stahdy what subject?"

"Uh..Physics, Maths, Chemistry and Econs."

"Vely good, vely good, eckonormics is very inteelesting. I last time also stahdy."

"Uh..ok"

"Now also I stahdy. You know the US? The US damn bigshot, but it cause the recession leh. You know that one?"

"Um...the Asian Economic Crisis?"

"Aiyah, I dohknow name lah, but the US go and buy and buy all the oil. Then everybody got no oil, so they bankrupt. That's why I sell the car, now take bus. Den my brother want to start business, but no one wanted to buy, then he also go bankrupt. Your parents go bust or not?"

"Uh..no. We still have a car."

"My parents cannot go bust. Die already. But the US also make them die faster. You know my father ah, work in the erectronics (sidenote: can you imagine what kind of machines this weirdo's father made??") factorery. He work and work, but the US spoil the eckornomy. Den my father get heart plobrem you know?"

"Oh..that's very sad..um, here's my stop."

The only sad part was that I was the only person on the bus who appeared to find any of this exchange amusing. Everyone else was either very good at keeping a straight face, deaf, or agreed completely with what the poor sod had to say.

Separate entry, because this is going to be a miserable one. GEP is dead. I know that this is a programme that had been much maligned and a lot of people have hated us over the years. But who cares about that? Lots more people are going to miss out on the special atmosphere we had, the way we could talk cock with our teachers, and crazy experiences like Tioman. After all, we grew so close and developed our own lingo, inside jokes; it almost felt like a family. JC was that much harder to adjust to because I'd become so attached to 4L/M.

Sigh.... I suppose no one will call us elitist anymore.

This has been the best birthday I've had for a long time...except that I'm also studying for the stupid promos.

Strawberry shortcake owns. Thanks A11 =)

There I was, supposed to be doing my written report. Then I thought, hmm... I want to listen to some music. So I open Windows Media Player. Then the song started playing. Which was exactly the time I stopped working. My media player is set to randomise the pattern and colour combination of the swirly things that they have. So instead of goign back to the report, I just sat there and watched the horribly hypnotising swirly things that Mircrosoft programmers have miraculously made to swirl and squish and pulse in time to the music. Grargh!! I can't even type this short paragraph because I keep going to check what new colourful swirly pattern there is on now. What an idiot technology makes of me. Got to go. More thingys to watch

IMF SPECIAL REPORT: Singapore Prepares for Delegates' "Special" Needs

In the bid to give the 16,000 delegates a comfortable experience, our capable organisers have made sure that all, yes, ALL, needs are satisfied.

Local escort agencies have stepped up a major recruitment drive, with a target of 1000 Singaporean women to accompany the foreign delegates for the IMF/ World Bank Conference. This was a vital action to secure the comfort of all delegates, following the retriction of protests indoors, which were taken against the wishes of our most esteemed visitors. The owner of an escort agency at Orchard Plaza offered a professional opinion that demand for particular ethnicities have be inversed. While foreign escorts had previously been favoured, the organisers of the conference predict that delegates would prefer some local flavour.

Quoted from a veteran hand in the business, "Although we can hire any Singaporean woman above 18 years of age, we prefer women in their early 20s. This is because younger women are less knowledgeable."

The aim of this of course is to leave a lasting impression on all IMF delegates. Besides delegates carrying out their delegation to the utmost of their delegative ability, they will also return to their home countries spreading their perception of Singapore. Tags like "Uniquely Singapore" have to be consistent in their execution, which is why escort agencies are being encouraged to supply locals rather than foreigners.

The lack of protests would show the delegates that the Singapore government has run the country very well, and has everything under its control. Furthermore, we will prove that we have no lack of Malaysian water, with the 800, 000 bottles of mineral water that will be distributed. Escort agencies have been informed to ensure that the image which the local escorts project would be one of creativity, versatility, and flexibilty, which is the overrall image that is going to accompany the rest of the local workforce.

The Singapore Tourism Board is working on a new slogan, tentatively "Singapore, We spread warm welcomes and much else besides."

Based on absurd material taken from The Straits Times, 12 September 2006.

1. one book which you have read more than once
Jane Eyre - Charlotte Bronte

2. one book you want on a deserted island
Shantaram - Gregory David Roberts

3. one book that made you laugh
A Long Way Down - Nick Hornby

4. one book that made you cry
Prettystar the Pony - Enid Blyton

5. one book you wish you had written
Harry Potter 1 through 7 $$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

6. one book you wish had never been written
Prettystar the Pony - Enid Blyton. Well actually, all books by Enid Blyton.

7. one book you are currently reading
The Secret Life of Bees

8. one book you have been meaning to read
I am a Cat

9. one book that changed your life
Matilda - Roald Dahl. Kept trying to push things with my eyes for weeks after that.

10. tag 5 people
jan, sihui, lydia, yuting (can you read?), rachel

DIE PW, DIEEEEE!!!!!!

When someone dies you feel sorry for those left behind, and you try to say nice things about the dead guy and try to convince yourself that he was better than you thought. Steve Irwin died. I feel sorry for his family, but I still think that he's a stupid bloke. Sure, he publicised wildlife conservation, but his si lang tao made him dot hings like hug crocs and dangle his baby around. Now he really has a si lang tao.

When someone famous dies, lots of people are going to have different reactions. Mine was "Huh? Only stingray? Stupid bloke." My sister saw the newspaper and exclaimed, "Oh the crocodile guy is dead? Ploo!!" The guy on the radio (obviously a fan of the si lang tao) said, "I'm going to chompchomp some stingray."

In his life, Steve Irwin surrounded himself with the most blockheaded acts that are only attributed to the criminally insane. In death, he gets shrouded in stupidity and sent on. The newspapers have put his giant ugly mug on the front page and devoted a section of Life! to him. The doctor who pronounced him dead explained his rationale behind such a shocking action.

"He wasn't breathing and he had lost his pulse."

Crikey.

An Ode to the Process of Decolonization in Burma.

1945
When the Japanese left, the Brits came back
And decided that it was time to take a different tack
They still wanted lots of land and money
But the Burmese didn't think it was funny
So the Brits sighed and signed the White Paper
And told sad Aung San the changes would come later.
Now Aung San, he was a popular fellow, hell,
He managed to unite everyone into the AFPFL
So he decided to ditch the violence
And used his likeability to get their silence.
Instead Aung San would be doing all the talking
And if the Burmese were lucky, they could do some peaceful striking

1946
Guvnor Rance came down and tried to take over
But Aung San wouldn't let him bulldozer
After more strikes that got the poor sod scared
He gave the Thakins freedom to be had
Under some council or other, with Aung San as head
So far so good, no one was dead.
But the Brits were still scared of commies
So still no independence for the Burmese.
But then Thakin Soe and Red Flag got kicked out
And soon White Flag and Tha Tun had no clout

1947
In this year Aung San achieved a lot
He got to talk in London, unlike Pol Pot
He said they didn't get independence soon enough
Thakins would start supporting communist fluff
Back home he got the minorities to agree
That if they joined Burma, they could be free
Elections were held and Aung San won
He officially became Burma's No. 1

And so with much cajoling, and sometimes threatening
Burma's independence came with a signing.

Now that this is done there's 2 more countries to find
Then back to the earlier bits, which since mid years have slipped my mind

Shit...so much to do...stupid cold..ahh

VJC debate gathering 2006. Photo is one week old.

The cake. There is also a picture of the team cutting the cake, but that is just sad. There is one of the not-really-a-faggot-but-he-was-one-that-night-because-of-the-pink-T-shirt jon chong. Vanessa went nuts taking artisitc photos of my condo.

There is also one of a ghostly visitation, courtesy of felda chay. For more details, go see her blog, provided she saw fit to upload it.

Anonymity is very important in the cyber world. It prevents stupid shits from being dragged out of their beds in the middle of the night and bludgeoned to death with their own computer. As such, I have decided to infiltrate this secret society sneakily sanctioning stupid shits, find out their identities and reveal them to the world. Then the world can bludgeon them. However, infiltration is a join them then beat them method. This means I will be needing a nickname, one that hides my true identity. I've come up with a list of possibles, and narrowed it down to these few.

1. youdon'tknowwhoiambutidohahaha
2. nonsensesucker
3. kawabungaxxx
4. heygirliwannacatchyourWAVE
5. supermonkeymorpherrangerhyperballpowerGO!!!
6. john

I like the first one. Number 5 appeals as well. No, I'm not risking anything by showing my potential aliases and blowing my cover even before I've put it on. This is because I have anticipated the stupid shits and will not use any of the pseudonyms here. They are too normal. I'll never fit in among stupid shits like that.

I have not seen a lot of things in my life. I am only nearly 17.
Today, I have seen some things.
I have seen Wong Yew Leong dance around in an Elvis suit and orange feather boa.
I have seen Mr Seet dress in pink plus-sized women's clothes complete with balloon boobs.
I have seen Harris and Ixer dress up as that strange fat guy who only ever wears blue shirts.
I have seen the PE Department do some pretty lame shit.
I have seen Mr Ken do a Bollywoodish dance back in Dunman.
These are not things I thought I wanted to see before I die, but there was no harm in doing so. Mostly.

I'm still quite stunned. Try again next week.

It was great to see everyone again, and all the teachers, who seemed to have changed so much. I think they would not like the idea of not writing in paragraphs, unless I was writing a poem, so this is an attempt at a paragraph, because I am not writing a poem. When I do, I will not publish it on this blog, because it is embarrassing to reveal your inner thoughts and I am not that good anyway. They never turn out the way I want them to. Rest assured, I will not put in stupid metaphors like liquid diamonds. That takes the cake.

When school reopens, there will be a mad rush of lessons and revision. However, I will not be able to look wong yew leong in the face on thursday. I don't think I will be able to for a long time to come.

Today I read an article about the power of blogging. How blogging can usurp tyrants, and expose corruption, for example in John Leiberman, the Democrat primary. How because there is free speech in the first world, people take it for granted and write vapid, empty, self centred posts. How people elsewhere blog more carefully because every word counts. Look, this is rubbish. First, vapid posts happen everywhere. Second, yes, free speech is taken for granted, but it doesn't mean that bimbotic posts should be banned. They are PART of free speech. Not everyone wants to overthrow the government, not everyone's life revolves around just that.

The author has a very narrow view of what blogs really are for. They are a platform for opinions, not necessarily about politics. They are places where you can catch up with friend's lives, and they are places where you can be emo. Or, they are avenues for shameless self promotion. To say that people should only have posts that comment on important, world-changing issues is just condescending. So, I will waste this post away with little lines of nonsense inspired by Russell Peter's "Your Marder so Fat!"

Your marder so fat, that when she get into the lift, she press all the buttons.

Your marder so fat, that when she get into the car, car honk vey loud.

Your marder so fat, that when she watch movie, she block herself.

Your marder so fat, when she want string bikini, they string pail.

Your marder so fat, when she fly to san francisco, she buy plane.

Your marder so fat, she must do her laundry in the sea.

Your marder so fat, that when she play piano, she only make one sound.

I have just finished reading one chapter on the Cold War, and it has been enough to delude me into believing that I've done anywhere near enough. Promos are in 4 weeks. I HAVE to start properly now, but there are other more urgent things (yeah right) that require my undivided attention. For example, my mother just flew off to San Francisco for some vendor thing. She's left me saddled with moer to do around the house than usual, and my lazy ass brother is not helping. My only consolation is that she will buy nice stuff from the land of opportunity, elvis, disneyland and nuclear bombs.

And debate alumni are going to be flooding the function room soon, but I haven't bought any drinks or paper plates or anything. Will go later. Soon. When I can drag myself away from screensucking activities. Screensucking. I like that word. It almost sounds as if you're doing something cool or lewd in front of your computer, when it actually means that you're stoning. Searsucker. It's a kind of cloth that's wrinkly. Toesucker. What babies are.

FAYE IS GONE!!!

This is a rather bad photo, with bad memories attached to it. The first of 4 finals that I would lose.

Still..I suppose it was worth it to even come that far. I really miss Dunman.

This has been niggling at me for awhile. There is too much emphasis on writing impressively rather than writing clearly. People are blown away by dead metaphors, long words, and stuffy tone, while forgetting the purpose of the written word in the first place. I was reading a writing guide by The Economist (and they would do well to follow their own advice), and decided that the education system has instilled bombasticism over elegance.

An example: Use short words, like about, instead of approximately. These shorter words are natives of the English language, with Anglo-Saxon origin, rather than longer, Latin or German based vocabulary. The word vocabulary itself comes from the French "vocabulaire", which in turn comes from the Medieval Latin "vocabularium". Although English is a bastard language, it has evolved into a separate linguistic entity, and it has words for most things. Therefore there is no excuse to use "per annum" when one can use "per year" or "beyond one's authority", not "ultra vires".

I recognise that style is a crucial part of writing, and sometimes tone or individuality call for sesquipedalians, but they should be exceptions rather than the norm. Simple words don't make you sound like a moron. They are powerful. For instance "To be or not to be, that is the question." , "We are such stuff as dreams are made of", or in a modern context "You cocky little shit." Besides, writing is always more accessible when it reads like normal, grammatical speech.

I change my mind. I've just read the whole article, and it has excluded about half my vocabulary. Not everyone can write like Economist journalists, and even they make mistakes. So as long as I don't have to strain to understand it, and it doesn't make me cringe, it's fine with me.

Go here, if you can be bothered. http://www.economist.com/research/styleGuide/index.cfm?page=673913

From the front page of today's Straits Times:

"The trouble now is that Singaporeans believe that we'll always have a PAP government." This allowed the oppposition to say that if voters chose the opposition, "then the PAP governemnt will have to give them more."

I have suggestions for the men in white to combat this problem, that seems so enormous that if they don't solve it, Parliament will collapse, the MNCs will take over Singapore, there will no longer be any hope of air-conditioned underwear, and (gasp!) chewing gum will be allowed on the streets!

One part of the problem, as seen by the statement, is that Singaporeans think that the PAP will have power forever. There are 2 paths they can take to address this. First, they can make Singaporeans stop believing it. They can stop meddling around with GRC boundaries, screw up the budget, and stop suing oppposition party members. To be more interesting, they should go along Orchard Road selling flags to raise funds for the party. Their slogan can be "Help us! We're only paid in peanuts." This will prompt a mass outcry, followed by an investigation, with some lowlifes being sent to jail, hopefully leaving some space for the opposition.

Alternatively, they could make sure they stay in power forever. This is easier, but more boring. It involves doing exactly what they have always done, with the inclusion of hijacking all the hawker centres. Then they can threaten those constituencies who don't vote for them by saying "We will shut down all the hawker centres with our 90% majority!" This will scare the shit out of people who are concerned about bread, butter, and ba chor mee issues. Since the PAP believes that most Singaporeans are like that (and their believes are always correct), Singaporeans will continue to keep them in power in order to eat chwee kueh and chee cheong fun every morning.

If they really are worried about having 3, instead of 2 opposition MPs, would result in them having to pay more attention to constituent opinion, there is a brilliant solution to their quandry. All they need to do is announce mass resignation from Singapore Parliament, and let the opposition take all the seats. Then, they don't have to pay attention, or "give more", since they will have no mroe responsibilities! This would free up enormous amounts of time that would allwo them to put their excellent qualifications to use.

For example, they could use their expertise gained from the encouragement of the math and sciences in the education system during their day to develop a production technique that wrings water from wet hair fresh from the shower. Do you know how much water is wasted when you let your hair dry? I mean, if we manage to utilise hair-water, we could cut our dependency on Malaysia by 11%! You could even extend it to squeezing and refining the damp from bath towels! No more need to clean up and drink all that pee! The possibilities are endless!

Or, they could help us solve the ageing population problem. A long ignored statistic is that 15% of Singaproean children are conceived under trees. I propose that they start a nation wide campaign to turn our "garden city" into a forest. That way, there would be no shortage of trees for the conception of our future. We will put our little red dot on the map for replacing the term "red-light district" into "greenery avenue". Perhaps they could look into creating parks right next to office blocks, to facilitate those career minded people who would like to have a family, if only they had the time and place.

Personally, I don't see what the problem is. They just need to get a little entrepreneurial, enterprising, creative, considerate, unique, engaging, or whatever their word for the day is.

I hate thurdays. I hate thursdays because I have 6 periods lined up in a row. So maybe this happened everyday at dunman, but my attention span has shortened considerably since then. i suspect that ths has been a combination of burn out from o levels, and the wonderful 5 period break that I have on mondays. But I suppose I can't complain, since I am always ponning the econs lecture anyway, unless cook's doing it.

Today Sonya came to crash our lit tutorial. I am impressed, and confounded at my own stupidity. Harris seemed much happier after she and 2 other people came in. Before that he was trying to force out some noise from my class. He started making the noise himself after that, especially when Sonya called the stanzas of This Excellent Machine "paragraphs".

Can't wait to see the gays tomorrow.

'Tis a delicious controversy that has the most disinterested poodles licking their chops. (if anyone knows exactly what "chops" refers to, please tell me. I was never able to figure it out) Round and round it goes, where it stops, nobody knows. Hmmm... we will wait and see.

Spent today quite ambivalent about everything...hummm.

If anyone finds out who nosey parker passerby is, please refer him to the PW group otherwise known as BBSVY. I think they may have a bone to pick. They would probably want to pickle passerby's carrot as well, but what do I know. My PW group, however, is very peace loving. All we want to do is help autistic children and save the world.

I am now serving the 3rd day of my 5 day incarceration. I tried finding a sympathetic ear in a friend, but I was faced with a puzzled reply of "Lol, I'm not very sure what that is." Never mind though, it turned out to be a very strange but enlightening conversation. That relieved my boredom for about half an hour yesterday, but it has come back with such force that I almost wish VJ didn't win the soccer finals. Then, I wouldn't need to be sitting at home, contemplating the greater meaning of "couch potato". Instead, my timetable postulates that at this very moment, I should be sitting in the library resource room, watching yet another Cold War video that was around when Mr. Sayers was born. I realise the chronological impossibility of that statement, but it seems like it anyway.

There is almost an obligation to write something about national day. Oops, National Day. Must always remember those important capitals. But it's something that I never paid attention to since kindergarten, in all its gigantic and pretentious glory. So...National Day..hmmm. A tiring exercise thar depsite claims, never varies in fakeness rating, and only confirms my suspicions that there are no patriots..only sheep. Maybe there are patriots, but I haven't met one yet. Sure, I have roots here and friends here and everything...but it doesn't eradicate the sianess, which is compounded by days like these.

Two days ago, I was faced with an insurmountable anger that was only superceded by supreme disillusionment. It is shameful when something you really like gets derailed because of the filthy politics. This still rankles so maybe I shouldn't talk about it.

PW is going BRILLIANTLY. I don't know why everything is falling into place, but it is. May everyone's PW experience be as tranquil as mine, where MPs take interest and offer interviews. I know I hate PW, and the concept behind it. I'm just expressing gratitude that all is well.

I don't usually blog twice a day..but there can be exceptions. This exception is because I have realised that I am a soap opera addict. Before I move on, let me clarify that a soap opera addict is different from a soap opera fan. Soap opera fans really like that horrendous stuff. I am just cruelly fascinated by it. I mean, all the shit that the actors say on them are so damn cringe-worthy that it makes you want to fast forward through the whole thing. However, its just so revolting that I have to see it to the end. Here's where the deviant part of me comes out.

The closest thing I can compare it to would be circus acts. Some circus acts, like the contortionists and the fire eaters are just darn gross or scary but still you just HAVE to watch them, in a repulsed kind of attraction. What a beautiful contradiction. It's partly schadenfreude, but its also..I don't know...

And the thing is, sometimes this fascination doesn't only involve TV. It involves the written word. This is why I have been pushed to finish the most atrocious books and articles, even when my face is half buried in the barf bag. Anyway, this may reveal an immoral kaypohness on my part. But hey, at least I'm coming out of the closet. Besides, although kaypoh people are hated all over the world, sometimes they serve a higher purpose. Like journalists, or PIs, or that dude Deep Throat. Kaypohness might very well save the world someday

Finally went out to watch a movie with my team today -- Tokyo Drift. Ok, so maybe not one of the most intellectual choices that you could make, but watching it together with them made the 8 dollars worth it. Tokyo Drift is the corniest, funniest movie that's out now. They've got classic lines like

"You're his kryptonite."
"We're not so different, you and I"
"You sold me a broken iPod!" BAMBAMBAMBAM

But I think what they guys liked best were all the semi-naked chicks. Kenneth's favourite was Ready, but I think Luvis preferred Seto. Felda Chay couldn't stop laughing, especially at some naked fat Japanese guy, and Sonya just rolled her eyes. The movies was so unrealistic that every thing seemed hilarious; the damn thing took itself so seriously.

This was relief from what passed as national day celebrations at VJ. I have one good thing to say about them, which is that they were short. Thank you, noble SCs of VJ, who know a bad thing when they see one, and end it quickly. This is a very important quality to have in life, since it prevents many assasination attempts and leaves you with far more friends. Everyone should take classes in "How to Spot Suckiness". I can give you a 3 minute crash course that only costs $200 a shot. You're worth it.

Closure is everything. Sure, yesterday wasn't the high that we wanted so badly, but at least there was some kind of proper ending. It was poetic, in a way. I lost my secondary school finals by the same margin, but i felt a lot more miserable. Yongwei was a great coach, but he just disappeared once the results were announced, after shaking our hands. At least yesterday we had a long dinner, with a few laughs.

Thanks felda.

And thanks to everyone else, who helped even in the smallest way. I know we shouldn't talk about counter histories, but things would never have been even this good without you guys.

And so tomorrow, my team will be going on stage to present the runner up trophy. On the plus side, we have a record number of finals, so this team won't be forgotten.

Life moves on.

It is strange to be here.

There are things to be thankful for, happy about, and sorry for.

This

is

it.

I'm grateful
















And boy, am I amused

Forthwith, I have resigned myself to a lonely life and death. All of my blog posts on Cosiety have either been misunderstood as serious when they were satire, misinterpreted, misrepresented, or simply turned into the bitching grounds for our school's bathroom floor scrapings. I have no clue whether the majority of people who read blogs or even open their mouths are just too thick, or I am simply too obtuse.

If its the latter, I suppose I will have to prepare for an onerous life. My formative years is primary school had been spent in seclusion, and not talking to anybody. Partly because I was shy, partly because I was inept and didn't know what to say. Secondary school was easy, and JC is so far. But judging from some instances..things are going to get unpleasant in the real world. I am going to start work, and my boss won't understand me. He'll fire me for writing off tangent things. I'll mope in a bedsit, ruminating on the stranger questions in life, like, why doesn't glue stick to the inside of the bottle? I will then die age 50. from neglect and misunderstanding. My body will nto be found for days, and the stench of my rotting corpse will be attributed to my atrocious cooking skills. When it is found, the policemen will not understand how I died, and the coroner will not understand how to perform an autopsy on me. Oh well.

Scott and Luvis are sitting shoulder to shoulder at a com, playing LF2. Luvis just beat scott. Kenneth is looking over my shoulder and being kaypoh. Vanessa is reading random emails. Our seniors are being held up by tan yew hwee, probably because they ponned, or their hair was 0.2 cm too long. I think yj learnt from him. This explains why they are not sparring us. And why we are sitting around and eating tim tams.

I love our team.

After the prelim rounds yesterday, I am in an optimistic kind of mood. Though I have to say, the competition was rather badly organised, and this is surprising, given how enthusiastic the people at yjc seem to be. I mean, first they deprive my team of our coach because they HAD to make her adjudicate. Then they decided "Oh, can we push your round up? We don't have enough judges". Gee, what happen to the supposedly "fair" competition? Why target VJ twice? Then they turned away our supporters for having their hair just a mite too long. Ok, so maybe you treat you students like army recruits, but you have no jurisdiction over outsiders, especially when they are part of a contigent you invited.

Anyway, we move on.

This is the last prepared motion that the VJC debate team 2006 are going to do. Our case is projected onto the giant cloth roll thingy in the com lab, and vanessa is muttering insanely to herself. She looks stressed. In front of her, scott and kenneth are being very chummy and cuddling up to each other at the teacher's table. One of hock cheng's weirdo songs is playing over the sound system and he gazes adoringly into scott's eyes. Felda remains focussed, and instead fixes her eyes upon hte screen where the first speaker's case in up for all to see. This rather intelligent demeanour is destroyed by the fact that she is swinging a chair side to side.

So...I was on the bus after training, with this mother tua* headache. The thing about headaches is that unless you're in a sound-proof bunker thirty feet undergroud, they kill you. The rumbling bus was bad enough, but unfortunately, at had Singapore Idol No. 3 on the bus with me? Was he hot? Could he sing? No, duh. He was only 4. He goes by the monniker Romanian Rodent.

What happened was that he was sitting right in front of me, with his dear old mummy, who was very intelligent and was reading The New Paper. I suppose she forgot to bring duct tape or something, because her little brat was singing at the top of his lungs. She also must have very limited musical taste beacuse all her son could sing was, quite disturbingly, Drangonstea Din Tei and Move it. As it is, those songs get stuck in your head horribly easily, and coupled with some high pitch screeches, the headache feels like you got struck by an intercontinental ballistic missile.

Ok, so the Romanian song was sung relatively softly until it got to Maia-HEEEEEEEE, Maia-HOOOOOOO, maia-HAHA. That bloody near blew my head off. So there I was, contemplating whether to get his mother to gag him, or do it myself. Then suddenly, the track switches to the Madagascar soundtrack. Except there were visuals too, cos the little boy got up in his seat and MOVED IT

I got to know a friend of a friend today, and it helped me realise the real reason for making new friends. I suppose some people make friends because they enjoy collecting people for their social circle, or maybe building up a useful network. But the deeper reason, I think, is so that we can reinvent ourselves. Old friends have already seen the side of us that we have constantly shown them, and there's this mental image that they have of us, resistant to change. Likewise, for the sake of nostalagia or security, we prefer our friends to stay the way they are. And when one of them does something completely different from that mental picture, like buying a bikini, for instance, it stuns us for quitee a bit.

So with someone we're just getting to know, we start making the changes that we've always wanted to make, and give a different impression. More talkative, upbeat, even spicy. But then the problem is, what kind of person are you really? The one you just invented, or the one that people have always seen you as? Or an amalgamation of both? This is starting to sound like a KI essay, so I will desist.

Man, I'm tired

Like other people who have bad days, sometimes you just need a laugh. Hence it is time for some quotes.

Its time for the human race to enter the solar system - George "Dubya" Bush

We have a firm commitment to NATO, we are a part of NATO. We have a firm commitment to Europe. We are part of Europe - George W. Bush

We're going to have the best educated American people in the world. - George W. Bush

The future will be better tomorrow - George W. Bush

The vast majority of imports come from outside the country - George W. Bush

It isn't pollution that's harming the environment. It's the impurities in our air and water that are doing it - George W. Bush

I stand by all the misstatements I've made - George W. Bush

Public speaking is very easy - George W. Bush

Good News:

Exams are over


Bad News
I'm going to fail them
I screwed up my chinese oral
JCDCs motion is out
Debates is ending

There are other things that I should be doing now instead of posting. Like studying, for instance. But oh well. I watced 40 year old virgin yesterday, and this is illegal on many counts.

1. I'm supposed to be studying

2. It's M18. This means that the censorship board left all the...bits...in. However, since I'm nearly 17, it should be ok. Unfortunately, my 12 year old sister was watching too. What was disturbing was that she found it more funny than gross. Which is hardly a good forecast of her future mental development.

3. My parents were watching, but not providing any guidance. My father was laughing very hard at the waxing scene, while my mum just looked grossed out through the whole thing. She has a very strong sense of propriety, my mum.

4.Steve Carrell used lots of swear words. Interestingly, the one which was made out to be the worst was "Kelly Clarkson". If it were Singapore, and the name played around with a bit, he could get sued.

Maybe, if I feel inspired later, I will dive into how the Japanese occupation affected SEAsian nationalism. But don't count on it.

Getting a haircut is the fastest way to make you feel like a moron. You walk in to a hairdresser's that looks clean and smells nice, adn think "Hmm, even if it costs a bit more, at least the quality will be better." So you get directed to a chair, then a woman with a shock of bleached hair comes along and says "You want wash issit?"

You assent, then she whips out a magic bottle and starts scraping at your scalp. While she's doing this, she's clicking her tongue and fingering your hair disapprovingly. The problem with any hairdresser's in Singapore is that they all can speak a language that you can't, so they can go on nattering without you understanding a word they're saying. I suspect that while I was sitting in the chair, she was insulting the state of my hair. Probably along the lines of "Tsk, this girl, never follow the golden six-hour-wash-condition-perm-rebond hair care routine that we all have everyday". Whilr she was at it, she was probably telling the girl next to her how I needed to get a good dye job too, and ironing my frizzy hair with an industrial strength heater could help things on their way.

Then she grunts and leads you to wash the nice smelling shampoo out of your hair. The water comes out the showerhead at about a gagillion miles an hour, and its freezing cold, so you're trying not to squirm. To top it off, she starts scarping round your ears, where you're particularly ticklish. It's a very hard thing to try and preserve your last shred of dignity with the Wicked Witch of the Wash doing your hair.

After you've sat down again, and decided that you will NEVER be subject to any more atrocities, a guy with a shocking mop of what he would call "auburn" and what you would call "orange" hair comes up to you and says "I can style your hair very nice" That is the cue to run. Which I didn't. But it didn't turn out so bad, except for the part when he snipped something and paused for awhile. I was wondering whether to jump up and scream, but there doesn't seem to be any noticeable damage. Then again, I haven't seen the back of my head yet.

The point is, anytime you need to feel like you're completely not in control of anything in your life, go to a Singaporean hairdresser.

Aaahh...

There's only one week left before the mid years. Anyone who isn't in a major panic should go for an operation. And the worst part is, I still have PW to worry about. I think PW is probably one of the stupidest ideas that MOE has come up with so far. They expect us to be "creative" and come up with ludicrous ideas just to meet the criteria for 'generation of ideas'. I mean, there's a limit to how much you want to do before shooting yourself in the foot. Or being a complete jackass.

Take my project for example. Using computer games to teach autistic children social skills. Besides the whole practicality issue going down the drain, the teachers who have read it think its a novel idea. I think its a novel idea too, but entirely inane. Computer games, no matter how good the programmer, can never simulate the actual human interaction. And, its probably going to create a dependency and more anti social behaviour anyway. But we ran with it because it was good for "generation of ideas"

And seriously, we do all this to what end? A mechanical oral presentation. Flexibility? I tihnk not. Every other JC has some PW guidebook for you to follow, with recommended format and everything. Doesn't this strike anyone as counterproductive and against the whole spirit in which it was thought up in the frist place?

I think the projects would return to being of a higher and more creative standard if they stopped the asinine grading and made PW utterly irrelevant for the A levels.

Today, Al-Zarqawi was killed. Yep.

For those people who don't know who he is, he's the leader of al-Qaeda in Iraq. He's not Osama, and al-Qaeda still operates, so there's not much reason to celebrate. However...

Lots of people have been saying some amusing things after his death. This is from the CNN website.
"Everytime a Zarqawi appears, we will kill him" Iraqi PM Nuri al-Maliki

"We anticipated that he would be killed for a very long time...we hope he will join other matyrs in heaven." Sayel al-Khalayleh, Zarqawi's brother.

"We are not sad that he's dead, on the contrary, we're happy, because he's a matyr and he's now in heaven" Abu Quadama, Zarqawi's bro in law.

I think some of the meaning of what they were trying to convey got lost in translation. Otherwise, they would not sound so banal.

Felda is now sitting on her bum in T16. She is trying to convince all of us to have lunch with her. Personally, I think she wouldn't even need to beg if she simply assumed her true identity and accepted that she was peiying. A lot of people would want to have lunch with you once you're peiying.

Since now I am very bored, and I have finished prepping my case, I will go into a detailed description of felda chay peiying, for those people who have never met her.

It would be most appropriate to start from the top. According to very reliable sources, it is a "mop". However, my personal opinion would be "bob". Except of course, bobs don't have feelers. Right at the base of her neck, on both sides, are two thin sections of hair that were left uncut. In short, it looks bad. Like cockroach feelers, except that felda is much nicer than a cockroach. She is like a Goliath beetle.

Let's take a trip downwards. Her face. Felda's face is very distinctive. She has 2 eyes, 1 nose etc. The astounding feature, however, is her mouth. Its size is only rivalled by the Milky Way. Her gleaming teeth are larger than the pyramids if Giza, and her saliva production would be very close to the Niagara Falls. The sounds that she emits would shatter triple reinforced fibreglass. Ouch, she just hit me. It is not good to describe someone while they are reading over your shoulder.

Felda's clothes are always the same. She without fail, will wear a white polo shirt, and a short blue jean skirt. Since I know that felda has exemplary hygiene habits and bathes 5 times a day, I can only conlude that she has a whole closet full of the white polo shirts and blue skirts.

But hey, what does appearance matter right?
Well, they matter alot to felda.

And we like her anyway

Sihui tagged me to do this survey. haha. I have nothing better to do now, so here goes....

Name 20 ppl you can think off at the top of your head.
1. Christianne
2. Sihui
3.Janice
4.Scott
5.Luvis
6.Kenneth
7.Vanessa
8.Jiazheng
9.Felda
10.Divyesh
11.Zhihui
12.Lisabelle
13.Faye
14.Kelvin
15.Elbert
16.Meng
17.Mantha
18.Bimin
19.Lydia
20.Barney

1.how did you meet 14?
kelvin - dhs 4l/m

2.what would you do if you never met 1?
christianne - explode in a fiery cloud of nuclear waste

3.What would you do if 20 and 9 dated?
Barney and Felda - laugh

4.Did you ever like 19?
Lydia - of course, as a friend (i'm straight)

5.would 6 and 17 make a good couple?
kenneth and mantha - ahahaha! hmmmmm

6.Describe 3
Janice - fun, reliable, good listener, fellow jiazheng torturer in dunman

7.Do you think 8 is attractive?
Jiazheng - uh....no..i'm straight (sorry jz)

8.Tell me something about 7
Vanessa - She really really really likes salvador dali

9.Do you know any of 12's family?
Lisabelle - Nope.

10.What's 8's favourite?
Jiazheng - Awww...i think my info is out of date

11.What would you do if 11 confesses that he/she likes you?
Zhihui - um..she never will, she's straight and she likes someone whose name begins with s and ends with cott

12.what language does 15 speak?
Elbert - Hindi

13.Who's 9 going out with?
Felda - I don't know

14.How old is 16 now?
Meng - 16

15.When was the last time you talked to 13?
Faye - about 2 weeks ago

16.Who's 2's favourite band/singer
Sihui - dhssb

17.Would you date 4?
Scott - NO!! not even if he was the last guy on earth. he would agree with me

18.Would you date 7?
Vanessa - nope

19.Is 15 single?
Elbert - no. he married at age 11

20.What's 10's last name?
Divyesh - Menon

21.Would you ever be in a serious relationship with 11?
Zhihui - um...no...

22.What school does 3 go to?
Janice - My school. VJC!!

23.Where does 6 live?
Kenneth - yio chu kang

24.What's your favourite thing about 5?
Luvis - his slackiness. then the teachers target him and not me

25.Have you ever seen 1 naked?
christianne - NOOO!!! we're best friends, but i don't think we need to go that far, no.

Lots of blogs are very very funny. For the wrong reasons. So, I’ve done some parodies of the worst ones.

Ah Beng emo
I seriously don’t want to live anymore. Today, my dahling xiao za bao left me. It was a very very very very very very to the power of one thousand million bad fight. She wanted a coke, den I say, Noooo, Diet better. Then she say, You think i fat issit? Then I say, ah buh dan? Then she say, You MCP! Then I say, No lah, I jus like chio bu, that is all. Then she say, I’m breaking up with you. And then she slap me. So now my dahling is gone, and all that I have left of her is her bright pink hariclip that she left at my house that day…

Poseur emo
The grey skies today trembled with virginal agony as the winds swept like a plague through my dwelling place. Upon the divan I reclined, contemplating existential issues while my cat, The World Is Ending NOW gnawed at my festering toe. Long before, in the sepulchral depths of my basement, a great travesty had occured. Today, the misery returns to corrupt my very being, the memories like chainsaws through camel turd. Once upon a time, the me that is now lost would have been able to get past the tragedy, but no longer. On this midnight dreary I only seek to end it all.

Act Smart
I think that George W. Bush’s pre-emptive foreign policy is going to be counterproductive. There are dire consequences to his rash actions. The problem with the pre-emptive strikes is that it harms the economy of Denmark. Once Bush decided to bomb Iraq, we saw a dramatic decrease in the number of Danish cookies demanded in that area. Since Denmark’s main export are its famous butter cookies, this pre-emptive strike has caused mass starvation there, and many are suffernig from malnutrition from eating the surplus danish cookies. This dramatic decrease in demand is due to the fact that bombings tend to cause consumer fear, that Danish
cookies might explode in their faces.

Bimbo
oh my gawd! today was soooooooo exciting. First, I like went out to buy the latest foot moisturiser. Then I realised, wow! I’m actually already using that stuff on my face! So i’m like, so why bother? So i called up my friend Denise, and she was like, oh my gawd! You don’t use veruca cream on your face! And I was like, but what’s a veruca? And she says, like, its a kind of sandwich, the veruca cream makes it taste better. So I went to the kitchen and spread the veruca cream on the low-fat no-taste bread. It looked kinda like cream cheese, and I don’t eat cream cheese. But it wasn’t cream cheese, so I ate it. it was like, awesome….

password protected
This post is password protected. This means that you cannot see it unless you have the password. I didn’t give the password to anyone, because I don’t want anyone to read it, because its ultra secret. And even though anyone can access the World Wide Web, I don’t want to whole world, not even my friends So you can’t read it. So there.