idol fever

Went for Singapore Idol filmed rehearsal today, and was amazed by the number of young female fans Sly ("Sly" is easier to type than Sylvester - I have not joined his fan club.) has gotten. They look barely 14. And considering the fact that it was pouring today, I wonder why they don't have anything better to do than to get wet, wait three hours, just to speak to Sly for 1 minute? That's idol magnetism for you I suppose. But really, they're so normal! Sly walked into the room, and everyone stopped playing for a while, to check him out, and then turned back and continued playing their own stuff. He really looks like the typical beng you see hanging out at Far East Plaza. Taufik, well Taufik is nice and cheery. Well they both are. But he doesn't have a fan club!

Well but Sly's version of An Jing is quite good actually. (He was showing off his Jay Chou concert pass.) Sly of him to choose something that will earn him the votes of all the Chinese. I think we really have to admit that Singaporeans are a racist bunch. I don't think that I'm generalising at all. We are all closet racists. And increasingly there are more things to be closeted about. Why.

Anyway, when rehearsal ended, the clusters of Sly's fans were in the toilet, outside the door, everywhere. But the strangest thing is that when the whole posse walked past them, (colour coordinated in red and white), the fans just stared. Didn't ask for autographs, didn't scream, didn't anything. Just stared. Weird.

behind pin stripes

The moon looks like it's drowning.

There are some days when words fail to come naturally. Or when everything you say sounds stupid. Like today.
There are some days where you smile a lot and don't know what exactly you are smiling about,
Or maybe you know exactly what you are feeling, but show the opposite.

There's this thing in Hinduism about Jnana yoga (the way of knowledge) that talks about the correction of false identification to reach your 'true self'. ( yes that's one of the few things one semester of South Asian studies has taught me).And I was just wondering how many people have actually found their 'true self'? Like 'What is me?'

For those people with religion, self is probably submerged in God. Like 'One's essential being is Being itself'.

ok. existentialist.crap.shall.cease.now.

Next year's In Parliament will be something to watch. There is more to everyone than meets the eye. Why can't the world be simpler, ever?

"Complicated is good" says a particular history teacher with the unnerving habit of threatening students with electrocution by imaginary cattle prods.

babbling blocks

Today I woke up and realised that the sound of the drilling coming from the void deck (and moving the foundations of the earth) has gotten softer. That is a good thing. But what irks me the most has to be the colours of the next block. What I used to call Piglet Pink and Sky blue are now officially Putrid Pink and Blah Blue. Imagine waking up in the morning with the sun shining, and it all looks wonderful until you sit up and suddenly find that you're in a mental institution. That's the feeling I get everytime I see those colours. Who in the world paints bricks blue?! (Yes they are bricks without the top cement layer. I can still see the ridges.) The only time I can imagine someone doing that is in a Nippon 3-in-1 advertisement.

Like "See, even with pastel pink and baby blue, once it gets dirty, you can just wash it with water!" Which so isn't going to happen considering Nippon 3 in 1 is quite expensive and I think they use Dulux or something. And I think it is so unethical for the RC/contractors to impose their decisions of what they think is a nice block colour combination on the residents. The least they could do is take a poll or something.

And poor blocks! No one ever considers how they feel, being the second largest cause (the first is the noise pollution) of negative externalities at present.

On the bus to school this morning it just occured to me that the block issue is quite a microcosm of the dynamics of irritation. I get irritated at the opposite block for being a sick colour, yet in a few days time, my block is going to be an irritating colour much to the irritation of the residents of the opposite block. The theory of "You may be an irritant, but I'm probably as irritating, if not more so."

And who knows, the irritating block may be equally irritated at itself for being such an irritant or for feeling so irritated with the irritant? (Well let's not discount the fact that some people are blissfully deluded into thinking that the whole world falls at their feet, but I still think I want to believe that people have a conscience or some form of self-awareness). The theory of "Outwardly expressed irritation as a symptom of irritation directed towards self"

Alright. I know my theories are screwed up and are not really theories at all. More like hypotheses. Thus ends my 3 blogs in 12 hours marathon.

fruity goodness

As my bus was making its way through Little India yesterday, I looked out of the window and spotted this garish neon vermillion red sign that read "Papaya Garden Mid-Night Lounge". It triggered a mental attack of many disturbing visual images on unsuspecting me. I was wondering if the owner had too much time on his hands and started going through the mightyminds chart of fruits (the ubiquitous one you see in kindergartens and the occasional fruit stall in the market) to come out with a nice name for his lounge. And I was thinking, why fruits? Why corrupt something that is totally innocent? More importantly, why make people think about his lounge when they eat papayas?

Then again, come to think about it, fruits are not totally innocent. In fact, fruit is the root of all evil. Adam and Eve brought sin into Eden (and the world) because of one fruit. Well you may say that the fruit is innocent. Adam and Eve were just weak. But still, the fruit is to blame for being tempting and luscious and inducing lustful thoughts.

Then again, why "Papaya Garden"? Why not "Banana Plantation" or "Pomegranate Orchard" like in Song of Solomon?

Rachel is sitting beside me and she thinks I think too much. Do I, really?

Then the bus passed Singapore Casket, and I noticed that the backlight of the dove sign was flickering incessantly and was about to give up the ghost.

Disney repression

The people I have come into contact with recently have provoked me into raising my spikes and entering into a claw-sharpening cum slashing frenzy. (Apology for the mixed metaphors. I have created a monster for myself to morph into, and for you to visualise.) These people come in all shapes and sizes. Sometimes I wonder why I get so worked up. I mean, I can just bitch about them on my blog and forget all about it right? (This is totally un-Christian. Indulge me and pretend you never saw this and please don't call me 'repressed' to my face.)

Sometimes I think I let these people irritate me for the purpose of entertainment. You'll really never run out of conversation topics this way. But most of the time this irritation is superficial. I feel irritated when I want to feel irritated. It's like willing a mosquito to bite you when you want to scratch.

ok that came out weird.

Anyhow, in the course of interacting with these irritants (well not 'interacting' as much as sitting someplace trying hard to emit 'go away' vibes), it really made me appreciate all the wonderful people around me - the people who put up with my incoherent rants and who take my mind off all the bad things in my life (by telling me the bad things in their lives).

(This sounds like it's going somewhere Disney-esque. I see the Carebears floating down in their balloons.)

And at least you know that when you're irritated and feeling irritated at being irritated, you're still alive in this screwed up world, and everything/everyone who comes along and makes your day a bit better, you appreciate so much more.

There's too much to write about, too little time, too little energy considering the fact that exams are looming somewhere in the not too distant future.I don't know why I'm not feeling a sense of urgency at all and I don't know why I ended up wasting blogging time on something so trivial. (Then again, can blogging ever be on things 'not trivial'?)

"Think Paris, prostitute, fur coat, dog in arm" - Lim Yau, when trying to coax a 'decadent' sound from the brass players at today's rehearsal.

friends-bust-er

As of today, I have determined that my December holidays have been burnt beyond recognition. I might as well be married to my cello now considering I am spending more than half of my December nights hugging it. Like just after my exams, there's Singapore Idol finals, then SDT/PCO's Sleeping Beauty until the 15th and on the 17th & 19th I've to play for PLCMC on behalf of my cello teacher who will be in Perth mingling with the koalas and the platypuses. So there, with my social life slipping away, I envision many days of wandering down the empty roads of orchard while everyone else is off holidaying at some place or the other.

My tenuous links to the remaining friends I have depends on the (now rather defunct) friendster, MSN and the occasional person that leaves a message on my tagboard.