Breeding Like the Guinea Pig

Not Getting Enough Fruits and Vegetables

2006-08-15T06:36:00.000-07:00

I've just purchased a $5.5k piece of machinery to put in my mouth, though right now there's only about $2k worth. Still its enough to stop me from chewing properly. It's supposed to help me lose weight. That's all good but the problem is that I've discovered a whole new world of bacon bone flavoured, full-cream soups. I'm still not getting enough fruits and vegetables though. I miss it like hell. Hopefully, this Sunday's Sukiyaki with her thin, melting pieces of my favourite fruit will nurse my deficient self back to full health.

So, here's to Sunday. And here's a picture for old time's sake.

Beef Is My Favourite Fruit...

2006-05-22T10:03:00.000-07:00

Tsk Tsk... And they say I couldn't turn vegetarian. I am so vegetarian man. Everyone knows Prime Angus Beef grows on golden trees. That's why they cost a hefty $50 a kilo. Cheap considering Choice Angus sells for $80 at your usual gourmet grocer like Swiss Butchery and Jasons. Meat was first cultivated by English Monks who grew them on short dwarf trees within the tight confines of cobbled walls. The secrecy and scarcity of this delicious crop meant steep prices in those days. Hence, the ironic name "butcher" or "butchery" refering to the customers who had to bleed large amounts of money for them (English humour I guess).

Who wouldn't bleed for such a bounty. Sweet and juicy. Life's natural goodness in every morsel. Aids digestion, relieves joint pain amd congested breathing. Some even say that this precious fruit promotes world peace. Sadly, not everyone will agree. And we say "tushay". Go, get thee behind me you cruel tofu sprout eaters and your damning foul tasting powdered blast dried mixes, and leave us peaceful vegetarians to our own.

Call It Rustic and Charge Another $5 bucks

2006-05-11T11:03:00.000-07:00

I can't seem to think about anything else other than food. It's sad. And I'm obsessed. The weeks after the exams have been all about foodfoodfood. Food and Hospitatlity Asia was great, got a new contact for my USDA Angus. There was Bukenero, but nothing really excites more than cooking it myself. Preparing it in the kitchen with my new found super she-can-read-my-mind partner in the glutton section, I've found myself the consummate soulmate. And yes, we consume a lot. but nothing more than Sticky-prune-pudding that has captured my palatte recently. In fact, I've made it twice but haven't eaten more than a single slice myself. Sad. But steaming and baking the thing makes it seem like alchemy and magic.

As Ban says, I would have gotten spots by now...

2006-04-13T01:29:00.000-07:00

It's tiring to hear the same old rumors go about again especially since it's been 4 years ever since the first appearance of "oh he has STDS, and he caught it from some whore in Thailand." If you had to malign someone I'd wished you jealous slutlets and malicious bastards come up with more creative stuff ("The Virginator" is not bad though). The truth is if I had to come out and tell my side of the story it won't seem very nice for the other party, so I shall just leave it at that.

I'm also very tired of hearing Singaporean women complain that local men are wimpy, indecisive and on the whole not very manly, because I actually find a disturbing number of instances that this is actually true. The irony is that Man, in his original glory is lost along wiith other qualities, like viginity and the abstinence of the use of foul words. Today's Man is epitomised in none other than Homer Simpson, Singapore's very own is little different except that he bets on 4D and goes to Tanjong Pagar for beer. Today, Society celebrates the Woman that is "like" Man, while Man who is "Man" is scorned.

I like boobs, I like drinking lots of beer and I like doing things by force knowing I could be absolutely wrong, but damn, what the hell. Some guys out there could definitely get more action if they act like dicks. Because, the truth is, women love dicks.

But there's also the other side of being a man. It's about taking care of the lady. It's about opening doors, helping with bags, fetching their tea, pampering them, giving baby oil massages, bouquets of roses, champagne and strawberries... that kind of thing. It's about honoring your word, about not making promises you can't keep, and about keeping promises even if it means losing your dick. It's about being gentlemanly.

Yes, I'm chauvinistic. But nothing makes me happier than knowing that my wife and children are well provided for and that my wife can be left to do the thing she does best (and definitely better than myself) - keeping home in shipshape, caring for the kids and making sure she's spa-ed, manicured, and spent most of my money.

Serving it up CHEENA WESTERN EDUCATION

2006-04-10T03:42:00.000-07:00

I never would have thought that the final semester in SMU would be so painful. I should be glad that it'll be over in a week, and I am. It's just that the immense pain at these last stretches always seem to put the corner so... out of sight. What am I talking about? I'm talking about the inane policies that this blasted instituition imposes on my soft, vulnerable and sensitive faculties. It seems that my contemporaries are so much more battle-hardened or so much more condition. Or rather, so much more Singapolean, ie. plain indifferent.

It's my final semester, and owing to my vast experience of my last 7 semesters printing out notes and slides and hording them in naive optimism that one day I shall have use for them, I now realise that the old adage that you never use what you learn in school in the real world, is true, and that I should, therefore, not print my slides and notes. Some kind professor, ironically, realising that the above is mostly true alleviates much pain by allowing the examination to be "open book". Ironic because now I have to PRINT my slides and notes in order to have reference to them in the exam.

It's not the entire school that's bad. I can hardly hold anything against my peers, and let alone the wonderful faculty that exist (most of them anyway, you're always bound to get selfish, egotistical, bad-engrish talking people anywhere). My poor law prof had the kindness of heart to pursue the matter and was advised otherwise, due to asinine reasons that could only arise because they would not think of better controls. Dumb ass. But yes, my kind prof also had the patience to bear the brunt of my angst. You can read below:

Dear Prof,

I understand your position and to be honest, I'm already very touched that you tried. I actually find it quite amusing. Ironically the school, in almost litanical encouragement of laptop use, would be so narrowminded and uncreative in its application of technology. Perhaps of course, because education is an old and mature instituition and examinations are processed and administered by the like.

I pray you indulge me for a moment and consider my suggestion. All SMU exams are submitted in hardcopy, and it is also collected physically. There is hence no need for wireless internet access. It would not be so burdensome to disable wireless access in the exam facilities or even in the whole school for the duration of the exam. Of course, the internet and school network can still be accessed by LAN cables or in common areas such as the library. The multiplicity of notes/slides printed would be avoided and the fatality of yet more trees can be averted. It would seem superfluous to attempt to save one Bodhi Tree in the courtyard when we otherwise so flippantly cause the demise of others. A mere excercise in superficiality indeed.

Real learning and progress have always been impeded by ignorance and a lack of imagination that manifests itself in poor administration here at SMU. While the faculty and classes such as yours are a delight, dealing with the administration is always found in wanting. My sympathies to you and again many many thanks for making my last law class in SMU an absolute pleasure.

Yours sincerely,
Jeremy Nguee

At least I don't have to work there when I graudate. Like I always say, you can't have an american pedagogy thingie and have singaporeans run it. "It takes two hands to clap." Obviously, SMU is trying to clap with one, and you should see how they slap themselves once in a while to make a sound (ref. The Fast Trackers Billboard Booboo).

Getting my education at SMU is like going to Kallang to have the mixed grill. Call it American, Western... whatever. It's a few thin pieces of meat fried through and smothered in a garlic sauce. Don't get me wrong, I like the dish and I know I ordered a Kallang-original american-style grill. I'm just saying that a SMU education is like that: Cheena western. American style served the Sin-GAH-POH way. It's good for a while, but after I'm done with the chicken and the pork, it's the lamb, and the garlicky taste is getting quite sickly. And when it's all down to the last sausage, it just tastes like a whole of of baloney to me. The SMU Mixed Grill - A cheap piece of meat for each year. Should call it SMU Mixed-up Grill. Or messed-up grill. "Auntie, meesup grill zhi pua! Garick zuey zuey."

And you can ask Gary Seetoh, but I bet he won't even give you 2 chopsticks for it.

A Perfect Day

2005-12-17T08:01:00.000-08:00

Home made open faced sandwiches with lots of balsmico and mesclun, topped with a runny hard boiled egg and ham shavings, drizzled with walnut oil and a warm dressing of balsamic, apricot and ginger. Watched 2 episode of Friends and a crazy show with a brilliant sound track. A spontaneous decision to go to Sentosa to see what other adventures await.

Ben and Jerry's, grilled italian sausages and lots of Hoegaarden while the sun sets. A quick shower brings a rainbow just over our heads. The afterglow casts the night sky in an ash blue against the shilouette of palm trees and rocky outcrops. As we sip Mandarin martinis and ameretto sours, a full moon hangs and the waves roll in gently while downtempo beats take us away.

Further away.

It's a perfect day.

"God works in mysterious ways" is the biggest understatement ever. One evening the family decided to go out for dinner at a new la mian/tse char place just across the road, but daddy changed his mind halfway and we decided to drive down a little further to Thompson to have our usual tse char, but the place was closed, so we went on to Toa Payoh Lorong 5 for steaks, but that was closed too. Just as we were exiting the car park at Lorong 5, a bicycle with 2 ah peks on it swerved out dangerously, as we exclaimed at their recklessness an oncoming car rammed into the both of them throwing the pillon off up the windshield and onto the road.

Thank God Angie was with us and she immediately went to attend to the injured while I quickly called for an ambulance. Dad assured the young driver that we witnessed everything and that we would testify should the need arise. A small crowd gathered and shared their concerns, one middle aged man more enthusiastic than the others, and I assured him that the pretty girl in attendance is a trained state registered nurse.

Dinner was back at the original la mian place we decided upon earlier. Food was assuringly decent and comforting especially after witnessing an accident. But the thing that struck me the most was the amazingly complicated sequence of events that let us to Toa Payoh Lorong 5, superficially, ending in futility but yet ultimately serving a greater purpose.

A precise sequence of events, totally unplanned for, surprises, amazes, touches, comforts, soothes and reassures. Just like seeing a beautiful sunset, a rainbow and the full moon, all in one evening tells me more convincingly than ever that while He may work in mysterious ways, He's there, He's for real and He's working.

The past few days have been perfect. Blessed with perfect sunsets, cool weather, full moons, a speckling of adventures and new experiences. Yet what makes all this perfect? It's who you share these moments with that lends them their meaning. Organic scallop burgers at lunch or midnight noodles with leftover ayam pangkang are things you'll remember you ate because of the person you shared them with. We hardly remember bad meals for long but meaningful meals we will remember almost forever.

Songs For December

2005-11-27T08:24:00.000-08:00

The winds blow, and the cold moves in slowly, but still you can feel a change. A certain music is in the air, music that tells you its a new time of your life. As one more page is written, it is turned. I cannot but feel afraid and apprehensive - but yet the wind is cool and fresh. I cannot wait to read what new things will be written.

Unbearable

2005-11-23T05:32:00.000-08:00

Apparently I chew too loudly. The porridge can be eaten quietly, but the fried chicken wings was quite a challenge. If you don't chew it hard and fast, you won't feel the crunch of the crispy garlic bits, and definitely, you wont get the nice hot juicy chicken taste that bursts out just after the skin breaks. If you chew too slowy sure you can still swallow, but you'll be swallowing a wet swab of tasteless enzymes.

But that's how they do it in Japan and Korea and all over the world. You can only slurp the noodles loudly. I have to learn, its for my own good. She's sure people don't eat loudly like me in Singapore.

Apparently, I always tee-off in the wrong place. I should tee-off where everyone else tees off. The spot with all the divots, I can't miss it. I always have something to say, a good excuse, always arguing back. I probably would have played better than the 105 I played that day - my first golf game in 11 years, the first after my accident, and I haven't even learnt to putt. Considering I put a ball in the water almost every hole, I suppose that is a terrible game.

Still I should listen, that's how the pros do it. My ball flies right because my right foot is not straight, not because my body turns faster than my club head travels like my dad always say. But the entire world population of golf pros can't be wrong. My dad probably is even though he's coached me for almost 20 years. I should straighten my right leg, it's for my own good.

She's done everything before, a milion times. She's had it before, thousands of them. Even if she didn't, she knows someone who does - movie stars, presidents, high-so, sportsmen, beauty queens, popstars, chefs, bartenders, working girls and giggolos. No she hasn't taken photos before, but her mum did. And of course she knows Japan's best most famous photographer cos they had drinks together. That's really cool. And of course my friends are crap or rather you chi. Who am I anyway? Work and study? Been that done that. No big deal. I'm still doing business the wrong way. I shouldn't pay my suppliers on time unless my client does. 24 years old? That was so long ago - chicken shit.

Why can't I be older? I'm so freakin childish. I watch cartoons, listen to songs with no lyrics, read comics, like to dance with a crowded club with people watching. No we can't wear something casual because someone she knows might be at the restaurant. T-shirts are for kids.

Q bar - Bangkok's butcher market, no they're not selling beef, but there sure is a lot of meat on sale. 3 girls all early thirties are on a prowl, all out hunting. I'm sitting at their usual table reminiscing about how I don't ever want to grow up to be one of those velvet men. Early thirties with Oris watches to flash and Beemers to drive. Condos to go home too, and sleep in a cold cold place you call home. Oh of course it's cold, the Daikin super-sonic-ionising-mosquito-killing-ultra-energy-saving few thousand dollar air-conditioner had better make it cold. Skinny young girls cuddle up on the red plush seats under the Warhol artwork and the velvet pin cushion wall, all for a glass of Veuve Clicquot and a chance at squeezing the new omega red faced constellation out of him. I'm not skinny and I'm not girly, but that's probably how I look anyway - skanky with my sugar mummies. On the constant beck and call to signal the waiter to top up the glasses with vodka from their bottle and Kaa Ting Daeng.

Of course I doubt I'll grow up to drive, let alone drive a Beemer, or wear a real Oris watch. I'll probably be looking for a really loose pair of shorts to lounge around in my old rented Selegie apartment. If I'm lucky, the TV will work and I catch some old Ben Stiller show while I'm chugging down my favourite can of Tiger (cos Jessica Alba endorsed it in 2005) and eating my favourite wasabi peas. The highlight of the week would be pool with Weili and the boys (Velvet would be too expensive - I'm still paying the instalments on my last cue) or going back to my mum's place for dinner (always love mum's cooking).

I shower too long, and use a toothbrush too large. What is it like when you are constantly doing something wrong? When you are living in a box with someone you have to constantly answer to, someone who feels the need to scrutinise and authorise? It's her box, so too bad you have no choice. It's probably like living in North Korea, but I got a feeling they have it slightly better.

Waiting at the bar, going around the Sois, in search of someone who has already left. Feels just like a relationship. You're still trying, but the other person you have come with has already gone.

What did Dorothy do to get home?
Click click click
Need to get a pair of Ruby Slippers.

Which of the 3 witches has them?
I'll just have to check with the wicked witch I'm staying with.

Blatant Plagarism

2005-11-15T18:33:00.000-08:00

"The facts of life: circumstances, changes… everything changes. Never forget that. Nothing stays the same forever."
- Antonio Tápies

There was an old Singaporean joke that ran like this:
Mr. Singh: What is the phrase most commonly heard in school?
Ah Beng: Er…. I don’t know.
Mr. Singh: That is correct!

Ask Ah Beng again about the phrase most commonly heard in business schools today and the answer would like be, “it depends.” Aside from the bad pun, the truth is that corporations today are realizing that “it really depends.” The question then focuses on “what does it depend on?” which begs the question “what are you really asking?”

Literature puts into perspective these questions by suggesting a Strategy-Structure-Performance framework. In reacting to external factors, firms adopt a strategy which determines the firm’s structure. How ideal is this structure in achieving a “fit” with strategy determines the performance of the firm.

Contingency Theory in Management Accounting exists within this framework: that the firm’s structure is determined by the context that it exists in. Unlike the Fiedler’s Contingency Theory of leadership, which implies that managers would be applied to environments that match their personality, or that the environments be changed to match their personality, Contingency Theory in Management Accounting suggests that the “managers” that is the firm, is the one being “managed” and not the environment. What it seeks to achieve, broadly speaking, is to observe what drives management accounting practices and its intensity of use with respect to the environment.

“It depends” – It depends on what the context is, such as size of target market, level of competition and national culture. “What are we really asking?” – The answer that we seek is the answer to our survival as a business. How do we develop a competitive advantage, one that is unique and sustainable for as long as possible. How do we develop a set of capabilities that is difficult for our competitors to emulate and duplicate?

In weighing the relevancy of Contingency Theory in managing today’s corporations, we are faced with the conundrum: what useful observations can we employ in developing a unique strategy if every corporation is indeed placed in a different context? If contingency theory can provide us with a two-by-two matrix which can dictate the management accounting structure of our firm, then any strategy employed under that structure can hardly be considered a competitive advantage at all since it is strategy that directs organizational structure.

The management accounting function is the vehicle by which the firm executes its competitive strategy. For example, a firm seeking to be a cost leader would be stringent in its cost management via budgetary controls and activity costing activities. A large part of this function would be gathering and processing of information that impacts decision making. That is, information that is material to both managers and decision makers of the firm.

Performance measurement and evaluation as part of the management accounting function plays a critical role in maintaining a firm’s competitive advantage. Only with this information can managers know how well they are performing against their own expectations as well as against their competitors. Based on certain information and assumptions, plans are made and executed with a different set of knowledge (which includes its own assumptions), only upon evaluation would management know if the assumptions are correct and how organizational strategy and implementation methods should change if they are not.

It is well obvious, therefore, that management accounting practices are dependent on the competitive strategies employed by the firm. Different strategies require different information to support its execution and management accounting practices adapt to meet that information need.

Cost control measures are not good surrogates for performance evaluation in areas which are highly influenced by external factors. This leads to the concept of responsibility accounting where units should be evaluated only upon factors which they have control over. Notably, we are not limited to only the quantitative aspect of performance. More importantly, we must be aware that as technology advances and economies liberalize, firms will be faced greater competition and greater exposure to movements in our little global village.

Two distinct dimensions delineate a firm’s exposure to the environment: a long-term vs. short-term orientation, and an international vs. domestic orientation. The time horizon orientation of the firm dictates “when” the firm want to see results. For example, it has been observed that firms with a long-term orientation are more willing to tolerate variances in cost management controls in lieu of qualitative benefits which may contribute to future profit. The spatial horizon dictates “where” the firm want to see results. Firms with an international outlook are observed to have a larger hinterland and are generally less concerned with cost control than do domestic firms – the greater concern is that they are performing as a whole rather than in just one particular subsidiary for example. On the other hand, domestic firms more concerned with internal performance measures such as productivity and consistency of quality of product.

Ironically, research in contingency theory has been largely criticized as rarely having a proper control group available to adjust for events in time. It has been proposed that this points to a need for complementary cross-sectional and time-series studies. Our group would like to offer the explanation that hardly any organization is affected by the environment (history and/or otherwise). As part of the view that corporations are a social institution, adaptation, is key to their survival, regardless of industry, size and nationality. If such a control group was easily distinguishable, then it seems that contingency theory would, largely, be wrong. Or that the business would long have been out of business.

Time does not stand still, and corporations cannot stand still. Lessons from Contingency theory do not offer us a once-size-fits-all solution but instead offers us a perspective of the changing face of management accounting. As our world becomes increasingly interlinked, the internal and external factors that influence are constantly in flux, and hence so must management accounting practices evolve to adapt. If change is the only constant, then Contingency Theory has always been relevant, even today.

Time Impression Phenomenon

2005-11-09T23:38:00.000-08:00

I heard of a theory once that tried to explain why certain people hear school bells ringing and foodsteps in old school buildings. The phenomenon is also observed in other places such as hospitals and homes. Time is like a fabric that does not happen to be linear all the time; sometimes it runs itself over and over again. Significant or repeated events can make dents in this fabric of time. I was listening to my ipod on the train this afternoon on the way to take my basic theory test when at certain intervals of a particular song I kept hearing a "squeak" sound. I played it back again and there it was at the exact same spot. Soon enough I realised that the "squeak" was the sound I heard everytime I adjusted the volume on my powerbook. I must have adjusted the volume while listening to the song.

It's funny how like songs, places can remind you of other times in your life. And bring back a whole flood of feelings, as if you were feeling it fresh for the first time, yet with a slight bitter aftertaste of antiquity. A dent in my fabric of time. Exercise must probably be a significant event in my life since it is not exactly part of my lifestyle (Unless you consider pool an active sport). 30 weeks ago I remember running a simple loop from Hougang St 51, along the park connector by a canal (which sometmes had turtles or crabs) past 2 junctions (the second junction had a basketball court there), then on to punggol park. Running along the fringe, you'd past by the playground with the spongy floor, then the lalang growing by the side, then the bbq pits, soon you'd see the pond, and just before the cafe (uneasily named euphoria or something) you'd see a small exercise corner like the ones along the park connector. I'd leave her house at 6:00pm which would bring me back by 6:32 in time to cool down, take a shower, and have a wonderful dinner of steamed fish, qing chao kai lan, another stir fried dish and hot soup.

Running there was almost an emotional experience everytime. Singaporeans who complain or a poor quality of life obviously live too close to town. My running route at 6 took me along a storyboard - a story of Singapore and her values, against a backdrop of a golden fire sky, a setting sun and red bricked flats bathed in humidity; soothed by the cool evening breeze. There were couples walking pets, and grandparents walking grandchildren. Young families cycling together, mummy and daddy on "Aloeha" mountain bikes and Xiao Ying and Xiao Xing on miniature ones. Malay dads would cast nets for fish, while chinese dads would set crab nets. Indian mums would be in a loose punjab dress while the chinese mums would be in home t-shirts and shorts all seated on the same bench together watching their kids, making sure they all play nice. There were old ederly men whom you'd wish you'd grow up into: skin slightly sagging with some age spots here and there, the remaining hair would be grey and the choice of exercise kit doesn't really cut as couture, but boy, at probably 3-4 times your age, these guys are pacing you. And they probably go home to steamed fish dinners and soup unless they felt like Bedok blk 85 porridge and chicken wings.

Different routes, different lives, different times. The Bedok north route reminds me of my ORD days. East coast Park reminds me of half marathon training. The pond near the changi end reminds me of Guards. Where few of us will purposely take off our singlets roll them around our fists and run in little groups of four. I doubt I'd get the same response now though. The poor strollers in the park would probably gag. The Balestier route around my house reminds me of the time when I couldn't keep pace with Shaun. Malcom road reminds me of Barker Rd days. Nassim road belong to SMU days, running with Weili who was doing his quarterly run (it has since since cut down to semi-annual). These present times are marked by runs to Cambridge market, under the CTE, to Dorset Rd and under the bridge again.

What do we feel this way? That bittersweet pain that you feel. Good memories yet so painful to remember; probably because you know you never did fully appreciate it. You never did embrace those times fully. You glossed over it without really savouring every precious moment. Because it wasn't really precious until it was over. I hate it. I hate that feeling. Yet I never know how to fully embrace the current times. I try not to think about old times, never run the same routes and not visit the same places. Try not to go over the same places in the fabric. Try to avoid the dents that trigger the memories. Maybe I shouldn't run, shouldn't listen to music, shouldn't have cravings. Can time be time without markers?

Remind me never to adjust the volume when I'm playing a song.

"Cause you are known of something
For you’re dropping me away
Now I’m falling into nothing
I drift inside myself
And fade away…"
[squeak]

The Joy Of Procrastination

2005-10-09T02:25:00.000-07:00

I wonder how many times people have said that they are procrastinating too much or even blogged about it. I've written about it once before, but hey, there is obvously a reason why we all do it - because it feels good. Just like cigarettes, carbonara and one too many beers. It makes you feel good.

Prof Hwang's take home mid-term was released on Friday afternoon and my AA summary is also due tomorrow. But hey, the satisfaction of finishing those two pieces of work can hardly compare to the korean movie I finished on Friday afternoon with a can of tiger and a bag of wasabi peas. To top off, I took a nap, went for a run and then played pool in the evening. Saturday was spent helping out at a shoot (met someone muse worthy so that was certainly worth my while), going for a run and drinking rootbeer at Cosi bay. Today ain't too shabby either, had pork rib noodles at Sixth avenue and just watched a killer anime while in bed. Go watch Jin-Roh (whoever thought that you'd find a catoon that's rated NC-16). After my japanese dinner of pumpkin croquette and kaki fry tonight, I'll probably play some pool before trying to get an early night's sleep. A bit wishful thinking but I'll have to try since tomorrow morning I'l be trying to finish off my work.

Why wait till Monday morning? Because it just seems wrong to play pool, watch a DVD and drink beer first thing on Monday morning. Besides, finishing my work tomorrow morning would probably make me feel a lot better.

Don't call it procrastination, call it prioritising. Better go spend your money now before the new soon-to-be installed ERP gantry outside your house takese it away. Besides, it makes a lot more sense to eat carbonara and drink a lot of beer while you're still healthy.

A Restless Obsession

2005-10-07T06:31:00.000-07:00

Kimchi fried rice was probably the most delicious thing I've ever eaten in a long long time. Little sour bits of cabbage that just melt in your mouth leaving a tangy tingly taste that's somehow still sweet. The rice fragant from butter and dashi comes off in a sticky clump when you pick it up with your chopsticks. And the neo-classical addition of the sunny-side-up, with the yolk still runny is pure harmony. These are my days: sour and sweet, spicy and sticky.

Still, the memories of beautiful egg sandwiches with thin slices of cucumber and tomatoes between delicately margarined sunshine bread, haunt my heart together with so many other moments I try not to remember. Riding with Charcoal in the car, sloppy tongue poking out of his happy mouth; until he gets restless and I have to deal with his toenails sticking into my lap. Holding soft tiny hands along that star-pier place in HK; and a soft tiny nose that feels cold against my palm. 8:04 am calls that precede 8:11 am pick-ups below my house to go to work. Too, memories of begging and crying and kneeling on the floor. Both of us. I remember other things. I was bbq-ing in the carpark when she came to wish me happy birthday. Or reminiscing the first time we met. And Orange pekoe tea.

I wonder how many entries like this will I have when I go eventually. Entries of sorry, of alternate paths that could have gone no other way. I love my Kimchi fried rice, but Molluex Chocolat just doesn't feel the same with somebody else.

Watashiwa Sabishi desu. Totemo Sabishi.

You can roast my chicken any day

2005-09-03T08:20:00.000-07:00

The good thing about the new school campus is that KK market is on the way home. Or bad thing rather. Mummy abandoned the family for about 3 days leaving me the entire kitchen to waste at my disposal. Of course, it was difficult not to pass up the opportunity, so I decided to pay hunky Victor a little visit. The good (and bad) thing about Chia's vegetable supply is that everything is fresh and everything looks good to eat. The situation is further exacerbated by the meagre and slightly unpolished surrounding that tends to lend the effect that everything is as cheap as your local market produce; the truth being otherwise of course. It's not their fault obviously and I am more than happy to be aware of the existence of such a place (I believe a number of lonely foreign domestic help also share my sentiments though for very different reasons - no snide remarks jon).

Put me in a supermarket and I get excited, put me in a wet market and I get almost horny (or just wet). I get my stuff always from the usual vendors, it's like a regular mistress or hostess you always ask for when you feel like a certain taste in your mouth. Beef from Uncle San, Pork from Uncle Hai, Mesclun herbs and mushrooms from Victor, eggs from the old auntie next to the stall selling pickled vegetables, toufu also from another grandma next to my tau gay stall, fishballs from just across them, seafood is always from Wendy's and I hardly cook fish. The chicken uncle was once again giving me his usual speech about how he feels responsible about always selling fresh chickens. Nothing left to the next day. And because I'm near closing time for him, I get the largest chickens 50 cents cheaper. Still quite expensive compared to shop and save, but dude, this chick is one huge mama, coming in close to 2 kg.

Victor's gig has long ago expanded to included both rows of stalls leading up to the main cashier where he stashes the precious loot of pearl white mushrooms and lucious leeks. My walk in is always treacherous because the sights, sounds and smells start to get to me. I'm trying to concentrate not to slip on the slimy floor, yet while trying to remember what I'm supposed to buy, avoid the usual marketing auntie's trolley that never fails to miss you as the driver behind the wheel tries to sneak one last look at hunky Victor as they leave the stall, and of course not to get distracted by the bundles of huge thick asparagus, super huge beef tomatoes and carefully packed portobello mushrooms. (Always telling myself, foods for another time - when I have money).

Resistance is futile as they say. I over spend slightly more than double my budget buying tomatoes, young potatoes, mushrooms - buttons and shitake, tomatoes, mesclun with more baby rocket and spinach, big onions, leeks, garlic, carrots, herbs and I can't remember what else. "Dinner for 5 but enough food for 6 comfortably", I try to console myself having spent the $30 I was supposed to pass to jon the next day.

Roast chicken is the most straightforward and universal poulty food I can think of short of boiled chicken. Obviously, the simplest of foods always have the most complicated of variations. To truss or not to truss, slash or not slash, salt or not salt. I chopped my sage and rosemary, mix them with soft unsalted butter and stuff them just under the skin of the breast. The chicken is seasoned with a sprinkle of lemon juice, lots of salt and just a bit of oil. The stabbed lemon goes into the cavity along with a bouquet of the herbs I didn't chop. Cut up the veg into huge chunks, leaving the young potatoes alone washed but unskinned (of course). Garlic goes into the tray whole and unpeeled. Chicken goes on a roasting over the veggies which I left in mummy's pampered chef clay casserole, all on turbo at 200 degrees celsius for the first 10 mins, then it's no turbo and continues for the next 25-30 mins. The last 15 mins sees the leeks and mushrooms going in. And if need be another 10 mins just to make sure everything is nice golden brown and glazed. I dont bother making a gravy. Just break your bread and dip into the "au jus" - restaurant people called it rustic and charge you another ten bucks for the ugly looking pot.

I spend the next two hours cleaning, washing and mopping, then trying to put everything back where it was the very next morning so that when mummy comes from that evening, she would have never guessed that I cooked, save for the smell of olive oil, garlic and rosemary still lingering in the air.

$30 bucks and a few hours of cleaning. But oh totally worth it. Don't believe me, smell my fingers.

In the Fantastical forest

2005-08-16T06:12:00.000-07:00

Back to Singapore, back to reality with a huge pile of work that is thankfully is reducing. But the admin bitch of bidding and chooses courses to bid for still lurks at the back of my head, never letting up even when I tell myself I'll cross the bridge when I get to it. Just have to realise God is still in control. My situation is like being in a spin cycle, and I'm constantly trying to get into the centre of it where it is still, but I'm always being tossed about and tossed about again even before I can try to stand up.

Thailand was supposed to be a respite, but there I found an even more ironic source of peace. Escapism - the tendancy to seek distraction and relief from unplesant realities. My fantastical life in Thailand is following me home. I do not know if that is a good thing or bad. Weed shots, popass and swimming in the sea at 3 in the morning. These are things you can easily put behind. But to bring home someone's heart as a souvenir, I do not know if it's the right thing to do. It's like Weili plucking SPS in Phuket. Just that I'm not sure if this pretty coral will repair herself eventually.

The world is full of all sorts of people, and I've been living liike a frog in the well. Contented with the Char Kway Teow that grows on the slimy walls. Not that the grub is bad in the isolated recesses of my isolated life is bad, but something that I learnt, I believe still holds true for most things - new and meaningful experiences are worth getting out of your seat for. That constant adrenaline from taking a chance at something new is an addictive drug. Getting water and burning weed in my lungs is not a pleasant experience I assure you. and just once is enough. But the risk pays off for most things, Mama nam at a Karaoke coffee shop along a dark stretch of Lad prao at 1 in the morning, or taking the first step to ask for someone's name.

Skanky girls are everywhere, along with white-whorshippers, and many a time, both are the same. But once in a while, you meet someone brilliant, concious, compassionate, who just makes you go "Wow, that's so cool." People with big hearts, people with voices and stories that when you close your eyes and listen to them, you can't tell what is the colour of their skin or eyes, or have your own heart perjudiced against them. People who make you feel small, yet inspired to do the same. Russell Peters said "People often trouble themselves with things that would never affect their lives." But I suppose that dying dolphins do affect some people. Just as much as working girls who were sold out when they were ten, have 2 children to feed (the boy called Nat and the girl called Nip), has no education or technical skills, and have little avenues to provide for themselves. Always boils down to "What is a viable alternative?" anyway. Hard to draw the line and even harder to say who's to blame. Not always is the customer some red face, pot-bellied, balding guy with man breasts rubbing against his silk shirt, which makes me wonder what kind of guy would do something like that? But then again. It's fair trade, and fair game. But "fair" is also hard to define isn't?

"Why would she choose me?" and the answer from any female will never satisfy the narrow male mind. "Because she just likes you." or "Because you're my guy". I am male and accountant type. Please explain to me in point form. I would think even JB has trouble breaking this one down. Everything rushes to the front of my head when I attempt the slightest thought into the future. I'm too young, too far, too different. Love conquers all? I am little tired to try and believe that after my last fiasco. I can tell you all the answers but I"m too far away for my faith to make a decent connection.

People like to believe that their situation is special. It's unique. That's why the "Soulmate" thing sells. Is there really that one person? I don't know for sure. She's like me, for sure. The way we think, and the things we value and believe in. The things we like and the facial wash we use. The way we would run a business and the attitude towards work are the same. So same-same it scares me. If I was 7 years older, Japanese-korean and female maybe I'd be her. But having the same value system doesn't mean that we're soulmates? But oh everything I wanted in a woman, she is. Of course, there's the dark side that I haven't seen. And I believe it's gonna be dark. Dark - reminds me of a chinese expression, "a dark cloud so big that it seems to be able to crush a city into a thousand fragments" (a prize for the one who knows the expression).

Spin cycle, or dark city. It's the same, just like Bangkok, a place of spinning grey. A dark cloud is looming over, and yet she's my silver lining. Somehow, I have this feeling that it's going to rain soon.

I just hope it will be soon -
I look forward to the "clear sky after the rain."

In Search of the Fantastical Elephant

2005-07-16T10:03:00.000-07:00

Something heavy, something strong. Something you can depend on. Ironically, the same description would probably mean it'll weigh you down. Or like Macdonalds' Heffalump toy, it'll squirt you in the face. We all seek the fantastical elephant, some in grades, some in money, some in love. My fantastical elephant is family. I am looking for family. My own family, someone strong, someone I can depend on. Someone I can go home to, bring to the Grammy's etc. It's nice when you've found someone. And it sucks when you haven't, but the worst is when you've thought you've found someone and that person turn out to be even lighter than feather in the wind. Swayed by storms, swayed by opinions, swayed by pretty glittering things. More fickle than a guy in a car shop.

It has been a tumultous week for me. Clearing work, settling more work, and getting new ones. Too many clients to chase, and too many clients not worth chasing. Discovering new things and putting aside old ones. But saying "goodbye" to a girl I've known to be the support in my life, the one anchor and strength I depend on, has probably been the most painful thing. The climax of a tumultous relationship. The culmination of many points of pain. All of them sharp. Like shining light fighting its way into a pinhole and out again. Silent, glaring, and all off them sharp.

The lingering stare when you walk backwards away from someone has probably the most ambivalent of effects. Yet, as her small car flicks on the glaring, sharp headlights, reverses into position, and turns the bend away. The relief is not far from having someone turn the spotlight out of your face. You can close your eyes and not having to see the hot yellow through the back of your eyelids. It's cool and soothing. Relief comes from knowing that when you open your eyes, you will not be stabbed by a thousand glinting flints of light. Piercing and sharp.

Sharp is a poor adjective for the feeling. Usually, when you're stabbed by something sharp, you would not feel anything for a while. Not until the sight of the bright red blood. This feeling, this feeling of piercing, is more like a long blade that runs through you, hesitating at every point where your skin and tissue resists until the moment of tension registers in your senses.

But the headlights have gone round the bend.

Serenity
I am in love with a picture, a picture of serenity. A picture where time, light and feeling stands still. My silly, flimsy little place, confined in 8 million pixels. In one picture, there is a girl. My image of grace and of peace. Funny that her name is Serene. The girl in my picture bears much resemblence to Serene. but they're not the same. Nay, I know this girl that I've created, and she is just an image. My picture of peace. To me, an epitome, of everything soft and quiet. The light here does not pierce and is not sharp. It warms the heart and just as the morning dew disappears, my exhaustion vanishes.

But I cannot stay here forever.

After a terrible shoot last night, I clambored into a Merc taxi I was lucky enough to catch at the Stamford. The driver seemed to be busy communicating on a variety of modes of communication: walkie, cellphone, and taxi radio.

"Eh go leh, he's your buddy, on ah, we all go down together," he said in typical hokkien fashion. Then he turned to me and said in a fake slightly Australian accent.

"I'm going to a wake after this trip. One of the driver's funeral." he continued, "just a couple of days ago, we were all drinking having coffee, talking and laughing. Then he just passed away."

He paused awkwardly, "life is so CHEAP... a small tip from uncle." Australian accent fades and he doesn't speak that way again. So easy to say, "live your life meaningfully, do everything you want, so that when you die, at least you won't think back and regret."

But I don't know if the man who dies suddenly even has a chance to regret.

Office of Career Servises - Internship Opportunitiesw Available!

2005-06-30T23:36:00.000-07:00

Or if you can't spell, do consider joining us at is SMU. Grammer also not is require.

Not to mention that, if you are an officer at SMU, you do not need to have manners or actually repect students as your biggest customers, to whom you owe your entire office, existence and life's meaning to. Without which, you would be trawling the bottom of the can next to the other corporate rats. But it's ok, you can call them kids and ask them to get out of your office and wait for your colleague downstairs or in the library. It's ok to chase a fat-headed student like Jeremy Nguee out of your meeting room so you so you can stink up the place eating your japanese bento box. Too bad you didn't know that he has a big fat mouth to go along with that big fat head of his and that he was meeting with your Director and associate director to shoot his bloody mouth off about the lack of respect for SMU's customer. So not cool when diva fat head big mouth me has to leave with the taste of blood in his mouth.Cos it's definitely not mine. Other than getting confined on your weekend, I hope you get food poisoning or choke on a Unagi bone or something. Serves you right for getting bitch-slapped you disrespectful hoe.

Damn students. Like kids. So childish.

Dear Jeremy, we would like your views on SMU for a commemorative book we would be releasing in conjunction with the new campus. This despite the fact that the student office doesn't really like you, that you are only a provisional student and we can't/won't do anything about it, or that we've never really done anything for you like find you a job or an internship, or even provide support your macintosh powerbook. But it's ok cos for some unkown reason, you still are quite kind and thoughtful and will help us, though we might often say otherwise. But just in case, we're changing lunch to Rendevous cafe instead of the intial Kopitiam plan, cos we know you definitely can't resist the lovely rendang and the nasi padang.

[Cut to big fat head in front of Macintosh powerbook]
"Mmmmm.... rendang"
[Slurping noises]

Hope I don't get food poisoning or choke on a prawn shell. It'll be SMU's fault too cos they didn't teach me how to peel prawn shells with my utensils. Or was that supposed to be "cutlery" ? Damn, maybe I should just work at SMU.

In reply: http://www.xanga.com/home.aspx?user=NeelieeileeN

2005-06-01T07:32:00.000-07:00

I like dinner, and I like concerts too. I like Victoria theatre and Empress Place. I like dinners at Empress place and concerts at the Victoria concert hall. It's quiet and nice and you can walk down to the memorial where they have nice twinkling lights on the ground. And if she's tired I'll bring her to the Lighthouse just next door to have a drink or a bumboat ride just to see the lights. And it'll be nice if she holds my hand too.

I've been to the A&E of hospitals. In on a bed and out on a wheelchair. Back and back again to cold unfeeling machines. In moments of despair and suffering we see things the clearest, because only in those times woulld we realise what is most important. It's a great thing to know that we don't need a million dollars to realise money can't buy health. Yet,not having health nor money teaches the best lessons, and thank God when we don't have both, because we've learnt the most valuable lessons.

What is life? Its meaning is in its searching for it. Only to realise that there is nothing to search for in the beginning. It's about work, about play, about friendships, and relationships. It's about doing projects and studying for exams, never worrying about what grade you're gonna get. It's about working hard and enjoying your work, not about how much you earn in the end. It's about discovering our creator and his purpose for us of his grand scheme of things.

I've been in and out, up and down too just like everyone else. It doesn't help that women are God's most complex creation either. But we try, because there's no discovery without one or the other. And I'm discovering too. About twinkling lights on the ground, and the sights of Fullerton at night time. Discovering how it feels to hold the hand of someone who's trying too.

You never know how the grand tapestry of life looks like until it's done, but once in a while we get a tiny glimpse of the grand scheme of things. And boy is it pretty. Isn't funny how that I'm holding the same hand that, 3 years back, wheeled me around the hospital, amongst cold unfeeling machines.

Daydreaming

2005-06-01T01:13:00.000-07:00

I've been craving to fill that void in me, that huge empty void that tells me it'll never be the same. NEVER!
What am I talking about? "Gary!" I'm talking about Spongebob's birthday bob.

Okie not really -___-"

I'm talking about the most beautiful piece of steak in the whole wide world. Sigh. How can 800 grams of pure bliss manage to change your life forever? Sigh. That bouquet, that aroma, that permeates your entire being: that reaches inside you to touch your soul. Forever.

Don't believe me? Try it yourself. Here's a secret tip: I used a one and a half inch thick slab of prime, Wagyu beef. Now let's see you get your hands on that pretty little thing (here's my response in advance in case you do, "Damn you, Curses! but I'll take it back if you have me over for dinner *pwetty pwease*) I'll flutter my eyelids if you think it works on you lah. Really.

2.5 inch thick porterhouse cut Wagyu beef (about 800g-1kg) Meidi-Ya sells it for about $230 a kilo by the way.
1 cup rosemary/tarragon corasely chopped
1 big onion quatered
3 cloves garlic smashed
1 tbsp ground black pepper
3/4 cup olive/sunflower/canola oil
1/4 cup balsamic vinegar

Put everything in a bag and let the baby marinate for at leat 24 hours in the fridge. I left it on the table for 4 hours and that worked too.

I didnt have the luxury of a titanium space-craft metal griddle or even a cast iron one, or even a hot grill for that matter. I had a thin, small, crappy non-stick thing that looked a bit scratched in places. But it don't matter cos it's Mmmmmm Wagyu... Slow to cook, better to eat. Heat the pan till it's searing but not smoking, with a bit of oil and a knob of butter. Shake off all excess bits and place the beef gently into the pan. It might splatter and the oil will burn you but mind you it's worth it. Don't move it for the next 4-5 mins. (I said DON'T MOVE IT! Dammit people) Then turn it over for another 4 mins. Turn the steak over to the sides until the entire steak is crusty and looks like a black piece of shit. Eat it rare to medium rare. For those who don't like it that way or can't tell when it's done, don't cook steak. Go grill a chicken or something. Yes that's right, listen to what they say Lawry's is a good place for steak.

Remove the beef when it's done and let it rest. Yes, it's tired. You get heat from your boss, get your ass burnt and what do you do? Take leave, go for a holiday, take a break. This baby needs one too. I make a sauce by adding all the bits from the marinate (blood and oil and all) into the pan and dissolving all the good things the steak left behind. Remove the big chucks and slice some mixed mushrooms into the pan. Drizzling a bit of oil and water if it gets too dry. When it's soft add a little cream and reduce. Finally, add alcohol (port or sherry is good). I don't add wine cos the bottle I opened is expensive, and I'm drinking it. Besides, you can't flambe it. It's quite cool but damn cheesy lah; anyway, usually you're in a hurry already and you cant wait for it to bloody reduce, and it looks dangerous and the chicks are usually impressed. Season and set aside.

The beef feeds four(or three hehe) so prepare enough argula leaves for those who like them. I think tomatoes go nicely too. I like a balsamic vinagrette so hell yea, use your own if you dont. I think Rocket goes best though.

1/3 cup balsamico
1 cup olive oil
1 tsp sugar

Season with salt and pepper. Toss with leaves and tomato wedges just before serving. Slice the beef into strips of desired thickness. I think it's usually 1.5cm thick slices, mine's about an inch thick. Decorate the plate with the argula and lay the beef strips on top. I like to pour on the sauce but some don't like it wet. That's ok.

Bread and roasted young potatoes on the side are a must. Of course, it goes without saying - a good bottle of wine. Sigh.

As they always say, "DA JIA CHI FAN!"

Two Bumps on the Road

2005-05-23T10:09:00.000-07:00

The Philaharmonic Chamber Choir was really quite good. I loved the choice of songs that evening, with less of your usual eclectic, abstract pieces replaced with more soothing folk songs. Especially helpful when you just ran over a cat. Poor little fella. I honestly did not feel that bad about it until Angie through her tears and sobbing lamented that "It could have been somebody's meow meow." It could have been my meow meow. Injuria ad volunti you could say. Still even though, Neko is that stupid it would be quite unfortunate.

It was raining cats and dogs, almost quite literally. I could hardly see through the pelting of raindrops and the ominous feeling you get when you drive around without a driving license kind of exacerbates the situation. The road sloped downward quite sharply, turning the tarmac into one of those black waterwalls Sift Lords would probably install in their houses. Just over the apex of the hill, the grey little meow meow suddenly dashed out in front of us, with two bright yellow eyes, retinas fully reflected in the headlights. Funny how things seem to move in suspended animation when you reach critical moments. Reminds me of the moment when I was about to crash into a taxi three years ago. You seem to have had the luxury of time to contemplate a thousand and one things you should and should not have done. I have less than a week to my exams, and yet less than half a thought about it has gone through my head. Heck, I'll start tomorrow. As the Procrastinator on the Amanda Show always says, "I'll save you... Eventually!"

So many things to do. Always do what's most important first, they say. Trouble is that it's always hard to say whats most important. Readings to catch up. Hell yea, I think Deegan has far less important things to say about Accounting Theory than Elizabeth David has to say about virgin pressings of olives and their leaves. A cream coloured box full of purple coloured ribbons sit waiting to be transformed into a jewellery box for my butters. And everytime we quarrel, it mocks me, "you'll get down to it... Eventually! But really don't bother cos you guys will break up anyway... Eventually!" I'm 7 hours away for a 10% quiz which I spent about 8 hours trying to look at. Not so much trying to get the stuff into my head but more like trying to figure out why I'm spending so much effort and time on it anyway.

There are better things to do. Like trying to synchronise all my contacts with my new limited edition all-black V3 Motorola. It's not that great when you look closely at it actually. There are visible gaps at the edges. And my metal keypad is dented. Sigh at what price will I then get a decent machine to make phone calls from? Dammit. The kind people at Vertu tell me that they'll let the Ascent go for $25,000. A good deal I might add, especially since that there are no gaps in the edges and there's no metal keypad to dent. The platinum keys and ruby crystal display are a side benefit too. Ahhhh... Black is the new Black. Darth Vadar would be so much more cool, if his 80's looking control panel was updated in bat black softtouch keys. It would be even more cool if one of those buttons dispensed the dark side peanut M&M's. If the force don't work, I'd bet those yummy dark chocolate goodies would weaken any mind.

I sense great fear in you, little meow meow. But then again, maybe it was mine. I tried to brake, but if I braked to hard, I would skid on a two lane two-way road. If I veered right, I could careen into the sidewalk or all the way down the slope. I tried to stall for time, braking as hard as I could without locking the wheels. The meow meow seemed fixated to a spot, and I tried to let it pass in between the wheels. Jon Ban once said that you should never change your first answer during a true/false quiz. Two choices - stay or go, and don't change your first decision. Too bad meow meow didn't know Jon Ban earlier, otherwise I'd think they'd have a brilliant conversation on the persistence of ironic outcomes in any dichotomy of choices, which may, prove especially useful when you decide to dash out on to the road in rainy weather.

Life is like a choir performance: It may be beautifully arranged, with a canon of parts that overlap with one another, in harmony and yet at times, clashing but in the end producing a rich, haunting memory that lasts for only that moment. Funny how a song, never heard before, sung in unkown languages can effect familiar feelings of sadness and regret. It may echo for a while, off white alabaster carvings, and victorian pillars; yet no matter how long it swells, it eventually dies down to a mess of an applause. But hardly, we can only hope that we will meet such a honored end. More often than not, I think we end up like meow meow. Nothing more than two bumps on the road.

I was waiting for hot water, so I thought I'd blog a little. But the heater has been on for almost 2 hours already. Test in 5 hours? No worries, I'll go shower and wash up... Eventually!

Confessions of an overgrown drama king

2005-05-17T06:54:00.000-07:00

"Irrational fixatedness" is a phenomenon observed when one is so focused on one aspect of an object that he loses reality of it. Investors are so obsessed with one figure - net profit. That they lose sight of the real meaning that is the value of the firm. It can be easier explained by saying you're so in love with your girlfriend's figure that you stare at her boobs until you forget how she looks like.

Antoine Saint de Exupery noted that a church attendant, overly concerned with the arrangement of the pews that he forgets the God he is serving. Christians obsessed with the requirement of faith, that they lose all rationality. Don't look for me just yet, I'm just reiterating 19th century opinion. They say "religion is the opiate of the masses", cheap state legal drugs for everyone. Christians are delusional people: everything good must come from God, and everything bad must for their own good. You get the idea when you look at its founder. If I were to live in 30AD I'd be skeptical about a middle-aged man who has no job, no wife, no kids, no money, hanging around with other hobo men, telling everyone else that he's the son of God. Right.... Nicely done. Should try that one of these days, I wonder what kind of reaction you'd get. Little wonder they wanted to kill him.

I used to think accountants are rational people. I had this idea that accounting was like the bedrock of all economic activity. I even had this plan to make a plaque that said "I don't care what the numbers are, I only care that they are right". School only serves to tell you what you got wrong. Handel says “accounts do not more or less accurately describe things. Instead they establish what is accountable in the setting in which they occur.” The accountant in trying to replicate reality, creates that reality. What is right? That it must be there - certainly. So if it's uncertainly not there, then it must be wrong. Fallacy of ignorance dude LGST101. So old already still make this kind of mistakes.

Funny how we get a warm elatedness when someone else tells us that they like our blog. So old already still like that. All of us... drama queens. Quietly shy that we still try to make things sound like it's the world. The mountain that is our mole hill. We try to make it look different from the next person's. Maybe that's why when mummy and daddy tells us to learn from their experiences, we always say times have changed. Then again, christians in the crusade were quite just as mad and accountants are still just as socially inept.

"Socially inept" - my school's idea of promoting accountancy is a coordinated telemarketing campaign. I'm appalled that I actually thought of volunteering myself to help make some random cold call to a potential schoolmate. What if she's not hot? What if she's super ugly? I'll never live it down. Oh the guilt, the tragedy. Jon and Darren will plot my death. Together with the rest of the Sanhedrin. Difference is I'm not the son of God, and I'm not mad. That's the thing about Christianity, either that it is precisely correct in its entirety or it is grossly wrong. You really gotta be on drugs to believe in something like that. you believe what you want to believe anway.

I think I'm gonna be a bad accountant. I like uncertainty, I like thinking I'm absolutely right, and I hate making cold calls. Doesn't matter anyway, if all else fails, I can always start selling drugs. Just call me a drug addict.

Manic depressive... everyone is

2005-05-14T10:27:00.000-07:00

I blink too much. maybe that's why I never see anything clearly. My ears must blink too much too (though I never really noticed), cos I don't seem to hear anything. "Maybe I was absent, or was listening too fast/catching all the words/but then the meaning going past"

Lots of things to be thankful for, but some might say that money doesn't count for much. Maybe I'll get my A's but don't think that matters anyway. Wonder why people email profs and haggle for half marks. I hope they won't haggle with clients for fifty cents more on the budget.

Someone told me, God's vactioning in the Bahamas. I tried calling him on his cell but he doesn't seem to be picking up. I hope I'm getting the wrong number cos I'd hate to think she's right.

Wonder why people pay so much for audit work when in the end they try to hide everything from auditors without ever trying to make anything right in the first place. Or even in the last place. It's like paying money to ask someone to help you neaten your room, but in the end you try to stuff everything under the bed anyway. If your mum keeps bugging you to pack your room, why don't you JUST PACK IT!

It's amazing how anyone can get fired from an intenship. Dude... your coffee must really suck. Or you're so stupid you photocopy the blank sides. "Challenging work" for you means getting the stamps stuck on the top right corner of the envelope. Stop spoiling the market you dumb , it's hard enough trying to act like an idiot on the job, and you have to raise the bar by being a retard. Too bad you cant wear your perfect transcript on your forehead so that everyone one will know that you're the best of us.

It's a funny game this thing. As if the dean list qualifies you for the happy life club. I thought that if I win, I'd get a lovely wife, 3 kids, cosy home, a dog named Fifi, and a bug eating Luohan fish who will give me 4 numbers magically. I must be playing the wrong game cos I think God's dealing the cards (Einstein told me he doesn't play dice). I trust him to deal me a good hand, but I don't know, I've only got one card and it looks good so far. But the croupier seems to have disappeared from the table, then again, knowing the blind, deaf me. I think I got lost among the tables, walking around with my single card. He's around somewhere I just hope I find Him soon. Like really soon before I decide to cash in.

The only thing is I can't get my money back. I should ask that intern. Maybe being a retard makes it easier to live with oneself. It's not nice to make fun of people I know, but then again, it seems they're the majority here. Just observe how many people stuff things under their bed, thinking mummy won't find out. Dude, you guys paid money for hired help! Save the money for a brain check. Or at least pass it to me so I can get mine checked.

God, please check your voicemails, cos I left a few.

This Guinea Pig Hates Nuts

2005-05-12T23:43:00.000-07:00

Girls, girls... 15 year old angsty girls... all of us.
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Too bad there's no widget on Gadgets to check my mood forecast for the next 6 days.