You want fries with that?

At Everything with Fries (Holland V), it's hard to tell if the main course is the thing you ordered or the fries that accompany it. The cheeseburger I ordered was thick cut served with a standard fresh vegetable topping and a side Caesar salad, but all that only took up half the plate. The remaining half sat a pile of garlic and herb French fries in the midst of which perched a single garlic clove which suggested that their fries are done with authentic ingredients.

So the curry fries came fried in curry leaves and curry powder -- a very flavourful concoction, while the sour cream and onion and salt-and-vinegar combinations were thankfully subtle, not overpowering. Overpowering was Mel's lemonade which nearly bowled her over at the first sip. But that's the way Mel likes it, so no problem there.

Not so sure about the one egg soup Wendy A was raving about. It's a chicken stock soup with an egg yolk beaten into it; the remaining white is made into a soufflé raft  floating on top of the soup. It tasted oddly sweet and savoury -- an acquired taste, says Wendy.

We shared a Nutella tart for dessert which was sweet, sweet, omg sweet. Some things come too rich for my taste. I don't know how the others felt about it, but it disappeared quite quickly despite my not helping so much.

The Holland V outlet has great service staff. Ours was bright and chirpy, genuine in her responses, patient about our queries (Mel, Wayne and I arrived earlier than Amy, HP and Wendy so she had to endure lots of questions from us while we waited for the rest of our table to apparate). Overall, the atmosphere is clean, friendly and pleasant.

As to the amount of fries that went with everything, barring that it was a rather late lunch, I didn't need dinner. At all.

Mo' money blues

The way to S'porean hearts is through their bellyachin', especially about the sad, hard lives they live. And nothing gets S'poreans as riled up as the issue of National Service. So the PM announces in his NDay Rally speech that our citizen soldiery will receive a token of recognition for their contribution to national peace and security valued at at least $9000 each that will go towards funding their further education and ease the cost of home ownership. And predictably, the cries of anguish over our abuse and mistreatment rise to the heavens.

Old retired soldiers of Mr Brown's generation (including yours truly) are angsty that because we've already completed our service the award isn't meant for us:


The currently serving NS men are insulted at the paltry sum offered. By their calculations, they should be receiving at least 15 times as much. Yes, there's nothing like having an education and an Excel spreadsheet to make an unhappy army camper.

And S'porean women are upset too because for once they don't get it.

In S'pore there is so much peace and security we find no greater joy than in bitchin' over how our lives could be so much better. Sigh, if only we had mo' money, we'd be much happier people...!

National Dog Walk 2010

Q-tip's new summer look keeps getting her mistaken for a chihuahua, especially today at the National Dog Walk & Carnival 2010. Sad to say, because of the rain the venue was a swamp so we didn't stay long. We did, however, visit a stall run by a pair of enterprising college alumni designing and selling Tees (human sized). Part proceeds go to Action for Singapore Dogs (ASD). They have a blogshop, CHlittleshop, so go visit and support, 'k?

Since we were in the Sunset Way neighbourhood, we made a pit-stop at The Daily Scoop. But they only open at 1400 on Sunday, so lunch before dessert at June May's.

Interesting set lunch menu: lasagne and float. Here's the lasagne.

And here's the float. The iced lemon tea on the left is not part of the set.

A fission of givin'

A church raises $21 million within a 24-hour period. It's big news because of the recent public discussions over the amassed riches of organized religion, raising suspicion and alleging impropriety in the raising and disbursement of such monies by what are ostensibly non-profit organizations.

This story reminds me of the miracle of the five loaves and two fish recorded in the Gospels (Jn 6:5-6:15, etc.). The mystery of this miracle is in how limited quantities of matter (bread and fish) can be multiplied several times over to feed 5000 people, while leaving behind significant excess, without breaking the laws of Newtonain physics.

If that is the question, we are looking at the miracle in the wrong way. In a crowd of 5000, it is quite inconceivable that the only food resource among them is five loaves and two fish that only one boy had the presence of mind to take with him that day. If one boy could have packed a meal with him there'd be many others who'd have brought food along too. This boy, however, gets his place in canonical history because his offer to share his resources catalysed a mass movement of the "haves" to share their resources with the "have-nots". The miracle isn't about the violation of the laws of physics but in getting people to share what they have willingly with others, and that is no mean feat.

We can account for the excess gathered at the end of the feeding frenzy by the Principle of the Buffet Table. Because everyone has some they become polite and will settle for a little less just in case someone ends up with none. We can count this effect as either altruism or a sensitivity to "good form". Either way, the buffet table will always have left-overs. This effect is all the more likely to occur if the environment or event itself encourages civic consciousness or at least consideration for others.

Such an environment is palpable in CHC in which communal involvement is strongly emphasized among a very large and inclusive population base representing a wide range of mixed incomes. With the environment primed for placing others before self, it only takes a small catalyst to ignite a fission of givin'. $21 million in 24 hours? Is that all?

Celebrating us

In today's celebration of Education Professionals, the student body organized a concert tribute to us. All performances were dance items, including NYeDC's. Makes sense because in a large hall with poor acoustics the only things that will keep and hold our audience's attention are music, colour and movement. No one can follow a storyline under such conditions.

Our item was set to the Muppets' version of 'Bohemian Rhapsody' depicting various classroom interactions between students and different teacher personalities. Not strictly dance, more like mime and movement though we're still a bit rough at that.

The noobs who came on after us brought the house down, as I expected they would. They really showed that our staff aren't the stodgy no-lifers that we appear to be. They said they toned down some of the raunchiness from the staff dinner performance, but I don't remember seeing anything particularly tasteless then.

Spent the afternoon in good company. Lunch at Jones the Grocer where I finally found a place that offers pastrami sandwiches. Also ordered a cheese platter to share. The atmosphere here is very pleasant. Attentive wait staff always on hand with water refills and dish clearing. Expensive, though. Pastrami sandwich was more sandwich than pastrami. Though the bread was lovely and chunky and thick, I prefer the pastrami filling to be thicker than the bread slices holding the whole thing together. This is all Joey Tribbiani's fault for setting my expectations so unrealistically high!

In other madness, while Mel and Wendy A adjourned to parts unknown, the rest of us adjourned to Ben & Jerry's where we drank so much water Wayne had to justify the presence of so many shotglasses on our table. Here he attempts to build Dempsey Hill's tallest free-standing structure of dining crockery, setting the record at ten individual pieces in a stack. Amy's pix captures this historic moment (left). HP's wallet went missing; Josh displayed some dexterous sleight-of-hand in his vanishing act; To*ny displayed outstanding clumsiness in making said item reappear. Brilliant.

To all teachers working tomorrow on Teachers' Day... why?

The tiger in the tank

Some of the best teaching moments occur during individual consultation periods when the kids actually come with questions to discuss. I've learned my lesson about focusing my consults on content -- don't offer them any more than they themselves have offered already. Telling them what info they should have included here and there when they didn't have such info in the first place just demoralizes them and makes them feel like they're never going to catch up with the bar we keep raising.

More content isn't going to help, especially when it wasn't their content to begin with. My strategy from now is to focus on extending mileage on what information they already have, always with the caveat that in the interim between now and their finals there's still time to build up more content on their own.

I think that's the best strategy to take into the exam hall because that's exactly what they're expected to produce. The test is on maximizing what they have brought into the venue, that's it. There's nowhere else they can get more content from, not till they change the nature of the test anyway.

Some ground rules we established from today's discussion:

• Absolute #1 rule: Always tell the Truth -- don't know, don't write.
• Reasoning counts for more than content.
• Broad-based content produces more mileage than focused topical content.
• Content is flexible and the same content can be used to respond to many questions
• Good responses strongly link supporting content with question requirements.
• Argument always precedes balance, and not the other way around.
• Every question must be taken on its own merit. There is no "aren't I supposed to...?" If the question does not ask for it, don't.
• Time taken to analyse question requirements is better use of time than planning (or worse, committing to) a response without first knowing what the question wants.

No particular order of importance, though. It's not a process but guidelines to keep in mind. Yes, very common-sense, but a guided-analytical approach is far better than the panic-vomit approach.

It was particularly enlightening when a kid asked me to analyse an Economics question because she didn't understand why her interpretation was deemed wrong by both her own mates and the Econs tutor. I told her to use the GP method of analysing questions on this one. She was dubious at first, but a lightbulb went on as she proceeded. Now she could clearly see what the question wanted and why her answer was so far off base.

Arby always remarks how the kids don't seem to think when they approach questions in his subject. Perhaps they didn't have the right tools and the know-how to use them correctly in the first place. Ladies and gentlemen, today we might have made a breakthrough! Hope this time it has longer legs.

The Rambo and Friends Show

In 'The Expendables', Stallone rounds up the venerable action heroes of yesteryear and throws them all into his latest celluloid outing. Snipes is missing, though. Guess even they couldn't arrange a jailbreak for him.

The story is nonsense. Stallone's small group of mercenaries get hired to take out a Banana Republic Generalissimo for an offer of cash, but they find another reason to do the job for free like the true-blue all-American good guys they are. Even Li. The story, as we know, is just an excuse for pitting one action hero against another using fists and feet, blades, guns, vehicles and explosive ordnance, as far as the alliances between them can stretch the boundaries of credibility.

But there's the fun, isn't it? Who cares much about plot in a movie that promises action and delivers spectacle? On the cards: Lundgren vs Li; Stallone vs Austin; in a handicap match Statham vs a bunch of recreational b-ball players; Statham vs Rourke in knife throwing action; eh, and the other tough guys who are unfamiliar to me off-hand don't get all that much air time (maybe that's why they're called the Expendables?). Real big-time stars like Willis and Ah-nold show up too, though they get cameo roles in which they talk tough and leave.

In typical boy fashion, Stallone and Co take down an entire nation, ruining it's political infrastructure; internal security and air-defence forces; economic and industrial capabilities (main export appears to be cocaine); and it's primary imp-ex facility (a single docking pier). Why boy fashion? If Stallone had just asked nicely, I'll bet all this senseless destruction and mayhem and the occasional expendable (small 'e') disintegrating in a shower of gore and gibs could have been avoided. But then, with his mumble, even if he did ask nicely nobody would have understood him anyway. Out come the guns again.

Yeah, I needed to watch a mindless, testosterone-heavy, male-bonding action flick. It's marking season, don't you know? Let the blood-letting begin!


Via: Term Life Insurance

Sacrifice of dignity

Combined schools dinner time again. Every year our family of schools gather to congratulate each other over a formal Chinese dinner and sit through the evening's entertainment. This year, the Big Wee Man himself presided over the festivities and came over personally to offer a toast to each table. That's an honour we don't get every day.

Very proud of our newbies. Every year (apart from a couple of notable exceptions) it's the obligation of the new blood to offer an item for the showcase of performances. Consider this sacrifice of dignity as their initiation ceremony into their new place of occupation.

Our noobs delivered a double-bill, the first inspired by Stomp ('live' percussion performance group, not official Singaporean tattletale/complaints website) and the second a dance number to 'Bad Romance' which was a hoot-and-a-half. Coordinated zombie jerky movements choreographed to bad, loud music. Can't fail! Really looking forward to their encore performance in Tuesday's concert back on campus. The kids deserve to end their special day on a high.

Trapped for months

I'm not one to make light of a bad situation, but being trapped in a collapsed mine for four months waiting for rescue sounds like a great way to take a vacation off work. Especially when my rescuers are taking care of my nutrition, entertainment and potty needs -- i.e., everything they can to keep my morale up so that I wouldn't develop claustrophobic bonkers syndrome and kill all my fellow survivors around me. Books, video games and all the antidepressants I can eat for four months. Tempting.

Mom's green thumbs

The frangipani stem June and I brought back from Hawaii as a souvenir for Mom finally bloomed. We're talking about a trip that even pre-dates this blog, so yeah, it was worth a photo.

Pix taken by Mom and sent via Bluetooth in a cell phone to cell phone transfer. First time for Mom, and she's quite proud of herself about it.

In a sad coincidence Mom's minor celebrity neighbour sold his house recently, and the new owner chopped down the beautiful frangipani tree growing in the garden. It and a couple of other large plants were in pieces on the sidewalk waiting for the next garbage pick-up. Why can't the new owners just move in to the existing premises without uprooting the other residents who have just as much right to be there?

Mom picked up a promising couple of branches off the sidewalk, hoping to regrow them in her garden. If our twig transplanted from Hawaii could thrive till today, these have a fighting chance to live on. We're counting on Mom's green thumbs to work that miracle.

Shy beauty

In commemoration of today's special event, it had to be nothing less than a first class slab of beef done by people who understand the meaning of 'rare'.

This gorgeous hunk of fillet mignon was demure and fairly trembling with anticipation in my presence. As she opened up to my advances, a delightful blush of pink rose to meet my gaze; so warm and tender as she met my mouth again and again. Yes, a truly 'rare' carnal experience with such a pretty filly. She didn't come cheap either, but there was reason to celebrate tonight.

Location: Stuart Anderson's Black Angus Steakhouse, NUS Bukit Timah Campus. A touch of nostalgia too because this was my campus for  year when it was NIE, NTU, before NUS took it back. There's a smart casual dress code though we didn't see it strictly enforced.

Fire! Fire!

On the pretext that there were important papers to be signed in the staff lounge, dNYel had me charging straight in, wondering why there was so much fuss over such a minor issue. Once inside, they sprang a real fire for me to fight. The flames were huge and I couldn't even approach without first donning a protective fire-retardant suit and arming myself with a high-pressure hose.

Fortunately, my fire-fighting skills were as sharp as ever. When the flames finally died down, we celebrated with cake while keeping our tootsies warm in the dying embers of the sudden blaze. Toasted marshmallows would have been a nice touch to follow up.

Thanks for igniting the flames, my friends! The warmth will stay with us long after we've moseyed off into the sunset.

Service or slavery

Poor YOG volunteers. Such terrible working conditions, bad food, unappreciated servitude. I can almost feel for this forlorn complainant slogging it out at the Olympic Village. Almost.

Sorry. Whatever he may call himself, his heart and mind are not those of a volunteer. He sees himself as an indentured slave; and so he is, compelled to labour under his own sense of injustice at the drastic, if temporary, upheaval in his usual day-to-day routines.

But he is a slave with a great deal of miscarried authority. Mr Hall Supervisor is frustrated that his co-workers "are working WITH, not under" him (emphasis his), suggesting he wants to be the Big Man In-Charge. He lets this attitude carry over into his dealings with his guests! Like a tiny tinpot tyrant he tells his guests off for smoking and sitting on railings. In his sheltered world, he doesn't realise that in many countries there are far worse dangers to fear, and that the police are a source of ridicule and disrespect, or otherwise a source of terror and violence. Being a policeman to people from so many different political systems and social backgrounds is just asking to be derided at the very least. Fortunately, he hasn't been beaten up, though that may yet come in time.

Mr Hall Supervisor is more a martyr to his own cause than he is a volunteer to a cause greater than himself. He complains about unfulfilled compensation, as if compensation is a volunteer's due. Whomever plans the bigger picture can only see the bigger picture. Every specific need on the ground cannot be catered to every individual volunteer's convenience. So, yes, there will be snafus galore, but dealing with problems on the ground either shows class and personal initiative or there-I-fixed-it, happy now?

Every setback is an opportunity. Packed buses and long waits at the bus stop are really lonely when there is no one to talk to. Here the volunteers are literally rubbing shoulders with the cream of international athletics -- young, vibrant, exciting people (some might even be girls!) anxious to discover what they can about their host country -- and Mr Hall Supervisor just wants to sulk in his corner, bristling and prickling with leave-me-alone. Sigh. Such opportunities going a-begging.

We read a lot about how unnecessary the YOG was. How the money could have been better spent on ourselves instead of entertaining all these foreigners. Let's put this view in perspective. What is Singapore's core business? We'd like it to be shuffling paper in a predictable 9-to-5 air-conditioned office job, wouldn't we? That's what we exert so much energy studying to get into university for. But if Singapore is really going to survive, our place in the world is to be able to throw the biggest parties that keep international party-goers coming back for more! Realistically, there isn't much else we can offer. We have to learn to be hosts of the best hospitality and highest standards of professional, friendly service and here at the YOG , unfortunately we see some of our service staff just not being able to fit the bill. (BTW, it's his future core business as well, being a current student from **ATEC).

As a nameless events coordinator once said, 'we let you work with the stars for a WHOLE fortnight, and you still want money?!' I don't doubt that the volunteers are working hard. Long hours, blood, sweat and tears I understand. My problem is that Mr Hall Supervisor has no clue whom he is working for. Poor fellow is literally his own boss and is suffering for it.

Kid, in your own self-importance you are viewing the task as being more important than the experience. Turn it around! Time to climb out of your ostrich hole and cast you eyes towards a bigger horizon and a bigger world than you have ever imagined. Learn the difference between service attitude and servitude. And do try to get a life.

NYeDC goes Bohemian

A bad week with lots of deadlines to meet and the grading, oh, the grading! Training temporarily on the shelf.

Most exciting thing happening, though, is the Drama Club's concert item that we're currently auteuring. It would make more sense if the staff we hope will participate can make rehearsal time, but failing which the kids will have to play teacher characters on their behalf.

Basic blocking is done, enough anyway to get us past our audition... just barely. Today we work on character interactions, scene transitions, entrances and exits, and activity specific individual movement -- all for an item just under five minutes' duration. Already lost a couple of afternoons on it, expect to lose a few more.

Hope it'll be worth it!

Paternal instinct

Said too much at lunch. We were gossipping about new dNYel staff Elim's beau whom we had seen on campus on a previous occasion. As we updated Lucy on this juicy tidbit, I intimated that as a group we did not approve of him.

First impressions, right? Compared to Ellie's immaculate, professional, confident demeanour, beau looked like an unkempt neanderthal adorned in mismatching 'zebra and leopard prints'. Not impressive at all. Tut, tut. *shakes head in despair.

But if I were to look at the situation objectively, that's how most couples look. One makes a great first impression behind which the other tends to languish. It's the same with June and me, no prizes for guessing which is which.

What if we had seen beau appearing like a suave Prince Charming instead? Heck, I'd still disapprove on grounds that such a man is only out to impress, all facade and no substance, or worse, out to cheat an innocent of whatever he can get.

If I was ever a father to a daughter, any interested boy will have to get past my shotgun first before he gets in through my front door. Bah, it's stress I don't need, and I'm thankful I don't have.

From behind the counter

Some dNYel people plus family walked through McD's Open Doors to view the operation from behind the counter. The idea behind giving us this opportunity was to show that there are no conspiracies or hidden agenda, and that the food they serve is indeed as wholesome, clean and fresh as they claim. Considering I am one of McD's best customers, I didn't need a lot of convincing but it was worth a poke around backstage anyway.

To me, McD's is a symbol of independence. When they first opened here, I was already in my teens, mobile and in possession of  moderate teenager allowance. I could blow a week's worth on a Big Mac and Coke, but if I really wanted to, no one could say, 'no!' I'd starve the rest of the week, but that was MY decision to make, so there.

And so we toured a spotless kitchen -- spotless that is until HP dropped her milkshake and whipped cream on the floor of the freezer. Oops. We saw the process of putting together a sandwich from scratch, cooked to order on the spot. They emphasized their policy of only choosing suppliers with socially responsible and environmentally sustainable practices with no record of animal abuse, at least until the point when the animals become meat patties.

The guides fielded all kinds of questions from us quite openly. We asked about specific kitchen practices, crowd control, marketing procedures and employee issues. Above all other indicators, it is the employees themselves who are the best indicators of the worth of the company they work for. They know the ins and outs of the business and they know best when the company is trying to pull sh*t because they are the ones first impacted by it.

In this tour, the employees we met were fully committed to their employer. My last question was, 'who gets to play Ronald McD?' to which our guide instantly shot me a look of utter incomprehension and replied, 'Ronald McD is Ronald McD!' Now THAT is serious buy-in to the company's branding. If the employees believe in it, that's good enough for me.

Now, if only someone could tell me which part of the cow the beef patty comes from. They assured us that it didn't come from a sirloin, rib-eye or T-bone cut, but definitely somewhere much cheaper. But they didn't know exactly where. Oh well, as my advertising elective prof used to say, a cow is a cow is a cow. It's 100% beef, no gluten, no fillers. Any other questions?

Service with a smile

Times must be hard. These 'Friendly' people are busy distributing flyers advertising their services door-to-door around my block. Apart from approving loans, I'll bet Jason will kindly extend his services to home redecoration too.

Need a loan? Pick up the phone! :)

A 'see-you-soon' to Lucy

Time to kick back and focus on good eats with good folks. Here, we're bidding Lucy a great time in Vancouver where she'll be working on her Master's.

'Here' is Buono, Lichfield Road. It's Wednesday night and ladies eat for free (from the 'special' menu). Looking a our table, there seems to be lots of ladies.

Considering what we put away: 3 kinds of antipasti, a hefty serving of pasta for almost each of us and some desserts to share, we ended up paying about $30 a head, really, not bad at all!

National Day eve

Finally, all positive factors converge to give Q-tip the outing she's been waiting weeks for. We're at the Marina Barrage to take in the sights and sounds of the new happenin' place the URA's developing.

Kite flying's a big activity here. The breezes are strong enough to lift kites off easily, even big 'uns with long, trailing tails.

Have to say that despite the stated opening times on the official website, the Gallery Cafe actually opens at 1030 hrs. If you go at 0900, either have brekkie beforehand or bring your own sandwiches. As it turned out, we waited for the cafe to open. Breakfast menu wasn't very exciting, mostly heavier options and salads like for lunch.

Fortunately, there is also a selection of local foods on the board. Nasi lemak was ok, served with green rice, a wing, an egg over-easy and a sprinkling of ikan bilis and peanuts. Bit expensive at $5+ a serving.

Evening we met our old friend JH, back from his travels. Originally from S Korea, he's now got the opportunity to work here as a expat.

Dinner was at Por Kee. We always order the same thing: the tofu speciality, Thai-style steamed fish, champagne pork ribs and a veggie dish. Food was excellent as always.

The point was, we wanted to welcome him with some good local food, then we remembered we had brought him here before, the first time he came to visit us. Then he tells us Tiong Bahru is his usual lunchplace since his office is just around the corner.

We take him to dessert at Island Creameries -- and he gets his laundry done here since he lives in the neighbourhood. Guess he's no longer a stranger in our part of town.

Face the wall

Took Q-tip to the beach, given today's half-day. At some point, I chose a picnic table to sit at and watch the sea. As I sat there, I thought of MM's recent suggestion that we should do away with the retirement age. There I was, with time on my hands, doing something pleasurable, and if I were to retire when my time comes I could theoretically do this all day, every day for the rest of my life. Or do all the other things we wish we had time for but are unable to because of our work schedules.

I didn't find the prospect appealing, however. Maybe if I hated my job I'd feel different but I don't. Maybe if I had a job that I slaved away at for a pittance I'd feel different, by my job pays decently enough to live comfortably as long as I don't suddenly crave a luxurious, ostentatious lifestyle. Like MM, I also dread the time when I have to stop work after which "I'll just shrivel up, face the wall and just that".

Yes, MM's quite clearly presenting a false dilemma. But it's the social contact I will miss the most from the working environment. Work gives me a reason to be around people. Apart from work, I don't offer much reason for people to be around me.

Earned privilege

Interesting that in the general meeting with P, he mentioned how past college Principals ran their campuses with less emphasis on extrinsically enforced discipline so that the environment would be more akin to that of the university and away from the secondary school. These days we feel the need to lay down the law as the kids seem to be either lacking in direction or the ability to discipline themselves.

Times have changed. Comparing senior high students of the past with those of the present, the big difference was that "in my time (cough... cough... hack... hack...!)" my contemporaries were proud to be college students. When they wore their uniform, they wore it with dignity because so few others were privileged to wear the crest, those colours. They represented the best and brightest of their cohort, on the cusp of a very privileged level of education that would put them in a social strata above the general population. That meant living up to a higher calling, meeting standards of decorum and courtesy befitting of the upper-class they were destined for. Principals of the past didn't have to worry about behavioural micro-management because the intrinsic motivation to self-manage was already strong in their students.

What has changed since then is the loss of pride in being a college student. No longer a privilege to be studying in a JC, it's now a basic expectation for every secondary school student. The kids here feel that there is nothing special about being here. There is no sense of accomplishment or achievement but rather a perception that it's just a normal part of all the rights and privileges they feel are entitled to them. They're not really here because there is a burning desire in each one to be here; they're here because everyone else is here. A college education is nothing to aspire towards -- it's become common, average and taken for granted.

If junior colleges have discipline problems, the root cause is the loss of earned privilege. At the risk of sounding elitist, we've let the riff-raff invade our campuses and infect us with their common mediocrity. Be that as it may, since they're already here it's up to us to run our campuses not as survival boot camp which further reinforces the competitive dog-eat-dog slave mentality that our current kids have, but rather show them how to live up to the higher standards they are being called to. We teach them to raise their eyes, not drop their chins. We really don't want to become a secondary school. That would be a huge and probably irrevocable step backwards.

Cocktail party with parents

Back from a cocktail party with the kids' parents. The kind in which we're supposed to tell them that judging from their mid-year grades, their kids aren't doing well in this or that subject and with the finals in 90+ days we need to work together and help them do something about it.

But with the parents we're seeing tonight, this kind of kick-'em-in-the-a** advice applies only to a tiny minority of our young charges. These parents tell us that their kids are already working hard, they study, do their homework, revision, so why isn't it translating into better grades? Quite sad, and frustrating to be in that kind of situation for a student, isn't it? All that hard work not paying off?

For this bunch of kids we had to advise them on stress management. They need rest, exercise, and a good night's sleep. They need to learn how to handle their pressure and personal expectations. The parents we talked to were nice, agreeing with us that their kids were too anxious, lacking the confidence they need to handle their exams without panic. And at the same time, not slack off. It's a delicate balancing game: breathe, breathe...

Well, here's another hat we gotta learn to wear. This one's a little less straightforward than the old Drill Sergeant one. Guess we'll just have to keep the latter only for special occasions from now on.

Hair-raising tale

Over the past weekend, a number of us staff independently got haircuts. The two most severe crops belonged to Wayne and me. Upon questioning, Wayne -- in jest -- claimed his crop was to honour Hair for Hope; to which I replied in all seriousness that my cause was Hope for Hair. True story.

Singapore stresses education

...or does education stress Singapore?

This week Sing Poly asks if our education system is too stressful for our kids. They made a video poll featuring the views of their respondents and included a skit about how kids prepare for their tests. Yep, sure enough, the respondents agree that stress levels are too high for kids while the skit features a zombie ploughing through piles of textbooks that reinforce his zombie state in a vicious cycle.

I admit that the stresses are high here, but I doubt the system has as much to do with it as the methodology by which we attempt to survive the system as we perceive it. By way of analogy, the system is like an active volcano that we have chosen to settle beside because of its fabulously fertile soil conditions. But the stress comes because we attempt to appease our irrational, implacable, unpredictable Volcano God by throwing our young people into it. As far as I know young people, they do not appreciate being sacrificed, but what can they do, right? The volcano is more real than their sad, non-existent lives.

If we're to reduce the stress, it's a lot more realistic to fix how we cope with our neighbour, the Volcano, rather than fix the volcano itself. For one thing, it's never going away and for another, we haven't got the resources BP has to fit a cap over it.

We are still using the study methods that our more scholarly ancestors once used. Actually, only one method: sit down with our textbooks and 'mug', a process that transforms pigment-based information into synapse-activated information. Our parents believe in it because it worked for them, our teachers believe in it because it worked for them too. However, today there is so much mediated information available that is constantly morphing, updating, expiring, renewing that our old methods of acquiring information for personal storage can neither cope with the quantity of it all nor keep up with its rate of change. Even the activity of acquiring information for permanent storage may have become irrelevant anyway, since very little of it can be said to be permanent beyond certain basic fundamentals.

If our tried-and-tested study methodology cannot help us, then it has to go. It's premises were selfish and competitive anyway, accumulating information for oneself to be used only in a specific circumstance -- answering exam questions; useless for anything else. In order to deal with the kind of information flow that we have today, we need a study method that eschews competition in favour of collaboration. Information can no longer be a miserly hoarded commodity but managed like a living currency used for buying, selling, exchanging or otherwise transacting more information, always trading upwards.

Without the urge to hoard, we can rid ourselves of compartmentalization. Rather than being separated out of our normal daily experience as 'study' or 'prep' time, our curriculum can become a normal part of our daily conversation and interaction in which we use every opportunity to learn (and share!) something new.

How is this supposed to reduce exam stress? If curriculum can become currency, if content can become conversation, we will see exam questions as just another opportunity to start a discussion thread, a normal part of our daily existence (despite the difference in the medium of expression), and not some alien inevitability that exists to test our survival skills from time to time.

In other words, kids, parents, teachers, I appreciate the dedication you put into studies, but you're doing it wrong. Epic FAIL.

Raining on my parade

Poor Q-tip has the worst luck. We had plans to visit the Marina Barrage, someplace new and dog-friendly to go for walkies. But her stupid owner chose to go to work on Saturday when it was gloriously dry and sunny, and today it just raining cats and dogs.

*remains grouchy the rest of the day

Essay leverage

Currently training this batch of kids to be less topic conscious so that if they encounter a list of essay questions that ask about unfamiliar subject matter, they won't panic, talk nonsense and die. I believe that the question provides its own answer, so any question is equally do-able, given a reasonable amount of general (not topical) knowledge.

The strategy is to remove the pressure on the kid to cook up an arbitrary answer to the least scary-looking question, but instead simply work on expanding any question of choice to essay-length, thereby allowing the question to answer itself. I mean, since the question already provides its own energy, it's much more efficient to leverage an answer using that energy rather than having to generate a whole new energy from scratch to come up with an answer by ourselves. And, it's far better for the question to drive the content rather than have the content force itself upon the question -- the latter being the mindset that I'm actively battling since it's the usual way of approaching essays around here.

Have I had any success with this approach? I've had a cursory look at the latest set of essays my tutorial groups have turned in for grading. There doesn't seem to be any particular question that is a common favourite, which usually happens when the kids home in on one or two topically "safe" questions. Instead, I'm looking at a broad range of questions with different topic foci, different question types.

The randomness of distribution tells me the kids are more comfortable in choosing questions. Maybe they're taking greater risks than they have before, but the fact that they are now branching out and no longer bunching up is a sign -- they are taking their first steps towards intellectual freedom.

Mark to reward, not punish

I'm not sure if non-GP tutors can understand this, but I'm irritated that some of my colleagues are requesting sample essay outlines as aids to grading the kids' essays for this week's common test. For the info of non-GP tutors, such outlines contain a list of possible points that a student might raise in response to his or her chosen question. 12 questions on the test paper means 12 separate lists of open possibilities.

I hesitate to provide such a dubious thing because knowing us, we will use it to hunt down points that do not appear in the students' essays and penalize them for their omissions. The more missing points, the more their grade slides until we hit the basement. Another failure. Then we wonder why we have so many casualties and are aghast as we count up the number of kids we need to remedy.

Cambridge tells us that our grading philosophy should be to reward students for what they do offer, and not punish them for what they miss. That means every essay needs to be taken on its own merit without a comparison to an ideal. While we are grading, we are looking out for logical structures, supporting reasons, consistency of argument and, broadly, relevance to the question. When we do see evidence of such argumentative skill, we add to the score until we can add no more

This does not mean that the essay will automatically pass, but it does mean that we are prepared to listen to each student, inasmuch as we want them to listen to us. 'Marking schemes' prejudice us in that students who don't say what we want to hear must be wrong and therefore failed.

I think that on the whole, we really have a misconception of what failure is. We think of the essay as a soccer game. Scoring points is like scoring goals while losing the game means not scoring (assuming that the non-existent opponent has scored more goals and has therefore beaten the essay writer). To us, that translates as win = pass, lose = fail. But in truth, winning and losing are part of the same game. We win some, we lose some, but the important thing is that we continue to play because we can.

Failing a GP essay is possible, but not for the reason of 'losing' the game. Failure is equivalent to being disqualified in a match for infringing the rules. Why kids fail is because they don't know how to play the game. They don't know where the goalposts are. They don't know where the out-of-bounds lines are. They don't know what's a fair play and what isn't. So failure isn't a failure to raise the right points, it means the rules and objectives of the game are not clear to them.

Content may mean the difference between a kick-about between friends and an EPL match. Regardless, the scoreline doesn't really matter as long as everyone plays to the same rules, aims at the right goals, and stays within the agreed-to boundaries. If our kids can do that, they don't deserve to fail. So let's not prejudice ourselves by watching the scoreboard when we should be enjoying the game instead.

Can't see the forest for the trees

Went into the forest to meet our NParks rep for a hands-on session of ecological conservation, and our community service for the year.

Our job was to clear "foreign" plants that have taken root all over our previously pristine tropical rainforest and are now competing with the indigenous species for the same resources.

Wielding cangkuls we trudged through mud and soil to hack away at the ground, creating lots more mud and soil, this time of the airborne variety. Dig deep enough holes, break a few supporting roots, and the offending foreigners no longer have the will to stay in the ground.

Thus, we uprooted quite a few stubborn unwelcome invaders. But it was an intense afternoon workout doing so. Drenched in sweat, caked in mud, ant-bitten, and for all we did, we only cleared just a tiny, tiny section of our entire nature reserve.

Like it or not, it looks like the foreigners are here to stay. And no, that's not intended as a metaphor for any outstanding local issue commonly discussed in kopitiams and ST Forum pages. So don't anyhow quote me, ok?

Wavve hello!

Dinner at Wavve, a grill & chill place at the spanking new Orange Tee Building. I never even noticed it being built, yet there it was. The occasion was a birthday for whom the Guest of Honour arrived round about the time we were contemplating our dessert options. Traffic's dreadful when you're in a hurry.

Good opportunity to indulge the inner carnivore. My lamb rack went minimal on the greens (the leaf I accidentally dropped on my shirt counted as a significant loss) but the chunks of lamb on each of the three bones were decently substantial. It was all I could do to avoid gripping the bones in my clawed digits and rending flesh with my canines. But I was with polite company, so it was a civilized application of cutlery as usual. June gave me half her sirloin too, making a happy predator for the evening.

Our table went for almost the whole range of desserts to share. The creme brulee, profiteroles and tiramisu made their rounds... no, wait, the creme brulee was mine exclusively, ha ha! The desserts were light, not too sweet, the way we like.

Price wise it's ok for a finer-than-usual once-in-a-while meal. $70 paid for my share of birthday boy and his date's dinners as well as fully for June's and mine. Not bad.

Parenting according to Gru

Parenting, according to Gru, is a simple process. Take care of basic needs: "food, water, poo poo & pee pee". Take care of intellectual needs: basic education (dance class). Take care of higher needs: recreation and emotional bonding. Despite himself, he gets the childcare right -- a textbook Hierarchy of Needs met to Maslow's specifications.

Gru has no plans "for their good". On the contrary, his plans are entirely self-serving. His adopted orphans are simply a means to an end. Their safety and well-being are taken at the basic minimum standards, knowing that he can dispose of them when they have fulfilled his requirements of them. How heinous.

Why do we face a declining fertility rate in our country and in many other developed nations around the world? Because we want to be good parents. Gru is a monster in his regard for childcare principles, but he's got three kids while the rest of us have... significantly less.

As good parents, we place our kids first above all, ourselves included. We plan far ahead into their future, shape them according to what we have determined is best for them, and raise them like we're never going to let them go. We know about hygiene and health, about discipline do's and don't's, about child psychology and labels like ADHD and OCD which we identify in children and lament how we have failed them somewhere, somehow.

Our modern model of childcare looks really good. We've taken care of every aspect of child-rearing that practically guarantees healthy, happy kids that will grow into healthy, happy adults. Now, if only we had some kids to work our plans on.

Throwing punches

Sully has a new kind of training to add to my repertoire: boxing. Today I learned the basic movements to maintain a stable base from which to launch my deadly arsenal of jabs and crosses. I'd always thought I was a good scrapper, but when put to the test today my technique left much to be desired. Stance too easily sent off-balance; lax defending exposes my glass jaw to counter-attack; difficulty stringing jab-cross-duck combos together being too anxious to punch and not anxious enough to duck, or getting my limbs all tangled up due to a lack of coordination. What a pushover I'd be in a real fight, despite my illusions to the contrary. Lots more training to be done still.

RHD skit

The latest batch of Drama Club kids have taken the reins. Their first official performance was a short skit for Racial Harmony Day. They had only one week to script, rehearse and polish, but they were all gung-ho go-for-it. We seldom see this kind of enthusiasm, so we let them run with it.

First rehearsal, we had a basic outline. The characters were caricatures of our national ethnic stereotypes, the plot was thin, the resolution fuzzy at best. Definitely still needed a lot of work before it could be ready for show.

During rehearsal, my biggest worry was that the stereotypes would stand out stronger than the theme we had been commissioned to convey. True enough (as I hear from the grapevine), the kids played it for laughs, going over-the-top with their characters -- Chinese boy in particular -- resulting in a greatly mixed reaction from the audience. The kids in the audience seemed somewhat tickled, but the staff were aghast by the colour of the language used onstage, the resolution was still vague and inconclusive.

Great learning opportunity for our little aspiring artists: improv is fantastic for rehearsals because it always adds new dimensions to the development of a scene, character or plot; but there is no place for ad libbing during the performance of a commissioned piece.

Like it or not, the sponsor does not care for artistic licence or pointless, raucous comedy. The sponsor wants a specific message to get through to the audience, that's all. At least, don't do anything to embarrass the sponsor by association. Fail to deliver and face the curtailment of funding or even a lawsuit. We're lucky such consequences are not looking for us as a result of this performance.

Again, from what I hear, the audience did learn something from our performance: Chinese boy's ad libbed expletive-laden phraseology. Which wasn't exceptionally vulgar, but still, not the kind of language to use in polite company.

Sigh. They've only just started ,and already so much damage we need to get under control.

Wake of a stranger

Attended the wake of a stranger. We didn't know her personally, but she was a fellow volunteer at Gift of Love who passed away suddenly over the last couple of days. From what we've been hearing, Mdm W Wong was there twice to three times a week cooking for the residents, shuttling the sisters around on their errands and driving the ambulance as the need arose. The hole she has left behind is a big one to fill.

But as the Father who led this morning's service did not present a eulogy, neither will I. Instead, like him, I will present my own homily. The circumstances surrounding Mdm W's passing were as such: she'd been complaining of severe pains in her stomach for some time, though she put off seeking medical advice. When the pain finally became unbearable, it was too late. As I understand the story, appendicitis killed her. Her passing was all the more tragic as it might have been avoided with a simple medical procedure, had she sought attention early enough.

Mdm W really did give her all to follow the command of "love your neighbour...", and if more of us did likewise, that could help us solve  a lot of our human social problems. But we also need to remember the follow up to this Mosaic injunction, "... as yourself" (Lev 19:18). Yes, it's good to place other's needs before our own, but if we aren't feeling well, we should love ourselves too, and break off helping others at least long enough to find out what's wrong first, fix the problem, then go back and continue helping others.

We people need to be needed. Being able to lend a hand, or to be depended upon for one thing or another is an uplifting experience, one we wish to continue experiencing. Whether it's bringing food to old folks or consulting worried students after class, it feels good to be able to fill that need and contribute to another person's well-being. But as volunteers and teachers, let's also be mindful of our physical and psychological health, and step back for a while as and when we are tired or sick. There will always be someone else that can fill in for us, so the choice is ours: do we want our position filled temporarily, or permanently?

If we build it, they will come (eventually)

Quite a large group of soccer legends from past days of glory showed up on our campus field for a game. It was reminiscent of 'Field of Dreams', though it took more than three decades after we had built it for them to come. Some names like Abbas, Rafi and Tong Hai were familiar as were their faces, but others like Samad, Rajagopal and T Pathma had greyed beyond recognition, except to the more senior of us.

Greyed out or not, the old boys could still pull off an exciting match. Ok, not the "rah rah" kind but the they've-still-got-the-moves kind. Attacking football all the way, though admittedly it was this end that got attacked the most.

Abbas of the Shiny Pate put in more than his fair share of goals. Here he casually taps in #2 with more to follow. I can't believe he was found guilty of "match fixing" back in those days. The way he played, he was too hungry to let any goal opportunity pass him by. Can you say, "McCarthy witch hunt"?

Our campus team comprising staff and students got to play a half against the All-Stars' not-so-senior side. It'll be a day they will long remember with pride. Tales will pass on to the next generation how grandpa shared a game with the National team, some of whom won the M-League and M-Cup, iconic moments in our local sporting history.

Our campus team didn't fare too badly though the action was still camped mostly in our half. 

Wayne will never forget this moment when his crush crash with Rafi resulted in the two having a brief roll in the grass together. Wayne may never shower again.

And there goes the final whistle. The score... er, was anyone keeping track? Guess the biggest winner was our campus team for just having played the game.

Thanks for the game, All-Stars! Let's do it again sometime!

And one more item of note: though the duck appeared serenely gliding over the water, few would have seen the duck's feet furiously paddling like mad to keep it afloat. But that isn't really my story to tell...

Who can it be knocking at my door?

The TV was too loud to ignore the ringing of my doorbell. I'd just discovered a slew of new HD channels on cable and was fully enjoying the full benefits of digital media when the interruption occurred. Without a chance to pretend no one was home, I had to go see who was calling.

As usual, another salesman-type, this one purporting to represent the Community Chest collecting funds for wheelchairs for the disabled. It all looked quite legitimate, with serialized receipts and the name of the Community Chest in bold on some small print of a document he was showing me through my firmly barred front gate. Does the Community Chest really come around door-to-door soliciting donations? Do they afterwards make the donor write their particulars down on a form so that an "official" receipt can be sent later?

There were too many unanswerable questions and my closed mind was not prepared to accept long explanations from an itinerant supplicant outside my door -- "Family Guy" (in HD; but there isn't any real point to watch an animated series in HD, is there?) was on and I really wanted to get back to my sofa ASAP. Plus, being recently suspicious of charity appeals, having been bilked of my goodwill once too often, I politely declined and sent him on his way.

But what if his case was a genuine one? What if I had turned away an opportunity to help someone who really needed it? I find it so difficult to tell on a case-by-case basis any more and I am no longer as eager as I was to give the benefit of the doubt now. I blame society.

Don't try this at home

Have you heard Corrine May's new song in celebration of NDP 2010? It's called "Song for Singapore" and May renders it beautifully in the vid above.

But as an NDP song, I'm afraid tone-deaf people like me can't sing along. Though the lyrics are cliched familiar enough for a heartlander (and the avid Sesame Street viewer) to identify with, the rhythms and melody are difficult to follow unless you are as talented as she is.

National propaganda songs are best composed with tribally basic repetitive beats you can count with the fingers on one Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle hand. They are akin to nursery rhymes that stick in your head and irritate you until you sing them aloud to get them out of your system. They are so basic you can sing them out of tune and no one would even notice. Thus, they are memorable even against a rational citizen's wishes and are hence iconic.

May's new song, sadly, should come with a warning label: "This propaganda tool contains extreme euphony and should only be performed by a trained professional. Kids, don't try it at home."

Generational gap closing fast

Nephew, Eugene, got married yesterday. We never knew him as "Eugene" before, always referring to him by his more ethnic name. Sigh, still not used to receiving wedding invites addressing June and me as "Uncle and Auntie", especially when the Nephew is already an established career professional and not THAT much younger than us.

Dinner was at the Stamford Ballroom at which the clan shared three tables. Youngest nephew was at my table, or to put it more accurately, under my table where he decided to spend most of the evening. His primary activities included dropping cutlery and utensils on the floor and for a while he prostrated himself between the aisles in some undeclared protest.

Sometimes you wish they'd grow up faster; but before you know it they're already married and gone. Cue "Sunrise, sunset"...!

Drama Club BBQ, and a random cat pix

Oops, did I interrupt whatever you two boys were doing? Sorry!

Drama Club kids bid farewell to their seniors -- one last hurrah before momentum picks up and hurtles us through to the end of year exams. Apart from the sporadic, often failed attempts to dunk random victims in the condo pool, it was an easy, remarkably sane and civilized cast & crew party to celebrate Wow!Pow!Bow! 2010 and thank various club members for their contribution to it's success.

NYeDC is now in the hands of an organized and by-the-book exco, if tonight's event is anything to go by. Just as well. Admin is such a nightmare for me, and if the kids are willing to pitch in and help me out, I'll be the more grateful for them.

Wearing out our freedoms

Given a choice between wearing a bikini and a headscarf (of the religious sort), would anyone actually choose the latter voluntarily? It seems counter-intuitive to think so, but perhaps that's because we have certain cultural biases that value the freedom of wearing whatever we damn well please over the freedom to cover up our bodies and not call attention to ourselves.

Yes, they're both freedoms, but the sad thing is, it's a zero-sum game: we have to choose one freedom over the other; and regardless of which we choose, when we find ourselves running with a crowd of 'the other' we do call attention to ourselves like it or not. In that situation things can get uncomfortable, if not hostile.

The two choices of dress reflect two mutually exclusive philosophies regarding the self. The headscarf route is taking the comfort of anonymity, hiding oneself to look exactly like everyone else so that there can be no basis of comparison between one female individual and another. Regardless of what she looks like -- fat, skinny, flat-chested, pot-bellied, knockout gorgeous or hunchbacked -- everyone looks like a generic 9mm slug, and that's ok because no physical characteristic can possibly make her self-conscious or feel the need to do anything about it. Being comfortable with oneself, knowing there can be no pre-judgement from other people over the trivial matter of physical appearance is one of the best freedoms the world can afford.

Wearing a bikini represents the freedom to, um, I'm not really sure what. Bikinis show off things about oneself that we'd rather not show. We're constantly worried that we could come undone and reveal more than what we're prepared to reveal. What it does is that it places the responsibility of our presentability in public squarely on our own individual shoulders. To ensure the right things stick out and keep the wrong things tucked in  requires Work. It means eating right (in most cases that's mistaken for eating less); it means a punishing exercise regimen to sculpt and maintain a shape that first satisfies the self (good luck with that) and then satisfies others. And yet, not be too satisfying to the wrong others to avoid attracting unwelcome attention. That's a lot of rules to follow, many of which lie in fuzzy grey areas, for what we consider our "freedom".

Me, I'm not really sympathetic to either camp. I myself have never lived in fear of a wardrobe malfunction; nor been a victim of lascivious staring; nor had any such related problem. Regardless of what I wear, I swear I'm quite invisible to the crowd. I imagine even if I wore my skimpiest speedos in public few would notice the pasty apparition ambulating in their midst -- except for a sensitive minority mainly comprising  small children who would react in horror, recoil from the ghastly sight and maybe have nightmares for weeks after.

The happiest women, I think, are the ones who wear bikinis and can't be bothered about what anyone thinks of them. Think I saw some of those in Florida...

In case you're wondering, I'm just musing over "Bikini or headscarf -- which offers more freedom?"

Power failure

In the case of my mobile phone, low batt DOES effectively mean no batt.

Perfect 10

June arranged for us to have dinner with Adrian and Jen. In our search for someplace to eat, 10@Claymore's "Plates of Pleasure" promotion topped the list. Everything on the menu (above) in unlimited servings, plus the rest of the buffet spread. The 4-dine-for-3 deal for participating credit cards was the final deciding factor. 

Here is the saucy little fillet mignon that I had my eye on. I didn't really need to see the rest of the menu, this was priority number one. A very decent steak, cut large enough to savour but not so large as to overwhelm the appetite. There were so many other things to sample besides. Oh, the pinkish mass just below the asparagus spear (above) is mashed beetroot, which tasted way better than it sounds.

Adrian shows off his latest inspiration: a "canape" comprising a beetroot base and topped with avocado, alfalfa and a sprinkle of almond shavings. Each ingredient is strong-tasting on its own but combined, the tastes sort of cancel each other out, making a rather palatable blend of flavours. Night of strange tastes -- I thought the blue cheese on Carr's crackers was fantastic too.

Jen and June gamely sample Chef Adrian's new concoction.

It was a pleasant evening mostly devoted to discussing our individual mid-life crises over unlimited portions of food.

Final parting shot: remember the 10!

Steamrolled

Have to take my hat off to the octopus. The Xmac curse finally came to an emphatic end with the German World Cup machine stamping its authority all over the Argies, 4-0. This is one time I didn't mind losing to an invertebrate in a contest of prognostication. And if his foresight saves him from becoming tomorrow's tako-ball, more power to him! Great job, Paul!

And in the pix, Germany has another proud supporter of the non-human animal species. Yes, Q-tip, nice jersey.

Xmac vs. the octopus

The Xmac curse strikes the World Cup 2010 yet again. Brazil has been KO'ed out of the tournament by a very determined Dutch team 2-1.

In terms of clairvoyance, I've been just about as accurate as Paul, the soothsaying octopus in this competition. Except the teams I've picked to win end up losing. Well, let's see whether Paul or I can maintain our record at the Argentina vs Germany quarter-final tomorrow. Since we've both picked the land of sauerkraut to prevail over the dreaded Argies, one of us will definitely be wrong.

Systems overhaul

As my trainer, John was consistent and predictable. His method was to get me used to a routine and slowly, gradually increase the load. He'd challenge me to lift a little more from the previous session, and depending on my caprice, I'd either humour him or politely decline.

But John's gone home to his FT country and now I'm in the hands of Sully. Sully's approach is a lot more varied. My repertoire now includes balance training on bouncy pilates balls; flexibility training through manipulating medicine balls and free weights (no, not at the same time -- not yet, anyway); and stamina building on some of the other hamster-wheel type cardio devices which I've been previously avoiding 'cos they look either boring or dangerous.

Sully also watches my form carefully, making corrections and adjustments to stance, to grip, so that I feel the burn at the right places. Lower weight resistance, but more reps. I think he knows it isn't muscle strength I want, it's better functioning heart and lungs that I need.

Every session is a pain to go through, but this old, broken down bod seriously needs an overhaul. I must see this programme through!

World Cup 'live', sort of

For all my bluster over refusing to subscribe to the World Cup cablecast, I've still taken to watching some games via 'live' streaming. Horrible resolution; persistently inturrupted signal -- the last two goals Germany scored against England missed due to buffering lag  (4-1 wt*?! when streaming resumed); sudden jump cuts as streaming regains sync with real time (meaning that I hear my downstairs neighbour cheering seconds before I see the goal); and occasional signal backouts that last minutes, or until I refresh the page... sometimes not even then.

But I have nothing to complain about. It's free. Still, I wonder why I bother at all. Every team I've been rooting for has lost. Consistently. Anyone need a betting tip? Just ask me who I fancied for that match and bet the opposing team. Sure win one!

Out of the frying pan

Now that I've got used to one Personal Torturer, John, he's upped and left Cali for personal reasons -- hope your dad gets better real soon! Today, I got my first session with my new PT, Sully. Looks like Sully's personal mission is to turn scrawny 98 lbs weaklings like Steve Rogers into Captain America without the use of performance-enhancing drugs. Welcome to a new level of hell.

Start your engines

I've been in hibernation. Long hols effectively cut me off from social interaction. There's little reason to meet anyone, no collaborative agenda to accomplish, hardly any requirement to leave the house except for meals or the occasional airing. In this state of temporary isolation, one gets out of practice with basic conversational skills and when everyone is called back to commemorate the end of our social winter, the buzz of meeting everyone again takes quite some getting used to.

We are facing down the last weekend right now. The engine's been idling, now engaging first gear... Staff spent half the day with our usual pre-term opening meeting and being introduced to the newbies joining our ranks effective immediately. Second half my group got a tour of Jurong Island -- a rarely-seen section of our little nation because there really is no reason to go see it on a casual basis. It's a mass of storage facilities, a spaghetti of pipes running all over the place, steel geometric structures everywhere at a scale that the layman's mind can scarcely take it all in.

It's Mordor, only much cleaner and far more orderly. Probably every single thing that has been manufactured for mass consumption has passed through this tiny section of this tiny island as some form of petro-chemical raw material. I couldn't help thinking about our contribution to global warming considering how much toxic greenhouse gas and other materials we're processing right here and shipping off to the rest of the world.

Capped off the day with a refreshingly mundane meeting of friends at Amy's. A great chance to practice my social skills before term starts. Two birthdays to celebrate over fried chix, Japanese pizza(!) and chocolate cake. I think we must have hit some kind of chronological barrier because the Wii was promising a really mad, noisy session of hilarity and general chaos, but we spent the evening in table conversation and general gossip instead. And everyone, myself included, preferred it that way.

Stop copying me!

Excuse me, we do so teach our JC kids how to avoid plagiarism. It's called "UYOWAFAS", a persistent feature in the GP compre paper. What does it stand for? "Use you own words as far as possible." Now you know what it's for.

As far as citing sources go, the kids practice that in Project Work. I wonder if this skill should be practiced in GP too? Would anyone kill me for suggesting that idea?

Tails & Trails

Q-tip meets her fellow participants, not at a gathering of World Cup fans but at Royal Canin's Tails & Trails '10 Doggie-thon at ECP.

According to the dogs, Germany will lead the pack in South Africa this year. 

Apart from the 2km walk along the beach (Q-tip had to be carried the final quarter) we entered her in the "Endurance" contest. The idea is for the contestants to be offered delicious Royal Canin doggie treats and the dogs that could resist the temptation the longest would win a prize.

We knew Q-tip would win easily. She gets nervous in crowds and won't accept strange food from strangers. We walk away with a dog-toy, doggie-treats and the red thing sticking out is a lean-to tent! How odd.

Cool! Latte, Q-tip's new friend has come to join in the festivities too!

"It's not Karate..."

One of my movie faves for 2010 has to be the "The Karate Kid". It's a remake of an old movie, similar in premise and formula, but done with less tongue-in-cheek and more thoughtfulness. The whole movie considers cross-cultural relations, how embracing difference and change is a real advantage, and how territorialism has no place in these times when borders and ideas are shared so easily around the world.

The conflict, and often the humour of this production are in the interactions of the diverse characters struggling for their place in a place that no longer has a historical precedent to fall back on. Beijing has become home to Dre Parker, a black American boy who; backed into a corner has to learn Chinese kung fu; his new friend, Mei Ying is Chinese but is training to play Eruopean classical music; while Cheng holds fast to his national pride and chooses to exclude the new foreigner in the neighbourhood.

With Jackie Chan at the helm, the fight sequences are intense, the choreography a joy to watch. There is a flow and a consistency to each punch, each kick, though the pace never lets up. But through Dre's training we see that though martial prowess may be the medium of instruction, what he is really learning is respect, humility and harmony that helps him fit into his new environment. Ultimately, the fights are not about winning or losing but learning to respect one another in the spirit of competition.

Yes, we've all seen this formula before, but somehow this movie treats the formula with an almost absolute belief in it. It's in the contrast between scrapping on the mean city streets and in the philosophical teachings set against the serenity of a Chinese temple on  mountaintop, or along the monumental historical Great Wall -- reminding us that our history is still tremendously important to us and modern life is still tightly intertwined with it.

A lot of credit goes to Jaden Smith for the respect he gives to his role, and for rising to the challenge in creating a character which we can feel for and readily lend our support to. When the whole stadium choruses "jiayou" in support of the injured foreigner against his brutal adversary, that's interesting because the audience is rooting for human values over blind nationalism.

Nice. But I wonder, why do the Americans think they can pick up a skill (even a philosophy) in a matter of weeks, when others have to train a lifetime to reach the same level? I suppose that's just the magic of the movies.

Soccer means that much

Like so many other cable subscribers, I've resisted picking up the World Cup package. I'm no revolutionary taking part in a revolt against greedy, overcharging media content providers. I actually sympathise with our two cable companies who, I give the benefit of the doubt, had themselves been overcharged for the rights to cablecast all those matches 'live' from South Africa. Apparently, someone thinks soccer means that much to our TV watching population. Guess they're wrong.

It's a simple matter of economics. A typical householder like me wouldn't mind paying a small premium like we did at the last World Cup, but to pay $94.16 for this current package means that we will have to watch every single match in order to make our every sheckle count. Even at the early-bird price (which has been likened to the cost of a cup of coffee per 'live' game), I have no desire to drink that much coffee nor do I feel the need to watch every game. Especially not when free-to-air TV is broadcasting just the big matches which I am more likely to watch. Hey, I do so have a life.

Anyway, we have already accomplished our Goal 2010. Mr Mah just got the sport wrong.

No place for old men

Two days in a row, and I can't find a decent place to bowl. My usuals have had their lanes booked out by schools which have somehow cottoned on to the idea that bowling is a great activity to introduce their kids to. Considering the miserable weather, I'm not surprised they're bringing their kids indoors. But it's deep into the summer hols; why can't they just leave their kids alone and not organize them so much?

I did, however, scrape a lane from Orchid Bowl. No little kids bringing the roof down with their din, no little kids swinging from the chandeliers, no little kids at all. Bliss. But Orchid Bowl is showing its age. Clunky bowler input interface; basic overhead score display sans exciter graphics; bumpy potentially ball-damaging retrieval system. Everything looks and feels in need of updating, nothing to bring the little kids running here. Maybe I've found the right place to bowl after all.

Saw some national team players training here too. The lanes are slightly longer so they're good for training accuracy; the pins are slightly heavier and don't bounce around much, so it's more challenging to bowl strikes. That's what makes this place a good training ground.

Scored 159 for a four game average. Out of practice. : P

Calories out, calories in

Faith is leaving the house while the sky is overcast and drizzly, while pointing the car in the direction of the beach. PT, John, has been persuading me to get off the treadmill and try the exercise bike or something else for a change, so I decided to get on a real bike and work my cardio on the ECP instead.

I like the treadmill at Cali 'cos it faces three large TV screens. When I tread, my attention is on the programmes. My mind blanks out and though my body's huffing and sweating I can keep right on going, no problem. But with the exercise bike, I have to keep watching the meter and maintain 90 RPMs while simultaneously watching the clock and the calorie-burn readout. Do you have any idea how stressful that is? No, thanks. I'm sticking to my treadmill, so there.

ECP rewarded my faith with dry weather. It was cloudy and breezy, very little sun but no rain. Perfect for biking, lousy for a tan. Have to remember not to rent bikes from the rental outlet at the McD's block, at least until they update their stock. Actually, I wouldn't be so miffed if I hadn't been so effortlessly overtaken by an expat couple while I was pedalling like mad on mine.

Phase II was bowling. What is it about today? The lanes have been overrun with schoolchildren, leaving me with nothing. Gave up looking for lanes and had lunch instead, hence the pix above.

Rack of lamb, so tender. Poke the meat with a fork and bloody juices flow. Release the fork and the meat absorbs everything it leaked out before. I've never seen anything like that. I could have done without the breaded outer layer, but I really enjoyed this set lunch. Beaulieu house, Sembawang Park. At $35 for the set, it was pricier than I remember. But it was a fair price to pay for this kind of quality.

No eat, no work

Not eating before a workout burns more fat, says this Belgian study. Maybe so, but my personal experience says if you want to spend your time collapsed on the fitness centre floor than actually exercising, then go ahead and not eat. Wonder how much fat that kind of inactivity burns?

The great cover-up

The staff room is beginning to look like a refugee centre. Most of our workstations are under shrouds made from plastic garbage bags, and a tent-city now occupies what used to be the English Dept. Occasionally, a camel-train passes by, bearing trade goods to History and beyond.

This is what happens when there are more staff than room. With the new arrivals facing the prospect of sitting two to a desk, it was finally decided that it was time for expansion. So tomorrow, the far wall is due for demolition and that will open a new space for us in what was once tutorial room 03-26.

And tent-city will protect most of our stuff from construction dust and toxic fallout while the contractors do their thing. Great excuse to stay home over the next couple of weeks! :D

The places you'll go in a Polo

Rode Amy's new Polo to the PUS where we heard the PM speak in his usual measured, careful, practical, matter-of-fact manner. His basic message was, as always, there will be storms ahead but we'll weather them as long as we work together regardless of who we are or where we hail from. It's kinda' sad he has to keep harping on this theme because it shows we, as a people, are still not quite there yet.

You can tell from the myriad questions he fielded that people were still drawing lines of division rather than envisioning synergies between us. Our young people are more interested in asking their questions (sometimes I'm not even sure they're their questions) and going back to their seats than listening to the responses for an opportunity to dialogue.

But we were hungry and couldn't engage in dialogue anyway. There was a great lunch deal at Grill-out, Sunset Way. 2 set lunches for the price of $23. There were five of us, Amy, B-lo, HP, Josh and me, an odd number, but they gave us all the special price anyway. I was very happy with my beef short ribs. Not overcooked, very juicy with the meat cleaving neatly off the bone. I especially enjoyed the slightly chewy texture with the pleasant beefy flavour going around my mouth. Some days, I am a total carnivore.

Dessert at The Daily Scoop. My fave flavour combo: Simply Chocolate and Honey Vanilla. How conventional. But the more exotic flavours have the consistency of sorbet. Hmph. I like my ice-cream the traditional way.

Was looking forward to riding the new Polo. My first impressions are that it is a safe, reliable vehicle. Its 1.4l engine makes it economical to run, and it has the VW quality stamped firmly on it. The chrome trim on the dashboard panels give it a slightly retro appearance. I love the display panel with its combination analog speedometer and RPM meter and digital time/temperature/fuel readouts in large fonts -- lots of useful info at a glance. Looks like a fun car to drive, but in terms of its personality, I have yet to identify it as an Amy car. Think they'll need time to grow into each other.

Don't fight the dog

I must be showing my age. My views are with the establishment over the Gaza flotilla incident, and even over the recent insanity in BKK. In both events it was a contest of civilians versus the military. Yes, sure, everyone roots for the underdog, those poor unarmed civvies collectively shaking their ineffectual fists at the tyrannical military machine. So brave, so bold, so noble to stand up for "what's right" against such odds. The same kind of courage as someone who pulls down their pants to moon a snarling doberman.

I was more upset that Central World in BKK got torched than about the protester casualties at the hands of the soldiery. To me, the protesters were spoiled children, destroying their own toys in a tantrum when they couldn't get their way. And now with everybody calling in to condemn the "disproportionate" response of the Israeli commandos' storming the humanitarian aid flotilla, I think everybody's overreacting.

If you have a problem with someone, the stupidest thing to do is to challenge his dog. The dog isn't there to be reasoned with, the dog is there to follow orders, to guard and woe betide anyone who crosses the line. It's pointless to cry and complain if you get bitten in the a** when you provoked the dog in the first place. So it is with the military. They have the guns and they will use them. End of story.

In BKK, the protesters were threatening the economy, the stability, the infrastructure and up to a point the residents of the centres they were occupying. What did they expect the military to do when it's the job of the military to protect the country against threats? In Gaza, there's a military blockade. Nobody goes in, nobody comes out without being shot at. What? They'll let through a convoy just because it says it's unarmed? Fat chance.

Yes, there are injustices to be righted. But could you guys go to the agency that can help, please? Here's a clue: the military isn't the right agency for this sort of thing. If you get your butt kicked, don't expect any sympathy from me.

Prince of Blendwell

For a movie based on an amalgamation of other popular movies, Prince of Persia: the Sands of Time (PoP) still turns out to be quite a thrill. The main characters are veritable carbon copies of Star Wars (Ep. 4-6); the plot sequencing is basically Back to the Future; and the set is from the Mummy franchise but with fewer ruins.

I've read bad reviews of PoP, so I was a little leery of going to watch it at first. Then I realised the reviewers I'd been reading were players of the PoP game and were finding it difficult to reconcile the linear movie storyline with their previous gaming experience. But because I have never played PoP before, I could enjoy the movie for what it did offer: energetic fight sequences with varied mix of weaponry, silly chases and races, selfless sacrifices, devious betrayals, and the inevitable countdown to prevent the end of the world.

PoP: a decent appetizer for this year's crop of summer blockbusters to come. Erm... they ARE coming, aren't they?