Going once, twice... sold!

Oh-tee-pee signed this morning. Barring any unforseen complications, our house is going to a nice FT family. The agreed price is reasonable for our location and considering the market as it is, we are very happy. Made a much smaller loss than expected, 4-figures instead of the five we were anticipating when we began this mad adventure of ours.

Then this news hits the morning papers: "Yishun to get exciting new facilities in facelift". FT family looks like they've got a good deal too. How's that for win-win?

How blue is my S'porean?

We don't even have 50 years of history as a nation, but we already seem to have developed a sharply defined distinction between whom we consider to be true-blue S'poreans and who are "foreign talents" (FTs). We've got people quibbling over losing jobs to FTs, rights to purchase public housing, attend public schools, and now the right to represent the nation in sports.

A true S'porean is someone who was born in the S'pore, and has... um... well, apart from the guys having to serve NS, there isn't really much else. Just how many people in the world can qualify by this drinking-straw narrow definition to be S'porean, then? A couple of million, maybe, out of six billion? We have no history, no land mass, and no critical mass to even make up a decent self-replenishing population, and we still have the temerity to demand an exclusive membership in this little country-club of ours. Right.

When are people going to realize that erecting fences around ourselves is more likely going to keep us in, all nicely penned up suffocating in our own dung, rather than keep other people out? No one would come here willingly anyway, unless we gave them a reason. We ourselves were once cast-offs hailing from other lands, though now having made good, we have excised from our memories the bad old days. This nation grew on the backs of lost souls seeking a better life. When the Brits put out the call that anyone with adventure in their hearts and nothing else in their pockets and stomachs could try their luck here or bust, we were the first to line up at Immigration. Nothing has changed since then, except that we're now starting to get uppity, looking down our noses at our newly-arrived FTs and exclaiming, "there goes the neighbourhood!"

It makes no sense to deny FTs housing and education. How else are they going to assimilate into our community and become S'porean? If they can live door to door with us, struggle through public education with us, they will BE us. Otherwise we segregate them, put their kids in private schools and make them live in separate housing, and then they'll either feel discriminated against, or possibly even superior to us. Neither reaction is going to engender any strong affinity for us and make them want to put their roots down should the choice ever come up for them.

And if they can help us set new standards in sporting and other achievement willingly under our colours, then they represent the best and brightest our nation has to offer. Hiding them under a bushel is simply a pure waste of available talent.

Like it or not, we are an immigrant nation. Our open door through which people freely come and go is an integral part of our success. Close it and we kill the goose that lays our golden eggs.

"I don't know!"

Kids are looking lost and panicky over their second common test paper. Essay exams drive them nuts because their instant response is to assume they know nothing about the topics the questions cover. But that's exactly the point of essay exams, particularly for GP. There is no other reason to take GP than to train in crafting out a rational answer to any question to which our initial response is, "how the ^%#$ should I know??"

GP is humbling that way. Every essay begins with zero knowledge. Unlike the other academic subjects the kids are taking in the JC, it is the question that is more important than the answer. A GP essay is little more than the breaking apart of the question and examining or exploring the intricacies of each little component and then reassembling it all back within the context provided by the question. This is excellent preparation for the Uni at which every question in any subject they will encounter will be structured more or less like this.

It helps to have lots of background knowledge of the subject. The more knowledge we have the more facets we can appreciate of the question, but having comprehensive knowledge is not mandatory. There's only so many bits we can play with in the 800 word limit.

The less the knowledge, the higher the fudge factor. It's best to keep the knowledge up, of course, but it's sufficient to strike a balance between the two. That's the real skill, and that's how most questions get answered in the real world, anyway.

The best questions are those that answer themselves. A good GP student will be able to identify such questions and let it take the lead in coming to an answer.

The higher up the education ladder we climb, the less we know, we realize. But that's great! "I haven't a clue" is the best way to begin answering a question. In fact, it's the only way.

Let the bidding begin!

We finally got an offer for this old house. Just as we were starting to develop an inferiority complex, we received at least an indication that someone was looking at us with more than just a passing interest. There were a couple of other interested parties who raised an eyebrow at us earlier, but took to their heels the instant they noticed some inexplicable feng shui problem they could not reconcile. We've never had a problem living here, but beliefs are beliefs, so whatever.

The offer is no great shakes, nowhere near the king's ransom we were hoping for. But it's a start. We know now how the market values our piece of humble real estate in actual dollars and cents and we're prepared to be realistic ourselves.

And now we wait while they mull over our counter-offer. Make us happy, please.

From the horse's mouth

Spent the last couple of days taking lessons on critical thinking from John B, the man, himself. His technique is simple: layer in a little theory, throw us a bone to maul together in small groups, review the carnage, peppering it with bits of additional techniques, cautions, and other interesting little nuggets as the situation warrants. His lessons are easy-going, free-flowing chat sessions that really made us feel like we were actually learning something... not foreign or alien from ourselves but something we had in ourselves already but hadn't properly awakened yet.

Every discussion was a test, but we weren't testing each other. Rather, we were putting ideas to the test as we took them apart and looked at whether they worked or not, how they worked if they did and where they failed when they didn't. Nothing was personal. I messed up my evaluations a few times, but hey, no pressure; it's all just part of the learning curve, anyway. I never once felt I'd got things so wrong that I was too intimidated to say whatever came to mind the next time something did come to mind.

Good food (yesterday, Ragazzi; today, Colbar) and pleasant company for lunch added additional motivation to a couple of days well spent.

Drama seniors say bye-bye!

NYeDC Seniors’ Farewell Party 08

Never any tears in an NYeDC farewell, we had a silly time at our little soiree making speeches, giving gifts, and enjoying lots of laughter at what is probably the last time the 07 batch will be having any fun at all, at least till their finals are over.

The seniors were seriously out to cause a riot, taking so much trouble to dress especially for the occasion. They were hilarious in their rented costumes. The juniors impressed with their meticulous programme, the attention to detail in improvising a dining hall from a classroom, and for once the food was really good -- catered (which we were happy to pay for) rather than self-burned on a bbq grill, which has been a standard practice for the club as far back as I've known it.

The juniors devised a nutty game to keep us entertained: a cross between bingo and a lucky dip. Up for grabs was an iPod and only those who bingo-ed were eligible to dip for it. The risk was that there were equal odds of lucky and unlucky prizes. But for the 'pod we all put our faces and reputations on the line. Interestingly enough, all the prized were "donated" by the juniors; all stuff they didn't want anymore and "freecycled" for a laugh.

As no one had won the 'pod by the third bingo round, we decided to just put our names in a pot and just draw for it. It was sweet of the seniors who wrote Mel's name on their own ballots, rigging the draw so she'd win it in the end. The 'pod wasn't in working condition anyway, but it was the thought that counted. Heh.

I'm sad to lose the crazy do-anything-for-a-laugh seniors. Their creativity, spirit and energy is so crucial to projecting an impressive on-stage presence. But their successors, the 08 batch, have also been amazing in their self-motivation, organization and planning abilities. With these assets and their desire to improve on their stagecraft, I think the run-up to next year's Drama Night might just be very interesting.

The Dark Joke

It's the Joker we want to see in Batman movies. In "The Dark Knight", Heath Ledger's interpretation is as chilling as we might ever get. Ledger's Joker is no criminal; more like a violent, wanton, sadistic anarchist. He has no agenda beyond playing the role of the bringer of Chaos, and delights in being the spoiler of well-made plans. His aim is to bring an end to social order. Every system is an equal opportunity target, even organized crime. His theory is to eliminate those at the top and the people down the line will eventually turn on and destroy themselves.

The odd thing about this Joker is that he has no "origin" backstory. Just as his face hides behind that grotesque mask, his identity is a complete mystery. It's like he has no beginning and consequently, no end either. He could be anyone, and no one. He is thus the ideal metaphor for the unknown a paranoid nation fears, freaked out by terrorists hiding in every flitting shadow.

The Joker's machinations are sadistic experiments in how far he can push the people he places in mortal moral dilemmas to cross the line. And in Gotham City, so reliant on the Bat as their protector and guardian, and so sold on Harvey Dent's grand vision to turn its crime-ridden streets completely around, the Joker wants to know if the Gothamites have it in them to save themselves when they have no confidence left in their fragile social structures and systems once he's trashed them.

The Bat, rock-solid, honourable, courageous, in possession of a social conscience, and displaying a fighting style so efficient it's almost perfunctory, is every bit the warrior-hero we expect him to be. He too is an anarchist of a different sort. He upholds justice but is not constrained by the legal system. The anonymity behind the mask and a fat bank balance helps. But as the mask hides his face, his is not the face the public can trust.

The Bat, he's the devil we know. The Joker, he's the one we don't. Maniac, unpredictable, menacing, and with serously bad hair, he's the one who hooks us with horrid fascination in this movie. The Joker pulls the strings and the Bat has to play along. With his deft manipulations, Harvey Dent transforms from hero to monster. "The Dark Knight" is a vehicle for the Joker, the raison d'etre that brings his supporting cast to life. The Bat and Dent lose so much to the Joker's insanity. What did it cost Heath Ledger to bring this incarnation of the Joker to life?

Yearbook photo and LC invig

Wayne's the kind of friend who will lend you the shirt off his back. Literally. I needed a proper shirt to wear for the staff photo shoot today 'cos the one I was wearing would have looked absolutely hideous with a tie. Trust me to forget the College yearbook shoot ends today.

The photog had rather mundane ideas for our poses. They were basically police mugshots, two each of full-frontal, and left 'n right 3/4 shots. The only difference was that we didn't have to pose carrying our own serial numbers and we were made to smile like a North Korean in the personal presence of Kim Jong Il himself.

Today was also Listening Comprehension invigilation day. The radio I signed out must have been defective. In order to receive a clear signal the radio insisted that I place myself directly behind the antenna and remain completely motionless until the broadcast ended. Any slight movement I made resulted in static. Anywhere else I stood in the room resulted in static.

The kids seemed quite amused as I arranged myself in different configurations to ensure optimal reception. Standing on one leg didn't help, thank God. Eventually, the radio and I negotiated for a sitting position, both palms flat on the table, elbows akimbo, and I remained roughly frozen in place for the duration.

Oddly enough, I actually understood three of the four stories read in Mandarin over the radio. I'm quite proud of myself now. The first story was about a guy and a seashell he picked up on the beach and then some philosophy about shells being used as money and something about aesthetics which I couldn't quite get. Number two was some guy lamenting that his college buddy's standard of Chinese language was deteriorating with every pretty postcard he receives every year from him. Three was a vignette of a 4th grade student volunteer at a library who was so dedicated to his job, he kept on working there every day even though he had to move elsewhere to live and attend school. This dedicated little tyke turns out to be little Billy Gates whom we know better as an adult than as a 4th grader. The final story was this bizarre father-son bonding activity in which the father plays "trust me" mind games with his 9 year-old. The results of this bonding session will probably be analyzed thoroughly by a professional whom the kid will inevitably be consulting once he gets older.

Wonder if my Chinese is getting better or if today's paper was exceptionally easy?

Model Homeowner

Strangers merrily traipsing around my house is something I'll never get used to. It feels all the more creepy for me as the agent we engaged does all our interacting for us. He's taking our viewers around, chatting and making nice with them, while us two gormless blockheads remain seated and frozen on the living room carpet pretending to be busy watching TV. We'd like to be nicer hosts, really, but we don't trust our own blabbermouths in case we say something stupid about our house that the viewers might take negatively and use as an excuse to bargain down our asking price. So sitting there on the carpet, I feel like Steve Martin's character in "Dirty Rotten Scoundrels", playing his Ruprecht, the Monkey Boy role.

Or else like an animatronic mannequin posing in a showflat, supposedly enjoying his idyllic environs, being the object of envy of every prospective buyer that walks in. *click, wrirr... "my_house_is_great. wanna_buy_it?" ...bzzzt!

When strangers walk into your house and start pointing at various nooks and crannies, whispering among themselves, you know that what you once thought of as yours is no longer. In snatches of overheard conversation, people are weighing the possibilities of converting my living room into a balcony, running cable TV into the bedrooms and partitioning off my dining room and air-conditioning it. Perhaps a serious offer will be coming by our way soon?

Hellboy 2: TGA sort of echoes the human vs nature theme that we've already seen in Prince Caspian and LOTR, except the battleground is the urban landscape of human civilization. It's Nature fighting back in a small, almost helpless way, as the revolt is practically led by a one-elf army while Nature, the faction he purports to fight for, wants no part of his revolution. All Prince Nuada has is his wushu fighting style, a hulking bruiser for a friend, oh, and an evil plan to unleash the ultimate weapon that will extinguish humankind from the face of the earth.

Hellboy himself isn't much different from Nuada. He fights for a people who does not want anything to do with him, their initial admiration turning to fear and distrust when in a pitched battle a city block gets pretty much levelled through melee combat and small(?)-arms fire while they watch in horror.

The problem with Nuada is that he is too focused on a single goal, making him psychotically obsessive and unable to tell friend from foe. So bent is he on vengeance that it's all he thinks about. It's all he trains his body for, it's all his schemes are directed towards, and he no longer cares what he has to sacrifice in order to get what he wants.

In contrast, Hellboy has lots of things to distract him from brooding over his unpleasant future destiny. There's his job, his friends, his smokes, candy, booze, TV, and his girlfriend, Liz, whose explosive tantrums with him are alarmingly increasing in frequency. "I'd give my life for her, but she wants me to do the dishes", he grumbles to Abe, his fishy friend. A typical sentiment of us guys for whom women will always be the Great Mystery.

I like the movie for it's portrayal of simple, mundane humanity that stands out in contrast to the fantastic, bizarre creatures and environments of del Toro's design. Even the constant chaos of the BPRD (Hellboy's secret home base and office) is just another normal day on the job for the blokes working there. Despite our vulnerabilities and what we consider our faults and vices, it's still great to be human.

Free childcare and paternity leave to encourage more births in the S'pore? Ok, free childcare would take some of the financial pinch from raising a kid for a fraction of the 20+ year commitment that parents here face per kid, but paternity leave sounds as attractive as a root canal with only a sledgehammer for anesthetic.

Taking a year off work is in itself tempting, but paternity leave isn't exactly a summer vacation on a pristine tropical beach with an umbrella drink in hand. Paternity leave's never caught on because more often than not, the paternal half of the genetic merger would rather slog out an 18-hour shift at the office where the stress is constant but predictable, than stay home all day spooning mush into one end while manoeuvring around drool and barf, and cleaning poop out the other. Waking up at 4 a.m. isn't for driving out into the country for a spot of fishing, it's to calm a little banshee with a bottle in his mouth instead of over the head... mutter... grumble... yawn... zzz.

I dunno. Alvin would like nothing better than to come home to a brood of kids; he says that's what will ease his day and make him feel all calm and blissful after a hard day at work. Me, nothing raises my blood pressure faster than a little 'un, not to mention being surrounded by them. To me, that's stress I don't need. I'm fine if I happen to be temporarily looking after a kid or two that I can happily return to sender after a few minutes, but who am I going to return my genetic offspring to if I need to get on with my life? As a responsible person, if I made the mess, I have to clean it up. So let's not start, shall we?

Ultimately, it isn't about more incentives to boost the population. People who want kids will have them anyway, regardless. It's the growing number of people like me, all with shrivelled, blackened, hardened raisins that pass for our hearts that need to be addressed. Go all Scandinavian on us if you like. Doubt we'll budge.

Of the few people viewing my place, we had a big surprise last night when none other than Chewie showed up at our front door with Zak, maid and her mom-in-law in tow. Her m-i-l is in the market for new digs, we've got ours on offer.

It was funny to watch Zak get aqcuainted with Q-tip. He was so tentative as he took stabs at her fur with his tiny fingers; and the cats, who kept their distance, fascinated him.

So, of everyone I know only Chewie has seen the inside of my sanctum sanctorum. Since we're selling, any day is open house day. No more closed door policy to drop-ins, friends or strangers alike, at least for now.

Her m-i-l seems impressed with her tour and she's making a second visit tonight, but she isn't exactly jumping to make a bid just yet. It's that kind of a dicey market in property. Everyone's playing it cautiously, cards close to chest. Everyone's looking for a fair deal.

Every child has a different learning style and a different learning pace from every other child. We know this and we firmly believe in it, but regardless the traditional Asian method of education still tailors its teaching approach more or less towards a one size fits all strategy.

Multiple Intelligences: a nice idea, but there'll be time for the kids to develop it on their own once they get past the 'A' Levels. It can't be helped, we say, our production cycle runs less than two years, we've already designed the blueprint for what we consider to be a QC tested and approved product, so we'll do our best to squeeze all our raw materials into the molds we've already cast and hope they'll turn out the right shape at the end of the process.

We've used this manufacturing model for education since the industrial revolution, but while our civilization has already moved on to the digital age our education factories have yet to really catch the wave. This is because we plan for the economy rather than for the people themselves, the emphasis being on the word "for". We know the needs of the job market so we plan for our kids' "employability". We know the needs of our individual students (which generally boils down to the rough guideline of "get as many straight As as possible") so we plan their curriculum and otherwise their lives for them.

And the kids themselves, though they hate being told what to do all the time, after living like this long enough, they get quite lost when suddenly they have to decide things for themselves. For example, they are most likely to prioritize their homework schedule according to which tutor is most likely to give them grief for NOT doing their homework, and so on down a sliding scale. And they wonder why they have no 'free' time. Technically, they are little more than remote controlled automatons responding to signals emanating from the source of the loudest voice. I thought education was supposed to liberate and empower people?

Actually, it does, but it's a delayed gratification thing. The kids will only appreciate what they've been through when they receive their results, when they become adults with good grades to back up their aspirations. That's why the Koreans suffer cram school and write motivational notes to themselves to see the ordeal through.

But trust the Americans to pioneer new ways of student-centric learning using the tools available to us in this digital age. It goes beyond our kids' mundane "research for project work on the Internet is more convenient than having to trek down to the library to flip through the pages of dusty old books and teachers can post our homework online [such slaves!]" response to essay questions of such subject matter. We're looking at ways students can choose what they want to learn, whatever style they want to learn in, at whatever pace they feel comfortable with, and ways for tutors to personalize lessons tailor-made to individual student specifications.

Now there's a field worth exploring with my current batch of kids. But logistically speaking, I'll need to work with smaller groups than what I currently have. Hmm...

Things have been relatively peaceful while Maui recovers from his op. He's not quite up to bouncing off the walls like he used to, but he is still his curious self, following us around hoping to con the unwary of another helping of kibble, as if we don't feed him enough.

And there's that mysterious case of a collapsed ironing board that took place sometime this evening when we weren't looking. That kind of disaster is a Maui trademark, but there was no conclusive evidence to pin on him, and the witnesses aren't talking.

Meantime, Maui's resting from his exertions while Kaiser tries to keep his cool, having to share the sofa with his manja little buddy.

When you just do your job without taking pride in your work, you become quite the a**hole. Because the end result is all that matters, there's no thought to the process, consequences and repercussions of your choice of action. And if you leave more destruction in the wake of achieving your desired end result, you are probably Hancock, the superhero whose callous and careless problem-solving methods leaves those he rescues and other bystanders rather less than impressed.

Hancock is driven to do the right thing: fight crime and save lives whether human or otherwise. He doesn't know why he suffers from this compulsion to be a do-gooder, after all, with his power and his attitude who could stop him from becoming an evil a**hole instead of the altruistic one that he is?

For all the good he does, Hancock has no purpose in life. When he's done saving the world, he's either getting drunk or hangin' out in his RV of Solitude, looking over a world that could be his but doesn't want. He is painfully aware of being the only one of his kind, so he doesn't have much stake in the society around him. Like many of us, there's only a sense of mission: just do the job and go home, with no sense of involvement in the community. It seems a noble and selfless existence, but it's also stupid and ultimately pointless.

About halfway through the movie, Hancock gets a revelation that changes his view of his entire existence. At this point, the movie takes on quite a different complexion. It's an almost schizoid the way slapstick comedy switches into melodrama. Guess it's impossible to sustain a comedy about an irresponsible super-powered being without making him turn over a new leaf somehow.

I went to watch 'Hancock' expecting to laugh myself silly given the angle of the trailers, but I got something of a reflected image instead. I too tend to swoop in, solve problems, and fly off again when I'm no longer needed. In situations where there is no agenda to pursue, I'm at a loss as to how to contribute to the social setting. Hopefully, I'm not as detested as much as Hancock is: I don't have his power to make people regret calling him an "a**hole" one. more. time.

Maui had a month's stay of execution, but it had to happen sooner or later. Doc Kasey deemed him old enough to be 'fixed', and we're looking at the after-effects. This is not a happy cat.

We kinda' felt sorry having to do it to him, but he was already starting to bother Momo, and eventually someone was going to get hurt -- if not emotionally then physically -- if we let him pursue his interest.

It was really sad when we brought him home and watched him stagger groggily around while he refamiliarized himself with our house. He couldn't walk properly probably due to the effect of his anesthesia, and he must be feeling the pain from the op as well. Poor fellow.

His appetite is still good, though. We put him on a fast 12 hours before his appointment as a precaution against choking on his own vomit if the anesthetic made him throw up, so he was quite ravenous by dinnertime.

He's up and about, and more or less walking properly again, now that he's had a chance to recover somewhat from his ordeal. Think he'll pull though ok.

Mas Selamat is on my mind; months, perhaps, after the fact. Golden Boy is S'pore's celebrity escapee who fled detention while he was being held as a suspected terrorist, in case people have already forgotten.

It's because I was previewing "The Road to Guantanamo" on DVD to see how I could use it for class that's when I came to the conclusion that if Goldie was in the custody of the US, he would never have got away. It would have been impossible. He would have been under 24-hour watch in a see-through cage, made to sit all day not talking, not praying, not doing anything except being watched like an animal in a zoo. Just being still and quiet. Did I mention being watched?

No family visits, no lawyer visits. His exercise would have been a five-minute walk once every week. That'll build some muscles. The boredom spending days, weeks, months on end like that is unimaginable. It's almost a relief when the guards drag him out of his cage for his interrogation, daily beating and general abuse, just because at least that's something to DO.

And that kind of treatment is for people the US isn't even sure are actual terrorists. It happened to four guys, Brits of Pakistani descent, who happened to be touring in the wrong part of Afghanistan when the Coalition forces likewise came a-callin'.

No, we were "complacent". We let him out of his cell, allowed him some privacy when he did his toilet, gave him time with his wife and kids. We almost treated him like a human being, despite knowing full well who he was and what he was capable of. We acted like we had nothing to fear from him. We paid a high price when he took advantage of us, but you know what? I'm proud that we did exactly that. That our security personnel are still able to see people as people, not just as the threats they represent.

And that brings us to today's news story: Ingrid Betancourt and fellow hostages escaping the clutches of their captives in a daring, well-planned helicopter rescue by the Columbian army. In a many months' long operation, army infiltrators lulled the rebels into a false sense of security. Hence the FARC-all job of guarding the 15 captives "Cesar" and Co. would otherwise have been watching more closely.

And the one big question that will stick in all our minds is, why couldn't Goldie's escape have been at least as spectacular? But we all know, nothing exciting EVER happens in the S'pore.

The valuation for our current place has finally arrived. We knew we would be selling at a loss, but it turns out the loss isn't as horrific as we thought it might have been. Our neighbour's been eyeing our unit 'cos he'd like some space for his little family and yet not stay too far from his mom, so if we can settle on a price we'll have a sale. Else, it'll be back to our agent and the open market.

Already today, we made a downpayment on a closet set for our new place, with an option for a kitchen set and a feature wall. We went with Closet Design's promotional package, a reasonable price for quite a modern urban designed wardrobe with quiet closing drawers, a finish that won't stain (the designer set a shelf alight with a bit of lighter fluid, yet there was not a mark when the flame died down), and durable sliding doors.

The designer who spoke to us was an easygoing, affable fellow, confident but no pressure. His designs looked fresher and much more flexible than the generic designs we saw at IMM last weekend, so that kinda' decided it.

On our way home, we stopped at Just Anthony. June had her eye on a low, flat Chinese drum she thought would be great to convert into a coffee table. They'd sold out the one in the colour she wanted, so she settled for a smaller drum she thinks would make a great side table, once she can figure out how to acquire an appropriate stand for it.

The new place will be June's dream home.

The person most qualified to lead is the one with the higher test scores. At least, Maxwell Smart (Steve Carell) believes so, as do most of the kids undergoing education in sunny S'pore. This, Smart boldly declares to Agent 99 (Anne Hathaway), an agent with vastly more field experience than him. But it isn't who leads that counts, it's how they are able to partner up, support each other's weaknesses with their own strengths, and ultimately trust each other despite evidence that seems to indicate that they shouldn't, that make them the on-screen pair to watch this summer.

"Get Smart" is one of the funniest movies I've watched this year. The situation is ridiculously improbable, but the moments that kept me laughing were the numerous lines of deadpan dialogue, and caustic one-liners exchanged between the characters. Smart, an analyst and a meticulous office worker gets to face off against violent terrorists, assassins and nameless henchmen in order to save the President (a bit like a George W gone senile) the target of a nuclear detonation in a major US city, as plotted by Siegfried (Terence Stamp).

But Smart is no bumbling Johnny English. Despite his lack of field experience, he is "not totally incompetent". He has the skills, though not quite the finesse of his partner, Agent 99, and lethality of his role model -- the compromised, sidelined and frustrated Agent 23 (Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson"). Smart is smart, able to pick up clues garnered from evesdropped conversations and make informed -- if long-winded -- deductions, but is also quite adept at improvising his way around tight spots in a trial-and-error fashion.

Fortunately, his errors are quite forgiving. If anything, Smart gets into trouble more often with his own secret agent gadgets. His personal nemesis is the Swiss Army Knife with additional attachments created for him by his two geeky lab tech buddies, Bruce and Lloyd. For an inanimate prop, in Smart's hands it almost develops a personality that seems to delight in tormenting him.

Terence Stamp, as the evil Siegfried, is most memorable for his stinging one-line insults that are even more deadly than his genocidal ambitions. At the receiving end is the monstrous, yet vulnerable Dalip "The Great Khali" Singh, Siegfried's personal Swiss Army Knife of sorts.

While there are moments of pure slapstick, "Get Smart" with it's inside look at how ridiculous, improbable and impractical spy flicks are turns out to be as smart as movies of this genre can get.