Regulars

We're fast becoming regulars at Sun Ray. Consider it a default choice due to factors of proximity, friendly service, good food and dog welcome policy.

Looks healthy. Tastes great. Kept cold throughout the meal. It was both a drink and a dessert.

Sup du jour: crustacean-corn. June said it was too salty. I concurred. Then I realized it was probably my fault. The pepper grinder incorporated a salt grinder that I didn't notice before. So a liberal sprinkling of pepper came with a corresponding amount of salt as well. Design flaw.

Seafood spaghetti aglo olio. Nice, but I saved my stomach for...

the strip loin. As usual, served with the correct doneness of rare, with the rind of cow fat left intact. So good.

Btw, no more weekend set menu, we were told today. Never mind. What we wanted wouldn't have been included in the set anyway.

Fellow flailers!

Following up from my previous entry, I got to see a lot more of my colleagues who are enthusiastically flailing about in unfamiliar territory than I gave credit for.

The souvenir book (left) the organizers handed out is quite a thick compilation of lesson plans and strategies used across all levels of education designed to get the kids off their lazy butts and take a more active and purposeful role in their own learning.

Some of the stuff that I got to observe were tools I and anyone else have easy access to for free over the 'net. The strategies they shared were simple enough, and up to a point I'm using them the same way. It's good to know how closely parallel we are in our objectives, and even better to learn from the variations in the way we use these tools.

Dean Krishnan would be happy to see how so many of us are trying out new methods of student engagement rather than stick to the old tried-and-true formulas that we have grown accustomed to.

Maybe the four-lane highway we're all waiting for our pioneering flailers to construct is closer to realization than I had imagined...?

Give a man a fish and he'll expect you to catch more for him tomorrow

I very much doubt that such a dramatic conspiracy theory actually does exist. The quote, "people here are taught what to think" is to some extent true, but it does not occur as a result of any Head Office directive. In fact, Head Office is constantly encouraging us to take courses in which we learn about fostering in our classrooms creative engagement, critical thinking, and collaborative and self-directed learning while navigating through the wild and woolly Internet zone.

Head Office recognizes that our economy is unable to survive on mass production any longer and our task as educators is to take apart the apparatus that once churned out factory drone workers (I'm a product of that system... and no, I'm not proud of it) and rebuild a more modern structure in which to develop a new generation of imaginative, creative, analytical, design-driven problem-solvers, ready to take on the challenges of an uncertain future.

In the meantime, instead of the government asserting its authority, there has been a great loosening up of citizens' freedoms. The media are age-restricted rather than blanket-censored; Internet access and the discourse that transpires therein is largely free-and-easy; the police are hardly anywhere to be seen (sometimes we even wonder if there are enough police around to maintain law and order if things went bad); and people are becoming increasingly bold and more vociferous, taking issue with the apparently incompetent and self-serving policies of the big, bad government.

20 years ago, when the Man had it all locked down, the government was inviolable. Today there exists a relationship between the government and the people we can only describe as "no up, no down". Today, we think nothing of hurling rotten tomatoes at our MPs and Ministers whenever they say something stupid or make some gross miscalculation in their decision-making. The roles of master and servant have almost reversed places in this new flattened hierarchy.

The guy being interviewed in the Al-Jazeera clip above thinks we are sheep, but clearly, we aren't. We may be the product of an education system that tried to make us meek assembly-line operators. We are the generation that was taught what to think, but even so, we aren't thinking along party lines. Instead, we are thinking we want more opposition voices in Parliament, more representation for our own needs and aspirations which are far from fulfilled, less BS from the incumbents and more engagement in talking about the things that we want rather than having what we need forced down our throats.

If today's generation is being taught to learn by rote, it's because that's how we learned when we were that age. Pupils, parents, pedants and Principals swear by that method, so no matter what Head Office tells us, at implementation level we do our own filtration and fall back on what has always worked best: standard answers which we all agree on, making them easy for the kids to memorize and for us to grade. This is the legacy effect of an education system that surpassed all prior expectations and is now struggling to cope with a new reality. Few want to let go of a system that worked such wonders before and venture into untested waters to explore beyond the familiar. Fortunately for us, I do see the few out there, flailing about, doing their best to trailblaze a four-lane highway for the rest of us to follow. But until that happens, the old methods will still be with us for a while yet. Hence, the inertia.

Elitism is only half the story

Interesting that retired PM Goh is reminding the privileged people to guard against elitism.

I'll open a can of worms by suggesting that in creating a social divide, it takes two hands to clap. While we would like the privileged to not act like jerks who have too much money to know what to do with, the rest of us not-so-privileged folks should likewise not let the income gap cause us to despair and pigeonhole ourselves into thinking we've stagnated, and blame the 'elites' for keeping us down.

Our economic system still offers opportunity for everyone who seeks it. For us starting at the bottom of the pile, if we set our sights high, there are ways to get there -- but not through the safe, secure office job we've been promised as a child for studying our brains out and passing exams.

We're only stagnated if we swallowed that promise hook, line and sinker. The way up is tough; fraught with failure and dead ends. At times, our progress is so slow that it may look like we'll never get there, but we keep moving forward with our dreams, our plans and our goals anyway. People will kindly 'advise' us with the best of intentions to be sensible and get back on the 'safe' path again, and many times, we'll be tempted to quit. And if we listen to them, that too is stagnation.

I'm not saying that we should gamble blindly, but rather to have a dream we can articulate and have a plan we can put in action. We learn from our failures, pick ourselves up and keep climbing. And even at the end if we don't 'make it' the way we had originally defined 'make it', we're still further along ahead of where we were when we started our journey, and much happier for it.

Or just be content with what we have and live within our means, even if we have to forego the luxuries we see other people enjoying. After all, on first impression, there's no way to tell if they are up to their necks in hock in order to luxuriate in their finery.

Elitism means to keep things from people. Envy seeks to take things away from people. Both forces at work in society cause irreparable rifts between people, making them think that the existing system does not work when in fact it does. It works on the principle of Generosity: to put things in people's hands. Give.

Dog play date

Tasha's going to meet a new friend over dinner so she's spending the morning at the groomer's to get her presentable.

This is Twinkle, a fellow maltipoo. Although they both belong to the same designer breed, their genetic variables make them look and behave very differently from each other.

This is the location of our date, III Cafe. It's on East coast Road, around the corner from Siglap. But to find the place you have to first enter George's Mad Grill, then keep right to slip in through a side door and up the stairs to this little pet dining haven.

The menu for humans offers simple dishes without too much variety. We ordered two sides of ham and bacon pizza to share among our party of four.

The baked salmon was the overwhelming favourite main course, beating out the wrap 3:1. The salmon came with a zesty fruit salad which was sweet and refreshing. The salmon itself was a bit dry and overcooked for my taste -- but then I prefer the sashimi style any day.

Dog dish: huge meatballs (your choice of meat). And this is Tasha wolfing down her share like there's no tomorrow.

Group photo time! And yes, Pebbles came for the ride too. But he stuck close to his corner of the sofa and socialized with the others... from a distance. other diners brought other kinds of pets than dogs too. A couple of kids, who got somewhat more attention from Tasha than they liked, brought a guinea pig in a small mammal carrier.

Ok, so food-wise, Sun-Ray Cafe offers a better quality menu at slightly higher prices, but this place is more spacious, offering the dogs more room to run, play and mingle. The atmosphere is bright, open and friendly, so be prepared to entertain strange dogs coming right up to sniff you at your table while your dog does the same to other tables.

Down in the dumps

So we made yet another world-class top-ten: #10 on Gallup's list of the most pessimistic countries in the world. We're right up there with Greece and a bunch of rather depressing Euro countries, Haiti and Taiwan, so we're really partying with the best of them.

The linked article also recalls another poll in which we bottomed out as the "least emotional people in the world". Has anyone really seen an unemotional Singaporean? What with the road rage, the railing at government inefficiencies, the whining and complaining that's become our national pastime (along with shopping and food bingeing), "unemotional" is quite an ironic description of the Singaporean mood-meter reading.

Which is why I suspect Singaporeans are fantastic liars when it comes to providing information for inconsequential surveys. It's ingrained somewhere in our psyches from our immigrant peasant roots that we never let on how happy we are, especially in front of strangers. To do so would be tempting fate to reverse our fortune with a disaster or three. A couple of generations ago, people named their children after farm animals so that passing mischief makers -- mortal or ethereal -- would mistake the subject of discussion for a common thing, instead of the bundle of joy it was and so not bother trying to make off with it out of malice or spite.

Interpreting the Singaporean response to Gallup's latest poll has to be read within our cultural context. The fact that we made it to the top-10 pessimist list actually means the opposite. We actually are a damned happy people, but you'll never hear about that from us.

A tumble

Dropped in to see Mom. She'd taken a tumble down some stairs over the weekend. She said it was because she was stumbling around in the dark. It's what happens when you've lived in the same place for so long, you don't think you need to switch on the lights any more to navigate your way around. But a moment of inattention later, an accident occurs.

Good to see her cheerful, alert and recuperating at home. And her sense of humour is still intact. Although there's a big bump on her head, there's no concussion. However, her arm is in a cast for a suspected hairline fracture in her wrist.

It's that time of life when we start worrying about our old folks.

Dog and ball

Tasha's finally getting some mileage out of her Mazee puzzle ball. It's a simple 3-D maze enclosed in a transparent sphere. You load in a few dog treats and watch her roll the thing around until a treat falls out. Repeat until depleted. Earlier, we made the mistake of putting in tiny treats that fell out way too easily. No challenge. The bone shaped biscuits had more staying power and kept her occupied for way longer.

Yup, a blur of motion she is, chasing her new toy across the floor. We won't have to worry about what she'll destroy next... for a while at least.

Creating intelligence

I've been reading Visions by Michio Kaku. Published in 1997, it envisions the future century based on the work and research that was taking place at that time. About 15 years later, today, already some predictions have come to pass surprisingly quickly, others still need a slightly longer time-frame.

But what I want to share is three paragraphs from Dr Kaku's chapter on Artificial Intelligence. What I see in them is a parallel between the approach one AI branch is taking to create smart machines and the approach we in education default to in trying to create smart kids.

"Although researchers of the two schools of artificial intelligence sit side by side in the same building, the lines between them are clearly drawn. On one side of the debate are the distinguished founders of artificial intelligence who have spent a lifetime programming mammoth computers to model human intelligence. Their inspiration for a thinking machine was a powerful digital computer -- the bigger, the better. Their strategy was dubbed the top-down approach; they believed they could program in the logic and reasoning ability necessary for a machine to think. They assumed that thinking machines -- like Minerva, the Roman goddess of wisdom, who sprang out from Jupiter's forehead fully grown -- would emerge fully developed from a computer.

Their recipe for building a thinking machine was simple: First pour the complex rules and programming into a digital computer in order to reproduce logic and intelligence, then sprinkle on a few subroutines for speech and vision, attach mechanical hands, legs and eyes... Voila! You would have an intelligent robot. Inside that robot's brain would be a complete representation of the outside world, a detailed manual that described the rules for living in the real world.

Their philosophy was based on the idea that intelligence can be simulated by a "Turing machine," which forms the basis of all digital computers. But the traditionalists soon slipped into a quagmire; they profoundly underestimated the enormity of writing down the complete road map of human intelligence. Their computer-based machines turned out to be pathetic, feeble creatures. The mobile robots built on their approach consumed vast amounts of computer power, yet they were surprisingly inept: agonizingly slow and timid, they frequently got lost. They were useless in the real world." (Kaku, 1997).

The other approach is, obviously, the bottom-up approach. This approach is the learn-by-doing, trial-and-error, develop-environmental-awareness-from-your-own-immediate-surroundings method. Dr Kaku is clear that neither is the "superior" approach and that for AI to be truly successful, top and bottom must meet somewhere in the middle.

Likewise for our kids. Based on their somewhat disappointing mid-year performance, they clearly demonstrate how their top-down learning method with heavy reliance on rote gives them a lot of information to reproduce in their essays, but very little ability to string a reasoned argument together that makes much sense. The kids may have a lot memorized, but ultimately it means nothing to them. They act like conduits, passing along information but none of it is real to them. Because they have no personal stake in the info, there is also neither structure nor framework in which they can manipulate the info to any purposeful use.

Below, I'm sharing a video clip that demonstrates how a bottom-up approach does seem to boost development in the kind of discourse required of the kids for GP:

Assuming the subtitles are legit (I'm a bit dubious of the jump-cuts), this 12-year old would ace GP already. At his fingertips are issues relating to politics, religion, socio-economic inequality, law and order, and human rights which he most eloquently discusses as he explains his purpose for not being in school today.

His intelligence stems from simply being aware of his immediate environment, exercising good sense and good judgement based on a value system that respects equality, freedom and eschews exploitation and the abuse of power. He reads the newspaper, listens to people, watches TV, reads from the Internet, and most importantly, uses his own brain. He lives GP, breathes GP, thinks GP.

A kid like this is likely to view with contempt any attempt by his teacher to give him a pre-digested 'reading package'. He might even burn it for being establishment propaganda. Our kids treat reading packages like the Gospel. 'nuff said.

Being Deadpool

Playing "Deadpool: The Game" is like stepping in the playpen of a deranged, homicidal, lunatic which, in fact, Deadpool (the Marvel Comics character) is. It's a bit disturbing because when you play a role in a video game, especially in the third person, the effect is that while you are manipulating the digital puppet you lose yourself in order to take on the character's persona; but in D:TG you get the distinct impression that the PUPPET is manipulating YOU.

This role reversal is created by the character of Deadpool, who is one of the most self-aware characters of any medium in which he exists. Constantly breaking the fourth wall, he speaks directly to the reader -- in this case, the player -- while the other characters chalk up his behaviour as just another manifestation of his unstable frame of mind.

And his constant chatter never stops! While the player primarily interacts with Deadpool's ego, his id and superego lend two additional personalities (with voices to match) all having a three way conversation while at the same time addressing the player and the supporting cast of characters including the baddies, the X-Men AND the game designer whom he berates from time to time about the quality (or lack thereof) of his game design.

There's our first premise right there: the player is playing a game commissioned by Deadpool, designed by an unwilling game designer with little budget ('cos his mentally unsound employer has no money to put into game development) while the point of the game is to complete an assassination contract so that Deadpool can be paid some money so that he can pay the game designer to come up with a better job of designing a game worthy of the Deadpool name. Wow, summarized in one sentence! Terrific!

Ok, that's the meta part of the game. The playable part is dead simple: help Deadpool kill lots of people -- sometimes in the goriest way possible; pick up buxom chicks (his people skills are zero, though, so this challenge is totally impossible); and if he's taken damage, stay alive long enough for his regenerative power to kick in. If he dies, he will scold the player for letting him down. Trust me, he will die. A lot. And then the player can continue the game from the last save point, and hopefully get better results, i.e., plot progression.

Speaking of plot, there actually isn't one. That's because Deadpool has the attention span of a ravenous housefly in a septic tank. When the other characters, like Cable, try to explain the mission, motivation and other relevant exposition, all Deadpool hears is "blah, blah, blah...", while he pleads with the player to press a button and make it stop. All Deadpool wants is to kill more bad guys and get the girl at the end. As the player, honestly, that's what we want too, isn't it? Plot is just trimming and unnecessary context, a roadblock in the way of our innate compulsion to paint the town red... with buckets of blood.

Here's a good time to present a parental advisory: D:TG is ridiculously violent. Deadpool is inhumanly proficient in both melee and gun fights. We may be used to enemies being gibbed in normal gameplay, but Deadpool's stealth attacks are horrifically vicious... yet so satisfying to pull off. It's also funny as while sneaking up on a poor, unsuspecting schlub, Deadpool will occasionally turn to look at the player with a finger to his lips, or use hand signals to indicate whether to advance or stop as he tracks the movements of his target for the optimal strike.

Gameplay is a mix of run-and-gun (while running, Deadpool can shoot backwards -- a very useful skill to master!); sneak and silent kill; and some very rudimentary puzzle solving. Equipped with upgradable personal and equipment bonuses paid for with collectible 'DP points' and some unbelievable cut-scene hilarity, both the player and Deadpool build themselves up to the climactic battle which is quite a test of endurance and skill patience. And just when you think it's all over, the final confrontation with the formidable Mr Sinister is frosting on the cake. A particularly nutty fruitcake, at that.

What I like about D:TG is that it is a comedic romp hosted by a nonsensical, sophomoric psycho who gets away with gaping plot holes; a tenuous grasp on reality; and shameless, self-aggrandizing narration. The game mechanics vary wildly, as random as the game's eponymous protagonist's state of mind, yet there is still some discernible method to the madness.

What I don't like is that there are too many buttons to mash, especially when I'm not playing with a console controller but a keyboard. Although I can map the keys to my preference, some key combinations are impossible to execute without temporarily losing control of the character. As the game progresses, more and more fighting combos are unlocked, but it still comes back to mashing the most accustomed set of buttons anyway. Dexterously uncoordinated, that's me.

Some people don't like the fact that completing the game doesn't take long, but I like short games 'cos I have a life.

D:TG is violently fun and relies a lot on cheap humour (including toilet humour and bad puns -- the first game objective is to "play with Deadpool's junk," hur, hur). Gameplay is not difficult (barring the number of buttons to keep track of) but does take time to figure out the right timing to balance kill efficiency with long-term survivability. However, after playing the game once through, there seems to be little incentive for replay. Maybe that's for the best. Summer vacation is over.

Resident artist

Every day I get a surprise piece of installation art from my resident artist, Tasha. Today, she has outdone herself by discovering and using new materials from the wardrobe which she has learned to open. Not that it's hard to learn -- it slides open at the gentlest push. In this masterpiece, she has also included tissue and whatever they call paper used for wrapping new clothes in, and also the hard copy of her blood test results for a macabre touch. AND a (thankfully) unused poo bag, all carefully shredded and distributed across the floor, presumably to protest against the use of mines in warfare.

Car park tag

Every time the beginning of the month rolls around, I play 'tag' with him whom I call the 'Chief Elf'. He's the guy who manages the car wash business in my residential parking lot. Yes, I get my car washed every weekday evening at a subscription rate of $40 per month.

Our mutual problem is collection. When I have money to pay Chief Elf, I can't find him. When my wallet is empty, he suddenly pops up from nowhere and I have to 'ahem' an excuse to delay payment... next time. For the record, my accounts are square with him to date, regardless of the monthly hits and misses.

Oh, so why don't I just pay his minion elves on his behalf? Because they're mostly invisible! But they're not figments of my imagination either. I have had occasional sightings of buckets and rags, and even more rarely accompanied by one or another elf in question. Nevertheless, every morning, M2 and his neighbouring cars are clean and relatively presentable.

How I get my car cleaned isn't the point of today's story. The point is that Chief Elf has found a way to solve the collection problem. He called my cell phone. Here's the thing: I. never. gave. him. my. number! How the HEdoublehockeysticks did he get my number? Who told on me? Was it Snowden? Hope Russia grants you asylum in Siberia if it was!

Weighed down

This is what Tasha was like when I came home from work. Lethargic, depressed, even. The cone puts a lot of stress and added weight on her neck, so she can't jump or otherwise be the naughty little thing she usually is. It turns out that the cone has been quite ineffective, anyway. Apparently, when her underparts were shaved during the op prep, she may have got a bit of razor burn and that's what's been bothering her. By this morning, she'd scratched that bit raw. With a patch of epidermis scraped off, it looked really horrid. We had to cover it, but her T-shirts were the midriff-baring types, so they were no good. What June ended up making her wear is a piece of cut-out tights, long enough to do the job. Brainwave, I think.

Now cone-free, she's so much happier and almost back to her normal self. She's already destroyed her brand new pig skin chew toy... in minutes.

Cone

Oops. Spoke too soon about Tasha not needing the cone. It's obviously not comfortable but it's for her own good.

It's not a well known fact, but my bicep makes a great dog pillow.

Fixed

One sleepy dog, slightly intoxicated with anaesthesia. Took the poor thing for sterilization today. At least she's not showing any inclination to lick of otherwise disturb her wound so we took the cone of shame off. It was hampering her distance estimation and made her bump into things a lot -- my heel, mostly. The timing, I believe, was exactly right. Yesterday she enthusiastically humped my forearm while I was watching TV. First time I've ever seen her do that, and probably the last time too.

And for once, a cat voluntarily climbed into the hammock of the huge cat tree that has until now been vacant of users. Hopefully, the others will follow his example else no one will ever miss the white elephant in the room.

Noisy dog

Took Tasha back to K9 Kafe with the intention of using the peace and quiet and relaxed atmosphere to enjoy lunch and get some assignment grading done. I ordered a spaghetti with chicken wings (odd combination). Tasha had a beef steak with diced baked potato. Evidently, she enjoyed her steak very much. She would not sit still. She had no concept of delayed gratification. She would not wait for me to put a cube of meat on a fork piece by piece. In between mouthfuls (hers and mine) she kept barking in that high pitched, irritating yap that sends shockwaves through the brain. That's her "I know my rights" bark. The one she reserves for unwelcome house guests is worse. Anyway, it wasn't the ambience or the food that put paid to my plans. It was the dog.

Fibred up!

After getting the fibre line installed in my house I never activated it. That's because at the same time, Starhub upgraded my service to 50 mbps and gave me a free cable modem to supply the bandwidth. That was just shy of two years ago. Now Starhub's offering me a fibre upgrade and I've accepted. In a simple procedure, the 'hub rep hooked up the fibre gateway and wireless router for me. I'm downloading YouTube videos at 100 mbps in HD, with no buffering time. This is not to say that they're good videos or anything; it's just a speed benchmark I can appreciate. For all this combined with my existing cable TV subscription, the monthly bill comes down a couple of bucks. Nice.

Devil cat

Pebbles, the devil cat, has come to stay again while May is in LA. This reaction is in response to Tasha who has grown a bit, she is no longer afraid of him but is instead challenging and taunting him -- from the safety of behind my legs.

There are no "critics"

There is a phrase that keeps cropping up in this current batch of GP essays I'm grading. "Detractors/Critics of my view..." It irks me because the logical premise does not hold. If the intention of the essayist is to provide a "balanced" proposition, which party could possibly be a detractor or critic of that proposition? Logically, an UN-balanced idiot, moron, psycho, extremist, terrorist or otherwise someone with whom you should avoid eye contact, let alone engage in a reasoned debate.

The confusion I find myself in when grading such essays is that there is little to no signposting as to where the so-called critic's spiel begins and ends, and where the essayist's rejoinder or refutation begins. I find myself correcting poor arguments, only to realize that they were meant to be poor because they were allegedly the "critic's" arguments. Why work for the other guy, creating his argument for him before taking it all down again? Why put yourself on the defensive and struggle to regain ground you've lost... to yourself?

Don't speak on behalf of others you don't agree with. Most of the time, you'll misrepresent them or worse, create a bad straw-man argument because it won't be in your interest to make their case too strong. But that's going to upset me because I don't want to read bad arguments. Bad argument, bad grade. I'm sorry.

A good essay advances an argument. It sets up clear checkpoints and meticulously covers ground to meet them in sequence, step-by-step. There are no critics, no "opposition". I don't care what other people are saying; I want to hear what YOU are saying. What YOUR assessment of the situation is. What YOUR intention is in making me read through all this information you are presenting to me. That's it.

You kids want 'A' grades, so write like 'A' graders. Don't hide behind a barrage of information, most of which is smokescreen, anyway. You'll survive, probably, but 'A's are medals for those who dare to stand out. So, actually be informed. Take a real stand. Find your voice. Say what you really want to say. That's where the insight is.

Thanks for trying, better luck next time

Tasha is so very proud of her Certificate of Participation in her novice class in basic obedience training. Notice it's for "participation", not for actually passing the course. We expected this outcome, of course. The naughty girl sat when she was supposed to "stand", stood when she was supposed to "down", remained stationary when she was supposed to "come".

It's ok. She's welcome to recourse through another 10-week ordeal for free, or until she passes. At least she showed up to take the exam.