Crazy people don't know they're crazy. And I'm perfectly fine.

This blog was created out of complete boredom and psychosis. According to the School Sargeant Major (SSM) of the Officer Cadet School of the Singapore Armed Forces, 'psychosis' is characterized by 'a sudden rush of shit to the brain'. My Assistant-Wing Sargeant Major, however, calls it 'shitalitis'. Both describe the same thing.

Sunday, December 28, 2008

What do you buy the man who has everything?

You know those fuckers you envy? Or perhaps it's just your dad, or a friend. "What do I get him/her for a birthday gift. He/She has everything!" Do they really have everything?

Stuck here in my apartment, I was bored and watched The Family Man. Nicolas Cage: mid 30's, president of an M&A firm, drives a 575 Maranello, owns 200 Zegna suits in the same fucking color. I want to be THAT guy. That single fucker who can buy whatever he wants. I mean, with a job that I like of course.

Do we NEED everything? My friends always ask me why I don't aspire to be "the guy who has everything." THAT fucker who's got the fast car, wife, family, kids, the whole shebang. Why should I be? I might need a combination of the above, but I don't want it.

If I have it all, what the fuck are my friends going to get me for my birthday??

Friday, December 12, 2008

Art has no function unto itself.

Art is every day life, just glorified.

Tuesday, December 02, 2008

Fuck life. In a different way.

Life and How to Survive It

I must say thank you to the faculty and staff of the Wee Kim Wee School of Communication and Information for inviting me to give your convocation address. It's a wonderful honour and a privilege for me to speak here for ten minutes without fear of contradiction, defamation or retaliation. I say this as a Singaporean and more so as a husband.

My wife is a wonderful person and perfect in every way except one. She is the editor of a magazine. She corrects people for a living. She has honed her expert skills over a quarter of a century, mostly by practising at home during conversations between her and me.

On the other hand, I am a litigator. Essentially, I spend my day telling people how wrong they are. I make my living being disagreeable.

Nevertheless, there is perfect harmony in our matrimonial home. That is because when an editor and a litigator have an argument, the one who
triumphs is always the wife.

And so I want to start by giving one piece of advice to the men: when you've already won her heart, you don't need to win every argument.

Marriage is considered one milestone of life. Some of you may already be married. Some of you may never be married. Some of you will be married. Some of you will enjoy the experience so much, you will be married many,
many times. Good for you.

The next big milestone in your life is today: your graduation. The end of education. You're done learning.

You've probably been told the big lie that "Learning is a lifelong process" and that therefore you will continue studying and taking masters'
degrees and doctorates and professorships and so on. You know the sort of people who tell you that? Teachers. Don't you think there is some measure of conflict of interest? They are in the business of learning, after all. Where would they be without you? They need you to be repeat customers.

The good news is that they're wrong.

The bad news is that you don't need further education because your entire life is over. It is gone. That may come as a shock to some of you. You're in your teens or early twenties. People may tell you that you will live to be 70, 80, 90 years old. That is your life expectancy.

I love that term: life expectancy. We all understand the term to mean the average life span of a group of people. But I'm here to talk about a bigger idea, which is what you expect from your life. You may be very happy to know that Singapore is currently ranked as the country with the third highest life expectancy. We are behind Andorra and Japan, and tied with San Marino. It seems quite clear why people in those countries, and ours, live so long. We share one thing in common: our football teams are all hopeless. There's very little danger of any of our citizens having their pulses raised by watching us play in the World Cup. Spectators are more likely to be lulled into a gentle and restful nap.

Singaporeans have a life expectancy of 81.8 years. Singapore men live to an average of 79.21 years, while Singapore women live more than five years longer, probably to take into account the additional time they need to spend in the bathroom.

So here you are, in your twenties, thinking that you'll have another 40 years to go. Four decades in which to live long and prosper.

Bad news. Read the papers. There are people dropping dead when they're 50, 40, 30 years old. Or quite possibly just after finishing their
convocation. They would be very disappointed that they didn't meet their life expectancy.

I'm here to tell you this. Forget about your life expectancy.

After all, it's calculated based on an average. And you never, ever want to expect being average.

Revisit those expectations. You might be looking forward to working, falling in love, marrying, raising a family. You are told that, as
graduates, you should expect to find a job paying so much, where your hours are so much, where your responsibilities are so much.

That is what is expected of you. And if you live up to it, it will be an awful waste.

If you expect that, you will be limiting yourself. You will be living your life according to boundaries set by average people. I have nothing against
average people. But no one should aspire to be them. And you don't need years of education by the best minds in Singapore to prepare you to be average.

What you should prepare for is mess. Life's a mess. You are not entitled to expect anything from it. Life is not fair. Everything does not balance
out in the end. Life happens, and you have no control over it. Good and bad things happen to you day by day, hour by hour, moment by moment. Your degree is a poor armour against fate.

Don't expect anything. Erase all life expectancies. Just live. Your life is over as of today. At this point in time, you have grown as tall as you
will ever be, you are physically the fittest you will ever be in your entire life and you are probably looking the best that you will ever look.
This is as good as it gets. It is all downhill from here. Or up. No one knows.

What does this mean for you? It is good that your life is over.

Since your life is over, you are free. Let me tell you the many wonderful things that you can do when you are free.

The most important is this: do not work.

Work is anything that you are compelled to do. By its very nature, it is undesirable.

Work kills. The Japanese have a term "Karoshi", which means death from overwork. That's the most dramatic form of how work can kill. But it can also kill you in more subtle ways. If you work, then day by day, bit by bit, your soul is chipped away, disintegrating until there's nothing left.
A rock has been ground into sand and dust.

There's a common misconception that work is necessary. You will meet people working at miserable jobs. They tell you they are "making a
living". No, they're not. They're dying, frittering away their fast-extinguishing lives doing things which are, at best, meaningless and,
at worst, harmful.

People will tell you that work ennobles you, that work lends you a certain dignity. Work makes you free. The slogan "Arbeit macht frei" was placed at the entrances to a number of Nazi concentration camps. Utter nonsense.

Do not waste the vast majority of your life doing something you hate so that you can spend the small remainder sliver of your life in modest
comfort. You may never reach that end anyway.

Resist the temptation to get a job. Instead, play. Find something you enjoy doing. Do it. Over and over again. You will become good at it for
two reasons: you like it, and you do it often. Soon, that will have value in itself.

I like arguing, and I love language. So, I became a litigator. I enjoy it and I would do it for free. If I didn't do that, I would've been in some
other type of work that still involved writing fiction - probably a sports journalist.

So what should you do? You will find your own niche. I don't imagine you will need to look very hard. By this time in your life, you will have a
very good idea of what you will want to do. In fact, I'll go further and say the ideal situation would be that you will not be able to stop
yourself pursuing your passions. By this time you should know what your obsessions are. If you enjoy showing off your knowledge and feeling
superior, you might become a teacher.

Find that pursuit that will energise you, consume you, become an obsession. Each day, you must rise with a restless enthusiasm. If you
don't, you are working.

Most of you will end up in activities which involve communication. To those of you I have a second message: be wary of the truth. I'm not asking you to speak it, or write it, for there are times when it is dangerous or impossible to do those things. The truth has a great capacity to offend and injure, and you will find that the closer you are to someone, the more care you must take to disguise or even conceal the truth. Often, there is great virtue in being evasive, or equivocating. There is also great skill. Any child can blurt out the truth, without thought to the consequences. It takes great maturity to appreciate the value of silence.

In order to be wary of the truth, you must first know it. That requires great frankness to yourself. Never fool the person in the mirror.

I have told you that your life is over, that you should not work, and that you should avoid telling the truth. I now say this to you: be hated. It's not as easy as it sounds. Do you know anyone who hates you? Yet every great figure who has contributed to the human race has been hated, not just by one person, but often by a great many. That hatred is so strong it has caused those great figures to be shunned, abused, murdered and in one famous instance, nailed to a cross.

One does not have to be evil to be hated. In fact, it's often the case that one is hated precisely because one is trying to do right by one's own
convictions. It is far too easy to be liked, one merely has to be accommodating and hold no strong convictions. Then one will gravitate
towards the centre and settle into the average. That cannot be your role. There are a great many bad people in the world, and if you are not
offending them, you must be bad yourself. Popularity is a sure sign that you are doing something wrong.

The other side of the coin is this: fall in love.

I didn't say "be loved". That requires too much compromise. If one changes one's looks, personality and values, one can be loved by anyone.

Rather, I exhort you to love another human being. It may seem odd for me to tell you this. You may expect it to happen naturally, without
deliberation. That is false. Modern society is anti-love. We've taken a microscope to everyone to bring out their flaws and shortcomings. It far
easier to find a reason not to love someone, than otherwise. Rejection requires only one reason. Love requires complete acceptance. It is hard
work - the only kind of work that I find palatable.

Loving someone has great benefits. There is admiration, learning, attraction and something which, for the want of a better word, we call
happiness. In loving someone, we become inspired to better ourselves in every way. We learn the truth worthlessness of material things. We
celebrate being human. Loving is good for the soul.

Loving someone is therefore very important, and it is also important to choose the right person. Despite popular culture, love doesn't happen by
chance, at first sight, across a crowded dance floor. It grows slowly, sinking roots first before branching and blossoming. It is not a silly
weed, but a mighty tree that weathers every storm.

You will find, that when you have someone to love, that the face is less important than the brain, and the body is less important than the heart.

You will also find that it is no great tragedy if your love is not reciprocated. You are not doing it to be loved back. Its value is to
inspire you.

Finally, you will find that there is no half-measure when it comes to loving someone. You either don't, or you do with every cell in your body,
completely and utterly, without reservation or apology. It consumes you, and you are reborn, all the better for it.

Don't work. Avoid telling the truth. Be hated. Love someone.

You're going to have a busy life. Thank goodness there's no life expectancy.

- Courtesy of my friend Chai

Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Quiittt bitttchhiiiiinnnnn'

Right-o. So apparently I gotta quit bitchin' and just get my life on the go. For those of you whom I've bitched to.... eh... yea. If you think it's too much, it's all good. Thanks. But if you wana tell me otherwise, I don't give a fuck. And since I think life is so boring, here are a few things I might wanna do before I'm 30:

- Skydive
- Go to Trance Energy/Sensation White
- Smoke a fat blunt in Amsterdam
- Go to Ibiza for a summer of unadulterated partying
- Head to Nepal/Bhutan to smoke hash and take pictures
- Buy a BMW M3 with cash
- Supercar tour package in Germany? mmm?
- Maybe quit smoking.

As some of you might know, suicide has crossed my mind before. Especially while under the influence of a lot of alcohol. I think what really scares me is the prospect of spending eternity in damnation once you pull the trigger (or however else you choose to do yourself the favor.) It's weird, because I don't give a shit about going to heaven. Then why should I be afraid of hell? Weird huh. But at least that's keeping me alive.

Ah well. So I guess this is it. Time to put the balls to the walls and live out these years with the contempt for life as my fuel. Not gonna look back cos I won't give a fuck about what I miss. Amen.

Sunday, July 06, 2008

Retrograde motion in progress




Yea.... it's been a while. It HAS been a while. Let's see where we've been in the past few months, starting from the last blog post. According to Google Calendars, I was raped with fucking midterms until Tax Day, after which two projects were due. In the meantime however, I was probably too drunk to come blog.

I know I've bitched numerous times (understatement) about how I resent binge drinking. But I have to admit that the 8 or so weeks left in the semester were filled with exactly that. Thursday, Friday, Saturday nights. Maybe squeeze in a pint or two during the week to unwind. All in all I probably spent about $80 a week drinking? That doesn't sound like very much, but in a town where a drink is only $2, that sorta is. I guess I found some good friends who, despite having fun with when I was pretty much drunk as shit, I could have a good time with when I wasn't either. So is it the company you keep? And does alcohol help you make friends you keep for life through "nights you won't remember but memories that last forever"? (Some shit like that. It didn't make any fucking sense to me so I didn't bother noting it down well.)

I guess it was good just to do it all over again. An ex-boss of mine said this shit comes in phases. You go out like a maniac, become a hermit, then go out like a maniac, and when it's all said and done and some girl has managed to keep you at home... then uh.... I guess you're stuck home. Thank god I'm not there yet. Perhaps never.

So... back in Sillypore for the summer. It's nice to be back. Al fresco dining/drinking. No crowds and rowdy bullshit, if you know where to go. But then shit gets a little mundane. I mean, I guess it's cos it's quite expensive to party here. You're easily dropping 100 a night, and when you've got a next-to-nothing income, that's shite. Oh well, city living. Gotta love it.

This post sounds fucking boring cos I am in fact, bored outta my fucking mind. Kinda been thinkin about where the hell I'm going to live when I graduate next year. I mean, there's no way in hell I'm moving back. Within the first few days back, I found so many things to complain about. And it was mostly about the culture and the way people are here. I just, can't take it anymore? I guess you sorta grow fond of the way how Americans are friendly on the street. (Though you do get the occasional arse.) Here it's all about getting ahead. Not giving way on the roads, subway, or the fucking elevator. I tried not to drive for two to three weeks, until my dad coerced me to use the car. Within 5 days my blood pressure had gone up, and I was on a honking spree. "THESE MOTHERFUCKERSSSSSSSSS!!!!!" I don't know man. Where would be a good place to go? Let's just hope I can get a job in the good ol USA, so I can get that Aston DB9. (For the same price, you couldn't even buy a fucking BMW Coupe here.)

So for now, I'm just waiting till summer's over so I can go back and get on with the liver damage.

Monday, March 17, 2008

Quiet little place



Handsome Boy Modeling School feat. Cat Power - I've Been Thinking




Being back at school blows. Talked to a friend today. Haven't seen her in a month or so. And apparently this place gets her down too. Strange isn't it? Quaint little town. Full of rowdy drunk motherfuckers.

So besides the fact that Penn State is filled to the brim with frat boys and sorority girls, it fucking sucks that there's no place you can really hide away to besides your own room. I think that's what it is. (It's St.Patrick's day today, for the record. And it's crowded EVERYWHERE. On a fucking Monday. Another lame excuse for college kids to get drunk.)

Looking for your private space can be nice. And once you've found it, it's even better. Adriel was out at Hacienda for a night of indulgence. Mmm... Hacienda. The good ol spot for $5 Hoegaarden at Happy Hour, on a grey mesh chair under a big tree lit by fairy lights. Piped acid jazz in the background spun by this .... pretty cool bald DJ with a bajillion tattoos. The cool night air and a sip of sweet Belgian beer. Always a good time for a night out with the guys. (And then off somewhere else for cheap late night food.)

I guess you can't really go ANYWHERE in this town. Cos there's nowhere to go. And if you do go somewhere, you can't drive cos the fucking cops are out there waiting to get you. Every where you go, you see the same people. Fuck. And no matter where you go, it's always crowded.

Where is that quiet little place?

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Something to share.



Thanks Marc.

Second Skin

I'm trying really hard to remember who I was talking to... but she asked me if I feel like I have to watch what I say around people in school, girls especially. (It's prob Rachael but... I can't say for sure.) And it took me a while to answer. Initially I had said "no, not really." Not really = sometimes I do. Here's an example of something I might NOT say at school:

*at Bloomingdale's on Xmas Eve*

Me: That gift card's cute.
V: Did you just call that card cute?
Cashier Lady smiles.
Me (to Lady): Why, is that a word that guys don't use?
Cashier Lady: No, not too much.

CUTE. Why the fuck can't guys use the word cute? If a dog's cute, it's cute. If a girl's cute, she's cute. If a baby's cute, it's cute. So why can't inanimate objects be cute? How the fuck else would you say it?? "That is very pleasant looking." EVEN GUYS DON'T SAY THAT. That would come across as ODD/WEIRD/GAY. And then you'd say: "Guys just don't say anything." Well guess what assholes, just too fucking bad. I like to comment and vocalize my appreciation for an item's 'cute-ness'. If you can't deal with it, fuck you!

Right. Back to the point. I feel that at Penn State, you somehow have to make sure your diction is "manly". For a college-aged male, you can't talk about shoes, fashion, furniture, etc. Very... aesthetic things. You can't call clothes beautiful. You can't say you love to wear pastel, that you like to accessorize, and make sure shit matches. That makes you GAY. (Fuck, since when was making sure you look nice a crime.) You just gotta.... put shit together and DO it.

(For those of you who know, you know for a fact that I'm probably one of the farthest from man-love. I have nothing against gays, but I just love women too much.)
But I think it is the lack of a freedom of verbal diarrhea that adds to my feeling of being trapped in a box at State College. You have to be so calculative at certain times when you talk to people, because they are ever so quick to judge. Saying the wrong thing could totally kill your game, but saying the fake right things... how long's that gonna last?


Oh, and apparently women love it when you notice details, but you shouldn't be TOO observant. Agreed. That would be fucking creepy. But would it be a crime to say her accessories match her eyes?