Drivel

Thursday, February 24, 2005

Why Guys Don't Dance Latin Ballroom

I recently did a report for a friend who wanted to know why most guys lack an interest in dance (for her Latin Dance Club). It's not exactly the best piece I've done (since I only spent a couple of hours on it and my writing skills have deteriorated greatly since entering NS), but I'm in the mood for a dance post, and I don't really want to lament my terrible dancing abilities.

Introduction

I will examine the reasons for a lack of interest in dance among males, and will attempt to provide possible solutions.

Male Psyche

While there are many different reasons for why most males are unwilling to dance, three reasons are most prevalent. They are fear of failure, fear of being perceived as effeminate and apathy.

Fear of Failure

Some are unwilling to dance because they think they are uncoordinated. Most guys are insecure and do not want to risk embarrassing themselves, especially in front of girls. This can be further explained by most guys lacking the rhythm and coordination of girls, and hence progressing at a slower rate.

In addition, some have been led to believe they are lousy at dancing because of a terrible mass dance experience. This is normally caused by them being forced to practise a certain routine in an inadequate period of time.

Fear of Being Perceived as Effeminate

Others are worried that if they take up Latin Ballroom, they would be associated with being effeminate or gay. This is the same logic which explains why so few guys knit or cry in public.

Apathy

Another segment of the male population has neither objection nor interest in dance, and thus sees no need to try it. However, this also means that it is possible to incentivise them to attempt dance.

Reasons Guys Dance

The three main reasons why males start dancing, in descending order of importance, are to impress girls, to appear hip and pure interest in dance.

To Impress Females

Many guys start dancing because their girlfriends force them to, because they are trying to woo a girl who dances or because they want to improve their desirability via the ability to dance. I personally believe that for Latin Ballroom, this is the strongest pulling factor, and should be acted upon.

Popular Culture

Others do so because they want to be perceived as being cool, a factor that can be used to explain the popularity of Hip-Hop (as well as Break dancing) and Salsa, in spite of them being dances as well. However, this may not apply to Latin Ballroom since it’s relatively unknown in Singapore.

Love for Dancing

There exists a small population who start dancing because they think it will be fun. However, this constitutes a small percentage of males (relative to their female counterparts).

Do note that guys who persist in dancing usually do so because they have grown to love the sport, but this normally occurs after they have started dancing. The impetus to start normally comes from the above two reasons.

Suggestions

I am of the opinion that a movement to improve the male dancing population should consist of a targeted marketing campaign as well as a focus on creating a social environment which sustains their interest afterwards.

Targeted Marketing Campaign

Both genders are more likely to take up dancing if they are accompanied by their friends, but it is significantly harder to gather a group of males who are willing to dance (clubbing seems to be the exception). This could be facilitated by offering special rates to groups of guys, i.e. 50% of the original price per person if a group of four or more guys join together.

This will not hurt your bottom-line as, firstly, your club is paying your instructor by hours taught rather than by number of students, and, secondly, the number of guys attending each class is rather low.

Another similar strategy would be to offer preferential rates to girls who bring a partner (friend/boyfriend). This has the additional benefit of providing both with a partner, with whom they can practise as well as dance socially. Such a campaign would vary according to the dance and crowd you wish to draw: for example, if you had wanted to start a Rumba class and wanted to draw couples, your advertising campaign to girls could emphasis its being romantic nature and it being a love dance, while a campaign targeted at males could focus on its sensuality and it being an activity that would please their significant other.

Sustainable Dance Environment

A long-term strategy in getting guys to join would be the creation of a dance community, or a sizable population of people who can dance, as well as ample opportunities to utilise this skill. Unlike other dances like Salsa, Latin Ballroom lacks social dancing settings, meaning that students do not have a chance to use what they learnt outside their class. The absence of this community would inevitably mean difficulty in recruiting new students and heightened student attrition rate. I believe that this can be partially stemmed by having regular practice and social sessions.

This would also enable weaker students to learn from the better dancers, reducing the number of students who leave due to inability to catch up. The nature of dance classes means that missing or not understanding a lesson would greatly affect a routine, and this may drive away otherwise enthused students.

Ultimately, I believe that your club should focus on repeat sales, as students who have signed up for a class have shown that they are at least open to dancing. Thus, if possible, the club should find out why students drop-out, and act to minimise it.

Monday, February 21, 2005

Dinner Party


Zee Pursuit Posted by Hello

[Transcript of what was said]
Jean Paul Kok Heng: Mademoiselle, you are zee mozt peeerfect lady I have seen.
Pei Zhen Hepburn: ...
Jean Paul Kok Heng: I have zeen countless betiful Pariz women, but mon cher, none have captured my heart like you. Like zee lion hunts zee gazelle, my heart seeks you.
Pei Zhen Hepburn: ...
Jean Paul Kok Heng: Voulez vous couche avec moi?
Pei Zhen Hepburn: Get away from me, you lecher.
Jean Paul Kok Heng: Moi, lecherous? Your words hurt me, mon cher, like a dagger through my heart. Je ne suis pas lecherous! I'm French!

Disclaimer: The above conversation was pure fiction. And do excuse my interjection of ungrammatical french.


Mafia PosterPosted by Hello

Darryl, me, Kok Heng, Ken and Pei Zhen trying to pose for a Godfather movie poster.

Monday, February 14, 2005

Let Me Love You

Mmmm ..... Mmmmm.... Yeah....Mmmmm....Yeah, Yeah, Yeah
Mmmm...Yeah....Mmmm..... Yeah, Yeah

[Verse 1:]

Baby I just don't get it
Do you enjoy being hurt?
I know you smelled the perfume, the make-up on his shirt
You don't believe his stories
You know that they're all lies
Bad as you are, you stick around and I just don't know why

If I was ya man (baby you)
Never worry bout (what I do)
I'd be coming home (back to you)
Every night, doin' you right
You're the type of woman (deserves good thangs)
Fistful of diamonds (hand full of rings)
Baby you're a star (I just want to show you, you are)

[Chorus:]

You should let me love you
Let me be the one to give you everything you want and need
Baby good love and protection
Make me your selection
Show you the way love's supposed to be
Baby you should let me love you, love you, love you

[Verse 2:]

Listen
Your true beauty's description looks so good that it hurts
You're a dime plus ninety-nine and it's a shame
Don't even know what you're worth
Everywhere you go they stop and stare
Cause you're bad and it shows
From your head to your toes, Out of control, baby you know

If I was ya man (baby you)
Never worry bout (what I do)
I'd be coming home (back to you)
Every night doin' you right
You're the type of woman (deserves good thangs)
Fistful of diamonds (hand full of rings)
Baby you're a star (I just want to show you, you are)

[Chorus:]

You should let me love you
Let me be the one to give you everything you want and need
Ooh Baby good love and protection
Make me your selection
Show you the way love's supposed to be
Baby you should let me....

[Bridge:]

You deserve better girl (you know you deserve better)
We should be together girl (baby)
With me and you it's whatever girl, hey!
So can we make this thing ours?

[Chorus:]

You should let me love you
Let me be the one to give you everything you want and need
Baby good love and protection
Make me your selection
Show you the way love's supposed to be
Baby you should let me love you, love you, love you

[Mario (talking):]

Let me love you that's all you need baby

Valentine's Day Introspection

How is it that I’ve taken up cooking and dancing, two activities I never thought I would?

How is it that I’ve become acutely intolerant of mediocrity, especially towards my own self?

How is it that I no longer think of marriage as the tombstone of life’s pleasure, but instead as the wellspring of joy?

How is it that someone whom I barely met could have such a profound effect on me?

How is it that I was willing to wait had she asked me to?

How is it that my new ideal for a life partner resembles her so much?

How is it that I’m unable to will myself to forget, even in the face of overwhelming logic?

Saturday, February 12, 2005

Why Would Anyone Want To Have Children?

I cannot understand why anyone would want to have children.

People talk about the joy of watching your child grow up. Well, let me debunk that misconception.

Infant (0-1.5 year old)

Now, in my opinion, this is the only tolerable development stage. Infants are so cute! Limpid pools, cute hand actions, nascent sounds. Sigh. Why can’t they remain at this stage forever, and not grow up to become nasty brats?

Toddler (1.5-4 year old)

Toddlers everywhere have this word, or sound, which they use in practically every imaginable situation: WAHHHHH. If their diapers are wet, WAHHHHH; if they are hungry, WAHHHHH; if they are bored and have nothing better to do, WAHHHHH.

Oh, I do concede that adults have their own ubiquitous word, but while it offends the ear, it doesn’t deafen. Fuck!

Pre-pubescent (4-12 year old)

Ah, the quintessential brat. Picture this: you and your spouse are out at some fancy restaurant. Her face is illuminated by the faint candle-light, she leans forward and you whisper sweet mutterings into her ear while stroking her hair, but suddenly…

Brat: PAPA, I DON’T WANT TO EAT BROCCOLI!
Me: Hush hush. Broccoli is good for you.
Brat: I DON’T CARE! I DON’T WANT BROCCOLI! I WANT SPINACH!
Wife: But dear, you said you wanted broccoli just now. And didn’t you say you hated spinach?
Brat: I DON’T CARE! I DON’T WANT BROCCOLI! I WANT SPINACH!

Well, a nice romantic dinner with your significant other has just turned into a meal from hell. Suddenly the spotlight is on you: those without children are now silently cursing your guts and giving you dagger glares; those who have children are now offering commiserative “been there, done that” looks.

To silence the brat, you have no choice but to order spinach, in the faint hope that it will placate him. However,

Brat: I DON’T WANT TO EAT SPINACH!
Me: What! Didn’t you clamour for spinach just now?
Brat: I DON’T CARE! I DON’T WANT SPINACH! I WANT BROCCOLI!
Wife: Now dear, don’t be unreasonable. You said you wanted spinach just …
Brat (cuts his mother off): I DON’T CARE! I DON’T WANT SPINACH! I WANT BROCCOLI!
Me: Now you apologise to your mother this instant. You can’t…
Brat (cuts me off): BROCCOLI, BROCCOLI, BROCCOLI …

All primary school teachers ought to be awarded medals of valour.

Adolescent (12-18 year old)

Adolescence marks an important development, the evolution from bratty to condescending. However, just like uncooked and cooked lemon juice both taste sour, this transition is moot, for they are still as irritating as ever, just in another form.

Child: Hey Pop, do you know how to play Warcraft 6?
Me: Pop?
Child: Get with it. Pop means dad in our lingo. You know, the speak of us fashionable people.
Me: Right. Anyway, I don’t know how to play it.
Child: Oh pop, get with it. How can anyone not know how to play WC6?

Young Adult (18-25 year old)

This stage has its ups and downs. The bad side is that your children become a lot more independent and start attributing any dissonance in thought to you being old-fashioned.

The below conversation on premarital-sex was an actual one I had with my mom when I was 18:

Mum: If you really love a girl, you ought to wait until you marry her.
Me: Ah, that’s just old-fashioned.
Mum: What if you get her pregnant?
Me: Just use condoms.
Me: Besides, there’s a difference between pre-marital sex and promiscuity. I won’t have sex with someone unless I think I’ll marry her. If I do get her pregnant, then I’ll marry her. The mentality that one must be a virgin till one’s wedding day is anachronistic.

However, the good part of this stage is that one has more time to spend with one’s spouse: cooking, dancing, etc---all the stuff that couples do together before their lives were robbed by the births of their children.

Full Adult (25 or older)

Just when you thought that you had your life back, you realised that it was merely a reprieve.

Son: Dad mum, I have great news.
Couple: What would that be? By the way, you really should join us in the Bahamas if you have the time. We are having the time of our life.
Son: xxx (his wife) is pregnant!
Wife (squeals): That’s great news honey!
Son: Um Dad mum, we (him and his wife) are a little busy with our work, so we were wondering if you could come back and help us look after our child.
Couple: Well…
Son: Please? I’m sure he won’t be hard to look after. In fact, I bet he will be as easy to look after as I was.
Me (sardonically): I’m quite sure he will be.

Now why, why in the world would anyone want to sire little monsters that grow up to become large monsters? Why in the world would I want little Daniels and Danielles* running around, depriving me and my wife of the companionship that we swore to each other on the altar? And if they are anything like me, they would probably ask irritating questions like “Daddy, why did you have children? Don’t you realise that we are all diabolical leeches?”

*Danielle is the standard female version of Daniel; don’t be a wise guy (this goes out particularly to my colleague, Daniel Lim =P)

Thus, if the topic of children comes up between my wife and me, I shall muster all the distaste that I can possibly summon, and say, bluntly and firmly, “Sure dear.”

Most women are maternal, and while I don’t believe in being a door-mat, I also believe that forcing this issue means certain divorce. I guess I will just have to become sufficiently inured to the notion of children. Who know, I may even grow to like it.

Thursday, February 10, 2005

Masculine Post

In order to stem accusations that my posts are gay, I have decided to try posting in a more male-like manner.

Huge Disclaimer: Some may find this post offensive. If you are not comfortable with the topic of sex, please skip this particular entry. I emphasise that I do not normally write in such a lewd way, and I mean no disrespect to females. I'm just trying (and failing I think) to be sarcastic.

Method 1: Prefix every few words with fuck or fucking

I went to the fucking gym yesterday, and I saw a couple* fucking. Fuck, they were arguing over who should use the fucking machines. Why don’t they do it somewhere else, like a fucking room where they can have some fucking privacy? A gym isn’t meant for such fucking activities.

*Heterosexual couple

Original text:

I went to the gym yesterday, and I saw a couple. They were arguing over who should use the machines. Why don’t they do it somewhere else, like a room where they can have some privacy? A gym isn’t meant for such activities.

Method 2: Insert phallic references and sexual innuendos

The following extract was taken from a conversation between Mr Sausage and his girlfriend, Virginia. Mr Sausage was trying to bring Virginia to catch the fireworks atop a mount-ain, but had unfortunately lost his way.

Virginia: I can’t believe you’ve lost your way!
Mr Sausage (sheepishly): It is really dark. I mean there are so many roads and streets, but only one tunnel leads to the mount-ain.
Virginia: Sheesh!
Mr Sausage: I don’t understand why you won’t let me use the other tunnel.
Virginia: Don’t be so anal! Besides, with your shitty driving skills, you wouldn’t be able to find it too.
Mr Sausage: …
Virginia: No no, don’t turn left, go straight.
Virginia: No no, a little more left.
Virginia: Down down.
Virginia: You seriously suck at this. I could drive with a single finger and find the tunnel in less than a minute.
Mr Sausage: Well, that’s hardly fair since you have more experience. You drive through this tunnel practically everyday.
Virginia: Don’t blame me. I wouldn’t have to do so if you could drive me. Besides, haven’t you taken your past girlfriends to see the fireworks before?
Mr Sausage: …
Virginia: You must have at least found the tunnel right?
Mr Sausage: ...
Virginia: God, no wonder you spend all your time waxing your car. Every morning and night right?
Mr Sausage: …

[After five minutes of directions]

Virginia: You’ve finally found it.
Mr Sausage (with a sigh of relief): I have haven’t I?
Virginia: Oh man, your engine is sputtering! And we are not even at the foot of the mount-ain.

[Virginia gets out of the car]


Mr Sausage: Where are you going?
Virginia: I’m going to see the fireworks with Mr Rabbit**.

**This DOES not refer to the actual animal.

Monday, February 07, 2005

Only Thyme Will Tell

While peeling potatoes last Sunday, a thought griped me, much like a crab pinching my finger. In fact, for a moment, I thought a crab was pinching me, except that the nearest thing I had to a crab were crabsticks, and the last time I checked, they couldn’t move.

But don’t let crab distract us; I was wondering why I am so enthused about cooking? What could drive me to master a skill I previously viewed as unnecessary and esoteric?

As always, the prime suspect is a woman’s charm. After all, there have been countless cases of males taking crash courses in cooking so as to impress their special other during special dates like Valentine’s Day or an anniversary. However, unless I particularly wish to wine-and-dine my alter-ego, I doubt that would apply to me. And please spare me the rancid notion that I’m doing this to butter up girls. That is so fowl an insinuation that its asserter ought to be roasted in hell, preferably with lemon juice on top.

Perhaps so I can cook when I go overseas? But if so, why am I concentrating on impractical aspects like garnishing and appearance, as well as desserts and exotic dishes which take forever to make. In fact, Ken chive-d me the other day, saying I always choose recipes more suitable for dinner-parties rather than for daily-consumption.

Real-love for cooking? Or maybe to batter myself? Nah!

Pretty fishy if you ask me, but I shall stop carping for it’s distasteful. The reason for this sudden passion then? I don't know, only thyme will tell.

Hard Decisions

I have decided to do something that I always knew needed to be done but never had the will to enforce. This particular decision will entail no overt displays, but sometimes the greatest changes are internal. Ironically, the date for this: 14th Feb.

Sunday, February 06, 2005

Oh How Hard We Work

“You have such a slack job!”

The above accusation was uttered by a female friend, and I think it’s highly unfair. To show the extent of the injustice done, I have decided to adumbrate a typical working day.

0800-1000: NSF rapport-building session (Read: NSF bitching about their bosses)
1000-1130: Do work while concurrently complaining about regulars via MSN
1130-1300: Lunch, which is also normally spent grumbling about our superiors
1300-1430: Work, on top of discussing why our higher-ups are so screwed up.
1430-1730: Another rapport-building session

As you can see, we are very committed to our work. Not to mention that it takes a lot of effort and mental capacity to think of pithy and intellectual statements (to be used during our rapport-building sessions) like “NS sucks” or “regulars are losers”.

In fact, at this very moment this entry is being crafted, a friend from another section is playing “Championship Manager 4”, no doubt to keep his mind sharp so he can better meet the needs of the SAF. Gosh, the extent of our diligence and dedication surprises even me.

Complacency

I find it so amusing that I get all smug about stuff I barely know or understand.

Take for example dance. It took only one compliment from someone I was dancing with to get me all swell-headed; it also only took one advanced class after that to send me crashing back to reality.

Or cooking. One particular cooking party which did not turn into a debacle lulled me into believing that cooking was easy, and that it was a matter of time before I became a great chef. Well, a failed mushroom sautéed with butter after that quickly dispelled my gastronomical illusions of grandeur.

What differentiates the aforementioned from plain complacency is that I’m usually my harshest critic. Isn’t this situation so ironic (god, I love the word ironic; it has become my new catch-phrase)?

Saturday, February 05, 2005

Cooking Photos

I've been in this huge cooking frenzy lately, and I decided it was fitting that the first proper meal I cooked (trial cooking parties are not considered) was for my family.

At this point I would like to mention that while I had all the intentions of being the filial son, my family was extremely unwilling to give me this opportunity to mess up the kitchen. My sister in particular had to be assured that there were instant noodles and Campbell soup in the kitchen before she reluctantly agreed.


Posted by Hello

Ah, a personal steak favourite of mine (although I've only tasted it twice): Pan-fried Steak with Shallot-Gorgonzola Butter. I do realise that a red rose is not often used as a garnish but I'm the chef and what I say goes. Muhahaha! Oh, and I bought that rose for my mum, not for anyone else (just averting any questions since V-Day is approaching).


Red Meat, Red Rose, Red WinePosted by Hello

Another shot, this time with the red wine in view. Hmm, the plate seems a bit bare. I would blanch some broccoli to add a nice red-green contrast, but that means we have to eat broccoli. UGH!!


Chocolate Coconut Fondue Posted by Hello

For dessert, I whipped up a chocolate fondue. I swear, they don't call chocolate liquid gold for nothing.


Dimmed Lights, Blazing Fire, Missing PotPosted by Hello


Posted by Hello

Strawberries dipped in chocolate, topped with icing sugar, and served in candle-light. How much more decadent (or romantic) can we get?

Before I end this post, I would like to thank Colin for all his cooking tips and advice. It has really helped me improve, and I appreciate it greatly. Thanks so much.

Thursday, February 03, 2005

Bitching Tutor Wanted

This goes out to all girls: I’m in need of a tutor who can teach me how to bitch. Preference will be given to applicants who specialise in the following subjects: NS, dumb blonds and George Bush. In addition, it is best if you are not easily offended, for my last tutor got a little pissed when I started bitching about her during our lesson. What a bitch!

My current standard (while watching The Simple Life):

Me: I can’t believe Paris Hilton is so dumb!
Friend: Blah blah blah
Me: Yeah, she’s worse than dumb. She’s um.. ummmm.. ummmmmm.. very dumb.
Friend: Yakety Yak Yak
Me: Yeah, pathetically dumb!

If you are interested, please contact me at guywhocannotbitchfornuts@hotmail.com. Please attach an audio recording of one of your bitching session, and I will get back to you if you are hired. If not, don’t worry; as a consolation, I’ll bitch about you. Thank you for reading this post, and please don’t bitch about me.

Wednesday, February 02, 2005

Dumb Suggestions

Oh god, this is unbelievable---my boss just approved three of my suggestions to improve the office and I’ll be getting $10 for each of them. I don't believe this: I’m getting paid for submitting incredibly dumb suggestions.

One suggestion, in particular, really takes the cake: “Install a stove in the pantry so NSFs can reheat food.”

Reason 1 (why it's so ludicrous): Redundancy

We already have a microwave, which, the last time I checked, was used to reheat food. Perhaps I ought to have stated in my suggestion that the stove ought to be placed next to the microwave so NSFs can choose which machine to use to warm up their food. Sheesh!!

Reason 2: Safety

18 year old guys and a stove.


Posted by Hello

That’s as potent a combination as a speedster and a gasoline truck, or Bush and the US presidency. Not to mention I’m in the office, and anyone who has cooked with me knows just how dangerous it is to let me go near a heat source.

However, I’m got better things to do than to ridicule. This money needs spending.

Dance Songs

Ten of my favourite dance songs (in no order of preference; note that some of them require remixing)

1) Sway by Pussycat dolls (Cha Cha)
2) Let’s get loud by Jennifer Lopez (Cha Cha)
3) Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps by Doris Day (Rumba)
4) No Mes Ames by Jennifer Lopez and Marc Anthony (Rumba)
5) Take My Breath Away by Jessica Simpson (Rumba)
6) Three Times a Lady by Lionel Richie (Slow Waltz)
7) Moon River by Frank Sinatra (Slow Waltz)
8) You Light Up My Life by Leann Rimes (Slow Waltz)
9) Blue Danube by Johann Strauss (Viennese Waltz)
10) Waltz to the Moon from FFVIII (Viennese Waltz)

Sway

Sway by Pussycat Dolls
When marimba rhythms start to play
Dance with me, make me sway
Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore
Hold me close, sway me more

Like a flower bending in the breeze
Bend with me, sway with ease
When we dance you have a way with me
Stay with me, sway with me

Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak

I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now

Sway me, take me
Thrill me, hold me
Bend me, ease me
You have a way with me

Sway (sway)

Other dancers may be on the floor
Dear, but my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak
I go weak

I can hear the sounds of violins
Long before it begins
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now
Make me thrill as only you know how
Sway me smooth, sway me now
Sway me
Sway me
Sway me now

For those who aren’t familiar with this song, it’s a Cha Cha from the movie “Shall we dance.” And what an apt song for dancing---the tempo is just right, the lyrics are apt and the song is energetic.

Unfortunately, I overestimated my dancing capabilities and stumbled pretty badly when I tried to practise to this song (2,3, fall & fall anyone). I need more lessons, and a partner!

Tuesday, February 01, 2005

Cooking Disasters

I just realised that my cooking experience, short as it may be, has been fraught with comical situations.

Disaster 1: Chocolate Truffles

The instructions were simple enough: add two tablespoons of alcohol to melted chocolate. Fool-proof? Perhaps, but not Daniel-proof. In my moment of sheer stupidity, I positioned my measuring spoon right above the chocolate (in a bowl) and started pouring. The first tablespoon was fine, like the tranquil scene that precedes the scary parts in horror-flicks. But, halfway through the second tablespoon, the bottle slipped.


Posted by Hello

Well, I wanted to make alcoholic chocolate truffles, but I wound up with chocolaty-alcohol.

Disaster 2: Chicken Français

FIRST ACT

SCENE

The kitchen in my apartment. Three aspiring cooks are watching over a pot of chicken being simmered.

Kok Heng: How many more minutes before the chicken is done?
Me: It has been in there for fifteen minutes already, so give it another five minutes.
Ken: Umm, what’s that? (pointing to a bowl of minced shallots)
Kok Heng: Oh no, that ought to have been in there ages ago. (points at pot while reading the recipe)
All three: Oh shit!

[A flurry of activities proceed as the intrepid heroes try to save the day by throwing the shallots into the pot, while avoiding the steam that erupts once the lid is removed]

SECOND ACT

SCENE

The kitchen, where the indefatigable trio are preparing the sauce.

Me: Lets see, fresh lemon juice. (pours juice into a saucepan filled with chicken broth and starts mixing)
Ken: Umm, the recipe calls for two teaspoons of lemon sauce.
Me: Yeah, why? (continues mixing)
Kok Heng: Oh no, you used two tablespoons*.
All three: Oh shit!

*One tablespoon is three times that of a teaspoon

THIRD ACT

SCENE

The dining room where the aspiring cooks are about to sample their creation.

Ken: Hmm, this wine is pretty low grade. Too bland for words. Never tasted worse wine. (swirls a glass of wine)
Kok Heng: Well, bon appetite.

[All three begin eating]

Kok Heng: Well at least the chicken’s cooked, but it’s a little bland. If there were some condiments, it would be perfect.
Ken: Ah I know. Could we have some chili sauce please? (beckons to my maid)
Me: Chili sauce?! Who needs chili sauce when we have home-cooked French sauce. (Beckons maid to ignore Ken’s request and instead serve the French sauce)

[All three ladle sauce over their chicken]

Me: I can’t taste anything but lemon. Ewww, and what are these lumps?
Ken: Shallots, but they ought to be softer. And come to think of it, we forgot to strain the sauce too.
All three: Oh shit.
Kok Heng: I think the chicken without any condiments is perfect.
Ken: I think the wine is the best part of the meal, and on second thought, the wine is pretty good.
Me: I think we need some chili sauce. (beckons to maid)

Benedict Arnold

As I sit here, contemplating on what I should write, it strikes me that my knowledge of the arts is extremely limited, non-existent even. However, two years in the JC Science stream have equipped me with the necessary defensive mechanisms.

The four steps to deal with such thoughts (in chronological order):

1) Deny

“I’m well-versed in the arts. I’m well-versed in the arts. I’m well-versed in the arts…(Rinse, repeat and recycle)”

2) Belittle

“So what if my knowledge of the arts is limited? What good is it? Physics will allow me to become an engineer, and my life will become meaningful.”

3) Disparage

“Those arts students are too diaphanous for words. They need to be less abstract and be more practical like science students.”

4) Blame

“It’s not my fault---my teachers did not expose me to the arts. Blame them, not me!”

Fortunately, I am not a loyal science student. So excuse me while I do a Benedict Arnold, and jump ship. Tata~!

Waiting

If you had asked me to wait a year, I would have gladly waited a year…

If you had asked me to wait two years, I would have gladly waited two years…

If you had asked me to wait four years, I would have gladly waited four years…

…but why didn’t you ask me to wait?

Exaggeration

I’ve been mortally insulted. Someone had the audacity to comment that I exaggerate. Me, hyperbolise? Oh perish that utterly groundless and anal notion. My kingdom for a lynch mob!

Perhaps Perhaps Perhaps

I once had an interesting conversation with a rather cynical female friend, who had the view that guys always have ulterior motives or are insincere when giving compliments. For example,

“Oh, are those Pearls? I love Pearls”
“I love Pearl Necklaces…”

“Oh of course you are prettier than the girl over there”
“Wonder if she would like a Ménage à trois?”

“You are looking very pretty tonight”
“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir ?”

I have always wondered why the actions and words of a male must be scrutinised through the looking-glass of skepticism? Can’t he have innocuous reasons for his comments---perhaps he wants the girl to feel appreciated; perhaps he simply wants her to feel good?

Perhaps not everything males do is linked to their libido? Perhaps we live life for reasons other than sex? Perhaps perhaps perhaps…