Drivel

Tuesday, March 29, 2005

Understatement

Over the past month, I have received feedback from one sister, two cousins, three office-mates and four friends about my blog. According to them, I’m melodramatic and theatrical, and am highly likely to distort the truth.

I would like to point out that if that were always the truth, I would either be writing that they felt I was perpetually factual and unbiased, or I would be complaining that they threatened to put a contract on me unless I desisted.

But I digress.

To the perpetrators of this cruel act of libel, let it be known that in order to pander to your weird tastes, I shall greatly understate everything in this post.

There may be an iota of truth in the aforementioned criticism about my writing.
I have a slight weakness for pink and white on girls.
I’m mildly excited by the idea of a Victorian ballroom, tailcoats, white gowns, Handkuss (Hand Kiss) and other trappings of a traditional Viennese Ball.
I am not overjoyed with having to spend two years of my time in NS.
I admit to occasionally thinking that perhaps army regulars aren’t geniuses.
I’m smitten with her.

Eternal Optimist

You are an eternal optimist.

Why thank you.

You don’t seem to be bothered.

Why should I be bothered by praise?

I didn’t mean it as a compliment.

Of course you did; you just haven’t realised it yet.

Continual Improvement

It’s interesting to note the prevalence of companies that subscribe to the ideals of Continual Improvement. It seems like when American companies adopted the Japanese concept of Quality Control, they also copied the Japanese improvement model.

Continual Improvement is undoubtedly a powerful concept (look at Toyota’s success), and as such, I have decided to adopt it as my personal guiding principle, in the hope that it will bring me the same kind of success that companies employing it enjoy.

While there exist no formal set of rules dictating what exactly constitutes Continual Improvement (after all, it simply is an attitude, and the exact implementation varies from company to company), there are informal guidelines that one can follow.

1) Constantly striving for better results

This basically takes the idea of non-complacency one step further. In essence, one must never rest on one’s laurels and instead constantly seek improvement. To this end, I shall write post-mortems (for some activities involving skills I wish to improve like cooking, dancing, etc) detailing mistakes committed and steps that I will take to correct them. I shall also be selective with regards to what skills to improve, for attempting to apply Continual Improvement to everything will mean that one has no time for anything.

2) Open to criticism and new ideas

Only when one is open to change and to people pointing out his flaws can he improve; if one persists in sticking to his old method of doing things, he will simply repeat his mistakes, and stagnate, mired in the cesspool of mediocrity. One should also seek opinions from others, as alternative perspectives are always useful. This applies particularly to me, as I find that my creative faculties functions best when discussing ideas with others, as compared to attempting to brainstorm alone with a piece of paper.

Saturday, March 26, 2005

Supportive Sister

My sister is incredibly supportive of my dancing habit. Why, just minutes ago, when I was practising Cuba Motion (rotation of hips in a figure eight shape), she remarked, “Must you do that? That looks so gay.”

“Well, it’s Latin. Are you trying to tell me that all Latinos who dance are gay?”

“Well, Marc Anthony looks so much better. You just look gay.”

And people actually wonder why the term justifiable homicide exists.

Friday, March 25, 2005

Cooking Session

Colin, Tuck Chen and Terence (my office-friends) came over for dinner yesterday, and I must say it was a most enjoyable occasion.

For one, the conversational topics were rather intellectual, which was to be expected from members of an Intelligence Branch where MILF stands for "Moro Islamic Liberation Front" and not "Mum I Love to Fuck."

Philosophy? Meta-physics? Theory of Relativity?

Nope, for we discussed issues which required far greater mental facilities and insights.

1) Why is it that guys who are not from RJ think that RJ girls are incredibly hot/cute/gorgeous/ravishing but RJ guys think they are just average?
2) Is it better to have a girlfriend from Science or from Arts/Humanities?
3) Our bosses (READ: bitching)

All in all, it was pretty good fun, and I think Tuck (Agent T), Terence (Agent P) and I learnt quite a lot from Master Chef Colin, who remarked that the steak dish he was teaching us (Steak with Bernaise sauce) was a good dish to prepare if one wanted to impress someone special.

I’ve this weird feeling that I was the intended recipient of that not-so-subtle quip.

Wednesday, March 23, 2005

Eve of a Cooking Session

Dear Diary,

This may be the last ever entry, for I may not survive tomorrow. I finally understand the sentiments of the soldiers on the eve of D-Day, the sense of impending doom, the feeling that one may never see the light of day again.

Tomorrow I shall embark on the most risky mission I have ever attempted. Should I by the gracious grace of God survive, I have no doubt that I’ll be in the running for a Purple Heart.

Tomorrow, my office friends and I will step through the gates of hell and hope to exit the very same doorway, unscathed.

Tomorrow we cook.

I have made contingency plans: the kitchen is well-stocked with instant noodles; the nearest hospital is on speed dial; the fire extinguisher is on hand. But still, I cannot help but tremble at the dangers involved.

God be with us.

Daniel

Monday, March 21, 2005

Gastronomical Delight

Had Nabisco launched a marketing campaign promoting Oreos dunked in milk, the human population would have been wiped out due to obesity.

Infatuation

I had an interesting conversation with Sheng Quan yesterday, during which he commented,

“You seem to like girls that you admire.”

I think that explains why I was so obsessed over her. Back then, I placed her on a pedestal, and imagined her to be everything I wanted. To me she could do no wrong--- she was the personification of perfection, the embodiment of excellence.

I idolised her to the extent of hero worship; I was infatuated.

And now?

I still like her, but I no longer think she’s flawless. Perhaps someday I will have the opportunity to get to know her better, to like her for who she is and not who I imagine her to be.

The Queen by Pablo Neruda

I have appointed you Queen.
There are those more slender than you, more slender.
There are those purer than you, purer.
There are those fairer than you, fairer.

But you are the Queen.

When you go through the streets
no one recognizes you.
No one sees your crystal crown, no one looks
at the carpet of red gold
that you tread as you pass,
the nonexistent carpet

And when you appear
all the river sound
in my body, bells
shake the sky,
and a hymn fills the world.

Only you and I,
only you and I, my love,
listen to it.

I think it summarises my feelings rather accurately.

Dentists

In my opinion, a visit to the dentist is one of the most traumatic experiences one can have. After all, one is strapped to a chair, and at the mercy of an evil masked man who has at his disposal razor-sharp tools, and long metallic pipes which look disturbingly like tentacles in a low-budget Hentai show (and just to clarify, I don't watch such shows; as to how I know such stuff; well, any male who tells you he has never, at any point in his life, seen Hentai or Pornography is lying; and yes, males actually grow up and out of it).

I just came back from such a visit, and it was more distressing than normal, for the wise dentist discouraged me from extracting my wisdom teeth. His advice, wise as it may be, means that I need to find another way to get myself extracted from BMT. Sigh, what a root shock, for the idea that the aforementioned operation would be my bridge to freedom has already been implanted in my mind. Unless my other plans work, I shall have to brace myself for 7 weeks of hell.

Saturday, March 19, 2005

Dance Obsession

For the umpteenth time since I started dancing, I've been labelled as effeminate. Perhaps it’s the outfits, perhaps it’s the hand actions or perhaps it’s just the notion of prancing around, but whatever the cause, it has certainly garnered me unwanted attention (READ: heckling).

Excluding Intuition Centre, dance has been the main focus of my life. A large chunk of my monthly salary goes towards paying for lessons, a significant proportion of my time is spent practising, and sometimes I wonder why.

Lately I’ve been trying to rationalise making my life revolve around dance: I tell others that I simply don’t want to be mediocre in anything I do, and that I think dancing is fun. In retrospect, I think I’m trying to convince myself more than anyone else.

I don’t deny that dancing is fun or that I hate mediocrity. But I don’t think I loathe my current dancing abilities so much or am so hung up on dance to justify my present dance obsession.

I think it’s because of her.

I hate to admit it, for I think it’s so stupid, but somehow self-delusion can only go so far. I guess I would prefer to model myself after Richard Gere’s character in Shall We Dance, who starts learning dance to get to know Jennifer Lopez, but eventually grows to love it. That seems more dignified than plain-old learning dance to impress a female friend, which relegates me to the league of secondary-school teenage boys. Ugh!

In fact, in this particular instance, I’m probably more foolish than them, since there’s a higher chance of Hell freezing over than us getting together. On hindsight, I think the actual reason for my dance obsession has evolved from wanting to impress her to just wanting to have a single perfect dance with her. As much as this sounds incredulous, I simply want to share a dance with her that I can remember her by, a few minutes in a dream world, far away from the harshness of reality.

Friday, March 11, 2005

Habit Becomes Second Nature

“Habit becomes second nature,” my mother used to warn when I was young and innocent.

And yesterday, I realised the veridicality of that mantra. I was talking to a friend over the phone, and was being all Daniel-like (READ: being sardonic, or at least trying to be). Now this wouldn’t normally be a problem, except my friend was a girl!

There’s a time and place for everything, and yesterday night was definitely not it. Plus I sincerely believe that girls ought to be treated with the utmost respect and civility. Do note that I’m not being sexist here--- I’m totally for equal rights and pay; not to mention I’ve got some female friends whom I’m so in awe of that it borders on hero worship. However, I don’t think that’s an excuse to forsake chivalry and gallantry.

Sigh, the consequences of being in an office whose inhabitants’ pastimes are bantering and messing with people’s minds. Don’t get me wrong, I think it's amazing fun, just that I can’t seem to turn it off.

I can just imagine what Ming De would say if I told him about it:

Ming De: So what happened to Mr “All-girls-should-be-treated-like- goddesses?”

No prizes for guessing whether he’s from my office.

Wednesday, March 09, 2005

Five Words of Death

A quote from the British sitcom Coupling:

Steve, you know what the sentence of death is, don’t you? I don’t mean the sentence like in executions and stuff, I mean the scary one... Just five words, Steve. Five little words. ‘Where. Is. This. Relationship. Going.’

There exists another set of five little words that can strike all-consuming terror into the hearts of battle-hardened warriors, a phrase so potent it can reduce lionhearted men of steel to quivering lumps of jelly.

We males do not speak of it! It is an ancient incantation that we males fear above all others. Even now, we refer to it as the-words-which-must-not-be-spoken. I shall not type it out directly for fear of causing heart attacks to any male readers, but for those who must know, it starts with "Do you think" and ends with " I’m fat?"

Men of every race, culture and nation are faced with the prospects of being tormented by this terrifying phrase, for, in spite of us living in an age of unparalleled technological advances, we are unable to formulate an effective counter to the-words-which-must-not- be-spoken.

We have tried hard, but nothing works.

Be truthful? Well, that’s easy if the truth will do (i.e. she’s slender). But what if that’s not the case? If I really wanted to meet my maker, I would choose a less painful method, like death by the Iron Maiden or by Hanging, Drawing and Quartering.

Lying? Don’t bother--- women are incredibly at reading facial expressions and detecting lies. As a female friend of mine put it, “Lying to men is like taking candy from a baby. The other way? Well, try taking meat away from a lioness.”

Diversions? A couple of my friends attempt to divert attention from the-words-which-must-not-be-spoken by making completely unrelated comments like “Wow, your hair looks really good today” or “I think Mango has a sale.” Ambiguous answers? “Well, being slim is subjective and relative... Well that might work in the caveman era...

Alas, when Prometheus gave mortals fire, why didn’t he also teach males how to respond correctly to the-words-which-must-not- be-spoken?

Disclaimer:
I would like to clarify (to my female friends) that if I said you weren't fat, then I honestly thought you weren't fat. I make it a point not to lie to girls (although that's mainly because I'm a terrible lier rather than due to principles) .

Monday, March 07, 2005

Fear of Fencers

I’ve developed a newfound fear of a female friend after she told me she fenced and had been trained by the national coach. In fact, I’m leaving her identity secret for fear that she may “epee” me when she returns to Singapore.

For those who mock at my timidity, I’ve included a photo of her favoured duelling weapon, the Epee. Make no mistake--- it’s deadly!


Posted by Hello

Henceforth, I’m going to be very careful with my words around her. Shoot your mouth around a fencer and it may be the last thing you do: I certainly don’t want the situation below to occur:

Me: xxx
Fencer: Are you trying to imply that I’m fat*?
Me: No no no, that was not what I meant!
Fencer: En Gande! (whips Epee out from handbag**)
Me: Umm, there’s no need to get testy. We are all adults. (steps back furtively)
Fencer: You are within my killing zone***. There is no escape.

*Just for the record, this particular friend of mine is quite svelte, but for some inexplicable reason, she seems to think the contrary.
**It may seem physically impossible to store an Epee in a handbag, but handbags seem to be bottomless storage devices which contain everything from purses to pepper-sprays.
***According to another fencer friend, every fencer has his own killing zone which is determined by his/her weapon and athletic ability. Once someone enters that region, he is vulnerable to the fencer’s attack.


Posted by Hello

Me: Ugh, that was a fatal blow. Could you help me tell Tim that I forgive him, my mom that I love her, and…
Fencer: Sheesh, my Epee is designed to be non-lethal. You can’t die from it!
Me: Oh, like Kenshin and his reverse blade sword.
Fencer: Yup.
Me: Oh, then tell Tim that I won’t forgive him until the day I die!

Wednesday, March 02, 2005

Belief

I may be inadequate now, but one day I’ll be good enough…

I’ll not sure how long it will take, but one day I’ll be good enough…

Believe me, one day I’ll be good enough…