Ah, what the heck...

My top 8 myspace friends
TOP 8 MYSPACE FRiENDS
1.:	Stephie
2.:	Bahriah
3.:	Emma
4.:	Fizah
5.:	Kera
6.:	Astrid
7.:	Ling
8.:	Anieshia
The Questions
How did you meet 6?:	The legendary MatrixMania.com
Why are you friends with 3?:	Our incurable love of Milo.
Is 7 in a relationship?:	To her ever-increasing annoyance, No.
Have you kissed 1?:	Nah. She'd probably migrate if I tried.
Have you hugged 4?:	Nope.
Have you done anything sexual with 6?:	No. (Damn you, Alex...)
Would 1 and 8 make a good couple?:	I'm sure they'll have a lovely time playing chess together.
How long have you know 2?:	My whole flippin' life.
Would you ever kiss 7?:	Probably not, I've already traumatized her TWICE.
Whats a good memory with 5?:	I'm not sure, that kick to my head from her gave me mild amnesia.
Ever hugged 8?:	Yes, sir, and lucky I did, or my head would have exploded.
Do you love 4?:	Like my own sister. Wait, that's not a good example...
Is 5 nice?:	HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA....oh, you were serious?
How did you meet 3?:	Once again, the great MatrixMania.com
Who makes you laugh?:	Why, everyone, in their own special way
Who makes you smile?:	See above.
When was the last time you saw 4?:	Hari Raya, hari yang mulia, bla bla bla
Would 3 and 6 make a cute couple?:	Would they ever! -drools-
Does 8 love you?:	I asked. She gave me a dirty look.
Do you see 3 a lot?:	In person? Not once.
Describe 4 in 3 words?:	Mrs Thom Yorke
What would you buy 1 for their birthday?:	An "I Heart Stephie" T-Shirt
Have you traveled anywhere with 5?:	I suppose a 10 minute bus ride counts.
Do you have fun with 7?:	Almost always a blast chatting on MSN with her.
Is 2 a cool person?:	In her own specially grumpy way, yeah.
Who is the loudest?:	I'd say Bahriah (probably) and Anieshia (most definitely)
Do any of them get on your nerves sometimes?:	Strangely enough, not one.
Do you know when 6's birthday is?:	Uh oh...
What do you really think of 3?:	She's a sexy sheila, she is.
Best memory with 4?:	Hmmm, nothing's jumping out. Hey, Fizah, let's go make some new memories, eh?
Does 1 even know you?:	Well, yeah!
Is 5 happy?:	Give her Daniel Ong gift-wrapped and naked and she will be.
Does 7 live close?:	If by close, you mean I can see her house from my window, then no.
Do you have any classes with 2?:	No. Probably for the best, we'd probably strangle each other if we're working on a project.
Have you and 3 ever hooked up?:	Bit hard to do that when she's 1000 kilometers away.
Are you and 8 close?:	5 years of friendship and counting!
Do you wanna kiss 4?:	If I wanted a fat lip, yeah.
Is 6 a good person?:	One of the best, mates!
Does 2 own a car?:	I'm not sure if she even wants one.
How did you choose your Top 8?:	First come, first served
Take this survey | Find more surveys Bzoink - The Original Survey Site

My mama always told me: "Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get."

I remembered that little saying as I opened a box of chocolates a firefighter got for his birthday from his girlfriend, took a bite out of one piece of chocolate and saw a cute little half-eaten worm squirming around in the chocolate. Another one of life's small ironies for you.

So this is what having money problems feel like. No thanks, I'll pass.

What do you mean there's no return policy?!

Would someone please give me a boost to my ego? Thank you.

So what excited me the most about Hari Raya two days ago? The 50 dollars I got from my dear sweet aunts and uncles, and the release of Firefox 2 (Pssst! Get it!). Yup, that's about it.

Damn, I must be more jaded than I thought.

The crescent was up, shrouded with haze.

Appropriate, no?

The carpets are laid, the floor is swept, the rooms are painted, the sister's hair is rebonded, the clothes are bought, the bak chang (or whatever) is cooked, the kueh is laid on the table. The die is cast.

The folks will make me wear that purple baju kurung, that uncomfortable samping and a happy look on my face. I'm going to ask for their forgiveness, and they'll give it.

There'll be the usual family gathering for my Dad's side, I hear at Fizah's house? Maybe the aunts and uncles will forget Singapore Idol. Or my Dad won't tell them about my radio boo-boo. There'll be merry-making. There'll be gossiping. The twins' cheeks will be pinched till they get nice and rosy. And I'll go give Nenek a hug. When no one's watching.

Same old, same old. That can't be a bad thing, can it?

Selamat Hari Raya, everyone.

My last 2 Fridays

Chicken cream pasta.

Makeup shopping with the gal pals.

Cam-whoring.

My very first game of pool.

Starbucks Caffe Mocha.

My best day at work.

A friend out of the DJ competition.

Potato chips @ Long John Silver's.

A country club.

Bowling (and my first strike!).

More pool (and my first outright win!).

A happy reunion with an old poly mate.

And all throughout, lots of shoe-gazing and cash-spending.

Food, oh so Glorious Food. It nourishes us. Gives us life. Gives us strength. Gives us babats.

The babats. The babats! I love saying the word, but I don't want to actually lug 'em around in my ever expanding waistline.

Damn you, Singapore, with your cheap and delicious hawker fare!

And while I'm at it, just how many Starbucks are there in Orchard Road? I love their overpriced coffee and bagels just like any other faux hipster, but this is getting ridicul...ooh, iced Frappacinos with chocolate sprinkles!

I like a little camp now and then, but...

...the thought of possibly hearing David Hasselhoff on 987 from next week onwards chills me to the bones.

I am currently taking a well-deserved dose of my own medicine. And it is indescribably bad.

I love it when Dear Ole' Dad cooks. You can always expect the unexpected. For example, he once tried mixing fettucini with custard sauce and durians. It looked good, it tasted...not good. But most of the time, I wonder how often did he spend time with his mummy (Nenek, chef extraodinaire!) in the kitchen.

I didn't tell him this (didn't need another smug look from him), but the Char Kway Teow he made for buka? THE BEST! Damn, talk about your "orgasmic" pleasures.

Two more days to pay day and a trip to Vivo!

In other news, my favourite search engine just bought my favourite video site.



Forgive them their shit-eating grins. They did just get US$1.6 Billion dollars, ya know.

Something tells me Messeurs Page, Brin and Schmidt will soon be casting hungry glances at Wikipedia. Just a thought.

Misanthropy - now there's an idea.

Curse those irresponsible idiotic Indonesian tree burners! Don't they realise all their smoke is doing a number on unsuspecting lungs, sinuses and throats? More specifically, MINE?

If you want some good reading for a lovely Saturday night, go read Dan Brown. Otherwise, read on:

Hi, this is Betsy Stockwell, and here's the latest from Casa Wahid.

Ili Izyani, sister to The Fiz and reason for his grey hairs, has finished painting part of her room red. She was aided by her father (efforts to find him a good nickname continues).

Said Ili, "Alah, papa keep taking away the paintbrush from meee! Cannot even finish myself! Might as well go watch TV right? Haiiii! Where the remote, ah? Oh, on top of the TV. ABANG!!! Can take the remote for me? Hehehehe! Sorry ah! :D"

Reactions to the new colour scheme of red and yellow are decidedly mixed. Some praised it as adding some spice to an otherwise tired looking room. Others lambasted it, saying it looks like a "typical Malay room". Fans of Watford Football Club are among the most ardent supporters of the new colour scheme. Reports of Elton John posters adorning Ili's room have been quashed by Ili herself.

Meanwhile, the matriach of the house recently received an e-mail from her friend asking her to sign up for a Multiply blog. Since the friend in question currently lives in Dubai, and figuring that this is a good way to keep in touch with her friend, she duly signed up, making her possibly the oldest person to ever join Multiply. Her son was reported to be extremely chagrined about this new development.

And finally, to The Fiz himself. After months of an ever increasing rise in his phone bill, his father (Mr. Boyan? Naah, corny) has decided enough is enough. Starting from the next month, Fiz will be paying his own bills, a development that family watchers agree was an inevitability. The Fiz was said to be not too worried about this. With the meal allowances SCDF is giving him that will boost his small salary, and his rumoured plans to buy a cordless phone for his room, perhaps he shouldn't have to be.

And that was the news from Casa Wahid. We now return you to your regular business.

*******************

Well, well, well.

Trust Alfian Sa'at to put some of my thoughts into words. Don't I wish they weren't true.

"Ho ho! I'm Duh Fiz! I'm so stooopid! This blog sucks, eh? What am I trying to kid, I'm no Mr Brown. Why bother to try? Oh, and your "buddies"! How do you know they're not laughing at you behind your back, huh? At least those guys you keep cursing in camp, they're brutally honest about you! They're ignoring you, leaving you, not caring a bloody fook about you! You know why? Because you're a weirdo, Fizzy boy, you're a luuuuuser! Why even bother trying to go on, huh? Tell me, tell me, queer boy!"
















Seriously, if I'm going to beat myself up, I should just go all out and get it over with, right?

-sigh-

Alright. Enough. No more self-loathing. The last thing I need is a Tyler Durden.

Honestly, I sincerely doubt if either Hady or Jon, good as they are, will top this:



But, best of luck to the both of them. At least I know this won't be an easy choice this time around unlike last season.

Having said that, I just realised I'm wearing a blue shirt. :D

Left Fiz: So, what can I expect in NS?
Right Fiz: I'd tell you, but why ruin the horr...I mean, surprise?

**********

This goes out to everyone fasting: Stomachs, let's get ready to RUMBLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!

Mmhmm, I was planning a little story, one of those which will entertain people while hinting at my current cause of gloom. But, eh, I'm not in the mood.

So, straight up: Two times I've been placed in the public spotlight now. Two times, I crashed and burned horribly.

Nerves can be a terrible, yet picky, enemy. Those in control of their emotions, those supremely confident in themselves, they rarely get troubled by nerves. As opposed to people like me, well, nerves eat us for breakfast.

The usual thing: get confidence, be less nervous, bla bla bla. I'm way past getting sick of talking about this.

Oh, I'm over the cock-up itself. I'm just still not over the fact that said cock-up might have single-handedly destroyed a friend's dream. I'm just glad she was calm enough to save the whole thing.

You have to understand, I was entrusted with one simple yet vital job, and I blew it. I failed her and myself.

Nerves are one thing, in the end, they're quite manageable. But, guilt. That won't leave in a hurry.

Yep, I cannot wait till I get to the point where me and her can both laugh about this. I know Don is.

Now, I'm going to go work on that project that I've put off for way too long.

Today is the first day since I entered NS that I have been in a good mood for the entire day.

Yay!

Today, I have also been awake for about 30 hours. Why? Because I can! Seriously. Which is why this post is so straightfoward and dull for my standards. Creativity goes down the toilet when your brain is working solely on caffeine.

I took leave from today until Monday. Because when you feel like shooting your boss, who by the way has done nothing that warrants even a faint grunt of derision, so far, you have to take a break.

Because of the computer's operation and concession fares, I have to figure out how to make $150 (give or take a dollar) go a long way. May as well burn it all, cause it's nearly time to start doing my best impression of a poor starving kid in the daytime. Who has the mood to go out when you're hungry, thirsty and for a number of people, smoke-free?

Non-sequitor alert!

Jealousy is a foul, foul thing. It eats in you, never taking a break from chewing your insides, until all that's left is a shapeless bitter mass of green sludge. For people (like yours truly) who are prone to griping and hand-wringing every time they see some expertly written prose on a popular website instead of actually knuckling down and try to actually match or even beat that standard, it hits doubly hard.

I hear successful people use their less desirable feelings and use them to their advantage. Jealousy fuels these people's competitive drive. It makes them better writers, actors, businessmen, cooks, window-washers. That's my goal.

Apathy? Apathy is dangerous. You could use it to hide behind your problems. Who freakin' cares if I don't have a girlfriend? But let it be your whole personality, and your life will be worth naught.

It's gonna be a long weekend.

I can not, and will not, promise not to whine and moan about my life anymore. If I did, this blog wouldn't last very long, would it? But I will try to keep it to a minimum. Failing which, I'll try to be clever about it, like say, letting my conscience be my guide AND replacement writer.

In other news, what the heck am I doing staying up so late?

What has National Service done to me?

Four words to fill your everyday needs

Snakes on a Plane.

Try saying that every time you're stressed out. Or, if you're daring enough, even answering every question with that.

"You got a minute?" "Snakes on a Plane."

"Who'll get voted out next week?" "Snakes on a Plane."

"Anything to declare?" "Snakes on a Plane."

"WHY SO LATE?!" "MUTHAFUCKIN' SNAKES ON A MUTHAFUCKIN' PLANE!!!"

"Snakes on yo mama?" "NO! Snakes on a Plane!"

Very thereapeutic stuff.

So, in closing:

Snakes on a Plane.

2% of suicides are caused by the inability to cope with blogger's block.

Ok, Fiz, ok, calm down, calm down, don't get so.....oh, someone's at the door.

Oh, hi! Come on in! I was just clearing up my blogspace. Careful of the broken glass, ya?

What's that? Oh, do I look that stressed? I'm sorry, I'm just thinking of my dear old computer. It's getting a motherboard transplant, you know. And oh, the price! But never mind. I'll get it back in 2 weeks, good as new.

These stack of papers? Ah, they're just descriptions of the vocations I could've gotten. Here, let me share some with you.

Firefighter. Fight fire, breathe toxic smoke, save damsels in distress and save the occasional cat on a tree. Pretty cool. Unfortunately, I'm too unfit for consideration, so let's move on.

Provost. Wave people and cars in the building, wave them out. All bloody day. At least you can arrest people. But, nah, pass.

Dog handler. With my dog phobia? In the bin wit ya!

Info-Comm. Play around with communication devices like walkie-talkie and stuff. The people that are in charge of that button that will recall every single NSman in the country. Hmmm, interesting.

Listen to me. As if I have a choice of where I'm posted. Heh.

Well, this is my posting. Clerk. Big surprise. In charge of all the admin stuff. I expect a lot of people to befriend me and persuade me to raise their allowance just a little bit.

Yes, don't worry, I'm fine with the posting. I don't have to run around and get sweaty all day. To heck with the air-con and the dry skin and the chapped lips and the glayvin!

Oh, you have to leave now? Is my blogspace really that smelly? Ok, then. Don't forget to get your coat!

Heh, I know, thanks for the concern, but don't worry, I'm fine. I just let all the shit in my life get to me for far too long. Last time that happened 2 years ago......well, you know. Can't let that happen again, can I? I'd go to the DB if I do. Heh. Yeah.

I'll see ya around, then.

:)

P O P O P O P O P O P O P!

This is, quite simply, the best of times and the worst of times.

My Basic Rescue Training is o-vah! So, yay for that!

My computer slipped into yet another coma. So, boo for that!

But let's stick to the positives, shall we?

This past week in camp is basically a technicality. Like the few weeks after exams, we have to be there or be punished even though we have absolutely nothing to do. Just imagine restless teenage boys hanging around a dorm. No TV, no radio, no girls, no booze.

I was used to that, but I was the only one. By Wednesday, some guy trying to be clever stuck 'Welcome to Woodbridge' on our dorm doors. Eh, he's probably right, all the guys were getting loopy.

But by 5PM, Thursday, it was all worth the waiting.

We, the cuckoo birds of Bravo Company, left, left, left righted ourselves away from 7 weeks of daily torture (with weekends off). I will never ever experience another moment like that again where the mood is unanimously joyous. I hope not, because if I do, it'll be because I'd be released from prison.

My fellow recruits, most of them anyway, are the most annoying, most jerk-ass, and best reasons for the existence for the word 'asshole' I have ever hoped to never meet again. But after 7 weeks together, I couldn't help but feel that I'll miss them, at least for enduring all the same shit I went through.

But that was Thursday morning. 12 hours, dozens of 'Hafizahs' and hundreds of butt pinches later (maybe they're jealous of my well-rounded posterior), the feeling was gone.

Because of one recruit's mysterious ability to remember my 3 second TV appearance, I've been asked to sing for them every single day. Rihanna's Unfaithful (YAWN) was requested often. So at the end, I was asked to sing one last time.

So I sang Green Day's Good Riddance (Time of Your Life). My most emotional performance, let me tell you.

The jerks, bless 'em (no, not really), thought it was sweet of me saying goodbye through that song. Out of curiosity, I asked if they knew what "Riddance" meant.

Too many of them said no.

I'm not going to blast them for their lack of education. I mean, one of them had to leave school by Primary 2. Lord knows the lives they went through. Having said that, I went through quite a bit myself last time. I remember throwing myself on a thankfully not so busy road back when I was in Primary 3 because I couldn't take all the teasing anymore.

I've grown up a bit since then, and the teasings in camp never reached the heights of cruelty that it did in my lower Primary School days (which is the reason why I rarely laugh at jokes making fun of me, even if by someone I truly love. Deep-rooted childhood scars and all that), but I have had it with people treating me as a cushion for all their sharpest jibes as a way of being friends with me.

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Mat: Eh, jom lah, Fiz, why always sit alone? Join us lah, talk cock a bit.

Me: I'd love to, but we both know that all these discussions will quickly descend into a "Who Mimics Fiz's Voice Best" competition. Or maybe a fascinating forum over why I'm such an absent-minded, accident-prone weirdo.

Mat: Huh? Eh, can don't speak so cheem or not?

Me: It's okay. I'll just sit here, smiling to myself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

'sigh'

There goes my promise of not complaining about them anymore. It stops here now.

One last thing though.

Did you know: My self-imposed ban on all curse words ended when I entered National Service.

So it was with the utmost satisfaction that I showed my two middle fingers at them as I boarded the bus while they decided to wait for the next bus and shouted the biggest "FUCK YOU!" the nearby cemetary has ever heard.

The looks on their faces and the way I felt after that beats all the Mee Soto in the world.

Ok then, vocation time. Which will it be? Storeman? Driver?

Clerk?

Huh, jobs aren't meant to be enjoyed anyway.

Quick, Fiz! Think of something witty to blog!

Anything?

No?

Ok, I see you're in one of those monthly "down in the dumps" thing going on.

Fine, I'll leave you alone. But c'mon, cheer up! 1 more week until you finally leave camp!

Oh, will you forget her for now?! There's always next week, you know!

There there now, you just go listen to your new Massive Attack CD. That seems to cheer you up just fine.

Yes, I would love to make you some Milo. Unfortunately, I'm just a made-up person in your head. You're going to have to make it yourself, won't you?

That's my boy. Don't put too much milk now, y'hear?

Yeesh!

Somebody somewhere really, really, really hates me.

S-C-D-F had a camp
E-I-E-I-O
And in that camp they had some Mats
E-I-E-I-O
With a 'butoh' here,
And a 'step cool' there,
Here a 'sial',
There a 'sial',
Everywhere a 'sial', sial!
S-C-D-F had a camp
E-I-E-I-Ooooooooooooo............

Ok, ok, no more Mat bashing. I'll be as bad as they are if I continue like this.

But it's so fun...

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August the 25th. That's the day I escape from Basic Rescue Training for good. Mark it down. August the 25th.

That's in 2 weeks. Man, time goes fast, doesn't it? But spare some thought for the next intake of recruits coming in about 3 months. My intake will be the last to go through 7 weeks of BRT. The next intake will have to go through 16 weeks.

Lucky, lucky, I'm so lucky...

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I hereby solemnly swear to fully be able to use Photoshop 7 (can't afford a newer version) to its full extent by this time next year. Being able to erase my zits away is nice, but being able to reduce the size of my nose, now THAT is a worthy goal.

Why? Because I hear the call of deviantART. No, I won't answer it. I'm not screwed-up enough. (Kidding!) But really, all those deviantARTists, and I know quite a few of them, are really, really good with their Photoshop skills, and I don't feel worthy of joining their ranks just yet. But I am aiming for their standards. Maybe, just maybe, one day I can consider myself good enough to stand toe to toe with them. (D7 in O Level Art notwithstanding. Oh, the shame...)

What can I say? I'm starting to like taking photos and messing with them.

Mood - complete utter boredom, flipping through iTunes finding that one song to make my day and finding nothing, nothing to blog, nothing to chat about, nothing to watch, nothing to interest me, nothing to make me sleepy, nothing to piss me off (or on), nothing to make me feel anything, nothing, nothing, nothing!

doodle doodle doodle dee then. Ennui makes me do.....weird stuff.

Ready for a post full of metaphors that makes me look smart when in truth it just makes me look silly? Ok? Here we go...

Take a chocolate chip cookie. Nice, isn't it? The fried golden brown dough and the dark brown chocolate chips combining as if to say, "Screw the calories, eat me!"

Now imagine the cookie without the chips. It's just an ordinary cookie, isn't it? Now how would you think it tastes like? If it's cooked properly, it's still marvelous. But mostly, it's just plain. Close to tasteless. Boring. Ah, but it's healthy for you.

A good, wholesome, boring Life.

Now imagine the chocolate chips, by themselves. Full of sweet delight. Once you pop one in, you need another. And another. And another. It tastes so damn good now, but later, it'll catch up with you. Few zits, extra kilos, the works. And you know what? It tastes great, but leaves you feeling that there's something missing.

A Life full of tasty moments, some bad for you.

What am I trying to get here? My point is, my life has been a plain piece of cookie, with only one or two chips here and there. It's a good, wholesome life. It's also an empty life. One, I'm sorry to say, that I'm sick to death of. My parents mean well, but their efforts to raise a good boy and complete reluctance to to acknowledge my real age instead of the age they think I am has resulted in me being frustrated, angry, bitter and full of headaches.

Yep. Now with my regular allowance, I suppose it's finally time for me to go against my parents and assert a little independence for myself. Should be fun.

I don't want a cookie so full of chips, it may as well be a whole chocolate bar. I believe people whose lives are like that are currently sitting in Changi Prison right now. No, I'm just going to add a few chips to my cookie, a bit at a time, avoiding the ones that look rotten, until I finally get the right mix. A healthy cookie, filled with enough chips to make things interesting.

Well, I'm hungry. Chipsmore, anyone?

Happy Fireworks Spotting, everyone!

41 is nothing. 42...now there's a good number.

The boy was just sitting there, minding his own business. It's part of his life really. Because of his schizophrenia, he's done all sort of horrible things because of "those voices". Or at least he knows this, because he was told he did all sorts of horrible things, because all the medications have left him without any memory of his past.

His was a tragic history, so you may say the amnesia is a blessing.

The boy was just sitting there, alone, in the middle of the SCDF's Basic Rescue Training Center. He's gotten used to the looks he's getting from the other recruits. They were wondering why he had carved the word "HELP" on his arm, among other things. Maybe he does too, or maybe he doesn't want to know. The recruits, most of them anyway, were giving him a respectful distance. Schizophrenia may be beyond some of their minds, but they know enough to know that the slightest aggravation might set the monster in the boy's head off.

But, always, in a large gathering group of boys, there will invariably be those few, that gang, who has the utterly useless talent of not knowing when to shut up.

They get interested in the boy.

They ask questions. He answers.

They ask more questions. He answers.

They ask even more questions, which really is the same question, framed in a different way.

He grows tired of them and stops answering.

They call him arrogant. He ignores them.

They call him names. He continues ignoring them.

One of them shows him the middle finger. He ignores it.

But the monster doesn't.

Two minutes later, the inciters of the monster were being held back by the rest of the recruits, shouting all manner of French words, while the boy was lying down, suffering a fit, getting attended by the Sergeant who arrived just in time to prevent a potentially bad confrontation.

The boy, with his life a sad blank in his mind, convulsing, while the gang kept chanting, "Bedek! Bedek!" (Fake! Fake!)

The parade square was full of recruits either gathering around the boy or the gang. A few were on the stands, standing, trying to make out what's going on.

MSF just sat there, knowing that the medics will take good care of the boy, and finally realising that the girls were right after all.

There are too many idiots with dicks in the world.

The order was given to fall in. So they did.

Among the many trying to look back at the fallen figure, a few, MSF included, looked straight to the front.

So that the boy would have a few less stares.

Computer OK

Well, Blogspot, how did you find that post I made two hours earlier? Was it delicious? No? Hmmm, so it was probably a crappy post anyway then. Nah, no thanks, you can keep it.

Anyways, I'm a little too lazy to recreate that last post which dear old Blogspot chose as its night snack, so I'll just say what that post said in three sentences: My computer's fixed!

For only 20 bucks, I might add. Thanks to the CyberActive at West Mall (probably the smallest neighbourhood shopping centre you'll ever find in Singapore). I buy my games there. I still will, even if one of the shopkeepers look disturbingly like my Corporal. -shudder-

Sung to the tune of Gorillaz's Kids With Guns:

Got my pay
Got my pay
A spending spree
Is on the way
Will be broke
Before too long
Got my pay
Got my pay
Easy does it, easy does it, must save some to fix the com

Eating out (spend it all, spend it)
Mee Soto (spend it all, spend it)
Glass of coke (spend it all, spend it)
That's all I need (spend it all, spend it)
Kilos gained (spend it all, spend it)
But I don't care (spend it all, spend it)
Got my pay
Got my pay
Easy does it, easy does it, dad's already on my case

Cause with cash, I'll become a monster
Spending it all in one place
Orchard Road better watch out
I'm on my way
I'm on my way

HMV
All those CDs
Waiting to be
Consumed by me
Royalties
To Sir Thom Yorke
Cause I got my pay
Got my pay
Easy does it, easy does it, pocket's getting one big hole

Cause with cash, I'll become a monster
Spending it all in one place
Orchard Road better watch out
I'm on my way
I'm on my way

Spend it all, spend it, spend it
Spend it all, spend it, spend it
Spend it all, spend it, spend it
Spend it all, spend it, spend it
Spend it all, spend it, spend it

Spend it all

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Oh, and I shook Tracy Humphrey's hand today. You know, wife of that Weekend Today ang moh columnist.

Good times.

Would you believe?

The first 2 kg I've ever lost in ages?

Maybe there IS something to this Physical Training (PT) schtick.

Oh, and those rumours about the PT instructors being sadistic devils hidden in well-tanned bodies? All too true.

I've lost my voice too, from all the "1, PTI! 2, PTI! 3, PTI!"

But as long as I can look less like the Stay Puft monster from Ghostbusters, I'm happy.

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"Ooh, ooh, can I say something about the Mats in your platoon?"

Sure thing, it's your blog as much as mine.

"Great! Ok, let's see. The first week, they were so unbeareable, weren't they? Buggin you and teasing you, just because you were a little different from them. Sure, you were a little girly. They're calling you 'Rosita' right?"

Let's move on.

"Hey, it's more original than 'Hafizah'"

I said, let's move ON!

"Alright! Geez! Ok, but then they got used to you, just like everyone got used to you in school back then right? Maybe it's because you toned down the weirdness and started becoming more of your quiet self, right?"

That's right. It worked pretty well, didn't it?

"Not as much as the Seargent making them do 30 push-ups and giving them 5 days Extra Guard Duty when he heard them make fun of your voice."

Ok, I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoyed that a little bit.

"Now, they won't mess with you anymore. Must be sweet to have a Seargent behind your back, eh?"

You do know he'll still give me push-ups if I mess up my foot drills some more, right?

"Pfft, who asked you to be so blur?"

Ok, you're fired.

"WHAT?!"

---------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know what's more worrying: the fact that in camp, I'm frequently miserable and about to lose it, or, that I'm beginning to enjoy being miserable and about to lose it.

---------------------------------------------------------------

One final note: Ready to relive your childhood, dear readers?

Then click here.

Yup , I do get to go home every weekend. That's great. Now all I have to do is convince my parents to let me out every Saturday so that I can clear my head . And judging from this week in J.B. (Jalan Bahar), I really, REALLY, need it.

And, ok, I give in. I do need my handphone in camp. Still no chargers allowed, so I'm just gonna have to improvise. More of NS when I have more time (and a working computer).

I'm in the Cathay right now, where they have three computers with internet access which anyone can use, for only 15 minutes, which is why this post is rushed and not at all up to my standards of brilliance, or lameness, depending on your taste slash mood. Just watched Pirates of the Carribean 2. Nutshell review: Woo Hoo!

Ok, time's up. Off to Baybeats. Later!

This is it.

Well, boys and girls, it's time for the requisite "Holy sh!t! I'm going to NS tomorrow" post.

But, well, I've debated on whether to do this post. I mean, I'm only going to Jalan Bahar to get my bum bum kicked by overzealous commanders and kiss-assy type recruit bullies. Note, Jalan Bahar, not New York . (I want to be a part of it, Jalan Bahaaaaaaar...)

I can't lie to you. I'm scared. Terrified. Not only about what will happen to me during Basic Training, but after that - Full-Time National Service. And after THAT, what would happen to me? (Some of you will know what I'm talking about.) It's all I can do to not lose it and just swim to Australia to escape it all. Ah, the perks of being Singaporean, eh? Serve 2 years looking after the country and after that, oh hi, here's a rope. Now start climbing out of your own grave.

I can do this. Of course I can. I'm The Fiz, damn it! I can do it if I put my mind to it. (Thanks, Marty McFly)

It may end up being the time of my life. I may learn something useful like how to climb a tree (dead useful trick to have), and maybe, just maybe, no bullies. Oh, heh, I'm sorry, I forgot, I'm The Fiz. I'm not that lucky. I suppose I'll have to bring along every single ounce of the sunny-side up character of myself. And steel to sew on my skin. Wait, I will learn how to sew, right?

I just remembered something about me and bullies: I usually let them have it their way. Not this year, buckos.

So, here's the biggest note to self: Suck up everything the SCDF throws at you! Because by gum, if you can swim through a ditch full of pee and rotting Chicken Rice, while being pelted with flour and yet more pee, all without batting a smelly eyelid, well then, you can just bloody well do anything! Rise up! Become The Fiz!

Why am I yelling so much?! Oh yeah, self-confidence riser mixed with self-delusion! Whatever works! Ok, stop it.

Remember, gentle readers, this isn't goodbye. If I hear correctly, I'll be home every weekend. Of course, I'll either be catching up on the Zs, or going out trying to get a life. But I'll try to update here once in a while, whenever the computer isn't on strike. If you're lucky (or not), maybe you'll catch me on MSN. My aim is this: I want to spend as little time as possible at home. Just enough to satisfy my parents.

Oh, and since I can't bring a phone charger, no point bringing a handphone, right? Where's the logic anyway, allowing phones yet not allowing chargers.................

Sooooo, I guess that's it. Rant over. Enough of the worrying and the depressions and the crying and the moping and the lazing and all the glayvin. Time for me to sit in my room, get my stuff ready, maybe punch my bolster a few times, then hug it's cottony guts out.

And hope for the best.

I'll see you when I see you.

That. Was. Incredible.

I just watched the 3rd/4th Playoff match repeat. And I enjoyed every minute of, well, the 2nd half anyway. The 1st hakf was a snore. But when the German guy scored that goal, followed by the Portugeuse own goal, followed by a great goal by the same German guy, followed by that consolation Portugal goal.......

Man, it was sweet. All credit to Portugal (except too-cute-for-his-own-good Cristiano Ronaldo) but Germany deserved to be 3rd!

Oh, and apparently Italy won something. Ho-hum.

Little darling, I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling, it seems like years since it's been clear
Here comes the sun,
doo doo doo doo
here comes the sun,
and I say,
It's All Right

(happy guitar strumming time)

Let's blog while we still can, shall we?

I'm in a bloody fantastic mood. I don't know why, I don't care why, I just don't want it to bloody end and last for 2 years! Give or take a few AWOL moment or two.

I like saying 'bloody' when I'm in a good mood. Feels bloody good.

Kenny Loggins is on. 'Scuse me while I take his advice and cut loose (footloose).

Late night on the newly-fixed (but for how long?) com.

Hot Milo.

Chatting on MSN (man, there's a lot of people after midnight).

Listening to iTunes.

Blogging.

Thinking of stuff to blog.

Counting down to July the 11th.

La vie est bonne, man, la vie est bonne.

Here's how I figure out who to support in the finals -

Me with French accent: I sound like Inspec-tair Clue-sew TRYING to sound French.

Me with Italian accent: Imagine Count Dracula saying "It's a-me! Mario!"

So, my choice is....Italy, because it's easier, and coming from me, funnier to do an Italian accent.

So go Italy! Bring-a back-a the World Cup-a to Roma!

Message from the home computer

Hey, you! You who call yourself "Duh" Fiz. Yeah, I'm talking to you! All those times you download all that junk inside me, all those times you used me for hours on end even though I'm begging for a rest (didn't ya hear my fan whirring like a dervish? Didn't ya?!), all those times you shut me off by turning the power switch off illegally? Well, I can't take it anymore! So guess what? I'm pulling the plug! From now on, you can't use me anymore! You'll keep getting "Hard Drive Failure" messages till the cows come home, and there ain't a damn thing you can do about it, except to ask your dear father (oh, don't think I didn't hear you say those things about him!) to call someone up and fix me! HAH! Let's see you live without me now!

Swearing and kicking me won't help much, you know. :D

It finally happened...

In fact, 2 things happened last week that I knew was just a matter of time.

First, I grew up listening 987 since 1996, when the music was pure Pop goodness, no Hip Hop/R&B/Simple Plan crap. The DJs were awesome: Howie in the afternoons, Christopher Goh in Jive Drive, Jean Danker on Say It With Music and Glenn Ong on The Ego Trip late night show.

The goodness lasted till 2000. Then, the lineup was shaken up, Glenn moved to the mornings, thereby neutering him for an older audience. And the songs got progressively worse.

I grew up from simple bubblegum pop, sure, so I was ready for some adult pop fare, whatever that may be, and I hoped the Perfect 10 would fill that space.

They played Eminem instead.

Long story short, after one too many mediocre, bad, Simple Plan-esque song, I snapped and turned the dial slightly to the right.

"Relax. Lush. 99.5"

And it's been there ever since mid-June. I try returning a few times, but couldn't make 30 seconds before changing it back.

I've finally out-growned 987fm. It was inevitable. Still, I'll peek at MTV once in awhile just to keep up with the mainstream stuff.

And besides, now that I come to think about it, today's DJs in 987? Well.....they bug me.

Except, of course, Jamie Yeo.

Which leads me to the 2nd thing: Jamie is a very, very ambitious lady. She works hard, and she wants to go places. I've seen enough people like her to know that she would not want to stay in radio for long. Heck, maybe not even in MediaCorp anymore.

Last Monday, she proved me right, on both counts, and thus sealing 987's fate for me.

Jamie Yeo is gone from 987, leaving just Emily and Don & Drew to be the only reasons to listen to 987. But Emily's only a part-timer and D&D, I can just download their podcast.

Kudos Jamie for taking that brave step in leaving MediaCorp and joining, believe it or not, ESPN Star Sports. Hey, it's about time another female presenter joined Collette Wong there. Can't wait to see her there.

Ok, maybe me talking about vomiting in the last post, and now this, falls under the 'too much info' category. But hey, I haven't done so in 10 years. That's a record I'm very proud of.

Here's something peculiar about myself. It seems the most creative time in my brain's life so far is whenever I get horribly, bed-riddenly (sic) sick.

(Wait, was that a bad pun in that last sentence?)

So, last night, I took mum's advice about inducing vomiting. (Toothbrushes are good with that). Oddly enough, while I was kneeling in front of the toilet bowl, my brain was at that very moment creating a little nursery rhyme, replacing "1, 2, Buckle My Shoe" (or was it "1, 2, Freddy's coming for you"?), with this:

1,2, Out came all the goo
3,4, Horrid smells galore
5,6, How'd I get in this fix?
7,8, Am so full of hate
9,10, Never eat again

Hey, gimme a break! Consider what I was doing while that rhyme was forming in my head.

Let me just say this, without going into the gory details: having not vomited for a decade, my body sure made up for lost time last night.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taken from the blog of my friend (and incurable Francophile) Shanaz:

It was getting pretty crowded as the MRT was approaching Raffles Place and a group of young Malay girls and boys entered at Redhill (or was it Tiong Bahru??) Anyways, they were all dressed up in those current, hip sub-culture clothes. You get the picture. Red and black tie, thick eyeliner, ruffled hair, My Chemical Romance t-shirts, knee length socks etc. Whatever you call it lah. They were talking and talking.....and then.....the bombshell dropped.

One of the girls turned to the guys and asked loudly "Eh, asal Ronaldinho tak main untuk Barcelona kat World Cup ah? Asal dia main untuk Brazil pulak??"

Translation from Minah to English: "Why is Ronaldinho not playing for Barcelona in the WC? Why is he playing for Brazil instead??"

Heh, what do you know? A good dose of laughter is the best medicine!

You know you're really sick when your mother actually encourages you to induce vomiting. Better out than in, I guess.

Timecheck: Exactly 2 weeks until NS. Hopefully, this would be 2 of the most hectic weeks of my life. I've songs to listen to, movies to watch, games to play, people to curse, parents to love and beg, sister to make nice to, friends to chat with, computer to fix, noodles to eat, Coke to drink, and so on and forth.

But first and foremost, I've got a fever to cure. This would be my third in two months. That, gentle readers, is what we call a BAD SIGN.

You'd think the pinples would start to go away once you reach the big 2 Oh.

You'd think wrong.

I am currently suffering from the worst acne breakout of my life. You watch Superman Returns. You see Superman's shell of a homeworld, Krypton. That'll be my face.

Why do I care? Good question. I didn't once. Blame it on love I guess.

Did I say too much there?

-ahem-

I just hope that slopping Nivea, Clean & Clear AND SilkPro on my face would clear it up soon. Gotta look good for NS.

I feel the need.

The need to blog.

About what?

Heck if I know.

Pesky writer's block.

The fingers are willing, but the little grey cells, zey are weak.

Ok, quick question: is my Cbox tagboard working for you? If not, put in a quick note in the comments link just below this post and I'll change it lickety-split.

Here is a video game I like to play now and then, combined with a song that I like to sing to myself quite often.

Ladies and gentlemen, Denis Leary and the Master Chief.



And since I know most people surfing the internet are slobs too lazy to search for the lyrics themselves (hey, I'm an asshole, didn't ya hear the song? :D)

[Spoken]
Folks, I'd like to sing a song about the American Dream. About me. About you. The way our American hearts beat down in the bottom of our chests. About the special feeling we get in the cockles of our hearts, maybe below the cockles, maybe in the sub-cockle area. Maybe in the liver. Maybe in the kidneys. Maybe even in the colon, we don't know.

I'm just a regular Joe with a regular job
I'm your average white suburbanite slob
I like football and porno and books about war
I've got an average house with a nic hardwood floor
My wife and my job, my kids and my car
My feet on my table, and a cuban cigar

But sometimes that just ain't enough to keep a man like me interested
(Oh no) No Way (Uh-uh)
No, I've gotta go out and have fun
At someone else's expense
(Oh yeah) Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

I drive really slow in the ultrafast lane
While people behind me are going insane

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, such an asshole)

I use public toilets and piss on the seat
I walk around in the summertime saying, "How about this heat?"

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

Sometimes I park in handicapped spaces
While handicapped people make handicapped faces

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's a real fucking asshole)

Maybe I shouldn't be singing this song
Ranting and raving and carrying on
Maybe they're right when they tell me I'm wrong.....

NAAAH!

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

[Spoken]
You know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna get myself a 1967 Cadillac El Dorado convertible, hot pink with whaleskin hub caps and all leather cow interior and big brown baby seal eyes for headlights, yeah! And I'm gonna drive around in that baby at 115mph getting one mile per gallon, sucking down quarter pounder cheese burgers from McDonald's in the old-fashioned non-biodegradable styrofoam containers and when I'm done sucking down those grease ball burgers, I'm gonna wipe my mouth with the American flag and then I'm gonna toss the styrofoam container right out the side and there ain't a God damned thing anybody can do about it. YOu know why? Because we got the bombs, that's why.

[Spoken]
Two words. Nuclear fucking weapons, okay?! Russia, Germany, Romania - they can have all the Democracy they want. They can have a big democracy cake-walk right through the middle of Tiananmen square and it won't make a lick of difference because we've got the bombs, okay?! John Wayne's not dead - he's frozen. And as soon as we find the cure for cancer we're gonna thaw out the duke and he's gonna be pretty pissed off. You know why? Have you ever taken a cold shower? Well multiple that by 15-million times, that's how pissed off the Duke's gonna be. I'm gonna get the Duke and John Cassavetes...
(Hey)
and Lee Marvin
(Hey)
and Sam Pekinpah
(Hey)
And a case of Whiskey and drive down to Texas...
(Hey, you know you really are an asshole)
Why don't you just shut-up and sing the song pal!

I'm an asshole (He's an asshole, what an asshole)
I'm an asshole (He's the world's biggest asshole)

A!
S-S!
H-O!
L-E!
Everybody!
A!
S-S!
H-O!
L-E!

[Barking]
Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf Arf
Fung achng tum a fung tum a fling chum
Oooh Oooh

[Spoken]
I'm an asshole and proud of it!

Flashback time

Note: The author has written this for four reasons, to write something in conjuction with the ongoing World Cup, to wax nostalgia, to stretch his composition muscles and to show off his knack of remembering the most useless stuff from long ago, e.g. the time when the school bus he was on crashed into a motorcyclist, 15 frickin' years ago.

This happened in 1997, in Primary 5. The boys in my class, as you might expect, were nuts about football. And in those days, so was I. I made a pretty good defender in street footy. Really, I did! Ah, but my friends were better, so of course I was only the standby player for the inter-school football tournament.

Quite a lot of people were watching that first game, boys and girls. It was the first round, 5/3 (my class) against 5/4. I have to say, we were the favourites. We had, among others, Faiz (yes, THAT Faiz), prolific goal scorer, and (it's hard to forget this name) Nabawi, the Beckham nut. Styled his hair, played on the right and everything. We couldn't lose, surely!

So the match started, refreed by my Mother Tongue teacher. It was real neck-and-neck stuff, they scored one, we scored one, they scored two more, we scored two more. All the while, I was on the sidelines, watching the game eagerly. Before the game, everyone on the team promised me a place on the squad if they won. Actually, it didn't matter to me if I played or not, I just wanted my class to win. Hey, don't you want to be in the champion class too? Anyway, the score was tied 3-3, with 5 minutes to go. Now, Nabawi only started idolising Beckham when he scored this goal. Ever since, he wanted to emulate it. And, on the halfway line, with the ball on his feet and the goalie on his line, he got his chance. And he took it. The ball was rising. All eyes were on the ball. Rising..falling...goalie slipped! GOAL!!!

Naturally, my class started cheering. Nabawi was grinning like the dickens while he was mobbed. But see, I wasn't cheering. See, the goal posts? They had no nets. Blame it on the school ignoring the sports program. I wasn't cheering because I wasn't sure if the ball had crossed UNDER the crossbar (thereby leading to a goal) or OVER the crossbar. if there had been a net, the ball would have landed on it. Therefore, no goal. But no net means the ball continuing down to the ground. It doesn't matter. Everyone thought it was a goal.

Except, of course, the referee.

He blew the whistle and said 'No goal!'. In his opinion, the ball went over, not under, the bar. On hindsight, it was funny. Every single person in the school, even the opposing team, thought it was a goal except the one person who mattered.

Now, if you know Faiz (keeping in mind that he was pretty much the same in secondary school as in primary school, except that he knew more curse words), you can probably guess his reaction. To this date, that was the only time I've ever been in a situation close to a riot. Every single one of my classmates on the field was mobbing the ref, who was quite old mind you. Goodness knows what kind of names he was called. But, in a show of firmness that I could learn from, he made sure his decision stood. Play on, after 5 minutes of protests.

Wouldn't you know it? 5/4 scored the very next minute. 3-4. And that was the scoreline on the final whistle. We were out.

Looking at the guys after the match, it was like Princess Diana's then-recent funeral all over again. This, more than any other thing, was a permanant reminder of the power football holds over its true followers. I was disappointed not to be able to play, yes, but I brushed it off easily. But the guys, they were absolutely heart-broken. Think Singapore Idol rejects. Triple it. There you go, that was their reactions. The worst of it was Nabawi hugging me, tears and snot dripping on my shirt, apologising to me profusely for me not having the chance to play. I wish I was exaggerating. It was a good thing the exams were over, they were all so despondent from that day until the start of the December holidays. Every single guy. Except me, which the girls wondered about. I felt bad for them, of course, but it's hard to feel sad when your uncle just bought you your very first PC, you know?

The tournament was also notable for me getting hit HARD by a wayward ball in another match. At least the girls paid attention to me for a day afterwards.

There is a happy ending to this story: the next year, me, Faiz, Nabawi and one other guy were transfered to another class, 6/2, until now still my favourite class, primary or secondary. On that year's tournament, there were finally nets on the goal posts (shows you how big the controversy was, Dazhong Primary was a bit slow when it came to upgrades back then) and the guys made it to the final. I played 10 minutes of that match before being replaced by Faiz, who basically started murdering the other team. So, basically we won. I got my one and only sports medal.

Is it real gold or not? Pfft, who cares?! I have a Gold medal!

Bottle of Coke: 2 dollars

Bag of chips: 3 dollars

Fridge to replace the old one which suddenly inexplicably broke down on us: 1000+ dollars

Hearing people go 'GOOOAAL!!!" from here, there and everywhere around 4am in the morning:

Yup, you got it. Priceless.

If you search for "peter crouch" in YouTube, you'll find some videos of his now famous (among soccer fans) robot dance celebration.

Now, I've been doing it ever since I've heard of the robot dance. (BTW, domo arigato everyone!) When I've done it in front of a few people, they laugh and dance along. All in good fun though, I know that. And you know what, I do a pretty good robot if I do say so myself.

That beanpole Crouch does it, and it becomes a national phenomenon. No, I'm not sore that I wasn't the reason it became a phenomenon. It's just another way for Life to amuse me, that's all.

Interest in World Cup: nominal at best. Interest in Half-Life 2 Episode 1: off the charts!

Me being a casual sci-fi fan, I suppose it is odd that I hated Buffy the Vampire Slayer. All those kids running around, killing demons, getting caught in life threatening situations.....'sigh' makes my life unbearably boring.

But I gotta admit, looking at the show again, Joss Whedon did a fine job creating the stories, making memorable characters, writing the snarky lines. It's that and a lot more that makes people consider that TV show the greatest of all time (believe it or not, cause I don't).

So, there's another show similar to Buffy coming. Nothing supernatural this time, it's just about a fledgling private detective who just so happens to be gorgeous. But that's not why I'm going to watch it. I've heard a lot of things about this show and it's all good. They say it's better than Lost (and I love Lost), which says a whole lot, doesn't it? Despite that, it's not a big hit in the US, which is why it's not surprising that Channel 5 is showing it at the Sunday 6PM slot, starting tomorrow.

Yeah, NOW you bring this show on air, with my NS in 37 days. Huh.

Anyway, the show? Veronica Mars. Watch it!

I'd like to remind everyone to be careful when making friends with pre-teens. They're great to talk to, maybe even to hang out with, if you don't mind the occasional stares. But talk and hang out with them long enough, and you may begin to start acting and thinking like a pre-teen. Trust me on this, it's not pretty.

Very....creative

This ad is stupid. But also very irresistably KAWAII!!!

Sorry.

Still, this proves you can never go wrong with pandas and cute Japanese music. All it needed was a penguin and it'll be perfect.

So here I was thinking of ways to save money to get a new handphone and the Playstation 3 when it comes out with my NS allowance. I'd heard that the pricing plans for the PS3 would be released in the recently concluded E3 (basically the Lollapalooza of computer gaming).

Sony duly released the pricing plans: for a PS3 with a 60GB Hard Drive? US$599

US$599=S$947

I feel sick.

Someway, someway.....

Hear ye, hear ye...

I wanna try explaining podcasting again, but I suddenly temporarily lost the ability to be funny, so I'll let a ninja handle the explaining. I hope you don't mind fishy metaphors.

Why do I want to explain podcasting? To introduce something I've been wanting to do for months now, ever since I got a mic and Audacity. But I am, of course, one of the world's foremost experts in procrastinating, so I pushed it and pushed it and pushed it until finally, I realised that if I don't do it soon, after NS, I may be so busy, I might even have the desire to start.

So, here it is. The first (and last) trailer for the Meesotofreak Podcast. The podcast proper will start (as the computer game companies always say) When It's Ready.

PS. You can download the first 2 MP3s before the trailer, if you, y'know, like bad singing and all...

'Sigh'

Even if they are in jest and harmless, I never do react well to teasing. And imagine what fresh new jibes those people at NS will throw at me.

So...

Things to do before NS #76: Get thicker skin

It's a weird feeling, being embarassed, pleased, mortified and amused, all at the same time.

My apologies to Stealers Wheel and Resevoir Dog fans everywhere.

Because my dear sister has been a very naughty girl, our Dad has seen fit to 'GASP!' take away her handphone! Now, because I can't resist those Bambi eyes she uses when she really, truly wants something done by someone, she's sharing my phone.

So, in the meantime, be careful with what SMSes any of you dear readers send me. This means, Steve, that you have to quit it with the mushy stuff.

Trying to read 50 Hercule Poirot short stories in one sitting is like trying to eat 50 Kueh Lapis-es (most definitely sic) in one sitting: The first, oh, 20 or so, they're great, delicious, I can't stop at one. Or two. Or five. But by the 25th, I start to get really, really sick of it. It's still delicious, I just can't stomach anymore or I'll puke. I'll just have to wait a few weeks to get the appetite to read the remaining short stories. It's always a pleasure reading about a fellow egg-shaped headed man (try seeing me with a bald head. Brrrr...)

Here's a series of conversations that happened the past few months:

(February)
MSF: Can I have a haircut?
Mom: Why? Nice what, your hair.

(March)
MSF: Can I have a haircut?
Mom: No money!

(April)
MSF: Can I pleeease have a haircut?
Mom: Berape kali nak cakap, takde duit!

(Last week)
MSF: (looking at the mirror) Say, my hair's looking good. Almost like David Beckham. I think I'll keep it!
Dad: (enters room) Son, go get a haircut tomorrow.
MSF: WHAT?! But...
Dad: Here's 20 bucks, 10 for the barber, 10 for pocket money.
(beat)
MSF: You want me to get a crew-cut, or fully bald?

Counting the 10 bucks I had stored and the 10 Mom gave me, that's 30 dollars I had. And true to form, I spent 2/3rds of it in 2 days flat.

I have got to control my spending urges.

Things to do before NS List # 84: No more writing titles for the sake of writing titles

As you probably can tell by that shiny button to your right, I'm a Firefox fan. And as some of you might now, when I like something, I REALLY like that something. Ask Cik Aini, the makcik selling the Mee Soto in Yusof Ishak Sec. Anyway, yes, I love Firefox and offered the chance to sell it, I would. If I could. Not face to face of course, not with the way I speak. Stutter and all You're digressing... anyway, I could go on about how safe Firefox is, how much better than IE is, how, with extensions and themes, you could really pimp the living sh!t out of that browser.


Like so.

One of the big reasons why I like Firefox is the idea of an alternative browser. Internet Explorer has been in the seat of power in the world of browsers for so long, it's made Microsoft a little lax in fixing what needs to be fixed. (Why am I feeling a sudden sense of deja vu?)

Sure, there are other choices long before Firefox, like Opera. But Firefox has become an actual strong "Opposition" to IE. I for one love that. It's made Microsoft pull up their socks and actually get to work on upgrading IE. Their new beta version of IE has promise.

It gives consumers choice.

Which is why I'm not using Explorer Destroyer.

Sure, it's tempting. It could force most of you dear readers to switch to Firefox to be able to read my blog. And I'd get a dollar for every person who does exactly that. But no. For 3 reasons:

1. Remember what I said about choice? If I used this script, I'd be a hypocrite, wouldn't I? As much as I want you all to switch to Firefox, I want you to do so without being forced to.
2. Explored Destroyer uses Google AdSense to pay the $1. I dunno, this goes against Google's "Do No Evil" policy, doesn't it? Using scripts to block internet content without permission?
3. You could easily just boycott this blog. Now that's definitely not a good thing.
   

If you want to try the script, go ahead. Get rich. Ignore that little communist voice in your head going "Capitalistic swine!".

So, uh, in conclusion, !

(Yeah, I'm doing this once in a blue moon. Any problem with that?)

The Morning of 27th April 2006 (Singapore time)

Me: Arsenal's going to the finals! Arsenal's going to the finals!

That voice in my head: Barca's gonna crush us! Barca's gonna crush us!

Random Liverpool fan: Pfft! Been there, done that!

Random Tottenham fan: Well, that's it, dear. I'm becoming an atheist.

Cynical Brit: Yeah, but where're all the Brits in the team, eh?

Parisian vendor selling Arsenal and Barcelona jerseys: $$$$$!!!!

Every single Gooner in the world: (to the tune of the Pet Shop Boys' "Go West") One-niiiiiil...to the Arsenal! One-niiiiiiil...to the Arsenal!

No Campaigning Allowed

So I won't campaign or support a particular party. Why should I? Since I'm too young to vote. By only 9 effin' months...

So, the GRC I currently live in, Jurong, goes to the PAP in a walkover. Shame. I would love to see something like the last election, with the "good" Dr. Chee Soon Juan and his team contesting here.

"Mr. Goh, come here! I want to talk to you! Where is the money?"

At 14, I considered that the height of coolness. At 20, I consider that the height of idiocy. Just sayin'.....

I'll be honest here, I watch politics same as I watch MTV, for the sound & the fury. Politics can be entertaining sometimes. But there will be a time when I'll have to really consider the important issues. Bills don't pay themselves, jobs don't grow on trees. But until then, I'm content to sit here, eat my popcorn and watch as some other Opposition MP say something really dumb and get bankrupted because of it.

Enough political talk, or else I might say something dumb myself and find myself in the front page of The New Paper and Lianhe Wanbao.

What's that smell?

It's amazing how much the smell of minty apples can make you feel really, really, really (and I do mean, really) good. And kinda stoned.

I wonder where Dad bought that new apple scented air freshener in his room?

Does this happen to you?

And of course, Henry the Horse dances the salsa says:
busy day at work huh?

(10 minutes pass)
Hmmm, I guess he is busy.

(20 minutes pass)
It's alright, I can wait. Hum de dum dum...

(30 minutes pass)
Wait, he might be ignoring me....naahh!

(40 minutes pass)
Sh!t, he IS ignoring me! What the hell? Is it me? Does he not like me? Did I offend him?

(50 minutes pass)
OMG, OMG, he's not saying anything. He hates me, he hates me!

(59 minutes pass)
That's it! Life's not worth livin' anymore! Goodbye, cruel...

[new MSN message sound]

Poppy Cock Boys says:
Yeah real tough day...

Oops, never mind...

-------------------------------------------------------------------

I hate being so paranoid, especially on MSN. Bleah!

Hmmm...

My phone just had the longest conversation it's ever had (when I'm using it, mind you).

1:33:14

Overall, the record is still 1:46:24

Since it's an outgoing call, I can expect a killer phone bill next month. But I won't mind it a bit!

Ok, uh, that's all, I guess. Just wanted to say SOMETHING, that's all.

Yesterday's Horoscope

Pisces

"Your friends and family may wonder what's going on, for your actions may seem out of character to them. They might think that you flipped your lid. You, on the other hand, could be feeling giddy as you break out of a box that has restrained you for too long. Tread carefully, for escaping is one thing, but hurting someone you love is something else."

They probably can't read your future, but those horoscope writers can eerily read your mind sometimes, eh?

Holla to the Back...

Last Saturday, I went to both a mainstream gig and an indie gig. Adjusting from one and the other could kill you.

The focus is on the mainstream gig, so let's just get the indie one out of the way. Basically, I read about something going on in the Substation. Local gigs bla bla flea market bla bla bla used to be regular in the 90s bla bla bla hoping to kickstart it back. Plus I've never actually been to the Substation despite it being near the old National Library. Shocking, ain't it?

Things to do before NS List - #37: Get in the local music scene more.

Shady shopkeeper: Come, sir, buy this CD. Support local music, don't let your parents persecute you for your right to listen to music.
Me: Are you sure this CD is good?
Shady shopkeeper: Brother, trust me. If you're not happy, just come back next week! I just won't be here, that's all!

It's a punk CD, by the way, full of bands that of course I've never heard of except Opposition Party. And hey, it's better punk than Simple Bleh and Good Charlatan.

As for the bands playing, Lunarin was nice. Concave Scream however nearly put me to sleep. But maybe that's because earlier events left me punch drunk.


Lunarin: gotta remember that name.

Now, on to the real focus of today's post:



(Insert pumping beats here)

If there's one thing this event has taught me, it's that it pays to know the right people. The right people who can get you VIP seats. Thanks, Kera (pronounced Keh-Ra)! And by extension, thanks Hutch and Don!







As you can see, it's quite the popular thing, this Hollaback Crew. The queue nearly crawled all the way roung the Singapore Indoor Stadium. And it's a huge ass stadium.

In actual fact, cameras weren't allowed in there. But since when have I listened to security?

Oh yeah, since I was born. Well, that changed today.



The stage, where it all happens. That's Mark Richmond and Beatrice Chia down there, with some other dudette.

Too bad I can't show you the 987 DJs entrance, it was quite something. Stupid camera was getting screwy. I could really use a new digi-cam, one that can actually zoom beyond 2X.....'ahem'



It's Ronin! I don't really like 'em, but hey, it's Ronin!

To be frank, I really didn't care about the actual Hollaback Crew competition itself. Why should I, I'm not competing. I only took 1 pic of only 1 of the groups competing. Good thing they turned out to be the Over 17 winners, eh?



Street Fusion. The amazing thing was that they were the only ones not from any school.

I came for one reason. To see a pineapple! Oh, and Don and Drew.



Very blurry picture of Mr. Andrew Crothers coming down the stairs rapping about the virtues of Malaysian food.



The Eurasian's on the right, the Ang Moh's to the left.

To all of you people from JCs, polytechnics, ITEs annnnd...NTU...
(weak cheers from the students)
All your weak cheers don't impress Don and Drew...
(strong boos from students)
You can boo all you want, you can cry to your mammy...
Quite frankly, we'd be more impressed if you were more...like...Tammyyyyyyy...

I love 'em, I'm their #2 fan.



That big red dishcloth there? Best Banner winner. 'Sigh' Standards are getting lower.....

At one point, all the girls suddenly jumped up as one and started mercilessly killing my eardrums.





I was reaching ever so slowly for my phone to call Woodbridge Hospital to report a case of unexplained mass insania. Then I looked to the front.



Ah, well. That explains it.



From the left, Kera, Stephi and Stephi's friend, acting their age.

So the show ended, Street Fusion and SCGS won for Over and Under 17 respectively. They get to share $10 000 each. Nice.

Oh alright, I gotta give props to Street Fusion. They brought the house down with everything, the props, percussion, dancing et al.

Autograph-wise, I got Beatrice Chia's and Carrie Chong's. Whoo, Carrie! I had to control a sudden unexpected urge to propose to her. (NS List - #18: Get as many autographs as I can.)

I said I didn't like Ronin. But, well, the lead singer was hanging around the outside of the stadium so what the heck. 1 autograph.



And that pic. (Damn, I look stiff.)

He's a pretty nice guy. Cool, calm, even a little stoned, I think.

So all in all, an excellent way to spend a Saturday evening. It left me wisihing I was a little younger again. 'sigh'

For more pics, here's a link to my set in Flickr: 987FM Hollaback Crew

Now to figure out how to get out on the next Saturday evening...

Eh, what the heck...

I got this from her, who got it from him, who got it from her, who.....aah, you get the picture.

Instructions: Go to your music player of choice and put it on shuffle. Say the following questions aloud, and press play. Use the song title as the answer to the question. NO CHEATING.

How does the world see me?
yeah toxic - britney & usher mash-up
(toxic? me? only after a burrito lunch maybe.)

Will I have a happy life?
bohemian like you - dandy warhols
(a happy bohemian life. mmmmm......)

What do my friends really think of me?
keep me in your heart - warren zevon
(awww, that's sweet!)

Do people secretly lust after me?
relaku pujuk - spider (loosely translated: willing to coax/entice)
(eh, i'll take that.)

How can I make myself happy?
no no no - the yeah yeah yeahs
(oh, thanks a lot!!!)

What should I do with my life?
1 thing - amerie
(what thing? sleeping? eating? pogoing? get amnesty from the US? what?! don't leave me hanging!)

Will I ever have children?
younger generation - the adicts
(oh look, i've found my theme song. but as for the question, i probably will, and pretty rebellious ones too. awesome!)

What is some good advice for me?
push the button - sugababes
(ok, this may be some deep metaphorical message. but i'll take it literally and push the fan's on button. aaaaah, much better!)

How will I be remembered?
waterfalls - tlc
(making people move and groove just like this song does? oh yeah!)

What is my signature dancing song?
love in the first degree - bananarama
(well, i do like my mambo jambo. :D)

What do I think my current theme song is?
berhenti berharap - sheila on 7 (loosely translated: stop hoping)
(hmmm, this can't be good.)

What does everyone else think my current theme song is?
i'm too sexy - right said fred
(HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!)

What song will play at my funeral?
voodoo child - jimi hendrix
(i'll probably rise up from the dead and play some wicked riffs.)

What type of men/women do I like?
[men] scummy - arctic monkeys
(yeah, sure.)

[women] hot in herre - nelly
(-devilish grin-)

What is my day going to be like?
wild tonight - shaggy featuring olivia
(sssh, don't tell my parents!)

90 Days! 90 Days!

Guys, if you don't mind, I might spend some time reminiscing on this blog my past 20 years in existence. Cause when I get enlisted, it's like I'm saying goodbye once and for all to irresponsibility and immaturity.

Oh yeah, and as little angst as possible. We've got quite enough the past week.

One fine day in MSF's Room

(The Meesotofreak (MSF) is listening to the radio)

Radio: Said I'm so sick of love songs, so tired of BRBRRASZZZZZZZKT!....We interrupt this song for an important news bulletin. (beat) Alright, settle down, the song's not THAT bad. Well, it is, but see.....'ahem' anyway, this is a message for YOU!

MSF: Me?

Radio: Yes, dammit, didn't you hear me the first time? Now the Government (All Hail The Benevolent Mr. Lee!) has decided to use its rather excellent radio jamming systems to send you this message: Meesotofreak, you are chosen!

MSF: Chosen?

Radio: Dagnabit, will you stop being a parrot and listen? Yes, chosen!

MSF: Great! They must've gotten that letter I sent to the President.

Radio: What letter?

MSF: The one where I asked (rather politely, I might add) to be the Singapore Noodle Ambassador to the UK.

Radio: What? No, don't be ridiculous, the President would never allow that to happen!

(Meanwhile, in the Istana)

President: Hmmm, Noodle Ambasador, eh? Me likey!

(Back in MSF's Room)

Radio: Anyway, what I've been trying to say is that-'ahem'-You have been chosen to serve your nation and enter National Service!

MSF: Oh. Well, that's great too. But shouldn't I get a letter...

(MSF's door opens)

Dad: Mail!

MSF: Anything from Carrie?

Dad: Nope! Just this letter from MINDEF.

MSF: Darn! Thanks anyway, Dad.

Dad: No prob. (closes door)

(MSF looks at the blue letter with the words MINDEF: TOP SECRET! WE MEAN IT, TOP BLOODY SECRET!)

Radio: To save you the bother of reading it, I'll recap the important bits for you: You have been drafted into the Singapore Civil Defence Force (SCDF).

MSF: Hmmm. I suppose I don't have to worry about crawling through Mandai Jungle, huh?

Radio: No, but you will have to worry about bringing cats down from trees. 'ahem' Furthermore, you will have to fall-in and register at the SCDF Jalan Bahar Headquarters on the 11th of July 2006 at 8:30 AM sharp! Your parents may join you, you'll have to come in neat attire, you must bring the proper things, blah blah blah, etc etc etc. The rest you can read in that lette, I'm getting bored here of just yapping.

MSF: Well, go and play a song then.

Radio: Good idea! But not that R&B and punk-lite rubbish they keep airing, yech! I know, I'll play some Malmsteen! Let's rock!

(The radio turns up the volume and plays some INSANELY LOUD guitar riffs)

Radio: I AM A VIIIIIIKIIIING, IN GOING OUT TO 'click'

(MSF turns off radio)

MSF: Brrr! That song always scares me!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Just in case you missed what I'm trying to say (or too damn lazy to read all that), a recap: I got my call-up letter which says I'm posted to the SCDF and have to report to Jalan Bahar on the 11th of July at 8:30AM.

Er, whoopee?

OK, now MINDEF's given me the letter I've been waiting from them. What about you, Senors Don & Drew? Where's my Pearl Jam CD?!

Talk about mixed emotions....

For the record, it IS possible to wear both masks at once. I don't know how to describe it, but it's...unpleasant to say the least. As if my brain can't make up its mind. Make up already!

I don't know, it's like if I'm not miserable, I'm not happy.

Does that make sense to anyone?

Oh boy, I'm beginning to sound more and more like an angry emo teenager. Where were these feelings 2 years ago?! Now it's just a tad embarrasing.

Nothing wrong with showing emotions of course. Hey, I can't be macho while my head's about to explode. For those who can, I salute you! I just need to find a way to express 'em in the proper way.

Crying in the bed-sheets? Ah, timeless.

In other news, my dear Adik is off somewhere climbing a mountain with her nursing friends. Probably trying to heal some baby bird who fell off a tree. That leaves me alone with 2 cranky parents.

MINDEF, hurry up with that call-up letter, why don't cha?

Let's rock!

Here's something I'd like to be a part of someday: an Arctic Monkeys gig.



My fave Arctic Monkeys song: A Certain Romance. You can't hear that opening drumbeat and not get excited!

Plus: Gorillaz @ the legendary Apollo Theatre in New York.

Practically the whole shebang: it has Dennis freakin' Hopper for Pete's sakes!


Good old Statler & Waldorf got some plastic surgery done

Watch for "Dirty Harry". The choir is infectious!

Here's something to cheer everyone (like me) up...

The Simpsons Movie Teaser

As Dr Frink might say, "This film is headed straight for us! With the preview, and the midnight showing, and the hundred percent chance of PAIN! PAIN IN THE GLAVEN! Mwhey, hey."

"I'm sorry, but the position's full..."
"Sorry ah, only men after ORD we can accept..."
"Tadi pergi mane?"
"Get out!"
"No excuses, off the computer NOW!"
"Nonononononono! I don't care, no!"
"Kenape lambat?"
"I'm sorry, but the position's full..."
"Why you so blur?"
"Must come back before 7"
"Must come back before 6"
"Must come back NOW!"
"Now, I said!"
"Eleh, frustrated konon..."
"Sorry ah, only men after ORD we can accept..."
"You see lah, in the paper, this boy, you wasted lah..."
"Get lost!"
"No excuses, off the computer NOW!"
"20 years old? So?"
"Tadi pergi mane?"
"Where are you?"
"Go find job!"
"Where are you?"
"Go find job!"
"Where are you?"
"Go find job!"
"Where are you?"
"Go find job!"
"Where are you?"
"Go find job!"
"Where are you?"
"I'm sorry, but the position's full..."
"Sorry ah, only men after ORD we can accept..."

'snap'




















"I don't want to feel this way anymore....."