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.
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'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.
Friday, August 25, 2006
Sunday, August 20, 2006
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?
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?
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Sunday, August 13, 2006
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...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
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...
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
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.
Friday, August 11, 2006
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.
doodle doodle doodle dee then. Ennui makes me do.....weird stuff.
Wednesday, August 09, 2006
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?
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?
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
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.
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.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
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-
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-
Saturday, July 29, 2006
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.
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
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Oh, and I shook Tracy Humphrey's hand today. You know, wife of that Weekend Today ang moh columnist.
Good times.
Saturday, July 22, 2006
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"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.
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.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
"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.
Saturday, July 15, 2006
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!
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!
Monday, July 10, 2006
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, July 08, 2006
Friday, July 07, 2006
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).
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).
Thursday, July 06, 2006
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!
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!
Wednesday, July 05, 2006
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
Swearing and kicking me won't help much, you know. :D
Saturday, July 01, 2006
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.
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.
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