Some ties bind. Others, I’d willingly break.
The idealist in me is overjoyed that the stranger who found Alec’s lost library book returned it to the library, thereby saving him from having to pay the library for it. Very much the proverbial random act of kindness, for which we are both grateful.
The cynic in me wonders if things would have turned out differently had the book been The Da Vinci Code/The Alchemist/Harry Potter (or any other huge bestseller) instead of Maupassant’s Pierre Et Jean.
I took this picture in a Pulau Ubin quarry last Sunday, but only saw the witch’s face later when I viewed the photo on my computer screen. It’s not just me who sees her, right?
* * *
Later, we tried to take photos of ourselves in another quarry and were less than pleased with the results.
Russ, who had long abandoned his shirt: I look so gay!
Me: Well, I guess the nipple doesn’t help.
Russ, noticing his photographed nipple for the first time: Aaagh!
Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Russ: STOP LAUGHING AT MY NIPPLE!
It echoed across the calm waters as the sunset bathed everything in gold.
My body was the furthest it’s ever been from a wonderland after wakeboarding on Saturday morning, but I was determined to make it to Flea Day that afternoon after my steals the previous time. My progress was slower this time due to my near-inability to return to a standing position after squatting to look at a stall’s wares, but it also meant I looked at stuff more carefully and spotted things I might otherwise have missed.
Chunky red stone/bead bracelet, $2
CDs I passed up reluctantly because they were $6 each and I think that’s too high for a flea market where I have no guarantee they’ll even work and may never see the stallholder again:
“There are spots on this one,” I said, pointing to the back of the Tri Repetae disc. “Oh, I think that’s just mould,” the guy said. Fair enough, I understand it’s a flea market and stuff isn’t new, but I’d like to urge any flea market CD sellers reading this to please provide a CD player for testing! A Discman would do, after all. I’m a discerning customer who’s more likely than most to recognize the music you’ve got to offer, but I still won’t pay more than $4 if I can’t be sure I’m not just stocking up on coasters.
Spread the word – Haw Par Villa is the best trip you can have in Singapore without risking a criminal record.
[For non-Singaporean readers: Haw Par Villa is a statue park in the west of Singapore, built in the 1930s by two tycoon brothers who made their fortunes in Chinese medicinal ointment, and it’s full of garish life-size statues commissioned by the brothers to portray stories from Chinese mythology and traditional Chinese values.]
Haw Par Villa’s been terminally uncool ever since that spectacularly failed themeparkesque revamp in the late 80s, but no one seems to have noticed that they’ve since reversed many of the ill-advised changes that led to its downfall. It’s free to get in again these days (apart from the $5 parking charge and the $1 entry fee to Hell), and they’ve removed all those ridiculously kitsch additions like the rides and shows. So now, just the ridiculously kitsch original statues are left.
I took first Alec and recently Russ to it, and I think I wouldn’t be overstating things to say they both left a little changed by the experience. I don’t usually like to post too many photos in an entry, but my words really can’t do justice to the lurid reality of Haw Par Villa on their own, so forgive me if you’re on a slow connection and this entry takes a while to load. As usual, click on the photos for larger versions, and oh, be warned: CONTAINS WEIRD STATUE NUDITY.
Read More “Haw Par Villa: Hallucinations, Hell And The Hokey Pokey”
I’d been looking forward the whole of last week to my firm’s Pupils Bash on Friday, because lawyers are such great party people!
Gotcha.
The real reason was that free flow of drinks at Cocco Latte = FREE FLOW OF HOEGAARDEN ON TAP, YAAAAAAAY! to me. Sadly, upon arriving and bounding merrily to the bar, I was informed that the club’s arrangement with my firm didn’t include Hoegaarden as part of the free flow. Crushed, I therefore drowned my sorrows with 10 assorted shots of tequila and vodka, 2 beers, 1 vodka and lemonade, 1 JD & Coke, and finally a session in the obligatory firm Dentist’s Chair during which tequila was poured down my gullet. By the way, the only other two pupils I saw who weren’t afraid to drink and weren’t embarrassingly drunk by the end of the night were both guys, and all three of us studied in England. Go figure.
By the time Alec joined me at 11.30, many people had left, been brought home, or were stumbling around drunkenly outside, and no one seemed interested in staying to dance. Since I wasn’t in my comfy dancing shoes and was feeling a bit peckish, we left too and went to Newton for a sotong, stingray and Tsingtao supper with Jacob, Ian and Chiho.
A random mention of pool during supper got our hearts set on a pool game at 4 AM, and an Indian stall uncle (or it might have been the bengs at the next table, I forget) said to try Selegie Road, so off we went, to a roadside bar which looked as if it had been expecting 100 rally-car enthusiasts to show up but which was starkly empty. “In the absence of booze, I’ve ordered us 3 cheesecakes,” Jacob said, and they were good. I think we played 3 games, during which Alec beat Jacob, Jacob beat Alec, and I fell asleep halfway during my game so I don’t know who won but I certainly lost.
Some photos from the weekend. These were taken at Labrador Park.
(makcik: Malay lady, usually middle-aged or older.)
How much do I love flea markets? Let me count the ways:
There was a guy asleep on the floor at one of the stalls, which is never a good idea if you’re at a flea market and have funny friends. (Click on the photo to view a full-size version.)
I never thought I’d say this about a Heineken party but Wednesday night was the best clubbing I’ve had since returning from England (August 2003).
Koflow and a local beatboxer set a blistering pace from early on with an excellent set. I’d gone with fairly low expectations of Herbaliser, not having bothered to listen to anything by them since 2001, when I bought and was underwhelmed by Very Mercenary, but how wrong I was. They started with Witness, which I never got sick of despite its ubiquity, and did a well-paced, diverse and consistently danceable set. Not the best I’ve ever seen but pretty much on par with a good Xen night, and that’s good enough for me. They also managed one of those rare “How did I not realize how great this was to dance to before??!” epiphanies for me with Get It Together, which never used to be one of my stand-out tracks on Ill Communication.
I loved the venue (Timberlux Centre) too. I’ve had great times at small beautiful Cocco Latte but miss having space to go a bit mental if the music so moves me. Cavernous converted-_________ venues encourage uninhibited and shambolic dancing, which is infinitely more fun than the self-conscious controlled dancing which is socially necessary in smaller spaces. Also, you don’t even need good music in order to enjoy your uninhibited shambolic dancing. I still have fond memories of prancing around wildly with Nick and Vish at a freezing New Year’s Eve outdoor party in Glasgow – to Azzido Da Bass.
It’s amusing how many of the same strangers I keep seeing at the musical events I go to. “That Malay guy with prominent cheekbones was at RNDM,” I said to Alec. “Yeah, that petite Indian girl was there too,” he said. I don’t recognise many Chinese faces except Joe’s though, we generally all look same to me. I’d like to start talking to all the familiar faces at some point.
If I hadn’t seen it on the front page of the Straits Times, I’d have dismissed the article (headline “Literature winner read only 3 novels in 2 years”) about the Singaporean winner of the Angus Ross prize as a satire on the Singaporean education system. I was about to go into a rant about the unfuckingbelievableness of it all, and then found out that Nicholas had already done it for me, complete with characteristic acerbity and extracts of the article’s most offending statements.
All I will add is that I dearly hope Ms Candice Wan Shu Ting was misquoted several times by the journalist who interviewed her. If she was, she has all my sympathies for being portrayed as an astoundingly arrogant teenager who deserves to be spanked hard with every book of the Western literary canon (just to start with). If she wasn’t, if I ever meet her I don’t think I’ll be able to resist asking, ever so casually, “Read any good books lately?”
Outside the Joo Chiat KTV lounge where Alec was turning tricks last weekend, this humble altar moved us deeply and reminded us of the profound insights we can gain from other religions. We are seriously considering incorporating certain elements of this beautiful offering into our own worship.
Happy Easter, everyone!