Fantastic Damage

So I’m broke, exhausted, and have exams in less than twenty days which I haven’t started studying for yet, but at least I had a good weekend. Reasons why:

  • Resfest (more detailed review intended in future post), and the pleasing coincidence of attending it with the only two people I know in the world (Benny on Saturday, Jeremy on Sunday) who I can uninhibitedly discuss music with. (James, from what Alec’s been telling me, by the next time we meet I hope you’ll be the third!)

  • Showing Benny bits of Singapore I actually like. We had dinner at Satay Club under the flyover, and later walked all the way along the river from the Asian Civilizations Museum to Cocco Latte. Cocco Latte didn’t disappoint either, from the surprisingly good mashups (from all my Internet searching it’s rare enough that I even hear one mashup I rate highly, but they played quite a number) on the ground floor to the great mix of hip-hop upstairs. Benny had already been saying “Have I mentioned I really love this place?” at regular ten-minute intervals downstairs, but once we went upstairs and the DJ was playing stuff Benny didn’t know I think that sealed matters as far as respect was concerned. (Random fear, though: the place is getting more and more popular, which makes me worry that it will eventually fall prey to my two pet peeves about Phuture – the ridiculous overcrowding, and too many gropers.)

  • Feeling virtuous for making it to 11.15 AM mass, despite only having three and a half hours of sleep (and even less than that the night before). Of course, I also felt as if I was about to keel over and die, but that suited today’s theme of making painful sacrifices for one’s faith remarkably well.

  • Coming back from mass bleary-eyed, and finding a beautiful bouquet of flowers waiting. Today marks three years with Alec.

flyover by night
The view from the Satay Club at dusk.

7 comments

  1. Well, hey. If I don’t know what it is, it’s probably not that good in the first place.

    You will not challenge my l33tness.

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