You’ll Laugh! You’ll Cry! You’ll Hurl!

On Saturday afternoon, we headed to the Polo Club to watch the Hurling All Stars Challenge. As you of course know, hurling is…er…um…an Irish sport I have no hope in hell of explaining properly to you. See here for description.

Here are two hurling-related exchanges.

#1 (On the way to the match.)
Me: Traffic is bad, it looks like we might be late.
Alec: Oh, it’s all right. Each half will be 40 minutes long.
Me: But by the time we show up, it might be hurlf time!
Alec: ……

#2 (Shouted conversation in Zouk later that night.)
Me: Pity you couldn’t join us for the hurling.
Jacob: Yeah, pity. It’s got some nostalgic appeal for me.
Me: Oh, why?
Jacob: When I was at boarding school, at end of term there would be this traditional ________ [insert name of Scottish equivalent of hurling, I didn’t catch it] match, and it was between the normal pupils and the prefects.
Me: I WAS A PREFECT YOU ASSHOLE WHAT DID YOU DO???!!
Jacob: Well, my “favourite” prefect lost a tooth.

Tiefschwarz (Zouk, 21 Jan 2006)

I must club to house music more often, it’s so refreshingly undemanding. Instead of staggering out after DJ Marky at 4 AM with jelly legs and money disintegrating in my trouser pocket because my entire body was so saturated with sweat, I skipped out after Tiefschwarz at 6 AM, barely sweaty and feeling fabulous. This is why I’m always inwardly amused by (some) Zoukers who talk about being the last people on the dancefloor with a certain self-satisfied air. Grow up, guys. It’s easy peasy.

This magisterial entry at Skykicking goes a long way towards explaining why I like Tiefschwarz as DJs to club to – their “essential crudity”. My preferences in live music, be it clubbing or gigs, always favour extremes of noise, abrasiveness, bombast and weirdness. Subtlety and moderation is for my headphones, and the quiet of my room.

So, hooray! I actually managed to have a good night at Zouk! I don’t have much of an opinion about the recent refurbishment. It still looks as insipid to me now as it did before (inward amusement point #2: when people say they preferred the old Zouk because it was “more gritty”; it’s not that I love clubbing in shitholes but “gritty” is just not a word I’d ever use to describe Zouk), but I must say the new sound system is excellent.

And since Kelly very kindly signed me in (thanks Kelly! And thanks Dom, for Alec!), I didn’t have to undergo the indignity of being age-checked (which never happens to me anywhere else, including cities like London where the average 16 year old does actually look much older than me) or risk the drink coupon debacle that pissed me off so much previously. An added plus was the fact that the club was apparently emptier than usual. It’s pretty typical that the only DJs I’ve wanted to see at Zouk in, say, the last 6 months, are the ones that didn’t draw a big crowd in Singapore. But hey, I’m not complaining. More space for my flailing!

Eat Pretzel. Invade Iraq.

This is possibly the funniest, most original thing I have ever read at Defective Yeti. Which, in the context of the last couple years’ worth of funny, original Defective Yeti posts, is really saying something.

> WEAR FLIGHTSUIT
You put on the flightsuit.

> SAY “MISSION ACCOMPLISHED”
“Mission accomplished.”

> EXAMINE MISSION
The mission is not accomplished.

[Note: I don’t know if this will be as funny if you’ve never played text-based computer adventure games.]

Quadromemia

I’m not generally into memes unless they’re about music but Little Miss Drinkalot tagged me, and at the moment answering the meme seems a lot easier than writing about King Kong, the Chronicles of Narnia (the movie plus, well, my entire childhood), the Lunarin gig we attended a couple of weeks ago, the Mormon who evangelized to us on the way there, the emergency surgery my family’s second cat (not Casey, we have a newish outdoors one I never got round to writing about here) had to undergo this evening, or Truman Capote’s The Grass Harp which is kicking my ass with its wonderfulness.

I avoid memes because they too easily become subterfuge for lack of content, but hey, today I’m using this meme to compensate for an excess of content! Which makes it okay! (Well not really, but I needed some token introductory paragraphs. Onwards.)

4 jobs you’ve had in your life

  • Relief teacher (In my old school, Katong Convent. Loved it.)
  • Tuition teacher (To one of my students there who needed a little extra help. Loved it.)
  • Recording for an automated phone voice message system ($100 per hour! Pity it only took 2.)
  • Lawyer (As part of my scholarship bond. It’s fine so far.)

4 movies you could watch over and over

  • Coming To America (Sexual Chocolate – best band name ever)
  • This Is Spinal Tap (“They were still booing him when we came on stage.”)
  • Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me (“You are HAIRY! Like ANIMAL!”)
  • The English Patient (Gorgeous book, film, lead actor.)

[Very different answers would have been given if this had asked for my 4 favourite movies. I only tend to do multiple viewings of movies that make me laugh or make me horny, but I still love many films that do neither.]

4 TV shows you love(d) to watch

  • The X-Files
  • ‘Allo ‘Allo
  • ________ Idol
  • America’s Next Top Model, baybee!

4 places you’ve lived

  • Bedok, Singapore (5 years)
  • Fitzrovia, London (1 year)
  • Bloomsbury, London (3 years)
  • Katong, Singapore (16 years and counting)

4 places you’ve been on vacation to

  • Istanbul (among other places in amazing, amazing Turkey)
  • Dubrovnik (totally worth every bit of energy and expense it took to get there)
  • Berlin (apart from London, the most fascinating city I’ve been to)
  • Krakow (you think you’ve heard it all before about Auschwitz, but you go there and realize that was all just…words)

4 places you would rather be

  • London
  • London
  • London
  • For variety’s sake, Berlin. But it’s really London.

4 of your favourite foods

  • Salmon sashimi
  • The McSpicy burger!
  • Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia
  • Garlic, any time any place any way

4 websites you visit daily

4 tagged

[Don’t worry, I totally won’t be offended if you don’t do memes and don’t want to do this. But it’s just that I’d be interested in your answers. :) ]

Mogwai Noise Snippet

From a Mogwai gig review at The Guardian:

Not enough is written about the sensual pleasure of being bathed in noise. There’s probably a good reason for this. Pretension is a constant danger. It’s hard enough to articulate what rock music actually sounds and feels like when there are lyrics to analyse and themes to play with. When – as in the case of Mogwai, a largely instrumental Glaswegian five-piece – there are few words, just sinuous guitar lines erupting into ear-splitting volume, the risk of ending up in Pseud’s Corner, waffling on about cathedrals of sound, is high.

But here goes. Being bathed in a wash of deafening guitar noise is lovely.

It really is that simple. Lovely. :)

Things You Can Get In Joo Chiat

In a red light district in some other country I’d know this pun was totally intentional, but in Singapore’s Joo Chiat I’m not too sure.

I snapped this last week while waiting for my food in Tasty Penang, a restaurant across the road which had such laughably incompetent service (but to be fair, pretty damn good Penang char kuay teow and I don’t even like char kuay teow usually) that all the customers in the restaurant bonded through their shared frustration. In somewhere like Singapore where almost no one makes conversation with strangers, it was an amusing change to see people winking and laughing with the people at other tables as they asked, for the umpteenth time, where their laksa was.

We were back in the same area a few nights ago for sweet potato leaves and steamed fish with sng buey sauce at Lau Hock Guan Kee Bak Kut Teh. We’ll be going back soon for its assam fish head curry, rated “die die must try” by Makansutra.

Man, I love Joo Chiat.

Crispin Lover

“The crisp is a truly wonderful thing,” wrote Ralph Sharansky in the Idler. “It serves as the antithesis of real food.” (Quote from Guardian article below.)

I find health food freakery to be one of the most boring afflictions known to modern man, so the Guardian’s Great British Crisp Challenge delighted me.

“Recently, of course, parents have grown concerned by such disarming facts as: a single packet is three times as salty as sea water and contains half the recommended daily salt intake for a six-year-old; half the fat content is the evil saturated kind; the leading brand crisps all contain monosodium glutamate, among other enhancers; and there are 185 calories in a 34g packet. As a child you are not bothered by such information. You are more alarmed to find a witchy green crisp lurking in the shadowy depths of the packet, or too busy concentrating on sticking a Hula Hoop on every finger, or licking the foil wrapper for lingering salty-vinegariness, as it is technically known among playground aficionados.”

The actual results of the challenge are a little less fun to me than the buildup, though mostly because none of my personal favourites (Kettle Chips salsa & mesquite, Marks & Spencers spring onion, Walkers Sensations Thai sweet chilli) were contenders. Your mileage may vary.

I still have beautiful memories of late night essay-writing breaks in university – putting on some appropriately ear-destroying music, sipping my 8-sugars-a-can Coke and finally, biting into a crisp and savouring the explosion of ill-health in my system. As Jay Rayner, the Observer’s restaurant critic, so rightly commented in his rating of Walkers Salt & Shake, “Anyone who doesn’t want salt on their crisps is no friend of mine.”

Handy Hint

While idly thumbing through a colleague’s copy of last week’s 8 Days one lunchtime, I stopped to read a feature on the tendency of teen gameshow contestants to do dumb hand signs in their mugshots. (Think East 17 publicity shots when they first started out, except with doe-eyed smiles.) I was rather perturbed by the headline.

2006 Just Started And We’re Already Below Par

Some people begin a new year by making resolutions, beginning diets, planning exercise regimes, or at the very least directing their energies to something vaguely useful.

We played minigolf.

Those of you familiar with my penchant for dumb kitsch will have no difficulties understanding why LilliPutt – “Funtastic Singapore in 18 Holes” held so much joyful potential for me.

Indeed, one need not even extend one’s imagination far beyond this blog’s last kitschfest to see why. My friends, I present to you: “uniquely Singapore” minigolf!


Shifu is watching…

Alec’s golf pro is a pretty intense guy, but he’s really devoted to coaching from the ground up.

 


Fore2 jiao4

My coach was nice and chilled though. Very Zen. I realize I’m breaking 2 terrible taboos here, standing with my head higher than the Buddha and my feet pointing towards him, but I couldn’t make the shot any other way! (Note to non-Mandarin speakers: the caption to the photo contains a pun so ghastly you’ll be glad you don’t get it.)

 


Fear my pink dimpled wrath!

This poor demon got a little short-changed when fearsome demonic powers were being handed out.

 


Fear my fucking flat-cap!

This guy has a bit of a demented Marcel Marceau vibe going on, and is final conclusive proof that flat-caps are pure evil in origin.

 

The other 17 holes featured an endearing mishmash of Singaporeana. Tiny mechanized trishaws, MRT trains and cable cars transporting your golf ball between the stages of a hole. Miniature versions of the Esplanade, Merlion, Suntec fountain, Boat Quay, Botanic Gardens gazebo, and in a slightly obvious attempt at self-glorification, the Big Splash building which houses Lilliputt.

But not everything was devoted to tourist attractions of Singapore! Some holes were devoted to venues which cater to ordinary Singaporeans and common pastimes.


Here oso got Crazy Horse¹leh.

For example, the Turf Club.

 


Some day we’ll win a SEA games medal…

And, uh, the ski resort. Hmmm.

 

Oh, I nearly forgot. There was, of course, some competitive element in this whole exercise, as our blissful relationship of mutual respect and passionate devotion is not entirely devoid of bitter rivalry and petulant oneupmanship. If I were to say it didn’t matter at all to me who won or lost, as long as we had fun, I’d be lying.


Na beh.²