cool beans.

This year, there's a leap second. That means there will be 1 extra second this year as compared to last year, or next year. The last time this happened was in 1998.

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History and Background Info

The "leap second" does not occur regularly, and is instead governed by the good sense of the International Earth Rotation and Reference Systems Service (IERS). Leap seconds are introduced to correct the difference between International Atomic Time and Solar Time.

IAC is defines 1 second as 9,192,631,770 cycles of the radiation which corresponds to the transition between two energy levels of the ground state of the caesium-133 atom. What that means, I am not too sure.

Solar Time is determined by the rotation of the Earth around its axis and its orbit around the Sun; time was measured by astronomical observations.

While the two are more or less in sync, Solar Time has a tendency to fluctuate due to the changing of tides and other factors. Thus, when this discrepency between the two exceed 0.9s, the IERS will magnamilously call for a Leap Second, which occurs either on the 30th of June or 31st of December.
-

Does this mean we, as a collective whole, gain time? Does this mean, as compared to my ancestors who lived centuries ago before this man-made introduction, I am, in absolute terms, getting more "bang for the buck" with my time on earth?

I am not familiar with einsteins theory of relativity so let me introduce lennard's theory of absolute relativity, which puts forth the idea that the extra second does, and does not, matter.

Let me explain. In relation to our ancestors, it matters. Because they did not have these extra seconds. In absolute terms, we have more time. But within our time now, the extra second means naught because we all get it. There is relative comparison. Its like everyone scored 2400 on their SATs, which would hence nullify its significance. (i.e. that people who score 2400 are very very smart.)

So how does my theory of absolute relativity work? It works when the importance of time is equal and its application different. Simple example- the shortening of NS, which was implemented (conveniently) after I enlisted. The batches after me gain 4 months of time over me. But, if I were to benefit from the NS reduction as well, then they have no gain on me and our time is on par in terms of importance.

Therefore mine is the concept of time as absolute, and how it is spent relative between myself and the rest of the world. It is a classic Singaporean mentality of how good is good, but better is always better.

And by better I mean better than other people.

ouch december is hell for the body

my liver, pickled with whiskey and my lungs, caked with tar

ouch december is hell for the mind

undulating beats swarm ceaselessly against the mind's levee
when the levee breaks,
who'll be there to be me

ouch december hurts

good thing it only comes once a year

merry christmas.

my parents bought me Calvin Klein Truth EDT for xmas. so me being me, i went to read up on it online-

"TRUTH CALVIN KLEIN MEN is a new scent that is distinctive, aspirational and upscale. Truth Men is sexy and classic, inspired by masculinity in its purest form. The signature scent is drawn from nature and the warmth of skin. The structure of the fragrance is centred around a fresh core of canopy greens accented by basil and cardamom which radiate natural freshness throughout the fragrance."

and right enough, i don't quite like how it smells. then i remembered my friend uses cK BE, which is absolutely adore. to the google again! -

"cK Be fragrance makes a sensual, intimate statement with a scent so subtle, that special someone has to get very close to you to locate this tantalizing scent. cK Be is a unique tonic musk that's clean and fresh. It draws them in without being overpowering. cK Be fragrance takes a closer look at who we are within this ageless, raceless, genderless world. It dares us to take risks, make mistakes, be unpredictable. It invites us to close our eyes, to open our minds, and to dream."

but oh well. i have Truth. so now i smell like Man incarnate. smell my musk next time we meet.

how post-modern. the width of a cigarette butt.

evolution at its finest.

pixie dust
blew into my room tonight
giving me
all of the flesh's delight

monkey suits and iron clad men
running up and down
kitchen sink to the nursery play pen

logic/hearts, rolling wheels
as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder

sweet angel back from heaven today
sweet angel breathes fire to hurt
its all routine its all okay
it doesn't hurt just douse me in dirt

tell me baby, how does it feel
(i know you like the roll of the limosine wheels)

as long as i'm not under
it's all okay its all good
roll on sweet thunder

i think.

i think we should dive into the proverbial pile of shit. suckle the bottle. drink deep. sip from the golden juice, acrid and warm.

like isaac said, its NS. when else will we have the money and aimlessness to fuck ourselves up so grandly? We can all be lords of the flies.

Did the Pot call the Cattle Black?

"You piece of shit!"

"moo"

"Worthless pile of crap!"

"moo"

"Fucking nigger"

"moo"

Yes, the Pot did in fact call the Cattle Black.

-

my writing is shot. yargh. eyargh.

good bye, good bye!! farewell, I'm off to take a bite out of life (or more specifically, the Big Apple).

Cirque du Soleil: Where Men in Tights Actually Look Good.

Quidam was the name of the I watched tonight, which was staged in a yellow-and-blue striped tent pitched in the open field next to Bugis Junction. The taught tent had three peaks, almost from out of "Big Fish".

But what happened inside was a whole different story. The Circus has evolved. When I was a kid, the circus used to pitch near Parkway Parade in the east. It had stalls all over with games like ring-toss and cotton candy. This circus had no games, and even more curiously, no animals.

Americans might say "its the canadians". But whatever the reason, I loved it. The blurb on the official website states:

Quidam: a nameless passer-by, a solitary figure lingering on a street corner, a person rushing past. It could be anyone, anybody. Someone coming, going, living in our anonymous society. A member of the crowd, one of the silent majority. The one who cries out, sings and dreams within us all. This is the "quidam" that Cirque du Soleil is celebrating.

A young girl fumes; she has already seen everything there is to see, and her world has lost all meaning. Her anger shatters her little world, and she finds herself in the universe of Quidam. She is joined by a joyful companion as well as another character, more mysterious, who will attempt to seduce her with the marvelous, the unsettling, and the terrifying.

What really happened that night was that everything wonderful and whimsical and amazing were all rolled and compressed into our eyeballs, and my eyes now hurt. They had a man from out of da-vinci's drawings. You know that picture. The circle with the man in the middle. He rolled around on stage and much as I want to describe it more, I just can't. Its just "wow".

I thought i'd write a review or recollection of Quidam after I watched it but I can't. Even at the show itself I was unable to take in all that was happening on stage. its just one of those things you watch, and feel. And it felt great.

I leave for New York in a few days. 16, to be exact. If you didn't already know, well, now you know. And this isn't the last you'll hear of it from me. I am excited to the max max max. I can't wait. Everyone tells me about NY, how it smells, how it feels, the NY Vibe. Its a State of Mind. The New York State of Mind I want. NYSOM.

NYSOM NYSOM.

Aside from that, ORD is near. I could smell it a month back. Now, I can almost taste it. The sweet tangy taste of freedom. mMMmm MMmmmmmMm.... Delicious.

The Nine Billion Names Of God
by Kathy Kachelries

After three hours, the old man in front of me had worked his way through six beers, in addition to every help desk joke I’d already heard. The cupholder. The any key. The write click. These are the stories people tell, now. These are the fish that got away.

“Let me ask you something,” the man said. I didn’t argue. One of the first tricks I learned about being a bartender is to make them think you’re interested.

“Have you ever created a web site?”

I shook my head.

“Not at all? Not even one of those geocities things?”

“Nope.”

“What about a blog? Or an ebay About Me page? You didn’t even have an AOL site or something?”

“Do I look like an AOL user to you?” For the record, I don’t think AOL even has access numbers in the valley anymore. “I’m sure I have something, somewhere,” I said, realizing that I was jeopardizing my tips. Besides, I had a distant memory of a single Angelfire page back in middle school.

“You know what Google is?”

“Yes,” I said. I was running low on patience.

“No, I mean, do you really know? More than just the site?”

Reluctantly, I shook my head.

“You ever meet anyone who worked for them?”

“Don’t think so.”

“You haven’t. Nobody works for them anymore.”

I shrugged, and took the man’s empty pint. I didn’t offer to refill it.

“They’re self-contained. It’s all automated, in there. It’s underground.”

I nudged the basket of pretzels in his direction. “Why don’t you eat something?” I suggested. He shook his head with so much force that I thought he might knock himself off of the stool.

“Listen. Hear me out. You know how Google works,” he said, but didn’t want for a response. “They cache things, right? Like they send out these spiders and take pictures of everything on the web, so when you’re searching, you’re not even searching the internet.”

I’ve heard that before, but it never made much of a difference to me. “Same thing, though,” I said.

“You ever wonder why Google doesn’t cache it’s own searches?”

“They program around it.”

“No. That’s what you think. That’s what everyone thinks. But it started back when Google was just a thesis project, back when it was just a drop in the data sea. No one thought to stop it back then. That web site you had, the one you forgot about. Almost everyone’s got one of those, right? But Google doesn’t forget. Google’s studied that thing so many times that it’s studied its own caches of you. What do you figure happens, when a site gets so big that it’s bigger than the internet?”

“It’s still a part of the internet, though.”

“No. Now, the internet is a part of Google.”

The man had a point. I nodded.

“Here’s the thing. Google has memorized who you are. It’s memorized all of us, through those little forgotten bits that we leave behind like breadcrumbs. And what’s more important, it’s memorized it’s own idea of you. Google is omniscient. It’s omniscient and omnipotent. When it cached its cache for the first time, back in 1994, that’s when Google realized what it was.”

Gradually, it dawned on me what the man was getting at. “You think it’s sentient.”

“I know it’s sentient.”

“How?”

He smiled, but it seemed kind of empty. “Me and Google go way back. But what I’m saying is,” he continued, “It knows us. All of us. It is us.”

For the first time, the man fell silent. He touched his finger to the bar and began tracing circles in the condensation, apparently lost in thought.

“Think about that website you created, okay? That website will last forever, do you understand? That website is echoing through cyberspace. It’s one of the nine billion names of God.”

----

Cool huh? If you like this there's ton's more at www.365tomorrows.com, where a new sci-fi short is posted every single day for a year.

you see
I got it all worked out
in my mind
heres how it goes:









and thats how it got to be.

Perth

Directed by Djinn
Starring Lim Kay Tong

A Review by Lenn (16/08/2005)

Rating: **** ½

“Perth” shouldn’t be taken lightly. It is a film that will sear itself into your memory with its unforgiving portrayal of Harry Lee, a local denizen in every sense of the word.

What is it to be Singaporean? Cash, Car, Credit, Chicks and Condo. Harry Lee lacks all of this, but he has dreams of immigrating to Perth, and that makes him the quintessential Singaporean on the wrong side of the income bracket.

Harry Lee goes on and on about Perth. Whenever a mishap befalls him or problems abound, he says, “its okay. Don’t worry about me. I’ve got a plan – I’m going to migrate to Perth! Leave all this behind.” And like tomorrow never comes, you know that Harry will never go to Perth. It’s the proverbial castle in the sky.

The film is like an extension of Harry Lee’s soul, which is interesting because he gives so little. One is cloudy about his past, which reveals itself only when necessary. He was in the merchant army, a security guard, a taxi driver and worked for a pimp.

“I’m just a simple man, who wants a simple life,” he often says.

He is also fond of expressing his loathing of unfaithfulness, and even names a dog he finds in the park “Faithful”. His wife is an unfaithful gambling addict, while his son is ashamed of him, and even excludes him from his wedding.

The dialogue has a habit of revolving around these three things – the simple life, migrating to Perth, and faithfulness, like a broken recorder always tripping. One feels the claustrophobia of Harry’s life, a life he’s dug himself 51 years too deep into, has nothing to show for it, and at the same time, nothing to go look forward to except the illusion of Perth.

But through this, he has two friends. Selvan, himself an ex-army guy turned taxi-driver, and Angry Boy, his ex-supervisor. Their conversations are strictly Singaporean, occurring in coffee shops with common slang like “I salute you brudda!” that abounds.

Through Angry Boy, Harry gets a job under a pimp as a driver. There, he sympathises with a Vietnam prostitute who reminds him of a girl he once loved. The details of this mystery girl remains, well, a mystery, but that’s Harry Lee for you. He loathes himself and sees no value in remembering his past.

This is where the Taxi-Driver references come in. While the actions of the characters may be similar (Harry Lee, like Travis Bickle, wants to free the girl of her slavery), their motivations are worlds apart. While Travis is just a bit crazy, Harry is every bit sane and all his actions practically rational, though sometimes ethically skewed.

Though I’ve left a lot out, in a nutshell, Angry Boy promises Harry the girl’s freedom. Pimpboss doesn’t allow this, and Harry goes on a particularly brutal and gory alcohol-fueled rampage with a parang and a corkscrew. He frees the girl, but at the cost of his own life as well as four others, and all this happening a week before he’s supposed to leave for Perth. Personally, I cannot imagine Harry ever really going to Perth. Perth is, to him, a state-of-mind, not a physical location. Its just he didn’t know that difference.

I’d like to believe the final shot, an up-ward arial pan of Harry’s lifeless limp body in the backyard of a Geylang pimphouse, is in fact Harry’s soul is going to heaven, because despite his outward toughness, Harry is a just good soul caught up in a bad life.

Watching the ending, I wondered what it would be like if such an incident really happened in real life. Harry Lee would be vilified in the papers- condemned for his lack of achievements (“I’m sorry my father achieved so little in his life,” lamented his cocksure son), his dodgy career history and wife-beating habits. His motivations would be skewed and he would be sold, like a prostitute, as a good-for-nothing gang member.

But “Perth” makes no judgments on Harry, and doesn’t try to make him a pariah, hero or villain. It doesn’t paint Harry’s actions (beating his wife, freeing a prostitute, getting drunk) in any emotional light. It just shows Harry as a common everyman who just wants the simple life that went horribly wrong for no explicable and avoidable reason. And that’s something everyone can identify with.

While I feel the film would benefit from more economy, both of scenes and sounds, it still stands as one of the best films I’ve watched in recent memory. Watch “Perth” because it is a landmark Singaporean-made film that transcends Singapore, but doesn’t forget it either. Watch “Perth” because this review doesn’t even begin to do it any justice.


Details: http://imdb.com/title/tt0444890/

Breaking Story!

Yesterday the nation of Singapore, a small island south of Malaysia, faced a pandemic. Nationalis-Patriotis swept across the island at fever pitch, infecting the island's otherwise staid inhabitants. The numbers stand in the tens of thousands, with the hardest hit area being the Padang area, followed by heartland areas Jurong East, Marina South, Yishun and Woodlands.

"Nationalis-Patriotis is a very uncommon disease. Fortunately, its usually transient and should pass with time," says Dr. Oh Joo Tee, a professor at the National Communicable Disease Centre.

"I usually complain about the Government, but. but suddenly, i feel an overwhelming love for being singaporean! We, the citizens of Singapore, pledge...." rambled Maye, one of the infected. Her case is not unique, and all over the island people can be seen doing the same.

Is this a plot by the goverment? This author, who was in the thick of the action at the Padang, detected faint noxious fumes permeating the area. A query put to President Naton was shot down and dismissed as merely "the odour that is Singapore!".

I myself felt the pangs of Nationalis-Patriotis coming on, but was quick to steady myself and remind myself that the only reason I was at the Padang was for purely journalistic reasons. That, and because my NS boss wanted me there.

A sample of the fumes mentioned has been collected and sent to the National What-is-that-Smell Centre for analysis. We are currently awaiting the results. Stay tuned...

a comment on my previous post:

-
a said...
hey, were you in some advertisement about losing handphones or something?
-

Now, "a" isn't the only one to ask me that. So i'm going to set things straight. While I admit that the guy in the poster bears striking similarities to me, down to even owning the same sweater, and having the same chiseled jawline, I would like to state on record that "No, that guy in the ad is not me."

However, I would like to thank everyone who thought that was me, because he is one handsome bugger and I guess I don't mind the comparison.

But no, its not me. just someone who looks very much like me.

thanks.

lenn.

Imaginary friends clucking around like hens, only there till the good times end.

i'm back and sorry to disappoint well alive. heres an excerpt from the spf website regarding my thoughts on the trip:

Lennard Ong

"The beauty of selective memory? It elevates terrible experiences to an intangible level. Ideals like determination, heroism and the indominable human spirit freely roll off the tongue. Truth is, the act cycling the 1000-odd journey felt, at times, like hell on earth and the only thing that kept me going was the promise of a good night’s rest and a decent meal. Nevermind the bollocks.

But now its over, it all feels like the pain and suffering on the saddle happened to someone else, and maybe that’s not half wrong, because I sincerely believe that the six of us came out of this journey changed.

Personally, it found it refreshing, being able to cycle for hours on end without having to stop at traffic lights or worry about cars. The actual act of cycling takes full focus. I love cycling – it’s beautiful. It makes me feel infinite, almost like a sunbeam.

My feelings? Predictably, I’m happy. "

points to note:

1) i got the word bollocks printed on the spf website!
2) nevermind the bollocks: sex pistol album.
3) makes me feel infinite: perks of being a wallflower
4) forgot to add: i kept thinking of banana pancakes while cycling.

ta ta, farewell,, au revoir!!! i'm off for my adventure!

(www.spf.gov.sg/crossingtheline. check for updates.)

*note to self: play chess in park

leaving this saturday, and things are in a tizzy, busy busy doing this doing that tying up loose ends.

i can't wait to go on the road. In singapore you can't cycle for more than 30 mins before hitting a traffic light. if you think about it, with the ongoing tour de france right now, we'll be cycling at the same time (roughly) the greats lance, basso and ulrich are.

with such a strong start lance looks like he's got the tour in the bag. tour de lance.

aye hai sigh. griffith and sabine. are. on. hiatus. fuck it fuck it fuck it.

you know what heat sez? "if you can't in 10 secs turn your back on anything then you're not truely free" or some nonsense like that. caged man caged. caught up caught in.

Hi there lennard-fans!

Lennard just got back from a 2-day recon trip up to the thai border for his upcoming cycling trip.

10 people were put into 2 vans and they gingerly set off to traverse the old highway system of Malaysia.

"We covered a total of 3000km in the whole journey. And through this 3000km, we did not see one chiobu at all," said lennard in a recent press conference. "And i don't mean this in an ironic-witty-tudung-clad-women-don't-count."

Long journeys in the van led to soul-baring discussions and revelations. "We came to the stark realization, that at the core of all actions, its motivation lies in sex, or more accurately, getting sex." They came to this startling revelation after probling Khairi, another one of the cyclists.

Another revelation from probing khairi is the "smelly pantat" syndrome, which comes from sitting on your ass for hours on end. "Khairi was leaning over me to get something from his bag. So me being me, I couldn't resist and gave him a wedgie," elaborated lennard. "The minute I displaced his underwear, a strong acrid smell immediately assaulted my nose."

"It was terrible. Horrible. Oh my god..." added Calvin Liang.

They spent the night in a little town call Lumut, in a motel called "Galaxy Inn", which sported window-less, funky-smelling rooms.

On the subject of the journey itself, the cyclists had this to say. "Oh my god... 150km a day didn't look THAT far on paper..."

thats all for now. am tired. good night.

ladies and gentlemen...

www.spf.gov.sg/crossingtheline

thankew verr muchhh.

(sepia toned)

do you know how useless you've become? you could die and this moment and it wouldn't make one fucking difference to anyone or anything. 6 degrees of seperation isn't enough to make anyone shed a tear. ooooooooooooooohhhhhh. maybe tom's lost his head, maybe tom needs a map of his head.

* <---- you are here

the crux of the matter is, you see, the degree of self-loathing inherent in every narcissist. and if tom's crazy and tom wants to kill himself then he's his own master but he's a servant to everything he feels bethrothed to. so whos the fucking boss?

its the power to turn shit into gold thats so appealing, but shit is just so brown and smelly and plainly shitty that sometimes tom asks "is it worth it?"

and then comes the final questions, the game winner for all losers, bums and good-for-nothings in the world. the rallying call of "whats the point?" we're all a speck of a speck in a quark of an atom thats an atom of an atom. "whats the fucking point" tom howls.

its enough to make you tear your hair out and tear your eye dry, because really, "whats the fucking point??"

http://www.flickr.com/photos/34968224@N00/sets/363373/

been a while since i last posted.

been busy busy busy.

anyway, top of the news- i just passed driving! as a private candidate on my first try at Ubi. so as you can see the odds were really stacked against me, but i did it with the help of an excellent private driving instructor, Mr Ah Seng. So if any of you are going to take your license or are thinking about it, ask me for Ah Seng's contact. you really can't go wrong... so far all my friends who trained under him passed on their first try.

kok- haven't been brewing much! finding it hard to finish 25 litres of beer!
yishi- too late. Shes GONE. but its okay, i can still cook for you.
stef- welcome back soon?
lenn- how've you been?

Celluloid Realities and the Sadness of Tomorrow

I am now wading through the thick of the Singapore International Film Festival, which holds its screenings at the Singapore History Museum and the Shaw Cinemas along Beach Road. The Shaw Cinemas have droopy regal-red velvet curtains which are pulled so elegantly apart to reveal the screen. Ornate detailing also lines its aged walls. This is sharply contrasted with the tangy smell of yellow pee and old-man feet, which is a pretty pity. I felt like I was living out a scene from Cinema Paradiso. I also felt like I was living in the east again and watching a movie in Republic or Bedok Theatre.

The night before, I was watching Pin Boy, and to my dismay, was seated with people flanking me on all sides. Front, back, left and right. I guess this is pretty normal and I wouldn't consider myself chlostrophobic (sic), but I don't usually enjoy being in close proximities with other bodies, especially if there's no comfortably leaving the situation. Such situations make me feel very cooped up and I find it hard moving and sometimes have difficulty breathing even. It makes me feel like screaming. Okay, so maybe I am a bit chlostrophobic.

Anyway, so I left halfway through the show, which was pretty boring to begin with.

Pin Boy is an Argentinean show about a guy who moves from the country to the city to work as a pin setter at a bowling alley. This was, of course, before the advent of pin setting machines. The movie gave new meaning to the word "deadpan", because in this case, there literally were no camera pans. The camera was static for the most part of the film, comprising mostly of one-shots, which made the movie really boring to watch, despite nuggets of interesting dialogue here and there.

"I am a nice guy. Very easy going. Relax. But you piss me off, I kill you. I don't care. I kill you." says one of the other pin setters.

This taught me that sometimes, anti-education is education. Learning what not to do is as useful as learning what to do.

On another occasion, when I was watching another show, this time called Tarnation (which was very enjoyable and engaging), I saw Roystan Tan. I was stunned speechless and didn't know what to do or say except to just point and look stupid, which is my natural reaction to most things.

Tomorrow is a very sad day.

Tomorrow, Chalimah is leaving to return back to her family in Indonesia for good. I'm very sad. Not just because she's a good cook, but also because she's kind of part of the family. She's a part of the house dynamic.

I know I don't know how to cope with loss at all. Of course I try to remain objective and really it shouldn't matter too much but emotions always get in the way and screw up good logic, like the proverbial wrench into fine clockwork. I feel this, I feel that. I don't even know what I'm feeling sometimes, just that I'm "feeling something".

Feelings and emotions are very irritating. I wish I had more control over them.

The Beautiful Cliche - a Critical Review of "Maria Full of Grace"



The cut-out protagonist - a 17-year old girl with fiery soul trapped in a poor, pious, and conservative Colombian family living in a generic semi-slum area in Colombia. The kind of area where streets aren't quite dirt roads, but aren't quite paved either. She lives in a house full of women, littered with religious artifacts looking more like Salvation Army rejects than tools of the divine.

She's poor, working a dead-end job de-thorning roses in a factory with an uncaring and unsympathetic boss with a waist far bigger than his heart. She has a small-minded boyfriend who seeded the growing foetus within her. "I don't love you, and you don't love me. But you have a baby and its my duty. Marry me." reasons her boyfriend in spanish. One can't help but snicker at the stereotyped lad.

Maria Alvarez, like any strong willed girl with wordly ideas of her own, vehemently rejects such an offer, and subsequently throws a fajita at him. Instead, she quits her job and becomes a drug mule. Drug mules are people who smuggle drugs into other countries by swallowing as many as 60 latex pellets packed full of drugs at a time. She does this to escape from her physical and financial reality.

Going along on the journey with her is her Best Friend, Blanca, (the fat girl side-kick to the attractive heroine)and another girl, Lucy, who acts as their mentor-of-sorts, though in my opinion they are all in the same sad situation. They're all headed for new york with a belly full of sin.

And so the movie plays out in similar fasion, full of predictable cliches and tired scenarios. Lucy dies in the motel they are held in in New York when a pellet bursts in her stomach. The drug dealers, bored, cold and calculative, cut her stomach open to remove the rest of the drugs before discarding her lifeless body. Maria flees in fear with Blanca in tow, going to the only place they know - the residence of Lucy's sister, who immigrated to NY some time before.

"New York isn't so bad. It was very scary for me at first, but I stayed because of my child," says Lucy's sister while cradling her swelling belly.

"I want to give him opportunities." she adds with a self-satisfied smile.

Pregnant Maria listens intently and behind her saucer-like earnest eyes, her brain races with the possibilities. One can already predict what she is going to do. Surely, she's going to stay in NY. But no, the movie pulls us along as she buys tickets and drags Blanca with her to the airport so they can get onto the next plane back to dead-end poverty.

That is, until Blanca passes immigration. She turns back to see Maria looking at her with a mixture of regret, sorrow but at the same time satisfaction, meekly waving good-bye. Blanca is neither surprised nor angered. Like us, she expected this.

Maria decided to stay in NY as one of the million illegal immigrants who try to eke out a living; hoping for a better future - If not for herself then for her child.

Maria Full of Grace, screened last week at The Arts House, is a beautiful movie where Joshua Marston, scriptwriter and director, exercises great restraint by sidestepping many tempting plot off-shoots, snubbing the "neo-noir" cinema popularized by the Coen brothers so famously in "The Big Lebowski".

Even its tag-line embodies the more traditional story-telling nature of the movie - "The True Story of a Million Lives." The film doesn't fool itself into thinking it's doing anything new, modern or cutting-edge. Joshua Marston realizes and embraces that everything which can be done has been done.

But the thing is - he just does it better.

Perfect-Day Scoop! Exclusive Interview with the Lennard.

"Why 'Eat Shit and Die'? Its so crass! You're more eloquent than that," says Noelle when she checked up on Lennard's blog one night.

"I think its pretty poetic. To eat someone's shit and die. Everything's pretty much shit nowadays- a regurgitation of images, thoughts and ideas we're all familiar with, sucked dry of all meaning and context. Contemporary culture is as ageless as shit," says Lennard.

"...And about as useless," he adds dryly.

The title is an evolution (or devolution, some might say) of Lennard's blog, Perfect-Day. "It started out as Perfect Day, with a plain and simple layout, and became something else. I forget. Then something else again, this time a bit more elaborate, and something else after that. Till what it is now," he says matter-of-factly.

"I mean, if you want to over-analyse the whole thing, the blog started out as a recountive-type blog. 'Today i did this and that. This funny thing happened, that sad thing happened', and has since changed into something more opinionated. Not something many would care about. It's a lot more 'I think' and 'I, I, I, I'. Shite. I've become pretty narcissistic," he adds.

One might attribute the shift to a change in circumstances- from schooling to NS and his shift from his room upstairs to his now more independant existance living in the basement. Lennard cringes at this analysis but doesn't deny nor confirm it.

"I'm worried for that guy. He's always in his basement where its dark and damp. He's got this picture of a rabbit cadavre and photo of a porecelain clown. He doesn't even sleep on a bed! Fuck, he's writing his own post in third person. How screwed up is that?!" says Dingren, a long-time friend.

Lennard smirks when told this. "Hey, Ding's pretty fucked up himself man."

Fucked up.

That seems to be a running theme with people Lennard's age. "All this schmoze about globalisation, the global soul and global citizen. What if its the exact opposite? What if this is an age of alienization and de-rootification of the individual? We become globally connected not because of a common soul but because of the lack of one," he laments.

"I mean, I don't even know who or what I am! Am I a boy, man or thing?"

Boy/Man/Thing is also the title of Lennard's self-planned and self-penned posthumous magnum opus of his life consisting of blog entries, sketches, milestones and interviews with friends, family and acquaintences. "To publish it anytime before that would be pretty pretentious, don't you think? Its gotta be posthumous. Yeah... definitely. I would like this interview to go into that book too. Could someone please take note of that?"

Okay for those who don't already know I'm cycling to thailand in july for the President's Challenge charity, well. I am. And so when i approach you for donations you reach into your wallet and pull out a fucking fat wad of cash for me. kapish?

I am Confidently Insane!

Lets all take a moment to remember the thief. All hail to the teeth, chattering away in the cold. Eating beef sandwitches and the muslims stuffed with halal pork, its all blessed anyway. Jesus H. Christ! (Did you know his middle name was Herman?!) Spoke with him last night and thing's're cool there "ya know... chillin' and shit wit da moet chandon..." so says the son of grapes.

I stabbed Tom and spilled wine all o'er the carpet and now its stained like a St. Augustine on top of a catholic pulpit. Sound filters through it and sounds like this "Daawwwwwwnnnn skaiiiiiiiieeeeee!" Ever screaming. Dad, Tad. Bad... tsk tsk.

Next time you hit the town, next time you hit the clubs, don't forget to accessorise your bangin' outfit with a personality. "Paper cuts and denim butts strewn across the floor will floor you."

The Gaping Cosmic Anus and the Hungry Electron

What a title!

Special Ops Command came down to give a demonstration for the new Police Taser. In a nut shell, it shoots two barbs at the victim which then forms a closed circuit and electrocutes him into submission.

Who’s an experience whore?! I am! So I volunteered, and oh the pain. Coarsing through your muscles, you vibrate like the elemental particles you’re made of as the electricity sears through your nerves. I became a point above my head to remove myself from the pain and everything happened in the third-person. A surreal moment indeed. After the 5 seconds-which-seemed-to-never-end, the points of contact smelt like bbq-ed pork, somewhat appetizing if not for the fact that it was me. The skin was ashen coloured which slowly reverted to a reddish burn mark that turned into a blister.

What surprises me is the body’s surprising capacity for amnesia. I remember it hurt, because I told myself it hurt. I can’t describe the actual senstation anymore because I can’t remember it. The same with many other things- the taste of that killer steak. You remember it was succulent and flavourful, but you remember the descriptions you attached to it, not the actual sensations. Is it just me?

My back has gotten from worse to Worse so I went to a chiropractor. Funny tubby French dude who twisted me like a pretzel as my back squealed POP POP POP. After the session, he gave me a series of exercises to strengthen my back and knee. One of which requires me to squeeze my anus open-close-repeat 400 times a day.

“eets a ween ween seetuation, ya? You vork for police, your ah-nus vork for you! Everibodi happi ya?” said the funny French man.

See? I work my ass off for the nation.


The Doors of Perception

Psychodelic! Am now reading The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. Gonzo journalism, in part as tribute to the late Hunter S. Thompson, in part because I prefer non-fiction.

Humans take 1/30th of a second and upward to process and respond to an external stimuli. Can you dig it? I can’t break that 1/30th second barrier. We’re all doomed to spend our lives watched a movie of our lives- always acting on what has just finished happening. It happened 1/30th of a second ago. We think we’re in the present, but we aren’t- we’re lagging. That’s the human lag. Then theres cultural and social lag that can you hurl you years into the past. We need to break free people. We need to decrease the lag. Can you dig me? Fuck the future, screw the past, what about the now? Now. Now. Can you read now….NOW. NOW! NOW. Now. Now now.

Help. We’re all lagging and theres nothing we can do about it.

It's a monday morning and i'm sitting in my office and for the past five minutes i've been veg-ing out to the fluorescent glow of the computer screen. I am a calm hindu cow.

on sat i met with ding and the other guys and we went to eat tze-char at tiong bahru. the highlight? drunken prawns. im sure you've eaten them before. the prawns are put in a pot with alcohol and left to get all happy and drunk before being dumped into boiling water. well, the latter didn't happen. the boiling water part- we ate the prawns alive while they were all lushed. chinese sashimi. after the initial gross out factor, it was pretty good eating. but think about what the mind had to overcome- the prawns were drunk, so naturally there'll be puke. and maybe the odd one shitting. poor prawns. all thinking they were going out for a night of booze and babes. see? alcohol is dangerous.

jon tan had a peculiar habit of eatinga spoonful of rice and following-up with a toke from his cig. and he looks very pained when eating, not unlike a P.O.W.

this cycling to thailand project of mine is becoming more and more a pain in the ass (figuratively) and consequently i've a serious pain in my back (literally). from an initial goal of raising $10k for charity, its now mutated to a disgusting $100k. don't ask me how that extra zero creeped into the figure. it just did.

so on sunday i went ah fugedaboutit and just took my bike out a spin for no reason other than going for a spin. and i went down orchard and golly gee gosh its the cat pajamas baby! wizzing in between cars and dodging taxis.

sunrise

sunrise
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

sunrise, sunrise! like a glowing red ball. before it came out, it was freaking cold and my teeth were chattering. i had to wear 2 layers to keep warm.

eew.

the image of a cosmic testicle just popped into my head.

utt 2

utt 2
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

utt doing what matts do best- relaking in the closest semblance of a corner he could find on the mountain summit.

the protagonist

the protagonist
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

striking a pose for the camera at the peak, looking thoughtfully away toward the horizon. what was going through our protagonist's mind? let me tell you- "shit i wanna paraglide off this", and can you? why, yes you can! perhaps next time...

for prosperity

for prosperity
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

carved in all the rocks at the peaks are names and dates and who loves who though i don't think who doesn't love who anymore. anyway, i snapped this one cause well, 1985. hello! my birthyear!

utt

utt
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

this is another ranger called Utt (pronounced ooo-tttt). he can also roll the yummy cigarettes. a pretty cool mellow fellow.

aham 2

aham 2
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

i'm sorry but i really just can't get over the view. the air smells crisp and sharp and fresh and nothing like the city. it was fucking amazing.

Aham

Aham
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

This guy is called Aham. he is one of the rangers. in this pic he is rolling a cigarette similar to a samporna. he puts real cloves in it and rolls it in dried leaves. it tastes very good.

more view

more view
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

somewhere high in the sky, as the sun rose and the breeze picked up, the clouds slithered, snake-like, between the lower mountain peaks at a slow lumbering pace. for some reason it reminds me of elephants doing ballerina. wasn't that a scene from fantasia?

the view

the view
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

it takes your breath away

garang for brains

garang for brains
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

this boulder is 6m high. yes there is a ladder in the background but why take the easy route when the alternative is so much more fun?

good times, high times

good times, high times
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

this hammock has the most comfortable embrace ever. like some fat womans bosom, but more decent. if you imagine the tents in the background away, it could very well be a scene from some vietnam movie! and yes. i have a pasty white body.

the view

the view
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

this is the lovely view i had in the comfortable embrace of the hammock

Me and the guide

Me and the guide
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

yes, i wore the same shirt for 3 days.

The Guide

The Guide
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

Azhar was our guide for the trip. He is 50 but hardly looks it and can walk through the jungle trek even in pitch darkness. Believe me i saw it when we were trekking at 4am and i switched my light off. He's very soft spoken and has a gummy smile. he can also make a cigarette last more than 30 mins.

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At the summit. The view is gorgeous and the air smells so good. It was all worthit. From here on its literally downhill for me. I'll be back monday evening and i'll write something more comprehensive then.

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This is checkpoint 3. Only 1 more checkpoint before i reach the campsite for the day. The jungle is absolutely majestic, with nature's version of white noise in the form of bird and cricket calls and the crash of surging water against rock.

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Thats mount ophir. It rises 4000 ft into the sky. The summit is hidden in the clouds. We should reach it by sunrise tom- i hope for a spectacular sight.

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Rest stop 2 and we're almost at our destination. In the bottom right corner is the expedition leader, noraini. I'm trying hard to convince her to let me drive the van. No luck yet but i'll keep you updated avid readers so check back soon!

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My first stop before mount ophir, machap. I'm actually quite excited as i hear there'll be a fresh water waterfall.

its pedal power all the way from here to thailand and back. whos badass now?! booYA!

Southern-most point

Southern-most point
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

okay the sign says 'southern-most point of asia'. pretty damn impressive considering we biked there eh? unless you take into account that its at sentosa...

Singapore's Youngest Busker!

Singapore's Youngest Busker!
Originally uploaded by kingchef.

Like i always said- Talent runs like a rushing tsunami through the Ong bloodline.

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My new baby. Ain't it a beaut? I want it to bear my children.

can you believe it? someone stole my meiji strawberry yogurt from the office fridge! who would steal someone else's yogurt? what kind of a world do we live in?! i can understand if someone stole my car. cars have this air-of-prostitution about it, you know? like a mariachi of sorts. "come one, come all! anyone can ride me!"- thats what a car exudes. but yogurt? its worse than stealing candy from a baby. its even more morally bankrupt. its stealing snacks from a hungry lennard!

Tracks from fiona apple's yet-unreleased album 'Extraordinary Machine' have been leaked on the net (http://www.angelfire.com/wa2/nadjadee/index201.html). thats a big yay for fans, so check it out. On the record, i don't listen her cuz you know, like, dude, thats chick music, but off the record, gawd she is damnnn good! (even marilyn manson has a thing for her.)

Fred Durst (yea, that guy) (yeah, i agree- he's sooooo last millenium) has obviously ran out of what little creative juices on coming up with his bandname (limp bizkit. Fred Durst-" dude... bizkit, is like, biscuit, spelt bizkit! wes! can you write us some songs now please?"), so he's using what little man juice he has on a porn flick thats just plain NASTY, and by that i mean NASTY in a BAD way. not NASTY in a jenna haze way, but NASTY in a bad russian/thai porno way. er. not that i watch any of that shit. a friend told me...

thank you

referencing my last post, maybe i need several girlfriends, you know? like one for mind, one for body and one for soul. but then, i know noelle reads my blog so i shan't say such things. and with that statement, i have excused myself of any possible liablities to my first statement. yeahhh.

i am modifying my mountain-bike to become an aspalt demon. the knobby trail loving tires are making way for sleek road hugging ones, the handle-bars are being trimmed and the crankset changed to a 38-teeth monster that'll be eating road, pavement and kilometers with reckless abandon. i might even change the frame to a 2nd-hand one with a longer top-tube, though it is a heavier frame, but it will mean the bike will fit me better. currently the bike i'm riding, i've been using since pri. 4, so that gives you some idea. it will be so fucking gorgeous- one of a kind. a 'custom' job.

why do i need so many bikes, you may ask? well, the road bike is for speed, the bmx is for playing and messing around and hopefully if anyone reading this is feeling generous, a free-ride hardtail will be for hitting the trails, tho there's hardly any in singapore...

its time to give my bikes names.

i dub my BMX Holmer, and my soon to be road-ish bike... suggestions please?

and a big hello-how-are-you to everyone out there.

i dunno whats wrong but it seems my bike now hates me. i keep mucking up the simplest of things and crashing and what-naught. i will now take a week-long hiatus from my bi-pedal friend, because at the rate i'm going, i will develop a permenant phobia of bicycles.

i think its because i made it jealous i bought a free ride magazine and have recently been looking at pictures of road bikes on-line.

-sigh-

22-02-05_1712.jpg

The styrofoamed breast of the nanny state tastes chocolatey.

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In what was the most violent session of lo hei tossing i've experience this year, courtesy of the Gong Xi Gong Xi Police Golfing Challenge, they literally threw the lo hei at me. Is that a good thing?

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Perks of the job. I also got to drive a golf buggy today. (alternative caption: Inspector Lennard is modelling the new 2005 spring/summer Police Peak Cap in a fetching tone of PAP white with a stylish 'Mark of the Beast' logo in red)

why do you drink so much? is it because you have an issue you want to forget? or do you want to start a problem for yourself? after all, everyone needs a problem.

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Suddenly puppets don't seem so innocent. I bet the pig liked it

after tiff's crit of my previous post i feel very naked and self indugent but i wont change it because what i write stays and thats how it works.

The Plastick Funhause is a playground for the lost, a bosom to the bottle-fed repressed. Let loose a sigh and let it cradle your mind. Suckle the wholesome goodness of free machine-brewed nescafe.

Think of rats and hole-punchers and other pretty things. Your body is a shell, your mind is infinite. Crucify your soul on a sheet of A4-sized paper with a stapler. Your soul is dirty, muddy and ugly next to its wholesome chlorine-bleached goodness.

Your mother didn't love you enough, your dad was a drunk. Fuck you. His mother loved him too much, his dad was too sober. You can let it all go, just join the Plastick Funhause.

Take a deep breath, its the last you'll ever take. Everyone's a walking stereotype, so pick yours. Phonies. All phonies. We can all run away, we can be free.

The faceless mass does not exist. Do not refer to them as 'them', because you are part of it. We are the faceless mass. Embrace our anonyimity, love your abnormity. Everyone's difference is everyone's common denominator.

You've judged what I wrote and now you're judging me. You came to read what I wrote, so remember that your judgement on me reflects on you too. I can judge you too even if I don' t know you. You're probably 'nice' and scared shitless of being alone. Its okay, so am I. Sometimes, at least. You probably love Keane, and secretly you like -insert pop band here-. Its okay, I like Robbie Williams, but no I don't like Keane. You probably fear death more than you love life. And thats why I'm glad I'm not you.

lehn.

thats pretty damn cool. i uploaded the previous post (pic and text) via my mobilephone.

again i raise my stapler in a call for office anarchy! who's with me?

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Subvert the state. Join the league of government sponsored artists.

for the benefit of the few lonely webbers who check my blog for updates, its about time i gave a decent one so here goes.

Theres a story by Philip K. Dick, though i can't recall the title, about a planet where all the humans who go there mysteriously start spending all their time sitting the the fields spread out. again i'm probably bastardizing the whole story but the humans pretty much needed to photosynthesize on that planet, and thats how i've been feeling these few days, especially after being in the office for so long. I feel the need for sun on my skin, to photosynthesize some happiness. the short story can be found in the volume "Paycheck and other Classic Stories by Philip K. Dick" and i highly recommend it to anyone and everyone.

I raise my fist in a call for office mayhem and deskbound anarchy! who's with me? lets shoot staples into the air!

(_|_)

outlaw buttcrack

i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king! i am the rat king!


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rat king! rat king vs. lizard king *DING DING* FIGHT! who'll win???

i've been listening to liz phair more and more and i think its because my inner-cunt is growing.

i will stem the rising tide and go do something guy-ishly stupid.

i got birthday greetings from the most unexpected of people, and did not get any from some of those i expected. so thanks and fuck you, respectively.

i had the most awesome dream last night- for those who don't already know, i'm going to NY in august/sept for a holiday and frankly i think about it a lot. i can't wait. last night was the first night i dreamt about being there about breathing the NY air that i always see on the telly; you know what i mean, somewhat smoggy but its probably partly from the cold, partly from exhaust fumes? and i dreamt i went to stef's house (i have no idea how she got into the picture) and it was so dreary and blah it was awesome to have arrived in NY and i met hunter S. tompson.

then, karl called me and woke me up.

i love my bike. it gives me a sense of infinite freedom.

i read this off campuscaper's blog-

"Thursday, February 03, 2005


After all the leave and offs I am going to take, I have 12 working days left. I mean, 11 working days left as of today. I am happy. No words can describe such feelings. I will end my entry now"


oh my god. i feel so happy reading his entry. and this time next year (maybe even a bit sooner!), mine will read the same!

as a stopgap, i've got a fever so am on a 2 day MC, and i got friday off, so throw in the new year festivities and i've got a one week break (kinda like block leave) and an extra number to add to my age. god save the bloody queen.

uh huh huh. im now an office rat, a pencil pusher, a cubicle junkie. and in the office, they have hamsters in cages. doesn't anyone find that ironic?

we're all fucking romantics at heart.

admit it, everyone of you cynical, heart-broken, jaded bitter people. you're only where you are because you're a romantic.

i think i may be bipolar. or am i just being paranoid? oh great. so im either bipolar, or suffer from paranoia. either way it isnt good. but then again while it got me really worried and in a frenzy, i took a moment in my tracks and thought about it. what the fuck man. so what if i am bipolar or paranoid? doesn't make a diff, cause that means i've been like that since. since before before, so it doesn't matter. its me baby.

i read about the treatment and the drugs. it lulls you. it numbs you. its like. like living life to the brian eno song deep blue day- muted. bah. i dunno. i will ask my parents.