Conceptual Art.

Had some spare time today in London, so decided on an impulse to go visit Tate Modern - and since I'd already visited the free sections decided to fork out for the two paid ones.

I must say I was suitably impressed by both of them, particularly the one by Cildo Meireles; in fact, I'd say my impression of conceptual art, and modern art in general, has really changed. In the sense that not all conceptual art is rubbish, recycled or otherwise.

Seriously, there were quite a few pieces of his, which as he describes, were 'instantly seductive' - in other words, they required no pompous self-gratifying smugness in your knowledge of art, but offered total immersion in the pieces, utilising not just the five senses, but also the physiological advantages that fear brings out in us.

Oh and the final installation in the exhibition was, in my opinion, the best - you had to enter a dark room on bare feet (boots available for the squeamish), which was totally dark save for a faint glow from an adjoining room, and treading slowly on some powder-like substance of unknown origin, you were forced to wander towards the source of light - revealed to be a solitary candle burning near at the end of the room.

Now it was only when I came back and researched more about it (it's called 'Volatile') that I found out the powder-like substance wasn't talcuum (or SAF foot) powder, but ash, and there was a smell of gas pumped constantly in the room, which due to my blocked nose I had completely missed.

But at that moment, after trudging pecariously from the dark room, and upon seeing the burning candle, I swear I had a spiritual experience - I realised at once why wasps gravitate towards light, why the British stress so much over the 'handling' of their cars when better 'feel'+crap roads=more discomfort. and why religion seems so enticing when you're lost, fearful and have no straws to clutch for comfort.

Making sense of it all.

I can't, really. And I know that's grammatically incorrect, but to hecklers' hell grammar school with that when chocolate, coffee and coca-cola can't solve the world's biggest problems today, and the substitute for love's labour proves ultimately as worthless as that lonesome STOP sign at the deserted junction ahead?

When, for whom and for what reason shall we all stop? This madness, this mindless scurrying round circles with no end?

Maybe I should move to Switzerland, eh.

Hospital.

Ever wondered why the words 'hospital' and 'hospitality' seem so similar in spelling and structure?

Obviously it's quite impossible to be hospitable to every single patient who demands the best service for the lowest price possible (in my case, for free) but it's interesting to see it this way, don't you think? Being hosts to visitors who've come to visit in times of need.

Cup of tea, anyone?

Photos.

So I finally managed to figure out how to make the Bluetooth connection work between my phone and my laptop - I hadn't held it steadily in my hand, at screen level, before when I tried transferring files.

So here goes:

Changing my car stereo:

I just had to take a smug picture after my hours of sweat (and pain).¹

Looks much better now, doesn't it?

Random picture follows:

I tried making sushi one day. Yes I know it looks rather amateurish, with the two missing pieces of asparagus (I ran out of asparagus, believe it or not) and crudely sliced salmon pieces that look like they've been obtained unethically from some poor tortured fish left languishing on the trawler for days after capture. And does the rice not look dry, overcooked and struggling vainly not to fall apart under the immense weight of the above-mentioned salmon pieces and asparagus?
Yes for your information, it was smoked salmon from ASDA², and the rice was rather over-cooked.

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¹Please refer to my previous post for more sordid details.
²For those of you that don't reside in the UK, ASDA's a supermarket chain that's owned by Wal-mart of the US. Think Shop and Save.

TV On The Radio.

After twenty-six futile attempts at finding the perfect CD, I have finally stumbled on <Dear Science>, a staggering mix of perfect production, lyrics that engage your intellectual self, and of course musical influences that cover pretty much the entire spectrum. This is definitely a keeper, I tell you.

Oh and TV On The Radio's the band name, in case you're wondering lol.


PS Particularly love "Family Tree", am I the only one who finds it a superbly twisted, but no less effective ballad compared to "Love Me", by Colin Raye?

The Weather.

You just knew the recent bout of good weather couldn't last. For those of you in Singapore (who've been in UK before), the sky was, well, sky blue, clear and just perfect for irrational thoughts of picnics in the park - now it's back to the typical weather Manchester seems to be infamous for, grey overcast sky threatening rain at the next opportune moment, clouds crowding for attention, dribbling drizzle sneeringly pattering at you while you curse the dreadful SAD you know it's just around the corner.

On a hopefully lighter note, did anyone actually click on any of the links in the previous post? Did it provide you with a moment or two of incredulous laughter (or not)? I would really appreciate any comments at my attempts at spreading joy and laughter in this miserable world of ours, you know. Genuine comments though, I'd try harder if they were truly too lame.


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SAD=Seasonal Affective Disorder. Trust me, it's why people in the UK seem permanently depressed. OK suffer a propensity towards depression.

Music that moves you.

So I was at this Tchaikovsky concert last night. Well, the Manchester Concert Orchestra playing several of Tchaikovsky's pieces, conducted by Timothy Redmond and featuring Martin Cousin on piano, for that piano concerto.^1,2

Now that's just enough to put you off this post, isn't it, such a magnificently crafted opening aimed squarely at the target audience of elitist SOBs with delicate palates for wine, Caspian caviar for breakfast and the plain old porsche 911 for daily commute?³

So let me substitute a few words - last night, I wasn't at this Sepultura concert which featured guest performers Pantera, playing together with them that monster hit ROOTS BLOODY ROOTS! Awesome, simply head-banging awesome, I tell you.

Or this:

Last night, I also wasn't at this Girls Aloud concert performing their greatest hits (till now), with the sexy Shakira dancing along to Don't Cha⁴ at the finale!


So you get my point. Why the antipathy towards classical music? Why the notion that just because something is old, (well ancient, almost) it should be associated with a certain few age-groups? Or earning power?

Why the vehement reaction, you ask. Well a coursemate of mine, upon hearing that I was attending the afore-mentioned concert, immediately went, "Wah, is it one of those where rich people go and you have to dress up?" And remained sceptical despite repeated attempts at semi-skilled persuasion.

And so I'm puzzled, really puzzled. I mean, I'm not defending classical afficionados who are stuck-up individuals, but aren't there also connoisseurs of rock music who proclaim that 's eclectic and heady mix of diverse influences such as loud noises, random key thumping and sounds animals make in the zoo, is the next big thing since the noisettes released their stunning debut album 2 years ago?

What I'm trying to say is, if Augustana's Boston can move you emotionally, why not Swan Lake⁵? If Don't Cha can get you on your feet, why not a waltz?

Granted, the passage of time has ensured the eminence of numerous composers; the non-copyrighted material available to musicians around the world resulting in a staggering amount of performances to choose from, and you might not know where to start - but with few William Hung-like massacres, and the easy understanding that different performances of a song⁶ can sound just as good - what else should stop you from taking an interest in classical music?

I found it quite astonishing, really, that last night I seemed to be the only person in the concert hall below the grand old age of forty-five⁷, when the clubs near the concert hall were filled to the brim with inebriated teenagers contorting their bodies to mindless noise. Particularly when the music literally moved me to tears at times. Hey (again due to my excellent vantage point) I could even see the conductor himself shedding a few tears at the end of a particularly poignant piece (yes it was that good).

Sure it probably sounds as if I'm imposing my snobbish my views on you, but even I recognise that techno can sound good sometimes - why stick to your pompous views on classical music? Paraphrasing Deng Xiaoping, as long as it moves you, does the genre matter?


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^1. I'm addicted to Google. And please don't click on them unless you're a fanatical classical music follower. And for those of you who have clicked through, I know, they're not particularly famous.
^2. Piano concerto no. 1. Now that guy's supposedly quite famous.
^3. Incidentally, if you indeed are one of the above-mentioned, I sincerely apologise, that truly is an awful introduction.
^4. Just imagine that. Woohoo.
^5. I know, the guy isn't as attractive, but still.
^6. Like Feeling Good - either by Nina Simone or Muse.
^7. Due to my excellent vantage point (cheapest seat, I was sat behind the orchestra (and above, obviously), I was able to scan the entire hall before and after the concert. And have a direct view of the cellists. Interesting, actually, how the price structure works.

On Zhng-ing My Car.

So in case I've given you the impression of me spending my days in preston weeping in despair at my new-found loneliness, and neglecting my studies and growth of facial hair, here's a clarification - I don't weep. And I do shave my facial hair regularly (mainly 'cause of hospital regulations, looking professional etc etc).

OK seriously so I've found ways to occupy my weekends and spare time here in Preston. Yes you've guessed it, I'm zhng-ing my car. Or in american parlance, I'm 'pimping my ride'. Oh yeah.

OK lah so I just changed the factory-fitted CD player-cum-radio to a Sony one. Why? Well aside from obvious differences in sound quality¹ the Sony one also has a front auxiliary input, as well as usb input. Which means that I can blast music from my new mp3 player³ directly, and if I so desired I could buy another memory stick to leave in the car as a back-up in times of emergency⁴. Oh and it has like impressive equaliser settings that when activated, make techno music sound that much more mind-numbingly good⁵.

But yah I'm proud to say that I changed it myself. Bought the stereo, bought the extra wires needed (you'd be surprised at how much more wires that useless 'remote' control on the steering wheel requires) and then finally specialised metal prongs, when I realised brute force alone would not be enough to yank the factory-fitted stereo out of its position.

So please bear with me as I describe the few hours I took to replace the stereo.
Hour 1: Yank. With metal thingies supplied by Sony (they looked vaguely stick-able in various nooks and crannies). And then with keys. And then just random metal rods lying around.
Gave up.
Hour 2: Went to search online for instructions on how to replace stereo. Presto - I needed specialised metal prongs. U-shaped pieces of metal that cost £4.97 a pair in halfords, but realised I couldn't do without. Went to buy prongs.
Hour 3: Reached Halfords. Saw numerous sets of speakers that looked daaaammn cool. And sounded powerful. So went to salesgirl and enquired about them. (Conversation below)

Me: Hi, I'd like to buy the speakers over there (points) but I don't really know how to fix them into the car, can you help me on that?
Salesgirl: Oh I don't know anything about that, I'm just standing guard here at the counter (gives a sheepish smile), but I'll ask my collegue for you.
Me: It's OK (thinking fair enough)
*calls salesguy over*
Me: (Repeats request to salesguy)
Salesguy: Oh, you gotta see, different cars haf different sized speakers, innit? You gotta get the right size for your car.
Me: Oh I heard Halfords provided a fitting service? (Read about it online) How much does it cost if I want it fitted in for me?
Salesguy: I dunno, prob 10 quid? I don't do that, my collegue does that.
Me: (Assuming at this point he'd call his collegue over) So which one would you recommend, eh?
Salesguy: Well, depends on what car you have, eh? You know what size of the speakers in your car?
Me: Eh no, I don't know how to measure it? Ford focus, do you know?
Salesguy: Eh no, you measure it using a tape measure, yeah?
Me: Eh ok. (Pretends to give it some thought.) I'll probably come back another day then yeah. Thanks.

So I just bought the prongs, and left. I mean, he probably thinks I'm an idiot (just measure the speaker size, innit?) and I know he's probably one (I wanna pay you to fit it in for me 'cause I'm lazy, geddit?!) so not much point in continuing the conversation about measuring speaker sizes with tape, is there?
Hour 4: (Outside Halfords) Yank. And yank. And yank. Give up. Drive home. Yank again. Try teasing it out, slowly, painfully, like, well I shall spare you the naughty thought. Tsk tsk, yeah I know.
Hour 4 3/4: Finally! Now for connecting the myraid number of wires. Connect, connect, connect. Done! Fix it in! Now there's only left a gaping hole I've got to cover! Go up to room, job done, buy 'fascia' online to cover up hole⁶.

Now not that I'm trying to brag, but the actual process of disconnecting and connecting the stereos was so much easier than the colossal effort required to yank out the stereo. And seriously, I think this was due in no small part to the ingenious engineers who designed them - each bundle of wires ended up in a sort of adapter, that had either protruding or depressive terminals⁷, and they just sort of fit together without much fuss. And the adapters had varying sizes, so they just sort of fit in different slots, somewhat like solving a simple puzzle, by trial and error⁸.

So there you go, my first step towards zhng-ing my car. Next thing I'll be looking at, obviously, is a company that provides speaker-fitting staff of adequate intelligence⁹.

And who knows? Maybe after that, I might just go on to those neon flashing lights you fit underneath and inside the car, and then eye that extra-ear-deafening exhaust pipe that looks humongously over-sized for the car? And rims for the tyres that radiate blue lights as the wheels spin? Ooh and those racing stripes that make the car look so much more menancing? Or better still, those obscure names¹⁰ that suggest extra-powderful zhng-ing skills lovingly applied on the car?

Ooh, watch this space man. Watch this space.




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^1. As vouched for by Ganesh, my flatmate-cum-clinical partner.^2
2. OK That does sound wrong in so many levels, doesn't it.
^3. Zen X-Fi, it's supposed to 'restore mp3 audio to crystal clarity', according to the manufacturer's website. Which I trust, since Creative's a Singaporean brand and Singaporeans don't know how to can't exaggerate, can we.
^4. Like, when I'm late for class and need to get into the get-there-quick-heck-care-about-road-manners mood fast. I mean, the Zen obviously doesn't work for me in this instance, does it?
^5. I'm joking. No not about the mind-numbing part. As I've mentioned countless times before, monkeys on cannabis can hammer keys with better accuracy than those techrologists in neon printed tees and gel-laden hair half the size of their body weight.
^6. The Sony's only half as big as the factory-fitted stereo. Talk about advances in technology.
^7. Yes they're called male and female parts. I know.
^8. Although I did make sure I'd switch off the engine in between tries, of course.
^9. Hey, the wiring involved in fitting speakers is something I wouldn't touch myself - looks much more complicated!
^10. I think I'll put Picaroon Zhng-ing Co, for the fun of it.

Weekends.

It's the weekends that hurt, really. When the hustle of the week has settled, the stresses decoupled and the buzz of work emptied, to be replaced by this void, this barren waste of energy left unspent, time left unfilled, and emotions left hanging, like corpses for the manically¹ inclined to devour, with fervour and zest.


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¹Mania, in medicine.

Distant Memories.

Distant memories, freshly imprinted on an unsuspecting mind,
Singing the joy of times gone by.

Was walking through one of the shopping centres in Preston on Wednesday when the loneliness and despair just suddenly struck me. I know what I need to do - to fill my days with incessant tasks of great importance, to pick up that forlorn guitar at the corner of the room, to pick up appropriate skills in dealing with substances of abuse, but not to misuse - but right now I just can't see beyond the empty half of the double bed I shouldn't have bought, and the half-empty boxes of tissues I know I'd never use.

Sexy Shingles.

I was just browsing a friend's blog (seriously!) when I swear I noticed the words Sexy Shingles in one of those adverts you find lining pages all over the web. Obviously, and somewhat disappointingly, on closer inspection it turned out to be the usual attention-grabbing geographically-correct rubbish littered on the used grounds of the net.

Yes I know, I need more sleep. Losing too much over this depressing SSC I'm doing right now. And no it's not about the herpes zoster virus, I honestly did not know where that came from.


Oh speaking of rubbish you know the link I put up not too long ago? I really appreciate those of you that clicked through to ipoints, but somehow they haven't recorded you as signed-up to the website, and so I have yet to receive even a single cent from that fraudulent website. I'm still keeping it up for a while more, though, in the vain hope that somehow money will magically appear and I'll be able to treat you to something nice when I'm back in Singapore. Which I will be this Sunday, the 6th of July.

Music.

The more you listen, the more you realise how it defines you as a person; as you age (graciously or otherwise) your taste changes, yet stays the same - shaped by relationships, experiences bitter and sweet; surface ruffled, core calm beyond comprehension as a meandering life takes its toll on your keepity-ups but not your ideals, nor your innate curious child peeking curiously from his round innocent eyes.

I think that is why after enduring an hour and a half of my current eclectic selection of music (Mark that was the exact same cd I burnt for you), my father plugged in the first classical cd he saw (with some relief, I felt?)

Or perhaps he just wasn't used to the words f***ing¹, arse², lying between legs³, none of these being in the good old songs he was familiar with. Or was it an overdose of the usual proclamations of love and teenage-angsty-cries for recognition⁴?

Obviously I only speak from personal experience; myself and random observations of my father aside, my first attempts at stereotyping people according to their music collection (total and ipod/mp3 player/cds in car) seem to have validated some suspicions⁵. And as I've mentioned above, experiences change - I might just throw everything out of the window and believe that humans are fundamentally good and that random thumping of the keyboard (or desecrating good vinyl) is the only euphoric way to go (in style), for there is still time - or I might, just might, write a few years later about how valiantly I tried, and failed, to appreciate the beneficial effects of alcohol, exercise (on the dance floor) and mindless rhythms⁶.

No I did not just come back from a club.



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1."When you first left me, I was wanting more, but you was f***ing the girl next door, what you do that for" - Lily Allen, Smile
2. "Or you can sit on chimneys, and put some fire up your arse - no need to know what you're doing or waiting for, but if anyone should ask" - Damien Rice, Coconut Skins.
3. From the same song as above - "And you can lie between her legs, and go looking for, tell her you're searching for her soul"
4. That's not my name - Ting Tings
5. Eg. A Freemasons-dominated playlist does not augur well for potential friendship and intellectual conversations about life beyond the dancefloor (or sex. Or the difference in alcohol content between a strawberry-flavoured vodka and a Long Island Iced Tea.)
6.Yes remember that grade 3 theory exam you took twenty years ago? The one where you had to draw random notes to show you knew what a semi-quaver on the 3rd line of the treble clef meant? And had to draw a few more to show how many there were supposed to be in a bar? Maybe move them up and down a little to show you had the slightest inkling 4 Bs didn't sound that nice?

Wow (2).

Wow.

Fragrances.

I was filling in one of those surveys¹ a few days back about the fragrances you choose to wear, and was quite intrigued at the subconscious decisions we make when buying one. No not the tickling of your sensory follicles (I'm not a 'nose'), nor the associative smell theory (I'm no proponent of psychoanalysis - yet - that'd probably come next year, if it does) here, but rather the more mundane marketing tricks those nasty big corporations employ to trick us into fooling our noses.

Yes I mean the obscenely provocative² names they use, the stunningly gorgeous uniforms they make their staff wear and of course the ergonomically-shaped bottles³ you just can't handle.

And as not all men (and women) are susceptible to ladies with long legs (hey I wonder why men⁴ haven't got into the act) even the brands themselves are tools to be manipulated - 'big' names (if you aspire to be the boss) for those who follow the crowd, and 'boutique' ones for those who think they don't⁶.

More notes to take to your next fragrance-shopping, eh?





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¹Where you get points, in this case nectar points, which can be used in a supermarket chain (kinda like the ntuc link card) called Sainsburys here.
²Ha ha. Yes cheap pun I know.
³Then again, I'm glad there aren't any regulations on bottle shapes and sizes - we'd probably be subjected to perfumes with varied shocking shades of pink otherwise, wouldn't we. Which would obviously detract from the delightful perfume consultants with their pretty dresses and husky/sweet voices (depending on perfume image, evidently).
⁴And I mean muscled men with suave smiles on well-hung cheekbones⁵ and soft (yet firm) deep voices.
⁵To the anatomically-inclined reading this, I know it is a stretch to describe it in this way, so please pardon me.
⁶That's the best link I could find, unfortunately.

Scams.

I see they have progressed from scams about rich Nigerian people to scams about scams about rich Nigerian people eh.

Oh and btw, go check out how much a dollar (US somemore) is worth in Zimbabwean dollars now. (You gotta manually convert it to see it for yourself)

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Compensation for Scammed Victims‏
From:	UNITED NATION COMPESATION UNIT (unitednations.compesationunit@yahoo.com)
	You may not know this sender.
Sent:	Fri 5/09/08 8:32 PM
Reply-to:	compesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com
To:

UNITED NATIONS COMPENSATION UNIT,
IN AFFILIATION ZENITH BANK PLC.
Send a copy of your response to his
direct email: compesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com

Dear Friend,

How are you today? Hope all is well with you and family?,You may not understand why this mail came to you.

We have been having a meeting for the passed 3 months which ended 2 days ago with the former secretary to the UNITED NATIONS.

This email is to all the people that have been scammed in any part of the world, the UNITED NATIONS have agreed to compensate them with the sum of US$ 250,000,00 This includes every foriegn contractors that may have not received their contract sum, and people that have had an unfinished transaction or international businesses that failed due to Government problems etc.

We found your name in the submitted list and that is why we are contacting you, this have been agreed upon and have been signed. This we believe is to compensate your lost effort and trial which you must have suffered in the hand os those Impostors.

You are advised to contact Mr. Ori Asiko Director Compesation Unit of ZENITH BANK NIGERIA PLC, as he is our representative in Nigeria, contact him immediately for your compesation of USD$ 250,000,00 This funds are in either Bank Draft or ATM Card for security purpose ok? so he will send it to you and you can clear it in any bank of your choice.

Therefore, you should send him your full Name and telephone number/your correct mailing address where you want him to send the Draft to you.

Conatct Mr. Ori Asiko immediately for your Compesation.

Person to Contact Mr. Ori Asiko
Email: ccompesationunitzenithbanplc@hotmail.com


Thanks and God bless you and your family.Hoping to hear from you as soon as you cash your Bank Draft.

Make sure this gesture is not disclosed to anyone for successful achievement.

Making the world a better place


Regards,

Ban KI-Moon
Secretary Genaral (UNITED NATIONS

M.

I have a feeling I'll miss the long drives back from Cambridge next year. The poignant music I like to play; the alternating darkness (some parts of the M6 are unlit) and bright lights of cities in the distance; the sense that parting is not mere sweet sorrow, for the sorrow is but transient, to be dissolved, dismissed, dissipated the next time we meet.

I know, the hairs on your back are standing up already, so I shall not torment you any further. Reason for this post - I'm currently listening to Morcheeba, Goldfrapp (latest ones) and Portishead (first one) and they somehow give me the funny feeling you probably get when you've had a few shots and feel totally in love with the person trying to stand next to you.

Yeah I'm drunk on music.

Smoking/Apathetic.

So here we go
In different directions one way the other
Masking the scent of sweet smoke yet defined
By our heart and mind

We laugh, we sing, we dance in air
We wait, till none you care

The lust lingers as we speak
Its armoury, its cache, its whole crew.

Where's your moral compass?
Where's it lead you to?



It's understandable, isn't it, how, when you're not in regular contact with broken lungs and hearts, it's so easy to be apathetic about your friends smoking their lives away - yes I'm oversimplifying here, but perhaps we should commend those who try, day after day, to help others stop smoking.

Earning Some Spare Cash.

As you might have noticed, I've added a link on the right, which leads you to ipoints, one of those websites where you earn points for shopping, gambling and doing other assorted evil deeds which contribute to global warming, bad karma and holes in pockets.

It's free to join, and I get 80p apparently for each person that joins using the link, so I'd appreciate if you can sacrifice a little of your karma for my monetary gain.

But seriously, I'm a not-so-proud member of the site and I've got 100 quid worth of amazon vouchers from my usual profligate spending and betting¹ (it's always the betting and gambling websites which offer the most points, money being the ultimate evil as we all know) and clicking through to websites offering instant riches (which you don't have to sign up to, a bonus in itself), so it's not so bad, really.

And seriously, I'm really very curious as to how much money I can actually get out of posting a link on my website, so I'll update you if and when I get any spare income from it. I promise you a treat (chocolate bar, unfortunately that's all I'd be able to afford from your clicking) when I get the good news, if I do.

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¹ No I'm not a problem gambler, for those of you who might be aghast to know that I indulge in a little bit of karma-flipping once in a while. And if you really must know, I haven't lost any money playing on those websites, though I must admit it takes a lot of discipline to stop while you're ahead². Please don't try if you're not one to gamble, though.
² It's like that succulent stick of satay you see walking past the hawker centre every day - do you succumb to the temptation and order 20, knowing that every bite increases your risk of getting colon cancer, or do you enjoy it once in a while with lots of cucumber (ask for more lah, it's free anyway) and hope for the best?

On Formal Wear.

So LM was asking me the other day, why do guys spend so much on shirts/jackets etc when they all look quite similar. My answer: it's the details that count, since black-tie literally means black dinner jacket + bow-tie. And so we got into this quasi-argument about whether men have it better - just buy a suit and heck-care it - or, conversely, have no way of expressing their individuality with bold strokes of the brush, paint or otherwise.

No I do not wish to veer into sensitive territory here, what with the size zero models (focus has shifted to malnourished young males now) and all, but the question remains - how do us young restless guys with no distinguishable achievements express our vitality and individuality at a black-tie function¹?



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¹ I attended a dinner recently as the official photographer of my dad (he was appointed president of some marine engineering society) and the attire was 'dinner jacket with decorations' - and I indeed saw many decorations. I was sat next to this ex-head of the Royal Submarine Service, ie medal around neck + smaller ones on jacket - CBE I think, and around the table were assorted CBEs and OBEs [for those in Singapore, knights in shining jackets] etc etc. Obviously I felt out of place, being the youngest by at least 30 years and suffering from an acute medallessophobia, but they were quite nice, really. Conversation was easy, with their witty anecdotes, and what not, and me just sitting there listening in awe. You know like the 听爷爷讲故事 syndrome, and with a very interesting 爷爷?

Politics.

Wow.

Quote of the Day

I normally am quite apathetic about politics, but I can't resist posting this (from a Times article) I read today:


Michael Ancram, a former Tory minister, said: “This debate is going to be remembered most for the impressive sight of the Liberal Democrat Party marching, with sound and fury, courageously towards the fence upon which they have been ordered to perch.”


Basically there was a vote in parliament on whether there should be a UK-wide referendum on the EU Lisbon treaty (don't ask) and the leader of the Liberal Democrats party had ordered (unsuccessfully) for his party members to abstain from the vote.

I really wonder if Singapore would ever get to such a ridiculous stage. Or would we ever produce individuals who can utter such excellent quotes?

Earthquake.

I've just encountered my first earthquake, so please let me describe it to you in sordid detail what happened.

(For those concerned about my well-being, it happened quite far away so I'm quite safe, don't worry - epicentre reports here)

So this earthquake struck just as I was playing C&C Generals, barely awake as it usually is the last thing that I do before I sleep (Don't ask me why, it requires little brain (and CPU) activity and is somehow soothing - I think) and as you know, I was controlling this China side with its behemoth tanks, and was mercilessly 'attacking' this USA enemy with entrenched defences and much superior airpower. So right at this exact moment, when some USA airplane had bombed my tanks, it struck.

You know how they show the bombing of an area in Generals? Well they sorta animate the ground shaking, the tanks being flipped up into the air, that area shakes a little, and sound effects of a bomb come in.

So yah. When the earthquake struck I initially couldn't believe my senses. I mean, I seriously thought I was getting too tired for playing - you know when you're exhausted, everything becomes amplified? So yah first thought was 'is this real?' Have I gained an extraordinary insight into how addicted gamers feel when they get sucked into the gaming world and lose touch with this?

And then I realised something was wrong, because the US airplane had finished its mission (I must inform you that my other tanks managed to shoot it down) and the area was back to normal. And my whole table and clothes rack was shaking violently. Not to mention my weights started rolling about - they're 10kg and usually don't move about of their own accord.

So my next thought was - had I put something wrong in the washing machine? Because my flatmates and I had just cleaned up the kitchen, and I had cleaned part of the bathroom, we had stuck the floormat (washable, according to IKEA) and a detachable mop-magic-clean-furry-thing (the furry part, obviously), as well as a throw, into the washing machine beforehand, I thought some part had choked some vital organ in the washing machine and it was making its last gasps for help.

So I went outside, and checked. It was off.

By this time the shock was over, and one of my flatmates had just popped his head out of his room, asking if I felt it. And he mentioned that it might be an earthquake, he had experienced several in Birmingham before, being a native here.

And so yes, I realised only after what lasted only 10 secs, but seemed like minutes, that I had just experienced my first earthquake. And it was quite fun, really.

Oh and the other flatmate slept through it - he swore that heard our conversation in his dreams, about earthquake and the washing machine.

Lost.

I'm feeling really lost right now.

Robot porn.

Warning: Contains strong language and sex references, might be offensive to some viewers.

So here goes: cute music video. Look out especially for 1:12.

Blogging about blogging.

If I were an arts student, this might be a thesis, but since I'm not - what do you think are the reasons behind our blogging? Why do we pick certain topics to write about, even when we know they might be mundane (or even offensive) to other people?

Since I am not taking English or philosophy, I can only implore you to look at your posts, and think of what you felt at the time you wrote them. Were they therapeutic? Helped you to vent some anger or frustration which otherwise might seem out of character?

Or did you want to show that hey, this is who I am, and let it serve as a looking glass into your life, for anyone who might care and does care?

Yeah I'm still in SSC mood, and am much too free for my own good. Interesting what life in the country does to you. (OK I know Preston is a city, as I often astound my friends with, but it's the whole staring at semi-detached houses with observatories and nice gardens, with nice elderly people pottering about [literally] mood, you know?)

Longest Traffic Jam - ever.

Now I understand what Kuan Ching said when we visited him in KL this year - I just got stuck in a horrific traffic jam today, and took 3 1/2 hours to get home when I usually take 45 minutes.

I don't mean to be evil, with a fatality involved, but (follow the link) the police took 6 fucking hours just to clear the scene and 'investigate the causes' when no other cars were involved. I mean, on the radio, I heard that it was a multi-car pile-up (which softened the blow) but now that I've the news, they closed down the ENTIRE expressway for 6 FUCKING HOURS just to investigate the cause of a Land Rover getting out of control?!

6 FUCKING HOURS. 3 FUCKING LANES. DO THEY EVEN REALISE THE TRAFFIC CONGESTION THEY CAUSED AROUND THE 20 MILE RADIUS OF THAT EXPRESSWAY CLOSURE.

Yes I am in one of those rare moments where I am just slightly inclined towards violence, and vulgarities. Just a bit tetchy, as they say.

Happy Chinese New Year!

Finally, my year (and yours, probably) has come again. Time to rule the world (financially, as it states on some horoscope thingy) and make mayhem!

On a more serious note, my mum and sis packed some 2 bags of CNY goodies, bubble-wrapped and all, for my dad to bring over on Tuesday, and I just collected it over the weekend. Now I know I might probably sound like some ego-maniacal smug guy who thinks he has it all but I'm really glad I have such a wonderful family (the bags almost filled the entire suitcase my dad brought along, honestly), and I think (anticipate, rather) getting fat on such love simply has to be worth it. I mean, I don't know if it's partially because the CNY goodies industry has blossomed in the past few years, but even the humble green pea biscuit tastes so delicious!

You can come up with all the cliches about familial love you want, but words alone can't adequately describe the the warm fuzzy feeling you get, when you're luxuriating in the nice warm tropical climate¹, tea tarik in one hand, CNY goodies in another (and much more within close reach of course²).


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¹My mum packed in a humidifier in December, when she came over, and I've quite a good strong heater in my room.
²Detailed inventory of stuff I have now:
1. Green Pea Biscuits
2. Modified love letters (they're sort of tinier)
3. Mixed assortment of biscuits (Smaller amounts, can't really describe them)
4. Coffee almond biscuits
5. Mini popiah filled with hae bi hiam - someone enlighten me on what it's called, can't remember the name!!
6. Pineapple tarts
7. Bah Kwa
8. Spicy pork floss
Yes, 1 box/container of each.

Love, and looking ahead.

I know, this is probably too mushy for most of you (so you've received your warning here) but you know sometimes when you listen to a particular song you're just overcome by emotion, and can't stop yourself shedding a few tears? I know, it's not something a guy will normally (willingly) admit to, but tonight, whilst watching this video, I couldn't stop thinking of the academic year ahead, without her (relatively) close by.

But no, I'm not going to induce some involuntary reflux of your last meal by elaborating any further, of course.

Patients With Cancer.

I met a patient, a few months back now, who suffered from Hodgkin's Lymphoma, a type of cancer, obviously. He was at home, receiving palliative care, and was given a prognosis of a few months.

Now what struck me most was that although his skin, on his lower extremities, was covered in horrible ulcers (the sight of which scars you for life), and he was obviously in pain, having to change the dressings (I was with the district nurse, who does it for him), he seemed remarkably upbeat. His wife was there too, and they were telling us the holiday they had booked with some grant they had received, and that they were going to enjoy themselves while they could, together.

The patient seemed more worried about his wife not being able to cope after his passing, and in fact had penned down a diary detailing each and every thing he wanted to do, with his wife, before the eventuality came.

And a few weeks back, I met an elderly lady, this time whilst with the GP, who had presented again with a carcinoma a few years after she had achieved remission from Non-Hodgkin's. Basically another form of cancer. Besides the obvious cliche that came to mind, "Cancer is the ideal state every cell aspires to", what struck me was that she, too, appeared calm, stoic and composed.

It is patient contact, like this, that makes you appreciate life for what it is, and steers you towards a certain complicated branch of medicine.

I bet this is gory reading for most of you, and we don't normally think of our own mortality at such a tender young age where our aspirations and ambitions take precedence over our health - but please, my friends, please take care of your health. Enjoy life, responsibly.

On Words.

What, do you think, is more effective - an essay on living, or a movie on the purpose of life?

As you know, I'm currently doing an SSC (student selected component, ie report on some topic you've chosen) on Tolstoy and the Art of General Practice, and have been asked to read a book called . Now as the book only arrived today I had a free day yesterday, which I utilised effectively to watch random movies and ponder on the role of general practitioners as artists in society. And I managed to watch "I am Legend" (don't ask why, because I don't condone illegal downloading of movies, which I didn't, obviously.)

So you may ask how and why an action/thriller/horror movie starring Will Smith toting an M16 (or is it an M4?) poses such an intellectually challenging question. Well watch the first hour of the movie (on DVD, obviously) and although you might have to extrapolate a little (considering the fact that it is a Hollywood movie) you should get my point.

And read the book, of course, if you have the time. And the article. I promise they're worth the time.

Tolstoy and the Art of General Practice.

Yup that's my SSC for the first semester this year, anybody have any insights on that, other than the 'we are all small but significant parts of society/history, just like the cells/organs of our bodies, and general practice is all but keeping it going (not making drastic changes) and letting it roll along' concept that I have three weeks to refine (greatly, of course) on?
Other than the belief that we should be vegetarians and live full spiritual lives, of course.
Philosophical and arty people out there, help me!

Professionalism in Medical Students.

We've a discussion we have to do as part of a portfolio, and the current one's on (as the title suggests) professionalism medical students are supposed to exhibit. I'd appreciate some comments about my post below, thanks!

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OK I think we've plunged straight into the murky depths of
professionalism in our medical education straightaway haven't we?
Seriously though, I believe Louisa and Sri have both made very valid and
important points in our discussion - in fact, if we look closely at the
GMC guidelines on Tomorrow's
Doctors, you have both mentioned certain outcomes we should have
attained by the end of our undergraduate education!
Further to the points you've made, however, I do feel there are certain
areas we can expand upon, namely
1. What is the 'professional' behaviour required of a medical
student? By that I mean not just what we think we should exhibit
(as Louisa has mentioned), or what our educators, or other doctors, show
(as Sri has noted), but perhaps also think about what patients expect of us.
2. What are the ways in which we can develop a professional relationship
(albeit as a medical student) with not just our patients, but also our
peers and educators?

With regards to the first point, am I the only one to find the symbiotic
relationship between patients and us medical students fascinating? Is it
not such a complex, and sublime one, where they have a vested interest
in our education, helping us (in our vain ventures into history-taking,
and clumsy attempts at clinical examinations), in the hope of moulding
us in their expectations? As such privileged confidantes, where do we
draw the line between passing on valuable medical or social information
for good use, and keeping certain facts confidential; how do we present
ourselves to patients, being too much 'on their side', not just as a
healthcare professional, or risk appearing too detached, and seem
concerned only with our own learning objectives?

I'm sure we can all congratulate ourselves on the fact that we have
demonstrated the former reasonably well through our actions, if we have
not explicitly stated so, in our presentations to senior staff and
discussions amongst ourselves (Mr X, etc), but regarding the latter,
what do you think we should, or should not do, to show our empathy for
patients, yet achieve our learning aims at the same time? Gaining
consent properly, and introducing ourselves are obvious points; perhaps
making them feel at ease, as well as appropriating shared
objectives, I feel, are areas we should improve on (at least for me!)
What do you think?

As for the second point, there is an interesting article about role
models in the medical profession and how professional behaviour should
be taught1, perhaps you'd find it an interesting post-PBL
read! An interesting point it makes is that professional behaviour
should be taught not just through group discussions (like this), but
also by people of other professions. I personally think it is an
interesting idea - remember the ethics lectures by Prof Harris? What do
you think?



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1How important
are role models in making good doctors? Paice et al. BMJ
2002;325:707-710