Methinks we should have more politically correct topics when Skype chatting with friends’ mothers. So we’ve lost George Yeo and Chiam See Tong (and Potong Pasir under the SPP), but the opposition has doubled the number of seats they hold (not counting the possibility of Lina Chiam becoming an NCMP). We also have Tin Pei Ling. What a year.
While doing research on global trade for an assigment due in two days, I came across this bit of information I don’t think many people know of:
In January 2003, the U.S. Trade Representative announced the conclusion of a free-trade agreement with Singapore. In an early draft released to the public, it appears that Singapore managed to exempt its broadcasting sector from national-treatment obligations. However, under the heading “electronic commerce,” Singapore committed itself to grant national-treatment to “digital products,” defined to mean “computer programs, text, video, images, sound recordings and other products that are digitally encoded (emphasis added). This wording will preclude Singapore from giving preferential treatment to CDs or films made by its own nationals. Again, the MPAA trumpeted the agreement as “striking an appropriate balance between trade liberalisation and the promotion of cultural diversity.” (Grant, P.S. & Wood, C., 2004. Blockbusters and Trade Wars. Berkeley: Douglas & McIntyre.)
Yes, it’s really there in the agreement. Something to chew on—I suppose this is meritocracy at its finest, but I dunno.
These photos were taken in 2008:
Last night I dreamt I was playing with my dogs, and they were both well and healthy. It was one of those dreams where everything was amazing until you woke up. My (brother’s) labrador retriever died two years ago on a Sunday from a heat stroke. The buhund’s showing his age.
When I was young, I read in a book that when you finally die, your muscles relax and you let out whatever’s in your bowels and bladder. Buddy was on the vet’s table when it happened and my heart just dropped. It’s strange to touch a cold body.
I might want to share something like this, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want to like it.
I’ve been living for three days without a personal computer—cracks on my MacBook case and a screwed up right speaker prompted a trip to the Apple Store. Maybe not the best time, seeing as to how term ends in three weeks, but I’ve been putting it off for quite a while already. At this point, I’ve never wanted an iPad more. Every morning, I wake up intending to check my email (I don’t usually do it on my BlackBerry in my room), but then I turn over and realise there’s nothing there. I’ve got an iPhone that works alright for some things, but actual browsing for more than ten minutes is a huge pain in the ass. It’s gotten to the point where I’m visiting the library (or using Asha’s computer) for an hour or two every day. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing, but now I’m way behind on my journalism assignments and need to redo everything from scratch. Bummer.
Also, if anyone from Anonymous reads this and is in the UK: I would like to interview you. Please let me know.
I just had a phone interview on 938LIVE that I completely forgot about until iCal reminded me ten minutes before they were supposed to call. So I posted it on Facebook and Twitter, and got the longest comment thread ever on my wall. This really should go into my book of personal records:
It’s a bit hard to tell when my Australian, Jewish, money-faced, pseudo battyboy friend Stas Madorski is being serious or not—people always think we’re gay for each other, &c (see this photo). I just thought I’d put up something he wrote, just for the laughs:
P.S.: Stas—it’s hordes, not hoards. But you’re still cool. And a bum. For me to play with.
And it’s been moved to another page on this site. It doesn’t look as nice, but it’s a lot easier for me to update. Enjoy.
It’s been over a week since the last post. I’ll have something up soon.
Seeing my Polish flatmate’s Moka Pot made me realise that I’ve been drinking lousy instant coffee (Nescafé Gold) in the mornings before I go to class.
Back in Singapore I’d make a Starbucks run, but 1) there’s no Starbucks on campus, and 2) being far away from home makes me want to try ridiculous things—watching The Green Hornet and seeing fake Jay Chou’s hands make coffee like that (note that you never actually see him handle the coffee!) had nothing to do with it.
So using the £50 Amazon gift card my brother sent me for my birthday, I’m probably going to buy some beans, a grinder, a milk frother and my own Moka Pot. Or maybe not the milk frother; I don’t usually have milk with my coffee.
All this searching online for DIY coffee-making kits turned up many results for field and mess kits, which made me remember something that happened during my first week of Basic: we stole forks and knives from the mess hall. I imagine almost everyone did it, but it might be interesting for the Brits reading this.
You see, when you enlist, you’re given all this stuff in a duffel bag which includes a mess kit to eat your MREs in the field with (as always, stay away from the chicken pongteh). They don’t, however, give you forks, spoons, or knives, which seems like a ridiculous oversight on someone’s part. And we were all on this island where the only convenience store around was a BX. It was called the eMART; nobody knew what the “e” meant back then, and I’m pretty sure nobody knows now either. It didn’t have anything much, so you’d have to take a boat back to the mainland just to get a set of cutlery. We were locked down for two weeks.
Right before lights out on the second night, our platoon sergeant came up to us, took us aside and told us to “bring back” a set of cutlery from the cookhouse after breakfast the next morning. So we did. Everyone took two sets of cutlery when they went for breakfast; returned one so everything seemed normal and hid the other set in the pockets of our uniforms. I put one piece in each pocket so they didn’t jangle, but some of the other boys put both in one pocket so you ended up with this platoon of tinkling sounds marching back from the mess hall.
We say anything to any of our officers then—my platoon commander, incidentally, was a primary school friend of mine—but I suppose someone must’ve talked, because in the evening when we were getting debriefed, our sergeant asked who told the officer about the arrangement to steal cutlery from the cookhouse.
I imagine it’s not a big deal when a few sets go missing, but when an entire platoon (and possibly the entire company) does it, someone probably noticed. Some guy owned up (I can’t remember who) and the sergeant let him have it: “You fucking goon! I told you to bring back a set of cutlery, I didn’t tell you to steal it!”
We all started grinning at that point. I don’t think he got punished by his officer. If anything, they probably had a few laughs about it. That was my first lesson in army life: the official record of events is important; sometimes more important than the events themselves. And they say history is written by the victors.
Oh yes—the coffee in the army was instant coffee, too.
Next week, I’ll write about touring with an indie band. The week after that, I’ll tell how this photo (that’s the director of the movie I was in) happened in less than a day.
In Outlook (and mail.app when I was using it), my folders look like this (Okay Thank You runs on Gmail):
See that? See how the folders are organised in Gmail? That annoys the shit out of me. And this is after hiding the “All Mail” folder so my email doesn’t get downloaded twice.
Curiously enough, my brother works for Google, and occasionally consults me when making important decisions. I kid, but he really does work for the (other) big G.
I haven’t had a haircut since I left Singapore (apart from one trim for the BFI International Film Festival). That’s what… five months? Six? I really need a haircut.
Just before I left:
/ I’m a history student
/ Taken from an historical perspective
Bah.
