Tinker, Tailor

I’m beginning to get suspicious of guys who love green. Perhaps “love” could be an understatement, for you may soon agree that “obsession” might be a more accurate description.

My first encounter was some years ago when I was in a focus group. One of the guys there was this polytechnic student studying life sciences.

“I suspect that you like green,” I commented in my usual understated way.

“Oh I absolutely aDORE it!” came his rather emphatic reply.

But like they say, actions speak louder than words. He was in a green polo T, blue jeans but green canvas shoes. And green-framed glasses. And green plastic watch. And light green canvas messenger bag. His pen, of course, was green.

The somewhat ironic thing was that the first thing I noticed about him when he walked in wasn’t the green. It was the novel he was reading - a pink romance novel.

* * *

I was hanging out at Starbucks with a friend. Starbucks, as you might recall, has a green logo, and much of their decor is green.

And there, buried in his homework, was another guy who loves green. Green jacket, green slippers, green pen even.

And of course, how could he not have green nail polish.

Update below.

A friend of mine was showing off her jade ring to me.

“What the hell is that thing?” I asked, referring to the strange design on the ring.

“It’s a rooster.”

“Oh a cock,” I responded.

Then it occurred to me, “it’s a cock ring! HAHAHAHAHAH!!!”

Yes it’s lame, but I found it really funny then. She didn’t.

Update

Just got a complaint from a friend:

WTF
i clicked on your cock ring post
and out came a wikipedia entry with someone’s dick
and i’m in the office lol

Okay people, don’t say I didn’t warn you. The cock ring entry on wikipedia is NSFW!

I was at a bus stop along Little India when I saw this.

Don’t ask me what they’re doing. You just have to look closely.

I was innocently surfing around, when I chanced upon a Thai dating site called Thai Kisses. (Don’t ask.)

I’m not one who frequents dating sites (because I don’t need to), but I could tell that this one is unique.

Their detailed search options are definitely culturally sensitive.

I showed the site to a friend, and she started making some recommendations for me.

Like this 20 year old with long and slender fingers.

Or this one who is “not beautiful but i have a true love to give someone who don’t mind for contact me”. The name is Hockey, but personally I don’t find Mr Bean too hot.

Last but not least, she found me Steven Lim’s sibling (I don’t know to use brother or sister).

I liked the peaceful way the old man was sleeping, with the younger man standing in the background.

So there was I, innocently taking a stroll near Ann Siang Road one afternoon when I discovered this quaint little blue building tucked away in an obscure corner.

It looked to me like a restaurant or cafe, perhaps a new place where I could hang out quietly and read my book.

But the closer I got to the entrance, the less it looked like a cafe.

Then I realised it must be a nightclub or bar - there was a small counter on the left side of the entrance, probably for the bouncer, and on the wall was a poster showing the back of a topless woman, probably advertising some topless show of theirs.

It didn’t occur to me that maybe there aren’t any topless bars in Singapore? Or are there?

Since it was mid afternoon and in bright daylight, I felt brave enough to walk right up to the entrance to satisfy my curiosity by taking a closer look at the poster.

I soon realised that the topless woman in the poster was too muscular to be a topless woman, and it also mentioned something along the lines of “exclusively all men’s sauna, gym & spa”.

I may be a man, but this isn’t the place for me.

As I staggered back a little, I decided I had to take a photo of the poster. That was when I thought I noticed some movement to my right, coming from the right side of the door (can’t be seen from the photo above). There was a small window-like opening, covered by a not-so-transparent plastic panel. Because the panel was rather blurry, I went closer to have a better look.

There was a topless guy, maybe 2 metres away inside, in the dim tungsten light.

Before I could compose myself, the entrance door swung open, and 2 young guys stepped out. Inside the building behind them, I could see another topless guy seated on a bench with a towel wrapped around his waist. He took a glance at me just before the door closed.

Perhaps my only consolation was that the 2 young guys who came out didn’t bother taking a second look at me, much less attempt to drag me inside.

I never got to take a photo of the poster, but I managed to find a similar one from the same place online, just in case you’re interested

Spotted this cat near my place.

Since I happened to have my camera with me, I decided to take it and dedicate the picture to a friend of mine.

You know who you are

(Continued from my last post, A visit to the sinseh - part 1)

It didn’t take me too long to located no.25 Ann Siang road, the shophouse with a yellow facade. (Can someone decode the large chinese characters?)

I wasn’t quite expecting the sinseh clinic to be this big, but it sure looked reassuring.

As I stepped inside, I don’t know what hit me first - the old ladies playing mahjong at the table near the entrance, or the rows and rows of black & white photos covering the walls.

The photos reminded me of a really old Chinese school that I used to explore as a kid when I visited a town in Malaysia. There was this spooky hall with the side walls lined with group photos and portraits of dead people.

That same spooky feeling came over me as I walked by the table of ladies playing mahjong. On one hand I wanted to take some photos of the photos, but on the other hand I felt restrained, maybe because of all the eyes of the portraits staring down at me.

Towards the inside end of the hall was another table, with an old man sitting there, polishing mahjong tiles with an old cloth.

I was hoping he wasn’t the sinseh. It’s just not very comforting to see your sinseh wiping mahjong tiles in his free time. He should perhaps be pouring over a thick volume with vertical Chinese text or examining a concoction made with preserved cobra or something.

“Is there a sinseh here?” I asked the mahjong tile polisher in mandarin, feeling rather foolish.

“Upstairs,” he told me.

It didn’t occur to me to go upstairs.

Just before I climbed the flight of wooden stairs, a very frail old woman slowly descended, step by step, held by a middle-aged woman. That was reassuring. If that frail old lady would climb and descend those stairs just to see the sinsei, maybe the sinsei knows something after all.

Upstairs, I saw a man and an older lady in a spacious room. The lady, in her 60s, was sitting at the desk doing some stuff, and talking to the man sitting on a short stool.

That would be Ben Tan and his mother, Mdm Toh.

Ben, who was in his mid to late 30s, asked me to take a seat while I described my problem.

After I took of my shirt, he moved my arm in various positions, and pressed on different parts of my shoulder. I was half expecting to scream in pain, but surprisingly it was never painful.

Squeezing my shoulder in a particular manner, he asked me to raise my arm. I was a little incredulous, since I couldn’t lift my arm, but I gave it a try.

I raised my arm, painlessly. Magic.

With my arm still raised, he explained to me that one of my shoulder ligaments was torn. And if he let go, my arm would fall back down. He did, and it did.

I was sold. If he told me then that the only way for my shoulder to heal was to give him a blowjob, I would have been really sad because I would have believed him. (But I wouldn’t have given him a blowjob, in case you’re wondering.)

Instead, he even pointed to a diagram of the human muscular system he had on the wall, showing me which of my 3 shoulder muscles was torn. It was a western diagram, placed alongside other eastern diagrams.

He then used a combination of waxed paper and tape to create a container or reservoir of sorts, which he filled with some dark greenish paste. The paste, made of herbal medicine, would be in direct contact with my shoulder, and I was to leave it there for 3 full days.

Things would get much better after a week, he told me. If not, I should come back for another dose of this.

I wasn’t too optimistic. It was already a month by the time I saw the sinseh, and there was hardly any improvement. At that rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if it took me 2 years to get well on my own. So how could some herbal paste help so much in 3 days?

We talked a little more, and it turned out that he recently had a similar problem, where he tore a ligament while lifting weights. That was new to me because (1) I didn’t know sinsehs lift weights, and (2) I didn’t know sinsehs get injured.

It took him a full month to get well. If his could get well in a month, maybe there was some hope for me.

When the consultation and treatment was finally over, I asked about the payment. It turned out to be less than $30, much less than I had expected.

“I sometimes have back pains - do you treat those?”

“No, I only treat sprains and muscle problems.”

Too bad. The pricing was so reasonable, he’s honest and down-to-earth, and he seemed to know his stuff.

I left the place, hopeful, with a funny patch on my shoulder.

* * *

After 3 days with that patch on my shoulder, it was a great relief to rip it out and be able to wash that part of my shoulder again.

And sure enough, my shoulder was much better. I could scratch my head again. And the rate of improvement increased so that I didn’t feel the need to visit the sinseh again.

This is the only sinseh I’ve seen, so I wouldn’t know if he’s the best sinseh around. But I’d go to him again.

* * *

About 2 months after the visit, I’m playing basketball quite normally again.

It was a hot and sweaty afternoon when I saw this caucasian guy near the Asian Civilisations Museum.

He was actually talking on his mobile phone. I went in closer to get a close-up shot, but that was when he finished his call and got up. He probably comes from Alaska or Siberia.

Reminds me of the difference between Asian and Westerners.

I was standing in the MRT as usual, because there are never enough seats for me to sit.

But one guy near me had a seat.

There was nothing too remarkable about him - he looked like a typical Indian foreign worker - blue jeans, white polo t-shirt, brown leather safety boots, not too clean-shaven. But otherwise quite normal.

Then something caught my peripheral vision that made me take a second look.

He was wearing a Forever Friends t-shirt, complete with the teddy bear logo.

He must have a very close friend.

I just found out that entry to museums will be free this Saturday (31 May), as it’s International Museum Day.

Of course I’ll be at one of them.
Of course I won’t tell you which one I’m visiting.
Sorry stalker

Anyway here’s a photo I took some time back at the Singapore Art Museum. I was totally impressed by this little girl - she was stopping to admire every painting.

She’s gonna be so hot when she grows up.

P.S. Here are the official details of the International Museum Day 2008.

I got up the bus and tapped my wallet on the EZ-link card reader to hear the familiar beep before moving towards the back of the bus, just 2 steps behind another guy.

As he walked past the exit of the bus, he deftly put his wallet over the card reader, *beep*, before continuing towards the back.

I sat down on the seat facing him, and glared at him. He didn’t seem to notice.

Should I report him?

This guy obviously cheated on his bus fare. I should let the bus driver know.

But heck it’s just a small amount - no need to be a busybody.

But dang it’s not fair that I’m paying the full amount and he’s not.

But it’s not like I’m getting hurt because of that.

But wait it’s because of people like him that’s why the prices keep increasing.

But he looks like a poor dude who needs to save every penny.

But he probably has done it many times.

But Singapore has become too expensive for many people.

But wait isn’t he holding a Puma bag?

But he still looks like a poor student.

But I shouldn’t be like the typical Singaporean who does nothing in the face of wrong.

But it’s the transport companies that are more evil with the ever-increasing prices.

But hell it’ll be fun just to report him and see what happens.

So that was when I decided to report him. I decided to do it just when the bus was reaching my stop, since it would be more convenient.

Except that got off before me. The stop right before mine.

Ah well.

At least I got his photo.

A smooth mocha and a tuna sandwich awaits my consumption.

At the next table was a cute girl who glanced over a few times, twirling her locks, yet I felt no inclination to speak, but chose to simply soak in the tension.

A very long painting at the Singapore Art Museum. In CNY colours.

I was shopping at People’s Park Complex yesterday evening. (No, nothing to do with CNY.)

I’m sure I’d been there eons ago when I was still a young kid, as I had this sense of deja vu when I was there, even though the place looked completely new, even foreign.

It’s nothing like the Singapore I’m familiar with.

(If you’ve never been there, do check it out. It’s a strange but interesting place.)

When I went up the main escalator, I found a small crowd of people, both young and old, around a large pillar, reading the text on it.

They were reading the horoscope for the Year of the Rat.

(Mostly with their arms folded.)

I smiled to myself, wondering what gave this horoscope on this pillar so much authority that people would bother reading it.

A deep-seated fear of the unknown to be allayed in any way possible? Or just a curiosity to be scratched even if the belief isn’t strong?

I mean, how could anyone take this seriously?

Some people did.

I used to make photographs.

To many, photography is a way of making a visual record, a documenting tool.

Not to me. It’s an art medium, a tool to manipulate the scene, light and objects and angles and time, so that you paint what you want to paint.

I used to just get out there, with no clear destination, me with my camera, and paint beauty.

Now the camera has become too heavy, my schedule has become too tight, and I’ve become lazy. And there’s probably fungus growing on my lenses.

Maybe next week I’ll make some photographs. Just maybe.

Escalator at Wheelock Place, taken 2 years ago. Not like anyone can tell.

Some time ago, I took a picture of a woman holding her umbrella while waiting under the bus shelter.

She needed double protection from the rain.

Then today. It was hot and sweltering afternoon, and I was walking under the sheltered walkway because I didn’t want to walk under the blazing sun, even though the sheltered route was much longer.

Then I noticed this girl walking in my direction under the same sheltered walkway. And she was holding her open umbrella. This time it’s double protection from the sun. (I so regret not taking her photo.)

Only Asians do this kind of thing.

Westerners, on the other hand…

Drinking, smoking, chatting, and otherwise baking themselves. I won’t be surprised if they spontaneously combust.

Spotted at the end of the same sheltered walkway.

Had this sudden urge to
pop by Starbucks for a Frappuccino
and some Thom Gunn and Ted Hughes
poetry.

And a wee bit of blogging.

I don’t normally do food reviews, let alone drink reviews, but well, this one is weird enough to justify it.

I was hanging out with a couple of friends at a polytechnic canteen recently when I decided I needed a drink.

I also decided to try something different.

At the fridge, my eyes kept coming back to this can drink with a rather unconventional design.

It looked like Chinese medicine.

Upon closer inspection, it wasn’t that far from the truth.

Yes, if you’re Chinese and you’ve had a cough before, you likely would have tasted the well-known cough concoction called “Pi Pa Gao”. This, is “Pi Pa Mi”. The “Mi” refers to honey.

Well, to cut the long story of my decision-making process short, I bought it. You probably figured it out from the photo anyway.

When I thumped the can on the counter, the canteen auntie said “one-twenty”. Normal can drinks cost 80 cents there. I was already beginning to regret the decision.

After showing off my new buy to my friends, who weren’t just unimpressed - they gave me disgusted looks, I eventually had to open the can to drink it.

I poured the Pi Pa Mi into the cup of ice. It looked just like Coke, without the gas. Exactly the colour of Pi Pa Gao.

I generously asked if my friends wanted to try. No, they weren’t interested.

So I drank from my cup, as they stared at me with a slight grimace, probably half expecting me to keel over and cough out blood.

Yes, it tasted like Pi Pa Gao.

Not exactly something you’d associate with a cool refreshing drink.

But after a few sips, and getting used to the cough syrupy taste, I decided it wasn’t that bad after all. In fact, I had this cool mentholy sensation in my throat. Not too bad actually.

I tried hard to convince the friends to try it. Just a sip. It’s really not bad!

“There’s no way I’m going to drink something from a can with two dead men staring at me.”

Fine.

I might buy it again when I have a sore throat.

P.S. Besides water and honey, there were a lot of other stuff in the list of ingredients, all of them multisyllabic and potent-sounding. I’m still alive anyway.

The boss and I were discussing some stuff when he talked about trying to find a picture on a T-shirt that was popular when he was much younger:

It had this huge eagle swooping down with its massive talons just about to seize this mouse that is calmly sitting there showing him the finger.

If possible, we would get one to add to our office poster collection.

After a bit Googling, we found that it was called “the Last Great Act Of Defiance”.

They even have a newer design on a cafepress t-shirt.

But I doubt I’ll get the t-shirt. Otherwise all of you will know it’s me