me: omg omg the new ipod touch is HUGE! 32Gb!!! when you go to sg, can you pls buy me the new itouch?
Cheryl: with what? i don't have that much in ang pow money :(
me: haha, er, ask mum?
Cheryl: okay. she'll shoot the messenger you kno. i'm putting my life on the line for you. could die
me: ok so the idea is, when you go to sg, get bry's crappy ipod then go to the apple store, ask if they do the 10% off the new ipod if you bring in an old ipod deal and then buy me the new itouch 32Gb :D
Cheryl: she just gave this smile. how much is it do they do student discount can't i get that can't i get stud d/c in london - is it not cheap enuf
me: you cant get student disc on ipods i think coz they're not for study
Cheryl: dad asks what do you plan to put on this 32 gb drive? do you even have that much to put on mom says you're a spendthrift
me: games and music. my music's at 8Gb already. it's for the long arduous commute :)
Cheryl: WOW WHAT A LONG COMMUTE. it's like going to singapore
me: i dunno. btw, who's sayin all this stuff? you or mum and dad.
Cheryl: combination. dad says perdy wants to know
me: yes, perdy, i REALLY need this ipod
Cheryl: mum says dog and plants at home want to know
me: wah, i get the 3rd degree when i want to buy a new gadget...but bryan's had like 5 ipods and i've had two. too bad i dont break mine in time for the next release
Cheryl: mom says no bryan hasn't bought since the last wshing machine one. dad says when bryan wants a new ipod, he washes it so he gets a clean one from the washing machine
me: our parents should do stand up. tell them they're funny. they like that
Cheryl: yes tey're thinking of doing a show next month. mom's watching tennis on record so she's fastforwarding it to every break point
me: damn that's efficient television
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
A noteworthy distraction
This is one of the best forwards I've received in ages, but I'd recommend not reading the rest of this while drinking something really hot and/or in the vicinity of electrical equipment. I'm also rather shamelessly using this as a filler because I'm acutely aware I haven't written here in a while. So zoom in, push back your chair, and enjoy.
Random thoughts from 20-35 year olds
- More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.
Random thoughts from 20-35 year olds
- More often than not, when someone is telling me a story all I can think about is that I can't wait for them to finish so that I can tell my own story that's not only better, but also more directly involves me.
- Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realise you're wrong.
- I don't understand the purpose of the line, "I don't need to drink to have fun." Great, no one does. But why start a fire with flint and sticks when they've invented the lighter?
- Have you ever been walking down the street and realised that you're going in the complete opposite direction of where you are supposed to be going?
But instead of just turning a 180 and walking back in the direction from which you came, you have to first do something like check your watch or phone or make a grand arm gesture and mutter to yourself to ensure that no one in the surrounding area thinks you're crazy by randomly switching directions on the sidewalk.
- I totally take back all those times I didn't want to nap when I was younger.
- Is it just me, or are 80% of the people in the "people you may know"
feature on Facebook people that I do know, but I deliberately choose not to be friends with?
- Do you remember when you were a kid, playing Nintendo and it wouldn't work? You take the cartridge out, blow in it and that would magically fix the problem. Every kid did that, but how did we all know how to fix the problem? There was no internet or message boards or FAQ's. We just figured it out. Today's kids are soft.
- There is a great need for sarcasm font.
- Sometimes, I'll watch a movie that I watched when I was younger and suddenly realise I had no idea what the f*** was going on when I first saw it.
- I think everyone has a movie that they love so much, it actually becomes stressful to watch it with other people. I'll end up wasting 90 minutes shiftily glancing around to confirm that everyone's laughing at the right parts, then making sure I laugh just a little bit harder (and a millisecond
earlier) to prove that I'm still the only one who really, really gets it.
- How the hell are you supposed to fold a fitted sheet?
- I would rather try to carry 10 plastic grocery bags in each hand than take 2 trips to bring my groceries in.
- I think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
- LOL has gone from meaning, "laugh out loud" to "I have nothing else to say".
- I have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
- Whenever someone says "I'm not book smart, but I'm street smart", all I hear is "I'm not real smart, but I'm imaginary smart".
- How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear what they said?
- I love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars teams up to prevent a dick from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers!
- Every time I have to spell a word over the phone using 'as in' examples, I will undoubtedly draw a blank and sound like a complete idiot. Today I had to spell my boss's last name to an attorney and said "Yes that's G as in...(10 second lapse)..ummm...Goonies".
- What would happen if I hired two private investigators to follow each other?
- While driving yesterday I saw a banana peel in the road and instinctively swerved to avoid it...thanks Mario Kart.
- Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
- I find it hard to believe there are actually people who get in the shower first and THEN turn on the water.
- Shirts get dirty. Underwear gets dirty. Pants? Pants never get dirty, and you can wear them forever.
- I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least kind of tired.
- Bad decisions make good stories.
- Whenever I'm Facebook stalking someone and I find out that their profile is public, I feel like a kid on Christmas morning that just got the Red Ryder BB gun that I always wanted. 546 pictures? Don't mind if I do!
- Is it just me or do high school girls get sluttier & sluttier every year?
- If Carmen San Diego and Waldo ever got together, their offspring would probably just be completely invisible.
- Why is it that during an ice-breaker, when the whole room has to go around and say their name and where they are from, I get so incredibly nervous? Like I know my name, I know where I'm from, this shouldn't be a problem …
- You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you've made up your mind that you just aren't doing anything productive for the rest of the day.
- Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after DVDs? I don't want to have to restart my collection.
- There's no worse feeling than that millisecond you're sure you are going to die after leaning your chair back a little too far.
- I'm always slightly terrified when I exit out of Word and it asks me if I want to save any changes to my ten page research paper that I swear I did not make any changes to.
- "Do not machine wash or tumble dry" means I will never wash this ever.
- I hate being the one with the remote in a room full of people watching TV. There's so much pressure. 'I love this show, but will they judge me if I keep it on? I bet everyone is wishing we weren't watching this. It's only a matter of time before they all get up and leave the room. Will we still be friends after this?'
- I hate when I just miss a call by the last ring (Hello? Hello? Dammit!), but when I immediately call back, it rings nine times and goes to voicemail. What'd you do after I didn't answer? Drop the phone and run away?
- I hate leaving my house confident and looking good and then not seeing anyone of importance the entire day. What a waste.
- When I meet a new girl, I'm terrified of mentioning something she hasn't already told me but that I have learned from some light internet stalking.
- I like all of the music in my iTunes, except when it's on shuffle, then I like about one in every fifteen songs in my iTunes.
- Why is a school zone 25 km/h? That seems like the optimal cruising speed for paedophiles...
- As a driver I hate pedestrians and as a pedestrian I hate drivers, but no matter what the mode of transportation, I always hate cyclists.
- Sometimes I'll look down at my watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
- I keep some people's phone numbers in my phone just so I know not to answer when they call.
- My 4-year old son asked me in the car the other day "Dad what would happen if you ran over a ninja?" How the hell do I respond to that?
- I wonder if cops ever get pissed off at the fact that everyone they drive behind obeys the speed limit.
- I think the freezer deserves a light as well.
- Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, hitting the G-spot, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but I'd bet my ass everyone can find and push the Snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time every time…Monday, June 22, 2009
Join the club
I was looking back through my posts wondering why I hadn't yet ranted about the state of the job market. How unlike me...or perhaps I was still too sensitive about the fact that I had been made redundant. It's a huge blow to the ego, but when you retrench management consultants at a 'top-tier strategy firm', you're touching the realms of clinical depression.
Friendships have been tested, networks have been, well, worked, and we've run the gauntlet of head hunters, case interviews, (in)competency interviews, and enough CV/cover letter reiterations to decimate a forest. It ain't over yet.
It's been a complex journey. There's a perverse sense of security in not knowing how good the other guys are, but at the same time, if we weren't there to offset each other's cycles of doom, I'm pretty sure we'd all be living at home with our parents.
Friendships have been tested, networks have been, well, worked, and we've run the gauntlet of head hunters, case interviews, (in)competency interviews, and enough CV/cover letter reiterations to decimate a forest. It ain't over yet.
It's been a complex journey. There's a perverse sense of security in not knowing how good the other guys are, but at the same time, if we weren't there to offset each other's cycles of doom, I'm pretty sure we'd all be living at home with our parents.
Autostalking edit: Cubicle confusion, the anti-9-to-5
There are probably many like this out there, but this one's quite cute for all of its non-offensive, gently lyrical descriptions of cubicle-life, and charmingly persistent lack of attention to grammar and spelling, of the sort you only get when you're brain-numb by 10.30am.
The cynic in my past, employed-version of me says appreciate the 5pm finish, but I'm hardly in a position to comment.
P.S. I've demoted Blobdot because its last post was over a year ago. Some of us clearly have better things to do.
The cynic in my past, employed-version of me says appreciate the 5pm finish, but I'm hardly in a position to comment.
P.S. I've demoted Blobdot because its last post was over a year ago. Some of us clearly have better things to do.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
The minor inconveniences of life #1
Why is it that when you have to take a really important call, you're in any of the following places:
a) in a store that plays clubbing music
b) on the street in a crush of people
c) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past
d) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past and a line of vespas trying to out-gun them
e) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past, a line of vespas trying to out-gun them, and the street-cleaning machine very metticulously scrubbing the pavement right outside the phone booth you've ducked into?!
a) in a store that plays clubbing music
b) on the street in a crush of people
c) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past
d) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past and a line of vespas trying to out-gun them
e) on the street in a crush of people with a convoy of buses rumbling past, a line of vespas trying to out-gun them, and the street-cleaning machine very metticulously scrubbing the pavement right outside the phone booth you've ducked into?!
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Unravelling the mysteries of life
Ever since Facebook enabled their quiz-publishing platform, there's been a flood of some of the strangest 'need to knows':
What's your name meaning?
How many girl/boyfriends before your marriage?
What does your birthday say about you?
What is your true age?
Your ideal job.
When will you die?
How will you find your wife/husband?
What's your swim stroke?
When will you get married?
Who will you marry?
How boyish/girlish are you?
My feed is now probably about 60% test results accompanied by some inane comment about whether the test taker agrees or not. I can imagine them sitting there shuddering with every eerily accurate result and denying anything they didn't want to know. Human beings can only survive that way.
I guess we're all seeking some sort of Greater Confirmation. Having said that, I don't fully understand the implications behind what swimstroke matches your personality. There wasn't really ever any doubt on that matter - your coach just yelled at you until you figured it out.
Other quiz results, however, could potentially be life-changing, and it was all a matter of self-awareness. What better than to lead our lives according to the appropriate "What Disney princess are you?" Code of Damsel-in-Distress Ethics.
I'm Belle and if I were a Starbucks coffe, I'd be a latte.
What's your name meaning?
How many girl/boyfriends before your marriage?
What does your birthday say about you?
What is your true age?
Your ideal job.
When will you die?
How will you find your wife/husband?
What's your swim stroke?
When will you get married?
Who will you marry?
How boyish/girlish are you?
My feed is now probably about 60% test results accompanied by some inane comment about whether the test taker agrees or not. I can imagine them sitting there shuddering with every eerily accurate result and denying anything they didn't want to know. Human beings can only survive that way.
I guess we're all seeking some sort of Greater Confirmation. Having said that, I don't fully understand the implications behind what swimstroke matches your personality. There wasn't really ever any doubt on that matter - your coach just yelled at you until you figured it out.
Other quiz results, however, could potentially be life-changing, and it was all a matter of self-awareness. What better than to lead our lives according to the appropriate "What Disney princess are you?" Code of Damsel-in-Distress Ethics.
I'm Belle and if I were a Starbucks coffe, I'd be a latte.
Monday, June 15, 2009
High summer in the city
I'm back by popular demand. Let me qualify that statement for all you skeptics out there.
A grand total of three people have clamoured for more writing, followed by the sentence "I've run out of things to read when I'm supposed to be working!". Thanks, you guys, it does a lot for my self-confidence and budding writing ambitions when I now know that I fill that all-important procrastination zone between your 9am start and your 6pm deadline.
I'm back, but only for a little while, because this outlet also serves me as a bit of a time waster, and I'd rather not fill out job applications on a glorious Monday afternoon when I have a glass of wine with my name on it two streets over. 4.15 is apparently a little too early for a tipple, but 4.45pm is much more socially acceptable, if just barely.
We've also been frantically busy. The CFA came and went with the usual brain-rape-type trauma that leaves you second-guessing all 3 multiple-choice options. Some people walked out way before the bell while others had to have their pencils and calculators forcibly removed. You can never really tell how well you did.
Then we moved to a beautiful flat near the Wharf. It was a long, exhausting weekend, made even more so by the morons that pulled up underneath our window at 6.30am on the Sunday morning and proceeded to have a radio war at maximum volume. Our final trip from the old flat to 'pick up the bits leftover' which turned out to be almost 30kg of washing detergents and other various odds and ends has left Weng broken.
We're now struggling to unpack in any kind of systematic way. Maybe Weng was right and we shouldnt've set up the TV first, but we really need to get going otherwise we'll be eating 2-minute microwaveable oats for the rest of our tenancy.
I've also been trying to determine the X-factor that makes a celebrity blogger a la Mr. Brown and Kenny Sia. It seems like a fairly cushy job - make witty comments about the world and get a heap of free things (for instance, I could really do with a Panasonic LX-3 right now). I suppose the main difference between me and them, if I had to pick just one thing, would be a fanbase. Hmm, I really need to get me one of those.
But maybe not right now. Right now is for making like the locals; when in Rome hey?
A grand total of three people have clamoured for more writing, followed by the sentence "I've run out of things to read when I'm supposed to be working!". Thanks, you guys, it does a lot for my self-confidence and budding writing ambitions when I now know that I fill that all-important procrastination zone between your 9am start and your 6pm deadline.
I'm back, but only for a little while, because this outlet also serves me as a bit of a time waster, and I'd rather not fill out job applications on a glorious Monday afternoon when I have a glass of wine with my name on it two streets over. 4.15 is apparently a little too early for a tipple, but 4.45pm is much more socially acceptable, if just barely.
We've also been frantically busy. The CFA came and went with the usual brain-rape-type trauma that leaves you second-guessing all 3 multiple-choice options. Some people walked out way before the bell while others had to have their pencils and calculators forcibly removed. You can never really tell how well you did.
Then we moved to a beautiful flat near the Wharf. It was a long, exhausting weekend, made even more so by the morons that pulled up underneath our window at 6.30am on the Sunday morning and proceeded to have a radio war at maximum volume. Our final trip from the old flat to 'pick up the bits leftover' which turned out to be almost 30kg of washing detergents and other various odds and ends has left Weng broken.
We're now struggling to unpack in any kind of systematic way. Maybe Weng was right and we shouldnt've set up the TV first, but we really need to get going otherwise we'll be eating 2-minute microwaveable oats for the rest of our tenancy.
I've also been trying to determine the X-factor that makes a celebrity blogger a la Mr. Brown and Kenny Sia. It seems like a fairly cushy job - make witty comments about the world and get a heap of free things (for instance, I could really do with a Panasonic LX-3 right now). I suppose the main difference between me and them, if I had to pick just one thing, would be a fanbase. Hmm, I really need to get me one of those.
But maybe not right now. Right now is for making like the locals; when in Rome hey?
Saturday, May 09, 2009
Shorty get low
Last weekend, we hit a club in Mayfair for a birthday and some more-atas people watching than the usual high-street fare. Expecting some high-class posing, waiting to catch a glimpse of well-paid escorts, and other general social posturing, all we really saw 'neath the strobe lighting was the throbbing one-ness of about forty people bumping and grinding in time (more or less) to the bass.
The one that thinks she can dance
Always the first one to hit the floor, brave enough to take her martini glass for a good shuffle on the parquet.
The one that doesn't want to dance with the one that thinks she can dance
A moment of clarity hits and/or feeling like a very lonely, bopping muppet, she drags her friend along. Reluctant friend is obliging her dancing friend's shenanigans and hand holding like a drowning man clutches a lead weight.
The one that dances because people are watching
Furtive glances around the crowd, amped up body gyrations when someone looks her way, copying other styles that seem to be getting more attention.
The one that dances only because people are watching
Not wanting to be the wallflower or the alcoholic at the bar. Note the forced smile and the halfhearted attempt to earn social acceptance. On the verge of becoming the one that thinks she's a chicken.
The one that thinks she's a chicken
There's a strange no-man's land between actually dancing and just not dancing. It's like you don't want to put your hands up because that would just make you feel way too self-conscious or maybe you didn't shave. So you dance all elbows and knees, half finished, half arsed, and looking, well, like a chicken.
The one that went for dance classes and is determined to use the moves no matter the music
You don't salsa to R&B the same way you don't pop to big band.
The one that learnt to dance with Paula Abdul
There are some moves that were never brought to the 00's because they belong to the 80's. For example, Paula Abdul's 4 minutes of almost-lucidity on American Idol.
P.S. I'll try not to leave you with a picture of a squirrel before disappearing next time. I apologise.
The one that thinks she can dance
Always the first one to hit the floor, brave enough to take her martini glass for a good shuffle on the parquet.
The one that doesn't want to dance with the one that thinks she can dance
A moment of clarity hits and/or feeling like a very lonely, bopping muppet, she drags her friend along. Reluctant friend is obliging her dancing friend's shenanigans and hand holding like a drowning man clutches a lead weight.
The one that dances because people are watching
Furtive glances around the crowd, amped up body gyrations when someone looks her way, copying other styles that seem to be getting more attention.
The one that dances only because people are watching
Not wanting to be the wallflower or the alcoholic at the bar. Note the forced smile and the halfhearted attempt to earn social acceptance. On the verge of becoming the one that thinks she's a chicken.
The one that thinks she's a chicken
There's a strange no-man's land between actually dancing and just not dancing. It's like you don't want to put your hands up because that would just make you feel way too self-conscious or maybe you didn't shave. So you dance all elbows and knees, half finished, half arsed, and looking, well, like a chicken.
The one that went for dance classes and is determined to use the moves no matter the music
You don't salsa to R&B the same way you don't pop to big band.
The one that learnt to dance with Paula Abdul
There are some moves that were never brought to the 00's because they belong to the 80's. For example, Paula Abdul's 4 minutes of almost-lucidity on American Idol.
P.S. I'll try not to leave you with a picture of a squirrel before disappearing next time. I apologise.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
God help the NHS
So to add to the horror of tube travel, we're now told that it's essentially a massive petri dish, providing the perfect conditions to ensure the spread of swine flu in the capital. Imagine discovering this on your first reintroduction to society and public transport in a week.
As I read through the article in the free London Paper (every literati's publication of choice), I became increasingly aware of each sniff, hack, and cough that reverberated around the crowded carriage. Do you know how difficult it is to discreetly (because we are still English, pandemic or not) lean away from someone in a confined space and not touch anyone else?
I could add agoraphobia to my growing list of London-induced conditions: claustrophobia, mysophobia, obesophobia, toxophobia, and entomophobia. It would make anyone build a bunker, disinfect it, seal it off, and wait for the apocalypse, but then I wouldn't be a Londoner. So we'll just doff our hats to the riots, terror attacks, protests, strikes, viral infections, and financial meltdown, and carry on, wot?
As I read through the article in the free London Paper (every literati's publication of choice), I became increasingly aware of each sniff, hack, and cough that reverberated around the crowded carriage. Do you know how difficult it is to discreetly (because we are still English, pandemic or not) lean away from someone in a confined space and not touch anyone else?
I could add agoraphobia to my growing list of London-induced conditions: claustrophobia, mysophobia, obesophobia, toxophobia, and entomophobia. It would make anyone build a bunker, disinfect it, seal it off, and wait for the apocalypse, but then I wouldn't be a Londoner. So we'll just doff our hats to the riots, terror attacks, protests, strikes, viral infections, and financial meltdown, and carry on, wot?
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Time to think
Dishes have reached critical mass in the sink but we're still resiliently working around the issue. It's much more fun improvising plates and cups than actually washing them.
Road tested the PS3 last Friday with Streetfighter and spent most of the weekend with really sore forearms and potential nerve damage. I also stood in front of the PS3 game offering at HMV and struggled to find more than two I'm really excited about. I think it's time to concede that I'm not a 'serious' gamer and that neither the Wii nor the PS3 really cut it. The opinion may be revised when we move to E14 and are in sore need of entertainment on the weekends all transport links to the Wharf are severed. I heard there are a lot of water fowl in the area though, and we have bread.
I've recently lost more than a couple of friends to the phenomenon that is 'going steady'. They go to ground and you never here from them again except on Bank holiday weekends. Springtime.
I've perfected my made-from-scratch pancake recipe but now I don't think I want to eat anymore. On the topic of breakfast, Weng made a half packet of instant oats, surmising that that since it's half a packet, it only requires half the time in the microwave. It, in fact, does not, but he ate it anyway. So far, his oat-eating experience has been less than appetising.
Learning French is great. There's nothing like group humiliation to make you learn your vocab! For once it's not me, which is even better. But seriously, the teacher is really good, or maybe I'm still haunted by memories of Mr. Yao and mandarin tuition. Did you know, I used to win 'don't smile' competitions because of him - I'd just call up the memory of his face and the grin would drop like a hot potato. Victory always came at a cost.
I'm just looking at my bookshelf now. Amazon has been too good to me. Then I found Amazon Prime and there's been no turning back since. Now I need to figure out where I can get a truck big enough to move it all come June, particularly since I've been shopping by a certain minimum number of pages. I can't bear to sell any of them either.
Road tested the PS3 last Friday with Streetfighter and spent most of the weekend with really sore forearms and potential nerve damage. I also stood in front of the PS3 game offering at HMV and struggled to find more than two I'm really excited about. I think it's time to concede that I'm not a 'serious' gamer and that neither the Wii nor the PS3 really cut it. The opinion may be revised when we move to E14 and are in sore need of entertainment on the weekends all transport links to the Wharf are severed. I heard there are a lot of water fowl in the area though, and we have bread.
I've recently lost more than a couple of friends to the phenomenon that is 'going steady'. They go to ground and you never here from them again except on Bank holiday weekends. Springtime.
I've perfected my made-from-scratch pancake recipe but now I don't think I want to eat anymore. On the topic of breakfast, Weng made a half packet of instant oats, surmising that that since it's half a packet, it only requires half the time in the microwave. It, in fact, does not, but he ate it anyway. So far, his oat-eating experience has been less than appetising.
Learning French is great. There's nothing like group humiliation to make you learn your vocab! For once it's not me, which is even better. But seriously, the teacher is really good, or maybe I'm still haunted by memories of Mr. Yao and mandarin tuition. Did you know, I used to win 'don't smile' competitions because of him - I'd just call up the memory of his face and the grin would drop like a hot potato. Victory always came at a cost.
I'm just looking at my bookshelf now. Amazon has been too good to me. Then I found Amazon Prime and there's been no turning back since. Now I need to figure out where I can get a truck big enough to move it all come June, particularly since I've been shopping by a certain minimum number of pages. I can't bear to sell any of them either.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Singapore Day 2009
It's a lazy, lazy day because summer's gone, and I've done all the most procrastinating things I can think of. A nap will be next on the agenda I suspect, as soon I've written about Singapore Day.
So the Singapore govt's reportedly spent many dollars in a time when we're all stretching our last ones to bring a little piece of the city-state to the several thousand Singaporeans (and friends) in the UK. They couldn't've picked a better or cheaper time to host the event, actually, especially since the Sing' dollar appears hell bent on destroying my spending power when I go home.
They set up a formidable array of tents, stalls, and a massive stage a little ways from Hampton Court Palace, and then filled it with free food and more freebies than you could reasonably carry. Does our gahmen know us or what?
At first, I didn't really understand why we were being handed silicone breast implants at the entrance (apparently you can use them as heating pads when it gets cold), and then laughed at the ERP gantry that went 'boop' everytime someone passed (I should really check my bank account), and saw the shiny white tents, the colourful stalls, the rows of barricades, and my patriotism only skyrocketed from there.
Our goodie bags were so practical: wet wipes, a picnic mat, a rain mac, toys, muruku. The food on offer was insane: hokkien mee, laksa, ikan bakar, chwee kueh, carrot cake, chicken rice, prata, kway chap, char kway teow, nasi lemak, rojak, muah chee. If you weren't constantly thinking about your stomach and in the queue for food, you could also go around collecting all the other free things at the various booths: army rations, frisbees, bottles of satay sauce, soya bean milk, bottles of mineral water, t-shirts, personal planners, Mindef caps, and more toys.
The acts were great, of what I could understand and what I watched when I wasn't chasing the next craving. The porta-loos were spotless and there were enough of them, and there was none of the mud you'd expect from hosting something in a giant field with lots of generated waste. Phwoar, how did they do it?!
So the Singapore govt's reportedly spent many dollars in a time when we're all stretching our last ones to bring a little piece of the city-state to the several thousand Singaporeans (and friends) in the UK. They couldn't've picked a better or cheaper time to host the event, actually, especially since the Sing' dollar appears hell bent on destroying my spending power when I go home.
They set up a formidable array of tents, stalls, and a massive stage a little ways from Hampton Court Palace, and then filled it with free food and more freebies than you could reasonably carry. Does our gahmen know us or what?
At first, I didn't really understand why we were being handed silicone breast implants at the entrance (apparently you can use them as heating pads when it gets cold), and then laughed at the ERP gantry that went 'boop' everytime someone passed (I should really check my bank account), and saw the shiny white tents, the colourful stalls, the rows of barricades, and my patriotism only skyrocketed from there.
Our goodie bags were so practical: wet wipes, a picnic mat, a rain mac, toys, muruku. The food on offer was insane: hokkien mee, laksa, ikan bakar, chwee kueh, carrot cake, chicken rice, prata, kway chap, char kway teow, nasi lemak, rojak, muah chee. If you weren't constantly thinking about your stomach and in the queue for food, you could also go around collecting all the other free things at the various booths: army rations, frisbees, bottles of satay sauce, soya bean milk, bottles of mineral water, t-shirts, personal planners, Mindef caps, and more toys.
The acts were great, of what I could understand and what I watched when I wasn't chasing the next craving. The porta-loos were spotless and there were enough of them, and there was none of the mud you'd expect from hosting something in a giant field with lots of generated waste. Phwoar, how did they do it?!
Friday, April 24, 2009
Currently employed as: Lady of leisure
So none of the Big 4 firms' consulting practices want me, which is fine. It's just occurred to me that there's probably a difference in the way they define 'consultant' (3 years + managerial experience) as to the way we define consultant (not a partner). I think I was supposed to have been looking at 'business analyst' (a.k.a. data gimp) vacancies instead. Ah, we live and learn. Either way, I guess He knows how frustrated I'd probably be running implementation programs with disillusioned backoffice people, so it could be a good thing.
I'm enjoying the life - long lunches, netball, no rush hour tube madness, but I should really get back on that job thing before the money runs out. My dad told me I've got time so I should write a book, be the next JK Rowling. I can barely hang onto a single idea for long enough to spin it past one paragraph, much less into a 600 page novel. It would be a really short book. My mum said she was kinda expecting I'd be back in KL by June, high hopes regarding my employability indeed.
My job aspiration this week is to be a commercial planner, so I spent today and yesterday getting excited about that. Also had big hopes that I'd get more studying done today, but looks unlikely. The CFA burden is heavy. Literally, and more specifically Book4 (Equity Investments and Alternative Asset Valuation), very heavy. I've been lugging it around London the entire afternoon.
Having said that, it's a beautiful day to make like a pack mule. The sunshine has dulled the edge on my pedestrian rage, and lunch was cheap. I'm almost afraid that this unnaturally warm April is pretty much all there will be to summer. Every day this year seems to be record breaking in some way. Global warming, the financial crisis...we live in interesting times.
Off to game on someone else's PS3!
I'm enjoying the life - long lunches, netball, no rush hour tube madness, but I should really get back on that job thing before the money runs out. My dad told me I've got time so I should write a book, be the next JK Rowling. I can barely hang onto a single idea for long enough to spin it past one paragraph, much less into a 600 page novel. It would be a really short book. My mum said she was kinda expecting I'd be back in KL by June, high hopes regarding my employability indeed.
My job aspiration this week is to be a commercial planner, so I spent today and yesterday getting excited about that. Also had big hopes that I'd get more studying done today, but looks unlikely. The CFA burden is heavy. Literally, and more specifically Book4 (Equity Investments and Alternative Asset Valuation), very heavy. I've been lugging it around London the entire afternoon.
Having said that, it's a beautiful day to make like a pack mule. The sunshine has dulled the edge on my pedestrian rage, and lunch was cheap. I'm almost afraid that this unnaturally warm April is pretty much all there will be to summer. Every day this year seems to be record breaking in some way. Global warming, the financial crisis...we live in interesting times.
Off to game on someone else's PS3!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Why the flu in spring?
I've been so out of everything for the last week and a bit. The flu seems reluctant to leave, flaring up on only the sunniest and most summery days of the year. So I've been home, with a CSI playlist, my CFA books, and the FX markets.
The first looks after itself. Sina.com is amazing, these people who compile season after complete season of couch-potato heaven need to be given an award. I don't even need to touch anything except play, and occasionally pause, when my body demands a toilet break or another tissue box. Did you know we apparently produce 1.5l of snot everyday*? And that amount doubles when you're ill. Someone should call Guinness because I think I'm close to breaking the record. If you dissolve and distill all of the snot out of my accumulated tissues, you could verify that. Can you distill snot? We should ask CSI, they can trace ANYTHING.
My CFA books are guilting me. I keep them close because at some point during the day, the guilt reaches breaking point and I stop everything and crunch through four pages before the steam and the panic runs out.
The FX markets cannot be beaten, as Weng found out today. You'd think that even without reading up on the news, one could just guess and the odds would be fair. There are only two outcomes, either go up or down i.e. 50%. How is it then, that in 8 out of 10 trades you post, the graphs immediately ticks very far the wrong way.
I've been getting some sun, on the way to the tube station, getting myself to netball games. Introduced Weng to mixed versatility today, which is essentially five-a-side netball in a small hall, with no outs and a lot of barely-contained aggression. Just to confuse everyone, you move positions every time you score so the zones you're allowed in keep changing. It was fun and well fought, but too much excitement for me I think, coz I'm still awake.
*BBC Three late night TV, on a programme called Bizarre ER. There was a lady who had her finger ripped off by a dog leash, but I didn't hang around to watch that segment.
The first looks after itself. Sina.com is amazing, these people who compile season after complete season of couch-potato heaven need to be given an award. I don't even need to touch anything except play, and occasionally pause, when my body demands a toilet break or another tissue box. Did you know we apparently produce 1.5l of snot everyday*? And that amount doubles when you're ill. Someone should call Guinness because I think I'm close to breaking the record. If you dissolve and distill all of the snot out of my accumulated tissues, you could verify that. Can you distill snot? We should ask CSI, they can trace ANYTHING.
My CFA books are guilting me. I keep them close because at some point during the day, the guilt reaches breaking point and I stop everything and crunch through four pages before the steam and the panic runs out.
The FX markets cannot be beaten, as Weng found out today. You'd think that even without reading up on the news, one could just guess and the odds would be fair. There are only two outcomes, either go up or down i.e. 50%. How is it then, that in 8 out of 10 trades you post, the graphs immediately ticks very far the wrong way.
I've been getting some sun, on the way to the tube station, getting myself to netball games. Introduced Weng to mixed versatility today, which is essentially five-a-side netball in a small hall, with no outs and a lot of barely-contained aggression. Just to confuse everyone, you move positions every time you score so the zones you're allowed in keep changing. It was fun and well fought, but too much excitement for me I think, coz I'm still awake.
*BBC Three late night TV, on a programme called Bizarre ER. There was a lady who had her finger ripped off by a dog leash, but I didn't hang around to watch that segment.
Thursday, April 09, 2009
The power of prayer
This emailed story got me teary eyed half way through a chapter on discount dividend models. Believe what you will, but I think we all need a little encouragement sometimes.
Written by a doctor who worked in South Africa.
One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died, leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator).
We also had no special feeding facilities.
Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in.
Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates)...
'And it is our last hot water bottle!' she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles.
They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
'All right,' I said, 'put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts Your job is to keep the baby warm.'
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.
During prayer time, one ten -year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. 'Please, God' she prayed, 'Send us a hot water bottle today. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon.'
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, 'And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?'
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say 'Amen?' I just did not believe that God could do this.
Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything; the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever, received a parcel from home.
Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there on the verandah was a large 22-pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly-colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored.. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend.
Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be?
I grasped it and pulled it out. Yes, a brand new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried.
I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, 'If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!'
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully-dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted!
Looking up at me, she asked, 'Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?'
'Of course,' I replied!
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator.
And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it 'that afternoon.'
'Before they call, I will answer.' (Isaiah 65:24)
And one for you:
Heavenly Father, I ask you to bless my friends reading this. I ask You to minister to their spirit. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self doubting, release a renewed confidence to work through them. Where there is tiredness or exhaustion, I ask You to give them understanding, guidance, and strength. Where there is fear, reveal our love and release to them Your courage. Bless their finances, give them greater vision, and raise up leaders and friends to support and encourage them. Give each of them discernment to recognize the evil forces around them and reveal to them the power they have in You to defeat it. I ask You to do these things in Jesus' name. Amen
Written by a doctor who worked in South Africa.
One night I had worked hard to help a mother in the labor ward; but in spite of all we could do, she died, leaving us with a tiny, premature baby and a crying two-year-old daughter. We would have difficulty keeping the baby alive; as we had no incubator (we had no electricity to run an incubator).
We also had no special feeding facilities.
Although we lived on the equator, nights were often chilly with treacherous drafts. One student midwife went for the box we had for such babies and the cotton wool that the baby would be wrapped in.
Another went to stoke up the fire and fill a hot water bottle. She came back shortly in distress to tell me that in filling the bottle, it had burst (rubber perishes easily in tropical climates)...
'And it is our last hot water bottle!' she exclaimed. As in the West, it is no good crying over spilled milk, so in Central Africa it might be considered no good crying over burst water bottles.
They do not grow on trees, and there are no drugstores down forest pathways.
'All right,' I said, 'put the baby as near the fire as you safely can, and sleep between the baby and the door to keep it free from drafts Your job is to keep the baby warm.'
The following noon, as I did most days, I went to have prayers with any of the orphanage children who chose to gather with me. I gave the youngsters various suggestions of things to pray about and told them about the tiny baby. I explained our problem about keeping the baby warm enough, mentioning the hot water bottle, and that the baby could so easily die if it got chills. I also told them of the two-year-old sister, crying because her mother had died.
During prayer time, one ten -year-old girl, Ruth, prayed with the usual blunt conciseness of our African children. 'Please, God' she prayed, 'Send us a hot water bottle today. It'll be no good tomorrow, God, as the baby will be dead, so please send it this afternoon.'
While I gasped inwardly at the audacity of the prayer, she added, 'And while You are about it, would You please send a dolly for the little girl so she'll know You really love her?'
As often with children's prayers, I was put on the spot. Could I honestly say 'Amen?' I just did not believe that God could do this.
Oh, yes, I know that He can do everything; the Bible says so. But there are limits, aren't there? The only way God could answer this particular prayer would be by sending me a parcel from the homeland. I had been in Africa for almost four years at that time, and I had never, ever, received a parcel from home.
Anyway, if anyone did send me a parcel, who would put in a hot water bottle? I lived on the equator!
Halfway through the afternoon, while I was teaching in the nurses' training school, a message was sent that there was a car at my front door. By the time I reached home, the car had gone, but there on the verandah was a large 22-pound parcel. I felt tears pricking my eyes. I could not open the parcel alone, so I sent for the orphanage children. Together we pulled off the string, carefully undoing each knot. We folded the paper, taking care not to tear it unduly Excitement was mounting. Some thirty or forty pairs of eyes were focused on the large cardboard box. From the top, I lifted out brightly-colored, knitted jerseys. Eyes sparkled as I gave them out. Then there were the knitted bandages for the leprosy patients, and the children looked a little bored.. Then came a box of mixed raisins and sultanas - that would make a batch of buns for the weekend.
Then, as I put my hand in again, I felt the.....could it really be?
I grasped it and pulled it out. Yes, a brand new, rubber hot water bottle. I cried.
I had not asked God to send it; I had not truly believed that He could.
Ruth was in the front row of the children. She rushed forward, crying out, 'If God has sent the bottle, He must have sent the dolly, too!'
Rummaging down to the bottom of the box, she pulled out the small, beautifully-dressed dolly. Her eyes shone! She had never doubted!
Looking up at me, she asked, 'Can I go over with you and give this dolly to that little girl, so she'll know that Jesus really loves her?'
'Of course,' I replied!
That parcel had been on the way for five whole months, packed up by my former Sunday school class, whose leader had heard and obeyed God's prompting to send a hot water bottle, even to the equator.
And one of the girls had put in a dolly for an African child - five months before, in answer to the believing prayer of a ten-year-old to bring it 'that afternoon.'
'Before they call, I will answer.' (Isaiah 65:24)
And one for you:
Heavenly Father, I ask you to bless my friends reading this. I ask You to minister to their spirit. Where there is pain, give them Your peace and mercy. Where there is self doubting, release a renewed confidence to work through them. Where there is tiredness or exhaustion, I ask You to give them understanding, guidance, and strength. Where there is fear, reveal our love and release to them Your courage. Bless their finances, give them greater vision, and raise up leaders and friends to support and encourage them. Give each of them discernment to recognize the evil forces around them and reveal to them the power they have in You to defeat it. I ask You to do these things in Jesus' name. Amen
Wednesday, April 08, 2009
That's the spirit
I like writing when I'm on a warm buzz from an alcoholic beverage. I'm so much more inspired to spout and much more articulate in my ramblings, at least from the fuzzy view over here.
Today's been a mixed bag. I bought that sweater I loved - found a UK stockist for Dace in Norwich somewhere who do free UK delivery, yay! (Weng says I is naughty)
I decided my outfit worked, although there's a definite inconsistency in the feedback from the mirrors around our flat and whether or not you stand on something when you're looking into them.
My mock fit interview went well although preparation was minimal. My coach said I was articulate and well spoken. When I watched the video, I was completely fixated on (and utterly horrified by) my completely mangled accent and the dork on screen. Then I bombed my case interview because I couldn't remember the 3 C's or the 5 forces or the 4 P's or any other arbitrary number of letters, and I couldn't add without a calculator or an Excel spreadsheet.
Liverpool lost in the C'League, which really sucked. At home, which sucks even more. To Chelsea, gaaaah.
Came home to find that my net position on my new and very adult portfolio of investments was down 0.19%.
Ok, so in retrospect, the day started well but ended in the potty (like the stock market), only it doesn't feel that bad because I'll have a beautiful new sweater in a couple of days and because I think that one G&T might have inadvertently been a double, thank you mister firstdayonthejob bartender.
Today's been a mixed bag. I bought that sweater I loved - found a UK stockist for Dace in Norwich somewhere who do free UK delivery, yay! (Weng says I is naughty)
I decided my outfit worked, although there's a definite inconsistency in the feedback from the mirrors around our flat and whether or not you stand on something when you're looking into them.
My mock fit interview went well although preparation was minimal. My coach said I was articulate and well spoken. When I watched the video, I was completely fixated on (and utterly horrified by) my completely mangled accent and the dork on screen. Then I bombed my case interview because I couldn't remember the 3 C's or the 5 forces or the 4 P's or any other arbitrary number of letters, and I couldn't add without a calculator or an Excel spreadsheet.
Liverpool lost in the C'League, which really sucked. At home, which sucks even more. To Chelsea, gaaaah.
Came home to find that my net position on my new and very adult portfolio of investments was down 0.19%.
Ok, so in retrospect, the day started well but ended in the potty (like the stock market), only it doesn't feel that bad because I'll have a beautiful new sweater in a couple of days and because I think that one G&T might have inadvertently been a double, thank you mister firstdayonthejob bartender.
Tuesday, April 07, 2009
Desperate for Dace : how to lose an entire morning
Automated websurfing
Check all of your regular sites - email, facebook, blogroll, twitter. Then find something interesting in your twitter feed to click on, like notcot.org, courtesy of Rudy in this instance.
Notcot.org
Great site for feeling creatively inadequate. The grid view's like being in a candyshop. Look around at all the things that catch your attention - you'll have to be selective here or risk your soul to eternal websurfing, then look up and sigh quietly at how the clocks have zipped forward an hour and a half. Mosey on over to notcot's sister sites and stumble across Notcouture.
Swallow the prejudice and all other words associated with 'couture'
Whoever put this site together should set up a shop and be a fulltime buyer. Almost every image is captioned with a very perky "I love...!!" or "Perfect...!!", and then shed that poor-person's cynicism and agree that every piece makes your clothing want list look like the catalogue of the British Library.
Begin the obsession
Pick a piece and decide that you really can't live without it.
Check all of your regular sites - email, facebook, blogroll, twitter. Then find something interesting in your twitter feed to click on, like notcot.org, courtesy of Rudy in this instance.
Notcot.org
Great site for feeling creatively inadequate. The grid view's like being in a candyshop. Look around at all the things that catch your attention - you'll have to be selective here or risk your soul to eternal websurfing, then look up and sigh quietly at how the clocks have zipped forward an hour and a half. Mosey on over to notcot's sister sites and stumble across Notcouture.
Swallow the prejudice and all other words associated with 'couture'
Whoever put this site together should set up a shop and be a fulltime buyer. Almost every image is captioned with a very perky "I love...!!" or "Perfect...!!", and then shed that poor-person's cynicism and agree that every piece makes your clothing want list look like the catalogue of the British Library.
Begin the obsession
Pick a piece and decide that you really can't live without it.
Monday, April 06, 2009
And reset!
It's Monday. I wish that mattered to me the way it once did. And it's a four day work week here, again, missing the excitement that comes with one of the 8 Bank holidays a year.
I now think job applications are actually fun. I love stalking job ad sites, so my CFA studying's been relegated to the bottom rung at the moment.
I've also been hanging around a lot of photographers, and once they start talking, I want to buy a 'proper' camera. The ones that are big and bulky and not automatic. They'd also set me back about £500.
Talking about cash or the lack thereof, our Wii vs. PS3 debate has turned into Wii vs PS3 vs X-Box. Thanks for stirring the mix.
I now think job applications are actually fun. I love stalking job ad sites, so my CFA studying's been relegated to the bottom rung at the moment.
I've also been hanging around a lot of photographers, and once they start talking, I want to buy a 'proper' camera. The ones that are big and bulky and not automatic. They'd also set me back about £500.
Talking about cash or the lack thereof, our Wii vs. PS3 debate has turned into Wii vs PS3 vs X-Box. Thanks for stirring the mix.
Saturday, April 04, 2009
An assault on the senses
The smell of fried onions wafts around the stands, the roar of voices raised in team song, the thundering underfoot when the impatience of that elusive goal translates into a reverberation of clapping hands and stamping feet.
We only hit the woodwork four times, so when that extra-time goal slammed home, coherent thought was impossible. We screamed, pumped out fists in salute, celebrated like that ball had come off our own boot.
And then there was Weng standing quietly next to me, thinking about the kind of hill Man Utd would have to climb tomorrow.
We only hit the woodwork four times, so when that extra-time goal slammed home, coherent thought was impossible. We screamed, pumped out fists in salute, celebrated like that ball had come off our own boot.
And then there was Weng standing quietly next to me, thinking about the kind of hill Man Utd would have to climb tomorrow.
Friday, April 03, 2009
Five days of aggravation
Monday: Realised that the possibly fastest-ever job application was only made to THE best digital media agency in the world, crappy cover letter and all. Score.
Tuesday: Discovered that aspiring copywriter/journalists don't get paid enough to actually live in London. Dragged myself to a totally uninspired chat with a headhunter on why I'm an amazing quant (because i<3 financial services and montecarlo simulations). Then travelled an hour to get crushed by the opposing team. Got repeatedly sat on by the goalie (netball is a strange game) and gave up fighting the 40in ass that kept body checking me.
Wednesday: Waited at Buckingham Palace for 5 hours (ah the joy of being jobless) for Obama to rock up - saw the Mexican president twice, Camilla, someone in the Navy with things on his shoulder, several black limos and entourage-bearing Vianos, and the back of Obama's Lincoln when it finally nipped in on the right when we were looking left. Then rushed across London for versatility only to run hard, but still lose.
Thursday: Rushed to French class in the morning, then spent the rest of the day entertaining myself and thinking about the quickest capitalist-driven way to blow my ISA money.
Friday: Blew my ISA money in fifteen minutes while sitting on the couch in my pyjamas. Hurried to an assertive behaviour workshop only to be reminded that I'm not successfully assertive in any way, just aggressive and reactive. Spent most of the evening listening to the awesomeness of 1088 only to never make it there in the end.
Tuesday: Discovered that aspiring copywriter/journalists don't get paid enough to actually live in London. Dragged myself to a totally uninspired chat with a headhunter on why I'm an amazing quant (because i<3 financial services and montecarlo simulations). Then travelled an hour to get crushed by the opposing team. Got repeatedly sat on by the goalie (netball is a strange game) and gave up fighting the 40in ass that kept body checking me.
Wednesday: Waited at Buckingham Palace for 5 hours (ah the joy of being jobless) for Obama to rock up - saw the Mexican president twice, Camilla, someone in the Navy with things on his shoulder, several black limos and entourage-bearing Vianos, and the back of Obama's Lincoln when it finally nipped in on the right when we were looking left. Then rushed across London for versatility only to run hard, but still lose.
Thursday: Rushed to French class in the morning, then spent the rest of the day entertaining myself and thinking about the quickest capitalist-driven way to blow my ISA money.
Friday: Blew my ISA money in fifteen minutes while sitting on the couch in my pyjamas. Hurried to an assertive behaviour workshop only to be reminded that I'm not successfully assertive in any way, just aggressive and reactive. Spent most of the evening listening to the awesomeness of 1088 only to never make it there in the end.
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Birthdays are a lesson in opportunity cost
So it was my birthday recently. My wish list is so long I'd be too embarrassed to use the wish list gadget and put it in the margin. That and the fact that there wouldn't be enough margin for the whole thing. So when it comes around to that once a year event when your friends are obligated to chip in for a present, there comes the inevitable question, "Sowhaddyawant for your birthday?"
At which point I have to thumb through the index of all the things I want, ordered by period-in-my-life (Barbie dolls through to puppies), sometimes simply just by period (chocolate, and a large box of tissues through to padded cell and straight jacket), and then cross-referenced by degrees of practicality through to straight out space-tourist-scale extravagance, and then reign it all back in with a huge piece of Asian upbringing and mumble, "Er, I don't know...Seriously, I really have no idea. It's not a big deal anyway."
So after a massive meal of (more) barbecue last weekend, I was kindly given the Complete Collection of Calvin and Hobbes to truck home. Weng sacrificed his gift idea to our friends (because I'd already twisted his arm into buying me a very specific bracelet) so Tish could wield his Amazon Prime wand and get the 30 tonne literary marvel delivered to his suburbian mansion.
It is terrific! I don't use that word often, but it seems fitting somehow, given the gravitas of everything Calvin and Hobbes represents to the world of comic writing. It also has family heirloom written all over it - one for each of you, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Jo. (My dogs, not my kids.)
At which point I have to thumb through the index of all the things I want, ordered by period-in-my-life (Barbie dolls through to puppies), sometimes simply just by period (chocolate, and a large box of tissues through to padded cell and straight jacket), and then cross-referenced by degrees of practicality through to straight out space-tourist-scale extravagance, and then reign it all back in with a huge piece of Asian upbringing and mumble, "Er, I don't know...Seriously, I really have no idea. It's not a big deal anyway."
So after a massive meal of (more) barbecue last weekend, I was kindly given the Complete Collection of Calvin and Hobbes to truck home. Weng sacrificed his gift idea to our friends (because I'd already twisted his arm into buying me a very specific bracelet) so Tish could wield his Amazon Prime wand and get the 30 tonne literary marvel delivered to his suburbian mansion.
It is terrific! I don't use that word often, but it seems fitting somehow, given the gravitas of everything Calvin and Hobbes represents to the world of comic writing. It also has family heirloom written all over it - one for each of you, Flopsy, Mopsy, and Jo. (My dogs, not my kids.)
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Singapore Day 2009, Hamptons Court, London
You are all cordially invited to Singapore Day 2009 at Hamptons Court on April 25, 2009!
It'll be awesome (because my government says so). Where else would you like to spend your Saturday than completely immersed in brilliant Singaporean culture: food and excessive use of Singlish. And Hamptons Courts in springtime is already a good excuse to rock up.
Give us a chance to brainwash you! Just register at the link below and after entering an inordinate number of personal details (because we're like that), you'll get your e-ticket (because we're super advanced that way) to print and bring on the day!
It'll be awesome (because my government says so). Where else would you like to spend your Saturday than completely immersed in brilliant Singaporean culture: food and excessive use of Singlish. And Hamptons Courts in springtime is already a good excuse to rock up.
Give us a chance to brainwash you! Just register at the link below and after entering an inordinate number of personal details (because we're like that), you'll get your e-ticket (because we're super advanced that way) to print and bring on the day!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Cooking utensils: weapons of mass confusion
We have recently convinced ourselves that we were in sore need of these:
And since it was 3 for 2 at M&S, we also got this:
because we didn't need a lemon zester, pizza wheel cutter, a single egg poacher, or a honey twirler, and couldn't just leave the free thing be.
Product description reads "Soft grip skimmer, an essential for every kitchen". What does it really do? If it's so essential, why didn't I look at it and go "Ah! My life is now complete."
Damn, I just saw a stainless steel garlic slicer on M&S online, now that's something I really need. Knives are so last year.
And since it was 3 for 2 at M&S, we also got this:
because we didn't need a lemon zester, pizza wheel cutter, a single egg poacher, or a honey twirler, and couldn't just leave the free thing be.Product description reads "Soft grip skimmer, an essential for every kitchen". What does it really do? If it's so essential, why didn't I look at it and go "Ah! My life is now complete."
Damn, I just saw a stainless steel garlic slicer on M&S online, now that's something I really need. Knives are so last year.
From the moleskine: the first week of spring
The title is misleading, it's not really about the first week of spring, but I didn't want it to say 'week commencing 14 March 2009' which would've been more accurate but less poetic. It's been pretty hugs and kisses this week, so it'll stay in the underlying theme of spring and all of its hopefulness.
Here's how it went down.
Visa application: posted!
Major panic attack when the postman took it, and I was hanging onto it tight enough to leave embarrassing damp finger prints on the edges, but so glad it's off my list.
Netball Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: Almost-win, win, win, win, and win!
I was beginning to wonder what that felt like. In the words of my teammate, it wasn't nice being spanked every week.
Champions League: Liverpool many (i.e. 5), Madrid nil
Pacey, up-tempo, stylish game, or so the commentator said. A little hard to discern the quick passing when we had to watch a series of stills every single time the ball got near any goal. Why does the internet always do that?!
Champions League: Arsenal win on penalties
I got home in time for the shoot out and didn't miss a second. I was really rooting for the youngsters. (Arsenal are still relatively young, aren't they? I've been so out of the loop)
Serious CFA studying Thursday and Friday
Pensions accounting is not hot stuff, but at least you can sit around in your pj's in hopping distance of your duvet all day.
Raving Rabbids rawks
I turned down poker on the basis that it would keep me at the Wharf far too late and then discovered the wonderful bunny-bowling, cow hurling, warthog racing world of the Rabbids!
Man Utd vs Liverpool tomorrow lunchtime
Bring it.
Here's how it went down.
Visa application: posted!
Major panic attack when the postman took it, and I was hanging onto it tight enough to leave embarrassing damp finger prints on the edges, but so glad it's off my list.
Netball Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday: Almost-win, win, win, win, and win!
I was beginning to wonder what that felt like. In the words of my teammate, it wasn't nice being spanked every week.
Champions League: Liverpool many (i.e. 5), Madrid nil
Pacey, up-tempo, stylish game, or so the commentator said. A little hard to discern the quick passing when we had to watch a series of stills every single time the ball got near any goal. Why does the internet always do that?!
Champions League: Arsenal win on penalties
I got home in time for the shoot out and didn't miss a second. I was really rooting for the youngsters. (Arsenal are still relatively young, aren't they? I've been so out of the loop)
Serious CFA studying Thursday and Friday
Pensions accounting is not hot stuff, but at least you can sit around in your pj's in hopping distance of your duvet all day.
Raving Rabbids rawks
I turned down poker on the basis that it would keep me at the Wharf far too late and then discovered the wonderful bunny-bowling, cow hurling, warthog racing world of the Rabbids!
Man Utd vs Liverpool tomorrow lunchtime
Bring it.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Fwd: Ground control to pilot
Tower: 'Delta 351, you have traffic at 10 o'clock , 6 miles!'
Delta 351: 'Give us another hint! We have digital watches!'
Tower: 'TWA 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 Degrees.'
TWA 2341: 'Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?'
Tower: 'Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?'
From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff queue: 'I'm f...ing bored!'
Ground Traffic Control: 'Last aircraft transmitting, identify yourself immediately!'
Unknown aircraft: 'I said I was f...ing bored, not f...ing stupid!'
O'Hare Approach Control to a 747: 'United 329 heavy, your traffic is a Fokker, one o'clock , three miles, Eastbound.'
United 329: 'Approach, I've always wanted to say this..I've got the little Fokker in sight.'
A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long roll out after touching down.
San Jose Tower Noted: 'American 751, make a hard right turn at the end of the runway, if you are able. If you are not able, take the Guadeloupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return to the airport.'
A Pan Am 727 flight, waiting for start clearance in Munich , overheard the following:
Lufthansa (in German): ' Ground, what is our start clearance time?'
Ground (in English): 'If you want an answer you must speak in English.'
Lufthansa (in English): 'I am a German, flying a German airplane, in Germany . Why must I speak English?'
Unknown voice from another plane: 'Because you lost the bloody war!'
Tower: 'Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on frequency 124.7'
Eastern 702: 'Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way,after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway.'
Tower: ' Continental 635, cleared for takeoff behind Eastern 702, contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from Eastern 702?'
BR Continental 635: 'Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, roger; and yes, we copied Eastern... we've already notified our caterers.'
One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC-8 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the DC-8 crew got on the radio and said, 'What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?'
The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with a real zinger: 'I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like yours and I'll have enough parts for another one.'
The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange betweenFrankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.
Speedbird 206: ' Frankfurt , Speedbird 206! clear of active runway.'
Ground: 'Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.'
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Ground: 'Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?'
Speedbird 206: 'Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now.'
Ground: 'Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?!'
Speedbird 206: 'Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, -- And I didn't land.'
Delta 351: 'Give us another hint! We have digital watches!'
Tower: 'TWA 2341, for noise abatement turn right 45 Degrees.'
TWA 2341: 'Center, we are at 35,000 feet. How much noise can we make up here?'
Tower: 'Sir, have you ever heard the noise a 747 makes when it hits a 727?'
From an unknown aircraft waiting in a very long takeoff queue: 'I'm f...ing bored!'
Ground Traffic Control: 'Last aircraft transmitting, identify yourself immediately!'
Unknown aircraft: 'I said I was f...ing bored, not f...ing stupid!'
O'Hare Approach Control to a 747: 'United 329 heavy, your traffic is a Fokker, one o'clock , three miles, Eastbound.'
United 329: 'Approach, I've always wanted to say this..I've got the little Fokker in sight.'
A DC-10 had come in a little hot and thus had an exceedingly long roll out after touching down.
San Jose Tower Noted: 'American 751, make a hard right turn at the end of the runway, if you are able. If you are not able, take the Guadeloupe exit off Highway 101, make a right at the lights and return to the airport.'
A Pan Am 727 flight, waiting for start clearance in Munich , overheard the following:
Lufthansa (in German): ' Ground, what is our start clearance time?'
Ground (in English): 'If you want an answer you must speak in English.'
Lufthansa (in English): 'I am a German, flying a German airplane, in Germany . Why must I speak English?'
Unknown voice from another plane: 'Because you lost the bloody war!'
Tower: 'Eastern 702, cleared for takeoff, contact Departure on frequency 124.7'
Eastern 702: 'Tower, Eastern 702 switching to Departure. By the way,after we lifted off we saw some kind of dead animal on the far end of the runway.'
Tower: ' Continental 635, cleared for takeoff behind Eastern 702, contact Departure on frequency 124.7. Did you copy that report from Eastern 702?'
BR Continental 635: 'Continental 635, cleared for takeoff, roger; and yes, we copied Eastern... we've already notified our caterers.'
One day the pilot of a Cherokee 180 was told by the tower to hold short of the active runway while a DC-8 landed. The DC-8 landed, rolled out, turned around, and taxied back past the Cherokee. Some quick-witted comedian in the DC-8 crew got on the radio and said, 'What a cute little plane. Did you make it all by yourself?'
The Cherokee pilot, not about to let the insult go by, came back with a real zinger: 'I made it out of DC-8 parts. Another landing like yours and I'll have enough parts for another one.'
The German air controllers at Frankfurt Airport are renowned as a short-tempered lot. They not only expect one to know one's gate parking location, but how to get there without any assistance from them. So it was with some amusement that we (a Pan Am 747) listened to the following exchange betweenFrankfurt ground control and a British Airways 747, call sign Speedbird 206.
Speedbird 206: ' Frankfurt , Speedbird 206! clear of active runway.'
Ground: 'Speedbird 206. Taxi to gate Alpha One-Seven.'
The BA 747 pulled onto the main taxiway and slowed to a stop.
Ground: 'Speedbird, do you not know where you are going?'
Speedbird 206: 'Stand by, Ground, I'm looking up our gate location now.'
Ground: 'Speedbird 206, have you not been to Frankfurt before?!'
Speedbird 206: 'Yes, twice in 1944, but it was dark, -- And I didn't land.'
Old in so many way
With time to finally catch up on relevant culture, I find out how far behind the 'now' curve I really am. Previous indicators, such as "How do you not know what song this is?!", not knowing how to download using torrents, and getting excited about the iPhone in the last couple of weeks should have given it away.
Working for the last 18 months has left me in the metaphorical dust physically, emotionally, and technologically. So these are the things I've done over the last week:
1. Learnt about the new Blogger dashboard and gadgets. Admittedly I had to first blow the dust off this site, but I then sat through a Youtube video introducing me to the wonderful world of blog technology, and then wrote that whole post marvelling at all the new things I've added.
2. Discovered Twitter. I don't really see the point in this given that I'm too cheap to pay for internet on my mobile, I'm largely homebound anyway, and I'm soon going to be deprived of the social interaction and a job to make snarky, real-time gibes about. And then there are the other mediums from a bygone age: the Facebook status, email, and SMS. I'm now stuck with the conundrum of how to coordinate coverage.
3. Learnt about RSS feeds so I could combine items 1. and 2. and be like Rudy and put my Twittering on my blog so that my ego is now complete. And because what Rudy has, Ash also wants for most part (money, yes, a cool job he loves, yes, that way with words, yes, the wit, yes, the girls, less so).
4. Got on Google calendar, only to be reminded of the lack of social life by the acres of blank white space.
I feel the pressure of keeping up, reading all those FB notifications about 13-year-olds adding the application to their iPhone/Blackberry. I look at magazines telling me the 80's are back for spring and I'm thinking, Damn, of the few things I can recall nowadays, I actually remember that decade the first time it came around.
I feel embarrassed when I take out my notebook and pen (yes, they still exist) and try to sort out of my life. Teenagers scare me - I try not to make eye contact when I pass them in the street, and I use cuss words like 'poop' and 'oh my goodness'. I swear I say 'dude' just to feel a little bit cool, and get the urge to start speaking the speak, only to find out that they don't use those words anymore.
Gosh, I am old.
Working for the last 18 months has left me in the metaphorical dust physically, emotionally, and technologically. So these are the things I've done over the last week:
1. Learnt about the new Blogger dashboard and gadgets. Admittedly I had to first blow the dust off this site, but I then sat through a Youtube video introducing me to the wonderful world of blog technology, and then wrote that whole post marvelling at all the new things I've added.
2. Discovered Twitter. I don't really see the point in this given that I'm too cheap to pay for internet on my mobile, I'm largely homebound anyway, and I'm soon going to be deprived of the social interaction and a job to make snarky, real-time gibes about. And then there are the other mediums from a bygone age: the Facebook status, email, and SMS. I'm now stuck with the conundrum of how to coordinate coverage.
3. Learnt about RSS feeds so I could combine items 1. and 2. and be like Rudy and put my Twittering on my blog so that my ego is now complete. And because what Rudy has, Ash also wants for most part (money, yes, a cool job he loves, yes, that way with words, yes, the wit, yes, the girls, less so).
4. Got on Google calendar, only to be reminded of the lack of social life by the acres of blank white space.
I feel the pressure of keeping up, reading all those FB notifications about 13-year-olds adding the application to their iPhone/Blackberry. I look at magazines telling me the 80's are back for spring and I'm thinking, Damn, of the few things I can recall nowadays, I actually remember that decade the first time it came around.
I feel embarrassed when I take out my notebook and pen (yes, they still exist) and try to sort out of my life. Teenagers scare me - I try not to make eye contact when I pass them in the street, and I use cuss words like 'poop' and 'oh my goodness'. I swear I say 'dude' just to feel a little bit cool, and get the urge to start speaking the speak, only to find out that they don't use those words anymore.
Gosh, I am old.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The week looks like netball
In its various guises:
Mixed versatility tonight
Ladies versatility tomorrow night
Mixed netball the night after.
Now I hope the ankle holds up.
Mixed versatility tonight
Ladies versatility tomorrow night
Mixed netball the night after.
Now I hope the ankle holds up.
Sunday, March 08, 2009
Getting tech, booyah!
Because our attention spans are no longer capable of outlasting a 8-line block of text otherwise known as a paragraph, I feel the need to write either in lots of pictures or in numbered lists. Rudy was quick off the block on this one - his last 5 posts have involved lists, then again he's probably just catering to his target demographic. Since the first requires far more effort than I have on a Sunday afternoon, let me use the second medium to introduce you to the changes that have happened down my right margin.
1. Visual of the day
I like photos. I particularly like photos without people mugging for the camera. I know that reads antisocial freak, and while I do have lots of pictures of friends, let's try take the 'stretch opportunity' and be slightly artistic here. Also, Mum feels pity for Weng when we go on a family holiday and then I get back and make him sit through a 'What I did on my holiday' slideshow that goes big building, same big building from a different angle, same building from another building, same building from the inside, or mountain, mountain, mountain, lake, lake, lake, and sheep, so I'm subjecting all of you to that very slow death. It also provides a distraction for those who would rather not die an even slower death reading my latest rant.
2. Autostalking
I didn't actually know what this did until I put it up. I thought it was another version of a list of links, but I realise it's even cleverer because only those who update regularly stay on this list.
3. The Annals of Ash
Slightly narcissistic, I appreciate that, but that's essentially what a blog is. Anyway, I actually used to be a better writer before financial modelling sucked the joy out of my life. It's hard to be creative when your space is restricted to the light grey confines of a cell. Ha! Pun! (If you hadn't already noticed, I'm also more easily amused, so expect that there will be much less censorship on this. I will find cheese blog-worthy soon enough.)
4. Followers
A portal for you to show public support (and updates will appear on your blogger homepage, I've also noticed. If you get the sneaking suspicion that I don't really know what the gadgets I've added actually do, you're not far off.) I only have two followers at the moment and I had to do some arm-twisting to get them to sign on. One can hope though...
5. Count
More people visit, I write more/better. Even more people visit, I write even more and even better! It's a vicious circle.
1. Visual of the day
I like photos. I particularly like photos without people mugging for the camera. I know that reads antisocial freak, and while I do have lots of pictures of friends, let's try take the 'stretch opportunity' and be slightly artistic here. Also, Mum feels pity for Weng when we go on a family holiday and then I get back and make him sit through a 'What I did on my holiday' slideshow that goes big building, same big building from a different angle, same building from another building, same building from the inside, or mountain, mountain, mountain, lake, lake, lake, and sheep, so I'm subjecting all of you to that very slow death. It also provides a distraction for those who would rather not die an even slower death reading my latest rant.
2. Autostalking
I didn't actually know what this did until I put it up. I thought it was another version of a list of links, but I realise it's even cleverer because only those who update regularly stay on this list.
3. The Annals of Ash
Slightly narcissistic, I appreciate that, but that's essentially what a blog is. Anyway, I actually used to be a better writer before financial modelling sucked the joy out of my life. It's hard to be creative when your space is restricted to the light grey confines of a cell. Ha! Pun! (If you hadn't already noticed, I'm also more easily amused, so expect that there will be much less censorship on this. I will find cheese blog-worthy soon enough.)
4. Followers
A portal for you to show public support (and updates will appear on your blogger homepage, I've also noticed. If you get the sneaking suspicion that I don't really know what the gadgets I've added actually do, you're not far off.) I only have two followers at the moment and I had to do some arm-twisting to get them to sign on. One can hope though...
5. Count
More people visit, I write more/better. Even more people visit, I write even more and even better! It's a vicious circle.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Running out of crap(per) things to do
As we established last time - still too early for that, but Canary Wharf Central is looking highly likely. Pseudo-suburbia, here we come!
I have an accounting system in Excel that guilts me for making every single purchase, even the necessary ones. Did you really need that slice of blackberry and apple crumble?
2.
It was hairnets and clingwrap booties in this house until later that night, when Weng boiled some barley that bubbled over and glued the pot to the stove. I'm largely unamused about that particular transgression because 24 hours later, it is STILL glued to the stove.
3. Study for CFA II NEW ENTRY
International Parity Relations (LOS 19f. for those who care, you know who you are) with a side of American Idol. "You can see that these relationships are concerned with the differences between spot FX rates, expected future spot FX rates, Ryan Seacrest, forward FX rates, interest rates, and the 13th Top 12 finalist...huh? what?! aaaaaiieeee!11!!"
2. Tier 1 visa application NEW ENTRY
My bank statements have finally arrived, I can waste one more day, checking, photocopying, panicking, and running errands.
1. Job hunting
Thursday, March 05, 2009
From the moleskine: Tube musings and a bum ankle
Ok, so maybe you can't learn everything from Google. My taped ankle is working to the extent that it's letting me hobble up and down my street as fast as I can limp. I married the techniques of two expert opinions and then ran out of tape. However, I am a little nervous about the fact that there's a growing coldness in my foot that could be attributed to the following things:
a) The 8 degree weather
b) The fact that I'm favouring one ankle thereby keeping it quite still
c) The tape's done up too tight because you can't really discern degrees of pressure from a youtube video
Maybe that's why I think the tape's working - I can't actually feel the sprained ankle. Might have to go home and Google this one also.
I also dropped my pen on the tube. A lame ankle doesn't quite generate a rush of guilty looking people standing up to give you a seat, so I'm perched on one of those strange blue rests at the end of the carriage that are fixed a strangely dispropotionate height - if you're tall enough to comfortably place your posterior on the cushion, you could also brace the back of your skull on the roof. Tim Burton must've drawn up the ergonomic tables for these trains.
Anyway, dropping your pen on the tube usually illicits two responses. The germophobe in me took the first and was ready to write off that now unusable and highly contaminated instrument (it was free anyway, I stole it from my career centre). The second was the very nice man standing next to me who IMMEDIATELY swooped down to pick it up and return it with a smile. The action shocked me to my core so I threw my best fox-in-headlights impression back at him before remembering to grab at the shreds of my manners, accept the proffered pen, and mumble a thank you, all the while fighting the germophobic cringe. Take two lessons from this: London is actually not a cold place and gallantry is not dead.
a) The 8 degree weather
b) The fact that I'm favouring one ankle thereby keeping it quite still
c) The tape's done up too tight because you can't really discern degrees of pressure from a youtube video
Maybe that's why I think the tape's working - I can't actually feel the sprained ankle. Might have to go home and Google this one also.
I also dropped my pen on the tube. A lame ankle doesn't quite generate a rush of guilty looking people standing up to give you a seat, so I'm perched on one of those strange blue rests at the end of the carriage that are fixed a strangely dispropotionate height - if you're tall enough to comfortably place your posterior on the cushion, you could also brace the back of your skull on the roof. Tim Burton must've drawn up the ergonomic tables for these trains.
Anyway, dropping your pen on the tube usually illicits two responses. The germophobe in me took the first and was ready to write off that now unusable and highly contaminated instrument (it was free anyway, I stole it from my career centre). The second was the very nice man standing next to me who IMMEDIATELY swooped down to pick it up and return it with a smile. The action shocked me to my core so I threw my best fox-in-headlights impression back at him before remembering to grab at the shreds of my manners, accept the proffered pen, and mumble a thank you, all the while fighting the germophobic cringe. Take two lessons from this: London is actually not a cold place and gallantry is not dead.
What are we going to do tonight, Brain?
Once upon a time, there existed a type of person: the uber-Googler. The experts in manipulating booleans and synonymical tenses to extract the most obscure pieces of information from the internet. As the art form grew so did the realisation that logic operators were much too complex for the other 98.3% of the internet-browsing population and the average vocabulary size is only about 6,000 words (and declining), so the smart search engines reacted accordingly and got dumber.
Now the average Joe merely has to find a Google box and enter their question exactly: how to tape an ankle, how to grow weed, how to build a nuclear reactor. And in the event you struggle to frame your query, the field will come up with suggestions for you:
Now the average Joe merely has to find a Google box and enter their question exactly: how to tape an ankle, how to grow weed, how to build a nuclear reactor. And in the event you struggle to frame your query, the field will come up with suggestions for you:
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
Procrastination nation
Being unemployed has it's perks. I'm completely up to speed to almost all of the relevant TV Hollywood has to offer and I've even started on the backlog of Kim Possible episodes from 5 years ago - they're on Season 4! What super-hero cartoon has a season 4! How many times can she kick Draken's ass?!
Answer: 68 times. so far.
Then there's the threat of getting lost in the couch for the rest of the day, especially with the cold snowy front threatening to descend any moment now. The disincentives are piling up quickly. I'm so unmotivated about job hunting that I'd rather flat hunt and I'm not due to move until JULY. People should make their list of inverted priorities and run your life backwards based on tasks you'd rather not do - you'd get a lot of those relatively less nasty things done. So far mine goes:
4. Flat hunting
3. Financial budgeting
2. House cleaning
1. Job hunting
Too bad I've finally met my career coach. Pfft to the motivated version of me that booked this meeting last week. She lectured me on having too many disparate ideas on what I want to do next, forced me to focus, let me talk myself into downplaying the copywriting dream, and told me to go through these self assessment tests, apply to these companies, and report back to her within a week. So after running the above exercise and ranking everything in order of least hated task, I went with the self assessment exercise. I tried the one which matches you to a career based on your likes and dislikes:
1. Do you like working with children? NO
2. Do you like working with older people? NO
3. Would you like being in a career that involves providing support and counselling to others? NO
4. Do you like working with numbers? Indifferent.
Fairly straight forward, and because I didn't want more trouble from my coach on what I should be doing next, I tried to massage the results - give consistent qualities that would make me perfectly suited to management consultancy i.e. yes to problem solving, written communication, and travel. Because as a real life job, management consultancy is about as close as I'll get. 70 questions later and a quarter-way warning telling me I was being too positive about everything, I got my result:
1. Advertising copywriter
2. Pet behaviour counsellor
Ta-daa.
Answer: 68 times. so far.
Then there's the threat of getting lost in the couch for the rest of the day, especially with the cold snowy front threatening to descend any moment now. The disincentives are piling up quickly. I'm so unmotivated about job hunting that I'd rather flat hunt and I'm not due to move until JULY. People should make their list of inverted priorities and run your life backwards based on tasks you'd rather not do - you'd get a lot of those relatively less nasty things done. So far mine goes:
4. Flat hunting
3. Financial budgeting
2. House cleaning
1. Job hunting
Too bad I've finally met my career coach. Pfft to the motivated version of me that booked this meeting last week. She lectured me on having too many disparate ideas on what I want to do next, forced me to focus, let me talk myself into downplaying the copywriting dream, and told me to go through these self assessment tests, apply to these companies, and report back to her within a week. So after running the above exercise and ranking everything in order of least hated task, I went with the self assessment exercise. I tried the one which matches you to a career based on your likes and dislikes:
1. Do you like working with children? NO
2. Do you like working with older people? NO
3. Would you like being in a career that involves providing support and counselling to others? NO
4. Do you like working with numbers? Indifferent.
Fairly straight forward, and because I didn't want more trouble from my coach on what I should be doing next, I tried to massage the results - give consistent qualities that would make me perfectly suited to management consultancy i.e. yes to problem solving, written communication, and travel. Because as a real life job, management consultancy is about as close as I'll get. 70 questions later and a quarter-way warning telling me I was being too positive about everything, I got my result:
1. Advertising copywriter
2. Pet behaviour counsellor
Ta-daa.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Swing, Swing
As a firm believer in the higher power that governs iPod's shuffle, I thought the following exercise would be blog-worthy but not Facebook-note-worthy, because that would just be a little too embarrassing. (Is that wrong, that I immediately assume less people will read this and those that do will know me well enough to think I'm still sort of cool after it all? Rhetorical question.)
Your music selection says a lot about you. For example, when Green Day's American Idiot sits next to Kate Perry's I Kissed a Girl and is sharing a room with 84 Chopin compositions (oh yes, classical music shopping definitely ticks that 'value for money' box), you either have ecclectic tastes or borderline schizophrenia.
Momo, don't fail me now. (Momo is my iPod's name. The set up asks for a name and Momo is way better than "Ashley's iPod" or Y:/)
I've included the instructions for authenticity and I promise I've followed the upper case text, because upper case text really scares me. My mum used to write sms' in CAPS because (she says) she didn't know how to switch to lower case but really because "COME HOME NOW" would make any sane person wet their pants - far more effective.
1. Put your music player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 or more friends who might enjoy doing this as well as the person you got it from.
IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Nocturne No. 8 in D-flat
ooh. snap.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Something Stupid - Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman
That's the idea, keep them tractable. Kidding.
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Do it alone - Sugarcult
Weng will agree I should carry that warning label or something of similar ilk 3 of 30 days.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Flying Home - Benny Goodman
Ha! Another sign!
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Frame by frame – The Honorary Title
"Drifting through in the frame by frame, I'll walk the same path, stay the same line"
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Trouble Sleeping - Corinne Bailey Rae
Or maybe just trouble.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Kettle's On - The Feeling
I refuse to read anything into that.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
When it comes - Tyler Hilton
Yea, not much goes on in my head at the best of times.
WHAT IS 2+2?
Summertime - Sublime
English weather makes you obssessive.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Barbara Ann - The Beachboys
"you got me rockin' and a rollin', rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann". Wheeeee.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Run - Snow Patrol
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Hey Now Girl – Phantom Planet
Ironic.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Creepin up the Backstairs - The Fratellis
That's ambition for you.
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
24 Preludes, Op. 28: No. 8 in F-sharp minor – Chopin
Our relationship's a lot like that.
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Stay - Lisa Loeb
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Look through my eyes - Phil Collins
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Baby, now that I've found you - Allison Krauss
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Black Balloon - The Goo Goo Dolls
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Because of you - Tony Bennett
Awwww...
HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Where or when - Rod Stewart
WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
New Soul - Yael Naim
Eh?
WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5
WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing - Aerosmith
WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Geek Stink Breath - Green Day
Nice.
WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
A Girl Worth Fighting For - Mulan OST
I can see this is starting to really break down.
DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
How Great Thou Art - Charlie Hall
At least one.
IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Over My Head – Sum 41
WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Heard Em' Say - Kanye West
Just about everything.
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Swing, Swing - All American Rejects
Your music selection says a lot about you. For example, when Green Day's American Idiot sits next to Kate Perry's I Kissed a Girl and is sharing a room with 84 Chopin compositions (oh yes, classical music shopping definitely ticks that 'value for money' box), you either have ecclectic tastes or borderline schizophrenia.
Momo, don't fail me now. (Momo is my iPod's name. The set up asks for a name and Momo is way better than "Ashley's iPod" or Y:/)
I've included the instructions for authenticity and I promise I've followed the upper case text, because upper case text really scares me. My mum used to write sms' in CAPS because (she says) she didn't know how to switch to lower case but really because "COME HOME NOW" would make any sane person wet their pants - far more effective.
1. Put your music player on shuffle.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. YOU MUST WRITE THAT SONG NAME DOWN NO MATTER HOW SILLY IT SOUNDS!
4. Tag 10 or more friends who might enjoy doing this as well as the person you got it from.
IF SOMEONE SAYS "IS THIS OKAY" YOU SAY?
Nocturne No. 8 in D-flat
ooh. snap.
WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?
Something Stupid - Robbie Williams and Nicole Kidman
That's the idea, keep them tractable. Kidding.
HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?
Do it alone - Sugarcult
Weng will agree I should carry that warning label or something of similar ilk 3 of 30 days.
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE'S PURPOSE?
Flying Home - Benny Goodman
Ha! Another sign!
WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?
Frame by frame – The Honorary Title
"Drifting through in the frame by frame, I'll walk the same path, stay the same line"
WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?
Trouble Sleeping - Corinne Bailey Rae
Or maybe just trouble.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?
Kettle's On - The Feeling
I refuse to read anything into that.
WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?
When it comes - Tyler Hilton
Yea, not much goes on in my head at the best of times.
WHAT IS 2+2?
Summertime - Sublime
English weather makes you obssessive.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?
Barbara Ann - The Beachboys
"you got me rockin' and a rollin', rockin' and a reelin' Barbara Ann". Wheeeee.
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
Run - Snow Patrol
WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?
Hey Now Girl – Phantom Planet
Ironic.
WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?
Creepin up the Backstairs - The Fratellis
That's ambition for you.
WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?
24 Preludes, Op. 28: No. 8 in F-sharp minor – Chopin
Our relationship's a lot like that.
WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?
Stay - Lisa Loeb
WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?
Look through my eyes - Phil Collins
WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?
Baby, now that I've found you - Allison Krauss
WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?
Black Balloon - The Goo Goo Dolls
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?
Because of you - Tony Bennett
Awwww...
HOW WILL YOU DIE?
Where or when - Rod Stewart
WHAT IS THE ONE THING YOU REGRET?
New Soul - Yael Naim
Eh?
WHAT MAKES YOU LAUGH?
Harder to Breathe - Maroon 5
WHAT MAKES YOU CRY?
I Don't Wanna Miss a Thing - Aerosmith
WILL YOU EVER GET MARRIED?
Geek Stink Breath - Green Day
Nice.
WHAT SCARES YOU THE MOST?
A Girl Worth Fighting For - Mulan OST
I can see this is starting to really break down.
DOES ANYONE LIKE YOU?
How Great Thou Art - Charlie Hall
At least one.
IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN TIME, WHAT WOULD YOU CHANGE?
Over My Head – Sum 41
WHAT HURTS RIGHT NOW?
Heard Em' Say - Kanye West
Just about everything.
WHAT WILL YOU POST THIS AS?
Swing, Swing - All American Rejects
Saturday, February 21, 2009
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Tuesday, February 17, 2009
From the moleskine: Rudy says
Rudy says*:
Blog please -_-.
I miss reading your blog.
You should blog more.
I've started blogging again.
Here's an early birthday present, a moleskine**.
You need to start writing again, get those creative muscles working.
We'll work on your portfolio when you're free...
Write, dammit.***
And so I've started again, because Rudy says, because of the overwhelming need to rant about the injustices of the world, under the influence of alcohol, on a very long bus ride home, on the verge of a quarter life crises, and because I might actually need to turn this into my next career.
I am a victim. The latest in the toll of those fallen under the crushing wave of the behemoth of a financial crisis that has engulfed the world in economic despair, panic, and many apologetic but still very wealthy bankers.
And it's not a bad thing. I mean I'm not nearly as wealthy, but we all need a reason to leave something comfortable and predictable (i.e. the next project was always going to hurt more with even less thanks, particularly in an industry that was quickly falling down around our knees and increasingly hated), be it a near death experience, unemployment, or the discontinuation of a favorite icecream flavour, so this was simply my swift kick up the ass to get a move on and find something else to get me out of bed in the morning.
Conveniently, and on some supernatural cue that's fast becoming a fixture in my Brownian-motionesque career path, Rudy's filled my head with dreams of copywriting. What is that, you ask? I didn't know either until two weeks ago, so I feel somewhat honoured that he's introduced me to what feels very much like a grown-up secret society. Part of the appeal must be in the fact that very few people actually know what copywriters do, much like my previous job. As I understand it, it has something to do with writing and hoping like hell that you get good enough at it to make a living.
It is, therefore,with great relish and excitement that I grab my shitty severance pay thankyouverymuch in my grubby little hands, shove it under my mattress (because they don't build banks like they used to) and pee into the wind of uncertainty.
*the following text has been paraphrased, condensed, and fudged for dramatic effect and want of a better introduction. It is merely a representative sample, and by no means an accurate reproduction, of the content of one the longest running themes of the daily conversations between myself and the uber-nag behind this post.
**For all of the similarly uncultured sods like myself, this beautiful but unassuming little black notebook is the stuff of history and legend, having been the much loved and used companion of artists and thinkers alike (courtesy of the little information card in the back pocket, which was likely placed there for this very specific educational purpose)
*** This one's entirely made up
Blog please -_-.
I miss reading your blog.
You should blog more.
I've started blogging again.
Here's an early birthday present, a moleskine**.
You need to start writing again, get those creative muscles working.
We'll work on your portfolio when you're free...
Write, dammit.***
And so I've started again, because Rudy says, because of the overwhelming need to rant about the injustices of the world, under the influence of alcohol, on a very long bus ride home, on the verge of a quarter life crises, and because I might actually need to turn this into my next career.
I am a victim. The latest in the toll of those fallen under the crushing wave of the behemoth of a financial crisis that has engulfed the world in economic despair, panic, and many apologetic but still very wealthy bankers.
And it's not a bad thing. I mean I'm not nearly as wealthy, but we all need a reason to leave something comfortable and predictable (i.e. the next project was always going to hurt more with even less thanks, particularly in an industry that was quickly falling down around our knees and increasingly hated), be it a near death experience, unemployment, or the discontinuation of a favorite icecream flavour, so this was simply my swift kick up the ass to get a move on and find something else to get me out of bed in the morning.
Conveniently, and on some supernatural cue that's fast becoming a fixture in my Brownian-motionesque career path, Rudy's filled my head with dreams of copywriting. What is that, you ask? I didn't know either until two weeks ago, so I feel somewhat honoured that he's introduced me to what feels very much like a grown-up secret society. Part of the appeal must be in the fact that very few people actually know what copywriters do, much like my previous job. As I understand it, it has something to do with writing and hoping like hell that you get good enough at it to make a living.
It is, therefore,with great relish and excitement that I grab my shitty severance pay thankyouverymuch in my grubby little hands, shove it under my mattress (because they don't build banks like they used to) and pee into the wind of uncertainty.
*the following text has been paraphrased, condensed, and fudged for dramatic effect and want of a better introduction. It is merely a representative sample, and by no means an accurate reproduction, of the content of one the longest running themes of the daily conversations between myself and the uber-nag behind this post.
**For all of the similarly uncultured sods like myself, this beautiful but unassuming little black notebook is the stuff of history and legend, having been the much loved and used companion of artists and thinkers alike (courtesy of the little information card in the back pocket, which was likely placed there for this very specific educational purpose)
*** This one's entirely made up
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