Before Bangkok

1. I'm off to Bangkok later tonight, having decided to follow my instincts about my new relationship with E. The cost of the decision was about $800 in total, plus forgoing what sounds like really fun parties in Taipei that everyone from Singapore seems to be flying up to attend. But I think it's the right decision. After E. sat me down on Christmas Eve to talk about the way that things were (not) developing between us, I realised that I was stuck in a no man's land where I didn't want to stop being single, yet (quite seriously) craved the security of being attached. This translated to me blowing hot and cold with E., and he was seriously thinking of pulling out now before he really got hurt. As I told F. in the car yesterday, I realised that if you don't ever commit properly to a relationship with someone, you will never really know whether it will work between the two of you, simply because you not really "all there".

2. Before the aforementioned flight to Bangkok, I'm interviewing S. for a job at the desk. S., of course, used to work for K. I remember very clearly K. asking me on the phone one day if he should hire this bright young guy from LSE for a planning analyst position at his unit. And I remember evem where I took the call from K. - going down the steps at the old Marina Square towards the Esplanade bay area.

"Is he cute?" I asked.
"Yeah la, in a way. Smart..." said K.
"Ok, hire lor."

Before talking to S., I'm gonna call K. to ask his opinion. Funny how things come around in a big circle.

3. I'm watching now a series of documentary films on Depeche Mode that come with the remastered versions of all their albums. And I'm afraid to say that in terms of DVD viewing, very little matches up to the sheer utility I get from this type of thing. To have listened to the albums over and over again for years, then to find out how each track was made, the disagreements they had and how the concepts for the videos came about... that's amazingly compelling to a total music nerd like me. I never knew what an outsider Alan Wilder was - that he was drafted to replace Vince Clarke but never acknowledged as a full member for a couple of years. That Songs of Faith and Devotion was such a difficult album to make that it killed the group (Dave Gahan was a heroin addict that never showed up, Andy Fletcher went to clinical depression, Alan left). That the Harmonium Mix of Enjoy The Silence was Martin Gore's original demo (he had conceived it as a church organ ballad and was quite unhappy when Alan and the producer Flood turned it into a dance tune). That the band members fought bitterly even over final mixes of songs like Condemnation (The Paris Mix of Condemnation, for instance, is really Alan's final mix of the song, and it's better than the mix on the album). I've also noticed that Martin persisted throughout the years on going bare-bodied on stage, even though he was really skinny... eew!

Progress!

I recently found some old fitness assessments from the gym in my bag. To remind myself how far I've come in 2 years, I'm putting the stats down here and getting a new one done before the year is out :)

Date		Weight (kg)	Body Fat (%)	Obesity Degree (%)
2 Mar 05		70.8	19.4	115
14 Aug 05		72.8	21.0	120
5 Sep 05		74.7	22.1	123
11 Nov 05		78.1	24.3	129
5 Jun 06		80.5	25.5	133
13 Dec 06		83.0	??	??

I gained 6 kilos in 3 months last year! Sigh... wish I could do that still.
Onward, then, to 88kg!!!!

Never let them go

A friend of mine posted this on his blog recently.

"I've sat here most of the night, and will probably sit here a lot longer. I've been single now for years. In those years I've been amazed by the thoughts that continue to run through my mind. It's amazing how clear things can be when your thoughts are not clouded by the things you think you want but by the things you know you need. I've always known what I have been looking for appearance wise, but until recently I never really understood what else was missing.

The five senses.

#1 - Sight
The look of his face. he is so handsome and only you know why. The way you smile when you catch that first glimpse of him walking towards you. The way you see every perfection and imperfection he has and love them both.
#2 - Sound
The sound of his voice. The way it makes you feel when he speaks to only you. The way "I love you" sounds when it is true. The way a few words spoken from his mouth can brighten your day and put your mind at ease.
#3 - Touch
The feeling you get when he holds your hand. The warmth of his body. The calmness you feel when he hugs you. The peaceful feeling you have when he touches your skin.
#4 - Smell
The scent that is carried with him. The way you can still smell him on your pillow even when he is gone. The way you are reminded of him when you smell a similar scent. The way you can smell him through the night when he is laying next to you.
#5 - Taste
The taste of his lips when you kiss. The salty yet sweet taste you get when you kiss his body. Nothing is better.

All of these things I miss the most. I know one day I'll find them. One day I'll be overwhelmed again by these five senses. And when I find them, I know deep down I will not let them go."

Sorry Julia!

This is a guilt-ridden post about how if you tell a fantastic story often enough, you will wind up believing it to be true.



In the late 80s, one of my favourite singer-songwriters was a new artiste called Julia Fordham. She had a wonderful voice that would go deep and soulful one minute, and then impossibly high in a falsetto the next. Many of my friends in JC and university also adored her - mostly for her vocal range, but also for her beautiful, emotional, heartfelt, "I'm a woman of the 80s - I'm single, free and strong but terribly vulnerable at the same time so don't hurt me because I will really get hurt ok?" type songs.

Then, someone told me that she used to be a man called Julian Fordham who was a poor struggling singer for the longest time until he saved up enough money to go for a sex change. I totally believed it and delighted in shocking everyone with the news. Poor S.K. was so traumatised by it he stopped listening to her CDs the very next day. He felt terribly betrayed because he had believed all her womanly outpourings to have come from a (genuinely) feminine place. "No wonder her voice so deep!" we would all agree, relishing the scandal of it all.

More than 10 years later, I still believed the story. I listened to every CD and read every interview with a stupid sense of anticipation that one day, she would give some hint as to what happened in the past. In fact, when I bought a DVD of her concert last month, I scrutinised her on stage (I actually went up to the TV real close) to try and assess how successful her sex-change op was (very successful, I concluded).

So this morning, having watched the DVD again (on my new DVD home theatre system!!) I finally decided to Wikipedia her to see if anything had been written on this. And in the process, I found that she had given birth recently to a baby daughter and released an EP of songs on her new child. Refusing to give up so easily, I went to discreetly check the facts with my secretary in the afternoon.

"Er, F., can I ask you something?"
"Ya?"
"If a man has a sex change operation and becomes a woman, can she later have babies?"
"Um, no."
"Orh, ok..."

So I'm really sorry Julia, for maligning you for more than 10 years. We really loved your music and I still do actually. As penance, I am taking out all your old CDs to re-listen to them.

Woman of the 80s
Julia Fordham

I'm a woman of the 80s, I'm fit and I'm strong
There ain't no situation where I don't belong
Too late for flowers too soon for pins (too soon for pins)
But I know where I'm heading and I like where I've been

And I swear I never really ever really get that lonely on Sundays
Well maybe, just a little, but I'm never really ever really gonna let myself CALL YOU UP!
Cos I'm not allowed to miss you and I'm not allowed to ring you
I'm a woman of the 80s, no fractures, no flaws
But I miss you sometimes that's all

I'm a woman of the 80s, I'm single and I'm free
There ain't no complications between my lover and me
He's got my number and I've got his
And even though I might miss him, I like it like this

If you're a woman of the 80s you've got a set of rules to follow
If it's not on, it's not on and you never ever ever ever ever swallow your pride

Dad's Present

Last night, quite randomly, I ran into my lesbian sister and her gf on Orchard Road right outside The Heeren. I nearly missed her but she waved and yelled at me. Anyway, we started talking about my dad's birthday lunch, which is this Sunday.

Sister: "What should we get him ah?"
Me: "Er... Did we get him anything last year? I thought we just bought him dinner."
Sister: "Got la! But I can't remember..."
Me: "Ok, so buy what?"
Sister: "Like maybe a polo shirt lor!"
Me: "Like what type of polo shirt? Wait he dun like he wun wear!"
Sister: "He'll wear la!"
Me: "Like what brand?"
Sister: "Er...."
Me (suddenly siao): "I know, I know!! CK erh..."
(Sister's gf giggles)
Me: "DIESEL!!"
(More giggling.)
Sister (not amused): "We need to get those type the sleeve not hugging one."
Me: "Orh, then like that I don't know already..."

My new favourite sport

This guy is 172cm, 123kg. Very sexy, just look at that forearm!

Chubby cop ousts towering Iranian to keep heavyweight title

PINT-sized Japanese policeman Yasuyuki Muneta survived a contest of David and Goliath proportions to retain his men's heavyweight judo title at the Asian Games on Saturday.

Muneta, whose chubby appearance has earned him the nickname the “Fighting Teddy Bear”, gave up 30cm in height to Iran's Mohammad Reza Rodaki, but the Tokyo law enforcer outmanoeuvred his hulking opponent to become only the third man to retain an Asian Games judo title.

“Usually I try to win with an ippon to take the contest with one throw but this time I couldn't so I just had to keep on going,” he said.

The pick of the ties was the last when former world champion Muneta, having already out-witted a couple of granite-jawed giants, took on the 2.02m muscle-bound Rodaki.

At first it looked as if the Iranian's strength and probing kicks would prove too much for
Muneta, but with a combination of speed and solid ground defence he managed to use the bigger man's bulk against him and after three minutes was ahead in the contest.

“I'm not bothered by the difference in height, you need to do your own judo, stick to your own game until you win,” said Muneta, who joined compatriot Yukisama Nakamura and Korea's Chung Hoon-Yong in retaining a men's Asian Games title.

– Reuters

Very civilised

Going to the Club21 stores at the Hilton is always such a civilised affair, even at this time when the sale is on. It's also a very dangerous affair, as I found this morning, with the year-end bonus payout around the corner and my DBS Black Card giving me "extra 10 per cent off sale items" everywhere.

Deciding that I would have the full luxe experience, I parked the car at the Four Seasons where I got a lot immediately and had to saunter past only a few Volvo XC90s and Mini Cooper Ses to get to the lift. An elderly ang-moh in tennis gear (we're talking late 60s here) and this pretty, young Malay girl were my companions in the lift. "I hate this Christmas music, it drives me mad!" he grumbles in his grandfatherly way. "It's that time of year, hon!" says the Malay girl in a thick British accent (to his American one). "What's that?" he says, unable to hear her mumbling. She bristles slightly: "I said -- IT'S THAT TIME OF THE YEAR, HON!"

Right, so finally the door opens and I'm off to Paul Smith to get a respectable wallet so that people can stop bitching about how my current one is fraying and falling apart (Guys, it may be J-Fold, but it's CULT ok?). There are Japanese ladies in kimonos milling about outside the store, where a mini-art exhibition is being launched. One is welcoming guests in soft, polite tones. Very civilised.

Inside Paul Smith, the choice is between a slate grey wallet in "washed leather" ("very special material", says the sales assistant) with a fake red precious stone stuck on it. Like a nipple, I think, as I run my thumb over it. The other is a tan-coloured wallet with a print on it, a drawing of buckles. I go to the mirror with both and make like I'm paying at the cashier (wondering, fleetingly, if I'm big enough for these wallets). They're both nice (of course they are). The sales assistant waits for his moment, then unobtrusively makes his assessment: "I think the grey one is nicer. Because you'll still like it three months from now." "Three days, you mean!" I say. HAHAHAHAHA, we both laugh loudly - then I buy the grey one. He puts the wallet in the nicest paper carrier with lovely Christmas tree pencil drawings on it, topped off with a little bow. Very Japanese, very civilised.

I waver at the Club21 mens shop, wondering if I should go in. I'm in the market for a suit, you see, and there are lovely Jil Sander ones hanging on the rack. Throwing caution to the wind, I go in anyway. Of course, the supervisor M. is around and he cheerily says hello c7676 (he remembers my name!). M., if you can picture him, is a stylish, fat Malay guy. He is gentle and slightly giggly, but utterly measured in his assessment of how clothes look on people. He talks and laughs with you, then in the next second, orders his assistants around in a stern, Empress Cixi-like voice. The overall effect is deadly. You feel like you're being served by the Queen herself. You can score some points by flirting with him (and I totally do) but that doesn't really change the imperative: Buy something, or else you can never come back to the store again.

Thankfully, there are lovely Comme des Garcons t-shirts going for 50 per cent off (original price $189). M. is a little busy so I try a dark blue one in L, which fits snug. Later when I tell him, M. says: "Oh please, you're an XL!" Deciding already that I will buy more stuff than I intend, I try an XL in an even nicer design. It fits, but in a different way (more day than night, if you know what I mean). "Buy two," he advises. "Different silhouette..." So I do. Then, while waiting for the Jil Sander suits to be brought down (there's public humiliation for his staff when this happens: "Aiya, Han, how can you bring the jacket and not the pants! This is a suit: that means the jacket AND the pants."), we discuss the Commes des Garcons/Fred Perry polo shirts also on offer (50 per cent off $369). "I lurve this one," he murmurs, pointing to a Fred Perry polo shirt that looks like it was worn to a paintball session. "You should try it." Of course I try it. It looks a little loose ("the L is PERFECT, don't even waste time with the M!") but I buy it anyway (it's my first Fred Perry).

Thankfully, the Jil Sander suits didn't fit. "Stop building up so much!" he says disapprovingly, adding to the by-now mammoth pile of back-handed compliments about my size. Just as I'm paying, another one for good measure ("I love your watch, it's so nice..."). I finally struggle out of the store, smiling wearily at black-clad staff all chiming "Thank you for coming!".

As I said, I love shopping at Club21. Very civilised.