Misanthropy

I am currently suffering from a bout of misanthropy which I hope will clear up within the week. Among the triggering conditions are:

1. Stupid students. They will sit in a room with the airconditioner off and not think to a) look for the missing remote control, b) go to the general office where there is most likely to be a spare remote, or c) open the windows. This will last until the teacher enters the classroom and complains about the stifling heat and stale air (which they all nod in agreement to).

2. Inconsiderate drivers. They do not signal when changing lanes, forcing me to brake for them. They do not signal before turning, causing me to pull up behind them and have to wait. They travel at 70km/h in the rightmost lane of the expressway when the speed limit is 90, and everyone else is overtaking them on the left. Especially those who are a combination of the above, where they suddenly and without signalling cut into your lane, the rightmost one on the expressway, and then proceed slowly with a clear stretch of road in front of them for several hundred metres.

2b. Drivers who do illegal things like stop inside a yellow box when it is OBVIOUS that there is NO SPACE just beyond it because the car in front IS ALREADY JUTTING OUT SLIGHTLY INTO THE BOX WHILE STATIONARY. I am thinking of carrying stones in my car to throw at such people. And no I have not been guilty of that particular crime. Yet.

3. Lack of intellectual stimulation. I have not had anything grab my imagination and fancy in a while. I have not had the chance to play with ideas. I have had to come up with ideas on how to make someone else's vision a reality. It is not my vision and while I may have had similar thoughts had I stopped to consider it, I have not had the time to think in that direction. Therefore I do not own it and have no stake in it. I do it because I do not feel in a position to refuse it.

4. Teaching. They are not my children, and if they don't want to turn up on time in school it's not my problem. I shouldn't have to coax and cajole and talk sense into them so they learn the virtue of being punctual (at least for formal and official occasions). I shouldn't even have to scold them. But I do anyway, because I'm a teacher, and teachers are supposed to care, and because their parents don't do it. It sucks to be a teacher and have to care. Everywhere else you can screw people over and nobody in upper management gives a shit as long as it's not your own company you're screwing. At least that's what I think.

Why I Am Hopeful Of Recovering

1. I have had a few good games of chess in school and on the internet in the past month.

2. I have friends who still invite me to join them for stuff, though in my current state I doubt I'm very good company (which makes me appreciate them all the more).

3. I am aware of the condition and am able to will myself to recover.

But first I need to get the hate out of my system.

Where is the love?

Blankolog II - Tired

Tired of last-minute assignments. Tired of doing them well because it would mean so much to the students. Tired of putting aside an already full schedule because the boss's latest scheme is so urgent. Tired of trying to catch up after that.

Too tired to talk. Too tired to flirt. Too tired to say nice things to people at home. Too tired to smile at things people say. Too tired to make the calls I promised to. Too tired to return SMSes from ex-students.

Almost too tired to arrange for treat for grandma. Almost too tired to drive home (though I think I might have damaged my first gear slightly). Almost too tired to eat.
Almost too tired to blog.

Urrrgh.

Brightside: sis just gave me The Remains Of The Day. I am enjoying it. It is taking me far longer than usual to read it though.

Gollum Meat

I just caught The Two Towers on TV tonight and noticed the Chinese subtitles.

Gollum's name in Chinese is comprised of the same characters used to describe Sweet Sour Pork, minus the word for "meat".

I don't think I can bring myself to eat Gollum Meat for a while.

Between the Legs

Four times today, a soccer ball went between my legs.

First, a flick-through from a pass. I found my team-mate.

Second, a dummy. Same team-mate.

Third, a step-over backheel into goal during a goalmouth melee. *Goal of the week*

Fourth, a complete miscue from a pass. Under no pressure at all.

Ah, well, three out of four ain't too bad. (Note to self: possible inclusion in future book of musings on life - maybe something about being happier if we don't let the disappointments get in the way.)

I am feeling so stylo today. (Note to self: What does it take to feel stylo?)
(Another note to self: I am feeling so stylo today.)

No apologies to the soccer-illiterate.
p.s. I usually prefer the Coxford Singlish Dictionary but it didn't have the separate meaning for "stylo".

Satchmo Monday

Louis Armstrong's "A Kiss To Build A Dream On" has been runnning through my head all day, which compensates somewhat for the Bleah feeling towards work I've had throughout the past week. I really like the music of that era - it's full of life, in every sense of the word ("life", that is). Much needed when the spirit feels dead at the prospect of going back to the classroom for yet another dialogue with myself (though I must say my students are getting slightly better at responding).

Had a "passionate discussion" with a colleague over the fragmentation of the English Literary Dramatic and Debating Society (or ELDDS) into the Drama people, the Debate people, and the Radio people (who have been absorbed into the ELDDS because there's no "Radio" on the Grand Imperial Charter of Healthy Recreations and Cultural Accomplishments (otherwise known as the List of Approved CCAs)). Not that I'm still in the EngSoc (as the ELDDS used to be called, not without a hint of irony at the Orwellian reference), but I got a bit riled at the hint of accusation that the Debate people were deliberately distancing themselves from the rest of the ELDDS when it was the Drama people who didn't answer my call last year when I was trying to put together a debate team from the EngSoc, and that was after I had so kindly delayed putting the debate team together so they could all concentrate on their SYF Drama production. So bollocks to them if they feel left out now that the JC1s are choosing Debates over Drama. And good grief I just realised what a long sentence that was. Microsoft Word would have _so_ complained :P

But anyway much thanks for the music of the early 20th century. And hopefully much rest from tonight's sleep. I may not look forward to school tomorrow, but at least I'll have Satchmo and company for company.

Joy

I can think of no other word to describe two grandmothers well into their eighties who still take every chance to smile and laugh at the world around them. Every little action, every story, is a source of mirth and merriment, and the springboard for jokes and teasing. Their bodies may be old and wrinkled, but their sprightliness of spirit in old age is something I would wish on everyone twice over.

May you all have a blessed Lunar New Year.

Blankolog I

It has been the hardest thing to blog for a while. Granted, I have been tired, and it has been a damn tiring week, but still, I go blank when I sit in front of my blank Blogger page. Even writing this is seeming strangely inane, and the only thing keeping me going is the exhortations of my friends to update.

So here I am, with the first of my Blankologs, because I anticipate more in future, when I sit here with all the thoughts of the previous days scurrying away into the recesses of my mind, refusing to come out to be named and numbered and witnessed to the world.

Ah, here comes one, screaming as I drag it out. It is a rant about drivers who don't signal, who road-hog, who behave as if no one else exists on the road but them. They are the scourge of modernity and efficiency, and it is a good thing that weapons are not allowed on cars. I would be broke from buying ammo reloads.

I have had my patience sorely tested on the roads. The worst of humanity is seen each time - the driver who slowly (in every sense of the word) inches his way across lanes making me wonder which side to overtake him on shows an obliviousness to others; the driver who refuses to take the next turnoff even though he is in the wrong lane and insists on blocking my way by attempting to turn left in a straight-going lane shows the refusal to accept the consequences of his own mistakes (and I don't care if the semicolons aren't appropriate - it's my blog); the driver who weaves in and out of traffic without signalling shows a recklessness that endangers others.

And then I curse their teachers and parents silently.

But just as the sting of a bee tears the life out of it, so has this torn the remnants of my willingness to connect with others out of me.

I now retreat into my cave.

I shall return.

Good From Far

G just came back from his honeymoon recently, and complained about how one of the tour guides brought them to one of the filming sites for LOTR (Edoras, for those who know), with the effect that while he was ON the site, he couldn't SEE the site (and take the requisite pictures).

Link now to the Viaduc de Millau, which is banking on exactly the same feeling of "I want to be in a position where I can see the sight rather than be on the site itself".

And that's something about monuments and great feats of engineering and other marvels to behold from a distance - they work best at a distance. With our increasing ability to build tourist facilities just about anywhere in the world, we now have two options for every grand tourist attraction - one for those interested in the intricate details of how it was put together - and another to admire it from afar.

Maybe we should consider getting the Malaysians to build Something Grand and Monumental in Johor Bahru. To be precise, Something So Grand And Monumental That It Looks Amazing From Woodlands (or some other northern part of Singapore, like maybe Punggol). That way we can position ourselves as The Place From Which You Can View A Wonder Of The World, which is not quite as hard as being A Wonder Of The World ourselves, and would certainly breathe a bit more life into the more remote parts of the island. We could even build a Magnificent Lighthouse off our coast as well, if the Malaysians don't take too kindly to the idea.

All this would certainly be an added incentive to visit the Casino that looks more and more like reality with each new report in The Straits Times, regardless of what concerned citizens might think.

Mechanised Christmas

How else does one describe the sight of gigantic artificial Christmas trees gyrating slowly at the four corners of a traffic light junction? I found them mildly disturbing. I don't know if they're supposed to simulate trees swaying in the wind, but if they're moving because somebody thought that would add vibrancy to the Orchard Road Christmas scene, then that probably encapsulates the problem with this country.

We try so hard to keep up appearances. From a distance one may think the Huge green cones with the strips of baubles are tree-like, but on closer inspection there isn't even the semblance of branches or leaves. They're just very big inverted cones of green fabric with tacked-on coloured balls. And they're swaying ever so gently (not gracefully) in total asynchronicity (asynchronisation?) with the traffic that stops and starts past them, it's surreal.

I suppose natural trees won't dance. And I bet next year somebody will suggest that the artificial trees be made to sing too. In terms of tackiness, that ranks somewhere around those coin-operated plastic horses that I used to ride as a little boy.

If we really wanted to make it Christmassy, we'd get real trees. And we'd have bins around the trees for people to donate gifts to orphans. Because Christmas is about people and the sharing of life. It is not about trying to simulate life, no matter how clever our inventions and how real our simulations.

I like my machines to stay machines, like my trusty Palm Zire, my ageing Notebook, and La Voiture. You won't catch any of them being dressed up as anything natural. Ever.

In The Wrong Lane

I have begun to keep track of the cars that cut in front of me without signalling. Over the past two days I have encountered one beemers and three merces. Unfortunately the only number I remember is 9748 because that's the beemer I flashed for cutting in. I shall do better next time and remember the whole license number.

What I would like to know is whether failure to signal is an act of negligence on the road. If I hit a car that cut suddenly into my lane without signalling, how much liability is on me and how much on the other driver? Maybe the road courtesy campaign might work better if some real punitive measures were put in place. It would also teach people to live with the consequences of their own actions, like if you miss a turn you go to the next U-turn and turn back instead of trying to cut across two lanes (and cut off the people in those lanes as a result).

I know it's hard to legislate courtesy. However, it seems odd that the people who drive luxury cars seem to have less of it on the roads. Perhaps rich people have no time to be courteous, or perhaps they get rich because they don't bother about being courteous, especially if it's to people who they don't see as being capable of conferring material or social advantage. This is probably unfair to a majority of rich people out there (seeing as I know a few decent ones myself) but it doesn't mean I can ignore the bad apples just because the rest of the barrel is good.

I guess that's the real failure of our education system:

"We readily inquire, 'Does he know Greek or Latin?' 'Can he write poetry and prose?' But what matters most is what we put last: 'Has he become better and wiser?'
"We ought to find out not who understands most but who understands best. We work merely to fill the memory, leaving the understanding and the sense of right and wrong empty."

- Michel de Montaigne,
Essays, Book I,
On Schoolmasters' learning

Letters and Flames

Letters

Dinner at G's new place on Thursday threw up a few ideas.
First was the concept of doing a "number one" or a "number two". I usually just call it "small business" and "big business", but I realised that people all over the world probably have their own euphemisms for the respective calls of nature, and that got me thinking further. I wonder what else we would call it. Perhaps a Brave New World fan would call the "little convenience" Chinese "doing a Delta". A slightly more direct way might simply be to "do a pi" or "do a sigma".

Which leads me to wonder about fraternity (and sorority) names, and why they use Greek letters. Is Singapore in reality run by the Pi Alpha Pi fraternity? Are they being opposed by the Sigma Delta Pi (led by Juan Cheeson?)

I shall try not to think about it too much the next time I drive down the Pi Iota Eta (or is it Epsilon?)

Flames
I saw the fires of Mordor on leaving G's place. I am fairly certain Tolkien saw something similar in his day. I still haven't figured out whether it's a refinery or an incinerator, but either way the flame at the top of a tower is a stark reminder of global warming and how much energy our modern lifestyle consumes.
Which should actually be an incentive to cut this post short and move on quickly, but some things are worth destroying the planet for.

A rant

Following up on a nice tea on Saturday with TYM, in which the following topic was mentioned (albeit in a different form), I just had to get this off my chest.

It’s about work, and how busyness is often mistaken for the sign of a good worker.

To me, a good worker is one who gets the job done, whichever (ethical) way he does it. I don’t care if he spends 16 hours a day 7 days a week doing it or just finishes the job in one highly efficient spurt of 4 hours. (No, actually, I do. I think the one who spent the huge amount of time is inefficient and should be the first to go in the next reorganisation because that fellow is obviously in the wrong job. As far as possible people ought to be in jobs they can do well). So busyness is not necessarily a good thing. And people who put in 110% but get the same work done as those who only put in 80% are not necessarily better workers. Equal pay for equal work done, I say.

This brings me to the next point, which is about rewards. I would like my rewards for my work to be substantial. That could mean keeping my job when everyone else around me is losing theirs. Or it could mean getting a steady salary. Or it might even mean perks at the local Community Club. Priests and missionaries get their rewards in Heaven. I want mine here and now.

This doesn’t mean I won’t work for rewards in Heaven - I will if the Big Boss chucks me into the belly of a Big Fish. But while I’m here working for Men I expect to be compensated accordingly. And that means if I’m expected to put in extra effort I expect to see extra pay. Or other compensation.

Which brings me to my final point. Compensation comes in many forms. Material wealth and social recognition are both good categories of compensation. Personal satisfaction is also good (and probably the ideal we should strive to, but it doesn’t pay the bills). And the key to getting the best out of your workers? Give them what they want, and they’ll give you what you want.

Otherwise, back off and stop polluting my air.

the first of many "Which ... Are You?" posts

Hey, the bandwagon's big enough for all of us.



Powerful. Intimidating. Trivia Nazi. President Bartlet is all of these and more. A super-nerd who's into chess, National Parks, and rambling off things in Latin, POTUS is the 'real thing.' Not being completely upfront with the American people may cause him re-election headaches, though...

:: Which West Wing character are you? ::

Cars And Kings Are Not Personal Things

I have been wondering if I should name my impending set of wheels, and if so, what.

Rosinante came to mind, as did Rohir, and Boxer (the old workhorse from Animal Farm). Each had its own merits, but I didn't think they were quite fitting. I then considered Dolly, because I saw an ad for Toyota, which featured a sheep outrunning horses at the racetrack.

But then I realised that to name something before it shows its true character can turn out horribly wrong - much like naming children. In an ideal world one would have two names - one given at birth to signify your parents' hopes for you, and another later in life to show the person you really are.

The difference between children and cars (or at least one of the differences), however, is that children are people, and cars, after all, are things. No matter how much fun you have with or in the car, it's still just a piece of machinery. And this is a big deal coming from a usually sentimental guy. (Check with me again after I've had it for a year)

So I have decided to classify it in the same order as Kings, Queens, and other Things of Importance For Their Role Rather Than Their Selves. It shall be known as La Voiture (The Car), and, some years later, I will with the appropriate gravitas say, "La Voiture est morte; vive la Voiture."

That is, until it develops a personality.

The Murder of Palms

They committed a heinous crime this week at the workplace. I was shocked at the sight, and stood unblinking, mouth agape, as they chopped at the victims.

The roots were the first to go, methodically hacked by coldly calculated swings in a savage rhythm. As each bunch of roots was severed from the trunk, the palm shivered and was only prevented from falling by the rough hands of a callous collaborator.

After the roots were cleared, the tops were lopped off and the carnage left on the ground for sun and wind to devour. The perpetrators unabashedly left open graves.

Later in the week, the holes were filled, and in place of the old comforting palms stood thin bamboo stalks, so fragile they were held together with pieces of string. Even they will not last long, as I hear they will be replaced by something else for political reasons.

I wonder where the secret shrine to Shiva is. I can't think of any other explanation.

Caught in the Timestream

Over the past few weeks I have encountered several of my neighbours at slightly different times of the morning as I leave for work.

On the days I am early, I meet one set. On the days I am late, I meet another.

I have since been using them as reference points for how early/late I am. If I see neighbour family with primary-school-age daughter, I'm early. If I see ACS tennis brothers, I'm very early. If cute neighbour takes the same lift, I'm late. I've never been very late. (And I always get to work on time). At other times the irregulars will turn up at the lift - the neighbour who lives in Little Amazonia, the retiree out for a walk, the maid with the big dog (who is very considerate and takes the next lift since I'm not good around animals, and certainly don't want to be shedded on before work).

I wonder if they also use me as a reference point. Do they also think to themselves "Shite it's that guy from the other end of the corridor - I'm late," or do they check their watches thinking "Maybe I could have slept five more minutes?"

Someday everybody will be earlier or later than usual at the same time and everything will go wrong.

Improving the gene pool

Hooray for SMRT! They've decided not to put up barriers at the boarding platforms.

People need to learn to be responsible for themselves. That means if you see train tracks, you should know that a train is likely to run on them. Especially if you're going to board that train when it arrives. That also means you should stay away from them until the train arrives. If your children are high-energy and adventurous, it's up to you to make sure they live to have adventures that will take them places (like Mount Everest). Natural selection will take care of those people who can't figure that out.

I normally wouldn't hurt a fly (Terz and G will attest to that) but stupidity has to have consequences. If we protect stupid people from themselves all the time they'll never learn. And if there are enough of them around they might actually outvote the smart ones on things that really matter, like who's going to be the next POTUS.

Sometimes I think Education ought to be more about learning to make intelligent decisions and learning common sense than anything else. Of course it's good to know how the world works, but theory is still theory after all, and like Adam Smith's invisible hand, you never know when something that you've always taken for granted could just be a case of misplaced faith.

The rest of the time I think Education is about Moulding the Future of Our Nation.
Which includes nurturing and developing Innovans. Or are they Innovates? Do they speak Innovish? Will Innovese culture be significantly different from ours? Is Innovology going to be offered as a contrasting subject? Is Innova something that's in the midst of blowing up (kind of like a reverse Atlantis)? Or is it a reference to a reproductive cell in a place of lodging?
I'll find out from my soon-to-be-ex-colleagues soon enough.

On a side note, the Sony Ericsson website has the abbreviation "spg" for its Singapore link. Looks like they've had close encounters of the Boat Quay kind before.

O For A Thousand Tongues To Sing*

I have just come back from a choir rehearsal and my throat's feeling a bit strained, which is to be expected since I don't have formal training and the only singing I do is in church once a week.

It's all my pastor's fault, really. Last Sunday his sermon was on BeholdMePeople (yes he insisted it was one word) and he challenged each parishioner to be a BeholdMePerson. A BeholdMePerson is one who answers God's call for people to do His work. It's kind of like those people who jump up and down and wave their hands and shout "Me! Me!" when someone asks for volunteers (my interpretation). Of course I didn't stand up and jump up and down and shout "Me! Me! I wanna be a BeholdMePerson!". But I did remember an urgent appeal by The Celebration Chorus for male voices sent to me just a couple of days before. So I went back and looked at it, and it seemed that the yoke was easy and the burden was light, and I saw that it was good.

So I will be lending my unpolished and comparatively mediocre voice (the tenor next to me tonight was far better) to the effort for the next 6 weeks, and by God's grace it will turn out well. The only disappointment tonight was discovering that we were going to sing the English translation of F. B. Mendelssohn's Hymn of Praise. I was so looking forward to the German. :P

*Wesley wrote this hymn to commemorate the first anniversary of his conversion to Christ. This origin is reflected in the lyrics, “On this glad day the glorious Sun of Righteousness arose.” The stanza that begins “O for a thousand tongues to sing” is verse seven of Wesley’s original poem. This work first appeared in Hymns and Sacred Poems in 1740.

The Raveler

It used to unnerve me that the Universe is made up of mostly nothing.

I remember a feeling of incredulity when I first realised the implications of what my physics teacher taught me - that everything is made up of atoms, and that there's a lot of empty space between atoms. If you haven't figured out what that means, basically, we're all made up of little bits of matter with lots of empty space in between. What we think of as solid is really as fluffy as the cotton wool we use to simulate gunsmoke in battlefield dioramas.

What brought this on? I was feeling bored invigilating as usual, so I turned to the familiarly reassuring act of taking apart cotton thread - the kind used to tie answer scripts together.

If you haven't taken thread apart before, then you should know that that kind of thread is made up of 3 interwoven thinner threads. In turn, each thinner string can be separated (with great care) into 2 more even thinner threads. After that, any attempt to take it apart yields the most beautiful wisps of fibre which, if properly spread, can form an enchanting veil over one spectacle lens (though I am sure a skilled craftsman could make it cover two lenses).

So I spent my time ravelling, which means
To separate the fibers or threads of (cloth, for example)
according to Webster (the dictionary, though I'm sure it's someone's online nick, amongst other things).

I first came across that wonderful word in The Scottish Play by Shakespeare, when M talks about "Sleep, that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care," and since then have seldom come across it in similar contexts (the sleeve of a CD doesn't count, and I'm not that much into Ravel's music anyway). It originates from an Old Dutch word meaning "loose thread".

So here I am in the Age of Computers and Gadgets Too Advanced To Be Named, ravelling thread, and through the ravelling of thread rediscovering an old truth - that we are actually made up of very little physical matter, but ah! the wonders we have done with so little!

And still there is so much left to do. And so much more thread to ravel.

Back from the Land South of the Clouds

I just came back from Yunnan, China, on Wednesday night, and can only say one thing:

I love mountains.

There's something about being 3000 ft. above sea level that really clears the sinuses and the brains (which lends credence to the old superstition of sneezing your brains out and letting the Devil in, hence the custom of saying "bless you", but I digress) (second digression: be prepared for more digressions)(note to self: cut down on digressions).

But really, it was most refreshing to see vast tracts of land, and vast opportunities to do just about anything with your life. I sometimes forget what a big and wonderful world it is, especially when caught in the daily shuttle between work and home.

I'm such a visual person, just seeing things does wonders for me. To see buildings within 100 metres everywhere I turn cuts off the supply of something indescribable that is essential to my soul. To see a city stretching out before me, with its mix of old and new, its history unfolding and evolving in its architectural landscape, lifts me halfway to rapture. It is at those times when I feel in communion with a greater cosmos.

I could sit all day and night and watch a city wake, live, and sleep.

Looks like I need to find a really tall building to live in.