Archive for May, 2008

this one came early

Saturday, May 31st, 2008

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so i’m grounded this weekend from a mysterious bout of fever and sore throat. but hope for amusement is not lost. i just received a miniature vespa – complete with all the moveable parts the real vespa boasts, how cool is that! this shall spur me to get my ass down to BBDC to earn a bike license, or at least it’ll remind me of what i wanted to do at the tender age of 26, just tipping me over the quarter-of-a-century-old mark.

the age old question

Saturday, May 31st, 2008

scenario 1
“honey, do i look fat?”
“absolutely not”
“but u didn’t even look!”
outcome: DEATH

scenario 2
“honey, do i look fat?”
“hmm…. no you don’t”
“u hesitated!”
outcome: DEATH

scenario 3
“honey, do i look fat?”
“yes but i love you anyway”
“so you think i’m fat!”
outcome: DEATH

scenario 4
“honey, do i look fat?”
“after careful observation, i’d say no love, u’re not fat at all.”
“but i’ve been trying to fatten up for the mountains!”
outcome: DEATH

mountaineering… what an interesting passion…

what kept lihui and i sane through stairs training

Wednesday, May 28th, 2008

I was quiet as a mouse
When i snuck into your house
And took roofies with your spouse
In a nit and out a louse
And lice are lousy all the time
They suck your blood drink your wine
Say shut up and quit your crying
Give it time and you’ll be fine

You’re so nice and you’re so smart
You’re such a good friend i hafta break your heart
Tell you that i love you then i’ll tear your world apart
Just pretend i didn’t tear your world apart

I like boys with strong convictions
And convicts with perfect diction
Underdogs with good intentions
Amputees with stamp collections
Plywood skinboards ride the ocean
Salty noses suntan lotion
Always seriously joking
And rambunctiously soft-spoken
I like boys that like their mothers
And i have a thing for brothers
But they always wait til we’re under the covers
To say i’m sure glad we’re not lovers

You’re so nice and you’re so smart
You’re such a good friend i hafta break your heart
Tell you that i love you then i’ll tear your world apart
Just pretend i didn’t tear your world apart

I like my new bunnysuit
I like my new bunnysuit
I like my new bunnysuit
When i wear it i feel cute

/Kimya Dawson, So Nice So Smart

if u’re wondering, yes lihui’s just a tad slow to catch on with the juno OST…

the world and other places

Monday, May 26th, 2008

When I hold you in this night-soaked bed it is courage for the day I seek. Courage that when the light comes I will turn towards it. It couldn’t be simpler. It couldn’t be harder. In this little night-covered world with you, I hope to find what I long for; a clue a map, a bird flying south, and when the light comes we will get dressed together and go…

/winterson

Hallucinating Foucault

Wednesday, May 21st, 2008

You ask me what I fear most. Not the loss of my power to write. Not that. Composers fear deafness, yet the greatest of them all heard his music with the drums of his nerves, the beat in the blood. My writing is a craft, like carpentry, coffin-building, making jewelry, constructing the walls. You cannot forget how it is done. You can easily see when it is done well. You can adjust, remake, rebuild what is fragile, slipshod, unstable.

You can say anything, anything, if it is beautifully said. My books are like a well-known and frequently visited chateau. All the corridors are completely straight and they lead form one room to another, the way out to the gardens or the courtyard clearly indicated. I write with the well-swept clarity of a ballroom floor. I write for fools. But within this limpid, exquisite lucidity, that is my signature–and which I lose hair, weight, sleep, blood, to achieve–there is a code, a hidden sequence of signs, a labyrinth, a staircase leading to the attics, and finally out onto the leads. You have followed me there. You are the reader for whom I write.

You ask me what I fear most. You know already or you would not ask. It is the loss of my reader, the man for whom I write. My greatest fear is that one day, unexpectedly, suddenly, I will lose you. We never see one another and we never speak directly, yet through the writing our intimacy is complete. My relationship with you is intense because it is addressed every day, through all my working hours. I sit down, wrapped in my blanket, my papers incoherent on the table before me. I clear a space to write, for you, to you, against you. You are the measure of my abilities. I reach for your exactitude, your ambition, your folly. You are the tide mark on the bridge, the level to reach. You are the face who always avoids my glance, the man who is just leaving the bar. I search for you through the spirals of all my sentences. I throw out whole pages of manuscript because I cannot find you in them. I search for you in small details, in the shapes of my verbs, the quality of my phrases. When I can write no more because I am too tired, my head aches, my left arm is cramped with tension, and I am left irresolute, I get up, go out, drink, cruise the streets. Sex is a brief gesture; I fling away my body with my money and my fear. It is the sharp sensation which fills the empty space before I can go in search of you again. I repent nothing but the frustration of being unable to reach you. You are the glove that I find on the floor, the daily challenge I take up.

– Hallucinating Foucault by Patricia Duncker

rage against the machine

Monday, May 19th, 2008

mon: team internal meeting
tue: sponsors meeting with 3rd party
wed: rotary talk + stairs (12kg, 8 sets)
thu: run (10km)
fri: spinning
sat: run (10km) + bukit timah (3x SRJ, 12kg, ankle weights)
sun: gym (upper body)

since team training officially started this month, everyday has been a time trial. i either have to wake up at unearthly hours to squeeze in a run/spin class before work, or rush like a madman for a lunchtime gym session. i’m considering moving my stairs training to the mornings before work, so i won’t have this pressure at the back of my mind when i’m at work, especially when the whole office is in Pitch Mode now, where work is piled high and tempers flare easily. but then waking up at 6am for stairs is a thought inconceivable to the human mind. hmm… decisions decisions…

aoki

Sunday, May 18th, 2008

n765080071_3006059_8899.jpg[steve aoki gracing 17 jiak kim street]the night before saw me shuttling between steve aoki at zouk and the cut chemists at odeon towers, brought in by the good ppl fr the worldwide festival. what a sin to have these 2 gigs on the same night.