it’s been a crazy spin leading right up to exams - which were like a giant, carthartic fart (the kind that gives you great release and satisfaction), followed by one of the best parties we have ever had across our promotion. 4 sections all doing their champagne parties at Shangri-lah. fun fun fun! matty aka #1 got to do a ripping set of commercial dance tunes(mostly r&b), always a fave since it gives the boys all the right reasons to grope, bump n grind. me, aka #2 (and trailing)…got to spin some random musik but what i had to stress about all night - was technical rubbish cos the dj software was not synching right with the dj headphones and that took me over an hour to sort out. i hate technical bullshite but in a place like insead, excel rats are a dime a dozen but how many people know about sound quality - nada. so there, am demoted from rock star to roadie. MINGING!

but what’s really emotional and there were quite a few tears shed yesterday…is that a whole bunch of people will cease to be around in fonty. everyone’s jet-setting for the summer, and off to singapore etc etc. it’s weird to be standing next to someone whom u know within the next hour, will cease to be part of your immediate life. what do you say - good luck? take care? so, what u think about that macro paper - it sucked huh?

with insead, there’s just so much intensity that people bond and bond deeply but even as quickly, the bonds fade and so i am left wondering, of all the people we spend so much time with…how many will come back with the same perspectives - will friendships change and will cliques shift? its all game theory from this point on. and you know what? i suck at game theory.

off to london tomorrow and have all my bags packed in my car. packing is draining, it steals your soul and feels your lungs with dust. only copious amounts of rose will save me now. i cant believe i will need to haul a heavy ass suitcase around london tomorrow and i dont even know where i am staying at. yet. talk about lousy planning and in fact - i may just jump onto an earlier train, land my ass in london, and buy a new fuckin phone cos living without communication will kill me. i only have so many imaginary friends. hrmph.

london, can you wait - thats a good tune from Gene.

i am sitting here being paralysed by the 7-elements of Negotiation Analysis. This prep sheet is beyond horrid, it’s long and wordy and I don’t have very much to say. So, i am checking the search terms used to get into my blog page. here are a couple of good ones:

- insead girls (there are girls at insead?!)

- cut the fuck up (thats right baby, cut da fuk up…)

- fontainebleau police (heh, can u imagine the fonty police even having a website? i mean, the clock in the precint doesnt even work! in fact, they dont even work…)

- JJ ?!?! (i think JJ is a secret rock starr - we just dont know it yet. I think he looks a tad like jay chow)

- "mental laziness" is (u can’t be too mentally lazy if you are doing a search to find out about mental laziness).

Insead parties are about 3 things :(i like it how B-sch gives one great tools for thinking structurally). so here goes: 1) getting drunk 2) getting naked 3) acting stupid. here are my fave pix from the cabaret

in all fairness, kasper’s band was beyond awesome - but what you cant see here is how the audience is drunk

bossa soundz, ah…how nice. a only thing of taste?

that’s me, stupidly thinking that i could play a solo set to a raging audience after 1) not using a real guitar in yonks, as opposed to guitar soft synths 2) trying to think i could wing a Les Paul (Which is sweet….by the way). i like it when illusions of grandeur get crushed like salty peanuts on the sidestreet.

and no insead party is

complete without naked men with zero illusions about their own physical lack of prowess. where we can’t win in rugby, we strip our competition down.

till the next cabaret in a couple of months…we wait impatiently.

The Insead Cabaret aka "Blunders of the World" was in one word…funny. Whoever came up with the marekting for the event basically bought all the performers an immunity pass for shitty but genuine performances. I got to debut "Tired on the Run" solo and on Kaser’s Les Paul, played about 20 bum notes and still got an applause. Man, inseaders rock….the willingness to forgive is indeed high. this must have been priced into the 43,000 euros so market expectations were exactly in line.

there was a hodge podge of acts, skits, some fashion shows, loads of dancing…and of course, Colin’s "We are Insead" spoken word/ happyhop rap that went down well. better than well…considering Lucio, me and colin had NOT worked on the song, right up to performing it. once again, blunders of the world unite. if there is one thing other than good performance that unites individuals and builds winning teams - it’s bad performance and we definitely proved that! Kudos to the Top Gun and Tent people movies - beyond hilarious…

we need another cabaret…in approx 4 mths when the newbies come in. let the good times roll!

i think the campus vibe is changing…again. while it’s been a hi-octane week and probably months in truth…with a bunch of people graduating and changing profiles between campuses, i feel a tad like a goldfish stuck in a tank, seeing the passing insead universe from inside. goldfish are interesting things - with only 3 sec of memory, it’s no wonder they are happy things. you just never realize that the pond weed just pissed you off or that the other goldfish sharing your space has just stole your worm. the only thing nice about goldfishes…is if they looked like this: i call this the goldfish kiss.

the only thing to look forward to is CABARET! Blunders of the world should be an ace event, with wine, bad skits, comedies (not sure how many are/ or will be intentional) but in all respects, i really hope to do something for it. if i could get my guitar effects pedal working, it would be ace to make a track out of it.

on all other things, the ship is sinking - one IPA paper, one IT paper, all due on a…sunday. i mean, this is rough - its the summer, beautiful sky and fresh air everywhere. i just cant imagine myself copying and pasting screenshots of software applications ya know? how does a paper on IT applications and IT usage impact my life positively, or has any lasting blot in the larger cinematic scope of my existence? i am gonna include a paragraph of my IT paper just for shits n giggles - shota thinks this is trash because he doesnt understand any of it. i dont think i do either:

With the implementation of direct marketing tools, eAdvocacy groups are now able to map specific messages, or deliver specific online services to targeted customers on their database at the click of a button, effectively “pushing” information out. The system automatically collates members that have signed up for specific interests and emails them the correct information. The use of web tools has also allowed members to automatically update their address details, thus reducing the costs associated with lost mails (“pulling” information in).

MINGING!! am sure some smart alek will write me to tell me how i have totally defined push/pull information wrongly.

this is cumulative tiredness, i totally missed the bizon party last night…a random shuteye of 10 mins resulted in me waking up at 4am, going "what the mutha^&*(?", hitting the clock and turning over to sleep again. this has become somewhat of a philosophy of my life of late - wtf followed by grunts…followed by a quick arse scratch…followed by wtf…followed by grunts…followed by a quick arse scratch. sometimes, i vary the routine by slapping myself - i think it makes me feel like i am assimilating into "urban" culture.

everyone needs a street name…i think Ebony is a good one. what’s your street name??

barcelona! every bit of me is like barca, its quirky, it doesn’t make sense and it’s just plain fun. electroclash abounds everywhere and it was just madness. between the tapas, the drinking, the awesome food and the weird gaudi structures, barca stole my heart. getting there was a tradegy as we missed our flight and had to shell out for an extra single-way but i guess everything worked out pretty well. there are times when u feel committed to the cause and this was one of those moments.

barca is one of those cities that don’t photograph well but it’s amazing to the touch. it’s a high just running one’s fingers over the gaudi structures or understanding the city development and the social premise behind it. It’s a city to get your fingers dirty in and ramble along the streets.

If u ever get a chance to stay at the Pulitzer Hotel - DO! It’s amazingly designed, has a fresh modernity, slight poshness but still edgy as hell.

seafood shoppe at the market! yummers…and quite a few good lookers too. u can tell…

a plate of seafood = pauline’s happy tummy. say No to french food - no more sauce, no more cream! just lemon, just lemon! (i should use these as lyrics in my next track)

any city that has george orwell’s tracks is a cool city.

"Oi! Where u go?!" or it could have been a yawn, am not completely sure. ah well…

becos hearts belong naturally on doors. and everyone should know where u stand on this issue.

the best hot choc ever! with chilli flakes. thats how hot chocs should be, thick, gooey and yummilicious.

coffeeshop with nice everything!

i love all things vintage. i love all things old. i love everything from a time that i don’t know nor do i remember.

trip calamaties : my camera is broken, no thanks to my zesty eating and cravenous shoving of food, the camera fell onto the floor and now the mechanism won’t extend. which is probably why i have no shots of beautiful spanish girls sunbathing topless. DAMN! but i have to say there is nothing quite like sitting on the beach, chatting and watching topless chicks work their tan. compared to france, i think barca is totally with it. trudging around in paris just doesnt cut it anymore.

catch up time! the weekend came and went and we dog-sat Pinache, Alon’s dog. Alon has been trying all ways and means to get a blog credit and finally devised an evil but compelling strategy to obtain one. He put Pinache at our house for the weekend! It’s funny how dogs mirror their owners and Pinache is every bit like Alon - playful, attention-seeking and furry.

  dinner on saturday was educational, more so for others than myself. Giles got to roll, tuck n squeeze makis (which were minging by the way. the shape was ALL wrong) still, we dutifully ate it). check out Jun’s pissed off look. She dutifully put in a full disclaimer on any quality issues. but hey, giles is a farmer by birth, not a sushi chef of any sorts. apparantly, timing (when to squeeze) and execution (how to roll) is pre-eminent to success in a bangin’ maki.

there is one great shot of me and jun, suitably ruined with Diego ‘D eggs’ - master chef of peruvian cuisine, holding in his hand an incriminating bottle of chinese soya sauce. Hey, it’s an international world, what can i say?? peruvian, chinese, it’s all the same gene pool of small and short people. must be the soya sauce effect.

but nothing beats the coordinated washing ladies of E6 - jackie and pateel. not only did they have style, they had a washing routine, rhythm and bounce. if i could be a professional plate washer, i would wanna be just like dat.

all in all, it’s been super fun, followed by 2 days of cramming and sweating over an accounting midterm and IT exam. while i feel like I should expound endlessly on the exams, it would just take up useful text space, so i shouldn’t.

i am sure everyone is sick of hearing about my lost mobile phone. i am sure i am sick of telling the story and worst of all, my mobile service is not up yet. how the hell is this possible? How is it possible that customer service dept of mobile phone companies close on weekends? THIS IS FRANCE. land of whinge and unwork. better still, all that bullcrap about having to get a police report so that i don’t have to get charged for a new bankcard was completely false! A trip to BNP today to withdraw cash and inmy savvy Franglish, the truth was discovered. that basically got me fuming mad. Now, i Really feel like a dork for having to queue forever to get a police report. this is worse than betrayal. this is…so freaking french! arghs! i spitz on ze french polize and leur french servise!!

how is this for laughs? trust me, there is nothing funnier than watching middle-aged men doing a rendition of Kraftwerks. click on.

one accounting midterm (11 chpts of work - oh gawd), one IT final (oh f-ing gawd), one nego journal (oh my f-ing gawd) and a ruinous schedule next week. something tells me that i will have to take at least 2 classes off and 4 personal breaks during Markstrat to get over this nightmare.

i can’t even BEGIN to explain how f-ing frustrating dealing with french public services is. Since my most unfortunate lost/stolen possessions incident at the Summer Ball, it has taken a FULL 5 days to try and patch my life back togther. where to even start? Let’s start with the banque, that doesnt work sundays or mondays. brilliant. They also want to charge me 50 Euros for issuing a new card, unless i send them a letter from the police. that meant i found myself standing at the local Fontainebleau police station (for those that don’t know, it’s located where the weekend market is) and attempting to make friendly with the damn police receptionist. So, the deal is this: french police dont take reports during 12-2pm. that’s right, because theft, loss of life, calamities or general molestations do not, i repeat, do not fucking happen anywhere in france during 12-2pm. life is beautiful in france. msg?? come back later and with bits of weird information like my 15 digit transatel secret code…which after some rummaging, i found it nicely printed on my bill.

fast fwd to next day, i am back again at the local police post. this time, with giles in tow since my french is beyond hopeless. but giles has probably the worst french accent ever, i think he only sounds beautiful when ordering meat cuts at the local butcherie. we got IGNORED. pressed like a red hot button. the police doode, fat white kid with serious rolls, did however pass us over for 2 hot, single women in distress. it’s terrible when u have to depend on your job to get smiles from women. either that, or he watched the wedding crashers and learnt all about women in distress and free sex. if so, i dont blame him. one hour passes and giles is getting pissed and i start throwing things around. believe it or not, the saga does not end…because, i need to fucking come back in the evening and hopefully (at this point in time, i am crossing my fingers, saying 10 hail marys), FINALLY make my report!

6pm, i am back at the police station. this time with shota, whose french accent is far superior to giles…which is great cos the same police doode (fat white kid with rolls) aknowledges us and has even a tiny crease of a smile. still, we had to wait 1.5 hours…shota was giving me shit about "is this really necessary? i mean, considering your future earning power, 50 euros is nothing." yea yea…i realize that! anyways, we get shuffled into an INTERVIEW room. and that process takes another 1 hour…cos the lady inspector is writing an entire fucking essay about my life…what happened at the ball…what time did i lose my purse, what colour was my purse, what was the technical name for the purse (sac, portefeille, bag) shota had a blast of a time embellishing the story. "well, she was sitting in the garden…looking sad" the lady inspector is openly flirting now. * roll eyeballs* - f-ing romantics. we get stuck at this one data field - so…which town is the chateau de courances? apparantly, no one knows and becos of that, we can’t move on. i am tapping my feet nervously because i am pissed off. i am 8 chpts behind in reading macro and there is a SHITLOAD of stuff i could possibly do with my time and suffer this indignation. best part: my 15 digit secret transatel code was nowhere needed. just fucking awesome - could have sworn i was tearing my hair out trying to look for it. c’est comme f-ing ca.

i finally got a print out of my report. it’s beautiful, its in french and i am going to frame it. now, i have to bloody pull out another 3 hours from somewhere to read macro. public services in france is a mystery because it’s neither PUBLIC (closes on mondays, all national days and lunchtime) NOR is it SERVICE (only french speaking natives may get occasional nods). in fact, thats my oxymoron word for the week - French Public Services. have to get it entered into oxymoron.com.