It’s been a draining period of meeting up with friends and family, learning about what has gone on in everyone’s existences, a time to breathe, recollect and reassess my roots. Post graduation, I am still pretty much the same person as before, slightly more savvy but at heart, still a fond supporter of the village life, a fighter for the underdog. Despite all this, the pile up of information, collated frustrations from those around me have sometimes forced me to curl up in a ball at nights, and feel the greatest anxiety.

It’s now a time to wrench myself away from the computer on which I spend far too much time on, surfing pages of news, fashion, stock tips - none of these have served to turn any sort of ROI yet. Better still, I have come to cherish the "blurp" sound whenever I get a skype message. It’s sad and it’s true. I need a vacation from the city and from everyone and most of all, myself. I need to be inspired again.

Singapore is great, but I think I had it with malls. 4 days in a row of Starbucks and shopping and I have just about exhausted all my enthusiam, so Vietnam here I come. I will be flying in to Ho Chi Minh, catching the sights and buzz of a newly formed developing city, eat the best pho and train my way to Nha Trang for a beach bumming time, before heading up to Hanoi.

THE BLOG IS MY LIFE…in a world filled with addictions, and in a world where the nouveau thing to do is rid ourselves of addictions, I am keeping my laptop at home, safe amongst my junk of CDs, books and magazines.

Catch ya’ll soon and check my Flickr page for some (hopefully) great pictures.

ciao.

There are a couple of events that often spark meetups between old friends, mes amies anciennes, the last event being Good Vibrations Festival and probably Summer Sonic Festival in Tokyo, circa 2004. Meetups are great, they are random and there is often a quick collective exchange of "What’s up?", "Major events?", "Married or single?" and "Job status?". I feel like I am slowing making my circuit round Singapore, trawling through city malls, cafes, clubs and bookstores to meet with all friends of yore.

But back to 2 Many Djs - one of the best dance sets I have been to in a long time, the last being Gilles Peterson at Favela Chic in Paris. The Belgium crew wasted no time in pitching up the heat, playing an electic mix of funk, new rave, popular hip hop tracks to techno beats. The mood at Zouk was partyesque, with everyone dressed from kitsch, club, cosmopolitan glitz to utilitarian urban gear. And the fantastic duo put the "Un" in Unexpected as there is not a single moment where one can guess what the next track was or how is it possible to beatmix The Killers and Blur? Fucking A and Kudos to a refreshing and daring sound that challenges all dancers and listeners alike.

As we grooved to the serious beats, Darryl leaned over and remarked, "Oi, I think by the end of the night, we will end up at the back of the club". And he was right. Having started at a relatively strategic spot before the DJ, we found ourselves being part of an insurmountable wave of human bodies that ebbed and flowed like the tide. Yet, all is good, because I found myself meeting more random and amies ancienne along the way. At some point, I think I was dancing with some doode whom used to play in my sandbox downstairs my HDB block. Very strange, he still had the same hairstyle, curly and frizzy - so much for the advent of hair technology.

Emily spent the whole night running like a gerbil on a treadmill (literally) and shouting "I live in TAM-PINES!!!". (Which is bullshit because she lives at chi chi Emerald Hill) I say, she needs to be put down with a shot of tranqualizer. But we forgive her since she is the only person we know who makes shoes. I mean, she makes shoes. Do you know anyone that makes shoes? I do, hence I am special.

Dino, fresh off the riverboat from London, still aiming for a shot at dancing for The Stone Roses. But more interestingly, his day job is being a pooey lighting and graphics expert.

Cheryl (of Fru Fru and Tigerlily fame) and Darryl, smiling for me on a cool and wet Singapore night.

And of course…the stars that made our night and provided the lace ribbon that nicely tied up the friendship box.

2 Many DJs

Re-reading both Alice in Wonderland and its sequel, Through The Looking Glass, as an adult is a moment to be savored feverishly. When Ashvin passed me his copy of The Annotated Alice, I was pysched. My last brush with Alice in Wonderland was as a child, where I marvelled at the magical world that Alice entered, at the apparant fun of having tea all day with The Mad Hatter and being able to jump around on a chessboard all day with talking pieces. (It definitely made me feel less weird about talking to myself)

Reading Alice as an adult is a whole different experience. The world of Wonderland is one that is surreal, deviant, strange and Faust-like. It’s akin to Middle Earth in a Tolkien experience, but with cuter animals. The White Rabbit, ever sinister and obsequious, who seems as ready to betray and as ready to befriend. I always wondered if the evil white rabbit in Donnie Darko was based on this white rabbit. The Cheshire Cat, while smiling, is never quite to be trusted. It’s bodiless floatation stunt during the The Queen’s coquet game makes reference to the ideas of the philosphical self and the concept of existence. It is a macabre world where Time is not a concept but a personified manifestation and where drinking tea the whole day seems like a mundane but undisplaced affair. That when the Mock Turtle and Gryphon gather in an arcane sea-dance, while singing a Lobster Quadrille…it all seems almost normalesque. And the strangest thing is - Alice seems to be the most out-of-place creature in this imaginary fantasia (see the The Tea-Party scene), where her sense of logic and curiosity is consistently shut down by the seemingly nonsensical answers from the Doormouse. As a children’s book, Lewis Carroll has addressed some incredibly staid and dark themes, such as death and power. The role of the Queen of Hearts, whose preference for any solution is "off with his head!" and the apparant fear of her subjects is one that reminds us of the political nature in which, even this imaginery world is subjected to. We learn as children, the concept of apparant ugliness, that Alice was made uncomfortable by The Duchess, who was extremely "ugly" and possessed a "very sharp chin" - a popular literary tool to reflect one’s inner persona perhaps. Through the Looking Glass is ever more darker, possibly a reflection of Lewis Carroll’s life at that point in time.

The Annotated version is a treasure trove with earmarks of history, odd references to word puns, poems and titbits into Lewis Carroll’s personality. Charles Ludtwidge Dogdson was an author, a mathematician and logician, amongst other things. Within Alice, logic and symbolism often appear amongst the nonsensical dialogues, that charm children but serve as illustrations to adults on much deeper themes.

I learn that Alice changes her size 12 times precisely during the course of her adventures. And that all animals, except the dog speaks to her. That Lewis Carroll uses the technique of recursion to illustrate a dream within a dream (where Alice’s sister dreams of being in Alice’s dream). I also learn that Lewis Carroll had an odd fascination with young girls, wishing fervantly that they never grew up, that he often photographed young girls and wrote letters to them. That Alice in Wonderland was a story written for the Lidell sisters, whom he was extremely fond of. And yes, this is slightly freaky and Michael Jackson-like, but I am thinking that’s where MJ got his inspiration from.

A lot of the Annontated version focuses on Sir John Tenniel’s artwork and one can see the many different illustrations of the each character through the years.

And if you want to know how this came about, it was because a bunch of overly ambitious but bored MBAs decided that they could be part-time philosophers and mathematicians.

In between lucid moments, when i am not impatiently awaiting the next episode of Prison Break (something, which by the way, i refused to watch until my current beached whale status), I thumb through Godel, Escher, Bach - a wonderful not-so-little book on logic, math, systems and the mind. And this is just a pathetic synopsis of the actual greatness of the book and its author, Douglas Hofstadter. GEB is really an awesome book if you ever find the time and the mental energy to sustain 800 pages of fables, scientific discourse, spiralled art, all set to the background examples of Bach’s music, Escher’s art and Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem. And the mind is self-selecting, showing clearly that I gravitate towards the examples of Bach and Escher with greater clarity than towards Godel’s work - which is mind-boggling to say the least.

And that’s usually when I switch over to watch Prison Break. I have since learnt how prisoners may fashion an escape from simple items such as peroxides, one screwdriver and a toilet seat. Very confounding but heck, when Benoit said he would give up dating just to watch Prison Break, I figured i would give it a go. And therein lies the terrible error - as I sit in my bed clicking Play with just a tad of remorse. I feel like i am living out a line from Oscar Wilde - "The only thing I cannot resist is temptation." Oi, that’s me, unable to wrest myself from the lurid lives of convicts.

There is a trend in drama programs these days, they prompt unknown factoids because these things enthrall the audience. Little known facts such as a combination of toothpaste and some kind of acid melts steel - great news…that one can utter the word "cerebral cortex" without gaffing is also quite cool. And we see it with books, with the latest reglious Da Vinci Code-esque books to suck in the reader with general truths (i use this loosely) that have been overly well-researched in the past decades. Still, all this makes viewers and readers alike feel as if they are learning something, albeit the timelines are wrong, the quantatitive measures used to melt steel seem a tad too little to render real damage, the protaganists seem overly intelligent or just plain lucky, but yes, it appeals to our sense of learning while relaxing.

But all these things are passive and just sometimes…u got to get active. Hence, a shoot-them-up playstation game in a sexy environment. I realize that despite being a sportsman for many years and possessing decent hand-eye coordination skills, the Playstation 3 has daunted my self-confidence somewhat - actually, it more like destroyed my self-belief that i may have had some coordination skills. It is just too damn confusing with 8 different buttons, a whole host of action commands (who computes that fast?!) and not to mention, a gameplay storyline that could leave the secret service chasing after their own tails.

Gaming houses these days - wow! Plush chairs, 42" flat screen tvs, cushions and your very own curtained corner. Amazing…and drinks come included.

  i applaud Colin and Ash for trying as hard as they did. Gears of War is not a simple affair, at least not for a bunch of spreadsheet geniuses like us…we got as far as the practice range and Level 1. I do believe we also selected the "Friendly Fight" option or whatever equivalent of it. Pathetic…but one can only try

Because Paddy had interviewed Rachael Yamagata, by the fate and luck of the media world, I got a free ticket to watch Rachael Yamagata at The Esplanade. I never say no to free tickets in Singapore, just because concerts by foreign artistes are extremely pricey (versus play time). Chicago-based Rachael Yamagata is a worthwhile listen, if you like poprock and can imagine Dusty Springfield/ Patti Smith’s vocals layered on the folk-rock of Norah Jones/Fiona Apple. Her songs are heartfelt (although I had hoped for more pronounced lyrical finesse) and they are mostly about fractured relationships, which can make it hard for the listener at times (Especially if you are a male or going through a terrible emotional mess).

Her performance was noteworthy, with a great 4-piece backing band, extremely tight and with a good showing. Having a grand Steinway & Sons piano also helps (I want, I want!!) as Rachael played out her best tunes on love, regret and heartache. I am not sure if listening to Rachael Yamagata is good for me, just because she can be so sad, but also scarily one-dimensional about love. It seems very often that the woman is a victim here. And as much as I would like to conveniently believe that true, having gone through the worst heartbreak I have ever suffered in my life, it cannot be possible that something that was once as beautiful and whole can turn into an utter piece of crap the next? I am not one to judge one’s lyrics or life but can it be possible that there can be such great amounts of hurt exist? Perhaps, it’s that co-dependency diesease rearing its ugly head, which tends to afflict more women than men. Ah well, if you are ever searching for heartbreak songs that don’t help to heal, I would suggest listening to Rachael Yamagata.

The audience was surprisely upbeat and consisted of a good mix of yuppies and hi-schoolers, who had probably heard Rachael Yamagata off the latest O.C soundtrack (Those O.C people really know how to propel unknowns to fame). The only low but funny point during the show was when some dude courageously shouts out for Rachael to sing "I wish you Love" and she looks confused, as it is a cover and not an original. I am not sure if I had heard Rachael Yamagata actually cover that song and am seriously wondering if the dude had confused her with Lisa Ono instead, who did indeed cover "I wish you love". Very strange. You know, all these Japanese types…they have such similar names.

And so…I wish you love, to everyone out there who is attempting to find love, who has it and those of us that have fleeting moments of it (in whatever form or substance). Me? I think I find ultimate love in Rocher Road’s Soya Bean Curd. Excellent stuff.

Yenny, ally and I made a pact to do a movie marathon yesterday, which by some twisted fate, became a mere 2 movies that had a thematic sonar to it. Both movies were not only about war, but losing battles. How we came to this decision on these movie picks is a long and winding comedy of errors, but anyways… And of course, with any losing battle, there is a sense of stoicism that surrounds it.

Letters from Iwo Jima was a touching and sympathetic film about the Hirshoshima bombing, bringing to life onscreen the foibles and struggles of those that fight this war of ideology and politicians, with little more than just faith in their country and the need to protect their loved ones. It’s heartbreaking, at at certain points, terribly austere. The movie did feature the best of Japan, i mean, Japanese men. We all firmly agreed that amongst the core cast, there would be a good range of cute/hot men that are definitely dateable. I think I will take Kenji’s advice and sign up to destinajapan.com (a premier online dating service) ;) 

Satisfying our lust of single-eyelidded men, we moved on to the well-steeled Adonis bodies of Greece - 300. Was a Frank Miller comic (therefore expect blood and gore) and now turned into a movie with numerous well-sculpted men with 10 packs for a stomach, in little more than thongs - very nice. The movie attempted for the same colouring and employed a cross-style of stylistics, mimicking both Sin City (read: tepid one-liners, violence) and Gladiator (read: Kodak moments). There were moments where I just felt that it was overly stylistic and almost fakish in a comic way, but hey, I think it was totally the intention.

Onward bound! On to Beat! I swing by and grab Ashvin and we slink our way across Singapore to Beat! - my fave indierock event, where we can dance in a carefree and debonair fashion to the best of indie dance hits. So what’s great about going to an indierock night in Asia? The shameless need to snap fotos and we spend the entire night jigging and taking silly pics of eachother - almost like a "foto danceoff". For those that don’t know what a danceoff is, it’s when 2 breakdance crews have a show-down to see who is the ultimate spinner on the streets. see below for example (this happened on the streets yesterday by the way):

Scenes from our photo-off:

Sharm, who is a secret tekno-muzak fan, DJs at indierock night and has been caught dancing to Jay-Z at certain dubious hip hop events, being of dubious nature himself…

The only reason why Joe is allowed to Dj is because 1) he is the godfather of indierock in Singapore 2) he brings in the ladies (and there are plenty) 3) he has great back catalog (wah, i feel my age encroaching).

Ginette on the decks, who occasionally chooses to shock and show her love for house music by spinning random house tracks that vacates the dancefloor immediately, no thanks to self-righteous indiepoppers. But I love house, so I incorporate my robot moves to the beats of electronic swirls.

Tessa is so shy but she is wearing the most bomb-ass dress ever. It’s extremely Audrey Hepburn, very nice. plus, she has some seriously good robot moves, i cower in her mechanical presence. i love!

  The scene at Beat! Over-zealous kids that sing all the lyrics to Muse, The Killers and more…but I think only us indie yuppies have nice gear. Who said money cannot buy you style? Especially those of us that are in deeply in debt have the best style (hypothesis). Proof:

told ya so…cannot be…beat.

Living out of a suitcase is frustrating certainly, especially for a music aficionado like moi. Having lost my favorite Etymotic 6i earphones to the dastardly constant knot-twisting that comes with frequent movement and travel, my sound world has been in the doldrums. And it doesn’t help that my DJ equipment is split up somewhere in a warehouse in Paris and along the fancy streets of Boulevard Beaumarchais. But one cannot live like a barbarian…so…hello to my new Audio-Technicas!  Not as fancy as my Siennheiser HD monitoring headphones but definitely better than the standard out-of-the-box ipod ones. Not bad for a set of headphones that is meant to tide me over for the next few months until i see my proper headphones again.

What’s so important about sound quality? Firstly, the separation of different sounds on the x-y-z dimension. Without a good set of headphonees, you are just never going to get the depth and dimension of a phat production. Secondly, it’s all about noise cancellation, be it active or passive cancellation. External noise is not part of a musical piece and should be kept out at all costs. Thirdly, it’s about the bass man. Nothing is worse than listening to the tinkering of a rockin’ Neptune Brothers track.

So what are the key things to make sense of when getting a pair of headphones? The problem with most music we listen to today is that CD quality is fundementally meant for large speakers; hence, any headphones will never give you the dynamic depth necessary to enjoy the full experience. Couple that with mp3 ripping, which essentially squeezes the bass tones out of the production, this creates a certain hi-pitched squeekiness to the music. Thus,the only way is to find a workaround (called trade-off).

Well, I think getting a set of closed-backed headphones are essential to block out ambient noise. This will also ensure that you don’t turn your ipod volume up too too high, which could cause all sorts of distortions to the sound (in addition to going deaf…and for the wrong reasons too!). Having a set of headphones with wide frequency range is also important, that means that the headphones will be able to capture a whole range of low and hi sounds. A low output impedence is also good, but rare in most off-the-shelf headphones, but given that an ipod is not sufficiently well-powered, you ain’t losing out too too much with a higher impedence level. Next, I would say, weight and design has an overall impact and this is completely suited to your lifestyle and needs (ie. if you need these phones for running, sitting on the metro, dj-ing on the fly) but i think this is where most of the trade-off action is. Because we need to find well-designed headphones that meet our hectic lives, we often trade off the rest of the important stuff.

The next step to combat: having to go into the studio to work on my new mix album, which i hope will be a fun and awesome attempt at bringing together different musical influences. We all do what we can, and if there isn’t a band, or a music studio or even a pair of bomb-ass speakers, i will have to settle for starting something new. cheerios.

I am pysched, so pysched that I cannot sleep, unless I pen this blog, having been so powerfully affected by Jaga Jazzist’s performance. There comes a rare time when you don’t just "watch a gig", but you "participate with a performance", you see what the band sees and you hear every single note. Tonight was such an event.

We begin…with an Introduction:

Tonight’s opening act, The Observatory, played a strong set, having further developed their sound. I have always been a fan of Leslie Low’s music, and have followed him and his band avidly since Humpback Oak days. To this date, I still think Circling Square is one of my fave tunes. I often hum it to myself, especially on long bus rides. But The Observatory today is of a new breeding, a cross between Tortoise and Jaga Jazzist, where the discordant meets mellifluous melody and then, there is silence and a sense of turbulent calm.

There is a kind of songwriting that to me, isn’t about writing a song, so much as music-crafting. And that is what The Observatory have attempted to do. To piece together several pieces of musical ideas into a continous track, leading the listener to wonder if they are entering one world or a series of separate scenes. I am a fan, and it always refreshing to hear a band as brave as The Observatory.

The Body:

I am left with very little words to describe Jaga Jazzist, and at the same time, I am absolutely blown away at the sheer confluence of sound, texture, emotion, blown away by the intelligence in their craft. Jaga Jazzist is not a band that one can easily classify, utilising electronic beats, jazz improv techniques, flutes and horns, rock guitars, xylophones and top it off with a vibraphone and keyboard. And just as The Observatory is to the attempt of music-crafting, Jaga Jazzist are not only masters at their craft but also masters of conjuring an experience - an experience of lush pyscho-realities, mixed with such clarity of sound that it hurts.

If you have ever worked in a band, you will know that 2 is a crowd, 3 is tough and anything more than that takes a toil on your songwriting soul, at which point, artists often quit and go "solo". Jaga Jazzist is a tight band of 10, with each musician taking on more than 3 instruments, that means a total of 30 instruments or so on stage. They have names I cannot pronouce but it’s all about the music, which I shall expound shamelessly on.

The best way to dissect their sound is simply to revert back to classical music theory - the canonical form, which essentially comprises of a repetitive melody (a lead part) that has accompaniment parts that follow. Sometimes, the canon is modified with stylistic devices such as inversion, odd note pairings or forcing an off-beat to occur. Jaga Jazzist has harnessed and modernised the canon perfectly, with lead chiming melodies that repeatedly capture your attention. However, listen closely and you will hear undertones, notes that are played on contrare to the main melody line, featuring different instruments that have differing voicings. Ever so often, one of the instruments forces an odd beat to occur, forcing the pitching and pace to shift, but not before returning back to the original lead melody some moments later. Classical concept, with jazz improv understylings. nice. discordant, daring and just…inexplicable.

This presents the listener with a 3D picture, where at first glance, it is a complex picture of prints and one does not know what one is looking at, but look again and deeper this time, and you will see the picture magically appear; with depth, colour and dimension. And THAT is Jaga Jazzist - whose magical music possess depth, colour and  an infinity of dimension. It is a sound that, to describe it as "simply complex" is too undeserving, so one has to explore other ways of describing it.

Perhaps, using the specific language of math, it is the instance where where the figure meets the ground and despite it having to be tradionally separate, it gets all muddled up. There is no telling where a Jaga Jazzist track begins and where the main melody or lead instrument cedes ito the background, letting another take its place. it all gets intertwined and one is overwhelmed with the feeling of infinity and completeness. Somewhat akin to Richard Linklater’s first movie, Slackers, where the camera trails separate indivduals going about their daily interactions, where each scene passes from the first person to enter the scene and ends off with the second person exiting the scene and entering a new scene with a third person. There is a sense of transience, but not without hope or discipline, because there is a focus to this music, it leads the listener to want more. And so, Jaga Jazzist to me is perfectly Euclidean - simple in its complexity and elegant in representation.

Like a good relationship, good music gives tension, meaning there is a push-pull effect. It has to be fun, exciting, unpredictable but overall, gives you a guarantee that at the end of the day, it’s going to work out just fine. I think I may have unwittingly formed a relationship with Jaga Jazzist. Not a bad thing at all.

The End:

When Jaga Jazzist played Day, it brought back strong memories of running in the forests of Fontainebleau, on a cool spring day. It is not good enough that I blog about them, but I also managed to give a quote on the band for the Mosaic magazine, so that’s cool. And I got to practice the 5 Norwegian phrases that I know.

I once got asked in a Lehman interview," I see that u are a musician. Can you tell me how music makes you a better banker?" I didn’t have a good response to that, but I think I can answer what makes a good musician good. It is the following: It is discipline, a mastery of your craft and imagination. The ability to internalize and utilize your experiences and classical learnings but then, extrapolate them to push for new frontiers. There are musicians that make good doing "the safe and usual" and then there are those of us that strive to test the audience’s safety barriers. And that is Jaga Jazzist - complete. complex. compelling.

To hear the band, check out their site. or better yet, just buy the fucking cd. http://www.jagajazzist.com/v2/biography.php

When I texted Ally and Yenny to "Get dressed to either play boardgame or go dancing - whichever rocks our boat", i didn’t expect that we would end up doing BOTH. It’s one of those nights where the weird and the wacky happens and just not-so-very-often, one gets an illuminating, all-nu-sensation.

Post-dinner, since the dorky me had brought out Both Scrabble and CSI - The Boardgame, we headed to a cafe to begin the challenge. Overhead, hip hop was spinning the whole night and after a while, spiced tea did it no more for me.

We decided to take a short jaunt down to The Butter Factory and sweat it to Sexyback. 3 oddly-dressed girls that had tried to make the bridge between boardgaming and dancing arrived on a scene that was heated, sweaty and already in the groove, so…we got our drinks and headed right to it.

A special night is when you get free drinks within the first 5 minutes of entering a club. As I stand at the bar to order, some nice-ish doode parts with his beer (seeing that I had ordered beer) and said, " You should have my beer. I am driving." And I responded, " Your beer looks grotty. I am also driving, unless my face is more crash-worthy than yours." He smiled weakly, but still insisted on giving me his beer. So, I took it and since there was no one else to give it to, i basically drank it up.

An hour into dancing, and I was totally deconstructing the brillance of Pharrell Williams with Ally, some cute Chinese boy rams right in between and yells, "I am sorry. I am sorry, but I am drunk". He then proceeds to stare at me meaningfully, as if to say I am not sorry and I am not that drunk. But perhaps that was a great pick up line. Totally miffed that someone broke my rap flow, I stared at him with my hard, and narrowed eyes (quite hard, since I now have eyelashes that make me look perpetually surprised). and told him, "You are obviously not drunk enough since you know that you are sorry and that you are drunk." Surprised by my pseudo-attack, he slunk away in shame, but NOT before apologising again that he was sorry and that he was drunk. A bit one-dimensional this boy, and quite apologetic too. I suspect if we put a wordcloud on his vocab, sorry and drunk would come out quite over-used.

But here is the thing, why do asian boys have such crappy pickup lines? If you are going to extend yourself then do it properly you know…not this half-ass pity-me and maybe-i-hope-to-get-some-play-who-knows-right is not going to work. Even if you manage to get a chick for the night, you really need to ask yourself if it’s going to be a good lay/ post-coital conversation, but then, I think sorry and drunk pretty much works for him where vocab was concerned. And this boy was cute, we all agreed. C’est dommage. He spent the rest of the night forlornly looking quite sorry in the corner of the club.

Highlight of the night and this fully summarizes why this was such the McDaddy of all evenings. We got showered with free Moet from a bunch of hot models. At this point in time, my weak beer (albeit free) is starting to look just desperate next to the Moet. So, I graciously accepted, thanked our lovely friends and proceeded to strut to Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean.

Post-party, we get cornered by one of the hottest Keanu lookalikes who is trying to demonstrate his intellectual prowess to a model kling-on (more about this subject later). Keanu was pointing frantically at a wall of celebs and screaming, "Dont you know who this is?!?!" He turned his facist anger upon us 3 oddly dressed individuals, at which, Ally coolly responds, "Dude, it’s Peewee Herman." SCORE! It is true, 2 accountants and a fake investment banker with an overpriced MBA later, the score is 1-0-0. One for the intellectually savvy but un-modelline girls, 0 for the Canadian Keanu and definitely 0 for the kling-on. Keanu is excited and screaming, well, more like chittering, "Finally! Someone in Singapore knows who this is!" I really don’t see what the big deal of Peewee is, I mean, he is a great guy, but is bullahoo necessary?! So I interjected," This is coming from a dude whose national mascot is a beaver?!" Score again!!! mua kakaka. The kling-on is apologetic, he doesn’t know who Peewee is, but he has nice clothes, which helps keep up with the Joneses. Now, the models are excited, they want to learn about Singapore, about SIngpaore’s mascot and we patiently impart…yes, M-E-R-L-I-O-N….yes, and finally, blowing kisses in the wind, I leave them with life’s best advice…LEARN TO SPELL, it’s good for you. (Notice how I am pedantic about this, but not on my spelling, because my speeling is atrocious).

I tell u! beeteer learn to speellll.

Good night, good hope and good luck.

I was inspired to check out Planet Earth - a BBC/ Discovery channel production,  where each film takes a hefty 2GB worth of hard disk space to download…and for me, that is quite a lofty commitment, given that I am such a stinge when it comes to hard disk space - being the download vortex and everything that comes close to this form of activity.

It was therefore a welcome relief to peel myself away from the greenback turtle (whom eats only once in 2 mths while en route to laying its eggs near the Galapogos Islands) and meet Ginette at Dempsey Road. This whole area that used to house antique shops (and I use this word loosely, because not every Buddha head and teak table is antique, it just looks old due to the dust prevalent in these stores) catering to the white expat with Asianized ambitions, has changed and now houses breezy bars, luscious restaurants that are set amidst a heavy foilage. It’s all very pretty. And thankfully, I dressed up for the occasion since I had no clue where we were going to and frankly, I was getting bored of Singapore, having no place to wear my Anna Sui dress to.

The PS Cafe (stands for Project Shop, not Post-script) is a white-walled and wooden floor affair, decorated with huge vases of fresh flowers, home-made cookies and a wall-to-wall menu. The old colonial building has been transformed to house an indoors air-conditioned eating area as well as an al fresco exterior, nestled within the heart of bamboo trees. The food is wholesome and fresh and by Singapore standards, a totally worthwhile cafe experience. The menu features items such as rack of roasted lamb, large cesear’s salads, thick and creamy potatoe and leek soup (yums) and a range of simple pastas. The service is also highly commendable, with friendly and chirpy staff running around the 200-seater restaurant.

And it has been forever and a day since Gin and I caught up, everything from job, to parents, to relationships, music and travels. Amidst a generally professional and yuppy crowd, we strangely stuck out, 2 girls in a moderneque twist of 1960’s clothing, wearing Casio digital watches, but hey…going against the grain takes much grit, ya know!? It’s heartening to know that your good friends are doing well and that life is working out for them and although I haven’t been away for too too long, it does feel like forever and a day as everyone lightening speeds through their life. I get all sorts of feel-good advice (mostly around fixing myself up and forgetting about unworthy heartbreaks) and we swop stories on the latest CSI/ animal planet fodder that we have been watching. Comfort food for the stomache and comfort friends for the soul…

Clean lines and retro-modern decor inspired from the 70’s. Ginette was super pleased with her choice of salad and pasta.

Too bad I am sick with a stomach flu, which is probably a manifestation of my attitude towards life and being in Singapore, but at least i got to parade my dress. finalement…