3 ALTERNATIVE CHRISTMAS STORIES

JF's Christmas at the Pool

"It's the eve of Christmas eve, 'round 1pm, one of those very quiet times at the pool, and so I was washing up with the shower door wide open, just so to keep an eye on my stuff which I'd left on the changing station ahead of me. You know me, I'm not shy like that. 

So I'm working up a treat with my new handmade geranium essential oil soap, I always use bar soap, I don't fancy gel. And I turn around and suddenly this tiny Chinese Hobbit, not very old, probably in his early thirties, was sitting right next to my stuff, so needless to say I had to keep an eye on him. 

The ACS Swimming Pool where so many things happened in my secondary school days.

Consciously nonchalant, acting oblivious, I continued soaping up and down my smooth flanks and sides, but became increasingly irked when I realised that I was putting on a Christmas show for that guy who kept gawking unabashedly. I really just couldn't hold it in any longer so I said very loudly, projecting across the room: "Excuse me, but what the flying fuck are you staring at?" 

"Ohhh... Ahhh, I wanted to ask you if I can borrow your soap?" he replied lamely.

So I said, "My soap isn't between my legs, you fuck!" 

Still relentless, he had the cheek to say, "Why do you shave down there? It's so ugly..." 

At this, I hurled my bar of soap in his face, hitting his right eye, and only then did he scurry off, Arena trunks, rubber sandals and drippy hair. 
I wasn't a marksman in the army for nothing."

Plaza Singapura in 1977

JZD's Christmas AT THE PLAZA MALL

Last night, amidst the plastic and tin foil-y Christmas decor at the Plaza Mall, JZD told me why he’s perpetually depressed. "It's not just Christmas," he said. As I suspected, it was about his family, a broken home and worse. His depression wasn’t about Nelson as I had thought, whom he had just met, and was all excited about; All anxious and nervous that it may all turn out to be naught. JZD isn’t quite as confident as he liked to present himself to be, but just as insecure as his good friend G, who no longer lives with him. They fought over rent, amongst other things, and G moved back to her parents' last Christmas.

KL model Haikal Hazman Hashim 

AY's Christmas Online

"So I met this dude online last Christmas, and he's a Chinese dude. We have been talking for a year now and indeed, he's very entertaining for a chat buddy. We would chat every day without fail, about this and that; However, when I asked him what race he preferred to date, I felt saddened to learn that he preferred to date a Chinese dude. I know it's his preference and what not, but I’m afraid he won't accept me as a potential date, because I'm not Chinese. I have yet to tell him that I’m Malay, so he doesn’t know this, even though we've been chatting for a year. He’s seen my photos though, but he doesn't seem to think that I'm Malay. 

Should tell him my race or just wait? I'm really confused..."

WHAT IS NORMCORE? DO YOU CARE?

NOTES TO THE NEW HIPSTER

Is there to be no end to the indignities to suffered by the chronically clued-in? As the new “Normcore” trend breaks into our collective consciousness, here are some notes on how to be, or not to be.

1. Firstly, don’t worry too much about precisely defining Normcore; Just take it that a silly fashion director somewhere decided to spell Hipster with an ‘N’, and go on making your lunch. It’s only fashion jargon and you have a living to make.

2. The guiding principle for fashion jargon seems always to be on a need to know basis and you, a mere non-fashion professional, need only know this: The fashion pendulum has swung yet again, and now, the epitome of cool is the anti-cool.

3. Normcore is about affordable, bland, functional anti-style. It’s conventional and nondescript drag, stuff you can pull out of your dryer drum anytime and wear with devastating buff nails. 

4. Examples given of this trend seem marked by white sneakers, dull zip-ups and not-skinny jeans, in other words, stuff you wore when you were in NUS. A Normcorer dresses like an undergrad seeking to blend in, rather than stand out. 

5. According to "experts", Normcore is a reaction against the aggressive coolness that relies on vivid difference (studded trophy platforms, K-pop type synchronized dancing, nail art) to a post-cool of authenticity and sameness. To me, this “sameness” thing is troubling. If all around you are synchronized dancing in studded and screaming prints, the Normcorer will not fit in – she will stand out in her discreet denims, plaid shirt-dress and trainers. Is Normcore grunge spelt with an N?

6. The horribly termed Normcore was coined by K-HOLE, a New York-based trend forecasting group. They define it as “a desire to be blank.” But this concept and its assumption that the average hipster isn’t blank would immediately present a challenge for those for which this is relevant. What if you were already blank, as so many hipsters naturally must be? What if you didn’t fundamentally have any identity or persona at all and studied fashion in Perth? What if shopping at Givenchy actually gave your life purpose? Then how do you adopt the Normcore?

7. Who are you if your clothes are brand-free and logo-less? Wouldn’t you be a complete nonentity without a single label signifier? Since Normcore has nothing to do with flashy fashion and more to do with character, it would present a particular challenge to those who would most want to embrace it. The Singapore fashion scene is after all filled with an inhuman army of the vacuous. 

8. So. Instead of scratching your head over every last trend, perhaps you should take a cold shower and then go out there and do something useful with your life.

A version of this piece appears in Style: June 2014.

JAY CHOU: HOW ARE YOU?

I didn't immediately fall in love with this Jay Chou song but on repeated hearings, in DH's car, in one taxi after another, I got hooked, and decided to upload it onto my iPod (yes, I have two!) and iPhone (obviously, this technical feat deserves a long blog posting all by itself). I've been listening to it ever since. Here's the quite-strange video. The wonderfully gifted Mr Chou has suddenly gone quite matured, so this song, for me, has the added sadness of lost youth.

Isn't it great though that this video has the lyrics translated in English? It immediately lifted what could have been merely another superb sentimental ballad into something memorable, quite up there with any of Mr Chou's best. There's metaphysical poetry in the lyrics - unexpectedly, movingly used. In my mind's eye, Jay is still the youth in this picture

I've said this many times before, and written about this a few times: Jay Chou's appeal, for me at least, is because he seems the ideal Ah Beng (none Singaporeans may not understand this genre of masculinity). He is the soul of the Ah Beng. His singing is like the sweet and strong essence of 10,000 Ah Bengs rolled into one keening, sobbing, sighing tune.

He Said She Said

"A poet must take as his material his own language as it is actually spoken around him. The music of poetry, then, will be a music latent in the common speech of his time." - T S Eliot
That would mean Singlish to you and me.

Queen Liz

Please do not show this to Anna Dello Russo 'cos she also want!

More Poor Linda/ Leopard Preens/ Scandal

Poor Linda.
Now age 45, she has split with billionaire Hard Rock founder Peter Morton, 64, in fall, after a series of disagreements. According to a family source Mr Morton is very settled in Malibu, while Linda liked to spend time in Canada and New York. She is high-maintenance and likes to be treated like a princess. "Some members of Peter's family were not too fond of her, and were dismayed when she appeared around last Thanksgiving with a large diamond ring on her finger. But the marriage never happened," the source reportedly said.
Linda, who started dating Morton in late 2006 when she was pregnant, denied reports that the father of her son, Augustin James, was Francois-Henri Pinault, Salma Hayek's husband.
Linda's agent, Didier Fernandez, said: "She has never said who the father is."
Sources confirm that billionaire Gucci owner Pinault is in fact the father, and this has caused rivalry between Linda and Hayek. And then there are the bizarre Talbot ads.Source: Page Six

Purrr-fect

Just in time for Christmas, Tod's launches their Gommini loafer in a special 'leopard' print, made from calf skin using pony fur processing. It's pretty perfect for now and looks like a classic... Although it looks to me more accurately a 'cheetah' preen then 'leopard' preen but there you go. I like...

Spotted

Anna Dello Russo very jealous, she also want.

Old Places

I spent alot of last night tucked up in bed, with a cup of rose tea, watching the re-telecast of Royston Tan's (executive producer) feature-length documentary Old Places on TV. It's been ages since I've sat through any TV programme, and I think it commendable and elegantly made, if ever too slightly glossy for my taste.
"I think I’m better at telling Singapore stories. I feel for all the little things and that kind of feelings you cannot have in any other place. I try and shoot in other countries, and I don’t have that kind of connection. For example, we had a project in China. I realised whatever I was absorbing, I was always the third party. So you are almost seeing things from out of the picture. But when I’m shooting in Singapore, I’m inside the picture. There’s a lot of attachment." - Royston Tan

With background commentary featuring the voices of Singaporeans recalling their memories of the disappearing places in Singapore as the scenes of 46 locations unfold and track in composedly, it records, in oral history tradition, a lost Singapore. The voices were, literally, phoned-in. It's a laudable effort, intelligent and thoughtful; It's a record that someone had to make, and I'm glad that it's Royston Tan. I've long admired Mr Tan's work for capturing, and romanticising, the idea of Singapore (in a few interesting films), as no Singaporean director has been able (or perhaps, been willing) to do. This documentary fits his ouevre perfectly and has a special 'rightness'. It's like a Dick Lee pop song made lushly visual, isn't it?And yet, I wasn't moved. It feels controlled, and cool, and art directed to whithin an inch of its life. All the unruly things, the unpretty, the conflicting, the dark depths have been cropped and scripted out, and so all that makes a landmark meaningful are missing. It's picture postcard perfect.
I like postcards; But they too, are a thing of the past.

Directed by Royston Tan, Victric Thng and Eva Tang.

Weekend Reading List

When I was still buying books, and still travelling, I had a tall stack of travel books that fuelled and inspired me. Recently, in a new bid to spring clean the shelves (white shelves look neat and crisp in pictures but are hell to maintain, let me tell you) I came across two books from that era. Where are the others from this series? I have in hand The Best American Travel Writing 2004 (edited by Pico Iyer), and 2008 (edited by Anthony Bourdain); The rest are missing. But then I'm only doing two shelves this time, so the missing years might again turn up, in the manner of forgotten hurts, or retired handphones. Yes, inconveneintly.Flipping through the well-thumbed pages, I discovered how my tastes have changed and narrowed. I'm no longer interested in most of the pieces. I'm not that interested in the American pieces at all. I'm not interested in Patagonia. Nova Scotia. South Africa. I read the Joan Didion (above, in a photo by Brigitte Lacombe) piece Histroy Lesson (Travel + Leisure) about a little museum in Rue de Monceau in Paris, a graceful little piece that said so many things at so many levels. I read the Bill Donahue story Under The Sheltering Sky (The Washington Post Magazine) which was as much a portrait of Paul Bowles as it is about Tangier. Simon Doonan's Brighton Beach Memoir (Travel + Leisure) is still tart, and Karl Taro Greenfeld's Hope and Squalor at Chungking Mansion (WorldHum.com)familiar; But then Mr Taro Greenfeld's work is always about squalor. The Peter Gwin piece Dark Passage (National Geographic) is about Batam. Squalor. Next Stop, Squalor, by John Lancaster (Smithsonian) is about package tours to the biggest slum in Asia, the 432 acre squatter settlement Dharavi, Mumbai.
I almost wrote Manila. I was in Manila last month and I must say most of this sprawling, grey city seemed like a squatter settlement. Plus the food is quite inedible.A brief, but evocative piece by Emily Maloney, Mr Tingler (TheSmartSet.com) was about hostel (yes, hostel, not hostile) relations in Salvador, Brazil. Journey Into Night by David Sedaris (The New Yorker) was about flying business class. This is now nostalgia for me, as I was recently booted out of Singapore Airlines's PPS membership. Another piece from The New Yorker (still one of my favourite magazines) is Three Chopsticks, by Calvin Trillin. It's about Singapore food, about K F Seetoh's Makansutra guidebooks, about eating. This is a familiar piece, I've read it so many times. I love Singapore. I love staying at home, sleeping in my own bed, eating my own food.

Weekend Reading List: We, The Citizens

Where were you in 1982? That was the year I won a Speech Day prize in school and this was it - a slim package, with an officious blue satin ribbon. When unwrapped, it was the first edition (1982) of Toh Paik Choo's Eh, Goondu! You have to think about why this would have been given out as a prize at the annual Speech Day. Did the school's Christian Book Shop want to unload extra copies? Was it an act of inspiration or humour? Was the principal slightly whacky? Was it, in fact, a booby prize? (I've not heard anyone say 'booby prize' for an age!) It's a Singlish phrasebook, and reading it today, queer and anachronistic. It's been ages since I've heard persons described as mong char char if they are blur, for instance. Or silly street rhymes like:
"A, B, C,
Kiam chye cha lo ti,
Chow sek chow mati."
Perhaps it was alread queer and anachronistic in 1982.
I can't remember anymore, it was pretty long ago; I don't even think schools nowadays have Speech Days, do they? I'm glad Ms Toh recorded this passing tradition for posterity; I don't think she thought it would be such a treasure trove when she first decided to collect it as this comic volume.A lot later in life, my ex boss, Michael Chiang gave me (inscribed and signed!) his book Private Parts & Other Play Things: A Collection of Popular Singapore Comedies, comprising the plays he wrote over the years, all of them huge crowd pleasers. They were blockbusters for the local theatre, including Army Daze, Beauty World and Mixed Signals. Mr Chiang, a mentor for many, has had a huge influence in my life, ever since I interned for him when he was editing Go Magazine. Remember Go? The first shoot I ever did was with Pat Chan. Remember Pat Chan?To round off this little lead-up to National Day (people who know me know I love Singapore! The older I get, the more patriotic I feel), I'm looking at Tropical Garden Plants (William Warren), which isn't strictly a Singaporean book, but its gorgeous photographs by Luca Invernizzi Tettoni illustrate the flora that I love so well, and help me identify the plants all around me. I always fall back on this book when I want to learn about the trees and flowers that make this city so pretty all the year round.
We are blessed to live in a garden city indeed.

Prima Deli Uniform

From BG:
Today taxi uncle ask if I wear uniform I ask what uniform?
I was wearing a Fred Perry baby blue short-sleeved shirt with my new DSquared khaki pants.
He said Prima uniform.
I was so angry. I ask what Prima.
He said Prima Deli.

From GB:
Today Malay taxi uncle stopped me a mile off where I asked him to.
I was getting off phone talking to BG about Shenyang Boy he accosted under Cannon Ball tree (who was carrying Nuskin paperbag).
Taxi uncle say he like to hear what I talk to friend.
I ask why cos mostly asked what Shenyang boy did to BG and Shenyang boy's proportions.
Taxi uncle say he like to hear what I was talking because he is a man.
I was late so no clever rebuttal but as I hand him fare taxi uncle say your hand very smooth.

Notes: The Couroupita guianensis

1. Stefane asked me to look at something really special which I have never seen before and brought me at length to this Cannon Ball tree. He said it was the only one such in the whole of Seychelles, and would have me take a picture of it.

And then I told him that we have Cannon Ball trees aplenty in Singapore but he said he has been in Singapore many times but never seen a Cannon Ball tree.

But they are all over I said.

I was thinking of the Cannon Ball tree under which BG said he accosted the Shenyang boy who was carrying a pristine Nuskin paper carrier. (I forget what it contained but it was some paperwork or something: I asked).

2. I do not believe that Stefane's Cannon Ball tree is the only Cannon Ball tree in the entire Seychelles since he can't even recognise a Cannon Ball tree in Singapore, numerous as they are here.

3. BG says that the Cannon Ball tree under which he accosted the Shenyang boy is not the one on the curb outside the Outram MRT station. He said he will show me where next time but it is somewhere in Chinatown. So I'm actually not very far off.

4. I always see people carrying the Nuskin paper carrier but have never actually known people using this product making me suspect that Nuskin only makes the paper carriers.

5. RY's Shenyang boy is vegetarian and therefore, he says, smells nice. It seems a little contrary that Shenyang boys should have dietary prohibtions given their occupation, but there you go: Different strokes for different folk.

Words

"...I have often felt a sense of loss at the fact that the lingua franca among Singaporean Chinese is no longer the Southern Chinese languages (such as Hokkien, Teochew and Cantonese), but Mandarin. A little bit of research revealed to me the words that were borrowed from Hokkien into Malay. These include: (note that 'c' in Malay has the 'ch' sound): beca (trishaw), bihun (vermicelli), cat (paint), cincai (anyhow), gua (I/me), guli (marbles), kentang (potato), kamceng (close), kuih (cake), kongsi (share), kuaci (melon seeds), teko (teapot), taugeh (bean sprout), tahu (beancurd) and tauke (boss).This process of linguistic exchange was two-way, as demonstrated by these Malay words that have penetrated Hokkien: agak (guess or moderate), botak (bald), champur (mix), gadoh (fight), gaji (wages), jamban (toilet), kachiau (disturb), longkau (drain), loti (bread), otang (owe/debt), pumchet (puncture), pantang (superstitious/taboo), pakat (conspire), pasar (market), pitchia (break), salah (wrong), sapbun (soap), sinang (easy), senget (crooked), sukak (like), timun (cucumber), tiam (quiet) and torlong (help). There are even some Cantonese words that are now part of Malay parlance, such as pokai (broke or penniless), as well as samseng (gangster). Interestingly, it has been postulated that the word sam seng (three star) was derived from the fact that recruits from the Malayan People’s Anti-Japanese Army (MPAJA) used to wear caps emblazoned with three stars, each one representing one of the main races in Malaya: the Malays, Chinese and Indians..."
- Alfian Sa'at

Merlion Madness

Last night, I was so wasted that at 2am, they put me in a cab. I remembered Label Loving Lorem saying "Mercedes cab some more"; not the sort of thing I noticed but at least the cab didn't smell funky. I was beyond noticing anything anyway, but taxi uncle started in to chat. I mean, he really hit it, and not only did he do a monologue, he demanded my response. Taxi uncle kept turning around to look at me for answers. Couldn't he tell I was way gone. I was only holding my head with both my hands , possibly drooling as well, and he wanted me to have a conversation? Why was he so chirpy at 2 in the morning?
"You know the Merlion was hit?
"Resession, someone pissed of throw beer bottle broke the Merlion head.
"You din know? Never hear news no one told you ah?
"Merlion head break got one hole not good luck.
"Very bad luck already bad luck this year resession
"No la, not someone throw beer bottle la I joke it was lightning strike the Merlion head (laughs).
"Very bad luck you know like this?"
My god.
Is champagne very fattening? I think I had a little bit to drink.

Your House Got Mauboussin

I was talking to my taxi uncle today (yes, I have a lot of phone calls from cab drivers, dry cleaners, courier men, restaurant captains and the like) and he said, or asked: "Today your house got Mauboussin".
"Huh?" I said.
"Your house today Mauboussin road block cannot go".
Then I got it. He meant Thaipusam.
"No, can come, my house got Mauboussin, but still can come because only some small lanes closed, you can still come from Race Course Road side."
I have Cartier, Bulgari and Tiffany&Co in my house, but no Mauboussin, thank you very much.

Pure Singlish

From AC:

Who is noisier, Bread or Kopi? 

Kopi la, cos got caffeine. 

No, Bread.

Why?

Cos Bread Talk but Kopi Tiam!

From Boonster:

What did what did Number Zero say to Number Eight?

I no no.

Fat, fat lah why must wear belt?

Town-Side I Dunno

I told the taxi uncle I wanted to go to Mount Sophia Road, which is where I work and his delayed response was "town-side I dunno". After repeated promptings from me about the location, he repeated "town-side I dunno". If it wasn't so hot I would have got out and took another cab, but decided to guide him traffic light by traffic light. Pure frustration: $7.40. 

It's not as if I work at some obscure little lane. Does Singapore have a country-side? I suppose.

How to alleviate the Monday Blues?

Read Bawa: The Sri Lankan Gardens, and wear liberal dose of Hermes's After the Monsoon (cool cardamom, inspired by Kerala, by Jean Claude Ellena).

Wear new bright-blue Nikes with inch-thick soles (not very comfortable).

Think of what to blog.

Yes, very eng.