:: Tossed Salad and Scramble Eggs ::

:: Sunday, January 25, 2004 ::

"LIFE BEGINS AT 80"
by Frank Laubach

I have good news for you.
The first 80 years are the hardest.
The second 80 are a succession
Of birthday parties.

Once you reach 80,
Everyone wants to carry your baggage
And help you up the steps.
If you forget your name,
Or anybody else's name,
Or an appointment,
Or your own telephone number,
Or promise to be three places
At the same time,
Or can't remember how many
Grandchildren you have,
You need only explain that you are 80.

Being 80 is a lot better than being 70.
At 70 people are mad at you for everything.
At 80 you have a perfect excuse,
No matter what you do.
If you act foolishly,
It's your second childhood.
Everybody is looking for symptoms
Of softening of the brain.

Being 70 is no fun at all.
At 70 they expect you to retire
To a house in Florida
And complain about your arthritis.
And you ask everybody to stop mumbling
Because you can't understand them.
(Actually your hearing is about 50% gone.)

If you survive until you are 80,
Everybody is surprised that you are still alive.
They treat you with respect
Just for having lived so long.
Actually they seem surprised
That you can walk and talk sensibly.

So, please, folks, try to make it to 80.
It's the best time of your life.
People forgive you for anything.
If you ask me, life begins at 80.

:: Stuffy 1/25/2004 07:18:00 AM [+] ::
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Are you a Colin or a Hugh girl?
(This is London, March 26, 2001, by Zoe Williams)

When you emerge blinking and dewy-eyed from the film of Bridget Jones's Diary, there will be one question on your lips and one question only.

No, it will not be: "How many omelettes did Renée Zellweger have to eat again, before her face got so fat that her features look as if they're burrowing into her face like baby moles?" (that was unsisterly, but honestly, no Bridget Jones aficionado expected her to be tubby). And no, it will not be: "Why are they all so posh, all of a sudden?" nor "What's happened to the timeshare intrigue at the end, which I never fully understood in the first place?"

It will be "Hugh or Colin? Hmmm, Colin or Hugh? Well, Colin's so tasty. But Hugh in those glasses, oh God! But then, Colin at the end, oh, oh, oh ..." and so on, ad nauseam.


It is an almost impossible quandary. Hugh Grant, as a cad and a bounder, achieves a level of devilish appeal, irresistible anyway, but all the more so for being shockingly unexpected.
But then Colin Firth, as the brooding good guy, seems to epitomise heroism and, shucks, all that is eternally good about humanity in a way that he hasn't since ... well, the last time he played the brooding good guy.


Under normal circumstances, the choice would be simple, since the good guy is always the humourless one with the small todger, and the bad guy is the one who does jokes and sex. Thus, you choose the bad one till the time comes when you need a staying-put one, and then you choose the good one and watch more telly. This being a female fantasy, however, the good guy has a sense of humour, thus muddying the waters, and neither the bad guy nor the good show their todgers at all. You just have to take as read that they're both hung like donkeys, on the basis that otherwise the dilemma would never have occurred, it would have been all eenie-meenie-minee-good- grief!-where-have-you-been-hiding-that?

How to decide, then? First, the glory of their physiques. They both look towering and manly all the way through, which I believe has more to do with Zellweger being five foot two than it has to do with new developments in growth hormones for English actors.

Hugh steals the march with his utterly hairless yet unendingly masculine upper arms, which you get to look at for—no, not 12 seconds, people, not 22 seconds ... 32 seconds!—while he falls into a pond and gets back out again. This scene also presents the opportunity to look at a) his torso in wet shirt b) all other aspects of his upper body not covered by the word "torso" and c) his lovely, besunglassed face. I cannot stress strongly enough just what an opportunity this is.

Colin, on the other hand, does not fall into a lake at any point, in stark contrast to his performance in Pride and Prejudice, whereby he landed this role in the first place (in a cunning, meta, art 'n' life style that hurts my head when I try to explain it). He is very understated, sartorially speaking, apart from the time when he wears the Rudolph Christmas jumper (readers will understand) and, frankly, fouls up the entire opening sequence (the whole point, il direttore, is that in the Christmas pullover he's meant to be unattractive, thus adding to Bridget's amazement when she falls for him. In this film, I must point out, he is attractive at all times. Even in the jumper, he is raw sex in a jumper).

You've probably guessed the conclusion to all this. That's right, they are both peerlessly beautiful. They are created of every creatures' best, they simply cannot be bettered. Until, that is, the other arrives on the screen, and tips the balance wholly the other way. Luckily, they only occupy the same scene once or twice, for you can imagine what confusion it causes amid the audience.

Total aesthetic parity being the case, this particular match needs a personality-based decider. Hugh Grant, without the sweetness, loses the floppiness which for so long has misled so many of us into calling him a "floppy arse". His flinty streak, the lascivious self-interest of his action, functions as a perfect counterpoint to the anodyne, public-school pleasantness of his demeanour.

Colin Firth, on the other hand, couldn't be horrid, since he already has what I like to know as a "cold chin". That's a chin which juts, in an intolerant and cold fashion. His aching, almost painful charm comes from the juxtaposition of the chin and the passionate kindness lurking beneath (well, lurking beneath some part of his exterior, anyway—I'm not sure that it actually resides in his jaw).

Let us not forget, furthermore, that the naughty Hugh changes his spots, or at least some of them. Sparing not a thought for those of you who don't know what happens in the end (Why don't you? Where have you been? In a box?) he comes good. Not good enough for Bridge, but good enough for any viewer who was just about to fall for Colin but might yet change her mind.

And so, having examined the pair from every conceivable angle, the quandary remains. Hugh's cheek (literal and metaphorical) versus Colin's fathomless eyes? Colin's moral rectitude versus Hugh's voracious-sex face? Colin's pinstripe chic versus Hugh, oh Hugh, in a sky-blue shirt. That's wet. He falls in the river, you know. All reasonable girls will plump for Colin, what with his beauty and upstandingness. All wilful girls will fall for Hugh, on the unarguable basis that they ought rightly to be falling for Colin. The vast bulk of us, though, will fall for them both. We will never, ever be able to decide. This is, to say the very least, most unsettling.

:: Stuffy 1/24/2004 06:44:00 AM [+] ::
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Chinese New Year and all the mumbo jumbo

The last three days have been quite routine. Meet the relatives, smile, get the ang pow, sit around, go home. Every new year, I look forward to the ang pow and the yu sheng. This year in particular, I looked forward to the ang pow because my dear mother stopped giving me my allowance after I started work and to my dismay, my first pay will be rolled over to Feb.

Went to Ms Kwan's house for a class gathering today. Neat. It wasn't much of a surprise, the interior was quite her. It was modern, yuppie-looking and a very monotone zen.

Went home, paraded around the dinner table waving and smiling to the guests before retiring to my room for a short snooze.

And as for Work...
Half day today. My two CSC mates are still in Malaysia, leaving me behind with all the work. But it was great, I finally got to manage on my own after being overly dependent on them for alot of things. Well, I'm still learning, and I'm only half way there.
Not many customers turned up today, but quite a few opened accounts. Clarence and Kian Lee (my new PFC friends) were so bored they started comparing which trainer was chio-er down at the plaza. So I sat in to listen.

Well of course I'm still treated like a little bastard, but lesser of a bastard though. Just little.

:: Stuffy 1/24/2004 06:26:00 AM [+] ::
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This week

Hasn't been all that bad considering that I've been making new friends - we all have to learn from the best when it comes to networking don't we, Tat? Today during my routine Chinese new year visitation, I got to know a cousin of the same age, once removed. Nice kid and everything, we have common friends so there was quite a bit to talk about. Then there was work, got to know a few people a little better and realised that things aren't as cheena as they seem to be.

So this week as been going along fine except for yesterday's glitch. But apart from that, everything has been sweet. I'm so glad I don't have to see the evil woman at the plaza next week since I'll be at Scotts.

And yes, Vai, Sat and Sarah we HAVE to meet up next week sometime when you guys are free. Hopefully dinner.

:: Stuffy 1/22/2004 05:46:00 AM [+] ::
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And then they knew

There are some big loud mouth buggers which you can't seem to get rid of. Its as bad as the paparazzi, if not worst. But as much as I might add, I'm probably guilty of being one of them unless, of course, I have made an agreement to honour my words. Some of these people are explicit, other are mild. But its part of human nature isn't it? We all want to know about everything and anything.

:: Stuffy 1/21/2004 01:39:00 AM [+] ::
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Weekend pleasure

I've never been so happy in weeks. Not that I've been miserable, I've been just tolerable. But its so good to be back at Scotts Mall Branch. After a week at course, I've learnt to appreciate the Scotts Mall Branch a whole lot, in terms of work and colleagues.

A thought just came to me. Scotts Mall Branch is very much like the homely cosy TJ environment. No wonder I blend in relatively well. People there are alot nice, as opposed to the other branches that I've been around to and the plaza. A job attachment fresh grad was with me today. She was telling me about her stint at the Battery Road branch. Over there, its more professional since its in the business district. Thats not to say that Orchard isn't, but you don't meet tai-tais over at battery, you meet the capitalist working class whose time isn't wasted on formalities and politeness. What she said made alot of sense. I've only been there once to open an account, but its enough to tell me that the ambience there is cold and calculative. In short, I would have been a more conspicious little bastard than I already am if I had been transfered to Battery, I would have buried myself alive.

So work today at Scotts was great. Sometimes, I shouldn't be complaining to much. I think God has been very gracious to put me in such a comfortable environment.

:: Stuffy 1/17/2004 02:12:00 AM [+] ::
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Manhattan belongs to me

Today I learnt about credit cards, I did the test and I actually passed it! But I think I won't do so well on the deposits test, will probably have to resit for that one. Did you know that SCB spent a samhill of cash on the Manhattan card. They even got a bunch of fake-accented boarding school grads to be exclusive tele-consultans for Manhattan card holders. So instead of the usual - Good morning Ms Chia-, its - Hi Stephanie, what can I do for you today?. Well if I were 21 and with sufficient funds, I'll probably get that card. But now, I am constantly reminded EVERYDAY without fail that I am an undergrad. sweet.

Spoke to one of the Cards people in my class, did you also know that they have cards targetted at gay people? Well, when you think about it, its not so funny since theres always the assumption that homos tend to spend more than other normal species. So there IS a market for everything.

:: Stuffy 1/15/2004 04:33:00 AM [+] ::
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I'm a sad sod. I feel degenerated. My senile old father didn't tell me they were going to start testing everyone after each module. He didn't tell me that I'll be the youngest little bastard there. *theres no other word to describe the sad state I'm in. How do you expect me to blend in when I have a retarded looking haircut (again, the result of following my father's advice and going to his own hairstyle - big mistake), a younger-than-my-age looking face, and an undergrad post A level status.

The facilitator looks down on me as a puny worthless intern. Everytime she mentions something about a junior savings policy, she can't resist not using me as an example. She has the looks of Gothic Tan the appetite of Mrs Lau. She preys on the younger males, which makes me wonder if shes trying to emulate Demi Moore in one way or another. She-is-evil.

I want to go back to Scotts Mall Branch.

:: Stuffy 1/13/2004 03:25:00 AM [+] ::
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Long sojourn from blogging due to work. I'm currently working at the Scotts Mall Branch at Standard Chartered, so just drop by and visit me. I haven't much to write this week, except that work has taken a toil on my mental ability to think straight. Theres too much infomation to process, categorize and recollect everyday.

My tagboard will still be up, so keep the messages running.

Met a good deal of interesting customers and colleagues everyday. It'll take me awhile to adjust to the work routine which stretches for 12hrs, starting at 8 in the morn. Hah, whoever said it was just a 9-to-5 job?

I love it!

:: Stuffy 1/10/2004 07:57:00 AM [+] ::
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Let me tell you what a Gatsby commercial is

This voice which sounds like a male drag queen starts singing a children's song (If you're happy and you know it clap your hair), thus robbing it of its innocents. Four seemingly male men dressed like a Taiwanese boyband, posing like Kylie Minogue, have coloured mohawks which are mechanically engineered to clap at the right beat.

I despise Gatsby for their C-grade commercials.

:: Stuffy 1/04/2004 07:12:00 AM [+] ::
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Most British films to date are wonderfully written, in terms of substance and sound. The best artists are often carefully chosen with much thought and consideration, this is said with much reference to Richard Curtis and Danny Boyle. Please, I'm not an expert in British film making. I just finished watching Notting Hill, good movie with clearly defined roles for each actor. (I even have the soundtrack, given to me as a birthday gift about 4 years ago -but soundtracks don't make much sense until you've watched the movie) Then I watched 9 months and realised that most American directors (with the exception of Steven Spielberg) never really gave much thought in choosing their actors nor do they ever give much thought to scripting (regardless of genre). I was watching the 'behind the scenes' footage and I quite like the expression Roger Michell used, that Huge Grant is Curtis' 'inner rthym'. Go watch it, I think its very true. No wonder Grant is normally casted in most of Curtis' films, which makes it quite about, perfect.

:: Stuffy 1/04/2004 06:50:00 AM [+] ::
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This certain bald headed man happens to be my faourit-es history teacher - no names mentioned! *smiles

:: Stuffy 1/04/2004 06:39:00 AM [+] ::
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I'm starting work next week. Well, I suppose to start work with Nadiah and Andrew. (The latter, whom I haven't even met yet. But in relation, hes my mother's friend's son -in distant memory) And this crappy HR woman comes up to me to tell me that she's going to station all three of us to different branches. Upon my request to station the three of us in the same branch, she comes to tell me that there will be an 'ambassador' with me at my workplace. Just so that I have a friend. I wanted to tell her, I DON'T WANT ANOTHER FRIEND. Its different not haven't someone your own age. Anyway, I have no idea who this 'ambassador' suppose to be, but its as if I just joined this Sharity Elephant organisation and everyone must have new friends. This is crappy.

:: Stuffy 1/02/2004 08:46:00 PM [+] ::
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With much significance

The 2nd of January has always been significant. Four years back, I was feeling an overwhelming sense of dread because I was posted to an unknown class with geeky people whose only means of communication was mandrin. I suppose I wasn't prepared to socialise since I was so darn comfortable being in my sec2 class with my gang. The holidays had ended too soon.

2 years back, I was feeling an overwhelming sense of anxiety and a heart-throbbing eagerness because I was about to start JC and meet new people. But it was also the saddest day of my year whenever I recall the last gathering my secondary school gang had on the 31st before all of us went to different JCs. I suppose it was because I felt that we'll probably never meet again as a whole group after that (Hey hey! But we did!). The holidays ended too soon.

Every year, on the 2nd, there always something to contemplate, something to think about. Last year, it was preparing for the A levels. But this year was a little different. Theres no school, nothing to think about. My 2nd of Jan started out like any other usual day. Going out, hanging out with friends. Oh except that this time I had to go for a job interview. But the day ended the same. Met up with Jeanine and the English Drama gang also comprising of Vanya, Ivan, Jason and Sam. Went for dinner after work and just sit around. Sam was so sweet, she bought her lil' juniors nicely gift wrapped chocolates from the Chocolate Box. I got to pick and choose too!

*Note - Never drink a Magarita on a sore throat. I'm seriously asking for it tomorrow morning.

:: Stuffy 1/02/2004 07:46:00 AM [+] ::
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