VD, anyone?

I got a "Happy Valentine's Day" message and was quite truly stumped. Who is this fucking Valentine and why is he the patron saint of smarmy retailing?

Not wanting to handle these tough questions, I flipped one of the three entertainment channel options in my hotel in Beijing (Option 1: HBO - 24 hours of crap. Option 2: Star Movies - Crappier than HBO. Option 3: AXN - Singing and dancing is now called action.)

Anyway I randomly flipped and came across a start-studded movie with Anne Hathaway, Julia Roberts, Jessica Alba, that creepy doctor called "Mr Dream" or something from the crappy Grey's Anatomy (Motto: torture your boyfriend, Vision: many a divorce), Ashton Kutcher the man who is not too young for any woman, and that rather intelligent young man from the Hangover movies.

Anyway, I knew I would be diabetic by the time it ended, but the minute I saw Julia's pearlies I was compelled to watch it. Much predictable "romantic" action ensued and in the final scene, even the flinty me almost shed a tear when Julia Roberts gets home and surprises her Valentine with a teary hug.

That little runt, the kid who was acting as her son, I cried to myself. Why couldn't that be me?

Another timely update from the City of Premature Emphysema.

Manly man - part 2

I do not know whether to laugh or cry at the increasing usage of English in China these days. I just read an editorial in China Daily defending the country's veto of the UN vote on Syria.

But a much scarier (mis)use of the language occurred at lunch. The waiter, after taking my order, came back to ask smilingly "how old are you?" I was immediately on guard. Gamely, I smiled and asked him what he thought, to which he accurately guessed my age. I think this was the Chinese secret police hinting that they follow me and my inner-Lama closely. Please see previous articles to understand my inner-Lama.

Anyway, after this, he went on to comment that I looked like a "man's man." Confused and panicking, I looked around for the nearest exit, in case I was propositioned, and asked him in a croaky voice what he meant.  He then gestured, swiping both hands parallel to the sides of his head (presumably implying I need to start a dyeing regime), and some vague gestures suggesting perhaps that I am fat and or I have broad shoulders. He gave a thumbs up and smiled encouragingly. Thankfully he then left.

So there you go. English has arrived well and truly in the Chinese capital. I am now looking forward to going to the gym, dyeing my hair and making more than eye contact with the previously ignored, largely tongue-tied waitresses. Anyway, frankly, I think it comes down to facial hair.

On a serious note, as with everything else, moderation in scale and pace is important. When you see Indian women with piercings or Bangladeshi blue-collar workers in Singapore walking hand in hand or a Chinese waiter making small talk in English, not knowing the cultural context can be confusing.

1-9-99

So much for the 1% cowering at the protests of the 99%. I think the key figure might be 9%.

Yes. That's right. The august body that publishes the "Australian Romance Report", somehow linked to the purveyors of the Mills and Boons crap, have said that 91% of women prefer not to get e-mail or text messaged "I love you's". Such is the joy one is force-fed on Valentine's Day, which was roundly protested, as usual in many parts of the world.

But kidding aside, do you see the silver lining? 9% of women are satisfied with a not-in-person "I love you". Woohoo.

But then reality sets in. Discounting the too-young, the too-old, the too-stupid and lesbians, I artbitrarily arrive at 1% as the number of appropriately-aged, smart, sexaaaay and straight women that readers and writers of this important news-related website can pursue.

The human race is doomed.

Going Greek!

At the Acropolis yesterday, my middle-aged and temperamental guide, after explaining the Roman theater (or odeon, which finally explains why so many cinemas in the world are called Odeon... Not sure about why many others are called Eros, though) said "That's enough about Romans, now I'm going Greek." I almost fell off: clearly the woman didn't know the lurid-ness of that phrase, though it is not unreasonable given the old Greek proclivities dating to Alexander.

Alexander. There is one name that you hardly hear mentioned, forget about proudly mentioned. His tyrannical style never fit with democratic Athens, which after sinking into obscurity through the Roman, Byzantine and Turkish occupations, finally emerged as the capital of the Greeks. It makes you wonder why the Greeks even fight over FYROM - they never seemed to have much liked Macedonia, not the Athenians at any rate.

Makes you wonder why India views the Mughals as dear sons of the soil rather than the abrasive interlopers they were, Babur forever lamenting the torpor of this land, contrasting with the cool mountains and (adopted) Persian culture and finery.

The similarities hardly end there: Greece vs Turkey, formerly a mostly-Hellenic region and population converted into a new identify, hating its progenitors, and finally the population exchange... Anyone with half a brain can see the similarity with the subcontinent. The one difference is that coming out of partition the Hindus outnumbered those who had turned during the long occupations. Apart from that accident, there is no binding ethos, and what is left is being chipped away daily. Where is the Smithsonian Institute of India? Where is the concerted effort to rediscover and shepherd the multi-faceted Indic legacy that goes beyond lip service to the Indus civilization and a few Sanskrit books? What an enormous waste.

Contrast this with the way the Greeks tie their free new country to their rich legacy, even as they are the poorest in Europe - the rightful re-appropriation of the West's traditions, the deep sense of history and even the resurrection of their pre-Roman, pre-Christian past, as embodied in the terrific Acropolis museum.

We could all go Greek, a bit, actually.

Sent from my iPhone

Enough Idiocy!

Much has occurred recently with trains failing and taxi fares rising and the ensuing public debate shows some confusion around concepts such as competition, and the rights and accountability of private enterprises.

Contemporary economic theory, used to justify liberalizing and privatizing services worldwide, also includes the concept of "rent seeking". The sole train operator and all the taxi companies in Singapore are effectively protected from competition and work closely with public agencies such as the LTA and PTC precisely because they are not "normal" private enterprises that can seek to maximize profits. Consider this: if several new parties were allowed to build their own train networks, there would be massive disruptions and a loss of the advantages of scale from having a single operator. Likewise, we do not allow everyone with a car to operate "gypsy cabs" to protect consumers, instead requiring taxis and their drivers to be registered, certified, etc. Thus the entrenched position of the incumbents, particularly the sole train operator SMRT, gives them a rent-seeking opportunity, manifest in a range of models from oligopoly to monopoly.

Given this background, the public has the right to know the reasons for, and beneficiaries of, fare increases; and to expect better service levels in general and, particularly given the recent train fiascos, of what happens when those are unmet. This is the price of living a coddled corporate life. We do not begrudge Mr Bill Gates or Mr Sim Wong Hoo their fortunes because they built their companies in the face of free markets and competition. Our public transport operators cannot cloak themselves in similar corporate garb and deny us answers or avoid meaningful penalties. [According to Mr Lui Tuck Yew, quoted in the ST on January 10, 2012, the bulk of new train purchases are ultimately funded by us, the taxpayers, through the government!!]

So it is time the CEO (both former and future) of SMRT committed herself/himself and her/his company to longer-term service level standards, and to clear personal and corporate penalties if those are unfulfilled. Likewise, the taxi operators must give a clearer accounting of the impact of their fare increases on various stakeholders - including shareholders and drivers - and let the public decide if the increases are justified. I for one do not begrudge cabbies taking home more, but I would take umbrage if (private) shareholders profit from the privileged position of their rent-seeking enterprises.

Step 1 of 12...

Yesterday, I took my first step toward overcoming a pernicious vice that has all but destroyed my life.

Oh I see: you think I'm a wino and since I gave away all my booze I must be a struggling alcoholic. You fool. Cirrhosis pales in comparison to carpal tunnel syndrome and the dreaded internet addiction. Specifically, I am talking about Facebook.

I admit it: I am hooked to my various electronic devices which are no doubt rendering me infertile as I type, frying my crown jewels with assorted radiation of various wavelengths. I look at my Blackberry if I wake up at night, and check my iPhone for email and open the FB app several times an hour.

The worst part is - no offense dear "F(B)riend" - I don't give a shit:

- where you "checked into" ("Tyler is at the bodega with Allyson picking up a box of wine!!")

- what you do ("Kelly is chillaxing by the pool at Bali"), where Kelly is a desperate crone that is past her prime and inviting melanoma or a pear-shaped loser who just bought his first motorbike and sold his second home to pay for a divorce. I would like to pole-axe posers who say things like "I'm chill-axing".

- who you just "friended" or whose feed you "follow" ("Omar subscribed to Mark Zuckerberg")

- your utterly repugnant life events ("Jamila is curing her warts with some liquid nitro at the clinics")

- the crazy capitalizer post ("Congratulations, I am so happy about your Marriage. God loves You. I hope you have a Blessed Life.")

- about your inane hobby, photos, next Jaeger-bomb party, or a hundred other completely worthless pieces of shit.

Can you imagine where this could lead one day when they say our thoughts can be read? We'd not even have to fumble with the smart phone to update our statuses, our minds would feed in automatically:

- Pedro is having sex. (30 seconds later) Pedro just had sex.

- Martha is chillaxing. (Gets fired after 5 minutes later when her boss, at the office busting her chops, finds out this slacker is not working from home as she is supposed to)

- Rupert is out about town (Gets burglarized that evening. If you don't already know this: a great many people getting burglarized are having their Foursquare status checked to ensure they are not at home).

- Pedro likes Rupert.

- Martha has broken up with Pedro.

- Martha is waiting for Rapture.

The only reason I am on FB is because friends that I do give a shit about have begun using it as the primary medium to share information about themselves and in this case I find the site useful: someone's child's graduation, another moving town, a serious event in someone's life, pictures of something meaningful in someone's life. For this reason I do not hide feeds, because you never know who may post something that is actually of interest or even concern.

But the fact is none of that stuff happens several times an hour or even hourly. 

So I haven't opened FB even though I am at my PC now typing this out. In fact I haven't looked at FB on any device for about 3 days now. And guess what, the world has not ended.

Likewise, I shall look at my blackberry no more than twice a day this vacation-week. And I will use the phone only to answer calls and maybe check my personal mail a couple of times a day. And it is going great so far. I have so much more time to:

- enjoy time with the family. Even if it means a lot more noticing all the things that used to drive me crazy before I could escape into the infinite world of FB and the Internet through just a palm-sized device

- go out and meet people. Just as soon as I can get them to join my "offline world" so that we stop meeting at Starbucks to look at our individual iPhones for status updated, sometimes about each other, and instead look at each other and eventually drive ourselves nuts not knowing what to say and possibly commit murder.

- smell the roses. You fucking kidding me, this is Singapore. It is uber-pragmatic and there is no room for roses. Also, I do not want to get pricked by a thorn on my nose and die of septicemia.

- say "hi" to strangers. Finally, I can once again pull myself out of my engrossing iPhone and shout at strangers for blocking me on escalators or in the doorway of public transport. Ok, more like "haieee" followed by an imaginary karate chop against stupidity, but close enough to "hi".

Future cirrhosis, presently gone

Finally, the once-beloved mini-bar is all gone, given away. The final tally included:

- Reds: I liked them full-bodied, just like I like my... Dosas. Ahem. The Malbecs would have been especially nice.
- Whites: there were only a couple of bottles. I learned to appreciate whites, previously considered sissy, only on my trip to NZ in 2008. Hence the disproportionately small horde.
- Vodka: ah to be young and stupid. That is what vodka evokes. Several flavors of Absolut, out.
- Cognac: giving away some Martell, I kicked myself for not having tried (or did I...?) Armenian "cognac", which Churchill supposedly drank exclusively. Just as well, he was a major asshole.
- Rum: including silly Malibu, Bacardi white and gold, and Myers dark. Having "Malibu" in my bar was reason enough to dismantle it. Geez.
- Gin: staple Tanqueray and my very special cache of Hendricks. It was like imagining giving away my daughter at her wedding. I hope she elopes.
- Whiskeys: including bourbon and a heavenly single malt - Laphroaig - the only whiskey I've ever liked.
- Mixers: no bar is complete without some good mixers. I never built a complete line, but did have Cointreau (representing the triple sec family needed for, among others, margaritas) and several bottles of sweet and dry vermouth (Martini!).
- Liqueurs: mm-mm, Drambuie.
- Asian fare: sakes, sojus and makgeoli.

There you have it. I may have missed a few things, but I blame it on the dead brain cells. Which will happen less on future.

As someone disgusted by this overtly commercial and covertly propagandistic time of the year, I'm torn about wishing you season's greetings. But hey, even the Humanists were partying for the Winter Solstice (seriously - at the Mint bar on Seah street yesterday)...  after all celebrating the solstice long predates the season's arbitrary appropriation by an organized faith. And therefore, much more meaningful, not to mention having a scientific and astronomical relevance.

... So happy holidays everyone! Go pagans!!