New Year Trauma

the new year is supposed to be a time of good tidings and cheer. this new year turned out to be a bit off tangent by those standards. actually it was way off tangent. and thats the reason why i took this long to blog about it – i needed to recover first!

like many others – make that a whole lot of others –  i was in clarke quay to welcome the turn of the new year with out-of-town friends. it was all very fun until the time came when we had to go back home. tired from all the dancing in our heeled sandals and with pretty much nothing else to do, we hobbled over the swissotel’s lobby and sat around pretending to wait for a friend who was staying in the hotel. it seemed to work well until the hotel staff chased us out at closing time in the wee hours of the morning (about 3-am plus).

we stepped outside and waited in the line for a taxi outside the hotel – i think that is the point when the nightmare officially began. 

it soon became clear that there were not many cabs whizzing around this side of town. after waiting and getting nowhere with calling the cab hotline, we took the brave (and rather foolish) decision to walk out and try flagging a cab.

we soon realised how foolish we were.

the road was lined with drunk and semi-hungover party goers who were desperately trying to flag a cab. those who werent engaged in the attempt were lying on the pavement trying to keep down the nausea (some even fell asleep right there). the cab line was apparently suffering from a severe overload of callers, so it just refused to connect. what was most infuriating was the number of apparently empty cabs who sped past, ignoring our outstreched hands.

“Cant they atleast drop us somewhere – just for being nice! its new year after all!” wailed my friend while the rest of us swallowed our curses.

so it was that we walked – in the hope that somewhere, some cab would magically stop in front of us and give us the ride home. but it wasnt to be – we walked, and walked, and walked. until we covered the horrendous distance from clarke quay to amara hotel at tanjong pagar where my friends were staying. suffice to say that we felt that our knees and back were suffering from some very severe damage.

and even at 5am-plus – when atleast some of those people should have gone home – there were still no cabs around. unable to move another step, i decided to crash in my friends’ room (while feeling guilty about taking up some of their space), the hotel called and said they had a private cab i could take home.

thanks to the fact that half my senses had already shut down, i didnt grasp the word ‘private’. what it meant was that the cab was a limo that wanted to charge me a whopping $40!! i refused, fought and forced him to switch on the meter – even with its $10 booking rate. and paid $24 to get home – which is probably thrice what i would pay on a normal day.

what a way to start a new year.

and when i did mention this to my close friend, she laughed and said, “but didn’t you know that this would be the case? i mean, havent you been living here for 10-odd years now?”

never again.

What Growing Up Does To You…

is rob you of your money. literally.

i was just thinking about why money seems so scarce in recent years in my life. i never really had cash crunches when i was a student in school or uni, despite the fact that i was going out much more often with my friends. and the answer struck me like a demolition ball.

i am now a grown-up – a working one at that. and that spells disaster for finances.

somehow, once you are an adult, you are expected to do stuff that is more expensive. or more like, everything you do or buy just comes with a bigger price tag attached to it. take those once-in-a-while dinners with friends. invariably, everybody who is meeting up wants to go to a restaurant that has good food and a great ambience – all of which spells “e.x.p.e.n.s.i.v.e.” you can practically feel the notes rushing out of your wallet when you friend says, “so how about that Thai place at blah-mall. they have really good food.” and you can’t try to salvage your finances at that point and say,”how about the McDonalds in the same mall? didn’t we used to love it when we were in school?” might as well forget dinner or any sort of invite from your friends until you are 80. and while you may try and act smart by ordering the ‘set’ which is supposed to be cheaper, you will be bit hard when the taxes and service charges are added in. and did you forget that dinner is always followed by dessert or coffee? at the gourmet coffee place.

and the same principle applies to gifts. gone are the days when you could shop around for cute gifts, wrap it all up and put a card on top – all for a minimal budget. these days, the preferred medium of gifts are cash or gift cards, which is actually the best possible form (i mean, who wants ugly gifts that we have to re-gift to less friendly acquaintances?) and you cant just drop in a couple of crumpled $10 notes into an envelope and place it right at the bottom of the pile and turn away before anyone can place the connection between you and the envelope. yes, the time does come when you have to draw out those crisp $50 bills or buy those expensive vouchers and give them away with a smile.

these are just two examples. there are other everyday things that mount up as monstrous figures in our expense list -clothes and shoes (yes, we do need these – we cant get away with wearing ratty tees and flip-flops to work), communal birthday gifts, office party funds, lunches, groceries (mum doesnt stock up the fridge anymore), rent, home stuff…the list is endless. 

in efffect, as grown ups, we are suddenly left with a huge responsibility of being a socially active, career-driven, well-dressed individual who appreciates the finer things in life. which is what we all probably wanted when we were back in school. what was never factored into those fantasies was the dollar quotient.

with rising cost of living and ever-increasing prices, all of us working adults come under intense financial pressures. but even if we all are longingly sneaking glances at that Burger King across the floor, none of us will voice it out. we will just smile and make our way into that expensive restaurant. and discuss about that surprise party we are going to throw next week for a friend – at a boutique hotel.

*groan*

The Cookie Monster Asketh, “Is Me Really Monster?”

this heart-to-heart sharing account by the cookie monster will twist your heart and make you cry. be warned. so get yourself some tissue beforehand, so you dont soak the keyboard with tears. the best part of all? he didnt need Oprah or Dr Phil to sit him on a couch and do the prompting. goes to show how puppets are probably more advanced than the humans.

DISCLAIMER: i like the cookie monster, so no, im not putting this up to spite him. and any resemblences to any problems you may think you have (or have) is purely accidental and definitely unintentional.

COOKIE MONSTER SEARCHES DEEP WITHIN HIMSELF AND ASKS: IS ME REALLY MONSTER?
BY ANDY F. BRYAN

Me know. Me have problem.

Me love cookies. Me tend to get out of control when me see cookies. Me know it not natural to react so strongly to cookies, but me have weakness. Me know me do wrong. Me know it isn’t normal. Me see disapproving looks. Me see stares. Me hurt inside.

When me get back to apartment, after cookie binge, me can’t stand looking in mirror—fur matted with chocolate-chip smears and infested with crumbs. Me try but me never able to wash all of them out. Me don’t think me is monster. Me just furry blue person who love cookies too much. Me no ask for it. Me just born that way.

Me was thinking and me just don’t get it. Why is me a monster? No one else called monster on Sesame Street. Well, no one who isn’t really monster. Two-Headed Monster have two heads, so he real monster. Herry Monster strong and look angry, so he probably real monster, too. But is me really monster?

Me thinks me have serious problem. Me thinks me addicted. But since when it acceptable to call addict monster? It affliction. It disease. It burden. But does it make me monster?

How can they be so callous? Me know there something wrong with me, but who in Sesame Street doesn’t suffer from mental disease or psychological disorder? They don’t call the vampire with math fetish monster, and me pretty sure he undead and drinks blood. No one calls Grover monster, despite frequent delusional episodes and obsessive-compulsive tendencies. And the obnoxious red Grover—oh, what his name?—Elmo! Yes, Elmo live all day in imaginary world and no one call him monster. No, they think he cute. And Big Bird! Don’t get me started on Big Bird! He unnaturally gigantic talking canary! How is that not monster? Snuffleupagus not supposed to exist—woolly mammoths extinct. His very existence monstrous. Me least like monster. Me maybe have unhealthy obsession, but me no monster.

No. Me wrong. Me too hard on self. Me no have unhealthy obsession. Me love cookies, but it no hurt anyone. Me just enthusiast. Everyone has something they like most, something they get excited about. Why not me? Me perfectly normal. Me like cookies. So what? Cookies delicious. Cookies do not make one monster. Everyone loves cookies.

Me no monster. Me OK guy. Me OK guy who eat cookies.

Who me kidding? Me know me never actually eat cookies. Me only crumble cookies in mouth, but me no swallow. Me can’t swallow. Me no have no esophagus. Me no have no trachea. Me only have black fabric throat. Me not supposed to be able to even talk.

Me no eat cookies.

Me destroy cookies.

Me crush cookies.

Me mutilate cookies.

Me make it so no one get cookies.

Everyone right. Me really is cookie monster.

On Celebrity Weddings

there are some things that i have never been able to understand. and one of them is the media’s obsession with celebrity weddings. some weeks back, news media and magazines were abuzz with photos and stories about chelsea clinton’s wedding – with complete details from the designer of her wedding gown to the types of flowers that were used to decorate the place.

and this is news. really?

the trend is taken to even greater heights in india. in early september – when i was in madras for a week – the very famous tamil actor rajinikanth’s daughter, soundarya, got married – in what can only be described as a open-to-the-world type public event. in all the weddings i have attended in india, you always have the videographer and a light-man hovering over the couple with a gigantic camera and flood-light, drenching the couple in heat waves and making it look like the shooting for a b-grade movie. add in a hundred more such cameras and video-guys and press photographers, and you get the idea of just how public the wedding was.

not only were snippets from the wedding flashed on tv, but there was also an analysis by two newscasters (i don’t know how credibly i can use that word anymore) on the couple, how they met (was it love or arranged?), the guy (he is apparently a “well behaved boy” according to testimonies from select guests) and of course, rajinikanth (he was a gracious host and a great father of the bride).

but seriously, why the obsession? you can’t even gossip about either of them unless you know them, right? and if you did know them, you would be at the wedding – making it unnecessary to watch the tv in the first place. at first, i was surprised by all the attention, which was why i even watched the coverage for a full 10 minutes. and in some ways that was a good thing – almost everyone i met seemed to be commenting about it for the next couple of days, and i didn’t feel left out :p  

in some ways, this is like turning the notion of how celebrities don’t have enough private space on its head. in other words, you know the paparazzi want the fodder, so you just throw cartloads of it at them!

oh well, to each one his own.

5 Things To Do In Madras

i’m going to go down to Madras. but for just a week. (yes, i know its been changed to Chennai oh-so-long-ago, but its always madras to me – and it always will be bombay, bangalore and calcutta as well. so there.) and i have a list of things i plan to do while i am there. if you a resident madrasi/indian, these may come across as strange/childish/perplexing, but do bear in mind these come from a person who left india well over 10 years ago – and finds going back almost like an adventure.

– call the corner grocery store (that takes 5 mins to reach – by foot) and order a Cheetos Masala and a Coke and – get this – ask the guy to deliver it to my house! 🙂 which he does at no extra charge!! 🙂 🙂

– eat street-side food – specifically from the cart that has the top of the pani-puri’s pani pot open. this is just sheer cheek – i want to see if im still indian enough to stomach it without falling sick..

– try and bargain with the vegetable seller. (my mum would have probably tell the guy to humour me with the promise of paying him the balance later, but still.)

– cross a regular indian street without help – i might chicken out when i see the onset of traffic, but i will try at least once.

– try and convince someone to lend me a two-wheeler and see what it feels like to ride one. (yes, i haven’t ever ridden on one ever. excellent transportation options in singapore can rid you of some life pleasures.)