When I told people that I was going to help out at the Economics Society camp ('Infinite Horizon'; last year's was 'Exotica' and apparently one OG called themselves 'Erotica'), they asked if we were going to draw ISLM diagrams, sketch GDP trends and the like. Hopefully they were just being retarded as usual and trying to irritate me, for no one expects the Business Administration camp to be about managing offices, the Engineering camp to include bridge design, the Computing camp to involve reverse-engineering Microsoft's Advanced Systems Format (ASF) file format or the Law camp to end with a visit to the Supreme Court to see someone's jail sentence doubled on an unsuccessful appeal. As everyone knows, orientation camps are, of course, first and foremost about mass humiliation and juvenility.

Being a helper instead of a normal camper, I not only got a small discount on the camp fees (though Arts camp helpers got a hefty 50% discount off the $50 fee and the head honchos got to go free - hah!), I also got to slack off here and there: whenever there was an activity that the helpers weren't keen on taking part in, we'd just cheerfully proclaim: "Freshies [Ed: Freshmen] play! Freshies play!" and hide in some corner. Knowing what was on the program, we were usually not caught unawares by strange forfeits and activities, and had a behind the scenes look at happenings: "Do you know what happened to these straws before you put them in your mouths? I do! Muahahahaha!". Most importantly, I got to spend Monday and Tuesday helping out instead of hiding at home and meditating.

The goody bags contained the usual stuff: Newater (they give the stuff away to anyone who asks), a Yeo's H20 apple drink, old magazines, pens, biscuits and an M1 plastic bag as the bag itself and the like. Apparently the goody bags for guys attending the King Edward VII hall orientation last year had condoms.

We had a small turnout of slightly more than 15 people (or slightly less than 20), which was slightly more than usual: last year I'm told they had slightly more than 10 campers (?), and the year before they had less than 10 so they actually camped in tents in Sentosa (and it rained and the tents flooded, so they had to hide in the monorail station). This means that we actually had more helpers than campers, but since we usually took part in the activities, this wasn't much of a problem. I was musing that maybe we should merge with the Sociology society (say) to hold a camp next year. But then a small camp is cozy, with only 2 Orientation Groups (OGs), less time is wasted due to there being fewer people and OGs to manage and less manpower is required; since games are always between the two OGs, less movement is required and only 1-2 facilitators need to co-ordinate them. People also get to interact with each other more. We were also one of the very few camps to accept non-freshmen as campers, so we got some Year 2s (and possibly some Year 3s too) joining us.

On Wednesday, we lodged at TMS (aka Temasek) hall, and I got a little look at what being a hall inmate is like. Of course, the most famously restrictive part of life as a hall inmate is the interminable list of silly rules which are unreasonably foisted on young people already past their teens. Some might argue that no one cares to follow the rules, but their mere existence and occasional enforcement can tell one about the attitude that the administration takes towards students.

Instead of keys, inmates in NUS get transponders - high-tech devices that probably emit some radio signal to unlock doors and access certain areas. The catch is that pressing said gadgets only makes it possible to turn the locks on doors - one still has to rotate them manually to lock or unlock them. So you have the disadvantage of modern technology (the batteries need to be replaced every now and then) without any advantages (you have to manually turn the locks).

Everywhere in Temasek Hall was locked: the laundrette, kitchenette and TV room. One wonders at the need to keep everything restricted and barred. In contrast, a source who lived at King Edward VII hall the last academic year told me that there, everything except the rooms and the girls' toilets (because they had a history of peeping toms) were unlocked. Eusoff hall, bordering non-NUS territory, has some fancy transponder-locked gates to stop outsiders from trespassing. Ingenious people (presumably NUS students) have however found a way around the gates: a plank has been laid over a drain and people can go in and out of Eusoff hall as they please. So you have the disadvantage of fancy locked gates (bother and hassle) without any advantages (those up to no good can easily sneak in). Is anyone detecting a pattern here?

Meanwhile, my forays into PGP have revealed a seemingly endless number of grilled gates barring corridors, lifts requiring the transponder to unlock access to floors and emergency fire escape staircases, the exits to which are locked. My sources inform me that some halls also have grilled gates sealing off corridors. Of course, students usually leave such gates and doors unlocked, so the end result is, all together now, that you have most of the disadvantages of these security measures with almost none of the advantages (pitiful though they already are).

I hear that some halls have darkened corridors, making them look like asylums, but the names of said halls are unknown to me.

Many hall inmates are afflicted with hall fever, making them "go to mad extremes for the sake of hall". Which explains the recycling bin in the Arts canteen which says: "Stop vandalism! Prevent theft! Unauthorised person found in possession of the bins its contents will be referred to the police!" I figured no one would be desperate enough to steal the contents of soft drink can recycling bins, but I forgot about rag. If they're willing to buy cartons of soft drinks and pour the liquid inside away just to construct their floats, they're certainly willing to plunder recycling bins.

This being an orientation camp, there were plenty of forfeits for those who lost the games, or somehow picked the short straws. The art of thinking up forfeits is most fascinating: one needs to have the suggestion of prurience to tickle even the jaded palettes of worldly university students just past the cusp of teenagehood, without being blatant enough to offend the sensibilities of the NUS administration or the slightly more conservative bunch. The same goes for the games and activities, albeit in a more attenuated way (since forfeits are supposed to be 'punishments' of a sort). So we had forfeits like Body Parts (2 guys have to put requested parts of their bodies together. Examples: Hand and knee, face and armpits, elbow and calf), 'Do a pole dance with someone of the opposite gender' (few were up to standard though) and the banana dance, and games like 'With straw quarters in your mouths, pass a rubber band to the person beside you - who surprisingly enough is of the opposite gender'.

Of course, the crowds going for different camps differ: not being funky and kinky like the Arts camp people, we didn't have speed dating (SDU sponsored them some money, but still!), clubbing or the Nutella game (this involved smearing Nutella on someone's neck and having someone else of the other gender lick it off). One thing about orientation camps in co-educational institutions is that they all have pseudo-kinky activities which play on the male-female divide and the latent sexual attraction that is presumed to exist. This of course excludes certain non-negligible constituences, so next year I might want to help organise a GLBT camp (Gay, Lesbians, Bisexuals and Transgendered) to cater to those communities. Instead of salacious activities pairing people of different genders, this will have people of the same gender pairing up. But then, in the shape of Body Parts, we already have a little of this (same-gender pairing up and engagement in semi-lurid activities), so [Ed: For those who don't get it, this is a joke. Our dear conservative NUS administration would never approve this kind of thing].

Incidentally, one reason single-sex (rather, male) secondary school orientation camps are the most extreme and punishing ones is because they only have guys; another reason of course is that the students are not free to pontang (skip) them, being powerless and clueless Secondary Ones - in University they're optional, and in JC they're effectively so (which is also why conscript armies treat their slaves worse than volunteer ones, but by now I'm horrendously off-topic).

The T-shirt was, as usual, too small for me. Gah.

Lunch was catered by Temasek Hall. Some people complained about its quality, but I found it okay. Given that the food there is supposed to be one of the best (Raffles Hall, for instance, serves its inmates "health food", so I'm told), they're in for a rude shock if they choose to be inmates anywhere else. Besides which, I suspect the caterers up the quality of their cooking for orientation camps to con naive freshmen into staying there during term time, whereupon the quality of the cooking will plummet. The Law camp people were also dining there at the same time, and they had one more dish on their plate. I always knew they were filthy rich; even their orientation camp meal plans are more expensive than others'!

We had haram food all the way except for the last meal. Yay.

For the station games, I was appointed a station master, so I got to sleep, muse and read my periodicial for a few hours, albeit in a location without air conditioning and indeed fans or ventilation (MPSH 6). One group played the game (Win, Lose or Draw) a bit dodgily (with the drawer vocalising words even after a warning from me), so to get a point withdrawn due to disqualification returned to them, they gave me a saucy cheer about their coconuts, their bananas and their being chopped off. Having people perform so enthusiastically for you in meaningless but amusing rituals for the sake of empty points that merely serve to lubricate the functioning of an ultimately pointless game that has no significance at all in the grand plan of things is most amusing [Ed: For the clueless, this means that I enjoyed it]. Both orientation groups went by me relatively quickly, so I could run an errand or two before returning to my cell room for an undeserved pre-dinner nap.

Not having quite enough time on the program and worried about lack of enthusiasm, we very cunningly offered the campers a choice about whether to forego the Talentime, a customary camp activity whereby people humiliate themselves further. Not surprisingly, they overwhelmingly decided against it. Which makes one wonder why camps have Talentimes in the first place: it can't only be to kill time.

At night we had more games, the forfeit for one for which was for the males of the losing team to be adorned with makeup, and the females with camouflage cream. Then there was one where two team members had to sandwich a plate between their faces (the original plan was to use a slice of bread, but we decided that that was too disgusting), run to a tray of flour in which was scattered unopened sweets (which was unusual - it's de rigueur to remove the wrappers first), grab them in their mouths, run back and spit them out in a tray - all without letting the plate drop, naturally. I'm told that on the way back, I had the guy running with me in a wrestling armlock, with my arm around the front of his neck, so it looked like I was supporting him. And when we were running to the tray he, and not I, was yelping, so I'm not the only male who does such things!

The night ended with a "trust walk", with the campers blindfolded and made to walk down a long road. It was much too long, with not enough props to spice up the action: mustard, ketchup, chili sauce and cornstarch were all missing. We had lousy Made In China water pistols (damn, I miss my Super Soaker 200) which kept clogging up and malfunctioning, but after a while that got stale, even with my aiming at their ears and into their shirt sleeve holes. While the campers were being herded through the canteen, I found some stuff that hadn't been locked down by the vendors: a shaker of pepper (I shook some in the air but in the end I was the one who suffered the most), some wooden sticks (which we used to prod their legs with) and loose eggs (which we didn't use. Pity.)

The night walk ended with a slide which was lubricated with soap water; cornstarch would've been better but apparently we couldn't get any. Unfortunately the slide was too short, being about a storey at the most: I'm told last year's KE VII orientation had a 3-storey high slide. There was also a complimentary shampoo (and with Clairol too!) at the end, but I think that was just either an excuse to get everyone wet or a way to use up the shampoo since its original purpose was to lubricate the slide when diluted with water (what a waste!)

There was an obligatory midnight supper expedition, but as usual the cheese prata shop was as usual overpriced and delivered substandard food; even though we waited a long time for our food, it was cold, soggy and not at all satisfying when it came. Though I liked my watermelon milkshake.

I also found that the 7-11 still stocked the vibrating condoms which I can't find in other 7-11s:


ViCon: FIRST Vibrating Condom in Singapore. A top draw at Geneva Inventors' Trade Fair. Extra sensuality for both partners. Extremely safe and easy to use.

Checking out of Temasek hall the next day, I noticed a poster politically incorrect in the extreme: "Retarded? Look for more retards in the RAG room....". The words were accompanied by a picture of a guy putting a roll of film over each eye. Tut tut.

After a boring and awful sponsors' talk, we left for Sentosa. After making our way to Siloso beach, my OG (Group 2) won the first game so while the unlucky member of Group 1 who had been nominated to perform a forfeit was carrying it out (looking for a male stranger, finding out his name and getting him to come over and say hello), I had one of my numerous strange, perverse and twisted fantasies fulfilled: I was buried up to the neck in sand. While I was given a mermaid's tail, figure and DD cup breasts (incidentally, that wasn't part of my fantasy. Even I have my limits). Following which we had wet games while being pelted with an unearthly quantity of flotsam and jetsam, most of which I searched out and disposed of.

After the wet games had finished and we were cleaning up, we had some time before the next item in our program: some night confidence walk and Fright Night. We then proceded to attempt to finish some of the prodigious quantities of (nearly expired) Apple-flavoured H20 and Bubble Justea (with an indeterminate expiry date) that our sponsor Yeo's had gifted us with by playing a drinking game: A deck of cards was shuffled and each person drew one in turn. Those drawing cards between Ace and Five inclusive could assign to other players in any combination the requisite amount of sips of beverage to consume. Those drawing a six could keep it and throw it any time, whereupon everyone had to show a thumbs up; the slowest to respond would have to imbibe a number of sips between 1-5 chosen by the thrower. A seven would result in the drawer coming up with a word and everyone offering a rhyming word in turn; the first person to be stumped would get the same punishment. An eight resulted in a category of things which everyone had to provide a member of, with the usual punishment. A nine was a toilet card that could be redeemed at any time. A ten resulted in the drawer being able to make a rule that would last the session unless rescinded, the flouting of which resulted in the usual punishment. Jacks or Queens did nothing and a King let one deflect an order to drink X number of sips.

In the end those who suggested gender-specific rules (eg "All guys must at all times flap one arm like a chicken wing", "all girls must place one finger on their heads") got targeted by the other gender. And towards the end some wacky rules came out ("All girls must pinch themselves and say 'ow' when someone draws a card", "all guys must do star jumps when someone draws a card"). I was asked to provide a list on two occasions; the first time I suggested "Monarchs of England", but when I suggested "polearms" on the second instance, everyone was stunned, so I had to think of something else.

At a suitable interval, I extricated myself from the fray to prepare for Fright Night while the campers had their confidence walk down a dark trail. We held ours at perhaps the most famous abandoned house on Sentosa, just opposite the DBS/PA holiday chalets, and up the road from both the Scripture Union campsite and the Tourism Academy. I think it was the same house which I glimpsed when, during the GEP camp in Sec 1, someone in my class got lost and Tay Poh Huat led a search team to look for him, and we found some Malay drug addicts getting high at the entrance of the place.

After our setup, the path went something like this: the camper(s) would walk up a slope to the porch of the house, where they would see a dark room. Moving through the room, they would be accosted by a ghost. They would then exit the room and walk down a covered pathway. At the end of it, behind a shed, I would lurk with a white cloak (of sorts, which I later removed because I was baking in it) and with a bottle of silly string in one hand and snow spray in the other, and spray them liberally with it. I would then give them directions to U-turn (a term that no one understood, strangely), walk back towards the dark room, turn right and go up the corridor. A disembodied human head (a ball with 'hair' stuck to it) would roll down the stairs. When they walked up the steep staircase, they would turn around and walk into a large room, whereupon another disembodied human head would come flying at them (another ball sliding down a length of comms cord). Exiting the room from the right, they would walk down a long corridor, past a tree branch with a white cloth thrown over it. At the end of the corridor they would encounter a woman and her fetus, the former of whom would proposition the camper(s). Going down the stairs, a little boy would greet them ghoulishly (though the makeup unfortunately made him look more clownish than ghost-like). They would then be free to leave the house, to their delight. At least, that was the plan.

In the end, I think the ghosts were more scared than the campers, even with some helpers to keep them company in the night. The night was quite bright, so moonlight illuminated the trail somewhat (except, sadly, where some of us ghosts were stationed) We also didn't have enough props or enough preparation, so we were quite shoddy as ghosts. The guys strolled past merrily, especially the first (and only) all-male pair. Most of the girls yelped softly or otherwise didn't display their fright in a very audible manner (perhaps they had looks of dread on their faces, but it was dark where I was, so). I did notice at least one gripping her (male) partner's arm very tightly though. One guy, entering alone, had the decency to ejaculate token yelps of surprise, so there's some credit to him.

Above all, we probably went around scaring people the wrong way, and our impact was lessened despite - or probably because - of our antics. It was reported to us that before entering the house, many participants were "fucking scared" and that some didn't want to enter (no doubt due to some judicious seeding of suggestions and messing with their minds through the telling of ghost stories after nightfall). Ghosts which actively try to scare you ("Boo!", "I'm scared...", "Muahaha!") merely reassure participants that a live human that they know is in front of them, especially if they recognise the ghost's voice and/or visage. Ghosts which actually give you directions (as I did) totally spoil the effect. The campers' imagination is probably our most powerful weapon, especially for the females (witness the popularity of romance novels). Ghosts which ignore you, look through you or flit past the edge of your vision, uncaring, are probably the most effective spirits (IIRC, Haw Par Villa used to hire a woman in ghostly makeup to stand around with an umbrella in their "10 Courts of Hell" attraction, and she wouldn't take heed of passers-by). In fact, if we'd left the house totally empty, it'd probably have been more scary than it was with us inside.

Despite our ineptitude, some girls (naturally) put on such a good show that it was worth hiding for hours in a house stinking of bats. One pair of excitable girls came in together, and spent what must have been at least 15 minutes hesitating on the lintel marking the entrance to the first room, talking loudly to each other all the while about how scared they were ("I'm very scared, I'm very scared). When they finally reached my station and I sprayed them, they screamed and screamed and screamed: these were not the usual pathetic yelps or squeals which most girls are fond of; these were good quality, resonant and piercing screams. First one screamed, which prompted the other to start. Hearing her, the first became more agitated and continued screaming. And so on for at least half a minute. It made up for all the others' non-response.

Another pair of girls later wasn't quite so spectacular in the screaming stakes, but they were so spooked by the bouncing ball that they fell out, and someone had to guide them through the rest of the house with a light, "disarming" the reamining ghosts.

After Fright Night, I got a ride home from Gilbert and returned the following day after lunch. We had some dry games by the beach, I rode in the aforementioned contraption (merry-go-round variant), got horribly disoriented and screamed too much (for some inexplicable feminine reason, some girls were screaming even when the thing stopped, so I decided to scream for fun too. Oh, and it was rather scary also), for which I'm currently suffering (sore throat).

"Life is a sexually transmitted disease." - R. D. Laing

***

For lunch I had a tim sum buffet at Mirama hotel with erstwhile fellow slaves after their latest high key ICT.

Nigel was psycho and ordered the equivalent of 80 dishes/baskets (for non-dim sum items, I counted a "small" order as equivalent to 1 dish/basket, "medium" to 2 and "large" to 3) for 8 people. Somehow, we managed to finish them and had another 10 bowls of dessert. The other table had the equivalent of 55 dishes/baskets for 7 people, and they were also having difficulties.

***

Miranda is so helpful. Some weird ICQ users wanted to add me (I haven't seen these scum for a while actually), but Miranda told me that the user client was "Spam Bot".

***

Phantasy Star Online" / a game review from Christian Spotlight

""Phantasy Star Online" has been in development for a few years now. Heralded as the most epic game yet in the famous "Phantasy Star" series which started with the now-obsolete Sega Master System. Promising eye-popping graphics, deep gameplay, and the ability to play online with thousands of players across the world has risen this game to the pinnacle of hype. Just released mere days ago (as of this original writing), is Phantasy Star Online an acceptable game in the eye's of God?... "Phantasy Star Online" is one of those rare games that I believe is totally alright in God's eyes. Highly recommended."

No, this is not satire.

***

The next time I see someone describe herself in her profile as a "simple girl" (or any variant spelling thereof), I swear I'm going to interrogate her as to the criteria of simplicity, and what a complex girl would be like.

***

dunkindohnut and the_fell_bat both inform me that they want Wo-hen Nankan badges.

Wth?!

(If anyone else wants them, they should contact me. I might actually make them for everyone.)

The extended advertisement for NUS that's masquerading as a news supplement in today's Straits Times is most amusing. I wonder if they had to pay for it. Given that there wasn't any obvious indication of its being a paid supplement, I think the answer is no.

And people wonder why the Straits Times isn't taken seriously, or as a real newspaper.

(Also see: Singapore...boleh! Other countries...shitleh!)


My throat hurts.

Maybe I shouldn't have screamed so much on Sentosa, on a playground contraption (a merry-go-round variant) which I will now describe: A pole is stuck into sand and 4 beams extend out horizontally from its peak, forming a symmetrical cross shape. From each beam another extended down, with a saddle attached to it, together with handles.

Each person using the piece of equipment would sit on the saddle, facing the pole in the centre. Someone would then push one of the four vertical beams around, rotating the contraption around the pole (Alternatively, the users would bounce up and down, causing the contraption to rotate).

Come to think of it, it was like a carousel, keeping the saddles but sans the horses, except that it was manually-powered.

If anyone knows what this thing is called, please tell me!

Someone: it sounds like a convoluted sex toy
merry go rounds don't have saddles


Someone: so what did u volunteer being?

Me: err. stuff lah
station master
move stuff
paint banner
pack goodie bags
be a ghost in the haunted house

Someone: Were u the ghost of indulgence?

Me: no I was the ghost of christmas past
go and die lah
hahahah

Someone: (u be station master? u must have tekan the girls by pulling their ponytails)

Currently acting as hired help in a camp. Will be back on Friday with tales of intrigue and prurience aplenty.

"Eagles may soar high, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines." - David Brent

***


'Benign Girl'

The gods know we need more of them around.


'Gay Wah Flower Shop'

***

Gladiators battle to restore tourism

"“AD SIGNA!” the centurion shouts, and 45 legionnaires raise their spears in unison as the command echoes off Roman columns and through the surrounding olive groves.

It is the start of a day that bristles with Roman battles and gladiatorial contests, culminating in a full-blooded chariot race contested by four teams of horses. This is a re-enactment with a difference. In the ancient Roman city of Jerash, Jordan, an hour’s drive north of Amman, it takes place in the hippodrome where 15,000 fans witnessed the real thing 1,800 years ago."

***

Overweight who diet risk dying earlier, says study

"The finding needs to be backed up by further research before sweeping changes are made to public health strategies, the authors warn, but it highlights how poorly the long-term health effects of dieting are understood.

The study, which was carried out in Finland, followed 2,957 overweight or obese people who had been screened to ensure they had no underlying illnesses.

Each participant was questioned about their desire to lose weight in 1975 and again in 1981. Records of their weight and general health were kept for the next 18 years, during which 268 of the participants died.

Analysis of the data showed that those who wanted to lose weight and succeeded were significantly more likely to die young than those who stayed fat.

The researchers were unable to identify why the dieters were at a greater risk of dying younger, but believe it is caused by fat being lost from lean organs as well as other body tissues.

The finding is supported by an earlier study by researchers at the US National Centre for Chronic Disease Prevention and Health Promotion in Atlanta.

It followed 6,391 overweight or obese people for nine years and found that those who had no intention of losing weight and even gained weight were least at risk of dying young. "

***

Goodle Good News - "Scientists pack up: 'Everything explained'. BBC News - 0.3 femtoseconds ago. Scientists all round the world today went home for a nice cup of tea after a revolutionary breakthrough explained everything. The new unified theory (NUT) unites science and religion, explains genetics, the origin of the universe, quantum phenomena, and provides the first instant cure for a hangover in human history."

"If you look good and dress well, you don't need a purpose in life." - Robert Pante

***

Grumblings on the never-ending efforts to perpetuate the MLM scam (aka Christian evangelism) which perpetually afflicts Young Republic:

A: Actually I think the real problem with proselytising is not that it includes unsubstantiated assertions, since there are many occasions where one may seek to change the opinions of others without necessarily having iron-clad proof for everything one is saying.

For example, I may try to persuade someone else that we need more generous welfare provision, and in so doing I may appeal to notions such as fairness, justice, equality of opportunity, etc etc, for which no special 'substantiation' or proof can be given. That is, the ideas on which I base my appeal cannot be said to be beyond doubt or re-evaluation.

The same applies if I try to persuade someone else of, for example, the need to protect minority language rights, or to preserve a part of architectural heritage, etc.

Ppl get annoyed by evangelists for two reasons:

a) Ppl often get the feeling that they are emotionally manipulated. For example, evangelists may befriend someone, but with the ultimate/added intention of converting them. This does not mean that their friendship is insincere, but still, ppl in general like to think that their virtues -- as opposed their eternal soul -- are the reason why others befriend them.

b) Christianity, and monotheistic religions in general, are total ideologies which, if accepted, expect to assume a central -- if not paramount -- role in the lives of adherents. In the Calvinist form which it commonly takes in S'pore, Christianity also tends to denigrate the christianity-less lives of non-believers (I believe the Calvinist formulation is "total depravity"). In its fundamentalist form, also one of the most common forms to be found in S'pore, it also takes on an uncompromising and 'flat' aspect, which makes it appear unpalatable and simplistic. Also, evangelists tend to be excessively sure of the truth of their convictions (which they think is 'faith'). This makes them appear arrogant and also makes arguing with them frustrating. What I mean is that all of us have some personal experience of life and have formed our own conclusions and evolved our own responses. To have someone come along and, with a smiling face, trash all of that and instead propose a small set of assertions which will somehow solve everything and indeed *is* everything -- and that
if not accepted will result in eternal hellfire -- is generally insulting and annoying.

So it is not the lack of substantiation but the flatness, totality, demandingness and unwillingness to engage in real discussion which annoy.

> Evangelism is an integral part of
> the Christian message.

Well, yes and no -- this depends on what you mean by evangelism. An evangelism which proclaims 'believe in Jesus and the literal and inerrant truth of the Bible or you shall burn eternally in hellfire' is very different from an evangelism which says 'the Christian faith tradition and Christian ethics present a unique and important voice, and potentially an enriching and transformative life experience.' Liberal Christians see no need to diss other ideologies wholesale, nor to resort to threats of eternal punishment and hellfire. If you think liberal Christianity is ahistorical, you may also consider the pre-Vatican II RC view of evangelism as a spread of the Church militant -- a church and parish priest, and finally even a diocesan structure with a bishop, in formerly 'pagan' territory as the ultimate goal and emblem of evangelisation. This view, based on the understanding that instituting a Christian culture would be the best way to protect the religious freedom of Christians and to facilitate the practice of Christian ethics, is clearly at odds with the form of evangelism fundies have in mind.

> The minute I tell you what I believe and you listen,
> evangelism is going on. It's no different from people on this list
> suggesting than NS should be scrapped because it infringes on certain
> fundamental human rights. Nobody formulates and holds that opinion with the
> intention of keeping it to himself; if they did, I would doubt the sincerity
> of their belief.

I agree, but as I said, this is not what is wrong with evangelism as it is often encountered in S'pore. I certainly agree that trying to persuade someone else of something, even if that something is an opinion and cannot be completely backed up by 'facts' is not in itself inappropriate. But that is not the point.

B: And as such, do we get to attempt to deconvert christians or other religions?

You do realise that people on this list don't go on an anti-religion tirade until someone decides to start spouting evangelitical crap. Most of us signed onto this list to argue about "NS, democracy, free speech etc", not to listen to the so-called "good news" shoved down our collective gullets, as religious zealots attempt to weave their religion, thundering "MY GOD IS GOOD!!!!" into every arguement written here, be it on "NS, democracy, free speech etc".


As for me, I figured that watching the latest Power Rangers SPD episode, playing Rome: Total War and wringing my wrists about the Bloggers.SG T-shirts was a much better, more enjoyable and productive way to spend my time. Or perhaps the placidity I've been enjoying since my return from the States, which may be due to serendipity has something to do with it. Which reminds me: I better settle the T-shirts before I go off for the NUS ENS camp (I'm helping out as a minion).

Nonetheless, my arsenal is readied for the next debacle which witnesses the degeneration of debate into evangelism (this time, somehow talk of Science was painted as an attempt at mob-lynching, which does tell you something about the other side).

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing" - Edmund Burke

***

Things you always wanted to know, but never got around to asking:

What's the purpose of washers (the round metal things)?

"A humble flat washer is used for many purposes, some proper and some not. The two most common proper purposes are:

* To distribute the pressure of the nut or bolt evenly over the part being secured, reducing the chance of damage thereto, and
* To provide a smooth surface for the nut or bolt to bear on, making it less likely to loosen as a result of an uneven fastening surface."

***

Site feedback:

"Just want to say that not all sc girls are slutty or whatever you mentioned. Though I won't deny that there are some who are like that, they only make up a small percentage of the student population. Most of them are in fact very sincere and modest.

Next time, do watch what you post on this site.

Have a nice day."

Since when has quoting various people's opinions constituted endorsing them?! Gah.

***

Noah's Ark allegedly found:

"And so it was - while there were the rare accounts of Ark sighting and the procurement of ancient, crafted wood from the heights of Mt Ararat, no one had been able to visually document the vessel itself. Thus it was really suprising that this feat was ultimately achieved by Mr Yuen and his team - a team, which originally, was supposed to be a tag-along to a team of 30 scientists from the States who set out to find the Ark in response to satilite images"

There is a reason why the putative ark's existence and authenticity has never been verified independently.

***

Mimi Spencer takes a look at French women's eating habits

"According to established lore and several new books (the latest is French Women Don't Get Fat by Mirielle Guiliano), if you really want to kiss your ass goodbye, you should take a lesson from the French.

Despite a diet stuffed with cream, butter, cheese and meat, just 10 per cent of French adults are obese, compared with our 22 per cent, and America's colossal 33 per cent. The French live longer too, and have lower death rates from coronary heart disease - in spite of those artery-clogging feasts of cholesterol and saturated fat. This curious observation, dubbed 'the French paradox', has baffled scientists for more than a decade.

In Chic and Slim: How Those French Women Eat all that Rich Food and Still Stay Slim, Anne Barone seeks to unravel the puzzle. As it turns out, it's all about knickers. 'Never underestimate the power of a black lace garter belt,' she writes. 'Even French women's lingerie helps to keep them slim, [it's] a constant reminder to make choices that pay off in slimness. Their belief in this principle is demonstrated by the fact that there are almost as many lingerie shops in Paris as bakeries.' Vanity, it seems, is a very useful vice if you want to fight the flab."

My US Trip (2005)

Day 12 - New York

Previously featured:
Flight to Newark, Day 1 - Newark-Princeton
Day 2 - Princeton-Philadelphia
Day 3 - Gettysburg-Lancaster-Ephrata-Alexandria
Day 4 - Alexandria-DC
Day 5 - Westpoint-Hyde Park
Day 6 - Hancock Shaker Village-Hanover
Day 7 - Burlington, Vermont
Day 8 - New Hampshire-Bretton Woods-Portland Head
Day 9 - Portland-Kennebunkport
Day 10 - Marblehead-Salem-Boston
Day 11 - Westpoint-New York

In the morning, my sister and brother-in-law came with me on the train from New Brunswick to New York, and we went to see the Cloisters, the branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art dedicated to medieval art.



My sister claimed I liked the place because it was Disney-fied. However, the place was essentially a museum, differing from most others only in the way the material was presented, housed in a constructed monastic setting more approximating the artefacts' original surroundings than a typical museum, and with some of the collection set into the architecture of the place (eg Arches integrated into doorways). There were no rides, no talking friars and no people dressed up as monks, so it was very far from Disney-fied.


Column detail

My brother in law went around taking picture after picture of column and carving details, for some unknown reason. Of course, he probably doesn't know what the details are of now, whereas I took care to note down what it was I photographed when it wasn't immediately clear from looking at the photo. And since it fell to me to caption the photographs, with his leaving them named with such inspiring filenames as "NY 2 041", I now have 13 files imaginatively named "XX - Stained Glass.jpg".


Cloister and fountain jet


"Wth?!" shot 1


"Wth?!" shot 2

Digging around in the Bonnefont cloister garden, I finally found my mandrakes! I didn't dare to pull one up to expose the roots, though, since having no ear protection, I wouldn't be able to abide the screaming.



The only really wroth-inducing aspect of the Cloisters was the so-called "donation". To maintain its status as "tax-exempt under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code" and to be "eligible to receive contributions deductible as charitable donations for federal income tax purposes" (The Better Business Bureau National Information System), it likely is forbidden from levying an admission fee. Nonetheless, the ingenious folks over there have hit upon a way to impose a de facto ticketing system. Not only is a receipt and a token (some badge that one clips to one's garments) given when the "donation" is given, visitors are told that becoming a member entitles one to "free admission". The best part is that if one wanders into the Cloisters without being processed at the "donation booth", as my sister did, one is called back by the security guard for "processing". And when I shelled out $7 for my "donation", we were asked derisorily by the staff member at the counter if that was for 1 or for 3. If I ever go back there, I figure that since they're shameless enough to ask for "donations" so brazenly, I can decline equally shamelessly.

I proceeded to the main part of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, leaving the Louvre as the last missing feather in my cap of the Holy Trinity of art museums. Probably due to the greater number of visitors there (only the hardcore people go to the Cloisters), they weren't as anal about "donations".

Most people walked briskly through the galleries, going straight for the crowd favourites, not stopping to smell the roses (or examine the hydriai, as the case might be), with various items on display that were uncharismatic but still interesting in their own peculiar way, like 'Terracotta vase in the form of a phallus' ('Vase en terre cuite ayant la forme d'un phallus') and bronze libation bowls. The sheer size of the kraters were frightening - one now knows just how well the wheel of ancient discourse were so turned. However, I ran away from the awful Cycladic figures, having had ten lifetimes' worth of them at the Benaki museum in Athens.


Marble grave sculpture of a young girl

Many parts of the museum were closed, including the Etruscan, Roman and Hellenistic sections, so I didn't get my "donation"'s worth. Though there was a very respectable collection of non-Incan South American artefacts. I tried peeping into the modern art gallery for kicks, but ran away screaming.

The easiest way to distinguish Classical Greek and Roman statues from the Neo-Classical ones: the former are castrated, while the latter aren't.


Innocence protected by fidelity

Some art pieces were placed in the Museum cafe. Very smart way to tempt people in.

There was a sculpture by Bernini of Priapus, but a basket of fruit conveniently obscured his identifying feature.


Room from Hotel de Varengeville. They had several reassembled European hotel rooms, many of them Parisian (I wonder why), from the 18th Century. How opulent. Though for sheer shock value, it couldn't beat the whole choir screen from the Cathedral in Valladolid, or indeed the whole tomb of Perneb they carted in.


A most lovely rosary

They had a very nice arms and armour exhibit, but unfortunately almost all the items were from the late medieval period and later. They did have some Qing ceremonial armour though, as well as some Middle Eastern specimens, and a whole (small) room dedicated to horse armour. The pamphlet proudly proclaimed that they had the 'finest collection of Japanese armour outside Japan'. But of course that would depend on how one defines 'finest'.

There were a few Byzantine galleries, but my feet were in too much pain to do more than breeze through them, let alone read blurbs and scribble commentary.

I was looking to steal a Book of the Dead to speed my ba to the Land of the West, but it was much too long for me to smuggle out, despite being in hieratic. Maybe a demotic Reader's Digest version is available somewhere. I must contact my local bookstore one day for details.

I didn't get to go to Columbia, but I met with my brother-in-law and sister as the gestapo at the Met was chasing everyone out 15 minutes before the official closing time, and they told me that it didn't have ivy. Pity.

We went to Ground Zero, which was underwhelming, looking more like a construction site than anything and lacking even a simple memorial after more than 3 years. No "co-ordinated continuous expressive activity as a part of a group of 25 or more persons" was allowed without a permit. That said, it beats the law on Illegal Assembly.

We then went to Ellen's Stardust Diner, where the waitering staff sang (sometimes while serving people), and they were all nametag-ed after TV show characters: "Scooter", "Jughead", "Judy", "Buffy" and "Jess" (this and the Boston restaurant were the only places with more male than female serving staff). The staff (at least those who sang) looked like they were genuinely enjoying themselves and had a great deal of chemistry. Oh, and their singing was quite good. However, they were sneaky, for as the evening went by they sang less and less, and in the end they just turned off the music and turned up the volume of the TVs playing videos.


'Buffy' and us

The diner had an Elvis Special - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The portions at the place weren't American-sized, though. Maybe it's something to do with New York City. Or with how people there are smaller than in suburban America.

The ads and animated billboards in Times Square are very aggressive and invasive. From here it's just a short hop, skip and jump to holograms jumping out at you ala Minority Report.


Big Butts. We got 'em. Spanky's BBQ.


Eats flies. Dates a pig. Hollywood star. Live your dreams. Pass it on. (The foundation for a better life)

The Nissin cup noodles billboard was very smart. They positioned it in front of a steam duct, so steam appeared to be coming from the cup.

Sister's food diary: "Day 12 : Breakfast at Penn station - Krispy Kreme donuts, 99c hotdog. Korean lunch - dumplings, beef bulgogi, beef short rib noodles. Afternoon snack - Chicago pizza. Dinner - all-singing diner. Coconut shrimp, bacon cheeseburger, sampler plate, milkshake, death by chocolate."


I think I took worse shots with my brother-in-law's digital SLR (Canon Digital Rebel 300D), despite it being better than my normal one (Canon Powershot A70).

The weight and bulk of the former made it more unwieldy, unstable and unsteady. The lack of movie and photo-stich modes also constrained my designs, and there was also no helpful camera shake warning flashing when the shutter speed was too slow, and no preview of what the captured image would look like. That removing and putting on the lens cap was annoying didn't help either.

On the upside, the lens was very wide angle, and zooming could be controlled precisely. But overall I prefer my own camera. Now to get the loose connection tightened...


People are noticeably less friendly in New York. If they even bother to mutter the requisite words, you can tell they're just going through the motions. Which was why at the McDonalds at New York Penn Station, they had to offer customers a free hashbrown/small fries on their next visit if the person serving them didn't smile.

In London it is easy to get cheap tickets (let alone normal-priced ones, and online too) to shows, even if they are lousy ones (the seats, not the shows). Maybe New Yorkers are more rich (or bored) and so can afford to watch shows more often.

I saw 2 Hummer stretch limos. Wth?!

If something like Central Park existed in Singapore, it would long ago have been paved over and used to build condominiums.

Maybe I should get a wheelchair the next time I travel, so I can move around and rest my feet at the same time.

Some subway stations have the strangest and/or most awful smells.

I don't know why we can't get amusing advertisements on TV. Maybe Singaporeans can't appreciate humour. That said we also don't get ads where a guy comes up and gives a lecture to viewers about how good his product is.

To clarify, we were actually supposed to meet Gabriel in front of the Masjid Jamae at South Bridge Road. The Dwarven Porter suggested the mosque instead of the massive Sri Mariamman temple because Gabriel in his corpulence might have been mistaken for a benevolent idol and people would have started throwing coins at his feet.

And while we are baking our heels in the sun, Gabriel stops off to blog about his ponytail fetish!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Without telling us!!!!!!!!!!!!

[Ed: Actually I did tell them when I was given a call just before I started recounting my sad tale of woe.]

"I like to play blackjack. I'm not addicted to gambling, I'm addicted to sitting in a semi-circle." - Mitch Hedberg

***

Being at my brother-in-law's long-unoccupied but finally moved-into Tampines apartment now for the night, I was going to finish Day 12 of my travelogue, leaving me with only 1 more day, but my sister forgot to bring my scribble sheet, instead bringing blank paper for some reason.

***

On Friday, I went to check out the Carl's Jr at Marina with Tym, to see if they really sold "Burgers for grownups" (given that I can't seem to get any Google results for that phrase, it just might be one adopted just for Singapore as a jibe against the local fast food chains).

I held little hope, but my faith turned out not to have been misplaced - instead of the flavourless cardboard that passes for bacon elsewhere, they had the real, robust thing. Albeit not quite crispy and flavourful enough, probably due to insufficient grilling, it was still much better than the ersatz substitute used by firms forsaking culinary principles.

Otherwise the burgers were big, and I had no complaints about my Bacon Swiss Chicken Club. The fries couldn't match up to McDonalds, though, and Tym said her beef patty wasn't quite thick enough.

The only beef I have with Carl's Jr is that they're pricing themselves out of the market. At ~$8 for a single-patty beef burger combo and ~$10 for the chicken and double-patty beef burger combos, I don't forsee people eating there often, since even someone like me, so fond of the Meat of the Gods, is leery of the price.


In tangentially-related news, I had Pork Nasi Briyani today at New Bridge Road near Chinatown, just down the street from the Indian temple. The place had a sign reading: "Nasi Briyani Indian Food. First in Singapore". Maybe they were referring to the fact that they served pork.

I was getting off the bus at Tiong Bahru Plaza just now when I saw that a flag day was in progress. The moment my foot touched the ground, I was accosted by a CHIJ girl seeking donations. However, I deftly avoided her, both to allow me to assess the situation first and to get a spring roll (I hadn't eaten since waking up).

I saw several flag day-ers, all from the same school as before, swarming near the entrance to the MRT station, no doubt getting ready to ambush unwary passers-by. As I made my way to the MRT station's entrance, I was charged by 2 of them, each trying to push the other aside in their eagerness to suck my money from me. Eager as they were, they had no inkling of the horror which was about to follow.

First, I administered the usual test that I give to flag day minions; I asked them what charity this was for. This question is a no-brainer, the name of the charity is usually emblazoned on the stickers and collection cans. The two eagerly replied that it was the "Family Life Society". Now, though this is a test, it is not enough to get any donations from me - it is a necessary but not sufficient condition.

So next I asked what the "Family Life Society" did. Their glib response was that it was to help the poor. Right. Probably every charity in the world helps the poor, it just depends on which type of poor they help and how. Having failed this test, I ascertained that they were not worthy of receiving 10 cents. Of course, the fact that they looked like they were in Secondary One might have something to do with it.

So I popped the bonus question, levelling my "buck for a tug" proposition ('I'll give you a dollar if you let me tug your ponytail'). They first stared at me in incomprehension, so I had to repeat myself once or twice. They then laughed and pronounced me "神经病" (shen2 jing1 bing4 - possessed of a mental disorder or neuropathy) and left me.

Foiled on my first attempt. Damn. At least it was a good way of getting rid of unworthy flag day-ers. And I found a $10 note and a $5 note at Raffles Place MRT, so that was a consolation.

I am advised not to end up in a police station, but tugging hair doesn't fall under even under Bill Clinton's definition of sex, let alone asking for the tugging thereof, so. Someone suggests I have a "tug gabriel's hair 4 good luck thing". Given that people already like to touch my body so much, god knows it might work.


He Who Must Not Be Named and Darth Iulius aka the Dwarven Porter would like to have it on record that they're annoyed at my making them wait while I transcribe this sad, sad story.

The latter would also like to add that the Family Life Society is "a good society which, like, helps poor families... and that it really sucks to collect donations, especially if they have to face bastards like you, especially since I was once a tin can collector [HWMNBN watching Alias: Shut up!]", and that I shouldn't mess with their minions for the day.

"Opera is when a guy gets stabbed in the back and, instead of bleeding, he sings." - Ed Gardner

***

For the clueless, my beloved understudy explains:

"Correct me if I'm wrong: 'Hor lan' is army lingo for feeling hopelessly lost. I believe it was derived from the root word 'Holland'. Usage: Even though he was furnished with a map with adequate directions, he still managed to 'hor lan'."

***

Seen in a Suntec City toilet:

"Fancy watching your next movie with a new female friend? Group date available! Register now! www.gomoviedate.com"

I wonder if the female toilets ask if patrons fancy watching their next movie with a new male friend.

Website main page:

"Experience the thrill, anxiety and suspense of meeting a new friend in a dark & cozy cinema! You know absolutely nothing about your date.... your heart is pounding in excitement, your palms sweaty with anxiety, your head spinning in a whirlwind of motions.... you're waiting minute after anxious minute for the movie to end so you can turn to introduce yourself and finally see your date face to face

Sounds fun? That's what gomoviedate.com is all about! Sign up now and join in the fun, thrill and excitement of the dating game. Get ready for the most thrilling experience of a lifetime. Let's get going!"

Uhh.

Unfortunately they're sexist:

"Bear in mind - guys always pay for the moviedate! This includes the cost of movie tickets and an administrative charge. That's why FEMALE MEMBERS GET A LIFETIME OF FREE MOVIES! Be a sport guys."

Whoever said it was bad to be born a woman? These companies all have their business models right. Where there're women, men will come. It works for bars and clubs' Ladies' nights and ladies-only chatlines, so it should work for this site.

The date tips page is also a hoot: "Avoid repetitive issues like talking about your EX-Girlfriends, footballs or your army days!"


In Carrefour, I saw a boxed off area with this sign: "Restricted for age above 18 years old". My first reaction was to go: "What the hell?! Since when were Adult Movies legal here?" On further examination, I noticed that the area was marked "R Movies". On going inside, although I found many NC16 and M18 movies - including uncut versions of movies butchered for local PG/NC16 cinematic release (good for them!), I saw no R21 ones. So much for "R Movies".

***

Any ideas on what exactly French Vanilla is? Is it even a vanilla at all?

"French Vanilla, as in ice cream, refers to technique, not an actual product.
French Vanilla ice cream is a cooked ice cream, while good old fashioned "regular" vanilla is not cooked. In French Vanilla Ice Cream, egg yolks and sugar and vanilla are cooked to create a custard, which is then combined with milk or cream, then churned and frozen until solid.

Any ice cream with a custard as a base is in the "French" style. It takes an extra
step, but you can most certainly tell the difference in taste, texture, and most notably in color. French Vanilla Ice Cream has a yellow hue, a result of using egg yolks. If you buy a carton of "French Vanilla" and a carton of "Vanilla" [like Breyer's] you will see and taste the difference."

***

Former ex-gay outraged that ex-gay group refuses to remove his picture from website

"Exodus International, a worldwide umbrella group for the ex-gay ministries, was accused today by former member Shawn O'Donnell of misrepresentation for continuing to post his picture on the front page of its web-site, even though he is now an out and proud gay man... O'Donnell is included in a group photo at the top of their web site www.exodus-international.org - a photo that has also been used in the group's ads to show that that homosexuality can be cured.

"I can honestly say that in five years, I did not meet one person that I believe had truly changed," said O'Donnell. "What Exodus is doing is damaging lives. They give false hope and when people fail to change they consider killing themselves, as I once did. The harmful work of Exodus almost killed me and I don't want others to suffer.""

"Poets have been mysteriously silent on the subject of cheese." - G. K. Chesterton

***

I don't know people in China, but if you do:


"All;
I'm trying to gather info on the extent of the typepad shutdown in China. If you have any friends or readers here, please ask them to check whether they can access Asiapundit.com, Glutter.org, bbb.typepad.com/billsdue and simonworld.mu.nu .

Reports on location and result of access attempts would be appreciated. Pls respond to asiapundit@gmail.com

best;
Chris"

***

The NUS Political Association's appreciation dinner is going to be on the same day as Bloggers.SG (the Singaporean blogging convention). Pity.

"This year, the AD will be held at KENT RIDGE GUILD HOUSE, EVANS ROOM 1 & 2 (in NUS, next to business faculty), on 16 July 2005, Sat from 7 to 11 pm. The theme of the night will be Casino Royale, and thus all are encouraged to dressed to theme. There will be exciting programs put up for the night, including the crowning of MR and MISS
PA from the PA camp this year, interesting games and great lucky draw prizes to be won!"

***

Someone: as a friend in the police force said... "once you fully understand and comprehend the women's charter... you won't want to get married"
maybe that's what's causing our marriage rates to drop? more educated males?

at the end of the day.. i feel that probably the most contentious issue is just NS.. esp in a singapore context
and women are more vocal about voicing out perceived discrimination

Me: huh

Someone: subservient males from NS... well.. haha.. we've been conditioned to accept shitty conditions right? so we don't complain... scared scared wait people think we ah guah man

women's charter.. hmmmm. its partly built on the assumption that girls mature slower than guys... but usually in practical society.. the reverse is true
the legal age of consent for both boys and girls under the penal code is 14 but the women charter ups this age to 16.. that's why you hear "I'm legal" shouted by girls on their 16 birthdays
and these men caught for having underaged sex.. they are not prosecuted under criminal procedure code.. more under woman's charter.. which has more severe penalties

Me: so the women's charter overrides the penal code?

Someone: yes.. it superseeds and overrides in certain provisions

***

The ultimate postmodern spectacle

"Michael Jackson and his trial hold a mirror to modern western civilisation and its blurring of fact and fiction

Like Jackson's cosmetic surgeons, postmodernism believes in the infinite plasticity of the material world. Reality, like Jackson's over-chiselled nose, is just meaningless matter for you to carve as you choose. Just as Jackson has bleached his skin, so postmodernism bleaches the world of inherent meaning. This means that there is nothing to stop you creating whatever you fancy; but for the same reason your creations are bound to be drained of value. For what is the point of imposing your will on a meaningless reality? The individual is now a self-fashioning creature, whose supreme achievement is to treat himself as a work of art.

... If courtrooms are quintessentially postmodern, it is because they lay bare the relations between truth and power, which for postmodernism come to much the same thing. Truth for them, as for the ancient Sophists, is really a question of who can practise the most persuasive rhetoric. In front of a jury, he with the smoothest tongue is likely to triumph. On this view, all truth is partisan: the judge's summing up is simply an interpretation of interpretations. What determines what is true for you is your interests, which in turn are determined by gender, class, ethnicity and the like. The Simpson trial gave a new twist to the claim that truth is black and white: whether you thought the defendant guilty or innocent depended to a large extent on your skin colour. But the other interests in question are financial ones. Just as the scientist with the fattest research grant is most likely to produce results, so truth in the Simpson and Jackson trials is a commodity to be knocked down to whoever has the deepest pockets. In this sense, a good deal of postmodern theory can be illustrated by a single time-worn phrase: get yourself a good lawyer."

***

User Friendly on estimating the amount of software on an average machine, multiplying it by the number of terminals and subtracting sales to get alleged losses from piracy (ie Ignoring the fact that some terminals may use freeware/open source software):

Industry representative: You shouldn't make light of this! Software piracy is a real problem. The cost to the industry is in the billions. If not trillions!

Industry representative: Any software on your machine that you didn't pay for, especially free software, hurts the industry and is IMMORAL if not illegal! EVERY TIME you download a piece of software that doesn't cost you anything, it costs US!

Guy: Isn't that kind of like saying if I don't give you everything in my wallet I'm costing you everything in my wallet?

Industry representative: See. Now you're getting it.

***

Why do women athletes tend to be flat-chested?

"A number of reasons for this have been suggested. According to a report by Dr. Christine Haycock, a trauma surgeon and associate professor of surgery at the New Jersey College of Medicine, "a trainer who has worked more than 10 years with track-and-field athletes noted that he has seen only one or two girls with large breasts in sports, and this tends to confirm that the discomfort of running without adequate breast support has kept many potential athletes from competing." As it happens, Cecil has a well-endowed woman friend who ran in a marathon, and pursuant thereto did training runs of as much as 14 miles a day. These often left her with a ghastly collection of abrasions where her bra rubbed. It seems safe to say, therefore, that the low incidence of big-breastedness among runners is to some extent a matter of self-selection.

We might further speculate that since the female breast, whatever may be said for it from an aesthetic standpoint, can do nothing for an athlete except slow her down, competitive pressures would tend to favor small-breasted women. Unfortunately, little research seems to have been done on this topic."

My US Trip (2005)

Day 11 - Westpoint-New York

Previously featured:
Flight to Newark, Day 1 - Newark-Princeton
Day 2 - Princeton-Philadelphia
Day 3 - Gettysburg-Lancaster-Ephrata-Alexandria
Day 4 - Alexandria-DC
Day 5 - Westpoint-Hyde Park
Day 6 - Hancock Shaker Village-Hanover
Day 7 - Burlington, Vermont
Day 8 - New Hampshire-Bretton Woods-Portland Head
Day 9 - Portland-Kennebunkport
Day 10 - Marblehead-Salem-Boston

We left Tewksbury reasonably early to try to catch the first tour of the day at Westpoint. Unfortunately, I was then unable to get hold of the amusing pamphlet about Applebees previously mentioned.

For breakfast, we stopped at a McDonalds where curiously, though 11 breakfast meals were offered, there was no Big Breakfast. There was also a picture of the head manager, who looked like a pedophile. Whether the two facts are connected will be left for the reader to decide. Apart from the usual muffins, there were bagels, biscuits and McGriddles (which I later found out were mini-hotcakes with sweet chunks embedded in them). Be that as it may, they were all variations on the same thing (XXX with egg, Sausage XXX, Bacon, egg and cheese XXX etc). However, the sheer burst of flavour that the real pork bacon provided more than made up for the limited choice. Their dollar menu was interesting, with the Double Cheeseburger being on it (a normal one was also $1, oddly) together with 2 Apple Pies, the McChicken, the Chicken fajita and the parfait. Also, they had 4 McFlurry topping holders but only 2 were in use. Sigh.

On the New York State Highway, this amusing sign was sighted: "Headlights required when using wipers". Err.

Certain stretches (usually 2 miles) of American highway are adopted by organisations as a subtle form of advertising. On the 9W to Westpoint, I saw that the Cornwall Lions Club was being cheapskate, sponsoring only 1.4 miles of highway instead of the 2 that almost everyone else does. Later though, I saw that there was a 1.3 mile stretch sponsored by "Teens *something* by/for Christ" (I didn't get to read the sign properly).

Reaching Westpoint, we went on the tour. Westpoint is actually an accredited college: in addition to Army training, trainees also get a real college degree from there. The place has 500 instructors, but only 4000 cadets - I think few colleges would be able to match this ratio.

We were taken to the new chapel, built in "Military Gothic" style (sans gargoyles supposedly because the Army suffices to protect them) and with the world's largest church organ. Until 1972, cadets were required to attend religious ceremonies every week until the Supreme Court rule it unconstitutional. How dreadful it must have been.


Organ console

Even members of the US military band have Masters degrees. Hmm.

There was a Civil War monument with "the largest piece of quarried marble in the Western Hemisphere". Bah. So what's the largest piece of quarried marble in the Eastern Hemisphere (or rather the world?) Then again, at least it wasn't "the largest piece of red-green hand-quarried marble in the Northeastern USA".

The list of ex-Superintendents of Westpoint includes such distinguished names as Robert E. Lee and Douglas MacArthur. In contrast, COs of SAF training schools are usually condemned officers. This might explain something about the quality of the people they churn out.


Great view of the Hudson

Only 2 cadets in the history of Westpoint have never accumulated any demerit points: the two mentioned in the previous paragraph. In contrast, Eisenhower was sentenced to more than 100 hours walking the parade grounds as punishment (for crimes such as not polishing his boots and not arranging the books on his shelves in order of height) because he didn't saw military "discipline" for the pointless rubbish it was. Yet he still managed to become a General and a President! I guess "discipline" isn't all it's made out to be.

Cadets only have to eat dinner at the mess hall once a week. This probably explains why there are so many restaurants near the academy, as well as a McDonalds.

There's a "flirtation walk" at Westpoint for cadets and their dates, where the dates must supposedly agree to requests for kisses. I wonder how it works for female cadets with male dates.


Mess hall

Cadets get to study bond-free for the first two years. Hmm.

Leaving West Point, we drove back to Fort Lee, NJ, just beside New York, for our live lobster at Sally Ling's. Unlike the other Chinese restaurants we'd seen, this one didn't look cheapskate, and it was open through the afternoon, having no lunch break. Here, we came as close to fine dining as we would during the trip. My brother in law commented that he felt that we were in a bad Woody Allen movie - a nice restaurant, an old clientele, semi-refined music playing and a subdued atmosphere. Portions were smaller than in normal American joints, but then I don't think normal Americans go for fine dining, so.

The chef at Sally Ling's was very modest, with the menu including such delights as "No. 1 dish in the world - jumbo shrimps, scallops, filet of fish and lobster meat served with selected vegetables in a chef's special sauce. Served on a sizzling platter". Intrigued by the dish's name, we ordered it. It turned out to be underwhelming in the extreme. My brother in law suggested that it was named so because it was the first (No. 1) dish they learned to cook in the world.


No. 1 dish in the world

The appetiser they served us was much better than the usual nuts or preserved vegetables you usually get, it was large pieces of kok kok (fried wanton skin), served with a red fruity sauce and a horseradish sauce.

Even the fortune cookies we got were special, having a semi-sweet chocolate flavour.

Due to traffic and half-expected hor lan-ing, 3:25pm saw me barely into New York, sitting in the 175th street subway station. Planning my schedule for the rest of the day, I decided to visit the Museum of Sex first. Luckily, my sister and brother in law were not with me, or they would have been sure to have made their usual annoying remarks like "are you old enough for this?" This is especially irritating given that being rocking US college undergrads, they were probably doing more at a younger age, and that sometimes when they are with their friends, they will pronounce conditions for admission which have steadily been going up over the years from "O levels" to "A levels" to "a University degree". Extrapolating, I project that in a few years the minimum requirements for admission will be to have participated in a pot-suffused multi-racial orgy conducted on tarpaulin while outdoors on a warm New England afternoon during winter, being shaded from the harsh light of the sun by an ongoing solar eclipse.

The museum was very interesting (and as a bonus, I got to use my ISIC card to save a buck). Besides the permanent collection, there were two temporary exhibitions up. The first traced the evolution of American pinup photography. According to it, the Victorians were responsible for developing erotic photography, further burnishing their credentials as a schizophrenic people.

Oddly enough, most of the visitors to the museum were women - either singly, in pairs, in groups or in couples with males. Apart from me, there was only one other single male there, and no groups of males. I asked the guy at the ticket counter, and he confirmed by observation, while having no idea as to why this is the case. Of course, we all know that this phenomenon occurs because women have great intellectual curiosity; however all men who visit the museum must be perverts looking for cheap thrills. This is just like how if girls take pictures in male toilets, or while posing at urinals, they are being fun and cheeky, but if males take pictures in female toilets, they are perverts and peeping toms. Similarly, if males make jokes about the female body, they are misogynists and male chauvinist pigs who objectify and dehumanise women, but if women do the reverse, they are speaking the truth and exposing the dominant, oppressive and male-centric social order.

"She stopped modeling after finding God on New Year's Eve in 1958" - On Bettie Page, pinup nude girl featured in cheesecake shots


Stripper cards - Irma the Body

Basically, the exhibits in the museum just proved the old adage - plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Lesbian sex was present in vintage pornographic flicks, and oral sex was involved in 90% of business transactions in eastern US whorehouses in 1938.


Plot devices: With only ten or twelve minutes at his disposal, the stag producer had to employ simple plot devices to kickstart his story. He had to invent a credible excuse for removing the clothes of his performers, moving them into intercourse in several positions, and concluding his narrative quickly. Outright rape, of course, would have been the most economical device, but violence would have destroyed the stags' fantasy world of constant and wholly consensual sex. Instead directors relied on formulas designed to demonstrate that male and female desire can flare anywhere. Spouses succumb to impulse, as do office workers, painters and models, doctors and nurses, but large numbers of stags deal in sex between strangers, chance encounters that are the stuff of fantasy. The best-remembered stags involve plumbers, repairmen, and salesmen--interllopers who visit when the husband is away, to eroticize the male viewer's secret anxieties.


"Know your scumbags - this one prevents AIDS". At the bottom, the infamous 'Heather has two mummies' book.


Condom ad: "I take one everywhere I take my penis"

There was this electronic display showcasing weird patents. US patent 4030490 (1975) was a 'female protective device' inserted into the vagina which would pierce a penetrating body with a sharp plastic point. Ouch.


CyberSM - the world's first multisensory, full body communication system which connected Paris to Colonge (1993)


Of course, there was the replica of a Real Doll's torso, a picture of which I used for my competition.


A Real Doll


These dolls are the most advanced sex-dolls ever developed and feature completely articulated skeletons which allow for anatomically correct positioning. They incorporate a blend of the most expensive silicone rubbers that have a flesh-like feel. Continued research will produce dolls that move, vibrate, change temperature, and may eventually be cyberkinetic.

All in all, the museum was most interesting - they even had an original copy of the Disneyland memorial orgy and a Choose Your Own Adventure parody: Escape from Fire Island!: A Date With Destiny Adventure (with 29 endings). The only down side was that the oldest part of the collection dated from only the late 19th century.

6:30 saw me in Central Park, witnessing a phenomenal number of people cycling, walking, jogging, skipping, bouncing, jiggling and otherwise exercising their way around and through it - and all early on a weekday evening too. Witnessing this spectacle, coupled with the park's cool, non-humid air and shady paths, I almost felt like joining them, a teething desire hastily quenched by the throbbing of my feet. Technically, in the end I did join them, albeit at a reduced pace, as I walked around the Jacqueline Onassis Kennedy reservoir, or rather hor lan-ed my way about it, wanting to go south but meandering northwest.


People exercising

Signs in the park warned passers-by about giving priority to horses, but I saw none (except for one on top of which a policeman was riding). But then I saw a big pile of horseshit somewhere, so.


View across reservoir

Just before 7, my feet gave out and I collapsed onto a bench and watched people and their adorable, well-behaved dogs, many big, most lively, and all preferable to the average cat.

Since the Empire State Building was open till midnight (probably the only attraction open so late), I went there next. I'd been there 11 years ago, but the view at night was sure to be very different from that in the day. I found the place unexpectedly crowded for a weekday evening (8 pm), and worse, there was nowhere to sit from the time one started queueing on the second floor until one returned to the second floor from the top, so I just had to bite my clip, close my eyes, jiggle my feet a little and hope I didn't faint.

The management was very smart: to earn even more money from people, besides the normal $14 ticket, there was a $30 express ticket which would allow one to skip the queues, as well as an option for a $14 Skyride (simulator flying through New York) and a $6 audioguide. When I got to the top, I found that the queue was forced through a kitschy cardboard display of the Empire State Building and a photograph was taken ($15 for a 5 x 7" photograph, and 2 wallet sized ones). Meanwhile, the area with some small static exhibits was under renovation, supposedly to improve the future experience (and raise future prices too, no doubt).

The spire of the Empire State Building had some advanced, sophisticated and powerful radio equipment on it. Unfortunately it wasn't quite advanced, sophisticated or powerful enough to give me handphone reception, grr.



After coming down from the top of the building, I went for the Skyride, having been foolish enough to shell out $14 for it. Since there was no one in the queue, I stepped over the rope acting as a lane divider, and got shouted at. Being too tired and too much in pain to argue, I went through the normal way.

The Skyride was narrated by Kevin Bacon (which might have been why it cost so much), who made reference to the game "Six degrees of Kevin Bacon". It wasn't too bad, but it wasn't worth $14, especially since there were too many frills (simulated technical failures, going under water and on the streets) and not enough of what I (and presumably most people) wanted to see: a panoramic view of New York by air, with narration.

Sister's food diary: "Day 11 : McDonald's breakfast with real pork bacon. Late lunch at Sally Ling's, Fort Lee NJ. Kock-kock with dips, live lobster, seafood, chicken in imperial sauce. Dinner - separately."


Barring a few exceptional places, all establishments in the US list their prices without adding taxes in. That this makes you underestimate the true price of something you're eyeing isn't my main beef, but the fact that this inevitably results in the final total being some funny, non-round number. Americans may like jangling their pennies around, but I rather not lug bags of coins everywhere I go.

I decided not to watch a show in New York for several reasons. Most of the most promising-looking shows were sold out, and the rest only had tickets costing $100 or more left. I also wasn't prepared to queue for hours to get a 30-50% discount at the half price ticket booth, especially since it might not even be for the shows I really wanted to watch. Furthermore, the train ride alone from New Brunswick station (where my motel was) to New York's Penn Station took 50 minutes, not including waiting time. Transport from the motel to New Brunswick station would take another 10-15 minutes even if my brother in law picked me up, excluding waiting time.

Late in the day, my sister dragged my brother-in-law shopping for the 6th shopping trip in 11 days (and 10 full days). Luckily, this was after I'd left for New York, so I was spared the torture.

New York city mamak stalls seem to be run by a city-wide cartel of indians, none of whom accept credit cards.

The damn New York subway refuses to provide maps, so I was reduced to squinting at the posters in stations and trains for 3 days.

"Science has proof without any certainty. Creationists have certainty without any proof." - Ashley Montague

***

I just got a new PC, with the aid of Xephyris and nw.t, my two trusted advisors. Yay.

Unfortunately, due to that and other various things I've atypically been doing over the past week, I will not be able to hit my original target of finishing my travelogue by this weekend. Ah well. The last 3 days - and these are 3 long days indeed - will have to wait.

***

_discussion:

A: The meaning of life is 42

B: Shut the fuck up, you fucking idiot. Quit reading overrated novels that put forth no original ideas. Don't think you're special or intelligent or interesting for being the 16 millionth person to go "OMG TEH MEANING OF LIFE IS 42! LOL THAT'S SO QUIRKY AND FUNNY IT MUST BE TRUE! LOL DOUGLAS ADAMS ROX!" It's a cute book with no substance and you dumbasses need to quit pretending that it's something more than what it is: entertainment.

There is nothing to discuss about the Hitchiker's Guide, because it's a substanceless piece of shit, and that while you may be special and interesting and intelligent, the fact that you and 16 million other people have gone "LOL THE MEANING OF LIFE IS 42!" after reading the book doesn't attest to that.

The book was entertaining, sure, but it's content wasn't profound or important. If it cheers you up that's all good and fine, but there's nothing to discuss other than perhaps it's general message of "whatever, just laugh, don't sweat the big stuff" which is in and of itself pretty naive and useless.

***

Cocaine switched for talcum powder - "Police sniffer dogs in Victoria have lost their ability to trace drugs after a batch of cocaine used to train them was apparently switched for talcum powder. The switch was discovered during routine tests in the past fortnight when the dogs ignored bundles of cocaine, but showed unusual prowess in tracking baby powder."

"I make no apologies that the PAP is the Government and the Government is the PAP."
- Lee Kuan Yew, 1982, Petir (in 'Parties and Politics,' Husin Mutalib)

So we finally have something to point to when asked mockingly by Defenders of the Faith for proof of the conflation of party, state and nation.

***

Yesterday I went to Ma-laysia as part of a Young Republic Expeditionary Force (with nw.t, Kok Heng and Jiekai), for the first time since Secondary School. Well actually I've been to KLIA many times since, but that's not really counted.

Thanks to Jiekai's being more than half an hour late, we got stuck in the peak hour jam across the Causeway, and got to Malaysia only around 1 pm.

Getting off the bus at the Malaysian side, the seedy, unclean odour of Ma-laysia immediately assailed my olfactory senses. Even the sun seemed to shine stronger, probably due to a mix of more diesel fumes, dirtier and poorer-maintained Proton engines, less greenery, narrower streets and more cramped together buildings.

The Malaysian immigration was a great contrast to Singapore. It was hot, poorly ventilated and had poorly defined queues. There was air con but it wasn't working, as only a tepid air flow (not even a breeze) could be felt; the concept of maintenance hadn't seemed to occur to the authorities yet. People were jostling around - Jiekai got scolded by some auntie because he wasn't aggressive enough in moving forward, and she warned that we would never get our passports stamped with his reluctance to press forward. The worst part was that arrival cards were nowhere to be seen, so nw.t had to hunt some down for us. Truly Asia indeed.

Despite the immigration authorities' limited resources, they knew just how to deploy them: on the side of the hall where the queues for Malaysians and those with foreign passports were, the fans were on and there were many wall-mounted supplementary air cons (though I'm not sure if they were working). On the other hand, the fans on the side of the hall with the queues for Singaporeans were either off or not working, the windows were mostly closed and there were no wall-mounted air cons. Fair's fair: on the Singaporean side the Malaysian passport queue seemed to move slower than than the one for foreign passports. But then at least the air con on the Singaporean side was cold, the place was not stuffy and the lines were better defined.

Oddly enough given the decrepit surroundings, Malaysian passport technology was more advanced than Singapore's; Malaysian citizens zipped through immigration with their smart cards. JK postulated, though, that the seeming inefficiency of Singaporean passport technology was a grand plot to prevent slaves going AWOL, a ridiculous suggestion that we (or at least I) rejected out of hand.

After we'd cleared immigration we meandered around looking for our native guide. Our wanderings took us through a modern shopping centre. A presentation/show was going on on the stage when we entered, and besides being overly loud, the reverb on the amplifier had also been turned up way too much (exactly the same as I remember from my trips to Malaysia last century), making it even more annoying than the shows in Singaporean shopping centres. And at the McDonalds there, the picture they had of their Oreo McFlurry made it look like there were dirty brown particles in it, as someone had dumped dirt in.

Once we'd liaised with our native guide, we went for lunch at 'Hock Heng Pandan Beef Ball' (I had pork). The food was indeed very tasty, but almost all of it was due to the excess of oil, salt and MSG. The meat was washed better though, resulting in less of a smell and greater tenderness. And of course the outlet wasn't in a food court, so the food didn't have the commoditised and franchised feel that the food court mentality brings about in both hawkers and customers.

After that we proceeded to another shopping centre, an older one like the sort Singapore had in the 80s, described by jk as 'Bedok New Town indoors'. The place was filled with the faint odor of cigarette smoke recycled endlessly through the ventilation system. Strangely, as with the earlier shopping centre, there were almost no Malays and Indians (even fewer than in Singaporean shopping centres, in fact).

When Kok Heng spotted a McDonalds, I realised he shared my passion for milkshakes, so we and Jiekai got one each. Unfortunately, even McDonalds was not safe from the corrupting influence of Ma-laysia. Perhaps they were running out of milkshake mix or something - our two strawberry and one chocolate milkshake were all adulterated with vanilla. Mine was the worst: 90% of my milkshake was vanilla, and it wasn't even good vanilla, having a limp, miserable flavour and without the rich and creamy base of a Real McDonalds Milkshake. Add insult to injury, I saw 4 McFlurry topping holders, but only 2 were being used (for Oreos and M&M Minis).

The audacity of the pirates was amazing: at least on the ground floor, it seemed that there was one pirated shop for every two normal ones. Furthermore, the really dodgy stuff was hardly concealed. Perhaps the police have stakes in the business, which is why the pirates are so daring.

Not content with delaying us at the start, Jiekai then decided that he wanted to look at clothes and shoes, so we spent more time wandering around. Some of the stuff was amazingly cheap, but you get what you pay for, especially with dodgy Malaysian brands, and this could be felt in the fabric of some shirts we touched.

Before leaving the complex, I made a detour to get some Seremban Siew Pao: at 1 for RM1.10, this was about half the price of the ones sold in Singapore's Chinatown, so I got 10 and ate 1 on the spot.

Making our way back to Malaysian immigration, we were daunted by the mass of vehicles and people, so we reposed at a roadside food outlet, where nw.t and Jiekai dined. Kok Heng and I ordered coconuts, but they were taking forever to come, so we had to have nw.t order them again in Malay, despite the staff's earlier enthusiastic response both to our initial orders and reminders; you need to know Malay to get anything done in this wretched country.

Seeing the jam, we decided to walk across the Causeway. However, we found ourselves in the car queue - on the wrong side of the road from immigration. Not wishing to backtrack all the way and spend another hour in a sauna, and with some quick talking (in Malay, of course) on nw.t's part, we cut in front of a car and had our passports stamped at a booth meant for cars. However, some idiot bumped into me with his hot bumper while we were having our passports stamped, annoying me greatly.

On our way across the Causeway, we were given cause to wonder about one of the great mysteries of the Universe: why is there a footpath for people to walk from Singapore to Malaysia, but none for them to walk in the reverse direction? Due to this oversight, we were forced to jostle among bumper-to-bumper traffic for a while, and then cross the road in the face of a never-ending stream of motorcycles. As a testament to the difficulty of this long march, we found only 3 people walking in our direction, in contrast to the torrent of people walking in the other direction. But at least the Singaporean authorities made it easy for us, with many signs at the side of the footpath directing us to the Bus Arrival Hall. Though it might say something that barbed-wire topped fences only appeared when we reached the Singaporean side of the Causeway.

Observing the Gurkhas on the Singapore side, we noticed that instead of nametags they had numbers. Maybe when you become a Gurkha, you give up your own identity in the pursuit of an ideal and a cause.

***

Pointy-haired boss: Our core values are service, integrity, respect, teamwork, responsibility, trust, diversity, value, honesty, fun, passion, fairness and excellence.

Wally: How should we deal with the inherent conflicts? I mean, what if I want to be irresponsible in a fun and passionate way?

Pointy-haired boss: You have to do all of them.

Wally: I notice that hygiene didn't make the list.


This reminds me of the SAF :)

***

A source: There is an article in today's FT [Ed: 16th June] about Kaisei Academy, a top high school in Japan whose graduates populate Tokyo University. Many of their graduates go on to Japan's corporates, or the civil service. But very few go to
politics. When asked why, the principal of the 134-year old school says this is because Kaisei boys are of "high intelligence".

***

Pig's latest project: Foodie Paradise

From the horse's mouth: "it'll be a blog which revolves around food, where I'll take photos of the food I've recently tried and gived my comments and ratings on it. It's some so-called "mini-project" that I feel like dabbling in this hols."