Ministry Call Up

I was taken to the Ministry of Sound on Saturday night/Sunday morning on the pretext of free entry and meeting a sizeable bunch of banker types, lawyer types, one surfer dude and an Ecuadorean, brought together by an ex-ex-colleague who's currently twisting words on a National Green platform.

In the end there were 4 of us - the greenie, one finance type, the Ecuadorean and me. No, the Ecuadorean isn't here as part of the IMF. And we had to pay for entry :(

First impressions, MOS is a mess. And the bouncers didn't even frisk me. (-1). The ticketing area was a confusion with the logo-stamper really enthusiastic about leaving a mark on my right wrist, even before I had paid up (-1). We took the left entrance and ended up in the R&B room - Smoove. It was like a prison - with chain link fences and thousands of sweaty, young people who were more wobbling than dancing. Major crush and no sign of any control should any untoward misunderstanding take place (-1). We squeezed through and made into the next room, the main area where King Unique was playing. It was alright, not great, no great vibe or throb or feeling. To make things worse, the decor was weird and unbecoming of a massive entity like Ministry. Sorry man, (-1).

We went up to Pure, an isolation for the over-25s only. Ahem. It was decked out all white, an Ipod to dance in, a rehash of Bed Supperclub in Bangkok with lie-down and spill-drinks-all-over-the-cushions areas. Nice (+1). We boogied to relative good chill-house. Oh did I mention that there were ladies of the night present, plying their booty trade on bored angmohs?

So we danced, drank, switched rooms and did all that over again till about 4am. Verdict? I am a Zouker. That is the standard to go by and compete with. MOS fails me, (-3) so far.

It's A Katie!

They finally found out for sure. Wee Han and Hseyin are having a girl. It's been a while and everyone has been giving their 2-cents worth at guessing the sex of Foetus Cheng. Mr Ong, Hseyin's dad, a doctor no less, gave his contribution to the matter in a rather localised manner - "Can see lap cheong or not? If then it's abalone lor." Alrighty then.

Out with the blues, think with the pink. Is there a pink army truck around? Did GI Barbie go around in one?

Cravings-wise, I am pleased to report it's a daily ice cream. For now.

Hi. What Ambition Have You Achieved?

We all grow up with ambition. Coupled with fantasy, we dream of flying through the stratosphere at supersonic speeds, winning Nobel prizes when we discover the cure for cancer, stepping on to some distant planet, rescuing an old man from a blazing building. For a very few, these dreams come true - through a firmly resolute ideology of working for what you want. The rest of us get swept with the ebb and flow of the conventional tide. It's a system that moulds us, tests us and wants us to choose between Engineering or Medicine or Business or Food Science when the time comes. We grow up, and are educated to form part of a modern, worker society that is driven by money. Economics is what makes the world go round, puts food on the table, keeps GDP numbers up, and basically maintains the material world we enjoy.

Some of us are happy with what we do, others compensate our non-chalance towards and/or dissatisfaction with the job with post-work activities, hobbies and shopping, others drink and/or eat too much, the rest complain and accept this daily cycle as an eventuality, characterised by a mind-numbing regularity peppered with various holidays, weddings, birthdays and national events. Ambition in adulthood has whittled into a mercenary form - fatter wallets, powerful jobs, cooler possessions - all it takes to move up the 1st world scale.

I still don't know what I want to do. Do you? Unfortunately, society isn't forgiving to those who want to try, especially if you're an adult with financial and emotional responsibilities. People look at you funny, more sorry that this joker wants to quit the rat race than glad he's pursuing a passion. I just want to be happy and be satisfied with my contribution. That’s it, no agendas, no grand plan, no scheme to take over the universe. Is this lack a deficiency in my being? Maybe I need to have a kid to snap me out of this imaginary ditch. Zap the be-responsible-do-your-job zing right back. A pay rise would work too I think, unfortunately. Despite this rhetoric, I am but still a slave to the dollar. Sorry.

Boggling Behaviour

We have been noisily enthralled in the pleasures of word play these past weeks. Someone found the office Boggle set.

We scramble for paper and pen, rattle the box of plastic cubes, set them in place, set someone's Samsung or Nokia to 3mins (the plastic hourglass we so love was alas not part of the discovery), and we're off! Eyes racing to form patterns, neurons sending rapid electrical signals in the lexiconic bit of the brain, fingers grapsing instruments jotting down word after word after word. It's like a very controlled F1 with a time limit. Then we laugh as we compare words and what we think are words.

We've been spending anything from 15mins to more than an hour playing this game. It is strangely addictive, looking for words with your eyes. We played so much that we're slightly jaded by 3 letter words and applaud efforts 5 letters or greater. We formed UNISON once, STORAGES came by once and KITTENS stumbled our way as well. On the lighter note, ahem, we've had TITS and BRA in the same round.

Ultimately, this is a group activity and the lunatics I play with are fun to hang with, albeit the extra time we spend in the office.