Chasing Windmills

Names

2007-02-07T10:19:00.000+08:00

Everyone daydreams about what they want to name their children someday, however distant in the future. Well, girls probably wonder more about their kids surnames, if you know what I mean.

My secret ambition has always been to name my child Han Solo if it’s a boy, and Leia if it’s a girl…

Except that I want them to actually have a life.

Which brings me to my point. There are many poor kids around whose names make you want to shake their parents and ask WHY?

Take for instance this dude from school. Every time a teacher reads out the class register it will go something like this:

Teacher: “And next on the list…*awkward silence*…er… how would you like me to address you?”
Him: “Just what it says on the list is fine.”
Teacher: “Er… Napolean? What do your friends call you?”
Him (in a resigned tone): “Napolean lar….”

Napolean. I know him and he’s really one of the nicest guys. Funny, easy-going, smart and no desire whatsoever to “take over the world”. But what does the real Napolean (“big N”) have that made new napoleon’s parents (“small N”… or is it the other way around??) want to name him so? Not to wish upon him big N’s physical qualities surely?

And don’t even get me started on the number of Zhi Hong’s I know. C’mon, everyone knows a few. It’s sad how parents fail to realize that a seemingly innocuous name like Zhi Hong can end up a mangled Chee Hong in dialect.

To be fair, not all unfortunate names come from parents. Classmates and friends can be equally cruel. Who can forget how Kok Yiming got christened by his classmates. “Kok” is not an uncommon surname by any means, but one day, for some inexplicable reason (try boredom), the group of us just started calling him Harry. This anecdote is not the least bit flattering to our level of maturity then, but Harry Kok has been Harry ever since.

Sometimes, the cultural context can twist a perfectly innocent name. I once knew this Vietnamese guy called Dong. Now, I don’t doubt for a moment that this is a completely legitimate name in Vietnamese, but in English, it just precious. Every time I see him around, it is all I can do to stop myself from calling out, “Hey Dong! How’s it hangin’?”

Speaking of interesting bodily appendages brings to mind a guy I once knew, called “Shin”. This is how Shin introduces himself:

Him: “Hi, my name is Shin.”
You: “Shin?”
Him: “Ya, and if you forget it, I’ll kick you in the shin.”
You: “Riiight.”
Him: “So you better be thankful my name is not Groin.”

Ha. Ha. Ha. Funny. Except he probably introduces himself in that way to everyone he meets. And, he fails to see, from the examples of all the unfortunate characters above, that he is the one who should be thanking his stars that he is not Groin Tan.

just a holding note...

2005-11-13T20:15:00.000+08:00

ok, this is just a brief note to verify that this blog still lives. And, a shout out to a person named seeker, who once requested I write an article about "how to casually hook onto a conversation with pple from all walks of life"...

I dunno who seeker is, but since this blog has this very one "fan", I would really hate to disappoint. Just so you know, I have the article almost done (damn long time, I know... sorry) but it's purely in the context of picking up girls... haha... forgive me, but although I know the phrase "pple from all walks of life" includes all manner of human beings, why the hell would you wanna "hook" up with a non-female??

But again, I digress. What I really wanted to say is that although it's more or less done, I still gonna wait til after exams before putting it up. Why? I'm having some trouble with the title. I have need to run some experiments in the library during this exam period before deciding whether to name the article "5 good ways to pick up girls" or "How NOT to pick up girls"...

Haha... all in the spirit of enquiry.

December Training Camp 2004

2005-10-31T23:03:00.000+08:00

Something I wrote to advertise an upcoming camp. In the face of impending exams no less.

December Training Camp 2004

Ok let’s face it. Physical fitness doesn’t play that large a role in windsurfing. Toned arms and washboard abs won’t make you any less prone to falling into the water.

I was stranger to this fact until a conversation I had with our captain last year.

Her: “…first day’s dinner would be stingray, duck rice etc, all the wonders East Coast Food Centre can offer. And the next day’s BBQ…”
Me: “What?! This is supposed to be a training camp right? Shouldn’t we like… watch our diet?”
Her (in a sagely manner): “When is windsurfing ever about physicality? Have you even seen some of the best surfers lounging around every weekend? Ah Peks every one. Having a pot belly never hurt anybody…”

Ok maybe it didn’t go exactly like that. All I am saying is training camp is no boot camp. Good food aside, last year’s camp was fun-filled, relaxing and exhilarating all at once. The beachside location created the perfect setting for lame jokes (those that make you hate yourself for laughing), even lamer games (those that make you go Huh??) and for just generally enjoying the company of new friends (those whom you want to strangle for making the aforementioned lame jokes).

Make no mistake. Actual race training was fun too, albeit of a different kind. Upon entering the water on Day 1, many of us felt the power of the North-East Monsoon, in all its glory, for the very first time. The fantastic thing was that everyone worked hard despite having different proficiency levels. The newer surfers showed great resilience in battling the wind while the slightly more experienced ones gallantly went about rescuing and instructing those in need. “Messy” as it was on the first day, there was something for everyone. New surfers gained experience under impossibly strong wind conditions and experienced surfers were suitably challenged in aiding them as well.

The subsequent sessions under the coach’s careful instruction, there was marked improvement in everyone’s surfing technique. As many started to tackle the race course with finesse and relative ease, the training became more about learning race tips, strategies and all other subtleties required to do well. Those used to racing would know the import of the starting sequence and the “chope-ing” of a good place on the start line. Significantly more difficult than placing a packet of tissues on the seat at a food court, it took much diligence before we got the timing down pat. The reward was the immensely gratifying feeling of having started a race properly, leaving opponents in your wake.

At the end, evidence of a successful training camp came in form of blistered hands, sore muscles, and ultimately, the satisfied smiles of all 30 campers.

Plus or minus an additional pot belly.

Will the real me please stand up?

2005-09-30T01:52:00.000+08:00

Ok, ignore the damn title. That particular song is no longer a "hip" pop culture reference. So is the word hip, come to think of it...

But anyway, it is with considerable consternation that I've come to realise that some of my friends, my dear buddies, think i am desperate.

Empathize with me as a tell you this. Just the other day, I was having a chat with a friend. It was set somewhat like a counselling session and it went something like this:

...

Me: "Ok don't worry, hit me. If there's really contructive feedback I would like to know."
Her: "Hmm, ok... maybe... maybe you should not show people that u really want a girlfriend."
Me: "What?! When did I ever say that?!"
Her: "Erm, you tell everyone that... and its on your blog."
Me: "And you think I'm serious??"
Her: "You mean you aren't?"
Me: [expletive, expletive. (in my head of course)]

OMG... I thought people would be able to pick up on the fact that I was joking! I hestitate to shout to the world that I am leading a brilliant life and luurve being single, because that might sound just a tad like I am being sourgrapes. But the honest truth is that I wanted this blog to be a bit tongue in cheek, irreverend and self-deprecating. Poking fun at my own emotional state and playing the role of a despo dude is infinitely more interesting than to giving a socio-political commentary on the effects of the hike in oil prices.

But I am not just trying to salvage what's left of my reputation. I don't really mind strangers gossiping or rubbishing my good name, but... Friends!!! Dear friends. I'm cool. Really. We should be on the same page, for heaven's sake!!! sigh...

But if you guys still think I am lonely, one of you could always set me up with your sister. I'm fine with that. Ok... I kid.

Please, I beg of you. Read my blog with a whole spatula full of salt. I assure you that I am not a despo chee koh pek. haha. I doubt that my entries would ever be sensitive in nature, and the worst I could do would probably be to act a little chauvinistic at times. Who knows, one day maybe taking digs at the opposite sex may be restricted under the Sedition Act; and in case that day comes, I would like to profess that I am a peace-loving, hippie-like person. Take everything salted and remember that seemingly MCP guys love girls too. But NOT desperately so.

Funny.

2005-08-09T11:10:00.000+08:00

It's a funny life, no mistake. Not haha-funny, but you know, funny. There are inevitable periods where nothing seems to go right, everything seems b-l-e-a-k, and the only prevailing feeling of certainty is that you would never be happy again. It’s times like this when you sit, waiting at the red light and wonder how easy it would be to just lift your foot off the brake-pedal and drive into the path of moving traffic.

Then after a sufficient amount of time, you wake up one morning and somehow, everything is different. It’s a damn cliché, but the air really is fresher; the freaking skies seem blue-er; and you no longer have the urge to ram your car into the nearest tree. Instead, you value the things and the people around you; your priorities shift, and you really want to make an effort to drive safely.

This isn’t so much a “testament to the indomitable human spirit” *snigger*, as it is evidence of the cyclical nature of things. Even when you reach a proverbial “high point”, all that lies ahead is a downhill run, plus another series of crests and troughs. I think as one grows older and hopefully wiser, the attitude to adopt is a consistent, moderate acceptance of all circumstances, joyful or forlorn. There is a certain poetic grace to this point of view that really appeals.

I don’t know about life being a box of chocolates, but to me, it can undeniably be depicted as a solitary piece of dark chocolate. Compared to regular chocolate, dark chocolate is a few cups of sugar, spice and everything nice, below par, and the lack of artificial flavoring makes it natural, not unlike the non-sugar coated realities of life.

Even so, it is not totally unpleasant and can in fact possess a very likeable, albeit acquired, bittersweet aftertaste.

Wuh-Log???

2005-07-18T23:08:00.000+08:00

Riiight... At the behest of some friends, I'm going to keep this short.

I'm probably gonna seem like a bumpkin, but where does the word "blog" come from? I understand the "log" part, as in record or journal, but why the "bee"? A friend most patronisingly informed me that it is supposed to be short for "web-log"... duhh... Not that I want to draw attention to my stupidity, but shouldn't that be wlog? Or, if is supposed to be an electronic-log, then why not elog? What does the "B" stand for???

Once, before I even knew what blogs were, a friend complained to me that someone wrote unsavoury things about her and put it up on his blog.

"What?! The bastard! Isn't that like vandalism??"
Blank look.
"Why can't you just go round his block and take it down?! I'll go with you."
Blank look.

Yeah, I know. I sounded like my mom ("The green button is to switch on this handphone right?"). And yes, I am a disgrace to this generation.

Anyway, back to the point. I suppose saying, "Hi, I'm a wuh-logger, are you?" sounds bad. Separating "web-log" into "we blog" is a neat idea.

And in any case, "blogs" pronouced very painstakingly is "ber-logs" and that really just sounds like bollocks. Which pretty much describes this entire entry.

The male confessional.

2005-07-09T23:11:00.000+08:00

“I need to go sleep. I’ve got a tennis game tomorrow and my buddy’s place is such a long drive.”

“Hey, hello! I just finished playing the piano and was about the call you.”

Girls often don’t know what they want right? A sporty guy, a musician, a guy with a car… Often, impressing a girl is very much an indiscriminate stab in the dark. That’s why guys tend to drop such key words into your conversations, to hint at what occupies his time; just so you know his assets from the get go.

The beauty of it is that he doesn’t necessarily have to actually do what he said he did. Half the time, he probably can’t be arsed to arrange any games or sport, when there are more pressing things to attend to. Like sleep.

It isn’t so much lying, as bending the truth a little. Sure, he may be able to play the piano. But more likely than not, that would have been a long time ago. I for one, tell people I play all the time. As in, I tell people I play, full stop. And I tell them that all the time. See, I don’t say that I “play the piano all the time”, because although I know how to, years of neglect have rendered my fingers useless for anything other than picking my nose.

About the car-thing. If we don’t actually meet face to face, the car can be anything. A Porsche? A BMW? And you know it’s never nice to ask. So there is an uncertainty as to what he actually drives, but you know you want to believe it’s a nice one. Aaahh… the power of imagination.

If he really drives a bloody go-kart, he is definitely gonna put of letting you see it. “It’s at the shop”, “My stupid friend…”, or the lamest, “You know, I’ve been driving for so long, I really want to stop and appreciate Singapore’s clean and efficient public transport.”

Of course, there is always the chance that you are sporty, play an instrument and drive, whereupon all he can do is… hit the gym. Not that that will impress you much, but at this point give him a break. He need to know that he has something you cannot (and should not) have. At least it is therapeutic and soothes sore egos.

“Excuse me, could you help me with this computer?”

This is more a cheesy pick up line. Especially relevant in the uni (trust me on this). Acting stupid is what guys do best. Don’t confuse this with the damsel-in-distress act the fairer sex occasionally puts up. Pretending to be stupid or blur is an act of endearment that appeals to your brewing maternal instincts, in a little-boy lost kind of manner.

This open admission of his vulnerability is extremely effective in lowering the defense of the most guarded individuals. (This MUST be in Sun Tze’s Art of War somewhere… like a soundbite from a fortune cookie, isn’t it?) After all, who can actually refuse help to those in need?

Therefore, it is crucial for him to plan his approach beyond simply asking for assistance.

Mull over the simplicity of this example:

(In the Computer Cluster in school.)
Him: “Excuse me, this computer’s usb port isn’t working and I really need to get this file of mine printed. Can I try it on yours?”
Her: ok.
Him: “Hey it works! How did you DO that? I’m so lousy at this… Do you mind emailing the file to me?”
Her: (Nod)

And voila… only her email, but it’s a start. Of course after this, there will be the overwhelming and absolutely needless expressions of gratitude, where avenues for further communication will definitely come his way.

“Whatever.”

The I-couldn’t-care-less act. With this single word, he will claim the advantage of any situation. When communicating with the opposite sex, entering a “heated debate” is more common than… er, something very common.

By pretending to concede via this technique, he gives the impression that he is either too mature or too superior to argue with you. It belittles whatever point you were making and makes you look like the most unreasonable person alive; and that he refuses to dignify your comments with a response, when quite likely, the real reason is that he cannot think of anything better to say.

The idea can also be extended to his overall attitude. I’m no psychology student, but humans can be funny, in the sense that the more something is prohibited or unattainable, the greater its appeal. Hence the aloofness guys love to portray in order to catch your attention.

Which really explains why guys who already have girlfriends often have trouble with other girls liking them. Forget the fast cars, career, and all that fluff, ultimately what ups a guy’s market value the most, is being attached. The allure of such a man is simply too strong.

Simple. Now, what’s a guy gotta do to get a girlfriend in the first place?

The Handyman.

An alternative to the previous I’m-so-blur-aren’t-I-cute route is the all-knowing, ever capable superman charade. This is so common; it is almost a bore to write about it.

Among the most primitive ways of vying for a girl’s attention, the Handyman, worms his way into your life and makes himself indispensable by simply being at your every beck and call. Be it helping you with your homework or being your chauffeur, the Handyman can. So pervasive are the methods of this particular brand of skirt-chaser that he occasionally creeps his way into way into your social circle and chats up your best pals. By this, he hopes to garner their support as he wages his love crusade, pelting you with “nice” gestures.

On a side note, you would realize that, more often than not, the aforesaid cool and aloof fella repeatedly gets the girl instead of the Handyman. This either affirms the notion that nice guys always finish last or, illustrates the futility of trying to please a girl at all, when her favour is often bestowed from the start. The lucky recipient can do no wrong, whether aloof, boorish or plain unpleasant. She would tolerated anything, however obnoxious, while thanking our faithful Handyman for being such a “nice guy” and a “good friend”.

Don’t get me wrong, the ol’handyman tactic works. But mostly on younger girls, older girls, or girls in relationships which are already in dire straights. In the latter scenario, the ever adorable Handyman is at his deadliest. Being in a position to sow discord, while providing a convenient comparison to the insensitive boyfriend, his nice-guy rouse gives him ample opportunity to move in with a comforting shoulder when the relationship inevitably crumbles. Score one for the vulture… I mean nice guy! Woo hoo.

But seriously, nobody blames him for picking off the leavings of a dead relationship. It’s a dog-eat-dog world, so naturally all cannibals and scavengers are welcome. No, really.

“You mean you really think I like you?! Haha! Ok, yep, yep… I do!! Please go out with me! Hahaha!”

The classic double bluff. This is usually done to cover up a botched up attempt at expressing his true feelings. By engaging this double bluff technique, he single handedly turns the tables on you. You end up looking stupid, while he gets beat a hasty retreat, to return and fight another day. This is reverse psychology at its best.

The best thing to do in this situation is, look sad and say, “That’s really too bad… Cos, I thought we really could have given it a go etc…” and when he thinks its safe to express himself again, use the first- “Hahaha” line back on him.

A variation of this double bluff has been immortalized by my friend; let’s just call him Ah Pang, who in a distaining voice told a certain particularly attractive girl, “I would date you if only you were taller...” Priceless. In one fell swoop, he led her to believe that he was in fact, rejecting her, while shedding light on her insecurities (her height) and creating the illusion that he was charitable enough to consider going out with her.

So you see, time has taken something as simple as bashing a chick on the head and dragging her back to the cave, and turned it into a craft, to be honed and perfected; its intricacies, studied and researched upon. And despite the heads up (forgive the pun), you girls would continue falling for it as easily as taking a 300-pound club to the… erm, head.

Which begs the question, if I really know so much, why am I sitting at home, typing this on a Saturday night?

PAINe……. Unbearable Pain…

2005-06-29T13:55:00.000+08:00

Ok, here’s proof that there is definitely a greater force working for evil against all that is good in the world. I started the day fairly optimistic, cheered by the prospect of spending the day teaching nubile, bikini-clad freshies how to windsurf; and now, hours later, here I am at home, wondering which would hurt more -- leaving my leg to swell, or just chopping the damn thing off.

The reason for my current predicament, lies with a particularly frisky catfish, which now still languishes quietly along the breaker at PA, awaiting its next unsuspecting victim.

In a world not governed by Murphy’s Law, the girl standing not 3 feet away from me would have gotten stung instead. Not that I wish this unspeakable pain upon anyone, but if someone had to be stung, it should ideally be her! Now, if she had gotten stung, guess who would get to play hero and drive her to the clinic and tend to her wounds? Yes, that's undoubtedly what I would have done. But now that I've been so viciously attacked in her place, was there any TLC for me??? Of course not. Sigh, there's no helping some people...

Instead, I had to hurry myself to an unsympathetic doctor who simply slapped it around a couple of times and glared at me; as if daring me to raise another question about the complexities and inner workings of catfish poison. I just wanted to make my money worth it, what... I have a right to know don't I?

I was finally shoo-ed out of her office, when all I did was ask for it to be at least wrapped up and bandaged… you know, for the look of the thing.

Doctors should, most definitely, spend more time comforting their patients. Who knows what kind of psychological trauma I sustained as a result of the injury. Where is the empathy?! Sigh, again… there’s really no helping some people.

Since I have been so unglamorously relegated to the role of the victim, I’m going to exercise the right to spend the rest of the day in front of the tv, with my Ben and Jerry’s, while broadcasting the story of my ordeal over sms.

Here’s to milking it for all its worth.

Anyone caught the last episode of Eye for a Guy?

2005-06-22T23:55:00.000+08:00

I find myself strangely drawn to tacky television shows, and feel more than a tad guilty about watching Super Nanny, rather than tuning in to the more bloke-like sports channel. Luckily, a poll of some of my male friend’s assured me that I wasn’t the only one addicted to tv cheese. Which is a relief, because I’ve been holding back my gossip on the Eye for a Guy for the longest time, for fear of looking serially uncool.

I must ask, why do people keep referring to Wolfgang as the looker? Anyone else noticed his slightly protruding jaw and weak shoulders? Depressing was the state of the current batch of suitors when lanky and slanty eyed Shan Wee was, at one time, described as a dreamboat.

Now Howard, there is no way of saying this without sounding gay, but he’s absolutely fab! His acerbic wit and easy manner makes him the light of every party and easily the greatest draw for the show… well, apart from Denise Keller (aaaahhh….). But honestly, my opinion of her has seriously gone downhill since the start this season. Okay, apart from still looking incredibly hot, she has shown herself to be such “a woman” and oh, so contrary.

Her biasness towards the very ang-moh Wolfgang was obvious from the start when he bought her an expensive-looking Tiffany’s (correction Cartier... thanx) pendant. Clearly overwhelmed, she kept insisting that she appreciated the gesture and that it was “the thought that counts”. Ahem, what thought?!! It was her birthday!! Everyone got her a present! So she was so especially impressed by his gesture of splurging on an extravagant gift? Doesn’t that bring us back to the fact that it was the price of the present that made the difference? Oh please. Like expensive gift say lah!

Notice that the final few contestants are mostly ang-moh patterned guys? (Including Mark and Sivert from the last season.) Even the odd Singaporean bloke tries to speak with an Ameri-CAN accent. What’s up with that?! Cannot take it leh…

Speaking of ang-mohs, this show really proves the mantra that things are always better if they are from a long way off. An example of a common exchange between my mother and her sister, who lives in Australia; every time she visits, there will be the inevitable bottles of ground coffee because “Australian coffee tastes soooo much better”, according to my mom, while Aunt Ann will go home with packets of Indo 3-in-1, proclaiming, “Good stuff! Cannot find this in Australia!”

Another example of Denise’s annoying woman-ideas (btw, I must profess that I am NOT being sour grapes), was one of her answers during a recent 8-days interview. She claimed to have chosen Wolfgang because of a deep spiritual-connection. I’ve heard that one before. And kudos to Howard, (ooh, how I wish these words were mine!!) who, incredulous, said, “… I don’t even know what that means! Do they pray to the same God?!”

Which brings me to the realization of why guys love celebs, pin-up and poster girls of all sorts. (Okay, once again, apart from they fact that they are hot, can?) These women epitomize one of the most important qualities that guys seek in the opposite sex – they don’t speak. Well they do, but by restricting our relationship to a purely ogle-from-afar one, we get to enjoy what we truly love in a girl (but not entirely everything *wink*), without being exposed to ranting, ravings, and inexplicable tantrums. Not knowing these “dream girls” personally, allows them to remain dream girls in the eyes of all guys.

So ladies, don’t be jealous of whoever is on the latest cover of FHM, just take a page out of that book (magazine) and spare your guy the incessant chatter on clothes, shopping and cliché relationship mumbo-jumbo about having spiritual connections. Especially when we are busy watching tv’s latest cheesy production.

5 ways to make the online you seem desirable:

2005-06-17T00:05:00.000+08:00

1) Having a witty, attention grabbing nick, which screams of character because there is nothing more important than a suitably fanciable nom de plume. It’s a definite no-brainer to decide on your online moniker bearing in mind your target audience. Assuming (and I certainly hope it is so), that the target group in question is that of the opposite sex, one should opt for a name which hints of excitement and mystery, even alluding to the possibility of danger. After all, the opportunity to reinvent yourself is at hand, so why not layer on the botox and give your personality an all out facelift? No, cheekohpek88 does, indeed, sound dangerous online, but… no. Think double-O-seven, but less obvious and less mainstream,

Naming your nick in reference to some obscure pop culture icon can also score you points in front of your mates, especially if they have to check it up before “getting it”. However, this is a fine line between impressing a select few mates and alienating the bulk of your original target group.

Please dudes, calling yourself DaRthVaDer22 may have seemed cool in primary 5, but nerdy now, very nerdy, it is. Not to mention the inevitable flood of fan-boys screaming blasphemy at your irreverence.

2) A nice picture! This is an absolute must, but it is extremely difficult to get it right. Of course, the fundamental ingredient for a good picture is a good looking you. But even if you do look like a serial killer, a digital camera, a handy delete button, and a truckload of batteries, would be able to produce at least one nice shot.

It is preferable to use shots from social gatherings and from the outdoors, even if they contain other people (especially if they are considerably less good looking). Remember that going online is a very individual activity, maintaining the impression (illusion or otherwise) that you do have social life too is a plus.

If you really need to use those typical mug shots (because you really have no friends and faking it is not an option), please be liberal with the photoshop touchups and select a nice, but candid looking shot. The desired effect is a nonchalant, couldn’t-care-less state of cool.

3) Testimonials and online referrals. This can be tricky if you really are the aforementioned loner-without-pictures-from-social-gatherings. Since your mom is likely to not be very big on computers and “new fangled technology” (personal experience here), your source of glowing appraisals must be obtained through a variety of other means. This requires a measure of initiative and patience.

Take the first step to write other people’s testimonials and layer it on thickly. Sucking up is a basic survival skill, no training needed here. After a suitable amount of effort has been invested, ask for a testimonial in the following ways and do not stop until you are either successful, or faced with a restraining order.

In order of desperation:
• Ask in jokey sort of way.
• “Hey, seriously…”, aka the no nonsense attitude.
• Plead.
• Beg, grovel, if needs be, cry.

You could of course write and post your own testimonials, but that’s a new, twisted low that nobody should consider. Or at least admit to. That’s just sad.

4) Using emoticons when conversing online shows what a colourful personality I have, right? Wrong! Well… maybe it does. For a twenty-something male, it certainly lights up his personality with bright and gay colours.

Many people don’t see emoticons for what they are; online versions of those shiny, cutesy stickers little girls use on notes to their friends. While cuteness and fluff is all well and good for users of the relevant gender, anything above a smiley is a no-no for anyone else who is not Elton John.

Age matters too. Although the threshold for “acting cute” may be slightly higher for a female, any twenty-something girl using OTT cute and bubbly emoticons in every other line is in serious danger of becoming an online Cyndi Wang (god help us all).

5) Write a blog. Show how in-touch with your feelings you can be and hope your self-deprecating humor can charm and impress; instead of it being construed as an act of utter boredom and a desperate cry for attention, you poor sod.

For starters...

2005-06-16T23:40:00.000+08:00

It wasn’t til my friend gri’s rather exceptional blog that I chose to try and pull one better. So here I am jumping on the proverbial bandwagon, once again unashamedly buckling under immutable peer pressure.

Before getting started, I had to ask myself several questions. Firstly, am I ready to lay down all my trumps in this male confessional-style thing for ABSOLUTELY no reason?
Am I, after years of rebelling against the notion that computers can be used for anything other than games, willing to voluntarily use it to type in what amounts to a diary that lacks its most basic function, which is to safeguard the privacy of its contents?

Do I even want to be known as a guy who keeps diaries in the first place?

And finally, am I ready to forgo my strong-silent-guy image (did I ever have one?) and spill the beans on how crappy and incredibly talkative I actually am? (thank god for psedonyms)

Also with the awareness that every time I use a cliché, a part of me dies inside, I throw caution to the wind (ouch.) and begin.