Bits and bobs

A few quick snaps over the past two months.

For those who say I'm anal retentive, here's more evidence I came by it honestly. First is my mum's plate right after a messy home meal of poh piah. She sure was puzzled when I asked to take a photo. Parallel cutlery isn't unique to me by any means!
Next is having sushi with my sis. Notice the plates are arranged according to size and colour, every single one. And yes, that's her trying to flip me off while holding a cup of tea.

It's temporarily goodbye to Shou Chen! A naughty (as usual) farewell in the boondocks of Pasir Ris - we can't even take a normal group photo.And when it came to truth or dare... (More incrimminating photos will be emailed separately)

Spotted this very cute little Kia. A company car, but no less cute.

When you think of "tossed greens"...
...do you picture this?
I really mean no disrespect to the Thai language, but it's difficult to see this menu item and not snigger.
Sean celebrated his fifth birthday in Singapore! Not sure what Caitlyn's funny face is for, though.

Once again, I marvel at her long, long tongue.
Beauty can be found everywhere if you take the time to look, even in everyday objects. Spotted this microcosm in a cup.
Spotted at TCC, of all places.
Some of my neighbours can't park to save their lives. What could possibly fit in that lot now? A bicycle?

Shaking our heads at ST reviewers

Today, I finally read Monday's review of Blood Binds which the show I was in, Just Late, was part of. While slightly disappointed that my performance was described as "unconvincing", I wasn't altogether too surprised, and take it as a learning experience. However, the next thing Ms Tan said amused me plenty: "...whose Hokkien vulgarities were delivered much too daintily". Considering "kao peh kao bu" was the only remotely coarse Hokkien I ever uttered in the play (moreover, used in the context of trying to hush someone who was yelling rather than as an expletive), I was muchly amused. I say "fuck" (in English) three times in the play, but that's the only swearing I do.

This is a very small thing, but was another reminder that all this recent hoohaa about ST arts reviewers doesn't really stem from any new sentiment.

Only earlier this month, an ST reporter who will remain unnamed printed a non-review article in Life! which contained some inaccurate information which were personal details about a friend of mine. Nothing terribly serious, just enough to have us chuckle a little and shake our heads. Hence, when the OTOT review (and half-assed retraction) turned up a couple of weeks later, I'll bet I wasn't the only one thinking it was only a matter of time before a big enough booboo got printed to illicit real anger. And in this case, it wasn't just about inaccurate facts, but being inethical and irresponsible...and just plain dumb - how did he expect to print it without opening a can of worms?

I don't always blame reviewers for getting details wrong. It feels like a slight on the part of performers but it's often harmless enough to ignore. However, sometimes downright stupid and irresponsible mistakes are made, and you wonder why it didn't occur to the reviewers to check in with the theatre companies for factual accuracy. This is unforgivable, considering that most reviewers are well-acquainted with actors, directors and theatre marketing contacts. And it's plain common sense that you don't comment on something you didn't even watch the bulk of. It's like saying The Sixth Sense is about the difficulty of being a child therapist.

Artists aren't exactly the most valued professionals on the island, but we're certainly among the most outspoken. If you stick your foot in your mouth in this industry, you'd better expect to chew it too.

Encapsuled

Once in a while when I drive home late at night (or rather, in the morning), instead of getting out of the car right away, I sit in the car for a while in the darkness and, sometimes, in the music.

There's something comforting about being in a car that makes it the one small enclosed place where I don't feel claustrophobic in the least. It feels like this safe little observation booth to watch the world go by.

On the radio at that hour, it's usually sentimental shite, but that is sometimes my guilty pleasure. I sit in the solitary darkness singing to the lovey dovey crooning without feeling like a putz - tonight, it was "On Bended Knee" by Boyz II Men with its cheesy but catchy and very melodic chorus.

And, somehow, these girl-in-a-bubble moments feel special, like quality time with myself, and the feeling isn't much different from that of holding hands with someone you love while watching the sunset.

And, somehow, it's moments like these that almost make me feel like I will never need anyone to love, like when I spend time by the ocean.

Almost.