OCCUPATIONAL HAZARDS

There's this thing about "occupational hazards": they more or less become a consistent habit - an integral part of you.



Sometimes, on days when there are lessons with The Class, I would cross my arms while waiting for them to quieten down. As a result, nowadays, crossing the arms - even while walking - is becoming a frequent (albeit subconscious) pose of mine.

I was baking the other day; and ALL cooks have this unhygienic ubiquitous habit of dipping their finger in and sampling their food. So, as I was saying, I was using the mixer that day. Satisfied that the cake mix had been mixed nicely and thoroughly, I stopped the mixer machine and scrapped the thick content off the mixing whisks using a scrapper. The cake mix was thick and gelatinous; slowly and sinfully dripping off the spatula in heavy chunks. Instinctively, I swiped my index finger swiftly off the surface of the spatula, and brought it to my mouth. Then, I realized as an afterthought, "SHUCKS! This cake mix is not yet cooked! With raw eggs, sour cream, chocolate cake mix, chocolate pudding powder, oil and etc! YUCKS!!! I might as well eat a dough!"



Occupational hazards.

So, anyway, I was chatting with a fellow colleague the other day who happened to be teaching English.

"Oei, English teacher," I called out to the cubicle in front of me.

"What?" His voice drifted over.

"How do you spell 'content page?' Is it spelt as 'content page' or 'contentS page'?" I asked.

"Content - without the 'S'." Came the reply.

"Ok, thanks."

"And, by the way, it is pronounced as 'CONtent'," he added, "and not 'conTENT'. Wrong emphasise."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Sorry, 啦 Cher. Apart from using 'mah', 'leh', 'lor', 'ah', and 'lah', Singaporeans also have this tendency to place the emphasise on the wrong syllabus, don't we? That's why we call it 'Singlish', isn't it?" I teased.

"Not only that. Placing the wrong emphasise results in different meanings as well. ConTENT refers to the feeling of happiness, being CONTENTED; whereas CONtent refers to the subject matter, the constitution." He continued.

"Yeah, it's the same with the word 'subject', isn't it? And different words can have different pronunciations, too, isn't it? For example, the word "bow". Bow as in "bowing down", and bow as in the 'bow of a ship', or 'bows and arrows'."

"Yeah, that's right. Very good. So, now, come on; repeat after me: 'CONtent'. On the count of three: one, two, three!"

I kicked the partition in front of me and asked him to shut up.



Can't stand talking to English teachers or English majors. They can irritate the banana out of you if they so choose to.

(update: 11th August 2009, 3.25pm) P.S. Oh yeah, and Mass Communication majors, too. Haha.

FLUSHING TOILETS

Some months back, a couple of coursemates and I were having "high-tea" after lesson. We were chilling out at Ya Kun at Jurong Point.

We were chatting about some random stuffs which I can't recall when, suddenly, PL (our "chauffeur" of the day) blurted out, "You know, have you any idea how important TOILET COVERS are? What are they used for?" He asked.

I frowned and think hard. Now, this is kind of a good question. Momentarily, a faint image of a person sitting on a toilet cover, shaking legs, and reading newspaper floated into my mind.

"Sit down and read newspaper!" I suggested hopefully.

"Your head. Actually, do you know that each time we flush the toilet bowl, the impact of the flush pump is so great that the molecules/particles of the contents in the toilet bowl would rise up into the air? That's what the toilet cover is for: to cover the toilet seat and prevent the tiny, minuscule particles from "flying out"! I read this from an article. And do you know that if the toilet bowl is left open while flushing, the rush of particle molecules is powerful enough to reach up to a height of 6 storeys?"

"That is like an atomic bomb! A mini nuclear bomb! AND IN A TOILET CUBICLE!"

"Yes! Precisely so! So now you know the grave importance of toilet covers?"



Nuclear bomb. I pictured a mushroom cloud of particles exploding and bombarding within the confinement of a small toilet cubicle. The too-small-to-be-seen-with-the-naked-eyes particles of human waste. Invisible, disgusting enemies; millions and millions of them. I imagined myself at Expo Hall 8, standing and queuing in line for eons to use the ladies; all the time with 4 or 5 toilet bowls being constantly flushed - with the toilet covers opened.

I shuddered.



Flushing toilets and visiting the ladies will never be the same again.



P.S. The content of this post is a tad geeky and science-y, I know. Hey, this is what you get when the company you're hanging out with is a bunch of NIE trainees, with 4 of them teaching Chemistry as the main subject. *WOOT!*

TIME OF THE YEAR AGAIN

Last year, I didn't.

So, it has been 2 years since I last sang this song...



Here I go... Again!



"COW ON ME, SINGAPORE
COW ON ME, SINGAPORE..."

REPEATEDLY

We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit.

- Aristotle

OPM AND ANNIVERSARY

Friday's OPM and Sunday's anniversary!


Friday (31st Aug 2009) - 9pm - 5am

KO-ed at McDonald, Chinatown while waiting for the first train.

Sunday (2nd Aug 2009): 7.45am - 330pm

Munching on breakfast while queuing in line! (Psst... After collecting this special delivery from the "deliveryman" downstairs, I accidentally knee-ed a brother squarely in his left butt cheek on my way back to the queue. ACCIDENTALLY, I emphasize! Was swinging my right leg over the knee-high barricade... Then... BAM! The poor brother swung around with a shocked expression that practically reads, "Did someone just touch my butt?" Sooo paiseh!)

Food is not allowed into the SIS. Hence, Dot and I kept the food in somewhere totally safe and hidden from the eagle-eyed security - our stomach. Smart.

Whowhowho?

Peek-a-boo!

Man of glory.

Scorching weather, no kidding!

Tired! Off to dreamland!

FINALLY...

... BOUGHT IT!!!

Listening to the new album now. =)

LAUGHED

REALISM

Thanks to the younger brother, the Too Much Chocolate Cake is now down to the final 3 pieces, which is quite a feat actually; because there was initially, like, 40+ pieces? And all these are gone within 1 week!

Anyway, while digging into the chocolaty cake just now, the younger brother asked me to bake a second batch. I jokingly asked whether does it really tastes good and whether does he really like it. He replied yes, and asked me to go and sell it at my current workplace. Duh.


________________________________________________________________________________


Anyway, a funny thought drifted into my mind just now. Sans social/economical/societal expectations and harsh reality of life, would I be doing what I am doing now? Would I have dared to go after my innate interests?

I've always liked cooking (sans washing up, please). The intriguing way how different herbs, spices, flavours, seasonings blend together and compliment each other amuses me. It blows my mind away, the way how some seemingly unlikely food ingredients - when mixed together - conjure up something that is unexpectedly pleasant to the taste buds. It awes me, the way how sometimes, the most unsuspecting ingredient turns out to be the key ingredient that sets a good dish a cut above the rest. I still remember how skeptical I was to find pear listed as one of the ingredients to making Bulgogi Chicken. Till today, this particular recipe is still what I swear by when it comes to Bulgogi.

Most importantly, it delights me to see people eating and enjoying the food which I prepared from scratch. To the person who did the cooking, there is hardly any greater gift of pleasure and satisfaction than this.

I've always liked having someone fussing over my hair. I like the feeling of having someone attending to my trims. Having someone fussing over my hair or layering my hair or trimming my ends or just simply spraying aerosols of hairspray makes me feel like a queen being pampered. So, I always feel downright happy going to the hairdressers'. It practically cheers me up (weird, I know). And because of this, I have an interest in hairstyling. I won't mind paying to attend haircutting or hairstyling courses in some hairstyling academy. Because I feel downright happy having my hair done. Because, I know, somewhere out there exist strange people like me.

I've always liked to write (sans writers' block, that is). I like the smooth flow of well-articulated articles. A writer. A reporter. A journalist. Whatever. That was my first and serious ambition. I was only 13 at that time, and I wanted to be a reporter working for 8 Days or Lime. Hey! I get to WRITE, I get to FLY, and I get to meet FAMOUS people like Backstreet Boys or Take That or Hanson or Brad Pitt or David Beckham! *cue girlish screams*



Nope, not that I dread or dislike doing what I'm doing now. In fact, I enjoy it! But sometimes, I wonder how would things have turned out if I had gone after these interests. Would the interests be sustained in the long run? Of would it fizzle and die out? Because of the interest inside, would I be someone phenomenal and skilled in the craft? Or would I be just good enough to get by and make ends meet? Would these interests be practical? Or would I have, one day, regret the choice? Would I - someday - be a phenomenal and skilled chef, hairstylist, or writer? Or would these interests be good enough just as hobbies or pastimes, but not as a career?



Geez! Which-came-first-chicken-or-egg questions!

RESURRECTED

3.30am: Left Riverwalk

3.50am: Concussed at McDonald, Chinatown

4.30am: Woke up

5.00am: Concussed

5.15am: McDonald's Fish Fillet burger

5.25am: Concussed

5.50am: Woke up by a McD staff who told us, "Cannot sleep here".

5.50 - 6.00am: Half concussed, half conscious

6.09am: On board first train

6.45am: Home sweet home



12.20pm: RESURRECTED!



I'm alive now!

The tuition at 10am? Postponed to tonight.



P.S. The late night/early morning Fish Fillet burger is so utterly sinful! Getting fat soon!

P.S.S. I REALLY am usually in dreamland by 12am and not appearing offline 啦... Anyway, well, yeah, the key word is "usually".