Wednesday, July 30, 2008
lashes
i've always wondered what the lil comb is for - the one "they" say is for combing lashes.
today, i think i understand, for today, i went and got myself lashes. yes, the sort that is GLUED to yon eyelids - and suddenly, the lash-comb makes sense!
...not that it'll be of any use, of course*.
* that is, possibly until i wake up tomorrow morning to discover i've been sleeping on my face -
today, i think i understand, for today, i went and got myself lashes. yes, the sort that is GLUED to yon eyelids - and suddenly, the lash-comb makes sense!
...not that it'll be of any use, of course*.
* that is, possibly until i wake up tomorrow morning to discover i've been sleeping on my face -
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Female of the Species
WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
'Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man's timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn't his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other's tale—
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.
Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.
Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!
But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.
She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.
She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.
She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.
Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!
So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.
And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.
Rudyard Kipling (1865-1936)
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
tush-whacked
yeah i've had my butt whipped. but then that's alright, makes me more aware and stronger. no more two-steps-forward-one-step-back - we aren't doing the cha-cha here, so there's absolutely no need for that.
how about one-step-forward-two-steps-up? adds dimension now, doesn't it.
well, whatever it is, i relinquish all grip. i surrender, i drop my weapons. don't kill me.*
* and if you must, let me die prettily.
how about one-step-forward-two-steps-up? adds dimension now, doesn't it.
well, whatever it is, i relinquish all grip. i surrender, i drop my weapons. don't kill me.*
* and if you must, let me die prettily.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday, July 12, 2008
sleep
i can't sleep.
main reason being i've missed my bedtime, which is at 10pm. it's now 3:11am and ..i'm online, blogging.
oh, i know i can get to sleep, only thing is that i'm kept awake by my absent sleepiness and the drip-drip-dripping of the aircon. i know that i can get to sleep if i listened to the silence that wasn't there (say, if there weren't dripping and i'm only listening to the hum of the aircon.)
i know it reads ridiculous but if you tried it you'll know how effective it is. seriously. listening for the silence that isn't there is a good way to get to sleep when dealing with drippy whatnots. meanwhile though, i remain sleepless because my eyes, though tired, simply refuse to entertain the idea that it might want to rest - it's a little like how you might feel when you realise you'd survived the holocaust because you ducked into the kitchen for a bit of a snack - it'd missed the bedtime.
oh look. a yawn. there's hope yet.
main reason being i've missed my bedtime, which is at 10pm. it's now 3:11am and ..i'm online, blogging.
oh, i know i can get to sleep, only thing is that i'm kept awake by my absent sleepiness and the drip-drip-dripping of the aircon. i know that i can get to sleep if i listened to the silence that wasn't there (say, if there weren't dripping and i'm only listening to the hum of the aircon.)
i know it reads ridiculous but if you tried it you'll know how effective it is. seriously. listening for the silence that isn't there is a good way to get to sleep when dealing with drippy whatnots. meanwhile though, i remain sleepless because my eyes, though tired, simply refuse to entertain the idea that it might want to rest - it's a little like how you might feel when you realise you'd survived the holocaust because you ducked into the kitchen for a bit of a snack - it'd missed the bedtime.
oh look. a yawn. there's hope yet.
3 suits
i went traipsing with my cousin and a lady friend this evening, and was looking for - the ladies - when i came upon this bar. figuring it's got to have the necessary facilities i strode right in and immediately came upon three gentlemen in suits - each attractive in their own right.
one of them, seeing the wild look in my eyes and possibly guessing that i've been chased by some uncouth gangster, gallantly asked me, "can i help you?"
to which i replied: "yes, may i use your toilet?" (nice going loren, you're so witty and charming i don't know who wouldn't want you right now)
one of them cheekily asked, "if we told you can we watch?" (the bartender has very nicely pointed me the way in the background)
to which i should have said, "if you'll give me a moment, i'll come back with your answer," merrily danced to the ladies then come back all smiles and told them - "no."
c'est esprit d'escalier. pooh.
one of them, seeing the wild look in my eyes and possibly guessing that i've been chased by some uncouth gangster, gallantly asked me, "can i help you?"
to which i replied: "yes, may i use your toilet?" (nice going loren, you're so witty and charming i don't know who wouldn't want you right now)
one of them cheekily asked, "if we told you can we watch?" (the bartender has very nicely pointed me the way in the background)
to which i should have said, "if you'll give me a moment, i'll come back with your answer," merrily danced to the ladies then come back all smiles and told them - "no."
c'est esprit d'escalier. pooh.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
hog
i've been eating like a hog these few days. and been sleeping like one, too. ever since sunday (which i spent in a glorious blackout) i've been on a lazy mood.
i leave work on time to go dancing (like last night, was at thumper's for salsa), play dota, meet friends, gallivant - the weather these days are pretty good, too, in a grouchy funky rainy sorta way. like right now.
it's 6:46pm, the sky''s still bright and the rain's poooouring itself onto us all. i'm sitting by the window listening to the thunder and rain as i type... it is, in itself, quite a luxury.
ah, time.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
that leaky 'con
of the random things i wanted to blog about today (loo stall loyalty, someone in building management heard my pleas - somehow - for better loo paper, dreaming about shower room espionage just to name a few) i am choosing to blog about that leaky 'con.
well, that leaky aircon, to be precise.
y'see, i use the aircon practically every night these recent months, as it is considered summer even in this hot and watery belt we call the tropics. if it were any more humid and/or warmer we wouldn't need to cook anything anymore - everything'd be steamed and we can all go out with chopsticks.
assuming dumplings grow on trees, of course.
anyhoos.
so each time i turn the 'con on, the machine spontaneously takes it upon itself to start dripping.... onto the thin plastic awning a short distance down from my window. charming.
ever slept with a dripping faucet?
well this is the dripping 'con.
at least with the faucet you can tighten it - with the 'con you turn it off and leave yourself to steep in the murky watery night air that's being flailed to and fro by the ceiling fan - murky watery night air that will inevitably turn hot and then become The Place To Be for MOSSIES.
try sleeping. go on, i dare ya.
having lived here for a while though, i've learnt to turn a deaf ear on that over-eager machine so as to earn myself some shuteye. the thing that gets me though is the fact that it's announcing to whomever in the vicinity that i'm using the 'con. i mean, global warming, hello? i'm concerned that my neighbours would either kaopeh (complain) about my 'con or they get annoyed enough (by the dripping) to mortar it.
well. the latter is, of course, more effective for them and very much preferred by me but would probably bring the police by the swarms to the area... though i wouldn't quite mind as i won't have to deal with it - because i'd very likely be DEAD.
but i digress.
BIGWIGS are in the G8 summit trying to find answers to help slow the apocalypse and here i am - ditsy lil reporter in the tropics sleeping with the trippy drippy aircon on every night. i should be ashamed of myself, but am not because those bigwigs have left carbon footprints big enough to stomp on THAT HOLE IN THE SKY twice over. ish.
so... does that make my using the aircon any less damaging? nope.
does it make me feel better? hell yeah!
those leaders could've used the internet for teleconferences, just like the ones who attended INTERNATIONAL WATER WEEK could have. helloooo big carbie footpriiint! wake up, wake up people! that plane you took with your bodyguards and entourage for the meeting? the bigass convention hall you booked that had to be chilled with industrial heavy-duty 'cons? followed by the plane you're going to take with your bodyguards and entourage back?
do you big guys really understand what you're talking about? because if you don't, i as a mere small fry living in the tropics who absolutely needs the benefits of the aircon (unlike in alaska. though granted, it seems to be the unspoken ambition for public transports and most office blocks in singapore to outdo alaska) will see nothing wrong with turning the 'con on every night for months in a row. until the rainy season sets in, at least.
even then i'd still have a smaller carbon output than you do. and believe me, if i could blow you all a raspberry right now i would. then i'd burp in your faces.
'hem. -cough-
i wonder how a leaky 'con has made me angry enough to rant about the environment, all of a sudden. yeah, it's a gift i've always had. i'm sure you've your own talents too; there's no need to get jealous.
and now i shall... go ignore the trippy drippy 'con. goodnight, good people.
well, that leaky aircon, to be precise.
y'see, i use the aircon practically every night these recent months, as it is considered summer even in this hot and watery belt we call the tropics. if it were any more humid and/or warmer we wouldn't need to cook anything anymore - everything'd be steamed and we can all go out with chopsticks.
assuming dumplings grow on trees, of course.
anyhoos.
so each time i turn the 'con on, the machine spontaneously takes it upon itself to start dripping.... onto the thin plastic awning a short distance down from my window. charming.
ever slept with a dripping faucet?
well this is the dripping 'con.
at least with the faucet you can tighten it - with the 'con you turn it off and leave yourself to steep in the murky watery night air that's being flailed to and fro by the ceiling fan - murky watery night air that will inevitably turn hot and then become The Place To Be for MOSSIES.
try sleeping. go on, i dare ya.
having lived here for a while though, i've learnt to turn a deaf ear on that over-eager machine so as to earn myself some shuteye. the thing that gets me though is the fact that it's announcing to whomever in the vicinity that i'm using the 'con. i mean, global warming, hello? i'm concerned that my neighbours would either kaopeh (complain) about my 'con or they get annoyed enough (by the dripping) to mortar it.
well. the latter is, of course, more effective for them and very much preferred by me but would probably bring the police by the swarms to the area... though i wouldn't quite mind as i won't have to deal with it - because i'd very likely be DEAD.
but i digress.
BIGWIGS are in the G8 summit trying to find answers to help slow the apocalypse and here i am - ditsy lil reporter in the tropics sleeping with the trippy drippy aircon on every night. i should be ashamed of myself, but am not because those bigwigs have left carbon footprints big enough to stomp on THAT HOLE IN THE SKY twice over. ish.
so... does that make my using the aircon any less damaging? nope.
does it make me feel better? hell yeah!
those leaders could've used the internet for teleconferences, just like the ones who attended INTERNATIONAL WATER WEEK could have. helloooo big carbie footpriiint! wake up, wake up people! that plane you took with your bodyguards and entourage for the meeting? the bigass convention hall you booked that had to be chilled with industrial heavy-duty 'cons? followed by the plane you're going to take with your bodyguards and entourage back?
do you big guys really understand what you're talking about? because if you don't, i as a mere small fry living in the tropics who absolutely needs the benefits of the aircon (unlike in alaska. though granted, it seems to be the unspoken ambition for public transports and most office blocks in singapore to outdo alaska) will see nothing wrong with turning the 'con on every night for months in a row. until the rainy season sets in, at least.
even then i'd still have a smaller carbon output than you do. and believe me, if i could blow you all a raspberry right now i would. then i'd burp in your faces.
'hem. -cough-
i wonder how a leaky 'con has made me angry enough to rant about the environment, all of a sudden. yeah, it's a gift i've always had. i'm sure you've your own talents too; there's no need to get jealous.
and now i shall... go ignore the trippy drippy 'con. goodnight, good people.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
conversation
overheard in chinatown a few days ago, between ah chek to china lady.
ah chek: “你喜欢女人吗？”
china lady: -mumbles something-
ah chek: “老老的可以吗？”
china lady: “都可以...”
ah chek: ”你老公那条大不大？”
that's when i lost my appetite and fled from the long tableful of people.
i sms-ed this to a friend, and the conversation went like this:
me: “is 你老公那条大不大？” a common question?
chris: ”did someone ask you this?“
me: “nope. that was a conversation between an ah chek and a china lady.”
chris: “我还以为有人这么问你。要是有人这样问你，你叫他等一下然后打电话给我，我下去show他。”
[my expression: O_o]
ah chek: “你喜欢女人吗？”
china lady: -mumbles something-
ah chek: “老老的可以吗？”
china lady: “都可以...”
ah chek: ”你老公那条大不大？”
that's when i lost my appetite and fled from the long tableful of people.
i sms-ed this to a friend, and the conversation went like this:
me: “is 你老公那条大不大？” a common question?
chris: ”did someone ask you this?“
me: “nope. that was a conversation between an ah chek and a china lady.”
chris: “我还以为有人这么问你。要是有人这样问你，你叫他等一下然后打电话给我，我下去show他。”
[my expression: O_o]
Friday, July 04, 2008
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
