Mr Bad Media Karma

A cursory peek into my fucked-up life. Rants and raves, musings and madness - come get your piece of me.

Friday, September 29, 2006

Living A Life Of Sin

I've always wanted to write about this. Never found the time/mustered the effort. I suppose now's as good a time as any. It's about the seeming incompatibility between religion and homosexuality. I'm going to focus on Christianity because I'm Christian and it's probably one of the more intolerant religions when it comes to man on man love. Or is that MEN on MEN =O

I've come to realise that many young homosexual Christians have this guilt chip built into them. Many were born into Christian families (including yours truly) and inheriting their parent's religion was as natural as inheriting their bad genes. I grew up going to Church every Sunday (I even had this perfect attendance award when I was 10). After a lapsed period (that had more to do with laziness than anything else), I attended church regularly again, initially once a week, and then once a fortnight, and I'm sensing a PATTERN here. During that premature revival, I was always afraid that homosexuality would be discussed at the pulpit. It never was, but every week (or subsequent fortnight), I would always wonder if that dirty little topic would be dug up and displayed for an entire congregation to pass judgement at (or, as is more likely the case given the herd instinct of many Christians, listen to the pastor issue his cautionary hell-and-brimstone sermon, and then pass whatever judgement they are told to). Truth be told, my church would probably never have preached the message of "ALL FAGGOTS (AND MADONNA) ARE ON A ONE WAY TICKET TO HELL - WHEE!" But even then, with my parents present (bear in mind that they are...aware of my sexual orientation, as much as we may choose to sweep it under the carpet), the mere thought of homosexuality being mentioned during sermon was enough to make me blush and CRINGE.

There came a point where I just stopped going to church altogether. Oh, I also adopted a HEALTHY dose of cynicism towards Christianity (and religion as a whole), which is actually a good thing. It amazes me how intelligent, educated professionals are willing to let themselves be brainwashed en bloc, like sheep to the slaughterhouse, without questioning anything they are told. So I should be happy right? Living a godless life in my own hedonist Sodom and Gomorrah utopia. See that's when that guilt chip comes in. Because as much as I try to ignore the elephant in the room, I am unable to forsake my religion completely. I KNOW that God exists, I believe that Jesus died for our sins on the cross, I have personally witnessed the power of prayer. But I simply cannot and will not accept a religion that is unable to accept me. If Christianity does not agree with my basic human condition, WHY should I agree with it?

You have your crazy evangelicals quoting the bible ad nauseam, although I'm so uncomfortable with the subject as a whole that I've never personally read what was said that may be interpreted as a biblical sanction on homosexuality. But didn't Jesus die for our sins? What makes the alleged sin of being gay (and all that comes with it of course) any worse than other sins? The bible does say that all sins are the same. There are no smaller or greater sins. The punishment for sin is death, and ALL men have sinned, which is why Jesus died on the cross for us. So why is special attention always lavished on the sin of homosexuality? Why is this particular sin apparently the only one that cannot be forgiven? As you can see, this is another instance where all I can do is throw out questions.

Another point I would like to make may prove more unsettling to those who happily eat whatever they are given, but tough shit too bad. The bible is the source that evangelicals quote to justify their opposition to homosexuality. The bible was not written by God. It was written by men. Let's not forget that. And men are prone to mistakes as well as their own prejudices (that's what makes us human after all). Even if God guided and steered these apostles so skillfully that everything written was as He intended, who's to say that was the case when the Bible was translated over the centuries? If I don't have amnesia, the Bible was written in Hebrew, subsequently translated to Latin. English translations probably only started appearing around the Middle Ages. Now, I'm no biblical scholar (I do have a PHD in faggotry tho') so please note that what I've written in this paragraph may not be entirely accurate, but I think the essence is there.

And so I find myself torn between two seemingly irreconcilable instituitions. The rainbow that God presented to Noah as a symbol of his promise to never dabble in genocide ever again, and that proud, fluttering rainbow flag watching over the Castro. That guilt chip continues to churn out periodic moments of worry which I proceed to sweep under the rug, along with all my other insecurities. And I realise I'm not alone. One of my fabulous fags described himself as a 'supermarket Catholic', and I've read of people who admit that one day they are going to have to come to terms with this, or that they need to find a partner who "loves God and will struggle through this together with me." Why SHOULD we have to struggle? I didn't choose to be like this. It came with my adolescence (read my previous post "Republican Lite" for that SAD SAD story). I don't want to have to struggle. Yet it seems that the only way to do that would be to forsake religion completely, which one of my frenemies has done, and I'm unwilling and unable to burn that bridge. So the guilt chip survives.

One day I will have to come to terms with all of this. Probably when I have to reckon with wrinkles and white hair and urinary incontinence. In other words, god willing, a FUCKING LONG TIME from now. Sometimes I wish I was born into a family of atheist. That would really solve A LOT of problems. But that isn't going to happen and I don't belive in reincarnation (if it did exist I would like to be reincarnated as Brad Pitt's penis please), so the only thing that I can do is continue to fumble through this life, and vainly hope that one day, some day, all this will just sort itself out. I just can't deny who I am as a person right now.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Freedom

I want to capture this moment right here. The feeling of relief that comes from leaving the slavish routine of NSF life. Knowing that I'll never be subjected to another parade or inspection in my life is reassuring. I've never been suited to regimentation. Simply isn't for me. And that's been my biggest problem with the SAF really. The rigidities of the system. The recent brouhaha over a serviceman's blog is the perfect example. It was a harmless little affair. What he wrote was basically true, and it was MILD compared to what a lot of others have written and said about our wonderful instituition. Whatever.

Looking at the small picture, I have been very lucky. My immediate superior has been very good to me. If you can get past the incessant nagging (and you will after a while, it feels like the wind blowing past - only gets in your hair momentarily), she's a good person to work for. I'll probably never have a boss as good as she has been to me again, simply because my unit is far removed from the realities and demands of the corporate world, try as they might to coat themselves with a veneer of professionalism.

So I'm slowly beginning to awaken from my slumber. The actual awakening hasn't come yet, but make no mistake, this bitch is starting to stir. To be perfectly honest, I'm not quite sure what to do with my life right now. The good thing about being in the army was that it provided a routine...I had to be in camp for most of the day, so there was less 'me' time, and that meant not having to think of ways to occupy myself. Is that sad? I don't know. But I'm pretty damn sure that I prefer this to being trapped in that archaic system.

It all depends on me now really. Whether I can shake off that inherent laziness, and more importantly whether I can overcome those insecurities of mine. The ego. The aversion to rejection. How does one cope with rejection? You can try my approach, retreat into your shell and errect those layers of walls. It brings stability and little else. What I want to be able to do is brush myself off and try again. Grit you teeth, bear with the pain, and just continue walking against adversity and the obstacles that are strewn before us as far as the eye can see. I mean, it's not humanly possibe to perpetually fail at EVERY juncture is it? Surely if you try 5 times, you'll hit the jackpot at least once? What are the odds of finding that special someone? Questions that I am unable to find answers to. I'll just put them in bottles and let them float out on the undulating waves of the ocean.

Whatever it is, I'm...happy to be in my position right now. Not ecstatically elated or overtly overjoyed, but content. It's been a long time coming.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Kate Is The New Black

So Kate Moss is on the cover of The Independent, all in the name of fighting AIDS in Africa.
What do you think?

It's certainly controversial. I can think of several potential objections. Firstly, why does the person on the cover have to be black? Doesn't that perpetuate a negative sterotype that AIDS is an African disease? Well...urm...this IS about fighting AIDS in Africa you know. So what, are we supposed to have a CHINESE on the cover? Wake up and smell the coffee honey, Africans ARE more likely to suffer from HIV than other racial groups. You can't expect to appeal for funds to fight the dire situation in Africa while hiding behind some politically correct notion that we shouldn't associate AIDS with Africa. Why pay Africa special attention then?

Secondly, why couldn't they use a black model? Why paint Kate Moss black? That's actually a question I'm asking myself. Probably because it's a good way to generate controversy and sell those papers. Like it or not, the general public thrives on the controversial. People are more likely to buy the issue with Kate painted black on the cover than if they got say, Naomi Campbell or Iman to model. They could also have asked Tyra, but Ms Banks would probably shy away from doing a shot like that because it doesn't suit her frivilous, bubbly personality.

Thirdly, WHY KATE MOSS? Why use someone who was caught smoking coacaine on the cover of an issue about fighting AIDS? Well, why not? Kate Moss is uber hot right now, having her on the cover is likely to increase sales, and since half of the revenues are going to fight AIDS, shouldn't the main concern be selling as many copies as possible?

People need to see the big picture and not quibble over minute details. Bother someone else with your...questions.

On a side note, take a look at my future car.
Simon gon' b rockin' CHINCHILLA COATS when he has the dough, in the house off the coast when he has the dough, he gon' take everything YOU OWN when he has the dough, when he has the dough DAMN when he has the dough. He gon' work them VVS Stones when he has the dough, in the 'Bach and the ROLLS when he has the dough...lalala

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Body for sale

It feels so mercantile. Selling (trying to anyway) yourself to a room with hundreds of strangers with no faces and no real names. It's worse than a masquerade, because you won't even know if the person is wearing a mask. You introduce your vital statistics, as if they were a mere set of numbers that you rattle off by rote. The other person reciprocates. You hardly bother making small talk, this isn't really the place for it. Do you have a place? Do you have a picture? It's all a game, and you never know when someone is playing you (and they usually are). The picture bit's usually the biggest hurdle, because everyone there is superficial and most don't bother trying to hide it. If you're lucky and meet someone who wants to fuck you, you ask for his number and arrange to meet. And then you have meaningless sex devoid of any semblance of love or passion. It's completely dehumanizing.

And yet I keep going back, day after day, whenever I find myself bored (read horny) and feel like getting laid. I haven't had sex in months and it's really starting to get to me. What kind of fabulous queer doesn't have sex for more than half a year??

It's a tricky business, and evidently I'm a mere panhandler. We'll leave the soliciting and hot sex to the professionals. I'm just sick and tired of it all. For now.

Friday, September 22, 2006

3

I've never been particularly fond of the number 3. It's awkward. I mean, it's an ODD number la, doesn't that say it all? Take for example, that time in KL when Tong was sick and seemingly unable to get out of bed, and Marcus, Gerald and myself embarked on our adventure at Sunway Lagoon. The best rides were 2-seaters, which meant someone was always left out, and I volunteered to be that someone (I figure it's better to volunteer for something you know is going to happen anyway, it takes away the sting of rejection somewhat). When my friendship with Jeff imploded, and in the process alienated him from the rest of us, I didn't like the fact that the fabulous (ok I'm not using this literally OR figuratively here really, I just need a description that starts with 'f') foursome had became a decidedly more down-to-earth threesome. 3 was for Linda, Naomi and Christy, not Simon.

But over the past year, the strangest thing happened. I became part of a thrilling threesome, that for a couple of months was reformed as a foursome, which for a little while was deconstructed and became a threesome again, SANS MYSELF, and finally became the holy trinity after the evildoer was exorcised and I made my comeback. And so I find myself in a company of 3, savouring every minute of it and living life the way I want to (well to a certain extent anyway). It has defined my 2006, the experiences being those I will most vividly and nostalgically recall when I think about my life at 20. Just like Siow in 2000, and Tong in 2002, 2006 will always be the year of Meng and Wei Ren. And of course when WR ABANDONS us for Melbourne (which is really for his own good la), things will change. The escapades will fade into that blessing and curse we know as memory, the voices and laughter will fade away. Yes, that much is true. And it makes me very sad to think about it. But that doesn't mean that we have to say goodbye and go our own ways forever. How things change will depend on the course of action we take, and hopefully 5 years down the road the trinity will be back in action, older, wiser (some of us need it more tho') and RICHER.

All that being said, mere words cannot express my appreciation and gratitude to CHOO B and AUNTY MENG. You two have injected so much entertainment and jollification into a life that was in danger of becoming most stale and jaded. Perhaps more importantly, by accepting me for who I am, with all my flaws and shortcomings, and including me in your lives, you guys have demonstrated the concept of true friendship to someone who has been given short shrift in that department for most of his life. So happy 20th my bitches, and here's to the crazy days ahead of us =D

While I wax lyrical over my exalted Trinity, I certainly have not forgotten my friends of yore. We share bonds that were forged through the flames of our teenage years, which simply (and perhaps sadly) cannot be replicated elsewhere. To that end, Gerald, Lena and myself met today for lunch and Miami Vice. Hmmm...Miami Vice. I'm not sure what to think of it really. The movie started off with this plot that was suddenly dropped mid-way in favour of showcasing a rescue operation which had nothing to contribute to the original plot, and was never picked up again. Which is a symptom of either amnesia or bad movie-making. But as a platform to display nice cars (Ferraris and BMs and BENTLEYS), fast boats, and the Miami Vice lifesyle, I suppose it did the job. Colin Farrell has lost the attractive features that made me drool over him 3 years ago, and Jamie Foxx...well, I've never cared too much for Jamie Foxx to be honest. Gong Li MANGLED the English language once again, but you can tell that she's a terrific actress really. If she keeps her mouth shut.

One thing that caught my attention in the movie were the beautiful houses. The 4 million Miami condo with expansive views of the endless blue ocean, the mansion perched on a ridge surrounded by raging waterfalls...the extravagance of houses in movies never fails to impress me. Which then begs the question, what would my dream house look like? I can't exactly answer that question directly, because I have many dream houses, from the apartment along the Rue St Honore to the penthouse overlooking Central Park, to the beachfront resort-style property in Maui. But if we were talking about the mansion on the coast of Malibu, then my dream house would probably be something like this.
Yes, it's good to have our dreams and hold on to them, which is the same thing that PARIS HILTON wants you to know, from her new video for Nothing In This World. I'll freely admit that I love that song. It's singalong, breezy, feel-good pop, and sometimes that really is the temporary antidote for all the emptiness and lonliness that we feel in our lives from time to time.

This blog is almost one year old by now, and stands as testament to the rollercoaster that was my late 2005 - 2006. The highs were really high, and the lows REALLY low, and I hope that through it all I have been able to grow wiser, and grasp some semblance of who I am as a person. And it doesn't hurt that I made 2 very important and special friends during this period =)

Monday, September 18, 2006

It's fucking Monday already!

And I'm still awake! One word - off! Yes I finally consumed my off for Tech Mob, and of course I have nothing eventful planned at all. I was on the way to Cali today (the gym of course) when I literally bumped into Lena at the junction. It was nice to see her again. And I realise that I actually have readers! Yay...

Or is that 'a reader'?

Anyway, I DESPERATELY need to revamp the wardrobe. What I have now is simply an amalgamation of random, generally dull, blah clothes. I need something more cohesive, something with a theme, a collection that expresses who I am as an individual. And no that doesn't mean having a closet full of tacky clothes with the brands ostentatiously displayed for all to see. I CAN be subtle you know. I just don't have the money. Anyone care to give me 10 grand?

Right now I'm thinking jeans. A good pair of jeans can do wonders for you. Seriously, if you're going to spend big money on something, spend it on jeans. They're a worthy investment. That and bags. Ok they're not fucking Picassos that will appreciate in value or anything but you can use them for years (unlike most t-shirts that you don't feel like wearing yet again after they've been round the block a few times). Jeans and bags. Those are the two things I want most. And of course t-shirts. The ironic thing is although they're not really worthy investments in the sense that you won't wear them too often for very long, it's precisely because you won't wear them after a while that you have to constantly buy new ones. The wonders of fashion. What an epiphany! I'm so proud of myself that, I HAVE CRY. Ok enough nonsese. Time to sleep. Goodnight.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

all those little things we say

Are there certain things you should never say to the friend of a friend? I realised on Thursday that certain topics, no matter how seemingly trivial, should never be discussed with your friend's friend. Especially things that your friend's friend tells him...not you. So on that Thursday in the gym I found myself making conversation with said friend's friend. He was on the way out of the gym and was waiting for the elevator. I politely asked if he was going out for dinner.

"No, going home."
"Oh, dinner with parents?"
"Yes"
*thinks back to when I heard from my friend that said person (in his 30s I think) was still very much dependent on his parents*
"Oh yeah...I heard that you're quite a...*tries to think of suitable word but ends up saying what comes to mind first*...mama's boy"
"...Yeah I'm still...reliant...what to do, have to look after them"
*proceeds to walk into lift*
"Oh but that's a good thing..."

I so desperately need a course in social etiquette.

Well on Friday I went into ARC to pass SOL Choo his birthday present and cookies. He's got this whole office to himself. The poor computer there has been pretty much choosified - ie been loaded with lots of gay music and gay movies and whatnot. LOL but at least he's coping, I mean what else can he do really? I lied to the guardhouse about why I needed to enter the camp. Despatch (ok), on Friday at 1735 hrs (no fucking way). At first, I thought they were going to barrage me with a whole series of questions but I suppose the seasoned despatcher in me was able to pull off the near impossible. And thank God I did or I may have been spending much more than 20 minutes inside.

Anyway, I was doing the usual surfing and came across this amazing picture which brought back so many memories.
I still vividly remember the hooplah surrounding this performance. After Satisfaction/Oops from 2000 (still her best and most iconic performance to date), there was mad speculation about what she could possibly do to top that. Well, she couldn't, and I didn't expect her to really. Moments like *that* aren't topped the very next year. But she came damn close. I mean, I didn't appreciate the lip-synching (I never do) but how could you argue against a performance with a live tiger and albino python? Who else had ever performed live with a python draped across their shoulders before? It was iconic in it's own right, the image still permeates pop culture 5 years later.

The more I think about it, the more I can't wait for Queen B to make her big comeback. I'm a little afraid about how the reception will be, but I suppose you won't know if you don't try (which is advice I really should listen to myself, me being the pussy willow that I am). Anyways, that Slave performance was just a few days before 9/11. I was at my relative's house trying desperately to watch the VMAs on my uncle's VCR, thanks to the fact that I don't have cable at home (AND STILL DON'T)! That was a Sunday and 9/11 was a Tuesday. Looking back now, that Sunday, Monday and Tuesday up to 8pm were the final days of an era of relative calm and stability. The cold war was long over, there weren't any serious threats to global peace, everything was more or less...settled. And then when the planes struck and the towers fell, we entered a new era which we are still very much struggling to cope with now.

I really don't know what to make of the whole war on terror. I mean, Iraq turned out to be a quagmire, and Afghanistan isn't a model of stable democracy either, but what did you expect Bush to do? Sit back and smoke a cigar? Sit down with Osama and negotiate? Seriously, the more I read about international affairs, the more I think that diplomacy is crap. It never offers long-term solutions, everything comes out half-baked, and consequently it never lasts very long. Just look at the situation in Sri Lanka between the government and the Tamil Tigers. Why should Bush, being the leader of the most powerful nation in the world, have to settle for mere talk in dealing with terrorists whose real aim is to destroy Western civilization and everything it stands for, while installing a global Islamic caliphate? Sometimes there just isn't room for talk, action has to be taken. Of course, the action should have been carried out more effectively, but that's another topic altogether. Bottom line, Bush was right to respond the way he did, in attacking Afghanistan and destroying the Taliban. Hell, they should have killed every single one of them, and we wouldn't have the problems we are having now in the south. Ok that's a little extreme but I hope it gives you an idea of how frustrated I am with the situation in the world right now. I simply don't understand this anti-American sentiment. It's bull.

Well that's all I have to say for now.

PS. CONGRATS MS SPEARS! NOW GET YOUR ASS BACK INTO THE SCENE!

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

World Weary

It's not easy being a conscript. You waste two years of your life doing what other (often uneducated and clueless) baboons want you to. They don't give proper instructions, they are always last minute, and it generally is very demeaning to be ordered around my someone who has a quarter of your IQ. This dire situation is compounded by the fact that every now and then, you encounter people who go out of their way to make you miserable. When you meet someone like that, and you give them just the tiniest opportunity to find fault with you, well then in a nutshell, you're screwed.

And so my friend finds himself being CHARGED and given 14 days of SOL (which basically means that he can't leave camp for 2 weeks, and also puts a mark on his army records) for committing a very minor offence. As Mdm would say, a 'small matter'. Smaller than an Asian man's flacid penis on a cold day. It's really very surreal. I won't be seeing him at the gym, won't be celebrating his birthday (which is very unfortunately this weeked), and we won't be able to have our planned brunch at Pregos. Not just yet anyway. And he isn't like one of 'em brown dirt fellas who spend their days congregating around the smoking corner and talking about soccer. He works really hard, to the point where he doesn't get to leave the office at 5.30 everyday (like moi), and occasionally can't find the time for lunch. Is this how our wonderful organisation CHOOses to repay loyalty? We're ALL screwed la. Can't wait to get out. It makes my blood boil to think about some of the motherfuckers out there who abuse their rank as the only means of projecting any sort of authority whatsoever over people who will be unimaginably more successful in life than they can ever hope to be.

Having said all that, not all of them are bad la. I've been blessed with generally good superiors. I have learnt a thing or two here and there. Still, it's nothing that couldn't have been learnt elsewhere. I really feel terrible about what's happened to him, So unexpected. And unjust. You know what they say, what goes around comes around. Hopefully that holds true this time. That's all I'm gonna say.

Drama inspires one to write doesn't it?

Anyway a few days ago the apparently finalised plans for the Ground Zero Site were released.
I have to say that I'm liking the designs. Although you can't exactly term any of those buildings 'iconic' (which is a term I am quite sick of because of it's blatant overuse here in Singapore), I think they're a fitting replacement for the Twin Towers, which were hopelessly boxy but still considered icons of New York City. As you should all know by now, I had the priviledge of visiting the towers a year before 9/11, and the entire complex was really breathtaking, especially for a 14 year old kid from a country which prides itself on it's PUBLIC HOUSING.

I'm a whee bit iffy on that building with the 4-diamond cascading...thinggy, which is funny because it seemingly is the most daring of the lot. But then again I love the old school buildings in Manhattan more than anything else (think of the Woolworth, the Flatiron, the Chrsyler in all her 1920s splendor), so I suppose that reaction to 4-diamond thinggy isn't surprising. Don't get me wrong, I really do adore avant-garde, cutting-edge, ground-breaking, in the vanguard etc etc architecture, but what amazes me about all the old buildings is that they were built without the comforts and conviniences of modern technology today. And the Empire State and Chrsyler are still taller (and infinitely more majestic) than anythig we have in Singapore today.

Singapore has never been the country for skyscrapers that make you want to have spontaneous multiple orgasms. For some reason, our 'big 3' look provincial compared to their counterparts in Malaysia, Taipei, Dubai etc. When it comes to skyscrapers, it must be said that I can be a size Queen. Hell, ain't no skyscraper going up my ass anyway.

Ewww.

So yeah. That's about it. I still feel shitty for WR. The cost has just become too much to take.

Saturday, September 09, 2006

Republican Lite

At the gym on Thursday, I declared my support for abortion in an extremely cavalier manner. I'm pro-choice. A mother is responsible for her child and should have the right to decide if she wishes to take on that responsibility. Of course, she can always put the baby up for adoption after it has been born, but why bring something that isn't wanted into this world? I honestly do feel that for a lot of starving, suffering children in Africa or India, they would have been better off not being born. Call me a cold, heartless person if you will, but if you really think about it and put aside all notions of religion and politically-correct nonsense, you'll see that it is a compelling argument.

Do I support gay marriage? The jury's still out on that. Does that surprise you? It surprises me somewhat. But then I think about my one (and perhaps only) principle in life - you make the decision, you live with the consequences. Of course, we don't CHOOSE to be gay. You don't wake up one day and decide that being homosexual is the new black. You don't decide to like Madonna and Mariah and Britney and Cher. You don't decide that you're going to have to start dressing well (and this may be a moot point really). However, you do decide to remain true to who you are, you decide that you are tired of living a charade, you decide that you want to be honest with yourself and your loved ones. So you live with the consequences.

I was going to write about my political leanings when it came to social and economic issues (with the sad, sad conclusion that I am really more Republican than Democrat), but then writing the paragraph above really set something ticking. How did I find out I was gay? In retrospect, the penchant for wearing my mum's (horrible 80s) dresses and (pitiful) 2 inch shoes , along with the inclination towards Polly Pocket, were probably the red flags. I was going to grow up to be a flaming homosexual (with a horrible sense of style to boot). At that point in my life though, none of that ever occured to me. I didn't even know what 'gay' meant.

In Primary 4 I was made fun of because of this rather unfortunate pose in a class picture, and I spent the rest of my primary school life with the unfortunate moniker 'Mary' irreversibly attached to me. It was very painful. Fast forward to the end of 1998, just before I entered secondary school. I was in Sydney and found myself strangely drawn to postcards of the beach (of which there are many) in the various tourist traps (of which there are many) in and around the city. It wasn't the blue sky or mesmerising ocean that caught my attention. Instead, I realised I was attracted to the muscular, semi-naked men frolicking in the waves and lazing around in the sand. I remember going "Oh...Ok...SHIT!", because before then I simply never realised that I was drawn to species of the same sex. I was like that deaf beauty queen in America who was run over by a train travelling in the same direction as she was. There was no warning.

In Secondary 1 I realised that I was the only guy in class who admitted to liking Days of Our Lives. I mean, some of my classmates watched it late at night when they had nothing better to do and laughed at the whole thing. I rushed home from school so that I could catch the afternoon screening. RING THE ALARM!

The year 2000, one of my favourite (and also most painful, but that's another story) years, largely because I spent 12 days in Manhattan. Unforgettable. Anyway, I was in Virgin Megastore at Times Square and that was when I purchased my first Britney CD, Oops!...I Did It Again. I also bought Don't Say You Love Me by M2M and Cher's Greatest Hits, which the security guard at Macy's discovered when I set off the detector and shared a good-natured laugh with a fat Caucasian at my expense.

The point of this damn grandmother story is that these inclinations appeared spontaneously. Which is why I resent any implication that I was somehow jumping on a pink bandwagon. I never chose to suscribe to this lifestyle in order to define myself as gay. These things just happened. It was never a conscious decision. I never forced myself to appreciate Sex and the City or Desperate Housewives or fucking Mean Girls. I just do. It's very irritating when people can't seem to understand that, good-intentioned though they may be.

Thank god I have friends who have gone through it all, the same struggles, the same sniggers and smirks from their classmates, friends who have the same obsession with shopping and the (generally speaking) same tastes in music and movies and TV. Don't judge others if you haven't walked in their shoes. It's a piece of cliche advice that we should all learn to heed more often. That's all.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

100th Post

And I'm going to keep it simple.
My dad took this picture of a big rock in Yosemite Park and sent it to me. Can't wait to get up close and see it for myself. Let's not forget San Francisco in all her majesty. 2006 is going to end with a bang indeed. But first I have to get out of the army *mutters*

I met an old friend on Sunday and he was bemoaning my general change in behaviour over the past year. The tighter clothes, the more evident flamboyance, the limper wrist? It's not that I haven't been thinking about these things myself. I did change, and for what? But at the end of the day, I have to be honest with myself. It's not easy because I'm just a bottled up cask of insecurity. It permeates my life, to a degree which is detrimental. To the point where I won't acknowledge a person I've met before simply because...I feel inferior. Which just gives others the impression that I'm unfriendly. Which I'm not. I don't allow myself (or that damn ego) to be bruised, simply by errecting walls around them. Layers and layers of walls. I don't get hurt if I don't put myself in a vulnerable position. Thus I become the Ice Queen. I hope my friends can see beyond that, see someone who is actually warm and loves to laugh, to love and be loved. I simply cannot coax myself out of the shell into which I withdrew after all that happened. It's very painful. And I'm wallowing in yet another pity party. So much for keeping this post simple eh? Lo Siento.

On a happier note, urm...yeah. That's pretty much all for tonight.

Saturday, September 02, 2006

It really hasn't been the same...

Was reading a review of this year's MTV VMAs on Billboard.com

"There were no snakes, lesbian kisses or bizarre appearances by Michael Jackson. Instead, MTV played it safe at the 2006 Video Music Awards, held last night (Aug. 31) at New York's Radio City Music Hall."

Notice something here? Snakes (Britney at 2001 VMAs performing Slave), lesbian kisses (Britney and Madonna at the 2003 VMAs) and bizarre apperance by Wacko (who Britney introduced at the 2002 VMAs, along with that hilarious Artist of the Millennium nonsense). I haven't bothered much with the VMAs since 2004 (the year Toxic was the only female and pop video nominated for video of the year yet somehow managed to lose both best female and best pop video). The show has basically lost that sparkle it once had, the guilty pleasure of many who relished the sheer irreverance and outrageous antics of the whole affair. It's now become like any other awards show really, and unlike the Grammys or even the AMAs, there is little prestige in one of those damn moonmen. It counts for nothing really. Bring back Britney (and in real life, not some lame video skit with that idiot of a husband), and you bring back some of the excitement. But I fear that it may already be too late...

Anyyway last night was The Devil Wears Prada which was really a good show. I mean, I read the book and of course a book is going to be better than the movie. Thing about books is that it leaves everything to the imagination of the reader. One builds up your own Andrea and Miranda, the minimalist-white offices of Runway magazine, the sequences of Andrea hurrying all over Manhattan and Paris to satisfy the insatiable demands of her boss. Of course most people would be more inclined to that than a director's interpretation of the book, imposing his vision onto your own. And of course a book provides greater opporunity for plot and character development, which is sacrificed to make a 2 hour movie.

Having said all that, I think the director interpreted the book wonderfully. The changes made to the storyline were somewhat significant, but in the context of a movie it all played out very nicely. Nothing makes me more excited than images of the bustling streets of Manhattan, along with MADONNA for audio accompaniment. Are you ready to jump?

Meryl was sensational and reminded me why she is the most nominated actress in the history of the academy awards. It wasn't an over-the-top, caricature of a performance that must have been tempting to portray, especially when you consider the novel. It was subtle and understated, yet took away none of the terror from the character. One day, we are all going to have to make that decision between our career and our own personal lives. It may not be the most original topic but none of us can run away from it (when I say us I mean people with ambition of course). You might be Andrea and eventually decide not to make those sometimes selfish (and sometimes selfless) decisions for the sake of your career. I might be Miranda and conciously make tough and unpopular decisions in order to climb that damn ladder. Who's to judge and say which is better? I've always had a very simple mantra. You make the decision, you live with the consequences. At the end of the day, we're all human, after all.

There was this really funny conversation at Subway on Thursday. For some reason which I cannot recall, we started talking about yeast infections. About the yucky discharges and moist conditions that lead to yeast festering. And Meng was like, how does a woman get a yeast infection? Does she stick bread into her VV? Zooch just couldn't stop laughing la. La la la. I despise my local accent. I really can't fathom why, with my strictly English-only upbringing, I occasionally speak like some cheena secondary school girl discussing the latest cheena pop band. Give me my CHANNEL bag and my HERPES scarf.