Monthly Archive
Browsing entries posted on September 2005
Fame and the Singapore Blogosphere
I have a theory that, where the Singapore blogosphere is concerned, the method by which you gain and maintain fame has a direct impact on the types of loyal readers/ fans/ groupies you attract.
Some examples:
mr brown became famous through his satirical posts on Singapore life, way back when people used Yahoo! Search instead of Google. Those posts have dwindled, but his readership remains, and may in fact have increased. Nowadays he is “Faith’s Daddy” or “Isaac’s Daddy” or “The Blogging Uncle who sometimes has funny links”. This is reflected in the kind of comments he gets (which is my measure for the kind of reader he gets): Ordinary Joes and Janes, some with kids, who appreciate his sometimes whimsical take on life, and have similarly geeky tastes.
Rockson shot to fame by expressing his opinion on the NKF saga, complete with a dictionary-ful of Hokkien vulgarities. Similarly, his comments board is also full of people expressing their opinions with Hokkien vulgarities. One Ah Beng blogs, and the rest flock to him as their prophet.
Agagooga, trademark owner of Raffles Guys School, is now a blogging force to be reckoned with. (Because if you don’t agree with him, he’ll just crush you under the weight of his… intellect.) His posts are highly regarded both for their almost-scholarly feel (debates on creationism, religion and statistics, natch) and also for their soporific qualities. He has become synonymous with the super-long and cheem blog post. And also with Wo-hen Nankan.
So the kind of readers he attracts (regular readers, not those who chanced upon his site while Googling for their weird fetishes) are similarly intellectual, are (disenchanted) Noose students, and/or might also have a thing for Power Rangers/ Wo-hen Nankan.
Where am I going with all this? Very easy. The Maxim spread.
There, do I have your attention now?
If I don’t, it’s probably because you’d much rather be looking at Sandralicious’ blog, Xiaxue’s blog or the other girls (sorry, I had absolutely no idea they existed prior to this shoot). Blogs, of course you’d be looking at their blogs, because they are such sexy girls and when guys see sexy girls and a blog address, the first thing they do is of course to check out their blogs wat. I mean, that’s the reason those girls chose to do the Maxim spread right? So that they can get more traffic?
I mean, come on, they weren’t getting paid, so the only “reward” they’ll get is publicity. Maybe they really wanted to bare themselves in a bloke mag, I dunno. But anyway: Guy+sexy girl pics+ blog address = guy going to girl’s blog.
That is actually a valid equation, since we are mostly voyeurs at heart, and who wouldn’t want to look at a sexy girl’s blog! Maybe she’ll have more pictures of herself there leh! Shiokology! The issue at hand, however, is this.
Would you really want such readers? “Hi, I’m here after seeing your pix in Maxim, i must say you are realli sexxxy, want to meet up sometime?” No relation at all to what you wrote in your blog, in fact he probably never even read it. Don’t bother writing anymore with readers like this, just keep posing for pictures. Heck, these readers won’t know the difference.
“Readers” like this don’t do justice to one as a blogger. They only do justice to one as a piece of meat to be ogled. Sure they kick up the traffic substantially, but if they don’t read, and there aren’t any more sexy pics forthcoming, they don’t return. So a publicity stunt like this will only get you a spike in readership, not a permanent increase. And after the spike comes a fall - not only in the amount of traffic, since the “readers” have gone off to the next flavour of the week - but also in the esteem in which you are held by the rest of the blogosphere.
To return to my original point: You attracted readers by the age-old trick, (implied) sex. So these readers will only have one thing on their minds - sex. I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell wouldn’t want this kind of people littering my comments board, and intruding into my cyberspace.
Stop Breathing on Me.
I was in the dining hall, waiting my turn in the queue, when someone breathed on my head.
Times like that, I hate being short.
The guy in question had turned to get a plate, and he was standing perpendicular to me. As he faced his friend, I could feel his exhalations on the top of my head. So there I was, absorbing someone else’s CO2 and water vapour and goodness knows what else, bad-breath bacteria? If I go bald later in life, right on the top of my head, I’ll know why.
But the thing I hated most about it was the fact that, had I been taller, it most probably wouldn’t have happened. It’s demeaning! My height (or lack of it) has placed me in a compromising position!
I don’t usually feel bad about being short, but this was one of the times that I did.
Next time don’t talk over short people. And I in turn will stay out of the way of your conversation.
How to Raise a Princess
Somewhere along the road to adulthood I became a princess.
I didn’t marry any princes, nor did my father or mother ascend any thrones, but nevertheless, here I am, fair of skin and red of lip, like princesses in the story books. Yes, I am a self-declared kind of princess, but no, I never intended to end up this way. I thought I was a tomboy, walking around in jeans and cargo pants, watching footie on telly and drinking beer.
So where did this pink-loving, makeup-wearing, hair-flipping creature come from?
I think it’s my parents’ fault. They gave me such a pampered lifestyle that sooner or later, the princess within was bound to rear her royal head. They gave me money to spend as I liked, and of course everyone wants to look good. So I spent it on beauty treatments (yes, I admit, I’m not naturally beautiful) and makeup. And clothes.
I really have no idea where the whole “I think I’d like to wear more skirts” thing came from. I’m not a skirt person. I have fat legs. But I think the chance confluence of increasing income, femininity and a trend towards longer skirts combined to suddenly make me more girly. I dunno. All I know is, every time I pass a clothing store, I’m looking at the skirts.
When it comes to behaving properly, though, that’s something I’ve always had. Walk with your head held high (to the point of looking very snooty), sit like a lady, don’t talk with your mouth full… honestly, it’s shocking how much of the populace doesn’t know of these basic courtesies. Anyone who’s dined with me will know that I would rather keep you waiting for a reply to your question, than to answer with mush in my mouth. Ugh. And those who have manners will themselves give me time to swallow. *snooty sniff*
The one overriding thing every princess should have, though, is self-confidence. Really, no kidding. I don’t care if you ACTUALLY are a princess, if you’re a shy shrinking violet, then you need deportment lessons from me, commoner though I may be. Princesses should attract attention. Not in a “lookatme, lookatme” sort of way. More like a “wah, got x-factor” sort of way. It’s called having a presence.
Sometimes princesses like me end up being trophy wives or girlfriends. Yeah, how demeaning, isn’t it? I love being a trophy girlfriend. It means that you’re coveted by many but only one can have you. It means you’re quality, and that you’re in demand. Much better than just having the one man after you, isn’t it? (Plus, shhh, it means you have other options should you be replaced by a newer, shinier trophy.)
Anyway, nowadays being a trophy girlfriend isn’t just about the looks. No one wants a vase. Pretty, but empty. Men want… er, a PowerBook. Or a PS2. Beautiful, elegant, functional and entertaining. Sort of like the criteria for geisha - not just about beauty, geisha must also be talented in the arts, knowledgable about world affairs and able to make charming conversation. Like that only solid mah!
Ultimately, remember that only one person can make you a princess: Yourself. Your boyfriend may treat you like one, your parents may ensure you live like one, but no one else can make you FEEL like one. So every day, I look in the mirror and admire my royal self, and then it doesn’t matter what the rest of the world thinks.
I love myself and you’re not taking that away from me.
I’m that girl
I’m that girl who hit you in kindergarten, and got sent to the principal’s office, but I can’t remember who you are.
I’m that girl who pushed you till you fell and hurt your knee, and though you’ve forgiven me, I can’t forgive myself.
I’m that girl who was no. 1 in the class for 4 consecutive years.
I’m that girl you thought was a boy because of my haircut and square jaw. The hair is longer, but the jaw remains.
I’m that girl who ragged you when you were a probationer, because I believed you weren’t good enough to be a prefect. And also because, in my teenage superiority, I pitied you for being unattractive.
I’m that girl who had a crush on you for 6 months, and gave it up when you didn’t respond, but I will always remember you fondly.
I’m that girl who applied for a scholarship because you said you might be going to Singapore, but in the end I went and you didn’t.
I’m that girl who swapped with another girl so I could get you for a Secret Pal.
I’m the girl who tried to tell herself she wasn’t in love with you, not knowing that you were in love with me.
I’m the girl who gave you your first kiss.
I’m the girl who, for all the guy friends she has, can’t get along with girls.
I’m the girl you see in the company of the boy raggers, but is dating none of them.
I’m the girl with a hundred secrets buried under her long brown hair.
Wishlist!
Okay, this is a shameless post about what I want in the coming 5 weeks. If I don’t get it within that time frame, I don’t want them any more. Or, I’ve already obtained them for myself.
1. Flickr Pro account.
One year or two years, it’s up to you, thank you. I depleted my September bandwidth allowance, the first time I’ve ever done so. Bummer. And I’m only allowed 3 photosets and 200 most recent photos. Bah. Some things are worth paying for, I suppose.
2. A facial at Leonard Drake.
I’m overdue for another session, the blackheads have reappeared. One of my sessions costs about $130. I’m also considering a men’s facial for the bf, just to see how effective they can be.
3. Bar fridge for my room.
Anyone got one to sell for a reasonable price? I’m looking for a tiny one to put under the desk. Or I can always put it in the bf’s room, since he wants one too, and I can trust him not to steal my food. I want one with a freezer compartment, and not one of those fridgemaster cooler/warmers. Ice cold, baby. Ice cold.
I think that’s all for now, I’m not very demanding. *hee*
Notes From The Road
I wish I had wi-fi access on the road, then I could have done a kind of stream-of-consciousness blogging about the things I saw, but no go, so.
Firstly, I’m not taking that bus again. Nothing wrong with the ride, but it took a little too long to arrive in KL, so I’m going back to my regular $37 bus ride. It departed at 6.30 pm, but since it was leaving from Golden Mile, it took a good 30 minutes to arrive at Tuas. And because so many buses leave at the same time, you get a long queue at the immigration complex. Bah.
By the time we got on the road, the sun had set, and my usual green scenery was faded into grays and blacks. Made me a bit introspective, it did. Not to mention sleepy. Come on, there’s nothing there to see out there! The only landmarks I recognised were the duck farm (haha I typed ‘dick’ instead of ‘duck’, nyeh) in Johor, the windsocks by the highway in Malacca and finally, the familiar little houses near the exit to Seremban. And I only recognised the houses because my grandma used to live in Seremban and we used to visit her quite a bit.
Anyway. The in-trip movie was ‘Red Eye’. I didn’t bother watching it, I feel asleep and woke up in time for the ending. Oh right. A little observation about immigration. I breezed through the Malaysian customs. They usually don’t stop me, but after getting checked once last semester, I’m not taking it for granted. But anyway, think about it. No X-ray machines, no metal detectors, no drug-sniffer dogs (who’d handle them anyway, all the staff are Malay). So how do they expect to stop any contraband coming in from Singapore? Or do they not expect any contraband coming in, because that would be sort of a coal-to-Newcastle situation, eh?
Mostly a boring trip, and I was glad when we pulled up in Puduraya bus terminal. I was glad to be home, for about 15 seconds. Click to know why. Continue Reading…
“Why You Look So Pissed?”
The above was asked of me by my buddy who was walking in the opposite direction. I was on my way back to my room from a grueling round of interviews for the various committees in Eusoff. Grueling not because they grilled me, but because the queue was so long for all of them, and I hate having to wait.
I honestly didn’t see it was him, I only had a vague impression of some funkster in a trucker cap, and a girl in a long skirt. I tend to avoid eye contact with people because I’m shy, ok? So I didn’t even know it was him until I had stalked huffily up the stairs and he spoke.
I think they were going for a bash, she was all dressed up and wearing makeup, which I’ve rarely ever seen. But anyway, the question got me to thinking.
Why do I look so pissed?
Because I always do. Because sometimes you run out of things to smile about. Because things don’t turn out the way you want, and you can’t always get the girl or guy of your dreams. Because shitty things happen, like your relative getting cancer or someone else you know passing away suddenly. Because I’m sick and tired of living.
But mostly it’s just because I was hiding behind my angry mask to protect myself from unfriendly, judgemental strangers. Because it feels like all eyes are on me, even when I know they’re not. Because I’m screwed up.
Because my heart is no longer my own, and my soul belongs to the devil.
Do I Know You From Somewhere?
Inspired by the movie “The Brothers Grimm”, which I shall watch as soon as I get the chance, I Googled them to see if they were really called Jake and Will, as they are in the movie. Close enough, they were Jakob and Wilhelm (Hollywood has to sensationalize everything). The Google search also led me to a collection of their stories, archived online here.
These aren’t your Disneyfied, sugar-coated tales. Snow White’s stepmother dies a horrible death, and Cinderella’s stepsisters take plastic surgery to extremes. But what really grabbed me about these stories is that they remind me of my childhood. I’ve definitely read them somewhere before, even the more obscure ones like “The Three Spinning Women” and “Cat and Mouse in Partnership”. I’ve also read a shorter version of “The Twelve Brothers”.
Now I can’t remember where exactly I’ve read them, but I most definitely owned the books, I can even remember the illustrations. It was so long ago that I can’t even believe I read them somewhere, but as time goes by, I’ve pretty much repressed most of my childhood memories, since they weren’t terribly exciting. It’s like meeting someone whom you knew in kindergarten or primary school, and this is the first time in 10 or 15 years that you’re seeing them. My memories are foggy but most definitely valid.
I’m slowly working my way through the 200-plus stories, hoping to meet another long-lost story friend from my early years. Go check it out.
Utter Ridiculous Shit.
What kind of bloody meeting runs on for 3 hours? I don’t remember last year’s DnD meetings running over 2 hours, ever. I don’t remember feeling so frustrated that I wanted to storm out. I don’t remember being so bored and getting angrier by the minute.
This is not last year’s comm, I know. Different people have different leadership styles. But this isn’t what I signed up for. 3 hours of my life spent doing something so pointless. I don’t mind if something was actually achieved, but the agenda that was carried out could have been done in 2 hours or less.
This isn’t the first marathon meeting. I don’t think it will be the last. I don’t know why they run on for so long. Is it because he insists on opening the floor to everyone, and encouraging open but ultimately time-wasting discussion? Why? I am just so f87king angry right now with all the time wasted. Now I won’t be able to pay attention. Come on. 5 hours of sleep? Get real. This is madness. I know that I could have had 8 hours but noooo….
I swear, sometimes I feel like quitting. I’m only hanging on because I think it’s only this initial rush that’s the horrible bit. Because I still want to be a part of DnD.
The day I give up, will be a day of horrible loss for both me and the comm. Dear God in heaven, please please please make the meetings shorter. I can’t take the thought of many more pointless hours.
Some days I get so mad I feel like going up to him and telling him exactly what I think of the bloody f87king meetings that run on for ever and ever. And the effort of holding it in makes me quake. I don’t know if it’s a sign of apathy towards the comm I used to love, or if it’s a genuine reaction to the shittiness of the comm.
So angry right now.
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