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Procurement is the path to happiness
It was a good day as far as getting lovely new stuff goes.
I headed down to the guitar shops at City Hall to look for a magazine. The magazine wasn’t available, but the proprietor had a MUSE concert poster up in his window. So I just asked offhand if he still needed that poster. He very graciously and carefully peeled it off the window and gave it to me, still in pristine condition. So if you ever need to buy music books, song sheets, or music-related magazines, head to Excelsior/Peninsula basement and look around for a bookshop opposite Gordon’s Toy Store or something like that. The boss is really patient and helpful, and because of his kindness, I have a poster that the concert organiser was selling at a ripoff price of 10 dollars!
Now that I needed more space to display my prize, I reorganised the doggie pictures I bought from Ikea. They’re now displayed on a black mounting board - all the better to display them on, since it delineates the borders more clearly.
I really like the look of my room now, it’s cosy with the candles and lamp, and has a cute/funky vibe to it with the pictures and poster and my anime shitajiki on the closet door. My noticeboard has become a display area for brand tags from the clothes I buy, as well as the wristband from ZoukOut. The magnetic whiteboard is home to Bridget Jones, Spider-Man, and Josh Hartnett, while MUSE and Hoobastank look over me as I type. And through it all, my pink Hidamari nodder keeps on nodding indefatigably.
On the way out, there’s a new addition to the red brick wall. After my Bah! monster poster was removed, I replaced it with another, and I have a new DnD doortag proclaiming my status as vice-head. Haha, kembang sendiri.
The only thing I don’t like about my room right now, and this is a very recent development, is the fact that the sun shines straight in. It never used to be that way, the lush foliage outside was a very effective sunscreen that kept my room deliciously, vampirically dark. Then one day the men came with their screaming chainsaws and hacked away at the limbs of that innocent tree, now denuded of the branches it grew over the years. My room gets horribly warm in the afternoon, and it’s so bright. Bear in mind that the hot season is on its way, and you’ll see why I’m so upset at the loss of my shade provider.
Perhaps the next thing I should procure to improve on my tiny dormitory haven should be thick curtains to block out the sun, or a portable air-conditioning unit. Or I can just leave the fridge door open all day. I foresee an increase in the amount of cold, sugary drinks I will be consuming.
My room is so pretty I feel like throwing a house room-warming party.
A Quick Breath at the Surface
Man, I didn’t even blog my birthday. Not that there was anything to blog. I was busy with the hall bazaar. It was huge fun and I got to sing on stage as a birthday present of sorts. I’ve a few admirers now, simply by being the only girl in the band. That roxxors.
The choir did song dedications on Monday and I got to do my diva thing and sing “Here Without You”. This time, unlike last year’s Dido fiasco, I didn’t forget my lyrics. That was because firstly, I wasn’t as nervous, and secondly, I blu-tacked the lyric sheet to the mike stand. I didn’t think it was all that great a performance, my voice was a bit shaky but overall they seemed to enjoy it. Unfortunately, the person I wanted to ‘aim’ the song at was not in attendance. I usually sing songs that reflect my mood at a certain time, so as to wring the maximum emotional damage out of the song, hence I usually have someone in mind when I’m singing. This morning at breakfast the caterer complimented my singing. Whoops. Haha.
Bazaar was not a great financial success for our poor overworked and most definitely underpaid comm (damn you, c*b** v*s**n) but at least we didn’t lose any money. But it was really a huge, huge opportunity cost for us. Gah. I don’t know where the money is going to come from, right now I’m looking at my marketing head as my saviour angel magician who’ll pull something out of his divine headgear and send us to DnD nirvana.
I know, I’m waxing extremely lyrical but it’s 3am, I have an assignment due tomorrow that has yet to be born, and I’m in the deep emotional throes of the perfect storm of nervousness, busyness and something else I can’t name. Oh, and the internet is down all through our block, and possibly throughout all of hall. Wireless and VPN are both out. Very frustrating.
Oh, the Halloween party last night was awesome, it made up for the very dour and depressing bazaar meeting that I sat through. Then the band practice after that made it even better. They did a lovely run-through of a mashup (which I recorded) and after that we had practices for our solo performances tomorrow. I got ‘Sweet Child’ on the first go, that was cool. Usually I get a bit screechy on that. Here’s hoping someone will request it. I can’t wait to let my inner rocker show.
And on Thursday, we’re doing a skit for talentime. I don’t expect to win since it’s really going to be quite silly, but the 2nd band are competing and I hope they do win, it’ll really boost their morale - plus their song totally R0XX0RZ! I capitalised that so you’ll know how totally excellent it is.
Right (said in Oirish accent), it’s time to get back to work *boohoohoo*. I still have lovely Japanese characters to study, and an essay to write before class tomorrow. It really seems like someone stole all my time. Hazel hasn’t been walked for 2 consecutive days. I hope she won’t run away, because if I can’t even take care of a virtual dog… total loseriness, y’all.
Guitars and Penis Envy
What an interesting title. Today I shall explore why girls love guitarists, some girls love playing guitar, and the sexology of the Rock God.
I had an audition today with the hall band Peroxide for a spot as their vocalist. The band doesn’t have a definite set-up, it works more like a football team - 2 players to every position - so it’s not ‘Rock Star: Supernova’, which I don’t watch anyway.
I have come to the conclusion that girls love guitarists because the guitar is a phallic replacement. Come on, you know what I mean. It’s big and long and loud and it drives the girls absolutely wild. There is something about a guitar - and I mean an electric one like a Fender or a Les Paul Gibson, and not an acoustic - that is inherently, primally, sexual. A guy is just a guy, but a guy with a guitar - mmm. A hot guy who is a guitar maestro - bow down and worship him, oh my guitar-enamoured sisters. Think about it: Heath Ledger in ‘10 Things I Hate About You’: hot. Heath Ledger with guitar - *melts into puddle*.
Guitar skillz can be a redeeming grace of otherwise aesthetically challenged males. On the street, the boys of Peroxide are just otherwise normal. Some may even be considered less than desirable due to certain traits which I can’t identify here because those are very idiosyncratic traits. But in the studio, with their guitars on - yay. Rock Gods in the house, y’all.
Some girls would rather put the strap over their own shoulders. I totally understand. I have a bit of a fetish for the bass guitar myself. One looks so darn sexy with it hanging insouciantly at hip level, nonchalantly twanging away. But the true point is that the girls see it as a replacement for the phallus denied to them by biology. Yep. No, we do not want to be males. We merely want to imitate that sexual attraction of a large phallus. Yep. And come on, guys do find it attractive too. Avril Lavigne, etc. There’s a market for rock chicks, oh yes.
The Rock God - a true Rock God - needs more than just guitar skillz. He also needs, in my opinion, a hot bod, an addiction of some sort, a slightly feminizing trait, lots of tattoos, and a way-out personality. Case in point: Dave Navarro. I know he somehow ended up divorcing Carmen Electra (like, what?) but I think he is a true Rock God. I don’t know what his addiction is, apart from Jane’s. (His band is Jane’s Addiction.) He wears eyeliner and nail polish - pretty much de riguer nowadays - and yes, I do suppose the whole getting-married-on-MTV thing is pretty weird. Plus Carmen Electra sure knows how to pick them, her ex is Dennis Rodman so it shows she does like the more, um, outgoing and unique personalities.
But my own personal Rock God is old-school. Let’s give it up for Anthony Kiedis of the Red Hot Chili Peppers, man! The dude fought heroin addiction and has been a bona fide rock star for well over a decade. Part of the reason I love the RHCP is him. He’s just so hot. Old, perhaps, but hot. Flea is pretty adorable, and John Frusciante’s cool, but hot, man, hot’s where it’s at. Yeah. Now where can I find me my own Anthony?
Rockin’ it Old School
Since I came back for this new iteration of the academic year, I’ve felt nothing but old.
The boys from my JC batch have come in. The girls and I have never shared college space. I feel old, and the boys have taken to calling me ‘auntie’.
Tomorrow is Flag Day, and I am so disillusioned by the pretense of raising money for charity that I ran away to the library to avoid the briefing. I am adamant that I won’t be taking part this year. If I’m wandering around downtown tomorrow and see a Eusoffian or an Arts student, I’ll donate. Just because I have some spare cash, and well - I won’t contribute otherwise.
On the walk uphill to Central Library, a large yellow almost-full moon hung in a twilight cloudless sky. Looking at it, I almost felt like reaching out and touching it. Would it be like touching eternity? Like touching the hand of God?
The library was silent, but the lobby outside wasn’t. Something rowdy was going on in the Forum. But inside the air-conditioned confines of the library, it was lovely and quiet and there was a distinctive bookish smell in the air, such that I smiled slightly to myself upon inhaling it. Was it 2 years ago that I wandered into the library that still bore “Under Renovation” signs, and wondered what it had looked like for previous batches? Has it really been 2 years? I remember that I spent those 2 years taking modules and exams, but I can’t fathom where all the time went.
Some jerk cut my line at the RBR counter. To be precise, there was no line. He just pretended he got there first, when the service personnel came to collect our request slips. I darted my eyes sideways to glare at him. But I had the last smirk, because my book was retrieved sooner. *smirk*
I went to the toilet, which still amazes me with its newness although it’s been that way for a couple of semesters now. I waved my hand Jedi mind trick-style in front of the motion-activated paper towel dispenser. The gadget geek in me gleefully tore off the paper, while the concerned greenie had a twinge of guilt at the waste of paper. I don’t really need such a large piece of paper to dab water off my hands, thank you.
I felt the familiar apprehension as I exited the library via the theft-detection gates. I’m always irrationally worried that I’ll set them off, and this time it wasn’t that irrational because I had a borrowed book in my bag. I like to believe that the system needs time to digest the loan information.
A bunch of foreign freshmen seemed to be moving their belongings from a room in my wing. Stupid noisy freshmen. Why am I, a 3rd year, living with stupid noisy freshmen? Oh that’s right. Because the upstairs is full of stupid noisy not-so-freshmen too. Their music is too loud, and I’m too old.
Too old to be waking up at 4 am, and hauling ass to MRT stations around the country at 6 am in order to catch the first wave of commuters. Too old to be smiling ingratiating smiles to people who inadvertently made eye contact. Too old to be silently cursing you behind your back as you quick-step away, not because you didn’t donate but because you acted as if I didn’t exist. Too old to be treated like an invisible, inaudible being. Too old to be angry.
So this auntie is going to hide in an undisclosed location tonight, to avoid the wake-up call, but the hordes of eager freshies will still go out tomorrow. And for their sakes, that they don’t grow up to be bitter seniors like me, at least acknowledge their presence. Because if you walk past them acting like they’re not there, they’re going to pretend that the tin can that brained you didn’t come from their hands.
Defrostation
That is not a typo. I do mean defrostation, not deforestation. This is a Handy-Dandy Lynn Guide, and today’s issue deals with Defrosting Your Fridge.
My bar fridge has a small freezer compartment where I store the meats, and lately I noticed it had a massive buildup of ice. I mean huge. It was like Antarctica in there. And ironically, this Antarctic ice was preventing my crabsticks and sausages from freezing properly.
So I switched off the fridge, put the perishables elsewhere and started pouring boiling hot water into the freezer compartment. Yes, I’m not one for half measures. The ice started to give way, but the water dripping everywhere was a bit messy and I was too lazy to keep going back to the pantry for more hot water.
Execute Plan B - The Hairdryer. A steady stream of warm air directed into the freezer compartment seemed to do the trick, the inside was starting to clear up and the metal walls were becoming visible. And the best part was actually the outside of the compartment, where a sheet of ice was hanging off the bottom. It was like an icy fingerprint of the metal wall. I pulled and it fell with an almighty crash into the water-catchment pan.
After the collapse of the ice sheet, the remaining frozen water beat a hasty retreat. A bit more with the Hairdryer to vaporize any remaining liquid water, and my fridge was good as new again. The metal of the freezer compartment was actually a bit warm from the hot air.
And all that only took me less than one hour from beginning to end, but then I DO have a very small fridge. It was an interesting diversion from studying.
So basically this is how you defrost a bar fridge:
- Switch it off.
- Put all perishables elsewhere.
- Attack with hot water and/or hairdryer.
- Pull off ice sheets.
- Wipe up melted ice.
- Dry off fridge.
- Switch back on.
If you pay me $10 an hour, I’ll defrost your fridge for you too!
And it’s a wrap!
Whew. I’m still tired from last night’s festivities. Being on the go for 12 straight hours does that to you. We started at 3 pm, with moving out the equipment, and we left the hotel at the late hour of 1 am, after moving our backdrops and miscellaneous items onto the lorry. In between, we were manual labourers, sound technicians, ushers… we got back to hall at 1.30 am, and I personally didn’t get to sleep until 3 am.
I didn’t get up until 1 pm today. My body was protesting all the shit I put it through yesterday. When we loaded the equipment onto the lorry, there was barely enough space for us to sit, so we squatted among the wires, metal stands and wooden frames. Then Oscar, our humanoid-shaped backdrop, decided to act as some kind of sail against the wind, and we had to lay it down before it flew off and hit the car behind. The lorry had practically no suspension, and we bumped painfully over the speed humps.
When we got to the unloading bay of the office, we began the long and painful process of shifting the things up to the ballroom. It was just the sheer number of things we had to move, and the fact that there were only 5 of us. Finally, all the things were up on the ballroom level, and then we had to set up the sound system and the lights.
What a pain it was! We ran around looking for logistics, minor things like a power socket and lucky draw prizes. When the first early guests arrived, I was still in my casual clothes. I ran off to change and do my makeup before the show began, then went straight out to usher in the guests and persuade them to leave the lounge and go in for dinner.
We had no dinner, because we didn’t pay for our tickets. All we could get were soft drinks from the bar. Halfway through the programme, however, the ballroom manager brought out sandwiches and chips, room service style. That was awesome. The chips were fat and salty, the way I like them. There was a minor problem with some of the pre-show pictures, but the graduating seniors’ video got most of the ballroom teary-eyed with its sentimentality.
In between, the guests’ antics kept the show from getting too boring. The Iron Ladies (lads, really) pranced around with their orange wigs and volleyballs, while the Chinese vampires menaced the other tables until their Master called them to sit down to dinner. It was a pity that the cowboys from Brokeback Mountain didn’t get up to some lovey-dovey business, in keeping with character. Our theme was “Lights, Camera, Action!” so the movie-related bits stood out. The Pirates of A-block waved their swords and Jolly Roger flag, while the harem of Indian beauties went topless to show off their manly chests. The Geisha who was called onstage to play a game tottered onstage in her socks and slippers, and tittered girlishly behind her fan.
In the end, the vampires won the Best Table prize, for their energetic performance at the beginning when they swept in and started to hop, arms outstretched. Their prize acceptance ceremony turned into an impromptu mass dance and conga train around the ballroom. *shakes head* Eusoffians.
Next to these fun happenings, the pageant contestants were a bland bunch, frankly. But then they’re not allowed to cross-dress, nor are they allowed to scare others. Some performances were really cute - Best Item went to C block for their Hokkien rendition of “If I had a million dollars”. There were no surprises in the final crowning ceremony - unless you count last year’s Mr Eusoff going up on stage wearing a sari.
All in all, I think everyone had a good time, the graduating seniors got properly drunk, and one of them sprayed me with a water pistol. Dr Sequeira thanked us for a job well done (whew) and we rode home on the lorry. The best-dressed bunch there ever was in the bed of a truck. Me in my white halter, the boys in their formal shirt and pants, while the lorry driver wore Armani. That’s really a student-run effort, man.
For pictures, please go here. There are far too many pictures to upload here. Also, I don’t think the others will be happy about being accidentally featured here.
Pay me to shut up
Our first major Choir project is over. We contributed our voices and singing talents to do song dedications, to raise funds for Eusoff Volunteer Corps. Everyone who signed up got to sing, so that’s good for their exposure. Ideally, the whole choir of 40 people would have signed up to sing, but that’s an admin matter I’ll have to take up at the next meeting. (I am the vice-head.)
I pretty much screwed up the first song, I forgot my lyrics. Bah. It happens to the best, of course, but I’m still pretty embarrassed all the same. Later I realised that it was a lot easier to remember the lyrics if I stared at the floor. It wasn’t stage fright. It was just that there were too many distractions going on. Yes yes, call them excuses, but I know being scared wasn’t my problem out there. Heck, it’s the second time today I’ve forgotten something I should know by heart. I forgot how to write the syllable ‘ha’ in Japanese Katakana. That’s going to cost me one mark on the test.
So I forgot the verse lyrics for ‘White Flag’. I’m glad that the person who requested it didn’t stay for the performance, he might have demanded his money back. The next song I sang was ‘Wherever You Will Go’, by The Calling, and I only had one verse in this, so it was ok. After that my job consisted mainly of making a fool out of myself (as if I hadn’t already) by acting like a rabid fangirl whenever one of the better singers went up to sing.
My final song was the Moulin Rouge hit, ‘Come What May’, and while I didn’t do as well as during rehearsals, I still did pretty ok, and didn’t forget my lyrics. (Maybe because I had them on hand this time.) The focus was on my male partner though, because he’s pretty famous in hall. I was just there to fill in the gaps, the spotlight was all his. And I’d really rather have it that way.
We made about 40 dollars for the Volunteer Corps, and of course the support of Eusoffians was of paramount importance - it is their money after all. But I think that all in all, we did a good job of entertaining them, and at least no one walked out in disgust, nor was any hearing damage inflicted. (I hope.)
For ‘White Flag’ I was put in the strange situation of reading out a dedication to myself, and basically being very hao lian (arrogant) by a) announcing to the whole dining hall that it was my birthday and b) wishing myself a happy birthday. Haha that was pretty weird, but I appreciate the gesture nonetheless. (You know who you are.)
Now the next focus will be on Culture Night in November, where I hope the choir will stun Eusoff into silence with a gorgeous rendition of our ‘weird song’. I just need to inject my fervour into the rest of the choristers, and we’ll be set.
Raffles Hall Production
I attended the Raffles Hall Production because I have a few acquaintances there (one of them would not want to be called my friend) and it is customary to support your friends’ endeavours in other halls. I paid 15 dollars for the privilege, too!
I chatted a bit outside with my friend TK who is the Sets Head (aka Sex Head). When I went in to take my seat, the guy behind me kicked my chair. I looked around and saw Ming Hann, my schoolmate from JC. He was there with Ivan Prabowo. I had a good time chatting with them. Ming Hann’s become a bit nicer, I think. He used to say the F word all the time, but he doesn’t any more. He’s still a bit sarcastic though. He asked if I was still in choir, and when I replied in the affirmative, he told me to sing something from the programme book. (The lyrics were printed there.) Joker. Later during intermission I was asking him if Siva, one of our juniors, was in KEVII. He pointed at the guy next to him. It was Siva. Paiseh. The worst thing is, Siva doesn’t even know who I am. But obviously I know who he is, since he was the student council president. Ah, at least I won’t be seeing him again…
Also during the intermission, I was chatting with Ming Hann about his hall activities. I never took him for a hall person, seeing as he was a bit of a loner in hostel. But he’s super active in hall stuff, it’s faculty stuff he’s not enthusiastic about. He’s in VCF, Volunteer Corp and Archive, as well as IHG Tennis and Table-tennis. (He was a VJ player for those as well.) I asked him what was Archive - sit there and arrange yearbooks? - and he replied, “Yeah, that’s about it.” Funny! I also want a comm like that!
Anyway, back to the production. I was constantly reminding myself not to compare it to our Eusoff Dance Production, since they only have 2 months’ time to put everything together. Their dance choreography and sets will obviously be on a smaller scale, since these are the most time-consuming aspects. But rest assured, I shall be merciless in my critique of the storyline, acting, dancing and singing.
The first act had a bunch of girls in cotton pyjamas (ew) looking at magazines. I thought it was a joke when the skinniest, nerdiest one started singing about how that was her dream, to become a model. Sure you’re skinny, honey, but my money would have been on the other girl to become a model. This scene was full of cognitive dissonances for me. Firstly, the nerdy one was supposedly the winner of a modelling agency’s contest. No shit! With looks like that?? (I am not attacking the actress. I don’t do ad hominems. I am merely pointing out the incongruity of the character.) If they had wanted to make it more believable, they could have cut out the nerdy glasses. Sure she can wear glasses, just don’t make it so nerdy! And why must they sit around in their old-style pyjamas? For a while, I was wondering if the play was actually set in the 1970s or something. I know you want to impart that she’s a country gal, but that was seriously weird. And the silliest thing? One of them was wearing eye makeup to match her green outfit. Stage makeup is one thing, but I can’t for a moment believe that the eye makeup was necessary. (And neither do country girls wear makeup while in their pyjamas, do they?) Eyeliner would have done just fine, seeing as we’re all dark-eyed. You want to emphasise the features, not cause a certain degree of confusion in your audience. And for the record, the makeup was not for another scene, since she only appeared in that one scene, and the finale. This is an issue I really felt could have been avoided.
For most of the first act, I wanted to shake the lead actress whenever she appeared. Her portrayal of the naive country girl in the Big Apple was almost a caricature. Far too naive, far too wide-eyed at every single thing. In fanfiction, we call this a Mary-Sue character. It was not believable and I seriously feel that it was a bit of a mistake to write the character this way. Unless their main intention was to make the audience dislike the character and feel a sympathy with the ‘bad girl’ models who smoked, drank and screwed.
The lead actress herself is a fine singer, I’ll give her that. She was a better singer and actor in the second act, when the character became more manipulative and ambitious. Her acting skills were really on display here. That’s why I feel having her play the ingenue to such a degree of naivete was a waste, as her acting skills weren’t really obvious.
The storyline progressed with the lead character Natasha going to a bar, and coming back from the washroom to see the other models doing a cruel parody of her and her sua-ku ways. One shot of liquor later, on a challenge from the others, she climbed onto the bar and started singing. Then she came down and puked. Oh come on, one drink? Not all virgin drinkers are so weak ok! I for one had a naturally high threshold. But I guess it was necessary for the storyline, so I’ll leave that alone.
Abandoned in the bar with a grumpy waiter who had to clean up her puke, she started crying to the waiter, bla bla bla, and the next morning she awakes and bla bla bla. You know how the story goes, ya. Meanwhile, the other bartender (serves mainly as comic relief) came back and did a little number about how he’s desperate to get laid. My gosh, it was quite PG-13. And there were children in the audience, too! Perhaps we should have a ratings system for hall productions as well. I hope the parents of the kiddies won’t have to answer any awkward questions tonight.
Just a little gripe: Why the hell did the waiter recommend cocktails to a man? It’s a well-known fact that adult males prefer straight liquor. And the fact that the customer ordered Blue Lagoon adds to the unreality of the situation, although the fact that he was a closet homosexual may be the reason. A bit gratuitious, I think, inserted just so that the waiter could recommend Sex on the Beach. Ah well, will just let it go, since I guess more jokes are better than less. But still, I’m one of those anal people who insists on dissecting every scene in a movie, so.
Tralalala, the gay man is the comic relief’s secret admirer (much to the waiter’s dismay), the model tries to threaten her “producer” (I think they meant manager) and she rejects the other grumpy waiter who predictably falls for her (and she for him). It turns out that grumpy used to be a famous fashion photographer until he was involved in an accident where his girlfriend, then the top supermodel, perished. Meanwhile he lost his left hand. Hence his over-protectiveness of the model. Yada yada. In the end, no gay sex is had, someone comes out of the closet, and it’s not really made clear what happened to the model’s career. I mean, her “producer” freakin’ threatened her with a gun! (Plus he was the one who engineered the accident that killed the top model.) So, a bit of a loophole there.
The acting for the most part was fine, although as stated above, the lead actress was a bit caricaturish in the beginning. There was definite chemistry between her and the waiter, especially during the number where the feminist chicks faced off against the chauvinist males. So that’s a good thing.
The comic relief did not overact, in my opinion. Someone who’s so funny is bound to be a bit exaggerated in his gestures anyway, so his character was quite believable. His diction was not quite precise though. I believe there is a ’stage accent’ that appears when one is speaking lines on stage, and his was a little odd. The pacing and rhythm were not what I would expect.
Special mention must be made of the “producer”. He was played by an Azerbaijani student (who knew NUS was that diverse, eh?) and was dressed like a pimp daddy with his big silver cross and purple jacket(!) .
I think most of the problems came up when they were singing. The lead singers were good, but the chorus girls (the other models) were not good. One or two of them had very thin voices, causing my companion to go “ouch” when they hit the high notes. There was one very good singer, I believe I’ve seen her performing in the choir, but the rest made the experience a bit dismal. The closet homosexual was also a little flat during his solo.
The sets were simple, but solidly built. I liked one piece in particular, a light fixture with a holey lampshade. I’m not an expert on sets, but my friend said it was good, and he’s a Rag engineer, so I’ll put his opinion here instead of my own. I didn’t really think wardrobe did a very good job with certain scenes, but it didn’t affect the overall experience. Plus Gerald’s giant afro wig makes up for everything. Hahaha.
Overall, it was a bit predictable and the script wasn’t as tight as I would have liked, but it was a good effort given the limited time frame, and a good showcase of their talents. I don’t really begrudge them the 15 dollars. Plus I got to meet some old friends, so can lar. Good show, Raffles.
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.
Yousucks, you really suck.
I am beginning to hate hall.
I hate the implicit politics, the power struggles, the backstage manoeuvring that ensures the posts go to the chosen candidates even before elections or interviews are over. The elections are a formality, and the auditions are a farce because they already know who they want, and the rest of you are merely ‘living scenery’ in their documentation of hall life. They are remaking hall in their own image, and while they cannot eliminate you, they can neutralise you.
Screw the mentality of being Eusoffian. I was once a proud Eusoffian. I stepped up, I volunteered, I was willing to devote myself to the ideal of a hall. No more. I’ve come to a stark realisation.
It just isn’t worth it. Hall is nothing but a place to sleep, eat and shower. My time in hall will be fun, but ultimately non-essential and inconsequential. Who cares that I was in so-and-so committee during my university days? Who cares that we won IHG or that we took home the Shield 4 years in a row? Once you step out of its confines, you realise that hall is useless. And hence I shall not devote more time to it than the minimum required to retain my room.
I don’t deny that there are activities I care about. I do enjoy my Tuesdays at the Salvation Army. I do like going for bashes. But these are not unique to hall life. I could partake of these experiences outside. Ultimately, hall has nothing to offer my soul.
It would be so easy to say it has failed me, but this collection of red brick and cement promised me nothing more than a bed and a shower. It was not Eusoff, but the Eusoffians who failed me. I, too, have failed them. Because they see no value in me, and I see no point in conforming to their pattern.
The detachment is starting to creep in. No longer do I feel a part of Eusoff, rather I feel like an anthropologist tasked with the naturalistic observation of that peculiar breed of students. Screw them, from now on I’m doing what I, and I alone, see fit to do.
The moniker I gave them has come horribly true.
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