Unkster Uncovered 8 - Ubin, Revisited

When Alex asked if I was interested to join a few mutual friends for a spot of mountain biking on Pulau Ubin, we didn't count on cycling for almost 5 hours through undulating terrain and muddy dirt tracks.

That we did today and I have a sore back and painful knees to show for it. Plus a little scratch from taking a tumble down a steep decline.

The trip started ominously enough, with dark clouds and a slight drizzle. But through the gloom, we boarded the bumboat with 2 Buddhist Monks. What on earth were they going to Ubin for I wondered. We were soon to find out...



Visitors from the mainland like Ubin because nothing changes. Nothing changes much, that is. The old, long retired taxis still ply their route through the meandering mud-caked roads. Residents put quirky things at their frontdoors. And the shopfronts all look like a throwback to the 60's...









Life is slow, with alot of the architecture time-warped to the days when Policemen still wore bermudas. The island is also home to many stray dogs. They look mangy and rabid but somehow, there is an inherent cuteness to them that is strangely inexplicable.





A word about our bikes. For 10 bucks a day, we were not really complaining. But they were not exactly the carbon-fibre TREKS used by the US Olympic Team. The 'top-of-the-range' models still came with squeaky brakes and gears that, when put to 7, realistically felt like they were on 3. And I really need a pair of cycling shorts, with padding =))





Fortunately for us, it was not absolutely scorching today. But we lost plenty of fluids nonetheless going up and down, in and out. Rest-stops at quaint little drinks shops along the way were pretty frequent. If not just to have a fag.





Yellow seems to be the predominant color on this little island. Kampung houses, Beer crates, flowers, signposts and the ubiquitous little shrines are all painted in the color of the Canary. I also stepped right into a goo-ey bed of clay-ey soil while trying to take a picture. Dirtying my appropriately yellow aquasocks =))













We covered lots of ground today, even taking a ride up to the western tip of the island. Peering through the wired perimeter fences, Kelongs could be seen in the distance. There was also a floating village near an abandoned quarry. Time was also taken to explore old, disused prawn farms, where the chains once used to open the sluice gates hang rusty and neglected. Rummaging through the abandoned fishing nets and cages looking for bits and pieces of hidden treasure.









On the way back to the jetty to return our bikes, we past by this abandoned granite quarry. The government is going to start allowing for granite quarrying again after about a 5 year hiatus. Much to the delight of many of the villagers, who themselves are ex-quarry workers, I am told.



And oh yah, before I forget. Those monks, they were on their way to a Buddhist temple in the middle of nowhere which we stumbled upon. And there were more of these oranged-robed ones in the forest. They even had a punching bag hanging from a tree. Muay Thai perhaps?



OK excuse moi as I go rub some ointment on my knee...=))

Sleepless

Its 5am and sleep still eludes me.



2 cups of hot chocolate at table number 2. Happier times on Bob's Peak.

Unkster UnWound - Rhythms Del Mundo

I remember catching the MTV for Clocks at 3am in the morning 2 weeks ago and saying to myself, hey that tune has a familiar cha-cha-cha to it.

I mean the music for this Coldplay staple I am familiar with but the opening ivory riffs sounded, errr, like something straight out of Havana. And I was right.



Rhythms Del Mundo is not a group. Rather it is the name of an album put together by APE (Artists' Project Earth), environmentalists hoping to create more awareness of global issues through the universal power of music. APE counts amongst its stellar board of advisors, Al Gore, he of An Inconvenient Truth fame.

The Buena Vista Social Club, for those who are au fait with the likes of Ibrahim Ferrer, Ruben Gonzales, Omara Portuondo and Compay Segundo, was a members-only club in Havana in the forties. In the 90s, nearly 40 years after the club was closed, it inspired a recording made by Cuban musician Juan de Marcos González and American guitarist Ry Cooder with traditional Cuban musicians, some of whom were veterans who had performed at the club during the height of its popularity. Naturally Ferrer, Gonzales, Portuondo and Segundo, the oldies but goodies of the Havana club scene way back then, continued to figure prominently on the follow-up recordings. Together, they put the sexy, sometimes languid sounds of Cuban jazz back on the world stage. Making that double shot of whisky and a Cohiba Robustos between your teeth so much more satisfying =))

So with World music on an upswing and the likes of Coldplay, Maroon5, U2, Kaiser Chiefs and the Arctic Monkeys still on everyone's lips, a collaboration to come up with something unique was dreamt up and materialised on Rhythms.

Rhythms also marks the final recording of Ibrahim Ferrer before his passing in 2005 at the age of 78. On it, he croons the old Casablanca classic As Time Goes By. He returns for an encore duet with Omara Portuondo on the same song as a bonus track at the end of the CD.

For those who enjoy the old sounds of the The BVSC, you will probably like this. For the rest of you weaned on alternative rock, you'll probably feel really wierd listening to Havana band Los Van Van do a cover version of Radiohead's High and Dry, Cuban style.

And oh yah, purchase this album and a minimum of 2 bucks will go to APE's Natural Disaster Relief and Climate Change Awareness programmes. I did my part.

Do yours =)

Body Odor

I had supper after work with three 20-somethings yesterday.

Well I happen to be their boss but since it was after office hours, we morphed into friends. Well, sort of, because they still persist in calling me Sir. But that's more of their Asian Way of keeping a little respectful distance from the person who writes your appraisal report. Even if it sounds wierd using such formality when you're bitching about someone else's body odour or some strange sexual shenanigans going on in the inner bowels of the workplace (yes it happens even in the stuffy Civil Service!). A little idiotic really.

But I digress.

Talking to them made me feel strangely guilty and uneasy. Because in the course of our daily grind, I have moulded them to think and talk in my image. So much so that precious individuality has somewhat been eroded and they now take on little duplicates of my persona that they have perfected to almost uncanny, life-like similarity. Whilst listening to the 2 young men, it suddenly dawned upon me that, hey, isn't that something I would have said exactly the same way 10 years ago when I was a 23 year-old faced with a reticent subordinate? The young lady, however, has taken on a huge dollop of my cynicism. When barely 6 months ago, her cup was always half full, it is now perpetually half empty, ending every other sentence with a but on the other hand...

So it takes an informal setting such as this one, a conversation whilst sipping Sugar Cane juice and slurping on Char Kway Teow, when for once there is no talk of Key Performance Indicators or quotes from relevant sections of the Law, to make me realize that these are not my clones. It is evident when the talk turns from business-trot to rot.

They do have intelligent, alternative opinions that they don't neccessarily have the ammo to back up for now. But will, soon enough, as they built up life's experiences. They can define the dimensions of the box, before even trying to think out of the box, and can differentiate between boxes and cartons. So what if its a basket? It takes more practice but I think each is becoming more adept at sketching the mental bigger picture before taking care of the details.

All this gleaned from a conversation about Body Odor =))

Perhaps the Stinky One should always be allowed to walk amongst us. As a reminder that, as it is an individual's right to not bathe for days, it is also an individual's right to think.

And think differently.

Pound Puppy

An animal shelter can be a sad place to visit.



Some walk around nonchalantly, seemingly satisfied with the comfort of a corrugated roof overhead. But the slightest clap of thunder sends them scurrying into inner corners.

Others fight and bark incessantly. Out of boredom. Or perhaps as a manifestation of inner angst and fears.

A good number stare forlornly into space, perking up only when a potential parent is sniffed out. Take Me Home, their eyes seem to say. Licking paws in earnest, hoping to make an impression. But when the children walk away after stooping to cluck and coo, sneaking a little tickle under the furry chin in transient pity, they re-resign themselves to the flies buzzing around their melancholic miens. Dissappointment, a house-rule they have come to accept.

I don't know how long this facade of nonchalance will last. The slightest memory of happiness sends me scurrying into darkness.

I have barked at many. Perhaps next I will bite.

When the phonecalls come from all and sundry, except one, dissappointment is a house-rule I must learn to accept.

A Pound Puppy, all rolled into one...

UnkReads - Lost Roads

When Lifestyle, the leisure and entertainment section of Sunday's paper, devoted 2 full pages to this newly released book by former Life! writer Tan Shzr Ee and photographer Desmond Foo, I said aw shucks, they beat me to it.



But before coming into the office earlier in the evening, I still mousied down to the bookstore to pick up 1 of the reported 1000 published copies.

Why so Kiasu you may ask.

Well because I've been toying with the idea of getting one of these projects off the ground too. I like writing, I like taking photos. Its just that I don't know any publishers who would actually want to...err..publish me. And there's this little problem of not having a transcript and a set of good stock pictures ready for editorial perusal =))

In short, I wanted to check out the competition without having actually done anything about the competition =))

And truth be told, I'm not too impressed with Shzr Ee's and Desmond's efforts. No, not a hint of sour grapes at all =P

Anyway, don't be misled by the title because it seems to evoke a sense of roads and places vanished from Singapore. Rather, the roads and places mentioned in the book have probably been vanquished from the consciousness of most Singaporeans, and presumably do not exist in the minds of the younger generation.

There are, for example, the Bukit Brown Cemetery off Lornie road, Singapore's last living village Kampong Lorong Buangkok and the beach at the end of Jalan Bahtera where the carcass of an old abandoned ship stretches out from the sand into the water like a small jetty.

Frankly, I've never heard of these places before so kudos to Shzr Ee for telling us.

But her's is a very poetic, literary style, pregnant with romantic recollection and intimate imagery. Weaving in, at the same time, a slice of history and a touch of real-life conversation. Certainly not your everyday Coffee-table book prose. And there are way too little photographs of the places mentioned in this collection of essay-type chapters to flesh out what she is talking about. What meagre few pictures, although artistically shot by ST photojournalist Desmond Foo, are in Black & White, supposedly a cost-cutting initiative. Making everything look a trifle too sombre and cheap.

Maps are included for the adventurous or recently armchair-TV reformed, looking for an alternative to VivoCity or CineLeisure on Sunday.

When Shzr Ee called Lost Roads a Scrapbook in the Preface, I wondered why. Its a little more than that though, I concede, after ploughing through it the better half of this gloomy Monday morning.

I'd say a Under-The-Coffee-Table book. Good for an informative read but better left below.

Rubber Ducky

Well Ducky here is abit of a voyeur.

Small, yellow and perched in an obscure corner of the bathroom because I don't have a bath tub to float the fella in, he watches me as I shower everyday, since souvenir-ing him from the Conrad Bangkok 4 years ago. Someone's ponytail bands are still around his neck, like a couple of miniature Aloha garlands in cheerful welcome.

Ducky hasn't squeaked in ages.

And just now I nearly tipped him over the window sill with a jet of water from the shower-head. Accidentally of course.



Funny how a little rubber ducky can make you happy and sad at the same time...

Rather stupid.

Unkers@TheTheater - Blithe Spirit

I just got back from this, at the Drama Centre. Good Seats. We paid for the privilege of sitting 5 rows from the stage.



Well with a cast reading like a Who's Who of local theatre, I suppose Lim Kay Siu, Neo Swee Lin, Tan Kheng Hua, Selena Tan, Gerald Chew, Pam Oei and Celine Rosa Tan gave a good account of themselves. And they were directed by Singapore's own highly acclaimed Madame Butterfly 'herself', Glen Goei. Plus this was staged by WILD R!CE, a theatre group artistically managed by Ivan Heng, who needs no introduction really. The fella has almost reached Doyen status in the local Arts circle.

Anyway Blithe Spirit is a 1941 play by British playwright Noel Coward. I'm too sleepy to give you a run-down of the synopsis so shall just lift it off W!LD RICE's webby...

Desperately seeking inspiration for his new book, Charles Koh (Lim Kay Siu) a novelist invites the flamboyant Madame Arcati (Selena Tan) to perform a séance in his Bukit Timah bungalow. But he gets much more than he bargains for when the mischievous ghost of his first wife Elvira (Tan Kheng Hua) materialises and proceeds to wreak havoc on his relationship with his current wife, Ruth (Neo Swee Lin).

Together with their highly strung maid Edith (Pam Oei) and their friends Dr. & Mrs. Quek (Gerald Chew, Celine Rosa Tan), the Kohs face the challenge of taming Elvira’s blithe spirit in a comedy that literally brings the house down!

Excellent stuff from old birds Kay Siu and his wife Swee Lin. A walk in the park really with all those witty, typically British-but-modified-to-suit-Singlish, lines they had to shoot off. Kheng Hua milked her Elvira to the hilt with so much zany pontianak seductiveness, it was a joy watching her prance from corner to corner. And what can I say about the Obese Oracle Selena. The Dim Sum Dolly was simply hilarious as Madame Arcati with a slight Parking Warden makcik accent.

Overall an enjoyable evening out at the theatre. Pity the Drama Centre, itself a suitably cozy venue, had to be located within what we thought was a very new but sterile National Library.

And oh, they had a soundtrack taken from the Ole' Blue Eyes collection ;)

Key Rebel

Someone asked me in the middle of a meeting today, when she caught sight of my keychain, does it say anything about you? I said Yeah, I AM a rebel.



Uncanny...

Yellow

Look at the stars,
Look how they shine for you,
And everything you do,
Yeah they were all yellow,

I came along
I wrote a song for you
And all the things you do
And it was called yellow

So then I took my turn
Oh all the things I've done
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know you know I love you so
You know I love you so

I swam across
I jumped across for you
Oh all the things you do
Cause you were all yellow

I drew a line
I drew a line for you
Oh what a thing to do
And it was all yellow

Your skin
Oh yeah your skin and bones
Turn into something beautiful
D'you know for you i bleed myself dry
For you i bleed myself dry

Its true look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine for you
look how they shine
look at the stars look how they shine for you

Make A Wish

I remember 2 years ago, while strolling along Ueno Park, Tokyo, we came across these rows of wishes written on wooden pieces you could hang up and then hope for divine intervention to work its magic.



Maybe I should have put one up as well, bad English and all. Because if the words were still swaying in the wind at Tosho-gu Shrine, things would perhaps be swaying in the right direction now...

Rhapsody On A Theme Of Paganini...

If you know what this is without Googling, you're probably a kloset klassical kuku like me.

When the hip Alternative Rock wave of the early 90s decended upon us, I banished all my Rachmaninov, Liszt, Chopin, Mascagni, Dvorak, Schumann and the like into the inner recesses of my storeroom. Such stupid self-consciousness!

These days, while alone at home, Tchaikovsky alternates with Timbaland. I have a penchant for the Russians, Hungarians and Polish you see.

Anybody into this genre? Renaissance, Baroque, Classical, Romantic or Modern for u? Vladimir Ashkenazy or Nigel Kennedy? Academy of St-Martin-in-the-Fields or the Berlin Philharmonic?

Perhaps Opus Copulatest... =))

On Hindsight

How many times have the words on hindsight been used on you?

Think about it. On hindsight, I could have done this better. On hindsight, we should have seen this coming. On hindsight, the plans could have been thought through a little more precisely.

All these retrospective Ra-ra-rah's are fine and dandy but when used a tad too often as a sorry excuse for mediocrity, they become a load of babbling bullshit spewed by people whom God probably created with their retinal marbles at the back of their heads. How else would you explain the constant backward view.

Isn't the benefit of hindsight supposed to give u some semblance of foresight? Or is foresight needed to unravel the hidden lessons sometimes wrapped up in hindsight?

Chicken or egg. Po-tay-toe, Po-tah-toe. Toh-may-toe, Toh-mah-toe?

Hmmmm...

101st Airborne In-fantry-sect

I don't know where I got this crazy idea that your loved ones always come back as moths to look over you after they've passed on.

Moths have been associated with death for ages I reckon.

So eversince my Dad passed away 2.5 years ago and a little brown moth sat on my shoulder as I kept vigil over the casket late one night, I have become alittle bit more than convinced the myth is true. These lepidopterans have been a regular feature of my life since then. And so everytime I see one perched in my apartment or once, even riding along with me in the car, I think its Pops saying he's here.

I am watching over you Sonnyboy...

This afternoon, as I stepped out of the house for work, I caught sight of this beautiful camouflaged olive one at my doorstep. Just now as I was coming through the front door, the little fella was still there, as if saying 'hey, you're back so bring me inside'. And so I did, 'transporting' it in a plastic microwavable container.



It didn't put up much resistance though. Looking at it now, it seems alittle lifeless. Perhaps happily snuggled in tight and contented not to fly away into the night...

P.S. For all you budding Entomologists, this is an Oleander Hawkmoth, Daphnis nerii.

A Different Corner

Over the past few days, this old Georgie classic has become to mean something to me.

When before, I didn't really bother what the words meant, I do now.

Without being distracted by the horrible big 80's hairdo and what some men would-kill-for bearded stubble, tell me, what does it mean to you?



I'd say love was a magical flame
I'd say love would keep us from pain
Had I been there, had I been there

I would promise you all of my life
But to lose you would cut like a knife
So I don't dare, no I don't dare

'Cause I've never come close in all of these years
You are the only one to stop my tears
And I'm so scared, I'm so scared

Take me back in time maybe I can forget
Turn a different corner and we never would have met
Would you care

I don't understand it, for you it's a breeze
Little by little you've brought me to my knees
Don't you care

No I've never come close in all of these years
You are the only one to stop my tears
I'm so scared of this love

And if all that there is, is this fear of being used
I should go back to being lonely and confused
If I could, I would, I swear

Unkster Uncovered 7 - Unspoilt Punggol

It used to be that SBS Bus No. 82 would travel along Punggol Road, through dense secondary forest, along the only thoroughfare to the jetty at the terminal end where the seafood restaurants were and then do a 3-point turn and tranverse the return journey back to town.

These days, the area has become one of the newest satellite towns and re-development has taken on an astonishing pace. But there are pockets of nature still available, especially around the Sungei Punggol and Sungei Serangoon rivers.

On a late evening jog and I stumbled upon a dirt-track off the main road leading to a picturesque patch of lallang, wild flowers and dried-out pine trees. Will re-visit the area when I am not huffing, puffing and sweating so much =))






But by the time I got to the beach, the area was already in its final throes of sunset. And darkness was beginning to blanket the rocks and barnacles on the shore...

How To Save A Heart...

...Wish I knew...Wish it was that easy.

Like a course of anti-hurt antibiotics. Or a jab of some V-Day vaccine. Maybe popping a couple of memory-killer pills will help.

But I am no doctor. And self-healing is such an arduous process.

Perhaps the price to pay, for doing precious little about the malaise, from way back then...

Dumb Bells, Dumb Belles

I gym 4 times a week.

And over the past year or so, there's certainly been a spike in the number of gym-goers you see preening infront of the mirror with a couple of dumbells. Seems its very hip nowadays to be seen working out, whether or not you're actually doing any meaningful exercise is immaterial =)) So it gets a little irritating when overcrowding becomes a problem, especially on weekends.



Well there are several archetypes of the present-day Gym-goer.

There are those that look like they actually live in the gym. You see them pumping iron whichever day of the week. Their biceps are bigger than 2 of your thigh quadriceps put together. They sip constantly from protein shakes and what-nots and obviously pop a cocktail of supplementary pills after their workout. But I still don't understand why they do these things to their bodies. I would say 1.65m short, Incredible Hulks without the green paint. Big (muscles) is certainly not beautiful. Toned is. However these guys know what they're doing and at least they use the equiptment properly.

On the other extreme are the skinny beanpoles that hope to bulk up. But at the rate they're going, it'll probably take them till X'mas 2009. They do 50-100 effortless reps (repetitions) in earnest, with a 5kg weight. I mean my 80 year-old Granny lugs a 5kg marketing bag to and from the Pasar everyday too. Its not about the number of reps darlins', its about selecting the correct weight to make your muscles work and fatigue.

Then there are those who bite off more than they can chew. I suppose they feel self-conscious about lifting too lightly so they pile on the weights. Then the Grinning, Grimacing and finally the Groaning gives them away, and its obvious they are going overboard exerting themselves like that. They manage, what, 5-6 reps, before their writhing bodies give way and they dump the dumbells on the floor with a shocking loud thud.

I shall not even begin with the fellas who come decked out in expensive Adidas and Nike, looking all nice and dandy, but spend more time chit-chatting by the water-cooler than at the Bench-press. Nice towels draped over their pale necks in full, resplendent, exercise-haute couture, glory.

And for reasons of decency, I shall not comment on the sudden proliferation of Gym Bunnies. I think the name says it all =))