The Daily Whine

Read this insightful blog entry on why Singapore’s draconian laws are necessary for citizens like me and my colour-blind mother.

Then weep and cry that you don’t get to eat Roti Plaster, drink Kopi-O and learn about security threats in your backyard with the author like I do. Nyah nyah nyah.

Gloating now out of the way, let me just say that Derek is a big part of the reason why living in Simei is better than living in Bukit Timah (sod off, you District 10 types). Together with Alfian, he immediately boosts our town’s IQ rating by gazillion. Which translates into some of the most enlightening coffeeshop talk this part of Singapore in a neighbourhood without any of the ‘atas’ pretensions of self-important Bukit Timah, Holland Village and, sadly, Siglap these days. Having breakfast on Sunday with Derek and Alfian (if he’s still alive; MIA for ages) is always comforting because it’s one of those rare instances where I feel the bill for my entire college education didn’t exactly go down the drain.

1. If you don’t speak their language, you’d better be carrying small notes. It’s a little hard to ask for your change back when you don’t know the words.
2. You’ll also want to know how to say "that’s not enough" and "this is bullshit".
3. "Fuck you" is universally understood by taxi drivers everywhere.
4. So is "keep the change".
5. I find it’s easier to get your change back when you ask nicely and smile. You can still throw a fit later, when he pretends he didn’t understand you. But if you start off hissing and pointing your finger, you can’t scale back.
6. And you don’t want to get into a shouting match with someone who’s on the road dealing with shitty traffic for a living.
7. Since when did tipping become compulsory?
8. But if you do leave one, it’s like a little karma boost. You’re helping keep his kids in school. You’ll feel good for the rest of the day.
9. Good karma gets pretty expensive if the taxi is your primary mode of transport.
10. My rule of thumb for leaving a tip is, let’s see how honest this fella is. If I’m supposed to get back some change and I get it all, he’s going to get the biggest tip I can afford. On the other hand, if he pretends there’s no change, I’m going to squeeze every last cent back from him.
11. My other rule of thumb is whether or not I’ve enjoyed the ride. If the taxi smells bad, he doesn’t get a tip. If he keeps slamming on the pedals, he doesn’t get a tip. If he drives in circles because he thinks he can skin me, he doesn’t get a tip. If he doesn’t turn up the air-conditioning when I ask him to, he doesn’t get a tip. If he keeps on yakking depite my monosyllabic replies, he doesn’t get a tip. If he makes me wonder about my insurance coverage, no tip.
12. If you’re not planning on tipping, at least be honest about it and don’t patronize the driver with a big smile. He doesn’t want your goodwill, he wants your buck.
13. I’ve been in a taxi where the ride was pleasant, the driver was polite and honest, and I got my change back without asking for it. I made sure the driver got a big, fat tip. But I also made sure he knew why; I wanted him to feel that good service was worth rewarding. I wanted him to do it again for someone else.
14. I’ve also been in a ride where the driver didn’t give me back my change, and then asked me for a tip. I told him something he understood, then opened the door and didn’t budge. Eventually, he gave me back my change.

With a mom like mine, how can I possibly not have baggage?

I am going to Taipei for a short holiday with May. We leave at noon tomorrow and return on Sunday night. The idea is to visit my sis and dad, see the kiddos, and put on a lot of weight at the various Night Markets — all in 3 days.

So I’m traumatized by that huge multi-coloured luggage my mother has placed near the door. It’s massive, loud and back-breakingly heavy at 40 kilos. And it’s filled with Mom’s love. In other words, all sorts of junk for the kiddos, my sis and my dad — toys, clothing, stationery, books, spices, coconut preserve and cake. (It’s a Provision Store start-up kit on rollers — I could set up the next Wal-Mart superstore with it). My mom seems to think Taiwan is far removed from civilization, like New Jersey.

I’m traumatized because I’m going to have to explain to May she won’t take be able to pack her Zara autumn coat or Esprit bomber jacket because Grandma needs the baggage space for the kiddos’ Hello Kitty sticker album.

And if May doesn’t break up with me on the spot, I’m pretty positive she will right after she hears the laughter when we show up at the airport with a bright red, green and yellow luggage case.

If you’ve ever seen any Chinese film where there’s a country bumpkin who goes to the city with 2 luggage cases bursting out of seams and a roast duck in hand, you’ll have a pretty good idea just how ridiculous I’m about to look when I touch down in Chang Kai Shek International Airport.

This is why I need to marry May sooner rather than later. I’ll have absolutely no hand once she really gets to know my family.

Andre finally got hitched on Saturday, and Happily Ever After with Selina got off to a good start. For one thing, they didn’t get drunk at the wedding.

That’s always a good thing. I can’t imagine getting sloshed at your own wedding, blurting out the names of your various exes in a very public declaration of love, and then proceeding to hump the bride’s mom in full view of family and friends. But since I’ve heard that’s what occured at the wedding of a friend of a friend, it must have happened (okay, maybe not quite the mom-mounting). Like Barbara Streisand’s face, this sort of horror story is impossible to make up.

But since this was a wedding, and this is Andre we’re talking about, there’s no way this would be a dry affair — not if his buddies could help it. So let me get straight to the point: there was plenty of booze involved. In fact, 15 minutes into the dinner, the alcohol was running on empty. The caterers at The Fullerton remarked that they’d never seen the drinks go so quickly.

(Having said that, let me also point out that Andre managed the evening like he manages his projects — efficient planning begetting effective control, leading to goals achieved. And his goal was to make it to the end of the dinner without getting his new in-laws immediately acquainted with his more vivacious alter-ego (a side of Andre they’ll have plenty of time to know after the wedding). Not that I’m complaining, actually. I’ve long left hard-drinking nights behind, and to be frank, I don’t miss waking up the next day with a minor headache (if I’m lucky), some involuntary amnesia, plenty of dog’s breath and a lot of constipated anguish. So while I still enjoy the occasional glass of wine or martini, for the most part I’m pretty happy to keep myself hydrated with two parts hydrogen and one part Coke. However, I’m certain my enthusiasm for staying sober beyond noon wasn’t shared by Edmund, Roy, Shannon and the other brudders).

Anyway, it was a beautiful and sensible first day of Andre and Selina’s married lives, right from the tea ceremony in the morning, to the church wedding at noon, all the way till the guests left the ballroom at night. None of the church melodramatics that Hollywood teaches us to expect, nor over-the-top flourishes you see at nearly every Chinese wedding dinner. It was all simple and elegant, like Selina’s wedding gown. Sensible. All weddings should be like that.

Naturally, Andre’s wedding raised questions about my own. If I had a dollar for every time somebody asked me "so when’s it your turn next?" during these last two weeks, I’d have enough to hold it tomorrow.

When you’ve been going out with your girlfriend for a significant amount of time, you can’t escape questions about timetables and schedules, I suppose. It didn’t help that I proposed to May way back in January without actually following through with a wedding. (Oh right, the wedding usually follows the proposal, okay, um, I got that mixed up with dinner at Mickey Dees, thanks for pointing that out). So okay, I kind of deserve the interrogation.

For the record, I do actually want to tie the knot sooner rather than later. It’s not like I’m holding out for a cow and two goats or something. It’s just that I’m a terrible planner, and May is no better, and we feed off each other’s inertia. So we kind of just take things easy, figuring one day soon we’ll both have lunch hour to spare and we’ll just hop into a cab down to the Registry of Marriage and sign on some papers and if we’re lucky we’ll be married before lunch hour is up. (But obviously that’s not going to sit down well with her parents, and frankly, I’m not absolutely certain we can do it in an hour).

Anyway, I’ve got a plan in my head now. We’ll exchange vows some time late in May next year (no pun intended). Then I’ll propose we head off the next weekend to Munich to spend a month in Germany. Just in time for the World Cup. Her boss will let her go because it’s her honeymoon. I’ll get at least 4 or 5 group-stage matches in while touring around the country. It’s perfect. I’ve got this all worked out. Sometimes I amaze myself with my cunning.