Big Brother

Each time I see Tyra Banks do a fieeeerce shot, I'm reminded of a workmate of mine, Ferocious Frank. Seriously he could give half the bitchy contestants on the model realty series a run for their money with his pithy parting shots. Since he's also a perpetual bachelor boy, I have been vacillating about pegging him as a fellow homo. Though Timber Tom ( who comes from the everyone's gay till proven otherwise school of thought ) simply has no doubts about it.

Turns out Tom was right.

All it took was one meal while Marvy Maarof and I stared agog from the adjacent table.

My usually ineffectual gay-dar went into a tizzy when I saw Frank having a tete-a-tete with a male intern in the pantry. Supposedly a lil adopted brother. Just when I thought the workplace couldn't possibly get any gay-er. Didn't catch them in flagrante delicto but with the obvious intimacy over their shared meal, there might as well have been candlelight and violins playing.

Sure interns are plenty in the hospital but with the strict hierarchy in the medical pantry, very few of us cross borders to share meals. It happens of course - but it's kinda hard sharing a roti paratha after giving a stern reprimand to them during the rounds earlier.


If only all lil brothers looked like this!
Of course it gets even more peculiar when we find out that the smooth-faced intern's not working that day. Surely the bland hospital fare can't be that irresistible. So Maarof and I smiled even as we eyed the duo with repressed glee over our cokes.

Turns out it's not the first time for Ferocious Frank. Even more suspicious when I heard he has an entire succession of cute little brothers. Though little would be an understatement since most would reasonably be in the nubile realm of their early twenties.

Maarof : He calls them adik angkat.
Paul : Seriously. That's what we're calling boytoys now?
Maarof : Not the first time I've seen them. You'll see him with a different adik every once in a while.
Paul : Giving oral lessons?
Maarof : You're so bad.
Paul : And does he spank them with a big rod when they get naughty?
Maarof : Maybe! I'm starting to feel we're both intruding into their together time!
Paul : They should so get a room.
Maarof : Hopefully not mine.

Even if the clandestine meets were utterly innocent - and they actually spent their time playing pinochle, I think there's a deep-seated spark somewhere there. Dorothy darling, I think you've found a new friend.

Adik angkat eh? Maybe it's I started throwing some brotherly affection around as well.

Dead on Arrival

Let's talk about death. An unsettling topic but it's one that I live with every day.

A few days back, the news that two misadventuring doctors had been found dead in a ravine caught my eye. Paid even more attention when I realized the two names seemed familiar enough. Supposedly the ill-fated pair had been out jungle-trekking only to suffer an unforeseen tragic fall off a cliff's edge.

At least that's the possible likelihood proposed by the investigating crime scene officers.

So why is it that my first thought was suicide? Frankly I wasn't the only one. Everyone else at work thought the same. When someone in the medical fraternity passes away suddenly, we all immediately leap to the most obvious ( though erroneous in this case! ) conclusion which is suicide.

Ginny : OMG. Look. These doctors were both found dead in a ravine!
Paul : Was it suicide?
Ginny : Probably! Lemme check in the papers.
Paul : Looks like they had a tragic fall.
Ginny : Still could have been a suicide.

Is it terribly morbid to think so? Dead doctors on arrival and we all automatically assume it's suicide? While everyone else would assume tragic circumstances, we immediately think of suicide notes and empty medicine bottles.

A skewed view?


Dammit. I should just go kill myself!
Perhaps it's the surprisingly high rates of suicide amongst doctors. Perhaps it's the fact that I already personally know three doctors who have done the deed and two who have failed ( and are under psychiatric treatment ). Not exactly reassuring news. What's even worse is there's a special category in wikipedia just for doctors who have committed suicide. A dubious acknowledgement if any.

So why do they take the plunge?

Could go on and on about the pressures at work as I have before - and it's all true. But I think one of the other reasons could be a lack of a helping hand. Unfortunately medicine is still a terribly macho profession where we all hide any signs of illnesses if possible. Sure, we might treat the sick and suffering but we sure as hell aren't going to admit to any! See us at work and you'll find us all coughing, sneezing and wheezing ( and otherwise totally unfit to work ) but we all bravely soldier on. Frankly we care more about the patients sometimes than we care about ourselves - and our colleagues.

And depression would be even easier to hide. Sick and struggling under the strains of the job ( from work pressure to excessive hours ), these doctors are oddly reluctant to seek help. And once they decide to commit suicide, they are usually successful.

They know how to do it.

Hence the high ratio of suicide completions to attempts. Obviously the reason I know more doctors who have died from suicide than those who survived the attempt.

Sigh.

A Fine Bromance

With the unruly state of our national politics, sometimes I think the best cure for the entire lot of unscrupulous backstabbing politicians would be a heavy dose of saccharine-sweet Yasmin Ahmad movies!

Seriously. Just tie them down into their comfy seats and screen movie after movie ( maybe with a promotional ad or two ). I think it's about time they got heavily brainwashed into accepting multiple doses of Malaysiana, that rich multicultural blend that makes us unique. Maybe then the wily politicians wouldn't be so eager to broadcast faintly racist propaganda to the teeming masses.

I'm sure Yasmin's zealous detractors would decry her sepia-toned, idealized romanticization of Malaysia - but look closely and you'll find nuggets of painful reality here and there.


Practicing for the big time!
Me, I'm a huge fan ( what's wrong with ideals? ) and eagerly await every production of hers :)

Reason enough that I dragged Charming Calvin off to Talentime the minute he stepped off the tarmac from down south. I know you're all gonna be asking what's Talentime since it's wholly underpublicized. Well from Yasmin's own words...

A music teacher, who is herself a great performer is organising an inter-school talentime. Through the days of auditions, rehearsals and preparations, running up to the big day of the contest, the characters get embroiled in a world of heightened emotions - ambition, jealousy, human comedy, romance, heartbreak - all of which culminate in a day of great music and performances.

Certainly no spoiler but with her penchant for inter-racial romance, the main storyline pairs a gregarious Malay girl, Melur - one of the contestants in the talentime - with Mahesh, a seemingly diffident Indian boy ( with hidden surprises up his sleeve! ).



Of course I found the secondary story far more interesting which brings together Hafiz, a Malay student struggling with his mother's hospitalization - and also the seemingly irrational jealousy of his Chinese classmate, Kahoe. Just a brief heated interchange between the two in the classroom - as Kahoe confronts Hafiz on his superior scholastic results - summarizes the antagonistic relationship between the two races in a nutshell. Of course their growing enmity is juxtaposed with the close friendship of their teachers - also a Chinese-Malay pairing - so intimate in fact that it has the brother headmaster blithely wondering.

A pity Hafiz and Kahoe didn't get the airtime they deserved. Far too many issues between them to have ben resolved so neatly and quickly. Maybe a sequel? :)

Enthralled by their good looks, the girls seated right in front of us giggled and thought they'd make a far finer bromance than the main leads.

I couldn't agree more. :)

Blairanoid

It's not possibly to be loved by everyone.

Despite the sweet lies we hear from the fairy tales read to us at bedtime! Of course gentle reminders are everywhere if only we look for them - such as the Norse tale of Balder who was loved by all but one - in his case, the trickster god Loki - the one person with resentment in his heart just plotting to take the shining icon down.


Dammit. You know someone has to go down!
Surely not as melodramatic a case for Neonatal Nate but the rule still applies here. Though he has managed to charm Fabulous Felix over to his side - not to mention with a lil bit of Yuletide magic - it seems as if not everyone's a fan. Quite the opposite in fact since Nate has been getting his fair share of hate mail lately.

No headless chickens or pin-stabbed voodoo dolls tacked to his door as yet - but with the occasional unexpected vitriol from his secret foe online, he does have good reason to get all blairanoid.


Now who would do that to Nate? What has he done to deserve this? Conspiracy theories run amuck of course from a jealous ex gunning for his blood to an entire motley crew of frenemies waiting to blacken his reputation.

Seriously. Back-stabbing and poison pen letters? Spurned lovers and clashing cliques? I'm seriously getting high school flashbacks.

Had my share of hate clubs back then of course. Wouldn't say I was a freaking saint after all! But in the past I used to agonize endlessly over the perceived enmity from my vocal detractors, wondering desperately how I could dispell the hostility!

Truth is there's nothing much we can do.

Some people are just meant to be at odds with each other. Neither rhyme nor reason can explain the hate sometimes.

Hell, even a little over a year ago I'd been on the top of someone's hit list. Of course Jaunty Jared quickly took over the spot which I was only too glad to relinquish. Just proves the point that hate can be irrational. If someone as genuinely loveable as sunshiney Jared ( seriously! ) could be hated by someone... then I'm sure I'll always be perpetually on someone's hit parade! And anyone else is fair game.

Poor Nate though. Bet he's feeling bewildered.

That's Not My Name

I try not to dwell on the past.

Really a case of senility on my part since I can't very well dwell on something I can't actually remember. Didn't think it mattered much that I can't recall the events of the past decade with perfect clarity. Doubt I'm going to join any memory competitions anytime soon.

Or at least that's what I thought.

You know that intimate lil game that crazily committed couples play - hoping it will bring them closer together? The one where both make a pact to reveal their previous relationships? Dishing on past sexual assignations?

Girl : You slept with my best friend?
Boy : Well I didn't know you then!
Girl : And my sister?
Boy : Well I didn't you were related!
Girl : And my mother?!
Boy : Umm... are we related?

I call it plain crazy.

But obviously Lily and Rufus ( from Gossip Girl natch! ) don't think so since they agreed to exchange lists.


Dammit. What is your name again?
So while flipping through dull medical charts at work today, I decided to have some fun by making my own list on the notepad. Although I did muse wistfully for a brief second on the mere handful I had in comparison to the dirrrty dozens on Lily's List, I started feeling rather pleased that I didn't have all that many. Who's calling me a slut now eh? I'm practically a vestal virgin!

Then I stopped midway through my rounds. I stared at my notes - and the other names written down - in abject horror. Only to realize that I actually couldn't recall one of them. Seriously.

How could I possibly forget his name?!

We exchanged bodily fluids and all I could recall was Melbourne 1998. The date and place - and that was about it! Surely a transfer of semen, no matter how brief, would have imprinted a memory pathway in my brain! Perhaps he was sun-shiney blond? Or did he have lustrous brown hair? I think he had brown eyes though. Did he make me laugh? Was he good in bed? Did I brush my teeth afterward?

Then again I could have slept with a freaking kangaroo for all I could remember.

And since I'd met the fine OZ fella while he was tending a cafe in Chapel St, I can't even blame it on the damned alcohol. Unless you can call several cups of latte intoxicating!


Waitaminute. Umm. Did I even learn his name?

Seriously. Dwell in the past? How can I! I need to start taking some gingko biloba.

Last Minute Travel Plans

Planning a trip ain't easy and I gotta give kudos to Jaunty Jared who patiently fielded dozens of enquiries prior to our Bangkok Blowout last year. Even choosing a hotel can prove a difficult task with everyone having their own ideas ( and budgets! ) of where to stay. While some of the more impecunious members of the expedition preferred far more affodable motels, some us of had grown accustomed to at least a modicum of luxury.

Or at least one hunky bellhop to ogle.

And trust me, I've already done the entire grungy backpacking-through-dingy-roach-infested-motels bit - and don't intend to revisit that charming experience!

But our ever pleasant travel coordinator Jared managed - after probably a thousand emails between us all - to strike a reasonable bargain that would satisfy all members of the expedition. Not easy with almost 20 members.

Now we have a small group. Me and the galpals I call the Lushes are planning a short trip somewhere near. Possibly a short cuti-cuti Malaysia with a relaxing slow drive up north. So we all sat down to make travel plans.

Not easy coordinating the packed schedules but we somehow managed to find an open slot in April. Checking online, we even found a lovely two-bedroom suite by the beach for a bargain!


What did you say?!
At least that's what I thought.

Until Statuesque Sarah got a wild hair for Bali somewhere between yesterday and today. Think I blame Caisson's since she's been taking up diving lessons lately :)

Paul : So you confirmed for the trip up north? I've got the suite already.
Sarah : Screw that. Let's go Bali!
Paul : What? Next week?! Are you insane!
Sarah : Why not? We could fly over and look for some cheap backpacker's motel!
Paul : Did you say backpacker?!
Sarah : Maybe we could fly to Jakarta too.
Paul : Why not throw in a jaunt to Borobudur too?
Sarah : Let's!

A sudden change of plans ( and Miss Travel-and-Adventure Sarah! ) scares me. Mr Spontaniety I'm not. I like my ruts.

And waitaminute, backpacking?!

Miss Myrtle

There's an old ( and derogatory ) adage that goes those who can, do; those who can't, teach.

Like seriously.

If you've ever tried to impart knowledge into lesser minds, you'd know that oft-repeated statement doesn't ring true. Teaching is far from easy. Takes more than a ruler and chalk to teach a pupil well. One of the reasons I've never thought of entering the teaching profession. With the little patience that I possess, I'd fail miserably.

Of course not everyone thinks the same.

Trusting in that faintly insulting adage, we have all sorts of doubtful creatures venturing into teaching. Hence the curious oddities I met along the way in college - from the seriously dull wallflower professors ( far more efficacious than sedatives ) to the bizarre freaks of nature you'd expect to find headlining the local travelling circus. Seriously. Aliens. From the fast-talking wannabe cow auctioneer we termed as How Bizarre ( from her real name Miz Hafizah ) to a slobbering slug of a sea-creature we fondly named Jabba the Hutt.

Not to mention the frightfully tall skeleton with beady evil eyes teaching Biology we called Wicked Witch of the West.


What the hell did they teach today?!
No matter how godawful I would be as a lecturer in the future, I doubt I'd perform quite as bad as the ones I had. Not even Hogwarts could find freakier professors to teach the Defence Against the Dark Arts.

And then there's the likes of Miss Myrtle. A faint apparition who waltzes into class in her pastel pashminas, bright bangles and glittery gauze. Flitting towards the board, Miss Myrtle then speaks to it in hushed, ethereal tones - possibly hoping that her bewildered students would be able to hear the faint echoes.

Student A : Could you repeat the question?
Myrtle : Whisper whisper mumble mumble.
Student A : Excuse me?
Myrtle : Yes? Of course, my child.
Student A : Could you repeat the question?
Myrtle : Whisper whisper mumble mumble.
Student A : What is she saying?
Student B : A lady doesn't raise her voice above a whisper, so Miss Myrtle doesn't.

Good to know. I was beginning to think I'd grown deaf.

While her students eventually gave up, an oblivious Miss Myrtle continued strong floating from one end of the stage to the other while waving her hands dramatically about the wonderfully mystical power of... mumble mumble...

Gosh I haven't the faintest idea.

Wonder whether Hogwarts needs a new Divination teacher.

Death Becomes Me

Bloody hell. No wonder the patients cringe at the sight of me.

You are Death

Change, Transformation, Alteration.

People fear this card, but if you want to change your life, this is one of the
best indicators for it. Whatever happens, life will be different. Yes, the Death card can signal a death in the right circumstances (a question about a very sick or old relative, for example), but unlike its dramatic presentation in the movies, the Death card is far more likely to signal transformation, passage, change. Scorpio, the sign of this card, has three forms: scorpion, serpent, eagle. The Death card indicates this transition from lower to higher to highest. This is a card of humility, and it may mean you have been brought low, but only so that you can then go higher than ever before. Death "humbles" all, but it also "exults." Always keep in mind that on this card of darkness there is featured a sunrise as well. You could be ready for a change.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Just great. Now where do I find a nice black scythe?

Mothers and Sons II

Mothers and sons have a complicated relationship. Even more so when it's a gay son. Short of collecting numerous fag hags by the dozen, mothers are the sole representative of the opposite sex in most gay men's lives.

Especially the more misogynistic ones.

Even then guys still tend to be inordinately attached to their mothers - much to the chagrin of their disapproving spouses! Face it. Despite how much we try to tug away from the apron strings, we are still pretty much defined by the relationship with our mothers.

I've seen the silent war going on between Lanky Lex and his chillingly conservative Tradimum who still hasn't accepted his unorthodox homosexual practices. And then you have Jaunty Jared who seems to have settled into a comedic camaraderie routine with his unconventional bohemian mom - who seems more best buddy than maternal figure - going on their regular horror movie popcorn sessions.


Boy do I have some things to tell ya about my mother!
Not sure how I am with my own mother. Think my friends would be a better judge of that!

Certainly not her favourite son - since I suspect that title would belong to my brother though my mother would deny it vehemently - but it's okay, she loves me more than enough. Our relationship has matured from that of a regular parent-child dynamic to one of more equal standing these days.

Though my mother does tend to forget that I'm no longer a scruffy lil boy in navy-blue shorts! Still quite prone to reading me a lecture in public so I have to turn and give her the evil eye - silently stressing the fact that I'm already a 32 year old adult - but hey, once a teacher!

And I'll admit I do overstep my bounds sometimes.

These few days I've had the opportunity to watch Charming Calvin interact with his own mother, Madame Borgia - and I wonder whether it differs from the way I talk to my own. Though Calvin loves her, I think part of him still hasn't completely forgiven her for the harsh reception he initially received when he came out of the closet. Coming from a conservative provincial background, it took a while for Madame Borgia to adapt to the new situation but at least she is trying.

Though with a few hiccups here and there. Such as pretending that her son and me are only friends without benefits. That we play pinochle together instead of hide the salami.

Reason enough to shudder at the thought of coming clean with mine. Will it ruin the relationship irreparably? Hence the tiring waiting game of does she or doesn't she know?

The Borgia Dinner

Credit should be given.

Somehow I managed to survive an entire evening with Lady Borgia - Charming Calvin's vengeful matriarch! - without suffering any major physical or mental infirmity. Despite the fact that she must have gleaned from our easy intimacy that we are significantly more than friends, she has remained surprisingly serene about it all. No sign of the homophobic pitchfork-wielding termagant she was before.

Hell these days she could easily pass for a PFLAG mom.

Lulled into complacency, Calvin has accepted it at face value though I have my reservations.

Skeptical son-in-law that I am, I immediately suspected something afoot when Lady Borgia decided to make another unexpected appearance on the scene. Just a simple unplanned visit? I think not. Close to perjuring myself making implausible excuses just to avoid paying attendance to his mother - but after several intense discussions with my colleagues, I finally braced myself to face the inevitable.


So what has she planned now?
Like the last time, Lady Borgia turned out to be cordial to the extreme. Dinner was an uncomplicated civil affair, surprisingly short of flying silverware, weeping hysterics and death threats. Seems like murder wasn't on the menu.

Could you tell I was a tad disappointed?

Of course part of the reason could be the severe communication barrier - because I barely understood her! While Lady Borgia spoke fluently in Mandarin and Hakka, I could only hobble through the remains of the stilted conversation in broken pidgin Chinese. So obviously certain parts were lost in translation.

Paul : Is she enjoying dinner?
Lady Borgia : 儿子，他在说啥？ 他是不是要用这些油腻，高胆固醇的肥猪肉来毒害我？( What is the depraved pervert saying, my son? Is he threatening to poison me with this disgusting slice of oily, cholesterol-laden lard? )
Calvin : 不是的，妈。 ( No, mother. )
Paul : What did she say?
Calvin : She is on a diet.

Hmmm. I have my suspicions.

Kidding aside, I think she's just a simple, conservative lady a bit out of her depth when it comes to wildly controversial taboo issues such as homosexuality - even more confused when it involves her son. And now with her son's so-called partner in the picture, things are getting ever more complicated and Lady Borgia's still trying her best to adjust.

At least that's what I got from my reading of her.

Unless she's putting up a clever front to fool me into letting down my guard.

Hmmm.

Adulterers Anonymous

Seriously. You think you've seen it all when it comes to cheaters and adulterers.

Well in this modern age of science, technology and the internet, we have far more inventive ways to find forgiveness! Why resort to plain love letters that can be torn into pieces in a shredder? Why resort to long-stemmed red roses that can be tossed in the bin?


The cheap floozy behind me? No, she's only a friend!!
Obviously serial adulterer Kelvin Ng thinks so since he's been begging his wife to return through a series of videos, blogs and articles online. Cheating heart aside, he claims to want his wife Crystal back. Not only that but he caused a minor uproar when he knelt in front of a mall for ten hours to beg for forgiveness.

From his wife whom he cheated on multiple times. Three times to be exact.

Really. How about a round of applause? Standing ovation?



You know my stand on adultery and cheating. Think I've said it often enough. At least have some respect for your spouse. At the very least he could have given her a heads-up before boffing some other girl.

Wife : Hello?
Man : Hei, I'm fucking another chick tonight. Get some rest and don't leave the fucking light for me, on willya?
Wife : What?! What the -
Man : Laters.

Of course if I'm the wife, I'd have burnt his clothes, torn up the house and called the lawyers.

And yet I find myself sympathizing somewhat with this sad pathetic bloke. Though it's just too little too late, at least he's trying. Wonder whether he's actually thought it through - but no way is his poor wife going to return after being subjected to this humiliating all-too-public airing of their domestic disputes. Imagine being bombarded with apologies on such a scale! Any sane, sensible girl would balk at the very idea.

If not run away to hide under the witness protection program.

Charity Begins!

And on the guest list was a name familiar to me.

A certain Miss Jardine. I know you fellas wouldn't have any inkling who she is but roughly two years back, I was given a name and number by certain hopeful matchmaking colleagues.

Being an obliging fella, I figured it wouldn't hurt to make an extra friend or two. Despite the fact that I never actually met her ( serious scheduling snafus on both sides ), suffice to say she turned out to be quite nice to talk to! Far from the saintly untouchable paragon that she'd been painted as, Miss Jardine was actually amazingly approachable.

At least that's what I gathered from her messages :)


Umm... hi... I'm Paul?
Quite a relief she turned out to be a friendly sport since I was half expecting Miss Jardine to blow me off! Like me, I'm sure the unfortunate career gal found it equally embarassing to be matchmade to a doddering doctor by her kindly ( though meddling ) aunt.

That was all two years back of course. And then I saw her name printed on the party guest list - and later learned that she was a bosom buddy of Dramatic Dior!

Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.

Guess fate really had brought us together - and who was I to deny fate - so I steeled myself to introduce myself! And you know how hard it can be for an antisocial fella like me ( blame it on sheer bashfulness! ) to put on a smile and give my hand in greeting. Almost like pulling teeth, I tell ya.

Not knowing that the elusive Miss Jardine had elected to make a quick getaway instead. Making her excuses early on in the party, she hastily rabbited from the place. But of course fate stepped in - like in any reputable Korean drama - and our automobiles met at a narrow impasse in the lane heading to the party while the rain gently pitter-pattered around us.

Seriously. I could not be making this up.

We both glanced at each other - Miss Jardine from her higher vantage point in her 4WD - and went in separate directions. All very Thomas Hardy, I tell you.

Charity Begins?

They say it begins at home but like every other gay man out there, I'm starting to believe that charity actually begins at a party!

One held by a philanthrophic socialista :)

Tired of the endless rounds of birthday bashes at posh celebrity haunts, this particular socialista decided to share his wealth with the disadvantaged as well! So instead of purchasing impossibly lavish gifts for Dramatic Dior, all we had to do was spend half a day at a children's shelter.

I could already hear the muffled screams from the assembled guests.

Of course Dior had to make it difficult by assigning a kid to each of the guests. So rather than shop for Dramatic Dior ( the fella who has everything! ), we were given the unenviable task of shopping for the disadvantaged kids. Knowing how competitive gay men are when it comes to shopping, it then became a pitched battle to top one another.

At least in purchases.

Fab : OMG. That bitch bought the kid a schoolbag?
Gay : And a pink pencilcase!
Fab : Dammit. Now I gotta get a handbag and some colour pencils to top it! And an evening dress too!
Gay : But you already got the mary janes!
Fab : No worries. We can get a bigger better bow!

Who said gay men didn't have raging testosterone.


How do I look, daddy?
There I was already starting to wonder whether I'd get a hot 18 yo orphan to dress! Mmm... tank tops and skimpy shorts! Wonder whether he'd wanna follow his new daddy home :)

Obviously our canny Dior had already anticipated the serious possibility of cradle-snatching ( with all the hawks about ) and saddled me with a disenchanted 13 year old girl instead. With no pictures at hand, all we had to rely on was our imagination. Hoping for a waifish Bollywood Hepburn, what little Gudiya got was summer dresses with bows and ruffles instead. Fortunately I had the help of a beneficent Fabulous Fiona. Quite tempted to throw in a few headbands for Gudiya as well!

Being a curious sort ( and terribly bashful in crowds ), I then checked the proposed guest list.

And practically had to stifle a scream.

A Mad Supper Party

Sometimes we anticipate the unexpected, leaping to the worst scenarios possible when in reality it turns out to be quite sadly mundane instead. Like the skulking creature under the bed that turns out to be an old ratty blanket left behind in the light of day.

And then sometimes what happens simply exceeds our expectations.

Where the monster in the closet actually does exist.

Feeling particularly frisky last night, we decided to brave the relative unknown and head towards the suburbs to beard the fearsome Tradimum of Lanky Lex in her den. And hey, we needed a cup of tea. After the many successive aborted tea parties planned at the Tradimum's, the gang decided to make a surprise visit of our own.

Ever since Lanky Lex's unexpected coming out, his sternly disapproving Tradimum ( traditional mum for the uninitiated! ) has been maintaining a discreetly low profile - apart from an unprecedented automobile attack sometime back. Possibly biding her time polishing the silverware while glancing with obvious horror over at the scandalous sexcapades of her sodomite son.

Fearsome indeed.

But since I'd met Charming Calvin's mother who turned out not to be such a devilish dragoness, I figured most monsters aren't quite as loathsome as painted.

At least I hoped so.


OMG! I am too young to die!
So taking up the challenge like the knights of old, we made our intrepid way over to face the Tradimum - hoping that a civilized supper party would be just the thing to soothe the beast. Uncertain of our reception, Lanky Lex met us pre-emptively at the gates only to leave us with a warning to be prepared.

Paul : Will she jump in front of us with pitchfork in hand?
Calvin : Will she be armed to the teeth with fangs and knives?
Paul : And poison?
Lex : Of course not! Umm... well at least I don't think so.

Not exactly comforting.

He was right though. Start shaking in your boots, sonny! Oh yes, the Tradimum truly deserves her reputation. :)

As we nervously tiptoed in, the earlier conversation froze in the air and with just one frigid glance from the Tradimum, the temperature around fell several degrees below zero. With chilly disdain, the Tradimum greeted us from her throne before waving us on our way. Positively glacial. Obviously the though that her son was keeping company with a pack of avowed homosexuals left a bitter taste on her mouth. Certainly no flaming dragoness biting homosexual intruders at the gates but even as we scurried away, I could already feel the icicles forming at my heels.

Or maybe that's because we interrupted her favourite Cantonese drama.

But we never did get our tea.

The Ironman

I think Charming Calvin's having an affair.

Don't know if I have the rights to turn all green-eyed over such an unorthodox relationship! Sure, my rival's hard as steel, smooth as velvet and hot as hell - reason enough that he manages to steamroll easily over the rest of his creased, crumped contenders. But I think he could come unplugged quite easily under the right circumstances.

In fact I'm certain I could take down Calvin's damned iron quite easily.

I hope.

Unless it's steaming hot.


Time to iron?
Judging by how unnaturally attached Calvin is to his precious iron, I find myself just a little perturbed. An hour a day specially set aside just to share the company of his precious iron? Satin pillows and a special bed of crumpled silk placed aside just for his precious iron? Sharing secrets and whispering sweet nothings into the steam pores of his precious iron?

Seriously I think Calvin gets an unholy orgasmic thrill just from finding out the latest developments in steam irons! Wouldn't be surprised to learn that he subscribes regularly to Irons-R-Us desperately reading reviews from other enthusiasts on which particular brand provides multiple heat settings, superior steam output and seamless non-stick soleplate glide. Not to mention receive tips on the perfect crease.

As obsessed as he is, at any moment I expect to find him leaving work to join extreme ironing.


Stop! I'm Ironman!
Still not sure what Calvin thinks about while ironing! Maybe he reaches a spiritual level of zen only concentrated ironing can attain. Or perhaps while achieving the perfect crease, Calvin imagines his enemies being crushed under his relentless steam iron. Perhaps it even stirs echoes of a long forgotten past as an indentured servant slaving away in the washhouse with a stinging charcoal iron. Possibly dreaming of a modern coin-operated laundromat or a newer, simpler ( and much less painful ) invention like the steam iron.

So you can imagine the first ( and only! ) item he unpacked when his packing boxes finally arrived from China!

And I'm not even talking about his concubine the blow-dryer yet.

News from the Frontline II : The Last Crusade

Tired.

That's what I am, tired and battle-weary. It's been two years since the last time I picked up the tools of war - and yet here it comes again. I can already hear the battle drums of the enemy playing on the horizon.

The dreaded enemy. The mother of all evil. The scourge of the seven seas.

Also known as exams.

Time and time again, I've tried my best to take this exam Goliath down with the lamentable weapons at my disposal only to have the freaking monster rise again - none the worse for wear - before I've even gotten my meagre store of ammunition ( think primitive sticks and stones ) replenished. No wonder they used to fling open the doors of medical school to admit eager, wide-eyed students by the dozens, no doubt already knowing that the strain of the endless warfare would break so many that only a resilient handful would trickle out at the end of the strenuous five-year campaign.


Damn textbooks!!
And from that handful, even less survive the next few years of arduous, unforgiving internship.

I'm not sure I can even last this last battle. So tempting to just walk away from the scorched battlefield riddled with misty corpses of dreams well lost. Like many of my burned-out compatriots who trudged towards the frontlines before me, the urge to just lay down my weapons and wave the white flag of surrender is near... irresistible.

Even as I grit my teeth and grimly gear up for this admittedly doomed crusade, I can already foresee other battles far in the future since I doubt this monster is going to stay down for long! The neverending fight. After all in the field of medicine, the exam Goliath doesn't stray all that far away - forever stalking the dark wooded perimeters always watching for the smallest sign of weakness.

Sigh.

The Seoul of Ampang

With the hallyu wave making its presence felt on our shores, I'm sure most of us would like to have a little taste of Korea. Kimchi, bibimbap and barbecue are the more stereotypical dishes of course.

And maybe even some take home Korean beef of our own. After all judging by the male stereotypes on the endless Korean dramas, the gorgeous hunks all tend to be sweet, sensible and surprisingly subservient - especially to the sassier dominatrix females. Perfect husband material if you ask me.


Husband material!
So when we had a sudden hankering for Korean today, fortunately we had our dinner guide Dramatic Dior ( who has a penchant for all things K! ) to show the way. Didn't have to look all that far since it turns out we have K aplenty over here! Who knew!

Seriously. I was gaping like an unlettered rustic the second I stepped into that place known as Koreatown in Ampang. Turns out we have enough Korean expatriates to form a lil enclave all of its own with grocery shops, restaurants, bakeries and even a church! Just as I'd imagine it would be back in the windy north.

So authentic a place in fact - came complete with a light drizzle - that I expected a harried couple to come rushing out of the grocery stores with tears in their eyes while sentimental violins weeped in the background.

Boy : How could you leave me behind? Is it because you're the illegitimate daughter of my father whom he callously abandoned years ago only to find again as his secretary?
Girl : No! I cannot tell you. Your coldly civil stepmother warned me expressly not to speak.
Boy : I don't care about being disowned from my sinfully wealthy family. Tell me, oh sweetheart.
Girl : I am dying of an incurable disease! I only have six months to live!
Boy : Oh my love. What do I have to live for now!

Yes. Sappy sonatas in keeping with the hallyu dramas.

Didn't see all that many fair, sensitive protagonists about K-town though - and I did keep my eyes wide open. Not sure where they're hiding all the good lil Korean boys!

And dammit it turns out Lotte Market doesn't export all that many Daniel Henney lookalikes to our shores! So thankfully we brought a twink of our very own - since we'd shanghaied Lickable Luke to join us for dinner despite his vehement protests. He's fair enough to pass for a Korean anyhow.

So there we were - a couple of friends in K-town happily partaking barbecued pork ( and beef for our kosher Luke ) over an open charcoal fire as the rain pitter-pattered softly outside. Not that hard to find a little Seoul in the big city.

Wedding Plans

'Tis spring. And as the saying goes, 'tis the season when a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love! But over here, spring showers seem to bring about a spate of weddings instead.

At least in my book.

Turns out that wedding banquets multiply exponentially when you have a mother ( with dozens of events on her social calendar! ) to squire around. Ah, the duties of a gay son. So when my mother mentioned a March wedding, I steeled myself to endure another night of rudely stuffing my mouth full of artichokes to keep myself out of the dull dinner conversation.

Even so that's not an entirely fool-proof method.

Of course this time my mother blindsided me by sending my suit to the drycleaners without giving fair warning. And you so know how much I hate being dressed inappropriately for a formal! Which left me grumpy enough that my conversation seemed to consist only of grunts and harrumphs.

Wasn't trying to be rude all the time though. Part of the time I was too busy checking out the other male guests to bother with incessant questions. When the bride's a prominent lawyer, her guest list seems to consist entirely of hunks in delicious suits. What can I say about men in suits? :) Certainly gave me something else to chew on.


Don't I just look good enough to eat!
Didn't chew on any beef though. Talk of weddings and engagements only reminds me of my own personal commitment so I could only look - instead of chatting the fellas up like I used to. :)

Shying away from the dinner conversation also gives me the time to check out the wedding planning. Learning from the tragic mistakes of others and taking tips from what they did well.

Notes I took down from last night include not doing the obligatory champagne cork popping ( eeeew! ) to arranging for a real 4-tiered wedding cake instead of a fake set. Hiring a jazz crooner for the wedding singer instead of replaying endless sentimental hits from the 80s! Tying up overbearing karaoke-inclined relatives before they can make a nuisance of themselves! Leaving out the entire dull montage of childhood memories that would only appeal to those who don't already know the bride and groom ( unless I can find an aspiring filmmaker to tszuj the event up )!

And definitely writing a heartfelt speech that would leave the assembled guests all misty-eyed. Maybe even a couple bawling into their sharksfin soup.



Of course in the midst of all that heady planning, I messaged my sister-in-law. Turns out she does want to coordinate my wedding. Who knew. So even if the rest of the family flees in abject horror from the stigma of a gay wedding, at least I do have a couple of guests I can count on.

'Tis spring. Guess it does make us think of weddings!

Fashion Wars

Seriously. I was born to be a socialite.

Wake up to a cosmopolitan breakfast, topped off with a mani-pedi and then off in my spanking new Lotus for a spot of shopping. As a money honey ( unlike the yoga divas and the party queens ) sure I have several LA nightclubs, a couple of penthouses and a country mansion to provide the moolah for my bling - not to mention my runway work - but why spend my own cash when I can rip it off a passing posse of battling biatches!

Seriously. A disastrous crime of fashion and it's time to declare war. Poor struggling recessionistas never saw my diamond-studded stiletto coming - right down their skinny backs. Once they see how fabulous I look in my Miu Miu, I'm sure they'll surrender by flinging their fake Fendis away in frustration anyway.

Nothing like some stolen credit cards to make my day.

So hard to choose between another Porsche convertible ( in pink? ) or some fab Kate Spade. Of course I'd better watch my step ever since I got tagged with a bounty - so killer fashionistas are out for me.


A tired personal assistant
Fortunately I'll have Henry, my gorgeous Brit personal assistant tagging along. Not only does he match my new Pucci perfectly, speak in six modern languages and order my chai latte, he also comes with some extra perks. Really. Burning calories? Why sweat terribly at a club when I can use his hot toyboy body as a jungle gym?

Unfortunately it all only happens in Facebook.

Damn.

Ooh wait. I think my stamina's up again. Time to throwdown with another posse of bitches.

Simon Says

Back when we were kids, we had a childhood game called Simon Says with simple enough rules. Whatever the fellow tagged as Simon said, we followed very much to the letter. Sincerely hoping that it wouldn't be an outrageous demand. Fortunately we were much too naive and innocent back then to have nefarious Simons about.

Turns out lil boy named David took that lesson too much to heart.

He answered an advertisement to be a guest relation officer. Instead, David (not his real name) was photographed naked as part of an interview to be a gigolo. The 28-year-old salesman from here said he had telephoned a man called “Uncle Simon” because he needed a better paying job as he wanted to plan for his future.

Eventhough as it turns out, David isn't all that little anymore. His Simon wasn't as benign as well.


What? You want my shirt off?
In his search for a better paying career, not only did the hunky 28 year old follow exactly what Simon said, he also stripped naked for a photo shoot ( though he modestly covered the moneymakers ) at Simon's behest. Not for nothing is it called the flesh trade. Judging by the fact that Simon seemed to be quite impressed with the pictures, I would venture to say David has grown up plenty.

Only makes me wonder what else Simon asked David to do during the interview. Surely even an amateur wannabe gigolo would be required to show off some of his purported amatory skills.

Simon : Simon says take off your shirt.
David : Yes, Simon.
Simon : Simon says take off your pants.
David : Yes, Simon.
Simon : Simon says bend over the desk.
David : Gulp.

Poor David. Of course rather than following what he says all the time, Simon would actualy prefer David follow the strict instructions of his future employers! No doubt desperate housewives who peruse Simon's extremely visual guidebook for some sweet afternoon delight ( at Rm300 an hour! )!

But seriously. Where do they find such gullible, sexy Davids? I gotta find a few of my own since I have plenty of things I could do with a handsome fella. Maybe I should hook up with the enterprising gentleman called Simon here. With my liberal attitude towards prostitution ( which should be legalized dammit! ), perhaps a joint business venture?

Say My (Sur)Name!

You know sometimes it takes a while to respond when you hear someone calling your name? Just hear the muted shout in the back of your mind kinda like an echo, you turn and half-wonder whether it's your imagination.

Then I hear someone calling my name.

And it surprised me. You know it's been a while since secondary school when you don't recognize your own surname after it's been yelled several times from twenty feet away. Reminds me so much of PE lessons when the belligerent coach would yell at us! Certainly underlines the fact that surnames remain so much more important in a man's world than in a lady's.


What? Did you call me?
Really. Have you noticed?

A peculiar double standard perhaps? Girls call each other by their personal names ( a sign of intimacy maybe? ) while boys prefer sticking to their surnames. Even as men, it seems to be the norm to address each other by our surnames. For instance, you'd never hear Holmes and Watson refer to each other as Sherlock and John! A quiant reminder of our colonial past perhaps? Or maybe perhaps in our patrician Confucian-world, clan, lineage and family names just seem to carry more importance for the boys.

Like my brother and his classmates who still call each other by their surnames till now! Johnson! Chong! Lim!

I'd be expecting their dads to answer!

Sure I do use my surname at work - tagged to the salutation Dr. But these days hardly anyone I know personally days calls me that. They usually just tag me as Paul at the most. Reason enough it took a while before I turned around when my old classmate called my (sur)name.

Rockstar

You know we all have dreams of getting on that stage and wailing our hearts out! Well at least that's a dream for some of us. Mine, I'd rather croon like a 1950s jazz singer.

So now here's a meme that allows you to create random, fictional band and album.

Here are the rules:
1 - Go to Wikipedia. Hit random or click http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special:Random. The first random Wikipedia article you get is the name of your band.

2 - Go to Quotations Page and select random quotations or click http://www.quotationspage.com/random.php3. The last four or five words of the very last quote on the page is the title of your first album.

3 - Go to Flickr and click on explore the last seven days or click http://www.flickr.com/explore/interesting/7days. Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

4 - Use Photoshop, GIMP, Inkscape, or similar to put it all together.

And this is what I get!


Backtracks with their first album Polished As Your Sword!
I know! A very Goth-rock Evanescence look!

Not sure what the album represents but I figure with the pensive bride all decked out in white staring out the window - and a band like Backtracks, I figure it's angry militant females railing over the uncertainties of life and men. Possibly looking back on their prior dysfunctional relationships wondering why life would suck without them! And the pain of the polished sword :)



Got the name Backtrack supposedly from a western novel while the beautiful cover's from an artist on Flickr called Nika Fadul.

Brazen

Sometimes even I'm amazed at my brazenness.

Celebrating a late lunch with Long Island Tea ( after a dull depressing day at the banks! ), I'll admit I got back just a little tipsy. Fortunately I didn't have all that far too drive. In such a good mood that I was all too willing to share it.

Even with the security guards at the gates of the housing estate.

Usually I just give them a slight wave and a nod. Sometimes a hello and good morning to our regular stern, unsmiling Sikh security fella.

But for the past week or two, they've recently taken on a fair, gorgeous Persian God. All hazel-eyed, stubbled jaw and sexy smile. Seriously. I can sometimes see why all the naive village maidens go wild over these Aryan hunks. I'd certainly want to do more than a regular hello with him.

Hell, the guard even comes with a cosy little guard booth at the side. Believe me, I have all sorts of naughty ideas about him and that convenient booth. Kinda like my sexy air stewards and the mile-high washroom fantasy ( though that was sadly debunked when I found it impossible to maneuver in such a tiny cramped space ).


I think I might have to frisk you!
So during a brief segue in the Mamma Mia recording while I was driving back, I playfully threw him a flying kiss through the open window. Very spontaneous! Very Mamma Mia! Very Long Island Tea! Thoroughly expecting the guard to actually fall backwards with his movie-star jaw slack in astonishment!

Obviously I underestimated these security fellows. Talk about being ready for any challenge. Seriously. Not only did he remain satisfyingly upright, the fella actually mimed catching the kiss and winked at me.

At least I think he did so.

Then again, it could have been the alcohol.

Matchmaking Mothers

Wicked Jedi mind tricks aside, my mother ain't so bad.

At least compared to some of the ones I know. During a late lunch tete-a-tete with Charming Calvin, Jaunty Jared and Lanky Lex, we were joined by Nutty Nick who regaled us with some of the goings-on in his household. Turns out his wily mother has more tricks up her sleeve than even he knows.

Nick : Guess what! My mom asked her god-daughter to move in with us.
Paul : Congrats. You're getting married.
Nick : No!
Paul : Your mom has been wondering about you. And she suddenly brings a girl home?
Nick : Well, yeah. Doesn't have to mean anything!
Paul : Ooh, I can't wait to plan your wedding!
Nick : No!

Mother bringing a girl home?

Doesn't that ring like about a thousand mental alarms? Eligible bachelors everywhere would already be fleeing from such an obvious marriage scheme.


Oh boy, guess what happened!
Sure, Nick innocently claims that his sainted mother has no such intentions ( though which mother doesn't want to see her son married? ). Certainly not a marriage trap! According to him, the girl's only one of her many charity cases, a lovely village maiden migrating from the rural countryside.

Likely story. I think Nick had better start saving for the coming nuptials.

Kinda like Big Bicep Barry vehemently denying that the sweet old lady running the souvenir stall beside his has no matchmaking designs at all. Simply no ulterior motive in helping him - despite the fact that the widow happens to have three marriageable daughters on hand and hey, a clean-cut, handsome ( quite obviously well-to-do ) bachelor just happens to man the store next to theirs all alone!

In the spirit of charity, why not send one of her lonely daughters over to keep the poor fella company? And if she just happens to catch his lustful eye, well that would be just sweet providence wouldn't it?

Certainly not a scheme. :)