Alan Rickman as the voice of Marvin? Martin Freeman as Arthur Dent?!

*wibble*

I’m a bit excited about seeing The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy (at some point soon, I hope).

Following this post from mrbrown (and resulting comments), I’m thinking a little bit about what it means to me, this whole being Singaporean business. I’m tempted to say ‘Not a whole lot’, it’s been my response for so many years, but surely the place where I was born and went to school must mean something to me? It’s my heritage, right? The kopitiams, the Ah Bengs, Orchard Road (the comic, not the shopping), Zouk, my schools, the food, the food, and the food.

My mum lives there, and she’ll never leave. She’s Singaporean through and through (she’s even a career civil servant, okay). Bloogers like mrbrown and Mr Miyagi (and countless others) have no problem blooging in Singlish (and I imagine it is part of their appeal), but I find it very difficult to do the same. You’d think that was strange, since I spent over 18 years speaking Singlish so fluently my English took a back seat. It comes down to Australia — I found that if I spoke English (and slowed down), people actually understood me (which is always nice). Since then, it’s been no more Singlish for me. I’m not ashamed of it, I think it’s a great characteristic of my culture, this colloquial version of English, but I can’t bring myself to pepper my sentences with ‘lah’ and ‘meh’ and ‘hor’ — it’s just not natural for me any more.

So, does that mean I’m less Singaporean because I don’t ‘do’ Singlish? Have I done this deliberately because I’m trying to distance myself from Singapore and being Singaporean? Do I have some major self-esteem issues or what?

I really don’t know. I’ve been asking myself these questions lately because I do work hard to not be identified as Mainland Chinese. I don’t have a lot of Mainland Chinese friends, partly because I don’t go out of my way to hang out, and partly because we don’t have a lot in common (I can generalise, really). I don’t have a lot of expatriate friends either*, so maybe I’m just a wallflower, but anyway.

I always read about Singaporeans getting homesick and missing the place. I’ve never, ever missed Singapore when I was away. Even now, when I’m grossed out by the spitting, snot rockets, wanton littering, and the list goes on — I have never once thought, I just want to go home. I appreciate Singapore for its cleanliness, convenience, and efficiency, and I love the food. I enjoy myself when I go back on holiday. It is my home, but only because Mum’s there. I wouldn’t object to living there again, I don’t think, but I don’t have some great yearning to stand up and sing Majulah Singapura (Onward Singapore) on 9 August every year**. It’s a place, and what has made me who I am is not a place, it’s the people who’ve affected me.

Being in China has made me think very hard about what it means to be Singaporean, in my own way. I am a Singaporean who:

• watches Star Trek (thanks for letting me watch reruns at dinner time, Mum)
• listens to ska and jazz and indy and pop and rockabilly and psychobilly (thanks, Area 7 and The Living End and Marco for introducing me to Reverend Horton Heat)
• does not listen to Cantopop, J-pop, Hokkien-gua (Hokkien songs), or Country & Western (thanks, Mum for not listening to that stuff either, but thanks for listening to Elvis)
• laughs at Blackadder and The Office (thank you DVDs)
• eats meat pies (thanks Murdoch University refectory)
• spells in British English (thanks, Sir Stamford Raffles)
• will eat kway chap — pig intestines, tofu, egg, plus broad flat rice noodles in a dark broth — willingly (thanks, Singaporean hawkers)
• can say ‘aye’ in all seriousness (thanks, Neil, really)
• has never dreamed of a car, condo, lots of cash, credit card, or career (I have no idea who to thank)

And it doesn’t make me any less Singaporean than Tan Ah Beng, just a different one.

* This is distinct from knowing a lot of expatriates. I think I know a lot of expats as a natural extension of what I do.
** Here’s a theory. If I’m born and bred Singaporean but have no particularly patriotic feelings about the place, is it Singapore’s fault? If they’d done it right, I’d be sewing the flag on my backpack, right?

Andres Gentry asks if he can profile me. I am duly flattered, and try to impress with my answers. You can see I’m not so good with the ‘impress’ part because my brain farts too much.

*sniff* I’m sure Delboy and Indira had as beautiful a wedding as the pictures show.

Who’d want to be told they’re hung like a bull at the Mission Mountain Testicle Festival? I don’t think anyone could pay me enough to eat any animal’s ‘nads.

Both my websites are scoring similarly well on the Gunning Fog Index (what a surprise, since I author both of them). I am as readable as a popular novel — success and riches are mine! Via Kottke.org.

I think I’m in love. Nokia’s just announced the arrival of the N91 (via The Register). I’ve been drooling after the Treo 650 since it was announced, and last night I got a good look at the dopod 818. I’m suffering from a surplus of gadget-lust and a deficit of income-for-buying-said-gadgets.

Meet Dig-dug, by far the Cutest. Rabbit. Ever.

Ohmigod omigod omigod. I do hope this story of a major trout slap in IRC is true. Via Gadgetopia.

Artist Fernando Botero has done a series of paintings inspired by the images from Abu Ghraib. What pretty, pretty flowers fat people being abused.

Okay, now this is getting ridiculous. Following Acid Flask‘s shut down, another blooger has decided to stop posting public entries.

My sitemeter had registered many hits in the past couple of weeks from Singapore based domains; the edu.sg, gov.sg and net.sg ones kind of unnerved me.

Hmm. How can I say this clearly?

CALM THE FUCK DOWN.

Unless you’ve made it a point to talk defamatory shite and make accusations you’re not prepared to back up, Singaporean bloogers should be able to continue as per normal. That’s why it’s important to keep to this simple rule of blooging (or any sort of publishing on the web): do not write things you wouldn’t say in public.

See, I told you the growing popularity of bloogs in Singapore would fuck things up.

Matt Haughey is tired of the ‘struggle’ between the bloogers and the traditional news media, and threatens to stop reading bloogs that use the phrase ‘MSM’ unironically. Juan Cole is not amused. “Get used to it,” he says.

Hehe. Faboo. Fight!

It may only be me, but I feel the need to, once again, proclaim to all and sundry (well, Small and Sundry™, considering I’m not a popular blooger) that I absolutely cannot stand all these bloody catch phrases that take hold of the imagination. Maybe it’s being Singaporean — being exposed to ‘[Everything] 21′ not so long ago that has worn my patience.

I wish I could impose a moratorium on the words ‘blogosphere’, ‘blogroll’, ‘MSM’, and trademark that bloody ‘Heh’. It’s like people who use the phrases are part of a special club that distinguishes them from other, non-politics-blooging plebs. I’m telling you, man, it’s more fun to make up words all the time. No one else will use them, you’ll be special, and people will hardly understand a word you’re saying but be fascinated with your delivery.

Now, if I was a well-read blooger, people would actually adopt this strategy.

The bloog-existence has changed so much over the last few years, and frankly, it is getting tiring reading the same opinions on multiple websites. At some point, they must admit that this is all a virtual circlejerk to give one’s ego a boost when real life makes you feel you might be, y’know, wrong about things. I certainly enjoy blooging and talking complete and utter bullshit because it’s a space I paid for to talk complete and utter bullshit. That Small and Sundry™ (I love you guys) actually find this moderately amusing enough to leave a comment or send me e-mail with other certifiably insane links are just bonuses (and what good Singaporean doesn’t like a bonus, huh, HUH?) to my otherwise motherfuckingly frustrating day.

So. Moral of the story? Make up your own words. It’s like creating your own universe and you’re the 老板 (lao ban, or boss). That’s the way to cultivate the self-esteem.

(Also, I don’t actually swear so much in real life, just so you know. I save it all for you, Small and Sundry™.)

There’s something seriously fucked up with a bra made to simulate silicone-enhanced breasts:

Built-in sculpted graduated cups are designed to create a natural cosmetically enhanced look. Provides lift and slight separation to offer a fuller and firmer appearance both in and out of clothing.

Also includes liquid lifting pads that easily insert into the cups for additional cleavage.

(Picture there for the boys.) Why on God’s green earth would someone want to fake having fake boobs? And what the fuck is ‘natural cosmetically enhanced’ about?

It’s a bit mind-boggling to comprehend the marketing minds that came up with this idea. Forget padded and push-up bras that are supposed to make you look more… er, endowed than you really are as bestowed by Nature. That might cause confusion and worse, disappointment, when your shag beau of the evening discovers the truth. What you want is to proclaim that you have fake boobs, but a special kinda fake. I pity the silicone-boob-fetishists who fall for this cruel, cruel ruse. Imagine their crestfallen faces when the bra comes off and the boobs end up looking *gasp* natural.

You know the world is becoming incredibly fucking ridiculous when the market deems this a credible, profitable business idea.

I’m presuming this is for real, because there is a plastic surgeon named Dr. Daniel Man (like Mister Man, but got better grades at school).

This is what has happened to the Straits Times, who appear to want to ape big papers like the WSJ. I suppose they don’t think the bloog world matters?

Wow, people sure are getting their knickers in a twist about being called infantile. I don’t read Xiaxue because her writing annoys me, but I presume other people, voyeurs we all are, enjoy poking into her stream-of-consciousness life / bloog. mrbrown I find hilarious, I admit. Sometimes Singaporean bloogers are far too serious for their own good, and I come away thinking they’re trying too hard. A sense of humour helps in all things (don’t I know that for a fact), especially blooging.

Chill out, people! It’s not a big deal. It’s only the Internets.