I was shocked and disappointed when I heard about the civil war running behind the curtains, in my company. It's not my first time experiencing nasty politics, and I know there is therefore little reason why I should be so surprised at such revelations. For once too, I wasn't the lone idiot who turns out to be the last to know - my LCP colleagues were also stunned at the huge mess revealed.
It takes great control, for me at least, not to immediately go "Gosh what a fuck up." The cold cruel truth is that even though I trust my friend deeply (deeply enough), even if all he's said really happened, he is a single person, and a recount such as this of emotionally-stirring events can lead to potentially severe coloring (translation just in case: he may get biased).
The hard fact to swallow, but one nevertheless worth questioning, is whether it's all a big ass misunderstanding, or whether the people I have invested trust in and worked hard to understand and bond and click with are really whom I have perceived them to be. Or are they mere masks worn to hide a more sinister face? It may look deeply perceptive of me to ask these questions, but I assure you, it's all of no use when I'm an utter failure at satisfying these questions.
To the point of sacrificing a good bit of street-wisdom, I've tried to remain as believing of the prevailing goodness of the human race. As millions before you and me have miserably encountered, I am losing grip of that belief and slowly but surely starting to think that the human race has turned out to be the shittiest thing ever created. Such a pity - the beauty and love of God (whichever one you believe in) manifested in our creation, and we turn out to be intelligent arseholes. Sad despair gnaws at me now, threatening to consume part of my heart away. At a time like this I understand why the composer wrote "Where seldom is heard, a discouraging word; and the skies are not cloudy all day." What seemingly irrevocable disappointment you feel, as the full weight of those words dawn upon you.
I wish we don't have to dump hope like that to become adults. What am I supposed to do? Live on, heehee haha, and pretend not to notice the shit being flung all around me as long as it doesn't hit me? Oh wait, even better if when it hits you you clear your throat, wipe your face, and say "Aiyah is like that one la suck it up."
I wish humans would somehow understand each other. But apparently the world doesn't care to give a caterpillar's dick about wish.
Emo.
This blog is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 License.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Friends and Family
I had planned a day out with my campmates at Sentosa tomorrow. A Sunday. I had forgotten about my father prebooking me half a week before to go fetch my aunt from the airport, and subsequently have dinner at some must-be-quite-expensive Jap restaurant at Central. I dropped Sentosa. For some reason this has dragged me down into the pits of depression. Almost back to the days when I felt that I had so little to live for, so little to look forward to, that I gorged myself with food, any food, anything remotely tasty (so no, I did not stuff my face with celery), so that I could at least enjoy the material tastes, if I couldn't indulge in ethereal pleasures. (Thing is when I was happy I also ate, so... not now though. I have a whole set of other things to occupy me now when I'm happy.)
It's just funny why I feel so bummed out over it. It's not like I made a hard choice. My father, who's learnt his lesson with our ways of worming out of these things, booked me early. Way before the first mention of a Sentosa day out. So by virtue of order, my father's booking wins hands-down. I'm at fault for double-booking myself with my friends.
And friends... maybe campmates is still a better word after all. I love my camp. Even with all the crap we're getting, I love my camp, my unit, my company, my bunk, and my colleagues. I laugh and quarrel with them, I gang up on others and get ganged up on, I share things with them and learn things from them. But there's hardly any connection I feel. Or rather, one minute we're running well together and the next minute a heavy oppressive aura separates us. Am I severely blind to something, some fault of mine that I'm not aware of? Something that makes me repulsive in an instant? I've been told by friends who understand me abit better that others feel that I give off an air of arrogance, as if I look down on others (I am a graduate in a sea of diplomas after all), as if I know everything under the damn sun. Well that is a fault of mine, I have this absolutely foolish habit of nodding and going "Ahhh yes yes." if I have so much as heard the name of the topic in question, and worry later about what exactly it is I know about it and what I don't (must be all the PRing I've done haha noooo that's so not true).
But yeah. Friends.
I'm tempted to say that I'd left my friends in university. But that is unfair because I've had three years with them. I'm only slowly crawling towards my first year of conscription, and I've hardly known my mates for more than 6 months. I know I should give them more time because something about me makes people take a much longer time to warm up to me.
Or maybe it's something about me that makes me naturally appeal to people as an all-purpose punching bag.
Why? If you know, I want you to tell me why. If for nothing else take it as a rant, a public rant, take it as getting back at me publicly (as public as this invisible footprint on the web gets) for whatever I've done to you to hurt you. Tell me if I'm meant to get along with one crowd and forced by life to mix with another. Tell me if my university has trained me to act like an idiot. Tell me if I just want attention. If at the end of the day all I'm looking for is recognition, a pat on the back, an inclusion.
Sometimes I feel that that's all I live for. I just want someone, whoever it is, to always be there, saying "good job", "nice one", "awesome", "so smart", "how did you do that?", "you're amazing", "why didn't I think of that?", "thank you Renhao". Really? After having existed for 20 years, read so much, seen so much, heard so much, known so much, is that all I want? Just someone to say oh wow you know everything? Or else company in which we can all live in our own little elite world slapping each other's backs?
Or is it just that I'm naturally resistant to the ways of the world? Am I a traditional soul at heart, in this physically young body?
My parents are a real unique breed, caught dead center between tradition and modernization. The same person who would fuck you upside down for sticking chopsticks vertically into a bowl of rice can at the next moment be telling you how open he is to more than one religion under the same roof, provided proper respect is shown to the other's beliefs. You might have noticed, my dad is downright anal about family togetherness. As I grew up and as he saw it fit to tell me more, I slowly understood that his family, my mother's, and some of his friends' were ruthlessly torn apart by politics, lust, money, and alcohol. It was a situation he cautioned my brother and I from allowing to happen on pain of him coming back from the grave to haunt us (and I totally believe that if it was at all possible, he would do one that would beat Hollywood, Jollywood, Kollywood and Tollywood flat out).
It's something I'm confident I've taken to heart. Something that I will stay with me, and something that I will pass on to my children, if I have any.
I just needed to rant I guess. I originally wanted to write about me and the world, but I've complained so much about me that I probably can cut alot of that out and talk about the world in the other post.
I've had enough.
It's just funny why I feel so bummed out over it. It's not like I made a hard choice. My father, who's learnt his lesson with our ways of worming out of these things, booked me early. Way before the first mention of a Sentosa day out. So by virtue of order, my father's booking wins hands-down. I'm at fault for double-booking myself with my friends.
And friends... maybe campmates is still a better word after all. I love my camp. Even with all the crap we're getting, I love my camp, my unit, my company, my bunk, and my colleagues. I laugh and quarrel with them, I gang up on others and get ganged up on, I share things with them and learn things from them. But there's hardly any connection I feel. Or rather, one minute we're running well together and the next minute a heavy oppressive aura separates us. Am I severely blind to something, some fault of mine that I'm not aware of? Something that makes me repulsive in an instant? I've been told by friends who understand me abit better that others feel that I give off an air of arrogance, as if I look down on others (I am a graduate in a sea of diplomas after all), as if I know everything under the damn sun. Well that is a fault of mine, I have this absolutely foolish habit of nodding and going "Ahhh yes yes." if I have so much as heard the name of the topic in question, and worry later about what exactly it is I know about it and what I don't (must be all the PRing I've done haha noooo that's so not true).
But yeah. Friends.
I'm tempted to say that I'd left my friends in university. But that is unfair because I've had three years with them. I'm only slowly crawling towards my first year of conscription, and I've hardly known my mates for more than 6 months. I know I should give them more time because something about me makes people take a much longer time to warm up to me.
Or maybe it's something about me that makes me naturally appeal to people as an all-purpose punching bag.
Why? If you know, I want you to tell me why. If for nothing else take it as a rant, a public rant, take it as getting back at me publicly (as public as this invisible footprint on the web gets) for whatever I've done to you to hurt you. Tell me if I'm meant to get along with one crowd and forced by life to mix with another. Tell me if my university has trained me to act like an idiot. Tell me if I just want attention. If at the end of the day all I'm looking for is recognition, a pat on the back, an inclusion.
Sometimes I feel that that's all I live for. I just want someone, whoever it is, to always be there, saying "good job", "nice one", "awesome", "so smart", "how did you do that?", "you're amazing", "why didn't I think of that?", "thank you Renhao". Really? After having existed for 20 years, read so much, seen so much, heard so much, known so much, is that all I want? Just someone to say oh wow you know everything? Or else company in which we can all live in our own little elite world slapping each other's backs?
Or is it just that I'm naturally resistant to the ways of the world? Am I a traditional soul at heart, in this physically young body?
My parents are a real unique breed, caught dead center between tradition and modernization. The same person who would fuck you upside down for sticking chopsticks vertically into a bowl of rice can at the next moment be telling you how open he is to more than one religion under the same roof, provided proper respect is shown to the other's beliefs. You might have noticed, my dad is downright anal about family togetherness. As I grew up and as he saw it fit to tell me more, I slowly understood that his family, my mother's, and some of his friends' were ruthlessly torn apart by politics, lust, money, and alcohol. It was a situation he cautioned my brother and I from allowing to happen on pain of him coming back from the grave to haunt us (and I totally believe that if it was at all possible, he would do one that would beat Hollywood, Jollywood, Kollywood and Tollywood flat out).
It's something I'm confident I've taken to heart. Something that I will stay with me, and something that I will pass on to my children, if I have any.
I just needed to rant I guess. I originally wanted to write about me and the world, but I've complained so much about me that I probably can cut alot of that out and talk about the world in the other post.
I've had enough.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Wifey
I finally did it.
After two years of testing how long I can press onto steel strings without shredding my fingers into ribbons of blood, I bought my first electric guitar.
Big deal. Well it is. I paid for it dammit. Every cent. It's a very nice classic tobacco burst finish with yellowed pickguard and peripherals to create the whole vintage feel. And yes. With this investment I have sealed my fate as a left-handed guitarist. It's a hard uphill battle, one that will end only when Fender begs me to collaborate with them to create the Fari signature lefty Strat. You might have noticed that I changed my profile pictures from my classic katana picture to a photoshoot with my new wifey. If you haven't, go to Twitter or Facebook or Plurk to feast your mortal eyes upon it.
My experience buying it, however, wasn't anywhere as pleasant. I bought my wifey from Davis Guitars, I guess the biggest shop at Peninsula Shopping Center.
*-* The remainder of this blog post has been labelled NC16 by the author in view of its bright and colorful vulgarities. Please leave now if you are an underage hissy who will weep at the mention of the word fuck. *-*
I went there late morning on Good Friday. GOOD FUCKING FRIDAY. It still wasn't open yet. So I went looking around (I think only one other shop was open... The one that sells J&D guitars la for those who know, I forget the store names).
By the time I was done Davis was open. And oh joy my wifey was there for the taking! So I asked to try it and was entertained by the uncle himself. When I was there one week earlier, I was trying it when he came by and asked, "How? Everything ok? Are you going to buy the guitar?" And I thought, well, that's some direct business making going on there. I said something like "I'll think about it." And he nodded and reached out. "May I?" I wondered what magic he was going to do to the guitar. A magic switch to make it sound super sweet?!
He unplugged the guitar and returned it to its rack.
I'm a bodoh when it comes to these kinda things, so even though I was quite shocked I just got up and left the store to find my other friend who was repairing his guitar somewhere else.
So back to Good Friday, I was the first and only customer in the store, and he pulled the same thing on me again. If I surprised him by answering "Yes I'll take it", he didn't show it. I was sold anyway, I just wanted to make sure it was in proper working condition.
While he was processing the transaction, I asked a burning question. I saw the various effects pedals on display all neatly wrapped in plastic, some with price tags on them, and found it really strange. "These pedals, they are second-hand?"
"NO NO NO. You want second hand you go to Cash Converters."
I was again taken aback, and a little bit amused (I assure you that bit wore off quite quickly). I was asking quite a noobie question, for lack of a better word, but I'm sure there is no need to react so indignantly. And rudely.
I told him that I wanted a gig bag, and also requested that he changed the strings to 10 gauge (I know that string changing is complimentary and did not ask for a free set of strings) because I didn't like the thinness of 9, and also that he lowered the action.
"Action-wise, I can lower it for you no problem. But the strings... you should play it for awhile first... Get yourself used to it before thinking about changing."
Puzzled... "These are 9 gauge right?"
"Yes 9 gauge."
"9 gauge is too thin for me. Could you change it to 10 gauge? I like the sound better."
"But these are new strings... quite new. It would be a waste to change it."
Now I was downright shocked. Advice is one thing, and of course I appreciate advice, especially from old birds like him. But 1) Why the heck be so roundabout about it, and 2) what motherfucking business of yours is it if I wish to change my strings every 12 hours? I wonder how many of you reading this would disagree, and not that it's wrong to, that getting an instrument is a rather intimate process. Perhaps that's why they're called wives, because we invest so much time and effort assessing, re-assessing and assessing again whether this instrument is the one for us. And even more so for me, a lefty, it's gets rather personal don't you think? And now after I've paid you for the guitar, you're telling me what I should or should not do with it? It was only after alot of insistence and a developing black face on my part that he relented and said "I could change for you, if you want, no problem." As if he was giving in to my petty request.
And by the way, earlier, I was staring at the huge variety of strings, wondering what to pick, and I asked "Any string set you can recommend for playing blues?"
"Oh no no no, blues is in the style of playing, nothing about the strings. You play this way, its called blues, the only difference in strings is its clarity, brightness, and tone."
Fine, I'll give that one to him la, but still, how rude.
Honestly, if not for the fact that I fell in love with everything about this guitar, I would have walked out of the store. Gee Davis isn't the only store in Peninsula selling lefties I saw at least 2 more. I just happened to like this particular guitar the best.
Apparently I'm not alone. My friend related a long story about how his friend had an even worse experience than me, but it is not my place to say it here, because it did not happen to me, nor was I there to witness it. Exclusive distributor? You see how long you can last with that, if you get enough people angry. I just think that customer service like that shouldn't have to be tolerated. Not in the best of economies, and certainly not in times like this.
What do you think? Have you had any similar experiences at Davis?
After two years of testing how long I can press onto steel strings without shredding my fingers into ribbons of blood, I bought my first electric guitar.
Big deal. Well it is. I paid for it dammit. Every cent. It's a very nice classic tobacco burst finish with yellowed pickguard and peripherals to create the whole vintage feel. And yes. With this investment I have sealed my fate as a left-handed guitarist. It's a hard uphill battle, one that will end only when Fender begs me to collaborate with them to create the Fari signature lefty Strat. You might have noticed that I changed my profile pictures from my classic katana picture to a photoshoot with my new wifey. If you haven't, go to Twitter or Facebook or Plurk to feast your mortal eyes upon it.
My experience buying it, however, wasn't anywhere as pleasant. I bought my wifey from Davis Guitars, I guess the biggest shop at Peninsula Shopping Center.
*-* The remainder of this blog post has been labelled NC16 by the author in view of its bright and colorful vulgarities. Please leave now if you are an underage hissy who will weep at the mention of the word fuck. *-*
I went there late morning on Good Friday. GOOD FUCKING FRIDAY. It still wasn't open yet. So I went looking around (I think only one other shop was open... The one that sells J&D guitars la for those who know, I forget the store names).
By the time I was done Davis was open. And oh joy my wifey was there for the taking! So I asked to try it and was entertained by the uncle himself. When I was there one week earlier, I was trying it when he came by and asked, "How? Everything ok? Are you going to buy the guitar?" And I thought, well, that's some direct business making going on there. I said something like "I'll think about it." And he nodded and reached out. "May I?" I wondered what magic he was going to do to the guitar. A magic switch to make it sound super sweet?!
He unplugged the guitar and returned it to its rack.
I'm a bodoh when it comes to these kinda things, so even though I was quite shocked I just got up and left the store to find my other friend who was repairing his guitar somewhere else.
So back to Good Friday, I was the first and only customer in the store, and he pulled the same thing on me again. If I surprised him by answering "Yes I'll take it", he didn't show it. I was sold anyway, I just wanted to make sure it was in proper working condition.
While he was processing the transaction, I asked a burning question. I saw the various effects pedals on display all neatly wrapped in plastic, some with price tags on them, and found it really strange. "These pedals, they are second-hand?"
"NO NO NO. You want second hand you go to Cash Converters."
I was again taken aback, and a little bit amused (I assure you that bit wore off quite quickly). I was asking quite a noobie question, for lack of a better word, but I'm sure there is no need to react so indignantly. And rudely.
I told him that I wanted a gig bag, and also requested that he changed the strings to 10 gauge (I know that string changing is complimentary and did not ask for a free set of strings) because I didn't like the thinness of 9, and also that he lowered the action.
"Action-wise, I can lower it for you no problem. But the strings... you should play it for awhile first... Get yourself used to it before thinking about changing."
Puzzled... "These are 9 gauge right?"
"Yes 9 gauge."
"9 gauge is too thin for me. Could you change it to 10 gauge? I like the sound better."
"But these are new strings... quite new. It would be a waste to change it."
Now I was downright shocked. Advice is one thing, and of course I appreciate advice, especially from old birds like him. But 1) Why the heck be so roundabout about it, and 2) what motherfucking business of yours is it if I wish to change my strings every 12 hours? I wonder how many of you reading this would disagree, and not that it's wrong to, that getting an instrument is a rather intimate process. Perhaps that's why they're called wives, because we invest so much time and effort assessing, re-assessing and assessing again whether this instrument is the one for us. And even more so for me, a lefty, it's gets rather personal don't you think? And now after I've paid you for the guitar, you're telling me what I should or should not do with it? It was only after alot of insistence and a developing black face on my part that he relented and said "I could change for you, if you want, no problem." As if he was giving in to my petty request.
And by the way, earlier, I was staring at the huge variety of strings, wondering what to pick, and I asked "Any string set you can recommend for playing blues?"
"Oh no no no, blues is in the style of playing, nothing about the strings. You play this way, its called blues, the only difference in strings is its clarity, brightness, and tone."
Fine, I'll give that one to him la, but still, how rude.
Honestly, if not for the fact that I fell in love with everything about this guitar, I would have walked out of the store. Gee Davis isn't the only store in Peninsula selling lefties I saw at least 2 more. I just happened to like this particular guitar the best.
Apparently I'm not alone. My friend related a long story about how his friend had an even worse experience than me, but it is not my place to say it here, because it did not happen to me, nor was I there to witness it. Exclusive distributor? You see how long you can last with that, if you get enough people angry. I just think that customer service like that shouldn't have to be tolerated. Not in the best of economies, and certainly not in times like this.
What do you think? Have you had any similar experiences at Davis?
Susan Boyle's I Dreamt a Dream
I dreamed a dream in time gone by
When hopes were high and life worth living,
I dreamed that love would never die
I dreamed that God would be forgiving.
Then I was young and unafraid,
When dreams were made and used and wasted.
There was no ransom to be paid,
No song unsung, no wine untasted.
But the tigers come at night,
With their voices soft as thunder,
As they tear your hope apart
As they turn your dreams to shame
And still I dream he'll come to me
And we will live the years together!
But there are dreams that cannot be
And there are storms we cannot weather.
I had a dream my life would be
So different from this hell I'm living
So different now from what it seemed
Now life has killed the dream
I dreamed.
My friend was right. Human appreciation is fickle. Scrap that. Human appreciation doesn't stretch beyond the skin. 36 years, since she started singing at 12, no one wanted her. Now she's gone for it. And now she's got it.
The song is particularly beautiful because it so poignantly describes her life so far. Perhaps that's why she could ace it.
I'm gunning for her to win this round.
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Funeral - English
A number of you would have already seen this aired on TV. The only thing that stopped me from letting my tears roll down freely the first time I saw this was because I was watching it with about 15 other guys. Yes I'm a dude like that. But everytime I've seen this ad so far tears never fail to well up in my eyes. The start of the music halfway through the ad is the cue.
Wonderful imperfection. Yasmin Ahmad was probably the best PR decision for MCYS ever.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Happy April Fool's Day from Tech65!
While Tech65 tried to pull an obvious joke, we didn't want to put something up that would really freak the sphere out. We have that kind of influence, we know. ;P
I'll take this opportunity, as I'm sure the others are in some form or another, to thank you all once again for your support. I wasn't kidding about one thing in the previous post. I have been living a bit of my dream, sharing my knowledge and thoughts with people, educating them and enriching their lives in that little way.
And for all the bitching we did yesterday, I think we actually do put up with alot from each other. The fact that we're still blazing strong thus far should be testament to the team's passion for technology and podcasting, one that we hope won't die out just yet.
Happy April Fool's 2009!
Update: Ok so a few of you did freak out after all. I thought we all made it quite obvious, but perhaps it's not that you're none too happy about. We're sorry. We still love each other, and you. :)
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
I Give Up
You can say I have been living my dream these two years. Somewhat. I get to share good things with people, whether they know me or not. And I get to teach.
Now all these are crumbling bit by bit, corner by corner, into routine dreariness. Forget it. I'm not going to let things collapse on me. I'm not stupid. I'm not dumb. I will hang on for alot of things, but when I know it's going to hurt me in the end, I will pull out first. It's not like there's anything left for me to hang on to anyway.
This is the end. I've had enough.
I'm quitting Tech65.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Passion
I always seem to pick musical genres up from the most despised forms. I started on opera by listening to Russell Watson, hated by the community as a nasal-sounding wannabe. I discovered the joy/terror that was Stevie Ray Vaughan by playing his classic Pride and Joy on Guitar Hero On Tour. And yes I was totally pwned to the floor the first time I tried it. I found one of his Greatest Hits CD on sale for a measly amount at Gramophone, had the fortune of having a campmate with the same interest, and now I'm helplessly into blues.
I don't know how much of my circle knows but I'm quite used to acquiring my media via... unconventional means. And long story short, I came across this album that is now possibly the most listened on my Creative.
When I listen to this album, I don't see an accomplished artiste showing a relative newcomer to the scene who's boss, or even how to do this or that. Nor do I see the prodigious new kid on the block showing off to the old bird.
All I see are two people with a common blazing passion for the blues, coming together to let loose and enjoy themselves and spread the love of the genre. And the only thing that can beat a guitar battle where the one-upping never ends, is the beautiful collaboration you hear in this album where two artistes level up together and hit new heights.
Duet people. Don't duel.
I don't know how much of my circle knows but I'm quite used to acquiring my media via... unconventional means. And long story short, I came across this album that is now possibly the most listened on my Creative.
When I listen to this album, I don't see an accomplished artiste showing a relative newcomer to the scene who's boss, or even how to do this or that. Nor do I see the prodigious new kid on the block showing off to the old bird.All I see are two people with a common blazing passion for the blues, coming together to let loose and enjoy themselves and spread the love of the genre. And the only thing that can beat a guitar battle where the one-upping never ends, is the beautiful collaboration you hear in this album where two artistes level up together and hit new heights.
Duet people. Don't duel.
WHEN?!
So my brother saw me playing Ikariam. Well you can't really be playing Ikariam, but I had it open in one of my tabs. And he went, "OH OH is that Virtual Villagers?" "No, that's Ikariam." "No that IS Virtual Villagers!" (typical of him la). And I go "What the heck is Virtual Villagers?" and without waiting for an answer I habitually clicked on my search bar and googled it up.
And my bro started saying "No it's an iPhone game where... EH WHY SO FAST?"
"What?"
"How did you type 'virtual villagers' so fast?"
"Here la." (I showed him the search bar.)
"But how?"
"It searches to google?"
"How??"
"Type in here la!"
"WHEN DID YOU TYPE??"
Either my keyboard's soft, or I'm good, or he's a blur cock.
And my bro started saying "No it's an iPhone game where... EH WHY SO FAST?"
"What?"
"How did you type 'virtual villagers' so fast?"
"Here la." (I showed him the search bar.)
"But how?"
"It searches to google?"
"How??"
"Type in here la!"
"WHEN DID YOU TYPE??"
Either my keyboard's soft, or I'm good, or he's a blur cock.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Church and Music
Today for the first time in I lost count of how many months, I went to church. It didn't feel like anything strange, or unique, or special. Which is the way I like it. At least, that's how my church works. I dunno about yours, but when I stepped into the Rock Auditorium today (yes, I belong to the Suntec church, the one-north church, the long queue church), it was just like finally coming home. Where I can, quite literally say, "Father, I'm back." Back to worship You and feed on Your precious wisdom.
Hopefully this will start the momentum rolling again.
As I stepped on the train to get back home, I had my earphones plugged in but no music on yet. I felt a tap on my shoulder and a muffled "Renhao". And I turned to see my three campmates walking out. For some reason I zipped right back out of the train.
Turned out to be a fantastic decision.
My friends were going to catch the closing performance of the Mosaic Music Festival 09 at the Esplanade Waterfront stage, and if I hadn't bumped into them I would have missed out on a night of shit-awesome music. There was Andre Harihandoyo and his band from Indonesia playing some sweet blues, Malaysia's 40 Winks playing ska (we adjourned to Clifford Pier Coffee Bean during their second set), and to end it all, The Condors from Japan. Crazy 30+ year old uncle motherpunksters that could put probably about 2/3 of the wannabe bands here in Singapore (actually, maybe the whole SEA) to head-burying shame. The crowd just lapped it all up enthusiastically. And well, it's the second time we made a choice to stay for the closing set of an Esplanade event (this one was slated to end at 11.30pm) and both times we were rewarded for our patience. So there's something to consider if you're gonna be chillin there on a Sunday.
Pictures will say what I fail to.
Oh God I realised I effectively only had Shih Lin Crispy Chicken and HK Milk Tea for dinner. Shit I'm hungry. Better go sleep before I gorge. Kthxnowbye.
FB photo album (public access)
Hopefully this will start the momentum rolling again.
As I stepped on the train to get back home, I had my earphones plugged in but no music on yet. I felt a tap on my shoulder and a muffled "Renhao". And I turned to see my three campmates walking out. For some reason I zipped right back out of the train.
Turned out to be a fantastic decision.
My friends were going to catch the closing performance of the Mosaic Music Festival 09 at the Esplanade Waterfront stage, and if I hadn't bumped into them I would have missed out on a night of shit-awesome music. There was Andre Harihandoyo and his band from Indonesia playing some sweet blues, Malaysia's 40 Winks playing ska (we adjourned to Clifford Pier Coffee Bean during their second set), and to end it all, The Condors from Japan. Crazy 30+ year old uncle motherpunksters that could put probably about 2/3 of the wannabe bands here in Singapore (actually, maybe the whole SEA) to head-burying shame. The crowd just lapped it all up enthusiastically. And well, it's the second time we made a choice to stay for the closing set of an Esplanade event (this one was slated to end at 11.30pm) and both times we were rewarded for our patience. So there's something to consider if you're gonna be chillin there on a Sunday.
Pictures will say what I fail to.
Oh God I realised I effectively only had Shih Lin Crispy Chicken and HK Milk Tea for dinner. Shit I'm hungry. Better go sleep before I gorge. Kthxnowbye.
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