Pet peeves

You must be thinking oh no, there goes the Earl of Whine-dom again! What new rave is he unleashing upon poor old me! Save me! There, there, hold your horses my young padawan learner. A few things to clarify, this is just a generic rave inspired by real life occurrences of course (of which some of you dear readers may be able to identify the protagonist(s)) not a particular attack on any individual which admittedly I am so wont to do. Another thing to note is that, this of course is my blog, if I am not free to express my views here, I could of course call you on the phone and whine. Now, now, that is purely hypothetical, now that I established my freedom to whine on the cybersphere, I probably not (note its improbable not impossible) pick up the phone, so please don't feel compelled to pretend you were on the phone with the Oval Office when my number appears on your caller-ID, the world can wait for you.

Okay, now that the prologue is out of the way, let's go on to my pet peeves proper (well, if proper is ever an appropriate word to use on a post laced with non-constructive criticism)

1. Ridiculous self-invented names:
Now I am not just talking about people whose are names are bestowed by parents' with a unique sense of humor like Rain, Phoenix, Dweezil, Moon Unit, Kobe, Matrix, Kal-El (no, I am not referring to the fictional Superman but the descendant of the next onscreen superman), Rocket, Racer, Rogue, Beckham, Brooklyn whatever..... Its bad form to criticise one's parents. Nay, it may be laughable when one's parent's choose such gems of absurdity for you, but when you christen yourself in a bid to appear unique, its downright ludicrous. Now two main categories:
i) mis-spelt existing or modify names or like Precelia, Kerene, Jaffrey, Cheryline, Jacquedie, Adriel, Daryline etc.
ii) adopt from existing words that were not meant for first names: Sky, Chantal, Money, Windy, Cash etc.

2. Parking Pontianaks aka Feng Fei Fei aka Fatimah aka Hua Jie aka Gestapo aka CPAs (Car Park Attendants)
Ok, ok, everyone has a job to do, not really fair to criticise them. Just want to share some of the nicks I have heard.

3. Dastardly differing definitions
Sounds like nonsense, just bear with me slightly. Like for example, if somewhere texts you "Coming down now", what does "now" mean to you? Now would probably mean immediate, unless my vocabulary is really messed up, no? Ok, even if I am willing to expand the confines of 'immediate' there is a limit to how far it can be stretched. If the distance between 'down' is but a mere descend of the lift, I wager that now should not take more than ten minutes not a full forty-five. If you have not gathered by now, this is a real life incident, but what struck me was the aplomb the perpetrator turned the table and accused me of being impatient and petty. Astounding, only a woman is capable of such a deed, no?

4. Hypocrisy
This warrants an entire post in itself, just let me attempt to sum this up as succintly as I can: My life interests you as much as your life interests me, you don't see me feigning it do you?

I have a great deal more, actually but I decided I appear too much like a grumpy old man, better refrain.

Treading the same ol' path

Does familiarity really breed contempt? Certainly the fact that some of my closest friends hold me in contempt does lend some credence to this familiar phrase. But no, this is not a whine-fest about how unappreciated I am by the ones I call brethren. Nope, this is Christmas after all, spirit of cheer and all that, yea? Rather, this is about a journey of self-discovery and self-actualisation that I had undertaken of late. At this juncture I can almost hear the groans go up and hear the whirling of mouse scrolls, not another needlessly self-indulgent ill-disguised whine. Well not exactly, considering how little interaction I have had with the outside world in my period of self-imposed isolation, where else would I go, if not inward?

Anyway, further talk of such nature would only mislead the reader that this blogger is a narcissist, which most definitely I am not. Of course I am not, what makes you say so? I am so misunderstood. Let ME explain. you don't know ME! Don't you judge ME! How can you say that about ME! I hate you! Come back here, I am talking to you! Why won't anyone listen to ME! Nobody understands ME! Nobody loves ME! Nobody cares about ME!

Brushing that little utterly pointless side-show aside, it does seem that invariably, life has fallen into a routine, at least for me, such that at times I have to really consider if repetition of an activity is birthed out of sustained interest or repetition sustains the interest. For example, reading, one of my most beloved activities. There was a period of my life when I had been so comfortable reading and re-reading certain novels, that it seems almost ritual for me to revisit them, that I may recite the text verbatim, recreate the scenes in my mind, reenact dialogues time and again. I am rather ashamed to say that I have read the Godfather more comprehensively and at some juncture more frequently than any other book (yes including the Bible, gasp!). I could flip to any page and carry on reading from that point without having a gap in the story. A distant second would be Kane and Abel (yes its disgusting that its not even Cain and Abel). Yes these two books were what I would consider an absolutely compelling read, definitely worth re-reading, but the extent to which I revisited, re-revisited, re-re-revisted (you get the idea, I am too ashamed to continue butchering the English language) these novels surely would have outstripped the lure of the novel. Perhaps, it was a case where I was so comfortable within those literary confines that any deviation would be not be sustained.


The story remains the same for food I guess. Unwittingly, I find myself circling the same stalls, ordering the same dishes, time and again. Not that I am utterly smitten with the culinary skills of the vendors, not that there is some addiction to the taste or in some cases lack thereof, perhaps just as a case of simplicity, just a lack of energy to ponder further, if it remains bearable (and these confines expands on a daily basis) why bother changing it? Same goes for my regular watering hole, if I am meeting Capt its at A, if I am going with JK, its at B, if I am meeting them both generally its at A unless we are already at B. Its oddly appropriate to describe my drinking patterns as formulaic. Even my choice of poison is largely varying within limited confines; if I am driving, its Kilkenny or Guiness Draught, if I am not, its either Black Label or MacCallum. At this juncture, the reader may be forgiven for denouncing this blogger as utterly devoid of imagination and variety, in other words, being an engineer.

That cheap blow aside, all the above while mildly depressing, lacks the makings of a tragedy. Where someone occupies your thoughts, your fancies, the ends to your means, upon careful analysis, you suspect that its more out of habit than anything else, would it not be absolutely tragic? You find yourself wondering if your continual pursuit perhaps would stem out of nothing more than habitual familiarity? Or has the flames which should have long fizzled out been sustained by the embers of remembrance?

As the curtains draw on yet another largely uneventful year, will the new one usher in a new era?

Networking

Definitely an activity that I utterly detest, not because I am totally adverse towards all social activities that require interaction with participants numbering more than two although that statement is not untrue. Nay, rather its for what the common usage of this word has degenerated into. In its original form, network wherein relates to human relationship is defined as a supportive system of sharing information and services among individuals and groups having a common interest.

In other words, networking is an event where people come together to make acquaintances for the sole purpose of uncovering how they may make use of each other. Not even with some cursory attempt to disguise the true intent. No doubt the vast majority of working adults' small talk do not breech the subject of one's occupation within three questions, but when people get together or proudly proclaim that its their main purpose for expanding their social circle, it does sound offensive, at least to me.

You want to come for a networking session? a colleague asked me. Oh you mean one of those events where you go around distributing and collecting name cards after which you file them all to be retrieved on the day you might possibly realise the value of association with that person? No thanks, I would much rather spend my time analysing the fascinating patterns on my ceiling.

Facebook also has the description of networking as an option for the types of relationships they are searching. Oh, how astoundingly candid: I am looking for people who might be of value to me, if I ever contact you it is probably because there is something in it for me, don't contact me, I will contact you. This is almost as irritating as "It's complicated" for your status which I had previously blogged about.

The guise of meeting people for the sole purpose of making friends seems like a totally alien concept, is it not? Are we in a culture that celebrates material gains and personal advancement openly and gratituously? Not that I am an advocate for hypocrisy but subtlety is not without merits. Yet increasingly the transparency with which we embrace networking is shocking, as though there it is the most natural thing to do.

In simplicity, historically speaking there are a few classes of people, the merchant class, the scholars/artists class, the civil government and the clergy/monks. In an affluent society like Singapore, it seems the merchant class is the most dominant and its influence has permeated to all other classes. If you look at the state of modern literature for example, much of it has been prostituted. The civil government while maintaining its reputation of incorruptability has to dangle a huge monetary carrot to attract talents into their ranks. Most disturbingly, the clergy is increasingly secularised that it smacks of commercialism and church harvest events are managed and marketed not unlike the latest products.

With the degeneration of society into one big merchant guild, it is little surprise that people are so candid about networking. Long live the merchants!

I have a sucky feeling

This title looks decidedly juvenile, something which under ordinary circumstances I would cringe to put on in my blog. Anyway, today I don't really care, I am royally pissed. PISSED.

What if you were told of something that would require you to radically change your life as you knew it, that you had spent some time resolving your inner apprehensions to psyche yourself up for it, something that you had planned at lengths for, overcoming the doubts into enthusiasm; and just like that, it was pulled. The rug under your feet that you thought you had stood firmly on was just yanked away. No warning, no signs, no explanations, no epilogue. Just yanked from underneath your feet.

Fall? More like plunge into a deep abyss, where you see no bottom to which you would eventually reach? Darkness..... Despair..... Distress....... Disillusionment........

Nobody likes the feeling of being treated like yesterday's garbage...... Where do I go from here? Its taking more self-control than I possess not to spout vulgarities..... I suppose a simple click of the mouse would save me from this struggle............

Labels

Here I am not referring Campbell or Heinz but rather the generic terms that others impose on us in order to facilitate the easy identification of our nature. Like the word “geek” conjures up the image of a gawky teenage heavily affected by myopia that would suffer from withdrawal symptoms should he be separated from his laptop for periods that are measurable by analog devices. Or “hip” when used to describe an individual pertains to one whose tastes are impeccably attuned and aligned to the latest fashion magazines which incidentally tend to be imported and not readily available on the shelves of your favorite “mamak” stall. In the post-modern non-conformist Google generation (you can tell I am throwing labels around for fun), our penchant for classifying people has escalated to unprecedented heights.

Are we not a society that emphasizes individuality and non-conformity? Why then should that be a convention for the non-conformist? When I was experimenting with this phase (i.e. when I was young and stupid) the mould for the non-conformist was the ‘grunge’ look. Being woefully out of sync with the latest in the world of the hip and fashionable, I have no idea what is the present equivalent so don’t cringe and shudder at my imperfect parallel using this as justification that I am hopeless out of touch (which incidentally I probably am).

“Cool” as I knew it back when I bothered involved a remarkable dedication to creating a look and image of nonchalance. Who would have thought that looking casual is anything but? Perhaps the powers-that-be in the mysterious council of the socially acceptable had a remarkable love for irony. That would explain why those who yearn for differentiation from the norm look like everyone else with the same desire.

Life is full of ironies is it not? In finding your own voice, you mimic others. In searching for your own identity, you turn to others for analysis. In companionship, you experience solitude. In trying to conform, you end up deformed. Somewhere along the line I transcended the boundaries of sense.

To put all my rather convoluted writings into perspective, consider how we Singaporeans tend to stick labels on others with the most limited of observations. When your friend answers you in fluent Hokkien/Singlish, you would instantaneously think of him as an “ah beng” or an “ah lian” if “he” happens to be a she. If you happen to be unfortunate enough to be subject to my endless soliloquies on self-identity, (which means you are probably remarkably adept at feigning interest or disguising disinterest) this theme is by no means novel to you. Of the many comments I received related to this, one that remains not unlike a resounding gong is this “I can’t believe that an ah beng like you read so many books”. Now if this came from an Oxford fellow (not as if an Oxford fellow would use this local colloquial expression but oh well, you get the point) I would accept it with nary a complaint. Where the perpetrator is one who in my limited (and you have no idea how limited it is) graciousness I choose not to comment on her linguistic prowess or lack there-of, the statement is all the more offensive. Where people of inferior education backgrounds to mine (what a decidedly snobbish statement, not as if I was from King’s College but anyway….) slap that label of “ah beng” on me, it does require a Herculean effort to remain civil (read: not vulgar).

Well, actually the whole point of all my rather unnecessary writings can be summed up in the above paragraph. I am peeved at constantly being mistaken for some lowly educated ruffian but the reluctance of being exposed as a petty, self-absorbed individual prompted me to launch into some quasi-philosophical commentary on cultural trends. If there is a conclusion to be drawn, its that I have too much time on my hands, but you probably already know that.