friday the thirteenth and schoolbooks

whoo-hoo! friday the thirteenth! good tidings abound for me today, while i watch everyone else stumble in life... hopefully. we're moving to the glorious Chuan Park on Wednesday the 18th. wish me luck. my mom's arranged for it to be at seven in the morning...

the horrors of Chuan Park, Part III & IV [that Sunday & another weekend]

hey

i apologize for not updating this thing for so long - the moving is really getting to me. yes, we're moving now. i'd elaborate, but i have to leave for tuition soon. bye.

the horrors of Chuan Park, Part II

the past few days have been Hell.

saturday begun with my maid awakening me at 2 to tell me that my mom'll be round at three to pick us up for the interior desginer's office. she sounded in quite a hurry. however, knowing my mother, she would probably call at 5 to say "i'll be there soon, get ready." so i ignored her and went back to bed.

i jumped out of bed 'cause she wouldn't cease the screeching. i relayed my thoughts regarding my mom's sense of urgency, but she ploughed on, insisting that i step into the shower right away. i plonked onto the couch without so much as brushing my teeth.

the other three were watching Meteor Garden. on VCD.

now, i understand if you'd say that they were fans, but they've watched the show at least five times, from première to finale. that includes one TV screening and two sets of VCDs.

i blinked at the screen, seeing Jerry Yen complain about smelly animals at the zoo. can you hear the sound of me not caring?

i headed to the bathroom and brushed my teeth, then gargled Listerine for what seemed like one half hour. then i proceeded to to the dining table and scarfed down the five hotdogs lying on a plate, moving back to the couch after the last dog disappeared. then the maid appeared, asking that i take my shower now. it was 2.55, and i explained to her that, if my mother arrived at three like she said, i would not have the time to shower.

she apparently called my mother beforehand, and told me that i would have time. couldn't she have done that earlier and let me sleep in?

i took the shower, and then tried to put on my contact lenses. it was impossible, as usual, because of my dry eyes. they don't moisturize sufficiently until about an hour after i wake up. because i've run out of eye drops, i give up on them and go back to the couch.

they were still watching Meteor Garden, and i didn't think to boot up my PC then, so i joined then. i stuck myself on the couch until my mom called, lo and behold, at 4.45 to say that she would be coming up to get some things, and then we'd leave. soon.

fifteen minutes later, i was ready to leave, and was sitting on the couch. i took my time, contemplating bringing my Palm Vx along with me. [i decided on no] my brother hung around the common corridor, looking at the PerpetuPlay™ Kids downstairs. about an hour later, the females of my household appeared from their rooms, rushing us as though they'd been ready for the past half hour.

we were finally out of the gate, my mom instructed me to put all the interior design magazines into a plastic bag, then went in search of appropriate footwear. i asked the maid to get the bag, as i had already gotten my sandals on, and she returned with one of those bags that the fishmongers give you when you buy a garoupa or two at the [ugh] wet market.

knowing my mother, she would not live down taking such a bag out to contain magazines in, i told the maid, "not this kind of bag, change it..." in a neutral-ish tone. after all, i wasn't pissed off, yet.

she unceremoniously dumped the carrier at my feet, and i picked it up. avoiding a argument about my mom's plastic preferences, i took the bag anyway. however, my sister, who has an attitude towards the 'help' [her words, not mine] having an attitude, reported to my mother that she "giving attitude". my mom looked at me questioningly, and i said "i told her not this bag..."

all she said was "change it", in an tone that implied that it was my fault.

now, i was pissed. i hollered for her, and slotted the bag through the door grille, landing them on the floor. she picked them up and got a ridiculously large carrier [department-store-style, what my mother considers minimum presentability] for the magazine. i just took the bag and left for the lift,  but my mother wanted to pursue the matter.

i waited in the lift lobby, and my mother returned, beginning one of her Rants. suddenly, it was all my fault again, that i raised my voice at her, therefore she gave me attitude and the garoupa-bag. i said that there was no such thing, and that i didn't even bring the matter up, an that, in fact, it was my sister that did.

so the argument continued into the car park, climaxing in a mini-drama after we'd gotten in the car and i'd gotten out. it had something to do with my letting my youngest sister having the front seat and my handling of the magazines, and her taking it all as acts of defiance.

so, after my sister got out of the front seat and i got in, the drama ended and the argument resumed, ending with my mother calling up the maid agent to arrange for another maid viewing. we've gone through six maids so far. i was not up for changing maids again.

by the time we were at the designer's office, we were automatically in Family Portrait mode. The Nuclear Family for as long as the meeting lasted, and it went rather smoothly.

the one heated moment was when my mom revealed that my father wanted red flooring for the kitchen to match the deep red of the living/dining/hall floor. i was horrified and hid half of my horror as i tried to explain that red was a horrible color to match, but my mother ploughed on, picking out different shades of dark red. [solid, speckled, dirty, medium, dark, very dark, etc.]

i suggested a nice white, because she wanted white kitchen cabinets, and was shot down by the designer saying that it would be difficult to maintain, and my mother, going on about my father's simply brilliant idea/request/demand.

then i suggested a graphite grey color, the choice for my own room's flooring before my parquet catastrophe. she said it was too dark, and didn't go with the red.

so i pointed out a deep red/orange color. notice that i have avoided the speckled/dirty shades thus far.

she maintained the dark issue, and the designer noted that i should keep in mind the lack of windows in the kitchen. i was so frustrated, but didn't show it. she also reminded me again of my father's brilliance.

my sister exploded into an outburst of "then convince him otherwise", which i was proud of. but mom avoided the idea. goodness only knows why.

so she narrowed down the choices to a dark speckled shade of red, and a light speckled shade of red. she asked if she could bring the tile pieces to the apartment tomorrow to see which one blends better with the actual flooring.

the designer starts prying off the two pieces when i suggest that we just bring the whole panel of tiles along. not just for convenience, but also to give the other colors another chance with my mother. mom goes "you can carry, meh?", then actually lifts it up, only to find that it's light enough.

so that concludes Saturday. i couldn't obtain batteries for my digital camera, so that i could take pictures of the apartment tomorrow. i wanted some idea of what it looks like later on, even if i couldn't upload the pictures onto my PC.

this entry's too long already, and my sis wants the PC. [it's 2.28 am] Sunday will de described tomorrow.

the shower.

history was created. my mom said i didn't have to go if i didn't want to. i was speechless.

Bayshore C-2020 Zoom.

some of you are probably scratching your heads over the title for today's entry.

the C-2020 Zoom bit refers to my Olympus 2.1-Megapixel, 3x zoom digital camera, which i've had for maybe two years now. if you're wondering why you don't already know that i own one, considering that i've had it for two years now, that's because i can't use it. my father bought it in Paupa New Guinea without a cable for uploading pictures to a PC or the camera's batteries and charger. as the icing on the cake, it has Japanese firmware, meaning that the camera's menus are all in Japanese. I no speak Jap.

so i decided to make lemonade with the lemon that my father landed me with, and recently implemented a three-step plan to get it usable.

1) contact Olympus and ask about the possibility of changing the firmware on the camera, and fixing my accessory shortage.

2) purchase NiMH [nickel-metal hydride] rechargeable batteries as they appear to work well with digital cameras [alkalines burn out after, say, 15 min]

3) start using my camera

but, here're the steps i ended up taking

1) wait an eon for a reply from Olympus in vain, then decide to stick with the Jap menus and only take advantage of the basic features, while sourcing information regarding an upload cable through my friend. he tells me my camera only uploads through a serial port, meaning uploading even one photo will take a 'while' [read as 'another eon']

2) abandon plan to buy batteries, because i won't wait years to upload my photos, and decide to continue waiting for a reply from Olympus.

3) return my camera to the White-Elephant Shelf.

now, the Bayshore bit refers to the expensive condo that my cousin moved into. [the people in my father's family are efficient breeders, and as such some of my nephews are in JC and University] his offspring is now one month old [oh, my God. i must call The New Paper] and he's throwing a baby shower at The Bayshore's Clubhouse. it's tonight.

i have NO wish to attend.

but, as my father's popped out of town, i have to attend, representing the HDB-Suzuki-Swift contingent of the Khoo Empire, as opposed to the Mansion-Condo-Terrace-Semi-D-Jaguar-Mercedes-Benz-BMW-Rover contingents.

i'll have real fun spending my time talking to old farts and cousins who are ten years older than me. it's not right, i tell you.

expect a full report from me. those who are interested in saving my life and my wit, please do not hesitate to call or message me on my cell, so i that i don't have to talk to my blood relations.

why i hate my parents, aka The Horrors Of Chuan Park, Part I.

ok, i promised some time ago that i would elaborate on the details of my next home. well, here it is.

heard of Chuan Park? i certainly haven't, at least not until i found out we actually had to move in there, but apparently it exists. see, it's a run-down 20+ year old condominium, never renovated since construction, and showing its age. it's grayish-greenish-whitish on the outside, and looks as if it's the one place on Earth that's had the Technicolor sucked out of it.

my parents bought a unit there because:

a) the units are big

b) its convenient

c) my father likes the aura-environment-crap there

well, i don't like it because:

a) only  the living room is big [the bedrooms aren't any bigger than a HDB flat's]

b) it's in the middle of nowhere. it's equally far from the Serangoon, Ang Mo Kio and Toa Payoh Bus Interchanges and MRT Stations.

c) the place is a ghost town. no one would think any differently if the crappy sign outside said 'Upper Serangoon Senior Citizens' Home'

so, in their warped way of consolation, they promised that we could renovate the inside of the unit [i try not to call it a house or home, because it's nowhere near either] any way we wished.

some time later, they decided they want to keep the living room and kitchen exactly the same, because they liked the ugly maroon granite/marble/whatever floor tiling and the crappy wooden carven kitchen cabinets. i forced a straight face and played along.

next, my mom has an idea to build the stove in the service balcony, cutting it off from the rest of the kitchen so 'the oil stays in there'. i pretended i didn't hear anything.

then, my father announces his grand project to build a bar counter in the living room. i sucked my face in and kept to myself.

but, now, shock-horror, they decide to keep the parquet flooring in all the bedrooms. that is simply the last straw. i've already had an idea of how my [shared, believe it or not] bedroom would look like. birch flooring, white walls, birch & white-finish furniture. now, i ask you, how in Lucifer's reach does bloody parquet flooring match up with that? my father told me that parquet was "nice, what." i told him to go to Phua Chu Kang [as opposed to telling him to go to Hell].

that was all nicely wrapped up into the day [the 4th] which my father left for Papua New Guinea, which meant i got my phone line back, stopped having to use a bloody Nokia 8910, and a huge portion of my life's problems was quite a distance away.

but i was reminded that much of it was still here, just this morning.

i woke up around noon, having nothing more to do than wake up, and my maid asked me to call my mother. what did i do now? that bit was said out loud, but she didn't answer. so i called her. she asked me why i was calling. i calmly explained that the maid had asked me to. then she remembers. then she starts ranting in my ear. apparently the maid had complaints again [God knows what they were about, she was ranting and raving too quickly] and took them to my mother.

after she's done, she asked if i've called Victoria Tutorial Center. i told her i got a voice message. she says "no, i didn't get one, what." i calmly explain to her that i got a voice message, and not her. then i explain that they're closed for Deepavali, and the message said they'd re-open on the 6th. she says, mock-smartly, that today is the 6th. i retort that i've just woken up. she screams something about having to work and me enjoying myself, waking up as late as i want to. [well, i'm sorry if you're 37 years old and i'm 15] seriously, is it my fault? in the midst of reigning in my rage, i discover that she's hung up on me. she's always doing that. and she calls me rude.

wooden dolphins.

wasn't expecting this, were you?

well, neither was i. i normally wouldn't be found dutifully tapping away at my keyboard, typing a new entry into my blog at 11:30 pm, but as i've the spare time, i thought i'd better get myself into the habit before this page becomes stale.

anyways, boys and girls, tonight it's about the dysfunctional people that are my parents.

as some of you know, my dad has an 'enterprise' in Paupa New Guinea. don't ask me where that is, i don't quite know either. all i know is that he fancies the handicraft there. from downright ugly ceramic castle lamps to carved wooden dolphins, everything needed to satisfy my father's exceedingly bad taste [he's the one who purchased the Nokia 8910 Midnight Edition, remember?] can be found at the local village, where you cannot find any 'village idiots', because they, frankly, all are.

so, the Big Move into The Realm Of The Insane [Hougang] involved much packing of aforementioned crap into tiny, not quite large enough, cardboard boxes.

but, first, let me sidetrack a little. those living in Hougang would probably want to know why i've labeled it as a nuthouse. well, simply put, it is. listed below are some reasons why:

1 - this one's obvious. it houses the Woodbridge Institute Of Mental Health. that's read as 'crackoville'

2 - the children here are hyperactive. the afternoon session kiddos are up early to carry out their daily wake-up call for the entire neighbourhood, playing and shrieking, screaming and shouting. the noise from the playground reverbs up between the blocks, and as a result i can listen to thrilling conversations regarding the very latest in Japanese Trends [it's the what, Bey Blades, is it, now?] and the shrieks of laughter as they run around each other.

now, if it all stopped after they left, i wouldn't complain as much. but once they trot off to school, the morning session kiddos take their shift, and when they're joined by the afternoon session kiddos in the evening, they don't stop till 'round 11 pm. that is just wrong.

3 - the area is virtually inaccessible, due to a lack of MRT connectivity. but even if the trains had been running by now, would i feel safe throwing my life into the carriage of a fully-automated train travelling at 90 km/h? [10km/h faster than the older ones] but i guess i should be thankful for even this limited connectivity. we're moving into a worse place, which, don't worry, i shall have lots to rant and rave about.

4 - completely and utterly nosy neighbours. this unit that we've rented is a corridor one, meaning that people will walk past on their way into their houses. unfortunately for us, we're used to keeping the windows open, and will simply pass out if the were closed. this, apparently, is interpreted as a free-for-all signal for all and sundry to come witness the spectacle. the next-door neighbours consist of some of the most unattractive people i've met. there's the balding old man, his loudmouth-typical auntie wife, the first son with his girlfriend/fiancée/wife, the fat slob of a whimpering peeping-tom secondary-school second son, and finally the endless noisemaker that is the youngest daughter.

all have learnt to stop blatantly staring through our windows, after use staring back at them with our own looks, ranging from threatening to deranged. all but the peeping-slob. he still feels compelled to stare through our windows every time he walks past, with this pathetic look on his face. a pervy never changes his habits, i suppose.

5 - 'shopping centers'. one has no less than three names, [Hougang Point, Hougang Festival Market & Central Place] and the other has a block number. [Block 205, Heartland Mall Kovan. Kovan, incidentally, is a daft name.] also, where the heck is Hougang Green? i've heard rumblings about this mystical location, but haven't exactly seen the place.

now that i've established some reasons for loathing Hougang, let's move one, shall we?

last night, without anything better to do after finishing their dinner, my parents decided to haul out our entire collection. dust mites were released, wood shavings were vacuumed, dorsal fins were glued on and individual sculptures re-wrapped. i was sneezing my nose off due to my allergies.

my mom also decided this was a good time to re-iterate that i should sell my HP Vectra. that's my first PC. there is NO way i am selling that. this is, like, the fifth time she's asked me, and i've told her four times, rather politely, that i am not selling it. but she, apparently, is adamant about it, and i think i'll just let it drag out 'till she forgets again.

great, she's shouting for us to go to bed. see you in the morning. [i didn't say which morning]

8:30 am and an 8910.

yep, it's eight-thirty in the morning.

why am I up at eight thirty, you ask? well, my dad's in town, and because we share a mobile line, there's frequent switching of the SIM between his phone and mine. so, as per usual, he woke me up, becuase i was waiting for messages and didn't return the SIM to the useless titanium shell that is my father's Nokia 8910 Midnight Edition.

why, may i ask, is giving the phone a different colour worthy of elevating it to 'Special Edition' status? Perhaps i should start calling my phone the Ericsson T68m Ziroccan Gold from now on.

why he shelled out over a thousand & two hundred dollars for that lump of crap in the first place is beyond me. i asked him about it, and his reasons were the spring-loaded soft-touch auto-opening mechanism, the analog clock screensaver, and the look and feel of the useless device.

now, let me explain why i think it's a ton of hot shit.

1 - the spring-loaded soft-touch auto-opening mechanism. that thing drives me up the bloody wall. have you any idea how irritating it is to press the two latches on the sides, wait a few seconds for the phone to rise to its full height, then read your new message?

2 - the look and feel of it. if you haven't noticed, there're no buttons on the phone when it's closed, excepting the power button and the two latches. [i say latches because they're very low-quality] which means that there's no way of answering or rejecting calls when it's closed it. the build quality of the phone is horrible. the top of the phone wobbles and rattles when you're typing a message on it. hardly what's expected from a phone with such an exorbitant price.

there's also the problem of the rubbish screen. it's lumbering on with a low-resolution, 4-level grayscale unit. now, i admit that the grayscale [black and three grays] is an upgrade from the monochrome [black only] of previous Nokias, i'd prefer the high resolution of the 6510. but then again, why grayscale when Ericsson can offer a 256-colour, high-res display on a $300 phone? [that would be the T68m]

and how about the general lack of usefulness? if i wanted a phone just to make and receive calls on, i'd buy a Motorola. It runs the basic Nokia interface, meaning it's incapable of most things, already. surfing WAP over GPRS is slow, considering it can only interpret the pages into blocky text. it seems to block out most of the graphics that i see in glorious colour on my T68m.

the Bluetooth on that phone is another issue. on my Ericsson, you can talk on the headset with your phone, say, in your backpack, send images, ring tones, themes, notes, contacts and appointments between phones, or between the phone and a suitably tricked-out PDA or PC. you can even play Bluetooth games between phones. now, the beauty of Bluetooth is that it's a wireless technology. that means, for all you technology know-nothings out there, that it can communicate with another Bluetooth equipped device up to 10m [200m for some on high-powered chips] without having to worry about aligning any IrDA [Infrared Data Association] ports, or some idiot blocking your IrDA beam.

now that you've gotten a taste of the wonders of Bluetooth, you'll wonder what the fools at Nokia have been doing. all you can do with Bluetooth on the 8910 is ... nothing. its primary, and only use is to communicate with an un-launched, and much delayed, Nokia Bluetooth Headset. whereas Ericsson has already got five Bluetooth accessories on the market. so the poor Nokia has no Bluetooth friends. boo-hoo. not my bloody fault.

3 - the analog-clock screensaver. surely, i don't have to explain myself for loathing this.

there's plenty more to complain about the bloody thing, but, seeing that i've already deviated much too far from the original topic of my father waking me up, i'll teleport you lost souls back now.

now, back to the story. he also wanted to know the result of last night's EPL match [who is Bolton and Sunderland, anyway?], and he, of course, has no idea how to work the Teletext or the computer. which kinda explains why I'm perched on my swivel chair, clakking away at my keyboard when i really should be playing The Sims Unleashed or watching the two movies [Gattaca & The Whole Nine Yards] that i've recorded since goodness-knows-when, instead of ranting about my anti-Nokian tendencies.

i need to vent. i'll be looking for my Midtown Madness 2 CD now.