Bomb scare

As described, I had to drag myself out to Millenia Walk to collect my race pack. Booked tickets to catch Indiana Jones so as not to waste my trip downtown.

The movie was bad. I just had to say it. Maybe "bad" is too mild a word. I guess with Steven Spielberg (ET) and Geroge Lucas (Star Wars) helming both director and producer positions, you cannot blame the ending for being strange, weird, and absolutely uncalled for.

Ok obviously I'm holding off the storyline here lest I'm accused of spoiling it. If you really want to know you can contact me, somehow. But you will understand what I'm saying if you have watched it and suffered the 122 minutes like me.

The bright side of this is perhaps my anticipation for the Lego: Indiana Jones, The Original Adventures computer game. Can totally imagine running my Lego figurines through the action sequences. Had a great time with Lego: Star Wars I and II, so I hope Indiana Jones wouldn't be too bad. The preview shots looked great!

The MRT trip home was hilarious. I almost went ROFL. This guy sat down but left his bag of vegetables about 5m from him so as not to block the standing passengers. This pair of teenagers stood next to the bag, thinking it belongs to a Bangla who was squatting in a corner. Well... the Bangla got up and left, and the pair of teenagers kindly pointed out to him: "Hi, your bag." The Bangla motioned "no" and walked away.

Then one of the punky teenager said, to incredible comical effect: "A vegetable bomb!"

Haha... I swear, I almost laughed out loud. But what was amazing he actually started asking the people around him if the bag belonged to them. This, I must say, is the kind of public spirit we need in this stifling climate of fear and terrorism.

Mom was right. Shouldn't have gone out for so long and take in all the "cold air". My myalgia returned, and my nose started to drip again. But maybe it's just because my meds are wearing off. Time for another dose!

Getting sick this weekend is bad timing. There are loads of important work to rush before I head off to Taiwan next week, and Sundown is happening on Saturday. Don't think I have trained enough. Haha.

So boss, er, IF you are reading this (notice that's a BIG if), can I claim Friday off? Hehez... (-_-)v

Sick, miserable, and totally random

Porridge - the perennial favourite of a sick man.

*Bleah*

Anyway this weekend has been suitably miserable. My head spins, my nose runs, my back hurts. Fortunately there was no rash, petechiae or islands of sparing. Spent the time fixing up my newly-acquired toy, the camera-less Nokia E51, appropriately labelled on the box as a phone for "security-sensitive professionals". Finally. I can ditch the 6510, which by the way has a monochromatic display and is, accurately, so last century. Now Jerome can blog on the move with E51's wi-fi capabilities!

After transferring his entire phonebook into E51 and setting up the MAC filter, Jerome headed down to Video Ezy, only to find that no exciting movies were getting released. He rented Word Play, which turned out to be an interesting documentary on the crossword puzzle culture in the States, pretty much along the same line as Spellbound. It got Jerome excited a bit, and he went online to try out one NY Times puzzle, only to give up after facing such obscurities as "7 down: table scrap = ORT, 56 down: stewpot = OLLA".

And I thought knowing "AA: a basaltic lava", "EL: an elevated railroad" for my Scrabble was nerdy enough... (o_0)"

Well, despite his illness, Jerome will need to drag himself out to Millenia Walk later to collect his race pack for Sundown. Fortunately he got a little better after self-medicating. Paracetamol works wonders, seriously. And since he's heading down to town, he'll be catching Indiana Jones with GC, who politely mentioned that she didn't mind going out with a sick man because she "deals with them everyday". Hmm... a little morbid if you think about it.

Talking about morbid, I removed the foot ulcer/abrasion pic from the last entry because I thought it looked inappropriate and, well, repulsive. I really should refrain from taking pictures of my body parts and posting them online. Hehez. Oh boy am I pandering to my voyueristic self.

Urban legends: the grandmother chapter

You probably heard about the good ol’ grandmother tale about biting your new shoes before they bite back at you. Well Jerome being the lazy, defiant bugger put on his new slippers last weekend after snapping his sandals during DragonTug. Obviously he did not bite them beforehand. So off he went into the waters of Bedok and Kallang, only to find himself reeling in pain with abrasions over both his feet. As he has previously attested, salt water + broken skin = pain many many.

Even more exciting is the fact that his abrasions were never given a chance to heal as he had to wrap them up in smelly socks as part of his working uniform. Sounds like a hotbed for bugs to grow. Fortunately no maggots were found but his abrasion has sort of evolved into a 1x1cm shallow ulcer with a granulating base.

The weekend is here once again and he stupidly put on the same pair of slippers to head out for supper just moments ago. What the fish! He thinks he scrapped off all granulation tissue already. So Jerome is back to square one with a freaking ulcer and a lousy pair of slippers. Oh boy when can he get his Overland sandals man…

What a fascinating post. Bleah. (o_0)”

Anyway to fulfill the public service nature of his blog, Jerome reminds all to bite their new shoes before wearing them. Real hard. And another thing: believe your grandmother, always.

Do you have other grandmother advice to share?

Sigh. Boring post. Jerome is down with URTI. No energy to think. Otherwise he will be talking about Pedra Branca already. Middle Rocks to M’sia. Hmm… We need to redraw some lines on our side. But RSAF’s access to South China Sea should be ok ba… since Prof Tommy Koh says Singapore Strait is an international waterway.

*Bray*

Hope has a place

The world is saddened by 2 natural disasters that struck Asia in the span of 1 week.

In Myanmar, more than 38,500 found themselves resting in watery graves. Many more remain thirsty, hungry and homeless as foreign aid - controlled by the iron fists of the military junta - fail to reach the most desolate corners of Yangon.

Thousands of miles north of these flooded plains, Sichuan struggles to extricate her people, and more than 50,000 are feared to have been entombed under slabs of cold, merciless concrete.

Every day the newspapers declare new death tolls and publish photos of bloodied casualties with their grieving relatives. What wrenches the heart most are stories of children lost to the relentless rains, and students crushed to instant death.

On the MRT Jerome saw headlines of heroic tales emblazoned across the pages of our local tabloid. There were teachers who shielded students from tumbling bricks, and a grandfather who continue to smile and cheer on his sole surviving grandson, while at the same time holding back tears from the loss of his dear ones.

Jerome closed his eyes, and allowed thoughts to race through his mind.

Jerome has been living in the sheltered quarters of his island, and the closest he has ever come to a natural disaster was the tremors in his flat during one of Indonesia’s worst earthquake 2 years ago. He counts his blessings, and empathizes with the plight of the survivors. At the same time, Jerome applauds the strength of the human spirit. Heroic tales aside, Jerome is encouraged when survivors overcome their grief and continue with their lives with a smile on their faces.

He remembers vividly a picture he saw on the papers several years back. It was months after the tsunami disaster, and Indonesia has begun to pick herself up and move on from the unprecedented calamity. There it was, right at the top of the page, the most adorable child with a fish in his hands.

(Yes. Jerome cut the picture out and kept the clipping.)

His eyes were gleaming with an innocent glee. He may not fully realize the devastation around him, but he has hope in his eyes. And it is this hope that will carry him forward and overcome unproductive feelings of depression and élan.

"If you lose hope, somehow you lose the vitality that keeps life moving, you lose that courage to be, that quality that helps you go on in spite of it all. And so today I still have a dream."
- Martin Luther King, Jr.

Jerome wants to give hope to all in Myanmar and Sichuan. Yet, it takes 2 to clap.

Are you ready to hold hands with Jerome?

Yellow submarine

There is A LOT to say about DragonTug. Fortunately, equipped with his JC skills of summarising entire paragraphs into less than 100 words for 25 marks, Jerome will now begin to tell you, in a calm, stately and succinct manner, what happened last Saturday.

IT WAS THE MOST EXCITING, THRILLING, EXHILARATING AND ELECTRIFYING SATURDAY HE EVER HAD!!! WOO HOO!!! *roll around floor kicking leg in air for 1 minute… wait a minute, this sounds familiar*

The day started off interesting enough.

Instruction: meet at Big Bird Statue.
Result: went to Big Bird Statue.
Observation: nobody, no boats; no music, no crowd. How can this be DragonTug?!

Haha then EK called, apologizing profusely (she’s such a nice Captain…) and directed us to the spitting lion that has a fish tail. And there we were. Music, crowd, tourists, and Starbucks!

First race started our DragonTug experience with one big resounding SPLASH, literally. We trumped Okinawa before you can recount the 12 cranial nerves, and in our euphoria, headed straight for the lion’s spit and ended the wrong way up!

Haha this was the first capsize experience I had ever had and everyone remained all smiles, despite losing a few slippers here and there. After this we got so paranoid of the spit and boat Yellow One that the cox steered way clear of the lion for all subsequent races.

Despite a lull during the afternoon we had great fun with ice, beer, more beer, and ergo, which RG missed the best time by a mere 1 second! Argh… the pain…

(We interrupt this entry with a public service announcement. All athletes are kindly reminded that consuming alcohol of any form is strongly discouraged before strenuous exercise, because it increases dehydration and the risk of heat injuries. Thank you.)

After winning 2 out of 3 races for the Mixed Corporate, we advanced to the semi-finals against USA. The British team cheered us on right next to us and off we went, ahead of USA after 90 seconds!

With endorphins and adrenaline circulating at a HR of >120, we psyched ourselves for the finals. THIS WOULD PROVE TO BE THE MOST MEMORABLE RACE EVER.

The air-horn went off, both boats headed out. Screams and shouts all around. EK encouraging us on as drummer. We whacked the sea water. We sprayed. We splashed. Despite trailing at the start, we inched forward. Then we got close to their boat. Paddles started whacking one another. I was sure I whacked a hand or two (oops…). We pulled away, stroke by stroke. SS stumped side to side to gain balance of the boat. With all the energy and swing our boat was collecting water like a faithful rain gauge would in a thunderstorm. But we were now ahead!!!

And then, the moment came.

I remember vivdly, the sides of the boat going underwater. The edge of RG’s seat pad was floating already. But we continued to paddle. We were sinking. But we only had one thing in mind. The bloody FLAG.

Yet the steeliness of our mind could not overcome the laws of physics, and we capsized… AGAIN!!!

Obviously we were DQ. When the umpire announced MND as the winner the crowd jeered. They were cheering us on!!! What a gratifying experience. We lost but this was a fantastic race. Our team lost a few more slippers and seat pads, but we were treated to VIP seats on the pontoon, experiencing first-hand the tug boats exerted when surging forward.

Late dinner at Lau Pa Sat, everyone obviously still high from the experience.

Went home and nursed injuries on my leg and my paddle. But I was one happy man.

This is the first time I got so high without breaking any law. =)

Taxi driver banter

Jerome has taken enough cab rides to tell you that there are 3 types of cab drivers.

The first is the quiet, dutiful chauffeur who asks you where you’re headed, what road you want to take, and says thank you after you reach your destination. Silent but effective. Here’s a typical conversation:

“Where you going?”
“Er, Toa Payoh MRT station please.”
“Go by PIE or CTE?”
“Er, the one without the jam.”
“Both sure jam now one, but you can take this road then through that road, can miss ERP and jam one.”
“Roger. Let’s press on.”
“Thank you, $12.20 please, 20 cents no need la.”
“No la, need. You making a living, uncle.”
“It’s ok la young man.”

Mm… How nice. He calls me a young man. =P

The second is the interviewer who pries at your personal life and even go as much as ask how much you earn every month. Strangely, Jerome has been asked at least 4 times by different cab drivers to sign on when he boarded the vehicle in his uniform:

“Are you a regular?”
“Nope.”
“You intend to sign on?”
“Er, no?”
“Why not?”
“Er…”
“How much do you get as an NSF now?”
“Mm…”
“Sign on la, it’s not bad you know. My son is also in the Air Force!”
“Okay…”

Obviously Jerome is shy. (-_-)v

The third is an aspiring member of parliament who addresses the “Cab” with a tireless rant on how the government should not have lost a wanted man with 7 toilet rolls in 49 seconds. Or he will tell you that Bedok Reservoir is created after a bomb exploded and created a crater near his great grandaunt’s kampong where pigs were reared (this theory may actually have merit because, according to Wikipedia, the reservoir was originally a rock quarry! Goodness, what can you NOT find on Wikipedia man!!)

Yet sometimes, Jerome engages in hearty talks with cab drivers, esp. those who share their life stories with him. Interesting fellas whom Jerome has chatted with include graduates, teachers, a retired army major and a CDO NSman.

No doubt there has been recent flak on cab drivers, what with exorbitant 35% surcharges, the strange 1-day-old rule about illegal CBD stops, and insufficient change for a $50 note. However, Jerome thinks driving a cab all day is one tiring job. Imagine sitting down for 8hrs, negotiating heavy traffic, dealing with difficult passengers (“why you take long long way uncle?! I don’t want to pay you ah!”), and risking getting mugged by boisterous hooligans, or even molested by confused, and obviously desperate fellas.

Jerome pays his respect to these cab drivers, without whom many of us will be late, and without whom many of us will not know how Bedok Reservoir came about.

Bangla talk

(This entry is very strange. There are awkward switches from first person to third person accounts, suggesting that this Uzbekistan zebra will need risperidone soon.)

After the decidedly serious entry about his dilemmas with the future, Jerome sits down and pens the lighter moments he had over the weekend with his friends.

He will begin with a simple formula, which he calls “the common sense law”.

It states: Training + Night cycling + Training = Pain many many

For some reason, Jerome entertained the crazy idea of heading for night cycling with his friends after his training on Saturday afternoon at Bedok Reservoir. So what happened was a mad rush as he came out of TP at 7pm, took about 15mins to find a cab (Murphy is always right, you know), then find himself stuck in a ECP jam before reaching Macs at 8pm (Murphy is also omnipresent, you know).

Our originally planned meeting time was 7.30pm.

Anyway, fortunately some other members of the group were also late. After grabbing a footlong sandwich from Subway (yum!), some Milo and a Snickers bar, we set off with high spirits, and a full stomach. No, we didn’t have to take prophylactic maxalon.

In any case, I was riding this bike from JC that had a seat too high for comfort. I’m not too good at biking, so the start-stop sequence with this "tall bike" was often jarring, painful and disturbing. This was exacerbated by the fact that our first leg of the journey involves tight (and illegal) 90 degree turns on overhead bridges and tricky negotiations across paths filled with people that obviously do not have spidey-senses to feel your approach and give way.

Anyway, MF graciously exchanged bikes with me, and JC unceremoniously announced that I have turned down his $10K prized bike for a $200 market bike. The difference was obvious. Although I could now put my feet firmly on the ground, this 7-gears-only market bike could hardly give me the high when I charged down the stretch beside Changi Runway. Yet Jerome finds solace in the fact that he can protect his family jewels from unnecessary trauma. Yes, Jerome always gets his priorities right.

Rolling down the Changi stretch was particularly exciting because it was the exact same route we took for our 24km route march, and I could still remember the field packs on our shoulders, blisters on our feet, and CT twisting his ankle without warning to leave me as the sole rear scout for the rest of the journey.

We completed the whole 42km route close to 2am, if I’m not mistaken. In between we had a hearty supper at Changi Village, where each of us, on top of the “main course”, took 2 x dessert servings to rehydrate and replenish glucose stores.

Jerome is grateful that JC offered to send him back. He reached home around 2.30am, showered, and realized in the usual “water touch raw skin = pain” way that he has two abrasions on his feet, strategically placed under the strap of his sandals so that the maximum pain can be inflicted every step he takes. Yes, Murphy, you win ok.

Next morning, training at 9am. Jerome is obviously mad. He woke up, eyes not quite connected to his brain yet, and dragged himself to Kallang at a cost of $17. (Honestly Jerome has never doubted the fact that time = money. This means for the extra hour of sleep he is getting by not taking MRT, he comes to the conclusion that each minute costs 28 cents. Peak hour, 35% more thank you).

Jerome sat on the boat, under the freaking sun. Race sets x 7 was no joke. Blister on hand is not funny. Salt water on blister is also not funny. But Jerome survived.

All in all, he has 2 x blisters on his hand, 2 x abrasions on his feet, 1 x large scratch on his left calf, 1 x painful butt, 1 x super sleepy head.

Training + Night cycling + Training = Pain many many (proven)

And work starts tomorrow, with call, RT cover and ad-hoc cover.

Oh pain many many many!

The dotted line

Jerome moved to the Seregenti recently to fit in with other non-talking zebras. Yet, besides grazing, drinking, and hearing Circle of Life play in his head as he grieves his friend who found a new home in the innards of a Pepsi-drinking bad cheetah, Jerome does little more than bray at the occasional National Geographic crew that comes too close for comfort. Bottom line is, Jerome loves to write, and he likes to show off his peculiar sense of humour. This has formed the impetus for him to return to Uzbekistan and start talking to people again.

Jerome likes new experiences. As he has alluded in past entries, he is one animal that cannot stay still. He would rather be chased by a Pepsi-drinking bad cheetah than stay under the shade to munch on his greens. And he is grateful to have found himself personified as Marty in Madagascar. That aside, zebras also have dreams; not the “monster under the bed” kind, but dreams about the future, or what some people will term, aspirations.

Jerome is, arguably, still young. He is barely a quarter of a century old, and there are crossroads on his way back to Uzbekistan that he need to ponder upon before taking his next step.

In fact, Jerome is at a crossroad now, and he is uncertain of the direction to place his hooves on. He blames the weather for creating the haze ahead of him, for he cannot tell what lies ahead. Yet, interestingly, he has a map. A map that started off as a blank sheet of papyrus but is gradually getting filled up with advice from wise men he met along his way.

Should Jerome continue in the direction he is at, or attempt to change course? One of the wise man left a parting message: “Do not be afraid to change (course).”

Jerome now stands in the middle of the crossroad, map held in hand, thoughts racing in mind. He has to set off soon before dusk arrives. Jerome is grateful to the wise men who wrote on his papyrus and shared their experiences.

For those who have read the above and is beginning to get annoyed by zebra-esque metaphors, Jerome rephrases himself in human English.

Should he sign on?