Tuesday, November 29, 2005
Further on up the road
Another round of exams just came and went, and to commemorate its end I went to Brewerkz straight away after my last paper.
It was a time for reflection. To consider what I’d done and didn’t do, what could have been, to think about the people around me, to think about the life ahead of me.
Hah. Ah well (insert active verb here) that. Actually I just went to drink beer after going dry for a long while, read newspapers and watch the sports channel.
Which is precisely the point. This semester has seen me adopt a new ritual of heading down to the micro-brewery for lunchtime happy hour every Friday after lessons end at 11 to imbibe some liquid sustenance to round up the week. Usually accompanied by The Straits Times, New Paper, occasional Herald Tribune and of course ESPN.
Over the weeks it’s sort of become my sacred hours, away from school, projects, hall and all other miscellaneous things that tend to demand attention like a spoilt heiress. Observing this kind of quiet time in a highly conducive setting like sitting right at the bar helps me clear my mind of all the clutter accumulated in the past weekdays. You could liken it to defragmenting your computer hard disk and putting everything back where it belongs.
On occasion, when inspiration strikes I’ll whip out pen and paper to sketch down some ideas for my Final Year Project (more on that in a while) or scribble lines running through my head which might possibly work out into a song. Most of the time though, I’ll usually just make do with a couple of pints for good measure.
It’s a spacious restaurant cum microbrewery with ample outdoor seating by the Singapore river, and inside it’s deliberately dark for a cosy atmosphere. I’m usually at the bar where it’s brighter though, makes it a lot easier to read. Structural steel I-beams holding up the place are simply painted over and the walls are lined with corrugated sheets of zinc-galvanised steel to give a minimalist, Spartan feel. No fancy memorabilia, paraphernalia or assorted shmuck at all. Of course there’s the obligatory pool table, big screen TV and dart board which no self-respecting watering hole should be caught dead without.
The line-up of beer is a good variety, not too many as to be overwhelming but just enough to be interesting. Brews run the range from light lagers to hearty stouts, and there’s probably a beer for everyone there. Once in a while they’ll mix it up with some new brews to keep things fresh and to liven it up for regulars like myself. Overall, the beer is definitely comparable to the craft beer I had back in California. Perhaps a bit more of a generalized taste for the masses, but still a good treat for the thirsty throat.
Everyone needs some form of quiet time like that. Not that I’m usually very stressed or frazzled come Friday afternoon, but I figure why take the chance?
The upcoming one month vacation will be rather hectic for me, with the main highlight being my Final Year Project which I’ve been working on the past semester. I can’t furnish too much details online (ask me if you must know), but suffice to say it’s a challenging project with no textbook precedents and on paper seems to defy the laws of physics. So far it’s going alright, though the prototype needs further refining the major conceptual issues have been cleared up. Some other factors involved in this project are beyond me, but I’ll focus on the task at hand. At the end of the day, getting a good grade (hopefully) and learning what I can from the whole process are what I’ll take home from this project.
Seeing some of the first years get all uptight about their first exams made me look back at how my approach to exams has changed over the semesters. Sure, there was always the initial burst of fire in first year but that soon died out, perhaps precipitated by the gradual change in the nature of my modules from more content-based to more understanding and design-based ones. I’ve never been one for the memorise-and-regurgitate approach, which has been both my doing and undoing, perhaps one more than the other. Also, the increasing amount of freedom in choosing subjects which were more interesting (to me at least) helped a great deal. There’s no longer the flutter of butterflies in the stomach just before stepping into the exam hall, but in comparison the relief after the last paper is also more muted. I guess reaching 4th year is when you start acquiring a certain non-chalance about the whole thing, especially if your CAP (our equivalent of GPA) is more or less decided.
Mine still hangs in the balance, but I’m not getting too worked up about it, not when there’s beer to drink, sports to watch and a whole world out there to read up on.
It was a time for reflection. To consider what I’d done and didn’t do, what could have been, to think about the people around me, to think about the life ahead of me.
Hah. Ah well (insert active verb here) that. Actually I just went to drink beer after going dry for a long while, read newspapers and watch the sports channel.
Which is precisely the point. This semester has seen me adopt a new ritual of heading down to the micro-brewery for lunchtime happy hour every Friday after lessons end at 11 to imbibe some liquid sustenance to round up the week. Usually accompanied by The Straits Times, New Paper, occasional Herald Tribune and of course ESPN.
Over the weeks it’s sort of become my sacred hours, away from school, projects, hall and all other miscellaneous things that tend to demand attention like a spoilt heiress. Observing this kind of quiet time in a highly conducive setting like sitting right at the bar helps me clear my mind of all the clutter accumulated in the past weekdays. You could liken it to defragmenting your computer hard disk and putting everything back where it belongs.
On occasion, when inspiration strikes I’ll whip out pen and paper to sketch down some ideas for my Final Year Project (more on that in a while) or scribble lines running through my head which might possibly work out into a song. Most of the time though, I’ll usually just make do with a couple of pints for good measure.
It’s a spacious restaurant cum microbrewery with ample outdoor seating by the Singapore river, and inside it’s deliberately dark for a cosy atmosphere. I’m usually at the bar where it’s brighter though, makes it a lot easier to read. Structural steel I-beams holding up the place are simply painted over and the walls are lined with corrugated sheets of zinc-galvanised steel to give a minimalist, Spartan feel. No fancy memorabilia, paraphernalia or assorted shmuck at all. Of course there’s the obligatory pool table, big screen TV and dart board which no self-respecting watering hole should be caught dead without.
The line-up of beer is a good variety, not too many as to be overwhelming but just enough to be interesting. Brews run the range from light lagers to hearty stouts, and there’s probably a beer for everyone there. Once in a while they’ll mix it up with some new brews to keep things fresh and to liven it up for regulars like myself. Overall, the beer is definitely comparable to the craft beer I had back in California. Perhaps a bit more of a generalized taste for the masses, but still a good treat for the thirsty throat.
Everyone needs some form of quiet time like that. Not that I’m usually very stressed or frazzled come Friday afternoon, but I figure why take the chance?
The upcoming one month vacation will be rather hectic for me, with the main highlight being my Final Year Project which I’ve been working on the past semester. I can’t furnish too much details online (ask me if you must know), but suffice to say it’s a challenging project with no textbook precedents and on paper seems to defy the laws of physics. So far it’s going alright, though the prototype needs further refining the major conceptual issues have been cleared up. Some other factors involved in this project are beyond me, but I’ll focus on the task at hand. At the end of the day, getting a good grade (hopefully) and learning what I can from the whole process are what I’ll take home from this project.
Seeing some of the first years get all uptight about their first exams made me look back at how my approach to exams has changed over the semesters. Sure, there was always the initial burst of fire in first year but that soon died out, perhaps precipitated by the gradual change in the nature of my modules from more content-based to more understanding and design-based ones. I’ve never been one for the memorise-and-regurgitate approach, which has been both my doing and undoing, perhaps one more than the other. Also, the increasing amount of freedom in choosing subjects which were more interesting (to me at least) helped a great deal. There’s no longer the flutter of butterflies in the stomach just before stepping into the exam hall, but in comparison the relief after the last paper is also more muted. I guess reaching 4th year is when you start acquiring a certain non-chalance about the whole thing, especially if your CAP (our equivalent of GPA) is more or less decided.
Mine still hangs in the balance, but I’m not getting too worked up about it, not when there’s beer to drink, sports to watch and a whole world out there to read up on.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
Been a long time since I rock and rolled...
Seems like I’ve been getting a lot of hits since my last post, which was a long time ago. Lack of blog-worthy inspiration lately has been to blame, which in turn is due to the current exam season.
To make up for the lack of content, here’s something from the Telecaster discussion forum that simply had me in awe.
“So I just remarried in September.
The other day in the local music store I saw a lefty Simon and Patrick (made by Godin) dreadnaught gtr. that's been there for 2 years! I have lusted after it all this time. At its original retail price ($900.00) it was a bargain; solid spruce top, solid rosewood back/sides, and tone? Oh, my Lord... And now - NOW - it's been marked down to about $550.00!!!
Since I'm really not playing electric at all these days I was trying to decide which of my electrics I should trade off. I told Susanna what I was thinking about. She said, "Don't do that! What if you want to play electric again? And besides, you love those guitars!" I said, "Yeah, but, honey, I don't have the cash for this guitar, and it's a better investment than Strats and Teles, of which there are a million around, even lefties." She replies, "Why don't you take some of the money we got for a wedding present and pick it up?" "That's supposed to be for special stuff for the house, etc." "Well, this will be special. I love to hear you play. It'll be the gift that keeps on giving! I want you to get this guitar."
So I'm going to. And the first thing I'm going to do with it is write a song for her on it...”
Damn, I’ve got to get me one of those.
To make up for the lack of content, here’s something from the Telecaster discussion forum that simply had me in awe.
“So I just remarried in September.
The other day in the local music store I saw a lefty Simon and Patrick (made by Godin) dreadnaught gtr. that's been there for 2 years! I have lusted after it all this time. At its original retail price ($900.00) it was a bargain; solid spruce top, solid rosewood back/sides, and tone? Oh, my Lord... And now - NOW - it's been marked down to about $550.00!!!
Since I'm really not playing electric at all these days I was trying to decide which of my electrics I should trade off. I told Susanna what I was thinking about. She said, "Don't do that! What if you want to play electric again? And besides, you love those guitars!" I said, "Yeah, but, honey, I don't have the cash for this guitar, and it's a better investment than Strats and Teles, of which there are a million around, even lefties." She replies, "Why don't you take some of the money we got for a wedding present and pick it up?" "That's supposed to be for special stuff for the house, etc." "Well, this will be special. I love to hear you play. It'll be the gift that keeps on giving! I want you to get this guitar."
So I'm going to. And the first thing I'm going to do with it is write a song for her on it...”
Damn, I’ve got to get me one of those.
Monday, November 07, 2005
The Man in the Hat
A warm and humid Saturday evening saw me at the hawker centre opposite Harbourfront for a quick dinner before heading back to hostel for a night of (hopefully) productive studying. Yes, you read that right, Saturday night. Saturday night exam fever that is.
Anyway, the Muslim stall where I ordered my nasi goreng was next to a drinks stall, in front of which there were 2 tables. I sat at one of those, looking idly without paying attention to anything in particular as I ate. Occasionally, some prospective looking females would appear from the corner of my eye and the common male instinct to ensure the propagation of mankind would jolt me out of my state of inattention. This was, afterall, the ferrying point for people going to Sentosa Island, a touristy little island with dated yet overpriced attractions, but having perhaps the only beaches worth going to in Singapore, explaining the presence of these females.
It was in between these fluctuating levels of attention that someone else caught my eye. He stood out among the crowd for his scruffiness. A grey fisherman’s hat with patches of black covered his head, the brim just above his eye brows. His ethnicity could not be discerned, such was the extent to which his face was browned and worn out. Week-old stubble in varying shades of grey covered his sagging jowls, and his eyes drooped downwards without showing much signs of energy. The printed polo T-shirt he wore was once dashing violet but had now become an indistinct shade of brown. A pair of grey trousers rolled up at the feet and barely-intact Bata slippers made up the rest of his attire.
Even the torn jeans I had on, which I wear in the workshop and wipe grease stains on, was in better shape.
On one shoulder he slung a travel bag, on the other a black, plastic rubbish bag containing some unknown items, and in his left hand he carried an umbrella which had seen much better times, the quaint floral print long since faded. He walked with a painfully slow shuffle, labouring with each step as everyone else passed him by with nary a glance.
He trudged towards a table opposite mine, and started gathering some plastic cups left by previous customers. There were 4 of them, and he attempted to pick them up by bunching them and putting a finger in each one, clasping them together with his right hand. At his first try, he tumbled one of them and spilled its contents on the table. Undeterred, he repeated this clumsy attempt a few times before successfully getting a hold on all four cups.
As he carried this out, several thoughts went through my mind. Is he a homeless vagabond? What would he want with these cups? Even if he did want them, why take so many? Surely he isn’t going to keep the melting ice for his own consumption? Out of curiosity, I watched him discreetly as he ambled along, carrying his possessions and the 4 cups. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the other table in front of the drink stall, where another middle-aged man was sitting.
When he finally got there, he put the cups down on the table, being careful not to tumble them again. The man, presumably the owner of the drinks stall, thanked him, though he was a little surprised.
An awkward, toothless grin and a shaky wave of the hand was all he gave, before shuffling off to wherever it was he was headed.
***
At hawker centres and food courts, people tend to shun the cleaners who clear the empty dishes and wipe the tables. Instead, they prefer to turn to one side and avoid eye contact, turning around only when the mess has been cleared and the cleaner gone without offering a word of thanks.
Perhaps, it’s the typical Singaporean thing to not bother with such niceties, especially when the other person is doing his job.
“What for? That’s what he’s paid to do anyway.”
It’s an indicator of how far we’ve come towards being a more gracious society. People generally disregard the mess before them and the mess they leave behind, thanks to those hired to clean up before and after. The fact that we even hire people for these jobs, instead of implementing a return system, says something already.
I may have been the only one to witness this show of dignity and thoughtfulness, but it didn’t matter. It’s been a while since I last saw one.
Anyway, the Muslim stall where I ordered my nasi goreng was next to a drinks stall, in front of which there were 2 tables. I sat at one of those, looking idly without paying attention to anything in particular as I ate. Occasionally, some prospective looking females would appear from the corner of my eye and the common male instinct to ensure the propagation of mankind would jolt me out of my state of inattention. This was, afterall, the ferrying point for people going to Sentosa Island, a touristy little island with dated yet overpriced attractions, but having perhaps the only beaches worth going to in Singapore, explaining the presence of these females.
It was in between these fluctuating levels of attention that someone else caught my eye. He stood out among the crowd for his scruffiness. A grey fisherman’s hat with patches of black covered his head, the brim just above his eye brows. His ethnicity could not be discerned, such was the extent to which his face was browned and worn out. Week-old stubble in varying shades of grey covered his sagging jowls, and his eyes drooped downwards without showing much signs of energy. The printed polo T-shirt he wore was once dashing violet but had now become an indistinct shade of brown. A pair of grey trousers rolled up at the feet and barely-intact Bata slippers made up the rest of his attire.
Even the torn jeans I had on, which I wear in the workshop and wipe grease stains on, was in better shape.
On one shoulder he slung a travel bag, on the other a black, plastic rubbish bag containing some unknown items, and in his left hand he carried an umbrella which had seen much better times, the quaint floral print long since faded. He walked with a painfully slow shuffle, labouring with each step as everyone else passed him by with nary a glance.
He trudged towards a table opposite mine, and started gathering some plastic cups left by previous customers. There were 4 of them, and he attempted to pick them up by bunching them and putting a finger in each one, clasping them together with his right hand. At his first try, he tumbled one of them and spilled its contents on the table. Undeterred, he repeated this clumsy attempt a few times before successfully getting a hold on all four cups.
As he carried this out, several thoughts went through my mind. Is he a homeless vagabond? What would he want with these cups? Even if he did want them, why take so many? Surely he isn’t going to keep the melting ice for his own consumption? Out of curiosity, I watched him discreetly as he ambled along, carrying his possessions and the 4 cups. Slowly but surely, he made his way to the other table in front of the drink stall, where another middle-aged man was sitting.
When he finally got there, he put the cups down on the table, being careful not to tumble them again. The man, presumably the owner of the drinks stall, thanked him, though he was a little surprised.
An awkward, toothless grin and a shaky wave of the hand was all he gave, before shuffling off to wherever it was he was headed.
***
At hawker centres and food courts, people tend to shun the cleaners who clear the empty dishes and wipe the tables. Instead, they prefer to turn to one side and avoid eye contact, turning around only when the mess has been cleared and the cleaner gone without offering a word of thanks.
Perhaps, it’s the typical Singaporean thing to not bother with such niceties, especially when the other person is doing his job.
“What for? That’s what he’s paid to do anyway.”
It’s an indicator of how far we’ve come towards being a more gracious society. People generally disregard the mess before them and the mess they leave behind, thanks to those hired to clean up before and after. The fact that we even hire people for these jobs, instead of implementing a return system, says something already.
I may have been the only one to witness this show of dignity and thoughtfulness, but it didn’t matter. It’s been a while since I last saw one.
