Bandages? I don't knee'd no stinkin' bandages

I used to be an adventurer like you, then I fell while carrying groceries home from the supermarket.

25 April - 8 May



12 May - 20 May

10 things I love about being a Singapore citizen

I became a Singapore citizen 47 years ago when I was born, and to celebrate, I thought I would recount the top 10 things I love about being a Singapore citizen.

1. Protesting at Hong Lim Park

As a citizen of Singapore, I can participate in protests at Hong Lim Park, like the one on May 1, which was not anti-foreigner but foreigners weren’t allowed to take part.

I can also organise my own protest, like my long threatened demonstration against the garlic chilli sauce at McDonald’s.

If I were a mere Singapore permanent resident (PR), I would need to obtain a police permit, which would be too much hassle. I would then have to return to my own country where hopefully, the McDonald’s has non-garlic chilli sauce.

But since I’m a citizen, I also want to protest the resignation of Singa as the national courtesy campaign mascot.



“From the desk of Singa”? Since when does a fictional cartoon lion have a desk?

And its own stationery?

And why is he already not smiling on the stationery? Did he create the stationary just for the resignation letter? That is kind of wasteful. I hope taxpayers are not paying for this.

I heard Singa just announced that he has removed his breasts because he needs more publicity.

2. National service (NS)

If not for NS, I would not have received my $100 worth of Safra vouchers (which I’ve already spent) and one-year free Safra membership (which I’ll never use) to commemorate the 45th anniversary of NS.

NS is so wonderful that at a recent Our Singapore Conversation session organised by the People’s Association, one of the top ideas for forging a stronger national identity was giving women the option to serve NS.

I think women just want the Safra vouchers too.

3. Not looking like one

I would be strolling in a Singapore shopping centre and a sales promoter would stop me and ask which country I was from.

I would say Singapore and the promoter would be surprised because she thought I was a Japanese tourist.

This has happened several times. Apparently, I don’t look Singaporean. Like the Mandarin in Iron Man 3, I’m not who I appear to be. I’m thrilled to be my own built-in movie twist.



4. Central Provident Fund (CPF)

According to the recent article “10 things I love about being a Singaporean PR” by Mr Chris Reed: “CPF is an amazing and ingenious invention, one that every country in the world should follow.

“It has effectively created property millionaires across the island of people who could never be a millionaire in any other country simply by that old-fashioned way, saving.”

This helps to explain the oft-quoted 2008 statement by National Trades Union Congress Secretary-General Lim Swee Say: “Every month, when I receive my CPF statement, I feel so rich.”

I felt rich when I received my Safra vouchers.

5. I can say the Pledge

You can’t say “We, the citizens of Singapore” if you’re a permanent resident. That would be lying.



6. Pink identity card (IC)

Unlike Singapore PRs whose ICs are blue, citizens have ICs that are pink, which is a combination of red and white, the colours of the Singapore flag.

The feminine colour is probably also a compensation to women for not allowing them to serve NS.

I love my pink IC, which was issued 20 years ago, even though it has a feminine colour and is now held together by Scotch tape. I refuse to replace it as it has a picture of me 20 years ago when I was still young and beautiful.



Also, a replacement costs 60 bucks, which I can’t use my Safra vouchers or CPF to pay. MP Baey Yam Keng knows what I’m talking about.

7. Ask my friend

To be honest, at this point, I was running out of things I love about being a Singapore citizen.

So I turned to a former secondary school classmate, a Malaysian who eventually became a Singapore citizen after decades of being a PR.

He said: “I grew up in Singapore since five years old. Had all my education, friends here.

“The Government is good (really, especially compared to Malaysia). My family is here. My son was born here.

“Singapore has a much superior education system. Safer environment.

“No matter if my son is PR or citizen, he will need to serve NS. My only regret is I didn’t take up citizenship earlier but procrastinated.”

Yeah, if he hadn’t procrastinated, he might have enjoyed NS like the rest of us did. No Safra vouchers for him.

8. Cheaper education

I pressed my friend further and he said school fees are much lower for citizens than for PRs. I knew it! He became a Singapore citizen for the money.

9. It’s better than being a Malaysian citizen

I’m kidding! Malaysia is a wonderful country. Jack Neo has made several movies there because it’s cheaper.

I hope to one day visit Malaysia, participate in a protest at a popular tourist attraction despite a police warning not to do so and have my visitor’s pass revoked after getting arrested.



10. It’s all I got

And finally, the thing I love most about being a citizen of Singapore? No other country would have me.

I really must find some use for the free Safra membership before it expires.

- Published in The New Paper, 19 May 2013

Hi SM,

I always enjoy your humorous articles on Sunday mornings. I am also impressed how you gel all the current daily happenings into the page - all connected somehow...

Keep on writing!

Regards,
Ham Meng.


hi.

i read your article about the 10 things....singapore. to be brutally honest, its very badly and poorly written. im not singaporean myself nor a writer but your reasons were too flat flimsy and unintelligent. just giving my thoughts and comments as a readers perspective.

jowenson sy

Mother’s Day from a father’s perspective

On May 1, I asked my 16-year-old son if he knew what May Day was about.

He said mothers.

At first, I thought he was confusing May Day with Mother’s Day (which is today) because they are in the same month and they both start with the letter M (yes, my son can be that dumb).

He then explained that May Day is when we commemorate the labour pains that our mums went through when they gave birth to us and that’s why the holiday is also called Labour Day.

His mother must be so proud.

I couldn’t tell whether my son was being serious or sarcastic. It worries me that he almost sort of makes sense.

So the protesters at Hong Lim Park on May Day were standing up for... mums?

Talk about a motherhood statement.

Speaking of which, how come it’s not called fatherhood statement?

A “motherhood statement” is how you describe a broad non-controversial statement like “Mothers are the best!” and not, say, “Gang rape is democracy in action”.

I think it’s safe to say that mothers enjoy a somewhat more exalted place in our culture than fathers, even though we dads also have Father’s Day a month from now.

Do I sound a little jealous of mums? Perhaps.

One privilege my wife enjoys as a mother which I covet is that she can guilt-trip our two children into doing things by simply saying: “I gave you life!”

When I use the same line on the kids, I’m dismissed as a copycat trying to claim credit where it isn’t due. Does my sperm count for nothing?

Last week, a report ranked Singapore as the best place in Asia to be a mother.

But where is the best place to be a father? How come there isn’t a report on that?



Mothers also get songs about how wonderful they are, like Dear Mama by 2Pac, A Song For Mama by Boyz II Men, Mama by the Spice Girls, Hey Mama by Kanye West and Oh Mother by Christina Aguilera.



Fathers, on the other hand, get songs about how lousy parents we are like Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone by the Temptations, Cat’s In The Cradle by Harry Chapin and The Living Years by Mike + The Mechanics.

How fair is that?

Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone is about a father who “had three outside children and another wife” and “spent most of his time chasing women and drinking”. And that ain’t right.



Cat’s In The Cradle is about a father who didn’t watch his son grow up because “there were planes to catch and bills to pay”.



The Living Years is about a son who wished he had told his father that they didn’t “see eye to eye” before the dad died. Sad.



Another indication of how mums are more beloved than dads is how often mums are dissed. Let me explain:

When you want to insult someone, do you make fun of his or her father?

Of course not. You target what you assume is most sacred to that person - his or her mother.

That’s why in the Die Hard movies, Bruce Willis doesn’t say: “Yippee ki yay, father fornicator!”



That’s why we have “Yo mama” jokes and not “Yo papa” jokes.

As in “Yo mama so ugly, she took a selfie with Instagram and broke the Internet.”

Or “Yo mama so fat, when she sat on acid on the MRT train, the acid said, ‘I surrender.’”

Or “Yo mama so stupid, she believed that the New Paper photo of cyclists on Changi Coast Road was Photoshopped.”

Or “Yo mama so ugly, Nee Soon GRC MP Lee Bee Wah wants to adopt her – and then lose her.”

So as paradoxical as it may sound, every time we insult someone’s mum, we’re actually acknowledging and affirming the sanctity of motherhood.

But apparently, this isn’t enough for some mothers, including my wife and my own mum.



With all these ads peddling special Mother’s Day meals and gifts for weeks leading up to today, they can’t help but succumb to the hype like Trekkers to the new Star Trek movie and want some of that action.

And if the kids and I resist participating in the crass commercialisation of the sacred mother-child bond, we can expect to hear another “I gave you life” or some version of it.

Fathers like me, on the other hand, are kind of blasé about the whole Father’s Day thing. We can take it or leave it. We don’t believe the hype.

We’re too busy chasing women and drinking.



The only reason we might care is that we have to compete with Mother’s Day. Hey, we can’t let mums get all the attention.

So thankfully, my son is wrong about Labour Day being dedicated to mums. One such day a year is plenty.

I better get a fantastic present from him for Father’s Day.

- Published in The New Paper, 12 May 2013

Celebrating Singapore’s 17-year love affair with Ann Kok’s breasts

It’s like 1996 all over again.

Only instead of the Macarena, we’re dancing Gangnam Style.

Instead of watching the White House get blown up in Independence Day, we can watch the White House get blown up in Olympus Has Fallen.



And instead of talking about Ann Kok’s breasts at the Star Awards, we’re... uh, actually, we're talking about Ann Kok’s breasts at the Star Awards again.

I guess some things haven’t changed.

Or to be more exact, two things haven’t changed if you know what I mean.

The Straits Times reported that at last Sunday’s Star Awards, Kok “stirred up quite a fuss when she appeared braless in her cleavage-baring and figure-hugging Herve Leger dress”.

The caption under Kok’s picture called her “a pro - getting all dolled up like an aspiring porn star, just to give Singaporeans something to talk about”.

Despite pornography being officially banned in Singapore, The Straits Times isn’t the only publication to allude to porn when describing the MediaCorp actress’s risqué ensemble.

Giving what she wore a rating of “XXX”, 8 Days magazine said: “If you thought Ann’s R(21) outfit looked kinda porny, you’re kinda right. That jaw-dropping outfit was actually made up of a Herve Leger tube dress worn over a long-sleeved netted top from a ‘sex toy shop’.”

Is “porny” even a real word? I was surprised to find out that, according to Merriam-Webster online, it is.

Online is also where Kok’s Star Awards appearance has received many kudos, some of which could be rated “XXX” too.

One commenter wrote: “Wow, such a dress. Absolutely amazing when worn by her, I mean amazing for the male viewers.”

Other comments include “one hand can’t squeeze all”, “Looks bigger than before”, “fwahhhhhhh”, “Yeahhhhhhhhhhhh” and “fap fap fap”.

What’s more impressive is that Kok is getting this kind of attention at the ripe old age of 40.

As someone commented online: “Can’t tell she hit 40 already, still manage to keep such a good figure.”

Indeed, it may be hard to believe, but it has been 17 long years since the nation first became obsessed with Kok’s décolletage at the 1996 Star Awards.

On that fateful night, she wore a black see-through sheer top with a black bra underneath and we would never look at the former Star Search finalist the same way again.

Many TV viewers were duly taken aback. One housewife told The New Paper: “I got quite a shock when I saw her because I thought she was a conservative person.”

A few months later, TNP reported that Kok was initially bothered by all the talk about her assets after the 1996 Star Awards, even among her own colleagues, who teased her or called her names.

“But now, I don’t care very much,” she said. “I’m used to it.”

Then came criticism about the size of her boobs. A stylist said: “She is dark, small and her breasts are too big for her frame. The distance between her breasts and navel is also too short. She is not very proportionate.”

Someone should measure that distance between Kok’s breasts and navel just to be sure. I volunteer!

Almost paradoxically, there was also speculation that she had her bust surgically enhanced.

She told TNP in 2004: “It’s silly now, but I was hurt when they said that I had plastic surgery! I didn’t!”

But the rumours persisted such that in 2009, Kok allowed herself to be felt up by the female host of a Channel U talk show to prove that her boobs weren't fake.

After groping Kok’s breasts, the host, Quan Yifeng, who instantly became the envy of many men, said: “They are soft and must be real!”

By now, Kok is more famous for her treasured chest than anything else.



Search “Ann Kok” on YouTube and you'll find video clips of her in a bikini from Housewives’ Holiday and other shows, plus the scene from Love Concierge where she opens her top and reveals a pink bra.



Even that porny outfit from last Sunday is already on the video-sharing website.



After 17 years, it seems Kok has finally come to truly embrace her most popular body part.

According to a 2011 Straits Times article: “In any interview, it is inevitable that Ann Kok’s famous breasts get in the way. Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

I don’t think even Fiona Xie would get a boob-centric write-up like that. The article about Kok continued:

“Asked if getting more attention for her ample bosom than her acting still annoys her, the actress replies with a laugh: ‘Not at all. If people still want to talk about my boobs and are happy doing that, then by all means.’”

Yes, people still want to talk about your boobs and thanks for giving us cause to do so for 17 years. It has made us very happy.

Kindly keep those jaw-dropping, figure-hugging, cleavage-baring Star Awards outfits coming.

Here’s to 17 more years, although by then, the distance between your breasts and navel will probably be even shorter.

But as the late great Dean Martin once sang, mammaries are made of this.



- Published in The New Paper, 5 May 2013

I have a big head (but you know that already)

I went to see Iron Man 3 in 3D last week at West Mall in Bukit Batok. (The cineplex there used to belong to Eng Wah but was recently bought over by Cathay.)



When I collected the tickets, I was told I had to buy 3D glasses at $2 a pair. It used to be the movie theatre would just lend us a pair that we returned after the movie.



The new reusable $2 glasses come in a nice pouch with a cleaning cloth inside, which is thoughtful.

The problem is the glasses are TOO SMALL FOR MY HEAD. They come in only one size and let me tell you, one size does not fit all.

Previously, the old 3D glasses the theatres used to loan us were so big that you could comfortably wear them over your regular glasses.

At Iron Man 3, my wife struggled to fit the new 3D glass over her own glasses. Fortunately, I wore my contacts, but I still felt my head being squeezed by the 3D glasses.

And because the frame of the new 3D glasses is not as wide as the frame of the old ones, the viewing experience is less immersive.

But then I guess that's what you get for two bucks.

After the movie, I found out there were special Iron Man-themed 3D glasses that cost $10.90 each. They look bigger than the $2 glasses, but the $10.90 ones weren't offered to me at the theatre.



Still, the movie was a blast, easily the most entertaining Iron Man movie of the three and better than the KFC Zinger Double Down Max.

By the way, the bad guys in Iron Man 3 are from an organisation called AIM, which was surprising pbecause I didn't know the movie was set in Singapore.



Also, am I the only one to feel a little stupid to be among the few people to sit through the lengthy credits after the movie ends just to see the post-credits scene which is so much shorter than the credits I just sat through?

But it was worth it.

UPDATE: Two weeks later, I went to see Star Trek Into Darkness in Imax 3D at JCube (Shaw Cinemas) and got the big 3D glasses again. Much better. Of course, I had to return them after the movie.

Street cred = Eating spaghetti with a spoon in jail?

What is street cred?

I don’t know how to describe it. All I know is Justin Bieber doesn’t have it.

And based on what happened to local cartoonist Leslie Chew last week, it seems one way to get street cred is to get arrested.



After he was arrested and released on bail, "Chew and his work have automatically gained far more street cred than they would have otherwise", according to one online commentator.

Hey, I want to get me some of that delicious street cred too.

How can I get arrested?

I know! I can spray-paint the words "My grandfather war memorial" on the Cenotaph.

No, wait. I just realised I don't know what a Cenotaph is.

I know! I can bite the arm of a football player from the opposing team during a match for no good reason.

No, wait. That would just get me a 10-match ban.



I know! I can get into a fight and get thrown in jail for a night.

No, wait. I already did that in 1992 when I was living in the US.

Does that earn me any street cred?

I don’t recall much about that night, but I later wrote a review of the food for the special restaurant and bar issue of my college newspaper.

The article was called "Jail grub not bad but service lacking".

I managed to dig out the old newspaper and here is a reproduction of that article from 21 years ago:

You’ve heard the jokes. You know the routine.

Everyone ritually makes fun of cafeteria, airline, hospital and army food.

I’ve sampled them all, including prison food recently, and frankly, they aren’t as terrible as they’re often made out to be.

Granted, the Dane County Jail, located on the top two floors of the City-County Building in downtown Madison, can hardly be considered a prison. But it's about as close as I ever want to get. For now, anyway.



I’ve also learnt that, like the food, local law enforcement officers aren't as bad as their reputation may sometimes suggest.

But then I was arrested only for disorderly conduct that Sunday night and was extremely cooperative, almost to the point of ingratiating. (I had to practically beg them to cuff me. They wouldn’t.)

I was treated with the same professional politeness I get from restaurant hostesses (which may or may not be saying much).

Service in the jail, however, was almost non-existent. Promptness left much to be desired.

After an early pre-sunrise breakfast - that was a little too prompt - of a piece of toast, a pat of butter, Rice Krispies, coffee and lots of milk (in Wisconsin?), my fellow inmates and I were soon impatient for our next meal, hungry for sustenance and something to alleviate the boredom of incarceration.

Like most good restaurants, beverages were served before the main entree. Unlike most good restaurants, the beverages were served way, way, way before the main entree, like maybe half an hour.

It could’ve been longer. Who knows? They took away our watches.

Anyway, more milk!

When the food finally arrived - brought in by other more permanent guests of the county wearing cool white T-shirts with "DCJ" stenciled on the back - it was served hot (but not too hot) on round compartmentalised metal trays and passed through a convenient slot among the beige iron bars.

On that Monday, lunch was spaghetti in tomato sauce mixed with what we were told was ground turkey meat, accompanied with boiled broccoli and diced pineapple, probably from a can.



Although some of my new cell pals found the combination unappealing, I thought it was both creative and nutritious.

On the minus side, the broccoli was slightly overcooked and the pasta resembled the instant noodles I usually get from the supermarket at 19 cents a packet. I could hardly taste the turkey, which might have been a blessing.

On the plus side, the portions were generous and the spaghetti sauce brimmed with hearty tomato chunks. Overall, the meal was filling as well as tasty.

But all the inmates, including myself, had one common complaint. Spaghetti is a dish that is awkward enough to eat when armed with a whole arsenal of utensils. All we were given was a small plastic teaspoon.

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment.

Fortunately, the noodles were flaccid enough to be cut into small, more manageable pieces and then scooped with the spoon.



After the meal, it took a long time for the empties to be cleared away, making an otherwise neat jail cell look rather cluttered. If forced to rate the jail’s ambiance, I’d give it a fair.

When I was released from Dane County Jail a couple of hours later on a signature bond, I was kinda disappointed I didn’t get a T-shirt, but was grateful to have had the opportunity to experience the hospitality of the county.

In fact, I enjoyed myself so much, I returned to the Dane County Jail less than a week later, this time for alleged violation of a restraining order.

And who says there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch today?

- Published in The New Paper, 28 April 2013 and The Daily Cardinal, 14 October 1992