I’m restarting SG Watch with a bang — literally.

I was involved in a chain collision last Saturday evening. It was fortunate no one was seriously injured in the accident, although the two lady passengers of the last car had a bloody nose and a broken tooth respectively. And while I am going to claim all my repair costs against the driver who crashed into my car, I seriously doubt my car will ever be the same again.

Not quite the happy ending my previous car accident had. Then again, you’ll never know if something good will come out of a seemingly adverse situation.

Bookmark this page and stay tuned. I’m back.

For the young ones who thought we still used pigeon postal express and telegram for communications in the last decade of the 20th century, we had a far more sophisticated device called a pager. Yes, it’s the little gadget that goes beep whenever someone messages you his or her phone number. While the first-generation pagers provided convenience on the receiving end, the person who made the page still had to guard beside the hard phone for the call back. Talk about the inequitable distribution of communication power.

The year was 1997. Alphanumeric pagers were in vogue. The great thing about them is that they allow people to send text messages via pagers, similar to how SMS works. At the same time, fellow VS buddies and I had just started a new chapter in our lives in VJC — new school, new friends and new challenges.

Most importantly, we were suddenly in close proximity to the opposite sex, a situation that completely changed the dynamics of our brotherhood. Where we used to stay overnight in school exploring the rooftops, or cycled to nearby East Coast Park to catch unsuspecting couples performing in their newspaper-covered cars, now macho athletes turned Don Juan’s cluttered around the only hard phone available in the Council Room sending love notes to their crushes on their pagers. That left a couple of us who refused to grow up to continue indulging ourselves in boyish endeavours.

The poster boy for that generation of alphanumeric pagers was without a doubt the Motorola Memo Jazz. Almost everyone had one, those without one wanted one. I still have mine as keepsake in relatively good condition, and it wouldn’t look out of place beside today’s dazzling array of mobile devices. Good designs are timeless art pieces.

Mobile phones were also getting more affordable and compact as we approached the new millennium. No one carried the gigantic Motorola DynaTAC 8000X that was priced in the stratospheric level. How expensive is expensive? Adjusting its price for inflation, you can now buy a Mac PowerBook, with spare cash for an iPod for your listening pleasure. How huge is huge? The battery pack alone is bulky enough to be wielded as a blunt weapon to cause massive pain and suffering to the unsuspecting victim, and the phone probably weighs more than the PowerBook and iPod combined.

This was the time when Nokia were gaining prominence as the leading brand of mobile phones. I opted for a Nokia 5110 instead of the more stylish Nokia 6110, the only reason being cost. Nokia 5110 did have one feature that Nokia 6110 lacked – the faceplate was interchangeable. Not that I was fanatical about the colourful faceplates though; they were cheesy-looking even back then.

There were two reasons why pagers remained popular despite the fact that mobile phone prices were now within the means of an average JC student. Free incoming calls were chargeable, and SMS was still a novelty. Hence 1998 was like a transition period for me. Burdened with a pager in one pocket and a mobile phone in another, I was walking bowlegged like a cowboy for the most part of the year. But there wasn’t any doubt when my pager contract was due for renewal in 2000; I retired the one and only pager I ever owned — my beloved Motorola Memo Jazz — and let my Nokia 5110 fly solo.

Over the next seven years, I have had three mobile phones — Nokia 5110, Nokia 8210, and my current Sony Ericsson T610. My favourite is Nokia 8210 - another stylish design which wouldn’t look out of place even today. Sure, it doesn’t have as many functions as today’s 3G phones; but let’s face it, 90 percent of the time you use your mobile phone for three basic functions — voice calls, SMS, and address book — the rest are just cool features to brag about over lunch.

Mobile phones have since become an integral part of our lives. We have unprecedented convenience in communication; everyone is within reach anywhere anytime. But like most things, the good comes with the bad in one package; the convenience can easily be abused. Friends will often call at the last minute to cancel an appointment, leaving those who honour their words to wait in vain; control freaks, who now have the ultimate tracking tool, can hound their victims to no end. That said, I don’t think anyone would want to go back to the dark ages where we had to sit around at home to wait for that important call.

My communication evolution entered into a new phase when I was handed with a brand new Blackberry 8707g about two weeks ago. As much as I hate the idea of being always contactable by clients and colleagues, my recent experience in Jakarta made me realised I needed one, when I had to rush back to the office just to send an important email before heading to the airport for my return flight to Singapore. Since my current job requires me to be constantly on the road, history will keep repeating itself until I join the dark side. I am already afflicted by the email addiction ever since I got my first email account about a decade ago, and having a Blackberry simply aggravates my condition; it is almost a joy to see new messages populating my inbox.

And did I mention you can install Yahoo! Messenger in your Blackberry too?

But when I received birthday wishes from family and friends, for a moment, just for a moment, I was on the top of the world. I was the most important person alive, and the world has grounded to a halt to commemorate my birthday.

Thank you all for remembering the fact that another fellow hairless ape was born today, who could have easily been lost and forgotten among six billion other hairless apes, especially with his short stature. I have long since given up wishing to grow taller — I simply can’t bear to destroy the fragile illusion I have maintained since childhood that birthday wishes do come true.

In chronological order of birthday wishes received, I would like to say a heartfelt thank you to Yishan, Gerald, Sherlyn, Pierre, Kelly, Samuel, Teck, Jerine and Minchao. What more can I wish for in life with dear friends like this?

Happy birthday to me!

Not that I have nothing to say. Friends know that I have an opinion on almost every issue. Joe made an interesting observation that I like to be the devil’s advocate just to provoke reactions from others and have a good debate. I suppose my ability to see both sides of the argument allow me to always provide a contrarian perspective. Michel de Montaigne describes my stand nicely:

There is no conversation more boring than the one where everybody agrees.

The phrase birds of a feather flock together comes to mind when I realise many of my friends don’t update their blogs often either. Instead of being a new form of communications, blogs have in fact become our virtual time capsules.

Revisiting my first foray into the wonderful world of internet, Fanaticism, always makes me feel nostalgic. I am no longer the undergrad sent to exile faraway from home, struggling to make the grade for my statistics class and planning my next big trip. But yet, I was once that person, and would not have been half the man I am today if I didn’t go through the trials and tribulations of my earlier life.

Great men build gigantic phallic monuments to commemorate their grand achievements. Common folks like us keep blogs to record our small victories in life.

I don’t bet on soccer, but I sure know of many who do — and the stakes involved are huge. Let’s take a moment and consider this. The 2006 World Cup is expected to become the biggest betting event in history, with an estimated $18 billion worth of bets placed worldwide. And according to a study commissioned by Singapore Pools, illegal bookmakers aka our friendly neighbourhood bookies commanded an estimated 80 percent of the soccer betting market in Singapore.

Now, with so much money involved, it’s hard to believe that the Mafia and their counterparts in other countries will simply let the ball roll around along with their fortunes. I could be completely wrong on this one; but who can forget Andreas Escobar, who was murdered after he scored an own goal in the 1994 World Cup that sent the Columbians home early; and I’m sure it’s pure coincidence that Italy won the World Cup amid match fixing scandal again — just like in 1982.

FIFA isn’t exactly sending out reassuring signals by refusing replay technology either:

So let me get this straight. The World Cup has millions of RFID embedded tickets, biometric face scanning, on-the-fly fingerprinting and ASENDRO robots, but they won't use a replay technology because it isn't perfected yet?

The governing body’s president Sepp Blatter said that football must have a "human face" and "human error" to go along with it, but why punish a country for one referee’s lazy eye or his previous night out in the Hanover red-light district? Maybe FIFA should take a hint from their fellow American football brethren and start using replays. There are 800 different camera positions at each game this year, surely one of which will give a clear angle of the questionable play or goal.

Why, you might ask, do I continue watching soccer if it is kelong? Soccer matches may have fixed outcomes; but just like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re going to get.

You didn’t see Zizou’s head butt coming, did you?

The clear and present danger of repetitive stress injury is something we have to deal with in our increasingly sedate and technology-driven life. I literally spend more than 10 hours in front of a computer typing away, be it for work or chatting with friends online, and my strained body was sending me signals that I could no longer ignore. I needed a solution, and I needed it fast.

Gone were the days of plain, white 102-key keyboards. There are the sleek, aluminium wireless keyboards for minimalists; technologically-advanced keyboards with an assortment of hot keys and a popup LCD screen to display game stats for hardcore gamers; and cute, colourful keyboards for people who like all things kawaii. And given the wide-ranging assortment of keyboards available in the market now, I was quite surprised to find only one model of ergonomic keyboard after searching every store and crevices at Sim Lim Square.

But it was love at first sight, the exact model I had been looking for. Microsoft Natural Ergonomic Keyboard 4000 is its name. I was given the same keyboard at work about a week ago after I requested for a more ergonomic one. It may not be the coolest keyboard I have seen, but it’s certainly the most comfortable I have used.

Finding the right mouse was also a challenge. Being ambidextrous, my options were limited since I needed a mouse that works in either hand. I had my eyes on the Logitech LX7 Cordless Optical Mouse, but I wasn’t quite sure about the range of its wireless mini-receiver. In the end, I decided on a wired mouse instead, the Microsoft Comfort Optical Mouse 3000.

My ergonomic workspace at home is almost complete. Now if only someone can sponsor me for a Herman Miller Aeron chair.

There are two common reactions I get when people find out that I’m working at Bloomberg. First, they have never heard of the company and give a polite acknowledgement, to save both of us the embarrassment. Second, they read about the company before in the newspapers — since we are a major news wire service — and think news is our core business. I don’t really blame them though. Bloomberg is a private company owned largely by the current New York mayor Michael Bloomberg, so little information is available to the public. I myself did not know much about the company until I went down for a recruitment seminar and understood more about its business.

Put simply, Bloomberg is a global provider of financial information and news, the centrepiece of which is the Bloomberg Professional service, commonly known as the Bloomberg terminal. It integrates all our data, news and analytics into a single platform, allowing easy access for our users. I apologise if this sounds a lot like a marketing pitch, but after going through 16 rounds of interviews to convince the interviewers that I know about the company’s business, regurgitating this standard script becomes almost instinctual.

I’m not a data analyst, like most of my friends expected me to be given my finance background. I was in Global Customer Support, aka call centre, for about five months and have just been transferred to the Analytics Desk, aka helpdesk, about three days ago. Out of all the different questions I get regarding my choice of job scope, Hor Wai has encapsulated the essence of the question everyone has on his or her mind: am I not overqualified to be a call centre operator or a helpdesk representative?

Based on the general impression Singaporeans have about call centres, I am indeed overqualified for the job. But of course, everything is judged relatively. My fellow GCUS colleagues include a former lawyer who worked at a New York law firm, a former auditor from one of the Big Four accounting firms in Singapore, a recent graduate with a Masters in International Relations, and a research analyst who used to work at the largest bank in the world. In ADSK, I work with former interest rate traders, FX traders and portfolio managers, who traded in financial products I have not even heard of before I joined Bloomberg. I would be an arrogant young punk to think that I’m overqualified and better than these experienced and knowledgeable people.

Yes, my job involved taking calls from clients when I was in GCUS — just like a normal call centre operator, and now I’m supposed to help clients use and understand our system in ADSK — just like a normal helpdesk representative. The money may not be as great as other jobs in the financial industry; to be honest I don’t expect to get six-month bonuses as a call centre operator either. However, there are always things to be learnt and opportunities to be found in everything you do; it’s only a matter of perspective. I also get to knock off at six every day, allowing me to have dinner with my family every weekday night — something I cherish very much.

Most importantly — and I think this applies to every job — I enjoy working with my fun-loving GCUS colleagues. They are the reason I was quite reluctant to transfer to ADSK. But of course, it’s good that I moved because I was indeed getting a little too comfortable back in GCUS. When you’re comfortable in your job, chances are you’re not learning as much as you used to. You always have to get out of your comfort zone in order to improve yourself.

I will try to post some of the photos I’ve taken with my colleagues up on SG Watch, but I predict few will make the final cut. Most of the photos are either blurry because we took them in a drunken state, or are too scandalous and have to be censored.

Alcohol always makes an easy scapegoat.

Apparently there was a slight error with my side panel. I would usually do a lot of testing on my coding to see if there are any bugs to be fixed, so I was quite surprised that I had missed this mistake for such a long time. Only after running several tests did I realize it was not a glitch; rather, a failure on my part to plan for the future.

To avoid the problem of content exceeding the background image, which is used to create the drop shadow effect, I had painstakingly coded in such a way that separates the background image into several components, allowing the sides to replicate as the text length increases.

However, I made the fatal mistake by opting to use a huge background image, which will automatically resize whenever the content changes, instead of the component method. I assumed that the side panel would have relatively less content, which would not exceed a predetermined size. Of course, my archives grew over time and soon the fixed background image can no longer hold back the tide of gibberish I wrote on SG Watch.

Normally this would be a simple exercise of changing a few lines of codes and slight adjustment of the background image, but I am feeling a little rusty having not touched my web templates for almost a year now. To make matters worse, I lost my original image files and had to recreate them again. It took me nearly two hours to make this minor correction.

Looking on the bright side, all is now well in my little cyber empire.

There is an Oscar-winning film about homosexuality and forbidden love, with its leading pretty-faced artistes garnering critical recognition for their acting abilities. I’m talking about The Hours, not Brokeback Mountain. Nicole Kidman won the Best Actress award at the Oscars for putting on a great performance and a prosthetic nose, and The Hours was also nominated in eight other categories, including Best Supporting Actress (Julian Moore), Best Supporting Actor (Ed Harris), and Best Director (Stephen Daldry).

Personally I find The Hours deals with the issue of homosexuality better than Brokeback Mountain, so I’m quite surprised when Brokeback Mountain made such a huge stir when The Hours did not. The Hours skilfully shows the societal pressure faced by homosexuals and their internal struggle to reconcile with who they are and what the society expects them to be, by linking the stories of three lesbians from different eras intricately through the book Mrs. Dalloway written by Virginia Woolf.

Brokeback Mountain, on the other hand, is not really a film about homosexuality. Rather, it is a love story with gays and breathtaking scenery as its backdrop. Perhaps this is why Brokeback Mountain generated so much talk when it was released. Homosexual relationships are portrayed as normal, which can be hard for a lot of people to accept.

I hold a liberal view of homosexual relationships, based on the notion that people should be free to do what they want — provided they don’t cause harm to others or themselves. I don’t see why two people who are in love with each other shouldn’t be allowed to be together. Conservatives will always equate homosexuals to paedophiles or other sexual predators, stalking young boys at public swimming pools and toilets; but this is equivalent of labelling all heterosexuals as spouse abusers.

That said, I will most probably be very sad, if not outraged, if my kids turned out to be gay. I guess I’m as hypocritical as many other Singaporeans. We think it’s a good idea to have opposition MPs in the Parliament — as long as our constituencies are not run by the opposition parties.

It’s not so much about losing face or bringing disgrace to the family; my children should be allowed to pursue their own happiness, and not based purely on what others expect of them; after all, there bound to be people out there, who would disagree no matter what you do. Rather, it’s about a basic evolutionary instinct to have offspring and pass on my genes. As I have argued before, homosexuality is an evolutionary dead end.

As films about homosexuality go, my personal favourite is Saving Face. It’s a light-hearted romantic comedy about how a successful American-Chinese surgeon who is a lesbian and her single mother who got pregnant dealt with the cultural pressure and expectations.

However, the one gay scene that made my eyes welled up with tears is not from any of the above movies, but from the movie V for Vendetta. It was the part when Natalie Portman was locked up by V in a prison cell and the life story of Valerie, a lady who was imprisoned in the cell next to V at Larkhill Camp, was recounted on reused toilet paper.

It is strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and apologized to nobody.

What I hope most of all is that you understand what I mean when I tell you that though I do not know you and even though I may never meet you, laugh with you, cry with you, or kiss you. I love you, with all my heart. I love you.

I’m writing this letter slow because I know you can’t read fast.

We don’t live where we did when you left home. Your dad read in the newspaper that most accidents happen within 20 miles from your home, so we moved.

I won’t be able to send you the address because the last Arkansas family that lived here took the house numbers when they moved so that they wouldn’t have to change their address.

This place is really nice. It even has a washing machine. I’m not sure it works so well though; last week I put a load in and pulled the chain and haven’t seen them since.

The weather isn’t bad here. It only rained twice last week; the first time for three days and the second time for four days.

About the coat you wanted me to send you, your Uncle Stanley said it would be too heavy to send in the mail with the buttons on, so we cut them off and put them in the pockets.

John locked his keys in the car yesterday. We were really worried because it took him two hours to get me and your father out.

Your sister had a baby this morning; I haven’t found out what it is yet so I don’t know if you’re an aunt or an uncle. The baby looks just like your brother …

Uncle Ted fell in a whiskey vat last week. Some men tried to pull him out, but he found them off playfully and drowned. We had him cremated and he burned for three days.

Three of your friends went off a bridge in a pickup truck. Ralph was driving. He rolled down the window and swam to safety. Your other two friends were at the back. They drowned because they couldn’t get the tailgate down.

There isn’t much more news at this time. Nothing much has happened.

Love, Mom

P.S. I was going to send you some money but the envelope was already sealed.

As loyal readers might have already noticed ever since I started SG Watch, updates are far and few in between. I’m not a prolific writer. Random thoughts travel through my mind at the speed of light, making it extremely difficult to jot them down in writing.

Another reason is that I tend to be careful of what I write online because I believe in writing responsibly on the net — the clear and present threat of libel lawsuits notwithstanding. Bloggers who argue should be allowed to write anything on their blogs, including libellous or racist remarks, because blogs can be considered as part of one’s private space are not telling the whole truth.

Most, if not all, bloggers want their blogs to be read and their voices to be heard — that’s the point of having a blog in the first place. It’s not hard to find popular bloggers who intentionally publicised — and in some instances, exaggerated or even made up — selected juicy bits from their private lives, or make scathingly critical remarks on everything from politics to celebrities’ dress sense, just to attract more readers to their blogs. More often than not, these are the same people who turn around and argue that what they’ve written on their blogs should be considered as private when irresponsible bloggers are sued for libel. It’s like the government opening up Istana to the public on public holidays, only to charge all who step inside its gates for trespassing.

The pen is a powerful weapon. Use it wisely.

If you aren’t, he says you are proud.

If you dress nicely, he says you are trying to lure him.

If you don’t, he says you’re from kampong.

If you argue with him, he says you’re stubborn.

If you keep quiet, he says you have no brains.

If you are smarter than him, he’ll lose you.

If he’s smarter than you, he is great.

If you don’t love him, he tries to make pass at you.

If you love him, he will try to leave you.

If you don’t let him kiss you, he says you don’t love him.

If you let him kiss you, he says you’re cheap.

If you tell him your problems, he says you’re troublesome.

If you don’t, he says you don’t trust him.

If you scold him, you’re a nanny to him.

If he scolds you, it’s because he cares for you.

If you break your promise, you cannot be trusted.

If he breaks his, he was forced to.

If you smoke, you’re a bad girl.

If he smokes, he’s a gentleman.

If you do well in your exam, he says it is luck.

If he does well, it’s brains.

If you hurt him, you are cruel.

If he hurts you, you are too sensitive.

Boys! You are so unreasonable, unreliable, unrealistic and unbelievable!

2001

I went on an Eastern Canada road trip with Hor Wai and Yiheng. I had my first taste of skiing at Mont Tremblant, and have been hooked to this wonderful sport since. The crowd at the youth hostel was great, and we had a fun time playing games during Christmas Eve.

2002

The highlight of the trip was a four-day stay in Tokyo. We were literally lost in translation, but we had lots of interesting and memorable experiences there. We figured since we have flown halfway around the world to the land of the rising sun, we might as well head back to Taipei. I spent Christmas Eve watching the Taipei countdown on TV at my sister’s apartment.

2003

I met up with Wan and together we went on a road trip that I aptly named Journey to the West. His uncle had graciously offered to put us up at his home during our stay in Vancouver. Thanks to the wonderful hospitality of Uncle Jimmy and Auntie Susan, I had my first real Christmas dinner, completed with a homemade log cake and a sumptuous spread of Christmas favourites.

2004

The original plan was to take a train to Winnipeg and drive all the way to Vancouver before taking a flight back to Toronto. But we realise it was just too much distance to cover by land in two weeks, and we decided to fly to Edmonton instead. Christmas Eve was spent in the touristy town of Banff, located in the Canadian Rockies. We spent the night in the majestic Banff Springs Hotel, with a price tag to match. Steve and I had to dig deep into our reserves just to keep up with the spending power of Howe and Weisiang; I probably ate more steaks during the two-week road trip than I had in my entire life.

Being a pragmatic person, Christmas is nothing more than another public holiday to rest and relax; it is also an excellent time to meet up with old friends. I have celebrated virtually all my Christmas since my secondary school days with my basketball kakis, aka the Locusts, less my four-year exile in Canada. It only seemed fitting that I mark my return to Singapore by celebrating Christmas with them.

Chee Kong managed to get hold of a chalet room at Downtown East through his mother, and words were sent out to everyone to get together for a night of fun, joy and laughter. Things have really changed since I last visited the place. It is like a mini shopping mall inside, complete with a Guardian pharmacy, a Cheers supermarket and a World of Sports retail outlet.

Being born on Christmas has its advantage and disadvantage. People tend to remember your birthday, and assuming that you’re not a loner, you’ll always celebrate your birthday with family and friends; on the flipside, you’ll only receive presents once a year. Shunrong has the good fortune to share the birthday with Jesus Christ, and this year we bought him an ice cream cake from Swensens. To save the hassle — and money — we decided to celebrate the birthdays of Chee Kong and Reynold too, who are born in the months of December and January respectively.

A congregation of the Locusts usually mean one of two things — sometimes both — basketball and gambling. Since Downtown East does not have mahjong tables for rent, we had to settle for card games. Being inexperienced poker players, cash was quickly changing hands with no strategy to speak of; it was not surprising that we later switched to the simpler game of Black Jack. Before you label us as compulsive gamblers, let me explain the benefits of gambling with real money. Now that we are all working adults, we are no longer motivated to gamble so as to earn a quick buck or two. Rather, people tend to be more responsible — which is especially important in sequential games like mahjong and Black Jack — and it is undoubtedly more exciting when money is involved.

To some people, this might not be the killer Christmas party that would be the latest talk in town. But as always, it is not the location nor the food nor the music that makes a party fun; it is the people that make all the difference.

And I am very fortunate to have such great friends.

I was a little surprised the first time it happened. I hadn’t heard from one of my best friends for a couple of months, and I wanted to find out how he was doing. So there I was hoping that he would give me a call, and he actually sent me a SMS message the day after.

After that incident, I decided to do an experiment with another friend. I selected him as a test subject using two simple criteria. First, he is a good friend of mine, since I believe telepathy only works if the two persons already share some form of connection. Second, I haven’t heard from him for quite a while, which was another important criteria in this experiment because it was less likely for him to contact me than a friend whom I meet up frequently with. This time I took a conscious effort to mentally concentrate on sending a telepathic message to him, asking him to contact me — and he really did email me one day later!

Not totally convinced by the empirical evidence, I did another experiment with him. We were online on MSN a few days ago, and neither of us made an attempt to talk to each other for about an hour. I decided to send him another telepathic message, asking him to initiate a conversation. Sure enough, he messaged me a minute later.

For the more scientifically inclined, here are some more facts to help you make up your own conclusions. All three of us are guys, born in the month of October, and have similar personality traits.

I don’t know if telepathy has anything to do with gender or horoscope. However, one possible explanation is that since we share the same personality, we may just happen to think and behave the same way.