It's the age old myth of the rich pensioner and the twenty something super model tying the knot; a useful analogy rather than an ever frequent occurrence. Indeed, the analogy has found three outings in my last week of Singapore alone, as I have stumbled across the most unlikely of bedfellows.
First, we have the cute couple; those kids from two utterly different walks of life, who everyone has suspicions wont make it past their honey moon. And yet, everyone has to admit it, they are good together. You don't know why, but you wish you had a bit of what ever it was they were having. And so it is with Adidas Originals and Star Wars. Yep. Star Wars meets sports label. Now take whatever ideas that a union of that type might spew into your imagination, add a touch of rye humour to the mix, and you're probably not far off what such a duo have actually created. Check it out yourself: http://www.shopadidas.com/family/index.jsp?categoryId=4090400
Now I love Adidas Originals - I have a fairly questionable red sports jacket from them which I wear far too often - and I go a little bit gooey over Star Wars. What 21 year old boy/man doesn't? It's a franchise with the most distinctive characters (don't mention Jar Jar) and memorable universe to have ever stumbled out of the geeky science fiction corner into the bright lights of mainstream entertainment. The plot line reads like every other battle between good and evil ever wanted to read. Even Jesus is considering bringing a lightsaber with him for the second coming (he isn't... but that would be so cool). But the problem with such a union is this; Adidas Originals is cool in a trendy sort of way, and Star Wars is cool in a geeky sort of way - but no one can pull off trendy geek on purpose. It has to be fallen into, struck upon by mistake. I want a Storm Trooper hoody. I want a Boba Fett jacket. But I also don't want my friends to laugh at me, nor for any new acquaintances I happen to meet to be handed such easy signposts as to my lack of coolness. Let them find that out all by themselves.
I want Adidas + Star Wars to work. Adidas + Star Wars = cool, that is an unmistakeable fact. The only problem is, that the person who wears such a combination of cool factors, instantly becomes far far away from cool (see what I did? It's in the opening lines of the films... I know. Wild).
Now, in order to save some credibility on my part, lets steer far far awa... lets move on to a partnership that does work. The sport of the F1 has many critics, including my father, who until recently believed that the only exciting part of the races were the moments in which somebody crashed - a point we shall return to later. But even the critics have to admit that F1 certainly draws a crowd. The biggest crowd, in fact, of any sport in the world. Wikipedia lists the 2001 season's total viewing figures as 54 billion. Read that again and try to bend your mind around how many people that is. Yes, the world total of football over a year is going to be bigger, but that's multiple cups, multiple leagues, different competitions, and further to that, many more players, many more stadiums, many more ways to play the game at an amateur level. This seasons sees 26 men (also of note - the sport isn't a male only sport. Women are allowed to participate, it's just that none have been fast enough to warrant an F1 team backing them) become the most watched individual sports men in the world. It's flashy, it's SO fast, it's SO loud, and despite there being the horrible inclusion of femininity in the highly offensive pretty-girls-holding-things (if there were a female driver, would she have a guy in hot pants holding her flag on the starting grid?), it's an incredible spectacle. F1 then is the ultimate mistress, passing herself around the global circuits like the high class lady of the night.
As such, the Singapore night time marina circuit is probably the most suitable business man to take this lady out for an evening of unparalleled excitement. It's a tight, winding circuit, bottling the impossible noise of the cars into such a tiny space that your ears bleed, and that's before you get to the added factor of having no friggin' sun involved. Cars, with no headlights, doing around 100 mph on the straights, with little more than some Phillips bulbs to light their way. The business man looks like Brad Pitt, with mood lighting. F1 will do anything for this man. Include excusing the fact that there's only about two places on the entire circuit you can overtake, and the fact that you have to sell off a kidney or two to get into the place. And that's the one point that this night out fails to capture the potential romance on offer. The city is achingly beautiful at night, the cars look incredible speeding round a circuit lit up like a giant Scalectrix track, but for a lot of the watching spectators, they couldn't care less. The money who buy a lot of the tickets, couldn't care less about who wins or who crashes. They get bored. They look at how much a t-shirt with a Ferrari badge on it costs. They probably don't know who the head of Ferrari F1 team is, they just know that they have the red cars. And then there are the kids, whose ticket costs the same amount. I passed two boys on the Friday practice that were so excited by the cars, that they were expressing their inner emotions by collecting together various bits of wood and sticks from a few bushes, placing them on a drain cover, and then hit them with a bigger stick. It was poetic.
So from a once a year one-nighter, to another single calendar event that should never have been taken up. She should have stayed in and washed her hair. He should have been at the game. But no. The Singapore Night Safari decided it should take out Halloween for a night of frights. And oh my, what a horror. Try to picture a spectacular animal park - softly lit animals padding around huge enclosures (with the exception of a few bored big cats), vast foliage masking exotic wonders, captivated children hugging the railings with glee, and then try and add a touch of Halloween chills to the mix. What? You mean you can't? Well, try harder. Still nothing? Ok, well force the flipping thing. It's like the Night Safari slipped something in Halloween's drink and rushed it home before anyone noticed. It's awful. It's horrible. It's a crime that should see the Safari punished. A single area of the zoo has been transformed in a sick, awful display of dolls mangled into various positions of torture. Babies on spikes. Babies on a stake. Babies being cooked. A table propped up by limbs. A special section of the gift shop given over to items of horror. WTF Night Safari? What were you thinking? They are literally only inches shy of putting a mask on a tiger and letting you pose with it.
Strange couples. But all the same, you can't help but sneak a glance at them and wonder how long each of them will last.
Wednesday, 29 September 2010
Saturday, 25 September 2010
Wanted: One iPhone
It's not new. It's not mind blowing. It's not even remotely cool any more. My girlfriend's mum has one. Most bus drivers have one (no offence to bus drivers - you're a hugely useful cog in the machine, but come on, not many in the world look to bus drivers for "cutting edge" trends do we? Or maybe that's where we're going wrong...). But I don't have one. And a single reason has emerged that makes me realise, I now NEED one.
iPhones are awesome. They do everything which one would find useful to do whilst on the move, and even a lot of things that one wouldn't find that useful to do on the move (who the hell needs a compass on a phone? If I'm trekking, and furthermore, have become lost in said wilderness, chances are I'd use my phone to call someone rather than tap up my trusty compass app. Idiots. "But what if you're out of signal?" You should probably have taken a compass on such a remote trek then, shouldn't you?). The best use of an iPhone I've witnessed was when my friend used his to navigate us onto a faster train line into London, book the play we wanted to see and find out how expensive a train to Nottingham was within about 2 minutes. The guy who sold us the train tickets didn't even have that information at his disposal, but by some unknown and possibly sinister git-wizardy, the iPhone knew.
I've wanted one for ages. I've wanted one so much that I've even convinced myself that an iPad might be a good idea (it's not a good idea for me, and it isn't a great tool for many people. Some, just not many. For instance, my friend stores his iPad on top of his Sony Vaio laptop. He laughs at himself. We laugh at him. Apple laughs and counts its money. Apple have somehow cornered on a market of idiots that Sony and Microsoft have been working for years to conquer. Seems you just need to make it white and shiny.) I'm not one for new fads in the technology market. I've had my Motoral Slver (I know, it's meant to be spelt like a chavy 13 year old would txt it) for about 5 years now, simply because it's never stopped working, and the phones I've wanted to replace it with have always been too expensive to warrant it.
But now, I could replace it with more than a phone. I could replace it with a toy that lets me call, text, gets me onto the web (which I'm addicted to) and, most importantly, that single aforementioned reason as to why I now need one, it lets me play this: http://carcassonneapp.com/
If you've never played Carcassonne, where have you been? It's the game that insults Risk whilst Risk is out trying to impress it's new girlfriend (probably Mouse Trap or Hungry Hippos), drinks Risk's drink, before taking Risk outside, beating it with it's own box and leaving it to spit it's tiny horse and cannon pieces out of it's face for the next few hours. Carcassonne is the boss of board strategy games, and now there's an app for it. I'm so excited by this, I've even used a cheesy marketing tag line. I hate myself. But mainly because I've not been fickle enough to buy an iPhone, download Carcassonne, and hugged myself silly.
To follow soon - a 7 year old's account of the Singaporean F1 GP. OMG.
iPhones are awesome. They do everything which one would find useful to do whilst on the move, and even a lot of things that one wouldn't find that useful to do on the move (who the hell needs a compass on a phone? If I'm trekking, and furthermore, have become lost in said wilderness, chances are I'd use my phone to call someone rather than tap up my trusty compass app. Idiots. "But what if you're out of signal?" You should probably have taken a compass on such a remote trek then, shouldn't you?). The best use of an iPhone I've witnessed was when my friend used his to navigate us onto a faster train line into London, book the play we wanted to see and find out how expensive a train to Nottingham was within about 2 minutes. The guy who sold us the train tickets didn't even have that information at his disposal, but by some unknown and possibly sinister git-wizardy, the iPhone knew.
I've wanted one for ages. I've wanted one so much that I've even convinced myself that an iPad might be a good idea (it's not a good idea for me, and it isn't a great tool for many people. Some, just not many. For instance, my friend stores his iPad on top of his Sony Vaio laptop. He laughs at himself. We laugh at him. Apple laughs and counts its money. Apple have somehow cornered on a market of idiots that Sony and Microsoft have been working for years to conquer. Seems you just need to make it white and shiny.) I'm not one for new fads in the technology market. I've had my Motoral Slver (I know, it's meant to be spelt like a chavy 13 year old would txt it) for about 5 years now, simply because it's never stopped working, and the phones I've wanted to replace it with have always been too expensive to warrant it.
But now, I could replace it with more than a phone. I could replace it with a toy that lets me call, text, gets me onto the web (which I'm addicted to) and, most importantly, that single aforementioned reason as to why I now need one, it lets me play this: http://carcassonneapp.com/
If you've never played Carcassonne, where have you been? It's the game that insults Risk whilst Risk is out trying to impress it's new girlfriend (probably Mouse Trap or Hungry Hippos), drinks Risk's drink, before taking Risk outside, beating it with it's own box and leaving it to spit it's tiny horse and cannon pieces out of it's face for the next few hours. Carcassonne is the boss of board strategy games, and now there's an app for it. I'm so excited by this, I've even used a cheesy marketing tag line. I hate myself. But mainly because I've not been fickle enough to buy an iPhone, download Carcassonne, and hugged myself silly.
To follow soon - a 7 year old's account of the Singaporean F1 GP. OMG.
Friday, 24 September 2010
Wall Street: Money Never Sleeps
Directed by Oliver Stone (Platoon, Nixon, Any Given Sunday), this is a film about money. It's also got a bit of pro-green flag waving, a moody, heavily browed bad guy, a spunky protagonist who just wont lie down, and a cutesy love interest.
Jake Moore (Shia LaBeouf) is the next big thing on Wall Street - an up and coming young investor with dreams in the shape of bank bills. But never fear, our protagonist isn't as greedy as the rest of the w/b-ankers (delete as appropriate) of this world apparently seem, since Jake hopes to do us all a favour in financing a University Professor's research into Fusion Energy, a potentially clean and infinite fuel solution. Our first major hopes thus lie in Jake succeeding in order to save the world. Yay.
But then Michael Douglas comes along - or rather Gordon Gekko; a disgraced corporate raider and coincidental father of Jake's eventual fiancée, Winnie Gekko (Carey Mulligan). Suddenly (and thankfully) the plot thickens; Jake's mentor on Wall Street commits suicide after the collapse of his bank due to vicious rumour spreading, and hence Jake approaches Gordon in order to assist his search for said rumour mill. But, as one may have guessed, Winnie wont be keen on the whole idea. Cue drama, men talking about money with terms only those with an interest in money will understand, and an utterly flat ending for a very safe 7/10 film.
And yet this might appear to read as far too scathing attack on a film laden with captivating capacities. Shia LaBeouf plays a fascinating character, battling the urges of greed which have seemingly consumed all those around him, including his own mother. He's come a long way from Transformers, pleasurably holding our attention over the 133 minutes without the aid of any giant robots or Megan Fox (who, lets face it, wishes she could understand half the terms used in this film, let alone be asked to star in anything this complex). Michael Douglas plays a good crook, Josh Brolin is an excellently dark bad guy, whilst Carey Mulligan suffers from having a character clearly written by men who only have a serious interest in the ways of men - Winnie does a lot of crying, making the world a better place with her journalism, more crying, gets pregnant, you know - typical female stuff. She deserves more.
The world already knows how bad bankers are with our money. Saying that, if you don't, then please, please watch this film. It succeeds wonderfully at illustrating the greed and inhumane qualities that money can provoke in those who have the skill to make money. If you already hate bankers, prepare to see a film whose central message you'll agree with in part, but stand by to be disappointed by the other elements of its story. It could have been a 9, but as it tries to do an awful lot in just over two hours, it comes out as a 7/10.
Jake Moore (Shia LaBeouf) is the next big thing on Wall Street - an up and coming young investor with dreams in the shape of bank bills. But never fear, our protagonist isn't as greedy as the rest of the w/b-ankers (delete as appropriate) of this world apparently seem, since Jake hopes to do us all a favour in financing a University Professor's research into Fusion Energy, a potentially clean and infinite fuel solution. Our first major hopes thus lie in Jake succeeding in order to save the world. Yay.
But then Michael Douglas comes along - or rather Gordon Gekko; a disgraced corporate raider and coincidental father of Jake's eventual fiancée, Winnie Gekko (Carey Mulligan). Suddenly (and thankfully) the plot thickens; Jake's mentor on Wall Street commits suicide after the collapse of his bank due to vicious rumour spreading, and hence Jake approaches Gordon in order to assist his search for said rumour mill. But, as one may have guessed, Winnie wont be keen on the whole idea. Cue drama, men talking about money with terms only those with an interest in money will understand, and an utterly flat ending for a very safe 7/10 film.
And yet this might appear to read as far too scathing attack on a film laden with captivating capacities. Shia LaBeouf plays a fascinating character, battling the urges of greed which have seemingly consumed all those around him, including his own mother. He's come a long way from Transformers, pleasurably holding our attention over the 133 minutes without the aid of any giant robots or Megan Fox (who, lets face it, wishes she could understand half the terms used in this film, let alone be asked to star in anything this complex). Michael Douglas plays a good crook, Josh Brolin is an excellently dark bad guy, whilst Carey Mulligan suffers from having a character clearly written by men who only have a serious interest in the ways of men - Winnie does a lot of crying, making the world a better place with her journalism, more crying, gets pregnant, you know - typical female stuff. She deserves more.
The world already knows how bad bankers are with our money. Saying that, if you don't, then please, please watch this film. It succeeds wonderfully at illustrating the greed and inhumane qualities that money can provoke in those who have the skill to make money. If you already hate bankers, prepare to see a film whose central message you'll agree with in part, but stand by to be disappointed by the other elements of its story. It could have been a 9, but as it tries to do an awful lot in just over two hours, it comes out as a 7/10.
Thursday, 23 September 2010
Sweaty day in Singapore
You might say I feel like a nun in a strip club; a touch confused, daunted, a little disgusted, but mildly intrigued as to know what it would be like were I to join in with it all... (quick personal disclaimer; at no point have I ever been in a strip club, and nor have I ever impersonated a nun.)
Such a remark on my time spent so far in this part of the world might sound highly offensive; some backward Brit missing the homeland and thus, spurning the country that's playing host to his travel desires due to his internal confusion and bitterness - yet this simply isn't the case. The country is fascinating no matter which way you turn it: political reach, the infrastructure of its tower-a-minute building programme, the shops, the people, the heat, the rain. I've not been bored for a second. I've been scared, but never bored.
Yet my fears do not owe their origins to this country either. I'm a fresh graduate of Nottingham University, obtaining a first in Theology and a high class degree of anxiety in future planning. I'm new. I've just been turfed out of an education system, the only system I truly know and feel comfortable with, into a world of difficult employment ladders and mounting debt issues. My fears are these; to succeed, I must choose a ladder to begin my ascent into the world of jobdom, and yet in order to even reach the first rung, I may need further qualification (and hence, further debt). Money + Time = Debt + Career Potential. But CV - Experience = No Career Potential = Debt.
And so I find myself in Singapore, on 'holiday' with my girlfriend, who lives in this part of the world. We're bunked in with her Dad, a hugely generous man in allowing me to spend time (and his money) in his flat. It was awkward enough returning to my own beloved parents after three years of social independence, let alone now living with someone else's. My holiday is now very much over, my girlfriend has herself a very nice job helping very rich Singaporean children (lets face it, namely rich ex-pats who don't want to send their kids to the Universities of the country where they make all their money, thank you very much) get into University in the UK or the US, and I need to begin to realise which ladder it is that I want to begin to climb.
And so, this blog. It amuses me that Google Chrome highlights blog as an incorrect spelling. It amuses me even more that Google isn't a word for Google's spell checker. Bless. This blog (right click - ignore) exists by way of that ladder which I have chosen. I wish to write, be it in a journalistic, life style or commentary fashion, I wish to use my voice to earn me a living. This, I realise, isn't the most helpful addition to society I can offer, but I feel that I'm the product of an education system which has pointed out that if you enjoy doing something and, more usefully, you are good at what you enjoy, then you should flipping well milk that opportunity. I'm not saying I'm good at writing, I just believe that I can cobble together a few good ideas and present them to those people who I think might find interest in such ideas. As such, this blog has no theme, no direction, no real cause other than to allow myself to write about what ever catches my attention. It's not even suppose to be read by anyone, such is the confusing place of the blog-cum-diary in today's internet community.
But today I feel that I need to vent my fears of the mental country that I find Singapore to be (each and every new residential building must have a bomb shelter built into it - resulting in tower blocks with a bomb shelter to every flat... let us pause to imagine those several thousand persons in those several thousand 20th storey flats, turning on their televisions to find that Singapore is under attack (?!) from... well, who the hell knows, but apparently the Singaporean Government have their suspicions - and then facing that dreaded decision; do I sit in my own little cube of metal, awaiting the bomb that will cause my building to collapse, resulting in my final moments being spent staring at the paper work I chucked in here with the hope of filing, and those photos I was going to put into that album I got for Christmas - or, do I stick the sports channel on, open a cold beer, and await the same end in comfort - mental) and my fears of guessing I might enjoy a career which might make me a bitter, useless person who once had a passion to share their opinion. Hopefully my opinion wont be as bitter the next time I write. We shall see.
Such a remark on my time spent so far in this part of the world might sound highly offensive; some backward Brit missing the homeland and thus, spurning the country that's playing host to his travel desires due to his internal confusion and bitterness - yet this simply isn't the case. The country is fascinating no matter which way you turn it: political reach, the infrastructure of its tower-a-minute building programme, the shops, the people, the heat, the rain. I've not been bored for a second. I've been scared, but never bored.
Yet my fears do not owe their origins to this country either. I'm a fresh graduate of Nottingham University, obtaining a first in Theology and a high class degree of anxiety in future planning. I'm new. I've just been turfed out of an education system, the only system I truly know and feel comfortable with, into a world of difficult employment ladders and mounting debt issues. My fears are these; to succeed, I must choose a ladder to begin my ascent into the world of jobdom, and yet in order to even reach the first rung, I may need further qualification (and hence, further debt). Money + Time = Debt + Career Potential. But CV - Experience = No Career Potential = Debt.
And so I find myself in Singapore, on 'holiday' with my girlfriend, who lives in this part of the world. We're bunked in with her Dad, a hugely generous man in allowing me to spend time (and his money) in his flat. It was awkward enough returning to my own beloved parents after three years of social independence, let alone now living with someone else's. My holiday is now very much over, my girlfriend has herself a very nice job helping very rich Singaporean children (lets face it, namely rich ex-pats who don't want to send their kids to the Universities of the country where they make all their money, thank you very much) get into University in the UK or the US, and I need to begin to realise which ladder it is that I want to begin to climb.
And so, this blog. It amuses me that Google Chrome highlights blog as an incorrect spelling. It amuses me even more that Google isn't a word for Google's spell checker. Bless. This blog (right click - ignore) exists by way of that ladder which I have chosen. I wish to write, be it in a journalistic, life style or commentary fashion, I wish to use my voice to earn me a living. This, I realise, isn't the most helpful addition to society I can offer, but I feel that I'm the product of an education system which has pointed out that if you enjoy doing something and, more usefully, you are good at what you enjoy, then you should flipping well milk that opportunity. I'm not saying I'm good at writing, I just believe that I can cobble together a few good ideas and present them to those people who I think might find interest in such ideas. As such, this blog has no theme, no direction, no real cause other than to allow myself to write about what ever catches my attention. It's not even suppose to be read by anyone, such is the confusing place of the blog-cum-diary in today's internet community.
But today I feel that I need to vent my fears of the mental country that I find Singapore to be (each and every new residential building must have a bomb shelter built into it - resulting in tower blocks with a bomb shelter to every flat... let us pause to imagine those several thousand persons in those several thousand 20th storey flats, turning on their televisions to find that Singapore is under attack (?!) from... well, who the hell knows, but apparently the Singaporean Government have their suspicions - and then facing that dreaded decision; do I sit in my own little cube of metal, awaiting the bomb that will cause my building to collapse, resulting in my final moments being spent staring at the paper work I chucked in here with the hope of filing, and those photos I was going to put into that album I got for Christmas - or, do I stick the sports channel on, open a cold beer, and await the same end in comfort - mental) and my fears of guessing I might enjoy a career which might make me a bitter, useless person who once had a passion to share their opinion. Hopefully my opinion wont be as bitter the next time I write. We shall see.
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