The end is the beginning is the end
This announcement goes out to my loyal readers out there. Yes, the both of you... and stop playing with each other. This blog has embarked on the path of auto-senescence and will thus be updated less frequently from now on (not that I've been that prolific anyway). Of course, there will still be new stuff posted, just not so often.
Just thought I'd mention.
Madonna/Whore pt 2: Prostitutes
Just a thought: Perhaps the reason why many women dislike prostitutes is because the latter spoil the market by stating their prices upfront.
Italy winning the World Cup must have pleased two groups of people: the Italians themselves and German prostitutes (or at least those plying their trade in Germany for the duration of the WC). While most nationalities celebrate victories on the pitch by getting sloshed, apparently the Italians prefer to do so by scoring in the bedroom. Not surprising, considering the well-established finding that testosterone levels rise following competitive success. The Togolese players, on the other hand, were happily enjoying threesomes and dishing out fat tips to the ladies before they had even stepped onto the field. Their less-than-stellar performances on the immaculate German pitches must be attributed in part to their exertions in the immaculate facilities of German brothels. Leg soft liao cannot run cannot shoot straight mah. If you're wondering how I got my information, then perhaps you should read less Straits Times and more Xinmin Ribao.
However obscure, there is a lesson here for Singapore. It is said that German authorities imported thousands of prostitutes from Eastern Europe on temporary working visas to meet the anticipated increase in demand during the World Cup. This shows foresight. I suppose the German authorities would rather revellers indulge in rented boudoirs than spend their excess cash getting excessively intoxicated and cause trouble thereafter. As mentioned previously, testosterone levels rise with victory. That hormonal upsurge needs to seek an outlet. Again we'd rather the men bang paid ladies than public facilities.
We're gonna have integrated resorts (IRs) in Singapore soon, are we not? For this purpose, we're training croupiers. How about call girls?
When our casinos open, hopefully we're receive an influx of affluent tourists from all over the world. We'll welcome them with world-class architecture, facilities and other amenities discerning travellers would've naturally come to expect. If all goes well the software will be on par with the hardware. Now the talk has mostly been about chefs, croupiers and celebrities. I'd be disappointed if whoever's in charge neglected the aspect of paid female company. There will be a sizable number of people leaving our gaming facilities flushed with cash and pumping with libido, and in all probability they will want to spend the money and vent their horniness on pleasures readily nearby. And we want them to.
Unfortunately for now, the quality of local prostitutes leaves much to be desired. Sure, study mamas and Bintan prepubescents can pretty much satisfy local demand. But we haven't developed a pool of talent for whose services clients are willing to pay top dollar. There was a report not too long ago about rich Singaporeans receiving invitations to join an exclusive men's club in Germany, the company there supposedly nearly the best money can buy. And there were guys who were willing to fly all the way there just to appreciate feminine charms in various guises. The market is, or will soon be, there, but the question is whether we have the product. My friend was telling me about this club in the northern part of Singapore that has a number of undergraduate girls. I don't know how he got to know about it, but then he's white meat so some girl probably approached him or something. I'm not suggesting that we encourage our promising undergrads to enter the trade, just that this is closer to the standard we should be looking for.
Of course, prostitution is often referred to as the oldest profession. Which reminds me of a joke.
A doctor, an engineer, and a politician were discussing who among them belonged to the oldest of the three professions represented.
The doctor said, "Remember, on the sixth day God took a rib from Adam and fashioned Eve, making him the first surgeon. Therefore, medicine is the oldest profession."
The engineer replied, "But before that, God created the heavens and earth from chaos and confusion, which was the greatest civil engineering job ever. Therefore, engineering is an older profession than medicine."
Then, the politician responded with a sly smile. "Ah," he said, "but who do you think created all of the chaos and confusion?"
Two things. Even if God took a rib from Adam to create Eve doesn't mean that men have fewer ribs than women, which was what one nutcase, probably a closet Lamarckian, told me. "I think it's scientifically proven!" he wailed. Secondly, there's a theory by Gilbert and Zivit that postulates that it was Adam's baculum, or penis bone, which was removed in order to make Eve. It isn't as far-fetched as it sounds, I assure you. In case you don't know and as I'm fond of telling my friends, humans are one of the few mammals without penis bones. Anyway, the subject of penis bones is a huge one which I haven't got time for here.
Madonna/Whore pt 1: Mothers
Despite Zidane's public admission and the concerted efforts of a legion of putative lip-readers, we are no closer to knowing what Materazzi said exactly that managed to provoke the French captain into practising a stooping header on the Italian's ribcage. Zizou claims that his mother and sister were insulted. Some had earlier surmised that perhaps Materazzi had suggested that Mrs Zidane had carnal relations with a FLN miltant as part of her work. My guess is that the exchange might have been something like this.
Zidane (after Materazzi had tugged on his jersey): Eh, if you like my shirt so much, I'll give it to you after the game.
Materazzi: Oh, it's okay. I've already exchanged shirts with your mother/sister last night.
In his defence, the Italian was adamant that he never insulted Zidane's mother, because his own mother died when he was young and to him, mothers are sacred. Now, I'm inclined to believe Materazzi's testimony. Italian men, or so I've heard, are very close to their mothers. If you don't believe me, fly to Italy some time and visit their museums. Count the number of depictions you see of a young mother holding an intelligent-looking baby. All that celebration of maternal love was bound to rub off on the inhabitants somehow.
I was just wondering how Materazzi might have reacted had the soccer boot been on the other foot. Most probably, he would have broken into tears. You see, the enduring image I had of Materazzi prior to the World Cup was of him sobbing uncontrollably. The defender had previously played for Everton and Perugia, both of which were flirting dangerously with relegation during his time at the clubs. My memory is kinda foggy, but I remember him moved to tears after scoring in a critical end-of-season match for either Everton or Perugia. And in another crucial game for the other club, he begged the referee pathetically not to send him off for a second bookable offence. Obviously the referee didn't heed his pleas and so he wept bitterly while refusing to leave the pitch. Sensitive guy, him.
I think the world might be a better place if mothers had a say in international relations. Mind you, not your 'Mothers Against Nuclear Proliferation' mothers or the 'let's invite your friends over for cupcakes, shall we?' mothers. I was thinking more along the lines of mothers who espouse the 'argue with me and I'll whack you so hard you'll piss blood for the next three days' philosophy of parenting. If you know my mom, yeah that's roughly it. Please don't think I'm exaggerating, I was hit till I bled quite a bit once.
Some political analysts argue that North Korea's madman gambit has worked yet again, as the powers discuss suitable responses. I don't understand. Most mothers, especially the old skool type, instinctively know that fussing over a child's tantrums only reinforces the behaviour. My mother simply walked away when I made a scene. Moreover, ignoring a threat doesn't necessarily escalate it, since parties that play the madman ploy are obviously not madmen. In the Iranian situation, Ahmadinejad would rather enrich uranium than accept whatever attractive package Condi & co has presented to him. I suspect that the UN negotiators, while competent, are too nice for the task at hand. Send in a group of mothers who believe that with a properly-wielded stick and a sufficiently loud voice the other party can be made to swallow radioactive carrots and you might get a different outcome.
Kakuro & Blogger Registration Act
A few of my friends have picked up Kakuro. Which, for the uninitiated, is the mathematical equivalent of the crossword and somewhat more challenging than the in-vogue Sudoku. By coincidence or design, these guys happen to be first-class honours grads in engineering. Without appealing too much to stereotypes, I wonder why the fascination with number puzzles. Obviously, the popularity of Sudoku has exploded the myth that number and logic puzzles only draw the geek crowd. However, looking around me, I realize that the only people I know spending their free time with pencil and puzzle in hand are the engineers and scientists.
I am not afraid of numbers, neither am I particularly inept in their application. But I rarely feel compelled to pick up a pencil when a number puzzle presents itself conveniently in my face. My friend, who is probably gonna land a job devising programming solutions, joked while mulling over an intransigent Kakuro puzzle that maybe he ought to write a Kakuro-solving program. "Why don't you do it?" I asked. His eyes widened. "That wouldn't be fun, right?" Hmm, I thought engineers are trained to seek the most efficient solution to the largest number of problems?
Someone mooted the idea of a Blogger Registration Act. Here, I'm not concerned with its possible consequences, just how it might work. All political bloggers will be required to register with the Ministry of Information, Communication and The Arts (MICA). Few people in Singapore blog primarily about local politics and current affairs. But a lot of people like to kao peh Gahmen, or at least indirectly by complaining about how screwed up their lives are (because of things the Gahmen did or failed to do). These people must also register. If there are people who aren't sure whether their infrequent non-constructive diatribes constitute partisan politics, then better play safe and also register. But don't worry, the blogosphere will be regulated with a light touch. As such, only persistent offenders and those who link to sites like Singbloodypore on their blogs will be monitored and served warning letters if necessary. Now what if some guai lan anti-Gahmen blogger decides to play the civil disobedience card and refuses to register? Warning letters won't work, so no choice but to bring out the legal cavalry. There's no need to come after every single infringement of the Act. Just a couple of cases ought to do the trick. Naturally, there will be fish that slip the net. But they pay the penalty for whatever subterfuge they resort to. A blog that is sufficiently low profile to escape detection is unlikely to be sufficiently read.
Euro 2000 Redux
My friends cannot wake up in time to play, or at least most didn't intend to. So I won't get to see my half-German tak giu kaki strutting around in his Nationalmannschaft jersey... just yet. In the papers, Sumiko Tan and her tips on succeeding in the workplace gleaned from watching the World Cup. How insightful.
So, we are left with four, in fixtures reminiscent of Euro 2000. Italy vs. the hosts, France vs. Portugal. The Azzurri may well douse home fire as they did six years ago, but Germany are unlikely to miss five penalties like the Dutch.
There have been complaints about dour stalemates and the general dearth of goal-mouth opportunities in the knockout stage. This is hardly surprising, given what's at stake. Also for some reason, World Cup Finals held on European soil tend to be more defence dominated. Personally, save for the lackadaisical England-Ecuador and Ukraine-Tunisia encounters (may have been others, but these were the worst offenders), I haven't been overly bored. Then again, I'm one of those 'football purists' who actually found the 2003 Champions League Final between Juventus and AC Milan a fascinating spectacle. Everyone appreciates a well-marshalled defence, not too many people enjoy viewing two opposing sets in action. But if you've ever had to hold the ground for most of the game against a technically superior team on a full-size pitch (and ultimately triumphed), perhaps you might develop a greater appreciation of solid defensive play. That said, stout defending is but means to an end, i.e. victory come the final whistle. Ultra-conservative tactics do little but alienate.
