Filed under: Film
Just spent a whole evening watching all 3 existing Indiana Jones movies in preparation for next week’s new one. Which basically includes sitting through some of the most horrific cinematic experiences of my childhood. Most notably, the human sacrifice scene from the Temple Of Doom… which seriously creeped me out back in the day.
Filed under: Food
On a matcha trip recently.
Meiji Matcha Ice Cream.
Smooth like butta.
Fran Au Lait Matcha.
My matcha scented franincense.
One of those things I’ve always wanted but procrastinated too much about was getting a set of decks. Kinda like my fascination with a Fender Strat or a drum kit or a piano. Obviously, the financial outlay for each of these would considerably eat into my ability to purchase clothes and food, so I compromise by putting them off.
I understand I’d be being quite the poseur lusting after the Pacemaker by Tonium. But to quote some dude in a movie, “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn!”. So why the fuck would I need one? Well, it looks cool for starters. Kinda like a PSP meets a voltmeter kinda vibe. Plus it also has a reasonable sized capacity at 120Gb. And I get to indulge in my erotic fantasies involving the mixing of Joy Division with Shampoo. The only thing is it costs a little over double a 160Gb iPod, which reiterates my first paragraph.
How can you look at that and not see sex?
Practically, this isn’t going to be replacing too many real consoles anytime soon. Its limited and would be kinda dumb used in a club situation by a serious DJ. You could still use the device though, to replace the iPod and fool around with on the go. Wannabes like me could also fiddle around a bit if they could afford it. Plus, its just this idea of extra functionality beyond just a music player to becoming a music maker. Would be cool if you could record stuff as well but I suppose that’s a whole nother ball game right there.
My birthday’s in June btw.
Filed under: Fashion
Elvis, Mcqueen, Sinatra, The Clash and Arnold Palmer make an odd bunch. The unifying thing between them? A jacket, the Baracuta G9.
There’s something so wrong and yet so funny about a grown man thrusting his pelvis in front of a chubby faced kid as he attempts to cure an aversion to green peppers. And that can only be the doing of Hard Gay.
One of Singapore’s most iconic buildings, the Pearlbank Apartments has been facing the threat of an enbloc sale for a good while now. In light of this, the building has also garnered particular attention from foreign press, including Wallpaper* and Form. My mate chanced upon this at Borders the other day flippin thru mags and alerted me.
As seen in Wallpaper*.
The interior view.
Once “the tallest apartment black in Southeast Asia”, the Pearlbank Apartments is a building that doesn’t deserve the ignominy of demolition. On the one hand, its really unique, being quite old but quite cool, something you would never associate with Singapore architecture much at all. The fact that its over 30 odd years old is testament to its longevity and character.
Also, if it ever goes enbloc, there is also the universal dread of it being replaced by a monstrosity that will look like shit, much like the other 90% of buildings in our tiny island nation. Corporate, faceless and probably really really ugly.
Stop the enblock party please.
Its been 7 years after the Mini and 9 years after the Beetle, but Fiat have finally revived the classic Fiat 500. With its kooky cute looks and retro leanings, its the latest challenger in the quirky car segment and judging by how critics have taken things, its better late than never.
The new Fiat 500, hot chick optional extra.
It doesn’t really look anything at all like the old 500 but its still really cute and cuddly, kinda like a little gummy bear that you wanna chomp the head off of. Like the Beetle and the Mini, it also comes with customizable graphic options aside from the cutesy colors. I personally like the white version myself. The interiors also look suitably funky from whatever photos I managed to check out.
I had no idea Fiat was Italian until they put 3 in a row. Only Italians park like that.
I suppose it suffers from being less iconic like its old counterpart. In contrast the new Mini and Beetle really do look like the older versions to some extent. Not even considering the fact that the 500 was always less famous compared to the other 2 vehicles, particularly outside Europe. Still, its been well received enough to be able to have a life of its own, which may be to its benefit instead.
I don’t think its going to be the next big thing though. The design itself isn’t powerful enough to extend it beyond the price range, which is higher than Fiat’s own Punto. Which is kinda cannibalistic if you ask me. Its still cheaper than the Mini and the Beetle though, so its a decent alternative. But with bigger, cheaper options like the Yaris and Mazda 2, its gonna be a tough tough fight for this little bambino. Still, its good to see something new brought to the table.
Back in Sydney and less than a day gone by, I’m on the road again. I love holidays. This time, it was going to be a massive group going canoing in the Kangaroo Valley. “2 hours” from Sydney. We were led by a guy whom my friends gave the name Leon Lai, on account of him vaguely resembling the singer. He was slung low on his motorbike and rode like he was the business, with only our car managing to keep up with him. The rest of the convoy was pretty much lost.
So anyway, Kangaroo Valley. Sounds wonderful dunnit? I didn’t see a single roo but that wasn’t what we were there for. We were there to canoe. Which we did, although we turned up about an hour later than expected. Renting a canoe costs about 30 bucks a person, including a mouldy lifevest, a choice of single, double or triple canoes and the pickup bus sending you back whence you came.
I think back about the canoeing club 10 years ago, in junior college, as I slug my canoe down to the riverside. It was pretty much filled with dimwits who were perpetually tanned and muscled and mostly dull personalities. You joined it cos you wanted to get buff and browned like toast. Me, I’d rather eat toast than be toast. Still, I had to cast aside all prejudices about 5 minutes in when I crashed into a tree and was forced to step out of the boat, into the freezing cold river. I was pretty much the only loser who “capsized” although I maintain that I did not, technically anyway. Ok fine, I capsized.
I had to overturn the damn thing and pour out the water before I headed back in. And at this point, the haughtiness of before had disappeared into a tiny joy, one abetted by the tiny rapids we sometimes went over. We’d actually picked the easy route, on account that most of the group had never set foot into any sort of river flotation device. I’d imagine, as Leon himself commented, that it’d be a much more exciting venture if it was really whitewater rafting. Controlling the boat is easy enough, until you start hitting rocks and shit. That’s when the river flows just a bit faster than you can react and the current throws you along.
The other nice thing about paddling along a river is the calm bits, which were, as one friend put it, tranquil. A serenity forged by the surroundings, which were quite pretty really. Trees glinting in the sun, birds chirping like vultures and pretty girls by my side laughing at my stupidity from before.
I also enjoyed the ride back though, seeing as I had the chance to drive my friend’s BMW down a mountain and back to Sydney as he and the girls helped to keep me alert with their hypnotic snoring.
I’m not too sure if its worth it to drive 4 or 5 hours there and back given how much petrol costs. It is a little far but it is a nice little place to go canoing and check out wildlife and nature and shit.
When I can, I love to travel. Just something about a sense of temporary migration that appeals to the soul. Or perhaps a malfunctioning, obsolete gene forcing its way into my subconscious. Either way, that feeling was one reason why I found myself popping into a plane and flying up to the Gold Coast for 5 days before the ANZAC weekend. That and a lady friend of course.
The Cool Gray Coast.
The last time I went to the Gold Coast, I was 14 or 15 and dying to see the famed uncovered boobies that abound Australian beaches. Unfortunately, we didn’t even really go to the beach on our tour. I had the double misfortune of going on holiday with my parents and going on holiday with my parents in a package tour. Which pretty much meant I didn’t get to see the famed beach of boobies. Which sucks when you’re 14 or 15 and dying to see boobies after a decade and a half of conservative Asian appropriation.
I still didn’t get to see what I’d come to see half a lifetime ago as the pic above testifies. The fact that it was fall was probably to my undoing. It was pretty blustery down at the beach, which was a lovely long stretch, juxtaposed by a slew of tall buildings behind.
That’s the thing about the Gold Coast. It’s really just a long stretch of lovely sand beaches and not much else. Everything else is pretty much man made and man made for tourism. The place felt like what Vegas would be if it were at the beach. Tacky neon lights aplenty lit up the nighttime, which had an atmosphere perpetrated by the smell of tourists and an easy dollar. It was pretty much otherwise, quite dead. I would surmise summertime would be immensely more crowded with even more tourists and yet still retain a certain vacancy, even if it were diminished by the howls of obnoxious babies and children of parents who bring their kids on holiday.
Daytime was spent pretty much going for breakfast and then hitting a theme park before coming back for a nap, then dinner and bedtime. Sounds boring, I know. It wasn’t really. I enjoyed the theme parks and the lounging around. I’m not quite the party animal. Meals were largely terrible though. The theme parks serve expensive fast food that sucks whilst Surfer’s Paradise was filled with sub par restaurants. I knew there were probably better places to eat but unfortunately, I didn’t get to go to anywhere close to that. Instead, I relented to subjecting my tastebuds to mediocre and paltry experiences, safe in the knowledge that I’d get back to Sydney soon enough.
The Superman ride @ Movieworld.
The theme parks though, are fun enough. Movieworld is an ok pastiche of Warner Brothers related stuff, filled with stores and decent rides. The one above revolves around this idea of you getting into a train there being some kind of accident, only for you to get saved by… Superman himself, who pushes the train at lightspeed out of the tunnel and into the light. That initial blast apparently takes you to 4.2Gs because its superfast, then you drop immediately after, like 85 degrees or so. Its the biggest vertical loop you can see in the pic and whilst I neglected to include some scale references in my photo, it was high enough and fast enough to deliver a certain thrill.
Wet ‘n’ Wild was pretty fun too, basically a big waterpark, where there’s slides and tubes and water and bikinis. And the bikini’s didn’t automatically claim prominence either. Seaworld was a more languid exercise, with more marine life shows than rides. I didn’t even bother to take the coaster. I skipped out on Dreamworld and Whitewater world but I did drive and stop by for a looksee. Couple of the rides there certainly looked menacing.
On the final day of our trip, we also made a sojourn up to Tamborine Mountain, where we chanced upon a paraglider failing to take off and crashing into some kids as well as hanggliders narrowly missing some treetops. Also included was a trip to a “$1.1 million” glowworm cave, which was completely man made and about as big as a toilet in a hotel room. I then received a lecture in the help glowworms granted to cancer research and a treastise on environmentalism in a fake cave. Fascinating.
I have to say, the GC is one big bundle of bodaciousness. Between the shittiest fish n chips in the world and a barren beach, what else can could one ask for on a holiday?
Sometimes, my instincts hone me for the better by taking me to places which toughen me up. This trip has taught a valuable lesson aka “Who the fuck goes to the Gold Coast when its not Summer?”. One day, I will overcome my struggle with moron syndrome and disregard the wiles of women who tug at my sleeves in painted voices.
