Bummed-out Buyer

Two weeks ago I was flipping through the TV, for want of something better to do (cut me some slack, i'm unemployed) when I found Oprah half-way through one of her advertising stints; the one she likes to call 'My Favourite Things.'

Brownies, Flab-hiding tights and some sort of stationery item later, I finally got to watch the program I was waiting for.

Now just yesterday I paid a visit to the local hypermarket, and having strolled (oh-so-involuntarily) into the stationery aisle I came across one of the products on Oprah's must-have lists.

And believe it or not..i got excited. Like, excited enough to exclaim out loud when I saw the thing on display...and still excited enough to joyously prance with it to the check-out counter.

I go home and the first thing I do is hurry up to my room to carefully tear open the cover-case...like some post-birthday party birthday girl.

So this thing I bought..it's called a 'Flag-pen.' It's a pen-shaped device having two operational components; a highlighter with which to..well, highlight, and an in-built post-it cartridge to flag the page you've highlighted on...all in one gadget!

Yea..it's not all that big a deal is it? No more than 5 minutes after I had experimented with my new purchase, the veil of  stupidity lifted and revealed the (much more reliable) demeanour of common-sense. I had become yet another victim of Oprahganda.*

So this is how they operate, is it...those darn marketing gurus? Big celebrity+little-known useless product=unimaginable profits. And oblivious customers running around screaming like excited little girls.

Call me bitter, but you would be too if you're just done studying and stuck with a gadget intended to aid that very purpose.

Hmm..maybe they'd let me exchange it for those tights...

Cheers.

*Oprahganda-Anything that changes a person's opinion after watching or reading something from Oprah. [urbandictionary.com]

Exam Mania!

Walking to a friend's place the other day I couldn't help but stop and read what some kid had finger-written on the dirty windshield of an abandoned car:

"IGCSE: New Horror Movie"

Not only was it hilarious, but the fact that this 16-17 year old had abandoned the more popular "CLEAN ME" in deference to this slogan, was an obvious reflection of his/her brewing frustration. This was probably the closest thing to vengeance the poor kid could muster.

I remember sitting for my boards (I realize I sound senile, but i'll take that risk); the sleepless nights, the caffeine dependency, and probably the one stage in our life where the girls looked terrible and the boys couldn't care less.

The atmosphere in the examination hall was ominous to say the least. Literal pin-drop silence where you could hear the person at the far end of the auditorium erasing a portion of an unsatisfactory diagram, or a calculation gone wrong. The ticking clock on the wall was your arch-nemesis, and the invigilator it's closest cohort.

But on the day it was all over, we celebrated with whatever energy we could summon; the majority of us calling it an early night so as to catch up on months of lost sleep.

Looking back, I think I speak for everyone when I wish I would've taken it easier. Sure, the results are crucial to shaping our future (blah, blah..), but it's not that life-and-death situation we allow ourselves to believe. The fact that in actuality there are kids who take their own lives over one measly point, is just not funny.

I'm not some presidential hopeful, or brilliant sportsperson to be asked what message I'd like to send out..but I'll say it anyway. 

Work hard...but get some sleep!

Cheers.

 

The Green Goblin

Apparently there are some things that just aren't done. Ordering the Chicken Caesar Salad at Mc.Donalds for instance.

Frankly, I don't quite understand what the fuss is all about. I just felt like eating healthy for a change, and they did have the salad on the menu.

'I'll have the chicken caesar salad please!'

'The what?'

'The chicken salad??'

'Oh..yea..sure.' *looks at me strangely as he reaches for my order from the back of the refrigerator*

So I think my salad looks great..the lettuce is all fresh and crunchy-looking, and the chicken strips seem devoid of any trace of oil, fat, grease or any other lard'ish counterpart. Little did I expect that my fellow diners would 'look' a 'great' deal as well!

I started feeling the eyes on me as I walked my tray back to my seat. The curious 'watcha-got-there?' folks were intrigued to find out what was so astoundingly green on my tray. And as I sat down, the couple at the next table stared unabashedly for a good 5 minutes, then went on to whisper to each other oh-so-obviously. And I know those weren't 'sweet-nothings' they were exchanging.

Already feeling like I had broken some sort of code of conduct, I proceeded to scatter on my croutons, sprinkle my pepper and squeeze out half of my salad dressing ( I want dressing on my salad, not salad on my dressing!). And just when I was starting to get used to the occassional double-takes of tray-bearers passing my table, a sweaty faced kid, fresh from the play area decided to come to a halt just next to me..and stare.

She stared at my salad, then stared at me...and then back at my salad again. I don't think the poor thing's ever been exposed to anything that's not in a bun..or not fried. I might as well have been feeding on a horse carcass off my table..and grown horns to boot.

I obviously ignored the girl; I've learnt from experience that you can never out-stare a child. Either way, I began to question what was on my plate myself. Who orders a salad at McDonalds anyway?

But my dinner tasted as fabulous as it looked (a penny for everytime I hear that line in another conversation), and was worth every double take and curious glance it racked up. So the next time I pay a visit to good ol' Ronald, I might just order the same thing!

And maybe even..*gasp*..just the garden salad!!

Cheers.

OMG!!

I've never been much of a 'LOL'er. For the plain reason that I can't get myself to believe that the person on the other side of the screen is actually ridiculously 'laughing out loud' everytime I make a funny. So it should'nt come as too much of a surprise that i'm also a critic of the ever-so-plausible LMAO and  ROTFL as well.

I much rather prefer (in tune to my apparent 'irritating' politically-correct ways) to appreciate witticisms via msn with a simple (but realistic) 'hehe' or 'haha', and if it's really funny, a 'HAHAHAHA'!

BRB and GTG are fine in my books because there are times when I really do have to go, and really will be back (hasta la vista?).

This i've been proclaiming far and wide (hyperbole), preaching to anyone who'll listen, the evils of the chatroom abbreviations...until I was proved wrong.

The other day I was in the library chatting (real life) with a couple of friends (in our defence, there really was no 'silence' sign hung up) when we happened to recall a funny video we had come across recently. So this one friend started describing it to the other. I say 'started' because she never really got around to do it. On recollection of a particularly hilarious bit, she literally collapsed into a fit of giggles, tipped over(!) to the floor, and (get this) rolled from side to side!!

Now that was an ROTFL if there ever was one! I tell you, my faith has been renewed...i've seen the error of my ways. If there actually are people out there who ROTFL, who am i to judge anymore?

Maybe I really can LMAO if i try hard enough.

Cheers

Our Unsung Heroes

Dubai is a great city.
It's new, it's hip and it's got a cultural mush of more than 185 nationalities. The roads are clean and the buildings are tall. Life is good and everyone is happy.


But behind every clean street and architectural marvel are the little-known, little-acknowledged people responsible for it being there. They work long hours in 45degree temperatures to build structures they'll never be allowed to enter once they're finished. They clean the streets they'll never be able to afford to drive through, and they're housed in jail-like labour camps waiting for their meagre pay..always late.

To the not-so-fortunate in South/South-East Asia, the stories they hear about Dubai make it seem like the light at the end of that methaphoric tunnel; their saving grace. Work opportunities seem promising and there are plenty of benefits to be reaped. Enough money can be made to send home to the family and to tend to oneself as well.

So they bid farewell to their wives and kiss their children good-bye, leving behind the promise of a better future.
But as soon as their feet touch the sands of this promised land, reality hits. 12 of them are herded like cattle into accomadations meant to house 5 to a room, and are informed that work starts the next day. The hours are painstakingly long and the rising mercury makes them seem even longer. Some collapse and are rushed to the hospital, only to be proclaimed fine for work the next day.

They want to leave but they can't. They work their way up in debt and have nothing to show for their families back home. They watch the happy middle class and envy the snub of the wealthy. Frustration seeps in.

They can't go home for shame, and denial steps aside to give way to the fact that they will never be able to pay back the money they owe. So they climb to the topmost floor of the builiding they're shaping..and jump.
Others have a better solution. They say their prayers and cross the deadliest of highways..hoping that their blood money will be sent back home to the family members they left behind.


This is the real story behind Dubai. The beckoning city of many an opportunity; the so called 'Pearl of the MiddleEast'.
So remember these troopers when you complain of the heat from the comfort of your living room. Remember these heroes when you drive by renowned structures of the likes of The Burj Al Arab or The Palm. For they are our unsung heroes..and that's the most heroic kind.


Cheers.
http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/article/0,28804,1779365_1779366_1779370,00.html

Incomplete Rainbow

So my brother is colourblind.
Oh i'm serious. This is not the opening line of a joke or anything; my brother is colourblind.

Contrary to what the name of the 'disability' might suggest, a person afflicted with colourblindness is not unable to percieve any form of colour entirely; he/she is just not able to differenciate between what may appear as very similar hues. Between blue and purple for example, or even red and brown. 

I like to attribute the discovery of my sibling's shortcoming to myself (thanks, very much)..to 15-year old me actually. It's not rocket-science really. I didn't have any suspicions and hold up some colour charts to his face or anything. I just happened to stumble upon 11-year old bro sprawled on the floor, colouring the pacific ocean in his history map...purple.
Now, my brother is a trouble-maker, but not in a "Hah take that!" sort of way. He's more likely to set up camp in the 'wrong-place-at-the-wrong-time' category. That's why i figured his violet equivalent of the Red Sea wasn't intentional. So after stopping him from creating what seemed like a diseased ocean, I held up some colour pencils for him to differenciate. On coming to the conclusion that he really did have a problem, we marched over to tell the folks of our breakthrough. It took a while to get dad to take us seriously, but mum was in denial..she still is.
There really is nothing you can do to change the fact that you're colourblind. Perhaps maybe, an operation of sorts, but it really isn't a life-changing discovery. We did have to make some minor alterations to our lifestyle however.
Firstly, i had to be sure that brother dear wouldn't mistake my toothbrush for his (we share the same loo). So whenever we did buy a pair, i'd go out of my way to make sure that the colours were as far apart on the spectrum as science would allow, even if it meant mine being a garishly yellow brush while his was a dull blue.  
Another thing we learned was never to ask him to bring us a green colour pencil (hey i used them in school!) or a green folder, because the poor chap would just as innocently get us the brown one.
Strangely, he's never had an issue matching his clothes. Although at times he does need a little advice on whether this tie goes with that shirt. But then again who doesn't right?
I asked him once if he could decipher when the colour of the traffic lights changed from red to green (or vice versa).
"Even if i couldn't," he declared, "I can see the lights change can't I??"
I knew that! I was just..erm..checking.
 

Cheers.