I Am Blogging My Arse Off Now

I read with mouth agape at some of the personal financial advisory columns in the press. It is a huge surprise that legal eagles could dispense what I deem to be half-baked legal information.

For instance, it is perspacious that a will does not supersede any policy stipulation with regards to a transfer of ownership of a HDB flat upon death in the case of a joint-tenancy. Thus it is in the best interest of all parties concerned to consider tenancy-in-common as a viable alternative if a will is to specify the owner's real wishes and intentions. Somehow, this is been neglected in the coulmn's discussion.

The same goes for monies in our CPF. A nomination would do the trick and there is no need for nominees to be blood-related as is the case of your flat.

I spoke too soon about how women had yet to intrude into the male restrooms as the last bastion of male preserve. The charwomen had seen to that! On occasions I even witnessed an old hag coming in to spruce up her hair in the mirror or a daddy bringing in her little girl to pee!

Seriously I think our language ability is not even anywhere between Queen's English and Beijing Chinese. We are neither pedigree English nor pedigree Chinese. We would best be described as a mongrel.

Speaking with a rags-and-bones dude beats speaking with an educator anytime. I learnt more than I ever did with a bitch-ass in a school. It is a wonder they never teach the purity of gold such as a 22K or 24K worth but impractical and nonsensical topics like "Calculus". Can you blame the kids, the enterprising ones, who just slack off and snooze!

If I am ever fiery, I am only fiery at matters of indignance and injustice like what the NLB did or the way the property agent conducted herself. As I mentioned, it is a culture of guilty until proven innocent. People think the worst of you. Thus they come up with all sorts of policies like my Valentine's Day analogy.

I would have been a radiographer if it hadn't been for the interview panel who had a barrage of irrelevant questions, as if it was some tribunal of sorts. Excuse moi. Am I here for a scholarship or are you putting moi on trial for a war crime?

I had a bad haircut. It was cheap and I thought I won't be around anymore in this part of town. But I live to regret to see the after-effects for at least a month or so and CNY is drawing nearer.

To make up for that, I had interesting snatches of conversation with the regulars at the hair-dressers. For one, we agreed the whole working culture here is one big SHIT. The working conditions, hours, relations and set up. It isn't the hard work which will kill you but the whole nonsense we have to put up with. And might I add, women problems. Men, bad as they are, are bad enough.

I don't think starting a commercial school in the lines of so many others here is an option for me. I will hate it very much. I don't think we are even ready for the kind of school I am envisioning here, technologically advanced that we are.

I am not sure if there is "education" here. It is more crowd control, administrative bucreaucy and exam practice. The real business of education hasn't even begun here. Education of the heart, mind and soul.

I met up with a former civil servant turned barrister. It is amazing he did this , given his calibre. I suppose there is money to be had from a simple oath-taking declaration.

I remember a divorcee who sends her young daughter for my tutorial. She almost always insists on sending her over early, a habit I dissuade vigorously. Her first impression struck me as ex-parmour filled with hatred against her ex-husband, a Japanese. She even audaciously suggests that I could pull her daughter's panties down and whack her rumps if she should misbehave. What a fucking, filthy woman! From thence forth, I have been extra wary of divorcees and widows.

I am glad I am no longer helping out at the orphanage. It had taken to admitting paying children for its school-care programs while here I am, volunteering my services to tutor the underprivileged. Whilst I can take all whoever you assign to me, I draw a line at especially difficult girls. And it isn't exactly that I can agree with the way it is run by the administrators, mostly a bevy of women.

I am almost up to the neck with issues of subsidies in our healthcare and home-owning policies. My question now is prove that there is a subsidy in the first place. How do we know the service or good is worth the amount you say it is? I could have gotten a piece of candy at $0.30, put it out on the market for $0.50 and declared most voraciously that it has a subsidy of $0.20 which otherwise would have cost you $0.70. So much for the "subsidy".

Another argument flared between myself and the property agent who brokered my sale. She was insisting on the "pavillions" at our national parks being called "shacks". The two have very different imageries. A shack would be a building with roofs and walls while a pavillion would be just a shelter. For sure, the boat people by our seas live in shacks but not the picnickers.

An article rages on about "Stay-At-Home-Dads". There were questions of emasculation, metrosexuality and dignity. I think we have sorely missed the point here. Let us separate the two. SAHD in no way implies emasculation or metrosexuality. It is an employment choice, usually no different working in an office or at home, given the telecommuting capabilities of today.

Besides SAHDs save on transport, traffice snarls, office rental and unproductive politics at the workplace (sometimes perpetrated by women). Emasculation and metrosexuality kick in when the guys are oppressed at work by women superiors whose goals can usually be so different, as a result of gender differences. Men taking orders from their women bosses, orders which are as unwise as any dumbo men can make.

Guys take after women in their mannerisms, behaviour and talk (bitching, carrying her handbag, toying with her clothes, make-up , dressing up , overtly narcissitic and preoccupied with his looks) . Now that is metrosexuality.

Housework isn't. Cooking, cleaning and washing. Neither is grocery shopping or minding the kids. The home is a private sphere between a couple who has equal shared responsibilities.

I had my say. Let the debate rage on.