Family Portrait

Today I just swallowed the most expensive steak of my life, a "Fillet Mignon single cut" set me back at SGD $79.00. The missus had a salmon with a price tag of $52.00. We skipped our Valentine's Day meal last Saturday as we were attending a friend's wedding dinner, so we thought we could celebrate on a separate day and at the same time do away with those overpriced commercial set meals.

We dined at Morton's Chicago Steakhouse this evening. They had this "impressive" method of introducing the restaurant's menu by putting forth a whole tray of raw meat and seafood in front of us as our dedicated server explained the courses (the poor sod was basically dictating a prepared script which I didn't catch on totally). And seeing the slabs of sliced up dead cow meat before ordering isn't exactly tantilising.. I half suspect I saw some chopped up crab legs moving as he spoke.. I am sure my mind was screwing with me after an entire week of OT and hectic workload. But alas I still managed to wind it down over a decent though overpriced meal with my wife and daughter.

As the week curtains down....

Alright this is a bloody boring post. I wish I have some wild escapade such as skinning a crocodile or something to brag about, which I haven't. Instead I have been cooped up with work and more work going for meetings and designing endless stuff for my clients. I did however spent some useful time on and off drawing a family portrait for our family of 3. So here goes, an illustration of the missus, baby Angel and myself attached in this post. Borrowing an art style I did for a current project, I created this pictorial. Not very polished yet as I didn't have the luxury of time to touch up more shadows, details, and possibly a background. Nonetheless its counted as completed although Angel's mum would like to see herself in a hip jeans and stylish sandals instead of an "ah soh" black skirt with horrific red color flat slip ons. I promised to work on it again some day once the client cut me some slack.

Lastly, Have Happy Weekend!

From Ken, Wife and Angel.

Angel Updates

And so the client said, "Take away this, minus that, multiply those and axe these."

"Your wish is my command.." was my reply, and I sent the ammendments over.

And then the client said, "Change this chunk and dunk those crap."

"Your wish is my command.." again I said, and sent the ammendments over again.

And then the client said, "Change again, change again another time, change again one more time, CHANGE CHANGE CHANGE!!"

"Alright you bitch, sod off."

I didn't really say that. Although I am so bloody tempted to. Well, this is just the regular life of a designer, adapt and make changes all the time.

Not complaining. Just taking a break from my work so that I can post some updates about my daughter. It relaxes me, just by blogging and talking about my daughter who is nearing her 4th month. How time flies, the day my wife's waterbag broke we were supposed to catch a movie, "Tropic Thunder", which we still have yet to watch. Today our little one has got more pattern than badminton, she pushes her milk bottle away during her feeding and attempt to drown us by crying a Singapore river. The moment the bottle tit is out of her mouth she chuckles and giggles non stop, that is until the tit is back into her mouth.

I recall a famous Mac Donalds ad on TV eons ago. Seated on a swing, the baby was laughing when she was swung forward, and then crying when swung backward. The clever editing showed in the perspective of the baby's eye, a big "M" logo appears whenever the camera heave upwards and then disappears when swinging downwards, and reappear again in another swing upwards. Our baby Angel is exactly like that, laughing and crying with the milk bottle in and out of her mouth.

Enough talk. Some photos of our three and half month old daughter uploaded here :)

Have a great week ahead.

From Ken, wife and daughter.

Dream On

I had the weirdest dream last night.

I thought I must share this.

Glimpse and bits still lingering in my head now. And it was weird. I get the occasional silly dreams whenever I had too much work and too many things hovering on a 34 year old brain trying to keep his tiny multimedia house alive amidst a screwed up economy. But I never had it this surreal. Trust me. Just keep reading.

The past weeks have already been a nightmare for me doubling up as a designer, art director, human resource manager, account servicing manager, toilet cleaner, and probably a sales man prick selling some design bullshit. In times of pressing datelines and creditors knocking at your doorstep, multi-tasking can make a man go crazy sometimes, and you desperately needed some cool headed advice. You need a figurehead, a consultant, a leader to guide you through. As a small time boss of a minuscule company, I had none of the above to look up to. And then it had to happen.

My jaws slammed on the concrete dragging a total of 100 feet because someone I so god damn admire came to my rescue. MR LEE KUAN YEW!! Singapore's Minister Mentor and founding father of our country. Gasp!! arhhmmp. I was bloody choking.

Well, in my dreams, literally of course, .

"Ken Poh?" asked a suave looking Mr Lee who looks like he was still in his earlier years, as he marked a tick in a list he was holding.

A stunned and fucking blur face me still looking at him in total disbelief. Am I dreaming? Is this for real? Or is this a joke? (well, hours later I woke up and slapped myself silly. Heck, its a bloody dream alright, what am I, Barack Obama?).

And in a mutter of confusion and excitement, I can still remember what I said. "Er yes, Sir.. I erh.. I bought this book, your latest book, can you sign your name for me please?" I was so excited I was like a teenager sissy chasing the boy band "Fahrenheit" because I added, "I am a big fan of yours."

I looked at him, I looked at the hard cover book in my hand with his face on it, I looked at his bodyguard with the grim face, and I looked at my daughter sleeping in her cot. Yes, even in my dreams, my daughter cannot spare me, and she looked like she's needing some milk in a bottle.
I cannot decide whether to feed my daughter or chase after my idol. This is driving me crazy like a teenage bitch.

It was house visit. The Minister Mentor doing his round of house visits in the night. And then the bodyguard grabbed my book. Before I could say anything Mr Lee said, "I'll come back to you." And then he left, with the body guards still tagging along. And I begged please, please have the book sign and return to me, while my daughter still wailed a trail behind me. A jump cut scene later, I was looking at the overwhelming crowd in the streets on top of a building. And I was still asking for the bloody bodyguard to give me back my book with Mr Lee's signature on it.

I never got the book. And Lee Kuan Yew never spoke to me again as he promised in the dream. But it was totally mind blowing, me speaking to Lee Kuan Yew, and seeing him face to face. But alas it was a dream only okay. Sigh..

I guess the heavy workload really screwed my brain. I figured out I needed guidance from someone on top which is why I had this really crazy dream. At least I think so. I am not a dream interpreter, I don't buy books like "101 dreams Interpretation", I had to find a logical explanation to this.

But dreams are not logical aren't they, because the great Mr Lee cannot be speaking to me, a saliva dripping twat with his mouth wide opened holding a Minister's Memoirs..

Just Another Thought I Pondered

When I was a teenager, the world we live in operate on faxes and telegrams. There was no internet, and "Cyberspace" is a term that sound like some sort of hollywood movie. The favorite haunts were Mac Donalds and Burger Kings. Starbucks Coffee have not even been bought over by Howard Schultz its founder, and there is certainly no such thing as 'people watching' in a cafe. Plus paying 6 bucks for a cup of 'kopi peng' is a luxury most of us cannot afford. Heck, a combo meal at Mac Donalds cost less than 4 bucks in those days.

The youngsters today have it all. They carry mobile phones that send messages across continents, have never operated a cassette walkman, while mp3 and IPOD is the standard denominator in their dictionary. They hogged cafes like their living rooms and smoke cigarettes at the age of ten. They might have invented the term "alcohol bingeing', and they prowl the roads like they paid road taxes more than the capacity of songs that their multi-gig IPOD can hold. Some of them can even be hard to fathom.

Unusually hungry straight after dinner on the first day of Chinese New Year (those set meals in Chinese Restaurants during the CNY period doesn't exactly tickle my tastebuds), I drove to a movie mall frequent by youngsters, Orchard Cineleisure, for a takeaway Burger King meal. The green man in the traffic light has turned red, and the crowd dispersed fast on the walkway only to reveal 2 teenagers taking their time strolling on. I rested my hands on the steering wheel and waited patiently for those 2 chaps to cross over while the car behind me is increasingly finding my car bumper as attractive as a canine's ass.

For easy reference, I will name them Mr Moonwalker and Mr Colorblind who obviously cannot differentiate green from red. Watching them stroll across the pedestrian walkway is like smoking weed and making you witness everything in slow motion signature of John Woo's style. With pressure building up from a salivating car behind my ass, I tap a quick horn behind the wheel.

Mr Moonwalker fast paced himself a little, but still enough to annoy because concubines in Qing Dynasty movies walked faster with their feet binded. A more dramatic Mr Colorblind still in the middle of the road gave me a stare and waved his hands across the walkway still holding a half-smoked cigarette. He must have muttered something which I am guessing is hokkien swearing. I pointed towards the red man sign suggesting he should go back to kindergarden for some coloring lesson. Clearly displeased, he lingers in the middle of the road displaying gangsterism by swaying like a monkey.

Now, I know you might probably be looking for some drama that might involved an uncle slapping 2 teenagers thereafter. It did not happen. I stepped on my accelerator and moved on. Compliments of my wife who reminded me that there is a baby at the back of my car. And it is a small matter to begin with anyway, I probably wouldn't mind if there were no cars behind me, but because of those 2 jokers I had road hogged the entire stretch of cars. But I have to say I was very agitated for a moment, holding back my fume I parked my car and promised my wife I wouldn't beat anyone up. I got us some burgers and drove off.

Those two looked barely 18 to me. They were in fact, boys who have not even entered the army for national service. And yet they behaved like they own the world. I was concerned. Although rebellious teenagers are spotted around everywhere in the world, especially in the west where they went about their killing spree by firing machine guns into crowds, I find the trend escalating in Singapore. News of teenagers beating people to death locally have tolled up over the years.

My personal observation simply in Singapore context alone is that, things are getting worse. I have witnessed fights that erupted simply by a mere stare while sitting in a coffee joint. And these kids were mostly in their secondary schools. I have also witnessed kids talking back to their parents in total disrespect. Their behaviour suggest a total revisit in our education system and uninspiring parenting.

A recent article I read suggested these are the "Generation Y" lot, intelligent and well informed with IT knowledge. They know what they want and usually have a short attention span to things that interest them, simply because, well they are too intelligent. The article also suggested that to keep the 'gen y' nation in your workforce you will need to constantly give them new and challenging roles or else they will move on.

I say screw it.

Because whether they are 'gen y' or 'gen x' or whatever, basic courtesy and personal conduct of behave still matters in life.

I did not live through the times of hardships like my parents did. But they taught me well, instilled mannerisms and dignity in my approach towards life. I was brought up with confucious values as a Chinese descendant. I doubt many of these kids bother, afterall our fast advancing society had diffused our roots and cultural values, opting for one that is perhaps more westernised. But still it is not an excuse for impoliteness, a lot of ang mohs are in fact cultured and polite people.

Back at home after some burger dining in car, I looked at my baby daughter who was sleeping like an angel in her cot. I am sorry the word 'angel' is so overused in my entries that it is probably a cliche now, but that is only way which best describes her at such an adolescent age. That is until she grows up to be a teenager who has to succumb to peer pressures and what not.

For a moment, I shuddered at the thought of my little girl talking back at her dad. But that is a little too far in the future for me to anticipate. For now, I'll just watch her grow up with joy and promise to instill to her the very same values that my parents instilled in me.

And for the first time in my life, I felt old, like a father, a parent.

Pissed

I am not talking about my daughter's urine.

I am talking about an adjective that is used in a vulgarised manner. If you key in "Pissed" in dictionary.com, it is described as : "Used in the imperative as a signal of angry dismissal", among the many other interpretations.

Or alternatively the web dictionary suggest the noun :Pissed Off.

Honestly, I don't really give a hoot. To me it is best described as "Fuck Off". Well, for added emotional agression, I would rather delved into the international four letter word.

The day started pleasantly on the 2nd day of Chinese New Year. I woke up to a hungry wail of my lovely daughter now 3 months and few days old. I fed her, played with her, bathed her, dressed her, acted out a comedic performance in front of her to make her chuckle and giggle at her father who is increasingly mutating into a jelly fish (Yes, I still turned soft when she laughed and smiled at me, every single time).

Barely walkable thereafter, the 3 of us (including the missus of course) commenced our special "pai nian" day trip. A special day marked this year's calendar for the CNY because of our newly arrived daughter. Now, if there is a business proposition most profitable under the current screwed up economic situation, then it must be to bring a baby out for some ang pow collection. The lucky girl had already made a tidy sum in a single day while I lament at my undernourished bank account.

During this time of the year every year, I will make sure I visit my best friends and their family. And in turn they will pop over to my house and we can catch up with one another and reminiscence the good old days of peeing on roof tops and throwing urine bombs to our neighbour's houses. Not exactly a proud and heroic childhood, but least it was fun and we got to save some toilet paper.

This year is eventful because most of us brought our kids along, and also because my father hogged on to my friend's one month old baby boy refusing to give him up to his proud parents.

"Hey look, this is my grandson", my dad who is still carrying the boy in his arm said to my relatives.

Now, jokes are best kept funny when conveyed once or twice. Anything more than that is pushing for a tight slap across the cheek.

"Hey look, this is my grandson", chuckled my old man again to another relative for the 98th time in 3 minutes.

He may be a grandfather, and he most undoubtly brought his son up to be the fine young chap I am today, but he still deserved a tight slap, which I of course didn't paved it on his face. Well, afterall the old man is my father. But if you ask me again, yes, he deserved a tight slap.

I can understand the older generation for the infatuated idea of a grandson instead of a granddaughter, but it has gone so bad that my friend's wife came over and gave a tight slap on my shoulder, "Ken, you better buck up and try harder, your dad keeps holding on to my baby".

"Why, because he is a boy?", I asked.

I can't excactly remember what she said in return, but in an emotional blurt-out I retorted, "That is why my brother always FUCK him. What is wrong with a granddaughter?"

I think my friend's wife mentioned something about the old folk's mentality of wanting for a baby grandson, but I was so blinded by the Piss that was bestowed on me and added again, "Thats why my brother always FUCK him."

Now, I must mentioned that my younger brother who also have an adorable baby daughter of nine months old is a true champion because he really fucked my dad whenever this boy/girl issue arises. I never felt the need to do so until today.

I was pissed off, very, and totally.

A slight embarrasement pursued after my blunder to my friend's wife but it was too late for any action of recovery. I chosed emotion against a logical diplomatic reply. But I was glad I did, because I realized I loved my daughter so much more than I thought.

The night settled with my friends going home and I headed to my wife's relative encavement of a 5 room HDB flat for dinner. And while the relatives were smashing majong tiles and soaking prawns in the steamboat, I held on to my daugther tightly in a separate airconditioned room. She looked at me with beam in her eyes and seemingly knew what I had gone through during the day. With more chuckles and smiles, she mewed and stretched opened her arms, I had mutated into a full-fledged jellyfish again.

Thoughts raced through my head swiftly, the events of the past few days, weeks, and months. And I thought to myself, I am truely blessed god gave me and my wife an angel to behold.

Then I suddenly have an urgent urge to pee. The little started crying, it could be feeding time again, and quickly called for my lovely wife.

I Have Nothing to Write About, Again.

When I started blogging one year ago, I titled my virgin post "I have nothing particular to write really".

Fast forward 2009, I still have nothing particular to write about.

I contemplated writing about my shopping trip to Vivocity, or my shopping trip to Isetan Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to Takashimaya Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to CK Tangs Orchard Rd, or my shopping trip to Paragon at bloody Orchard Road.

Screw it.

You can't go anyway, do anything, or eat anything with a 2 month old baby on a pram.

Planning a dinner with my wife, I suggested a wonderful evening escapade at Rochester Park, with images of serenity and fresh air alfresco dining in my head.

"Smoke. Got people smoke there. Its open air. Got smoking area there", my wife reminded me.

"Oh right..", I put a big cross for Rochester Park in my head. After all, what if the little one pooped, where are we going to change her diaper? On the bloody bar table? In fact I put many crosses everywhere. The places are either too crammed, too noisy, too smoky, too far, too unfriendly, too expensive ( I added this one in for myself, my daughter has got nothing to do with this).

And if we seek some entertainment on a weekend, skip that cinema, forget about karaoke, and ditch that idea of swooning in a bar for a lychee martini. Instead, pop over to a shopping mall in Orchard Road or a shopping mall in Orchard Road.

Now, before you slap me silly for making you guys go round and round in fucking riddles, please hear me out.

Its all true, its proven, there is no social life after kids. I have succumbed to my evil friend I mentioned on my earlier post who insisted life after kids is as good as walking to a nearby police station and stealing a policeman's gun in a dramatic effort to pull the trigger into the head.

Last Christmas, I turned down a party organized by a committee of the university i attended (well, I didn't feel like going anyway). I turned down another from a friend organizing a party for parents with kids (Its call a Play Group. I am not yet ready to join the hordes of uncles and aunties chasing after their screaming children).

As a matter of fact, I can't go anywhere, more so with a one month old baby back then. Except visiting a shopping mall in Orchard Rd. Alright, pull that trigger, I know you guys are dying to stop my whining.

So when fellow bloggers and friends on facebook are blasting posts on this outing and that party that they have attended, I can only post pictures of my lovable daughter sleeping in her pram probably in an air conditioned mall. However, that serene moment alone is already worth more than any alfresco dining under the moon.

Yes, even with a ice cold martini in hand.

Sorry guys.

This post is yet another one about my little angel, daddy's little girl.

Lethal Weapon

First of all let me start by wishing everyone a HAPPY HAPPY NEW YEAR!!

Lots have happened since my last post.

Barely 2 months old my daughter Angel have already paraded Orchard Road with its long stretch of shimmering Christmas lights, gained an extra few hundred pounds and started babbling some sort of "swahalli" language which neither me nor my wife can comprehend.

She would go like "Muahhh huaaa Arrrhrrrahhh hmmph.."

Of which my wife would say. "She's saying Daddy is a stupid idiot. Smart girl Angel."

Feigning ignorance over my wife's comments (a pathetically weak attempt apparently), I usually just smiled back at my daughter with my mouth wide open, .. almost like a legitimate idiot.

"Huaaamuah Huaaaa Swuahhha..Hmmph" she would babble again.

"There she go again. She's clearly enjoying the slapstick comedy in front of her." I would say, and my wife would simply nod in absolute agreement.

Comedic or not, her laughter and babbling kept melting my heart, over and over again. I felt like an ice cream in Sahara desert.

My daughter is also a messenger. She's like an msn application, a bridge between conversations commuted by her parents and grandparents. I swear to you this is killing me. Whatever the adults are saying, they are not saying to each other anymore.

Below is simply a couple of the messagers among the list.

1) "Mummy is very tired, Mummy's arm is aching, swelling, itching and rotting.. Daddy will be feeding you." (my wife will snappily knock back into her sleep after talking straight into my daughter's face.)

or this one coming from my mother, her grandma.

2) "Angel is a very good girl hor. She will grow up to be obedient unlike her father, she doesn't buy branded or Armani like her dad. From now on her daddy is gonna have to save up for Angel for her education, medical fees, university fees, marriage dowry.. " (well, what can I say, grandma is reprimanding her extravagant son in front of his daughter, almost directly but indirectly)

How the world changes, they say having a kid changes everything. Suddenly you are an idiot when you smile, but your daughter is an angel even when she poops or drools. My daughter has become a deadly weapon, used against her sleep deprived father wearing a comedic smile. The future ahead suddenly look bleaker, as if the current economic climate isn't sombre enough.

But still, I continue to become a tub of melted Haagen Daz whenever the little one mew in front of me. I will definitely stop at nothing for her, even if I have to give up my favorite Emporio Armani.

Bring it on, you little (lethal) Weeper (Weapon).