Book Buying Spree

Borders was having another huge discount offer (they seem almost periodic now), and I decided to make use of it to brighten up my life with some serious book buying. Strangely enough, I purchased only one new book the previous month (not counting another book purchased as a gift to a friend). It was a second hand copy of The Chicago Manual of Style, purchased at a bargain $9 at a Bras Basah bookstore while on the way back from the National Library building. That is not to say that I didn't spend a significant amount of time browsing, perusing, handling and accumulating scores of titles. I merely restricted myself to getting most of them from the library and ultimately returning many of them unread or at least uncompleted.

This prudence in the area of book buying was not to last, despite my best intentions for this to be so. I first went down to Border's on Friday afternoon. Borders was not only having a coupon discount promotion (30% off for any single book, with an additional 10% off for Border's members) but a storewide discount for anyone (35% off if you buy 5 titles or more, additional 10% for members). I printed out 4 coupons just in case I didn't have that many titles to buy, but as has proven so often in the past, the real challenge was trying not to buy too many titles. Worse still, I ended up going down to Borders again on Sunday afternoon with my sister after a family lunch at Ichiban Boshi.

In sum, the damage was as follows:

Islam: The Religion and the People by Bernard Lewis
The Messengers: The meaning of the Life of Muhammed by Tariq Ramadan
The Whiter Tiger by Aravind Adiga (2008 Booker Prize Winner)
Changing Places by David Lodge
Shakespeare's Language by Frank Kermode
Dreams of My Father by Barack Obama
The Audacity of Hope by Barack Obama
Other Colours by Orhan Pamuk
Making Globalization Work by Joseph Stiglitz
Microtrends by Penn and Zalesne

My sister also got the following:

Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks
Social Intelligence by Daniel Goldman
a Paperchase Tote bag
Quirkology
a Horse book
a CD/book on beginner's Malay

Regarding the purchases, I have made it a habit to read the Booker Prize winning (and often the shortlisted) novels, so I just had to purchase the White Tiger, this year's winner. Ramadan's book on the Prophet Mohammed had been recommended to me by a friend (Linda from RSIS) so taking her advice I decided to buy (and hopefully, read) it. Bernard Lewis is an expert on Islam and his book represents a basic primer on Islam, its very sects and beliefs which is well written and easy to read.

Given Barack Obama's recent victory in the US Presidential election both my sister and I thought it beneficial to buy his two bestselling novels, to get a more in depth look at the man and his ideas. We were both more interested in Dreams of My Father, his autobiographical account of his family and his search for an identity.

The Audacity of Hope is a far more political book, written when Obama's star was in the ascendancy, a front-lining speech to the Democratic National Convention already under his belt, and just about to begin his term as the junior Senator from Illinois. It seems commonplace, compulsory even for an aspiring politician (often candidates for the Presidency) to write a book, outlining in broad strokes their manifesto, and why they should be the 'chosen one'. Both books offer a glimpse into Obama's guiding principles and should make interesting reading.

Army High Handedness and Reservist Training

After completing two and a half years of 'National Service' (read thinly veiled euphemism for involuntary conscription), each Singaporean male is then rewarded for their loyalty by being placed in purgatory until the age of 45, liable to called up for up to a month every year by the army.

This year, I tried to apply for a deferment for my Reservist obligations, given that I am currently doing a full time Master's degree, and I would be missing a number of classes (and the entire first week of the new term). However, my application for deferment was denied on two separate occasions. More troubling for me was that an attempt was made to reject my application either willfully or unwillfully on false pretenses. I was informed that doing a full-time Master's degree was not valid grounds for deferment, but this turned out to only be the case for Universities not recognized by the government. There was also considerable confusion over another clause stating that a minimum of 20 hours of classes a week were necessary for a deferment request to be valid, which didn't necessarily apply in my case. I was told they did.

In the end, the issue was only resolved when my mother went to see our local Member of Parliament to lodge a complaint. Ultimately, I must express my disappointed at the high handed way in which the army acted. The reason they gave for the rejection (besides their selective reading of the two criteria above) was that "my presence was necessary for training" and that given I was doing a Master's degree, I could "reschedule my academic activities to before or after my two week reservist obligations". This is patently absurd. I have to attend seminars comprising between 5 to 20 individuals. These seminars are not going to be rescheduled just for my sake.

I must state, in all fairness, that after the complaint to the MP, my Commanding Officer called me personally, and a fair compromise was reached that enabled me to attend all my classes, while still fulfilling my reservist obligation. What I wonder is, why weren't my concerns addressed previously until my mother, in complete annoyance and exasperation at the army, took the drastic measure of lodging a formal complaint with a MP? I can only come to the conclusion that given it was their right to call me up, and my obligation under law to fulfill the request, they saw no need to fully address any concerns that I might have, that is until extraneous measures were taken.

Sadly, this was hardly the first case where the army has acted in such a manner against me. At the end of my full time national service obligations, by way of thanking me for one and a half years of service to my formal NS Unit, my unit S3 (through the Commanding Officer) threatened to postpone my discharge from full-time national service unless I completed an intermediate unarmed combat course. Passing that course was not a necessary requirement for completion of full time national service. One got the impression that the Commanding Officer would have preferred having a spotless 100% completion rate for the Unit as a feather in his cap.

Consider the measures necessary to gain that feather. I was asked to take the test my exact ORD or Operationally Ready Date despite the fact that technically, my obligations to the army had ended the day before. Further troubling was that unarmed combat carried with it a fair chance of injury or accident (a fellow member of my unit broke his hand during a training session, another person I knew injured his knee) but I had already cleared the army medical exam, meaning that the army was no longer liable for any injury that I might sustain in the course of taking the test, particularly since it also fell outside my obligation of service. Furthermore, I had not met the training requirement of attending three quarters of the classes necessary to take the test (due to illness, and fulfilling other obligations such as guard duty).

The response of my unit? Do the test - or else. Do the test or you will no be given your freedom. It was quite a despicable form of blackmail. Sadly, this method often proves effective, because many servicemen will be cowed into just doing what these senior officers want, for fear of the consequences. It is thus easy for these officers to view their soldiers as pawns that can be steadily advanced and sacrificed in order to meet the greater objective of securing their own promotion and advancement. Sadly for them, my family refused to be cowed. They raised many of the concerns I highlighted to the S3, to which they received no satisfactory response. They then threatened to lodge a formal complaint to Mindef, citing that they believed I was being bullied into taking the test. Ultimately, my S3 admitted they had no grounds to force me to take the test.

The Commanding Officer then canceled a planned meeting with my parents to discuss the issue, stating that he "no longer saw a need to meet with them". My father exploded, saying that he had taken a day's leave to settle the issue, which he felt was important and he saw a need to meet with him. He then informed my S3 that he would personally drive me to camp on the date I was to receive my civilian identity card and my release from the army, and if I was not out of the camp in two hours, he would personally drive to the Ministry of Defence to sort things out there. I was out of the Camp in one and a half hours.

The ultimate irony was when I had to approach my S3 to sign my discharge forms, and he somewhat placatingly and somewhat indulgently asked why I had "caused so much trouble". I have since been asked that same question in other contexts. The question is: was I the one who attempted to threaten a national serviceman into doing a non-compulsory test on spurious grounds? Was I the one who selectively mis-read the criteria for deferment from reservist training? If these valid concerns had been taken into account originally there would be no need to "cause trouble". The real tragedy seems to be that trouble is necessary for an individual national serviceman's voice to be heard in the first place.

Bradley in Singapore

I had the opportunity to catch up with Bradley Perrett, an old friend, for drinks today. Bradley, who currently writes for Aviation Weekly magazine, was stopping by Singapore for a week and I felt duty bound to take him out for a few drinks, especially given his love of Tiger Beer.

My family literally stumbled upon Bradley while on a holiday to London in December 2000. We had met, quite by accident, two other Singaporeans who overheard my comments (as well as my accent) regarding the musical Starlight Express during the intermission. They later introduced us to Bradley, who lived on a wonderfully cosy apartment on Charing Cross Street, a virtually heaven for both him and myself, given our shared love of books.

It is always enlightening talking to Bradley. On this occasion, we talked about airplanes and ships (a great passion of his), but also about the threat of nuclear proliferation. Bradley took the alarmist line, viewing nuclear weapons as a great danger, particularly its proliferation to states such as North Korea and Iran. I tried to argue from a viewpoint of limited deterrence, and the view that nuclear weapons actually help to limit conflicts by making escalation so costly that states automatically alter their behaviour (the recent Kargil conflict between India and Pakistan as a prime example).

Anyhow, it is always lovely talking to Bradley, and I would greatly welcome the opportunity to converse and meet up with him again.

In a subsequent MSN conversation we had, Bradley sent me his views on the Cuban Missile Crisis. He had read (and I was reading) a new account of the crisis by Michael Dobbs titled One Minute to Midnight. Bradley took the interesting line that Nikita Krushchev was the man primarily responsible for bringing the world back from the brink of nuclear annihilation. Far from it being an excellent example of successful decision making by an American administration, Bradley argues that Kennedy and his advisers were largely irresponsible, and nearly brought about nuclear armageddon. After thinking further on the matter, I have come round more towards Bradley's point of view.

Murray Perahia in Concert

I had the privilege of seeing Murray Perahia in concert. He is probably one of the outstanding living pianists still plying their trade today, and one of my personal favourites (along with Martha Argerich). His program included Bach's second partita for keyboard, Beethoven's Appasionata Sonata, Chopin's Ballades Nos 3 and 4 and assorted other works by Chopin.

I was especially looking forward to the all-Chopin post intermission portion of the programme, and it did not disappoint. One of Perahia's most popular recordings is his wonderful rendition of the four ballades, and he did not disappoint in his live performance of the latter two. He also performed an assortment of other Bach pieces (Mazurkas, Waltzes, Preludes) with aplomb.

More disappointing, in my opinion, was his rendition of the Bach partita, which is somewhat surprising given that Bach is a major part of his oevre. Perahia's recording of the Goldberg Variations remains one of my favourites to date, and he has recorded Bach extensively, but his performance lacked the crispness and clarity of his CD recordings.

It was inevitable that Perahia received a massive ovation at the end of what was a relatively short performance. He came back for three curtain calls, performing parts of two of Schubert's impromptus, and a Chopin piece that I could not identify. All in all, a wonderful concert by a world reknown pianist that everyone was more than thrilled to see

iPhone

I discovered that my mobile phone contract had run for over 30 months, giving me the option of renewing the contract, with the benefit of purchasing a new phone at a discounted price. It also meant that I was finally able to register the line under my name (it was previously under my dad's) and set up a Giro payment scheme for my phone bill (the bank account name must the same as the person to whom the line is registered to).

In the end, after weighing up the various options, I ended up getting myself the new Apple iPhone. My mom's plan was also due for renewal and because she is on a more expensive plan, purchasing the iPhone on her renewal meant that I could purchase it for $520 instead of the $870 that it would have cost under mine. However, given that I wanted to sign the new contract under my name, that necessitated purchasing a discounted phone on my plan as well, unless we wished to forgo the opportunity to buy a new phone at a cheaper rate. My mom, after a rather protracted selection process, ended up getting a Motorola V9, the main drawback being that the phone was a tie-in with Ferrari, and had a Ferrari logo stuck on the back. My dad tried to convince her that it was not worth getting a Samsung phone, similar in design (they were both flip open models) that cost over $200 more, the main additional feature being a 5 mega-pixel camera.

As for the new iPhone, I have only tested it out briefly so far, and the general impression is that it is unlike any phone I have ever seen before. It is more or less identical in design to an iPod touch, modified to include phone functionality. This means of course that it is completely touch screen - no keypad at all, and it is quite a kick to dial a number by pressing virtual digits on the screen. SMSing can be somewhat clumsy at times on the virtual QWERTY keyboard, but something that one could get used to. An additional feature for SMSing is that the iPhone tracks SMS 'correspondences' (similar to the way Gmail tracks email conversations) featuring a chain of SMSes linked together in comic book style speech bubbles. Another potential benefit I can see is being able to sync the phonebook with all its stored numbers, with my macbook, giving me a back-up copy of all my various contacts and phone numbers in the event (God forbid) that something were to happen to my phone.

In sum, it was a grand idea for Apple to move into the phone market, and the iPhone represents more of an addition to the existing design and technology rather than a fundamental new development. However, where Apple succeeds is that the iPhone represents a very real integration of technologies like music, photos, organizer etc. with phone functionality that the latest generation of phones have been moving towards, but which most existing phones have not quite succeeded in achieving thus far. It is easy to see why the iPhone, at least for the moment, is the hottest phone on the market.

It's Camels All Round

On one particular occasion when my sister invited some friends over to our home, a particularly nerdy lab mate of hers (who was unsurprisingly going out with an equally nerdy fellow lab mate) started pontificating on the difference between one-humped and two-humped camels. This certainly stuck in my mother's mind as she commented about this afterward (citing this as rather strange behaviour). I would have thought that my predilection for strange facts would have inured her to that by now. 

Still, as if to prove that no knowledge is ever useless, this piece of information came up in a pub quiz I was taking part in a few months afterwards. How many humps does a Dromedary Camel have, it asked. I could not for the life of me remember. It seems that camel humps was one of the few random bits of information that I found difficult to digest and my team got that question wrong.

So when it was mentioned that Bactrian camels, native to China, have two humps unlike their Arabian one-humped cousins, in The Man Who Loved China,  a book by Simon Winchester about Joseph Needham and the inspiration behind his magnum opus Science and Civilisation in China, I decided once and for all to set the record straight. So, Bactrian - two humps, native to East and Central Asia (also highly endangered apparently). Dromedary, far more common, native to the Middle East (and also the ones you are likely to pose for a photo with in front of the Great Pyramids in Egypt before getting asked by its handlers for a fee), and most definitely one humped.

So there, this hardly proved to be one hump too many!

J.B Jeyaretnam (1926 - 2008)

I was extremely saddened to hear of the passing of J.B Jeyaretnam, stalwart Singaporean opposition politician, who died of a heart attack on 30th September. Even more saddening and shocking for me was the fact that I only realized the fact a good 4 days later, having failed to read of it in the papers. More stunning still to me, it had not come up in the course of my daily conversations on interesting happenings in the world with my friends. I stumbled upon the news randomly while surfing the web. It will be the greatest dereliction of duty, whether one agrees with him or not, to not pay some homage to JBJ's service as a public figure and his ceaseless quest to promote democracy and justice in Singapore.

I was thus tremendously pleased that The Economist choose to feature JBJ in their obituary for their October 11th-18th issue (they only feature an obituary for one notable individual per issue). JBJ also received mention in many famous newspapers around the world, including the New York Times, and most of the British dailies. The Economist perhaps put it best. Quoting Lee Kuan Yew's assertion that the government engaged all those multitudinous libel actions to protect the government's reputation and not to silence the opposition, the publication noted that "Certainly, Mr Jeyaretnam, most distinguished of that tiny band, was never silenced. Lee Kuan Yew may have been the infinitely greater statesman, but some would have judged Mr Jeyaretnam the infinitely bigger man." I am inclined to agree.

The Return of the Prodigal Son

When my quiz team recruited me on that fateful day over a year ago now, they commented that I was a classic 'ringer' given my quizzing pedigree. Little did they know. I had missed the quiz on 17th September after my class overran and I heard later that my usual team had finished in an abysmal 5th position. The following week, I was asked to be the substitute quizmaster as Pete was suffering from some hip trouble. My team took part, without me, and finished 3rd, outside the prizes for the second week in the a row. 

This might seem to be just a minor run of bad fortune, but it has to be put into perspective. With me in their side they have never finished outside the top two. Indeed, at one point our team was so dominant that the quizmaster was attempting to come up with a suitable handicap for us after we strung together five consecutive wins, and nine in ten weeks. Lo and behold, I fail to join them for two weeks, and they splutter into a fifth and a third placing!

I could hardly afford to abandon them this week though I was quick to point out, tongue firmly in cheek, how badly they needed me, so I went for the quiz. Things got a little more complicated when Iris, an old friend from my ACJC days, ambled into the pub quite unexpectedly, having made a reservation to do the quiz. It was her first time there and she professed herself fond of 'trivia nights' as they call it in Melbourne where she studies. Oh, if there were only more ladies like her! I was sorely tempted to abandon the lads and join her team, but my loyalty held, and I stuck with them. Bros before Hoes as they say.

Given the return of the prodigal son to the team, it was quite inevitable that we triumphed this week and quite handily at that. It was a comfortable victory, apart from a round where we were forced to guess if individuals were dead or alive - far more difficult than one would necessarily think. In that round I made the gaffe of thinking Sir Roger Bannister (first man to run the four minute mile) dead - I had mistakenly thought they had a memorial service for him when I was at Oxford!

Afterwards, Iris, her sister and her friends headed over to Lau Pa Sat for supper, and I was quite happy to follow. It enabled us to catch up on our assorted acquaintances from our Junior College days and reminisce about the good and not so good old times. Come to think of it Iris is just the last in a long string of old friends who seem to be wandering into the Shoe. First it was a couple of old ACS(I) friends, then it was Edwin, Julian Han and of all people Sheryl Tan (a classmate from my first three months in JC) who popped by the Shoe the week I was the quizmaster. It was wonderful to see them all again, especially Sheryl who seems far more talkative now than I ever remembered her to be (but then again she was the quietest person I knew). So old friends in a familiar setting, perfect all round.

A Walk in the Rain

I had decided to join my parents, and my uncle at Lunar since it was the eve of a public holiday. The usual suspects were there - Kent, girlfriend in tow and an assorted group of his friends who proceeded to more or less take over my Uncle's usual table; Edmund; and Yanni, a friend of Kent and his girlfriend. It was the birthday of Darren, one of the managers at the club, who has treated my uncle marvelously, and judging by the number of well-wishers he was well-liked indeed.

The real adventure began when we decided to leave for home at around 3.45 am. Clarke Quay is never the best of places to attempt to get a taxi on any occasion. On the eve of a public holiday it turns into a mess. To make matters worse, it was raining rather heavily, thus affecting the number of available cabs. The taxi queue was long, and it wasn't moving, the phone lines were jammed as everyone in the vicinity was attempting to call a cab, and in short the situation was quite hopeless.

I thus attempted to cross the road to flag a cab instead of waiting hopelessly in the queue. Despite waiting in the rain for the better part of a half hour, it proved a rather hopeless situation. There were scores of people lining the roadside, some walking a good 500m down the road in either direction. I later heard that my uncle had walked all the way to the City Hall area in order to get a taxi. I finally gave up, only to find on my return that my parents had disappeared from the queue and had somehow managed to get a cab.

Seeing that joining the queue (which had ballooned even further) was a hopeless scenario, and I didn't have a handphone with me to attempt to call a cab (which was probably hopeless too), I decided that I might as well go for a wander. All the better if I were to find a late night kopitiam for supper. So I started off in the rain, which didn't bother me one jot as I had already been pretty much soaked through. It was definitely interesting, and somewhat surreal wandering off aimlessly, in the pouring rain, with no particular direction in mind, in an area linking Clarke Quay and Chinatown that I had not seen much of previously.

In the end, sadly, I only passed one deserted coffee shop, before locating a 24-hour McDonalds which served breakfast. So it was a Big Breakfast for me at five something in an already bustling McDonalds. I then found myself just a few steps from Chinatown MRT station and I took the very first train of the morning home, finding myself with an interesting assortment of early birds - night workers returning home, some office workers getting an early start, teenagers (why are teenagers always out and about) headed somewhere, probably some of them having gone through a night of revelry. 

There was something perhaps oddly magical about it all, the warm fuzzy glow that comes about after imbibing a few whiskies, the almost familiar patter of rain, lessening in intensity but still falling, largely deserted streets haloed in street lamps, and the sense that at this moment, at least, you are free to glower, and to laugh at the world in turn, perhaps even simultaneously.

Faldo's Failure?

Following Europe's heavy defeat in the Ryder Cup, Nick Faldo has come in for some heavy criticism. As the team captain responsible for making a number of key decisions, it is inevitable that his tactics and selections have been called into question in the wake of the defeat. It seems to me that Ryder Cup captains in general, and Faldo in particular, are often blamed, justly or unfairly, when their team loses. Ultimately, it is the players that win (or lose) the Cup out on the course, and in this instance there is little doubt that the Americans were just better on the weekend.

That isn't to say that the Ryder Cup captains do not sometimes make the most bizarre and baffling decisions. Hal Sutton's decision to pair Tiger Woods and Phil Mickelson together despite the fact that they clearly loathed each other springs immediately to mind. In such instances, criticism of the Captain is justified. However, I believe that most of the decisions that Nick Faldo made at Valhalla were fairly sound. For the sake of argument I will go over them and other factors that might have led to the European defeat:

Wild Card Selections: Faldo was heavily criticized for his choice of Ian Poulter as a second wildcard over Darren Clarke. Poulter however, by scoring four points (which could easily have been a full five had he and Justin Rose not thrown away their foursomes match on the first day) has more than justified his selection. Any criticism now that Clarke, or Monty or anyone else might still have been a better pick seems spurious against the fact that Poulter turned out to be by far Europe's best performing player. Monty was seriously out of form and it is doubtful that his erratic play would stand up to Ryder Cup pressure. But all that is speculation. Poulter and Casey were chosen, they played well (especially Poulter), and it is facile to criticize Faldo in this regard.

Resting/Dropping Garcia and Westwood: Faldo was criticized for dropping Garcia and Westwood for the fourballs session on the second day. There seems some merit in this criticism given Garcia's tremendous fourballs record - he has never lost a fourballs match. Garcia and Westwood have also done tremendously well together in the fourballs in the past. However, I believe that Faldo did make the right decision. You have to choose your pairing based on how well the players are playing on the day, not their past record. Garcia and Westwood were not playing at all well (they failed to muster a single win between them throughout the Ryder Cup). Garcia's fourballs record was only preserved on the first day when the American's threw victory away on the last hole. Besides, the session when they were dropped was the only one that Europe won. Had Faldo stuck with Garcia and Westwood blindly, he would probably be criticized for putting too much faith in his trusted guns and for an inability to make tough decisions.

Bottom Loading the Singles: Faldo was criticized for leaving Europe's best players at the end in the singles, especially when their matches became redundant after the Americans had sealed the victory earlier on. It is suggested that had he top loaded the singles, and put some blue on the board, momentum would swing Europe's way. However, it is first worth noting that Europe lost the Ryder Cup in the middle order, not the front, and also the fact that the singles pairings is a notoriously fickle exercise. Starting things off with Sergio Garcia (with such an excellent Ryder Cup record) is hardly a slouch, but Anthony Kim looked like he was game to beat anyone on the day. Some of the Americans were just on amazing form - Oliver Wilson played his round 4 under (through 15 holes) and still lost to Boo Weekly. With Europe behind, Faldo was gambling on his players pulling some points back early and his big guns being inspired into sealing the deal. Unfortunately, this did not happen. Still, I give him full marks for having the guts to try.

Lack of Assistants: Faldo was criticized for only appointing Jose Maria Olazabal as an Assistant Captain, and of being too egoistic to have more support which was important for a European victory. Faldo has been dogged by claims that he is standoffish and arrogant throughout his career. The crux of the question is whether Faldo's leadership style and his purported need to make all the key decisions affected the team negatively. Would having more assistants have helped? It would certainly have meant that Faldo could afford to have more people on the course monitoring play and offering advice or just a calming word or two to the players where needed. In my opinion, it probably would have helped Faldo to have an additional assistant or two, if only to reduce Faldo's immense workload, and to provide a trusted ear, where needed. 

The issue with Faldo is, he probably wouldn't have wanted an additional advice. In the end, I think this issue had been played up too much - it would have been more significant had the Europeans had more inexperienced Ryder Cup players/rookies or if the rookies had wilted under the pressure. Instead, it was Europe's Ryder Cup old guard that failed to perform and you would hardly expect Faldo to have to mollycoddle them. Also, Faldo has his own style of captaining the team which should be respected. Seve Ballesteros before him was endlessly energetic - which extended to his offering advice while his players were out on course, including one occasion where one of the them proceeded to dump his next shot in the water. Faldo's style was different, a no-fuss assured style of leadership which I believe the Europeans responded to. Some players, notably Garcia, could have done with a more fiery, less phlegmatic style, but then again, not all of them.

There's No Place Like Home: The recent European success in America belies the difficulty of winning the Cup away from home, especially when there is a partisan crowd out in force. The crowd at Valhalla was most definitely partisan, though mostly in good taste (Westwood's complaints at Boo Weekly stirring up the crowd aside). Playing at home also gives an advantage in terms of setting up the course favourably to your side. The Americans certainly did that at Valhalla. If there was one factor that won or lost the Cup it was putting. The organizers made sure that the greens were slick and fast, which definitely favoured the Americans. Much has been made about the contributions of the American Ryder Cup rookies, about their enthusiasm, but the whole American team was buoyed by the crowd, which was a big X factor throughout the weekend.

So in the end, I would suggest, that the Americans won because they played better over the 3 days. That may be the most facile and unhelpful of statements, but that doesn't make it any less true. There is a understandable tendency in the wake of a defeat to dissect the decisions made, and engage in what if recrimination. This is especially the case with Ryder Cup captains. Perhaps we should give Faldo a break and in true Ryder Cup spirit, applaud the Americans for playing a marvelous weekend of golf.

Lord of the Rings Marathon

I finally succumbed and bought the DVD Special Edition Box Set of the Extended Versions of the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy. Quite a mouthful, and indeed quite representative of the length of the movies themselves. 

What better way to celebrate the immensity of the purchase (it set me back around S$130) than to hold a massive marathon movie session to view all three movies back to back (to back) in its extended format? I had previously attended a Lord of the Rings marathon where all three theatrical releases were shown through the night at a cinema in Oxford, but this would be the ultimate test, with all the additional cut footage bringing each movie beyond four hours in length.

Watching the extended versions of the movies turned out to be quite a fun game of detective work, as various people chimed in as to whether this or that particular scene was 'in the original'. It also presented an interesting view into the movie editing process, particularly in scenes which had been retained, but where specific shots had been cut or edited. It is a pity that some scenes had to be cut out, particularly extended footage of the Shire at the beginning of The Fellowship of the Ring, and the Houses of Healing scene in the Return of the King. The scenes involving the Mouth of Sauron were also immensely cool. One scene which I was happy to see cut involved Aragon in the Halls of the Dead, and involved Aragon, Gimli and Legolas running for cover to avoid being inundated by cascading skulls. That was Peter Jackson at his most B grade horror kitsch.

I must thank Edward, Vernon and Karin for staying all the way through the whole night, and Rachel and Hiankai for coming for portions of it. There is nothing like watching the Lord of the Rings with a group of fellow Tolkien fans. It was also something to watch the three movies together, as a seamless whole, which they are undoubtedly meant to be. Now, I have to start working on the three DVDs of extras, commentary, interviews and other footage, which should be an adventure in itself!

Mom's 50th Birthday Party

It is a truism of course that you only turn fifty once (in fact that can be said for any particular age in your life), but celebrating a half century on earth is certainly a special occasion that calls for a huge celebration. Given my parents, and their ability to have fun, it was bound to be a memorable evening, as indeed it turned out to be.

The party was held at a small pub - Utopia 17 - near Chinatown which had been booked out specifically for the occasion. My dad had planned quite a few fun activities in advance, and among the festivities was a wonderfully creative lady that made balloon sculptures, a task where my mom had to find three people that matched her height, weight and waist size exactly, one where my dad has stuck five one thousand dollar bills in a glass bottle and my mom had to take them out, and finally a special salsa dance with a (supposedly) sexy dancer hired for the evening by Cat, a family friend.

The guests represented the diverse range of friends and acquaintances that my mom had accumulated over the years, including their current salsa group, a large group of clubbing buddies (both current and past), former students of my father's from way back (Jude, one of my dad's very first students), to the present (Grace and Luke), and indeed a former student that has since gone on to become a business professor as well (Brian). Some of my friends who have become well known to the family also came, notably Fergus, as well as Jasmine.

It turned out to be a very long evening indeed. After the club shut at 3am, the whole group ended up heading over to Dragonfly to continue in the revelry. We all ended up heading home at around 6am or so. The following afternoon was spent sorting through the gifts. Notable among them was the huge amount of alcohol - two bottles of whisky, one of martell, three bottles of champagne, and around eight bottles of wine. If we aren't already closet alcoholics we are well on are way to getting there given this haul! Grace and Luke were creative in giving my mom bird's nest (to be taken presumably the morning after big clubbing nights). So it was definitely a birthday to remember, even as 50th birthdays go.

Palin and Pregnancy

As if her announcement as the VP candidate wasn't cause for enough surprise. It has just been revealed that Sarah Palin's 17 year-old daughter, Bristol, is five months pregnant. Bristol has decided to keep the baby and will soon be marrying the father. Both the McCain and Obama camps have rightly pointed out that this is a private matter that should be left to the discretion of the Palin family.

It is unlikely that Palin's appeal to the social conservatives will be damaged by news of the pregnancy given the decision of her daughter not only to keep the baby but to marry the father.
What Bristol Palin's pregnancy is bound to do is highlight once again the enormously high teenage pregnancy rate in the United States. What it should do is raise questions about the role that social conservatives (and the policies they advocate) have to play in creating this situation.

America has a startlingly high rate of teenage pregnancies. According to statistics cited by the BBC, around 750,000 teenage American girls get pregnant every year. The Centre for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) that keeps tabs on such statistics has revealed that about one third of American girls get pregnant before the age of 20. Of these pregnancies, 80% are 'undesired' or 'occurring sooner than desired'. These are shocking statistics to say the least.

One reason that has been cited for the high teenage pregnancy rate is the social conservatives insistence on advocating abstinence only sex education, a policy supported by current President George W. Bush. Critics suggest that the statistics have shown that teaching abstinence is not only ineffective but socially irresponsible. The evidence suggests that a huge majority (around 90% or greater) of teenagers break abstinence only pledges, and worse of all, those who make such pledges are much less likely to use any form of birth control or protection when they do end up having sex.

Sarah Palin herself is a strong proponent of abstinence only sex education. In fact, she pledged during her campaign for governor that she would categorically refuse any funding for sex education programs in Alaska. To her, teenagers should be encouraged not to have sex, not how to protect themselves when and if they do. This is highly unfortunate given that Alaska has one of the highest teenage STD transmission rates in the whole of the United States. It does seem perverse that Governor Palin would withhold funding for a policy designed to give teenagers information that might help them to protect themselves from infectious diseases (besides unwanted pregnancy).

Bristol Palin's pregnancy is certainly not unique among American teenagers her age. Republicans are trying to present this as yet another instance where Palin has shown herself to fit the typical soccer mom image she identified herself with when accepting the nomination. That this pregnancy is so commonplace as to resonance with the average everyday American must be cause to cast light on Sarah Palin's policies on sex education.

Bristol is 17 years old, and she will soon find herself a mother, a role many would agree no 17 year old is really ready to face. The fact is that American teenage girls are sexually active, many at a relatively young age. It will be delusional, and more than that, irresponsible, for Sarah Palin to pretend otherwise.

Addendum: Nobody is questioning that the Palins gave Bristol all the support she needed when she found out she was pregnant. Still, feminists will be outraged at what to them is a shotgun marriage forced upon an unwitting 17-year old on the basis of throwback pre-women's liberation good as apple pie family values. There is of course also the possible influence that Sarah Palin, with her strongly avowed pro-life stance, had on her daughter with regards to keeping the pregnancy itself. Some commentators were highly bemused by the suggestion that Palin, a pro-life conservative, could win over Hilary Clinton supporters. There was little doubt she would really resonate with female voters. It was just a question whether the voters would delve deep enough to realize just how conservative she is. The pregnancy is bound to put that in the spotlight.

So 'Nice'

I had an English Literature teacher who absolutely banned the use of certain four letter words in his class. Contrary to what you might think, it was not the common swear words or expletives that would set him on edge it was the four letter words 'nice' and 'good'. He taught a class on practical criticism, so it was common for him to hand out poems, or extracts from plays, have us read it and then, inevitably ask us what we thought of the piece. The fastest way to draw his ire was to reply that you found the poem 'nice' or that the poet's use of language was 'good'.

The problem with saying that something is 'nice', particularly a poem, is that to a degree, you aren't really saying much of anything at all. 'Nice' and 'good' are words that have been more or less leached of any specific context or meaning to the point where they only express generalities. Saying that something is 'nice' probably gives it a certain sense of warm fuzziness, but in practical criticism, and I would argue for much of writing, what is needed is a greater degree of precision.

I was reminded of my English Lit teacher's one man war on 'nice' when I encountered this extract from Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey, which I am currently reading. Catherine Moreland, the main character of the story had just described a book she was reading as 'nice' only to be rather impertinently asked by her friend Henry Tilney if she meant its binding. When asked why she should not describe a book as nice if she finds it so, Tilney replies:

"Very true, and this is a very nice day, and we are taking a very nice walk, and you are two very nice young ladies. Oh! it is a very nice word indeed! - it does for everything. Originally perhaps it was applied to express neatness, propriety, delicacy, or refinement; - people were nice in their dress, in their sentiments, or their choice. But now every commendation on every subject is comprised in that one word"

I rather agree. Indeed, I could have hardly put it more nicely myself! Or perhaps, what I meant to say is I could not have put it more succintly, accurately, or comprehensively myself. So the end result of this post? Perhaps, using the word 'nice' is well, not so nice after all!

Saving Federer's Season

It has been a very disappointing year by the stratospheric standards of Roger Federer. Having won at least two grand slams in every year from 2004, he has yet to win a grand slam this year with just the US Open to go. He was humiliated by Nadal in the French Open final, and worst, lost to Nadal on his own turf at SW19 in an epic final that denied him the chance of a sixth consecutive Wimbledon title. He then crashed out to James Blake at the Olympics though he redeemed himself by winning a gold in the doubles for Switzerland. Then, immediately afterwards, he finally lost the world No.1 ranking for the first time in more than 200 weeks, a serious psychological blow enshrining Nadal formally as the top player in the world, something that had been apparent throughout the year in all but name.

But has this really been such a disastrous year for Roger Federer? Perhaps only because he is a victim of the inflated expectations that his dominance of men's tennis over the past three years has created. No wonder that he gets along so well with Tiger Woods. But in a sense, this year has been a disaster because of the very lofty expectations that Federer places on himself. He believes that he deserves to be and is the best player in the world. This isn't the case anymore. It used to be a question of whether Federer could overcome his hoodoo with Nadal at Roland Garros. Now Federer must be asking himself whether he can ever beat Nadal, on any surface, period.

Let's put things into perspective first with regards to the US Open. Federer has already won it an unprecedented four times in a row. Nobody has managed that since the great Bill Tilden in the 1920s and nobody has ever done it in the Open era. John McEnroe won three in a row and so did Ivan Lendl in the 1980s but Federer has already set the standard in terms of his recent dominance of the tournament (it remains to be seen if Federer can match Lendl's record of 8 consecutive finals). History suggests that Federer can't maintain this streak. The fact that he is supposedly having a bad year and is more vulnerable than he has been in a long while, seems to point to a Federer defeat.

Which is why I believe that Federer will win this year's US Open. What Federer has going for him is that the hardcourt (particularly at the Grand Slams) is probably Nadal's least favourite surface. His previous best showing was a QF defeat to Mikhail Youzhny in 2006, hardly a stellar record. However, Nadal's semifinal performance at the Australian Open earlier this year (where he was defeated by a truly inspired Jo-Wilfred Tsonga) gives an inkling of how much he has improved playing the high bounce hardcourts of the Grand Slams. While the Wimbledon defeat to Nadal was galling, it was not altogether a shock (more pundits had actually backed Nadal to win). Nadal had reached the previous two Wimbledon finals against Federer and had pushed him closer and closer each time. If Federer were to meet Nadal at the US Open (and this can only happen if they both reach the final) it would rank as a far bigger shock to me if he lost than the Wimbledon 'upset'. That defeat, were it to occur, would truly be the final shattering psychological blow, but I don't think it will.

In fact, I will go as far as to suggest that Federer's biggest threat will be Novak Djokovic in the semi-finals. The Serb is oozing with confidence (though less so after a disappointing Olympics and US Open run up) and defeated Federer at the Australian earlier this year en route to winning his first Slam. He is also a smooth operator on the hardcourts and this is his breakout year. Amidst all the hoopla and the struggles with Nadal, the talk of rising stars like Djokovic threatening the established order, it might be easy to forget one thing - Roger Federer is a winner. He is four time defending champion. My bet is at this US Open he will respond like a champion and restore his pride. Discount him at your own peril.

Obama's VP Choice

There is still considerable doubt in the minds of many commentators as to how important the choice of a running mate actually is to a prospective Presidential candidate. Nobody would dare suggest that it is a crucial life or death choice for a campaign. Still, there is a sense that it is vaguely important, and definitely warranting considerable attention. I believe that as much as Hillary Clinton supporters will be disappointed by Obama's decision, his choice of Joe Biden can hardly be considered a surprise.

To start with, in assessing Obama's pick, we have to first justify his non-choice. There was a significant portion of the Democratic party hoping for a 'dream ticket' of Obama and Clinton. Given that she took almost 48% of the vote in the Primary, is it a valid question to ask if Obama could even afford not to pick her. Will too many Hilary supporters be alienated to see her miss out? It is my opinion that it would have been a mistake for Obama to choose Clinton as his running mate. To begin with, the campaign was too long and too bruising for there not to have been genuine wounds and deep differences that have been exposed. Not grave enough to heal, but enough to make a joint ticket uncomfortable at the bare minimum.

Choosing Clinton would also have compromised Obama's core message, the basis on which he has driven his campaign irrepressibly forward - that of change - particularly given the Clinton ties to the political establishment. Change and Bush-Clinton-Bush-Clinton just does not sit at all well together, even if the latter Clinton were only to be the VP. Ultimately, Obama has to gamble on achieving party unity, and on Clinton being magnanimous enough in defeat. I am willing to gamble that after eight years of George W Bush and neoconservatives, the Democrats already have a powerful incentive to unity. Obama's ability to inspire will hopefully do the rest.

As for Biden, the pluses have already been noted right from the beginning. Huge foreign policy experience, including his position as the chair of the Foreign Relations Committee, covering a major perceived weakness of Obama's campaign. A solid working class background that will appeal to a group whose support Obama needs to win. Biden's links to Pennsylvania, will be especially useful in what is widely considered a key state in the election. The negatives? Biden does have a reputation for shooting from the hip, but I believe that won't really matter all that much. The election is really about what the Presidential nominee says, not really his running mate, so long as the running mate does not make a completely outrageous statement or one that totally contradicts the candidate's stance. That won't happen with Biden - he and Obama agree on the fundamental issues (indeed more so than Obama and Clinton) and he is far too savvy and experienced a political operator to make a huge gaffe.

Whither England?

After the widely perceived disappointment of the 2-2 draw with the Czech Republic, the knives are out again in terms of criticism of the English football team. To begin with, this friendly just serves to underline, for me, the excessive and even rabid criticism that the team and the manager faces every time they step out on the pitch. The Czech Republic is not a shabby team - they have players that are with some of the top clubs in Europe, and are ranked among the top 25 nations in the world. Also, the chief aim of a friendly in my opinion, is to have a chance to try out tactics, formations and player combinations in a relatively competitive setting. Some of these tactics or combinations might work, some of them will fall flat. The point is not necessarily to go all out to win (or indeed to play your best side for the full ninety minutes).

That said, England were disappointing, especially in the second half. I have little doubt that Fabio Capello is asking serious questions about the team's performance, although perhaps without the recrimination that seems to be part and parcel of the media commentary. I offer my own little observations with regards to bringing the England team forward.

First of all, it is undeniable that England is sorely lacking in quality upfront and desperately needs to look at other striking options. Emile Heskey's performance in the friendly seems to have shown conclusively that he does not have the quality that is necessary for international football. At the international level, effort and bustle just doesn't cut it. Can you imagine Heskey playing for any other top European side like Germany, Italy or Holland? He probably wouldn't even cut it for Russia or Croatia. Wayne Rooney has borne a lot of criticism for his performances for England, but it is desperately unfair to expect him to lead the line on his own without a quality strike partner, particularly since he plays at his best dropping deep to get the ball. Even if Michael Owen were to recover his form of old, England cannot just rely count on just Owen and Rooney at the international level. Jermain Defoe is certainly a quality striker but has yet to really show that he can perform at the international level. Capello must really look at other striking options, particularly Gabriel Agbonlahor and even Dean Ashton. Andy Johnson and Peter Crouch are two other possibilities but both have flattered to deceive for England in the past.

The friendly again raised questions about the ability of Steven Gerrard and Frank Lampard to play together in the England midfield. England possesses an abundance of midfield talent (unlike in the striking department) and so their struggle to find a cohesive and creative midfield quartet is baffling to say the least. England can choose from Gerrard, Lampard, Hargreaves, Carrick, Barry, Beckham, Joe Cole, Ashley Young, Wright-Phillips and even Theo Walcott to toss around just the obvious names. It might be more effective to start either Gerrard or Lampard (but not both together) and convert the other into a high impact super-sub. Neither will like it, but it might be the best way forward for England. If England are going to stick with a 4-4-2, I would suggest starting Gerrard and Hargreaves in central midfield with Hargreaves sitting back and protecting the back four while taking the primary ball distribution duties. Ledley King (if healthy) can also play that role, but his lack of long ranging passing will be a downside. Michael Carrick on the other hand is a great distributor and passer, but can't really tackle. 

As for the flanks, England has suffered because their wingers lack pace. Beckham and Joe Cole just aren't the fastest players. I would suggest playing Gareth Barry on the left (even though he too lacks pace) as he has the big advantage of being naturally left-footed. When it comes down to it, I would not start David Beckham. I believe England really need to look at developing some of their rich talent at international level and that means looking to Ashley Young, Theo Walcott and Shaun Wright-Phillips and David Bentley on the wings (I believe Walcott's natural pace and balance means he will be more effective on the wings than upfront for now). For the time being, Joe Cole can switch flanks and start on the right.

At the back, I believe that Ferdinand and Terry has the potential to be an absolutely phenomenal central defensive partnership. They are both very good in the air, tough, and good leaders. Ferdinand is perhaps the more stylish defender, and Terry can make up for Ferdinand's occasional lapses by playing the Vidic role (in an analogy to the highly successful Man Utd defensive partnership). England does have ample cover at this position, thought not as rich a pickings as they had in the past. But Jonathan Woodgate, Ledley King and Matthew Upson provides very good cover.

At the fullback position, England is blessed with two excellent left backs in the form of Ashley Cole and Wayne Bridge. Right back has turned into a rather problematic position, and indeed it has been for the better part of decade. Apart from Gary Neville, England has been very thin at this position (think Danny Mills at the World Cup). But Michah Richards must surely be developed as the long term starter at this position blessed as he is with pace and strength in abundance (though he must improve his crossing). Wes Brown has shown his ability at this position in the absence of Gary Neville at club level and would be a good back-up. Phil Neville has had a chequered England career, but is performing well at Everton and should not be totally neglected. Glen Johnson can also provide cover at right back.

I have elsewhere written about England's goalkeeping travails and previously backed David James for the No. 1 jersey. It is now clear to me however, that it may be better to find a long term replacement, and it doesn't help that James will be nearing 40 by the time the next World Cup comes around. That will be fine if you are Edwin Van Der Sar, but James is nowhere near of that quality. Short of naturalizing someone (Almunia remains the best option) the best solution would be a compromise at best. It looks like Paul Robinson will be continuing in goal though it is now vital for England develop Joe Hart and Ben Foster as future England goalkeepers. I doubt either will be ready by the World Cup, but Hart should be made the back-up to Robinson with the view of him eventually suceeding him. Rob Green and Scott Carson just don't cut it at the international level, and Chris Kirkland has been sadly derailed by injuries. 

My England line-up: Owen (Newcastle), Rooney (Man Utd), Gerrard (Liverpool), Hargreaves (Man Utd), Barry (Villa), Joe Cole (Chelsea), Richards (Man City), Ashley Cole (Chelsea), Ferdinand (Man Utd), Terry (Chelsea, captain), Robinson (Blackburn)

Bench: Agbonlahor (Villa), Walcott (Arsenal), Lampard (Chelsea), King (Tottenham), Bridge (Chelsea), Young (Villa), Hart (Man City)

Local Wildlife

Rumours abound about some of the exotic wildlife that one can find in Singapore. During National Service, especially if you are given the chance to savour the delights of Pulau Tekong, you are often told to be on the lookout for the elusive Tekong Wild Boar who is said to roam around the forests of the island. There are also supposed to be snakes, even pythons in the forests of Singapore. 

Up till now, I have never seen anything more exciting than a squirrel outside of the Singapore Zoo (which does have a marvelous collection of wildlife). That is until I was returning from dinner last Saturday with Justin at the Rider's Cafe, and he suddenly stopped the car just as he was about to turn onto Bukit Timah Road, and informed me that there was a python on the road. 

At first, I thought he was pulling my leg, and I jokingly queried if the glass of wine we each had with dinner really had the power to cause hallucinations. That is until I opened the passenger door of the car, started out onto the road, and lo and behold saw a 8 foot long python lying lengthwise across it. 

From the look of things, the poor creature already had been run over at least once, given the tire treads on its torso. It certainly seemed a bit stunned, and being caught in the powerful glare of the car headlights must have added to its discomfort. Justin then proceeded to do something which I personally found pretty daring under the circumstances - he pulled the python by its tail, and dragged it towards a patch of vegetation in the central divider.

Granted, pythons aren't poisonous - the poisonous snakes tend to be the tiny ones - relying instead on suffocating their prey by coiling themselves around it and then swallowing them whole. This wasn't a huge python (by python standards), though it looked big enough to me. I do wonder about how it was going to get across the rest of the road, given that it was now stuck in the central divider. I was frankly amazed that it ended up on the road in the first place. 

So, definitely one of the more bizarre and interesting things that has happened to me so far this year. Who knows, the next time I am on my way home from dinner, I might just spot a wild boar standing on the kerb, waiting to cross the road. 

Book Club Experience - Down and Out in Paris and London

I stumbled upon a book club on Ginny's Facebook profile, and decided to join it on a whim. My mom has been a member of a book club for some months now (she complains regularly about the lack of stimulating discussion during the meetings and of her own inability to finish reading the books). I had never been part of a book club before and I thought that it would be an interesting experience, so long as I managed to curb my more outspoken tendencies. 

On the whole it was a very enjoyable evening. The book we discussed was Down and Out in Paris and London, George Orwell's semi-autobiographical account of his years living in poverty in the eponymous cities. Orwell is a lucid, compelling and quite captivating writer, whether he is describing the mayhem and long hours working in a Paris hotel, or a whole host of fascinating characters that he chances upon in both Paris and London, he is very much able to put a human face on poverty. His descriptions of working in a kitchen in Paris as a plongeur is shocking to say the least in its vivid portrayal of dirt and grime where hygiene far from being a buzzword, is very much an afterthought.

Orwell also excels in describing the whole host of tramps, beggars and assorted misfits that he chances upon while he is down and out, from a Russian friend determined to win back a job as a waiter (despite a gamy leg), with whom he scours Paris for work, to the characters that haunt the cafes, bars and cheap lodging houses of the city. While out of work in London, Orwell chances on a whole host of interesting characters, including a particularly fascinating philosophical chalk artist called Bozo, who reads Shakespeare, acts as an amateur astronomer (he watches for comets) and is sadly, only so interesting because he is quite unrepresentative of the rest of the tramps who have been worn down to a nub by grinding poverty. 

Of course, given his socialist leanings, Orwell peppers his book with commentary about poverty, but these have the immense benefit of being informed by personal experience and hardship. This is rather unlike the moralistic hectoring that tends to predominate in any writing on poverty, whether accusing these individuals of being wastrels and being a tremendous burden on society, or presenting them as victims of circumstance unconscionably neglected and forgotten by others. The great irony of course is that those who write about poverty are often individuals who have never gone a day without food and who have wanted for nothing. Orwell strikes a rather balanced note, and is well-served by letting his own descriptions speak for themselves. Anyone reading about the harsh disciplinarian treatment that one is subject to at a Salvation Army shelter is bound to shudder at how these men are treated if not quite as animals, then at the bare minimum wayward and slightly thick schoolboys who need to be shown a firm hand.

The book, given its central theme of poverty lent itself nicely to a discussion of poverty in modern day societies. One central topic of debate was over welfare - or in the case of some countries in Singapore, the lack thereof.  There were legitimate questions being raised about the propensity of many individuals to bear a sense of victimhood and to have a sense of expectation that society owes them a debt (whether justified or not). However, there was a general appreciation about how poverty is often an accelerating downward spiral and the fact that individuals often need assistance not merely to climb out of but merely to see the possibility of a future for themselves in such circumstances.

As the evening progressed, the discussion turned to a whole host of wide-ranging topics, from euthanasia, and whether we should support it, the Singapore organ donation act, HIV/Aids education, single unwed mothers, and many other fascinating topics. I must say that it was quite delightful to be part of a enlivening intellectual discussion once again, and it was something that I missed greatly from my time at Oxford. I have high hopes that future book club meetings will be as fascinating.

Mac Heaven

Given that I am starting a new Master's, I needed to purchase a new laptop. My trusty IBM Thinkpad which had served me so faithfully over the course of my undergraduate degree isn't working due to a burnt out LCD screen. Annoyingly the screen went six months after the warranty had expired. The rest of the laptop still works fine though and I have on occasion used it by hooking it up to my desktop monitor. Given the amount of abuse that my IBM went through, I am pretty surprised that it lasted so long. It went through at least 4 long haul flights, being baked in the College storage room for at least a month on two separate occasions while I was traveling, was left on more or less 24/7 during term time, and on one occasion had a glass of water spilt on it (I salvaged the situation by putting it in the airing cupboard in the College laundry room).

Anyhow, I decided to purchase a MacBook and 'go Apple' this time around. I have long been a fan of the superb design values of Apple products (including the iPod). Furthermore, the Mac OS is supposed to be far more stable than Microsoft Windows. Some have complained that it is difficult to use (how come there is no right click button?) but I had little doubt that this was more due to transitioning into a different operating system from one that they were very familiar with rather than any poor design from Apple itself. The clincher to the deal was a student offer giving me a S$450 rebate on a iPod touch if I purchased the laptop and touch together. 

Having had a chance to use the Macbook for around a week now, I can safely say that I am immensely pleased. It definitely took some time to get adjusted to the new system and format, but savvy computer users will appreciate the efficiency of the Mac OS layouts. The general design is also a definite step up as compared to Windows, once you get used to the little quirks (such as having to press an actual physical eject button on your laptop to eject a CD). In sum, I am very much an Apple convert already (and I have barely had a chance to mess with the other applications like the photos, movies and music ones).

The iPod touch is also a wonderful little device though the synching function with iTunes can be a bit annoying at times. It would have been far easier to drag and click music into the iPod individually, if so desired rather than synching it from the iTunes library. A friend of mine informed me that this was possible, but I haven't really messed with the device enough to really work out the little intricacies involved in it.

So far the only gripes have been that I keep getting logged off from my wireless internet whenever the computer goes into sleep mode for some strange reason, and it gets tiresome having to keep typing in the password. Also, the default paper setting for the Brother printer (also recently purchased) isn't A4 but some strange other format - meaning that the first couple of articles I attempted to print got assigned to the trash heap before I worked out what was wrong. But that is probably more a fault with the printer driver than with anything else.

Apple has always created products that are wonderfully designed, fantastic to look it, and in many ways also very functional. Macs have far less worms and viruses to worry about as compared to Windows (primarily because Windows is by far the more common platform and most worms and viruses are written for Windows code) and the OS is on the whole very stable. At this rate, I can safely say that I will be a Mac user for a long long time to come.

Things I miss (and don't miss) about the UK

I was inspired by Karin to write a post on the things I miss (and don't miss) the most about Oxford in particular and the UK in general. 

Things that I miss about the UK (in no particular order):

• Having five quality broadsheets to choose from, including massive Sunday editions that take an entire morning to read
• The quizzing culture including pub quizzes, radio quizzes, and of course quality game shows on TV
• The British propensity to queue for anything and everything
• How everyone apologizes to you even when you were the one to bump into them
• Politeness (and being called 'love')
• The reading culture and appreciation for quality non-fiction books (which often get sold on 3 for 2 offers at large bookstores)
• Quality sandwiches
• The typical British pub
• The arts culture, particularly the propensity of high quality amateur theatre and music productions
• The dry British wit
• Beautiful countryside to hike in
• How Europe is just a RyanAir flight away

Things that I decidedly do not miss about the UK (in no particular order)

• The inefficiency of the public transportation system
• How appallingly expensive taxis (and any form of transportation) cost
• The lack of taps that can combine hot and cold water
• The dreary weather
• Predilection for puddings for desert
• Lack of cheap, good food
• Lack of variety and flavour in British cuisine
• Inefficiency of administration (banking etc.)
• Poorly maintained building (due to high cost of manual labour)

Things I miss about Oxford specifically:

• Formal Hall
• Beautiful Buildings and Gardens
• Blackwell's Bookstore
• Being literally surrounded by books (and having access to them)
• Late night kebabs
• Intellectual debates over a bottle of wine
• The Oxford pubs and cafes

Things I love about Singapore (in comparison to the UK)

• Safe to walk around at night
• Cheap and excellent food (hawker fare)
• Variety of food
• Relative inexpensiveness of taxis and public transport
• Efficiency in Administration

Auf Wiedesehn, Jason

It is sadly time to bid farewell to Jason, who has been at RSIS for the past three months working on his dissertation on Myanmar (and humanitarian intervention following Cyclone Nargis). We first met by the simple virtue of being seated next to each other in the Graduate Office, as I was winding up my work at RSIS and transitioning towards being a full-time student. 

It was rather unsurprising that we hit it off, if only because Jason seems to have the rare and innate capacity to have long conversations with just about anyone. He spoke of long conversations with his roommate over endless pots of tea, which were replicated with me on a number of occasions (though beer, in Jason's case Guinness, was our beverage of choice). I owe Jason a debt, not only for his wonderful company, but for introducing me to so many other professors at the institute, be it Chris and his wife Tui to Wendy, who was moving in to Jason's flat even as he was on his way out.

Sadly, he has to return to KL after three months here in Singapore, and from there he is heading back to the US with his wife, where he has a cross-continent trip planned (I am rather envious). So, auf wiedesehn it is Jason, thanks for the great times and wonderful conversation!

Oxford and Religion

It seems that Oxford inspires spiritual reflection. Tony Blair famously developed his deep religious grounding (when not moonlighting as the lead singer of a rock band) in the midst of a Law degree at St Johns. C.S Lewis, the famous Christian apologetic, was struck by the incontrovertibly true nature of Christ while sitting on a bus traveling through Oxford down the Cowley Road. A recent issue of Oxford today featured two other individuals - the popular writer on religion Karen Armstrong and the Rabbi Lionel Blue - whose times at Oxford were similarly suffused by spiritual and personal crisis.

In the case of Karen Armstrong, she arrived at Oxford as a nun from a strict Roman Catholic order (pre-Vatican II). The intellectual freedom that is the foundation of an Oxford education soon began to jar with the expectations of submission and blind obedience that characterized her role in the nunnery, precipitating an existential crisis that led to her leaving the cloisters. Lionel Blue arrived in Oxford as an atheist (since the age of five when he had prayed for the deaths of Adolf Hitler and Oswald Moseley - the prayers were not answered) but soon faced a personal crisis prompted by his repressed homosexuality. He literally stumbled on religion while sheltering from the rain at St Giles and the Quakers he met provided the grounding and impetus that he needed to complete his degree.

What it telling to me about these two individuals, is their refusal to cling to dogmatic faith. Armstrong calls belief a "ludicrous red herring". To her, the essence of religious experience is "not accepting dubious propositions" but rather compassion. Armstrong emphasizes that it is "compassion that brings you to a state of transcendence by dethroning you from the centre of your world and putting another in your place". For Rabbi Blue, who characterizes himself as a 'religious free ranger' as opposed to a 'battery believer', genuine spirituality is achieved when it changes you for the better. For him, faith is genuine and not self indulgent if it makes you kinder, more generous and provides greater self-knowledge.

I didn't quite achieve the religious epiphany that C.S Lewis did during my time at Oxford, but I was prompted to give religion serious thought and consideration. During my time there I spoke with many thoughtful individuals - Catholic, Anglican, Church of Scotland and much else beside, indeed the antithesis of the hard-headed, dogmatic right wing evangelical that is the target of so many recent polemics against religion ranging from Dawkins to Hitchens.

While I have been giving religion serious consideration, it has often come in the form of intellectual theorizing about faith - whether God can really exist, and other such ontological questions. One lesson I might have learned from Oxford, and indeed from Armstrong and Blue, is that this intellectualism can only bring you so far - and that the true basis of religion is not considered theorizing (though that must surely play a part) but compassion, generosity and kindness.

Blaise Pascal once wrote that - the heart hath its reasons that reason cannot know. That, to my mind, is a powerful summation of faith.

ST Engineering Scholarship

I was delighted by the quite unexpected and wonderful news that RSIS has decided to award me the ST Engineering Scholarship to pursue my degree in International Relations. I had been hoping for a chance at the scholarship, but my lack of references (they didn't arrive from the UK in time and NTU does not have an online reference system) meant that I was initially not considered for it. So it came as quite a big surprise to hear that I had been given the Scholarship in the end.

The award of the Scholarship does ease my financial worries quite significantly as it means I will receive a stipend double the S$700 I would have received working as a part-time research assistant while congruently pursuing my studies. It also means I will have more time to devote to my degree, and other assorted interests, which is very welcome indeed given how tightly packed the one year degree course is as it stands.

A friend did comment, mildly tongue in cheek, that this marks the second time I have managed to 'con' someone into sponsoring my studies, after the Jardine Foundation awarded me a scholarship for my undergraduate degree at Oxford. When asked for the secret of my success, I have to put in down to a large part luck, and a large part just being completely myself - which I take to be outspoken, random and intellectually curious.

So I guess with any luck, and with a lot of hard work in my Master's, I might just be able to con yet someone else to sponsor me for a Phd, if that is the route I decide to pursue. 

Dear Madame Ambassador

Given that it is the Fourth of July and American Independence Day, I thought it appropriate that I could remind Americans that many other countries do not necessarily share the level of freedom and civil liberties that their country enjoys. Thus, I have crafted a mock letter addressed to the US Ambassador to Singapore, HE Patricia Herbold as follows:

Dear Madame Ambassador,

I write to you on the occasion on the 232nd anniversary of the founding of the United States of America. To begin with, I wish to offer my heartiest congratulations to your country on this occasion, which is indeed one that is worthy of celebration. In many ways, it has never been a better time to be American (sub-prime mortgage crisis and the high price of oil aside). The US is the predominant power in the world, it continues to be a key engine of innovation that fuels the world economy, and it is likely that America will retain this preeminence for some time to come.

Yet, my letter is not just meant to be one of congratulation, but also serves as a plea; it focuses not just on American military and economic prowess, but the inspiration that America provides in extolling the values of liberty and freedom, and the belief that they are a birthright for everyone. This clarion call was never more clearly stated than in your founding declaration of independence and in America's victory in the fight against British tyranny that we celebrate today.

Even as you celebrate the anniversary of your own momentous struggle against repression, I urge you to take heed of the many individuals who do not enjoy the same freedoms that are promised to you as a birthright. More specifically, Madame Ambassador, I urge you not to ignore the situation in the very country to which your government has appointed you as her representative.

I would, if I had the opportunity, speak out openly in public, extolling the virtues of liberty and freedom and the American example, but as you probably know, Madame Ambassador, I am unable to do so. My government chooses to disregard the right to assembly for purely peaceful means, and has passed legislation such that any gathering of more than five individuals, of whatever kind, can be considered illegal. Theoretically, Madame Ambassador, I could even be arrested for hosting a birthday party for myself.

Then there is the issue of freedom of the press. My government has always maintained a tight control of the press, believing in quelling dissenting opinions by deeming that the publication of any viewpoint or comment critical of the status quo as a possible interference in domestic politics. The importance of being free to voice your opinions (as enshrined in your first amendment) has been central to America's definition of itself. Indeed, the example of the Federalists and Thomas Paine whose pamphlets and writings were instrumental in rallying the colonists against the British shows the influence and importance of the free dissemination of viewpoints to America's founding history.

Then there is the basic element of freedom of speech, which is a right that is dearly held by many Americans. Voltaire, the famous French enlightenment writer and philosopher, is attributed to having said "I disagree with what you have said, but I will defend, to the death, your right to say it", and that has very much been the American ethos. This freedom is tenuously held at best in Singapore, where there is always an existential risk of tripping over some invisible out of bounds marker discernible only to the government, with predictably dire consequences.

So Madame Ambassador, I hope that even as your celebrate the founding of a land of 'the brave and the free', you will do everything in your power to propagate the values that makes America so respected around the world, and voicing your support where freedoms and liberties are an aspiration, not a reality.

Sincerely,

A Singaporean Friend.

Old Brown Shoe vs Turnstyles Quiz

Tonight marked the inaugural Old Brown Shoe versus Turnstyles Challenge Quiz, with a special challenge trophy created for the occasion. The idea was that individual teams would represent their respective pubs and the three highest scoring teams for each pub would count towards the pub's total. The winning pub would be the one with the highest cumulative scores. Of course there would be prizes for the top two individual teams as well.

Given that there were many top-notch teams from the Turnstyles out in force, there was little surprise that the quiz itself was very closely fought. I mean, in all honesty, it takes a certain demented love of quizzing for you to turn out on a Monday night for a pub quiz. But the usual gang - Keith (this time with wife in tow), Dave and Vicky turned out hoping to do the Old Brown Shoe proud.

And we did, with the Shoe winning the face-off rather handily by more than ten points. In the individual team challenge, it was a different story, and we ended up in a tie-break at the end of regulation after a very solid Turnstyles team matched us by scoring an eight on their final round (which was coincidentally their joker round). We aced the three tie-break questions though, mainly due to Keith's surprising knowledge of different types of beetles, and Dave's predilection for 1970s music.

That resulted in Keith Prince going up and accepting the trophy and lifting it above his head as if it were the FA Cup which was utterly comical due to the fact that it was all of ten cm in height. Still, a spectacle of sorts, and a fitting end to an entertaining evening.

Failure and Imagination: J.K Rowling's Harvard Commencement Address

I was certainly intrigued by Harvard's choice of Harry Potter author J.K Rowling as the commencement speaker for 2008, but she delivered a wonderful speech - funny, personal and moving (but never cloyingly so), powerful, inspiring and a plain joy to read (I can only imagine what it would have been like to hear it). If you have not already done so, I can only urge you to read it:

Harvard Commencement Address 2008
Copyright: JK Rowling, June 2008

President Faust, members of the Harvard Corporation and the Board of Overseers, members of the faculty, proud parents, and, above all, graduates.

The first thing I would like to say is ‘thank you.’ Not only has Harvard given me an extraordinary honour, but the weeks of fear and nausea I’ve experienced at the thought of giving this commencement address have made me lose weight. A win-win situation! Now all I have to do is take deep breaths, squint at the red banners and fool myself into believing I am at the world’s best-educated Harry Potter convention.

Delivering a commencement address is a great responsibility; or so I thought until I cast my mind back to my own graduation. The commencement speaker that day was the distinguished British philosopher Baroness Mary Warnock. Reflecting on her speech has helped me enormously in writing this one, because it turns out that I can’t remember a single word she said. This liberating discovery enables me to proceed without any fear that I might inadvertently influence you to abandon promising careers in business, law or politics for the giddy delights of becoming a gay wizard.

You see? If all you remember in years to come is the ‘gay wizard’ joke, I’ve still come out ahead of Baroness Mary Warnock. Achievable goals: the first step towards personal improvement.
Actually, I have wracked my mind and heart for what I ought to say to you today. I have asked myself what I wish I had known at my own graduation, and what important lessons I have learned in the 21 years that has expired between that day and this.

I have come up with two answers. On this wonderful day when we are gathered together to celebrate your academic success, I have decided to talk to you about the benefits of failure. And as you stand on the threshold of what is sometimes called ‘real life’, I want to extol the crucial importance of imagination.

These might seem quixotic or paradoxical choices, but please bear with me.
Looking back at the 21-year-old that I was at graduation, is a slightly uncomfortable experience for the 42-year-old that she has become. Half my lifetime ago, I was striking an uneasy balance between the ambition I had for myself, and what those closest to me expected of me.
I was convinced that the only thing I wanted to do, ever, was to write novels. However, my parents, both of whom came from impoverished backgrounds and neither of whom had been to college, took the view that my overactive imagination was an amusing personal quirk that could never pay a mortgage, or secure a pension.

They had hoped that I would take a vocational degree; I wanted to study English Literature. A compromise was reached that in retrospect satisfied nobody, and I went up to study Modern Languages. Hardly had my parents’ car rounded the corner at the end of the road than I ditched German and scuttled off down the Classics corridor.

I cannot remember telling my parents that I was studying Classics; they might well have found out for the first time on graduation day. Of all subjects on this planet, I think they would have been hard put to name one less useful than Greek mythology when it came to securing the keys to an executive bathroom.

I would like to make it clear, in parenthesis, that I do not blame my parents for their point of view. There is an expiry date on blaming your parents for steering you in the wrong direction; the moment you are old enough to take the wheel, responsibility lies with you. What is more, I cannot criticise my parents for hoping that I would never experience poverty. They had been poor themselves, and I have since been poor, and I quite agree with them that it is not an ennobling experience. Poverty entails fear, and stress, and sometimes depression; it means a thousand petty humiliations and hardships. Climbing out of poverty by your own efforts, that is indeed something on which to pride yourself, but poverty itself is romanticised only by fools.

What I feared most for myself at your age was not poverty, but failure.

At your age, in spite of a distinct lack of motivation at university, where I had spent far too long in the coffee bar writing stories, and far too little time at lectures, I had a knack for passing examinations, and that, for years, had been the measure of success in my life and that of my peers.

I am not dull enough to suppose that because you are young, gifted and well-educated, you have never known hardship or heartbreak. Talent and intelligence never yet inoculated anyone against the caprice of the Fates, and I do not for a moment suppose that everyone here has enjoyed an existence of unruffled privilege and contentment.

However, the fact that you are graduating from Harvard suggests that you are not very well-acquainted with failure. You might be driven by a fear of failure quite as much as a desire for success. Indeed, your conception of failure might not be too far from the average person’s idea of success, so high have you already flown academically.

Ultimately, we all have to decide for ourselves what constitutes failure, but the world is quite eager to give you a set of criteria if you let it. So I think it fair to say that by any conventional measure, a mere seven years after my graduation day, I had failed on an epic scale. An exceptionally short-lived marriage had imploded, and I was jobless, a lone parent, and as poor as it is possible to be in modern Britain, without being homeless. The fears my parents had had for me, and that I had had for myself, had both come to pass, and by every usual standard, I was the biggest failure I knew.

Now, I am not going to stand here and tell you that failure is fun. That period of my life was a dark one, and I had no idea that there was going to be what the press has since represented as a kind of fairy tale resolution. I had no idea how far the tunnel extended, and for a long time, any light at the end of it was a hope rather than a reality.

So why do I talk about the benefits of failure? Simply because failure meant a stripping away of the inessential. I stopped pretending to myself that I was anything other than what I was, and began to direct all my energy into finishing the only work that mattered to me. Had I really succeeded at anything else, I might never have found the determination to succeed in the one arena I believed I truly belonged. I was set free, because my greatest fear had already been realised, and I was still alive, and I still had a daughter whom I adored, and I had an old typewriter and a big idea. And so rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.

You might never fail on the scale I did, but some failure in life is inevitable. It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all - in which case, you fail by default.

Failure gave me an inner security that I had never attained by passing examinations. Failure taught me things about myself that I could have learned no other way. I discovered that I had a strong will, and more discipline than I had suspected; I also found out that I had friends whose value was truly above rubies.

The knowledge that you have emerged wiser and stronger from setbacks means that you are, ever after, secure in your ability to survive. You will never truly know yourself, or the strength of your relationships, until both have been tested by adversity. Such knowledge is a true gift, for all that it is painfully won, and it has been worth more to me than any qualification I ever earned.

Given a time machine or a Time Turner, I would tell my 21-year-old self that personal happiness lies in knowing that life is not a check-list of acquisition or achievement. Your qualifications, your CV, are not your life, though you will meet many people of my age and older who confuse the two. Life is difficult, and complicated, and beyond anyone’s total control, and the humility to know that will enable you to survive its vicissitudes.

You might think that I chose my second theme, the importance of imagination, because of the part it played in rebuilding my life, but that is not wholly so. Though I will defend the value of bedtime stories to my last gasp, I have learned to value imagination in a much broader sense. Imagination is not only the uniquely human capacity to envision that which is not, and therefore the fount of all invention and innovation. In its arguably most transformative and revelatory capacity, it is the power that enables us to empathise with humans whose experiences we have never shared.

One of the greatest formative experiences of my life preceded Harry Potter, though it informed much of what I subsequently wrote in those books. This revelation came in the form of one of my earliest day jobs. Though I was sloping off to write stories during my lunch hours, I paid the rent in my early 20s by working in the research department at Amnesty International’s headquarters in London.

There in my little office I read hastily scribbled letters smuggled out of totalitarian regimes by men and women who were risking imprisonment to inform the outside world of what was happening to them. I saw photographs of those who had disappeared without trace, sent to Amnesty by their desperate families and friends. I read the testimony of torture victims and saw pictures of their injuries. I opened handwritten, eye-witness accounts of summary trials and executions, of kidnappings and rapes.

Many of my co-workers were ex-political prisoners, people who had been displaced from their homes, or fled into exile, because they had the temerity to think independently of their government. Visitors to our office included those who had come to give information, or to try and find out what had happened to those they had been forced to leave behind.

I shall never forget the African torture victim, a young man no older than I was at the time, who had become mentally ill after all he had endured in his homeland. He trembled uncontrollably as he spoke into a video camera about the brutality inflicted upon him. He was a foot taller than I was, and seemed as fragile as a child. I was given the job of escorting him to the Underground Station afterwards, and this man whose life had been shattered by cruelty took my hand with exquisite courtesy, and wished me future happiness.

And as long as I live I shall remember walking along an empty corridor and suddenly hearing, from behind a closed door, a scream of pain and horror such as I have never heard since. The door opened, and the researcher poked out her head and told me to run and make a hot drink for the young man sitting with her. She had just given him the news that in retaliation for his own outspokenness against his country’s regime, his mother had been seized and executed.
Every day of my working week in my early 20s I was reminded how incredibly fortunate I was, to live in a country with a democratically elected government, where legal representation and a public trial were the rights of everyone.

Every day, I saw more evidence about the evils humankind will inflict on their fellow humans, to gain or maintain power. I began to have nightmares, literal nightmares, about some of the things I saw, heard and read.

And yet I also learned more about human goodness at Amnesty International than I had ever known before.

Amnesty mobilises thousands of people who have never been tortured or imprisoned for their beliefs to act on behalf of those who have. The power of human empathy, leading to collective action, saves lives, and frees prisoners. Ordinary people, whose personal well-being and security are assured, join together in huge numbers to save people they do not know, and will never meet. My small participation in that process was one of the most humbling and inspiring experiences of my life.

Unlike any other creature on this planet, humans can learn and understand, without having experienced. They can think themselves into other people’s minds, imagine themselves into other people’s places.

Of course, this is a power, like my brand of fictional magic, that is morally neutral. One might use such an ability to manipulate, or control, just as much as to understand or sympathise. And many prefer not to exercise their imaginations at all. They choose to remain comfortably within the bounds of their own experience, never troubling to wonder how it would feel to have been born other than they are. They can refuse to hear screams or to peer inside cages; they can close their minds and hearts to any suffering that does not touch them personally; they can refuse to know.
I might be tempted to envy people who can live that way, except that I do not think they have any fewer nightmares than I do. Choosing to live in narrow spaces can lead to a form of mental agoraphobia, and that brings its own terrors. I think the wilfully unimaginative see more monsters. They are often more afraid.

What is more, those who choose not to empathise may enable real monsters. For without ever committing an act of outright evil ourselves, we collude with it, through our own apathy.
One of the many things I learned at the end of that Classics corridor down which I ventured at the age of 18, in search of something I could not then define, was this, written by the Greek author Plutarch: What we achieve inwardly will change outer reality.

That is an astonishing statement and yet proven a thousand times every day of our lives. It expresses, in part, our inescapable connection with the outside world, the fact that we touch other people’s lives simply by existing.

But how much more are you, Harvard graduates of 2008, likely to touch other people’s lives? Your intelligence, your capacity for hard work, the education you have earned and received, give you unique status, and unique responsibilities. Even your nationality sets you apart. The great majority of you belong to the world’s only remaining superpower. The way you vote, the way you live, the way you protest, the pressure you bring to bear on your government, has an impact way beyond your borders. That is your privilege, and your burden.

If you choose to use your status and influence to raise your voice on behalf of those who have no voice; if you choose to identify not only with the powerful, but with the powerless; if you retain the ability to imagine yourself into the lives of those who do not have your advantages, then it will not only be your proud families who celebrate your existence, but thousands and millions of people whose reality you have helped transform for the better. We do not need magic to change the world, we carry all the power we need inside ourselves already: we have the power to imagine better.
I am nearly finished. I have one last hope for you, which is something that I already had at 21. The friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’s godparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble, friends who have been kind enough not to sue me when I’ve used their names for Death Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by the knowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would be exceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.

So today, I can wish you nothing better than similar friendships. And tomorrow, I hope that even if you remember not a single word of mine, you remember those of Seneca, another of those old Romans I met when I fled down the Classics corridor, in retreat from career ladders, in search of ancient wisdom: As is a tale, so is life: not how long it is, but how good it is, is what matters.

I wish you all very good lives. Thank you very much.