Orgo: War of the Worlds

Staring through the glass confinements of our little isolated section, the city probably never looked so beautiful on a quiet Thursday night. Dazzled by the blue and yellow streaks flaunting their glory from a distance, the eyes mostly found relief in the peripheral, where the waves of the Singapore River slithered on in its own rhythm.

Beats of an Oriental Trance mix boomed from the speakers behind us, laying its own hypnotizing effects on the mind as I watched the waves dance on, my mind wandering further and further from my body with the passing of each beat.

Through the Looking Glass

Silence fell between us as I turned to look at her, staring on as well. We were in our own little worlds, our own little spaces, perhaps unwinding in our own little ways - words were probably unnecessary for the occasion. I turned my head back and stared on.

"Grapes, sir." The waitress said, breaking the silence and sliding a cocktail class of grapes in between us as she did. A rather unexpected and pleasant surprise, but perhaps only fitting when pondered upon further, perfectly complimenting the bar's signature Fresh Fruit Martini spread.

Fruit and Choices

"This is new," I told her, as I reached out to pick a dark and succulent grape with my pincer-like thumb and index finger. Raising the fruit to my mouth, I sampled the sweet juiciness of the grape as looked around to capture a mental image of the decor that surrounded me.

Angle

Lit with exquisite lamps and chandeliers, Orgo was an ideal late-night affair nicely perched atop the Esplanade rooftop garden, overlooking an angle of the Singapore River. The decor had an emphasis the contrasts between shades of red and black against the golden lights. The warm lighting and texture choice of wooden furniture set the mood for a rather laidback and peaceful session, but the abundance of glass in the furniture served as a striking reminder to the class that came along with it - and the very essence that made it famous in the first place, the private class cubicles.

Lights

"So how do we get to drink in one of those cubicles?" I asked the passing captain.

"Oh, that is meant for reservations for groups of 10 or more people, or if you spend more than $200," he explained patiently.

"Oh ok," I said calmly, mentally trying to picture the possibility of squeezing 10 people into one of the said cubicles.

"Strawberry Mint Martini," a Japanese-accented man said in a gentle voice behind us, placing the bright red Martini on the coaster in front of her. This was likely the oft-mentioned Japanese mixologist that was behind the recipes for the locale's signature drinks. Seems that the only way you would get him to serve or attend to you would be to order more drinks though, perhaps a sound marketing strategy in itself, consider the hots most girls have for Japanese guys.

"Apple and Shiso Martini," he said, as he placed the glass onto the coaster in front of me, as I continued to wonder if I made the most hetro-sexually-appropriate choice.

Red and Green

Doubts were quickly quelled as I took my first sip. Albeit being light on the alcohol flavour, the sweetness of the apple was nicely complimented and perhaps even slightly overruled by the minty taste of the Shiso leaves. The lady's drink was slightly stronger, but still had a predominant fruit flavour complemented by the essence of mint. Overall, it was understandable that the focus of the martinis were very much more on using alcohol to enhance the flavours of the fruits rather than vice versa, making them smooth drinks that went down easily - almost in a dessert wine kind of way.

As she was snapping away at the drinks as artistically as she could, I said to her with my recently acquired confidence, "Come, let me show you how to take an artistic shot." And with that statement, the challenged was issued; a War of the Worlds, her's against mine.

Indeed, photography is very much a matter of perception, a deliberate, intentional and justifiable representation of how he / she views the outside world within his / her mind. Ultimately, to me, what goes into the composition of a photo is very much mapped out within the internal confines of your being, rather than trying to "read" whatever is without your being in a certain way.

The results of the war that was waged?

(Lady's on the Left / Gent's on the Right)

Battle 1

Battle 2

Battle 3

Battle 4

Needless to say, I think I won overall. Oh, except for the last battle below, which I have to admit she won hands down; but then again, it probably had more to do with the model than anything else...

Art of Life

14th March 2008

Noise drowned out my inner thoughts as I peered around the cafe. Perhaps she was right when she said that her impression of Dempsey was that it was a somewhat "exclusive" area, due to its inaccessibility. I threw my glances around the interiors of the cafe, shifting my focus from the cosy-looking traditional fire-place, to the complementing decor consisting of retro lamps and abstract art pieces, down to the contrastingly bar lit with a sleek and modern decor.

But more importantly was the crowd that I was scrutinizing through prejudiced eyes, knowing that almost 1 in every 4 of them were part of an *ahem* elite group with the special ability to scale the heights of Dempsey Hill into the recesses of such an oasis. Regardless of the decor, the crowd gave the entire atmosphere a lively and almost self-assuring vibe, one that resonates in your soul that you are part of this "elite" group; yet at the same time, never achieving the cold and impenetrable walls of loud music and dim-lighting in the conventional chill-out places. The only regret was that the live-band was absent to add to the atmosphere.

"Have you decided on what you want?" I asked, as she returned to the table. She nodded, and I ascended from my seat to join the sprawling queue. Fortunately some eye-candy provided some much-needed relief from all the waiting.

Staple Food

Bringing back a bowl of our Ben & Jerry's staple, the Mix 'n' Match (which caters to my need for variety), we savoured the familiar tastes of Strawberry Cheesecake, Chocolate Fudge Brownie and the alien and somewhat funky flavour of the Black Raspberry Yogurt, all while taking the time to bathe in the atmosphere and talking about fellow patrons through the critical eye, oh, and about art too.

"What do you think that painting means? Its so weird that the couple only have one eye each. I wonder what the artist wanted to convey through that?" she wondered, as she stared at the painting across the room.

"Well, the beauty about Art is that... well... it comes down to the interpretation of the artwork. And while I might not be the kind to stare at a painting for hours before forming a conclusion, I can give my interpretation of the painting," I quelled solemnly.

She listened earnestly.

"Actually, I think its just the artist's style to paint his characters with one eye each," I said, bursting into laughter.

"No, I believe that there is much more to it than that," she said adamantly.

"Ok, if you really want an interpretation, then this is how it goes," I said wisely. "The thing about the man and woman embracing each other is a representation of a union, the two of them being one whole. And the fact that each one only has one eye further reinforces this point. Not that you need both eyes to see, but having two eyes sure helps you see the big picture. So the whole thing plays on the concept of 'the other half.' Makes sense to you?"

She contemplated in silence briefly before nodding in acknowledgement.

Cool on Chub... I mean... Greedy

But the silence was short-lived as the sugar-rush derived from the platter of ice-cream probably gave her enough Euphoria to start prancing around the premises and getting inspired enough to play her own artistic role; climbing high and low to attempt to gather artistic shots of the locale, even roping me into the equation.

Parallel Artistic Directions

Finally satisfied with her works, I turned to the aspiring artist and said, "Shall we go?" We left the oasis slightly past the stroke of midnight and headed back to the reminder of our elitism.

Satisfied Artists

"You know what darling, let's go to East Coast. For some odd reason, I have a longing for the sea breeze," I said. And with the spoken word, a few gallons of fuel and about 30 minutes later, there we were, back at the all-too-familiar spot along the sea-side.

Little had changed from our favourite spot, despite the nearly 6-month absence. The seclusion, the seduction and most importantly, the soothing sensation of the sound of the sea, rhythmically pounding away on the shore.

"You know, there is just something so soothing about the sound of water. Like in a lot of Asian cultures, like China and Japan, the whole thing about water is supposed to calm the mind, and is ideal for meditation," I told her as I raised my head.

"Wow, the sky is really clear today, there are SO many stars out tonight," I said in amazement, beholding the beauty of the artistic placement of the stars in the night sky.

"Yeah, I've never seen so many stars in anywhere in Singapore before," she exclaimed with wide-eyed amazement.

"You know, we probably can see a few constellations tonight, if we look hard enough." I said.

"Huh? You mean we can actually see constellations in Singapore?" she asked puzzled.

"Actually yeah, its just a matter of whether the skies are dark enough for you to notice them." I replied. "But the thing is, the whole concept about constellations is that it is entirely an interpretation of the human mind.

"Many constellations don't even really look like what they are supposed to portray. I was just doing my research on this today, and believe me, things like Cancer, is only a group of like 6 visible stars which don't even really resemble a crab AT ALL," I divulged, spreading the seeds of my long hours of research.

Perhaps divulgance is a continuously spreading wave that sears through the human mind and body, as from one platform of divulgance, I started to open up the doors to my inner minds and thoughts, and started to divulge the deep contemplative thoughts that I had formed over all the current issues in my life. Each crash of the waves brought about ripples upon ripples of deep thought manifested into words; and as soothing as the sound of the waves were to the ears, so was the sound of my spoken words to my very soul.

"I don't think you understand, but nevermind" was the phrase that accentuated every other chain of thought and long periods of silence in between; and it was almost always followed by a vehement "No, I understand what you're saying." But honestly, it didn't matter if the entirety of the message was lost in translation or not, the more important thing was the motivation that stirred me enough to hand the keys to the doors of the dark abyss, that is my dark mind and soul, to someone else.

This very motivation served as a very, very pleasant reminder to my soul, exactly 7 months in, of one of the very main reasons of why I fell into what I fell into for the last 7 months; the abstract art of Conversational Chemistry, a motivation that drives one to confide in another through conversation. And once again, I was reminded that this chemistry can even come in the most unlikely of packages.

"Look at that line of stars, don't you feel that it forms a very nice curve?" she said, using her fingers to trace the outline of the stars.

"You know, it kinda looks a little like Scorpio, if only I could find its claws," I said, quinting hard at the reddish night sky.

"Well, I don't see any claws. It just seems to end with a T-shape there," she said pointing to the left.

"Wait a minute, I think those ARE the claws. I think it really is Scorpio. Look! The tail, all the way to the claws," I said taking her finger to trace the shape of the constellation.

"I can't believe we just found Scorpio!" she said, as I turned to her and saw a glint of amazement and appreciation for the beautiful artwork of God.

Losing my Breath in Waves, knowing that every Crash is Bleeding the Hourglass.

Eski Bar: Frozen Assets

31st August 2007

"So, who's the boss here?" asked the waitress dressed in a thick winter coat.

"He is..." Fabian said, pointing to me, "it's his pay-day."

Indeed it was pay-day, and my very first one at that, at least since I had ascended into the working class. And in classical fashion, there was probably no better way to seal the significance of the moment in time with a couple of drinks alongside some great company. The Clubbing 8 (with 1 substitute) were out on a full-force encore as we buried our heads into the menus, deciding on the choices before us.

I looked up to absorb the surrounding ambiance, scanning the interior of the pub, with my eyes already accustomed to the overall blueish hue accentuated only with warm yellow candle light. The overall ambiance accurately conveyed the literal, tongue-in-cheek "Chill Out" theme of the bar. A few years late from the initial hoo-ha perhaps, but after countless impressions formed from local dramas and pictures, I finally found a reason to check out the flagship branch of the rather renowned Eski Bar.

The interior of the bar was a little smaller than I expected it to be, and the infamous "Cold Room" was disappointingly only a very minute portion of the bar - housing only a couple of 2-seater tables - while the rest of the bar was "conventionally" air-conditioned, greatly rendering my Rock Star jacket rather unnecessary.

While waiting for the drinks to arrive, we dabbled in a little time waster. 8 middle / index-fingers firmly pressed on a coaster in the center of the table, as each of the fingers exerted all the force it could muster to attempt to pull the coaster towards their respective directions. A scene out of the rather pointless party game Demolition, but as with all party games, the laughter it brought about was more important than the game itself. After minutes of not being able to move the coaster anywhere due to the table surface, we gave up weary with laughter.

Group Photo

Our selection of mostly signature drinks arrived promptly, as we savoured the unique concoctions of the bar. Mine was an Eski Blue, a fitting signature drink that was more for the ladies perhaps (but then again, I'm quite the ladies' drink fan). Rather fruity, and sour, with a tinge of sweetness brought about by the Lychee Liquer. The drink further reinforced my mantra that anything with Lychee Liquer can never go wrong, and left me high and dry for another drink as I went with the more experimental Arctic White for my second round.

Blue never looked so Appetizing

Milky white with soft, jelly-like pearls littered on the surface of the drink, the Arctic White was as *ahem* milky as I had anticipated, with a slight burning tinge of alcohol to top it off. The table was filled with other rather interesting drinks as well, as the rest of the 8 were decidedly experimental in their choices, ordering drinks such as a Chocolate Martini (which wasn't half-bad) and a weird alcoholic Margarita chocolate-float of some-kind that was actually quite good.

Milk and Honey

With our glasses half-full, the entourage turned to me to come up with one of my trademark games to keep them (and myself) entertained. Looking around, I only saw straws and drinks and with a flash of sudden inspiration, I laid down the rules.

"We play guess the number. Everyone puts 1 hand out and can only do 5 or 0, so you can guess anything between 0 to 40. And if you guess correctly, you get to choose to sabotage the person on your left OR right. And the chosen person has to bite a straw, and pass it using mouth only to the next chosen person. Of course, with each pass, you have to bite deeper into the straw, and it ends when the last 2 people kiss... Simple, right?" I said with a cheeky smirk.

"Man, only Jeremy will think of these kinda games," Jeffery lamented, as I saw a sense of agreement light up in the rest of their stunned faces. Yet, somewhat mysteriously and perhaps almost subconsciously, they all stretched out their hands in anticipation of starting the game.

Yep, I was the boss, alright.

.... The Flow of Assets is Ephemeral, But Memories stay Frozen in Time

Clubbing Inertia

1st August 2007

For as long as I can remember, I've always been plagued by pathetic social-luck when it comes to clubbing. Back when I was a fledgling clubber, when I tried to organize a guys' night out during the scarce Saturday nights we had, I have had growing men turn into weekend-eunuchs and probably hid their hand-phones in their balls-pouches as they suddenly went missing when the time came.

Uni came and went, and apparently my luck got better for a while with the Clubbing Trio (which hence automatically excuses Beng and Flo from any insults in this post), but the brief stint of hope was ruthlessly shattered in the years that followed.

I've become rather jaded I must say, about organizing club outings, always having people pull the lamest stunts this side of Jackie Chan whenever the moment arrived. Excuses and excuses piled up with each idealistic attempt of giving it one more shot. Repetition is the order of the day as the worst excuses get repeated and repeated.

When school's in, its ALWAYS, "cannot lah, got lessons the next day." Well, poor excuse, since I club when I had lessons the next day, and I still do and would now that I have work the next day too, as long as its nothing TOTALLY essential. But yes, you are not me, which means you ain't half as cool, or happening blah blah; and I can forgive you for being a tight-balled-freak for putting books before booze and babes.

So I grow smarter and I pop the question during the holidays, when there is no excuse for school. And the template response is normally two-tiered. First, "who's going?" which somewhat translates to "I got no backbone of my own and assess if it is socially sound for me to go, lest I miss out on anything cool," and then followed by "see how." Of course we ALL know, "see how" is a terrible terrible lie, it is what the politicians use to dangle some false hope in front of you, leave a back door open for themselves, before deciding on a "no."

The worst part of the answer comes when you try to obtain a confirmation from these fuckers, they ask you "so who's going?" again, and after wasting a bloody sms straining your brain to try to list the people going, these pricks tell you at the last minute that they "don't think [they] will be joining you [me]. Have fun! =)" Yeah, I'm sure the smiley face makes me wanna bitch-slap you any less, but I digress.

But I get smarter and smarter, so I learn to avoid this last minute asking thing. The most recent time, I sent out my invitations 3, yes THREE, whole weeks before the actual event, so that I gave all the asses a very huge heads-up before the actual event, to psyche themselves up or whatever these losers need to do to actually step in a club... and yet... I still have to deal with incredible nonsense.

"Oh, I'll go if [so] and [so] go," she said. Apparently, [so] was more than keen on going, but contrary to what was said, she messaged [so] 1 night before to say she didn't feel like going, and [so] conveyed the message to me. My take? I love the transparency of the matter and the weight of the words. Politically well-played perhaps, but deserving of no respect.

Another particular Lazy-Fuck just didn't want to commit up till the last moment, with the excuse of "clubbing is the kinda thing that is dependent on mood, and its better to leave it till the last minute to decide." 2 points, why is it that only clubbing, and not dinner, or movie is mood dependent? And secondly, the "last minute" thing is a fucking lie. Going by the logic, if there is an allowance for backing out at the last minute if asked previously, means that there should be an equal chance of appearing at the club if asked at the last minute right? Considering its a "last minute" decision. But from what I know about Lazy-Fuck, that is an impossibility. So the chances were skewed from the start and she just wanted to leave a backdoor for herself.

The sum of all these parts?

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Clubbing Inertia.

According to Dr. Jer-kyll, Clubbing Inertia is the condition where a person feels a very weak will to club, compared to all other social outings, e.g. dinners or movies. Under the influence of this condition, victims are known to display a fickle sense of will (maybe, see how), form delusional thoughts of self-justification (next-day fatigue, break the sleep cycle, last minute decisions, school, work, etc.) to keep them away from the clubs.

Its still a mystery why some specimens (e.g. cool SMU kids) can make clubbing part of the life and part of their culture to have fun and all, yet others (e.g. lame NUS kids) place artificial restrictions on themselves to keep them away from the clubs. But the current theory in the exploration of Clubbing Inertia points to it being a matter of will. While sometimes it is due to circumstantial and physical reasons, studies have shown that a majority of the time, Clubbing Inertia is self-induced and a totally mental disorder that the victims trap themselves in.

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This theory has been recently proven to be true as the Count and 7 others decided to head down to Zouk for Mambo on the faithful Wednesday, 4 of which (including myself) had to wake up early the morning after. While the road there was a bumpy one, filled with doubt and hindrances (Jeff's IC, Guan Ze's Hair Dye Debacle), in the end, spontaneity and will prevailed as we executed the plan.

While 8 to go is a lot less than what was originally anticipated or projected, in itself, it is quite a good number to go, and the fact that we had a sausage-party-percentage of only 62.5% made the deal even sweeter. Good music (after 2am at least), booze-drinking and wild dancing, is already a winning formula that brings joy to the Count's soul; but with good company as the icing on the cake: priceless.

I had fun, needless to say. And regardless of whether the rest of them truly did or not, to each and everyone of them: Perry, Guan Ze, Jeffrey, Charmaine, Qiuhan, Lay Koon and Beng (yes, you too); eternal thanks for being part of the realization of a long-abandoned ideal.