Losing half your audience

The TV ad for the Volkswagen Golf G77 shows the car doing some slick manoeuvres and then it fades out to the words:
"Men drive it.
Boys dream about it."

Either the creative director was a man or they are not interested in selling to women.

Somebody has forgotten that "women hold up half the sky". I hope their sales fail and their mothers/wives/sisters/daughters give them hell.

And their competitors run a similar ad with their car doing the nifty moves, the same tagline, only it cuts away to final scene where a woman steps out of the car. Oh, ok, she can remove her crash helmet and shake out her long, blonde tresses....

Culture shock

The ongoing Singapore Heritage Festival has a lot of events going on all over the island. Some are pretty good, like Chinese hand puppet shows and Indian dance performances.

Some are well ... you wonder what it's trying to achieve. The instalment at the shopping centre near where I live takes the form of an exhibition on childbirth and how the different cultures in Singapore welcome a new baby. And it draws this whopping conclusion -- that a child is the glue that holds a family together.


Which I find incredible and also somewhat insulting. I know enough families who have children that have become unstuck. And I know families who have no children and who are doing fine, thank you very much.

I have two children -- only they each have four legs and a waggy tail -- and while their needs take centrestage in the family scheme of things, this family -- any family -- would be on dangerous ground if a child is required to bind it together.

I do understand though, what a newborn means. But surely it can't be the be all and end all of family living. Children, in themselves, are sort of worthless. They are practically useless and must be cared for. Their importance lies in the long term: the promise of things to come in the future -- much like a Warren Buffet investment.

Given that National Day is approaching, I have a feeling that all this is part of the propaganda to address the falling birthrate and a sneaky way to press my womb into National Service.

Maybe I'll just adopt another dog.

Chain of errors

When I cancelled a credit card earlier this year, I had forgotten that there was a cash guard insurance policy riding on it. It was only brought to my attention in May when the insurance company sent me a letter when it failed to deduct the annual premium from the now dead credit card.

I had been paying them S$70 every year without realising it, for the past 6 or 7 years!

So I got back to them and a very nice customer service officer sorted it out and said that they could attach the policy onto the new credit card. And reminded me to check my credit card statements. Since this was an annual deduction, that must have been why I overlooked it, and forgot all about the policy, he suggested. And since the premium deduction was imminent, he suggested that I email them the new credit card number instead of going through the usual route where he would send me a form, I would fill it, and send it back, which would take weeks to process.

And so I did. And received a return email from customer service which said that they have my new credit card number and would forward the details to their billing department.

Well, the billing department must have been out of the loop because the next thing I got was a letter saying that my policy had been cancelled. But if I wanted to reinstate it, I could do this, that or the other. Which involved calling them. On the customer service hotline. Which takes you through a loop through eternity before you can even talk to someone human. And there's no way of calling the nice customer service officer who handed your problem. You had to call the central line. Which loops through pressing numbers for everything except what you needed.

In the meantime, someone else from the same insurance company called me, trying to flog other insurance products. Since I had someone human on the phone, I directed her attention to my problem, adding that I'm obviously not in the mood to buy anything from your company till it fixes that problem.

She was as nice as the first guy. She had the relevant people sort it out, and called back to check that it was sorted out. And I thought it was.

Until on Thursday, I got a letter saying that the policy was reinstated and that henceforth, the monthly premium would be deducted from the new credit card.

Except that this was supposed to be S$70 annually. Not monthly.

Back I went to customer service hotline's runaround hell. I sent them an email too. At least when you hit send on an email, it does go somewhere. Unlike voice recorded phone hotlines.

And today, I get another letter. This time they got things right. Policy reinstated, annual premium deduction. Yada yada. No apologies. No signature. Computer-generated letter.

Do they really think I would buy their products the next time they call?

Listen, AIG: If you can't take care of the small things, you can't settle the big ones.

Their bailout cheque should have been this:

Turn-down surprise

In five-star hotels, you get a chocolate mint on your pillow. In two-dog homes, you get a knobby hard chew-bone. Always check the pillow before you rest your head.

Yoga With Dogs positions

The human is maintainining a tree (supine) position, one leg bent, with the sole of that leg on the thigh of the other leg.

The schnauzer is in downward dog (prone).

The fox terrier, as always, is in something of his own making. We call this one the grasshopper kungfu pose.

Let sleeping dogs lie

... after you've taken the pictures.


Mirror image


Rorschach test

Last dinosaur left standing

I should have seen it coming. A month after my ISP migrated its email servers, it sent me a letter saying that by end-June, it would no longer continue to offer dial-up services. Because the nation had gone wired and broadband was easily available etc. Basically, it means that I'm a dinosaur and it's not worth their while to service me.

I like being a dinosaur. When I moved in, there was already a phone line and I had no reason to switch broadband because I don't surf the Net much. I spend like maybe an average of 15 minutes on it a day, mostly for email, update this blog, follow other blogs. And dial-up suited all that just fine. Not to mention that it cost peanuts. The cheapest broadband package comes at twice that price and with all the hoops and whistles that I don't need.

Of course, I could do much more if I had broadband. But the point is that I don't want to do much more. An average of 15 minutes a day on the Net suits me just fine (and this includes loading pages on a 56K modem). I don't want to spend hours on YouTube viewing friends' baby videos, I don't want to make new friends on Facebook and poke old friends. If I had broadband, I'd be doing all that and given that I still only have 24 hours a day, that's less time I have for other things -- like making friends in the flesh and visiting friends to laugh at their babies' actual antics.

If I really want to connect via broadband, I have free WiFi at the library, thanks to my tax dollars at work. But the real reason why I haven't got broadband at home is because when we moved in almost three years ago, we wanted to get a broadband/cable TV/phone line package that the telcos offer. But we didn't have a cable-ready TV. Hell, we didn't *have* a TV. My parents gave us a spare portable set that got its reception from rabbit-ears antennae. It was supposed to be temporary. But with a procrastinator in charge of getting the TV and the broadband package, what was temporary extended to almost three years. So blame it all on L.

If this blog becomes extinct after June 30, it's because the dinosaur's Net access has been pulled out from under its feet.

Good afternoon

And this was how Roop got woken up. He had gone into his crate for an afternoon nap, turned over in his sleep, rolled around a bit, and then forgot which way was up when he opened his eyes.

The laws of gravity do not apply to those who are not of this earth.

Good morning

I had the camera-enabled mobile phone on the nightstand next to me, and this was what I woke up to. A furry and somewhat concerned face. Concerned over his bladder's contents, that is.

Three heads are better than two

It's either a pathetic individual or a dog parent who will post about dog toothbrushes back to back. If Friday's find of a double-headed toothbrush was brilliant, then today's find of a triple-headed one was beyond brilliant. (Just don't ask me what I was doing at the pet store twice in two days. Those dogs sure get spoilt.)

This toothbrush has been christened The Anaconda. Just right for fox terrier teeth so stained, he looks like he's been chewing tobacco. Actually, his teeth look pearly white, but that's only on the outside. It's when he yawns and you see the inside of his teeth that he really needs some help from The Anaconda.

Instruments of torture

That's what HRH would call the toothbrushes. I found a new dog toothbrush at the pet store yesterday. It comes with two heads, designed to be able to brush both the inside and outside of a dog's teeth. Previously, with the so-called dog toothbrush that doesn't look very different from a human toothbrush, I could only brush the outer side of the teeth efficiently.

L calls this new two-headed toothbrush The Cobra. You have no idea how brilliant I found it to be -- almost as brilliant I think, as liver-flavoured antibiotics that don't have to be disguised or catapulted into the throat of an uncooperative dog.

Rupert thinks the new toothbrush just a new fangled eating implement that lets him swallow more poultry-flavoured toothpaste.

People generally think of great inventions as something that has made life easier and better. Well, I wouldn't quibble that the wheel is generally a good thing to have; that air-conditioning makes life comfortable in the tropics; and sliced bread is quite handy too.

But I still think liver-flavoured dog pills and double-headed dog toothbrushes rank up there with the wheel.

Day off at home

I have the day off and I'm spending it at home, stuck to the couch, because all my days off the past few weeks have been spent running errands and doing housework. So I'm feeling lazy today and in lieu of writing, am posting an at-home lazy-type picture instead.



Notice how HRH has the spot of honour on Sucker Dad's lap while the minion is relegated to the floor cushion?

Mundane existence

I haven't blogged lately and this entry has got nothing terribly interesting to say -- it's really just about how a new underground line opened on Thursday; so now, my daily commute to work has gone from a train and bus combination to a weather-proof all-train combination involving a switch on three lines, shaving about 15-20 minutes of travel time.

Like that is really rivetting and like that really matters to you.

I need to get a life.

In a pickle

But in a good way. I once posted about a hard to find British delight that I'm quite partial to. I could only get it at an upscale supermarket downtown, which catered mostly to expatriates.

Then the supermarket down the road that I go to remodelled, and has expanded its range of offerings to include a lot more British and Australian foods. That must say quite a bit about the changing tastes of Singaporeans.

At first, it was a bit frustrating to shop there as they were remodelling while still open for business, and shelves were being shifted about so the whole layout of the place has changed. It's disconcerting because you thought you know where to find everything in your regular supermarket but now nothing's where it used to be.

But today, something made up for the confusion -- Branston pickle, in three sizes.

Dying profession

A couple of years ago, we were shocked that B, a friend of ours, in his mid-40s then, was hospitalised for a heart attack and had to have a quadruple bypass. He worked in public relations.

Last year, E, another friend, never regained consciousness after a massive heart attack. He was barely 40. He worked in public relations.

Last night, we met up with M, who said that he'd quit his job and was taking a break. He then told us that he had a minor stroke last year, and he's only in his mid-30s. He realised that there was more to life than work. His job? Public relations.

Not that hard to see the thread running through these three individuals. And that's why L isn't going back into PR. Not that he hasn't tried. I just won't let him. He used to clock in 14, 15-hour days and his blood pressure would soar like a kite.

L mildly tried to remonstrate with me for putting my foot down. "Who are you to tell me what to do?"

"Your wife. The one who has to bury your corpse."

End of argument. Wife wins. As always.

Pink party

There was no issue finding the place at all. We just followed the river of pink out of the tube station as soon as we got off the train.



Even the dogs came in pink.



L said I should get patented the slogan I had crayoned on our T-shirts. And then mass-produce them for sale. We had so many people coming up and asking if they could take photos of us. Must be what being a celebrity feels like.







Better, ie pro, pix here.

In the pink

We're ready for Pink Dot.

I'm actually a little disappointed by the reactions of some people, friends even, to the event which would actually be to their benefit. Some are so caught up in the bitching in the community that they can't pull together for a common good. Others are so embittered and angst-ridden from years of injustice and unfairness that they're just plain cynical. Nobody ever helped them, so why help the cause?

It's the same Singaporean self-focused blinkered psyche that doesn't see the person behind, that lets them slam the door in the face of the person behind them instead of holding it open.

We've had years of courtesy campaigns, but it's less to do with good manners and more to do with the inability to look beyond our own noses.

Sometimes I wonder why I bothered to the extent of getting a pink Tshirt for the pink dress code and even personalising it. I mean, this shouldn't even be my battle.

But if nobody cared beyond their own noses, people would still be slaves, women still wouldn't be able to vote, and a black man wouldn't be the leader of the free world.

If not me, who? And if not now, when?

Infamous

There was some pop concert thing on the TV and a guy I didn't recognise was doing his stuff onstage.

"Who's he?" I asked L, who was watching.

"Chris Brown."

"Who's he?" Obviously, I don't follow latter-day pop.

"The guy who beat up Rihanna."

So he can sing, he can dance, he can do it all but that's what he's going to be remembered for. Serves him right. And it's not even like I like Rihanna's music. I still think she cribbed from New Order.

Mother's Day

I had to work today but was sent off fortified by cinnamon french toast with a heart-shaped centre.


Yup, it was a happy day.

Curtain protection

Over the weekend, the swine flu alert went up one notch. And practically the whole country switched into the SARS mode of a few years ago and put up the ring fences.

At work, we prepared to split our operations into two separate locations. Visitors had their temperatures taken and their contact numbers noted. That also applied to visitors at the hospital where my dad is. It is a facility for step-down care. It doesn't have an accident and emergency unit, so it does not take in unreferred outpatients, least of all sick Mexican tourists. But it stuck to the policies that the other fully fledged hospitals were implementing. Which also included a strict policy of one named visitor per patient was enforced.

Today, dad had to leave the facility to return to the hospital where his cardiologist is, for a follow-up appointment. When he returned to the step-down facility, he was considered as a readmitted patient. Simply because he had busted the ringfence. He had to be quarantined.

He was put back in the same bed, in the same room, with the same people.

So how was he isolated?

By having the curtains drawn round his bed.

And all because he breathed the air outside the ringfence.

And swine flu isn't even in the country.

The health minister called a press conference today and said that if nothing deteriorates, he will lower the flu alert one level, and this means no temperature taking and lifting the one-visitor rule at hospitals.

However, quarantine still applies to visitors entering the country from affected areas.

He didn't say if it applied to an old man who left one hospital for a few hours to see his doctor at another hospital.

And if a curtain round a bed can stave off germs like a N95 mask.