Posts filed under 'Desker Rocker'
Old is Gold by DR
Being the ultimate bummer meant one good thing - I check out really cool videos on YouTube. I have found the opening titles to my top 3 favourite Channel 8 series all time.
Number 3.
Granted. The opening song truly sucked as they were banking on Chew Chor Meng’s uprising fame at that moment but I digged the Immortal Love series. He was a righteous vampire working as a police detective who lived through three lifetimes of love. It would have been MediaCorp’s first Sci-Fi attempt and the efforts in set-building, cgi effects and ridiculous storyline combined well to win my 12 year old heart over. I also bought my first bottle of tomato juice at 7 Eleven that year.
Number 2.
Chew Chor Meng followed his good work two years later with Wok of Life. This series had all the ingredients of success. Chinese family restaurant with strong traditions; brotherhood among disciples; various food dishes with stories to tell; danceable opening intro; time travel via a cooking pot. It was also the breakthrough series for Evelyn Tan and Ann Kok.
Number 1.
Number 1 on my list has got to be The Unbeatables. Brilliant storyline of two talented lovetorn gamblers with a strong family feud. Amazing storyline, great script, memorable characters. I can remember them to this day, 16 years on. Characters etched in the back of my mind- Li Nan Xing as Yan Fei, legend gambler dad Yan Kun who was blinded by legend conman Long Ting Guang. This series also founded MediaCorp’s best on screen couple Li Nanxing and Zoe Tay. I finally know why I have 60 decks of poker cards at home.
I had this debate with a few friends. Has MediaCorp always been showing trash and we grew out of it, or they have only started showing trash lately. I’m leaning towards the latter. They had challenging storylines bordering on the line of ridicule and fantasy, but they pulled them off. There were also many classics produced (Price of Peace, Stepping Out, Don’t Worry Be Happy, just to name a few), I could sing every single line of the opening theme. Now, we have heartland series with Fishball noodles or Nasi Lemak; family, affairs and betrayal; next big things of television exposing their big things at scenes supposedly necessary for telling stories.
Bagus Tak Made in Singapore.
Add comment February 21, 2009
The Departed by DR
There is one gate I fear much more than the Gates of Hell that open every 7th month of the Lunar Year – the Departure Gate in Changi Airport. I just sent my girl off for a holiday for three weeks and even though it was not one of those everlasting permanent farewells (I mean it’s just a holiday), I still felt my heart beat one time when I hugged her a temporary good bye.
I’m not much of a softy. I am not sure if that is a proper word or the brand of a sanitary pad but everyone knows what softies do. Softies are men who are soft. Men are supposed to be hard (figuratively and literally), so those who are soft are either old ill-functioning men in need of blue pills or softies.
I am indifferent to many sad, sad things in life. Tear-jerking movies, failing a lot of examinations, Everton getting the better of Liverpool in the FA Cup. Heck, I don’t even weep when I cut onions. But there is one word that sends chills down my spine to the balls- Farewell.
I was reminded of a time two years ago when I sent someone off at the airport for perhaps a good four years. Every one of 
her friend teared at the departure area while she was saying her last goodbye and giving her last hugs. In fact, most sobbed. Even her normally solid dad became a softy for a good one minute. At that moment, only her mother and me stayed dry (tear glands of course). But inside my heart I knew how the mother was feeling. Because I was feeling it too. We felt like crap.
We had breakfast together after she left. Her mother, two other friends and me. Her mother spent a while in the toilet and ordered way too much food when she came back. Soon after, I spent ten minutes in the toilet. And no, I didn’t have a stomachache from all the food. Strangely, I found it difficult to face the mother afterwards. I could never find a rational reason why.
1 comment February 11, 2009
Watching Movie by DR
I caught 58 movies in the cinemas in 2008. This comes off to an average figure of one movie watched in cinemas every 6.3 days. If I paid an approximate figure of 16 dollars for two tickets (plus minus weekday and weekend) each time, I spent 928 dollars on the cinemas last year alone. I am also a heavy eater of sweet 
popcorn and I habitually throw the popcorn kernels under the cinema seats when I think no one is looking. Already, I have contributed to the flourishing cinema employment for ticketing, food and beverage, and cleaning services.
When it comes to supporting original movies, I guess I am right up there. However I have excluded movies that I have watched at home or on my laptop which could come to an impressive average of one movie every two days. If I include the educational (pornographic) content as well, I’m guessing the average will be two movies every day. I watch a lot of shit.
I’m not critical when it comes to movies. A good comedy just needs to make me laugh instead of rolling my eyes. Romantic movies should give me the chills and goosebumps. Action thrillers make me lose bladder control in the cinema seat. Anything animated makes me sleep. Horror should shrink my balls. And a local movie should bring tears to my eyes.
Unfortunately, the closest thing that brought tears to my eyes was a combination of a few local productions on television. Forget about identity and original content. Just copy proven mindless hits like Desperate Housewives or OC from America 
like we have always done so. Why not just cast Wong Li Lin, Diana Ser and Lisa Ang in a series and call it “Hey Singapore, Triple 9 Housewives Get Real”. These three were probably my favourite local infotainment, drama series and documentary. Perhaps cast Fiona Xie, Felicia Chin, and Michelle Chia in “SOC’ where they tackle one station of the SOC each episode every week in swimwear.
If I were to direct my own educational content, I would suggest for the cast to use Little bottles of Nonya kaya as a lubricant.
2 comments February 7, 2009
Gong Hei Fat Choy by DR
Embarrassingly, I am Chinese. Don’t take me wrong. I am not embarrassed that I am Chinese. I am embarrassed that I am hardly Chinese. I have such a vested interest in other cultures but yet I forsake my own heritage and traditions. In fact, there are only two things Chinese about me. The first is bak kwa and the second is bak kut teh.
It has been a strange journey for me. I used to score full marks for Chinese spelling tests in primary school, which was followed by receiving a Speech Day award for topping the level in Chinese in my secondary school. Of course, I was offered the cheesy NIE scholarship for Chinese Language right after secondary school which meant that I would be the ‘uncool’ Chinese teacher in primary schools around Singapore.
Next like most people, I chose the slowest route to university- polytechnic. And I also became the Chief Editor of the campus newspaper for two issues (unlucky or lucky as the only male in Chinese Newswriting class.) During BMT, I was the unofficial undisputed Chinese Chess player in my platoon. But if you were to ask me any question about the Chinese heritage, I would be pretty dumbfounded.
I spent my first few days of Lunar New Year eating nasi ayam penyet and bakso campur in Batam. I am fairly surprised at 
how my grapple of the language has weakened. A good solid foundation doesn’t count for anything if you do not put in the effort to maintain it. I still think Cantonese is one of the two sexiest languages a woman can speak, the other being silence. Speaking of sexy, when you get some attention in the ghetto, it doesn’t quite equate to sexual attraction.
If someone smiles at you in the ghetto, it is probably one of the following:
-
He is drunk.
-
You are drunk.
-
She has a dick.
-
His/Her dick is exposed.
-
You look like you do dick.
I also realised sex education was introduced in schools as early as primary one to the seven year olds with raging hormones. It was subtle but the raging rocker saw through it with his sharp observant seven year old eyes, in the disguised form of composition writing. The teacher taught us that “composition writing” should be broken down into three basic segments – Introduction (Foreplay), Body (Need I say more), and Conclusion (Grand finale). From the way I see it, there is really no need for the educational board and society to worry about the lack of proper sexual education for our youngsters.
I was really bad at composition writing then but I still managed to remember that I should be concluding with a paragraph of four to five lines of my introduction rephrased in another way. So, I’m pretty much ashamed that I’m hardly Chinese. I also like bak kwa and bak kut teh.
3 comments January 30, 2009
Hair Cut by DR
I used to be one of those kids who needed one full hour of mindless coaxing, strong firm hands, Vanilla ice cream, and a McDonalds’ Happy Meal before I would sit on a hair salon chair. I never could bear sitting for a hair cut. Then again, many young boys faced the same problem. When I grew up as a kid, I moved on to the friendly neighbourhood Chinese hair salon where the aunties in venomous permed hair loved listening to Jacky Cheung. I soon realised sharing the same hairdresser as my mother was no longer cool.
So, I moved on to good old trusty Indian barber shops. Those had only one wall mirror and it extended from one end of the shop to the other. I love those antique barber chairs, but only in the sense of photographic visuals. The Indian barbers pretty much made the shaving knife their own art and craft, long before Sweeney Todd even had hair to shave. My only problem with them was that I did not quite like what they did with my hair, which was quite important. They seemed to follow one standard haircut for teenage boys and they swore by that compulsory slope of every corner of your hair, which ended up with everyone leaving the shop looking the same.
Next, I tried the fifty-dollar shopping mall hair cuts. There was unnecessary pressure with getting the latest or most edgy hairstyle and it was often overcrowded with people, mainly hairstylists. From getting a simple hair cut, it became a mind game of which I would try to guess the sexuality preference of the stylist. Needless to say, it was uncomfortable and I didn’t like it.
I decided to place my fading faith in the Malay barbers, the one place I thought could never go wrong with hair cuts. At least for the next five years or so, I continued to think that way. The Malay barbers were great conversationalists. They played classic Indonesian rock at their shops, decorated the walls with motorcycle and football posters, and posted fishing photographs. I could listen to their stories and philosophies for hours. Like the Indian barbers, they were not quite creative with their styles but creativity had never been my priority. I wanted consistency, which was missing after a while. Service levels dropped and they started to rush with the hair cuts to serve more customers.
I knew I had to leave. It was a hard decision to make, but my hair couldn’t wait. I gave my regular Malay barber one last chance. A final haircut, before I bid him a silent goodbye in my heart. I found another place. It was a Thai hair salon in one corner of Golden Mile. I could not recall what made me walk in to begin with, and I didn’t think any of the hairstylists expected me as well. I gestured with two fingers that I wanted a hair cut, but in my mind I was afraid they thought I wanted to challenge them to a round of my favourite game.
They sat me down and only one of them was conversant in English but she wasn’t the one cutting my hair. As soon as it started, my heart began to beat a little faster than usual. It was nerve wrecking. She reminded me of my mother when she was younger. Only my mother had this calming effect on me when I had to cut hair as a kid. Her smile felt familiar even though it was the first time I saw it. She was gentle throughout and really took her time. She even wiped off my perspiration from my forehead. (I do get cold sweat from hair cuts.) Soon it was done and over. Before I knew it, I have been there four times and she’s now my regular hairstylist even though we have a language barrier.
The Thai salon does not possess the shaving knife and slope skills of the Indian barbers nor do they boast of the trendiest range of hairstyles of the mall salons. Unlike the Malay matrocker barbers who are great conversationalists, I cannot have any verbal communication with the Thai hairstylists. I must admit, it feels like therapy when they are speaking Thai and I do not understand the surroundings of me. It has one thing special, which the other salons and barbers lack. It makes me feel at home, and I just found out that it is all that I want in a hair cut.
Add comment January 19, 2009
2008 by DR
It always puzzles me. The whole idea of celebrating the new year is a little bizarre, sometimes too much for my liking. Sometimes I seriously question myself what the highly anticipated countdown is for. Am I the only cynic who tweaks his eyebrow in amazement as everyone proceeds to count backwards from 10 to 1, before the horizon finally breaks out in beautiful and colourful fireworks with repetitive patterns?
Personally, I do not see the point in the celebration of a new year unless there is some form of achievement. Examples of achievements include a new childbirth, a close friend’s promotion at work, striking 4D, or even a Fiona Xie upskirt. Certainly, it is every marketer’s marketing event of the year. What better to milk the post-Christmas season than a new year celebration?
This is my humble summary of 2008, Countdown style:
10) Ming Yi is actually Durai Goldenballs’ buddy.
9) At the highest recorded period, one litre of Shell 95 cost more than one bowl of Mee Pok Tah downstairs.
Irony. (a) National Stadium playing her “last match’ for the 5th time in two years. (b) Team Singapore selling out their stadium full sell-out fans with a disappointing display. (c) Now we know why Singapore Flyer is termed as Flyer.
7) Johnny Depp turned down a lead role at Pirates of the Somalia, because he wanted to have a cup of Teh Halia at Arab Street.
6) Mas Selamat starred in Singapore’s Prison Break, but he forgot to wait for the TV crew.
5) Political unrest in Thailand, but airport employees got more rest.
4) Mumbai terrorist attacks.
3) Sichuan earthquake taking away 69,000.
2) Cyclone Nargis killing 133,000 in Myanmar.
1) Global economic recession. (Nothing like a 5 million dollar firework display to cheer everyone up)
Happy New Year ,Desker Rocker
Add comment January 2, 2009
Foreplay by DR
This is me, the anally acclaimed inspiration/hope writer from Desker. I live in the ghetto and I pretty much rock it out, which is why they call me the Rocker from Desker (actually I called myself that). I am a samaritan so I do what samaritans do, which is do good deeds and write a blog.
This online journal, irregardless of how the other three will brand it, is a low class writing brothel. At least this is how I see it. Crude jokes, lowlife perspective and erotic sightings. Put all three together, you get the philosophy to life.
That to me, is also the perfect 3-mark essence of an awesome Teh Tarik. The first sip has to taste crude and strong. The tarik action has to be low, to fully stretch out the tarik distance between the two glasses. And the sight of the glass of juicy Teh Tarik has to be erotic enough to stir even the most staunch monk.
Minum teh, minum life. -Desker Rocker
1 comment December 25, 2008
