The Story of Dolly

Once upon a time, there was a college boy who idolized Drew Brees. So much so that whenever he played football with his friends, he would mimick Drew’s fake pumps, footwork and even attempted to throw the bullet. He got the spin right, the velocity and force was almost there, and he was pleased with himself for being able to play like his hero.

Then, a newcomer came to town. The boy and the newcomer looked oddly alike: same height, same physique, same facial features. Even stranger, they talked alike too; they had the same accent, same intonation, and exactly the same way of expressing their thoughts. They could very well be twins separated at birth.

Because these two boys were so alike, the boy’s friends started teasing him, calling him and the newcomer twins, brothers, coming from the same mother but different fathers, clones, etc. The moment the word ‘clone’ was mentioned,  the boy’s friends started asking if the boy was older or younger than the newcomer.

Unfortunately for the boy, he was younger than the newcomer, hence making him a clone of the newcomer’s. Ever since, the boy’s friends started calling him Dolly, after the cloned sheep. The boy was not very happy with his new nickname, but the more he protested, the more his friends adamantly called him Dolly. As a consolation, his friends eventually added Brees after Dolly so that the boy would have the same nickname as his idol.

A few years down the road, the boy is still fondly known as his friends as Dolly. He has started to accept that he would be called such for the rest of his life, but as one of the instigators of the nickname, I keep reminding him that the moment he is not called Dolly, that would mean his friends do not care about him anymore.

We tease Dolly because we love him.

The Racer Suit

When the racer suit first came out, there was a lot of discussion whether or not it should be allowed to be used by swimmers in races. Is this suit considered a performance enhancer or is it just the natural evolution of the little Speedo swimsuit?

Quite honestly, I did not follow this debate, and quite frankly, I don’t really care considering I abandoned my swimming career a long time ago. However, if you ask me for my opinion, I would say that I am against the racer suit because if this man-made, artificial material that is not naturally produced or attached to the body, can help a swimmer shave off 0.02s, then it is in a way working the same way as performance enhancing drugs do.

My disagreement with the suit increases since the Beijing Olympics started. I am not complaining and accusing the new world record holders that what they wore help them broke the old records and hence they would be considered cheating. Not at all. In fact, Michael Phelps and Park Theawan did not wear the full racer suits when they won their golds, albeit their whole legs were covered. No, no, I will not touch this area because I don’t even know what technical specs of these suits really are.

The reason for my disagreement is purely aesthetic. Female swimmers would wear swimsuits 2 sizes smaller than their usual size; I know this for sure because it normally took me 15 minutes to get into my suit before an event, and the suit was so tight that the straps would bruise my shoulders. The female swimmers till follow this 2-sizes smaller rule even with the new racer suits, I’m sure. The smaller size means the suit is tighter, which means certain parts of the female body are squished flat to ensure better streamlining during the race. Now, when someone puts on a swimming cap and goggles, it’s quite hard to determine the sex from the look alone unless there is facial hair involved. We are assuming there is no facial hair because facial hair actually creates drag in the water which means it may cost you that precious 0.02s. Now, let’s put two swimmers, one male and one female, both in the racer suits, side by side, and you can only see them from the stomach up. I can guarantee that you will have difficulty differentiating the sexes, because with the cap, the googles and the flat chest, these two swimmer would look quite alike.

Now, back to the aesthatic issue. When male swimmers don the racer suit, they look like female swimmers. They look like they’re wearing swim suits for girls. I just simply dislike the look. When I was watching the swimming events, sometimes I did not even know if it was a men or women’s event, and I could not tell by looking at the swimmers in the racer suits! It’s annoying! I don’t like being confused like this.

Then, I could not see and appreciate the male swimmers’ bodies! I spent my childhood and teenage years swimming and idolizing swimmer bodies and now they are covering it all up? For the sake of that 0.02s? Well, actually that 0.02s did help the American relay team win gold, so obviously aesthetic value is less important here. Regardless, us women, we cannot enjoy swimming the way we did in the 1998 Olympics anymore. The bodies are part of the enjoyment of watching the sport, and now this enjoyment has been greatly reduced.

Better switch to water polo, ladies, unless the scientists at Adidas, Nike, Arena, TYR or wherever these suits come from created the water polo equivalent of the racer suit to help the players tread water longer. When that happens, I will lose all faith in water sports.

My Catwalk in Life

My company is organizing a dinner and dance party, and as part of the entertainment, the committee is going to hold a fashion show. You probably know where this is going to; yes, yours truly is selected to be one of the models in the show. I have to spare 2 hours a week for training, and in fact tomorrow I am going for a fitting. I feel like I’m almost in America’s Next Top Model.

I never had an ambition or a dream to be a model. Growing up, I was too much of a tomboy to care much about fashion and the likes. When puberty finally hits, I was so into grunge and rap that baggy clothes became a necessity to me. I think it was in the US that I finally got in touch with my feminine side, and that was when I started dressing up more appropriately.

I remember in 2002, Gap US was holding a model search. Anyone could submit a photograph and a little description of themselves to the company. I submitted my profile, at the urging of Sis B. I don’t care much about fame, in fact I prefer being low profile, hidden in the background, and modeling is definitely not the kind of thing I would like to do for any price. However, the idea of getting free clothes, now that’s a reason I would do modeling. So the only reason I submitted my photo was that in the slim chance I would be selected to model for Gap, I would likely be getting free Gap clothes for as long as the contract allowed.

Then, sometime last year when I was in limbo in Singapore looking for a job, I was approached twice in public by so-called modeling agencies. I was flattered that I was even approached, but the flattery did not last long. I was told (this is verbatim) that my face was not high fashion enough, but I would do well commercially, especially for magazines like Maxim and FHM. WTF? Flattery immediately transformed into insult! I appreciate my body and I love my body, and I feel powerful that I can attract men using my body (if you got it, flaunt it), but to put me up on the pages of a men’s magazine to be drooled on and to be objectified, all that goes against my feminist principles and pride. Also, what kind of free clothes could I possibly get from posing for Maxim or FHM other than underwears and bikinis? No, thanks.

I recalled two incidents in my life, and I have come to recall them as my almost-model moment. First was in junior high, when we needed to create a family album for one of our classes’ project. When my teacher returned me my album, she commented that I was such a beauty as a child, and I still was. I brushed aside the comment, because being the school swimmer and overall sports girl in my class, a ‘beauty’ comment did not actually go with my reputation at the time. However, I must have taken it a little too seriously, because as I was alighting a bus with a friend to go home, I slipped and fell, in front of a group of school boys. It was not very glamorous, and one of the boys actually clapped as I was trying to get myself up. You may be asking, what did my friend do? Well she walked away quietly as I was trying to deal with my fall. We’re still good friends to this day, however.

Another incident occured when I was at Purdue. Remember, I had just discovered the joy of fashion, and bought my first pair of boots. I was so happy and so proud wearing them, and I was meeting a friend for lunch at the university’s cafetaria. My friend, the idiot that he is but a lovable idiot at that (his only redeeming quality), very rarely saw me in anything other than jeans and t-shirt. But that day, I felt extraordinarily feminine and decided to pair my boots with skirt and a more flattering top. He saw me from afar as I was entering the cafetaria, and started shouting at everyone: “Make way, make way, model coming through!” I turned around and walked away.

It would be interesting to see what I would have to do for my company’s D&D. I only have to remember no pointy shoes with wide leg pants.

The Courteous Driver

I have some issues with drivers here. But before I continue, I allow you to accuse me for being idealistic, and I will proudly accept the accusation because I AM idealistic. 

Now, I have lived in Indonesia and China, where road rules and regulations were created for, well, nothing as it turned out, and these are the two countries you will never find me behind the wheel. So imagine my excitement being able to drive again in Singapore, after a 2 year driving hiatus since leaving the States. I learned to drive in Indiana, and  perfected my driving skills in the city of Chicago. Put me on I-90, during rush hour, with 15 minutes to reaching downtown, and I will make it there in 10 minutes. Yes, I’ve gotten that good in moving around congested traffic. I’ve also perfected my flirting skills through talking my way out of traffic tickets. It’s good to be a woman. OK fine, I’m double standard too.

I see Singapore’s traffic being no different than Chicago’s. Two big cosmopolitan cities with pressed for time drivers, heavy traffic, and some idiots who think they own the road. Idiotic drivers, well, you can never get rid of them, so what you do is just accept them and avoid them at all costs. But there are drivers who are just plain rude. And these rude drivers, they seem to be more prevalent here in Singapore than any other cities.

Case #1: I was parking my car at work. I was backing up, when this car drove past me and the driver was staring at me. I can differentiate various kinds of staring; there is the confused staring, flirty staring, curious staring, and unhappy staring. The staring I encountered was the unhappy staring, which would mean I have done something to this guy to make him glare at me. I tried to recall if I overtook him without signaling, or if I cut him off to this parking space… what did I do to deserve this? I did nothing. I did not even see him when I went into the lot, so now I was getting annoyed. Why was he staring at me? It was not even a short stare, it was a long, 10 seconds or so stare. What was his problem? So as I was backing up, I returned his stare and I was pretty sure I was looking mighty unhappy at him staring at me. He moved on, and at this time I was too agitated to let it go. He parked a few cars away from me, and we both got out around the same time. And he was still staring. I had to hold myself back from asking what his problem was. He was a skinny little dude so I was confident if things went awry I could easily overpower him. Now, what was the need of staring? If he finds me cute, or if he likes my car, what was with the unhappiness in his staring? You want to catch my attention, then do it in such a way that you won’t make me mad! 

Case #2: I was driving along that road where Pan Pacific hotel is (obviously I the only road name I remember is the road I live in because I need to tell it to the cab driver in my drunken stupor every now and again) when this cab turned to the main road out of nowhere. It scared the bejesus out of me, and had I not braked on time, I would have hit him. I honked at him, and he showed no reaction. He didn’t even turn to see where the honking was coming from. So I honked again, and again, and again. Still no reaction. I was so tempted to report him to his company. 

Case #3: In Singapore, there is a traffic rule regarding the yellow box. The principle behind this yellow box is you cannot stop in it so that other cars can use it to turn into the road or to let other cars pass. I’m to lazy to explain in more detail or more properly so for the non-Singaporeans, I know it’s a bit confusing, but don’t bother too much about this. Anyway, I was driving home from brunch yesterday with Sis B and this stupid car stopped at the yellow box. So I stopped near his car and pretty much waited for him to get out of my way. The driver, out of embarrassment or just plain ignorance, stayed put in the yellow box. What annoyed me most, there was enough space for him to move forward to so that I could maneuver and get on with my driving. But no, he just stayed there and refused to look at me. I’m not staying he should look at me (or worse, stare), but at least he could just gave me an apologetic wave and tried to make amend by making the effort to move up a bit. 

It annoys me too that when I give way to other drivers, they don’t give me the thank you wave. They don’t even signal when changing lanes. And when I don’t give way to them, they honk at me as if I am the baddie. I can’t read your mind, how am I supposed to know you’re changing lane if you don’t signal?!

I am now on a mission to spread courtesy on the roads in Singapore. I wave, I signal, and I even willingly change lane when I see another car behind me itching to go faster. Isn’t that nice of me?

The best country I’ve driven in is New Zealand. I was so impressed by the kindness and niceness of the drivers there. We were driving on a two-lane road, and we came across this car that was driving soooo slowly. We immediately thought, oh great, we’re going to be stuck here for a while, when, to our surprise, the car in front pulled to the side of the road, stopped, and signaled for us to move first. We were just floored. We were having a great time enjoying the scenery in New Zealand, and this incident just confirmed that New Zealanders are the nicest people on earth because, if you live in a country that beautiful, how can you not be nice? Except for that dude who threw a hedgehog at a kid’s face; he’s the black sheep of the country. Every Singapore driver should go to New Zealand and learn driving courtesy there.

 

PS: Another great thing about New Zealand is, that the country is so damn beautiful that even the animals are nice. This is proven by a group of dolphins who saved a swimmer from a shark attack by swimming in circles around him. When I read this in the news a while back and found out it happened in New Zealand, I thought, of course, it wouldn’t happen anywhere else in the world. I guess I could say this post contains a not so subliminal message for New Zealand tourism.