I couldn't help but laugh when I read this:
Former hawker pleads guilty for rash act
I would have loved to write you a summary but the matter-of-fact reporting left nothing for me to remove.
SINGAPORE: A former hawker pleaded guilty in the Subordinate Court on Thursday morning for a rash act which severed the left thumb of a customer after the pair argued over a $2 bowl of noodles.
66-year-old Sim Yong Ha had picked up a 30-cm long chopper after patron Chan Seng Chai grabbed a plastic chair.
When Mr Chan swung the chair at him, Sim then used the chopper to block the chair.
The chopper hit Mr Chan's left hand and severed the 57-year-old retiree's thumb.
Mr Chan's wife had earlier complained about Sim's behaviour.
After she made numerous requests, the former hawker told her not to be so demanding because his noodles only cost $2.
Mr Chan then confronted Sim about these comments and the dispute resulted.
My take?
If you think your $2 noodles are too spartan, just add your own thumbs into the noodles. Thereafter, lick the sauce off. No need to go all the way to have the thumb chopped off to add to the noodles and then reattach it in the hospital later.
Actually, Mr Chan should be very happy. His wife's noodles are no longer $2, since the costs of reattching his thumb must have made those noodles more expensive than a bowl of king lobster and green lipped whole abalone egg noodles in top grade scallop sauce.
Latest updates from the Courts: 7 Jun
The Thumb is Worth $10000!
How's that for really expensive noodles?
Showing posts with label Happy Tree Friend moment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Happy Tree Friend moment. Show all posts
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sunday, May 02, 2010
Labour Day
It was more a Laborious Day than it was Labour Day.
I started off the day making morning beverages when I spilled Milo on the floor. I took a cloth, bent down, and wiped the powder off the kitchen floor tiles. As I got up, my head smashed right against the corner of the kitchen cabinet door and I literally understood first hand the meaning of "where stars are born."
I immediately applied pressure to the impact area and then I closed the cabinet door. "Damn it," I cursed silently. It was really really painful. Although the skull is a rather thick piece of bone, the scalp had many nerve endings and, if there were any open wounds, prone to bleeding.
As luck would have it, the wound began to bleed. Oh my Guanyin Niangniang, as Aunty Lucy would say. I pressed kitchen towels against the wound as it bled, hoping that I could stop the blood. Meanwhile, I ransacked my rather badly stocked first aid box for something to clean the wound.
No antiseptic solution. No Burnol. No... well, it's no everything useful basically. I found a betamethasone. It's a steriod and these don't go with open wounds generally. Being Labour Day, my family doctor is not open for business. I can't go there to get help.
I won't want to go round looking for a doctor who is open today. In fact, I wasn't even sure I was interested to find one. I cancelled my morning appointments and got Victor to drive me to the hospital.
Because of the nature of the injury, the nurse taking temperature at the entrance registered for me at the Accident and Emergency Department at Changi Hospital.
After a rather long wait, and after turning to a few clean sides of a new piece of kitchen towel to staunch the bleeding. It is NOT a serious bleed, but it is irritating enough to have blood oozing out non-stop.
By the time I got triaged, it was almost one and a half hour after I got cut. The bleeding, the nurse said, has stopped. But the doctor will get me some antiseptic cream and have my wound cleaned.
Waited for my turn after triage and saw the doctor. A locum at the A&E, the guy was young and very patiently impatient. Said a lot of things I already knew but I wasn't too bothered. After all, as long as he got the wound cleaned and then prescribe me some antiseptic cream.
Then if there were any justice, I didn't know it existed. The A&E only carried tetracycline based antiseptic creams. I was allergic to the 4-ringed antibiotic. So I could only have my wound cleaned but I can't get any antiseptic cream for it. I was prescribed only a cleaning solution to cleanse the wound. (In fact, the doctor prescribed the tetracycline cream, only to have me stop him!)
After the ordeal at A&E, we left as the wondrous emergency room filled up so suddenly.
And my day has barely begun.
I started off the day making morning beverages when I spilled Milo on the floor. I took a cloth, bent down, and wiped the powder off the kitchen floor tiles. As I got up, my head smashed right against the corner of the kitchen cabinet door and I literally understood first hand the meaning of "where stars are born."
I immediately applied pressure to the impact area and then I closed the cabinet door. "Damn it," I cursed silently. It was really really painful. Although the skull is a rather thick piece of bone, the scalp had many nerve endings and, if there were any open wounds, prone to bleeding.
As luck would have it, the wound began to bleed. Oh my Guanyin Niangniang, as Aunty Lucy would say. I pressed kitchen towels against the wound as it bled, hoping that I could stop the blood. Meanwhile, I ransacked my rather badly stocked first aid box for something to clean the wound.
No antiseptic solution. No Burnol. No... well, it's no everything useful basically. I found a betamethasone. It's a steriod and these don't go with open wounds generally. Being Labour Day, my family doctor is not open for business. I can't go there to get help.
I won't want to go round looking for a doctor who is open today. In fact, I wasn't even sure I was interested to find one. I cancelled my morning appointments and got Victor to drive me to the hospital.
Because of the nature of the injury, the nurse taking temperature at the entrance registered for me at the Accident and Emergency Department at Changi Hospital.
After a rather long wait, and after turning to a few clean sides of a new piece of kitchen towel to staunch the bleeding. It is NOT a serious bleed, but it is irritating enough to have blood oozing out non-stop.
By the time I got triaged, it was almost one and a half hour after I got cut. The bleeding, the nurse said, has stopped. But the doctor will get me some antiseptic cream and have my wound cleaned.
Waited for my turn after triage and saw the doctor. A locum at the A&E, the guy was young and very patiently impatient. Said a lot of things I already knew but I wasn't too bothered. After all, as long as he got the wound cleaned and then prescribe me some antiseptic cream.
Then if there were any justice, I didn't know it existed. The A&E only carried tetracycline based antiseptic creams. I was allergic to the 4-ringed antibiotic. So I could only have my wound cleaned but I can't get any antiseptic cream for it. I was prescribed only a cleaning solution to cleanse the wound. (In fact, the doctor prescribed the tetracycline cream, only to have me stop him!)
After the ordeal at A&E, we left as the wondrous emergency room filled up so suddenly.
And my day has barely begun.
Friday, April 16, 2010
What we need next...
Following the Eyjafjallajoekull volcanic eruption, what we now need are ...
... Mayon (in the Philippines) erupts
... Etna (in Italy) erupts
... Kilauea (in Hawaii) erupts
... Asama (in Japan) erupts
... Ruapehu (in New Zealand) erupts
... Llaima and Chaitén (in Chile) erupt
and each sends a column of ash so big that we get 24/7 night for the next few months.
That would be so exciting.
I'm faking a "flash forward." I'm feeling so 2012 now. Hee hee...
... Mayon (in the Philippines) erupts
... Etna (in Italy) erupts
... Kilauea (in Hawaii) erupts
... Asama (in Japan) erupts
... Ruapehu (in New Zealand) erupts
... Llaima and Chaitén (in Chile) erupt
and each sends a column of ash so big that we get 24/7 night for the next few months.
That would be so exciting.
I'm faking a "flash forward." I'm feeling so 2012 now. Hee hee...
Monday, September 14, 2009
Killing Me Softly...
Spent about two hours in the Changi General Hospital's Accident and Emergency Department's Observation Room when I went over for follow-up treatment last Friday. Immediately on entering the room, I was plonked on an empty bed. There was a patient on my left (Bed 7) and an empty bed on my right (Bed 5). No prizes for correctly guessing for my bed number.
Beds 1, 2 and 3 were empty while on Bed 4 lay this Malay guy who was conscious but hooked to various monitors. He's perhaps in his 30s or 40s and if anything, I'd suspect withdrawal symptoms rather than any real medical emergency. But what would I know.
Bed 7 on my left lay a sleeping guy, possibly a national serviceman, wrapped up in his blanket. I was not sure if he's malingering but I was beyond caring now. I had problems of my own to worry about. Bed 8 seemed to be occupied but the patient was blocked by the mass on 7. Bed 9 was empty. Bed 10 lay this Chinese man who looks like he's from China but I might be wrong. Beds 11 and 12 were empty.
I was waiting for my turn to get my CT Scan done. Right after I was made to lie in the bed, my blood pressure was taken and the nurses manning the OR counter began talking about the age of their new patient and his condition. Yak yak yak...
The nurses woke Patient 7 not long after I was settled in and asked if he could manage to go home by himself. I guessed that was the beginning of the long weekend and the hell he couldn't! So, off he went. I saw the gaunt patient on Bed 8. Bed 10 went up for his scan and I waited my turn, when the machine became available.
Before long, Bed 10 seemed to come back down while I fidgeted, went to the loo, was made to sit on a wheelchair, wait in the wheelchair, wheeled up to Radiology, and got my scan done.
Act 1 was complete when the CT machine fired the last x-rays through my skull and possibly semi-cooking my brains. I was wheeled back to the OR and made to get back on my bed.
* * *
"You must drink water. See, ask you to drink water, you don't want to drink? Today you're back in here again." So goes the son to his father, the patient on Bed 8.
"Yesteday, we came here and you were vomiting. They wanted to put you on the drip and you don't want.
"What can we do now? No point telling me that they use such a big (gauged needle) one on your now, right? Yesterday, if you take, you won't need such a big one.
"You need to drink water. How can you not drink water? Yesterday, when the doctors let you go home, you were told to drink lots of water. But you say the water makes you vomit. Now doctor X cannot do anything for you. God can't do anything for you either.
"Don't worry about anything at home. Everything will be fine. The home will still be there when you go home. You should just stay in here and start drinking water.
"You cannot go home now. See? Even God doesn't want to take you yet. So, how?..."
Apart from some occasional low groans and some raspy, unintelligible sounds, the son persisted on his soliloquy. There was resignation, not anger.
"See? I already take leave today. I got no choice since I have to bring you here. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. And today I take leave to bring you here..."
The battle of making dad drink water was amazing. While I tried to resist turning over to take a look, when sonny left, I sneaked a peek. Old man seemed to be burning. His face is flush reddish purple and his lips were dry and chapped. His eyes were listless as he stared out into the clinically white lighted room, his mouth gaping like a beached goldfish gasping for air.
* * *
"Oh, Mr So-so. I'm your doctor. I've just seen your radiology report. I think you have got a mini-stroke. You know, a TIA..."
Man, I know a TIA. It's short for transient ischaemic attack. I just watched it for the third time on Royal Pains the night before. Oh shit, what if I had a TIA from the car accident...
The patient on Bed 10 must be pretty taken aback. Stroke? How is that possible? He looked perfectly normal. Normal weight range, normal everything.
"Mr So-so, TIA is like a stroke. You see your films? There is this dark region. The blood flow to the area is affected."
I could almost see myself spouting these lines. Man, when I go to the US for studies, I'm going to audition for a role in some medical drama. I could play the role of a plastic surgeon who gets a patient who wants a pair of 38H and midway into the headlights enhancement operation, she had a TIA, wakes up after emergency rescue and decides that, for the sake of her fragile life, she wants a pair of 42L instead. The patient's name? Miss Giant Parts Greenberg. ;)
"We don't know if there is permanent damage. No. You cannot go home. You must stay in the hospital and we need to treat you. We will find out the extent of the blockage and see if you have any permanent damage here.
Such words were not exactly the most comforting to me, since I'm also waiting for the CT scan results.
Doctor turned to Patient 10's wife and asked, "Do you know if he complained of any weaknesses on one side of his body...?"
A poignant Miss Saigon moment descends. I feel walls in my heart closing in, I can't breathe, I can't win...
* * *
I had quite enough by then. Between the time I was sent for the scan and my return, which was less than 15 minutes, the OR room dynamics had changed. There was now a Patient 5 on my right now and he was offered lunch. That junior category senior even asked to see the lunch menu. He really thinks that when the ambulance crew euphemistically call hospitals hotels, they are thus hotels? Crazy.
Patient 1 was an old man/woman - honestly, when you are old and shrivelled up, no one can tell your sex any more - and s/he was sleeping. Or maybe unconscious. S/he is awaiting admission.
Bed 2 was occupied by a huge Indian lady who was to be admitted. When the enrolled nurses asked her to sit up, they asked her, "Can you sit up?" and then asked if the bed, which was supposed to wheel her to her ward, could support her weight. Somehow, after watching Nurse Jackie, I feel strangely comforted.
On Bed 3 was a Malay old man who wanted to be given his painkillers, forget about any treatment and scoot home soonest possible. He looked like he wished to be home, never mind should anything happen to him. I doubt he was of dischargable patient calibre but to subject a senior category senior citizen to more treatment seemed brutal. And what do I know? I'm just an aspiring medical drama quack.
Patient 4 was more sober by then. Maybe they injected a little something into him? I was not sure. By then, I was already pretty much killed inside by the flurry of bad news and the negative vibes.
"Can I leave this place?" I asked the nurses. "I wanna get lunch."
"Do you have relatives with you?"
"No, I came alone. Oh, never mind. How long will this take?"
"About 1 hour."
"1 hour? I can wait. It's just another 15 minutes."
In an environment where it's bad news galore - the sign at the OR entrance
read, "Due to high occupancy, you will only be allocated your bed in the wards when it becomes available," or something to that effect - find an excuse and get out before your heart gives out when your news come.
Still, high occupancy rates in "Cannot Go Home" Hospital? Amazing. Singaporeans must be damned desperate to go there.
As I waited, there was a fresh commotion in the nurses area about how they intend to complain about a staff nurse or doctor who passed disparaging remarks about the hospital. Apparently, the fellow said something like, "No wonder people say Changi is a bad hospital. If I had a family member who was ill and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn't even send them (sic!)here." And to make matters worse, this utterance was made in front of the public. Apparently, the OR nightingales are going to launch a joint attack on the hawk by claiming that he was out of line, unprofessional and whatever.
Ah, at least some bitching near my comfort levels. I don't know what transpired but the nightingales seemed perturbed enough to say words to the effect that Changi is a great hospital and if any of their loved ones fall sick, they would have no qualms to send them here because of the high levels of care. Oddly, I feel a little more confident, even if Changi is not even on my shortlist for anything.
* * *
1.15 pm. The wait was getting unbearable. The OR was not exactly changing much in terms of patient numbers but there was clearly a need to get rid of bed hoggers. My case came up for review at the counter. A re-triage of sorts.
"This patient looks all right."
"Yah, 29 years old..." - goddammit, there is ABSOLUTELY no one who's 29 in the OR! I'm the youngest and I'm way past 30! - "and the signs are stable. Blood pressure ok."
"Ok, let me call Radiology."
29 years old? Ha! I was 29 once. But how could they work out my age to be 29 when that was half a decade ago?
"Hello, Radiology? A&E OR ah. Can I discharge this patient? We need the beds."
The next thing, I was told I could leave the observation room.
At that moment, I knew there was nothing very serious. But honestly, the lack of privacy in the OR and the deluge of bad news bombarding the patients in the room can rapidly cause anyone to slip into a transient depression. The what-ifs can really be heart stopping and mind blowing.
I quickly bundled out of the OR and went back to the waiting area, where the doctor walked out of his consultation room and asked for another 2 hours to clear my case as the senior enough radiologist wasn't available to countersign on my CT report and a verbal ok from Radiology and from only one radiologist wasn't good enough to get me discharged as an emergency case.
Still, being able to get out of the A&E for a quick lunch and some shopping to remove the negative thoughts and vibes that plague the free mind - despite the giddiness from the mild concussion - can be a little uplifting.
Beds 1, 2 and 3 were empty while on Bed 4 lay this Malay guy who was conscious but hooked to various monitors. He's perhaps in his 30s or 40s and if anything, I'd suspect withdrawal symptoms rather than any real medical emergency. But what would I know.
Bed 7 on my left lay a sleeping guy, possibly a national serviceman, wrapped up in his blanket. I was not sure if he's malingering but I was beyond caring now. I had problems of my own to worry about. Bed 8 seemed to be occupied but the patient was blocked by the mass on 7. Bed 9 was empty. Bed 10 lay this Chinese man who looks like he's from China but I might be wrong. Beds 11 and 12 were empty.
I was waiting for my turn to get my CT Scan done. Right after I was made to lie in the bed, my blood pressure was taken and the nurses manning the OR counter began talking about the age of their new patient and his condition. Yak yak yak...
The nurses woke Patient 7 not long after I was settled in and asked if he could manage to go home by himself. I guessed that was the beginning of the long weekend and the hell he couldn't! So, off he went. I saw the gaunt patient on Bed 8. Bed 10 went up for his scan and I waited my turn, when the machine became available.
Before long, Bed 10 seemed to come back down while I fidgeted, went to the loo, was made to sit on a wheelchair, wait in the wheelchair, wheeled up to Radiology, and got my scan done.
Act 1 was complete when the CT machine fired the last x-rays through my skull and possibly semi-cooking my brains. I was wheeled back to the OR and made to get back on my bed.
* * *
"You must drink water. See, ask you to drink water, you don't want to drink? Today you're back in here again." So goes the son to his father, the patient on Bed 8.
"Yesteday, we came here and you were vomiting. They wanted to put you on the drip and you don't want.
"What can we do now? No point telling me that they use such a big (gauged needle) one on your now, right? Yesterday, if you take, you won't need such a big one.
"You need to drink water. How can you not drink water? Yesterday, when the doctors let you go home, you were told to drink lots of water. But you say the water makes you vomit. Now doctor X cannot do anything for you. God can't do anything for you either.
"Don't worry about anything at home. Everything will be fine. The home will still be there when you go home. You should just stay in here and start drinking water.
"You cannot go home now. See? Even God doesn't want to take you yet. So, how?..."
Apart from some occasional low groans and some raspy, unintelligible sounds, the son persisted on his soliloquy. There was resignation, not anger.
"See? I already take leave today. I got no choice since I have to bring you here. Tomorrow? Tomorrow is Saturday. I don't have to work. And today I take leave to bring you here..."
The battle of making dad drink water was amazing. While I tried to resist turning over to take a look, when sonny left, I sneaked a peek. Old man seemed to be burning. His face is flush reddish purple and his lips were dry and chapped. His eyes were listless as he stared out into the clinically white lighted room, his mouth gaping like a beached goldfish gasping for air.
* * *
"Oh, Mr So-so. I'm your doctor. I've just seen your radiology report. I think you have got a mini-stroke. You know, a TIA..."
Man, I know a TIA. It's short for transient ischaemic attack. I just watched it for the third time on Royal Pains the night before. Oh shit, what if I had a TIA from the car accident...
The patient on Bed 10 must be pretty taken aback. Stroke? How is that possible? He looked perfectly normal. Normal weight range, normal everything.
"Mr So-so, TIA is like a stroke. You see your films? There is this dark region. The blood flow to the area is affected."
I could almost see myself spouting these lines. Man, when I go to the US for studies, I'm going to audition for a role in some medical drama. I could play the role of a plastic surgeon who gets a patient who wants a pair of 38H and midway into the headlights enhancement operation, she had a TIA, wakes up after emergency rescue and decides that, for the sake of her fragile life, she wants a pair of 42L instead. The patient's name? Miss Giant Parts Greenberg. ;)
"We don't know if there is permanent damage. No. You cannot go home. You must stay in the hospital and we need to treat you. We will find out the extent of the blockage and see if you have any permanent damage here.
Such words were not exactly the most comforting to me, since I'm also waiting for the CT scan results.
Doctor turned to Patient 10's wife and asked, "Do you know if he complained of any weaknesses on one side of his body...?"
A poignant Miss Saigon moment descends. I feel walls in my heart closing in, I can't breathe, I can't win...
* * *
I had quite enough by then. Between the time I was sent for the scan and my return, which was less than 15 minutes, the OR room dynamics had changed. There was now a Patient 5 on my right now and he was offered lunch. That junior category senior even asked to see the lunch menu. He really thinks that when the ambulance crew euphemistically call hospitals hotels, they are thus hotels? Crazy.
Patient 1 was an old man/woman - honestly, when you are old and shrivelled up, no one can tell your sex any more - and s/he was sleeping. Or maybe unconscious. S/he is awaiting admission.
Bed 2 was occupied by a huge Indian lady who was to be admitted. When the enrolled nurses asked her to sit up, they asked her, "Can you sit up?" and then asked if the bed, which was supposed to wheel her to her ward, could support her weight. Somehow, after watching Nurse Jackie, I feel strangely comforted.
On Bed 3 was a Malay old man who wanted to be given his painkillers, forget about any treatment and scoot home soonest possible. He looked like he wished to be home, never mind should anything happen to him. I doubt he was of dischargable patient calibre but to subject a senior category senior citizen to more treatment seemed brutal. And what do I know? I'm just an aspiring medical drama quack.
Patient 4 was more sober by then. Maybe they injected a little something into him? I was not sure. By then, I was already pretty much killed inside by the flurry of bad news and the negative vibes.
"Can I leave this place?" I asked the nurses. "I wanna get lunch."
"Do you have relatives with you?"
"No, I came alone. Oh, never mind. How long will this take?"
"About 1 hour."
"1 hour? I can wait. It's just another 15 minutes."
In an environment where it's bad news galore - the sign at the OR entrance
read, "Due to high occupancy, you will only be allocated your bed in the wards when it becomes available," or something to that effect - find an excuse and get out before your heart gives out when your news come.
Still, high occupancy rates in "Cannot Go Home" Hospital? Amazing. Singaporeans must be damned desperate to go there.
As I waited, there was a fresh commotion in the nurses area about how they intend to complain about a staff nurse or doctor who passed disparaging remarks about the hospital. Apparently, the fellow said something like, "No wonder people say Changi is a bad hospital. If I had a family member who was ill and needed to go to the hospital, I wouldn't even send them (sic!)here." And to make matters worse, this utterance was made in front of the public. Apparently, the OR nightingales are going to launch a joint attack on the hawk by claiming that he was out of line, unprofessional and whatever.
Ah, at least some bitching near my comfort levels. I don't know what transpired but the nightingales seemed perturbed enough to say words to the effect that Changi is a great hospital and if any of their loved ones fall sick, they would have no qualms to send them here because of the high levels of care. Oddly, I feel a little more confident, even if Changi is not even on my shortlist for anything.
* * *
1.15 pm. The wait was getting unbearable. The OR was not exactly changing much in terms of patient numbers but there was clearly a need to get rid of bed hoggers. My case came up for review at the counter. A re-triage of sorts.
"This patient looks all right."
"Yah, 29 years old..." - goddammit, there is ABSOLUTELY no one who's 29 in the OR! I'm the youngest and I'm way past 30! - "and the signs are stable. Blood pressure ok."
"Ok, let me call Radiology."
29 years old? Ha! I was 29 once. But how could they work out my age to be 29 when that was half a decade ago?
"Hello, Radiology? A&E OR ah. Can I discharge this patient? We need the beds."
The next thing, I was told I could leave the observation room.
At that moment, I knew there was nothing very serious. But honestly, the lack of privacy in the OR and the deluge of bad news bombarding the patients in the room can rapidly cause anyone to slip into a transient depression. The what-ifs can really be heart stopping and mind blowing.
I quickly bundled out of the OR and went back to the waiting area, where the doctor walked out of his consultation room and asked for another 2 hours to clear my case as the senior enough radiologist wasn't available to countersign on my CT report and a verbal ok from Radiology and from only one radiologist wasn't good enough to get me discharged as an emergency case.
Still, being able to get out of the A&E for a quick lunch and some shopping to remove the negative thoughts and vibes that plague the free mind - despite the giddiness from the mild concussion - can be a little uplifting.
Wednesday, September 09, 2009
Kissable Butt
The car's ass got kissed yesterday. Kissed hard! I cannot help but think of this following song, Embraceable You.
Change the lyrics to
Oh kiss it, my sweet so kissable butt
Oh kiss it, you know you so love my butt...
We were stopped in the second right-most lane at the cross junction of Crawford Street (towards Lavender Street) and Victoria Street. There right turn arrow came on to allow cars to turn right but the stupid car in front blocked the lane. So, it looks like we might go straight instead. Rightfully, the driver of this car should not line up in this lane but he did. It is just senseless, when you have two other straight moving lanes on the left. We were in this lane because we were ambivalent on the forward direction but since we are stuck, oh well.
Before we can finish cursing the stupid car in front, and me still in the ready to move off position in my front seat so that I can counteract the forces to overcome the car's move off inertia, we were rear-ended by a SMRT cab. The huge Toyota Crown moving off and hitting a stationary Honda Jazz must be a sight to behold. It was a hard enough bump to throw me forward and then I came back to hit my head against the headrest.
It took me a split second more than usual to realise we were bumped at the back. In fact, the cab driver was already down the car apologizing furiously to my housemate before I got off, hearing him say (in Mandarin) that he was sorry; it was all his fault.
He then offered to compensate for the damages if the cost is below $1000 bucks. Looking at the damage, I think it might be closer to $4000. Well, at least it was a courteous taxi driver we were dealing with and not some ill-bred hooligan.
The short of the long story - we ended up getting checked in the hospital. I was offered an injection for the pain I feel in my neck and back and an injection for the giddiness and nausea. Doc recommended the pain jab and I took it. Then there were x-rays - two at first and then another two more, when Doc determined that the first two could not show the C7 of the cervical spine as it was blocked by my muscles. Eh, got muscles leh. Must have developed them from screaming at kids.
Then, of all things, the second round of x-rays found I have a bone chip at C7. I'm seeing the orthopaedic surgeon in two weeks. Not much choice, it seems. But I think it shouldn't be too troublesome, since I am feeling quite ok.
Had a good sleep last night and today, I'm feeling the soreness all over. Let's just see how this entire episode ends up in the end. The curtain is just lifted and Act 1 (pun NOT intended) is just over.
I'm fine. I just have a lot of papers to grade and I'm sure they will grate. Oh, amen for the painkillers...
Change the lyrics to
Oh kiss it, my sweet so kissable butt
Oh kiss it, you know you so love my butt...
We were stopped in the second right-most lane at the cross junction of Crawford Street (towards Lavender Street) and Victoria Street. There right turn arrow came on to allow cars to turn right but the stupid car in front blocked the lane. So, it looks like we might go straight instead. Rightfully, the driver of this car should not line up in this lane but he did. It is just senseless, when you have two other straight moving lanes on the left. We were in this lane because we were ambivalent on the forward direction but since we are stuck, oh well.
Before we can finish cursing the stupid car in front, and me still in the ready to move off position in my front seat so that I can counteract the forces to overcome the car's move off inertia, we were rear-ended by a SMRT cab. The huge Toyota Crown moving off and hitting a stationary Honda Jazz must be a sight to behold. It was a hard enough bump to throw me forward and then I came back to hit my head against the headrest.
It took me a split second more than usual to realise we were bumped at the back. In fact, the cab driver was already down the car apologizing furiously to my housemate before I got off, hearing him say (in Mandarin) that he was sorry; it was all his fault.
He then offered to compensate for the damages if the cost is below $1000 bucks. Looking at the damage, I think it might be closer to $4000. Well, at least it was a courteous taxi driver we were dealing with and not some ill-bred hooligan.
The short of the long story - we ended up getting checked in the hospital. I was offered an injection for the pain I feel in my neck and back and an injection for the giddiness and nausea. Doc recommended the pain jab and I took it. Then there were x-rays - two at first and then another two more, when Doc determined that the first two could not show the C7 of the cervical spine as it was blocked by my muscles. Eh, got muscles leh. Must have developed them from screaming at kids.
Then, of all things, the second round of x-rays found I have a bone chip at C7. I'm seeing the orthopaedic surgeon in two weeks. Not much choice, it seems. But I think it shouldn't be too troublesome, since I am feeling quite ok.
Had a good sleep last night and today, I'm feeling the soreness all over. Let's just see how this entire episode ends up in the end. The curtain is just lifted and Act 1 (pun NOT intended) is just over.
I'm fine. I just have a lot of papers to grade and I'm sure they will grate. Oh, amen for the painkillers...
Friday, June 12, 2009
Yay! There's a pandemic!
Yeah, what's wrong with it?
Flu pandemics are part and parcel of evolution. It's nature's way of cleaning out the gene pool.
Take it easy. Stay clean and be hygienic. If you're genetically endowed to survive this, you will. Otherwise, you'll face extinction.
It is life. C'est la vie.
Live life as per normal and stay illness free. Get enough rest and don't over-exert yourself unnecessarily. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables. And say your prayers if you have a religion. Otherwise, tell your loved ones how much you love them.
It isn't and won't be the end of the world. When the virus becomes part of future flu vaccines, life will be back to normal. The world will be leaner and nicer. And perhaps less crowded.
Flu pandemics are part and parcel of evolution. It's nature's way of cleaning out the gene pool.
Take it easy. Stay clean and be hygienic. If you're genetically endowed to survive this, you will. Otherwise, you'll face extinction.
It is life. C'est la vie.
Live life as per normal and stay illness free. Get enough rest and don't over-exert yourself unnecessarily. Eat lots of fruits and vegetables. And say your prayers if you have a religion. Otherwise, tell your loved ones how much you love them.
It isn't and won't be the end of the world. When the virus becomes part of future flu vaccines, life will be back to normal. The world will be leaner and nicer. And perhaps less crowded.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Broken Bow(l)
Well, the title was really a pun on one of my favourite songs, "Broken Vow," by David Foster and Josh Groban.
But broken bowl caused me some grief, indeed, last night.
I had steamed rice in a stoneware bowl in a Chinese wok. When I was about to serve dinner, I tried to retrieve the bowl with a pair of calipers typically used by restaurants to take out hot crockery from ovens or steamers. So as I crimped the calipers on the side and tried to remove the bowl out of the wok, the bowl broke.
I am not sure if the bowl slipped, hit against the wok and broke, or if the bowl fractured, slipped and hit against the wok. However, not that it might matter that much. The combined weight of the bowl and the rice and the resulting force caused by the dropping of the bown of rice tipped the contents of the wok - hot water - right down my thighs and the top of my feet. I had just turned the fire off from steaming the rice some 20 minutes before, so the heat was pretty high still.
I dropped everything, went straight to the bathroom and hosed scalded trotters under running water.
A while later, I re-emerged and cleaned up the mess. The broken pieces were picked up and thrown away, the rice tossed into the bin and I clean the floor for stoneware fragments. There were extremely sharp shrapnel, which I managed to pick up.
Right after, I slathered my burnt legs and feet with some cream and had dinner.
Despite the pain last night, I believe the burns were mostly first degree. By this morning, most of the pain is gone and I'm back.
What an evening!
But broken bowl caused me some grief, indeed, last night.
I had steamed rice in a stoneware bowl in a Chinese wok. When I was about to serve dinner, I tried to retrieve the bowl with a pair of calipers typically used by restaurants to take out hot crockery from ovens or steamers. So as I crimped the calipers on the side and tried to remove the bowl out of the wok, the bowl broke.
I am not sure if the bowl slipped, hit against the wok and broke, or if the bowl fractured, slipped and hit against the wok. However, not that it might matter that much. The combined weight of the bowl and the rice and the resulting force caused by the dropping of the bown of rice tipped the contents of the wok - hot water - right down my thighs and the top of my feet. I had just turned the fire off from steaming the rice some 20 minutes before, so the heat was pretty high still.
I dropped everything, went straight to the bathroom and hosed scalded trotters under running water.
A while later, I re-emerged and cleaned up the mess. The broken pieces were picked up and thrown away, the rice tossed into the bin and I clean the floor for stoneware fragments. There were extremely sharp shrapnel, which I managed to pick up.
Right after, I slathered my burnt legs and feet with some cream and had dinner.
Despite the pain last night, I believe the burns were mostly first degree. By this morning, most of the pain is gone and I'm back.
What an evening!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Great Sieve
People fret the homoswivian flu like it is the end of the world. To me, it isn't. It actually represents the beginning of a new world.
In fact, I am looking forward to the next pandemic. I am so looking forward to it I'll lay out the red carpets, throw it a fireworks party and hire some Texas university marching band to give it a grand welcome.
The pandemic is nature's way of selecting the next batch of worthy candidates to carry on the human line. When your gene's time is up, it's time to say goodbye. No need to fret and no need to cry.
When it is not time yet, you will fall ill, then develop resistance and survive the affliction. And then your offspring will have immunity to this new strain of flu. Once these people develop resistance, they will carry the torch for the human species. The last time during the Spanish flu, even though the case-fatality ratio is greater than 2%, the reality is that less than 1% of the population (or about 50 million) died. Incidentally, the Spanish flu was also of the H1N1 sub-type.
Given these trivial numbers, I really wonder what is the big deal about such pandemics.
Let the pandemic do what cancer, heart disease and AIDS failed to do. It is one way of rapidly cleansing the population - au naturel - and it is ethical, scientific and entirely random and objective. You leave or stay depending on your genes suitability to stay on. It is a brutal (f)act but it works.
In fact, I am looking forward to the next pandemic. I am so looking forward to it I'll lay out the red carpets, throw it a fireworks party and hire some Texas university marching band to give it a grand welcome.
The pandemic is nature's way of selecting the next batch of worthy candidates to carry on the human line. When your gene's time is up, it's time to say goodbye. No need to fret and no need to cry.
When it is not time yet, you will fall ill, then develop resistance and survive the affliction. And then your offspring will have immunity to this new strain of flu. Once these people develop resistance, they will carry the torch for the human species. The last time during the Spanish flu, even though the case-fatality ratio is greater than 2%, the reality is that less than 1% of the population (or about 50 million) died. Incidentally, the Spanish flu was also of the H1N1 sub-type.
Given these trivial numbers, I really wonder what is the big deal about such pandemics.
Let the pandemic do what cancer, heart disease and AIDS failed to do. It is one way of rapidly cleansing the population - au naturel - and it is ethical, scientific and entirely random and objective. You leave or stay depending on your genes suitability to stay on. It is a brutal (f)act but it works.
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Homoswivian Flu
The latest swine flu virus originating from Mexico seems to derive its DNA from human, swine and avian flu viruses. I guess a more appropriate name would be the homoswivian flu. I coined this term but I'm not sure if I want to be credited for it.
But I digress.
You know what a little bird from Mexico told me? Yes, you've got it figured out, haven't you? We can rely on little birds to spread the viruses from birds to birds to pigs to humans to humans. This is getting so exciting.
The avian flu thingy has always been a red herring. The real thing is the 3-in-1 triple whammy. I wonder if this is really the ONE, what is the true cost going to be.
But I digress.
You know what a little bird from Mexico told me? Yes, you've got it figured out, haven't you? We can rely on little birds to spread the viruses from birds to birds to pigs to humans to humans. This is getting so exciting.
The avian flu thingy has always been a red herring. The real thing is the 3-in-1 triple whammy. I wonder if this is really the ONE, what is the true cost going to be.
Friday, March 20, 2009
I'm mortal
Drop the apostrophe and remove the space and you get the anagrammatic "immortal". Perhaps it depicts how much human beings have been preoccupied by maintaining their life for as long as they can.
I woke up this morning at 3 am with a severe central abdominal pain. It was a widespread, periodic pain with varying intensity. Despite only hitting the bed at 1.30 am, the pain prevented me from going back to sleep.
I gingerly got out of bed and did my big one, hoping that the release of gases will relieve the pain a little. That was not to be. The pain came in a sharp torrent while I was seated on the throne. Something must be wrong.
Could it be appendicitis? I can't tell. I woke my housemate up at 3.30 am and asked to be sent to an emergency room.
While he showered and prepped, I packed an overnight bag. At that moment, I felt like I was going in because my water bag broke. Except I'm a guy.
He came out and asked me why I was all packed. I shrugged and said, "I want to be the first appendicitis patient to go in ready for admission, rather than have to rely on you coming back for my stuff."
He said I was crazy but how much do people know about needing to get busy so that the patient can forget the discomfort and suppress the fear.
As he drove down the rather desert highway to Singapore General Hospital, I wondered aloud what would have been a good outcome for this episode.
No diagnosis? Nah, I hate no-endings. Appendicitis? Sounds good. Look, I'm not going to die if it is. Stomach cancer...
Don't be silly, he said.
But my grandfather was admitted to the hospital during some Chinese New Year for severe stomach pains. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer and in less than 4 months, despite the aggressive treatment, he left. I replied.
Oh, shit. I haven't written my will. I thought to myself
We often wait till when we need it the most before we realise that we have not done what we should have. I'm a net asset person. In fact, I am just assets at the moment. I'm not servicing any loans. My bills all paid. I have decent insurance cover. But to die intestate would mean the state will screw my monies first.
Perhaps it time to set the house in order.
I wonder if appendicitis surgery can be done under epidural.
We just drove past the Changi Village exit on the highway, our journey a fifth done.
Yeah, right. They may think you're pregnant after all.
I wish. But at least I'll have a hell of an excuse to eat lots of food and grow fat. Baby needs to grow, you know.
The pain rippled the through the abdomen as the car bumped across half the island to SGH. One goes to SGH for the sake that its abbreviated name suggests "Sure Go Home". Changi General Hospital, which is nearer my place and would be where I would have arrived at when I spoke of eating and growing fat for the baby's growth, is some place I avoid. "Can Go Home" and "Cannot Go Home" are too close to call.
My thoughts quickly dissipated as the journey went on. I concentrated on dulling the pain through a mind over matter effort, until we arrived near the hospital. There was a slight hesitation on the driver's part what is the best approach. Being familiar with SGH, I directed him there.
Odd that he didn't put on the GPS to guide him. Perhaps I should remind him the next time.
Screening and triage at the hospital was quick. Not surprisingly, at 4 am, there were a few patients but not too many.
I waited a good 40 minutes or so before I was attended to.
The mind strayed and tried to block out the cruel joke the body played on your life. You begin to wonder if life needs to be a parasitical part of the body such that the parasite dies as the host expires.
The reading materials were dismal. The relatively light patient load simply meant fewer action for a drama lover like me.
As I fidgeted over whether I should go to relieve myself, a woman "merlioned" just outside the toilets.
She outdid Merlion. Hers was Technicolor puke, mainly reddish. Singapore Tourism Board needs to consider if Merlion can also get to throw up rubicund vomitus.
I sure am trying my best to hide from my mortality, never mind if I'm going to die or not.
I waited in dread for the pungent tang of the puke to waft across the room and hit my nose. For whatever it was, it didn't. I was eternally thankful.
The show revolved around people avoiding the strategically placed land mine in the middle of a oft-used corridor in the emergency room.
Finally, the bladder won the battle. And as I eased myself, I heard a nurse screaming my name three times.
At the third call, I was fairly certain she could hear me, I went, "In the toilet!"
Got out and was promptly brought into the consultation area to see the doctor.
He wasn't sure what was wrong but he would test blood and urine and give me abdominal x-rays. But first, he'll inject some medicine in intravenously.
I don't know if he's still green but he missed the luxuriously large vein at the side of my forearm. I was in pain; I have a particularly low threshold for pain. I winced as he topo-ed with the needle, hoping to make entry into the vein. He actually sheared through the vein, if you ask me. I was after all a trained medic with the SAF. Was, but I know the pains of settling up lines.
After I decided he had enough opportunities to mince my muscle with the intruding needle, I asked the doctor to remove the needle and try another site.
But you'll feel pain again, he warned.
It's ok, do it.
Oh, there's blood. I must have hit it, he ejaculated as he removed the needle.
Oh, whatever. I thought.
I'm a patient here. I don't care what you need to do. The pain is to be expected. I know I'm here to be poked at but please give me some dignity. If you cannot get the act in the first try, give me the option of enduring a second pain but at a site where you are more confident of success. Trust me, I was lucid and sharp and I did not mind a second take for you despite my pain. The poor patients who you are trying to help are probably so battle hardened that they already don't care.
I am not even sure if these patients are at the hospital because they want to be treated or they had no choice because of familial pressures.
I know I'm there to get firsthand the diagnosis, if any.
Dr K hit jackpot on his second try and set up the intravenous plug. Good for him! Better for me. He took the blood sample, injected the medicine and sent me off for more tests.
The x-rays went fine but the pee sample collection was a little more challenging. Never thought I'd choke during such a performance. Man, I could give a sample any time. Well, almost any time.
Fear is a crippling emotion. Regardless of the severity, or lack of, for any patient facing any potentially life threatening event, his or her perspectives and priorities quickly play musical chairs. What was important then might no longer be equally important now.
The tests were done and I was given the "Clear - for now."
It is too early to call. Nothing will show up yet. Check that the pain does not come back again and migrate to the right. Dr K was somewhat sheepish for not being able to tell me anything more than something caused my intestines to be hyperactive.
And then Dr K removed the drip plug, which was accompanied by rather serious bleeding for a while.
Then my wallet was bled and was sent on my way home.
It was a good thing I am I am able to afford medical treatments. If I were chronically ill and chronically poor, I won't know what I would have done even if a stomach ache episode occurs.
But I am certain that the fear of our suddenly threatened mortality would not be any less. If anything, the inability to get treatment might have heightened the awareness of inevitable Death even more.
I woke up this morning at 3 am with a severe central abdominal pain. It was a widespread, periodic pain with varying intensity. Despite only hitting the bed at 1.30 am, the pain prevented me from going back to sleep.
I gingerly got out of bed and did my big one, hoping that the release of gases will relieve the pain a little. That was not to be. The pain came in a sharp torrent while I was seated on the throne. Something must be wrong.
Could it be appendicitis? I can't tell. I woke my housemate up at 3.30 am and asked to be sent to an emergency room.
While he showered and prepped, I packed an overnight bag. At that moment, I felt like I was going in because my water bag broke. Except I'm a guy.
He came out and asked me why I was all packed. I shrugged and said, "I want to be the first appendicitis patient to go in ready for admission, rather than have to rely on you coming back for my stuff."
He said I was crazy but how much do people know about needing to get busy so that the patient can forget the discomfort and suppress the fear.
As he drove down the rather desert highway to Singapore General Hospital, I wondered aloud what would have been a good outcome for this episode.
No diagnosis? Nah, I hate no-endings. Appendicitis? Sounds good. Look, I'm not going to die if it is. Stomach cancer...
Don't be silly, he said.
But my grandfather was admitted to the hospital during some Chinese New Year for severe stomach pains. He was diagnosed with stomach cancer and in less than 4 months, despite the aggressive treatment, he left. I replied.
Oh, shit. I haven't written my will. I thought to myself
We often wait till when we need it the most before we realise that we have not done what we should have. I'm a net asset person. In fact, I am just assets at the moment. I'm not servicing any loans. My bills all paid. I have decent insurance cover. But to die intestate would mean the state will screw my monies first.
Perhaps it time to set the house in order.
I wonder if appendicitis surgery can be done under epidural.
We just drove past the Changi Village exit on the highway, our journey a fifth done.
Yeah, right. They may think you're pregnant after all.
I wish. But at least I'll have a hell of an excuse to eat lots of food and grow fat. Baby needs to grow, you know.
The pain rippled the through the abdomen as the car bumped across half the island to SGH. One goes to SGH for the sake that its abbreviated name suggests "Sure Go Home". Changi General Hospital, which is nearer my place and would be where I would have arrived at when I spoke of eating and growing fat for the baby's growth, is some place I avoid. "Can Go Home" and "Cannot Go Home" are too close to call.
My thoughts quickly dissipated as the journey went on. I concentrated on dulling the pain through a mind over matter effort, until we arrived near the hospital. There was a slight hesitation on the driver's part what is the best approach. Being familiar with SGH, I directed him there.
Odd that he didn't put on the GPS to guide him. Perhaps I should remind him the next time.
Screening and triage at the hospital was quick. Not surprisingly, at 4 am, there were a few patients but not too many.
I waited a good 40 minutes or so before I was attended to.
The mind strayed and tried to block out the cruel joke the body played on your life. You begin to wonder if life needs to be a parasitical part of the body such that the parasite dies as the host expires.
The reading materials were dismal. The relatively light patient load simply meant fewer action for a drama lover like me.
As I fidgeted over whether I should go to relieve myself, a woman "merlioned" just outside the toilets.
She outdid Merlion. Hers was Technicolor puke, mainly reddish. Singapore Tourism Board needs to consider if Merlion can also get to throw up rubicund vomitus.
I sure am trying my best to hide from my mortality, never mind if I'm going to die or not.
I waited in dread for the pungent tang of the puke to waft across the room and hit my nose. For whatever it was, it didn't. I was eternally thankful.
The show revolved around people avoiding the strategically placed land mine in the middle of a oft-used corridor in the emergency room.
Finally, the bladder won the battle. And as I eased myself, I heard a nurse screaming my name three times.
At the third call, I was fairly certain she could hear me, I went, "In the toilet!"
Got out and was promptly brought into the consultation area to see the doctor.
He wasn't sure what was wrong but he would test blood and urine and give me abdominal x-rays. But first, he'll inject some medicine in intravenously.
I don't know if he's still green but he missed the luxuriously large vein at the side of my forearm. I was in pain; I have a particularly low threshold for pain. I winced as he topo-ed with the needle, hoping to make entry into the vein. He actually sheared through the vein, if you ask me. I was after all a trained medic with the SAF. Was, but I know the pains of settling up lines.
After I decided he had enough opportunities to mince my muscle with the intruding needle, I asked the doctor to remove the needle and try another site.
But you'll feel pain again, he warned.
It's ok, do it.
Oh, there's blood. I must have hit it, he ejaculated as he removed the needle.
Oh, whatever. I thought.
I'm a patient here. I don't care what you need to do. The pain is to be expected. I know I'm here to be poked at but please give me some dignity. If you cannot get the act in the first try, give me the option of enduring a second pain but at a site where you are more confident of success. Trust me, I was lucid and sharp and I did not mind a second take for you despite my pain. The poor patients who you are trying to help are probably so battle hardened that they already don't care.
I am not even sure if these patients are at the hospital because they want to be treated or they had no choice because of familial pressures.
I know I'm there to get firsthand the diagnosis, if any.
Dr K hit jackpot on his second try and set up the intravenous plug. Good for him! Better for me. He took the blood sample, injected the medicine and sent me off for more tests.
The x-rays went fine but the pee sample collection was a little more challenging. Never thought I'd choke during such a performance. Man, I could give a sample any time. Well, almost any time.
Fear is a crippling emotion. Regardless of the severity, or lack of, for any patient facing any potentially life threatening event, his or her perspectives and priorities quickly play musical chairs. What was important then might no longer be equally important now.
The tests were done and I was given the "Clear - for now."
It is too early to call. Nothing will show up yet. Check that the pain does not come back again and migrate to the right. Dr K was somewhat sheepish for not being able to tell me anything more than something caused my intestines to be hyperactive.
And then Dr K removed the drip plug, which was accompanied by rather serious bleeding for a while.
Then my wallet was bled and was sent on my way home.
It was a good thing I am I am able to afford medical treatments. If I were chronically ill and chronically poor, I won't know what I would have done even if a stomach ache episode occurs.
But I am certain that the fear of our suddenly threatened mortality would not be any less. If anything, the inability to get treatment might have heightened the awareness of inevitable Death even more.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Cleaning Lady is Sick
Wednesdays - the cleaning lady is supposed to visit today.
I woke up early and cleared out the sheets, hoping that she can help me fit them in when she visited.
Then she called to say she is sick.
OMG. Now I have to fit in my own sheets. O.*||| Black eye. Sigh.
I woke up early and cleared out the sheets, hoping that she can help me fit them in when she visited.
Then she called to say she is sick.
OMG. Now I have to fit in my own sheets. O.*||| Black eye. Sigh.
Loan to refer
Some clown loaned an essay from a friend to refer to it for ideas.
He took more than ideas. He cut and pasted the source to his own essay so liberally.
And how did I find out? Remember I marked softcopy essays this time around? My comments appeared in the submitted essay even before I started grading the paper.
How silly is that?!
He took more than ideas. He cut and pasted the source to his own essay so liberally.
And how did I find out? Remember I marked softcopy essays this time around? My comments appeared in the submitted essay even before I started grading the paper.
How silly is that?!
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
What is my passion?
In the Straits Times yesterday:
10 months for sex with student
A MARRIED ex-teacher yesterday became the first woman jailed here for having sex with an underage boy.
The 32-year-old mother of two, who pleaded guilty earlier this month, will serve 10 months in jail for being intimate with the boy, then 15, a former pupil of the primary school where she taught.
Her conviction comes a year after the Penal Code was changed to make sex between an adult woman and a boy below 16 a crime.
The slim, bespectacled woman, who cannot be named to protect the boy's identity, listened impassively as District Judge Sarjit Singh handed down her sentence, but broke down at the close of the proceedings.
None of her relatives were in court.
In deciding her punishment, the judge said he took into account the fact that she had to give up her teaching career as a result of her actions.
He also noted that she was the one who went to the police - even if it was only because the boy refused to end the relationship and threatened to harm her and her family.
But the judge said that a 'serious breach of trust' had taken place, so a significant penalty was called for.
The court also heard that the boy, who had no previous history of violent behaviour, was violent when she wanted to end their affair. The details are unavailable.
The woman could have been jailed for up to 10 years and fined.
Source
The new Ministry of Education advertisements for attracting people to join teaching have been spot on: "What is my passion? Children. That's why I became a teacher."
I only wish I could find a copy of the advertisement to put here.
10 months for sex with student
A MARRIED ex-teacher yesterday became the first woman jailed here for having sex with an underage boy.
The 32-year-old mother of two, who pleaded guilty earlier this month, will serve 10 months in jail for being intimate with the boy, then 15, a former pupil of the primary school where she taught.
Her conviction comes a year after the Penal Code was changed to make sex between an adult woman and a boy below 16 a crime.
The slim, bespectacled woman, who cannot be named to protect the boy's identity, listened impassively as District Judge Sarjit Singh handed down her sentence, but broke down at the close of the proceedings.
None of her relatives were in court.
In deciding her punishment, the judge said he took into account the fact that she had to give up her teaching career as a result of her actions.
He also noted that she was the one who went to the police - even if it was only because the boy refused to end the relationship and threatened to harm her and her family.
But the judge said that a 'serious breach of trust' had taken place, so a significant penalty was called for.
The court also heard that the boy, who had no previous history of violent behaviour, was violent when she wanted to end their affair. The details are unavailable.
The woman could have been jailed for up to 10 years and fined.
Source
The new Ministry of Education advertisements for attracting people to join teaching have been spot on: "What is my passion? Children. That's why I became a teacher."
I only wish I could find a copy of the advertisement to put here.
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Darwin Award Contender
Japanese man dies after retirement party hijinks
A 60-year-old man who was thrown into the air in celebration at his retirement party died after his colleagues failed to catch him and he fell to the floor, a Japanese newspaper reported on Tuesday. Read more...
My first reaction: I'd say it's time to go after the widow. I'm sure he left a good fortune behind.
On hindsight, was he really that unpopular? I mean, why would anyone toss someone in the air and then not want to catch the person? It's not like the one in the air is wearing conical bra a la Madonna.
Friday, December 05, 2008
I can't believe it either
Man killed for not sharing karaoke microphone
Thursday, December 04, 2008
KUALA LUMPUR, Malaysia —
Police say a Malaysian man has been stabbed to death by customers at a karaoke bar for singing too much and refusing to share the microphone.
A district police official says witnesses saw a group of men punch and stab 23-year-old Abdul Sani Doli with a knife at the bar late Wednesday in eastern Sandakan town on Borneo island.
The official says a brawl broke out because the men were furious that Abdul Sani was hogging the stage. He says police detained two suspects after Abdul Sani was found dead outside the bar.
The official spoke on condition of anonymity Friday because he was not authorized to make public statements.
Copyright 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
KUALA LUMPUR, Malaysia —
Police say a Malaysian man has been stabbed to death by customers at a karaoke bar for singing too much and refusing to share the microphone.
A district police official says witnesses saw a group of men punch and stab 23-year-old Abdul Sani Doli with a knife at the bar late Wednesday in eastern Sandakan town on Borneo island.
The official says a brawl broke out because the men were furious that Abdul Sani was hogging the stage. He says police detained two suspects after Abdul Sani was found dead outside the bar.
The official spoke on condition of anonymity Friday because he was not authorized to make public statements.
Copyright 2008 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.
Tuesday, December 02, 2008
Sound advice from...
There are very few words which can comfort a severely suicidal person.
One of the examples which I found on Suicide Crisis Centre is:
Please Remember !!
You can always kill yourself - L a t e r !!
JUST DON'T DO IT now.
Put it off - for another hour, another day.
I feel strangely comforted.
One of the examples which I found on Suicide Crisis Centre is:
Please Remember !!
You can always kill yourself - L a t e r !!
JUST DON'T DO IT now.
Put it off - for another hour, another day.
I feel strangely comforted.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Cold comfort is no comfort
The bubbles have burst at last. But there are still some bubbles that are hiding in the corner.
A single friend and I spoke recently and invariably, we talked about our long running concerns which had been shared between us since 2006.
Both of us were incredulous as we watched the markets soar beyond reasonable heights and marvelled as we saw how people spent money like there would be no tomorrow.
We kept looking at the growing bubble. We reminded each other to keep our monies close. We talked each other out of investments. Avoid big investments anyway. We tried our best to save our salaries - it was getting progressively harder to save up because the cost of living was inching up quietly.
We wondered how people could live such lavish lifestyles and own two houses (and thus service two loans) when we, both single and were then (she still is, I'm no longer) getting rather good pay packets. We had little to worry about, except our basic needs essentially.
It was evident that when two rational people share the same outlook, there is something very long. We laughed at how long the paper could contain the fire, how tough the bubble could be to withstand the elements, how many skeletons some closets can accommodate.
Subprime was all the rage. Sub- means below or not as good. Yet, people thought they had flourished under the banner of sub-optimal living. As they tried to reach for their prize, the thickness of the ice sheet they are standing on grew thinner and thinner.
Now the cracks are showing and shore is beyond reach. People who en bloc-ed are losing their bollocks. I hope this will not be too rampant but there would be people losing their shirts on their backs. I hope SMRT and LTA get the MRT platform doors erected fast or there could be more train delays.
AIG showed how you think you have protected yourself, only to have all the money you've invested in your life Houdini in front of your eyes. DBS Treasure 5 is another joke now. Fortunately, it's the rich who are losing their marbles, I mean money.
I'm going to sort out my accounts knowing that Singapore Laws only protect the first $x dollars for each bank depositor. I'm going to be careful. Given how things are, one could be better off keeping their monies in a pillow than to a bank. Safe deposits may not be a bad idea after all.
This is a financial crisis that no one wants to see. But all the signs point to its inevitability. It is a matter of time and now, it's time. Eat your bitter fruit as you have sowed your seeds.
Greedy folks have played the housing and other market out of the ordinary person's reach. It's pay back time and I hope a loanshark's interest would be levied.
God bless Wall Street and America.
Have fun, world.
A single friend and I spoke recently and invariably, we talked about our long running concerns which had been shared between us since 2006.
Both of us were incredulous as we watched the markets soar beyond reasonable heights and marvelled as we saw how people spent money like there would be no tomorrow.
We kept looking at the growing bubble. We reminded each other to keep our monies close. We talked each other out of investments. Avoid big investments anyway. We tried our best to save our salaries - it was getting progressively harder to save up because the cost of living was inching up quietly.
We wondered how people could live such lavish lifestyles and own two houses (and thus service two loans) when we, both single and were then (she still is, I'm no longer) getting rather good pay packets. We had little to worry about, except our basic needs essentially.
It was evident that when two rational people share the same outlook, there is something very long. We laughed at how long the paper could contain the fire, how tough the bubble could be to withstand the elements, how many skeletons some closets can accommodate.
Subprime was all the rage. Sub- means below or not as good. Yet, people thought they had flourished under the banner of sub-optimal living. As they tried to reach for their prize, the thickness of the ice sheet they are standing on grew thinner and thinner.
Now the cracks are showing and shore is beyond reach. People who en bloc-ed are losing their bollocks. I hope this will not be too rampant but there would be people losing their shirts on their backs. I hope SMRT and LTA get the MRT platform doors erected fast or there could be more train delays.
AIG showed how you think you have protected yourself, only to have all the money you've invested in your life Houdini in front of your eyes. DBS Treasure 5 is another joke now. Fortunately, it's the rich who are losing their marbles, I mean money.
I'm going to sort out my accounts knowing that Singapore Laws only protect the first $x dollars for each bank depositor. I'm going to be careful. Given how things are, one could be better off keeping their monies in a pillow than to a bank. Safe deposits may not be a bad idea after all.
This is a financial crisis that no one wants to see. But all the signs point to its inevitability. It is a matter of time and now, it's time. Eat your bitter fruit as you have sowed your seeds.
Greedy folks have played the housing and other market out of the ordinary person's reach. It's pay back time and I hope a loanshark's interest would be levied.
God bless Wall Street and America.
Have fun, world.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Funny Thoughts
I wonder if it will come a day when people die, get stuffed in a plastic bag and then tossed in the garbage and incinerated with the rubbish.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
He was sure he would change the world
I read with this knowing moronic smile on my face as Mr Singh blasts off (pun not intended) this delightful account of how the idealistic teacher tries to change the world, only to have his world come crashing back down almost immediately.
In the chronological existence of this solar system, a day is not even significant enough to be represented on a blip anywhere. In comparison, an amoeba would have occupied more space on a piece of high school graph paper than a day would in the immense horizon.
Incredibly, has mankind changed the world?
It would be entirely foolish and totally conceited to think that any one at all can change the world. Did Hitler change the world? Did Einstein change the world? Did Emperor Qin change the world? Did Edison change the world? Did Columbus change the world? Did Newton change the world? Did education change the world? Did energy change the world? Did mass tranportation means change the world?
So what changed the world? Could anything have changed the world had the world not allowed it? Do you think your tallest buildings, largest aircraft, longest sailing vessel, grandest man made structure actually changed the world? No. In fact, the world simply tolerates these little contemnible bits that dot its face.
Think about it, should the world decide that it's time to get rid of the pimple, an invisible hand squeezes the boil and out comes the pus when the skin breaks.
All of you that happen to be building your castles on that part of the boil simply get exterminated.
Human existence is an accident. It was a evil stroke of genius that created man. Why would the mish-mash of RNA and DNA make humans? Why not create something with four sex organs and one leg instead of the other way around? Why do humans have to stand upright? Can't humans not work? Can't we consume like there's no tomorrow and not worry about putting on weight? Why are we living for so long? Why do I have to work? Why do I need to create a god to explain things when I am sure that things are merely accidents and why do I take comfort that such a god exists? Like it or not, we are in a sad state of affairs. We are in denial. We believe whatever we do now can undo whatever we had done since the Industrial Revolution. We believe that consuming less now would help. Does it help? We work and work so that we achieve progress. But what is progress? And we achieve progress as opposed to what? Does progress translate to an equal platform on which the spoils are shared? Hardly. Many of us work so as to prop up the inordinately "blessed" (or blasted, if you prefer)few.
It does not take a genius to figure out that it is us, HUMANS, who fear for our lives (more than the existence of Earth). Few people would admit that if anything had changed, it was humans, not the world. Even fewer would agree that our fear of global warming and what have you stems from what I call the inability to let go. Our cupidity has overriden our good sense. We cling on to life and our earthly belongings. We are afraid that once Earth "crashes", we would be reduced to nothing. We do not think we could live like the Neanderthals, tatterdemalions who roamed the Earth in the ages past.
Think of all the nuclear testings that were done around the world. At the end of it, the world remained but humans turned into malformed creatures. Someone must be right about such things - if it ain't karma, then it must be Sharon Stone, the drama-mama.
When would we begin to see that our actions are actually killing us, instead of the world? Global warming is no issue. What issue is there? I have oft argued that Earth is a self-regulating CLOSED system that seeks its own equilibrium; Earth would know what to do to right itself. Global warming is an issue ONLY to human beings. Face it: who are the real supernumaries on Earth?
Think about it. Did the world turned into a cone or a pyramid when global warming took place? No! Did the world create more water, more wind, higher temperatures? No. Could Earth survive high water levels, no rainforests, no fish, no food, no whatever? Surely yes. Most of all, Earth can survive without humans. Can humans say the same without Earth?
It is just so naive to believe that the world would cease to exist when humans become extinct. This is so laughable. Preposterous.
So, why care about the world? Why the pretense? Think about your own actions before you judge others for not doing what you preach.
I am just so glad I'm not leaving any descendants behind. So you don't have to tell me that the world is a gift that I am holding in trust for my children. Everyone can go to hell, including me. Such an outcome is probably condign for all of us.
I see the doors wide open, the red carpet rolled out, the fire is red and toasty. So what the bloody hell are you waiting for?
Me? I'm not due there yet; I've not done enough evil for hell to accept me. See you later.
In the chronological existence of this solar system, a day is not even significant enough to be represented on a blip anywhere. In comparison, an amoeba would have occupied more space on a piece of high school graph paper than a day would in the immense horizon.
Incredibly, has mankind changed the world?
It would be entirely foolish and totally conceited to think that any one at all can change the world. Did Hitler change the world? Did Einstein change the world? Did Emperor Qin change the world? Did Edison change the world? Did Columbus change the world? Did Newton change the world? Did education change the world? Did energy change the world? Did mass tranportation means change the world?
So what changed the world? Could anything have changed the world had the world not allowed it? Do you think your tallest buildings, largest aircraft, longest sailing vessel, grandest man made structure actually changed the world? No. In fact, the world simply tolerates these little contemnible bits that dot its face.
Think about it, should the world decide that it's time to get rid of the pimple, an invisible hand squeezes the boil and out comes the pus when the skin breaks.
All of you that happen to be building your castles on that part of the boil simply get exterminated.
Human existence is an accident. It was a evil stroke of genius that created man. Why would the mish-mash of RNA and DNA make humans? Why not create something with four sex organs and one leg instead of the other way around? Why do humans have to stand upright? Can't humans not work? Can't we consume like there's no tomorrow and not worry about putting on weight? Why are we living for so long? Why do I have to work? Why do I need to create a god to explain things when I am sure that things are merely accidents and why do I take comfort that such a god exists? Like it or not, we are in a sad state of affairs. We are in denial. We believe whatever we do now can undo whatever we had done since the Industrial Revolution. We believe that consuming less now would help. Does it help? We work and work so that we achieve progress. But what is progress? And we achieve progress as opposed to what? Does progress translate to an equal platform on which the spoils are shared? Hardly. Many of us work so as to prop up the inordinately "blessed" (or blasted, if you prefer)few.
It does not take a genius to figure out that it is us, HUMANS, who fear for our lives (more than the existence of Earth). Few people would admit that if anything had changed, it was humans, not the world. Even fewer would agree that our fear of global warming and what have you stems from what I call the inability to let go. Our cupidity has overriden our good sense. We cling on to life and our earthly belongings. We are afraid that once Earth "crashes", we would be reduced to nothing. We do not think we could live like the Neanderthals, tatterdemalions who roamed the Earth in the ages past.
Think of all the nuclear testings that were done around the world. At the end of it, the world remained but humans turned into malformed creatures. Someone must be right about such things - if it ain't karma, then it must be Sharon Stone, the drama-mama.
When would we begin to see that our actions are actually killing us, instead of the world? Global warming is no issue. What issue is there? I have oft argued that Earth is a self-regulating CLOSED system that seeks its own equilibrium; Earth would know what to do to right itself. Global warming is an issue ONLY to human beings. Face it: who are the real supernumaries on Earth?
Think about it. Did the world turned into a cone or a pyramid when global warming took place? No! Did the world create more water, more wind, higher temperatures? No. Could Earth survive high water levels, no rainforests, no fish, no food, no whatever? Surely yes. Most of all, Earth can survive without humans. Can humans say the same without Earth?
It is just so naive to believe that the world would cease to exist when humans become extinct. This is so laughable. Preposterous.
So, why care about the world? Why the pretense? Think about your own actions before you judge others for not doing what you preach.
I am just so glad I'm not leaving any descendants behind. So you don't have to tell me that the world is a gift that I am holding in trust for my children. Everyone can go to hell, including me. Such an outcome is probably condign for all of us.
I see the doors wide open, the red carpet rolled out, the fire is red and toasty. So what the bloody hell are you waiting for?
Me? I'm not due there yet; I've not done enough evil for hell to accept me. See you later.
Reiterating the Ethos of this Blog
I've begun tagging my posts and working backwards. The tags serve to accurately pinpoint my state of mind when I wrote the entry. With this decision, reiterating what this blog stands for becomes important:
If you haven't a good thing to say, you're welcome to sit beside me.
I don't pretend to be the Dalai Lama or Mother Theresa although in one of those weird personality tests, I fall in the same quadrant as the two of them. In short, my cards are faced up on the table. I do not pretend to be pure as Snow White, innocent as Bambi, gullible as Pooh, brilliant as Einstein, irreproachable as a saint or what have you. And I don't want to act in anyway that I am not.
In fact, people who come here want to celebrate a mind more twisted than Katrina, humour darker than black holes, a being more mentally crippled than Hawkings physically is and what have you.
But one thing is certain - malice is not intended. The main objective is sometimes to highlight some interesting observations, make some comments on perceived injustices, stupidities, Darwin Award-ism, social imbalances, etc.
Over here, we may agree to disagree. Even disagree to disagree.
My readers and I come from vastly different backgrounds. Of course, our moral yardsticks differ. I don't even know if I have a moral yardstick. I mostly categorise people into a few groups - people I want to have a meal with, people I want to have tea with, people I want to visit, people I want to share my food with, people I want to serve poisoned food to, people whose food I would eat, people whose food I would not eat and whom I should cut out from my life... Well, I think I should review this sentence some time in the future. I probably have as many categories as I have people in my life. But by and large, I think my friends are great people. If they are not, refer to previous sentence.
Simply said, I am a person with a huge tolerance and immense latitude for differences. But don't cross, or worse double cross, me. I'll run over and amputate your toes. This is the minimum I guarantee. If I fail, I could do it again. No?
If you haven't a good thing to say, you're welcome to sit beside me.
I don't pretend to be the Dalai Lama or Mother Theresa although in one of those weird personality tests, I fall in the same quadrant as the two of them. In short, my cards are faced up on the table. I do not pretend to be pure as Snow White, innocent as Bambi, gullible as Pooh, brilliant as Einstein, irreproachable as a saint or what have you. And I don't want to act in anyway that I am not.
In fact, people who come here want to celebrate a mind more twisted than Katrina, humour darker than black holes, a being more mentally crippled than Hawkings physically is and what have you.
But one thing is certain - malice is not intended. The main objective is sometimes to highlight some interesting observations, make some comments on perceived injustices, stupidities, Darwin Award-ism, social imbalances, etc.
Over here, we may agree to disagree. Even disagree to disagree.
My readers and I come from vastly different backgrounds. Of course, our moral yardsticks differ. I don't even know if I have a moral yardstick. I mostly categorise people into a few groups - people I want to have a meal with, people I want to have tea with, people I want to visit, people I want to share my food with, people I want to serve poisoned food to, people whose food I would eat, people whose food I would not eat and whom I should cut out from my life... Well, I think I should review this sentence some time in the future. I probably have as many categories as I have people in my life. But by and large, I think my friends are great people. If they are not, refer to previous sentence.
Simply said, I am a person with a huge tolerance and immense latitude for differences. But don't cross, or worse double cross, me. I'll run over and amputate your toes. This is the minimum I guarantee. If I fail, I could do it again. No?
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