Two of my closest bros have suddenly gone crazy about running, and their passion for the sadomasochistic has rubbed off onto me.
I used to be one of those people who thought all runners were crazy. Like running is one very painful sport to engage in. It is monotonous, and it is tiring. Very tiring. And it is never any fun running, no matter how fit you are. But with one bro going for the Ironman and the other having signed up for the Sundown marathon, I was inspired into doing the simplest evil of all. Trying to get gold for my IPPT 2.4km run. Will consider the Sundown if I do make it.
You can be in the best shape of your life, but 30 minutes into a high intensity run you will still be screaming at that voice in your head, while it screams equally intensely back at you begging you to stop. At that point, it is really just you, versus all the random parts of your body that are on fire. Like your knees. Your calves. Your lungs. And other random muscles that hurt that you didn't even know you had. Like did you even know your butt cheeks can cramp? I didn't know that either.
While running, I often see all sorts of people running along with me. And when we pass each other, we give each other this knowing look, like "I bet I've run more than you." We then proceed to try and piss the shit out of each other by engaging in a pyrrhic competition where the loser feels like shit and the winner feels even more shit, only because he's trying to outrun the loser so that he looks like the better runner.
Yes, because when I run there will inevitably be this idiot who will try to run faster than me, and I will not let him do it just because I don't want to see that stupid smirk on his face when he passes me.
So the next 30 minutes will be a marathon of pain until he decides that enough is enough and gives up. I will then accelerate and watch his face contort with anguish, even as my insides burn up. Yes, you need a certain kind of crazy to be a runner.
But the worst part of a run is always 20 minutes after it. After a long hard run, the next hardest thing to face is the hunger pangs that come after. Refusing to cave in, I spent the next one hour thinking of eating Macs every 3 seconds. I could smell it, touch it, taste it, but I could not eat it. That's twenty times a minute. Or 1200 times in an hour. It was so bad it actually came in pulses, like Macs, pause, Macs, pause, Macs. It was just like this article I read in Men's Health, where this model said "To get that perfect body you want, it means you really have to know hunger."
Yah, no shit. 1200 times in an hour. Even my best friends don't call that often. I'd kill them.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Saturday, January 08, 2011
Because you are young and invincible
The new year has barely started and I already did one of the craziest things I've ever done in my life.
Drive a van.
It might seem like diddly-squat to you, until I mention that I have not driven a manual vehicle since I passed my test. Four years ago. And that a van is no car. It has a clutch that kicks like a horse, and it is very much longer and larger than a car to boot.
It all started with a phone call from a friend who needed a driver and really urgently. When I told her "no shit you can't be serious," all she said was "you are the only one with a class 3 and not 3A license."
Some part of my brain went click this is your chance to prove what a true daredevil you are. Come on - Just do it. I think somewhere in the background of that decision the soundtrack from Jackass 3D was playing, and I had momentary visions of me ramming the van through the roads like what I do in GTA IV. It's my grandfather's road suckers!
And that was it. Now on hindsight, it feels strange. There is this what the shit were you thinking feeling mixed in with this great lift you get from doing something that you would never have done in a million years.
Before, I was like what's the worst that can happen, the most I'll just crash the van right? And I've driven a manual car before, its just working the clutch and accelerator. So here I was, going into the whole thing smug and all confident, and the first thing I did was to trigger the alarm on the van.
The alarm went off, screeching and wailing so loudly the whole industrial park could hear it. And of course I panicked. I mean even for a guy having a van going all nuts on you is pretty fly. It has this effect of shrinking your balls and deadening whatever machismo you had. I wasn't expecting this, and all I could think was "turn it off! turn it off!"
The van's owner rushed out from his FIFTH storey office to gesture and articulate at me to press the button on the remote. I pressed the button. No, actually I mashed all of them with my thumbs like how you play Street Fighter. Die you fucking buttons! Die you dastardly alarm! Even the banglas standing around were starting give me weird looks.
Obviously, with it being me, it turns out that the remote was spoilt. So the only way I could get started was to trigger the alarm, put the key in and start the engine, triggering the alarm some more, before waiting two minutes for the alarm to die so I could actually start driving. Hardly the most auspicious start.
Sensing my nervousness, the van's owner, I think his name was Ken or Dave or something, kindly offered to drive me to the nearest carpark while showing me the basics of operating the van. He was really kind, guiding and giving me advice, until about five minutes into it he suddenly went "Okay, I gotta go back to the office now. You'll be okay right? Park that thing back for me later. Cya."
And off he went. Leaving me with the van, its engine still idling, the gearshift stuck in neutral. I sat at the driver's seat of the van and just simply thought "What the fuck. Okay, if I die here today I know I'm covered with a damn lot of insurance."
And so I started driving the van. My first few attempts were met by the manual driver's bane of existence. Yes, the stall. You are not a true driver of the manual ways until you stall the vehicle at least once. After awhile, I got the hang of it, even if my awkward attempts at changing gears had the van jerking like it wanted to dry hump something.
It was so bad this Malay family walking up to my van, whom I saw from my side mirror, a middle aged lady and her son and daughter, actually walked right up to my left side window and looked into the driver's cabin, just to see who the hell was this sorry excuse for a van driver. I think I didn't give them much reassurance, seeing how they gave my van a wide berth immediately after.
After becoming a little bolder, I decided to drive on the open road, like "Dave" had showed me. It was somewhere around here that I realised that I couldn't exactly tell the difference in positions between the first and third gears, and the second and fourth. Especially the second and fourth. I just knew that if the van felt like it couldn't accelerate any more despite me pressing on the accelerator, with this horrible dragging sound, I was probably in the wrong gear.
Sometime around here I also realised the van had no rear view mirror, because somebody horned me and I couldn't see who the hell it was. I just kept driving and praying that I wouldn't need to change lanes.
Of course, it was about time to screw things up further. I soon realised that I had no idea where I was actually driving. In my haste to get back to the industrial park, I took one wrong turn, and ended up... on the expressway. Like seriously, fuck.
Ever tried going on the expressway in a vehicle you can barely ease out of 40kmh? It is damn fucking scary man! I just kept in the left lane, and all the way I was just thinking I need to stop somewhere soon, look for a slip road, bus stop, any freaking stop I could find. I was actually afraid I would drive somewhere and lose myself totally and have a lot of trouble getting back. And of course somewhere in there was this niggling feeling that I must have been crazy to agree to this in the first place.
I eventually ended up in Holland Village, where I drove into a nearby private estate to get my bearings. I realised that I wasn't far off, and in my enthusiasm to get back, I rode over a hump at 40kmh.
In a car, that's perfectly fine. The suspension will help cushion it quite a bit, and it's never really that bad because a car is small. In a van, it felt like the whole vehicle went airborne for a microsecond. I am not kidding you, because the whole van slammed down on the road so hard my head hit the ceiling of the van and it made this ridiculously loud "BANG" that had all the joggers on the road recoiling in shock. Not to mention a van has almost zero suspension, and making the din worse was the equipment rack at the back. It was also lifted airborne, and when it crashed back down it resembled a thunderclap going off right behind me. If it had been an older version of me, I might have just died right there from shock.
I then proceeded next to mount the back left wheel on a kerb while turning. Honestly, if a police officer was present I would have been hauled up, and my sorry ass would have been bailed out by my shocked parents who do not even let me near the car at home. The irony.
But I eventually made it back, and I actually parked the damn thing. I feel so proud of myself. I even had to open the door and hang out of it while parking like a true Ah Beng Ah Seng, because the van had no rear view mirror.
Damn. Absolutely crazy experience but I'm sure I won't forget it ever.
Drive a van.
It might seem like diddly-squat to you, until I mention that I have not driven a manual vehicle since I passed my test. Four years ago. And that a van is no car. It has a clutch that kicks like a horse, and it is very much longer and larger than a car to boot.
It all started with a phone call from a friend who needed a driver and really urgently. When I told her "no shit you can't be serious," all she said was "you are the only one with a class 3 and not 3A license."
Some part of my brain went click this is your chance to prove what a true daredevil you are. Come on - Just do it. I think somewhere in the background of that decision the soundtrack from Jackass 3D was playing, and I had momentary visions of me ramming the van through the roads like what I do in GTA IV. It's my grandfather's road suckers!
And that was it. Now on hindsight, it feels strange. There is this what the shit were you thinking feeling mixed in with this great lift you get from doing something that you would never have done in a million years.
Before, I was like what's the worst that can happen, the most I'll just crash the van right? And I've driven a manual car before, its just working the clutch and accelerator. So here I was, going into the whole thing smug and all confident, and the first thing I did was to trigger the alarm on the van.
The alarm went off, screeching and wailing so loudly the whole industrial park could hear it. And of course I panicked. I mean even for a guy having a van going all nuts on you is pretty fly. It has this effect of shrinking your balls and deadening whatever machismo you had. I wasn't expecting this, and all I could think was "turn it off! turn it off!"
The van's owner rushed out from his FIFTH storey office to gesture and articulate at me to press the button on the remote. I pressed the button. No, actually I mashed all of them with my thumbs like how you play Street Fighter. Die you fucking buttons! Die you dastardly alarm! Even the banglas standing around were starting give me weird looks.
Obviously, with it being me, it turns out that the remote was spoilt. So the only way I could get started was to trigger the alarm, put the key in and start the engine, triggering the alarm some more, before waiting two minutes for the alarm to die so I could actually start driving. Hardly the most auspicious start.
Sensing my nervousness, the van's owner, I think his name was Ken or Dave or something, kindly offered to drive me to the nearest carpark while showing me the basics of operating the van. He was really kind, guiding and giving me advice, until about five minutes into it he suddenly went "Okay, I gotta go back to the office now. You'll be okay right? Park that thing back for me later. Cya."
And off he went. Leaving me with the van, its engine still idling, the gearshift stuck in neutral. I sat at the driver's seat of the van and just simply thought "What the fuck. Okay, if I die here today I know I'm covered with a damn lot of insurance."
And so I started driving the van. My first few attempts were met by the manual driver's bane of existence. Yes, the stall. You are not a true driver of the manual ways until you stall the vehicle at least once. After awhile, I got the hang of it, even if my awkward attempts at changing gears had the van jerking like it wanted to dry hump something.
It was so bad this Malay family walking up to my van, whom I saw from my side mirror, a middle aged lady and her son and daughter, actually walked right up to my left side window and looked into the driver's cabin, just to see who the hell was this sorry excuse for a van driver. I think I didn't give them much reassurance, seeing how they gave my van a wide berth immediately after.
After becoming a little bolder, I decided to drive on the open road, like "Dave" had showed me. It was somewhere around here that I realised that I couldn't exactly tell the difference in positions between the first and third gears, and the second and fourth. Especially the second and fourth. I just knew that if the van felt like it couldn't accelerate any more despite me pressing on the accelerator, with this horrible dragging sound, I was probably in the wrong gear.
Sometime around here I also realised the van had no rear view mirror, because somebody horned me and I couldn't see who the hell it was. I just kept driving and praying that I wouldn't need to change lanes.
Of course, it was about time to screw things up further. I soon realised that I had no idea where I was actually driving. In my haste to get back to the industrial park, I took one wrong turn, and ended up... on the expressway. Like seriously, fuck.
Ever tried going on the expressway in a vehicle you can barely ease out of 40kmh? It is damn fucking scary man! I just kept in the left lane, and all the way I was just thinking I need to stop somewhere soon, look for a slip road, bus stop, any freaking stop I could find. I was actually afraid I would drive somewhere and lose myself totally and have a lot of trouble getting back. And of course somewhere in there was this niggling feeling that I must have been crazy to agree to this in the first place.
I eventually ended up in Holland Village, where I drove into a nearby private estate to get my bearings. I realised that I wasn't far off, and in my enthusiasm to get back, I rode over a hump at 40kmh.
In a car, that's perfectly fine. The suspension will help cushion it quite a bit, and it's never really that bad because a car is small. In a van, it felt like the whole vehicle went airborne for a microsecond. I am not kidding you, because the whole van slammed down on the road so hard my head hit the ceiling of the van and it made this ridiculously loud "BANG" that had all the joggers on the road recoiling in shock. Not to mention a van has almost zero suspension, and making the din worse was the equipment rack at the back. It was also lifted airborne, and when it crashed back down it resembled a thunderclap going off right behind me. If it had been an older version of me, I might have just died right there from shock.
I then proceeded next to mount the back left wheel on a kerb while turning. Honestly, if a police officer was present I would have been hauled up, and my sorry ass would have been bailed out by my shocked parents who do not even let me near the car at home. The irony.
But I eventually made it back, and I actually parked the damn thing. I feel so proud of myself. I even had to open the door and hang out of it while parking like a true Ah Beng Ah Seng, because the van had no rear view mirror.
Damn. Absolutely crazy experience but I'm sure I won't forget it ever.
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
They want you to do work, but they don't want to pay you for it.
Working as a freelancer while studying is really hard. You are always short of time, because you have to juggle schoolwork and jobs, and its really tiring when you are done with schoolwork at midnight and realise you still have to write a whole essay to submit by 8am the next morning. Or two.
It's bad enough that they don't want to pay you on time, like how my cheque for my jobs in August came in December, but when you have to act as the pawn between two organisations and be the fall guy just because different departments within them just cannot see eye to eye with each other, it's really upsetting.
I currently write advertorials, and sometimes, because there are no photographers available, I am forced to do the photoshoots myself as well. While I can handle simpler shoots, like outdoor ones where there is sufficient lighting, for the more challenging ones, I am severely limited by equipment.
I don't have a remote flash unit, which is absolutely essential for such shoots only so that you can shoot burst shots off your camera with flash, bounce the light off a reflector, or you can mount the light source elsewhere rather than right on top of your camera, which always gives my subject a beautiful deer in headlights effect. In other words, stark, uncompromising, and absolutely unflattering. You can't use your trusty zipai camera for studio photography, trust me.
I don't even have the right lenses to do these shoots. For most of these shoots people are not doing static poses, they are jumping around, like the dance shoot I had to do yesterday. It didn't help that the dance instructor I was working with couldn't understand that certain dance poses are simply not photography friendly.
He wanted to do all sorts of weird lifts, one of which I remember very vividly had the girl's head facing up and back away from the camera. Well, I could take that but do you really want to see the back of her head? It was not even an angle thing. You can't take a picture of two people's faces straight on if they are both facing opposite directions. It's mathematics.
It is the reason why you always see the same types of poses for dance photography, the jumping pirouette, static poses midway through routines, it is because these poses ensure that you can see the face of the subject while giving some illusion of movement.
Back to equipment, all I have is a travel superzoom lens, which focuses slowly. It's what the photography buffs call a "slow" lens. Trying to use that to catch people jumping around under insufficient lighting is a photography nightmare from hell. I can do it, but I can guarantee you the pictures will not be sharp. I don't even have to do the shoot to know that. It's a basic photography principle. Slow lens, insufficient light, slow focusing equals motion blur.
Well I used to have the equipment, but that was because I borrowed it from school to do another project altogether. Now that the module's over, I'm back to being a photography amateur. And if the school knew I had been using their equipment to earn money, I think they would refuse to lend me any in the future. But really, what is a hard-up student to do.
The photo department I'm freelancing for isn't going to lend me any because I'm a freelancer. Worse still, they often put such jobs at the bottom of their priority chain because its not news, its not the thing that sells the paper.
Unfortunately, the people who put these ads in actually pay a damn lot of money. So they have every right to expect a professional photographer with good equipment to do their shoots for them. But since the photo department thinks so little of them, it will often send freelancers like me to our certain deaths by sending us to shoots we are vastly undertrained or underequipped for, and then letting us deal with the inevitable fallout that occurs.
Which leads me to the question. Why even create this stupid mess in the first place? If we don't do the shoot well, which we won't, the shit hits the fan, lots of people get hot and bothered, I get calls all through the day while I'm transcribing my FYP, and in the end the photo department has to do the shoot anyway because it gets rescheduled. And I get a bad reputation as a freelancer which I do not even deserve because I always send in my articles on time and cleanly written.
This whole mess is really because in reality, the marketing and photography departments just don't talk to each other. I don't know why, considering they have this symbiotic relationship, but it really shouldn't be my problem.
Sigh.
“妈，孩儿懂了。钱真的很不容易赚。”
It's bad enough that they don't want to pay you on time, like how my cheque for my jobs in August came in December, but when you have to act as the pawn between two organisations and be the fall guy just because different departments within them just cannot see eye to eye with each other, it's really upsetting.
I currently write advertorials, and sometimes, because there are no photographers available, I am forced to do the photoshoots myself as well. While I can handle simpler shoots, like outdoor ones where there is sufficient lighting, for the more challenging ones, I am severely limited by equipment.
I don't have a remote flash unit, which is absolutely essential for such shoots only so that you can shoot burst shots off your camera with flash, bounce the light off a reflector, or you can mount the light source elsewhere rather than right on top of your camera, which always gives my subject a beautiful deer in headlights effect. In other words, stark, uncompromising, and absolutely unflattering. You can't use your trusty zipai camera for studio photography, trust me.
I don't even have the right lenses to do these shoots. For most of these shoots people are not doing static poses, they are jumping around, like the dance shoot I had to do yesterday. It didn't help that the dance instructor I was working with couldn't understand that certain dance poses are simply not photography friendly.
He wanted to do all sorts of weird lifts, one of which I remember very vividly had the girl's head facing up and back away from the camera. Well, I could take that but do you really want to see the back of her head? It was not even an angle thing. You can't take a picture of two people's faces straight on if they are both facing opposite directions. It's mathematics.
It is the reason why you always see the same types of poses for dance photography, the jumping pirouette, static poses midway through routines, it is because these poses ensure that you can see the face of the subject while giving some illusion of movement.
Back to equipment, all I have is a travel superzoom lens, which focuses slowly. It's what the photography buffs call a "slow" lens. Trying to use that to catch people jumping around under insufficient lighting is a photography nightmare from hell. I can do it, but I can guarantee you the pictures will not be sharp. I don't even have to do the shoot to know that. It's a basic photography principle. Slow lens, insufficient light, slow focusing equals motion blur.
Well I used to have the equipment, but that was because I borrowed it from school to do another project altogether. Now that the module's over, I'm back to being a photography amateur. And if the school knew I had been using their equipment to earn money, I think they would refuse to lend me any in the future. But really, what is a hard-up student to do.
The photo department I'm freelancing for isn't going to lend me any because I'm a freelancer. Worse still, they often put such jobs at the bottom of their priority chain because its not news, its not the thing that sells the paper.
Unfortunately, the people who put these ads in actually pay a damn lot of money. So they have every right to expect a professional photographer with good equipment to do their shoots for them. But since the photo department thinks so little of them, it will often send freelancers like me to our certain deaths by sending us to shoots we are vastly undertrained or underequipped for, and then letting us deal with the inevitable fallout that occurs.
Which leads me to the question. Why even create this stupid mess in the first place? If we don't do the shoot well, which we won't, the shit hits the fan, lots of people get hot and bothered, I get calls all through the day while I'm transcribing my FYP, and in the end the photo department has to do the shoot anyway because it gets rescheduled. And I get a bad reputation as a freelancer which I do not even deserve because I always send in my articles on time and cleanly written.
This whole mess is really because in reality, the marketing and photography departments just don't talk to each other. I don't know why, considering they have this symbiotic relationship, but it really shouldn't be my problem.
Sigh.
“妈，孩儿懂了。钱真的很不容易赚。”
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