Golf Ga-Ga

1. Golf is a game about achieving perfection. I think this is the reason why top level executives (and many others who strive to be one of them, those wannabes) are so attracted to the beautiful game: because it is a game that requires perfection in order to succeed.

2. There are so many levels to how golf tests the perfectionist, chief among which is 'The Swing'. The way one swings a golf club determines the ball's trajectory. In the case of a beginner at the driving range (yours truly being one), about 1 out of 5 times, the ball flies in a somewhat agreeable arc. The rest of the time, one of the following happens: the ball limps and rolls away awkwardly; the ball whacks into the lane divider violently and announces your terrible golf skills for all to hear; the ball flies too far left or too far right of where you intend it to go; or you miss entirely and subsequently pretend that you were just doing a dry run of a swing.

3. Golf gear is designed by Darth Vader. Really. Just wearing my golf glove alone makes me feel like a Stormtrooper:


Now, all I need are White / Black golf shoes, and an uber-cool Stormtrooper helmet to complete the look. :)

4. Hitting that perfect swing is an indescribable feeling: the word that comes closest is 'SHIOK' (non-Singaporean readers, click the link, go pick up some Singlish). And when the club connects with the ball in the right way, a satisfying sound is emitted 'PUCK', the ball flies in the right trajectory (a low curve for the 7-iron, a high curl for the pulling wedge, and that far far away feeling with the 5-wood)... in other words, perfection. It is so intoxicatingly sweet to have hit 'the spot' that one feels willing to give up sex forever if he can keep hitting balls that way... forever and ever.

5. And that's where we come to the point where I think golf is... a 'symbol' for sex. In this game, you play with a club (a somewhat phallic thing, don't you think?) and swing it around using both your hands; you hit balls; you 'score' when you get your ball into a hole; some of your clubs are known as woods - no, not Tiger we're talking about here, but those golf clubs you wrap in socks - and the woods are typically 'bulbous' and you have to frequently wrap them in 'protective gear'; the golf course is littered with obstacles like sand traps and water hazards - much like how the pursuit of sex is laden with booby traps of its own; golf courses are designed to be undulating slopes - which mimic the sinuous curves of the alluring female; oh... I can go on and on.

6. Picking up golf has only been possible because I am currently single. Being a singleton has its advantages: I can indulge in more meaningless usage of my time - not that whacking balls at the driving range is meaningless, mind you, but in comparison to quality time with the significant other, whacking golf balls can pale in comparison as a better use of scarce resources (as time goes). Worser still if your significant other cannot appreciate the activity, and worser still if she cannot see why it supercedes time spent cuddling, kissing, and... shit, I'm seriously lacking affection. :(

Pics on my Phone - Set 1

There are a bunch of pictures on my phone that I seldom look at or even bother with. Some were taken using my phone (an old battered Nokia 6260), while some were sent by others. All are, alas, low-res pics that will only have some esoteric value to me. In no particular order, here's a set of 5 of them:



I took this picture illegally. Camera phones aren't allowed in camp, but I snuck mine in nonetheless. This is a pic from the top of a watchtower, looking down the chute and ladder from which you climb to access it. It was night, there was nothing to do, and my poor myopic eyes couldn't make out stuff moving in the dark anyway - in other words, I was so bored that I resorted to taking pics of the surroundings (and got this).



This one is from INSEAD, specifically during a time in June when I was on the Fontainebleau campus. My assigned exam number was 44 which, to the Chinese, is about as unlucky a number as you can get. The exam numbers determine where you sit in the amphitheatres during the exams. As you can see, I have a good view of my fellow MBA's exam paper from where I sit (didn't cheat though... no time to).



This is a metro station in Barcelona. In most parts of Europe, their metros (from my perspective) are little more than 'holes-in-the-ground'. There's a hole, you climb down, and - voila! - trains. I like the train stations in Singapore better: at least they can be considered to be buildings, or have the semblance of a station - they're also far easier to locate and find (you tend to miss holes-in-the-ground).



My ex-colleague and his opinion on me using my phone to take his picture. Not the most flattering shot I'm afraid, and if he ever finds out about this blog, he'll be screaming for that pic to be taken down (I doubt he'll sue - he does have a good sense of humour about such things).



A pretty girl, coffee, and a picture taken without my notice. Never leave your phone behind while you go to the washroom: some beautiful lady might decide to leave her pictures on it. (of course it helps if you were dating her...)