Seven tau-gay legs

There was a spider, that had seven legs, that were not proper spider legs - black and hairy. Instead, they were made of tau-gay, or green bean sprouts. She had lost her eighth leg in a fight.

Despite her handicap, the spider was with a lively spirit who enjoyed the occasional practical joke. Once, she was in a store, that was somewhat like Singapore's version of the Metropolitan Museum of Art store, pretending to be brooch. When she was caught, she laughed mischievously in such an infectious way that nobody could then fault her for trying.

She would have danced a little if she could have, but she could not, for her legs were soft and flimsy. She had accidentally stepped into somebody's warm bath water, and her tau-gay legs got scalded and became somewhat flimsy ever after. This was to her greatest regret, as she had loved dancing.

If she felt bad for herself, she would think of her friend, a spider who has cabbage leaves for his legs. Imagine, all eight legs! Cabbage leaves! All too big to fit on a little spider! And all slightly curved! He never walked a single step from birth. If he needed to get anywhere, he would roll his way there. Like a tumbleweed! Except he bruised more easily! Let alone dance!

Tau-gay legs are really not too bad! Or so the spider with tau-gay legs would remind herself comfortingly. She would sing or hum her favourite song to herself. It was ABBA's Dancing Queen. If she let anyone hear her, they could feel sorry for her and go on and on about how dancing was not a big deal. This would then make everything more difficult to bear.

Jazz and Recorders

I am writing this from Starbucks at Liang Court. They are playing jazz on the speakers.

I always thought that hard-core jazz was difficult to understand. By "hard-core jazz", I mean the music created with a piano, drums or bass perhaps, and a saxaphone or trumpet or both; I mean the jazz without Ella Fitzgerald or the boys from Ipanema or anybody singing in general; I mean the music without songs.

I vaguely wish that instead of making me learn how to play "three blind mice" on the bloody plastic recorder, my music teachers from school taught me how to appreciate jazz, or baroque, for that matter. Then again, it is only because they did, that I can take it for granted that I once knew, and have since forgotten, how to play the recorder.

I must remember this the next time I hear the neighbours' kid practising the recorder - that dreaded-elongated-whistle-of-a-thing. And I should be glad that there will always be some neighbours' kid practising the recorder. (Hey, I was "that kid" before.) And that maybe they are just trying very hard to teach me how to appreciate jazz.

Farting Freely - A big plus point of Teleworking

I've read many articles about the pros and cons of teleworking. Mostly, these articles discuss how working from home saves commuting time, but threatens the family life. I think they leave out the most important point that makes working from home worthwhile - teleworking allows one to fart freely.

When one is at the office, one cannot fart freely, for fear of being laughed at, discriminated against, or nicknamed the 'fart boy/girl'. Although this causes not so much distress (as it's been a bane since young - when we had to go to school - except that we do not seem to have so much gas when we were younger), it is still a luxury for one to be able to fart freely, as loud as whatever, when one works from home. It is especially great, when you let out a loud fart, and then you realise it's a smelly one, and that it's one of those farts that make your stomach feel instantaneously lighter. Every time I fart one of those farts, I think to myself, wow, this is what makes teleworking worthwhile.

I tend to think that this mostly affects people who work in air-conditioned-high-rise-offices more than any other type of work. This is because we have the tendency to pretend that we're very serious and clean and picture perfect, and therefore, feel the most fart-conscious at work. As we have to be in the office for most part of our waking hours, farting freely is a luxury. Maybe if we all change our attitude on farts, it would make us less uptight.

The doctors and nurses have to be serious and clean and perfect, but they're educated in the biological working of the bodies, and so, are obliged to accept that farting is natural and not a big deal. I also suspect that it would be difficult to disapprove every fart as their patients won't really care and would fart anyhow, and disapproving every fart would make them unnecessarily busier. Thus, farting freely is not a big deal.

It's gotta do with the air-conditioning, I think, as not all hospitals are air-conditioned. Also, I suspect people working in the service-line at air-conditioned departmental stores will also feel the pressure to fart carefully, but they can't really work from home anyway, so well, let's not rub in it.

To digress a bit, I suspect rice-farmers, of all professions, will be the most cool about farting, because they're always bending down, and it is quite impossible to stifle or muffle farts in that butt-sticking-in-the-air position.

I wonder if people are motivated to climb the corporate ladder so that they can get their private rooms (and not share offices with others at work) so that they can fart whenever. And that explains why those "high up" are not so keen on teleworking, because being in their private rooms, they would no longer deem the freedom to fart as luxurious. Maybe when I find my way there and get a room to myself, and I get to fart big farts freely, I would think to myself, wow, this is what makes being a "Director" worthwhile.

In the meantime, I shall be satisfied with maintaining that farting freely is a big plus point of teleworking, or shall I say, it's a big Pro(ooT!) of teleworking.

If your family is also disapproving on your loud farts, then this 'pro of working from home' doesn't apply for you. Sorry then, that it sucks to be you.

The above arguments should also apply to the freedom to dig one's nose.