Things that don't happen everyday

I have to call my mother to find out how much 白金 ("white gold", the money given to a bereaved family) to give at a funeral wake. Growing up in these parts isn't just about knowing how much ang pow is appropriate.

I pick up a wireless signal while waiting for my lunch at the Victoria Street food court, which meant I could spend the fifteen minutes I waited for my claypot chicken rice (it's worth every minute of the wait) chatting with kk instead of doing work. Free wireless, in a humble food court, enabling an IM conversation with Tokyo --- how surreal is that?


I place my hand on a metal railing at an MRT station and come away with an unidentifiable (or maybe I just don't want to identify it) gooey substance of indeterminate (or maybe I just don't want to determine it) origin. Surprisingly, instead of freaking out like a normal human being, I struggle to pull out a wet tissue to get the crap off me, then make a quiet but determined beeline for the washroom at the station, where I scrub my hand with much soap. Boys and girls, this is what your moms were warning you about when they say don't lean against the wall in public places, don't touch the banisters and check the doorknobs before you touch them. *shudder*

I discover that the lobby to the Apple service centre is decorated in the same clean white you'd expect at the Apple Store, which makes one feel immediately more optimistic about the chances of getting the keyboard fixed. And it is, for $10 and a little banter with the guys at the front desk. Thanks, sarah!

I spend enough time on the MRT train to finish reading the first 140 pages of Jeffrey Eugenides's The Virgin Suicides.

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