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Sunday, May 19, 2013 - 22:13 SGT
Posted By: Gilbert

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Plans Of Mice And Men

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Spare Talk

Contrary review of the day: why unbundling channels might raise prices [N.B. I don't buy this argument (some good counterpoints are to be found in the comments section), but it's good to consider the other side whenever possible]

Two months ago, almost to the day, the case of public housing name inflation was raised; well, it seems like the HDB has far exceeded my expectations. My suggestions pale in comparism to their offerings: Punggol Spectra? Matilda Portico? It almost appears as if they're banking on an upscale label and some granite tabletops justifying an additional hundred thousand or so in upfront rental fees.

I can just hear the sales pitch: Yes, you too can have a whole ninety square metres spread over four rooms in The Portico, for just S$320000, in 360 easy installments, that can conveniently be pledged if you don't make the CPF Minimum Sum that has been outpacing both inflation and wage growth handily (before realising that the somewhat encouraging household income stats are in part down to more workers per household)! We aren't living that much longer, surely?

In any case, the relevant minister has taken time off channelling Dr. Chee's "Where is the money?" (with the pocket-pointing becoming ever more coherent) to admit that they're basically totally stuck, with the March Budget promise of a 30% cut apparently rather more quietly re-evaluated to "a few percent over the next few years", because a huge chunk of everyone's supposed value is now tied up in large hunks of concrete, making "acquiring more concrete shells and waiting for their value to rise" the new national pasttime.

[N.B. As to the "missing" S$1 million, it appears to be yet another simple misunderstanding, with the case for the defence subtly shifting to "well, they do that sort of thing too!" (which isn't new). But really, how did the emphasis get changed to nitpicking over S$7.58 or S$8.04, and how Tampines is cheaper (what about the other town councils)? I do like the idea of them keeping each other on their toes.]

With this coming in conjunction with the drive towards "Hi everyone, feel free to park your money here, almost no questions asked", it's not hard to see how it'll all pan out. While I had never been completely convinced that a major draw of pulling in new immigrants was for their voting support, a spate of recent cases in the news has raised my doubts.

In particular, a former British leader confessed to sending out search parties for the express purpose of winning elections. This ended with more people moving there in two decades than the previous millenium, whilst well-founded opposition was battered down with the invincible cry of invidious racism. Well, the authorities here at least had the foresight to go three syllables better with xen-o-pho-bi-a in recycling the trick.

The parallels are stunning.

That settled, the same minister then chipped in again by helpfully hinting that a degree may now be meaningless. While one can get part of his point, with it being easy to see how throwing a quarter of a million on a so-so Australian sheepskin might not reap the best of returns, the question is whether it is likely that one can survive here semi-comfortably without one. Unfortunately, the answer appears to be... no. S$1800 starting salary for the average ITE/polytechnic graduate? After the HDB asset, it's looking more and more like "your savings or your kids", with the kids getting the short end of the stick.

So maybe striving for a good draft position wasn't all that, after all. Increasingly, I wonder if I should just heck it all and chase the almighty dollar exclusively, since it's clear how this place is set up to be, the occasional going-through-the-motions stunt excepted.


Sticking The Foot In

Brighton will have to wait after not making it through the Championship playoffs, that also saw one of the greatest comebacks I've seen in many a year - Watford's 96th minute winner that came after a saved penalty:



Rooney - is he or isn't he? Frankly, I won't be overly sad if he does leave, given how he weaves magic and mediocrity together into one frustrating package. Also, if we buy enough shirts (with an unrefundable processing fee in the event that the transfer does not go through), we might get Cristano Ronaldo back anyway (like, yeah)!

But neither of them can do what Stewart Downing can (five times, no less), so I guess it's Liverpool's year again.

Last but not least, former East German, Oman, Iraq and Belarus manager Bernd Stange has been appointed as the new Singapore gaffer. A small part of me was hoping that Ferguson was looking for a new challenge, but it was too much to hope for.


Ham Heads On Undaunted

Mr. Ham: ...and that's why the analysts need a pay rise, and Mr. Robo too for inventing Hamachi.

Me: Oh no you don't, they...

Mr. Ham: *interrupts* My, just look at the time - I'm almost late. Tell you what, how about we continue this discussion on the road? I think you haven't been there.

Me: Been where..? Oh.

*Mr. Ham pulls on a set of long flowing robes, tops it off with a spectacular hat, and lights up a cigar*

Mr. Ham: Don't look at me like that - it's part of the uniform, like when doctors wear lab coats with a stethoscope, or firemen don reflective gear. We do have an image to keep up too, you know. This getup just screams "respectability".

Me: *doubtfully* I don't know...

Mr. Ham: Just get in the limo. Hah, this reminds me of the old days, when I discovered that all doors opened to the right getup and an imperious manner. Wangled my share of free flights in the best window seat on the plane as a first officer, with a second-hand pilot's uniform I won at dice in Tijuana. It all went swimmingly till one fine day, when the captain went and had a heart attack on me in mid-flight.

Me: My goodness! No doubt you radioed flight control for assistance?

Mr. Ham: Nah. I excused myself to visit the washroom, grabbed my parachute, and bailed.

*revving engine* Human, as I have tried to hint to you so many times, it is all just a game. Like all those little niceties you're so bad at - guy asks "How are you", just reply "I'm fine, what about you?", and you'll do okay. "伦", I believe the Confucians called it. Smile to those you're supposed to smile to, ignore those you're supposed to ignore, and all that.


I regret nothing
(Original source: ainonline.com)


Me: But if you both know that's how it's gonna go, why bother? I mean, doesn't it obviously go without saying that I would wish others well, of course up to a reasonable degree?

Mr. Ham: Look, who's driving a Bentley now, you or me?

Me: I believe that is besides the point. Still, it we were to go down this road, would we not naturally come to trying to read what the other guy would think, and if in a group, what they would think he would think, ad infinitum as the infinitely-reflecting mirror shards of karma? If I recall rightly, one justification for The Bard's stated intelligence was his ability to juggle the frames of his characters so effortlessly - I know you know he knows she knows they know, as you were.

*muses* Which may be why group conversation is so challenging - the difficulty of understanding and tailoring one's message optimally ratchets up exponentially. Maybe I would be better served by spontaneity, like when some poor fellow started laughing soon after we were introduced, and I was still staring blankly while processing a suitable response! He looked positively horrified that I didn't instantly join in, so I believe this is what "social norms" means.

Mr. Ham: Bloody heck, you're badly overthinking matters, like that Mr. Robo. I assure you, not giving a shit will fix most of that real quick. Gotta give it to that Shakespeare guy, though, he put his talents to very good use. It's not manipulation if you don't think it is, so blessed are the not-very-introspective.

Me: Man, have you written the book on tax dodges?

Mr. Ham: Oh possibly, possibly. Now don't you look at me like that, I'm just a tiny hamster with an entrepreneural bent, trying to make it in life... I mean, death. Consumers demand Cults, I set one up, we all get what we want, win-win.

*takes a puff*

Look, I'm not that much of an asshole - when I came across a dying little old lady from a rival Cult asking on her deathbed if she would get to Paradise, I nodded; what do you take me for, some no-class grasping upstart Cult Leader? We do have certain basic standards of decency in the profession.

Me: But if you could do that, why can't you tell your followers the same, without collecting their cash every week?

Mr. Ham: You have got to learn how to separate charity from business if you're ever going to get anywhere and have a successful life, human. Ah, we're there.


The House That Ham Built

Mr. Ham: Well? How does my humble little dump look?

Me: Humble little dump?


Ignore that, that's just one of our renovation sketches
(Source: acidemic.blogspot.sg)


Mr. Ham: Please, five stories of a few thousand square feet each ain't much these days, but we're all keeping a low profile after your authorities dragged the leadership of a top local Cult into court for spending the money they earned honestly. Would they have done the same had Michael Jackson built a Neverland here? Huh? Huh? *shakes head* I tell you, they don't understand how hard us small-time businessmen have it.

All this doggone red tape! How do they expect us to develop into a global financial hub by continually interfering with our R&D operations? I tell you, they'll be regretting it when our best Cults up and leave for the freedom of Hamerica! Always been partial to opening a branch in Halifornia, myself.

Fresh-faced lad: *running up* Sir! Sir! One of the members is getting impatient about our promises! Apparently, you said that his peptic ulcers would clear up by last week!

Mr. Ham: Calm down, we have procedures in place. Which stage of complaint resolution is our customer at? Stage One: Thou Hast Been Negligent In Thy Contributions, Stage Two: Ye Of Little Faith, Stage Three: Patience Is Golden, or Stage Four: The One True Holy Being's Ways Art Mysterious? You have remembered to quote the appropriate verses, haven't you?

Fresh-faced lad: *checking handbook* Erm, it's escalated to Code Red: If You Don't Fix This Right Now, I'm Heading To The Press, Screw You. Feisty, that one.

Mr. Ham: Sheesh, what are cultists coming to these days? Have one of the affiliated doctors take a look - and keep the true meaning of Book Four, Verse Seventy-two in mind: "That which is gone is passed as the wind/For what of this world dwells in the Adobe of The One?". Now, you tell me the standard interpretation of this couplet.

Fresh-faced lad: *grins awkwardly* Forgive me, Great Grandpappy. I must not have been paying attention when that part was covered.

Mr. Ham: It means, strictly no refunds. Now move along.

Me: ...

Mr. Ham: Yes, I know, Tom's sort of rough around the edges, but the lad has potential. He's got most of the Young Cult Leader qualities. Boy-next-door looks, easy smile, twinkle in the eye, earnest deep voice, ability to read... mark my words, under my guidance, he'll snag a regional award within a few years, maybe even make it to the national All-Star Team!

Me: And how did you pick him? Best attendance? Sang the loudest? Memorised the most lines? Boundless zeal?

Mr. Ham: Goodness, no. From my own experience, while it may be that almost anybody can be a Cult Leader given enough effort, it's often not worth it with some. Shouldn't be surprising, people have different levels of latent talent in many disciplines, why should Cult Leadership be an exception?

In Tommy's case, I knew I had my disciple when, during a segment when the cultists were supposed to shut their eyes, hold their hands up and mumble whatever they want until I tell them to stop, I spotted him openly glancing around, a lone deviant in a sea of nearly indistinguishable blissful faces.

Me: And no doubt you flew into a rage, brought the session to a halt and publicly chastised him?

Mr. Ham: What? No, no! I broke into a big smile and gave him a wink and thumbs up at our shared connection. Obviously I didn't have my eyes closed either! You have a strange idea of what being a good Cult Leader takes. I mean, all the qualities you listed aren't worthless, but they aren't important either.


Winked like that, but way cooler
(Source: rockpapershotgun.com)


Comes every day... so? Sings... does he have pop-star level ability? Goes over the texts a lot... probably winds up holed up in a corner. No, the key is having a growth mindset. None of these directly helps in getting more paying butts in the house, at least not in any efficient manner. Tom just understood that off the bat - it's why I have such high hopes of him.

And don't get me started on the bleeping "passionate" bit. Just last year, one of that kind got itchy and founded a "Mighty Warriors For The One True Holy Being" chapter. They wound up virtually every other Cult in the neighbourhood with their aggressive sales tactics, not to mention the unaffiliated too, before I got wind of it. Wasted months clearing up their crap and sending out private grovelling apology letters.

Me: But isn't this behaviour technically encouraged?

Mr. Ham: That it may be, but us senior Cult Leaders have an unspoken agreement not to let it get out of hand. However, as you said, what they did is undeniably supposed to be kosher, so I couldn't very well openly clamp down too hard on them. Instead, I gently persuaded them to regroup as the Mighty Warriors For The One True Holy Being Rock Band instead. They're not very good at that either, but at least we haven't gotten any complaints, soundproof basement and all.

That's the danger of raising those that aren't suited to be Cult Leaders to the position. Oh, I know that there are many who were secretly hoping to be picked. Actually, I wouldn't have minded giving them a break, but then I shuddered at what could happen. Take Theobaldis over there; he can probably recite any verse by book and number backwards - I can't, by the way - but if there's a fire, he might just attempt to divine its symbolism with reference to the literature, instead of activating the alarm and getting the hell outta Dodge.

Me: Aren't you exaggerating?

Mr. Ham: *wretchedly* You got me. It happened. You'll understand the burden I bear, when you realise that if I make a wrong decision in this respect, half the Cult might be downing poisoned Kool-Aid in a matter of months. It's more likely than you may think, given the follow-the-authority-figure-unquestioningly personality type that we disproportionately attract, by definition of Cult culture. Conviction and empiricism seem inversely correlated here. It's amazing what lengths people will go to, to not be lonely.

*brightening up*

But now that I've found Tom, it should be okay. The kid knows how it's done, bless him - revenue, expansion, make people feel at ease, avoid sticking his nose in unnecessary ventures, more revenue, more expansion, rinse and repeat. Ah, we're at my office.


The Inner Sanctum

The room was, for want of a better description, lavishly furnished. A slightly-built, faintly smiling man, in robes no less resplendent than Mr. Ham's, awaited on the palatial sofa.

Mr. Ham: Human, The Enlightened Hoh; Hoh, the human.

Mr. Hoh: Hello, you must be the pesky human Mr. Ham tells me about so often!

Me: Delighted. I seem to have seen you from somewhere...

Mr. Ham: Of course you have. Hoh here is the founder of one of the fastest-growing Cults around, Great Gate To Glory. He was in the papers as recently as last month, if I recall rightly.

Mr. Hoh: *gruffly* It was an accounting oversight. They hae' nuthin' on me.

Mr. Ham: Certainly, certainly.

Me: Now this isn't my strong suit, but don't the Gaters and the One True Ones regard each other as infidels, from my admittedly superficial understanding of your beliefs?

Mr. Hoh: You got dat right.

Me: So, uh, how are their respective leaders sharing a glass of sherry?

Mr. Ham: Human, it's all business. I mean, did it ever make sense? You do know that the deity of The One True Blessed Holy Quadrilateral is the all-benevolent, ever-munificent Ultimate Ancestor, while that of the Gate is the forever-forgiving, infinitely merciful Final Keeper, right?

But what happens when the followers of these two awesome and immeasurable godheads, one of whom is said to have severed his own leg to feed the hungry, and the other who was written to have saved a hundred children at cost of his own life in one of his incarnations, meet? Offhand, wouldn't you expect a response like, "Man, both of them did plenty of good things, we can learn a lot from each other"?


We went to the North Pole, and there's no Santa!
Don't believe those Santaists... Satanists? who would have you believe that the North Pole references are just sophisticated allegory!


Me: That does sounds rational.

Mr. Hoh: Sorry to disappoint you, then, coz we're Cults. We don't parley in dat "logic and reason" baloney. Obviously we would insist to our followers that the other side is wrong, they're fake, they're lyin', they're goin' down. Duh.

Mr. Ham: Oh, we aren't demonspawn any more?

Mr. Hoh: Not for today, no. Our current target is da Revealed Gathering Of All Souls, after they trashed one of our outposts, and in fact we upgrade you lot from Hell to Neutral status at our last meeting, together with the Forever Friends. Our rating for the Guardians Of the Eternally Unchanging Word's pending, though, with their internal leadership battle over which of their two thousand texts are canon still ongoing.

Mr. Ham: Gee, thanks. Can't say I'm disappointed, the feud was getting stale. On our part, we're prepared to ally with the Guardians if Maester Ch'atlib wins out, and proscribe them if the group led by Precentor Lol'liaki prevails. Haven't forgotten that asshole Lol'liaki reneging on the deal to coordinate our marketing activities. He must still be holding a grudge from back when I refused to let him copy my answers for that Masters in Cult Administration assignment.

Well, it all boils down to the same thing in the end - what it's really all about:


WE'RE NUMBER ONE, NUMBER ONE, THE CHOSEN ONES


Say, I've got to check out that soundproofing sometime. But as I was saying, it's mostly identical - the deities can all be the greatest nice guys and white knights, but fast-forward those bits and it always winds up to be He Likes Us The Best - And He Gave That Land To Us. Can't say I'm surprised.

Mr. Hoh: Therefore, I an' Ham agreed to skip that ol' hooey whenever we git together, and get straight to talkin' shop, like who's gettin' wat territory. Our latest bound'ries are north of the expressway for me, and all dat's west of the river for 'im.

Mr. Ham: Doesn't make sense to wear ourselves down, does it? There's plenty of potential cultists for everybody. Other than the Immaculate Brothers Of Emptiness. Them, they're crazy. Loco. Cuckoo. You can't even bloody write the name of that Cult down, they say it profanes the Uncontainable. We don't usually speak of them if we can help it.

*Mr. Hoh nods vigourously*

Me: I'm getting the hang of it. Profit centres, huh?

Mr. Hoh: Hey! You be careful what you be yappin'!

Me: Have I missed something?

Mr. Ham: I say! That's unwarranted! I will have you know, human, that I direct no less than fifty percent of what I earn to the actual needy! Half! That's more than most Cults, and even some non-Cult organizations! It was a major factor in us achieving our ISO certification, by the way.

Me: And the other fifty percent?

Mr. Ham: *indignantly* Why, it all goes to the Ultimate Ancestor, His Name Be Uttered Lovingly By All His Children.

Me: Really.

Mr. Ham: Yes! Every weekend, after I set aside the half for the impoverished, I grab the other half and fling it skywards for the Ancestor, and what He wants, He takes!

Me: *rubbing chin* And so far, He's been very generous.

Mr. Ham: You got it. Who am I to question His decisions?

Mr. Hoh: Pah! I burn a check for de full amount to de Final Keeper. He's hasn't drawn on the account much, so I's just borrow a bit here and there whens I needs to. The Final Keeper understands, it's all good if we donst go too much.



Me: Has it occurred to you two that some of your followers might indeed be serious?

Mr. Ham: Undoubtedly! We'd not stoop to laughing at others' sincerity, as long as they do the right thing and pay up regularly. Though sometimes, a slight smile might be warranted.


It's simply not polite like that.
(Source: mangapanda.com)


Mr. Hoh: I apologize, esteemed human, but this has gone on for too long. *to Mr. Ham* Our golf game with High Protector El-Azzar and Jon The Thrice Returned is on in ten minutes. The usual bet, one day of unopposed sales rights for each hole?

Mr. Ham: You're on!



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