We decided to give the fancy-schmancy Times Square countdown a miss mainly because we all are rather claustrophobic and having little or no access to heat, food and sanitation is an extremely big turnoff for me. I can do jungle trekking, mountain climbing and all the treacherous activities out there in the great outdoors but ask me to stand in a 50,000 strong crowd in the middle of winter for nothing rewarding or fulfilling except to see the drop of a bloody ball and the subsequent bragging rights of said ball is pretty vacuous.
And being intelligent beings, we decided to usher in the New Year in a place less crowded but potentially claustrophobia-inducing. We headed to Hiro Club in the West Village and while the entry fee was ridiculously steep, we were all ready to enter. Only to be rejected by the bitchy door bitch 5 minutes later because the girls were not dressed up to the club's standards (read: slutty stilettos, slutty bodycon dress, slutty make-up, slutty clutches, slutty everything.)
I hope the bitch burns in ugly hell.
So, bitterness and a little angst ensued. I mean c'mon, it's an Asian Club. It's New Year's eve. Why the discrimination, right?
Either way, we ended up at my favorite place in the city, a tiny gay bar called Pieces. To cut a 3-hour celebratory story short, the only straight guy in our group got hit on, a girl tried chatting up a "very-cute" gay man, another girl got dead wasted (tsk, tsk) and the last girl did not approve of my "slutty" dance moves. For me, an investment banker tried picking me up and when he failed, his Caucasian acquaintance moved in.
This morning, I woke up with someone else in my bed. But it was only just my friend, with a full, complete set of breasts and vagina to boot.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
End of something awesome
From where I stand, 2011 is the year of all years, and for the many subsequent ones that are to come, well, they have some pretty huge shoes to fill. Just the simple fact of spending a good half of 2011 in New York City has made this year one hell of a bitch to compete with. I had dreamed of coming to the Big Apple since 2006 - the culmination of my Junior College days- and the appeal of fashion and the draw of theater pointed to one place and one place only.
Five years later, fashion is gone from my ever-changing list of interests, and theater is on a steady, perpetual decline into oblivion. At least that was what I felt (and feared, actually) but when I watched my very first Broadway production, the sensational, "just-fucking-amazing!" musical The Book of Mormon, something inside me was reawakened. It was everything I had dreamed of, theater-wise. A script that appears frivolous, slapstick and on many occasions, completely ridiculous, but its plot and narrative run much deeper than the cheesy levity of the dialogue. More importantly, musical numbers are employed to drive the cows home. Brilliant? You bet.
Earlier today, I caught Chinglish, by David Henry Hwang, who also had penned the script for M.Butterfly two decades ago. It was great but I felt that turning it into a musical would have even been better. Then again, I was being biased. I am too in love with musicals.
Exactly a week from now, I will be back home in Singapore and my seven-month stint in America would have come to an end. There are many things that I had seen and experienced and some, I wish I hadn't but they came along and I could do nothing but take them in my stride. There are many people I had met and I'm grateful for their company, their kindness and their hospitality but it's precisely their tad exaggerated gestures that reminded me that NYC is not home.
Right from the start, I didn't bother to assimilate myself into the American culture. Perhaps it was the xenophobia that bred among us when the onslaught of PRCs invaded Singapore that taught me about the divide between locals and foreigners. I am a foreigner here and I do not mind being seen and treated as such. (And yes, that's a little jibe to them Mainland Chinese for their crude and unseemly takeover.)
Still, it has been the best seven months of my life and now, I am really excited to head home. Well, at least I will be after I'm done with the ridiculous amount of packing I have to go through by Tuesday.
Five years later, fashion is gone from my ever-changing list of interests, and theater is on a steady, perpetual decline into oblivion. At least that was what I felt (and feared, actually) but when I watched my very first Broadway production, the sensational, "just-fucking-amazing!" musical The Book of Mormon, something inside me was reawakened. It was everything I had dreamed of, theater-wise. A script that appears frivolous, slapstick and on many occasions, completely ridiculous, but its plot and narrative run much deeper than the cheesy levity of the dialogue. More importantly, musical numbers are employed to drive the cows home. Brilliant? You bet.
Earlier today, I caught Chinglish, by David Henry Hwang, who also had penned the script for M.Butterfly two decades ago. It was great but I felt that turning it into a musical would have even been better. Then again, I was being biased. I am too in love with musicals.
Exactly a week from now, I will be back home in Singapore and my seven-month stint in America would have come to an end. There are many things that I had seen and experienced and some, I wish I hadn't but they came along and I could do nothing but take them in my stride. There are many people I had met and I'm grateful for their company, their kindness and their hospitality but it's precisely their tad exaggerated gestures that reminded me that NYC is not home.
Right from the start, I didn't bother to assimilate myself into the American culture. Perhaps it was the xenophobia that bred among us when the onslaught of PRCs invaded Singapore that taught me about the divide between locals and foreigners. I am a foreigner here and I do not mind being seen and treated as such. (And yes, that's a little jibe to them Mainland Chinese for their crude and unseemly takeover.)
Still, it has been the best seven months of my life and now, I am really excited to head home. Well, at least I will be after I'm done with the ridiculous amount of packing I have to go through by Tuesday.
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