thestateofman

When I try to describe yesterday's play, I find that I keep reaching for the word 'fabulous'. It truly was. The pacing, acting, set, SCRIPT, etc. were all fully satisfactory and professional. Actually, it might've been the contrast with The Screwtape Letters, but in all unadulterated perspective it was excellent. I heartily recommend it. I would write abit more but I have resigned myself to not have the flair or makings of any sort of critic except the sarcastic kind.

Before the play, I had lunch-dinner conglomerate with Seth at the Ichiban Sushi outlet at IMM. We inhaled a lot of rice and condiments, and I headed down to Swisshotel to meet Junsheng and Jo at the New Asia Bar which sits prettily at the seventieth-frickin-floor of the building. THE VIEWS, WERE ZAWSOME. I truly believe that you can see all the way to Hougang from up there. Fantastic.

After the play, we went to have drinks and convoluted conversation. Right now, I am having one of those biblical struggles. You know the struggles that the people in the bible had to go through to attain The Ultimate Prize, The Promised Land? Currently, I am supposed to be running and doing other healthful activities to attain Low Blood Pressure and Abdominals, but as I was walking past the kitchen into the yard to grab my socks, I strolled past an entire basket of Twiggies. Yes, the Twinkie rip-off produced by Gardenia (which, in my opinion, is just slightly less delicious than LCR) with the caption 'Choc-A-Lot' printed in red on the packaging. There really is an entire, gorgeous, overflowing basket of it, and I have a microwave, butter, dark chocolate and ice cream. Oh Lord of Fitness Deliver Me. Why does my own mother and Tampines Zone '7' GRC love doing this to me so much? I open the fridge and there are cold spring rolls and prawn fritters left over from yesterday's Let's Make Tampines Our Best Home exhibition; when I use the computer there is a stack of chicken-wing-stuffed styrofoam boxes from the Community: You and Me event right beside me, on the table, oozing the oily, delicious scent that only a styrofoam box of fried chicken can produce.

I WILL NOT SUCCUMB. Will not, will not, will not.

reeeeeech