Before I get a scathing e-mail or comment that this post is doing nothing but stroking my self-important and self-anointed "Oh I'm famous" ass, let me start off by saying that I do not think, for a nanosecond of my simple middle-class life that I am remotely famous in any denomination whatsoever.
Yes, the visibility of Lepak One Korner and A Son Of A Peach is increasing, but no, I do not think I qualify to call myself (and nor do I think my body of work warrants such a title) the slightest bit of a celebrity.
And this disassociation with the whole "fame game" on my part is the reason why I get tongue tied whenever someone comes and say hello or to tell me how much they love my work.
I'll be honest, there have been an increasing number of times when someone would approach me and I'll just stand there for a good 5 seconds just not knowing what to do or say. Many times it would just be a lot of smiling and a little "thank you". Sometimes, it would just be an endless splatter of "thank you so much, thanks, thank you, thank you".
Whenever I re-think about the whole incident and replay the entire scene in my head moments after it had happened, I can't help but feel slightly stupid.
"You could have asked for their name and asked them to follow you on Twitter, to look out for you next video, to subscribe to SGAG on Facebook, Twitter and YouTube, to help spread the word and continue with their support instead of just saying thank you, god!" Star said, rolling her eyes when I told her over dinner last night during the group's usual outing.
"Someone is obviously a bigger fame whore than all of us combined," Melanie said, eyes still scanning the menu.
"Oh shut up! All I'm doing is to increase awareness and make our friend here more famous!" Star raised her voice.
People were starting to look at our table.
"Not because you will be the best friend of a celebrity in the near future?" Melanie shot back.
"Well I was his friend when he was a nobody so screw you!" Star huffed, slouching back to her head.
"Guys, stop, I'm not a celebrity, I find this whole celebrity thing slightly far fetched to be honest," I explained to them.
"But not an impossible feat considering the amount of attention that you've been gradually receiving in public," Steve smiled.
"Oh Steve, I don't know, this is all happening too early and too fast," I laughed.
Just then a waiter came to our table and started taking our orders. Right before he left, he begrudgingly smiled at me and softly asked, "You're that guy in Lepak One Korner right?"
Almost machine-like, I instantly smiled and nodded my head.
"You're funny, I like your work and your friend is hilarious too," he smiled.
"Thank you so much," I kept nodding.
"And don't forget to follow him on Twitter and help spread the word okay? And look out for his next video!" Star suddenly chipped in.
"Sure will!" the waiter said and left to key in our orders.
"What? I was just helping..." Star shrugged.
P/S: Thank you all for your support and do continue to like the pages, videos on YouTube and Twitter and continue spreading the love. I'm still new to this whole thing so pardon my awkwardness if you all ever had the opportunity to meet me in public. I'm as starstruck at your love for me.
Mr. H
Friday, September 13, 2013
She's Just Bein' Miley
Let's keep this post short and simple shall we? Much have already been said about Miley Cyrus's performance during the MTV Video Awards and her two music videos We Can't Stop and Wrecking Ball.
Ironic. Since she can't stop being a wreck.
And oh, don't put "Art" into your desire to purposely be overtly sexual and controversial. If you love pain, don't lick the fucking sledgehammer. Lick a life-sized poster of Liam.
And honey, all Britney did to shed her Disney image was to show her midriff, a bit of boobs and she danced with an albino snake.
Learn, and stop sticking out your damn tongue all the time.
98361572 people got an STD infection from just watching that performance.
P/S: Artists grow, change and evolve. I get that. But you're doing it wrong. Such a pity. You've got a great voice. If only your twerking skills is as good. And since it's not, stop that rubbish too.
Ironic. Since she can't stop being a wreck.
And oh, don't put "Art" into your desire to purposely be overtly sexual and controversial. If you love pain, don't lick the fucking sledgehammer. Lick a life-sized poster of Liam.
And honey, all Britney did to shed her Disney image was to show her midriff, a bit of boobs and she danced with an albino snake.
Learn, and stop sticking out your damn tongue all the time.
98361572 people got an STD infection from just watching that performance.
P/S: Artists grow, change and evolve. I get that. But you're doing it wrong. Such a pity. You've got a great voice. If only your twerking skills is as good. And since it's not, stop that rubbish too.
Monday, August 26, 2013
100K Of Happiness
I rarely look at numbers and statistics pertaining to A Son Of A Peach not because I'm weak in Math (terrible to be honest) but because I feel like there is no need for me to be swayed by numbers and figures in the first place. But sadly, there is nothing more emotionally gratifying than seeing huge numbers because let's face it: numbers (especially in staggering units) is a good gauge of success.
I'm not trying to be utterly presumptuous here to say that A Son Of A Peach is a successful blog (it is right?) but what started out as a humble attempt to spread joy and laughter to friends near and far; it has thankfully grown only from strength to strength.
Granted, these days the entries come in at a rather glacial pace but that is only because there is only 24 hours in a day and there is just so many things that I an manage to do in a single day. But don;t you worry, A Son Of A Peach is here to stay.
So 100K unique views eh? Not that shabby for a complete unknown and especially so after being in existence (the blog, not me) for a mere 10 months.
But that's not what I'm writing this celebratory blog post for. See in a fit of ecstasy, I have shamelessly shared this piece of news on Facebook and my ex English teacher, Mr Iaan had validated my efforts for the past 10 months with a succinct "Welcome" when I thanked everyone on Facebook for their support.
That can only mean one thing: My ex English teacher reads my blog. That feeling was equal parts enthralling as much as it is nerve-wrecking.
Nerve-wrecking because you can't quite shake off the fact that your ex English teacher is reading your blog and judging (or quietly corrupting) your grammar.
Once a teacher, always a teacher.
Oh what do you know? I have always been (or I'd like to think) an ace English student. I enjoyed English lessons with every single fibre and pore of my body. There have never been a single day where I dread going for an English lesson. I suppose this stemmed from the fact that I understood the relevance and charm of a well spoken man than a man who can apply Pythagoras Theorem when picking up hot strangers in a club.
And that was all I wanted to be. I wanted to speak well, write in a grammatically perfect manner and have an extensive vocabulary longer that Lindsay Lohan's DUI arrests.
The joy of learning the English language is further fueled by the existence of Mr Iaan. From the start, he wasn't the cookie cutter type of educator. The first lesson was him, in a neatly pressed white paisley printed shirt, openly chiding my other classmates and their inability to differentiate between a noun, verb and an adjective.
This was particularly worrying because our "O" Level examinations was just 9 months away. I, of course knew what was what but had kept my silent to impress him with our first ever composition handout.
I have learned more things in that 9 months than 9 years of learning English in school. Not the technicality of the language per se but the freedom of expression. And isn't that what language is all about? Mr Iaan's lesson is never devoid of puns and laughter and a gracious sense of healthy competition amongst classmates.
And that joy of writing, expressing and immense amount of creativity has only led me to this, and more. So thank you Mr Iaan for setting the highest example of what it means like to do what you enjoy, and to live their life, one grammatically perfect sentence at a time.
Apocalypse Technology
The thing about living in an era of machines and limitless technology is that it makes us lazy sons of peaches.
Much have been discussed, written, reported, studied, debated and argues about this topic but one doesn't really realize the severity of the situation until technology and machinery itself is being taken away from us abruptly and we are left hanging in the darkness of simplicity and involuntary manual labour.
Three days ago, Melanie came back home from work only to realize that there is a maintenance work on both elevators at the condominium where she's living.
Melanie lives on the 22nd floor.
To make things worst, she was wearing a pair of 5 inch Nine West heels from work.
"I took it off by the 8th storey. I am not that stupid," she talked to me on the phone yesterday.
"Well you're stupid enough to wear 5 inch stilettos to work in the first place. What the hell Mel, you're a hairdresser. You're on your feet the whole time. Hello? Common sense?" I teased her.
"Are you going to let me finish or not?" she snapped, visibly (aurally, really) agitated.
"Fine....go ahead," I laughed.
"So I took off my shoes and climbed another 14 storeys back to my apartment only to realize that the elevators are working when I have already reached my gate. I'm a woman! How could they do this to me? I was sweating and the soles of my feet were dirtier than the insides of Star's vagina!" Melanie whined on the phone.
"Well in all honesty you're not a wo..."
"Shut up Harry! I know what I am!" she cut me off halfway.
"Okay..."
There was a moment of silence. Melanie continued.
"And guess what? As if one machine breakdown in a day is not enough, an electrical crisis has to happen. My toilet light bulb got spoiled and I had to change the lightbulbs. Me. Changing lightbulbs. That's mens work!" she raised her voice.
I chuckled.
"Oh stop it Harry! When I was a man I didn't know how to fix lightbulbs. I won't know how to do so even as a woman urgh!"
I laughed so hard I dropped my phone (thankfully on my fluffy mattress).
But this incident really got me thinking about the dependency of the human race and modern technology. Can we really live without it? All while sipping iced tea that's been perfectly chilled i my new Mitsubishi eco-friendly fridge.
Much have been discussed, written, reported, studied, debated and argues about this topic but one doesn't really realize the severity of the situation until technology and machinery itself is being taken away from us abruptly and we are left hanging in the darkness of simplicity and involuntary manual labour.
Three days ago, Melanie came back home from work only to realize that there is a maintenance work on both elevators at the condominium where she's living.
Melanie lives on the 22nd floor.
To make things worst, she was wearing a pair of 5 inch Nine West heels from work.
"I took it off by the 8th storey. I am not that stupid," she talked to me on the phone yesterday.
"Well you're stupid enough to wear 5 inch stilettos to work in the first place. What the hell Mel, you're a hairdresser. You're on your feet the whole time. Hello? Common sense?" I teased her.
"Are you going to let me finish or not?" she snapped, visibly (aurally, really) agitated.
"Fine....go ahead," I laughed.
"So I took off my shoes and climbed another 14 storeys back to my apartment only to realize that the elevators are working when I have already reached my gate. I'm a woman! How could they do this to me? I was sweating and the soles of my feet were dirtier than the insides of Star's vagina!" Melanie whined on the phone.
"Well in all honesty you're not a wo..."
"Shut up Harry! I know what I am!" she cut me off halfway.
"Okay..."
There was a moment of silence. Melanie continued.
"And guess what? As if one machine breakdown in a day is not enough, an electrical crisis has to happen. My toilet light bulb got spoiled and I had to change the lightbulbs. Me. Changing lightbulbs. That's mens work!" she raised her voice.
I chuckled.
"Oh stop it Harry! When I was a man I didn't know how to fix lightbulbs. I won't know how to do so even as a woman urgh!"
I laughed so hard I dropped my phone (thankfully on my fluffy mattress).
But this incident really got me thinking about the dependency of the human race and modern technology. Can we really live without it? All while sipping iced tea that's been perfectly chilled i my new Mitsubishi eco-friendly fridge.
Monday, August 19, 2013
Hari Raya For WAGs
Well, I suppose it's only right that I do a Hari Raya post, and that too on the 12th day.
I have been immensely busy with work and brainstorming ideas for videos with SGAG (which I hope you guys are enjoying thoroughly) and truth be told, nothing exciting has happened during Hari Raya worthy enough to warrant a blog post.
Between my mum fussing over what to wear on a weekly basis to pesky relatives asking me when I'm going to get married (cause I don't know, maybe they drive some kind of sick pleasure from asking the same goddamn question year after year) to me stuffing my face a record of six times in one short day, my Hari Raya have been fairly low key and free of drama (bawling my eyes out for forgiveness not included).
Oh I'm so sorry, how rude. Here's wishing all my Muslim readers a blessed Syawal and may this Hari Raya Aidilfitri bring you nothing but happiness and love with your loved ones.
Okay now that I've gotten that (genuine) formality out of the way, let's bring to you guys what you always come to this blog for: perverse sexuality.
This came from our dear Star, who along with Steve and Melanie has their first Raya housewarming experience at my Aunt's place yesterday afternoon. My aunt had invited them over to her house because she had remembered them fondly during that one time when they came to her son's wedding and (unanimously) complemented her on her striking figure even at the age of 55.
So the four of us were sitting at the balcony, just talking when Star suddenly said, "Oooh, who's that hottie?"
I looked in her direction and turns out, she was ogling at Zafar, my 18 year old cousin.
"Star, that is Zafar. You bought him and his baby brother a chocolate bar 3 years ago when you came to my house for my mum's birthday party?"
"Oh wow! He has grown up to be such a delicious looking boy!" Star squealed.
Melanie rolled her eyes and Steve just nodded indifferently as a form of response.
"He is only 18 Star for god's sake!" I angrily hushed at her, not wanting anybody (oh god forbid) to hear to our morally unbecoming conversation.
"18 is of a legal age, what are you talking about?" Star replied, not even once taking her eyes away from Zafar.
"I think he has a girlfriend Star. With a face like that, he is either gay or attached," Steve chuckled.
"Well one thing for sure I can definitely show him things that his 18 year old girlfriend can't," Star smiled cunningly.
"All right that's it, you're freaking me out with this newfound cougar-esque morality I'm going to have more pineapple tarts!" Melanie stood up and left.
"Don't ruin a kid's life. He is a budding national footballer if you must know!" I warned Star.
"Perfect! I can be a WAG, just like that. Oh wait, this is Singapore. Oh it's fine. I can be a low rent WAG, I can settle for that," Star smiled.
"A cheap ass cougar. How refreshing," I raised my eyebrows.
Steve chuckled.
"Fuck you! Don't rain on my parade bitch!" Star slapped Steve on his left arm. Hard.
"Football field. Don't rain your your football field," I laughed.
"Jealous assed bitches," Star rolled her eyes.
"Zafar, come say hello to my friends!" I called him.
He smiled and yes it was a damn perfect smile, and walked towards us.
"Remember my friends?" I asked him.
"Yes of course! Nice to meet you again Brother Steve and Kakak Star!" he smiled.
"KAKAK?! (elder sister)" Star shouted.
Steve and I rolled on the floor laughing.
I have been immensely busy with work and brainstorming ideas for videos with SGAG (which I hope you guys are enjoying thoroughly) and truth be told, nothing exciting has happened during Hari Raya worthy enough to warrant a blog post.
Between my mum fussing over what to wear on a weekly basis to pesky relatives asking me when I'm going to get married (cause I don't know, maybe they drive some kind of sick pleasure from asking the same goddamn question year after year) to me stuffing my face a record of six times in one short day, my Hari Raya have been fairly low key and free of drama (bawling my eyes out for forgiveness not included).
Oh I'm so sorry, how rude. Here's wishing all my Muslim readers a blessed Syawal and may this Hari Raya Aidilfitri bring you nothing but happiness and love with your loved ones.
Okay now that I've gotten that (genuine) formality out of the way, let's bring to you guys what you always come to this blog for: perverse sexuality.
This came from our dear Star, who along with Steve and Melanie has their first Raya housewarming experience at my Aunt's place yesterday afternoon. My aunt had invited them over to her house because she had remembered them fondly during that one time when they came to her son's wedding and (unanimously) complemented her on her striking figure even at the age of 55.
So the four of us were sitting at the balcony, just talking when Star suddenly said, "Oooh, who's that hottie?"
I looked in her direction and turns out, she was ogling at Zafar, my 18 year old cousin.
"Star, that is Zafar. You bought him and his baby brother a chocolate bar 3 years ago when you came to my house for my mum's birthday party?"
"Oh wow! He has grown up to be such a delicious looking boy!" Star squealed.
Melanie rolled her eyes and Steve just nodded indifferently as a form of response.
"He is only 18 Star for god's sake!" I angrily hushed at her, not wanting anybody (oh god forbid) to hear to our morally unbecoming conversation.
"18 is of a legal age, what are you talking about?" Star replied, not even once taking her eyes away from Zafar.
"I think he has a girlfriend Star. With a face like that, he is either gay or attached," Steve chuckled.
"Well one thing for sure I can definitely show him things that his 18 year old girlfriend can't," Star smiled cunningly.
"All right that's it, you're freaking me out with this newfound cougar-esque morality I'm going to have more pineapple tarts!" Melanie stood up and left.
"Don't ruin a kid's life. He is a budding national footballer if you must know!" I warned Star.
"Perfect! I can be a WAG, just like that. Oh wait, this is Singapore. Oh it's fine. I can be a low rent WAG, I can settle for that," Star smiled.
"A cheap ass cougar. How refreshing," I raised my eyebrows.
Steve chuckled.
"Fuck you! Don't rain on my parade bitch!" Star slapped Steve on his left arm. Hard.
"Football field. Don't rain your your football field," I laughed.
"Jealous assed bitches," Star rolled her eyes.
"Zafar, come say hello to my friends!" I called him.
He smiled and yes it was a damn perfect smile, and walked towards us.
"Remember my friends?" I asked him.
"Yes of course! Nice to meet you again Brother Steve and Kakak Star!" he smiled.
"KAKAK?! (elder sister)" Star shouted.
Steve and I rolled on the floor laughing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)