Monday, 13th March '06
Fire Burn and Cauldron BUBBLE!
I couldn't think of any other cheesy bubble-related quote, I apologise. But (due to popular demand, *chuckle*) I have to blog this before I forget to.
International Night at Dalhousie today... it's this event organised by the University in which they get students to perform cultural items from their home country, and the rest of us less-enthusiatic folks get to sit around and satisfy our cravings for being mean and sarcastic. About the performances, of course. Although if you're the legendary grumpy David you could also be mean and sarcastic to plump Tim Hortons waitresses in Moncton, to the dopehead who stole your salami and to the unsuspecting Rogers salesgirl who should not be able to live with herself, and gleefully repeat those stories 8 times a day.
But anyway. I haven't done serious reviewing on this blog since... Brian Wilson released "SMiLE". I'm not about to really waste effort on the performances today. Some were enjoyable, mostly the African dances - well, it wasn't spectacular but they had fun and for the most part I think the audience did too. Some had some admirable effort put in - a trio of ballet dancers seemed to do ok. Some were downright awful.
Man, the PRC girl who did a "Classic Chinese Modern Ballet" solo? I get SO ANNOYED when people like that put their work up for show and do something that completely doesn't reflect our people. Please don't go up in front of the world (as it were), and claim to be doing Classic Chinese Dance when you're waving your arms around like... well... I can't find anything comparable, but I know both my 80 year old grandmother and my 11 year old niece could do better than that. And the Modern Ballet part... I wish Tzo were there with me, we would have torn her unpointed toes, costume choice and general blah-ness to pieces. And this has nothing to do with my being anti-PRC.
And the Pakistani dude who sang something that I'm sure wasn't reflective of his culture either... it was like watching a bad scene from American Idol, except that Simon was not around to make us laugh at the end of it. It was like listening to the stuff the mosques at Arab Street blast at noon on Fridays - but without the tunefulness, richness of tone or, really, any sense musicality whatsoever. Rob quipped something about this being the song of the hundred dying cows... that was about right. People started getting up and going to the bathroom just to have somewhere else to go. And business at the alcohol table suddenly got brisker. Hell, if he had gone on any longer even I might have needed a drink.
So the performances were a disappointment, but the food was pretty decent. We really should have done the tupperware thing and took some home, but *shrug*.
And given the lack-luster performances, the entertainment highlight of the night was undoubtedly the poor ol' Bubble Boy. See, sweet little Armando, upon returning home blind-drunk last Saturday night, discovered a large-ish blister on the top of his foot. Or "bubble", as he insists on calling it. Of course he doesn't know how it got there (hence the emphasis on blind-drunk), but the real kicker is the fact that he's NEVER HAD A BUBBLE IN HIS LIFE. Never. I don't even know how that's possible. I've had blisters from inline skating, figure skating, writing too much, simply just walking in new shoes, sewing, playing guitar... and Armando is on His Virgin Bubble. It just blows my mind.
So Rob promised him it would be gone by Monday. Without the benefit of hindsight, I would have said the same thing. Tueday, tops. Heck, just burst the damnned thing with a sterile needle. Gone in 60 Seconds. In the days I was picking them up like they were free after each Sunday's skate, I used to just snip them with a nail clipper (needless to say Mum wasn't too happy about that).
Did Armando's precious bubble burst? Oh no no. Heaven knows what he was doing, but tonight, the next Sunday (read: 9 days later), the abomination was still on his foot. Apparently he likes to stroke it, caress it, pat it, because it's nice and soft and smooth. The little perv. Even so, he must have been feeding it royal jelly and ginseng or something because BLISTERS JUST DON'T LAST THAT LONG.
And if you thought that was enough to enter Bubble Boy here into Ripley's Believe It or Not's Hall of Fame, you will not believe how sincerely concerned his was about how the bubble would impair his future health. You'd think the silly bubble was on his prostate or something, the way he carried antiseptic everywhere he went for fear the bubble would burst. Oh, how he worried about infections that could set in when it eventually burst. What should I do about it, he asked in all earnestness.
WRONG QUESTION TO ASK WHEN YOU HAVE CLOWNS LIKE ROB AND DAVE AROUND.
So the dinnertime bubble-related conversations went something like this (and I may take some artistic liberties with the actual words used, but you'll get the drift): -
Bubble Boy: What do I do about the bubble? I still have the bubble. I like to touch it 'coz it's very soft...
David: Burst it.
Rob: Drink the pus. It's good for you.
David: Piss on it.
BB: What? Really?
David: Yeah, you know. Urinate on it.
BB: Yes, I heard pee was good for treating some things... I just didn't know if it would work for the bubble...
Rob: Yes, yes. This is one of those things. Pee on it, it's very good for it. Kills the bacteria.
BB actually sits there and seriously considers the option.
By now I don't know whether to laugh at Armando's utter lack of knowledge about the simple blister, or to tell him the two cocksters have been pulling his leg. I am already imploding in my efforts to suppress my laughter.
BB: Maybe I should go to the doctor.
Rob: Yeah, you should. Get the antiseptic for it. Go, go to the doctor tomorrow.
BB: But I already carry the antiseptic everywhere I go.
It is at this highly opportune moment that the Bubble Decides to Burst. Armando's eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up into his hairline.
BB: It just burst.
Me: You gotta be kidding. Now?!
BB: What should I do?
Rob: It's ok, don't worry, you can see the doctor tomorrow.
Armando hobbles out of the dining hall, presumably to attend to the bubble's funeral and recite a eulogy in the privacy of the men's room.
Me: Is he serious about never having had a blister before? Why's he so serious about it? Does he REALLY not know it's JUST a blister? Maybe one of you should go check on him.
David: Nah, he needs some private time alone with it.
Armando returns from dealing with the bubble. Unfortunately for him, he comes to rest with his foot on top of a few water sprinkles on the parquet.
David: Stop it. You're leaking all over the floor.
And Armando actually looks down at his feet in concern.
That was the straw that broke this camel's back. As far as I'm concerned, if someone honestly doesn't know ANYTHING about something as commonplace as blisters, he really deserves no mercy. So the next time Armando brought up the same question about what to do with the blister...
Rob: Really, just piss on it.
BB: You really think I should do that? Will it work?
Me: Just, whatever you do, don't pull off the skin. If you do, you'll cry [I'm actually being serious here, if he knows nothing about blisters he could very well make that mistake and regret it for the next week.]
David: [obviously not half as kind] Rip it off.
David: The skin. Over the blister. Just rip if off.
BB: [some unintelligible comment about antiseptic again]
Me: Forget antiseptic. Try some salt. [feels minorly guilty because if he really does peel the skin off and put salt on it... OW.]
Me: Yeah. Osmosis; it kills the germs, you know...
Rob: That's how the urine works too!
BB: But I'm afraid of the grains. What if they rub against the skin and scratch it...
Me: ... [thinks: you have got to be KIDDING. He can't seriously think I was giving him real advice.]
Rob: Not grains of salt! Like salt water!
BB: Oh, ok.
I know this is being read by non-Singaporeans, but I have only one word to describe my ensuing response, and it's not really translatable:
And if you thought that was all the silliness that Armando could bring to the table for one night, think again. It was time for us to be introduced (well, kind of) to Pasqual. I may not spell Pasqual right, but that's how it sounds.
What happened was that Dave, Rob and I were having some conversation about something - I forget what - and none of us had spoken a word to Armando for a good length of time. Suddenly he laughed. OUT LOUD. At nothing in particular.
Rob: What? What are you laughing at?
Armando: Oh, he told me a joke.
Me: He? Who's he?
We're the only 4 people at a table that could have sat 8. Which means that to Armando's right are nothing but empty chairs and excess cutlery.
Armando: He! [Gestures towards the empty chair to his right.] He told me a joke.
David: Who is "He"? Where is "He"?
Armando: My friend! [Continues to wave his hand in the direction of aforementioned empty chair] My friend here just told me a joke.
Rob, David and I stare in bewilderment at the empty chair that "He" is supposedly sitting on.
Rob: Your friend... just told you a joke.
Rob: [Looks from Armando to the empty chair and back to Armando again.] Is "He"... um... _here_?
Armando: Oh yes yes, he's here.
Rob: Armando, there's no one th...
Armando: I NEED A DRINK.
Armando shoots up from his chair as if shot, and makes a beeline for the alcohol table.
David: What is he talking about? There's no one there. There's no one sitting on that chair.
Me: He's kinda confused...
Rob: Is it because no one talked to him for some period of time? So he sort of laughed to get attention? As in to bring attention back to him? And that it's his friend that told him a joke - is that the joke? Is that what he's saying?
David: Or he's just schizo.
Me: Could be.
Armando returns with his second vodka and tonic.
David: What's up, Russell?
Me: More like... John Nash. *Note to self: is bad state when starting to understand David's slightly random pop culture references.
Rob: Armando... [gently] do you have... an imaginary friend? An imaginary friend who told you the joke?
Armando: My friend told me a joke, so I laughed.
Rob: Yes, but you friend is he HERE. Right now?
Armando: [completely oblivious to our mounting confuzzlement] Yes yes he's here.
Rob: Right here? Sitting next to you?
Me: What's your friend's name?
Armando: Pasqual. He's my friend from Mexico. We went to school together.
Rob: And he just told you a joke?
Armando: Yeah, when I laughed just now, it was because he told me the joke.
Rob: ... and Pasqual is sitting on that chair next to you? [Eyes directed towards gloriously EMPTY chair next to Armando.]
Me: I swear, if Pasqual is another name for "Little Armando"...
Rob: Armando, WHAT is going on? [We all stare at Armando with puzzlement written all over our faces.]
Armando: I think YOU NEED A DRINK.
Anyways, to cut a long story short, Pasqual (whom we never actually saw) was not an imaginery friend. He was a physical human being whom Armando studied with in Mexico, and by sheer coincidence ran into again at Dal. He had actually walked past our table while Rob and Dave and I were talking and whispered a joke to Armando as he past, such that by the time Armando laughed and we looked around, he was gone. The whole thing was just so absurd... we spent so long trying to figure out if Pasqual was a real person - simply because Armando just couldn't come out and say it properly, and after the bubble debacle, we were quite ready to believe any stupid thing Armando did.
Sigh. Ok, getting really sleepy. Off to bed now.
[1 photograph developed.]
ahahahahhahahahahaa. *ROTFLMAO* OMG that was HILARIOUS!!!! *hahahahahahah* omg. the bubble thing. when you said 'virgin bubble' that really really did me in *ROTFL* and then the imaginary friend....*ROTFLMAO*