Sideview mirrors, checked. Rearview mirrors? Checked. Gas tank, water, etc? Checked, checked, checked.

"We're not going onto the freeway today, right?"

Right. Phew. At the rate I was going, I think it did all the Californians on the way to the beach on this warm Saturday a lot of good. But too bad for those off the highway, because there I was, making turns too wide and drifting into the middle of two lanes because I kept forgetting that these guys drive on the OTHER side of the road.

And let's not forget the SUV on my left that skidded in a puddle just as it was turning next to me. And the accident I passed just a few miles from home. And the realisation that my eyeballs aren't as coordinated as I thought they were. switching lanes and having to turn and look over my shoulders is a bitch.

And let's not forget, too, that I'm an adult learner here. Probably the only one in the tri-state area. A fact made extremely clear to me today as I got behind the wheel, and abruptly went around the bend.

The instructor had arrived at noon with his previous student, a blond, chatty sprite clad in very short denim shorts, and as she was driving home, with me in the backseat, I made the mistake of asking her age.

"Fifteen," she said, waiting for me to offer my age. I didn't. Mainly because I was recovering from how unexpected her reply was. I was guessing, maybe, nineteen.

And then it hit me. Like a collision with a four-tonner. She's half my age. As in... I'm TWICE her freakin' age! Wait a sec here! I've only used these comparisons in the context of dirty old men, and older women dating younger dudes. For example: "What the hell is he doing with her? She's twice his age!" Or "Eeeeee. That uncle checking me out is so gross! I'm like half his age!"

Nevermind that I said before that I didn't feel my age. TODAY I FELT LIKE AN AUNTY.

Reality? Checked.

Maybe that's why uncles are checking me out these days. I'm closer to their own age group.

this weekend, I got to be a teenager again.

Just for about 16 hours, spread over two days, a mere fleeting moment compared to the amount of time I will spend as an adult, I was enrolled among teenagers in a programme especially catered to teenagers. And shy of a few extra 10-plus years on them, I was entirely qualified to participate.

Yes. It was Teen Driving School. And not just any teen driving school, mind you. It was the Masterdrive Two-Day Skills Programme.

Nevermind that at twenty-ten years old, I had never got around to learning how to drive.

Nevermind that it's so unlikely in America for adults to NOT know how to drive that all driver ed programmes are classified as Teen Driving.

Nevermind that the two-day programme is catered specifically as a defensive course, crucial for all learning drivers to take in order to be well-prepared in the event of the need to avoid crashes and poor road conditions.

Nevermind that I was the only person among 27 students way above the age of 17.

Nevermind that the school was opened by a man who lost his own daughter in a car accident in 1986, 20 years ago.

Nevermind that I kicked ass in the skid-recovery segment and received a standing ovation from the coaches AND the owner himself.

Nevermind that I will be less of a hazard on the road once I get behind the wheel.

What matters is that I got to play teenager again, and FEEL like a teenager again. Who would have thought that being surrounded by pimply, obnoxious teens would make you feel like a 14-year-old again. Ha.

Starting to feel my age? WHAT RUBBISH.

been trolling the blogs of singaporeans on this oh-great-day and here's a question... how come we like to say "our nation" instead of "our country"? conjures up images of uniform (and uniformed) students reciting the pledge along with concepts of nation-building. Try along the lines of I love my nation, or it has been 41 years since our nation came into its own. Give it a shot and hear how it rolls out on your tongue. Kinda cheesy, no? like reading brochure. do we really talk like that? Ya. I think so.

a bit creepy.

WHAT IS UP with current handbag trends and why are people spending on them the cost of surgery or a year's food and medicine for children in countries plagued by war and famine?

Not that I'm against spending copious amounts of money on bags if you have more than enough moolah to go around. But who died and said you had to listen to the marketeers and brand gurus about what's good lookin and what isn't? I mean... if some kid without a label designed the fendi spybag, would you pay as much? ah HAH! Its the branding and marketeering at work!

I mean. seriously. a handbag defined by merriam webster online says its a bag held in the hand or hung from a shoulder strap and used for carrying small personal articles and money. Ya we all know that. But it doesn't say that you have to spend anywhere from $300 (wow! what a steal!) to $14,000 and up for it. But look at what chicks with less than Paris Hilton's expense account are carrying and striving to carry! Seeing the branded bags that women are toting around and getting all in a tizzy over, I'm inclined to think that the world's gone mad.

Especially also because since the beginning of the millenium, bags have just gone UGLY.

Is UGLY the new BEAUTIFUL?

I chalked the thousands-of-dollars Fendi spybag trend to the 9/11 episode, which has all these secret compartments and what not, to carry all covert forms of cosmetics and lethal concoctions of eau de parfum to be used against dangerous fashion terroristas, and perhaps that odd bottle of mace in case someone tried to run off with the bag that costs more than its contents.

Engineering genius? perhaps. And I've always been a fan of Fendi. But look at the bag and tell me it doesn't remind you of a nightmare you had as a child. Or of wrinkly testicles... in an array of colours that resemble diarrhetic brown and shades of vomit green. I mean... SERIOUSLY.











(But having said that, the Fendi mink spy bag is gorgeous, esp since it doesn't look like the handles have thorny whiskers and the body has creepy ringworm markings, so it doesn't really count in the ugly line-up. Still, at $9,500?)

And then a friend mentioned the Chloe Paddington bag (is that, like, one bag or all her bags?), which i'm told "everybody is carrying". And then another friend chimed in on its absolute fabulousness (is that even a word?) and another said its a "must have" and I'm thinking... maybe this handbag designer is worth checking out. After all, a must-have is a must-have, right?













(black croc skin number is US$13,000, according to one website.)

I confess, i like these better than the spybag (excluding the mink), even if its still too busy for my tastes. But the padlock? Ok. maybe I'm not so informed about this designer, or schooled in the subtleties of name-association and branding, but I'm a sucker for nitpicking the obvious and I couldn't help but wonder if the PADlock is supposed to be a play on the designer's name PADdington, which would be somewhat tragic for the lack of subtlety. Regardless, it is a NICE padlock, even though the practicality of it is questionable. Does it work or is it purely for ornamental purposes? or deterrence? And if it does serve some security purpose, why break the padlock when u can cut through the base? Because you'd destroy the bag and devalue it? Urm, ok. So people would steal the bag for the bag and not the contents? AHHHHH.

That's why some people call it "investment." I remember when I was packing up to move from Asia to the States, the moving company had advised us to itemise any branded bags under the category of "prized possessions". That's what bags are today and that's why people spend this kind of money on them. Its art. Art that you carry around and worry about whether you've spilled that drop of wine on or if your makeup leaked onto the monogrammed interior. Art that you can appreciate not because people will stop and gawk at it, impressed at your choice of accessory and representation of your lifestyle, but because you know its a personal and private reflection of your finer tastes. *cough*

And unless, again, you've got more than enough cash to spend guiltlessly, I suppose that thinking of it as art and investment diminishes the guilt of spending $10k on a bag. And you don't have to worry about waking up one day and finding out that, horror of horrors, your multi-thousand-dollar bag is so hideous it frightens your child, and the brand and bragging rights can no longer make up for it. Because art doesn't always have to be beautiful. Much of it is ugly and raw and sensationally grotesque. Like Damian Hurst's.

The hopeful side of me, however, is contemplating the possibility that people are starting to see the merits of paying good money for function over form, seeing how Fugly (fucking-ugly, for the less informed) is the new Rage, and that these bags do seem to serve more than the simple function of carrying the odd wallet or random cellphone or occasional loose change. Who knows what's next? We've already got the spybag. How about the SWATbag? or the AMDbag? Bring it on, I say. Before you know it, luxury handbags will be able to stop the world's evil, leap buildings in a single bound, and defuse nuclear bombs without the risk of chipping a nail.

Maybe ladies are getting smarter, learning to spend their expendable cash on something that boasts efficiency over aesthetics. Dare I hope its a reflection of today's climate of practicality and common sense as women drive the evolution of retail therapy forward in a direction that would fascilitate the betterment of the global community. Dare I hope that fashion and common sense are finally, and definitively, one. Dare I hope its one small step for the fashion world, and one big leap for shoppers everywhere.

Dare I hope I'm not smoking too much crack.