Ervin’s

Every February for the last 3 years, I find myself braving the harshest of weather conditions in New York City, all for the sake of creating quality TV entertainment for children.

You can almost always count on something going wrong in NYC in February as it bears the full brunt of winter. 2 years ago I was caught in the worst blizzard on record that closed all 3 airports, including the one where my departing plane spent almost 3 hours being de-iced before the flight was eventually called off. No fun, I assure you.

‘07 Blizzard. View from Airport hotel room.

Last year, my hotel had an electrical fire at 4am the night I checked in. Still stoned from the 19-hour flight, I  thought I was dreaming as hotel security came on the PA system, somehow managing to sound both relaxed and rattled at the same time. It wasn’t until I saw the fire engines downstairs and the smell of smoke from the corridor did it strike me. Foolishly, I went back to sleep and lived to tell the tale.

Pic courtesy of my ex-colleague who evacuated to the Sheraton Lobby as soon as the fire notice came on the PA, clearly intending to NOT DIE.

This year, fears of another blizzard seized again as it snowed on the first day I got in the Big Apple. This was followed by ice-cold rain the whole of next day (day 1 of the conference). Misery would have felt snugly at home.

A familiar sight this year.

For some reason bad weather seems to follow me around like a lovesick puppy in NYC. On Saturday as I left for Toronto the skies were as clear and blue as ever. Perhaps that’s why I’ve never felt quite welcomed there. Maybe I’ll give its summer a chance one of these days.

Toronto wasn’t any more fun, weather wise. In fact it’s colder than New York, with temperatures dropping to -10 degrees on a couple of days. It sounds bizarre, but it actually got warmer when it snows. I’m sure there’s a perfectly scientific reason for that though…

View from Toronto hotel room. BBQ was unexpectedly cancelled.

Apart from the cold and the fact that it feels like a planet away geographically, I like Canada. Things seem a little more laid back, people are more polite, and the place generally feels more livable (compared to the US) for me. Well, Toronto at least, even if Vancouver and Montreal often get a stronger rep.

And it was great to finally be able to just hang out with the Decode folks who are irrepressibly fun and terrific hosts. Just another reminder of why I love the business, sticky contracts and heart-attacking deadlines aside.

Rolling deep with the Decode posse. Bling not provided.

Beth’s lovely kittens, Max and Cowboy.

Finally, in the grand tradition of Things-Going-Wrong-During February-Travels, my luggage didn’t make it back to Singapore from Toronto. So here I am, wondering when the Airport will call with the good news and if an insurance payout wouldn’t be that bad a thing.

I live with my parents.

It’s a beautiful house. I’ve actually only realised how much flowers there are around the place when my Mum refreshed them for Chinese New Year.

Frankly though, I suspect my folks are trying to throw me out. Ok, maybe that’s exaggerating it. What they’re really hoping for is that I settle down (that’s getting ‘married’ for those who are more comfortable with that term) and get my own place – which means I’ll move the hell out.

I don’t think I’m a pest to my folks. I help my Dad with his computer problems (many of which I have no solutions to), and Mum with her English lessons and usage of her almost prehistoric Nokia mobile phone.

But understand this: the house is my Mum’s domain. I’m merely renting a room for free. More often then not, I get in her way (which is why I try to stay in my room). This was never more evident during my recent hiatus from work when I spent 2 months at home being a human barrier to her domestic roads around the house. She was less then thrilled to be honest. The manor belonged to her and her alone in the day, the cat not withstanding.

There were times when I think she just pretended I was at work. Case in point: I go downstairs at 1pm and see her eating takeaway lunch bought from the coffee shop. Nope, didn’t ask her son if he was starving before she went out to hunt.

When…IF I do move out one day, Dad would probably want to sell the house and buy a condo overlooking the ocean. He says it all the time.

He may have to find another way to finance his condo and possibly live alone though, because I’m pretty sure Mum will not move an inch. The house is her life. She attends to it like a painter applying colours to the work of his life. Weekends are spent cleaning the house, putting touches here and there, moving things around to keep the place sprightly, and any shopping trip invariably yields another bargain ornament for this Christmas tree that is her castle.

Dad and I always tell her to take it easy with the housecare. It’s not like we throw parties every weekend (Mum would turn homicidal if that happens). But over the years we’ve grown to accept that as tiring as it looks for her sometimes, it’s simply another kind of leisure – like Ikebana, except you’re basically dressing up a pile of bricks.

All she asks is that we don’t get in the way.

Off to arctic New York tonight. Hoping for interesting stuff to blog about along the way.

A bunch of ridiculously good-looking 20-somethings with relationship issues throw a party at a trendy New York apartment before a giant sea monkey shows up to destroy the city.

This J.J. Abraham-produced flick is basically Godzilla meets Felicity seen from an insanely violent Handycam perspective. If you felt sick watching The Blair Witch Project, Cloverfield will make you barf up last week’s lunch.

Abraham’s intent for this movie is to create an American monster that taps into the fears of the present consciousness, much like how Godzilla – a radioactive, toxic lizard – was created soon after the Hiroshima bombing. Hence an 80-storey terrorist tearing up New York City. That’s Hollywood’s ‘Making Relevant Movies 101’ for you.

But – anything new in a genre movie is welcome these days and the relentless hand-held style gives the film a jolting, visceral energy that grabs you by the throat and tosses you around like a chew toy (if you like that kind of stuff…). And there are some decent scares too. The only real downer for me is the cast who project less credibility than a teenage celebrity blogger. Monster movies need regular Joes, not generically hip and absurdly gorgeous trust fund babies.

This is probably the only monster movie where the monster isn’t the star. Neither are the characters. The real hero here is the Handycam that provides the ‘first-person’ view for the entire movie. This baby is the Rambo of Handycams – able to withstand falling cities, artillery bombardments and sky-scraping monsters, not to mention having an incredible battery life.

It ain’t a phoney – it’s a Sony.