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2002-08-20 - 7:30 p.m. Attack of the Art-Farts I was enjoying a morning stroll one day, walking past coffeeshops where chatter mingled with chopstick clacks, conversations rising like steam from breakfast bowls. And it would have stayed that way if not for a sudden retching that assaulted my ears... An old man was walking in my direction, sleepy eyes blasé to his surroundings. Without warning he made a sound like a bullfrog with goitre and proceeded to spit. Having finished his business, he continued walking, his throat less itchy, chest cleared, I suppose. I wondered if he noticed the expression on my face, suspended between utter revulsion and a civic urge to demarcate the landing spot of his phlegmatic projectile and save a few good soles. But I must admit that I was not so much disgusted as amazed at the man's attitude of sublime indifference. Spitting is a common feature in our landscape of manners. Wherever we go, we will always encounter people who believe that it is their God-given right to dispose of the contents of their oral cavity at any spot they please. Through some perverse notion of hygiene they probably consider clearing their throats to be a more crucial act than spreading airborne germs to everybody. I have seen rheumy old men and swaggering youths alike spit, so with some trepidation we can assume that the habit did not die out with the coolies. As a matter of fact, we can expect a whole new generation of spitters revving up their larynxes to replace the old guard when they have passed on. However, spitting is just the tip of the garbage-heap. It is simply one of the more visible (or aural) habits in a long list of obscenities. Singaporeans are ugly. And no amount of cosmetic courtesy campaign advertisements replete with flossed smiles and dimples can change that. There are those among us who drill fingers into nostrils with the zeal of gold prospectors. And then there's the disengaging the offensive material from our hands by flickering, waving, wiggling motions or simply wiping them under hawker centre tables, the backs of bus seats and toilet walls. There are those who cultivate a long fingernail on the little finger for the special role of excavating ear wax. Then there are those who yawn in full view as if hell-bent on displaying their wisdom teeth, those who sit in childbirth positions on MRT trains (males, mainly), and even those who roll off dirt off their necks to then stare at the ball they have produced as if it was an immortality pill. These people have such a total lack of self-consciousness that they would not look out of place in a TCS variety show (where TCS stars belt out mangled versions of popular songs without any inhibition or shame). All the world's a burlesque stage, and like it or not, the audience is never safe from stumbling into an impromptu performance. I have one suggestion for the authorities concerned that tourist dollars are being repelled by the rude men and rude women who would set a permanent frown on Singa, our adorable leonine courtesy mascot. Consider such acts infringing on social niceties as performance art. The government has always had a dim view of performance art, triggered (if one might recall) by a pubic hair-snipping skit by a performance artist. Subsequently, to get a performance license for any act remotely related to performance art (which might be seen as being out of the reach of censorship) you need to cough up a deposit of $10,000 as well as providing a "script" for the appropriate authorities to consider. So much for being impromptu. So I propose that impromptu acts such as breaking wind, belching vociferously and spitting in public be considered performance art as well. They are spontaneous, unscripted, and usually performed in front of an audience, who are often provoked into extreme reactions (eg. nausea, loss of appetite, an impulse to emigrate). I say, fine and punish such transgressors of public decorum. By declaring them performance artists, the government will be able to kill two birds with one spittle in its efforts towards promoting a gracious society: firstly, the number of sandal-vandals will decrease, and secondly, we can boast the largest number of performance artists per unit population anywhere in the world. PS: I can't read this article, now that I'm 25, without wanting to retch a bit. Ah, juvenilia!
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