Trying To Get a Move On

Familiar territory

2012-02-07T19:15:00.000+08:00

You start to recognise specific people when you've lived in a neighbourhood as long as I have (about damn time, too).

In my case, I notice those who are out exercising. There's Brisk-walk guy, who always walks the same route around the same block and who has probably lost 10 kilos since I first saw him. We've gone from eyeing one another suspiciously to exchanging nods, hellos, and, "How many rounds oredi ah?"

Bald guy puts in regular appearances at the park. He gets the required exercise time practically every day but, for some reason, still has a pot belly.

There are the Dog walkers, who carry out their chore looking blank yet po-faced. Civic conscious exhortations notwithstanding, I have never seen these people with trowels or plastic bags (unlike Terry the muscle-bound neighbour).

The person I like seeing best is the Nutter. I was driving home when I saw him for the first time. Lanky, loose-limbed, and looking decidedly Caucasian, he was bounding up the road like a kid released from school. In the driving rain.

Jeremy Wariner in a pose a la Francois (Image: Exposay)

The Nutter is unlike the yuppie runners in the neighbourhood, who always, always wear the requisit running tights, sweat-wicking tees, compression socks, arm wallets, music player, barefoot shoes, and the Dog walkers' expression of determined po-faced blankness.

Instead, he keeps it simple. Plain white tee, classic retro running shorts, no socks, and what I believe might be Asics trainers. I don't know, he always blows right past everyone.

The Nutter has only 2 speeds: all-out sprint and plodding walk. The former is why everyone notices him as he charges through a junction when the light is red, while I have seen the latter only once. He looked suitably abashed when he realised he'd been caught out.

The Nutter and I have never spoken, but we have exchanged grimaces of commiseration.

To me, the Nutter exemplifies how we should approach life: head on, full throttle, and never mind the weather (unless there's lightning about).

I doubt I'll ever speak to him. I've already named him Francois in my head, but I think "Hi Francois, that was a really fast lap you did there," is probably a really bad way to start a conversation. Also, it would be creepy.

Sticky wickets: Borne of frustration

2012-01-17T13:50:00.001+08:00

Writers for whom English is not a first language tend to be more particular about grammar than those from so-called native English-speaking countries (data not shown; statistical analysis pending). This is most apparent when it comes to the tenses used when referencing other authors' work.

Personally, phrases such as "previous studies" or "past studies" are (horribly) redundant. In the interest of concision and brevity, the only distinction to draw is if a study is still in progress, and only preliminary results have been published.

Chances are though, such "citations" are not citations, but personal communication between the author and the study leader.

The person reading a published report may not give much thought (if at all) to whether the tense (present/present perfect/past/past perfect) used to cite the study of Richardson et al. (1995) is correct, but it's an entirely different matter between the author of said paper and the grunt tasked with tidying it up. YES THIS IS AN ISSUE.

In my opinion, discerning and comprehending the author's true message is more important than which tense to use, but I would aim for consistent use of tenses for literature reviews.

However, if you are required to draw a distinction when citing the studies of others, it would be helpful to determine which style guide your journal of interest follows:

The American Psychological Association (APA) style dictates that writers use the past or present past tense when citing previous research, e.g.:

Past tense: Smith (2004) noted ...
Past present tense: Smith (2004) has noted

The Modern Language Association (MLA) tells writers to use present tense when referring to the studies of others, e.g. "Norton argues that the deep sea sawtooth is the most dangerous fish in the world."

Professor Budd* of St. Lawrence University says to "word experimental evidence and recorded observationsin the past tense. Only use present tense for general informationand continuing situations."

Journals themselves may have specific guidelines regarding the use of tenses, such as that of the Journal of Bacteriology:

"ASM strongly recommends that for clarity you use the past tense to narrate particular events in the past, including the procedures, observations, and data of the study that you are reporting. Use the present tense for your own general conclusions, the conclusions of previous researchers, and generally accepted facts. Thus, most of the abstract, Materials and Methods, and Results will be in the past tense, and most of the introduction and some of the Discussion will be in the present tense.

Be aware that it may be necessary to vary the tense in a single sentence. For example, it is correct to say "White (30) demonstrated that XYZ cells grow at pH 6.8."

* This link will be useful for undergrads working on their honours/honors project. FFS DO NOT spell it as "honest".

Resolutions: Tact

2012-01-02T12:24:00.000+08:00

It pays to think before you speak. That way, you won't dole out the following advice:

To a person clearly not having a good time:
Wrong "You wouldn't be so fat if you ran instead of plodding up the hill."
Right "Running up the hill will increase the calories you burn."

To the boyfriend:
Wrong "That jacket makes you look really sexy, like Shane Walsh." (see below)
Right "That jacket makes you look really sexy."

I don't know where this pic is from; I'm just glad it exists.

Living with the Elderly

2011-12-22T20:22:00.001+08:00

One evening, Dad makes one of his rare appearances at home from work and finds only his first-born child present and working on a paper.

Dad: Where's Mum?
First-born: Working at school.
Dad: Huh. Where's Bro1?
First-born: Working... downtown. As should you...?
Dad: Huh... Where's Bro2?
First-born: Working.
Dad: Eh?!
First-born: Some beer event thing. Carlsberg or Heineken, I don't remember. One of the green ones.
Dad: OH, that Guinness party issit!

Several counts of fail

2011-12-02T12:25:00.001+08:00

#1 If your mother has the habit of buying foodstuff and leaving items half-eaten in the fridge, keep this in mind the next time you look for a braising liquid and go to take a swig of the milk to see if it's still "good".

#2 You have a nose that detects smells. Bad smells usually indicate a food item should not be eaten. A milk carton should never smell like yogurt.

#3 Milk is a liquid. Liquids flow easily. You should not have to jiggle a milk carton to take a swig of the milk inside to see if it's still "good".

Milk gone bad. Found on No Cow Juice, No Problem.

Newbie

2011-11-27T18:37:00.001+08:00

This morning, I was plodding past the Indian temple towards the Bukit Kiara hill circuit when someone behind me coughed.

Getting there (I can do the same pose). Source: Xtreme Athletix

Turning, I saw a tall, lean black man (is there any other kind that runs in Malaysia?) in a white t-shirt and orange-striped blacks tights blithely striding up the incline.

Being courteous, I moved aside to let him pass. As he passed, he said, "Good morning!" and I said, Hi!"

Maybe no one's he's spoken to has ever responded in kind, because he turned around and said, "Come, let's jogging!"

Me. Go jogging with orange-striped black tights running man?

ME.

Whose face was almost as bright as my shirt from the exertion of having toddled 1 km?

I nodded and grinned. To my relief, he went back to running and I resumed plodding, but about 5 counts later, my new friend turned back again and gestured for me to keep up.

What could I do but mime desperately catching my breath to the eager soul? He nodded understandingly and loped off easily through the horde that swarmed the hill, and that was the last I saw of the first ever African runner who spoke to me.

Artistic rendering of orange-striped black tights running man. Source as above.

Home renovation survival guide: charity

2011-11-24T12:01:00.001+08:00

You unearth a lot of junk during a home makeover. Glass bottles (dunno why we have so many) can be recycled or reused as twee little seedling pots. Surplus crockery will find its way to the homes of newlyweds or anyone setting up a new household.

Unused clothes go to charity, of course, but have a heart for the have-nots. That shirt is destined for the scrap heap, not some children's home if you would rather be dead than be caught in it, or if it feels draftier than the hills of Tibet/smells worse than month-old Gorgonzola cheese sammiches.

Bath work day 3 - I quite like the grinding pattern, but mater will kill me if I suggest we retain it instead of tiling it over.

Bathtubs have been rendered obsolete in most households. Getting rid of one is easy: kick it to the kerb after the workmen have wrenched it from its moorings, and scrap metal collectors will show up within the day.

Don't worry if the tub is a full-length one into which a certain Mr Ackles would fit perfectly either; the gentleman I spoke to yesterday evening wrested it from its resting place, lashed it to his rickety old Raleigh (a type of bicycle, I believe), and wheeled it away.

Lastly, if your home makeover involves extending the existing architecture, i.e., in the front and/or back, prepare a little something for the DBKL folk who will turn up on the fourth day of work.

Ostensibly, they want to check the premises for stagnant water in which mosquitoes will breed. Most homeowners will send them off with a little something to line their pockets so that the municipal council will be able to afford effective prevention measures, rather than fogging the neighbourhood after a resident has been diagnosed with dengue*.

I wouldn't begrudge them a little succour; no one should have a shitty job that doesn't pay you enough to feed your 6 kids/2 families/secret gay porn habit.

* They fog the neighbourhood of residence, but not where the infection may have been transmitted. Go figure.

Home renovation survival guide

2011-11-21T14:46:00.001+08:00

Carnage: Day 1

Mum has gotten it into her head that the bathrooms and kitchen need makeovers. Since my brothers are all chickenshit good-for-nothings when it comes to handling a person who has a tendency to spend on things "because she can afford it", I have been doing the home decor rounds with her. This is what you need:

Notepad So you can shield yourself from the blistering ~~barnacles~~ sun as you make your way to the umpteenth tile showroom for the day. Also good for jotting down models numbers, only you won't remember what they're for because you get sunstroke.

Measuring tape Makes you look like you know what you're doing and the sales people won't overcharge you too much. Note that the act will fall apart if you don't know the measurements of the space you intend to renovate.

Water To cool yourself as you get into yet another "disagreement" over whether you need two 2-basin sinks; one each for the wet and dry kitchens.

Sling bag To hold water, and also half a rainforest's worth of paper as all parties go into a flyer-collecting frenzy at a tile showroom whose sales personnel don't immediately show you things that cost RM60 per square foot (that is very expensive).

Energy bars or something similar Repeatedly having to lift 4-square foot tiles to the light so your mother can "see how they really look" makes all those push-ups pay off. There has to be a better way.

Ideas If you don't know what you want the room to look like before all that drilling, chipping, hacking, and hammering begins, you are in big trouble. A colour scheme is a good place to start; most of your time will be taken up squabbling over the fixtures anyway.

Wreckage: POV 2

Bonus suggestion Try to get a good-natured editor/research supervisor to defray your costs. "How about a series of articles on the algorithm of how the cost of home renovations is determined, and the psychological toll it exacts on a family?"

Looking a gift horse in the mouth

2011-11-19T09:50:00.001+08:00

My nice neighbour passes me some muffins her son received from a colleague. I bring them in and show Bro2.

Me: Look, [neighbour] gave us some muffins that her son got from work!
Bro2: Oh my... what if they're muffin kangkang*??

I've eaten one. No romantic/horny inclinations towards strange women so far.

* Originally nasi kangkang: A love potion created by Southeast Asian women. The woman first lovingly cooks a bowl of rice. She then squats over it, sans clothes and lets her womanly essence mix with the steam of the rice, then feeds it to her man. He is supposed to never leave her and be at her beck and call always.

Rarity

2011-11-07T12:14:00.000+08:00

I'm non-maternal, to put it mildly. Not that I despise kids (it takes an extremely singular individual to do so, I believe), but I'm not inclined to them either.

However, having kids looks like a rather wonderful idea when things like The Mixed Race Project come along. Maybe it's Jenna's amazing photography that's doing it.

Once forgotten

2011-11-06T14:00:00.000+08:00

I had breakfast in a kopitiam* yesterday. I didn't even realise how long it'd been since I'd last set foot inside one (years, to put it mildly) until I set foot inside that one.

To add to the feeling of new-newness, I ate alone. Barring meals at home, I can't remember the last time I did that either. Well, I actually can, but unlike that time, I enjoyed the experience, and I didn't feel self-conscious or sad-like. If that's a sign of advancing age, I'll take it!

As found on FaceBook (original: Bank Forum, Commerzbank Group by Ogilvy & Mather Ukraine)

Elsewhere, I found a blog on minimalism. It doesn't refer to the approach in art or music (which should be lush), but that of one's lifestyle. I think the idea has a stronger hold on older people (because they've accumulated more stuff), as well as non-rural folk.

That last bit might be less than accurate, but I now have a strong yen to hold a garage sale and/or give things away. Anyone up for barely-used crockery and cutlery and apparel that's out of fashion?

* coffee shop, obviously

Local news

2011-10-24T13:34:00.000+08:00

The much-loved (by me and Enfant Terrible, anyway) Sri Paandi outlet in TTDI closed last month. Yesterday, I saw that another restaurant had opened in its place. It serves... South Indian Chettinad food.

It's called D'Beetle Leaf, and I think the owners have used a word that does not mean what they think it means.

Elsewhere down the block, the much-loved (by me) Popeye's has shut its doors too. Clearly it has something to do with the KFC across the road (the Colonel will tolerate none of this Southern foolishness). God forbid they open a Wendy's outlet in its place.

The Forestry Department has set up a monkey trap for a relocation exercise. If you don't know what a monkey trap looks like, take a drive up my road and look for a 20-foot high metal cage painted in camouflage green and filled with bananas.

It's been there for about a week now (still empty too), and I giggle every time I drive past it because it also sports a sign about "preventing simian immunodeficiency virus (SIV)". The subtext is obvioiusly "don't have sex or do drugs with monkeys".

Not fine at all

2011-10-14T14:42:00.003+08:00

I don't remember why, but last month, I decided to fine myself RM1 for each swear word I uttered.

Since we're all grown-ups here, I don't have to state the entire verboten list, suffice to say it also contains "shit," "damn," "asshole," and everything that mum would be unhappy to hear ("you're an idiot," "stop being such a bloody idiot").

The total fine imposed for swearing in the month of September in the year 2011 was RM44.

Yes, that's more than 1 word a day.

That's less RM44 from what I have available to spend now, innit? Part of the "deal" is that I can't touch that money until... whenever. Maybe it should go to charity. I don't know yet. Suggestions are most welcome!

Anyway, I figured that the exercise would be a means of adopting a more chilled approach when things don't go my way, as my observation is that the more you (I) swear, the more agitated you (I) feel, and your (my) behaviour deteriorates accordingly.

I had no scientific basis for this approach; I mean, can you approach the funding department and ask them for money to study how people behave when they swear?

As it turns out, YES, you bloody well can, as researchers Bowers and Pleydell-Pierce have done:

Swearing, Euphemisms, and Linguistic Relativity - Take home message: swearing automatically triggers strong emotions when such words are acquired early in language development.

Others beg to differ, as evinced by the comments on io9.

Anyway, I'm doing much better this month. Not that I've been driving less, and I don't want to jinx myself, but the current total is RM8.

Go, me!

Just for the record

2011-10-14T10:35:00.000+08:00

I can't get enough of the "women telling other women how to be slutty wives" things. The story about the Obedient Wives' Club's sex guide has been reported elsewhere:

Australia: Brisbane Times
Indonesia: The Jakarta Globe

Nothing like a global audience to help you promote your message.

There are questions about why Jews are mentioned in the title ("Islamic Sex: Fight Jews to Have Islamic Sex Returned to the World @ Seks Islam, perangi Yahudi untuk kembalikan seks Islam kepada dunia").

The reason is obvious enough to me: if enough good Muslim wives have a lot of wholesome Muslim sex in orgies with their pious Muslim husbands, then there will be an explosion of good Muslim babies.

When they come of age, these children will be tasked with the noble mission of freeing the world from the unwholesome grip of those evil Zionist overlords who don't eat pork, pray 3 times a day, and whose men are circumcised, so that all good (married) Muslims can have good Muslim sex (with their spouse) anytime they want.

They will also make more babies to carry on the struggle.

I think that about sums it up.

You know why the book will suck though; it costs RM50 and there are no pictures. Whoever heard of a guide book with no reference images?

Lesser known Chinese wedding customs

2011-10-14T10:09:00.001+08:00

I.
When one of my cousins on my mum's side got married, they hung a pair of his older brother's trousers over the front door. He and his bride had to walk under it (obviously) before the tea ceremony.

I think it has something to do with paying your respects to your elders if they're unmarried, as the elder brother does indeed have a serious sweetheart, but chose to let his kid brother tie the knot first on account of limited finances.

II.
You need the following at a tea ceremony:
1. Bride and groom
2. Both sets of parents
3. Assorted aunts and uncles
4. Bossy wedding planner
5. Tea (doh)
6. Whole roasted suckling pig

Why would you have this last item at what is essentially a ceremony for everyone to toast one another? It's supposed to symbolise the bride's purity, i.e., virginity.

Why a pig? I have no idea. Maybe because it gets "eaten" in the end (a euphemism)? No amount of prodding would get my prudish mum to explain. But maybe she doesn't know why either.

III.
If 2 good friends, who are both Chinese, register their marriage within 3 (or 6) months of each other, both are not allowed to be part of the bride-collection entourage on the day of the traditional wedding ceremony. This is to avoid bad luck, but I think it has more to do with neither groom's wedding overshadowing the other.

IV.
If you are Chinese guy and have registered your marriage at the National Registration Department but haven't performed the traditional tea ceremony yet, it is perfectly acceptable for your legal wife to ~~demand~~ request a second proposal because the first one "wasn't impressive enough".

This is a true story that happened to Bro1's friend. Bro1 and another friend headed out in to the night one night, armed with tea lights and rose petals (of course), so that said friend could again present to his wife the ring that cost 5 figures.

If I had 5 figures to spend, it wouldn't go towards whatever number of carats, and the ring that'd make me really happy is one that bears the keys to a nice house. But then, I'm not a yuppie.

Not that I know the wife, but for god's sake, woman, do you think money grows on trees?? Maybe I'm bitter. Yes, that must be it.

Or, maybe I've read so much about this stuff in my line of work that rose petals and a slice of cake that the restaurateur deems "romantic" appears unimaginative and has been done countless times everywhere else around the world, maybe even 3 times in the same evening, although I suppose it's a pretty good effort for a Monday night.

Tête-à-tête with a freeter

2011-09-22T20:00:00.003+08:00

Well. It turns out I have to schedule time for myself now

I started working for myself so that I could set my own hours, enjoy the luxury of not having to battle through the hell that is the daily commute (incredible savings on petrol is just one of the perks!), and be a complete stranger to the minefield that is office politics.

Not for me the fumes of the city, the stink of the drain behind the best fried noodles in town, or the tedium of having to wait behind another car whose driver appears to be colour-blind.

Freedom to earn my own keep when and wherever I want it.

Freedom from having to dress "nice" each morning for people I couldn't care less about seeing.

At liberty to eat anything I want for lunch and not have to worry that I made the office smell like armpits.

So.

It's after "office hours" and I'm looking through work to get a head-start on tomorrow's work.

I dress nice (from the waist up anyways) for Skype because the client wants to be assured that, no, they are not dealing with a borderline sociopath with only 2 modes of dress (pajamas and birthday suit).

Lunch is usually something that resembles a salad or whatever bone the neighbour throws me because, hey, who has time to cook when they're dealing with people in 3 (or 5) different time zones, all of whom want things done yesterday?

Comic by NC Winters

A matter of time

2011-08-16T07:38:00.001+08:00

Dumb: Trying to overtake a tour bus on a 2-lane, no-overtaking road.
Dumber: Tailgating the bus.
Dumbest: Switching on your high-beams and tailgating said bus so that the driver will get the idea and move out of your way.

Lady, I'm sure you feel like a badass bitch in your big Mazda (I'm not bitter), and I'm sure you were on your way to an important Sunday engagement organised exclusively for the likes of drivers like yourself, but

bus drivers are the baddest asses of all drivers because they have to put up with drivers like you every day; the bus didn't even have a rear window or safety camera, so let's not bet that he knew you were even there air-kissing his bumper.

Me, I was in the car behind you, running through my scant emergency medicine repertoire, just in case.

Always catty; never batty

2011-07-31T11:49:00.000+08:00

Dad is enthusing over how much weight he's lost now that he eats v. little rice.

Dad: Look at how small my stomach is now!
Me: Oh, they make shapewear in your size now, then?
Dad: *grumble*

Takes one to know one

2011-07-25T04:48:00.001+08:00

I still can't believe Amy Winehouse is dead. I always knew it was a matter of time, but not this soon. Her legacy is 2 measly albums and a shitload of pictures of her looking like shit warmed over.

Surprisingly (for me), Russell Brand's blog/letter was uncommonly articulate and compassionate:

All addicts, regardless of the substance or their social status share a consistent and obvious symptom; they're not quite present when you talk to them. They communicate to you through a barely discernible but un-ignorable veil. Whether a homeless smack head troubling you for 50p for a cup of tea or a coked-up, pinstriped exec foaming off about his ‘speedboat' there is a toxic aura that prevents connection. They have about them the air of elsewhere, that they're looking through you to somewhere else they'd rather be. And of course they are. The priority of any addict is to anaesthetise the pain of living to ease the passage of the day with some purchased relief."

...

Whether this tragedy was preventable or not is now irrelevant. It is not preventable today. We have lost a beautiful and talented woman to this disease. Not all addicts have Amy's incredible talent. Or Kurt's or Jimi's or Janis's; some people just get the affliction. All we can do is adapt the way we view this condition, not as a crime or a romantic affectation but as a disease that will kill.

To put it mildly, it was a welcome relief from the moronicity of tweets from the likes of Rihanna or Kelly Clarkson, to name just two. Essentially: "I don't understand how such things like this can happen... I'm soooooo devastated. Condolences to her family."

Honorable mention goes to Rick Ross (who?) for the following:

Wanted to collab w/ Amy Winehouse...r.i.p...smoking 1 in your memoryyy!!

Mate, really?

Boys vs. Girls

2011-07-11T14:26:00.001+08:00

Enfant Terrible and I are walking around in the mall and we spot a Baskin Robbins kiosk displaying a promotional poster.

Me: OooooOOOh, Captain America!
Him: Mmmm... ice cream.

To wit:

Serious pec pic from The Pop Herald

Although I greatly prefer the more streamlined version:

srsly hot pic from KellyOlexa.com (who wins for her Monday Manjoyment category)

How to stop a conversation

2011-07-03T11:26:00.000+08:00

Scene: Bro2 is all dressed up and on his way out to a night on the town. Coincidentally, Dad has just returned from one.

Dad: Wah, wear so nice to go where huh?

Bro2: Bintang Palace la.

Dad: WAH. So expensive, man, that place. Even I don’t dare to go there!

Bro2: Expensive meh.

Dad: Expensive la. My friend went there last time and spent 4-5 thousand ringgit!

Me: Why, what did he break?

Chasing shadows in the sun

2011-07-02T17:05:00.001+08:00

One day, a link I followed led to an “article” on who was out and proud in Hollywood. The only surprise was Jonathan Knight, formerly of NKOTB. The only other vaguely interesting thing was that it included Johnny Weir.

Who cares? The verdict was moot for anyone who’s ever seen or heard him. One of his nicknames is apparently “Tinkerbelle”, and I doubt it’s because he loves Peter Pan so much.

It’d be a waste of time coming up with superlatives superb enough to describe this adorable little fellow; I have never described any fellow as “adorable” in my extensive career as a dude-watcher. Moreover, 5’8” is hardly “little”.

“Adorable” is the first word that came to mind the first time I saw him. It will also probably come to mind whatever he wears, some of which can only be kindly described as “ill-advised”.

How compelling is he? Anyone I’ve strong-armed into watching his now world-famous* Pokoface will look for more Johnny Weir, or figure skating in general.

Of course, Princess isn’t always sunshine, laughter, and an ass to die for; he certainly looks evil and not unlike a certain Tom Hiddleston in this video, where Evan Lysacek sounds like a Valley Girl:

Epic Bitchface is Epic

However, I believe the Epic Bitchface was borne of his burning desire to win, although that currently appears to have been supplanted by the quest to be the prettiest figure skater in the world (MAC certainly thinks so).

Despite being the 2010 Olympic figure skating champion, Evan Lysacek looks like a mere spinning top in contrast.

Consider these programs at the 2010 US Championships:

Johnny Weir: I Love You, I Hate You (DiBlasio) (the minxy look at around minute 4:00 is a bit much, even for me)

Evan Lysacek: Firebird (Stravinsky)

Creating a program based on “what happened in Munich 2006” (he didn’t win; everyone expected him to) for the 2010 Olympics is also quite possibly the absolute height of narcissism and self-reference.

In my opinion, Fallen Angel would’ve been a better fit at the Mariinskiy Theatre in St. Petersburg; not that I didn’t like it, although there were too many “imploring the heavens” moments and not enough force-of-despair emoting. Loved the outfit though. I think.

On the other hand, my impression of Lysacek is:

*flail flail flail long legs flail long arms flail triple toe loop successful landing NOT flail flail flail flail*

Johnny Weir might have displayed “too” much artistry but insufficient technical flash to impress the judges (placed sixth), but how Lysacek’s performance deserved the gold is beyond me (this opinion is possibly biased).

If the Olympics used the Idol-type voting system, you can bet that every female of childbearing age (standard deviations and deviants included) would have ensured that Weir’s gold medal was accented with glitter.

Self-aware being that I am, I realise it is, to an extent, a façade. I know he doesn’t look as cute without makeup, and that he’s probably incredibly insecure and just wants everyone to love him, which could be the entire driving force behind the things he does. Even though he said he could marry a woman tomorrow if it struck him, I know it doesn’t mean he would.

I like looking at pretty fellows, and this one radiates such irrepressible joie de vivre** that he is as irresistible as peanut butter fudge slathered in caramel butterscotch sauce and topped with rainbow sprinkles.

Why rainbow sprinkles? Because it wouldn’t be Johnny Weir without some damn rainbow sprinkles.

Happy birthday, Johnny!

Image from http://www.examiner.com

* Completely made up true fact
** Very different from actually feeling it

How to lose 2 kg in 2 weeks without even trying

2011-06-27T15:52:00.001+08:00

Step 1: Board evening flight to Chengdu, China; eat in-flight meal; steal airsickness bag in an extraordinary display of prescience.
Land in Chengdu 5 hours later, feel spirits sink at sight of the omnipresent smog, visible even at night.
Endure hair-raising van ride through said city; driver reassures you and other passengers with, “Don’t worry about the other cars; there’s no racing tonight!”

Step 2: Turn up nose at extremely alien hotel breakfast – cold spicy noodle with assorted pickled veg, or what appear to be veg, watery, bland congee, and watery bland soybean milk.
Spend the afternoon tramping around hateful smoggy city because hotel stipulates 12:00 checkout and your train only leaves at 20:59.
Arrive back at hotel, which is where van driver in Step 1 will pick you up and send you to the train station. Realise you’ve left something extremely important in the restroom of a café in a mall on the other side of town.
Cue Amazing Race sprinting-with-backpack-to-catch-the-right-bus sequence to and from destination, and within stipulated time limit (30 minutes). Keep winning.

Step 3: Board Chengdu-Lhasa train.
Spend 44 hours and 45 minutes on train (distance: 3360 km; ultra-ultra distance ftw).
Practice ultra-hardcore bladder control on account of most mainland Chinese being too illiterate to comprehend “Please flush by pressing green button” even when it’s written in basic Mandarin text with a big red arrow pointing to said button.
Lose appetite from being oxygen-deprived. Refuse all solid food.

Step 4: Arrive in blessed! spacious! Lhasa! Where it feels like you can fall straight up into the biggest! bluest! sky! you have ever seen! This is how you conquer gravity!

Meals for the next 9 days: (breakfast) watery rice congee with an assortment of pickled veg more appetising than what is found in Chengdu, (lunch and dinner) al dente rice with assortment of greasy fried veg, garnished sparingly with strips of pork.
Drinks for the next 9 days: hot water, instant coffee, hot tea, yak butter tea (yum yum), a sip of barley wine.
Spend the next 9 days feeling deliriously happy at being at the top of the world, gasping from serious hypoxia from walking too quickly and being too happy, and getting through 5-hour bus rides.
Attempt jump shots on mountaintops where the wind-chill factor is -10 degrees Celsius (or something like that).

Drink in the scenery even though your teeth are chattering and you can’t feel your face or fingers anymore, even under your scarf.
Persist jumping as clothes suddenly become looser on day 3.
Narrowly avoid mooning military personnel.

Step 5: Fly back to Chengdu for remainder of trip. Take an evening stroll through Jingli, where there is an assortment of “local” street food mostly sold on skewers and tasting of nothing in particular, except for the grilled mutton (meaty), and the fried ice-cream (too sweet).
Marvel at the warm, tapai-esque dessert, re: cross-border similarities.
Feel stomach protesting previous night’s dinner, which contained more grease than Mr Schuester’s hair.
Further alimentary aggravation ensues when senior group members persist in sharing their street food finds with you (grilled potato balls topped with teriyaki sauce, really??)
Perform emergency colonic clearance procedure at the nearest KFC.
Consume nothing but sad rice gruel for the next 2 days; have big, fuck-off recovery dinner on the last night in Chengdu.

Step 6: Fly home. Skip bland in-flight meal.
Get home. Weigh self – 2 kilos lighter!

It’s easy when you know how.

Just a little bit

2011-06-21T15:37:00.001+08:00

Although religiosity and I are complete strangers, the sound of a Muslim funeral prayer* echoing through the neighbourhood over the still air on a warm, humid day granted me a glimpse in to a world that is not mine.

* At least, I assume that's what it was; I don't know the words. I mean, 3 p.m. is kind of in-between prayer times, isn't it?

The importance of being prepared

2011-05-19T09:41:00.001+08:00

My mother and I had the following conversation at a "luggage fair" while looking for a bag capacious and handy enough to lug around for 2 weeks:

Me: I'm gonna look for a haversack.
Mum: It'll be heavy; you'll have trouble carrying it.
Me: Yes, if I carried on my head, for sure.
Mum: *grumble*
We: *browse*
ME: OMG LOOK at this one! It's for 80 liters! It looks just like the one [cousin] brought when he came to KL! I should get it! Everything will fit into it!
Mum: It'll be HEAVY.
Me: But [cousin] has one...
Mum: [Cousin] is a lumberjack*, he can handle an 80 liter backpack!
Me: [Cousin] is NOT a lumberjack ffs; he works in timber!

So, I don't have a backpack taller than me, but I do now have a backpack that is about half my height and looks deceptively small. Things disappear inside its gaping maw and retrieving them feels like I'm risking a trip down the rabbit hole.

Yes, it is comfortable; what's more, it comes with an operating manual and a loop for an ice axe. It has more snaps and buckles than I ever imagined could fit on a bag, too, and I'm slightly afraid of getting tangled up in it when I put it on, much less turn turtle.

* Everyone knows there are no such things as lumberjacks anymore; only chainsaws.

Sexy Sunday

2011-05-15T15:51:00.001+08:00

I love alliteration. Anyway:

Liu Ye in drag (Cillian Murphy, eat your heart out!) for his photobook titled Catching shadows twentysix (2005)

I first saw Liu Ye in The Underdog Knight (2008). He played a brain-damaged soldier who takes it on himself to defend his friends and neighbourhood against “the bad guys”.

bitch... uh, yes please (image from icilachine.com)

As a model, Liu Ye (who, like Chuck Norris and Solomon Kane must be referred to by his full name) exudes cool in the same manner one Tony Leung does. Like Tony Leung, the roles he takes on are eclectic and varied, including that of a villain in Hong Kong’s remake of Cellular, titled Connected (2008) and a man’s young lover in Lan Yu (?2002).

He got married in 2009 to a French woman, which is interesting enough in itself; I thought you needed permission from the Chinese government to marry outside the country.

However, seeing pictures of the ceremony fairly broke my brain – he wore a kippah, a freakin' yarmulke. I don’t know if he actually practices Judaism, but again, I’m interested to hear the Chinese government’s take on it.

Image from english.cri.cn

It all seems to have worked out nicely for him though. Bless.

Typical day at work

2011-05-09T15:10:00.002+08:00

"There was no hospital morality."

Thank you for confirming that.

Also, I don't know about you, but the thought of Jeremy Renner (The Hurt Locker, Thor) being cast as a grownup Hansel (Hansel and Gretel: Witch Hunters; no, SERIOUSLY) is about as difficult to comprehend as the decision to cast badass as hell Steve McQueen as a 17-year-old tearaway named... Steve in The Blob (1958).

Image from Forbes

Trivia from the Wiki has it that:

McQueen received only US$3,000 for this film; he had turned down an offer for a smaller up-front sum with 10 percent of the profits because he did not think the movie would make any money and he needed the money immediately to pay for food and rent; it ended up grossing US$4 million.

I don't even---- Bullitt, how could you??

Image by William Claxton from The White Side of Life

How badass was Steve McQueen? He turned down Dirty Harry because the car wasn't cool enough, and the gun was too small.*

Anyway, Renner. He looks like he was the kid who'd pull the wings off beetles to give to you because he thought you'd be as enamoured of their enchanting iridescence as he was. No, I mean, he looks like Nathan Fillion's bratty kid brother. Not creepy at all.

Bonus incredible who'da thought it connection between the two: Renner as McQueen? Discuss.

* This claim is unsubstantiated.

Potentially inappropriate

2011-04-21T10:19:00.000+08:00

Said a violist, sadly, to a lady friend: "My bow is too short."

Typical

2011-04-04T15:43:00.000+08:00

Monday - Work at the computer

Tuesday - Work at the computer

Wednesday - Work at the computer

Thursday - Work at the compu-- I want a different life!!!

Friday - Work at the computer

Saturday - Work at the compute-- why am I working on Saturday??

Sunday - Whee, no work... tiem 4 internets all day l0ng!

Best left unsent

2011-02-24T12:09:00.000+08:00

Dear Neighbour,

Please don't take this the wrong way, but I hope that you will put more clothes on the next time you dash out of your house to check whether you left something in your car.

I understand that it was perhaps not your intention to emerge out on to the street in a pair of tiny black running shorts and nothing else.

After all, you certainly did not intend to flaunt your HUNKY, WELL-TONED BODACIOUS BODY in front of an unsuspecting neighbour (i.e., me) who only wanted to draw the curtains.

However, I do understand that maybe your clothes don't fit you as well as they used to on account of all the bodybuilding and running you've been doing (the wonders of soy milk, eh?).

Please accept my suggestion, though, that you should keep wearing those fitted tank tops; it can get pretty chilly in the evenings. The last thing you would want is to catch a cold and not be able to keep ~~strutting around the neighbourhood in itty-bitty shorts~~ exercising your pets.

Oh yes, I've seen you walking your dogs, mister, and I've seen the pooper-scooper you carry. Who do you think you are, a responsible member of society?? I'm keeping an eye on you.

Peeping out from behind the curtains,
Me.

P.S. Please change your locks so that your parents won't be able to sneak in and tidy up your garden anymore. It's getting ridiculous.

Stray thoughts

2011-02-15T10:14:00.003+08:00

I have an intense interest in gadgety things, but can never bring myself to buy any stuff because of the price attached to such shiny items. I guess that's why it costs what it does, right, because it doesn't just do what it's supposed to do, but also arouses jealousy and covetousness in thy neighbour while it does so. I mean, I might seriously consider some breaking and entering if I knew that my neighbour had a shiny curvy espresso machine, too.

Anyway, I was browsing the Lava Coffee site and found that they're opening a bricks and mortar cafe in Bangsar (OMG IT'S OPENING TOMORROW). It's called Antipodean Cafe, so I'm holding out in hope that we'll see one Mr Bana there one day.

So the owner(s?) chronicled the establishment of the new establishment as best they could, and there were pictures of the day they got their 15 kg Toper roaster (made in Turkiye). Judging from the pictures though, it looks like it weighs closer to 50 kg, given the size of the crate and what all.

Image used without permission from Antipodean Cafe, 20 Jalan Telawi 2, Bangsar Baru, Kuala Lumpur

... it actually means you can dump 15 kg of beans in there, doesn't it? Doh.

It's a marvellous looking thing (looks like a barbecue/smoker) made of metal with lots of buttons and levers and a chamber in to which all the wonderful aromatic intoxicating coffee beans will go and come out the other end smelling like heaven.

I'd hate to see the instruction manual though. There is one, right?

So, I was wondering: do the people who deliver and unpack this stuff ever want to try it out? If I had to deliver and assemble a thermocycler or spectrophotometer, I'd be pretty curious about what would happen if I pressed a bunch of buttons when no one was looking. Hehe.

There's nothing more fun than pressing buttons (aside from breaking shit); why do you think the fire department gets so many prank calls?

Things that sound really cool but are rarely applicable

2011-02-10T18:44:00.000+08:00

The smaller the bird, the louder the song.

The volume of any overheard conversation is inversely proportional to its general importance (to both eavesdropper and participants).

Q (to a newlywed): So, how many children do you plan to have?
A: I dunno, we're still practising.

Q: Who's your favorite Spanish footballer?
A: Cristina Ronaldo.

She's a nice girl; just like a candy-coated razor blade.

Not quite the same

2011-02-06T11:42:00.000+08:00

I found this trailer in the course of a search for images of Eric Bana. Naturally, comparisons with Hit Girl will be inevitable, but it's quite clear (to me anyway), that Hanna Heller and Mindy McReady operate on vastly different levels, alliterative names notwithstanding:

P.S. It (Saoirse) is pronounced "seersha". We all know the Irish can't spell for nuts; look at the "Cillian" in Cillian Murphy. It took me a good 6 months to discover that "C" is pronounced as "K" if it's the first letter in a word.

It's probably good for you...

2011-02-05T12:50:00.001+08:00

Maybe I've been doing too much "light" reading this year, but the wording in How The Dead Live (2000) by Will Self is making me go cross-eyed trying to keep up with the mental imagery. I'm sure it's a good thing though, as I can just about feel my neurons regenerate after being fried by excessive episodes of YouTube (what?). I feel so smart now that I could take on two fifth graders and win a million dollars.

No, I retract that; I feel so smart that I could write better "jokes" than that bloody time-waster masquerading as a movie and calling itself "Funny People". I am wont to look on the bright side though, and am happy to have seen Eric his Bana-ness.

I'd like to see how he lives. Arf.

On the other hand, reading about Lily the unhappy wraith's travels and travails through life and afterlife might be a less than ideal start to the day. I mean, one can barely remember that the coffee grounds are supposed to go in the pot, and not held in your hand as you ready the hot water.

At the other end of the spectrum is one Mr. Gaiman, currently, and recently at that, married to one Ms. Palmer. I am currently annoyed at him for writing The Graveyard Book (2009). Yes, I know it's a "young adult" novel, but... the illustrations! That Newbery Medal has to count for something! It's people like him that keep people like me up all night; we lie to ourselves, saying, "Oh, just one more chapter," and it's already 5 a.m. and you need to be up and about all day, because it's what the living do.

Plus, he seems to keep getting new cool gadgety stuff for free and blogs it to tell readers how cool the stuff is (or isn't). I hate that dude, I really do.

Sudden realisation

2011-01-25T14:43:00.002+08:00

It has just occurred to me that you can apply a more literal interpretation to "a rallying cry" when you're watching tennis, especially re: Francesca Schiavone (really wish she'd won!).

How to ruin your Friday

2011-01-23T18:03:00.002+08:00

To people who care about their computing experience, there is no question more polarising than "what is a good OS to use?"

For hoi polloi like myself, the issue was always between Mac and Windows (I still think a mac is something you wear when it rains), and I was pretty proud of myself when I used the terms "Android" and "platform" correctly.

In fact, Enfant Terrible has been nagging me to switch to Linux for years because it's "more secure" and you can fiddle with the code and all that. I'm just happy to have a computer that doesn't take 5 minutes to start up (you could do 4x5 reps in that time). It's true that virii don't hit Linux PCs, but there's still one piece of malware even the most Intrepid Ibex* would be unable to foresee.

So, my laptop ran on Ubuntu's Maverick Meerkat until Friday, when when I had to boot (bloody) Windows 7 to access something found only on that partition.

Notice I said "ran"? Eventually, Windows corrupted my MBR** after installing updates I never asked for. I didn't know this at first, of course, I just thought I'd broken my (beautiful beautiful) laptop.

Thank goodness for the internet; 5 minutes of surfing for the answer on another PC brought me an answer, and replaced fear with rage. As it turns out, I'm not the first n00b to have their gear broken by Windows' updates, and it looks like I won't be the last either.

There are 3 solutions (that I know of) to solve the problem when Windows breaks your Ubuntu:

1. Use Rescatux/Super Grub Disk/Super Grub2 Disk to recover and/or restore your GRUB bootloader.

2. Boot with a live CD/USB and reconfigure GRUB through the terminal.

3. Boot whatever Ubuntu distro you have from live USB/CD, re-partition and reinstall your OS/new OS (not forgetting to cross your fingers and toes).

I didn't understand that either. I opted for hidden solution #4: call boyfriend. Said boyfriend will duly arrive in half an hour and carry out solution #3, because it's fastest.

Now, I can't tell you what OS you should use, because it's subjective and wholly dependent on the user experience. However, I can tell you that Windows 7 is a piece of shit gear that stains everything it touches.

You'd think if Microsoft can't/won't make something that works well, they could at least come up with something that doesn't break other things it comes in to contact with but nooooo, and you pay a few hundred ringgit for the privilege to boot.

For the record, I'm now running Lubuntu, which is another Ubuntu variant using LXDE.*** Its key features are speed, light weight and energy-friendly function. The light blue background is refreshing too; Maverick Meerkat is a plodder compared to Lubuntu, and Windows is a lumbering buffoon.

* this is an earlier Linux distro (distribution; see, we all learn something new!)

** master boot record (sounds really wrong if you say it wrong)

*** I don't understand that either

Looking at Cillian Murphy teh Pretteh is a great stress reliever

Best post-match interview ever

2011-01-23T16:04:00.000+08:00

Scene: The post-match interview at the 2011 Australian Open in Melbourne.

The score: 6-2 7-5 6-3

Cast: Rafael Nadal, who's been looking a little chunkier than usual lately, has just beaten home favourite Bernard Tomic (18; really weedy).
Jim Courier - on-court interviewer
Crowd - boisterous Aussies of every stripe

Excerpt:

Jim: So, Rafa, second set... 4 sets to love down, what was going through your mind?

Rafa: Uh... I gotta win the third set!

Jim: Could you walk us through some of the tactics you used against Bernard?

Rafa: Uh... first of all *delves in to clever, adaptive strategies like getting closer to the net and playing "straighter" as my eyes glaze over with boredom* and, uh.... I found what I need to destroy him.

[pause]

Crowd: *kills itself laughing*

Jim: *giggles nervously*

Rafa: *well aware of what's just happened* NO, sorry... is that word, is other word... I dunno other word.

Showing off his Richard Mille watch,
allegedly

Surfeit of slang

2011-01-09T15:27:00.000+08:00

Note to self: when ruminating (to yourself) about how hard it is to get the new work year started after a lovely long holiday, the correct (and appropriate) comparison to "getting back in the saddle again" is NOT "after going bareback* for the past 2 weeks".

Ta very much.

* entirely work-unsafe reference to something that is NOT work.

Complete this sentence

2011-01-09T15:21:00.000+08:00

I love children...

... they go great with tomato sauce and mustard.

... because they give me hope for the future.

... the contents of their diaper are not my problem.

... because they remind me anything is possible.

... you can dress them in goofy outfits and they don't know enough to rip them off and hate you for the rest of their life.

... they're so cute!

... I can return them to their parents when it's time to go home.

Signs of Aging

2010-12-19T18:56:00.001+08:00

1.
You remember when letters used to be written on actual paper with actual ink and smeared with an actual hand if you're left-handed like me. You also remember when you signed off on such letters in the bottom right corner if it was an informal letter, and the bottom left for a formal missive.

Or was that the other way around?

2.
You remember that there were different formats for letters used for different purposes, but can't remember the formats themselves to save your (shorter) life.

(actually, surat rasmi + tidak rasmi should about cover it, no??)

3.
You start to wonder when baby carriages became baby buggies and began looking less like baby transporters and more like aerodynamic space voyaging pods. Seriously, some look totally equipped to tackle a 4WD jungle course!

4.
You also find it baffling that most of these contraptions have the baby facing outwards. I would imagine that a (new) baby sees the world as an alarming jumble of sights and sounds that are probably quite unpleasant when taken in large doses. This probably accounts for the number of screaming children you see in the mall.

Also, you'd think that a parent would prefer to look at a product that took 9 months to complete and god knows how long to create, rather than turn it around to face said alarming world during mall excursions.

Everyone knows that the best parents are the people who don't have children.

5.
You begin to wonder when the heart throbs started getting younger by the day (yes, I know it's not their fault). I'm talking about you, Skandar Keynes.

6.
Christmas becomes less about presents, and more about sneering at the crass mass consumerism of the season.

7.
Any holiday occasion is just another opportunity for capitalist business pigs to wheedle away as much of your hard earned money as they possibly can before you shake off the hypnotic stupor that comes with shopping. Grr. Argh.

8.
Your days begin and end earlier, and fuzzy slippers begin to sound like the ideal footwear. The idea of buying new kitchen implements is dizzyingly exciting.

9.
You come up with a list like this. Doh.

10.
Er... I forgot what I was talking about.

On misplaced affection

2010-12-13T18:10:00.000+08:00

Normally I scoff at silly females who name their appliances. Why the hell would anyone call a laptop Bernie, or coo over a huge kitchen mixer whom they've named Alfred?

Alfred?

Well, you know what happens when you scoff at something - you wind up doing the same damn thing you mocked. Currently, I'm so enamoured of the wicked little red peeler I got from Daiso on Sunday that I think of it as my "little 5-inch wonder".

My new best friend.

The sound of mocking laughter echoes bitterly in my head.

Urban wildlife: two sides of a coin

2010-12-11T17:53:00.001+08:00

Living in one of the greener corners of Kuala Lumpur, we enjoy the benefit of free exhaust fumes every weekend as thousands of visitors descend on the park across the road. There is an up side and down side to living so close to the "wild":

The up side:

- The wonder of nature is close at hand as small woodland creatures like wild shrews, wee squirrels and your neighbour's semi-feral cats* frolic and play in your garden.

- In-depth observation of the ant's industrious ways is always possible.

- Birds attracted by the flowering plants in your garden let loose with a joyous burst of melodious song every morning, getting the day off to a great start.

- Nothing is more relaxing than seeing a butterfly flutter around said flowering plants.

The down side:

- Ants will want to share your sweets.

- The shrews will eventually be overcome by a burning desire to investigate your house. They will get as far as the living room before deciding they need to poop.

- The cats will be attracted by the shrews and pad in quietly after them. After failing to catch them, they will stroll in to the kitchen and scare the everloving life out of you by begging for some of the chicken you're slicing for dinner.**

* They go home to where the food is, but poop under your car.
** At least they're polite enough to sit quietly beside you and wait for you to notice them

No-brainer decision of the week

2010-11-21T17:43:00.000+08:00

Girl has two (2) choices when looking for a new coffee press:

1. Ikea
Capacity - 1 liter
Price - RM49.00
Materials - heavy-duty high melting point plastic, heat-resistant glass, stainless steel
Origin - China

2. Some polysyllabic European name she can't pronounce
Capacity - 250 mL
Price - RM99.00
Materials - heavy-duty high melting point plastic, heat-resistant glass, stainless steel
Origin - China

Making a choice was so hard.

Looking out for one another

2010-11-17T13:01:00.000+08:00

Bro2 and I are watching the first (and very unsettling) episode of The Walking Dead. The following heartfelt conversation* ensues between scenes of (censored) gun violence**:

Bro2: If I ever turn into a zombie...
Me: Yes?
Bro2: Run away.
Me: What, why?
Bro2: So I won't eat your brains.
Me: Aw, that's sweet, but you know I'll shoot you in the head.
Bro2: Why?
Me: Cos that's how you make zombies dead, innit?
Bro2: I don't want to die lar--
Me: But you'd have to be dead to be a zombie. I'll use the meat cleaver if that makes you feel better.
Bro2: asdfghjkl; just run away and don't kill me dammit.
Me: I'll just walk away quickly, if you don't mind.
Bro2: This is why we don't talk.

* Usually we just hurl verbal abuse
** If you don't see the gunshot, did the zombie really take a bullet to the brain? I think not.

One Buddha a day

2010-11-08T20:14:00.000+08:00

This is just a supplement to the previous statement that I was born on the day of Reclining (not Sleeping) Buddha. However, there are also some who assert that Tuesday is Sleeping Buddha day.

Sleeping Buddha image from Buddha-Images.com

What's the difference? Reclining Buddha was just chillin' and some giant (Asurindarahu) came up to him frontin', so Buddha made himself appear even larger than the giant and showed him the grandeur of heaven, as it were. That did the trick.

On the other hand, Sleeping Buddha represents the moment he ~~went to greatness~~ entered Nirvana.

On the other other hand... others use "reclining" and "sleeping" interchangeably, which is confusing and threatens to eject me from my Zen zone. Either way though, Tuesday's child has a major dose of the laidback.

Click here to determine on which day of the week you were born,
then refer here to see which Buddha pose is "yours" and what it means. Have fun!

Notes from Chiang Mai: day 1

2010-11-07T18:39:00.001+08:00

The hardest thing about returning from a holiday is returning from it.

A.M.

- the flight is 2.5 hours. I want to advise the German passenger behind me to pony up the extra RM15 (?) for her next Air Asia flight so she'll have more space for her knobbly knees and the person in front won't have to receive an unsolicited lower back massage, as I did.

- Chiang Mai International Airport is small, but our guide is smaller. Mum and I were expecting a dude!

- our first sightseeing spot of the day: Doi Suthep temple. There are a few stories regarding the origin of the temple, but the most-repeated one is the legend of the White Elephant.

- the temple is located 30,000 feet above sea level* and the route to the top of the hill is long and widing. On a haze-free day, a vista of the city is yours to behold.

- there are 300~~,000~~ steps leading to the temple, and if you cheat and take the tram up, you will not receive any merits.

- there is a little Miao tribe girl with whom you can take photos for a small "donation". Yes, she should be in school.

- since it's still early (about 9 a.m. local time), all is quiet and cool. The ceramic tiles feel slippery and cold under our bare feet (no shoes in the temple, see) and I notice the stray dogs** lolling in the sunshine have glossy coats and appear very well-fed. Go, Thailand.

- Mum makes her first purchase of the trip: wind-up butterfly toys. Her first launch crashes, but the trader doesn't seem to mind.

- even though it's still morning, we have lunch right after we leave the temple and descend the hill. The pre-planned Thai laksa doesn't pan out as Mum vetoes anything with santan in it; I have regular tom yam noodles and she has pork 'n' rice.

P.M.

- it's still too early to check in to our hotel, so we visit the Royal Flora Ratchapruek garden.***

- The place is so dead that we don't even bother to hop off our tram, shortening a 30-minute ride in half.

- it's with much relief we trundle up to the check-in counter at the Suriwongse Hotel an hour later. The place is just around the corner from the night market (which, I dunno) and a Starbucks outlet no local would be caught dead at.

- our heads (or maybe just mine) are still spinning from the efficiency of check-in when we reach our room on the fifth floor in the new wing. It overlooks... the back lane.

- clearly, ours is not a "family" room, given that a window from the bathroom opens to the rest of the room, and there is no lock on the bathroom door.

- dinner is a khantoke-style repast, where the food is presented in artful little servings ala Korea (as many refills as you can wolf down barbarously):

- I have a mai-tai and decide I should've stuck to plain water.

- dinner is joined halfway by a performance incorporating Lanna culture.

- on a totally unrelated note, the khantoke dinner place releases giant lanterns for the benefit of the European guests. Us Asians see all that during CNY.

Fun Facts

- hunger + lack of sleep + driving ala Thai (all gas, no brakes) => impending car sickness.

- there is one Buddha for every day of the week; except Mondays and Sundays, where there is one each for morning and afternoon.

- Tuesday (my birthday) is the day of the Sleeping Buddha.

- Thais don't plant bougainvillea in the home as it implies that the husband may take on a mistress.

- Malaysian tom yam: redolent with lemongrass and kaffir lime leaves; tomatoes are always present, as are shreds of chicken meat/beef/seafood.

- Thai tom yam: a layer of chili oil glistens on the top; slices of char siew abound, and there seems to be no end to the chunks of minced pork. The noodles and spring onions appear to have been added as an afterthought, and the serving is garnished with enough deep fried lard to clog an elephant's arteries.

- Thai tom yam merits its own poetry.

* this is an approximation
** mastiff-Labrador retriever combinations, it would appear (!)
*** Originally conceived as a tribute to the King in 2006, the place has since become a white elephant (see what I did there?) that rivals our own, uh, Rakan Muda activity centers.

I think I've made it: Part 2

2010-10-30T17:05:00.000+08:00

Drafting a vacation response is only for grownups right?

Grownups who have jobs and
make $$$ (yeaaah) and
who make grownup decisions like going on holiday to some foreign country (aren't they all?) and
enjoy grownup beverages like, uh, iced tea and
expect work-related emails from other examples of ~~arrested juvenalia~~ grownups to arrive in their inbox when they're away.

That's what grownups do, no?

I feel like someone's going to call me on a bluff at any moment now, HEHE.

Me so punny

2010-10-26T10:52:00.000+08:00

I like watching cooking shows because there's always something to learn. I know I won't be writing for one any time soon, though, because I won't be able to resist slipping in, "Now, it's time for thyme!"

That's not how it's supposed to go

2010-10-23T17:39:00.000+08:00

Ever since mum retired from active government service three (?) years ago, I have gradually taken over her duties as Interior Minister of Domestic Affairs. This was largely due to her appointment to a new portfolio: Executive Committee President of Personal Fitness Management.

Among the changes I have instituted was the purchase of a carbon steel/cast iron wok. I don't know what metal it's made from lah, but any hawker char kuey teow man would be proud to own it.

Culinary department developments appear to have culminated thus:

Mum: Today's veg is so tasty!
Me: I know right?
Mum: What did you do?
Me: The usual, pour my heart and soul into it.
Mum: Nah, that's not it.
Me: Fine, I used BIG fire. And different cooking oil.
Mum: Yeah, that's what I thought.

I may be due for a bonus soon (let's buy a deep fryer!).

Don't hate the player

2010-10-16T14:18:00.000+08:00

Part of my routine includes collecting Dad's ironed laundry from the dobi. The dobi proprietress, Jane, is a chatty sort who seems to get a kick out of the fact I'm one of the few females who visits the place.

She addresses me as "hot stuff" and "hottie" whenever she sees me, which makes the other (male) customers take a second look, given that I tend to roll up in the daggiest of house-wear (tatty shirt, saggy walking shorts, hair in a careless ponytail).

She was working at the counter when I showed up a few days ago. The conversation went thus:

Jane: Wah, hot chick, how are you ah?
Me: Good, and you?
Jane: Same-same lah... your boyfriend how ah?
Me: Same-same la, hehe. How was your holiday?
Jane: Good-oh! Eh... you still freedom ah?

I was about to tell her that while I'm happy with Enfant Terrible, I also like not being married before I realised what she actually meant.

Me: Oh, you mean freelance issit?
Jane: Ya la!
Me: *pedantically* But you said "freedom" leh.
Jane: Aiyah, freelance... freedom, same la! You can go out anytime you want!
Me: Oh, ya huh!

Do 3 sets of 10; rinse, repeat

2010-10-13T18:06:00.000+08:00

So, it's still pretty early this morning when I get my running shoes on and am about to traipse out the house when my mum wanders out of her bedroom.

"Where are you going?" she says.

"Gonna have a jalk," I reply.*

There is a moment's silence as she, who attends yoga, aerobics, resistance band training and something called "BodyPump" on a regular basis, mulls this over and eventually says, "Whoa... why?"

Because I've lost 3 kilos so far and would like to keep them off, THAT'S WHY.

* jog-walk. I'd say "wog" but I'm not Carol Thatcher (wog -> gollywog -> Jo-Wilfried Tsonga, apparently)

I think I've made it

2010-10-09T00:16:00.000+08:00

A sure sign I've become famous is when complete strangers send me emails that don't ask for my help in moving millions of dollars from an African bank account:

Have a beautiful Day !

Dear Angela [pseudonymous surname],

in the small Polish town of Olesnica, there is a particular library. Please allow me to introduce you to:

The Foreign Language Social Library, a part of the GLOWINSKIS' LIBRARY

The Foreign Language Social Library (a part of the Glowinskis' Library) is a very special one in part because all of the library's books, as well as its huge gallery of illustrations (digitals and pictures), have been donated by not only the illustrators and writers themselves, but also by librarians, publishers and people with large hearts from around the whole world.

I would be honored and delighted if you would consider donating anything of your work to our library. Your own book (with autograph or dedication), illustrations, and the like, would be most appreciated by our readership and by me personally.

The Glowinskis' Library lends books at no charge, and I work in the library as an unpaid volunteer. We depend entirely on people like you - large hearted people who love the printed word, books and illustrations - to make what we do possible.

Please visit our website below to see who else has generously agreed to donate a small item of work to represent them at our library:

http://glowinski.olesnica.pl/index.php?lang=en&page=galeria

http://glowinski.olesnica.pl/index.php?lang=pl&page=swiatowyksiegozbior

Thank you for your time and consideration.

With best regards from Poland,

Tadeusz Glowinski Librarian

The best part is, this guy is TOTALLY FOR REAL. I totally looked him up. He's 63 years old. He's been carrying out this one-man crusade for years. PEOPLE REALLY DO SEND HIM THEIR OWN BOOKS.

You see the problem here, of course. If I adhere to his stipulations, then the only thing I can send him is my dissertation. That might actually be a good idea...

In the mean time, I shall settle for spreading Teddy's email around. I'm sure we can work something out. It's also an incentive to take NaNoWriMo seriously, no?

Emphatically so

2010-09-15T15:07:00.000+08:00

It's a bad idea to watch something like True Blood in the wee hours of the morning - you have to stop yourself from squealing in (self) recognition when Eric Northman, the Sheriff of Area Five, coolly informs the vampire interrogator that Fangtasia's basement is spotlessly clean because "I'm a Virgo".

Then, you surf over to the sports channel and have to stuff your knuckles in your mouth (to keep quiet) because there's a sweaty, muscled Spaniard slowly, but surely, pounding a raffish-looking Serbian in to submission.

Conclusion: late-night TV is bad for me.

(As usual, full-sized images are available at a click)

Things that seem romantic until you say it out loud #478944321

2010-09-11T13:10:00.001+08:00

"You know, darling, you should gain 10 kilos so I don't feel so obsessed with spending every waking moment with you."

If it looks like chicken...

2010-09-09T16:11:00.000+08:00

... but smells like month-old used socks, then you might have a problem.

Speaking from experience (yes, really), you only get a pong like that when the meat's been in the chiller for more than 4 days.

Sadly, it had actually been sitting in the freezer for 4 days, and the stench of rot hit my unfortunate nostrils the moment I peeled the cling-wrap off the thawed meat.

Really, [locally-owned chicken vendor], how could you?

Not Cinderella aka That was completely uncalled for

2010-09-02T13:11:00.002+08:00

Mum is cleaning out the shoe corner for a reason none of us can fathom, and unearths a shoe box. Opening it, she queries, "Whose Bata sandals are these?"

I think ~~therefore I am~~ for a moment before claiming them.

(I'm the only person who wears anything from Bata in this family)

"Unpossible!" says the mater.

"Why not??" quoth I.

"These are clearly TOO SMALL to fit on your ~~monstrously~~ long feet!"

So I hurry over for a look and, lo and behold, they are indeed my Bata sandals that I stopped wearing last month.

Too small indeed.

How to tell if you're ill, not awesome

2010-08-31T03:43:00.001+08:00

First off, I should known something had gone horribly wrong when, to the great bemusement of Enfant Terrible, I chortled my way through Vampires Suck. The movie didn't have much to offer other than the cast's spot-on parodies of the characters from Twilight and clever jokes were thin on the ground.

This is just a guess, but I think the excitement of coming back from China combined with squid on the wrong side of fresh means that you'll visit the loo again and again. And again as your insides keep disagreeing with whatever's inside them.

Next, you'll go to bed, only to wake up a few hours later for yet another visit, and this is where the fun begins. Signs that something is terribly wrong with you include:

- cold sweat
- a face that feels simultaneously flushed and chilled
- the urge to drool uncontrollably
- a swift loss of sensation in your extremities
- swimming/blurred/sparkling vision
- a roaring sound in your ears that deafens you to everything else
- the feeling of receding from the world as the darkness closes in around you

If you're anything like me, you lurch off the commode in a bid to prevent tomorrow's excruciating headline ("Diarrhea fatality found in em-bare-ass-ing position"), and somehow make it to the bottle of rehydration solution you cleverly prepared earlier but stupidly neglected to sip.

The excitement continues as you reel back in the direction you came, only to have a doorframe stand in the way of your face before you do your best impression of a bull in a china shop. Fortunately, your memory is dead-on and the porcelain throne is exactly where you left it.

Madly chugging the solution as though your life depends on it (and it probably did), you feel consciousness fight its way through the fog and slowly win. Your brothers will get involved here as they're still awake despite the odd hour, and provide you with the means to carry out a task that should only be confined to a Jackass production.

I think I'll watch some tennis now.

On the importance of paying attention

2010-08-20T10:54:00.000+08:00

It must be me, because I can't imagine why anyone isn't tickled by the religious incongruity this month:

Hungry Ghost festival (Buddhist/Taoist/ancestor worship) - spirits of the dead, who didn't receive a proper send-off, offerings or misbehaved when they were alive, are set free to roam the earth. The living burn offerings and whatnot to appease said spirits.

Ramadhan - demons are chained up during the fasting month. I presume this is to ensure mankind is only tormented by temptations of its own doing?

I don't visit the park expressly to eavesdrop, but it's hard not to listen in on someone's conversation when they're talking so loudly that even monkeys on the other side of the hill flee in surprise.

After squealing over a meter-long snake that threatened to chase them (it was still shaking off the cold, mind), Miss UK began honking on about movies and whatnot and her two local friends* tried to keep up in terms of enthusiasm and volume.

Miss UK: What's a movie you've seen recently that really made you think?
Friend 1: Inception was cool.
Miss UK: OMG YES WASN'T THAT AN AMAZING MOVIE??? Which bit did you like best?
Friend 2: Oh, ya, I liked that show, especially the part where the Chinese guy went in to limbo...

I'm sure it was an easy mistake to make, given that SAITO was travelling in a BULLET TRAIN headed to KYOTO.

* It's funny how locals tend to shape their accents to complement that of Westerners. It never sounds natural, but it's such a compulsion that resistance is futile.

Instructional: How to handle a dead body

2010-08-18T11:38:00.001+08:00

The same way it doesn't make a jaunt through the pasar ramadhan more romantic, attending a wake on a rainy evening does not make the event more poignant.

This is because:

a) It's not a bloody movie
b) It's bloody reality (which means there isn't anyone like Arthur!Inception around to give you a saucy "kick")

If anything, it annoys you because you have to contend with the cold rain trickling down your neck, fogged glasses and worry that you will disrespectfully trek mud up and down your aunt's porch as you pay your respects to her deceased husband.

My uncle, who was the fifth of my mother's six brothers (true story), died after being struck by a second heart attack, the first of which took place maybe 2 hours prior. At least, that's what I gathered from my aunt's recollection.

Aside from deciding that mourners gathering around to express their condolences to my bleary-eyed aunt and cousins was a horrible spectacle akin to rubbernecking at an automobile accident, I also learnt how much it costs to organise a funeral.

A minimum of RM18,000* will ensure that Nirvana Memorial Services (NMS) handles everything from notifications to peanuts to purification rituals. RM20,000 more will get you a better hearse and cortège arrangement and 200 SMS notifications instead of 100. Also: more chairs.

My role at the funeral was to observe quietly and marvel at how NMS have refined the postmortem ritual down to a well-oiled operation. Points of interest included:

- Everyone younger than the deceased has to wear a white sash, knotted on the left and accessorised with a red ribbon to ward off bad energy.
- Uncle #2 kicking up a prolonged fuss when he discovered that my grandfather's name was written on the banner instead of his brother's, not because he cares, but because he's a bitchy old man whose sole purpose in life appears to be kicking up a fuss.
- Turning away when the coffin was brought out to ward off bad energy.
- Uncle #2 being led away to prevent emission of more bad energy (kidding).
- If you don't know when to bow, take your cue from the monk/nun at the altar.
- The monk/nun announces the departure of the deceased, presumably to the Emperor of Heaven (or Hell), chanting out his name, dates of birth and death, and, um, his address.
- They do love them marching bands at Chinese funerals, don't they?

After paying our respects at the home, mourners proceeded to the NMS crematorium across town. More observation ensued:

- If only places for living people were as peaceful and inviting as the memorial park.
- Buddhist funeral chanting, dry ice and a benevolent image of Buddha from whose third eye a green laser emits to play across the coffin as it slowly rolls in to the cremation chamber makes for major eye-rolling.
- Being a stone-cold ~~killer~~ scribe counts for nothing as the finality of death virtually hits you across the face with a two-handed backhand of horror thanks to the protracted farewell that eventually takes its toll on your battle-hardened self (so that's why it goes on so long!).

A great way to end the afternoon was to have everyone reminisce about the deceased over a catered lunch (we did, sorta). Unfortunately, death is serious business, and an offer to tour the memorial grounds soon became a sales pitch for those who were interested in "investing in the future". I would say something clever here but I'm much too hungry right now.

* this price excludes the cost of a cremation urn and a "unit" in their columbarium

Separated at Birth Fail

2010-08-05T17:04:00.000+08:00

So I watched a bit of the World Cup and was struck by the resemblance between footballer Javier "Chicharito" Hernandez (Mexico) and one Jensen Ackles (actor, Texas). I wanted to do a side by side comparison but couldn't find a good shot of Hernandez. This will have to do:

Bless his eyebrows

Is one of them a cross-border brother from another mother or are they just two dudes who look uncannily like one another? Either way, they're a big timely reminder from this lovely universe that honest to god bishies have a place in every country and society.

The good thing about knowing nothing about a person is that you can project anything you want on them. They both look like the stoic, muy macho type who keeps everything inside, but just as you're about to break up with him for being so secretive, he mutters, “Te amo,” and stalks off.

Bless his, er, oh god, where do I start?

I'm also bracing myself for the onslaught of breathless badfic that is sure to result when slashers realise that Hernandez joining the BPL* (from C.D. Guadalajara; the first Mexican player evar!) will set the stage for a cross-continental encounter of the Iberian kind:

“The one they called 'Little Pea' stood uncertainly in the doorway, wishing he could flee the carnage before him. It was what BPL execs called a 'welcoming party', only no one had thought to furnish him with a translator. Chicharito's textbook English was never going to cut it here**; his thoughts were already back in Mexico, pining for the almost forgotten warmth and raucousness of his own family.

Just as the unhappy Mexican newcomer was about to slap himself on the forehead, mentally berating himself for making such a hasty decision, a voice like warm honey melted through the swirling torrent of homesickness and regret.

'Hola,' said Fernando Torres. Receiving no answer, he cocked his head quizzically at the young man, who was staring at him with the brightest, most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen. He tried again. 'You speak English, no?'

'Si!' Hernandez answered hurriedly. 'I mean, yes. Yes, I speak English.' Why was he so flustered? Maybe it had something, or everything, to do with the handsome Spaniard looking at him, a friendly smile playing on his lips. He couldn't help but admire the casual, loving manner the Spanish player's shirt draped his broad shoulders, its bright red colour the perfect complement to a shock of golden hair that fell carelessly over clear brown eyes...”

* He'll probably move his family there, away from the Mexi drug cartels, at the first chance he gets! /stereotyping

** not true, really

Strategising on Saturday

2010-08-01T19:53:00.002+08:00

these are my notes from yesterday’s rehearsal session for my graduation ceremony on Tuesday:

8.50 a.m. - skip breakfast and ignore road etiquette to get to UM on time for the rehearsal session.

9 a.m. - pray fervently that Malaysian timing comes into play.

9.20 a.m. - prayers answered (not proud of it).
- the hall is barely full. these are the thousands of graduates due to receive their scrolls next week?

- curse under my breath as the announcer announces that the post-grad briefing will only take place at 11 a.m.

- decide to listen to the undergrads’ briefing anyway.
10 a.m. - bursting for a pee. the toilets are still clean. great!
10.30 a.m. - everyone laughs at the undergrad who presents a deep, 90-degree bow during the practice session.
11 a.m. - post-grad briefing begins. it’s a rehash of what was presented earlier, but with a facilitator from the institute of post-grad studies instead of the exam unit and no practice.
- the guide on how to put on academic dress is in video format.
- refrain from growling “I’m the Batman!” when the model lifts one arm, then the other to show how the sleeves should fall correctly.
11.30 a.m. - realise that even though the facilitator promised to speak in English and BM, his English is actually less fluent than that of the facilitator from the exam unit.
- excitement ripples through the audience when it is announced that we will be receiving our scrolls from the Pro-Chancellor of UM @ his royal handsomeness the crown prince of Perak, Raja Nazrin Shah. FFS he’s 53 this year!
12.15 p.m. - leave. the sun is too bright.

I’ve forgotten what I’m supposed to do already.

Here and now

2010-06-20T20:01:00.003+08:00

I was driving one day when Adam Lambert came on. Hearing him screech the first lines of If I Had You* filled me with such manic glee (or depthless despair? I don't know) that I felt like putting my foot down and driving straight into the nearest immovable object.

Death, like your dream wedding or how many children you want to have, is one of those things people don't talk about unless persuaded with red hot pokers or Lady Gaga's Alejandro (once is bad enough). I guess it's taboo because you'll jinx yourself somehow, and die on your wedding day or while making said imaginary children.

In any case, I want a cremation when I'm daed. There's no need for me to lie in state like Uncle Ho or get a ridiculous granite gravestone so that whoever's left behind has to think of something pithy and brief to put on it, because I didn't expect to die so soon and hadn't thought of anything memorable yet. Did you know that "pithy" and "brief" mean the same thing?

Anyway, I don't intend to sit in a jar in a crematorium, forgotten until it's my birthday or death day. No, if I can't be a star while I'm still alive, I want to be sparkly in death. Like a Stephenie Meyer vampire, but more deader.

So, yes, I like the idea of a company like LifeGem. It may not appeal to some people, but having a dead loved one in portable form and always close by sounds like a nice idea. Besides, if you really cared about that person, you'd get over your squeamishness and fork over the minimum of $3499 needed to turn them into a 0.2-0.29 carat blue diamond (above).

They don't even need the entire body; just 200g of ash or a lock of hair and you're set! That means you can donate the rest of the junk to science and/or organ banks (if everything is still in working condition, that is).

For an Asian slant (ahem), I believe there's a Taiwanese company that does something similar, but it turns you into jade instead.

* "So I got my boots on, got the right 'mount of leather/And I'm doing me up with a black color liner/And I'm workin' my strut but I know it don't matter" … I think the video will be the visual equivalent of driving ice picks into my ears. It could be a good thing…

Extra reading: 100 Things To Do Before You Die

Things That Make You Go "Hmmm…"

2010-05-20T14:06:00.000+08:00

Have you ever noticed that the people who drink the protein shakes are the ones who are never around when heavy lifting needs to be done? Imagine lil' ol' me lugging a pail of rain water to the kitchen so we can do our bit for the future while Bro2 looks on idly from his seat at the PC.

This college dodge ball hero makes his protein drinks every day without fail and with clockwork precision at precisely the right time. And he watches like a lord as everyone else carries out the chores. He might be thinking, "A successful alarm dodges near the dash." That's a stupid phrase, by the way, and I don't know where I picked that up.

You see things like this everywhere, the most glaring example being the big hero swaggering through the mall with 5 or 6 wee children all under the age of 10 (wtf???) trailing merrily behind him and trying to pull their mother in 4 different directions. Said mother has a resigned look on her face that shows she totally didn't sign up for this shit.

Okay, maybe it's been a bad day for me but it could be worse. I could be Ronnie James Dio hahaha.

Culinary Conversations

2010-05-12T11:51:00.002+08:00

Dad comes home after an exhausting evening of boozing. He heads to the kitchen to see what I've cooked for dinner.

Dad: Wah, so much pork!

Me: Uh-huh.

Dad: *lifts the kuali lid* Oh, no green veggie.

Me: That's (light green) cabbage!

Dad: But it's not green.

Me: What colour is it then?

Dad: Cabbage is white.

I also now know Laura Calder is a fraud who spends all her time leaning towards the camera because it's the only way she can keep an audience's attention. She was roasting a chicken and said she loves breast meat because it's the best bit off a bird.

Everyone knows deep-fried/roasted crispy chicken skin is the only thing that matters.

Weirdness of the Day/Week

2010-05-03T15:45:00.001+08:00

So there I was, happily trotting along in my lovely new running shoes past some houses when a geezer strolls out from a side road up ahead.

I shoot a glance at him and recognize him; everybody needs a morning stroll every now and then. You may get slower with age, but it doesn't mean you have to stop completely.

He sees me, and I nod and smile in acknowledgment. Just as I pass him, he says, "You remind me of my daughter."

Moral: people can get lonely, more so old people. It's okay to have a chat as long as they don't offer to bring you somewhere "nearby" for tea (context).

Weekend Dilemma

2010-05-01T12:08:00.001+08:00

Q: Do I watch Ip Man 2 or Iron Man 2?

A: Yes.

Donnie Yen is no Tony Leung and knows it. To his credit, he doesn't merely sleepwalk through the bits where he has to emote, instead providing a competent performance as Ip Man the family man, Ip Man the faithful friend and Ip Man the Champion of the Chinese. The latter, of course, is the most convincing, but I shouldn’t be postulating because I don't know what Ip Man the (actual) man was like.

I shouldn't pretend to be a film analyst either, but Sammo Hung has come a long way from the days of performing kung fu slapstick with Jackie Chan. He, like Simon Yam, is probably one of the most underrated actors of their generation. Sidelined from leading roles due to their lack of matinee idol looks, they spent their time in the shadows cultivating subtle nuances that make their characters memorable despite the relative lack of screen time.

Of course, Hung is always memorable thanks to his prodigious girth (oh yes, I said it).

True to the 1950's style characterization, the villainous Brits are stereotypical caricatures. Enfant Terrible and I couldn't get over how carefully "English" their enunciation was. In fact, they took such pains to sound English; we were convinced they weren't English at all.

Darren Shahlavi (of Iranian-British descent), touted by director Wilson Yip as "a martial artist who has been a fan of Donnie Yen", was interesting – his character brims, no, seethes with barely repressed homosexuality and seems completely incapable of using his indoor voice. I understand he's called "The Twister" as in "a tornado", but he really should've been named "The Tantrum".

However, I commend him for his ability to sneer and snarl without getting any face cramps, and the ability to make his veins pop without any apparent strain.

(This man manages to look both baffled and angry in most of his scenes)

The action scenes were what the crowd came for, and they were certainly worth the ticket price. It may sound like contradictory when I say the first Ip Man movie was better, but that's only because it was so awesome. This sequel, which was pretty awesome in its own right, thus pales in comparison beside it.

Trivia pulled from Wikipedia says Hung underwent cardiac surgery prior to principal filming. He apparently plans to "challenge" Yen in subsequent films because their duels in IM2 were restrained by the script. I'd buy tickets to that.

When I told her about the trailer, my mother she say: aiyah, when they're fighting they only film them from the waist up lah! My mother, she was totally right.

In the meantime, I'll be practicing that signature pigeon-toed shuffle. You know the one I mean.

Random Letters

2010-04-29T11:48:00.000+08:00

Dear Adam,

I really liked you when you were on American Idol. I was unhappy when you wound up runner-up but was sure that you would eventually do better than Kris because you were FIERCE dammit.

Your album cover had me wondering if some restraint could've been exercised when it came to creative control. Ditto your preponderance towards screeching, and your apparent ambition to channel Queen Elvis.

I'm still not over your costume choice when you were in Sydney for Mardi Gras either. I didn't even know codpieces came those sizes; were you trying to be seen from outer space, by Ziggy Stardust perhaps? I hate to break it to you, but Ziggy don't play that way no more.

Also, you might want to go easy on the carbs.

Careful, you're gonna have someone's eye (or other body parts) out!

The only cause that allows me to hope for better things in your future is how nice you look when you stop overdosing on eyeliner and styling products (but I won't say anything about the pancake base, okay?).

See (if this really is you, then carry on)?

In fact, you and that nice Johnny Weir would make such a cute couple. I can't imagine why anyone hasn't slashed the two of you already. You'd have such catty (but cute!) fights over whose turn is it to wear the (leather) pants.

Always yours,

Auntie Kaypoh.

I May Be Gone For a While

2010-04-24T18:41:00.001+08:00

Dear world,

I'm sorry if we haven't been in touch, but I've been watching Lady Gaga's Telephone video at every chance I have lately. I refer, of course, to the full-length explicit version that runs for nearly 10 minutes and is (still) available on her site, so you don't have to visit YourT00b to whet your curiosity.

I think I could watch it a hundred times and still find something new, because there just seems to be that much going on in it. That's to say nothing of the blatant product placement that just seems to work because the whole thing's a live-action cartoon, albeit a nasty one.

Everyone knows about the use of Tiberium, but there's also the Michael Jackson tribute as well as the reference to an earlier video (Paparazzi) in the form of the Mickey Mouse sunglasses. I'm sure there's an entire shipload of references I missed because I'm not from New York/USA/wherever Jonas Akerlund is from (SWEDISH DEATH METAL BAND).

On another occasion, she looks uncannily like Mara, the leader of the creepy alien children in Village of The Damned, when she puts on her pokerface in well, Pokerface.

Then, there's that sexy take on Gandalf in Love Game (that might just be me though). And, dancing with a bunch of parkour-esque-istos like Madonna? Really? Not to mention writhing around dressed in only rhinestones and body paint ala a certain Ms Spears at a point in her life when she was hot. Did she really wanna take a ride on a disco stick that badly?

Don't even get me started on Bad Romance, which is Pan's Labyrinth + James Bond but gone all sorts of wrong.

And there you have it, almost half of her entire discography and enough pop culture references for an entire thesis. Either she is very clever or considers videos of yore her very own bag of pick-n-mix.

I like watching her gyrate but her face confuses me because she looks like Marilyn Manson. Come to think of it, Mr. Warner has been very quiet after the release of Eat Me, Drink Me, hasn't he? He's clearly moving in a different direction, and I must say that fetish lingerie suits him.

On the other hand, we shouldn't be surprised at all, given the way he dressed in the band's earlier days. It should be noted though, that his mastery of walking elegantly in ultra-high heels is commendable and impressive, although not wholly surprising.

In the meantime, I remain thus occupied, trying to get Bad Romance to load. Didn't you hear, it's the most-viewed vid on YouTube now.

And, because that was really long (it's been ages since the last post), here is a comic I just don't get.

p.s. - You know what one of the cutest things about Date Night is? The fact that the entire adventure kicks off on a Friday evening and is resolved at the end of the night, allowing them to spend the weekend relaxing and reconnecting. Genius.

Something Something

2010-04-07T16:27:00.002+08:00

An incongruous sense of serenity overcame me when I listened in on my neighbour blasting Hujan (or someone who sounds like them) in the still, breathless vacuum that preceded an awesome thunderstorm.

Only, it didn't rain all that hard in the end. Or at all.

Your Chance To Be A Superstar!

2010-04-02T10:51:00.001+08:00

I picked a great day to read The Malay Mail on Tuesday. Fly halfway across the country at my own expense and pay a "processing fee" for a job I may or may not get? Sure!

(click for bigger version)

Something Is Wrong With This Picture (Contains Language)

2010-03-31T12:48:00.000+08:00

I need to get something off my chest, and I'm not talking about an under-filled bra.

1. Dad gets to work a half-day today thanks to Michael Schumacher and Nico Rosberg of the Petronas racing team. As you know, the F1 carnival has come to town and everyone who's anyone will be begging for tickets to the paddock. It will be like a giant car show, only you don't get to sit in the car, honk the horn, wrestle the steering wheel and test the suspension.

What does his [North American] high commission have to do with two Europeans driving for a Malaysian outfit? Nothing, expect that the roads around their building and the general area will be closed from 2-7 p.m. today for some race demo thing, so they've been advised to leave early.

I remember dad mentioning how the route has been newly tarred to provide a smooth driving surface. We don't want to be known as the country whose potholed capital city killed two competitive drivers, do we?

2. I thought I was jaded as far as Malaysian "punctuality" goes, but even I cringed when Robert Rainford had to wait 1.5 hours to serve his painstakingly prepped barbecue stuff. It's okay to be horrendously late for a gala dinner as long as you're a "dignitary". I'm not a fan of barbecue, but I felt sorry just looking at his disheartened mug on the TV screen.

For shame, you as-yet-unidentified "VIP" (the minister of tourism, really?). If the proles, bourgeoisie and hoi polloi can arrive on time, early even, without the assistance of outriders, then what's your excuse?

I missed the first 15 minutes of the show, which was filmed in June 09, so I didn't see how six (6!) of X number of chefs wound up going AWOL on the big day. I know when that happens though, you're definitely in Malaysia and it doesn't bode well for the rest of your day.

3. Watching E! News makes me hate myself. The presenters chortle about the latest celebrity sex scandal (tape/mistress/mistress on tape) and in the next breath, squeal about how disgusting it was to hear that Lady Gaga asked Boy George to sign her v-a-g-i-n-a (he declined because he didn't have a pen).

In fact, they work themselves into a state of near-apoplexy trying not to say the word, settling instead for clever euphemisms like "nasty bits", "down there", "hoo-ha" (what the fuck, are you in grade school?) and (my un-favorite) "vajayjay".

I feel like Joseph Conrad's savage. How can you gleefully report who's having sex with whom and yet shrink away from pronouncing anatomic terms correctly? That is some serious fucked up bullshit.

Operation Losing It: Day 35 Progress Report

2010-03-22T22:48:00.003+08:00

I… have been derailed. I've bought a(nother) cake recipe book and can't wait to try it! You can't blame me, there was a sale! Pineapple upside down cake! Surprise cake! Is there no one who doesn’t like cake??

Not all is lost though, as my revved-up metabolism continues to allow me to wear my clothes without looking like an overstuffed sausage as long as I hold my breath.

Today, whether you want to know or not, I will explain what palm-sized portions constitute:

Every portion of food you take (meat, veg, carbs, fruits, SWEETS) should be able to fit into the cupped palm of your hand. I'm sure you already knew that. Eating this way can make you feel like you're depriving yourself, but it reinforces the habit of eating constant but smaller meals, which provides a continuous source of energy.

That is the theory. In practice, your life will not be a happy one if your hands are as small as mine are. There's also the 9-inch theory and the 1/3 theory, which leads me to believe "methods" such as these were dreamed up by men, since they're always so geeky about numbers and sizes and things like that.

Thank you and good night.

Progress Report Day 28: Diversion

2010-03-17T13:11:00.000+08:00

This week's report has been held over because:

#1 – speculating what Smuggler the Shady Neighbour may have gotten himself into is more interesting, and,

#2 – no one really wants to read about how adopting better running posture, decreasing stride length and increasing cadence has helped me run more comfortably, although it has and I'm very chuffed about it. I feel ready to justice to a marathon right now hur hur hur. No, not really, but close enough.

So, my neighbour from one door down is an object of curiosity for me. He keeps to himself, and I used to pretend he was a smuggler because he comes and goes at the oddest hours and his car windows are fully tinted (mum: you are so kaypoh, you know that?).

On the other hand, he has the coolest garden, which has a sort of shabby neglected chic vibe in which bird-of-paradise flowers thrive very well. Maybe I'm just a sucker for cinderblock structures and Buddha heads entwined in vines.

However, other people's business is not my business, until last weekend, that is. On Saturday evening, Smuggler parked his shady-looking car under his porch instead of outside on the drive as he usually does and the license plate had been covered up. It was just sheets of white paper stuck together with cellotape, but what morally-upright member of society does that anyway?

When a police car stopped near the house on Monday night, I was absolutely certain that they'd found the body and traced it back to Smuggler. Instead of kicking down his doors though, they questioned some other guy who'd apparently been sitting for too long in his car for some resident's comfort.

The car remained "inside" all weekend until yesterday. Mum reported that visual contact of Smuggler had been made and there was a moving truck outside his house. Clearly he's going to go underground for a while.

The Effort Counts

2010-03-17T12:29:00.001+08:00

Bro2 (uncertainly and apropos of nothing): Dad made me a sandwich once.

Me: Huh.

Bro2 (face twisted in distaste): I took a bite and was like, "Eargh, what is this?"

Me: And?

Bro2: And he said, "Garlic butter and jam!"

Me: *rofl*

Mum: That's not really a sandwich.*

Bro2: Garlic butter and jam!!!

It's certainly nothing you find on a sandwich menu. As far as I know, there's no jam in the fridge either.

* A sandwich is two or more slices of bread with filling (meat, veg, not butter) in between.

Solomon Kane makes me stupid

2010-03-13T12:10:00.002+08:00

What a big… sword you have there, Solomon Kane.

Viewers, meet your antidote to the execrable Percy Jackson.

I've been trying to write about Solomon Kane ever since I watched it on Tuesday but this is all I get: LONG LEAN LEGS WAHWAHWAH LONG STRAGGLY HAIR WHY IS HE SO HOT DROOLDROOLDROOOOOOOOOOOL OMG IS HE POUTING. Suits you, James Purefoy.

What I found incongruous though was how quickly he turned from snarly, evil bandit-type scoundrel into a sniveling, cringing "God, why hast thou forsaken me?" sap upon being told his soul is DAMNED.

That was not a spoiler. In fact, it's the entire premise of the movie. You might even be tempted to draw comparisons to Angel in BTVS, but without the sex and ultimate happiness bit. This is because Solomon Kane is a Puritan (this is important).

Anyway, dude has fought, raided and slaughtered his way across the Dark Continent, presumably in her royal majesty's name (?). Did he really expect to get to heaven for his deeds? Oh wait, Solomon Kane is a Puritan. That explains everything. Puritans don't go to heaven, they go to America, and they angst a hell of a lot on the way there too.

This means there's no romance in the movie. I hate romantic movies. Romantic movies suck. I didn't watch Valentine's Day. Valentine's Day is a movie for young girls and people who don't actually have romance in their lives and can only get some at the cinema. Or who have major, desperate joneses for Shark/Wolfboy.

I'm not bitter, just unkind. The best romance I ever saw was between the Joker and Batman.

Solomon Kane angsts over everything. He broods when he's not angsting. Maybe he's upset at how much he resembles Hugh Jackman a la Van Helsing. It's possible he carries more emotional baggage than Bruce Wayne. Speaking of Batman, Enfant Terrible is certain Batman would win a fight against Solomon Kane.

They're both superheroes anyway, because they both wear cloaks. Sorry, capes.

Because Solomon Kane* is Puritan, it also means there are a grand total of two topless scenes in the film, both completely contextual. I love alliteration and that was not a spoiler either.

You know what Solomon Kane should jettison though – the dialogue. Dialogue appropriate for speech bubbles doesn't translate very well into actual speech. I liked the setting though. There was loads of mud, ensuring that all misery displayed was authentic.

Here is a brief evolution of the Solomon Kane look:

Classic

Dream, is that you?

Well, hallo thar!

Love the hat. All the cool dudes wear one. Alucard has one.

Fun facts: Doug Jones (recently seen in Hell Boy I and II, Pan's Labyrinth, Quarantine… Richie Rich) does not play any of the monsters in this movie.

* There's just something about the name that requires it to be said in full, like Chuck Norris, e.g. Solomon Kane doesn't angst, he anguishes.

Operation Losing It: Day 21 progress report

2010-03-08T21:47:00.002+08:00

Portion control just doesn’t fly well when your dad insists on a sit-down dinner every Sunday. Still, it's only one day in the entire week, right? I'm just happy it's not a dinner party for which I have to cook!

On the bright side, I'm getting back some of the wicked definition I had, oh, 2 months ago. The party-pack has yet to accept its destiny is to be a six-pack, but we shall overcome! In fact, Enfant Terrible and I arm-wrestled at the BLR* and it ended in a draw.

It's also ironic that my foot feels so much better now considering I'd bought a bandage for it yesterday. I think it means the bandage is some sort of magic device. Ice works great too!

* Banana leaf restaurant, naturally.

ETA: I have been advised to clarify that ET allowed the arm-wrestling to end in a draw, and that this episode does not reflect unfavorably on his own manly self.

I should be working

2010-03-05T15:15:00.000+08:00

Smart: stuffing ice cubes into a sock then stuffing that sock into another sock to make a cold compress that won’t fall off your foot.

Not so smart: keeping it on so long that the ice melts and soaks both socks, resulting in a curious sloshing sound when you walk around.

I have managed to sprain the top of my foot somehow. It has greatly impaired my ability to scuttle swiftly away from creepy old dudes in the park (yes, we're still on that topic). Speaking of the dude, he's now taken to dressing like a regular old dude, i.e. belted, pleated polyester* trousers neatly tucked into a casual collared shirt. Well, you can't fool me, mister!

Why the resentment? It could have everything to do with me being polite enough ("idiotic") to chat with someone whose friendship I have no interest in cultivating. This person doesn't even remember my name and wants to go for a teh tarik "nearby" and suggests he drive us there.

THIS, despite the fact we're merely park buddies ("nodding acquaintances" as it were), I've spoken to him a grand total of FIVE times and you just don't get into cars with strange men wtfwtf.

So yes, I felt strangely threatened by this strangely babyish, gnome-like, toothless** dude. It might be I don't know what to do with adults who are smaller than I am.

* These trousers are always made of polyester.

** "What are you afraid of? I don't bite!" yeah right.

A Little-Known Fact (PG-13)

2010-03-03T11:15:00.001+08:00

Q: Why is it called an "O-face"?

A: Because when you see one, you mutter to yourself, "O my lord, that's (insert adjective here)…."

That is all.

Operation Losing It: Day 14 Progress Report/Weekend Review

2010-03-01T16:11:00.003+08:00

Trousers A fit much better now. I still need to work on Trousers B. Portion control has suffered a slight setback thanks to the concerned manager at my banana leaf haunt, but it's nothing a few laxatives can't purge (I'm kidding).

That's it, really. And the weighing scale doesn’t creak as ominously as it used to. Go, me!

I also have sunburn from watching tennis over the weekend. The announcer had an uncertain accent and Ning Baizura needs to work on her "pitching" because god knows no one can accompany her on the national anthem if she keeps using that tone of voice with me.

Still in the vein of physical wellbeing, Uncle Toni obviously knows something about physiotherapy that eludes the rest of us. The "raunchy" Shakira Gypsy video* wot features one Rafael Nadal at HCFoo's is about as sexy as a bag of kittens despite some serious skin being shown.

Wafa was gauche, though he obviously looks nice when he's dripping wet, and appeared awkward when flirting with her. At one point, I'm pretty sure his expression is saying, "Look mama, BOSOMS!" If you've seen the way he fidgets during TV changeovers, I'd guess it took a lot of willpower (and numerous takes) for them to get those shots of him sitting quietly, although the pretty lady dancing in front of him probably helped a lot.

He was might have been wondering why he had to take his shirt off and was probably immensely relieved to take off running from said chair (also a pointless scene).

I didn't think much of the song either – it sounds she like set out to do something bluegrassy but wound up with something James Horner left out of Avatar.

Conclusion: next time you want a co-star, it might behoove you to ask someone in the entertainment industry, and not just any random Spanish-speaking tennis player. In fact, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that Fernando Verdasco should have been in the video.

* Lyrics include "I'm a gypsy/I might steal your clothes/if they fit me"
... I AM SO SCANDALIZED.

Sidestep

2010-02-26T13:49:00.004+08:00

Enfant Terrible and I were having dinner at "our" banana leaf restaurant when he mooted the idea of ordering something other than banana leaf rice, roti sardin or tosei on our next visit.

"What would you order?"

He looked around to make sure no one was eavesdropping, then said, "Maybe nasi goreng."

Needless to say, I was aghast.

"Why would you order nasi goreng at a banana leaf restaurant???"

"They have it here right?" he said. "We've never tried it."

"You don't order nasi goreng at an Indian restaurant*, okay? We'll have the manager out in minutes to ask us what's wrong if you do!"

Has your dinner companion ever made such an outrageous suggestion before? What out-of-the-ordinary meal would you order at your regular haunt?

* Honestly, it's never occurred to me to do so before.

Storming the Keep

2010-02-25T16:12:00.001+08:00

I actually tried to wait out one of the Klang Valley's most epic storm of storms in my car on Tuesday across the road from my house (no umbrella).

This, after having driven on zero-visibility roads, over every broken branch lying on said roads (4-wheel drive wot) and through horizontal rain as ferocious winds threatened to sweep me, Kembara and all, away to Oz.

Sure, I pretended Zeus was having another hissy fit, but that's entertaining for only 10 seconds. Seriously, how can the supreme Olympian be subject to such tantrums? Obviously the Greeks wanted us to know that wisdom and forbearance don't naturally accompany massive doses of over-testosteroned raw power.

The rain hadn't let up either, and I was beginning to wonder which would get me first – a freak lightning bolt for my blasphemous thoughts or carbon monoxide buildup? I even toyed with the idea of shielding my head with my brand new stainless steel bowl and running back to the house until I remembered that mixing lightning with metal can get messy.

O stainless steel bowl
So perfect for the egg whites
So useless elsewhere

I thought to myself "even if I have no lightning protection, there must be some way I could get to the house without having to run too far through the rain."

Then it hit me like a lightning bolt from Zeus himself: I could park the Kembara right in front of the house.

Not my shiniest moment. Good thing I was alone.

What a Nice Boy

2010-02-23T22:35:00.001+08:00

Via cleolinda, on dealing with inappropriate fan behaviour:

I've misplaced the link, but apparently Taylor Lautner told a story (which we also discuss on the podcast) about some New Moon signing or other where a woman and her young teenage daughter came up to him, and the way I heard it was, the mother says, "I'm wearing Team Taylor panties right now. If I take them off, will you sign them?" And of course the daughter dies of embarrassment: "MOOOOOOOOOM!" To which the mother says, "It's okay, honey, that's what we do at these things." To which Lautner then said--and keep in mind, this is a teenage boy, not a seasoned star, and put on the spot--"No, it's not." And security escorted them out. So what I'm saying is: if Wolfboy can draw the line, so can you.

An Uphill Struggle

2010-02-22T18:40:00.002+08:00

You know you're in trouble when your boyfriend's laconic father looks closely at you at breakfast and says, "You've gained weight ah? Your face is much rounder now!"

I'm tempted to do what anyone else would and blame the CNY goodies, but you don't pile on the same number of kilos as I have in the span of a week.

The consequences for every time I helped myself to another spoon of rice are mocking me from their position around my midriff!!! Even my shadow casts its own shadow now.

I can't have lipo cos it costs too much (though of course you lose weight quickly... money too), and I'm not joining a gym because I don't see the point of paying someone to bully you (sorry my fitness trainer-type friends). I can understand the attraction of comfort eating now.

BUT, I will eat only celery. Win-win all the way.

Still, how hard can it be to cut back ever so slightly at every meal, right? forget that diet food stuff. And plodding consistently around the running hill track thing just minutes away from your home? Running for weight loss works, right??

I just need to avoid that creepy old dude.*

The hardest thing so far has been not signaling for refills at the banana leaf restaurant. God knows how that big green leaf just cries to be filled with MOAR RICE.

* Have only told Enfant Terrible and Freddy Ever Ready the story. Only one of them may live.

Pokoface Weir

2010-02-18T16:17:00.011+08:00

Seriously, when was the last time a dude made me go "asdfghjklasdfghjklasdfghjkl", flail around and key-smash in futile desire?

Also: why does it take a white dude to really bring the bishonen look to life?

Bonus: ambiguous sexuality ftw (but who cares, really).

Ladies, today marks the day I popped my Johnny Weir cherry. Look:

That is an ASS to aim for, and I totally mean that in an exercising, non-creepy way.

And look. Minute 1.38 onwards totally killed me. You could've scraped all that remained of me into a jam jar:

I mean, it's just ice skating right? WRONG. Outside it's raining but inside it's wet etc. (remember East 17? No? Um, me neither). It's a wonder all that ice stayed frozen, ifyaknowwaddamean.

About damn time: what a first blog should be about

2010-02-17T16:43:00.003+08:00

Who is anyone to say for certain anyway?

I can't believe I've moved to a new blog. I was on diaryland for the longest time and I think I'm shocked at how easy it was to just up stakes and move, as it were. Forget reminiscing how nice it was at "the old place" or "blogging for money", it's now all about how "different" the "new place" feels. I feel like a rat abandoning a sinking ship. I'm still working on that guilt complex.

I know this is really old, but tags are great. Excuse me while I enthuse about the blog equivalent of folders. Marvel at how long I've held out against using them. I never actually saw their purpose earlier, it just seemed like too much trouble to categorise random stuff that was all part of my personal life anyway.

But still, tags!

So, "moving" to a new place. I wish I had walls to paint. Well, I do, but I don't know html so fuck it, I'll jut put up pictures. Some things never change.

So, what's new in my life? A friend of mine from secondary school is engaged. When you're my age (old), you can't say talk of engagement rings and whatnot is very surprising.

Only, the dude to whom she got engaged is a friend of mine from primary school! Go figure. Why do people, e.g. apparently everyone I know, go all the way to Australia to study but wind up with someone from the next block?

I'm just sayin'.

That reminds me; I'm supposed to look up my friends from primary school. If only I could remember their names…