Living with the Elderly

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

#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

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

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.

Home renovation survival guide

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:

Looking a gift horse in the mouth

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

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

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

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

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!

Just for the record

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

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

Tête-à-tête with a freeter

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.

A matter of time

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

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

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

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

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

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.

How to lose 2 kg in 2 weeks without even trying

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.

Just a little bit

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

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

I love alliteration. Anyway:  

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

Typical day at work

"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

Potentially inappropriate

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

Typical

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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.

Best post-match interview ever

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

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

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.