Shhh

I've been exchanging FB messages with an online acquaintance on and off for a few days. He's a cool enough dude.

(I mean, he's sending me pics of him with his kids and asking if we'd be interested in joining them; it's a strange way to set up a play date!)

I see it as conversation, although Enfant Terrible has wondered about his motivations. I said that he's married and is a Catholic... but that doesn't mean anything if you actually want to cheat on your spouse (not that OA is intending to do that)... you know?

New life

Just saw that Kilian Jornet and Emilie Fosberg have had their baby! THIS is a child with an athletic pedigree, if there ever was one. I can't imagine the pressure.

I also wanted to make a crack about how a woman shouldn't have to have a marathon labor just because she's the world's premier ultra-runner, but there's no place for it on social media (actually I'm too chicken to have it linked to me, hahah), so I'll just leave it here...

Stuffed

I spent most of Saturday following a Twitter thread on a nasi kandar jaunt in Penang. I'm not sure if "epic" is the right word for it, but the 5 dudes had 11 (ELEVEN) meals in a single day. I don't know what time they started, but they stumbled back to their accommodation at about 1 AM, stuffed to overflowing with rice, curry, chicken and the all-important (so it seemed) bendi. I may not speak for everyone else following their escapade, but I felt relieved that it had ended, like I'd finished an ultra-race.

I am also now curious about similar food jaunts in Malaysia. Over a weekend, like those nutters, or a week or two? Sweet or savoury? By state or entire east/west/north/south regions? One type of food only? The specialty(s) of a particular ethnic group and state-by-state variations? Or districts? Meats? Vegan/vegan-friendly? Tambah cheese???

... Is there a published food history of Malaysia? Imagine wrestling all that history and culture onto a page. I imagine you'd need half a volume for nasi lemak alone.

For me, I'd do all things pulut. I don't even know where to start.

John Cheever

Here is an article about John Cheever the writer: Vodka for Breakfast: On the Melancholy of Cheever's Journals.

I found Cheever's Bullet Park in a now-closed secondhand bookshop (isn't that the fate of all secondhand bookshops now though?) about 20 years (!) ago. In the blurb on the back was a line about sex and secrets in suburbia that led to me buying it, little knowing that I'd be taken on a ride more mental than I'd ever imagine.

Anyway, I thought I had a book by a writer who had that one book in him, but I was clearly wrong. Journals and autobiographical writings are actually my thing. I like reading about the minutiae of another person's life. It's probably part of being a voyeur. One of the things on my wishlist is a telescope, and I'm not into astronomy.

Split second

That's all it takes for a boy on a scooter to go from zooming down a slope, a banana in one hand, to sprawling, dazed, on the asphalt with elbows and knees scraped after losing his balance.

Also the time taken for you to have a bite of banana muffin and for your kid to spill her strawberry yogurt drink on herself (gasp of surprise/horror included).

Gorge

It rose when I saw an eatery staff blow his nose at the sink and wrestle to clear the impossibly long string of mucus that emerged. And he was the drinks guy.

Three years on and the memory still makes me gag. I hope that by sharing it I will exorcise it, and I apologize for the resulting mental image.

(At least he washed his hands properly after that?)

Stating the obvious

The thing about Facebook and Twitter is that brevity is of the essence. So you just shoot from the hip and post without a second thought because who reads past the first 2-3 lines anyway? And if you change your mind about the post, then you can delete it as easily as you'd posted it.

(Yes, everything stays on the internet, but at least it doesn't appear on your timeline anymore.) 

I was just wondering why it's easier to tweet or post a Facebook update than to actually write a blog. Duh.

Of course, this overlooks the people who tweet images of text to get around the 140-character limit and who write blogs in their Facebook updates anyway. So it's really just down to user laziness, isn't it?

Travelling with teens: TL;DR

(There was supposed to be a part 3 but how many parts should a morning be broken into before you lose the will to live write about it? AND the trip was in 2016. Sad.)

Basically, you will waste the entire morning waiting for everyone to get up and get ready to go out for the day.

People will meander to and from the breakfast table, and when you finally make your way out, it's time for lunch and another 2 hours will be spent deciding on where to go and what to eat because after all you're in Penang, where all the good food is, so you have to go for the very best.

[eyeroll]

As much as I love my relatives, travelling in a pack is a big pain in the ass and I'd much rather not do it. 

Traveling with teens: Part 2

The night everyone arrived, the Grams brought us (all 12 guests!) to dinner at an ikan bakar* place along Lebuhraya Lim Chong Eu nearer to Bayan Lepas. There are at least 2 ikan bakar eateries, and we went to the one farther in, i.e. Nurul Ikan Bakar.

I'm told that ambra/ambarella (seriously) juice is a must-have in Penang**, which is what we ordered. The pitchers came filled with crushed ice and ambra juice, and a buttload of sugar. The ice is supposed to melt while you chat and eat, and at the end of the meal you have an invigorating tasty beverage. Except everyone was parched, so we resorted to diluting the stuff with cold water. It was still too sweet even after that.

I forgot what fish we had (I mean, we were there in March!), but it came on a banana leaf and was topped with fiery red chili sauce. There was also sambal on the side, and I think it disagreed with me...

Another Penang must-try is sotong kangkung, which is boiled (?) cuttlefish and water convolvulus served with rojak sauce***. It's meant to be a starter and has an interesting crunchy texture, but comprises my 3 least favorite flavors.

*Grilled fish
**Depending on who you ask, there are any number of must-haves.
***I think you're supposed have a salty-sweet-spicy sauce, and I suppose rojak sauce ticks all those boxes.

Traveling with teens: Part 1

On impulse, Enfant Terrible and I went to Penang during the school holidays with my aunts and their families. We stayed at Aunt Debra's parents' (the Grams) place in Island Glades, which is a quiet old suburb on the island.

Obviously, they don't call Penang a food paradise for nothing. The afternoon we arrived, Enfant Terrible and I made straight for a nondescript Indian restaurant canteen on Lebuh Acheh. It's just a few lots down from the very nice Armenian Street Hotel; it's supposed to be called Muthu's Restaurant but it doesn't have a signboard. In fact, you'd miss it entirely if you weren't looking for it.

ET and I looked inside first before entering. The half-dozen or so patrons, all Indian men of the mien that would make you cross the road to avoid if you encountered them at night, peered right back. Then we stepped in and got ourselves 2 banana leaf rice meals and everyone went back to eating.

By contrast, the staff looked more clean-cut and the food was excellent. They serve parboiled rice by default, it seems, and a marvellous mutton soup in place of the de rigueur rassam, which had run out. You can forget about bone broth once you've had this miraculously meaty-tasting mix, which actually contained no meat (or bones).

Brows sweaty and noses runny from the unbelievably thick and rich crab curry (other options are fish, chicken, dal), we stepped out once more into the unforgiving heat, determined to traipse around the Georgetown Heritage Zone as much as we could before the rest of my family finally made it to Penang.

Like, we'd left at 830 AM, the same time as Aunt Andrea did, only Uncle Andrea is a more cautious driver than ET and probably subsequently racks up fewer speeding summonses. Our indirect host, i.e., Aunt Debra, and her family left Kuala Lumpur about 3 hours later (!).

FYI, it takes 3-4 hours to drive from Kuala Lumpur to Penang Island, excluding the heavy vehicle traffic you encounter as you go through Ipoh. As in, you're merrily humming along at 80-100 kph and exiting a tunnel when you have to lean really hard on the brakes because about 200 m ahead is a lorry laden with god knows what chugging uphill so slowly it's practically at a standstill. And that's what you keep encountering for the next 40 km or so.

Planning your own wedding? Think again!

A friend is getting married later this year. Of course I told him that as it's his wedding, all decisions should lie with him and his fiancée. Alas, it was too late, as his future in laws had already staked their claim on almost two-thirds of the guest list and had expanded it by three times the original length.

And said friend and his parents are the ones footing the bill.

As an amateur wedding advisor, I am lost for words. It's too late to even suggest they pick a differnt venue because that's been decided on already too!

(It will be at a Chinese restaurant and you know how the costs for that will go. And I'm 100% certain the in laws will expect the good stuff, i.e., old old whiskey, etc.)

The shellshocked couple is currently shopping for a wedding dress. I hope they'll rent one instead of buying it outright. I also hope that they engage a makeup artist and photographer(s) (and videographers?) that are worth the rate charged.

I wonder if the relatives will insist on a luxe retro rental car too.

Maybe the fiancée's parents will make it all worthwhile with a big fat dowry.

He's adamant about not taking a loan though, so good on him.

Modern romance, eh?

Real-life heroes

(Today's success story: I remembered the password for this account!)

There's this girl I know. She's the busiest girl I've ever known. She works long hours and she volunteers almost every day of the week, even weekends! She blogs too, more regularly than "typical" working stiffs do. And she'll be up for a late night kopi o at whichever mamak stall you suggest (if you're friends, of course; she's not an idiot).

She's not a hustler, by the way, she just does the thing. She doesn't ask you or herself why she does it or should do it, as long as an underprivileged person or animal out there benefits from it somehow. She's the living embodiment of the saying "if you want something done, give it to a busy person".

I think she's the only person of her kind in the Klang Valley (some say Malaysia), and that's a pity. Being the person she is though, she'd laugh and tell you there are just as many people out there like her, only you haven't met them yet.

Some might say she needs a good person to love her, and then she'll calm down, but that's not what she's about. People who think that need to look at things differently. Why should you define yourself based on your relationships?

She makes me want to do more, and not just for myself (there's only so much you need to do for yourself if you're a relatively privileged middle class female from the suburbs anyway).

Don't worry; my friend is alive and healthy. She has no life-threatening conditions. She wears her helmet when she careens about happily on her bike when she has the time for it. Like I said, she's not an idiot.

I only got to know her late last year and feel like I have a lifetime of good deeds to catch up on. I just wanted to pay a little tribute to one of the best people I know, and it's nice to do that when the person is still alive.

(She doesn't know about this blog; if she did, she'd blush to the roots of her hair and start looking in a hundred directions at once while adamantly declaring she's not doing anything special. That just shows you how special she really is.)

Death and other certainties

Amid the remonstration and analysis that followed the Haj stampede in Mecca, I read that it is a blessing if death comes to you during prayer because you're with god when it happens. I don't see how that is supposed to console those left behind.

When I was in college, Fred, who was always smiling, was informed that his mother had become ill and passed away in Mecca. If I remember correctly, he told us at dinner that evening. He said, "Guys, my mum dah meninggal." And there was nothing we could do but keep him company until he could go home for the funeral.

Until we can actually reach inside a person and make them feel better (though bystanders would feel less helpless if that were possible, would/should we?), "death during prayer is a blessing", hollow as it sounds, will just have to suffice.

People at airports

(I should be hustling but this is way more fun.)

Though I should know better than that, a comment I read on facebook pissed me off. The original post involved photos of Syed Azmi, Malaysia’s best known do-gooder (I mean that as a compliment), making the rounds at an airport in the wee hours of the night (morning?) and leaving snacks and drinks beside everyone who was asleep there.

The commenter asked why he would do that when surely there were poor people in the city who were more deserving of his charity than the “rich people” at the airport.

Nostalgia Part X

When I was still in school, which is like 16 (!!!) years ago,* there would be annual end-year athletic training camps. They would span a weekend and were a sort of introductory elimination session for the new athletes our coach had spotted throughout the year. Those who made it would join the “high-altitude” training camp in Cameron Highlands, which spanned 10 days.**

The school camp would start on Friday evening, and we’d sleep in the gym and use the school’s toilets. Us girls usually snuck into the teachers’ toilets because they were cleaner. One time, we snuck in too early and were caught by the science teacher.

Looking back, it was kind of a strange, in-between experience. We slept in school but didn’t camp on the field or sleep in the classrooms as the Scouts and Girl Guides did, respectively. We didn’t even have to cook, because the canteen staff took care of that. (They lived there anyway, so why not?)

TMBT 2015: A race report of sorts

Introduction
Technically, only participants write a race report. Still, "race widow report" doesn't have the same ring to it, you know?

(I know "[hobby] widow(er)" sounds morbid, but it just indicates you've "lost" your spouse to their interest. You don't even need to be married; you qualify if you have a significant other!)

So, first: TMBT = The Most Beautiful Thing, referring to the Sabah landscape. TMBT can also stand for That Murderous Bloody Trail, or Terrible Muddy Ratched Trap, or Treacherously Mindbending Running Torture, and other more descriptive terms. I could go on.

TMBT distances this year were 12, 28, 50, and 100 km. The last 2 are ultra-marathon distances, which I'm sure need not be explained (they exceed marathon distances).

As you know, trail races are more difficult than road races because the terrain is uneven, and you might run into trees, get stung by bees, and/or fall into a river (I have not experienced the last). You'll definitely get dirty, especially if it rains/has rained.

Every year, it's as if TMBT organizers ask themselves what the most difficult route could be, and map that out. Naturally, hundreds of runners, if not a thousand or so (this year), sign up for it. Some even pay for a hotel package. All this for a route that can involve uphills of ~15k or more.

People on trains: A comparison

Biggest pizza I ever saw in my life (VivoCity, Singapore)

Singapore
EVERYONE is watching some serial or playing a game on their phone. Candy Crush appear to be the top game, followed by Jewel Saga (looks like), Fruit Ninja, et al. Others FaceBook, Instagram, or er, look up sex advice (as seen over someone's shoulder). Outfits run the gamut from pasar sloppy and laborer dusty to high-end night out (because Singapore public transport is just so damn good).

L'Institut du Monde Arabe (Paris)

Paris
People read stuff like Balzac and Voltaire. French men actually wear those boat hats. No berets in the summer (obviously). Clothing tends to be various shades of white and brown (white people), and brighter colors (other ethnic groups). But everyone looks effortlessly light and chic and ready for summer. Unlike the tourists, who just look frazzled.

Concorde Metro stop, obviously (Paris)

London
Every stop we went to just served to demonstrate why London is considered one of the most fashionable cities in the world. Immaculate style and incredible range (corporate, corporate casual, smart, smart casual, street, smart street, and other looks whose names I don't know). All ladies had their warpaint on. Cat eye makeup is still in. People read (book or e-book), work, or stare into space. You need wellies (rain boots) even in the summer.

ArcelorMittal Orbit sculpture by Ashish Kapoor (Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, London)

This one was too purple to leave out (Covent Garden, London)

Strangers you meet

[A bus stand in Abergavenny, Wales]

The bus we want is scheduled to arrive in 40 minutes. We wait right at the bay, seated on the pavement. A pudgy guy in a tracksuit joins us. He has an Aldi's plastic bag.

Pudgy pulls his phone out and checks his messages and social media, then plugs in his earbuds. The he rummages through his bag, and winds up emptying it. I can see a 1.5-L bottle of Coca Cola, more bags of crisps/potato chips than he needs, and some household miscellany.

Pudgy puts the bigger, heavier items back in the bag first, then the smaller, lighter ones. He pulls them out again. He repacks the bag. And again. I guess he's trying to pack it efficiently, but you can only do so much with a 5-L plastic bag.

Suddenly, one the two old ladies who had been sitting on a low wall across the street from us strides over. Pudgy doesn't even notice her, only looking up when she says:

"I've come to save the day, love!"

She hands him another plastic bag! A bigger and sturdier-looking one!

Pudgy looks up, and a big, happy smile spreads across his goofy face.

"Aw, thank you, darlin'!" he says. His heroine smiles back and rejoins her friend.

*Pronounced "abergavoni".

A minute of silence and self-loathing

I really really really really really liked the Constantine series. No one was as highly strung, self-loathing, and sour as Matt Ryan's rendition. (Although the only other screen version I know of is the Keanu Reeves version, so...) He was all sharp edges and tics (and tic-inducing).

Of course it was cancelled about 2 months ago. After 1 measly season, or series, if you're from the UK. There had been 13 episodes.*

ONE season. But what a season it was. I barely remember any filler episodes. It seemed like the tension was turned to 10 all the time, even when apparently nothing was happening.

The last episode was a cliffhanger. And hearing that it'd been cancelled left me on the precipice of despair.**

The network said the show didn't garner the eyeballs to justify renewing its contract. Fair enough, but also unfair when you think of how series such as Arrow and The Flash are still filming. (But I also see their appeal.)

On the other hand, we downloaded the episodes we watched, so I guess we were responsible for the insufficient eyeballs too. It's hard not to take it personally when you think about it like that.

Now that's it's apparently going to be screened on the FOX channel here, it just feels like a cruel joke.

*A bad luck number if there ever was one.
**It's funny because John Constantine featured in at least one episode in The Sandman series, and one of The Sandman's sisters is named Despair, and, er. Yes. Well.

Post-event

I've just deleted about 50 wedding-related bookmarks here, which included tutorials on paper flowers,  short party dresses, makeup (mineral/conventional/how to), shoes, MC-ing, and alcohol. The to do/to get lists have been removed from my phone. The vendor quotes and receipts in my wedding folder (everyone has one, right?) will be the next thing to be tackled.

I still can't believe it was just 1 night ago that a hundred-something people attended the party of my year. I'm still getting my appetite back and my stress dermatitis is subsiding. Also still picking hairpins out of my hair every now and then. A pretty good Monday so far.