Quick note on a Word problem in Mac

I had a document that displayed only the first 7 pages (~1000 words) in Print Layout view even when the Word Count display stated 4000+ words.

I could view all the text only in Draft view, but the tables could not be viewed.

Save As a new file in .htm/.html format didn't work.

Copying and pasting (Track Changes OFF) to a new document didn't work.

Fiddling with Hidden Text selections and Column Numbers also didn't work.

What DID work was Save As a new file in .docx format and checking the box to Maintain compatibility with previous versions of Word. (The original file had been saved as a Word 97-2004 Document.)

Huzzah!

Hope that helps!

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?

For the record

Have I told you about my 2 kids? I have 2 kids now. They were born 2 years apart. They are 2 much 2 handle sometimes.

Daughter was born at 34 weeks and 1 day. (Star Wars Day baby. Also Audrey Hepburn and Kimora Lee Simmons's birthdays.)
I had an emergency c-section because I had preeclampsia. I still take that PE personally.
She weighed 1.125 kg at birth.
(She had intrauterine growth retardation [IUGR] because of the PE.)
She didn't need any help breathing.
She spent 5 weeks in the NICU gaining weight so that she could be discharged.
Sometimes I think she doesn't eat much because the feeding tube made her lazy :/

Son was born at 40 weeks and 5 days. (Same birthday as Mahathir Mohammed. And Nikola Tesla!)
I had an emergency c-section because my induction of labor failed to progress.
(I was induced at 10 AM on Sunday and went into the OT at around 1 AM on Monday. I spent the whole Sunday pretty much on my back. Boring, 10/10 do not recommend. I didn't even get to try the laughing gas because the epidural worked so well.)
(Dr Tew the surgeon burned off my first keloid scar and made a neat incision over it. Now the scar looks more like a red line!)
He weighed 3.245 kg at birth.
He didn't need any help breathing either, but he also didn't yell the OT down like his big sister did.
We spent 5 days in the postnatal ward because they wanted to monitor his bilirubin levels in case of jaundice.
He eats great.

They both got dexamethasone at 30 or so weeks though, to make sure their lungs matured. Daughter got it because her IUGR had been diagnosed and the doctors took no chances; Son because he was about 1 week behind on one of his scans and the doctor didn't want to take any chances (he continued growing well after that though). Sometimes I wonder if that's the reason they're both so fucking loud.

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...

Minefield

Today, I asked Enfant Terrible what I now realise was a loaded question:

"Do you think you and your mum will ever be able to have a normal conversation?"

And he shot back with:

"What makes you think you and your mum have such normal conversations?"

Touché!

I guess what I meant was: is it possible for adult children chat with their mums without becoming agitated? And why is there agitation in the first place?

Instructions

How to get that hotel room smell* in your own room (I know...):

1. Get a cup of coffee with a little milk in it
2. Set the air-conditioning at full blast.
3. Bring the coffee in and let it hang out for a while. You're allowed to sip.
4. Start work.
5. Be transported out of your current surroundings!
6. Realise it's not real and snap out of it, befuddled.
7. Realise what just happened. Carry on.

*Courtesy of suspect hygiene and cleaning practices, and questionable ventilation.

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.

Breakfast

When I was in China with my mum, the hotel "buffet" breakfast usually involved plain rice porridge to which you added condiments and toppings (usually soya sauce, salt, pepper, and a bunch of salted vegetables). It was simple and filling and you had only yourself to blame if you didn't like what was in the bowl.

In the same vein, spicy noodles will give you a quick and simple start to the day:

1. Wheat noodles (1 cake; I prefer wheat noodles over rice noodles because the latter can be too absorbent)
2. Dominos chili flakes (1 packet)
3. Soya sauce to taste (usually 1 teaspoon or so)
4. Vinegar (a bit less than the soya sauce)
5. Garlic oil (1-2 teaspoons/to taste; mind the greasiness!)

Mix items 2-5 together while the noodles are boiling, drain the noodles when they're cooked, dump it in the mix, and toss everything together. Get it down your neck (chopsticks work best) before your Enfant Terrible wanders by and expresses curiosity and you offer him some out of politeness and there's half of your breakfast gone.

"Wow, it tastes so street!"

Baleet

I didn't realise how freeing it'd be to just delete a draft from my dashboard here. It had sat there so long I'd forgotten the context in which it was begun.

Well, that's not true. It was about soap. So trivial!

But I like soap. Or I like the idea that using a soap will see a brand new me emerging like a beautiful butterfly from its chrysalis. I guess washing off a shell of dirt is like breaking out from a cocoon, so there's that.

Anyway, I like soap. But I don't like browsing soap and seeing that one bar costs upwards of RM20 without knowing how much it weighs. For comparison, MooGoo soap costs RM28.30, and you get a 130 g bar, which is about the size of my hand. They even advise cutting it in half so it lasts longer, and it's hard to get a good grip on such a big bar of soap.

Dreaming

I don't think I've ever written about when I was in my last year of secondary school, i.e., Form 5, and had no idea what I'd do afterwards.

Everyone seemed to have a plan or knew what they'd study after Form 6. Most of it seemed to involve studying accounting in Australia and/or working there. In fact, virtually everyone (that I knew) with a plan involving Australia has settled there.

As for me. I was particularly taken with a manga I was reading at the time (Harlem Beat). One of the supporting female characters was a ne'er do well type, as far as you can be a ne'er do well in your last year of high school. She told those who asked that she would be a vagabond after she finished school. (Japanese university entrance exams being what they are, maybe that isn't too farfetched an idea...)

I thought that was a fine idea, and imagined myself living out of a van, travelling where the road would take me each day. I'd wash up at highway rest stops and cook over a camp stove. To make money, I would write! And no one would tell me what to do!

It was the perfect plan... only I sucked at driving in manual, and didn't have a van, a laptop, a camp stove, or a clue where I'd go.

For more irony, I haven't renewed my driving license.

Perfect snack

I made chocolate bark the other day. It might not sound like a big deal to you, but it was a revelation for me. What I did was:

1. Melt the remainder of a 70% dark chocolate bar (~100 g) and 100 g semi-sweet chocolate chips in the microwave.*
2. Drop in a pinch of chili powder (serbuk cabe).**
3. Stir everything together.
4. Spread it out on a sheet of baking paper (recipes advise 1/4-inch thickness, but I winged it).
5. Sprinkle brown sugar or what-have-you (usually something crunchy, or sweet or salty, or both) on top.
6. Leave it to harden in the fridge before breaking the thin slab into bite-sized pieces.

*I used the shortest express time on full power, which was 30 seconds for this microwave. YMMV. Also, check after you microwave it the first time, as the chocolate bar actually melted but held its shape.

**Recipes usually call for cayenne pepper, but this is a Malaysian household.

Things I would do differently:

• Make more of the stuff, as Enfant Terrible discovered it and kept sneaking pieces of it.
• Use more chill powder. There was actually no kick.
• Leave out the brown sugar.
• Use pretzels or potato chips, or the perennial favourite: coarse sea salt (but maybe not, as microplastics have been found in the stuff. Que sera sera).
• Use a silicone spatula!

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).

Sweet

I dreamt that I was Idris Elba. The complete and utter self-assurance of just being in "my" own skin was amazing. I want to be like that in real life but the feeling is fading too quickly.

An internet tip that actually works

Using baby oil (or any other oil) instead of soap or shaving cream to shave. It's great: you don't have to step in the shower, and you just wipe off any excess. Clean your shaver well, of course, but that's about it! You don't even have to buy artisanal bespoke-concocted stuff (Truefitt & Hill's pre-shave oil will cost you RM145 [!]). Awesome stuff for a stingy so-and-so like me.

ETA: It seems like the hair is growing back more slowly.

Time flying

Enfant Terrible was registering us for a race the other day and needed my personal details. He entered my IC number on the eletronic form, then paused.

"How old are you this year?" he said. 

Quick mental arithmetic done, I said, "36. Why?"

"I'm wondering if I'm supposed to enter you in the women's open or women's veteran category."

"Well, I think they take the age you're at as of 31 December in the last year."

"OK, women's open then."

"But think of how good my chances of podiuming will be if I'm in women's veteran!!"

"... next year lah."

It's gonna be great. The best!

Nostalgia: Part ??

Triggered by a breakfast radio broadcast, I'm currently longing for the 1990s so bad it actually aches. Life was simpler back then: I didn't have deadlines to meet, bills to pay, or a child to care for.

On the other hand, my hours are no longer bound to a school bell, I can afford pretty much what I want (or need; same difference), and I have a lovely family. 

No harm having a 1990s-themed party though. Forget the hippies, it's time for Gen X!

Workaround: Part X

I have the free version of a Blogger app. I can draft posts in it but will have to pay like RM20 for the full version in which publishing is enabled. RM20 isn't much (a mains at a mid-range eatery; a starter/appetizer at a high-end eatery) but then I'm Malaysian and therefore funny about money like that.

(AKA penny-wise, pound-foolish.)

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?

Flex

My writing muscles have become flaccid from disuse!