Macktastic

#45*

2009-04-08T22:19:00.003+08:00

Am sure it has become most evident this here ol' blog's been lacking some love this year. I have been increasing my efforts to not be sat in front of comp for nameless hours every day.

So:
(-) decreased comp time with (+) increased Facebook time= (0) time for bloggering

But! Despair not, there is such a thing as chronic procrastination and a fervent, bubbling narcissism that just won't die. Enough reason for me to be hence writing about my more recent escapades.

So:
This week I've attended Qing Ming for the second time in a row. I believe that's a record for me. That's grave sweeping day for the uninitiated, btw. And finished Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. One did not cause the other, but I will find a link before this palaver ends.

On the one hand, you really could not get more traditional than Qing Ming. It involves ancestor worship, firecrackers, food, fake riches (every Chinese occasion needs to involve moolah), cleaning (see: Chinese New Year), setting things on fire and incessant noise.

In our family my eldest uncle is the most knowledgable in these matters so we just put things and pour things where we are told. I had the thought: what happens when I need to decide where to put things and what to pour? We are not that traditional, but still a disconcerting thought.

Food, rice wine and chinese tea are put out, and also coffee for my grandpa. When I was dragged to Qing Ming as a kid on the rare occasion we were in town at the right time, I used to think it was a waste of a perfectly good shopping day. Standing around in the burning heat, pulling out weeds will give you thoughts like that. But now I think it's nice we do it. My gong gong passed away when I was 6 or 7, so I have very sketchy memories of him. I didn't know he liked coffee so much. We sent him a yellow Mercedes this year. It's kind of a deliciously crazy image; gong gong burning rubber in a yellow Merc.

From the prism of my western education, "ancestor worship" seems equally bizarre. But I figure if you're going to show respect and create rituals for anyone, to mark the way they led their life, which is basically what religion involves, then why not your elders? It is said a child never repays a parent's sacrifice. Your own parents have more kindness for you in their little finger than some holy guy from millenia ago.

I have been lucky I guess, my dad adored his parents. And the same is true of me. But I know the same is not true for a lot of people. That alone I think is worthy of worship.

So that's tradition which seemed weird but I found my way around to seeing the point/liking.

Brideshead Revisited on the other hand, turned out to be something traditional I thought I would like and was kind of ..meh.

See I have se-ri-ous banana credentials. I am seriously white on the inside. I would join a Jane Austen Book club if there was one around here. Mark Twain even better. I read Pride and Prejudice (almost) every year. I follow Stephen Fry's twitter. I love a good period drama. I will watch anything involving ridiculous hats or ridiculously hyphenated names or English manors. I will swoon at all three.

But I feel Brideshead was so so heavy on the Englishness and light on the why-should-I-care factor. The curtains were so starched. The protagonist's upper lip was so. stiff. that he was barely likeable let alone someone I could empathise with. Literally none of the characters came out likeable. Doomed, hopeless, rich, nonsensical. But likeable.. no. So when everything falls apart, I had a hard time feeling sorry for the guy. Perhaps I not being British, have not appreciated the raging emotion in between the lines. Perhaps this is like a Zen rock garden. Everything has been distilled into the design, down to the last pebble. Even if it does look like a bunch of rocks.

I am taking recommendations for the next off the list. My ones of readers: please comment!

* Where I got the inclination to read Brideshead

Wrapping it up

2008-12-30T22:15:00.006+08:00

Thought I'd pop back in to send you off to '09 properly and do the requisite navel-gazing that this time of year inspires.

I can safely say these 12 months have been some of the most:
turbulent
surprising
upsetting
lovely
soul-crushing
despair-drenched
satisfying
unbelievable
terrifying
seeringly painful
unpredictable
blessed
beautiful
lucky
anxious
...that I've had in a while.

Whatever it's been like for you, hope the new year is a good one.

xo

Tourism Australia's campaign by Baz Luhrmann (Billabong)

2008-11-06T14:59:00.001+08:00

Australia really isn't a hard sell. Yet the ads for Tourism Australia seem never to quite hit the mark. The previous campaign; "Where the bloody hell are ya?" had to be watered down all over Asia. This one's currently copping some flak from Australians. Beautiful, but a little hokey in its stereotypes. I'm a big fan of Baz Luhrmann, who brought us Moulin Rouge, so was a little disappointed with this.

Macktastic Goes to Work

2008-11-03T22:14:00.008+08:00

Image from Phil's post

For those who suspect me of constantly faffing around, frittering my savings and my life on travel and dancing (is ok, I'm first in that queue)...I have evidence of work! haHA!

I went to Singapore for a few days last month to style the pictures for a book. A whole three days was spent in a studio, knee deep in spices, wine and takeaway packs of every kind of Asian food money could buy, plus the odd crab. AND I got to go to the crockery wholesalers and pick all kinds of cute plates out. So exciting!

Even more swoon-inducing: We got the food and wine, I laid it out, and Collin the photographer shot it(!) Then, we stood around discussing for a few minutes, and we were off to the next shot!

In advertising, shoots are of course a bit more common than the smaller publishing budgets allow. But so many noses are poked into your business, you might as well not bother. I was working on a shoot for Chicken Essence once–there is only one BRAND you might think of there..and I had to artfully arrange 9 packs of eye-gougingly hideous, cheena-looking product for the "1st prize" shot in the competition leaflet. Oh. My. Gawd.

I thought I'd get it over with and get to lunch. It'll be on a pad, on a bit of string, between packet soup and toilet paper. Just keep it simple, right? Nej!

After leafing through the 5 arrangements I had to draw for the client, they agreed on one with the accounts person from the agency (like John Travolta's hair, clients' existence was based mostly on belief and very little actual evidence). Then I had to arrange it exactly how it had been drawn and we emailed it back. Then we had to wait around for client to reply that "err acherlly, I think the option number 2, like, more dynamic". Rinse and repeat until some rubbery bits of tofu and a few strands of noodles are your only choice in the foodcourt.

So, was a big thrill to go in with ideas and have them realised. It was not without hardships, which included:
• a hunt through a whole bag of coriander for the exact. perfect. leaf.
• Phil gamely going through the rubbish for a 3rd knobbly lime
• getting the damn chicken and the slippery skin to sit. just. so.

Finished tired but satisfied :)

Are we still on?

2008-10-25T19:41:00.007+08:00

Hello again to my fives of readers!

October kind of got away from me, huh? It was kind of a big month. I would say probably the biggest this year. And this year hasn't been shabby so far neither. Here's what happened:

Tioman

A while back i heard my friends Odd (who's quite normal), SK and Claire were going to Pulau Tioman, which is one of Malaysia's many idyllic islands near Singapore and I recklessly said "Hey! I'll join you! I'll just meet you at the ferry. No worries!"

So I spent end of September trying to get bus tickets to Mersing for a Tioman trip during Hari Raya!

Ha!ha!ha! That is not me laughing–that is the sound of ticket sellers at KL's famously crap Pudu station on hearing my request. My choices: get there at 4am then wait til 8am for the 1st ferry, OR go to Kuantan and double my trip time then get there at 5am. OR, the scintillating-Take the train to then get a bus to Mersing at 5am. OR,.. well you get the picture.

In the end, the travel gods smiled down on me and confirmed a ticket on the Berjaya Air waitlist. Here marks the end of my relationship with the Malaysian public transport system. Good luck and good riddance!

The replica plane that they sent to fill in for a real plane

An exciting wait in the under-renovation Subang airport, and I was on my way in a tiny plane with a lot of Germans. Is it the same group of Germans following me aorund? Every time I go islanding (real word, I swear)! I thought summer was over for Europeans? I don't get it.

Anyway I flew Berjaya Air and stayed at.. Berjaya Resort and ate Berjaya food and rode the Berjaya bus...it was one of those really authentic experiences. I looked at the Berjaya view (see above) for 3 days, so I can't say I have any complaints!

KL Swing

Next up is where things begin to go off the rails... in a totally good way. In late September, I met this girl Ling who had created a KL Swing Facebook group and I offered to help.

We are both Malaysian-ish and had both been in town for about 6months, separately bitching that there was no Swing dancing. In between then and early October, we held a free taster class in Tiara's Aroma Beauty Salon in Bangsar (good floors, crap sound system, cheap) and then she promptly accepted a job in Singapore!

Note the awesome black light deco

That meant I was on my lonesome for the Oct 9 workshop we had organised with Sinclair, my teacher from Singapore. I like to think I am realistic. I probably err on the side of glass woefully half empty. Just to be, you know, safe. So I fully expected to find myself alone, in a Punjabi bar called Topaz (good floors, crap lights, cheap :D) but to my great surprise and delight, most everyone who replied on facebook, and then some, showed up.

They very obligingly learned the 8-count in mood lighting–I had asked the manager to help me turn off 1) the disco ball 2) the strobe lights. I tried for 3) non-smoking, but he wasn't having a bar of it.

Having noted I could safely get enough people for the class, I began the search for a proper studio. Weekday nights are dance studios' bread and butter, so it took alot of calling around before I found 2 separate ones for Sinclair's next visit, which was last Wednesday and Thursday.

Wednesday went great, once it got started! Monsoon rains, immigration queues and mega traffic meant Sinclair's trip from the airport was much longer and arduous-er than expected. Started half an hour late, but we got there in the end!

More pix here at FB

Singapore

In between workshops, I popped down to Singapore for some work. Some very exciting days spent in a darkened room! My first coffee table book shoot. I really really wanna share, but that'll have to wait.

I also got to hang with my girls J & P who very bravely took me to Bellini Grande for "A new realm in live entertainment"–according to the poster. It was another realm all right! It boasts about a bajillion musicians and an all-hot cast of singers and dancers. It's meant to be in the vague vacinity of Swing Jazz, but it's more closely related to a cheesy day-time Vegas variety show than a Big Band. It's all showbiz T & A with a Kermit puppet, a faux-Southern singer and an Elvis impersonator to boot. My face really hurt when I left from all the laughing-I recommend everyone do it once! Is cheesier than the whole of Wisconsin.

Oh yeah, somewhere in there I turned 29 :) So far, it's not too bad. Not too bad at all.

Sammi country, Norway and Copenhagen

2008-09-09T00:01:00.011+08:00

[After side trips to Chiang Mai and Singapore, Macktastic has returned to battle the never-ending post...]

Taking a short flight to the very north of Finland, we took a long ass bus...further north to Saariselke. On the way,we stopped for a "Sammi Experience". As in we experienced drinking tea in a hut with costumed people. I think they were actually Sammi people, but it's kind of cheesy. Like me walking around in a cheongsam doing a teacup dance (yes, it happened, no, there's no photos). They are the indigenous people of those parts and their original job is herding reindeer, but like many indigenous people the world over, they also fill tourist itineraries.

Official Cruise Outfit

After our last night in Finland, we crossed over to Kirkenes in Norway, for the 6-day Hurtigruten cruise which would take us down Norway's western coast to Bergen. It's touted all over their literature as THE MOST BEAUTIFUL VOYAGE IN THE WORLD. It's more like THE COLDEST VOYAGE IN THE WORLD, but I'm not one to mess with people's copy.

It began as a postal ship serving the people of northern Norway who would be cut off without it in winter. Now it carries cargo and tourists daily from each port. So it's a very nice way to travel, but it's not one of your huge commercial cruises with 24-hr buffet and rock-climbing wall. I had a conversation with a Norwegian at Herrang about it:
Me: I went on the Hurtigruten.
Norwegian: ohhh the HUER-ti-groo-TEN
Me: umm yep.
Norwegian: Which ship did you take?
Me: The Nordlys.
Norwegian: ohhh the NAWRT-liss
Me: You know it??
Norwegian: Sure, everyone knows them.
Me: You've been on it then?
Norwegian: Nah, too expensive.
Me: ...

The expense is because well, it's Norway, but really you can't outsource this kind of product to Asia:

Stunning Midnight Sun at Tromso

Awe-inspiring Trollfjord

Beyond-charming fishing villages

Drool-inducing Chef onboard :D

Sadly, the voyage did come to an end, but happily it was in the bustling port of Bergen:

Bryggen in Bergen!

'Bustling' is such an old-fashioned word, but I think it's right. Bergen has a World Heritage Site in Bryggen-a collection of the old buildings that they used to process fish through. The town centre is pretty much wall-to-wall heritage buildings though, and has a backdrop of seven mountains. It's basically a fairytale.

Which is why it's not hard to imagine that Bergen's most famous son is the composer Edvard Grieg who wrote the classic Morning Mood. If you think of dawn breaking and birds chirping and rainbows and morning dew, that is the music of Bergen you're hearing in your head.

We only had one night there though, before we set off to Oslo via the super scenic Flam railway.

But though the views that we got whilst speeding through the mountains was spectacular, it was what happened inside that stuck with me. Getting to our seat had been a real bunfight. Once the doors opened, it was like a very fancy version of the scramble in musical chairs, except with a lot more Japanese tourists armed with pointy umbrellas.

Luckily for us, we got in the same cabin with a Spanish group. Particularly a Spanish padre, who decided to serenade one of the aunties on the tour. The whole cabin joined him in "Guantanamera", "La Bamba" and a very passionate rendition of "Besame Mucho". Love when stuff like that happens :)

After hopping off the Flam Railway, there was another ~~long-ass~~ scenic bus journey to Oslo. Which disappointingly, looked like this:

This is where I slag off Oslo:

Oh man, we at Macktastic thought we could say we heart Scandinavia, but Oslo is standing in the way! Maybe it was a bad hair day for Oslo, but the whole of the city centre was under construction. Was a big disappointment after super-slick Stockholm and happily-neat Helsinki.

Wickipedia says it's the "fastest-growing Scandinavian capital. The increase is due, in almost equal degree, to high birth rates and immigration". I'm from Australia, I am a big fan of multi-culturalism, and until Oslo, thought it'd be a good thing for everyone.

Now, I'm not so sure. The rest of Norway, and Scandinavia for that matter, was safe, clean, well organised and had very few street people. Oslo in contrast was more like New York-grotty, chaotic and security-challenged. It doesn't feel like the rest of Norway at all, which was kind of sad.

I can't recommend skipping Oslo though, because it has one saving grace, and it's pretty big. Vigeland Sculpture Park is part of an 80-acre park and is more than 200 scultpures, plus a monolith and a fountain. It was sculptor Gustav Vigeland's lifetime's work and the monolith (that's in the background of the pic) was finished just before his death.

The sculptures are all human figures and when you walk through it, the experience is of seeing the entire gamut of emotion and relationship from birth to death played out in bronze and granite. I am so in love with this place. I think I could have spent the whole 2 weeks here and it would have been worthwhile.

See more of the stunning figures in my Oslo pix.

We got rushed out of the park to be on the ferry to the last stop on the tour: Copenhagen in Denmark.

Copenhagen was the most fun place of the whole trip for me. I'm sure it didn't have anything to do with that I could wave goodbye to the tour, and was finally free (!) The accoms came down quite a few stars. Actually all of them. But, post-ye olde tour and pre-Herrang, I'll be ever grateful to Copenhagen for giving me some awesomely awesome days there. So a big TACK for that, and a big SORRY! for causing those biking accidents on the streets :p

For the full set of pix of eeeevvverything, go here.

[Macktastic promises not to harp on anymore about Scandinavia now. No, really. I really mean it]

Hej Stockholm and Helsinki!

2008-08-28T22:41:00.013+08:00

Stockholm

I basically never thought I would get to Scandinavia until I was diving in a pile of money Scrooge McDuck-style. So what I know about the place can be summed up in this list: Ikea, Volvo, Absolut, Nokia, and from my design degree; an ability to speak briefly and shallowly about Arne Jacobsen's egg chair. Also, the most famous Scandinavian of all: the Swedish Chef from The Muppets.

Armed with this scarily in-depth knowledge, I boarded a Finn Air flight with the 20+ other uncles and aunties on the tour + mum + 'real' uncle + aunty. Joining me in the under-40 crowd was my 7 year-old cousin. The planes were old-school, with only the screens in the aisle viewing PG movies involving pigs/dogs. This caused me to immediately curse myself for being too cheap to buy an iPod.

I turned to assessing my fellow travelers for entertainment. There were a lot of older people on board, but they were distinctly stylish old people. They sported interesting hairstyles and the heavy-framed glasses that I associate with creative types. It was more akin to being at an architect's convention.

We finally got to Helsinki, where we were thoroughly checked before being allowed to wait for our shuttle to Stockholm. Only this time I saw something unbelievable: hot airport security staff.

From the waifish girl who pokes a gloved hand into your bag, to the windswept guy monitoring the scanner and the well-coiffed people ready to pat you down; one and all looked as if they were just earning some cash until their gig as a model/lead singer/TV host took off. I wasn't allowed to take pictures, or run back through the scanner and put some metal on so I could be patted down. Boo.

When we finally got in to Stockholm, it was about 8pm and we got our first glaring taste of the long sunlight hours. Next morning, we were whisked around on a city tour. Our tour guide happened to be the one person in Stockholm who doesn't have great English, but no matter. Stockholm is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe I've been to, so it speaks for itself.

Having been the centre of an empire in the 17th century and more or less stayed out of war since then, there's been a lot of peace time and money to get things right. Everywhere you turn, there is an impressive building or structure decorating the skyline. Gamla Stan, or Old Town, has the main concentration, but the rest of the city isn't short either.

Then there's the water. Stockholm is set on a few islands at the heart of an archipelago of 30,000 islands. The directions to anything involve "...then you cross a bridge..". This is a good thing for those totally hopeless at directions (like me) but also because it's pretty everywhere you look. It's not just glittering in appearance either; you can swim and fish in the heart of town.

In fact the only thing as ubiquitous as the water, is the H&Ms. They are EVERYWHERE! Initially, it was like a dream come true. But after your first 10 or so mega H&Ms, it starts to get old. I know, I didn't think it was possible either.

Just as I was figuring out how to pronounce the A with the little o on top, we were off on a ferry to...

Helsinki

The overnight ferry was our first of many boats on this trip. This was the Viking line, which is Swedish for duty free alcohol/cigarettes and poker machine bonanza. Just like the original Vikings. We got our own tiny cabins but other people preferred to sit on the freezing deck and drink through the night. Awesome. Clearly the famous Scandinavian prudishness on alcohol doesn't extend to the open seas.

The harrowing effects of alcohol abuse

It also doesn't extend to Helsinki. Finland, I would find out, is culturally closer to Russia, whereas Sweden-Norway-Denmark are more Germanic. Hence the open tolerance, if not encouragement to enjoy a tipple, or twenty, outside. It's all done very safely though; I was walking around at 2am and the only threat I felt was from the cold.

Helsinki was an outpost of the Russian empire, so it doesn't have the grandeur and importance of Stockholm, but it's charming nonetheless. And the prices are ~~less heart-breaking~~ more reasonable. This was the largest and most well-equipped hotel room that we got. Ironing boards! Hairdryers! Is enough to make a girl dizzy with happiness.

The only downside is they seemed to have a lot less people who look like part-time models and a lot more who look like guitarists in a death metal band. You can't move for all the people with blond roots and stringy black hair trying to look disturbed and haunted.

This girl struck it lucky with great hair, and great everything else; if your sunnies don't match your bag and bike, I wouldn't know why you bother leaving the house. I vote her most stylish cyclist in Scandinavia, which is a pretty tough competition. She wins my approval, and isn't that pretty much all anyone needs?

Next: Brrr Norway

Scandinavia-the round up

2008-08-21T18:29:00.014+08:00

So Wednesday morning, we woke up to an empty driveway.

The 6-week-old car vanished overnight. And the gate was closed. As if it had just popped down to the shops.

After we managed to close our mouths, I got my first entry into a Malaysian police station. My parents were at the counter with a lady living in the next street who was also reporting a stolen C-RV. Another 3 had gone from another suburb. Clearly it was a syndicate, filling an order.

The possibilities began to click through in my mind about how it happened: they'd definitely hacked our gate's remote control lock, because there was no damage...we were lucky they didn't come in..how did they find us?..maybe they paid off someone at the dealership?..maybe the salesman is part of the syndicate?...crooked police? Basically anything that might be a plot twist in airport fiction, is a plausible possibility in Malaysia.

And it's here I begin to be wistful for Scandinavia; that rare combination of being a place you would want to go and a place that's safe to be.

View Larger Map
The route: Anti-clockwise on the Blue line for 2 weeks with the tour. Then Pink line on my ownsome.

With the exception of Oslo which has seen better days, from the beginning in Stockholm, right around the landmass, and over to Denmark, I was only ever in danger of offending locals by misusing the words "Scandinavia" and "Nordic" (oh yes, there's a difference)

Rudolf's posse spotted scoping a joint

All the time I gawped at new bicycles left unsecured on the street, potted plant arrangements left unvandalised, and struggled to spot so much as peeling paint, let alone graffiti. There's a level of civic consciousness that's astounding. It's like Japan; safe, expensive and culturally homogenous but with more trees, less people, slightly less fish and a lot more reindeer.

Sure, as a tourist it's unlikely "historic crackwhore den" would be included on the Copenhagen city tour, but as a comparison, in San Francisco you can't go the two blocks from your overpriced tram ride in Market St to the statue in Union Square without passing at least 4 homeless people panhandling, 3 of them with AIDS, 2 junkies cursing...

"And ooonnne crazypersonmuttering toooo themmmm...sellllllves".

It was just really relaxing to not-worry about maintaining a vice-like grip on my bag, to not-worry about security in the hotel rooms, to not-worry about drivers going through zebra crossings, to not-worry that my bag would be stolen when I went to the toilet.

Maybe it's just because I was there with Malaysians, so given our exchange rate, no one would want to steal from us anyway! But for a place that often looks the stuff of fairytale, my favourite part couldn't be photographed.

I'll be doing a run-through of the different stops on the route in the following days. It won't be blow-by-blow, I promise. I know you can't be arsed to read that, but more importantly, I can't be arsed to write it.

:)

Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 2

2008-08-08T16:26:00.007+08:00

Volunteering

Heaps of people are already seated in the driveway of Folkets Hus when I get there a titch before 9am. Impressive. Clearly they had all filched their lunches at the breakfast buffet faster than I had managed.

ID cards and fluorescent t-shirts are handed out, people in charge introduced, then the crucial business of divvying up into teams under team leaders. I'm in the Ice Cream Parlour (ICP) team, which right now sounds totally fun. We're a group of 8. There's one Russian guy and Lithuanian girl, then the rest are Swedish girls a lot younger than me.

Before I start checking if they've finished highschool, our manager introduces herself. Helena is bubbly and fun and is totally pulling off the 80s look. She has a monobrow, but manages to make it look super cool. I didn't even think that possible. I consider one myself for about 5 seconds, then aah I remember I'm not Swedish. They just get away with a lot more!

She's great, the other girls seem nice, the job of baking doesn't seem too hard, it all seems like a fine way to spend a week.

After training wraps, I see about my booked accommodation. The bed that I got assigned is miles away. In the woods. Past the tents and the caravans. It has an outdoor shower, and is costing 2000SEK for the week. i.e. a bajillion dollars. When you book, there's no online options, so you just get whatever they confirm in the email.

I explain to reception when it's open, that this isn't ideal, is there anything else? I am mentally prepared to grovel, snivel and plead. They look, and Yes! Yes there is! right next to the school! and it's 1300SEK! Woo!

Such is Herrang, that I have to feel a flutter at the prospect of a private indoor shower.

Giddy with my new place, cycling on my newly rented bike, meeting my new Russian roommate, I'm thinking things are looking up.

They did look up. For about 5 minutes. Then they looked doowwwn, waaay dowwwn.

I find out volunteering for me involves 10+ hr days next to the oven. Alternatively punching out banana bread and choc chip cookies. In between, bussing tables, washing dishes and mopping floors. Lunch hour would be spent napping, sending in laundry, checking mail and finally, eating a ham and cheese toast--the most lunch-like thing at the ICP.

Which brings me to...

Food
One of the benefits I guess of ICP was the food. Whilst others were eating microwave mac n' cheese or cooking on those tiny camp stoves, I had all the ham and cheese toasts, banana bread, ice cream and cookies I could filch :D

Banana bread of Dooooooooom

That combined with aforementioned deep-fried meatballs, were, culinarily-speaking, sitting pretty for Herrang standards. I did try the camp restaurant once. It's misleadingly called Yum Yum, and set in the school canteen. On the night I was there, they served what looked and tasted like reheated frozen fish fillets, accompanied by a pile of shredded cabbage and, bizarrely, whole olives and canned mushrooms.

I'm not expecting Michelin stars, but for 95SEK/USD$15/Rm50, it's hard to resist the urge to go in there and show them what they can do with the shredded cabbage. I totally would have too if I already wasn't nodding off into it.

Which brings me to..

Sleep
This was one of the things I was told the truth about: "Hooo, hope you're not intending to sleep. Wait til after!" And it was totally, miserably, cripplingly, true. All the regulars told me to sleep from 9pm-2am, then the best dancing is between 2 and 5.. by which time I figured just keep going until work starts at 7. I started counting sleep in minutes, as in "40min at lunch, plus an hour 40 after dinner, before the show at 9pm.."

It's not a schedule I've been able to manage since I was 18, so unsurprisingly shit started to happen...

1) Wore a skirt and biked to work one morning. Misjudged the breaking on the balding tires and managed to do a crash landing into the bike rack. Escaped with a few bruises and scratches. NOT helped by the group of lounging Russians nearby.

I got lucky with the bikes actually, one girl fell off the back when the rack broke, and another guy broke a rib when his chain came off (!)

2) Managed to successfully burn myself a bunch of times on oven racks

3) Sent just a blank sms to my parents. Freaked them out big time. I remember starting it, but I just ran out of batteries and keeled over into bed.

4) Accidentally put melted butter instead of room-temperature into cookie mix, and none of them held shape. So ended up with THREE gigantic, cookie-tray-sized cookies. I had to re-do it, but the other volunteers were super happy I was such a crap baker :p

That's like an avalanche of bitching, but in the end, I did meet some fun people, and I did dance more than I have in probably the last year and I did do Swedish karaoke; how many people can say that? I also do a mean banana bread, which I don't want to do for a long time, so don't ask, ok? :p

Finally, some truth

I realise a lot of times travel is a bit masochistic. If you don't want to be outside your comfort zone, you should just stay home. But there are different levels that you can prepare yourself for. And I've decided for Herrang volunteering, you need to be near the top at Mr Park.

Mr Park was my tae kwon do teacher when I was 17. Lessons were held in a dojo near our local seafood market. It wasn't so much dojo, as a big carpeted hall with some gear stacked at the back. He was like any other Asian uncle, except one thing; hanging near the entrance, was a picture of Mr Park, when he was Mr Korea in the '70s. Oiled and flexing, like a Korean Schwarzenegger. This was the first thing that was pointed out to new students. I nodded to show that I was impressed.

He was now in his 40s, I guessed, with two daughters a bit older than me, and definitely wider round the middle.

At first, he would let his daughters take us, during the punching and kicking exercises. But one day, he took over. Instead of using the pads, he asked us to aim for him. "Go on, punch me in the stomach" he said. When he saw our hesitation, he'd exclaim "I can take it! Come onnnn". So we'd punch him in the stomach until our arms were as jelly-like as his girth.

In conclusion dear reader; Mr Park loved a punch in the stomach and so should you, if you're planning on some volunteering at Herrang.

Herrang Diaries or Punch Me in the Stomach: Part 1

2008-08-04T17:09:00.022+08:00

I just read this by some-time Swede, Elin, and it got me angry.

Angry like when a vending machine eats your coins without giving you Doritos, ANGRY.

GRRRRRRRRR

That's cos you can't find a swing dancer anywhere, who WON'T add to the already Atlantic-sized ocean of love for Herrang Dance Camp. I couldn't find anyone who'd utter even a non-committal word about it.

Leaving n00bs, like ME 2 months ago, with the perception that heaven exists just about 2 hours north of Stockholm. The deception has to stop people.

So even though I have hours on Facebook to log, I guess I'm going to stop that important work to tell the truth about Herrang. I know it's a drop in the ocean, but someone needs to counteract the hype. And since I could definitely be a medallist if Hatin' was an Olympic sport, I bravely step up to the line and risk the ire of the converted.

Also, I notice the burn mark on my arm is about to flake off entirely and the blister on my foot went a few days ago. The orange-sized bruise and various scratches on my leg is fading too, so I want to note down my vitriol before the golden light of nostalgia causes me to succumb to the mass amnesia that has clearly infected everyone else.

For the non-swing people reading, Herrang Dance Camp is a mecca for Lindy Hoppers. It's held in the tiny town of Herrang for 4 weeks every summer. "Herrang" roughly means "Mr Meadow". That's really only the beginning of the strangeness.

For me, it started badly, and maybe I should have heeded the signs. When I found out I'd be in Scandinavia, I checked straight away about registering. Unfortunately, there were no more places for follows (girls). So I considered volunteering. If I worked there this year, I could get classes next time for free. Hmmmm given the distance and expense, I might never return, but that seemed my only choice, so I grabbed it.

After farewelling my family and the tour group in Copenhagen, I stayed an extra few days then I hopped an 8-hr sleeper train to Stockholm.

Bound for DANCE NIRVANA!!!! WOOOOT!!!!!

Having spent the night in a space about three shoe boxes big, I thank the deities for being short, and for pulling up to Stockholm on time at 7am.

Dance nirvana, here I come! Woo!

I killed time and paid to use toilets for 3hrs until the shops opened. Then I tooled around in a costume shop on Stockholm's outdoor touristy shopping mall. Come 1pm, I headed back to Central Station and collected my bags.

dance nirvana...i'm gonna make it...

There I got on a metro. Then I got on a bus. For over an hour. I waited 40min then I got another bus. The meadows became more lush and expansive. Hmmmm cows and hay. Am I on the right one? Is this it?

Thankfully some Swiss dancers show me the right stop and point the way to the Folkets Hus, or Community Centre. So 4 hours after leaving Stockholm, 20 hours after my last shower, I finally arrive.

where can I eat?

I ask a volunteer in a fluorescent t-shirt for some help. In the afternoon light, I explain that I'm a volunteer, I'd like to check in and find a bed until my booked accommodation opens up tomorrow.

And here began my downfall: What I was expecting was a bunch of people who, though a little disorganised, were nonetheless helpful and fun.

What I wasn't expecting was couldn't care less, and can't be bothered. If I wanted that I could have spoken to some staff at Northwest Airlines He couldn't help me on the beds, I had to find my own. But he could helpfully remind me that when I got my stuff sorted out they needed extra hands with the decorations for that night's party. Thaaanks.

I head inside the main building and see some kind of registration process in the library. I sidle up to the slow-moving queue and spend a good 10min there before checking it's the right one (clearly spent too long in Singapore). When I run upfront and inquire, I'm told this is the queue for a weekend beginner's course and volunteers only needed 9am tomorrow. And where to sleep? General Accommodation. I steal an info booklet for students to find where it is.

General Accommodation
This is a euphemism for the bunks crammed into the school gym and some extra rooms. It's free to sleep here, so it's not surprisingly full. It looks like there's been a 3-week baggage handler's strike in there. Bags with their bowels spilling out, on bunks as far as the eye can see.

There's meant to be a labeling system, but buggered if I can tell which ones are legitimately taken, and which are the ones I can rightfully push stuff off. But who am I kidding? I'm a polite Asian. Call me thin-skinned, pussy-footed, lily-livered, or denigrate some other part of me, but I am just not the person that pushes someone's stuff off a bed. Others apparently did do this, and I met their (legit) victims in the reception the next night.

It's madness on a Friday night because of the crossover between those leaving and those arriving, and there not being enough beds. So clearly they expect people to apparate in at 8.55 on Saturday morning. Either that or a tractor beam from the mother ship, perhaps. I can't fathom any another explanation for having nothing available. Oh wait-there ARE more beds down near a place called the marina, but that's a long trek away, in the dark, especially with a backpack, and the bike rental closed 2hrs ago, lady.

Frustrated and pissed off with no bed still, I head back to Folkets Hus to find some food. I'm pointed to the burger kiosk down the road, where I spend 60SEK/RM35/USD$10 on a few deep fried meatballs, with powdered mash and shredded iceberg lettuce, plus can of Coke. This turns out to be one of the better options available actually.

After dinner I get acquainted with the showers. Do you remember teen movies in the 80s? It'd be called Porky's or Goonies, or something else that was easily-pronouncible. Many had totally unbelievable (I thought) female school shower scenes in them. It'd be scores of totally fake-boobed chicks walking around a tiled room lined on one side with shower heads, completely starkers, with nary a towel or dividing wall in sight.

Well, imagine that, minus the silicone, take the number of showers down to 3, take the grittiness of the floor up to public pool levels, add a lot more random, used clothing in the changing room, and you're about there. I won't go into the gory details, but it's not sexy, I can tell you that much.

I did go to help with the decorations after that (my other option, to cry, I would end up taking later). That got me into the hippy-themed party for free, but after doing a few laps of the hippy festivities in a turban and sarong (no, there are no photos), and a half-hearted round of the dance floor, I decided to call it a night.

Sitting in a tent, mercifully lent to me by the ONE person I do know (all hail the wonderful Cat), with the sounds of the party still in the air, waving my phone around to find an apple, chocolate, or ANYTHING to eat, was not really how I'd imagined my first night in Herrang.

I went to sleep, praying to all the deities, for the beginning of something better tomorrow.

Continue to Part 2

Heyda* Sweden!

2008-07-30T21:27:00.002+08:00

Well, I hung laundry on a line I didn't put up, I used a FULL SIZED towel to shower, and it's only 10pm and already dark outside. Hot damn! I must be back home!

After a plane trip which started sometime last millenia, going through Stockholm-Helsinki-Bangkok-KL, am finally reunited with my family and my shoes. *sniff* I missed them so...Not necessarily in that order!

Some thousands of pix to sift through and digest for your easy consumption..coming sooon-ish.

*Pronounced hey-daw and meaning goodbye in the Svenska!

Hello from Herrang

2008-07-26T02:30:00.002+08:00

Is the last night of the one week experience at the dance camp and I'm trying to use up the last of my internet time.

I don't know what to say about this yet. I really wanted to like it and it didn't turn out that way.

More when I get home. For now, I'm trying to top up my one hours sleep before the big final party tonight.

Lots Love,
m

Norwegian Coast-Bergen-Oslo

2008-07-14T06:10:00.003+08:00

Oooh finally managed to get that most coveted thing of all: FREE internet! Wooo! The rate onboard the cruise was akin to just taking the kronor and chucking it in the sea, so I decided against.

I'm going to do pix and write-up at home I've decided, so I'll just jot notes here. Internet jsut costs too bloody much here for anything else! Last I left you in Saariselke. From there we took an enormously long busride to Kirkenes, which is pretty much the top of Norway. On the way there was reindeer and Sami excursions...we saw Russia...that's just how far north we were.

Kirkenes was the beginning of our 6-day cruise down the west coast of Norway. The line began as the postal carrier for that region, and has since added on passengers. Suffice to say it's nice, but it's not the Fairstar Funship. Probably a good thing.

We'd drop off in the little fishing villages along the way for anywhere from 15min-1hr. The landscape is pretty dramatic. The route weaves in and out of the thousands of islands and fjords off the coast above the arctic circle.

At each scheduled stop we all collect at the foyer and wait for the gangway to be put down. Then as the harbour workers go about delaing with the post and cargo, we rush out in a frenzy and madly snap pix. They are pretty much all quaint and have traditional architecture and colours.

The weather is harsh but the houses are cute. Who'd figure?

Hastily cobbled thoughts so far: Sweden, which used to be the home of an empire, looks by far the most affluent. Finland, which began life as an outpost of Russia, kind of still looks a bit homely. We've spent most time in North Norway, which is fish fish fish. Oslo so far has been kind of disappointing. More like a regular city--dirty, homeless people, dodgy people, police patrols etc.

Onto Copenhagen next. Wish me luck with handling the 26 tour aunties and my little rascal of a cousin another few days!

Macktastic Arrives in Scandinavia

2008-07-07T02:24:00.003+08:00

A big Hej to my fives of readers!

In the last few days I've survived nearly 30 hr trip to Stockholm, via Bangkok and Helsinki, where we spent a couple days in awe at how hot Swedish people are (ok that was mostly just me). Then hopped an overnight ferry to Helsinki (again) for a quick gander at some of the world class architecture and record-breaking drinking going on there.

Right now am in Saariselke, a town deep in Lapland, the top bit of Finland--Hello to my geography PhDs out there! It's home to Sammi people, reindeer, the Real Santa Claus, and tonight if I'm lucky, the midnight sun. Whilst waiting for aforementioned heliotropic occurence to, umm, occur, have decided to spring for the 8 euro net connection. As there's only so much I can sigh at the "closed" sauna sign before the receptionist send me to the wolves.

Thoughts so far: I finally get why designers go weak in the knees for Scandinavia. These people have been creating things beautifully and thoughtfully for generations. They even thought to colour code the centuries on Swedish buildings!! It's all very beautiful in an unassuming kind of way. The things, like the people, look great, but also friendly.

BUT it's expensive in a way I never thought possible. You should know, I've got spendthrift tendencies. You couldn't teach me the value of a dollar for nuts. But I got a train ticket to Stockholm from Denmark and felt financially and emotionally violated. I had to go and sit on the beautiful timber chairs in the Central Station and have a few deep breaths.

I'm writing this on a wireless keyboard using a flatscreen TV, but the whole impossibly high-tech set-up left no room for a USB drive! So pix must wait.

Seeya later, or as they say here in Finland, Nahdaan Myohemmin!

Top 10 signs of impending holidayness

2008-06-24T21:44:00.007+08:00

10. A new camera has arrived in the house (SLR!! eee!)
9. A notebook is busting full of errands and to-dos
8. The winter gear is seeing the light of day
7. A new International Hostels card has arrived too
6. Work is going bananas
5. Distinct rising level of panic at all the beds not booked and the tickets not bought
4. Distinct rising level of panic about how the hell I fancied myself a backpacker
3. Sudden franticness about organising stuff for after I get back (in a month!)
2. Gut-wrenching twistingness about the ever-expanding cost
and...
1. it's T minus 6 til take off!!

Sounds like Kampung Spirit

2008-06-16T22:37:00.017+08:00

So last week we headed north to my mum's hometown.

It was for what I call the zhongzi festival, but what Wikipedia calls Duanwu Festival. It's a day commemorating a poet's suicide with wrapped dumplings.

Never say us Chinese don't know how to cut loose. In yo face, Easter!

Then the other reason (I don't cross state lines for less than two) was a cousin's wedding. Actually that in itself is not so unusual. Given my mum has seven siblings, I'm surprised if a weekend goes past that someone in the family isn't married/born/graduated/coming back/leaving/abducted by aliens. However, I was a little anxious as I haven't been back for nearly a decade.

Pour quoi? you ask. Because you're French like that. Well, mon ami, it's an out in the sticks kampung. That's why! Since I had a choice about it, I've consciously avoided the mechanics shophouse on Jalan Besar (Main St for my 5's of international readers).

It's the business that my grandfather started, that kept the family going through the war and the Japanese, where my mum grew up and where my 80+ y.o. grandma still reigns supreme; insisting on climbing the steep-as-hell stairs every day. To look down on it, I know, pretty much makes me an up-herself Westernised snot.

Yet looking at the five-foot way littered with greasy spare parts, and the buckets of used oil out the back, I remembered why as a kid I always dreaded coming here. I also don't speak Cantonese, so that left me quite the dumb-mute in a house full of screeching, bellowing feistiness–the Cantonese are nothing if not the feistiest feists that ever feisted.

I realised I was like a bad foreign student in my grandma's house; dismissive of the strange workings of a different way of life and watching the clock until I could get back home. So this time I tried not to expect to feel comfortable, just to give people the same room as I do when I'm travelling.

Most travelers would die to be taken into a traditional home and partake in the preparations for a festival, right? So in that perspective, I was quite happy to wrap some zhongzi.

My mum got to show off her skillz, and I got to practise my rusty ones. Sat on a tiny stool in my grandma's rustic kitchen, surrounded by all the ingredients at our feet, the woodfire stove going and sunlight streaming in through the one skylight, I guess I got to make a little peace with the mechanics on Jalan Besar.

Less peaceful and mostly just ear-curdlingly terrifying was the wedding we attended that evening. First off, it was in Taipeng, the nearest major town. When Taipeng is "the big smoke" the hairs on my neck already prickle. Watch out: Racism and middle-class snobbery up ahead!

When we got there, the restaurant was packed to the rafters with shouting, pushing, gobbling Chinese people and about a billion little kids (Memo to small towns: Need more entertainment options).

Then we found our table, to my dismay, was right up the front–next to a gigantic speaker. Worse, the evening's 'host' sporting an interesting haircut and electric blue sneakers, was on stage and fancied himself auditioning for Malaysian Idol.

He chose a Mandarin ballad, and after some banter, proceeded to serve it up to the chewing masses with an extra helping of D-I-V-A. He'd clearly been practising the singing AND the exaggerated hand gestures AND the dramatic facial expressions.

He was singing of love lost, but my appetite went pretty quickly too. For after him came the happy coupleS. Yep, that's a multiple. The restaurant was hosting TWO weddings at the same time–beat that for efficiency, Singapore! After Mr Mariah was done, he then invited the first couple to pop champagne, pour it onto the pyramid of glasses, and do yum seng. Then I guess the glasses were rinsed, and my cousin repeated.

So far so bearable. That is, until the first groom strutted and styled his way through a power ballad and then his wife joined him for a duet, complete with a big finish. If I hadn't already considered sticking myself in the eye with a chopstick to dull the pain, then I was seriously contemplating it now. They too had practised, though not as much as Mr Mariah.

To my dismay, my cousin and his wife followed suit after them. Then again, it's their big day. So I guess they're entitled to do whatever the hell they feel like.

Less entitled, but no less enthusiastic, were the string of uncles and aunties that followed up with ear-drum-bursting renditions of their favourite Cantonese/English/Hokkien numbers. Of course someone HAD to do "My Way". Frank might have had too few regrets to mention, but I bloody well did!

Mercifully, the dessert was declared not up to snuff, so we proceeded to disembark from the dinner. Sonically beaten to a pulp, I headed out to the carpark with the continued warbling ringing in my ears.

PS: Pix of froofy blue bridal gown which we really really wanted to put in, not included to protect us from familial retribution at some later date. Thank you.

ONCE: Falling Slowly

2008-05-23T21:56:00.001+08:00

This movie is crap to look at but hauntingly, divinely, unsettlingly beautiful to listen to. Lyrics that tear at your heart and melodies from angels. I wanted to hug strangers after it.

Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan

2008-05-18T17:04:00.008+08:00

A friend of the family's in KK had sms'd that "KK is not that special.. but Sandakan is great!"

That's all we needed to add it to the itinerary. The Lonely Planet was strangely quiet about it, but I thought "Woo! Finally we'll be seeing something of real Malaysia, not on the tourist route. SWEEET!" And then proceeded to feel very smug about myself.

The big draw for Sandakan is that there's an orang utan sanctuary about 45min drive away in the jungle. Most tour groups just fly their people in at 8am (it's a 30min flight), do the 10am feeding, have lunch, then return to KK. The other big attraction they have is the islands (kind of) nearby which harbour nesting turtles and very much more awesome diving than KK.

Between those two and the superior seafood, I thought we were set to enjoy an undiscovered Malaysian gem of a seaside town.

Turns out I was mostly kinda.. *sigh* well if you must.. WRONG.

Let it be noted what I had read was accurate–the seafood was GREAT. So fresh and really very reasonable.

Also the Orang Utan sanctuary at Sepilok doesn't disappoint. It's well managed and who can get enough of orang utans? Especially the babies!

The thing is, attending a feeding and a seafood lunch takes about.. half a day? Then you're left to contemplate what else there is to do, and you realise FAAARK! You've booked 4 days in a 1-horse town. Which, come to think of it, reminds you of Ipoh 20 years ago, just with more utes. And now that you mention it, many of the buildings look exactly like a building looks when you do nothing to it for more than 2 decades.

Thankfully one thing I didn't cock up was the hotel. Having made a last minute booking, we asked the taxi driver to stop in at various other hotels in town, just to see if we should change. Turns out NAK hotel, one of the first 'proper' hotels in Sandakan, and having gone through a recent renovation, is the only place in town that looks like they actually hired an interior decorator. The hotel's facilities are simple, but the whole thing's been decked out in a nouveau-chinois kind of style, which cheered me no end. And a suite was RM106! That was cheer-inducing as well.

The wonderful Linn at the hotel also hooked us up with a day trip to the Turtle Island of Selingan. It's one of the 3 islands nearby where mama turtles come to lay their eggs. We'd spoken with a few travel agents who said it couldn't be done; it takes an hour and a half to get there, you have to stay overnight etc. I think this is because the island is run by one operator and they only need enough people to fill their chalets. More than that they're not really interested in.

But, we managed to wrangle it, and were happy to see the island, if not the turtles. Turns out though, that we got real lucky! When we noticed a baby come out of the sand in the hatchery, we asked the ranger to help us take a picture (they're kept under watch because eggs left on the beach get stolen and sold by guys holding carrier bags in the street outside Sandakan market). Instead of doing so, he reached in to grab it and asked us to follow. We proceeded over to the beach and let it go! Like some kind of baby turtle freedom fighter. OK so am not up for any awards from Greenpeace yet, but it was such a special experience. I said a prayer for the little guy as he turned into a speck in the blue.

I figure he needs all the help he can get.

New suggested tourism tagline: Sandakan, Not As Bad As You Think. Catchy, huh?

Sabah Trip Part Satu (1) : KK Diving

2008-05-13T18:25:00.008+08:00

Yen came back from SF for Dad's 60th, so we thought we'd go somewhere for a family holiday. Having (sort of) successfully convinced my dad the diving trip I had planned in Sabah was for his birthday, we hurriedly packed after the cake was cleared away and headed off the next day for Kota Kinabalu. Or KK for the Malay-challenged.

KK is in West Malaysia, in Sabah state, which is the top right part of Borneo (how much do I rock at geography!). Now, most people go to KK for Mt Kinabalu, the river safaris, the exotic jungle wildlife and such. Me, I give you two words: cheap diving.

Whilst Sipadan off the west coast of Sabah is a magnet for divers (and sometimes terrorists..), you'll also end up paying resort prices to learn in the shallows, and there's sweet FA for non-divers, so I went with KK where there's a plethora of choice. Also a refreshing lack of 2000m drops!

I had enough trouble getting to this point (the trip initially was for China, don't ask), so I only booked hotels, no activities. Luckily KK is fantastic for the last-minute and unprepared traveller, like moi. They have this lovely place called Wisma Sabah in the little downtown. It's a building housing only travel-related companies. Dive tours, Air Asia, hotel bookings, jungle safaris... whatever you want to do you can ask for details, compare prices, and book in the same floor. How cool is that!

Jennifer at Scuba Paradise was very helpful and we were able to book some Mt Kinabalu/river safari things for mum and dad as well as Open Water PADI diving course for Yen and I. Rm 840 for 3 days instruction from personal dive master, equipment rental, lunch, hotel pickup and certification. W00t!

The first day of training was loooong. The PADI DVD is immensely cheesy and there's 5 modules to go through before a final "exam". It's pretty much high school physics (buoyancy, gases, light, refraction..), safety stuff and using a table to figure out how much nitrogen is in your system. It's brain hurtin stuff though, for a holiday. So, we were really glad to escape at the end and quickly sniffed out the waterfront mamak stalls covering the essential food groups: anything fried, desserts with condensed milk, chicken wings and MSG.

Next morning we took off from the jetty at Sutera Resort, the fancy new one in town. It's just chockers with Korean ladies off on a boat ride to the islands with their matchingly dressed and coiffed man and stilettoes.

I curse my slowness in taking pictures! They were truly breathtaking.

If I were learning in Australia, I'd have studied by myself and spent this part in a pool. Instead, our first stop was the shallows at Sapi Island, ten minutes away. It's much more convenient to go to the island than to find a swimming pool actually!

Pulau Sapi is one of the five islands in the TAR marine park off KK. The snorkelling and diving here isn't going to compare to Sipadan. As we were to see for ourselves, most of the coral has been dynamited, leaving only a few patches here and there of natural coral reef. Still, the water is clear, warm and thick with all kinds of fish, so it's very good for beginners.

At the beginning, as with most things, it's all weird and uncomfortable. The equipment is just a tangled mess of hoses and valves with some really indecipherable gauges thrown in. Then there's the actual diving...

I don't have pix of the dives unfortunately–need a whole underwater setup for that. Besides, I was initially, ..what's the right word.. freaking-the-hell-out. It felt so unsafe to willingly 'drown' and then keep heading down, even when you can't see the bottom. My mental dialogue: "faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrk!!!!"

Mental hysterics over, I realised I'm not going to last long if I keep this up, so I turned it into underwater meditation class: Breathe iiiiin, breathe ooooout. Don't think of anything else.

It's quite good training, cause screwing up the calm breathing=drowning. So on pain of death, you must keep calm.

With each dive and learning exercise, we got more comfortable. I went from holding the instructor's arm in a death grip to being able to navigate away and come back (it did take 2 goes, but no one's perfect!).

On the second day, after a swim test, we were finally certified!

I must say initially, I was hoping for a different instructor. Perhaps tall, tanned and French..dark hair...deep soulful gaze.. just a suggestion! But we got safety-minded, old-hand Jeffrey instead. Which turns out was exactly the person I wanted to be in sight as I was freaking out in the murky depths.

It turns out dive instructors, like winners of the World Cup, can't be picked on their good looks alone. Who knew!

This was even more apparent as we got off the boat triumphantly at the end of the 2nd diving day. Another boat had come racing in behind us and there was a lot of kerfuffle as a British girl was taken off on a stretcher in agonies. She'd managed to step on a stingray...ON THE BEACH! We hadn't even seen any in the water!

As her quite hot tour guide was frantically shouting into his phone in the parking lot, it was a timely reminder that a whole bunch of unexpected stuff can happen at sea, and safety, whilst boring and not as good looking is paramount :p

For more Sabah pix and rapier-like wit click here.

Next: Sabah Trip Part Dua (2) : Sandakan

Burma Emergency

2008-05-11T23:06:00.006+08:00

Just got back from Sabah on Friday. I saw the headlines about the cyclone in Burma in my hotel newspaper, but being in holiday mode, I was in my own dreamland of diving and beaches.

Which makes me feel a right twat now that I really realise that it's really real.

The numbers for deaths in Burma are on their way to making the tsunami seem like a cakewalk. And the options for survivors are to stay and starve or flee to a refugee camp in India, China or Thailand.

I only know that because a friend's aunty is one of those survivors.

Given the global shortage of food, especially rice, I don't know what kind of reception they'll get.

I'm not going to go into the whole situation with the generals, because I'll likely have an aneurism from how fucked it all is. Anyway in times like these, better to have a lot of action rather than a lot of talk.

PLEASE DONATE TO THE RED CROSS. Whilst I read reports of the UN having their cargo interfered with, the Red Crescent (Red Cross's sister society) at least have already got supplies coming in and people on the ground.

Where Our Treasures Lie

2008-04-25T22:24:00.015+08:00

"It is as if we have been forced to go on a long journey in search of what we've no interest in. The road back will be painful. We won't feel like we fit in and our friends need time to return home as well. But that time will happen. And we will come to see where our treasures lie"

The Witch of Portobello, PAULO COELHO

When I left Perth for Singapore 7 years ago, I packed my 2 suitcases and a sense of self-satisfaction that I was going toward exciting things. Perth is many things, but ever-evolving and fast-paced it is not.

With each successive trip back over the years, I managed to conclude that I made the right choice. That having swapped the quiet life for long hours at work, big projects, big shopping, a cleaning lady, and monthly pedicures...was the right thing thing to do.

Whenever taxi uncles found out where I was from, they always used to explain "Har? What you doing here?" It only took me another 6 years to ask myself the same question!

But of course this time back was different. I've completely switched over to freelance and get by on so much less. My credit card is dusty from under-use and I just cut my own nails like a pleb :p

And whilst I'm a fair way from packing my bags (for Perth anyway), its blue skies and fluffy white clouds, its courteous drivers and verdant wildlife, don't seem like the marks of a suburban backwater anymore, but something of how life should really be.

How to Pack for a Long-Term Trip Part 2: Macktastic-Style

2008-04-02T22:47:00.003+08:00

When it comes to packing, there's a few schools of thought. Some want you to layer like kuih lapis, others want you to roll like a baguette.

We here at Macktastic have come up with the soon-to-be legendary, ground-breaking and much more delicious, "swiss roll" school of thought.

Layer then roll. The idea is to keep stuff in a category in the same bag/roll/sack. Like so:

1. Collect all the same category of clothes together. Here are my pants/jeans in a lengthwise pile on top of a larger piece of clothing laid flat.

2. Roll the pants up toward the dress.

3. Then wrap the resulting sausage with your cover piece and secure with rubber bands. This pic doesn't have it, but you should label your sausage before you forget what's inside!

Awesome! Now you can go ahead and wrap sausages made from all your categories of clothes e.g. t-shirts, jackets, dresses etc. Since you're going somewhere for a long stay, you're not going to be too worried about keeping everything creaseless, more like keeping everything identified.

OK, that's the big clothes done. Here's how you can handle the other trickier stuff:

Necklaces and bracelets can be laid out on a plastic bag...

..to make jewellery roll!

Delicates or anything in a fragile state can go into ziploc bags.. (just get a whole bunch. You'll also need one for your tiny-ass in-flight toiletries). Not pictured here are the mesh handwashing bags that can be got for a few bucks at supermarkets. Keep undies/bathers/bras etc in them. Also awesome.

The all-important shoes! Not much you can do about their space-hoggingness, apart from stuff every cavity with socks. But, having a pic helps you remember which ones you are missing weeks and months later when it's all a foggy blur.

The end product: Sanity. You've effectively created drawers in your luggage, so open a roll to take out or put something in and you'll always know where your stuff's at.

True story: After having already been delayed 12 hours by No-one Worse Airlines, I stood gobsmacked at the Singapore Airlines counter in SF facing sour-faced unhelpful crew who "can't find my (re-routed) reservation". I needed the number of my travel agent in Singapore to get the booking code to sort it out. It was on my SG phone in the depths of my 25kg bag, which I fished out in a minute from the electronics bag, called from a friend's phone and saved my seat from the depths of SIA's booking system.

Good, huh? That's what I thought. You know what would be better? Not having this much stuff to worry about in the first place.

How to Pack for a Long-Term Trip Part 1: How Much Crap Do I Really Need?

2008-03-26T17:58:00.014+08:00

I've had to pack for 3 long-term trips now, and it's daunting and hard.

Not this hard, but pretty tough

They are the kind of trip to fall somewhere between "I'm going there for a few months" to "I'm going there and maybe staying", and everything that falls in between. You can't bring your whole wardrobe (i.e. you're not using movers), but you also can't survive on 5 black separates either.

If this is useful stuff to you, then congrats on your big trip! Maybe you are studying, maybe you landed a new gig. Maybe you're not sure and going anyway. Well done on having some cajones cos you'll need them. But, you won't be needing that 3rd pair of black shoes (just sayin..)

Packing list: Pants-Yes, Cowboy boots-NO

This first post will be about how to edit your random crap into some kind of sharply-honed fashion miracle. Why? Because when you're away from home, terrible, cataclysmic things can happen. I'm not being dramatic. When traveling, you should just expect it (yes, wonderful, delirious things happen too, but let's not harp on about it).

So when that thing happens, and you're ready to kill yourself or someone else, you can at least look in the mirror and be reminded you too used to be sane once.

The second post will be how to pack it all. Not just for the trip, but for the week you'll probably spend re-packing, finding stuff when packed and un-packing on the other end too.

Be a happy monkey: Pack wisely

Be warned, it gets quite anal. But then, attempting a big move requires a kind of military precision in the details in order not to go completely monkey-nuts crazy (for me, anyway).

GETTING A FIRST CUT

When at home, our wardrobe is like a government department. Entities can languish inside for years and never have any use.

However, taking the show on the road immediately demands a justification for everything that's taken. Suddenly everyone has to pull their weight or even do double duty. So, who makes the pick?

Most obvious question is: Where are you going?

A little research will let you know what's going to be appropriate culture-and-weather-wise. After that, it gets a little murky, which is where some self awareness helps. Use the following handy spectrums to scientifically ascertain your packing persona.

My fashionista status is DoA................................................Vogue is on hold

If you're happy to go ahead with a random sampling of all your beige clothes, then you're probably not reading this anyway.

To my fashionistas: My advice is to tone down the variety of your clothes and dial up the tone of your accessories. Belts, scarves, jewellery all can pack a sartorial punch and take up less space. Shoes are always going to be a big space-hogger but they also make a lot of difference, so bring something fancy if you must, but make sure you use it! Same goes for bags.

Another point to note–if you're also contending with seasons or weather very different from your own, don't bother too much about getting stuff beforehand (I'm thinking of Americans buying sarongs and flip flops from Macy's or Southeast Asians getting winter gear). Your local shops probably a)aren't going to be up to snuff in range and b)the bargains will be better in the new place. Bringing bare essentials will suffice.

My moolah is stronger than Moses................................I'm drafting up a ramen budget

Those looking to travel light always back it up with, "If I really need it, I can get it there". That's true, but travel is an expensive business mostly and how much shopping you can do there depends not just on your available funds, but also a lot on the strength of your currency.

If going to Cambodia, for example, a Gap t-shirt at the Russian Markets runs about USD$1-4. At those prices, you can go with just the clothes on your back! Meanwhile, those same t-shirts are $16-20 in the 'real' Gap in the States (bitches). So feel relaxed if your dollar is strong, but if not, keep in mind the different situations you'll need to be prepared for.

I'm going to America (bringing a sink).............I'm e-baying Mary Poppin's bag right now

Depending where you go, and what kind of airline you go on, luggage allowance differs so get clear on it early. Trips to America allow 50kg in 2 bags whilst budget intra-Asia flights allow only 15kg. If traveling budget, I would plan on springing for the extra luggage space. Even going to the States on the largest allowance known to woman was not easy and involved many borrowings once I got there.

Start off with the right luggage and work from there. If you are lucky enough to be buying luggage, look for sturdy but store-able. My Victorinox (something like this)fit 25 kg easily and packed down flat(ishly) to fit under the bed when I got to the States. Which left me feeling very smug. Which is about all that we're really after, isn't it?

EDITING DOWN

Once you have pretty much covered your bed and surrounds with stuff you think you'll take, you can call it your first cut. Now it's time to examine your collection more carefully for:

Quality
Fit
Usefulness

..in that order.

1) Quality
Nix anything that doesn't look as though it can take a rough washing machine (you'll want to keep the hand-washing down to a minimum)

Nix anything that isn't in good condition, or get it fixed. Buttons, hems, seams all fall apart like a mofo once they leave your area code.

2) Fit
Generally everything should be just so, but especially jeans, bras and shoes all need to be doubly examined for fit and quality. They are often not easy to get right, so finding replacements won't be easy either. Consider carefully! If something pinches or is not quite right at home, you always have options. But on the road, you'll be stuck with it until you get round to finding a replacement who knows when.

Someone I know, I'm not saying who, went to the US and packed on the pounds, promptly ruling out half her pants in 2 months. Something you may want to keep in mind when considering your 3rd pair of skinny jeans!

3) Usefulness
Hold on, it's still not ready to go into the bag yet.

Ask yourself:
Can I use this in at least 3 different ways?
Will I really be going to that many cocktail parties/yoga classes/wilderness hikes/[insert sartorial situation here], to justify taking this?

Once an item has jumped all those hurdles, then it can go in. Congratulate it, cos it's fit for travel!

Next post: Getting it into the bag

Earth Hour 2008

2008-03-26T11:05:00.002+08:00

Am full of work at the moment and working on a biggish post. In the meantime..

Have some fun in the dark for a good cause.

Udon Thani

2008-03-18T21:36:00.004+08:00

I was recently lucky enough to tag along when my mum was invited to share Ayurveda at a couple forest monasteries in Northeast Thailand. They're not really places you can just rock up, as everyone needs the permission of the abbot to enter, so the opportunity was rare. Thanks to the awesome Miss H's Christmas gift, I was nearly half-bottle full of information on the Theravada, or forest monks' way of life when I got there.

I was ready for the one-meal-a-day quota, I was ready to sleep on the floor and I was ready to go to bed with the sun. I was not ready, however, for the cold. Mum's warning that it's "a bit chilly" there turned out to be completely false. It was bloody freezing! Enlightenment apparently requires warm pajamas. As I was sleeping next to a hole in the floorboards, I proceeded to catch the mother of all colds. I would meet one of the spiritual advisers to the Thai King with a snot rag in hand. Great.

Sinus issues aside, the talks went well, the monks got their livers cleansed and I woke up before 7 (it's an occasion so rare and selfless, that I feel some kind of commemorative statue to be in order--something in gold leaf perhaps).

"Stoking the home fires" is not really an expression so much as a daily job

Most everything else was different and an adjustment as well, but in quite a good way. Rising with the sun also means sleeping with it too (10 hours sleep. woo!), as only the kitchen has electricity (for lights mostly, not stoves :p) Everyone has their own kuti--a kind of self-contained hut, and eats together at breakfast with the monks.

It's probably as close as I'll get to living on a commune. They don't farm, but they do have extensive gardens and prepare the food together. With thick forest and pristine air, I can see why so many Bankok-ians(?) were in residence. In comparison, Bangkok with its choking traffic and already a chore to live in, takes on a pretty bad light.

With the impossibly nice Thai people, the abundant random cute squirrels/butterflies/birds, the awesome food (the one meal is a 20-30 dish affair) and of course being in the presence of wisdom, I could definitely do an annual stint there. Ideas!

Things we find lovely

2008-03-09T23:11:00.005+08:00

Having had to fight for every last scrap of internets that we could muster these last few weeks on the road, I have come to love very deeply, whoever it is that I'm stealing connection from now. Bless their little unprotected souls. I may offer them my firstborn, or quite a nice cow.

Such has been the paucity (there's a $5 word) of time and internets in the last few jam-packed weeks (more about that later) that we have not had the opportunity to wax lyrical about our second time seeing India. She is very beautiful still, and says hello.

Although I did get food poisoning there, although the hotels are seriously, seriously over-priced and although I could do without the eau do cow dung, it is still a really exciting/exasperating/exotic place. Why don't you see for yourself.

The Farewell-UPDATED

2008-02-10T21:43:00.000+08:00

The wireless here is working in theory, like NATO. However no one seems to know the password and connecting it directly by cable doesn't seem to do the trick either. I've also just realised that the bung CD drive on my laptop got forgotten in the final rush, and that it remains..bung. Where are my geeks when I need them!!!

If I was in SF, where top-quality uber-geeks grow on trees, I'd make dinner or bake something and somehow my IT woes would be fixed by evening's end. Anyhoo, that's a big long-winded excuse for no pix today cos I still haven't figured out how to transfer them from my laptop to this PC.

In lieu of those, I decided to bust out the Paint app on this PC and totally impress you with my mad drawing skillz.

So,..
the wonderful Yen organised a gaggle of our friends to go to all-you-can-eat-and-drink shabu shabu and sake in Japantown. They weren't stingy neither. As soon as a platter of meat disappeared into the pot, another would miraculously appear in its place. Same went with the sake and the Sapporo beer. It was as close to the Hogwart's Great Dining Hall experience I've ever had.

Accurate rendition of our table

It was pissing down like a mofo outside, but inside it was steamy goodness all round and we were just one of many raucous groups of young Asians badly handling our alcohol. Also I got a big scrapbook of all the trips we went on and everything *sniff* good times..

Then, we were off to Fillmore Karaoke for some awesome 80s hits. Unfortunately we didn't realise they don't serve drinks in there. How does one do karaoke without alcohol??? The mind boggles.

So the wonderful Yen and Yee stepped in and smuggled the sake in our car into the room, where we promptly refilled our "water" bottles.

Amazingly accurate rendition of our karaoke suite

What my in-depth illustration lacks is our particularly rousing renditions of Air Supplies' "I'm all out of Love" and the time where I broke it down for Vanilla Ice's seminal piece of genius "Ice, Ice Baby". As I said, mad. skillz.

Then finally came time for us to turn off the George Michael. Not because we had no love for him, only cos we now had no voice left. And I did my farewell speechy thing. Which I totally was planning on not crying through.

Accurate rendition of farewell speechy thing

Oh well, it was a good plan anyway.

UPDATE: Strikingly real as my illustrations are, you don't really need them, but the boring ol' pix are here.

Skiing at Squaw

2008-02-09T22:57:00.000+08:00

I have seen snow exactly twice in my life. The first at 5 in Italy, where I got right back on the bus after declaring it too cold, and the second in Niigata, Japan a couple years back. Neither time was more than a day-trip allowing a brief, tantalising glimpse.

SQUAW: Come for the quite derogatory name, stay for the awesome slopes

So, I was really stoked to hear that the heavy rain in SF had translated to some of the best snows the Tahoe-region has seen in years and happy to join a big group of our friends going. Lake Tahoe is a few hours drive from SF, and nearby is the Squaw Valley, which once hosted a Winter Olympics.

Hope the cable-car holds up: with Yee, Karen, Yen, Carmello and Deanna

First, the snow gear. I had no idea it would be so complicated. Basically, eliminate natural fibers from your person on the slopes, and you will keep dry and warm (enough). Managed to skip the goggles, and just used my big new sunnies instead. I had the fleece headbandy thing, a hat and my hood working with my turtleneck, but I think next time I'll go for a balaclava. Looking like a bank-robber is much preferable to skiing in freezing wind. Did I mention I'm a total cold-weather wuss?

Then, the car gear. If driving your own car, one needs to stop at the snow line and get out some chains to wrap the tires. Looks like your Honda is into bondage after they're on.

We avoided salacious associations with the Mazda by hiring a bag-ass SUV. With that privileged air that being high up in an SUV gives you, we arrived at a 'cabin' a short distance from Squaw. By cabin I mean a cabin-style 2-storey, 4-bedroom, 3-bathroom heaven.

A cabin-shaped pile of snow really

Our friend Jason rented it from a colleague and we couldn't have asked for better. Fully-equipped fancy kitchen, big bathrooms and fireplace. Woo! I think that 'cabin' style is mandatory in those parts, cos everyone built that way. But, you can tell the owners really committed to it inside when you see the impressive array of moose-bear-dear motifs they've assembled. From the antler chandelier down to the bear-printed coasters, they're keeping an entire industry alive I reckon.

I should have gotten a picture of those.. that would have been really funny.. but you see, mostly I was busy doing this:

Wheeeee!!

Go here for the rest of the pix.

Housekeeping

2008-02-09T22:41:00.000+08:00

There's a lot of shit to catch up on account of I had a ski trip, packing up, farewell, and arrival in KL in the last 2 weeks. Ack!

Thousands of miles have been traversed, but here in my parent's place the distance seems even vaster. Yes, I know that's not a proper word. The ride here was a bumpy one, and I don't just mean on the plane!

Have met up with the wonderful Jo who is also in company with the parental units, and we've both agreed we feel about 15 again (even though she already has some gorgeous baby units to boss around). There has been door-slamming for her, and I am just about ready to enter the sullen/sighing/rolling-eyes olympics.

Anyway, let me hark back to another time, a whole two weeks ago.....back when I could still leave dishes in the sink as I pleased...

[insert flashback music]

La La La

2008-01-24T17:30:00.001+08:00

Yen had a work conference in Long Beach, which is south of LA, so I tagged along for the free hotel toiletries. Woo!

I had high hopes for LB. It's apparently often used for a lot of shooting (like for the O.C.) to stand in for other parts of the world, because it's close enough to LA but in a cheaper zone to film. Maybe I was there in the off-season but on first glance: meh. Great Art Deco architecture, but everything downtown was a bit too pretty. Gentrified out of all character.

So I braved the more ghetto-looking streets to find something less bland. One of the cute finds was the accurately monikered secondhand bookshop, Bertrand Smith's Acres and Acres of Books.

Ol Bert wasn't foolin'

With one gigantic room each for fiction and non-fiction it's a veritable time-swamp in there. I nearly didn't even go to Nordstrom's Rack because of it! (nearly is good as not right?)

Best bookshelf ever

With the maze of shelves and the musty smell, looking for a book isn't so much a bibliographical search as an archaeological expedition. So. awesome.

Two other things I didn't know about LB:
1) It's home to the second largest Cambodian population outside Cambodia.
2) It's also home to Ferris Bueller's house (so rad!)

Then came the trip to LA proper. It went like this, but less fun-looking.

On our first proper day in LA, I was eager to see some of this beach culture everyone keeps talking about, so of we went to Santa Monica. It took bloody ages to get there of course and parking is a nightmare. And there's a lot of panhandlers. Even more so I think than SF. Why did we come here again?? Oh yeah, we saw the skate-boarding dog of Youtube fame being filmed by a Japanese crew at Venice Beach. Excite!

Now I know no one reads this, y'all only wait for the food pix, so here ya go.

Heart-attack-in-a-bun from Pink's the legendary hotdog stand:

Fantastic pub-style Korean food from a restaurant with entirely Korean signs and menu. I love that I have no idea what we ate! it was goood.

Then, some culture at the Getty Center. It's a massive white structure atop a hill that's more akin to a fortress from the front, but inside has lovely home decorating ideas for me:

I wish!

Things we didn't get to:
• Hollywood sign
• the Chinese Theatre
• Sidewalk of fame
• any kind of star (being the weekend of the Sundance Festival everyone was in Utah) :(
• a Bitten(Sarah Jessica Parker's real cheap line of cute clothes) store that wasn't ravaged already. I am STILL bitter about this one :p

Cleaning Machine

2008-01-13T14:01:00.001+08:00

Knackered! The Slave Driver (aka big sister) decided to get her money's worth before I leave by getting some spring cleaning in today. Chinese New Year is a big thing for our fam, so all home turf has to be given a top-to-toe before Feb 7 this year. Any cleaning on new year's day will mean you'll be mired in muck for the rest of the year. wtf! Xmas prep involves picking trees, putting up decorations and, if you're lucky, lavish amounts of baking. What kind of holiday practices did the Chinese come up with? Cleaning-related ones!! Seriously.

Well, the way we do it here is wake up with the first rays of noon. Watch the food channel for awhile. This is mandatory. Then, from under the covers on the couch, Slave Driver says "Ready to start?"

So ensues a good couple hours of getting our hot soapy water on. Then, someone will get hungry (not saying who. hint: not me). When the snacks come out, the TV comes on, and somehow we're making more progress on our Netflix DVDs of cheesy movies than the kitchen clean-out.

Cheesy movie comes to an end sooner than later thankfully and we get the rest of the job done in time for dinner. Finally benefiting from living in an apartment the size of 3 international postage stamps put together!

Suck it, Monster!!

2008-01-05T15:56:00.000+08:00

Damn straight

Dear Monster,

You may have noticed I disabled my account on your site. That's because I have new plans now, for my career and my life. Fulfilling, inspired, outrageous plans. Plans that I didn't get from you. The only opportunities you provide people is a lengthy one-way trip to Sucksville, with free tickets to Spamapalooza.

Your contribution to my jobsearch thus far has been a relentless barrage of "updates"which were consistently the most pathetic, anaemic collection of outdated, unrelated, unappealing positions. For the last time, I DON'T want to do PR for the Navy. The US armed forces is going to need much more than a professional lipstick applier anyway, to remedy what ails them.

That position was on there for at least 6 months. Which begs the question, has anyone EVER got a job from your site?? I am wont to think your business plan goes more like this:
Revenue from ads for grad schools and selling contacts to spam companies-90%
Revenue from employers-10%

So, good riddance from my Inbox, Monster updates, I am off to a better life, free from the humiliation of being part of your ginormous UNsuccess stats. Don't let the application hit you on the ass when it closes!

Best Regards,
customer #567890163228

P.S. I know you don't care, but I disabled my portfolio blog too. Hah!

Adios '07

2008-01-01T17:41:00.000+08:00

Finally got to pop my bottle of Dom at a friend's place tonight. We counted down to the delayed telecast of the traditional Times Square festivities. A first! Which is a good way to start the year.

Not to get all feng-shui on you, but I have a good feeling about 2008. It'll be an exciting time. I've got lots to share, but I don't want to jinx it, so watch this space!

That was some naughty and here's the nice

2007-12-23T16:04:00.000+08:00

My first real Christmas tree!

Christmas here has been a real treat. It's kind of like visiting the set of a Christmas movie. Something starring an adorable yet feisty child star (before the meth years) who teaches a grumpy, cynical stranger to love again.

Having never lived the northern hemisphere life before, it's weird to be bundling up in scarves and boots and gloves because it's really bloody cold. Not (as in Oz) because it's an awesome fashion opportunity (although it is).

Then there's the tree. The tree! A real fir can be had for a mere $20! (The pumpkin patches set up on corners for Halloween just switch right over to trees after Thanksgiving). So charming to have that Christmas tree smell, and fairy lights glow in the house–not just in shopping centres.

I hate to say it, but it really does feel a lot like Christmas!

Thank you to my readers, all three of you. Hope wherever you are, something charming and magical happens. Hope you get what you wished for. The two things I want aren't sold in shops, but I'll keep wishing them anyway.

Merry Christmas!

Overheard in San Francisco

2007-12-23T06:38:00.000+08:00

GREASY PLAITED GUY: ..and there's this other model [pointing to a blow-up doll]..have you seen that?

DECENT-LOOKING ASIAN GUY HOLDING A BLOW-UP DOLL BOX: Oh, yes, I've already got that one.

Overheard in brightly lit adult shop in Little Italy

I felt like buying some insanely expensive things today

2007-12-08T05:52:00.001+08:00

That must only mean one thing: It's Miss Clio's birthday!! Happy Birthday Mrs Wieren Dinata!

Everyone's favourite primary school hottie is celebrating another year single-handedly keeping Ebay going. Have a fabulous day, darl.

Ideas to celebrate:

Spend a fun morning at school discussing "What would you steal from the zoo?"
Ask the kids to do a research project on "Reasonably-priced Balenciaga bags"
Commandeer assembly and get the kids to re-enact an episode of Project Runway

Turkey Day 07

2007-12-02T16:02:00.000+08:00

Hot on the heels of the Halloween shenanigans, came Thanksgiving dinner–another American tradition I shamelesly pulled out of the freezer and reheated for a quick cultural snack. Also, Yen's away and I get the kitchen to myself. w00t! Unfortunately, she also took the camera with her *booo* so I had to rely on a late-coming guest's camera :(

The guests:

I hosted a bunch of Thanksgiving orphans for this–all manner of foreigners, away-from-homers and such.

The menu:
Most of the traditional things–turkey, green beans, mashed potatoes, roast vegetable medley, stuffing, cranberry sauce and gravy, I was fine with. I drew the line though, at the really "traditional" things like green bean casserole, which looks like this:

And can be made with these:

That's canned green beans, canned mushroom soup and packaged fried onions, kids. Sounds delicious, huh?? It's not entirely bizarre because America is one of the few places where the food tradition was still being created during the industrial era. Either that, or the pilgrims have really, really bad taste.

I can be such a food snob because I'm on my moral high ground, from being such an eco-shopper. The turkey was petite and organic, and most of the vegetables and fruits were from the farmer's market. Most everything else I got from Safeways, but organic. How much do I love California??

Due to the sad state of affairs with the camera though, not many pix to choose from. But, here's the view of my two, yes, TWO homemade pies! Sweet potato to the left, was ..*meh*..(though it got the thumbs-up from the locals) and my trusty apple pie already demolished in front.

No one died or even spat into their napkins, so am declaring it a huge success. Hoorah!

MDA Senior Management Rap

2007-11-27T17:14:00.001+08:00

"Government rap", like "economy cheese" are two words that should never be put together. Watch for the awesome consequences.

Via Mr Brown, L'infantile terrible of Singapore.

Two Stories of Love

2007-11-20T16:22:00.000+08:00

Want to read a story about love?

You could go to the news and see this heart-warming story of boy sees girl on subway, boy makes website seeking girl, boy finds girl, boy and girl's story gets optioned for a movie.

Get your fill of:
-Cute kids in love
-NYC dating 2007
-Fashion tips to get noticed on the subway
-Warm and fuzzy love

Or, you could go to an arty cinema near you, preferably one where the concessions counter is actually smaller than the tickets counter, and see Ang Lee's Lust, Caution.
The gut-wrenching story of girl disguises herself as tai-tai, girl meets boy, boy whips girl.. aagh just go see it!

Get your fill of:
-Asia's Clarke Gable, Tony Leung
-Shanghai in the 1940s
-Awesome vintage cheongsams (!!)
-Love as performance

In case the above ramblingly incoherent alphabet collection didn't do the film justice–

From Ang Lee's essay on Lust, Caution, about Eileen Chang, who wrote the original short story:
She understood playacting and mimicry as something by nature cruel and brutal: animals, like her characters, use camouflage to evade their enemies and lure their prey. But mimicry and performance are also ways we open ourselves as human beings to greater experience, indefinable connections to others, higher meanings, art, and the truth.

FreeRice

2007-11-09T17:08:00.000+08:00

The only time I'd hate to be 25 and long to be 41..

How to Carve a Pumpkin

2007-11-06T16:28:00.000+08:00

So you all know I am nothing if not hugely inept at bunging things on here in a timely manner. Hence my Halloween update today, which is creeping onto Melbourne Cup day. Ack! Too many festivals involving strange outfits to celebrate!

This was my first 'real' Halloween, so I thought I'd share with you how I carved a pumpkin. For most non-Americans it's a complete mystery.

First, get a carving kit. It's a book of design patterns with some crazy little tools attached to the front. There's a few saws, a scoop and a couple poke-y things.

Then, get a pumpkin. I got this one for $4 in a pumpkin patch (they sprout up on corners in October). Remember to bring someone along to haul it into the boot. Watch your nails, girls!

Back at the ranch...Cut the lid out with a knife and use the scoop to take out the seeds and stringy bits inside. This bit will take longer and be harder than you expect.

Then, pick out your design. Start with an easy one that's hard to screw up. Stick it in place and use a poke-y thing to punch holes in the lines.

When you take the pattern off, it'll look like this. Use the little saws to cut out the pattern, following the dotted lines. This will take longer and be harder than you expect.

Finally! You will feel so proud of your achievement that you regret choosing the simple one. You go back to the book in search of something more befitting your enormous pumpkin carving, nay, SCULPTING talent.

Ta-DAAAAAA.

Perth meets Perez

2007-11-02T02:00:00.000+08:00

I'm pretty much addicted to Perez Hilton–it is the trashiest trash that ever trashed. But yesterday, I had to do a double-take to make sure I wasn't reading the West Australian!

Missy Higgins! W000t!

2007-10-25T14:22:00.000+08:00

Aussie singer Missy Higgins was in town last week, so we went to see her over at Cafe Du Nord in the Castro. We looove Missy. Her music is kind of like a happier Sarah McLachlan. To see her show in Australia, we'd be in an audience of thousands. Here, it was more like 150. Better view for us!

There were two warm-up acts before she came on. The first was Katy Steele of Little Birdy, which is quite a well-known band in Australia from my lovely hometown of Perth. She was just there by herself, but her stage presence is quite riveting. With her straight white blonde hair, it was very Debbie Harry.

The second act was an excruciatingly boring American girl. Too much time on hair, not enough writing decent songs. It was more prolonged warbling than singing. I even, at one point, crouched down, so my feet would hurt less from my heels. I was sooo unconcerned about seeing the performance. Just holding my place until the real act came on. I didn't mean to be so ghetto, but dude, I was ready to chew them off at the ankles!

Finally, Ms Higgins came on! It was truly a miraculous set. Gorgeous lyrics and tripping melodies, hampered only by Miss Number One Fan behind me. She knew every word to every song (of course) and insisted on singing it loud as can be (of course). I was soo close to turning around, slapping her one, and reminding her I paid to hear Missy, not her. I didn't (of course) because I'm classy like that.

Also, she was bigger than me.

B-day celebrations II

2007-10-16T14:17:00.001+08:00

So after our joint dinner, we did some drinks... I did a spin on a dance pole.. you know, the usual. Then we walk up the street to find another bar. As we're walking a few blocks away, we pass a "Thailand Health Spa Massage" place. Some of the guys wanna go in. Fine. My sister and I wait outside. That's when this guy starts talking to us.

He's younger than his paunch suggests, and dressed like a bouncer–blue shirt and oversize leather jacket. He seems a bit sketchy at first because he talks a lot and fast. Anyway it comes out that he's shore police. It's fleet week-the navy is in town on shore leave-and it's his job to make sure no one gets arrested.

Basically, he explains, the navy has 20 personnel in the downtown/North Beach area where we were, and 30 in the Castro (gay capital of the world, if not the universe). They ask the (real) police to call them if any of their guys gets arrested, as they've been given expense accounts exactly for bail-type expenses...

That's not all that's involved though, he explains. There's much reconnaissance to be done beforehand. The extent of which he displays when the boys emerge from the massage place. They despondently report the lady in there looked aunty-ish.

Our shore policeman explains that they were sent to SF some time before the fleet arrived to scope out all the "places of interest" and find out where the best are, what they offer and at how much. Apparently Thailand Health Spa Massage still tries to keep the facade of a reputable place. Once you get led inside, that's when you can choose from a "menu" and make a few coded requests.. who knew!

Aah the might of the armed forces of the most powerful nation on earth...

Many happy returns

2007-10-10T15:45:00.000+08:00

I know the last few posts haven't exactly been rays of sunshine. Being referred to as an alien, let alone an illegal one, is bound to put a damper on things.

But, with all the b-day celebrations/happy stuff in the past 2 weeks, it's been hard not to feel just a little festive. It's been my sister's (30th) as well as mine (25 forever) so there has been a lot of joint action.

Let me see, there was...

-my first ball game.

-some kind of huge-ass BBQ at a friend's place north of the city

-a road odyssey to Vegas (more about that later)

-an Italian dinner that came very slowly, chased by many vodka-based beverages that were drunk too quickly...

...which was chased by a run-in with shore police at fleet week, outside a Thai "health" massage parlour. (Full story coming)

These few weeks have definitely love me long time!

And today, (actual b-day), great big huge American pancakes at the Millbrae Pancake House and possibly a wander around a lake.

In Vegas, I played the 1-cent pokeys a lot and the trick to them is getting a bonus round. Then you get a bunch of free spins, and lots more chances at wins. Well, I think in the great dodgy casino of life, everyone gets old, there's a lot of glitz, but the reality often smells funny. This year at least, has been a pretty huge bonus round.

Thanks for sticking round for it :)

Never have truer words been said

2007-09-29T15:41:00.000+08:00

The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.

—Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen by Mary Schmich

This week, I'm sure, will be a front runner for Most Likely To Be The Suckiest This Year for me. Come New Year's Eve, when I'm looking back at what the hell I frittered my life on in 2007, this one's going to stand out in the for-God's-sake-don't-do-that-again stakes (it will join 'artistic broody guys' and 'cheap shoes'.

So, Monday 9.30am finds me checking some email and I read one from an Aussies in America group about maximum tourist stays being 6 months. I'm sure I have a 1-year visa, but run and check it anyway. Lo and behold, the email was true. There, like a stab in my side, is the red stamp with a date that's 10 days old.

I was completely blind-sided in every possible way. Frantic phone calls and emails and visits with lawyers fill the following days. I learn more about US immigration law than I ever planned to know. I was suggested to get married about 5 times. A few more, and it would be akin to a visit to the parents ;) After much research and thinking, the gaping, devastating, nauseous feeling slowly subsides to a low hum. The consequences, though not ideal, aren't as devastating as I initially thought.

But, it does remind me that I'm the most foolish fool that ever fooled, for trying to live in another country. My first years in Singapore were wrought with dealings with the immigration department as well, so this is not my first time. Dealings with immigration departments, no matter what country you're in, seems to be its own special level of hell. They have a separate button in the elevator and everything. I realise more ludicrous things have been achieved before, putting a man on the moon, Paris' "career'"for two, but not that many.

Avenue Q - It Sucks To Be Me

2007-09-26T14:16:00.001+08:00

My theme song these days...

Truth and dare

2007-09-13T14:41:00.000+08:00

These past 6 months, I have come to think about risk a lot. Not the game kind, the kicked-in-the-gut kind.

What I left and lost: My autonomy–hardest. My financial plan–easiest.
What I must give up. My sense of entitlement. My resentment for the weight I magically gained :p
Why I did this. What is it that I'm actually after: Like the Golden Gate Bridge on a foggy day, I know it's there, I just can't see the details right now.
Whether it's worth it: I would have been a lot more ambivalent about this yesterday, but after a good meeting today, I think it just might be.
Whether I'm being bold or reckless. Maybe.

A wonderful reader's survey in the New York Times, courtesy of Miss T, asking people why they take risks perked me up muchly. A big reminder that there's others in the same boat. That it does work out. Or even if it doesn't they still lived to tell the tale. And, that come to think of it, the risk of the Big Move doesn't come nearly close to #90's comment: "Being honest with people (and myself) in all of my relationships (platonic and romantic)."

As a truly huge fan of "keeping things nice" I realise I'd really rather move across the ocean again, or repel down the side of a cliff, than to break my vow of compliance and speak the truth all the time. Something just freaks out inside every time I think I endanger my relationships with the truth. Better a relationship based on a little lying than none at all, right? ...is my general line of thinking.

Retarded, but true, at least.

Crowded House in Oakland

2007-08-28T17:35:00.000+08:00

So this post was going to be about finally seeing in person the soundtrack to my last 11 years, and how awesome that was. Little was I to know the Crowded House concert in Oakland wouldn't be the most exciting thing to happen that night.

Anyway, I need to go back to '96. Legendary Aussie band Crowded House breaks up just as they are reaching the height of their fame and I am at the wrong end of the country when they play their farewell gig on the steps of the Opera House. I console myself with their Greatest Hits album, Recurring Dreams.

It would be the first time of many that that CD would do the trick. Through heartbreak, homesickness, loss and disappointment across three continents, there wasn't much a good cry and those tripping melodies couldn't remedy. Singer/songwriter Neil Finn just has a way of making depression delicious again.

Having reformed earlier this year at the Coachella festival, Yen and I were excited to finally be able to see them in concert–we had been too young to appreciate them live the first time round. So it was with a mixture of awe and anticipation that we headed to the beautiful Art Deco Paramount theater. We were clearly a good decade or so younger than most of the audience, and two of the maybe five Asian people there, but we know all the words and no one was bloody going to stop us using them!

Standing in the nosebleed seats, I finally got to use all of them. Being part of the 3000-strong audience singing "Better be home soon" acapella, was really one of the most sublime magic kind of sparkling moments I've had in awhile. If it is even possible, I am even more in love with those songs now. It must be one of the great joys in life to have people sing back the song you wrote. Apart from the obvious, it must majorly rock to be in a rock band.

After tripping out of the theater on a high from that, things took a sudden turn for the worse. Actually we got snapped off our cloud nine so fast we got whiplash, because when we got back to the car, it looked like this:

Some thugs had smashed the back window and rifled through everything. A young couple two cars in front were picking through the broken glass in their back seat as well. We called the police, but Oakland is a really bad part of the Bay area and they have bigger problems than a few vandalised cars. Bizarrely they took my cash-less purse, but left my Coach handbag, made off with the parking change but didn't notice the iPod shuffle!

Not that we were really laughing. With no window the ride home across the Bay was bloody freezing. Then there was the excitement of calling insurance to file a report and Singapore to cancel my cards. We did feel slightly CSI when we fished the screwdriver they had discarded off the seat with a tissue and put it into a zip loc bag! Not that anyone from the police dept would care to print it or speak to us or give us the time of day or anything.

I slept as usual though. Fear is exhausting.

Hard Partying

2007-08-16T14:43:00.000+08:00

So amazing what hours of primping can do...for other people. We, on the other hand, rolled out of bed like this.

Partying in SF is not so much entertainment as an endurance test. Firstly, no matter what weather it's like near your house, or how cute your new dress is, a cardigan/jacket/both is required to brave the squally winds and b*tch of a fog in the city. Then there's the inordinate stress of finding the place. As head non-driver, I am constantly struggling with different retarded GPS systems. After that whole palaver, there's driving round and round for a park. Shouting and cursing at every godforsaken imbecile who takes one ahead of us. Then, finally, after the stars have aligned and a human sacrifice made, a space is found and the whole car erupts in a self-congratulatory cheer.

Mind you, we're still two blocks from the place. There's still picking your way through the unusual streets–here a posh new office block, there an alley populated by various homeless people and surly old security guards (is there any other kind?). Once accomplished, belly up to some bar small enough to fit into the private rooms at Zouk.

Aaah San Francisco. How much do I love thee?

Job Description:

2007-08-04T10:46:00.000+08:00

Marketing Copywriter*

Attention Copywriters! The leading provider of bullshit management solutions powered by made-up analytics is in need of an experienced Marketing Copywriter. Apply today!
This is a great opportunity to get your foot in the door of a company we're not mentioning, cos no one's heard of it! Want to screw up your resume? Make lousy contacts? Or merely work for a company that you'll be suppressing for years? This is your chance!

Responsibilities:
Work with Self-Important Morons
Work with Major Cock-Ups
Work with This Company's Self-Indulgent Puffery
Work with Egos of Untold Proportions

Requirements:
BA or BS preferred, mostly BS
2-3+ years BS-related experience
Experience writing for Financical/Statistational/Mate Analytization preferred
Note: Candidates MUST upload fawning written schlock along with a resume in order to be considered

*This posting has been altered, but only slightly

Graffiti Book Launch

2007-08-01T02:41:00.000+08:00

One of the fake titles I place after my name is 'travel writer' and one of the publications helping to keep the facade in place, is the Graffiti Travel Guide: Singapore. It's a collection of locals writing about places they love in Singapore, set out in an arty kind of way. I wrote a shopping spread for it (but can't show it yet, cos still waiting on the PDF) and they're having the big launch party this Friday in Singapore which I'm very sad to be missing. There's going to be much alcohol and government-approved spray painting; a combination I just don't see often enough.

If you wanna go, email me for the rsvp number, and here's the cute invite:

And here's some of the other inside spreads:

I can't wait to get my copy in the mail!

Back from Yosemite

2007-07-26T03:15:00.000+08:00

Am interrupting my Harry Potter reading time to let you know I got back from Yosemite in one piece. There's something about communing with nature that..well...ack I got nothin. It looks the same as the time I was there last September. We did go on a 7km hike though, which we didn't do last time (w00t!). I must say the views were worth it. Enjoy!

On top of Sentinel Point

Valleyscape

Merced River–some of the very little water that was flowing at this dry time of year.

Not the only one struggling with the heat.

Aaaah, nothing like a long walk to make you feel like jumping off a cliff.

Summer in the Bay

2007-07-17T15:58:00.000+08:00

Hello my lovelies,

Oh how I've sucked at posting this month! Mucho sucketh. I promise I've been busy and not just bone-arsed lazy. Well, mostly anyway. The thing is, it's summer now. Apparently that's a cause for celebration. In Australia, there is vicious amounts of sunshine, causing one to have a guarded respect for it; all Aussies know the dangers of skin cancer. Here, however, copious amounts of mostly weak sunshine makes walking about fun, and makes all food taste better on a paper plate.

On the 'travel' front, I've been over to Half Moon Bay twice. I use the quotes because it's not really out of town, though it does feel like it.

Just 15 minutes west from us, and on the coast south of San Francisco, is the little town of Half Moon Bay. It's cute like the way you imagine American seaside towns to be. Even though there's only one road through the hills to it, causing huge bottlenecks at peak times, people still commute from there. Once you get over the hills it's no longer a suburb in the Bay area but a country-style escape—market gardens and flower farms and such. I guess I can see why some would think it's worth the hassle.

The photos above are from the front garden of a lovely and bizarre antiques shop in town called 'Half to Have It', which is bursting at the seams inside with all manner of vintagey goodness. Those birdhouses above are made in China though, muahaha.

Meanwhile, we were also quite chockful of activities in the 'Sitting on a blanket outside' category. Actually Yen and I have become quite pro at packing a picnic.

First up was the radio-sponsored 'Summerthing' concert at Golden Gate Park, featuring the musical stylings of Everclear and Smashmouth. They should have called it 'Remember those guys from the 90s?'

Yen, me and Yee striking a pose—you really got to entertain yourselves whilst waiting for a song you recognise.

Next up, 4th of July fireworks. There was no national anthem or music of any kind actually. The fireworks were big, but kind of random. What's up with that? Also there seems to be a much shorter minimum distance from crowd to firework. I was stoked to be right under the exploding sky, but the jury's still out on my hearing.

Then a trip out to Tomales Bay, north of the city, for cheap oysters by the water. It takes either one and a half or two and a half hours to get there, depending on whether you Google the right place or not(!) Suffice to say the long and windy car ride left me unsociable. I am only smiling here because they have oyster knives in my back.

Finally, the piece de resistance, the Stern Grove festival. It's a concert series held in a large-ish umm ..grove..in the city. We saw Lavay Smith and a New Orleans jazz band, and the SF Symphony Orchestra here. Because it's a smallish space, you have to go early to stake your claim on some real estate and watch a lot of shirtless men before the music. Awesome.

My most exciting news is this most rubbish picture. I know you can't tell, but I had a cut and colour as a hair model for the first time ever. Being skint will do that to you. I wasn't sure whether I'd have to start wearing hats afterwards or not, but both my trainee stylists did great jobs. They were at big name salons, so they had very good seniors supervising them. It takes longer than it might usually, but it's so worth it. Colour was US$30 and cut US$15. Bargain, no?

Actual conversation:
Me: Hi, can I make an appointment for a cut and colour?
Apprentice: Is it virgin?
Me: Excuse me?
Apprentice: Is your hair virgin?
Me: Ummm. Yeah, it's uncoloured.
Apprentice: Ooh great. it's really hard to find virgin hair.
Me: I see...

Lookit! My book cover on Singapore TV!

2007-07-17T03:48:00.001+08:00

Just to prove I haven't been faffing around getting attached to the couch.

Looky down

2007-06-15T05:05:00.000+08:00

For some reason my post that nearly got away was put in chronologically–when I started it, not when I published it. Anyhoo, blah blah..see below for pictures and such.

Geek Gods

2007-06-12T15:46:00.000+08:00

My laptop did the unforgivable and totally died a violent death on the weekend. Leaving me with a half-finished post stuck in cyberspace with nary a line out to get it. Damn you, Apple. Do not make delicious-looking computers that have Toshiba insides that suck! Luckily I had an external hard drive with most of my files. Don't worry–I still got Madonna's 'Holiday' if anyone needs it.

Anyway, open hard-drive surgery was undertaken by an expert geek without many of the tools required and it is now feeling better. That is one benefit of living in SF. You can't spit without hitting a Mac-genius-level geek. I lost some of my latest files for a freelance project, which I'll have to re-do, but I am taking that as a doofus tax for not backing up enough. Just in case you need it–Back up! Backup! Back up!

So being without my iBaby this weekend with no other computer in the house was more than unsettling. And it got me thinking. Who is emailing me? What is happening on Perez Hilton? More importantly, what's so-and-so's address and where am I meant to be tomorrow? No freakin' clue. Why? Because hard copy and grey matter memory are turning into one of those quaint nostalgic things we'll remember from the good old days, like good penmanship or cassette tapes.

In a post-apocalyptic world I imagine us all wandering around aimlessly; we can't remember how to do anything or go anywhere without Googling it first. We're hoping against hope that some geek can put together a PC with 3 paperclips and some chewing gum, MacGyver-style, so we can EBay some bread.

It wasn't my intention for this to be some kind of Luddite tirade, but I wonder if in our rush to embrace the Web we might not set ourselves up for some sticky situations. Meanwhile, I am seriously considering a paper datebook.

The post that nearly got away:

2007-06-09T09:23:00.000+08:00

Here's a bit of a round-up of the things that I've been up to as of (kind of) recently:

Took a trip out to the Google Campus in Mountain View to partake in some top-secret paid user study for Blogger. OK the study isn't so top secret, but what they asked me is, so my lips are sealed there. Suffice to say there's heaps of cool things going down for Blogger. Woooo. Also I scored two juices and some snacks from the waiting room. Booya! Every trip to Google is delicious. Pictured is the seating area servicing some of the 14 free restaurants on-site.

Took a trip to Palo Alto, near Stanford to get some dinner. Ended up at Cafe Del Dogge a home, nay headquarters, for coffee snobs. It's part of an Italian chain, so things are pretty damn...Italian..inside. The baristas for one (good) the menu for another (bad). I'm no good with coffee after dinner so I got a hot chocolate. Even my friend the ardent coffee snob and Italophile, who's been there heaps, managed to get confused amongst the three kinds of hot chocolate and ordered the above. Looks good right? Tasted like...well, gooey 70% dark chocolate. Looks a LOT better than it tastes. Call me an infidel, but dark chocolate is a culinary deal breaker for me.

Other strange but more potent drinks to be found at RoHan Lounge, where we went for some birthday drinks. What it lacks in curb appeal it makes up for in atmosphere inside. The music is a nice level for conversation and the bartender was cute (OK not so much an objective view, but still). Being a fusion kind bar, the drinks are Asian-themed. I can't fault them cos they had a drink named after me, which was nice of them to do. The Ming totally kicked my butt though, so I guess I should be proud that even as a mixture of beverages I am strong.

And finally, here are some banana crumb muffins I made. They kicked ass if I do say so myself. The crumbs on top are basically sugar, butter and cinnamon, so deliciousness is guaranteed. A few steps to fatty-boombah-ness is probably also guaranteed, but what's life without some luxurious baked goods.

Driving Update: Animals on the Alert

2007-05-30T07:17:00.000+08:00

Dear Animal Kingdom:

As evidenced by the emissaries that were sent out to ambush my Sunday practice, you seem to have gotten news of my impending driving on Californian roads.

In a half hour session, I crossed paths with:
1 x cat
2 x dogs
1 x squirrel
2 x ducks

Did you really think you could get away with sending ducks unnoticed? Not the brown boring kind either–these were black with brilliant green. Oh, the audacity!

I am onto you, Animal Kingdom. I know you think you're going to crush my driving confidence and keep me off the roads. Think again, my furry friends, Think Again!

Aiming at you next time,

minginsf

God of Something

2007-05-24T13:40:00.000+08:00

When I was 16 I had a Social Studies teacher; a mild-mannered, tall, slightly burly man in his early 30s who took class with a dry, bemused humour. Well, girls are to gossip as matches are to fire. So inevitably, someone knew someone who had seen him with a woman and that's about all we needed to concoct endlessly elaborate hypotheses. Even without the mystery woman, he was one of the 'cooler' teachers.

One day in class we were discussing the TEE, the big matriculation exams, and discussing what we'd do at uni. I asked him, "Should you do what you're good at, or what you like?"

He replied, "For most people, that's the same thing."

My reply SHOULD have been "What the hell kind of answer is that? Are you implying I'm big-noting myself simply by making the distinction between ability and enthusiasm? Aren't you meant to be encouraging kids to bigger futures, not belittling their concerns?"

That's the way it happens in my head anyway. I prefer it immensely to what actually happened:

MING: Oh, Ok

-end scene-

It went pear-shaped for me, direction-wise, after that. I had observed I was good at things I didn't necessarily like so much, and that I wasn't as good as I wanted on things I did like. Just because I can do something above mediocrity isn't a sign from God that I've found my calling! (Is it?) Alternatively, it seemed dumb to ignore perfectly good skills whilst trying to nurture fledgling ones that didn't come quickly or naturally. (Is it?)

So began what has now turned out to be nearly a decade's worth of double-guessing. Was that a life-changing epiphany, or a passing fancy? My personal watershed, or figment of my imagination? Someone once told me to be fearless. Yet fearless to me at one moment looks completely moronic the next. I clearly have a magnet next to my personal compass.

When I make big decisions I mostly spend time persuading myself, riding the seesaw of my judgment. That I would be stupid/blind/courageous/stubborn enough to stick to my guns more often. But seriously, is it asking too much for a sign? I don't need a red carpet, maybe just an email, or even an IM from a reasonably well-known deity would suffice.

Hermes, Vishnu, anyone?

What do you do at big decision time? Hit me up on the comments.

San Franciscans Beware

2007-05-14T14:48:00.000+08:00

Today was my first time behind the wheel in over 6 years! Sis bravely took shotgun as I rediscovered manual. Don't worry–people and trees remained unharmed.

The good news is, I still remember my Aussie driving days. Bad news is, I still remember my Aussie driving days. I only stalled once and I can park ok, but I kept signaling with the windshield wipers and trying to change gears with my left hand. Booo. My worst thing is I still automatically keep left.

Come on America! Isn't it time you joined the rest of the world!! This keeping right business is so bogus. While you're at it, America, also look into: the penny (uselessness of), the Imperial system (uselessness of), the spelling (stupidness of) and the complimicated coffee (don't get me started).

I'll be the one turning right with the wipers going on a corner near you.

Road triplet!

2007-05-11T06:05:00.000+08:00

Every once in a while you have an aviator guest who needs to get to some hick airport out in the sticks. You rejoice at this, because it's a rare chance to go on a mini road trip, to make a pilgrimage of sorts, to that spiritual home of yours:

The Charles M. Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa.

Street cred be damned, I was going to see Snoopy. But really, who doesn't love Snoopy? If you're reading this and you don't, you're totally off my Christmas card list. Also, I'm going to assume you're a baby-killer.

Aside from providing me my secret dream of owning a beagle named Snoopy, Peanuts taught me all the important lessons in life:

The value of persistence–

The value of speaking up–

and the benefit of the boogie–

*sigh*

Here's the table where Sparky had lunch every day at the Warm Puppy cafe, which is next door to the museum.

It's at the entrance to the ice-skating rink he built,

which is next to the tennis court he built, which is adjacent to the baseball field...

..you get the picture.

And on the way back, we passed by famed California wine country Sonoma. It's like Margaret River back in Perth–lots of vineyards and orchards.

We just could not resist the roadside strawberries and cherries, so we loaded up and have had strawberry shakes all week. Happy days.

How TV is Made. WARNING: Rant ahead

2007-05-03T07:56:00.000+08:00

Children, we all watch TV, but do you know where it comes from? Have you ever thought to apply yourself to researching that topic? I did, and boy was I edumacated.

First, enter a random draw. Be awarded an email confirmation. Wait many weeks. On the BIG day, show up at theatre. For the purposes of this post, we got the Orpheum in downtown San Francisco. Show up before noon. Be given blue ticket. Stand in line on sidewalk. Watch weirdos walking past. Hope to god they don't talk to you. Repeat for FOUR hours.

Who knew the cheap thrills of TV required such lengthy shows of commitment? TV is based on, funded by, organised around, the 30-second commercial. Who are they kidding, expecting such patience and determination from an audience? Wildly assuming we'll happily withstand the nazi-queue, the ear-splitting tones of the girl behind on the phone, AND severe knee cramps, not to mention the mayonnaise stains when you attempt to eat lunch on your feet.

Clearly, the retardation which is often attributed to TV apparently has affected the show organisers. Unable to just hand out 1200 free tickets to an assembled queue, they decided on the mucho convoluted way involving two separate cut-off times and me having to read my Real Simple mag downwind from a port-a-loo.

Finally, when we got in and stumbled gratefully into a chair, any chair, we witnessed the lights, cameras and action of a real tonight show. WoooOOOo. I read the jokes on the autocue before Conan delivered them. I applauded when the applause signs came on. Actually, I didn't need the signs, because Dana Carvey (above) of Wayne's World fame is still really funny.

And then, some skinny kids with bad posture, bad teeth and bad hair came on stage to play. The look gave their Brit status away, so it was only a hop, skip and jump to deduce they were the Arctic Monkeys. Who books these people? A full 3 people in the crowd knew who they were, and of those, 1 was a fan.

A comedian here, a video skit there, and badabing badaboom, the whole thing was over. Over so soon! I had to give up my plush seat for the trek to the BART station.

A whole day, well, spent.

This is more like it

2007-05-03T07:11:00.000+08:00

We went to hike Land's End on Saturday. I'm not usually a big fan of hiking, but the SF spring weather, which is like air-con with sunshine, makes it a pretty civilised experience. Only time I felt trail-rage (hiking-based road rage) was when joggers passed us effortlessly with perfectly manicured pooches in tow. Meanwhile, I was so out of breath that I had to reduce my Snarky Comments Levels to all-time lows. Nature has no appreciation of irony.

The Pacific lookin' pretty-

Happy (belated) Anzac Day

2007-04-26T09:52:00.000+08:00

Oh man. Just got net back after the whooole of yesterday and most today in the wilderness. The horrors! Here's what was meant for yesterday:

With biscuits, just like with primary school kids, the goody-two-shoes are always up front

When we first got to Australia, Sis and I were the only Asian kids at school and ANZAC day befuddled us somewhat (Anzac biscuits, on the other hand, were a far easier sell). As far as we knew, there was a big concert on the bitumen (paved courtyard), the flag was raised and then all of us had our memories sorely tested when we got to the second chorus of the national anthem. Possibly because it had only become the official anthem two years before.

On further inspection, it seemed to be a day marking a great military defeat. I was no expert on war (I double-majored in My Little Pony and Kylie), but thought it kind of weird that Australians honoured losing. It was only later I realised it was more about honouring trying your best, no matter the consequence. I can't claim to have learnt much from Attadale Primary, but I can still nail that second chorus.

How old doth thee feel

2007-04-22T14:36:00.000+08:00

Conversation yesterday:

Miss J, 14, was recounting a story to Big Sis and I that her Girl's Scouts troupe had won a dance contest. They didn't think they had a chance, but tried anyway.

Big Sis: Wow, good on you! Could we have an encore performance? We'd love to see it.
Miss J: You can see it on YouTube.

You know you're in San Francisco when...

2007-04-19T15:22:00.000+08:00

...your cute welcome cake says "Welcome to the Bay Area", because REAL San Franciscans know that "San Francisco" only means the city bit and does not include all the bits around it. OK, geography lesson over, unless that's the kind of thing you're really into.

What a difference a month makes

2007-04-16T16:46:00.000+08:00

Bugger me. I've been here for a month already.

I know, I know. What the hell have I been up to that I couldn't be arsed to put up a few pictures and some smart aleck comments about the Americans. What could be easier!

It's been, shall we say, fantastic. Other people, when they leave one country for another, they may just take a direct plane there. Those people have no imagination and probably do sudoku for fun.

Here's how I did it:

First, after finishing work at Chinese New Year, was the farewells. They were fun, bittersweet, but mostly, immensely calorific. Coming on the back of CNY celebrations there was a fair bit of gorging on everything in sight.

Then, there was Sydney, where I got to hang with my fave little guy David and my aunt and uncle. Then I did some bbq-eating with my old roommate and met up a uni friend.

Then, home to Perth and more Aussie goodness–catching up with all my favourite Perthians. Can't get more Aussie than this pic. Also I had an interview at the US Consulate for a visa. I just about gave myself an ulcer over the interview, which, as is my luck, turned out to be nothing at all.

Then, back to Singapore to look one last time at this godforsaken chair that style forgot, and poof! Just like that, a chapter in my life over.

I spent a few days in Tokyo to break up the trip, staying in hip Shinjuku with my ex-colleague and his gf. We went to bars that baffle me still–one involved ping pong balls. My host mum, who recovered from serious illness just one month before, came to town to take me round. She out-walked me at the Imperial gardens (above) which, really, goes to show how useless I've become fitness-wise.

..and I made an entirely useless trip to Odaiba, an island off Tokyo. Useless cos I didn't know in order to get home I had to leave exactly 30 min from getting off. I did get to see Puppy *the World, though, which is a shop where you can rent dogs to walk around the island. I would have gone with Pups for Pounds as a name, but that's just me.

And finally, hoorah, hoorah. Home in SF, where I've taken up my position as house elf for Big Sis. The cherry blossoms were kind enough to come out to welcome me.

We've been on one road trip since I got here. No points for guessing where :p It's not something you really do in Singapore, and I've got quite the appetite for it now.

Other than that, it's been a buffet of day-to-day fun things. I've met all of Big Sis' SF 'family'. They're a great bunch and a big part of feeling settled here. I was Miss Apprehension about the move, but I think it works out for the best. It's perhaps been a tad tooo fun cos the jobsearch only just got started, heh.

The time wasn't mis-spent. Now that I've had some time for things to roll around in my head, something has clicked over and I'm sure what I want/don't want to do. Which, for me, is nothing short of a bloody miracle.

Some housekeeping:
I'm not feeling the design at the moment, but don't want the plain white, so I'm gonna leave it first, k?