Sunday, March 29, 2009

Its been a long while folks. It been a harrowing few weeks with lots of thrills, spills and chills. I am the poster girl for all research that says that stress breaks down the body and leaves one as endearing as an alligator on caffeine withdrawal.

Just a short note to say that I am alive and still snapping at everybody.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

And speaking of Rohingya

Go feed your mind with something worth knowing. I expect it to be a good introduction to the refuge crisis. The CM Annex is nice this time of year.
For previews:

Who do? Dose Two!

Dey good. So come..

Thursday, March 05, 2009

Bump, bump, BUMP!

I had an "I'm Okay" moment today.  Heh. 

As I was entering a packed lift at the office, nobody held the door open, so the the doors came crashing against me, caused me to fall down and my shriek shocked everybody.

And in a flash, this picture popped into my head. And I went "I'm okay". Not that anybody asked though. 
I wanted to laugh but my arm hurt. Funny la in a tragic way.

p.s. Plaza IBM during lunch time is a bitch.

Sunday, March 01, 2009

Bedtime stories

Cyberspace is littered with a multitude of blogs devoted to the singular purpose of telling stories - unlimited pages that chronicle the tragedies and triumphs of the extraordinary lives of ordinary people. Or should it be the other way around.

This blog does not profess to be any different.

Storytellers every one of us, we regale readers with tales that are important to us, that defines us and that assures us of our existence under the skies of our individual universe.

We publish to an audience because we matter and the subjects of our litany – they matter. We harbour the hope that somebody finds us even remotely interesting. Being forgotten is a fate worse than death. Or so I am told.

From cave drawings to sculpted monuments – we are the only species that has an intrinsic need to live a life beyond ourselves, to need to leave a legacy. Something as eternal to the human spirit as our wondrous sense of curiosity. Qualities that set the immortal cycle - where storyteller will turn to the reader who will in turn, weave stories of her own.

Some recite the story of their lives through their music and some in art. We bloggers, we seek transitory glory in the very impermanent realm of cyberspace, with our finely wrought words and pictures. And not necessarily sequenced between Google ads and Nuffnang banners.

In moments of despair I have often wondered if there is any purpose to this existence - whether I would have a story left to tell from the routine mediocrity that characterizes my days from sun up to bedtime. Mine and a million other people’s.

Yet we go on, constructing our narratives with twists and plots and surprises that mark our life’s journeys as we do our utmost to arrive at happy endings. We may not be Hemmingway, but you and I, we are still raconteurs – world class, honest and with joys, heartbreaks and other stories to tell.

Much ado about SPAM

Pork luncheon meat. Squashed meat in a can, a staple of every Chinese home.

Sliced into strips, dipped in egg batter and pan fried to perfection. Delish in a tin. Best thing out of China since Confucianism and gun powder. My dad cubes it and cooks it with star anise and chilli power.

Salty, tangy and mysterious, its meat like you have never tasted before. Would you know what it is, if not for the word Pork emblazoned on the label?

However with the growing concern on almost anything shipped out of the Mainland these days, and the obvious drop in quality - it has lost its characteristic firmness and bite only to be replaced with suspicious mushiness, the once loved Ma Ling luncheon meat has lost many a local lover.

On the rebound, I have taken to the next and super expensive best thing – Spam. The non-halal section of the supermarkets here are stacked with Spam with cheese, less salt Spam and my favourite – Spam with Tabasco. But it’s like RM14 a can. Yup, in my mom’s words – it’s like eating gold.

But sometimes its easy to go crazy. Which was what exactly what happened when I was in Isetan on Saturday. Desperately needing some comfort food, I grabbed a can of spam and paid for it with some of my other purchases. I was a bit shocked at the bill. Apparently I was charged RM19.99 for a can!

Needless to say, the cheapskate in me went back to the pork counter and looked for the price on display. There was none. The Chinese lady manning the counter gave me the look.
You know that look that salespeople at posh stores give you when you walk in their temple of expensive merchandise in your flip flops and weekend clothes?

Yeah, she cast me THAT look. Complete with the single raised eyebrow.

She saw my can of Spam and hollered “Is 20 dollas wan tin.”
To which I retorted that it’s expensive! Has it gone up in price?
“Is from USA. You know, USA?” And she looked away to a non-existent customer to my right.

I was like, wtf? Was this sales staff is giving ME attitude? Over a can of Spam? Like she owns the England and Spain and all the butcheries in between. Do I look like I can't afford her Spam, yes, from the USA.

I was sorely tempted to return the can (through the air, over the counter and into her skull) just to spite her, but that would mean that I would have to look at her sour face some more.

So I took the high ground and left before I really launched the can at her. Muttered something about yeah, I HAVE bought it before.

Of course I made up the most brilliant come back lines on the journey home, before I fell asleep in the train.