Happy All Hallow’s Eve

The gates of Hell are open again. Though this time, it isn’t Chinese spirits that will roam the earth, but spirits from further west. Because it’s All Hallow’s Eve, better known as Halloween.

Kids here don’t really go trick or treating even though the occasion is quite well known. (When I was eight, I did want to cut up my mum’s bedsheet and be a ghost like Charlie Brown, but luckily I didn’t; that would really have been a bad idea.) My friends and I did have a Halloween movie night one Saturday after training, and we did want to do another one this weekend, but R’s still busy with Deepavali celebrations. The biggest fans of Halloween here is probably the local clubbing and pubbing scene. Halloween makes for a good party night and this year, it falls on a Friday. I’ve got a colleague who’s planning to go out as a Formula One Grid Girl who got run over by an F1 car. I’m not a fan of ghouls and goblins, so I’ll just stay out of their way (and keep the candy for myself, hee).

Trying not to be a geek here, but here are some jack-o’-lanterns from Wired magazine.

Methinks there are some seriously talented pumpkin carvers out there. There are current affair ones, like Dark Knight’s Joker, and multi-cultural ones, like Domo Kun. And of course, hot on the topic of election fever, some politics-themed pumpkins thrown into the mix.

Some are really quite unusual — there was one person who carved a whole line of Pac-Man characters (granted the pumpkins had to be painted blue, red and yellow… and you can’t light them up coz then they’ll lose the colour… but maybe some points for originality and creativity — they were something different).

Still, can’t do Halloween with at least one good ol’ jack-o’-lantern Version 0.

Happy All Hallow’s Eve, people and non-people.

From the presidential race to the swimming pool

It was the most random of things. Someone in the office sent out a link for a video regarding the US election. I didn’t check it out, but I did end up on youtube checking out a compilation of clips of the late night shows making light about the presidential race. That led me to clips of Stewart and Colbert presenting at the Emmys in 2006, and then to a clip of them presenting again in 2008. That led me to a clip of Ricky Gervais at the Emmys in 2008 giving Steve Carrell a hard time for stealing his Emmy in 2007. That, for reason beyond comprehension, I must have clicked a related link on the sidebar somewhere, led me to check out commercials with celebrities (this falls under the realm of work for me) (actually, so does everything else above, heehee). That then led me to search for new Nike commercials. Before I knew it, I was checking out the opening ceremony of the Winter Olympics in Torino in 2006. There was a girl singing the Italian anthem, which reminded me of the Chinese girl singing at the Beijing Olympics and the scandal that followed it. I almost did a search for the Chinese National anthem because there was a fashion brand in Hong Kong that used it as a soundtrack to a commercial about a decade ago and caused quite a controversy, so I almost went off on that tangent. But instead, I clicked on a link that led me to a Formula One clip where Schumacher, for Ferrari, had won and was on the podium while the Italian anthem (which is now playing on loop inside my head) played. It was part of a montage of Italian sporting victories, including bits of someone swimming. And suddenly I remembered it’s been a long time since I went swimming (don’t ask my why I didn’t feel a sudden urge to go play soccer) (or drive an F1 car). So today I packed my swimsuit and a towel and went to the pool after work and swam a lot.

Lighting up the world

It’s Deepavali, or Diwali, the Festival of Lights. An Indian celebration and a time for rejoicing and renewal as Hindus celebrate the triumph of good over evil, and the uplifting of spiritual darkness. The Festival is also celebrated by Jains and Sikhs across the world, and also by Newar Buddhists in Nepal.

Traditionally, homes light up little lamps to usher in good fortune.

In many parts of India, Deepavali marks the homecoming of King Rama of Ayodhya in ancient India. King Rama is the hero of the ancient Sanskrit epic, the Rāmāyaṇa, one of the two great epics in Indian culture (the other being the Mahābhārata), which can also be found in many other cultures in South and Southeast Asia, such as Indonesia, Laos and Thailand. King Rama is often considered the reincarnation/avatar of the Hindu supreme god Vishnu, while his wife, Queen Sita, is that of the Hindu goddess of wealth and prosperity, Lakshmi, who in the pantheon of Hindu deities, is Vishnu’s consort.

The name Deepavali comes from the people of Ayodhya who welcomed their returning king by lighting rows (avali) of lamps (deepa). In Hindi, this became Diwali.

South India celebrates this festival as the day Lord Krishna, another reincarnation/avatar of Vishnu, defeated the demon Narakasura.

At home, Little India is all abuzz with shoppers and families preparing for their biggest holiday of the year. The area is decorated with lights and lamps and oil are on sale at every corner. Families cook up a feast and invite loved ones and friends over to join in the camaraderie.

One of the nicest, most memorable Deepavali festival I’ve ever seen was in Nepal, in Bhaktapur.

Bhaktapur is an ancient Newar town and there were lots of activity and traditional dances taking place in its main square, Durbar Square. Tiny lanes leading away from the centre of the old town into the labyrinth of alleys and passages were lit with hundreds of tiny oil lamps in earthen bowls. Magical. It was the Festival of Lights at its most beautiful I’ve ever seen.

My friends and I were there in October 2001, the year of the massacre of the Nepalese royal family in June, and then 9-11 in September. We were three girls wondering whether we ought to cancel the trip but we had already postponed it a few times, and it would be a big uncertainty when we would try going again.

So, when the boss of the trekking company, a friend of one of the girl’s dad, said the situation was fine, we went ahead.

(Sidetrack: October-November is a good time to visit Nepal and the region as it’s after the rainy season. The other trekking season is spring, but I heard there are more insects then. Trekking closes during winter. The weather would be autumn and cool, and the skies are said to be clearer and bluer during this time. But as luck would have it, it was cloudy during the few days we went trekking so we barely only glimpsed the Annapurna range. Hah!)

Anyhoo, because of all of what happened, although we were there during peak season, there was hardly any crowd. Timing our stay in Bhaktapur during Deepavali was nice because we soaked in the festivities in a town steeped in history. Bhaktapur is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

(The other Nepalese festival around this time of the year is Dasain, which is a harvest festival and involves animal sacrifices, buffaloes, goats, ducks, chickens… Blood, symbolic for its fertility, is offered to deities. The festival is meaningful for Hindus, but perhaps not so appealing to tourists. Furthermore, tourists are not allowed to enter the temples anyway…)

That was seven years ago. I’m not sure if Bhaktapur is still as pretty (I heard Pohkara is being developed fast, and that was a few years ago). But I’m sure Deepavali, Festival of Lights, would be, wherever in the world you happen to be. Peace.

Cicada spotting

The cicadas were out in force this morning. Don’t know why. Not sure if the weather had anything to do with it, it’s been operating at extremes recently. We had scorching hot weather for the three weeks. And I don’t mean clear blue skies hot, but unusually scorching hot hot (which makes it hard to remember that further up in the northern hemisphere, fall is, um, falling, because it was blistering here). Then last Monday got really wet and it lasted all week; when it wasn’t pouring, the skies were cloudy or it was drizzling steadily.

Then just when I was hoping for cloudy skies or a light drizzle for yesterday afternoon’s training, it was hot again. One of the dragon boat guys got sick during the pre-rowing circuit training (and I think Coach got a bit of a shock coz he kept telling us to drink up; our rowing is in short spurts anyway since we’re training for the regatta).

Anyway, back to the cicada symphony this morning. Maybe the return of dry weather pulled them all out; the trees were alive with their surround-sound chirping. And I so wanted to go look for them in the trees. Spotting cicadas is almost like a compulsion, or a game, much the same way how one feels the urge to find Wally. Plus I’m just fascinated how such a tiny creature can create so ear-piercing a ruckus. I just wanted to find and see one of those buggers.

But I was going to be late getting to triangle poses and side warriors. So I didn’t. Shucks.

Japanesey does it

Tucked away off the beaten track, if one can call the container truck infested roads of West Coast Highway leading towards the industrial area of Jalan Buroh and Pandan Loop the beaten track, is a small Japanese restaurant called Minoru.

It’s not the newest or the most swanky or restaurants, but it is quite well established, having made its reputation among Japanese expatriates when the area was popular with Japanese families, as well as foodies working the the industrial areas in the west all the way up to Tuas.

The ambience is homely with posters of food, sushi, Japanese beer girls and Japan tourism photos adorning the walls, accompanied by the usual traditional craft items decorating the restaurant.

The food is your basic Japanese fare: sushi, sashimi, rolls and handrolls (I find that the restaurants in San Francisco were way more creative with their rolls, the rolls in the restaurants here are the same predictable few), yakitori and grilled dishes, dons and noodles, but the servings of sashimi are fresh, generously thick and juicy, and the wasabi is freshly made.

The Japanese don’t eat a cuisine, they eat the season. And this restaurant is no different. The boss lady was encouraging us to try the seasonal fish. Or we could opt to have the omikase, the chef’s menu. But it’s been a while so I had my mind set on my usual favourite dishes. I’m boring like that. Wherever I am, I mostly order the same things. So Chweets and I got a chawanmushi (gotta have my chawanmushi).  For sashimi, we went with the salmon, hamachi and swordfish. After FZ arrived, he ordered the chirashi (sashimi on vinegared rice) which looked good. The tempura here is not too oily and the grilled scallops, as well as the grilled beef, are absolutely delicious.

I’ll be eating Japanese again soon (yay). Got sashimi salad and chirashi on my mind now.

Minoru
Hong Leong Gardens Shopping Centre
214 West Coast Way
Singapore 127104
Tel: 67758879
Opening hours: 12-2.30pm and 6-10.30pm Mon-Sat; 6-10.30pm Sun

Are you ready… bottoms up…

It was Mrs Coach’s birthday last month and we celebrated with a seafood dinner.

Couldn’t join them for the meal. I had dinner with FZ’s client instead. She’s met me before and knows I freelanced for FZ’s agency to write her ads and invited me too. So I kinda had to go and I missed out on a whole lot of yummy seafood. Grr.

By the time I arrived, the gang was almost done and were waiting for the last crab dish (they had already cleaned off one plate of chilli crab) to be served — crab fried in salted egg yolk. That is like sinful stuff fried with more sinful stuff, and then sinful to the power of three when you eat the crab roe (which I think Eam got). And that is why it is sooooo delicious. 

It was good to have the team there to celebrate (not the whole team but enough of us) — we take turns babysitting Skyler, walking him around the restaurant grounds. He likes the tiny fish in the pond and lights; the fairy lights, the garden lights and most of all, the pretty and colourful Moroccan lamps hanging in the veranda.

So I missed the first half of the evening. Didn’t miss the second half of the evening though.

Trust the dragon boat guys to take us to some back alley row of bars — I mean, most of us always knew there was a row of bars there, we just weren’t aware that the back alley had been converted into extra bar space complete with tables, seats and screens to watch English Premier League (or anything else as long as it was soccer) — even though Skyler was with us.

But it’s a decent place and most convenient to where we had dinner on the west side. It’s quite a cosy and lively back alley drinking community, like a scene out of Harry Potter except it’s with big hairy guys with beer guts. You get the feeling that the expatriates that live in the area, that work in the ports and docks, come here to watch soccer at night. Since it’s so out of the way, no one really made a big deal that we had a toddler with us.

The toddler was the most awake among us though. He simply refused to sleep (Mrs Coach tried several times). Most of us went to dinner right after training and as the night wore on, we were falling asleep around the pool table and the stale and stinky sofas, but Skyler was up and about doing his awesome dance. He’s got this routine he’s been doing since he first showed off at his birthday party: shakes his booty and sways, waves his hands, then claps. Repeat.

So that was our Saturday evening. I nursed my ice tea all night. K lazed in a corner, giving Dave, a whiz with his digicam (some of these photos are his), plenty of Wong Kar Wai-ish shots. Dom made quick work on the pool table. And Skyler did his dance around the tables and chairs.

It was a nice Saturday evening.

Day in the life of… (then)

0715   Alarm goes off.
0718   Hit the snooze button.
0721   Hit the snooze button.
0724   Hit the snooze button.
0727   Hit the snooze button.
0731   Hit the snooze button.
0733   Finally get out of bed. Resolve to sleep earlier tonight. Rush through getting ready. Max wants his bowl of water.
0747   Still can’t decide what to wear. Change again.
0750   Gulp down breakfast: cup of warm water with slice of lemon, toast and jam and bowl of cereal. Scan pages of newspaper.
0817   Board the bus.
0818   Fall asleep.
0910   Old uncle at coffeeshop recognises me and tells me my order: “kopi siew dai tai zhou“. I nod in return, still half-asleep.
0912   Count the petals on the courtyard ground on the way to the office.
0915   Turn computer on. Scan the news and some others. Check email. Scan creative websites for new stuff.
0933   Surf the Net.
0945   Surf the Net.
1001   Surf the Net.
1023   Surf the Net.
1042   Surf the Net.
1056   Surf the Net.
1104   Walk over to central bench, grab Wired magazine, my new fav magazine.
1135   Surf the Net.
1146   Surf the Net.
1203   Surf the Net.
1210   Chat with colleagues across the workbench on what was on the telly the night before, on what was on Discovery, on C&I, about serial killers, on the war, on the Phelps family, the most hated family in America, on the Texas man with the many wives, on the Max Mosley scandal with the kinky SM games bordering on Nazi games, on the subculture of people who collect memorabilia from WWII, including wearing German military uniforms…
1220   Go out for lunch with colleagues. Conversation continues with Hugo Boss being a German brand, I didn’t know it was German (never really thought about it but I guess it could be an Italian brand even if the name isn’t that Italian sounding), the SS uniform was designed by them, sidetrack to Picasso and Spain and Guernica, back on track to much of the German firms being involved in the war somehow, then into that movie with John Cusack as a Jewish art dealer and his student Adolf Hitler, where towards the movie’s end, Cusack got beat up and killed by a mob, resulting in him missing an appointment with Hitler, thus sending him over the edge to anger and hatred, and ending with the start of the Holocaust. Pete thinks it’s a powerful notion but over-simplified. Rad insists SS uniforms were smart-looking and handsome because they were so in the movie. I try to argue that that would just mean they had a good wardrobe department, but Rad insists the movie is accurate. Whatever. I just shut up and enjoy my yong tau fu soup and think about John Cusack in High Fidelity, the movie based on the Nick Hornby book. Make mental note to go bookshop get another Nick Hornby book.
1410   Surf the Net.
1422   Surf the Net.
1430   Internal review with servicing team and planner on men’s grooming project. Present ideas, most of which involves male members of the public and gorgeous models. After discussion, models’ wardrobe is change from short skirts and sexy clothes to leather bikinis and scanty animal print tunics. Throughout the meeting, Regional Business Director attempts to influence out ideas by muttering “naked chicks” under the discussion.
1543   Surf the Net.
1602   Surf the Net.
1628   Surf the Net.
1637   Surf the Net.
1645   Go downstairs to the coffeeshop and buy a cup of teh halia. Brainstorm with Rad.
1720   Surf the Net.
1732   Surf the Net.
1748   Surf the Net.
1800   Surf the Net.
1818   Surf the Net.
1837   Surf the Net.
1852   Surf the Net.
1912   Surf the Net.
1942   Surf the Net.
1955   Shut down Mac. Leave the office.
2015   Meet Chweets and FZ for Japanese dinner.
2250   Arrive home. Shower.
2320   Surf the Net. Potter around.
0020   Surf the Net. Potter around.
0130   Realise what time it is. Potter around.
0133   Settle Max into his corner of the bed. Potter around.
0140   Climb into bed. Attempt to read.
0152   Turn lights off. Resolve to sleep earlier tomorrow night.

Dumbo of the Deep

One of my skirts escaped and went to live in the deep ocean. A stress ball decided to go for a swim. It’s a jellyfish disguised as a cephalopod. It’s a flower disguised as a cephalopod. Mother Nature has a pet which has a squeak toy that is alive. A lampshade takes up residence in the ocean deep. Philip Starck designed a fancy robotic toilet plunger.

There are so many ways to describe it. I’ll just say it’s cute but a little freaky. Jun says the eyes look like those plastic doll eyes you can buy at craft shops.

Meet the Dumbo Octopus, (of the genus Grimpoteuthis), it lives in the benthic zone (the lowest level of the ocean) and hovers above the sea floor eating snails and worms. They move by flapping their wings, pulsing their webbed arms and pushing water through their funnel. (I think that’s their funnel; it looks like a beak, or a tail, or a pointy nose, or it’s sticking its tongue out…)

As Halloween approaches, Discovery Channel is counting down the weird and wonderful creatures of the deep sea. So far, even though it’s only at #23, I find this is most curious oddity on the list so far, though I can imagine a few people who would be drawn to #26, the Pig Butt Worm, simply because of its name.

The Dumbo Octopus video’s a bit long, but just seeing this creature move, you wished you had a sharper, closer-up image. It’s so adorable, you just want to hug it and squeeze it…

The Breakfast Club vs Generation Whatever

   

I’m no expert on these things, but from the publicity I’ve seen on TV and the interviews and stuff… but The Breakfast Club can beat up High School Musical with one hand tied behind their backs. (Our angst is greater than their angst. Hee.)

The ’80s Club

Last week, I was checking out a JC Penney commercial, a sweet piece with a Beatles song (can’t go wrong with a Beatles song) when I chanced upon another commercial for their back to school collection that paid homage to The Breakfast Club complete with song “Don’t You (Forget ABout Me)” by Simple Minds. The attempt was so-so (to me). If anything, it just makes one miss the real eighties. We all know they never really went away.

Later in the week, some of us were talking about our old school days and K brought up how she had these big spectacles and the jeans up to there which she will never show us the photos of. (The answer to that was that Mrs Coach, K’s classmate in school, would be more than happy to oblige; she had already shown us one photo during one of the dragon boat parties.)

A few days after that, I saw a photo of a friend and his friends, and I looked like a shot out of The Breakfast Club. Kewl. We didn’t get much opportunity to dress in trendy clothes, coming from an all-girl school with uniforms and a strict dress code. No chance to really go all out to look like Molly Ringwald and gang (I was just browsing through the photos on our class Facebook group). In hindsight, that may have been a blessing. Hee.

Ah, the eighties. I never saw The Breakfast Club. I think my friends and I were still on the young side of our teens and that show seemed, um, more grown up. Plus, American movies and pop culture weren’t as accessible here back then. Oh, who am I kidding, we were geeks. We were more into The Goonies. However, I do remember us being absolutely crazy about The Outsiders, book and movie (Ponyboy!). Especially the movie (Stay Gold!). My best friend had such a crush on Emilio Estevez. I remember after school, en route to the bus stop (we had to take short-cut down a hill and through a car park and a mall), we’d stop by the bookshop and flip through the pages of TigerBeat. We hardly could ever afford one though. (“In the old days before this new-fangled thing called the Internet…”)

I don’t think we saw Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. I think we saw St Elmo’s Fire. The theme song was really popular. Best friend with the crush used it for her wedding dinner march in. The eighties here were a good mix of American pop culture, by way of Michael Jackson and Madonna, and Brit stuff, Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Erasure. I think I still have the cassette of the Grammy winners of 1985. That was a legendary year. Locally, I think the ah lians and ah bengs here were first identified during the eighties, with their fancy clothes and big moussed-up hair, hanging out at the malls.

Today on the way back from training, the radio station had a “soft rock weekend”. Don’t know what they mean by that, but Electric Blue by Icehouse was playing. And then this came on, the I don’t care what you’re doing guaranteed sing along song…

Bryan Adams – Summer Of ‘69