Sweden in the autumn Part II

The spurt of excited chatter by email among the friends about going to Sweden started to slow down, then it quit altogether.

Understandably, we want to nail down some specific fun things to do and fun places to visit.

Suggestions included stopover in Tokyo/London, plus take in other major happening cities in Europe. Activities included lots of girl-chat, shopping, eating, clubbing with a night of bellydance.

Mentally, I ticked off excessive girl-chat. I don't have that much to chat with this particular group. These people haven't stepped into a club in their home countries for decades. We should now club in foreign cities? And we would be in the wrong continent for bellydance dinner shows.

The host is ominously quiet about these suggestions, only offering that we spend 10 days at her home where she has lovingly nurtured a beautiful garden, and drive 500 kms to see Oslo. I am told it is the boringest slow drive imaginable because the speed limit is 80kph.

The most touted tourist activity for Sweden in the fall - mushroom picking - never came up! I suspect the planners never even knew that's the only thing to do in that country that time of the year!

Anyway, the email exchange has stopped for 3 weeks now. I can presume that the trip will not happen after all.

I don't think I will have missed anything much.

June

was the month
- I officially joined the rank of senior citizen at the entry level. I know mail relating to active aging is going to pour in.

- I thought about a birthday bash. It never happened. The only birthday bash I ever threw was at age 21; I realised then I could not deal with the fuss. I did enjoy small fusses made by the friends who did know about the birthday, and I want to thank you girls for making the birthday deeply meaningful and memorable.

- I want to thank the girlfriend for her gift of leopard print tights. She saw those and thought it was so me; I am flattered that she remembered I love animal print accessories and that she thought I'd still be able to wear them tastefully. I do and I can; I will.

- I had dinner with the family. The dysfunctional dynamics are fully intact. Some things will never change. I learn to see it as a constant in my life; there is perverse comfort to be drawn from that.

- Three entertainment personalities passed away. I am not particularly interested in the lives of celebrities, but these three were special:

- RIP grasshopper aka David Carradine. While I never thought much of him as an actor, I wished he'd be remembered for more dignified reasons than the sensational circumstances surrounding this death.

- RIP Farah Fawcett, the beautiful woman with the famous hair that inspired my generation in the 70s.

- RIP Michael Jackson, whose tormented mind gave us 3 decades of unforgettable music. The coming-of-age song for me was I'll be there (1970) when MJ was still part of the Jackson 5.

- I became more aware than ever that I did the right thing by making the hard decisions I did. There were people I hurt badly for which I will forever be sorry, but I had to do what I did.

- After all that I've done and been through, I know who and where I am. I am grateful.

Los Tarantos goes Arabian

Los Tarantos is home to the Singapore Flamenco club, providing a Flamenco haven for all Flamenco enthusiasts in Singapore.

It also provides a flexible performance space for various music and dance performances or special themed private parties.

La pena (an informal gathering of Flamenco artistes who come together celebrate the culture of Flamenco) is a regular feature at Los Tarantos.

Last Saturday, bellydancers staked out the place for their Hafla at the charming Peranakan shophouse in the colourful Geylang neighbourhood.

The usually Flamenco-themed place was transformed into a cosy middle-eastern cafe for the bellydancers and their friends and family. Clever use of gold and silver threaded fabric draped the otherwise stark walls. A kelim and scatter cushions provided the finishing touches.

Many dancers made their debut performances alongside seasoned performers and competition winners. Several professional performers and teachers were on hand to give quick lessons to the interested crowd.

What is a party without drinks and food? There was the ever-present much loved sangria. A lip-smacking middle-eastern meal of beef kebabs, chicken curry, hummus and salsa dips and flat breads was cooked by the Maestro of Flamenco - Antonio Vargas.

It was an evening to remember for a long time for the bellydancers.

I can see a Hawaiian Luau in the offing soon :)

Another sign

Remember this outside a tailor shop? An additional sign has been put up:

I think there is improvement in the English bit. Or maybe not. Help?

The girls of Sasa

Sasa has to be my favourite shop for cosmetics. Its product range has depth and width - you can find just about any product from your favourite brand to suit your budget.

As with any shopping experience, the sales staff can make or break your day. I find the Sasa staff highly knowledgable and extremely helpful. They are consistently personable without being personal; they give intelligent answers; they make helpful recommendations; they are never pushy about closing a sale. You will likely end up buying products you never knew existed that the Sasa rep introduces, but trust her - your life will be so much richer:)

So I end up buying a lot more products than I mean too. But I have always been happy with my purchase at any of their outlets.

This is probably old hat to most of you girls, but I am eternally grateful to the rep who introduced me to gel eyeliner. Finally - an eyeliner that combines the intensity of liquid eyeliner with the versatility of pencil!

I am so easy to please :) and I love those girls of Sasa.

Oh how they can stare

Oh how they can stare.

Unblinkingly, unwaveringly, rapt in their own world of staring. The starers may be young/old, man/woman. They all stare the same way at anything anywhere anytime. At the street dog licking his balls, at my bellybutton piercing, at the bird pecking at throwaway crumbs, at my crotch...

Take today for instance. Durian season has started. We were picking through the fruits at a market stall. One man positioned himself behind us to stare at us making our selection. The vendor started to open up the durians. Two men joined the first in the staring past-time. By the time we were helping to pack the durian meat into styrofoam boxes, a small crowd had gathered. All staring unblinkingly, unwaveringly, wordlessly.

Finally, the boxes are put into plastic carriers. We paid up. We picked up our purchase and turned to face the crowd. In silence, they moved to make a small exit path for us. As we walked away, we could feel the eyes still staring at our retreating back.

Unblinkingly, unwaveringly, wordlessly.

Oh how they can stare.

The Vow

I, (name), take you, (name), to be my (wife/husband), to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; from this day forward until death do us part.

A promise made between a man and a woman with sincerity and faith that it can be lived up to. Many could not. I include myself.

But I will still make the promise all over again because the burden of those words are borne equally by the man and the woman.

But not these. I cannot agree to start life with any man on unequal footing. Among other things, I unequivocally reject the requirement to submit to the man as head of the house.

I have sat through many religious weddings where these sentiments are preached. I always find myself flinching and recoiling inwardly when the woman pledges herself to live with these onerous conditions. Of late, I find myself questioning the intelligence and integrity of such women, and suspecting the sinister and tyrannical nature of the men.

In order that I might retain some degree of respect for the newly weds I have decided to banish myself from all religious weddings henceforth.

Hafla@Los Tarantos

Los Tarantos is hosting its first Hafla, a private Arabian party with delectable Moroccan tapas and drinks, Middle Eastern music and dance where dancers take turn to perform for each other, and some open floor dancing for everyone to dance the night away ...

A prize goes to the best dressed performer of the night!

Limited Seating ! Book your tickets now!

TICKETS: SGD 25 (inclusive of Moroccan tapas platter and one drink)

TO BOOK TICKETS:
Call Daphne 68440893/ 94510597
Email: info@lostarantos.com.sg

To purchase tickets online, click here.

Cheap words

Flattery gets you everywhere, everytime. So when the girlfriend proclaimed our roast beef the best she ever had, and asked for us to cook her one for her dinner party, we readily agreed.

But cheap flattery is another matter. The dinner guests were faithfully awed by the roast, done just right at medium rare in the centre to well at the ends. Then the whole exercise gets sabotaged by a stupid question from the one guest: where did we get the beef.

It would have been a different matter if he had asked more thoughtful questions: what temperature to cook at, how long it took for this 4.5 kg roast, what cut of beef was this, was there a marinade etc. But where did we get the beef?

Any place that sells beef was my miffed reply.

You can bet the girlfriend is not getting another huge roast at her next dinner party. We did not waste time cooking the main to feed ignorant fools who don't know just how offensive their ignorant questions are.

There is flattery and there are cheap unthinking empty words that philistines try to pass for compliment. Too bad for everyone we happen to know the difference.

Don't call me at home

We don't like being jangled out of our peace and quiet at home. That is the reason we have a private number. We do not give out that number when filling out forms anywhere for any reason. We can easily be contacted on our mobiles. Preferably by sms rather than voice call if it's not anything long-winded or needs immediate response.

We are very annoyed with sales calls to the home phone. We usually give the caller a very rude telling off. And we always stress that this is an unlisted number, so how the f*** did they get our number in the first place. The caller always mumbled something about a data base. That would be true because they always ask for us by name.

That really pisses me off. Enough to finally call the telco to complain. The representative assured me that the telco does not sell subscriber information to anybody. She suggested that someone, possibly a family member, must have given out the information. That's out of the question, because no other family member lives with us.

I told the telco in no uncertain terms - there is a leak somewhere within their organisation. We pay them for our privacy. They will have to find that leak and plug it. Or I will lodge a complaint every time any telemarketer makes a cold call to that number.

Why am I so certain the leak is within the telco? Because I supplied a name that is deliberately spelt wrong. And that's the name the nuisance callers ask for. The trap is called disinformation - something I learned from watching so many spy movies. What's even more brilliant is that the telco still doesn't know about the ruse.

The telco representative assured me the company will look into the matter. It will be interesting to hear any follow up from them.