Dumb foreigner in our midst

I really do make a genuine and brave effort to not show my instant dislike for people I take an instant dislike to.

Even when the person is a smug pompous ass. Even when the person has an unfounded sense of superiority of herself and her nationality. Even when I find her usage of the term "expatriate" to describe her presence in Singapore offensive and obnoxious. (These days, they are all foreign workers to me. They come in two packages - the too-well paid and the less -well paid).

I stoically let her bend my ear as she rattles off all the wonderful activities she is involved in to promote/preserve her country's culture and language in foreign Singapore: coffee mornings, bridge afternoons, golf days with her fellow country folk.

Then she mentioned that her foreign club also offers mahjong games.

Out of curiosity, I asked the most basic but pertinent Chinese question of this most Chinese of all games: what sort of stakes do you play?

The foreign bitch practically spat her answer at me: "We do not play mahjong to gamble! We play for enjoyment and for the social aspect of the game. We talk about anything as we play."

Stupid me thought to give her one last chance to bridge a cultural gap here, saying, "We do all the social parts too when we play mahjong. But if no money is involved, you take nonsense risks and throw the game. And you don't have to keep the winnings. The winnings can be collected over time and donated to charity."

I would have accepted, by way of concession to my point, a lame reason like it would create problems if money is involved because they are a social club. But noooo...

Foreign bitch said with rabid self-righteousness, "It is illegal to gamble in Singapore!"

Sigh. She has used up my be-nice-to-dumb-arrogant-foreigner quota for the evening.

Without further fuss or flap, I simply turned my back to her and started a tentative conversation with the stranger sitting to the other side of me.

On living with wrinkles (or not)

A woman will tell you about her sex life, or how much money she has, and then you say, 'Did you do something [to your face]?' and you get, 'Of course not!' ... How nice it would be for women to say to each other, I've done this and you can do it too.

Joan Rivers on the Rachael Ray Show

It would be nice, wouldn't it? To know that a woman need not grow all wrinkly into old age.

But instead of understanding and support, the focus is invariably on cosmetic surgical procedures gone horribly wrong.

It will not stop me from seeking surgical intervention when I get tired of looking like the old woman I will grow into.

The nay-sayers can wear every line and wrinkle they will gain over the years with all the pride and bravado they can find in themselves.

I am not that proud nor am I going to pretend to be brave about wrinkles.

Aunties and Tattoos

I put together what I thought was a real nifty costume for the folkdance party at the community club.

By mixing and matching different bits of several bellydance costumes I have collected over the years, I managed to pull together a look that's somewhere between Taiwanese tribal and middle-eastern ethnic.

And for the finishing touch - I covered my right arm with a tribal tattoo arm glove.

The aunties at the dance party LOVED the glove. They kept telling me all evening long that it looked "so nice". And I thought if there was a prize for best folk dress accessory, I would be winner many times over.

Then one of the aunties asked me if I could get a pair of the arm gloves for her.

Of course I can, I gushed.

Oh wow, maybe I have even started a trend with the folkdance community I thought.

Shamelessly fishing for more compliments, I said, "The tattoo glove is nice, isn't it?"

The auntie nodded enthusiastically in agreement and said, "Yes! Very nice. Very clever also. They are perfect for covering up all the age and liver spots on OUR arms!"

Coffee, Cakes and Conversation

It has been many months ago that I last saw any of the girls. So it was a real treat for the small group of us to put aside demands of work, husband, children and get together for an afternoon of coffee, cakes and conversation.

It is particularly heartening to know everyone is doing well in her life, personally and professionally. It is amusing to share common complaints of the men in our lives. It is enlightening to catch up on gossips of certain personages of notoriety. But above all, it is refreshing to take the time for ourselves and just enjoy friendship and companionship for a few precious hours.

I managed to sneak my suji cookies into the cafe so everyone had exactly one cookie. They loved it, and I had regrets that I didn't smuggle a few more. But that would have been a really tacky thing to do, even for me :)

By the time we left, we have new resolve to get together like that on a more regular basis. I think we will make it happen.

Coffee, cakes, conversation, and maybe some home-made cookies for good measure. We all need to take that break for ourselves from time to time.

I hate telephone calls too

We got home to find the telephone ringing. It is a sound that both of us detest, and there is always a certain amount of maneuvering to see who can avoid answering it. We have an innate pessimism about telephone calls; they have a habit of coming at the wrong time, and they are too sudden, catapulting you into a conversation you weren't expecting. Letters, on the other hand, are a pleasure to receive, not least because they allow you to consider your reply. But people don't write letters anymore. They're too busy, they're in too much of a hurry or, dismissing the service that manages to deliver bills with unfailing reliability, they don't trust the post. We were learning not to trust the telephone, and I picked it up as I would a long-dead fish.

A Year in Provence, Peter Mayle, 1989

I feel exactly the same way about telephone calls. Fast forward twenty years to present day and I dare say snail mail is even less likely.

My sentiment is if it is a matter that did not need my instant response (and what does?) I will appreciate email or sms.

Suji : A Sweet and Simple Cookie

Suji cookies: it's one of those old-fashioned cookies I remember with great fondness from my childhood.

It's simple and sweet; the more luxurious version even carries a faint hint of almond or vanilla. I remember how I loved the way they would melt in my mouth, teasing the taste buds with a crumbly sweetness that is so decadent and comforting all at the same time that the day's worries are pushed away for the moment.

And like so often is the case, the simpler things in life are hard to come by. Store-bought suji cookes are either too coarse, too fine, too sweet or totally tasteless. I finally decided to try making my own.

They really turned out good for a first try, almost like the ones I had in the good old days:)

I have a question: why is this cookie called suji cookie when there is no suji in it?

Some table manners please?

I am fully aware that table manners differ widely with cultures.

I accept using hands instead of utensils; slurping long strands of noodles; making smacking noises or letting out a loud burp to show contentment. But all in context.

Where dinner utensils are provided, I really think it should be de rigueur that they are used properly.

I have stared horrified at all manner of faux pas at dinner tables. It makes no difference whether it is an elaborate dinner prepared by michelin-starred chefs at michelin-starred restaurants or at more casual bistros and cafes.

I see the man in a suit across the table use his left hand fist-like to stab and pin down the food, use the knife in right hand to saw (back-forth, back-forth) then spear the still-bigger-than bite-size food with knife and bring food to mouth!

I see the perfectly coiffed and made-up woman in designer evening-wear pin down a piece of dinner roll with fork, saw the bread, stab the smaller half of bread, use knife to smear butter on it then proceeded to take bites at the bread from fork.

I see diners put their entire face to the plate to get mouth nearer to food.

And others who wave their knives in your face while talking to you with their mouths full.

I think some portion of corporate or government money spent on leadership training or public-speaking or how to close deals should be spent on how to eat in a civilised manner at dinner functions.

Some Stupid Sales Spiel

GEMS (Go the Extra Mile for Service) was launched in 2005. Now the government will be pumping millions more dollars to launch phase 2 of the movement.

I am not totally convinced about a top-down approach to improving customer service. It is the front line personnel that the customer meets. Oftentimes, the sales person says the most stupid things just to get rid of the product or the customer, or preferably, both. Oftentimes, these sales people ought to be chopped into minced meat and fed to scavenging feral birds.

A recent episode involved one of the big names in comfort shoes. The sales rep happily suggested I try a pair one size smaller because "hor, your size no more stock". I shot him a withering look. (If looks could kill, oh he'd be struck down that very minute). I was really proud of my self-control; I walked out of the store with not another word said. Because, what I would have spat at him would have been, "You moron! You don't ask your customer who is looking at shoes costing upwards of $200 to stretch her shoes with her feet!" The irony that he is dealing with comfort shoes escapes him.

I studiously avoid clothes that are "free size". I am too tall and too big for these clothes to fit, but the sales person will tell me the item is "very stretchy" and it is the fashion now to wear "fitting clothes".

Then there was this fishwife of a sales woman hawking shawls and scarves at a department store. She actually managed to convince one woman to buy a scarf. Then she went on to berate (I exaggerate not) the customer that these are excellent buys and nobody but nobody buys just one. "Sure you regret if only buy one. Why not you buy for your friends? They are good presents for your friends" she shrilled at the woman. I think she lost the sale. At least I hope so.

I think front line sales personnel has to be made aware that service is customer-centric, not sales-centric. And the first step will be to train them to stop talking nonsense.

Julie Julia - the movie

The movie Julie and Julia is one of those rare gems that is enjoyable at so many levels.

There is post-war Paris: the world may be reeling from the devastation of WWII, but in Paris, it is still a world of fabulous clothes, fine food and wine, cigarettes, architecture and scandals. There is present-day Queens NY: a world of over-worked citizens living out their over-crowded soul-less existence.

The movie tells the story of two women from two different generations who lead very different lives. The common thread is their love for cooking.

I am much more interested in the Meryl Streep-Julia Child-Paris parts of the movie; the Julie Powell-Amy Adams-Queens NY bits is just the vehicle to make Julia Child relevant today.

I enjoy cooking. I especially enjoy cooking for friends. But I am not of the Julia Child school that dictates that every dish and course must be a masterpiece, although I adore her motto i.e. "No matter what happens in the kitchen, never apologize". I maintain that I am not a restaurant; I do the best I can to the point when I can still enjoy having friends over for dinner.

Of the Julie Powell part of the movie, the one line that caught my attention was when she wailed "Julia hates me!" when told that Julia Child was not interested in her blog. What is the truth behind this seemingly uncharacteristic response from Julia Child? The answer lies here.

October

was the month
- I got re-acquainted with people I drifted away from years ago. For the most part, I am very happy to have come full circle and be with people whom I've shared so much history. I am unsure about my feelings regarding a couple of them though.

- I realised that there is a direct correlation between insanity and intelligence. (Think Dr. Hannibal Lecter). What is chilling to me is that I finally understand and believe that the insane mind is many times more intelligent than the sane.

- I made the most hideous lemon meringue pie imaginable. All three parts of the pie - baked pie crust, lemon filling, and meringue - were inedible. And to think I used to be able to bake that pie practically with one hand tied behind my back! A sympathetic friend offered that humidity has to be accounted for. So what is it I was to do about that factor she did not offer. Sigh. Time to refresh basic pie making skills.

- I had two crank calls from Mother, and one crank call from her daughter-in-law. I actually managed to file the experience into the "no action required" compartment of my brain. It did not stop me from being agitated and irritated with the two of them for several days after though.

- It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas at the shopping malls. Soon Christmas carols will fill the air. Oh joy.