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.

Coffee with an old friend

We used to meet up with each other fairly regularly.

Then one day, I packed up and left the town I had called home for 14 years. Only a handful of the closest friends were aware of my imminent departure.

It took me 9 years back in Singapore before I started to think of the many people I walked away from with no word of farewell.

The recent visitor is one of them. I am glad we finally had the chance to meet up after 9 long years.

Over coffee and familiar desserts, we filled in the blanks for each other. So many changes, mostly for the good, and we are grateful. So many constants, some we wished could be different, but if that was not to be, we will live with them.

Later, as we said our goodbyes, we realised that we have found our destiny, and with it, our peace.

So till next we meet, I will treasure the memory of this special friendship that has survived time and distance.

And we shall meet again my friend.

Eating with Friends

This girlfriend started her circle of eating friends - school friends, former colleagues, uni mates etc. - when she started work.

I joined her group on and off over the years. Of late, I have started to look for them more frequently.

After years of going my own way, sorting out my life, trying to make a connection with so many different people, I find myself drawn back to the familiar. I know their quirkiness and their sincerity. Over the years, I got to know every line on their faces - creases that came from years of sharing evenings of laughter with good friends.

The circle of eating buddies have lasted 30 years. And I know we will carry on for many many more years ahead.

Because, in the end, it is not about the eating at all. It is about getting together for an evening with good friends.

Thank you, girlfriend, for starting this group and thank you, group, for your active participation.

I have come back to take my place at helping to keep a good thing going.

Two nights of dance

I am finally back into the swing of things. And very much looking forward to the two events coming up in November.

And as always, I admire the hard work and dedication that went into bringing these small local dance events to the public.

Date: 7 & 8 November (Saturday & Sunday)
More information here.

Date: 12 November (Thursday)
More information here.

How was your holiday?

Seven posts in my blog since I got back from the most stupendous holiday in a long time.

Seven posts in which I waxed lyrical and eloquent about the places I went.

Seven posts in which I painstakingly put together collages to show the best of the vacation.

And the woman emails me : "Drop me a line to tell me how was your holiday."

I think I will do just that; the line will read:

I had a GREAT time !

Postcards from France

It is one of the most enjoyable and memorable holidays in recent years.

Paris, Lyon, the French Riviera were just names I came across in books, films and travel programmes on cable. Now, when I actually walk those grounds, I walk with awe and delight in equal parts.

Paris

Paris is my favourite city of great cities. The sights and lights re-awaken the sense of old world grace and beauty often dulled by the demands of daily living in a compressed urban setting. Parisiens take time to unwind and enjoy the end of the workday with wine, food, music and friends.

Vieux Lyon

Vieux Lyon is the largest Renaissance district in Europe. The majestic medieval buildings, the quiet courtyards, the cobble-stoned walkways. Everywhere, everything about this town evokes the sense of historic pride and splendour that have survived the ravages of time and modernisation.

Monaco

Monaco - the traditional playground of the rich and famous. The Monte Carlo Casino - made famous in so many movies. The glitz and glamour is all there, even if somewhat frayed around the edges.

Cote d'Azur

Cote d'Azur has to be the jewel in the crown of France. Long reputed to be the Mediterranean resort of choice, this part of Southern France is an endless stretch of brilliant blue sea and sky. Homes nestled into the hills enjoy the view of spectacular sunsets, and come evening, the twinkling lights from the coastal cities below reminds one again that this has to be one of the most perfectly beautiful places in the world.

Home on the Range

The highlight of our trip is staying with friends in their farm house in Roybon. (Where is Roybon?)

The location is truly remote. The nearest important towns - Vienne and Valance - are 50 kms away.

In true farm house fashion, the home comes complete with farm dogs and a wood-burning stove.
The family gets most of their fresh fruit and vegetables from their own backyard. Additional grocery supplies can be got from the farm truck that drives up to their front door twice a week.
And, finally, on the farm, day is done when the cows come home.

Where is Roybon?

Town	Roybon
Insee code	38347
Postcode	38940
Latitude	45.2583140
Longitude	5.2415020
Altitude	From 436 to 729 meters
Surface	67.31 km2
Population	1278 inhabitants
Density	18 inhabitants/km2
Chief town	Grenoble (at 63 km, 50 mn)
Department	Isère
Region	Rhône-Alpes Source: http://www.france-voyage.com/en/

to market to market

to market to market to buy a plum bun
home again home again market is done

Mother Goose

I love the festive excitement of outdoor markets, particularly the ones in small country towns. It is a treasure trove of the best of all things local - from farm-produce to mouth watering home-made jams, happy fresh-cut flowers of the season to quaint arts and crafts.

The Saturday market in the medieval renaissance town of Uzes is such a one. Except this one is huger than any I have ever been to. Set up in Place aux Herbes, it covers several blocks radiating in all directions, filling streets, vaulted archways and buildings.

After 3 hours of poking around hundreds of stalls, I found that I had barely covered a quarter of the marketplace. By then, it was 1 pm and the stalls were starting to pack up for the day.

Note to self : I will have an earlier start and not loiter in any one place for too long the next chance I have to return to this fascinating market.

The Food in France

If I were asked to name one best thing I will remember forever about France, it will have to be her food.

From the traditional to nouveau, farmhouse to 2-star Michelin, I ate my way through Paris, the French Riveria and Provence. It is the ultimate gastronomical experience. - it is gourmet eating down to the last lick of frommage blanc avec miel.

Every meal was special, every bite was memorable.

Sacred Love

I am not a religious person. The spiritual experience that is expected when one walks on hallowed grounds of significant places of worship eludes me.

But I am in awe of the sheer size and architectural beauty of the cathedrals I visited in France.

I think of the kings and lords who commissioned the works. I think of the architects who designed the structures. Above all, I keep thinking of the builders devoting their entire lives to building these monuments.

Today, centuries later, worshipers from around the world who continue to come attest to the power of faith. And the lasting strength of a love beyond all else - sacred love.

Notre-Dame Cathedral, Paris

Le Sacre Coeur, Paris

Basilique Notre-Dame de Fourviere, Lyon

Sidewalk Cafes of Paris

There are many fun, cultural and exciting things to do in Paris. There are many institutions of pop, historical, religious or educational significance to visit. And of course, there is the shopping.

For me, the most Parisien thing to do is enjoy a cup of freshly brewed strongly aromatic coffee in one of the many, many sidewalk cafes with a good friend and spend an afternoon people-watching.

Le Bonaparte@Place Saint-Germain-des-Pres

September

was the month
- of several get-togethers with the friends who will be our travel companions and guide through Provence.

- of checking the Paris-Lyon-Provence weather forecast daily so that we ended up packing, unpacking and repacking our luggage numerous times.

- of clearing the refrigerator of leftovers, and shutting down the home in stages.

- and finally, we were on our way to a long-awaited carefully-planned exciting vacation in a - to my mind - a truly foreign country: France.

Away

I shall be away from blogging from now till October 10.

I wish my Muslim friends selamat aidilfitri.

I will be thinking of my dear friend as she breaks new ground in her professional life this weekend.

I will be thinking of the rest of you (from time to time).

A firm maybe date in Singapore

The lousy friend who went all silent on me when I broached the possibility of visiting her is in town for a week-long visit.

I told her first chance I could, when she called, that I would be here only the next 4 days of her stay. I would be leaving for Europe on the weekend.

Let's do lunch or something, she suggested. As soon as she got a few urgent business out of the way, she qualified. I said yes, let's, and to let me know when in the next 3 days. Alright, she said, and said her goodbye with let's play it by ear then. A rather redundant pronouncement, I thought.

I will put this aside as another firm maybe date. I will also put aside the very glaring omission on her part to mention the months of silence from when I wrote her about visiting.

I guess she took that as only a firm maybe arrangement.

I think I am beginning to get the hang of dealing with firm maybe's...

Pretty Lights

We really were quite happy when we finally installed the mosque lights over our dining table.
But the friends kept referring to the centre piece as a disco ball. We have to agree the orb did not quite fit in with the pretty lights around it.

So, on our recent trip to Bali, we hunted down a Moroccan lamp to replace the odd ball.

It was the single shining moment of our trip. At least for once, the entire exercise followed expected custom when in Bali.

We were in a cab on our way to somewhere when we chanced upon the lamps and lights shop. We abandoned our original plan and settled for poking around the shop. We found the lights we wanted.

The vendor named his price. We counter-offered with our price. Back and forth. We settled on a happy compromise. The lights were carefully bubble-packed, and we went about our merry way.

So now, voila!
The impressive centre piece with four small matching mates surrounded by mosque lights.

When will they ever learn?

Where have all the rooms gone?
We booked and paid for our accommodation online, with specific requirement that it be on the ground floor with its own terrace. We showed up at the property to be told the room we requested was not available. They would, however, upgrade us to a deluxe room on the second floor.

The man asked at the front desk three different times what the f*** happened to our reservation. He got three different answers from three different staff:
(a) your reservation never came to us, sir.
(b) your travel agent submitted your reservation late, sir.
(c) there was a computer error, sir.

The uninterested staff seemed to think that giving us a minimum upgrade should shut us up. Of course we were not one bit mollified. They never admitted they double-sold their rooms, and then they would tell any kind of lie to make the problem go away.

Where have all the butter gone?
I told myself I would sleep off the aggravation, and looked forward to the buffet breakfast. My needs were simple and straightforward. Coffee, and pancakes hot off the griddle, some maple syrup and butter, and I would be happy. I would not even gripe about the pretend bacon and breakfast sausages.

I got the coffee. I got to the pancake counter. I got the pancake guy to make me a short stack of pancakes. Poured the maple syrup. Went to the bread section for butter. The container for butter was empty! There was actually a some-kind-of-waiter-body standing at the the bread section, and he let the butter run out! So by the time the chain of command worked its way to the kitchen and back, I had cold pancakes made soggy by the syrup and my mood just got more foul.

Where have all the clothes gone?
Against our better judgement, we had made this 3-day 2-night trip for the Paul Ropp sale. We got their invitation to attend their sale preview and thought that we would have a nice time cherry picking through the inventory ahead of the sale crowd.

We were disappointed at the small selection put up at the preview. And then we were disgusted to find that a lot more different styles were made avaiable the next day, the first day of the 5-day sale event.

We did not do as much rummaging through the clothes stacks as we would have liked. We had a plane to catch. No, we could not bear the thought of staying an extra day/night to deal with the ineptitude that is endemic to that island.

When will they ever learn? When will we ever learn?

A maybe firm date in Paris

She's one of those frequent return-visitor friends whom I see year-in, year-out. She enjoys generous hospitality from everyone she looks up. She has, for years, been saying we should come to Paris so she could return hospitality.

The famous day of reckoning approaches. She is here, I am here. I gleefully tell her I shall, incredulous as it may seem to her, be in Paris for 5 days and 4 nights. When would she like to see me?

Now I watch her start to squirm and vacillate. Well, she begins tentatively, that's the weekend she might have to be in the UK to settle her daughter in the university. But she would be back by Monday. Tuesday at the latest. So I helpfully suggested: Shall we settle for dinner on Wednesday then, and I leave for Lyon the next day? Yes, but she isn't totally sure she'd be back by Wednesday. Is there possibly anyway I delay going to Lyon.

No, there is no way I stay on in Paris for a maybe meet-up with her.

We left it as a firm maybe for Wednesday. She will, she promised, let me know as soon as she gets back to Paris and sort things out with husband and daughter. That will be best, I expansively agreed.

Do we have a firm date in Paris finally? So she can return hospitality after all this time?

Yes. Maybe.

August

was the month
- when travel plans finally started to fall in place.

- when we decided to we make a mini trip to Bali for the Paul Ropp sale.

- when we got together with friends to make concrete plans for travel to Paris-Lyon, then cover several towns in Provence.

- when Mother called me twice. Each time she dominated the entire phone conversation prattling on and on about what's happening in the lives of people I don't know.

- when my sister called to let me know she took the parents out to dinner and she never opened her mouth once the entire evening. And the parents never noticed.

- when the sister too has reached the end of her wits in trying to be a dutiful daughter trying to do the right thing with the cranky and crazy old people we call parents.

- when I got to see several friends who were visiting. Some of them I was so happy to see again; others I was not so thrilled but I did it out of a sense of obligation.

- when I was reminded all over again how important it is to have good people to count on and good friends to trust in times of need.

Lousy woman, lousy man

A long, long time ago, this lousy woman fell in love with this lousy man.

They dedicated many years to keeping their relationship a secret from the public through lies and deceit.

Then they got married and he carried on with the lying and the deception while she carried on hiding.

Then, at the funeral of an old man, the lousy man finally admitted to the existence of the lousy woman in his life.

But they are not yet telling the world anything else, especially whether there are children in their lives.

Should I be optimistic and think that one day soon, they will live happily ever after like a normal married couple? Do I even care?

I really do not.

Back to Paul Ropp

I look at the poster. The Paul Ropp vibrancy bekons. How did I find the will power to resist the last two sales in January and April this year.

I mean I am talking Paul Ropp here - the man who designs clothes for "people who want sensual freedom and movement or prefer to be naked".

I think it's time to revisit an old friend...

Can you recommend

... a good pediatrician?
... a good specialist?
... a good restaurant?

... you get the drift. As if, in the first place, I would otherwise recommend someone/something/someplace bad.

Sigh. So I have to ask for basic information before I could even begin somewhere.

- the pediatrician: how old is the patient, what is the medical condition to be looked at.
- the specialist: a specialist in what?
- the restaurant: the list of pertinent information is so long. Occasion, budget, type etc.

I don't bother with the ones looking to me to recommend a good boyfriend/husband.

Other People

Grown children of friends are, in my opinion, just "other people". And frankly speaking, I am not interested in them as people.

So it distresses me greatly to have to listen to my friends in their role as proud mothers telling me glowing stories of their children. Especially when the friends don't live here and we have a small amount of time to catch up during their brief stay.

So when the girlfriend despaired that she had forgotten to bring photos - of her "lovely girls", of course - I was hopeful I was going to be spared the boring stuff about them. I should be so lucky. The woman dove into her super sized tote-bag and whipped out her camera. Then she insisted we sat cheek-to-cheek making me peer into the 4cm X 5cm screen as she scrolled through the thousands of pictures. She stopped at each picture to give me painfully detailed information.

I had to stop her at around 50. I begged to leave her sooner than planned, pleading other pressing errands to run. I made some vague polite noises about seeing her one more time before she leaves.

I don't mean to keep the date. Not if she is going to torture me all over again with stories of her grown children.

Like I said, grown children of friends are just "other people" to me. And I am not interested in them as people.

Should I or should I not?

I am still baffled by the constant question, "What do you do now that you are no longer working?"

I don't seem to be able to give a satisfactory answer.

How do you explain what a luxury it is to be able to take your time reading the papers with your morning coffee. Instead of having only 10 minutes to scan the headlines, gulp down the coffee and rush off to get dressed for work.

How do you explain you really appreciate not having to put up with demanding and unreasonable people who show you no respect in your professional capacity because they are paying for your time? And you still have to be tactful and diplomatic with them? I love not having to handle insensitive and rude people in my private life.

How do you explain it feels so good to have time to pursue your own interests. I like not having to rush through leisure activities.

Put in the most simple way: I love having my life back.

Then it dawned on me how ridiculous that this particular woman keeps carping at me about "not working any more."

She never worked but for maybe 5 years when she first left school! What does she do with her time all these years, I wonder? Besides taking sadistic pleasure in torturing me with her incessant questioning whenever she blows into town?

I should ask her that when I next see her, like maybe one day next week.

Then again, maybe I should not. I just remembered the woman talks non-stop even without a topical point!

I am not in the mood to be at the receiving end of her verbal diarrhoea.

Random conversation

We've not seen the guy for nearly 20 years. It was, needless to say, a joy to catch up with him during his short visit recently.

Everyone in the family is doing well, says he. But his father, he laments, is getting increasingly forgetful in his old age. And he, the caring and filial son, has been giving the old man long lectures on how to cope and be "less forgetful".

The old man must have already realised that his failing mental acuity is irreversible. He finally turned to his son during another of the lectures and said, "Why are you telling me all this? It's going to be your problem."

We will miss the old boy's sharp wit...

The Vanity Fair Split Cover edition

Yes, I made it a point to get the special split cover edition of Vanity Fair 2009.

I love them both, the covers and the personalities.

No, I did not give in to the impulse to grab both.

I agonised for several long minutes.

I finally decided on my selection based on choosing artistic merit over nostalgic sentiment.

It was tough to leave the other on the shelf.

They cannot read, They cannot write

I should have left things well alone. I have located them in FB, now I see their one-liners and the blast of holiday pictures, party pictures, family pictures.

But, for whatever reason, I feel like I short-change them with my silly quiz results (that is about all I ever post in FB). So, I mention my blog to the handful of people from long-ago years.

I got the most stubborn and unnecessarily gruff and ungracious reply: I'm afraid no blogging for me... Let's stick to emails.

My reply: Yes, let's.

My thought: Not only do these people not read nor write, these people probably cannot read or write!

Bread - Home baked

It isn't that we are particularly picky about our dinner rolls. It's just that we have not found any that we like enough to go through the hassle of shopping for it and then having to stand in the long line to pay for one loaf or half a dozen pieces of rolls.
So on a whim, I thought to make our own. The kitchen always has the basic ingredients : flour, yeast, salt, sugar.

It really turned out good for a first attempt. I have not reached the stage of proficiency that I care to identify what kind of bread I baked. It is just bread, with a crust, that came out of the oven in time for dinner.

Happily, we slapped butter on the still warm home-baked bread, and savoured it with our dinner of cold cut beef roast, mash, and slaw - all home cooked and prepared.

The faint smell of yeast and baking still lingering in the kitchen as we sat down to dinner was simply heavenly.

The Pole Dancers at NDP

When I first saw the complaint letter of pole dance making its debut appearance in the NDP this year, I dismissed it as just another silly, uptight and unfounded gripe from an overly concerned but misguided parent of school-age children.

But net chatter picked up momentum, and the opinions got more and more ridiculous. Soon, the leap is made from pole performers to prostitutes and strip dancers.

There seems to be two reasons for objecting to pole performance.

One is its origin - that it is the mainstay of sleaze bars and clubs. That the dance form has moved into mainstream society and that women have taken to it as another fitness and exercise option is ignored. Also ignored is the fact that training at the gyms and studios far exceeds what is required at the bars and clubs.

The other is about "skimpy" outfits.

According to The Straits Times:
Pole dancing - where scantily clad women writhe around a pole on stage - is making an appearance at the National Day Parade (NDP) this evening...
(Thursday, August 9, 2009, Lifestyle, page2)

The performers' explanation about the need for skin contact to grip the pole falls on deaf ears. This court of public opinion has passed the verdict that the girls' outfits are somehow indecent. I happen to think that injecting a little sex appeal into an otherwise strenously demanding acrobatic feat never hurts anybody.

No amount of arguing or debating is going to change any minds. The girls will give their all in the first ever appearance of pole dance at this year's NDP. And I know the loud cheers from the crowd will drown out the nay-sayers.

So you go, girls of Acropolates.

What a low and cheap trick

The pedestrian crossing on Paterson Road between ION Orchard and Wheelock Place is really closed.

An underground pass now links the two buildings. There are temporary signs hastily put up at the entrance to the underpass alongside Wheelock and at the front of ION.

I was in a hurry. I was at Wheelock and needed to get across to Wisma Atria/Ngee Ann City, and back.

Getting into the underpass at Wheelock, then walking through ION underground to emerge at ION exit/entrance is, while not so straightforward for a first attempt, was at least manageable.

Re-tracing that path on the return trip is impossible. Once you enter ION, you are totally lost with escalators and shops disorientating your directional judgement. I gave up after asking shop keepers who directed me to more underground levels and shops. I ended up getting out of ION and walking the upward slope along Patterson to cross at the traffic at Patterson and Orchard Boulevard.

My grouse is this: the underpass is NOT an underground pedestrian crossing. It is a cheap diversonary tactic to direct all pedestrian traffic into ION and detain them there. There were no location maps anywhere to help with navigating within the mall either.

How low can a premier and iconic shopping mall stoop to force shoppers into their premises?

L-O-W, cheap and dirty.

Hosts and visitors

I have a relay of visitors coming into town starting next week. Many I look forward to seeing. A handful I am unsure of and have been agonizing over what to do about them.

I got to thinking of the friends who were ever so considerate, who went out of their way to make sure I am enjoying my time in their country. I also recall the ones who gave me the oh-so-glad-you-made-it-here-let's-meet-up-sometime spiel and I never hear from them again during my entire stay.

And it dawned on me that there is a direct relationship between hosts and guests : lousy guests and visitors make lousy hosts and vice versa.

And suddenly, it is all so clear to me who I will not entertain in town, and who I will not want to look up when next I travel.

I believe I finally see the light. Heh

P.S. I know the rationale is not well put forward, but that's all my tired brain can manage right now.

The lexicon of Michael Jackson

I think this is one of the best commentaries written on the late Michael Jackson.

Then mourn the demise of arts journalism.

When the manager steps in

I was looking to buy a particular CD. I called the vendor to ask if said CD is carried in their store.

The staff who took my call was nice enough even if she couldn't answer my question: "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I am not sure about the CD. I have no update so far and my manager has not yet stepped in right now."

Maybe I am just being prickly and picky, but why do people try to sound too clever with English and end up mangling the language. What does she mean the manager has not yet stepped in? She could have simply said the manager hasn't come in yet. Stepping in implies an sense of casualness, like popping in for a short time only rather than come in to assume the hours of the work shift. (I am not going to tackle the "not sure" and "update" bits in her answer.)

Like I said, the staff was nice enough. She took down my name and phone number, and called me back with the answer soon after, when the manager finally stepped in.

Isn't she lovely?

She really is.

I love the essay for it's stylish writing, research depth and sentimental understanding of an often misunderstood people.

I have met these people; I will never forget their kindness; I will always remember them fondly...

July

was the month

(ang ku kueh)

- The apartment directly below me started renovation work. The noise was unbearable. Luckily, heavy continuous drilling is permitted only from 9am to 2pm Mondays to Fridays. I still have the peaceful weekends.

- I actually miss having an office to go escape the noise.

- I accepted lunch dates from anybody who looked for me. Including all those private banker types who are still flogging dubious structured products. I really need to get to know a better class of people.

- I went to shopping malls which I never thought to go to. So far, I have covered Vivo City and Jurong Point. Both were big enough to occupy me for several hours. But when one is not actually shopping, it makes for a very empty experience. I wondered why I loved gallivanting in my (much) younger days.

- I visited old neighbourhoods that I don't usually go to. Like Joo Chiat and Alexander Village. I got reacquainted with long forgotten snack foods like ang ku kueh.

- Mother is still ominously quiet. Maybe my sister is right - the old woman has really forgotten about us. Or she is too busy consorting with unsavoury Chye-nah people who give her time of day because they have design on her money. Neither possibility is good but I value my peace and sanity too much to find out what's happening.

A tale of Singapore food

We listened to the sweet young thing tell us of her business trips to various cities in China. What she loved about the place, what she hated, what she missed.

Food, she declared. I miss Singapore food! Everything in China came in huge portions and were too oily and too salty.

Yes, we thought! She's one of us! She loves her food. She knows her food!

So, we asked, you headed straight for food the minute you touched down?

Yes! came her gleeful reply, I headed straight to Newton Circus for macaroni!

Newton Circus? Macaroni?

She's supposed to say mee pok dry, char kway tiao, Hainanese chicken rice, something like that. And at any of the many old name hawker centres!

Not macaroni at Newton Circus!

She may love her food, but there is definitely a huge gulf between her idea of real and worthy Singapore food and ours.

ps I never clarified what she meant by macaroni, because what came to mind immediately was macaroni and cheese a la Kraft. It was later that I thought she must mean bak chor macaroni soup. So maybe she is half way to qualifying as a foodie of Singapore food.

Happiness is ...

After reading his very deep discourse on man, materialism and happiness, am I to conclude that:

Early early say so lah!

Wedding entrance

I like their style :)

Live well

I am still reeling from the sobering news that a school mate has had a heart attack. She survived the sneaky episode. But it sends a chilling jolt of reality through my mind, body and soul as I ponder the ravages that the passing years inflict upon us.

Life is far far too short to wait for dreams to come true.

I think of the women I know who are still waiting to slim down before they would get into a swim suit. The women who put off leisure activities because of domestic demands on their time. The women who put off self-development because...of what?

I think of the women who took control of their lives, starting around age 40. They laid to rest their long-dead relationships to start anew. They got married for the first time, or got remarried to someone they really deserve. They traded dead-end jobs for a career with a future. They started their own businesses. They bought their own homes. They became single mothers. Whatever. But the important thing is, they started living for themselves. They live self-fulfilled lives.

In my 40th year, I climbed Mt Shasta. Not life-changing. Not news breaking. But personally satisfying to have done it when I did. For I would not have the physical and mental endurance to do it in later years.

Life is for living. Life is transient. Life is worth living for yourself. Live it well.

Hokey Logic

I know it's hokey, but I love the syllogism involved.

If A then B.
Not B, then not A.

Yes, Woman! Tell'em

The friends were trading war stories over dinner.

The guy friend enjoys buying and selling F&B businesses. So he tells of this one particular venture when he and the wife ended up having to work in the kitchen on Christmas Eve. How it was one of the most horrible and stressful things he ever encountered in his life. Whereupon his wife cut in with, "Don't listen to him. I did all the work in the kitchen that night. He was just a stressed out basket case."

And I looked at the woman with renewed respect.

Yes Woman! Speak up, Woman. Tell'em who really takes care of things when the going gets tough.

Waiting for a lost friend

We first met almost 30 years ago. We were at our first jobs. She was a vivacious vain pot with a quick wit and great sense of theatrics. She was a delightful and fun companion to have at all times.

We went our separate ways for many long years - got married, lived abroad, raised families, got caught up with the demands of work, home, motherhood.

We both got back to Singapore and got back together for coffees and dinners. But this is no longer the same woman I knew from those early years.

She still has the demands of home and motherhood. And she tackles them admirably if not somewhat irrationally and maniacally. But gone is the delightful and the fun person I knew.

Instead, she is ill-at-ease around unfamiliar company. She is constantly distracted by phone calls and sms'es from her sons. She is always involved with parent-teacher meetings, school plays, school sports - this list is endless.

I am shocked that she put off a knee surgery for a year and half now. The quadriceps on the injured leg has atrophied to half its original size. The good leg started giving problems from overcompensation, and most days, she uses an umbrella as a walking stick to get around. She has days when she is practically crippled by pain.

And yet, she persists with her manic lifestyle, all centered around the family of two near-grown boys and a long-suffering husband.

The latest insane act is to take the family to Bali for three weeks of annual summer vacation. I don't think the teenaged boys even wanted to do that - be stuck in Bali with the parents for a sizeable chunk of their school holidays.

The frightening reality is sinking in for me. After all the years of hand-rearing the sons, she is the one who is loathed to let go. In the process, she has lost herself.

I think it is a horrible mistake to make the children's lives her own. And I have no way of conveying this reality to her.

So, I will carry on meeting her for coffee chats, listen to her tell me of her life lived vicariously through her sons, and hopefully be there to help pick up the pieces of her life when the boys leave home in a couple more years.

Maybe then, the delightful and fun friend I once had will return.

Meanwhile, I will wait for return of the lost friend...

They don't read, they don't write

I sometimes stare at my Facebook profile and feel badly that it is pathetically empty of content. I don't fill the wall with pictures, I don't write one-line impulsive thoughts. It is still my blog I turn to for meaningful (to me) input.

I have done searches on names that come to mind. Names long buried in the furthest recesses of my mind. Names from schools, from vacations, from places I once lived in. The number of hits is surprisingly big. It includes people I least expect to have a FB account - especially people I remember who are irrational technophobes.

I hesitate about adding them to my list of friends for many reasons:

- They don't read and they don't write for the pure pleasure of reading or writing.

- They have exactly 2 "friends" in FB.

- They have thousands of "friends" in FB.

- They never tried to look for me in FB.

Of the list, I contacted exactly 2 of them. It had been rewarding. I feel like the blanks in the intervening years are now filled. And they, in turn, have tracked me to my blog, which I find immensely satisfying. One of them will even be coming to Singapore later in the year; I know we will make the time to catch up.

The rest I will leave to rest in my past. There doesn't seem any point in re-acquainting.

Especially since I know this about them - they don't read and they certainly do not write.

July Hafla @ Blu Jaz

Click on image for enlargement

Shameless freeloaders

I think the friends finally got tired of the one couple who only ever accepted hospitality and never gave anything in return.

I think the couple never thought of us as friends; I think we were always viewed only as potential customers.

I think we never thought of the couple as outright users and free loaders all this time because, well, we just want to think kindly of people.

At the last home dinner party, the woman free-loader made the usual pointless polite noises about it being such a lovely evening. The hostess said she could take the next turn hosting, to which the free-loader curtly said she is too busy.

Just recently, the man free-loader bumped into the host at their work building, and actually suggested we should all do dinner soon. The host bluntly and pointedly told the presumptuous boor that it is his turn. The lifelong committed free-loader had the audacity to say they can't because the wife doesn't cook. Well, who says anyone has to cook to show some appreciation for years of hospitality given to them?

I think there comes a time when the free flow of goodwill dries up because of non reciprocity. I think for this particularly shameless couple, the time is now.

I will not miss them.

Six years

Six years ago, the maid worked in a family of inconsiderate loonies and she was desperate to get out of her situation.

Six years ago, a couple had a terror for a maid and were desperate to get her out of their lives.

Six years ago, we matched the maid with the couple. It turned to be a very good arrangement for the parties.

Fast forward to present.

Six years later the maid makes the decision that she needs to leave this job and get on with her life. She will miss the household and the couple she worked for, but it has been six long years she has been away from her own home and family. She must have looked at herself, her future, and decided that she needed to make something more of herself.

We hate to see her leave. We have worries about what she will do for a living. But we understand her aspirations. Her plans are vague. Every idea is a maybe. But she knows now is the time to make her move.Before she loses her nerve.

Six years. It is a long enough time to have stayed in one place. It is time to move on.

And so, with some sadness but a lot more optimism, we reluctantly bade her farewell with lots of good wishes.

We will treasure having seen her make a happy home for our friends and we hope that her life will be good back in her home.

Can it all have been six years already?

The Newcomer

A newcomer to an on-going class is always subject to friendly curious interest. So it was that when the woman joined our hula class, we greeted her with the usual polite smiles and hello's.

But this woman's response to us is nothing short of jarring. She took one look at us, and asked, in a tone that came across as accusatory: Must we wear pareos to dance? Well, no, there is no strict requirement but we use pareos tied in some skirt fashion to help us focus on how we are moving...

Followed by another almost-cross question: Where do you buy your pareo? By this time the entire class shrank away from her physically and emotionally, with someone timidly muttering something about Arab Street or swimwear shops. We were too scared by now to mention that we even have leis to help us look the part and get more into the mood of the dance...

The woman was absent for the next class, and showed back up in the third week. A dance mate lent her a pareo and helped to dress her. She looked herself in the mirror and went: This style doesn't suit me. The rest of us busied ourselves with looking at our toes...

We danced through our routine at the end of which she turned to the dancer closest to her and asked, in an unmistakably annoyed tone: Did you learn that last week? Came the meekest reply in the weakest of voice: Yes...

Aiyoh...is she going to join us for real? And will she stop being so cross? Dare we hope...

Fools and chain mail

I cannot believe there are people who still mindlessly and indiscriminately forward chain mail! I am talking about people I know. People I have told off about it already!

For the most part I take one glance at the PLEASE READ! DO NOT DELETE! heading and hit the DELETE key and let it go at that.

But there is this one person who has been told time and again to stop forwarding chain mail. She'd stop for a while, then resume. (Doesn't she have anything better to do?) The latest is the silly one titled Slow Dance.

It arrived on a day I didn't feel kindly disposed to fools. So I wrote her a short message: Oh puhleeze. This has been circulating with update since 1998. Read here. And hit the Reply ALL button. Yes, to all 100 names or so on her hit list.

The fool wrote back: Thought it sounded familiar but didn't want to have a bad conscience so forwarded it anyway. And when are you coming to visit me?

See why I say I cannot spend lots of time cooped up with her and other like-minded people?

It's to0 much to expect I should suffer fools gladly. Especially when I don't have to.

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.