Salam Aidilfitri

We totally admire our Muslim friends for their discipline and steadfastness during the month of Ramadan, and today, we wish them 'Salam Aidilfitri!'. We were also generously invited to 2 lunches hosted by different families.

These lunches were held at the friends' mothers' houses where huge spreads of fabulous nasi padang and desserts of kuih-kuih and pulut hitam awaited the hungry, and the greedy. We were definitely uber greedy. Like bad pennies, we turned up at the first house at 11.45am. :P Then we arrived at the second house at 2.15pm with plenty of stomach space for seconds. Heeeee.

The friends' mothers, aunts and grandmothers cook SO WELL. They began cooking before dawn, or probably yesterday so that the rempah and flavors could settle in. The best Malay and Indonesian food are always found in the home kitchens. We're so lucky to have tasted them today. Homecooked spreads always taste this much better than the supposed best nasi padang and kuih kuih available commercially. O happy sigh. I definitely don't need dinner anymore. I ate all afternoon. Totally overdosed on nasi lemak, sambal-everything, rempah and all things edible. Awesome. BURRRRRP.

Yes, to the guests and non-Muslims, Hari Raya Puasa is partly about the food. In other parts, no, it's really more than the food. It's a privilege to be invited to join the cosy celebrations, to get to know our friends a little better. We're glad that they've graciously opened up their homes, and hearts to us. So to me, this is what the festivities are about. We ate, we laughed and created memories of another happy day.

Iodine

I'm not sure I like stories with a psychological slant. It plays havoc with my mind. Each time I read, I sink into the world of the particular book. This is the mistake I keep making when picking out titles from the man's bookshelf. His books are not meant to be sunk into. If I do that, I just get a terrible hangover after.

Haven Kimmel's 'Iodine' is rather disturbing. It's an emotional rollercoaster. At the end of it, I feel a little depressed, at all-that-could-have-been for protagonist Trace Pennington who has become Ianthe Covington. The woman is unable to free the shackles of her past. Repressing it doesn't help and when jealousy and questions in her present state stirred the hidden layers, her sanity breaks. In the end, her marriage to her literature professor Dr Jacob Matthias, which seems horrifying at first, unravelling what little sanity she has. However, in the end, this marriage becomes her safe house.

Steeped in Freud and Jung's dream sequences, Trace/Ianthe's world is exasperating. Add the Greek references to it and you'll be completely confused. It gets heavy going at times. However, the writer's meticulous attention to details makes this a most interesting read. It's quite a different treatment from Haven Kimmel's almost hilarious 'A Girl Named Zippy'. Written memoir style, Zippy is blissfully innocent to the miserable-ness of it all.

'Iodine', it isn't meant for easy reading. It's meant to rustle the reader's emotions so that at all times, one reacts to or identifies with Trace/Ianthe and all her insecurities, fears and even the hallucinations. The reader spends the rest of the time trying to decipher the protagonist's muddled world, wondering if she's mad-smart, smart-smart, or the author's simply pulling a fast one over us with the heavy fleshing out of psychological theories. While I won't pan this book, I hesitate to have it put forth as 'brilliant'. I'll leave it as 'interesting' and 'headache-inducing'.

"No one ever noticed that she had a seizure disorder? Transient global amnesia, that she was completely disassociative, she probably hallucinated, lost autobiographical details. You?" Trace thought he was turning toward Jacob. "Have you noticed anything unusual about your wife?" // Jacob sighed. "She sleeps with her eyes open. She has terrible nightmares and can't remember the content. She sleepwalks, she talks, she wakes up in the night convinced I'm going to kill her. Runs from me, hides. Some part of her is convinced I killed my first wife, Rita, who divorced me, just because I don't know where she is."

Casa Tartufo

[It's moving to the CBD as of April 2014.]

Situated in the middle of a shopping mall, the almost a year-old Casa Tartufo has quietly been our choice for many meals these few months. So far, its food has been consistently delicious. Always obliging to our numerous odd requests in the dishes, I'm quite pleased with their service. While it's supposed to be fine-dining, it doesn't feel prissy and gives out a slightly more casual vibe as conversation here tends to be louder than usual as most people seem to dine in groups.

The French girolle (chanterelle) is in season. Casa Tartufo was happy to do a fry-up of scrambled eggs with the girolle and tomatoes. Upon first taste, these scrambled eggs were atas as could be, and were like no other scrambled eggs had ever been. They were totally knock-my-socks-off delicious.

Oddly, I've never ordered fish here, not even to share. They've the usual black cod and seabass. They look fine on the friends' dining plates. But I've not tried it. The pasta has always caught my attention and the tastebuds don't feel like having something else. I like my pasta easy. Easy pastas are the toughest for any restaurant to make. Quality ingredients are a must. I'm quite fond of their capellini done cold with sea urchin and bottarga. For this evening, tajarin topped with black truffles was lovely.

If you order the lamb osso bucco on the menu, do not expect it to come with the bone. They somehow changed their recipe to something that isn't exactly the traditional osso bucco. It comes in pretty round rolled up pieces full of rosemary flavors. Dainty. Roast lamb still, but not quite the osso bucco I know. The friends thought the meats here as 'dependable', and make for good mains each time.

Voyage Night Festival 2011

There's a whole series of events gathered for showcase during the Voyage Night Festival organized by the National Museum. Happening over these 2 weekends, there're film screenings, exhibitions, installations, roving and stage performances of sound, art and voices...etc. I eagerly downloaded the schedule from the site and marked out what I wanted to see. In the end, my calendar was blocked out all of Friday night for it. :)

It wasn't teeming or suffocating with human traffic in the area. I suspect the various events in town and the Jacky Cheung concert took a portion of the crowd away. Wheww. Good for us. Less people to fight with. Merrily crossing between Stage A and B at the SMU campus, and the museum, I thoroughly enjoyed the excitement and vibes of the night. Rain threatened the open-air stages, but somebody did the job of steadying the onion and chilli- the skies held. Gorgeous photos of the various performances up at the National Museum's facebook page. (Read more over at superadrianme's post on the performances.)

I'm quite thrilled because I successfully dragged the man along to expand his musical absorption beyond rock, metal and post-rock, and his darling Tori Amos. Hah. Prepared for a humid night out, we hydrated, dressed light and jumped smack into the crowd. For once, I squeezed past the humans right to the front of the stage. I know, at rock gigs, I'm not this 'on'. :P

We caught so many wonderful acts. They're amazing. The haunting thirds of the folk songs from Bulgarian Eva Quartet, the absolutely entertaining and breathtaking movement of Belgian Theatre Tol, the melodious tunes of Goa-Portuguese Sonia Shirsat in Mundo Fado, the cheerful reverberating scapes of Georgian The Shin with Black Sea Fire, lovely exotic sounds of Iranian Niyaz... plenty plenty. I like them all. But it wasn't difficult to select a favorite. Niyaz comes very close, but my pick is the charismatic smouldering and expressive Balkan Oana Cătălina Chiţu & Bucharest Tango.

This show is especially interesting not just because of the vibrance of the tango. It's also particularly telling of turbulent period in Romanian history. Since the Mineriad in 1990, the perceived decadence and bright lights of Romanian tango is now seeing a revival after almost a century of ahemmm....repression under the austere Communist regime. It's intriguing how the music didn't die, but has been carefully tucked away in the rural lands and memories of the people, preserved for a day when it's safe to sing aloud again.

Oana Cătălina Chiţu & Bucharest Tango put on a joyful performance. The singer and the band complemented each other perfectly. Such merriment to hear the instruments sing to each other. The musicians didn't just mechanically play; they had so much camaraderie with one another. Oana Cătălina Chiţu's rich vocals brought Romanian tango and the romance of the pre-World War I era to the city. I love her voice and danced a little. The humans watching were most boring. I didn't understand how they could have stood still and not even sway to the passionate and poetic beats.

Like the bandoneón in emphatic Argentine tango music, the accordion features largely in the sounds of Romanian tango. Tonight, Bucharest Tango's Dejan Jovanovic wielded his accordion with mastery, playing both lead and follow to the cimbalom, violin and guitar. I like him. It explains the many photos I took of him. Heh. He played with mirth and a full range of emotions, making him absolutely fascinating to watch.

Oh, please do make time to pop by and watch these performances if they appeal. It's an amazing, exhilarating show. Sweaty and sticky, all of us totally enjoyed the night. I went to bed with a smile and a head full of music. Today, I'm still on an adrenalin high, and in a little bit of a rapture.

Crockery

The girlfriend asked me what I'd like for tea, so I told her that I would have whatever her little girl was having. Made for easy preparations.

The omelette came on a pretty plate. It caught my eye. I've always liked crockery of a certain age, and the color and design of this plate don't look contemporary. I flipped it over and was thrilled to see its history.

The girlfriend shared that it's a plate handed down by the grandmother to the family. How very nice. It put a huge smile on my face. I haven't really asked the girlfriends. But I think many have stored seriously historical dining sets at home. I should barge into their kitchens and demand to browse through their collection. These wares are simply beautiful.

This plate is from Johnson Brothers. I like them. I've got sets of their china plates and dining sets in storage and carefully tucked away at home. Same goes for the silver and china from Cooper Brothers and Sons, Portmeirion, Duchess, Miles Mason, Burleigh, Churchill. These are the day-to-day china that my grandparents and their parents once used alongside Noritake, Peranakan and Chinese porcelain. One could go on an acquisition blitz for these plates. They're not prohibitively expensive, but their significance (and possibly value) is higher when there's family history involved because of the fact that the beautiful plates are common daily objects used in everyday living.

A trace of colonial history and the people's living habits during that era can be gleaned from these crockery and cutlery. I'll say this, like an old lady, that they certainly don't produce quality like they do in the 1800s and 1900s. I could see the hallmark of pride and fine quality in the production of these china and silver. Decades, and almost a century later, with nary a chip, these plates, soup bowls and silver are now mine for keeps and I treasure them very much. :) Half are in use currently, and that's probably a huge impetus for me to personally wash them instead of asking the maid to do it, and those are definitely not meant for the dishwasher.

Rock! Paper! Poster!

Up on the walls of The Pigeonhole till 6 September are 20-something screen-printed gig posters (not for sale) from the personal collection of the good people of KittyWu Records. Titled 'Rock! Paper! Poster!', there're some very cool ones featuring Explosions in the Sky, The Shins, Deathcab from Cutie, Arcade Fire and Feist.

We popped in at the launch tonight. We've never seen KittyWu's stash and it's a good time to check them out. Framing precious posters can be an expensive affair. Ikea frames don't cut it as they don't seal in tight. Use these frames if the the posters aren't too pricey or carry sentimental value. You'd need to cut out the moisture and humidity to protect limited edition screen prints and enjoy them in the years to come. Sending it to the professional framers is much more convenient.

I know nothing about the artists and the art of screen-printed gig posters. Those names mean something to the friends who're into the art and the known talents in the world of stunning visuals. I only know how to admire the concept, colors and strokes. For many of us into this genre of music, we probably shared a similar sort of decor for our rooms, dorms and whatever during those angsty teenage years in the form of band photos and posters adorning the walls.

Full from dinner, I declined the offered desserts of mac and cheese, and, bread and butter pudding. Beer would do just fine. Otherwise, a pint of Guinness or whisky after would complete the evening. The Pigeonhold ran out of the favored beer again! ARRRGGGGH. Why me?! Had to stick to another beer which I don't quite mind, but not a preferred choice over others. Hmmmph. It does mean that there're plenty of people turning up and buying drinks at this launch party though. That's positive.

The photo below shows screen-printed posters of gigs in Singapore done by Invsble Studio. Very good work! We spent some time staring at the Mono poster, wondering where the heck is the name of the band. The friends grinned and told us to walk further away. I stared at my photo. Then we realized...ahhhh....it's right there! So clever. These posters aren't available for purchase at The Pigeonhole after tonight. BUT, they're totally available for purchase online.

Iftar

There's no way we're disciplined enough to get up early to join the friends for suhoor. So we made a date for the evening instead. Headed down to Alaturka for great conversation and good food.

Berbuka puasa with fresh dates and apple tea :: Mezze platter x 2 :: stuffed eggplants with cheese and tomato sauce :: etli pide :: lamb and vegetarian moussaka :: kebab platter :: more apple tea :: no dessert!

Not Quite Feeling The Echo

Richard Powers' 'The Echo Maker' isn't normally a book I'd pick up. It's the man's kind of genre. I like my books easier, so to speak. But I don't mind realism fiction once in a while. (A summary of the novel is found in this 2006 article.) The phrase 'echo-maker' hints at how stories could be impressed upon into memories and how that echo could help distinguish between reality and perception.

"But indisputably, Capgras and paranoia correlated. No surprise, then, when Mark's scores showed mild paranoid tendencies. Just what horror the flashes of persecution and clowning held at bay, Weber's tests could not determine."

There're so many things going on in the novel that I felt a little stretched. First, twist your tongues around the medical terms and have on hand, Google to check out all the various terminology and associated symptoms. After that, ask you whys and what as to how the protagonist Mark had gotten into an accident on that fateful night. Then there's the complexity of the relationship with his primary caregiver- his sister Karin. It explores also the character of Karin vis-à-vis her insecurities and questions of her existence in this world. The truth of the accident is revealed later in the book by his 3 best friends, but the story doesn't end there. It's about what happens after to Mark, of his journey, his mind and ultimately, his sense of self.

There's a parallel plot (pun intended) of local politics on Platte river where the sand cranes gather and it's earmarked for urban redevelopment. I thought it's a little far to pull together ecological significance and ideas on cognition versus themes on mental states.

"What does a bird remember? Nothing that anything else might say. Its body is a map of where it has been, in this life and before. Arriving at these shallows once, the crane colt knows how to return. This time next year, it will come back through, pairing for life. The year after next: here again, feeding the map to its own new colt. Then one more bird will recall just what birds remember."

It isn't a terrible book. It isn't boring. It doesn't exactly struggle to present the full picture to the reader. Dichotomies abound. Undeniably, Richard Powers writes well. He presents a disjointed frame in this book exactly the way he would have it, leaving the reader not too depressed and rather pensive. But it's this genre that I don't quite take to and I almost regret picking it up. For a reader who's inclined towards horror and fantasy, I'm not sure I like the human portions of it.

Baybeats 2011

A weekend at Baybeats 2011. What a treat. Bands galore showcased their genres of music. Punk, metal, rock, singer-songwriters, folk, blues, pop-ish, groovy. They played their hearts out. Some were good, some ahemm....needs to either tune their guitars or increase practice sessions, and many played with passion to an appreciative crowd.

The bay area came to life with familiar faces, the public and masses of humans. Quite a party. Chic parents with cool kids, older folks strolling along hand in hand and bobbing to Noughts and Exes, Cheating Sons, Seyra, Julianne, Nicholas Chim, etc. The line-up is diverse and appeals to different audiences at various timings. It was great fun hanging out with the friends and having random chats over both inane and solemn topics. I've always got a soft spot for this music festival that has grown to be definitive of the Singapore indie music scene. After all, I met the man at Baybeats 2004. :)

A pity that the trolleys, kiosks or whatever, sold really lame food and drinks. As far as a festival is concerned, there wasn't any good beer or food in a tent. Some business logic at work I suppose. It makes sense to have the crowd patronize the eateries at the mall, and the casual hawker stalls instead of having random food carts stationed outdoors to cannibalize their business. Or to save the cleaners alot of trouble to pick up the litter late in the night or early in the morning. But seriously, holding no beer at gigs is just STRANGE. What we did, was to pack giant cooler boxes filled with ice blocks and tightly packed with bottles of fabulous beer. Muahahhaha. It isn't illegal or disallowed to walk around with a bottle or a can in hand.

I like those whimsical installations dotting the outdoor area. Something else to feast the eyes on. There're art installations open to assorted interpretation. Rather fun to linger over. Further to the Powerhouse stage, those 4 billboards of intentional graffiti art seem...less of graffiti and instead, should be called 'street art'. Pretty morbid, creative and intense.

Thank you for this year's rocking beats. Till 2012. Can't wait already. Yay!

Colors Blocks

The girlfriend ordered a skirt from a blogshop for me. She was a little upset about it because when it arrived, a portion of the stitching wasn't up to her standards. She said it outright that she didn't feel like giving it to me. So sweet the woman is. I saw it, and decided that it wasn't anything I hated. "I want it. Please. Thank you!!!"

The girlfriend's very adventurous lor. In terms of cut, this isn't the usual I'd wear. In fact, I avoid it for a simple reason- it's excruciatingly unforgiving to lovehandles and tummy rolls. That blue band, I love. The green, I'm not so sure. I don't own one article of clothing in this shade of green. The closest to green in the wardrobe is a dirty hue that's more brown than anything. I think the friends have decided that to make me wear colors, they'll just have to buy them for me. Muahahahhaha.

Another girlfriend suggested pairing it with a yellow top. My eyes widened. YELLOW. I don't own anything in yellow either! And I'm timid with color. Yellow, blue and green. AAHHHHH! Cannot! Putting on the skirt is already courageous, in my books. So, I paired it with black for a casual night out. Rubber flip flops were considered. But out of utmost respect to my stylish companion for the evening, I wore black flats.

So there you go. Whatever imperfections the skirt has, they don't matter. I don't care about it. They don't show up when I wear it. It falls fine on the hips; it feels right. But this, I will emphasize- the skirt is bloody unforgiving. I've to remind myself to consciously hold in the stomach and do that skirt proud.

It's A Lovely Day

Another girlfriend's back home for a little while! Yayyy!! I've missed her very much. At least I've got a couple of months to hang out with her before she flies off again.

A lunch meeting was in order. The three of us, we rarely get a chance to sit down together for a meal nowadays. Not too difficult to arrange a date with either one, but to have all three.....I can't even remember the last time we met as a trio!

We were all in dresses. Something about lunch and greenery mid-week lifted our spirits. One girlfriend was decked out in a chirpy red with a statement ring, the other was in silver with a cute beige belt, and I was in random grey with silver bangles. This sort of girlie gathering, I like. I love these girls' brains, minds and humor. I told them about how I missed the intensity and challenges of the previous job, and the recent lapse in nearly applying for job with a similar portfolio in another organization, and both recoiled in horror. They said, almost simultaneously, not word for word, but the gist went something like, "Are you out of your mind? Why do you want to do the same shit in a shittier organization?!" Heeeheeeheeee.

Fresh from her travels and photos of majestic glaciers, the girlfriend bought me a beautiful pair of earrings in hand-blown glass from Bluejays & Bumblebees. The girlfriend knows my ears react quite badly to silver and we discussed the earrings over whatsapp, replete with photos. I wanted it anyway! Heh. Allergy notwithstanding, I'm going to wear this pair of gorgeous earrings for about 2 hours at a stretch. Best worn in the sunlight. I put it on immediately. It matched my dress today!

We lingered over the meal, and were the last customers to leave the restaurant. Nobody chased us away or grumbled when we ordered coffee at 3pm. How nice! Back then, whenever I could, I would make time to lunch with them on work days, and looked forward to regular dinners and coffee during the weekends. We still do that. And the best part, now we've more time to arrange for random meets. What a long splendid outing with the girlfriends today.

Stretch, Bubbles, Stretch!

Bubbles and I sat by the bay window to play. It had been wet, grey and dreary all day. Bubbles said she didn't like the rain and she wanted to sun to come out and shine. You wouldn't believe what I did next. I sang her the chorus of 'Summer Rain', replete with hand signs of the rain falling. Bubbles was very amused by the singing. Then she mimicked my hand signs. Heeeheeeheee.

After rolling around for a bit and doing star jumps with a spot of butt shaking, she gleefully stretched her leg out as instructed. I couldn't get her to put her hands beneath the heel. Oh well, little children are more flexible than adults, so no matter. Pointed her toes too! A familiar stretch in pilates and yoga. We need a little more work on the line and form, but she got the idea. How very fun! She seems to like these stretching and twisting; she's been trying to climb the furniture from all possible angles at home, so maybe supervised gym time is nigh!

Not Quite In The Air

We've had the usual complaint letters, tweets and then songs written about how nasty airlines can be. It's only a matter of time before books are written about it. Humor is awesome. Over lunch, I had a grand time reading, 'Dear American Airlines' by Jonathan Miles. But it isn't just about complaints. It's introspective.

The story weaves into the life of protagonist Benjamin R Ford and in the time stuck at the airport due to his cancelled flight to attend his daughter's wedding to another woman, he writes a letter of complaint, but this time-out has ironically given him the chance to review his life, at the same time, speak of, observe and touch on the lives of some fellow stranded passengers. (Read New York Times' review on this book.)

"Naturally I'm aware that ten zillion cranks per annum make such demands upon you. I suppose you little piglets are accustomed to being huffed upon and puffed upon. Even now, from my maldesigned seat in this maldesigned airport, I spy a middle-aged woman waving her arms at the ticket counter like a sprinklerhead gone awry. Perhaps she is serious, too. "

The only time I could really zone out without thinking about work on trips is when I sit in the plane for the duration of the flight. That is the untouchable zone. So I'm not a proponent of wifi in the sky to be rolled out to the masses. I don't want to live with that, thanks. It's a convenient facility, but not something I welcome. Being stuck at airports, is a totally different kettle of fish. I hate that!

I'm not a curious or friendly traveller. I prefer to be left alone, and even if I'm seated next to you for a 14-hour flight, I'll make no attempt to engage you in conversation for any length of time unless it's an "excuse me" for dropping some stuff over or "sorry about that" if I elbowed a rib....something mundane. I'm not even mildly interested in wondering about the stories behind each human. My brains are usually preoccupied with other stuff, like books. For the duration of the flight, there'll be headphones, earphones and earphones to put me in a personal bubble away from the rest of the world. I'm not an enthusiastic observer of human behavior, clearly.

Frottage III: Sean, Linda & Julien

Spent a mellow evening at The Pigeonhole to the sounds of artists for Frottage III. The blog does a great introduction to the artists so that I don't have to write more. Heh. In order of performance slots, there's Sean Lam of Concave Scream on his solo project Hanging Up The Moon, then Linda Ong of Lunarin and finally Julien Banchilhon of One Lick Less.

The friends somehow were at Shanghai's Yuyintang (育音堂) last year and caught Julien's Pedalsteel sounds where the slide was the focus in the sounds created. Droning, but interesting. We heard it on myspace and were rather curious, so it was good to see Julien in action. We haven't caught Sean or Linda in a stripped down acoustic set. Yeah, I know, so many opportunities and we've not seized them. Tonight we did.

The man had definitely seen a guitar-playing Linda, but not me! In spite of proclaiming that she couldn't play it because the bass is her usual, it sounded alright to me. It was pleasant to finally to be able hear the words she sang after being drowned out by the instruments in the usual gigs. Sean's easy folk on acoustic probably had a calming effect on the emotions as they raged while watching the national day rally on the iPad. As a result, I probably didn't tweet as many swear words as I would have in reaction to certain lines uttered and concepts put forth by the speaker.

Acoustic Folk Rock: Seyra, And Noughts And Exes

Nothing better to spend Saturday night in the company of friends, live music and good beer. We had wanted to have a light dinner at The Pigeonhole, but they were completely packed out, so we took a stroll around Duxton and ended up at Etna for a quick bite before heading back. By then, the cafe had done so well on their beer that only Schneider-Weisse and Duchy Originals were left. No more Hobgoblin or Honey Bee. Very crowded night. Ah well. Any beer would do fine, really. Heh.

Save for a couple of videos on youtube, I haven't heard singer-songwriter Seyra at any gigs, so tonight was a lovely opportunity to catch her live and hear some of those tunes in the intimacy of The Pigeonhole. I really liked what I heard tonight. Made up of multi-instrumentalists, her band provided layers and textures to her thoughtful melodies. Catch her also at Baybeats next Saturday on 20th August (7.45pm at Chillout stage, Concourse).

We were also there to welcome Noughts And Exes back to town. Good to see them again, with better venues lined up for their gigs this week compared to the crappy systems provided at Clarke Quay the last round. A pity that the pixie-fairy-ethereal-jazzy vocals of Kerri-Anne won't be heard anymore (except on the cd) as she's leaving Hong Kong, and in turn, the band. I could really tell the difference without her distinctive voice. :( I miss her tinkle. Still, the band's doing tight and going strong. They've narrowed down 2 new ladies to take the place of Kerri-Anne. Something new. Quite a pleasure to listen to, always.

I really think Noughts and Exes is a good band. Folk rock is easy listening, multi-layered and palatable to most audiences. No reason why their star won't rise and rise. We'd love that! It's awesome that they're playing again at Home Club this Thursday 18th, with opening band Shelves. Then they'll take the bigger stage at Baybeats (8pm at Arena, Outdoor Theatre) this Friday the 19th.

No Buying Of Balls

Bubbles was fascinated by the tubes of decorative faux pearls in the home decor shop. She loved the colors and the round shapes. Big ones, small ones, pretty ones, bright ones.

Bubbles: What is this?

Auntie Imp: Balls.

Bubbles pondered about them for a while, picking them up and looking at all the different colors. She likes pink. But she kept taking the tubes of green.

Bubbles: Take out. Open please.

Auntie Imp: Nope. I can't. It belongs to the store. You can look at them, but you can't take them out unless you buy them.

Bubbles, without a pause, reached a very natural conclusion: Buy them now, Auntie Imp. Buy. Now.

No no no. Auntie Imp is not going to string together anymore balls or beads this week. I've had enough of it over the weekend! The girlfriend laughed and distracted her daughter with other items. Bubbles promptly abandoned the balls and went to stare at silver pieces. Wheww.

Happy 46th, Singapore

I love you mainly because you are so full of pungent beautiful food flavors from Asia. You're such a fabulous melting pot. You gave me the chance to fall in love with other cuisines outside of my race and culture. You've taught me passion, dislikes, tolerance and choices.

You've provided me friends from other cultures. I've 2 best friends from childhood- the Chinese BFF and the Indian BFF, both of whom ironically don't reside on your grounds. The man too, has 5 best friends whom we see regularly- a Malay (Arab actually), a Chinese, an Indian, an Eurasian and a Caucasian. Growing up, and now, we're blessed to be surrounded by friends from different races. From their mothers' kitchens, I've come to understand diversity, individuality, colors and harmony.

We're torn about how we feel towards you, Singapore. While we're not in love with you, we love you still. We're proud to be Singaporean. Most of the time. So, here's to many more peaceful and stable years in your economically strong embrace. May you mature elegantly and show strength and grace in believing in your people.

Street Art Rocks

(Banksy's 'French Maid' image from ArtsJournal.com, Artopia. It's been removed by Camden Council in March 2011)

I rarely go to the cinemas nowadays. They don't offer any movies I want to watch. Every other movie is a brainless Hollywood blockbuster. I'd like to unwind to something that isn't numbing to the brain cells, thank you. By the time cinemas bring in anything worth any attention here, I'd have either watched them outside of Singapore or downloaded a legal version. With AppleTV, I don't need you cinemas anymore. You show crap.

After I settled the old folks' National Day Eve dinner, I rushed over to the friends' for a proper dinner that had been lovingly prepared. With the (to me) excruciatingly annoying Poleconomy done for the evening, they were waiting for me to turn up to do the movie.

3 homecooked curries of fish, chicken and vegetables :: fruit pilaf :: naan :: aloo gobi :: palek paneer :: lamb korma :: yoghurt and raita aplenty :: Homemade cheesecake :: Tillamook vanilla bean :: Island Creamery's pulot hitam :: freshly squeezed juices :: Oban 14 y.o ::

We wanted something light. We put on 'Exit Through The Gift Shop'. Muahahahha. The title itself is already tickling. I love it that the movie opens with street artists leaping through the city to Richard Hawley's "Tonight The Streets Are Ours". One of my favorite songs! I enjoyed the movie, and am in awe of the amazing spunk and talent of these street artists. But I don't think our authorities will find it amusing at all. The last time anyone did something fun like good graffiti in Singapore, they stupidly broke the law and got caned. There's not street art culture in Singapore because in this clean country, the artists are tantamount to criminals and graffiti is vandalism.

There's greater tolerance of street art in Argentina. Buenos Aires is full of it. I enjoyed meandering through chic and rough neighborhoods to view the artwork. My driver thought I was nuts. Along with the culture, comes a gritty grey picture of the economy. I don't really want to draw links between art and the economy. Let's just stick it to a greater theme of open-mindedness and the Argentine government's focus on other pressing issues than arresting street artists.

I love how nefarious the whole affair of getting stuff down on tape feels. It's kinda illegal, isn't it. Setting up the sketches, spray painting on public property, trying to top one another's art, run-ins with the police, etc etc. You gotta admire the balls of these dudes. Then, as London burns over the weekend, the hoodies ain't look so cool anymore. A protest is fine, but rioting, burning and looting the shops are horrible. The people didn't do anything to deserve it, especially if rioters are looking at vigilante justice. It's not justifiable at all. These people are just looking for trouble. These rioters and looters with a spray can, are vandals, not street artists. These people, can't be condoned, and we need to ask why they're doing it.

There's Banksy who's supposedly making a directorial debut with this 'docu-film'. Subversive political commentator and artist extraordinaire. Exit Through The Gift Shop is a movie afterall. So one would be rather silly to believe this wholesale. The veracity of any docu-film and movie is always in doubt. I'm even skeptical of the supposed fact of Banksy himself actually directing the film. It's extremely enjoyable though.

A Reminder

I finally turned up at a library- the library at Esplanade. A start, at least, to try to borrow books instead of buying them. Browsing through the shelves, I picked out 'The Journal of American Drama and Theatre's Winter 2011, Volume 23 Number 1'.

It wasn't for loan. This is a journal, a discourse, so it would take a good 2 hours to go through that. Okay. I wasn't in a hurry. I enjoyed thumbing through Lynn M. Thomson's Boiled in Oil: Recipes for Parody in Two Early George S. Kaufman Plays, Jeffrey Stephens' Negotiations and Exchanges: Alan Schneider, Our Town, and Theatrical Détente, and Lynn Nottage Barbara Ozieblo's "Pornography of Violence" : Strategies of Representation in Plays by Naomi Wallace, Stefanie Zadravec.

What I truly enjoyed, is Michael Winetsky's Historical and Performative Liberalism in Susan Glaspell's Inheritors. The play is one that strongly crosses both literary and political realms. The sheer number of themes it covers, is mind-boggling. As a young student then, I didn't fully understand the concept of free speech and the tenacity of individual beliefs. But it awakened something within and subsequently stirred all interest in this genre of plays.

"Dewey argues that a democratic government depends on the character of its people, and that character is formed by education. // A democratic government empowers the people, but the people must be educated in order to best execute their authority."

So clearly, while discussing Inheritors, one can't discount the influence of Thoreau's 'Civil Disobedience', and John Dewey's (liberal) political theories. A good recap in this essay by Michael Winetsky. Dewey is heavily referenced in it. Of course, I'm thoroughly fascinated by the reminder of what democracy is, as a political ideal. Recent world events indicate that democracy, and I firmly believe this, is perceived differently by different peoples and governments, and when applied, will eventually evolve, and deviate from the ideal, moving towards a model that ultimately nobody really wants.

"Dewey writes: "The devotion of democracy to education is a familiar fact. The superficial explanation is that a government resting upon popular suffrage cannot be successful unless those who elect and those who obey their governors are educated.... But there is a deeper explanation. A democracy is more than a form of government; it is primarily a mode of associated living, of conjoint communicated experience. The extension in space of the number of individuals who participate in an interest [a government, a particular cause, or enterprise] so that each has to refer his own action to that of others, and to consider the action of others to give point and direction to his own, is equivalent to the breaking down of those barriers of class, race, and national territory which kept men from perceiving the full import of their activity..."

Is it a full-fledged democracy that I want for Singapore? No. Not at this point. Our people aren't ready. Our politicians aren't ready. Our systems aren't ready. But I'd like to see a gradual move away from an authoritarian governing position of 'Papa knows best'. There're policies which I disagree with. Such strong is the disagreement that it contributes towards the firm notion of why I do not want to have children and raise them in this country. I'm Singaporean and I'll never give that up. I'd like to see a healthier climate of calm, collected yet passionate, logical, astute and mature political discourse within homes, civil societies and social gatherings. I'd like to see our people have a greater acceptance of lifestyle choices and see that if your children choose to be a musician or a painter, it's not a family embarrassment or disappointment. We've nothing like that here. Which is exactly why I don't like going out to run-of-the-mill social dos. The conversation inevitably bores me to tears.

For a start, our politicians ought to really stop talking to us as though we're uneducated fools who're swayed by everything that glitters. I find it a little puzzling that at a community event, a politician had to 'talk' to people in this paternal way and "called on Singaporeans to be prudent and reiterated the need to "save for a rainy day"..." and even gave examples "not[ing] that the United States and Europe are in debt because they do not save, and worse, have spent their future earnings." Hello, I've huge issues with your idea of CPF which has been the most useless fund in my portfolio for years. Languishing. Anyway.

Said politician was also quoted to in stirring 'food for thought' by asking, "So, Singaporeans have to decide - do you always want to hear pleasant things even though they are dishonest?" I could give him many different answers. But there's only one thought. I speak for myself and some friends. Yes, we'd say. We're discerning enough, and if a politician is dishonest, we can tell. We're not that dumb, you know. Like you, we've been given a wonderful education. We can put that to good use. National Day, belongs to us, more than it's an opportunity for you to celebrate a long period of majority party rule. This electorate isn't as careless as you think.

Lobster Broth

It was completely unplanned. The friends finished a meeting earlier than scheduled, and we had a sudden thought for casual Japanese food. Without prior reservations, we decided to try our luck for a late dinner at Hinoki. They had space for the lot of us! A huge group left as we walked in. Wheww.

Half of us wanted the lowdown on the We Are Scientists and Neon Trees gig last week. We Are Scientists was good. Everyone I asked seemed to have enjoyed that. Neon Trees was said to be quite horrible. Apparently, the Tyler Glenn was as annoying and condescending as Jared Leto. Ha.

There were the usual sashimi and sushi. Good stuff. Satisfying. Even better, the kitchen had enough lobsters to go around to make a light broth delicious broth with bits of scallops and gingko nuts. This was the one dish that made my night.

Sambar, Chutney & Dosai!

So we say, the best Indian food is found at home. Always. I'm touched and thrilled that the lovely P invited me over for a homecooked lunch!

The cooking of the dosai began. Stirring the batter and ladling it into the heated pan. Then we waited for the dosai to form, piece by piece. Of course I didn't offer to help with the cooking. Not risking any burnt food or holes in the pan, or blowing up P's kitchen. Beautifully shaped, fluffy and hot, the dosai was delicious. Nicely grounded and fermented.

Along with the dosai, we had sambar and coconut chutney. Ooh that chutney was yummy! I didn't realize it was coconut chutney. I thought it was raita! I keep thinking of chutney as jam-like, or possessing textures of tomato, coriander-coconut or besan chutney. Instead of the pathetic watery sambar we get at commercial restaurants, P's version was more robust and filled with hearty dollops of stem and root vegetables.

Between a refreshing chilled glass of freshly blended watermelon juice and sweet crunchy peaches for dessert, P forbade me to do any sort of washing. Rinsing was allowed. The dishwasher did the job. I even got to tapau the rest of the sambar home for supper! WOOTS.

Conversation with P is always awesome. Many insights gleaned from another thoughtful and well articulated perspective. Wide scope and breadth of topics covered. Remembering she's also an excellent educator, I thought wryly to myself, why didn't I have this sort of teachers in primary or secondary school? Those teachers then, kept telling me that I shouldn't write compositions about people dying, zombies or vampires; that I should talk about about cheerful things like....at the playground. Instead, I meet the memorable, creative and amazing quirky tutors only at tertiary level, educators who let my mind roam and write a story about the politics and governance within...Hell and Purgatory. :D

Such a splendid afternoon. Such generosity. What an absolute treat.

Godma, Cook Me Pasta Please

Like how a girlfriend has put it- theoretically, I can cook. I think she was being polite and didn't add "in your dreams" too. Hehehhe. Well, some recipes are seriously brainless. Most require alot of work. But it isn't rocket science. The final products will be edible, although the taste isn't guaranteed. However, whatever my god-daughter likes to eat, I can quite easily produce them, if I want to.

Today, I didn't have much of a choice now, do I? Adults, don't try this with me. I swear I'll burn your food into unrecognizable blobs. (BFF, don't get ideas. You ain't got no special privileges.)

We zipped into the supermarket for the 4 y.o to pick out her preferred fish- salmon. Then onward to the store for her to point out the colorful (beetroot, spinach and plain) organic maccheroni desired for dinner. The girl doesn't eat rice at all. Her staple carbs come from bread and pasta. So she has learnt that she prefers cream sauce to tomato. Thank goodness. Tomato will not be easy to make. Cream sauce is less of a hassle.

The fillet of salmon wasn't totally marinated. Not necessary when I was going to plaster cream sauce over it. The fillet was layered with a light sprinkling of lemon juice, sea salt, pepper and dill. It sat quietly for an hour. The man came home and decided to take over the pan-frying of the fillet. "Lightly seared," he proudly announced. "Beautiful." I frowned at the fish and poked at it. It's half raw!!! Dude, you're cooking for a child, not adults. I shoo-ed him away from the stove and put the fish back in the pan till there was no more pink.

I let the pasta boil long in the pot. Al dente isn't exactly for children. Peas, little bits of garlic, mushrooms, carrots were separately cooked. Once everything was ready, together with the salmon, they were all tossed with cream sauce and maccheroni. Of course I cheated. You think I'd be able to chop up ingredients on my own? No way. The maid did all that. She was trying very hard not to giggle. She has never seen me lift a finger in the kitchen, aside from washing dishes. The 4 y.o stood by the doorway of the kitchen to munch on blueberries and ahemm.....watch me patter about. She didn't want the man to do the job and specifically said I was to cook her dinner. HAIZZZZ. Tyrant.

Along with sides of raw lettuce, cherry tomatoes and strawberries, the 4 y.o merrily finished her allocated amount of pasta in the bowl. Very good. I ate exactly the same food as the little girl. Otherwise, dinner-time would be no fun. The man ate the same pasta, except his had an extra topping of pepper and salt flakes.

Not Too Brooding

When the email came around calling for a gathering with the girls, it was titled, "Something Hollywood?" Haha. Sorry, we don't do chick flicks. In our circle, that would simply mean to suggest depressing or action movies made by Hollywood that aren't too shite. Hmmmmm.

Looking at everyone's schedules, it's plausible that many haven't caught movies at the cinema for ages. We've taken to watching them off Apple TV and whatever other devices available for downloads of (legal) movies.

So the picks for the evening were 'The Lincoln Lawyer' and 'Small Town Murder Songs'. (Read the New York Times' review here, and here.) Very similar themes of crime and redemption run through in these movies. Oh how enjoyable they are. Not exactly brainless, but less of a discussion incited. Instead, we grinned and talked about lighter topics thrown up by the plot and characters.

Like how cute Matthew McConaughey can be. Oh we remember 'Amistad'. That was a good movie. 'The Lincoln Lawyer' is not as heavy, and twice as fun. We were almost sorry that it was over before we knew it. The twists in the plot were not exactly predictable and that totally saved this Hollywood flick and made it more substantial than the lead actor's run of the mill crap like the recent 'Surfer Dude' and 'Ghosts of Girlfriends Past'.

Ed Gass-Donnelly is the director of 'This Beautiful City', which I didn't quite like. Its jagged storyline wasn't exactly well thought out. 'Small Town Murder Songs' is much better in terms of pacing, plot development and thrills. I really like the actors chosen. Anguish, fear, forgiveness and all manner of expression are portrayed convincingly.

This time, the hostess decided to cook instead of calling for a potluck. She claimed that with her husband out of town, she didn't have to baby him and therefore could afford the time to cook at leisure. No washing up was necessary as everything went into the dishwasher. Heh. Dinner was delicious.

Spicy sweet potato salad :: kosheri :: deviled eggs with roasted red pepper hummus :: freshly done pita bread :: pasta primavera :: old-fashioned fruit crumble :: bottles of easy Californian pinot noir went down fast

Mambo Jambo: Suede

This is the fourth show Suede performs in Singapore. On a Wednesday night. On the very night of a me-not-interested-in B.o.B gig and Zouk Mambo's 19th Anniversary. It was a clear winner to go to the gig that allowed dancing without the young'uns.

A sign of age- so many friends are catching Suede for what would be the fourth time here. They've caught Suede way back in the 90s when Suede first flew into town. Waahhhh. All of us grew up to the sounds of emo Suede, but these friends literally watched the band age. Tonight, we're here to reminisce with Suede for the probably the very last time in our 'hood. Can't imagine them touring in another 8 years!

It was a casual gig, and when the ticket indicated 'standing pen', I'd like to be protected. It was either Boots or sneakers. This is Suede, not Rage Against The Machine. Sneakers would do. I could dance in them! I haven't gotten around to buying a pair of Macbeths which would have complemented this black outfit from FruFru & Tigerlily. My pair of Converse is like, so last year. When I got there, what did I see? Of course the whole world had to be wearing them stylish Macbeths. Spell jealous.

Brett Anderson looked really good. Trim and fit. Sleazy charmer, I call it. He's one of those who ages well. At 44, he's still got the voice. He's got all the frontman moves down pat. He knelt on the stage, dipped the microphone into the crowd, sang his heart out, and jived about. He twirled that microphone around expertly. It was quite hilarious because both guitarist and bassist jumped away and gave him a wide berth at that instant. Hahahaha.

Suede didn't do 'Oceans'. Luckily. If they did, there wouldn't be a dry eye in the room. Many of us share memories of long-distance relationships then, in 2002, or remember the pain of breaking up because one or both are leaving the country to study overseas. Oof. The man leaned over to whisper that 'The Wild Ones' was part of our wedding playlist. I was like, I didn't know that! I'm clearly, not very romantic. If I had caught that song, I'd have sniggered really loudly there and then, because I did so tonight. :P

But oh if you stay we'll ride from disguised suburban graves

We'll go from the bungalows where the debts still grow every day

And oh if you stay I'll chase the rainblown fears away

We'll shine like the morning and sin in the sun oh if you stay

We'll be the wild ones running with the dogs today

I'd say there were about 2500 pax in the Indoor Stadium and no more. An okay crowd I suppose. Suede played a tight set. I'm not a huge fan, but I danced to their music because the friends, good vocals and the strong band made it so fun. The evening ended with 'Saturday Night'. Mellow. Nostalgic. Don't ask where I went after the gig. You could hazard a really good guess. :D

I Hate 18th Century Social Norms

Lounging around the girlfriend's house and not being very useful, out of morbid curiosity (I stay far away from classics), I picked up a book on literary authors innocently lying on the couch. It looked thin enough for a cursory reading within the hour.

Under Hesperus Press' Brief Lives series, Fiona Stafford wrote a short biography of Jane Austen, discussing her literary works within the context of the world she grew up in, how the glitzy lights of Bath could have influenced her writing. It's more to do with trying to guess the psyche of the writer who lived in tumultuous times in history without breathing any mention or references in her novels; why she remained single and how she sought to be a woman of her own fate in the 18th century.

"Although Jane Austen spent so much of her young adulthood planning her wardrobe and enjoying parties, writing remained crucial to her sense of self and general wellbeing. Her first surviving novel demonstrates the care that she devoted to her creative work during the 1790s, and the continuing force of her experimental spirit."

Fiona Stafford's overview provides a summary to Jane Austen's world. It doesn't delve into the writings and style of Jane Austen. Nothing analytical of that sort. Thank goodness, I say. Enough of that in school. I absolutely detest romantic fiction in any form. Even if her books strive to break out of an era abound with sentimental novels through comedy. Sure, living in a time where women gains a little more dependence, we haven't moved away from needing marriage to secure social standing and economic security. While I understand the writings are a reflection of society at that time, it doesn't make me feel less annoyed with all the women in her stories, especially Pride and Prejudice. I want to slap all the Bennet sisters. Truly. I want to shake Emma Woodhouse for being a meddling idiot. WTF.

While the realism in her novels is unmistakable, there's a widening gap between the academic appreciation of Austen, and the popular appreciation for the author. I'm clearly, not a Janeite. One could argue till the cows come home about the theories of post-colonialism and feminist in the books. They exist, one just needs to pick them out. BUT, those books are all the same about meddling women, muddling men and all the intrigue about love and relationships. I don't like this genre of books at all. I resent having to study them to pass school exams. ARRRRGH. The author clearly, isn't interested in anything else and that bores the hell out of me. 20th century interest in Austen, I'd assume is purely esoteric in the form of movie adaptations of her life, her novels and whatever.

The saving grace in Jane Austen, aside from the literary devices and narrative style of her books, is her choice to remain single. The real questions and research should be dedicated to the unspoken, to the thoughts she didn't articulate because that might mean more to readers in the 21st century who are exploring themes of independence and other shocking unmentionables not found in polite parlor and dinner conversations in the 18th century.