30 Apr 2006

Baking virtuoso in the making (IV)



OK this is the carrot bread that the baking apprentice made today. How does it taste? Well, it's not chewy like the baking instructor's and is a bit dense. If you are thinking to yourself that the bread doesn't look very appetizing, I just want to say: you're not the one who has to eat it for breakfast tomorrow, so what are you COMPLAINING about? *sob. This is always the problem with the stuff I bake as the mixer at home is not powerful enough and those really good ones cost, like 700 bucks. Makes you want to give up and just go to the nearest 7-11 and buy a loaf of Gardenia for $1.40.

23 Apr 2006

Things that I like (II)


I like....

....the smell of the approaching rain, of the brewing storm.


It draws me to the window. It beckons me to slow down my strides. To smell the air that is more intoxicating than the syrupy red roses.

The dark clouds rush to swallow the sun, the thunder grumbles gently, and the cool wind tugs at my hair and whips it into a frenzy, but I don't feel uneasy. I draw deep breaths and fill my brain with the rush of nostalgia and anticipation. It's the scent of the past and the future. And it makes me feel alive in the present.

How do you describe it? It's not the smell of rain, which is a mix of clean dirt and wet cement. It's heady but not strong; crisp but not sharp. It tingles the mind, but does not deliver a buzz like coffee. It smells elemental, a very basic smell, and yet nothing comes close to it. I know what it is not, but yet I really don't know what it is.

22 Apr 2006

Baking virtuoso in the making (III)


A durian mousse cake that my mother and I baked. Not very fantastic in taste (too much cream) and the upper layer is bizzarely larger than the bottom though we used the same cake pan. But still quite edible, especially if you are a durian fan. And anyway, mousse cakes are my fav. But while beating the cream, I had some of it splattered all over the kitchen and my face.
Woohoo! And people had to ask what's so fun about baking.

Sister from Japan, watch out!

17 Apr 2006

Playing to different rhythms

Family is a complex thing. Perhaps things were made more complicated by the fact that I have a different "temperament" from the others, as I've tried to explain to my friend H. But it's not a very good explanation at all. More like, I'm somewhat out of sync, like an oblivious violinist playing to an errant rhythm while the oboe player and the cellist and others in the ensemble roll their eyes at me in exasperation.

It's kinda hard to explain the intricacy of it all, but I attribute it to differing personal outlook. I've frequently been at odds with my parents in our opinions of well, almost everything. And I'm not even trying to be a rebel; they would be more relieved if I were, because then a neat explanation would have been available to them.

One of our biggest barriers is language; not just language itself but also the way language has tinged our outlooks into different shades. I've long discarded the idea that language is merely a functional tool. It is political, and visceral. You may say you don't really care about language use (especially if you are bilingual) but you will when your main language is at the losing end and is being seen as socially inferior. Which is why my father is dismayed that while my siblings and I (whom they think is the most recalcitrant in this matter, and come to think of it, in almost any other matter) converse in our mother tongue, we don't read or write it.

I'm saying all these because I read an interview in the local newspaper of a prominent playwright who started out writing English plays and later learned to write plays in his mother tongue. At a performance of 1 of his MT plays, looking at his parents sitting in the audience, he realised that he's been writing them as valentines to his parents.

You could say that I felt a slight twinge of remorse, especially since my mother recently decided to go to a community club to learn basic conversational English. Her English lesson is by itself another story and I shall blog about it if I have the time, and mood.

Family has been a cause for concern lately, not just the parents but siblings also. Family is a complex thing, and here I am, just trying to figure out my thoughts, and their rhythm.

15 Apr 2006

Retrospection (III)

This is for all the 80's babies out there. I recently saw a trailer on Kids' Central about the retro kids' shows that they're bringing back.

Some people would consider it childhood blasphemy to not at least make a mention of Ses*me Street. But can I just say that I don't like it? The puppets are raggy and worn and maybe I discovered it too late, but what's so fun about learning and relearning numbers 1-10 with the Count Whatever who punctuates every number with a peal of fake thunder and Ho Ho Ho?

And the pair of eggheads with ambiguous orientation, the quarrlesome Bernie and Ernie? They're always arguing over nothing, which really got on my nerves.

But let's move on, and talk about my favs!

C*re Be*rs
C*re Be*r stare! Remember these candy-floss coloured bears with different symbols on their tummies to show their different super powers? They live among the clouds and spy on unhappy little children using a telescope (ewww....). I remember my parents buying me the bedtime bear when I was young.

Anyway, they have a silly
quiz to let you know which bear you should be. And guess what am I?

Bedtime Bear stays up nights. He's the special bear who helps people get a good night's sleep and makes sure that they have sweet dreams. There's no better bear buddy for a goodnight hug. Bedtime has a symbol that says what he's all about: a sleepy-faced moon.
Caring Mission: Helps people sleep.
Symbol: His crescent moon symbol represents his nighttime mission. Personality: Brave and alert (at night).
Character Quirk: During the day, he's always confused or dozing off.
Color: Blue.
Motto:Sleep is what I do best!


Source: www.care-bears.com


My Little P*ny
I was quite a fan of these pastel-coloured ponies which come with thick, luscious wavy manes just inviting to be stroked and different emblems on their bums (hmm, I'm beginning to see a trend here). They live in a place called Dream Valley, under the thumb (hoof) of a queen pony and erm, basically fly around. OK, so they're not very interesting. I checked on the Internet and there are different generations of ponies, some with wings and some without and some have powers and some don't, but really, who cares? Next!


Button Moon
"We're off to Button Moon,
to follow Mr. Spoon"

There's something fishy about this show. How else to explain its hypnotic effect on so many little kids who watched it, despite its kooky plot? Friends who've watched it all remember it well, but I bet no one can give a reason why.

It's about a family of spoons who rides a tin can rocket up the sky for a rendezvous with a host of "household implements" (trash can, broom, buckets, you get the picture.) whose sole role is to clean and polish a yellow button masquerading as the moon.

Makes no sense to me, even now. Help!

Str*wberry Shortc*ke
The fav of many little girls, though it's hard to explain why. A strawberry-coloured-haired girl with no apparent personality or aptitude and who surrounds herself with equally dreary creatures with such names as Blueberry Muffin and Butter Cookie. They all live in some unimaginatively named Strawberry Land and wear dumpy hats shaped like dollops of cream or the clothed top of jam jars.

Why did we like them? How do I know? Some of these cartoons are really inane with no educational value but I realise that they were really quite effective propaganda for toy products (but not Button Moon; they don't sell toy merchandise), making us little tykes pester parents for toy ponies and figurines, believing them to be our friends because they're always shown helping out small children in trouble in cartoons.

And I remember they even had those sticker albums and each week you have to buy a packet of stickers to collect all of them. Very pointless, but kids are easily satisfied. I wish they wouldn't prey on little kids like that. I think our generation, brought up to believe that friendship and joy come packaged in a box with a cuddly bear to be picked up at the nearest departmental store, carries that attitude through to adult life. No wonder when we're upset, one of the first impulses is to shop.

11 Apr 2006

Baking virtuoso in the making (II)


My mother and moi baked this cake last weekend, using the receipe that we learned at the baking class. Not bad, huh?

Conversation between my sister who works in Japan and me on Sunday

Sister (by-the-wayish): Oh, I heard from ma that you baked a cake during the weekend, and it's actually edible!

Me (caught off guard): Huh? Oh, but of course what. I mean, what do you bake a cake for? So of course it's edible. Ha ha ha!

Sister (sniggering): But that's not what I heard. The last time I was back for a visit, ma told me that everytime you mentioned about baking a cake, the whole family was scared. Your cakes were so dense yadda yadda....

Me: Erm but everytime I baked, they ate everything up!

Sister: I think because they didn't want to hurt your feelings. (twittering)

Me: Oh, is it? Ha ha ha. Let's change topic.

She's going to pay for this. Next time she comes back for another visit, I'm going to bake her a 12 x 12 inch durian (which she hates) mousse cake worthy of giving a karate-chop expert a sore hand for days.

9 Apr 2006

Tea is for pansies

Tea is for pansies
fit only for babies
my drink of choice is coffee
which makes me go "yipee!"
but since I've tried to quit
I feel like a dimwit
I can't even copyedit
and life feels like a super-sized zit
Red, sore, angry
and not at all lovely
the work I've done this week is less
than what I dare to confess
when normally I'm such a slog
now I only write incoherent blogs
I'm so caught up in the agonising throes
I feel ready to bite my twitching toes
If I can just taste a cappucino I can get past any obstacle
except the snub by the all-knowing Starbucks Oracle
who actually calls me a snobbish asshat
when I think it's a stupid old dingbat
Starbucks is establishment
only losers heed its judgement
I just want back the good ol' coffee
so that life will once again agree
even if it makes me wanna pee
I'll just yell "whoopee!"

4 Apr 2006

Baking virtuoso in the making (I)


Erm, OK, so I went to my first baking class at the community club. Told a friend who's known me since sec school and she says it's so unlike me to learn baking. Hmm.

I was expecting to get my hands dirty with coagulated flour and slimy eggs but all I did was to sit through a boring lecture by a roly-poly instructor. If you thought that home economics cooking lessons in sec school were fun, you are right. It just goes downhill from there. I suspect the tertiary-student-looking girl who looks like she should be hanging out in pubs and shopping malls thinks so too. I overheard her saying it's quite a disappointment that we don't get any hands-on experience. She should have suspected that something's not too right when she first stepped into the kitchen: she said a friendly hello and all the aunties just stared at her wordlessly. It sank, literally, with a thud.

Sitting next to me was this young professional who might be a bit older than me. She must have been one of those insufferable, model students who did their maths homework on time and snitch on fellow students who dye their hair. She's the first to respond to the instructor's prompts (loudly and clearly--I can almost hear a certain teacher: "That's right, girls! You should be like XYZ, speak up clearly when answering questions in class, OK! Don't mumble!") and to volunteer to help.

When the instructor remarked that we should go home and try out the recipe ourselves this week, she nodded and said earnestly "Yah, to experience it". I almost sniggered out loud except that I was having a lousy sore throat and it came out like a wheeze. I know I'm mean but for crying out loud, this is just about a chocolate fudge cake, not some Unlocking the Power Within crap seminar. Besides, she had asked me a question earlier about a step that she had missed hearing and when I couldn't answer, she sniggered. I mean, that's not fair what; I was busy looking at other people.

Overall, the participants' median (mean? mode?) age was lower than I thought. There were quite a number of erm, rich homemakers and white collars who look to be in their mid- to late-30's. I saw Rolexes being flashed and expensive shoes and bags and cakey make-up. Of course the ubiquitous HDB aunties are also represented (including the auntie who kept complaining loudly that the recipe is too difficult). So, quite a motley bunch.


If you've read Maeve Binchy's Evening Class you'll attend any kind of adult classes with a secret anticipation that you'll meet all sorts of normal people with abnormal...I mean, interesting, lives and that it'll lead to a marvellous adventure and leave everyone better off than before. But baking is somewhat different from learning the Italian language so, OK, forget it.

But in attempting to be a good student, I shall try out the choc fudge cake recipe this weekend. The class is really boring, but I want to learn the Milo cake so that the next time Mraz drops by our island again I would have an excuse to go to the airport and scream along with the teenage groupies, "Mraz! I baked this for YOoOU!!" Heh heh.

1 Apr 2006

No more freakin' flu pills


I'll just say it outright: I ain't taking Cl*rin*se no more. If any doctor were to ask for allergies in future I'll state that my mind is allergic to those sugar-coated mini mentos.

You can see that I'm no happy camper here. Last night I was feeling quite bad from a combination of sore throat, runny nose, overproductive phlegm glands (to those smart alecks out there who are going "is there such a thing?": pluck off.) and general heatiness from an overindulgence in mangoes. I took some medication for the throat, antibiotics, and a Cl*rin*se pill.

I was thrashing and tossing the whole night, and whimpering in gratefulness that the next day is not a working day. It was just messing up my whole system: it makes you think you're asleep when you're not and vice versa. Worse, you thought that you were in some parallel universe alongside this one and strange thoughts just keep popping up. I kept scratching my legs which were feeling itchy for some reason. It wasn't mosquito bites as I couldn't find any tell-tale red bumps. If you don't know what I'm talking about, basically I'm saying I was sort of hallucinating last night, yah.

And then, in the middle of it all, I woke up (or not, I can't tell if I was really sleeping) with a feeling that if I don't take in some fluids immediately, I'll really be in danger of expiring. So I ran to down a mug of water, and more.

This morning, when I woke up, I felt as heavy as a rock and even now, as I'm typing away, my fingers are trembling a bit.

I mean, what the freakin' crap is this, messing around with an already precariously erm, nervy mind? A typical day would be when only 1 acquaintance tells me that I'm off the rocker.

Digression: By the way, I note that people are especially wary of those who like to make free associations: e.g. "Mondays are not blue for me, they're yellow because they remind me of lemons". Why's that? When you think about it, many works with creative input are also the result of a certain degree of free-wheeling linking. (e.g. corrupted pigs as communists, hmm.) Write about it in the western world and you get hailed as a genius. Say that out loud in China and a mob would descend on you. Who's to say who's mad and who's not?