Drinking in a converted chapel-church that used to be a mortuary?
That’s a puzzle wrapped in a mind-boggler, inside a conundrum.
See the living party with spirits.
Monthly Archive for August, 2006
We had dinner at Top Gun Chinese Restaurant tonight (Yes, another egregious example of Asian-American-Chinese restaurant naming that refreshingly bucked the usual trend of some combination of Happy Bamboo, Panda Dragon and Imperial Buddha Pagoda.)
As customary in America, we were given our fortunes which I excitedly opened. And since I’m an indecisive pessimistic idealist, I rely on Fortune Cookies to tell me what to do.
However, I was sorely disappointed in this fortune.
You may attend a party where strange customs prevail.
Firstly, I was not invited to any party.
Secondly, the statement expressed possibility, not definitiveness.
Thirdly, “strange customs”? With no details? That’s just unfair!
Give me the likes of “Good news is on the way” or “You will win the lottery” any day. At least I know what to do next: Keep an eye out for an email from James Nachtwey saying he’s coming to visit, or go buy a lottery ticket.
With tonight’s fortune, I am not sure what to do.
If anyone’s having a party, I’m available till my fortune comes true.
Because he gets this excited about drinking Rock Star.
And because he’ll drive more than four hours to see a kite festival.
We recently found ourselves sitting in front of a group of 40-something women who were having a reunion of sorts.
“How are you?” “What are you doing now?” “You divorced twice?”
All through dinner, I overheard them exchanging updates, from names of kids to names of ex-es. It was very Sex-in-the-City. Everyone looked chic, put together and carried expensive purses.
Would I do that at 40? Then I realized I didn’t have a girlfriend posse here (or Singapore for that matter, where I have a Straits Times posse instead).
What I do have is a couple of great girlfriends who just don’t happen to hang in the same hemisphere at once.
I’m ambivalent when I hear of women going on all-girlfriend nights out, camps, events, bridal showers, et cetera. I can’t tell if I secretly want something like that, or I’m glad I’m not trapped in something like that.
It’s hard enough trying to relate to people ANYwhere, to find similar crass joking, cynical yet idealistic, beer-swigging people to talk about life, love, war and politics without using gender to automatically define a commonality.
Jay noted I hung out with more guys than girls. So I don’t have monthly hormonal gatherings of the nth degree, but I’m grateful for my buddies (dudes and dudettes) all over the world. In a perfect universe, we’d use our private jets to meet on Waikiki for our weekly drink-and-talk-cock sessions.
This just in: Donuts have been demoted to the status of “dwarf cakes” that are merely “carb-like” and not actual carbs.
At the recent session of the Do Or Do Nuts’ XXVIth General Meeting in Dot’s Living Room, a vote was carried out that determined the fate of this favorite snack food.
This re-classification puts into jeopardy years of diet plans and doctors’ advice on the avoidance of Donuts as “bad carbs”. With this new definition of “carb-like dwarf cake”, the Donut will gain renewed respect as the healthy choice of all Mankind.
It joins the ranks of fellow “dwarf cakes” Tiramisu and a pastry known as G048.
In a surprise statement after the marathon session, the Do Nutters maintained the status of kale and salad leaves as “yucky but necessary”.
I know I was thrilled to buy socks from a vending machine not too long ago, but this iPod vending machine I saw in Macy’s stopped me cold in my tracks.
I don’t know what you call this over there, but here in the U.S. of A., specifically Seattle, more specifically Noodle Zone in Westlake Center in downtown Seattle, thisâ€â€THISâ€â€is Singapore Noodles.
I am wary of foods purportedly labeled Singapore Anything, but this one intrigued me because it wasn’t the usual dried bee hoon in curry powder.
I was hopeful, but there’s no Singapore Noodles in Singapore, so what the heck was I thinking?
I guess we’d like to imagine we can reduce a country’s flavors into a single dish. Growing up, I used to think of steak as “Western Food”. That seems so quaint now.
It was surreal the other day when Jay and I attended the opening of an upscale Chinese restaurant. The lion dancers and the dragons must have been a sight for the non-Asian Americans, at the same time the samples of green-tea infused tofu thingamajigs must have confused the traditional Asians looking for some plain old dimsum.
Is this what Asians in America think non-Asians look for in “Asian” cuisine?
I’m going to bed. Wake me up when you’ve figured this out.
Here is Jay serenading a Japanese Maple tree. This, folks, is the right way to check if your tree is healthy.
And while we’re on the subject, isn’t plant-buying a lot like pet-buying?
Does the plant stand up straight to get your attention or flop over on the ground like a defeated animal? Does the plant look well-fed? Does the plant behave and keep its leaves to itself?
And when you bring it home, does it not need your care and constant conversation?
I thought so.
Wish us luck. Because we’re now the proud owners of at least 15 pets.
I am a kid when it comes to some things.
That giddy happiness in finding a cool Hello Kitty artifact.
That immense satisfaction of biting into a piece of crispy bacon.
But most of all…
…that timeless second just before nailing the landing on a LoveSac.
It’s an indescribable feeling of being airborne; it’s a weightless moment of Michael-Jordan-hangtime proportions.
It’s, in a nutshell, S.O. A.W.E.S.O.M.E.
No matter how many times I’ve leapt onto our new giant beanbag, I still grin like a silly five-year-old with a new Pez dispenser.
How do I explain it?
I clear my mind. I let go. I defy gravity.
I float.
If Mankind existed in that SINGLE second on the space-time continuum, there would be no fighting, no wars, no disputes.
Trust me.
I love tofu.
I love meat.
And always the twain shall meet.
It’s funny how my beloved tofu is cast as the “vegetarian’s food” here, while back home, tofu is embraced by carnivorous Singaporeans in every form.
I used to be horrified when I saw tofu burgers or tofu hotdogs in the supermarket, but that indignition has since subsided. (I mean, I love both, but not as a single item.)
Jay didn’t even used to eat too much tofuâ€â€until he met me, the Tofu-Eating Machine.
I don’t know if it’s the marketing campaign, the “sissy food” classification or the lack of awesome Yong Tau Foo here, but you won’t find too many meat-lovers touching tofu with a 10-foot pole.
Meat strong! Tofu Weak!
Pffft, what nonsense! Now shut up and eat your tofu!
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