Do not take week-old mango, random apples lying around the house, liquids from opened fruit juice bottles in the fridge, and put it all into a non-functioning blender and attempt to make a smoothie.
Do notâ€â€under any circumstancesâ€â€do that.
Unless you want your tummy to pull a Nadia Comaneci and do somersaults all night.
Jay with his date last night.
She was perfect. She was quiet, polite and beautiful. She didn’t lose her head over anything.
So what is the scene at a fashion opening? One called Polite Society?
You ask.
We answer.
And you’re welcome.
PH was in town recently.
He got me the FANTABULOUS camera you see here.
Which I am not at all using as an excuse to post about his visit.
Noooo.
Not at all.
But.
If you’re still reading.
Isn’t it a SUPERLICIOUS camera, anyway?
But I’ll say this: I don’t know how you do it, Art Critic. Go to all these highfalutin things and then make some intelligent comment about it.
I am the lowest common denominator media consumer. I am intimidated at musicals, dances, operas, theater and the like, where artsy peopleâ€â€and why do they all wear tortoise shell glasses?â€â€are using words like Intense Performance, Revelatory Dance Moves, and Ebullient Ending.
I don’t pretend to enjoy theater. Unless it makes me laugh.
I don’t know about ballet either. Unless it makes me laugh.
I certainly have mixed feelings about opera. Unless it makes me laugh.
Whatever Back to the Present was, it wasn’t dance, theater, ballet or anything, really.
It was just, erm, everything.
Thanks to Peter who sent an intriguing email that had me at “inflatable sheep,” I was convinced to check out the show.
There was the sheep all right, about a million stuffed animals, lots of falling down, renditions of 80s hits, choreographed jumping on a giant beanbag, a striptease and a 27-second Armageddon-style mass nakedness at the end of it all.
I don’t care what the critics called it, some things are not to be made sense of. In my book, that was a WTF.
After yet another 15 minutes of my life spent wandering around the food court during lunch hour and finding nothing to eatâ€â€besides the salads, sandwiches, soups, barbecue, obligatory American-Asian foodâ€â€I imploded.
You heard me. IMPLODED. As in TO BURST INWARD.
I may look normal and go about my business, but people, trust me when I say I suddenly became a deflated shell of a human being.
At this point, a meltdown combined with delusional fantasies led to a meal I had avoided since coming to Seattle.
Mickey D’s.
What I needed was any or all of the following: Fish ball noodles, yong tau foo, prawn mee, and oh, oh, oh, chicken rice, char siew bao and Hokkien mee. What I got: The most American of American meals. Would you like some fries with that?
No. More. CheeseSandwichesPastaHamFauxChineseFoodThickBrownSauceColdSaladsRawVegetables. Please.
What I would do for a tissue packet reservation at Zion Road Hawker Center.
First, it was the animals.
Now, it is the blinking cursor.
Taunting. Mocking. A pulsing line. The heartbeat of failure.
When you write for a living, there is nothing worse than nothing.
Nada.
Zip.
0.
I suck at trying to be a vegetarian.
[Full disclosure: My first and only attempt which lasted about a month was undertaken with my good buddy in junior college, Savi. I believe she is still a vegetarian. I am a raging carnivore. Apologies to all things cute and fluffy. I eat you.]
In a moment of delusion, possibly brought on by hunger and exacerbated by that BODIES show, I bought a vegan cookie. I ravaged it.
It, er, tasted kinda chewy, kinda grainy, kindaâ€â€how shall I put this?â€â€yucky.
I suddenly remembered why I sucked at being a vegetarian.
My Disneyfied, McDonaldized tastebuds wouldn’t know natural and healthy even if it walked up and smacked me in the mouth.
I know it was good for me, even if it wasn’t.
Appropriately, my day ended with random meats treated with sodium and preservatives, then stuffed in artificial casings and left to cure.
I know it wasn’t good for me, even if it was. Extremely.
They should put these stickers in every orientation package in every corporate office in the world.
Because an office is an office is an office.
My favorite? I HEART MARKER SMELL.
I could have spent this blog telling you about all the gawddamn gardening I had to do today.
But I’m saving that for another entry. I think I used up my expletive quota talking about it the last time.
Instead, I’ll do what Hollywood does bestâ€â€no, not a sequelâ€â€but a Best Of countdown of my weekend.
(Anti-clockwise from bottom)
(1) On Friday, Jay randomly comments that Americans eat differently from Singaporeans. He piles all the “food” on the rice, but I take the food as I eat. I never noticed that before.
(2) Sunday, I attempt to make tuna sushi and the sticky rice sticks to everything except each other. Apologies to Japan for being a rice idiot.
(3) Jay the “I Can Weld Anything” Weekend Garage Warrior makes a coat rack out of crowbars. That’s hot.
(4) The 1,437th photo of us together. Only one of us is still enthusiastic.
(5) New brewpub Elysian Fields. I love beer. You should too.
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