Jeena turns One!

Jeena turned a big One in July. She’s learning to point and has a voracious appetite. Someone told me that her first word was “Mmm…mmm” (the I-want-food mmm mmm, not the I’m-thinking or I’m-shitting mm mmm). She has her mum’s fat-friendly genes. I foresee Trouble.

P/S: The colourful octopus in the second pic, first row, is my present to her. It’s a uber-cool musical toy by Lamaze which I stumbled upon in Parkson — each leg, when pressed, produces a different note! Together, the 8 legs form an octave, so you can actually play songs on it by pressing the correct leg! Wooooot! So fun.

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The Drugs Don’t Work

Recorded in a sudden moment of inspiration (which, trust me, is very rare). My lungs are giving up on me at the end. Will work on a proper ending next time. Maybe I should have added the Concert Hall reverb just for kicks. 🙂

Listen if you dare: The Drugs Don’t Work (cover)

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The Worm Song

A song my colleague Josie taught me. Love it!

Nobody loves me
Everybody hates me
I wanna eat some worm!
Long worm, short worm
Fat worm, thin worm
All that wriggle and squirm!

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Mr Wurfel

Mr Wurfel reminds me of myself and my indecisions. Tut–I can’t afford to die by piano.

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What did *you* get for Christmas?

“So, what did you get for Christmas?” Paul my Brit CD asked as I brewed my regular morning coffee at the pantry.

“Um… nothing,” I said. “Except maybe… life? Eternal life? From Jesus?” I grinned.

“Wow, cooooool!” he enthused. “I didn’t get eternal life! I only got a mug!”

(Thanks, Jesus.)

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CeritAku | The Quest for the Elusive Chicken Wings

Part 1: CeritAku, No Black Tie

Finally made it to ‘Readings’ at No Black Tie, after missing it in August ’07. The line-up for the year’s finalé was: Jerome Kugan, Amir Muhammad, Dain Said, (Bernice Chauly–a bit too brief to qualify), Pang, Jac SM Kee, Shanon Shah. I didn’t like my watered-down sangria but the readings were sufficiently engaging/entertaining. As a (copy)writer, I realised that listening to people read brings about a different appreciation of a text than if you’d read it as you normally do–silently. I think this is somewhat related to why I suck at writing scripts.

(Speaking of readings, you must, must check out Neil Gaiman’s readings of his latest children’s book, ‘The Graveyard’. Go listen to it here for free.)

Part 2: The Great Chicken Wing Hunt, Jalan Alor

Work on a recent campaign had forced me to do some research on ‘exciting’ places in KL. That included the ‘exciting’ Jalan Alor, which led to the discovery–in theory–of Wong Ah Wah’s famous chicken wings. Since we were in the vicinity, we decided to grab a rare bite at Jalan Alor  so that I could track down these gloriously reviewed birds.

We walked up Jalan Alor but didn’t see any stall selling chicken wings, except at the end where there were a few. Their generic names (BBQ Chicken Wings) conspired to confuse me. Which was the famous Wong Ah Fook wings?! (I was so confused I also got the name wrong). One seemed busier than the other and the tables were red, so being Chinese, we sat there and ordered 6 wings.

After a long wait, only 2 arrived. The skin on the wings was taut and well marinated, gleaming under the fluorescent lights. I closed my eyes and tentatively sunk my teeth into the first, waiting for the world to intertwine with the escaping steam, swirling and twirling into roller-coaster colour; my tastebuds hitting the gastronomic G-spot courtesy of the world’s best chicken wings.

“So, how’s it?” a voice broke my drawn-out anticipation.

I opened my eyes.

“Okay lah,” I replied, scrutinising the half-chomped wing before me. It was okay with a nice texture, but nothing in the league of extraordinary. In the periphery, the second chicken wing stall taunted me. Could that be…?

We finished the wings and moved on to the next stall. Poofie ordered 4 wings. I crossed my fingers as she chatted with the restaurant lady.

“Is this stall called Wong Ah Fook?” she asked in Chinese.

“Two watermelon juice?” the lady repeated.

“No, no. Is this stall called Wong Ah Fook?”

“Oh, you’re looking for Wong Ah… Fook? Hmm, I think it’s down the road,” she said. “You didn’t see the stall? Maybe it’s closed… But you know, all these chicken wings are really the same…”

My heart sank. More ‘wrong’ chicken wings would have to be consumed in this crazy quest–and it was already 1a.m.. The birds arrived and they were larger than the previous stall’s. Poofie liked these best.

Stomach in overdrive, we walked down the road back to where we came from, reading signboard after signboard. Suddenly, at the very end of the road, was Wong Ah Wah’s famous spring chicken wings stall. It was open! My brains and stomach started a whining match.

“Dammit, I’m going to order some!” I said, and did. Poofie rolled her eyes. Whutevar…

(  [o }===:::

(If you’re wondering, yeah, they were quite good… greasy, succulent, flavourful. They also tasted like chicken.)

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A Snake Visits Us

All I had wanted was a cup of cold milk heaped with Aussie Milo, to go with the book I was reading. Instead, I entered the kitchen to find my dad holding a stick, beating at the orange-tiled floor.

“There’s a snake there.”

“What?!” I squinted, and figured it would be far better for my survival if I could actually SEE the snake. I scooted up to get my glasses. Upstairs, I told my mum about the snake.

“What?!” she cried, panic and disbelief in her voice.

“Lalalalala…” I trotted downstairs as she followed suit.

In our 30 years+ of staying at this house, I don’t recall any snake visits. Maybe my parents might tell you otherwise since they are older and have seen more things, but generally, snakes don’t slither in through our doors every other day, which you know, is a good thing. So this piece of news was a surprise.

“Kill it lah, what are you waiting for?!” my mum ordered my dad who was standing around, looking at the baby snake.

“Use hot water!” I suggested. “But first, hmmm… why don’t you wear shoes?” as I ran out to put on a pair of slippers for ‘protection’.

Sighing, probably more from having to take orders from a bunch of women than having to murder an (innocent) animal, my dad took the flask of hot water and held it up over the snake tentatively, muttering something I couldn’t hear.

“Sorry?!” screamed my mum. “Why are you saying ‘sorry’ to the snake–just kill it!”

Reluctantly, my dad poured hot water over the thin brown creature which measured not more than 1 foot. It was curled up loosely at Lump’s old fav spot–under the pink stool. “Sorry, boy.” Now that I heard.

“It’s an earthworm lah, not a snake!” said my mum suddenly, as the thing jumped and wriggled under the heat, slowly turning more rubbery and grey. My dad poured another round of hot water on it. It struggled, and ceased to move.

“It’s a snake lah,” I said. “Look at its triangular head!”

True enough, it had a small triangular head, which my dad later said meant that it was probably a cobra, and poisonous. My mum was worried that its mother might be nearby, but my dad thought that it came from the outside drain.

However, drains don’t give birth to snakes the last I checked, so I think my household will need to be a  bit more vigilant in the upcoming days. Not forgetting, to keep our glasses on.

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