The exciting adventures of the rooster who lives in Spottiswoode Park

Today, while I was taking a walk down my block, I saw our friendly neighbourhood rooster strut across the road at the zebra crossing. The cars on both sides of the street stopped to let him cross. It was hilarious! I wished I had caught it on video.

This is the rooster who lives in Spottiswoode Park.



This is the rooster running away from me.

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Running mantra #5

Sometimes it is just a matter of putting on your shoes and getting out the door.

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The Stone Gods by Jeanette Winterson

This is possibly the funniest book by Jeanette Winterson I've read so far. It isn't all-throughout funny the way Terry Pratchett or P. G. Wodehouse is funny — this is fundamentally still a Winterson book: lyrical, beautiful, heart wrenching — but seriously, there was one particular scene that had me rolling on the floor (see page 175-77).

I'm so tempted to type it out for you here but somehow I think that you need the previous 174 pages to appreciate the hilarity (it is also a bit too R.A. for the family readership of this blog, but who am I kidding that I have a "family readership"?); besides, you may want to read the book and I don't want to spoil it for you.

The Stone Gods is about the future but it is also about the past. It is about a world on repeat, and how love — interplanetary love — is an intervention. But I'm giving away too much as it is. Read it with your own experiences as a guide.

Again, Winterson takes me by surprise with her words.

Spike came forward and put her arms around me. `One day, tens of millions of years from now, someone will find me rusted into the mud of a world they have never seen, and when they crumble me between their fingers, it will be you they find.' (79)

I said to Spike, `Is this how it ends?'
She said, `It isn't ended yet.' (88)

Your lips are moving, what is it you say? Your lips are moving over mine, what is it? I will set you in the sky and name you. I will hide you in the the earth like treasure.
Snow is covering us. Close your eyes and sleep. Close your eyes and dream. This is one story. There will be another. (93)

Life is all partings. James Hogan, First Mate. I loved him with the patience of an oyster longing for a pearl.
So be it. (102)

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There is a rooster in my neighbourhood

It crows at 4:30am.

The first time I heard him crow, I thought it was somebody's obnoxiously loud cock-crowing ring tone, the city-livin' gal that I am. But then I saw him strutting in the neighbourhood the next day, as if he owned it.

Now I get to wake up to a real rooster crowing every morning.

I can't decide if it is a good thing.

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Non-intuitive shortcuts

Excel
Double-click cell to edit content: Ctrl-U
Insert cell: Alt-click
Insert line in text within cell: Ctrl-Alt-Enter

Firefox
Shift between tabs: Ctrl-Tab

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Addicted to (fluff)Friends

Olio likes to eat pink cupcakes, pizza, salad, jellybeans, cherries, chocolate frogs, leaves, and even generic canned fluff food. He's not too fussy, my elephant.

And he bulldozes at a sweet speed of 664 fph.

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Kinda warms the cockles of your heart

This is about running, and so much more.

http://abcnews.go.com/Video/playerIndex?id=4003490&affil=wpvi

via Joan

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A Mac gripe

I've been using a Mac for just about a year now and I still can never remember if a shortcut requires shift, ctrl, alt/ option, command, or any combination of the above. For whatever reason, the allocation of shortcut keys just isn't intuitive to me. In spite of using the print screen command on a Mac regularly (Shift-Apple-3 or Shift-Apple-4, not to mention the spacebar toggle), I get lapses in my memory. In comparison, despite not having used a PC in eons, I can still remember it is Alt-Print Screen! What's up?

I also forget the force quit combination (Alt-Command-Esc) while ctrl-alt-delete has become a catchphrase for me in regular conversation. (Why? PC hang ah? Ctrl-Alt-Delete lah!)

In a PC, accessing anything on the menu bar uses ctrl. Ctrl is the first line of shortcut keys. If you require a second shortcut key, it would be alt. But on a Mac? Who knows? To access my Calculator, it is Alt-Command-C. To get Quicksilver, it is Ctrl-Spacebar; spotlight Apple-Spacebar. To save, copy, paste, it is Command-S, -C, or -V. Not to mention the mysterious Fn key. Now, what in the world is the Fn key for? (Actually, I don't want to know. Having an extra shortcut key ups the number of possible permutations to a terrifying number.)

Is there a reason to this madness that I am not grasping?

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The onslaught of social networking

Suddenly, with facebook, remembering someone's birthday ain't that big a deal any more.

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A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon

A Spot of Bother is a disarmingly accurate portrayal of the complexity of relationships.

I see a bit too much of myself in Jamie and Katie.

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Heartland by Daren Shiau

This book is so Singaporean that I feel that I could have written it myself. Of course that is an obnoxious statement to make since I am only an arm chair critic with no books to her name, but the sentiment is true: it feels like I could have written it, because everything in the book is so run-of-the-mill Singaporean.

I could have talked about the atrocity of maids sitting at dinner tables minding the kids while the parents eat. Or about the class gap, the language gap, the NS experience (okay, maybe not that). Every opinion is so ordinary.

Perhaps if I had read it in a nostalgic mood while living overseas I would have lapped up the Singaporean references greedily. The bus tickets folded into the metal bar of the seat in front; the midnight charge of taxis, etc. But since I was in a mood for something that transported me from my present life — something that gave me a new perspective of life — I was disappointed with this novel. Besides, what kind of an ending was that?

Although I don't usually buy my books, I don't regret paying good money for Heartland at all. Literature holds the culture and history of a nation, and it is important to cherish these things.

I think as for now, our films may be better than our books though. I thought the film Singapore Dreaming kicked ass.

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Running on Barker Road

To me, the barker road loop is the mother of all running routes. I loved it, and I hated it. The barker road loop was where I first learnt how to run. It was where I came face to face with physical fatigue and mental games, not to mention, spiritual analogies. It was where I found myself painfully aware of what I longed for. It was my benchmark run. It was my everyday run.

Gosh I've missed it. I used to run it at least once a week. I ran it so much that I came to dread it, preferring to run the botanic loop in later years just because it was more enjoyable. I ran the barker loop today again, not the full two rounds but a modified one loop plus extra, and I realised how well I knew every incline, every manhole, every turn. I knew exactly how long it took to reach the top of the steep hill, and exactly when the menacing dogs would starting barking their heads off.

In the tradition of the early posts, the numbers from today's evening run.

Distance: 5.8 km
Time: 36.2 mins
Speed: 9.6 km/hr

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Better than a holiday

This is what I'm having for breakfast.



And this is where I'm having it.





I'm housesitting for a good friend while they are in Phuket. Their home is gorgeous, with beautiful nooks perfect for a breakfast for one. It is raining right now as I'm typing on my Mac. I can see and smell the rain, and feel the coolness of the air, but I am dry. My Mac is dry, the bottom of my pants are dry, and I have grapes to eat. This is better than a holiday.

Yesterday after breakfast, I blogged, got some work done, took a shower, put on a face mask, got a massage in the massage chair, played tennis, boxing and baseball on the Wii, and cooked myself a pack of instant noodles. At night, I walked out for chicken rice, went to catch a movie, then came back to a bed with a duvet. And today I'll do the same, give or take a few.

For my friends who have been so sweet to care how I am, thank you, I am getting better. There are still tears every day, more painful and despairing than I've ever felt before, but hope whispers to me in the middle of the day. Never in the morning nor at night, but unexpectedly in the late mornings and early afternoons. I only wish hope whispers to my friends too...

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Breakfast

Someone commented not too long ago that food had the power to lift my spirits. I was surprised how well she knew me — I had no idea until she pointed it out — but she's right.

It is not food per se, not how good it tastes even, but the ritual of eating that gives me comfort. It is the zen -like notion that when all is said and done, after all the achievements, heartaches and grief, everybody needs to stop and eat so that they can carry on. "After you eat, wash your bowl," the Zen Buddhists say. Life is as simple as doing what you need to do to keep going.

Sharing a meal is an intimate thing for me. The native Americans had the tradition of showing their ultimate acceptance and inclusion of guests into their society: they ate them. I don't get that intimate. I met an old friend yesterday evening for a late dinner at Whampoa Hawker Centre and we went about ordering food the way we used to when we used to hang out every weekend — Hokkien mee, Oyster Egg and Sugarcane. It felt familiar: him heaping the prawns and sotong (squid) onto my plate because he's allergic to seafood. Lucky for my cholesterol levels, I don't meet him for Hokkien mee and Oyster egg that often!

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner, and maybe a snack in between. The nursing homes got it right — a snack of tau huay (curdled soy bean desert) and a snack of milo and biscuits in the afternoon. I love the word "snack". Right now, my appetite has shrunk so I can barely stomach a full meal, but still, the idea of three meals will keep me sane.

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Way-in | Way-out

This is the story of my life.

I am the elder of two sisters. My family could be the poster child of the family campaign in the 1970s— two sisters sharing an umbrella in the rain. Two is enough, even when the two are girls. In China, one is enough. I wonder how they bear the burden of elderly parents over there. Not that it makes a difference to me, since my sister is married overseas and I am here alone. But I ramble, the point of this story is this: my story is everybody's story.

It is a story of identity, of love lost and found, of God, of family, of friends. I am only thirty years old this year. I've lived for only half as long as my parents. If my grandparents were still alive, I would have lived only a third of their years, but we have stopped counting the years for them. When you die, you stop counting. Your fingernails keep growing, but not in Singapore, because we cremate our dead over here. Nothing keeps growing after death, not here any way. Maybe if you're overseas, you could be fertilizer for grass or a tree or something, but not here. Over here, your next-of-kin will huddle around a pink plastic box and pick out in order: thigh bone, collar bone, skull; then stick you in an urn so that you will be the right-way-up. Then, depending on your religion, you'll either be carried out by the first male next-of-kin under a paper umbrella or you'll be carried out without any ceremony at all, and then placed right-way-up beside a row of other right-way-up dead people. All our skulls point to heaven. Where did the heart fly off to?

But I am getting ahead of myself. That is where I will end up, but for now, I live in a concrete room, stacked on top of 17 other families and underneath two. I have a lovely view of the port — that is the port with the deep natural harbour; the railway station that sits on Malaysia land, and a lovely expressway that rumbles with traffic day-in day-out. (I know that day in is two words. Pooh says "Way-in" and "Way-out". It makes more sense that way. Life is a turnstile with two signs: "way-in" dayindayout "way-out".)

Being depressed is a bad way to start a story.

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CHAPTER TWO: Where mis_nomer tries to think about happier things

...

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CHAPTER THREE: Which comes after chapter two, where she reminds readers that she really does have a story to tell

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Friends from far away..

Friends from far away, thank you.

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I am afraid

My life is a mess right now. I am so afraid.

Please pray for me and my friends. Pray that angels will watch over us and keep us from evil.

I am terrified at the hurt I've inflicted and I don't know what to do.

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Tomorrow: Standard Chartered Marathon 2007

To all runners taking part:

All the best! Have a great run!

Cheers,
mis_nomer

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