School Boy

Come Wednesday, 3rd Jan 2006, Jesse will begin an exciting (hopefully) chapter in his life - Kindergarten. I'm anxious like hell cos we've never left him alone in the company of strangers before. So we don't really know what to expect. Anyway, tomorrow Mae and will have to attend the kindie's Orientation Day which should manage our expectations quite a bit.

Wish us luck. :)

The Science of Chinese Mothers

I remember vividly during one of our Ante-Natal classes before Jesse came about. Dr. Musa, a Pediatrician popular amongst many parents, was addressing the class.

"You Chinese mothers are obsessed with water," he said, venting out in frustration at how the Chinese always insist on feeding their babies water. "There's water in his milk," he reasoned, half pleading in his last ditched attempt to talk some sense into the predominantly Chinese crowd.

I shook my head in pity. Poor Dr. Musa fails to understand that the Laws of the Universe will suspend itself for the Chinese Mother. Allow me to present my short thesis on Water & the Science of Chinese Mothers.

WATER & THE SCIENCE OF CHINESE MOTHERS

Chemistry
The chemical composition of water is dynamically altered when combined with any powdered beverage, especially baby milk formula. Under such a circumstance, water no longer retains its property as a radical and is rendered ineffective as a hydrating agent. The effects are similar in any instances where good flavour is added to water. The opposite is true when bad flavour, such as the bitterness of Chinese herbs, are combined with water. As a conclusion, any water that taste good can never be considered water by the Chinese mother, while anything that is crappy is still water.

Physics
Exposed to extreme cold temperatures of 0°Celcius and below, thermodynamics dictates that water transforms, abandoning its liquid characteristic to attain its new solid form of ice. Consumed into the human body and exposed to body temperatures of 37°Celcius beyond the melting point of ice however, does not transform this new substance back into water. Therefore it should be rejected any notion that suggests the consumption of ice is equal to the consumption of water. Water in any form that may be fun can never be considered water by the Chinese mother.

Biology
The Chinese human body is composed of more than 70% water, and therefore no consumption of water may be adequate for the Chinese infant or child. The ideal balance for the Chinese child would be a biological composition of 99% water and 1% child. Water in any quantity less than overly-abundant can never be considered sufficient.

In the interest of your general well-being and to ensure a continued supply of sex at home, the Chinese father must quickly embrace The Science of Chinese Mothers. Coming next, The Intellect of Chinese Mothers-In-Law, a short thesis that debunks the myth than any medical or nutritional degree may surpass the wisdom of the average Chinese Mother-In-Law.

This has been a community message brought to you by loopymeals.blogspot.com and could very well be the last!

Disciplining the Discipliner

Just last Friday, Jesse had gone to bed as usual at 11-ish. It was a relieve that he finally slept, as I had only had an hours sleep the night before.

At 4am, he woke up crying. He was having a bit of rash and it was causing him a lot of discomfort. We swabbed him off with Calamine Lotion and it was all okay again, except the boy decided that since he was already up, he would spend his waking hours fruitfully, with a dose of Barney.

"Just for awhile, ok?" Mae laid down the law, and our son was happy as a lark. After watching for about a half hour, Mae decided that he should go back to bed and that was when all hell broke loose. He screamed and screech and started tugging at Mommy.

Mae brought out a plastic ruler and warned the boy to shut it, but at that point, he was already way in over his head - bringing that very same head down onto our parquet flooring in successive thumpings. Mae lashed him twice on the arm and he cried even louder, protesting the injustice that was upon him. Then he started biting and gnawing at his Barney doll. And that's when I intervened.

"If you don't like Barney anymore, Daddy's gonna throw him away!" I warned. He stopped. Then he headed for the door and started yanking at the door knob. I warned him to stop but he ignored me. Then I brought to plastic ruler down on his arm, lightly but firmly.

It was the first time I ever hit him and I immediately hated myself for it. It broke his heart and he turned to his mother for solace. He cried his eyes out, and I, mine.

"Don't let your son see you like that," Mae assured me what I had done was the right thing to do. But it didn't make me feel any better. It certainly didn't make the tears stop flowing from my eyes. I felt terrible. As it is, due to my work, he doesn't get to see very much of me - and it seemed like what little time I had with him, I spent it beating him.

It took only a short while for Mommy to lull him back to sleep but for me, the rest of the night was hell.

Not my finest hour, I know. I guess this whole parenting thing is a lot tougher than it looks.

Pot-O-Poop

About a month back, we decided that it might be a good idea to start Jesse at a playschool in 2007. This, as ideas go, is fine except for one small little niggle - our boy is not toilet trained.

"I'm taking off his diaper," Mae proclaimed authoritatively. There was this look of sheer determination and rebellion printed on her face, much like those Che Guevara t-shirts you see at Petaling Street. That look meant I should shut up.

Needless to say, this is all very alien to Jesse. And so, we have had our fair share of minor accidents all over the house, as well as the Mother-In-Law's. Me, being me, I found it all very amusing; but let me tell you that finding poop all over your expensive Persian rug is no laughing matter. *ahem*

We try to schedule the boy's fecal activities but alas, that's as easy as predicting the next lightning strike. Put him on the pottie, and Mr. Poopie is no-show. Take him off and, well, you know the story. For some reason, taking a dump in a receptacle was just too weird for the boy.

Then, yesterday, for no reason at all the boy decided, "Ahh, what the heck," and let it all out into the pottie!!! There was cheering and clapping and high-fives throughout the land. Jesse is finally getting the hang of it. With any luck, he'll be good and ready come 2007!

Temper, Temper

Mae tells me our boy has a bit of a temper. But it was only today that I experienced it for my own. And let me tell you that it wasn't some mild stomping of the feet - we're talking some full blown, serious Emily Rose shit!!!

We were on the way out of the house today when the boy decided he'd rather be watching Barney instead. And when Mommy said no, the boy started gnawing on the VCD. Mae grabs the disk and slaps him lightly on the hand and that's when it started.

He screams at the top of his voice, wailing for justice, and threshing all over the floor. Then he starts trying to rip his shoes off his feet. And when I tried to carry him out, he grabs on the door frame. After a whole lot of tugging and pulling and kicking and screaming, he finally calmed down when I managed to divert his attention.

To be honest, I'm not sure I know how to handle this. I can't be diverting his attention all the time when what he really needs is a little disciplining. *sigh*

That Barney - he's the tool of the devil, I tell you!

Ugly But Adorable

candid jesse

In my mind, and that of Mae's, Jesse is the cutest little boy on the planet. And as though it was some weird fringe benefit of parenthood, people around us are most willing to agree with us. Never mind if they think he looks like the ass-end of baby gorilla, they'd still say he's cute.

Still, for Mae and I, we do appreciate the way Jesse looks now. Whenever we go through some of his old photos, we'd get a shock as to how weird he looked when he was much younger. Heh! And then we realised that, hey, back then we thought he was cute too. So it's pretty safe to say that our barometer for beauty is a little out of whack. :)

I remember distinctively the day Jesse was born. The moment he popped out of his mother's... erm... body, he had this really contorted expression - his eyes, nose, lips and ears all squashed from all that squeezing in the tight confines of Mommy's womb. To make matters worse, he looks like my dad.

I know this sounds harsh, but at that very moment, my heart sank. My baby was butt-ugly. "Poor boy," I thought to myself, "we're gonna have to love him more than ever now."

Thankfully in the last couple of years, he smoothened out, grew some hair, sprouted some teeth and developed, in our opinion, a winning smile. Sure, our kid is no beauty pageant finalist but at least he's no longer hideous. Thank God for that.

Read this too:
Skin Deep

Where's Daddy?

It's been going on for over a month now. Jesse has discovered the word "where" and he's been putting it to good use.

Whenever Mommy leaves the room, he'd go, "Where's Ahmie?" If Roma goes to the john, then it's, "Where's Kakak?" And when his 3-hourly lactose fix is not forthcoming, he'd go, "Where's nen-nen?" It's all very cute and not quite as annoying as the dreaded "why" which toddlers have been known ask incessantly, if only to drive their parents to the brink of insanity.

And then there's, "Where's Daddy?"

I'd been working hard lately. Morning's I'd leave at 7:30am, way before the kid wakes and some days, I'd only get home at midnight long after my boy had gone to sleep. Last night was one such night.

"He was almost crying," Mae told me earnestly.I could imagine it. His sad little face. His puppy dog eyes. His cute little lips curled into little frown.

It broke my heart into a million pieces. At that very moment I loathed my job and hated having to work so much. So what if I managed to make a million bucks only to break my son's heart over and over again? I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Which is probably why I'll never be a millionaire. Which is also why I'll never be able to leave Jesse with a nice inheritance. I'd only be able to give him my love. Hopefully that's adequate.

Kindie Kiddie

too cool for skool

It's alarming how early kids are going to school these days. Back in my day, kids had only one year of kindergarten before they started school at the age of 7, and that was adequate.

I did one year at the Methodist Kindergarten of Taiping and look how well I turned out. Today I read and write in two languages and speak in three. I remember how to dissect a rat, calculate the value of inertia and determine the length of the hypotenuse in a right triangle. Of course none of these knowledge has come to any use in my life so far, but hey, you never know when you might need to dissect a vermin.

Which bring us to Jesse. Kids today are starting school at 3. By 4, they're bringing back homework. My God! Whatever happened to a normal childhood?

Don't get me wrong, I value education but sending kids to school at 3 must surely be pushing them a little. When I was 3, I was playing in the backyard discovering tadpoles, chasing dragonflies and watching dogs f*ck frolic. By 4, I was digging up earthworms and plucking mulberries. At the age of 5, I was chasing cats and playing with my pet ducklings. When I finally got to age 6, I was good and ready for school. Now THAT, my friends, was a well lived-out childhood. And if that's good enough for me, surely it's good enough for my son.

But suddenly it's the year 2024. Jesse is applying to get into college. "What?!? Your parents never sent you to kindergarten? Everybody goes to kindergarten," the registrar would tell him, "Sorry kid, looks like your parents really screwed you over. We only accept students who has had an early childhood learning program."

Yeah. And so last week we took the boy kindie shopping. I sold out. I buckled under peer pressure. My only consolation is, this might be a normal childhood for his generation. Poor kid. *sigh*

Pakistani Raya Treat

watch out for the goats

This year, the Hari Raya holidays proved to be quite the culinary experience for us. A Pakistani friend invited us over for an authentic Pakistani offering - Haleem.

Haleem is as Pakistani as Benazir Bhutto, except that you can't eat Benazir Bhutto. Actually you can, but you probably shouldn't. *ahem*

But I digress. Haleem is a wheat and mutton porridge popular amongst Pakistanis and Indian Muslims throughout the world, especially during Ramadhan (so says Wikipedia, though I none of my Indian Muslim friends here have ever served this!)

Farid's version was made with wheat, barley, rice and 5 different kinds of lentils; and just as much mutton. He had started cooking the night before and after a good eight hours of simmering on the stove, he and his posse of apprentice chefs remove the mutton, shred it into fine slivers and dump the whole lot back into the pot.

Served with fried shallots, bird-eye chillies, shredded ginger, a good squeeze of lime juice and some excellent indian spice powder, the name of which I cannot remember, Haleem is the kind of dish you die for. This Hari Raya, I died four times at Farid's house.

By the time I got home I was stuffed. But deep in my heart, I regretted not taking my fifth serving. *sigh* Next year I'll know better.

All Worked Out

Today seems to be the longest day of my career. It's 4:07 am and I have been sitting at the computer since yesterday morning and the work is really only trickling out. I feel so uninspired that I bored myself to sleep just a moment ago.

Advertising is the kind of industry that has its moments. I remember the adrenaline rush when I sold my first ad concept. I remember tasting blood when I won my first pitch. I remember the thrill of seeing my work published for the first time. Don't get me wrong, I still do get a kick out of seeing my work out there. I still love the look on the faces of the clients when they fall in love with my proposals. I still secretly admire those giant banners I designed for the church. I do still get a rush seeing all those people wearing Yvonne's t-shirt and seeing how it's gotten her to LA and all.

But at times like tonight, I really wish I were doing something else. Things that let me share in the joys of other people. Like maybe a wedding planner or something. Ok. Too gay. Maybe a wedding video guy or something or a wedding invitation card designer. Or a face painter at a kiddie party. Or a char kuey teow guy who makes char kuey teow that everybody queues up to eat. Or a rocking horse designer. Or the guy who serves fried rice at old people's gatherings. Y'know, fun things like that.

Speaking of which, I'd been thinking of making Jesse a set of pyjamas much like the yellow jumpsuit that Bruce Lee wore in the Game of Death. That'd be quite cool. And fun too.

Return of The Queen

Some weeks back during the Raya holidays, some of my relatives made their way home to Taiping to commemorate 3-7 (the 21st day) of Ah Por's passing.

According to Taoist rituals, every seventh day up to the 49th day marks an important event - though most Chinese usually observe the 7th and 49th day, as these are most important. On the 7th day, the dearly departed becomes aware of her demise and returns home for a final tour before descending to hell; while on the 49th day, a permanent home is established for her in the nether world. As for all that time in between the 7th and the 49th, her spirit roams our world.

So anyway, it was the holidays and the gang decided to make a trip - partly to keep my Mom company, participate in the rituals and also to help unearth whatever treasures that Grandma had stashed away.

Then came night.

At about 4am, my cousin's wife awoke to answer to nature's call. She was returning to bed when she glanced at the front door some 200ft away (our house is really long) and there was Ah Por! The old lady had returned.

Anyway, we decided to go home over the weekend - Mae, Roma, Jesse and my brother, Steve. I told Mae that I wanted to see Mom but Steve and I were really more curious to see Ah Por - or a ghostly apparition of her. Neither of us had ever seen a ghost before and we thought it might be quite the experience.

Anyway, Mae chickened out and we had to stay in a hotel. And Grandma decided that just Stephen alone wasn't worth her making an appearance.

So much for that idea. Luckily the food in Taiping, as always, was great.

Keeping Up

On Sunday, Mae and I went out on our first Blogging Parents Meet, organised by Jason (who's a... erm... parent-in-training... heh!). Anyway, it was a nice little outing and we met some nice folks and their kids. Check out Egghead's blog for details.

"Shit, honey," Mae whispered in my ear in the middle of my Grilled McChicken, "all these kids are toilet-trained." I scanned the room, and true enough, it looked as though none of the kids were wearing diapers. And then we started making other comparisons.

Other kids were toilet-trained.

Other kids were friendly, shaking hands, smiling and posing for photos. Our reclusive little boy took evasive action every time someone came near him.

Other kids were eating french fries, burgers and nuggets. Jesse ate one and a half french fry.

*sigh*

I don't know what's worst; a kid who's lagging a little on the uptake, or his shitty parents who are always comparing him with other kids. I'm thinking you'll be choosing shitty parents.

A Shitty Encounter

OK, this one is really gonna gross you out. I hate walking into a public toilet to find someone's shit still in the toilet bowl. It pisses me off royally.

So anyway, Sunday I was at the spanking new Digital Mall in Sec 14, PJ when I decided to take a whizz. I walk into the cubicle nearest to the toilet entrance and readied myself to do my deed, when lo and behold, inside the sparkling white ceramic bowl was the biggest pile of turd I had ever seen.

Instinctively, I headed for the door to choose another cubicle, but being the nice guy that I was, I decided to flush the john before I left. Simply because it was the decent thing to do.

I pulled the lever and watched a flood of water spiral into the bowl. Meanwhile I position myself for a quick escape should the water suddenly flood over in case there was a blockage. But no, the water flowed smoothly and rapidly and trickled to a stop, the bubbling and splashing now slowing. As I waited to see the result of my community service, I began rationalised to myself that there was no more a need to use another cubicle since this one was now clean.

But no. This was no ordinary pile of shit. This is shit from hell. Not only did it not flush away, it remained intact and in the exact same position I had first discovered it. It did not even crumble under the pressure of the water as regular shit usually does.

I looked at it, bewildered. The pieces were long and thick. While ordinary mortals' excrement resembled one of those large sausages, this one had the girth of a large cucumber. So large that it would have taken a large asshole to expel this gargantuan dump.

Who was the perpetrator? And for crying out loud, what in hell did he eat!? Did he suffer any injury to his ass at such a momentous task? Will his feces still be there next week? How will the cleaners clean this up?

Questions that keep me up at nights.

Dirty DVD Weekend

Okay. For some reason, I haven't been feeling terribly motivated to blog lately but suddenly today, *fwoosh*, I am a blogging maniac! So expect a flurry of low quality, high quantity blog entries. Show some support, people! I'm on a quest for a personal best here.

According to my Fennel DVD Manager (the best damn Mac OSX DVD management software on the planet) I have 608 DVD titles to my name, of which 222 I have not yet seen. And I'm still buying them. So I figured I'll try and watch as many as I possibly can, y'know, to try and close the gap between the disks I have not seen and the ones I intend to buy. Anyway, the long holiday that was, was a fruitful time for this endeavour. Here's a quickie movie review:

CLICK [+]
Adam Sandler lands himself a remote control that controls his life in this comedy. I loved Sandler in Happy Gilmore and Wedding Singer, but this movie was only so-so. It's kinda like a pale version of Bruce Almighty which I enjoyed immensely. 3 out of 5 stars.

MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE III [+]
In the third of the franchise, Tom Cruise's Agent Ethan Hunt gets married and his wife gets captured. It was pretty pretty well-paced but I hated the wussy ending. Screw Hollywood happy endings. Think of it as a sappy version of On Her Majesty's Secret Service. Minus 1 star for sappiness. 4 out of 5.

THE GRUDGE [+]
Buffy whatsername stars in this Hollywood remake of Ju-On. It was okay though not terribly scary. I dunno about you but why does the ghost crawls around the way it does in the movie? Seems to me like the director is just trying to force the shivers. Bleh! Almost the same premise as Phone, only less clever. 3 stars.

THE MATADOR [+]
After having watched him in a slew of Bond movies and in The Thomas Crowne Affair, Pierce Brosnan gives you a whole new feeling about him in this incredible funny movie as a "facilitator of fatalities". Hahaha... that slays me everytime I remember it. Two strangers in a bar, Greg Kinnear makes conversation by proclaiming, "Don’t margaritas always taste better in Mexico?" To which Brosnan replies, "Margaritas. And cock." That Pierce Brosnan is a funny guy, I tell you. 5 stars!!

THE FAST AND THE FURIOUS: TOKYO DRIFT [+]
Juvenile delinquent street racer buttmunch gets shipped off to Japan to avoid incarceration. There he does pretty much the same except he learns to drift. Cheesy story with great driving action. Vin Diesel appears in cameo at the end earning the movie one more star. 3 stars. Somebody should give Vin Diesel an Oscar. Hahah!

BASIC INSTINCT: RISK ADDICTION [+]
Ugh. I didn't even finish this. Partly because it was crap and partly because the DVD started skipping. Uncle Ho would give me a replacement on this one, but I couldn't be bothered with this drivel.

All light stuff, but good for unwinding. Next up, I'm considering a 007 Marathon - so that I can be adequately prepared for Casino Royale. Join me? :)

Gaya Raya

This year round, Jesse's finally grown big enough to fit into his very own little Baju Melayu and so we got him one. This little outfit was quite a deal given that traditional costumes usually cost a bomb during their corresponding festivities. Mae got the whole ensemble at Jalan Masjid India for RM45. Again, the boy refuses to have anything on his head, so no Songkok for him. Meanwhile, Roma's baju raya set us back RM120. What can I say, the girl's got taste.



As usual, we celebrated Raya with my god-daughter and her family. Mom, Elin is a true-blue Nyonya which makes her a kickass cook. Which also makes Raya at their house a sumptious affair. Which must be why kid-brother Shafiq is stuffing his face.



Look at that face. Mei-mei, the sweet little goddot, is gonna grow up to be a heartbreaker. As the godfather, I shall grow up to be a ballbreaker to all her suitors. Ya mess with da goil, ya mess wit da family... capisce? Whatsamatter wit you?



Anyway, it was a fulfilling Hari Raya. Despite being full, we were still filling our plates. Heh. Even Jesse approves. While we went about enjoying the food and festivities, the boy was raiding Elin's cookie jars. Aside from her famous Pandan Chicken, she also makes a good... erm... fried snack thingy.



So yeah, we stuffed our faces that day. At night we stuffed it somemore - with some seriously sinful stuffings of Pakistani persuasion. Watch this space.

It's Edutainment, people!

Yes, it's been proven finally that TV is the best thing that has ever happened to mankind - and right in my household too!

"Look at the way he's blinking!"

As far as Mae was concerned, TV will blind her precious little boy. Not surprisingly, her mother shares the same sentiment. This bespectacled-since-young mother-daughther tag team are something of an authority on eyesight and eyecare. *ahem*

And then a few weeks back, Jesse scores one for the boys and our favourite pastime. After having watched hours and hours of TV, one fine day on his very own, the boy stands up and proudly recites his ABCs. From A to Z! Well, almost... he had trouble with Q and W... but still!?!??!!! He can also count from 1 to 10.

Anyway, he's going crazy with his newfound knowledge. These days you can't bring him anywhere without him wanting to stop and read signboards, parking lot pillars, t-shirts, etc.

"He'll spoil his eyes watching all that TV!" Mae still protests every now and then. "But he's learning stuff, honey!" And so Mommy has no choice but to let Jesse continue his TV education, while I... erm... make sure he gets a quality education. Like CSI, House MD, Nip Tuck and America's Next Top Model. Heh!!! BTW, it's just pure coincidence that all these shows have hot women in them. I'm really just into the educational aspects of these shows.

You know what they say - you can never get too much education.

The End of the Tyranny

Heh! I know this probably isn't a very polite title when you're talking about your grandmother's funeral, but Grandma, or AhPor as we call her, would have seen the humour in this. She was a funny woman and you'll see her influence in the family. We're all funny, happy people. Besides, I felt it was important to set the tone that this isn't one of those sad posts, so no more condolences, please. :) Also, in case you're wondering why "tyranny", well, she used to beat the crap out of the most of us.

Here's a pictorial.


Everybody thought AhPor looks nice in this picture. But in all honesty, I never felt it captured the essence of the woman. A true picture of Grandma would have her with a rollie on her lips and her right leg propped up on her chair.


As far as Jesse is concerned, it was just another road trip. It was the departure of his very last great-grandparent. She was 91.


For the wake, they blocked up the whole of Harrison Street. Sorry folks!


The funeral was conducted by a Taoist Sifu from Taiwan. He looked like he came right out of a Bruce Lee movie.


As the Sifu conducted the proceedings, our boy decided to steal the limelight, running up to the front and making a spectacle of himself. Just look at that cheeky monkey! We'll punish him when he turns 16.


The day of the funeral was the most moving for me. It was for Uncle Ricky too. Of the whole family, Gran probably spanked us the most. Must be why we missed her most too.


Grandma wanted a celebration more than a funeral. She told Mom to keep things light, to tone down the mourning and to tune up the music. Mom hired a band of cool old guys who played plenty of Teresa Teng music.


A lot of of family had embraced Christianity and Grandma understood that some Christians had problems with jossticks. So she decreed that Christians would hold a flower for her. No arguments, no debates, no internal struggle, nothing. It's a nice little gesture on her part, I thought.


Unlike most traditional Chinese funerals, the Taoist sifu had us carry the casket onto the hearse. He felt that it was appropriate that loved ones do this. I think so too but my opinion doesn't count since I'm behind the camera while my siblings and cousins did their thing.


Grandma's family consisted her 5 kids, 1 adopted son, 1 godson and his wife, 3 daughters-in-law, 1 son-in-law, 18 grandchildren, 3 great-grandkids, and a whole bunch of distant cousins.


Okay, okay, we did it. The haze started in Taiping.


Grandma was laid to rest right next to Grandpa who left 15 years earlier. Despite her tough Clint Eastwood-esque exterior, she was hopelessly in love with Gramps so it was good that they're together again at last.


Grandma lived a long, fulfilling life. And she left behind a legacy of laughter, love and of course, pain-as-hell canings! Yeah, she beat the crap out of us all the time and yet we all loved her to bits. Still, as a precaution, we didn't bury any of her Rotans with her in case she decides to cane us someday in the afterlife. Heh.

Goodbye AhPor. It's been a ride.

Grandma Gone

Grandma passed away today. She had a nasty fall last week. I was supposed to go home to Taiping to see her tomorrow but she couldn't wait for one more day. I feel like shit.

Week Long Celebration

Today is Mae's birthday.

Birthdays in our household last for a week or more. Hers started on Sunday when we had Japanese with her folks and siblings who just happened to be in town. Today, we had Thai for lunch. Tomorrow will be dinner somewhere else. Maybe a late-night supper in town too, who knows. :) On the weekend, we can have Paan Mein.

It's our thing. We stopped doing the present thing cos it stresses us out too much. Instead, we eat. It's the most wonderful thing in the world - stuffing our faces!

Tonight I'm thinking tartlets. Thirty-three of them. Yeah.

One In A Million Live!

Yah. I'm like a frickin' fanboy. Mae loves the show too. And it just so happens that we got tickets for the finals tonight. We're rooting for Faizal because the dude can rock! He's also, in our opinion, the only real talent left in the show.

So, send "IN FAIZAL" to 32728 to vote him in. :P

BTW, pardon my manners but I have been busy of late. Will get around to replying your comments.

Lipstick Forever

Mae and I are very open to the idea of cosmetic enhancements. By "open", I mean that we'd neither freak out at the thought of nor scoff at the concept of man-made improvements on ourselves.

So anyway, today Mae calls me. It's the middle of a working day and she is hanging out with my sisters and they end up at a Salon. When it come to a day out with the Grisly Sisters, I can always expect some outlandish cockamie scheme.

"Honey, this place does lips too," she titters excitedly, "For a thousand bucks, I never have to put lipstick again."

The brain registered "thousand bucks" and "lipstick", and the lips responded appropriately, "No."

"But why?"

The brain was quick on this one too. "It's gonna look real freaky," the lips said, "when you turn into an old bag of shit, and still look like you just put on fresh lipstick."

Heheh.

The Adventures of Blinky

"Honey," there was an urgency in Mae's voice, "we need to bring Jesse to the doctor." Under normal circumstances, I would be worried. But this was Mae, Mistress of Melodrama, to whom, life was extra large.

Anyway, it turns out that Jesse's been blinking excessively. And by excessively, I mean furiously - with forceful clamping eyelid action and stuff. Moth-in-law thinks it's too much TV. Roma thinks its worms. Mae thinks the boy might need specs. Me, I'm thinking of having Paan Mein this weekend. HEh! Okay, okay, so I have no theory, but I do have a story...

(cue flashback harpsichord music)

The year was 1978. Yoke Lin had begun to notice how her son blinks furiously for no apparent reason. It was as though the muscles that controlled his eyelids were on overdrive. Some days he'd blink so hard and fast there would be a flurry of tear spatter and flying eyelashes in the airspace surrounding his face. And he blinked so fast, so much so that his view of the world was like that of revellers at a rave party - strob lights and all.

When a succession of consultations at various eye specialists in town yielded no results, Yoke Lin resorted to the paranormal - praying to the gods and attending seances. However, that didn't work either. Nothing did. It was a mother's nightmare to see her boy suffering and to have no recourse for it.

And then one day, Mahatma Windhi came to town.

Mahatma Windhi was a thin, lanky Southern Indian gentleman, learned in the ways of holistic healing. His skin was as black as night, his hair as white as day and his teeth, as yellow as the first piss of the morning after a night of... erm... not pissing. His face was craggy as the earth yet his demeanour was as calm as the heavens. His years of hardship and apprenticeship in the Tibetan mountains with the second cousin of the Dalai Lama's personal assistance's neighbour from across the street, had brought him to this point in his life. A pivotal moment in both his and the boy's life. The boy and him were destined to cross path, as the stars in the Himalayas had spelt out to him: C-R-O-S-S-P-A-... well, you get the idea.

A gloomy, rainy afternoon as Windhi sat, cross-legged on the concrete floor of his Pre-War Victorian shophouse earnestly scratching his... erm... balsamic noggin, he felt a strong compulsion to look up to the main door. So he did. There at the doorway stood a distressed woman, her dress billowing in the strong winds and her face wet from the rain. Behind her, stood a little boy. Mahatma Windhi squinted to make out the silhouttes, furrowing the brows of his weather-beaten face as he studied the two persons at his doorway. And then he saw it - the boy was clearly wide awake, yet he was having a bad case of the REMs flickering his eyelids at the speed of sound.

Having seated them down, the old man listened to the lamentations of a heartbroken mother. When she had explained her concerns to him, Master Windhi unfolded his loin cloth and brought out a long sharp stainless steel rod, the diameter of those high-class toothpicks and three times as long. He brought it to a candle and watched the flames dance across the shiny metal stick. He then stuck it into a small pewter jar and brought it out again encrusted in a black gunk of herbal concoctions.

"Heduhde eodhoeb hduedendsjuw huehu," he said, speaking in an ancient Sanskrit tongue. Although the boy had no inkling of what was said, he knew that he was being told to open his eyes as though conveyed by some kind of telepathic message. Weill, it was either that or it was because the old master had thrusted his thumb into the boy's startled eye to fold up his eyelids. Then, in a swift stroke the steel rod connected, as Mahatma Windhi deftly applied the herbal gook into the boys eyes.

The helpless child screamed in terror at the violent intrusion into his eyes, writhing and wriggling in his frightened mother's arms. Until he realised that it didn't hurt one bit and that he was being a little shit about it. By then, Windhi had already done both eyes and was now wrapping up some medicinal herbs (which looked suspiciously like bird feed) in a little piece of brown paper. "One day, two times," said the master as he stuffed the folded paper into Yoke Lin's hand.

Yoke Lin thanked the old man, paid him and pulled her son to leave. As they stepped out of the shophouse, the skies cleared before them. Both mother and child stood in awe of the amazing display of freaky weather before them. Perhaps it was going to be okay after all. Perhaps...

(cue out-of-flashback harpsichord music)

Naaaaaaah! That didn't work either.

Until today, nobody's figured out why I was blinking so much as a kid. I eventually outgrew it on my own. I also had perfect eyesight until I turned 30 when an event would lead me to realise that my eyesight was failing. But that's another story for another day. Heh.

Now, I'll have to figure out why my boy is blinking like nobody's business. Perhaps, like me, he'll be fine. But to be safe, I'll still take him to the doc over the weekend. Meantime, any clues will help. Stories, will help too. :)

The Rolls Royce of Chocolates

It's occurred to me that I haven't blogged about food in ages. You'd think I haven't been eating. That, of course, is a myth that would be savagely dispelled should you ever bump into me - all hulking 85kgs of me.

So food it is. And here's one of my favourite reasons for keeping fat!




If you've never eaten Royce Chocolates, then I'm afraid you haven't really eaten chocolates. Brought to you by the very same people that gave you an exciting World War II, Royce is Japanese. While the best chocolates are touted to be from Belgium or Vienna, Royce holds its own. After all, anyone responsible for the Walkman, Hayao Miyazaki, sashimi, cha soba, Iron Chef Rokusaburo Michiba and Ultraman Taro can surely give us good chocolates.




The first thing you'll notice when you're about to savour your Royce, is that the Japanese really know how to make a big deal out of their packaging You bring home your Royce in a padded foil pack and a cooling gel. This is so your chocolates do not melt on you.




Inside, your box of Royce comes with a little plastic spatula and a brochure that pretty much lets you know how incomplete you life is, since there are a host of Royce products you have never tasted - among them their Nutty Bar, Chocolate Coated Potato Chips, and more. Unfortunately it's in Japanese. All that genius in creating the perfect chocolate and they never think to translate their brochure. *sigh*




Finally, after unravelling endless layers of packaging - 5 in all - you get to the... erm... climactic end of your journey. Inside you'll find 20 pcs of 30mm x 20mm soft chocolate cubes, heavily dusted in cocoa powder. Soft! The damn things are soft despite being in the fridge for hours. Imagine that. OMG!!!!!!! Somebody kill me now cos I've run out!!!!! Arggghhhhhh!!!!




Please. Do yourself a favour now. Go down to Isetan in KLCC and buy yourself a box of Royce today. It's RM35 a box, but it's worth every cent. You will love yourself for it. Women will want to have your children. Men will leave their wives to be with you. It's THAT good. I promise.

Daddy's Boy

August had been a particularly difficult month at work. Much like May, June and July had been. Close to how March and April had been. And pretty much the way January and February had been. And just when things are bad, there is always room for them to get worst.

So when Mae called a couple of weeks ago, I wasn't expecting much. Probably another errand she wanted me to run, I thought, mildly resentfully. (only mildly, mind you *ahem*)

"Honey," she was all excited, "your son just called you Daddy!"

"Aiks! But I wasn't even there," I said. As far as I was concerned, it doesn't really count if the boy doesn't understand that "Daddy" meant me. "But he does!!!" Mae protested.

Turns out that Jesse was monkeying around our bookshelf when he stumbled upon an old photo of him as a wee little baby lying on my chest. He showed it to Mommy and as he pointed me out, he said, "Daddy!"

It's taken a long while but yes, my boy's finally gotten it. "Daddy!" He's been saying it loud and proud, knowing consciously at last, that the word meant me.

*sniff*

he ain't ugly, he's my daddy

No Emotional Scarring

I was going up to the apartment yesterday when I bumped into my neighbour. "He's quite something, that boy of yours," she tells me grinning from ear to ear. "Oh?" I looked at her quizzically, "Whatever do you mean?"

"Well, he's taking the lift on his own these days isn't he?"

Mrs. Chua had been playing with her young daughter at the lift lobby when she saw my little hero dart out of the lift on his own. It seems Jesse has become quite the legend in our apartment building since his little adventure. And I suppose it won't be too preposterous to assume that our neighbours must be thinking the worst of us. "What horrifyingly callous parents the poor boy must have. Let hunt them down and burn them at the stake!!"

In a feeble attempt to salvage our dwindling reputation, I sheepishly asked, "So he must have been crying his eyes out, then?"

"Actually, he was running around laughing his head off!"

It seems Mae had been grossly misinformed. Here I was, concerned about any emotional scarring the kid might have and there he was, the little snot, having the time of his life at his first taste of freedom. Maybe I should beat some sense into him. Hehehhh...

Happy Belated Merdeka

I had fully intended to write a happy little story for Vincent's Project Happy Malaysia but then I got lazy and before I knew it, Merdeka Day had come and gone.

We didn't do much. Slept early the night before and woke up late. Also lazed in bed a little. Missed the countdown and also the morning parade on TV.

By 3pm, I was beginning to feel a tinge of guilt for letting our national day slip by just like that, when suddenly, I was swept by an overwhelming sense of patriotism. Coincidentally, at that precise moment, the guy at the supermarket check-out counter gave us a tiny Jalur Gemilang - Free! With Every Purchase Above RM50 On A Single Receipt While Stocks Last. As I held the national flag in the palm of my hands, I knew then what I had to do. I took it home, gave it to Jesse and we had a little parade of our own. (See, video!)



By the way, despite all its shortcomings, I love Malaysia. Any country that lets me sleep as long as I want to; buy groceries whenever I feel like it; and lets me parade my kid about indiscriminately; is my kinda place.

Alone

We live on the tenth floor in our apartment building. Today as Mae was leaving the house with Jesse and Roma to meet me at the office, the boy darted off to the elevator as he so often does. The lift arrives and both Jesse and Roma get in, which is all fine and good - except, for some reason, Roma decided to step off to see what's holding Mae up. Which was a pretty dumbass thing to do.

Expectedly, the lift door shuts and the lift starts descending with my poor, frightened little boy inside. I can only imagine what he must have been feeling at the time and it probably wasn't the best day in his life.

Long story short, the poor kid gets to the ground floor, steps off and wanders around our lift lobby bawling his eyes out searching for Mommy. By the time they get to my office a half hour later he was all fragile and still crying.

I cradled the boy to my chest with my left arm and comforted him. WIth my right hand I reached out to Roma and gripped my fingers around her neck. I squeezed. She writhed about struggling to breathe. Her eyes bulged out of the sockets as life ebbed from her now limp body. "That's for scaring my boy!!!!" I yelled in her face, my spittle spewing everywhere all over her white-washed expression and dark green lips.

Nah. I didn't reprimand her at all. I expect the trauma of the entire event was punishment enough.

As for Jesse, I'm not sure if I prefer him to forget all about the experience and live happily ever after, or to remember it so he never rushes to get into the lift without us. *sigh* Does that make me a bad father?

Two-Year Stats

It seemed only like yesterday I was at the delivery room gnawing at my fingernails in anticipation of my baby boy's arrival. And just like that, at the blink of an eye, it's two years on.

Two years. That's equal to 16 teeth. 13 kilograms. And quite a few centimenters. Not sure how many, cos I'm a lousy father who never took my kid's height, so sue me.

Over the last two years we have taught him 379 words and 96 phrases, 10 of which he can successfully repeat; like "Mommy", "Air Cond", "Sit Down", "Cheese", "Eat", "Wait", "Blue", "Bread", "Orange" and "Nine". He's picked up a few on his own, like "Air Cool", "Bhai" and "Honey, let's do it tonight". Okay, I was kidding about that last one. Heh!

Two years is also approximately 4,500 diaper change, 2,153 night feeds and about 105 cans of baby formula. That's 4,732 times we've woken up at night to check if he's still breathing. That's 5,326 usable exposures on my Canon A70. That's 9,735 times we've gone "ooh" and "aww" at every little antic he does. That's 15,021 kisses we've planted on a sometimes-reluctant little boy. That's 188,093 times he's done something to really annoy us. And over 1,938,046 times we've fallen in love with him all over again.

So yeah, there's never been a dull moment in the two years since Jesse. And I look forward to the next 42. (Yeah, I plan to check out when I turn 77!) Happy Birthday, son. May your birthdays always be filled with joy and laughter.

Two-Gun Jesse

do ya feel lucky, punk?

I was going through my backpack some weeks ago when I stumbled upon this little sketch I did way back before Jesse was born - specifically on 17th July 2004 - about a month before Jesse came about. I know because that's the date on the Church bulletin I sketched in on. *ahem* Okay, okay, sometime I drift away into my own world during the Pastor's sermon.

At the time, I was still bothered by how few people seemed to know that Jesse was in fact a boy's name. I figured I would take drastic action to "re-brand" Jesse. And thus, Two-Gun Jesse was born. (The name, BTW, was inspired by a slew of western comics I read as a kid - Two-Gun Kid, Billy the Kid, Jesse James, etc)

Two-Gun Jesse would be an illustrated web book, which will gain popularity over the internet to a point of getting international syndication for Saturday morning cartoons, and a sweet merchandising deal, rendering upon its creator untold riches in royalty payments and license fees. Bwahahaha!

The story would revolve around an imaginative little boy who wished he were a gunslinger like the legendary Jesse James. Think Calvin & Hobbes, but with gunshot blood spatter and grievious head wounds.

And by the time I'm done, the world would finally acknowledge that Jesse is very much a little boy's name, and a masculine one at that!

Then, lo and behold, Jesse was born and suddenly it didn't seem to matter so much anymore what anybody thought of his name. And so I stuffed this little drawing into the bottomless pits of my backpack.

Perhaps someday, Two-Gun Jesse would ride again. Who knows.

Piece Of Cake

looks good enough to eat

Last weekend was Baby Danielle's birthday. She's my sis Sue's, second kid - little Joshua's baby sister.

The photo, as you can plainly see, is not a cake but the stuff we salvaged off the cake. The little sugar princess was the centerpiece, while the little face thingies came on individual cupcakes. It was made by a clever lady who makes them out of her home in Bandar Utama under the brandname "Piece of Cake".

Is that a clever name or what? Man, if I ever went into the cake business, I'd want a clever name like that. Like, "Y'wanna Piece of Me?", or if the cakes turn out really badly, then "Piece of Shit". Hahahahah!

Anyway, it looks like this post is turning out to be more about the cake than the birthday girl. That's my fault for not getting a good shot of the little girl. *sigh* I forgot my camera. (Go see her at Jeff's.) It's also Sue's fault for buying such an outstanding cake that I just have to talk about.

The cake's pretty pricey - 2kgs plus 20 cupcakes for almost RM400! But well worth it considering the amount of work that must have gone into it. Apparently, Piece of Cake doesn't just supply kiddie cakes. My sis tells me they have adult-themed cakes too. Heh.

But damn, 400 bucks?! We'd buy one for Jesse's 2nd birthday next week, but I'm not sure we love him that much. Hahahahahah! Ahh, the pressures of parenthood.

Note to Angsty Grown-up Jesse: Don't be silly, boy, of course we love you! We put up with you all this while didn't we?

Of Jackfruits and Jackasses

"Monkey's back!" said Mae over the phone. "He's scaling the dressing table." Jesse's been down with something since Saturday. Sure we managed the fever, but the cough, cold and sore throat was quite another kettle of fish.

I spent much of last night staying up watching my son breathe - or in this case, struggle to breathe. His nose was congested, and breathing through his mouth only agitated his throat causing him to cough, which in turn further tormented his already swollen tonsils.

In the end, we caught hold of him and administered a couple of drops of decongestant to ease his suffering. He kicked and screamed and cried, until he cried himself to sleep. It broke my heart into a million pieces watching him like that.

This afternoon, I snucked off from work to go hunting for Nangkas. Apparently, according to Ye Old Wives' Medical Journal, the jackfruit is an excellent remedy for cough - as long as you remove the flesh directly from the fruit without washing off the gooey stuff. Truth be told, I suspect this story to be an urban legend but I figured, heck, if the story turns out to be crap, we could still enjoy a delicious serving of Nangka. Besides, it's not like Jesse's not already on medication.

So, despite being fairly well-informed on childhood sickness and remedies, like a couple of jackasses, Mae and I found ourselves in the middle of Kepong chasing after an old wives' tale, if only so our precious little monkey and his longsuffering parents could get some much needed sleep tonight.

Unfortunately, we didn't manage to find the damn fruit. Even though Mae tells me our boy is doing heaps better, I still can't shake this feeling of helplessness and defeat. *sigh* Where the heck are all the *^%@ jackfruits?!?!

Fever

feeling all better

Last weekend was by far our toughest weekend as parents. Jesse was down with high fever and he was practically puking his guts out. In the two years that Jesse had been in our world, he had never actually gotten sick, so you can imagine how disorienting and heartbreaking the whole experience turned out to be.

We took him to the doctor when he started puking the water he drank. By the time we got there, it had gotten so bad that the poor boy was vomiting bile. The doc suspected a stomach virus and our orders were simple - keep the kid hydrated without making him puke any further, otherwise he'd have to be admitted for intravenous drips. His prescription; 10 mls of 100 Plus every once in awhile!

"I'd give you oral rehydration salts," Dr Lee shrugs nonchalantly, "but he's gonna want the 100 Plus!" He gives me Clint-Eastwood-esque sneer that quashes whatever wussy concerns I had about his unorthodox methods. I fall on my knees and worship the very ground on which this brilliant man stands.

Then came our second problem; the fever. You can't give fever syrup to a kid who can't hold his fluids in. The good doctors tears open a paper sachet, and withdraws a small, white cylindrical object. He then holds it up to my face. This is the only way." I knew at once that it was a suppository. (That's an ass-pill in case you've never heard the word!) Poor Jesse. Thankfully for him, the doctor reassures us that the medicine will give our boy a 6-hour relief.

By nightfall, like clockwork, the fever resurfaces. Jesse was clocking 39.9 degrees Celcius - and we were all set to take him to the hospital. Fortunately, he had started eating again, stopped vomiting and was in pretty good spirits. We gave him a fever suppressant syrup and sponged him with luke-warm water. His fever came down quickly, but we stayed vigil all night to be sure. Thankfully, Sunday came, and the boy was up and about - completely restored to his regular monkey self and all was right in the world again.

Disclaimer: No toddlers, or monkeys were harmed in the making of this harrowing episode of A Day in the Life of Jesse. Thanks to Dr. Lee of Damansara Utama (same row as 7-11), good advice from MIL's doctor friend and the ever-dependable Baby Center, our boy was never at any risk.

On A Need-to-Gnaw Basis

Apparently, children grow teeth only when they need to use them. At least that what Stepmom tells me.

For the longest time, Jesse's had only 8 teeth. While other kids his age have been getting some serious oral hardware months ago, our boy's only got his 4-up and 4-down. Sure, incisors are lovely to look at, but they don't exactly do much except make the kid look less dopey. Heh. Other than that, it's really just good enough to bite through his baby biscuits and maybe cut a couple of Pringles here and there.

Still, in the last couple of months Jesse's entry-level teeth combo have been put to good use, chewing up Roti Canai and fish fillets, biting off chewy candy and gooey-cheese pizza, and crunching up the occasional bread stick we throw at him. And then just a couple of weeks back, lo and behold, we're seeing some new development in the boy's mouth.

Out of the blue, Jesse has developed a new set of cute little canines. And right next to them, we're witnessing the makings of a new set of pre-molars. This, I suppose, must be his body's way of preparing the kid for a whole new world of culinary experiences. We're talking steak, Char Kuey Teow, chicken drumsticks, Ramly Burger, and the works. What a glorious time it shall be for father and son as we enjoy my our favourite foods together.

So, I guess Stepmom must be right. The boy is getting ready for some serious chow-down. Either that or he's planning on gnawing at our cheap furniture.

Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia

Apparently, the fear of the numbers 666 is so vivid that someone actually came out with a name for the condition. Actually, this phobia isn't just confined to the number of the beast, but also to all stuff related to the Book of Revelation - Satan, End Times, Anti-Christ, Lake of Fire, bla bla bla.

Me, I'm more afraid of a time when I actually have to spell Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia!

But there it is anyway. Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia. And you thought you'd never learn anything coming in here, did you now?

Oh, btw, if this feels like a filler post to you, you're probably right. I haven't been blogging very much lately cos I have been working my butt off. But you'll be pleased to know that in the course of my work, I have been thinking about you, dear reader. (Heh, I always wanted to call you fellas 'dear reader'!!) I stumbled upon the word in the midst of doing some research and decided to blog it, just for you. Heh!

Anyway, some announcements: This week, Mae and I celebrate our 4th Anniversary. If you guess the exact date of our anniversary, we'll bring you along on our romantic dinner. (Hahah!) In other news, a nice pharmaceutical company stumbled upon my blog and decided to let Jesse sample some kiddy supplements - a review, if you like. If the boy likes it, I'll give it a glowing review. If it makes the boy eat like a normal human being, I will quit my job and peddle the product like a roadside medicine show with kungfu demonstrations where passersby will be invited to step up to kick me in the groin or something like that. How's that for commitment?

In the meantime, be well and have a happy Hexakosioihexekontahexaphobia.

Big Little Boy

"Honey," and so begins one of Mae's late-night-can't-sleep-must-talk sessions. Getting almost no response from her near-comatoes husband, she decides to gun for the punchline. "I think Jesse is bigger than other boys his age," carefully emphasising "bigger", almost outlining, if that were possible, the word with her raspy late-night voice.

"Bigger how?" I had to know.

"You remember how Blunt was running around naked by the pool?" Mae reminds me of a kiddies party we had recently attended, "well, for a boy two years older, he certainly has a smaller birdy than Jesse."

I laughed. Because it was funny, and because my boy had a bigger dick than than Augie's kid. Hehheh... I'm still laughing. Still, I try not to encourage Mae. Nobody likes it when a soccer mom starts comparing their kid's... erm... underachievements.

"Maybe it's not Jesse," I rationalise, "maybe Blunt's just smaller than other kids." After all his daddy, Augie is a small-dicked man and the apple usually doesn't fall far from the tree.

Which also goes to explain why Jesse is a big little boy. *ahem*

Superman vs Loinboy

Mae and I saw Superman Returns on Tuesday. When that familiar John Williams theme played, I felt the same rush as I did so many years ago when I saw the first Superman as a 7-year-old. And just like those many years ago, I was awestruck.

This young guy in the row before us was completely unaffected. "This bugger was still swimming about in his father's loins when the first movie came out," I pointed out the disrecpectful young sprat and his father to Mae. Expectedly, Loinboy wasn't terribly moved by the whole John Williams thing.

Superman Returns is a love story disguised as a superhero movie. But, damn, it was good - beautifully shot and all. At times, it looked like it came right out of a comic. Even the poster you see up here - that must have been inspired by Alex Ross' Kingdom Come (Which is one helluva graphic novel that would surely have you... erm.. coming all over your... erm... kingdom. Hehheh!!!).

The hopeless romantic in me loved it to pieces - the lonely tortured guy thing, that bit about forbidden love, the heartbroken lovers angle, the tormented fathers and sons, and all of that crybaby shit! Watching it made me feel like Superman. Minus the good looks, 6-pack, and underwear outside, of course. Heh! So yeah, it was that good.

On the way out of the auditorium, Loinboy started looking at me funny. Faster than a speeding bullet, I grabbed him by the neck before he could react. Stronger than a locomotive, I hurled Loinboy out into the stratosphere where he shall orbit the earth for his remaining days. Then, I turned my heat vision upon Loinboy's daddy's crotch. Phhsshaawrkkksshh!!!!" And all at once, there was peace throughout the land.

No more shall the world be terrorised by the likes of Loinboy.

Girly Shoes

these boots are made for sashaying

"NooOOoOoOoOoOoooOo!!!!" we shrieked in horror as the world came to its devastating end. It was a natural disaster like no other. As we struggled to grasp the terrifying spectacle before us, we wondered where we had gone wrong.

Our boy likes girly shoes.

Jesse had been walking funny in his spanking new discounted Baby Zaras. "He must be uncomfortable in them," Mae observed. That's Mae for you - always trying to fix things. As far as I was concerned, the boy walks funny to entertain us. But no, Mae had to do something. And so we headed to the shoe shop.

I had picked up this cute but masculine macho-boy faux-leather loafer for the boy. Mae was looking at a more sporty Nike knock-off. But alas, little Jesse had other plans. We had left the boy on this own to do his thing and it turned out to be the biggest mistake. The moment we set him loose in the shoe shop, he had set his sights on the little white Hello Kitty booties.

The whole scene played out in slo-mo like some cheap, B-grade movie starring overweight and balding has-been, Richard Grieco and the still comely but long-forgotten Heather Thomas. "NooOoooOoooooooO JeesSssSssee, noOooOottt the whiiiiiiiiiiite giiirRRrrllly shhoOoooOoooes," her voice warbled like a walkman on old batteries as she lunged in slow motion to stop him. The boy reached out, grabbed the shoe, threw it on the ground and started forcing his feet in. It was the longest 2 minutes of our lives.

We coaxed him. We reasoned with him. We even threatened to put him up for adoption in Cambodia but the boy was unfazed. It was Hello Kitty or hello barefeet. *sigh* So no, we didn't buy any shoe that weekend. Everything else that we attempted to put on his feet would have him screeching like a monkey under torture.

First he likes pink and now he likes girly shoes. I'm starting to worry a little.

Weekend SMS

Two messages I got over the weekend. First one was from my father:

Don't miss Superman Returns. The new Lois Lane is gorgeous, not a dog like Margot Kidder.

And then there's Jeff:

One zero. Serves da brasil coach right. The gall of the man to suggest Pele Beautiful game was rubbish. Now he and his ugly football goes home.

Yes, yes, melodrama runs in the family.

Demon Possessed!

Last Friday I was at work when Mae calls. "Roma got possessed," Mae was flustered and frantic, "she was writhing on the floor, crying and wailing!"

Apparently, Satan had invaded my mother-in-law's home. Despite the pious woman's daily devotions to God, His age-old nemesis had struck. Mom-in-law brought in the calvary - her sis. Together the two ladies and Mae prayed over our demon-possessed Roma.

"I still feel an eerie presence," Roma said, having calmed down a little. Despite the prayers, this one was here to stay.

By the time we got home that night, she still felt a little strange. I knew what I had to do. It was my turn to show this demon who boss around here.

"Kita orang Cina percaya," I explained our Chinese beliefs to Roma, "kalau hantu sudah masuk, dia tak mau keluar." Once the demon has found a way in, it would never leave. Brave little Roma didn't even flinch at this suggestion.

"We'll have to violently beat it out of you," I continued. I turned to Mae and demonstrated how Master Leong Fu had shown me during my apprenticeship with him in the Shaolin Temple of Kwai Chang Caine. Grab the possessed by the neck with the Furious Dragon Gripping Claw and administer repeated blows across the face with Palm of Buddha Slap of Death.

And just like that, without even laying a hand on her, at the sound of my Thunderous Voice of Doom the devil left Roma as quickly as he had come. And the truth was revealed.

The girl had wanted to breach her employment contract to go home to her family and she decided to use the oldest trick in the book - that book being the Indonesian Maid's Dirty Tricks Guide to Breach of Employment Contract. Still, we decided not to embarrass her for her dumbass attempts to pull a fast one. No one should ever have to feel ashamed for missing home.

And so, once again, the Furious Dragon Gripping Claw and the Palm of Buddha Slap of Death will be laid to rest until a time when it is needed once again.

Shoes Blues

Jesse is growing out of his shoes faster than we can buy them. At his age, we reckon he needs new footwear every 6 months or less. As if that isn't problematic enough, the boy has developed a taste of his own.

These days, he pretty much decides what he lets us put on his feet. Fortunately for us (and himself), he's got pretty good taste.

On an outing at our favourite hypermarket, Giant, we decide that our kid is not below wearing cheapo shoes. And so we pick out a couple of bargains - one is a reasonably tasteful pair of faux-leather sandals, and the other are plastic Spiderman flip-flops which look as cheap as they costs. Heh.

He loves the faux-leather sandal so much that he's worn it to sleep on several occasions. Now, as for Spidey, every time we try to slip it on his feet he'll scream his head off and violently kick them off.

Last night we took him footwear shopping at Treehouse (which, by the way, has some of the coolest kiddie footwear around). Every single pair of shoes we attempted to put on his feet would have him screeching like a banshee. It was a nightmare.

You know how you sometimes go to the mall and see some kid screeching at the top of his lung, behaving like a real brat and you secretly thank God that it's not your kid? And then you shake your head and wonder what dumbass parents brought up such a kid? That would be us. *sigh*

I'm considering tossing him into the jungle and letting wolves raise him. I hear they do a pretty good job. Then again, I suppose it's cos they dun have footwear to worry about.

Quarantined

On Monday I caught the flu.

Since I hardly ever catch anything, I decided to spring for the full and complete package. Along with my basic subscription of the Flu, I also got a classic case of the Runny Nose, a dizzying, head-spinning Fever and a standard spell of Sore Throat. To seal the deal, I also decided on a one-time offer of an everlasting Cough .

Since it was such a comprehensive package, I decided to go for the Double Whammy Honeymoon Set so that Mae too can enjoy my momentous catch. Quickly enough, both of us were lying in bed enjoying my Flu.

I was about to upgrade to the Family Package to include Jesse when Mae decided that perhaps he was too young for such excitement. There had been several occasions when the boy had caught his very own Flu. Having proven himself capable of getting his own Flu, we decided to exclude him this time around. So while Mae and I are experiencing our Flu package in the comfort of our own home, we sent Jesse away to his grandmother's, and he's been there since Monday.

*sigh*

Mae's gone to see him cos she's all better. But me, I'm still sick like a dog. I miss my boy. *sniff*

Taiping Trip In Pictures

I've been busy hence the sporadic updates. Here's a pictorial of our Taiping trip last week.


We left on a Friday. Scheduled to depart at 1800hrs but ended up leaving at 2100hrs instead on account of the rain. It rained all the way home dragging a 3 hour journey up to 4 hours. Ugh!


Thankfully, in Taiping you can always expect a light at the end of the tunnel. Mine was Char Kuey Teow at one of Taiping's very few late night hangouts - SiangMalam. This is a new discovery for me. (pardon the bad shot - the Nokia 6280 doesn't do macro)


Breakfast was one of Taiping's best-kept secret - Kai See Mein, which is loosely translated as Shredded-Chicken Noodle. It's kinda like Ipoh Kuey Teow, except we eat ours with Sambal Belacan. We had ours with side orders of Beans Sprouts and Fishballs. Taiping folks love their Kai See Mein which is why the place is always packed. Read more at Jeff's. Jeff's my brother. So is Steve.


Jesse loves it in Taiping. Our house is one of those Colonial shophouses. Grandma had it extended so it's a pretty long house - almost 300 feet long from our front door to the back. This is a picture of Jesse doing a 300ft dash.


Lunch is Fishball Kuey Teow at Taiping's Casual Market. This dish must be unique to Taiping since I swear I have never seen it served anywhere else. It's a pretty basic Hokkien-style fried kuey teow with fishballs, fishcakes and chinese bbq pork. Nice.


At night, we celebrated Mom's birthday. Jeff, Steve and I decided we'd go home together this time to celebrate early with Mom. It was a joint celebration with Auntie Aini - since her birthday fell on the same day. I called Mom later in the week and she told me that she was "sooo happy" that we all came home. *sniff* Mother's are easy. Heh! Just go home a lot, kiddies. Don't say Uncle James never told you so.


In the morning, Mae and I took Jesse and his cousins, Dhanika and Irisha to the zoo. Dhanika, the older kid, is a real sweetheart who's really taken to me. "Uncle James can I stay with you?" she says as she gives me her best puppy-dog eyes. "But your mommy will be lonely," I told her. "But I will miss you," she flashes more of her puppy-dog eyes. *awww*


Jesse never did give ice-cream a chance. I finally realised why - we don't buy enough pink ice-cream. The boy likes pink. Ugh! The plus side is, he's enjoying ice-cream now, regardless of color. I'm just glad he likes ice-cream like all kids should. I'll have to do something about the bit about liking pink.

That's it. I'm done. Work is piling up. Will be back when the dust settles. Be good, ok?

Water Baby

Jesse loves water.

Which is fine, except that he's recently discovered that there's water to be found in the toilet bowl. Every morning, he'd wander into the john just to pull at the flush. This is fine, really. There's nothing cuter than a little boy flushing away mommy's poo-poo.

And then one day the temptation gets the better of him. He dips his hand in.

Even that I can handle. Really.

And then one day, the boy decides it might be fun to splash water around with Daddy's toothbrush.

And even that, I can handle. Except that Mommy thinks it's funny.

Now, I'm trying to convince him that Mommy's got a cooler toothbrush than Daddy.

Easy-Peasy Pizza

Hey kiddies! Today, we learn how to make your very own pizza in a toaster oven. And you thought that toaster oven your Auntie Margaret gave you last Christmas was a piece of crap.

This is the Cheater's version, of course but it taste pretty good anyhoo. And when you're done you'll feel like the king of the world. Your parents will revere your culinary prowess. Men will worship the ground you walk on. Women will want to bear your children. And children will wish they came out of your loins!


Three items are essential for making pizza - the base, the sauce and the cheese. I use a Wholemeal Pita for the base. The shape is perfect and since it's pretty much bread, it'll cook easily. Buy these at Giant, or Tesco or any good hypermarket. For the sauce, buy one of those Spaghetti sauces in a jar. Since it's not sour or salty enough for pizza, you'll need to add tomato puree and a dash of salt. Everything else is just ingredient. For yesterday's dinner, I sliced up some sausages and browned them in a frying pan - don't hope for your toaster over to cook this. Lightly fry it first.


Add some tomatoes too. Dice them up and fry them in a pan. Same principle; the toaster oven just isn't gonna be able to cook this. Anyway I'd have preferred to slice them and sun-dry them but it was late and I was hungry. Heh! Next, you'll need cheese and it's gotta be Mozzarella for that rubbery, gooey texture. No two ways about it. Mozzarella. If you try my recipe with Cheddar or those sliced cheeses, I'll come there and smack you. Smear you sauce evenly on the base, scoop in your tomatoes and sprinkle on the Mozzarella generously.


Toast it in the oven for 5-ish minutes and you're all done. Feed it to your kid and watch him enjoy it. For yourself, sprinkle some McCormack's Pizza Seasoning and think of me fondly for showing you how to do this. *ahaks* Here's a recap of what you need:

One Toaster Oven
Some Wholemeal Pita
A Jar of Spaghetti Sauce
A Can of Tomato Puree
A Dash of Salt
Tomatoes, Diced and Fried
Sausages, Sliced and Browned
Mozzarella Cheese

There are some rules. One, use ONLY Mozzarella. Two, NEVER, ever, never use Tomato Sauce cos it's sweet and your pizza will taste stupid. Three, lightly cook your ingredients cos a toaster oven just doesn't get hot enough!


There. It even looks like a real pizza. Someone please pat me on the back, dammit! :)

Mama's Boy

poster boy for pizza parlors

Last week was Mother's Day and so Jesse brought Mommy to Italiannie's for some pizza and pasta. Pizza is Mae's favourite food, and evidently, also Jesse's.

The boy is at that stage in his life when mealtimes are like death sentences to him. He'll be kicking up a shitstorm and wailing his head off at the thought of having to eat real human food. At least that what Mae tells me. Apparently, Mommy and Kakak have been cooking the boy his food and he's been refusing to eat. But come Mother's Day at Italiannie's and the boy is stuffing his face with pizza.

I'm thinking maybe Mommy's cooking sucks eggs. Heh.

New Toy

boys nite out

I'm back! And I brought my new toy, a spanking new Nokia 6280. It's a great little phone with all the nifty features. A 2 MegaPixel camera, 3G, MP3 player, the works! This means I should to be showing more picture on this blog.

This shot of Jesse and his cousin Joshua-boy was taken at Tesco a couple of weeks back. That's Jesse's dopey haircut. For some reason, his hair takes forever to grow. So I guess he'll be looking like this for awhile. Poor kid.

That's it. I'm done showing off. See you tomorrow.

Babytalking

"Ti-tock," Jesse would say every morning, which is his cute little way of saying, "Sit down". Mae and I had always made sure the boy was properly seated at the sofa before we'd switch on the TV. And for some reason, those words mean TV to him now. Yesterday, I told Mae I would try and get him to say "TV" instead.

"Television," Mae corrected me. "If the boy can't say TV," I reasoned, "he won't be able to say 'Television'."

Mae is anal about slangs. If she had her way, my poor little boy would grow up speaking weirdly. Imagine expressing yourself in proper words in the corporate world, "Fecal matter! This copulating facsimile is really urinating me off!" Loses quite a bit in the translation, doesn't it?

Anyway, Jesse is 20 months old today. Unfortunately his vocabulary doesn't extend beyond a handful of single-syllable proper words and a few babytalk words here and there. And no, despite trying all morning yesterday, he still can't say "TV". I'm really hoping he'll start speaking soon, if only to hear what he has to say about not talking. Heh!

And by the way, if you're one of those people who insist on not using babytalk to kids, you better not tell me I'm raising my kid wrong. Otherwise, I'm gonna come-come there and kick-kick you in the wee-wee!

Updating: In Short

I'm back. It's been a hectic month and I've been working like a dog. Meanwhile, here's a little update:

GRANDMA GONE
My paternal grandmother passed on last week. We weren't terribly close, but it still sucks when a relative goes. Because you always wonder who's next. We cremated her very quickly and it was over in less than a day.

WORK WORK WORK
I'm up to my eyeballs in work. Work has always played a big part in my life. When I was younger, it was a means of survival. When I got older and work got better, it paid the bills and afforded a little luxury. There was also a point in my life when work was an escape. When the girlfriend was being a bitch, I went back to work at nights. Hahaha! These days, work is just work and work is beginning to suck.

JESSE'S HAIRCUT
We got Jesse a haircut at the salon and the hairdresser took a little too much off. Now my kid looks like Forrest Gump. Sometimes I'd go "Run, Forrest, run!" and guess what - the boy actually runs. It cracks me up!

GENTING AGAIN
Jesse's cousin Joshua is celebrating his 3rd birthday and his parents are throwing a party up in Genting this weekend. It ought to be fun for the kids. I expect the adults might want to go to the Casino tonight but that's never a good idea for me. I suck at gambling and once I get into it, I lose myself and my wallet.

FLAT BATTERIES
The battery ran out on the new wife. I was working late one night and when I left at 3-ish in the morning, the damn car wouldn't start. I knew I needed a new battery but I was so busy at work I did not have time to do even this simple errand. I left the car sitting idle at the parking lot for three days.

LAZY
Some days I feel like shit and think that I hate my life. Fortunately I'm too lazy to do anything about it, like kill myself or something. Hahahah! Thank God for small miracles.

Rainy Day

We were all at Mae's folk's house on Saturday when it started raining. It got pretty heavy pretty quickly so we dismissed any plans to go out. Since I was already horizontal on the sofa, staying home was fine by me.

Jesse got a little restless and started clambering all over me, when suddenly lightning struck and a loud mother-of-all thunderclaps shook the earth. A brilliant flash of light ensued and outside, debris was flying about. And the lights went out/

That got the boy's attention and he perked up quickly enough. I hurried towards him in case the thunder was too traumatic for his young little heart. But no. Just like Daddy, Jesse is one tough little mo-fo!! Heh. Lighting had struck off a part of the roof and my boy was unfazed.

After the thunder and lightning eased up, we took off our shirts and played outside in the drizzle. Jesse held his hand out for the rain, splashed about in the puddles and played with drainwater. He loved it - squealing and screaming at this new experience.

Inside, I could sense my mother-in-law rolling her eyes right to the back of her head. But it didn't matter. I played in the rain most of my childhood and look what a fine young man I turned out to be. *ahem* Thankfully, the boy didn't catch a cold or I'll be hearing about it for the rest of my life.

The Danger of a Single Man

It had been a long, trying day. By 9:30pm, Roma was already feeling the effects of the day's event weighing down on her. "Why do they always kick up such a fuss whenever they travel?" Roma thought to herself. When she left her little shanty or Catihan in East Java last year, she pretty much just upped and left. No pomp. No splendour. No nothing.

As she recounted her own bittersweet journey into an unknown land so many moons ago, she drifted off into a deep slumber; into a land of dreams where she was the top two contender of Indonesian Idol.

Roma was doing her final song of the night - the judges' choice. She had slayed the crowd with her riveting rendition of Hetty Koes Endang's "Benci Tapi Rindu" during classics week and it was time for her to shine again this night. Roma stepped off onto the stage as the band began to play. Her hair was done all long and frizzy just like Hetty in her heyday and she wore that same off-shoulder number that Hetty wore on her Pop Melayu album cover. It was gonna be her night. And it was, until the unimaginable happened.

As Roma negotiated the steps onto the stage the 4-inch heel that she had chosen to compensate for her lack of altitude had come back to haunt her. She fell forward and to her horror, the microphone flung out of her hand and went "thump-thump-thump". And the cruel audience laughed their collective asses off. "Thump-thump-thump," the sound of the mike echoed. And again it went, getting louder, and louder each time.

"THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!" Roma was startled out of her sleep. It was the door!

"Roma," she hears her employer's voice from behind the closed door. He then mumbles something indistinct.

"Shit, the horny bastard wants in," Roma thinks to herself, "one night without Madam and he tries his luck!" A sense of impending doom filled her heart and quickly scrambles to pull on a sweater and whatever articles of clothing she could find.

"ROMA!" the voice behind the door was now getting louder and more agressive. "Ya, Tuan?" she asks timidly as she huddles into a corner of the room, pulling the covers over her fearful, quivering body. She wouldn't stand a chance against him, she analyses as she cursed her mother for bestowing her with a small frame and a pretty face. Yes, it was indeed a pretty face, she thought as her mind drifted back to 1999 when, at 17, she won the Ratu Cantik Catihan held during the annual harvest festival.

Her employer, however, had the makings of a large disgusting pig. And by now, the gargantuan walking pork chop was pounding at the door.

"I'll smack his fat head off into the middle of last Christmas," Roma thinks as she picks up the largest pillow in the room and hides it behind her back. She gulps down the knot in her throat as she slowly approach the door, pillow firmly in her hand. Slowly she reaches out to the door knob and twists it, opening the door with caution as it slowly reveals the great hulking mass of lard looming over her.

Her employer's lips curled into a snarl and then he spoke. "Cepat, ambik diaper," he said as he pointed to the only pack of diapers left in the entire house.

Single Again

Mae is out of town for the week. It's the first time in four years, since we got married, that we've been apart. To celebrate commemorate the occasion, I'm throwing an orgy. Hahahahahaha!

Anyway, since yesterday was a working Saturday for me, I drop Jesse off at the in-laws and suggest that perhaps he spend the night there since I might work late. His grandparents love the suggestion so much they've decided to take him on Sunday night too.

So here I am, single again with plenty of time on my hands and not much to do. So I've decided to do the stuff Mae never lets me do.

First up is the Eye Popping 5-Day DVD Festival. I will watch 15 movies in the next few days, or until my damn eyes pop out of their sockets. Two down so far.

Next up is the 5-Day Heart-Attack-Inducing Chow Down! Over the course of the 5 days that Mae is absent, I will survive on an endless supply of Char Kuey Teow, Paan Mein, Nasi Lemak, instant noodles and anything with copious amounts of pork, or pork fat in it! Until Mae gets back or I keel over my Paan Mein.

Then there's the 5-Day Pasar Malam Stakeout where I will be covering as many Night Markets as I can find in the Klang Valley. This will usually be accompanied by the Uncle Ho DVD Shopping Spree.

One way or another, I'm so dead when Mae gets home. Wish me luck! :)

Precious Little Boy

I was spending a little quality time with Jesse today when the boy came up to me and put his little arms around my neck. He hadn't had much sleep today and he decided that Daddy would make a good warm bed. I slowly eased my way onto the sofa so that he could fall asleep comfortably. And as I laid there on my back, Jesse nodded off.

I was about to carry him off to his cot when I realised that I didn't quite feel like letting go of him.

He's gotten so big now that as he buried his head under my chin, his feet reached up to my knees. It's only been 19 months and already he's as big as a little pig and probably weighing quite as much too. Heh.

It occurred to me that pretty soon, he won't be able to sleep on my chest anymore. And even if he could, he might very well not want to.

And so, tonight I let him take his nap on me. I laid there as still as I could, wondering if he would someday remember all of this - that he was, once upon a time, Daddy's precious little boy. And that he would always remain so, for all eternity.

Magic Carpet Ride

there go the ships: there is
that Leviathan, whom thou hast
made to play therein


Top of the range, two-litre fuel injection automatic transmission encased in a galvanised shell and riding on 7 hydropneumatic spheres. Born in 1990 and accorded European Car of the Year the same year, and going for less than a song. 330,000 units worldwide and one in my apartment parking lot.

Be afraid, be very afraid. Muahahaha... And no, I never learn.

The Forbidden Fruit Complex

It's a man thing. For some reason, we like the things we cannot have. When it's laid out there on a platter for us, we couldn't care less about it. But once it's out of bounds, that's when we want it most. And this can be just about anything:

• That elusive fish
• Bigfoot
• That out-of-production car
• A hole-in-one
• Somebody's wife
• Landing on the moon

The bible says Eve coerced Adam into plucking that forbidden fruit. But I suspect it was Adam's idea all along. He can't help it. He's a man. And men are hunters. We like the thrill of the chase. The adrenaline rush.

Tsk, tsk, tsk! Dangerous creatures, we men.

Sex and the City of Bangkok

You can't go to Sin City and not check out the sex. Then again, if you went to Bangkok with the wife and kid, and decided to procure some sex services, then you must fully expect your spouse to Bang your... erm... head with a blunt object. Still, we did find our way to Patpong. Without Jesse, of course.

Patpong is a network of exciting streets. We went to this one which was a series stalls selling t-shirts and fake watches and stuff, flanked by two rows of go-go bars. Just think Petaling Street with plenty of sex around. Anyway, we ended up in a go-go bar where girls in their undies were pole-dancing on the bar. Actually it can hardly be called pole dancing since most of the girls were merely holding on to the steel poles and gyrating crudely. Still, most the guys were happy sipping down their watered-down beer.

As expected, the girls (Mae, sis and future sis-in-law) got bored quickly enough and decided to find their way to Bangkok's finest - the Tiger Shows. Meanwhile, us boys continued to enjoy... erm... our beers.

The waiter in the joint gave us the run-down of the place while our lady bartender gave us the "scissors" sign with her fingers to remind us that some of us were married. Heh. Turns out, for a mere 100 Baht (or RM 10) you can call any girl down from the bar and she'll sit at your table for a meaningful conversation. Also, there is supposedly an upstairs room should you decide you'd like to take the conversation further.

So yeah, it was pretty sleazy. No wonder Bangkok's so much fun. :)

To Market, To Market

hot & humid at chak-tu-chak

I love Bangkok! And guys, despite what you hear you can still go to Bangkok with the family and have a ball. Heh.

Bangkok is all about shopping. And here, you can buy just about anything, at any budget. First stop for us, was some bargain-hunting at the Chak-Tu-Chak Weekend Market. It's a big-ass bazaar of things ranging from seedlings to clothing, animals to jewelry and goodness knows what else. For the two days that we were there, we didn't even manage to cover half the place.


Food here is excellent. Mae and I decided that we would sample the stuff that everyday Thai folks eat - their hawker fare. The thing about the Thai food in Bangkok is, it's like a there's some kind of Pig Festival going on - so it's pork, pork, pork everywhere!

Brunch at Chak-Tu-Chak was a bahkuteh-ish Pork Rice, which is a delicious oily rice with a sumptious serving of pork basted in Chinese herbs. I wouldn't go as far as to say it's excellent, but it's pretty good eating. Another specialty here is also their Rice Noodle in Pork Balls soup. Pork balls, not pig balls! The rice noodles are not unlike our Kuey Teow noodles, except this stall serves theirs in broader sheets of the stuff. Springier too. Every eatery in Bangkok serves their food with 4 condiments. My favourite is the ground dried chilli. I forget the other three. Hehh. This stall is in Section 26, in case you're interested. :)

Bangkok is hot and humid. And Chak-Tu-Chak is practically an oven. So it's not ideal for toddlers or babies. Or adult crybabies. Jesse was great throughout the entire trip, though we spared him the agony of enduring another day of his mother's shopping frenzy at the place on Day 2. I swear the woman will buy the whole damn Bangkok if she could afford it.