What Lies Beneath

I liked watching beauty through the decades videos because it gives us a glimpse of how things once was like.

Of course those are limited to:
1. Western beauty ideals; and
2. Beauty ideals that were set by the wealthy (because they can afford it).

These videos underscore how no matter how much things change, some things remain the same. Women are expected to look a certain way (and suffer to get it if they didn't win the genetics lottery) to be considered beautiful. The beauty standards are often arbitrary and fickle; thick eyebrows one decade, pencil thin the next.

Here is another such video with an interesting twist. (Stolen from here)


It's a good refresher. Women are forever being erased from the history books as though half of the world's population have no historical value or did anything interesting enough to be noted. It is important to remind ourselves that women are not just vainpots primping in front of the mirror; they move the world as well.

Never leave home without a good knife

Sing-a-long in Javanese!



*Stolen from Facebook, hence the tiny quality.

The song is about the process of having a wedding for Javanese families. Traditionally, the family would gather for a meeting to discuss division of labour; roping in aunts, uncles, cousins, etc to help out. Either the parent(s) of the bride/groom heads the endeavour or a family elder is tasked with the coordination of the needful for the event. No need for wedding planners.

I love how well the songwriter included the various elements of the kenduri like rewang (hanging out to help cook, decorate, etc), lining the palm of the host with a money-filled envelope before taking your leave and many more. The title of the post is a reference to how many ladies like my grandmother (and yours truly included) would never depart home for a rewang without our own knife with which to work. After all, the host may run out of knives for you to use or have inferior blades of the kind of sharpness and size that you do not favour (too many people have small, blunt knives. I check out the kitchens). I remember freaking out my grandmother's neighbour as I peel onions with a six-inch (not including the handle) chef knife. But hey, my knife was beautifully sharp and of great heft that slicing and dicing was a breeze.

However, the rewang tradition is slowly being eradicated as our lifestyle change; we can no longer depend on the commitment of families and neighbours with the catering (with perhaps a souvenir from the host for their time and energy in the form of a kain batik/pelekat, etc) and prep, everyone is so busy. Unless you live in a close-knit kampung or community, you are better off engaging professional caterers to get things done. Granted, your event will look like those in the magazines (assuming you have the budget for it), but the camaraderie of showing off your skills, developing talents and just hanging out together gossiping but the uncle who was chased out by his third wife as you peel onions will no longer part of the communal memory.

Ah well. That's the price of progress, innit?

Ramadhan Karim!

Tomorrow is the first day of the fasting month for Muslims in Malaysia. In other parts of the world, some would have started today already or even the day after. This is all because of the elusive moon; with the air pollutants these days, it is quite likely that with the naked eye, one could mistake a low orbiting satellite for the much anticipated sliver of the moon.

Ramadhan marks the month where Muslims are expected to abstain from food and drink and sex from dawn to sunset. Luckily for us in the equator, the duration of the day is pretty the same year round and takes roughly 13.5 hours.  It pays to be in the Antarctica for this Ramadhan season rather than Alaska, let me tell you. For those in the northern hemisphere, Ramadhan falls during the peak of summer this year; eighteen hours of daylight is no walk in the park to go without water and sustenance, not to mention the scorching heat. It is a good thing that the Islamic calendar is a lunar one; at least you can experience fasting during spring, summer, fall and winter. Imagine if Ramadhan is stuck in summer only ... oh wait. It would be kind of like the Aussies and Kiwis knowing nothing but summery Christmas, yeah?

Nonetheless, we are expected to suck it up and demonstrate the strength of our faith. I started fasting when I was seven in Primary One, though with some cheating ("What are you doing in the bathroom?" "Just peeing," and I swallowed the deliciously cold tap water in a hurry.). Unlike the parents of most my peers, mine did not believe in monetary reward for adhering to the edicts of our faith, so there were no dollar a day for complete fast. 

Oh well. Bribery is bad, right?

There was a cartoon by Lat that I remembered fondly about fasting. Sadly, I couldn't source it, but it portrayed Epit, one of his Kampung Boy characters, who was not fasting because he was still a small child. As such, he was not allowed to join the breaking of the fast meal and had to wait below the house (traditional Malay houses were built on stilts) for charity from his siblings, commonly in the form of a banana smuggled through the window.

Before I attended boarding school in my secondary years, I never thought that boys would cheat during the fasting month. I have always thought of how lucky the males are to not menstruate and having to replace the missed days of fasting. During the tarawih prayer one evening, the prayer leader, who was an Islamic Studies teacher and warden at the male dormitory, made a comment about scenting instant noodle cooking in the boys' corridor. Unlike Epit, these big boys could partake the breaking of fast meal in the cafeteria, pretending virtuousness of a complete day of fasting.

The fasting month also marks the time when the evening traffic will be snarled to road rage-inciting insanity, thanks to food markets, called pasar Ramadhan, catering specifically for the breaking of fast meal.

Stolen from http://lhakim-suarahati.blogspot.com/2012/08/kaut-untung-atas-angin-pada-bulan.html

These markets usually starts operating at about 3 pm and are usually located around high traffic concentration areas. They would offer all kind of delicacies, ranging from appetisers to main course to desserts, and a plethora of cold drinks that only makes its appearance during the Ramadhan. As much as these markets cause the traffic to seize, its presence is highly looked forward to by foodies to source for their evening meal. I am rather meh about them; there had been many instances that I would walk home from the pasar Ramadhan empty-handed, not having seen anything that I would actually pay money to consume. I think this is the bane of cooking at home. You would look at something and think:

"I could make that thing myself, and for that price, I could make enough for ten people to eat."

...or ...

"So obvious that they cheated with the coconut ... looks like leftover after the coconut milk has been extracted ..."

... or ...

"Is that supposed to be appetising? That chicken looked like it's been recycled from yesterday's dinner service."

... and so on.

It is ironic that the month for people to rein in their base desires and train their bodies for self control is also the month where people abuse their body with food and drink. Some people seem to think that just because they skipped lunch and second breakfast and tea, they can mentekedarah (eat everything in sight) when dusk arrive. Malaccans use the word mencekik to describe this, which literally means to strangle or eat until you can't breathe anymore.

So you have people over eating, or worse, wasting food. The pasar Ramadhan offers one avenue for waste; when hungry people go food shopping, they tend to over estimate how much they can eat and end up buying too much. The other one are the buffet offers, that range from a modest RM 26.90++ per pax to ridiculous RM 139.90++ and even more at high end hotels. If you had to fork out that much to eat at the buffet, won't you over stuff yourself just to justify the amount that you've paid?

However, I do miss the McDonald's Ramadhan buffet. Once upon a time, the stand along McDonalds (not the ones in shopping malls) would offer Ramadhan buffets; the more people you bring along, the cheaper it was. I think this would have been the few times that McDonalds may not make the kind of return they usually expect; people who come to eat at this buffet tend to be serious about putting away their food.

The McDonalds buffet is the only one that I have ever gone to that you don't really see people wasting food. It was probably because the time for you to get the food is limited (from 7 pm to 8.30 pm only) and you have to queue at the counter to order before you can get your food. So you are not going past an array of food from which you fill your plate (which would cause the primitive part of your brain to maniacally pile food on your plate) and you are limited by the number of stuff you can put on your plastic brown tray.

I've been to it twice, once with my Assunta girlfriends and another time with my uni mates. The trick to making the most of this buffet is drinking nothing but hot tea, sans sugar and creamer. Cold drinks will make you drink too much and you won't have much space to stuff your gullet. We were evil enough to bring large bags to smuggle extras home to the gang in the house. One of the guys from uni actually put two quarter pounder patties together into one gigantic burger, smushed it to a more manageable thickness and ate the whole thing. On top of the Big Mac, fries and assorted other stuff that went down his throat.

Good times.

The thing is, Ramadhan is about reminding you about the good things that you do have. The blessing of water when you are thirsty, the food when you are hungry. Around the world, millions of people go to bed hungry on a daily basis. Many die from malnutrition and even starvation. It is ironic that as the waistline of the world kept growing, there are still sections of the population who still do not have enough to eat. We are supposed to reflect on what it is like to be without, and to be more charitable to those who are in need.

I hope to do better this Ramadhan, to subdue my base instincts and cultivate better habits (I'm not holding my breath, though). This is a jihad, a struggle, to become better, and Allah in His Infinite Kindness, rewards us for doing something that we should be doing for ourselves. Done properly, fasting can help you regulate your metabolism and lose some inches (although how long the inches remain lost vary with your effort). One tends to sleep earlier to wake up for sahur (the morning meal), which can correct any previous sleep deprivation. One tends to be more mindful of one's speech, avoiding inane chatter and cursing, which would be good for developing a more pleasant personality.

All in all, I am looking forward to enjoying myself this Ramadhan! I hope it will be a great one for you too!

Adrift in bliss. ..

It's late...and I have Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy's soundtrack on while I wrap my niece's books. The mournful trumpet wails in the foreground while sinister violins accompany the plaintive, tinkling of the piano.

Somehow it reminds me of the time I walked on the cobblestone streets of Istanbul. l was my snugly clad in my new patchwork bather jacket, ignoring the pinch of the new leather boots that threatened to slip from under me on the slick pavement. The air was redolent with the scent of coal smoke, strangely fragrant, unlike the stinging haze currently blanketing my city & country. Winter lent a crispness to the air; cool & moist near the shores of Bosphorus while inland the air was colder & dry.

The streets of Istanbul were clean & confusing. Wide tarmac thoroughfares were few in the maze of Byzantine slick cobblestones. We saw no stray  animals save cats. Turkish cats were fat, with healthy fluffy fur coats. They were friendly animals, obliging of cuddles from strangers even without food incentives.

Today I read & watch more unrest in the beautiful city. Protests over the Taksim square have evolved into something bigger & uglier, fueled by resentment & anger. Ordinary citizens battle & batter the authorities daily, the pretty streets strewn with rubble & burnt rubbish as protestors lob Molotov cocktails hither & yonder.

Outsiders like me would think that the Turks should have no complains. As more EU economies rumble & crumble, Turkey has been enjoying unprecedented growth. No longer are they the Sick Man of Europe. The horrendous inflation that saw me pay 1.7 million Turkish Lira for a tiny handbag is a thing of the past.

However, the threat to destroy one of the last vestiges of greenery in a city that is calcifying in towering structures in the name of progress has gotten the citizens up in arms. Personally, I feel that another shopping mall is superfluous, what more an edifice paying tribute to a shameful mark in Turkish history (the Janissary barracks look-alike was in the architecture plan. The Janissary was an elite military corps that were populated by stolen Christian boys who were forced to convert to Islam & serve the Ottoman empire.).

Whatever the spark that ignited the rage fueling the protests, it is not the first time that Istanbul was rocked by civil unrest. It won't be the last. The city between two continents, watered by the Marmara & the Bosphorus, will continue to witness the drama of the Turkish people. Joy & sorrow, success & failure, elation & despair, the cycle plays on until the annihilation of mankind.

The conspiracy theorist in me suspects that there are unseen hands fanning the passion of the protestors, similar to that in my country. But like Turkey, the prosperity enjoyed in Malaysia breeds a different sense of discontent. When all of Maslow's pyramid of needs have been fulfilled, people begin to look for other aspirations to give structure & meaning to their life. Something loftier than the struggle for survival in the past. The siren call of civil liberties are only audible when one's no longer worrying about from where the next mouthful will be coming.

The cross dressing TV personality in Pakistan who was interviewed by Diego for the show, Don't Tell My Mom Where I Went (or something like that) was asked whether he is fighting for LGBT rights in his show. His candid reply was that Pakistan had bigger problems to solve such as violence & corruption. For two men or women to have the right to make love is not even on the table of the important things to be solved.

Although many people of Turkey decried their duly elected Prime Minister, I'll bet the people of Pakistan, Egypt, Algeria, Syria & many other countries ravaged by unrest, economic meltdown etc. would dearly love to have Reccip Tayyip Erdogan take a hand to manage their country. Someone who will suppress the infighting & foster prosperity will be a welcome change to the incompetent regime currently holding the reins as they head pell mell for hell...

Then again, you'll never miss the water till it's gone.

Empathise emphasise

Looking outside of yourself to discover who you really are.

It can change your life.

Detachment

Most films about the teaching profession are very positive. A forceful and charismatic teachers lands in a (usually) lousy (inner city, no doubt) school with a class filled with delinquents, lazy jocks, the misunderstood creative outcast, the nerds and the rest of the usual cast of student "archetypes", at least by way of Hollywood scriptwriting. To Sir, With Love is perhaps the most iconic of redemption-of-students-by-saviour-teacher, the formula of which was replicated by films like Stand and Deliver and Dangerous Minds (based on true stories, yeah okay).


I bet there wasn't a dry eye in the cinema by the closing credits.

And then you have Dead Poet Society and the female copycat version Mona Lisa Smile where the teacher inspires the students to think outside the box and abandon the shackles put upon them by the hidebound society that cossets their privileged arses. While most of these movies share a running theme that is mocked by the most cynical as mawkish sentimentality, they do underline an important aspect about the teaching profession: teachers are potential cult leaders.

I'm just kidding.

(the rest is under cut for extreme movie spoilers)

Unforeseen hiatus

I have disappeared from posting here for over a month. Was I missed? I would like to think so (narcissist, much?).

My Daddy passed away last month on the third. It was a stunning blow for our family; we took it for granted that he'd live as long as his mother did, his father and his siblings (only two died before hitting sixty). I guess we forgot that all of us were born to die and that there is no promise or contract to let us know how long we have in this world. I have had my Daddy for over thirty five years (he had his for much less, so did my Mum), but I don't think there was ever enough time to have with the people you love, right?

I penned (typed, rather) a little tribute to my Daddy on Cowbird. You can see it here.

Goodbye, Daddy. See you on the other side.

Ear candy

I grew up listening to Madonna way back when she was still the Material Girl. Her poppy songs were the anthems of my younger days but I quit listening to her when she went overboard with the auto tune and got too hip hop for my taste. I love her songs in that they are easy to sing along to, even if you don't have a distinguished voice. I've never fancied myself as a Celine Dion and won't attempt her songs at a karaoke, but give me the Madonna 80's and early 90's catalogue and you'll pry the microphone from my cold, dead fingers.

It made me rejoice that Madge appears to be returning to her musical origins in her latest single. Maybe I will want to buy this album after over a decade of turning up my nose at her output.

New stuff I've read this year ... so far

It has been 7 weeks and I have only read 8 books! Been so busy, so slow down a lot. Yeah. Right.

I read mostly romance and I don't apologise for it. I don't care if I don't know who won the Booker Prize, I don't want to read 'em. If it's a Nobel Laureate of Literature, please don't pass it to me. I am a Phillistine and I am okay with it.

Once I fall in love with the work of an author, I obsessively search out her/his catalogue of work and read everything I can get my grubby hands on. I follow them and urge (silently) that they type faster and publish more to keep feeding my reading habit. Hence, 6 out of the 8 authors below are authors I have been following, some since my teenage years. 

Since I am a creature of habit, I keep gobbling whatever it is they write even after they shifted style or had become plodding or whatever. Hey, we all evolve, right? Hopefully for the better, but if not, whatever. So even if they have shifted style into something that makes me go "meh", but I will continue to read them until they no longer write. Or I no longer have money to rent. Or the books really just swerved into "Do not go there!" territory. Whichever comes first.

Under cut because of loads of pictures. Not in chronological order.

Greatest love of all ...

In my blog-hopping adventures, I was privileged to find all kinds of interesting stuff: from amateur Malaysian porn (freely available with no passwords, mind you) and how to make tiramisu cake as well as semi-fictitious accounts of life in the armed forces.

No, I am not going to share the porn sites. You can look for it yourself. It's easy.

But today I found a most profound observation about naughty children and us. Who of us have never given the lethal evil stare to children who ran over our feet with their roller sneakers in the shopping mall? (I freely admit to a burning desire to stick my foot out and see them fly over the Center Court ballustrade at Midvalley). Or the screaming running children in the mosque/temple/church before/during/after prayer times? What about the kids who stole the semi-ripe mangoes from your tree, ate half of it and threw the rest away where you can see it?

Do we ever recall that we were once pain-in-the-arse-little-shites ourselves?

Okay, perhaps some of you were perfect little angels who never questioned the authority, get dirty or done something that felt so good at the time but later regretted. But the point here is that we all evolve.

There have been students from religious schools turned whore-monger and drunkard when they experienced the bright lights of the big city for the first time. There are those who used to raise hell, found God and is now living an examplary life. We all capable of change as well as being agents of change.

Let's show a little more compassion to the naughty little ones and show them the better example of being the best that they can be. In a good way, of course.



And not follow Whitney Houston's crash and burn. Keep remembering that we all live in glass houses; no one can afford to throw the first stone.

This is soooo coool ....

If only I had maths teachers who could make maths this simple and fun; perhaps I would not have been so frightened to do chemical engineering and be making gobs of moneh.

Dance!

I have always been a fan of Pet Shop Boys since the 80s (yes, I am that old. Shut up.). They have a gift of combining novel musical elements together into something dance-y and yet suffused with a darkness in their message. PSB is also big on stunning visuals and have no compunctions to slip into crazy outfits with every new album they produced.

I don't know how I could have missed out this video; it was released last year. But then again, I kept (and still do) losing the battle for the remote control.
But this! The engaging storyline, mellifluous shots and flow ... a master craftsman product of a video.

Enjoy.

Traipsing down memory lane ...

I was eleven the first time I listened to this song. Although I was a callow child with little understanding of romantic notions, but the sincere emotions illuminated by a sweet melody and illustrated by prosaic lyrics really struck me. The song evoked a visceral reaction in me and I remember going to school, humming this song and trying to recapture the sensation I experience even from the opening bar of the song.



Since then, I have been a fan of Robert Palmer and am working towards collecting his discography. He was a talented musician and singer who delved in genres from pop to progressive rock to swing and jazz. But I love him best when he croons love sweet nothings.

Now, I all I need to do is find a guy who will dedicate this song to me. *grin*

TMI!!!!

Hahahahah ... now that it is no longer Ramadhan, I can post this picture.

So ... which number are you? Either one.

*grin*

Walking down memory lane ...

Facebook interaction sparks the weirdest things. A friend shared a hari raya song that made me crave to be home and baking cookies and the ensuing conversation unearthed the following video. Ah, recollecting songs of one's youth ... this was before Elton John went Disney-fied and my liking turned to loathing.



It is amazing to note that once upon a time, models in video clips actually look like real people.

Sweet dreams are made of these ...

 
Should I be worried that I seem to be recycling my dreams? Every morning I wake up to some dream that I have had before. Maybe some minor details were changed (like new characters, etc) but the essential storyline and plot are the same.

*sigh*

Does this mean that my imagination has come to a stand still?

*shudder*

Emo Star Wars?

I knew that Luke was an angsty dude, but the droids too?

You sure learn something new every day.

But I do wonder: Do emo droids cut themselves too? Do they sever a hydraulic line, power back up supply, what? *ponders*

Genius courtesy of paperbeatsscissors.

Who is afraid of the Internet?

Beautiful, beautiful animated video that makes you smile, and then think. It may be a little long, but definitely worth clicking.



A lot of people are saying that the uprising in Tunisia and Egypt was largely successful because of the Internet. Connectivity helps to fan the fervour amongst those protesting and garner support to their cause. An Egyptian man even named his daughter Facebook as a tribute to the social networking site.  

But are we naive in thinking that the Internet is so powerful?

The Internet is value neutral; but like a sword, the wielder can both cut and also BE cut. It can be used as a tool by the activists; but by the same coin, the authorities working to stamp out dissidence can also use it to track, identify and contravene the efforts of the activists.

But  as Evgeny Morozov pointed out, when the Internet is primarily used to download bootleg entertainment material (all right, porn, dammit) and to tell/troll your friends of your "noteworthy" activities, the likelihood of the "democratic change" extolled by the cyber-utopians are about as real as the Farmville corn you harvest.

Copy and paste for uncomedic error

Plagiarism in academic circles are considered as one of the highest blasphemy (just below falsifying data). Used to be this is about not acknowledging information sources but the "Ctrl+C" and "Ctrl+V" function in most writing softwares has extended the odd quotes to large swathes of work lifted ad verbatim from the original source (with/without attribution).

 It is not acceptable behaviour.

Anyone teaching at an institution of higher learning will tell you that "copy-paste" term papers are pretty par for the course. The students claim that they are overworked, don't quite understand what is the objective of the paper (and hence stuffed everything possible in it in hopes to garner some mercy points) and all kinds of excuses ("I didn't have time to do the paper properly since my cat died and I'm in mourning." is my personal favourite) to justify their action.

Identifying plagiarised paper of most student is actually pretty easy; just look for islands of flawless sentences in a sea of awkwardly written prose or perfect English sentences from students who could barely identify themselves in said language. Softwares like turnitin makes proving academic dishonesty that much easier.

What are the consequences of citation amnesia? It ranges from suspension, paper retraction or to even stepping down from being the defense minister. Karl-Theodore zu Guttenberg, a charismatic and youthful politician from aristocratic lineage (with the courtesy title of Baron), was alleged to have plagiarised significant portions of with Doctorate of Law thesis. Four years after granting him the degree, the University of Bayreuth withdrew his PhD.

The moral of the story is: If you lie, don't get caught.

Life is unfair ...

... kill yourself or get over it.

Child Psychology, Black Box Recorder.

Oh dear ...

Sadly, the truth hurts.

Priorities ... I has 'em.