On Water

In the hopes of fostering inquisitiveness and hence creativity, I was wondering how holy water was made. How exactly does one bless water? Is it just a benediction said over the water, or do you stir the water about with your finger, do you sneeze in it, or what?

How does water become holy if the words said over it are from mortal mouths? I'd be a lot more convinced of holy water's powers if it was divine mouth-wash. I can't imagine being blessed with holy spittle.

And what do they do when they're done with the water? I can't imagine it being recycled, purified and re-blessed, but I think throwing it out is a bit of a waste as well. Or perhaps then it evaporates back to god.

On Cocoa

Yesterday, I went for dinner. I was promised chocolate cake "to die for", so I was quite looking forward to dessert, understandably. When the plates finally arrived, I was agog at this fluffy, whitish slice of thing that looked like brie gone slightly wrong.

"What's this," I demanded.

It was the white chocolate tart, I was told.

Well, didn't I feel gypped then. Someone had attempted to poison me with a white chocolate tart! Reminded me of one of those covert CIA plots to assasinate Castro.

So naturally, I ordered the chocolate cake, the one with warm chocolate in the centre. And this bloody waitress, who, it seemed, had turned out the light while applying eye-shadow (she looked like Dracula's mother-in-law), had the audacity to stare blankly at me, making me repeat my order.

Although, for such a subversive restaurant, the chocolate cake was quite nice.

On Riposte

Yes, but I also said I was sweet and demure.

And, not so much a rock, more a hyperventilating pebble.

On Heat

I saw a diplodocus in estrus today.

On Pots and Pans

I am feeling quite ill now, because my mother insisted on dragging me to a frying pan sale. Chinese salesmen all cooking noxious stuff. Evil, maladorous smells still stuck somewhere in my brain.

Luckily, brilliant me left her to her own devices (haha, what a pun) and went walking around. Browsed a nice Hallmark section and finally managed to get my letter writing set. Most pleased, as I am no longer affected by my sister taking her time to buy stuff for me. Need a good calligraphy pen, or something, though. My quill tends to blot rather badly.

And death to all salesmen.

On Turbulence

Gerard inhaled deeply, intoxicated by the night's odours. He savoured the chaos, every single molecule of it.

On Cookery

James hummed quietly to himself as he sliced the lady's fingers into neat segments. He wanted this dinner to be special, to celebrate his mother's recovery from surgery.

On Emptiness

Let us strike the key-note, before pursuing the tune.

It is unfortunate, truly, to have one's future delineated by a piece of paper. Much more bitter than receiving less-than-hoped-for results is the consequence of those results. Of course, with boundless enthusiasm, the governing body suggests that there is no real drawback to the system. I suppose there really is nothing else they can say.

Myself, am not badly affected by this turn of events. Thus I am fortunate. But as always, there are those who are less so, and are forcibly ripped from friends they've established. There is a heaviness, and heart-pain, associated with such sorrow. It's not sweet at all. But, as ever we must be hopeful, and trust in our abilities. Contact can still be maintained. True, it is difficult, but not impossible, at least. Certainly, mirabile dictu, what with myself unaffected, listening to Enya, but still, surely it can be done.

Now, let us pursue the tune, Dickens.

My god, how I loathe and despise Dickens. Hard Times is one of those rare novels that I have extraordinary difficulty in ploughing through, and if not for the fact that I have to take an exam on it, I'd have chucked it in the sea long ago. What kind of sick, depraved Victorian mind conceives a name like M'Choakumchild? And so prolix! Ever and ever and ever anon, Dickens!

I have never liked Dickens. Ever since I was forced to read the great big pictorial version of Oliver Twist and frightened by Fagin's depiction, I have not liked Dickens. Ghastly, ghastly. Even a chinese dictionary would be better, what with their interesting pictures and evolution of chinese characters.

But Dickens reflects the epitome of English writing, surely? Rubbish. I can subsist quite happily on Blyton and Rowling, thank you very much. Or even oversexed Shakespeare, but constipated Dickens? As far as I'm concerned, his writing apotheosises the dull and dreary society he attempts to criticise.

Dahl for me, or Doyle, or Archer, but not, certes, Dickens.

On Misperception

"Mommy, mommy, look, a lethal weapon!"

"That's just my shoe, dear."

"Mommy, mommy, look, blood!"

"That's just my wine, dear."

"Mommy, mommy, look, a corpse!"

"That's just daddy, dear."

"Mommy, mommy, look, a monster!"

"That's just me, dear."

On Homecoming

And with a screech and a bump the plane touched down. For a brief, fleeting moment I imagined an enormous explosion, a towering inferno rising high into the sky, as the giant conflagration spews charred bodies all over the place, still smoking and smouldering. Whoever wasn't killed instantly in the firestorm would die a slow agonising death as it sucked the oxygen from their lungs, as they gasped and clawed in futility at closing blackness.

"Thank you for flying Singapore Airlines." It's so good to be home again.

On Cities

I have decided a do not like San Francisco. In fact, I loathe and abhor it. There is this unusual oppresive air about the city which does not make me feel cheerful and comfortable. I do not recall any other cities doing that to me. But then that could be because I was too young, and on tour with my parents. I hope London does not have this effect on me. Have quite liked London so far, I think.

Driving in San Francisco is crazy. It's like trying to climb a tree without using hands. Very irritating. Don't know why I'm writing like this. Should stop.

On Mind

A Beautiful Mind is the most touching and poignant movie I've seen in a while. Good show, I'd recommend it. Apparently there is a tradition in Princeton that in the teahouse, professors will present their pens to a colleague who has had the crowning achievement of his career. So all these professors were presenting Russell Crowe's character with their nice Parker gold pens, and I couldn't help think that it would be incredibly funny if one of the professors presented a Redleaf blue pen.

On Dolphins

There was once a sailor who had been shipwrecked, and was saved from drowning when a dolphin pushed him to shore. He was so touched by the experience he went around the country talking to people who had been similarly saved. After talking to many others like himself, he then proceeded to give lectures about the benevolence of dolphins, and how mankind should do their best to save our best friends.

And so, one day, someone in the audience asked, "What about the dolphins who pushed the sailors the other way?"

On DVD

I fail to see the need for dvds. Vcds were fine. Vcrs were fine. Who needs digital compression anyway?

Ah well. Video did kill the radio star.

Haha. My entire post was structured to accomodate that one line.

On Service

Service, service, service, service (just trying to break up the trite "repeated twice" form of emphasis). America is all about service. That, and poor yet speedy driving, but that's a different story. Service here is just so shockingly good. For one, people actually smile while serving you. I think that's incredible. People also thank you for waiting, thank you when you leave, respond effervescently when you make difficult requests...it's quite wonderful.

Compare this, to the shoddy, brusque, unprofessional treatment you get back at home. People don't even wait for you to give your order and scowl at you when they do. And people complain about recession. I am of the opinion that the wealth of nations depends, quite largely, on quality of service.

Take, for instance, dinner I had tonight, at a so-called Chinese restaurant. We had ordered "Fried sizzling tofu", or something like that. Due to a lack of heat on the hot plate, the tofu didn't so much sizzle as squelch. So, when the waiter came to clear the dishes, someone remarked quite zealously, "Excuse me, the tofu didn't sizzle! Everyone else's was, like, (vague frying noise), but ours didn't sizzle! Perhaps you could cut the tofu into smaller pieces so it would sizzle more." And the waiter took this as a perfectly legitimate suggestion! Such stupendous open-mindedness. Such unequivocal largesse. I suppose it helps his tip.

Tomorrow I have a busy day. V. many things to do.

On Favouritism

As if I needed more proof that God hated me. Apparently this is freakish weather we're having. Instead of being able to frolic on the beach in shorts and a T-shirt, I have to wear layers and layers of heavy clothing. And then, to make things worse, it rained last night. Can you believe that? I think bad luck follows me around like a serial rapist. On the plus side, it is quite enjoyable, doing things I won't usually be doing. I'm not looking forward to doing laundry though. The cloud cover here seems to impede brain cell growth...most irritating.

So what should I do today?

On Wipers

"Squee, squee" goes the windscreen wipers, and all the water gets flicked away.

"Squee" goes my superego.

On Motive

Ooh. What was I thinking. I almost posted a self-analysis. Tsk tsk, such carelessness.

On Perspicacity

It's interesting, how accurate my observations can be. At the risk of sounding like a huge egomaniac, sometimes, I truly intimidate myself.