The Big Bad Wolf is in town and book prices came tumbling down, but not all the way down to the ground. Still, you can get a new paperback or trade paperback for RM 8, about what you'd pay for one of those value meals post-tax. But, I'm sure you're more interested if it is worthwhile fighting for parking and then for a spot at the tables. My answer is: if you have the time, and the patience, and if you're not sick in anyway or have an important deadline coming up; and if you've run out of books to read and are tired of the standard book sale fare, then go ahead and take a chance.
The following's a more comprehensive review.
What's this about?
If you're one of those book sale junkies like I am, you'd know that the Big Bad Wolf (BBW) books have been making quite a lot of noise with their print ads in the Star. There was even some decent press coverage about it. Their Big Bad Book Sale was the most talked about event in my house since Sunday.
The details of the sale:
VENUE:
2nd Floor,
Dataran Hamodal Block A,
Jalan Bersatu 13/4 Section 13, 46200 Petaling Jaya,
Selangor (Next to Colgage Palmolive)
DATE: 14-18 May 2009
TIME: 10am - 9pm
The thing that really caught our eye was that these books are new. And I'm not just saying they're "first-hand", I mean that they're fresh blood in a market full of warehouse clearance discards.
Have you been to some of these book sales lately? I keep seeing the same titles, as though they've been carting the same ole books away after every event, and bringing them back for the next. Consequently, most titles are ho-hum and outdated. And they're not giving enough discounts on some of these books.
So, BBW's claim that the competition is "quaking in their boots" is quite on the dot.
But really, do they have the books I want?
Well, this is quite difficult to answer. I didn't really walk around taking notes. BBW claims that there's more than 100,000 books for sale, which is likely true. Again, if you've been trawling the sales like I have, you'd notice that the location is at the same spot as the MPH warehouse sales (unfortunately, I have the last one a miss, so I can't compare the two). But the layout is probably the same; pasar malam tables spread around the entire floor. One entire section was closed to the public, and there, you can see staff separating the books into nice piles. So, likely there'd be enough books to go around all weekend.
They did us all a nice favour by arranging the books nicely too. There's a few tables with Children's books. And if you go anti-clockwise through the hall, this was followed by some puzzle books, cookbooks, computer books and textbooks, general fiction novels, sci-fi and fantasy, romance, biographies, true stories, self-help, how-tos, travel, dictionaries, magazines and Chinese books. In short, the usual fare.
I'll have this to say about computer books and textbooks. Most of the ones I saw were fairly recent, e.g. I bought a book about HTML which was published in 2006. Well, not new new, but it isn't a decade old either!
The general fiction weren't the usual leftover American-Agent-Saves-the-World-thriller types. The titles were varied, and I noticed, mostly written by bestselling international authors. They're likely to be books still found on shelves in our other contemporary bookstores in the general section. If you're the kind who likes to pick up quality books by different authors, this'll be your place. Scroll down for a list of books I picked up. I didn't note all that many faddish books though e.g. by Dan Brown, J.K. Rowling or Stephenie Meyer.
I was quite amused to notice that they've reprinted James Clavell's books, so if you didn't pick up Tai-Pan, Shogun and the lot in the 70s and 80s, there's plenty new ones here. They've advertised quite a few of Meg Cabot's Princess Diaries books, which had a nice prominent location. I didn't see all that many romance books, but I could have been avoiding them.
As for sci-fi and fantasy, there was only one table that I could see, but there were books by Robert Jordan, Tracy Hickman and Margaret Weis, some Arthur C Clarke, and a bunch of Star Wars novels, for example. There's some other authors too, mind you. While the sci-fi and fantasy section didn't overwhelm me in numbers, they did make up for it in quality, that is, if you like these authors.
Got parking?
Uhm, not really. I've managed to park in Wisma Hamodal before, once upon a time. But when I went there today (Thursday, May 14) there was a kindly old pakcik who waved us away. The road shoulders were fully utilised, likely by people who worked in the office buildings nearby. There was a huge parking lot down the road though, past the Glad Tiding's church. It's unpaved; full of gravel and stones and water from last nights blessed rain. And it's in a depression of sorts, so you'd have to climb up an incline on the way out. So don't wear your best high-heels. You'd have to walk about 5 minutes or more to Wisma Hamodal. Don't fall in the longkang
Cash or card?
Payment was a bit iffy. There were only two counters accepting Visa or Mastercard, and the line-up was so long I opted for cash. There were maybe three cash only counters. And oh, magazines should be paid at their own section.
What should I bring?
Water - it's good for you. But the place isn't as dusty as some places I've been to. A good sign that the books are "fresh"?
An extra human - if not for mum, I think I'd have gone mad. But mums are always great to have around. Mum was tired of looking around, and I had a huge box load of books. So I parked her somewhere with the box and went off looking for more. It also helps to have someone check the front of the line while I stand at the back, so that I know I'm at the right spot.
A "green" shopping bag - some of the ones we have are quite hardy. They're a lot nicer to lug around compared to boxes, so bring some along, they don't mind. Most of us picked up boxes lying around, but I'm not sure of their availability.
Good manners - I'm not sure why some people think that they can put their boxes on the books while other people are trying to check out titles. Don't do that lah!
Cash
Credit card
What should I not bring?
Infectious germs - I sneezed, I admit, but it was due to the sun rays shining in the window, and I sneezed into my sleeves. I did want to sneeze at the rude people blocking some book titles, but that would have been quite nasty.
Greed - Take only the books you want and will read!
The Big Bad Book Takeaway?
Here's the books I ended up with. Some mine, some sis' and some mum's. All were RM 8 except the HTML book, which was RM 15 and the Monkey God book, which was RM 5.
Frankenstein by Mary Shelley
Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde and other stories by R.L. Stevenson
Dracula by Bram Stoker
Dancing Girls by Margaret Atwood
A Spot of Bother by Mark Haddon
The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
Shadow of the Hegemon by Orson Scott Card
Dexter in the Dark by Jeff Lindsay
Head First HTML with CSS & XHTML by Elizabeth Freeman & Eric Freeman
Monkey God by Wu Chengen Translated by Arthur Waley
3 Robert Jordan Wheel of Time books
Critical by Robin Cook
Foreign Body by Robin Cook
Just Rewards by Barbara Taylor Bradford
Sons of Fortune by Jeffrey Archer
Break no bones by Kathy Reichs
Collins Chinese Dictionary
Total price: RM 156
Conclusion: I had a great but tiring time, and I think I walked away with some great buys. At some point, I was quite alarmed by people tossing books into their boxes like there's no tomorrow (children's section near the entry) but by the time I reached the self-help and travel books, people had calmed down somewhat. Parking was a bit iffy. Payment counters were crowded but if you stack them up according to price, it helps. Also helps that books were nicely stacked in their genre. Plenty of books to go around, if you're open to "non-trendy" stuff.
The writer is not in any way affiliated with Big Bad Wolf books. In fact, they took RM 156 away from her today. A small price to pay for her addiction though.
Thursday, May 14, 2009
Monday, December 1, 2008
Food for Thought
I was at a local coffeeshop during open poetry night and this was the piece I didn't perform.
As I sipped my coffee and listened to some artsy speeches about "getting involved" in politics and listening to some pretty but not so inspiring peace songs in German (I don't speak German), I thought to myself, "If we ate our leaders..."
It took some time to come up with these statements and you don't really need to know me for long to realise that they have extra-literal meanings. Think about it a bit.
The rhythm took longer to adjust. I guess to properly read this out loud, you'd have to imagine yourself as an asthmatic tripping on the stairs.
I'm not exactly suggesting that we become cannibals and reserve that special cannibalistic moment for our elders only. What I wonder is, would we care more about the political situation if it were to affect us directly?
As I sipped my coffee and listened to some artsy speeches about "getting involved" in politics and listening to some pretty but not so inspiring peace songs in German (I don't speak German), I thought to myself, "If we ate our leaders..."
It took some time to come up with these statements and you don't really need to know me for long to realise that they have extra-literal meanings. Think about it a bit.
The rhythm took longer to adjust. I guess to properly read this out loud, you'd have to imagine yourself as an asthmatic tripping on the stairs.
Food for Thought
If only we ate our leaders.
Would our menus then be better?
If only we ate our leaders.
Would our children, our future be healthier?
If only we ate our leaders.
Would that make us strange cannibals
Dining with a pinch of salt?
If only we ate our leaders.
Who would we get to wash up?
If only we ate our leaders.
We would all be vegetarians.
I'm not exactly suggesting that we become cannibals and reserve that special cannibalistic moment for our elders only. What I wonder is, would we care more about the political situation if it were to affect us directly?
Making jam?
making use of rotten pears
Pears. A great big bag of pears.
Several boxes of pears were donated to the Foodbank recently. We usually sort out perishables, putting the nice ones into small bags and tossing the bruised or wormy ones. I've often felt that throwing away perishables was such a waste because you end up with quite a lot of junk going to the dumpsite. Ever since I've started the compost heap, I've been taking home some of the waste material, e.g. we once had a lot of romaine leaves and another time, there was bok choy.
So on this day, I decided to take home some rotting pears, just to add some nutrients to the pile. Pears and basically fruits of the kind, tend to add some ethanol to the heap too. I'm not sure if this is a bad thing for the compost, but so far, I'm not complaining. The last time I stuck my nose in the compost heap, it smelt as though we had a winery.
The interesting thing about these pears is that there's some salvageable bits to it too. I mean, about a third of the pear is compost heap material, slimy and sludgy. And then there's the seeds, which I usually don't compost, because I don't want pear trees growing out of the soil. We usually end up with about a third to two-thirds of good bits left on the pear we bring back from the Foodbank.
I try not to make a habit of bringing back rotten pears though. The last time we did it, Ben and I, we ended up taking about four hours just cutting out the good parts and chopping the composty parts into smaller pieces. We ended up having dinner at about 10 p.m. Still, we ended up with maybe four freezer bags of chopped pears which we use for making smoothies.
This time around, I didn't want anymore pears in the freezer. So I thought, why not make something out of it immediately. I don't know what, maybe something with meat, or a jam or sauce or something. So I dutifully opened my Firefox browser, and typed "pear recipe" into the little toolbar at the corner, and bingo, tons of pear recipes.
Of course, the problem with internet recipes is that there's all kinds. And even now, I'm posting stuff for you to do, if you want to. I like things simple though, and I like to use whatever available. I admit it, I'm not a follower of recipes. I do the unthinkable, and, shock and horror, I modify stuff.
So, we found out that in order to make jam out of pears, you need some kind of pectin. I'm not sure if this applies to all kinds of pear jam, but for the first few that google showed us, we needed pectin. We did not have pectin, and we had no idea where we'd find pectin at that time in the evening. Sure, we could jolly well go do it another day, but I really wanted all the pears to disappear. I was tired of seeing pears. You would too, if you had to chop up all the rotted gooey bits, and then peel and core them.
So somehow, either through a recipe, or some agreement, we figured, hey, we could use agar-agar (from algae) instead of pectin to sort of tighten it up a little and make it into a fruit jelly/jam thing. Or alternatively, there's also gelatine or Jell-O (animal origins). I sent Ben out to the cornerstore to get some. Meanwhile, I chopped up more pears.
But because I had a migraine that day, Ben ended up making the jam when he came back. Or so he thought. By then, I was thinking of it as a fruit jelly. He boiled the pears, added some sugar and waited and waited for the pears to break down into a big goopy pile.
I should mention that both of us, being idiots in the kitchen, had no idea what fruit would look like if you cook it long enough. We thought it'll break down. I tried looking it up, on what jam would look like when ready, and well, they don't have everything on the internet! You'd have to find it in some old cookbook written by the Lady So and So written a few centuries ago, I'd imagine.
But, if you know this, can you tell me? Do pears break down after boiling it a lot? I guess not eh? Well ours didn't, at any rate. Eventually, we had this nice pile of stewed pear bits, in sugar, with some cinnamon in it, and maybe some lemon juice (I didn't ask if he really did put in some lemon).
By then, I roused myself out of bed, because I kept hearing Ben cursing loudly, wondering when the stuff was going to look like what we imagined it to be. So I guess we imagined wrong, in a big way. So there I was, thinking to myself, "Well, I guess pears don't do stuff the way we thought it would." So I figure, why not just add the darn Jell-O and gelatine (Ben got both) to the whole thing? Just make it harden up, like a pear jelly or fruit jelly or something. Note that Ben still wants a jam, and to him, a jam is fruity and pectiny.
So I added all the gelatinous stuff we had at hand (maybe a tad too much, because Ben is still complaining about his jam being too hard now), and poured the stuff into one big skillet, and three hot chocolate mugs. We put it into the fridge and decided, that for that moment, we forget about the entire thing.
The next day, I took out one of the mugs, and took a scoop out of our pear jelly thing. Delicious. Wonderful. Yummy. I never liked pears this way ever in my life. (Note that I don't really like eating fruit for two reasons: I'm allergic to some and I'm too lazy to peel fruit.)
Ben took a bite of the whole thing, and said, "I still think this jam is too hard."
Sigh.
Never let a guy stew over the pears. Really. I suspect, from observing Ben and other guys, when they go into a kitchen, they expect to have the same end-product as the recipe they see in the picture. It has to look like the manual.
For me, I'm just happy we ended up with something, and that's a nice pear jelly.
Pears. A great big bag of pears.
Several boxes of pears were donated to the Foodbank recently. We usually sort out perishables, putting the nice ones into small bags and tossing the bruised or wormy ones. I've often felt that throwing away perishables was such a waste because you end up with quite a lot of junk going to the dumpsite. Ever since I've started the compost heap, I've been taking home some of the waste material, e.g. we once had a lot of romaine leaves and another time, there was bok choy.
So on this day, I decided to take home some rotting pears, just to add some nutrients to the pile. Pears and basically fruits of the kind, tend to add some ethanol to the heap too. I'm not sure if this is a bad thing for the compost, but so far, I'm not complaining. The last time I stuck my nose in the compost heap, it smelt as though we had a winery.
The interesting thing about these pears is that there's some salvageable bits to it too. I mean, about a third of the pear is compost heap material, slimy and sludgy. And then there's the seeds, which I usually don't compost, because I don't want pear trees growing out of the soil. We usually end up with about a third to two-thirds of good bits left on the pear we bring back from the Foodbank.
I try not to make a habit of bringing back rotten pears though. The last time we did it, Ben and I, we ended up taking about four hours just cutting out the good parts and chopping the composty parts into smaller pieces. We ended up having dinner at about 10 p.m. Still, we ended up with maybe four freezer bags of chopped pears which we use for making smoothies.
This time around, I didn't want anymore pears in the freezer. So I thought, why not make something out of it immediately. I don't know what, maybe something with meat, or a jam or sauce or something. So I dutifully opened my Firefox browser, and typed "pear recipe" into the little toolbar at the corner, and bingo, tons of pear recipes.
Of course, the problem with internet recipes is that there's all kinds. And even now, I'm posting stuff for you to do, if you want to. I like things simple though, and I like to use whatever available. I admit it, I'm not a follower of recipes. I do the unthinkable, and, shock and horror, I modify stuff.
So, we found out that in order to make jam out of pears, you need some kind of pectin. I'm not sure if this applies to all kinds of pear jam, but for the first few that google showed us, we needed pectin. We did not have pectin, and we had no idea where we'd find pectin at that time in the evening. Sure, we could jolly well go do it another day, but I really wanted all the pears to disappear. I was tired of seeing pears. You would too, if you had to chop up all the rotted gooey bits, and then peel and core them.
So somehow, either through a recipe, or some agreement, we figured, hey, we could use agar-agar (from algae) instead of pectin to sort of tighten it up a little and make it into a fruit jelly/jam thing. Or alternatively, there's also gelatine or Jell-O (animal origins). I sent Ben out to the cornerstore to get some. Meanwhile, I chopped up more pears.
But because I had a migraine that day, Ben ended up making the jam when he came back. Or so he thought. By then, I was thinking of it as a fruit jelly. He boiled the pears, added some sugar and waited and waited for the pears to break down into a big goopy pile.
I should mention that both of us, being idiots in the kitchen, had no idea what fruit would look like if you cook it long enough. We thought it'll break down. I tried looking it up, on what jam would look like when ready, and well, they don't have everything on the internet! You'd have to find it in some old cookbook written by the Lady So and So written a few centuries ago, I'd imagine.
But, if you know this, can you tell me? Do pears break down after boiling it a lot? I guess not eh? Well ours didn't, at any rate. Eventually, we had this nice pile of stewed pear bits, in sugar, with some cinnamon in it, and maybe some lemon juice (I didn't ask if he really did put in some lemon).
By then, I roused myself out of bed, because I kept hearing Ben cursing loudly, wondering when the stuff was going to look like what we imagined it to be. So I guess we imagined wrong, in a big way. So there I was, thinking to myself, "Well, I guess pears don't do stuff the way we thought it would." So I figure, why not just add the darn Jell-O and gelatine (Ben got both) to the whole thing? Just make it harden up, like a pear jelly or fruit jelly or something. Note that Ben still wants a jam, and to him, a jam is fruity and pectiny.
So I added all the gelatinous stuff we had at hand (maybe a tad too much, because Ben is still complaining about his jam being too hard now), and poured the stuff into one big skillet, and three hot chocolate mugs. We put it into the fridge and decided, that for that moment, we forget about the entire thing.
The next day, I took out one of the mugs, and took a scoop out of our pear jelly thing. Delicious. Wonderful. Yummy. I never liked pears this way ever in my life. (Note that I don't really like eating fruit for two reasons: I'm allergic to some and I'm too lazy to peel fruit.)
Ben took a bite of the whole thing, and said, "I still think this jam is too hard."
Sigh.
Never let a guy stew over the pears. Really. I suspect, from observing Ben and other guys, when they go into a kitchen, they expect to have the same end-product as the recipe they see in the picture. It has to look like the manual.
For me, I'm just happy we ended up with something, and that's a nice pear jelly.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Trouble writing
the art of writing and growing up means doing without
8 November 2008
I'm having a rough time writing. I mean "writing" as in stringing words together to form sentences, and then putting sentences together to form a picture. I have no trouble with touch-typing (in the dark) or writing with a pen or pencil (need light for this though).
I'm sitting on the floor in this room lit by a single lamp. The desktop is showing a live-stream of the Habs vs Leafs game. The boys, Ben and his buddy Frank, is outside having a smoke. Lots of interesting things going on in the game, but they're missing all that and I'm not telling them what's going on because they really ought to stop smoking.
I'm typing on a laptop, which is sitting on an empty postal parcel. The laptop is a tremendously old Compaq that a good friend sent over to us several years ago. It actually runs on Windows 98. I think that's really all it can run on, although I'm wondering about certain types of Linux. Either way, it's something I use when I need to write.
The Compaq works beautifully in what I need it to do. That is, it prevents me from playing computer games and surfing online. But really, it lacks a certain something, a major certain something. It lacks class.
The laptop, a slightly clunky item, does its best to give you an appearance of being forgettable, heavy and outdated. I think that may be a security feature. It does not associate itself with romanticism, nor does it provide the image of a down-and-out writer, desperately churning out prose in poetic form, feverishly involved in getting the story out before it mutates, because as we all know, stories exist as polyforms when it is pre-written.
When I think about a writer, writing, I think about Shakespeare, sometimes sitting by candlelight as he writes furiously with his quill, making great scratching noises, getting ink in all sorts of places that make you wonder about toxicity.
Or, I think about, well, pick any good writer, typing on the typewriters of old, the classic finger-snappers, going click clack clackety CHING, as they fling paper after paper of type-written product from their machine.
And then there's Douglas Adams, experimenting with various Macs as he took us on trips all over the world and beyond. So sure, ok, the Mac analogy didn't quite work, but admit it, even if you're a PC user, Macs are quite pretty.
Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate this Compaq. Without it, I'd be wrestling with Ben for the computer, or I'd be writing on paper, which is fine, but transcribing my own handwriting can sometimes be a chore. I also like the Compaq because it was a gift and it has seen is through hard times.
But today, I saw something that could have added to the romanticism in my writing. It was a Made in Canada Royal Silent DeLuxe portable typewriter. It was beautiful. The keys had a lovely sheen to it, shiny. It looked like it was made just yesterday. And when I tried it, it made a satisfying clack sound, or maybe more like a click. It moved smoothly, like the entire thing was bathed in WD40.
I would have liked to own this thing, bring it out from time to time, just to caress the keys, or give it a good polish bit by bit, and change the ribbons, or something. It even came in a case. A tiny one, quite unlike the clunker my mum has at home, that one was possibly called a secretary. Goodness knows it took up that amount of space. This little Royal, I could possibly bring it unto a plane, if they allowed it.
But of course, I turned my back on it, because I'm being stingy with my cash right now and we had other things on our list. Besides, there's all that issue with the ribbon and using up precious paper and all that.
I really regret turning away, though. Sitting here, trying to rack my brain as I type, I keep thinking about that lovely typewriter. Yes, little Compaq, you do your job, but you're like the office worker who've been with the company since forever, slowly tottering away at your job, you know. Please, please find something else to do on weekends aside from going to the office!
Yes, I love you digital world and I really love my indoor plumbing, but there are some things made in this world that deserve that special nostalgia coming from deep within us, and I don't mean someone who's been with the company for 20 years. You know what I mean.
I want something I can play with, take out and admire for its smooth lines. Maybe give it a good polish every other weekend. Something with that extra wow! in the design. Something you can look at and go "Oh baby, I want you so bad."
I want the old Volkswagon, the old Leica with the matte cases (although, have you checked out the Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3? Gorgeous creature that. It's on my wishlist. Even Ben approves of it so far. But I digress), the old Singer swing sewing machines...
Sigh.
It didn't help when I found out another little bit about the Royal silent typewriter that I saw. The first editions rolled out? Hemingway's favourite! Ack! And later on, apparently, it became the favourite of other journalists and writers-on-the-go. Cripes! How could I have turned away from that?!!!
Don't look, I'm hitting myself.
Still, I think I've done a fair job on this machine tonight. Why think about something that's just going to make life more difficult? I'm talking about the paper and ribbons etc. And maybe oiling and stuff too. I have no clue how to maintain a classic typewriter! I guess I can do without it. So I ogle from afar.
Sure, I'm sad but then, as the great Western philosopher Jagger said, and I know this to be true because he was quoted in the first episode of House, "You can't always get what you want." (Score double points for quoting a pop culture reference in a pop culture reference!)
As a note though, I just recalled what the guy at the store said. He said, "I don't know how much that costs, I don't think it works even."
It took me awhile, but I wonder, did he think that the typewriter should be plugged in?
8 November 2008
I'm having a rough time writing. I mean "writing" as in stringing words together to form sentences, and then putting sentences together to form a picture. I have no trouble with touch-typing (in the dark) or writing with a pen or pencil (need light for this though).
I'm sitting on the floor in this room lit by a single lamp. The desktop is showing a live-stream of the Habs vs Leafs game. The boys, Ben and his buddy Frank, is outside having a smoke. Lots of interesting things going on in the game, but they're missing all that and I'm not telling them what's going on because they really ought to stop smoking.
I'm typing on a laptop, which is sitting on an empty postal parcel. The laptop is a tremendously old Compaq that a good friend sent over to us several years ago. It actually runs on Windows 98. I think that's really all it can run on, although I'm wondering about certain types of Linux. Either way, it's something I use when I need to write.
The Compaq works beautifully in what I need it to do. That is, it prevents me from playing computer games and surfing online. But really, it lacks a certain something, a major certain something. It lacks class.
The laptop, a slightly clunky item, does its best to give you an appearance of being forgettable, heavy and outdated. I think that may be a security feature. It does not associate itself with romanticism, nor does it provide the image of a down-and-out writer, desperately churning out prose in poetic form, feverishly involved in getting the story out before it mutates, because as we all know, stories exist as polyforms when it is pre-written.
When I think about a writer, writing, I think about Shakespeare, sometimes sitting by candlelight as he writes furiously with his quill, making great scratching noises, getting ink in all sorts of places that make you wonder about toxicity.
Or, I think about, well, pick any good writer, typing on the typewriters of old, the classic finger-snappers, going click clack clackety CHING, as they fling paper after paper of type-written product from their machine.
And then there's Douglas Adams, experimenting with various Macs as he took us on trips all over the world and beyond. So sure, ok, the Mac analogy didn't quite work, but admit it, even if you're a PC user, Macs are quite pretty.
Don't get me wrong, I do appreciate this Compaq. Without it, I'd be wrestling with Ben for the computer, or I'd be writing on paper, which is fine, but transcribing my own handwriting can sometimes be a chore. I also like the Compaq because it was a gift and it has seen is through hard times.
But today, I saw something that could have added to the romanticism in my writing. It was a Made in Canada Royal Silent DeLuxe portable typewriter. It was beautiful. The keys had a lovely sheen to it, shiny. It looked like it was made just yesterday. And when I tried it, it made a satisfying clack sound, or maybe more like a click. It moved smoothly, like the entire thing was bathed in WD40.
I would have liked to own this thing, bring it out from time to time, just to caress the keys, or give it a good polish bit by bit, and change the ribbons, or something. It even came in a case. A tiny one, quite unlike the clunker my mum has at home, that one was possibly called a secretary. Goodness knows it took up that amount of space. This little Royal, I could possibly bring it unto a plane, if they allowed it.
But of course, I turned my back on it, because I'm being stingy with my cash right now and we had other things on our list. Besides, there's all that issue with the ribbon and using up precious paper and all that.
I really regret turning away, though. Sitting here, trying to rack my brain as I type, I keep thinking about that lovely typewriter. Yes, little Compaq, you do your job, but you're like the office worker who've been with the company since forever, slowly tottering away at your job, you know. Please, please find something else to do on weekends aside from going to the office!
Yes, I love you digital world and I really love my indoor plumbing, but there are some things made in this world that deserve that special nostalgia coming from deep within us, and I don't mean someone who's been with the company for 20 years. You know what I mean.
I want something I can play with, take out and admire for its smooth lines. Maybe give it a good polish every other weekend. Something with that extra wow! in the design. Something you can look at and go "Oh baby, I want you so bad."
I want the old Volkswagon, the old Leica with the matte cases (although, have you checked out the Panasonic Lumix DMC-LX3? Gorgeous creature that. It's on my wishlist. Even Ben approves of it so far. But I digress), the old Singer swing sewing machines...
Sigh.
It didn't help when I found out another little bit about the Royal silent typewriter that I saw. The first editions rolled out? Hemingway's favourite! Ack! And later on, apparently, it became the favourite of other journalists and writers-on-the-go. Cripes! How could I have turned away from that?!!!
Don't look, I'm hitting myself.
Still, I think I've done a fair job on this machine tonight. Why think about something that's just going to make life more difficult? I'm talking about the paper and ribbons etc. And maybe oiling and stuff too. I have no clue how to maintain a classic typewriter! I guess I can do without it. So I ogle from afar.
Sure, I'm sad but then, as the great Western philosopher Jagger said, and I know this to be true because he was quoted in the first episode of House, "You can't always get what you want." (Score double points for quoting a pop culture reference in a pop culture reference!)
As a note though, I just recalled what the guy at the store said. He said, "I don't know how much that costs, I don't think it works even."
It took me awhile, but I wonder, did he think that the typewriter should be plugged in?
Monday, November 24, 2008
Deconstructing Turkey
describes experience of deboning turkey - ideal for Thanksgiving or Christmas parties - squeamish people or vegans should avert their eyes - not a how-to manual
In the beginning...
9th October 2008
Ben and I were helping out at the foodbank on Thursday because they were short of staff. At the end of the day, Sairah, the coordinator asked us if we could do with a turkey on Thanksgiving. Apparently a local church was doing the friendly blessing thing for the needy.
"Sure," said Ben. "And if Tim doesn't want his, we can take it too," he joked. He jumped at the chance because neither of us have had turkey on Thanksgiving before, and I suppose we had quite a bit to be thankful for this year.
I figured the turkey would be cooked, but Ben insisted that it wouldn't be. So either way, we went home, wondering how we were going to cook the turkey, considering our oven doesn't work.
We found out about the oven the hard way. One day, a few weeks before, I had decided to make us a casserole. I can't quite remember what I put in it, as it came out as quite a bit of a disappointment, but I do remember that there were potatoes in them. Lots of potatoes. Potatoes that ended up not being cooked, because our lower element wasn't working. It was quite a tragic dinner.
The turkey cometh
11th October 2008
It was a Saturday, and there was a lot of things to do at home. Cleaning up, for the most part. There was a knock at the door. It turned out to be someone from the Korean Church delivering the turkey. It wasn't cooked at all. Looks like Ben won that one. We took the turkey into the kitchen, placed it on the counter and had a good look at it.
"It's a biggun," I said.
"Ahuh, must be about 27 lbs," said Ben. I grew up on the metric system, so I had no clue what that meant. To me, it was a tremendously large bird.
I read the card it came with. It was a simple card, with a rough drawing of a cross on it and a scarecrow-like figure. It was scrawled on with a child's handwriting, in blue ballpoint ink. It said: To the Aubry family. It also encouraged us to be thankful to God, but I didn't really notice that bit.
The Aubry Family. That had a nice ring to it. It's a long story meant for another post, but Ben and I struggled for many years before we could spend this time together, and we may have more struggles to come. Either way, we're taking everyday as it comes, and to be referred to as a family, even inadvertently, well, that was touching. Ironically, the Korean Church may not even have approved of us living together.
I left the card on the fridge door and it's still there today. I meant to send the Korean Christians a Kamsa Hamipda (thank you) card, but I got distracted. And, well, even though we're not Christians (we were both born in Roman Catholic families but we sort of wandered away from that), we've both been through enough not to be affected by the Godly blessings. To be honest, I really only like the bit that called us a family.
I turned to look at the turkey. We can't possibly roast anything in our oven. I mean, if the thing can't do potatoes, chances are, we'd still have a raw turkey in the oven the next day.
Still, all was not lost. The night before, I had chanced on an article mentioning alternatives to roasting a whole turkey, and one of it was on deboning it.
Deboning.
It pretty much means removing the bones. Neat. Some people actually remove all the bones, stuff it and sew it back, and roast the whole thing. An interesting concept that I may consider for another year, but the idea disturbs me somehow. I mean, if we are going to eat meat, we should be reminded that we are indeed eating meat (I'll leave my thoughts about the sanitization of meat-eating to another time)
Since there's only two of us, and there is that oven problem, we decided to just cut up the turkey into bits and store it into the freezer. I was left with the knife, because I seemed more keen about the whole deboning idea, and because I have had experience in such matters i.e. I mutilated lots of rats in the laboratory plus I have a general idea of what a bird skeleton should look like.
Now, an interesting point that not many people know about, is that the method for deboning a turkey is actually patented! Amazing, isn't it? United States Patent 6572467. I considered briefly whether what I'm doing here, writing about deboning a turkey, is violating that patent. But I've already found the method in a few places and they didn't mention the patent. In fact, who's to say they didn't come up with it first.
Either way, what I'm doing here is cutting up a bird. Again, this isn't a how-to manual, but a description of my experiences. So if anyone has any problems, I'll deal with it when it comes. For now, enjoy the turkey fun.
Deboning the turkey (or bye-bye birdie)
The first bit, after removing the plastic wrapping, of course, was to figure out which was the head end, and which was the butt end of the turkey. Simple enough that. I won't insult you by giving instructions.
And before I forget, I should note that deboning is better done with a fully thawed out turkey, or one you had just shot and killed and plucked. The turkey I was working with was neither freshly killed, nor was it fully thawed out. It was warm to the touch, for sure, outside. But inside, as I found out later the hard way (pun not intended), it was still frozen.
Now, the other thing you need to know about chopping up a bird, is that it works better if you just sliced the meat near the joint area, and once you reach the joints itself, to just saw around it. At home, mum uses a gigantic cleaver, but all I had here were paring knives and some meat knives. Still, it did the job. I think the most difficult thing was trying to cut up that weird piece of plastic holding the legs together.
There were points where I just peered into the turkey's, well, you know, nether regions. All the jokes I've read point to there being something nasty hiding in there, and sure enough, I found a packet of mystery meat. It's either gizzards or turkey giblet. I haven't figured out if they're the same thing yet. Back home, in our roasted turkey from the deli, we'd find something that looks a lot like a salami. This turkey ritual, plenty of mysteries left to solve...
The instructions tell me to cut off the turkey butt next. I didn't do that though, because it didn't have one. The turkey butt is where all the glands are that make it the most delicious and gross bit to eat. Probably quite unhealthy too, because it's all oil. But did you know that they synthesized the oil from ducks? It's good for your skin apparently.
I had to make the turkey dance. Yeah, I know, the turkey's dead, but it's still sort of stiff and all, and I wanted to chop off the legs. So I grabbed both legs and sort of wiggled it about a bit. That loosened it up enough. I figured it was time to start the slicing and dicing. Taking a deep breath, I picked up a sharp knife, and started slicing around the drumstick area. I reached the bone, and just sawed around the joints as I mentioned earlier.
There, one drumstick ready. Time to rock and roll! I repeated the same thing on the other side. The turkey is symmetrical after all. On the outside anyways. Remind me to tell you about my asymmetrical labrat. Boy, did my teacher make me feel stupid that day even though it wasn't my fault at all.
I lied when I said all turkeys are symmetrical on the outside. This turkey only had one wingtip. I sliced that out and put it in the "bone pile". Then I sliced out the other wing bits on both ends, and tossed it into the same pile as the drumsticks.
So then, I was left with a turkey with no appendages. I turned the turkey unto it's belly (or breast down), and made a slice down the back. This part came out quite well for me, actually. And then, I started working my way to the breastbone from the cut.
Here's the bit that got pretty confusing. I'm supposed to make a slice on the shoulder bit, and work my way to the breastbone through the single slice I made on the back. And then I'm supposed to do the same thing on the back areas and then pull out the hipbone. This all did not happen. And since I wasn't all that concerned about sewing the turkey back into one disturbingly deboned pile, I decided to just hack at the whole pile, rituals and traditions be darned!
I rested, because by now, I'd been standing and cutting away at a cold turkey for more than an hour. I needed the break. My photographer, Ben, had wandered away vaguely by now. He tends to do that from time to time, when he thinks he's not needed in the kitchen.
I managed to corral him to take more pictures, and after warming my fingers on warm water, went back to the job of hacking up meat. I wondered what this would be like if it was freshly killed game. I suppose the smell and the head of the animal would bother me.
I did half of the bird, and then moved to do the other half. Had I been less tired and less cold, I would have remembered that the whole thing was supposed to connect together (if I wanted to sew the bird back together). So if you want to do this, just be mindful and keep the breastmeat together.
I removed all the meat around the shoulder area, and managed to slice my way to the breastbone, despite the bird being quite frozen at that point. I did the same in the hipbone area, and, seeing as I wasn't sure how to break the hipbone, just left the whole thing on the carcass. The meat on the hind areas of the turkey is redder than the breast area, so I put it in a separate pile, figuring that it'll probably taste different. And that was true in the end, the meat had a bit more fat in it too.
And then, suddenly, I was done.
Putting the meat away
On the counter was various bits and pieces of meat, and some piles of bone. I wanted to work fast to put it away, before Salmonella and such would grow on the meat. I had to corral Ben again to help me with this.
I have this technique of putting the saran wrap on a plate, placing the meat on it, and then wrapping it up. It saves us from a lot of useless flapping around. After wrapping the meat in saran wrap, I placed it in a bigger freezer bag to ensure that the juices does not leak.
The drumsticks were wrapped separately. The wings put together. The breast meat chopped up in blocks enough for one person to eat for dinner. I even had a bit with lots of fat and meat together. I thought of deep frying it or something, so I dumped that in a separate pile. We ended up with three freezer bags full of turkey, all in all.
Eventually, these bits of turkey ended up being various sorts of dinners. We had them diced with creamy sauce in pasta or with rice, or pan broiled in a huge block and eaten as a "roast" (albeit a more juicy one than if it was a full bird), and then we had stuffed turkey breast wrapped in bacon. I'll post the recipe later for some of these.
Bones
I stared at all the bones. There was still some raw meat stuck to them. And I decided we could do with some broth. So I dumped the bones into a big pot, put in enough water to cover the thing, and boiled it at a rolling boil for about 20 minutes. Then I left the thing alone, and whenever I felt like it, repeated the method. I think I boiled the thing at least three times that night.
The next day, I fished out the bones, and with my fingers, pulled all the meat out of the bones. The bones I tossed away. And as for the meat, I turned them into turkey burgers. No tofurkey for me! (I like my tofu to resemble tofu, thank you very much, turkey burger recipe to follow.) As for the broth, I put them into containers and froze it for use another time.
One more thing I should note about. Remember when I mentioned weird turkey rituals, and also about the surprises that you can sometimes find when you stick your hands up a cleaned-out turkey's ass? Well, there's a reason all the photos stopped after awhile, and that's because I found something I didn't want to take a photo of.
When I was deboning the bird, I had to allow for some thawing out to happen, because it was frozen on the inside. Eventually, I managed to stick my hands in, and because there was something hiding inside, I pulled it out.
Shock and horror, it turned out to be turkey neck. Ack! I don't know why that grossed me out especially considering all the blood and gore I had gone through by then. But the thought of the poor turkey being killed and then nicely wrapped as meat with it's own neck inside it's body cavity, shoved up through it's ass, well, that just turned my stomach in a weird kind of way. I don't know why that is, but well, I'll leave that bit of philosophising for others, I guess.
I just wanted to share my happy experiences cutting away at a dead bird, and it looks like I did my job. Happy Turkey Day!
In the beginning...
9th October 2008
Ben and I were helping out at the foodbank on Thursday because they were short of staff. At the end of the day, Sairah, the coordinator asked us if we could do with a turkey on Thanksgiving. Apparently a local church was doing the friendly blessing thing for the needy.
"Sure," said Ben. "And if Tim doesn't want his, we can take it too," he joked. He jumped at the chance because neither of us have had turkey on Thanksgiving before, and I suppose we had quite a bit to be thankful for this year.
I figured the turkey would be cooked, but Ben insisted that it wouldn't be. So either way, we went home, wondering how we were going to cook the turkey, considering our oven doesn't work.
We found out about the oven the hard way. One day, a few weeks before, I had decided to make us a casserole. I can't quite remember what I put in it, as it came out as quite a bit of a disappointment, but I do remember that there were potatoes in them. Lots of potatoes. Potatoes that ended up not being cooked, because our lower element wasn't working. It was quite a tragic dinner.
The turkey cometh
11th October 2008
It was a Saturday, and there was a lot of things to do at home. Cleaning up, for the most part. There was a knock at the door. It turned out to be someone from the Korean Church delivering the turkey. It wasn't cooked at all. Looks like Ben won that one. We took the turkey into the kitchen, placed it on the counter and had a good look at it.
"It's a biggun," I said."Ahuh, must be about 27 lbs," said Ben. I grew up on the metric system, so I had no clue what that meant. To me, it was a tremendously large bird.
I read the card it came with. It was a simple card, with a rough drawing of a cross on it and a scarecrow-like figure. It was scrawled on with a child's handwriting, in blue ballpoint ink. It said: To the Aubry family. It also encouraged us to be thankful to God, but I didn't really notice that bit.
The Aubry Family. That had a nice ring to it. It's a long story meant for another post, but Ben and I struggled for many years before we could spend this time together, and we may have more struggles to come. Either way, we're taking everyday as it comes, and to be referred to as a family, even inadvertently, well, that was touching. Ironically, the Korean Church may not even have approved of us living together.
I left the card on the fridge door and it's still there today. I meant to send the Korean Christians a Kamsa Hamipda (thank you) card, but I got distracted. And, well, even though we're not Christians (we were both born in Roman Catholic families but we sort of wandered away from that), we've both been through enough not to be affected by the Godly blessings. To be honest, I really only like the bit that called us a family.
I turned to look at the turkey. We can't possibly roast anything in our oven. I mean, if the thing can't do potatoes, chances are, we'd still have a raw turkey in the oven the next day.
Still, all was not lost. The night before, I had chanced on an article mentioning alternatives to roasting a whole turkey, and one of it was on deboning it.
Deboning.
It pretty much means removing the bones. Neat. Some people actually remove all the bones, stuff it and sew it back, and roast the whole thing. An interesting concept that I may consider for another year, but the idea disturbs me somehow. I mean, if we are going to eat meat, we should be reminded that we are indeed eating meat (I'll leave my thoughts about the sanitization of meat-eating to another time)
Since there's only two of us, and there is that oven problem, we decided to just cut up the turkey into bits and store it into the freezer. I was left with the knife, because I seemed more keen about the whole deboning idea, and because I have had experience in such matters i.e. I mutilated lots of rats in the laboratory plus I have a general idea of what a bird skeleton should look like.
Now, an interesting point that not many people know about, is that the method for deboning a turkey is actually patented! Amazing, isn't it? United States Patent 6572467. I considered briefly whether what I'm doing here, writing about deboning a turkey, is violating that patent. But I've already found the method in a few places and they didn't mention the patent. In fact, who's to say they didn't come up with it first.
Either way, what I'm doing here is cutting up a bird. Again, this isn't a how-to manual, but a description of my experiences. So if anyone has any problems, I'll deal with it when it comes. For now, enjoy the turkey fun.
Deboning the turkey (or bye-bye birdie)
The first bit, after removing the plastic wrapping, of course, was to figure out which was the head end, and which was the butt end of the turkey. Simple enough that. I won't insult you by giving instructions.
And before I forget, I should note that deboning is better done with a fully thawed out turkey, or one you had just shot and killed and plucked. The turkey I was working with was neither freshly killed, nor was it fully thawed out. It was warm to the touch, for sure, outside. But inside, as I found out later the hard way (pun not intended), it was still frozen.Now, the other thing you need to know about chopping up a bird, is that it works better if you just sliced the meat near the joint area, and once you reach the joints itself, to just saw around it. At home, mum uses a gigantic cleaver, but all I had here were paring knives and some meat knives. Still, it did the job. I think the most difficult thing was trying to cut up that weird piece of plastic holding the legs together.
There were points where I just peered into the turkey's, well, you know, nether regions. All the jokes I've read point to there being something nasty hiding in there, and sure enough, I found a packet of mystery meat. It's either gizzards or turkey giblet. I haven't figured out if they're the same thing yet. Back home, in our roasted turkey from the deli, we'd find something that looks a lot like a salami. This turkey ritual, plenty of mysteries left to solve...The instructions tell me to cut off the turkey butt next. I didn't do that though, because it didn't have one. The turkey butt is where all the glands are that make it the most delicious and gross bit to eat. Probably quite unhealthy too, because it's all oil. But did you know that they synthesized the oil from ducks? It's good for your skin apparently.
I had to make the turkey dance. Yeah, I know, the turkey's dead, but it's still sort of stiff and all, and I wanted to chop off the legs. So I grabbed both legs and sort of wiggled it about a bit. That loosened it up enough. I figured it was time to start the slicing and dicing. Taking a deep breath, I picked up a sharp knife, and started slicing around the drumstick area. I reached the bone, and just sawed around the joints as I mentioned earlier.
There, one drumstick ready. Time to rock and roll! I repeated the same thing on the other side. The turkey is symmetrical after all. On the outside anyways. Remind me to tell you about my asymmetrical labrat. Boy, did my teacher make me feel stupid that day even though it wasn't my fault at all.I lied when I said all turkeys are symmetrical on the outside. This turkey only had one wingtip. I sliced that out and put it in the "bone pile". Then I sliced out the other wing bits on both ends, and tossed it into the same pile as the drumsticks.
So then, I was left with a turkey with no appendages. I turned the turkey unto it's belly (or breast down), and made a slice down the back. This part came out quite well for me, actually. And then, I started working my way to the breastbone from the cut.
Here's the bit that got pretty confusing. I'm supposed to make a slice on the shoulder bit, and work my way to the breastbone through the single slice I made on the back. And then I'm supposed to do the same thing on the back areas and then pull out the hipbone. This all did not happen. And since I wasn't all that concerned about sewing the turkey back into one disturbingly deboned pile, I decided to just hack at the whole pile, rituals and traditions be darned!I rested, because by now, I'd been standing and cutting away at a cold turkey for more than an hour. I needed the break. My photographer, Ben, had wandered away vaguely by now. He tends to do that from time to time, when he thinks he's not needed in the kitchen.
I managed to corral him to take more pictures, and after warming my fingers on warm water, went back to the job of hacking up meat. I wondered what this would be like if it was freshly killed game. I suppose the smell and the head of the animal would bother me.
I did half of the bird, and then moved to do the other half. Had I been less tired and less cold, I would have remembered that the whole thing was supposed to connect together (if I wanted to sew the bird back together). So if you want to do this, just be mindful and keep the breastmeat together.
I removed all the meat around the shoulder area, and managed to slice my way to the breastbone, despite the bird being quite frozen at that point. I did the same in the hipbone area, and, seeing as I wasn't sure how to break the hipbone, just left the whole thing on the carcass. The meat on the hind areas of the turkey is redder than the breast area, so I put it in a separate pile, figuring that it'll probably taste different. And that was true in the end, the meat had a bit more fat in it too.
And then, suddenly, I was done.Putting the meat away
On the counter was various bits and pieces of meat, and some piles of bone. I wanted to work fast to put it away, before Salmonella and such would grow on the meat. I had to corral Ben again to help me with this.
I have this technique of putting the saran wrap on a plate, placing the meat on it, and then wrapping it up. It saves us from a lot of useless flapping around. After wrapping the meat in saran wrap, I placed it in a bigger freezer bag to ensure that the juices does not leak.
The drumsticks were wrapped separately. The wings put together. The breast meat chopped up in blocks enough for one person to eat for dinner. I even had a bit with lots of fat and meat together. I thought of deep frying it or something, so I dumped that in a separate pile. We ended up with three freezer bags full of turkey, all in all.
Eventually, these bits of turkey ended up being various sorts of dinners. We had them diced with creamy sauce in pasta or with rice, or pan broiled in a huge block and eaten as a "roast" (albeit a more juicy one than if it was a full bird), and then we had stuffed turkey breast wrapped in bacon. I'll post the recipe later for some of these.
Bones
I stared at all the bones. There was still some raw meat stuck to them. And I decided we could do with some broth. So I dumped the bones into a big pot, put in enough water to cover the thing, and boiled it at a rolling boil for about 20 minutes. Then I left the thing alone, and whenever I felt like it, repeated the method. I think I boiled the thing at least three times that night.
The next day, I fished out the bones, and with my fingers, pulled all the meat out of the bones. The bones I tossed away. And as for the meat, I turned them into turkey burgers. No tofurkey for me! (I like my tofu to resemble tofu, thank you very much, turkey burger recipe to follow.) As for the broth, I put them into containers and froze it for use another time.
One more thing I should note about. Remember when I mentioned weird turkey rituals, and also about the surprises that you can sometimes find when you stick your hands up a cleaned-out turkey's ass? Well, there's a reason all the photos stopped after awhile, and that's because I found something I didn't want to take a photo of.
When I was deboning the bird, I had to allow for some thawing out to happen, because it was frozen on the inside. Eventually, I managed to stick my hands in, and because there was something hiding inside, I pulled it out.
Shock and horror, it turned out to be turkey neck. Ack! I don't know why that grossed me out especially considering all the blood and gore I had gone through by then. But the thought of the poor turkey being killed and then nicely wrapped as meat with it's own neck inside it's body cavity, shoved up through it's ass, well, that just turned my stomach in a weird kind of way. I don't know why that is, but well, I'll leave that bit of philosophising for others, I guess.
I just wanted to share my happy experiences cutting away at a dead bird, and it looks like I did my job. Happy Turkey Day!
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Migraines in my attic
elaborates on migraine - workplace stress - doctor's advice
I have yet to find a proper cure for my migraines. They come out in full force quarterly, and usually sticks around for a couple of days. Worse case scenarios have me downing as much NSAIDs as my stomach can handle (I'm very prone to acid reflux, too) and lying in bed in the dark. Of course, this leaves me with very little sick days to be properly sick. The irony...
Of course, about a year ago, I came down with terrible migraines that wouldn't leave me. My doctor called it a tension migraine. He believed it was work related, and urged me to do something about it, namely quit my job and find a less stressful one. I thought it was jolly nice of him to suggest that, actually. I suppose it gave me a kind of validation.
Since then, I went through even more stress and tension at the workplace, and eventually, resigned. My reasons for resignation wasn't completely due to workplace stress, though, but that's another story I'd leave for the next post. So right now, until I find another bit of stress to give me tension migraines, I'm left with my run of the mill hormonal ones.
I feel pretty awful that I spent the day in bed. I was supposed to attend a student rally of some sort, but I guess I'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. Or on their blog. Or watch the youtube video.
As I said earlier, I've yet to come up with anything to alleviate the pain and discomfort. My usual distractions all require visual cues, such as reading, writing, mucking about on the computer, going out into the sun, cooking etc. I guess vegetating isn't completely a bad thing. It does leave me with a lot of time to think, which is pretty much all one can do while zoned out in bed. Hopefully, I can remember all my ideas, because this attic can get quite messy.
Spring-cleaned: Migraines leave me with a very busy attic indeed.
I have yet to find a proper cure for my migraines. They come out in full force quarterly, and usually sticks around for a couple of days. Worse case scenarios have me downing as much NSAIDs as my stomach can handle (I'm very prone to acid reflux, too) and lying in bed in the dark. Of course, this leaves me with very little sick days to be properly sick. The irony...
Of course, about a year ago, I came down with terrible migraines that wouldn't leave me. My doctor called it a tension migraine. He believed it was work related, and urged me to do something about it, namely quit my job and find a less stressful one. I thought it was jolly nice of him to suggest that, actually. I suppose it gave me a kind of validation.
Since then, I went through even more stress and tension at the workplace, and eventually, resigned. My reasons for resignation wasn't completely due to workplace stress, though, but that's another story I'd leave for the next post. So right now, until I find another bit of stress to give me tension migraines, I'm left with my run of the mill hormonal ones.
I feel pretty awful that I spent the day in bed. I was supposed to attend a student rally of some sort, but I guess I'll read about it in the papers tomorrow. Or on their blog. Or watch the youtube video.
As I said earlier, I've yet to come up with anything to alleviate the pain and discomfort. My usual distractions all require visual cues, such as reading, writing, mucking about on the computer, going out into the sun, cooking etc. I guess vegetating isn't completely a bad thing. It does leave me with a lot of time to think, which is pretty much all one can do while zoned out in bed. Hopefully, I can remember all my ideas, because this attic can get quite messy.
Spring-cleaned: Migraines leave me with a very busy attic indeed.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Starting out
describes name, location - reasons for blogging - pot shots at publishing industry - goals
Well, well, well. My first blogging experience, right here for your enjoyment. Years down the road (if I haven't hit the delete button) I'd look back at this with shame and embarrassment, or humour, probably, and wonder how I ever got into this. But for now, I think this experience is worth exploring. After all, everything should be tried at least once.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Angeline, and where I am right now, people seem to refer to me as Angie a lot. That was a habit I tried to discourage when I was younger, as I rather liked my given name. Or, if they must resort to something with fewer syllables, I'd rather people called me Angel. Yeah, Angel was prettier. Unfortunately, things have a habit of taking off on their own, leaving me stuck with the cuter nickname of Angie. If it were nicer to look at, I'd call myself N.G.
As for my location, I'm a Malaysian in Canada. On an extended vacation. During the wintertime. For fun.
I can't begin to tell you how many incredulous looks I've been getting over the fall (which was rather pretty this year, I think). There's a back story to how I ended up being here in Canada for some of the most miserable months of the year, according to most Canadians I've spoken to, but I'll leave it for another post.
So. Why blog? Blogging is passé, apparently. Most people have tried it, and left it for reality, leaving behind them lots of cyberspace junk. I've been avoiding blogs for the most part, either as a reader or a potential blogger. I admit that I don't really read them, unless I stumble upon a post while googling (funny, my spell-check doesn't list 'googling' as a word!). I tried following one or two bloggers of interest to me (science blogs, yeah!) but I wasn't very good as a stalker.
As for posting blogs, well, avoidance was mostly due to time constraints. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a blog, from what I gather. Right now, I'm still wondering if I have what it takes to keep it up.
The other thing that kept me away from blogging was, oddly enough, my job as a writer. The question arises: Why blog when you can write for an established publication? Well, that only makes sense if I were in it for the publicity, the narcissistic urge to see my name in print. Right now, I'm in it for a sense of renewal.
You see, I used to work as a medical writer. I'd churn out news articles for a medical newspaper, and sometimes, we'd go as far as calling what we do journalism. Life happened. Stuff happened. I'm not sure whether I'm ready to go into the details, but sufficed to say, I left the job. Technically, on paper, I'm a freelance medical writer. And that is something I still can and will do, particularly if the grocery bills demand for it.
I gained something when I did that journalism stint. This was on the job training, mind you. I had some great editors who smacked us into place and sent us out into the wild to grill important people. But, somewhere along the way, I lost that edge that made me an interesting writer.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming journalism at all. I think it was the nature of the publication itself. Phrases like "write on demand" or "market-driven" or "client-based" give me the chills these days. The fallout of this situation that I'm trying not to elude to is that writing became difficult. I'm not saying that I'm short of ideas, or that I can't string a sentence together. I can. They're just not interesting anymore.
The news articles became bland and worse than ordinary. Features were dull and ineffective. And the stories I wrote creatively? Blah. My best fictional short story was written almost a year ago. And then, nothing. Something broke.
I know. I know. I've been told not to get all melodramatic about things. I'm quite sure that I'd be able to write properly again. Although, some days I do feel that deep sense of doubt... There is also that lingering feeling that maybe I'm being too hard on myself, and that the reason things seem dull is that I have set my standards too high. That may be true.
I guess, in a roundabout way, I'm trying to say that blogging may be cathartic. And it could force me into a corner, so that I'd have to discipline myself and write every day. And if I avoid doing market-driven, client-based writing-on-demand, I may eventually rebuild my confidence as a writer and restore my integrity as an artiste.
I'm taking baby steps. Eventually, if you stick around long enough, you'd probably know everything about me. And by then, I would have set up a better design layout and introduced a few gadgets here and there for your entertainment.
My goals? Well, all I want for Christmas is to enjoy writing again and for people to be entertained by my posts.
Things used to be easier when I was a child - when I had lost my two front teeth and still talked like a chipmunk...
Spring-cleaned: I'm not a bad writer. I'm just terrible at judging my worth.
Well, well, well. My first blogging experience, right here for your enjoyment. Years down the road (if I haven't hit the delete button) I'd look back at this with shame and embarrassment, or humour, probably, and wonder how I ever got into this. But for now, I think this experience is worth exploring. After all, everything should be tried at least once.
I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Angeline, and where I am right now, people seem to refer to me as Angie a lot. That was a habit I tried to discourage when I was younger, as I rather liked my given name. Or, if they must resort to something with fewer syllables, I'd rather people called me Angel. Yeah, Angel was prettier. Unfortunately, things have a habit of taking off on their own, leaving me stuck with the cuter nickname of Angie. If it were nicer to look at, I'd call myself N.G.
As for my location, I'm a Malaysian in Canada. On an extended vacation. During the wintertime. For fun.
I can't begin to tell you how many incredulous looks I've been getting over the fall (which was rather pretty this year, I think). There's a back story to how I ended up being here in Canada for some of the most miserable months of the year, according to most Canadians I've spoken to, but I'll leave it for another post.
So. Why blog? Blogging is passé, apparently. Most people have tried it, and left it for reality, leaving behind them lots of cyberspace junk. I've been avoiding blogs for the most part, either as a reader or a potential blogger. I admit that I don't really read them, unless I stumble upon a post while googling (funny, my spell-check doesn't list 'googling' as a word!). I tried following one or two bloggers of interest to me (science blogs, yeah!) but I wasn't very good as a stalker.
As for posting blogs, well, avoidance was mostly due to time constraints. It takes a lot of effort to maintain a blog, from what I gather. Right now, I'm still wondering if I have what it takes to keep it up.
The other thing that kept me away from blogging was, oddly enough, my job as a writer. The question arises: Why blog when you can write for an established publication? Well, that only makes sense if I were in it for the publicity, the narcissistic urge to see my name in print. Right now, I'm in it for a sense of renewal.
You see, I used to work as a medical writer. I'd churn out news articles for a medical newspaper, and sometimes, we'd go as far as calling what we do journalism. Life happened. Stuff happened. I'm not sure whether I'm ready to go into the details, but sufficed to say, I left the job. Technically, on paper, I'm a freelance medical writer. And that is something I still can and will do, particularly if the grocery bills demand for it.
I gained something when I did that journalism stint. This was on the job training, mind you. I had some great editors who smacked us into place and sent us out into the wild to grill important people. But, somewhere along the way, I lost that edge that made me an interesting writer.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not blaming journalism at all. I think it was the nature of the publication itself. Phrases like "write on demand" or "market-driven" or "client-based" give me the chills these days. The fallout of this situation that I'm trying not to elude to is that writing became difficult. I'm not saying that I'm short of ideas, or that I can't string a sentence together. I can. They're just not interesting anymore.
The news articles became bland and worse than ordinary. Features were dull and ineffective. And the stories I wrote creatively? Blah. My best fictional short story was written almost a year ago. And then, nothing. Something broke.
I know. I know. I've been told not to get all melodramatic about things. I'm quite sure that I'd be able to write properly again. Although, some days I do feel that deep sense of doubt... There is also that lingering feeling that maybe I'm being too hard on myself, and that the reason things seem dull is that I have set my standards too high. That may be true.
I guess, in a roundabout way, I'm trying to say that blogging may be cathartic. And it could force me into a corner, so that I'd have to discipline myself and write every day. And if I avoid doing market-driven, client-based writing-on-demand, I may eventually rebuild my confidence as a writer and restore my integrity as an artiste.
I'm taking baby steps. Eventually, if you stick around long enough, you'd probably know everything about me. And by then, I would have set up a better design layout and introduced a few gadgets here and there for your entertainment.
My goals? Well, all I want for Christmas is to enjoy writing again and for people to be entertained by my posts.
Things used to be easier when I was a child - when I had lost my two front teeth and still talked like a chipmunk...
Spring-cleaned: I'm not a bad writer. I'm just terrible at judging my worth.
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