"There is no pleasure in having nothing to do; the fun is in having lots to do and not doing it." - Mary Wilson Little

Random Playlist Song: Bach - Concerto for 3 harpsichords D minor BWV.1063 - 02 - Allegro


Random Trivia bit: Alcestis, the subject of a play by Euripides, was the wife of Admetus. When she learned that her husband had not long to live, her love for him was so strong that she was willing to make a bargain with the Fates to trade her life for his, dying in his place. Admetus, recovered from his illness after her self-sacrifice, was unable to bear the misfortune of surviving his loving wife; his grief and his wife's beautiful gesture inspired Heracles to enter Hades, wrestle Thanatos, and return to the land of the living with Admetus' wife restored to full vigor. Who was this paragon of courage and love?

Apollo's son Asclepius, the healer, had brought Hippolytus back to life, an infringement upon the prerogatives of the gods and of the Fates which enraged Zeus to the point of slaying Asclepius with a thunderbolt. Apollo, incensed at his son's death, slew the Cyclops who had forged the thunderbolt. Zeus, bitter at the death of his Cyclops, ordered Apollo to live for one year as slave of Admetus, king of Pherae. It seems that Apollo ended up liking Admetus, or perhaps he was worried about the effectiveness of his purification task, but in any event, when he discovered that Admetus had but a short time to live, he petitioned the gods to extend the king's life. The Fates agreed to do so, but only on the condition that someone else volunteer to die in his place. Even Admetus' aging parents were unwilling to face death for him; only Alcestis' love and courage were equal to the prospect.

(Women in Greek Mythology I: the Strong)

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Blogger's Note: All of the events mentioned in this post took place today (well, yesterday).

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"Kill a million people with a star cruiser and you are a mighty war hero. Kill a hundred with a thermal detonator and you are a terrorist" - Lorgal


“[You] must trust human beings; with friction there is energy.” - Sonam Tobgye, Chief Justice of Bhutan


Creon: Men of my age are we indeed to be schooled, then, by men of his?

Haemon: In nothing that is not right; but if I am young, thou shouldest look to my merits, not to my years.

- Sophocles, "Antigone"

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I do not dislike pieces of literature per se - reading is fun and enriching - but it's the study of it - the analysing to the last inkdrop of every comma, the pondering of the significance of every ink blot caused by a malfunctioning fountain pen, the colour of the spots of coughed up phlegm and the celebration of tracts which, for all you know, could have been written when the author was roaring drunk, that I object to.

For example, I recall that when we did Romeo & Juliet, we explored why Act 1 and 2 had prologues with the chorus trotting in to same something, but Act 3 did not. After prolonged analysis, we came up with some reasonable-sounding answer, but why does the lack of a prologue have to have a significance?

What if Shakespeare had just plain forgotten to put in a prologue for Act 3 and onwards? What if he had been lazy? Or what if he had done this on purpose to excite literature students a few centuries later who assumed that anything and everything had significance? It's the modern music/art syndrome - seeing meaning and depth where none might exist.

How Girls Waste Time
111. Analysing and cross-analysing in excruciating detail the words and actions of others, often reading into them implicit meanings that don't actually exist, and seeing daggers where there are none (which explains why girls like to do Literature)

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I was walking down Orchard Road today, when I saw 2 girls dressed as angels canvassing for donations to help the elderly outside the former Liat Towers. There was a large signboard at the side of the pavement with the words "Touched By An Angel" and a back view of an "angel" (who obviously didn't want her face shown for fear of never being able to walk down the road again).

I was looking on in amusement as I walked by, but one of them came up to me and pleaded her case. I briefly considered giving her 5 cents, but more out of amusement than anything else, I donated 30 cents.

While dropping my coins into the box, I noticed the charity license prominently displayed with her name and IC number (which started with "87", making her a J1-soon-to-be-J2) on it, but I only got inspiration as I walked off; I would enquire what their schools were, and write glowing words of praise, exalting them for being true to the Asian Value of helping the elderly despite certain mortification, and the letter would be read out to the whole school during assembly, inspiring the populace to similarly commit social suicide and dress up as angels for this project - at least for the girls, since guys dressed as angels would be rebuffed as looking gay (or resulting in her being unable to go to school for a month without being inundated with bad Angel jokes, depending on how you see it).

And so, when I passed by the area again, I prepared to ask them for their institutions of study. However, I was forced to bide my time, since first one had her wings and costume adjusted while a videocam-toting tourist filmed, then next they had photos taken of them (in getup, naturally), by a male assistant, and finally they went to the nearby Espirit to have photos of them in front of the Espirit sign taken (go figure).

When finally one of them started touting again (the other having disappeared, probably to the toilet), I went over to make my inquiries, while Andrew sat at the side, held my bag and pretended that he didn't know me.

To my surprise, the girl (the same one who had accosted me at first) said that she was from NUS, and explained that she had been given the wrong charity certificate (thereby making their activities illegal, I must add). My surprise was compounded not only by the fact that they did look about 17, but that they didn't look like NUS girls at all: they looked normal (ie abnormal for NUS and indeed most girls that age). Not only was their hair not dyed (not even highlighted!) or rebonded, they donned no loud (or hoop) earrings, had no brash manner and generally weren't (say it with me now!) Shrill, Anorexic, Chinese-speaking Ah Lians.

Andrew later suggested that maybe they weren't from Arts, but were from Science or Engineering instead, but they didn't conform to that template either. Basically they looked like 17-18 year old future Arts girls (not the hardcore sort, merely the normal kind) currently in JC.

For my troubles, the girl asked me playfully if I wanted to know her friend. Not being W*** Y*, I declined. Ah well: LPPL.

***

When I first tried Carona Chicken (don't ask me why the url is http://secure.caronachicken.com/ - it's not a HTTPS server and you can't buy chicken on the site), I found it to be a cut above the normal fried chicken wings you find at your neighbourhood pseudo-Western hawker / food court stall, being crispy, juicy and tasty.

My sister has been hunting for Carona Chicken ever since she came back. Today, acting on information on their website, we visited Tiong Bahru Plaza, but were disappointed. Later today, I spotted a Cavana outlet at Marina Square, so I decided to eat dinner there.

But wait, you cry. Cavana and Carona aren't the same. One is a blatant ripoff of the other.

Well, no they aren't: Cavana is the Halal version of Carona. The fella who started Carona found he couldn't get Carona outlets Halal certification from MUIS because many foodcourts did not separate Muslim and non-Muslim utensils for dishwashing purposes. So in a brilliant stroke of marketing genius, they set up "Cavana Chicken" with a slightly different logo and - more importantly - halal certification.


- Note how the Crescent Moon, formerly covered by the Cock, is now shining bright

The sheer ingenuity of the managing director made such an impact on me that, despite the Nation Building Press's article on this being published 5 years ago, I still remembered these details. The article in question is archived on the Carona website, and reveals that only by creating the Cavana brand would Malay customers know that they would be able to eat the food there, it being a Halal outlet, ignoring the fact that most people are able to stride into food outlets and look for a giant Halal sign. So as a result of this bold move, sales at the Marina Square outlet dropped by 30%.

Anyhow, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I had dinner at Cavana Chicken. I was struck first by the price - $3.80 got me 2 chicken wings, rice, a slice of tomato and 2 slices of cucumber. $1.70 bought me a drink (I saw the $1 cup of some sweet-sour concoction too late), and $1 fries which came in - of all things - a styrofoam cup, driving home to good ole Ma-laysia feeling. I noticed that the menu did not display the drinks' prices, and that the prices listed were subject to GST, so I felt distinctly ripped off. But, I thought, the proof was in the eating - perhaps the prices were justified.

How wrong I was.

Perhaps the memories of yesteryear served me wrong. Perhaps the recipe had changed. Perhaps "Mr Yap" (as the CEO is enigmatically billed and referred to) had decided to cut costs and leave out certain ingredients. Or perhaps it was the "Malaysia Halal Restaurant" syndrome (all the Halal restaurants I've eaten in in Malaysia are lousy). The chicken was lousy.

There are two main components involved in the grading of fried chicken wings - crispiness, dependent on the batter used and length of frying, and tastiness, determined by the spices and marinade used. Good chicken wings retain a measure of both qualities even when cold. Though the Cavana Chicken was as crispy as any found in your average (note the emphasis) pseudo-Western hawker stall, it was lacking in taste, and even had a slightly bitter aftertaste - by no means as bad as what I'd had in one hawker centre once, when I could taste the flour and was hit by a distinctly bitter aftertaste, but a slightly bitter aftertaste nonetheless.

Carona Chicken has always adhered more to the Chinese school of chicken wing cooking (which emphasises leaner chicken, less batter and subtler tastes) than the Malay school (which emphasises fatter chicken, more batter and more striking tastes), but the chicken I had for dinner was an affront to both schools of chicken wing cooking. (My sister confirmed that the wing I got her sucked, so it's not just me)

The best chicken wings I've ever had are still the ones cooked at "Cheng Dian Zhu Chao" chinese stall at the Armour Training Centre (ATC) in the middle of nowhere (Sungei Gedong Camp).

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I was walking through the tunnel from Citylink to the Esplanade and at one point I heard a disturbing tone pulsating through the air. Mindful of the possibility of it being a mind control wave played over the PA system, I hastened my steps, ignoring the underground cavern which was even more full of breakdancers than usual.

Coming up the escalator from the underpass, I heard some singing and went to check the disturbance out. I saw waiters and bibiks, both wearing tops the colour of white chocolate slightly past its best, so I knew I was looking at the ACJC choir.

It was lucky that they were carolling, instead of performing their usual repertoire of Asian Songs, but being ACJC they managed to impress their unique mark upon the carolling session. They managed to find odd sounding and obscure carols, and horrific arrangements of familiar favourites like Winter Wonderland and Hark the Herald Angels Sing, which had been transmogrified to the point of being only semi-recognisable and semi-tuneful.

Not only did they add harmonies, they added discordant and displeasing ones. ie They formed chords which weren't the most natural and pleasant sounding ones (some of which I suspect were jazz chords), probably in an attempt to "surprise" the listeners. But then, if one knows what one is in for, one can anticipate which harsh chords will be chosen, thus obviating the need for writing in dissonant chords. They also inserted funny twangs, played with the tempos, and had hints of sleazy accents at times.

The MC also had a weird accent, rolling her Rs overly much, even in syllables with no Rs to roll. And they had a new conductor, a Mrs Tay Sze Chien (?), which should have come as no surprise, given that they change conductors like people change underwear.

Heck, none of the above should come as any surprise.

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I was at Suntec City's Fountain of Wealth and noticed a gaggle of people performing the "good luck" ritual, which involves:

1) Stretching out your right hand and touching the waters
2) Going around the fountain in a clockwise direction
3) Making 3 rounds (3 is Cantonese for 'life', as I recall)

The last time I was there 3 years ago, I performed the ritual in reverse:

1) Stretching out my left hand and touching the waters
2) Going around the fountain in an anti-clockwise direction
3) Making 4 rounds (4 is Cantonese for 'death', as I recall)

Some time later, I got a hearty dose of bad luck. Today, I did the same thing, so if I get bad exams results I'll know what to blame :)

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I happened to pass by a Brekz Buffetaurant today and popped in to ask if it served pork. Apparently it does; only the one at Wisma Atria which is twinned with some Zen noodle bar doesn't. Whew.

If Brekz went Halal, it'd be bad enough, but I'd the cry the day Tony Romas went Halal or set up a Halal outlet. The menu would read:

Original Baby Backs (Beef)
Carolina Honeys (Beef)
Blue Ridge Smokies (Beef)
Bountiful Beef (Beef - originally beef too)

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Kairen said that his sources (whom he will not name) told him that I was very eager to return to the flock.

I told him that that was the absolute furthest thing from my mind. It's just like asking a former alcoholic to start getting wasted again, or a former cigarette smoker to start chain-smoking. Frankly, I'd rather slash my wrists than plunge back into self-delusion and self-deception.

I suspect that said sources were either:

a) Wildly delusional
b) Trying to sabo him
c) Heard a voice in their heads claiming to be their god (lucky it didn't tell them to kill anyone or sacrifice their son)

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My mother saw that my Yahoo account had 161 messages, 156 of which were spam, and exclaimed: 'No wonder you spend so much time on email'

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