A rose by any other name

The other day my small group was talking about sexy names to name your child, and the few of them that happened to know my Christian name began to jibe me about it.

That got me thinking that although my name is, by consensus, decidedly a bad name for a person, it does make for great pick-up lines.

Like, 'Hi, I'm _____, and I'm yours, eternally.'

Or, 'Being with you makes me, me. I'm _____.'

Et cetera.

However, I realise that these lines would most likely be met with hearty guffaws and questions like, 'So, what's your name, really?'

I thought perhaps my Chinese name would hold more hope for me, so I went to find out what it actually meant. And you know what? I found out that my parents were not satisfied in making my life unbearable in English. They had to do it in Chinese too.

I found out that I'm a tonka bean (it's like vanilla, only with rather an edge). My name, literally translated, means New Tonka Bean. New Tonka Bean King.

I can go open a candy store - with my feel-good English name, and my vanilla-sweet Chinese name, I'm sure it'd be a hit. Although knowing Asian family values, I'd probably be disowned.

Demon in my veins

Oh caffeine, caffeine -

exalted guanine degenerate,

won't you please release your hold on me?

Without you I am but a daytime walking zombie -

brain-dead, I am poor company,

paying attention to naught but

your absence from my body.

Yet with you,

my nights are passed sleeplessly -

where I am only relieved of you

in the spewing of badly rhyming poetry.

Caffeine, caffeine,

held in your stimulating thrall,

I am powerless with or without you.

Acronymn of the day: FAAK

No, it's not a four letter f-word.  OK, it is, but it's got nothing besides aural similarity in common with that.

Used to end late-night MSN/Skype conversations, FAAK stands for falling asleep at keyboard.  As in, OK FAAK TTYL.  Or, I'm FAAKed out.  

Yo momma's so fat...

...that when she fell in love, she broke it.  That, and 'How I met your mother' are two important things I have discovered since arriving in Australia.

After completing the first season of the show, these are the things I have learnt:

1. Decisions after 2 am are always bad ones.
2. Never say 'I love you' on the first date.
3. Long-distance doesn't work.
4. Suit up!
5. This is going to be, legen - wait for it - dary.

Canon in D

I've always noticed how songs seem to copy chords off of each other, but this guy takes it to the next level man. Not to mention, he's hilarious.

Weird social practises: eating

You're not supposed to do obscene things in public - that's what your mother always told you.  At least, you should avoid doing things that are unpleasant for other people to watch, in public. Like dig your nose. Or fart.

So I wonder, why isn't eating gross? If you think about it, eating should gross you out! I mean, who on earth would want to look at someone shove a utensil up his mouth, and chew? It's as bad as poking your finger in your nose and digging around for a booger.

But oh, no, eating is somehow un-gross. People actually make appointments to go and watch each other eat! People find it romantic to go out to dinner together.

At least we don't have to see what's in their mouths.

Gross anatomy

A requirement in learning O-level Biology is that candidates should be able to describe the gross structure of the eye. In the paragraphs that follow, I shall attempt to do precisely that.

The eye is a gross and slimy, albeit useful, receptor organ in man which plays a significant part in co-ordination and response.

It is enclosed by the eye socket, which looks weird without an eye, and the eye is attached to the socket by six stubby rectus muscles, which can also roll the eye around maniacally (so really, if you have a glass eye, don't pretend like it can move, because it ain't got no rectus muscles).

The rectus musles are attached to the sclera of the eye, which is the thing that keeps all the eye-goo in place. The sclera is tough, yellowish, fibrous and a little bit slimy to the touch, and the exposed part of the sclera (the part which you can see, and which people commonly call the whites of your eyes) is covered by a thin membrane, the conjunctiva, which looks a little like a GATSBY oil absorber stretched too tightly over a finger, only it's transparent and continuous with your eyelids.

There's a little bulge where the lens of your eye is, and it is highlysquishable, thanks to the aqueous humour which fills it - like a water balloon just waiting to be popped. It's where the sclera becomes the cornea, and also becomes transparent, allowing light to shine through to the retina at the back of the eye. That's also where the iris is, and the iris is what gives your eye its color. The iris is an extension of the choroid.

The choroid is the grossest part of the eye and is the second layer after the sclera. It's pigmented black, to prevent total internal reflection, and black fluidoozes out when you dissect it. It also contains a network of blood capillaries. Also connected to the choroid are the ciliary muscles and suspensory ligamets. The muscles are pretty firm and elastic, to allow the eye to focus on both near and distant objects. The suspensory ligaments, on the other hand, areteensy little buggers which probably look a lot like dental floss with plenty of plaque.

The lens may be the best bit yet. It's hard, a little squoogy, and supposedly a little stretchy as well. It can become more or less convex, depending on whether the object viewed is near or far.

Just behind the lens is what makes up the bulk of the eye - the vitreous humour (which I hear is not as funny as the aqueous humour, and decidely more morbid. It's jelly-like, and clear. Altogether disgusting, really.

Behind that, which is incidentally, the third layer of the eye, is the retina. It consists of photoreceptors called rods and cones, and if I had to hazard a guess, it's probably pretty rough, like goosebumps. I believe it's kind of shiny, like an oil spill on the sea. The retina is also connected to the optic nerve at the blind spot - smooth going there, I bet, with no photoreceptors to speak of. You can see it if you pluck out someone's eye. It's that strand still connected to the head, I think.

Q.E.D. the eye is pretty darn gross.

Pitching for the tone-deaf

For people like me who are practically tone deaf, the eleven different pitches of Western music are like identical twins, except that there are eleven little buggers, not just two.

The difference between these eleven siblings is noticeable enough when all eleven are there, lined up and ready for your inspection - one has a few more freckles than the other (an allusion to Blyton's Sullivan twins), one has slightly different way of talking, and so on. But when they're separate... You can't tell who's who.

Of course, those who know the illusive eleven (yes, I'm feeling rather Enid Blyton-ish today) well enough will be able to tell the difference. In other words, those with perfect pitch can see who's who even without another note to compare with.

But the near-to-tone-deaf? They just can't.

Family Mah Jong

Playing Mah Jong with my parents is a hoot.

Not because their playing is bad. It really is because it's funny. Seriously.

For instance, today, my mum asked, "Has everybody poot fart (she meant bou fa or bu3 hua1) already?".

Then, I have this obsession with keeping the wall straight. I use my tile rack to straighten it while waiting my turn; a pastime my dad has also taken up.

When we play Mah Jong together, you can easily see the family resemblance. We are all really clumsy (and needless to say, really eccentric).

In our excitement to get tiles, we have: pushed over the wall, revealed our hand, shook the table, pushed over our chairs, etc etc.

In our reluctance to give our chips to the winner, we have: thrown the chips out the window, tore the bag we keep the chips in, narrowly missed injuring a fellow family member.

We also do this weird head-bobbing, finger-drumming thing while we play (to the accompaniment of Chinese New Year music).

I don't suppose anyone would care to join us for a game?

The moon watches a nose-digger

Moonie, if you are reading this, this entry is a response to your blog entry about how you are disdainful of nose-diggers.

You settle yourself down and prepare for the long wait. Maybe, you should take out a book to read. Nah. You decide to look out the window instead.

Suddenly, you feel this prickle in your nostril. You blow harshly through your nose, hoping to dislodge it. It only gets itchier.

And itchier.

You rummage around your bag desperately, searching for soemthing to distract yourself. 

You decide to take out that book you were thinking of reading.

Page 1. It isn't working. If anything, the itch just becomes more prominent in your mind. You know what you want to do.

You look around. Nobody's watching. Surreptitiously, you bring a finger to your face, and begin to dig.

Aaaah. That feels good. Now for the other nostril.

Suddenly the bus lurches forward (you didn't even realise you stopped). As you pitch forward, you're brought back to reality, and you accidentally catch the eye of someone watching your. Embarrassed, you look away, but it's too late.

For it's then you realise you still have your finger up your nose.

Dedication to my toilet

Ever since I moved house, my favourite place has been (drumroll please) the toilet! I love it, man! Anyway, that's why I'm dedicating this entry to my toilet. It's a beautiful place.

As you walk in from the dance studio, a beautiful glass folding door greets you, and in case you're so blind that you can't see the profile of the toilet bowl from behind the glass, the word "Bathroom" is sandblasted onto the door. The glass is coloured marine blue, so light entering via the door gives the room a slighly bluish tinge, reminding you of the sea. 

As you enter, you see a beautiful square sink with a unique looking tap (the handle is in the shape of an X, the initial of my first name). A good-sized mirror is flanked by two sleek, shiny white shelf units.  As you take another step, you come within an inch of the toilet! And it's a beautiful toilet. It has a graceful, curvaceous profile, and its seat is made of plastic and contoured to your butt. A nice place to contemplate on life, or enjoy a good book. As you enjoy the delicious experience on sitting on an ergonomic toilet seat that's not too cold or hot, you'll notice that the floor looks like the place has been carved out from a limestone mountain. The walls are tiled in a matt white, which if you didn't know by now, is my favourite colour. 

Directly in front of you lies the shower. It's quite spacious, though not quite big enough to do a full arabesque. Maybe an attitude and some battement jetes. The heater is really really cool (I mean hot - wait never mind, terrible pun) and you can adjust the temperature of the water to an exact degree (Centigrade). The heater also feature a digital clock, so you won't be late for school on those dreadful Monday mornings. 

After a shower, you'll notice that the towels are readily accessible from a stylish shiny towel rack, all you have to do is partially - not even fully - slide open the shower door, and you can stick your arm out and grab it. Close by also, are the hand and face towels racks, situated conviently near both the sink and the shower, which you can swivel to a convenient position for use.

Guide to Hot Chocolate

There are several criteria to be met when you receive your cuppa choco. 

The first thing to do when you receive your cup of hot cocoa, is to inhale deeply. Does the rich aroma of chocolate waft gently into your nose? If there is hardly any smell, or you have to sniff so loudly that you disturb the people sitting nearby, then your hot chocolate will most probably be sub-standard.

Next, check the level of the foam using the teaspoon provided to skim the surface of the foam, and sample it thoughtfully.  Foam should be white and bubbly, with suttle undertones of the chocolate peeking out at you around the edges. In the most places, you will often find cocoa, nutmeg, or cinnamon powder sprinkled lightly on top of the foam. Alternatively, you might find a swirl of melted chocolate drizzled on top. This may or may not be good, depending on the quality of your melted chocolate - chocolate syrup is worse than any topping at all.  Depending on the size of you cup, the amount of foam vary. A small cup should have at least 1 cm foam. Bigger cups should have at least 2 - 3 cm foam. It would be ideal if the foam goes over the rim of the cup by about 3 mm.

Sometimes foam is substituted for cream. Once again, this can be a blessing or a curse. If the cream is of a high quality, it will complement the chocolate nicely, otherwise, it may be better to do without.

Once you have finished savouring the foam, you will generally be able to tell what temperature the hot chocolate is. The very best hot chocolates will be piping hot by the time you have finished the foam.  The true colour of the chocolate will also be revealed to you. It should always be uniquely the colour of hot chocolate. It should never be the colour of tea or coffee, in which case, it is either too weak or rich, respectively. Deep brown is best.

An important thing to note, however, is that many sub-standard establishments do not properly mix the cocoa powder, so you end up having a lot of very bitter, rich chocolate at the end, while the rest of your chocolate tastes rather bland. To test for this, stir the chocolate. If the colour deepens, then it is likely the case. While this does not mean the chocolate will be bad, true chocolate gourmets do not hold with this nonsense. Especially since you will have to keep stirring throughout the drink, losing precious heat.

The first sip of your drink should always be that - a sip. Nothing more, nothing less. If you have to use your teaspoon to drink it, it is too hot. Make sure that your sip is relatively soundless.  If you have to sip loudly, that probably means that the drink is too hot. 

Once you have had the first sip, you should roughly be able to tell whether it is worth downing the rest.

That said, my budding chocolate gourmet, appreciating hot chocolate depends on your tastbuds. However, there are some things we all agree on. The chocolate should taste authentically like real chocolate. If you are a fan of dark chocolate, it should have a slight tinge of bitterness. Most hot chocolates are much too sweet. However, beware the bitter hot chocolate! 

Lastly, don't judge a hot chocolate by it's appearance. While this has yet to have failed for me, some people claim to have found one or two hot chocolates which have deceiving appearances, and while lacking in foam, and looking distinctly tea-like, purportedly taste like heaven.

A really lame limerick about a mudskipper

There once was a 'skipper from long kang,
who was too big for his barang.
He jumped out from the drain,
and then into a plain -
the garden of overgrown lallang.

The contractor said it was lucky,
for a fish that was so very plucky,
so he stuck out his wella,
and moved the ole fella,
into a bucket which was really mucky.

Lame limerick about the mudskipper who popped up one day at the house we're currently renovating. The real story goes something like this:

My dad and the contractor, Mr G, walk out, and see this fish-like grey thing on the porch.

Dad: Oh, look, a fish!
Mr G: Is it still alive? (kicks fish, it wriggles)
Mr G: Yep, it's alive.
Dad: Let's throw it back in the long kang!
Mr G: No, lah! The fish is lucky you know! Keep lah! (puts it in a pail of water previously used for cement) You don't want I want.
Dad: Okay lah, I'll keep.

So my dad brings it home in a pail, and I advise him to throw it back into the drain.

"It's an amphibian, dad, not a fish!" "Giant mudskippers can be found at Sungei Buloh Nature Park! They aren't meant as pets!"

But my dad decides to keep it.