Vicarious Suffrage.

You know what I'm talking about.

I've started on The Audacity of Hope and am very impressed. I'm really looking forward to Super Tuesday.

"Peaches" by PUSA.

This is the sort of song that you (okay, I) sing to myself while at work, realise that you've (sorry, I meant I've) forgotten part of the lyrics and take advantage of the free and ready internet connection to Google look up the lyrics.

This may be old news: turns out some dude did a pretty cogent Marxist interpretation of the lyrics which attracted a lot of attention. Click here to read it.

(dénouement)

Gone as quickly as it came. Madness, I tell you (the cat is awake and out and about).

Drama Mama.

(My, what a busy day it's been for my blog.)

I got tired of the office early and left work at 6.30pm today, skipped the gym and headed for home hoping for some productive time to get some work done. As is my usual practice before 10pm, I give my parents a call to find out if they could give me a ride home from the train station (I live about 30 - 40 min away from it). They're both retired and had agreed to this sort of arrangement when I suggested that I might move out to somewhere closer to work and further from the-middle-of-nowhere. But good Asian girls aren't supposed to move out until they're married (and rental prices here are sky high).

I hadn't the slightest inkling of the histrionics that would ensue.

That didn't last long though as my dad decided to tell me unequivocally the moment I got into his car never ever to ask for ride home between 7pm and 8pm because that's when he's praying and stuff. Alright, so I overlooked that, but instead of getting all worked up about it just TELL me over the phone and I'll catch a cab home instead. It's not like that's never happened before and I never kicked up a fuss when it did. I'm quite happy to take cabs and I only ask for a ride because (i) it's cheaper and (ii) my parents are constantly telling me off for spending too much.

But of course I didn't say any of that as it would only provoke more ire and leave me stranded at the side of the road. So silence hung over us like an evil miasma all the way home.

Home was where the real drama happened. One look at my mother's face and I knew that she'd had an argument with my dad before he left the house. And that she wasn't about to let it end at that.

The words tumbled out of her like a derailed train off its tracks, exploding into huge balls of flame as it rushed its target. My dad would not stand down, coolly delivering his deliberately pointed salvos like jet-powered fighters with a single-minded focus. My mother grasped at her hair in despair, as she called the wrath of God upon my dad.

I fed the cat and quietly retired to my room.

I could hear my mother coming up the stairs spewing forth vitriol all the way to her bedroom. After a few moments of wondering if my closed door would be perceived as another slight to her being, I decided to leave it open instead. Not long after my mother appeared in my doorway, wailing and clutching at her abdomen complaining of a sharp unbearable pain deep inside. I head to the kitchen, past the trenches that my dad has quickly dug up for himself, to get some warm water and lots of painkillers for my mother.

I fed the cat again (what a porker) and went back upstairs.

My mother is sat cross-legged on the floor, clutching at her stomach, complaining of the pain she couldn't take anymore, swaying back and forth, asking whoever would listen how my dad could have said such things to her and how would she ever be able to forget those words. I ask her to get off the floor and lie down on the bed, the pain is from the stress and if she relaxed it would get better. Look here I have some warm water and painkillers and all you have to do is take a couple and you'll fall asleep and forget everything and tomorrow everything will be ok again.

My mother says she needs a shower so she goes to her bathroom and I stand around with a mug of warm water and painkillers in my hands. My cat starts to wail for me and I head past the trenches again (where my dad is watching the football) to pick the fat critter up and bring him upstairs to my room away from all the madness.

My mother is out of the bathroom and sat on her bed looking lost and rueing the day she married my dad and oh the pain it's deep inside where does it come from I can't take it. I coax her into taking some painkillers and she does. I switch the ceiling fan on for her and she tells me to switch it off because she's cold. She complains that she's warm so I switch it back on again. She switches on the air-conditioning and I switch the fan back off again. I tell her to lie down and sleep it will take the pain away and she doesn't listen. I ask her if she wants more water and she says no. I take the pills and leave her room, closing the door behind me. I'm in my room now (the cat is cleaning himself).

How did I end up so emotionless?

I felt so awkward dealing with my mother and was more comfortable in the icy silence of my dad's fortress. I was almost tempted to roll my eyes on several occasions during my mother's dramatic displays of pain and distress and victimisation.

I mean, each argument had a point. My dad said that my mother has no right of accusing him of treating her like a slave, and I can't argue with that. My mother has been financially supported by my dad since they got married, my dad has always helped out around the house, the kids cleaned up after themselves most of the time. Of course my dad really shouldn't have gone that step further by then accusing my mother of being lazy and doing nothing at all, when that's clearly not true. (My mother retorted that she'd been working hard taking care of my dad's products - that would be me and my brothers - and that she'd only quit her job because he told her too, blah blah blah.)

And all they had to do was tell me to take a cab instead (the cat is asleep now).

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I'm never having kids. Or getting married. All this madness might be hereditary, you never know.

WOOLLYBUTT

How can that name not bring a smile to your miserable mug? And you have to thank the Aussies for that. It would definitely be on my hypothetical list of favourite words.

Where does the name "Woollybutt" come from? Well the website www.woollybutt.com.au (so it must be true) tells us the following:

"In Victoria and Tasmania, Woollybutt is the name given to Alpine Ash or Eucalyptus delegatensis. As a timber, Alpine Ash is highly regarded and very important to the hardwood industry. To foresters, Alpine Ash is often referred to as 'the foresters’ friend because it is so easily regenerated after harvesting operations.

Woollybutt mostly forms beautiful pure stands of straight timber with a grass and fern understorey. In best conditions it can reach up to 80 metres in height, making it one of the tallest Eucalypts in the world behind Mountain Ash. The bark is thick and fibrous (woolly) at the base [butt?] and pure, smooth white above peeling in ribbons. The smaller branches often have a silver colour and the bark is usually covered in distinctive “scribbles” from insect larvae."

Ok, that wasn't quite as interesting as I'd hoped it to be.

Woollybutt is also the name of an oil field discovered on the North West shelf of Australia in April 1997. If I adopt another cat I'd call it Woollybutt. Hell I'll probably start calling the one I have Woollybutt. I might even call my nephew Woollybutt (behind his mother's back, of course).

Woollybutt Woollybutt Woollybutt!!!

So Exciting!

Heidelberg! P's wedding! Berlin! Prague! In August! La la la la la...

Helicopter? Please???

Mmrraaooww!

This isn't Handsome Bob (my baby) although he's a black n white tabby with a pink nose too (who's so special he catches birds in pairs).

(image from icanhascheezburger.com)

Who needs men when there are cats?

But does it make oral sex any better?

Some time ago I was accused of having a forked tongue. About 10 minutes ago I found out that if it were true, it would not only have made me pretty damn "cool" in the bod mod circuits, but also some kind of yogameister.

Yes. Tongue forking (or splitting or bifurcation) is a cosmetic body modification procedure that's been around for yonks. Now banned in some U.S. states, tongue forking as a medical procedure is achieved using a surgical laser but can also be achieved by one's self using the fishing line method (use your imagination for that one). With practice, it is even possible to move the resulting halves of the tongue independently of each other.

Tongue forking also has a historical background in the practice of yoga. To some it is the pinnacle of "Khechari Mudra", a part of Hatha and Kumbhaka yoga where the tongue is split and then "milked" until it is long enough to be turned back inside the mouth and flipped up to the epiglottis. It then is used in breathing exercises, the goal being to seal the body's energy leaks and become aware of only the internal thus entering a catatonic state, crossing back and forth between death and life.

Loads more info on the web. And in case you're wondering, no, I'd never get it done.

Random Cool Thing:

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As of today, I will try to post a new random cool thing that I've come across on the internet, each day. If not because each item's inherent Coolness deserves special mention, then just to prove to the world that I'm not all about gloomy introspection and whinging about Life :)

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Today's Random Cool Thing:

The Chinese Giant Salamander (Andrias davidianus)

"Fucking ugly bastard!" you say. And I agree. It's like a giant flatworm with legs (remember that X-Files giant tapeworm episode?) But tell me that you don't secretly want to have one as a pet and I'd call you A Liar.

According to ARKive,

"The Chinese giant salamander is the largest salamander in the world, and is fully aquatic, with many adaptations for this lifestyle. It grows up to 1.8 metres in length, though most individuals found today are considerably smaller. The skin is dark brown, black or greenish in colour and irregularly blotched. It is also rough, wrinkled and porous which facilitates respiration through the skin as this large amphibian lacks gills. This species has an elongated body, and two pairs of legs which are roughly similar in size. The snout is less rounded than that of the related Japanese giant salamander and the tail is a little longer and broader. Both species have tubercles on the head and throat, though their arrangement is different. The Chinese species has small, paired tubercles arranged in rows parallel with the lower jaw, while the Japanese species' tubercles are mostly single and irregularly scattered. The eyes are tiny, with no eyelids, and positioned on top of the broad, flat head, providing the salamander with poor vision."

Ooh sexy. Speaking of which,

"Reproduction appears to take place from late August to September, when hundreds of individuals congregate at nest sites..."

Picture that. Or maybe, don't. An orgy of giant tapeworms with legs. Yuck. Apparently people also eat these things. Super yuck.

..?

Maybe it's because I don't have that one thing that the principal from high school kept raving about - PASSION.

I have none.

...

Debilitatingly frustrating?

I really don't know why I bother to bring work home anymore, cos it never gets done. I just end up starting Monday morning feeling like I've completely arsed away my weekend (which I have). I'd like to think that I'm pretty productive at work, turning over as much if not more than my colleagues. Whatever. Nobody's gonna die if I don't get this shit done on time anyway. It's all just about keeping the rich folks rich and making the politicians look good. I have no right to live really.

I need to pee.

Yeah, so, this Being Bored Thing. What can I do about it? Travel seems to be the only way to get out of my routine, but then I'm greatly limited by the pittance that I earn and annual leave that's almost a crime to human rights. Fortunately I get to meet a lot of different people in my line of work, and drink lots of free booze, so that sorts out the socialising-in-an-inebriated-atmosphere aspect of life. Wacky retired parents, little brother I secretly love to spoil and a fat cat with attitude. Access to the gym, yoga, the internet, cable tv and a lot of good bookstores.

I want to go skydiving. Maybe I'll do just that. Sometime in December. Yeah. I can't wait for my next holiday: diving and mountain-climbing in Sabah. 75 days (approx.) and counting.

Ramble ramble ramble. Keeping pee in gives me a headache. I can't believe I have to write a report on a three hour meeting where the key - and only - takeaway is the confirmation that nothing needs to be done. What a noble use of taxpayer money. I could have pulled that out of my arse in 30 seconds.

Pish.

I'M BORED.

AND IT'S FRUSTRATINGLY DEBILITATING. The highlight of my entire weekend was accidentally catching "Children of Men" on cable. (Brilliant movie - Alfonso Cuarón might just me the only director whose name I'd know, Michael Caine still rocks the silver screen, Clive Owen is The Hotness, it's made me almost look forward to a post-apocalyptic future; according to IMDB.com it was never released here - figures!) Shopping was HELL; this country is seriously overpopulated and noisy noisy noisy and it smells (OMG it's the apocalypse!); I've done an embarrassing number of online tests (Apparently if I were a dictator I'd be Nicolae Ceauşescu.) Even the Hot Young Intern was disappointing, reminding me too much of, well, ME when I was 20.

Fuck this Chris Evans and Jason Statham are on the telly. Back later.

Question:

How do I spin a convincing argument for my bosses to send me to Greece for three weeks during the summer to hit the beaches and party do a course on modern oceans law and policy?

Not just sliced bread.

There are many things in this world that are underrated. Little things that, in their own special ways, make me happy. This post is in honour of all the mini-wonders that have helped me survive a dry weekend spent pretending to study for the CFA:

1. Arnott's mint slices

2. Tea

3. The electric kettle

4. Cheddar cheese nachos/pretzel bits/anything

5. Instant coffee

6. Cotton buds

7. Instant noodles

8. Eggs

9. Free pens that come in corporate goodie bags

10. Toothpaste in flavours other than mint

11. Economy packs of no-frills black thongs that fit perfectly

12. Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger"

...

I either need to stop staring the booze at 6pm ojust say no to it.

Did I mention that Commander (not commodre, apparentluy) is really seally HOT?!

Aww...

I love US navy officers. I try really hard not to because I disagree with US foreign policy, but I can't help being absolutely charmed by them. The ones I've met have all been really cheerful, earnest guys who genuinely believe that what they're doing is right and for the benefit of all mankind. Their optimism and eagerness to learn and do stuff are almost infectious. Maybe it's from being stuck at sea for most of the year, that it's just humanly impossible for them not to find the sheer state of being on land The Most Exciting Thing Ever. I couldn't help but break into an indulgent grin when I heard the commodore I met today say "Wow" like a 5 year old kid when he was informed that the Greeks were influencing Chinese art as far back as the 10th century. SO CUTE. Damn, most of the men I know probably wouldn't have given a shit!

Hell, they probably wouldn't have been caught dead in a museum!

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In other news, I just caught the last half hour of Predator, which I think is one of the Best Movies Ever, and now I really REALLY want to get my hands on a tri-beam laser pointer which would look so absolutely effing COOL when I make my presentations. I WANT.

Breakthrough and Conquer.

Remember American Gladiators? Sure you do, you used to watch it as a kid. I sure as hell did. Loved it, couldn't miss it. I even had a tiny crush on one of them, his name was Nitro or Laser or Uranium or something (guess which one I made up). Well they've brought it back! To the States at least. I wonder if it'll ever come out here. It's so much better than the wrestling though (yes, I used to love that too, and thought that The Undertaker was the coolest dude ever).

So embarrassing!

*Grrr*

It's barely quarter past nine in the morning and already Wimpy Colleague, who craves stress and pro-actively creates problems for himself (often fucking up the work of other people for whom these are real responsibilities), has ticked me off. As if listening to his quavering voice and spineless complaints all day long isn't enough! I am fed up with people who, with the lack of instruction from their rank superiors, are incapacitated by the unexpected demands of decision-making. I have no sympathy for people who implode under the weight of endless unnecessary concerns. The sooner, the better, I say.