Wax On, F*ck Off
31 March 2011 · Comments Off
Oh, Ralph, you’re so funny.
But you have children who are young adults. You’re making me feel far too old.
Oh, Ralph, you’re so funny.
But you have children who are young adults. You’re making me feel far too old.
One thing in the transition from Windows to Ubuntu (current version 10.10, the Maverick Meerkat) that is slightly annoying is my webcam doesn’t work right off as the microphone is always on mute. Every time I turn my laptop on, it defaults to the internal audio input (of which there is none) and the microphone is muted. So I need to go into System → Preferences → Sound and change things in the Input tab, i.e. select the correct microphone input device and make sure the Mute box isn’t checked.
(I’m only posting this because I searched high and low for a solution when Skype wasn’t working, I saw suggestions for all kinds of crazy things, and it turned out to be this simple and direct. It works for Google Talk, too.)
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Dr Vincent Wijeysingha sounds like someone worth voting for.
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Well, this sucks: Season 5 of ‘Mad Men’ Is Delayed Until 2012. I’ve only got series two of Downton Abbey to look forward to this year (for sheer style), and it won’t be on till the autumn.
In Bali:
I’ve got another nephew and niece who are absolutely adorable, too, but I only managed to see them at night. I don’t have a flash for the Olympus — it’s a shame there aren’t any pictures to show you how lively and funny they are. But I can promise you that an almost-three year old boy dancing to Lady Gaga is one of the most giggle-inducing things ever.
Dr. Kaku is so cool.
While in China, we heard that loads of Chinese women would go to Hong Kong to have their babies for a similar reason. America, you ain’t the first.
It was far too short, this trip. I could definitely do more mornings at Farrer Road market (two prata, kosong) and Adam Road hawker centre (nasi lemak and 虾面). And more helpings of 水粿 and 饭桃 at Tiong Bahru market. It may not sound cool, but I like hanging out with my mum and shootin’ the shit (but she wouldn’t call it that).
I’m going to start posting photos, but I’ve no idea how many there will be. The wonders of shooting film and not knowing if they’ll turn out okay — especially since I used a roll of film of unknown vintage and I’m no good.
Sensational! I read this a number of months ago. If you liked The Crimson Petal and the White, or any other bodice-ripper type novels and you have a strong stomach, you’ll love The Last Werewolf.
The story’s pretty much exactly what it says on the cover. Jake Marlowe is the last werewolf alive in the alternate Earth of this story. He’s old and fed up of hiding from the group of monster hunters, so he decides to end it all at the next full moon. To say any more would give too much away, but you just need to know that this book is filthy — but not in a sexual way (although there is sex in it). Marlowe is a werewolf, and what do they eat? Humans. So you’ve been warned.
Aside: the author looks like he could be a werewolf himself.
(The Last Werewolf will be published in April, and now that I’m no longer employed by the publisher I feel okay about reviewing it.)
Before we went on holiday, I snapped this:
It’s a bit pink. I think it’s because I sent the Fuji film to be processed in a Kodak place. Silly me. It was so pink that all I could do was try to correct it a little.
I forget where I saw the high praise for Alone in Berlin (not the blurbs), but I decided to give it a go at the library. I wasn’t a member yet, so I had to leave it after I had got through eight chapters, but was sufficiently intrigued to borrow it the moment I got my library card.
Alone in Berlin (German title: Jeder stirbt für sich allein) takes place over a couple of years in the lives of Otto and Anna Quangel, whose very existence sees a sea change when the news comes of their son’s death in World War II. Once quiet, nose-to-the-grindstone, and politically apathetic, the news and emotional strain on Otto turns him into a quiet, nose-to-the-grindstone political activist. He decides, with his wife’s support, to start planting anonymous postcards denouncing the Führer and his war, all the while reporting to work at the factory and being as boring as ever.
Otto and Anna are the fictionalised names of Otto and Elise Hampel, a couple who really did dare to protest and paid with their lives.
It was almost funny, the cruelty and horror of the SS and Gestapo in the first half of the novel — they were so ludicrous and self-contradictory it almost felt like a farce. But when it got sad, I found myself tearing up more than once.

Hearing something I like described as ‘on trend’ makes me uncomfortable. I’m not an ‘on trend’ type of person. This dress in the window at Warehouse has caught my eye on more than one occasion, and Neil’s noticed. He’s asked if I want it, and I’ve been… reticent every time.
My mum’s always described my clothing ‘style’, as much as I have one, as very simple, but in truth, it’s pretty complicated. I will generally avoid: ruffles, bows, gathers / ruching, pleats, rosettes / anything floral, tassles (as in on clothing and bags, get your mind out of the gutter), sequins / beads / studs, oversize buttons, metallics, and pastels. These specifications tend to rule out pretty much everything that’s readily available and mass-produced.
Some details are negotiable, but a great many are not. I find it hard to buy anything beyond plain teeshirts and long-sleeved shirts because everything is so bloody fussy most of the time. And stuff from the High Street isn’t generally too well-made, plus there’ll be loads of people wearing the same thing out there, so while I’m enchanted by the birds printed all over the fabric, £45 is too rich for my blood (when I consider what I’m getting for it — polyester conformity).

I might be better off with the Jennifer Lilly vintage tea dress, which is dark red, a colour I do really like.
In a statement that could stun a room, I reckon the flower print might suit me better. The old-school-ness of the whole thing appeals to me, and would look nice with my saddle shoes and Napoleon denim jacket (that’s just what I call it, it does not resemble a French emperor in any way), or a cardigan, tights, and one of my many pairs of Doc Martens.
I’ve finally realised that I’m in no way as bad as a lot of people out there when it comes to buying clothes, so I don’t feel much guilt coveting.
I was actually thinking this book might be more… action-y. Identity theft, a romance, chasing the thief… who was I kidding? This is T.C. Boyle, the master at giving you what you don’t expect.
I must have watched too many thrillers on the teevee to have such boring expectations of the novel. It’s not just what happens to the characters that matter here. The narcissism was terrifyingly familiar. The frailties and realism of the dénouement were frustrating and utterly satisfying at the same time (only Boyle can do that).
Identity theft is such a scary thing. I was thinking, We need to check our credit rating! I need to change my I/C number (I can’t do that)! There was a scene early-ish on in the book that seemed to be a tiny rant against modern banking. It was published not long before the crash, so it must have been written close to the peak of all the madness.
What can I say? I think Boyle’s a genius storyteller. And I haven’t read Wild Child, but I’m curious to know if it has anything to do with the Wild Child mentioned in this book.

I’ve been an admirer of Belle & Boo for some time. I’ve seen Mandy Sutcliffe’s illustrations around the place and thought they were lovely without realising they were all by the same person. Until I purchased a print of Boo (the rabbit) at the Red Door Gallery. I love Boo.
Belle, Boo & the 1″ Horseman is yet another drawing of the. cutest. bunny. in. the. world*. This time with Belle and a little toy horseman at Belle’s feet (you can see the full image if you go to the product page).
I’ve also got a sudden new love for art prints. I don’t know why, it’s as though I’ve been infected by a home decoration virus. I reckon it’s a sign of encroaching middle age.
* I haven’t forgotten Bunway Airlines, which I love, but Boo is much more *squee*.
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We’re going on holiday! Posting will be light. See y’all in a couple of weeks!
I’ve been curious since I first heard about Blonde Roots, a novel that examines the possibility that in an alternative history, Africans could have dominated the planet and taken the Caucasians as slaves. We follow the story of Doris, a young rural girl who is kidnapped and taken to Great Ambossa on a slave ship.
The only novel I’ve read that is similar to this is Roots by Alex Haley, and given my somewhat fuzzy but positive memories of that experience, I’m glad to say that Blonde Roots seems to measure up. Bernadine Evaristo did a great job flipping history over on its head. Had the Africans (or the Chinese, or Polynesians, or Inuit, etc.) conquered the sea and thirsted for more land, more resources, and more power, they would have likely started their own slave trade. I’m not sure if this was the message she was trying to get across — that people in a position of power can be extremely cruel, whatever the ethnicity — but it was received loud and clear.
All in all, I enjoyed it, but it won’t change my life. It’d be a great read for a long journey, so you can forget about the monotony of getting wherever you’re going.