Further adventures in the kitchen

Why is it when Jamie Oliver roasts peppers on the stove top gas ring it looks so cool but when I do it, it looks ugly, bumpy, pimply and the kitchen stinks of charred flesh?

It's my blog and I'll rant if I want to

So Singaporeans grumble about taxi drivers (and a whole lot of other things) all the time...

The cabbie waiting at the taxi rank at the shopping mall saw us coming out of the mall because he made eye contact with me. He watched as we made our way to the taxi stand, both burdened by lots of heavy grocery bags. He continued to watch dispassionately as we juggled the bags about so as to get a hand free to open the taxi door.

And he was driving a taxi with an auto door -- which meant that he could open the passenger door without getting his butt off his seat. He didn't say a word at all on the ride, no response to L giving him directions. We could have been driven by a robot. Although I think a robot would be a little more personable.

Maybe if he actually said something, I could have videoed it and uploaded it to YouTube.

Beer bread

Pix for the Catswhiskers who was curious. This is the easiest bread I've ever made because it is one of those no-knead recipes. But unlike the usual no-knead recipe, this one didn't take 24 hours to proof because there's a bottle of beer in it, maybe all that yeast in the beer sort of kickstarted the bread.

I put a bottle of Corona beer in it, I couldn't find Miller Lite or any light American beer at the supermarket and I think that hale and hearty local brews wouldn't suit the cheese in the bread. You can also add in bits of chives, ham or bacon. But I put cheese instead because I have a vegetarian coming for dinner tonight and one of the reasons why I made the bread (other than out of sheer curiosity when I came across the recipe in the Sunday paper last week -- I'd never heard of beer in bread!) was that we could have some with the lentil stew I plan to make.

Half of the cheese is grated and the other half cut into bite-sized cubes so you can actually bite into a piece of cheese as you eat the bread. The recipe also called for drizzling melted butter on top of the dough before putting it in the oven, and that has resulted in a golden brown crusty top.

It's more like a cake bread, like banana bread for instance, than an airy kneaded loaf. There's still nothing like thumping the hell outta your dough when you make bread, but this one was so quick and easy, it may just win me over to no-knead bread.

And that's not the beer talking.

Goofball

Rupert is as endearing as he is goofy. Or maybe it's the silly part of him that makes him endearing. He has just tried to climb up on my lap as I sit typing.

When he was a puppy, I used to plop him on my lap when I was on the computer, it was the only way I could make sure that he was not being naughty somewhere else.

Now, he's too big to fit on my lap but that doesn't stop him from trying to get up. He tried to lie down for a while but as his backside gradually slid down my legs, he gave up and decided to take a nap on the floor instead.

He's got a whole lot of floor to choose from, but had to lie on my work bag where I'd dropped it in one corner. It can't be too comfortable to lie on because there're pokey things in it like an umbrella and a Walkman.

But hey, this is the dog that will sleep with a chewie bone sticking into his ribs.

More animals

And now, we've got birds. There're a bunch of pigeons and sometimes a couple of mynahs who come to use the water pooling from the moisture from the aircon as their drinking fountain.

I'd worry when that drinking fountain becomes a swimming pool.

Poetry in motion

We were walking on the path across the field to the mall when the wind blew a child's parasol across the grass. There's a haiku in there somewhere, L remarked.

It also seemed like a good time to test the camera in the new cellphone.



Yellow umbrella
Wind-waltzing across the field.
Who will dance with me?

Call me anytime

... because I now have two cellphones. I don't really know what to do with two since with just the one, it was already underused but I guess I can now accessorise with them -- I can either carry the pink or silver one to match what I'm wearing for the day.

My service provider offered me the sleek silver Sony Ericsson free if I renewed my contract for another two years. Since I'm sticking with them anyway because of my corporate plan, I decided to take up the offer. The previous phone, the hot pink one, was also free, from the last two-year contract.

This new one is armed to the teeth with a web browser; magnetic mouse pointer for surfing; picture and video blogging; web feeds ticker; Google maps -- all of which I don't know how to use.

Would you believe it, I mostly use my cellphone to make phone calls?

Before and after

Someone needs a haircut...



... and got one.

Poor thing was so worn out by the trauma that she practically fell asleep on her paws, even though she had just been harnessed and leashed to go for a walk.

Three's a crowd

Rupert had painstakingly dragged Big (when you buy two stuffed dogs, one big and one small, it's a stroke of genius to name them Big and Small) into his crate. Then he realised that there wasn't a whole lot of space inside after that so he sat at the doorway to contemplate what to do. Then he keeled over and had a nap. When you're a Dog of Little Brain, thinking is a very strenuous affair.

HRH, meanwhile was having her nap on the couch. When she woke up and discovered that Big was in Roop's crate -- which she annexes sometimes for a nap -- she tried to take things in paw.


There isn't room in here for all three of us.

Not one of mine

This isn't Rupert. It's Jagger, who yesterday afternoon followed us upstairs to check out the new toys.

He and Roop had a delightful game of chase around the apartment, which both couldn't quite call off even though both were tired. Roop ran into his crate but Jagger only went in after him. Roop then squirmed out, and E shut the door on Jagger, who didn't mind being shut in a strange crate at all but promptly lay down for a breather.

What on earth did I buy?

So I'm taking the receipts out of my wallet after a hard day's shopping yesterday and checking them. I can just about make out Kalas Cutlery, Brada Laptop Su, Blund Soft Toy, Grono Table Lamp, Sparsam Blb (bulbs for the Grono), Heat Pot Stand, Sagolik Jar and Gosig Golden So (2x -- so that must be the two stuffed dog toys).

But what were Bastis Blond PA, Rationell Vaire, and more worryingly, Forsiktig Child -- what, I bought a child yesterday?

New toys -- for both me and the furkids

The thing about shopping at Ikea is that after you get what you went there for, you wander around the displays and end up buying a whole lot of stuff that you didn't think you'd need until you saw that it existed.

Such as the laptop tray. It's hard plastic on one side, just nice to put a laptop computer on, and soft cushion on the other side, so it rests comfortably on your lap. Nifty invention, much better than having a breakfast-in-bed tray that I used to use when I was using the laptop on the sofa or in bed.

We also bought some stuffed toys for the furkids. Ikea is one of the few places where the children's toys are pretty good for dogs too because the eyes are embroidered on rather than buttons, ie, no little bits that the dogs can bite off. So we got a big dog and a small dog -- for our big dog and small dog.



HRH: It's bigger than me, whaddaya expect me to do with it?


Heave ho! Hmm, it's not working.


So if I can't move it, I can use it as a cushion.


Roop: Big is not a problem for me!

Watching the watcher

Night has fallen and the curtains are drawn, but nothing stops the Queen from watching over her realm.

Four dog night

I came home last night to find an extra furry welcome -- two doggy neighbourhood friends, Jagger and Diamond, had popped round for a visit. The dogs -- and their humans -- had meet in the field downstairs on their respective evening walks and decided to come up for some wine (for the humans).

Need a tissue?

One of the little idiosyncrasies of Singapore living is to chiope (reserve) a seat at the food court/hawker centre by placing a packet of tissue paper on it before you go off to get your food.


It was a damn smart agency to put this slogan on giveaway tissue packets as an ad for an online air ticketing/booking site.

In Tokyo, pocket-sized tissue packets like these are practically an advertising medium -- you can't leave or enter a subway station without having them shovelled at you. I used to think that the Japanese never needed to buy tissue paper -- C, my Tokyo friend, certainly never did. He once said that if he felt a cold coming, he'd head to the subway for tissue before he'd head to the pharmacy for cold tablets.

Are you a leader?

The Malaysian ruling party has gone from dismissing (political content) blogs as rumour mills to saying that candidates for some party posts must have blogs. Guess they underestimated the reach of blogsphere in last month's elections.

"All candidates must have blogs," the Umno general-secretary told AP. "If not, they are not qualified to be leaders."

Which must make a lot of people I know more qualified for leadership than the people now ensconced in Parliament House.

Life with dogs

I'm beginning to think that Hillary Price, the genius cartoonist behind Rhymes With Orange has a spycam in my house...


... that's how it is on our couch, in our bed -- two small dogs that occupy a very big space.

Back to work

It took a week off work to lessen (but not completely eradicate) the stiffness in my shoulders. And it took one day back at work to tighten them up again. Sigh.

L said that while I was gone, the dogs would get up from their naps and walk around the house, peer into the rooms, as if looking for me. They weren't upset or anything, it was more like they thought they were playing a game of hide and seek with me, he said.

Queeni yipped sharply at me when I came back, as if scolding me for playing the game for too long. Rupert bounced at me -- but then he does that even if I'd just stepped out for a minute to take out the trash. But at least Queeni gave me her customary face-washing welcome. Maybe that was the joy of leaving the house -- the welcome you get when you return home. I hadn't had a doggy facial for a week. I don't care what my mother says about dog licks and hygiene, I think my face is all the better for a doggy kiss.

Today is Qing Ming, the Chinese tomb sweeping festival, where you're supposed to honour your ancestors. So, quite understandably, when we took a taxi to the crematorium yesterday, the cabbie thought that we were going to the columbarium part of the complex.

It was the first time we were going to the new crematorium/columbarium complex at Mandai and I wasn't familiar with its layout. The cabbie knew how to get there but didn't know where to drop us off. Telling him that we wanted to go the crematorium and not the columbarium didn't help, he didn't speak much English and clearly couldn't tell crematorium from columbarium (and who could blame him), and I didn't know the Chinese equivalent. Telling him "the funeral place" also didn't help, he couldn't distinguish funeral from the joss sticks and paper offering thing you're supposed to do at Qing Ming.

Finally he had a communication brainwave. "Ancestor or burn?" Which in a nutshell, got the columbarium/crematorium thing down pat.

"Burn," I answered weakly, trying to dimiss mental images of was going to take place in the next hour.

Eddie would have thought that's funny.

Other people's words

Eddie's best friend, Q, in his eulogy, said we should publicise Eddie's blog because otherwise it is a loss to the blogosphere and to journalism, so here it is. I never even knew until today that Eddie had a blog. All this time he was reading mine for the doggy pictures, he never told me about his, named after his dog too. There's a pix of Sophie on it

More eulogies from other people, because I have run out of words

Remgold

Obituaries in The Straits Times and The Business Times

Obit in My Paper

Tributes from media colleagues

More tributes

Eok.net.

Yellow Canaries

No words

Men deal with shock by withdrawing to the couch with beer. Women go get their hair done. My hair now has streaks of copper and ash in different shades. Thanks, I think, Eddie.

What is there to say when you've just returned from the funeral of a friend? I look at the entry of a few days ago, where I thought I'd spend my days off from work doing this, that and the other and it is laughable. Plans of mice and men, the gods giggled, etc. And I had written about how strange it was, to think that eventually I spent my birthday at a wake. Eddie's widow shares my birthday. How much more she had to go through.

The funeral was kinda funny in that you could straightaway tell which were the media people (E's job for 20 years) and the PR people (he left journalism to join a PR agency last year). The journos had open-necked shirts, some with their shirt tails sticking out, were in sneakers or sockless. The PR people wore ties, jackets, suits and hid behind sunglasses -- the women looked like Jackie O at Kennedy's funeral. The two camps were sitting on opposite sides of the funeral hall. And ever the split between.

A PS from the previous entry -- Sophie may come over to stay for a while. Queeni had better be nice. Rupert will love to have a new girlfriend.

Still sad

At Eddie's wake, all I could think of was Sophie the grey mini Schnauzer (who was mentioned along with the family in the obit), forced to stay home while everyone else was at the funeral parlour. How do you explain to a patiently waiting dog what happened?

Bad news

Goodbye, friend.

We knew as soon as we got up yesterday from a text on L's mobile. But L didn't want to postpone the surprise party that he organised for me, even though he was very upset.

I didn't think I'd spend my birthday at a wake.

Life is short. Call that friend.

Yesterday...

... a bunch of people came over


... some of them sang along to the Guns n Roses and Bon Jovi that was playing on my iTunes while others entertained the dogs


... and I had a happy birthday!


PS -- More pix here.

I'm watching

First, a little background: Queeni eats just outside the kitchen, her dish set down next to the communal water bowl. Rupert eats in the study, where a baby gate keeps him away from Queeni when he's done eating because he eats twice as fast as she does, and then wants to help her. And after he's done eating, someone needs to stand at the gate to keep a watchful eye on him or he'll start to do some, erm, instant processing for the want of something to do since he's stuck in there till Queeni is done.

Just now, L was standing guard over Roop. Then he had to go off to do something. "Watch him," he told me.

That was when it hit me as I took over the shift and watched Roop through the bars of the baby gate. That dog is more watched than that escaped JI terrorist. The prison wardens let JI Guy go to the loo alone while we watch Roop poop. And pee. And do all manner of things. Just about the only time we don't watch him is when he sleeps. Oh wait, I do that. I have to confess that sometimes I watch the dogs sleep -- it's more fun than you think and definitely more interesting than what's on TV most nights.

Now They want us to help spot JI Guy. Maybe when They finally catch him, They might want some extra wardens. Maybe I should volunteer.

Ready to chill out

I got a bunch of books from the library (one serious and two fluffy -- sometimes I want some brainless zero-calorie reading) and baked a batch of shortbread cookies today -- I'm ready for a week's leave from work.

Not that I have nothing else to do to fill my days for the coming week. I need to get a microwave (the existing one gave up the ghost after six years' service); do an Ikea run for a bedside lamp (the last in the set of two pretty but cheap ones from Thailand finally blew; it isn't the bulb -- L changed it but it still flickers -- and I don't trust it because the other lamp in the set previously tripped the electricity for the whole house); get my passport renewed (I'm thinking of getting the new biometric one); get a haircut; get Queeni groomed; and she also has an appointment on Friday with Dr T for her quarterly post-cancer check-up.

So... busy, busy, busy. I think I'm busier when I'm not working than when I am.

What Black Monday?

It is always nice to get a Monday off. It is especially more delicious when it comes after a long weekend and the faces you see trudging off to work seem even blacker than usual.

What's that Geman word for it? To enjoy someone else's misery? Although this feeling on Easter Monday does not apply to those in the UK where today is a bank holiday. It especially does not apply to students in the UK -- you know who you are, the one cavorting round the Kenilworth countryside.

So I'm going for a leisurely meal in an empty cafe where service will be twice the speed of what it was yesterday, and then go grocery shopping where I don't need to bump carts with anyone else because the aisles will be mine, all mine.

Hey, I earned today off, OK, I worked Good Friday and Easter Sunday.

Lazy weekend

The 84-inch window TV comes with a chin rest.

Horizon envy

No real reason for this pix other than I got envious when a friend, now studying at my alma mater, posted pix of the countryside surrounding the campus. I am tired of seeing buildings out of every window, of concrete blocks stretching into the distance. I want to see space; see a horizon where earth meets the sky, with no buildings in sight; feel my soul expand with the expanse of space around me.

I think I need a holiday.

I am just lucky that I have a tree outside my window. If I manouvre myself correctly, I can see leaves and flowers, and sometimes an oriole or two, and ignore the buildings at the peripheral.

Queeni to the rescue

Which dog do you think looks more ferocious -- the little one that looks like a teddy bear, and with teeth like toothpicks; or the one with the mouthful of vampire teeth and a solid muscular body that one of our friends call the Missile?




L was walking the two furkids when I was at work. Coming up the stairs, he had Rupert on leash in one arm, and Queeni scooped up in the crook of his other arm (she has never learnt how to climb stairs).

When Roop stalled on the stairs and refused to go up, L didn't realise why and tugged at him. Then he turned round and saw the stray cat on the landing.

Missile Boy didn't quite know what to do with Cat. Cat wasn't going to wait and took the initiative first. By snarling and lashing out at Roop. That was when Teddy Bear leapt out of L's arms with a mighty growl. Luckily, she was still leashed and the end of the leash was looped round L's wrist, so she couldn't reach the cat, which then turned tail and legged it down the corridor. Otherwise, L was sure she would have done some damage. And probably got damaged herself. Cat claws are pretty sharp.

Queeni has always liked cats but I guess just not the one who was about to eat Roop. So now we know. She can get uptight and grumpy with him, but she's also protective about her little brother. Nobody messes with him. Except her.

Home alone

I'm a little concerned about the papillion upstairs. Harvey's people have gone for a short holiday. We know this because L met the guy at the mail boxes and he told him about the trip and asked if we wanted anything from Hong Kong.

L, in typical dog parent nature, asked what about Harvey. Harvey would stay home alone, and an upstairs neighbour would pop in daily to feed him. L, a bit aghast, offered to take Harvey in. Or at the very least, even if he didn't stay over, we could walk him daily. No need, he was told, Harvey would be fine, he does his stuff on a peepad and doesn't need to go outside.

Well, I hope so. I worry about the little dog who's home all by his lonesome. I look up everytime we're downstairs walking the furkids, I don't see any sign of him by the window where he usually is. And the windows are shut tight, so I hope he isn't too hot and has enough air.

Harvey may be used to being home alone most of the day, but being on his own at night in a dark house is a bit too much. Just a daily feeding visit isn't enough company for a hyper little dog like him.

Yesterday afternoon, there was a tremendous thunderstorm. There was a crack of thunder almost overhead which made Queeni nearly jump out of her fur and run straight to her Daddy for comfort. She was lying next to me but apparently I'm not comforting enough. Sniff. And I worried about the little dog upstairs.

I don't even trust Roop home alone for more than a few hours. I wonder what Harvey is going to do, home alone for a few days.

A dog of many names

Most of my gentle readers would probably already know some of Rupert's nicknames. Roop the Poop is fairly obvious, because of his carefree toilet habits.

Depending on the nature of the transgression, he is also called RuPEE or sometimes, Bloody Leakhead. (That one is mostly from L)

And then there's Vlad the Confused. Vlad because of that little snaggle tooth that shows up vampire-like against his black muzzle. Confused because of his carefree toilet habits.

Now, there's Rupert Zero. L came back from the vending machine with a new Coke variant -- Coke Zero. Which really is the Coke Formerly Known as Coke Light, Formerly Known as Diet Coke. Same zero calories, just newly packaged and freshly marketed. Rupert was watching me drink, tail wagging in anticipation of sharing. Not. And that was when Zero seemed to be another good suffix for him. The dog of big heart but little brain. And carefree toilet habits. Rupert Zero.

Queeni has no nicknames. Royalty is not amused by that sort of thing.

Joined at the hip

Sunday evening in

The windows were thrown wide open and the furkids were lying in front of it, enjoying the breeze and watching what L calls the 84-inch window TV. So I drew up the deck chair alongside them and watched with them.

As soon as the sun started to go down and the day cooled, the dogwalkers started to come out. The first to go past was the Schnauzer owned by the guy with the speech impediment so we never really caught the name of the dog. He's usually the earliest dog walker. Rupert saw them off with some frantic barking.

Ten minutes later, Junior the Schnauzer trotted briskly past to more barking from Roop. HRH joined in with a few sharp yips but mostly left Roop to do the work. There's royalty for you.

Junior was soon followed by Milo the Jack Russell, off leash as always, but quick to respond to her Daddy's "come". My two seemed so astounded by that fast recall that they were struck silent.

In less than five minutes, Mei-Tei came along. He's yet another Schnauzer, but for some reason, his tail has not been docked. He must've been groomed recently because the tail is naked -- and it looks like it belongs more on a rat than a dog.

Then Junior came by again -- he sometimes does several rounds of the estate if his mum is feeling particularly energetic.

Next on the scene was the white Japanese spitz that we've nicknamed Devil Dog because he's such a tough aggro little fella. No barking from Roop or HRH -- they've learnt to leave him alone.

By then, L had gotten out of the shower and it was time to take our two out for walkies. Or Roop would almost certainly wee in excitement at seeing so many of his friends go past the window.

By the time we got downstairs, Junior was back on his third tour. All the dogs had a prolonged sniff session after all that long-distance barking from upstairs.

Then Ginger the springer spaniel came downstairs too, her entire rear end wagging in greeting. And the dog socials continued.

Oh the things I miss when I work evenings.

Saturday night out

Yay for LC's wedding banquet last night. Finally!

L and I found ourselves at a table full of former colleagues so it was like a Streats (lookit that, we're in Wikipedia!) reunion. Even though most of us still work in the same building but in different newsrooms, there were also a few who had left and it was nice to meet up with them again.

Almost all who had left the organisation were the Foreign Talent, and many did so as soon as they had been in Singapore long enough to get their Permanent Resident permit. And the next step after getting a new job seemed to be buying a new house, especially with the rents so high and now that they are PRs, they can own property. And then some bought cars, others employed maids, as their families expanded. So not surprisingly, the talk went on to the price of property, this car versus that car.

To put it simply, the PRs out-Singaporeaned the Singaporeans.

My life in rock n roll

Got stopped again by a promoter at a shopping centre. I could fill in a lucky draw form and win a holiday, she said.

I knew what was between the lines -- the holiday was a time-share and to get there, I would have to sit through an hour's presentation and buy the damn thing first. And they might throw in high tea or something after the presentation, to make me feel like a winner.

So I decided to have some fun as she filled in the form for me.
"Your name, ma'am?"
"Ruby Tuesday."

She got as far as writing Ruby but she hesitated over the surname because of the spelling and not because of anything else.

"Here, let me fill it in for you," I offered.

She handed over the pen but continued to read out the entries I had to fill.
"Your occupation?"
"I'm a honky tonk woman."

"Address?"
"I'm in between moves. Cos papa was a rolling stone."

And she still didn't get it.
"Why do you shop here?"
"Can't get no satisfaction anywhere else."

She still didn't realise anything. I was beginning to feel bad.

I think people are not listening to enough rock n roll.

Three dog night

No room on the couch for me ... all I did was to leave my seat to go to the loo and when I got back, all the space was taken up by furry beings.

Saturday Night Live at home

Wine, chocolate and fox terrier entertainment. Sounds good to me.

Bath day

Doesn't Roop look like an extra in Star Wars?

Weather like leather

Keith Richards is the new face of Louis Vuitton. I suppose it helps if you have a face like 100-year-old leather.

I'd have thought he'd make a better spokesperson for Jack Daniels.

Or maybe he's doing it because he failed to get his doctorate in astrophysics like Brian May.

Legitimacy

L finally got round to getting Rupert's dog licence so he's now legitimate. It cost us $14 for his right to live with us. The dog, that is, not the husband. :P

Roop also has a new harness since the last one was getting a bit frayed -- he used to bite it when he was younger. He's stopped that now but this new one promises to be bite-proof. Well, at least the label says that it won't fray when bitten through.

But I have a feeling that Roop, being Roop, will once again prove to be the exception.

Cats in the family!

I have a new cousin and it's a cat!

Two, actually, Chloe and Cyrus, a brother and sister pair of American curls. This is Cyrus, the more outgoing one of the two. E was very protective and wouldn't put Cyrus down but I think Queeni wouldn't have hurt him. She was certainly very intriqued (she grew up with a kitten and likes cats) and when E brought Cyrus back upstairs, whined after them. Rupert was restrained off camera, nuff said.

Day off

OK, I'm switched off.

Weak in English?

I'm sure the person behind this DIY ad stuck at the bus stop is a very good science tutor. He just needs an English tutor.

One of the perils of subbing must be the constant desire to take a red pencil to everything you see. *Must activate shutdown*

Fifteen minutes of fame

I don't usually blog about work but last night, there was this story sitting in the subbing basket that I simply couldn't bring myself to pick up and sub...

You are beautiful, no matter what they say

I noticed him as I left the concourse of the train station. He was the only person standing still in a sea of moving people. He was eyeing people as they walked past, and when I got on the the escalator, he fell into step behind me. Uh oh, here it comes, I thought.

He was a salesman. And he was flogging meal supplements, the type that people take to lose weight.

"So are you saying I need to lose weight?"

"It's not a question of losing weight, it's a question of becoming healthy."

So he was diplomatic too.

And he talked and he talked as we stood at the bus stop, going on about how he doesn't just sell weight-loss products, he
keeps in touch with his clients to make sure that they maintain a healthy programme. And that there's a group of them called "From Aunties to Beauties".


Now I was getting truly pissed off. Not only is he "size-ist" but "age-ist". What, women over a certain size and a certain age are not beautiful?

I was so glad that my bus came and I could prise myself off him.

Why is it I can't shut salespeople up midstream?

Rain

We haven't had any rain since the beginning of the month and the field is looking scorched and brown. All the lamp posts have a ring of brown grass at the base -- it must be the calling cards left by all the dogs in the neighbourhood.

Before that, we had too much rain -- daily continuous steady monsoonal downpours that lasted all day which flooded the field.

It never is right, is it?

But at least this rainy spell didn't last for more than 20 minutes. Just in time for me to get to work. It is awful having to go to work in the rain and getting drenched before you even reach the shelter of the train station.


I think the grass and trees drank long and deep this 20 minutes.

The next door neighbour is in the process of renovating his flat. Today was the day they took out the windows and window grilles to fit in the new ones. When I went past earlier as I walked the dogs, the old windows had been removed but the new ones hadn't been installed, leaving large gaps in the walls.

It figures that it would rain today.

Spotted dick

... that's what his Daddy calls him. Among other things.

Throttled by red tape

The all-in-one process of changing the address on our identity cards when we moved in 2006 meant that all the government agencies were notified.

So efficient, we had thought. It cuts through the red tape of having to inform several different government agencies of the address change.

Famous last words. *hollow laughs*

In December 2006 and 2007, the notice to renew our TV licence arrived and I duly paid up. But it wasn't until the last payment that I realised that while the notices were sent to our new address, the address on the inside of the actual notice itself -- that is, the house for which the TV licence is paid -- was still the old address.

So last month, L made a few attempts to call the MDA to notify them of the discrepancy in the address. Nobody answered the call (not surprisingly -- doncha know, civil servants never answer the phone on the first ring) and he left a voice mail. Which was not returned (again, not surprisingly). [Just don't start me on how many calls it took to the AVA to clear up the fog over renewing Queeni's licence without having to microchip her.]

Yesterday, someone from the MDA showed up. And he had to pick a moment when I was in the shower -- blind without my glasses on but luckily, not wet yet. We did not pay our TV licence, he accused. But we did. And we could show him the notice that now had a little printout at the bottom from the post office where I paid it, showing the amount paid and when it was paid, and thus serving as a receipt of payment.

So why was he here? He didn't know either because quite clearly, he could see for himself that the licence was paid.

Aha! It must be that discrepancy in the address thing. The licence was paid, but in their records, paid for the old address, not the new. L explained to him that he had called but no one returned the call nor did anything about the problem.

So this guy gave us another number to call to inform them of the change in address. Couldn't he just go back to his office and rectify the problem, now that he could see for himself what it is? No. You must call this number, he insisted. I cannot do anything.

So L called. Again. And again. And finally got through. It took many, many tries and much patience (fast running out) before he could make the person at the other end of the line understand the problem -- that while the notice was sent to the correct mailing address, the old and incorrect address was on the inside of the notice and hence when the licence was paid, it was paid for the incorrect address.

And how was the person at the other end of the phone going to solve this besides blaming it on a "system error"? He didn't really know. But he would issue us a receipt saying that we're good and paid up -- at this new address. How about the payment for 2006? Nobody would check on historical records if the current one is OK, he said. Well, I sure hope he's right about that. L got his name down just in case because if that happened, he's going to call this guy to deal with it than to wade through another series of attempts. And then the devil got into L, and he asked the guy on the phone but what if he left his job? Then who would understand our predicament? I guess that was just one variable too many for Mr Civil Servant to deal with in a phone call.

I cannot believe that at this day and age, with Tivo, Internet TV, on-demand TV, cable and satellite TV, we are tied up in knots over a licence for terrestrial TV.

Chip in

Rupert got microchipped yesterday. He was very exhausted from the whole experience and here he is, looking dopey and sleepy. Queeni is on the high ground -- she must exert her alphadom and was kind enough not to jump him and hump him as she normally does. She sniffed him when he came home from the vet and zeroed straight in on the spot where the chip is and then kindly left him alone.

I hate needles and I hate blood but I don't think I'm being particularly over-reactive when I think that when you're bleeding, you're hurting.

Because shortly after the vet injected the chip, Roop started bleeding. Dr P was clearly expecting it and she cleaned it up deftly.

But nobody told me anything about the blood part. Everybody just tells you that it's painless -- apart from that moment that it's injected -- and that the dog doesn't feel anything afterwards.

I don't think so. If it bleeds afterwards, it's certainly feeling something until that stops and the wound heals. The bleeding went on for quite a few hours, not a lot of it but a slow sort of seep. Still, it's blood being lost.

Mandatory microchipping for newly licensed dogs, when introduced last year, was meant to enforce responsible pet ownership more so than to return lost dogs to their owners. It meant that irresponsible owners who abandoned their pets can be traced.

It also means that some poor dog bleeds just in case you turn out to be an irresponsible shit.

I would rather that microchipping be encouraged, but not made mandatory, so owners can make a decision not to subject their pets to bleeding. Queeni is a case in point. She is sedentary and not likely to run out the door and get lost. She also has had more than her fair share of health issues and I would not subject her to the pain and blood-letting of microchipping after all that she has already been through.

I'm not against microchipping. Or I wouldn't have had Roop microchipped. But now I would like to jab that thick steel microchip applicator into the AVA guy who decided that microchipping be made mandatory and the pet accessories suppliers who make/sell/import the chips and those who blithely say that "the dog won't feel a thing" and defy them to look me in the eye as they bleed and tell me they didn't feel that.

Rupert's thought process. Or lack thereof.

The cleaners are here! I haven't seen them since last week! That's seven whole days! Human days! I have to tell them how much I miss them!

If I can see through the gate, I can go through the gate!

*CLUNK*

His nose went through the gate but the iron grilles stopped the rest of his face from going through.

R, the Malay cleaner, was so concerned, she started petting him and feeling his head, never mind the dogs-are-haram rule.

We think ol' hardhead is OK because his tail never stopped wagging.

Sit and eat

Just before Chinese New Year, a colleague remarked that his Reunion Dinner would be in front of the TV. Oh, the family would gather round and eat, but they would be watching TV as they did so.

During a Chinese New Year visit, a niece brought her book to the table where everyone was sitting round having tea and read as she ate.

Just over the weekend at the Japanese family restaurant we go to, a couple came in with their child, ordered their meal and then turned on a portable DVD player and set it in front of the kid. When his food arrived, Junior ate his meal with his eyes glued onto the screen.

Today, at the next table at the food court, a mother was having lunch with her son and the kid was playing Nintendo as he was eating.

Don't people just sit and eat any more? My mother can't be last bastion of what she called table manners. Which meant no eating in front of the TV, no reading at the table. If you're meant to be eating dinner, you just sat there and ate. Granted, we didn't have Nintendo then.

My grandmother had even more finicky table manners. No elbows on the table, and not even forearms -- and that's difficult if you're using a bowl and chopsticks, you tend to need to rest your forearms on the edge of the table for support. And you had to turn your chopsticks round and use the other end when picking food from the communal plates.

My gran's standards are too high for me. But I do agree with my mum, surely the dinner table is for eating and not watching movies. That's the whole point of this Eat With Your Family worklife balance initiative isn't it? Last year, I remember the 9-to-5 shift was exhorted to go home early to have dinner with their family. Not go watch DVDs/play Nintendo with the family.

Pooped

Nah, not the solid equivalent of Roop's liquid habits. Just Queeni knackered out. She looks like she's had a long, hard day. I just don't know from what.

Aha!

The reason why Roop peed up a storm on his birthday was because his boyo friends in KCMO egged him to do so!

Here we go again

Yesterday, the birthday boyo peed inappropriately three times -- twice on the tiled floor (where clean-up was easy, like that's any better) and once in his crate (where we've learnt the hard way to line a peepad on the crate pad and swaddle the whole thing in a towel).

And this was after a week where the mop stayed unused and we were thinking that there's hope now that he's a big boyo and all.

Turning two must have been very stressful for him.

Birthday boyo

Rupert is two today. Officially, that is. We don't know when his birthday is, just that he was born in February.

Last February, he had only been here a few months and we were going crazy trying to housebreak him, we completely overlooked that he had a birthday. And because he took so long to housetrain (he still isn't completely), we still mentally thought of him as a puppy still.

It wasn't until maybe the middle of the year that I finally looked properly at his papers and realised that we'd missed a birthday and that we had an adult year-old dog. Who still peed indiscriminately like a puppy.

C, who has Colin, Rupert's littermate, decided that Valentine's Day was a good day for their official birthday since they are such sweethearts.

And the sweetheart dogs, of course, are the ones with a terrible vice that a dogowner normally wouldn't tolerate.

Oh well, another excuse for bak kwa in the kibble. Rupert also had a butter roll in lieu of a birthday cake.

Happy birthday, my sweetheart boyo. And get with the peeing programme, you're a big boyo now.

It's good to be home

The furkids always know how to make you better after a long day at work.

The joys of bak kwa

My overseas Singaporean friends who are far away from even a whiff of bak kwa this Chinese New Year will hate me for this post ... and that's why I'm not rubbing salt into the wound by posting pix.

I was trying to describe bak kwa (Wiki does it better than I can in this link) and likened it to smoked bacon, Chinese style.

Which then set off a whole string of thought. Why not use it like bacon then? Bak kwa pieces in a caesar salad. Bak kwa in carbonara sauce with pasta. Bak kwa and scrambled eggs. The possibilities are endless. That was when L looked at me strangely.

And that was when I had a bak kwa sandwich for lunch. It was good

Happy birthday

I was only kidding when I blogged yesterday that the dogs don't need feeding till next week. Not when today, the second day of Chinese New Year, is supposed to be the birthday of all dogs -- the way the seventh day is Yen Yat, the birthday of all mankind (fair's fair, if we get a day, the dogs also get theirs).


So not only did they get fed, they got an extra treat -- slices of bak kwa under their kibble for that surprise find when they reach the bottom of the bowl. Bak kwa, for my gentle overseas reader(s), is barbecued marinated sliced pork. It's available year round but has become a must-have delicacy during Chinese New Year. It's sweetish, savoury and very, very greasy. Which is why the furkids love it.

Gongxi Facai

We're back from making our Chinese New Year visits and we're exhausted. The furkids have collapsed into a heap of fur at my feet. And this was just from visiting two houses -- my parents and my in-laws. I don't know how my friends pack in a whole day of visits.

One grandma plied the furkids with bak kwa. The other doled out cream crackers. Between them and the round bellies, I don't think I need to feed the dogs till maybe next week.

All these years living with dogs and I never knew

Spotted in Wikipedia by a friend who duly alerted me:
"On the second day (of Chinese New Year), the Chinese pray to their ancestors as well as to all the gods. They are extra kind to dogs and feed them well as it is believed that the second day is the birthday of all dogs."

That's a lot of missed birthdays! Queeni and Rupert now have a not-to-be-refused reason for bak kwa.

Sychronicity

The difference between The Police in concert last century and The Police Reunion tour this century is that last time, when they launched into Roxanne, Every Breath You Take and all their standard bearers, or when Sting rushed the stage towards where you were, it would be lighted by the pin-prick glow of hundreds of cigarette lighters. Now, it was illuminated by the pin-prick glow of hundreds of LCD screens of digicams. Seriously, I think a significant number of the 10,000 strong audience saw the concert through their digicams/cellphone cameras.

The most fun part of the concert was actually even before The Police came on stage. The support band had left, saying that they "had more fun here than in Australia" (gosh, wonder why), and the roadies were dismantling their kit and setting up Stewart Copeland's and the music in the background -- David Bowie, Fine Young Cannibals -- was played at a low, barely discernible volume. They turned up the volume for the last song before The Police came on -- to Bob Marley's "Stand up, stand up, stand up for your rights". All the ang mohs in the audience rose up. All the Singaporeans had their butts firmly planted down. Yup, Sting had obviously played in Singapore before.

Snack attack

Ooh, Mummy has cookies! *glint in eye*

Mummy hasn't got any more cookies. Mummy polished that batch of cheese biscuits (well, they were meant to be cheese straws but I used a cookie cutter so they aren't the usual stick-like things but little heart shaped cookies). Silly Mummy actually thought that any cookies made a week before Chinese New Year will stay in the jar till then. So it looks like Mummy will have to rustle up some quick sugar cookies real fast before Chinese New Year.

Groundhog Day

It's grey and wet today and if there were groundhogs in Singapore, they'd be telling us that we're still in for 6 weeks of monsoon. Groan.

Enjoying the view

It was very windy yesterday so we threw open the windows to enjoy the cool breeze wafting through the house. Which meant that the furkids' windowTV was further enhanced by Sensaround, Soundaround and most importantly, Smellaround.

Today, however, is a different story. The windows are tightly shut against a raging thunderstorm outside and HRH is back to quaking. Poor thing.