Prangster in Chicago

King of the ball

So, Roger won. That's all I have to say. Okay fine, I'll say something else too. Roger, you make me want to buy a new tennis racket. A Wilson one. The one you use, actually. Helen and I went to Rebel Sport and saw it, it looks really effective. I can imagine the backhands I'm going to slam down the line with it already, but I will wait to buy it in Taipei, where ironically, I probably won't get to play any tennis, ever. But never mind that, I will just practice my swing in front of the TV.

Here's a news piece I think is one of the few that does Roger's amazingness justice. It's from The Guardian.

Talk with Dad

(Conversation from last night, translated from Chinese...)

Kathy: "Dad, did you see a paper bag by the cabinet?"
Dad: "Yes, I threw it away."
Kathy: "Dog crap! You threw it away?!"
Dad: "Yeah, I thought it was trash."
Kathy: "Dad, that was a present I bought!"
Dad: "Oh. Looked like trash to me."
Kathy: "Dad, it was gift-wrapped!"
Dad: (Silence)
Kathy: "How could it look like trash? It was brand new!"
Dad: "I don't know. Go buy another one. How much did it cost?"
Kathy: "About 200 NT."
(Here, I feel I must point out the gift was 50% off)
Dad: "Ha! That's nothing. I'll give you the money. Go buy another one."
Kathy: (Rolls eyes) "Alright..."

(Tonight, Kathy goes to buy another one but they are sold out because the item is so fantastic and in demand.)

Kathy: "Dog crap, Dad. They sold out!"
Dad: "Oh."
Kathy: "Yeah! Just the colour I wanted!"
Dad: "Go find something else to buy then."
Kathy: (Rolls eyes) "Alright..."

(To be continued...)

Die, Tommy Haas, die...

Oh good jesus, thank god Federer beat the crap out of Tommy Haas!!!!!! YESSSSS!!!!!!!

I was so freaking nervous -- shrieking and stuff -- watching the end of the fourth set when Haas evened it up at two sets a piece. Federer was even sweating during the fifth, which really worried me since he so rarely perspires. But oh baby, Roger hit some freaking amazing inside out one-handed backhands that would've dislocated the shoulder of any lesser player...which is basically every other player on the tour...except for maybe Marat Safin, but he's inconsistent, we all know that...and Federer won!

Man, imagine if I had to sit and watch Federer lose. What a low that would be. Makes me wonder if I can handle watching him play live. Yeah, it would be my fantasty holiday and all...going to a Grand Slam tournament and watching Federer beat the crap out of someone, but what if he loses? Gosh, it would be a freaking nightmare!

Anyway, I'm just relieved he won. And he's on track to win this year. And Tommy Haas is a dick.

The results are in

It's official, I'm anal. Well, about this blog at least. And you know what? I tried, I really tried not to be. I've researched Blogger and WordPress, I set up accounts, looked at their templates and everything, but I just can't move to either one. I'd rather pay my hard-earned New Taiwan dollars to keep this stupid freaking template. I just don't know what to say...other than I hope I don't grow tired of this blog in a few months time, like I did with my two-year gym membership. Wow, what a fantastic example of wasted New Taiwan dollars. And they will continue to be wasted until August! Maybe I will cut back on magazine purchases from Eslite...or I guess I could go to the gym more.

Bewitched, body and soul

This is me, doing an impersonation of someone who's pathetically girly: I just watched Pride and Prejudice again. What a cute movie! I'm going to slot it into my list of Top 5 romantic movies, maybe bump off Notting Hill or something.

So now the list looks like this:

1) Perfect Catch
2) Say Anything -- vintage John Cusack.
3) Before Sunrise/Before Sunset
4) The Notebook -- loved every bit, except for the old people scenes and the voiceover. 
And 5) Pride and Prejudice.

Um, and while the Aussie Open's on, I'm going to throw in something about Roger Federer. The romance between Roger and the sport of tennis, actually. What a great love story that is. Go Roger...you're going to win it this year. Safin is too freaking inconsistent...

Finally, this photo was taken in Paris on December 28, 2003. How romantic, right? My cousin Christine was visiting me at the time. We probably just came out of  the Louvre, filing past the Mona Lisa and all that...and the afternoon light just took our breaths away.

Anybody home?

Communication these days is like a 7-11. No matter where you are in the world, what time zone you live in, whether you're asleep or awake, everyone is contactable. It's just a matter of when and if they want to hear you. Case in point: I sent out a brief happy new year email a couple weeks ago to faces and places from years ago, and replies have been bouncing back from around the world ever since. These days, I can wake up in the morning, push a button on my generic no-brand "Notebook", the screen comes alive and rerrrrrrrr (that's the sound generic laptops make), I've suddenly got old names from France, Hong Kong, New York, Germany and Sydney on my mind. It's magic! It's technology! Whatever you want to call it, it's pretty damn special. We live in special times, people.

But I guess the absolute worst thing about it is -- and I'm talking specifically about MSN here, and maybe Friendster too -- is that I see people online who I should say hello to once in a while, but I just don't. I can see their name, they're online, they're probably sitting at their desk with equally bad posture, one hand on the mouse, the other wrapped around a coffee mug or something. The both of us just a click away from hello...and it's blank. No comment. Nothing but virtual silence.

I look at my contact list right now and of all the people online, I'd only write messages to half of them. Who are the other half and why won't I write to them? Who knows. Actually, I know...but the better question is, why are they still on the freaking list? Perhaps it's time to delete contacts. Downsize and consolidate etc. But that's all so final, like clicking on the button of death. I don't know if I have the guts to do it...

All this stuff is weird to me. Do I keep in touch with certain people simply because they're good at sending sporadic emails, or because we actually want to keep in touch? And do I not bother with others simply because I know they're too freaking lazy to press 'reply'?

No photo this post

Something that could only happen to me in Taipei, and never in Sydney: I spent more than 12 hours with extended family types today. Lunch, then post-lunch apartment-visiting, then dinner, then sitting around after dinner, then finally, a session of King Kong which ended at 1am. It was an okay day. I like to see my cousins and hear of their news, but I just have very little to say to them. I don't see them for six months, then boom -- we're all together and I don't even know where to begin. "How have you been?" just sounds stupid. And "I'm working at a brand agency" is too simple of a response to the "So what are you doing now?" question. I try to keep up with conversations but I can't even follow the topics half the time. It's probably a cultural thing, or a humour thing, or a hundred other things. And they all have brothers and sisters and husbands and wives and girlfriends and boyfriends on their side, building up their numbers, faces they see all the time, voices they speak with just about every day...and then there's me. The only only kid. Out of the loop. As always.

Hotpotting it up

We dropped Mum off at the airport a few nights ago, so what did I do last night? I picked up some chinese cabbage, some tofu, some mini-corn, a pack of golden mushrooms (the ones that look like noodles), some tomatoes and frozen Japanese udon...that's right, people. I made a hotpot! Yeah! I'm reheating it right now actually. With every letter that I type, the hotpot is bubbling away, growing ever more concentrated in delicious-ness. And in just a few minutes, I'm gonna drink it up and be like, oh shit, this is tasty stuff.

And um, what's also right is the photos I post rarely have anything to do with the text that's under them now. Hotpot! Yeah!

Ticks and crosses

I read a story today by Haruki Murakami called 'The Kidney-Shaped Stone that Moves Every Day'. In it, a father tells his son this chilling truth: "Among the women a man meets in his life, there are only three who have real meaning for him. No more, no less." The idea is brilliant and simple, right? So the son goes through the years putting ticks and crosses against every woman he's involved with. He's selective and careful about deciding whether or not even the special ones have moved him enough to be bookmarked in the 'Really Meaningful' folder. It's seems romantic, idyllic even, searching for The One times three. But how would you go through life if you knew you'd only meet three people who moved you? And how much movement is enough to be meaningful? It's too freaking complicated.

So I've been thinking, and I've decided I'm going to allow myself nine meaningful people. I'll give two reasons. One, many friends are equally meaningful, if not more meaningful, than some of the guys who simply come and go. And two, because the fancy table in this photo -- taken at Dozo Restaurant a few nights ago -- seats ten.

Read the story. Here's the link.

Snakes on a freaking plane!

It's freaking wrong of me to blog at work, I understand that, but I just read the funniest freaking crap that I've read in a while. It was in Wired Magazine, and was about this new Samuel L. Jackson movie called 'Snakes on a Plane'. How brilliant is that? Apparently Jackson decided to do the movie just cause he loved the title so much. Anyway, I was laughing pretty hard about it, to myself though, and more or less silently, like someone in a Charlie Chaplin movie. (In Sydney this would be called "cacking".) Somehow things are just funnier at work. I also had a good, long giggle about it when I went to make a cup of tea. Oh, Snakes on a Plane...

Sad ending to this story though. Soon after I finished my quiet giggling, a contact lens went AWOL and I was stuck working with one eye shut for the rest of the afternoon. Guess that's punishment for reading magazines at work.