My laundry quandry

A 5 day business trip has morphed into a 14 day quasi-secondment and I am stuck with a laundry problem.

The Firm will pick up the tab, that's not the issue. The question is whether my conscience can. I cannot be complicit to anyone paying S$18 to dry clean a pair of trousers. S$12 to LAUNDER a t-shirt. One t-shirt. A shirt that did not even cost S$12. That's not just ridiculous, that's just immoral.

So tomorrow, I plan to take all my laundry and drop it off across the street, where I can get a whole laundry bag of shirts and trousers dry cleaned for under S$20.

Then I will head back to my five star residence and have steak for lunch.

Now that, I can live with.

Not all cheese curls are made equal

Back in high school I was a big fan of Planter's Cheese Curls. (Well, maybe not as big a fan as K.) They were packaged in tube like containers with yellow lids. I couldn't find a cheese curls container, but here's one for Planter's Cheese Balls.

I remember how chowing down on Planter'sCheeseCurls (pronounced as if it were one word) would cause your fingers and tongue to turn yellow. How one tin can was just right for one person (i.e. sharing kept to a minimum).

Now while I loooved Planter's Cheese Curls, I actually did not notice that they were discontinued by the Planters corporation a few years ago. I did a little research on-line and apparently Planters decided to axe cheese curls and cheese balls from their production line in 2006. Maybe I didn't notice because I was too busy eating Cheetos.


Now while I loved Planter'sCheeseCurls, I ADORE Cheetos. To paraphrase P., Cheetos are the best! But the sad fact is, Cheetos are hard to come by in China. You can only buy them at the high end supermarkets that cater to expats (HK's equivalent of the PX store).

Yesterday while grocery shopping with C., I mindlessly picked up a can of Planter'sCheeseCurls (yes, they're baaack!). I get home open up a can, dig in, and... blah. It wasn't at all how I remembered it. The curls were not cheesy enough, they were not crunchy enough. They were like Planter'sCheeseCurls on anti-depressants.

I guess the cliche is true -- some cheese curls are made better than others.

What I had for lunch today

Forgive the undeniably inane post, but this is my blog and I will gush about soy chicken whenever I feel like it. I've been a soy chicken fan for decades. I *love* the stuff. And my love for soy chicken deepened when I moved to China, where soy chicken is taken to a new level.

2Q down 2Q to go

With June 2008 a thing of the past (if you've been reading this blog regularly, you know that the dates of posts have no relation to reality) I thought it might be a good idea to look back at the first half of the year.

So far I've traveled quite a bit, spent quality time with loved ones and friends, eaten a lot of curry, taken tons of photos, and painted one picture.

Not bad for year that literally started horribly.

Angelina Jolie, eat your heart out

IMG_1135, originally uploaded by Jona B..

Regular Exercise

People dislike regular exercise for many reasons. It's boring, it takes up too much of your time. You feel tired afterwards. You need to wear silly outfits, gym membership costs too much. Et cetera, et cetera.

Well, here's my reason -- exercise can't be saved.

The benefits of exercise cannot be stored. You can't save an-hour long run today for some random day in the future when you want to pig out on a caramel panacotta.

Even if you go to the gym everyday for six straight months, two months of no gym and voila -- you're back to where you where before.

Exercise is fun. I like how my pulse races after a 20 minute run. I find stretching my muscles by getting into the most unnatural poses satisfying. I enjoy the sensation of over-worked arms and legs.

But I hate that I need to go to the gym three times a week to avoid gaining the weight back. Why can't I be good for 6 weeks at a time, then get a 6 week hiatus.

You know what I hate about regular exercise?

The regular part of it.

40 Hours in Manila

Last year, I took about 14 weekend trips to Manila. This year am on trip 6. As you will see, I've got it down to a science.

Saturday

24:00am -- arrive at the airport

00:30 -- clear immigration

00:50 -- collect your bag

1:10 -- jump into car that takes you home

1:50 -- get home

2:00 -- go to sleep

8:00 -- get up, lounge around, discuss life, love and the pursuit of happiness with the parental units

8:45 -- breakfast with the parental units

10:00 -- random errand (this could be getting pants altered, going to the gym, picking up of dropping off something)

12:00 -- lunch with M3, MD. and SMQ.

15:30 -- massage, facial

19:30 -- dinner with parental units

21:30 -- after dinner drinks with M3, MD. and SMQ

24:00 -- home, sleep

Sunday

8:00 -- get up, lounge around, discuss life, love and the pursuit of happiness with the parental units

8:45 -- breakfast with parental units

10:00 -- random errand

12:00 -- lunch with parental units

13:30 -- coffee with Kuz and/or N. and/or SMQ

14:45 -- head for airport

16:30 -- fly back to HK

20:00 -- dinner at Central with C.

Happy Birthday, Wonder Spot

This blog is two years old.

And like any other two year old, this blog has seen some trips and spills. It's still finding it's blog feet.

It generally spouts senseless things. And it's creator dresses it up with silly costumes.

Maybe when TWS turns three, it will finally say something intelligible.

To those who check in regularly (i.e., Dad), thank you for your time.

T8

Typhoon signal number 8 is the highest possible typhoon warning that can be hoisted in Hong Kong. T8 typhoons carry winds that travel 63 kilometers an hour or more.

Yawn.

Yawn, this time with arms extending over my head.

Yawn, this time with me looking really bored.

63km/hour?

Are they kidding? I run faster than that.

(Insert bored look here)

In the Philippines, where we have "proper" typhoons, the highest storm warning is 3 (no need to reach such high numbers) and to get that honor, you need winds upwards of 100km/hour.

100km/hour.

Now that's a typhoon.

What's so great about being a vegetarian?

I work with a lot of white people, and I have discovered that for white people being a vegetarian is a badge of honor and is something to be worked into every single conversation white people have.

"My name is John Smith and I am a vegetarian."

I never understood this. I really don't see what the big deal is. To me being a vegetarian is similar to liking blue cars. It is entirely a matter of choice. So if one does decide to become a vegetarian, well then that's like buying a new car. Congratulations! But after about 3 months the car starts to get old and so does news of your not eating meat, fish or poultry.

Six months later no one cares.

But that doesn't stop vegetarians. Six months later, 1, 2, 20 years later --

"My name is John Smith and I am a vegetarian."

I don't get it.

It's not a big deal, people.

Get over yourselves.

Picky eaters

Today I had lunch with an annoying woman who described herself as a "picky eater".

I am of the view that only people five years old or younger can call themselves or may be described as picky eaters.

After that they are just plain annoying (and if the justification for the dietary restrictions is other than for medical reasons -- stupid).

4 Really Weird Things About Me

1. I am left handed but play bowling with the right hand.

2. I can catch peanuts thrown at me with my mouth.

3. Speaking of catching things, I have this knack for catching raw eggs thrown from great distances.

4. I don't like caviar, truffles and chocolate.