My roommate has been a huge nuisance lately, bothering me with such drivel as "how do I spell lettuce?" and "how do you marinate a chicken?". What is she doing, one might ask. Well apparently, defying all logic, she is writing an instruction manual on how to prepare meals for one of her friends, despite being barely able to cook an egg without converting a substantial amount of it to carbon in its most basic and unpalatable form (not that I am any different, but that is an entirely different matter altogether...)
This of course, got me thinking.
Why not publish a whole series of articles on undergraduate cooking? Why, I might even become famous!
Here, then, is the first installment.
Schmetterling's Guide to Vaguely Edible Cooking
Lazybones Chicken Legs
The ideal meat meal for the hopelessly lazy carnivore.
1. Get chicken legs out of the freezer and defrost in microwave. Never mind if they are slightly cooked in the process- they are meant to be cooked anyhow.
2. Marinate chicken legs using salt and pepper. Amount of salt and pepper used depends on how hard you shake and how protective you are of your kidneys.
3. Chuck marinated chicken legs into the grill turned to the maximum gas mark. Hey, the whole point is to get it done as quickly as possible, right? We're hungry students here!
4. Every random interval, open the grill and poke at chicken with a fork. If red stuff comes out, it ain't cooked yet. Continue random poking until stuff that comes out is clear/ until your fears of salmonella are quelled.
5. Remove chicken legs from oven and eat.
Next installment coming soon, on Schmetterling's Guide to Vaguely Edible Cooking: Mushy Macaroni.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Saturday, November 11, 2006
"金玉良言"
Quotes from my Lectures:
"There's really not much to choose between you and a mushroom." - a lecturer being cynical about the human race.
"...that fluffy bit there (points to distinctly un-fluffy blob on protein)..." - the same lecturer being slightly overenthusiastic.
"And my point is...(dramatic pause)... now I've forgotten..." - another lecturer.
"...and then he dies, which is fairly interesting." - the humanities lecturer on the subject of the only casualty in the construction of the Eiffel Tower.
"This is a Newtonian moment." Right. Not for me, though.
"It would fry you!" - a lecturer gleefully putting into perspective the huge membrane voltage gradient. Add a quaint accent and a rolled r.
"Here I am brainwashing you..." Finally, they admit it!
"And after I squeezed him... no no, not in that way!" It is amusing when your lecturer's first language is not English, and tends to use inappropriate words at inappropriate moments...
And... notes have never been so amusing...
"The specimen has to be dead. Really dead."
And there was a smiley face in my notes. A smiley face. I am not kidding you.
"The world will go neither a whimper nor a bang, just a simple short circuit." (N.B - a reference to nuclear silos being controlled by complex electrical switchboards.)
And finally, a poem on the machine gun in one of my humanities recommended reading things, which is really rather tragic:
"Onward Christian soldiers, on to heathen lands;
Prayer-books in your pockets, rifles in your hands;
Take the glorious tidings where trade can be done;
Spread the peaceful gospel-with a Maxim gun."
- Labouchere, in A Social History of the Machine Gun by J. Ellis
"There's really not much to choose between you and a mushroom." - a lecturer being cynical about the human race.
"...that fluffy bit there (points to distinctly un-fluffy blob on protein)..." - the same lecturer being slightly overenthusiastic.
"And my point is...(dramatic pause)... now I've forgotten..." - another lecturer.
"...and then he dies, which is fairly interesting." - the humanities lecturer on the subject of the only casualty in the construction of the Eiffel Tower.
"This is a Newtonian moment." Right. Not for me, though.
"It would fry you!" - a lecturer gleefully putting into perspective the huge membrane voltage gradient. Add a quaint accent and a rolled r.
"Here I am brainwashing you..." Finally, they admit it!
"And after I squeezed him... no no, not in that way!" It is amusing when your lecturer's first language is not English, and tends to use inappropriate words at inappropriate moments...
And... notes have never been so amusing...
"The specimen has to be dead. Really dead."
And there was a smiley face in my notes. A smiley face. I am not kidding you.
"The world will go neither a whimper nor a bang, just a simple short circuit." (N.B - a reference to nuclear silos being controlled by complex electrical switchboards.)
And finally, a poem on the machine gun in one of my humanities recommended reading things, which is really rather tragic:
"Onward Christian soldiers, on to heathen lands;
Prayer-books in your pockets, rifles in your hands;
Take the glorious tidings where trade can be done;
Spread the peaceful gospel-with a Maxim gun."
- Labouchere, in A Social History of the Machine Gun by J. Ellis
Monday, October 30, 2006
Silwood Park
This is terribly terribly overdue. But nevermind.
Recently, had field trip to one of the university's other campuses. What was really nice was that it was set in lovely lovely countryside (see picture for the Manor House, which is the main building), with acres of woodland, grassland, and what not.
What was slightly scary was that the entire place was used for ecological experiments, and that cages and traps and wire fences and random logs just kept popping up everywhere you so happened to wander.
Basically went around collecting data (think tramping about in the woods, wading in waist deep thorny bushes and stinging nettles, waving nets about in streams, etc) and enjoying the fresh air. Oh, and this is totally random but I caught two crayfish. And I saw a deer, dozens of rabbits and four pheasants.
As you can see, it was simply beautiful, so I don't think I can put it adequately in words. Suffice it to say that the ragged scars from thorns and nettle-stings were worth it.
I love the countryside.
For pictures of the wild woods, visit http://www.flickr.com/photos/greyschmetterling.
Will blog more when I feel more inspired.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
More Faintly Amusing Stuff
1. Lectures
Yes, lectures are actually quite fun in this place. Especially when your lecturer is a portly old gentlemen dripping with British humour and full of phrases such as "charismatic predators" and forever taking potshots at the Americans. And your other lecturer (humanities) pokes fun of just about everything and is also forever taking potshots at the Americans. Recent lectures aren't so fun though, mainly because they involve math. Ew. Not amusing, that.
2. A Horse Named Fen and Another Called Joker
The former is a little bay mare, a bit lazy in my opinion, and much given to flopping her lips about, which is quite amusing to watch, but not so amusing when you're actually on the horse. The latter is a skewbald, very well named. Enough said. Shall go nurse my sore rear end.
3. The Madness of Engineers
Have got one for a roommate. Interesting species to observe, I must say.
Engineerus civilus
Range: radius of 1m away from laptop and bed.
Feeding habits: Eats mostly crisps, tortillas, biscuits and other processed carbohydrates
Behaviour: Eccentric. Highly given to wearing bulky construction helmet indoors and singing at inappropriate times of the day. Almost impossible to awaken unless given the prospect of breakfast. Likes juggling random fruits.
4. Terry Pratchett
Very addicted to his books, and the school library keeps a good collection. Though it is fantasy, you'd be suprised how much of it echos the absurdity of modern life. My roommate is slightly disturbed at me sniggering at odd intervals from my corner when I'm reading. Payback, I say.
Yes, lectures are actually quite fun in this place. Especially when your lecturer is a portly old gentlemen dripping with British humour and full of phrases such as "charismatic predators" and forever taking potshots at the Americans. And your other lecturer (humanities) pokes fun of just about everything and is also forever taking potshots at the Americans. Recent lectures aren't so fun though, mainly because they involve math. Ew. Not amusing, that.
2. A Horse Named Fen and Another Called Joker
The former is a little bay mare, a bit lazy in my opinion, and much given to flopping her lips about, which is quite amusing to watch, but not so amusing when you're actually on the horse. The latter is a skewbald, very well named. Enough said. Shall go nurse my sore rear end.
3. The Madness of Engineers
Have got one for a roommate. Interesting species to observe, I must say.
Engineerus civilus
Range: radius of 1m away from laptop and bed.
Feeding habits: Eats mostly crisps, tortillas, biscuits and other processed carbohydrates
Behaviour: Eccentric. Highly given to wearing bulky construction helmet indoors and singing at inappropriate times of the day. Almost impossible to awaken unless given the prospect of breakfast. Likes juggling random fruits.
4. Terry Pratchett
Very addicted to his books, and the school library keeps a good collection. Though it is fantasy, you'd be suprised how much of it echos the absurdity of modern life. My roommate is slightly disturbed at me sniggering at odd intervals from my corner when I'm reading. Payback, I say.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Life in London thus far
Life in London thus far is...
1) Quite pretty (refer to picture on the left). London is stuffed to bursting with pretty buildings; the one on the left is the entrance to the Natural History Musuem, which is just next to the school. I go there during lunch. Tee hee. However, not all buildings in London are pretty, duh. Some are absurd (like a mango-shaped building that my engineer room-mate is complaining about having to do a project on) and some look crumbly and old.
2) Faintly amusing. There are really odd things in London. Like "low sodium table salt", which I saw in a supermarket- really the ULTIMATE oxymoron. And of course there's my slightly mad roommate (aren't all engineers slightly mad anyway. I mean, who wants to build bridges, honestly.) And there's the picture on the far left, which I find quite funny.
3) Charming. Refer to picture on above right. That's Hyde Park on a really fine early autumn day. Nothing beats just sitting in the sun and looking up at the blue blue sky (sorry about the haze in SG).
4) Slightly scary. You hear police/ambulance sirens 3 times a day, on average. And this is a safe area. Did I mention that the traffic is frightening? Going to be knocked down by a car one of these days (am glad I have insurance). Also, the swans and ducks at Hyde Park are HUGE, and they have this disturbing habit of closing in on you when you've run out of bread....
Till next time.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
In London!
That's right, Schmetterling is in London.
And it's cold. Especially when the wind blows.
And the weather changes every ten minutes.
And Schmetterling is very sure she will develop very muscular legs with all the walking she's been doing these days. (It's a 15 minute walk from the hostel to the school, and about 20 min from the hostel to the supermarket...)
Well, till next time, because Schmetterling is quite sleepy now. Tata.
And it's cold. Especially when the wind blows.
And the weather changes every ten minutes.
And Schmetterling is very sure she will develop very muscular legs with all the walking she's been doing these days. (It's a 15 minute walk from the hostel to the school, and about 20 min from the hostel to the supermarket...)
Well, till next time, because Schmetterling is quite sleepy now. Tata.
Monday, September 11, 2006
Alas for the Trees
I will be leaving this place soon, and heaven knows when I'll be back. Probably not till next year.
What will I miss, people ask?
Somehow, I don't think it'll be the food.
Family and friends I will miss, definitely, but to what extent? I am not particularly close to anyone, and friendships are virtually (forgive the pun) maintained through MSN these days(that's what has been going on for the past.... 8-9 months, for me at least...)
It's the little things, I suppose.
The view of the reservoir from my window.
The sunset that irritates me from 5-6pm daily. (because of the *beep*ing glare it causes)
The wet, green smell after the rain. (Yes I live in a well vegetated area, thank heavens.)
Dammit, probably even my neighbour's noisy parrot.
And the trees. I am very very attached to tropical vegetation thankyewverymuch. The beautiful flame-of-the-forest that I admire every time I cross the overhead bridge. The weird tree with white blossoms below the flyover en route to school. The humongous tree overgrown with strangling fig in Fort Canning. The old droopy tree that dangles its branches in a frequently overlooked section of the Singapore River. Will miss them all.
And no, I am not mad. Or overly sentimental. Trees are worth worshipping.
What will I miss, people ask?
Somehow, I don't think it'll be the food.
Family and friends I will miss, definitely, but to what extent? I am not particularly close to anyone, and friendships are virtually (forgive the pun) maintained through MSN these days(that's what has been going on for the past.... 8-9 months, for me at least...)
It's the little things, I suppose.
The view of the reservoir from my window.
The sunset that irritates me from 5-6pm daily. (because of the *beep*ing glare it causes)
The wet, green smell after the rain. (Yes I live in a well vegetated area, thank heavens.)
Dammit, probably even my neighbour's noisy parrot.
And the trees. I am very very attached to tropical vegetation thankyewverymuch. The beautiful flame-of-the-forest that I admire every time I cross the overhead bridge. The weird tree with white blossoms below the flyover en route to school. The humongous tree overgrown with strangling fig in Fort Canning. The old droopy tree that dangles its branches in a frequently overlooked section of the Singapore River. Will miss them all.
And no, I am not mad. Or overly sentimental. Trees are worth worshipping.
Monday, September 04, 2006
A Brief Sojourn into the Land of Pink and Purple Taxis
Day #1
I write this in my frigid hotel room overlooking a sign saying “Applied Physics” and another describing the foot reflexology services of “Miss Puke”. My stomach is so bloated stuff threatens to exit from either above or below, and I am on the verge of breathing fire (thanks to my exceedingly spicy dinner). To top it all of, I have had three servings of coffee today (caffeine overload alert) and am quite insanely perky. As a result, this entry is likely to be terribly garbled and not make much sense at all.
Where am I? Somewhere in the middle of a tangled mess of hopelessly congested roads, highways and alleys, beset on all sides by garish pink taxis and dangerous sofa-bearing tuk-tuks. Bangkok, naturally.
Day #2
Hmmm… haven’t been in this city for what, four, five years? I never cared much for it in the past. But it calls to me now, singing its siren song… (Buy, buy buy! Very cheap, buy!) Sadly, I find it irresistible. I am not one who is easily tempted by long swishy skirts. But here, I find myself drooling at every third swishy skirt that so happens to be in my path. The variety here is mind-blowing. Utterly mind-blowing. And though the prices have gone up somewhat throughout the years, one can still get a very good deal, if one knows where to look (and if one avoids shopping malls that scream 'DEES EES A TOUURISS TRAAAP!"). There is plenty of stuff here that suits Schmetterling's very exacting tastes, and Schmetterling is very very happy about that. Service is almost universally excellent, and I find myself smiling more in one day than I've smiled for the past half of the year, simply because there are fewer pompous assholes here.
I also think that Thai massages are quite highly overrated. Perhaps having all the breath squashed out of me just isn't my thing. Don't get me wrong- it wasn't exactly painful or anything... it's just that I am not too amenable to having feet and elbows push into my back.
Day #3
I swear they put sugar in EVERYTHING. Including fruit juice. To think I was marvelling at the sweetness of Thai watermelons. Anyway, I like Thai salads. If I become a vegetarian I think Thailand might be a good place to retire.
Nothing much of note, just this. Walking on the streets can be quite hazardous, for there are shrines (and thus clouds of flies accompanying the offerings) leaping out at you from unexpected corners. And university students wear cute uniforms.
I write this in my frigid hotel room overlooking a sign saying “Applied Physics” and another describing the foot reflexology services of “Miss Puke”. My stomach is so bloated stuff threatens to exit from either above or below, and I am on the verge of breathing fire (thanks to my exceedingly spicy dinner). To top it all of, I have had three servings of coffee today (caffeine overload alert) and am quite insanely perky. As a result, this entry is likely to be terribly garbled and not make much sense at all.
Where am I? Somewhere in the middle of a tangled mess of hopelessly congested roads, highways and alleys, beset on all sides by garish pink taxis and dangerous sofa-bearing tuk-tuks. Bangkok, naturally.
Day #2
Hmmm… haven’t been in this city for what, four, five years? I never cared much for it in the past. But it calls to me now, singing its siren song… (Buy, buy buy! Very cheap, buy!) Sadly, I find it irresistible. I am not one who is easily tempted by long swishy skirts. But here, I find myself drooling at every third swishy skirt that so happens to be in my path. The variety here is mind-blowing. Utterly mind-blowing. And though the prices have gone up somewhat throughout the years, one can still get a very good deal, if one knows where to look (and if one avoids shopping malls that scream 'DEES EES A TOUURISS TRAAAP!"). There is plenty of stuff here that suits Schmetterling's very exacting tastes, and Schmetterling is very very happy about that. Service is almost universally excellent, and I find myself smiling more in one day than I've smiled for the past half of the year, simply because there are fewer pompous assholes here.
I also think that Thai massages are quite highly overrated. Perhaps having all the breath squashed out of me just isn't my thing. Don't get me wrong- it wasn't exactly painful or anything... it's just that I am not too amenable to having feet and elbows push into my back.
Day #3
I swear they put sugar in EVERYTHING. Including fruit juice. To think I was marvelling at the sweetness of Thai watermelons. Anyway, I like Thai salads. If I become a vegetarian I think Thailand might be a good place to retire.
Nothing much of note, just this. Walking on the streets can be quite hazardous, for there are shrines (and thus clouds of flies accompanying the offerings) leaping out at you from unexpected corners. And university students wear cute uniforms.
Friday, August 25, 2006
In Which the Owner of this Blog has fallen Prey to Humour
What can I possibly say? Some people are geniuses when it comes to humour.
"...And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, "O Lord, bless this, Thy hand grenade, that with it, Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits... in Thy mercy." And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats and large chu... [Whereupon the friar is urged, "skip ahead a bit, brother"]... And the Lord spake, saying, "First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it." Amen."
-- On the Use of the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, a weapon used to kill a ferocious, fluffy bunny in the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
"Quite simply, he was in love with linen. Clean, lightly starched, white Irish linen, pressed, folded, tucked- the words were almost a litany of desire for him. In centuries nothing had obsessed him or moved him so much as linen now did. He could not for the life of him understand how he could have cared for anything else."
--The Norse God Odin's opinion of linen, from The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams
"Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae." — Kurt Vonnegut
"Mediocre writers borrow; great writers steal. "— TS Eliot
Will post more when I think of more stuff.
"...And Saint Attila raised the hand grenade up on high, saying, "O Lord, bless this, Thy hand grenade, that with it, Thou mayest blow Thine enemies to tiny bits... in Thy mercy." And the Lord did grin, and the people did feast upon the lambs and sloths and carp and anchovies and orangutans and breakfast cereals, and fruit bats and large chu... [Whereupon the friar is urged, "skip ahead a bit, brother"]... And the Lord spake, saying, "First shalt thou take out the Holy Pin. Then, shalt thou count to three. No more, no less. Three shall be the number thou shalt count, and the number of the counting shall be three. Four shalt thou not count, neither count thou two, excepting that thou then proceed to three. Five is right out. Once the number three, being the third number, be reached, then lobbest thou thy Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch towards thy foe, who, being naughty in My sight, shall snuff it." Amen."
-- On the Use of the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, a weapon used to kill a ferocious, fluffy bunny in the film Monty Python and the Holy Grail.
"Quite simply, he was in love with linen. Clean, lightly starched, white Irish linen, pressed, folded, tucked- the words were almost a litany of desire for him. In centuries nothing had obsessed him or moved him so much as linen now did. He could not for the life of him understand how he could have cared for anything else."
--The Norse God Odin's opinion of linen, from The Long Dark Tea-Time of the Soul by Douglas Adams
"Any reviewer who expresses rage and loathing for a novel is preposterous. He or she is like a person who has put on full armor and attacked a hot fudge sundae." — Kurt Vonnegut
"Mediocre writers borrow; great writers steal. "— TS Eliot
Will post more when I think of more stuff.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Of Too Much Gaming
Have you ever been so distracted by pretty graphics in a computer game that you completely fail to realise you're getting toasted by the enemy?
Scenario 1 :
*lightning flashes and blinding white light*
Me: Oooooooooh PRETTY!
*clank clank clank screeeeeam*
Sign on screen: DEFEATED
Scenario 2:
*giant fiery red eye shines down on troops like Weirdo Spotlight from Hell*
Me: Oooooh PRETTY!
Disembodied Voice from Speakers: I see you
Me: Right. Now what.
*clank clank clank screaaaam*
Sign on screen: DEFEATED
You get the idea.
Scenario 1 :
*lightning flashes and blinding white light*
Me: Oooooooooh PRETTY!
*clank clank clank screeeeeam*
Sign on screen: DEFEATED
Scenario 2:
*giant fiery red eye shines down on troops like Weirdo Spotlight from Hell*
Me: Oooooh PRETTY!
Disembodied Voice from Speakers: I see you
Me: Right. Now what.
*clank clank clank screaaaam*
Sign on screen: DEFEATED
You get the idea.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Amusing Blog Quotes
Yes... I've been snooping around people's blogs and kidnapping quotes.
"A blog does not a person make." - W.K
"Never mention Jay Chou in 04S71 or else you would have commited a deed as dastardly as opening Pandora's box. And you'll find it incredibly hard to shut the damn box." - Bigsheepy
"... there's a huge puncture in my already semi-deflated ego and all the air inside is already in semi-equilibrium with the surrounding air, so basically, there's only negligible air inside the ball you call ego. Hmm." -西湖娘娘
" ... and the probability of this is 1 in, I don't know, maybe 4,532,845,043,689,574,396,820,473."
- again, the lovely Lady of the West Lake, on some weird topic that I don't remember.
"They have BCCT (basic close combat training) which basically consists of a group of people looking really retarded punching their hands in the air."
- Our Great Leader, on a particular aspect of training in NS.
What am I doing? Argh.
"A blog does not a person make." - W.K
"Never mention Jay Chou in 04S71 or else you would have commited a deed as dastardly as opening Pandora's box. And you'll find it incredibly hard to shut the damn box." - Bigsheepy
"... there's a huge puncture in my already semi-deflated ego and all the air inside is already in semi-equilibrium with the surrounding air, so basically, there's only negligible air inside the ball you call ego. Hmm." -西湖娘娘
" ... and the probability of this is 1 in, I don't know, maybe 4,532,845,043,689,574,396,820,473."
- again, the lovely Lady of the West Lake, on some weird topic that I don't remember.
"They have BCCT (basic close combat training) which basically consists of a group of people looking really retarded punching their hands in the air."
- Our Great Leader, on a particular aspect of training in NS.
What am I doing? Argh.
Tuesday, July 25, 2006
Old Friends
I was clearing out my stuff yesterday, mostly because my room looks like a plane just dropped a bomb on it and I wanted to be able to walk through the room without inadvertantly tripping over something and killing myself (though I have life insurance but that's not the point).
After some rooting about I discovered a half-filled sketchbook, buried under a pile of well whatever, I don't want to know what that is, which I had forgotten completely about. So I flipped through it to laugh at the abombinations I produced these few years. On the very last filled page was a half-completed drawing (of what I am not going to tell you. Nyah.) with quite a bit of detail done in already. Unable to resist I abandoned Operation Clean-up and took the sketchbook to the table.
Shoving some stuff (where do I get this much stuff anyway) off the table I proceeded to work on it awhile, adding detail andbringing out the form. Then I realised why I had never completed it. The pose was too ambitious, and I would never be able to get it right without a live model (and this much I will tell you.. the subject of the drawing does not exist in real life and therefore it is impossible to obtain a live model. Besides I wouldn't WANT to go near it if it existed). So I abandoned it. Again.
But my hand had touched the paper, and it was impossible to resist its siren call. Just the right texture for watercolour, really. Not really caring where I left my pencil and eraser, I rooted about again and managed to dig out a box of paints, which was empty. Then I remembered that being an idiot I had put all my paints in one box (artists' version of putting all your eggs in one basket) which I was now using as a footrest. So I took that out, and went on a search for my paintbrushes, which were conveniently standing in a mug in my bathroom next to my toothbrush (I do NOT brush my teeth with a paintbrush. I just keep them there because. Um. Because. Yah.)
Anyway, feeling beside myself with glee at having actually found what I was looking for (aiyah should have bought lottery, since I was on a lucky streak), I began to cheerfully sploosh paint onto paper. I didn't really know what I was doing. It felt good to be holding a brush again, for the first time in what, a year? I just randomly splooshed around, painting whatever came to mind (tomatoes, big trees, rocks, people with purple hair).
Thus passed the entire afternoon and evening. And my room is still a mess.
After some rooting about I discovered a half-filled sketchbook, buried under a pile of well whatever, I don't want to know what that is, which I had forgotten completely about. So I flipped through it to laugh at the abombinations I produced these few years. On the very last filled page was a half-completed drawing (of what I am not going to tell you. Nyah.) with quite a bit of detail done in already. Unable to resist I abandoned Operation Clean-up and took the sketchbook to the table.
Shoving some stuff (where do I get this much stuff anyway) off the table I proceeded to work on it awhile, adding detail andbringing out the form. Then I realised why I had never completed it. The pose was too ambitious, and I would never be able to get it right without a live model (and this much I will tell you.. the subject of the drawing does not exist in real life and therefore it is impossible to obtain a live model. Besides I wouldn't WANT to go near it if it existed). So I abandoned it. Again.
But my hand had touched the paper, and it was impossible to resist its siren call. Just the right texture for watercolour, really. Not really caring where I left my pencil and eraser, I rooted about again and managed to dig out a box of paints, which was empty. Then I remembered that being an idiot I had put all my paints in one box (artists' version of putting all your eggs in one basket) which I was now using as a footrest. So I took that out, and went on a search for my paintbrushes, which were conveniently standing in a mug in my bathroom next to my toothbrush (I do NOT brush my teeth with a paintbrush. I just keep them there because. Um. Because. Yah.)
Anyway, feeling beside myself with glee at having actually found what I was looking for (aiyah should have bought lottery, since I was on a lucky streak), I began to cheerfully sploosh paint onto paper. I didn't really know what I was doing. It felt good to be holding a brush again, for the first time in what, a year? I just randomly splooshed around, painting whatever came to mind (tomatoes, big trees, rocks, people with purple hair).
Thus passed the entire afternoon and evening. And my room is still a mess.
Thursday, July 20, 2006
The Simple Life, or The Fine Art of Doing Absolutely Nothing
There's nothing quite like the simple life, and I'm not ashamed to admit it.
There's nothing like sitting down in the evenings with a cup of rose-flavored milk tea, baroque music playing in the background, and just contemplating your peaceful, uninteresting existence.
There's nothing like being so absorbed in your own thoughts that you forget entirely you haven't spoken face to face with a human being (other than your students) for almost a week.
There's nothing like sitting around the entire day, and not feeling bored at all, because you're just enjoying the quiet simplicity of your life.
There's nothing like strolling through the busy city streets while the world whirls past you, and saying nary a word, or heeding any sight or sound, just pondering meditatively on some random thing or other (like coffee).
There's nothing like flipping idly through an issue of Sci Am, and suddenly realising with a jolt that you're in Macdonalds and probably look like an absolute nerd.
There's nothing like realising you just spent five minutes of your life deciding whether you want toast for breakfast or not.
In short, there's nothing like having absolutely nothing to do.
There's nothing like sitting down in the evenings with a cup of rose-flavored milk tea, baroque music playing in the background, and just contemplating your peaceful, uninteresting existence.
There's nothing like being so absorbed in your own thoughts that you forget entirely you haven't spoken face to face with a human being (other than your students) for almost a week.
There's nothing like sitting around the entire day, and not feeling bored at all, because you're just enjoying the quiet simplicity of your life.
There's nothing like strolling through the busy city streets while the world whirls past you, and saying nary a word, or heeding any sight or sound, just pondering meditatively on some random thing or other (like coffee).
There's nothing like flipping idly through an issue of Sci Am, and suddenly realising with a jolt that you're in Macdonalds and probably look like an absolute nerd.
There's nothing like realising you just spent five minutes of your life deciding whether you want toast for breakfast or not.
In short, there's nothing like having absolutely nothing to do.
Monday, July 10, 2006
The Berlin Philharmonic
I can not understate my appreciation for Arts Central screening classical music concerts almost every week.
Yesterday it was a concert by the Berlin Philharmonic (one of my favoritest symphony orchestras) with a heady dose of French music.
[rave mode]
Saint-Seans! Ravel! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
[/rave mode]
Cough. Ahem.
Anyway they played one of the great favorites: Saint-Sean's Carnival of the Animals. I thought "The Swan" was especially moving. (What am I talking about? It's the only really moving movement in the entire suite...in my opinion anyway)
I really must try to stop rambling so much and form clear, coherent thought.
*Deep breath*
Nope. It's beyond me. I'm done for.
ANYWAY.
The concert was open-air in somewhere in Germany. What really struck me was the enthusiasm of the audience. The place was literally SWARMING with people and their picnic baskets. After every piece they would cheer and whoop and seem absolutely thrilled that they were listening to classical music. The applause was deafening, and by the end everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering and generally prancing along to the music.
What an atmosphere.
Even I, sprawled comfortably out on a couch in front of the TV, felt a slight stirring within me. And I couldn't wipe off the grin on my face for hours. (Freaky huh.)
Which leaves us with this thought : Would you see this sort of reaction in Singapore?
Aside: http://library.wellcome.ac.uk/doc_WTL038432.html is very funny. Snicker.
Yesterday it was a concert by the Berlin Philharmonic (one of my favoritest symphony orchestras) with a heady dose of French music.
[rave mode]
Saint-Seans! Ravel! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
[/rave mode]
Cough. Ahem.
Anyway they played one of the great favorites: Saint-Sean's Carnival of the Animals. I thought "The Swan" was especially moving. (What am I talking about? It's the only really moving movement in the entire suite...in my opinion anyway)
I really must try to stop rambling so much and form clear, coherent thought.
*Deep breath*
Nope. It's beyond me. I'm done for.
ANYWAY.
The concert was open-air in somewhere in Germany. What really struck me was the enthusiasm of the audience. The place was literally SWARMING with people and their picnic baskets. After every piece they would cheer and whoop and seem absolutely thrilled that they were listening to classical music. The applause was deafening, and by the end everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering and generally prancing along to the music.
What an atmosphere.
Even I, sprawled comfortably out on a couch in front of the TV, felt a slight stirring within me. And I couldn't wipe off the grin on my face for hours. (Freaky huh.)
Which leaves us with this thought : Would you see this sort of reaction in Singapore?
Aside: http://library.wellcome.ac.uk/doc_WTL038432.html is very funny. Snicker.
Thursday, July 06, 2006
Ugh
Note: The author apologises for the interruption of the Stupid-Lame-Funny-Anecdotes series to just ramble a little bit
Well I suppose it's time to formally introduce Sean, since I'm going to ramble about him for awhile today.
Sean is a very charming young fellow with dusty brown hair, streaked with gold.
Like most males though, Sean has a problem with personal hygiene.
You see, Sean is a Campbell Dwarf Hamster, and perhaps his mama forgot to teach him how to keep himself clean.
Sean has a rather disturbing habit of urinating and pooping on the excercise wheel, which he then proceeds to run on and sleep on.
So his ever-patient owner has to give him a bath almost every week just to remove the dried pee that's making his fur all sticky.
Not to mention that it stinks.
A lot.
And I can't bring myself to be mad at him because he's so cute and stares at me with those limpid brown eyes....
Bah.
Well I suppose it's time to formally introduce Sean, since I'm going to ramble about him for awhile today.
Sean is a very charming young fellow with dusty brown hair, streaked with gold.
Like most males though, Sean has a problem with personal hygiene.
You see, Sean is a Campbell Dwarf Hamster, and perhaps his mama forgot to teach him how to keep himself clean.
Sean has a rather disturbing habit of urinating and pooping on the excercise wheel, which he then proceeds to run on and sleep on.
So his ever-patient owner has to give him a bath almost every week just to remove the dried pee that's making his fur all sticky.
Not to mention that it stinks.
A lot.
And I can't bring myself to be mad at him because he's so cute and stares at me with those limpid brown eyes....
Bah.
Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Memories
-private chuckle-
I remember all too well the days of lame jokes and relentless teasing. Days when we should have been buried up to our noses in TYS-es and notes and tutorials, or doing something productive, but wasted in the invention of hilarious (and extremely improbable) scenarios.
Anyway to liven up my 85.673% dead blog, I present you with a series of short jokes/scenarios that my friends and I cooked up.
Warning: Lame, may cause physical impairment in limbs
(A) In The Event of War
Introduction: Inspired by my second-sister's complaints of NS making people stupid. (Yes my second-sister is male).
It is the time of war.
Shells explode overhead.
The captain sees the enemy approach, and shouts an order to his men.
"Fire at will!"
"Yes sir!" An enthusiastic soldier whips out his rifle, swings it around and fires a round into his buddy's face.
As the poor soldier falls limp to the ground amid horrified stares, we see the name on his uniform.
Private Will.
I remember all too well the days of lame jokes and relentless teasing. Days when we should have been buried up to our noses in TYS-es and notes and tutorials, or doing something productive, but wasted in the invention of hilarious (and extremely improbable) scenarios.
Anyway to liven up my 85.673% dead blog, I present you with a series of short jokes/scenarios that my friends and I cooked up.
Warning: Lame, may cause physical impairment in limbs
(A) In The Event of War
Introduction: Inspired by my second-sister's complaints of NS making people stupid. (Yes my second-sister is male).
It is the time of war.
Shells explode overhead.
The captain sees the enemy approach, and shouts an order to his men.
"Fire at will!"
"Yes sir!" An enthusiastic soldier whips out his rifle, swings it around and fires a round into his buddy's face.
As the poor soldier falls limp to the ground amid horrified stares, we see the name on his uniform.
Private Will.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
On Instruments
I have a grand total of five instruments at home, four of which are now busy collecting dust.
Well since I haven't blogged for several millennia and I have nothing better to do, I shall say a few words in tribute of my most constant companions.
Introduction
As a person who finds it incredibly difficult to open her mouth and yabble like the rest of her species, Schmetterling doesn't find release easily or often. Schmetterling doesn't even have a social life worth a butterfly wing-scale. Thus, Schmetterling's most intimate friends are inanimate objects hewn out of wood.
The piano
Schmetterling has played the piano for some time but still doesn't manage to be much good at it. Schmetterling goes to the piano to find tranquility and peace by working out anger and frustration. (Prelude in C# minor by Rachmaninoff works just fine..) Or just to clear the head from incessantly whirling thoughts. Schmetterling plays to hear richness and complexity and long sustained sounds, which distract her from the meaningless goings-on of daily life.
The sheng
Perhaps this is what Schmetterling plays best, but she plays it seldom now. Schmetterling seeks it when she wishes to sing of joy, youth and boundless energy (which is obviously quite seldom), or when she just wants to hear sweet sounds. Of course, Schmetterling also plays when she is told she must. (-sulk-) The sheng has taken Schmetterling on the furthest road (and vice versa actually, with the result of the sheng being the only one of Schmetterling's instruments to have seen Orchard Road) and has been the catalyst for finding many of Schmetterling's joys in life.
Rambling note : One does not know how exhilarating it feels to play a wind instrument until one has learnt to play one with some skill.
The guitar
Newest and most unfamiliar of Schmetterling's instruments. Nonetheless it serves the purpose of expressing Schmetterling's abundant feelings of self-pity and melancholy. Schmetterling loves to hear the minor chords resonate, and to feel the bite of nylon strings into flesh.
I blogged. Be happy.
Well since I haven't blogged for several millennia and I have nothing better to do, I shall say a few words in tribute of my most constant companions.
Introduction
As a person who finds it incredibly difficult to open her mouth and yabble like the rest of her species, Schmetterling doesn't find release easily or often. Schmetterling doesn't even have a social life worth a butterfly wing-scale. Thus, Schmetterling's most intimate friends are inanimate objects hewn out of wood.
The piano
Schmetterling has played the piano for some time but still doesn't manage to be much good at it. Schmetterling goes to the piano to find tranquility and peace by working out anger and frustration. (Prelude in C# minor by Rachmaninoff works just fine..) Or just to clear the head from incessantly whirling thoughts. Schmetterling plays to hear richness and complexity and long sustained sounds, which distract her from the meaningless goings-on of daily life.
The sheng
Perhaps this is what Schmetterling plays best, but she plays it seldom now. Schmetterling seeks it when she wishes to sing of joy, youth and boundless energy (which is obviously quite seldom), or when she just wants to hear sweet sounds. Of course, Schmetterling also plays when she is told she must. (-sulk-) The sheng has taken Schmetterling on the furthest road (and vice versa actually, with the result of the sheng being the only one of Schmetterling's instruments to have seen Orchard Road) and has been the catalyst for finding many of Schmetterling's joys in life.
Rambling note : One does not know how exhilarating it feels to play a wind instrument until one has learnt to play one with some skill.
The guitar
Newest and most unfamiliar of Schmetterling's instruments. Nonetheless it serves the purpose of expressing Schmetterling's abundant feelings of self-pity and melancholy. Schmetterling loves to hear the minor chords resonate, and to feel the bite of nylon strings into flesh.
I blogged. Be happy.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Wednesday, June 07, 2006
On the Perils of Short Legs in War
I have just bought a new computer game : The Battle for Middle Earth 2 PC game. Whee. Of course I am uber enthusiastic about it, being a hardcore Tolkien fan and all, but it is a really nice game. Take the graphics for example. At certain points in the game, for example, you see a breathtaking, pure, holy shaft of white light pierce through the gently falling snow and illuminate the path below. And of course it's accompanied by uplifting choral voices singing "aaaaaahhhh aaaahhhhh AHHHHH!" (from the original film soundtrack, no less) to signify that something wonderful has just happened and you've been blessed or something (of course you'd be clueless, but that isn't the point). Also, the Elven dwellings are just magnificent. There is this mallorn/mallard/macdonald tree or something that you grow for food and it has gold and bronze leaves! Shiny leaves! Orcs, trolls and other fashionably evil stuff are also picturesquely grotesque (wrinkles, ugly pout, abdominal fat, uneven tan etc.)
Anyway, that isn't the point. Back to the main topic, which is about the Perils of Short Legs in War. This is something important I have learnt from playing this game.
Well, in one of the campaign scenarios I had to command battalions of Dwarves, which are bearded, short, stout and slow. I would like to point out what I was facing at that point of time was hordes of the Dark Lord's prancing Orcs and Spiders and what not which are significantly faster then my short-legged allies. So when the happy occasion of an enemy attack comes, my army is pelted with generous helpings of poison arrows and flaming shot that fries them to a crisp before they even manage to prick the enemy with the edge of an axe. It is also extremely disheartening to watch your army execute a painfully slow charge order ( I swear they WADDLE to battle) while huge boulders fired from enemy catapaults whiz over their heads ( and occasionally flatten them). You can almost imagine the grin on Sauron's face. Wait. Sauron doesn't have a face. Grin on his Eye? Nevermind.
Anyway. It seems as if short legs were not meant for the battlefield. What would Dwarves do if they had to fight a Mountain Giant anyway? Hack at his pinkie toe?
Anyway, that isn't the point. Back to the main topic, which is about the Perils of Short Legs in War. This is something important I have learnt from playing this game.
Well, in one of the campaign scenarios I had to command battalions of Dwarves, which are bearded, short, stout and slow. I would like to point out what I was facing at that point of time was hordes of the Dark Lord's prancing Orcs and Spiders and what not which are significantly faster then my short-legged allies. So when the happy occasion of an enemy attack comes, my army is pelted with generous helpings of poison arrows and flaming shot that fries them to a crisp before they even manage to prick the enemy with the edge of an axe. It is also extremely disheartening to watch your army execute a painfully slow charge order ( I swear they WADDLE to battle) while huge boulders fired from enemy catapaults whiz over their heads ( and occasionally flatten them). You can almost imagine the grin on Sauron's face. Wait. Sauron doesn't have a face. Grin on his Eye? Nevermind.
Anyway. It seems as if short legs were not meant for the battlefield. What would Dwarves do if they had to fight a Mountain Giant anyway? Hack at his pinkie toe?
Thursday, June 01, 2006
BeeBee the Paranoid Schizophrenic Fish
BeeBee (real name is not given due to privacy issues) is a paranoid schizophrenic Siamese Fighting Fish.
BeeBee resides in a plastic tank in Schmetterling's student's HDB flat and is of indeterminate age. BeeBee was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia three weeks ago when he scared the hell out of Schmetterling by banging his nose very hard on the tank walls, thinking that yours truly was Satan incarnate and out to murder him in cold blood (which is strange because he is cold-blooded anyway).
BeeBee continually experiences horrifying hallucinations, in which he thinks that he is being attacked on all sides. During such episodes (which strangely usually occur during tuition), BeeBee goes stark raving mad and dashes all around the tank with gills flared, and usually ends up with a bloody face and several missing scales. In between episodes BeeBee just phases out with a glassy look on his fishy face.
To help BeeBee overcome his mental disorder, his owner has put in a porcelain hideout to provide him with a sense of security and thus perhaps prevent panic attacks. However this has not worked as the ever-paranoid BeeBee seems to think it is all some kind of trap and refuses to stay in the hideout for more than a few seconds at a time.
It is also suspected that BeeBee hears voices in his little fishy head telling him that Schmetterling is Satan incarnate.
BeeBee resides in a plastic tank in Schmetterling's student's HDB flat and is of indeterminate age. BeeBee was diagnosed with Paranoid Schizophrenia three weeks ago when he scared the hell out of Schmetterling by banging his nose very hard on the tank walls, thinking that yours truly was Satan incarnate and out to murder him in cold blood (which is strange because he is cold-blooded anyway).
BeeBee continually experiences horrifying hallucinations, in which he thinks that he is being attacked on all sides. During such episodes (which strangely usually occur during tuition), BeeBee goes stark raving mad and dashes all around the tank with gills flared, and usually ends up with a bloody face and several missing scales. In between episodes BeeBee just phases out with a glassy look on his fishy face.
To help BeeBee overcome his mental disorder, his owner has put in a porcelain hideout to provide him with a sense of security and thus perhaps prevent panic attacks. However this has not worked as the ever-paranoid BeeBee seems to think it is all some kind of trap and refuses to stay in the hideout for more than a few seconds at a time.
It is also suspected that BeeBee hears voices in his little fishy head telling him that Schmetterling is Satan incarnate.
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