Turning Ancient

A few days ago, I turned 25. Which is kinda well, not awesome. And awesome at the same time. Awesome because I am grateful that I’ve lived this long and I’m relatively healthy.

Depressed because gosh, I’m old. Ancient really. Okay, I know those of you over 25 are like WTF?! You’re effin’ 25 (it’s Ramadhan…I’m trying to cut down on the cussing. Tough as that might be) and you’re super young. But I was greeted with phone calls and messages like, “Gosh, you’re old!” to¬† “You know, Adlina, when you’re 25, you usually reminded of your mortality.”

Uh-huh. With friends like these, who needs enemies. Anemones. =)

Having said all that, thank you so much for all the wishes. It was wonderful hearing from all of you, from different parts of the world, and I do feel teh specialz as they say. Yes, I’m looking forward to the future, and I say, the future is going to be LOLarious.

Actually, what I really feel about the future is reflected in this song (oh God! song blog!). I’m kinda glad that deep down within, I still have the emo angst of a teenager cutting themselves from all the Pain! Suffering! You Don’t Understand Me!

And I know that Alphaville sang the original, but I like the emo and sappy take of Youth Group.

Lyrics reflect that I have the emotional maturity of a 15 year old. So don’t mind me if I start littering the lyrics all over my blog.

Come to think of it, I’m kinda sorry that I was not a teenager in the noughties. I did not even really have Nirvana when I was growing up, missed it slightly due to my age, but the emo culture, is just too deliciously perfect for the angsting teenager. Songs about cutting yourself, a tradition of wearing black eyeliner and scarves even though it’s 35 degrees Celsius out there. What better way to reflect how much you’re suffering inside?

Happy Merdeka everyone!

It was a dark and smarmy night…

Sometimes, in life, I make such weird decisions that I wholeheartedly support to the end. In some cases, I can actually switch my allegiance e.g. Hillary Clinton. At the end of the day, when she lost the nomination, I was completely crushed but I could switch my allegiance to Barack Obama. Not quite wholeheartedly…yet.

However, when David Archuleta lost American Idol (yes, I know, I actually watched American Idol…hey, I’m in Asia, it’s boring and any show is better than no show), I had to admit, I was crushed. So…isn’t appropriate that his first song is called “Crush”? It’s the most teeny-bopper song on the planet. Yet, I love it.

***

I met up with my friend Shahira a few days back after not actually meeting for her ages. My dear friend, dear as she might be, has a reputation for being super tardy, so even though she said let’s meet up for tea cum dinner at 5:30pm, she arrived at 6:30pm. This was despite knowing how late she was going to be and I aimed to arrive at 6pm.

So I sat down at the cafe for a good forty minutes with a cup of coffee trying to look…well, comfortable. You know how there are some people who could just sit down alone in a restaurant, having a meal, without having a care in the world? I’m not one of those people. Despite having the ipod, and my notebook out to write prose, I kept looking out the door as though hyenas were out to get me and I had to bolt out of Secret Recipe as fast as possible.

But Shahira arrived finally and we had a great time. Shahira is one of those super-hardworking people that I love to hang out with, so that their discipline would somehow rub off on me. She’s doing three exams back to back and she’s some sort of accounting wonder. Like really, I’m not being sarcastic. Anyway, I’m still hoping that wonder discipline would rub off.

I told her about what I was doing, the play, the novel and hopefully, fingers crossed here, another play next year.

“As producer?” she asked.

“Yeah, as producer.”

She shook her head in dismay. “You never learn, do you, Adlina?”

***

In honour of the Bulwer-Lytton contest:

I did not submit this, I did not even know the contest existed until recently when I was surfing around online. The point of the contest is to submit the most smarmy opening line to an imaginary novel. A quick one, in honour of the contest from me. Don’t mind my comma friendly attempt. It’s supposed to be one freaking line!

Romance/Science Fiction:

It’s been months, no, years since Roger left Annie yet every night, Annie imagined that it was his arms that was holding her, his fingers that were caressing her, his kind eyes gazing into her soul for really, that was the only way she could tolerate those grey creatures with those big black unblinking eyes staring at her, touching her with their spindly fingers and using pointy metal objects on parts she did not want to imagine since her abduction.

When you’ve got nothing else to write about…

News that caught my eye over err…yesterday.

1. The rights to bear arms in school – A small school in Texas has given permission to their teachers to carry guns in school. Now, imagine what it’d be like to forget your homework in that school. How sure are you that your teacher ain’t gonna pull a gun on you for not studying?

In all seriousness, I’ve always seen schools as a sanctuary, a place where it is safe and to a great extent, a place where idealism is nurtured. I imagine if a teacher carries a gun to school, it would be impossible to forge a bond of mutual trust between student and teacher, which does not bode well for education. I can’t trust a teacher who carries a gun. He has a freakin’ gun after all.

2. How to do propaganda – this one has been making rounds in the Western papers, I haven’t checked if Asian papers are printing this one yet but I find the 21 edicts by the Chinese government deliciously funny and creepy at the same time.

3. Making a statement – A piece of art that looks like a giant turd (the size of a house!) floated around Sweden, breaking a window and bringing down power lines. Sometimes, you just can’t make this shit up (pardon the pun)

Have a great Monday!

Going for the Gold

*In a rare moment of patriotism*

Lee Chong Wei is one step closer to getting a GOLD for Malaysia. Even though I am very well known to being a cynic when it comes to my country, I could not help feel the flutter of butterflies in my tummy at the prospect of Malaysia being so, so close to our first GOLD ever.

We are getting that gold because we are MOTHERFUCKING kings! Go Lee Chong Wei!

Just don’t make me write an entry tomorrow on how we came so close and yet, so far.

Wall-E

I entered the cinema, a little weary over the uber-high expectations I had over this movie, but I ended up teary-eyed over the little robot who fell in love.

I loved, loved, loved it and highly recommend it everyone. I love the message it gave, I love the little side characters, I loved how it lacked dialogue and yet could tell a beautiful story. I loved Wall-E, I loved Eve, hell, I even loved his little cockroach friend.

And! And! The movie had Michael Crawford. How much more perfect could this movie get?!

It is by far, my favourite movie of 2008. Even beating the The Dark Knight. Watch it now and then go home and recycle! We got a world to save!

The Blue Peanut Brittle

I never fail to amuse me.

So whilst taking a break from work, I decided to make peanut brittle, the one candy I cannot seem to master. After following the recipe very carefully, to the T, when it was time to put in the vanilla extract, I put in BLUE FOOD COLOURING by mistake. BLUE. FOOD. COLOURING.

I am now the proud inventor of the blue peanut brittle. Which might or might not be binned, depending on the taste of the thing.

Yes, you heard it here first, folks. The blue peanut brittle.

Pictures will follow once I’ve finished scrubbing my now blue hob and blue saucepan.

***

ETA: Having actually eaten one of those blue brittles (which actually look emerald in the light), suffice to say, they taste burnt (but that’s my fault…tricky things, these candy) and have a bitter aftertaste. The after taste of too much food colouring.

Sigh. I’m leaving them in my fridge and hopefully some fool, i.e. my brother, might be tricked into eating them and therefore not wasting my cup of sugar.