The Chocolateologist

Wedding Favors and Bonbonnieres

2011-01-05T06:58:00.001-08:00

I have signed on as a guest blogger/writer to One Stylish Bride to write about all things "bridal" despite my obvious lack of knowledge on the topic. However, the lovely people at One Stylish Bride do acknowledge my vast experience in attending weddings as well as in event planning (shameless self promotion bit). I have posted one of my entries for their site, although I'm not sure whether it will be going up anytime soon.

Happy reading!

Wedding Favors and Bonbonnieres

It has been a while since I have been to a wedding that had actually really pretty bonbonnieres. The history of these traditional miniature trinket boxes comes from European aristocrats, where delicate boxes containing sugar crystals were given to wedding guests for good health. The custom evolved over the decades and wedding favors now come in the form of chocolate, scented soaps and even picture frames.

Which brings me to my original train of thought. Make your wedding favors memorable firstly by not giving your guests something extraordinarily vomit inducing and secondly, giving them something they can actually use. Four months ago, I went to a lovely wedding. Expensive, elaborate, and even the food was good. The function went smoothly except for the occasional slap on the bum from an old horny uncle, but I’m not complaining. There really is no pre-emptive damage control for that sort of thing.

When I picked up the cute little pink lace pouch by the side of my plate to take home - first impressions: pretty. I opened the pouch in the taxi on my way home and found two mirrored plastic frames, one containing the groom’s photo and the other with the bride’s, neither too flattering. I wondered of all things how this escaped the wedding planner’s attention. I tossed these into my pile of useless wedding nonsense that I have successfully collected over the past few years and I can honestly say that pile is becoming rather tall.

Here’s the thing about selecting a good bonbonniere. Be traditional. Their historical function as sugar boxes (and eventually for candied almonds) is still applicable today. Bonbonniere.com.au has the most adorable collection of trinket boxes with delicate patterns and carvings to choose from. Plus your guests will either reuse them, or gift them on.

If you are the kind who is getting married in black leather and chains, or you just prefer something a little offbeat, there are plenty of non-traditional options. Some great wedding favor ideas I have seen are engraved scented candles, personalized card decks, and miniature bags embroidered with the couple’s initials.

Lastly, chocolate is always welcome.

Sydney No Pants Train Ride

2011-01-03T00:45:00.001-08:00

Only if you dare, for one morning leave your pants (and manners) at home during your morning commute to work and give fellow passengers on CityRail a bit of a fright. The Sydney No Pants Train Ride is exactly what it means – a no pants train ride.

The event is to take place over a course of three days and is going to be done in true flashmob style. The organizers of the event are aiming to host the event in January 2011 (Saturday) via the City Circle Train Loop and will involve passengers onboard the trains casually removing their pants as the journey continues sending waves of shock and surprise through morning commuters. The event organizers are trying to maintain a degree of secrecy with regards to the actual date to hold the element of surprise. (Read More)

iPhone apps for Party People

2010-12-14T00:35:00.000-08:00

Forget flipping through the pages of the Sydney Morning Herald to get updates on the latest party scene or even surfing the web for hours on what to do for the weekend. Information is now instantaneous and at your fingertips if you have an iPhone. I shamelessly admit that I am an application junkie with over 50 useless apps just waiting to be used at some point in time.

What I also am is a regular Saturday after-hours kind of girl who loves to be part of the scene. Combining these two great loves was easy and Sydney Party People and Bescene were downloaded.

Bescene
On the most basic level, I like Bescene. Its name is catchy and makes a play on the words 'be', 'scene' and 'seen'. The application is free, which is always good news. The interface is clean and in black and white with minimal design. So far all good.
The menu at the bottom features a 'MyScene' section which allows you to save your favorite clubs, a 'Tonight' section for events happening that night, a 'Search' and a 'Vade Mecum' section which ideally is supposed to function as some sort of handbook or guidebook but in this case, I am not entirely sure. The application has a nice way of presenting the events. Event posters are pre-loaded and you can select the ones you want. Selecting the poster immediately gives the viewer more information about the party.
The best part about this application is that it also has the Melbourne party scene included, so if you can use one handy application for both cities. The application is free.
Overall - 9/10

Sydney Party People
This is a decent application with a very vibrant interface and its bright pink icon will make sure that you find it very quickly on the phone. The application is divided into 'Party News', 'Events', 'Tuneage' and 'Sydney Venues'. I hardly ever read the section on Party News, mainly because I'll save the news reading for next morning when I have a cup of tea in one hand and the SMH in the other. Other than that, I like the Events page which is a good list of all the upcoming events around the city. My only gripe is whether the developers the question of regularity with regards to content updates.
Tuneage is for the trance/house music lovers and features some tracks to listen on the go. I did not spot a download function, but I was able to keep the music running while I used other applications.
The application has a general list of venues and their contact details around the city which I found immensely helpful. However, I got the feeling that the developers had tried to cram too much into one application, not to mention its gaudy design. Despite these minor setbacks, I will still keep using it. The application is free.
Overall: 8/10

I gave Bescene a better rating mainly because I like the minimalist tone to it as well as its easy navigation, unless you like heaps of information, constant news streams and add-ons, then I would suggest the latter.

Single and Fabulous

2010-10-15T02:46:00.001-07:00

I revisited my older entry on the single life and added a little "feature" aspect to it.

Enjoy.

They should start issuing arrest warrants for being single now, especially since public heckling of the single woman has become an acceptable process. Miss Manners deemed it inappropriate to poke fun at overweight people, the mentally challenged, physically handicapped, and even smokers so everybody decided to give it a go at single women. We are, after all, easy targets – alone, susceptible to depression with the tendency to lead slightly "unorthodox" lifestyles. Who could blame us? Unburdened by the pressure of screaming children, mounting bills, irresponsible spouses and the regrettable series of "what ifs", as a bulls-eye we are rather appealing.

Myth 1: Every single woman chooses to be single

Burned at the stake for being single, I try to explain to friends and family alike that this is not a "lifestyle choice". "Darling, this is so unhealthy and unnecessary. Please fall in love, or let us find you somebody to spend the rest of your life with," my mother laments at the breakfast table every morning while twisting her wedding ring. My parents have been in union for twenty seven years.

According to them, I am reaching my expiry date. Emile Durkheim's Social Construction of Reality mentioned how basic reciprocal roles become habitualized and institutionalized over the period of time, which he aptly termed "social constructionism". I suppose this -ism might be able to explain how and how couples tend to view the single individual. With coupling up, a certain sense of conformity, stability and certainty settles in, and the "single" is perceived as the polar opposite, or the mysterious "other".

Myth 2: We live like the Sex and the City girls

This leads me to the inexcusable assumption that the single woman is easily promiscuous and lacks the appropriate morals to maintain a steady relationship. A "How are you?" to an old friend who was recently engaged to be married warranted a "How are all the men, wink wink. Tell me your sexy stories," followed by unnecessary giggles. This left me not only offended, but slightly shaken. I live by the adage, 'A person is only exceeded by their reputation', and this was definitely not good news.
More on my alleged sexed up behavior, according to another source is if I were to ever to star in any movie, it would be titled, "Ketki's Sex and the City". Even better, now I feel like a real movie celebrity who is getting to star in her very own pornographic blockbuster. "Hitting Adult Film Stores near you!"

I truly am astonished with the general assumption of the single woman's promiscuity. Perhaps popular media such as Sex and the City has been a major contributing factor towards creating these negative preconceived notions, but are people seriously too daft to distinguish between television and reality? Hey, not every woman can be the man Samantha is.

Embrace your singledom

I say we stick it to those busybodies who have persecuted us for decades and celebrate being single exactly like the Sex and the City girls. Why shirk into the shadows when you can flaunt it instead?

Fact one: Single people have more fun

Single people DO have more fun. With no partner restrictions, you are free to do anything you like. Have you been buggered into going for your second cousin's brother in law's sister's wedding where you will only be scrutinized further and then set up on equally horrid blind dates? Then don't go.

Instead, treat yourself to a day by getting on a helicopter and touring around Sydney Harbor while enjoying the view, followed by a luxurious lunch buffet at the Sydney Tower Restaurant. In the evening, grab your single girlfriends and head over to the Taronga Zoo for a 'Roar and Snore' sleepover, where you can sleep in chic tents while overlooking the Sydney Harbor on one side, and lions on the other.

Fact two: Life can be like Sex and the City

Live like a Sex and the City girl. Do the shopping, martinis, and parties. After all, Sydney is a very sexy city. Head to King St at Newtown which is home to some of the edgiest fashion in the city. If you feel like being surrounded by the familiar faces of high fashion, spend the day at the Queen Victoria Building or Skygarden that feature top notch Australian and international labels.

After shopping, hit the Establishment Bar or The Loft for some cosmopolitans with your single girlfriends, and party the night away at Stonewall on Oxford Street, that features some of the best drag shows in town.

Stand up for yourself

The next time an annoying aunt asks you why you are still single, flash her your winning smile and tell her off in typical Samantha Jones style, "None of your f&*^@#) business!" Then storm off in those Louboutins.

Villain

2010-10-11T15:13:00.000-07:00

I had written this a few months ago, and I was hesitant to publish it. Oh what the hell. This is PURELY FICTION even though some aspects of my life were used to fuel the story.

“Pass the prawn curry,” I mumbled as I reached out over the table over steaming plates of white Basmati rice, Fish Ambotik, marinated cod fillets, naans dripping with thick butter and round soft gulabjamuns. As I reached out, I began to notice that my elbows had begun to develop dimples once again, my arms had become thicker and my elegant female form that I had worked so hard to achieve was now fading into obscurity. I was becoming fat girl again.

Fat girl was a persona who nobody liked in the family. She was always depressed, mean, constantly critical of others, and she hoarded on clothes. I was the ideal example of a bipolar eater – an obsessive dieter for two weeks and then an irresponsible gorger for six.

I had just recovered from a year of post bronchitis chronic cough, and after steroidal medication, the additional pounds had packed on. As I reached for the prawn curry cooked in heavy coconut milk, cream and red spices, my mother’s glanced up at me sternly and shook her head. Always a cheerleader for my weightloss, and a healthy contributor for my low self-esteem in the process, I retracted with a guilty expression.

After the satisfying lunch, we walked out to our bus. There were twelve of us, my parents, my brother and me, my uncle’s wife and two children, my other uncle’s two children, and a couple who were family friends of many years. The interesting people in the whole group were really the couple, out of whom the wife was a dermatologist and a consultant for the Miss India beauty pageant. Standing at a petite five feet with a rock solid body wearing only thin cotton mini, she sported a Mondial watch, and spoke in a smooth buttery high pitched voice.

“Girls,” she cooed, addressing me and my sixteen year old female cousins, “You know how to look slimmer in photos?” What was she hinting at? That fat girl needed some extra help?

“Uh, haha sure why not?” I giggled nervously. The prawn curry and rice was lying heavy on my stomach, not to mention the beige capris were not helping to minimize my rather large behind.

“Okay, first slowly rotate your body to the right so that you look diagonal. Now right hand on your right hip and look towards the camera. Give some attitude. Right, fantastic, great, pose!” Flash! My father topped my embarrassment with his strategic right here right now “with my trusty camera”. I rushed to the camera to see if her idea really worked. All I saw was a fatter version of me smiling sheepishly trying out for the Miss Elephant Thailand pageant. The diagonal angle had caused a larger surface area of my body to be exposed. This position may work on stick thin anorexic models who survive on a diet of cigarettes, lettuce and coffee, but not my figure of fish curry and rice.

“Isn’t it fantastic?” she revelled.

“Heh, yeah, great. Thanks,” I mumbled. I turned around, did the eye roll I developed as an adolescent and sauntered off. What did she know? She never had to suffer the cruel fate of a slow metabolism.

We climbed into the big family bus and began our two-hour journey to the airport. I looked out the window at the rolling Goan countryside. My mind traveled back through the four days we spent at the resort. I had spent most of the evenings before dinner trying to squeeze into pants a size smaller, which led to the rest of the night being uncomfortable about whether my love handles were hanging out. I was constantly scanning girls’ bodies around me for search for the slightest flaws so that I could compare myself. My deep seated insecurity had hit a new low.

Change was inevitable, but the realization was yet to hit. I fiercely guarded tears as I enviously watched flat-bellied girls parade in their string bikinis on the sunny beaches with not an ounce of fat to be seen anywhere. My mother’s remarks never helped anyways. “Why are you wearing that? It makes you look…(pause) big.”

There was a significant spike in my degree of dissatisfaction during the time I spent in India. I felt lonely, bloated, unattractive and pathetic. I was still single at the age of twenty four after a series of unsuccessful attempted relationships, my life was stagnant and I was unable to make any concrete decisions.

We flew back to Bombay for one last day before leaving for Singapore. My mother, fired up to convert me into a full-fledged Barbie before putting me up for auction on matrimonial sites, had taken an appointment with a herbal specialist who claimed a 100% success rate with any ailment she treated. I was to see her for my lacklustre hair and we were her first patients of the day.

She was a stern looking doctor, who had abandoned her OBGYN practice to set up her own herbal medicine clinic. Strong values, rigid diets and an assortment of oils and creams could cure even alopecia, she claimed. She was a short and skinny woman behind her massive wooden table, which had all papers organized into neat piles. Her hands clasped tightly,she examined my hair and skin. “Hmmm, okay we can fix this, no problem,” her lips pursed. An hour later, we were seated in her understudy’s chair while she rattled off the names and uses of all the medicines.

“Will it work?” my mother asked her anxiously, twisting strands of my hair between her thumb and forefinger. “Look, her hair has become so dead.” So had my spirit.

“Auh, yes.” She hesitated.

Start Your Own Writers' Club

2010-10-10T19:36:00.000-07:00

Despite Sydney's varied artistic and cultural scene, I noticed that there is a distinct lack of opportunities for amateur writers to gain constructive criticism on their efforts through writing groups, read-meets and poetry open-mic nights. Being eager to hone my craft, I decided to take advantage of this opportunity and try out a writing group.

The search

I scoured the activity forums for people who had similar interests and found a post from a writer who was new in town from London. 'We used to have writers clubs all over London, and I would like to get started writing again in Singapore. Anybody interested?' was her message to the forum. I replied to her email and said that I was out with a similar intention and if she would like to start something together, I was willing. And thus, Saturday Morning Writers was born.

Activities forums are great when looking for like-minded people. It also takes a certain level of open-mindedness to reveal yourself to the world wide web when posting on these, so the people you tend to meet are generally a good lot (although keep a look out for predators and stalkers). Putting up an advertisement on Sydney Gumtree or on your local community center's noticeboard can lead to plenty of responses from other...(read more).

Sunset

2010-10-09T06:15:00.001-07:00

The sunset from my balcony!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Sydney International Student Guide

2010-10-08T07:15:00.000-07:00

At 24 I had struck a rut in my life. My career was going fine but not fantastical, I had not reached my ideal weight and I still lived in my parents' home. After battling with my procrastination, I eventually put into action a plan that had been on hold ever since graduation – leaving. I did not want to stay in Singapore any longer, as I craved for change, romance and drama. My fantasies were wasted on the watered down, sensible Singaporean friends and my straight talking Indian mother.

I glanced over my to-do list that included developmental projects in the Niger Delta and grape harvesting in the Rhone Valley and evaluated their practicality. Was I ready for any of this?

After another month of deliberating, procrastinating and unnecessary conversations over endless glasses of wine, I finally took advice from my good friend who was about to start graduate school agreed to evaluate some study options. "Let's not get too crazy," my parents rapped me when I told them that I was considering law school in a Scandinavian country.

Six months later, I found myself landing at Kingsford-Smith with four suitcases and a student visa. Hereon began my journey as an international student.

The Move

The first step was finding a great apartment. Two weeks before my departure for Sydney, I registered on EasyRoommate to search for apartments near my university. The site is a convenient source and is used mostly by students and young professionals looking to share apartments.

I wrote to several potential housemates who had advertised apartments that were well within my budget, and set up appointments for various times after I had landed in the city. This worked out wonderfully because Sydney's inner city is one of the most difficult areas to find a good and reasonable apartment. Because of the pre-arranged appointments, I was able to settle on an apartment in 5 short days.

Getting Around

Getting around in Sydney is not difficult. The buses run decently and the train network works well. As an international student I was not granted a student concession (a hot point in the student community), so I had to buy a full fare ticket. The best deal is the $16 TravelTen pass, which gave me ten rides for the amount within the city.* All the information on how to get around was easily obtainable from the Sydney Buses website.

The best part of discovering any new city is walking. I had a great time just taking long walks around the city and checking out iconic landmarks like the Queen Victoria Building, Capitol Theater,Paddy's Markets, and Darling Harbor. This not only took care of my sightseeing needs, but enabled my usual lack of direction.

Socializing

I was not exactly alone in the big city. I had a great support network of friends and family when I moved here, so I had people giving me great advice all the time. Being in university would eventually give me the opportunity to get more friends, but I had to make an extra effort on my own. Discarding any hang-ups, I placed an advertisement on Sydney Gumtree asking for people who just wanted to meet on a weekly basis to catch up over drinks or coffee around the inner city. The response was fantastic and to this day, we meet up once a week unfailingly for a fantastic time.

Gumtree also has listings for language swaps, community classes and other activities ranging from social tennis to dance lessons and is worth checking out from time to time. At some point, I even tried doing a French-English language swap.

Shopping

A college student's life is equated with a shoestring budget and Sydney is full of otherwise temptations. Sydney has been listed as one of the top 10 most expensive cities to live in, so everything...(read more)

Be your favorite Mad Men character for Halloween!

2010-10-06T16:57:00.001-07:00

I have just started watching the show and I love their outfits! I think I shall go as Betty the trophy wife.

All 4 seasons are now available on iTunes!

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Sydney

What To Wear For Halloween?

2010-10-06T01:55:00.000-07:00

Getting a fantastic costume together for Halloween can be the hardest thing in the world. Come 31 October, you do not want to be stuck at your local Coles or Woolly's trying to decide between the last two masks in the 'desperate' aisle. Most eager beavers start their Halloween costume shopping (or assembling) two months in advance, but if you HAVE left it to the last minute, fear not, this is a foolproof guide to save you from the ghosts of social suicide.

Deciding on the right costume:

The 'Keep It Short and Simple' golden rule is a must when trying to decide who or what you want to go as. It is great that you know every single Pokemon but face it, finding a costume that resembles Togepi's star-shaped head and egg-shaped body is going to be a challenge without being too heavy on the pocket.
The simplistic approach to this is by picking a character that appears on television or even in your favorite comic book, and adding your own twist to it. Last Halloween, my friend came dressed as Genie from the classic television program 'I dream of Genie', that allowed her to throw together....(read more)

More writing

2010-10-05T23:59:00.000-07:00

I've starting writing for a website for features, listings, reviews and more. I will be publishing my work on here as well. So if you are living in Sydney, you can actually check out the places or things I write about. Hey, it only makes it more exciting!

Here is my first published post.

Oktoberfest 2010

A familiar sight in the month of October as the traditional German festival hits shores worldwide are the frocked frauleins, massive beer chugging and sausage chomping. Sydney is set to celebrate the 200th Oktoberfest this year with celebrations popping up all over the city. With four weekends still left to the end of Oktoberfest, you have plenty of time to make up for lost opportunities.

Lowenbrau-Keller at The Rocks has a special Oktoberfest planned in honor of the 200th year of the original Oktoberfest almost every day of the week. Mondays at Lowenbrau is for the trivia junkie and winners will receive a Stein trophy. Every Tuesday, beer enthusiasts can go to the bierhall and sample 3 different beers for just $10. If you want to give your kids a preview of what Oktoberfest is about, Lowenbrau is offering family weekends too. Booking in advance is essential.

Chocolate in Sydney

2010-08-13T02:39:00.000-07:00

Now blogging from Sydney and all of its chocolate gloriousness.

To satiate the chocolate cravingness, check out Boon Chocolate Cafe right HERE.

Would You Like To Be A Mummy?

2009-12-24T01:44:00.000-08:00

I found this on Egyptology News (do NOT ask me what I was doing on that blog).

Have you ever considered leaving behind a long lasting legacy by donating your body to science?

If so, we are seeking someone who would like to be the subject of a scientific documentary that explores mummification: the Ancient Egyptian process that is used to preserve the body.

We are a London based television company producing a documentary on modern mummification for the purposes of scientific research. The documentary will be filmed in the US and Egypt and will focus on an individual who has chosen to have their body embalmed and mummified, or preserved long term, after death.

This is an opportunity to be part of major groundbreaking medical (and ecological) research. And the results of this research will be published in an internationally pre-eminent science magazine, and the story both personal and scientific will be told through the documentary.

LOL.

Hot Chocolate

2009-12-16T17:21:00.001-08:00

This is my new friend that has been faithfully accompanying me while I struggle to write THE book of the 21st century. Okay maybe that's going too far, but lately getting any writing done has been a pain.

(I am in in no way associated with Higgins & Burke. I just really like their hot chocolate. Gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside. =)

I am the chocolateologist!

2009-12-15T17:41:00.000-08:00

It's funny how all my blog addresses are all about food.

Sweet, sugary food.

Tomorrow will be a better day

2009-12-12T17:11:00.000-08:00

The prompt for this piece was rather tricky. I struggled quite a bit with the tense, as well as sticking to including all the words.

Random selections by all members rendered the following results:

Starts with: Lately I have been unable to tolerate

Setting: On a blind date

Vocabulary to include: book, quill, pregnant, miniature and wine

Lately I have been unable to tolerate the way my unborn child has been frivolously toying with my emotions.

'It's your hormones, not your child," my gynaecologist tried to explain to me numerous times. All this science stuff never made any sense to me. I wish it had, then at least I would have interpreted the basic functionality of the condom accurately.

Education had always been a tough sell to me. I had failed and dropped out in the ninth grade. I kept promising myself that I would go back to finish, but I had to factor in all that time for procrastination.

I finally agreed to employ some other distraction methods from my bloating belly. My best friend, who goes by her stripper name even on her off days - Hot Cocoa (because of her rich dark complexion) - set me up on a blind date with one of her less greasy clients. He was twelve years my senior, collected ancient miniature dolls and drank only wine. He sounded fancy.

"You'll like 'im. He don't grab like the rest of 'em. He also got a thing for woman with child," she added.

We agree to meet at a nearby Chinese restaurant. He saunters in twenty minutes late - pot bellied, slightly balding and round faced - holding daisies and a souvenir quill pen. I get up to say hello and his gaze is immediately directed towards my blossoming belly.

"Presents for the new mommy," he drawls, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth.

My pregnancy has made me sensitive to strong floral smells so whilst I make a dash for the bathroom, the restaurant manager disposes off the daisies. A post-mortem on the date results in the conclusion that it was a sufficient disaster.

I threw up twice, he tried to desperate grab at me several times each resulting in me slapping his chubby wrist, and finally he managed to get drunk enough to fall off his chair.

I went home that night, made myself a cup of hot cocoa and sat in front of the television stroking my belly. My child was arriving in three months. Ever since I was able to make decisions I seemed to pick the wrong path. The child deserved a real father, and a mother who was not a miserable screw up. I picked up the remaining cocoa and poured it in the sink. I started up the computer and finished the appeal letter for my re-enrolment. Tomorrow will be a better day.

Stephanie

2009-12-12T17:03:00.000-08:00

Prompt at Saturday Morning Writers was images of men dressed in effeminate clothing, so naturally, I thought of drag queens. =)

In a confusion of pink smoke, gliter and adrenaline, Stevie gathered up his Renaissance inspired dress and ran off the tiny stage with the crowd roaring and clapping behind him.

He sat down with a relieved sigh in his warm dressing room and closed his eyes. It was his last night performing before he was due for surgery. He opened his eyes and looked in the mirror between the brightly lit bulbs of the dressing table. Stevie was Stephanie every night after nine o clock.

He leaned in further and ran his fingers down his jawline. The masculine face, caked with cheap drugstore foundation, the inch long faux eyelashes, excessive gliter around the eyes, and bright red lipstick - now smudged - rendered him virtually unrecognizable from the boy that once used to play fotball and box professionally. There was no looking back now.

Tomorrow Steviw would morph into Stephanie forever and the eliminated appendate would take with it his past.

Indian Wedding

2009-12-10T20:25:00.000-08:00

My very old friend, Dolly, is getting married this entire week (that's right, Indian weddings never end!). This is her Indian wedding in full glory. Amidst all the guests, family, temple staff, can you spot the bride and groom?

The Religion of Chocolateology

2009-12-08T20:43:00.000-08:00

Because of my mad obsession for chocolate and my discontent towards religion, I started up my own religion - The Religion of Chocolateology.

Chocolateology is a common religion shared by devout chocolateologists. We are bound by our faith towards chocolate in its purest form, unspoilt by cheap preservatives and blasphemous substitutes.

Our faith centers around endorphins and belief in the happy.Serious chocolatetologists can embark on the journey to Chocoholism several times a year and reach nirvana.

Join me in this wonderful cause!

General Motors Diet

2009-12-07T04:51:00.000-08:00

Hips don't lie indeed, so I have decided to embark upon the General Motors diet starting from this Saturday!

The diet is supposed to wash out your toxins and help you lose a few pounds along the way as well. Considering that I'll be spending this whole week at my friend's wedding, I might as well start as soon as I can!

From the information obtained at healthmad.com, the diet goes something like this:

Day One:

I can eat all the fruits I want except for bananas. Works well for me, I don't particularly care for bananas.

Day Two:

I add vegetables today to my diet, but eliminate the fruit. The "cheating" here counts as adding butter or salad dressing.

Day Three:

A mixture of fruit and vegetables. I see myself faltering between day 2 and 3. But I'm telling myself to be strong!!

Day Four

This is pretty crazy because the diet says to eat up to EIGHT bananas and drink THREE glasses of milk. Crazy crazy crazy.

Day Five

This day adds in the lean meat and calls for the additional consumption of six tomatoes. It reminds you politely to increase your water intake by 1/4. I'm going crazy just while reading this!

Day Six

I can eat unlimited amounts of lean meat and vegetables. The diet claims that by this day, I should feel myself getting full pretty quickly too.

Day Seven

Finally finally finally, the end of the race! I can eat brown rice, fruit and vegetables. CARBS!!

Things I CANNOT eat:

Alcohol

Chocolate

Processed food

I can do this!

One Love - Playing for Change

2009-12-07T04:43:00.001-08:00

I found another video by Playing for Change. Needless to say, it almost brought tears to my eyes.

Enjoy.

Beer & Sausages

2009-12-06T17:40:00.000-08:00

In true German spirit, I swayed from my weekly ritual of writing at Starbucks and headed out to Brotzeit for some good ol' fashioned beer and sausages at 4 in the afternoon.

Cheers! Foam, beer, and big jooosy Gerrrman sausages!

These were HALF portions! Imagine what the full one would look like!

Sexy chick!

The food terrorist

Day 30 of NaNoWriMo

2009-11-29T22:08:00.000-08:00

In case you were living under a shell and completely unaware as to what NaNoWriMo is/was, it is National Novel Writing Month.

Keen writers are encouraged to begin on their projects for which they have long procrastinated. Like myself.

More can be discovered at http://nanowrimo.org.

Oh and December is for editing.

Happy writing!

Have iPhone, Will Write.

2009-11-29T17:36:00.001-08:00

As a struggling writer, I often struggle with the task of organizing my ideas, thoughts, sporadic bursts of inspiration and the occasional chapter I manage to produce. No matter how much I love organizing all my neat little writings in my pink Vaio, I would still be happier if I benefited from convergent technology since the 2.5kg machine is a bit difficult to maneuver.

Being an iPhone possesser, I dug up some pretty nifty applications that assist disorganized writers like myself to keep everything consistent and accessible.

Explaining to non-tech nerds everywhere in girlspeak:

1. My Writing Nook

This started off as a web based program that eventually developed its own iPhone application (like everyone else, doh). It has the same functionality as Google Docs and even uses the google platform to sign in! So users need a google account if they want to use MWN.

It is a pretty basic application with two major frames. There is a writing window for a continuous outpouring of thoughts while the other section organizes your chapters in alphabetical order. While I'm suitably in agreement with the way it works, I am yet to figure out how I can reorganize my chapters.

Props to the creators for making it super easy to use, although the iPhone application is only compatible with the 3.1 Software update. For $1.99, I'd say sure, why not?

iPhone display of My Writing Nook

My Writing Nook on the web

2. Writer's Block Buster

This application claims that it can cure writer's block by allowing you to search through their large database (300) of "questions and explanations for different things that may be causing or lead to a cure to your writer's block." Categories include plot development, writing mechanics, dialogue, nonfiction & technical, journalism, The Random Bin, and even a "Punctuation Guide".

The application boasts of a "Muse and Scenario" generator/storage engine in which you can keep track of the characters and plotlines in your story. Although some of the tips and suggestions look helpful, I highly doubt an iPhone application can cure a serious bout of writer's block. My prescription for this ailment is usually to take some time off, try something (or even someone) new and revisit the writing desk. Sometimes even a change in setting, such as writing outdoors in the garden instead of your regular cafe or the study can be a welcome change.

$3.99 to frantically search for a muse? Hmm, maybe not?

3. Professional Woman: Writing Assistant

Another writer's block application by the same people who brought you Writer's Block Buster, but this time targeted at the "polished" professional woman, which probably explains the pink/purple theme of the application. The app generates characters, scenarios, plotlines, places, you name it, it has it (according to the creators at Socially Conscious Software).

"Over 300 hand written, thought provoking questions are designed to help you break through writer's block, learn useful tips and expand your horizons." Also priced at $3.99. (Photo unavailable)

4. Story Tracker

This is a really interesting application, but more applicable for the freelancer or established writer who juggles various assignments. Story Tracker allows you not only to keep track of your stories/articles/blurbs etc, but also the income you generate from them. The app comes with an embedded web browser which enables you to search various markets for assignments and add them to your list.

Articles are categorized alphabetically, with each article assigned its own details including the title, market, due date, whether it has been published, rejected or sold as well as the income generated from it. Lastly, it comes with a general statistics page so the user can keep track of his or her productivity.

All in all, a win! Right now it is going at a 50% discount at $4.99. (Photo unavailable)

Guess what kids are wearing!

2009-11-22T18:49:00.000-08:00

I was at Forum Shopping Mall over the weekend and I saw this in the Guess Kids window. Why on earth would someone dress their kids up in the most disturbing fashion ever? Super tight skinny jeans? Check. Shiny pink hooker-like shoes? Check. Bicycle chain hanging low around the neck? Check. Leather strap? Hell yeah!

I say that we start a "Give Children Back Their Childhood Movement"

Sephora Sale at Suntec

2009-11-19T19:00:00.000-08:00

For anyone who is interested?

Forgiveness

2009-11-15T04:17:00.000-08:00

The prompt for one of this Saturday Morning Writers' was "She shrugged her shoulders and said, I don't know why...". My version of the prompt continues below.

She shrugged her shoulders and said, "I don't know why I didn't come, " quoting the popular Norah Jones song.

The song brought me back to my days when my primary residence was a subway platform. I used to sleep on the cold vibrating floor with a ripped leather jacket as my pillow and newspapers for warmth. The smell of urine, smoke and petrol fumes collectively pierced my nostrils creating a fake high when I was short on cocaine or cough syrup.

The subways were the lost city of Atlantis to your average homeless drug addict. Dealers lurked conspicuously in the form of hot dog vendors, peddling their wares. All one had to do was utter the magic word.

Every morning, Juarez, my dealer and friend, would set up his cart at the entrance and blast his Norah Jones CD and tried to sing along to it. "I don't know why I didn't come..." That was basically the only line he knew in the entire song.

I don't know why I had snorted cocaine in those days. I don't know I had dropped out of high school. I don't know why I had no place to live. I don't know why I had no money. I shuddered from the memories.

The physical pain had vanished with few traces, but the mental effects surfaced from time to time. Walking into a room and suddenly realizing, "I don't know why I came it," or the nightmares that drench me constantly in sweat twice or thrice a week. I will never know why I did what I did, but I do know what I am doing now.

I smiled and took her arm, "I forgive you, let's go."

Pinked up!

2009-11-12T20:01:00.000-08:00

I wore my pinkest dress to work.

I love pink.

The Rubbish We Like to Call the Indian Music Industry

2009-11-10T00:36:00.001-08:00

I found a totally mad song my friend and myself had created. We put it up on facebook and it generated so many comments, including a proposal for a music video!

So Vrinda and myself got talking about Daler Mehndi, the deteriorating music industry, and how nowadays most lyricists just reshuffle the words, add in some new music and give you the latest "hit". So we decided to write a song to see if we could achieve the same level of industry professionalism. Of course, for quality purposes and your entertainment's sake, we made sure that we stayed true to the "true" spirit of Bollywood. The song consists of a modern day Juliet cavorting around a garden (or public place of her choice), trying to woo a reluctant Romeo. She makes use of various literary and song devices such as "heavily Indian-accented" rap, "sexually suggestive" metaphors and certain onomatopoeic words to portray her anguish. Okay so that was a load of rubbish. We figured that if we just threw together a bunch of overused and cliched Bollywood lyrics, we would hit upon the perfect song. So line after line was regurgitated, and we now present to you - Daler ka Jalwa!

Daler Ka Jalwa (to be sung to the tune of either Vande Mataram or any Daler Mehndi song)
Aja soniye, nach baliye
Mera ghaghra, chan chan
Husn ka jalwa, mal mal
Pyaar ke maare
Hai hai, dil dil
Pyar ke bhooke, humse aake mil mil
Ab chodo bhi, ishq ho gaya

(to be rapped in an indian accent)Baby you're so hot, sexy and cool. i want to touch you, make me your fool

(to be sung in a totally insane manner, with wild hand gestures and curious facial expressions)CHIKA BIKA RIKA X5

Anchal ke sahare, jeevan beet gaya
Dil dhadak raha hai
Sansein machal rahi hai
Zulf bikhrey hain, pyaar ka nasha chadh gaya hai
Yaadon me khoi khoi
Chupke chupke se

(to be rapped in an indian accent)Will you be my lover, i'll take you for chai with my mother

(you know what to do here! Add some variations like hip thrusting.)
CHIKA BIKA RIKA X5

Ek ladki chui mui
Khidki sey jhaankti
Teri nigaahen, meri adaein
Chhuye mere dil, Mil gayi manzil
Dil naache chham chham
Badan milaein hum tum

(to be rapped in an indian accent)Will you be my partner, o partner, my heart is racing, so take me to the daacter, o daacter

(Daler never tires and neither should you. Keep those hips going!)
CHIKA BIKA RIKA X5

Twitter Coffee

2009-11-06T00:01:00.001-08:00

Meet my new writing buddy - Tweetoccino.

I noticed these new Twitter-ish tumblers in Coffee Bean today while buying lunch. Although there's no actual sign of a real Twitter/Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf collaboration here as there were no logos, promotional materials, campaigns etc, the unmistakeable image of the twitterbird was definitely there.

Twitter Coffee or not, this baby is cutting down my usage of all those take away cups from Coffee Bean & Starbucks.

Flower power! Yay!

Back from Bali!

2009-11-02T22:23:00.000-08:00

I'm back from Bali! I think I'll be doing some Bali related writing for a while to get a feel of travel writing. I think travel writing is a useful skill, plus it gives you an excuse to move your butt more often. =)

So as a little present from Bali, I have the following:

He was adorable.

Bali

2009-10-30T09:09:00.000-07:00

I leave for Bali tomorrow!

Some "unorthodox" things in my suitcase:

1. Angel wings - for the Halloween party we are going to.

2. A black Adidas backpack - I'm going trekking (whaaa?? K? You? Nature? Since when??). I have not carried a backpack since 10th grade. Adidas has overthrown Kate Spade in this round, and I feel stupid. Might as well make me wear dorky glasses, braid my hair and put me in lace up canvas shoes!

3. Mosquito Repellent - I know this is a norm for most people, but I usually tend to visit places with civilization. I'm not a nature girl as much...

4. Flashlight - Did I mention I'm going trekking on Mt. Batur at 3 fucking am? That's about the time I go to bed on Saturday night!

I am totally looking forward to this. Yay Bali!

The Peppered Inventor

2009-10-24T01:02:00.000-07:00

We had to write a story about an inventor today! The opening line "He tried to make himself invisible" and the word "Unpepperator" were mandatory elements of the story. Mine was a little Roald Dahl-ish, but I'm still proud of it nonetheless!

(I wrote this in 15 minutes)

He tried to make himself invisible by inventing the invisimator. Before the device was even fully operational, he had blown half his life's savings on a patent for it. This was going to be his moment before the world.

He imagined all sorts of scenarios in his head while he worked. The invention would sell remarkably well, making him the country's richest man, the King would hear of his genius and would want to honor him of course. He would call him to a podium in front of thousands and drape a rich purple cloth, embrace him and tell him how wonderful he was.

As the King would be about to bestow the highest honor upon him, his wife who had left him because she did not share his belief in invisibility, would come running and beg for his forgiveness. He would turn his head away and scorn her.

He chuckled with delight at his childish reverie.

Two days later, the invisimator was ready. He set up a tent with some free food for his neighbors in his back garden, ready to rumble for a demonstration. Driven more by curiosity rather than admiration, they trickled in.

WHIZZ! PHISTLE! BANG! The invisimator made a series of noises. Shaped like a giant metallic squid with a body of a discarded dentist's chair, it was a fearful sight.

In a puff of smoke, he disappeared, but not completely. Just his head was gone. Everybody panicked.

"Hey! His head! It's gone!"

"Oh god, he's been beheaded!"

"No, I'm still here, " a dismembered voice shouted from the invisimator.

A brave little boy picked up the pepper shaker and emptied it over his head. It stuck to it and took its shape, giving him a rather fearsome look.

"AAAAAA! IT BURNS!"

"At least we can see you completely" someone snorted. They began throwing little pebbles at him and booing him. Soon they got tired and left. He tried to rinse off the pepper but somehow the chemicals from the invisimator had reacted with the pepper and was officially now a pepper-head.

"I need to invent an 'Unpepperator'," he sighed miserably to himself.

Haiku

2009-10-24T00:46:00.000-07:00

I experimented with a Haiku at today's Saturday Morning Writers' for the second time in my life. In 10 minutes we had to come up with a Haiku of our choice. Essentially, free-writing Haiku, if you could call it that!

This is my finished product:

Hand on her heart now

She cries to herself slowly

It's for the better.

Broken dreams surround

Her love is for sale tonight

Child of cruel fate

It's no big mystery, the Haiku is about a sex worker. I had a really difficult time writing, especially since Haikus follow such a tight structure. Practice makes perfect I suppose!

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle

2009-10-22T20:10:00.000-07:00

This is what I am about to start reading. I've heard good things.

The Wind Up Bird Chronicle by Haruki Murakami

Cupcake Frenzy

2009-10-22T19:37:00.000-07:00

I have been wanting to make the perfect cupcake for a really long time. I always imagined delivering the perfect moist cupcakes with a delicious swirly creamy sugary icing topped with sprinkles.

I was at Jones the Grocer with my Book Club last night, where we discussed Jeffery Sachs' Common Wealth with great zest. It was interesting that most of our discussion circulated around sustainable development. Talking about sustainable development, be sure to check out this movie called 'The Age of Stupid'. It is an amazing depiction of what we are doing to the world, but how this is truly reversible!

Becoming relevant once again, I sank my teeth into the most sinful delight called a cupcake at Jones. But I realized that if Jones had stripped off all the cool decorative icing and the fancy green marshmallow on top, I probably would have just chewed on the almond nougat instead. (Which by the way, is AWESOME. Buy it fresh and eat it on the way home.)

It's all that sexy decoration which makes people do a beeline for those cupcakes. So my assignment for the weekend is to make the best cupcake topping I can...delicious, creamy, and swirly.

Before I sign off, happy cupcaking!

Maybe I'm being too ambitious, but I came across a site where this woman MADE this flower icing! Wouldn't hurt to try!!

Chocolate Cupcakes with Butter Cream!

Multicolored icing on the cupcake! Yummm...this would probably might be the easiest to make.

I would like this very much

2009-10-20T23:49:00.001-07:00

Please buy me this beautiful box set of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Sometimes just being shameless pays off.

Give me. Please. I will feed you lovely French food if you buy it for me. I promise.

Also, while you are at it, maybe you could get me the dark blue Furla bag that just hit the stores. If I find an image I'll put it up.

Happy shopping!

My New Office

2009-10-19T23:22:00.000-07:00

I'm working hard, very hard.

P.S. Check out the brand new Kate Spade bag in the corner! It's a beauty!

Superhero Modesty!

2009-10-19T21:43:00.000-07:00

I was waiting for the bus the other day when I saw that the Clear Channel panels containing the new Tiger Beer ad had clearly been defaced (can you spot the signs of modesty?)

I laughed so much that I took the wrong bus!

Persecution of Single Women

2009-10-16T20:42:00.000-07:00

Burned at the stake for being single, I try to explain to friends and family alike that this is not a "lifestyle choice". "Darling, this is so unhealthy and unnecessary. Please fall in love, or let us find you somebody to spend the rest of your life with," my mother laments at the breakfast table every morning while twisting her wedding ring. My parents have been in union for twenty and six years, my mother agreeing to marry my father at the age of twenty-one.

According to them, I am reaching my expiry date. Emile Durkheim in his famous book, Social Construction of Reality, mentioned how basic reciprocal roles become habitualized and institutionalized over the period of time, which he aptly termed "social constructionism". I suppose this -ism might be able to explain how and how couples tend to view the single individual. With coupling up, a certain sense of conformity, stability and certainty settles in, and the "single" is perceived as the polar opposite, or the mysterious "other".

This leads me to the inexcusable assumption that the single woman is easily promiscuous and lacks the appropriate morals to maintain a steady relationship. A "How are you?" to an old friend who was recently engaged to be married warranted a "How is the dating going, wink wink. Tell me your sexy stories." This left me not only offended, but slightly shaken. I live by the adage, 'A person is only exceeded by their reputation', and this was definitely not good news. I informed her that my attendance at her wedding would be tentative.

More on the alleged sexed up behavior of single women, according to another source is if I were to ever to star in any movie, it would be titled, "Ketki's Sex and the City". Even better, now I feel like a real movie celebrity who is getting to star in her very own pornographic blockbuster. "Hitting Adult Film Stores near you!"

I truly am astonished with the general assumption of the single woman's promiscuity. Perhaps popular media such as Sex and the City has been a major contributing factor towards creating these negative preconceived notions, but are people seriously too daft to distinguish between television and reality? Perhaps couples in bubble-wrap might be interested to know that there are a few of us have a slightly more traditional outlook, where we equate sex with intimacy, consider self-respect a part of our lifestyle, and lead seemingly ordinary lives with regular jobs, ordinary friends and healthy hobbies. Not every woman can be the man Samantha Jones is.

If life truly were like a Sex and the City episode for the single woman, I probably would be clad in Blahnik all day, get to date ridiculously rich financiers, live in a chic Park Avenue apartment and never worry about downing high calorie martinis. And chances are, just as I am now, still be searching for my happy ending.

Artists, Violence, Inspiration

2009-09-11T06:43:00.000-07:00

At Saturday Morning Writers, we do various writing exercises with fun prompts, and this was a particularly challenging one. The result was tremendous! Everyone had some pretty bizarre ideas!

Prompt: A frustrated artist temporarily inspired after committing an act of violence.

The sun was rising just above the horizon and Miguel's mind was numb from his wife's screaming. He stared straight ahead into the mirror in his large windowless studio and admired the horse-hair toupee now stuck on to his formerly balding scalp by the local barber.

"Oye Senor! It will make you handsome again, no?" the barber had grinned toothlessly as he adjusted the lopsided catastrophe.

Miguel had walked back to his studio proudly, while failing to notice the horrified looks of the townsfolk. His wife dropped the dinner plates when she laid her eyes on him. What ensued after were four hours of white noise. She was a loud woman and could be heard all the way down the street.

"Eh! What is wrong with you? You think you are young again? You old stupid fool! You look mad, you think the girls will look at you? You think you think people will buy your paintings with this dead animal on your head?" She would not stop.

Miguel, devastated by her torment, quietly retreated into their bedroom. She followed him inside, screaming some more. Then she became violent. Pillows and blankets flew in his direction. "Stupido! I hate it! I don't want to look at you!"

Miguel began his nightly routine in the bathroom and tried to block out her high pitched shrieking. Just as he was finishing up, he accidentally dropped his shaving kit and cut his finger on the razor blade. Would he? No but he could not. Yes he would. That was the only way. After all these years, he would show her who was really boss.

He picked up the razors and crept to her bedside. She had fallen asleep and was now snoring peacefully. He almost regretted his decision. Miguel could make out the shape of her neck with the clear moonlight streaming in through the window.

Slish, slish, two quick gashes and a choking sound from her. That was it. He was free.

The adrenaline rushed through his body and reminded him of the time his father had swung him up and down over andover again. It had made him so giddy with happiness and fear. It felt just like that.

He was filled with renewed energy. He looked at the blood gushing out like a rapid stream from her neck, and then at his blood-soaked hands. Miguel sped to his studio in a frenzy and began to paint with his bare hands.

"This is my winner," he was laughing. "I will be rich!"

Stand By Me - Playing for Change

2009-09-11T00:15:00.000-07:00

This is a beautiful coordinated effort of sound engineering by Playing for Change. It is apt especially today, on September 11, that we fight to eradicate terrorism, hatred, violence and try to embrace tolerance, human rights and love for each other.... This song is a symbol of how people all over the world can come together to create a beautiful project with success!

Munkey Bizness

2009-09-10T01:20:00.001-07:00

Our very messy office before we moved to our new place!

Posing!
Peekaboo!

My office of 5 months! I should put up some photos of my new one.

I'm Scared

2009-09-07T22:27:00.000-07:00

I wrote my first poem in a few years. I have focused so much on prose that I totally forgot what it was like to write a poem! Analysis is after the poem.

I'M SCARED

I am scared of you,
when you tell me in that tone of voice.
Because when I offer
You always take more than I can give.

I am scared of what you think,
so I close my eyes and subsitute
My fear for witty repartee
You will flinch, but you will never know.

I am scared of being with you,
because I always know that you will leave me without a promise or goodbye.
Except when your breaths are short
In your time of need.

I am scared of leaving you,
but I know your heart has migrated
To greener freer pastures.
I hope you will continue to remember.

I am scared of seclusion,
with only my memories left as my companions.
And the inevitable thought of tomorrow.

The poem is about the writer's fear/nervousness/commitment issue etc of meeting the right person and not being able to live up to his standards and he is afraid that he'll never love her enough so she allows him to take her for granted.

The first verse is basically about meeting a guy she likes, and she gives him more than he deserves regardless of how their relationship is. The second verse is about how nervous she always is around him, and she's not sure of herself so she substitutes her nervousness with "witty repartee". Also, the line "My fear for witty repartee" is in the same line instead of separating "my fear" and "for witty repartee" because she is actually afraid to express herself, but she does it in a bizarre split personality way to cover up.

The third verse is about her actually being with him because she knows that this boy is toxic and will eventually treat her in a negative manner "without a promise or goodbye". "Breaths are short, in your time of need" has a sexual connotation to it. Death was not intended. The fourth verse is about her knowing that even though she has to do the right thing by leaving because it's not really going anywhere, she is still scared to move on completely.

Finally the last paragraph shows that, she's done it, she's broken off, and all she has is her memories. I am rather uncomfortable with the last paragraph because I feel it is disconnected from the rest of the poem. It's my first poem in a few years, and I'm very...rusty.

Obnoxious Writing

2009-08-28T12:22:00.000-07:00

Arthur Kade - the most obnoxious man in the world!

twitter.com/arthurkadeinc

Doodle!

2009-08-26T01:32:00.000-07:00

My iPhone doodles! Application is called DoodleBuddy! Happy Doodling, fellow doodlers!

This is currently my wallpaper.

This personifies me. xx the flower!

This is my Picasso piece!

Poetry and Fashion

2009-08-23T19:47:00.000-07:00

I always thought poetry was a little bit like fashion. Both need inspiration, creativity, a keen sense of observation, and an appreciation for beauty.
Enjoy.

Alexander McQueen

Vionnet

Group Writing

2009-08-23T19:35:00.000-07:00

I did not go to the previous writers meeting, but we do have a really interesting group writing assignment due this Saturday, which I am super excited about. If you belong to a group of writers (5-7 people), you can try this.

Assign each person another persona. So if you are Jack in reality, you have to be another member of your group - female preferably. This doubles the level of difficulty.

Create a basic scenario during which something monumental happens. For example, everyone is in a yoga class and on that particular day, there is a substitute teacher. Nobody really likes the substitute and everyone is bickering about her and in general. Suddenly the power goes off for an hour, and conversations continue in the dark.

When the lights come back on, there is a dead body on the floor. (One person has to agree to be the dead guy).

Each person has to write their own version of the story start to finish with relation to the alleged murder.

This is a fun assignment and the potential results can be hilarious!

Good luck if you try it!

How to Write a Letter of Recommendation

2009-08-19T01:10:00.001-07:00

How to write a letter of recommendation! Courtesy of the people at Emails from Crazy People

To whomever it may concern (since I have no idea),

I would like to personally recommend Virginia A. for what ever it is that she requires a recommendation for. I have known VA professionally for a long time, almost 10 months. In that time her ability to almost do her job correctly has never ceased to amaze me. It takes quite a special person to answer phones and correctly forward callers to the correct employee. Some might say “That’s easy, anyone could do that.” But as her 15 year old replacement has proven, only someone with VA’s special set of skills could make it look difficult.

During her employment VA continually pushed the envelope of what it was possible to wear to work and not get fired. Often showing enough cleavage to make even the most satisfied infant salivate, VA and the girls showed what it truly means to give it all you’ve got, or show it at least. You might be fooled into thinking that this was grossly inappropriate and not even “What Not to Wear” could save her, but let me be the first to say that her personal contribution to morale and lack of concentration to the office was unsurpassable.

VA’s commitment to the job meant that she couldn’t just leave it at 8 hours and call it a day (unless she found someone else to give her a ride home to her apartment less than half a mile away. Walking is such hard work.) No sir, when there was a happy hour at another office, VA was the first to ask you to come (and for a ride.) When there was no drama in the office, VA would take it upon herself to sleep with one of your coworkers and tell you all about his ED just in case you thought maybe you didn’t know him well enough after all.

And so it is without hesitation that I recommend VA for whatever it is that she is applying for because that might mean I’ll have to hear form her less. Please accept/hire her.

Yours truly

XXXXX

F*** My Life

2009-08-17T00:21:00.000-07:00

The following confessions are from a website called F*** My Life. It is a hilarious website full of writers who know how to appreciate irony. Some winners are:

Today, I got my first kiss. I'm 56. FML

Today I was at the lake watching a romantic sunset with my boyfriend. He tenderly started touching my thigh, then shaking my leg to the rhythm, while shaking my leg to the J-E-L-L-O theme song. FML

Today I snuck into my boyfriend's house because I have an extra key. I snuck into his bed to sleep with him and noticed how soft his skin was. Turns out, I had been feeling up the girl he had been sleeping with and he was in the bathroom. FML

Today, I received my passport in the mail. They got my birthdate wrong. Then I picked up my birth certificate that I had sent in with the application. Turns out my parents have been celebrating my birthday on the wrong day for 16 years. FML

Today, I had drunk sex with a girl that I barely know. I didn't have a condom and was nervous about getting her pregnant, but she assured me that I could pull out. Right when I was about to pull out, she wrapped her legs around me and yelled : "BE MY BABY'S DADDY!" I couldn't get out in time. FML

Today, my teenage stepdaughters, as a punishment for refusing to buy them iphones, told my wife they saw me in town kissing an attractive blonde and grabbing her ass (all invented). She believed it and i'm single. I've been faithful and feeding the whole family for 10 years. FML

Capitalism - A Love Story

2009-08-16T06:17:00.000-07:00

Psyched for this new Michael Moore movie.

Arranged!

2009-08-15T23:38:00.000-07:00

This is a bit of creative nonfiction I just finished. It needs a GOOD sense of humor to be read! The piece is considerably exaggerated and cannot be taken too seriously. =)

Relationships never came easily to me. For most of my teenage and adult life, I have been plagued with the unenviable gift of picking out the worst possible men to ever walk the earth. If Carrie had her share of Mr. Big, then multiply her grief by at least a hundred. That would be my story on NBC. My grand dreams of a great love, followed by a wedding on the beach with seven hundred guests and complete with a tacky ice sculpture, and an even grander honeymoon in Monaco. But this stuff is meant for television princesses clad in Chanel and Blahnik, not charity queens.

My parents, unable to tolerate the drama that kept unfolding in front of their eyes, decided that it was time for some old fashioned intervention. Now their idea of “intervention” translates into “arranged marriage”. When I discovered that my initial tight-lipped approach failed to work, I took to ignoring them. When they persisted despite the cold shoulder, I shed crocodile tears consciously dabbing the corners of my eyes. My play of emotions failed to soften their hearts, and I finally took to my bed weeping and wailing. A towel was unceremoniously tossed in my direction and I was told that it was unladylike behavior for a young woman who was about to get married. The choice was ultimately mine – get hitched or stay single forever.

So as I began my search for graduate school courses in international law, my mother scouted matchmaking agencies for suitable boys. Within a week, the matchmaking bureau in proof of their efficiency and high success rate, faxed over a list of potential husbands for my mother's perusal. Mind you, I was not at all involved in this process, and my required input was minimal. Furthermore, the agency recommended that my parents initiate any contact, which meant that they would screen the candidate by speaking to his parents. I scoffed inwardly. That would not guarantee my future security. For all I knew, parents covered for their children all the time, the guy could turn out to be a total psycho and I would only find out after the wedding.

Round One:
The candidate looked good on paper. With a stable job in one of the top investment banks around the world, a senior level posting in Bombay, and "money in the bank for the two of us", he was a dream candidate. Although his photographs seemed to bring up the four cheese pasta I had earlier in the day, I agreed to begin preliminary discussions. He wrote polite and practical emails to me, with no pretentious undertones. One Saturday night, no plans in hand, I found my instant messenger blinking with a message from him. It was Mr. Moneybags. He seemed just like his emails, socially awkward, straightforward, and unemotional. He monopolized the conversation, by asking pointed questions.

"Will you consider moving back to India?" he asked.

"No." I replied. Career and further education were my priorities.

"How important is marriage to you?" he continued.

I gaped. "Is that a trick question?" A question with a question.

"No." He was not amused. Needless to say, neither one of us were keen to continue the correspondence. I felt strange, it was as though I just had had a cyberchat one night stand without even meeting my partner.

Round Two:
One day the telephone rang, while I sat chewing on my hair absent-mindedly at the breakfast table. After a night of hard partying with my girlfriends, picking up the long distance call was probably one of the lesser sensible decisions I have made.

"HALLO!" boomed a man's voice at the other end." I jumped two feet in the air.

"HALL-LO?" I sputtered, albeit equally loudly. The average Indian is affected with the long-distance loud-voice syndrome. Most common symptom is the loss of decible control.

"I am Mr. J calling from India. I saw your daughter's profile in the magazine and I like it very much. I would like for our children to meet. Are you willing?" Still loudly.

"You are speaking to the daughter," wryly. My voice had resumed normalcy.

"Oh. Oh." He was not expecting me to pick up the phone.

"Okay, let me tell you about my son. He has a bachelor degree in engineering from XXX university, and he has done his MTech from YYY university. He is now working as the Assistant Vice President at ZZZ Bank, which is one of the top banks in the world..." his voice trailed off.

Both of us were equally stunned. I finally broke the awkward silence. "Why don't I get my mother to call you?"

"Okay."

"Bye."

Needless to say, Mr. AVP at Bank ZZZ did not make the shortlist. Despite being blessed with allegedly decent brains, he seemed to exhibit typical stereotypes associated with the average male Indian export - inability to hold a conversation, pencil-thin moustache, a paunch from drinking too much, and stalker potential from the number of calls he made to us after 10pm.

Round 3:
The third one left a confirmation that all the good ones were taken and the leftovers were either completely gay or borderline cases. I was forced to meet with a potential's nucleus family at an uncomfortable dinner during my visit to India. I faced the party with an air of resentment, naturally, as the playing field was unfair. They had the pleasure of scrutinizing my every move, while I squirmed uncomfortably in my seat. I was attacked with ferocity and jest. "Do you talk a lot? X likes girls who talk. What do you do? How much money do you make? Do you enjoy cooking?" It was horrific.

On a slightly eerie note, the family seemed to exhibit seemingly bizarre characteristics. They had cutesy pet names for everyone, praised one other to the skies, and stories of the potential's mischief, which everyone seemed to find adorable yet only I seemed to find childish and irritating, were narrated to me with dramatic purpose. How X teased his mother by cooking meat in the house when she observed religious fast, or how he tortured his poor grandmother by pulling apart her up-do, or how he constantly contradicted his brother's statements - made him sound more as an abusive psychotic and less as an endearing tease. I held myself tightly and submitted to the torture until the end of the evening.

Much eye-rolling and back talk followed after every meeting. My parents, upset that I had curled up like an earthworm, were convinced that nobody would ever want to marry their daughter. My mother was devastated at my string of rejected suitors and wrung her hands at the ceiling (at some spiritual entity I assume), and prayed that word of my fuss should not get out, or the line of men waiting for my hand in marriage would disappear.

I did a quick overhaul of the situation. The whole experience feels as if I am starring on a Mad TV spoof of The Bachelorette. As my hopes head toward a steady decline, it would not hurt to have a few non-moron options. My parents have set out to integrate me respectably into Indian society - by singling out single boys to relieve me of my singleness. In the past, being single had its disadvantages, but the raw clarity of the circumstance cuts through me like poison racing through my bloodstream. I want to be anywhere but here.

Arranged Marriage

2009-08-13T02:37:00.000-07:00

So I've been doing some writing recently because I have been...emotionally charged! Yes yes yes! You read right!

I am working on an untitled piece about arranged marriages, which is an ordeal I am going through right now. I'm not quite finished with it, and this is the introduction to the first draft. I have changed and exaggerated certain incidents to inject humor.

Hope you like it.

DRAFT ONE

Relationships never came easily to me. For most of my teenage and adult life, I have been plagued with the unenviable gift of picking out the worst possible men to ever walk the earth. If Carrie had her share of Mr. Big, then multiply her grief by at least a hundred. That would be how much I have gone through in all my relationships.

My parents, unable to tolerate the drama that kept unfolding in front of their eyes, decided that it was time for some old fashioned intervention. Now their idea of “intervention” translates into “arranged marriage”. When I discovered that my initial tight-lipped approach failed to work, I took to ignoring them. When they persisted despite the cold shoulder, I shed crocodile tears consciously dabbing the corners of my eyes. My play of emotions failed to soften their hearts, and I finally took to my bed weeping and wailing. A towel was unceremoniously tossed in my direction and I was told that it was unladylike behavior for a young woman who was about to get married. The choice was ultimately mine – get hitched or stay single forever.

So while at the age of twenty and four, I was running my own department and fiercely focused on career, my mother scouted matchmaking agencies for suitable boys. Within a week, the matchmaking bureau in proof of their efficiency and high success rate, faxed over a list of potential husbands for my mother's perusal. Mind you, I was not at all involved in this process, and my required input was minimal. Furthermore, the agency recommended that my parents initiate any contact, which meant that they would screen the candidate by speaking to his parents. I scoffed inwardly. That would not guarantee my future security. For all I knew, parents covered for their children all the time, the guy could turn out to be a total psycho and I would only find out after the wedding.

My parents set out to integrate me respectably into Indian society - by singling out single boys to relieve me of my singleness. In the past, being single had its disadvantages, but the raw clarity of the circumstance cut through me like poison racing through my bloodstream. Suddenly, I wanted to be anywhere but here.

I am looking for...

2009-08-08T01:11:00.001-07:00

This is undoubtedly the best writing the writers on Sex and the City have come up with.

Art

2009-07-22T19:13:00.000-07:00

I am finally glad to almost get over with this stressful and hectic week at work. This morning was our School of Art, Design and Media's Convocation ceremony. The Class of 2009 finally got kicked out after 4 years of bumming around campus. =)

We featured some beautiful Final Year Projects at the ceremony. I was duly impressed. Photos added.

(I tried to get a s close as possible but these were the best results I could get from an iPhone camera)

Websites for Writer Meet Ups

2009-07-20T22:10:00.000-07:00

Another friend from Saturday Morning Writers sent some fantastic links for aspiring/established writers looking to meet with other like-minded individuals.

If you reside in Sunny Singapore, look out for the local writers meetup group HERE.

If you would like to submit work for publication, Singapore has a Quarterly Literature Review. You can check it out HERE.

There's also the previously published Caferati.

Good luck!

The Many Faces of ....Madness =D

2009-07-20T06:08:00.000-07:00

Here I am sitting with my pink lappy like a good girl about to research my article when my iPhone and potential mischief beckons. Let the camwhoring begin!

Oh! What is this? Oh my my my! What have you done now Miss O Hara?

I imagine this is my best Calpurnia expression. (To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee) Else, I don't know what name to give it.

I'm going more for an Angelina Jolie-esque look here, but failing miserably. She's too sexy for her hat, or her shirt, or even UNICEF these days. Oh well. Back to work!

Caferati

2009-07-20T03:10:00.000-07:00

A friend of mine from Saturday Morning Writers hooked me up with a very interesting writers group called Caferati.

I received the following email from their President, Ashish Kumar:

Hi Ketki

Thanks for your interest. Is it OK by you if I make you a member of the Caferati mail group? You'll start getting our mails then. We mostly use the group to schedule our Read Meets, unfortunately, but you're welcome to use it to share your writing, or information on writing related events.

Do confirm so that I can "do the needful" as we Desis say.

Best
Ashish

Basically, Caferati works on a peer review system for writers, giving feedback to help writers improve their technique. The organization started on the online social networking site Ryze (India) and expanded rapidly into other cities around the world. Members meet once a month for read-meets.

It is definitely an exciting prospect and a must try for any one looking to improve their writing. For more information on Caferati and finding a chapter in your country, go to http://www.caferati.com/

I Work Too Hard

2009-07-20T02:44:00.000-07:00

In my defence, it was a busy Monday! (You can see my colleague's head peeking out a bit from the other side!)

Lady of Leisure

2009-07-20T00:40:00.000-07:00

I spent my weekend at the town club with my dad. He huffed and puffed away at his Latino Jam class (I have a video which I have been banned from circulating!) while I lazed by the poolside, watched part of Beverly Hills Chihuahua (do NOT watch that terrible movie), and ate ate ate.

The pool! Luckily there were no Speedo-clad men.

Main Lobby side entrance. It's a pity I couldn't get the whole thing, I always feel like a princess coming down the big stairs at the side. My photography is terrible. It really is.

The Pool...again!

The lobby outside the gym. I wish I had taken more photos of the jazz bar and the Cellar&Humidor. They were so pretty!

Funniest Horny/Desperate/Wannabe Messages I Have Received

2009-07-18T22:47:00.000-07:00

So every girl has her share of weird messages she gets on Facebook, Myspace, or whichever social networking site she uses. I have collected the true winners of my inbox for your reading pleasure. Hope you chuckle as much as I did when I first read them!

In reply to me asking him whether we had met before as I was unable to recall. He had requested me as a friend on Facebook:

Dear Ketki,
Thanks for your reply. Yes, we do not know each others but just
willing to have friendship with you. By profession, I am chemical engineer. Please mail me on xxxxxxxxx@yahoo.co.uk.
Do reply please.
Pxxxx Mxxxxx

___

From a very strange guy who does not know how to spell "gorgeous" or "peace". I checked out his profile and all he loves is weed. Apparently that's also all he smokes.

Just wana say u look goergeus in ur Photo's.. Take care
PE@C=

Nxxxx Lxx Nxxx

___

This next one is clearly the winner I think (If you can make any sense out of it):

first n foremost i had to say this... u look so so so so astonishingly beautiful.... absolutely gorgeous....
n i really re:ally would like to know somethin here...

r u local... u dont look like one... no way ok...
n is that ur natural hair.... im so crazely in lov with them sweetie...
pls do reply my dear..... thanks... in advance that is... for the reply.... that u gonna send me... i assume.... lol... tc.

from Rxx Hunk

___

The next I picked is a bizarre correspondence between myself and a Facebook Romeo:

In response to a friend request I pinged him the usual message:

Me: Hey, really sorry to ask this, but do I know you? I sometimes tend to forget names and faces of people I've met briefly.

Him: hehe...hey not e problem cuz i m e new face for u ...we haven yet met...so howz ur holidays goin on ?????????

Me: New face for me? I guess the future looks pretty bleak for me then, eh? =)

Him: do i look so very ugly??????

Needless to say, I did not reply after that.

___

I think this one really has stalker potential:

have seen ur profile u r soo nice and cte i want to be ur friend.. will u be my good frined... where ru living,,,,, nice looking ,, soo cuteekeep in tuch bybye
thx...well i wanna say something about ur beauti and ur sweetness please accept this small words from my pure hearts, ur pics are really sooooooooooo amazing.

dear, Now really i miss u so much,u know, coz ur pic made me mad, its really awesome, and u r looking sooooooooooooooooooo beautiful as Miss Singapore, cute as Singapore Princess , sweet as honey, nice as pretty angel. u look like the princess of butterfly, the queen of Jasmine flower. actually the words of dictionary cant explain ur beauti, i am jus speakless, if i write whole of life narrating ur beauti, i will die but ur sweetness wont be end, ur eyes are jus like diomand pearls, the sky is feeling jealoous beause its two beautiful star u take as it becomes ur eyes, i wish and i dream that i can see this Masterpiece of the GOd, beauti of universe live with my naked eyes.

with best and sweet regards
Rxxxx

___

This next one was just plain weird. I still don't get what he means by me having a "student" look?:

Hey, how's it going. Hope you're enjoying yourself here. Let's go deeper and talk like normal people =)

All I know abt you now is that you have a student look and can be a little naughty at times. I'd like to know more.

So what's your story?

___

Saturday Morning Writers

2009-07-18T06:10:00.000-07:00

This is Miranda doing her reading during today's Saturday Morning Writers' session. The exercise was basically each of us having to come up with a strange character we each knew or had seen, and outline what was going on in their mind. The catch was that we could not write about our own character. Miranda is voicing the inner ramblings of the cleaning lady from my office who is really tough on me. Hope you like it as much as I do!

Dan doing his reading on defining an accent and searching for an identity? Nevertheless, it was great! He was too shy to be videotaped

(If you are interested in becoming a Saturday Morning Writer, drop me an email at abrupt.ending@gmail.com. We meet every Saturday morning - doh! - drink great coffee, have plenty of fun and let our imaginations run wild. We also strive to achieve our best when it comes to writing and are currently aiming to get published as much as possible without compromising the quality and integrity of our work.)

MTV EXIT - Awareness on human trafficking

2009-07-18T05:03:00.000-07:00

Please support the MTV EXIT campaign in any way that you can. This is the video The Killers made in collaboration with MTV to spread awareness on this campaign.

Please support this amazing cause.

Some statistics about global trafficking:

27 million - the number of people held in modern day slavery

800,000 - the number of people trafficked across international borders EVERY YEAR

1 million - the number of children in the child sex trade

50% - number of CHILDREN in the transnational sex trade

80% - number of transnational victims who are female

70% of trafficked victims are in the sex trade, 30% are in forced labor

US$32billion - profits generated from the human trafficking industry, second after drug trafficking

For a full summary and more statistics, you can refer to this link.

Goodnight, travel safe.

Testing

2009-07-16T07:07:00.001-07:00

I just got this new phone and I need to run a quick test on the blog.
Bear with me!

Sent from my iPhone

Ninjas vs Professors

2009-07-15T22:59:00.000-07:00

'Nuff said.

Creative Non-fiction on Human Rights Issues

2009-07-13T19:58:00.000-07:00

I opened my inbox today to find this really exciting email from the Hauser Center for Justice and Human Rights at Harvard University. They were looking for writers who were willing to write articles on human rights issues for an upcoming conference for international law and human rights issues at the UNHQ. I think this will be good practice for my creative non-fiction homework!

Now I need to figure out what topic be best suited for the conference.

Dear Ketki,
So sorry for the late reply—it’s been extremely hectic planning for the September conference on international criminal justice at the UNHQ—take a look at the website we just launched for the Conference: www.internationalcriminaljustice.net — read through the background etc, which will give you a better idea of all the issues we’re hoping to hash out/discuss/engage, and then maybe if you’re interested in writing about a particular issue relating to that array of topics, we can move from there! Given your interest in trafficking, maybe you would be interested in writing about issues of gender violence in conflict zones, intersecting the role of NGOs in victim assistance, accountability, or the like (just off the top of my head)--it would be great to get some kind of NGO perspective on the ground, though, so if you can find a way to tie in the work your doing to the issues to be raised at the conference, that would be ideal! We’re looking for 500 to 600 word pieces op-ed style, so nothing too long at all, but researched, insightful, and interesting.
I hope to hear from you!
Take good care,
[name removed to protect privacy]

Bruno! Can't Wait

2009-07-13T07:42:00.000-07:00

Waiting for this!!

15 Coolest Facts

2009-07-13T02:35:00.000-07:00

A friend sent me an email recently titled "50 Cool Facts" and they were actually very very cool. I picked 15 of the coolest ones and decided to list them here. You will have a few Eureka! moments after reading these =).

A duck's quack doesn't echo. No one knows why.

On the average, 12 newborns will be given to the wrong parents daily. (I always suspected I was one. I am NOTHING like my parents)

Most lipstick contains fish scales. (I wonder how many vegans will want to comment on this)

Leonardo da Vinci could write with one hand and draw with the other at the same time.

Mosquito repellents don't repel. They hide you. The spray blocks the mosquito's sensors so they don't know you're there.

Dentists recommend that a toothbrush be kept at least six feet away from a toilet to avoid airborne particles resulting from the flush. (Why don't dentists tell you things like these instead of doing painful things to you?)

The first owner of the Marlboro Company died of lung cancer. (Shame Shame)

Michael Jordan makes more money from Nike annually than the entire Nike factory workers in Malaysia combined. (SHAME!! SHAME!!!)

Adolf Hitler's mother seriously considered having an abortion but was talked out of it by her doctor. (&*^#%$#*&#)

A cockroach can live for 10 days without a head. (I always hated those &*$@ creatures dead or alive)

Brains are more active sleeping than watching TV.

It's against the law in Iceland to have a dog.

Coca-Cola can be used as car oil. (Imagine how poisonous it must be!)

Marilyn Monroe had six toes on one foot.

Bruce Lee was so fast that they actually had to slow a film down so you could see his moves. That's the opposite of the norm.

Look at your zipper. See the initials YKK? It stands for Yoshida Kogyo Kabushibibaisha, the world's largest zipper manufacturer.

Getting Paid to Write About the Newest Shit? Noooooo

2009-07-13T00:37:00.000-07:00

As you can tell by now, I am a huge fan of the New York Times, considering how many times I keep reposting their articles! They just featured a great article about bloggers who get paid to review products. Just thought it would be an interesting read!

by Pradnya Joshi

Colleen Padilla, a 33-year-old mother of two who lives in suburban Philadelphia, has reviewed nearly 1,500 products, including baby clothes, microwave dinners and the Nintendo Wii, on her popular Web site Classymommy.com. Her site attracts 60,000 unique visitors every month, and Ms. Padilla attracts something else: free items from companies eager to promote their products to her readers.

Marketing companies are keen to get their products into the hands of so-called influencers who have loyal online followings because the opinions of such consumers help products stand out amid the clutter, particularly in social media.

“You can’t really write a review if you haven’t used it or done it,” Ms. Padilla said. “It really is a valuable thing for marketers. It’s a real mom with a real voice.”

Ms. Padilla typically acknowledges in each review which products were sent to her by companies and which items she bought herself. Other items on her site include her own videos for brands like Healthy Choice, which she labels as sponsored posts. But unlike postings in most journalism outlets or independent review sites, most companies can be assured that there will not be a negative review: if she does not like a product, she simply does not post anything about it.
The proliferation of paid sponsorships online has not been without controversy. Some in the online world deride the actions as kickbacks. Others also question the legitimacy of bloggers’ opinions, even when the commercial relationships are clearly outlined to readers.

And the Federal Trade Commission is taking a hard look at such practices and may soon require online media to comply with disclosure rules under its truth-in-advertising guidelines.

A draft of the new rules was posted for public comments this year and the staff is to make a formal recommendation to be presented to the commissioners for a vote, perhaps by early fall.
“Consumers have a right to know when they’re being pitched a product,” said Richard Cleland, an assistant director at the Federal Trade Commission.

Yet in many ways, the hypercommercialism of the Web is changing too quickly for consumers and regulators to keep up. Product placements are landing on so-called status updates on Facebook, companies are sponsoring messages on Twitter and bloggers are defining their own parameters of what constitutes independent work versus advertising.

TNT, for instance, is experimenting with a paid relationship with a popular blogger, Melanie Notkin, founder and chief executive of SavvyAuntie.com, a site that has carved out a demographic niche of professional aunts without children.

Ms. Notkin is sending out several messages to her more than 10,000 Twitter followers on Tuesday nights, when a new episode of “Saving Grace” is shown.

Ms. Notkin declined to disclose how much she is paid by TNT, only saying that she is “well compensated.” But she says she is upfront with her readers about the relationship with the network by labeling every commercial tweet with “[sp],” which stands for sponsored post.
“TNT never told me and will never tell me what to say,” Ms. Notkin stressed. “They want to associate with brands that people trust.”

For some bloggers, product sponsorships have become a lucrative side business. Drew Bennett of North Attleboro, Mass., began a photo-a-day blog more than four years ago and was one of the early participants in the site PayPerPost.com in 2006 and later, its sister network SocialSpark.

In three years, Mr. Bennett has written more than 600 posts for companies including Blockbuster and Xshot, a telescopic camera extender, typically making $5.35 to $10 a post. Through some arrangements, he says, he earns 11 cents to 68 cents every time a reader clicks from his site to a corporate site that sells the product.

“You can gain a whole different audience with social media,” said Mr. Bennett, who runs BenSpark.com and other sites. Mr. Bennett is also making money by recruiting and teaching other bloggers how to optimize their sites.

Izea, an online marketing company based in Orlando, Fla., which created PayPerPost, says it has 25,000 active advertisers ranging from Sea World to small online retailers. It feeds to 265,000 bloggers in its network, and pays, on average, $34 a post.

“Our focus has always been sponsored conversations,” said Ted Murphy, founder and chief executive of Izea.

Within the next few weeks, Izea plans to introduce another way to outreach to consumers — a “Sponsored Tweets” platform for Twitter users to blast promotional messages to their followers.
A campaign that Izea conducted in December for Kmart generated 800 blog posts and 3,200 Twitter messages that reached 2.5 million people over 30 days, Mr. Murphy said. In the campaign, six popular bloggers known to be influencers were given $500 gift cards to shop at the discount chain and asked to write about their experiences.

Many of these marketing practices have created gray areas as to what constitutes advertising versus consumer outreach. For instance, an expensive gadget in short supply in the hands of influential bloggers could be worth a lot more intangibly than a cash payment of, say, $50 a post.
Mr. Cleland said that the F.T.C. would most likely not spell out the disclosure requirements but instead would rely on Internet users to judge what constitutes fair disclosure, adding that a lengthy description written in legalese would probably be counterproductive.

At the same time, the marketing industry has also been revising its guidelines. The Word of Mouth Marketing Association’s ethics code says that manufacturers should not pay cash to consumers to make recommendations or endorsements, but it is evaluating how companies should handle disclosures of product giveaways to bloggers.

“I’m actually thrilled that the F.T.C. is looking hard at the issue,” said Paul Rand, president-elect of the association, a trade group representing 400 companies.

For many bloggers, commercial messages are often integrated into their missions. Katja Presnal, who created the Skimbaco Lifestyle and Skimbaco Home blog, recently wrote about e.l.f. cosmetics after meeting its chief marketing officer at a conference. The company has since provided her with products for giveaway bags for events she has hosted and has asked her to provide testimonials for an online video, all of which she did free.

Mrs. Presnal, who has more than 14,000 followers on Twitter, says that while she is paid fees for a few blog posts, she does not always accept endorsement deals.

“There is this misconception that bloggers write product reviews to get free stuff,” said Mrs. Presnal, a mother of three who lives in upstate New York. “I don’t blog about a product if I don’t really like it.”

In March, Better Homes and Gardens gave her a $500 gift certificate to do a bedroom makeover in her house using its new line of home furnishings bearing the magazine’s name. She also received a fee for providing a review to BetterHomesandGardens.com.

When Ford Motor flew her to Detroit this year for a test drive of the Fusion hybrid, she says, she expressed her true assessment on her blog, saying that she thought the vehicle would work for a family with teenagers, but would not fit the needs of her three children and a dog.

“I still wrote my honest opinion,” said Mrs. Presnal, who did not receive a fee from Ford, but had her travel expenses paid. “If you don’t, in the long it’s going hurt your credibility.”

Still, the encroachment of commercialism into new-media formats worries some consumer advocates. Many forms of online word-of-mouth marketing depend on the perception of unsolicited or personal opinions, said Robert Weissman, managing director of the advocacy group Commercial Alert.

“It’s a contrast to the Tupperware model, where everyone knows what’s going on, and no one’s trying to be deceiving,” said Mr. Weissman, whose group favors stricter oversight of marketing practices.

Link to this Blog

2009-07-12T03:20:00.000-07:00

If you would like to be listed on or linked to this blog, just click on the 'Follow' button on the right and proceed with the instructions. Your blog link should appear.

If you have any problems, email me at abrupt.ending@gmail.com.

More Dance! (Night at the Roxbury)

2009-07-12T03:15:00.000-07:00

I just watched one of the funniest movies - Night at the Roxbury. Reminds me of my massive club hopping days. I found a hilarious clip off youtube of one of the wacky dance scenes they try to pull off in one of the nightclubs. Total madness.

This movie is a classic.

Evian Babies Commercial

2009-07-11T21:38:00.000-07:00

I found the cutest and most creative ad ever made! Evian's branding as a "refreshing" sip of water is reflected in its new advertisement.

This is the behind the scenes version of the ad, babies galore!!

What Writers' Block??

2009-07-11T07:13:00.001-07:00

So today, with the help of the Saturday Morning Writers, I broke through the shackles of writers' block and emerged victorious - almost. For writers struggling with writers' block, these are a couple of exercises you can do to overcome it:

What If
Narrate a scenario, preferably one filled with adventure, drama and suspense. A true story is preferred. Do not tell the group how it ends.

The next person has to continue by saying, "What if so and so and happened and he/she had done this or that."

To list an example, our scenario was: A young girl gets into Costa Rica, her native home. She gets into a taxi and requests the driver to drive her to her district/town. Soon, she notices that the driver is driving farther and farther away from the destination and towards secluded areas. She panics and asks him what his intentions are. He then confesses and admits that he needs money.

From here, other members continue with their additions such as:
- What if the brakes failed and they ran into a gas station causing a huge explosion and killing everyone?

- What if it was a stolen vehicle and the cops were already tailing him?

- What if Juan Valdez crossed the road on front of them on his donkey and offered all of them coffee?

The point of the game is to get as crazy as possible =).

The second exercise you could do is to take your plot or the part where you're stuck and force yourself to literally come up with the most outrageous continuations to the story. You will be surprised with the results!

The plot we used was a recycled one from my previous attempt. My necrophilic Prince Charming in Sleeping Beauty had just kissed the corpse of the dead princess. What would happen next?? One example:

Prince Charming, overwhelmed by her maggot-ridden and decrepit corpse, began to tear heavily. "Oh Princess, you are truly Nature's gift." Upon the utterance of these words, he hopped on to the settee where the cold skeleton lay, placed one leg on each side and struck a pose.

"Soldier, press play!" he ordered.

"I'm too sexy for my hat, I'm too sexy for my shirt," crooned Right Said Fred from the 1980s boombox. The Prince began thrusting and gyrating. It was a special lap dance for his special lady.

Okay, so maybe I got too crazy with this one! But you get the point =).

"I Want To Go To There"

2009-07-11T03:23:00.001-07:00

I always dream of Parisian cafes with cute croissants, lattes and adorable accents. Recently New York Times published an article about cafes in Buenos Aires. Apart from charming me to the core, it is probably a great example of creative non-fiction, something I have been trying to achieve for a while now. Enjoy.

by Camille Cusumano

ON Saturday nights in Buenos Aires, the Miramar cafe crackles with the energy of local families, famished tango dancers and gregarious waiters delivering plates of crisp-skinned sardines, shrimp and fresh oysters. Miramar is in San Cristóbal, a barrio known for its tango dance halls but otherwise off the tourist beat. Local diners come to share generous servings of oxtail soup, rabbit hunter-style or chorizo-laced Spanish frittata. Even with a couple of bottles of malbec and mineral water, the feast seldom tops the equivalent of $15 a person.

Still owned by the Ramos family, its founders, the Miramar began life in 1948 as an almacén, or bulk-goods grocer, and its endurance qualifies it for the city’s recognized list of cafes — or bares notables. In 1998, Buenos Aires legislated this official designation for bars, cafes, billiard halls and confectionaries whose antiquity, architecture or historical significance make them worthy of note and of preservation efforts.

The annually expanding list (now more than 50) includes some magnificent and famous cafes, like Las Violetas and Tortoni with their beveled mirrors and polished-wood bars — cathedrals where tourists gather to worship legends like Carlos Gardel, a tango crooner who died in a 1935 plane crash and “every day sings a little better,” it is said. But other bares notables are humbler, and it is there, amid the worn interiors like that of the Miramar, that you can find the traditional menus designed to please Argentines, whose melting-pot cuisine has a marked Italian influence. The food is home-cooked good, abundant and, with the favorable dollar-to-peso exchange rate, inexpensive.

Like the Miramar, El Preferido de Palermo, in the Palermo barrio, opened as an almacén in 1952, when its founder, Arturo Fernández, arrived from the province of Asturias on Spain’s lush north coast. The grocery, with shelves of canned eel, olives and good wines, remains, sharing tight space with trendy orange-and-green tables where a limited menu is served to Palermo’s young and hip.

A photo of Francis Ford Coppola graces the counter, but the barrio’s real luminary, Jorge Luis Borges (the street bears his name), lived across the way from 1901 to 1914. A wider menu is served in the connecting main restaurant, warm with red-and-white tablecloths and wrought-iron chandeliers. A must-try is the fabada asturiana (30 pesos for two people, or $7.75 at 3.87 pesos to the dollar), a time-honored recipe known to call for “ear of pig.” El Preferido’s version (no ear) is a steamy casserole of creamy-textured favas tossed with morcilla (blood sausage), fresh pork, pancetta and chorizo.

Café Nostalgia, also in Palermo, occupies the ground floor of a 1935 building where coffins were once made. Although bona fide Argentine gastronomy is represented in dishes like calabaza-stuffed ravioli (25 pesos) and butter-tender beef with toasty brown fries (about 30 pesos), the menu mostly reads like that of a French bistro: sweet-and-sour pork with pear compote and sweet-potato chips (35 pesos), almond-crusted salmon (40 pesos), truffle with ginger ice cream in a cranberry coulis (15 pesos).

It’s much farther from downtown Buenos Aires to the pretty, tranquil barrio of Villa Devoto — about 30 minutes by taxi. But make the trip anyway, for the broad-canopied rosewood trees shading the avenues and for the gargantuan picada (56 pesos per person) at Café de García, opened in 1937. A food saga told in about 30 items, the picada is a kind of gastronomical parade of small dishes, paid for in one overall price. Take in the scene as you wait for your dinner. A Boca Juniors T-shirt signed by Diego Maradona joins accordions, cue sticks, wineskins, firearms and numerous vintage items on shelves and yellowed walls. This is a Quilmes-beer-on-tap kind of cafe. Mineral water comes in old-fashioned soda siphon bottles. “You choose the drink, I take care of the rest,” Rubén García instructs first-time customers as he skirts billiard tables.

One Saturday night last April, the picada began with a basket of tantalizingly crisp potatoes. Small plates and crocks arrived in pairs and included vitel tonné, a cold veal dish defined by a cream sauce spiked with anchovy, capers and tuna. The array was dizzying — herbed meatballs, empanadas and other savory pastries, stewed squid, roasted peppers, olives, garlicky beans, fish, dessert and a chalice of sparkling wine. Espresso drinks were set before a party of five men whose interest alternated between the soccer game on an overhead TV and free plates of pan dulce (fruit cake) and nougat candies. They chatted and nibbled in slo mo.

Like Café de García, Café Margot, in a 1903 building, is a reference point to its barrio — in this case Boedo, an artist refuge that was home to the tango lyricist Homero Manzi. Local sculptors’ works rise from the busy sidewalks, and the cafe exhibits artwork in its rustic brick interior. Hams and salamis dangle over the bar, but the specialty here is turkey, which reportedly brought visits by Juan Perón. It’s offered in more than 30 ways (for about 13 to 19 pesos), including in escabeche, a confit of dark meat in a tangy vinaigrette.

This is also a good spot for matambre — the name, an amalgam of matar and hambre, means “kill hunger” — and the dish, made with flank steak, was favored by gauchos who roamed the pampas with it strung to their saddles. Most Argentine households have a recipe for matambre that is filled, jelly-roll fashion, with carrots, herbs, spices, garlic and hard-cooked eggs.

San Telmo, the oldest part of Buenos Aires, boasts seven bares notables, including a bohemian haunt called Británico, a prime scene in Tomás Eloy Martínez’s novel “The Tango Singer.” Most cater to young customers looking for hamburgers and fries. But the most rundown and least self-aware, La Coruña, which clings to a corner of the San Telmo market, is where you’ll find the uncompromising grub that feeds local laborers: lentil stew, sardines, hake fillet, liver and onions, vegetable omelet, kidneys à la Provençale — all between 9 and 13 pesos.

Carmen Moreira, daughter of the family that has owned the cafe since 1961, sets the food on milk-glass plates before customers sharing the long tables. It’s straightforward unadorned cuisine but an experience to savor, like the magical realism of a Borges story, from many angles.

SO NOTED

The “notable bars” of Buenos Aires can be found on the Web site www.bue.gov.ar. Click on Directorio and select Bares Notables from the list that comes up. Here is a sampling.

Miramar, Sarandi 1190, San Cristóbal; (54-11) 4304-4261.

Café Nostalgia, Soler 3599, Palermo; (54-11) 4963-0903.

Café de García, Sanabria 3302, Villa Devoto; (54-1...; www.cafedegarcia.com.ar.

Café Margot, Boedo 857, Boedo; (54-11) 4957-0001.

Bar Británico, Brasil 399, San Telmo; (54-11) 4361-2107; www.barbritanico.com.

La Coruña, Bolivar 982/94, San Telmo; (54-11) 4362-7637.

No Pants Subway Ride - New York City

2009-07-10T18:49:00.001-07:00

I wonder how much trouble we would get into if we did this in Singapore?

Love the expression on everyone's faces!

Dance!

2009-07-10T18:24:00.000-07:00

This has nothing to do with writing or my love for extremely good looking men, but I found adorable videos of surpise dancing (YES!) that went on in London earlier this year.

It would just be a normal day in, and suddenly music would start playing. Dancers start coming out of nowhere and just start! It's a beautiful video and a cheer up for anyone who could use a smile. I know it cheered me up for sure =).

Liverpool Train Station

Trafalgar Square

How to Get Out of Jury Duty

2009-07-10T18:21:00.000-07:00

Creativity =)

see more Fail Blog

"Apparently you morons didn’t understand me the first time. I CANNOT take time off from work. I’m not putting my familys wellbeing at stake to participate in this crap. I don’t believe in our “justice” system and I don’t want to have a goddamn thing to do with it. Jury duty is a complete waste of time. I would rather count the wrinkles on my dogs balls than sit on a jury. Get it through your thick skulls. Leave me the f–k alone."

More Engrish

2009-07-10T00:29:00.000-07:00

Leave it to the Japanese =D

91.3fm DJs, Have You No Manners?

2009-07-09T18:04:00.000-07:00

This morning I was listening to the alleged funny banter between the 91.3fm radio DJs. The horrific topic was the death of a man who fell into a big vat of chocolate and was unable to swim to the surface.

The unfortunate victim fell off a nine-foot platform into a big vat of melted chocolate and was delivered a fatal blow to his head by an agitator, a machine used to stir the chocolate in the vats.

The DJs apparently found all of this comical and had a really good laugh.

The female DJ even went on to say, "Come to think about it, what a waste of good chocolate."

Disgraceful. Have some respect for the dead. (And please get rid of that fake accent.)

Ketki's Manly Sexy Men Part One

2009-07-08T05:19:00.000-07:00

My writers' block seems to be actively pursuing me this week, so I'll be blogging pure nonsense until I manage to strike gold with my mutated fairytale.

Until now, all I have is a grossly exaggerated version of 21st version Sleeping Beauty who does not wake up when her necrophilic Prince presses his kiss of life upon her because she's...well, dead. And that's kind of where my story is stuck.

So to entertain myself, I came up with a list of all the men that turn me on (in no particular order). Happy leching!

Jason. The cutest romantic brooding musician ever.

Oh Matt. Oh Matt. Oh Matt!

The PERFECT man. Curtis Stone! Kiss kiss kiss.

Oh Brendan, you manly manly man! *Grrowl*

I heart James Marsden! Heart Heart Heart!

Tribute to MJ & Violence in Iran

2009-07-08T02:42:00.000-07:00

I found this great video of my favorite Micheal Jackson song combined with a deeply saddening video of the ongoing violence in Iran.

Warning: CERTAIN IMAGES ARE VERY GRAPHIC!

Link to this Blog

2009-07-07T00:36:00.001-07:00

She Writes Dot Com

2009-07-06T22:49:00.000-07:00

There is a new website for women writers called Shewrites.com. Not just a regular website, but also a social networking site for women writers. I just joined the website, and I'm really excited to get started.

The owners of the webby say,
"SHE WRITES is a new social network where women writers working in every genre--in every part of the world and of all ages and backgrounds--can come together in a space of mutual support. Join us!"

Start clickin' ladies!

Some other really great and established websites you can explore are:
Writing.com - this one even gives you your own email.
AnthologiesOnline (not for everyone maybe)
WritingForward.com
Fictionpress.com

Politically Correct 3 Little Pigs

2009-07-05T22:31:00.000-07:00

I am tackling my own version of the mutated fairy tale, but while I'm in my own creative struggle, I thought I should leave you with something interesting I found online - a Politically Correct version of the Three Little Pigs story.

Once there were 3 little pigs who lived together in mutual respect and in harmony with their environment. Using materials that were indigenous to the area they each built a beautiful house. One pig built a house of straw, one a house of sticks, and one a house of dung, clay and creeper vines shaped into bricks and baked in a small kiln. When they were finished, the pigs were satisfied with their work and settled back to live in peace and self-determination.
But their idyll was soon shattered. One day, along came a big, bad wolf with expansionist ideas. He saw the pigs and grew very hungry in both a physical and ideological sense.
When the pigs saw the wolf, they ran into the house of straw. The wolf ran up to the house and banged on the door, shouting, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Your gunboat tactics hold no fear for pigs defending their homes and culture."

But the wolf wasn't to be denied what he thought was his manifest destiny. So he huffed and puffed and blew down the house of straw. The frightened pigs ran to the house of sticks, with the wolf in hot pursuit. Where the house had stood, other wolves bought up the land and started a banana plantation.

At the house of sticks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little, pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

The pigs shouted back, "Go to hell, you carnivorous, imperialistic oppressor!"

At this the wolf huffed and puffed and blew down the house of sticks. The pigs ran to the house of bricks, with the wolf close at their heels. Where the house of sticks had stood, other wolves built a time-share condo resort complex for vacationing wolves, with each unit a fibreglass reconstruction of the house of sticks, as well as native curio shops, snorkelling and dolphin shows.
At the house of bricks, the wolf again banged on the door and shouted, "Little pigs, little pigs, let me in!"

This time in response, the pigs sang songs of solidarity and wrote letters of protest to the United Nations.

By now the wolf was getting angry at the pigs' refusal to see the situation from the carnivore's point of view. So he huffed and puffed, and huffed and puffed, then grabbed his chest and fell over dead from a massive heart attack brought on from eating too many fatty foods.

The three little pigs rejoiced that justice had triumphed and did a little dance around the corpse of the wolf. Their next step was to liberate their homeland. They gathered together a band of other pigs who had been forced off their lands. This new brigade of porcinistas attacked the resort complex with machine-guns and rocket launchers and slaughtered the cruel wolf oppressors, sending a clear signal to the rest of the hemisphere not to meddle in their internal affairs. Then the pigs set up a model socialist democracy with free education, universal health care and affordable housing for everyone. {My note: well it is a fairy tale after all.}

Please note: The wolf in this story was a metaphorical construct. No actual wolves were harmed in the writing of the story.

Source: http://www.spunk.org/texts/humour/sp001556.html

Humor Writing

2009-07-05T07:02:00.000-07:00

I've been wanting to experiment with humor writing for a long time now, so I found some interesting writing exercises to play with. Try them out for some hilarious results!

1. Pick a fairy tale (any fairy tale). You can change the ending, mix up the plot, or add some twists, do anything really. The only thing you have to keep constant are the characters.

2. 20 reasons to break off a wedding. (you could really let your imagination run away with this one)

3. Write a review of a play in which Chuck Norris, George Bush and Spiderman acted.

Source: www.creativewritingprompts.com

Andy Roddick. Yum.

2009-07-05T06:34:00.000-07:00

So so pretty.

Research on Men's Grooming

2009-06-30T23:56:00.000-07:00

Dear Gentlemen

Myself and a friend are taking part in a marketing and branding challenge for men's products. The stakes are high and we would like to win very very much =).

It would be great if you could aid us in our research stage by taking this short survey. It will take 5 minutes. The survey is pretty basic and just asks about some of the regular haircare/skincare products you use, and your opinion on how their branding strategy may possibly affect your decision. We are aiming for 50 entries by Thursday.

Just click on the link to submit your answers!

http://spreadsheets.google.com/viewform?formkey=clpCaXc0LUdTQ3Y4bnM4QmVpNWJVWFE6MA

Thanks and xx

Ketki

Justice Cometh!

2009-06-29T19:04:00.000-07:00

Bernie Madoff deserved what he got when Judge Chin sentenced him to 150 years in prison. I have attached a lovely report from New York Magazine about the trial and its victims. The way the article is written provides a heart-wrenching perspective into his victims lives. Enjoy.

From New York Magazine (online) by Erica Orden

Earlier today, we reported on the 150-year sentence just slapped on Bernie Madoff; now that we've had a moment to collect our thoughts, here's what we witnessed in the courtroom.
At 10 a.m. on the dot, officers at the federal courthouse closed the courtroom doors and Bernard Madoff — eyes cast downward, lips pursed, gray hair coiffed — took his place in front of Judge Denny Chin and a room packed with his victims to hear how he would be punished for perpetrating the world’s largest Ponzi scheme.

Victims' statements constituted the bulk of the proceedings, with nine investors chosen to speak out of the many who wrote letters to the court. (Eleven victims were originally slated to take the mike, but two withdrew at the last moment, according to Chin.) The Ambrosinos were the first to describe their suffering. A retired New York City corrections officer, he spoke of Madoff’s “indescribably heinous crimes,” saying, "As the guy who used to be on the right side of the correction bars, I'll know what Mr. Madoff is experiencing." He added: “I would like someone to tell me how long is my sentence.”

Maureen Ann Ebel, 65, used her opportunity behind the microphone to scold the federal regulatory bodies, saying, "The SEC, in its total incompetence and negligence, has let a total psychopath steal from me." She described the rapid weight loss, insomnia, and paranoia she suffered following the knowledge that she had lost her life savings with Madoff; she has sold most of her possessions and is now forced to work three jobs. She also spoke of her deceased husband, a physician, saying, “He would save someone’s life so that Bernie Madoff could buy his wife another Cartier watch.”

Michael Schwartz, 33, wept as he described the modest, now-obliterated family trust fund set up to care for his mentally disabled brother. “I only hope that his sentence is long enough so that his jail cell will become his coffin,” Schwartz said of Madoff.

With her blonde ringlet curls, yellow halter sundress, and breathy voice balanced on the brink of tears, victim Sharon Lissaur cut the most visually striking figure in the room. In statements uttered barely above a whisper, she pleaded with Madoff. “I was always so careful with my money,” she said, describing how she funneled her life savings from her modeling career into Madoff’s fund. “I’m not asking him; I’m begging him, if he has my money in any offshore accounts that he give it back.” Before she sat down, Lissaur added: “He killed my spirit and shattered my dreams. He killed my trust in people.”

When the victims finished, Madoff’s defense lawyer, Ira Lee Sorkin (whose parents actually lost $900,000 with Madoff, presented his statement to the judge. Perhaps the most unsympathetic character in the room besides Madoff, Sorkin’s plea for leniency (he requested twelve years, just below what he calculated as Madoff’s life expectancy) included arguments that appeared to incense the victims. "There is no doubt that we represent a deeply flawed individual, but we represent a human being. He's not a statistic or a number." Sorkin continued: "The magnificence of our legal system is that we do not seek an eye for an eye." With that, Sorkin drew some grumbling from the victims' corner. But the real jeers and scoffs came with his closing sentences, when he spoke of "the extent that the government has left [Madoff] and his wife in poverty." This appeared to do little to ingratiate him to people like Marian Siegman, who had just spoken of her reliance on food stamps and dumpster scavenging as a result of her financial losses. Sorkin repeated his request for a twelve-year sentence, saying, "There is no question that this case has taken an enormous toll on Mr. Madoff and his family but on the victims as well."

Finally, the man of the hour. Madoff rose, still facing Judge Chin, with his back to the seating area, and delivered what constituted his defense. “I cannot offer you an excuse for my behavior,” he told Chin. “I live in a tormented state now, knowing the pain and suffering I’ve caused … Apologizing and saying I’m sorry — that’s not enough. There’s nothing I can say to correct the things I’ve done.” But Madoff did, for the first time, apologize to his victims publicly and face-to-face. Turning away from Chin to look at the rows of investors behind him, he said “I’m sorry, but I know that doesn’t help you.”

After federal prosecutors repeated their request for the maximum sentence of 150 years, saying that a 12-year sentence would be more appropriate for a “garden-variety fraud case,” Chin began his statement. “Despite all of the emotion in the air, I do not agree that victims or others are seeking mob vengeance,” Chin said. “Objectively speaking, the fraud here was staggering.”

He continued, scolding the defendant before him. “I simply do not get the sense that Mr. Madoff has done all that he could or told all that he knows,” he said, responding to Sorkin’s reasoning that Madoff had been complicit in aiding investigators after he came forward with his crime. Chin also noted that, while he expected to receive the thousands of letters damning Madoff for his sins, he also anticipated letters in defense of Madoff from his family. He received none. “Not a single letter has attested to your good deeds or charitable activities. And that silence is telling.”

Chin went on to detail his three-fold argument for doling out a sentence that would prove largely symbolic, above and beyond what Madoff would reasonably expect to carry out, given his age. And then the verdict: 150 years, the announcement of which caused whoops and cheers in the courtroom.

The prison where Madoff will carry out his sentence has not yet been determined, though Chin said he would recommend imprisonment within the Northeast.

As Madoff’s victims filed out and prepared to congregate for a rally in Foley Square, the largest Ponzi schemer in history stepped out from behind the slick courtroom table, walking his last few steps in in the custom-made suit they helped purchase.

Crazy Talk

2009-06-28T07:48:00.000-07:00

This is a piece from our creative writing group exercise re-done and edited. I still don't LOVE it. But I can live with it. (Update: Edited, but I'm still not happy)

Sometimes he felt like a gerbil, running around and around on his wheel in a crazed state of mind. Getting nowhere in life seemed to come naturally to him, stuck in a dead-end unenviable job as a mid-priced car salesman and still living in his parents house was not part of his ten-year plan. Neither was it how he had thought he would have ended up after he had graduated from one of the top law schools in the country.

The girlfriend front was not looking fantastic either. The woman his mother had set him up with had refused to return his calls. He could barely believe the circumstances. His mother had to set him up, and why not too. All that was left of him was his dwindling bank account, the little fringe around his ears, and that hated job which gave him the appearance of a slimeball. Attractive, intelligent and sexy, the kind of woman he used to date during his glory days, could be forgotten. That woman loved men with large titles, larger stock portfolios, and even larger...

"Neil, focus," his psychiatrist's voice cut through his pondering.

"Doc, what can I say? I imagine I'm floating in a sea of sharks." His shrink sighed and scribbled on his paper once again. Neil glanced at all his impressive degrees on the wall behind him. "Maybe he knew a guy who made these for fun," he thought to himself. He could get a couple for himself, and also one that said, "Neil Symonds, New Man". That would do wonders for his self-esteem.

"Neil Neil Neil, what have I said about metaphors? Let's just stick to specifics, shall we?" said the psychiatrist, removing his thick dark-framed glasses and rubbing his tired eyes. Neil was a difficult patient. Their sessions were filled with arguments and intense dramatic dialogues. The wise doctor played along, he knew it gave Neil the impression of the courtroom.

"Okay..." Neil slapped his thighs and sat upright. He tried to focus on the doctor's thick moustache, but its stiff brush-like appearance made him laugh, and he let out a snort.

"Neil!"

"Yes Doc. My life is going nowhere. I still live at home. I am younger than you but you have more hair on your upper lip than I have on my entire head. The last date I had refuses to return my calls and she ranked a 2/10. How the hell do you think I feel?"

"I think we spoke about the 'Fuck-O-Meter', Neil," he reprimanded sternly. Then his face softened. "Neil, talk to me."

"Jeez doc, you're starting to sound like my mother," he remarked with a smirk. Neil swung his legs over the sofa's edge and sat up. He looked at his psychiatrist straight.

"You have been happily married to an ex-news anchor for twenty-seven years, doc. Your kid is in Yale Law and you make a $150 an hour. You don't fucking care, mate."

The doctor was not willing to concede defeat. "Neil, you love soccer, don't you? Look at life as a game. You're the player and the ball is yours. You have the choice to take it right, left, forwards, backwards, or even pass it on to another player. Now until you are in possession of that ball, which I assume you still are at this point in your life, imagine that you need to obey the rules to reach the goalpost. That goalpost signifies every goal you want to set for yourself in the short and long term. The rules of the game signify the discipline you will need to enforce upon yourself in your life and the commitment to follow through. Now Neil, if you break any of these rules, you will get a yellow card or even a red card, which means you will have to start all over again. You follow?"

Neil looked vacantly out the window, mute. He knew what starting all over meant. Like the time Fiona had left him and taken half his life. Or the time he had lost his job together with his law license at Miller-Helms-Dunn.

If some bastard told him to start over again, he would jump off the goddamned building.

He looked at the doctor and smiled, "Sure."

Hair

2009-06-27T22:31:00.000-07:00

One hour into my 4 hour hair appointment.

All I do is keep telling myself, 'It's worth it, it's worth it, it's worth it.'

I still wonder how come I don't land enough dates from all my efforts.

Update: hour 2 is up!

Update: hour 3 is up!

Sniffly Cabbies

2009-06-27T21:26:00.000-07:00

Dear Singaporean Taxi Companies,

Please monitor your taxi drivers like the government monitors the media.

This afternoon, I had the unfortunate privilege of taking a taxi with a very snotty and sniffly taxi driver.

I do not intend to imply that he is infected with any swine/bird/cow/insect related flu but I do fear for my health.

Also he kept touching his drippy nose. Ew.

You probably will ignore this complaint anyway considering your service has deteriorated despite the various technical upgrades you try to add to the taxis.

Thanks anyway.

Disgusted and grossed out,
K

The Bully (contd. from the post titled Rain)

2009-06-27T03:20:00.000-07:00

I could not believe I was intimidated by the big hulking bully who lived next door. Billy the Bully, as he had been aptly nicknamed by all the smaller kids on the block, gorged eternally on marshmallows, puddings, fried chicken and anything his grubby hands could contain. I was surprised that he had not resorted to cannibalism yet. Dressed permanently in a pair of secondhand breeches and an unwashed singlet, I cowered miserably under his dominating stare. I was the poor and unfortunate brown kid he picked on the most.

It was raining cats and dogs the day my mother and I landed in our rattling aircraft in Chicago. It was 1990 and I remember being five years old. I peered out of the grimy window get a glimpse of what the “American Dream” was supposed to look like. It looked wet and unattractive.

We got off the plane at Chicago International Airport, collected our bags and met my father there. He had arrived there four months earlier to start work and set up our home. His handsome face looked haggard with newly formed dark circles.

“You look thin,” was the first thing my mother remarked when she saw him. They hugged. He threw me up in the air and I laughed. I loved it when he did that.

“Let’s go, our new house is waiting.” We followed him to the subway, bag and baggage. My father bought us subway tickets to last the week and I watched as he ran his fingers over the worn out notes twice over. With a sigh, he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. I hugged his leg. He ran his hand through my hair and said, “Everything will be okay, son.”

The subway was filled with faceless people – black, white, brown, yellow – staring ahead from within their big windcheaters. I held on tight to my mother’s coat. Two hours later, exhausted and panting, we reached our housing block ironically named Castle Hills.

I looked up at the dilapidated and graying apartment building unwillingly. Memories of our home in India came flooding back. I dropped my mother’s hand and made a mad dash to see how far my little five-year old legs could take me.

My parents caught up with me. My mother slapped, cajoled and hugged me.“What is wrong with you, ha?” She shook me by my arms. I ;looked at the grounds and refused to speak. We trudged back to our house as the thunderclouds rumbled above us. It was as if they were applauding our arrival to our Diaspora.

As the months passed by, I began to assimilate with my surroundings. I realized very soon that our neighbors were of the strange sort - the Wyndham couple, who lived right below us, put all sorts of strange things in all the brownies to they offered to little children under the pretext of being friendly. Then there was Groucho Mark (as he had been nicknamed) who was grouchy only because all of his five children whom he had put through college had left him alone to fend for himself. Of course, there was my arch enemy, the Goliath to every David - Billy the Bully.

The first day of school during recess, I found myself face down in a puddle of rainwater. I had been pushed. I gathered myself and my leftover courage and turned around to face the bully. It was none other than Billy with a casual smirk on his dirty face. One look, and I ran as far as I could until the playground fence. I turned around to see if the bully followed me, but instead I saw the whole playground watching the scene with a curious fascination.

My chubby fingers grabbed the wire fence and I brought one leg up on it to start climbing, when I felt a warm trickle in my shorts. The playground erupted in laughter. I strained my neck to look up to the sky wishing it would send a flight of birds to swoop down, pick me up and whisk me back into my mother's arms. Instead I felt a drop on my cheek. A slight drizzle had begun. It shrouded my embarrassment and the playground in a fine layer. I stood there in my wet shorts and glum face gazing into the classrooms at my fate. I knew it was not kind.

Part II

"Urinator! Happy Birthday!" Screamed Lars Bennett from the doorway. My ears burned with shame at the nickname; it had stuck since that fateful day at the playground. I had run home crying to my mother and she had rocked me in her arms while I sobbed.

I turned to see Lars holding a small wrapped birthday gift. At least he had gotten me a present. Lars calling me a Urinator was ironic, especially since he sported a sixth digit. Tired of being incessantly teased by the bullies for his sixth phalange, he focused all his attention on the new boy - me. I had worked out very nicely for him.

It was my sixth birthday party and my parents had arranged a cake, balloons and let me invite ten of my friends. I was wearing a clean white shirt, new shorts, and my hair had been oiled and parted. My mothe had cooked Indian food, a luxury in our project, since supplies were expensive. I felt brand new.

The party was a swinging success. The candles of the cake lit up the dark and dingy apartment. My father hopped around the room with a disposable Kodak camera taking photographs at every opportunity. Creamy slices of cake were handed out and gobbled up in seconds. I smiled all evening.

After everyone had left, I helped my parents to clean the house. Bits of cracker and cake, gift wrappers, - out of which I had acquired two books, a fake astronomy set, some new clay, and marvelous color pens - paper cups and plates, all were tossed into a garbage bag. We huffed and puffed everything down the stairs, past the back gate and into the main rubbish pile. I hated the pile. It smelled of rotting meat and diseased vegetables.

My favorite part of the evening was the bedtime story. I snuggled up to my mother in our tiny bedroom surrounded by peeling walls. She began.

"There was once a little boy who was born in Uttar Pradesh, when the British still ruled India and did many unkind and unjust things. He was good, kind, helpful and loving, everything the British were not. He did everything his mother and father told him to do. He worked very hard in school because he realized that good grades were very important." She nodded at me sternly at the last sentence. I nodded back understandingly.

"Let's continue. So this brave boy grew up to be a strong virtuous young man. At the age of twenty-two, he told his mother, "Mother, I want to be a soldier for the East India Company."" She mimicked the young man letting out a low masculine voice and made me giggle.

"His mother was devastated, as was his father. But back in the day, good money was to be made by joining the East India Company. So off he went to Barrackpore in Calcutta with his regiment, his uniform, and his big shiny gun, looking smart and good.

One day our brave son heard a strange rumor from his friend. Our heroes in the East India Company used to bite off caps of cartridges before they could use the gunpowder inside..." she did a biting action to demonstrate.

"...and somebody told him that these cartridges were made of pigs and cows! Can you tell me what's wrong with that?"

"I dunno." I really did not know. I ate everything.

The East India Company's soldiers or as they were commonly known in those days - Sepoys - were mostly from Brahmin families. We are Brahmins too. Brahmins are religious people and worship the cow. Our young man was incensed at the thought of treating something so sacred in such a horrific manner."

My eyes widened. So was I.

"So the Sepoys asked the British very nicely if they could change the ingredients. The Commander-in-Chief at that time was General George Anson and he was an angry man indeed. Said he, "I will never give in to their beastly prejudices!"" She waved her fist mimicking the angry General Anson.

This made our soldier very upset indeed. So one day he did the unthinkable. Armed with a loaded musket, he threatened to shoot the first European he saw. When Lieutenant Baugh, one of the evil British men in the East India Company heard of this, he got on his big horse with his pistols and a giant sword, and galloped to where our brave young man stood.

A raging battle ensued between the two men! Oh how our hero fought! With a final aim of his gun he finished Lieutenant Baugh. But soon he was under siege from more officers, but he kept fighting and fighting until he could fight no more. One General Hearsey finally shot him in the chest wounding him." She closed her eyes with her hand on her chest.

"And then what happened?"

"Well the British were very unhappy about what had happened. They decided he should be punished and brought him to trial. During the trial they accused him of crimes against the British government when really he was standing up for his country and his honor. He was sentenced to death by hanging, but he died a martyr and a proud man!" She concluded with finality. I was devastated.

"But he was a hero, he fought for what was right. He stood up for his heritage, his legacy and more importantly, himself."

"What was his name?" I asked.

"Mangal Pandey," she said with a smile.

"Just like mine! My name is Mangal too!" I quipped.

"Yes darling, now goodnight and I hope you remember what I taught you today. Happy Birthday, " she gave me one last birthday kiss and turned off the lights.

I woke up the next morning to discover a slight pitter patter of rain. I recalled my mother's tale of heroism and sacrifice. I walked into the tiny balcony and stepped into the drizzle. It had been drizzling for weeks, but there had been no sign of real rain. I felt the raindrops land on my face and I smiled. I reached up to feel them on my arms and embrace their wetness.

The next day I walked onto the playground aware of my surroundings. Bullying had become part of my life, but Mangal Pandey's story had instilled new inspiration in me. Billy the Bully had previously "banned" me from the playground so I ate all my lunches in the cafeteria and whiled away the rest of my time in the school's ramshackle library - a once kind donation from the local business community but now a neglected site. As I sat on the bench coloring in a book with my new markers, he sauntered up to me.

In seconds, I saw my brand new birthday markers go flying into the sandbox. The playground had gone very silent. I held my ground and willed the tears not to come. He pushed my right shoulder, then my left. I finally stood up to face him. I noticed that he was a good head taller than me. His eyes were narrowed into small slits, his nose was runny and dirty, his mouth thin and cruel, and his chubby face was covered in biscuit crumbs.

With my heart beating wildly, I edged away from the bench towards the sandbox and started picking up my markers one by one, when I felt the familiar push from behind. I fell head first into the sand and swallowed a mouthful. That was the last straw. I was no longer just Mangal of Castle Hills, but I was Mangal Pandey of the Barrackpore 34th BNI Regiment, and Billy was a pasty-faced Lieutenant Baugh. An explosion of anger shot through me and I rammed my head in Billy's stomach. He doubled over in genuine pain, but I was not finished with him.

They say the pencil is mightier than the sword, and in my hand was a red marker. I drew it like Mangal Pandey would have drawn his sword and attacked Billy with full force, leaving red marks all over his clean white shirt and blue shorts. In too much pain from the force I had rammed him with, Billy lay on the ground grabbing his stomach while I drew crooked lines all over him.

Every child present watched with mad fascination until Mrs. Shreve, the principal, came running out hearing his screams. I was caught, literally red-handed. Mrs. Shreve dragged me by my ear to her office muttering under hear breath but I was too happy to care. My mother was summoned and informed that I was indeed a disappointment. I was "sentenced" to a five-day suspension and twent-hours of community service. I smiled throughout my "hearing".

That evening the real rains began.

Engrish

2009-06-27T00:31:00.000-07:00

Found on a tissue paper packet. Those dogs look more sleepy than stupid.

Will Argue for Donuts

2009-06-25T18:13:00.000-07:00

So I got talking to Professor Wadsworth, whose knowledge seems to supersede any Discovery Travel and Living show host when it comes to food. The discussion, for some reason, turned to donuts and I was saying how excited I was that Dunkin Donuts is coming back to Singapore. So he disagreed and said well, obviously I had gotten it all wrong and came up with this special "Hierarchy of Donuts" (if you are a communication student, you'll get the joke. If not, look up Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs).

Goes the conversation:

TW: Eh, dunkin donuts isn't that good.

Me: They're definitely better than krispy kreme. They are wayyy too much for me.

TW: Oh no!

Me: I think Dunkin Donuts put in just the right amount of sugar and chocolate in their double chocolate donuts.

TW: You have your donut hierarchy way screwed up. See it goes like this.

1. Local Bakery Donuts
2. Grocery Store Donuts
3. Krispy Kreme Donuts
4. Dunkin Donuts

Me: Hahahahha!

TW: 5. Gas Station Donuts

Me: wtf

TW: 6. Boxed Donuts

Me: Where did you get this?

TW: I have always maintained this notion from my great and knowledgeable experience with donuts.

Me: How many donuts have you consumed to formulate this complex theory?

TW: A lot.

Me: I'll bet.

Liz Gilbert and Amy Tan on Creativity

2009-06-25T04:56:00.000-07:00

Elizabeth Gilbert on and Amy Tan on Creativity. Been wanting to read Eat. Pray. Love. almost forever!

Catch 22

2009-06-25T03:12:00.000-07:00

Sort of how I'm feeling right now.

And also what I'm reading.

Book Cafe

2009-06-24T07:05:00.000-07:00

Found a photo from Streetdirectory.com.

Cute book cafe

2009-06-24T04:18:00.000-07:00

Sitting in a delightful place called Book Cafe. They are as 'book' as book can get with shelves of books and magazines placed around the cafe.
They also probably feature the most versatile and interesting menu I have ever seen.

Trying their honey lemon mixture and waiting for my vegetable consomme, which seems to be taking an awful long time though. Love that they have organic!

Wish I could take a photo of this place without freaking the waitresses out, especially the one hovering near my table all the time.

Rain

2009-06-23T23:50:00.000-07:00

I'm writing, or at least trying to write a short short story with the running theme of "Rain" (note that I have aptly titled it Rain due to the lack of creativity), and this is what I have written so far.
The basic idea of the story operates on a flashback and then back to the present, highlighting how rain has been present in all the symbolic and incidental moments of this little boy's life. A little cliched? Shoot me.
It is written from the perspective of this little boy and how he struggles with moving to a foreign country, adapting to a different culture, and his main concern - overcoming the bullies.
It is supposed to be a simple and relatable story, I just have to figure out how to finish it =(.

I could not believe I was intimidated by the big hulking bully who lived next door. Billy the Hulk, as he had been aptly nicknamed by all the smaller kids on the block, gorged eternally on marshmallows, puddings, fried chicken and anything his grubby hands could contain. I was surprised that he had not resorted to cannibalism yet. Dressed permanently in a pair of secondhand breeches and an unwashed singlet, I cowered miserably under his dominating stare.

I was the poor and unfortunate brown kid he picked on the most. It was raining cats and dogs the day my mother and I landed in our rattling aircraft in the state of Texas. It was 1989 and I remember being four years old, and peering out of the grimy window get a glimpse of what the “American Dream” was supposed to look like. It looked wet and unattractive.

We got off the plane at San Antonio International Airport, collected our bags and met my father there. He had arrived there a month earlier to set up our home. His handsome face looked haggard with newly formed dark circles.

“You look thin,” was the first thing my mother remarked when she saw him. They hugged. He threw me up in the air and I laughed. I loved it when he did that.

“Let’s go, our new house is waiting.” We followed him to the subway, bag and baggage. My father bought us subway tickets to last the week and I watched as he anxiously ran his fingers over the worn out notes twice over. With a sigh, he tucked his wallet back into his pocket. I realized something was bothering him, and to make him feel better, I tried to show it by hugging his leg. He ran his hand through my hair and said, “Everything will be okay, son.” I just knew it would be okay.

The subway was filled with faceless people – black, white, brown, yellow – staring ahead from within their big windcheaters. I held on tight to my mother’s coat. Two hours later, exhausted and panting, we reached our housing block ironically named Castle Hills.

I looked up at the dilapidated and graying apartment building unwillingly. Memories of our home in India came flooding back. I dropped my mother’s hand and made a mad dash to see how far my little four- year old legs could take me.

My parents caught up with me. My mother slapped, cajoled and hugged me.“What is wrong with you, ha?” She shook me by my arms. I refused to speak.

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2009-06-23T21:22:00.000-07:00

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