Forgetting the reality checks

Sometimes I get chills reading the title of this blog. Still thinking. Stiiiilllll thhiiinnnkiiinggg. I wonder sometimes what is keeping my mind still thinking, or if my mind has reached a certain stillness that none of your demons can talk you out of something. Either way its a mystery. Either way, I like it.

So that Palin lady has been keeping me glued to CNN in my moments of forgetfulness. It is indeed Ramadan and the US Presidential Elections should not be a must-watch.

I remember feeling incredibly insulted when McCain announced Palin as his VP candidate, because it was a transparent move for the Republicans to charm Hillary’s supporters. How dare he thought that women will vote for him just because he has a woman on his ticket. I would vote for a woman because she IS capable, thank you, and not because she has a uterus. And as my mind ramble and co-analyse the politics with the oh-so-overkilled panel on CNN, I realise that indeed…I am not American. I can influence my American friends on who to vote, but alas I am not the one casting the ballot. Talk abt a case of tak sedar diri. Reality check #1.

This past weeks I have been connecting with old school friends, one of whom is in Vancouver and I haven’t seen for at least 16 yrs. It was a blast…and the chain of hooking up with old friends began from there. One of them was raving and raving on how he admire how much my supposed cool factor (if it ever exist!) went many notches up in his books after he found out the places I have travelled to, often alone. And just when I was about to believe him, I found out that he was piloting the rescue helicopter for RSAF – evacuating Katrina victims. Hahahah serves me right. I think it is pretty obvious WHO the cooler dude/dudette is here.Reality check #2. I am so proud of him. (I still cannot believe we used to perform a dance to Debbie Gibson’s Electric Youth on stage in school. Totally oh-biang)

There are a few deadlines to rush these next few days. I know there will be moments I’d forget to retreat internally in between the hassles. To be in a place where there is absolute calmness for worship.

Note to self: Keep thinking, but keep still.

Dancing Matt

The baby in DH’s office just twittered that he just danced with Matt today. He is at a conference in Seattle, which DH did not go to.

I wonder if DH would dance with Matt if he was there.
I know I would !!

( I still tear up watching this. Such simple manifestation of how much we all have in common as humans. Peace, joy and humanity. Good on ya, Matt! )

Where the Hell is Matt? (2008) from Matthew Harding on Vimeo.

Song: Praan
Sung By: Palbasha Siddique
Music By: Gary Schyman
Lyrics from:Rabindranath Tagore’s Poem of the same title (translation below)

The same stream of life that runs through my veins night and day runs through the world and dances in rhythmic measures.

It is the same life that shoots in joy through the dust of the earth in numberless blades of grass and breaks into tumultuous waves of leaves and flowers.

It is the same life that is rocked in the ocean-cradle of birth and of death, in ebb and in flow.

I feel my limbs are made glorious by the touch of this world of life. And my pride is from the life-throb of ages dancing in my blood this moment.

The mis-Intuition of Intuit

Intuit did it again. Yes, that giant accounting software company. While their product has served me well, every year their departments never fail to provide a farce for me. Last year, it was the call centre people, this year – it is the marketing flock. Here’s what happen.

I am currently paying a subscription of about $37 a month for their accounting and payroll product. That totals to about $400 a year. The accounting software industry works by yearly renewal. Every year, you have to purchase their new version because of annual changes in tax tables. So this year, I am using the 2008 version – next year in Jan, I have to subscribe to the 2009 version etc.

Then yesterday, an Intuit marketing guy called and enthusiastically offered a ‘great deal’ where if I subscribe to another product – the Support Plan (basically, thats a Help function call centre) for $19 a month, I will get the 2009 version FREE. Now any basic logic will ring these numbers for you – the fact that I will save $400 next year since the 2009 version is ‘free’. I asked him what he meant, and he said…’You will get the 2009 version FREE’.

Then my ‘editing tyrant’ self (this is a name that DH endowed me with. He thinks I am an editing tyrant during post-production. NOT ! (nb to WanSan: stop smirking) decided to ‘edit’ what the guy just said 🙂 I asked him how much will I be paying next year in Jan 2009 – and he said, “Oh mam, as I mentioned you will get the 2009 version FREE. You will be paying $37 + $19 a month.”

Hello?!! Did you just say what you said??! I asked him the question again, and like a true marketing robot who memorised product briefings and sales scripts religiously without making sense in their own heads, he repeated the same lines. Now at this point I was so tempted to say no thanks and hang up. But I didn’t. There was something youthful in the guy’s voice, and my sisterly instinct kicked in. I NEEDED to tell him what was wrong with the briefings he has been given. Blame it on my kepo instinct too.

I told him, if I don’t subscribe to the new product he is selling – I will be paying $400 next year for my 2009 version ($37 x 12). If I subscribe to the new product, I will be paying, and I am quoting him -($37 + $19) x 12. Thats $672 for me to get a 2009 version AND the so-called Support Plan. In other words, I will still be paying for my 2009 version. So how could they say the 2009 version is FREE?

The guy was silent for a few moments. And then harriedly offered to email me the Terms and Conditions, ‘so you can understand the offer better’. He did email me , and I read it. And trust me, it was full of marketing smoke.

So here’s what I don’t understand. Intuit sells accounting software. They jolly-well know that people who used their products are basically, those who analyse and breathe costs. So hiring marketing goons to craft such marketing goofs, is a joke and errr…not very smart.

Surely they can afford to hire marketing pros who can smoke better? Grrrr.

Protecting The Treasures

Today is the day that I killed. ALL of them…and I spared no one.
I didn’t know I had a ruthless energy in me. It was wicked. I didn’t even bat an eyelid or think twice about the mass murder. In fact, I couldn’t wait for my online language class to end just so that I could start the deed. While a classmate of mine, halfway across the world, was busy reading out answers to an exercise, my eyes were fixed on the plants just outside my window. “I’ll KILL you. ALL of you!”, I chanted.

Those damn Aphids. And in between, I discover Spider Mites too. They have been infesting Tomajoyah Momok and also the miniature rose bushes that Mak planted while she was here. And slowly, the Aphids have made their way to the purple Petunias and the Gerbera Daisies too. There were so many of them…small, tiny and green. So it took a lot of squinting for me to see them.

So I finally bought my bottle of insecticide yesterday and read the instructions diligently. It says the best time to kill the pests is in the early morning. What ?? I had to wait ?? Man, I feel like dousing the plants with it there and then. Better still, soak the entire plant in the insecticide.

You see…I am VERY protective of Tomajoyah Momok now that it is the ONLY tomato plant that hasn’t been a victim to any accidents. Fazimato has its head chopped off…so she had lost a few potential fruits. She is only bearing a grand total of FOUR yellow LemonBoy tomatoes now.

TomatoMinah Zanne, the Cherry tomato, is now regrowing and slowly building its repertoire. It had a bumper crop before the wind toppled its pot on one freaky-Vancouver-weather day and broke all the stems into pieces . All of its bumper crop (except for 2) were sacrificed.

So whats left ‘original’ is the Beefsteak tomato variety that is Tomajoyah Momok.

Last week, when I first saw the Aphids crawling on it mercilessly, I was soooooo mad like a mother hen would when she sees a fox approacing her chicks! I was determined to scare the Aphids away…and I saw a ladybug too making its way into the plants. Since the ladybug feeds on the Aphids…I thought fine, nature will take care of things.

Then one fine morning, Busu walked into my room and proudly proclaimed,” Ah Uja…Busu dah bunuh dah kumbang tu!” (translate: Uja, I have killed that ladybug for you). I was dumbfounded. There goes my natural-born killer of Aphids.

And so I researched and comtemplated between buying some ladybugs from the nursery, or getting me some insecticide and spray them all. No doubt, and I am not proud of it, my impatience dictated the latter. I couldn’t just wait to see Tomajoyah Momok destroyed. I didn’t want to wait for the ladybugs to do its thing. They are not exactly fast either. I think I see them staying still more than they move. I NEED at least ONE of my tomato plants to flourish in its original state. And so the killing began this morning.

Good riddance, Aphids. See you no more.

They went up a glacier

Yes they did. And crossed a mountain’s twin peak with little huff and puff.

All of the more than 70 years of hard work, pulling through tough times, raising a total of 10 kids and many more trials – manifested majestically when they decided to trough the twin peaks of Mount Sulphur and ride the snowcoach just so they can walk on Athabasca Glacier. Both are in the Canadian Rockies.

I have been to both the glacier and the mountain a few times, but was never drawn to go up to the glacier nor walk the hundreds of steps to cross the two peaks. I am happy to be at the foot of the glacier, thank you, camera in hand. I am well-geared with Sordel snowboots and all, but no, no mountain or glacier will make me walk up, or down, or any way you want me to. I’ll roll my body on the ice at the foot of the glacier voluntarily (which I did last year!) but not to go up to its middle peak.

But, alas, the neneks did it. Mak and Busu showed me, in style, what azam means. They didn’t bat an eyelid about taking the snowcoach up the very glacier that sits on the massive Columbia Icefield, feeding 3 oceans! And they didn’t show a single strand of wanting to turn back when the steps crossing the twin peaks were becoming more and more treacherous, and tough on the breathing. Oh the embarassment for me!
All in all, you can tell they had an ahem…adventurous stay in their one-month in Canada.

Speaking of which, my Tomato Project faced a tough challenge half way through their stay. One of the plants, whom I named Tomato MInah Zanne fell from the ledge due to high winds and its long stems broke into many pieces! I nearly cried when I saw it because the plant was already yielding a lot of tiny fruits. I was also speechless as to how I will tell the story to my friend, NS, whom the plant was named after. To make it matters worse, the plant fell on top of another tomato plant, the Fazimato. The hit was so hard that Fazimato’s head was literally chopped off.

So as I as picking up the broken tomato stems and putting them into the garbage bag, Mak insisted that replant a few of the stems into a new pot. One of them has 2 small fruits on it, ‘Cucuk ajer…baca Bismillah. Insya’allah dia bertunas balik..” She must have seen the sadness in my eyes as the tomato project was one way I wanted to impress her initially with.

Two weeks passed, and the botak stems were showing signs of life. Small leaves sprouted and I watched in amazement how TomatoMinah Zanne literally came back from the dead!

And here’s the treat. The 2 fruits that were left on one the stem ripened just in time on the very day Mak and Busu were due to leave for Singapore. They picked it, and ate it.
And my entire Tomato Project came to a sweet close.

Someone else’s language

There is something energetic about sitting for class at 6 am in the morning, 2 days a week. A tutor with a crisp English accent,a lecturer who is so systematic and gentle and classmates who are ever-so-cheerful, regardless of what the time is wherever they are. Other than our Tafsir classes at Zawiyah Foundation, this new one is something I look forward to as well.

Learning another language is a challenge at this age – and this particular language that DH and I are learning at Sunnipath Academy has almost reverse rules to Malay and English. But we are determined, so we’ll see how far we can go. I have been very impressed with the quality of the teachers and how the academy is run. You should really check it out.

Talking about someone else’s language, have you ever thought that the voices talking to you in your head is a language that needs to be broken down and tamed? I recently came to this, thanks to trying to live a life of ‘spending the day in syukr (gratefulness) and spending your nights in dzikr (rememberence)‘. We were taught recently that God has made set out the purpose of life so simply and eloquently, but it is us who confuse it with our wants and our nafs (desires).

Which brings me to the point that our nafs is a language on its own. I have been trying to tame it – and my first stop is the pumping music in the car. It is hard to be in the state of syukr and gratefulness while you are driving, when there your heart is singing to the melody of the song instead of being still. I need to be still internally to reflect and consequently, be thankful.But when my heart is singing away….it is simply a noisy heart. My nafs want to listen to music almost in an instant when I get into the car, and when I do hear it – it literally feels good. That’s years of my nafs training ME that music soothes my soul. How on earth did my nafs rule over my own state of stillness, which is our best state? Freaking scary.

I am trying to reverse that, simply because I want to be still. It is uncanny that this blog was named Still Thinking even before I acquire this knowledge about the importance of having stillness in your heart. At that time, I wanted to play with the paradox of me still thinking about things around me and reflecting, and the state of not moving your thoughts beyond what is already there.

Back to training the nafs. So out of this little internal jihad, I had to psychoanalyse and break down HOW my nafs speak to me. You have to know the enemy, kan? Man, did I discover what a language it is! I had spent 30 over years of my life helping it to develop its own language. It does not speak to me, it SHOUTS. It sounds more familiar than my own mother tongue.

So now, to manage it (just like the new language I am learning at Sunnipath) I have to break down the language so I can manage it. I literally had to re-program the level of noise it creates, and that is a challenge.

I know I am talking metaphysics here…..but I think most of us have been giving our nafs too much room to develop :), to the point that it is its own language in our psyche. I just want to share what I discovered. Try sitting still and not have music, visual stimulus around you. Better still, face a wall and try to be quiet and be completely still inside. Then listen to what your heart is talking/thinking about – you’ll have an idea of how ‘noisy’ your heart is cause your nafs are too busy having a party, shouting and screaming away.

Food for thought, eh?

I have lost my cool-factor

And so the garden project has been on for the past 3 weeks…and the tomato plants were growing spendidly. I checked for flowers and new shoots every morning, like a mother hen looking for worms. Yikes. Very obsessive, this gardening thing.

Our bedroom window opens to the balcony, and my daily routine now has been somewhat pathetic. Instead of heading straight to the washroom when I get out of bed, I flip the blinds to see if the plants in the balcony are errr…ok. I will look and look for a good 5 minutes, squinting my eyes. I am sure DH felt like saying, “Don’t worry, your plants are still there!” repeatedly…but he wouldn’t want to sound like a broken record because I will still peep out of the balcony anyway.

I now know about plants, flowers, container gardening, pinching tomato suckers and deadheading flowers more than I ever did in my entire life. I was beginning to feel like an old lady, until an ex-schoolmate who is now living in the UK – talks abt her obsession with pinching and poking her plants every morning too. We both agreed that gardening has spiralled our cool-factor 2 notches down. Sad state.

Anyway, there is a really gorgeous Siamese twin gerbera daisy growing in one of my pots. Very sweet…as the lower bloom is constantly fighting for sun-exposure with the upper bloom . She is often sad, and her petals droop often. Kesian. I’d really love to help her get as much sun as her older twin…but I don’t know how to do that without having to conduct surgery and break their enjoined hips apart.

Smokey is enjoying the balcony garden very much, and often kepo around the pots and do her smell-check. We grew a small pan of cat-grass for her…and she loves it. The things I do for the cats…sigh.

I really hope my Tomato Project bears fruit (lame, lame pun). Serious. My Singaporean kiasu side decided to have it all – I have 3 varieties of tomatoes planted, Cherry tomatoes, Beefsteak tomatoes (huge, round ones) and Lemon Boy tomatoes (yellow, round tomatoes). I named the Lemon Boy tomato plant ‘Fazimato’ – after Fazi, my oldest friend from childhood. We used to live in the same kampung. I planted the Lemon Boy on her birthday, May 21st. Since I didn’t get her anything for her birthday, I called her in SG and announced I am naming a tomato plant I am planting that day after her. Only childhood friends can get away with weird gifts like that.
I wonder how many more plants I have to name.

All these after an initial strategy to impress Mak and Busu when they are here. Talk about over-doing it !

The Tomato Project

I should really update, before I get flogged by the village-idiots.

Now that the Canucks are out of the Playoffs, my life has settled quite a bit – with an occassional (*correction* – make that every 2 days ) fix of hockey, cheering for other teams. I have made a vow NOT to talk about hockey during meetings, or even allow other associates to bring it up. I tend to get distracted, and those meetings will go off-tangent for a good 10 minutes. Everyone in Canada it seems, knows a thing or two about how to run a hockey team. In everyone’s fantasy, they SHOULD be the General Manager of some hockey franchise, well, somewhere.

We have moved recently. A week to be exact. We are enjoying this new place very much. though boxes still abound around the house, but we’ll get to it. My mum and Busu are coming in July – so I am looking forward to that. I have been planning a list of to-dos while they are here and I realise it IS a tad challenging. I need to charm mak – because I want her to be go home convinced that Canada is not-too-bad. She does not have an impression on Canada, so this first visit will be the benchmark. Other than the sea, the mountains, the rivers and the gorgeous wildlife that I know she will love, what else can I do to make her WANT to spend time here as an annual affair?

So I came up with an idea. It HAS to be something that my sister’s lovely house in JB cannot compete with (hah, she will probably be shaking her head when she read this!). I know mak has been planting stuff in a little plot in my sister’s garden…but I bet she did not get to plant….*drum roll*…. TOMATOES!

Oh my brilliant mind ! How I love thee! I am so determined to make the tomato planting work its charm on Mak (and Busu!) that I have been spending time reading about it. Growing tomato plants in the balcony in Vancouver is not impossible it seems – and you can get an abundant harvest most times. You can also accompany your planters with salad leaves, cucumbers and many other vegetables in your mini-balcony garden. I bet you can throw in a chicken or two in there.

Now the problem is – I am ZERO-skilled at planting. I don’t have green fingers – just brown ones. My not-so-brilliant mind in gardening obviously needs help from the experts, and I think I may have to call up Dr N’s help on this. Her parents have not only SUPERgreen fingers, they have them in BRIGHT LIME green! I remember how I gushed over their vegetable garden in their huge backyard. So lush, and so productive!

So let’s see if this tomato project becomes a reality. You know it is successful when mak wants to come visit again NEXT summer saying “Aku nak pergi rumah Uja lah. Boleh petik tomato.”

That would be awesome.Even when it means I am competing for mak’s attention with a red, round fruit.

Why watching a game on TV is a better call

Sorry folks, another sports post.

So DH indulged me with 2 tickets to the Canucks vs Phoenix game last Monday evening. It was some kind of a reward for his wife’s good behaviour, so instead of a hot fudge candy, I get to go to GM Place and watch the guys kick some a..

Oh man, was I excited! I WAS so anxious I couldn’t sleep the night before. It didn’t help that I was having a long day of different meetings, but I was so determined that nothing will stop me from watching my super spring chicken Mason Raymond live in action, get myself drowned in the thunderous singing of the national anthem O’Canada, and of course – watching and joining the thousands of back-bencher coaches shouting at professional athletes how to play hockey better.

At the last game we went to, I had embarassed DH by shouting “Oiii!!! Booddddoohh” to the rink whenever the players make a stupid pass, in a sea of Canadian fans. I realised that when it comes to your natural reflex, your native tongue takes precedence. Now in a given time, I am pretty sure my appropriate Malay vocab might just give way to something way more dangerous, those power-words in Hokkien. I was genuinely afraid of that moment. The moment the Hokkien apek crawls out of my brain and out through the mouth and splat onto the rink. By then, someone may just be shoving chilli onto my face to shut me up. There ARE kids watching hockey all around me. So I sticked to Malay, religiously. “Bodoh” is oh-so-mild.

We got really good seats, right at the centre-ice on the upper bowl where the real (read: non-corporate and beer-happy fans, urrrgh) are. I was surrounded by a spectrum of them. Above me was an annoying 17 year old who called EVERYONE in her entire universe on her cellphone, shouting and screaming how SHE is watching the game live and her friends are not. Her conversation goes something like this:

Annoying girl: Ohhhh myyyyy Gooooodddd!!! Do you know where I ammmmmm??? I am at the gammmmeee!!!!! Oh my Goooddddd!!! Did you see Taylor Pyatt???He is sooooo HOOOTTTTTTT!!!!

Friend on the other end: (because I can’t hear, I can only speculate). Repeat same dialogue as above. Replace “I am at the gammmmeee” with “You are????”

Annoying girl: Ohhhhh myyy Gooodddd!!!! I am so gonna call you at the first goal okaaayyyy??? He is sooo hooottttt!!! This is soooo coooolll!!!! Love youuuu!!!! XO!!!

Man, who has conversations saying ‘XO’ at the end? DH and I looked at each other and we both thought the same thing, it felt like we were reading transcripts of an MSN conversation. I figure that if I want to get into the groove, the next time I call my mum in SG I should also be spewing,“Maaaak. Mason Raymond sooo hoootttt maaakk!!!. Ok, Uja dah nak pergi goreng mee ni. XO!!!” Sigh.

Anyway, the annoying girl behind me was complimented by a pair of very veteran looking hockey fans on my left.They were at least 60 years of age, and was doing nothing but a running analysis of the entire game. I am talking abt BIG TIME analysis here. The kind where if you replace the hockey terms with financial ones, you will probably make some money in some dodgy hedge fund. They coulnd’t stop talking, albeit in hushed tones. With the annoying girl behind me, I didn’t mind them. I bet they were as much as in a mood of “aku nak lempang ajer budak belakang ni” mood as I am.

Then, on our right are the quintessential hockey dudes just out there for a good time. They were a riot. Half the time we were laughing our heads off with their jokes and banter, and boy – can they really talk to the rink!

But alas, no game is uneventful – especially when it is NOT a free ticket and you spent money on it. The last game I went to, there was no Mason Raymond and we arrived late, which means I missed the anthem. This time, we arrived really early so I won’t miss it (even when I don’t know how to sing it). And of all days…they HAD to choose some koyak hipster to sing the otherwise majestically beautiful song. It was so bad, the spectators couldn’t keep up. Watch for yourself and judge. Man, the Canucks looked pissed.

And oh, his Star Spangled Banner was much worse. Even Bush would have sung a much better rendition with his toy banjo on a one-legged donkey.

And then, as if that was not a bad start, my super spring chicken Raymond got a bad hit and end up not being able to play for the next 4 weeks. When that incident happened and I realised that he was not getting up, I was so panicky that my motherly instinct came through. “He is just a boyyyyy!!!! Don’t hurt him!!!!!” He is just a boyyyy!!!“, I shouted in an ocean of sounds. Like anyone cares. I was beginning to sound like the annoying 17 year old behind me. The only one who cared was DH. He was shaking his head.

But, hey we won 3-1 that night. I almost hopped and skipped back to our car. In fact, I did, but maybe because it was freaking 5 degrees outside and we had to walk for 10 mins to the parkade in the cold.

I am still sore about being shortchanged for a rousing, live anthem experience. I wanted to be moved, the way I always do when I watch it on TV. I guess it wasn’t meant to be, and that guy really should have been hit with a hockey stick the moment he went sooo off-key.

Disclaimer: I have not shifted loyalties. This is still my number one anthem. (Sung at the 2004 FIFA World Cup Qualifier in Japan)

If you can’t do sports, be a fan

Yes, I admit it. It has happened before, and it is happening again. I am (other than the now infamous tag ‘spa-addict’) …*hides face*….a seasonal sports fan. Spectator sports to be exact. Note the keyword ‘seasonal’.

During my *ahem* slimmer days, soccer – the Malaysia Cup to be exact, rules. I love watching a competitive sport which is team-based, and I enjoy thinking ahead for the players and see how they read the game.

Like everybody else, I followed the Singapore soccer team during the glorious 90’s closely, so close to the point that my friends and I eventually get to know some of the players personally. Yes – groupie is the name they (or rather other girls who did NOT get as close as we did) called us. I don’t like that word. It makes me feel like a female fish – be it the tiny guppy or the delicious garoupa. You choose.

Then, about 7 years or so ago, thanks to a close knit group of guy friends who swear they are F1 racers incarnate, I left soccerdom and plunged into F1. The speed…oh my God..the SPEED! Back then, you cannot beat my precise and comprehensive knowledge about F1 , even if you were an intern with the BMW-Williams team!

Which reminds me, I did, and yes I DID, applied for a job with the UK-based Williams team. I emailed them some long garbage about how I should be a part of their entourage, my media connection then (what connection? I was so damn young!) and many other forgettable reasons which I am sure made the Head of Personnel of Williams (whoever he is) forgets. When I get hooked to a sport, I dive in head-first. When F1 was the rage for me, I took matters into my own hands and pray for a media pass. God was generous with me (and I am not sure I deserved it, but I am thankful masya’allah!) and in 2002 I was somewhat sent down to Melbourne to cover Toyota’s first year at the F1 Grand Prix – complete with cocktails to attend, shoulders to rub with Mika Salo and a very insightful chat with Gustav Brunner. I was fascinated by Gustav’s engineering prowess. He, was fascinated by my hijab.

Yes, I was in heaven. In F1 heaven. I won’t even mention here about the pit-stop tours and the over abundant food that we were served at the Paddock Club. “That’s halal pastrami for you, mam,” a blonde waiter chips in politely. How thoughtful. Ahhh, I like this Paddock Club thing. If only I can afford the US$4,000 ticket to get in. Some of you, I am sure, will also remember my fascination with the oh-so-cute Alex Yoong, even when his pokak Minardi car stalled half the time on the circuit.

And then life happens, and I slowly entered an inexplicable F1 funk. I did miss the team-based energy that soccer offers, and I missed very much, the speed of F1. As the plot unfurled, Canada came by. And I was thrown, PMS included, into the world of brawl-and-brawn filled hockey.

Team-based sport + Speed = Hockey.
Hockey + Canada = Addiction.
Addiction + Propensity to like spectator sports irrationally = Mason Raymond.

Ahhh… Raymond. Everybody LURRVVES Raymond. Only 22, a fresh rookie with the Vancouver Canucks and skates oh so well *wide smile on my pathetic face*. He is almost too beautiful to watch when he skates pass his checkers and shoots an unresisting puck into the net *wideR smile on my pathetic face*. DH is very well aware of this new fixation, and he couldn’t care less. Why would he? He knows Raymond has everything he has too (or at least that’s what I told him…shhh!). Raymond is a calm, patient and focused player, much like the calm, patient and focused supergeek that DH is. But wait. Raymond likes Border Collies and DH likes Huskies. Raymond plays NHL hockey, and DH plays hockey on the PSP. Raymond is engaged, and I am married. Dang.

But Raymond aside (seriously, he is a spring chicken who has hundreds of girls going after his dimples!) hockey is the next best thing for me right now, almost a super-sport, and solid combination of things I love about soccer and F1. The thing is, seeing how fanatic I have become and how supportive DH is of my endless bohemian bungees, he has been pressing me about putting my name on the waiting list for the Canucks season tickets (which will probably take a year or two to secure, and an arm and a leg to pay for). I should be jumping at it, yes? But I didn’t.

They say age comes with wisdom, or the other way round. I figure at this rate, hockey will slowly enter its self-prophesised funk too in a couple of years. So by the time I get my round of season tickets, I am not soooo into the game anymore. Who knows what my ‘next’ supersport will be. As long as it is not, *LOUD cough* , a very-odd-sport called curling.

For that, pls God – let hockey stay.

1994 – Malaysia Cup : Singapore vs Kedah – Fandi Ahmad’s Magic

2002 – F1 Grand Prix: Melbourne’s Starter Crash

2008 – NHL Playoff Race: Canucks vs Oilers – Fight-filled match