Still Thinking…

So tomorrow we are moving in to our new place in Vancouver,and a week after we will both be moving out to different locations for work. DH heading south to San Francisco for his usual Mac convention, and me to the Banff mountains.

I have heard so much about Banff World TV Fest, I am beginning to feel I am about to attend someone’s wedding. You know the Malay kind. You get ready for hours, rush to the wedding just so that you arrive at the best time (that’s usually 1-1.30pm when the groom and bride are together on the dais) and then only to eat for 20 minutes, smile, nod and then leave. Errr…hardly a celebration yes? I have always wondered the rationale behind such weddings and why bother to invite the whole world who couldn’t care less about you tying the knot. Having said that, holding conferences in resort towns are equally baffling. The paradox is unequivocal.

You see, everyone in the film and TV industry will tell you they are a busy bunch. Yet the biggest festivals are held at faraway places like Banff, Berlin and Cannes. To get there, you need to fly to the main city, change flights, take a shuttle, ride a boat – you get the picture.

Take Banff. To get there, I need to fly for 1.5 hours, wait 1 hour and then take a 2 hour shuttle before arriving at the hotel. Funny eh. I thought we are all busy. So why on earth are meeting in the mountains?

Anyway, the good people in marketing will tell you it is the crisp mountain air, the shiny morning sun, the melting snow yada yada yada that will help all of us funny TV people to mesh our brains and work out the finances to produce yet another TV show. We also hope to move mountains. Right. Even so, I thought everyone is busy? Can’t we have a conference in a city where the airport is 20 mins away?

I don’t know. I was in another conference in Washington DC and it was so jam-packed with meetings I only get to go out of the hotel for 5 freaking hours in that entire 4 days. I look at my schedule and I see a repeat. So what crisp air are we talking about here?
I’ll probably be inhaling smoke from the patio.

O ye who believe! Avoid suspicion as much (as possible): for suspicion in some cases is a sin: And spy not on each other behind their backs. Would any of you like to eat the flesh of his dead brother? Nay, ye would abhor it…But fear Allah: For Allah is Oft-Returning, Most Merciful. (49: 12)

This was posted by an American student in Atlanta, Faraz.He is into filmaking, but I am not sure if he authored this. It is one of the best 1-minuter I have seen. Very aesthetic, but very powerful in delivering the message.

You can check him out here.

Anyone who has been to Hollywood will tell you it is over-rated. It is nothing like the Desperate Housewives set you crave to see, the Beverly Hills 90210 streets you desire or the action-packed streets of 24 where cars get blown up every hour while Jack Bauer jumps from helicopter to cars, like a kid playing hopscotch. Hollywood, is like any other North American cities. Its people are just like you, me and Dupree. Druggies, rich families, artists, wannabes, homeless, illegal immigrants, professionals…everyone makes Hollywood home.

But Hollywood is also a celluloid factory. It churns ideal images of the perfect life, the perfect look within their perfect shows. Even if it is a tragedy, the show it produces has a closure, very unlike life where we have to wait. After all, a story has to close within the hour, the episode or the series. It has to have a story arc, a conflict, a resolution, at least 2 cliffhangers before commercials, and a sub-plot to keep the main story compelling. It is very unreal, it burns hundreds of brain cells in finance negotiations, hours of scripting and filming, tonnes of caffeine, nicotine to sustain the long hours of postproduction and yes – that’s not inclusive of the campaign pre-release.

I have a theory about blogs. It is – the new digital Hollywood. A few years ago (or was it last year?) a gf shared with me that she had coyly asked a blogger (who is well known in the c to write very sunny, my life is perfect stories in her blog) why she writes the way she does. Her answer was simple – “Because I want people to think my life is perfect!”. I can be up in arms in a second with that kind of shallow response, but I respect the girl for her honesty.

My SIL has made it very clear to me why she does not blog (but she lurks! Ahah! 😉 , and that’s because she does not like the idea of an open diary. I agree with her. A diary to me is about heart-to-pen (excuse the pen, you can also read it as ‘hard’ to pen). I don’t like the idea of writing your ENTIRE life for everyone to read, but I don’t like sunny-side up types of writing either. Writers who are like that make me question more – like, hmmm...I wonder what your life is REALLY like. Are you hiding something?

So the blogsphere to me is a digital Hollywood because it can create the celluloid ideal. (Technically that word ‘celluloid’ cannot be used here lah). People read, get excited over ‘perfection’ written by thousands of writers and then fantasise. Isn’t that what Hollywood does to us? Hands up those who hate watching a BBC documentary because it is all grim facts sans the music. See.

Having said that, there are tonnes of money in digital Hollywood. Which is why I cannot wait to hear what the pundits say in this conference.

I am on the hunt again.

This time, I think age equates to experimental and what-the-heck attitude (read: more confusion!) and so I am about to embark in one of my most never-thought-of decorating theme I have ever done. Ever.

Now that I have done a Mexican theme with my Tampines flat and Japanese Zen for the KL studio apt, I was pretty bewildered on picking up a theme for our new suite in Vancouver. This suite is not big (but so isn’t the KL studio! ) – but it is very close to where we work, near the beach and more importantly – near downtown where our addiction to book stores and good films will be satiated. I can also afford to have late-night brainstorm sessions with writers and directors at Calhouns.

I was tempted to pick a very Western warm, mountain-cabin theme or a very Asian wood-inspired look. But alas, true to every single time I am on a decorating hunt – I choose to do the crazy and the risky. Sigh.

I wanted to honour DH with his supergeek tag, and my own love for colours. I don’t seem to be able to shake off my love for bold coloured walls ( Tampines flat had Ashley Blue and Sunshine Yellow walls, along with a Turqoise TV room with Dark British Green ceilings, and Green carpet). The one time I tried to move away from colours was when I was doing the KL studio, and because it is Zen-ny, the theme has to be in natural wood colours. Arghh! What pain I had to endure! I was so tempted to splash one wall fire-engine red – they do have red on the Japanese flag, kan? Cannot eh?

Anyway, back to DH. So we went furniture shopping yesterday and was soon bored with the same looking furniture store after store. Until…DH spotted this super retro sofa that flips back and forth, and mind you, in fire-engine red! I so love the colour, and he so love the Jetson’s look of the sofa. The price was reasonable too. And so we bought the red piece, and that’s about decide it for us on what the look of the lounge area will be.

As if the stars were aligning itself, we went to another store and saw a most gadgety looking coffee glass table. It swivels and expands to double it size – and I swear to you it can fit perfectly on the set of Stargate Atlantis. Its pricey for a glass coffee table, but I saw DH’s eyes sparkle, and caught myself salivating too. Gosh, that thing is soo beautiful. Along with a metal floor lamp that arcs 3 metres across a room, we are so sold into the whole Jetson’s futuristic look. And we bought those too.

So now, I am caught with my pants down on how to manage the space-age items with good, homely sense. I spent a good part of last night researching, imagining and watching HGTV. I finally came up with the combination theme of Jetson-French Venetian marriage and oh it is so dangerous to do I will pee in my pants. Seriously. The only thing this Jetson-French V theme will have in common are mirrors.
If I screw this, our suite will the be the next set of the HGTV show How Not To Decorate.

Let’s see where this will go. And I promise, I will post pictures if it is ever done. I should listen to Mak with her now universal advice – “Jangan buat lagi, Uja. Bahaya.”

I don’t know the answer. Truly.

All I know is that I cry EVERYTIME the 18,000 fans at GM Place sang the Canadian anthem, I shout (almost) bad accented Malay insults to the attackers when they could not shoot the puck straight into the net (never mind the fact that they do NOT understand Malay, obviously) and I get so very moody when the Vancouver Canucks lose.

When the crowd boo the Canuck’s goalie, Roberto Luongo – I get all mother-henny. “Dont you boo my Luongo Duongo!!” – I will scream at the TV.

Sigh. I don’t even remember being THIS emotional during past break-ups.

I just told DH if we have a son (or another cat), I want to name him Hanafi Naslund Abdullah, after Markus Naslund, Canuck’s centre. Bad sign there.

But Hanafi Naslund sounds better than Hanafi Luongo, no?

I did the unthinkable. I knew I shouldn’t have, but the little girl in me said I have to.
I did it, and now I have to bear the consequences.

Mak has given a blanket ban on anything snowmobile for me, and DH. She said it nicely of course, something like: “Dah jangan naik-naik lagi benda tu…bahaya. Jangan berani sangat…subhanallah…selamat tak ada apa-apa. Jangan berani sangat…subhanallah…“
Notice the repeat – “Jangan berani sangat” (don’t be too brave) and the many praises to God.

I have heard this statement from Mak before. She says that to me everytime I do something reckless, or reckless in her eyes – whichever takes precedence. Lucky for me, Mak is a pretty adventurous person herself. If she had her way, I KNOW she wants to scuba-dive but alas – that didn’t quite happen. She is content with just swimming at the beach complete with a piece of kain batik, oversized T-Shirt and a serkop kait as her swim couture. But her adventurous side has limits, and some things I do (or did) – she does not understand.

I am a daughter with a conscience. I have no one to blame but my darling Mak for this. She raised me to be one. Everytime I have a new adventure, I will tell her – excitedly – drama and all. I always feel I have to let her into these new things I experience. I have told her among other things, very specific details of what goes on in an agogo show in Thailand. Or Tiger Shows in Bangkok – however you know it. Yes, very technical details of how that goldfish came out of the performer’s nunu.

My Mak, if you don’t already know – is an ustazah by profession. She embraces life with a passion, never judgemental and always curious. I know where I get my traits from.

So when I did my usual biweekly call to her yesterday – I was in a dilemma if I should censor the snowmobile ride up the mountain at the Rockies, 10,000 feet high. I told her about the dog-sledding, which she responded passionately. She loves animals – so any adventures involving animals is a big winner with Mak. I was trying hard to think HOW do I describe ‘dog-sledding’ to a 69 year old, when there is no such Malay equivalent term for it. So I said something like: “Mak tau Uja naik beca atas snow – lepas tu anjing tarik,” I started. Nice and slow, I thought. I need to give her a visual idea of ‘dog-sledding’, so beca (trishaw) and anjing (dogs) are good keywords.

“Mak tau! Mak tau! Mak pernah nampak kat TV! Eh bestnyaaa….kau naik tu? Eh bestnyaa…..”.
Yes, thats my mum for you. Animals? Sure winner.

When my 10-minute elevator pitch on how fun dog-sledding ended, I had exactly half a second to decide if I should move on to snowmobiles, before the topic of ‘dah ada baby ke belum’ crops up. So I told her. The truth. The full story. Complete with sidebars on how cars looked like ants when you are that high up a mountain, perched on a snowmobile, with plunging cliffs barely half an arm’s length away.

She was amazed, but she was mad. She wanted to ask more, but she also wanted to remind me to not dabble with one’s precarious life. Her questions were confusing, and I know I am heading towards the Blanket-Ban-Land.

And slowly, slowly …the words came out. She said it to me in her usual, soft-spoken ways, laden with power because it is usually those that will stick to me for years. Once Mak ‘advised’ don’t do it, I usually don’t – because defying Mak’s advice on a new adventure holds a lot of weight.

I told DH this morning about it. He, being the usual male species that he is – simply said, “so next time you want to ride the snowmobile, tell her you are riding on flat terrains”. Which is what I should be doing anyway. And not think I am a superwoman who can do stunts on a snowfilled Canadian mountainride, when I can barely run wihout panting around a small Tampines park.

While in the midst of shuffling my thoughts on 3 other documentaries brewing in my brain, I found respite last week rollicking during a rib-cracking road trip to the Canadian Rockies. I really could have cracked my ribs. Literally.

It all started with a harmless love for Huskies. I fell in love with the Husky during a similar road trip to the Rockies in 2004, when while day-dreaming in the car – a truck zoomed past with a most beautiful-looking canine perched at its rear end. The dog, with its full glory of white and black fur was day-dreaming too – he was looking out of the horizon, the winds blowing gently against his long hair and his blue eyes staring straight into the meadows. And ah oh…he was squinting his eyes a bit, the same way we humans do it when we want to show appreciation.

So from that day on, I swear that I yearn, long, and really really wanted to ride on the ultimate vehicle where dog-power reign supreme: dog-sledding. We did it last week at the majestic Rockies no less, along with my clown cousins who came all the way from Singapore to let dogs pull them around ride on a Canadian mountain.

Oh the drama that ensues! Mats, minahs, dog-sleds and frozen lakes are nothing short of comedy material.

My cousin – all-Singaporean male with cigarette and digi camera in hand, did NOT ask the guide what the word was to command the Huskies to ‘go‘. So what does a Singaporean do in such unfamiliar situation? The practical him improvised. He heard that driver of the sled in front of him go ‘Hait’, but was not too sure what the word was. His version ranged from ‘HELP!’ to ‘HIKE’ to ‘HAIKAL’ to ‘GO DOGGIE GO!’. The dogs, amazingly, followed his instruction well. We were pretty sure that the dogs would still go even if we had shouted ‘JALAN!’.

We also quickly found out that the Huskies are often pooing, peeing and eating the snow while running! And when the sled is going uphill, the driver has to run and push the sled up. Errr…no fun, that one. DH, who was the driver on our sled – was my hero. The 5 dogs who pulled our sled were also my heroes. Me? I was the queen who sat in the sled, too busy shooting video and humming ‘Aku Cinta Aku Rindu’ by Nurul and Ajai. I told you this is a minah story, no?

On another adventure, we were kiasu enough to satiate our thirst for more snow adventure and we booked ourselves on a snowmobile ride. None of us had ever rode on snowmobiles before, the closest to it would be jet-skis (I once rode a jet ski from Pasir Ris Beach to Pulau Ubin, screaming in fright during most of the journey – but that is another story). How difficult can a skidoo ride be on fluffy white powder – all soft and ready to cushion your fall? Or so we thought.

What we didn’t know is that the ride is not on a trail across flat terrain. That would have been easy-peasy and lots of fun too. WE had to ride the snowmobile all the way up a bloody mountain, negotiate tight bends on treacherous cliffs (including swinging our bums to the ride and left ala corner baring, and the height? A colossal 10,000 ft above sea level. I swear that I thought I was going to be thrown off the cliff. I was riding pillion, and our snowmobile nearly hit a tree, was oversteered once, got stuck in snow during the 1st half of the ride and oh well…basically skidding away on that slippery ice. Why was I too happy to sign on that waiver form?!

We had walkie-talkies with us – thinking that we can signal each other if we spot a moose, an elk or a grizzly.But how could I spot a wild animal in the wilderness when I my heart was fluttering in fear in between praying ‘God, Forgive Me!” away out of sheer terror. Ajai and Nurul suddenly were mute. The Rockies were not so beautiful anymore. The cold wind was like dry ice. And the snowmobile adventure is now a torture. By the time we reached the summit, I asked DH nonchalantly – do we have to take the trail back down? I knew it was a dumb question – because the only other way to return to base camp other than riding your way down (again!) that dangerous terrain is by helicopter.

Sigh. I knew I should have befriended Donald Trump. It would have been really handy to get hold of that heli.

This is Petom. She plays tennis, knock out her own husband in bowling games and shouts, “Ok! I am done!” when she is tired of playing. She is also a spa addict, recently reignited her love for Formula One and in real life, is a producer.

I really am puzzled why the Wii has not hit Singapore shores yet. I saw petitions being signed by avid gamers in Singapore asking the Nintendo distributors to get their act together but the last I checked, the Wii is still a North American escapade. The Wii has impressed almost everyone who had a chance to play it. I was of course, the sceptic , being the non-gamer that I am. So when DH told me that he bought a Wii the week of its release (yes, he pre-ordered. They do these things, these supergeeks) I was err…unimpressed? He went on and on what the Wii is about, yada yada yada…and all I remember thinking was about what I was going to order for breakfast at IHOP.

And then one fine weekend I decided to give it a go. I was shocked when he said we have to remove the coffee table in front of the TV to create more space. What?! I thought this was a normal console game, ala PS3 (btw, thats another story – my SIL queued 10 hours to get that game) or XBox, so why do we have to create space in front of the TV? Aren’t console games the type where you can play sitting down comfortably on the sofa, eat chips and then kill someone in between?

Anyway, I soon learnt that noooo…the Wii is something else. It is a Virtual Reality game. Each player holds a remote, and it moves along with your own hand movement. So basically, if I am playing tennis on the Wii, I have to stand up, hold the remote as if I am holding a racket and swing my hands as per real life. So now you know why we need the space in front of the TV.

I tell you, the last time I held a tennis racket was maybe 8 years back. I am not a good player and I scream a lot on the court, mostly out of boredom because I couldn’t hit the damn green ball. So when I played tennis on the Wii, oh my…it was awesome! Now me and DH are not exactly petite, so we shoved each other quite a bit when we swing our Wii rackets.

I refuse to name my Wii identity after my own. I decided that it is time that the Petoms and the Joyahs get tech-recognition and so even before the coveted Wii hit Asian shores, the Petoms of the world can now say she had played it first.

How’s that for naikkan status Melayu?

Woo. Petom lives!

PS: This is DH btw. I am sure he wants to call it a Spartan but then again, Greek warriors don’t wear specs no?

Its funny how different both of us approach cooking.
I am constantly reminded why men and women are different whenever we hit the kitchen together. DH treats it like he is entering a chemistry lab, I go into the kitchen for temporary artistic gratification.

This past weekend, we were vegging out on a balmy Saturday morning watching Food Network when we both decided to make it cooking weekend right after, resulting in both of springing up from the otherwise comfy sofa, ran out of the door, zoomed the car out of the driveway and hit the supermarket (ok, not that dramatic – but close). We just HAD to try making chocolate souffle IMMEDIATELY – after merely seeing a souffle on TV for 4 seconds (yes, we are visual people).

I was tasked to run back and forth to my Macbook to check the recipe and read it out to DH.
DH will only move his hands with exact instructions. He won’t go with “Whisk until naik“. What is ‘until naik’“, he’d ask and I would painfully explain until it hardens at the top at least.
“Define harden!” he’d quip, with his hands still on the handheld whisker and looking very unimpressed with my reading the recipe. And I’d reply nonchalantly -“Until you can see it!”. And so the drama ensues…

Its hilarious. We can never make a cooking team on Iron Chef. We will raise our voices, debate, poke each other with the laddle to prove a point and many other very rude gestures in a typical Malay husband-wife dynamics. I remember when he decided to make some instant lemang from Adabi – he had a post-it with exact remarks like – “Flip after 45 minutes, put more water after 10 minutes…” and carry the post-it around the house so he won’t forget !!
He also takes his time when whisking, mixing until he reads the NEXT instruction. I can’t do that, if I am in the kitchen with him as his sous chef, I’d be flipping with anxiety knowing some things will harden anyway because of his slow speed. Or so I thought.

But our cooking weekend is always a blast. We love our differing personalities and always laugh at each other’s antics. I, being the woman that I am – always INSIST I know better because I am female. And he will be armed with a list of retorts on why men make better chefs. I should seriously tape one of these cooking sessions and make a TV series out of it.

We made Chocolate Souffle on Saturday and Quilt Pie (pictured above) on Sunday morning together. He also Baked Chicken with Tangerine Salad for dinner on Saturday. I suppose his ‘chemistry lab’ is brewing with good food anyways, and I should not complain.