Parents, Avert Thine Childrens' Eyes.

Well, well, well. Hello, there, boys, girls, and those unwilling to answer to either! Do you know what time it is? You don’t? What’s that? You don’t have a watch. No, that was a rhetorical question. Yes. Understand rhetoric? Good. Now shush. You know what time it is? It’s time to...

Cook With Kakak O!

Yes, kids, it’s time to don on your aprons, take out those frying pans, and turn on your gas-fired stoves again. Your good old Kakak is back for another helping of F-U-N! Shut up, in the back row. Oh, very funny. Spell that out again, why don’t you? What was that? Huh? Huh? Not such a big boy, are you? That’s right. Go cry outside, see if your mommy cares. Ahem. As I was saying, your favourite big bro is here for yet another recipe that even a monkey on weed can whip up. And speaking of weed, that’s the word of the week! Say it out loud, everyone. Weed. G-A-N-J-A. No, Timmy, it means the same thing. Never mind.

So, for this week’s cook-up, we’re doing something that’s very close to my heart. That’s a metaphor, because we’re not cooking my spine or my lungs. Yes. We’re cooking something that almost every struggling university student should be able to get their hands on. I’m talking about...

Kakak’s Canned Sardines in Tomato with Onions and Chilli Peppers!

Boy, that’s a mouthful. Ha! Culinary pun! I’m so witty. Let’s do that again, shall we?

Kakak’s Canned Sardines in Tomato with Onions and Chilli Peppers!

Alrighty, let’s get started. Put that down. Yes, you. On second thought, have a taste. We need to know if that fish has any botulism in it. You don’t want to try it anymore? Too bad. Shove it down that mouth of yours, missy. Now. Good. Any strange tastes? Slimy or rotten sensations? Eh? It tastes fishy? It damn well better, otherwise we’d have to rename it. Har! Rapier wit, yet again. Alright, here’s what you want on your pantry, floor, or whatever it is you put your ingredients.

You need...

One can of Sardines in Tomato Sauce...

Half an onion...

A teaspoon of oil...

And two chilli peppers.

Oh, I should also add that unless you want a very lonely dinner of overcooked canned organism, you’d better prepare something else as a side dish. Mmhm. Something like pasta. I like pasta. Don’t you? You don’t, huh. Wash your mouth with soap, you little delinquent. The security guard will take care of that after the show, so count your seconds, kiddo. Yup. Where was I? Oh, yes. Pasta. In that case, add...

Half a bag/pack of any kind of pasta.

Now comes my favourite part. That’s cutting the ingredients! Why do I think it’s my favourite part? Well, that’s simple! I like to think that I’m cutting into the flesh of my producer, who thinks my show is absolute drivel. You hear that, Mrs. Bigshot Producer? Your flesh. Yes, your live and pulsating flesh. Ahem. So who wants to cut the onions and the chillies? You want to? Okay. You might want to wear this gas mask...no? Suit yourself. Now, kids, while you’re cutting up your stuff, don’t do what Ollie is doing. You see, onions are like little canisters of mustard gas. That means if it gets into your eyes and nose, it isn’t going to be pretty. Just like 1914 all over again. Good times. Oh, look, Ollie’s crying. That’s because he didn’t use protection. Oh! Another pun! I’m so damn good at this. Now, if what’s happening to Ollie happens to you, don’t rub your eyes like he’s doing. It’ll only make it worse. What’s that? He also cut the chillies? Oh, that’s just brilliant. Watch closely, kids, this is what happens when you rub chilli into your eyes.

Ouch. That looks excruciating. Would’ya look at that. What a little trooper, still trying to cut stuff up even with swollen eyes the size of ripe plums. Whoops, there goes the tip of his left index finger. Let that be another lesson, children. Don’t even attempt to cut things when you can’t see. At least we’ve got some stuff to put in the pan. Nice job, Ollie! Pity about the finger, but you’ll survive long enough to regret it.

So who wants to play with the pan? You do? Attaboy. Er, girl. Yes. Now, put that oil in the pan. Good. Now, we’re going to wait for the pan to heat up. You want to know how hot it is? Why not put your hand in it...oh. You did. Well, that’s what you get for not understanding sarcasm. Go backstage and ask for burn ointment from the nice doctor over there. Just go. Hm. It seems my little helpers are decreasing in amount. Can’t be helped. If you want something done, you might as well do it yourself.

To make a long story short, especially with time running out, dump those cut onions and chillies in the pan. Then shake it! Shake it! Shake it like a Polaroid picture! Man, oh, man, pure gold. Wait. That should be stir it...eh. Same difference. Wait till it gets all nice and red and brown. Ooh, baby, yeah. Burn. Burn. Burn! Mwahahahah. Halright. Now that they’re all nice and spicy, it’s time to put in the fish. Don’t forget to take the fish out of the can. Sorry. You can’t always get what you want, let alone putting an aluminium can in a frying pan. Yup. And that’s a rhyme, Annie. Bet your bottom dollar on THAT. Yeah. Then you mix it in with the rest. Now, just because I’m too lazy to cook it in front of the camera, here’s the dish I cooked last week.

Okay, I agree that there shouldn’t be mushrooms or strange, white strands of mould. I’m not even sure why there are things living in there, but c’est la vie. That’s ‘such is life’, for you kids who can’t speak French. Deal with it. Anyway, it’s going to look something like this. Keep it on that hot pan till you see no more sauce. Speaking about hot pan, looks like our current dish is done, kids! Amazing! Oh, it’s just a bit burnt, so it’ll be edible for you. Kids eat everything. Everything. Good.

Now, for you at home wondering why the kids are now screaming and lolling their tongues out, don’t worry. Eating this will not get you possessed by any kind of demon. It’s just the healthy side-effect of eating copious amounts of chilli peppers! When you feed this to your children or your hungry, near-destitute student self, don’t be alarmed by the clamouring for water and possible dehydration. It’s like those party pills, only they’re more natural! Yeah! Who said stimulants had to be expensive. Oh, and you might have bowel problems for a few days after, but it’s all good. Bet you never knew your intestines could dance like, eh? Of course not. It’s the closest thing to eating street food in a third world country. Enjoy.

Pasta? Screw the pasta. I’m finished. Anyway, all you boys and girls should already know how to make pasta. If you don’t, you should’ve considered that before making this dish. Ha!

Alright, that’s about all the time we have today. If you have any suggestions for what you’d like me to cook, write them on a 4x4 piece of paper, then eat it. Har! No, I’m just kidding. Send it to the address below, and receive a complimentary picture of a donkey courtesy of yours truly. As for your suggestion, chances are I won’t bother reading them. But that’s okay, because that’s the way life is. Understand? Good. So, until next time, this is Kakak O saying...

Give me a raise, you cheap b-

*After its fifth episode, Cook with Kakak O was decidedly scrapped in favour of the more child-friendly pseudo-Japanese Fun with (the) Furries. How either could ever be considered “child-friendly” by anyone, however, is another story.*

[End Transmission]

Three Weeks!

Well, well. I find myself yet again staring down the sun on a lovely Sunday evening. Which is probably one of the most depressing things to do, really. I mean, Fridays and Saturdays are all good in my book. No classes, no lectures, just the feeling of two days without constraints. Then we come upon Sunday, which means it's the end of the week and the beginning of the next. Not that it's necessarily a bad thing, I guess. It's just that time really flies when you're doing something interesting. In a blink of an eye I've just ripped through an entire weekend. Again. C'est la vie.

I was going to post something up on Thursday night, but the fates (or procrastination) decreed otherwise. So it's here now. That night I watched a Takeshi Kitano film. For those who aren't aware, "Beat" Takeshi Kitano is a Japanese comedian/director. You know, the one who had an accident. Yeah. The new Zatoichi guy. Yup. That's the one. The movie's name is Kikujiro, and it was wonderful.

Simply enough, it's the story of a boy, who lives with his grandmother. No parents. One lonely summer's day (and I mean lonely; the first few scenes can be a bit depressing), the kid finds a picture of his mother, with an address written on the back. He goes off, but is accosted by local bullies. The bullies are driven off by her grandmother's former neighbor, and her somewhat deadbeat husband (Kitano). They hear the boy's story, and the ex-neighbor wants to help. So she sends him off with her husband as an escort, telling the boy's grandmother that the man is taking. The husband, seeming to be something of a former crook/gangster, grudgingly agrees, and so the two set off. Quirky characters, interpretive dance scenes, kindred-soul bonding, and a heartwarming twist (after a bitter climax that pretty much anyone can see looming miles away) ensue.

I have to say, they really picked the right kid for this film. Just looking at him makes you feel sorry that he grew up with no parents. His dialogue is also somewhat limited, and most of the time it's only 'mm's and 'uhm's, when people man are talking to him. Kitano, playing the ex-gangster/crook/etc. is pretty good, quirks and all. I find some of his humor to be a bit on the crass side (or overly slapstick), but it mixed well with his character, so that's all good. Kudos to the kind-hearted biker boys (Fatty and Baldy, who come later in the movie) and Mr. Good-Natured Guy (the novelist/songwriter), all of whom really lift the movie up near the end.

Oh, and did I say that Joe Hisaishi does the music? Perfecto. The proverbial icing on the cake, and more. The composer who gave us the music for Totoro, Spirited Away, and Princess Mononoke. Hell yeah. Most, if not all, of the music in the film really took things up a notch. The movie's opening (and main) theme, titled "Summer", is simply beautiful and stuck in my head for days. Bittersweet, hopeful, sad, poignant...it's just one of those songs which prop up stories. Muchas gracias, Hisaishi-sama.

On the home front...

My room has the amazing ability to acquire smells. And I don't mean the kind that can be sprayed out of a can or one of those new-fangled timed-spray thingamajigs. A few days ago I walked in from a date with the library to be greeted by the smell of something quite dead and rotting. After checking the room and the windowsill for anything in the process of returning to Mother Earth (and this took plenty of time, too), I looked out my window and saw the smoking gun. Apparently, having my window (and sole point of ventilation) directly facing the dining hall's trash container meant that downwind airflows carried eau de garbage into my humble abode. Ah. Other than that, some stranger smells emanated from within, including a somewhat refreshing scent of citrus mixed with fried onions. Don't ask me where these things come from. I just smell them. That's me. Chronic sniffer. Hahah. Please, slap me before my jokes get any worse.

Next week's itinerary...

Monday - Hand in Geography essay (oh noes)
Tuesday - ESLA summary test (double oh noes)
Wednesday - Geography presentation (triple oh noes)
Friday - *hopefully* leave for AKL to attend a wedding (oh noes to infinity and beyond)

Heheh. Toy Story reference. I'm just brimming with wit.

Ech.

Anything else to report...

Um...

Had a nice chat with Salty *nama disamarkan* earlier on. Just your basic chit-chat, but a conversation nonetheless. Hoho.

And with that, I'll call it a night (but not before I finish my Geo essay...oh noes!)



[End Transmission]

I Denounce My Poetic "Skills"

Lo!
How she hides herself
Behind curtains of green and white
Away from the light
Away from the sun
Like Persephone, floating out
A delicate white flower
Blossoming at night
Heart-shaped face
Tender-lipped
Eyes cast down and dimmed
Say, sweet flower
From whence hast thou came?
A smile, a chirp
But nothing more
Before
She passes into the night
And behind shut curtains
A fading scent
Of beauty

Ah, yes. I do realise that the content above makes pretty much lousy reading. And that I probably could've gotten some work done instead of writing such drivel. Alas, poor talent, I had it not. Hahaha.

On a much happier note, my Kiwi flatmate's elder sister came over to the flat earlier with her family. After teaching him how to make veggie soup, they left us with:
- a massive cooking pot
- about a week's worth of vegetable stew
- veggie stock
- cumin and cardamom

In my eyes, that's a pirate's horde sitting prettily on the pantry now. The Heavens smile upon the flat. Come to think of it, some pasta in the stew would be great. And I now have the means with which I may undertake the creation of chicken congee (a.k.a. bubur ayam)! The possibilities are endless. Especially after nearly an entire month (or was it half a month?) of eating tinned fish for dinner. Mwahahahah. Oooh. Gotta watch that mercury level. *shudder*

Also, I just realised that one of the cashiers at the Asian supermarket close to home is in one of my classes. Well, not just realised, actually. I knew it for about a month and didn't have the guts to speak. Damnation. So she spoke to me. I do hope she doesn't think I'm arrogant/forgetful/high for being in the store so many times and not engaging in any conversation. Wagh. Well, at least she recognised me as well. Huhuhu. So much for first impression, neh.

Tomorrow: Sweeping the floors, cooking lunch, and *fingers crossed* getting through my bogu grading! Hoo-hah!

[End Transmission]

Fun With Phonics

Hello, strangers.

Yet another night I stay up in the false hope that out of the blue and inspiration will strike me like an Almighty Smiting. Ah, yes, how one does wish such things could happen out of thin air. But the thing is, inspiration doesn't come in strikes (unless you're doing a report five hours before the due date). So I do what I have to do anyway. I scroll through journals and sift through articles, looking for the smallest piece of information that may have *some* connection to what I'm supposed to do. 9 out of 10 times it actually works.

Ah well. I guess this isn't really one of those profound "eureka" moments. Pretty much everybody's been there and done that. Still, I do find it quite interesting that I'm finding it all rather strange, unusual, and difficult. Heck, I did this in highschool. But that was two years ago...

Now I wake up, every morning, in a room that's hundreds of miles away from my own. It's as if I'm just waking from a dream that has taken me for so long that I forgot what life was like in the real world. I've gone a pretty long way to wake up, but the more I open my eyes, the more I like what I see. It's a whole new world for me.

...Unbelievable sights
Take you wonder by wonder
Soaring sideways and under
On a magic carpet ride
A whole new world
A new horizon to pursue...

Whoops.

Where was I? Oh. Well, I was planning to write about how my ESLA (that's English Second Language for Academic purposes, ey) lecturer is the amalgamation of two of my highschool English teachers and John Cleese, but that's pretty much gone from my mind right now. What matters is that as much as she treats us (us as in English Second Language speakers...of which I'm technically not part of, come to think of it) somewhat like kids, she's a pretty darned good lecturer/tutor. Fair marks, constructive criticism, constant motivation ("get good grades or meet her again next semester" is good enough for me), and her Brit sense of humor. It's all good. Well, until we mess up and she goes ballistic. Did I mention the sense of humor?

Speaking about humor, this has got to be one of the funniest videos I've seen. It walks the fine line between being plain bad humor and flat satire. It does take quite a while to load, but it's pretty much worth watching.
Apart from that...

A four-hour Kendo session awaits me on Saturday. Sweet as. Which means I've got to get that Geog essay done by Friday...and at least half of the ESLA one by Monday. Meh. Oh well. At least after this all I'll have to think about are the exams...and the ESLA essays.

Yup.

Lacklustre, lacking wit, and lacking coherence as per usual. Night, all.

[End Transmission]

Another Sleepless Night

Well, here I am again. Back at the old table but the side of the mezz, doing an essay due the next day. And as per usual, there are the familiar faces also stuck behind glowing laptop screens.

After a talk with my Dad, I decided to do what he's been doing; meditating. Sit, close my eyes, breathe normally, relax, then count from 100 to 0 backwards. Achieving that, I am to relax completely and say what I want to accomplish. The idea being that now I'm relaxed and have all the random thoughts in my mind pushed out, I'll do my work. I gotta say, it's kinda working. Not in a "use-the-Force-Luke" kind of moment where it all becomes clear, but little by little. As you can see here, I probably messed up somewhere inbetween. That's why I'm wasting precious minutes writing a blog. Meh.

Thing is, I'm not that scared tonight. Unlike last Thursday, which was Hell on Earth personified in the guise of Lucy's essay. I'm not sure why, but this time I feel a bit more confident. Okay, maybe a bit overconfident, considering I've only started three hours ago.

But essay writing in uni sure is different from what I've been doing in highschool...which was two years ago. Well, I know I should've seen it coming miles away. This time around, I won't be able to bullshit my way through a paper with nary a reference. Oh, no. This time, I have to bullshit my way through the paper...APA style. Oooh, yeah. This'll take some getting used to, but I'm pretty sure I can. Heck yeah.

Oh, another kendo grading coming up soon. This is the one that'll tell me whether or not I'm worthy of wearing the l33t armor and hakama which seperates those with commitment and those without. The bad news: it's on Saturday. The Saturday before the Monday with two essays due. Kurappu. But if I play my cards right this time around, I should get through. Just get through, mind you. I'm not that confident that I'll think I can breeze through that.

Hmm...what else to say. I've got my sights set on someone else (my RA's too busy these days...drat). I'll have to say hi sooner or later. So here's looking for sooner.

Oh well. Essays don't write themselves, and I've got the rest of the night to reflect (and probably regret) why I didn't do it sooner. Hindsight always comes 20/20, eh.

p.s. I think Nda's on here as well...very nice.

[End Transmission]

Music of the Night

For every night of the week I'm online in the Dining Hall (seeing as to how it's the only place in StudVill with free Internet access), there's always a chance someone's going to play the old piano in the small alcove known as Don's Den. I'll post up a picture to show what it looks like later. But first things first.

Now, most of the time there's the usual guy, American, methinks. He usually comes in and plays what sounds to be his song (or a pianofied rendition of Stairway to Heaven), and launches into a hour-long repertoire. And he sings quite well when he plays, even if what he plays gets painfully repetitive at times. But heck, it's free entertainment on my lonely nights, so I won't complain.

A less-than-usual patron would be the East Asian guy. This guy plays mostly what I perceive to be his own stuff. And when he plays, he plays like mad. I mean, his head whips from side to side so often that self-induced whiplash doesn't sound implausible. He also sings...but not as well as the American guy. His is more like a nasally, high pitched voice. It's pretty damn hard to understand whether he's singing or just randomly spouting out words, but fun all the same.

The last guy I've heard so far is the guy I termed "Surfie". He's got the surfie do; long blonde hair, blond mo, red skin...that kind. And so far, his performances are rare but worth looking out for. He plays excellently. Almost country-like twang to his playing, but on the whole very enjoyable. His is relaxing. Kinda like being in a cafe or hotel lounge where you've got the guy playing slow but powerful. He also sings, and he's pretty darn good at it too. He's playing right now, actually. And I wish I had a cup of coffee here too.

Anyway, the best part of listening and/or watching them play is the fact that they're so engrossed when they're doing it. It makes me kinda jealous at times; once upon a time I took piano lessons but never got around to picking it up. There's something about someone playing the piano well that gives it class. The smooth tones, the sensation of strings being hit gracefully...yup. Even when you play it roughly (like Hiromi does...Hiromi...mmm...) it still has the voice to make it sound like an exotic accent instead of something completely different.

Yea. That's the nice part about being in StudVill. It has a place where people of different backgrounds can be in one place. One doesn't necessarily have to interact to enjoy company. After all, just the notion that there's someone else still typing away nearby in the darkness of midnight.

Whoa, Surfie dude is playing Your Song! Hahaha. Keren abis. I wish Apu were here to hear it. We'd probably sing along, like in the old days.

Sigh.

Oh, about the essay, I think I bombed it. But that's kinda good. I now remember the stress I forgot during all those days mooching at home. Yar. I have slipped, and seen myself sinking. The question now...will I be able to do all my other essays in time? *dramatic music*

Anyway, I can probably sleep around 12 tonight, so that ought to give me a proper amount of rest. I've got one Earth103 essay due Monday, and an essay for both Geog103 and ESLA101 the week after. It's not much time. And suddenly, the end of the semester is closer than I expected.

Whoa.

I mean, whoa.

That means the girls will be leaving in a month's time. And I'll have finished my first semester abroad. It's true...time waits for no-one.

Oh well.

Time to get started on my other...essay...must...stay...

[Transmission Cut]

4 hours to sunrise

I.

Whacking.

Hate.

Essays.




I'd go into a rant about how I should've done it weeks ago, but I'm too whacking pissed off to write about that.

Now that feels a lot better.


[End Transmision]