Battle of the Break-up Buddies

Weddings are a time for friends and family to gather together to celebrate the union of someone near and dear to them - to that other person. Hopefully well received of course. Apart from the exceptionally rare Romeo & Juliet tragedies where the church aisles are literally dripping in fresh blood of mutual enmity, generally weddings these days have both sides of the union in collective accord with each other.

Pick a seat, not a side, they would normally claim at a wedding.

However though a handful may be mutually shared friends of both the bride and groom, let's not fool ourselves into believing there isn't a secret dividing line through the aisles between friends of the bride and friends of the groom. Even when they meet up with new people as a couple, that new friend would still gravitate towards one more than the other. 

With certain few exceptions. 

His friends. Her friends. Trust me, they all know where to stand. 

So friends of the bride and friends of the groom can be clearly seen on opposing sides during such ceremonies, with few jumping across the centre to join the other side. So it was to my surprise that I noticed something peculiarly off when I snooped through the wedding seating for a friend's coming wedding. 

Paul : This is the final list? 

Friend : Yes. 

Paul : Wait, where are your friends? 

Friend : On the list. 

Paul : No. Those are his friends. 

Friend : Those are my friends too. 

Paul : Umm no.  

Friend : Common friends!

Paul : His friends. 

Friend : Common friends!

Paul : Nope. Invite your own people!

Clearly so. Though admittedly it was a pretty short list, it was obviously lopsided with none of her friends, her classmates, her colleagues... her people in that sense. 

Though many would claim that a relationship only matters to the individuals involved therein, let me tell you it isn't always true. When a couple finally settles down to a somewhat committed relationship, they also bring whatever emotional baggage they have been lugging about before, random rabid relatives - and also their own passel of crazy friends.

Only the really foolish would eschew the previous platonic / plutonic ties of their partner. The smart ones play it well so that his or her friends inevitably become their own as well. Even so rarely do those friends actually abandon their original comrade to become even more of a buddy-buddy to the new partner. 

Ties that become ever more apparent in the event of a breakup. Or even a break. 

When even the most amicable splits forces their friends to choose sides - so yes, even those supposed common friends. Those old college drinking buddies that he brings to the relationship, those brash working mates that come over for board games sometimes, they would inevitably drift back to his side. His friends, and yes no matter how close they may have become in the interim, would still muddle back through some misplaced sense of friendship and camaraderie.  

Really not so common actually. 

To Tweet or Not To Tweet

That's a question I can answer quite easily.

When you're in doubt, just don't.

There are times I'm glad I came of age at a time where the internet was still in its babbling infancy so my totally trashy drunk photos of youth aren't splashed around for semi-posterity for all to see. Since social media wasn't always around, I've always known to be a lil more cautious of what to let everyone else see and what not to.

Or at least realized that what you send out into the internet could remain there forever. And anyone - and yes that includes internet trolls that could crawl out of any nook and cranny of the dark web - could place a snarky disrespectful comment.

But some easily bruised young-uns these days don't seem to have realized that pertinent fact which is how I came to read a repeated retweet. Basically something like this.

When I say I'm ugly I'm not looking for sympathy I'm legit just venting my fucking feelings. I'm allowed to feel unattractive. My feelings are valid. Don't just say 'But you're just so pretty' like okay. But I don't feel like it right now. Fuck off. Let me have my emotions.  

Really. So many thoughts.

Dang. What didchu say? 

Seriously number one. Gosh so incredibly churlish to all your soon to be ex-friends who actually tried to support you in their own apparently misguided way. Sure, it's not the right way according to you but at least they tried. So swallow your entitled pride and take that consolation pill.

Number two... well yes, your feelings are valid but isn't theirs as well? Your hastily shutting them would be invalidating their feelings and thoughts as well, no? Aren't you doing exactly what you wouldn't want done to yourself?

Number three is somewhat disconnected from the tweeted post above but about parenting and children at large. Perhaps it is good that our Asian Tiger Moms actually told us to shut the fuck up sometimes. Perhaps we shouldn't entirely dismiss the old-fashioned option of having our children remaining respectfully silent at certain times. Their feelings are perfectly valid of course - but there are times they shouldn't be so quick to express them all the time. Seriously. Bite your lip. Impulsively coming up with such a hostile response in public would probably earn a quick maternal whack across the back of our heads for being absolutely, almost criminally, discourteous.

Since perhaps you should have known better than to post such a comment on the web for anyone out there to see - and comment.

Last of all, imagine how much worse you would feel if all and sundry had agreed with a resounding 'Yes, you're ugly.' For someone who hasn't felt very handsome for his entire life, believe me I would rather have compliments than not.

Pat A Cake Bake A Bun

One thing I rarely do, at least in real life, is talk about my work. Seriously, I've already spent hours over there so why would I want to keep talking about the exigencies of my day-to-day medical drudge. Perhaps a few hilarious titbits here when I have my other colleagues around but I try to keep that to a minimum. There's really very little need to impress on my friends how wildly important and needlessly busy I actually am.

Point of fact, I actually try the opposite and at least pretend it isn't half as time-consumingly laborious than it actually is. Is there any need to extol my own virtues by claiming to have saved lives by the dozen in a week or to exalt my name by brandishing my published journals for all to see?

Obviously not.

I know I'm good, there's no need to remind anyone. So yes, most of my friends here blithely assume I'm living the life of a semi-retired socialite with few cares and worries. Perfectly fine since compared to the insane nerve-wracking days of slaving away in the inner city hospitals of the capital, this is basically a paid beach holiday. 

Sort of.

But it's still work.

Hmm. Should I crush her like this strawberry? 

So when a real socialite of the Crazy Rich Asians stereotype comes along to whine about her lack of free time...

Barbara : Oh my, you catch so many television series! And read so many books! 
Paul : So can you I think? 
Barbara : Oh I couldn't! How do you find the time? 
Paul : Well prioritize your time a little? 
Barbara : Oh I simply can't. So little time I tell you! I can barely even finish my nails!

Oh so many things to say, especially to an entitled debutante who works at absolutely nothing and spends her entire late morning, confirmed on the ever-reliable Instagram, constructively talking to her pet pussy for hours. That's on the busiest of her days.

And she has no free time.

Seriously.

Darling, when you have the time to whine about being oh-so-busy, you aren't that busy.

But I also do know this particularly expensive strawberry would be utterly crushed by even the mildest censure I could come up with. Even my patented side-glance would be enough to excoriate her. Self-harm is quite possible and I wouldn't rule out intentional suicide at all. Mean I might be but at least I draw the line at intentionally pushing delicate exotic blooms off a ledge.

Grindr This Tindr

With the plethora of opportunities available for gay men these days in the dating world, I don't find myself envying them. Well... not by much. Granted the easy availability of social apps has made it so much easier to score a decent date - or even a quick hookup depending on the exigencies of the moment - but it has also made them just a little too particular in their choices.

When it was only the five openly gay men in the town, it was relatively easier to date since there wasn't all that many bachelors available on the marriage mart anyhow. Now with the headless torsos on display on every dating app in town - with even the most closeted 'I am so discreet on the DL' boys coming out with their very own unflattering dick pic, dare I say this has caused quite a few to be so awfully finicky that I'm close to whacking them across the head? 

Unless you're only on the prowl for sex, why are you discounting people so easily? 

Friend : I simply can't find anyone to date. 

Paul : Well let's check out your Tindr then.

Friend : I'm sure there's no one. 

Paul : How about bachelor number one? 

Friend : Too many shirtless pics. 

Paul : And that's bad because? 

Friend : Just too many. 

Paul : How about bachelor number two? 

Friend : Not enough words in his description. 

I say bachelor number one and two but my friend was flicking away at the Tindr dates like it was a swiping game. Barely a micro second glance and it's already a swipe left. 

I could keep writing on the reasons for swiping left but some are so inconsequential that I found myself at a loss for words. Even the tiniest of imperfections is reason enough for a rejection. One ear bigger than the other? Smile too wide? Too many friends? 

I'm sure he could find something wrong with even this! 

Look, Prince Charming, if you're gonna refuse every bachelor in the land for some silly reason, there's never going to be anyone for you. And that's all only based on a superficial profile with a couple of random photos, including the obligatory shirtless thirst pic - and a brief description of likes and dislikes. 

From that, you're able to tell whether someone's good enough for a date?  

Oh come on. Talk about reading a book by its cover. 

Be a little less fussy. The best dates I've been on are the ones I didn't expect. You can never tell from that serious expression on his face that he could be the greatest comedian ever. You can't tell just from the sculpted pecs bursting out of his tank top that he's actually the caring sort who boils homemade soup for those he loves. You can't tell from a three line description that he actually writes dramatic telenovelas for a living. 

Is it really so hard? One swipe right is all it takes. 

Unless the other fellow is also a tool and doesn't swipe in return. 

Twitter-Age

Though sometimes I gotta say it can be more like Twitter-Rage.

It's been a pretty busy two months, not only at real work but also in my part-time job helping out at the market. Since the fledgling art market has been doing relatively well since its inception earlier this year, there have been more calls to do it ever more often, ever more loaded etc.

The bigger, better, badder sequel as it may be.

Apparently that also involves getting more hands-on with the market details itself, along with handling the various social media that goes along with the entire programme. Which I find myself gradually drifting into since the other crew members are either too detached, too unavailable or too impassioned. We don't do things in halves over here.

So yes, I have been on social media almost 24/7 lately on all possible platforms from the ever-superficially hipster Instagram to the more staid, traditional socmed of Facebook. 

And yes, also Twitter and Snapchat as well.

Feeling almost millennial. Or even post-millennial sometimes. Despite feeling the urge to lash out most unhipster-like at some of the more exasperating comments asking repeatedly about something that I've just mentioned earlier. Seriously, scroll up people - or read the carefully worded advertisements rather than just look mindlessly at the pretty pictures. 

Yeah I do think it would be a lil too scathing for the easily bruised strawberries these days. Terribly mean some of them can be but they don't take the same insults well.

Oh man, how long can I keep a virtual smile on with all these irritating questions!

Think many have detailed the different personalities that wander into these altogether disparate platforms and I have to agree wholeheartedly. Whereas I've always been a steadfast advocate of the written word - hence my loyal presence here on the blogs - I do admit feeling a certain on-off appreciation for the brusque 180 maximum tweet.

Short and sweet usually, keeping one's thoughts of the day to the barest minimum. Basically a twitter haiku detailing the experiences we have that very day, as compared to the longer treatise required for a blog.

Though of course having something so succinct does give license to some excruciating pellets of foolishness on an hourly basis; mostly without the deeper thought required to expound on a controversial subject into several paragraphs such as on a blog. Takes seconds to type out the nastiest comments in response to almost any subject possible - and with the relative anonymity of the internet - the infamous internet trolls use that much to their advantage fearing no reprisal.

Well apart from the near-immediate return volleys from other retweets and such.

Maybe it's me or was the blogosphere a much more civilized arena?

Nanjing Road East

If there's one thing the Chinese prize above all, it's family - perhaps let me rephrase, the enduring continuity of the family lineage with progeny to continue the next generation. Ye Olde Confucian way. Is it any wonder that the the symbolism of 100 children at play figures large on paintings, embroideries and other Chinese paraphernalia? The recent one-child policy might have quashed their enthusiasm a little but that doesn't stop them from trying.

So what happens if that singleton refuses to date?

A mercantile people for more than a millennia, the Chinese have always loved a good bargain with an endless need to barter for goods deep in their blood so what could they have possibly done with a single, marriageable child in their household? Why not bring out their precious goods to sell on the streets?

Or maybe a public park at the meeting place of Nanjing Road East and West?

I mean, the bashful kids obviously aren't going to sell themselves! Who better to peddle them off than the people who know them best ; their own parents?

Woman : I've got a boy.
Man : Good?
Woman : Yes. Educated and earning a good salary/
Man : I've got a girl.
Woman : How old is she?
Man : Marriageable I assure you.
Woman : Perfect.

Flesh market indeed!

Much to the horror of their children I'm sure. Though perhaps some of them are truly lovelorn and don't mind their parents giving them a helping hand in the dating milieu.

Forget about Tindr and other dating apps out there. Not since the olden days of Chinese matchmakers in Mulan would you have seen such as a sight as the People's Square Park in Shanghai with gossip gangs of elderly parents communing in the park with handheld laminated notices - or placed more discreetly on umbrellas - detailing pertinent information about their marriageable children from the usual date of birth to their more likeable personality traits.

No such eligible boys at the market - otherwise I would have packed him in the luggage. 

Walking about staring at all the notices, I'll admit to a certain ego boost when I got asked about my eligibility by a few portly matrons. Never let it be said that dressing up well benefits no one, certainly helped raise my points on the marriage mart here. Unsurprisingly few real candidates are present in the park. Very few pictures are posted on the advertisements which gives me a very peculiar idea about their looks, or lack of. Charming Calvin said they might be all be shy but I seriously wonder.

Selling points for the boys were their degrees, housing opportunities and career prospects while the girls had their age and personality on their side. Really old-fashioned China indeed and certainly not a place for the raging feminists.

Unsurprisingly the local Shanghai men are famously saleable, not only for their advantageous addresses but also their unwholesome reputation for being easily henpecked. But beware those girls over 30 as this reporter would tell you.

Oof. I'll admit those gruffly exacting parents pull no punches when they are giving their unvarnished opinions.

Suzhou Nocturne

If there is one specific place in China that I've always loved, it would be Suzhou. Is it any wonder that people throughout the ages have laid exultant accolades at her door with some referring to the city as a place close to paradise on earth?

上有天堂，下有苏杭

Who could blame the poets for praising the city so zealously when it has been well regarded as one of the most beautiful cities in the world for centuries with its canals, bridges and classical gardens. Indeed the resplendent place where the goods of all provinces flow. Reason enough that I find myself heading over there again, bypassing other more notables cities such as Hangzhou and Nanjing, to this relatively smaller city. Relatively when it comes to China since even their purportedly smaller cities easily outstrip most other cities outside the region.

Even though it was mid week at quite an unseasonable hour, the colossal railway station in Suzhou still had quite a crowd and I shudder to think how it would be during the mass migration of the Spring Festival. Wouldn't surprise me that the unfortunate would get trampled in the ensuing chaos!

Such a huge sigh of relief once we left the spartan gray neo-Communist building in the outskirts of the city and headed towards the more historical centre. Not only are the streets beautifully clean and well maintained with the dreamy tree-lined canals beside them, even the bus stops are built as traditional dappled grey gazebos with curved tiled black roofs reminiscent of the ancient structures around them.

Finding our way through the rabbit warren maze of narrow lanes and canals took a while!

Just a vision from an old Chinese watercolour painting with delicate gazebos and pagodas interspersed with a filigree of tree-lined canals and backwaters.

Situated as we were in an old lodge right in the middle of the historical district, everything is only a short distance away. Just down the windy narrow lanes overhung with weeping willows and mimosa trees, we would find ourselves in the midst of bookstores, silk houses and souvenir stores selling everything from ceramics to snuff bottles.

Can't argue the fact that the mercantile Chinese, even despite the brief blip of red communism, have always prized materialism.

And did I mention they had restaurants and teahouses practically every few metres from posh dining palaces offering fine foods with entertainers singing Kunqu through the night to the messier stalls by the roadside serving braised chicken feet to dozens in the queues! No matter what they say, the Suzhounese do know how to enjoy life. So it should come as no surprise that bureaucrats and ministers have been known to retire here in the later stages of their lives for the past millennia.

Entertainment and food aside, let's not forget the artistic side of the fabled city.

Didn't take me long to find myself seated on a wooden stool with paintbrush in hand to colour in a traditional Suzhou woman's dress, all while Charming Calvin stood by with a steaming cup of Longjing green tea in hand. Ancient watercolours of Chinese ladies in Ming and Tang costume screenprinted onto silk pillows and table runners for us to paint on. Something Calvin obviously flat out refused to do so - leaving him to while away the time lazing about the store admiring the peerless scenery outside.

What better way to spend a lazy afternoon in Suzhou?

Miss Shanghai

Since this was our third time around in Shanghai with ample enough time to explore at leisure, I had the time to really stroll down the streets and alleyways and soak the atmosphere of this fabled city. Didn't take me long before I made my way down to the Old City of Shanghai, a place a tour guide once teased us about.

Guide : Yes, it's another temple in Shanghai. 
Paul : Good God. Not another temple. 
Guide : Not just any temple. 
Paul : Unless the monks are shirtless and sexy, I think I'll skip it. 
Guide : Trust me, you won't want to miss this temple. 

He was right back then.

Wouldn't surprise me if the traders dressed like this less than a century back. Heck, even I've worn the same. 

And I wouldn't argue with him this time either since I've returned repeatedly to Yuyuan Garden - and the City God Temple within - each time I'm there. Basically the more Chinese part of Shanghai city that wasn't carved away in the more fractious colonial times into international concessions so part of what was originally there remains.

Sort of. 

Monstrous tourist trap it may be with repetitive stores hawking all things Chinese from the traditional arts and crafts to the more kitschy Chairman Mao memorabilia - and on that particular holiday the old alleys were certainly bursting to the brim with haggling visitors - but it was a place that I still managed to enjoy.

Even more this time since I had little qualms over elbowing and shoving people out of my way.

Not that the lil miss Shanghais would even bother since they could be as brash and brusque as anyone else, even dressed in the most demure qipaos. Then again, the local proud Shanghainese would again decry any such association with those they would term country bumpkins.

There is a lack of finesse for sure. Even more obvious when it comes to the surly service received in the teahouses and restaurants around. Smiles are rare indeed, and personal recommendations even less so, something I found alarmingly common here. Just like some of our own reticent Malaysian Chinese back home, they tend to have a stark problem voicing out their own preferences.

It's like if they get the answer wrong I might order them executed on sight.

Paul : So what's the specialty in this restaurant? 
Waitress : Oh it's in the menu. 
Paul : Well I am new here so anything you would suggest? 
Waitress : There's a star at the side of the dish for the popular ones. 
Paul : There are so many so which one would you suggest? 

Usually an order that leaves them thunderstruck with their brain seemingly crashing as they try to process what I just said. Fortunately after a while I got the hang of their dour yet laconic demeanour - and quickly figured out what was good on my own. As usual though there would be those who whine over flavourful oily foods, I found the eating here as usual incomparable.

Ye Shanghai

It came as quite a surprise to realize, during our efforts to procure a travel visa, that the last time we actually were in China had been almost a decade ago. Has it actually been that long?

However it did take a while before deciding on where to go next with our shortlist of requirements; wanted someplace not too far and easily navigable enough, somewhere not too cold nor too hot... etc. Since we had such fond memories of our last trip to Suzhou and Shanghai way, way back, a return was definitely in the cards to see how much had changed. After his long ago assignment there, Charming Calvin still had some small misgivings about whether the brash mainland Chinese had actually learned to cultivate some manners.

Me, I figured I could be quite as horribly rag-mannered as the rest of them. Perhaps the last time I might have been astonished by their unapologetic brusqueness but this time, I was a little more prepared. You shove me, this time I'll just shove you back, maybe with some peppery insults to boot. Not exactly the ringing endorsement our mild-mannered fellow needed which earned a censorious side eye from him.

Though much has certainly changed in the ever-growing metropolis of Shanghai from the awe-inspiring futuristic skyline to the way digital technology has taken over almost every aspect of their lives with newfangled apps for everything, that blundering brashness of the people with the severe lack of personal boundaries still remains. After an hour or two of being carelessly bumped around in teeming crowds ( Shanghai seriously gives a whole new meaning to crowds ) from the metro stations to the malls, it becomes almost a habit to do pretty much the same with little or no apology.

Perhaps it's with age and maturity that I look at it but I find their behaviour almost... charming though the more fastidious Calvin had far less complimentary words for it. While they do still speak in louder, harsher tones than we are used to, I did find them all extremely helpful. Just think of that grumpy old uncle in the neighbourhood with a heart of gold.

And I suspect most of the proud Shanghainese - no doubt gossiping in their singsong dialect - would vehemently insist that the rougher rabble in their midst were actually newly arrived country cousins.

Everything bright, brash and blinding in the city of Shanghai. 

Probably those were the unfortunate ones cramming together with us as we were all herded in boisterous groups down the main shopping thoroughfare Nanjing Road to the Bund. Only a handful could be clearly seen to be non local; the majority of the rambunctious horde seemed purely to be their very own Chinese countrymen coming to see the future of their prideful nation. After all, where else to get a better juxtaposition of the new and the old in the city with the more venerable grand old colonial ladies on one side of the Bund and the flashier, neon-coloured skyscrapers on the Pudong side; divided only by the Huangpu River.

And that's only if you can get above the mass of flashing camera bulbs as they all snap pictures simultaneously en masse.

Comes as no surprise that it's the Chinese who coined the phrase 人山人海! 

Market Girls

As we are rushing headlong towards our almost third market, it has been an amazingly fun ride. Not only because it was wonderful seeing so many artists and crafters creeping out of their hidey hole to come share their talents at the market, it was also all due to the other three of my market compatriots; Tenacious Tiny, Terrific Trish and Trusting Toni.

Wonderful ladies all though it's amazing we even came together in the first place.

Seriously though, all of us have pretty much nothing in common apart from the artsy crafting that basically brought us together - so that gives rise to the occasional difference of opinion since we all have intensely contrasting personalities and generally hail from dissimilar backgrounds. And yet since we are a fledgling non-profit group, there are no specific set tasks and roles for any of us so we generally cover for each other when the other is busy. With such overlapping duties and functions, you can bet it's not all hunky dory all the time.

For instance I'm always alright with a little bit of bending the rules here and there, as are Trish and Toni occasionally, but Tiny is an impossible stickler for her rules. Tiny Rules. Something I'm starting to believe is traditionally cross stitched in large capital-sized fonts on a wooden sampler framed in her living room.

Bet Tiny would so be the fierce black girl.

You know those dangerously tiny lil mean girls back in school that you just know will get their way no matter what? That's definitely her.

So yes, we do go on into the weekly dispute over the nitty gritty of running the market.

Number one on her exhaustive list of rules about the market would be the authenticity of the artisanal product - something which I'm fine with. Unfortunately that's followed closely by the fact that she wants the creator to be personally there since Tenacious Tiny has an undeniable grudge against intermediary vendors who bring in marketable items from the interior villages without crediting the makers individually.

Alright let's not argue over the impossible logistics of bringing every talented basket maker from their longhouse for a weekend leaving their family behind. Add that to the fact that if the sole basket maker opened a stall, she'd probably only have a meagre amount of items on sale since it takes quite a while to finish even one!

So those were my points. Took some convincing and several hundred messages to finally get Tiny to agree - while Trish looked on in growing amusement and Toni scampered off for fear of being dragged into the tiff. Right there you have a small illustration of how things work around here. Whatever personality type Tiny may be, I'm definitely the direct opposite which drives her quite insane at times. But I guess we do need conflicting points of views to make the market work as well as it does.

All About Lube

Just when you think you've heard all you possibly could about Diffident David and his ever fascinating idiosyncrasies, he never fails to surprise us all over again by peeling away yet another thought-provoking layer of high neurosis. By now I should have enough scribbled notes for a little observational thesis on gay hysteria.

It should come as no surprise that he masturbates. Really, I think almost every grown adult male with a healthy sexual appetite breaks out the lube and plays with himself every once in a while. Yes, girls, that's all regardless of sexual leanings and committed affiliations. Think of it as a way of clearing the pipes on a bi-weekly basis, or even on a daily for the more virile amongst us.

And hey, sometimes you just ... got to when the urge suddenly strikes.
Seriously if you're a dedicated purveyor of hot male specimens such as the above, it's hard to resist!

So yes, David beats off as well. Though he obviously doesn't resort to the cheap tried-and-true methods of a hasty handjob since he has the fully functional Tenga ever available at home! Unfortunately for him, diddling with such complex gadgets and gizmos comes with its very own predicaments since silicone sheaths and such needs the occasional grease.

Which is where the lube comes in.

David : I've run out of lube. 
Paul : Just go buy some. 
David : I can't. 
Paul : Eh? 
David : I can't just head to the pharmacy to buy lube. 
Paul : Eh? 
David : I just can't. 

After such an unequivocal statement, how could any of us resist prying?

And there we get another fascinating amalgam of angst, anxiety and apprehension all rolled up into one flat categorical refusal. Interesting how internal homophobia crops up in such sticky situations since there's the inexplicable bone-shaking terror that some strange someone somewhere out there would catch him in the ignominious act of purchasing lube and somehow manage to shame him.

Yes, even that disinterested acne-ridden cashier at the convenience store.

Like wut.

Of course it gets worse as David starts hysterically spinning off into the inevitable What If situations from judgemental colleagues to heinous enemies conveniently dropping by the store just to point their fingers and laugh uproariously at his scandalous predicament. All over buying lube. And here I thought most boys get over their initial jitters from buying condoms and lube a long while ago in high school.

Waiting for the lube to arrive? 

For me, I'd have only one answer for them all. 'I'm using lube because I'm getting off. What about you?' Really, isn't that reason enough to be utterly envious?

If you ask me, to save him the aggravation it would be so much easier to use the spit on hand instead.

The Art Market & Me

Back during my schooldays though I was generally adequate when it came to my academics, few of my classmates would have come to me seeking pointers on mathematical sums or even physics conundrums. Simply put science & math simply wasn't something I was all that interested in and any questions posed to me, apart from those in my homework, would have earned a disinterested shrug from me.

Imagine my animosity towards a particular math tutor who insisted on handing out apparently 'fun' quizzes during our breaks.

It was towards the generally 'arts' subjects, as we would term it here, such as history, literature and art itself that I loved. Brief spells in between classes would have found me either carelessly doodling on the exercise book or sometimes pulling out my latest paperback for a quick read. And like in most any boys' school, there was always the incessant hushed request for the resident artist to draw female nudes.

I'm done with you. Get up and get dressed. 

Didn't take very much for horny teenage boys to get going at that impressionable age so anything slightly more voluptuous than their own childlike stick figure drawings would do. Turned out it wasn't all that difficult for me to sketch sexy sirens in all sorts of slutty situations. After all it was always the naked male figures that made me a tad more uneasy. Kept tweaking the nose of the handsome fellow, kept widening the broad shoulders, darkening the brows... just could never get them right.

And yes, they did make my heart go pitter patter a little. Yes, it made perfect sense in retrospect of course.

But that was all during my high school years. Though I still pulled out a sketchbook every once in a while after, I never did all that much till recently.

With the art market we organized, it was amazing to see so many creative minds under one roof! Don't think any of us walked out of the hall without feeling utterly energized by the crackling ingenuity and inventiveness shown by the many talented vendors who came to show their unique wares. That wasn't even counting the number of brainstorming sessions we had during our painting and crafting workshops which gave me so many budding ideas for creative collaboration from dollies to washi tapes.

Certainly sparked something in me which has me going through several pages of my sketchbook in a day, which is why I've been neglecting this blog for a little while!

Skinny-Dipping

Think the older you get, the less inhibitions you have?

At least I do think so since these days, I don't really care a fuck about what most people think, well apart from a select few of my friends and family. The rest I could easily say go hang since it's more likely they don't really care all that much about me anyhow.

Yes, kids. Sadly all those people out there don't really care about you.

But I digress.

The growing lack of self-consciousness extends to most other parts of my life as well. Honestly even stripping at the gym or the pool seems less fraught with stranger danger these days. Don't even really care if there's an entire jock crowd downing protein shakes in the locker room, I'd just strip all the way down to change. I'll admit to a bit more trepidation as a high school student way back when. Wouldn't know if that's a side effect of the physician's life seeing everyone naked every on in a while or perhaps growing older and caring less what others think. Maybe a bit of both.

So when I'm back at the hotel at a late hour of the night and I know the pool's perfectly empty... I really see no point in digging through the mess of my suitcase ( yes, yes I do toss everything in ) for my swimtrunks.

Unfortunately I don't look like this in speedos. 

Why bother when I can just slip into the remarkably cool waters of the pool after an entire day of tropical burn in my workwear? A though that comes to my mind each time I walk by an unoccupied pool in the later hours of the evening. Far from a dedicated nudist that's for sure - so I usually glance surreptitious around quickly to make sure no one else was around, then chuck my clothes to the side before just slipping in.

Fortunately, also thanks to my work, I'm super efficient at getting changed, whether in or out.

And hey, even if an inadvertent guest or worker happens to stumble by, they usually assume you're somehow dressed in trunks. Or perhaps skin coloured trunks.

Few would suspect otherwise.

Ondel-Ondel

Prior to the rapacious colonialists sailing over to stake their claims by drawing pithy lines on a map, the borders between our South East Asian countries were astonishingly porous with ships and sampans making their way all over the local ports. After a visit to Jakarta, it has become even more obvious that we share more similarities than differences, from our shared language to the food we serve on a daily basis.

Really it's sheer ridiculousness to even claim a famous dish, a cultural practice or a folk song as your own when it was clear that none of the new nations should actually do so since it belongs to the people of the entire area, regardless of their current nationalities. 

But I digress. 

Since the sole complaint I actually had about Bali was the conspicuous lack of palatable food, I was initially worried that I'd have to subsist painfully on Indomie every other evening. I mean sure I'm a great fan of instant noodles but surely I didn't fly over to a foreign land just for that particular delight. 

Yet again, Jakarta clearly proved me wrong since the food here is... just amazing. Or perhaps just more agreeable to my specific tastes since Javanese food in Jakarta didn't really differ all that much from what we have back here in Malaysia. 

Spices yum. 

It didn't mean we weren't initially stumped by their extensive menus. Not only had the Dutch made their own peculiar stamp on the culinary practices here with their poffertjes and pannekoeken, they had also left behind certain words and phrases that made every little dish strangely alien to us. And we hadn't even taken account of the differences in our local Malay and their Indonesian Malay.

A thought to ponder upon with Billy Davidson!

Even for teatime when presented with an entire batik-covered tray of beautifully prepared kueh, I found myself perfectly stumped when the names were rattled off repeatedly by the kebaya clad servers. From ongol ongol to kueh kelepong, the words were all mystifying even though they all vaguely resembled the kueh I knew back home. Imposters I wanted to cry out! Think of it as our very own kueh but with their very own Indo-Dutch twist.

Absolutely scrumptious that's all I can say!

And the beautiful ambience of their restaurants certainly added to the experience. Say what you will but the Indonesians spared no cost in decorating their restaurants lavishly. Glam to the max. And more. Even the austere colonial buildings were clearly no match for the local razzle-dazzle that totally transformed each plain Dutch wife into an enchanting Javanese stunner.

Bengawan Solo

Since doctors rarely receive any good news despite what people may think, the year began with the usual tiresome update that our medical practising certificate would be even more troublesome to renew. Not only did it come with a cutting-edge app that would probably drive the older codgers absolutely batty, there were several bureaucratic hoops and hurdles we had to jump over before getting our renewal.

So it was that I had to scour through the internet searching for a medical conference at least somewhere within the region - far enough that few of my own colleagues would head there so that I could ask for their help - yet near enough that I could just jet over for a brief spell without compromising too much of my regular work.

Serendipitously the name Jakarta turned up. 

Yes, I'll admit to some serious qualms when I saw the name. Utterly prejudiced as I was, all I could think of were dull, humdrum skyscrapers in the sweltering tropical heat of Java - with throngs and throngs, and throngs of people all packed together in one of their infamous traffic crawls. Not exactly a winning tourism slogan for Visit Indonesia but I figured I could easily hack it for just slightly more than a weekend. 

Boy, did Jakarta prove me wrong. 

Sure, most of the worries proved true enough since they did have the torrid weather, the terrible traffic and of course, the sadly indistinguishable gray concrete towers, all in spades. Yet it didn't take very long to see that there was more to Jakarta than just a random Asian metropolis perpetually shrouded in haze. In fact there seemed to be shades of an older, more refined Batavia everywhere I went.

For starters, having one of the hotel employees meet me right at the airport turned out to be an excellent idea since I saw firsthand right from the start that graciousness and hospitality seemed almost ingrained in the people here. From the streetside vendors serving bakso and sate to the most exclusive fine dining restaurants offering Rijsttafel, we only heard the most gentle greetings of 'Ya Pak, silakan.' None of the brash, loutish behaviour we would have associated with some of their less refined brethren working here. 

Also probably due to the fact that I chose to stay at Menteng, one of the more genteel upscale neighbourhoods in Jakarta. Just think tree-lined avenues with gracious colonial bungalows, refurbished hipster cafes and even hipper Indonesian youths. Imagine a dinner of traditional Indonesian fare with two dozen sate sticks from all the bigger islands in the archipelago coupled with artisanal black charcoal icecream serenaded by a group of youngsters playing a string quartet.

Incidentally playing a pop song by Katy Perry.  

Few boys the likes of Nicholas Saputra here unfortunately... but then again maybe they are hiding!

Not exactly what one would have expected from Jakarta.

Hows of Hospitality II : The Gay Uncles

Munching on endless mandarin oranges, feasting on seasonal delicacies and tossing firecrackers would be how most of us would spend the entire fifteen days of the Chinese New Year; but let us all not forget that the most important part of the time-honoured celebration would be the reunion of family members from near and far. Yes, whether or not we actually enjoy their continued presence in our lives - though I'm stodgily old-fashioned enough to believe that could be the time to foster closer familial ties if possible.

We can choose our own family these days but that doesn't mean we should give up entirely on the ones we were given. If you've never actually made the conscious effort to know your close relatives, how can you possibly just turn your back thinking they won't be kindred spirits?

But fear not, this isn't going to turn into a raging diatribe on conservative family values.

Let us hope the three gay uncles had a fabulous new year party all on their own!

It has more to do with the three gay uncles I mentioned a while back. Not even my own uncles but the ones belonging to Diffident David. Perhaps not all gay but elderly bachelor uncles they all are. Since the older generation has gone, it should come as no surprise that the bachelor uncles all have their own reunion dinner separate from the rest of their family.

Coming from a terribly inclusive family, I find it utterly shocking to say the least. Can't imagine what my late grandfather would have said if this had happened in our household! Turn in his grave he would!

Paul : Don't you feel for them? Isn't there a shred of empathy somewhere? 
David : Why? 
Paul : They are gay. 
David : They aren't gay. 
Paul : Nonetheless, they are single and alone. There is basically no one else for their reunion dinner. 
David : So? 
Paul : Aren't you asking them over? 

Sadly, you'd have thought the appalling lack of hospitality I mentioned only extends to random acquaintances but apparently it extends to extended family as well. Hoping that he'd changed his mind during the new year turned out to be futile since they weren't invited over for the reunion at all.

Maybe next year?

How I Got Away With An Art Market II

Initially I think all of us, Trish, Tiny, Toni and I, even with the greatest of hopes and optimism, didn't think very much would come of the very first market we planned.

For such a small town with hardly any artistic gatherings as such, there seemed little chance we would even be able to collect enough promising vendors to form an artisan market. About a handful was all we expected and we planned it as such with a smaller event space than the one before. And even though we had decided to revive a lackluster market that happened semi regularly, the crowd at their very last event had been less than gratifying.

Hardly a ringing recommendation for the next.

Shouldn't come as a surprise then that I didn't have very high hopes for the customer crowd so I tried to reasonably manage everyone's expectations.

Paul : Guys, it's just our first market, a test for the crowd in town, so don't worry if not many people appear.
Tiny : There will be a huge crowd. 
Paul : At least we hope. Nonetheless it's just an opportunity for us all to get together and know one another. 
Tiny : There will be a huge crowd. 
Paul : I really hope you repeating that would actually make it happen. 

Turns out that seemed to do the trick.

Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, the ancient Chinese proverb goes to explain the spectacular talents hidden in people yet undiscovered. A phrase that has certainly turned out apt for our particular situation since artists and crafters came out of nowhere when our first offer went out. Seems like right beneath our noses, we had painters, calligraphers, sculptors etc. all ready to showcase their hidden talents. Didn't take long before we were already getting worried whether we even had enough available venue space to fit them all in.

Like it or not, it was the management of such a diverse group of temperamental artisans with peculiar needs and wants that turned out to be a challenge. Urgent messages on every social media possible went zinging to and fro as we handled the occasional mercurial diva.

Tiny : It's your turn. 
Paul : I did it this morning. 
Trish : I'll do it but you guys owe me dessert. 
Paul : As long as I don't have to handle that melodrama again. 

Not to mention handling each other with our eccentricities since we had only started to know each other - meaning Trish, Tiny, Toni and I.

How To Get Away With An Art Market

Rather than make a new year resolution that I would probably fail miserably at, I decided to do something far more productive and rejuvenate an art market already present here. After all I've always wanted to run a little artsy bric-a-brac store of my own so why not try out my rusty shopkeeping skills with something a little less permanent, and a tad more substantial than just a pop-up store!

For years on end, I have been a frequent visitor at an annual arts and crafts market here - and yes, I've often wondered often enough why it hasn't become a more regular event rather than only briefly during the run up to Christmas. After all, there seemed to be quite a growing crowd of participants each year. Few could answer me however, though I could easily guess the reason was mainly due to the semi-active participation of a couple of overtaxed expatriate housewives who tended to flit in and out of the town throughout the year.

Hardly the sort to help make the fledgling market a more formally established item on the city's itinerary. 

Which is where we come in. One of the more determined participants, henceforth to be named Tenacious Tiny, corralled some of the more vocal people into a tight band to jointly organize more art markets here. Through Terrific Trish and Trusting Toni whom I've met on and off through the various events in town, I found my way into this group who hoped to bring together the crafters and creators in Miri under one single umbrella. 

Or at least that's what our main objective said!

Though none of them remotely resembled this fellow sadly. 

Despite my initial misgivings, the number of interested vendors in our market idea turned out to be quite significant; with a rare handful heaving a sigh of relief that someone had finally taken charge to make it more permanent. All I could think of was why hadn't they? Guess initiative is harder to find than I thought!

Several evenings of coffee and brainstorming followed between Trish, Tiny, Toni and I as we figured what to keep and what to change about the upcoming events. Thoughts of shifting the market venue to a more convenient location turned out to be far more tricky than we imagined. Not only did Tiny adore the original rustic location in a beach hut bistro, she as a local agoraphobic native didn't fancy driving more than five metres away from her house. Took a little bit of convincing but we managed to divert to another location closer to the town centre. 

Even the dates of the event kept moving around the calendar as we tried to balance the logistics of preparation with the advent of the Chinese New Year. 

Fortunately with Trish ever so adept at computer graphics, we soon had several posters and ads ready to place up around town; which Tiny and I sneakily plastered up at the more prominent junctions in town. Helping with the social media accounts, I found myself embracing the role of a peppy millennial coming up with wildly animated, enthusiastic remarks to accompany our numerous adverts.

Gotta admit there were some days I found myself utterly exhausted from being that vivacious- and wished desperately for a cup of thick black coffee. 

Gossip Girl

Let's face it, we all love gossip.

Short of being an utterly antisocial hermit huddled on a mountaintop alone, humans are basically social creatures who love each other's company - and once we gather, we tend to talk trash about each other as well. Probably ever since the first grunting cavemen returned to brag about the monstrous mastodon they all escaped from earlier.

Thankfully these days though, we tend to focus less on man-eating predators and more on what's happening in our lives; usually from the more mundane information such as progress at work and possible promotions thereafter to the more salacious details of someone's broken marriage and the reasons thereof.

Cue the trash talk from the ever-fertile rumour mill.

Though some of my more innocent friends usually cry foul to claim that it isn't always true.

Paul : So you know of her but you don't actually know her. 
Barbara : Yes, people have been talking about her. 
Paul : Ah, so what terrible news have you heard? 
Barbara : Nothing!
Paul : Stories about her reached you but there's nothing to tell. 
Barbara : Nothing bad at least. 
Paul : They spoke good things about her? 
Barbara : Yes. 
Paul : Do I look that gullible to you? 

Really? Schoolmates spread favourable news about someone around town.

Girl : Have I got some news for you!
Paul : Ooh pray tell. 

Let's not kid ourselves.

Perhaps if we all lived in a perfect utopia. Undoubtedly tales of selfless heroism and wonderful good deeds do make it onto the front page sometimes but believe the sad cynic here when I say, people rarely gather around the hearth to gossip about that. Virtuous saints do plenty of good that's hardly mentioned but it's their one little known inconsequential failing that gets everyone talking.

After all there's always that little touch of malice in the third retelling.

So despite what our sweetly optimistic Barbara wants to believe, gossip's rarely good.

Fear not though. Though rumours would persistently circulate so long as humans are around, we also have to remember to take what's whispered around about people objectively since generally there are parts that would be wildly fallacious. Like Chinese Whispers, any scandalously juicy bit gets a little added spice as the tale gets spread around so there's usually a veritable feast of scrumptious ignominy at the very end.

Maybe take it with a little pinch of salt.

Three Gay Uncles

Not so very long ago, the term confirmed bachelor was a delicate euphemism in polite conversation that hinted at a gentleman's sexual inclinations; no doubt followed by a loaded silence with a few discerning nods and even disappointed sighs by those in the know.

These days however, it's not that uncommon to find a confirmed bachelor in our midst. Though some might whisper about his inclinations, there would still be a shred of doubt since endless possibilities abound. Anything from a severe lack of dating opportunities to the prospect of a broken heart, and even asexuality could be a factor.

But what if there wasn't only one, not even two ... but three confirmed bachelors in one house? One, perhaps not. We all have that solitary relative who has remained firmly unattached. Two, hmm. But if there were three single unmarried men in one house?

And what if all three bachelor uncles were related closely to Diffident David?

Certainly lends an intriguing slant to the tale, no?

Paul : And you still think your mother doesn't know? 
David : No, she doesn't. 
Paul : With three gay uncles under one roof? 
David : They aren't gay. 
Paul : Have they dated any women? Are they dating any women? 
David : Not that I know of. 
Paul : Hmmm. So how would you know? 
David : They aren't. 

That's what everyone says before the closet door is flung open.

According to David, they are all eminently marriageable with decent wages, residences of their own and all three seem to be of sound mind and body. Surely there couldn't have been some severe calamity that rendered all three men in the family utterly incapable of coaxing even the most demurring female to accompany them all the way to the altar?

I'm not saying the three uncles have regular gay orgies on the weekends ( ooh la la! ) where gay incest is always on the table - a scandalous idea that horrified our prudish David - but even going by the simple laws of probability, it's quite possible one of the three could be gay.

With three unmarried men in the house, it's quite obvious the other relatives would have briefly entertained the possibility of homosexuality. Let's not kid ourselves, with the advent of television and media even the most isolated mountain villages have heard about gay pride and such.

Yes, even David's mother.

The appalling thought of which horrified our Diffident David into stupefied silence. Something to think about I guess.

Dating 2018

You'd think by my venerable age I'd have gotten over the entirely absurd rigmarole of dating conventions and the ensuing insanity that entails. That's just entirely sophomoric high school stuff, no? These days isn't it all about getting an instant lay from the prurient dating apps?

Guess not all of us graduated fully from high school since unfortunately with some of my less conversant friends these days, Dating 101 seems to be all we're talking about from the confusing etiquette of tentative first dates to the vague possibility of the figurative coffee after. We might as well be having our packed lunches at the school canteen bench.

Although I have to say some of Miz Grundy's puritanical ideas do seem like they have been carried forward from her sophomoric days.

Or more likely her solemn times in the nunnery.

Paul : Well it's simple really. Why don't you just ask him out?
Miz Grundy : I can't do that. 

Paul : Why not? Is there a law against it? 

Miz Grundy : Girls don't ask guys out on dates!

Paul : Did you fall into a wormhole? Are you seriously stuck in the Victorian era? 

Obviously I was utterly aghast to hear such an archaic concept mentioned in the post women's lib era. Did all that relentless bra burning mean nothing to her?

A man in my carriage! I shall keep my gaze stonily affixed to the front. 
Oh dear is that his hand?
A man's hand!
Brushing against me!
Lawd-a-mercy I'm going to faint. 

It was like talking to one of the more straight-laced Regency heroines in one of my dog-eared Heyer novels. Miss Wraxton from the Grand Sophy perhaps?

Hard to even have a decent conversation when something as simple as asking a gentleman out had her all aflutter! Never even occurred to her that such a revolutionary milestone had passed her by while she'd been locked up in a hideaway convent. When relentlessly pressed for a reason, all Miz Grundy could fall back on was a sad, feeble fear of rejection.

You can imagine the veritable hailstone of rebukes and reprimands that followed that pathetic admission. Oh really, come on. Well, hello and welcome to the world of hopeful bachelors all around the world. So now you know how guys feel when they try to pick girls up at the bar. 

So get over yourself and try it.

Or maybe turn on Tindr? I should have known better than to have made such a scandalous suggestion since obviously that terribly distressing notion caused her to reach for her smelling salts as she fell into a near swoon.

The Hows of Hospitality

With my grandmother's passing just a few weeks back, it did have us all thinking back on the fun times we all had when we were younger in the kopitiam; from hopping over specific wooden floorboards to avoid waking up the elders to the crazy shenanigans we got up to whilst working in a coffeeshop. You really never know what's going to happen when practically anyone can walk into the shop.

One thing I did realize after all this time is the fact that our dining table generally had an unfamiliar face every time we sat down for meals. Though we used to think they were some random relatives that my grandparents used to call over - or even old customers of the shop who dropped by, they mostly turned out to be long-lost friends and even total strangers sometimes that were invited over. As shy young children, it did embarass us to have such relative foreigners at the dining table, frequently staring unashamedly at us and blatantly commenting on how we looked. Certainly wasn't ideal for an impressionable child of any age. 

Turns out calling randoms to the table is a family trait since my own parents did the same, much to our consternation. 

Come join us for a meal!

But as I grow older, I realized those were some of the most important life lessons we had, though we didn't know we were being ably taught even then. What we learnt was the importance of friendship and hospitality. Till now, my table - and by extension my home - is always open to friends and family no matter the time of day. 不客气!

Although if you come banging on the wee hours of the morning, you might get a grumpier response than usual... but still my door will be open.

So much to my horror I found out recently how simple hospitality seems to be an archaic tradition. Certainly not something that's taught in most other households. 

Paul : So you're heading over there for a while? 

Miz Grundy : Yes. 

Paul : Staying over with your friend? 

Miz Grundy : No. 

Paul : You fell out with her? 

Miz Grundy : No. 

Paul : What gives?

Miz Grundy : She didn't offer her place to me. 

Paul : She's not squatting under a staircase? 
Miz Grundy : No. It's a double storey and she lives alone. 
Paul : How accommodating. Yeah, she's not a friend. 

It's as simple as that so let's just leave all the lame excuses that followed. A friend comes over to your place and you can barely offer a night's stay, much less a hearty meal? How ungenerous for a supposed friend. Hell, actually that's so much worse than a complete stranger. 

By her feeble responses, I assume Miz Grundy wouldn't have offered the same so I figure that's one 'friendship' that isn't going to last.

Dead & Breakfast

No doubt it wasn't a typical funeral. Just like the one we had for my grandfather twenty years ago, there just wasn't the similar hushed solemnity that goes on in other homes. Neither was there a lot of hysterical outpouring of grief not seen since pitiful widows threw themselves onto funeral pyres.

There wasn't even a hint of black. 

Maybe some white but even that was eclipsed by the brilliant reds and pinks that constituted our funereal colours. Merriment and mirth aplenty as well since there had been time enough to say goodbye to a beloved grandmother. Not to mention the dining table was laden with food enough to feed the entire village. Pretty sure she would have been pleased to see us all come together for one last hurrah to send her on that final journey. 

Which seems like a fitting tribute for my grandmother if you ask me. 

Though of course she would have dismissed the entire religious ceremony with the customs and chants that accompanied the funeral bits. The incessant gossiping, much to the disapproval of the others, would probably have interested her since most of the time we were ruminating over the inexplicable actions of her youngest, and by far the most problematic, grandson, Richie Runt. 

Cousin : Jail in three years?
Paul : Maybe five?
Cousin : A wager? 

Spoiled ever since he was a wee mewling babe, there didn't seem much the rest of us younger folk could do with his overly doting mom and the ever-enabling aunts ignoring all contradictory cries that he wasn't the docile angel he seemed to be. From playing truant in school to frequenting gambling halls after, it didn't take much foresight to predict what would become of the enfant terrible. 

Though it did give us much fodder for our cousinly conversations!

Which brings us to his current predicament. Not content with fleecing the frantic faithful with his necromantic prowess, it seems he had also taken up another side job with one of my other cousins. 

Ever the eternal optimist, Macho Mike ignored all the previous hoary tales about Richie Runt & The Missing Cash Register and took him under his wing. It didn't take very long before he'd confirmed that most of the tales of the boy's faithlessness, indolence and deceit were all too true. Apparently he was quite as awful an employee as he was a student in the past. 

Paul : You just didn't want to bail him out of jail, right? 

Mike : That's true. Now it's someone else's turn. 

Perhaps Lispy Lori needs another volunteer for her non-profit organisation?  

In The Wake of Gossip

Since listening to the conks, clicks and clangs of a faith none of us really believed in wasn't exactly wildly absorbing, my irreligious cousins and I had plenty of time to catch up in between the public pretense of abject spiritual contemplation.

And the seriously soporific repetitive chants.

With all the monks and priestesses from different Buddhist sects roaming about the kopitiam at all hours, it was hard not to poke fun at our very own spiritual shaman, the inimitable Richie Runt who last I heard had apparently taken up ghostbusting the Asian way as a side job. Though I have my curious beliefs in the netherworld, I do also have serious doubts about the abilities of our alleged amateur exorcist, even the esteemed ascetic he calls a master.

Though I wouldn't doubt the lucrativeness of said career path, especially since even the lowliest abbots invited for the funeral came ornamented with shiny Rolexes and gleaming iPad Pros. All of us stared in disbelief and I can easily imagine the choice words my late grandmother would have for the extremely well-appointed clergy.

But since Richie Runt always has his greedy lil eye on the quick buck, I can't imagine a more suitable appointment for him! Fleecing the faithful flock has to be a time-honoured profession, no?

Paul : Even I'm already thinking of taking up this career. 
Lori : It's definitely better than what he's already doing. 
Paul : Oh Richie finally has a steady job?
Lori : Well not exactly. He runs around collecting illegal lottery tickets. 
Paul : Damn this gets better and better. 

When you figure he's gonna zig, he can really zag.

For those who are wondering, we do have legal channels for lottery tickets in the country. Several in fact where you can dream up numbers and place a bet on them. However there are certain ... darker means to achieve similar, if not more profitable, returns with the illegal lottery operations hence their growing popularity.

And of course the neverending crackdowns by the boys in blue.

Umm... waitaminute, you mean it's not legal?

A distinct future scenario we definitely warned Richie Runt about though I'm sure he wilfully turned a deaf ear to our well-meaning brotherly advice. Well, I figured with such a huge family, there's bound to be one irresponsible black sheep at the very least! Never knew he'd turn out to be a conman too!

Something I'm sure my extremely law-abiding grandpa would be turning in his grave.