All I Wanted Was a Damn Sandwich

There are many times and different ways that living abroad challenges you.  Quite often, these have to do with food.

Today, all I wanted was a damn sandwich.

Sounds simple, right?  Right! So off the local Fresh Price grocery store I went, to stock up on the old essentials.  This was gonna be good…

Right! So immediately upon entry, I found myself in the bread “section.”  I insert the quotes only because Singaporeans don’t like bread that much.  But still, off to a great start!  My eyes quickly perused the smallish but tempting selection—nope, don’t want that one, it’s got green coloring, and that one red.  That bread’s sweet, and that one has a funny swirl.  The Mediterranean Panini flatbread, despite its seemingly confused ethnic/national lineage is tempting, but really all I wanted was a long, crusty French bread.  Voila!  Okay, this loaf may not be crunchy, but this long loaf does indeed carry the nom de plume of the Françoise.  One in a row, I’m on a roll!  Well, it was more of a baguette, but the “roll” pun was still intended.

Just past the bread was the cheese “section.”  I insert the quotes only because Singaporeans, while liking cheese to a fair degree, eat shitty cheese.  A few grated ones, a few block ones, but why oh why do even the Colby’s appear to be an off-white or yellow color?!?  Where the HELL are the orange colored cheeses?!?  Argh!!!!!  This is getting frustrating.  Patience, glasshoppa.  All right, cream-colored Aussie sliced cheese it is.  Note to self: please do not let this be the “kangaroo cheese” you read about on the internet.     Continue reading

Oh Father, Where Hath Thy English Gone?

When online, my Dad communicates like an adolescent.
It’s as if at the ripe old age of 75, he no longer has the time nor the will to attend to grammatical, punctuation, or syntactical rules and norms.  To underscore my point, he’d have ended my previous sentence as follows “…forget ur syn-tax rules!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
This from a man who used to speak fondly of letters he’d read in Civil War anthologies, letters sent home from average soldiers who lay wounded, dying, or in any case with severe crotch rot.  Oh, how they’d just about break your heart.  How even the most simple and brutish among them could spin a woeful yarn evocative of a gentle soul, imploring Mary Anne’s and Molly’s across the great nation to wait for their fateful return, be they dead or alive.
This from the man who once asked of me that I become a writer, so as to preserve the language, to guard it from the unseemly forces that caused its degradation.  At the time, I was very much of an antithetical mindset, believing in the malleability and fluidity of language, and certain that so long as we were still communicating (as in “getting” each others’ “drifts” no matter how poor the prose) it really didn’t matter a whit.  Continue reading

Oh, Huge Brain, You’re So Funny

Oh, brilliant, weighty, substantial, substantive, clever brain, why won’t you let me sleep?  That’s a rhetorical question of course, but I’m sure you already knew it– you’re kind of smart like that!  :O)

I used to question you, oh wonder of wonders, conqueror of doubt, and multi-tasker extraordinaire–as to why despite your massive intelligence and seeming all-knowingness, you chose to process such awesome amounts of information so very close to bedtime, rendering me helpless, a mere observer to your jaw-dropping information crunching power, power so intense as to be akin only perhaps to the world’s most blazingly speedy supercomputers daisy-chained together and plugged into God’s own power strip and by the man himself I might add!

But now I know better.  I know you are just too powerful, oversized, smart, amazing, gifted, and full of the types of knowledge that gives the most revered and inspired philosophers boy-like wet dreams each and every night—you just can’t contain yourself, can you?!?

You’re so funny, Brain. Continue reading