Did anyone ever notice that the words to 'I'm a little teapot' are vaguely raunchy? When I get all steamed up indeed.

Got home 'early' (before 9) tonight to study. Instead I made toasted cheese and tomato sandwiches and a big pot of tea and listened to the White Stripes.

I want to have love puppies with Jack White.

I am so a teenager again. Look, here's the evidence:
1. I am living with a family
2. I go to my room to email my friends or write stupid things in my blog
3. I have a blog for godssake
4. I have totally delusional crushes on people like JW and think 'oh no, if we met we'd get along really really well' and we could live minimilist monochrome life with repetitive chord soundtrack
5. I wear outfits that I have to explain to the rest of my household (um, it's like, ironic, I think, and anyway everyone else in Sydney's wearing them...)
6. I get all excited and put on loud music when no-one else is home
7. I get the giggles at 'work' (school) when I read stupid things in reports and then have to explain it to the rest of the 'office' (class), because I've just disturbed everyone and they're looking at me
8. I am procrastinating about doing my homework

And of course I should be studying now. Right now this very instant. I'm only fooling myself. I'll be sorry later when I have to repeat year 1 (of my Masters) and all the other kids are a year younger than me and I'm the tallest in my class. Now. One, two, three.. now!

That's it, I'm turning off the music.

i dreamt last night that an elephant sat on me - well stood over me really, I was lying on my belly - and it was kind of warm under the elephant, and I was waving my arms around out either side to get someone's attention and the elephant thought I was a durian and started to nibble on my hand and I got very scared because it has such big teeth I thought it would crush my fingers right off, but then I got out and I was thinking, cool, that'll be a good story to tell - an elephant sat on me.

favourites:

still find it hard to pick all time favourites on all those important things like books and movies, I must be the ultimate fence sitter, or cultural kleptomaniac, (too many posibilities, I just like them all), but, just for today, here are my favourites...

-Song to sing - jazz standard "How long has this been going on"
- Album - pirate Jamiroquai
- Eating place - Nirvana in Bangsar, those salad thingies on the bannana leaf are my idea of heaven
- Outfit - my pj's coz it means I'm getting sleep
- Fruit - I am in love with 'Salak' or what I call snake fruit. Fuck me I never throught a fruit could look like an Italian shoemaker designed it; this fruit has brown snaky scales, I can't stop staring at them
- Acheivements - a tie between essay sent in at 4am or the very first shitty nappy I changed since I arrived. A clean bottom and new nappy safely on and no tears (from either of us) during the whole process! Essay less happy with but then I never am. Wish the other 2 were done
- Gals - Stanmore possie for looking after the little man and taking care of my affairs in general

Am also looking forward to tomorrow because it's a maid day and I get to come home to a beautifully made bed and a sweet little pile of folded knickers and t-shirts and an ironed shirt. Such a nice present, makes me feel all loved and cared for.

Hope you're enjoying a few of your favourite things.

It's the small things...

Just putting finishing touches to final essay for subject #2 (yes I'm sure you're all fascinated with blow by blow accounts of my essay writing - next week paint drying) and having a little giggle to myself because one of the authors I'm refering to is O. Morrissey, so I'm getting to say things like "As Morrissey (2001) concludes, 'Aid is not a panacea and has not been a universal success. Nevertheless..' (blah blah blah)". I'd love to quote the real one.. "As Morrissey 1994 suggests'Ooh, ooh ... Sad to say ... How once I was in love with you Sad to say ... You don't catch what I'm saying When you're deafened to advice Ooh, ooh ... Ever since You don't look the same You're just not the same, no way What the hell have They stuck into you ?' - which reveals onec again the micro-macro paradox of aid evaluation in the context of sectorial growth"

wham bam thank you mam (ibid. 1996)
Do you think the way you run academic pen over page says anything about your performance in the sack? If you struggle to reach your conclusion, circling, never quite ready to let go. If you muddle awkwardly with clumsy groping arguments that you don't know are bad, and leave readers baffled. If you painstaking start at the start and write your way through to the end, leaving each paragraph perfect and a cold glow of meticulous mechanical satisfaction your reward at the end. Slow and steady wins the race or pump one out before dinner and squeeze another in before bed - brash and brassy, broad confident assertions and casual referencing. If you flirt with the reader and write with a smile, not taking it very seriously.

(Yes I am writing an essay)
(Yes it's been a while)

King of fruit (or 'More encounters of the taste buds *durian* my stay in Malaysia')

I can confidentally say that there is very little that has passed through these lips that I haven't enjoyed, but dear friends, I think we have found a winner in the 'oh no you don't, you're not coming back here' stakes.

I tried durian for the first time last year, just to say I'd done it, and was really really not keen. Despite that, tonight somehow I went back for more. 'If all your friends sat around giant silver platters sucking on durian fresh from the shell like it was the most delicious thing on earth would you??' Apparently yes.

The first tase was awful, sweet, peppery, off-tasting, making my throat feel sore and my tongue complain. My tongue told me it was bad but I kept hoping that it was only a matter of time that I broke through some acclimitisation barrier and it was transformed into some wonderful flavour. So I kept sucking at the same battered chunk, looking at the others hacking into new fruit with big knives and liberating the custard looking globdules. I asked lots of questions like "did you like it the first time you tasted it or did it take a really long time to get used to it?", "does it actually smell nice to you? nice, like you like the smell?", "so it tastes nice does it?". (And part of me thinks they must be lying, that no tongue could like this, is it a joke?)

Remember those 3d puzzles where at first you felt like everyone was making shit up when they could see an underwater scene and all you could see was coloured dots? Same deal.

Puzzling.

I'm going to Jakarta! I'm going to Jakarta! Hello Greg's swanky place at the Hilton. Hello sleep-ins and batik and facials and islands and days to wander around by myself and see things. Going in 2 weeks and I can't wait. Such a nice way to impose deadlines for uni on myself - must all be finished before I go otherwise I will have a crap time away (and also will not pass).

Meanwhile am trying to find some Malaysian things that you can't get in Indonesia to take over as presents. Here are the suggestions from people so far:
- a Malaysian
- kropoc (fish sausages from the east Coast, eat with spicy tomatoe sauce, they taste better than they look, which isn't hard because they look like some a greyish turd)
- something Indian (a cup of the tarek and a roti chani??)
- something Chinese(something from the feng shui supermarket-like shop in Mid-valley mega mall?)

Hmmm, still thinking.

Ch-check it
New Beasties! Yah! I love the Beastie Boys, I want to go to Tokyo and see them play. Anyone wanna come with me? (Anyone wanna buy my ticket??)

5 observations with no particular point

1. Hose it out and start again
Um, this is gross, but I must share. A while back I faced the horror quadfector of public squat-toilet, hose, no toilet paper and 'stomach upset'. Lets just say that I lived to tell the tale, came out clean, if somewhat wet, and lost no personal belongings or items of clothing. I feel that I have enetered a new realm of adjusting to my surroundings. I even hose by choice on occasions now.

2. Crabby
Today a million little crabs waggled their claws at me as I stood on a jetty. They would have been menacing if I was about 5 cm tall.

3. Green
Cakes here are often green. A green swiss roll is something to behold. I find this a scary colour for cakes. Pandan leaves have a lot to answer for really.

4. You, funny little fellow, go fetch me some tea
am flirting the with the inner colonial opressor in a highly ironic and self depreciating way that sometimes frightens me when I come close to meaning it, but does provide a useful release through humour, in the face of despair at seemingly limitless difficulties in reaching common cultural ground when working with totally incompentant consultants and muddle headed wombats.

5. A world of naan, a world of chai
Chai Walla at centrepoint is my new favourite eating place. Rose chai, ginger chai, garum chai, chai-a-cinno, iced chai.
garlic naan, cheesy naan, plain naan, red bean naan, kaya naan, custard naan, kashmiri naan. Waiters are flirty yet defferential, with nice eyes.

PS ooh ooh a local blog. And it's political. Scroll down (not all in Malay).

*

Had a sunny little start to the day with loungeroom yoga today - saluting the sun and waking up in a good mood. At breakfast I tried to order a tea with no sugar and got a glass of water instead! Not sure if that is a coment on my language skills or my ridiculous sugar-free request. Sunday I tried to order tea with lemon and instead got an ashtray. My bad Malay has become a source of delight around the office. Squeals of laughter as I babble half remembered phrases or repeat things absolutely badly. ber ber not bo bo! cuson manis not masung menis! Yesterday we were all in tears. I think I'm just about as bad as the Englishman in Mexico - "no Tom, they're pesos, not paceys... that's a character from Dawson's Creek not a unit of currency..."

I feel so Malaysian. Came to work early, dressed almost in baju kurung - pale pink and beige concoction that is somewhere this side of a mu mu yet strangeley elegant (or I like to think so). Also sporting new (and rather hypocritical - see previous blog) 'Diesel' watch from Sunday night Bangsar Pasa Malum visit. Missed breakfast at home so grabbed a neat little pyramid shaped package of nasi lemak wrapped in the obligitory banana leaf then brown paper at the dodgy mamak shop, navigated awful, awful, stupid traffic to get here. Hot too - mental note, don't be first to get in ever again, is too hot.

Slept in despite the heat and light streaming in my window and despite the builders being in*. Meant to be working on my essay today but haven't committed to a topic yet - 'does aid work' or 'assessing the impacts of structural adjustment on one or more of the following..", meanwhile assignments 2 and 3 for other subject loom. in 3 weeks it's all over, have to get them all in by then. For other subject am meant to be doing interviews with representatives from a poor comunity on issues to do with self-help and their interface with the authorities, effectiveness of government programs etc. Somehow wishing I was tackling it in a country I understood in a language I speak and know my way around. Not to mention having time to do it. argh, the whining mature age (note - mature age, not actually mature) student mantra goes on.

So, in the office to get some peace and quiet and blissful time alone. So hot in here in the middle of the day wuithout the air con. When I first walked in it was remeniscent of some scie fi after the blast type movie - clean lines of neat laminex furniture, no people, dark, stuffy and hot, like the defences of civilisation againts the climate finally came to some choking end. What to do but fire up the air con and head back down for a coffee while the whole thing chills back to arctic and I can function in it.

Took my BYO coffee mug with lid, the guys downstairs think it's such a novelty. I am a novelty. In an office block complex of thousands of people I would likely be one of a handful of regulars who come from some colder clime than here. I'll talk some more another time about the ethnic mix here and 'foreigners' and how different it is to Oz, but not now. Today the bum fluff guy was gone and replaced by swanky Indian guy, quite dashing, who flashes me his 'I'm interested' smile but I don't rise to the bait but sit and read the Sun like a local and tsk at local news and marvel at the gall of mahathir and and and and. Then my coffee arives and the smile again and I try and figure out whether it's about tips or tits and come to no conclusion (but do wonder at the marvels of my grossly oversized 'I've been to singapore too' style T and utilitarian sparseness of the pulled back plait if this indeed confers one with pulling power in this country) but of course I'm living cloistered and nun-like so there is no room for flirting, no time, no privacy, no point, heaven forbid I get into some sticky situation with a local that could lead only to furtive encounters that my extended family here would be appalled by (especially if I picked the wrong racial group, oh how gossip worthy that would be, how i would sink in their estimations) or serious relationship and dating that I would be appalled by; or, if s/he was Muslim maybe a run in with the religious police, now that would be a story for back home... No I settle for the coffee, leave no tip and head back upstairs to dive into the cool abstract world of my journal articles, leaving the pressing heat of the day and inflamed bodies behind for another time.









* When I say builders being in I don't mean that in some tacky ye olde worlde veiled reference to my menstrual cycle, but literally, two guys and power tools, constructing white built-in cupboards in the kids bedroom.

"School of life darl" she drawls, hairy lip picking up the rays of morning sun. "No Swiss finishing school for me, no preppy polo short, twin suit, pearl necklace and country club - no siree."

"These..." (tapping at head)"These, these've been fed on the schooool of life." She laughs, revealing golden fangs. "And I know culture, don't you worry. I read books, can tell you stories, but the really important stuff doesn't come from out of the curriculum from any ladies college."

"And I'm not scared to get my hands dirty. Which is more than you can say for these little princesses up in their Swiss chalets. And don't mistake good manners for caring, it's not the same. You wouldn't be the first person to make that mistake." She picks at her nails and looks up at me from intense little eyes over the rim of fashionable glasses too small for her face.

"Miss, miss, chip, chip"
...went the cry as I walked through China Town markets, not called that, called Petaling Street (or PS Boutique by locals with tongue in cheek). It was hot, crowded, bossy and rude as far as markets go. True, there were more rows of shiny watches with big names on then I have ever seen, more(mans name) logo polo shirts than I ever cared to see. Pruder handbags, tag higher watches, mint blank pens. I reached critical consumer point quicker than you could spill palm sugar juice down the front of your white shirt (I did). Remember, more is always better girls and boys and cheap more that people think was expensive better again.

The jungle is hot and heavy and the sun is turning my eyes red and glassy, they cry now of their own accord. I want out of this land of overabundance - of polyester butterflies and fruit in colours that give me a headache, of everything sweet and strange and 2 dimensional. There are handphones and masses of silent prowling silver beasts and tables of smooth lolly faced watches and the smell of danger that rises up out of drains. And there are titles and condos and rote learning and religion passed between generations like some genetic affliction that touches everyone that breeds into the pool. And rote learning and knowing your place, and acting out your gender role and knowing how to work the system and who you know that can help bypass the innefficiency that will otherwise grow it's creeping tendrils around you until you find yourself stuck, motionless waiting to be eaten. And there is nothing else, just the flashy colour of the chittering jungle, that stops as one, looks your way and eats you up if you threaten it.

This morning my wakeup:
Door creeps open with little hand, a blurry short person yells "breakfast!" and I tumble back into the world from my sleep feeling dry and rumpled. Then door is closed swiftly by a quick hand and another sing song voice behind closed door says "don't wake (missj) up she's sleeping". The first voice starts to cry in rising arcs towards a crescendo of self pity until third voice arrives and says "No, I asked her to ask if she wanted roti channai for breakfast, because she wants to study today and I thought she might want an early start". "Oh sorry (short person) I didn't realise". "So go in and ask again if she wants roti channai".
Door swings open "You asleep?". "No". "You like roti channai?"

***

I dreamt about turtles lumbering up onto land and laying huge eggs like the red boiled egg of the wedding.

Beverage advice for today...
Don't try ginseng coffee. Seriously bad. Bad, bad, bad. Like icky icky bad at the back of the tongue taste bad. I cannot stress this enough. The woman in neighboring office made me one just before lunch and I almost died trying to down my first tentative sip. It sits there now, hours later, cold and unfinished on my desk. (Even worse than 'coffee-tea' that I mentioned in an earlier ramble). And on that topic - any one heard of 'fox coffee'? A type of flying fox apparently eats the ripest and nicest cofee beans and then poops them out. The hand foraged pooped out beans apparently make the best coffee in the world. Sells for some ridiculous hundred of US dollars per kg. I am yet to taste but will keep you posted.

Malaysia is a United Nations of breakfast foods

Buffet breakfast? Will it be rice porridge with salted egg and anchovie? Roti and vegetarian Indian curries? Fruit? Koko krunch? White bread toast with kaya spread? Nasi Lemak with chicken curry? Scrambled eggs with (non pork) sausages,tomato and wedges? Croissants? Coffe and danish? Or, a bit of everything followed by a nice hot cup of teh (yes teh, not the) tarek? No wheatbix!! My idea of heaven.

NB Just don't order the coffee. Tonight: "Can I have a bit more milk for my coffee please" "Certainly, did you want the powder or liquid" "Um. Liquid". And drinks "wthout sugar please" ("without sugar?") still come with sugar, just a bit less. Remember that episode of the Simpson's when the sugar truck overturns and Homer scoops it up and they eat sugar and Lisa says "I think my teeth hurt"? That's me here. There must not be a Malay word for late onset diabetes.

Greetings friends and countrymice...

Got back from a golf club resort tonight where I spent last night (not my choice - wkshop) and you know what, as much as I hate the things in principle, as much as my skin crawls at the very thought of the pond with concrete animals in it and the vast expanse of ugly green lawn up a mountan dotted with stupid men in ugly shoes, despite myself I fetishize the crisp white sheets of a nice hotel room as much as the next girl. Something so peaceful about that hour stolen away in the middle of the day with just you and your mini shampoos, just clean uncluttered sparse room with light streaming through gauze curtains and the sound of children laughing in a swimming pool a long way away. Something so deliciously centred and calm about sliding legs under tightly made up sheets and relishing the firm mattress that was never and never will be folded up into a sofa. And the unbroken quiet that you have symbolically sectioned off for yourself by the chain across the door. The deep sleep of the undisturbed.