Instagram

From the day I installed Instagram on my iPhone, it's been nothing but fun. Small timely snaps to capture the moment, event, place or thing, to share with friends. So simple the idea, like Facebook but with images. You see what someone else shoots and like or comment on it. The filters make things interesting too. True that the images then no longer capture exactness but sometimes that's ok. I heard some guy who left Flickr created it. Good job dude. What a waste that Yahoo and Flickr didn't snap up the idea.

The Merits Of Routine

As I wrote that title, the vision of an old Indian man, wise and learned and verbose came to mind. One who would simply write advice for the sake of writing advice to pass on to others. Something that had to be done to improve lives. Goodness. I laughed a little too.

Anyway, despite me ageing rapidly and turning uncle before my time (I hope), I must exhort the benefits of routine. Seriously, a lot of our lives would be simpler and better with a fixed set of actions followed. For example, we have always heard of the need to commit to exercise. Often as we get caught up with work, we cast aside the need to sweat it out and get the heart pumping from physical activity rather than stress. If we worked out a short while everyday, just like Oprah's Dr Oz recommends 30 minutes of walking daily, we'd be better off to tackle our work related stresses and combat illness. Fine, maybe not everyday, but something 2-3 times a week is undeniably good for you. Change can only come with consistent effort, not a sudden workout followed by a week of pigging out. Consistency begets results.

Next example, cleaning the house. My sis has a 1400sqft home. She tends to clean it on Saturdays and the end of the afternoon she's bushed and complaining. Then I would say, "why don't do a little everyday?" Try half an hour of cleaning a day to make the Saturday less of a pain. I wash the loo I use often every Sunday morning. It's a habit now of sorts. It's a routine that makes sense to me.

Last example, flossing. I don't floss everyday. I did for period when I followed the Dexter series on cable TV. In the super opening sequence of each episode there are amazing closeups of stuff Dexter does in the morning made to look poignantly murderous. There's him shaving and cutting himself, blood in drops on white porcelain; bacon deftly sliced and seared; coffee beans mercilessly being ground in a slow mo spin; and he flosses. So this ardent fan flossed after breakfast too, for a while. Now I floss once a week on Sundays before bed. I think it is necessarily enough to weed out the week's filth from the teeth.

Last last example (I promise), I take a supplements. I know everyone does. Hossan Leong on the morning radio show on Gold 90FM says he takes 10 pills a day. I think that's mad. I take an Omega 3 pill each day; Glucosamine on Mondays and Thursdays; Centrum multivitamins on Tuesdays and Fridays; Brands essence of chicken, a bottle, on one of the weekend days. That's my programme. It sounds like I'm a hypochondriac, maybe a little but I am sure a little bit each day goes a long way in the end. "Sikit sikit, lama jadi bukit" goes a Malay saying and we tend to forget to apply that to more of life than we imagine. Both positive, like saving cents a day and negative, like not clearing your Inbox (I have 300 emails in that mess).

I know it sounds like nagging but think about it a little before condemning it to the trash can of the mind. There is room to breakout of routine but some things we just gotta keep in steady rhythm. There are cycles all around us - the days and nights; the convulted loop that takes us from home to work to home; the bills we have to pay at the about the same time each month. Routine keeps us sane. And applying that sanity to benefit one's health or time management is doable. Try, it works, says this old man.

The Missing Step

It's funny how we take the simplest things for granted. Maybe that's why we do, because they're simple.

We could take public transport to work and school most days but still expect delays or breakdowns to happen every now and then. Same said for the elevators and even lightbulbs. We reconcile our displeasure when these things don't work by blaming other people, the weather and recognizing there are many parts to the whole device or operation.

So it's hard to come to terms with the simplest things that no longer work. Yesterday the foot pedal dustbin in my kitchen no longer connected to its foot pedal. This was the result of a fall the dustbin had, of an elevated position for drying. So the basic lever operation of step-down and lid-pops-up was dead. We were at a loss. The mishap meant we had to now, heaven forbid, bend down to lift the lid of the bin to make a dirty deposit. Bend?! Shock and horror to the body. All it took was force on the big toe, a natural adjustment of body weight, to flip the top up. Now, fingers and touching, ewwww. Germs, ewwww. All that brainwashing about transmission of bugs and viruses from Dettol and Lifebuoy ads was now rearing its ugly head.

What was one to do if both hands were occupied? How would i peel oranges now?!

I voiced my grave concern at this calamity upon discovery. "Mummy, what do we do now?" "You should have called us the moment it happened so we could buy another bin". My mum went "Aiyah, you lazy. Cannot use your hands ah?"

Yes, it is funny.

Last Desires

I knew it was there, waiting for me. Resting, calm, collected in its icy prison. The frost was necessary for sustenance, my sustenance. It had been a little more than a week when it was whole and perfect. Then piece by piece, sliced up. Carved by different knives in sharp, forced strokes. It looked battered at times by uneven cuts at the persistent hands of the tempted. A sad shadow of its past beauty. These defects I smoothed out at the next opportunity to attack, goodness and all. I could not deny myself.

This evening, I remembered the last odd shape that remained. My mum had thrown away the cardboard box and placed the last few slices of chocolate cake into tupperware. Dinner and fruit over, it was time to partake upon heavenly goodness. I knew it would be dry - that's what happens to cake left in the fridge. I thought of moistening the solid mass with drops of milk in the microwave. Instead, the couch potato, uncaring-of-decorum, gonna-be-watching-TV- by-himself Joe decided to drown the block of cocoa heaven in full cream UHT .

It was a case of ebony and ivory. A deep mahogany, too dense to float, swished about like an island in a sea of white. I was master of the tupperware, a god with a big mouth and yearning tastebuds controlling the destiny of this final portion of a $40 cake. Bruhahahaha, I went as I stabbed the cake. It resisted before giving in, as gushing milk penetrated the crevices and cracks I created with my stainless steel spoon. I thought of an appropriate utensil and a fork, I rationalized, would not do as a scoop to properly deliver the slowly browning milk mixed with overly-moistened cake to my mouth. The sweet tooth had to be satisfied adequately yet impatiently. Magically.

Stab, deliver and experience. Stab, deliver and experience. The chocolate was intense. Just as I remember two Saturdays when I took the virgin bite into its richness. The baker had feared it was too much and advised it was 2 million calories to burn off if eaten whole. Forwarned I was but no sweet tooth could resist the overdose of dark sugary pleasure. The heat of the tongue would melt the outer layer of chocolate around the cake, a soft liquid that spread so gently and smoothly. The rough texture of cake followed, contrasting beautifully. It would be a sin to swallow but the entire mouth would be overexcited if I didn't. And how would I take the next bite? The chemical content would hit the brain soon. Theobromine, caffieine and phenylethylamine would produce numerous highs between the exited neurons and send forth endorphins coursing through my greedy system. Ahhh...chocolate. Food of the Mayan kings and now, my tantalizing post-dinner treat.

The time spent in the fridge however did not bode well for quality. Lightly devoid of water content, the cake was crumbly. But it withstood my jabs with the spoon at first. In fact, I was putting too much strength into the affair and milk splashed back at me. The price of gluttony is very quickly one realizes is filth, the fat comes later.

Like with all dessert before a sugar junkie, it was over too soon. How I Met Your Mother was hardly halfway done but I had prematurely gorged on one of the best chocolate cakes I had ever eaten. Well, I am biased because a friend baked it but seriously it was damn good. I lay back on the faux leather, spent, dirty about the lips, and some on my t-shirt. It had been a good week.