Sometimes you just can't win

Michael Owen gives Kung Fu a go as Carl Douglas pleads for him to stop

Sounds like something Bob Dole would say. I wonder where he is nowadays. Now there's a real hound.

Today, my disappointment came from Liege, Belgium. Once again, league-top giants fall prey to bottom dwelling minnows Mouscron. Even the ill-named Germinal Beerschot got mauled, and rightly so. Had Standard behaved, I would have been very up for the weekend. Instead, it's been a real roller-coaster ride, and we're slightly behind. I've learnt my lesson well. Go big on the dependable names. However, the quick money placed on Newcastle was a happy surprise. Especially to see Michael Owen back in action and doing what he does best - putting it in the net. Shay Given also did well.

To put things in perspective, having lost a grand total of 15 bucks for the weekend isn't so bad, I guess. Buying a round of drinks easily costs twice that, while this morning, I spent 15 on brunch (well worth it, though), and another bit on a haircut. But perhaps the gold standard to which all this is measured is that the lady was not particularly disappointed. "Was that all?" she mustered, when I originally mentioned that the sum was in fact $35, before Castle pulled through. Now I have implied permission to take the rest of my pot to the bonfire as well...

Brunch was an interesting experience, if not simply for the fact that I met another two new personalities. One was a Korean acquaintance of Leo's, while the other was her classmate. Both are new Wharton grad students, both have very strong opinions, though only one will I not see again. Perhaps it was Leo and I talking about the cultural mismatching that occurs in a melting pot often that prompted them to fire back with a sololiquy on forecast modeling. I countered that it didn't quite hold up as simulations cannot in turn be simulated. That didn't go down too well, though my exposure was limited to her skills of articulation. Nonetheless, good food always heals and a quick change of topic to babble (like size of dorm rooms) quickly washed away any rifts. I think she wanted to join us at the gym sometime. Hmmm.

Trick and treat

The beauty of the internet is that it serves both as entertainment and a tool. Exactly two Halloweens ago, we at the Neuro tried to exploit that by providing a tool to those seeking, um, "entertainment". Having found a great stash of miniature glass test tubes in one of our closets and determined that we would never have any scientific use for them, we sought to give them a second life via that wonderful portal known as eBay. But how does one sell a case of 5,000 plain test tubes. Labs no longer use these things, and they serve few obvious purposes....or at least that's what most would think. Turns out that they were a fashionable vessel for holding colorful liquids like, say, a orange vodka shot. Their size and geometry also lent them well to holding small quantities of powder like , say, a mysterious white substance. Or some crushed aromatic leaves. Construction from pyrex glass meant that the could be heated so that the contents inside could be slowly vaporized into a light aroma for nasal consumption. Break the case into packs of 5 and they would be perfect for a party or the casual regular user. Unfortunately, we also got a grant the following week and forgot about this genius project. The box is probably still under Rina or Jin's desk. Hope that some resurrects the idea after reading this...

Who let this hound out?

A hound. Predatory, grizzly, with uncouthed facial hair. Actually, it's not so bad, so I have decided to live with this designation at least through Halloween. However, while wearwolf (or is it wherewolf, warewolf, or wherewoof?) costumes are easy to come by, the essential hound suit isn't. The whippet-like tail will be especially difficult to recapitulate. Appearances aside, the hound is a misunderstood animal. They are highly social team workers, have exceptional cardiovascular capacity, and are sophisticated creatures. They also come in a variety of forms such as the greyhound (lean and speedy), the bloodhound (short and cumbersome), and the daschund (short and long). The common denominator is their ability to track down things, whether it be an electric rabbit, foxes, or eye-candy in distress.

He may look harmless, but watch out for this hound

U-turns

The diversity of life basically stems from different people getting screwed in different contexts. Thus the different permutations of catastrophes crossed with persons results in a mind-boggling number of possibilities to the shaft. Thus, today was a cold and miserable day (me affected). Our intended unformal lab-meeting with "risk-free" environment morphs into a forum for healthy crticism (me + 20 others affected). One of my fellow instructors at ESL totals her car for the second (or is that third?) time in three weeks and still offers me a ride (luckily, no one affected).

The only good thing to happen? I didn't bet on the Astros, yet.

Even the kids are trying to screw with me

It's not the typical words you expect to hear from a three year-old.

"Uncle Kelvin, I'm gonna screw you."

My first reaction was to skip a heartbeat. The second was to beat the crap out of this kid who was far too influenced by Barney.

Instead, I found myself saying "That's a saw, Emitt", as he waved some flabby serrated object with Fisher-Price written across it. I reflected on the humour of the moment. And the realization that I will never fully be at ease with children. Thankfully, I only see Emitt and his sister every once in a while as part of a larger Asian contingent in the city.

Across the Atlantic, the people were less kind, as David Beckham and co. screw me over by losing to Deportivo. Or was that Valencia? Some forgettable team, that like Emitt, would screw me over if they had a chance. And with Becks and Gravesen sent off, they certainly got their chance. Why don't coaches ever lament being fired? Because they never have to refund any of the people that actually put money on them.

Another day, another loss

This losing has got to stop. Perhaps it's the UEFA cup season, but there's an endemic of upsets in European leagues of late. That, and my ill-advised decision to start taking on hockey slips has put us back just above the red. Losing is no fun. At least we picked up on Wigan this morning, thus making it all easier to swallow.

Last night, Leo, Anderson, Miho, and myself went to the place of a dozen silver elephants. I kid you not. Silver noses, six-feet long each, came in through the ceilings and hovered over little braziers with hot coals. Welcome to the bizarre world of so-called hi-tech Korean BBQ in America. As we cooked our Kalbi and Bulgolgi, the snouts sucked away the aromatic fumes. Later on, I asked the waitress where the elephants slept at night. She didn't know, but flashed a sly little smile that seemed to suggest she knew more than just the answer. Along with the Bimjungjaboo, a Korean Port wine with raspberries, it was a wonderful evening.

Things start to take a strange turn when we went to Leo's grotto to watch a K-flick. Incidentally, netflix now carries a host of Asian movies so that those doing double minors in Asian studies will have more topics to write about. The second of a trilogy centred around vengeance (oh, boy), Oldboy is the story of some mediocre dude who gets imprisoned for 15 years in a "private" jail. The only thing he has is a TV to see him through this period as he slowly goes crazy. The next 90 minutes were devoted to him finding out who tossed him in and more importantly, why. I won't spoil it for everyone by giving the answer, except to say that it's twisted. I will definitely think twice before coming on to chicks from now on. Seriously.

The more you try...

The more I write, the more I realize that I cannot. This is what my manuscript has taught me and I am now further discouraged from writing the novel I have always said I would write. Yes, the one I've been thinking about for just under a decade. Then again, I think of Isabel Allende's prologue in Of Love and Shadows, "...write these words down before the wind carries them away, forever." Man, it sure is windy here all the time in Philadelphia.

Review in the boss' hands and a [relatively] low stress day means that I am in the mood to, um, write. A new neighbor is also playing the cello in the building next door. It's the only piece by Bach that I don't dislike, though I don't even know its title. I'm very impressed. Either he is related to Yoyo Ma or he has really good recording of an out of tune instrument. I guess that's one less CD I will have to buy now.

Additions to the blog have been a little monotone as my camera is still in Vivian's handbag. That means a) I cannot take a photo of the many cats who all perch in the same pose on the window sills of their owners who have recently moved into my building. Or maybe it's just some Halloween spoof. Missing camera also means I can't post photos of my mastery of wakeboarding, my fabulous supermarket trip, and the roasted suckling pig with batteries we ordered in commemoration of Emilie's nth birthday.

Finally, avian flu has reached the heart of the EU. Which means that half the lab are currently incubating something. Eliza has finally succumbed today, leaving me to realize how unfamiliar I am with holding a tube, opening the cap, and filling it with different liquids. Apparently, she got it from James (the Tall strain) who has since recovered. Get well soon!

All the right (little) things

As another weekend zips by and the leaves signal their intention to drop and vanish for the impending cold, I am left once again pondering over the big picture a homely pork chop dinner. As disconcerting as it is, I find myself poring over the meaning of the Blink 182 hit All the Little Things. Yes, while it's difficult to admit that blurb from a bunch of punks actually stimulates thought, I do see their point on this one. In the same way I agree with Axl Rose's message in November Rain, and the restrained implicitness of Extreme's More Than Words, which I still see horny boys crooning on their guitars. That they would use a song that I first heard in 8th grade probably lends itself to the fact that there has not subsequently been one that is both somewhat meaningful and dirt easy to learn. Coldplay would be an exception, but no rendition of Parachutes will get you laid.

Today's thoughtfulness comes, apart from the pork chops, visitng the gym, and winning a parlay involving three second-tier German soccer teams. As destructive as my betting tendencies may be becoming (though they supposedly act as my very own dopamine agonist), it has taught me a few things. First is that even good teams will lose. Second, people who bet on the good teams sometimes lose. Another thing I've garnered is the complexity of European geography. In the past few days alone, my mind has wandered along the entire continental corridor of Europe, having meandered through Kobehavn (Copenhagen), Goteburg (Sweden), Aarhus (Denmark), Milwall (England), Cwenyth (Wales), Twente (Holland), Bremen (Germany) and even Argliculu (Turkey). If you thought all this travel was exhausting, try cheering for their teams as well...

Also slowly being lifted off my shoulders is the weight of the review paper I've been writing for a journal that I must admit never having heard of. Then again, with the exception of history class, I hadn't heard of Franz Ferdinand until one rainy day in Kenneth's car. Manuscript is now in the boss' hands (stone lifted), but I'm certain it will find its way to me again (stone dropped again) before being submitted. I'm thankful for James having taken a look. Like a buried earthquake victim seeing a flashlight beam, his words "...I think she'll like it" offered much relief, if only temporarily. Like they say, it's all the little things.

Resistance is futile

With vacation finally over, my non-paying readers are demanding new material. Justified, given that I haven't added anything new for over two weeks now - the longest hiatus at NBSE so far. It's not that there's no internet in Hong Kong. Rather, there's broadband, 3G, great restaurants, real shopping centres, and magnificent country clubs which have all kept me away from the little notebook screen which I normally stare at each day. Jet lagged and miserable from the Londonesque weather that has been the last two days, I am also now collapsing under the strain of having to write a review paper while half lucid and with the fridge half empty. This must be postdoc pergatory that I entered when I walked through the giant steel doorway of the 747-400. Mind and feet were too fatigued to listen as heart and soul protested against the journey. 7877 miles, 12400 km of jet engine blare. 6 hours of airport lounge time. 12 time zones. Well, at least the bet on the Canucks paid out...