dasdsa

[ more.. ]

dasdsa

[ more.. ]

There was nothing interesting on the flight back to LA, except that everyone was made to take off their shoes on the stopover in Taipei. All the shoes were x-rayed to make sure weapons were not concealed within the shoe. I don't think they were scanning for poisonous gases as they let me through.

My belly was a tight round from dinner but they marched into the house with more food. Half the family was over to see me off, to help me pack and to offer me last minute advice.

After dinner, I hooked up with Ariff. We went looking for Syahnaz who was in town on a blind date with some hottie who was still in her early college years. This was not the first time that Ariff and I were tagging along on a Syahnaz first date, and the routine had gotten a bit weird.

We met up with Syahnaz and what's her name at the Twin Towers and headed for D'Orange. Ariff and I had exactly enough money in our wallets for the cover so we were limited to the one free complimentary drink that came with entrance. We had our drink, danced a little, and left within the hour.

Because the night was still young, Syahnaz and what's her name stayed on at the nightclub. Things were going well between the two of them and it looked certain that their night was going to end with hours of uninhibited raw steamy multi-position sex. As for me, I had to go home to pack.

I finally got the two of them on the phone and we agreed on a location. A public place. With Lots of people.

Michelle picked me up at two-ish and Su Lin was already there when we arrived. We got a table and exchanged years gone by over over-priced coffee.

Later that night it was a reunion dinner at TGIF with the goons from Samad.

Yun Wai and I were greeted by the TGIF greeter but we located our party and did not need her assistance to show us to our table.

Hands clenched with hands, "what's ups" were exchanged and friendly insults concerning physical appearance started flying.

As the night wore on we got into details. Chun Fay now works with Lucent and is involved with a Korean girl, Kim Hyun Dai. I can't remember what Keng Han does for a living, but neither can he. I only know that he holds a very generic sounding position, I think something to do with accounting or finance. Su Hung now works as a building materials supplier, although his real job is to complain about his job. Yun Wai has a part-time job as my chauffeur, while Seng Ho and Weng Tuck are working on cracking their bank's safe. And last but definitely not earning the least, Tze Yang is a doctor who gets to treat old people smelling of Cap Kapak Angin.

Mun Kit took a bus from Ipoh to Taiping and we hung out for a couple hours before I got on a bus back to KL. He was to catch a bus back to Ipoh from the same station half an hour after I left but missed the bus because he was looking for a prostitute.

I arrived in Pudu Raya and had to catch the LRT home. A couple cab drivers who did not know I was from KL offered to take me to PJ for $35. Burdened with two heavy bags, one on each shoulder, I was quite tempted to take up their X5 inflated price. Plus, being away from Malaysia so long, my sense of direction around KL was now reduced to following where the rest of the people seemed to be going. As I got closer to Central Market, things got a little more familiar and I was finally able to pick up the trail to the LRT station.

I got off at the Taman Jaya terminal and gave Dad a call to come pick me up. While waiting, I was approached by two Mormon white guys, Elder Hale from Utah and Elder Bob from Arizona. Elder Bob started to preach to me about his religion, but to his dismay I spun the conversation around and started talking about the Arizona Diamondbacks.

Midway through our conversation, another member of their Mormon posse crossed our path, exchanged nods of acknowledgement with the two elders and went on his way . He looked familiar but I could not place his name. So I asked Utah and Arizona and they told me his name.

"Felix," I called out. Elder Felix turned and walked back towards us. Felix used to play chess with me some 15 years ago. The catch up with Felix spared me from a Mormonic sermon as the few minutes that were bought was just enough for Dad to arrive with the getaway car.

For fear that we may be hungry before lunch, Hui Chin's Dad stopped to get us a Char Siu Pau each. An hour later we had shark's fin noodles for lunch. We were stuffed after lunch so we decided to walk it off at the Quan Yin temple where we found ourselves at a roadside assam laksa stall for more food. Busting at the seams, we headed to a Hindu temple to admire its intricate wood work before we stopped to eat again at an oyster fry shop. And except for a huge seafood dinner afterwards, that was all we ate that day.

I gulped down some saliva. Did not work. I gulped down some more saliva. Did not work. I waited for five minutes, and in the process collected as much amilase as my mouth could hold. In one swift motion, I tilted my head back and flooded the back of my throat with saliva. Did not work. I feared then that I was going to have muffled hearing for quite some time.

Nothing I tried seemed to work. I tried jabbing my pinkie as far into my ear canal, I tried pushing my palms hard against my ears and then releasing it to create a plunger effect, I tried humming to myself and holding my breath and turning my head real fast and coughing and sucking saliva up to my nose. Nothing worked, and we were already at the base of the hill.

When your ears get screwed up because of altitude, it's funny how everyone sounds so soft and you sound really loud, almost as though your voice box is miked-up directly to your brain. Just so you know, I regained my hearing over the next hour. Unlike normal circumstances where swallowing saliva takes you from muffled to crystal clear in an instant, the recovery process in my case was gradual where sounds slowly got more and more clear. As a precaution, next time I'll just descend a foot a day.

After driving 2 hours North, Mom, Dad and I met up with Hui Chin and her parents in Ipoh for lunch. After lunch Mom and Dad headed back to KL and I proceeded North to Taiping.

Upon arrival at Hui Chin's, we walked up several dark flight of steps until we came to a metal gate. On the way up, there was a segment that I could have sworn had total light loss and would have been sufficient for film development. I vowed to bring my yellow miners hard hat with a light attached on my next visit. We unlocked the metal gate, skipped up another flight of steps and voila, the place where Hui Chin grew up. Hers wasn't the glamorest of apartments but the place had character and was definitely a potential birthplace of a Keruoac.

Downstairs, Hui Chin's apartment building neighbored a bike repair shop and neighbor to that neighbor was a restaurant of happy half drunks belting out songs from day to night. There were food courts and a market a minutes walk away. And it was 5 minutes on foot to get to the Taiping Lake Gardens. Actually, everything you needed was less than 5 minutes on foot from Hui Chin's apartment.

Out of the three hills, Genting, Frasers and Cameron, Frasers has always been my favorite. Genting has too much concrete and Cameron's too far and full of smoky tourist buses. Fraser's has the freshest air, the best food, chayote squash to be stolen and a tennis court at Pines Resort.

The rest of the family went up the hill a day ahead because we stayed back to send Andrew off at the airport. But we did not miss much.

The drive up the hill was refreshing thanks partly to the dramamine pill which help me steady my head. The bungalow we had booked was very English looking, made with rusticated grey stone, black trimming on the exterior walls, square paneled windows, ample garden accented with plants along its borders. We arrived at lunch time and in no time it was tea time. We headed over to Ye Olde Smokehouse for scones but were quite disappointed by what was served. By the time we got back from the Smokehouse, it was dinner. And that's Malaysia for you. One meal after another.

Gary, Dee Ku and I had Cho Tai Ti and XO to entertain us for a couple hours before the New Year kicked in.

"Drink it. It's good for you."

It's funny how the human tongue works. The front and sides of the tongue allows you to taste sweet, salty and sour, while the back of your tongue is used to taste bitter. So by the time Mom's homemade bitter concoction hits at the back of your throat, it's too late to pull out. All you can do is twist your face till it looks like a well wrung towel.

It was early in the morning on Saturday, and I was on Dr Jun's massage table. Only because they told me it would be good for me.

We weaved through a sea of people, beautiful people on all flanks. Everyone had either a drink or a cigarette in hand just so they would not feel out of place. Colors flashed, swirled and twirled on a veil of second hand smoke. The music was thumpin', the people was bumpin', the whole place was jumpin', and booze crossed freely from bottle to glass. To accompany me on this wild and crazy night was Yun Wai, a high school friend I had not seen in about 6 years.

Away from Malaysia for so long, I did not ecpect to meet anyone I knew at Viva but I bumped into Joan at the bar. And into Kok Chun. And into no one else until much later.

The first part of the day was nothing to shout about. Took the LRT to the US Embassy, stood in, let me see, one, two, three lines, reminded myself not to say the 'B' word while in the vicinity, collected Hui-Chin's visa and headed home.

Later that night
Andrew and I threw a dinner for the family at this restaurant in Seapark. We ordered 6,7, or 8 really awesome dishes and by dinner's end we were all straining to breathe. Afterwards, we headed over to the Ah Ees place and Dee Ku brought out 30 kilos of durians for desert. That's like half a person worth of fruit.

We walked up to the door and they buzzed us in. The men in white coats lured us into a room where we were asked to strip. We were each given a pair of shorts to wear and then ordered to lie face down on individual tables. In five minutes, pain was going to be administered to each of us.

I was there to see about my toe. Gary was there because of his slipped disc. Uncle KB was there because he was old.

The doctor tending to my toe was Dr Jun, a.k.a. Minister of Pain. After getting a brief history about the problems I've been having with my feet and my big problem toe, Dr Jun started doing his magic. The first thing he did was massage the bottom of my foot with his thumb. I think he was trying to work out some of the knots in my foot. It was really painful, what he was doing, but I figured it was for my greater good. Dr Jun massaged my foot for about two minutes and then he told me he had to leave for a short while to go get his hammer.

"Jeez, I must have some pretty big knots in my foot," I thought to myself.

Dr Jun comes back with a hammer in his hand and uses it to massage my foot. The pain was unbearable but I bore it anyway. A very painful 5 minutes passed. (Very painful does not really describe the extent of the torment I went through in that first 5 minutes but I needed to save heavyweight words like excruciating and agonizing for the 10 minutes of torture that was to ensue.)

Dr Jun was done with my foot and was now moving on to my toe. He stretched my middle toe straight so that my toe tendons were fully strained. And then with all his strength, he used the hammer to scrape along those tendons. All the nerves between my middle toe and my clenched teeth felt like they were just lit on fire.

Dr Jun fed the fire for 5 minutes and then stopped. I then felt his fingers grip my toe really hard. And with one swift motion, he yanked it with all his strength. Actually, I don't think he yanked it with ALL his strength because he yanked it another ten times. After he was done pulling, I looked up and saw my detached toe in his hand. Just kidding.

Back to serious stuff. My massage finally came to an end and Dr Jun now wanted to stick some needles into my foot to increase blood flow. "Blood flow from my foot to the floor," I thought to myself. Accupuncture is not "not painful". I think it is important that I inform you, the public, of this matter because we so often bump into macho wannabes who brag that accupuncture is painless, that it just feels like a pin prick. Now, my question to these morons is, if pin pricks are so painless, why do people go ouch when pricked?

Pulling the needles out of my foot were as painful as putting them in. Where I'm concerned, putting a needle in normally seems more painful because in my mind I know I'd eventually have to pull it out. And pulling it out seems less painful, because in my mind I know that once its out, its out.

Back to the story. The needles come out, my toe is throbbing, swollen and longer, and I can barely stand on my two feet. And then comes the big question from Gary and Uncle KB, "Does it feel better?" Hell yeah! Better than 10 minutes ago.

Bernie was leaving for Singapore at 6 in the morning so we said our goodbyes the night before. But Andrew and I had to be up pretty early anyway because I had to get my passport renewed at the Terminal 3 passport department. There was a super long line when we arrived, mainly because of the Christmas backlog. When it was finally my turn, the guy at the counter told me that the passport pictures I had with me did not meet their requirement, which is bullshit because no where in their list of requirements did they mention that we could not wear a baseball cap and sunglasses. So I had to go take a picture at the picture taking booth at the end of the waiting area. As a result of my wasted time at the booth, I was about 50 numbers behind.

While waiting, Andrew and I decided to get a bite to eat. The Malay restaurant at the passport department was still closed for Hari Raya, which was a freakin' week and a half back. So we headed to the airport terminal to look for food. We found a restaurant that served nasi lemak. I thought the restaurants name, Bellisini, was pretty interesting since it put an Italian twist on the Malay words Beli Sini which meant "Buy here". Unfortunately, when you eat nasi lemak in an "Italian" restaurant, you pay Italian restaurant prices. Our nasi lemaks came up to a whopping $18. I had to put the five I had in my hand back into my wallet and pull out a twenty.

Back at the house
Andrew and I got home 2 hours past noon. Lunch was already being served. Hui Chin's parents were here to take her away from me, back to her home town of Taiping.

Andrew and I met up with Su Hung and Jason in BU. Su Hung was Su Hung but Jason was now Jason Niggerlas Soyza. (Inside joke)

Gentle, caring, and usually lively like a bee, Uncle Francis, a true friend of the family, was now nearing the end of his days.

I'm not sure he had any recollection of who I was. I introduced myself to him and he knew by my smile and my friendly gestures that I was someone he used to know. But it didn't matter to me that I was lost from his memory, as long as he knew that he was not lost from mine. And for that I am glad that I went.

Noise comes like a flash flood in my family. Before anyone arrived, you could hear a pin drop. Heck, before they arrived, you could even hear a piano crash through the roof. But you couldn't after they did.

As ususal, Mom prepared a grand feast; turkey, a leg of ham, a leg of lamb, seafood turine, etc. A big deal was made of the homemade bottle of wine Hui Chin and I brought from the US. There weren't any wine connoisseurs present that night but we sure had a heck of a lot of critics. But even I, a non-wine drinker, have to admit that the wine was not only a bit raw, but sappy and off tasting as well.

Natasha and Natalie were the gift distributors this year, making continuous trips from tree to recipient like package couriers. I think Ah Ma liked her present the most. I got her one them pearl in the oyster thingys. The whole family gathered around and flash bulbed the hell out of me as I pryed open the oyster to retrieve the pearl. That was the climax of the night and it was downhill from then on.

Oh, and I forgot to mention, I got a number 13 Kurt Warner Rams jersey from Hui Chin. Huua!

Pre-journey to Malaysia
As a precaution, Hui Chin and I made sure we were at the airport 4 hours before flight time. We got our boarding passes and checked in our bags quite easily and fairly promptly at the EVA counter. Now, with slightly less than 4 hours to kill, we decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the two Japanese stalls in the food court. The Udon soup we ordered was pretty good but the Chicken Teriyaki bowl was pretty stale and came with mixed veg that tasted like butt lice. But I finished it anyway. It is funny how hunger, combined with the promise of better (Malaysian) food to come, makes the tongue more tolerant. Being in the airport, we paid airport prices for the Teriyaki bowl, and that there was a little hard to swallow.

Hui Chin and I lounged comfortably in the food court before we decided to take a look at what the duty free shop downstairs had to offer. We reached the lower level and witnessed before us 2 hours worth of people lined up to get through the international gate. Hui Chin and I followed the trail of bodies that snaked through the airport, out the entrance, onto the sidewalk and all the way round the curb. When you have to walk 5 minutes to get from the start to the end of the line, it's a pretty darn long line. And we weren't even at Fry's.

The minute hand on my watched did two 360s before we got through the scanners and to the departure gate. When you're in a really long line with nothing to do, even the littlest things bring you entertainment. For me, I found great pleasure in hearing people disbelievably mutter under their breath about the insanity as they passed me and made their way to the back of the line.

Up, up and no way!
As a result of strong headwinds, our plane was diverted to Seattle. Something weird happened as we journeyed north to Starbucks Central. They served dinner. At one in the morning.

At the gas station
Because of the added mileage incurred, the plane had to be refueled once we arrived in Seattle. Refueling took a tedious hour and 45 minutes, during which no one was allowed to use electronic equipment. You could wear the cheap airline headphones on your head but you weren't allowed to plug it into the socket. Actually, I take back the thing about the cheap earphones. Those things probably cost a fortune since they always make sure they rip it from your possesion at the end of every flight. On local flights, they charge you $5 to wear their earphones for the length of the flight. What sucks is that when you have a transit flight, your $5 credit does not carry over.

Refueling actually felt worse than waiting in the line at the airport because you were confined to your half chair. At first, they only announced that handphones were not allowed. So I tried to use my laptop, only to have my ears chewed off by the air stewardess a few minutes later. She refused to hear anything I had to say, responding with a stern "you have to turn it off" each time I tried to get any sort of argument going.

"I only need another sec..."

"You have to turn it off."

"But could I u..."

"You have to turn it off."

"Will it be possib..."

"You have to turn it off."

"Yes drill sargeant. Will turn it off drill sargeant. Right away drill sargeant. Up yours drill sargeant. You're just pissed off 'cos you're not a real air stewardess because we are currently not in the air drill sargeant bitch."

I was actually surpised that men and women were not divided into different halves of the plane and a curtain drawn between them just to avoid any sparks. At one point, I was so bored that I could have started a fire by just twiddling my thumbs.

Making up ground
We took off from Seattle at 3:45 in the morning so we were now about 4 hours behind. We only had 3 hours to spare in Taipei to catch our connecting flight, so the pilot had to really step on the gas pedal. And I think flying in the Northern hemisphere sorta shortens the duration of the flight. Anyhow, by some miracle we arrived in Taipei with an hour to spare. I guess the pilot must have been flying.

I'm not sure if I've mentioned this before but Chiang Kai Shek airport is my all time favorite for places with nothing to do. But I guess airports are built for a purpose, and my expecting an airport to serve as a theme park just shows you how spoiled I've gotten.

The final leg
The flight from Taipei to Malaysia is a short one, but not short enough when you're brimming with anticipation. A new health requirement had to be met by incoming flights to Malaysia on this trip, the plane had to be fumigated while the passengers were in it. What they did was have a flight attendant walk the length of the plane spraying some sort of disinfectant in the air. When they first made the announcement that they were going to do what they were going to do, I thought nozzles were going to be lowered from the ceiling and gas would come hissing out of them. Could you imagine how that would have been like if you were Jewish and in your 60s?

The plane landed safely, we got our luggage without a hitch, and for the first time, I got through customs without them dismantling everything in my bag and sending it piece by piece through the Geiger machine. To date, I think the favorite part of my flights home to Malaysia has been the walk through the arrival gate, partly because you feel like you're a star arriving at the Academy Awards. There's always a huge mob of people clamoring to get a glance of the next arrivee, and if it were not for the half-fence restraints, you'd probably be trampled by the anxious crowd. But even bigger than feeling like a Hollywood Star is being greeted by that familiar face in the crowd.

Drammamine Delusions:
They swabbed my camera for explosive residue. If I ran, the two soldiers no more than 20 feet away from me would have shot me. They would probably have shot to maim just so they would be able to ask me questions like, "who sent you?" And in failing to appropriately answer their simple-difficult questions that clearly do not apply to me, they would probably send for an Arabic translator.

As a precaution the airport would be evacuated and scanned brick to brick for bombs. Thousands of Americans would start to hate me for I would have been the the reason they would not be with turkey, cranberry sauce and their family on Thanksgiving, not thinking for a second that, instead of being mad, they should be thankful that they were not the one roiling in pain because of a bullet behind their knee as armed soldiers and translators rattled their brain with simple-difficult questions and Arabic babble. But they did not find exlosive residue on my camera. So I did not have to run. And they did not have to shoot me. And I was on the plane to Oakland International a couple hours later.

Touchdown Oakland:
Hui Chin and I chose to fly Southwest because they listen to the little people. It was $39 to Oakland on Thanksgiving afternoon and $59 back to LA early Monday morning. But low prices aren't the only reason to fly Southwest. They're more on time than other airlines, Southwest employees are generally nicer, during the flight they occasionally sing you funny songs and tell jokes over the PA, they've got better ads on TV and they serve salted peanuts instead of pretzels on the plane.

The flight to Oakland took slightly less than an hour. From the airport, we took a $2 shuttle to the closest BART station (Bad Ass Rail Transit) which happened to be at The Colliseum, home of the Raiders. Touchdowwwwwn Oakland.

Do the Bart man!:
There was a really friendly black guy who worked at the BART station who helped us out with how to get tickets to where we needed to go, and back. Stopping only about five times to pick up and drop off passengers, we were in Union Station, San Francisco in no time. It was getting dark when we got there so Hui Chin and I wasted no time getting to the hotel.

They'll treat you right at the Cartwright:
The cheapest (without too dangerous), most geographically strategic place we could find on the internet was the Cartwright Hotel. Their selling point was their friendly service and we got a taste of that service as we checked in; both Hui Chin and I had a a glass of wine in our hands as we were escorted up to our room.

The Cartwright wasn't a five star hotel, or even a four star. But it works. We had a mini bar, a TV, City Guides, Queen-sized bed and our own bathroom (some of the places we looked into had common bathrooms. Yucks

Thanksgiving Dinner:

I finally get to meet Kirsten and Jorgen, who Hui Chin talks about so much. Kirsten and Jorgen were Hui Chin's host parents when the international student program found her in Denmark. Kirsten and Jorgen are 80 something years old, each still going strong, each still requiring the other's company.

We start the day with a delightful brunch at the Inn of the Seventh Ray. Dining at the Inn is a really expensive occassion, but I think it's well worth the money if you bring the right person or people. This is a little promo blurb about the Inn. Most of what is served at the Inn of the Seventh Ray is grown on their very own farm, without the use of chemical insecticides or fertilizers. Their motto should be, "We pee on our vegetables." And if you found a worm in on your leaf of lettuce, they'll probably tell you it is protein fortified.

After lingering around the Inn's ecclectic bookstore for a few minutes, we continued our way across the Santa Monica mountains to the Pacific Highway and then to Venice Beach.

When we arrived at the beach, we stepped out into August weather that was as perfect as I'd ever seen it in November. The ocean hosted over a dozen white sails in its glistening waters, wild geese flew in formation, sometimes no more than a foot above the surface of the sea. The sound of breaking waves. The constant tease of ocean breeze. The call of seagulls, fading as they flew away. Throw in a foldable cloth chair and this was the kind of day that would inspire poetry. But you had to be alone.

Hui Chin, Kirsten, Jorgen and I walked most of the Venice stretch, stopping at a sidewalk cafe for hot chocolate and beer, and also to rest our feet. We decided to head back to the car after our half hour tea break.

Because we had already seen what the sidewalk had to offer, we decided to leave our foot prints on the sand. Along the way, we bumped into the tribal beach orchestra. Consisting mainly of a motley crowd of incense burners, aspiring musicians, tree huggers, restless youth, pot heads, almost homeless, new age teenagers, and fans of sage, this ever evolving and devolving group gather here in a circle weekend after weekend and put on a most energetic performance with their hand drums, wind chimes, claves, castanets, tambourines, cymbals, triangles, wood blocks, cow bells, pots, pans and coconut shells. Within the ring of musicians, you will always find people losing themselves to the music of the beach, and they will dance till the sun goes down. And next week, they will dance again.

I don't think he liked LA. But I won't be surprised if he moved here. To be with Mickey Mouse.

Hui Chin's friend, Derek, is considering moving to LA, so he was here for half a week to scout the place.

Derek has a Mickey Mouse fetish. He's like a crazed N'Sync fan, who, instead of N'Sync, likes Mickey Mouse.

Severely Misunderstood was playing at the Gig on Melrose Ave. I've not been to that strip of Melrose and it looks like some pretty cool things would go down there on a Friday or Saturday or Thursday night. But it was Sunday.

The club was actually really cozy and I could see how it would appeal to musicians. They had a pretty well stocked bar, comfy sofas and drink tables against the walls and a prominent stage with curtains and all.

This was my first time catching Severly Misunderstood. I'm not a big punk rock fan but I have to give it up to Kevin and Bob for putting on a sizzling show.

When I arrived, there was only one person in line to see Dr. Jeffrey Goss, an old guy dressed in a blue suit. I put my name on the waiting sheet and took a seat by the magazine table. There must have been some dozen and a half different magazines scattered on the table, each and every one with Dr Goss' in the "mail to:" field. On the very top of the pile, Modern Bride. That's when you know your doctor cares for you. Anyway, I shuffle through the stack, looking for a magazine to commit to.

I decide in the end on the LA magazine and start to leaf through it. I come to a page that headlines: Top ten pick up tips for bars in LA. Before getting through reading #1, Gerald, the other patient in the office, breaks the silence with a prison ice breaker, "So what are you in here for?"

Before I move on, I should explain that I got acquainted with Gerald's name a little earlier, when through the pigeon hole window standard with most doctors' offices, Dr. Goss noticed Gerald in the waiting room and greeted him with friendly delight by his first name. I knew then that it wasn't Gerald's first time at this office. Or his second, third or fourth as I would later discover.

Some people dress up when meeting a new doctor for the first time, and as time goes by let their dress slip, sometimes to the point where they show up at the doctor's in their cow-and-moon-print pajama pants. But that was not the case with Gerald. The trip to the doctor was a big event in this 72 year old's life, gib enough to warrant him wearing his Sunday best baby blue suit. Gerald's pants leg hung 2 inches above his ankles, exposing his striped blue and muddy yellow socks. It's funny, because if you think about it, as you grow older, your body shrinks, and as a result, your clothes should actually grow longer. But I think it may be human nature to develop a tendency to pull our pants higher and higher above our waist as we grow older. If that's the case, 'May you live till your pants reach your chest' should be our new greeting to old people. I think I've strayed enough. Back to Gerald's question.

i start to tell Gerald about my big swollen toe and my long sob story about how being off the tennis court far exceeded the pain in my toe. I in return enquire about the reason for Gerald's visit. When you ask a 71 year old about his health, you've just supplied him with conversation firewood for many, many ticks of the clock.

Stranded with a dysfunctional heart, thyroid glands 4 times the normal size and a hip ripe for replacement, Gerald walked around with a pacemaker buried in his chest, a wooden cane, and a pocket full of drugs. This time around, Gerald was at Dr Goss' to get prescription insoles for his $250 pair of shoes which cost what they cost because they had to be height adjusted on the right to make up for lack of length in his left leg. To make my toe problem sound more trivial, Gerald tells me about the colonoscopy he had two months ago, and the cataract surgery he was going to undergo in two days. To drive it home, he tells me about how he injured his hip; in a car accident where he lost his wife and kid. That sure bummed me out for the rest of the day.

It takes me about an hour to get to see the good doctor. You could tell that Goss was a well decorated doctor from the number of plaques and certificates hanging on his wall. He also had several framed pictures of celebrities on his wall, each marker-penned with niceties like, "Dear Dr Goss, Keep up the good work!' Among the celebrity pictures were Cuba Gooding Jr., Paula Abdul and Ronald Reagan. Can you believe it? The same guy who touched Ronald Reagan's feet was now going to touch mine.

Dr Goss looks at the X-ray, does some tests on my toe and can't determine what's wrong with it. He then takes out a tuning fork, hits it on his hand until it vibrates and then puts it on different points of my toe. I don't really feel anything until he puts it on this one spot where the vibrations of the fork get driven right up a possible crack in my bone. He writes my swollen, aching toe off as having a stress fracture and prescribed plenty of rest.

I discovered today that I do not have two left feet, but two wrong ones.

Hui Chin and I had our first Salsa class today. Our instructor is this stubby chinese lady who cracks herself up with her own jokes.

Everyone at the class moved with such natural grace, as though their arms and legs were padded by clouds. Me? I looked like a Pinnochio String Puppet.

Do not, never ever, ever,..... ever leave me in a perfume shop by myself... ever. As Hui Chin contemplated lipstick color, I became "the walking cologne swab of Sephora", inviting over 20 scents to live on my skin.

There's nothing like the cool of cologne on your skin. A dab behind your left ear sometimes takes you back to when you were a kid, in the small neighbourhood barber shop where the barber would slap a handful of old spice onto the back of your neck. Stimulated by its invigorating freshness behind your left ear, you hurry to repeat its effect on your right. After dotting your wrist, temples, behind your knees and ankles, you grow desperate as your list of options to top your previous experience grows shorter. Your sense of economy normally sets in before you reach this point but sometimes too much perfume disarms the logical node in your brain and you end up with both hands on your open bottle of cK, jerking it back and forth like a Grand Prix victor, until every ounce of "smellful" liquid is everywhere but in the bottle.

Over a month ago, Hui Chin signed us up with Free Arts For Abused Children, a volunteer program that in essence tries to use art to help children.

The Free Arts event today was a fundraiser. Hui Chin and I, along with Jenny and Jenna, were assigned to Rag Dolls. My initial reaction was, "How hard could it be to make a doll out of a bunch of rags, lace strips, pipe cleaners and plastic eyes." And then I had to make one.

While the rest of the group were putting the finishing on their fancy smancy dolls, I was frustratedly disassembling mine for the umpteenth time. Everyone else's doll was 10 X nicer than mine. Everyone else's did not scare the children. Christy made an angel doll, equipped with a halo and wings in like 2 minutes. Jenny had a Cyndi Lauper-type doll with funky frizzy hair, eyes with eyebrows and shoes. Shoes. Hui Chin designed a Queen Amidala doll with a crown of flowers adorning her head, a high collar and the works. As for me, my doll had a head, and the scarriest freaking lips.

Even though I struggled making dolls the whole day, the day went by a lot quicker than I thought it would have. All the kids who depended on me for doll-making assistance left our tent with ugly dolls. The important thing is that their dolls had heads. I mean, what would be scarrier than a headless doll.

Some of us use art to vent. Some of us use art to record a memory. Some of us use art to forget. Some of us use art to help others. Some of us try to use art to help others. As cliche as it might sound, it's the thought that counts. But to an abused kid, that's probably the most important thing. To know someone is thinking of them..

She stared out of her office window and realized then, that it was the last second of her life.

Morning had broken in New York, along with the silence.

New Yorkers gazed helplessly at the two injured buildings. Some gazed in shock. Some gazed in disbelief. Some gazed from within.

From my TV at home, watching the people watch the burning towers, reminded me of that all too familiar scene in the movie Braveheart where William Wallace, Scotland's hero and symbol of freedom, was being tortured and publicly humiliated. And in the crowd were his two closest followers, friends who championed not just the man but the cross he beared. When I watched the movie for the first time, I waited with presumptuous nonchalance for his merry men to spring out of cover in his rescue, even as the 20 pound blade born down on him was but 2 inches from his neck. But there was no intervention from his men and it was at that point in the movie that everything felt so real.

The trade towers remained standing after the planes crashed into it, enabling thousands to escape and allowing for a better bitter end. One building eventually lost its spine, and gravity turned height into radius. Light was stolen from the ground for a while, but, as the dust settled, faded figures you could barely make out as people emerged from the ashes, lethargically dragging their feet away from the rubble, approaching like zombies.

You could hear an eerie high pitch hum resonating from emergency sound beacons attached to fireman vests to signal a down fireman. But it sounded more like writhing souls, stunned out of their bodies and swirling in the air.

The second trade tower followed the fate of its twin minutes later. Ground zero looked like it was a nuclear war zone. Except a nuclear warzone would look a thousand times worse. And for that we should be thankful.

It was my first time down to San Diego in the longest time. The band had moved out of Casa La Mesa; Bob, Mark and Kevin now had a three bedroom in Grossmont and Brian had moved in with two girls from his work place. We decided to crash at Brian's because his two roomates (they were sisters), were in Colorado visiting their stepdad.

Brian had forgotten to give us his address so Hui Chin and I spent a few minutes hollering out his name in the parking lot. We eventually found a phone and called him.

Brian's new place definitely had a female touch to it (everything was color coordinated and the place did not smell like old socks and stale pizza.) In the apartment with him was Brian's new squeeze, Elena. It was my first time meeting her. Just tought I'd mention that.

To cut to the chase, Hui Chin and I were down in San Diego to catch a Chargers-Rams pre-season game. I had not caught a live NFL game before and it was the closest the Rams were going to get to LA this season.

Qualcomm stadium was packed when we got there and it took us a good hour just to park. As a result, we missed the coin toss. Bummer.

The St Louis Rams, a.k.a. the greatest show on earth, s.k.a. the LA Rams, packed Qualcomm with more Ram fans than Charger fans. In the stands, Ram jerseys outnumbered the home jerseys by about 5 to 1 and a Ram firstdown brought a lot more people to their feet than a Charger touchdown.

The game started off really slow and it was tied at 0-0 up until midway through the second quarter when Warner rolled left on the 15 yard line and completed a pass to the tight end Ernie Conwell. Touchdown St Louis, and we were about 6 rows behind the uprights where all this happened.

At half-time, because it was a pre-season game, Rams coach Mike Martz took back to back MVPs Warner and Faulk out of the game as they marched into the locker room with a slim lead. Trung Canidate took over for Faulk and some yet-to-be-heard-of guy took over for Warner. San Diego scored a late touch down in the fourth quarter to tie the game at 10-10. In the final minutes of the game, St Louis marched the ball the other way to the 1 yard line and find themselves with a 20 yard field goal and 5 seconds on the clock. Jeff Wilkins kicks the ball through the uprights, the clock runs out and St Louis is charged for holding. The play is negated and they go into extra time. San Diego scores a field goal in extra time and the Rams lose.

But, hey, I got to see a Warner touchdown.