pinkXorange grumps

Some days I really feel like this.

from jeremy scott

have you thought about it this way?

There were a few times (this year and last) that I have considered working in the…death industry?

To work in the business of the end of a person’s life. I don’t think its morbid, but you may think so.

The undertakers, casket services, cremation parlors (?). I imagine I wouldn’t have to be all fake smiley and happy all the time. Like the shop people who work in stores, encouraging you with big smiles and loud clear voices to buy, buy, buy. I wouldn’t have to be like the yoghurt girls, trying to act cutesy and friendly, “which topping?”. i would have no complaints from any of my customers, no need for any after-sales service. No follow-up action necessary. My customers wouldn’t be fussy.

Each job dead and done.

it could b.

WaT – 君が僕にkissをした

“The sad thing was in the knowing that all their nerve would get them nowhere in the world and that they were lost as all people in Brooklyn seem lost when the day is nearly over and even though the sun is still bright, it is thin and doesn’t give you warmth when it shines on you.”

- A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, Betty Smith

judge

not the feeling of dread and the withering of insides
to cause some physical hurt or
possibly just vanish
some who are only drunk for a year

a sweat

Today I dreamt that you died. But your ghost appeared and it was very strange. My neighbour died too. My neighbour from the dream. An older lady who lived alone. I had to prepare her funeral. I awoke in a sweat.

a key lime pie #2

My 2nd go at a key lime pie. This one was much different from the 1st, which was a frozen key lime pie. That meant, once you took it out from the fridge it started sweating and would not travel well. This one was baked, then chilled. I ruined the top because I was too impatient to get it into the fridge, then I got lazy to decorate it. So here it is, bare and already eaten.

I’m wondering how people take SO many photos while they bake or cook. My hands were much too messy and sticky with lime juice to take any shots during this process. I guess of course you could wash and dry your hands, pause, and take a shot, but really, it seems too much like an impediment. I also wish my kitchen was air conditioned.

Oh the hills we climbed to find this shop! Which turned out to be closed, and was still closed the 2nd time we ventured up the hills. If you’ve never been to Hong Kong’s Soho, you must. Soho is like a mutli-tiered raspberry and chocolate mousse cake with mint balls. There are so many levels, layers, side streets and screeching corners to explore.

captaincream and I make quite the explorer team. We are determined, always kiasu, persevere through complaining and ‘tsuk-ing’ a lot and never stopping until of course, there is blood on our feet. Elgin Street was just another street name on our list. The slopes of Soho seem to be 70 degrees, the steps almost 8 inches high, and the escalator…oh, it’s endless. In the midst of all the activity in Hong Kong, it is strangely calming to travel on the mid-level escalators. It’s like floating by the crazy world, knowing that you don’t have to be part of the busyness.

In other news, I’ve been sneezing more than a cuckoo clock goes cuckoo. I hate my nose. But more on that next time.

a little oniony

“I start filming tomorrow,” Jerome said.
I looked blank.
“My movie. My vampire movie. You sure you don’t want to be in it?”
“We’re going on vacation this week.”
“That sucks,” said Jerome. “It’s going to be genius.”
We stood silent. After a moment I said, “Real geniuses never think they’re geniuses.”
“Who says?”
“Me.”
“Because why?”
“Because genius is nine-tenths perspiration. Haven’t you ever heard that? As soon as you think you’re a genius, you slack off. You think everything you do is so great and everything.”
“I just want to make scary movies,” Jerome replied.
“With occasional nudity.”
“Just don’t try to be genius and maybe you’ll end up being one by accident,” I said.
He was looking at me in a funny way, intense, but also grinning.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Looking at you like what?”
In the dark, Jerome’s resemblance to the Obscure Object was even more pronounced. The tawny eyebrows, the butterscotch complexion – here they were again, in permissible form.
“You’re a lot smarter than most of my sister’s friends.”
“You’re a lot smarter than most of my friends’ brothers.”
He leaned toward me. He was taller than I was. That was the big difference between him and his sister. It was enough to wake me from my trance. I turned away. I circled around him back to the Object. She was still staring up bright-faced at Rex.
“Come on,” I said. “We’ve got to go to that thing.”
“What thing?”
“You know. That thing.”
Finally I managed to pull her away. She left trailing smiles and significant looks. As soon as we got off the porch she was frowning at me.
“Where are you taking me?” she said angrily.
“Away from that creep.”
“Can’t you leave me alone for a minute?”
“You want me to leave you alone?” I said. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone.” I didn’t move.
“Can’t I even talk to a boy at a party?” the Object asked.
“I was taking you away before it was too late.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got bad breath.”
This checked the Object. This struck her to the core. She wilted. “I do?” she asked.
“It’s just a little oniony,” I said.

- Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides