Food Addictions Of A Non-Foodie

This may be news to some of you but yes, I do eat. Food la, what else? And quite regularly too *gasp*. Contrary to what you may think, I am NOT a chronic dieter and I do NOT have willpower of steel – more like willpower of mee suah. The sordid truth is, I’m an unrepentant snacker, have a sweet tooth and am embroiled in several toxic relationships. With food. And I’m gonna talk about some of them. Yup, you heard right: welcome to my very first bona fide “food” post!

But before I start, let me clarify that I am no gourmand, so my relationships are with some pretty unsophisticated foods. You’re not about to get any fancy-schmancy food descriptions or learn anything of any value here either. Just thought I’d set expectations straight So anyway, on with my “food” post!

1. Barbecued pork [char-seoh-bak in Hokkien; char-siew-yuk in Cantonese; babi in Malay]

Okay, first up: I’m not a pork-lover. In fact, I’m rather picky with pork (that sounds almost poetic). The only pork I can never say no to, is a plate of char siew. I love them in thick chunks (not thinly sliced), all lean meat (no fatty bits) and doused in that beautiful brown gooey sweet sauce (the teen-cheong). The slices must be burnt along the edges so that the meat is encircled by a crumbly charcoal trim that’s almost black in colour. The contrast between the chewy lean meat and the sugary crunch of the charcoal-laced edge is divine.

2. Chinese barbecued pork jerky [bak-kwa in Hokkien; chi-yuk-kon in Cantonese; daging salai in Malay]

Technically, when it comes to chi-yuk-kon, I only go for chicken so it’s really kai-yuk-kon. My love for yuk-kon is undeniable. It’s a drug. I love the saccharine scent. I love the sight of flat square paper-like slices all piled up high in the glass case, the bright yellow spotlights honing in on them, highlighting their uneven surface, which isn’t unlike that of a teenager’s crater-filled, acne-riddled skin. I love it when yuk-kon is juicy (not dripping in oil), finely sliced or better yet, cut into cute little circles. It’s the food of the gods.

3. Barbecued chicken bun [seoh pau in Hokkien; siew pau in Cantonese]

I’ve developed an unhealthy addiction to Mr Siew Bao. Yup, that little kiosk in Sunway Pyramid (which also sells mooncakes and tambun biscuits). It’s halal, so it’s really chicken inside the siew pau, but it’s so-o-o-o good that you can hardly tell the difference (and no, I’m not having a Jessica Simpson moment here). The siew pau is round and its soft, not-too-crumbly pastry is baked to crispy perfection. Bite into it and out oozes tiny chicken chunks mixed in with that brown gooey sweet sauce that I love. I can easily eat three at one go, but no more than that la – what am I, a pig?

4. French fries [kentang goreng in Malay]

I love McDonald’s fries. They’re long, slim (but not too skinny), fried to a perfect state of crispiness, has that gorgeous golden yellow hue that just glistens in the sunlight. The best part is when they are a teensy weensy bit soft (which is how they get if you leave them alone for a few minutes). I don’t add salt or pepper, but I’m a ketchup fiend and can’t eat them without a tub of ketchup. Sometimes, I dip the fries in ice-cream. Yum.

5. Bread [lo-ti in Hokkien; mim-pau in Cantonese; roti in Malay]

I know that I’ve waxed lyrical about bread a couple of times before but this relationship is one that cannot be swept under the carpet. I just love bread, especially the sweet ones with raisins, butter and sugar, that’s a little bit moist and heavy in weight. I don’t fancy the fluffy variety that makes you feel like you’re eating nothing but air. I’m not a fan of busy bread though – you know, those with too much going on. For instance, the ones with 101 different types of grains and seeds and god knows what else, or the half-breed variety like those horrible pizza breads or half-cake-half-breads –somebody please explain to me what’s up with that??

6. Donut kebab [I have no idea!]

I love bite-sized foods cos they’re easy to eat and look absolutely adorable (which is why I’m so obsessed with sushi), so I’m a big fan of donut balls – small and round, lightly coated with powder sugar and all nicely lined up on a stick. You can get them at any bakery and most of the time, they taste good no matter where they’re from. You’ve gotta be a real moron to get donut kebabs wrong.

7. Preserved mango [lou-suain in Hokkien; yip mong-kuo in Cantonese; jeruk in Malay]

It was only in the past couple of years that I’ve become totally possessed by jeruk – particularly the preserved mango from AZ Jeruk. I’ll fill up the tub with ten bucks worth of pale yellow mango swimming in a sea of sugary syrup and tiny chili slices, then go watch a movie – sure beats popcorn anytime!

8. Calamari [char-jiu-he in Hokkien; chau-yau-yi in Cantonese, which also means ‘kena fired from your job’; sotong goreng in Malay]

I love deep-fried sotong – my favourite is the one you can get in Paris Restaurant in SS2. I can eat nothing but that, three meals a day. They’re ginormous with their little tentacles all gnarly and coated in yellow batter. It’s delicious when dipped in sweet chili sauce. Unfortunately, eating too much of this is begging for a heart attack. Why must bad things taste so good la?

9. Durian [liu-liang in Hokkien; lau-lin in Cantonese; also durian in Malay]

Of all the “foods” on my list, this is the only one that can be classified as a real food. Real as in natural and not processed until the mother also cannot recognise. I disagree with people who say the durian is stinky or tastes bad. Hello, chau-tau-foo is stinky; durian is not stinky. Bittergourd tastes bad; durian does not taste bad. What can I say, durian isn’t for weaklings. And if you think you want to acclimatise your tastebuds by first trying out one of ‘em durian cake, durian milkshake or durian whatever, don’t bother.

The 10 Signs Of Auntiehood

In other countries, auntie means the sister of your father or mother; the wife of your uncle. Here in Malaysia, auntie means different things. It represents a certain phase in life, a certain type of appearance and certain ‘auntie-type’ characteristics. When someone calls you an Auntie, it’s not a compliment. In my post today, I invite you to do an Auntie Quiz, which I have so ingeniously devised. Answer every question with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ and find out if you are indeed an Auntie.

1. Do you have a general disdain for the sun and will go to any length to avoid it? [Y / N]

You wear a straw hat (and not like the ginormous designer one like Kim Cattrall had on in SATC) but more like the type farmers wear to tanam the padi. You also wear those ‘sleeves’ that go all the way up to the upper arm – either that, or you half-wear a long-sleeved shirt (if you don’t understand what I mean, you’re not Malaysian).

2. Do you waddle from side to side instead of walking? [Y / N]

Your arms are bent most of the time at a ninety degree angle, shoulders swing from side to side, duck-like. Sometimes, there is over-enthusiastic arm-swinging. Your purse is humongous and bursting at the seams, and is usually situated right under the arm in a typical kepit fashion.

3. Do you have Auntie Hair? [Y / N]

Auntie Hair is a mysterious thing and is hard to pin down. But by and large, Auntie Hair is Big Hair just like those you see on mak datins (this of course, mostly refers to Aunties with a lot of money). The hair is monstrous in proportion and is frightening enough to startle both large animals and small rodents. Auntie Hair can also be permed and short, kind of like a bouquet of black candy floss coating the skull.

4. Do you wear carrot-cut jeans? [Y / N]

In America, they call these mom jeans; in Malaysia, we call them Auntie Pants. Auntie Pants are high-waisted – this elongates the distance between waist and crotch and wraps around the tummy in a most unflattering manner. Auntie Pants emphasise the hips and thighs (something no woman – no matter what age – wants) and then taper down to abruptly end right above the ankle bone.

5. Do you have cracked heels? [Y / N]

You mostly wear slippers or sandals, which expose your feet to all kinds of dirt and grime on a daily basis. And because you pay more attention to your face than your feet, you have these horrible cracked heels with dark grey lines, dirt all seeped deep into the cracks, which can be easily eliminated with Scholl cracked heel balm in just three days! [insert advertisement jingle here]

6. Do you have tattooed eyebrows, eyeliner or lipstick? [Y / N]

If your husband / boyfriend has never seen you sans makeup, it’s cos you have it tattooed onto your skin. And the tattoo job is poorly done. Eyebrows are charcoal black with a bluish tinge, harshly drawn – you bear a close resemblance to a Chinese opera singer. Eyeliner also charcoal black with bluish tinge. Lipstick too red to be real.

7. Do you talk about buying things … A LOT? [Y / N]

Your conversation topics revolve around shopping, shopping and shopping. It doesn’t matter shopping for what – food la, clothes la, real/fake Gucci handbag la, sambal belacan la, whatever – you love a good bargain and will go on and on about it. What you bought, why you bought it, where you bought it, how you bargained to buy it, how you want to buy some more of it and how everyone else should also go and buy it the same way you did.

8. Do you wear makeup when doing physical activity? [Y / N]

You are fully made-up at the gym, in an exercise class or at the park. Of course, if your makeup has been tattooed on, then this statement is irrelevant. This statement is meant for those who haven’t gone the tattoo route and are still fully made-up when working out. Most of the time, you wear an exercise headband (that matches the rest of your outfit) and sometimes, if you’re in the mood, a visor.

9. Have people accused you of being an Auntie? [Y / N]

You have been at the receiving end of comments like, “Aiyo, why you so auntie one??” or “For heaven’s sake, can you stop being such an auntie or not??”

10. Are you worried about how you will score on this quiz? [Y / N]

This fear is an indication that deep deep down, you already know that you have the Auntie Gene. It has been laying dormant all these years and you have this terrifying feeling that it’s about to manifest itself.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

THE AUNTIE VERDICT

(0 YES) Congratulations!!! You are safe and will not be inducted into Auntiehood anytime soon.

(1-2 YES) Uh oh, Auntiehood is beckoning. You must be vigilant and whatever Auntie things you’re currently doing, STOP them right now.

(3-6 YES) You are quite Auntie already. There’s no hiding it. There’s still a sliver of hope though, but you need help and you need it fast.

(7-10 YES) Embrace your Inner Auntie for there is no turning back. Look on the bright side – Auntiehood isn’t that bad. It’s one step away from Ahpohhood, which most people will greatly respect and no longer make fun of.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

No aunties were harmed in the making of this post.
(A few may have been offended though)

The Rabies Awareness Fun Run

I absolutely love The Office. I must’ve watched every episode at least three times and no, I’m not exaggerating. Seeing that my blog contains a fair share of stuff on running, I thought it was apt to pay tribute to the show’s one running episode: The Fun Run in season 4.

Michael hits Meredith with his car. She winds up in the hospital where she discovers she has rabies (from the time Dwight trapped her head in a garbage bag that had a bat in it – that scene was hilarious!). Michael then decides to organize a 5K run to raise money for rabies awareness.

Michael Scott: I love my employees. Even though I hit one of you with my car. For which I take full responsibility for. Look I’m just trying to take everybody’s mind off this unavoidable tragedy and on to more positive things. So I thought we should plant a tree.

[seeing Meredith in the hospital room]
Michael Scott: She looks like an angel.
Kelly: She looks awful.
Michael Scott: No, ok, she always looks like that. It’s not my fault.
Jim Halpert: I think she’s awake.
Michael Scott: No, she’s in a coma.
Nurse: No

[Talking to the camera]
Michael Scott: Why I’m taking responsibility, and it is up to me to get rid of the curse that hit Meredith with my car. I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.

[In the meeting room]
Michael Scott: You spend your whole life trying to get people to like you and then you run over one person with your car. And it’s not even one of the popular ones, and everybody gets on your case. Doesn’t make any sense. God is dead … maybe believing in God was a mistake. What did people believe in before? The sun. Maybe there’s some sort of animal that we can make a sacrifice to. Like a giant buffalo. Or some sort of monster … something with the body of a walrus with the head of a sea lion, or something with the body of an egret. With the head of a meer cat. Or just the head of a monkey with the antlers of a reindeer. With a body of…. a porcupine.

[Answering phone]
Pam: Michael Scott’s Dunder-Mifflin Scranton Meredith Palmer Memorial Celebrity Rabies Awareness Fun Run Race for the Cure this is Pam.

[Talking to the camera]
Michael Scott: A woman shouldn’t have to be hit by a car to learn that she has rabies. But that is where we are in America, and that does not sit right with me. And that is why I am hosting a fun run race for the cure for rabies. To raise awareness for the fact that there is a cure for rabies… a disease that has been largely eradicated in the US, but not very many people know that.

[In the men’s room, taping his nipples]
Andy Bernard: I’m petrified of nipple chaffing. Once it starts it is a vicious circle… you have sensitive nipples, they chaff, so they become more sensitive, so they chaff more. So I take precautions.

[Presenting a mock giant cheque for 340 dollars, made out to Science, to a stripper posing as a nurse because he couldn’t find a Rabies Doctor]
Michael Scott: Myth – three Americans die every year from rabies. Fact – four Americans every year die from rabies. How many of you know someone that has been afflicted or affected by rabies? Show of hands. One, two, three… too many to count. It is truly the silent killer. No, it is the foaming barking killer.

[running, out of breath]
Michael Scott: I am not going to finish. I can’t beat rabies. Nobody can beat rabies. Rabies has been around for a thousand years. And I was a fool to think that I could beat it.

[collapsed on the ground, about to puke]
Michael Scott: Finishing that 5K was the hardest thing I ever had to do. I ate more fettuccini alfredo, and drank less water than I have in my entire life. People always talk about triumphs of the human spirit …

… Well today I had a triumph of the human body. That’s why everybody was applauding for me at the end. My guts, my heart and well I eventually puked my guts out. I never puked my heart out, and I am very proud of that.

And at the end of the run, they were all 5 kilometres away from the office and had to walk back. “You couldn’t have made it a circle??!!” ROTFLMAO

Grrr … Don’t Call Me Sweet

I take issue with the word ‘sweet’. To anyone who says to me, “You’re so sweet”, I say, “Eh, are you crazy or what?”. Believe it or not, there have actually been a few. Yeah I know – these people need a little help in the marble department.

Sweet is nice. Benign. Pleasant. Mundanely pleasant, that is. Unexciting. Sugary. Weak. Harmless. No edge. Edge-less, if you will. Safe. Hardly a threat. Dull as dishwater. Someone who spends her afternoons folding miniature stars out of fluorescent colour paper, pouring them into a glass jar, tying it ribbon around the rim and giving it to her little boyfriend for his birthday. Tiny smile. Agreeable. Acquiescent. Yes, yes, yes. Eyes peeking out through thick bangs. Eyes downcast. Timid. Domesticated. Fluffy pink slippers. Fluffy pink T-shirts. In fact, fluffy pink anything. Naïve. Innocent. Young. Child-like. Angelic. Someone with a halo hugging her skull. Doormat. Pink fluffy doormat. Prim. Proper. Ponytail. Someone who cries at soppy chick flicks. Someone who believes that ‘forever’ really is forever.

For some people, being ‘sweet’ is not actually a bad thing. It’s a compliment, in fact. I – on the other hand – beg to differ. The day I’m christened with ‘sweet’ is the day I start mourning. Mourning for the days when ‘mean’, ‘stubborn’, ‘selfish’ and the all-time favourite ‘bitch’ were among the adjectives usually used whenever I’m the topic of conversation.

I suppose it’s kinda nuts to ascribe strength to traits generally considered negative by most sane people. But for some reason, I do. Disagreeing is strong. Saying ‘no’ is strong. Giving someone the silent treatment is strong (it’s nothing short of a superhuman feat for any woman – me included – to hold her tongue for any length of time exceeding 10 minutes). Standing your ground and refusing to budge is strong. Being hard and harsh, unfortunately, is strong too.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

I know, I know. I need therapy. Looking at what I’d just written, I wonder if I might have a little perception problem here. A twisted sense of what’s good and what’s not. My nutty way of looking at things might finally be my undoing – the catalyst that hurtles me down the rickety path of my own moral demise. I know this and yet, I cling on. Stubbornly.

Am I being strong? I’d like to think so. But is it still a strength if it’s misguided? Does it then become a weakness? If a false sense of strength becomes a weakness, does that mean a false sense of weakness is really a strength? I think I know the answer to that one, but it’s an answer I refuse to entertain simply cos it would mean I’d have to admit I was wrong – that maybe being sweet is really a strength and not a weakness … and being a bitch isn’t about being strong. Just mean.

The Art Of Cussing @#&@%#$!!!

I’m going to come clean (or dirty, depending on how you see it). I’m a big advocate of cussing. Just like fruits, vegetables and exercise, cussing is good for your health and helps you cope with life.

I’ve always known this and now, I have the evidence to prove it: a bunch of psychologists at Keele University in Britain put two groups of students thru a bit of pain and discovered that the group that was allowed to cuss like sailors had a higher pain tolerance than the group that was only allowed to say things related to a table. Read more here.

I can certainly vouch for that. I swear that cussing has helped me through some seriously rough patches. Having said that, cussing isn’t something you just mindlessly do. Just like any other skill or art form, it requires thought, careful practice and discipline – especially if you want to reap its benefits.

1. Never over-cuss. Cussing should only be saved for special occasions (ie. when you’re super-pissed). It’s not for regular everyday conversation like, “Hang on, I gotta go park my f***ing car and put some f***ing coins into the f***ing machine.” Hello, you’re not in Pulp Fiction, you know. When you over-cuss, there is no impact and it becomes ineffective.

2. The grandma rule. You never cuss in front of your mother or grandmother. It’s also generally not acceptable in front of your boss or client or during a business presentation.

3. Do not abuse the cuss. You don’t cuss when you’re happy or excited as this is cussing out of context. Cussing wasn’t invented for you to express happy thoughts. “That shepherd’s pie was f***ing fantastic!!!” is just wrong.

4. Always about, never at. You cuss about somebody; you don’t cuss at somebody. That’s just asking to start a fight. And that’s dumb, especially if you’re a 100-pound weakling and can’t even wrestle a lollipop away from a two year old baby.

5. Be selective. There are tons of cuss words out there and each one was specifically invented to serve a different purpose. So, always use the right cuss word that accurately reflects the degree of rage that’s bubbling inside.

For instance, mild options like ‘damn’ and ‘crap’ are appropriate when you drop a donut on the floor. ‘Shit’ and ‘hell’ are appropriate when you drop a donut on the floor and somebody steps on it. ‘F***’ (and words of the Cantonese variety, most of which are too filthy to appear on my blog) are for when you drop a donut on the floor, somebody steps on it, slips, crashes into you and causes you to fall and throw your back all out of whack.

6. Keep it real. To cuss is to be honest, so when you do it, you have to do it with gusto, let it rip, hold nothing back. You have to have the right facial expression and physical force to go along with it (you don’t say a cuss word; you spit it out). Only then will you truly enjoy the benefits of cussing. If not, you’re just a poser and there’s nothing worse than a wannabe-cusser.

7. Cussing loves company. When cussing in front of people, make sure they’re the right people. They must be people who cuss too and won’t go all bug-eyed and judge you. Cussing in front of non-cussers is demoralising and you’ll wind up depressed and want to stab yourself with a butter knife.

Gardenia: The Choco Raisin Verdict

Okay. I finally tried Gardenia Delicia Choco Raisin – something which a few people have insisted I must do. They say it’s better than Delicia Butterscotch. Okay lor. So I did. It was my ‘Breakfast of Champions’ at 4am before Adidas KOTR. In retrospect, no wonder I didn’t make the qualifying time at the 10K. And you know the worst part? Choco Raisin wasn’t even good. How can this possibly be better than Butterscotch? I want to interrogate (and then beat up) every single person who has made this claim. I took two slices and I couldn’t force down anymore. I threw the rest of the loaf away. I’m not kidding.

First of all, Choco Raisin is Charcoal Brown. It’s crackly dry and porous and sickly sweet. It’s like eating a weird mutant bread that’s half-bread and half-cake. If you’re a die-hard fan of raisins (if you are, you’re certainly the first), take my advice and stick to Gardenia Toast’em Raisin Oatmeal, which I think is absolutely delicious.

Adidas King Of The Road 2009

Every blog entry must have a story/a point/a hook – something you can capture in a single sentence. KL Marathon was my maiden run and SHAPE was the one where I was last (first few kms la). But truth be told, I don’t really have a story/a point/a hook for Adidas KOTR … so what I’m going to do is wing it and by the end, the story/point/hook shall reveal itself. Here goes:

We reach the stadium at about 6.30am. It’s dark out and there’s already a stream of cars inching their way into the parking lot. We park across the street.

First order of business (pun intended): the customary loo visit. Just like last week at SHAPE, the line is ridiculously long. Unlike last week at SHAPE, however, we waste no time hopping over to the men’s loo instead. We enter it only to find it packed with girls.

Yes, this is the men’s toilet (even though it looks suspiciously like the ladies). There, you can see that poor dude at the sink on the right, washing his hands nervously, eyes downcast. Every once in a while, a guy or two appear at the entrance and look startled by the sight of girls lining up. They hesitate for a second, their faces frozen in uncertainty, and then they flee. They’re probably running off to pee in some bush instead.

Pic by Susan Ng

Thanks to the men’s toilet, we have plenty of time to spare (and camwhore). We take a group shot while waiting for the flag-off.

Pic by Susan Ng

In line with the tradition I’ve set for myself when it comes to running events: I will never wear the official shirt. I know la, the Adidas KOTR shirt is very good quality, dry-fit material, nice colour, blah blah blah, but I’m a woman of principles (when you have only one principle in life, you better damn well stick to it), which is why I’m wearing my bright orange Nike top, with Nike cap and Nike pants. Yes, I realise I’m at Adidas but I refuse to apologise for my wardrobe!

Pic by Susan Ng

So anyway, we’re let loose at 7am. The announcer says a bunch of stuff (I don’t think anybody is listening) and we hobble out of the stadium. There are so many people you can hardly walk, let alone run.

We plod on – a carpet of humanity painted in Kodak yellow. I’ve never seen so many cops in my life – they were everywhere, watching us, making sure the cars don’t run us over. The cops make you feel like King of the Road. You know how we cuss at people who cross the road like siput? “What the $#@%$@#!! This stupid fler think his grandfather own the road or what!” we say. I imagine that’s what the drivers are saying about us this morning. Well, our grandfather may not own the road but for today, we are Kings (and Queens) of the Road. Who says so? Adidas (and the polis). So we can cross as slowly as we want and the drivers can’t do anything. It’s a nice feeling, pissing off the drivers.

Before I know it, up comes the first water station. Eh? According to the registration form, there will only be one water station at the 5K point (which I thought was an evil thing to do to people attempting an 11K) … but this can’t be 5km already! Unless I morphed into Paula Radcliffe somewhere along the way or something, which of course, I did not.

Pic by Susan Ng

I guzzle down two cups of lukewarm 100 Plus (blech), toss the paper cup onto the ground and carry on.

The thing about Shah Alam is … there’s nothing. All you see are roads, petrol stations, shops, buildings, cars, cops, cops and more cops. There’s no view to speak of. This makes the run kinda … BORING. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot … yawn. Once in a while, you see a cracked pavement. That’s about it.

Before I know it (again), there’s another water station.

This time, there are some guys along the road holding plastic bags for us to throw our cups. Everybody pretty much ignores the Paper-Cup-Collectors. Throwing paper cups on the ground is part of the whole marathon experience! Throwing them, then stomping on them and flattening them like pancakes. How dare these Paper-Cup-Collectors try to wrestle that away from us? Who do they think they are??!!

Pic by Susan Ng

I ask the one of the Paper-Cup-Collectors, “Berapa km lagi ah?”. Yes, there are plenty of signs along the route but the organisers were – unfortunately – not bright enough to figure out that maybe the signs should mark how far along the route we are. Every sign says Adidas KOTR 11K. We all know that already – DUH. Tell us something we don’t know.

Paper-Cup-Collector says, “Oh, sudah halfway, ah moi.” Oh, okay lor. So, on I go: right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, cracked pavement, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left … hey, if you think reading this is a yawn-fest, just imagine what it was like for me doing it.

Anyway, we’re soon near the stadium entrance. I’m excited. I can almost smell the sweet fragrance of the Certificate of Participation. We go into the stadium tunnel. It’s dark and a little dingy (like the Sungai Wang parking lot) … right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right, left, right … eh, why this tunnel like never end one?

Finally, the tunnel ends and you run right into the stadium. You’re overcome by the sudden burst of sunlight, the skies open up in a brilliant blue, you can almost hear the crowds roar

Pic by Susan Ng

My initial impression of the stadium is, wow, it actually looks kinda nice. People are milling about, laying around, stretching, lining up at the Milo booth, camwhoring, etc. What strikes me most is how lively the scene is. I’m enveloped in an orgy of vivid colours; it’s like being smack in the middle of a rainbow.

Pic by Susan Ng

Pic by Susan Ng

People decked in yellow, red and orange lay on the fresh green grass … encircled by the red rubber track … against a backdrop of cascading stadium seats that look like yellow, orange and blue Chiclets from afar.

Pic by Susan Ng

So bright, so cheery. It feels really good to just be there … just like it felt great to wallop a big breakfast at Coffee Bean later, you know, to make up for all the precious calories lost.

Pic by Susan Ng

Hmm, sounds like a nice ending to a nice blog entry, doesn’t it? Maybe I don’t need a story/point/hook after all