EmmaGoodEgg

The Return To Song

Whenever I feel the need to sing a song, its good ol' Hotel California I pick. I can sing it without the help of the wrong lyrics on the TV screen, I can sing it at the drop of a hat. For others it may be Tub Thumping or Who Let The Dogs Out (woof woof woof woof!) or whatever gets you going, but I am a Hotel California girl. Even if it is a guy song.

This week Hotel California turns 30 years old. And whilst the guy in the article from the Telegraph celebrates the song by waxing lyrical about the song that won't die, about twin guitar solos and excessive hedonism, I shall sing its tune and remember the 70s, my long haired uncles who loved The Eagles, my groovy aunties who taught me the hustle, and wishing I was living in Amsterdam so I can smell them Colitas.

"You can check out any time you like, but you can never leaaave..."

Right on you long haired musos.

Bobby Says I Should Post Haste. And So I Will.

It's been a week since I've posted and to tell you the absolute truth and nothing but the truth, I could go for another week easily. Its not that I have nothing to say, its just that I have TOO MUCH to say so where do I start? Maybe we should just play catch up.

I've been in Singapore since last Sunday and my weekdays since then have been filled to the brim with taxing work. I feel its improper to write about work so that leaves that topic out. I have Beloved Son with me but since I'm in meetings from 8am till the early evening I haven't had the chance to see him outside the hotel room and I'm usually knackered by that time (and so is he...from shopping all day). Azim has since left and even though I hardly saw him during the days, it was nice to have another soul in the hotel room at nights.

The hotel I was in from Sunday till Friday morning was non-descript. Save for the fact it has an OSIM massage chair and this was its only saving grace.

On Tuesday I managed one evening out for dinner with my lovely friend Marilyn who brought me to have some Japanese at Hachi Restaurant where we chatted the girlie talk and I ate Puffer Fish for the first time.

On Friday I moved out from a dingy hotel into a much nicer one that is The Fullerton because Beloved Husband flew in for the weekend to save me. Marilyn and her handsome husband Saik picked me up at the hotel and we went to Robertson Walk to have dinner at a lovely little restaurant called Sage. Bobby was to meet us there with his luggage straight from the airport and suffice to say the moment I saw him, being in Singapore felt a million times better. We monged, we ate, we saw SP and we had a walkabout the shops.

I have some (but not all) pictures of my week.

At The Shangri La for work during the weekdays and although time is spent holed up at its Lily Meeting Room, we lunch by its poolside whilst discussing more work and wishing we were one those less clothed people lounging by the pool.

The Fullerton for the weekend.

Delicious soft as butter pan-seared Foie Gras on the left and extremely yummy Peanut Butter Ice Cream on the right at Sage, The Restaurant.

The Devilled Moules & Frites (Mussels & Fries) at Emmanuel Stroobant's Belgian Restaurant aptly called Brussels Sprouts is now one of my favourite food.

Awesome dramatic dessert with dry ice at Jade Restaurant at The Fullerton.

The newly renovated Royal Plaza On Scotts will be home for the next five days.

Bobby left this evening on BI430. And now I am despondent again.

Forced Hiatus

Since early evening on Friday the Bijou Bungalow has had no speed. Whilst trying not to throw a tantrum due to withdrawal symptoms, I called TelBru to fix our speed woes early Saturday morning and my complaint was logged in by a nice boy called Eddie who said he has sent in our complain to someone at their tech side who will then call me soon. By Saturday afternoon still no call from the tech boys, I called 121 again to remind them that the GoodEggs are going slightly batty without the internet. Affable Eddie said he has logged in our complain as URGENT and we should be attended to soon enough.

Alas, it is not to be.

Braving the masses on a Sunday morning, we thought of hanging out at The Coffee Bean in Gadong but couldn't bear the thought of His and Her LapTops for the world to see, so we headed over to Kiulap to find a suitable WiFi cafe. We chose Gripps Cafe. A good call because it is quiet on this rainy Sunday morning plus the decor comfy and the menu extensive. We might be here a while.

Our food is here, so that's it from me for now. But I'll be heading to Singapore this evening where thankfully the speed is F.A.S.T.

Morning Musings

Nine Inch Nails (NIN) are not known for fluffy happy music. In fact, singer/songwriter Trent Reznor could give morose Morrissey a run for his money. Trent is a good friend of Marilyn Manson, who is scary (and presumably Dita Von Teese, who is very hot, but perhaps a post for another day). The troubled Nine Inch Nails frontman has been in the news lately. Apparently he's happier and PETA is his friend. NIN are a favourite of my beloved sister Inny-Pooh, who plays the Bass Guitar and used to rock in a band, made up of her friends and family. She's a wife and a mother these days, and she could still play a mean bass riff.

[I can't imagine anything more sexy than a woman playing bass guitar, and I maintain that if we lived in Seattle, she would be snapped up by the Stone Temple Pilots. Although as her Manager (of course before we have that spectacular bust-up as Manager and Stars do and tell fuck-all on The Oprah Winfrey Show), I would insist on Prince.]

My love for Nine Inch Nails maybe limited to listening to my sister and friends jam to their songs and sometimes Head Like A Hole when I feel less happy-clappy, more rage. But my favourite NIN song is the only NIN song you can dance to, which is Only (from their album With Teeth). The video for Only is directed by David Fincher, who also directed Brad Pitt and Edward Norton in The Fight Club.

Turn up the music if you need some self-affirmation and/or get out of a funk. Because if dark and oft-depressed Trent Reznor can do almost happy, you can too.

Get video codes at Bolt.

So let's look on the bright side life, the weekend is near. Have a good day everyone.

Speed Woes

No, not woes that involve speed demons on the road, especially during the festive season. Nothing to do with demon pills that make you clean the house in frenzy. But the kind that streams the World Wide Web into the laptop and thereupon, into my world. The woes I had were debilitating. I was surprised at how debilitating they were.

First there was intermittent speed. Then it became slow like old people making love. Finally on the second day of Syawal, it went kaput. I began to feel as if my hands were mere stubs and that the World Wide Web is something that I would rather not live without.

By the way, lest you think I am overacting, I came to this realisation during a Hari Raya visit to my dear friend Tina's 'open house', during which I sneaked into the kitchen and told Rayyan, son of Tina, who was happily playing a game online on a laptop in the kitchen (his parents had just installed espeed at home that very day) to let "Auntie Emma use the laptop please" and literally lifted him off the kitchen stool. Desperation is not my strongest suit.

On Wednesday, in a right tizzy I called TelBru to complain via 113 (press '2' for English, press '1' for Fault & Inquiry, and finally, press '2' for Internet Woes). The first lady that picked up and registered my complaint sounded like she was not in the mood for any work. I don't blame her, it is Hari Raya and at least she IS at work. I was told that my woes would be forwarded to the 'technicians' who will then contact me. Thursday came and still no speed. Nada. Zilch. Again I punched in those numbers to find out what kind of timeline are we looking at here. The next lady who took my call was helpful and asked me to check the modem lights. She contacted the technicians to find out when they could deal with me and I was then told it would be "tomorrow"..."barangkali (maybe)". I waited with bated breath. It helped that I got my fix at Tina's.

Friday came and the technicians called at 9am and I was impressed. According to people at home, they came and FIXED it. But then I came home for lunch to check and it was not to be. A telephone call to TelBru again after lunch and this time a guy entertained me. I pleaded in my most charming dulcet tones and he said he will contact the technicians again and will let me know what is going on. He didn't, so after work I went home and called TelBru again, going through the same motion of pressing 113, 2, 1 and 2, and spoke to two ladies, in a tone of voice that was no longer dulcet, nor charming, that I wanted my speed fixed. And NOW.

A few minutes later, I was a most happy bunny back on my playing field.

Did I need to be less than charming to get results? I hope not. I hope that it wasn't my stern voice that did the job. And that it was a matter of technical timing after a 'reset' that led to the fixing of my woes mere minutes after I spoke louder than I am accustomed to. Perhaps most of the employees were on festive leave and the rest were spread too thin. One plus point was that those that took my call were polite, even though perhaps I was less than. There is no excuse for bad manners, and for this lapse, I apologise.

It is strange how dependent I have become on the Internet. I could not access emails, read the papers, read the blogs I frequent, look up a word on Dictionary.com, Google everything and anything. Like I said, my hands felt like useless stubs. 'Surfing' is no longer something I do in my spare time. It has its own useful place in my 24 hours. Maybe I should be less dependent and go back to old-fashioned ways but what the hell, it's good to be back.

[Photo credited to Wilfrid Laurier University]

Emma & Bemma

I am in a dilemma. Can EmmaGoodEgg write a serious piece for the BT and not lose her marbles?

You see, I spent the whole weekend sitting in front of this screen, somber as hell, drafting out the three main points on what Emma will write about. I had to dig deep to switch on my SERIOUS button to undertake some weighty writing and NOT write about Enrique's Large Mole and Datin Siti, as Emma has been known to. After hours of pondering on why the world is just so, and was uninspired to write even a Celeb Bashing post, that I realised I needed emergency assistance. And so I called Bemma, Emma's Serious Alter Ego. She is so much better at deep thoughts since Emma's a bit of a fluffy bunny.

To wit.

A couple of days ago I was asked certain questions by Dewi from BT, and although they didn't make the cut, here are Emma's responses:

Strengths: Can bench-press 90 kilos
Weaknesses: Hills
Likes: Books, Bags & Bargains
Dislikes: Overcooked Pasta, Office Politics
Life's Ambition: Bench-press 95 kilos
Quote: "I think animal testing is a terrible idea; they get all nervous and give the wrong answers."

These would be Bemma's:

Strengths: Capable of deep deep thoughts
Weaknesses: Not capable of frivolous thoughts
Likes: Non-Fiction
Dislikes: Hollywood endings
Life's Ambition: To sit on the Legislative Council
Quote: "Not everything that counts can be counted, and not everything that can be counted counts." - Albert Einstein

So if the BT piece doesn't sound like EmmaGoodEgg, its just ol' Bemma.

What Ho? Man Ho!

The Urban Dictionary is a slang dictionary with definitions provided by the people who actually use the colloquial language. I have been wondering what it says about the term 'Man Ho', a term I have bestowed on a friend recently, so I thought I would go check it out. There seem to be a lot of confusion in the words itself. Bobby mistakenly referred to our dear friend as Man Whore, and upon hearing this, our friend was perturbed. Quite rightly so because its Man HO, and not Man WHORE, especially when the husband's description of Man Whore is a young man hanging about King's Cross waiting for fat middle-aged men.

So yes, two different things entirely, if you ask me.

The Urban Dictionary defines Man Ho as:

1. A man who lays women like bricks.
2. Justin Timberlake.
3. What a jealous, jaded gay man wails indignantly at his partner when he discovers he's been getting some backdoor lovin' on the side.

Not quite the answers I was looking for. So these are mine:

A Man Ho

1. Is usually fun, funny, charming and has lovely manners.
2. Will move in for the kill, but this is not his ultimate objective. We hope.
3. Is often too busy to settle down, hence, all the man ho-ing.
4. Loves all women but will try their best to only sleep with babes.
5. Is charming even when he is breaking your heart.

A Ho, is all of the above, minus the penis.

Bobby also says that Man Ho reminds him of the movie Deuce Bigalow: European Gigolo. Perhaps Deuce is right, Man Hos are Casanovas, Playas, Buayas, depending on your neck of the woods, just waiting to find the right woman.

Saturday Amusements

I am having a lovely Saturday.

Having not slept-in for ages, I woke up at 11am, slightly guilty but feeling like I've finally caught up with my sleep after all that strenuous travel. The husband whisked me away to Soto Rosminis in Gadong, behind Jin Chew. This is our favourite place in Brunei to have soto (Soto Tinis in Lambak is a close second). Whilst it is not the chicest restaurant (save for the AirAsia-like caps the waitress donned), it was a full-house at lunch. And a full restaurant is always a good sign. After devouring our sotos, we sat about chatting and reading the papers, and drinking our teh-c-pengs.

After lunch the husband and I spent the afternoon sitting in the verandah and soaking in a little bit of sun.

All afternoon I dabbled with Photoshop and the husband worked on his Tetsuya's post and we monged until it was time for sundowners.

What A Day...

Still.  I have a lot to be thankful for.  Like:

1.   My ability to imagine nasty people nastily naked.

2.   A fast car.

3a. Being able to circumvent the PGGMB Car Park, unlike some, whom, if you happen to be unlucky enough to be behind them, would take fucking ages to exit.

3b.  If not for the abovementioned circumventing skill, I would have scratched the car more than once (sorry love).

4.   Home being only 5 minutes away.

5.   The calming voice of Ms. Jones.  Without her, home will only be 3 minutes away.

Raindrops

The day became grayer and more despondent and I headed home.  Although I don't have a pretty umbrella, I do have Norah Jones in the car.