Thursday, 27 April 2006

Schweppes Orange & Mango (315mL)

Rating: 4 out of 5.



With all the hardships people seem to be having lately, I think it's time for me to write about something less sombre.

What better way to do it than to write about another drink from work?

A wise man once asked me: 'If an orange was not orange, would it still be called an orange?'
To which I replied: 'Can a man go back in time and kill his grandfather?'
To which he replied in turn: 'How do you describe music to a man born deaf?'
And so on and so forth, until our ponderings mingled with the thoughts of gods and we achieved enlightenment and left this earth. Oops sorry, wrong story.

Anyway....

I love oranges. Admittedly, I'm not such a fan nowadays - I'm too lazy to peel them and wash my hands afterwards - time does, as you get older, come at a premium.
When I was a kid though, oranges were one of the few fruits I actually enjoyed eating. (It may have been helped by the fact that the oranges were always sitting on a plate, peeled and ready for my greedy consumption. )
I loved oranges so much that I would only choose the orange-flavoured Sugus (an Asian version of Starburst) candies when offered, or take nothing at all.
But seriously, nothing beats a nice, sweet, juicy orange. It has an irresistible coolness that other fruits only dream of possessing - the juices mix with your saliva, slide coolly down your throat and deliver its promise of anti-oxidising vitamin C.
And yes, even the colour is funky.

Mango however, I am impartial to. I used to love mangoes until one day I came home to find my grandma's lips swollen with ulcers after eating half a dozen mangoes in one sitting. From then on I developed an aversion to mangoes, convinced they were the devil's fruit disguised as a produce of paradise.
Even without this conviction, I find people's adoration of mangoes puzzling. It's taste borders on sour, and its flesh has the texture of mashed bananas. The skin is usually a sickly yellow and red with black spots, and the overall shape resembles a person's bum or, if you prefer, someone's face.

Schweppes Orange & Mango is the second drink I tried at work. It's very sweet, akin, to say, concentrated orange cordial (with air). As with its Lemon Lime & Bitters, Schweppes has decided to put only 5% orange and mango into the actual Orange & Mango drink, so again I'm not sure what the rest is made of. Strangely (or fortunately), I can't taste any mango in there, so the percentage of mango is probably even less.

Well, that is all I have to say about the actual drink really. See, isn't it great? In this post you were afforded a glimpse into my childhood and the fruits I do and don't like. Yes, you think you know everything about me now. But no, that can't be right...I'm not that simple, am I?

Ahem, back to the review. Overall, this is a very good and satisfying drink. I love oranges, so I love you. Schweppes Orange & Mango, take a bow.
Posted by aids at 9:18 pm 0 comments

Friday, 21 April 2006

"Why do I fall in love with every woman I see who shows me the least bit of attention?" -Joel, Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind

She asks me whether I like Thai. I tell her Thai sounds good. But the Thai restaurant is closed, its black windows giving away nothing but our darkened reflections. I suggest the Chinese BBQ place just up the road; she agrees, and we walk there. She tells me she often comes here with her family and they know the owner. I tell her I often come here too with my friends.

We seat ourselves and quickly pick up the menu. We're both starving. I glance over it and put it down. I already know what I want. Peering over her menu, she asks me whether I am one of those people who know what to order before they even step into the restaurant. Apparently so, I reply. She smiles. I pour her tea.

The food comes promptly. She offers me some of her rice. I tell her it's okay, I've got enough here, but she insists I take some. I can't finish a whole serving by myself, she explains. I take a bit from her plate, and half-heartedly (I am very hungry) ask if she wants some of my noodles. She declines. I pour her tea.

She has eaten less than half her plate, but she puts down her chopsticks and announces she's full. But you ate so little, I exclaim. I told you I couldn't finish it all by myself, she retorts. I continue eating. Not long after, I'm also full - I haven't done much better than her. Think of all the poor kids in Africa, she laments. I explain to her that when you're really hungry, it doesn't take much until you're really full. Poor African kids, she repeats. Maybe we should mail this food to them. We both laugh. I pour her tea.

I wouldn't mind going to Africa, I tell her. It'd be nice there. We start to talk about all the beautiful places in the world we'd each like to visit. Talking about beautiful places, we somehow (after we established we'd both watched the movie) move onto how nice the scenery was in Brokeback Mountain. The ending was really sad, she comments. Yes, I nod, agreeing. I was a bit depressed afterwards. Depressed? She stares at me. Yeah, I continue earnestly, the movie was depressing.

She starts laughing. I ask her what's so funny. She says (between laughter) she must get the DVD when it comes out and we should watch it together (I smile) - so she can see the reactions on my face.

She laughs again, longer this time. It is a child's laughter, unrestrained, without pretentiousness, free. In her laughter I hear the church bells from the local parish ringing out into the clear Sunday morning. I hear certainty, the promise of blue skies and starry nights. Something in my heart stirs, ancient rusted gears slowly moving once more. The world shrinks. It's just me, and her.
We talk more - music, people, relationships. We talk and laugh, talk and laugh, and I pour her tea. Soon, too soon, it is time for her to go. I walk her home.

I ask if I can call her sometime. Sure, she says. She turns to leave, but at the last minute asks me what my last name is. I tell her. She's not sure which 'yau' that is - is it the fish one? I assure her that it isn't. Just as she is about to enter the apartment building, she yells out 'goodbye fish', laughs, and is gone.
I am awake for half of the night, thinking.


I ring her. She says she is busy, and won't have time to talk anytime soon. The conversation lasts no more than two minutes.
The movement in my heart subsides, and is silent.
Posted by aids at 11:50 pm 4 comments

Saturday, 15 April 2006

At work I'm what's called a Technical Writer. Actually, make that a Junior Technical Writer. My role in the company is to write user manuals and training documents for end users. And making friends with inanimate objects, of course.
I thought I might write a brief manual for you guys (free of charge) because...well, because I'm bored and feel like writing and have nothing better to write about.
I did a little survey with some friends on what in life they would like a manual for. Since most of my friends are single guys, the most common reply was: How to Get Girls.
So, here it is:

How To Make Love To Your....oops. Hold on, that's later on....This first...

The Kamikaze Method

1. Overview

You are a single guy (or not). You're in a club with your boys when, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a girl that tickles your fancy. She's all curves, legs and smiles. Oh she is hot! You have to make her yours, you decide. But how? She is surrounded by her girlfriends! Defended and guarded so tightly, it's nigh on impossible for you to approach her! What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO?! Use the Kamikaze Method!

Kamikaze was the name given to Japanese pilots who were trained to make a suicidal crash attack. This approach will be instrumental for you in attaining the girl of your dreams.

Please note: No responsibility is taken for any harm caused by following the instructions of this guide.


2. Assigning Your Squadron

The girl you desire is the primary target. Her friends are the enemy. Since you are the instigator, you are automatically the Squadron Leader (repeat: "I EEHM the Squadron Leader"). As leader, it is your job to assign roles to your friends.

There are three main supporting roles:

  • Mr Kamikaze This guy is vital to your plan of attack and initiates it. His importance is such that this whole method is named after him. If you have a friend that is nerdy, wears glasses, has a face only his mother could love and is oh-so-desperate, then congratulations, you've just found Mr Kamikaze.
  • First Wingman Your most trusted and loyal friend. The guy who'll stick with you through thick or thin. "You can be my wingman anytime!"
  • Other Wingmen The rest of your team.

3. Kamikaze(ing)

This is the beginning. The kamikaze pilot will now kamikaze. He may die in the process (kamikaze is, after all, suicide) but that's okay; he dies willingly for you. And anyway, he's desperate.

To kamikaze:

  1. Select the kamikaze pilot.
  2. Direct him to the specified group of girls.
  3. He approaches them and chats immediately to the girl with the 'best personality' in the group. This girl will usually be the most receptive.
  4. He must grin idiotically, talk nonsense and generally be stupid. All part of his nature, really.In the process, the kamikaze may get rejected, abused and beaten up by the other girls.
  5. Repeat steps 1-4 until he either wins trust of 'personality' girl and/or the group.
  6. He’s in. He will now give you the OK signal.

4. Wingmen Attack

The girls all trust the kamikaze guy. Maybe the rest of the guys over there aren’t such jerks after all, they think. After the signal has been given, it’s time for Phase 2. You will now send out the rest of the squadron to soften up the primary target.

Wingmen attack:

  1. Select all wingmen.
  2. Direct them to the group of girls.
  3. Each wingman chooses a girl and starts chatting them up.
  4. The first wingman however, must choose the friend next to the primary target. This is guaranteed to be the primary target’s best friend, and is also known as the secondary target. She will guard her friend zealously and protect her from any ‘harm’, and is usually a very formidable target. Your first wingman needs to be extremely charming to pull her away.
  5. After the secondary objective has been achieved, it’s time for you to go in for the kill.

5. The Final Phase

This last part is basically a stroll in the park. Her friends have turned. She is alone, stripped of all her defences. She is yours for the taking.

The final phase:

  1. Stroll over to her, oozing coolness with every step. If you are thus inclined, move in time with the music as you approach her, so your appearance is that of one trying to shake sand from his underwear. Rumour has it that this sends the girls wild.
  2. Say something like: ‘Hi, the voices in my head told me to come over and talk to you.’ Or some other lame pickup line of your choice. Since you are uber charming and sophisticated (the birds always appear every time you’re around), it will be no time before she is head over heels.
  3. Run off into the sunset and live happily ever after. Or until another girl tickles your fancy the next time you go clubbing.
Posted by aids at 12:04 am 1 comments

Saturday, 8 April 2006

I bumped into my ex on the station platform one evening on the way home from work. Even though the subway was crowded with people, jostling and wrestling to board the trains, I recognised her instantly from behind. I had seen that long black hair, those familiar curves so many times, they were ingrained into my memory like a name carved on a tree.
I walked up to her and tapped her on the shoulder. She spun around. At once I regretted approaching her. Too late.
'Hey!' she said, pulling the white earbuds from her ears.
She put them in her handbag and stopped the iPod she'd been listening to. She never buys such things for herself, so I knew it was a gift from her new boyfriend.

'Hi,' I replied, emotionless. Without a word, I started walking towards the other end of the platform, walking away from my mistake.
'Hey where're you going?'
'Just..' I pointed my head in the general direction '...over there.'
She followed behind me. I stopped where the crowd thinned, and she stood beside me.
'How've you been? How come I never hear from you anymore?'
'I've been...busy,' I said, lying.
'How come you're always busy?'
'Cos...I just have a lot of stuff to do.' A circular conversation.
The train approached, a huge monster emerging from its dark burrow.
'This is my train,' she shouted above the noise. 'Are you going to get on?'
'No, it doesnt stop at my station,' I answered, nonchalantly.
'Fine then.' Her voice was laced with scorn. She had finally realised my dismissive apathy was directed at her.
'Hey!' I responded defensively, but she had already stepped onto the train. I considered boarding the train after her, but I knew I would only be cheating her, cheating myself.
Before......before I would have followed her. I would have taken her home. I would have done anything.

When we were together, our relationship was like a see-saw. One of us was always left dangling in the air. As we learned to live with our differences, the see-saw moved gradually into equilibrium.
But it was never to stay there. Nothing is forever.

The doors closed. The finality of it struck me, a barrier sealing a section of my life. We stood and watched each other from separate sides of the universe. I said something to her, but no sound passes through space. What, she mouthed back. I said it again.
The train blew its horn and pulled out of the station. Screeching into the subway tunnel, I was left with nothing but wind in my face and the faint echo of what had been.

Posted by aids at 1:30 am 0 comments

Monday, 3 April 2006

People often like to write about journeys. A journey starts somewhere and ends someplace else. A start and finish. All the dramatic richness one needs to form a story is present in a journey. In the process of getting from A to B, there are a hundred opportunities to lose oneself, to stray, to win, to fall.

Life, as the cliche goes, is a journey. We know from the beginning where we need to go, though we may not know what awaits at the end. Every step we take brings us closer to our destination (whatever or wherever that might be); even a wrong step is simply a straying off the path, a chance to learn on our marathon of life.

Life, however, is not really a straight line from the first point to the last - it is instead a moving circle, a spiral. Every day we wake up, go to work or uni, go home, sleep. The lives we lead are repetitive, circular. Of course, nothing we ever do amounts to nothing, and so the circle inches forward, becomes a spiral. Sometimes, something spectacularly good happens, and the spiral elongates, stretches further. Sometimes we have the utmost shittest day, and the spiral goes nowhere or retracts, goes backwards and loops within itself.
I don't think anyone truly knows where or when the journey will end. Perhaps there is no finish line.

I used to go to the cliffs at Coogee to watch the waves crash onto the rocks. I would stare out across the waters, and I knew that the sparking rays of sunlight dancing before me were a path for me to tread to where the sky kissed the ocean. Somehow this represented my future, and the vastness of it all made me giddy.

In truth, there is no such thing as 'future'. The future is an abstract and meaningless notion, serving only as a label to describe the time that is to come. The future in itself does not exist. The past; the past we can reminisce, but the future is unseen.
If we were to somehow jump into the future, we would merely be transported to where we are right now. Time consists of everything preceding it. Between the time you were in the present and the time you skipped to the future, nothing happened. Thus the future becomes the present, and time continues on its relentless path.

If, impossibly, we discovered what lay ahead of us, then there would be no need for tomorrow.
Posted by aids at 10:38 pm 0 comments
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