Photolog: Melbourne CBD 1

Flinders Street Station

The free City Circle tram - takes you around most of the main areas

The Melbourne GPO - stands for General Post Office, but really is a nice, rather exclusive mall

X and I had dinner here, probably the first reasonably priced (and decent!) Malaysian meal in Australia. I am still traumatised by the AUD142 bill at Jazz Ria (for eats like Roti Canai and Fried Calamari etc!).

I had Beef Hokkien Mee AUD8). Absolutely scrumptious.

I can't believe this made it to Australia! I'm not sure if it's similar to the ubiquitous (and pathetic) Malaysian franchise though.

Chinatown here is heaps better than the crappy Brisbane one. Instead of the usual Made in China trinkets, the focus here was on glorious Asian food.

Southbank overlooking the Yarra River. Very hip place full of chi chi yuppies sipping overpriced soy-milk-no-whipped-cream-less-sugar-mochacinnos.

There's a Batman's Park and a whole Batman empire in Melbourne. I'm unsure of the origins of this fetish.

The perfect gift this Christmas...

"Did you say nothing? When you were asked what you wanted for your Birthday, Anniversary, Graduation or Christmas, don't you remember saying, 'NOTHING'? Well this time someone heard you, searched high and low and found this perfect gift!"

Have a blessed Christmas everyone!

The epitome of quaint, Canterbury, Victoria

X and I decided to spend Christmas in Melbourne, the legendary city I had heard so much of, from friends who studied there. We're spending the first couple of days at his childhood friend's place at Canterbury, about 20 minutes east of the city.

Our host's lovely place

The neighbourhood is extremely old fashioned, in a quaint, charming way. The houses are fashioned of timber and red brick, with ornate carvings on the awnings and picket fences. Gardens are full of pansies, roses, lavendar and other exotic flowers. Jacarandas and maple trees line the busy roads.
The outlets nearby mostly consist of cafes, antique shops (frequented by moneyed little old ladies) and for some odd reason, exclusive looking hair salons.

Canterbury Road

Random quaint house

Free public toilet - you have to pay to pee in Sydney.

Traditional hardware shop

The spoils for the day

Shopping malls are far and few on the Gold Coast. Most retail outlets are not housed in gigantic buildings, but instead neat little shoplots along main roads. This allows a certain sense of individuality and quaintness, though on summer days like these, I miss the air conditioning of indoor shopping.

Harbourtown is an outlet mall located in Biggera Waters, a 40 minute drive away from where we live. I'm not there as often as, so our excursion was a real treat.

The place is massive. Australian malls tend to be widely spread out, as opposed to the soaring Malaysian ones. I only have one decent pair of work pumps, so shoes were first on my agenda.

Nine West (I know they're copies of Loboutins!). They're a size 6 and a little loose, but the jelly cushions I stuffed in perfected the fit. Only AUD49! I know a certain someone *coughDicough* who spent MYR359 on her Nine West pumps is screaming now.

I've always liked the look of young people in plain white tees and jeans, with a skinny scarf slung around the neck. Plus heck, it was only AUD1.

As Girlfriend, it is my duty to upgrade X's wardrobe (that and I had to fulfill the obligatory Christmas present issue). We thought he could do with a nice pair of jeans. X is pretty thin for an Aussie and like me, often has trouble finding things that fit. We checked out Just Jeans and yd. before settling on these at City Beach.

We also stopped by Southport, Gold Coast's CBD to get some things. There's this fabulous secondhand bookshop, Reader's Delight. Kathy Kemp is the friendly and helpful lady who owns and runs the place. The book selection is extremely tasteful, as she personally selects everything based on her own experiences or recommendations from others. I got The Autograph Man by the ever reliable Zadie Smith, which proved to be a delightfully kooky experience. This was my most recent purchase. It's reading well, so far, in the vein of Michael Cunningham's Pulitzer winning The Hours.

Have wheels, get licence

While I was working in Malaysia, cab fares were reimbursed as part of our privileges. I didn't drive because no one trusted me with their vehicles, in spite of my licence (obtained through legitimate means - don't make any assumptions!). I also had other means of transport such as the light rail transport/ monorail (overcrowded and full of stinky people with B.O.) and the bus (cheap but takes forever).

All these I took for granted until I came here. Public transport is costly - distances between places are fairly large. The buses that run along the Gold Coast Highway are efficient and the drivers often (though not always) friendly and patient, as the system can be a bit confusing at first. I haven't a clue what cab fares cost, but I'm sure it's a heck lot more than what I'm accustomed to.

So we got me a car.

My dream cars include the Toyota Vios (older model - new model is hideous) and the current Honda Civic (I also like the Porsche Boxster and BMW 3 series, but let's get realistic here). So it's only natural I was a little hesitant with this Honda Prelude Coupe: Oh, I guess it's best that I make all the mistakes with a crappy car.

As it turns out, I've fallen in love with the 4 wheel steering, the electric sunroof, the ease with which it handles. The one and only complaint I do have is the failed air conditioning. In the current summer climate, where hair plasters to scalp and ice cream melts within seconds, my feeling is akin to a turkey, slow roasted in an oven.

So far, in my few solo expeditions, I have yet to kill/ maim anyone/ any marsupials. No one has given me the single finger salute/ honked at me. X actually thinks I drive okay - though occasionally, he pulls the clutch on me.
However, the problem is that I can't reverse parallel park. This, is not a practical skill simply because I would rather park far, far away and walk, than execute a complicated manoeuvre exacerbated by my lack of height.

Sadly, it's something I'll have to perform for my driving test. Malaysia does not have a reciprocatory agreement on transferable licences (small wonder since KL drivers are mostly insane). The tests here are a lot more stringent and I'm pretty sure the officers won't be bought off for MYR200, the standard bribe for JPJ officers in 2004.

My three month grace period will be up soon. I have about two weeks to complete the tests, failing which I'll be unable to drive. Fingers crossed!

Hair, hair, everywhere

I have waist length black hair. Typical young, Asian, female hair, really. Previously rebonded to tame its unruly tendency to poof up (think mild Afro) at the first sign of moisture. My previous visits to Australia were during the drier third quarter of the year, which had the effect of calming my crowning glory down, to a more acceptably neat state.

Thus my decision to forgo my annual four-hours-in-the-salon-with-stinky-chemicals-and-nasty-people-tugging-my-roots-out-with-flat-irons experience. In Malaysia, this rite of passage costs about MYR300 or so depending on hair length. In Australia... I shudder to think of the cost.

My first summer experience here has shown how the humidity can rival Malaysia. My hair is a mess - the lower half was chemically forced into straightness and is starting to develop split ends; the top half is in its naturally poofy state, with a slight wave beginning to show.

More than once, I succeeded in scaring myself in the mirror with the lights off.

I am extremely tempted to slice it all off in exchange for a low-maintenance bob. Another contributing factor would be the fact that I "shed like a dog", in the words of PD (who is selling us my first car!). X and I live in a nice clean house, with nice clean cream coloured carpet. The upkeep of this situation however, is becoming increasingly tiresome thanks to my continuous moulting. X, my dear, patient, kind man has not forced a hairnet upon me yet, but often follows me about with a vacuum. Occasionally, he gets nervous breakdowns when there are impending guests.

To chop or to not? Short hair does tend to make me look a lot younger than I really am (I am still frequently asked for proof of age). This would be disadvantageous in a work environment. My hair was my shield when I was an insecure adolescent and still is, on the odd Fat/ Ugly/ Bad Face Day. Sentimental value is harboured in dead proteins.

It'll depend on how the summer progresses along, I suppose.

The extra protein that came with the corn

The brown husk was an ominous sign. Upon pulling off the last piece, I saw Mr Caterpillar peep out between the corn silk and had a typically female reaction.

I screamed loudly (and shrilly) and dropped the corn.

In the end, I couldn't bear to squash him (plus it was just too disgusting to contemplate) so X dropped him out in the backyard so he could munch up the weeds.

Then turn into a beautiful butterfly.

Like. WOW. Or rather, ugh

This is bizarre. (I did not actively look it up. Really.)

Does anyone actually do this sort of thing?

I may not like the sandwich, but I sure ♥ the band

I have fallen in love with The Submarines. Most of my favourite artistes (Stars, Sigur Ros, Snow Patrol, Sia), coincidentally or not, fall within the Playlist S. My music is simply too varied for me actually make proper playlists, so I dump everything into alphabetised folders.

The story about this band is teeth-achingly cute. Girl (look how cute and wholesome and Swedish she looks!) meets boy (looks how dopey and devoted he looks!); they fall in ♥ and later break up. They soon find out the separation had inspired a whole host of songs of heartache about each other. They eventually reconcile, form The Submarines and happily enough, get married. I’m the biggest nuptial cynic around, but I hope they stay together forever and ever. And ever.

The creative differences between their debut album Declare A New State and their sophomore album Honeysuckle Weeks are noticeable after a couple of spins. The former is more subdued and tender, especially This Conversation, which brings to surface memories of previous heartache. You, Me and the Bourgeoisie was derived from the latter and used in the new iPod 3G commercial. On a whole, the lyrics are more assertive.

Plastic bottles, imported water
Cars we drive wherever we want to
Clothes we buy, it's sweatshop labor
Drugs from corporate enablers
We're not living the good life
Unless we're fighting the good fight
You and me just trying to get it right

If you like folksy, poppy, but not too mainstream stuff, this is for you. I’m pretty picky with music and find that most albums have one or two decent songs with the rest being filler crap. With this couple, I have yet to come across a piece that isn’t at least above average. I can hardly wait for their next album.

External audit the Turkmen way

Turkmenistan

Capital ---------- Ashgabat
Government --- Dictatorship
Currency ------- Turkmen manat (TMM)
Economy ------- Sales of Giant Wattled Turkeys, largely to America for festive purposes.

jenny says:
meh
i don't even know where turkmenistan is!

jan in gold coast says:
lol
thats where all the turkeys come from silly
the largest form of income is from america
for thanksgiving dinners
auditors have to go there to count turkeys
1 turkey
2 turkeys
3 turkeys
gobblegobblegobble

jenny says:
3 million turkeys!!
ok
done. now go touring.

Disclaimer: I'm obviously kidding. No offense to Turks on the remote likelihood of them chancing upon my blog.

Those innocent days

Last weekend, I met up with LL, whom I've actually known for about 16/17 years. Apparently, I once tried to strangle her for no apparent reason. I was indeed, rather difficult and odd as a child, not to mention extremely unattractive (think greasy skin and ill-fitting glasses - I shrunk the picture as not to traumatise startle you readers).

This encounter spurred me to look up the only primary school yearbook still within my possession, where I found fond memories (I got second place in the English Written Competition) and not-so-fond ones (pictures of two older boys who used to chase me around the school professing their love for me).

And then I found this - Caution: Reading the following paragraphs may induce involuntary gag reflexes. Note that I was only 11 when I wrote this, and 11 year olds in those days were very naive and innocent and sheltered (we learnt about reproduction theoretically at that age but had no idea of the practical use. I once brought it up during dinner and my poor father actually choked on his rice).