Italiannies Does Not Really Suck

Was Antoine de Saint-Exupery, author of The Little Prince, killed by his fan - a WW2 German fighter pilot? If true, it further underscores just what war really does - and why it should not be waged at whim. Too bad all the recent warmongers don't read (much).

The moment we got into the pasta (my salmon fettuccine, to be precise) we knew we'd been hoodwinked. Or maybe we should've asked, "Why does Italiannies suck, anyway?"

FunnyBunny and I have heard lots about why the franchise has garnered so much flak from the general public. Immediate family members and close friends handed out thumbs-down verdicts. They said the same about Singapore hawker food as well, but we found evidence to the contrary. All that was in the background and fading fast as we tucked in with gusto, despite our growing guts.

I suspect that some Italian foods are an acquired taste, with the use of herbs and all. The portions are huge; you won't have room for dessert unless you're really hungry, or if you send back the bread. We made the mistake of eating too much bread (for which we were admonished by the floor manager) and we had to pack the lasagna home.

What we ordered was good. Service was nice. But with its mammoth portions, above average prices and all that cheese and olive oil, Italiannies is not a place for everyday dining.

Come to think of it, maybe something went wrong with my culinary experiences in Malacca, too. I'll have to do more research before making a return trip.

Headlines

Internet connection is slow. Are people hogging up the bandwidth for the latest election results? It appears so. Some web sites were practically bottlenecked to non-existence.

I know I shouldn't be celebrating, being a fence-sitter and all, but I can't shake off the fact that the premonition I had while driving to work on Friday just came true:

Siput Sungai Separa Nilai - HANGUS!¹

That would look good on any paper.

Against the odds, some major "villains" have fallen to the ire of the public. Notable exits include Zainuddin Maidin, the National Front's facsimile of Baghdad Bob. After vilifying the online community for months, some of them decided to show him that bytes do translate into ballots.

To add insult to injury, his biggest bugbear made it into Parliament. Jeff Ooi takes his place as the new Big Cat of Jelutong. It remains to be seen if he's a worthy successor to Karpal Singh. Most notable of wins is Teresa Kok's. Frankly, I wasn't too surprised. The smear campaigns screamed of desperation and failure of imagination.

They had expected some losses. They had dropped some unsavoury candidates. They surrendered their fate to the people and were sent packing. Was it true that the polls were announced early to deprive a certain someone a chance at power? We'll probably never know, because if that was the case, it blew up spectacularly. Losing a few districts is one thing. Losing entire states is a totally different matter.

But winners shouldn't start popping champagne just yet. They did that in '69 and look what happened. Now that you voters put them in this spot, you have to help them deliver - and deliver they must. Otherwise this display of people power will be nothing more than one colossal farce.


¹ Malay, translated means "Semi-Valued River Snails - BURNED!" To be served with a big slice of schadenfreude.

For Me, The Fever Ends Now

Next week, or sometime next month, we're getting a new government. The run-up to the results are heating up the airwaves. But it doesn't affect me, since I'm not a reg-

...I think I just outed myself.

Well, I had written an angry rant about lefties who keep counting down to today with their blogs and generally getting my goat, my cow, my chickens and ducks - not to mention my prize European wild hog - by insinuating that it's the fault of me and my ilk if the government doesn't change next week, because there weren't enough votes to turn the tide against an allegedly rigged election.

I say, if you don't have much faith in a system you're willing to try anyway, you shouldn't complain.

Good luck, anyway.

Reservations On Romania

Romanians take a cue from their national hero Vlad Tepes and thoroughly skewers Tony Bourdain over the draculaean portrayal of the country in an episode of No Reservations. His thoughts on the issue raised the ire of Romanians worldwide (seven-hundred-odd replies(!) and counting), particularly his choice of Russian drinking buddy Zamir as his fixer. Didn't he learn anything from Uzbekistan?

"Disco with bellydancing and flaming margaritas? Not-so-fresh offal barbecue? Shopping for weird wedding presents? Sexual harrassment -slash- Cold War torture routine in a Turkish bath? Quality television!"

Aside from that, I didn't think ZeroPointZero had a choice. Each episode costs money: airfare, luggage, equipment, meds and drugs, bribe money and other expenses - not to mention all the time and effort invested. Scrapping the episode might incur serious financial repercussions. Other questions beg to be answered. What part did the Romanian authorities play in this? Were the locals as surly and hostile?

Perhaps they should've had some reservations when it came to Romania. It would've been better to call it No Expectations.

The expressions of "disappointment" were predictable. He makes the best of another botched episode (Beirut, no thanks to Israel and Hezbollah) and suddenly he's the next Anderson Cooper. No Reservations is a reality sitcom where the surly embittered fifty-something (usually) pokes fun at local customs and abuses himself for our entertainment. Keith Floyd's shows were a more genteel version of it, while Jeremy Clarkson does the same with anything on wheels.

Come back to Malaysia, Tony. We'll promise you a better time. Andrew Zimmern? Angry mob.

See Them Flounder

Carol Chew, the National Front's candidate for Seputeh was hobnobbing with patrons of the OUG night market. She looks much shorter in person... . At least they wised up this time around. They twice pitted a male Confucian-esque chauvinist against this modern-day woman of steel; each ended up like diced shallots. How would this fight shape up, I wonder?

Another thing tonight was the roadworks at the stretch parallel to OUG Plaza. Wasn't that bit paved over a few months ago? And was still okay this morning?

Of course. It's election season. Spread the tarmac. Which only works on unsophisticated hillbillies in the boondocks of Far Far Away. With their abysmal pre-poll performance they're really pulling out all the stops.

For me, it's like watching an enemy drown in quicksand.

Parliament Idol XII

Or Parlimen Fantasia XII, whichever rocks the biggest possible boat.

Tough call, really. Five more years of old guard neo-feudalism, or five rough-and-tumble years under a new crew with no experience in steering the ship?

Makes no difference to me. I'll be stuck with the same people that picked Daniel Lee.

Lots has been said about the infamous son-in-law, most of it bad. I feel the same way about him. For me, it's his smug goateed mug. Something about it just compels me to dislike him. His race, religion and affiliations are completely irrelevant. In fact, those aspects cease to exist every time he wears one of his photo-op expressions. Only the repeated whispers of a sibilant voice remain:

Must • Hate • His • Face...

I don't understand it myself. It defies logic or reason. And I do have other pressing matters to attend to. How do I put it? I feel that he's like Mawi, only with more hair - or Sanjaya, only with less hair.

There's always one in each season of a talent show.

Frittering Away at Silverfish Books

"Im sorry I missed the launch at the Annexe," I said.

"Oh, it's OK," Amir Muhammad assured me, adding that the crowd was so huge that day (about two hundred strong) it spilled out into the surrounding area. That made me sorrier to have missed it. Must've been quite a spectacle.

It didn't seem fair to miss an event I pimped, so I made up for it by attending the reading of New Malaysian Essays 1 at Silverfish Books by Amir and the other contributors. I also thought I would even help out a little by getting more than just one copy.

I'd arrived late and hungry, pausing briefly to take in the eclectic range of materiel on the shelves. Treasures, each and every one. Upon seeing me the lady manning the counter directed me to the tiny reading room at the end of the bookstore. Brian Yap was wrapping up his performance.

Instead of grabbing a seat, I made a beeline for the table where all the snacks were and nicked a banana fritter from a plate. Ah, sweet, sour crunchy succour.

Was it just me, or had I just committed a huge social faux pas? Raman's look certainly said so. There were disapproving glances from a few members of the small audience, who had to make do with a basket of various chips.

Screw politeness. I'm hungry.

I reached for another. These were damn good for bananas that aren't sweet. Aminuddin Mahmud began reading his contribution, a well-researched and entertaining academic paper on the power of branding around the mamak franchise.

Then Amir rose from his place and took a fritter and a cup of tea. That made me feel better. But I was already going for fritter #4. These were damn good. They haven't even gotten soggy yet.

It was Saharil Hasrin Sanin's turn. According to Amir, he is famous for his short stories (each about half a page long) that still manage to speak volumes. He'd asked for something for this book, and ended up with a 52-page contribution titled Teroris Bahasa, a brilliant and funny memoir-slash-monologue-slash-debate against the policing of language. References to "pert English knockers" raised titters among the crowd, which included a couple of Caucasian women.

'Tis a day for faux pas, it seems, I mused, munching on my fifth fritter.

There were also choice words about another contributor, Burhan Baki who is currently at Aberdeen. "But he has a brilliant piece in this book," Amir concluded. "Real genius. And he's at Aberdeen." Something about that last bit made the crowd chuckle.

Did he just make Aberdeen sound naughty?

I got three copies of the book, which coincidentally read EN-EM-EE 1 when abbreviated - which is how the mainstream (read: government-regulated) publishing scene sees Amir nowadays. I can tell you that it is money well-spent - with or without the autographs.

There was no sixth fritter. I had plans to dine at Sri Nirwana Maju after the event. Unfortunately, I was feeling full before I could polish off the last bit of rice. Maybe I should have stopped at three.