Anyway, recently Jerry Seinfeld gave an interview in some magazine, and here’s a gem about parenting:

Seinfeld has three rules of parenting, what he calls “the poison Ps.” The first is Praise—“We tell our kids, ‘Great job!’ too much,” he says. The second is Problem-solving—“We refuse to let our children have problems. Problem-solving is the most important skill to develop for success in life, and we for some reason can’t stand it if our kids have a situation that they need to ‘fix.’ Let them struggle—it’s a gift.”

Just as he’s explaining the third P—“Giving your child too much Pleasure”—a woman comes in the deli with her three young daughters and buys them all huge cookies. “Can you believe this?” Seinfeld says, gesturing like his TV counterpart used to. “It’s 5:30 p.m.—when will they have dinner? At 8?”

It explains so much. It explains all those whiney contestants on American Idol who can’t believe that 1) Simon is telling it like it is – ie they suck and should stop singing forever 2) they don’t have any talent 3) they aren’t going to be a hit anywhere on earth.

It’s a good thing I boil my water before I drink it, but someone please tell me if I catch a case of delusion, thanks.

Spring forward is scheduled for 14 Mar (beware the Ides!) – so we’ll be sleeping an hour less and winding the clock forward an hour for the impression that the day is longer. Until it really is. Then it’s a bit over the top. However, that little bit of admin makes calling Singapore an hour more convenient. Haha.

Looking forward to April when TV will get back to normal.

Ok, I saw you hogging ginseng and stuff on a poster in Chinatown.

But you’ll always own a special place in my heart.

Many happy returns!

It’s the year of the Tiger. Tigers and I are sort of missed connections. It’s not like I didn’t make the effort, there’s always something missing in the mix.

It’s supposed to be winter, but we’ve had really nice breaks of Spring like weather interspersed with depressing rainy weather, which is sort of a nice break. The cherry blossoms outside our house bloomed profusely, sending KF into some sort of sakura obsession – every time he sees them on the street he’s impressed all over again. To the point where he contemplates growing one in our spot on the sidewalk (aka pavement – there’s a hole for plants for each house. We currently have a flowerless, fuss free tree the previous owners planted). I tell him it’s trickey, we gotta pick the right variety, cos some of them grow really tall, some have nicer flowers, some have scraggly twigs, some have nicer shapes, but he’s at the anything-goes phase.

So off we went to a garden centre (aka plant nursery) to look for cherry/plum trees. We figure we’d just pick them by the blossoms, but they weren’t blooming. It seemed like only the nectarine trees were (!!), but the flowers were too small and the wrong colour – white. I wanted something dark pink or a soft red. They also have something called a pluot – a cross between a plum and an apricot, though it exhibits more plum characteristics (as opposed to the aprium which exhibits more apricot characteristics; it’s the whole Liger – Tigon thing all over again).

Anyway. We didn’t find what we were looking for. Maybe next year.

Finally caught Avatar, and yes, while I like 3D as much as the next guy, I’m not all that impressed with the movie. Certainly not US$15/ticket for a matinee impressed, that’s for sure. That’s almost double the usual matinee price.

Anyway, what’s the sudden fascination with Avatars anyway? They’re so 2004.

Ultimately, I’ll have to resign myself to the conclusion that though it isn’t for me, Apple does not need my business to thrive. For all my scoffing at it, they will still come out of this victorious at the next earning’s announcement.

Great. Not only does Steve Jobs have new liver, he also owns a piece of everyone’s heart.

The last week or so, the Bay Area saw a series of storms and it wrecked quite a bit of havoc all around. As usual, with most storms, trees were downed, power went out, some homes flooded, potholes appeared, hail the size of quarters showered in some places and people freaked out at the sound of rain pelting and thunder droning. What is unusual about the storms this time is that it isn’t a whole day of moderate rain, but intervals of really heavy tropical thunderstorm-esque drenchings, with the accompanying thunderbolts and lightning, but not all that very frightning, eh!

When you come from the tropics, you’re used to and prepared for the inconveniences of rain, and you don’t bat an eyelid at the deafening gush of all that water just spewing. Thunder and lightning is not a big deal either. If anything, it’s a signal for me to sleep in.

True Bay Area-ites, I suppose, are less used to it. Low lying homes had to be sandbagged because the water levels started rising after the first day. On the second day, roads near the beach like the Great Highway were closed off because the ground started eroding and the sides of the road started collapsing. Gusty winds downed branches and trees and disrupted power in a few neighbourhoods. Some cars were light ablaze by downed powerlines, which is pretty freaky. And some people were injured (some fatally) by trees falling on their vehicles. On the third day and beyond, rivers broke their banks and some roads were completely flooded.

Well. Before these really wet five or so days, there was an apartment complex in Pacifica that was already evacuating residents because the bluff that their building stood on started eroding badly. The building management tried to get permits to add rocks to the bottom of the bluff to reinforce it, but by the time they did it was too little too late. Residents had to stay out, and it was unclear if the building could be salvaged.

With the recent rain we’ve been getting the situation got worse. What was once about 80 feet to the cliffside was now sand on the beach 16 storeys below. Even the building next door had to be evacuated. I was telling KF they should just drop the “a” at the back of Pacifica, since it’s pretty much now just the Pacific. Ocean. Ha! Anyway, when we got a break from the rain today, we took a drive over to kaypoh a bit.

It doesn’t look like much now, but they used to have a pretty large backyard! The street in front looked like a war zone; it was cordoned off and workers were walking in and out. Some residents milled around, in and out of the neighbouring apartments, but there were more people ogling at the spectacle than there were in the units.

They do get a spectacular view of the Pacific Ocean, though. But I wonder if it’s really necessary to live right next to it for the view.

Anyway. The rain will start picking up steam tomorrow night, and by Monday it’ll be rainy again. It’s a little annoying, but it sure beats water rationing.

Brett Favre, Minnesota Vikings Image from SFGate.com

We’ve been watching American Football since the season started, so it’s pretty much 3-4 months now. Last year I caught on to it late, and managed to only get warmed up to it by the Superbowl (AKA American Football World Cup, although of course, the World in this case is confined to the United States). Also with more understanding of the game, I can now root for teams based on some sort of identification of their style or quarterback instead of picking them by the team logo/mascot, hahaha. That’s

American Football though, is a needlessly overstaffed, complex game with too many rules. The saving grace is its throwback to Roman times. Indeed, the game involves a (semi-) armed combatant engaged in violent confrontations with other armed combatants, wild animals (AKA the defensive line and linebackers) and condemned criminals (almost!). While European come across as relatively more refined metrosexuals with their fancy coifs and equally fancy underwear endorsements, traipsing around a ball, coaxing it almost into a goal, American Football will show itself up to be brash, boorish, wild and loud. Moves are magnified, tackles are explosive and half-time entertainment nothing short of spectacular – remember Janet’s wardrobe malfunction?

But like any other game, once you get into it, it gets pretty entertaining. There is something special about sportsmen; guys that get to play for a living are awe worthy creatures. There aren’t all that many of them to go around, but they live the dreams of many.

The quarterback in the photo above is Brett Favre. I’ve never heard of him before I got here. But over these parts he’s a bit of a legend. He’s probably the oldest quarterback in the league – he’s 40, and he had some problems making up his mind about retiring. Twice. Now he’s playing for the Minnesota Vikings and they’re 1 game away from the Superbowl. He’s a fantastic player, and oh so fun to watch. The closest comparable quarterback (in terms of age,experience and quality) would probably be Kurt Warner of the Arizona Cardinals, but Warner’s not fun at all to watch. Here’s our theory why: Favre plays to win. Warner plays to make a living. Favre is fun to watch and you’ll find yourself rooting for him because he’s playing to score. He’ll take the spills of the game to enjoy the thrills. There’s little else in his mind besides winning the game, and it almost seems like he sheds a few years off his age with each touchdown he scores. Warner plays with so much baggage – will he be able to keep playing, provide for his family, will he get hurt – it’s tiresome to watch. Kurt Warner and the Cardinals received a whipping yesterday, from the New Orleans Saints whose quarterback, Drew Brees, is younger than me. Bleah.

Anyway, I’m hoping the Superbowl match up will be between Brett Favre & the Minnesota Vikings vs Peyton Manning & the Indianapolis Colts. It’s a long shot, because to get to the Superbowl the Vikings have to first beat the New Orleans Saints, and that’s a tough team. A tough team because they’re mentally tough, and aren’t afraid to come back from a deficit. It’s going to be a slugfest next week. And even if the Vikings do beat the Saints, they will (most likely) be up against the Colts, and those guys are even tougher.

Needless to say, my weekends for the next three weeks are going to be glued to the telly. Next week 24 Jan, four teams will slug it out for their respective football association’s championship. On 31 Jan, they’ll play the Pro-Bowl (AKA American Football All-Stars Game). Then on 7 Feb, it’ll be the battle royale known better as The Superbowl. Half time entertainment this year will be provided by the relatively less provocative The Who (whose claim to fame is the opening theme to CSI:Miami).

Can’t wait.

Then on some whim, we got Ran on DVD. Samurai movie, in colour, large sets, King Lear. I didn’t think any of the other Kurosawa films I saw after that topped it. Kagemusha was similar but lacking, especially after Rashomon. KF went through the whole 7 Samurai, Yojimbo, Red Beard phase, but I was so over samurai movies. Especially in black and white. That was years ago.

Lately we caught up with Kurosawa again, this time because they were available at the library. Nora Inu was again, pretty surprising. It was apparently the first Japanese detective-thriller type movie. Again, a really sophisticated movie, with characters that are well thought out and realistic. I liked it. Toshiro Mifune was splendid.

But my favourite of the lot is Ikiru. It was made in 1952, like classics of its kind, it is not just relevant still, it resonates with some sort of universal truth. It’s about living. And dying. And coming to terms with it.

There are seldom scenes that are so memorable that they stick with you outside the movie. Usually they’re pretty gross, like the Mr Blonde Stuck In the Middle with You ear scene. Or the Francis Ng – the world shouldn’t be like this scene in Infernal Affairs II.

In Ikiru, it’s a simple scene: Shimura Takashi is singing The Gondola Song. About how fleeting life and love is. It’s the scene that made the movie. And it’s a terribly good movie even if it rings a little too true to feel good.

We went to Target today – we find ourselves there at least once a week – and as I headed past the eyedrops section I spied a petite twenty-something, maybe thirty-something Chinese lady helping a large built new age sixty-something Chinese man. I was about to past them when I noticed that the lady spoke to the man in Mandarin, and the man responded in Cantonese. But they weren’t really communicating – he was looking for something, and she was mostly saying she had difficulty understanding him. She looked up, saw us, and immediately asked, “Do you speak Cantonese?”

We stopped to help. The man sounded like one of those typical middle-managers or small business owners from Hong Kong. He was looking for eyedrops for an eye condition he had. He described what his symptoms were, and I relayed it to the lady (and I don’t know how she was roped in to help, since she obviously didn’t work there), she seemed pretty well informed, especially about eye drops, and she would try and offer suggestions, but he seemed to be looking for something specific.

The lady was mousey-looking, with glasses that covered half her face and a Mandarin accent that was crisp, but not first generation. I’ve met those types, that size, that face, that speech pattern, that accent, those sized glasses. Strangely the other two I know that fit that description are both students at Berkeley.

In the end, the bridge between the two Chinese languages turned out to be English, which was the weird bit. It was easier translating what the lady was trying to put across in Cantonese, than it was for me to translate everything the man said back into English. Mostly because he had a lot to say. Not about his eye condition. But about how the Americans do business, and how he can’t find anything. He merrily went ahead to tell KF in great detail how he could find it in Hong Kong, and what it was, and how he can’t seem to find the equivalent here, not knowing that KF only understood probably 40% of the content.

Anyway, in the end she suggested the lubricating eye drops (the stuff like tears), and after I relayed it and she saw that the dude found KF interesting, she beat a hasty retreat. After he finished his ditty to KF, the guy picked up the product the lady pointed to, thanked us profusely, and went on his way. I bet he’ll be trying his luck in Chinatown tomorrow.

And all I was left thinking on the way back was how wouldn’t have happened back at home. Mostly because of the Mandarin factor. And if that fails, there’s always Hokkien to fall back on.