The Blahg

That Awkward Moment...

2011-05-07T23:29:00.007+10:00

That awkward moment when you tell your young cousin at the dinner table about dating and that "white guys do it better", and it's ambiguous what you really meant.

Excuse me while I file that under #AcceptableWaysOfConversingWithAsianRelatives

xoxo

2011-02-10T01:23:00.025+11:00

Melissa Tam says (10:16 PM)
it's okay tommy
i know you're highbrow
i know you're above watching jersey shore
haha
Tommy Wu says (10:16 PM)
no no
its like
unbelievable
how shows like that exist/survive
i cant believe it
Melissa Tam says (10:17 PM)
people are getting stupider and stupider these days
hahah
maybe they want televisual pulp to keep them entertained
hey brb imma watch gossip girl

Yes, Gossip Girl viewers lower the national IQ average by 10 points. Yes, the storylines have gotten so repetitive that it's become a parody of itself. I know, I know. But I've stuck with it through 4 seasons and counting, and like a pudgy, balding husband that used to be bangin' 17 years and 3 kids ago, I feel committed to it, mmkay?

A Short Post

2011-01-23T21:19:00.018+11:00

I've decided not to buy another pair of high waisted shorts until I give up on solid foods, extract my lower two ribs and possess Kim Kardashian's ass. This seems unlikely thanks to my Asian genes - I have the curves of a tabletop.

Blogging these days seems as passé as Australian Idol and phones without touchscreens. Shame.

FFFFOUND!

2010-05-12T21:06:00.017+10:00

After months of coveting and fruitless eBay trawls, I have finally located my elusive Holy Grail booties - a pair of Chloé A/W 06 Silverado shoes. My recent eBay binge is probably my way of rebelling against the mountainous pile of Actuarial Modelling that awaits me, but I could not be happier.

In a few days, these babies will be mine. Be prepared for a potential onslaught of pretentious, fashion-bloggeresque snapshots.

-Mél

Love Finally Explained

2010-05-01T11:38:00.021+10:00

I was talking to Swee about GuYz and <3 (as girls do). Mathematical modelling ensued.

I'm a Twit

2010-02-12T23:04:00.035+11:00

My my, it has been a while. But in defence, 140 character tweets are oh-so palatable, and involve approximately 0.0315 times the effort. Twitter is like the ADHD-suffering little brother of the subdued, sophisticated Blogspot. So I ask, how could a sloth of the ADHD-riddled iPod Generation resist migrating her musings to Twitter?

To tell you the truth, I have been morphing into quite a bon vivant over the past year. Much to the disdain of my wallet, I have taken every opportunity while working at Finity and Access Economics to sample the best 1-hour-is-all-I-have lunches in Melbourne CBD. So, spurred by my natural propensity to bitch (and MoVida’s uppity waiters), I even entertained the idea of starting a food blog and christening it “the-bon-vivant” or something to that effect. That was until I realised that I was way too lazy to even maintain one blog, and rebuked myself for even wasting energy thinking about it.

Now please excuse me while I sleep off my latest spiel.

- Mel at twitter.com/meltam

Actuaries R AcTuaRiALLy K3wL, KayZ?

2009-09-25T21:15:00.063+10:00

True to form, my laziness has prevented me from chronicling any adventure since July. However, with the Actuarial Students' Society Vision 2009 publication almost as barren as Julia Gillard in terms of articles, I was requested as the Face of the ASS for 2010 to pen an article for sponsors and students. I confess, churning out an entire piece without baring any potentially unemployable characteristics was quite a struggle.

So, in an attempt to appear like a diligent blogger, I've decided to post my article up.

Actuaries who are Actuarially Cool

As a self-professed maths nerd, the doting mother of four calculators and someone who regularly uses “nerd” as a verb, I feel no shame in proclaiming that nerd jokes are my guilty pleasure. Whether it is milking puns out of π or chuckling at esoteric calculus jokes, academic humour is a favourite pastime of yours truly. However, a Google trawl of the phrase “actuarial jokes” cements popular belief that actuaries are nothing more than a bunch of nerds who deify Terence Tao, attain their personal nirvana in annuity evaluation and think that being sexy is to be the secant of c.

I beg to differ. Whilst I concede that I am in possession of a T-shirt with “sec(c)” emblazoned across it, I am an average uni student. I am willing to admit that like most of my peers, I derive great joy from dissecting the latest TV drama scandals; crooning 90s anthems into tortured microphones at karaoke; engorging myself on hearty lunches in the CBD; spending hours entangled in the time-engulfing black hole of YouTube; going on road trips with music blaring at full volume; or joining a taskforce of girlfriends, arming ourselves with measly student wages and stimulating the economy at Chadstone. That’s right: actuaries are capable of having fun, and do have a normal life outside pricing fixed interest investments.

As the President-Elect of the Actuarial Students’ Society, I am hoping to remedy the public misconception that actuaries are human calculators with the personality of a park bench and the heart of a Connex inspector. With the creation of a new Sponsorship Officer position and an overhaul of committee members’ roles and responsibilities, the society’s 2010 Committee has a clearer vision than ever to work efficiently and seamlessly, to forge links between sponsors and students and fund a barrage of exciting new social events next year.

Sponsors are integral to our society’s operation (10 actuarial points to those who were instantly reminded of calculus), so we will ensure that by supporting the society, strong relationships will be built to provide company promotion, exposure to a pool of highly talented and promising students as well as involvement in students’ university lives through a series of social and careers events. Students will be informed of the opportunities available to them as they are released from the fetters of structured education and commence working in the Real World (unless they’ve already had a brief tryst with McDonalds or Kmart).

Moreover, with the help of our sponsors, we aim to fulfil our role as a student society, which is essentially to build bridges, bring together and involve fellow actuaries through the organisation of more events. Hence, I’m eagerly looking forward to next year, as the Actuarial Students’ Society will debunk the erroneous public idea that "actuarial jokes" are oxymoronic, and that actuaries are as cool as a solar-powered sauna on the surface of the sun.

- La Presidente Mel

我会说英文!

2009-07-20T01:06:00.027+10:00

It's been one and a half years since my torrid affair with the faceless beast commonly referred to as a VCE English Essay; instead, I have been growing intimate with a very eligible Bachelor of Commerce. Hence, I fear that any last vestiges of linguistic flair will be strapped to a cinder block and plunged into a sea of syntax-abusive, Louis-Vuitton-toting fobs. Indeed, a cursory skim of my blog visitor statistics showed that my blog was somehow referred to by a Google search for "不会说英文了 anymore", which translates to "can't speak English anymore". Encouraging.
So here's hoping that blahging will be the buoy to my floundering English skills, such that 我会说英文.

Anyway, preamble aside, I am currently approaching the tail end of holidays: the sweet sweet reprieve after the exam period, which I will 'affectionately' remember as an era of doom, death, despair and distributions. Unfortunately, I'm currently in a state of penury.

Inspired by The Breakfast Blog and spurred by shameless food porn on Masterchef, I have found a new hobby in splurging on ambrosial brunches with Swee: the only one crazy enough to pay more than $5.95 for breakfast. In a sadistic twist, I have posted the tantalising food porn on Facebook for those missing out. I went on a trip to Lorne with the lovely Monass kids last week, and had the time of my life playing Monopoly, Sardines and watching inebriated friends play Kings; had the occasional (but expensive) jaunt to DFO; bought a new pair of Bvlgari ubernerd glasses; attended a vintage clothing market with Ciara in the hallowed, diamond-encrusted suburb of Camberwell; watched Harry Potter (nerd brigade unite) and Transformers amidst an audience of pubescent boys (who got their $15.50 worth in Megan Fox's décolletage).

Hence, it's not hard to figure out why here I am sitting here whittling through the rest of the winter break with little more than an empty wallet and an unabated internet habit to keep me warm.

-Meli$$a

PS. Somehow, my blog was also referred to by a Facebook group entitled "Sexcellent". Well isn't that sexciting?

It's Not What You Think

2009-06-07T15:26:00.007+10:00

Humans are selfish, hedonistic creatures; incontrovertibly and immutably. I am not being jaded or condemnatory.

As much as our individual creeds may vary, we all have one united objective: to maximise our happiness. All humans are equipped with the reasoning skills to assess pros and cons, and will make the most rational decision to bring the greatest expected benefit to them. Such benefits may be “selfless” in that others may benefit more than you (especially in a material sense); however, the inherent sense of satisfaction or enjoyment you may feel from helping others still offers a personal happiness that outranks other alternatives. This is essentially selfishness, but not in the awful, heartless meaning that is propagated. After talking to Brendan yesterday about his involvement with the Oaktree foundation, he admitted that his involvement was ultimately selfish, due to the intrinsic joy he derives from helping others. This is a case in point: selflessness and selfishness coincide.

Moreover, whilst one may extract happiness from a morally sound life devoted to God, another may flourish in the shallow thrills of promiscuity, booze or hard drugs. The latter may be called to mind when hedonism is mentioned; however, both are hedonistic. Perhaps one is seen as more “morally degenerate” than the other, but apart from different preferences, the actions are identical: the pursuit of happiness.

There is nothing wrong with selfishness and hedonism: they are fundamental pillars of human nature. Rather, it is our methods to achieve them that may be condemned.

-Mel

The Exam "Period"

2009-05-30T21:37:00.013+10:00

The prospect of epically failing second year university exams is again looming, and I am feeling much like a married man whose wife is commencing her monthly menstrual cycle: dread, coupled with the irrepressible urge to escape the house and lament in the company of similarly doomed friends. So, I have retaliated in the all-too familiar way: by retreating into my niche in cyberspace and venting completely irrelevant pet-hates in a burst of glorious procrastination.

Recent pet-hates include:

Hideous Facebook friends publicly becoming fans of “Spooning” or “Naked Cuddling” invites the kind of imagery that is better left to dirty old men and Twilight fan-fiction sites.
Shameless tweens substituting “omg” with “ome”, which stands for “Oh My Edward”. Apparently God is to the Pope as Edward Cullen is to every female under the age of fifteen. Although Mrs Collin failed to convert me during my PLC heyday, I am pretty sure that God does not drive a Volvo, does not sleep over in women’s bedrooms without the knowledge of their fathers, and DOES wash his hair. Moreover, comments such as “STFU BIATCHZZ, EDWARD CULLEN WAS MINEEE FIRSTTTTTTTT XoX MrS CuLL3n” or “Whoever comes onto this fansite and says my beloved Edward isn’t real is a sick mofo.” are frightening.
Facebook friends monopolising my pristine news feed with countless quiz results. I have resorted to hiding particular culprits from my feed whose “best sexual position” I prefer to be left unpublished. If Facebook continues to allow such inappropriate behaviour, they will kill social networking like video killed the radio star. Please be responsible and choose the Skip button!
Promptly commenting or Liking a status, only to have the person comment on your stalkerish speed of reply. Well I apologise for appreciating whatever you posted on the home page, which I just so happened to be reading at the time.
Listening to music on my laptop and forgetting I have my earphones in, but realising when I get up, walk away and drag my computer with me by the ears.
Train perverts and their not-so-subtle once-overs. Reflector sunglasses invite instant suspicion, and from experience, fourth carriage is particularly sleazy.
AMI premature ejaculation advertisements, especially in the car with Conservative Asian Parents. Imagine a parent turning up the volume during the news, only to have it superseded by a clearly enunciated “Do you suffer from premature ejaculation?” They do not turn down the volume because it means acknowledging the existence of the ad, nor can they make coherent conversation over the top of the ad due to its volume. Hence, you’re trapped in a silent car with your parents with “LONGER LASTING SEX” blaring unabashedly over the radio. The end of the ad is greeted with a collective inhale, as the parent oh-so-subtly turns down the volume and tries to fill the quietness with a lame attempt at conversation. Ah, awkwardness abound.
Parental sarcasm after midnight. In fact, parental sarcasm, period. Comments such as “how about you talk to more people on MSN; that’d surely increase your mark” while I am studying for a mid-semester exam, or “drive faster; I have life and car insurance” while I am actually driving safely is not appreciated.
Asking a MHSer to burn the MATLAB program for me, only to receive the DVD clearly labelled “NUDE EROTIC GAY WRESTLING VOLUME 17: OILED UP. Property of Melissa Tam” in permanent black marker. It was even worse when my loving parents discovered the disc while rifling through my bag for incriminating items... while I was asleep.
Uneducated patrons walking into a Thai restaurant, demanding Singaporean noodles and acting disgruntled when we tell them that Singapore and Thailand are located on entirely different land masses. Yes, how dare we have the nerve to serve Thai cuisine at a Thai restaurant! You’d think that such stupid people would have been long weeded out of humanity by Darwin’s natural selection.
Searching for lecture notes, only to find that they are a) right in front of you, b) already in your hands, or c) are accidentally stapled them to the back of the lecture notes in your hands.

And finally:

Spending a few hours of precious study time composing a post that confirms that I am a human FML.

-FMEL

All Hail Mel, the Economic Saviour

2008-12-05T13:43:00.042+11:00

I must confess that my holiday-induced torpor has prevented me from reading the news as religiously as I did last year. Instead, I have been gorging myself on season after season of Gossip Girl (the reincarnate of The OC, for those who are pop-culturally-deprived); falling asleep under UV-heavy sunshine; throwing pillows at my ceiling as a pathetic form of exercise; and crediting my bank account on several shopping trips and eBay trawls. However, breaking my vow to follow the news incurred a dose of cosmic justice when a customer mentioned the Thailand airport incident at the restaurant:

Bored Customer: So… have you got any family in Thailand?

Me: No; unfortunately, my networks don’t extend to Thailand.

Bored: Oh you don’t know anyone over there? Aren’t you worried about what’s happening there?

Me: (Completely lost) Oh yes… but I hope it’ll work out soon…

Bored: Well it hasn’t so far.

Me: Well… the government should… handle things.

*Uncomfortable pause*.

Hence, in a thinly veiled attempt to look like I know what I’m talking about, I found myself flipping through The Age. Skimming the Odd Spot and comics, I was rewarded handsomely for my efforts when the sweet, sweet words “TOMMY HILFIGER WAREHOUSE SALE” blared in regal red and blue. Salivating at the 50% storewide discount on offer, I managed to entice devout TH followers Van, Swee and Anthony to come along.

However, I had a few qualms:

The seemingly God-sent sale would turn out to be too good to be true, and the sale was really meant to start at 8am on December 4^th, 2009, rather than 2008.
Fashionistas and The Age readers are not mutually exclusive, and all sizes below XXXL would be devoured within the first ten minutes of the sale.
As the sale was located in none other than Richmond, I could very well be leading my friends to a warehouse filled with nothing but underworld gangsters, who placed the ad in The Age for the sole purposes of harvesting organs and trading them with China for cocaine.
The claim “SHIRTS FROM $40” means that there would be a single shirt in the entire warehouse at $40, and it’d be a horrific eyesore either suited for Mardi Gras or a washed-up-rock-star uncle that fronted an unpopular 60s band.

Nonetheless, in spite of sleeping through my alarm as per usual, we arrived at a warehouse filled with ample stock of XS and S. Absolutely euphoric, all of us splurged on shirts and polos, even if that meant committing the sartorial felony of buying a shirt that a friend already owns (albeit for a wonderfully cheaper price). For all those budding economists, the additional $170 of expenditure appearing in Australia’s National Accounts this period is thanks to none other than Melissa Tam, at the expense of her depressingly light wallet. However, the girls were extravagantly out-shopped by Anthony, under the claim that he was “buying presents for friends”. Needless to say, his wardrobe choices at uni next year will be scrutinised, particularly for the women’s cardigan and polo that he “purchased for Anna”.

On another note, I have a gripe about Asians. We are notorious for stinginess and other similarly infuriating behaviours, and this claim was certainly cemented when I was buying basil for the restaurant yesterday. As the boss was serving me, the Asian lady behind me in the queue managed to carry out a conversation with the boss and complete her entire transaction before I even paid my money, saving herself a grand total of 30 seconds. And if you are unable to figure out how that is physically possible, you clearly haven’t spent enough time at Box Hill Central. Annoyingly, she seemed oblivious to the look of disgust I shot at her. However, I must admit that the trademark Asian slit eyes aren’t particularly effective at conveying or perceiving emotion – for obvious reasons.

- The Spendthrift Sloth

Quotes of the Day:

“I finally know what it feels like to be a girl.” – Brendan, finally castrated.

“I like my men like I like my wine. OLD.” – Van the Tomb Raider.

“Omg Mel I’m sooo screwed. Why do I only like MEN?” – Van, who perhaps needs to spend more time with girl-schoolers, cough.

Rebound/Return

2008-11-15T21:16:00.005+11:00

I must confess that I am incredibly reluctant to yet again declare my commitment to blogging. I’ve become somewhat of a blog pimp, in that I find myself seduced by a fleeting passion for blogging, but then losing interest and finding myself settling back into the realms of Facebook and MSN within a matter of days. However, with Brendan running a spectacularly zealous advertising campaign for his blog, I feel the need to grab the narcoleptic creature that is my blog, shake it violently from its slumber and mount the blogging bandwagon. Surely it would be more intellectually stimulating than the Minesweeper related outbursts. After all, I must roll back the fobbiness that has been installed into me during this year, before I commit grammatical felonies and drown in an overabundance of tildes~~~ ^_^

Curiously, I find myself in roughly the same position as last year – at the mercy of the whip-brandishing torturer that goes by the name of Mathematics. As much as others would suggest otherwise, we have never gotten along well, and are not on talking terms at the moment. Therefore, I am seeking refuge in a rebound relationship with my blog – so rebound such that no kinetic energy has been lost.

-The Spirited Sloth

Shallowness is a Deep Issue

2008-10-23T08:17:00.002+11:00

In the frenzy leading up to the exams, I’ve had Matt not-so-subtly insert “99.95”, VCE references and whatnot into MSN conversations… even more than usual. My guess is that he’s either kindly reminding me of old VCE trauma, or it’s a manifestation of ENTER-related elitism that our beloved Dr He has drilled into him.
There are possibly two ways of determining whether you are elitist:
1) Your opinion of someone changes when you discover how ‘elite’ they actually are.
2) Your treatment of those who are not ‘elite’ – instant dismissal of their opinions screams elitism.
Contrary to popular (cough Asian) belief, however, there are many aspects to an individual apart from VCE performance – and therefore different types of elitism, or shallowness.

Physical Elitism
It’s undeniable that this is ubiquitous in our society. As much as we’d like to deny it, everybody is innately shallow to an extent. Besides, physical attraction is, in a way, an evolutionary device: those that lack a fine physical appearance – whether it is due to physical disability or a severe case of acne – fail to score chicks and reproduce. Hotties procreate with ease. Darwin’s natural selection at its most obvious.
Looks are an external shell created from luck, and will inevitably fade in time. So unfortunately, your hotness depends largely on the genetic lottery.

Intellectual Elitism
This is intellectual ‘shallowness’ as opposed to ‘usual shallowness’. Having a care factor directly proportional to someone’s VCE score a la Dr sHe is a dead giveaway.
It can be argued that there is a correlation between intelligence and ‘relatability’: intelligent people are arguably better at generating engaging conversations… or at least something beyond monosyllabic grunts and vacuous discussions about the latest Big Brother surprise twist. And if you’re unable to learn from someone, it is harder to have a meaningful relationship with them. To an extent, this justifies elitism and gravitation towards smarter people.
But assuming that shallowness is actually 'wrong' in the first place, society leads you to believe that intellectual shallowness is deeper than physical shallowness. What makes them different if it’s all ‘shallowness’ in the end?
The nature of looks and intelligence are starkly different. Intelligence is acquired through a mixture of talent and diligence. Some seem to be more naturally gifted; others simply work harder to excel. Although the genetic lottery is responsible for talent, a need for diligence always remains.
Moreover, intelligence once acquired will last a lifetime. It is largely a product of determination and hard work, such that admiration seems to be more justified and is seen by society to be looking ‘deeper’.

So what isn’t shallow? The usual answer is personality. Your personality is almost completely forged by you and your choices, rather than being automatically left to genes and chance. Granted, upbringing and environments do shape one’s personality. There is not one aspect of a person that is purely 100% autonomous, but personality seems to be the closest and therefore 'deepest' part of us.

Ultimately, being elitist is your own choice, and should not be criticised. But if you take things at face value, can that give you the greatest reward, or will you carelessly overlook something special?

ANNOUNCEMENT: Mel Has Been Released onto the Roads

2007-12-06T09:39:00.000+11:00

Well, it has been over half a week since I was emancipated; however, it has been strangely anticlimactic. Despite going out more than I have at any time this year (which is basically anything above zilch), I still find myself at home wasting time on Facebook as 'one uber net junkie', as Timmy calls it. Before you judge me, however, I must say that it is immensely difficult to discard your surrogate social life, step out into the real world and pursue an actual life outside cyberspace. However, there were a few things that aroused some non-sexual excitement.

Firstly, Tuesday was my long-awaited learners' permit test. Having done several practice tests the night before, I was optimistic. However, I must advise future drivers NEVER to boast about your common sense when you so blatantly lack it.
The following is an excerpt from an MSN conversation, if you'll excuse the teenage profanities (I thought it was C):
mel says:
"when is a road likely to be most slippery"
A: when it hasnt rained for weeks
B: when it just started raining
C: when it has been raining for a long time
fkn hell waste of my energy studying for this shit
LOL FUCKING HELL WHAT THE FUCK
i got that question wrong
Van 大車 says:
HAHA
WTF mel
mel says:
*cries*
i cant believe that
note to self
dont ever brag about your non-existent common sense
sighhhhhhh
Van 大車 says:
haha
dw
dw
How absolutely humiliating that was. Even with several people's patient explanations, the Physics student failed to grasp the concept of a slippery road. However, I gleefully made my way to VicRoads for my 10:50am appointment (having memorised that the answer is B), and laughed at the poor souls who had been waiting many an hour for the sluggish service. I suppose it aptly reflects on how they'd like us to drive. How boring.

The lady who served us was also excruciatingly slow. After resolutely avoiding eye contact and engaging in a conversation with her friend, she turned around, muttered to us in monotone and tapped my details into the computer with the dreaded 'two-finger-type'. LEARN TO TOUCHTYPE, WOMAN. After getting stuck and waiting for help from her colleague because another genius employee misspelled our home address, Mum and I were clearly unimpressed. Thus, we did the only thing Asians can do in such a situation: we bitched in Chinese right in front of her as she slaved away on the computer. Imagine the horror when we heard the ladies saying "Right, this girl's name is... Melissa... er, Yee... Chee... Tam...?"
"哎哟！这些死guai-lou，为什么她这样笨的?!"
"她真的好像个老人，真慢!"
It is important to note that it is customary for Asians to pass caustic comments with the sweetest of smiles taped across our faces. No, Asians indeed do not backstab; they simply plunge their verbal machetes right into your chest!

Moreover, there was a little laugh to be had at the girl next to me. When asked to read the second line on an alphabet chart for the eyetest, she seemed rather bamboozled, squinted and said "School's back on?" Although she was referring to the second advertising poster at the far end of the office, at least her eyesight was good.

If you are wondering, yes, I did pass my test. I answered one extremely dodgy parking times question incorrectly because IT HAD NO CORRECT ANSWER. Incoherent ranting aside, I got 97%, which means I must suffer eternal shame as compared to the majority of my friends, all of whom scored 100%. And yes, I did get an atrocious licence photo as usual, although it wasn't as much of an eyesore as my passport photo. Hurrah.

However, before I could even consider being a hazard to every human life on the road, I went shopping with Claudia with a stack of resumes kindly donated/forced out of Matt. Yes, mine was quite literally a virtual carbon copy of his. Though turned away by the bogan and skank stores and sent off with a smirk and roll of the eye, I was euphoric to find that all the Asian-owned stores seemed to be keen on my resume, due to the fabulous 'Asian Affinity'. Indeed, whenever in predominantly Western countries, if two Asians meet, they will invariably bond; look out for each other; meet up for some mahjong and dinner and then argue about who pays for it. It's a fact of life.

After returning home, I was further elated to find that my uncle had arrived, which meant that I could now go for my first drive. Bringing my wonderfully disgusting licence and purchasing L plates at the local $2 shop (as if you would buy the VicRoads one for $20 when you can buy a cheap lead-coated Chinese knockoff), I was driven to a small gravel carpark to practise. Although almost dying from the thrill of even sitting in the drivers' seat, it quickly gave way to panic as I couldn't turn the gear to Drive, and almost jerked into a pole. Lovely. However, this quickly subsided as I managed to circle the carpark several times with the nifty incentive of not killing my uncle.

That's right, although I had to endure a barrage of insults from obnoxious cousins during our family/staff dinner, I have yet to produce a fatality! Unless of course, you don't count the fact that my half-hour drive shortened my uncle's life by approximately ten years.

-Mel

The P in PLC Stands For Paedophilia!

2007-12-05T07:49:00.000+11:00

Saturday was our long-awaited Class of 2007 Graduation Dinner Dance at The Great Hall in Ivanhoe. After spending no less than two hours trying to cake my face with pore-clogging crud - yes, I am a makeup n00b - I sacrificed breathing and eating for an entire night by the simple act of zipping up my little red dress. Yes, the 'smile' in my photos is indeed a wince!

Unfortunately, the night's tacky C-grade theme "Celebrating with the Stars" gave way to a plethora of references to chemistry in our lovely principal Mrs Collin's speech: "each star is different. It has a different size, a different chemical composition, a different density. Like you girls." Hence, I feel the need to publicly declare that whoever wrote her speech needs to be shot. As if any sane woman would drag chemistry into our 'night-of-nights' after the trauma that was the VCE Chemistry Unit 4 Exam, especially in the 'magnificent' and 'wonderful' nasality of her voice.

Perhaps as a consolation for a convenient reminder of our impending doom come December 17th (I reiterate, the speech writer needs to be shot), we did get some lovely showbags of we-would-have-chucked-it-out-anyway freebies, which included a black clutch, concealer and lip gloss (although one was an already opened 'Tester', which I'm planning to avoid lest I contract herpes), as well as a forest's worth of Christmas pamplets from Nutrimetics. Indeed, we do thank Nutrimetics for their generous donation! The food and music were rather impressive as well, and the band skilfully hopped from genre to genre, from Donna Summer to Santana.

In stark contrast, the colour scheme was rather frightening. Pardon me, but electric pink foil wrapped around chairs in bows is not only inconvenient but a horrendous eyesore. Speaking of eyesores, in spite of raising a few parental eyebrows as I tried to non-verbally communicate with Lora across the table (so basically, I flailed my arms around trying to catch her attention), my psychoticness was rivalled by traumatising images of Mandy perving on the band's singer and then pouncing on Bao... several times. Yes, in spite of the fact that Bao was 13 years old at the time, the concept of paedophilia didn't seem to faze Mandy, as she launched herself on him and kissed him/ate his ear several times throughout the night. Meanwhile, I thanked the stars for not bringing my brother to this orgy of Desperate PLC Chicks.

However, to be perfectly honest, a function such as a Graduation Dinner Dance is nothing but an excuse for hordes of dolled-up teenager girls to photowhore unabashedly. I challenge anyone to deny this, as I wipe the dots of light out of my eyes. The 270+ tagged photos of me on Facebook can only attest to this: I AM A PHOTOWHORE.

-Mel the Photowhore

PS. You know you're addicted to Facebook when you return home at 1am and cannot sleep for the rest of the night because you haven't uploaded your photos yet.

Perventures of Desperate PLC Chicks

2007-11-30T21:25:00.000+11:00

Obstinately continuing with my 'strike' in a non-violent protest against my oppressors (The Parentals), I had eked out the last few days of existence clutching at the remnants of my social life... on MSN and Facebook. So, what does this 'strike' entail, you ask? Well, as a sixteen year old nerd, this involves spending all waking hours on the internet in order to repeatedly underline the fact that I NEED A SOCIAL LIFE; flatly refusing to do chores and find a job; bingeing on chocolate truffles in lieu of The Parentals' painstakingly home-cooked food; deliberately clicking a pen for half an hour to irritate them and sporadically retreating into my room to stare blankly at the ceiling whilst turning up classical music full blast. Yes, that's what I said. Whilst the common rebellious teen would seek solace in the likes of Nirvana, Linkin Park and such, the average nerd believes that the fiery first movement of the Moonlight Sonata is excitement enough. Any deviation from this would surely upset the structure of modern society, and that would be rather selfish of me.

However, after mentally and physically rotting for about 48 hours, I was emancipated from the shackles of the Asian-over-protectivism movement. Yes, whilst I was worryingly locked up in my room with Bach blaring on the radio and George Orwell in my hands, they vented their frustration rather vociferously at me through the door, luring me out with the slightest mention of 'going out'. After being bombarded with further horror stories of little girls' remains being fed to pigeons whilst their hair is auctioned on eBay China, we finally reached a compromise and I was allowed to go to Chadstone with Van.

Rather excited that this was, in fact, my first shopping trip to Chadstone (blasphemy by teenage standards, I know), I was driven by Mum to school to pick up my books and received a measly $56 for my pains; indeed, the other $100 went to the 'charitable' Parents' Association. Hurrah! However, this seemed to further raise Mum's spirits as she dropped me off at the bus stop, which conveniently coincided with an exclusive radio report on the poor soul who was stabbed to death in Box Hill (surprise surprise...). What a brilliant send off for the recently emancipated teenager.

While munching on an edible heart attack in the form of cow hooves and camel tongue (yes, I picked up a Hungry Jack's Bacon Deluxe on the way), I eventually reached Chaddy and headed into the Krispy Kreme store while waiting for Van. After getting a 'twinkle in the eye' (as Van calls it) whilst perving on an equally delicious assistant, I was mightily disappointed when I was served by a chick instead, gorging myself on an artery-clogging Original Clazed as consolation. Ah well. It's a sad sign of our society when we have to pay TWO DOLLARS for a bottle of water, but seeing as I needed to wash this fit-sized globule of saturated fat down, I headed into Coles. However, any bitterness towards capitalism was quickly extinguished when I realised that Coles Chadstone had automated checkouts! Marvelling at the wonder of it all as a cool female voice explained what I had to do, I punched the touch screen and panicked when I couldn't find the coin slot, much to the supervisor's amusement... as well as the several old grannies checking out effortlessly. Excuse me, but I'm from Knox; I do believe that automatically classes me as a country bumpkin.

When Van finally arrived, we headed into Myer for some high-class perfume whoring. Emerging with a poisonous concoction of perfumes all over my arms (and no, I'm not referring to Christian Dior), we entered a swanky tie store to find a tie for her brother and were promptly greeted by the HOTTEST CAUCASIAN MAN I HAVE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE. Although the mantra "I must marry an Asian man lest I end up eating fish & chips for the rest of my life and get disowned by my Chinese parents" had been drilled into my skull from birth, not only did he have the looks and the charm of an Abercrombie model, but he was wearing a sharply tailored suit as well. An Abercrombie model in a suit... needless to say, I found it immensely difficult to prevent myself from swooning and blacking out on the floor (in his arms, if I had any luck). However, I was devastated when Van exasperatingly approached a second sales assistant instead - whether from intimidation by the Adonis-like figure before her or sheer stupidity (just joking, Van), I have yet to work out. Trying to endure heart palpitations as the assistant showed us a diversity of classy ties, I was again horrified when Van decided not satisfy Adonis by buying a tie from their store. However, the second we stepped out of the store, we gave each other a knowing glance, and as Van so eloquently put it, "I wanted to rape him". Hilarious.

Although I was hopelessly lost in the labyrinth that is Chaddy, Van navigated through the shops with ease. I managed to find the hottest pair of pointy pumps and pyjamas I had ever seen in my life, before going to the bowling alley to meet up with Van's Mazenod friends. Although refusing to place our dainty little feet in the festering-with-tinea bowling shoes, Van and I joined the non-Asian team, and were hence totally pwned by the fabled 'Asian Touch'. Although being recognised by my peers as unco and physically challenged, Van and I alternated turns, managed to beat her primary school friend Matt and scored TWO strikes. One wasn't even recognised by the glitchy system (it was a 'spare'), but I was euphoric. Gaffes included Van hitting the barrier with a potential strike before the pins were ready and someone knocking a pin into the gutter and jamming the system. However, we took advantage of this, as a gutterball bounced off it and managed to knock some pins over. Ah well, at least we managed to close the losing gap from 100 points to 50 by the second game...

After our games, we parted ways with the boys and dragged Matt (aka our husband-like-shopping-bag-carrier) along to Jadaiah. While Van searched for a cardigan, I tried on various sashes on my graduation dress, and both of us interrogated a harassed-looking Matt outside the changerooms with the cliched "oh my God, this makes me look fat, doesn't it?" Luckily for him, he was aware that the only acceptable answer that didn't involve getting stoned to death was a vigorous shake of the head. Feeling the pinch that only an Asian can feel when she watches her birthday hongbao stash dwindle before her eyes, I paid a hefty $25 for a black silk sash. Needing some makeup, we hopped over to Priceline to spend an excruciating hour caking our faces with ten different shades of foundation and forcing Matt to find us some Hollywood tape... much to his confusion. Indeed, men are not familiar with the complexities of cosmetics - when asked for mascara, Matt promptly returned with an eyelash curler. Only men.

However, it is unfair for us to say that all men are cosmetically challenged. Indeed, there was a creepy old Asian man perusing for a set of French nails with a rather bemused sales assistant... how... unusual.

-Mel

Return of the Blogger: Part Three

2007-11-28T16:21:00.000+11:00

The more observant members of the internet community might have realised that it has been ten months since I vehemently vowed to maintain this blog and chronicle my final year of torment at Presbyterian Ladies' College. Thankfully, the fact that my alias is 'spirited sloth' may offer me slight reprieve from those vicious post-deprived readers (if any), who have noticed that the number of times that I have 'returned' coincides with the number Britney Spears' comebacks. Not a good thing. However, it is apparent that a teenage girl such as yours truly would infinitely prefer to while away the time staring blankly at her barren MSN list; poke her friends to virtual death on Facebook; perve on the deliciousness of Hugh Laurie or remain engrossed by the superficial trash that is America's Top Model in lieu of recording her precious memories of Year 12. Can you honestly blame me?

With these ten months of unreserved hell I have been most unfortunate to endure has come a lot of change. First of all, the political landscape been radically reformed (all hail Kevin07, the bespectacled geek that smote the 68 year old titan that was John Howard), much to my Bap's euphoria. Having resorted (may God forgive his soul) to voting for a Latham government, he had been fervently hoping to wash his hands clean of the Howard government for the last several elections. An adolescent can only hope to hijack and bask in his elation with hands and wallet outstretched. Furthermore, the stepping down of Captain Smirk can only be the additional sprinkling of Hundreds and Thousands on an already delectable Sunday (hardy harhar). I apologise for any offence caused (yes, I 'apologised' rather than said 'sorry', which seems to be taboo for the old Government), but not only is he the reincarnate of Scrooge, but Australia just isn't ready for a Prime Minister named Peter. Whilst this may be proverbial gold for the lascivious, I'd hate for the littlies to see the cartoon pages in the morning.

Meanwhile, I have been attempting to recuperate from the horror that was the VCE exam period with no avail. Having consistently awoken at 5am in order to cram the life out of myself (but invariably finding myself back on Facebook and MSN), it is no longer possible for me to savour the elusive creature that is the 'morning sleep-in'. Rather, I have been caged at home and numbed by sheer boredom by the mascots of the Asian-over-protectivism movement: my parents. Yes, while others have been frolicking in the sunshine on a post-exam high, I have been trapped by the epileptic-fit-inducing colour scheme of my house's walls, and of course, ranting ceaselessly about it to all who will listen (or be polite enough to pretend to listen). Although this had a slightly cathartic effect for me (hurrah for VCE English buzzword #1), my whining was received by several members of my MSN contact list with exasperation. Hence, in the midst of a severe episode of teenage angst, I rebelled by buying not one, but TWO dresses on eBay without parental consent. Even though I actually did mutter my intentions prior to the purchase (but so softly that they couldn't hear properly and hence had no opportunity to protest), I am preparing to go on an excruciating guilt trip and parental lecture for what is arguably one of the most hardcore things an Asian nerd can do...

I pray that the mighty authority of the bamboo ruler is not brought into this.

-Mel

Return of the Blogger: Part Two

2007-02-01T19:06:00.003+11:00

With my spirit broken by the excessively long-winded Shanghai posts, the sloth counterpart of my alter ego took over and created a several-week-long drought of posts, akin to the formidable drought taking place in Melbourne. Fear not, fellow sloths - with the return of the school year, I feel the obligation to also return to my previously religious blogging. Yes, it is Return of the Blogger: Part Two.

Taking several weeks off simply lounging around; watching TV; cursing the speed of dial-up; tormenting my agitated dog with baby talk and drooling over the uber-hotness that is Andy Roddick (yes, watching his shirt fly up whilst serving is a favourite pasttime of yours truly), all thought of my blog was erased from my mind. That is, of course, omitting the intermittent pangs of guilt as my blog was left unattended. However, realising my English was ridiculously sub-par compared to the verbosity and impressive flair of my peers, I concluded that it would be best if I were to, in the wise words of one Fleur Delacour, 'eemprove my Eenglish'. Indeed.
So, taking the first day of Term 1 as my marker, I decided to type.

Anyway, skipping the rather theatric introduction, today was the first day of Term 1. And judging by the hell that was last year with only one subject, this year would be that and at least four times more. Admittedly, many members of the Methods alumni were gullible enough to entertain the thought of taking it easy - after all, Methods was over! But with this year being the final and most intense year of our education (up until now, anyway), the waves of pressure are sure to swell and rise. The mere thought of returning to school for the dreaded VCE year sent shivers down our spines and, in many cases, down our perfectly summer-tanned legs as well.

We began the year with the regulation beginning-of-year form assembly, as well as the standard oh-my-God-I-haven't-seen-you-for-agesss in the corridors. We also had an assembly that consisted of Mrs Collin explaining in depth what happened in an assembly (sense the irony here?), and an Investiture Assembly rehearsal, where we would be sworn in as the dutiful leaders of the school (sense the utter absurdity of this?). Nothing particularly special, unless you count the novelty of sitting in the second storey facing a stoned-looking Mr Ross (there was a suspicious row of empty seats left in front of him), or the revelation that Mrs Elvins trawled MySpace regularly. This means that she could possibly be Tom or the paedophiles our mothers warned us about. Excellent news…

Unfortunately, we received our timetables, and I was devastated to find that I didn’t get any of the teachers that I had submitted in the lottery form aka our ‘Subject’ Choice Form. Oh well… cest la vie. Also, I discovered that I was to have a double spare immediately. Although this news would normally be met with an exultant ‘hurrah!’, the fact that almost no one else actually shared this double spare with me and that it was the first day of term meant that I was to spend two hours doing zilch, as is customary on the first day. Cest la vie, yet again…

So after two wasted spares and a house meeting, I was rewarded with a Chemistry lesson (well… it is better than resorting to watching Grace copying out her Specialist Maths homework) with Mrs Hall… although I ended up transcribing the notes in my textbook in lieu of those on the board. Following this, I headed off to my English class. However, I was crestfallen to find that I was in the same class as Phoebe, Nancy, Sarah, Leonie as well as other Methods alumni, and realised that I was in for literary hell. This meant that not only would my mediocre scribblings be hopelessly outshined by the wondrous masterpieces produced by the above, but also the attention of our teacher Mrs Ross would be diverted and directed at their flourishing talents. Excellent, yet again…

So here I am, attempting to salvage what is left of my deteriorating English skill set. Well, one can only hope for a little eemprovement.

-Meelll

Mello The Psycho Bitcho In: Attack Of The Cultural Sponge

2006-12-19T15:34:00.001+11:00

After a weekend of lounging around, I was ready to go on another expedition led by Mr Wang: he was to take us to Yu Gardens (Monday, December 4).

Andy woke me up this morning in one of the most infuriating ways possible: rapping on my door, blinding me with the lights and calling my name. I AM AWAKE, thanks, but play the ‘light aversion’ card, and you will be on my black list forever. We got ready, had breakfast and met Heero – who lived upstairs – to go to school.

All of us took the No. 454 bus, and, as always, held our breaths and squashed into the human sardine can. It took a notably lesser amount of time to reach the bus stop – about ten minutes – and we arrived virtually outside the school, as opposed to the arduous hike from Eileen’s bus stop to Ge Zhi.

After laughing hysterically during 早操 (morning exercise), we met Mr Wang to go to the school planetarium. We scaled the stairs to the 10th floor, the highest floor of the Ge Zhi skyscraper, and eventually emerged on the roof. We enjoyed the panoramic scenery both below us (the ludicrously congested streets) and above us (the gargantuan towers of Shanghai). Also, we indulged in an extended photo shoot before stepping into the Ge Zhi school planetarium – and yes, I do have a photo on Photobucket. The venue for several ‘astronomy classes’, the planetarium was a massive dome inside which was projected an artificial night sky; this therefore avoided the futile practice of staring at Shanghai’s perennially smog-obscured sky. Intelligent.

While we slumped in some cushiony cinema-like seats, the astronomy teacher turned off the lights; this gave me the perfect opportunity to add to the Random Scream/Scare Count. When it was finally established that we couldn’t take photos in the dark, the teacher projected the night sky on the inside of the dome and treated us to an astronomy class. Although we had a look at the skies of several different countries including Melbourne, the teacher’s rapid-fire Chinese perplexed all but Shermayne; consequently, we were reduced to watching the planets and stars move in awe. We had another photo session, this time featuring the planetarium. After fervently telling the teacher of our love for Ge Zhi and its facilities, we said goodbye and got ready to go to Yu Gardens with Mr Wang and Ms Buckman.

Walking out of the school, we passed several formal dress stores and made our way towards Yu Gardens with our cameras carefully concealed in our inner pockets. As we collected the stares of innumerable passers-by, someone quipped: “Well, I think our uniforms make us rather conspicuous…” However, seeing several scarlet clad teenagers running around, we weren’t exactly so sure.

Suddenly, one of them came bounding towards us: “Hi there, we are from Korea and we’re on a mission: we have to take pictures of people in school uniform. Can we take your picture?” In spite of being rather taken aback by their request, we consented and, as countless cute Asians swarmed around us, we showed off our ‘Asian Pride’. After the extremely random photo, the Koreans seemed obviously spooked by the crazy Westerners and fled, leaving us slightly bewildered on the pavement.

The group eventually navigated between Asian architecture and through throngs of overzealous tourists, to emerge in a bustling square in the middle of Yu Gardens. We were allocated a set time in which we were expected to quench our insatiable thirst for shopping, and head off in groups. Flanked by Swee and Lora, we shoved past hordes of chirpy Caucasians, jabbering Japanese and keen Koreans. However, as all the stalls seemed to sell the exact same array of slippers, bags and jewellery with identical oriental motifs, we breezed past them without a second glance. Eventually, we reached a small arcade without the characteristic Asian-styled buildings, and found several shops sporting infinitely more useful items for sale. We bought some name tag stickers and I purchased a pair of over-sized sunglasses (both with the help of the haggling SAM) and wandered down a street that was likely to be outside our set boundaries before heading back for lunch.

Apparently, we were to have a lunch back in the square, at a restaurant boasting famous visitors such as Bill Clinton a diversity of other political leaders. After scaling the stairs to the second floor, we were seated around a circular table overlooking the stunning gardens. However, with the infuriating zeal of the Cultural Sponge (Ms Buckman), it was decided – pardon me, forced upon us – that she would order. Yes, please, let us go to a legendary restaurant in an once-in-a-lifetime only to have our meal ordered by someone who strongly believes that the ‘fried rice and sweet and sour pork’ is the epitome of authentic oriental cuisine. Excellent.

Although we did peruse the menus whilst Edward suggested some signature dishes, the decision was ultimately left up to the Cultural Sponge, who felt it was “inappropriate to order too much due to the lack of funds”. Yes, but not all of us spent our cash on male traditional costumes, ching-chong hats and tourist guides, thank you very much. Furthermore, she declared that we should not order ten dishes (one per person), and instead order half that to reduce the bill that, by the way, we had to split anyway. Well, there would certainly be no PMS (Post Meal Satiation) in that restaurant. Luckily, with the persuasive techniques of Edward, we were able to convince the begrudged Cultural Sponge to order some sweet and sour fish (“dear God, that is oh-so expensive”), the restaurant’s famous specialty.

After a photo shoot in the balcony, the dishes arrived to be greeted with the rolling of ten pairs of eyes. Indeed, she had ordered the rather ordinary selection of bok choy, Mongolian beef and, dare I say it, sweet and sour pork. Moreover, the diminutive size of each serve prompted some bitter Chinese muttering with regards to inevitable starvation. With everybody except the Cultural Sponge able to comprehend the Chinese language, we continued our resentful murmuring whilst Edward and Mr Wang flattered her with a fulsome praise. However, hearing this, Mr Wang promptly addressed us in Chinese, telling us that he would take us out for 小笼包 (a special Shanghainese dumpling) later. Oddly, the Cultural Sponge seemed grossly unaware of the monstrous eating habits of the Chinese, and their tendency to order more-than-substantial banquets to satisfy their extraordinarily large appetites. Apologies, but English tea and crackers do not even match the Chinese definition of a ‘snack’. Sponge, indeed… I shudder to think what would transpire if and when Ms Sarah Buckman meets Mr Andy Lu.

Thus, we commenced eating, feeling slightly more complacent. Fortunately for the Cultural Sponge’s already tarnished reputation, the food at the restaurant was faultless – it tasted ambrosial. From the steamed bamboo (peculiar, I know) to the 年糕 (sweet glutinous cake) to the crispy-skinned sweet and sour fish, we sated ourselves with the delectable – albeit small – dishes. Also, much to the Cultural Sponge’s horror, Mao Ling devoured a fish head. Yes, Cultural Sponge, welcome to China, the land of the fish head, dog and cat eating food connoisseurs.

When we finished our meal (the light snack cost us 30 yuan each, as opposed to a willingly-paid 60 yuan banquet from previous years), went to relieve ourselves and investigated a bizarre salted-egg scent emanating from the bathroom area (it turned out to be an adjacent function room), we emerged from the building out into the square. We gathered together, and allowed the Cultural Sponge to set a time to meet.

“Is one hour enough for you girls?”

Holding back our sniggers and wondering whether we could successfully bloat ourselves within the designated time limit, we nodded. Thus, in a suspiciously cohesive group of eight, we turned and walked away from the teachers. We were soon joined by Mr Wang, who had been unsuccessfully captured by the Cultural Sponge, to hear that Edward – who, being Chinese, was obviously in on the ruse – had been unfortunately trapped and forced to escort the Cultural Sponge… in the opposite direction.

Crying out in glee and feeling contemptuous towards the smug and complacent Cultural Sponge, we were then lead by the father goose to a renowned 小笼包 restaurant. Ascending a flight of stairs, we were dismayed to find a seemingly endless queue waiting for their share of the famous dumplings. Also, finding no empty tables able to accommodate a group of eight (or at least without riling a duo of bitter old ladies that had ‘blatantly’ marked their seats with empty tissue packets), we had no choice but to leave. Fortunately, with the expertise of Mr Wang, we managed to find another restaurant.

We squeezed onto a small table and ordered forty小笼包: five pieces each. Overwhelmed with greed, we snatched our小笼包and caused the precious soup inside – the best part – to leak out and drench the dumplings of more fortunate girls. Learning from this appalling mistake, we slowly ate our小笼包 and savoured every bite of this succulent delicacy, ever wary of the possibility of the Cultural Sponge accidentally traipsing past and catching us. Starting to suffer from PMS as well as muscle ache from craning our necks and checking whether the Cultural Sponge was indeed walking past, we finished our delicious meal, paid Mr Wang (about 10 yuan each) and headed out.

Hearing Swee’s praise for the famous 汤圆 (sweet dessert dumpling things in soup) in Yu Gardens, I, much to his amazement, asked Mr Wang to take us over for a bowl; this in turn sparked over-satiated groans from my peers. However, with my persuasive skills, we again ambled through the myriads of eager visitors to a small but again famous 汤圆 outlet in the square.

Seated in a far table, we shared one bowl of eight汤圆 between two. To my horror, the girls had divided into pairs beforehand, conveniently leaving me with Mr Wang. Luckily, however, I had craftily seated myself next to Mao Ling, who then shared with me. We all wolfed down our four black sesame汤圆, chuckling at a particularly hideous picture of Mr Wang taken by Lora, not to mention our cunning deception. Yes, as Kathryn proclaimed, “Mr Wang, I’ll never ever forget this day.”

We paid Mr Wang back and, almost bursting out of our pleated skirts (one of the most tell-tale symptoms of PMS) with the post-binge bloat, we crawled out of the restaurant laughing. With our culinary cravings well and truly satiated, Lora, Swee and I had a rushed look at some nearby stalls. This included the crazy cinema, in which tourists would stare through a peephole into a box for 3 yuan. Most probably a puppet show, the audio was provided by a funny oriental-costumed man in CHINESE. Yes, I’m sure those foolish foreigners would have really loved it…

With not much time remaining, we returned to wait in the square for the Cultural Sponge and buy some water from a confectionery shop, which sold Hello Kitty Kit-Kats (no pun intended) and roasted candied roses (odd but tasty sweet). Rather hypocritically, the meeting time – that was, might I add, set by her – passed. Incredibly, still yearning for some more Shanghainese delights, I contemplated the purchase of a 汤包 (soup bun: apparently you are supposed to drink the soup and eat the filling inside, leaving the outer bun), which Swee had also recommended to us previously. Knowing that I would soon leave Yu Gardens indefinitely, I horrified the entire group – especially Mr Wang – by going one step farther and buying a汤包.

With Mr Wang and the FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers) staring in fascination at my enormous appetite, I drank the mouth-watering soup in the bun. Eventually, Edward arrived with the Cultural Sponge in tow:

“So girls, did you have a good time? Did you buy much?”

Stifling our sniggers, we nodded vigorously. We took another round of photos, and I crammed the last unbearable mouthful of 汤包 whilst everybody continued to marvel at my effortless bingeing. And in case you were wondering, the PMS did finally launch a vicious attack on my digestive system as I waddled over to the rubbish bin. Soon after, the group of smug Chinese people prepared to head off, lead by the grossly uninformed and almost pitiable Cultural Sponge. Ah, how I love the Chinese language.

On our way back, the effervescent FATs grew rather self-conscious with the familiar indiscreet staring. Knowing that Mello the Psycho Bitcho would be all too willing to humiliate herself in front of random strangers, they challenged me to wave to the random strangers that had their gazes fixated us. Adopting everything from the graceful royal wave to a World War II German salute (if you know what I mean), I effortlessly and swiftly established a reputation as a psychotic foreigner. Not willing to leave it at that, I further embarrassed myself by greeting onlookers with an overzealous “Hello! Yes, GA ZE GA ZE!” to save them time-wasting speculation. Thus, amidst gales of laughter from my peers, I was awarded an orange lolly and more stares for my toil.

When we reached school rather punctually, I took the bus home with Heero, Cherry, Andy, Sally, Lora and her host. Then, I was to endure a long night consisting of nothing but irritating Andy; tampering with his iPod nano; plucking his guitar and almost destroying it in frustration; learning how to flick Andy’s pack of cards and, most of all, jeering at Chinese people’s embarrassing definition of ‘English Pop Songs’, as found on Andy’s iPod.

In case you were wondering, yes, I am talking about the Backstreet Boys and Celine Dion.

-Mel

Random Scream Count: 4

Other Counts: Unfortunately as above, unless you count Lora’s gruesome picture of Mr Wang in mid-pucker or my random waving and greeting.

The U-Bend Blues

2006-12-14T17:13:00.000+11:00

After audaciously battling to suppress the flu the previous day, I settled for a laid-back day (Sunday, December 3) consisting of nothing much but lazing around Andy’s rather commodious residences. Yes, the Paulinesque bursts of elation resulting from living in such an apartment were excitement enough.

Waking up in the king-sized bed at 8:30am (but still missing the genial cosiness of Eileen’s abode), I emerged from my bedroom to find a reply note on the table – Andy had obviously managed to make sense of my broken Chinese. Indeed, I had had nightmares during the night about writing mistakes and thus inspiring gales of laughter from my peers. I was supposed to wake up at 8am to go to the school’s English competition with him, but had just missed him. It took me a while to make out his scrawled Chinese sentences, which basically stated that I should sleep as much as possible (although it was a tad late for that) and that Bill was sleeping in the adjacent room if I needed him. However, due to my morbid fear of the shy Bill, I vanished into my en suite to promptly drench myself with toilet water and become a cursing tissue monster. In the fear that Andy stumbles across this blog and picks up the implications, I shall divulge no further information unless asked privately. I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to allow the reputation of Mello the Psycho Bitcho to shun the reputation of the far saner Melissa Tam.

After the catastrophe in the en suite, I escaped into the computer room and commenced my daily internet activities (checking emails, blogs and so on), tapping rather innocuously on the keyboard and logging onto About to learn how to play the guitar and impress everyone. Consequently, when Andy returned along with Heero, Sally and Max, I maintained my composure and doggedly continued staring at a blank computer screen, even though it swarmed with adult pop-ups for a reason that apparently escapes Andy… Instead, as they breezed past the doorway, I shouted a brief hello until they left, during which I shouted a brief goodbye. Yes, humiliating crisis averted.

After Andy left to see Max off, I was left in the company of Bill and Sally. But with the prospect of a hot, high pressured shower, I headed to the bathroom. Unfortunately, upon entering, I found that the shower was located next to the toilet without a barrier, and the fear of spraying the entire room with water bubbled uncomfortably in my stomach. Despite receiving some help from Sally and Andy, I dawdled hopelessly before mustering up my courage to turn the shower on.

Contrary to my inhibitions, the shower was bliss. Melting under the luxurious jets (which I had sorely missed back at home), I indulged in a half-hour long shower. But at the risk of crossing a line, I shall leave it at that.

After my shower, I attempted to clean up the mess I had made (yes, it was moulting season), got dressed and emerged to meet my rather distraught friends, all of which were wondering where I had disappeared to. However, I heard the rather agitated voice of Andy’s mother outside, which succeeded in reducing me to an involuntarily shivering mass in the corner of the bathroom. Apparently, I had been evicted to the 3rd floor apartment. With no choice, I agreed to flee the opulent residence (and THANKFULLY, the en suite).

Alas, when I returned to my room to dry my hair, my fear of Bill was further intensified a thousandfold. Sitting on the ridiculously firm bed (note to self: find out how it is humanly possible to turn a spring mattress into a material as hard as wood), I was raking through my hair with a towel when Bill came in. Quivering in terror, I managed to return his gaze and held it for what seemed like aeons, before tearing my eyes away and casting them to the floor. Yes, it was the mother of all awkward silences, and was a major contender for the Nobel Prize in Discomfort (competing against the all-time favourite, the Chinese mattress). However, I was, for some arcane and rather brutal reason, adamant in leaving the ice unbroken and remaining silent. Thus, when he could not bear the icy reception any longer, he produced a peculiar sound, turned around and left me sitting on the bed, aghast. Whether it was a greeting, a compliment, an apology or expression of mutual terror still remains a mystery to me; however, at that point, our relationship ventured into that bleak territory far beyond ‘Awkward Acquaintances’. Brilliant. And he was cute, too. Well done to Mello.

My hair eventually dried to a satisfactory level and, after Sally went to the toilet (although I would not normally delight in telling people about others’ excretory habits, the fact that this meant another scapegoat simply made my day), we carted my heavy luggage to the second apartment. Then, Andy’s parents took Andy, Bill, Sally and me out for lunch.

Firstly, allow me to introduce Andy’s family to you. With relationships seemingly tangled to the complexity level of a teenage soap, it may take a while to comprehend; but, here it goes. I shall forgive you if you choose to skip this - Channel Ten has overdosed us on painfully cliched soap operas.

Anyway, meet:

Andy
The protagonist of this tale that so kindly took me under his wing, offering me accommodation and food in his home. Approximately at the end of Junior High, his parents bestowed him with his own apartment in another building in the ‘Jade Mansions’ compound, whilst they remained in the 14th floor apartment (this is the one that I am currently staying in at this point in the story). After living on his own for a little while, he was joined by 爷爷and 姥姥 (his grandfather and grandmother) as well as his uncle (I’m not sure if he is, or just his aunt’s boyfriend) and aunt, who had moved to Shanghai. He now spends his time in this 3rd floor apartment, but occasionally returns to his roots, so to speak, to access the internet and computer there. He also enjoys reading, swimming and bubble baths, and strives for world peace.

Bill
Having met Andy when he was eleven, they soon became nothing short of brothers and shared a strong fraternal bond. He stays in boarding school during the weekdays, staying at home (possibly the 14th floor apartment) between Friday and Sunday nights. He also scares me.

Andy’s mother
Staying in the 14th floor apartment, she returns to the 3rd floor apartment everyday to eat her dinner (they don’t cook at the 14th floor apartment), but otherwise spends her time going out with Tony.

Tony
Bill’s father and Andy’s mother’s de facto husband. He lives in the 14th floor apartment, eats at the 3rd floor apartment, goes out with Andy’s mother and unfortunately serves as our chauffeur (that’s right, he actually owns a real car).

爷爷 and 姥姥
Living in the 3rd floor apartment, these two live together, with 姥姥 cooking the meals and cleaning the house (which is vital but, when you think about it, hopelessly futile when the monstrously messy Melissa Tam lives there. Hence, she avoided entering my rather shambolic room at all costs whenever possible). Retreating to their room to watch TV at about 9pm, I am then free to prance about the house leaving a horrific trail of debris behind me.

Andy’s aunt
Although she usually lives in the guest bedroom in the 3rd floor apartment, with my presence, she moved to the 14th floor apartment in time to escape unscathed. Lucky. Also, in spite of Andy’s heartless objections (men are the same on every continent…), she is extremely pretty.

Andy’s uncle (or aunt’s boyfriend) guy
He doesn’t seem to live in either apartment… I have no idea… but he took us out for lunch once, which undeniably wins a place in my heart.

Oh, and by the way, due to the fact that I failed to introduce Eileen’s family to you before:

Eileen
A gorgeous doe-eyed girl (seriously, look at her photos) with a heart of diamond-encrusted, platinum-plated gold. Her favourite games include the dearly loved ‘帅不帅?’. She unfortunately spends time being cruelly harassed by Mello the Psycho Bitcho and answering to her unreasonable whims. As Swee and Lora affectionately put it, “她对你太好了, you psycho bitcho,” or “She’s too good you, Mel, you psycho bitcho psycho.” What more can I say?

Eileen’s mother
A dentist (excuse me while I frantically go and brush my teeth), Eileen’s mother met me with a hysterically excited and warm welcome. The stay continued in this exact fashion, and I was treated like a daughter, being showered with ambrosial cuisine and gifts. If you were wondering what she spends time doing, see the above…

Eileen’s father
He is a chef (and has thus established a bizarre ‘Brotherhood of the Chefs’ relationship with Bap) that spends most of his time in America earning a living, but returns for a few months a year to spend time with his family. With the fitness and energy of an Ironman (well, he did actively endure the Chinese torture in the previous post), he was also forced to endure Mello the Psycho Bitcho. That’s right, see above.

Anyway, after introducing these fascinatingly soapy characters and their relationships, please refrain from playing out a sitcom in your mind whilst I continue my story.

Heading off to a Korean restaurant to try some new cuisine, we settled down to dine on delights such as crystal noodles, pork chops and not-so scrumptious and slightly alarming ox tongue (yes, only after I devoured it did they tell me of its origins – although it was reminiscent of roast beef, but with extra chewiness). All the while, my ‘entourage’ faced me in fascination and quizzed me about Melbourne, China, whether I really could speak Chinese and whether I really well and truly could use chopsticks. However, despite amazing them with some spoken Chinese, the look of utter incomprehension creeped back onto my face; thus, Andy was asked to polish up his ‘mediocre’ English (mediocre my foot) and translate for me.

Luckily, I was soon granted a reprieve and was driven by Tony to go to Andy’s guitar lesson. Scaling the stairs and walking along a hall filled with music and instruments, we soon entered the room in which four students and the ‘Best Friend Music Co.’ guitar teacher were waiting. Seating ourselves in front of the teacher, I was bootlessly allocated Sally’s guitar. Because I can really play it... I introduced myself (no, not as Mello but as Mel) and they commenced their lesson.

I spent most of the time listening to them attempt the song ‘Lydia’ and other tunes that were aesthetically pleasing, albeit marred by the odd bum note. Also, we were meanwhile being entertained by the teacher’s rendition of Michael Jackson’s ‘Smooth Criminal’. However, finding myself understanding his banter whilst jamming bass guitar, the teacher also discovered that I could, in fact, speak Chinese. Hence, I joined in with his hilarious jokes, braggadocio and teasing, which included the mockery of Andy’s Chinese name 吕晔: apparently it could be easily morphed into the word 驴 (donkey) by simply slurring the words. Thus, the centrepiece of my relentless teasing was born…

Anyway, after more jokes as well as the witty comparison between Australian and Chinese teachers (you can shout at placid Aussies without consequence, unlike the ferocious Chemistry teacher at Ge Zhi), we finished our lesson; that is, the guitar teacher couldn’t bear the bum notes any longer. Hauling his guitar outside, we waited and choked on the aroma of 臭豆腐 (stinky tofu), whilst trying to figure out Eileen’s magic hoop and chain trick (don’t ask). Eventually, Tony arrived to take us back to home, and rest assured that I was not complaining...

Arriving at the 3rd floor apartment with nothing much to do, I spent the day lounging around in Andy’s room with Bill (but still avoided him like a fat kid avoids PE), disturbing and preventing him from completing his precipitous mountain of homework. Hey, what are little sisters for? Meanwhile, I tried teaching myself to play more guitar and Coldplay’s ‘Yellow’: in fact, I had managed to figure out how to play everything from ‘Look at the stars,’ until ‘look how they shine for you’. Yes, look out, there is a musical phenomenon in your midst.

After a while, I got fed up of being hopelessly outshone by Andy’s musical skills (he sight-read Wonderwall, much to my euphoria). I could not bear the caustic pain from pressing guitar strings and guitar in general. So, I pestered Andy to teach me some Chinese chess. Meanwhile, Bill was sitting in the corner playing games on an iPod nano, most likely smirking at Andy’s misfortune. Unfortunately, in an attempt to ensnare Bill and evoke feelings of reconciliation, I played against both boys in the normal Western chess (yes, I am a Western snob). Feeling rather charitable, I allowed them to have their queen back after a careless move and promptly lost my own, incurring the shock and derision of my opponents. I did struggle for a comeback, but was eventually cornered by two of his reincarnated queens. As the tension filled the air and I prayed desperately for a stalemate, Bill’s seemingly invincible assault faltered and he indeed achieved a stalemate. I danced in elation at the evasion of what seemed inevitable, although not too ostentatiously at the risk of attracting the attention of the placid Bill.

With the chess pieces (due to the absence of any Western chess set – for shame! – in the house, I had made them out of paper much in the way I made Eileen’s poker chips) abandoned on the table, we played 24 Points. I discovered that Bill had already mastered 3, 3, 7 and 7 rather effortlessly, so we marvelled and almost collapsed in shock when the freakish wunderkind took just five minutes to figure out a combination that took Andy a full night – and completely baffled Eileen and me. Yes, he had easily conquered the untameable beast that was 3, 3, 8 and 8. However, this still beat the activities of last night’s post-pool period, which involved Andy and Sally huddled around Bill and his staggeringly painful Maths homework, while I fluttered around the edges vehemently cursing Chinese mathematics before hiding in the computer room. God, even Maths Methods beat that.

In what seemed like ages, we were asked over to eat dinner. Dining on some roti, fish and vegetables, I still felt the trademark queasiness associated with the flu, and thus ate lightly. Halfway through dinner, Andy’s parents approached the door with Bill, announcing that he was leaving to go back to boarding school. Unfortunately, before he left, Andy’s mother asked him to bid farewell to me and give me a hug. Appearing like a caged animal, he wheeled around in horror, looking for any support or objection. However, when he had remained resolutely inert for several seconds, it was established that he didn’t want to embrace anyone anytime soon and they left, leaving me slightly piqued and slightly bitter. How could he not love this randomly-screaming-statue-whore?

When Bill departed and I finished my dinner, I went back to Andy’s room to further exasperate him and distract him from his untouched homework. I spent the remainder of the night in his room playing guitar, 24 Points (although not as fruitfully as Bill or even Andy, for that matter) and Chinese chess, successfully losing three times in the space of five minutes. That’s right, blogging was far from my mind, as I vowed never to return to the 14th floor apartment for glaringly obvious reasons.

Like mud cakes to Fat-Campers, Asian toilets will be my downfall.

-Mel

Counts: As below…

PS. 8 ÷ (3 – 8 ÷ 3) = 24. Argh, what a freak.

The Passover

2006-12-13T23:31:00.000+11:00

Today (Saturday, December 2) was preceded by a feverish night of boiling hotness and the shivering chills, as the dreaded influenza virus caused my body temperature to fluctuate wildly. With the consumption of Panadol and a bottle of spring water during the night, however, I managed to ready myself for the ‘Change of Host’ planned today.

Today, I had an amazingly adequate amount of sleep, getting up at 8am (which was almost twelve hours). Unfortunately, suffering from extreme dizziness, disorientation and a splitting headache, I staggered to my room to pack (I had failed both pack and blog last night, which marked my descent into total indolence and neglect with regards my blog). After throwing in items of clothing, FAS and what not into my suitcase in a random fashion, I eventually finished packing within an hour (hurrah) and got dressed to take my luggage to Andy’s house. When it came to the shoes, memories of a rainy Hangzhou came flooding back, where my exquisite gold flats were covered with filthy black stains and ruined. My own feet were frostbitten and drained of all feeling. Thankfully, Eileen’s father was compassionate enough to clean the shoes (although I should have done it) and restore them to their former glory. So, I chose to wear my tacky Adidas shoes.

However, in spite of arranging to meet Jezza and Swee at Century Park at the outrageously early time of 8:30am, it was already 9am when I bid goodbye to Eileen’s parents and set out to Andy’s apartment. Furthermore, with Eileen slightly bewildered as to where his apartment really was, we were again delayed, reaching there at about 9:20am.

When we saw Andy waiting for us in front of the apartment blocks dubbed ‘Jade Mansions’ (and I was soon to find that it was for good reason), he swiped an ID card on the door and took us into a lavish hall. With excessive use of marble as well as a widescreen TV by the elevators, SAM (Stingy Asian Miser) was brimming with anticipation. He helped us load the luggage into a sleek elevator, and took us to the 14th floor where his penthouse-like residence was. When he opened the door and welcomed us into his home, I was astonished. With trendy ornaments; glossy polished floors; sparkling glass; a massive TV and swivel couches arranged neatly in the room, the apartment resembled a swanky modern apartment by the Yarra River. With my mouth still gaping and SAM screaming rather Paulinely in my head, I had a brief meeting with Andy’s half-awake mother (relative to Eileen’s parents’ effervescent fussing) before being whisked away to Century Park.

We were all driven by Tony (Andy’s de facto stepfather guy) to Century Park in a car - YES, an actual car. Seeing the stunning sights that I had witnessed several nights ago with Eileen, Andy and Bill, we got off to find Jezza and Swee waiting patiently by the eight poles. Upon seeing her, I bounded towards Swee, embraced her tightly and muttered hoarsely into her ear: “SU WEI KHUNG, HE’S RICH.” Seeing the look of incomprehension on her face, I described his apartment in detail whilst we made our way into Century Park.

Before exploring the park, however, we headed off to hire a bicycle to make the journey a tad more enjoyable. Coming to the hire area, we were amazed to see rows upon rows of tandem and even triple bikes, as well as creepy rickshaw things complete with a lacy tarpaulin roof. Swee and I simply admired the panoramic view of the largest park in Asia, but occasionally burst into laughter as our Chinese hosts deliberated in Chinese over the best method of transport and threw in several jokes about the creepy rickshaws. Eventually, we settled for a creepy rickshaw for three and a tandem bicycle, when Swee began hyperventilating.

“Mel… Mel…” she croaked in between raspy gulps of air, “Melll…”

“Swee, what’s wrong? Do you have ash-ma?”

“Mel… he’s loaded…” she exhaled.

Indeed, she had spotted Andy at the ticket office flashing his sizeable wad of 100 yuan notes. In fact, Tony had asked Andy earlier: “Do you need a little bit of cash?” When Andy agreed, Tony proceeded to pull out a hefty stack of 100 yuan bills from his wallet, and I watched, feeling slightly faint, as he made a concerted effort to squeeze it in. Fortunately, Swee quickly recovered before Andy returned, although she did seem a bit flushed afterwards when he retrieved his wallet, saying: “Do I have enough cash?” and checking his turgid wallet for the glaring scarlet notes. Little bit of cash, indeed.

While Jezza, Swee and I climbed into the rickshaw (Jezza and I were pedalling), Eileen and Andy hopped onto the tandem bicycle. However, due to my girly weakness, they sped off leaving us inching forward slowly. That’s right, the unfortunate Jezza was actually pedalling for three, although I did move my legs to disguise my failure.

The park was absolutely magnificent: it was filled with innumerable visitors (including yours truly) admiring the evergreen trees, lush green grass (as compared to the parched weeds back home), a vast lake and sculptures. We took several photos and dodged psychotic some-kind-of-open-bus-thing drivers. After a while, I sacrificed poor Swee and 'allowed' her to take the wheel, figuratively speaking (the second wheel on the right was actually a fake, just to add in some symmetry in the ugly beast).

However, we soon caught up to Andy and Eileen, who were already waiting patiently by some grass sculptures for us to arrive. The grass sculptures were incredible; they loomed over us like majestic Goliaths and reached almost two stories high (photos will come eventually, I promise). We also stopped by a small lake sporting several grass ducks and a corpulent grass frog, which I blew a kiss to compensate for my lack of statue whoring in the previous day.

Tired of the arduous pedalling, Swee and I swapped with Andy and Eileen and climbed onto the tandem bicycle. Regardless of a shaky start (I sat in the front after Swee almost ran over into a toddler), we soon coasted past several grass sculptures ranging from a Big Ben clock tower to a massive hand pouring tea into a steaming cup (there was an actual fountain of water and real steam to a family of bears with hula hoops. Yes, they were all of great symbolic significance...

However, we eventually grew sick of cruising into random lanes, and decided to create some mischief. Well, Mello the Psycho Bitcho did, anyway. Thus, when we neared a bridge with a base of steps, we realised that these machinations could be fulfilled. Choosing that route, we cycled into the path, followed by Jezza, Eileen and Andy (the lucky Eileen was sitting in the middle while the gentlemen pedalled). Reaching the end, we then turned around and cycled back, much to their dismay. With the cumbersome size of the creepy rickshaw, they were forced to go backwards while we raced away cackling hysterically. Nevertheless, we managed to catch sight of their efforts in turning around the large beast. As they couldn't reverse by pedalling backwards, they were then forced to get out and manually haul the hefty rickshaw (with Eileen inside too) in order to perform a three-point turn.

With our hosts lagging behind for obvious reasons, we continued our ride, and, after realising that we were moving in a large circle, chose a narrow pathway in order to further torture them. However, not feeling brutal enough to force them to perform another three-point turn (and quite possibly backing into some thorn bushes), we rocketed ahead and swerved to the left as they negotiated their way through undergrowth. Turning to the left again, we leapt off our bike and hid behind some thick bushes, watching them as they emerged from the bush in bafflement. We listened to cries in Chinese as they debated about our whereabouts. However, when we saw two legs sprout from each side of the creepy rickshaw so that they could reverse and turn in the opposite direction, we had achieved our goal and could not contain ourselves any longer.

“HEY! OVER HERE!”

When the three victims of our ruthless pranking turned around, their combined shouts of both relief and frustration reverberated across the park.

After their legs scuttled around and turned to follow us, we resumed our cycling and creepy-rickshaw-ing in a similar fashion (minus the machinations and plus another fleet of photos). Eventually, we reached a rather congested highway flanked by a pond and theme park. With the passage teeming with tourists, we were unable to crash into unsuspecting minors without being arrested. Hence, we gave up our hit-and-run campaign for lunch.

We returned our bicycles and creepy rickshaws and sat down at the swanky ‘Century Park Restaurant’ for our meal. The always rapacious Andy instantly asked for every single item present on the menu, but I simply ordered a cheeseburger to satisfy my yearning for the good ol’ saturated-fat-infested burgers at home. Swee ordered a dish of spaghetti bolognaise.

The prominently Asian take on Western cuisine was sufficiently tasty. But with Swee having arranged to meet her new host 音乐 (Music) at school, Eileen, Andy and I were forced to bid adieu to Jezza and her while we went off to play [insert frenzied hand movements and ricocheting-bullet sound effects, due to the lack of translation]. Thus, we passed the lake and found ourselves in the aforementioned theme park in queue for the ‘Crazy Mice’ (I think they meant the ‘Mad Mouse’, a rollercoaster ride similar to that in Luna Park). Yet, seeing the relative tameness of the ride in comparison to those in Australia (no dips at all and a speed akin to that of a fat kid running), as well as the pricey admission fare of 20 yuan per person, we chose to take an electric boat and float along the massive lake in the centre of the park.

Donning blindingly orange life jackets, we collapsed into a boat literally, due to the size of the diminutive interstice between the high jetty and the low roof of the boat. Even though the waves caused the boat to pervicaciously move in the exact opposite direction of what Andy intended, after a three-hundred-point turn, we managed to back out from the jetty of laughing boatmen and drifted into the middle of the lake.

During the ride, we marvelled at the great speed of a speed boat (hence the name) and scoffed at immature parents encouraging their children to crash into us. When the novelty of driving a boat wore off, we turned off the engine and resorted to teaching Andy how to play poker (yes! Another innocent corrupted!) and playing 二十四点 (24 Points) until the chilly breeze blew our cards away. By the way, they were foolishly placed on the nose of the boat by yours truly...

In case you are unaware of the game 24 Points, it is an infuriating mathematical game devised by equally infuriating Chinese wunderkinds with nothing better to do than to mystify and completely belittle unsuspecting foreigners. The basic aim of the game is to draw four random cards and use all of them once with four basic operations to make up the number 24.

For example: if you are given 3, 3, 7 and 7, you could say (3 ÷ 7 + 3) × 7 = 24. In case you were wondering, yes, I was the only one on the boat that failed dismally in figuring that out, and there was NO way that I could ever possibly do otherwise.

When the threat of frostbite slowly became reality and our hire time dwindled away, we shivered back to the jetty. Meanwhile, we attempted to figure out the combination of 3, 3, 8 and 8 given to us by Andy. With the quantity of hyperventilating comrades severely depleted (and replaced by a painfully smug Andy, who had taken a whole night but still figured the above combination out), Tony drove us back to Andy’s house.

We were met there by Sally and Heero, and, after idling around in a slothly manner, we left together for a game of pool. On the way, we laughed at Heero, who ran ahead of us and scared the life out of an innocuous cat sitting by the gate, and walked for an unbearably long time to the pool tables.

The pool and snooker tables were located in an underground bar-like basement, which was filled with seedy men, cigarette smoke, the noise of colliding cue balls and the distinct flavour of human flatulence (much to the seedy men’s amusement). Andy went to the other side of the room while we arranged ourselves around our pool table, only to return with an extremely creepy three-fingered frictionless glove wrapped around his hand. Trying not to shiver at the spine-chilling accessory, I teamed up with him against Eileen, Sandy and Heero.

After one game, I had already established a solid reputation as a powerful player whose cue balls seemed to have a magnetic effect on the pockets. Little did they know, however, it was all a fluke and I was, in fact, aiming for another ball entirely. Not that I’m complaining, of course.

After winning our first game, we reshuffled the teams: the boys versus the girls; however, with Andy’s incredible skill (that single-handedly won the previous game anyway), they easily thrashed us.

At this point, Bill (the de facto stepbrother guy from Sunday) arrived with another creepy red glove. I joined Heero and Andy while Bill teamed up with Eileen and Sally. Granted, Bill had a psychotic command of the pool table and with the deafening crack of cue balls under his hand, and received Andy’s indignant shouts: “你干嘛?! 这样打的?!” or basically “What is wrong with you, you billiard freak?” Yet, with Andy on our team, we still seemed unconquerable. So, after more of my fluky shots (which gained the fraudulent admiration from my peers) and Andy’s not-so fluky victories, we won again.

Feeling slightly empowered by my flukiness, I decided to rearrange the teams to make another girls versus boys match, irrespective of the extreme talent of Andy and Bill. Smart move. Therefore, we began another game, and, while the boys soared ahead by at least three balls, us girls were reduced to a giggling round of ‘帅不帅?’ with the Gollum-like billiard champions on the wall. Eventually, after the boys had long sunk their last ball, they were aiming for and startlingly missing the 8-ball. Then, it was my turn. Chalking my cue as professionally as possible in order to mask my incompetence, I simply tried to aim my cue away from biological balls and hit something I was supposed to. However, to my utter disbelief, I managed to sink my own ball. Taking the rare opportunity of a second go (it took me aeons to establish the Aussie rules with my awful Chinese), I again, to my surprise, hit another ball in. Thus, the girls only had a purple ball to go before we were equally matched, both scrambling to hit the black ball in gaining the prestigious title of pool champions. Unfortunately, if I were to hit the purple ball, it’d set up their 8-ball perfectly. Therefore, I only made a tentative shot and missed. This meant that I had to hand it to Andy (of all people) and a perfect set up on a platinum platter. As predicted, he still managed to sink the ball within two tense shots (but strangely missed it the first time).

Still reeling from the – possibly contaminated – flatulence of the male snooker group beside us (yes, hilarious for them, though), we paid the fees (a mere 12 yuan or AUD$2 per hour) and left in search of food. Heero went home. As it was getting late and nearing Eileen’s curfew, we combed the streets urgently for a decent banquet for five, and, after finding that all of the restaurants on the street required queuing up, called Eileen’s mother and persuaded her (with the help of her father) to allow Eileen to wait for a bit longer to eat dinner. Thus, we settled for barbeque.

Most of us could not stand the coldness outside and entered the restaurant. Waiting on the ground floor and choking on the blankets of smoke swirling around the restaurant, it took us about half an hour to get a seat. Meanwhile, we watched as several customers cheerfully placed skewers of meat and other unidentified objects onto a metal frame to barbeque them, which sat above a metal box of hot coals. This was embedded into the table.

Eventually, we were allocated a seat on the second floor. The waitress filled our boxes and covered it with a metal pan to allow it to heat up. We got ready to order. Sally, Eileen and I left the boys poring over the order form and selecting the items of the night’s feast. When they were finished (God help us when Andy Lu orders food), we didn’t wait long before our food was delivered.

Always the gentleman, Andy took charge of the roasting of his and my food while Bill looked after Sally and Eileen. After leaving it to roast and sprinkling ample amounts of spice, seasoning and what not, Andy gave me several skewers while we joked about his culinary incompetence. We all began to devour the food ravenously. I gorged myself on chicken, lamb and 馒头 (buns), steering clear of 臭豆腐 (the pertinently named ‘stinky tofu’) and chicken and duck hearts. Following another round of skewers (thanks to none other than Andy), we emerged suffering from severe PMS (Post Meal Satiation), bid Eileen farewell (nooo!) and stumbled home.

When we reached home, I was, to my utter elation, allocated the master bedroom - Andy’s mother went to the adjacent block to live in their second Jade Mansion. Bouncing at the sight of a personal en suite, king sized bed, view of the Huangpu River and, most importantly, a widescreen TV, I moved my luggage into the room as Andy and Bill played the gentlemen and escorted Sally home. However, enticed by beauty sleep (yes, that’s right, Mr Wang) and feeling slightly awkward in the presence of two teenage Chinese-babbling boys, I changed into my pyjamas and scribbled a goodnight note in Chinese. This was to avoid exposing my mediocre Chinese oratory skills and at least give the impression of a polite brat.

Let us hope for a peaceful night devoid of any night terrors. That is, nightmares about creepy rickshaws and frictionless gloves…

-Mel

Statue Whore Count: 3

Other Counts: Argh, don’t ask.

Chinese Torture

2006-12-12T21:53:00.001+11:00

Today (Friday, December 1) was the eagerly awaited day of the excursion to Nanjing Lu to buy ridiculously cheap real pearls and not-so ridiculously cheap goods.

Cowering in fear at the thought of being interrogated by the severe on-duty students again, Eileen and I dashed to school earlier than usual, making it to class by about 7am. According to our itinerary, we were to attend 'a Chinese class by Ms. Sun'. Thus, after the morning exercise (I will never stop laughing during the routine, regardless of how many times I have done it before) we combed the hallways, A-ba-ling-jiu and A-ba-ling-ba (A809 and A808 in Chinese) for Mr Wang, eventually finding him – well into the first period – dining jovially with fellow teachers and jabbering away in the familiarly rapid Chinese (let’s just assume it is the familiarly rapid Shanghainese).

We were instructed to wait for him for ten minutes, which was when the first period began; however, due to his loquaciousness, it turned into fifty minutes, which was when the second period began. Yes, sure, of course, 当然, trust a Shanghainese man to finish talking within ten minutes. Thus, we all passed the time doing what the Romans (or in this case, Shanghainese) do and gossiped. Subjects ranged from Carrie’s inexplicable absences and its mysterious link with a cosy relationship with a boy in her class (her denials and explanations only seemed to make it worse) to Shermayne’s strong bond with her super protective; extremely sweet; seemingly infatuated and bordering creepy host. However, after being ruthlessly teased about the boys in my class, I was reduced from the raving, scandal-hungry gossip to a beaten puppy in the corner. Great.

Abandoning any thought of the Chinese class, Mr Wang completed his tirade with his deafened colleagues and took us to the Physics class by Ms Wang (no relation…?). We again searched through the hallways for several of the ten floors in total, with no avail. After collapsing into the lift for the fourth time to the third floor for the second time, we concluded that there was, in fact, no Physics class. But with the third period well and truly begun and therefore no classroom to enter, we retreated back into A809 and had lunch at the canteen at 11am before our 11:30am jaunt to Nanjing Lu (we were to meet Ms Buckman there at 11:45am).

The time came, and we AGROed (Almost Got Run Over) our way to Nanjing Lu, not before marvelling at the colossal seven storey high Coke bottle marking the monstrously large shopping mall street. In fact, we had a notable AGRO incident entering Nanjing Lu, whereby a car did not stop for us (as they never do anyway), and instead coasted centimetres close to our hips, much to our panic. Welcome to Shanghai, girls.

Seeing random dance and music classes being held on the street (as there was simply no commodious classroom to accommodate them), Ms Buckman took the opportunity to comprehensively document this rather unremarkable spectacle with her un-detachable video camera. Spot the foreigner. We then found ourselves outside ‘Pearl City’, the place in which held thousands of real pearls for ludicrously cheap prices. Entering the store, we headed into the variety of stores (all of which were selling exactly the same thing) in search of some pearls.

Swee and Lora managed to find a dazzling pearl and jewel charm bracelet for Rachel, which happened to be the only one of its kind (damn). However, feeling particularly pedantic about the size of the pearl earrings on offer, I browsed several other stores in search of earrings and a duplicate of that stunning bracelet amidst raspy whispers of ‘Ga Ze, Ga Ze!’ as well as appraisals of my ‘impressive’ uniform and badge. Although each store did have the right sized pearl earrings on offer, the excruciatingly Stingy Asian Miser in me (affectionately known as SAM) leapt off her pedestal and began ranting about the apparent expensiveness of an 8 yuan pair of real freshwater pearl earrings. Because you can really get it cheaper in Australia…

Having obliterating any chances of obtaining a pair of originally 10 yuan earrings for cheaper, I browsed the stores in desperation with no avail. However, capitulating in dismay, I headed out with Swee and Lora, leaving behind the indignant cries of other Sams in the surrounding stores.

With Nanjing Lu holding the prestigious and noteworthy title of the largest and busiest shopping street in Shanghai, we decided to make the most of it and head to the modestly named ‘Number One Department Store’. We negotiated our way through a bustling crowd taking advantage of a ‘clearance sale’ outside and entered the store to be greeted by several sleek white monoliths standing in random spaces on the huge floor and towering over us. Yes, we had emerged in the cosmetics section, and were promptly harassed by cosmetically masked vultures urging us to clog our pores with mangled sample lipsticks. Perhaps later.

Passing countless gorgeous but over priced items such as 500 yuan haute couture (way too expensive by Shanghainese standards), we decided to give up on fashion section and go up to the entertainment department to satiate our craving for cheap DVDs. However, after finding nothing but plasma TVs, gadgetry and general hi-tech bric-a-brac, we concluded that there was no way that we could cart a home theatre back to Melbourne. Thus, we asked several shop assistants the way to the coveted shoe section, only to receive instructions that seemed like pure gibberish each and every time. Nodding and smiling vaguely to confirm our ‘understanding’, we drifted back down to find the 1000 yuan Chanel heels and leather boots by serendipity. However, astonished at the prices in spite of the fact that those prices were about right in Australia, and still preposterously cheap compared to Myer’s Miss Shop, we accidentally stumbled out through the correct entrance back into the bustling Nanjing Lu.

Next, we hopped over the possibly affiliated ‘Number One Food Department Store’ to gorge ourselves on anonymous Asian confectionery and bizarre seemingly-not-so-edible treats (roasted candied roses?). After being targeted by Argus-eyed stall assistants, Swee bought some custard tarts whilst another seller indiscreetly checked me out (you get used to it, however), pardon the pun. Squeezing into a chaotic array of mini-stalls, shop assistants and, most daunting of all, ravenous Chinese people, we entered the massive department store. Before Swee and Lora bought their fill of miscellaneous unidentified candies, I had my eye on a box of Lindt chocolates. Upon my arrival at her house, I gave Eileen and her family several blocks of Cadbury, Lindt and Ferrero Rocher, which she so generously offered and gave to all her classmates. This ultimately sparked their infatuations with chocolate, and so, in the hope that I could show them what real chocolate tasted like, I decided to go to the stall to buy them some. I chose the hazelnut variety in lieu of the milk chocolate kind, and, when I finished talking about my nationality and academic origins with the seller, Lora and I purchased a box of fourteen for 68 yuan.

Buzzing with pride at my apparent thoughtfulness and hence my redemption from my ruthless teasing of both Eileen and Chen Bing (I managed to introduce some eligible young ladies from Australia during the course of the week, much to his humiliation), I burst out carrying my bag of chocolate bliss, while Swee again bought another custard tart and we had a free sample (rather uncommon practice in China, I must say) of 肉干 or a barbequed honey pork patty thing. After this, we were to meet Mr Wang and Ms Buckman at our designated meeting point in front of Pearl City, only to find that he was still at Pearl City for an arcane reason. However, with no time to spare, I was cruelly denied a second chance at buying my pearl earrings at a reliable outlet, and we walked back to Ge Zhi.

By this time, I was extremely exhausted and felt my battered feet buckling under my possibly increased weight (my mealtime small talk: “Please, I swear, I am full already. Please. Have mercy on my digestive tract.”). Thus, after getting repulsed by a nose-picking cyclist and a taxi driver excavating ear wax with his car keys, I waddled past the beggar that we had passed previously (this time, her child and she seemed suspiciously more well off) back to school.

Having learnt that the Physics class was not actually the second period but the second period after lunch, we made it to a Gao Er (Year 11) classroom on the third floor for the lesson. Slumping back in the chairs brought in for us by gentlemanly students (but not before groaning in disdain and podiatric anguish upon entering and seeing that the chairs had not been brought in yet), we settled down to enjoy a class on Newton’s Second Law and forces in English. However, after braving the chill of Shanghainese weather (at that point, the weather was in the teens and roughly tantamount to the Melburnian winter climate), I managed to bounce in my seat in excited recognition whilst mentally solving the Newtonian problems and listening to the material that we had covered previously in the year, but not for too long. Within no more than ten or even five minutes, my exuberance had paled, and I descended into a feverish, nauseated state and ceased to listen to or make sense of otherwise simplistic questions. Although I was almost lapsing into a sickly snooze, my fear of being pointed out as an insolent foreigner with the attention span of a fat kid with a birthday cake prevented me from doing so. Therefore, I slumped further into my seat and complained about the ominous pounding in both my head and my stomach.

I endured for the entire duration of the class in a semi-comatose state, and, by the end of Ms Wang’s admirable English efforts, I stumbled, disorientated, from my seat and informed Mr Wang of my ailing health. However, with the chocolate still in my quivering hand and the prospect of collecting the smiles and thanks from my peers still unfulfilled, I quickly made my excuses and dashed to class to give them the chocolate.

Unfortunately, with the possibility of an imminent collapse, I only managed to quickly hand over the chocolates to a bemused Andy and retreated to A809 with my FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers). Seating myself at the massive wooden table, I indulged in some playful chitter-chatter before succumbing to my somnolence and resting my head on the table (just like Swee, who was dozing right next to me). With the rather chirpy voices of Kathryn, Lora and Yin Ling providing some not-so soothing background music, it took me a while, but I eventually fell asleep at 3pm, only to emerge about half an hour later from a pool of saliva albeit feeling slightly better. Charming.

Wiping my drool off the classy polished table, I endured a miniature lecture from Mr Wang about health consciousness and sleep. This was due to the fact that I was tactless enough to inform him that I had slept at about midnight last night after a rough session of blogging and spending time accompanying Eileen during particularly arduous homework-ing. By accompanying, I mean stopping her progress, playing the beloved game of ‘帅不帅?’ whilst gossiping about everything under the (invisible) sun and then falling asleep while she worked laboriously into the night. Argh, when it comes to being Eileen’s foreign exchange student, I put the ‘Mel’ in malevolent.

With the phone-like bell reverberating off the corridors, I escaped Mr Wang’s haranguing and went back to my class, to find several students wiping brown sticky residue (chocolate, gosh) off their mouths and crinkling empty wrappers. I politely declined (rather reluctantly, though) the last piece of chocolate from Sally, Eileen’s friend, and waited for Eileen to finish whatever after-class cleaning duties she was obligated to do. Meanwhile, I seated myself on a desk next to Andy whilst he strummed melodies rather impressively on Sally’s guitar. After listening to him show off his musical savvy, I pleaded for a turn and skillfully managed to pluck ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’ rather off-time, off-key and off-tune within the hour. All hail Mel, the musical wunderkind.

Once I had determined that the guitar was in tune on the dodgy piano (refreshingly familiar territory) outside, which, by the way, was itself risibly out of tune and incapable of playing a high E, I ran back into the classroom to play ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’ relatively well; that is, relative to my previous effort on ‘Mary Had A Little Lamb’. However, I soon gave up after realizing that my not-so notable melodies was laughably outshined by Andy, and resorted to irritating unfortunate classmates. After spending time waiting for Eileen (who was actually doing nothing but watching us, anyway), she received a flustered and rather peeved off call from her parents, who were waiting for aeons by the school gate while we plucked Sally’s guitar (parents were forbidden by the intimidating guards out the front to enter the school grounds).

We took the lift down to meet her parents with Andy, and, after some speedy Shanghainese prattle and rebuking, Eileen’s mother left her father, Eileen, Andy and I (as well as some agonizingly hefty amounts of luggage) to the streets in search of a sushi dinner. May I warn you, now, that this spelled the beginning of the most torturous walk of my life, and most likely shortened my life by ten years.

In spite of the fact I was almost passing out with fatigue and the early stages of the flu, we again took the route past the Coke bottle to Nanjing Lu (which had almost caused me to collapse just one hour prior). Nanjing Lu was distinctly different during the night time: although it was essentially the same street, it was now filled with night-time shoppers (by the way, my favourite kind – night shopping is strangely rewarding) as well as being peppered with dazzling Vegasian lights and neon signs capable of blinding even the most obsessive moths. Yes, it was a slice of heaven sprinkled with paradise with a side of utopia. Consequently, the smarting travail in my legs was swiftly forgotten as I ambled down the street with my Shanghainese family in wonderment. Even though we had already passed a Japanese noodle shop (the one Eileen and I ate at on Day 1), they continued down to the very end of the endless road, which included the five minute crossing of a small alley. Yes, with the ubiquity – excuse me – I mean, with the total domination of the roads by bicycles and motorcycles, we were forced to wait as never-ending queue of cyclists zoomed past one after another. With astounding patience, we eventually found a diminutive break in which we could dash across the pathway and continue.

After the brightness and bustle of Nanjing Lu, we found ourselves walking through several smaller and quieter alleyways (but never deserted; no, not in Shanghai) amidst vociferous complaints regarding my aching feet and swollen bladder. With my companions finally hearing of my long withheld urgency for the latter, they stopped for directions (yes, the men) whilst I made a mad sprint for the toilet. Then, much to my disgruntlement, we continued on our way.

Eventually, whilst listening to me estimate the total distance walked so far (I swear it’s been over five kilometres! I swear!), we found ourselves in the affluent district overlooking the Huangpu River or, to Westerners, the Bund. Passing through tunnels; dignified and elegant old buildings as well as some cheap souvenir and snack stalls, we arrived on the raised pathway on the bank of the Bund. Despairing with the darkness and consequential obscurity in the photos (insert bitter “well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”), we marveled at the magnificence of the ‘long wavy ribbon of prosperity’ for quite a while and used our 交通卡 or Transport Cards (I swear they can be used for anything!) to take a ferry across the river.

On the ride, I found myself next to a Caucasian girl of about eight (she turned out to be six… well done to me). Overflowing with anticipation, I spoke:

“Hi, where are you from?”

“Australia,”

With this one word, I unleashed a long string of incoherent exclamations of enthusiasm and excitement. At last! A fellow ‘good ol’ Aussie battler’, albeit slightly younger than preferred. Thus, ignoring the majesty of the Bund, I had an animated chat with both the girl and her Australian family, which did border on random. For example, after an awkward silence, the girl said: “You know, it’s weird. I’m the youngest in my class but I’m way smarter than the annoying guy that sits near me.” Ah, childish pettiness. How I miss you.

After Eileen’s father unsuccessfully managed to converse with the young girl in his heavily accented English and several photos (with the girl making rude faces on camera with me), we arrived on the other side of the river and bid farewell to the battlers.

Although the traffic was shockingly less (the streets, devoid of cars, strongly reminded me of home), we walked in a similarly painful fashion – although I was now carrying the light guitar whilst Eileen’s father hauled my backpack along – past a false alarm sushi bar (it wasn’t good enough? As long as it has food and means no more walking, I’m FINE with it) until we reached a colossal shopping centre near the Pearl Tower (yay, photo opportunity even though I wasn’t really there!). After many vanity shots, we climbed several stories to the Japanese restaurant.

Thanks to my own starvation and the choices of Andy, the extremely edacious eater, we ate beyond our heart’s content and feasted on sushi, noodles, wasabi (my tongue is still healing) as well as things usually deemed to be gross and inedible (eel and salmon roe, anyone?). Furthermore, we ate whilst I frightened and disturbed patrons with my happy snapping. Although the food was not exactly worth a ten kilometre walk (almost nothing is), it was still amazingly good.

By this time, I realised that every time I relaxed and sat down, I was promptly knocked down by an oncoming flu; thus, I eventually limped (yes, I was actually limping and clutching Eileen’s arm ominously) into a taxi (THANK GOD) and napped after Andy was dropped off and while we were driven home.

Reaching home at 8:30pm, I immediately changed and crashed onto the sofa, instantaneously falling into painful sleep.

My dearest Shanghainese friends, please. There are countless more humane ways to kill an insolent foreigner.

-Mel

Counts: As below...

The Results

2006-12-11T22:00:00.000+11:00

By the way, the Maths Methods (and my report, but whatever!) results came out today.

In an attempt to fight jet lag, I slept in and woke up after 9am to find my parents huddled around the computer with the results of a year's worth of complaining, hard work and burn outs. Yes, you all know about it.

However, I shall conform to the PLC Asian tradition of avoiding publication (at present, anyway) so that I do not appear like a braggart or whiner. Perhaps both. Anyway, I must continue wading through memories, and I shall expand on the end of Mathematical Methods soon...

-Mel

Day VI: Return Of The Blogger

2006-12-11T21:55:00.000+11:00

(Yes, what a coincidental title!!!)

NOTE: Suffering from a mild bout of the flu (quite possibly due to the hacking coughs of fellow sardines on the No. 782 bus) as well as pure indolence, within a few days of my trip, I vowed to stop spending three hours typing two thousand word posts and hence torturing my poor sleep-deprived host parents (their computer is in their room). However, due to an unfortunate incident near Nanjing Lu involving a grimy hand and a rather loaded camera, I have decided to salvage and sort out the mish-mash of precious memories before they dissolve into oblivion in my rather forgetful mind. Unfortunately, with the lack of any visual aids (until I manage to steal photos from my fellow travellers when I see them at school next year) and poor memory, please excuse the patchy collection of vague memories.

In spite of the fact that the prospect of staying at school was just slightly less exhilarating as going to Hangzhou, I was nevertheless extremely excited. Although this may quite possibly incite the horror and derision of my Australian friends, the dynamic environment coupled with the aforementioned facilities truly make Ge Zhi unique and interesting, and something I look forward to every day (in fact, Carrie even opted to stay in class the whole day in lieu of a massive shopping spree!).That and the hot Chinese pimps too…

Eileen and I were late today (Thursday, November 30). Although I had woken up rather punctually at the time of 6am, without the presence of a digital clock, I did not get dressed and instead chose to lie idly on my bed (that is, the infinitely softer sofa). However, hearing my host mother burst out of the room to wake up the whole household, we got up at 6:15am and dashed to school. With breakfast holding extreme significance in Chinese hearts, we decided to stop for some breakfast (and some torturous passive smoking) before heading to school rather tardy. Thus, we were met by an intimidating sentry of on-duty students awaiting the metaphorical execution of late-comers.

Although we received a stern interrogation from a tall and authoritative male student on duty, the rather simple excuse of “Oh… I was the exchange student,” proved to be sufficient. Because we were so late, we had time to mock the exercising exchange students (who were in mid-high-kick) before heading to class (by elevator, naturally).

The morning passed rather uneventfully, and consisted of several periods of complicated and unimaginably difficult classes; daunting invitations from teachers asking students to stand up amongst fifty or so peers to answer a spontaneous question (or worse still, do a question on the board); as well as some not-so-subtle perving from me.

However, during the fourth period, we were to have a lesson about Shanghai in the hi-tech language lab by Edward. Thus, meeting most of the girls (Carrie seemed to have ceased existing), we were escorted to a language lab to see a documentary about Shanghai on a impressively large projector screen. After unanimously choosing English as the language of choice (with the exception of Swee the wunderkind, who voted for Chinese… argh), we sat back to enjoy the film. However, this film was one of those shameless extended advertisements for their respective cities, which was very informative albeit cringeworthy and
painfully flowery. Also, the fact that it was an English translation of an originally Chinese documentary, it also included several American-accented comments that could only avoid mass derision from its viewers if in its original Chinese language track: “Look at the Huangpu River: it looks like a long wavy ribbon of fortune, luck and prosperity, leading us to the bright future of wealth and happiness.” Very nice. Moreover, the documentary was littered with several characteristically Asian-styled tunes: the kinds that begin with a slick and jazzy Ocean’s-Eleven-like introduction, only to morph into a screechy oboe version of ‘Fur Elise’. Great.

When the bell rang, we quickly abandoned the disturbingly interested and intrigued Ms Buckman with Mr Wang and Edward in the language lab, while we escaped the video and headed back to class. After lunch at the canteen, we headed off to 书城 (aptly translated to Book City) to purchase dirt cheap real DVDs, stationery and of course, books. Led by Mr Wang, the Shanghai guru, we walked to the store and eventually ended up in the lobby of a vast and extravagant book store. Boasting a high ceiling and several separate adjoining stores, we passed countless guards, people and of course, rows upon rows of artistically stacked books. The lobby alone was colossal, and was twice or three times the floor size of the comparatively modest Borders at Knox City (and I thought that was large). Reaching a packed escalator, I was stunned to find that 书城 had no less than seven floors in total. If Nancy were to see this…

As some girls were bestowed with ATM cards instead of cold hard Chinese cash, Mr Wang took them out to exchange their money at the bank. Hence, I located the stationery section on the map and made my way to buy some more FAS without the company of my comrades Swee and Lora. Browsing the store and spotting the location of the stationery, I passed several staring and pointing shop assistants (the unsubtlety of Chinese people will never cease to shock and amaze me: when they stare, they stare and do not stop for anything) and listened to the raspy exclamations of “Ga Ze! Ga Ze!”, which, I figured, was Ge Zhi in Shanghainese (the pointing at my badge made it slightly obvious). Turning my back to them, I avoided any eye contact and began searching through stationery to find decently scented pens. After scoffing at the four yuan pens (yes, yes, I have become a stingy Asian), I purchased some cheaper FAS, whilst inevitably, being quizzed in Chinese about my impressive school uniform and academic origins. After having my slightly improved Aussie Chinese marvelled at by the shop ladies, I dashed out with a bloated ego and bloated bag of smelly pens.

After that, I tried more shops for stationery and books to do with Chinese culture. Yes, next year’s detailed study is oh-so daunting, although Eileen was so sweet in helping me choose Chinese calligraphy from my stack of cultural pamphlets from the museum the day before. Unfortunately, it also happened to be the one that I had stupidly taken from the Japanese section (what?! They look the same!), so Eileen took time off her mountainous stack of homework (if Australians ever ever ever complain about Maths Methods homework again, I swear I will ship you to Shanghai) and helped me allocate the speaking time for this subject. Meanwhile, I played ‘帅不帅?’ (the Chinese equivalent of ‘Hot or Not?’) with her and read ‘Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul’, where I swooned during the relationships and love section in spite of Chinglish (this consists of excruciatingly bad grammar, spelling mistakes and even letters that were written the wrong way around on giant billboards) disguised as American-penned anecdotes. I mean, the Americans bastardise the English language, sure, but not the extent of “Me love him long time”. This was in spite of the fact that I had cruelly teased her about a half-an-hour long phone call to one of her best friends, Andy (“He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? Isn’t he?! ISN’T HE?!?!). Well done to ‘Mello, the Psycho Bitcho’ (the name I had earned on the bus trip to Hangzhou).

Anyway, digression aside, I eventually found myself on a high floor (albeit with the same amount of browsers as well as ‘erudites’ reading – not buying – tomes not-so furtively against the rails of the escalators) looking at the considerable collection of DVDs and VCDs in stock. I stole someone’s basket and eagerly loaded it with fluffy rom-coms; trashy Hollywood blockbludgers and the odd Chinese hit (in spite of it being made specially for Western Audiences) just to make it look authentic. However, although I had not yet seen the mega-hyped flop that was ‘The Da Vinci Code’ as well as the fact that buying the authentic DVD in China was actually cheaper than renting it in Australia, I avoided it for rather well-known reasons.

During this, I ran into Eva Chen, the cute little Asian (as they usually are) from Physics and GM*. In shock, I dragged her around to show her off to the FATs (Fellow Asian Travellers), much to their own exclamations of astonishment. It’s a small world… but it’s simply burgeoning with Chinese people.

Then, I was joined by Lora and Swee fresh from the bank, and spent an hour simply perusing the collection (and being alarmed at the pervasiveness of VCDs relative to the tiny corner of DVDs) and unsuccessfully deciphering the arcane code that is written Chinese to figure out whether or not it had an English track or English subtitles. As a result of this, I ended up rejecting half my hoard. However, I did manage to get a few, and spent about 140 yuan in total for about six DVDs (about 20 yuan a piece). After this, we navigated through the floors one by one in search of bilingual books, stationery (we eventually returned to the same shop and again received several stares, albeit colder for some reason) and Harry Potter (the first) in Chinese (which was half the size and more than half the price). Although we did have to do this all in Chinese (for the sanity of our Chinese teacher, Ms Liu) and encounter a cold (probably xenophobic) checkout guy, we enjoyed the splurge on cheap but quality goods. Who wouldn’t?

After meeting the rest at the bottom floor (and again marvelling at its gigantic size), we shared our experiences and most importantly, our purchases around, which included Chinese romance novels sporting several appearances of fobby emoticons such as >_< and ^_^”; anime (well, it is an Asian country) and makeup magazines (although vaguely following Chinese instructions could lead to a Donatella-Versace-like countenance).

We returned to Ge Zhi at 4pm carrying heavy loads of literary and filmic gold, which was when we were to go to the Tea Art room near the sports centre to see the Tea Ceremony.

We entered a lavishly furnished room (I’m sorry about the photos, but I will put them up once I get someone else’s) with polished tea tables and chairs; gorgeous oriental decorations and trinkets; bamboo ornaments; authentic Chinese paintings and a special kitchen area for making tea. It was absolutely palatial, and even included a widescreen TV at the front. What more can you ask for? After snapping innumerable photos at every possible angle, we seated ourselves before the table and met the tea makers (I also happened to run into Eileen and Doris, my previous exchange student, who just happened to be there for some untold reason).

Quite a while after everyone arrived, we finally began. Seated next to a Tea Art student (again, no photos yet), we all watched in awe as a model student of sorts sat in front of the special tea art table (which was conveniently fitted with a vent for spilt tea) and performed the Tea Ceremony whilst the teacher commentated. This consisted of solidly set methods and order of preparation, and was to be performed with graceful and fluid hand movements. Although this was all rather tedious (they had to spend ludicrous amounts of time ‘washing’ the condensation off the inside of the cup by rotating it and using the boiling water inside to ‘wash’ it off) and hypnotic, it was aesthetically pleasing and did eventually produce an exquisite cup of tea.

After bidding our tea makers goodbye and enjoying the subtle tastes and personalities of each individual glass of tea (yes, a minor's wine), we retreated to the back of the room. Pulling out some ancient oriental costumes (resembling the outfits of the stereotypically screechy dynastic dramas Chinese people call television), Kathryn (it actually suited her really well), Swee and Shermayne squeezed into the ‘one-size-fits-all’ costumes whilst Mr Wang attempted to convince us to try on a male jacket: “Don’t be silly! It’s for girls!”. However, after Ms Buckman pulled it on in order to further embrace Chinese (albeit male…) culture, we again launched into an extended photo session. Moreover, Yin Ling and Mao Ling tried on the headdresses and took head shots to appear to be a screechy monarch without the hassle of dressing up. That is what I call intelligence, especially when you see (no photos!!!) the amount of clothing.

However, the video camera permanently and seemingly surgically attached to Ms Buckman’s hand throughout the entire trip didn’t exactly enhance the dynastic atmosphere.

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: Insert bitter-toned “I don’t know anymore.” However, it was roughly 30 including others’.

Statue Whore Count: 2 (by the way, this is another new concept, which involves pictures of me in mid-pash with random male statues. Good times… except that I lost one).

Random Scream Count: 2 (no videos either, but I remember roughly).

MORE PMSing (Of A Different Kind!)

2006-11-30T23:19:00.000+11:00

Yesterday - yes, I am one day behind - was our much-anticipated jaunt to Hangzhou, a small tourist hotspot outside Shanghai.

As it was a casual clothes day (at the risk of appearing extremely superficial) I decided to fully embrace this rare opportunity to flaunt my recent purchases. Thus, I donned massive hoop earrings, a Burberry scarf, a gold bag and matching gold flats... on a caustically cold day. Eileen and I had a substantial - and free - breakfast of tapioca soup, buns and an egg in the school canteen, while the morning exercise track blasted rather bootlessly through the school's PA system into the teacher's canteen and deserted halls. Wolfing down the last remnants of our meal, Eileen and I dashed (which was, to my standard, exercise enough) to see the entire school in their rows upon rows of rigor-mortis-like snakes.

Furthermore, to the left of the crowd was a strikingly wonky row of brightly clad students. That's right, my fellow travellers had been forced, no doubt, by over-zealous PE teachers to participate in this rather embarrassing routine. Therefore, clutching my stomach in laughter, I pointed and laughed at the unfortunate exchange students ensnared by the teachers' passion for apin, whilst approximately three thousand eyes in turn flicked upwards to stare at the impertinent foreigner poking fun at their 'bootylicious' moves. Intelligent.
Unfortunately, due to my flamboyant fanfaronade, Eileen and I were quickly spotted by the roving eyes of vigilant teachers, and were asked to take part in the 'beneficial' - but highly hazardous to my octagenarian-like joints - exercise. Thus, as the Gao San (Year 12) students assumed their positions for their morning routine (apparently, the court ain't big enough for the lot of 'em) the exchange students (I was mercilessly placed in front) lined up behind Eileen to commence the exercise. Flailing our arms wildly like a million fat kids reaching for the one cake or a million people reaching for the ticket touchpad on the 5:45pm bus, we made a rather poor attempt to imitate Eileen. Hence, we resorted to doing the Macarena and the YMCA, which pretty much passed off as the real routine.

After systematically over-exerting and destroying my fragile joints with ostensibly tame bunny hopping, I then had to crawl up and down the stairs in search of fellow PLC students.
Once the flock was entirely herded (that didn't seem very logical), we squashed into a inibus with the teachers, as well as another one of the school's 22 English teachers for a two hour ride to Hangzhuo, the capital of the Zhejiang province.

We stopped on the way to relieve ourselves, buy some snacks (what kind of snacks, I am still not clear. It'd be nice if I could read Chinese...) and feasted on some pecular fruit. Its name went along the lines of 'li' something, and looked and tasted like a lemon suffering from severe elephtitis. however, there was a sweetness to it, so I was able to consume it without much complaint.

With the exception of the aforementioned pit stop, the ride consisted of some more witty (that is, self-deprecating) banter from me; gossiping and speculating about something that I shall not allude to ehre due to my previous post's NOTE; admiring my stunning gold flats as well as some happy snapping. If you haven't been following my Mr Wang Photo Count, I am referring to taking stealthy photos of Mr Wang in his twentieth wink. In case you still don't follow, we spent a considerable amount of time zooming onto a sleeping Mr Wang's face, pausing while we collapsed in laughter, and then assuming raunchy (JOKING) poses with him as someone took the photo. Yes, good times.

We eventually arrived in downtown Hangzhou, which was a close replica of Shanghai minus the psychotic traffic, ruthless motorists, incessant red-light-beating and the towering giants polluting the skyline. Bruce eventually manouvred the bus into a parking lot outside a large and affluent hotel-like building, and we entered an opulent reception hall filled with luxurious looking chairs, paintings, a dazzling chandelier and a undescribably beautiful and detailed carving of a village scene along the walls (yes, see the photos). After searching for a table big enough to fit the entire party, we were eventually slotted into a private function room and dined on a lavish feast of fatty pork, buns, fried rice, 'beggar's chicken' and sweet bamboo pieces (I think), among others. After feeling pangs of agony in our abdomen with the now familiar post-meal bloat, we climbed onto the bus rather laboriously to go to shopping for silk and 'ou fen' or lotus powder before sailing on the famous Xi Hu (West Lake).

Although we drove for what seemed like ages past several rather familiar landmarks (we passed the 'Shangri-La Hotel' sign three times...) to the lake that was already on our left side for the entire duration of the trip, we did arrive eventually. First, we decided to go shopping, and dashed through the rain to a small lotus powder and souvenir store. With some impressive bargaining from Edward (he got us the price of 15 yuan per packet from 22 yuan), we bought our lotus powder. Irrespective of what they said, I felt obliged to buy my family some gifts, and settled for no less than six - count 'em - six packs. I carried this massive weight to the silk store, and bought two authentic and gorgeous silk scarves for 10 yuan (which was originally 38 yuan - thank you Edward).

Next, we boarded a boat, which appeared to have a small house atop its platform. However, due to the fact that it was raining heavily, the putative beauty of Xi Hu was obscured by fog and water droplets, and we could only make out fuzzy outlines of nearby islands and fishing boats (they still fished...?!). Climbing onto two islands in total, we walked through each of them; admired its souvenirs (whose rather useless but nevertheless cute bric-a-brac was same throughout); watched Edward and Michael play 'Rattlesnake Rocks', which was the sound made when two magnetic rocks collided in mid-air; failed to copy Edward and Michael; observde the stunning scenery and viewed some architectural gems (such as the oriental gazebos and belvederes). Dwelling in a souvenir shop on the second island, however, I was left behind (as usual in Australia) by the group. Hearing Mr Wang shriek "Melissa!" in both exasperation and apprehension, I eventually joined him under the umbrella to catch up with the group after some liberal video-cameraing with Mrs Buckman and him.

Due to the bitter cold as well as not being able to bear my complaining any longer (my poor shoes' lace ornaments were absolutely mangled by filthy water), we decided to head home after my statue-whoring (I have taken several photos with male statues apparently in mid-kiss), before the deadline and before our hosts declared us as 'presumed dead'. Thus, hopping onto the bus, we informed our hosts that we would reach there by about 5pm to 5:30pm latest, and commenced the long ride home (with the heaters graciously turned up full blast in order to combat frostbite and the strong possibility of amputation). The bus ride continued on in the same fashion as the bus ride to Hangzhou (with the exception of a blissful one hour nap), as I established a reputation as an absolutely insane psychotic bitch, or, as Lora put it, 'Mello the psycho bitcho'. Yes, I went slightly too far with the banter, and crossed into unspeakable territory, earning the title of a statue-whoring, strip-whoring, drug-whoring, drug pushing (Kathryn and Carrie were already undergoing a suspicious 'high', prancing through the rain and singing like a broken violin after sitting behind me on the bus) and hearing impaired rapist (don't ask...). Really, that's what they teach me at PLC (JUST JOKING, PLEASE DON'T EXPEL ME...).

However, due to some unforseen and mystifying reason (possibly traffic or the fact that rain on the road causes extreme slowness), the deadline creeped forward to become later and later, and we were rapidly running out of credit from calling our hosts innumerable times to reschedule. 5:30pm changed to 6pm, which then moved to 6:30pm, which then shifted to 7pm, which became 7:15pm and then 7:30pm, before becoming slightly later than that. Very organised and accurate, I must say, Mr Wang.

When we finally reached the school to meet with our hosts who had been at school for more than 12 hours at that point, Eileen took me to 'Xiao Fei Yang' or literally, 'Little Fat Sheep' for steam boat. Although it was difficult to carry my unbelievably heavy luggage without arms (yes, they had fallen off already), we eventually arrived alive (and not squashed by fellow bussers) at the restaurant to find Eileen's parents (who had waited up to four hours) sitting there. We had an absolutely scrumptious banquet of lamb and steam boat soup (although it tastes uncannily like water in Australia, it was incredibly rich and brimming with flavour over here). Feeling queasy with the usual PMS (Post Meal Satiation, not Post Methods Syndrome, Pre Menstrual Syndrome or Pre Marital Sex), we decided to take a taxi home due to my heavy bags and inability to walk in the cold (that is, the inability for my shoes to make contact with any more puddles).

Here's to some more PMSing of a different kind!

-MelMS

Mr Wang Photo Count: 16

Random Scream Count: 2 (Andy and Eileen in the ping pong room on Monday. Apparently, Pauline challenged me to scream randomly at any and every person in sight. Furthermore, if they don't clutch their heart in agony and shock, it doesn't count, so I decided to satisfy her with at least two. I will try to do better tomorrow...)

PS. Excuse any blatant typos and grammatical errors, as speaking and listening to Chinese as well as being in a country devoid of any proper-sounding and properly translated (without countless typos and tense problems) English has caused my own English to deteriorate at an alarming and exponential rate. 我真的不会说英文了。

Vulture Street (PLC Edition)

2006-11-30T02:35:00.000+11:00

NOTE: Due to the fact that I rather foolishly gave Eileen my blog's address, her entire class spent their computer class today reading my Shanghainese adventures with much fervour. In doing so, however, they came across my mathematical misadventures and unhealthy paranoia with regards to tinea; hence, they simultaneously obliterated any self-respect remaining in my body. Thus, in a ditch to preserve any last iota of dignity, I have decided to keep my complaints, rants, perve-ntures, and potentially embarrassing anecdotes to myself: I'm sure you've had your dose for now.

Infinitely more organized today, Eileen and I set out to school at the same time to go to school. Again braving the life-threatening squeeze on the bus, we reached a pleasant dumpling shop for an unusually (in Australia, anyway) substantial breakfast and made it to school without much incident. However, upon reaching the class (I went by lift) after admiring the students on-duty (they were to catch any latecomers or students with untidy uniforms), I found the entire class dressed in their PE uniform. Hearing a bell, I joined up with Swee and Yin Ling to go to a small balcony above the mammoth sports oval (the rough equivalent to PLC's luscious sports grounds). There, we watched a thousand(or perhaps two)-strong crowd – the entire school – commence with their daily morning exercise. With a saccharine-sweet female voice blasting through the speakers and counting, the students lined up and adjusted themselves in order to form incredibly straight lines both horizontally and vertically. Then, they began a well-memorized routine, although my host and her friend had taken the opportunity to wag. After watching literally countless robotic manouvres and star-jumps, they all turned around and sang the anthem (my host and her friend included) as five students raised the flag. Feeling overwhelmingly vulnerable in the case of a bomb threat, we quickly headed back to class when they were done.

Today, all of us had resolved to be authentic exchange students and attend class with our hosts. Thus, as Swee attended Physics, Lora and I attended Maths (*cough*). It was much better than I expected; because of the notation as well as the universality of maths, I could make out most of it as well as the teacher’s jabbering: something about increasing, decreasing, odd and even functions as well as frequent allusions to ‘dan diao zeng han shu’, which literally translates to 'boredom increasing functions'. Amen, sister.

After that, we had a Gao Er or Year 11 (I think) biology class by Ms Bao. It was taught in English (thank God), although her relatively laboured tirade hinted that it was usually in Chinese. It consisted of much information on photosynthesis and the like; however, having learnt it in Year 7 as well as feeling simply exhausted and slightly bored, we did not manage to catch the majority of the lesson.

After that, we had English, English being the best subject there for me for obvious reasons. Already familiar with the amiable teacher Jenny as well as the 'unchallengeable giant' Lin Hwaimin (don't ask...), we listened to her loquacious introduction, in which she spoke about her personal life rather candidly but remained entertaining and witty, and shouted us a round of milk tea following her first-prize victory in a speech contest. However, after she finished chatting rather genially, she turned to me, her 'little Australian friend' and asked me to read the last section of an article in their English books: Embracing Society: the Life of Lin Hwaimin. Trembling with apprehension as fifty pairs of eyes scanned me and expected a shining example of perfect English, I began. Despite stumbling slightly in the first paragraph and adopting an unusually fobby accent, I eventually waded through the article and finished reasonably articulately, much to the admiration (or it could have been sheer horror – I'm not exactly sure) of my peers. Following some more discussion, Jenny asked students to stand up (yes, in China they don't remain in their seats when answering a question) and describe their idea of the best place for settlement. After several mentions of Australia (I'm still figuring out whether it was due to my presence or they genuinely wished to see kangaroos and koalas literally jumping across the street, as they so eagerly expressed...), it was Hart or Chen Bing's (the guy who gave up his seat for me, or better known as Lora's perve-target) turn. Bursting out of his seat, he spoke animatedly about the aforementioned fauna bouncing across his front door, as well as the apparent peacefulness of Australian life. Hearing this, Jenny looked directly at me:

"That's simply excellent, Chen Bing! Well, perhaps it is best that you improve your English and then marry an Australian girl so that your dreams will come true. That's right, Chen Bing, an Australian girl. Hmm, I wonder if there are any single Australian girls that are in Shanghai. Tell me when you see an Australian girl, and I will help you woo her..."

Yes, she may well have said it another fifteen hundred billion times, but I did not notice, due to the fact that my head was pressed painfully on my desk to avoid blinding fellow students with my tomato-red cheeks. That welcome was too warm for my liking, thank you very very much...

After a forty minute lesson of English and describing to Swee in detail the catastrophic class, I sat down as the Chemistry teacher burst authoritatively into the room. However, this class was not as enjoyable as the previous one, as the teacher began speaking what seemed to me fluent gibberish. All of elements were removed beyond recognition due to the fact that they had been translated into their Chinese form, with the exception of their symbols. It could have quite possibly been something about dissociation or running electricity through an aqueous solution, but I really could not make it out. Moreover, during the class, seeing my rather barren desktop, the Chemistry teacher froze mid-speech and stomped towards me, asking in rapid Chinese:

"Where are your books?! WHERE ARE YOUR BOOKS?!"

In panic, I wheeled around and looked at the boy behind me, hoping desperately that she was referring to him. No such luck. The class erupted into gales of laughter, as I smiled in absolute bewilderment and intimidation, while Eileen quietly explained the situation to the teacher. Hell, give me a Chinese boyfriend any day.

After having another ambrosial lunch (compared to our canteen food, anyway) in the Ge Zhi canteen of ham omelette, fatty pork (mmm, fat...), vegetables, rice and soup, we set off for the Shanghai Museum. Walking through dirty streets paved with ominous patches of phlegm-like substances, we walked into the lavish museum to see the several sculptures and pottery exhibits on display. The works were absolutely stunning, given the time period (almost all were before 1000BC); however, we were unfortunately forbidden to take cameras in. Personal favourites included the several detailed carvings and paintings on wood, pottery and bronze; the frequently seen chicken head motif (I don't know either...); a chamber pot; a bronze spittoon and most of all, the angry camel (there happens to be a replica in Eileen’s lounge room). However, due to our insatiable lust for cheap imitation goods as well as the shooting pain in our joints, we headed off within an hour to Hong Kong Shopping Centre.

Given until 3:15pm to shop, Lora, Swee and I headed to various shoe shops in search of flats. However, as we reached the end of the chains of proper, trustworthy shops, we found ourselves in the cheap imitation goods district, otherwise known as heaven. Browsing a jewellery store, we were simultaneously grabbed, pinched and shouted at from all directions from desperate self-disrespecting sellers. All seeming to boast the exact same variety of goods, I ended up looking at a nice pair of star-shaped studs. However, hearing its high price, I attempted to bargain rather indifferently, and then began to walk away when I didn't get what I wanted. Suddenly, the girl grabbed my arm with the grip of a voracious vulture, saying (in Chinese):

"Okay, okay, I'll give you (insert price two yuan higher than my asking price)!"

"No way, I don't want it anyway."

I began to writhe in her grip in a futile but agonizing attempt to get away.

"NO NO NO!!! I'll give it to you! I'll give it to you!"

Ladies and gentlemen, that is how you do it in China.

After doing this in several stores, I found myself with several goods before my rather indolent sense of frugality kicked in. However, during this shopping experience, I managed to help Swee and Lora immensely with their bargaining (yes, I'm boasting yet again, Swee and Lora, but people have the right to know). For example, while they were willing to settle for 25 yuan for a 58 yuan keychain and with the frugality already pumping through my veins, I dragged them away, citing "15 yuan or nothing!" in Chinese. After some fervent bickering (but not too much, due to their desperation), I quickly got what I wanted, and consequently got an immense confidence boost. Ah, I love being a tightass.

This continued for quite a while, as I saved my dear friends and myself from being ripped off by over-complimentary (not that it's a bad thing...) stall owners. After ten minutes, I had already bought a gold bag for 50 yuan (much to my dismay, it was 50 yuan first offer at another store) and another pair of hoops. After losing Swee, getting extremely distraught and then finding her again, I remembered a passing desire for a long necklace from a long time ago. Thus, I returned to the first store to have a look. Despite warnings from Swee and Lora about a terrifyingly roguish middle-aged vulture that ceaselessly referred to herself in third person (Ah Yi, or Aunty), I headed to her stall to have a look. Feigning horror at the price of 98 yuan, I began to argue for 30 yuan. However, after Ah Yi modeled the necklace and attempted to persuade me to buy it for 50 yuan, I raised my price to 32 yuan, much to the shocked exclamations of both Ah Yi and an adjacent shop owner:

"How brilliant is that foreigner? Raising it by two yuan..."

Not falling for the compliments (that much...), I eventually raised it to 33 yuan and got what I wanted after performing the "Meh, I don't really want it anyway," trick. Take that, Ah Yi.

After walking to the end of the shopping centre and back, as well as blowing two chances at a cute, stripy and thin casual scarf due to my over-stinginess (hence causing my confidence to be shot), I found Mrs Buckman at the Ah Yi store looking at some watches. Looking at the 18 yuan price, I asked the three stall owners whether they could make it 5 yuan. With much irritation and hostility, however, they rebuked me, telling that it was a fixed sale price. Trying the "Meh" trick and failing, I heard the sounds of swearing and jeering in rapid Shanghainese behind me, which possibly went along the lines of "damn foreigners...". Almost turning around and performing taekwondo on those [insert expletive], I eventually returned to the meeting place to wait several hundreds of hours for Carrie and Kathryn to return.

We had a long pep talk (or 'pow-wow') from Mrs Buckman about punctuality and basic safety advice in Shanghai as a result, and then headed back to school. However, due to the fact that our hosts had their electives until 5:30pm, Swee and I armed ourselves with a detailed map and headed to the shoe shops that I had seen yesterday (I felt immense travail when I saw my gorgeous gold flats were 15 yuan only one day later) to commence a shoe spurge. I bought an exquisite pair of black pointy flats (almost exactly in the style that I had always yearned for) for 39 yuan, while Swee, after much goading and cajoling from yours truly, bought a pair of brown boots that were apparently of 'high quality'. Of course, as 'high quality' is really a synonym for 'cheap imitation'...

After screaming shrilly and flailing our limbs while crossing the road (hmm... spot the foreigners...), endless witty (by that I mean toilet humour) banter as well as laughing and speculating about a suspiciously large human-sized mound of excrement in the middle of the footpath (I wonder how it got there, with the massive amount of people passing every second), we eventually returned to school (surprisingly promptly, might I add) and headed home for a dinner. This consisted of pork chops, bread, ABC soup (vegetable soup named by Mum for the massive amounts of vitamins A, B and C in it) and rice (shockingly, for the first time in China).

I believe it is okay to assume that Swee arrived at home rather safely, without being attacked and mauled by a particularly bitter vulture by the name of Ah Yi.

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: 11

PS. If any hot Chinese boys in Gao Yi (11) Ban happen to be reading this, I was serious about the Chinese boyfriend thing...

PPS. As we were very generously and kindly given a Ge Zhi postcard pack and official badge (designed by the Mao Zedong himself!) by the staff, we decided to pin the badge onto our fancy blazers while on outings. However, this was the biggest mistake you could make, especially if you were a naturally self-conscious person like yours truly. With the 'gorgeous' and affluent-looking uniform as well as the smart badge of one of the most famous schools in Shanghai, EVERY SINGLE person on the street that happened to lay eyes on us promptly performed a double take, wheeled around, stopped in their tracks and stared shamelessly at our breasts (which turned out to be the location of the Mao Zedong badge, thank God). For example, a woman did just this while we were outside the museum, and stood still for so long and so close (perhaps she had poor eyesight) it appeared that she was attempting to blend into our exchange group. After what seemed like twenty minutes of relentless staring from her (as well as every single person on the street, and I am NOT joking), she turned around to leave, much to our relief. However, one minute later, the same lady returned, dragging another friend of hers, and promptly dashed to my backside and stared and pointed at my ass (presumedly my skirt). Yes, the people of China know not the meaning of subtlety.

Back To School (In December...?)

2006-11-28T23:36:00.000+11:00

After crashing the computer last night (well two nights ago due to the lateness of this post) at 10:45pm (and thus failing to play another round of poker), I gave up and went to bed on the sofa, which was infinitely more comfortable as the wooden boards that are the beds here. Although I planned to sleep in as much as possible, I was awoken by the now familiar Shanghainese babble (or exceptionally fast and incoherent Mandarin... if so, I feign deafness or assume that it is truly Shanghainese) at 6am. Accustomed to the morning rush to get ready for school, I fumbled around as usual for several missing items (although they are never missing when not needed). After proving myself to be an extremely disorganised, messy and simply infuriating person in the mornings, we eventually got ready to go, walking out of the door clutching our breakfasts. We waited for the bus, and it eventually arrived with nearly ten hundred billion trillion passengers uncomfortably squashed into the windows. Thus, when I was forced to ask Eileen to pay my fare with the swanky transport card due to the fact that I had barely even managed to climb onto the bus, I squeezed myself onto the bus' steps and was almost knocked out by the hydraulic door. Excellent start to the day.

However, as I was situated at the front of the bus, I was able to watch the astonishing sights in Shanghai fly past, particularly those on the mammoth Nanpu suspension bridge. During the ride, I irritated Eileen with relentless "Are we there yets?", and eventually reached the bus stop without falling out of the bus as a result of the countless other people (seriously, it's impossible to count due to the fact that your face is pressing against someone else's ass). However, on account of being a spoilt and posh PLC snob, I persisted with the "Are we there yets?" as we walked through the darkness for what seemed like hours to reach Ge Zhi High School before 7:30am.

We passed several roadside stalls (which are to China as ants are to jam donuts) and, at about 7am, finally joined the floods of Ge Zhi students seeping into the school gates. Seeing Mr Wang and Mrs Buckman, I again experienced a Paulinesque fit of elation: yes, they were English speakers! Hallelujah! I then proceeded to knock Mrs Buckman out with an animated hug and chatted to her in rapid English. Is there no better cure for home sickness than speaking to an Aussie? I think not.

After that, we ascended the stairs (yes, due to my alarming weakness, I was completely exhausted by the third floor) to Eileen's classroom on the seventh floor. Yes, the stairs were an absolute 'biatch', and only managed to destroy my emaciated chicken legs with absurd amounts of lactic acid. Despite meeting a familiar face - Andy - as well as being introduced to a multitude of curious students (and being asked whether there were many kangaroos jumping along the suburban streets of Melbourne), I craved the presence of more English-speaking Australians and began an extensive search across three floors - not more stairs, oh God, please - for my fellow travellers. I eventually found Mao Ling, Carrie, Shermayne, Kathryn and Yin Ling, but failed to spot my tattooettes (yes, we were planning to get tattoos where the grass don't grow instead of hoodies as a memento of the trip) Lora and Swee, the latter of whom actually happened to be right next to my class...

After the bell (which sounded strangely like a phone ringing), I grudgingly bid goodbye to my fellow Australians and sat down in English class with Eileen. It was rather interesting to see Chinese people idolising bad American-accented English and comprehend and read remarkably advanced 'English as a Second Language' or 'ESL' articles so articulately. However, after watching to the English teacher's PPT (Powerpoint presentation) backfire and receiving hospitable praise for teaching the students how to pronounce 'choreography' correctly, I was asked by Edward - an English teacher at Ge Zhi and our guide - to go to the eighth floor (out of ten) for a meeting.

I used the lift (praise the heavens... although it took more time waiting for the lift than it would take to climb one flight of stairs to the eighth floor) and milled around awkwardly, unable to remember Edward's directions to the meeting rooms (yes, I had assumed that he was babbling in Shanghainese). Eventually, Edward, Lora and Swee emerged from the lift to my thrilled squeals and we went into the meeting room, which was already filled with other more attentive students as well as the teachers. We then received an extremely warm and amiable welcome from the Ge Zhi principal himself (as well as massive amounts of praise for PLC), although this too sounded uncannily like Shanghainese babble. Luckily for Mrs Buckman, however, she was given a personal translator, so I was forced to watch, smile and nod in dismay as everyone understood the principal but me. Yes, me speak and hear Chinese very very good... Argh.

After the meeting, we were taken to our exchange student meeting room and had a comprehensive and access-all-areas guided tour of Ge Zhi High School (see above photos). Without going into much detail (yes, a picture is worth a million of my words), the facilities were simply mind-blowing: it was like a whole fitness centre, entertainment centre, school and office building all rolled into one, and more. Not only did they have a larger diversity of school facilities (such as a rooftop garden, a chess and checkers room, a tea ceremony room, a ping pong room and a whole room dedicated to snooker and pool), but their facilities far outstripped and outshone those of PLC: there were whole labs dedicated to Chemistry and or Physics (with separate computer and experiment labs or rooms for learning about electricity, which were complete with built in ammeters and voltmeters into the tables). Thus, with the PLC snobs completely dumbfounded by the extraordinary school, we managed to take incalculable photos of each and every room in the tour.

By the way, highlight of the tour included a tour of the several pool and snooker tables in the pool and snooker room, which also consisted of rather subaltern games of pool, unbelievable

With piercing trevail shooting up our legs, we were rewarded with free time, in which we could do anything and everything we wanted. Yes, we were the equivalent to monarchs and royalty at Ge Zhi, and that's the way (a-huh a-huh) I like it. Feeling the enticing and beguiling influence of the pool tables calling us, Lora, Swee and I headed downstairs in order to satisfy our yearning for the pool tables. Although we were lost in the labyrinth that is Ge Zhi High School, thanks to Swee's marvellous sense of direction and some valuable advice from an amiable woman, we eventually found ourselves in front of the room. Asking a kindly man and lady from the chess room to open the door for us, we whiled away the time teaching Lora the 'complexities' of the game and simply entertaining ourselves by tapping balls into some holes. Yes, fun fun.

Without a working clock in the room, we allowed ourselves navigation time (for obvious reasons) and headed back to the meeting room early. However, after making innumerable wrong turns, we ended up being the last there, albeit at the prompt time of 11:15am. That's right, the ingenuity demanded of the Chinese students to simply attend Ge Zhi High School, let alone pass their grades, will never cease to baffle me.

Taking a lift down to basement level, we found ourselves in a colossal canteen burgeoning with teachers and chefs armed with massive stacks of cartons of food (the adjacent separate student dining room was still empty). Following Michael’s (another English teacher and guide) lead, we collected a tray bearing the Ge Zhi insignia of rather scrumptious-looking lunch from the chefs. This consisted of vegetables and rice; a bowl of soup; fried fish; a nashi pear (which I declined); chopsticks from what was supposed to be a straw dispenser in Australia and a soup spoon from a nifty dispenser. Wolfing down our meal rather edaciously, we spent our time marvelling at the nourishing deliciousness of canteen food in China, as well as the fact that it was free. That's right, the exact opposite of what you will find in Australia...

After being candidly interviewed on camera by Mrs Buckman (yes, it wasn't exactly very shrewd to proclaim that Ge Zhi was far better than PLC on a PLC video camera), we finished our lunches and returned, rather satiated again, to the meeting room. We viewed our itineraries and engaged in leisurely chit-chat while marking Chinese students' English homework (yes, Edward took full advantage of our presence). Their work was remarkably articulate, with the exception of a few tense and grammar problems. However, due to the fact that I had spoken almost entirely in Chinese for the entire duration of the trip so far, I found myself making countless grammatical errors: "You should join you sentences so that [it] sounds better". Yes, it must be infectious. Moreover, Swee, Lora and I spent much time laughing at their sentences: I did the housework today. Sometimes labour is so pleasurable, isn't it? Also, we read an absolutely hilarious anecdote about Simon and Debbie (see photo), before heading off to a music lesson with a Ms Young at about 12:30pm.

We were lead by Michael and Edward to a music room and seated ourselves at the front of the stand, in front of some (perhaps they were Gao Er or Year 11) students. After watching an excerpt from 'Breakfast at Tiffany's', listening to Ms Young's melodious warbling and the learning how to sing an Audrey Hepburn classic (Moon River), she showed us a video of an elegant waltz. At this point, the PLC girls' hearts began to pound vigorously against our chests: we were going to dance.

With many male students nominating themselves to take part in the waltzing class in front of the disparaging eyes of their peers, they proceeded to choose their female partners: PLC girls. With a cocky male student apparently infatuated with Kathryn, we watched, amused, as Shermayne, Lora (humorously partnered with a monolithic male) and she mimicked the dancing positions as illustrated on a Powerpoint image onto a widescreen TV behind them. We had several rounds of dancing, which consisted of PLC girls, Ge Zhi girls and boys learning how to waltz. However, when approached by prospective partners, I hastily quickly averted my gaze and thus, with Yin Ling and Swee, avoided the putatively inevitable waltz class. After watching as the same cocky male student again picked Kathryn a second time and waltzing with her yet again with amorous eyes, we listened to two Ge Zhi boys and Shermayne (rather tunefully) crooning to a Chinese song of their choice. During this, we heard every student exclaiming in absolute astonishment when they realized that the Australian exchange students could actually speak Chinese (heaven forbid... this continued the whole day. Yes, even my host parents were so shocked I could use chopsticks on the first night, they still ordered a knife and fork specially for me). At the end of the class, we saw Kathryn escape swiftly from the room, much to the mystification and dismay of that male student. Well, there is such a thing as subtlety, you know.

Due to (Lora and my) shameless braggadocio, Swee was obliged to play a match with Michael, a self-proclaimed badminton star. Amidst more brazen cheering, we watched as Swee proved to be a rather challenging underestimated opponent, although Michael seemed to be emerging the overall winner and complacently jeered at such a virile young badminton player's (Michael) defeat over a fragile sixteen year old. However, after ten minutes, I found the badminton match rather tedious and headed off towards the classrooms in search of my host. After getting hopelessly lost and enlisting the help of several staff members, I found an empty classroom in place of where they should have been. Thus, groaning in utter dismay, I again fluked myself all the way to the badminton courts and lost a badminton game to Mao Ling.

After meeting Eileen at the end of the day, I took a lift downstairs while she was forced to descend the innumerable flights of stairs without the company of her particularly uncharitable exchange student. Walking home, we found a charming little shoe shop in which were the several of the most exquisite flats I had ever seen (yes, Australia isn't exactly renown for its 'unparalleled' style...). Thus, after much deliberation over the colour and size (yes, the cumbersome Western paddles on the bottom of my body are tres inconvenient in a country burgeoning with cute little Asians), I collected my jaw off the floor and paid a measly sum of 29 yuan for a dazzling pair of gold flats with a lace ribbon on the front.

Oh, Shanghai, Shanghai, wherefore art thou not situated near my abode?

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: 11

Shopping, FAS And Further Bloating...

2006-11-26T23:01:00.000+11:00

In spite of the fact that I was suffering from a severe shortage of sleeping time, I got up at the nice and early time of about 6:30am to the ceaseless beeping of cars below our 9th floor apartment.

After brushing my teeth (which tasted like conditioner due to the fact that it had spilt all over my precious toiletries), cleaning out my toiletry bag and thus throwing away some precious conditioner-saturated belongings, I consumed the massive amounts of leftovers from yesterday as breakfast as well as forcing in some dumplings (gosh, the amount of food that these Chinese trenchermen eat will never cease to shock and frighten little me) that my host mother bought for us to eat. Consequently I found myself unusually bloated after breakfast, which is a relatively light meal as what I'm used to.

During the meal, I spotted my host's Maths homework. Yes, despite escaping to a whole other continent far across the globe, the pervasiveness of my fearsome arch-enemy will never cease to pursue its hapless and helpless victim. Excellent. Anyway, feeling my 'Mathematical Peak' after revising relentlessly for the Maths Methods exam, I confidently asked for a Maths problem from my Year 10 host sister. Yes, and it turned out to be the biggest mathematical mistake I could ever make in (literally) the world. Armed with an ostensibly good mathematical background thanks to my good friend MM3/4, my mouth hit the floor rather painfully when I saw their 'standard Year 10 ' exercise: If f((x+1)/(1-x))=x, f(x)=____? Three letters: WTF. Although I managed to score several dead-ended and bootless attempts in solving this rather uncooperative conundrum, I found myself utterly stuck, like a fat lady in a training bra. My host father came over, saw me and asked if I was okay before hearing my host sister reply that "No, she can't do it." Argh! Thus, I was extremely resolute: I had to finish it. But after another 10 minutes with no success, I capitulated to this psychotic mind-basher of a problem and asked my Year 10 student for help, please. She laughed it off (almost certainly at the mindless braggart seated next to her), and promptly gave me the solution, which I still could not make any sense of. However, in a desperate attempt to preserve any last shreds of dignity (if applicable), I did not ask her about it, and nodded vaguely to signal my comprehension... Of course I understand. But damn Chinese ingenuity and DAMN Australian stupidity. ARGH.

Shrinking to her parents room to go on the computer, I attempted to finish my previous post whilst my host practiced her oboe. After spending aeons simply attempting to decipher the incomprehensible code (Chinese) before me, I completely gave up and simply relied on A: pure instinct from my previous experience with Windows XP and B: icons (ah, icons... not only aesthetically pleasing but absolute life savers). However, due to an unforseen crash (I shall now shake my fist vigorously at Bill Gates and company), I lost some of my post and thus gave up to go shopping for clothes, shoes and fobby scented stationery at around 10:15am with Eileen.

Clutching my camera rather enthusiastically (as I had forgotten to take it to the opulent five star restaurant), Eileen and I took some photos and also attracted the dirty looks and disapproval of several passers-by. After tapping our public transport cards (which can apparently also be used for anything from taxis to airplanes) on the cool touchpad thing to pay our fare, we settled down in an extremely crowded bus (as is every other bus in China) and watched the two TV screens installed in the bus (heavenly). It was a rather lengthy ride, and I was deafened by the constant unnecessary horning as a result. As we walked towards our destination, the famous shopping heaven Nanjing Lu (Nanjing Road), I succumbed to my consumerist desires in the underground tunnel and bought a Burberry-printed scarf for a mere 10 yuan (which is about AUD$1.67). Although I ruefully spotted several nicer scarfs of infinitely better quality during my trip, I was still extremely pleased with the outrageously cheap purchase.

When we reached Nanjing Lu, I marvelled at the absolute size of the colossal shopping heaven: it was exactly like the mall in Burke Street in Melbourne, except that it was approximately ten trillion times fuller, bigger, longer and wider. After bumping into countless people (with good reason), we decided to head into an adorable kid's department store (which was full of Barbies, cute clothing and everything else you can find at Myer except smaller) in order to satisfy my craving for fobby Asian stationery. Although I managed to buy Pauline's cheap eraser (haha) for about 2 yuan, there was no scented stationery (yes, I am a self-confessed pen-sniffer); thus, we decided to go somewhere else for cheaper and smellier pens.

After trawling the gargantuan street, Eileen and I went to a Japanese store for some noodles. We ordered some noodle soup (with frighteningly large ladles as soup spoons...?), chicken (shock horror) wings and enoki mushrooms wrapped in beef. It was divine, although she again ordered a ridiculous amount of food and I found myself excruciatingly bloated (but I am proud to proclaim that I did finish the noodles I ordered for myself).

We tried another cheap clothing store, but, craving for the even cheaper but squalid Asian clothing market stalls, we left Nanjing Lu (but took a crazy Mr-Hankin-amount of photos on the way) on a bus to go to the aforementioned market stalls. It took a while to get there, but there were again countless shopping centre burgeoning with the stalls. I immediately found a nice pair of knee-length cargo pants to replace my rather tight pair at home, and paid 90 yuan (AUD$15) for both the pants and a belt. Seeing the presence of several fashionable overcoats, I tried on several with no avail; they did not seem to suit me at all. Perhaps it was the pair of Adidas shoes on my clumsy Western feet, but I just did not seem cute, Asian and fobby enough to pull it off. Thus, after giving up the search for some imitation haute couture (fashionable Supresque clothing was disappointingly and surprisingly scarce), we decided to pursue my lust for FAS (Fobby Asian Stationery).

We took the same route 66 bus to a stationery shop somewhere (I have given up attempting to remember the actual Chinese names of districts for at least three seconds), and navigated boldly through red lights (yes, I'm getting a hang of this whole Asian road-dominance thing, except for that fact that I'm still getting almost run over twice per crossing) and relatively squalid streets on the oh-so-wrong right hand side of the road. Eventually, we reached a medium-sized bookshop with a corner (or shrine, rather) dedicated to stationery. Due to the several 'sheng ci' or new Chinese words that I requested my host sister to give to me, we bought a gorgeous pack of 'sheng ci' flash card things as well as some FAS (Fobby Asian Stationery), much to my delight. Yes, I was drooling with ecstasy: I was actually in the fabled FAS heaven. However, due to the fact that there was another stationery shop not far away, we paid (I watched as Eileen argued about the dodgy price calculation and listened to the shoplady's incoherent Shanghainese rantings) for our pens and walked quite a distance past several of those notorious and dirty road side stalls and such to the next stationery shop.

After looking through several glasses filled with scented pens (nasal bliss) and what not, I managed to buy approximately around ten scented thin-tipped gel pens, ten scented highlighters, two scented blue ball pens, some name stickers, some 'Sign Here' kind of tags, whiteout tape as well as another blue Burberry-like pencil case. Yes, you can see that I splurged on this FAS, but due to the extremely cheap prices (about 1 to 2 yuan per piece and 12 yuan or AUD$2 for the pencil case), how could I resist?!

We then walked what seemed like ages on the dangerous roads (never in Australia...) to meet Andy, who was Eileen's friend and my host for next week, and Bill, who was his friend. We were picked up in front of Bill's school by Andy's father Tony (yes, they actually had a car) to go to Central Avenue, which was, true to its name, a major road in the centre of Shanghai. After marvelling at a peculiarly-shaped concert hall and sundial clock thing (refer to pictures), we took full advantage of the rather windy conditions that day and bought a kite for a mere 20 yuan to fly in the stunning square before us. Satisfied with his 20 yuan, the man was kind enough to help us fly the kite, and managed to reduce it to a diminutive spot in the darkening sky. We each took turns attempting to maintain its height, as well as tormenting and teasing a poor little boy beside us who didn't manage to get his kite that high (well... it was just me, really).

After a while, we took a leisurely stroll through the square, past a bunch of extremely tall posts (and wasted speculating about the actual number of posts from a distance, only to find out that Andy was right in saying there were eight - not sixteen or thirty-two... argh...). We walked past these posts; the architectural gem that was the colossal Shanghai Science and Technology Centre; a massive welcome sign (I think...) on the front lawns made entirely out of red flowers; as well as several roadside sellers to enter another architecturally superior square. While the Shanghainese students shrugged the sheer beauty of it all, my eyes had begun to ache painfully due to my absolute amazement and wonder at the rather busy Central Square.

We spent a long time simply wandering down a long and wide footpath gazing at the well-kept gardens lining either side. However, due to the fact that we were supposed to meet Tony back at our starting point at 5:05pm, we decided to head back. When we ran into Tony (with good timing), we were then chauffered to a large stadium, in which was a classy restaurant that served famous Shanxi noodles (don't ask me... just smile and nod). In spite of our reservations resulting from a hearty lunch of noodles, we ordered several dishes (again... God, it's shocking how Chinese people still manage to appear underweight given the circumstances), consisting of a plate of tofu-like meat and 'wood ear' (the actual English word for it was debatable) as well as noodles of many forms: fruit-peel-like hand cut noodles, carrot-coloured noodles, quaint scab-shaped noodles and crystal noodles were among these. After impressing or disgusting the waitresses with our gluttony, we eventually found ourselves too full to finish our meal, and decided to take some home for Eileen's parents.

We were picked up at 6:30pm and taken home to more find that Eileen's parents had more food. Honestly, they should know that it is possible to kill someone with roast beef, irrespective of how succulent it appears.

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: 6

PS. Please excuse any trace of intense sarcastic bitterness in the post as Internet Explorer crashed and lost this post YET AGAIN.

On The First Day, Mel...

2006-11-26T11:50:00.000+11:00

Due to the alluring call of poker as well as general indolence, I failed to post yesterday; however, rest assured that Melissa Tam has not been run over by a rogue motorcyclist (just yet).

After two hours of leisure time at Changi Airport, Singapore, we boarded the plane SQ 826 at 7:40 for a five hour flight to Shanghai. With the party divided into two rows, I found myself seated adjacent to a Shanghainese man with a spare seat in the middle. Throwing our luggage on this chair, I waited an hour before finishing 'My Super Ex-Girlfriend'. We were also served brunch (which was again slightly bland); however, to my absolute horror, the flight attendant cleared the set of cutlery (which this time included a metal butter knife in lieu of the flimsy plastic one on SQ 218) that I had deliberately placed far from her reach. Rats.

Although I had resolved to watch the spirited teen fluff 'John Tucker Must Die' for some mindless garbage entertainment, I found myself dozing off due to my unpleasant lack of sleep (four hours on the previous flight). To my pleasant surprise, I managed to grab myself another two hours, and thus satisfied my bare minimum sleep requirement for function. Although I only managed to pilfer a small sample of jam as well as a small cup of water, the ride was smooth.

Reaching Shanghai around midday, I found myself plunging into a wave of Asian-smelling air (by that I mean suffocating), which was reminiscent of the humid air in Singapore. Passing a total of five SARS warning signs (which, by the way, is oh-so welcoming for paranoid foreigners such as us) as well as a special SARS and avian flu monitoring office, we joined the queue for the passport check. In spite of the fact that Carrie, Kathryn and I joined the shortest queue, we also happened to join the slowest. The line next to us was more than twice as fast, and hordes of travellers (including several of the other exchange students) to our right were trickling through the gate at a leisurely (but still fast) pace. After watching as refreshments marched past in a disciplined straight line and replaced their exhausted colleagues, I finally found myself in front of a cranky (but unfortunately, not hot) officer that stared at me condescendingly several times with the 'Evil Eye'.

After indulging in some vanity shots, we collected our luggage (which was already conveniently placed in front of an empty baggage carousel due to our slowness), went through customs and reached the arrivals gate to see some Ge Zhi High School English teachers waiting for us. Although we did get lost in an elevator (the elevators at the airport are absolutely massive, and are capable of fitting 73, I repeat, 73 people) at one point, we eventually squashed into the diminutive bus with our large amounts of luggage. Due to unfortunate timing, I found myself to be the one without a seat, and was consequently forced to share a seat with Mao Ling, adjacent to the notorious Mr Zheng Hua Wang.

During the ride, I watched in sheer horror as Edward (an English teacher at Ge Zhi) turned around from the putative drivers seat to face us and learn of our names. My eyes widened in bewilderment and I felt an oncoming panic attack: oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD, you psycho, turn around and drive before you run into a cyclist! However, it wasn't long before I realised that as well as adopting the rather peculiar custom of driving on the right side of the road (which to me is just immoral and plain wrong), the driver was seated on what was supposed to be the passenger seat. After taking a long period of time in order to just adjust and process this absolutely bizarre practice, we turned around to marvel at a magnet train as it rushed past. In fact, the magnet train is capable of reaching speeds of about 430kph, which is about four times the speed of a car on a freeway and half the speed of an airplane (yes, I am an avid fan of the flight path and statistics channel). However, in order to combat dizziness and motion sickness, passengers apparently have to wear special glasses. Anyway, we also observed the countless skyscrapers in the Shanghai skyline (which starkly contrasted with the amount of skyscrapers - or lack thereof - in Melbourne), as well as the Pearl Tower, made famous in a particularly challenging sample essay given to us in Chinese class by Ms Liu.

After getting horned at by other cars for no reason whatsoever; cutting into lanes like a psychotic Road Raged driver and listening to continuous horning in the distance (which eventually became a constant background noise), we reached Ge Zhi High School about forty minutes later and got off to meet our host students. My host student was a sixteen year old Gao Er (Year 10) girl (see photos above) by the name of Eileen Gao. However, due to the fact that I desperately needed an international phone card in order to call Mum and confirm that I was still alive, I was forced to cart my heavy and turgid luggage bag through the streets of Shanghai, much to the exasperation of several citizens (damn foreigners!), especially when it veered off course whilst I was crossing the road. We eventually got to the phone card store and I paid 35 yuan (AUD$1 is equivalent to 6 yuan) for a card with a rather battered and ripped (damn paper money) note, which was almost rejected. After walking for what seemed like aeons back to where we started (Ge Zhi), we were forced to comb the streets again for a taxi. We managed to find a taxi, albeit without seat belts (shock horror) and with a protective plastic compartment for the taxi driver, either to protect us or protect him (I'm still trying to figure out which is true). It took us half an hour to go to her house; but I was thoroughly entertained by some passenger rules (NO psychos or drunkards allowed in taxis and NO conniving at poor driving) and some taxi driver rules (NO spitting or vulgarities, which I must admit, were rather apathetically cast aside...).

We we reached home, I received an extremely accomodating and warm welcome by her parents, who promptly offered me several items they had bought specially for me (such as slippers and a big red mug). After dropping and almost shattering their phone in my apprehension, I managed to call my parents and hog their computer MSNing (thank God they had it).

After settling in, we headed off in a taxi to a five star hotel to eat Peking Duck (a superlative welcome feast to China) at a famous restaurant. After witnessing several weddings in several different restaurants (apparently it was an exceptionally auspicious date on the 25th of November for weddings), we went to an extremely large and opulent restaurant. We ordered from the waitress with a handheld computer (ah, the luxury) and went out to buy some beverages, due to the fact that stingy Asians like to charge fellow stingy Asians for bare essentials such as water. However, the items were extremely cheap, and we the equivalent of about AUD$1.50 for three or four bottled drinks, whilst a bottle of water (I won't mention any names) in Australia would cost this much.

The food (Peking duck, lamb meatball things, sweet corn slices, dumplings, an endearing serve of duckie-shaped biscuits and so on) arrived extremely quickly in spite of the fact that a wedding banquet of approximately 200 people was taking place in the restaurant. A chef came over to cut the Peking duck, which turned out to be absolutely sumptuous. Yes, according to Eileen's father (who turned out to be a cook) and mother (a dentist), this was real Chinese food, not the Australian-pleasing serves of reheated dim sims and fried rice (I beg to differ, however: you just have to know where to go), and the food turned out to be simply ambrosial, as one would expect from a famous five star restaurant.

Unfortunately, Eileen's parents had severely overestimated my appetite, and ordered no less than nine separate dishes, which, in Australia, would be enough to satiate three families. Thus, suffering from excruciating abdominal bloating, I gave up and headed out with Eileen for some shopping. Due to the burgeoning population of 18 million in the city of Shanghai alone (the whole continent of Australia only has a population of 20 million), the streets were absolutely chock-a-block full of people, which is only akin to last-minute-Christmas-Eve shopping in the Melbourne CBD (times two). However, it is hard to complain due to the sheer magnitude of the shopping experience. Melbourne has a shopping centre in a suburb here and there, and Singapore even has the massive and famous Orchard Road, which is lined with shopping centres; Shanghai, on the other hand, has several shopping centres on one street (much like Orchard Road), and contains innumerable 'Orchard Roads', all of which intersect each other in a chaotic patchwork of sheer shopping paradise. Yes, as described in great detail in a particularly flowery and complicated sample essay given to us in Chinese class by Ms Liu, it is truly a shopper's utopia, and is beyond anything anyone can ever imagine to imagine. The clothes and shoes are absolutely divine, and are cheap (with the exception of department stores) beyond our wildest dreams.

However, let me take this opportunity to say that Shanghainese roads and traffic are virtually the most psychotic, heart-attack-inducing things I have ever experienced in my life. In Australia, a green pedestrian light will guarantee you a carefree traipse across any zebra crossing: you could even somersault across it blindfolded without the fear of being run over. However, a carefree traipse in Shanghai alone is almost certain to turn you into roadkill: cars plough through chains of pedestrians indifferently, and you are not expected to look both ways but ALL ways. Furthermore, pedesterians are expected to treat the roads as their own personal footpath, and walk through the centre of major intersections in red lights as if they were walking in the park. It's hard to tell who is really ruling the road, and I don't think I will ever be able to figure it out. That's right, the traffic systems in China are oh-so reliable.

After window shopping for an hour, we took a taxi back home (luckily, the taxi drivers are not dodgy chain smoking rapists like in *ahem*). After taking a shower and cursing at the conditioner bottle which had leaked all over my toiletries for a mysterious reason, the family and I had a webcam chat with my parents and pets, I sat down and began to teach the whole family how to play poker in Chinese (but failing). Yes, I have corrupted my innocent Chinese host family with no knowledge of the evils of Western gambling. However, after some clever interpretation by Eileen, we eventually managed to teach her father (her mother had fallen asleep at this point after listening to my animated drone...) and played several rounds of poker until 10:45pm (1:45am in Australian time, which is amazing due to my supposed lack of sleep and drowsiness). By the end of the night, I had managed to steadily lose all my savings; conversely, the newbies had managed to gain substantial winnings.

Yes, I have managed to bring my suckiness all the way to China.

-Mel

Mr Wang Photo Count: 6

Halfway There

2006-11-25T09:39:00.000+11:00

Hey guys, I am currently typing this at Changi Airport, Singapore, in the two hours of free time graciously given to me whilst in transit.

After finishing some frenzied and last minute packing, I eagerly left my house yesterday at 8pm, in spite of the doe-eyed look of sorrow from my dog (either that or she was constipated) when seeing me go. In the company of my aunts and uncle, I bid bon voyage to Bap and Mum at the restaurant (the latter was rather emotional as well) and went to the airport.

However, due to my zeal, I reached the airport at 9:30pm: one hour early. Dragging my uncle on my arm in order to deceptively give the impression that he was a sugar daddy of sorts, I browsed the Duty-Free shop and stole no less than ten samples of a large diversity of perfumes, ranging from Dior to Givenchy. Smelling rather pungent and looking like a crazed psychopath at this point, I was forced to leave the store in order to preserve the last shreds of my dignity.

Eventually the time came and several of my fellow travellers arrived at the airport. After receiving phone calls from Mandy and Yee (both of whom I successfully creeped out with stalkerish declarations); not-so-discreetly discussing my liberal use of DRUGS(!!!) whilst queueing for check in; furtively taking photos of the delightful Mr Wang as well as generally poking fun at myself for the sake of comedy, we eventually made it to the check in. Surprisingly, I did not surpass the baggage limit by the magnitude that I had previously envisaged: my rather turgid bag weighed in at a mere 20.5kg.

After bidding our au reviors at the customs gate and dashing into the passport check (and running into a rather hot but cranky officer by the name of Andre), we finally made it to the airport lounge. We explored the ludicrously overpriced souvenirs and bric-a-brac before heading to the toilets tentatively a la Japanese school girls in China. Because of our tardiness, however (which we can attribute to the ridiculously long chain of travellers in the queue at check in), we had to leave almost immediately to go to the Singapore Airlines plane.

The staff were extremely accomodating; however, due to the fact that they were all Singaporean, they closely resembled several of my friends and family, which was both refreshing and disconcerting. Seated between Lora and Yin Ling, I spent the relatively smooth plane ride indulging in in-flight entertainment (the absolute highlight of otherwise mundane flights) and, during meal times, stealing the generous amounts of metal cutlery given to us by the staff. So far, I have taken advantage of two cutlery sets as well as establishing a reputation as a possible cutlery-brandishing psychopath with airline and customs staff. After watching most of 'My Super Ex-Girlfriend' whilst in a semi-inebriated state, I succumbed to my somnolence and fell asleep in a rather unusual and uncomfortable upright position. After three hours of broken sleep, I was awakened by Lora for a 'refreshment', which turned out to be a rather substantial (although slightly bland-tasting) dinner. After attempting to watch an excerpt from 'You, Me and Dupree' as well as finishing the conclusion of 'My Super Ex-Girlfriend' (but failing due to the fact that it was literally 5am), I managed to wrap myself in the 'economy' (that translates to cheap and extremely thin) blanket and go to sleep for a little while.

It didn't seem long before we got to Singapore, however, and I was again submerged in the familiar blanket of humidity. Given two solid hours to roam around before heading off to Shanghai, Swee, Lora and I ambled around the 'in transit mall'. We read magazines in the bookshop (yes, these stingy cheap Asians); browsed the internet and examined the amount (or lack thereof due to their substantial prices) of items in haute couture shops such as Prada and Gucci. Ah, no matter what country you're in, they never seem to change.

Anyway, also due to Asian stinginess, consequential time limits on the airport computers as well as the fact that I am (was) webcamming and chatting to Mum, Bap and Chloe on MSN, I am actually completing the Singapore part of my post in Shanghai. Asian stinginess. Trust me, there is more to come...

-Mel

PS: Current Mr Wang Photo Count: 3

The Escape

2006-11-24T14:23:00.000+11:00

After half a day at school, I am almost prepared for the trip at five minutes past midnight today (well, it is technically tomorrow).

Yes, I was still obligated to return to the dark corridors of PLC for Unit 3/4 Preparation classes, which were almost devoid of any students except for ambitious Physics and Specialist Maths students. However, after enduring Jaque's spirited and seemingly endless tirade about the dos and don'ts of Shanghainese tourism, several of us then had to go through relentless scare tactics and long winded pep talks about the horrors of Year 12 Maths and Physics. Also, due to the fact that I am leaving 'today', I had to collect my English exam (strangely, Mr Morrissey seemed to be more entranced by the mediocre creative story rather than the thorough and coherent essay) as well as some pre-Year-12 preparation material and information.

Thoroughly intimidated, I took a tram and made my way to Malaya restaurant at Knox City for a light lunch in a bid to finally escape the fearsome clutches of Year 11, only to be ensnared in the infinitely more terrifying net of Year 12.

-Mel

The Addiction + The Challenge

2006-11-23T21:15:00.000+11:00

Today was my first day of freedom from anything remotely academic; it was the first time in an entire year where I was not obliged to study like a lunatic. However, I am rather ashamed to admit that instead of spending a blissful day off from the usual academic barrages at school, I whiled away the time engaging in scholarly activities. This apparent 'addiction' to study probably provides a rather impressive indicator of the extent of the influence of my school subjects. Argh.

Unfortunately, I did not sleep in this morning, and woke up at the usual time of approximately 7:30am. Whilst Mum would usually be shrieking at me at this point, I awakened to the sound of silence and the occasional chirping of my cockatiel. I managed to climb onto my computer for the rest of the day, taking countless Mensa IQ and Admission Tests as well as several brainteasing puzzles in order to boost my self-confidence and establish myself as a 'talented wunderkind' in their books. Although this did not exactly amount to anything and only seemed to give the impression that I was either teetering on the borderline between average and intelligent or -especially when I had already learned of the answers from previous discussions with fellow sloths - comfortably within the 'intelligent' section of the scale.

Following these rather bootless tests, I spent the entire day eagerly looking forward to the flight tomorrow (oh my gosh!) and referring to the textbook and TSFX notes in a vain attempt to have a head start in Chemistry Unit 3. Although this was again rather fruitless due to the fact that the hordes of information would be completely forgotten tomorrow without the aid of any practice questions (yes, the procrastinatory side of me persisted as I vowed to do the questions 'some other day...'). However, I almost managed to get through a whole 'Area of Study', which translates to over half a term's work. I can also proudly proclaim that I now know what 'gravitometric analyses' and 'aliquots' are. Until tomorrow, anyway.

Anyway, tomorrow is sure to be extremely exciting, and I am enthusiastically awaiting my flight with anticipation. Armed with several paranoid health tips from all my over-paranoid relatives (which include but are not limited to: "Carry antiseptic hand wash with you AT ALL TIMES", "Clean the plane headrests and suspiciously oily windows in case you catch ACNE" and "BUY GASTROLITE IF YOU HAVE THE RUNS"). Sure thing...

However, to inject some hilarity into the exchange trip that commences tomorrow (well, it's Saturday five minutes past midnight, really), I decided to send an email to my fellow spirited travellers issuing a challenge (which echoes my previous post 'What Not To Do To An Exchange Student') to whoever feels particularly audacious:

Hey girls,

Before we set off for our fortnight-long 'hen's night' to improve our Chinese, buy illegal DVDs and generally just enjoy ourselves before the impending doom that is Year 12, I have decided to create something rather exciting.
In order to liven up our trip as well as provide some comic relief during tedious bus trips or vent some frustration from 24 hours of your host's incessant and incoherent Chinese chitter-chatter, I've decided to issue a set of challenges to you and the rest of the exchange students.

I challenge you to:

Take as many pictures with Mr Wang as possible.
Steal as many of Mr Wang's personal items (bonus points for toiletries) as possible.
Get Mr Wang to say the word 'asthma' or 'ASHMAAHHHHH' as many times as humanly possible.
Sit next to Mr Wang at every available opportunity: buses, airplanes, meetings, even on the toilet if you can.
Scare Mr Wang by jumping out of corners or behind doors as many times as you can.
While Mr Wang is asleep, try to pick out as many hairs as you can without him noticing.
Steal your host's toilet rolls and stash them in your bag. When you are about to leave, dump them in your host's sibling's room.
Swear at your host in English, only to tell her in Chinese that it means 'Hello' in English.
Explain to your host in detail that kangaroos are Australian athletes dressed in a fur coat, and tell them that you ride them to school.
Accidentally throw some white talcum powder on yourself whilst in transit.
Go into your host's toilet wearing a surgeon's mask.
Cough loudly when in the company of your Chinese friends.

Good luck girls, and pass this on to our fellow travellers.

-Mel

PS. Please please please, for the sweet love of God, don't ever pass this to Mr Wang or Mrs Buckman, or I will get deported. However, if they have already read this, LIGHTEN UP! I SWEAR, I'M JUST KIDDING!

Fingers crossed that I really do not get deported a la Naomi Robson.

-Mel

The Beginning Of The End

2006-11-22T19:44:00.000+11:00

As indicated in the above title, today marks the beginning of the end. That is, the end of the days in which our year level would while away the time rocking in our budget chairs whilst hyponitized by the monotononous drone of the teacher; the days when we would sit and 'innocuously' play several rounds of poker; the days when the locker bay was not a study area, but a sanctuary; the days when procrastination was our number one priority; the days when school was an idyllic paradise in which we could tumble through without consequence; and the days when we could ramble on incoherently in a seven line sentence without incurring severe penalities from meticulous teachers. Yes that's right, the everlasting party land that was the Year 11 area has been deserted and is soon to be passed down to posterity (namely, the Year 10s). Now, we are to ascend the proverbial thrones that were not so long ago occupied by the Year 12s. We are to be the leaders and the next batch of VCE (and IB) study whores.

Yesterday, I could almost taste - excuse the cliched phrase - the 'freedom' (the inverted commas are there for good reason). After studying minimally for Chinese, that is, studying during the twenty minute tram ride that ended up to be ten minutes due to cranial vacancy, I went into the examination room rather unprepared. However, due to our rather loquacious teacher Ms Liu's chattiness, we were thoroughly relaxed and began our exams without much fuss. Whilst listening to the stoned drone of Colin Chen and company, I realised that this exam was, in fact, notably easier than our weekly practice papers in the double LOTE periods. Feeling rather confident, I waded my way through each section with ease, and managed to write a satisfying essay advocating the Chinese LOTE subject to Year 7s in a speech format. What's more satisfying is the large number of 成语 or 'idioms' I peppered throughout it as some impressive mark-boosting embellishments.

Finishing rather early with twenty or so minutes to spare, we were treated to a prolonged lecture about the 'Detailed Study' in the oral component of our assessment next year. However, with the culmination of our Chinese exam as well as some of the usual chitter-chatter with my peers, I was picked up by my parents and went to Box Hill in order to indulge in a large steaming bowl of scrumptious egg noodles and crispy roast pork at Canton Lake. This was then followed by some grocery shopping and a sizeable cup of Bubble Cup ice blended strawberry with pearls. Yes, you can just see the post-exam luxuries!

Today was our last exam: Physics. In spite of the fact that I was generously allocated two full days in total to study for this, I opted to procrastinate as always, and studied minimally; this means that my study basically consisted of skimming old notes whilst watching repeats of Futurama. Excellent preparation!

This 'tried and true' method of achieving continued today, where I spent time lamenting the sweltering heat and marvelling at the new look of my dog Chloe: Bap and I spent one and a half hours in the blistering heat stripping her thick, hot and wiry canine overcoat to expose her soft undercoat. This was in order to reduce the exasperating hair loss all over the furniture and reduce the horrible effects of a Melburian heat wave. Due to my formidable hand and fine motor skills, Chloe was left with several conspicuous bald patches as well as the absence of the endearing Border Terrier beard, which, to Mum, is the defining feature of my little canine. As a result, she now resembles a pointy-faced rat suffering from severe stress or hereditary hair loss. Much like Pauline's mysterious hair recession. But anyway, I seem to be digressing.

So anyway, after bursting outside to enjoy the cool breezes in the late morning, Mum and I went to buy some last minute travel essentials (such as shampoo bottles) from the local $2 shop (where else do Asians go for 'quality' goods?!) and have a hearty brunch while Bap indulged in an ignorantly blissful sleep. We ended up going to a cafe on Stud Road. I ordered their passionfruit cheesecake and bacon and eggs on toast, while Mum had a serve of pumpkin soup. Reading the latest women's gossip magazine whilst gorging ourselves with fine food at a slothly pace (is there any other way?) in lieu of studying for my end of year exam, we eventually waddled to the grocery shop and returned home saturated and bloated to a ravenous Bap. Bad luck, eh?

Finally remembering that I had an exam that afternoon, my parents, Chloe and I went to school. Instead of writing a 'Cheat Sheet', which we were ostensibly allowed from a rather clueless Mrs Hondrakis, I spent my time doing you-know-what-by-now-or-at-least-by-looking-at-my-nickname.

However, let me take this opportunity to say that the exam was extremely hard, and was the most abstract, psychotic and generally bizarre exam I had taken so far. Littered with random questions and obscure concepts, I spent much time just trying to grasp the actual question. However, after reading time and fully diving into the exam, I found it easier and began to instinctively comprehend the exam, as I usually seem to do.

After the exam, discussing the extreme difficulty involved with fellow Physicists (so much so that we could not compare answers - they were all too far apart) and desperately purchasing cheap second hand Physics books from a passing Year 12, I went home to relax for a few minutes before taekwondo began.

Yes, this again was the first taekwondo session in ages. Again there were several new faces (including one that closely resembled and even sounded like Sylvester Stallone), but the same cocky teenager with Krakatoan offspring erupting on his face (Luke) was still there. After bludging a grading lesson with him, I was left completely outshined and humiliated by his ludicrous sharpness and competence in taekwondo. Moreover, I am extremely lucky that I am going to China on Friday (only two sleeps!), otherwise I would be vociferously terrorized or sworn at by our Master Burai to participate in the 'Club Championship', much in the way that he did to my brother and several other members or members' parents (he even spoke to Mum).

Let me tell you that an impassioned body-building sixty year old taekwondo master flanked by an army of associate black belts is infinitely more daunting than any Mathematical Methods exam.

-Mel

Diatribe Of A Mad Maths Student

2006-11-20T15:00:00.000+11:00

Today was the last day of Year 11 Maths for 2007, excluding the excruciatingly GM*-like Physics on Wednesday. However, many students will rejoice tonight with the culmination of all purely mathematical subjects for this year.

Getting up and emerging into the blistering Melburnian summer much earlier than usual, I made my way to school whilst beginning my GM* revision in the twenty minutes I had on the tram to school. With such exceptional scheduling, I managed to complete approximately one or two pages out of a total of about ten. Proud of my shining achievement, I hiked up the PLC hill pumped for the exam, until I froze suddenly (which was the exact opposite of Pauline's habitual seizures). The 'Cheat Sheet' that I had completed last night (and happened to be the only piece of 'revision' I had truly completed prior to the exam) was thoughtlessly left among the innumerable papers, tissues, Yakult bottles and what not at home.

Realising the incoming tsunami threatening to topple my recently rebuilt village as well as the expensively restored infrastructure following the Maths Methods exams, I dashed up and down the Year 11 corridors in search of prospective wunderkinds generous enough to allow me to photocopy their Cheat Sheets. After checking Leonie's rather barren Cheat Sheet (for obvious reasons), I enlisted the help of Yee Ling, who was willing to lend me her Cheat Sheet in the final crucial moments before the GM* exam.

However, with the new photocopy credit system (which required an ID card and a photocopy card purchase at the PLC shop) that was ingeniously designed by notoriously bitter librarians in order to cause even more inefficiency and inconvenience to the fee-paying students than ever thought possible, as well as the fact that the Library was still closed for some obscure reason, I began to panic. Leaping up the stairs to the computer rooms, I burst into them in search of a working scanner as a photocopier's substitute. Failing to scan in the first room, I ran to the next one (which happened to be the only other room out of four that was open for another obscure reason). After reaching meltdown-point whilst waiting for a junior student to finish scanning a random anime CD cover onto her comprehensive album of random anime photos, I jumped onto the computer and proceeded to scan the Cheat Sheet. However, as I attempted to print it, I remembered that the 'scanning' computer did not print, and that the computers that were closer to the printer were infinitely more reliable in the printing department. Jumping on a different computer, I spent much valuable time waiting for the infuriating Macintosh cursor to finish with its exasperating rotations and log me in. However, after listening to the signal bell; wiping off perspiration on my forehead as well as trying two computers with no success, I dashed back to the first computer room to take a chance with the trusty old printer in there.

Again jumping on a computer auspiciously located adjacent to the printer, I attempted to print with still no success. Several other students who were also joining me in the hunt for a Cheat Sheet were in there, and managed to get the obstinate scanner to work as well as getting the rather inert printer to work for them. After trying to print several more times with no avail, I ran to their already abandoned computers and feverishly pressed the 'Print' button innumerable times on two different computers in order to get at least one full Cheat Sheet. However, in spite of the fact that they, for some arcane reason, managed to print several copies of the Cheat Sheet for their own purposes, the printer remained pervicaciously still in my presence, and refused to print out my desperately needed Cheat Sheet. My whole body suffering Mathspox-like spasms in the final five minutes before the exam started (might I add, two floors and a long driveway away), the printer finally choked out half of Yee Ling's Cheat Sheet and half of Jo's (which I disposed of due to the evident intense panic and irrationality at that point). With no time to waste, I made do with what the printer offered me and flew to Hilda Mackay Hall with Yee Ling's Cheat Sheet in hand.

Despite feeling flustered, disadvantaged and generally panicky at that point, I stumbled into a chair and commenced reading time. Thus, let me emphasise my ire at the PLC IT facilities and or staff.

I AM ABSOLUTELY FURIOUS AT YOUR INABILITY TO PROVIDE THE STUDENTS OF PLC (WHO PAY TENS OF THOUSANDS OF DOLLARS A YEAR FOR YOUR FACILITIES AS WELL AS A HEFTY, OVERPRICED AND UNNECESSARY COMPUTER LEVY TOTALLING SEVERAL HUNDRED DOLLARS) WITH A FUNCTIONAL AND RELIABLE COMPUTER SYSTEM. I AM DISGUSTED AT YOUR LACK OF SUPPORT FOR THE MATHSPOX-SUFFERING STUDENTS OF THIS SCHOOL, AND YOUR INSENSITIVITY DURING EXAM TIME. IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK YOU, OSTENSIBLY TRAINED AND EVEN PHD-HOLDING STAFF, TO MAKE THE COMPUTERS ACTUALLY WORK? FOR THE AMOUNT OF LABORIOUSLY EARNED MONEY THAT WE PAY, IS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK? WILL ANYTHING BUT A JUVENILE HEART ATTACK AND A RESULTANT LAW SUIT CONVINCE YOU? IS IT SO MUCH TO ASK?

But anyway, taking my blatant lack of preparation and revision (as well as the absence of my own Cheat Sheet) into account, I did surprisingly well in the GM* exam with the exception of the usual careless and overwhelmingly excruciating arithmetic errors and so on. I managed to finish work within the allocated time (whilst many didn't), and answered every question confidently and to the best of my ability. I am rather proud of my skilful 'tumbling'.

After the exam, I discovered that the girl with the ludicrously cheap Physics books (a textbook and two Neap SmartStudy guides for a mere $25) had conveniently been unable to pass the books over to her messengers (argh, the reliability of PLC and everything in it just amazes me). But feeling so slothly in the Post-Exam 'slump', simply insert 'girl with the ludicrously cheap Physics books' into the above rant as well as several miserly-Asian complaints for the desired effect.

Anyway, in the aforementioned Post-Exam 'slump', I spent several hours eating ridiculously inflated and overpriced canteen food (the exemplar of the demand vs. supply economic theories); lazing around with a group of fellow sloths loquaciously discussing every film under the Tuscan sun (okay, that was slightly lame) and generally procrastinating and enjoying ourselves doing so.

And I will continue with my admirable tumbling until the tram ride before the Chinese exam tomorrow.

-Mel, who is now Maths-free (with the exception of Physics... argh!)

Happy 'Study Vigorously for GM* Day'!

2006-11-19T13:10:00.000+11:00

Today is my 'Study Vigorously for GM* Day', which is conveniently scheduled one day before the actual exam. Hurray!

Although I haven't exactly pursued mathematical enlightenment just yet due to a busy schedule, rest assured that I have finished watching the swashbuckling 'The Mask of Zorro' for the sixth time. I promise to begin immediately after I condense and solidify after overcoming the horrid melting-in-the-blistering-heat period during a particularly torturous weekly bike ride this morning. Trust me.

However, with the Shanghai trip preparations at full steam ahead, I have been rather busy. For example yesterday, Mum took me to Knox City Shopping Centre for some supplies as well as a $20 backpack on sale, which was then reduced to $15 due to a minute stain the size of the ends of my mullet (argh). Ah, such miserly Asian abilities demand respect! Anyway, today we will pack a fortnight's worth of clothing as well as a fortnight's worth of bottled water and a tinea-proof pair of Havaianas. Such paranoia demands ridicule!

-Mel

PS. In case you were wondering, no, Chloe did not get trampled on by rogue ponies again; instead, she was almost run over by a cyclist. However, swerving in time to avoid this rather turgid specimen of a Border Terrier, the nice man fell off his bike into some rather hostile bushes. Yes, accidents and Chloe go together like a fat kid and some cake.

The Tumble

2006-11-17T18:10:00.000+11:00

Today marked the beginning of the academic onslaught that are the Year 11 exams. Ludicrously unarmed with the usual ammunition of facts, quotes and concepts tucked under my proverbial belt, I prepared myself for the possibility of the dreaded 'UG' (or 'Ungraded'), which is an erudite and teacher's euphemism for a failure in the respective exam.

Climbing onto the tram, I pulled out Shakespeare's unfortunately neglected 'Macbeth', and resolved to memorise every highlighted quote of significance in the play. Within twenty minutes, I had managed to skim half the play as well as managing to further obfuscate myself with the complexities of Shakespearean language. Sufficient preparation, indeed. However, trudging up the black asphalt road towards the wondrous Year 11 corridors, I sighted several Year 11s keenly delving into their books, several of whom were simultaneously losing their Shakespearean virginity, so to speak. Yes, I watched as my peers plunged into Shakespeare's world of confusing contents, bewildering beasts, strange soliloquys and excruciatingly enigmatic erm, plays, particularly those that go by the name 'Macbeth'. However, knowing that my revision time was limited, I decided to leave the Shakespearean delights to the crammers, instead opting for spirited sloth and gossiping about nothing in particular with the likes of Pauline. After all, an exam by any other name (than you-know-what) smells just as boring.

The exam commencement time came and passed, and I found myself seated in the hallowed Wyslaskie Hall, the menacing room in which innumerable sanity-pilfering exams would have taken place. As I peered at the examination paper, I expected an obscure thematic discussion or a long-winded thesis on the bearded witches; instead, however, I had been graciously given the following topic:

Macbeth: Villain or Victim?

Harking back to an essay written in class with a similar topic, I felt as if I had been granted a reprieve from the usual monotonous topics attached to Lady Macbeth's psychotic tendencies. I managed to write a rather satisfactory essay (in my opinion, anyway) within the given time limit. However, when it came to the creative writing, I was not so complacent. Warping a pre-devised plot and squashing into the rough shape of one of the creative 'prompts' (I looked the other way), I wrote a short story about the rape of a young 'voluptuous breast(ed)' girl (don't ask... it seemed dramatic enough at the time), which was unfortunately insufficient in the word length department. However, reaching the pinnacle of my indolence, I decided to leave it at one and a half sides (as opposed to my pleasing essay, which was three) and proofread and waited as the clock counted down to 'Pens Down Girls'.

Feeling rather complacent following the English exam, I decided to continue with the aforementioned bout of indolence, and did not pursue the obscure and abstract mess that was Chemistry. Instead, before heading off to a meeting at 12noon with Ms Dunn about the Shanghai exchange, I lounged around with fellow spirited sloths and discussed paranoic fears about China (including the prospect of being randomly stabbed in the posterior by rogue pickpockets) as well as issuing several challenges, such as coughing and spluttering when in the vicinity of your SARSphobic host family or taking as many vanity shots with Mr Wang as humanly possible. I believe that the former is much more inviting.

At 12noon, I headed off with Lora and Swee to the Principal's Foyer in order to collect our passports, visas, itineraries and what not from Ms Dunn, but not before running into the unfortunate subject of our conversation, Mr Wang. As many Chinese people claim, “说曹操，曹操就到！” or basically, "Speak of the Devil". 说曹操 indeed. After being informed of the horrors of Chinese water (conveniently after the payment for the exchange trip), we returned to the 'study group' (I use this term loosely) proudly clutching our travel packs, exchanging humiliating pre-pubescent ID photos as well as discussing the cheap quality of stingy Asian airlines and vomit. Yes, the latter was felicitously inserted for good reason...

After beginning my frantic Chemistry studying and cramming with fellow sloths five minutes prior to the exam, we made our way to Wyslaskie Hall yet again to take our Chemistry exam. It was (obviously) mostly straightfoward with relation to my previous failure (which was then promoted to a scraping pass) of a Chemistry test, and I managed to process the calculations by identifying the required numbers and units in lieu of actually reading and comprehending the question at hand. In spite of this rather unorthodox approach to the Chemistry conundrums in front of me, it was feasible enough to gain me a pass mark for the measly Unit 2 (hallelujah).

After the Chemistry exam, I continued with my rather persistent bout of indolence, and continued my extraneous discussions with fellow sloths.

Here's to tumbling through the exams (hence the name), as opposed to prancing through them in a Leoniesque manner.

-Mel+

Meh (2)

2006-11-16T15:03:00.000+11:00

Today was the last 'Study Day' before a flotilla of Year 11 Exams would be relentlessly fired at my fellow Year 11s and me, round after round.

Due to the extended gaze at the 'big picture' during the Pre-Maths-Exam period, I have still remained unnervingly calm and rather apathetic to these diminutive tests. Instead, I have spent my time procrastinating and indulging in guilty pleasures on TV, such as 'Neighbours', 'The OC' and various other pieces of sudsy fluff. Yes, shame on me indeed.

Today was the day of the prearranged book exchange. Recognising my desperate need for cheap second hand books, a Year 12 girl and I arranged to meet at school at 9am today, so that I could buy her Specialist Mathematics textbooks and revision material (excuse me while I shudder at the prospect of more Methodesque material), which were significantly thinner and smaller than the Methods textbook, which provoked a Pauline-like fit of mathematical ecstasy. I got it for a feasible price, and the stingy Asian miser within me was reasonably satisfied with the deal. However, as I met another girl for a SmartStudy Chemistry book, the Year 12 girls seemed to rally together and convince me that ten dollars was an excellent price. The miser was prodded ruthlessly by the purchase, but my desperation prevailed.

Afterwards, my parents and I made our way to Box Hill Central to pick up some groceries and some brunch in the form of sushi-sushi and hand-made noodles. In light of my upcoming exchange trip to Shanghai, China, we also exchanged AU$400 for ¥2400. Unfortunately, the Chinese denominations are all paper, which implies that it is easily ripped and non-machine-washable. But feeling the nagging call of my Chemistry and English books, I returned home and embraced them for a few seconds before returning to my duties as a blogger.

Ah, Year 12 will be bliss.

-Mel

P(PMS): Post-(Post-Methods-Syndrome)

2006-11-14T19:01:00.000+11:00

Due to the upcoming exams, PLC graciously allowed the entire Year level a 'Study Day', which translates to 'You'd Better Get 99.95 Or Else Day'. Thus, I spent today doing things I would never even imagine to imagine about during the hectic frenzy that was the pre-Methods-Exam period and Post-Methods-Syndrome period.

Firstly, I began the day at 10:30am with something that used to be commonplace before the aforementioned period of time: a luxurious, blissful half-hour back massage at Box Hill. It had been ages since my mathematical burdens were assuaged by the therapeutic effects of a good massage, and thanks to Dr Yau, anything that began with the word 'Math' was instantly forgotten. My back muscles feeling rather supple and rejuvenated, I made my way to commence a session of shopping with my parents before settling down to a sumptuous lunch in a quaint little Asian cafe.

At 1:30pm, I leant back into the hair washing basin at the Korean shop 'Good Morning Hair', feeling thoroughly relaxed. My mastermind of a hairdresser, Charlie (the boss), graciously used a menthol-based shampoo, which metaphorically draped a heavenly blanket of minty freshness over my head before he doused it with warm water. Yes, my affinity for soothing menthol shampoos make me weak at the knees, which is why I have such a passion for the Head and Shoulders Freshmint range, despite any trace of dandruff on my little head. I think.

Looking at a few pictures that I pinched off Ciara the previous night, I decided to try something new with my rather static hairstyle and opted for a funky Asian mullet. Having a bad experience with mullets previously, I shivered with fear at the thought of it; however, looking at her exemplar of the funky Asian mullet, which, in TB-speak is 'teh sexiness', I decided to try it out.

Showing Charlie the pictures as well as marvelling at his ever-changing hairstyle (well, he is a hairdresser), he instantly knew what to do and set to work on my hair without a second glance. Well, if his skills with his own hair are this good, I don't think I can comprehend the exquisteness of his wife's hairstyle! Cutting off large chunks of my voluminous hair with several instinctive and professional cuts, he managed to shape my hair uncannily like those in the photos without much prompt. After meticulously spending much time and effort into making my hair look absolutely perfect, he made several cuts with the bizarre zig-zag layer scissors; a careful blow wave and hair-straightening as well as some citrus-scented hair wax to accentuate the spiky top of the mullet. The amount of work he put in contrasted (but not too much due to his marvellous meticulousness) with the usual blow wave and use of saccharinely scented hair serum associated with my rather low-maintenance old cut.

However, when it came to pay time, I shuffled my feet and looked down at the sparkling white floors.

"Erm, I have a loyalty card, and apparently I get this cut free..."

Yes, all his hard work and devotion to my hair's appearance as a follical aesthete and professional went without pay. However, he smiled it off as he dashed off to his delayed lunch (as he was cutting my hair), leaving me feel like a common thief. Excellent... However, in some hope of redeeming myself, I would just like to give a plug to 'Good Morning Hair' in the mall outside The Glen Shopping Centre in Glen Waverley, opposite the cinemas.

Finally, returning home (with a brief stop at Rich Maha for a quick pig out on delectable Indian yummies), we prepared ourselves for a much-missed bike ride (for the same reason as the others). Donning my new pair of bike leggings, we again went down to the Dandenong Creek Trail. Funnily enough, all of us were wearing helmets. However, as Chloe (my dog) entered the paddocks to visit her much-missed ponies at the pony farm, she was promptly trampled on by not one, but two ponies. In spite of this, she remained adamant in frolicking with these rather hostile equines. Very intelligent.

Now, please excuse me while I escape the study before I am suffocated by my sibling's rancid flatulence.

-Mel

Meh

2006-11-13T18:01:00.004+11:00

I never thought I would say it: much to my distaste, the whole of Year 11 is still dwelling idly in the eye of the storm, and do not seem to have any desire to move.

In spite of the impending exams approaching us, everybody has continued to coast along with a barely-pass-is-sufficient attitude, and thus have been feeling extremely bored. Or perhaps that is just me.

As a result, this blog has been rather drab and empty with the exception of a few Youtube gems that I have excavated in my now daily crawlings through the jewel encrusted cave that is YouTube. In particular, I have discovered my passion for improvisational comedy, and have indulged in long sessions of exploding with laughter at the zany antics of the comedic virtuosos that are the cast of 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?'. Yes, this rather overlooked and underrated pearl of a show has, to the best of my knowledge, been cancelled; this is most possibly in favour of more flavourless Frasieresque carbon copies or monotonously scripted reality shows. What else?

Procrastinations aside, we did have a rather eventful day at school today, compared to school on on January 1st last year. Hmm. However, we did managed to inject some hilarity into the day by laughing shamelessly at our Head of Chinese Mr Wang's unfortunate pronunciation of the word asthma:

"Lora? You have ashma?"

Besides that, however, the day was filled with innumerable revision periods and an extra chasm, ahem, I mean, spare, left open due to the completion of Mathematical Methods Units 3/4. Thus, I spent my time getting scammed by textbook-selling Year 12s and playing badminton outside Year 11 Maths class. Well, as I always, say, if you ain't got it, flaunt it.

-Mel

Wanted: The Willpower To Study

2006-11-11T16:09:00.000+11:00

Well, I never really thought I would say it, but there were no mischievous mishaps or awesome antics in the sloth's household today.

Yes, the mass hysteria that was the Post-Methods period, which consisted of fecal discussions and generally just defecating in our (Pauline's) pants with laughter in Physics, is over. Now, with the looming Year 11 Exams, all the ecstasy has subsided and students are, once again, dipping their heads into their neglected Unit 1/2 folders and revising their semestrial material. These (or shall I say 'this') students go by the name of Leonie, whilst the rest of the Year 11 Methods sloths are traipsing about in a semi-conscious state of existence; needless to say, this does not include studying. That's right, after the dreaded and frighteningly significant Unit 3/4 Exams, the measly papers that are the Year 11 Exams have been ludicrously downsized in importance in our minds. Thus, many have resorted to searching desperately for the willpower to apply themselves to exams amidst several professions of "I don't really give a [insert profanity]!"; however, eBay has produced results of little significance.

Today, I had a piano lesson. It was the first piano lesson in aeons, due to the aforementioned Unit 3/4 Exams. Thus, due to the ridiculous lack of practice, my not-so nimble fingers attempted and failed to dance across the Yamaha keyboard to produce aesthetically pleasing melodies and grand cadences. Due to the excruciating effect of this on both my piano teacher Lydia and my delicate ears, I've decided to call it Muzap. For the musos, office workers and Wikipedians out there, that was a pretty witty reference, wasn't it?

Besides my piano lesson, however, I spent my day YouTubing (and watching hilarious Macintosh ad parodies). Hence, this can be seen by fellow sloths as the second eye of the storm if you will, although it is just a passing shower here in the temperamental climate of Melbourne (excellent, a lame double entendre)!

-Mel (if you still don't get it and are a Methods student, I don't blame you due to the rapid depletion of grey matter following the exams.)

I Speak Good

2006-11-10T19:26:00.000+11:00

Last night was the long awaited 'PLC Speech and Drama Concert', during which normally quiet, introverted students were forced to expose their humiliating speech impediment in front of an entire audience. In case you were wondering, I was referring to myself.

Starting at 7:30pm, the program consisted of several performances by various PLC speech and drama students, which flaunted their public speaking and acting abilities. The quality and or difficulty of performances increased as the night progressed, due to the fact that the older girls were among the last (not that there was anything wrong with the precocious littlies). In fact, our (Nadia, Mao Ling and me) act was second last, which either meant that A: we were pretty good or B: we were so embarrassing to our poor teacher that they decided to shunt us to the end, where the audience would be too inebriated with somnolence to notice us.

However, the night was entertaining and refreshing after a prolonged period of Post-Methods-Syndroming (PMSing), and I, for the first time in a long time, kicked back and relaxed without the nagging twitch of that unfortunately discarded mark in the Mathematical Methods Exam Two. A Year 12 girl preceded our act, and hence outshone us a hundredfold by performing a witty soliloquy as a Bennettesque gossip. However, as the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' music was played, we got up to perform our act: 'The Twelve Days of Christmas: A Correspondence' by John Julius Norwich.

The Twelve Days of Christmas

25th December
My dearest darling,
That partridge in that lovely little pear tree! What an enchanting,
romantic, poetic present! Bless you and thank you.
Your deeply loving Emily

26th December
Mr dearest darling Edward
The two turtle doves arrived this morning and are cooing
away in the pear tree as I write. I'm so touched and
grateful.
With undying love, as always, Emily

27th December
My darling Edward,
You do think of the most original presents; whoever thought of sending
anybody three French hens? Do they really come all the way from France?
It's a pity we have no chicken coops, but I expect we'll find some. Thank
you anyway, they're heaven.
Your loving Emily

28th December
Dearest Edward,
What a surprise - four calling birds arrived this morning. They are very
sweet - even if they do call rather loudly - they make telephoning
impossible. But I expect they'll calm down when they get used to their new
home. Anyway, I'm very grateful - of course I am.
Love from Emily

29th December
Dearest Edward,
The postman has just delivered five most beautiful gold rings, one for each
finger, and all fitting perfectly. A really lovely present - lovelier in a
way than the birds, which do take rather a lot of looking after. The four
that arrived yesterday are still making a terrible row, and I'm afraid none
of us got much sleep last night. Mummy says she wants to use the rings to
'wring' their necks, she's only joking, I think; though I know what she
means. But I love the rings. Bless you.
Love Emily

30th December
Dear Edward,
Whatever I expected to find when I opened the front door this morning, it
certainly wasn't six socking great geese laying eggs all over the doorstep.
Frankly, I had rather hoped you had stopped sending me birds - we have no
room for them and they have already ruined the croquet lawn. I know you
meant well, but - let's call a halt, shall we?
Love Emily

31st December
Edward,
I thought I said no more birds, but this morning I woke to find no less
than seven swans all trying to get into our tiny goldfish pond. I'd rather
not think what happened to the goldfish. The whole house seems to be full
of birds - to say nothing of what they leave behind them. Please, please
STOP.
Your Emily

1st January
Frankly, I think I prefer the birds. What am I to do with eight milkmaids -
AND their cows? Is this some kind of a joke? If so I'm afraid I don't find
it very amusing.
Emily.

2nd January
Look here Edward, this has gone far enough. You say you're sending me nine
ladies dancing; all I can say is that judging from the way they dance,
they're certainly not ladies. The village just isn't accustomed to seeing a
regiment of shameless hussies with nothing on but their lipstick cavorting
round the green - and it's Mummy and I who get blamed. If you value our
friendship - which I do less and less - kindly stop this ridiculous
behaviour at once.
Emily

3rd January
As I write this letter, ten disgusting old men are prancing about all over
what used to be the garden - before the geese and the swans and the cows
got at it; and several of them, I notice, are taking inexcusable liberties
with the milkmaids. Meanwhile the neighbours are trying to have us evicted.
I shall never speak to you again.
Emily

4th January
This is the last straw. You know I detest bagpipes. The place has now
become something between a menagerie and a madhouse and a man from the
Council has just declared it unfit for habitation. At least Mummy has been
spared this last outrage; they took her away this afternoon in an
ambulance. I hope you're satisfied.
Emily

5th January
Sir, Our client, Miss Emily Wilbraham, instructs me to inform you that with
the arrival on her premises at half-past-seven this morning of the entire
percussion section of the Oxford Philharmonic Orchestra and several of
their friends she has no course left open to her but to seek an injunction
to prevent your importuning her further.
I am, sir, Yours faithfully
G. Creep, Solicitor-at-Law

Mao Ling, Nadia and I (respectively) divided the act into three parts, each having an individual mood. The hysteria and ferocity in Emily's tone increased as Edward sent her more and more ludicrous presents, which explains the above order. Yes, my teacher Mrs Sue Kemp assigned me to the part that essentially consisted of incoherent shrieking, which suited me just fine.

Finally, the last act was an extended soliloquy extracted from Shakespeare's Hamlet. The only way to tell whether a Shakespearean performance is done well: it is either extremely easy to understand, or extremely difficult. The latter, as always, seemed to apply to this soliloquy.

At the end of the concert, the entire theatre was shocked to hear that Mrs Sue Kemp was escaping from the grips of PLC and settling into comfortable retirement. I'd just like to take this opportunity (although it is highly unlikely that she would ever read this) to thank her for improving my oratory skills and teaching me that it is okay to shout at other people, so long as it is coherent. Also, I'd like to thank her for the delectable yummies that she made for our supper (as opposed to the official PLC 'supper' consisting of half-warm tea and stale Arnott's biscuits). Yes, I speak good.

-Mel

Further PMSing: Post-Methods-Syndroming

2006-11-09T11:00:00.000+11:00

Once again, I have failed to post daily and apologize profusely for the unfortunate absence of my daily slothful adventures. However, I must also pin blame to a taekwondo session (an extreme rarity nowadays) as well as further PMSing (Post-Methods-Syndroming).

Yesterday, I had my first taekwondo class in approximately one month. Arriving in the 'dojang' or whatever it is actually called, I noticed the presence of startlingly numerous new faces. Unfortunately, they weren't exceptionally 'perve-worthy' due to the fact that one was a pimple encrusted teenager (not that there's anything wrong with that, I must say) and the other was a lanky forty-something that didn't smile. It turned out that they were, in fact, visitors from another club, and hence spent their time inspecting the poor forms of various club members as well as terrifying pre-pubescent children. In fact, they came over and gave my brother and me a lesson on my taekwondo forms and patterns, which I remembered vaguely from aeons ago. After spending fifteen minutes trying to tie up my belt with no avail (I had completely forgotten the simple weekly task of tying an elementary knot), I bowed in and prepared to humiliate myself in front of my peers as well as expose myself as the tiny weakling that I am. Following various quizzes about Korean words and answering confidently with the air of a know-it-all Asian as well as the incorrect answer, I shrunk back and allowed the teenager to my left to answer it with the air of a know-it-all know-it-all. Excellent start. After many quizzes and clueless flailing of limbs, the visitors left us to wallow in our embarrassment. I personally would like to blame Maths Methods for its ruthless brainwashing and the eradication of any knowledge pertaining to the martial arts.

Speaking about Maths Methods, the symptoms of PMS seem to be increasing in severity. During a Physics class, Pauline and I began to giggle uncontrollably and hence collapsed into a fit of inebriated delirium; this involved (and was not limited to) the complete loss of any memory as to how to construct a basic electrical circuit as well as receiving the 'raised eyebrow' from our peers and a rather exasperated teacher. In fact, whilst in a hysterical state, I proceeded to attach a wire to a variable resistor (do not fret, I have no idea either). However, with no hole in which I could place the wire, I attempted to stick the ends into every visible and possible orifice with no avail. Amidst gales of laughter emanating from Pauline's general direction as well as her frantic hand gestures, I suddenly felt extreme discomfort.

"He's behind me, isn't he."

Moreover, our delirium seems to have finished, which has been replaced by pathos due to the fact that Methods is over, and we cannot indulge in a binomial probability analysis question without attracting the derision of our peers. Thus, to celebrate the culmination of Methods, we had the annual 'Maths Partay' in the maths room. This consisted of Methods girls wolfing down several blocks of chocolate and ice cream; edaciously devouring Ms Maurer's delectable lemon cake and discussing the excremental habits of other countries. For example, Malaysian toilet habits involve squatting and excreting biological waste into what is effectively a hole in the ground. When they are finished enduring the horrific 'splash-back' from a clogged 'toilet' (I use the word loosely), they do not use toilet paper, no, they are expected to pull out the faeces-encrusted hose located next to them and wash their orifices with a trickle of chilly water. Excellent discussion topic during the meal, isn't it?

There'd just better not be a horrific mathematical 'splash-back' come December 11th.

-Mel

PMS: Post-Methods Syndrome

2006-11-07T16:05:00.000+11:00

Fellow sloths, I must again apologize for the blatant lack of posting for the past two days, due to the fact that I have been studying fervently for the Methods Exam Two. However, the storm has passed, the animals are returning and I am heaving a mighty sigh as I lean back into my padded chair.

That's right, it's over. A whole year's worth of set work, Maths-Rooming, stressing, trial exam-ing and what not have culminated in a two hour exam, which, according to Mrs Rowntree, is worth only four minutes of an examiner's time. It's oh-so-comforting to know that the very futures of Victorian students are taken so seriously. Furthermore, the fact that I had made two careless decimal-place errors and changed a correct answer into an incorrect one after the "Pens down, girls" moment has been especially plaguing me for the past day or two. To think that hundreds of hours of work (think about it: three hours per night for the past month, with about one hour on most nights of other terms) would be effectively obliterated by a panic attack after "Pens down". However, according to student forums (yes, yes, shame on me), I got everything else right, which is a real comfort. Anyway, we shall see come December...

I must also blame my absence on Internet Explorer. Following tweaking in the Windows registry and consequentially, several computer crashes, I was forced to back up my work as well as my Cheat Sheet (thank god it wasn't earlier) and (attempt to) reformat my entire Windows hard drive a total of five times without success. I finally achieved this goal this morning; however, Internet Explorer is still on my computer.

Anyway, the post-Mathematical-Methods period has left me in a bizarre mathematical limbo. Neither Methods nor Specialist (but Advanced General Maths all the way...), I wander around aimlessly simply existing. With the end of Methods comes the end of revision and the long-anticipated end of the then seemingly-endless mountain of practice papers that are still sitting on my desk. Consequently, I feel a certain mathematical emptiness within me, and simply ask: "... What now?" or "... What shall I do tonight?"

Despite the fact that today was Phoebe and Joyce's belated birthday bash (aptly dubbed the 'PJ' party, complete with a mandatory PJ dress code in order to make ourselves look like psychotic invalids in front of complete strangers as well as a maths teacher who was cycling in the park), throughout the birthday party, I felt the inveterate twitch that signified my intense need to do Methods. In fact, during solid one-and-a-half hours consisting of chatting and basically gorging ourselves with barbecued sausages and Krispy Kreme doughnuts, I felt extremely uncomfortable due to the fact that I was not doing Methods. Thus begin my mathematical withdrawal symptoms, which will manifest itself in the form of knee-weakness and shivering unless in the vicinity of a particularly thick trial exam booklet or the hefty tome that is my Mathematical Methods Reference (or Cheat) Book.

In fact, Post-Methods Syndrome (PMS) has struck down the entire Year 11 Methods class in varying severity; most notable of which was Pauline. Whilst crying in an emotional conversation on MSN last night, she expressed her nostalgia and sentiments with regards to Methods; her (as aforementioned) emptiness; her desire to continue her audacious journey through years of practice papers; as well as the desire to embrace our occasionally abusive (to Pauline, at least) teacher Ms Maurer:

"I want to hug Ms Maurer at our Maths party on Thursday."

Following my observations of her sudden and numerous orgasmic seizures, I have decided to sit back and allow her to indulge in whatever flicks her switch.

-MMMel

PS. After the spectacle of the Melbourne Cup; my family and my failed attempt to win some cash at the local TAB; an agonizingly long session of passive smoking within the pub as well as the addition of several new swear words and slang in my vocabulary, I'd like to congratulate the winners: Delta Blue, Pop Rock and Maybe Better. Well done!

Awaiting Disaster (?)

2006-11-04T13:22:00.000+11:00

The past two 'post-Exam-One' days have been, as I often say, frighteningly refreshing.

I feel obligated to proclaim that I have again committed perfidy, as I pledged to at least attempt to finish my Cheat Sheet (with poor results). In lieu of securing my mathematical future, I have been playing around with my computer, which has been exhilarating but excruciating to my mathematical conscience.

For example, I have removed Internet Explorer 7 for want of a better browser. All my Flash-related and even blog-related pitfalls have been solved by the magical installation of Mozilla Firefox, and I can now (hallelujah!) join the mainstream and use YouTube rather religiously. However, Internet Explorer didn't allow itself to get uninstalled without a ferocious fight in the form of an unprovoked myriad of blank 'Microsoft Internet Explorer' popups and a subsequent computer crash. Nice work, Bill Gates. Consequently, I am extremely pleased with Firefox; this led to the insertion of various extraneous pictures in my posts to jazz up my blog with oh-so-wrong colours, which you can readily observe. With this extra confidence, I also managed to add music, a feed and a 'Tell someone' feature to my blog within the space of five hours. Hurrah!

However, whilst the sloth lounges back into her padded chair, the egg timer has been turned over and is now counting the relatively few hours until the monstrous tome that is the two-and-a-quarter hour Exam Two is flopped onto her tiny desk in Wyslaskie Hall. Now that Exam One has been dismissed and confirmed by my peers as a simple, juvenile piece of rubbish, my c-to-the four (Cool, Calm, Collected and Complacent) status has been shot down, much like Pauline getting verbally assaulted by our Maths Methods teacher Ms Maurer.

Fellow Methods students, the passage of time swiftly carried us through the first wave without much consequence. However, with the ominous tremor that we all felt deep in the belly of Poseidon himself, we must all await to see whether the real one is yet to come...

-Mel

2 C^3 Or Not 2 C^3

2006-11-03T11:40:00.000+11:00

Yes, I am back. The marked absence of any post yesterday was due to intense procrastination and general relaxation on my part. Now that I have managed to wade through the inundated terrain that is the Mathematical Methods Exam One, I feel obligated to continue with my daily ranting.

Due to the fact that the exam is (or was) today, the entire Year 11 Methods class had the day off for study yesterday thanks to the gracious teachers and staff at PLC. Absolutely ecstatic that they were allowed a legitimate reason for wagging, the class stayed at home with the exception of Leonie and moi. Yes, I have redeemed myself for my absence on Monday by effectively 'anti-wagging'. Well actually, this ended up being the most productive and intelligent choice of all, due to the fact that I could hog seven consecutive periods worth of Maths Room guidance without any pesky Methods girls swamping the teachers with IARTV practice exam questions. I actually managed to focus my attention on study for practically seven hours, and managed to avoid any signs of mathematical anguish and or severe brain damage.

For the whole of last night, I managed to relax and avoid the extremely inconvenient symptom of bodily spasms and quivering associated with the highly contagious and highly agonizing Mathspox. However, I did suffer from the common symptoms of mathematical night terrors, which include the protagonist (me) poring over solution-less conundrums and complex exam papers whilst everybody else blitzed through them much in the way of that metaphorical tsunami I mentioned the day before yesterday, which obliterates everything (that is, the sanity of Methods students) in its path. A notable mini-dream was one where I was in our Methods class, when our teacher wheeled around, pointed an accusing finger at my face and declared:

"You will lose all your marks for careless mistakes. You shall fail!"

Comforting, I know. For this reason alone, I allowed myself an extra hour of sleep in order to accommodate for these nightmares, though it didn't seem to work.

But anyway, today was the day of the much hyped-up and fearful exam, which threatens to voraciously devour the confidence and ENTER scores of particularly indolent students. I shivered into the exam as opposed to gliding in feeling c-cubed (Ms Maurer's unfortunately named advice to stay Cool, Calm and Collected), and sat down hyperventilating. The rather innocuous-looking booklet glared at me challengingly, and I shrunk back into the chair, wallowing in despair that my myopic eyes were unable to make out the emaciated hands of neither the Wyslaskie Hall clock nor the white board situated at the front of the students. Excellent start.

However, as I read the exam and my nerves settled down from Level 5 to Level (5-e^(cos (pi/6)), I felt the confidence flooding back into me. Must concentrate. Must achieve. Thus, with the culmination of reading time and the beginning of writing time, I picked up my pen eagerly and scrawled my answers in a frenzied but coherent fashion. Being ultra-pedantic about setting out and the like, I finished within about forty minutes (I'm not sure, I could not see the clock) and proceeded to double check my answers rather hysterically. Satisfied with my work, I managed to finish everything and settle down as the examiner counted down the seconds left till the dreaded "pens down, girls" moment.

"Pens down, girls."

I was exultant. Pauline, who was seated two seats behind me, then proceeded to have a strange orgasmic seizure of excitement. Exam One was over: one down, one (the most bewildering and most terrifying two hour monster that is the Multiple Choice ad Analysis Section) to go.

After checking with Pauline that each and every single answer I had was correct in a very un-PLC and un-secretive-Asian manner, I floated down the corridors feeling c-to-the-four (Cool, Calm, Collected and Complacent).

To the Methods girls under the reign of Ms Annie Maurer, there shall be no 'munching' tonight.

-Mel-cubed

Political Antics

2006-11-01T17:57:00.000+11:00

"Hey, what are you planning to do the day before the exam?"

"What? You mean tomorrow?"

Gahh.

Today is the penultimate study day before the horror that is the Mathematical Methods Exam One.

Time has ticked away at a slow but steady pace, the remaining weeks, days and hours before the exam dwindling away akin to the 'suction' of seawater from the beach before the tsunami arrives. The animals have fled; the ravenous seagulls that are the Unit 1/2 students have flown pass the crest of the wave. I must too flee. Frolicking gaily amongst the clouds and rays of sunshine, they snack on the popcorn that they have stolen from the nearby rubbish bin and watch as the metaphorical tsunami engulfs the Year 11 Maths Methods class. Meanwhile, we tremble in fear as we lay our eyes on the gargantuan beast and realise that there is no escape. Brace yourself.

Moreover, the state election day inches closer and closer, and although I am not of legal voting age, I am still allowed to propagate my political ideology and opinions. These consist of "John Howard, you racist fool", "Steve Bracks, you lying, cheating, miserly resource guzzler" or "John Howard, you thick eyebrowed, fashionless, extremist cad".

In fact, published and advertised in today's "The Age" was an opinion piece that advocated the mandatory employment of school chaplains, or something along those lines. I apologize, I was too busy laughing to notice the content. Even more fascinating was the title: "This is not an attempt to force-feed religion to our children". Hahaha! Oh, sorry, was that a joke? Perhaps what would be more pertinent: "Caution: may cause excessive bouts of hysteric laughter. This is not a joke".

Also peppered in "The Age" were many cleverly camouflaged "sorries", "I was wrongs" and "I told you sos" either coming from or directed to John Howard. Yes, the ostensibly far-off prospect of global climate change has become reality (did I not warn you in previous posts?). Mr Howard, however, has avoided the heavy criticism and the aforementioned "I told you sos"; has claimed that "Aww, I'll sign the Kyoto, but only if everyone else (George Bush) signs it!"; and has begun to contemplate alternative forms of energy (but only when ten thousand other Knights hand him scientifically proven and irrefutable evidence in the form of 600-page reports and George Bush lets him). It's amazing how much progress he can make...

In fact, I am finding the Greens party more and more convincing (yes, shame on me), despite the fact that they came to my tram stop this morning to shamelessly (and possibly illegally) hand out advertisements to underaged minors (because that would really make a difference in votes)...

Speaking of politics, "The Glasshouse", a political satiric panel show was cancelled today. Nooo!!! Thus, spurred on by the indignation of one of its stars, Dave 'Hughesy' Hughes, I sent a complaint to ABC that went along the lines of:

I am shocked and disgusted that you have removed The Glasshouse, a witty, insightful and hilarious program, from our airwaves. And here I was under the misapprehension that TV and entertainment was made for the viewers, not the ludicrous politicians of the Government.

Hopefully, they will not remember me as the raving psycho that sent them an essay entreating them to return Sailor Moon to our airwaves, and bring "The Glasshouse" back.

However, as I mentioned before, I must swim to dry ground with my fellow classmates before John Howard throws a greenhouse-gas-emitting, energy-inefficient school chaplain at me.

-Mel

The Bludge

2006-10-31T17:29:00.000+11:00

Today was another bludge at school, which blatantly supports my theory that this is, in fact, the eye of a horrific storm. Fellow sloths, enjoy the sunshine while it lasts.

Speaking of eyes, today was the very first day that my peers had seen me in my new glasses. Walking down the corridor, I felt extremely self-conscious yet studious as the gaze of passers-by remained fixated on my face. Or perhaps they were staring at the two legged zebra behind me?

School consisted of nothing but working lessons, which was both refreshing and unnerving at the same time. Most notable was Chemistry, in which the class spent two periods watching as our teacher Ms Aicolina helped her Chemistry students with their Mathematical conundrums and tried (and failed) to solve a 2x2x2 Rubik's Cube. Joyce managed to solve the Cube a total of about fifteen hundred million times, whilst shoving the result in our stunned teacher's and my face. Well, at least I can proudly declare that I was one of the most productive members of the class, having completed half a redox question within a period of two hours. Hurrah!

Unfortunately, school was not as relaxed our heavenly Chemistry lesson, as our substitute English teacher determinedly prowled the halls in search of yours truly and her language analysis oral.

"Hello, Melissa. Just the person I was looking for. Were you ill yesterday?"

"Of... course..."

"Wow, you look very good today."

"Um, thank you."

Smooth.

However, although wagging school in lieu of absorbing valuable knowledge is viewed as a heinous crime, it is simply frowned upon by teachers, due to the fact that this is Presbyterian Ladies' College. We must, must, must, above all, achieve, or face the frightening prospect of being disowned, disparaged and shunned by the College. I hear you ask, "What? But I've never heard of anyone getting shunned by their own school." Exactly.

Thus, I performed my oral during lunchtime, and managed to earn a few "Very Highs" in Mr Morrisey's books. The following is an excerpt:

It is human nature to scrutinize, speculate and gossip about the rich, the famous and the glamorous, particularly when they fall from grace. When celebrities' dirty secrets are exposed, the vulnerable human being hiding behind those designer clothes or rippling muscles are laid bare before the vultures that are the general public. In fact, the plebeians thrive on feeling superior to the superior, and thus strongly believe on their 'right to know'.

In other news, I ate a Krispy Kreme doughnut for the first time (a Year 11 girl, knowing the enormous demand for these balls of sugar and saturated fat, shrewdly sold the bite-sized stomachaches for double the retail price) as well as a banana today, which is considered a rarity among the plebeians for obvious financial reasons in a banana-deprived Australia. Patricians, here I come.

-Melanana

PS. Happy Halloween!

The Eye Of The Storm

2006-10-30T14:27:00.000+11:00

I am proud to announce that at about 10pm last night, I picked up the Neap 2006 Exam Two and regained my mathematical mojo. I worked until midnight, and despite the fact that the quality and accuracy of work was not what it used to be, I am recovering from my recent bout of Mathspox.

Realising that there was nothing much to do at school today besides the possibility of an oral and Chinese dictation that I'd very much prefer to avoid, I decided to pull a Pauline and stay at home while my energy lasted. However, I still woke up at the usual time of 7:30am (which is really 6:30am thanks to the pest that is Daylight Saving). Brilliant.

For the rest of the day, I picked up random papers in an unusually disorganised manner (okay, the mojo hasn't really fully returned yet...) and systematically completed each one, unless I felt the traces of my Mathspox returning. I confess, it isn't exactly the best way to spend a nice spring day, but there are only four more days. Argh.

However, today seemed like an ominously productive and laid back day amidst all the chaos and carnage in the Year 11 Maths Methods class village, which prompted me to dub it 'the Eye of the Storm': it probably won't last, but hey, it's pleasant.

Anyway, the wintry storm that is the Mathematical Methods exam is looming, and the spirited sloth may have to retreat under her metaphorical Everest of trial exams and hibernate. If she does not return before the exams, rest assured that she is studying in a very unslothly manner.

-Mel

Arrested Developments

2006-10-29T15:15:00.000+11:00

(And again, no, I'm not just referring to Maths).

Well, I must finally admit defeat. I am officially burnt out. Spurred on by the diligence and general hard work of my peers, I vowed to do at least one practice exam per day. However, I have committed perfidy of sorts in that I have capitulated and have not done at least one exam per day. In fact, I did not even complete the IARTV Exam One last night, and instead opted to sleep at the early time of about 9pm. Pure bliss, although it did not do wonders for my conscience.

I confess, I felt extremely 'burnt out' last night, and could not muster up the energy nor the will to do Maths. Argh, I'm sick of it all. I know I must persist, and that I must must must apply myself for the final five days (oh my god), but I really cannot. Perhaps I must, for the very first time in my life, turn to coffee in spite of its horrendous taste. Must stay awake.

But the title of this post is not just an allusion to my mathematical hell, but to the unusual developments in my weekly bike ride with the Chinaman (Bap), my brother and my dog Chloe (yes, she actually keeps up and runs with us for about 10km every week). Deciding that we should take a new route today in lieu of the monotonous Dandenong Creek Trail, we decided to cross a bridge situated next to the pony farm after Chloe had enough of her weekly gambol with the startled ponies. Instead, we made our way towards what we thought was Ringwood Lake.

After getting lost and finding ourselves on a massive train track, we turned around and headed up a hilly track that ran parallel to the road. It started off quite easy, and was basically a smooth path. However, it began to get steeper and steeper, and I could hear the clicking of the bike gears around me, which made it slightly easier to climb the mountainous track. As we neared the summit, a police car turned off the road and parked in front of me. I attempted to continue riding up the hill, avoiding any eye contact with the menacing police officers. However, it was too late: they signalled me to come.

Yes, I was frightened. But who wouldn't be? Perhaps they were going to book me for letting my dog run alongside us without a leash? But as I approached the car, the amiable officer gave me a smile. Apparently, they had seen me with a helmet, and wanted my name and address in order to enter me into the VicRoads SafeCycle Mountain Bike draw as a reward. Phew! However, I was uncertain because A: I was terrified and did not really hear anything they were saying to me, and B: I had a suspicion they were paedophiles collecting the addresses of naive little children. Unsure, I called the unfortunately helmetless Chinaman to come over.

"Bap! You're in trouble!"

The policemen laughed at my cheek; surely, he wasn't going to come now.

"Hey, they're going to fine you. Have you got any cash on you?"

In amusement, I watched as the Chinaman's face withered: he slowed down and probably contemplated whether he should just turn around and run. Yes, very intelligent: I'm sure the policemen in the police car were not going to catch him... But eventually, he did arrive, and apologized profusely for any and every reason that he could think of: "I swear I didn't steal the free range eggs from the shop. I didn't know! I thought they were regular eggs!" Smooth.

However, my brother and I did eventually enter the competition and got some nice SafeCycle stickers to show off our safety. Stupidly, I stuck it on the left side of my bicycle, and because we ride on the left in Australia, it would remain invisible to passers-by. The Chinaman vowed to buy a helmet as soon as he got home. Of course he would.

As our fear subsided, we turned around and coasted at full speed back to the bottom of the hill (infinitely more enjoyable than the ascent). Even Chloe managed to keep up with us at speeds of about 40kph.

As we returned, the Chinaman, in true Chinaman style, asked me:

"Did you give them our address?"

"Yes, Bap."

"Ai yah, Chui Yi, how could you simply give our address to these people? You know they can simply knock on the door and abduct you people without us knowing? Why you so naive?"

"Bap... They're the police."

Ah, some people never change.

-Mel

Royal Society

2006-10-28T15:16:00.000+10:00

Today was my RSPCA training session, where I learnt how not to be an embarrassment to the Royal Society. Well, tried, anyway.

I got up at the crack of dawn (in Melspeak, that's 8:30am) and was driven by Mum to the local RSPCA in Burwood. A group of about ten people including myself were treated to a guided tour in the arcane "Staff Only" areas as well as a lecture. It was smelly but enlightening in that I discovered that fully grown and mature adults could reduce themselves to googoogaga Babyspeak when in close proximity of a particularly fuzzy puppy. In fact, I too suffer from this condition, which is also known as Gooboobiddimiddiwoowoo Syndrome. Careful, it's going 'round.

We were taken through the clinic by a vivacious nurse at 9:30am, who showed us the wards, theatres and pathology labs among others. Next, we were taken through the animal shelters; however, I was disappointed to see that there was not a single bunyip up for adoption. Shame on them! We were again struck by the Gooboobiddimiddiwoowoo Syndrome when we toured the adoption centre and saw gorgeous doe-eyed puppies and Beagles wagging their tails at prospective parents. Aww!

The touring component of today's training session ended by 10:30am, where we were lead to a conference room (ooh, how formal) to receive a lecture by another vivacious staff member on animal handling. It was extremely informative and useful, and managed to systematically prove that each and every one of my own methods of handling my dog Chloe is absolutely wrong. Excellent. Well, she doesn't seem to mind anyway. And so, by 11:30am, we came out as unofficial volunteers. Respect us.

In other news, I have recently come up with my Year 12 quote for next year. The Year 12 quote always frightened me as I struggled to find anything remotely witty yet inspirational. However, I have found something that at the very least, satisfies the former:

"Maths is like an addiction. You hate doing it, but you feel like crap if you don't."
-Melissa Tam

For all those that are frantically cramming every scrap of knowledge pertaining to Mathematical Methods Units 3/4, tell me it isn't true.

-Mel

The Countdown

2006-10-27T20:35:00.000+10:00

Today marks the beginning of the VCE exams for the Year 12s. Terror flows through my veins.

Today marks the one week mark on the proverbial egg timer, which counts down the days, hours and seconds till my Mathematical Methods exam. Pure undiluted fear courses through my veins.

But enough with the fear.

On a lighter note, we had a cake-testing session today (ie a full on pig out whereby otherwise thin and health conscious PLC girls would gorge themselves with full fat cream), which was exquisite. I'd like to extend a warm thank you to Miss Van Tran for providing us with tiramisu and strawberry topped cheesecake in a successful attempt to sabotage our body images and our overall health. Hooray! Argh, my stomach hurt after the tiramisu, though. I hate coffee.

Furthermore, today was Free Dress Day. Well, it wasnt as light. Free Dress Day is also known to some as Teebee Day or Ho-Ho-Ho Day (not to be confused with the jolly man himself), where PLC girls dress up in order to out-skank each other in a ditch to impress non-existent males. Much to my despair, I could not join them today due to the lacklustre pieces of winter clothing in my bedroom. So I was left to feel self-conscious and very un-TB due to the fact that my only accessory was my pair of school studs. SHOCK HORROR.

What could possibly be even more un-TB would be my new pair of glasses. This is due to the fact that they seem to suit everybody else better than they suit their new owner, yours truly. Oh well, at least I can actually see now. Without my glasses, everything is again obscured in a fuzzy blur, which is frightening. The rapid deterioration of my eyes unnerves me.

However, thinking about it, I suppose it opens up many new opportunities. A: it makes me look infinitely more studious than I actually am, and B: it opens up a new and exciting world for pick up lines.

-Mel-No-Ho

PS. The campaign for a greener future in the Tam household is proving to be extremely arduous. When I tentatively suggested to Bap that we change to Green Power, his eyes widened in incredulity, and his mouth opened in horror. Perhaps he thought Green Power had something to do with marijuana. But no, in true Chinamanesque fashion, he spent the next half an hour scolding me for even contemplating saving the planet for posterity. Yes, how dare I.

The End Of An Era

2006-10-27T19:37:00.000+10:00

"The era of procrastination, of half-measures, of soothing and baffling expedients, of delays, is coming to a close. In its place, we are entering a period of consequences."
- Winston Churchill

(No, I'm not just talking about Maths).

Yesterday was our much-anticipated Physics excursion to the Rivoli Cinema to see Al Gore's 'An Inconvenient Truth' as part of our Alternative Energy Sources unit. Yes, we crossed over to the dark side that is Camberwell (by dark, I mean highbrow and snobby, cough cough). Well, any excuse to escape the deadly clutches of a GM* test.

After the first period which felt strangely like a sixth, we were bussed to the cinemas.

The cinema was filled with pensioners, and us hoodlums ploughed in exuberantly clutching our $4 (I remember when they were $2.20, those money-hungry corporate swindlers) Choctops and $6.50 popcorn (we were coaxed into buying the medium in lieu of the small for a *mere* 50c!).

Following an hour of two of shocking statistics, painful projections and nightmarish animations (sorry, I ran out of alliterations), we were gripping our seats in terror. Everybody was truly freaked out. Example: if Greenland, Antarctica or a combination of those were to melt, which, by the way, is very soon at the rate we're going, the sea level would rise by 20 feet. No, this did not have the shock factor until I converted this mentally to 8 metres, thanks to those stupid Americans. But this figure means that half of the country of Indian will be underwater, displacing about half a billion people. The entire city of Beijing would be fully engulfed by this terrible flooding, which would surely affect several million lives. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pauline shivering. We were then treated to a detailed animation of the flood water seeping up the continents, amidst shouts of "Dear God, no! Make it stop!" coming from the students around me.

By the end of the film, we had seen the horror of it all (no, I'm not referring to the occasional instances of shameless propaganda for Al Gore). It was the end of the era of frivolous use of electricity on our parts, and the end of our ignorance. Empowered, we vowed to make a difference, because, according to dear old Mr Gore's line and bar graphs, it is really and truly possible.

In fact, last night has seen many physicists sending MSN chain messages - much to the annoyance to our selfish, unenlightened peers - desperately pleading them to change to renewable energy. It hasn't worked so far, but I guess I shall keep you updated...

Yesterday was another end of an era, when I looked at my MSN space for the last time. It was deleted in order to make room my heart for Blogspot. Please take a moment to remember my dear MSN space. Lest we forget.

-Mel

PS. Seriously though, go Green (no, I'm not talking politically) and switch your energy account to renewable energy. I believe it is at no extra cost and is easily done online. Make the difference.

My, Oh Myopia

2006-10-26T18:46:00.001+10:00

With a growing blurriness clouding my view of the whiteboards in PLC classrooms within a mere fortnight, I have come to realise that my vision is deteriorating at an alarming rate.

Worried that my vision impediment would hinder my endeavour to bring the Tam family fame and most importantly, fortune, Mum (I welcome any suggestions for her blogdonym, ie. a pseudonym-slash-nickname I will henceforth refer to her as) booked me to see the optometrist on Tuesday afternoon.

I sacrificed some precious Maths-Methodising-in-Library time, took the correct (hallelujah) bus to Knox City. I met my Mum at the optometrist; however, this was a different one. Instead of bringing me to the shoddy Myer Optical Superstore in the loneliest corner of the shopping centre, she took me to a swanky Eyecare Centre with impressive glass doors. Hey, anything for a glass door.

I met my new optometrist, and after round after round of exhaustive questions, he determined that I did not, in fact, have an infectious disease, led me into the examination room and smiled at me. Yes, he could already tell that I was getting blind at the tender age of fifteen. Or perhaps it was because I walked into the wall.

Immediately after I settled into the comfortable optometrist chair (it is not as intimidating as the dreaded dentist chair... it can move up and down!), it was time for the eye tests. Dread washed over me as memories of my previous eye tests inundated my mind. How can you possibly fail an eye test? Yes...

After looking at my own eye nerves (frighteningly awesome), the optometrist asked me to read the bottom line. Well, where is it exactly? I could barely see the first one. As I began to individually stab each letter in the dark ("Ummmm, ummmm, F... A... I...... ummm, L?"), my optometrist furrowed his brow.

"Er, these are numbers."

Hmm.

Not long after, he found that I had 20-20 vision for things up-close, but I was diagnosed with myopia (aka short-sightedness for the laymen). Funny, the trainee optometrist at Myer maintained for three consecutive years that I was long-sighted (hyperopic I think). Hmm. Furthermore, I was told that I only used one eye at any one time, and did not use them simultaneously. This was proved when he asked me to describe what was reflected in the mirror. I described in detail a dot and two lines. There were four.

Thus, I was prescribed low-power (thank god it wasn't worse) glasses whilst Mum cried out "Ai yah, how could you not see that?!" in disdain.

After humouring a nice lady in order to keep her in a good mood while I wasted her precious time rejecting the nice frames she offered me, I finally found an okay plastic Versus (sadly not Versace) pair. Not bad, although they cost $100 more than those spectacles at Myer (whose lenses and screws fall out at regular intervals).

And so begin my myopic adventures, which involve both my parents laughing at the fact that I am now the one that cannot see. Hurrah.

-Melopic

Welcome (2)

2006-10-24T20:40:00.001+10:00

Dearest Fellow Spirited Sloths,

Amidst the frenzied studying for my upcoming exams, I have still failed to ignore the nagging twitch at the back of my mind that demands a blog relocation.

Although MSN spaces and Myspace do have their merits, the barren wasteland that was my blog has failed to attract many visitors (or at least their comments), with the exception of the odd ravenous vulture (ie my friend Pauline, who strikingly resembles an ostrich/vulture/emu).

Hence, I have decided to move my blog to Blogspot, probably for the last time because my computer is temperamental and quite frankly, sick of Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V.

So, fellow sloths, be assured that there are more witty wisecracks to come. Not necessarily from me, though.

-Mel, the spirited sloth

I'm About To Lose Control & I Shouldn't Like It

2006-09-27T18:18:00.000+10:00

With the Maths Methods (trial) exam looming (yes, the parentheses are deliberate for obvious reasons), I have embraced my inner nerd and become a psychotic, maths-hungry student.

Although not many have noticed, there are many danger signs with regards to this mathematical insanity, and I urge all parents to take heed.

If you:

Notice Mathematical equations scrawled across steamy bathroom mirrors;
Find that your daughter's wallpaper is covered with sketchy parabolic graphs;
Hear your daughter in her room whispering "A, B, A, D, E, C, C, A" with her multiple choice booklets in the KITCHEN;
Have bought your third replacement calculator;
Catch your daughter measuring the surface area of your grand piano;
Measuring coke bottles drop by drop in order to determine the probability distribution of its contents;
Know all the logarithmic laws by heart, because you hear your daughter reciting them in her sleep;
Catch your daughter sniffing her textbooks; or
Catch your daughter chewing her toenails in the dark;

Please tie up your daughter when she is unsupervised.

-Mel

Why You Should Not Play The Sims 2

2006-09-09T06:02:00.000+10:00

Following a bout of last-day-of-school-term-itis, I found myself with a 3 GIGABYTE monster named 'The Sims 2' on my hard drive.

Although it took me several nights to get it up and running without erratic errors and menacing messages, I was rewarded handsomely for my pains, and the following words were announced coolly from my speakers: "EA Games: Challenge Everything". My heart was fluttering with anticipation. It was going to be The Sims 1 plus more. By the time the soothing Muzak began to play, my brother was looking on with bemusement and a greenness much like the trademark Sim beacon (in case you didn't know, I am implying jealousy). Ah, home sim home.

After spending much time lovingly creating a Sim in my own image (yes, I even used my photo as a model) and thus feeling like God, I was all set to spend my time in a simulated and virtual reality away from my fellow humans (who at that time, were pestering me about mathematics and calculus, much to my fright and revulsion).

All went well for the first, oh let's just say twenty minutes, when my Sim got her bearings and became accustomed to what was going to be her sweet (albeit squashed and tacky) home. She made a friend and even outstripped her controller in cooking skills when she learnt how to make 'Chilli Con Carne'. I was proud. Then suddenly, when she made her moves on an unsuspecting lout named Kennedy Cox (and unwittingly fell in love for no apparent reason), she froze in a wooden pose à la Mischa Barton on the OC. It was the beginning of the end.

The night continued in that fashion, and I have hence compiled a list of why you should not bother visiting Pleasantvile in Simtown in lieu of the real world.

If you don't want:

Friendly 'friends' visiting your Sim baby; cooing softly to it; carrying it lovingly; remembering that they too, have cleaning to do at home; walking away without saying goodbye WHILST CARRYING YOUR BELOVED BABY and never ever ever seeing it again. That's right, BEWARE: your baby is in danger of disappearing off the face of the cyber earth. That's not the part I'm worried about, however. Four words: social services are coming.
Teddy bears floating ominously in thin air after your Sim child has finished playing with it. It's unnatural and morally wrong.
Ugly men (with whom you would only like to stay friends) who get turned on and develop crushes on your poor Sim after playing an innocuous game of social chess.
Your Sim previcaciously wanting to pash that ugly man.
Stupidity abound when uninvited acquaintances clog your Sim's toilet.
Stupidity abound when uninvited acquaintances watch the TV at 2am while your Sim is TRYING to sleep, and wake them up to tell them they have to go home and pee because they just clogged your toilet.
Stupidity abound when uninvited acquaintances create a fire by taking packaged potato chips from your fridge.
Stupidity abound when acquaintances sabotage your Sim's flourishing friendship when they attempt to propose to you whilst they are still acquaintances, and hence resulting in no friends.
Your Sim throwing a tantrum at you when you request her to go to the toilet.
Your Sim going to work and inconsiderately leaving you staring at empty space for the 8 hours that they are absent.
Your Sim taking 2 precious Sim hours to urinate.
Your Sim having romantic relations with the Rubber Plant when drunk.
The necessity of watering your RUBBER Plant.
Your Sim going to bed but forgetting to sleep.
The female French Maid stealing your Sim's male fiance and trying on your female Sim's clothes.
The male Plumber stealing your Sim's male fiance and trying on your female Sim's clothes.

BUT MOST OF ALL:

If you don't want:

Your computer to simultaneously freeze and combust in front of your very eyes every 15 to 20 minutes.

Do not get The Sims 2.

I'll leave it to the 40 year old virgins. It's nice to be back in the real world.

-SiMel

Second Coming

2006-09-03T17:05:00.000+10:00

-Mel

The Light of Life

2006-08-29T18:43:00.000+10:00

With nothing spectacular happening right now and the reluctance to affirm my creepiness by talking about my exchange student, I've decided to put one of my stories from Year 11 English on here, just so I appear like a conscientious blogger. Oh, and feedback please.

The Light of Life

'Light is the life of the world, while Love is the light of life.' - Lewis Wallace

“Enjoy yourself, darling.”

Anna smiled warmly at Peter. He glanced almost uncertainly at his wife. She looked pleasant; her shining eyes gazed amorously at him and her hair was bunched into a simple ponytail. He clambered out of the car and into the darkness of the night. Ambling up the path, he reached the reunion venue.

As he entered the bright hall, he recognised several faces: some of which had transformed notably, others distinctly similar. Then, he caught sight of her. The goddess. A saccharine fragrance emanated from her as she glided past; it smelt of vanilla. Her hair cascaded down in fine strands of chestnut, which complemented the satin draped around her voluptuous body. She was almost luminous, giving off her own brilliant light. Her eyes flicked in his direction, and then turned back to her path. Maybe she didn’t see him.

He milled around behind the crowds uncertainly. Despite their being close, the goddess had never seemed to reciprocate his sentiments. Thus, he married the plain but tolerable Anna. He knew he had to be faithful to his wife, but that would never last. Love was the light of life: he loved the goddess her and yearned to be loved in return. However, his wedding ring continued to sparkle tauntingly. He married Anna: for better, for worse… but he still dreamed of the goddess…

“Pete!”

He wheeled around and saw her. His chest pounded uncomfortably from the surprise.

“Hi there. How –” He paused, horrified, as his throat produced a peculiar gurgling noise.

The gracious goddess ignored the sound.

“How’s Anna?”

“She’s good.”

He felt pangs of guilt as Anna’s affectionate smile inundated his mind; he made his excuses and retreated to the opposite end of the room.

The night continued in that fashion, as he determinedly remained far away for the sake of his wife. His feet were itching to move towards her, and he finally succumbed. He shouldn’t have come.

“…the wedding ceremony sometime next month.”

He paused abruptly. The voice, akin to a nightingale’s, was unmistakable.

“You are so lucky to be getting married!”

The goddess giggled. She held out her porcelain hand; from her delicate finger sparkled flecks of white and gold.

He knew it was for the best.

As the night took its toll on several celebrators, the hall gradually emptied. He glanced over and saw the
chestnut-topped head floating amidst the dwindling crowds. In a rash decision, he made his way outside towards her to bid farewell and good luck. Cars left one by one, and she was alone.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

He did not answer, but was fixated on her eyes, those alluring emerald gems. They tantalized him.

“Well, I must meet my fiancé.”

She began to walk away, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the back of her shimmering gown.

“Wait.”

The goddess turned around. With the realisation that she was promised to another man, lust washed over his self-imposed control. He thrust himself into her and kissed her gently yet passionately, in the same fashion as he had dreamt of since high school. Suddenly, he felt the warmth being peeled off his as she backed away furiously.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly.

She continued to move away, off the pavement and onto the street, a look of revulsion and betrayal written onto her face.

“How could you–”

Her words were still ringing into the dark night as the oncoming car approached.

Tears clouded his vision. He wasn’t much help to the police; he was too overwhelmed to speak: overwhelmed by the guilt of betrayal and the guilt of being responsible. It was late.

Anna was seated comfortably in the kitchen. Her fresh countenance lit up brightly when she saw her beloved husband. He vaguely remembered when he had told her in their height of ‘passion’ that those glowing eyes were the lights of his life. However, when she saw the devastation on his face, her expression withered. She did not ask what was wrong; she did not intend to. He trudged towards her, collapsed into her arms and wept.

The morning arrived, and sunlight began to creep surreptitiously through the laced windows. His sobs quietened, and he fell asleep. Anna did not sleep; not when her husband was in pain. After all, he was the light of her life.

-Mel

PS And in case you were wondering, the motif was light. It's the first time I've used a motif, because all my other stories are bland soap operas. But hey.

What Not To Do To An Exchange Student

2006-08-24T17:59:00.000+10:00

This week, I volunteered to take an innocent and wide-eyed Chinese girl under my wing during the duration of her Aussie exchange. Unbeknownst to me, there were many no-nos involved...

DO NOT:

Hide behind doors and jump out screaming "HABAJIBA" when she emerges.
Hide outside her bedroom door and make funny sounds whilst she tries to sleep.
Lead her to the toilet and ask her what the funny smell is.
Enthusiastically and proudly show her articles in Chinese from her 'home country', which turn
out to be pages from a Chinese porn magazine.
Tell her that cars only drive on the left side on Saturdays... and then take her on a bike ride on Tuesday.
Ask her to wait at the bus stop for the next kangaroo.
Cut her hair while she sleeps.
Tell her that 'Down Under' refers to the mole people living under her bed.
Tell her that your ferret has bird flu.
Turn on a documentary about SARS and begin to cough.
Look confused and offended when she asks you where the toilet is.

And believe me,

DO NOT:

Furtively add her on MSN (if she doesn't know your address) when she's not looking, ask for her address, send her pictures of Rowan Atkinson, tell her that "I KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING" and repeat the process with several hotmail accounts.

Trust me, I know.

-Mel

Big Brother's Selection List

2006-08-20T19:20:00.000+10:00

Following the shameless and rather pointless airing of Brainiest Big Brother Housemate (why? WHY?! The attachment of the words 'Big Brother Housemate' to the title already give an extremely accurate indicator of the intelligence of these people. WHY?! What's the point? I implore you, please stop wasting the time and show quality shows like Sailor Moon), I pondered the very selection process that put together the team that brought you hours of watching neurotic girls getting slapped in the face with genitalia. Here's what I think was on the list:

Gorilla dressed up as a surfer but will not prompt action from the RSPCA (ie must wear pants... usually).
Soulful, intelligent and poetic gorilla.
Clueless girl with big breasts and never wears a bra.
Clueless girl with small breasts but compensates by implanting jelly-like substance into breasts and never wears a bra.
Clueless girl with no breasts, but compensates by implanting jelly-like substance into genitalia in order to appear like a real man instead.
Seasoned publicity whore that is also a whore, much to the hypocritical disgust of clueless girls numbers 1 and 2.
Failed teacher, clown and sanitary officer who periodically urinates in public.

But most importantly for the survival of the show:

Neurotic girl that can be slapped in the face with genitalia, earn the show publicity points AND will not sue.

Well, at least they can sell all their dignity and prospects for any public admiration and/or career in the media for a nice 3 phone (as opposed to Dancing with the Stars contestants and Pauline Hanson ).

-Big Mel

Why iHate iPods

2006-08-12T22:03:00.000+10:00

Following my victory (GO ROSSLYN!! WOOOOO!!) in Senior House JMAPS and the absence of any invitation to present my speech in assembly in front of almost two thousand eyes belonging to my peers, who would judge me and wait mercilessly for any humiliating mistake (not that I'm complaining), I feel obliged, nay, forced to share my bitter and caustic thoughts about the global pandemic: iPods.

iPods. Who doesn’t know what they are? But I have to admit that despite their ubiquity and ‘style’, they bug me to deaf, pardon the pun.

iPods are nothing but a fad right now, like yoyos and Tamagotchis. For example, some time last year, I spotted in the newspaper that the Queen herself has a blue iPod. Now, I doubt her majesty would really buy an iPod so she can shake it like a Polaroid picture. What would she put on it? Mozart? That’s hard to believe, because she can buy a personal orchestra with her multi-national empire. It’s simply because of the fad, to be a hip and happenin’ grandma.

In fact, it’s like a club. When you actually take a look around, you see them everywhere, with sightings more common than sightings of Elvis and Mother Theresa. The owners give each other knowing glances on the tram and wear their white headphones like badges of honour. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had a secret handshake. When my friend Nancy got one, it was simply agonizing. It wasn’t long for Ali, the owner of two iPods, to pull out her own white ear buds and notice: “Nancy! You finally got an iPod! Oh my god! How many gigabytes? What’s on your playlist?”

Everyone began to crowd around her, bringing along their own iPods and the person attached to the other end. Soon the whole crowd was excitedly chatting about how awesome they are, except me. “Hey Mel, are you going to get one?” they ask me with both bewilderment and pity. In other words, “Hey Mel, when are you going to succumb and join our cult?”

Yes, poor me was left alone in the corner. Because I haven’t brought myself to worship their iPods, I am left out of the loop and literally ostracized. In fact, am I the only one in the country that doesn’t have one? Apparently, about a million or so exist in Australia alone, but judging by the number I see on the tram everyday, it’s got to be more than that.

It’s not the numbers that are cringe-worthy, however. Obsession is. Most iPod owners talk how they’re “really really really extreme with their iPods”, although I don’t think I know what to make of that. Just recently, my friend Jess had her iPod stolen. Granted, it is painful to lose $500, but the way she reacted, I quote, “as if I had lost a family member... I’m so lost because someone took the thing that made my life worthwhile. Cry for me!”… It was a bit overboard.

But really, their relationships seem much more deep and meaningful than sticking plastic into their ears. With the zeal of a religious convert, some claim that “When I broke up with my boyfriend, I put my iPod on random play and the first track it selected was I will Survive. How spooky is that?” Enough said. However, iPods are truly style over substance. All over the place, I see people raving about how gorgeous the minimalist design is, and watch as they caress the touch wheel with such zeal that I’m afraid that they’ll develop those ‘1c text side effects’.

iPods are simply overrated. If I had a cent for every iPod that has blown up, exploded or smelt ominously like smoke, I’d have enough to take over Apple. Not that I’d want to, of course. Furthermore, with the amount of features and the price, it simply is not worth it. Who would want to pay $500 for an iPod when they can get a $300 version with even more features and breaks down less often? Because of the obsessive ubiquity and unreliability of the iPod, I think I’ll opt out and get a Tamagotchi instead.

I'd also like to take this opportunity to give a shout out to Bryony Gordon of the Telegraph, who wrote almost half the material there. Yes, I just pinched it in a desperate bid to finish the speech 10 minutes before JMAPS began. Ah, the disorganisation and last-minute-ness of PLC house events is simultaneously refreshing and excruciatingly stressful. Also, I'd like to take this opportunity to give an ol' plug to my iRiver. How iLove my iRiver.

-iMel

Welcome

2006-08-12T18:01:00.000+10:00

Yes, after the relentless peer pressure in the form of those exasperating gleams peppered all over my contact list (albeit fewer than when MSN spaces first emerged), I have again decided to have my very own little nook in cyberspace: a blog.

That's right, I felt it was again time to stand among those people who, instead of actively making a difference, prefer to sit in the comfort of their computer chair and post crazy comments, intelligent insights, witty... erm... witticisms and amusing alliterations to a questionable audience (all hail to armchair activism). Or maybe it was simply just peer pressure.

So ... enjoy, I guess.

- Mel, the spirited sloth

PS. "It's what you paid for" is my second and possibly last "spirited" attempt at blogging, so please be kind. And if you are curious about my previous blog (which I strongly believe has great merit... *cough* imminent plug *cough*), feel free to visit it at http://azn-angel-008.spaces.live.com.