Tel: 2352 2080
WhatsApp: 6168 2080
Tel: 2352 2080
Tel: 2352 2080
WhatsApp: 6168 2080
Tel: 2468 4363
Fax: 2468 4362
1. Rinse mushrooms. Soak for 4-5 hours until tender and then scoop them out.
2. Marinate with a pinch of sugar, oil, and corn flour for about 15 minutes.
3. Rinse mushrooms.
4. Stew or boil the mushrooms for about 20 minutes.
Tonight is Sunday night, and earlier when I was doing the dishes, I started singing the song to In Living Color. After that, I remembered Married with Children, and then the Simpsons.
It is interesting that these childhood patterns still surface after all these years. There have been many periods of Sunday nights in my life, yet these early ones seem to be most strongly etched into my memory. Having recently passed the midway point, I wonder if it’s a last gasp of childhood trying to hold on, because there have been a noticeable number of these moments lately. Conversations with coworkers about random topics bring up sudden flashbacks of adolescence. Right now I can’t even remember what it was, but at the time I commented that I saw an image from the past very clearly in my head, a memory I didn’t even know I had. I feel that I should write these down before they’re completely gone, because what else is noticeable is the decline in my ability to remember things.
TV used to be a big part of my life. I think Friday nights there was Full House, and then Family Matters, not to mention the daily Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune combo. Saturday was cartoons in the morning, then the Frugal Gourmet, Yan Can Cook, and Cooking at the Academy on KQED. And perhaps at one point, there was Square One Television on channel 9 in the afternoons. I remember a book I ordered from school, via Scholastic, called More Science Experiments You Can Eat. On one of those afternoons, I tried making beef jerky from that book, drying slices of flank in the oven. As has been the case for the past 40+ years though, I was impatient and ate some before they were fully dry. They came out OK, and I drank a Coke with them. Later that night, there must have been Saturday Night Live. I would always hope for Wayne’s World, but by that time it was pretty much done.
So, Sunday nights. Definitely In Living Color, and Married with Children. Was the latter on at 9 PM? I see the opening sequence with water shooting up from the fountain. They were both on channel 2, KTVU. I don’t remember if it was already under FOX. I thought of the Simpsons as well, though it wasn’t a specific part of the memory. I just knew that we used to watch it as well. It’s been on TV for as long as my family has been in America.
I want to remember the comfort of those Sunday nights in the old house, a small apartment in San Francisco that my mother rented for well under a thousand dollars. We watched those shows on a 19-inch Sharp TV with faux-wood panels and a dish and rabbit-ear combo antenna. After TV, it was bedtime and getting ready for school tomorrow, the start of another week. There would always be reading before bed, a habit I’ve kept up over the decades. I like to read until I can barely keep my eyes open, and then I set the book down and go to sleep. I know that chances are I won’t be dying any time soon, but if or when it does happen, I wouldn’t mind going out the same way I go to sleep.
Back to the grind, tomorrow.
Today is day 3 of trying to post more stuff. But I don’t really want to anymore. The past couple of posts have been made out of a sense of obligation after having posted nothing in the past months. My desire to express myself is gone.
Knowing that I am insignificant, I am reluctant to put my thoughts and opinions out there, because in the end doing so is just one big ego trip. And I’ve come to despise ego. In the past year I’ve found that it’s better to quietly work on myself while keeping my mouth shut.
If I run into any interesting photos or museum items, I may continue posting them. But looking at my track record for the past year, I don’t know if or when that’s going to happen. Signing off, for now.
I saw a reflection of myself in the MTR door this morning and I thought damn, I sure look like my dad. Growing up, I never thought of my dad as particularly cool, wearing his button-down shirts with khakis, jeans, or slacks, and tennis shoes. I associate the tucked-in, button-down look with him, and now I’m sporting the same look for work.
My dad was not someone I tried to emulate. If anything, there were things he did that I told myself I would never do. The sad thing is, I’ve actually gone on to do pretty much everything I said I wouldn’t do.
The MTR takes me to an office less than a mile away from my birthplace. The hospital is no longer there. Actually, I don’t know what’s there now. Maybe one of these days I’ll stop by during lunch to have a look.
The first place I ever lived is even closer, only half a mile away. My aunt’s house is close as well, in the same neighborhood it’s been for the past 40 years. This is where I come from.
In my angst over rejoining the rat race, it hadn’t occurred to me that I’m now working so near the “home” in my original “hometown”. I wasn’t trying to do it, but it happened. I didn’t want to be like my dad, yet somehow I am. I try not to do the narcissistic things my mom does, but sometimes I do. No matter how hard I’ve tried to be my own person, I am still a product of my upbringing and socioeconomic background.
I’d like to think that I’m in control of my life but it’s kind of crazy how close I am to the beginning. Is it possible that all this happened subconsciously? Maybe I’m not much in control after all.
Wow, two months of no posts? I’m as disillusioned as ever, the only way I’ll post something here again is if I just do it, no waiting to be “ready”, whatever that means. So, here goes.
Walking around Central, I see people wearing professional attire, men with their button-down shirts, ties, and suits, women with their skirts, blouses, and pant-suits. I feel so out of place. In the morning, I take a look in the mirror as I dress myself, and I feel like a fraud. This isn’t me. But maybe that’s just what I tell myself, because it is.
Every workday I put on one of those button-downs, slacks, and black leather oxfords. I cram into the MTR along with other commuters. I walk on the crowded sidewalk in 100-degree humid heat. I’m the same as everyone else. But do they feel the same way I do? Do they feel like frauds too? Do they wonder why it’s so important to dress a certain way to work in certain environments?
Maybe some do, and they are like me, needing to dress like this in order to earn money to live. No matter how much I question or how much I feel like a fraud, I’m still doing it. I haven’t started a resistance movement where I go to work wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I feel shitty every day, and I keep doing the thing that makes me feel shitty every day. Because this is the world I live in.