31 August 2011

NEW THINGS


One of my friends celebrated her birthday last night so the Ladies Who Lunch became the Ladies Who Drink Cocktails at a Rooftop Bar While the Sun Sets.

The conversation took its twists and turns throughout the evening, touching on subjects of work, lack of work, relationships and whether men or women have it easier here in Singapore. It was undisputedly decided that men have it much easier, especially when unattached.

Asian cultures have always associated a man’s status with how much money, power and how many women he has. In China, a man was supposed to achieve high society standing, take a wife and gain as many concubines as he could. The wife who would reign over the concubines in the household was known as a tai tai.

Though concubines may not be as prevalent in today’s societies, the practice of having affairs is one that is in play and somewhat accepted, especially here in Asia.

The term “tai tai” is still around but the meaning has been adapted to now reflect a wealthy woman who does not work. According to a local Singaporean, my group of friends is a group of tai tais, something “everyone wants to be.”

My friends and I laughed at the thought, especially since one is working and the rest of us are all diligently trying to find employment. Curious, I Googled the tern this morning and I came across a website that had some true Asian perspective on what it takes to be a tai tai.

According to the site we:
  • Must have a tremendous amount of leisure time. If doing what I want to do every day of my life constitutes a lot of leisure time, then I think I have this one. Check.
  • Must have lots of money to spend and does so by traveling. I have not left the island since we landed so….no.
  • Have to be concerned with status and owning only the latest hot items. Um, no.
  • Must be obsessed with looking young and must spend practically every hour in the salon to ensure that we look the best from any angle. Not exactly.
  • Should be associated with community involvement. OK, I do go to church, events sponsored by the American Women’s Association and I am volunteering for a Singaporean charity. Check this one.
  • Should be conscious of company and socializing with the right people. I don’t really socialize based on hierarchy but I do select my friends based on my own standards. But I am not sure that qualifies me here.
  • Must be well educated and must have abided on more than one continent. Check.
  • Must buy a lot, in multiple quantities, of the certified high-end goods. I can certainly say that I have never spent more than $400 on a purse or a pair of shoes, I have never spent more than $600 in a single shopping adventure and the name Chanel cannot be found on anything that I own, so no check for me.

For those not keeping score on this Cosmopolitan survey, I rank 3 out of 8. So a tai tai I may not be, but an expat wife I am, and I am grateful that my unemployed expat lifestyle allows me the opportunity to play hostess all next week when my first round of visitors makes the trek around the globe! 

26 August 2011

MAKE ME!

That phrase came out of my mouth a few times as a child. More often than not, that kind of attitude could be found at the dinner table. I was a very picky eater as a child and went through a lot of food phases.

As a toddler, I ate bananas and oranges like a good kid. Then, around age four, I did not like them anymore. To this day, I will only eat bananas if they are well mashed in a banana walnut bread, and I will only use an orange to squeeze some juice on a chicken. I even throw away orange Skittles.

There was a phase that lasted about a decade and a half when I would not eat anything green unless the green apple found its way into a pie. Vegetables other than corn and raw carrots were not my friend and not even Popeye could get me to even consider eating spinach.

I remember I spent a couple of weeks with my aunt when I was in elementary school. She lives on a farm in Ohio and I was living in Tennessee at the time, so it was a big deal to get away from my parents and experience farm life. But one evening my favorite aunt and I had it out. There was a standoff at the kitchen table.

Spaghetti was served for dinner, which I liked, but there were also some strange beans on my plate next to my pasta. Now the beans were not green, but they did fall into the non-corn, non-raw-carrot vegetable category, which meant they were off limits. My aunt did not seem to care.

She made me sit at that table until I ate them. If I remember correctly, I stuck it out for quite a while. I think I even got her to negotiate so that I only had to eat three beans instead of the whole pile on my plate. My dad sold cars for a living. I learned about the importance of negotiation.

I became more lenient on the green vegetable phase as I became a teenager and added lettuce to the acceptable vegetable list but I refused to use salad dressing until I was almost in college.

One day in my 20s I became an adult. I decided to eat a green bean or two on my restaurant plate because they looked good. They started to taste better and better with time. On my 23rd birthday, I tried asparagus for the first time at a Cameron Mitchell restaurant because I felt I was ready for the adventure. And I liked it.

Since moving to Singapore, I have cooked a chicken with all of its parts and have butchered a chicken to lose the parts I did not want to see. I have eaten Indian food, Malay food, Thai food and a few other Western dishes that I would previously not touch.

I joined a supper club in April where I had the opportunity to learn some French cooking. I wanted to be polite and not picky so I tried a piece of the rustic onion tart and a seared salmon salad with a Dijon dressing (I am still not a fan of mustard), neither of which I would eat in my own home or anywhere else for that matter. Surprisingly, I liked both. I could not taste the Dijon.

I skipped the May event because I was not yet ready to conquer the Mediterranean fare (yes, I know, the in-laws are Greek – what am I saying?). After the summer break, we had our welcome back dinner this evening.

Tarts and quiches were on the menu tonight and one of the dishes included a new first – the anchovy. Though I typically make salad dressings, I refuse to make my own Caesar dressing because I do not even want to deal with anchovy paste.

Let’s be honest. Kids are told vegetables are bad and sugar is good. I think my mind has decided that anchovies are gross because growing up everyone talked about how gross they were. If I lived in Italy, I would likely love the little things.

I was a little nervous but I knew the fish would be finely chopped and cooked into what was supposed to be our appetizer. I guess if I don’t have to look at it, it won’t be so bad, right?
Well I ate the tart and I survived. I could not tell that any anchovies were in there so maybe I liked them. Who knows? The important thing is that I am trying new things.

20 August 2011

I LOVE IT


Singapore is great but there are a lot of little frustrations and funny things that just make life a little more difficult. Today some friends and I went shopping for formal wear and I was reminded how much I hate clothes shopping in Singapore.

I have not gone clothes shopping a lot but have had a few experiences in the last four months. Once an American girl is able to find clothing in the proper Asian size to fit her normal American body, it is time to hit the dressing room to see just how these ensembles will look once on the normal American body. Lucky for me, most Asian women don’t have boobs so I have a little easier time than most of my friends.

Dressing rooms are the real reason I do not like shopping. I am fine with going in and out of stores, finding something that I like and purchasing the items off the rack. But, unfortunately, I am not familiar enough with the sizes and styles to just walk out the door with something.

The lines to try on clothes can be enough to deter me from purchasing anything. If there is not a queue the size of one outside a New York City nightclub on a Friday night, I will make my way to the person in charge with my stack of prospects.

At that point, the person tells me that I may only take a certain number of items into the room with me. In my experience that number may be as low as three items, which can be aggravating. Let’s say I have three tops, two pairs of pants and a dress. I now have to figure out how I am putting these items together in order to coordinate my trial look. Once I finish with one item, I must take it off, find the dressing room monitor, switch one item for one other item and make my way back into my tiny cell. I mean room.

Dressing rooms are tiny and almost always have a curtain in lieu of a door. I am sure that more Asians have seen me naked in the last four months than all of my friends, family and doctors in the U.S. throughout my entire life.

More often than not, dressing rooms are not clean. Some have hooks, some do not. None have seats or benches. This makes it awkward. Number one, where am I going to put these clothes that I brought in here, the floor? Great. Number two, where am I to place my own clothes once they have left my body? Where am I to put my purse and my sunglasses? On the floor. Great. Now I have less space.

I do not know what it is about hangers, but dressing room monitors do not like them. Hangers are never allowed in dressing rooms. Awesome. I may not have anywhere to hang the clothes anyway.

One friend told me about an experience where she was instructed to take off her shoes prior to entering the dressing room. WHAT?! I mean, chances are, one will take off shoes in the process but why would we want to hand them over to a stranger responsible for monitoring other strangers who could steal our beautiful shoes if for some reason we wore the beautiful shoes instead of flip flops that day? Nuts.

The grocery store is another place where we often have debates with employees. I have a habit of shopping without looking at prices or units because I know I am going to end up paying for whatever I am buying anyway. This gets me into trouble because I often end up breaking the grocery store code of conduct.

You see, if I want to buy some pears, I think about how many I can eat before they spoil. Things spoil much quicker here. I also consider how long it will be before my next grocery adventure and factor that into my decision. Three sounds good, so I grab three good pears and place them in my basket.

I continue my shopping and make my way to the dreaded queue that can take longer to get through than the 500+ page book I decided to read. When I step up to my place as first in line, I proceed to unload my basket. Then it starts.

“Dees five for tree dollar.”
Crap. Here we go again.

“That’s fine, I only want three,” I tell the cashier.

“But dey five for tree dollar. You want two moh?”

What I want to say: “I just stood in this wretched line and you want me to inconvenience the six people behind me by making my way back to the fresh produce section that I call “hell” for a reason and make all of these people wait while I get two more pears that I neither want nor need just so you can enter the correct value? No thank you.”

What I always say: “No, that’s OK.”

At this point the cashier usually starts putting my three pears aside.

“No, no. I want the three pears.”

“Oh, you want two moh?”

“No, I only need three.”

“But dey are five for tree dollar.”

“Yes, I know, but I only want three. Just charge me for five. It’s OK.”

One final semi-crazy look later, I have my three pears and I am on my way.

The grocery stores here have stamps like we have gas points. These stamps are handed out to customers based on the amount of money spent. Customers are then expected to lick the stamps and place them onto a numbered sheet. Once the sheet is filled, there is a window of time when the stamps may be redeemed at the respective store for prizes like kitchen cookware.

I choose to give mine away as I typically have no need for the prizes. A few times in a row, I had older women approach me as I was at the checkout, asking if I would give them my stamps. I saw that they targeted other western-looking people.

I later learned that the time to redeem the stamps was coming to a close and these ladies became the closest thing to homeless beggers that Singapore has as they stalked people for more stamps like they were drug money. The first time, I gladly handed them over since I had no intention of using them. However, the number of aunties increased and the women got younger and they became borderline stalkers, which annoyed me, so I refused the other two times as I intended to give them to a friend.

Frustrations or funny memories? I vote both but they certainly do make me laugh.

18 August 2011

WHAT IS MORE AMERICAN?


What is more American than old school ‘80s styles like mohawks, mullets, fanny packs and stirrup pants? Apparently Singapore in 2011. Yes, I have seen them all…and more.

Singapore sets the luxury bar in almost every category from food to nightlife and that includes the fashion scene. Just like London and New York City, Singapore has its own Fashion Week sponsored by luxury companies. And, just like the streets of the good old U.S.A., Singapore has its own fashion crazies.

I wish I had pictures of my favorites, but I only recently learned how to covertly take photos on my phone. Luckily, I was able to catch this young girl who caught my eye:



Believe it or not, I have seen quite a few people walking around with papers on their heads to protect them from the rain or, like this girl, the sun. Many Asian women use umbrellas no matter what the weather in order to protect their skin from the sunlight.

I was also surprised to see such blonde hair since most women here do not dye their hair blonde. One will occasionally see brown or red tones in the dark Asian locks but most hair remains its natural dark.

But, of course, the reason for this snapshot…that foxtail on a chain sticking out of the back pocket. This is not the only furry accessory I have spotted on my daily adventures. One day while walking in a mall, I saw a man carrying something grey and furry close to his shoulder. What did I see? A bunny rabbit on a leash.

Most men in Singapore can be seen with an accessory made famous on Seinfeld – the European carryall more popularly known as the man purse. No, I do not mean the business bags closer to Joey Tribiani’s man bag. I mean actual purses that men are carrying with pride – straps and all.

Fanny packs have made an appearance as well. Ha.

Hair styles are all over the place here. Some Asian women have short, layered hair. Others have long, straight hair; there really isn’t a whole lot in between. The men either have no hair or the standard 15-year-old style that is popular at the time. We have heard from a few guys that it does not matter what one tells the stylist, they only know how to do one cut.

My favorite style happens to be the mohawk that I saw on a man one day while riding the bus. I could not help but look a few times once I realized that this guy was at least 50. I have seen him quite a bit around the East Coast and I get excited because every time, there is this blonde highlighted mohawk that has to be about 10 inches in length. I love it. 

15 August 2011

I WILL MAKE DINNER


Americans often complain about Singapore’s television programs. There are a lot of American shows and, of course, British and Australian channels in addition to the Singapore and Chinese channels available to viewers, but they just aren’t the same.

In our opinion, there are two types of shows to watch – crime shows and cooking shows. We just started watching Bones (love it) and Paul is a big fan of a British show about a group of con artists called Hustle.

But, for every one crime drama out there (and the appalling commercials that accompany them), there are three cooking shows. Luckily, I am a huge fan of cooking shows. And cooking. And eating.

On a given day, I can watch Top Chef, MasterChef (US, UK and Australia – my favorite), Food Network programming, Food Network Asia programming and, hey, Emeril was on John & Kate Plus 8 this morning.

I have done a lot of cooking since we moved to Singapore and often forget how difficult it can be to find familiar ingredients. Purchasing proteins with the head and feet still attached has also been an adjustment, but I can proudly state that I butchered my first chicken this week with the help of my husband and a redneck website that provided step-by-step instruction with pictures.

Creeped out in the beginning, I decided it was time to take the bird by the head and chop. So I did. And the legs and tail and the glands. I was fine until the neck had to come off so I yelled for Paul to come to my rescue.

I have a bit of technique to learn but I believe it was a good first run.

Cooking and eating are two very big parts of my life. Since I have more time on my hands, I have been experimenting with more recipes and just making up things that tickle my fancy at the time. I love cooking breakfast, lunch and dinner and, of course, dessert. There must be something sweet to snack on at all times, which basically means I bake something once a week.

Side note for all of my former co-workers out there: I had a huge laugh today while watching the Bewitched movie. There was a scene where Will Farrell was yelling his rider. As part of the rider, Will decided that there should be cake every week on Wednesday and it shall then be known as Cake Day. Ha. Here I thought my team created the original.

My friends are also big fans of food, which only makes my life better. I have a standing lunch date on Tuesdays and typically have plans for Saturday dinners. Then there are the weekly AWA coffees that are always followed by lunch and the occasional lunch date outside of the typical food schedule.

Football season is upon us, so the buckeyes will be baking in a few weeks. Once football season starts, the fall holidays will be quick to follow. I will be honest, part of the reason I love holidays so much is the food that is centered around the day. I can’t wait to get back to the States for Thanksgiving so I can gain 100 pounds while eating turkey and potatoes, bread, veggies, salad with the secret Tim Annabell holiday dressing that only makes an appearance at family dinners. And then there’s the pie. What is more American than mom’s homemade apple pie?

11 August 2011

THERE ARE NO WORDS


National Day in Singapore is big. Really big. Streets are covered in flags, billboards and banners. Military planes fly overhead to practice their routines for the show. Two months before the event, those cast in the production begin rehearsals at the venue. There hasn’t been anything this big to hit Singapore since last year’s National Day.

Before we moved, Paul and I learned about how Singapore was once a part of Britain. For two years in the 1960s, Singapore was a part of Malaysia, but Malaysia ended up giving Singapore the boot. On August 9, 1965, Singapore established itself as an independent nation. And that is your mini history lesson.

The citizens of Singapore are extremely proud of the country’s accomplishments and its ranking as one of the leading world economies – and they should be. This is a great place to live.

A fan of holidays and celebrations, I read that the annual independence day celebration was not to be missed. I was completely disappointed when I found out that we needed to have tickets to the main event two days after all of the tickets were distributed. I read on a local message board that some expats have been trying to get tickets for years. Bummer.

Luckily, through the power of television, we were able to have a great view of the ceremony without enduring the crowds or the heat.

I had been looking forward to this celebration since we had a possibility of moving to Singapore. I love big shows and fireworks and seeing everyone have so much pride for their nation. I know I am not a citizen but I consider myself a Singaporean (I have an ID card after all) and am proud for all that this country is doing.

And, with as much pride as I and every other natural-born citizen have for this country, I wish to God that they were better entertainers. This year’s show was one of the worst I have ever seen anywhere.

The “parade” was a terrible portrayal of a video game turned child’s fantasy on the big screen. Emergency vehicles and military vehicles and weapons were on display as this kid played chief of all emergency forces. The fighting and shooting were as fake as a theme park show.

The actual event I had described to others as something similar to the Olympics Opening Ceremonies was also a major let down. Cheesy acting, mediocre singing and the worst crime in showmanship – lip syncing – were only a few of the horrors we endured while watching. There were floats of items that represented countries that have influenced Singapore’s cultures and population. India’s elephant was quite beautiful, but the bamboo steamers that stood for China and the typewriter representing Britain were nuts.

My friend described the evening’s festivities as, “a three-hour televised show…that was equal parts cheesy broadway musical, extravagant military display, fake terrorist attack, drag show, history lesson, relay race and not-so-subtle pro-reproduction messaging,” as everything in Singapore is.

We did not end up watching the show in its entirety because it was so terrible. I had not experienced that much sarcasm and yelling at the TV since a Friday night with the Gilmore Girls. That part was actually quite fun, but I do not foresee myself having a ticket to any show in the future. Maybe I will make dinner reservations at a restaurant on the water so we can still have a view of the fireworks when it is all over.

07 August 2011

MUCH CREEPIER


For the last week, I have had the opportunity to host Riley, a 14-year old, 60-pound terrier mix, while his family vacationed in Cambodia. I offered to watch the dog for my friend Kim when she first mentioned that she was researching kennels. As fate would have it, the week that she and her husband would be out of town was the same week that Paul would be flying – his first multi-day trip in about six weeks.

This was an ideal time to take in a dog since Paul has a concrete rule that “nothing may enter this house unless it can contribute financially” – that covers all pets and babies.

He is against dogs of any kind and has all kinds of excuses for not having a dog. At one point last year, he said he would be up for having a cat. I prefer dogs to cats and really did not want to entertain the idea of having a furball that uses a stinky litter box but, after some time, I grew to like the idea of having a little friend around the house to entertain me on the five or six days a week when my husband was off flying. I researched cats and found a breed that I wanted. Suddenly, Paul was against the idea. He does this. A lot.

Paul was less than thrilled at the idea of hosting a dog for a week but gave in after mandating that I take full responsibility for all feeding, walking and cleaning up after “it.” I convinced him that this would be a chance for me to get my fix so I would stop bugging him about puppies and babies…at least for a while.

Having a dog for a week did have its ups and downs. I immediately realized that my schedule was about to revolve around the dog instead of my own timetable and desires. One day this week, I had plans for lunch and dinner. Though I left myself enough time to get home in between to walk the dog, I barely left myself enough time to get changed and on my way. My dinner plans ended up taking longer than I had anticipated, so I found myself racing to get back and walk the dog again.

When I was home most of the day, I started to realize that the dog was great at letting me know it was breakfast or dinner time but he would never indicate that he needed to go out.

I also found myself thoroughly cleaning my house throughout the week. I am certainly not complaining that I was cleaning my house; I just learned that it was necessary to clean the house more frequently with a dog present. Floors needed to be mopped because of dirty paws and spilled water from his bowl. Carpets needed to be vacuumed to pick up dog hair and drool. (This dog drooled like a teething baby when I would prepare his meals. It made me cringe.)

I warned my housekeeper that we had a dog this week and she indicated via text message that she was scared of dogs. Boy she was.

She entered my house just as Riley and I were coming back from our morning walk. When we came in, her eyes became larger than Tweety’s and she backed herself into the bathroom as if I were coming at her with a knife.

Now, Riley is about the size of a skinny golden retriever but he has a very friendly face, a happy and extremely lazy personality and he only barks at construction cranes. He is 14. He is not a predatory dog.

I have noticed that a lot of people here appear to be afraid of dogs. Some people, women in particular, got off of the sidewalk and walked in the grass to avoid the dog. So I can’t say I was surprised that the housekeeper was so freaked out at the sight of him.

I moved Riley’s bed, which is nearly the size of my own, into the study, gave him his breakfast and some water, turned on the room’s air conditioning system and closed the door. Sick, I went back to bed and only got up to go to the doctor in the afternoon. As I started to move again, the housekeeper advised that she was finished with the half of the house that I indicated she could clean that day. On her way out, she pointed toward the study door, still closed. “Is dog still in dair?” she asked. “Oh yeah,” I replied. “He is just sleeping. I told you he was harmless.” She couldn’t believe it.

Yesterday was the first day I saw my housekeeper in everyday clothes. She typically changes into work clothes upon arrival and Paul has always let her in in the past. She was wearing loose black pants, a shiny red, long-sleeved tunic and a hijab (headscarf).

I learned today that Muslims consider dogs evil, particularly black dogs, which may be inhabited by the devil. Riley is mostly black with some tan mixed in. I had no idea. I will never put a dog in front of my housekeeper again.

I will say that I did enjoy having a friend around the house. Riley certainly was entertaining. He was also a great excuse to get out of the house and exercise four times a day. My August resolution is to continue to get off my butt and exercise without him now that he is gone. Walking 1.3 km to the ice cream shop still counts, right?

When I came up the elevator and entered my condo dogless for the first time in a week, I was a little sad. Then I felt relief. I looked down at my shirt and saw a bunch of dog hair that I had attracted after carrying down the dog’s bedding. I searched all over for a lint roller that I know is around here somewhere but I gave up when I could not locate the roll. I seriously considered turning the vacuum cleaner on myself but I instead changed my shirt.

Paul came home this evening, about six hours after Riley left. He had only spent two days with Riley before he went on a five-day trip. Sitting across the dinner table, within minutes of his arrival, Paul looked at me and admitted that he missed Riley. He is now considering the notion of owning a dog. There are no words.


05 August 2011

MORE LESSONS


Prior to this week the closest thing to a Singaporean friend that I had was a Korean girl from Denver. I have been wanting to make local friends, but have not really given myself an opportunity. All of my friends are western and most of their friends are as well.

Tuesday I was invited to attend a ladies night out with a friend from Cincinnati. She invited two of her other friends, one being a Singaporean woman whose family is Chinese. We had a great time and got to talk about the Asian culture quite a bit.

We talked about Wild Swans, the book I am reading, and about a lot of the Chinese history I was learning while reading. Call me stupid, but I had no idea that China had anything to do with World War II. In U.S. history classes, we learned that the German Nazis were evil, communism was bad, the U.S. dropped a couple bombs in Japan and Switzerland was Switzerland. At 28, I am learning that the Japanese took over China and forced the Chinese to adopt the Japanese language and ways of life immediately and unforgivingly. The book is enlightening, eye opening, depressing and captivating simultaneously.

While we were on the subject of Asian history and culture, I decided to ask about a ritual I had observed a couple days prior. Sunday afternoon, Paul and I hopped on a bus and headed into town for church. A few blocks down the road, I noticed an older woman and an even older man outside in the grass between the sidewalk and the street.

The woman was squatting on the ground waving a burning stick. After a minute or so, she stuck the stick in the ground, stood up, turned and walked into the apartment complex behind her. The old man, here referred to as “uncle,” was standing over a metal barrel resembling a trash can that had three roles of circular holes in the middle of the barrel.

There was a fire inside the barrel and the man was tearing individual pages from a book and delicately throwing them into the fire. The pages were colored and they had ribbons draping from the bottom of each page.

As we continued down the street, I noticed more burning barrels and incense sticks in the ground. Realizing this was some Chinese practice, I immediately started Googling “Chinese burning paper.”

At dinner, I talked about what I saw and explained that I knew it was joss paper, but I could not find any significance relating to last Sunday. My question was, “Why that day? What is the significance?”

I learned that this is the beginning of the seventh lunar month, known as Hungry Ghost Month, and that this woman, a realtor, was in for a slow month. This is a time when the hell gates open and ghosts walk among the living. The living try to please the ghosts by offering food and burning prayer money.

The month is named after the “hungry” ghosts who have no living dependents in their family line. These hungry ghosts are out, particularly at night, searching for a living person to embody and take their place in hell. Children are not to be out at night for fear the hungry ghosts will embody the young, and closing deals and purchasing property are considered unlucky during this time.

To me, this is much creepier than Halloween.