Monthly Archive
Browsing entries posted on April 2006
Goodbye cruel world.
This is the last I’ll be writing for a while.
I have exams coming up.
I can’t deal with stalkers, needy people, internet trolls and narcissistic attention seekers right now. Or ever.
Comments have been disabled.
I am considering considered password-protecting everything but that defeats the purpose of writing in the first place. Instead, an analogy and an appeal.
When I invite you into my home, you respect my rules. That means:
You don’t take my keys and make multiple copies to distribute to everyone else.
If you think it’s a private area, don’t go in.
If you still want to sneak in and take a look, keep your mouth shut about what you find. It doesn’t reflect badly on me, but it says a lot about your lack of character.
Just because you’ve visited my house doesn’t make you my best friend. Stop acting like you know me so well.
And apropos of nothing, but this is something every heterosexual male should know:
Just because I am a girl and you have some method of communicating with me and/or getting my attention, it does NOT logically follow that I want that attention or communication. Take a hint, and take your fantasies somewhere else.
Defrostation
That is not a typo. I do mean defrostation, not deforestation. This is a Handy-Dandy Lynn Guide, and today’s issue deals with Defrosting Your Fridge.
My bar fridge has a small freezer compartment where I store the meats, and lately I noticed it had a massive buildup of ice. I mean huge. It was like Antarctica in there. And ironically, this Antarctic ice was preventing my crabsticks and sausages from freezing properly.
So I switched off the fridge, put the perishables elsewhere and started pouring boiling hot water into the freezer compartment. Yes, I’m not one for half measures. The ice started to give way, but the water dripping everywhere was a bit messy and I was too lazy to keep going back to the pantry for more hot water.
Execute Plan B - The Hairdryer. A steady stream of warm air directed into the freezer compartment seemed to do the trick, the inside was starting to clear up and the metal walls were becoming visible. And the best part was actually the outside of the compartment, where a sheet of ice was hanging off the bottom. It was like an icy fingerprint of the metal wall. I pulled and it fell with an almighty crash into the water-catchment pan.
After the collapse of the ice sheet, the remaining frozen water beat a hasty retreat. A bit more with the Hairdryer to vaporize any remaining liquid water, and my fridge was good as new again. The metal of the freezer compartment was actually a bit warm from the hot air.
And all that only took me less than one hour from beginning to end, but then I DO have a very small fridge. It was an interesting diversion from studying.
So basically this is how you defrost a bar fridge:
- Switch it off.
- Put all perishables elsewhere.
- Attack with hot water and/or hairdryer.
- Pull off ice sheets.
- Wipe up melted ice.
- Dry off fridge.
- Switch back on.
If you pay me $10 an hour, I’ll defrost your fridge for you too!
Please shift your bookmarks
My host is changing domains, so please change your bookmarks/RSS feeds to http://lynn.entori.net.
Um, that’s all. Thanks.
The Ultimate Bahasa Power Test
Having reached the age of majority, I’ve now started to peruse political blogs such as Mr Wang Bakes Good Karma, and Jeff Ooi’s Screenshots - a nice balance of one Singaporean and one Malaysian blog. Er, not that I ever intend to vote in Singapore, but it’s good to get a feel of the ground.
Anyway, came across this on Jeff Ooi, and I was pleased to discover that my Malay is still quite usable for comprehension, though its expressive power has dwindled somewhat. This is an essay written by Hishamuddin Rais, an activist and filmmaker (he did “Dari Jemapoh ke Manchestee”, if that means anything to you).
Google Translate doesn’t have an option for Malay, so too bad la. My brain will overheat if I try to translate this.
Today’s Buzz brought to you by Hell Inc.
Over dinner, the girls and I were discussing the merits of each library on campus. It’s exam season and the muggery muggers have started their seasonal migration to the repositories of knowledge.
Someone pointed out that there was a buzzing sound in the Law Library, or to give it its official name, the CJ Koh Library. No, his initials are REALLY C.J., it’s not that he was Chief Justice or anything. Anyway, said person reported that the Law Lib has an oppressive atmosphere, no doubt aided by this mysterious buzzing sound.
“I know what’s that sound,” I declared. “It’s Beelzebub, Lord of the Flies.”
The table erupted into laughter.
I continued, in a mock demonic voice, “Study, my minions! Study!”
No, I never tire of lawyer jokes. Most of the law students I know can take a joke. And they’ll have the last laugh, with their $4000 starting salary while I make espressos at Starbucks for 5 dollars per hour. Yes, being in the Devil’s employ pays well.
The Screaming Saga, concluded.
For the past month or so I have been tormented by sounds of female screaming and shrieking near my room. Since it happened at night and sounded very frightening, my first suspicion was of the otherworldly kind. Don’t snicker. There’s a tree outside my window, and we all know trees are scary.
One night the mystery was solved. All this time I had wanted to complain, but I just couldn’t figure out where the noise was coming from. I couldn’t place it as coming from left or right, upstairs or downstairs. But one night the screaming escalated, and I got a handle. It was my neighbour.
I called down a friend to prove to him that I wasn’t hearing voices, and even the girls from upstairs came down to check because it was THAT bad. It turned out that I wasn’t the only one who had been hearing noises, the girls from upstairs could even agree with me that the noise reached a peak every Saturday.
So now we knew who and where. I just didn’t want to do anything. By the sound of the heart-rending sobs and howls, I figured it was an extreme case of homesickness or boyfriend problems, although my money is on the latter because I don’t think anyone would ever dare to scream at their parents through the phone. I figured that since it wasn’t otherworldly, there was nothing to worry about.
Until just now. Instead of her usual howls and wails, she added a new item to the repertoire. Squeaking. It sounded like the involuntary sort you might give if someone were to leap on you unawares and tickle you to bits, except that it was repeated and it was getting mighty annoying. Along with high-pitched screaming (down the phone again I suppose) and stamping of feet, I had had enough.
Go ahead and argue, but keep it to yourself. Don’t even get me started on the immaturity of her behaviour. I thought humans grew out of foot-stamping after the age of 6.
I went over to her room door, and a bit further. I asked her other neighbour if she could hear the screaming too. By her reply I could tell she’d been putting up with it like I had. “That’s it,” I said. “I’m telling her to stop it.”
I knocked on her door, got a “heah?” and pushed it open a crack. “Hello,” I said, trying to start off friendly-like. “I’m your neighbour. Are you the one doing all the screaming?”
She came to the door and opened it. I repeated the question. “Oh,” she said. “That was me.”
“Well, can you keep the volume lower please? (As though she only had the radio blasting too loudly.) I’m not trying to stop you or anything, but I can hear you, next door can hear you and upstairs can hear you.”
“Oh, sorry.” After I left she closed the door and locked it. All the better. Heck, I hope she moves out. She can go torture some other soul next year, I hope I’ve humiliated her enough that she won’t dare live in my block again.
The time has come to lift us up from our lethargic lassitude, no mere loudness this that latently disrupts my learnings. Let this lull last long.
Can you catch the allusion? I am feeling brave, reckless and anarchic today. Don’t impinge on my right to study quietly, or you shall have to deal with L.
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