In the Ballpark

It's fun to travel, and it's just as fun to watch the Cubs play from all over the ballpark. I thought a fun exercise might be to capture watching the game from all the different vantage points I find myself in in any given season.

Here's how I watched the game the last two times I've been to the ballpark this season, sans Opening Day. It was 30 degrees and I had my hands in gloves the entire time, even when shelling and eating peanuts.

Chicago Cubs vs. Cincinnati Reds, April 13, 2006. Section 223, Row 13, Seat 110. $11.00. Cubs 3 Reds 8.

Chicago Cubs vs. Florida Marlins, April 24, 2006. Section 215, Row 7, Seat 11. $22.00. Cubs 6, Marlins 3.

Spring Cleaning

Everyone needs to get rid of their junk and a couple of years ago, the Cubs threw out Sammy Sosa and this year, at yesterday's Wrigley Field Garage Sale, they were selling heaps of old Slummin' Sammy shirts and bobble-heads, among other knick-knacks.

By the time I got there, at 1pm or so, all the good stuff -- remnants from the bleachers construction available (benches, bricks) -- was gone. In addition to the Sosa cast-offs, there were shirts commemorating the NLCS against the Marlins from 2003, shirts won by vendors in past years, flags and pennants previously flown from the top of the centrefield scoreboard and rafters and grab bags. I left with a couple of shirts ($5 each) and a stack of cards commemorating Greg Maddux's 300th victory last year (free, but enthusiastically pressed into my hands), and didn't give the grab bags a second look -- I've already had enough uncalled-for surprises this year with the team, the most recent being Derrek Lee's fractured wrist bones.

But, the best part about the garage sale wasn't the opportunity to tote home mis-matched pieces of Wrigley's past, but an open tour of the new bleachers. Not one to enjoy sitting in the bleachers since my college days, it's been a while since I took in a view of the ballpark from the northeast corner. And you know you've got a nice ballpark when it looks good even when empty, from all corners, tarp on the infield dirt, no W sign blowing.

Without a game going on, the bleachers would actually be a great place to spend a Saturday afternoon, basking or trying to get over feeling extremely bummed about D-Lee on the D-L, seeing as how we've played comparatively well without Mark Prior and Kerry Wood and with Juan Pierre, Jacque Jones and Aramis Ramirez not yet playing like they should. Yesterday's loss to the Cardinals was the first consecutive loss this season, and maybe not a true test of how the team will weather this trauma since we traditionally don't do well in St. Louis, new or old Busch Stadium.

It was fun to get under the scoreboard and check out the new nook and crannies they put in this winter. Now that I've explored the new additions inside and out, I'll have to tip my cap and say that they've certainly preserved the spirit of the ballpark's tradition well despite the smaller patch of vegetation in straightaway centrefield and the crazy batter's eye terraced walk-through. Funny, it takes a day when there's no game and no one around to remember again what a beautiful park we have.

A River Runs Through It

It seems sometimes that every city's got a river. New York's got the Hudson, Salt Lake City's got the Great Salt Lake, Singapore's got the Kallang River, L.A.'s got the late Phoenix.

Here in Chicago, we have a river that founded the city, that the French wrestled away from the Indians, that snakes its way through the northwest side of the city like a wild L line (something like a cross between the Green and the Brown). If you were smart, you'd commute downtown on a kayak to avoid the Dan Ryan, but only if you liked perspiration in the summertime and icebergs in winter.

Emerging from a brain-numbing conference call from the Harbinger office, I was biking across the Montrose Avenue bridge when I happened to glance to my left and saw what I thought to be the prettiest sight of the day. On yet another sunshiney spring day, the Chicago River was still, calm and reflective, kinda hanging out with blue skies and white clouds and quite obviously, it did not have any conference calls scheduled at all. There were houses whose backyards led out to the river, and people tied up rowboats to their little piers.

In a way, it reminded me of the backwaters of Louisiana, where my mum and I once toured the bayous in a bateau. You could hang out there for days and no one would bother you, because they wouldn't want to and couldn't anyway -- how would they find you?

"Honk!" went one car to another on that crazy Montrose street, and I continued on my way home.

No Better Place

It was a sunny Saturday, but it wasn't a warm day -- it felt warm because there was so much sunshine and everyone was happy.

The day was so nice we spent 40 minutes of boxing class outside in the parking lot. We warmed up as cars came in and out behind us, scooted away from them, and continued to shadow box as people stared. We ran rounds around the block and then sparred for an audience of impervious people coming in and out of Starbucks across the street.

Then I headed over to Cubs Care Park, the YMCA ballfields at North and Clybourn, for a little volunteering, and after that, volunteered my manual services to Christensen, who continues to work on the new apartment.

Now, there are a million ways to spend such a lovely day. I bet there were people biking, playing catch, dawdling on the lakefront, shopping, drinking outside, whatever. All good times. But painting the kitchen and swigging root beer and cream soda, Johnny Cash on the boombox and sunshine tanning my arms through the skylight, I just couldn't think of a better thing to do. I whitewashed the kitchen nook and Christensen painted the rest of the kitchen "eggshell" yellow, two people with vertigo problems at times perched at the top of ladders cutting and trimming and touching up. I managed OK, but had my confidence shaken at times by yelps from the other ladder. (There was one stray yelp of pleasure at chocolate-covered pretzels from Trader Joe's.)

Things started to go downhill a little when we went from root to regular beer, but we were done painting by then. So we started peeling off wallpaper (circa 1970s?!) that had been painted over. By this time, Pat and Ronnie were on and the Cubs were losing to the Pirates 0-2. So we called it a day and got Mexican from Los Nopales with Grzeca and the other Christensen and I polished off my entire Bistec a la Mexicana clean with four tortillas, a glass of horchata and chips and salsa.

The Johnny Cash record we were listening to was "Unchained," one of his earlier collaborations with Rick Rubin. There's a song called "Country Boy" on it, and it goes something like this:

Well, you work all day while you're waitin' to play
In the sun and the sand with a face that's tan
But at the end of the day when your work is done
You ain't got nothin' but fun

Raging Bull

It's amazing what good spirits my family is in -- maybe it is our way of dealing with what's going on, but I'm extremely proud of them. We're laughing and we're reminiscing, and maybe next Chinese New Year, we'll have plenty to remember about this time.

Today, for the first time since Sunday, Kongkong has shown some kind of response despite remaining in low consciousness and slipping in and out of a coma. My cousins Hui Yee and Hui Ling held his hand and talked to him and he gripped their hands again and again and stroked their hands with a finger. My mom said that he looks great -- if he wasn't hooked up to pumps and machines, you wouldn't think there was anything wrong with him. That is to say, Kongkong is always a wireless kinda guy.

So, who knows. Last year he turned a touch-and-go massive heart attack into a year-long return to normalcy; what will he do with a massive stroke? A comeback would be considered miraculous, but there's always room for more than one Kirk Gibson moment in every lifetime, and he has always been prone to dramatics, doing everything on a grand scale. (It took four paramedics and my dad to get him into the ambulance after Friday's collapse.)

I wish Kongkong could be bench coach for the Cubs.

Gene Pool

This is the story of my Yeye (my dad's dad) and my Kongkong (my mum's dad). Both were husky, gregarious men who ate a lot, drank a lot, smoked a lot and couldn't do it all in one place. They were gourmands -- for the best braised pig's feet, say, they might just have to take a weekend trip up to Penang, Malaysia. When my mum was pregnant with her second child, Yeye said that if it was a boy, he would host a huge banquet for anyone and everyone he knew. On the day my brother turned a month old, 200 people were invited to a 10-course Koh feast at our favourite family restaurant. When I was home for Chinese New Year, we went to brunch with Kongkong and under his direction, our table was soon filled with so much food we hardly had any room to eat. We might as well had invited 200 people to brunch, too.

Both my grandfathers are fighters, and I don't mean boxers, although if you came up against these tall, hulking men, you'd do best to run away. I know I did whenever I did something bad, which was about every hour on the hour as a little kid, but I always came back for the bear hugs. When Yeye was diagnosed with the double whammy of lung and colon cancer, the doctors said he had six months to live. He lived five years, four of which he spent traipsing the country (well, city) by bus, visiting all his favourite haunts and making sure he saw all his old friends before he was ready to take a break. Kongkong suffered a massive heart attack about a year ago in Sydney (of course he was abroad), while visiting Uncle Robert. The doctors said three months, but he bounced back quickly and in the last few months, has resumed his food travels.

On Friday, after a day of suffering through the freezing temperature and piercing northerly wind at the ballpark, after several rounds of the Goose Island Pub Pack and a large pizza and peanut M&Ms and chips and salsa and after everyone went home, my mum called and said that Kongkong had a mild stroke and was taken by ambulance to the hospital. He was paralysed on the left side and his speech slurred, but spent all day gripping with his right hand and raising his fist in a thumbs up.

This morning, my mum called again and said Kongkong had another heart attack and had to be resuscitated after his breathing stopped. Now his brain was haemorrhaging and it may not be long before he joins his buddy, my Yeye, on a whole new trip. It's not an easy time for the family, but in the spirit of Kongkong, we've got our warpaint on as well. We know that he'll be going out at the top of the game -- he only just got back from Malacca, Malaysia, last week. We know that he's lived a long life filled with adventures we'd never know of, because we were never a part of it, from his stint as a purser on an ocean liner, his travels to China as an antique dealer and gallivants all over Southeast Asia. But what we know is that we always had a part of him, whether we knew it or not. I know it from all the times he got back in town when I was a kid, and insisted my parents brought me over to visit with him no matter what time of the night it was. I know it from him getting up at 5am the day before I left for Chicago after Chinese New Year to make me his famous chilli sauce from scratch. And I know it from the long conversations we've had about my new gig and he gave me all the support I needed.

I hope that I will be able to see him once more. I was not home when my Yeye died, and I don't want to make the same mistake again.

Ballpark Banter

Sitting right in the leftfield upper decks during Friday's home opener (oh, the furies of an icy cold wind!), we were talking about the new bleachers and saw that in the rightfield corner, there's now a fence-like gate leading directly out to Sheffield that hadn't been there before. Yesterday, just before game time, I took a walk around the neighbourhood and checked out the renovated ballpark, particularly on its northeast side.

I found the mesh-wire gate we had seen, and as you'll also read from the article in the Tribune yesterday (below), you can get a pretty cool view of the game at street-level. If a ball was ever hit into the rightfield corner, you'll probably see Jacque Jones rushing towards you chasing it down, like you were wearing 3-D glasses. There were about 12 people peering in, causing no trouble at all, letting you in front of them for a better look with a happy chuckle. Here's Big Z firing away.

It's not a bad upgrade, if you had to mess around with something, but the ballpark seems like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde these days -- old school Weeghman at Clark and Addison, manufactured retro Camden Yards (sorry, Uncle Bob) on Waveland and Sheffield. And, what the hell are Bud Light Bleachers anyway?! If I had money, it would be the Bass Bleachers or the Boddington's Bleachers. View the audacity for yourself.

And finally, you'll never bite a burger better than a Bubba! Bubba Burger is the official hamburger of the Chicago Cubs. Speaking of ballpark food, I talked to a guy unloading boxes of Connie's Pizza for the concessions stands. He told me that the pizza was all cold already. Together with re-signing D-Lee in the winter, another upgrade we should have made a priority was in the pizza department.

Enjoy the season!

Hole truth: Fans like changes
By and large, fans give thumbs up to renovations at Wrigley Field opener

By David Haugh
Tribune staff reporter
Published April 8, 2006

From his view behind the "knothole" cut into the brick wall in deep, deep right field, Bruce Tranen saw the ball explode off Derrek Lee's bat.

Tranen did not need to see where the ball landed to know immediately where it was headed in the first inning of Friday's 5-1 Cubs victory over the St. Louis Cardinals in front of a crowd of 40,869.

"That's gone!" Tranen shouted to the dozen or so fans peeking into Wrigley Field from the right-field opening behind him.

For confirmation, Tranen asked a paying customer on the other side of the wall who actually could see through a fence where Lee's drive finally had fallen in the left-field bleachers.

"You can't see everything out here," said Tranen, a Wrigleyville resident. "But you can see more than I expected. This is really kind of cool."

That represented the feelings of many curious Cubs fans who either bought a pricier-than-ever ticket in the new bleachers for Opening Day or ventured over to Sheffield and Waveland Avenues to judge the $13.5 million renovation for themselves.

Cubs officials had said passersby who had not purchased tickets would not be permitted to watch the game from Sheffield. But those willing to look through green mesh and a fence enjoyed a decent vantage point.

The only action out of their view from that angle was anything hit deep to the outfield gaps.

It was the best "seat" out of the house.

"We should put up a sign that says, `Freeloaders stand here,"' one smart aleck shouted from the back of the pack.

Cubs President Andy MacPhail acknowledged the group with a wave as he passed through the new walkway behind the right-field wall inside the park. Security guards were not sure whether to stop fans who lingered at the fence and obstructed the view of those outside the park or leave them alone.

"I can't complain," Tranen said as the game continued. "I didn't buy a ticket."

The mood was less joyful beyond left field, where Wrigley Field ball hawks bemoaned their new reality. Adding six rows and moving the exterior walls 8 feet out as part of the 1,790-seat bleacher expansion meant fewer home runs flying onto Waveland.

Moe Mullins, who said he has hawked balls outside Wrigley since 1958, counted 1,000 homers flying out of the ballpark in 2005 and estimated a drop of as much as half this season.

"Now we have a new problem out here because we can't see the ball because of how far the walls come out," said Mullins, wearing his black glove before Friday's game. "Before we could pick up the ball [sooner], so hopefully there will be someone who's a spotter sitting in the bleachers.

"Entering those bleachers Friday immediately reminded fans they were walking into an updated section and a new era. The impossible-to-miss "Bud Light Bleachers" sign above a modernized entry, promoting the sponsorship that helped finance the project, made some traditionalists long for the past.

"The `Bud Light' is bigger than the word `Bleachers,' and I hate it," said Sheila Keating, a North Sider who said she has been sitting in the end seat of the 10th row in the right-field bleachers for 20 years.

Keating and her sister Sharon moved up to the new top row to give the new look a fair shot. It pained them to look down at the red rope marking off the $60 bleacher box seats in the right-field corner, many of which stayed empty.

"I don't like the [exclusivity] of the box seats and the [Batter's Eye Lounge]," Keating said. "It's nice to see a few of the same people year after year for the past 20 years, but it's not nice to see people with ties and people wanting to get on camera and people just coming here to drink beer. It has gone from the Bleacher Bums to the Bleacher Yuppies."

Most of the other gripes leveled by fans' offering their first impressions of the new bleacher area involved more constructive criticism.

Dave Carter of Bensenville appreciated how much room he had to roam in his wheelchair in the new section in center field for disabled fans but suggested chairs for people who accompany handicapped and wheelchair-bound fans.

"But it's really a nice view and a lot better than it was," Carter said.

Over in the new patio area behind the left-field bleachers, Jeff Douglas' only complaint was that the televisions added so fans buying food and drinks could watch the game still were covered in plastic. Douglas also pointed out he still had to go down one level to go to the washroom.

"The changes are good, but I'm not sure they're great," said Douglas, who brought his son and a friend to the game from Rockford.

Several fans were overheard wondering if there had been any changes at all.

"I've heard people say they think it's a little better now with the walkway, more room and you can go into main part of the ballpark now," said Don Mazza, who was starting his third year as an usher in left field. "But if you weren't out here before and just looked at the bleachers, you wouldn't be able to tell."

La Cage aux Folles

Looks like cell phone follies were in full swing this weekend, swingier than the can-can at Moulin Rouge. Morino lost her phone over the weekend, and found it this morning.

Vive le telephone cellulaire!

A Matter of Phonetics

Yesterday, Saturday afternoon, was a sunny crisp day in Chicago, so I put on some old jeans and a parka and took a walk around my neighbourhood, Wrigleyville. I walked east down Addison to Boys Town, cut south on Broadway and then west on Diversey to Lakeview, dropped into Borders to pick up Lonely Planet's "Italy" for our upcoming family vacation and Sports Illustrated's fantasy baseball preview for my two drafts. Then I strode back home north on Clark.

Waiting for Willard's call so we can go watch some basketball on Southport, I poured myself a huge glass of water, placed it on the breakfast table and settled down to finish the crossword. Then I remembered I had to return Christensen's call. Hovering over the table, I thought of my past cell phone follies and wondered with a mental chuckle, what if I dropped my cell phone into the full glass of water? (Extra points if you got this joke -- a year and a half ago, I murdered a laptop in cold blood by spilling a glass of water all over it).

Before I could unflip my phone, it slipped out of my hand and... and it fell into the glass of water. I couldn't even sink a basketball with such a sweet swish on a ladder next to the hoop. I was flabbergasted for a languishing two seconds, then quick as a flash, picked it out, dried it with a dish towel, and summoned the hairdryer to blow on it at full force.

Did it work? No.

I've had my fair share of experience with drowned electronics (a Nokia 3330 which sizzled to death in a pool of detergent at Target), but none with this acute sense of desperation. There was no way for Willard nor Christensen to get in touch with me. So I ran out to the car, jumped in, and trucked back down to Clark and Diversey to the Cingular store. Double parked and rushed into the store like Butch Cassidy looking for the Sundance Kid -- can I get a new cell phone... pronto?!

No. Well yes, but if I paid the $180.00 for a brand new phone, no commitment (I could get a piece of shit LG phone for cheaper). But if I reported the "liquid damage" to Cingular insurance, which I had, I would pay $50.00 and get a replacement phone -- but they would have to ship it. It didn't make sense to pay the $180.00, so I called the insurance from the automated phone in the store, put in my claim, was assured I'd get a new phone no later than Tuesday. In the midst of it all, I had to run back out to move my car because a cop pulled up.

I came back home and did what I should have done when I set up my home office -- set up my land line. Thank god we had a contact list for the women's softball team -- I was able to call Willard. But oh, her signal died in her apartment, so we made the rest of our arrangements to meet at Justin's via email. Then I called Christensen and told her to call Willard to get in touch with me. Then for the next five hours, I had several 312s, nachos, fries and a double scoop waffle cone (Cubby Crunch and Signature Sunset) and everything was good again. Thank god for good friends, including Willard and Christensen.

This morning, I thought I'd give putting my phone back together a whirl. Hit the button, and good morning, starshine! It was like Easter came early -- my 6102 rose from the dead! This only confirms my hypothesis that Nokias really are the best phones in the world. I once had an 8250 that I dropped in the Dominick's parking lot, skidded onto the path of an oncoming car, was run over and escaped with just superficial damages. I used it until I got a new phone. More recently, last fall I threw my old phone, a 6100, with force across Jack Sullivan's in a moment of frustration (with my old job, proving a point in conversation). The screen cracked, but again, remained useable until discarded. A former 6220 fell out of my coat pocket in a cab, but the only damage sustained was $600+ worth of calls to Pakistan.

Going Bananas

Some people like to snuggle up with a good book when it's snowing outside, some people re-watch the first four seasons of The Sopranos when the temperature dips to below freezing, and some people go to Mesa, Arizona, to watch the Cubs spring train.

For me, March is the month where I'm kinda in a funky limbo. Indoor soccer would have just ended (we bowed out of the league in the first round of playoffs this year, the first time ever for the Red Devils -- perhaps our season mirrored the true Manchester United's one of despair?), and softball wouldn't start for a few weeks. In addition to wondering why I ever came back to Chicago from Singapore after Chinese New Year, Kevin "Sun Devils" Kelly and Edgar "Smokin' Bandits" Rico and I booted SportsMonster out of Seward Park on Tuesday nights, and started our own non-profit league: www.oldtownsoftball.org.

But, the true existence for the month of March, besides Julius Caesar and the Ides, is the NCAA basketball tournament. Not being good at basketball, I don't watch the sport either, NBA or otherwise. But the Koh gambling bug in me loves March Madness, and inspires the brackets I draft every year. I've typically run office pools but being out on the street this year, decided to open Bracketology 2006 to all in my email address book. With 40 bracketeers signed up, we've had a lot of fun so far this weekend. Thanks to Joe's on Weed Street, Cody's and Justin's for hosting me and my scoring duties. The following is an update I sent to my bracketeers after the first two rounds of play:

Dear Bracketeers,

The wonderful thing about going to a school with a god-awful basketball program is that I never have to worry about willing it to win the NCAA tournament, despite conventional wisdom. Condolences to Hawkeyes, Buckeyes and Jayhawks, especially those who picked their teams to win it all -- were all teams with "eye" and "hawk" in their names jinxed this weekend?!

After the second round of play, with scoring doubled to two points per pick, some Bracketeers found themselves quickly moving from back to front in 24 hours. Of special note is Finlay, who is distancing himself from last place one point at a time.

Congratulations to the Beta/Fernandez household, which produced the only three brackets to pick the Bradley win today. Sanchez 1 wins a Corona at the ballpark for the highest round two score (24).

Dennler 2 continues sole possession of first place (46), with Fernandez 2 (45) in second place and Forrest and Koh 3 (44) tied for third. Fei 4 remains at the tail.

Sweet Thursday can't come soon enough. Good night, and good luck.

Pump'd

I love the game of volleyball, even though I'm not very good at it. I'm a decent recreational-level player on court and sand, because I can serve and I can bump and I'll dive for errant balls. But I can't set nor spike and I'm too short. Christensen glares me down almost every game because I'm always running out of formation. In high school, I played on the starting team for intramural sports from women's rugby and soccer to tennis and netball (I couldn't play softball, only coach, since I was on the school team). When I showed up for volleyball, my good friend and school team captain Jiemo benched me. One of life's hardest lessons is that you can't be good at every single sport.

Monday morning, I got up at 8am, two hours later than my usual 6am wake-up call. I was tired, so I slept in and missed my Monday morning run. I got lazy throughout the day, and by the time evening rolled around, I figured I'd head over to the gym for some relaxing weights work. Tired of hanging around the weights room rats, I decided to take a class, and this one, I thought I could try:

Body Pump
Emphasis: Cardio endurance, strength
Level: All levels

Take your weight workout up a notch with this co-ed muscle-endurance class. Special barbells are used with weight choices ranging from 3 to 100 lbs. Each song focuses on a specific muscle group giving you a full body strength workout in 60 minutes. Suitable for the first-time weight lifter and a challenge for the experienced. Body Pump® founders claim it to be the fastest way in the universe to get fit.

Why not?

I walked into class, held in the large gym that housed two indoor basketball courts -- so, pretty big. And pretty full. And pretty full of Trixies in workout outfits, standing by steps with barbells and weights. I slipped into the back, took a set of what everyone had and then one of the two teachers asked, "Does anyone watch 'Dancing With The Stars'?"

That's when I should have left.

But I'm a su-pa-pah trou-pa-pah, so I stayed. It was hard stuff, maneuvring barbells with different weights for different exercises, from lunges to triceps lifts and things you do to your glutes to look great at Le Passage, I'm sure. Everyone around me rocked the house -- they dug the Right Said Fred and Black-Eyed Peas soundtrack. Diagonally in front of me was a girl who came to boxing class occasionally, wielding the weights like Mario Batali and a slab of pizza dough. How was a girl significantly slighter than me in physique slinging 50 pounds effortlessly when she couldn't hurt a fly with boxing gloves on?

I made it through the rest of the class and perky "oohs!" from the teachers, didn't TKO. I don't like being the worst at anything, particularly something related to physical activity, so I tried to at least stay in good form, even if that meant using lighter weights on the barbells. I fully recovered from the experience this morning at boxing, when I executed a sweet-feeling hook-hook-hook-cross-pivot-jab-cross-(speed!)-jab-cross combo.

iPod or Id?

Sometimes I feel like Rivers Cuomo, because at any given time, the shuffle function on my iTunes/iPod will go from Brian Wilson to Bryan Adams to Ryan Adams, from Al Green to the Redwalls to the White Stripes to David Gray. Sometimes it goes well with dinner, music blaring from the computer, especially when it's the Wondermints or Candy Butchers or Bread or Sam Cooke.

But I like listening to my iTunes on shuffle, it helps to set and change the mood throughout the day. There are times when I feel like we're of the same mind... I've often thought, as I'm listening to iScream (iPod nomenclature) during the old days of the L commute downtown, how about some Captain and Tenille? And he'll oblige with "Love Will Keep Us Together." Or, "Born to Run" with Peter Buck from the "Vote for Change" tour? And that one, out of five live versions I have, whirrs into life.

So sometimes, I just have to wonder if the "top 25 most played" iTunes are any reflection of my current musical inclinations, or just mindless technology? I'm going to examine this list to determine if I've sold a piece of my soul to my iPod.

(Play counts current as of this posting, and based on songs added beginning in June 2005 and out of 910 current songs. Song playing while blogging: "Cellophane" by the Wondermints.)

1. "Float On" by Modest Modest (play count: 44)
Yes, this was possibly the single of 2004, the most well-produced track of the year. I like it a lot, love it when it comes on my "Beep Beep" playlist when running. But it's not on my top list "in real life."

2. "This is the Last Time" by Keane (play count: 39)
I think Keane's made it to this spot because of how often I listened to the "Hopes and Fears" album last year. I've weaned off of them by now.

3. "Everybody's Changing" by Keane (play count: 38)
Did I really listen to Keane that much?!

4. "Game of Love" by Santana featuring Michelle Branch (play count: 37)
Oh, I still do adore this song, mostly because it reminds me of Los Angeles, fall of 2002. I was there on a business trip with Moskal and Manrique, and we had crazy wild fun. I mean, imagine pulling up to the Chateau Marmont in a Ford Taurus.

("Kissing a Fool" by George Michael.)

5. "Sting O'Luv" by the Wondermints (play count: 37)
This is from their best album, in my opinion, "Bali." A great tune in the style of 1960s surfer mod, but how I feel about it doesn't really deserve a number 5 spot.

6. "More, More, More" by Andrea True Connection (play count: 35)
Eeeks, guilty. What an infectious disco ditty!

7. "Gene Autry" by Beulah (play count: 35)
My very first favourite Beulah song, and one of their very best. When I get to California, I'm gonna write my name in the sand.

8. "Bright Future in Sales" by Fountains of Wayne (play count: 35)
One of my all-time favourite FoW songs from my favourite album, "Welcome Interstate Managers." Another good running song.

9. "Never Know" by Jack Johnson (play count: 34)
This is the kind of song to fall asleep to on a beach in the North Shore of Oahu, a soft wave at your toes. Instead, I fell asleep to it basking in the sun on Waikiki Beach in Honolulu. Close enough.

("Can't Take My Eyes Off You" by Frankie Valli)

10. "Me and Jesus Don't Talk Anymore" by Beulah (play count: 33)
I never used to like this song from Beulah's "Yoko" album, but now I do.

11. "Centerfield" by John Fogerty (play count: 33)
Oh, what a classic! I'll never forget John at the "Vote for Change" tour, playing this on a guitar shaped like a bat.

12. "Robinson Crusoe" by the Redwalls (play count: 33)
When I was nuts about local band the Redwalls last summer, I played this song incessantly. These days, their faux Manchester accent bugs me a little. Come on, you're from Northbrook, Illinois. Your families shop at Jewel-Osco.

13. "Landslide Baby" by Beulah (play count: 32)
I'm really pleased about the Beulah representation, but the rest of the my top four Bs (Bruce, Brian, Beasties) are a no-show!

("Could It Be I'm Falling in Love?" by The Spinners.)

14. "Please Forgive Me" by David Gray (play count: 32)
OK, David Gray, OK! You played two good shows in Chicago last year.

15. "Breakdown" by Jack Johnson (play count: 32)
My favourite song from last year's "In Between Dreams" album, it's for anyone who loves to hit the road.

16. "Bend and Break" by Keane (play count: 32)
This is getting embarrassing.

17. "Ain't Nothing Like the Real Thing" by Marvin Gaye and Tammi Terrell (play count: 32)'
I prefer "Ain't No Mountain High Enough," but Marvin and Tammi go as well as hot dogs and the Cubs.

18. "Liberty Belle" by Super Furry Animals (play count: 31)
I love the Furries, as does Kow. This is one of my favourites off of 2003's "Phantom Planet."

("Sail Away" by David Gray.)

19. "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC (play count: 30)
It puts a hop in my step when I'm running!

20. "Livin' Thing" by the Electric Light Orchestra (play count: 30)
So what if I like Jeff Lynne? He was a Travellin' Wilbury!

21. "Zoom" by Fat Larry's Band (play count: 30)
If you know this song, please let me know. It's a 1980s R&B classic, and I remember the video from an Adam Curry 1983 countdown of the best videos program.

22. "Freeze Frame" by J. Geils Band (play count: 30)
Any friend of Bruce's is a friend of mine -- Peter Wolf is always on stage with the Man when he hits Boston.

23. "Better Together" by Jack Johnson (play count: 30)
Another by-product of constant playing of a single album.

24. "Crazy in Love" by Beyonce featuring Jay-Z (play count: 29)
OK, I would love to be able to do that dance move in the video.

25. "September" by Earth Wind & Fire (play count: 29)
Brandhorst would be so proud!

("Time to Get Alone" by the Beach Boys.)

Carousel

One of the things I like about New York City is that even though the Big Apple has all its various ethnic neighbourhoods, you typically don't have to travel too far uptown, downtown or crosstown to get decent non-American fare. Chinese, Indian, Ethiopian, Thai, Japanese, Pakistani, Mediterranean, Argentinian, whatever -- chances are, whether you're walking down Avenue A or 26th Street, you could pick any of those cuisines and end up in a pretty good place.

But, I think the most intimate study of the country's now-cliched melting pot is standing by baggage carousel 18 at 11.30 on a Monday morning, right after the arrival of two flights -- UA 896 from Singapore (via Hong Kong) and AA 10 from Tokyo.

As the conveyor belt reels into life (crunk crunk), the suitcases and backpacks and duffel bags and crates and boxes and odd-shaped items ski into being from that square hole in the middle of the baggage carousel. Not all of them have arrived at their final destination. There are people travelling on to Orlando and Detroit, but also places that don't contribute as much to the cosmopolitan make-up of the country: Memphis, Grand Rapids, Mich., Some Small Town, N.C., Bloomington, Ill., Nowhere, Ark. So, it's no wonder they're filled with beauty products from Vietnam, mango ice-cream from the Philippines, DVDs from Hong Kong and fake Louis Vuitton purses from Thailand.

Of course, I'll never know for sure, not having X-ray vision. I'm just guessing, because that's what I'd bring if I came from any of those countries. I'll tell you what came from Singapore -- in my Samsonite and duffel bag, I had Chinese New Year snacks, a new pair of adidas running shoes, gifts for Jack and Jessie from my mum and some dirty laundry.

Clack clack clack

I'm proud to be Chinese -- our ancestors were pretty smart. We invented noodles, silk, gunpowder, ping pong, and apparently, we also founded America way before Columbus had his first serving of pasta. And we also invented a card game named mahjong. More than that, we made three-dimensional glass tiles so that you didn't have to hold the cards in hand for a four-hour round. You could eat, drink, gesticulate wildly while telling stories and play, all at the same time. If you had a flair for theatrics, you could also discard tiles with aplomb, stack the deck with style and bang on tiles to showcase a lovely winning hand or disgustedly to knock the bad luck out of a lousy one.

I first learned how to play mahjong from my Singapore Recreational Club softball teammates. We were on a training tour of China and somewhere between Beijing and Shanghai, I stacked my very first deck of tiles, and promptly knocked it over before I refined my game etiquette (there is a lot of this -- rule number one: do NOT be slow). We played softball during the day, played Pictionary at night and travelling between cities when 10 people couldn't crowd around two seats to draw and yell, we played mahjong.

Now, for anyone who's ever played a team game, you'd know how close you can get with your teammates, particularly if your team had a good mojo going. We had a fantastic one. We came from all backgrounds -- college, no college, veteran, rookie, English-speaking families, Chinese-speaking families, had our own set of wheels, took the public bus everyday -- it didn't matter. Over mahjong, we bonded like a perfect double play, like a spot-on centrefield-second base-catcher tag-out assist. We talked softball, then we ate, chatted about our mutual love for travelling, ate again, sassed each other out and joshed about everything else, and when we ran out of things to talk about, we talked more softball. And then we ate.

So I learned how to play mahjong, and I learned about a whole new world outside my prestigious private school education, and I love it. Whenever I'm home, all I have to do is send an email with one word: "Mahjong?" And we'd set a date. For the last 10 years, I've considered my mahjong kahs (legs -- a nickname for partners) some of my closest friends. They say it's not possible to have that many good friends, but it is. There really are that many good people around. You just have to make sure you've got the mahjong chops to go with it.

Doing Dhana

Chinese New Year rolls on... feasting, over-indulgences, mahjong, drinking, lots of fun. But enough about that.

Last Thursday, we did our annual dhana, a Buddhist act of giving. Our family always dhanas at Chinese New Year, to share the joy and abundance of the festival. Having performed it an orphanage and for the construction workers who built our condo in previous years, my parents decided to help out at the Metta School (www.mettaschool.edu.sg) this year.

The Metta School is a charity-funded school for mentally disabled and autistic children. Run by the Metta Buddhist Foundation, it accepts students of all ethnic and religious backgrounds, which is the beauty of it all. Mr. Yong, the principal, is Christian and Mr. Anuwar, the vice-principal, is Muslim. Mr. Anuwar is a guy in love with his job, which in this era of all you need isn't love, says a lot about compassion and dedication. He knows the names of every student skipping by him, knows their medical conditions and family backgrounds, indulges in showing off all of the school's new facilities. These kids, he says, aren't like other kids because they have an IQ of between 50 to 70. But they have something other kids may not -- a lot of heart.

We donated two buffet spreads, Thai and Indonesian cuisine. There were 371 students to feed, the older kids aged 13 to 18 in the morning session, the younger kids aged 7 through 12 in the afternoon. An unusual treat brings out something you don't often see, love and selflessness in their purest and most unadulterated forms. Standing in line with plastic plates in hand, as we piled on curry and satay and fried rice and mee siam and chicken wings, the kids made sure their friends and classmates who hadn't made it to the canteen yet would also receive a platter of plenty before scampering off to tuck in. With 80 to 90 percent of the school coming from families with a monthly income of S$1,000 (US$600) or less, this was a rare -- or new -- treat. The kids wanted more satay, more chicken wings and more fried wontons (no second helping of veggies, please; even kids with special needs are kids, after all) and they got more -- there's no room for Mr. Bumble in dhana. And when they were done and we were facing mountains of leftovers, we packed it all up for them to take home. But they weren't taking it home for a second wind feast -- they picked and chose what they knew their moms and dads and brothers and sisters liked. And because there's never enough reason to grin and beam and laugh, we gave out bags of lu dan (braised eggs). Chinese New Year is always a joyful occasion in my family, even electrifyingly fun, but this is possibly the happiest time of the holiday for my parents.

We tell the whole world that Singapore is a food paradise and that eating is our national past-time, but that's not always the case for everyone. That day, we tried our best to live up to our country's good name, but more importantly, I hope we were able to help some little kids realise they were just like everyone else, deserving and special.

Friends

Jim Beam came in from Kentucky, Absolut from Russia and Dona Patrizia from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. It was good times with good friends, just like the way it should be. After the party, my cousins and I hung out in the patio, talked, had mixed drinks and live music by Dion.

When the Kohs throw a party, they throw a party. I have a feeling we outdid ourselves this year. On the third day of the New Year, we always have family and close friends over for a feast and last night, we had FORTY (40) guests. Dear me. That's 10 bottles of wine, 20 cans of beer, 30 boxes of iced tea and the following spread:

- Yu sang
- Keong chou (braised pork hock in a sweet vinegar sauce, a Hakka specialty)
- Buah keluak (a Peranakan dish with a nut and chicken in a rich sauce)
- Two gigantic fried fish, one in a sweet soy sauce, one slathered with oatmeal
- A stew with auspicious seafood like sea cucumbers and abalone and mushrooms
- Braised oxtail
- Sayoh lodeh (a malay vegetable curry)
- Lap meh fun (a platter of steamed rice with various types of Chinese sausages)

We had Uncle Robert's home-made yogurt for dessert.

To kick off the feast, we had a lion dance troupe perform in the garden and driveway. According to legend, a ferocious beast, Nian ("year"), would terrorise Chinese villagers every new year, but was finally scared off by the beating of drums and cymbals and a costumed lion. The lion dance is now a symbol to remember the heroics of our ancestors. My cousin Pei was part of a lion dance troupe in high school and declared this year's performance of a higher quality than the previous year's.

Tonight, the fourth day of the New Year, my dad hosts the annual company dinner where he treats his employees to a lavish meal. As with previous years, it's at the Shangri-La Hotel, one of the best in Singapore.

I'm going to work out this afternoon.

Very Auspicious

On the second day of the new year, we gamble (not on the first day, because you don't want to risk losing anything to start off the year).

First, we play blackjack. Half of the family gathers around a round garden table in Grandma's patio, and the wheelin' and dealin' begins. I played two hands -- one for myself (drawing even) and one for Uncle Charley (I won him $6 and got $1 as a tip). It gets pretty crazy with smack talking -- man, we're rowdy.

Then, we play mahjong. It's the smartest game in the world -- down to the fact that the cards are porcelain tiles which stand on their own, so you don't have to hold them in your hands, and so you can authoritatively or triumphantly throw them with a loud clack in the middle of the table. It also helps keep old ladies' minds sharp and is an antidote against senility. Cases in point: both my grandmothers, who are also mahjong partners. I won $20, but the big winner was Uncle Limcy, who walked off with $55.

Before all that, we had brunch at Ah Ma's again:
- Yu Sang
- An assortment of Chinese sausages
- A traditional Hakka stew -- I forget the name and can't identify what's in it, but it's very tasty
- Mutton soup
- The hodgepodge dish again
- A new dish by Ah Ma -- fish shaped into little fishes, with peas for eyes, a shrimp's tail for its tail and a cross-sectioned slice of chilli for its mouth
- Ngoh hiang -- it translates into "five spices," a sort of spring roll with a meat filling

Mmm, iced 7-Up to go with brunch on a sunny day!

Feddy Gets My Mojo Going

Roger Federer, you're my hero. Even though Dad said after Marcos Baghdatis took the first set in the Australian Open final that he thought the dude from Cypress might win the match, I never lost faith -- the match reminded me of the U.S. Open final when you tightened up after going down to Andre Agassi, got the wake-up call, then played with your usual brilliance to bag the championship. This isn't the pre-2004 Roger Federer who never lived up to his potential.

In other sports news, Sara emailed to tell me that our soccer team won our first match of the season (after two unnnecessary losses, close games). How did she know that I was wondering about the outcome of the match I missed? I'm such a nerd.

I'm up at 6.20am because I crashed right after we got home from dinner at Uncle Eddie's. It's less jet lag than catching up on sleep I've lost on the plane, I think. I hope. Again, Uncle Rob cooked, and we ate:

- Yu sang (a cornucopia of various shredded vegetables and fried wonton pieces tossed by everyone in plum sauce as we call out auspicious greetings to one another)
- Lobster in a spicy chilli sauce
- Crab in the same sauce
- Grilled salmon
- Shrimp tempura
-Vegetables with scallops
- Braised pork's feet (mmm! Mom's contribution)
- Beef rendang (a type of Malay curry; again, from Mom)
- Chicken curry (once more, courtesy of Momma)

Mmm! Mmm! Good!

I haven't weighed myself since I got home but my growing gut tells me a true story. I'm going to go back to bed and try squeeze in a run by the beach before brunch at Grandma's.

Another Doggone New Year

Because it's a New Year tradition to not eat meat before noon (so you're starting the new year cleansed), we eagerly counted down the minutes to noon at Grandma's this morning before we could invade the tray of bak kwa.

As usual, we arrived at 10am and immediately, everyone mobbed everyone else with hugs and New Year greetings. Grandma was avalanched by mandarin oranges -- given to a person of seniority as a sign of respect, signifying wealth. After taking the annual family portrait, we broke out into two groups for a vegetarian brunch -- the grandkids on the patio, everyone else at the main table in the kitchen. We ate:

- The hodgepodge dish (I forget the name, but we eat it every year as a Hakka -- our Chinese ethnicity -- tradition), a braised stew of cabbage, various types of mushrooms, fatt choy (a fungus delicacy that looks like a clump of hair)
- Fake siew yoke (roast pork), char siew (barbequed pork), kidney (why would you fake that?)
- Spring rolls
- My mom's vegetarian curry

All served with rice, chased with water.

Then, the best part of New Year -- the snacks. The kok zhai (peanut cookies), love letters (rolled-up wafers), almond cookies, pistachios, cashews and all are great, but oh, the bak kwa!

It's time to re-focus on the Australian Open -- Roger Federer has a seventh Grand Slam title to win.

Happy New Year!

Why, hello there. And happy new year -- it's still the eve of Chinese New Year in Chicago, but it's 1.07am in Singapore and officially the year of the dog and 4703. The Chinese people have been in existence for many moons -- that's a scientific fact, because it's the lunar new year.

So much has happened today that I couldn't resist resuscitating the old blog (vroom! vroom!), and since I'm no longer a corporate drone, perhaps my daily life would be more exciting and I'd be posting on a regular basis. I hope you, friends and readers, will keep me honest.

The best thing so far, this new year, is having Uncle Rob home from Sydney to celebrate it for the first time in almost 25 years. No kidding. And, Uncle Charley! He's not a real uncle like Uncle Rob is -- Robert is my mom's older brother. Charley Desanges is one of my dad's best friends, who's stopped over in Singapore on his way back to Nice (where he's from) from Nomeau, where he's been for the last two weeks, visiting his two brothers. (Nomeau is a French island in the South Pacific, where everyone surfs and catches fish with a hand-thrown harpoon.) You know that scene in "The Sound of Music" when the Captain gets the telegram that the Baroness and Uncle Max would be visiting, and the children scream in jubilation, "Uncle Max!!!" That's my brother and me this morning, when my dad said that Uncle Charley was in town for a week-and-a-half. "Uncle Charley!!!"

We usually have the traditional new year's eve reunion dinner (that's like Thanksgiving dinner, when the whole family comes together from wherever everyone is and eats a meal of abundance -- to ensure we'll always have enough to eat for the whole year) with my dad's side of the family, but since my cousin Kevin was home from New York last week, they celebrated a week earlier. So my mom's side came over, and earlier in the week, after a brief quibble, Uncle Rob won the coin toss to make dinner. Uncle Rob owns a rotisserie in Sydney but used to be the executive chef at the Waterfront, one of the top restaurants in the city -- he ran a kitchen of 60 (sixty!) cooks. The menu:

- Cold seafood platter (lobster, oysters, prawns)
- Les moules (Belgian-style mussels)
- Black pepper steak
- Baked ziti in marinana sauce
- Tuna carpaccio with Japanese seaweed salad
- Caesar salad
- Six bottles of wine, ranging from French to Australian to American

It was the first time in family history that we had a non-Asian feast for our reunion dinner. I had to nap for 10 minutes before we made our annual visit to the temple just before midnight to receive blessings for the year -- I have never faced Buddha half-drunk (merci beaucoup, Uncle Charley) in my life, and I wasn't going to start this year.

But, I'm barrelling ahead too quickly. The day started out great with Amelie Mauresmo's victory over Justine Henin-Hardene in the women's finals at the Australian Open. I avidly hate Henin-Hardene -- no sportsman should be as cocky and smug about their talents as she is. Mauresmo won in a strange fashion... it was almost too easy for the current World No. 3 who had never won a Grand Slam, or was it karma? Her semi-finals opponent Kim Clijsters retired in the third set from a torn ligament and Henin-Hardene gave up the battle in the early second set, because of an upset stomach. But my heart broke when Henin-Hardene walked slowly and heavily -- the antithesis to her tennis play style -- to the net to announce her retirement with the same whatever it was that enabled her to last 56 minutes into the match, taking a beating and playing like Venus Williams circa recently. And that was all that held her up... she broke down at her seat and again during the trophy ceremony.

For someone to whom winning is so important -- you'd think that it is all muscle on Henin-Hardene's small frame, but it really is muscle and pride -- pulling out of a Grand Slam final must be like losing the killer topspin off your power forehand (that's Justine's bread-and-butter shot, if you don't follow tennis). She had an upset stomach because she doubled her intake of anti-inflammatory pills to numb an aching shoulder. She would always do what it takes to win, but this time, she got too far ahead of herself. It's not breakfast of champions this morning in the Rod Laver Arena, it was the humble pie of would-be champions. And losing is always a hard pill to swallow. Maybe a better game next time, Justine... and Amelie, one of those Notre Dame gargoyles must've been grinning down on you today.