Tuesday, June 2, 2009

The Phaal Challenge: Destroyer of Tastebuds

One of the things I love about living in New York is the large variety of food available to us, from bacon-wrapped hotdogs to sliced bull penis. It also happens to be home to Phaal, the "spiciest curry in New York".

The Brick Lane Curry House in Manhattan holds a Phaal Challenge: anyone who can finish the Phaal gets a certificate and a beer, as well as their photo posted up on their website. As a big fan of spicy food, this challenge had a certain allure to me, like how a moth is drawn to fire. I was determined to give it a try.

On the afternoon of Saturday, May 23, I was able to round up a small group of friends to bear witness to my attempts to best the Phaal. As an added bonus, I would not be alone in my suffering since one of them was going to attempt to take on this fiery foe as well.

The Phaal is a deceving dish. It comes in a metallic bowl with a side of rice. At first glance, it looks like a medium sized bowl of red curry, not even all too big. After a taking sniff, it smells harmless. And then I take the first bite: it feels like liquified fire. I instantly break out into sweat and turn red. My friend and I realize this might be harder than we thought, and slowly dig into our curry, one painful bite at a time.

About the time my friend gave up, about 1/3 of the way through her Phaal, I had already started losing feeling in my face. It was as if my body was sick of the pain and decided to do something about it by not letting me feel anything. My breathing at this point had also become labored and anyone watching me could not say I looked well. The certificate would not escape me, and I continued with the challenge one spoon at a time. When I worked my way to the bottom of the bowl, I gathered each curry soaked grain of rice into one final spoon. I endured this one last bite to immortalize me on the Phaal of Fame! (If I ever remember to send them my picture)

I sighed a breath of relief and slumped into my chair. By that last bite, I my forearms and teeth were numb as well. The waiter shook my hand and filled up a glass with my free beer, but I was too full to finish. I took my certificate and put it into my bag with pride. Our friends took home the uneaten Phaal, which became a brown congealed mass of pepper seeds. What they don't tell you, though, is that the challenge does not end there. You will engage the Phaal once again, the battlefield this time is not at the table but rather in the bathroom. I'll leave you with that.

Originally posted @ http://outsydr.blogspot.com/

Saturday, May 16, 2009

Passion

What is it inside all of us that drives us to do what we do? Something out there gives us the will to wake up each morning beyond the basic necessities of air, water, food, sex and World of Warcraft. For many, its the thirst for recognition, or the compelling need to hoard shiny things. But that isn't necessarily the best path. Who out there wouldn't want a million dollars, or to be the realm first guild to down Yogg Saron? These people with "wants" are a dime a dozen. Then, there's the people who NEED.

every once in a while, you'll bump into someone who loves their craft so much, it seems they are always immersed into some aspect of it. It's a rare sight indeed, but what I imagine a successful person to be like. Their passion allows them to constantly learn more and more, allowing them to become specialists. Then, there's only so many people in the world who know something or do something as well as you do. Then with that comes the "phat lewt".

Passion will bring you success. The hard part is finding something to be passionate about, then putting in the effort into truly becoming the best. Put in those hours reading. Take the time to perfect your execution. You know I will (after raiding finishes).

-Steve, from his phone, while waiting for his dad

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

Phoenix Wright

I'm terrifically hooked now. There is no napping during lunch or my commute, which is unheard of in my little world. Pretty sure the dull throbbing behind my eyes is from both the deprivation and the tiny DS screen.

The hardest Psyche Lock to break is the one you have on yourself. Think I might be making some headway here.

Monday, March 2, 2009

A Sunday Night

After a rather fun and productive evening, I decided that I'd head to bed early. Sunday night is the worst time of the week for me, worse than a Monday morning at work. Back when I lived with my parents, these nights were extremely lonesome. The world seemed quieter somehow, in a foreboding sort of way. And in those quiet moments all the things I've managed to run away from all week catch up with me. It's never a pretty sight when it does. Things have been better since moving out, but I find myself still bracing for an unexpected blow to the gut, a sudden kick to the ass.

Two hours after I'd fallen asleep I awoke. It was midnight and there was no familiar fog to my eyes. My stomach rumbled but ignoring it, I made my way to the living room, dodging obstructions easily - my eyes and senses had never felt so alert. I slid onto the couch, curling up bathed in the light from the streetlamp outside the window. The light felt cold, even as I tugged my socks up to my naked knees. It was a white, harsh light, not the deep orange that used to comfort that something panicking underneath my outer calm. All was hushed, all the world was in a slumber the night before the beginning of another week.

I shut my eyes, balled my fists, daring the night to do its worst. Seconds passed, then minutes. Surely I could not hold my breath for that long but I don't remember hearing it. When I opened my eyes again, the world had not changed, but the rumbling in my stomach traveled deep through my gut, boring a burning hole down right between my legs.

It would not do, so I ate. I stared at a wall and shoved what little I could find into my mouth until the gnawing ebbed. This time, there was no slap to the face. Eating out of relief was an offering to the Gods, a coward's habit. Lucky so far but who knows if my luck will hold out for next time? With that sobering thought I made my way back to the bedroom, nearly tripping over a slipper. Turning aside a corner of the comforter, I stepped back into bed and pressed my body against my boyfriend's. I pushed my face into the side of his neck, hissed that he was mine, that he was all mine, as if it would return me back to where he was, peaceful and oblivious. It never works. Sleep was a long time coming.

Sunday, March 1, 2009

Photographer.

I'm a photographer. I spend most of my days looking at pictures, then figuring out how the pictures were made. I read countless articles about photography, look at countless portfolios, developing a taste that I feel far exceeds my skills. I have a fairly firm grasp of the basics, I'm technically sound, and while I may or may not have a "good eye" as some people have stated, I feel I am creatively lacking. In short, I feel stuck. As Zack Arias described so well "I'm driving 100mph towards a dead end." I run a photoblog but while people may like my work, I find it lacking. Something is missing... maybe I'm just too critical... but I guess it's just normal.... I just need direction.

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Lunchtime is Lame with No Computer

So it's lunchtime and since my workplace is, in a single crude word, BULLSHIT, I am on my phone surfing with frustration because as good as this little gadget is for texting, it has this knack for making me feel like a total cripple when it comes to using a tiny browser.

There have been a few times where I found myself with an itch to contribute here, but again and again I find myself unwilling to share any of my deepest fears and illogical pellets of frustration. There are many things that go well during my days and yet alongside the brightness is an enormous cloud. It grows more and more opaque as time moves on and, well, it feels as though I am growing more and more blind.

That's all I'm willing to give up at the moment and if I am lucky, my phone will somehow refuse to post this.

Thursday, November 6, 2008

From the little notebook

I've taken to writing down my thoughts or muses in this little notebook I carry around with me. It's not much, and in fact only two pages are written in. Two pages written, and about 6 pages ripped out because I can't ever seem to shake the analness that I have with my handwriting.

Well, for starters--I think the reason why no one writes on this blog (or rather, why I don't write on this blog) is because I am not notified when someone else writes on this blog; perhaps thinking no one else is writing on it, led me to not want to write on it.

I wonder if there's a way to keep posted about this blog--or I guess... subscribe to the FEED or whatever it's called?

So--random note #1 from the little notebook:
Telekinesis; would be nice. I always yearn for this extra power I know I'll never have. And I always fantasize that it is during a moment of trial; in panic--that I would then discover or reveal my gift.

Stupid.

I should just stick to wanting things like, a new messenger bag to replace the bootleg $7 JSPORT one I have. Or wanting a new wool skirt that I can wear in the winter.

Random note #2 from the little notebook:
Sometimes, I wonder if my brain has problems. Like, maybe I'm insane--but just not diagnosed. The other day, I got into this "meh" mood. And whenever I get into this "meh" mood, I take the good things in life, and imagine them in the worst case scenario.... as if I'm preparing myself for the worst. Maybe it's also the same as the anal part of me that rip out pages from this notebook--how I want to never be caught off guard with myself. I imagine the worst so that I would have formulated a perfected and practiced response for if it were to ever occur. I end up "meh'ing" myself some more.

So, coming back full circle, I wonder--what brings about these "meh" moods anyway?

Random note #3 from the little notebook:
I'm too shy to be mushy with my sister. I'll cry in front of her when a boy breaks my heart, but I can't tell her to her face that she's one of my best friends and my closest confidante.

What a wuss.

Random note #4 from the little notebook:
Remember to bring the girly smelling lotion into work to harass Stephen and Eric with.