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/
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Friday, August 15, 2008
Fun and Games
The other day, I was horrified to discover how many games I have going on in my life. The horror is only fully realized when you consider that, way in the past, I only dabbled in one or two games at most at any one time, and only when others prodded me to join in. As a kid of course there was the Nintendo console with our limited repetoire of games. I had an old school Gameboy on which I only really enjoyed Tetris, because it appealed to the puzzle-solver side of me. In my teen years the console games tapered off, but then we got a computer. It started first with Starcraft (with which I had to take turns with my brother, as we had only one working computer at the time), then Counterstrike (with which I had to bully on to my ex-boyfriend's computer to play at all). During that time period Tetrinet and Worms were sprinkled throughout.
Then my current boyfriend, who spent a whole lot of times that I visited him playing FFXI, and after that, WoW, asked me to try giving WoW a shot. I complied because, you know, if you can't beat 'em, you join 'em. I discovered that I hate people and their bullshit in general, but that, unfortunately, I did enjoy having to work together with others to achieve things. Even then, there's a whole lot of thinking involved, and sometimes I go to bed with a slight headache.
My brother got me a copy of TF2 recently, and that was the perfect game to add to all the thinking/puzzle games I spend my idle time indulging in. If I wanted to I can think in that game, but it's so much more fun to hop on a Soldier or Demoman and start blowing shit up. Especially if it's one of the push-the-cart maps. The mindless mayhem clears my head the way the other games I enjoy don't. It's so good I can play perfectly alone, on a random server where I don't know anybody, and I walk away grinning.
Anyways here's a list of games I'm currently playing:
PC
World of Warcraft
Team Fortress 2
Freestyle Basketball
Guitar Hero 3
Warhammer 2 (Coming Soon!)
DS
Picross
Touch Detective
Cooking Mama
Under the Knife
PSP
Patapon
XBox
Rock Band
And, well, uh. If people ask me for a few rounds of Tetrinet, you can bet that I'll join, as I always did when I was free.
Staring at this list, even though I know I don't play all of these every day, or even every single week, it's still no wonder I don't have a new job yet. ); And goddammit, where is the time in the day to go out and play some handball?
Then my current boyfriend, who spent a whole lot of times that I visited him playing FFXI, and after that, WoW, asked me to try giving WoW a shot. I complied because, you know, if you can't beat 'em, you join 'em. I discovered that I hate people and their bullshit in general, but that, unfortunately, I did enjoy having to work together with others to achieve things. Even then, there's a whole lot of thinking involved, and sometimes I go to bed with a slight headache.
My brother got me a copy of TF2 recently, and that was the perfect game to add to all the thinking/puzzle games I spend my idle time indulging in. If I wanted to I can think in that game, but it's so much more fun to hop on a Soldier or Demoman and start blowing shit up. Especially if it's one of the push-the-cart maps. The mindless mayhem clears my head the way the other games I enjoy don't. It's so good I can play perfectly alone, on a random server where I don't know anybody, and I walk away grinning.
Anyways here's a list of games I'm currently playing:
PC
World of Warcraft
Team Fortress 2
Freestyle Basketball
Guitar Hero 3
Warhammer 2 (Coming Soon!)
DS
Picross
Touch Detective
Cooking Mama
Under the Knife
PSP
Patapon
XBox
Rock Band
And, well, uh. If people ask me for a few rounds of Tetrinet, you can bet that I'll join, as I always did when I was free.
Staring at this list, even though I know I don't play all of these every day, or even every single week, it's still no wonder I don't have a new job yet. ); And goddammit, where is the time in the day to go out and play some handball?
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Sometimes a pen, sometimes a pencil.
I decided to also create a doodle blog--because sometimes you feel like writing, and sometimes you just wanna doodle.
Share your creativity if you have any--and if you don't, share it anyway! =D
http://hongdaodoodle.blogspot.com
Share your creativity if you have any--and if you don't, share it anyway! =D
http://hongdaodoodle.blogspot.com
Friday, August 8, 2008
Monday, August 4, 2008
Surely I'm Not Too Old For This
So I noticed that there were two options to post - one to leave as a comment, and one to make a new post. I understand the concept Suse's associate(s) mentioned about having a sort of collaborative train-of-thought blog where you share one blog with others, but as I'm not getting any younger, I feel totally lost as to the etiquette of posting and commenting. Do you use the comment function only when you want to reply to a particular post? What if your reply actually grows into something longer and more involved, is it still a comment or does it merit an entirely new post? Are new posts meant for entirely new ideas and trains of thought?
Now my head is sort of spinning and I'm nowhere near as sick as Suse. );
I will take this opportunity to relate a part of my morning, however. If only because the incident prompted a recurring thought I've been having for a couple of years now. I was getting ready to get off the train, and I was the only one standing by the double doors as the train pulled into the station. As usual, a crowd of people wanting to get on the train assembled outside the door as the train stopped. You would think that since I was one person, the crowd would let me off real quick so that they can all get in. But one guy in a dress shirt, a guy one wouldn't call skinny, but perhaps call short, had to barrel past me on my right side, brushing rather roughly on my left side, and as a reflex (these days I cannot stand being touched by strangers in any way) I shoved my elbow into him as I quickly stepped off the train. As I walked away I realized I didn't feel any better after shoving the miserable man. And immediately I began dreaming/wondering as I often do these days about whether there was a place, a neighborhood on this stupid planet where people weren't such rude sons of bitches that I'd be tempted to be a terrible person back to them. When I express outrage at people's behavior I often hear that it is human nature, and yet somehow that does not comfort me in the least. I'm not saying everyone needs to smile at everyone else or anything like that, just get out of their own heads enough to think of little things like, hey only one person needs to get off the train through this door, let the person go before rushing on the train to find a seat. Just little things like that. But I guess it just doesn't happen. I understand that a few bad apples makes it feel as though the ones doing good get screwed. That miserable man most definitely got a seat while the others in the crowd who were going to allow me to rush past lost a chance at that same seat.
And I thought there was seriously something wrong with that. It might be partly why I don't believe in a mighty God that smites the wicked and blesses the good. When I'm sick as a puppy though, I want to believe if only because I can beg for some bit of mercy. "Okay, if only this terrible nausea will go away, I promise I'll live a good, God-fearing life."
I'll settle for finding a city or town where the people aren't such assholes.
Now my head is sort of spinning and I'm nowhere near as sick as Suse. );
I will take this opportunity to relate a part of my morning, however. If only because the incident prompted a recurring thought I've been having for a couple of years now. I was getting ready to get off the train, and I was the only one standing by the double doors as the train pulled into the station. As usual, a crowd of people wanting to get on the train assembled outside the door as the train stopped. You would think that since I was one person, the crowd would let me off real quick so that they can all get in. But one guy in a dress shirt, a guy one wouldn't call skinny, but perhaps call short, had to barrel past me on my right side, brushing rather roughly on my left side, and as a reflex (these days I cannot stand being touched by strangers in any way) I shoved my elbow into him as I quickly stepped off the train. As I walked away I realized I didn't feel any better after shoving the miserable man. And immediately I began dreaming/wondering as I often do these days about whether there was a place, a neighborhood on this stupid planet where people weren't such rude sons of bitches that I'd be tempted to be a terrible person back to them. When I express outrage at people's behavior I often hear that it is human nature, and yet somehow that does not comfort me in the least. I'm not saying everyone needs to smile at everyone else or anything like that, just get out of their own heads enough to think of little things like, hey only one person needs to get off the train through this door, let the person go before rushing on the train to find a seat. Just little things like that. But I guess it just doesn't happen. I understand that a few bad apples makes it feel as though the ones doing good get screwed. That miserable man most definitely got a seat while the others in the crowd who were going to allow me to rush past lost a chance at that same seat.
And I thought there was seriously something wrong with that. It might be partly why I don't believe in a mighty God that smites the wicked and blesses the good. When I'm sick as a puppy though, I want to believe if only because I can beg for some bit of mercy. "Okay, if only this terrible nausea will go away, I promise I'll live a good, God-fearing life."
I'll settle for finding a city or town where the people aren't such assholes.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Here we go again.
There were many times, I start feeling the motivation to write... stuff. Be it a thoughtful journal entry, attempts at a short story, maybe even a novel in infancy stage. It would start off the same. Some new blog tool online somewhere, or a pretty new notebook from Staples. The first post or entry would be something similar to this post; depicting how I've tried time and time again to write something down, to record my thoughts and events in my life, and how I will succeed this time in making it a habitual thing. Lo and behold it becomes another good idea brushed aside, collecting dust underneath my bed, or another website I don't visit.
Well, my associate at work suggests that I try again, and this time include friends, and co-authors to help me develop this... "train of thought". So, well, here goes.
Um. Well, here goes... nothing. I haven't a thought in my head at all. I'm sitting here, eating a microwaved lunch from one of those boxed meals. The box is labeled "Lemon Chicken with Rice," and I suppose this was chicken I just ingested, and I'm sure this is rice, but I don't taste the lemon anywhere. I'm sick, and I'm not even quite sure with what. Either I have a cold, and conjunctivitis just decided to bite me in the ass for shits and giggles, or I have conjunctivitis, and cold-like symptoms just decided to appear to spite me. Anyhow, I am sitting here feeling kind of icky and miserable with no one to whine to, so like any good emo person, I will write about it on my blog online. Sometimes, I scare myself with thoughts like, "is this punishment for an evil thought I had?" or "Oh no, maybe there is a god and he's making a point." (Btw, religious people please don't hate me. I'm not being judgmental!) Then in all my delirium of all the medication I take, I begin to wonder if karma exists, and then try to justify in my head why I should expect good things to happen to me soon.
Because you know, I'm such a wonderful person and all.
Of couse this contradicts my "YOSH! I control my own destiny!" ideal and well, then I just fall asleep because thinking too hard is just not a good thing to do. Especially when your brain is feeling like a 10 ton brick crushing itself and your eyes feel like they're about to implode into the pool of mucus that sits in the back of your throat. Yes, that's right, I managed to do some emo-whining in the midst of a clever rant-on sentence while grossing everyone out.
Ice cream will definitely help right now.
Well, my associate at work suggests that I try again, and this time include friends, and co-authors to help me develop this... "train of thought". So, well, here goes.
Um. Well, here goes... nothing. I haven't a thought in my head at all. I'm sitting here, eating a microwaved lunch from one of those boxed meals. The box is labeled "Lemon Chicken with Rice," and I suppose this was chicken I just ingested, and I'm sure this is rice, but I don't taste the lemon anywhere. I'm sick, and I'm not even quite sure with what. Either I have a cold, and conjunctivitis just decided to bite me in the ass for shits and giggles, or I have conjunctivitis, and cold-like symptoms just decided to appear to spite me. Anyhow, I am sitting here feeling kind of icky and miserable with no one to whine to, so like any good emo person, I will write about it on my blog online. Sometimes, I scare myself with thoughts like, "is this punishment for an evil thought I had?" or "Oh no, maybe there is a god and he's making a point." (Btw, religious people please don't hate me. I'm not being judgmental!) Then in all my delirium of all the medication I take, I begin to wonder if karma exists, and then try to justify in my head why I should expect good things to happen to me soon.
Because you know, I'm such a wonderful person and all.
Of couse this contradicts my "YOSH! I control my own destiny!" ideal and well, then I just fall asleep because thinking too hard is just not a good thing to do. Especially when your brain is feeling like a 10 ton brick crushing itself and your eyes feel like they're about to implode into the pool of mucus that sits in the back of your throat. Yes, that's right, I managed to do some emo-whining in the midst of a clever rant-on sentence while grossing everyone out.
Ice cream will definitely help right now.
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