Just Pixels

Some more shots of food and various things around town. I'm learning a few Chinese sayings and learning how insanely difficult the language is to learn for a honky like me. I'll repeat something back to Dan exactly like he says it and he just shakes his head. Oye vey. And I find my initial reaction when spoken to in Chinese is to answer in Spanish. Like that's going to do a lot of good here...

It's also RATHER hot here and the humidity readily apparent, but Singapore is really a beautiful city. For being such a densely populated place it is quite peaceful, stragely quiet and oddly clean. And I've not felt at all unsafe in any of the places we've ventured. Pretty remarkable for a big city.

And I'm still trying to process the idea of people having live-in "domestic helpers" here. They basically do a lot of work and charge very little for their services. I feel very odd asking for something or just expecting Dan's maid, Yanti, to do things for me like she does for everyone else. I have no category for this paradigm in my mind. And I'll say this is the first time for a woman besides my mother to launder my dirty underpants. Kind of strange, no?

Alas, the photos:


Famous cityscape shot. I want to get this one at night at some point too.


Ice cream on bread from a street vendor. A genuine ice cream sandwich. Probably the best iced cream I've tasted in a long time.




I assure you, the Powerpuff Girls are alive and well in this side of the world. I couldn't stop chuckling to myself about their popularity in mainstream culture, and all the people photographing them. Dan said "What is soo funny, John?"


Kolo Mee, Abolone (in the bowl) and Aloe Vera juice. Scary good. And I'm getting better with the 'sticks.


Shot from the roof of Dan's house.




The infamous Durian fruit. So far I've not tried it, but my time is coming. They say you either love it or hate it. Perhaps it's not unlike Marmite in this regard...


Open air market. Everything's fresh and local. Dan's dad has been coming to this market near their house for 20 years and knows all the independent merchants. Quite a novel idea, no? I can't name a single employee at the Wal-Mart back home. That's Yanti on the right.


We ate this fish head for dinner. Quite tasty. I definitely ate one of the eyeballs. A little slimy but surprisingly flavorful. Dan said he's never eaten one, so I've successfully one-upped a local. Booyah!




Here I am just blending in like one of the locals...


These guys were diassembling this stage when we passed by. Dan's dad said that every year the local Buddhists and Taoists have a big get together to worship an indescriminate god of their choice at this place. They have some tongue cutting rituals and then have a big party, Dan's dad said. Makes me think of a certain story about Elijah and some self-mutilation and the all-consuming fire...


On weekends a bunch of locals will gather near the market at this place. The things on the poles are bird cages, and people bring their pet song birds here to merely let them all sing together and enjoy the ensuing music. I've never seen anything like this. And apparently they have competitions for whose bird sings the best. Dan's mom used to be a judge. It seems like a pretty relaxing way to spend a Saturday morning I'd say. It is BYOB (Bring Your Own Bird) though, as Dan pointed out.


Breakfast at an Indian curry joint with Dan and his dad (Stanley - pictured). We had amazing bread-ish, eggy, cheesy things with curried sauce with lamb. And for a sweet finish this semi-circle behemoth crunchy thing covered in chocolate sauce. Of course these all have official names but I've forgetten them by now. But certainly one of the best breakfasts I've had in some time. I even ate more than Dan, and that's saying something.




Glorified chocolate milk, with indian undertones.


Dan and his dad grooving out. Stanley loves country western he said.


Spacing Out: my jet lag was overwhelming me yesterday evening and I found it difficult to string together coherent sentences. My body has no idea what's going on right now. It's on a crazy new time schedule and is being fed copious amounts of exotic food.


The funkiest fruit I'v ever seen. Looks like something Han Solo would've ordered in the Mos Eisley Cantina. You peel the furry stuff off and eat the sweet, white fruit.

Well, so here's my first ever post from the great continent of Asia. And it feels pretty amazing to actually be here as opposed to the 26 hours it takes en route to here. But that part is always interesting too, namely the people you meet along the way.

On the plane from Dallas to San Francisco I sat next to Chrissy, a forty-something Dallas native who is a missionary in Mongolia. Quite interesting, and after she shed some light on the whole Mongolian Bar-B-Cue myth (yes, I'm afraid it's right up there with General Tso's Chicken and the Western Egg Roll -- an American invention through and through) we got down to business and settled into a healthy two hour convo about spitting Mongolians, air travel debacles, Big 12 football (one of her daughters went to Texas Tech), missions abroad, and life in general. She is a wonderful lady and actually said there's a distict need of trained media people in the abroad mission force of today. A very intriguing possibility, I thought, and one I need to do some more research about.

And then on the plane in San Fran, waiting placidly for take off and attempting to mentally prepare myself for the 14 hour plane ride before me, a small asian woman took her seat next to me. This wouldn't be an abnormal thing except for the fact that once seated she immediately fumbled for the barf-bag and began wretching into it like tomorrow had literally been wiped from existence. Although I didn't smell anything, I was somewhat taken aback and displeased at the idea of spending multiple thousands of miles hurdling through the Stratosphere with Upchuck McGoo immediately to my right emptying herself every half hour. Fortunately, the winds of fortune were with me and her son offered to give her the aisle on the opposing side of the row and he sat next to me. "Yeah, my mom gets sick on planes," he said flatly. Yeah, no crap, I thought.

Turns out the guy, "Ronald" is from Edmond, Oklahoma and will be a sophomore at OU next year, majoring in petroleum engineering. Small world. His parents are from Vietnam and they were going to Ho Chi Minh City to visit some family. An interesting coincidence that of the 400 people on our 747 out of San Fran to Hong Kong, United Airlines somehow paired up the Sooners next to each other...I like it.

So I am here and mostly well. The jetlag is definitely present and my noodle intake high. It's delightfully Asian here (as it should be I reckon), but astoundingly British too. Having seen a good bit of the Old Country, it's kind of comforting and familiar here. Think of your average motorway in England and then drop it into a tropical setting with some shops with funny writing on them and you're on the right track. And it's good to be driving on the left side again.

But this is getting long. Today we went to Malaysia for a day trip. At the closest part you could throw a rock (or on a calm day perhaps a fried wanton) across the causeway and hit Malaysia from Singapore. Or, as I suggested to Dan as we crossed the causeway bridge into Malaysia, you could "swim across because it's so close."

"Yes," he assured me. "You could, but they would shoot you in the water."

Right. Yeah, I guess I didn't think about that part in the illustrative parable...

So...some pics. More to come no doubt. Gotta give these Asian photogs a run for their money...


I was rather tired of being on the plane at this point. Strangely around hour 10 of 14 I broke down and just didn't care how long anything took from that point on.


The road warrior daze.


Ronald (an Edmond-ite) and I doing awkward. We were close to landing. Morale was high.


Getting closer.


Johar Baru, Malaysia. The closest Malaysian city to Singapore.




"Thank You" in Malay. Each day 100,000 Malaysians pass on this road into Singapore to work.


Back in Singapore on the "expressway" toward the Ling residence and more importantly, lunch.


Petrol (like everything else) is expensive in Singapore. In Malaysia it's about half as expensive. To limit Singaporeans from purchasing their gas in Malaysia, the Singaporean goverment has a law that requires all cars leaving Singapore to have their gas tanks at least three quarters full at the check point. If you are late picking up the kids from soccer practice in your H2 and happen to forget to top off the tank, you get fined a cool $500 for the offense. These Singaporeans don't fanny about...

Just be certain to not bring 15 grams or more of any illegal drug into the country because sure as shanghai you'll be sent to the gallows over the matter. No joke.


Flavorful chicken and rice with some refreshing sugar cane juice. I'm realizing now why Dan always talks about food. It really is outstanding. If I were a Singaporian expat in the US subsisting on blandish Mid-Western vittles, I'd probably talk about the food back home five times a day too.

Shot of the day: Mr. Ling confidently ambled behind the controls of my grandmother's 1990 Chrysler minivan to complete his fourth-ever piloting of a motor vehicle. No one was injured. Good driving, Dan. Look at that poise.

"Nice wheels, McFLy...you wanna race?"

I've been going through old papers at my parents' house this week as I've been cleaning out my old room (good gravy I've got a lot of crap). I invariably unearthed some high school artifacts. I wrote the ditty below in 10th grade for English class. It's a bit out of character for something I just came up with, so I'm pretty sure we had some kind of prompt. I wouldn't attempt to capture the feminine psyche at such a novice age and with such limited female romantic know-how, but it's certainly possible that I tried. It's a strangely colored piece for sure...

Tis intersting what was going through my mind as a 16-year-old. Goodness. Of further interest, I also found a love note I got from a gal in the 9th grade. She actually wrote it to me on my 16th birthday, coincidentally.

And the note is actually quite straight-forward, heartfelt and poignant. I respected her sentiments greatly... But I think it's pretty impossible to look back on such remnants and not get a high level of devious adolescent enjoyment out of them. I figure the note is worth keeping another seven years if it's bringing me this amount of well being right now. It's the little things, really...

"Last Dance"

Ballroom floor, level one. The orchestra bows lightly, a waltz sifting through the atmosphere. Crowds of formality migrate amongst the different castes, shifting with the sociable weather variations.

A breeze lifts my hair as veranda doors release occupants into cool dark air. People part, moving to reveal...him. I inhale, my corset loosing its taught conformity.
He drinks casually from what is offered, speaks confidently to surrounding intellects. Boredom fringes his body language, turning he swivels his gaze. Glorious, our eyes grapple. The orchestra strikes tone. Hope ensues. He takes a step forward.

There is a proper pack of canines at the Stuart Dog Sanctuary this weekend. I brought the Tooks over for a traipse in the field with the beasts and some tasty iced cream immediately following. Both man and animal were satisfied.


The best posed shot we could muster with six overly hyped-up pooches.


I don't think Drew Boy likes pictures...


The pack post-walk.




The dogs were supposed to line up and race. It was a blunder -- they were apprehensive off the starting line, the finish line was ambiguous, and I think the fisherman on the right was less than amused at the six dogs ruining his relaxing evening at the pond. Oh well...

Well, my final summer conference came and went. The drive was long as usual, and Becky's popped tire two hours into the trip down was most unfortunate. Thanks to all who helped with that fiasco...

But mostly it was (as in years past) very encouraging to see an assembly of God's people amassed for the purpose of worship and furthering their knowledge of His word (the beach might have played into that motivation for attending as well). Summer conference is always a vivid picture of how God is truly working in peoples' lives across the country on the college campus scene. This year, like previous years, I felt overwhelmed in wanting to talk to other people from hither and yon and ask them about their RUFs and what life is like in their corner of the higher education world. And I got to do this a little. I chatted with a few Virginia Tech students over lunch one day.

Mostly I asked them about the shooting stuff. I tried to stay away from the routine questions that they'd obviously been asked numerous times already. But it was good to get a few personal tidbits into what that tradgedy was like and how things unfolded in the weeks after. One of the girls I talked to lived in the same dorm as the shooter. Pretty crazy. I can't imagine what it would be like if that happened at OU. Hopefully I'll never have to.

But all in all a nice, though not very relaxing week (I'm not very good at relaxing at the beach -- I get bored and then I get anxious).

Some shots from the week:


Sally working it on the ladder golf. Don't let the pleasant demeanor fool you, she brings the heat. I bowed to the Schupacktion juggernaut at least once during the week.





Thomas "The Tangy Tomato Bacon Tank Engine" Brewer


The counselor is in.


Service with a smile.


The group does awkward.


Amanda "Hermione" Willis




Lewis and Clark




The in-car post up. Notice its subtle yet distinctive attitude.


Buried Tookies.


Some v-ball teammate miscommunication. Though it was OU's first time to field a volleyball team at summer conference we did pretty good. Sadly Matt G. (not pictured) dislocated his shoulder mid-game during the second round of match play. It was grisly and horrific. Thankfully Tony manhandled it back into socket while the masses watched stunned. I felt sick and wondered if what I was seeing was real. It was. Matt was okay in the end. I can only pray I never dislocate a joint. I would lose consciousness long before it got fixed probably...


Blockparty.


Some dancing shots from the live music/blockparty action. We had a good time.

I was surprised and then excited to check this semester's grades online a few days ago. And, much to my dismay, it seems I closed out my undergraduate career with the much sought after and seldom achieved four-point-oh GPA. This has never happened to me before. I'll chalk it up to a spindly class load, and the secondary-schoolish difficulty level of these classes. so hey, I'm okay with it. Turn off the lights and I'll glow...

And so it goes...I walked across a stage in MacCasland Fieldhouse today, signaling a kind of graduation-induced transformation from naive student to mature adult.

I guess...

I was the last to cross the stage and the word STUART hung in the air at the close of the Gaylord College of Journalism and Mass Communication convocation. And really it feels quite amazing to be done. Whew. Doggie. It's really over. Really.

So some photos, of course...


Me and Krista pre-ceremony. I worked with Krista at the yearbook. She was the cool head-honcho boss editor, and was (and is) a lovely individual. And starting June 1 she will be the nifty associate editor of a magazine in Dallas that's somehow related to D Magazine. I think that's right at least. So much for accurate journalistic details. But go K-dogg...gainful employment is always nice.


This is Graham. Before walking in for the ceremony I looked to my immediate right. Behold, Graham Reynolds. Ol' G. Rey and I played trombone together at Irving Middle School (go Cougars!) in sixth grade. Sadly Graham has since lost "the faith" of tromboning lore and told me he sold his horn for a paltry 40 bones recently (*tears*). But, regardless, it only seemed fitting to end my academic career with someone who I basically started it with. Best wishes, hombre.


The old grip-and-grin shot with the J-college dean. I got some bonus cheers I think for being the last one across the stage. Daddy Stu was representing as cameraman. Thanks, Pa.


The framed shot. Red cons just felt right for the occasion, you know?


The fam post-graduation. The oldest two siblings defaulted on attendance, and really, can you blame them? They've been through all this shenanigans before. It's kind of a beating if you're not the center of attention.

The sis' new look.

A short drive to OKC on Saturday gave me the opportunity to experience my first ever Quinceanera mass and fiesta. My friend Ariana asked me to take pictures at the quinceanera, which signified her god daughter Reyna's entrance into womanhood, and I accepted. I'm glad I did. The experience proved rather interesting and I had a great time trying to speak Spanish and being obviously not one of the locals.


The ceremony starts with mass. It was all in Spanish and I felt a bit awkward roaming about during the service being one of three gringos in the house. In the end I decided it was only as awkward as I let it be, so I just rolled with it and didn't think about my contrasting cracker complexion and anglo-saxon roots. It's interesting how quickly one can feel alienated when detached from familiar surroundings. I think it's good to experience this isolation.



The mass was at an all-Spanish-all-the-time Catholic church in OKC, which interestingly employs a priest of east indian descent. Partway through the mass he launched into heavily accented english at which point I readily discerned his country of origin. I could barely understand some of what he said and I'm thinking a lot of the latinos picked up even less.


We took some more pics near the Myriad Gardens in OKC after the mass. I quickly realized that wedding-esque photography would be required of me and curbed my initial impulse to cease all photomaking immediately on principle. Thankfully the experience was enjoyable and the pomp and circumstance kept to a minimum during the session at the park. I'd shoot another Quinceanera, but I could not handle doing a wedding. In this genre I feel like every picture I take is cliche'. Perhaps I'm just a photojournalist snob at heart...



Some charming little ninos were chomming on these fried pretzelish things after the mass. I don't remember what they're called.



The fiesta lit up about five and there was plenty of amazing food, beer, tequila and dancing to go around. This is the traditional first dance with all the damas and chambelanes surrounding the couple of honor.


More dancing.


There were plenty of very friendly locals at the fiesta. And very little Ingles being spoken. I liked the atmosphere of multiple generations mingling and enjoying quality time with one another. Despite my lack of street cred and shady Espanol skills I felt very welcome and comfortable.



Did I mention the food was crazy good? Massive vats held untold amounts of the pork, rice, beans and CORN tortillas. I was good for two plates of these vittles and wanted more though my estomago told me otherwise. Classic American suds were also in quick supply. I went for a pair of brews before getting the cheap-beer shudders toward the bottom of my second Bud. What can you do?

But all in all a choice meal and evening. If you have the chance to check out a Quinceanera you should strap on a bolo tie and cowboy hat and boots and make it happen. You won't be disappointed.

Step 1: get a chip.


Step 2: load chip with homemade hummus (my cooking repertoire is now almost ten items long, but hummus is decidedly in the fruit/nut food group so I'm still in my element for sure).

Step 3 (not pictured): repeat.

Some nice times in the park on a Saturday afternoon...