Truc's Quarte Quart Cake

A quarte quart, also known geekily as the "maths cake" is a classic, rich and dense french cake (close enough, Truc is French Canadian Vietnamese...) where you use exactly the same weight for the four main ingredients - ie. crack eggs first and weigh it (as its the weight least easy to control), then use exactly the same amount in grams for flour, sugar and butter. you can therefore control how big you want your cake to be depending on how many ppl you are feeding etc. Whisk it all up - add your flavouring ie cocoa powder or pulped up orange, cream, shredded coconut etc and ice as you please. All easy in the hood!

3 years in a Leaky Boat

Three years ago, on the 14th of July 2003, I came to Australia with a 20kg backpack and a doubtful mind. It could be sung out like the My Way kareoke number, or sewn out like the Citizenship Quilt, or just given a rant on m'blog.

This is the second time I've "immigrated", but probably the 20th time I've "migrated". I am from a line of people with boat blood, its natural to have a home that is constantly floating under your feet. Changing your environment is ultimately good for you, I believe this through and through. I appreciate the things that Australia makes me think about, and contribute to my accumulating wisdom. I think most of all its about understanding this landscape and a whole different way of relating to life and the world beyond homes gurt by sea. I've travelled to some amazing corners on this seemlingly endless land. I've seen the good, bad and the pure ugly.

I could have, but have not, taken out PR or citizenship. To be completely honest, and absolutely no offence to my closest aussie friends or my spouse, people here needs to have a good look at themselves here and ask themselves why they have let the Howard government manipulate, murder, cheat and lie to them for ten years and not twitch one bit. Why do they keep tolerating intolerance, ignoring ignorance, turn a blind eye with all this muslim bashing, double standard attitude towards people from other cultures. I simply do not want to be called Australian, yet.

Yet the larrikinism, the laid back black humour just that bit more exaggerated and bit more shamelessness than back home in New Zealand is just that attractive. They are better drinkers, and better fucks. *sorry!!* They have a less serious identity crisis than New Zealand or Taiwan, and certainly don't need to put pride on just one sport... But giiioooorrrd, that annoying accent???

In a nutshell, the Aussie Lingo I've managed to understand are:
- Doona - equivalent of duvet, a thick blanket stuffed with synthetic fibre or cotton or wool or feathers depending on how rich you are (in the ascending order I mentioned)
- Chunder - to spew
- Eski - chilly bin, I think its an unPC reference to the Inuit people
- dacks - track pants. John Howard Dacks are green suit with yellow stripes
- m'ticker - my heart
- A Doris - a parking spot closest to the entrance to a mall (newest addition)

Aussie Lingo I've not got:
- Buckleys/ Buckley's chance: what the?
- Bloody Oath
- ACCC
- The great Australian bite
- Drop bears

Anyway, seriously, its been a fun ride, and its good to not to feel too involved either. I feel lucky that Australia and I are able to embrace each other at a pace we are both comfortable with. I am not sure if I will still be here to see my fifth Canberra winter, I can and will jump ship when prompt, but if I do stay, it would be my pleasure if it will have me. *-)

GRIPE!!! #2

What absolutely fucks me off on a Thursday morning is:

a) The cat (Shiner, I know its him) has confused the kitty litter and my fucking wardrobe, and pissed all over the pants I want to wear to work today

b) The FUCKING bus breaks down and you stand at the freezing bus stop (Canberra is a fine minus 5 degrees today) for 20 minutes, decide to get the next bus and have a coffee instead, and the bloody cafe is understaffed and they bring you the coffee 15 minutes after you order it, you have 2 more minutes to get back to the bus stop for the next bus, so you gulp down the coffee and BURN yourself

c) My bladder infection has decided to come back, great, now I'M the cat!!!

FUCCCKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

GRIPE!!

What absolutely frustrates the shit out of me on a Wednesday afternoon:

a) The telephone cord is so bloody old that it curls into a big bundle and every time you pick it up it curls back and you end up being pulled towards the phone set and speaking right next to the number pad. FUCK!$&*&*&**

b) Strangers at the bloody bus stop that wants to know the time or if a bus has been passed, and instead of asking you the bloody question they go first "oh, can I ask you a question??" and I'm like "yeah?" (like, NO!!! YOU CAN'T ASK ME A QUESTION COS YOU'VE ASKED IT ALREADY YOU FUCK WIT!) and they're like "um, have you go the time?". Like FUCKKK!#$^%$#&#%$

Basically yeah, I'm cranky.

Cocktail Party with Funny French People

Happy Birthday Johanna aka Macy Gray!

L's World 2: My first driving lesson

My lovely mate Helen has been waiting forever to put me in the drivers seat and I have been procrastinating forever to avoid it.

But 2 July 2006, aged 26 years, 3 months and two days, just over 11 years from the time I passed my learner's licence test in New Zealand, I am behind the wheel. Earlier in the week the cheesiest smile I've had in years was firmly implanted into a piece of green plastic, and I am licenced (again). Herrahhh. I know its lame but I just can't help but pulling it out of my wallet at parties.

2pm came and I had to seriously kiss templeton goodbye properly before we left the house just in case its the last time I'll ever see him and the cats ever again... I was prepared to reck the shit out of Helen's car either by underestimating myself or over estimating myself.

The first time the car moved all happend too quickly for me. We were in a driveway of a factory (closed on sunday ofcourse) and there were two walls on either side which looked like they were running into me rather than the other way round. My shyness and brashness collided between my feet and the pedals. What the hell am I suppose to do? I press to light and the car doesn't move, and I press to hard it gets grumpy and as if it would shoot out of the driveway 200 Ks an hour... Stalling the car is like having a pretty violent hickup and I was told promptly that it would be a fact of life for the next few months. And what the fuck is with the crazy handbreaks - its like having too many veto powers in a democracy. Hearing my heart pound and my own fast panting while being completely stationary reminded me of the last time I was in an operating theatre on local anasthetics - using up fat stores without moving an inch. Finally upgrading from the laneway to the open road was a mixture of feeling daunted yet eager. Not sure if its an Asian thing or not but keeping to the left is actually quite difficult... and crossing paths with another L driver was a bit of hoot - neither of us were mentally or physically capable of acknowledging one another with eye contact or a friendly jesture to say "hey man, we rock."

It was like losing my religion. Full of uncertainty, letting go of the comforts I knew all my life up till today, grasping that bit of courage, forgetting the shame. So assuring, liberating, bursting through. Not ever going back.