Doors of Penang.

Doorways conceal and doorways reveal. What's inside? Who lives here? They keep you out and yet, they also provide an entrance into someone else's world. You can often learn a lot about people, or about a shop, based on the door. Sort of like shoes. Here are some of the doors that caught my eye while wandering through Penang today.

This ornate door fronts a shop on Penang Road where we found many antique curios and other neat items. As if the door wasn't fancy enough, the wall was also lined with tile. The one below, too, included minute detail and even the security bars had some flair.


The next two doors were pretty common aluminum doors, but their owners had taken the time to paint them vibrant colours. Many shops have similar doors facing jagged, raised sidewalks which weave in, out and under myriad arches.

KL: Day Two.

Another busy day in Kuala Lumpur, albeit a slower one starting as we enjoyed a leisurely breakfast and had to pack in order to switch hotels to the Hilton in KL Sentral. Whoa – feeling a bit like a rock star here. What an incredible looking hotel. The room is über- modern (isn’t anything with the word “über” in it?), with wood and tile floors, a deep marble tub and ceiling mounted shower head, sliding frosted glass doors throughout and a wall mounted flat screen television that is about four feet wide. Not that we’ve even had it on, but it seems larger than some of the cars outside.

Shirt striped diagonally under the strap from my bag, I’m pretty sure today was even
hotter than yesterday. Yes, another sweaty one. There was also a massive tropical thunderstorm when we got back this afternoon, which made everything instantly white outside, it was raining so hard. Shaking the windows, the thunder sounded like giant church bells. If your head was inside them. We sat and watched it from the little chaise lounge in the bay window. Pip pip, quite posh.

When we got out wandering, we took the train to Masjid Jamek (enjoying a watermelon juice smoothie on the way) and over to Merdeka Square, the National Mosque and the old train station. Merdeka Square, home to the world’s tallest flag pole – at 100 metres – is where independence is celebrated. Because of the time of day, we weren’t able to go into the mosque, which can hold up to 15,000 people at a time. It was also over this stretch I saw some of my favorite architecture of the trip, with several buildings built in the Moorish style. The old and new train stations – across the street from each other – were fun to walk through and take pictures of. The postal building, too, is very neat – tall and white with cut-outs all the way up.
We then made our way over to Central Market, which sells crafts and antiques. To this point, I had thought the prevalence of Santa Claus and Christmas carols in Malaysia was the most anomalous things of the trip. But, no – brace yourself. First, SCS and I chuckled when we came across a store in the market which sold moccasins and other traditionally North American First Nations’ wares. Then, coming into the centre area, we were greeted by a crowd surrounding a Malay man, resplendent in a full headdress. Playing a harpsichord. Playing Celine Dion on the harpsichord. No, really. So discordant. I would have found this disturbing enough back home, but in south-east Malaysia? Way too much to grasp. Heads still swimming, SCS and I got some practice haggling with one of the vendors and I’m sure both sides felt they came out alright.

In Chinatown, one of the shopkeepers made us samples of tea in thimble-sized cups and we stopped into another for a snack and a drink. We also stopped into one of the temples, where coils of incense were burning all around.

For dinner, we met up with one of SCS’s friends and he took us to a Japanese buffet in another of the suburbs. There were more options than I could have possibly imagined. Sushi: check. Sashimi: check. Noodles: check. Shark fin soup: check. Ostrich: check. Wait a second. Check? Because Japan is really known for its ostriches, terrorizing the residents of Tokyo. Ostrich? Really? With how sharks are harvested for their fins and then disposed of, I wasn’t pleased to see the soup, either.

But, we did enjoy copious amounts of sushi, carefully avoiding those with lime green-coloured roe on the top. The thermonuclear colours on some of the sushi was a little off-putting. Pinks and greens and yellows. Children stood by, mesmerized by them, though. No, not really. Still, piles of salmon, octopus, eel and a variety of other fish. And some quail, which – even covered in sauce – looked startlingly like pigeon. But the star of the dinner was the mashed potato machine. Frightening. Absolutely frightening. Press a button and – presto! – liquid pours out from a boy licking his lips. Eventually, it solidifies and you can press another button and – presto again! – gravy. Shudder. As a part of the experience, we actually tried it. And we will never speak of it again.

Oh, and the hotel? Coming back tonight, I went for a quick swim in the pool that weaves its way around the outside of the hotel complex and overlooks the city. A full moon and palm trees, twinkling with white Christmas lights – and the city below. You know, it’s really a rough life sometimes.

Juvenile, yes. Likely even culturally insensitive (much like Mr. Dong saying, "yeah, yeah, I've heard them all before; enough already"). But it was a picture that needed to be taken. I find random coffin shops odd as it is, but the proprietor made it even better. Best of all, though: when SCS read the sign to me, she didn't think anything of it, beyond what the store sold.

Back on Track.

Yes, a week elapsed between posts as I decided to devote my computer time to taking that leap of technological faith by switching over to the new Blogger Beta. Oooh, sooo daring am I. The learning curve continues. While the beta seems to be much more user-friendly, particularly for luddites, I think I had actually become accustomed to having to manipulate the HTML. Who'd a thunk? Anyway, the transition has taken some time as I didn't really want to lose any bells and whistles I had integrated (such as they are) and it took me some time to figure out how to include them in the new version. At least Blogger gives you the option of returning to your previous template at any point (which I did, time and time again, until I was able to integrate all of the desired elements.)

As for new features, I believe the click-and-drag option will make things easier, particularly when trying to manipulate the template (which, previously, was HTML-only). The new drop-down menus for previous posts are also more user friendly, especially if you're looking for a particular post. The option that really made me switch, though, is the ability to tag posts and then surf according to said tags. Blogger had been a bit behind on that one, compared to other software. And for good measure, the photo in this post was my first attempt at publishing directly from Flickr.

Not sure what happened, but twenty per cent of my all-time blog hits came over the past two days (120 or so). Not sure why. But, all down the eastern seaboard of the Americas and western Europe lit up my little tracking map like a Christmas tree. Um, thanks? Danke. Merci.

To Market, To Market, To Buy a Fat Hog.

It was a gorgeous, fall day for a stroll to the market. Leaves, crisp as the air. The bustle of bundled people and the smell of coffee hanging languidly in the air. Soon, the odours of home fires, crackling, will make everyone outside envious. Have I mentioned just how much I love the fall? And wandering through markets, looking for tiny treasures. And meats and cheeses. And doing that wandering, hand-in hand? I had missed that. My paws had been lonely.

I love this time of year; it conjures many fine memories, like a faded photograph that lingers in my mind. And in my senses, etched indelibly.

Sure, it snowed a couple of days ago -- and that feeling remained in the air -- but it was sunny. And people were upbeat, though sporting scarves and extra layers. A gorgeous day for a stroll, past old houses we could imagine buying. And remodeling. Though I don't really have the capacity to do either right now.

So it was off to the market, which always brings with it its own distinct sounds, smells and sights. Though it was relatively quiet today, the market offered its usual assortment of meats, cheeses, prepared foods, flowers and gift items, like the vases above. It was nice to get out and forget about the complexities of life for a while. And tenderly caress the pastries.

Not the Brightest Lights.

Having formerly trained people for job interviews, and having even endured a couple of less-than-stellar performances myself, it was nice to be on the other side of the interview table today, slinging questions like a barkeep slings foamy beverages. After enduring -- and yes, I have chosen that word very carefully -- a couple of the applicants, though, I could have used one of said beverages. Or two. I grant you that job interviews can be about as pleasant as having your toenails surgically removed, but having people come in when they're either unprepared, unlistening or generally oblivious is like having the entire toe gnawed off by a rabid beaver. While perhaps not dim bulbs, a couple were certainly not luminaries. Watt the heck? It was as though they could have used reading Interviews for Dummies, rather than their own books: Interviews BY Dummies.

So, being car-less (not to be confused with being Carlos, Carla or Carlee) myself, I again found myself at the car rental place bright and early this morning. A recurring theme of late. A Chrysler. A wannabe Chevy Cobalt (oh, a wee yearning for Kobe the Cobalt, which carried me to Alabama!). But no automatic locks. Not even cruise control. And they said there was a quarter of a tank of gas. But really, there was only an eighth and I was in too much of hurry to notice until I ran low in Woodstock. Grr. At least there was a CD player. A poor man's Cobalt, I'd say. I didn't know they even still made cars without such features standard. It wasn't even a Ford. What is this, the Fred Flintstone car? Yabba Dabba Don't.

Off to Steeltown: Hamilton, ON. And a ride down the escarpment -- hey, more fall leaves! Anyway, the interviews were interesting, and even resulted in a couple of good candidates. That said, there were also a couple of cringe-worthy moments. One potential candidate not only arrived ten minutes late, he offered no explanation or apology for having done so. "The dog ate my watch" would have got him the job. Or not. Then, given an out at the end of the interview when asked if he had run into traffic, he simply replied, "No. I just missed my exit." Pre-plan and do a drive-by (no, not that kind of drive-by) beforehand, kids. No remorse. Not that I would advocate lying, but this just might be a time to creatively bend the truth like Gumby. At least take the out provided. Really, is a job interview the time you really want to advertise that you're disorganized? Well, he did look a little like he could be a made-man in a local disorganized-crime family.

He was already treading in a murky pool of skepticism as it was since his resume was punctuated with spelling errors and oversights resulting from poor copy-and-paste skills. Mmm, fond memories of kindergarten: UHU sticks and safety scissors. The landscape of his work history, planted with duplicated and misplaced words. Weeds. Spread over a two-and-a-half page cover letter. Succinct? Um, no. Ah, and I haven't yet even informed you this was for a communications job where editing and precision are key (not to mention touted skills, misspelled in his resume). He didn't even put the position's correct title into his cover letter (it had been all the way down in the third line of the job advertisement, after all). No, instead, he chose to include the abbreviations for each of the seven words in the title (including repeating 'Office' and its abbrev., "Off."). Proofread, people. Puh-lease.

The position reports to a project run by four universities (and involves another three). One candidate "only had time to review one" of the universities' sites. Another pointed out that he had been taught how to use Microsoft Excel by a colleague, but "I forgot it after 2-3 days, and read the manuals to learn some of it again -- it can be used to make colour graphs and things." Um, thanks? You go-getter, you. Get 'em tiger. When asking about knowledge of university research successes, we were provided with a great example. About a competitor not involved in the consortium. What? Remember, there are seven -- count 'em, seven -- main institutions from which he could have provided an example without offending any sensibilities. Seven. Nope, let's go with the competitor because it's easier. Well, I guess the media often seems to work that way, too.

Don't be too beancounter-like. Another thing: don't confuse "lead" with "led". Saying, "Of course, they liked me so much they signed me on full-time," "Gosh, there's been so many examples of my learning quickly" or "I was the maestro," might be true. But they might also just smack of being a tad too boastful. Not suggested. Not wise. It's a fine line that exists between your tooting your own horn and sounding like a flatulent elephant. Show some humility, folks. "I was fortunate that my skills were recognized as providing value and they signed me on full-time," maybe? And when we ask about new skills you've had to adopt, you might not really want bring up the time you tried to install cedar floorboards and had to spend an hour-and-a-half in the hospital with wood in your eye. Unless it resulted in your teaching yourself eye surgery while on the stretcher. And please do your homework. The Internet is an amazing tool if you know how to use it critically. It's full of, like, information and stuff, you know? First and foremost, though: listen and answer the questions you are asked. Just a suggestion: answer them and be quiet before you end up using your oversized feet as the sandwich filling between your lips. If we want more, we'll ask. One interviewee took 25 minutes to regurgitate his resume (and it wasn't that tasty), rather than answer the question: "Tell us a little bit about yourself and why you are interested in this job". Oddly, I still haven't heard an answer as to why he wanted to work with us (and that's a pretty basic -- not to mention common -- first question in an interview). But I could tell you plenty about a former job he seemed to pine over like a lost, jilted lover.

Be yourself. Unless you happen to be a sociopath. Or the fourth guy we saw today. Be honest. And remember that we're just people, too, and we're (really) not there to give you the gears. Again, really. We just want to find a good fit and can see through the nervousness to the essential you. If you let us. Is it you? Great -- help us see it so that we can get on our way, pay you lots of money and stop wondering why people still don't proofread.

Nonetheless, I was quite happy to be a part of the hiring process for a new colleague. Who will make more money than me. Despite falling lower on the food chain. No jealousy, there. Really. Actually, the chosen candidate (insert appropriate theme song here) reminded me a lot of, well, me. And I mean that in a good way. Congratulations -- I look forward to working with you and helping you navigate the miasma. Oh, we didn't mention that? Whoops. My bad.

275kms and far less patience.

Exchange of the (long) day, though:

INTERVIEWEE: "Oh, so you don't have the financial resources to hire a consultant to help me with the communications strategy?" (Which we would be hired to develop.)

ME: "YOU would be the consultant." (Actually, there's not a hope you'll be hired anyway, so don't worry about it, fool.)

COLLEAGUE: "You'd be the consultant -- that's why it's good to talk to yourself." Muttering, "You know, that OTHER voice in your head." (A little harsh, yes, but it still flew right past him.)

Throwback road music: Fugazi: Steady Diet of Nothing; REM: Up; The Joel Plaskett Emergency: Truthfully, Truthfully; Pearl Jam: Yield; Elastica: S/T; Liz Phair: S/T

Blogger is Annoying Me.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION. Dammit.

So, I have been royally peeved with Blogger over the past twenty-four hours as it seems to be under as much construction as local area roads. And filled with just as many potholes. Hitting publish didn't result in publishing (instead choosing to hang at 0%). Then it resulted in publishing, many times over, even though it had screamed at me that it was unsuccessful. Refresh afterward to make sure nothing was there, and -- good -- there wasn't. Go back five minutes later, however, different story. Repeated, old posts. Want to make a small adjustment to something? Go through the process all over again. Taxing. Anyway, below is the original content of this post. It appears as though things are ticking along now. Grr.

There actually is a first part of the post about the trip to Hull, but I have been having troubles getting it to post. Actually, it was there, but the obsessive-compulsive part of me wanted to tweak a couple of things to get them to line up better. Now, I cannot get it to publish. Grr. It is forthcoming, though. Promise. Waiting with baited breath, I am sure.

To Hull and Back.

Yes, this might be the world's longest post. For me, anyway. But I guess that's what happens after a week of no posting. Blert. (Actually, following a world of hurt from Blogger, I have now started anew and split the post -- ed.) I won't even start with the overweight, middle-aged woman milling about the produce section of the grocery store in a t-shirt advertising a local 'gentlemen's establishment' last night. And no, she wouldn't have been confused with someone who had just aged somewhat less than gracefully. Cringe. No, tempting as that might be, I instead just returned from a weekend in the Gatineaus. And they were real purty. So was the company.

SCS and I left on Friday following a morning of classes and she and I edited some work until we reached Kingston, weaving in-and-out of both traffic and subordinate clauses. Then, of course, we needed to find a (free) Internet connection to send the report to the requisite people. People who do not necessarily read their email. Our first stop, a somewhat sleazy-looking motel, only briefly gave us a connection (after all, we weren't surfing for porn), so it was on to Queen's. An hour and a very helpful employee at the university who happened to be headed to Tanzania (from which SCS has just returned) later, and we were free to dine at the Sleepless Goat. Yes, the Sleepless Goat (who knew?). I didn't dare ask about the origin of the name. After this, it would be two days where the only Internet connection we would have would be like that found in the photo above. No email. No blogging. No stress (well, we'll get to that later).

On to the Gatineau hills and Les Trois Erables Bed and Breakfast in gorgeous Wakefield, QC. What a gorgeous spot. And a 110-year-old Victorian home. The decor was nice despite a couple of eyebrow-raising knick knacks interspersed. Service and the breakfast were tremendous. And a couple of great nights of sleep were had by all.

The view from the room defied beauty, conventional or otherwise. Overlooking the lake and the hills, trees shed their verdant skin for tones more suited to fall. Ablaze. A steam train also brings in tourists to take postcard pictures. And a covered bridge spans the water. No word if the waters are troubled.

Fall. How I love the fall. And in this case, even the tripping. Really, Wakefield is a quaint little spot. And I mean that in a good way. So relaxed.


Quebec, home to Ontario's underage drinkers and apparently, also home to the 'stubby' as a wine bottle as opposed to the traditional beer (Bob and Doug, anyone?) And a screw-top, too. God love the screw-top swill, er, wine. Not quite a Tetra Pak, but still. I likely should have known when it came in a non-descript paper bag, crumpled like my brain after drinking it. Alcohol in the depanneur -- got to love it. I guess.

The wedding was on Saturday at one of the local churches and one of the highlights (besides, of course, the nuptials -- duh) was one of the members of the wedding party getting up and singing Josh Grobin's You Raise Me Up. Better than Josh Grobin. Tears, flowing all around. And then, the awkward pause and silence at the end because, being in a church, nobody knew how to react. Then the eruption. Would have thought we were in a Baptist baptist church for a moment, except that this was, well, Wakefield. Hallelujahs all around. It was beautiful. The bride and groom, too, said their vows in the other's native language, which was a nice touch. The reception was at Wakefield's old mill, which also provided a spectacular backdrop. A recurring theme, yes. A waterfall. More fashionable leaves. And SCS was glad to finally have some chocolate

Outtakes.

I have had a few days back in Ontar-I-O to regain my bearings, as well as to hibernate a bit (though I watched a couple of suns set, and a few stars dance, while learning about blogging in Malaysia). Just in time to return from vacation and face the hordes of weary, post-labour day souls turning up their collars to fend off the small teeth of fall. Self-sharpening like Ginsu in preparation of the w----- to come. I love this time of year. I can smell it, touch it, taste it. And best of all, I can feel it to my core.

A few additional photos from the trip south this past week.

Huntsville, Alabama: Beauty is all around, waiting to be found. A piece of graffiti I found written on a white board that had been affixed to the red brick wall. Just seemed poignant as I poked around alleys in an otherwise empty downtown Huntsville looking at the architecture and details on the buildings.

Near the Kentucky/Tennessee border: Did I mention that it rained? Hard? I believe that this storm 'benefited' from the effects of Tropical Storm Ernesto threatening south and east of here. It was wet. Very wet. And this was when the visibility was still relatively good.

Tennessee: From the category of signs gone wrong (or "Signs gone Wild!"?), we first have the "Polk Motel", which -- yes -- is named for one of the country's former Presidents. I'd still think they could have named something a bit more prestigious for him. At least a Suites. An Inn, perhaps? With a motel, there are just too many jokes (or pokes!) to be made.

Alabama: That said, however, taking the cake are the Alabamans? Alabamians? (Yes, just looked it up; that's the correct offering for you trivialists.). Really, this one writes itself. And it's in the south, no less. Was there no thought put into that one? I can imagine the bank officer sitting there reading the business plan, snickering. With the number of strip joints I had seen advertised along my route, I would have been pretty disappointed to have pulled in here thinking it was somethign else and instead found that it was a 'Restaurant supply' store. At least it wasn't a carpeting depot.

Huntsville, Alabama: The store fronts (which were actually mostly lawyer offices) were really beautifully done with leaded glass and ornate designs.

Huntsville, Alabama.

Huntsville, Alabama: A pigeon decided he wanted to be a part of this one. The buildings were so neat that I found myself looking skyward during most of my visit. At least there was nobody around to relieve me of my wallet when I was there because I was doing more craning than, well, a crane.

Huntsville, Alabama: Which direction next? A few weeks until the next road trip, this one, however, only inter-province. Will be joined by a co-pilote this time, though!

Doing my Civic Duty.

Sunny with Cloudy periods and no anticipated precipitation for the next couple of days. It's even supposed to cool off a bit this evening. It has been smeltery for the past few, with base temperatures of 33-34 degrees and the humidity making clothes cling that many degrees more. So much soppy laundry. I think I sweated off five pounds simply breathing. Ick. Now that I realized yesterday that it's a long weekend, I'll be sure to do my civic duty and take Monday off. Or at least work from somewhere other than the office.

After heading out to play tennis last night and having the drizzle decide to taunt us and then deliver the deluge that was a sucker punch, the opportunity might just present itself tonight to renew acquaintances with the courts in my life that are a bit friendlier. Um, and a picnic upcoming. And if the house sells...champagne corks-a-poppin' (instead of paint cans). Please?

Blue themed day in honour of the finally-blue skies. From work to leisure, blue all around.

Not Quite the 'Rocky' Steps.

Forever in this world, there are steps to climb and some days, it feels as though they are crumbling around you.

Sleep is gently rapping at my door like a wee nymph with tiny knuckles.

Would love to be there right now, but am not. To anyone flying today, may your travels be safe. I wish I were, but the roads of travel have rolled up like carpets to me for the time being.

Above:Canadian Rockies entering into Calgary, Alberta, circa May 2006. Below:detail at the Watermark restaurant, Kitsilano Beach, Vancouver, British Columbia, circa May 2006.

Artie (Ziff)

The rain pours down today. Straight down. So, it looks like no rollerblading. Speaking of rain, it turns out that some of Vancouver's sidewalks have leaves imprinted in the concrete. And above, detail of a log from Kitsilano beach, circa May 2006.