Once again, Nicol David has done Malaysia proud.
Well done, Nicol, our Squash Queen.
Read article...Malaysian is now the prized scalp in women’s squash
Monday, August 1, 2005
Squash Queen
Once again, Nicol David has done Malaysia proud.
Well done, Nicol, our Squash Queen.
Read article...Malaysian is now the prized scalp in women’s squash
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
A new dating service in town
Single? Lonely? Need a companion? Or even take it
as a night out for some fun - no pain no gain. This
new dating service is different from the regular outfit.
Sounds interesting too.
This is how it works:
A minimum of 10 men and 10 women meet at a central
location, usually in a private, cosy, restaurant downtown.
Each member is given a score sheet to keep track of the
people that they meet.
Subsequently, they are paired off at tables for two, and
given an average of 10 minutes to get acquainted with
one another.
Members then gauge how they feel about the other and record
their sentiments on the score sheet. If you like the person
and wish to get to know them better, you should mark your
card with a “yes.” If both partners have marked their card
with “yes,” then a match has been made.
After the allotted 10 minutes, the bell rings and the men
get up and move on to the next table. The process is
repeated until all the couples have met. Then comes a short
break.
At the end of the night, the score sheets are handed in
and everyone gets to mingle further with one another. The
organisers then shift through the score sheets and notify
the participants if they have a match within 24 hours.
Real full story...Finding love the speed dating way
Monday, July 25, 2005
Awesome blog
You simply have got to check out this awesome blog.
I have bookmarked it.
I just love the illustrations. They are so cooooool and
so cuuuuuute - just looking at them makes me happy. I'm
sure they'll have the same effect on you. Also, I love
Paige's writing style - so.... what shall I say? Nice.
Yes, nice. She is just so nice too. Enjoy...
A Woman Who Found a Way to Write
This is an interesting read. It's from the NY Times.
Enjoy...
By MAUREEN DOWD
Published: July 24, 2005
MY mom always wanted to be a writer. In 1926, when she was
18, she applied for a job at The Washington Post. An editor
there told her that the characters she'd meet as a reporter
were far too shady for a nice young lady.
But someone who wants to write will find a way to write.
And someone who wants to change the world can do it without
a big platform or high-profile byline.
Besides raising five kids in high heels, my mom wrote with
a prolific verve that would have impressed one of her idols,
Abigail Adams.
In her distinct looping penmanship, learned from the nuns at
Holy Cross Academy in Washington, she regularly dashed off
missives to politicians. I'd often see form-letter responses
on her table from the White House or Congress.
She loved Ronald Reagan and when he landed in a firestorm,
she'd write to tell him to buck up. She also appreciated
Bill Clinton - his sunny style, his self-wounding insecurity
and his work on the Ireland peace process - and would write
to compliment him as well. (Literally catholic, she liked
both Monica and Hillary.)
She wrote to any member of Congress who made what she
considered the cardinal sin of referring to Edmund Burke
as a British, rather than Irish, statesman.
In 1995, after reading a newspaper analysis suggesting that
Al Gore was not sexy enough to run for president, Mom
swiftly dashed off a note reassuring the vice president that
he was sexy and that he'd done a great job as host of Pope
John Paul I's visit to Baltimore.
She carefully addressed it, "The Honorable Albert Gore Jr.,
Home of the Vice President, Observatory Circle; 37th Street
and Massachusetts Avenue, Northwest, Washington, D.C." The
letter was returned a few days later, stamped "Addressee
Unknown."
It was an omen.
She wrote her last name in black marker on the bottom of the
Tupperware she used to bring food to anyone in her building
or sodality or family who was under the weather or having a
party. On holidays, plates of food were always handed out to
those in the building who had to work or might be lonely
before she served her family.
When her dinner rolls stuffed with turkey and ham were snapped
up at my first cocktail party, as the expensive catered cheese
wheel and goose pâtés went untouched, she told me with a smug
smile: "Simplicity pays."
Mom - a woman who always carried a small bottle of Tabasco in
her purse - wrote out hundreds of recipes, adding notations of
her own, including Mamie Eisenhower's Million Dollar Fudge
(1955), which she deemed "Rich as Croesus, but oh so good,"
Mrs. Nixon's Hot Chicken Salad and Barbara Bush's High Fiber
Bran Muffins.
In the middle of her recipe cards, she wrote down a quote
that appealed to her: "The Talmud says, If I am not for myself,
who will be? If I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?"
When my mom still hoped I would transcend takeout, she'd write
away for booklets for me: "150 Favorite Pickle Recipes From Iowa,"
"Confessions of a Kraut Lover" from Empire State Pickling and
"How to Cook With Budweiser," including a chocolate beer cake.
Without ever mentioning it to anyone, she constantly wrote out
a stream of very small checks from her police widow's pension
for children who were sick and poor.
She didn't limit her charity to poor kids. When 6-year-old
Al Gore III was struck by a car in 1989, she sent him a get-well
card and a crisp dollar bill. "Children like getting a little
treat when they're not feeling well," she explained.
She had a column, "Under the Capitol Dome," in the National
Hibernian Digest. In 1972, she chronicled her debut, at 63,
as a protester.
After Bloody Sunday, when British soldiers fired on a Catholic
demonstration in Londonderry, Northern Ireland, killing 13
people, Mom went to the Kennedy Center in Washington to picket
the British ambassador, who was going to a performance of the
Royal Scots Guards. She proudly wore her green Irish tweed cape
and waved a placard reading, "Stop killing innocent civilians."
"The triumph of the evening," she wrote in her column, "was when
the British ambassador had to be taken in through a basement door."
Enjoy...
By MAUREEN DOWD
Published: July 24, 2005
MY mom always wanted to be a writer. In 1926, when she was
18, she applied for a job at The Washington Post. An editor
there told her that the characters she'd meet as a reporter
were far too shady for a nice young lady.
But someone who wants to write will find a way to write.
And someone who wants to change the world can do it without
a big platform or high-profile byline.
Besides raising five kids in high heels, my mom wrote with
a prolific verve that would have impressed one of her idols,
Abigail Adams.
In her distinct looping penmanship, learned from the nuns at
Holy Cross Academy in Washington, she regularly dashed off
missives to politicians. I'd often see form-letter responses
on her table from the White House or Congress.
She loved Ronald Reagan and when he landed in a firestorm,
she'd write to tell him to buck up. She also appreciated
Bill Clinton - his sunny style, his self-wounding insecurity
and his work on the Ireland peace process - and would write
to compliment him as well. (Literally catholic, she liked
both Monica and Hillary.)
She wrote to any member of Congress who made what she
considered the cardinal sin of referring to Edmund Burke
as a British, rather than Irish, statesman.
In 1995, after reading a newspaper analysis suggesting that
Al Gore was not sexy enough to run for president, Mom
swiftly dashed off a note reassuring the vice president that
he was sexy and that he'd done a great job as host of Pope
John Paul I's visit to Baltimore.
She carefully addressed it, "The Honorable Albert Gore Jr.,
Home of the Vice President, Observatory Circle; 37th Street
and Massachusetts Avenue, Northwest, Washington, D.C." The
letter was returned a few days later, stamped "Addressee
Unknown."
It was an omen.
She wrote her last name in black marker on the bottom of the
Tupperware she used to bring food to anyone in her building
or sodality or family who was under the weather or having a
party. On holidays, plates of food were always handed out to
those in the building who had to work or might be lonely
before she served her family.
When her dinner rolls stuffed with turkey and ham were snapped
up at my first cocktail party, as the expensive catered cheese
wheel and goose pâtés went untouched, she told me with a smug
smile: "Simplicity pays."
Mom - a woman who always carried a small bottle of Tabasco in
her purse - wrote out hundreds of recipes, adding notations of
her own, including Mamie Eisenhower's Million Dollar Fudge
(1955), which she deemed "Rich as Croesus, but oh so good,"
Mrs. Nixon's Hot Chicken Salad and Barbara Bush's High Fiber
Bran Muffins.
In the middle of her recipe cards, she wrote down a quote
that appealed to her: "The Talmud says, If I am not for myself,
who will be? If I am only for myself, who am I? If not now, when?"
When my mom still hoped I would transcend takeout, she'd write
away for booklets for me: "150 Favorite Pickle Recipes From Iowa,"
"Confessions of a Kraut Lover" from Empire State Pickling and
"How to Cook With Budweiser," including a chocolate beer cake.
Without ever mentioning it to anyone, she constantly wrote out
a stream of very small checks from her police widow's pension
for children who were sick and poor.
She didn't limit her charity to poor kids. When 6-year-old
Al Gore III was struck by a car in 1989, she sent him a get-well
card and a crisp dollar bill. "Children like getting a little
treat when they're not feeling well," she explained.
She had a column, "Under the Capitol Dome," in the National
Hibernian Digest. In 1972, she chronicled her debut, at 63,
as a protester.
After Bloody Sunday, when British soldiers fired on a Catholic
demonstration in Londonderry, Northern Ireland, killing 13
people, Mom went to the Kennedy Center in Washington to picket
the British ambassador, who was going to a performance of the
Royal Scots Guards. She proudly wore her green Irish tweed cape
and waved a placard reading, "Stop killing innocent civilians."
"The triumph of the evening," she wrote in her column, "was when
the British ambassador had to be taken in through a basement door."
Sunday, July 24, 2005
In Case of Emergency (ICE)
We're lucky that Malaysia is a safe country - no bombings
and things like that. However, there are still incidents
that can put us in emergency situations such as road
accidents or muggings. In such emergencies, how would
rescue personnel know as to who to contact to inform
about our condition?
In this age and time, the phone is a valuable tool.
We can all leave a contact number for rescue people to
contact. This article which resulted from the recent
incidents in London is most helpful.
and things like that. However, there are still incidents
that can put us in emergency situations such as road
accidents or muggings. In such emergencies, how would
rescue personnel know as to who to contact to inform
about our condition?
In this age and time, the phone is a valuable tool.
We can all leave a contact number for rescue people to
contact. This article which resulted from the recent
incidents in London is most helpful.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Becoming an Astronaut
Damaris B. Sarria's blog gives us an insight into
her job at the Kennedy Space Center and her dream of
becoming an astronaut. Here she documents the actions
she's taking in trying to become an astronaut. It's her
ultimate goal, her dream - according to her. Cool
pictures too.
Friday, July 15, 2005
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Terrorism - is it justified?
There is so much violence in the world. Is it really
justified? Lives are disrupted, adjusted, lost. People
lose family members - sons, daughters, uncles, mothers,
fathers. The article below from The Guardian conveys
the pain of a mother losing her son, her only son and
brother to her daughters. My heart goes out to her and
others....
Straight from the heart
Wednesday July 13, 2005
The Guardian
On Monday, Marie Fatayi-Williams stood near Tavistock Square, where her son Anthony is feared to have been killed in last week's bus bombing, and delivered a lament of extraordinary power for her lost son. Tim Collins, the British army colonel who himself gave a historic speech on the eve of the Iraq war, says such genuine emotion is rarely forgotten
Caught in the spotlight of history, set on the stage of a very public event, Marie Fatayi-Williams, the mother of Anthony Fatayi-Williams, 26 and missing since Thursday, appeals for news of her son. Her words are a mixture of stirring rhetoric, heartfelt appeal and a stateswoman-like vision, and so speak on many levels to the nation and the world. Her appeal is a simple one - where is my son? If he has been killed, then why? Who has gained?
Article continues...
justified? Lives are disrupted, adjusted, lost. People
lose family members - sons, daughters, uncles, mothers,
fathers. The article below from The Guardian conveys
the pain of a mother losing her son, her only son and
brother to her daughters. My heart goes out to her and
others....
Straight from the heart
Wednesday July 13, 2005
The Guardian
On Monday, Marie Fatayi-Williams stood near Tavistock Square, where her son Anthony is feared to have been killed in last week's bus bombing, and delivered a lament of extraordinary power for her lost son. Tim Collins, the British army colonel who himself gave a historic speech on the eve of the Iraq war, says such genuine emotion is rarely forgotten
Caught in the spotlight of history, set on the stage of a very public event, Marie Fatayi-Williams, the mother of Anthony Fatayi-Williams, 26 and missing since Thursday, appeals for news of her son. Her words are a mixture of stirring rhetoric, heartfelt appeal and a stateswoman-like vision, and so speak on many levels to the nation and the world. Her appeal is a simple one - where is my son? If he has been killed, then why? Who has gained?
Article continues...
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