Sartorial Inequality

I suppose I should be more concerned with grander things.  Trump-o-mania. Plunging stock index. Escalating Syrian-Israeli-Iran crisis. North Korean everything.

But the thing I’d like to know is … how come Boris Pasternak ca 1920 looks like a LLBean model in 2018?

Consider the same of Virginia Woolf ca 1923.

Is there no justice in fashion evolution through the ages?  While men continue to wear the same old cable knit and trousers will women’s fashion constantly re-invent itself?

And really, will there ever be a time when floppy hats and lace curtains become stylish  again?

Oh … and if you’re keen on last week’s Lit Hub, click here.


California Jerk

The Sandy Food Chronicles

Google Jerk

This is a photo my daughter sent to me.  Here’s the chat* session we had. 

Hi Mom! This is what the cafe at work made for lunch today.

It looks like Rice & Peas ?

It’s Jamaican Rice & Peas with Jerk Chicken.

It don’t look like Jerk Chicken

The Rice & Peas was so-so and the chicken tasted

It looks like Curry Chicken

of  curry

But there’s no Curry in Jerk.
There’s no potatoes and gravy in Jerk.
All Jerk spices are black !

It didn’t taste of home at all

You should protest this

I can give them feedback

It is cultural misappropriation
of an iconic Jamaican dish.

Mom I have like
WORK to do

It’s OK dear.
You can come home and
I’ll make you real Jerk chicken

Thanks Mom!


(*) or something like it … same as much as this Californian style Jerk.

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Photo Challenge: 2017 Favorites


It’s that time of year when we look back and think about the past twelve months.  Things done. Lessons learned.  It’s  good to look back and wonder.    For isn’t that what makes everything worthwhile? The wonder.

For my 2017 Favorite, I chose a photo which represented the start of doing something different. I started to capture visual stories.

Previously I’d been focused on taking one shot photos of people and scenes.  Single, opportunistic shots which captured the essence of a place or a person.  With my Bagan Monks collection, I aimed for a sequence of shots to document an important part of their  day: collecting alms.   To make the photo’s interesting, I used a combination of  angles and crops.   Individually, the photos were o.k but collectively they gave context and intimacy to the ritual.


Of course, I still take one-shot photos.  But sometimes I think ahead and plan out multiple frames in a story. The shoots then become more anecdotal and less opportunistic.  It’s a different way of approaching photography.

The Daily Post  Photo Challenge: 2017 Favorites

Photos taken in Myanmar, 2017

Two Minute Action Movie

It’s that time of year where in my old job, we’d give our team of engineers the day off to watch the latest block-buster action movie.

Nothing says the holidays like a good guy-bad guys shoot-up with gratuitous high speed car chase.

A large bag of hot buttered popcorn and an over-sized liter of soda-no-ice.

What more could anyone want?!

Times have changed and I don’t do that anymore.

I’m not even sure if they do that anymore.

However, in the spirit of the season – here’s a two minute respite from whatever drama is going on.

It’s an old favorite of mine.   Enjoy!

Snippets of my Son

snip·pet (noun) 
  • a small piece or brief extract
  • e.g. “snippets of conversations with my son”

I’ve been away travelling for the last six weeks and it was the first week-end back. I made a big Sunday dinner so that Daniel, my son would come home to visit.

My boy is going to be twenty two soon. It’s his final year in Engineering but it’s still hard to think of him grown up and living on his own. Well, not on his own exactly. He’s sharing an apartment with three other boys young men, all engineers.

“So what’s new Daniel? How’s it working out with your house mates?”

“It’s fine,” he said.

“No more eating their food?” I said, referring to the first week when he’d unceremoniously opened and cooked food from someone else’s stash. He’d said the food had been sitting there untouched for days. Shortly after, house rules were clarified in an impromptu meeting.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“How’s the house keeping going?” I said, dusting out a memory from my own university days. I vaguely remembered a fall out, something to do with the shower and hair.

“Aah. Sometimes I get fed up and just do it,” he said.

I am stunned. Daniel, getting fed up with mess and cleaning up. My son. Where did he go?

“Yeah. I’m the only one who doesn’t eat onions but there’s always bits and pieces of onion peel all over the kitchen. I wear socks and it was gross. I had to clean it up.”

I am so impressed. My boy is growing up.

“But then I realized I was the only one not wearing slippers. So I got some slippers and I don’t do that anymore.”

Hello. There he is. My son.

Toronto, Canada. 2017


Travel Planners and Pantsers

My mobile phone lights up and vibrates with a new text message.

“Packed and ready for you trip?”

Putting my paperback aside, I painstakingly thumb back

“Not yet. I’ll start tomorrow.”

“Aren’t you leaving tomorrow?”

How does she do that? Type so quickly, almost instantaneously. But we’ve had this conversation before. Maybe she has the text on instant recall. My phone doesn’t have this feature and so I slowly tap out my reply, backspacing and re-tapping my typos.

“Not until aftrtoon pm. ill pack in am.”

My friend and I are two different beings when preparing for a trip. She’s a Planner. I’m a Pantser.

A Planner is someone who researches and maps out every detail of a trip. They consider each aspect of their journey and etch out an itinerary with all hours spec’d out. They know the place’s history, the must have foods and must do activities. They pack their luggage three days ahead of time.

A Pantser packs three hours before departure.

OK. OK. Maybe I do myself discredit. I do have some short-cuts in preparing for a trip. I have a checklist of things I must pack and stuff I must do. I build on that list, incorporating corrections to mistakes from prior trips.

Mistakes like forgetting essentials, like reading glasses, toothbrush and toothpaste or preferred conveniences like full-sized bars of soap (to circumvent those evil slivers of hand soap and un-lather-able shower gel.) I pack first aid items of antiseptic wipes, antibiotic cream and miniature sewing kits. I have ziploc bags pre-filled with un-mime-able-in-an-emergency supplies of feminine product, antacid and Imodium. I also have a list of clothes (clean or near so) that I can throw into the suitcase just before leaving.

It helps that I know enough to not pack for activities that will never occur. I don’t pack for cruise ships and dinner theater. I don’t need strappy sandals, beady handbags or high heels.

I do pack hiking shoes, dark glasses and cotton scarves. Hiking shoes because it’s always hot, dusty or muddy. Dark glasses because traveling in an open tuk tuk is the surest way to get dirt in your eyes. Cotton scarves because they work as sunscreen, gear cleaner and ground cover for outdoor photo shoots.

I always bring a small purse to hold local currency. Something small enough to hold a room key, a take-me-home card and change for bottled water. I also scribble down the value of each bill note and sort them into bundles according to denomination.

Hmm. That last bit sounds almost anal retentive. Very un-pantser-like. Buu-uth …

I never adequately prepare for the places I’m about to visit. I used to buy travel books and pour over the glossy pictures and hi-lights. I used to tote these volumes on the trip, adding unconscionable poundage to my carry-on. But then I realized that I never actually read them. That anything listed was assuredly included in bus tours. Tourist expeditions for which I would assuredly never sign up. Not since that first time on the Yellow River Dam, where I was held captive in a tour bus and tortured with details of dam construction, shouted through a tinny megaphone in loud and incoherent Chinese.

Instead I do research after the fact, when I look at my pictures and review my trip notes. I look for the reasons why the Padaung women wear neck rings and why there’re so many refugees on the Thai borders. I read up on the Vietnam war and why my Hanoi Kids city guide had such a different view from my Saigon photo guide. I research the White Buildings of Phnom Penh and the withered ideals of Le Corbusier’s Utopian city.

Maybe in the process of not planning the trips, I miss the big ticket tourist items. Like The Grand Palace of Bangkok or the gilded Schwedagon Pagoda of Yangon. I miss the crowds and the press of tourists clambering for two fingered selfies.

No. I miss it not.

My mobile shudders again with a new message.

“Did you remember to get your visa?”

Aiyo! I forgot to check my checklist two weeks ahead of time.

I slowly tap out  “Visa requirements for …”

Singapore. June 2017

These shoes are made for walking


I think I have to throw out my walking shoes.

“Whaa … but they’re so comfortable,” my Feet said.

But they’re old and ragged. The insoles are worn and the under-sole is coming apart. There’s a tear in the front  and it gets soggy when it rains.

“But we fixed that, remember?” Feet said. “The cobbler across the street, at the HDB sidewalk? She used an old fashioned needle and hook to sew it up. You waited crouched on a 10inch high plastic stool and we wore borrowed flip-flops. Surely you remember? For $9 it was a deal!”

But the shoes are at least five years old and I’ve bought a brand new replacement pair.

“And what a five years! We’ve traveled to more than ten countries. Tramped through concrete jungles and tropical rain forests. We’ve toed them on & off  at over six hundred temples. We’ve trekked through mud, dirt and dust  roads in Chang Mai, Bali and Vientiane.  We’ve battled through waist high briar bushes to get to perfect sunset shots.  We’ve clambered over thousand year old ruins to take incredible pictures of Angkor temples and Buddhist monks …”

Yes, Yes. All this is true and we can do it again, with a new pair of shoes. To all good things comes its time.

“But can’t we wait a little longer? Just for one more season. Before we return to the land of mukluks and winter boots?”

Well, I suppose one more season won’t hurt.  The  new shoes will not spoil and these old ones are truly comfortable.

Hmm. I think though, I might need a new hat.

“Whaa …!”


Singapore. April 2017

2016 Review

It’s still January right? I can still reflect on last year and highlight my Best of 2016?

Actually, this started out as a  post about my Best of 2016 until I realized I was choosing photos for which I hadn’t yet published a story.

Why not? Sometimes it was because the story wasn’t big enough and the photo was all there was of the telling.  Other times, it was because the story was too big and I wasn’t up for the telling.

In any event, here are some of my favorite photos of 2016 and the stories that were never published.

 Omoide Yokocho in Tokyo


Omoide Yokocho or “Piss Alley” is a small, iconic bar district in Tokyo.

It’s not the most friendly place. In fact, one of the bars on the outskirts has an explicit “No Tourists” sign (written in English for those pesky foreigners).

However, further inside the boundaries where the yakatori stalls are cheek to jowl with the izakaya bars, the hosts are friendlier and the atmosphere more welcoming.

I was waiting on my kushiyaki plate and fiddling with my camera, when I noticed this gentleman across the alley. A quick nod was all I needed to take this shot.

Tokyo, Japan.  January 2016

MAG marker in Laos

MAG maker in rice field

In Laos I learned some new words.

MAG. UXOs and Bombies.

Mines Advisory Group.  Un-eXploded Ordnance. Little bombs.

During the Vietnam war  there more than 580,000 bombing missions over Laos. That’s equivalent to one bombing every  eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years. Thirty percent of these bombs did not explode. They remained dormant but live and were (are) hidden dangers to civilians years after the war had ended.

Walking through Laos we learned very quickly to stay on MAG cleared paths. Random rambling could be deadly.  UXOs are still being found today.

These little blocks indicate MAG cleared  safe zones.  They seem so innocuous.  Faded rocks on well trodden foot paths. Stepping stones on quiet streams. Gentle  reminders that bucolic rice fields were once war zones.

Plain of Jars, Laos.  February 2016

Border Guards at the DMZ South Korea

North & South at the DMZ
North & South at the DMZ/JSA

Our coldest and wettest day in South Korea was spent at the DMZ/JSA.   It was appropriate weather for visiting a site that was bleak, dark and overwhelmingly desolate.

The tale of border patrol between North and South Korea is sad.

On the North side of the Joint Security Area (JSA), there’s a heavily armed soldier aggressively watching the border for South Korean attacks and North Korean defections.

Behind him, a heavily armed soldier aims a gun at his head, aggressively watching him for his possible defection.

On the South side of the JSA, the ROK guards maintain a constant intimidation stance. They watch the North and South side of the border.

Across an expanse of about 500 meters, the South Korean guard stares down the North Korean guard.

It’s a stare down that’s been on going since 1953.

 Panmunjon, South Korea. May 2016

Hometown Burger & Fries

Queen St Diner

After a photo crawl through Toronto’s Graffiti Alley we took a break in a nearby Queen St diner.

It had been a perfect summer day.

Warm but not hot.

Fresh Canadian air and brilliant sunshine.

Vivid street murals which had popped with vibrancy and life.

It was a visual respite to hide out in a cool and dark diner.

And the burger & fries were excellent!

Toronto, Canada.  July 2016

Hong Kong Red

Hong Kong Red

The first time I visited Hong Kong was after a  year of living in Beijing.

After the rough and tumble turmoil of China, I remember wanting to drop to my knees and Thank God  for my return to urban sanity, order and control.

Since then much has changed.   I’ve lived in and visited better and worse cities. But I will always have soft spot for Hong Kong.

For me, this photo captures the city’s essence.  The mural’s wild graphics and kooky clown portray Hong Kong’s frenetic energy and character. The blur of the pedestrian adds the feeling of motion, a constant in this city that never sleeps.

Hong Kong.  November 2016

Oddly Different

And now for something completely different …

On YouTube I arbitrarily clicked on this music video and was immediately hooked.

Let’s make one thing clear: I am not a bluegrass fan.  Name me a country music star and see my total lack of recognition.   Show me a banjo and I’ll break out in hives.

So how come I enjoyed this video so much?

  • The singer in the opening scene didn’t look like a typical country cowboy
  • He was playing a cello
  • The other guys weren’t wearing typical country cowboy hats
  • The city  didn’t look like a typical place down-south US
  • In fact, it kinda looked familiar … hey, that’s the CN Tower in Toronto!

Turns out the band, Dead South is a Canadian group from Regina, Saskatchewan.  They’re relatively new and been successful touring  Canada, US and Europe.

They’re also not typical country bluegrass.  Or so I tell myself.

Toronto, Canada.  January 2017