Online banking?

For some weeks now, I have been a kept woman. I have had access neither car nor bank account. If I want money, I have to ask John for it. If I want to go somewhere, I have to rely on public transportation or wait for a ride from my fearless leader. It has been, as you all can imagine, an exercise in horror.

I don't mind public transportation (well, except city busses...hate them.) But the idea that I do not have unlimited access to money while I am in Southeast Asia living the Life of Riley really cramps my style. I had to wait for my green card - which I got - but then we had to have a Saturday free where we could take care of signature cards and stuff in this backward society where a woman has a pretty hard time opening a checking account without her man.

Happily we did this last Saturday. The woman who assisted us (?! - I wondered if she has a checking account...) was lovely, very helpful and earnest, and at then end of the process asked if we wanted access to online banking. We both had the Bank of America online experience in mind when we agreed. Here is how online banking works in Singapore. And, while I do admit to a certain proclivity for exaggerating things, this is all true. Which is the very best part about it...

First, you go to the ATM machine to sign up and choose a PIN number. Then you come back into the bank, where your trusty bank representative disappears for roughly 5 to 45 minutes while she consults with a bank manager to approve your transaction. You are then ceremoniously presented with a little keychain sized thingy with a new PIN on it. This is a one-hit wonder. You need a new PIN every time you access your account. This new number will be randomly assigned and will show up on the LED of this keychain thingy. And...and I must say this is my favorite part of the process...the only way to bank online is from an ATM machine or inside the bank. It's a security measure.

So. The keychain is safely ensconced in John's sock drawer where it will stay for the duration of our time here. We cannot imagine who cooked up this system and why they think it is convenient. We did laugh about it more than once over the course of the weekend, so I guess we should be grateful for the comic relief it supplied....

A Gum Loophole!

FYI, those of you who have never been to Singapore and are inclined to want a stick of Wrigleys while you are here - I found a loophole! All of you who know me well must have known it was just a matter of time....

Young Andrew will be going to Indonesia next week for 3 days. This is an experience they call "Classroom Without Walls." He will spend the better part of next week swimming in shark infested water, stringing mosquito netting in a desolate village as a service project, exposing himself to Dengue Fever and hopefully not eating anything that will give him any dread diseases he has not had prophylactic shots for.

Just kidding! They are going to Indonesia, but he will be on the antiseptic side side of the island.

At any rate - you may be wondering what this has to do with chewing gum....

The good, astute and caring parent that I am, I went to get Andrew something for motion sickness at the local Guardian Shop (not making that up). Since the Boat Ride to Certain Doom is rather long, the last thing I want is for his last memory to be of yakking over the side. I went to the pharmacy to ask about these pills, and my eagle eye spotted a pillish looking bottle behind the glass on the opposite side of the counter. It was made by Wrigley's! I quelled my excitement just long enough to ask the nice lady..."Is that chewing gum?!?!" She said..."Why yes. Yes it is. Do you need whiter, brighter teeth?"

Well. I have always fancied myself to have nice pearly teeth, but I told her that sadly yes, my teeth were not as white as I would like. She handed the coveted gum bottle to me. She said she needed some information. Name, birthdate and Green Card number. I handed it over. Heck, I'd have given her my first born child! (Sorry Jenn.) She told me not to sell it to anyone, and charged me three bucks for 45 pieces. Happy happy.

So now I have a gum source. The gum is a little tough, not my favorite flavor, and since I was admonished not to sell it I think I will err on the side of caution and not share it either. I don't want to get on the wrong side of the law....

What a week...

Monday morning at the crack of dawn, I got word from young Matt that he had no meal plan at school. I know for a fact that I signed him up for this plan. The money to pay for it is coming out of my checking account. I opened up my trusty blue notebook - the one with all the important papers and passwords, and found the information! I was indignant. Until I turned it over and read the back side where it very specifically indicates that a signature is required and a form needed to mailed by a due date long past. Whoops. I should have known it was an omen and gone back to bed. For the week.

This has been my life here in Singapore. Things are either just fine, the people are lovely and competent and things go without a hitch. Until they aren't and they don't.

We ordered some chairs from a guy. They were really a fabulous deal, very comfortable, unlike the church pews we have in our apartment. Fly By Night Singapore was delivering them at 10AM Tuesday. The people here are timely and sincere. Until they aren't. 11AM I called. They said - half hour. Didn't put me on hold, didn't rustle papers around to give me the illusion of competence, didn't shush the dogs barking in the backgroud - nothing. 12PM they showed up. Boy was I relieved! I have already experienced the Singaporean Return Policy...

We have a postage stamp size washing machine. One day this week it began belching out more water than I thought an inadequate machine of this kind could belch. I called downstairs. I felt it was a matter of some urgency. They never did show up. I continue to wash clothes, but with towels around the machine in case it has another episode. It hasn't. I guess this stuff happens.

I met a very hyperactive woman on the elevator. She was quite the bundle of energy and was headed to the 'Swiss meat market.' I was looking for some comic relief, so I headed out with her. We got into a cab, she looks at me and says..."Where is this place, anyway?" I guess she forgot whose idea this little adventure was. As it happened we got the worst cab driver in Singapore. He did not know a word of English. He was lost. He thought we were nuts. And he took us for a ride. We finally got out on the corner of Walk and Don't Walk (or 'Green Man' and 'Red Man'...) and went into a Chevy dealership that sold mostly Mazdas and Hyundais. They told us to take the #170 bus and get out by the 'Girl's School.' We took the 170, got off by some school, walked about 5 blocks, almost got mowed down by a guy with so much trash piled on top of his bicycle that he was completely eclipsed, found the market, bought our meat, took a cab back and had a fair number of cocktails by the pool. It was actually the best day of the week.

In a couple weeks we move out of the city and go to Little America up by Andrew's school. Darn. I am just beginning to get the hang of it here...

And oh yeah - don't worry grandma and grandpa - the meal plan is worked out. The boy is eating just fine.

Worship

The Singaporeans are an obedient people. With that obedience comes the most wonderful faith. I am a huge fan of churches - any kind really - but I am fiercely loyal to my own.

I have had no problem finding my particular brand of worship in Singapore. The big dilemma is deciding which to attend. Some churches are old, some more modern. There are elaborate stained glass windows and humble crosses and the most wonderful fellowship at all of them. We attended the beautiful Novena Church for a 5PM recently. The church was packed - inside, outside, standing room only. The crowd walking to the metro afterward rivaled a crowd after a sporting event in the US. Amazing.

One beautiful thing about the Catholic faith is its constancy - the Mass is the Mass. There is great comfort in knowing what you're going to get. Kinda like a Big Mac, only better. It doesn't even matter if we can barely understand the priest on the altar (pretty much a given, actually) because we know the drill. There are a couple of key differences, tho.

Nobody touches at the kiss of peace. They bow. If you forget, people will dig around in their purse or pocket and unceremoniously wipe up with a kleenex.

Everybody wants to sit at the edge of the pew. If you want to sit down, and there is plenty of space, people move aside just slightly so you can clamor over the top of them. The churches are cramped and there is very little space between the seat, the kneeler and the pew in front. (the kneeler is always down. Always.) Nobody wears sensible shoes. American feet are big. You do the math.

There are no altar girls. Nobody apologizes for this. No women priests, no altar girls. Period.

Little kids are good in Mass. It is the weirdest thing. Even babies don't cry. If a kid misbehaves he practically draws a crowd of disapproving onlookers. Youch.

We are not 'led into temptation,' we ask not to be 'brought to the test.' I forget that every time.

My favorite difference though, is that these people sing. Not quietly and unobtrusively and self-consciously. They belt it out. Most everyone cannot carry a tune in a bucket, but they raise the roof. I find this delightful.

And you know what...I can't sing either. But I have taken to belting it out too. I figure what the heck. When in Singapore, Sing....

Office Supplies???

We spent a lovely day with a woman whose job it is to show expats around the island and give us wide-eyed inports an introduction to the lovely Singapore and show us how to navigate the markets and the touristy stuff. She was loads of fun - very energetic and enthusiastic, and like me, willing to put just about anything in her mouth. Since she has lived here for a good long time, John and Andrew trusted her. As a result, they ate some local food! One of the candies made Andrew cry, but everything else was a success. We even bought about 100 pounds of the fruit in the picture. We went into the bowels of the city - wet markets and restaurants and running paths and even a furniture store where pretty nice stuff was selling like hotcakes and before ol' John knew it he was writing a check for two armchairs. (They are being delivered here on Tuesday...I have no idea how we are going to get them to our house next month.)

When this gal called last week to set up our tour, she asked me what we needed most. I told her we needed office supplies. You know - paper, pens, 3 ring binders...stuff like that. Where is a Target or an Office Depot in this godforsaken place? Singapore has a dang Toys R Us, but no Wal Mart! Incredible. She hemmed and hawed. Not a good sign. She told me that the paper here is the standard A4 European size, and binders are 2-ring. She said "There is one place....You sure you don't just want him to buy this stuff at school? It's pretty overwhelming..."

Naturally this little warning made me want to go to this store all the more. We headed to the bowels of Little India. She told me that I should avoid this area at night, and to dress very modestly when I went there during the day. I have never seen a place like this...7 floors, people everywhere, narrow little isles, and checkout stands peppered in the midst of all of it. (they bag everything and secure it with a zip-tie to prevent theft.) You could smell durian and incense and popcorn. Stuff was stacked precariously to the ceiling and two people could barely pass in an isle. If you had a cart - which is about 1/3 the size of the Target model - passing was impossible and someone would have to move to an adjacent isle to allow it. We heard the work "Americano" a lot. Apparently the shell shocked American does not frequent this place...

I wanted to suggest we do some shopping, but we were out of time. After the Great Chair Incident of 2PM I didn't figure I could get John to write any more checks anyway...

I can't wait to go back.

East Coast Park

The beautiful East Coast Park. There is a race there on Sunday and I wanted to see if it was train-accessible. I called a very sweet lady I met yesterday and asked her to join me on my little excursion. Apparently "I'm in the train station, I'll get off and wait at your stop, do you want to come." Is a request that surprises people so she opted not, but I went anyway. The train ride was a piece of cake, but the walk over there was killer...I think if I run Sunday I will cab it down.

At any rate, beautiful. Coconut trees, hammocks and shade and little bar-b-que pits all along the sand. The islands past the oil tankers (ok - beautiful but not perfect...) are the Indonesian Islands. A 45 minute ferry ride. Considered 'moderately expensive' because the fare falls between $4 and $6 Singaporean dollars. Sponsored by the Indonesians, no doubt...

Singapore Return Policy....

I became a woman on a mission with these dumb transformers. There is NO WAY the 200 watter I bought should have blown out with an 80-watt curling iron! So I decided to take it back. I went back to the store - Best, it is called. I talked to a very nice gentleman. He agreed - "Must be something wrong with transformer. Why not exchange for maximum 500 watt? Only a little more expensive!" I figured that was as good an idea as any. He led me over to the accessories isle. None left! He goes...no lie...."Aw! Shit!" "Shit!" "Awwww...SHIT!" "All out!"

I was taken aback. I had never quite experienced this brand of customer service! He seemed to hold himself personally responsible for the fact that the shelves were barren of the type of transformer he was recommending I buy. The man was distraught! Since I did not want to replace it with the same brand I was returning, I told him not to worry. (I was very reassuring. The poor guy!) Just credit my charge, and I would go somewhere else. He looked me straight in the eye and he said.....

"No."

No explanation, no remorse, no nothin'. I found his turnabout rather surprising, but he was unrelenting. He said I should come back another day. All out. No credit.

The humidity in Singapore generally exceeds 150% and I had walked a good long way. My pores were cleansed, I smelled like gym socks and the moisture in the air had enhanced my natural wave and given me the look of an Aboriginal bushman on a bad hair day....He took pity on me finally, and called around until he found me another transformer in the Takashimaya Mall. He told me how to find the place, said to ask for Mr. Ng and ushered me out. I was sort of expecting there to be no such guy...'ask for Mr. Ng' is the rough Singaporean equivalent of 'ask for Mr. Smith'...but Mr. Ng was there, he gave me my transformer and sent me on my way. I brought it home, tried it out on the blow dryer, powered up my laptop and all systems are go. For the moment. You just never know what tomorrow will bring...

Transformers?

No - not the movie. Those things you plug in the wall that are supposed to magically change 220 current to 110. A simple concept, and I bought 3 transformers at Radio Shack in the US. The first, a cheapo, intermittent use job, that looked like it would work for garden variety, light duty stuff - curling irons, blow dryers, that sort of thing. Lasted 3 days. I plugged in my curling iron, left it on for a little too long and zzzt. Done. Fried. The curling iron, happily, survived the surge.

The second transformer was mislabeled at Radio Shack, and is actually for European appliances, thus rendering it useless to me. The third is hanging in there, but is rated for 85watts so it is not as versatile as I need. So, my dilemma of late was to find a transformer that is rated for at least 200 watts and will stick with me, through thick and thin, ups and downs, power surges and well - you get the picture. I needed a long term relationship. You may wonder why I feel like I need a transformer - 'just get new appliances,' you are probably saying. I am strangely - ahem - connected - to my curling iron, what with its resiliance, but mainly I need it to power up my printer and laptop, and for the computer that is on the way. This is higher wattage stuff, so I need a way better system than I have. No sweat, I figure...we all know where this stuff is made. It can't all be for export to the US!

It is. I have been through 3 additional transformers - since they all have fuses, I figured I was in the clear with my appliances. One was rated for 100 watts. I decided to toss my blow dryer under the bus - just in case the fuse didn't work. The fuse worked fine. The second was rated for 150 watts. Kapow. Appliance ok, fuse blown in a blaze of glory. The third, for 200 watts! Foolproof! Flash!

Today my big project is to head out again, and get the heavy duty, far too expensive 300 watter. My prediction is that by the time I am done with this little exercise, with the money I will have spent I could have easily purchased new laptop and desktop computers, and a new printer as well...

Language Part II

Well gosh. Is my face red. Apparently English is as difficult a language to master to the native Chinese speaker here in Singapore as Chinese is the to the native English speaker. And I poked fun...

I happened upon these signs recently - I was just tickled to death as one can surely imagine. I have heard all about the possibility that we would have a maid while in this lovely country. I hesitate, of course. No better morning than one spent dusting, I always say. But when I heard it was my civic duty, to support the economy and all that, I decided that once we are in a house I may just relent. But where to find just the right girl for me? Then I saw this sign! Imagine my glee. Lived in maids! And, happily for me, if the one we choose is just a little too lived in, I can request a free replacement. Oh. Happy. Day. I only hope the girl we find can make coffee in a sock and has mastered the art of runny, wet eggs.

Stay tuned.

Politically Correct?

I love Asia. There is a refreshing honesty about the people here that can be dubbed at the very least, politically challenged and at the very most downright insulting. It is pretty funny most of the time. For example...The picture above is a not so gentle reminder of what can happen to you if you don't yield to those exiting the train. Or what could happen to you if you run for it, and your lips (?!) get caught in the doors. Ya gotta love the happy Fred Flintstone narrating this whole terrible affair.

When in a public place in America, and one has the need to relieve oneself, one will in general ask for a restroom. Or a bathroom, for the uninformed or very young. Not in Asia. You ask for either of those things and they will look at you as if you are speaking Russian. "Where is the toilet." That's what you say. You can't mess around with that other stuff, especially if the need is urgent. Want white teeth? Buy the toothpaste that boasts the 'whitest, brightest smile.' Not too bad, you say? The picture on the box is a black and white ink drawing of an obviously black man in a fedora - all you can see are eyeballs and bright white teeth. Shiny, both. And speaking of white, apparently the Asian women, who are mostly pretty dang beautiful, by the way, wish to be white. The ads for their makeup say stuff like 'guaranteed white complexion with just a shade of pink!'

Want to donate money to kids? Look for the metal statue of the child with a brace on her leg holding a sign that says "Give to spastic children." Buying cigarettes? All the boxes have the most hideous pictures of pretty horrible cancers. Have a cough? Go to the 'Hacks' isle. Colicky baby? There is a tea available for babies that helps with 'gasses and other intestinal gripes.' When walking in the stairwell one can generally find a sign that says "No urinating." Break THAT rule urine trouble...There are signs with pictures of stuff with that red circle with a line through it that means 'No.' No spitting, no gum, no feeding the monkeys, no parking. The other day I saw the red circle with line but with no picture inside. I decided it just meant - 'No!' - kind of the like the government equivalent of the popular parental warning - 'Don't even think about it.' I considered swiping the sign for my kids, but thought better of it...

Language Lesson

I have been here just over two weeks and already I am picking up the language! So proud! And guess what! You can be as enlightened as me! I will help you all from time to time with some simple language nuances that will become more difficult with time. 4 or so words a day, and you too will have an expat's command of this one-of-a-kind dialect.

Ready? I'll start small...

Holiday = Vacation
Way Out = Exit. (Believe me, I had great hope that it was something deeper. I have been searching for just such a thing...)
Alight = Get off. As in the train. No, all you smokers out there, it does not mean someone needs you to light their cigarette.
Platform Gap = that pesky space between the train and the platform that one could trip over.
Mind = Watch it. As in 'Platform gap'
Lift = Elevator. Not a pick-me-up.
Hacks = Cough Drops (not making that up)
Digestion Biscuits = Tums

Easy so far, right? Yay! Bear with me.

In or Takeaway. Said quickly it sounds like 'inotakweigh.' It is always said quickly. It has to do with food. Give up? It means - For Here or To Go. There are so many different versions of this particular inquiry, that even if I am ordering food, when asked this question, I might be tempted to say...'huh?' In fact I guaran-damn-tee you I will.

Colite? - Also having to do with food. This is what they say when you order a diet coke. It means coke light. Sometimes, just to mix it up, you may hear cozeero. This means coke zero. Everyone is completely confused by the word 'diet.' I am learning not to use it.

Set? Cheapa! - More food talk. This is a 'meal deal.' If you order a set, and this is my favorite part of this particular peculiarity - you may not pick your drink! That's right. You want this sandwich? Only comes with Pepsi. Oh, you want that one? 7-Up. No sustitutononoset.

And finally, the coup de grace - the 'Youwanafando?' Ok I have no idea what this means. I have learned to just say yes to this particular question, because I do love a surprise and what I get generally confounds any possible expectation. Once, I got some seaweed stuff to put on McDonald's french fries (tasted pretty good, too), once I got a bowl of soup, another time a fork and napkin, and, this one time, I got some non-descript visceral looking stuff in my stir fry that we dubbed 'Mongolian Guts.' It tasted ok....kinda chewy, tho.

Louis Vuitton has got nothin' on the Hawkers

It was my original observation that mostly what people do here is eat out at expensive restaurants and shop. Everyone, particularly the women, dresses impeccably. Never a hair out of place (no small task in this humidity. I, personally, look like Nightmare Alice most of the time.) And if I knew the language I would swear there is a Chinese equivalent for 'to die for.' It is indeed one of the most classy places I've ever seen. On the strip. And in the business district, along the waterfront and in Raffles Square.

But there is another, far more interesting part of Singapore. The Hawkers. I love the Hawkers. They are this humble little subculture that appeals to me on the most basic level...they are interesting and honest and kind and they make stuff. All kinds of stuff from the ornate to the cheesy. I met a lady who does oil paintings of the city. They are just hideous but the tourists buy them like they are going out of style - and well they should. Go out of style, I mean. People paint on rice and rice paper - anything you want. They will tell you about their customs and feed you weird stuff that they are delighted to share. This one little guy mixed me up some concoction of peppers and spices to put on my stir fry that he said was; 'A little spicy. You like spicy?' Holy shit. About blew my head off. We bought ice cream sandwiches from an ice cream hawker. He sliced a piece of ice cream from a frozen brick of it and slapped it between two pieces of cake. Viola. Ice cream sandwich. We saw a German guy right in the heart of Chinatown selling bratwurst and sauerkraut. We found ourselves in a town called Bugat, just outside the Indian district, where a guy fed us nuts and fried peas and watermelon seeds and sold us a couple zany things. We looked at some of the dried fish - we're not ready for that just yet. We talked to the lady in the 'Modern Times Departmental Store.' Her stand is anything but, but she can make you a custom shirt in an hour. For 20 bucks.

What a place! Football camp starts for Andrew tomorrow, so I lose my partner in crime. Bummer. He is a little sick of being dragged around the country, but I don't care. It is so seldom that we get to see so many things, and is probably my first opportunity ever to spend time with any of my kids one-on-one, learning right along with them. I have stopped asking him to stand in the forefront of my pictures, tho. He just makes no effort to hide his feelings about this little adventure we are on....

Cooking

In spite of the fact that eating in the Hawker Markets is cheap, tasty and boasts a wide variety of food that pretty much pleases all of us, the other night young Andrew was yearning for a family meal - at the table, in our present home, American style. Seemed simple enough - per his request I bought chicken ($12 for TWO chicken breasts), a can of beans, some bar-b-que sauce and a watermelon. Perfect summer meal. Since the pits were all reserved, I decided to do the job in the oven. No flaws in the plan so far.

I do not fancy myself to be a great cook, but do I like to think I am a fairly intellegent woman, with at least a basic mastery of stuff like bar-b-que chicken in the oven. The oven ostensibly swings both ways - offering both microwave and conventional options. Apparently, the pictorial instructions at the top of the oven are multi-national, thus stupid-proof. Naturally I could not decipher them. No problem! I had found, in an earlier search through the apartment, an owners manual for every appliance in this place. Very convenient. And if I spoke French, German or something that could have been Chinese, Japanese or perhaps Sanskrit, I would surely have found them invaluable. Sadly I do not. Once again, for the roughy 8 millionth time in the last week, I was flummoxed. Luckily for all of us, I did get the microwave going in 30-second increments.....

It was worth the wait.

The Botanicals

The beautiful Singapore Botanical Gardens. Looks tranquil, eh? And well it might be! I was tipped off recently that these lovely gardens existed by a young girl I met in the gym. She is from the United States, blissfully free of the sort of accent that requires extrordinary concentration on my part, so naturally I decided we were the best of friends. (I am flummoxed by the fact that Singapore claims English to be their first language. NObody speaks it. It is pretty clear that everyone speaks one form of Chinese or another and they simply putter in English, good naturedly putting up with the expats and each other....) We had run alongside each other in air conditioned comfort for an hour or so. She mentioned that she runs at the Botanicals in the early AM. Desperate for female companionship I ignored the fact that she had also mentioned at some point that she was my daughter's age, and that the '10' on my new-age treadmill screen was KPH and not MPH. I threw caution to the wind and headed out there in the early morning to run alongside this young gazelle. I about had a stroke. Near as I can figure it is 2 miles over and just over 9 miles back, the garden jogging path is 10 miles, and it is uphill both ways. Not to mention that the temperature in the early AM is about 25 degrees hotter than the heat of the day. Celsius. Plus, the humidity appears to exceed 100% in Singapore. I made the trek, tho - resisted the temptation to take the train back, and committed to going again. But not every day. I'm an old woman. I could die out there...

On Raffles Place by the waterfront...very interesting. August 9 is 'National Day' so they have this big celebration. They do a dry run the week before with the majority of the stuff; mock water chases, military fly-by's, a spectacular fireworks show - stuff like that...but with half the crowd. All the policemen and military are out there - skinniest bunch of pimply faced kids you ever saw. I could take half these guys. We hung there all day, took a couple tours, saw this beautiful Anglican church - there was a wedding going on so didn't take pics - even watched a cricket game for awhile. Fun. I stuck my feet in this fish water. The fish clamor up and eat the dead skin off your feet. It's an exfoliation/foot massage thing. Very Zen. And no, they are not leeches. I asked. (I think I might have offended the lady at the spa when I posed the question, tho...)

We got pretty hungry, but decided not to have a burger....opted for Chinese Rice.

The Story of Singapore

We went on a little ride on the 'Singapore Flyer,' a rather overpriced ferris wheel where you spend roughly 15 minutes in the air, listening to an informative audio tape and looking at the city from about 9,000 miles up. (That may be an exaggeration, but since everything is metric here I never really have a clear handle on measurement.) It was actually quite fascinating, plus they told the story of the island...

Once upon a time, a long time ago, there was a young Malaysian king who looked much like a lion. His name was How Much. He loved his kingdom in Malaysia, but found that he was drawn to the sea. One afternoon, he headed out to get some sun on the shoreline, where he met a lovely mermaid, named Ariel. She had some sort of curse where she could not speak, so he thought 'Yay! Perfect woman!' They soon got married and in due course Ariel gave birth to three murmurs, Larry, Curly and Moe. The murmurs were trouble from the start, and as teens caused some sort of big ruckus during their annual vacation to the shore - all the household goods from the rented condo were tossed into the sea, including How Much's crown. How Much and Ariel never had a clear idea what happened, since they could not ever get one shred of truth from any of the three boys. Without the crown as proof of residence they couldn't go back to their Malaysian suburb, so they crossed the divide into Singapore, where How Much said 'Plenty of port-o-lets here! This place is perfect!' They stuck around, and How Much created a financial mega-tropolis in order to have the cash necessary to keep his rotten kids out of the Slammer.

At least that's the story the way I remember it...come see us and I will take you on the Flyer and you can listen for yourself....