call me weekender, really.

A thoroughly enjoyable weekend.

Plenty of drinks, food and conversation. A pseudo-hedonistic three nights which resulted in hyperacidity.

I'm beginning to like Damansara Heights. Why? Affordable alcohol. Seriously. Rm12 for a mug? Smashing. A delectable view doesn't exactly hurt matters. Yeah, it does come off chi-chi at times, but when was the last anyone could place cheap beers and decent crowd in the same sentence, let alone same page? I suppose the delicacies in J&R deserve a try, though I still have an aversion to processed pork. Perhaps several strips of bacon would do the trick on my next visit. And Aaliya isn't too shabby either. Though the quality of sound system leaves much to be desired, as does the strangely fresh warm beer. Acres of space, though. And cooling, very cooling.

---

We Own the Night is an awesome movie, very similar to The Departed. And reminiscent of The Yards, which first featured Joaquin Phoenix and Mark Wahlberg. Enticing storyline, coupled with great acting. Well worth the RM 3.20 spent on toll to Puchong. Also watched Run, Fatboy, Run. Hilarious, though not as endearing as Hot Fuzz. Was too Americanised for my liking, with the typical feel-good ending. But hilarious.

---

Love. A poorer cousin of Romance, and Passion. Many oft look for Love, but end up ditching it for the much glorified Romance and more exciting Passion. And when Romance has skipped away and Passion absconded, the shadows that are Bitterness and Discontent hound Love, relentless and cold. For without the more illustrious Romance and much celebrated Passion, Love appears to be nothing than a dull vessel, unattractive and superfluous.

birthday bites

I’m 32 today.

Doesn’t seem that much different than when I was 31. Or 30 for that matter.

Was planning to head off to gym after work; then I received a large cookie during lunch. What the heck, indulge first, exercise later. Besides, no amount of exercising will make significant inroads into the calories I’m going to be consuming today, what with the cakes, and chocolates, and dinner tonight. Might as well savour these culinary delights (yes, when one is on a health regime, even nasi lemak becomes a culinary delight) and burn them off tomorrow. Or maybe next week, since the weekend is almost upon me.

What, no pledges? No birthday declarations. Nope, none whatsoever. What will be done, will be done. That way, there’s no pressure and ultimate failure when addressing and evaluating these ‘vows’.

So anyways, half my birthday has already passed, and the second half beckons. Temple, dinner and probably coffee later as I ponder on past discretions and future plans. Postponing the alcohol-laced celebrations to either Friday or Saturday; more time to recover the subsequent day. Though the fact that salary will only be disbursed on Sunday is somewhat of a dampener.

Ah well, that’s how it is, such is life.

Happy Birthday to Me.

morons-that-be

This cracked me up. Apparently the six degrees of separation applies to Malaysia and Barack Obama. It would seem one of Obama’s in-laws is a Malaysian. And what’s the big deal, you may ask. Nothing, actually. Just that it gives attention-seeking Malaysia yet another reason to be proud.

No doubt, this earth-moving discovery ranks among earlier findings of notable ties, most prominent being the links with Michelle Yeoh, that dude from Australian Idol, Vijay Singh and a host of other names who do not have the slightest inkling of the existence of Malaysia. Let’s forget the fact that Yeoh is known more for being a Hong Kee rather than a Malaysian. The fact that the powers-that-be were falling over themselves to award her a Datukship for doing absolutely nothing for this country is testament to how desperate people here are for recognition and praise.

Like a shameless name dropper, the government has displayed a-more-than-embarrassing tendency to hook the country to any celebrity with more than 2 Google hits to his or her name, regardless of the obscure and faint connections the individual has with this self-proclaimed Truly Asian nation.

I wonder if the morons here would be as eager to associate the country with, say, Elton John or Eminem.

Slim chance, I reckon.

The Dark Knight

There’s something so apt about the title of the latest Batman movie. Batman does come across as being a knight in this modern age, with principles and values more suited during the medieval ages.

And boy is he dark, his character that is. None of that gung-ho, pumped up good ol’ American patriotism so common among comic superheroes. Add to that Bruce Wayne’s tortured soul, in a continual struggle to separate the man from the bat, and you have a movie so dark and ominous that the Joker seems to be the only colourful character. In a good way of course.

The 150 minute long fare was entertaining and thoroughly absorbing, though one or two scenes were more reminiscent of a Bond flick. I don’t recall a single bad performance from any of the cast, and not a scene passed where one had to stifle a yawn (though I recall one lady on the opposite aisle snoring half an hour into the movie.

As for the late Heath Ledger, what a way to sign off. An absolutely psychotic representation of the caped crusader’s most enduring arch-enemy. He trumped Jack Nicholson’s version, hands down. If there is an Oscar for Best Villain, look no further.

I must also add here that GSC IOI Mall Puchong isn’t too bad, contrary to what I have previously espoused. Easily managed to get tickets for good seats, on a Saturday night at that, just two days after the movie premiered. Yes, the inhabitants and the aesthetics of the mall do not inspire confidence in the goodness of mankind, but for a hassle-free and relatively cheaper night out at the movies, it fits the bill rather satisfactorily.

picture perfect

I was organising my photo albums on Picasa, and, for a brief moment in time, was swept along memory lane as I reacquainted myself with days gone by. To me, days of joy and fun and without a care in the world, like the seasons in the sun.

Doesn't help that a colleague is playing PJ and Duncan's Eternal Love, from some ten years ago, maybe more. Really nostalgic. Danced many a cheek-to-cheek to the repetitive chorus of those one-hit wonders.

But yeah, back to the photos. From Fraser's two years ago to the most recent Thai odyssey, plenty of happy faces devoid of the frowns and lines so commonly seen when we're back in town. Am I like the only one who wishes life was one big holiday, made up of many, many shorter vacations? I think I am. That's the Dreamer in me, the oft-maligned manifestation admonished for detaching itself from Reality. But then again, if we do not detach ourselves from Reality ever so often, we face the inevitable - the burn-out, the meltdown.

Guess the only feasible option remains a good ol' chilled mug of beer, or a well-mixed whiskey Coke. Just missed happy hours at Chilis, but the restaurant next to it is offering beers at RM 10 a mug. So what the hell, yes it's Monday, yes no one's free, but who cares eh?

Cheers!

emo demo

A miserable Friday, an entertaining Saturday, and a lacklustre Sunday.

That about sums up my weekend. Nothing really to indicate that my social life has rejuvenated itself. No, I had no intention of visiting Cavell's again, while clubbing has been stunted by yet another month of dried-up funds, due to no fault of mine. Sigh. For how long is this going to drag on, I know not. One can only hope that the subsequent month brings better fortune in terms of wealth; I do not hold my breath.

Dark Knight was absorbing, and worth the precious money spent. It was a good outing to the cinema, even if the venue was in dodgy Puchong (hehehe). Considering the fact that tickets for the latest edition of Batman were pretty much unavailable at most of the cineplexes, one cannot have too many complaints. Only issue would be the flat Coke served and the less than crunchy popcorn. All else was satisfactory.

Had a strange drive home last night. After completing my routine Sunday tea session, headed to a couple of places to buy some essentials (medication has definitely become an essential these days). As I waited for the lights to turn green, I suddenly experienced a bout of complete despair. Wave after wave of melancholic emotions crashed against my psyche; so much so I had to pull up by the side and take several deep breaths, just to fight off the lump in my throat. Bloody stupefying, I must say. A cigarette completed the recovery process, but depression peaked again some 10 minutes later. This time there was no opportunity to stop by the side, so I put the pedal to the metal (or is it metal to the pedal?) and left Speedy Gonzales trailing in my dust. These alien feelings really had me rattled throughout the night, and only fully subsided once I had gotten into Zodiac, a cracker of a movie, if I may humbly say so myself.

The problem is, I'm not too sure if I'm despairing over past events, or events to be. I'm unable to pinpoint exactly if I'm worried over being broke now, or the fact that I might be broke next month as well. Emotions within me are playing musical chairs, shifting from anger to resentment to sadness to despair to dismay to depression to grief to relief to fear within a relatively short period of time, say 15 minutes. Just when I have the measure of one emo type, it shapeshifts into another and sends me to Start all over again. Mental reserves are fast being depleted, and the fortress around my mind is slowly but surely being chipped away, daily. This has me doubly worried, since I haven't exactly experienced a traumatic or demoralising event, be it death, sickness or even unemployment. Or perhaps those aren't the only low instances in a person's life. Maybe being broke, or being dumped, or being unsure of the future, or being lonely is enough to send me spiralling downwards to the emotional dumps.

I think I'm beyond advice, beyond reproach at this stage. I think I don't really care what people have to say. I still want to talk and analyse and evaluate and all those nitty gritty things psychologists like to do in order to show they warrant the exorbitant fees they charge. Most of all though, I'm still not certain if I want a quick fix or a gradual healing process. After all, this too shall pass, won't it?

And if it doesn't, such is life.

mambo galiano

One week to my birthday.

What am I looking forward to? Presents, yay! Drinks, wo-hoo! Being the centre of attention for a day, hurrah! Strip me of those 3 indulgences and what do I have? Nothing much, except that I’ll be a year older. What can one look forward to at 32? Well, a promotion (snore), a raise (yawn), more white hairs (aarrggh), marriage. Marriage? Nooooo. That’s definitely not in my list of things-to-do. Though I’m tempted to experiment with it. Yes, hardly decent of me to view this sacred matrimony as an experiment for the advancement of behavioural or social science. Don’t think anyone sane gets married for the ‘fun’ of it. Okay, strike that one off the list.

Mambo Kings is bloody awesome. Saw it for the hundredth time last night, and I was still hooked on the Cuban clubbing scene, from the Havana cigars to the Cuban horns and trumpets; the flamboyant costumes, the classy clubs and the tempestuous Creoles. Cesar Castillo still appears cool to me. The movie always takes me to an era long gone; a time very few still remember. The Fifties. Guess things here were pretty vivacious, as it was in America back then; look no further than the P. Ramlee movies, ronggeng girls and all. "Mari kita bergembira, di Kelab Copa Cabana.” It’s from Anak Bapak, if I’m not mistaken. Makes you wonder where this country and its people went wrong in the 80s. I’m pretty sure Malaya/ Malaysia was a happier and more happening place in the years leading up to the 80s, before racial and religious prejudices became ingrained in society. Plenty of sighs. A pity.

Cuba, now that’s a place I’d like to visit in my lifetime. Probably the most authentic of Creole nations in the Caribbean. Okay, I stand corrected; there probably is no such thing as a ‘Creole nation’ but I think the essence of what I’m saying is clear enough. Wonder how Havana is, with Fidel Castro no more in power, and the Cuban government seemingly receptive to gradual social and economic changes. Looks like Wikitravel is going to come in handy soon. On the subject of travel, there is a list of places I hope to tick off within the next ten years. Here they are, in no particular order:

• Rio
• Sun City
• Barcelona
• Berlin
• Rome
• Athens
• Istanbul
• Moscow
• Amsterdam
• Monte Carlo
• Havana
• Casablanca
• Dubai
• Macau
• Vientiane
• Tashkent
• Bali
• Kiev
  

Noticeably missing are the North American and Australasian destinations; have never been a fan of either continent. Based on my carefully thought-of list (which is revised yearly), I will either have to be bloody rich, or work as a pilot in order to fulfill it. But hope springs eternal. Astute planning, in both transportation and finances, can possibly enable me to complete my ‘Tour of Travel’. See lah how.

And what’s in store for the immediate future? Well, hopefully a holiday before the year ends, but I haven’t pinpointed the destination. I’ve been hearing a lot about Hanoi, and Vientiane; odds are the former will be more my type of place (barring the cursed dog-eaters). It’ll all depend on good ol’ Air Asia. And if I can rustle a posse to fly with me.

Like I said, see how.

the world's best kept secret

My blogs have probably got to be the best kept secret in blogosphere; have a grand total of 0 hits/ clicks/ comments. What the hell...? Wonder if I should start doing some shameless advertising and force people to visit them at least once a day, on the threat of violence. I could swear that there were at least 6 people who asked for my blog addresses over the past month, and as of today, nothing. Eerily quiet, like a ghostblog. Whatever.

After some pretty insightful discussions last night (talking mainly done by me), I think I'm ready to resuscitate my long dormant social life. The life that, for years, had been put on the backburners in favour of financial clout. My finances don't look like getting cloutish anytime soon, so I reckon I might as well go out and enjoy whatever's on the table. Figuratively, of course. Do really need to embark on any resemblance of a diet programme. Preferably one that makes allowance for evening tea and late night snacking.

The way I see it, there can only be a nett gain in terms of improvement. Having been enlightened at various times about my distinct lack of passion, ambition, goals, aims, romance, social life, money, drive, discipline, dedication, commitment, motivation and flexibility, I reckon, yeah well, what else could I possibly be short of? So outlook wise, it is possible for the phoenix to rise from the ashes, though to where, that is the question. Maybe I should worry less about what happens in the future, and live for the moment, very much like how things were 10 years ago. Commitment, love, affection, care - balderdash. Time to indulge more in whirlwind romances that end within a year (maybe two, max) rather than gearing up for the longer yard. Somehow, it doesn't really seem quite worth it anymore.

Fly, Robin, Fly...Up, Up to the Sky. And the song repeats itself over and over again. How is it relevant? Well, I'm sure there's a connection with the rest of the text, I just haven't figured it out yet. Of course, all the optimism will easily end up in the dustbin when the lack of potential mates becomes apparent. Till then, the dream begins today. Does tomorrow's significance have any influence on this newfound awakening? Probably, though I reckon it ends with me. Sad? Yes. Dismayed? Yes. Resigned? yes, yes. This sentence was obviously penned to end with a no; just can't find an emotion that would warrant a negative. No, wait. Happy? No.

Such is life.

over the weekend

Exhausting.

Two nights of late-night clubbing, and perhaps age is beginning to take its toll.

Though I must say, the respective venues for Friday and Saturday's events were of the restaurant kind, rather than actual clubs or discos. And both engagements didn't really live up to their pre-event promos. Not to say that they were a letdown; it was more of slightly-dampened anticipation, more than anything else.

Cavell's was fun, and for most hours, remained committed to its retro theme. Decent band, relatively-engaging crowd; discounted beers - recipe for a pleasant night out. I'd even go as far as to say entertaining, but not exciting or happening. Was quite tipsy by the end of the night, and words during the obligatory post-party supper were slurred.

Clique's free-flow, on the other hand, was disappointing. Nice party, tasty tapas, but poor management of the drinks. Having a self-service drinks table is fine, but refilling the drinks every half an hour isn't. It almost seemed as if they weren't too keen to giving out free drinks. The selection was diverse - long island, margaritas, beer, whiskey, sangria and vodka. But the supply just couldn't meet the demand, which wasn't all that overwhelming. Drinks aside, a chic place indeed. Though I doubt it'll ever be a clubbing joint.

Retrobar was a huge ass wet blanket. It was packed with two patrons when we first entered; and brimmed with four when we returned within ten minutes. When we left, there was an overflow of ten clubbers. Sad, very sad. Sadder considering the fact that the club has acres of space, retro decor and plays quite happening music, and not just 80's songs. The drinks price was affordable, so it's quite mystifying as to why the place isn't rocking. Maybe the word 'retro' is an anathema to younger clubbers these days. Those who didn't grow up sneaking off to Baze, or the original Modesto's or DV8. Signs of the times, I guess.

On the radar? This new (at least to me) area called (creatively) Soho KL. Apparently it has the most unique of nightspots lining up its avenue. And perhaps a visit to Heritage Row. Or Changkat Bukit Bintang.

And in conclusion? Don't read too much into Facebook.

seasons in the sun

What a start to the day. A cold, rainy morning made it hell to leave my bed. Snoozed over and over again. It took near superhuman effort to haul myself off my bed and into office. Didn’t help that I had had a drink or two or three last night, beer at that. On a Monday.

Still haven’t figured out what I plan to do. Nothing comes to mind. I need focus; a cold, one-tracked, single-minded, driven focus.

There’s something pleasingly soothing about Latin-esque music. No, I’m not referring to Gypsy Kings or Enrique Iglesias. I mean something smoother, Bossa Nova-like. Girl from Ipanema, now that’s a tune, with the horns and maracas and catchy tune. Takes you right back to the beach, shorts and sunglasses, with a cold drink in hand and a cigarette in the other, watching the waves roll gently and the girls sway seductively as they walk by. Then, as the sun sets, The Look of Love whispers smoulderingly from an open air bar. Doesn’t matter if it’s Dusty Springfield or Diana Krall, the sensuous song just caresses the beach bum in you and makes you embrace the night like a dear friend or treasured lover. And to emphasise this Latin double play flavour, Besame Mucho. You walk on the sands of Rio, watching the candlelit diners that line the beach on one side, sipping on a chilled glass of sangria as the sea kisses you with her warm breath; all this within the confines of your ever-restless mind, yearning to be set free.

Then, the hunter in you slinks out gracefully as you head for the dance floor, cue Te Amo Corazon. Silky and intense, you move to beat of the cool sounds of Prince, looking tentatively at the person mirroring your dance, wondering if the gods of Love and Lust favour you tonight. No, they don’t. Ah well, you return to your room alone, but at least the sleek, mysterious riffs of She’s Not There infuse you with hope for a more bountiful tomorrow.

Such is life.

i wear my sunglasses at night

A tiring weekend, due more to late nights than actual activities.

4 AM on Friday AND Saturday night. But no tears, unlike Gwen.

Attended a party on Saturday, and was a bit taken aback by certain characters. Though I was also bemused, and entertained. Yet it is not a party I would readily attend again in the near future, at least, not with the same crowd. The party itself was anything but boring, at the same time it was anything but enjoyable. It was one of those events that hover between great and gross, a party you'd talk about over a cup of coffee, but would be loathe to recall to memory.

So a new week is upon us. Nothing as yet to make me anticipate an eventful 7 days, in this week-to-week existence that I've embraced, albeit unwillingly. Sunday nights are beginning to bring me down; I can't usually find a reason to look forward to Monday. Do I need a holiday? Yes. Should I go for a holiday? No. Not for the moment at least. Financial famine. Dough drought.

Another night, another day
What can I say
You're still the same old brand new you

Well, at least I'm coming to terms with current events. I've contrived to let the cat out of the bag, a little by little. Though I really don't know what I'm expecting as response. Sympathy? Nope. Understanding? Doubt it. Empathy? Never crossed my mind. Then again, am I really looking for a response? I'm not too sure. A matter-of-factly one would be quite welcome, truth be told.

Perhaps I need a change in routine. Something to shake up my day. Got to look forward to things, instead of waving them aside absently.

I need a reason. Damn.

nothing lasts forever, even cold November rain

Logically speaking, November rain can't really fall in December, can it? Ergo, it doesn't last forever. More specifically, it lasts for a maximum of 30 days. Think about it. Quite pedantic eh?

Today, I feel fine. Not exceptionally cheery, but relatively happy. Because it's Friday. Which means two upcoming days of lazing around and doing nothing, and telling the world to bugger off. Then it's back to morose Monday and mundane drudgery. Suddenly I'm not so happy anymore, bloody Monday. "Tell me why I don't like Mondays, tell me why I don't like Mondays."

I reckon butt fun is the flavour of this dying week. Spread the papers open, and you'll nod knowingly. The number two chap in Malaysia reportedly gave glowing praise about a now-deceased Mongolian model's penchant for anal sex, while the former number two chap has been linked yet again with sodomy. Go figure, just shows how anal things are here in Malaysia, no pun intended.

What will I do for the weekend? D&D, hopefully. Party somewhere on Saturday night, more hopefully. Have coffee at a cafe, most likely. Or maybe I'll catch a movie. Get Smart would be a mild tonic.

Do I want to start again? I'm not sure. Then again, do I know what I want? I'm not sure. Deja vu. Looking at things philosophically, do I really want to build a house when I could stay in a hotel? Why spend years trying to build something that will most likely come crumbling down? Almost everyone espouses the virtues of enjoying one's life to the fullest, to sample the finest life offers, to live the life. And thus far, that outlook is an anathema to commitment.

Tis only July, and I'm yearning for another holiday. Ideally, a holiday every three months is just that, ideal. So I really should be planning something only for August/ September and not July. I'm loathe to say perhaps Phuket, because I can already hear the recriminations from the masses playing in my head. "Didn't you just go there this year?" It's sort of like if you fancy burgers, you keep ordering them. If you fancy a place, you keep going there. Simple, though I don't really see the need to justify my holiday destinations. Langkawi or Tioman would be a good alternative, though I also have half an eye (if that's possible) on Koh Samui.

We deal with angst in many different ways. I used to take it out on Johnny and Jim and Jack, until I learnt the hard way that they will only placate you for a while, just to prepare you for a long descent into the depths of despair later. Now I use holidays as an escape from the glitches in life, a sort of therapeutic troubleshooting. Just planning them, though difficult to the uninitiated, soothes the raging nerves and throbbing emotions. I can now say with certainty (what others have exhorted for decades) that drinking one's sorrows away is synonymous with drinking one's sanity (and cash) away. I don't intend to get all preachy, though. To each his/ her/ its own. I don't really give a damn, to be honest.

Flames to dust, lovers to friends
Why do all good things come to an end

Would I say I'm bitter? No I won't. I'd say I'm less susceptible to caring.

(A beer for the first person to leave me the name of the singer of the above verse)

boiling over is not the answer.

Sometimes, people just leave me sighing in resignation. Many people contrive to plunge into ventures that are knowingly self-detrimental, yet they do so with an almost fatalistic outlook that says "I know I'm gonna screw myself up, but it's my business." More often than not, they end up taking everyone around them down as well. Sometimes, it's so much easier (and healthier) to just not care. Let them be damned, so to speak.

Yet, I know my limitations, my emotional walls. I know I can never be one to disregard another's unfortunate plight. Or perceived misfortune. It's tiring, and draining, and leaves me emotionally fatigued. It gets even harder when you're met with recalcitrance, and one too many justifications. Help. Everyone needs it, nobody thinks they need it. You care and care and care, then one day you realise that you're so tired and drained and that you've forsaken your own emotions for another.

I can feel my anger pushing against the lid, crashing against the wall. Frustration and disappointment reign supreme, and they long for their cousin's release. Not easy to contain, I'm learning. People around me are collateral damage. I'ts not so much "why is this happening to me?" I have never believed in moaning about how Life had dealt me a Joker instead of an Ace. Just get with the programme, grit your teeth, and bite the bullet (might be physically impossible if you're biting the bullet and gritting your teeth.

So yes, I can feel my blood stirring restlessly, my psyche itching to lash out, and exhausted mind gearing up to throw rationale aside and indulge in blatant, unbridled anger. Just a matter of what will trigger it, what will be the breaking point.

Or will it subside? As I try to scale this hole which I did not dig, the anger and frustration and disappointment might just dissipate as I converge my energy to resolve my latest predicament. What would it achieve anyways, I ask myself. Absolutely nothing, at the most. Yes, anger does drive me forward, but it will not sustain me. Better to look at the situation and just go about it in the most feasible manner.

Such is life.