man does not deserve a best friend

Okay, so the dude won. By a thumping 15k+ majority. Not bad, not bad at all.

Despite all the dirty tricks ever invented by the government, they were unable to steal a win. And must now be contemplating life in the political doldrums. Sigh. When will they ever learn?

On another note, I read an article which really stirred my heart. An article which further reinforces my belief that the end of the world couldn't come sooner. An eight-year old stray dog saved a premature baby and gave him shelter, in the company of her newborn puppies. Where? In Shanty Town, Buenos Aires. Which just goes to show that God does indeed work in mysterious ways. He gave intelligence and reason to mankind, but compassion to animals. And when one looks at Malaysia, and how dogs are abused and slaughtered at the wanton whims and fancy of certain 'types' of people, one is filled with utter disgust and contempt. These are the same people who readily abandon infants and children at every nook and cranny in town, yet go around condemning dogs as dirty and unclean.

I'm not going to get started on the horror stray dogs face here; it is well documented and highlighted to an abjectly apathetic society. Being shot, being beaten to death, being run down, being kicked, being bludgeoned, being eaten...welcome to canine terror in Malaysia. Yes, we all know of the cursed dog-eaters throughout the world; may their children be disembowelled right in front of their eyes. May the meat in their throats turn putrid and tear at their innards. Yeah, and no different a curse I lay upon all those dog-catchers that torture poor, innocent living beings. It is my sincere hope that their entire families be wiped out right in front of them, mangled and mauled beyond recognition.

On saying that, this heroic dog in Argentina has shown that for all the cruelty mankind has heaped on animals, compassion for the unfortunate can never be erased. Hopefully humans will bear that in mind as they slowly but surely destroy the world for their own selfish needs.

P/S The full article on this heart-warming story can be found here.

of elections and erections

So did he or did he not? Will he or will he not? Guess that's what's playing on most people's minds this evening, as approximately 25 million people wait with bated breath for the results of the by-election in Permatang Pauh. Where? Permatang Pauh, Penang. I will not even do a Wiki to discover the exact location of what is currently the hottest political battlefield in the entire country. Even as many ponder if Anwar will win, a smaller number will be pondering if he did indeed take the back door, metaphorically speaking. It just goes to show how blatantly narrow minded Malaysians are, where the sexual preferences of so-and-so play an important part in determining if that person is suited for running a constituency or the nation. That, and his race, creed and religion. Forget capability, disregard integrity, ignore honesty; for these are insignificant traits.

Enough of Malaysian politics, I feel a rumble in the wide expanses of my tummy. Gym today? Mayhaps (is there such a word?) not. Still slightly woozy from the flu attack of three days ago, and my nasal passages have yet to be properly plumbered (?). But then the question arises, if not gym, where? Don't think anyone's around for tea, and Lotus is getting to be more than a bore these days. I'm tempted by Starbucks, or even Gloria Jeans; I've been carrying Anthony Burgess' The Long Day Wanes for more than four months in my bag, hoping to make reading it a routine after work. Not a chance, as yet. I have, on the other hand, started on the third and final installment of the late David Gemmell's Troy series, titles Fall of Kings. I'm hooked, yet again. I said that about the first book, I reiterated it about the second, and I'm setting it in stone for the third. Might I say, it's even better than Troy the feature film, which I feel should have been called Achilles: The One Man Show. For that was what it was, an ode to Brad Pitt's artificially bronzed physique and unreal killer moves, literally. Disappointing, as the movie clearly steers away from Homer's original gist. Ah well, that's Hollywood, isn't it?

A complete 180; Zoosk isn't that great. The way everyone (i.e. two people) was going on about what a great medium it was to meet singles, I thought it was some singles club. Alas, a sizeable number of Zooskers are attached, while a bigger number don't seem to remember that they have a Zoosk date card (Zoosk jargon). And there is something so wrong with putting up a baby or child's picture in the profile box. I mean, there's something fundamentally sick about someone flirting with a person who has a little girl as the profile picture. Fundamentally sick.

Anyways, it's 7.03 pm and there's still no update on the results. I should get a life and leave office now. I should.

feed a cold, starve a fever

How on earth does one glass of iced water bring about such a massive flu? That's all I had, one glass. Okie, make that one BIG glass. But still...

After two nights of heavy clubbing, here I find myself feeling miserable. I've yet to see anyone suffering from the sniffles and the ahchoos and the eerrgg-hheems jump with joy and walk around with a bloody smile on the face. Worst thing about this particular bout is the fact that it's giving me a headache as well. The entire frontal lobe is throbbing while my T-zone is aching from constant avalanches of mucus.

Right. That's that. Backyard was just one long night filled with alcohol and cigarettes. Almost got lucky too; what alluring eyes. Good thing I discovered (to my utter disappointment) she wasn't exactly a pillar of virtue, if you get my drift. There's something so wrong with being the resident slut, especially if the residence in question is a neighbourhood pub. I always say, if one has to be slutty, then do it in a disco (I refuse to use the term club) somewhere in the heart of KL. That way, you don't just get lecherous, leering old men with beer foam clinging on dearly to their greying moustaches.

Mojo was a different kettle of fish, for obvious reasons. More dressed-up crowd, and dressed-up parking prices as well. It's quite mind boggling when some pubs, mere pubs, price their alcohol on par with disco prices. A bottle of Absolut costs RM 280 in several pubs, AND in several discos around town. Is it my thinning wallet or have prices in pubs gone up? Or have prices in discos gone down instead? Either way, prices at Mojo are reasonable, cheap-like almost. Two bottles for RM 580 is a steal; one Black and one Absolut. Decent crowd, attractive sights, listenable music. It won't win the Club of the Year award, but I don't mind heading back there sometime in the near future.

I'm still undecided on what to do during this coming Merdeka weekend. Merdeka weekend? It's beginning to sound like the Fourth of July celebration. The only thing good about Merdeka is that it's a public holiday. Which means it'll be a long weekend, hurrah! I don't really fancy rubbing shoulders with hypocrites and listening to crooks deliver blatant lies about the 'sacrifices' that came with independence, to a bunch of mindless sheep who are solely in town to watch millions of ringgit go up in the sky. Yes, fireworks...Malaysia's number one celebratory medium. I digress, naturally.

I'm contemplating renting a hotel or apartment somewhere in KL, with thoughts of champagne, music and chicks. What I'll probably end up with is nescafe, maggi goreng and a host of lazy mamak attendants.

And the sniffles.

what did Pink Floyd say again...

I sat down with The Lawyer and The Priest last night, indulging in some late night supper antics. We started talking about the philosophy behind evolution, and the view of religion towards the creation of mankind. Somehow, the conversation steered towards education in Malaysia, and that's when the opinions and views started flying fast and furious. Too the uninitiated, we may have come across as being in a heated argument, with the real possibility of table and chairs flying. Please, we're not drunken Indian joes sitting in a chinese coffeeshop and drinking away our hard earned money.

Yes, I do agree that education in Malaysia leaves a lot to be desired. It is self-defeating restrictive, myopic, deceiving, and not entirely true. Example, Parameswara converting after being buried? Yes, a common case of The Walking (and praying) Dead. Hang Li Po coming to Malacca, despite no imperial records of the emperor at the time having any daughters? What about the ancient Kedah and Gangga Negara kingdoms, which mysteriously seemed to have disappeared from Malaysian history? Why is the study of ancient civilisations solely focused on one particular civilisation only? Why is the Malayan Union viewed with such vehemence? Why is May 69 made into such a fear-inducing event that one caanot hope for change without being told change will beget violence?

So many whys, I assure you. It gets even more comical when one considers there are actually university students, yes univeristy students, who are against learning Darwin's theory, stating it is 'against God's teaching'. Or the many thousands of students of all levels of education who can't even string a proper English sentence together, let alone produce quality work. Ever noticed how ministers are constantly harping about the great local institutions, yet send their children to international schools and foreign universities?

All things considered, the education system here really sucks. Which is why it'll take an entire generation, maybe two, to finally put an end to the complete farce that is Malaysian education. Until then, the best one can hope for his or her kids is that they can spell English words correctly.

We don't need no education? Bring it on, Pink Floyd.

quo usque tandem

So here we are again. For the millionth time, forced to endure the perversion that is the fundamentalists who infest this country. Thanks to some turban-blinded, misguided fanatical freaks, Avril Lavigne fans are going to miss out watching their idol in action. What's even more teeth-grindingly annoying is the way the Goons went about stopping the concert.

To the best of my knowledge, the concert was slated for the 29th of August. For at least a couple of months, countless promotions and advertisements were splayed all across the media announcing the arrival of pop rock's princess. It was supposed to be part of the Merdeka celebrations that the Goons are so fond of organising even though the taxpayers' money could go to more significant uses. So how is it we find a halfwit Goonie stating the concert has been cancelled due to it clashing with Merdeka and some religious event which coincidently appeared out of the blue? Well, it would have had to have appeared out of the blue if the Goons hadn't brought it up when the concert was first announced, wouldn't it? Then the Goonie starts on a sermon about how this country should only encourage acts which are beneficial to the youth. Step forth, religious boybands!

What's funny is that these same Goonies sit down and wonder why every person with an ounce of intelligence is leaving the country. Why this country is a laughing stock among the youth of the world, with its archaic quirks and suppressive laws. Why KL will never come close to challenging Bangkok and Singapore as a vibrant city in SEA.

Yeah, that's Malaysia for you. Every step forward is followed by two steps back. Slowly we crawl into the new millenium, held back by religious fundamentalism and racial bigotry. Like a man chained to an iron ball, progress towards the horizon which promises freedom has been painstakingly slow, we slowly creep along while the rest of our neighbours stroll by.

For how long more are the youths going to be blamed for every damn social problem here? For how long more are the youths going to be subdued by the parasitic politicians who are more interested in banning a concert rather than weed out corruption and human rights violation? For how long more are we to bear the hollow, indulgent, money-making, miguided celebration that is Merdeka?

The flag turned upside down. How very apt.

Matthew Bartholomew updates - updated

Just a quick one. It appears that there are two more Matthew Bartholomew books in the market, which I haven't had the pleasure of reading yet. To Kill or Cure, and The Devil's Disciples. The former was published mid last year, while the latter, mid 2008.

Trust Malaysian bookshops to be on the ball. Thank goodness for Amazon and Wikipedia.

Breaking news, 20 Aug 08: Yey, managed to get To Kill or Cure last night. Still no sign of The Devil's Disciples.

i can see clearly now

Everything looks so much clearer now. Literally.

Collected my specs yesterday, and tried them out today. Super duper awesomely clear, my vision. It's even better knowing that my power has not increased at all over the last 12 years or so, just the astigmatism. Which is obviously due to too many hours (make that 8 hours a day, 5 days a week) staring at the computer. I wasn't too excited about the price, though; RM 399 isn't exactly Merdeka-sale material. But I guess somethings you shouldn't compromise on, and eyesight is one of them.

Just booked a flight to Langkawi, for late December. Several nights on the beach should be sufficiently different from the usual clubbing fare on New Year's Eve. Although, I'd be back in KL on the 31st, just in time to put my apprehension to rest. Clubbing during NYE isn't the cheapest activity in one's life, that's for sure. And by 2 AM, it fast becomes a chore. Too many alcohol-induced patrons behaving like drunken beasts, staggering and puking at will. The roads quickly turn into streams of vomit and beer, while the honking vehicles do little to ease the bottleneck developing at every possible road and lane. Yep, that's NYE in KL.

And to top it off, I think there's something so hypocritical about celebrating NYE with strangers in a club. Nobody speaks to each other before the countdown, everyone goes around hugging each other at the climax (or zenith, depending on how you look at it) of the countdown, and then it's back to more drunken debauchery. Motor reflexes start to malfunction, speech becomes a slur, and next thing you know, there's a rowdy altercation on the dance floor thanks to a movement-challenged drunkard who has stumbled against an equally thought-challenged soul. Once the alcohol stops pouring at 3, most go through a severe withdrawal stage, puking indiscriminately and growing more aggressive with each passing minute. So what happened to the brotherly love hours before, eh? Where was the love that was being showered around freely as the numbers rolled down?

Nah, I can honestly say I've been to many countdowns in many clubs over many years, and after a while, beer is beer. You end up paying ten times the usual price, but it tastes the same. The people are the same, they sound the same, they smell the same, and they sure as hell puke the same. So I guess the question you should ask yourself as you stand in front of the mirror trying on your NYE shirt or dress, is it really worth all the trouble?

Of course, if you manage to pick someone up and enter the New Year with a warm body by your side, the answer is undisputedly YES, and my argument heads squarely for the bin.

one flew over the weekend

What on earth's happening to the weekends?

They seem to be getting shorter and shorter. You wait and wait for Friday evening, and next thing you know, it's Sunday night and you're getting into bed, deflated at the prospect of manic Monday. Football is back, but it's the EPL (stifled yawn). On saying that, it wouldn't be entirely true to say the weekends are nothing more than boredom fests. There were some 'highlights' over the most recent Saturday and Sunday, culminating in plans for a PD getaway. Not holding my breath, though; have been part of many an aborted getaway plan these past few years.

Amid all the social obligations I partook a couple of days ago, I somehow managed to miss Red Cliff part 1. Had been planning to catch the epic China flick for weeks, and now it's playing no more. Sigh. Guess a clear DVD copy with comical subtitles will have to do. And I still haven't watched Hulk or Iron Man yet, as well.

I really have to resume shaving. What had started off as a plan to preserve the relative smoothness of my jawline has now grown into a virgin forest of hair, growing wildly, literally. Will have to rely on The Barber Guys and their magic shaving blade, and the hot towel. A simple service, long forgotten in the more commercially-minded saloons. At least now I can say beyond certainty that the hair on my left side has issues with their brethren on the right. And, would you believe it, I actually have a whorl design embedded somewhere among the active follicles on my neck. A blood whorl.

Right now, right here, at 6.14PM, I'm in a dilemma. Gym or tea or home? Quite a quandary, I tell you. Miss gym, and I'll be wracked by guilt. What prevents me from bouncing along the sweaty aisles (literally) is the fact that the gym will be packed at this hour. There'll be a hundred and one morons chilling by the machines, being incredibly dense and inconsiderate. The cardio equipment will be sought after by every able bodied person, eager to burn off 0.001 g of fat. There should be rule restricting cardio to fatties; people with a minimum amount of fat. Only God knows why some Ethiopian-esque individuals enjoy burning what minute fat they have left, looking dangerously close to burning their muscle and bone as well. Get a bloody life, go and have some burger and fries, mates. Or a nice cup of Baskins & Robbins.

I think I'll mull over it, with a cigarette and Starbucks Caramel Frapuccino.

Aaah, the simple life is often best.

okay, now it's getting heavier

Slowly but surely, the burden of three blogs is beginning to weigh down heavily upon me. It's not that I've nothing to wrote; it's just getting to write them. It's especially trying with a sports blog. Almost every day there's something new which means more blog updates. However, all things considered, I'm adamant in keeping all three alive. Matter of pride, perhaps.

Read somewhere (probably newspapers) some 9,000 university students were planning to organise a demonstration to voice their disapproval of certain races entering their institution. There are two incidences which spring to mind: the Little Rock Nine, and George Wallace's vigil at the University of Alabama. Anyone remotely familiar with these two monumental events will tell you they happened during the period of desegregation in the US, in the 50s and 60s. Yes, that's right, decades back when racial supremacy and racism were not exactly frowned upon. Fast forward 40 years, and the mere insinuation of racism is enough to make the offending party a social pariah.

But not here, not in Malaysia. For that's where these 9,000 'bravehearts' are making their stand. A stand worthy of the 'noble causes' espoused by the Nazis when they brought to life the Nuremberg Laws, and the Ku Klux Klan in the Deep South, and the apartheid-lovers in the National Party. Yes, these 9,000 ought to be held in the highest esteem, for they are the last vestiges of racial supremacy and deep-set racism, principles long determined as enemies of humanity, justice and equality. It's just a damn pity though; between all 9,000 of them, they can't string together a correct sentence in English.

Fly the shamelessly-named Jalur Gemilang? Nah, pass me the swastika instead.

non sum qualis eram

Well, almost.

Things have changed, are changing, and will continue to change. Underwent a sobering epiphany, if that were possible. Suddenly the tree are parting, allowing sight of the peaks beyond.

Mea culpa. That is my first step. I feel betrayed, I am betrayed. Yet through my own doing, willingly and knowingly. I'm past recriminations now, both self and towards others. The mirror is a cruel judge; it swells your vanity, yet bares your inner being. Stripped of pride, ego, anger, resentment, sadness, melancholy and despair, I now see with absolute clarity the consequences of my actions all these years.

There is no more room for idealism and romanticism, there will be none to come. Once, I endured. Twice, I survived. But not thrice. I'm tired of giving to others, of living for others. Tired, and disillusioned. Faith no more, if you will. People always talk about the next in line, of better things to come, of not carrying one's burden and emotional baggage along for the next journey. I'm tossing everything to the side. They scatter around wildly as I relieve my aching back of their comforting load; love, care, affection, passion, romance, warmth, truth, understanding, empathy, sympathy.

Now on, it's get what you want, then get lost. Plain and simple. Life's all about charades and masquerades these days, and he who performs the best, he who wears the most impenetrable of masks, triumphs. Emotions are of little consequence, mere troublesome insects that need to be swatted away. Be true to yourself, above all. For no truth is greater, I think.

Nunc scio quid sit amor. Sine ira et studio

of pins and needles

There are some people in Malaysia whom you just can't talk to. They're not interested in dialogue or exchanging views and opinions. All they're interested, and this is the basis of their pathetic excuse of an existence, is to breed hatred, intolerance and fanaticism. Being sub-humans, they've long lost the mental faculties to converse and debate about matters close to the heart. They've long been lacking in decency, humility and worst of all, simple human intelligence. What they are is a testament that not all Homo sapiens are evolved beings. These degenerates live and die by the sword. All they know, and swear by under the perceived notion of religious faith, is violence, violence and more violence. Rather than discuss issues and grouses calmly and rationally as how human beings are supposed to, they resort to sticks, and parangs and fists. While people are expanding their minds to explore new horizons, these vermin of society excel in issuing threats and blowing up innocents. Good on ya, mates.

On another note, caught Susuk on Saturday. Don't expect much in terms of acting and special effects (it is, after all, a locally produced flick). But the plot and storyline is most intriguing. Personally, I was impressed; it isn't some run of the mill horror fare showcasing distorted faces and omnipotent exorcists. A well thought-of story that had me thinking about it hours after the cinema closed for the day.

Also caught Mummy 3 on dvd; hugely disappointing. When one starts rooting for the mummy (in this case, Jet Li) to squash the life out all the protagonists, you know the acting leaves much to be desired. And the plot was one big predictable yawn. Nothing original or new, other than the generous use of sand, clay and mud.

Guess I'll be brushing off the cobwebs on my much-maligned variety of jerseys sometime this week; most of the European football leagues start next weekend. Think this time around, I'll be watching more matches, hopefully more Serie A and Bundesliga action is in store on Astro. And yes, EPL too (sigh).

Decided to apply for leave year-end, so the hunt for a holiday destination starts now. Alone or accompanied, I know not, I care not. Altogether, I'll have close to ten days being free, and thus the pressure to fully utilise the holiday has already started.

What's this I hear about Krabi?

ques amor verus tenuit tenebit

Someone once told me many years back, enjoy being single. You are your own person, no chains bind you and no feelings burden you. At the time, those words were crystal clear. They made perfect sense. I had wrenched myself away from a relationship that had left many a scar. Life was in colour again, and the lake open to my every fancy. Being single never felt better, and I was drinking every tasty drop of it.

Yet now, I am but free. Why am I not jumping for joy? Why are my feet rooted deeply to the ground ,if what I had come out of was a burden too heavy? Why am I not drinking everything the new day has to offer greedily? Why am I not light-hearted at the prospect of carousing around town, meeting the acquaintance of new company? Why am I not indulging in things I thought I'd enjoy doing if I were single again?

Hope, perhaps? I think not. Hope may spring eternal, but it has aged pitifully in my case. Denial? Any semblance of a denial has long been put to rest, buried under the soil of reality. Determination, maybe? Determination can only succeed with a full complement of hands, something I'm devoid of.

I had no answer to my whimsical musing, but as I type on, one word comes to mind. Love. Could it be? Could it be this oft used but much misrepresented notion has a strong grip on my being, refusing to yield and be swept away with the current of sorrow and time? Perhaps this love makes me see that I've lost, and not gained. Perhaps this love whispers sadly to me that I surrendered all too meekly. Did I close my ears as the being that was the relationship cried out for help in vain? Did I turn a blind eye as it looked at me helplessly? Did I walk away as it desperately reached out to be grabbed? I know not. Deep inside, maybe I conceded before the sun set. Maybe my arms had grown tired and my legs had turned to lead. Perhaps I had seen its demise slowly unfurl in front of me and had remained ignorant.

But even as I doubt myself, memories flood in. Joyous memories, dark memories. And I know, with the strongest conviction, that I did not. A colourful history, too many memories, a lovely soul. I would have never stood by nonchalantly as things rotted. Yet, they've turned to dust, and I stand alone. Regrets? A chestful. Would I have done things differently? Hands held up, I would have, undoubtedly. Was I happy? Yes, from the start, right up to the end.

And when asked, it was one helluva journey. Pity it had to end.

gym goons

Let me start by saying, it takes loads of determination and discipline to step into the sweat-ridden halls of a gym. Yes, the biggest thrill of joining any gym is more often than not outfit shopping. Smart shoes, stylish workout clothes and a trendy bag in tow.

But as you head up the escalator or elevator, legs turn to lead, and McD's looks mighty tempting. Perhaps I'll have a light snack today and skip gym, you placate yourself. And you make a steadfast vow to do extra reps the next day. Oh, it's a tough battle, make no mistake, and one that isn't helped by inconsiderate morons and rude idiots infesting your gym space.

Yes, I'm referring to you, the dimwitted simpleton who leaves his towel on the machine to indicate it's reserved for your sole pleasure.

Yes, you who are busy chatting with your equally irritating friends, one hand on the handle whilst others are waiting to use the machine.

Yes, you who have been sitting down on the machine for dear life, reluctant to move lest someone else manhandled your precious contraption.

Banish you, and that final step over to the gym becomes so much more bearable.

tuesday teeters out

Working Tuesday has finally crawled to an end. Hurrah, hurrah! Next up, Wednesday. A tough proposition, but not one that's impossible. Doesn't help that I've to be in early tomorrow, that itself being quite a challenge.

Completely wasted my workout last night on a plate of fried rice. Yes, it was home-cooked, yes it was delicious, and yes, I was famished. But still, I should have had more willpower. The Diet Coke after the meal made me feel slightly less guilty, what with the 'Zero' calories in the beverage. Yes, illusion is an integral part of everyday life.

Ever since I felt compelled to change my Facebook status quite some time back (i.e. yesterday), I've been inundated with sms-es and email pointing out that there seemed to be some glitch in my Profile section. When informed of the validity of the status, an awkward moment of silence, followed by a nervous 'oh', before the cat starts approaching the Grim Reaper. I think one song that pretty much sums up what I'm thinking (currently) is Bon Jovi's 'This Ain't a Love Song'. Chanced upon it on my playlist, and found it oddly relatable (I never knew such a word existed). Then again, Billy Ocean claims there'll be love songs to make everyone cry. Yeah, seriously.

Still stumped on what I plan to do year end. Contemplating a getaway; the destination isn't materialising in my mind. Phuket is the obvious choice (not again, I hear you say). Though I'm more inclined for somewhere less visited. There's Langkawi, but it isn't really fun when you're alone there. Maybe Siem Reap or even Saigon (sounds so much better than Uncle Ho City), even though Hanoi seems the more exciting of Vietnam's two most famous cities. Decisions, decisions. Then again, what's my rush? It's not like I have spare space hidden somewhere in my credit cards; au contraire, they're bursting at the seams with unpaid credit. Yeah, I know, so what else is new, isn't it?

On a more pressing matter closer to the present, do I head to California or PJ? Dilemma, that one. I'm not really in the mood for working out, but neither am I up for another session swelling the smelly pockets of the mamak in State. Maybe I should have my cake and eat it. Workout, then do my nescafe kurang manis routine.

I ponder, with an unlit cigarette in my hand.

even the best laid plans get laid

Another slow weekend. Sigh

What had seemed to be to a potentially fun two days fizzled out without a whimper as the best laid plans went kaput. Nobody's fault, just one of those unfortunate series of events that waylaid the itinerary. On saying that, I could have still gone ahead with the planned activities, but there's something not quite right about going drinking alone.

However, I managed to salvage the weekend by some small measure; watched Sleuth and Apocalypto. Two intriguing movies that had me glued to the idiot box in anticipation. Most would know the latter, a Mel Gibson-directed flick about the Mesoamerican civilisation. One word: gore. Sleuth was a mind-boggler. A grand ensemble of two - Michael Caine, and the actor touted to be the new Michael Caine, Jude Law. It elicited a 'wtf' reaction from all of us at the end, and kept the grey matter suitably stirred for the subsequent ten minutes or so. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it a Stanley Kubrick film.

It would seem that Facebook is the best way to rebuild my social life, or so I've been enlightened. Other than sustaining many a bruise due to incessant pokes, I know not how. Yeah, there are plenty of invites and such, but it's not quite the real deal, is it? If these invitations were meant for a particular circle of socialites, then I'd swear by it. In truth, most of the time the invitations are nothing more than e-brochures distributed to the masses, i.e. potentially any Tom, Dick or Harry could attend, and they usually do. And no, Cavell's weekly retro night is NOT an event.

And four years after every sane person weaned off Friends, I've become hooked. So yes, Saturday and Sunday afternoons are exclusively booked for watching reruns of the sitcom, five episodes each day back-to-back. Ironic how it has taken my such a long time to finally appreciate the six protagonists and their daily grind in New York, New York. Considering the series stretched from 1993 to 2004, I have quite a bit of catching up to do. And why am I hooked? Uncomplicated humour with a feel-good twist. Sometimes simple comedy can be equally as entertaining as witty lines. I draw the line at slapstick and toilet humour, though. Unless the main character is Mr Bean (does anyone know his first name?).

Looking forward, football season starts in two weeks time; almost all the major European leagues should be up and about by end August. Closer, hope to run a good D&D session this coming weeked, with Niks making a cameo. Fats will leaving on the 27th, so hopefully I can have at least one more session, either on the 16th or the 23rd.

Time for a cig. And hopefully, drinks this weekend. Watch this space.