Haunting Halloween

Menacing Jack-o'-Lanterns, screeching witches, haunted houses and blood-sucking vampires.

Yes folks, it's Halloween today. Shortened from All Hallow's Evening, this holiday has its origins deeply rooted in Celtic culture. The Celts originally celebrated the day by lighting bonfires and sacrificing livestock. Halloween was celebrated on the eve of All Hallow's Day, now known as All Saints' Day. These days, however, it's more known for trick-or-treating, costume parties and horror movies.

Like Valentine's, Halloween is heavily influenced by Western practices, and has now found a niche in this part of Asia. While we are most unlikely to see children doing their rounds seeking candy alms, there will be many parties throughout the clubbing circles, as each outlet looks to maximise profits on a day catered more towards costume-dressers and horror buffs.

Seeing as not everyone here is familiar with what a pumpkin looks like, or what exactly ghouls and witches and zombies are, I've decided to shortlist some local 'celebrities' who are equally as menacing, if not more. I emphasise 'shortlist'; there are dozens of creepy creatures wandering about in the still of the night, some of them prominent, while others maintain a low profile in the public eye. Those that I mention below are the more common apparitions, often playing the part of the antagonist in most horror stories and true account renditions.

Toyol: Malaysia's enfant terible. The toyol looks like a child, with red eyes and sharp claws. It has only one purpose - to steal and give the loot to its master. A supernatural Oliver Twist, if you will. With a twist, of course. It must be fed blood, or it'll start turning against its master and the unfortunate individual's family. Occasionally it fancies a pet or two for a snack. One of the reasons why women are strongly discouraged from disposing soiled sanitary pads indiscriminately in toilets is due to this little dude's tendency to view it as a delicacy. There's nothing more heart-wrenching, literally, than sitting on your throne, accompanied by a toyol happily munching on a used pad.

Pontianak: Every guy's wet dream, literally. One night with this hot sexy babe will leave you soaking wet, in your own blood. The pontianak appears as a comely, coy chick, swaying her hips as the whiff of frangipani announces her arrival. Her attractiveness masks a malevolent spirit, a woman who died while giving birth. Seeking vengeance, she scours almost every known part of civilisation, seeking her unsuspecting victims. The only way to stop this femme fatale is to hammer a nail into her head. Once properly nailed, she remains in her foxy lady persona until the nail is removed. Her favourite hangout joint is the banana tree, and many claim to have snared a pontianak by tying red thread around the tree.

Orang Minyak: A real smooth criminal. Covered from head to toe in oil, this despicable villain sneaks into houses and deflowers virgins. Or at least, that's how the legend goes. Having made a pact with the Devil, the Orang Minyak (which literally means Oil Man) uses his oilyness to rob, rape and escape. He can only be stopped when he's forcefully wrapped in batik, followed by some courageous soul biting off the slickster's finger. Due to the drastic drop in oil prices, incidents involving the Orang Minyak have increased tenfold.

Penanggalan: Now this is one freaky woman. She gives head, and I mean, some serious blood-curdling head. A penanggalan is a midwife who's signed a deal with, yes you guessed it, the capital D. When she's in action, her head detaches and flies around, with her entrails in tow. Having broken one of the conditions in her pact, she is doomed to roam around, seeking vengeance for her predicament. She is especially known to haunt homes where childbirth is taking place, sending out her long tongue to suck the blood from the mother or child. She also has a fine eye for the placenta. When a person's blood is consumed by the penanggalan, the victim suffers a wasting disease and more often than not, dies. As with most foul creatures, she clocks in after dark; her comatose body is often stored in a big jar of vinegar in order to preserve it. Hence, during the day, she can be identified by a strong body odour, no prizes for guessing how it smells like. Some say a penanggalan midwife can also be identified by the way she relishes the sight of blood during labour. Many houses in remote villages tend to have strands of thorns lining the windows and doors, which trap the entails of any penanggalan making an illegal entry. Other preventive measures include finding and hiding the creature's body, or filling the insides with crushed glass. Ouch!

Jenglot: Think Puppet-Master. This doll-like abomination with a constantly bad hair day is one mean customer. Yet another blood sucking spirit, this vicious little creature can be fond almost anywhere, which doesn't exactly us corporeal beings feel safe at night. More often than not, it it bound to a master, who uses it to do his or her bidding. Salary comes in the form of blood, though the jenglot doesn't have to physically drink from a victim. These creatures are quite famous in museums which exhibit supernatural stuff, and some owners even rake in money taking their 'pets' on tour.

Langsuir: A close relation of the pontianak, the langsuir is bad news. Hideous when in action, this creature which appears during the day as a beautiful woman (surprise surprise) sucks the life force of a victim from the inside. Once in, it only leaves when the host is dead. Its vengeful nature is said to have stemmed from the fact that at one time, the langsuir-to be suffered the loss of its child during labour, and went through a long period of sickness itself. A parasite of sorts, this banshee is one probably the most feared villain of the piece.

Hantu Kum-Kum: A victim of vanity, the hantu kum-kum can only find peace once it has drained the blood of a certain number of virgins. Legend has it that the hantu kum-kum was once a fair maiden who harboured ambitions of being the fairest in the land. A dark being gave her what she sought, on the condition that she not so much as glance at a mirror for ten days (period varies from one society to another). And yes, she decided to look at her newfound beauty on the last day of her 'probation' period. The mirror cracked, and all she saw was a hideously, deformed face staring right back at her. She ran to the nearest shaman, who told her the only cure lay in the blood of nubile virgins. And thus the bloodthirsy hantu kum-kum began her rounds. The term 'kum-kum' apparently refers to her greeting when she's at the victim's doorsteps. Reported to be wearing a hijab or tudung, she must be first welcomed in the house in order to feast on her unfortunate quarry. Upon entry, she'd lift her hijab/ tudung and lo and behold, one less virgin in the world.

Hantu tetek: Dolly Parton mammaries, on Elizabeth Taylor. Get the picture? This big-chested spirit, in the guise of an old lady, hunts down children at night, targetting those playing outside their houses or on the lanes and paths in both towns and villages. She is known to grab her victims, before hiding them in the vast expanses of her bosom. And that's the last you'd hear of the unfortunate kids. Rumours of a hantu tetek in any given neighbourhood tend to spread like wildfire, and for several weeks, there'd be no sight of young ones in the playgrounds and gardens as dusk approaches.

Pelesit: These devious spirits are used by womenfolk as a form of protection and malice. These dark women use pelesits not only to protect themselves, but to also harm rivals or enemies. These spirits are more than willing to do their mistresses' bidding, provided they get their daily 'meals' and the chance to wreak havoc. At the same time, the mistress is also required to provide some of her own blood to sate the cravings of her 'bodyguard'. It is known to take the form of a grasshopper, especially when out on it's owner's bidding. Hence in some villages, whenever a grasshopper is trapped, its head is snapped off in order to send it back to the perpetrator.The pelesit must be continuously be taken care of by its owner, and therein lies the danger. It has to be passed down through the generations; sometimes the subsequent owner is unaware that she is privy to the services of this creature. If there is a break in the chain of inheritance, the pelesit not only takes revenge on its owner, but also on the owner' family.

So there you have it, folks. Our very own local celebrities, each infamous in its own right. I mentioned earlier that there are many other foul fiends that deserve honourable mention and these include the harimau jadian, poncong, hantu raya, puaka and bunian. I'm no Peter Vincent, and I don't intend to be one. So if you're interested in any of the creatures I've written about, or would like to know more about those that I haven't, one word: Google. Plenty of information out there, especially for those of you not familiar with Malaysian supernatural stars. And you might even get to see some images of them; I know for sure there's a website with a picture of an allegedly trapped jenglot.

Happy Halloween, mwahahahahahahaha...(sinister laugh fades into the background).

liberation, at a price

I had an epiphany last night.

I accepted the fact that I've been burying latent emotions beneath layer upon layer of delusion, suppression, regret and guilt; for many years, at that. It's like a plug in a hole; remove the former and everything comes pouring out, a trickle at first, followed closely by a gush of pent-up feelings. On saying that, it was almost matter-of-factly, how I stripped the festering layers that bandaged my psyche; coupled with the occasional thousand yard stare. My emotional priorities have changed, overnight, and I'm mildly taken aback that it's taken me this long to see things more clearly, and perhaps more rationally as well.

It's not so much as being emo but rather, it's understanding why the emotions linger. Above all, I don't feel the need to justify them any more. That's the way it is, live with it, and if you don't like it, then there's the nearest exit. The devil may care; I care even less. If I'm happy, then I will laugh; I don't need a reason to be happy. And if I'm distraught, then I will despair till I can despair no more, for only then can I say I've addressed what I feel.

I'm being rather disjointed, admittedly. But emotions themselves are swirling colours that spiral in and out of the heart, and such cannot be penned as easily as, say, a book review.

So how does this self-proclaimed enlightenment allow sight of the path ahead? For starters, I've learnt to accept. Acceptance of the loneliness within. Loneliness is categorised by three types - situational, developmental dan internal; I'm strongly contending all three categories. And this has been a constant membranous layer enveloping my mind and heart for more than twenty years. Many a time I've felt lonely in a group, more so in a crowd. But it's never been permanent, for I've continuously wrestled it into submission with companionship, conversations and a circle of friends. Yet it always returns to rear its head, at the slightest given opportunity. In my current vulnerability, it has gained a foothold.

And thus, yet another battle begins.

top of the singles' chart

So do I really want to stay single for ages?

That question distinctly implies that I have choice, doesn't it? "Yeah okay, I don't want to be single, whoop, here's my woman." I'm still tip-toeing around this forlorn, lonely planet called Singledom. It is a bleak kingdom, one without colour, ruled by the harsh King Loneliness. A land painted grey, devoid of life. Oops, slid into DM mode there.

Very well, I'll dispense with the theatrics. But the gist, the essence of my lamentation remains. Being single is so bloody boring. With a capital B; boring, that is. Why is that? Why do many people rejoice in breaking the chains of couplehood? They revel in their newfound freedom, released from the shackles that bound them to the monotony of monogamy.

(shudder) This is without doubt the longest stretch of singleness that I've endured in the past 15 years. Damn, now that piece of statistic amazes even me. Have I become so accustomed to having someone that I've absolutely no inkling on how being single works? I think so. Uh-oh, waves of palpitations are building up; i sense a bombardment of my recently-improved psyche. Breathe, fool, breathe. Repeat this: I will not be single for more than six months, I will not be single for more than six months. Dammit, six months is but a month away, give or take a week. Hope springs eternal, yet there's a rocky road and couple of chasms between hope and reality. And throw in a forest or two for good measure. Really need to have a D&D session soon.

Actually, it's not that I'm desperate or anything. Woe betide anyone who dares imply otherwise. It's more like, I can't stand loneliness. Sigh, okay, I've admitted it. So there, once in a blue moon and all that. Being lonely has always been foreign to me; now it's like close kin. And loneliness has brought a host of other unwanted imps with it, namely boredom, listlessness, tepidity.

"At first I was afraid, I was petrified."

Sometimes I feel there's a supernatural malevolent cat stalking me; it almost always launches itself at my tongue when I try to strike up a conversation with a quarry of interest. And mangles it beyond recognition. As things are, it takes me just over a decade to even approach a woman; the period is usually halved if there's sufficient alcohol flowing through my much-narrowed veins. Think Darcy, bereft of Victorian-esque charms. An awkward hello, a mundane piece of vocal contribution, a tense silence, a quick fiddle of the handphone, and it's Houston, we've lost contact. To a tee.

Then there are days when I walk on sunshine. Confidence is sky high, charm out of this world. A swirl of the glass, a flick of the cigarette, and an eye on proceedings. The end result tends to be the same, but yeah, like I said, confidence is sky high. You can't take that away from me.

But all in all, singlehood isn't exactly how I envisioned it would pan out to be. When attached, suddenly there's a party every weekend, you get plenty of flirtatious talktime, and life's generally a blast everywhere except in your relationship. You go solo, and everything disappears into thin air, compatriots who vowed to paint the town red with you have all of a sudden taken vows with someone else, and you're more often than not the proverbial third wheel in nearly all outings. You're consigned to the 'singles' tables at dinners and weddings, and asked constantly about plans to tinker the wedding bells. Right, I plan to get married, that's why I'm sitting with all the other singletons. Idiot alert.

Pre-New Year Resolution # 7: By hook or by crook, I'm bringing a date for the next function/ dinner/ reception/ wedding I attend. Even if it's some random stranger.

Yeah.

festival of lights, marlboro and all.

I just realised my previous post was a full week ago. Have I been that busy? Or is it further proof that time flies?

Either way, I'm quite surprised I haven't posted at least one rant in the past seven days. Maybe I'm more forgiving eh?

The Festival of Lights has come and gone, leaving me poorer financially and richer cholesterol-wise. My word, it was just one meal after another, all in front of the TV. From spicy chicken curry to sweet milk kovas, it was one sinful indulgence after another. And now it's payback, big time. It's going to be one long, arduous workout routine, this week and the next.

Went to Sanctuary on Deepavali eve, after a very long time. Good to see nothing has changed, much. Except the Ice Bar, don't recall it being that cold. I think the situation wasn't helped by the fact that I (and some amigos) entered the Arctic zone dripping with sweat after some age-defying moves on the dance floor (i.e. around our table area). I felt the sweat down my back freeze, literally. Still wondering if the two test tubes of Bailey's which I downed were a big help in warming up my insides, or merely overpriced shots. I must say, Sanctuary is quite a decent joint; it'd be a better place if the crowd were more heterogeneous and the damn janitors more mannered. Seriously.

But yeah, recreation-wise, it was a good weekend. Friday's stint in Bistro 7, Saturday's feast in Jarrod's and Sunday's feet-tapping fare in the Curve somehow revitalised the youth in me. And most importantly, I didn't spend any of the three nights puffing away at some mamak. Well, I did yesterday, but that just served to wind down the weekend's festivities. Can I just say Darussalam Mamak in SS 15 is quite happening, especially the first floor? Nice decor, nicer patrons, if you get my drift. Watching who comes up the stairs can be quite, well, engaging.

Let me end this post by wishing all readers a belated Happy Deepavali (since everybody celebrates everything in Malaysia) and enjoy the curries and sweets, or what's left of them.

Max Payne - somewhere in the lower regions

I'm still trying to figure if I liked Max Payne or not. The movie, that is.

Before I proceed, no, I'm not a failed film student.

And no, I'm not a film director wannabe.

So I don't have this malicious tendency prevalent among movie reviewers to show how silver screen-savvy I am, a tendency to savage anything that's isn't Tarantino or Kubrick or Allen-like. A staid bunch of verbal wankers, none more so than the pompous poof who writes for Star.

Okay, back to Max Payne. I've never played the computer game, so I couldn't care less if it stays religiously close to its origins. I mean, how many times have criticisms about the movie not staying true to the book/ game/ comic been flung around viciously as self-proclaimed aficionados sate the egotist in each and every one of them?

Yet again I digress. Well, there are two things that save this movie, one of them being the female protagonists. If this movie is anything to go by, Quantum of Solace is going to have to be renamed Quantum of Solust. Olga Whatshername is pretty damn awesome, while la chica from That 70's Show is more than delectable, albeit in some pseudo Gothic-Russian mafia-vampire-esque way. Think Kate Beckinsale in Underworld meets Kate Beckinsale in Van Helsing.

The other saving grace, I won't reveal. I don't want to spoil anyone's fun, so watch the movie and you'll definitely know what I'm talking about.

So that's that.

Personally, I categorise cinematic movies into three categories. I've yet to properly name these three categories, but when I do, it'll be on this blog. So yet another good excuse to visit me eh? Okay, like I was saying, three categories. Firstly, movies I feel were a bloody waste of my money. There are several of them, most noteworthy include Deep Blue Sea, Spice Girls The Movie, Portret Mistik and Mimpi Moon. Atrocious fares, with wooden acting and woodier scenes. After watching any movie in this category, you'd want to strangle the scoundrel who dared to suggest watching that particular movie.

Then there are movies I don't mind watching repeatedly, in the cinema. Two off the top of my head are Transformers and 300. For various reasons, watching these movies more than once is/was a pleasure. I can honestly say there have been many movies that have compelled me to watched them at least twice, and sometimes it can be due to something as simple as witty dialogue.

And finally, movies that I simply have to watch on DVD. One word: censorship. 30 Days of Night was one of them, as was Perfume. My loathing of any form of censorship is well known and well documented. There's nothing more irritating than watching a half-butchered movie. TG for the friendly neighbourhood pirate, I say. A film in its entirety, that's what you get every time you fork out the RM 9 or 10 for a pirated version. Seamless viewing, minus the botched attempts at bleeping out a 'fuck' or a boob.

So if one were to link the first half of this post with the latter half, I'd have to say I would prefer to get the pirated DVD of Max Payne.

Sorry, Max.

weekend whitewash

Sometimes, even the best laid plans get, well, laid. Deja vu. What seemed like a promising weekend petered out into boredom, disappointment and loneliness. It was a downhill slalom from Friday night onwards, and only came to a grinding halt sometime last night.

Quattro's launch was one big disappointing can of sardine. Literally. It seemed like the organisers went out of their way to ensure guests were thrown every possible inconvenience conceivable. From having to line up to enter, to having to line up for drinks, this was without the doubt the worst launch I had ever attended. The lines outside the club were akin to the IC department, with queues broken up according to names in alphabetical order. Question: why ask people to pre-register or RSVP when half the names do not appear on the guest list on the day of the function? I was literally rubbing shoulders with the patrons, that's how fucking packed it was.

Getting in was mildly annoying, getting a drink was downright pissing off. It took 25 bloody minutes just to get one drink, having had to stand in queue for the entire duration. If that weren't enough, some microgenius in the bar decided to split the drinks line into beer and whiskey. I was about five people away from the bar when suddenly one of the bartenders smugly announced they had run out of drinks, and those still thirsty could try the other line across the bar. Several minutes later, it was the official end of the free flow. I was so bloody tipsy, on one bloody beer!

Even then, the organisers didn't let up. Obviously being rude was one of the requirements to join the cleaning service in Quattro, and that's exactly how the waiters and janitors were. Barging into people, shoving patrons aside, pushing through the masses - they were at their element. Not a single excuse me, or sorry to be heard.

Okay, but there must have been something nice right, you ask optimistically. Well, the radio 4 DJ's were fabulous, that's it. Sorry folks, no silver lining. Bad air circulation, too much sound interference in the Summer/ Spring sections, a long flight of stairs to Winter, and concealed restrooms. To be fair, though, give it another three months, and then it will probably be quite a decent joint. At this moment, too many posers adorning the furniture there, eager to be seen and maybe heard there.

Which brings me to a sub-post - posers. My word, they're so stereotypical. Typically, a group of both genders. Must-have accessories include black dresses, a multitude of bottles and loud voices. The boys (somehow 'men' does not fit) try to act cool; the girls go for 'cooler'. There's a distinct paradigm shift as the hours pass by and the bottles lose their contents. Voices become louder, and actions more uncivilised. Then the puking starts, and whatever class they think they have just goes down the toilet bowl. That's if you're lucky; more often than not it's sprayed across the floor or sofas. Which is why, sometimes the clothes (and bottles) do not make the man. Money is fleeting, class eternal.

Yeah, so that was Friday. Thanks to a series of unfortunate events, I was home alone on Saturday night. Even the prospect of watching Everton play could not keep me hooked to the tube. Which led to a solitary beer at Savanh Too. Sad, but true. Quite a decent crowd, though, and the music was quite the happening. However the prospect of drinking and driving alone didn't appeal to me, though, and I was back home within an hour.

Like I said, a real tear-jerker.

faces on books

What's with rainy weather and sleepiness? It's almost impossible to experience a rainy day without the eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each dropping raindrop. Especially when it's all dark outside and the aircond remote control display show 20 degrees C. Show me the bed, and I'll give you sleep.

Is there anyone you can't find on Facebook? I think not. Not unless they're still in the Stone Ages (relatively speaking). I reckon FB's like a hundred times better than Friendster, and no, I'm not doing a review. Not anytime soon. Although the kinks that still bug the applications can be quite hair-tearing, especially if you're trying to send that all-important flirt line you took hours to compose; or if you're trying to recruit your final zombie/ vampire/ mobster and ascend to the pinnacle of Facebook superemacy. But yeah, TG for Facebook.

What I don't understand, though, is those people who post non-related pictures in their profile. I mean, the whole idea of joining FB is to network and find old friends. So what exactly does putting a picture of a dog/ cat/ clown/ car/ comic character/ actor/ actress etc on your profile achieve? Unless one doesn't want to be discovered by his/ her friends/ parents/ colleagues/ employers/ ah longs/ government etc. Or one could be horribly unphotogenic, in which case, use as many animal pictures as you want. Or a burqa perhaps?

Or, even cooler, wear a mask. An iron one preferably.

around the gym in eighty kilos

I need new shoes.

I need new shirts.

I probably need a new wardrobe altogether. And a brand new fashion sense to follow.

Since I'm on a roll, why not a decent house somewhere in Subang, PJ, Bangsar or Damansara Heights? So I could keep furry four-legged creatures in my compound, even when I'm incredibly old and close to death. Magnificent mutts they'd be; rolling about in the mud. Altogether I won't complain terribly if I had a house and a condo.

All I ask is for the chance to prove that money can't buy happiness - Spike Milligan

Aiya (sigh). I'm in bit of a mental muddle currently, hence the disjointed flow. I think. Adolescent exuberance has been tempered by adult pragmatism.

Signs. Can you trust them to guide you? Can you disregard them at your expense? Don't read too much into signs, many say, but how much is too much? There's a continuous stream of what if-s and could be-s; any of which can sustain a conversation deep into the night. Then again, we are but players in this foolish game, searching, probing, anticipating. With reciprocation comes elation, pleasure, bliss. Rejection brings disappointment, despair, loneliness. But then again, there is no joy without pain, no happiness without its twin, sadness. As such, can reciprocation be truly treasured if there were no brush with rejection?

What on earth are you rambling on about, I chastise myself. I've no bloody idea, to be honest.

Okay, let's focus on something substantial, something more tangible.

Well, the end of the month gets closer; another two weeks or so to go. I must say, this year has just flown by like an arrow whizzing past. Guess the Euros and Olympics helped the months move along; the middle of the year is often the 'slowest moving'. However, there's still November and December, so might there be any unexpected event on the horizon that brings a sting to the tale of 2008?

Watch this, uhm, calendar?

three's a company, of crooks

Politics in this part of SE Asia is turning out to be a quite a spectacle. The three neighbours; Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore; all profess to be democratic in governance, yet reality offers a different opinion. And it's bemusing when one looks at the going-ons in these three historically-linked nations.

Here in Malaysia, people are fighting against the debilitating corruption and draconian ISA laws that continue to hold the country back. Some say the highly-oppressive Internal Security Act is akin to kidnapping, and not many will disagree, barring the perpetrators of course. Corruption is so ingrained that it's been sexed up and rebranded as money politics, which is widely embraced in certain ruling parties.

A two hour flight up north, and we find ourselves in Krungthep, the most happening capital city in Asia. It's so happening that it's seen one street party after another, since December last year. Alcohol, party revellers, tanks, guns, soldiers, barricades, protesters and pickets. The Government House is probably the most preferred choice of accommodation, with capacity reaching the thousands. While people in other developing and semi-developed countries continue their quest for greater democracy and freedom, here in the land of the Wats, a minority clamours for greatly reduced representation of elected MPs in the Parliament. They steadfastly believe the poor rural hillbillies are incapable to voting for the 'correct' party and as such, should not be given the responsibility of determining their nation's future. Only in Thailand, mind you, can this happen.

A quick drive to Suvarnabhumi, and we're off to that tiny speck down south where free speech is raucously silent. Mention politics, and you'd hear a pin drop. In terms of political activism, welcome to the land of the Ostriches. Speak, and be sued. That's the name of the game here. So forget mouthing off political ideals, and just immerse yourself in shopping, sightseeing and gambling. There's a reason why the blissfully ignorant go far in life.

Yeah, three countries, three approaches, one issue - democracy. No pun intended when I say this has Greek tragedy written all over it. A tragedy for the poor, a tragedy for integrity and a tragedy for the mind.

Myanmar, anyone?

here comes the bull

Stock market, share market.

Is there a difference? Apparently not. What are derivatives? What are commodities? And how many stock options are there? Is a broker also known as a remisier? Will I reap my riches by the time I'm 40? Too many questions, whichever way I look at it. So best just do it first, and learn as I go.

What do I know about playing with shares? Little, based on the sheer number of terms that have me looking at them blankly. But everyone has to start somewhere, and I'm starting at the end of the month.

So which ignorant fool actually wants to enter a world that is fast crashing? A world thrown into turmoil by greed and deceit. Well, I'm basing my investments on the fact that 'what goes down, will surely come up'. Sound principle right? Why spend hours poring over graphs and text when the only outcome is either buy or sell? So yeah, that'll be my personal motto as I wheel and deal with hundreds at first, and thousands not much later.

Think of it this way. The MBA-armed, Italian-suited, money-laden executives of Wall Street have nicely landed the world economy in a pleasant mess, to put it mildly; they who speak in a language native to financial centres, they whose Bible is surely the Wall Street Journal, they who worship Bloomberg, they who have power lunches and even bigger power trips. So why not go against the grain, so to speak, and buy when everyone says to run? Besides, I doubt I'll be pumping in wads of cash, perhaps a couple of hundreds tops. I'll just add to the amount sporadically, and who knows in 20 years' time.

It seems the first thing I need to do is open a CDS (Central Depository System) account with a broker. Submit some documents, and I'll be standing on the rooftop shouting out "Baby, I'm ready to go!" Still unsure about the finer points (and most of the big ones too), but I'm not going to let some trivialities get in the way of my riches. But those interested in dabbling in the share market, head on to Bursa Malaysia's website - it teaches greenhorns about market terminology, and pretty much everything else. There's also a list of brokers and an online risk calculator.

So move over Gordon Gecko, the Barbarian is waiting impatiently at your gate.

funny little thing called dating

Dammit!

Really beginning to feel like a loser these days, with capital L. Awkward, graceless with a constant foot in my mouth. Doesn't help that I also feel like something of a cross between a wallflower and Chandler. Multiplied by a factor greater than infinity. Yes, that bad. Though I probably exaggerate; I hope. I think the biggest drawback, the greatest drag is the all-pervading self-consciousness that envelopes me like an impregnable layer of mucus. Sometimes I get a strange suspicion I'm socially inept when it comes to dating. I should be more honest; I'm socially inept when it comes to getting a date. There, one less white lie. Truth be told, since honesty seems to be the order of the day, I'm quite annoyed and irritated, not to mention demoralised and lacking in self confidence. It's just one of those days, I guess. Or weeks. Perhaps months?

I think that everyone has one paralysing, all consuming, brain freezing, mouth drying, tongue twisting fear when it comes to dating. It could be anything under the sun, from something embarrassing like bad skin and speech impediment to something incredibly trivial such as horrible shoes. Mine is rejection. There's no human response more devastating than rejection. I blame it on my astrological constellations. Rejection is an anathema to Leos. Being proud creatures and all (some might say vain), we cannot live with the fact that we're not wanted. Maybe I overdramatise. I wouldn't say 'cannot live', but I will say 'cannot accept'. There's a reason for the phrase 'a pride of lions', you know. Proud beasts, we are. Okay, perhaps slightly overfed and more than used to the comforts of life, but underneath that all is a lean, mean machine. Add thick, flowing hair for effect.

You may ask - how can one get rejected without having made an attempt? (Long drawn) True, but therein lies the cosmic mystery of the chicken and egg. In order to get rejected, I must try. If I try, I face rejection. Oh, the Greek tragedy of it all (hands flung across forehead). I'm being a woos-like character, aren't I? Yeah yeah, I know the drill; win, not whine. No, it's not from the Love Guru. What's even more tragic is that I'm not even in a situation to contemplate organising a date; there's a small issue of finding someone to ask out.

O what a tangled web we weave, even more so as there is no web.

On to something more uplifting. I think. Attended a wedding reception on Saturday, an impressive one at that, with classical dancers and performances. Oh, and plenty of booze. And yes, instead of metamorphosising into a social butterfly and fluttering among the many flowers, I contorted into a Norm and parked myself at the bar, whiskey and cigarettes and all. Shaken and completely unstirred. A real microgenius. A late visit to Waikiti Too failed to boost flagging spirits, worsened by less than satisfactory beer. And thus the weekend just flew by, leaving me trailing in its wake. I'm still trying to figure out how come it's Monday already.

Oo, are you questioning your size? Is there a tumour in humour, are there bags under you eyes?

Currently on my mental playlist are Love Supreme and Brass in Pocket, on repeat. At times, they're digitally remixed, one song melting into the other. Hopefully, just hopefully, they send me sailing through the week. Then maybe I'll get out of it.

I think.

the sun never sets on the Empire

So, I was like having a conversation with The Don some time back when the topic of drinking reared its delicate head. No, not the art of drinking or the many palatable offerings available in KL. Neither was it a case of who-drank-what-and-how-much. It was more insightful than that. We cracked our heads together (figuratively, mind you), trying to list down all the 'old school' joints around. By old school I don't mean the pub next to the church along Jalan Gasing. I'm referring to the decor, the ambience, the setting - colonial-era pubs, in a nutshell.

What exactly are colonial-era pubs, one may ask? Well, they don't necessarily have to have been built during the British Empire, though almost 90% of them were. They have, however, to have the feel, most importantly. By feel I mean the red-and-white chequered table cloth, a good plate of chicken chops, brass bars and ornaments, proper cutlery and crockery, and most importantly, fresh alcohol. Yes, fresh. In chilled mugs. And whiskey Cokes with bubbles in the liquid. Having decent English-speaking waiters and bartenders wouldn't hurt either, though that's some sort of a rarity these days.

Anyways, back to the story. There is more than a handful of such establishments in the Klang Valley, and even more in Ipoh and Penang. For those of us too lazy to make a two to four drive just to guzzle down two mugs of beer, the options closer to home are none the worse, I assure you. There is (drum roll, please) the Coliseum Cafe, the much chronicled joint on Jalan Tengku Abdul Rahman (popularly known as Jalan TAR or Batu Road). A legend in its own right, Coliseum was built sometime in the 1920's, if I'm not mistaken. Excellent drinks, delicious steaks (yes, I had my one and only steak here), and the caramel custard is to die for, either from heavenly delight or diabetes. The cuisine is more Asian-oriented these days, so those seeking local dishes will also find fried noodles and such.

Then there's Jaguar Supper Club in PJ State (PJ Newtown to some). Commonly just called Supper Club, it's on Jalan Yong Shook Lin; you can't miss it. Or if you do, it's directly opposite the CIMB, give or take several lots. Hearty meals and heartier drinks. It even has a low ceiling, so you really get that closed up, boxed in feeling. It's definitely a place you'd want to order Famous Grouse or Teacher's at; either neat or on the rocks. Old school stuff, I tell you.

Then we head back to KL. To what, in my opinion, is one of the most elegant railway stations in the world. Here you'll find Charlie's Restaurant & Bar. Another blast to the past, the early 20th century. Cheap, elegant and classy; that's what you get here. One can only imagine how the outlet was during the heydays of the rail, back in the 20's right up to the 50's. On saying that, I'm not exactly sure when Charlie's was established, but I do know their interior decorations are an amalgamation of new furniture and materials from a century ago.

Now this next joint, I'm not sure if it's still operational. Bistro 1919, near Jalan Pudu Lama. A colonial bungalow converted into a restaurant, fine dining all the way. I chanced upon the place several months after it had opened its doors, and was thoroughly impressed. Admittedly, the chi-chi factor was raised several notches higher than it should have, but one can't fault the make-up and aesthetics of the place. Very much reminiscent of Le Coq d'Or in Jalan Ampang. Hopefully 1919 hasn't shared the same fate.

Another place that comes to mind is Long Bar, situated in one of the remaining vestiges of British colonialism, The Royal Selangor Club. Most likely to have been established by some Victorian gentleman or clergyman, as there is a strict Men Only admission rule. Even today, in 2008! I guess some traditions need to be maintained at all cost, eh? Sit at the bar, sip your rum and peruse the ancient photos and portraits that deck the walls. Definitely worth a visit during lunch time. And no, there aren't any ladies to be picked up there. Think satay fest.

I'm pretty sure there are more, but my mind's a blank. Writing about frothy beer and tasty morsels has sent the grey matter into hibernation mode, at least until about 6ish this evening. However, the author (that's me) welcomes any venues he has left out (I kinda like writing in the third person). More or less.

it's kinda like a love song

Why a list, you ask? Well, a certain lovesick wine dealer kept harping on the fact that almost all the songs in my collection were lagu jiwang (that's love ballads). I put it down to audio delusions - when one is drowning in the sea of love, every song is a love song. Speaking from experience? Perhaps.

So yeah, what constitutes a good ol' love song? One that lifts your spirits, sending them soaring into the heavens? Or one that puts you in the mood for some 'hot stuff'? Or could it be one that makes you want to end life by jumping off a ship? To each lovestruck Romeo, his own. To every Juliet, there's always one that caresses her heart strings. I reckon a decent love song is one that makes you want to go out and find someone. Or, if attached, to drag him/her close and stoke the fires. Waxing lyrical, in more ways than one.

Here's a list, like the ones found in Girls'/Boys' Night Out/ In novels. I'd like to think the publishers of the series will one day ask for my list. Till then, remember, you read it here first.

Always on My Mind; Willie Nelson
A priceless lesson to be learnt here - always tell your partner in crime how much you love him/her/it. Don't wait till it's too late. You can just feel the regret old man Nelson is suffering from, the desire and wish to have spoken tender words of love long before they became meaningless. This song goes very well with a drink by the bar, preferably in a slumped over posture.

LOVE; Nat King Cole
If anyone asks you what love is, just sing this song. You'll either be celebrated as a sage, or never be asked the question again. Either way, a chirpy love song that espouses the elegant and bubbly 50's. Okay, maybe not in terms of society and world peace, but in terms of love and romance.

Loving You; Shanice
I find this a very innocent love song. La-la-la-la and all that. The original even has birds chirping in the background. And yes, loving someone is easy. It's just a matter of sustaining that love. This melody never fails to ferry me to the plains of nostalgia.

Faithfully; Journey
Powerful stuff. At one time, the most popular wedding song around. Vows of eternal love and loyalty, that's what you find in this song.

Truly; Lionel Richie
One of the best love songs to date. A huge karaoke favourite, though I've yet to meet a karaoker who's done the song justice. Simple, yet overwhelming. If I recall correctly, I performed a rendition, which was met by a standing ovation and glowing reviews during one of my company's do's. Truly.

Te Amo Corazon; Prince
Sensual Latin flavour accompanies Prince's lyrics in this song which is about the first encounter. I was never into Prince, but when I heard this song sometime in the 2000's, I had to have it on my playlist. Think salsa, sangria and sex. And a beach thrown in for good effect.

The Look of Love; Dianna Krall
Always preferred the cover to the original. The husky voice is complemented with the sultry beat. And the instrument which makes the chi-chi-chi sound, simply awesome. "Don't ever go, don't ever go...I love you so."

You Are So Beautiful; Joe Cocker
The song only comprises several lines, but what bloody good lines they are. All this crooner is saying is that his woman is beautiful to him. You can feel the love flowing through those simple words as he repeats them throughout the song. For added effect, watch Carlito's Way. You will be moved, I tell you. I'd also recommend this song for beauty hypnosis.

Sugar Pie Honey Bunch; The Four Tops
Bouncy, infectious and eternally exuberant. I just want to get up and do a jig every time I hear this song; which is quite often enough since I have it as a ringtone. The moment the notes from the piano start emanating, you just want to move your shoulders and snap your fingers. Yep, can't help myself.

The Power of Love; Frankie Goes to Hollywood
Dark, Gothic and melancholic, and it's a love song. Think Buffy meets Highlander. The melody just lifts your spirit, making you want to protect your lover from the dark forces of vampires and werewolves. Okay, a tad bit melodramatic. Seriously though, this is probably the only love song that I know of which fits perfectly in the original genre of Romanticism.

Beautiful Maria of My Soul; Antonio Banderas
The Spanish version. Hot, passionate, dangerously destructive. Especially if you've seen Armand Assante doing the scarf dance in the movie. Belts apparently don't work the same. But the horns and trumpets; blow, amigo, blow. Really listen to the song, and you can even detect the underlying tone of jealousy, as is the norm in every Latin lover, it would seem.

In the near future, out-of-love songs.

announcement: blogging do's and don't's

The Information Technology Committee of KL Bar is organising a Forum. The Forum will be discussing on Criminal and Civil Defamation/ Sedition Laws, in the blogsphere. Know your rights and limits as a Blogger.

Below is the important info:-

Title : Forum on Blogging & Defamation Laws
Date : 23rd October 2008
Day : Thursday
Time : 6 pm to 8 pm (But may stretch to 830pm)
Location : Bar Council Auditorium.
Entrance : Free

Speakers:-

1. Jeff Ooi (Member of Parliament and Blogger)
2. Foong Cheng Leong (Advocate & Solicitor and Blogger)
3. Nizam Bashir (Advocate & Solicitor and Blogger)

The Forum is open to the public. Feel free to attend. Should you have any enquiry, and wish to book a place to sit, please contact KLBC's Executive Officer, Ms Melissa at melissa@klbar.org.my or at 603-2693 3585.

lampu, kamera, aksi (lights, camera, action)

There's something about Malay flicks that just makes you shake your head in wonder. The slapstick jokes, the toilet humour, the over-the-top acting. Only Heaven knows how lawak bodohs and shambolic acting have become the hallmark of local box office hits. It's just unfathomable. Are people out there really devoid of even the tiniest shred of cinematic intelligence that they happily part with RM10 and watch sub-par entertainment? It would seem so, judging by the list of movies deemed 'successful' over the past years. There's an obvious gulf between mainstream and indie fares. And the way things are, the former rakes in the money, the latter fights an arduous battle to enhance Malaysian cinema.

But back to my visits to the idiot box during Raya. I was compelled to watch (what with Silverpark not having Astro) Nana Tanjung and Man Laksa back-to-back, and I barely survived. Well, I shouldn't really use 'I', as the three of us did. By the end of it, we were busy tying to stem the loss of the grey matter that was slowing oozing out of the scalp pores during the movies. Utter rubbish. When one considers the country at one time produced cinema greats like P. Ramlee, Jins Shamsuddin and Saloma, what was shown on TV was pure heresy. The worst part is these half-witted movies have garnered millions of ringgit for the leading actors, who will not get free publicity on this blog. But yeah, thank goodness we managed to miss Otai.

And the local industry wonders why Indonesian movies are so popular. I was watching the trailer for Ayat Ayat Cinta, and it had me hooked. Yes, I'm aware the Indos tend to get carried away with the word 'cinta' - Love is Cinta being an example, which was followed closely by Ada Apa dengan Cinta. Yes, they're love stories. But that's where the similarities to local sappy ones end . Indo movies tend to be more character focused, involving plenty of emotions and drama. Local love movies tend to favour wooden acting, cliched scenes and laughter more suited to public toilets.

On saying that, one has to give credit where credit is due. There are local motion pictures which are of high standards; in fact, we tend to get at least a couple each year. The recent ones that come to mind are Sepet, Gubra, Mohsin (all directed by YA), as do Perempuan Isteri dan..., Cinta, Embun, Paloh and Remp-It (oddly enough). Oh, and special mention for Kala Malam Bulan Mengambang. A time machine that'll take you right back to the good ol' B&W days of Madu Tiga and Bujang Lapok, to name a few. It took me some time before I finally had the chance to catch it, and it was highly entertaining. The plot went chaotic after a while, which highlights the naivety of the writer and director. But the acting is solidly passable and the lines engaging. The setting, however, is fabulous. A blast from the past, or rather, to the past. Note that I haven't included any horror flicks on the roster; that'll take up an entire post, with more flops than flips.

And no, Gerak Khas and Mami Jarum are not silver screen classics.

i know what i did last raya

Yet another holiday season flies by. I'm still wondering where all the days rode off to. I mean, one minute it's Raya eve, the next it's Monday morning. I guess the consolation is that I hardly spent the five days lazing about, which was good in a way.

Fraser's was nice, a mini adventure by itself. We drove up without any confirmed reservations, and a booth full of clothes, snacks and drinks. And like all unplanned holidays, this one didn't exactly go the way we thought it would. What had originally been planned for a one night stay became a two nighter. And it was more than pleasant, just chilling (literally as well), eating and drinking. There's nothing more tummy warming than a hot steamboat meal. Never mind it wasn't exactly the most delicious fare I've had, or the cheapest at that. It was more than sufficient in quantity, and warm - that was all that mattered. Though we had to rush down back to KL on the third day, there wasn't the usual post-holiday depression, surprisingly enough, at least on my part. Which explains the delayed reaction, i.e. moody Monday.

For a finance-friendly stay, go to Silverpark. It's decent enough, and located quite high up on the hill. However, some of the units haven't been maintained for quite a while, and one might be inclined to take issue with housekeeping before moving in. I've earmarked Shahzan Inn and Ye Olde Smokehouse for my next visit there, though. Pricier, but with a distinctively higher standard of hospitality. Besides, 3D2Ns in Fraser's is more than enough to sate the cravings for some peace and quiet. Too much, and you start bouncing off the wall.

There are several key things to bear in mind when making a trip there; here they are in no particular order.

• Fraser's is no KL; everything closes by 9PM, 10 latest. If you're really lucky, some stalls will stay open until you've had your fill of food, drink and chatter.

• The kedai runcit (grocery shop) closes at 10PM, by hook or by crook.

• Many spots claim to offer Wi-fi; only Shahzan Inn delivers what they promise.

• The term 'Hot Spot' does not refer to internet services; it merely serves to highlight the popular dishes in the eatery.

• Bugs come in all shapes, colours and freakily, sizes.

• One will be hard pressed to find the more popular brands of cigarettes up there; stock up on Marlboro Lights and Dunhill Lights.

• Bread seems to be a rarity in Fraser's. And if you do chance upon it, it'll most probably be expiring within 24 hours. Thus, bring bread.

• Oh yeah, make sure you top up the fuel tank before heading to Fraser's; there aren't any petrol stations there and a five-litre tin of petrol costs RM18.

And most importantly, DO NOT take pictures at the clock tower. You'll be nothing more than a pesky nuisance to motorists.