2009 Resolutions v1

Resolution Number 1: Give more to charity
I've decided to contribute more to our friends who can't speak for themselves. Yes, to the hundreds of abandoned and abused dogs and cats that are cruelly persecuted by authorities in Malaysia. Enough of hoping for things to improve, and time for more affirmative action, is what I say. So yeah, I plan to send some money over every month, and provide essentials like newspapers, clothes and food. I think I'm partly inspired by watching Animal Cops South Africa, and partly by the guilt I feel for having not attended the SPCA Charity Lunch on Saturday. Mea culpa.

Stay tuned for more resolutions...and none will involve giving anything up .

single mocha male

I have this sneaky feeling that almost every female in KL is attached in one way or another to someone else. Either that, or I'm inadvertently making it a point of visiting couples-only joints. And if the latter proves to be the case, then where exactly do singletons hang out? Or have roles been reversed where couples club and singles sit at home watching TV on weekends?

Although, I must say, it could also be some reverse psychological, defence mechanism-like thingy, akin to the fox and the grapes. We will never really know if the fox was plain sore or if he indeed could predict the state of matters with such accuracy by just looking at something intently; a disgruntled furball or a visionary? Aesop never really studied the matter in-depth.

Yeah, the Rules of the Game is in my possession now, though I'm not sure if I'll even start on it before the year ends. There's nothing more deflating than false hope and baseless advice. Think about, you follow every drop of wisdom spat out by the author with religious fervour, only to discover you're not much further away than where you had started from. Imagine, even after all the changes applied to the hair, the style, the behaviour, the speech, the results are the same...I guess the consolation will be that at least you can now fail in style. I shouldn't be so negative, though, at least not before I've read it. It just seems too good to be true, though. How wonderful life would be if all we have to do to resolve issues is to read something. Then again, with falling literary interests among the general public, it may not be such a given.

I think one of my resolutions will be to refrain from unnecessary drinking. It's not only costly, it's emotionally damaging.

I've now taken sole possession of Radiohead's 'Creep'. It's my song. Live with it.

yuletide yodelling

A week to go, and I haven't decided what to do on Christmas Eve, still. I'm torn between clubbing, gathering around the Christmas tree and sipping Irish coffee, or sitting at home and vegetating in front of the TV. No doubt Hallmark will surely have some reruns of Yuletide heart-warmers, and there's always a chance that A Christmas Carol will be played. But somehow the thought of staying glued to the idiot box on a night when everyone else will be out and about doesn't quite appeal to me, now that I've put text to screen. An outing it is then.

But where o where? There's an event at Bar Savanh Too, and I'm 99% sure other spots will be having some money-making activities as well - tis the period to jack up alcohol prices and increase cover charges. So much for this being the season to give and share. Real shylocks. Back to my contemplation. The Curve would be a good alternative; the decorations there are quite impressive, though I can't say the same about the patrons. Perhaps a quiet night reading at Starbucks while watching the world pass by doesn't seem such a bad idea, does it?

I don't reckon any of my accomplices will be around during Xmas Eve; almost everyone I know has plans, or has plans to make plans, or are awaiting confirmation of pre-planned plans. It's a sign of changing times, in a way. Ten years ago (sounds better than 11 or 12 years ago) I would have had a dozen plans lined up the moment December came into existence. My, how times have evolved. The past couple of years have seen plans being made barely several hours away from the stroke of midnight. Just looking back, I haven't spent a Christmas alone as a singleton since, hmm, 1994. Fourteen years, a long time ago indeed. Back when the stomach was flatter and the face fresher. I really should write a post reminiscing the years long gone sometime in the near future.

Alright, I'm stepping away from the mists of the Christmases past.

neither here nor there

Cough. Cough. Cough.

That's all I've been doing since last Wednesday. And trying to catch hold of my running nose. The cigs haven't been helping, obviously, so I'm going on a drastic reduction programme, at least until I stop hurting my lungs with all the coughing and hacking and throat-clearing.

I have too, if I plan to enjoy the sea, sun and sand in a couple of weeks' time. And to soak in the alcohol and nicotine at a fraction of the usual price. On saying that, perhaps I should stick to a strict cig-rationing schedule when I'm there; sort of a test to gauge the feasibility and effectiveness of any potential quitting attempts. Yes, I think I'll do that. And stop adding Coke to my liquor mixtures. The things I have to do to live a couple of years longer...sigh.

On another note, I fully intent to change the layout and general feel of my (this) blog. I'm a bit bored with the aged paper, parchment appearance; I'm thinking something more contemporary, like Minima or Denim. Little less graphics, and a little more conversation. I'm also contemplating changing the blog title (not the http) to something else; something more personal and less cryptic. We'll see how it goes, it'll be work in progress for the next two weeks.

Off to a totally blond subject, I've got a new pair of shoes. It looks rather smart, and it's already affecting the way I walk - fearful of absolutely anything that may mar it's smooth surface and leathery scent. After what happened to my Hush Puppies, I think many will empathise with me on this one. There's already a stain on my other new pair, which is a source of considerable consternation. They sure as hell don't make leather shoes like they used to.

Due to the malfunctioning GSC website, I'm now the lucky holder of four reserved tickets for The Day the Earth Stood Still. For tonight. I'm torn between trumpeting the clarion for recruits, or indulging in the much scorned-upon act of solitaire movie-watching. Decisions, decisions. Then again, I'm not even sure I'm that much into science fiction to fork out close to twenty bucks tonight; have never really been a fan of X-Files, Star Trek or Matrix. Star Wars, I like, but that's because it contains high doses of fantasy in the fabric that makes up the galaxy far, far away. As does Dune.

I digress. Okie, 9 o'clock movie it is then. Just to show (albeit defiantly) that singlehood will not stop me from visiting the cinema. Onwards march!

landslides galore

The hills have eyes.

And when they don't like what they see, they just shrug off whatever that's irritating them.

Like bungalows, mansions and condominiums. Like how we dust specks of dirt off our shoulders, the hills slump forwards or shake a leg or even stretch at times to relieve themselves of the burden of having these unsightly concrete blocks that mar their skin.

Here's something to chew on: why is that every time a landslide occurs, only the rich seem to suffer? Why is it that only the aforementioned forms of accommodation are always affected, and not some terrace houses or Kondo Rakyat?

Somehow, somewhere along the way, hillside lodging became the mainstay of the rich. From Bukit Tungku to Bukit Gasing, I seriously doubt there's any piece of built-up property worth less than half a million ringgit. It's now a given that if you want to get a place anywhere near a hill, you gotta be loaded, colloquially speaking.

Which explains why various state governments (Selangor more than anyone else) are loath to do anything. It doesn't take a bloody microgenius to deduce that building card towers in windy surroundings is a fool's task; the same applies to building huge ass stacks and blocks on the slope or peak of a hill. Like they say it here, memang bodoh. A simple Act banning any form of property development on hills would suffice nicely, a quick and effective stroke that prevents any recurrence of the tragedies that have been plastered with glee all over the newspapers. With one fell swoop, the state governments could have ensured that the Highland Towers disaster remains the one and only dark episode in building disasters.

But hey, why upset the apple cart; why rock the boat? Blood-sucking property developers are milking money, parasitic government officials are getting their fat grubby hands on kickbacks, and shameless ministers not only get to build testaments to their tainted gold, but also house their respective mistresses and unwanted children. So what if dozens of people and pets die? There'll be hundreds more who will be eager to sign the deed to some fancy apartment in some bukit somewhere; there's bound to be at least one chairman or politician or businessman who will be looking forward to his 50-bedroom villa, overlooking the sprawling masses.

So who is to blame? Well the roll of honour comprises state councillors, municipal councillors, DOE officials, property developers, civil engineers and last but not least, the homeowners themselves. Yes, homeowners, perennial victims in housing tragedies, but no less accountable. I mean, did they learn nothing from the Geography lessons in school? Have they never seen pictures of landslides in newspapers and books? Based on the number of apartments and houses sprouting on hill slopes like mushrooms these days, I guess they haven't.

champagne supernova

Sigh.

The final nail in the coffin. Ladies and gentlemen, it's been confirmed, I am averse to grape-derived alcoholic beverages. The proverbial nail was the champagne on Sunday. Dammit! I've constantly maintained my lack of compatibility with wine, but I was pretty sure that it would not apply to sparkling wine, and champagne in particular. Boy, was I wrong! A couple of sips, and I could feel the 'Men At Work' sign going up in my brain, indicating some major drilling work in the pipeline. And by the fourth sip, I could feel the rumble in my sternum; one more sip, and you ascend the throne, it clearly said. Ah well, I'll stick to good ol' whiskey and rye from now on; even beer is beginning to take a toll on my digestive tract. Looks like when it comes to social beverages, I'm only into 'fine drinking'. Not such a bad thing; has Bond ever ordered a Bud? No? Point proven.

On another note, the siege mentality is up again. I know why, I'm just not going to get into it. And I think despite all the literature handed down, instinct dominates reason and theories. Walk in my shoes, then tell me how it feels. In a way, I do great injustice to the innate aptitude within me; instinct has more often than not been more prevalent than reflex when involving troubled times. And that's how it's going to be, for quite a while. Indefinitely. Until I alone decide otherwise. But yeah, the epiphany after four mugs of beer, one glass of champagne, a Kahlua and a shot of Bailey's. Realising my 'longcomings' after hearing about someone else's shortcomings has put things in perspective. Now, I delve inwards and pound sentiment into submission, shattering it beyond repair. Now I cut the Gordian knot that is the emotions which bind me in a fix. And I'm loving it, surprisingly enough. Am I deluding myself? Perhaps. Then again, do I give a flying fuck? Not really. And how am I going to go about it? Erm, by shopping?

Aahh shopping, I really need to get started on working the credit cards. Before the masses of uncivilised monkeys and apes descend upon every shopping mall in the city. The shopping list is short, but expensive. Another pair of shoes (maybe two), a wallet, a belt, couple of pairs of pants, shirts, EDT and maybe a new watch. And I haven't even started on my Christmas list yet. December is the nicest time of the year; it's also the most expensive one. Notwithstanding current microeconomic affairs, gifts are a given during the Yuletide merriment, and I do intend to be a tad more creative when it comes to choice. I've got meself the camera already, so that's a tick on my wishlist. I won't be fattening up the coffers of Times or Borders or MPH this time around; there are about 15 books on the waiting-to-be-read queue, and another two that have not been read to the fullest.

(Note to self: I really should stop munching on almonds, they're bloody addictive)

Speaking of which (blowing money), did a double header of Frangi's over the weekend. The last time I checked out the place was more than a couple of years ago, and I was pleasantly (if not mildly) surprised to discover that they play retro tunes all night long on Sundays. Not the usual rubbish that passes off as 80's hits in most joints, but a proper and diverse selection of jingles from the era of hairsprays, mousse, padded jackets and mullets. The less said about Friday nights, however, the better (wink wink). It's not as bad as Liquid used to be (is it still operating?). But overall, a friendly DJ, pleasant bartenders and yummy drinks...contentment all around. Well worth the RM 300+ spent. Also knocked back a couple of beers at the adjacent Gypsy Bar (I think); reasonably priced beer, coupled with a general aura of dodginess. Any place which has a majority of waitresses sporting Spanish accents doesn't inspire decency or style but like I said, affordable beer.

Hmm, drinking-EQ-shopping-clubbing; I seem to be hopping from topic to topic quicker than a Malaysian 'frog'. I should refrain from that, don't think it makes for smooth reading. Or does it break the droning monotony of the same issue? No feedback required, cause I don't really give a damn, dearies. What does stir up emotions, however, is this - how does one mess up so badly that one does not elicit any form of sentiment? I'm taken aback, to the point of incredulity. Honestly.

how do you do? i'm a curser.

So there's this song, you see. And it goes a little something like this, f*#k this and f*#k that and ya-dee-f*#^*^g-daa.

Yeah, you guessed it. Tupac and the song which probably got him killed. You want to know what anger's all about, give the song your ear. Quite a danceable number, surprisingly; most rap crap don't cater for sweet moves. But this isn't about rap, or Tupac or even the song. It's about people who feel the need to add a f*#k to every sentence they script on their blogs.

A remarkable word that has been flogged to death, both here and in the afterlife. It's eyebrow-raising, and rather juvenile, and that's being kind. It's akin to a young child who has just learnt his/her first word.

Somewhere along the way, certain literary and silverscreen icons influenced a generation of writers to use f*#k in their 'masterpieces' with wild abandon. It now appears that blogland is inundated with Irvine Welsh wannabes; I'm assuming this is a phenomenon that has long been a feature of blogspot and blogdrive and wordpress, to name some popular sites. It's now a' la mode to be some cigarette-puffing, liquor-guzzling, la petite mort-seeking blog writer, who's against various forms of commercialisation and conformity; an individual who loathes uniformity and same-sameness; a person who's too cool for many things. In short, a figure who's under the misguided impression that he or she is some sort of suffering Bohemian artist.

Big f*#^%@g yawn.

This whole me-against-the world jazz (yet another Tupac hit) is so bloody overplayed. It's as though some souls actually want circumstances to conspire against them so that they can bitch about how the world has f*^#@d them twice over. Look closely, and you'll see the 'L' right smack on top of the third eye. I reckon it's snobbishness evolved. Those days it was merely bluebloods turning their noses when faced with rednecks; now it's troubled individuals trying to look down on people without issues.

How twisted we have become, to view happiness with contempt, to embrace misery like a long-lost lover.

Oh, what's that you say, freedom of speech? Damn, you got me there. Sigh, I guess this is nothing more than a rant, since people should be allowed to write whatever they want on their blogs, no matter how boring or pretentious their posts are. Pretentious; that's the word I was looking for. My advice? Cut the melodramatics and smell the fresh air (cigarette smoke and all).

N'est-ce pas?

do they know it's christmas...

December is, without a doubt, the most exciting month of the year.

The most costly one too, I'll concede.

Most people tend to be more light-hearted and laidback (barring the Grinches and Scrooges) this time of the year, and almost everyone has a getaway planned. Whether Bali or Phuket or Langkawi, beaches usually top the poll of most visited places in December. What was used to be a Western ritual of flocking to the various islands around the world is now fervously practised by many an Asian. Personally, there's nothing more satisfying than lying on the beach and whiling the last vestiges of the year away.

And even if you can't escape from the concrete jungle, one word: parties. Every club in town is busy decking the halls with boughs of holly, and barrels of beer for good measure. No doubt, the price of alcohol will be exorbitantly high during the Christmas and New Year's Eve nights, but what the heck, "it's my party, and I'll drink if I want to."

But yeah, back to December. I don't know about you, but I'm inundated with warmth and feelings of goodwill towards Man whenever I loiter in the various shopping malls in KL during this festive month. Brings back memories of all those yearly trips to Singapore during my younger years (ages 8 to 12); we (meaning my family and I) never failed to head down to Orchard Road in December. However, I can say that KL is now almost on par with Singapore in terms of Yuletide festivities and the commercialisation of Christmas, in general. Perhaps there's no Orchard Road here, but we can't have the cake and eat it, right?We may not have chestnuts roasting by the fireplace, but we do have roasted chestnuts in Jusco and Tesco and Giant. And Jack Frost may not nip at your nose, but Jack Daniels definitely will.

All of which explains why I'm rarely agro this time of the year. Don't get me wrong; I still face idiots and morons by the dozens every single day (they never take a break), but revelling in Christmas carols, I tend to blot them out of existence. Because I'm walking in a winter wonderland. Alright, that was cheesy, but message relayed.

And because I'm feeling cordial towards Mankind, I'll even ignore the inconsiderate fools who clog up the walkways in MidValley and Curve and KLCC snapping pictures of Christmas trees and decorations; some even take their annual family portraits, nestled among the pine leaves and gaudy decorations.

So yeah, December is finally upon us (I was supposed to have put up this post on 1 Dec), and the Yuletide cheer and New Year resolutions are fast closing in; for some, they're already here. Dust off those leaves and tree stands, polish the gold and red and white balls, and test the many tiny bulbs. It's time to practise those ho-ho-hos and songs that go on and on about snow, goodwill and food, delicious food. And don't forget the wine and whiskey and port and sherry; after all, 'tis a time to be gay and merry.