peering over the fence

Thus far it's all quiet on the western front. No outward signs of warmth or affection. Which is good, of course. I think. Makes life a whole lot easier, this weaning off process. I think, no, I feel I'm doing a decent enough job of not stumbling into the pit again. I must say though, ambivalence and apathy can be very, very difficult to project, and maintain. Very difficult indeed.

Why have I got a sudden increase in spots on my face? Dammit! Now I'm beginning to display symptoms of a 16-year old. As if the whining and pouting weren't juvenile enough.

I was told gay people get it on more times than straight ones. I wonder how true that is. Does sexual orientation strongly influence frequency of copulation? Then again, comparing gay and straight joints, the patrons in the former tend to be less inhibited with their actions and appear to be more 'warm' than their more conventional counterparts. One really feels the 'love' spreading around Frangi's on Friday nights, that's for sure. Which would correlate directly with bedroom activity; almost every gay couple heads off for a menage a tois, most straight swingers tend to congregate in the mamaks after that, cursing their misfortune at not being able to pick up girls, and vice versa.

And why am I writing about this topic? I don't know; guess my mind was distracted by an article I was reading minutes ago, on Rock Hudson. Yep, the epitome of machismo, the man's man, the icon of manhood. Until he stumbled out of the closet.

"We don't judge." Coined some time back in Langkawi, after a couple of several drinks; I reckon it's a mantra for a more peaceful life. After the piper has played, does it really matter who swings which way, or who likes what, or who wears what? Everyone has to pay the piper in due time, so why the need to look over one's shoulder, peep through the hole, peek under the table to see and judge what others are doing? One of Man's greatest failings is pointing out the speck in another's eye, without realising the plank in his or her own.

Okay, that came out rather preachy I felt.

For the next couple of days, I'm going to do a spot of people-watching. Something to kill time, like those old, old people in nursing homes or in one of those rustic small towns in England; Midsommer comes to mind instantly. I'll just watch the world go by, and the people with it. I'm sure that should provide enough ammunition for one decent post, at the very least.

And maybe I might just copy down my thoughts into a notebook. Heard of it? It's ye big, and can be written upon. I know, it's 2009, laptops, baby, laptops. When I do have excess cash to spend, then yes. For now, the two ringgit notebook will have to suffice. Or maybe a three dollar one, for a touch of elegance.

i wonder how, i wonder why

I'm chilling.

I really am. Just easing back and letting the current gently carry me along. I guess I shouldn't be swimming against the flow all the time. Neither should I hope to dig in and stand my ground against the incessant stream. So, I'm chilling now. Que sera sera.

Then there's the question, for how long? Should I be forever chilling? Is there a statute of limitation of chilling? Or have I stopped chilling my asking myself these questions? I really shouldn't be so serious about everything; I should stop being so anal about things when they don't go my way.

Why can't some people cover their fucking mouths when they sneeze, I wonder. Is it so hard to have a bit of consideration for others who may not be enthusiastic about breathing in droplets of your contaminated breath?

A most unwelcome distraction. Back to the matter at hand. I shall take the advice given and chill. Probably till the end of the year. Then we'll see how.

On a related note, I've finally found the word that describes me currently: jaded. A lot of things have lost their colour, I see mainly grey these days. Sort of "yeah, whatever". I haven't really found anything new that interests me, and I reckon it's showing. I don't think I've reached a stage where I can say "been there, done that" to almost anything in front of me. It's more like "nah, not interested". Which is making me come across as some boring old sod.

But yeah, where is the excitement, where is the adventure. Where are the unforgettable weekends, I ponder aloud. Okay, perhaps the last line came out rather pretentiously dramatic. Let's just say the weekends are getting more and more predictable. I know, I should diversify, expand my interests yah-dee-dah, but words occasionally flow easier than actions. Only occasionally, mind you.

I guess the lack of a welcome distraction is also a contributing element to this jadedness; something to occupy the mind, and heart. I thought I had it for a brief moment, before I came to my senses and realised there'd be almost zero ROI if I were to pursue things further.

Back to the drawing board; there's the starting line again; three steps back to 'Go'. Admittedly, I do have a tendency to bark up the wrong tree, and I'll hazard that there'll be at least a couple more wrong trees in the near future. How barking has changed over the years (smile).

But you know what, I'm chilling.

rainy days, and 60 minutes to save the Earth

For reasons unknown, this week has seemed rather long-drawn and arduous. A lack of a solid 8-hour sleep session hasn't helped either. It now appears that Sunday will be the only day where I sleep-in late.

Until CSI starts, that is. Which is at 2pm.

Saturday's going to be a long day, I anticipate, one which will start early in the morning. The good thing is I have an Earth Hour event scheduled for the evening, and probably an excursion to Savanh Kiara later in the night.

And still the rains falls. Dark clouds in the evening tend to sap my enthusiasm and energy for the night, without fail. It's a given, the raindrops herald traffic jams, drowsiness, lengthy delays and cancelled outdoor activities. I always say, the best place to be during the rain is on the bed. The pouring shower and whistling wind provide a certain soothing lullaby which more often than not sends me to Dreamland within minutes. The occasional thunder serves nothing more than a bearable interruption to the howling orchestra as sleep slowly embraces the mind.

Back to earth, Private Tom.

Yet another week has approached its nadir, and I've not made any headway in the Battle of the Bulge. Ran into a landmine in the guise of a plate of chicken rice this afternoon, and compounded my consternation with an extra bowl of rice. That was really unnecessary, the extra bowl. And with the weekend just mere hours away, I don't foresee strict abstinence from fattening food. In fact, I predict liberties will be taken with what drops down my oesophagus. All which are making me rather irritated with my lack of discipline. I really should stop the occasional indulgences; the occasions seems to occur every once in two days. Eesshh.

Maybe I'll make a change tomorrow, and restrict gastronomic intake to spartan fare. That's my resolution, for now. My resolve has been known to be quite flexible, to say the least.

And by the way, don't forget to turn off your lights tomorrow. No cheating now.

the gift of rain

So I've finally finished The Gift of Rain.

No, not that it was an arduous task to finish the book, it's just that I haven't really been spending much time reading. For a myriad excuses, none really substantial. I left My Name is Red halfway through; I really should finish that as well.

So yeah, The Gift of Rain. Great book on Penang in the 40s. There are lots of landmarks and streets on this little island that have stood the test of time (and Japanese and Allied bombs) and the author goes through great lengths to make a mention of them. From the E&O (recently refurbished) to Chulia Street, I assume he was either born in Penang, or stayed in Penang for umpteen years. Better still, check out his site for more info on him, yeah?

The book presents the various communities in Penang at the time in contrasting light; the Brits are fixated with social status and tea parties, while the Chinese are obsessed with tradition, culture and business. There's only one mention of an Indian dude throughout the book, and he's a communist. When it comes to the invading Japs, one word: contradiction. Cultured yet barbaric, gentle yet warlike, wise yet murderous. Which pretty much sums up Japan of the 40s. I mean, who would have imagined a race capable of creating zen-inspired gardens would be inclined to kill for pleasure and cause great destruction.

Above all, the author takes the reader on a time machine, back to a time of jukeboxes and dhobi wallas and street peddlers. A time when houses had names like Le Bleu Maison and not the modern crap Wisma Biru, for example. Good thing about Penang is that it had more or less retained it's colonial past and accepted it, instead of denying all references to British rule, as is the norm in all other parts of Malaysia.

I mean seriously, Light Street sounds more aesthetically-pleasing than, say, Jalan Datuk Panglima Besar Abu Bakar or, get this, Jalan Pengaturcara.

Yes, I'm serious. Programmer Road.

Jeez!

Rotten Rambutans: Race to Witch Mountain

So where were the witches, somebody asked. Rhetorically, I presume.

All in all, I'd say the Race makes good family viewing, a flick parents would bring their 2.5 children to. The RM12 price tag was exorbitant, for me at least. Yeah yeah, it overtook Watchmen as the number one box office flick of March, but it still is, essentially, a kiddie show. The Rock is the Rock, though it's quite apparent the movie tries to stay as far away as possible from Dwayne Johnson's wrestling persona. So no trademark raised eyebrow, no mention of the kitchen, and definitely no People's Elbow.

All things considered, one can't have too many issues with this Disney fare. It's clean, kid-oriented and funny in a cheesy way. Compared to The Game Plan, however, it comes up rather short. I'm not sure why; perhaps The Rock tried less to not be The Rock in the earlier movie. In the Race, the restrain appears noticeably contrived.

I reckon my main peeve isn't so much with the movie than some of the people watching the movie. I mean, for fuckssakes, there's a reason for the term 'showtime'; it means the show starts then. Having bloody morons waddling in ten minutes into the movie is oh-so blood boiling. More so when their seats are right in the middle of the row. And you know they're not late due to some urgent matters cause they'll be well supplied with popcorn, drinks and 'outside' food explicitly prohibited by the cinema management. And the temerity to look indignant when given the 'death stare' or told off politely. Such martyrs they become.

Inconsiderate idiots, and that's being restrained.

et tu, amicus?

Sometimes I wonder, why is having feelings for a friend such taboo?

I mean, thinking about it, shouldn't one get to know a person first before establishing a relationship that is more than platonic? I doubt anyone in the right frame of mind would say "oh, I've developed feelings for an acquaintance." Yet there always seems to be this burden of guilt that accompanies any confession of feelings towards a friend, more so if these feelings are first expressed to a third party. No doubt, falling for one's friend is always tricky, cause it stirs up the whole issue of "I want so-and-so as a boy/girl friend but I don't want to lose our friendship." Which makes one deduce that entering a relationship means the inevitable demise of a sound friendship.

Given, it's not easy, and revealing your feelings can be akin to tip-toeing around egg shells. The most horrifying reaction would be one of shock, where the object of your affections cries bloody treason and crucifies you for 'betraying' the friendship. That would mean, suppressing one's emotions is fine and dandy, but expressing them is a sin. Ask yourself, do you really want to spend a considerable amount of time with such an immature and ignorant person? I reckon, anyone who chastises a person for 'letting it all out' isn't worth the effort, trust me. Ahh, but then again, you wouldn't know if you don't ask, you retort. Fair enough; but if you do get such a response, then you know. Move on, move up.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying a proposal should always be met with acceptance. However, rejection should always be administered considerately, and as honestly as possible. After all, one should feel happy that there's someone else out there who fancies him/her. Happy, not egotistical. And it shouldn't be made into some sort of laughing matter when relaying the episode to your locker mates, drinking buddies or gossip mongers. If you can't respect another's endeavour, then it speaks volume of your character.

Here, I must state that 'you' doesn't refer to anyone or any scenario in particular; it just makes using an object of focus in this post easier. Yes, I'm trying to pre-empt any possible remonstrations and outcry that may arise. Or will arise.

Besides, I reckon it's more fun to write about stuff like this than Malaysian politics (shudder).

theatre of delusions

Watching MU getting their asses whipped in their own backyard was incredibly satisfying. Not because I support the Kopites (gasp!). It's been a long time coming, this shattering of the arrogance emanated by the Mancunians and their fans. Never hurts to get a dose of reality before one becomes too inflated with delusions of grandeur. Of course, excuses are flying thick and fast, most bordering on the ludicrous. Who cares, to be honest, when the end result is still the same.

Speaking of same results, I caught Valkyrie last week, and it was good. Yeah, I know there are plenty of people who dislike Tom Cruise for a myriad reasons, but if one can transcend past the dislike, then the movie is worth a viewing. There's a fine balance between dialogue, suspense, drama and action. It's not as gripping and dark as Downfall, but it's nowhere near being a flop, despite most people's damning verdict. I mean, do we actually take reviewers seriously, especially Malaysian ones? Failed film students they are, as someone once pointed out, and I tend to agree.

And to sign off today's post, here's a joke. Where imbeciles rule, idiots will follow. Taken from one of the gov's favourite lackeys, The Star.

Kuala Lumpur, National Union of Journalists president Norila Mohd Daud said the media had the right to publish what they felt about leaders, especially in their columns.

“That is what we call press freedom. The Chief Minister is a leader and naturally people would want to watch and follow his policies and moves.

“Even the Opposition has been asking for press freedom. Newspapers do not report on negative issues only,” she said.

Question: Is the woman

A. oblivious? or

B. delusional?

C. both of the above?

Where do these moronic, crap-talking fuckwits come from?

not what i had in mind

Looks like this 'withdrawal' is more than I bargained for. Made horribly tormenting by the fact that for some strange reason, I'm being given the cool shoulder. Not cold, just cool. Ironic, considering I'm trying to be cold and aloof. WTF???

Or is it just my imagination? I doubt it.

To hell with it! I don't care, not really. But I do know I've got to withdraw completely, or it'll be one of those never-ending puppy-love things. Which are incredibly damaging in the long run.

Still, many unanswered questions plague my mind. I've just gotta know; what's the fuck is the scoop on all this? In or out? Yes or no? For fuckssake, I'm never one to leave stones unturned when it comes to finding out something. Not when I really want to. So now another puzzle, why the sudden distance?

Do I really care enough to want to know? I don't. And that's a lie.

But I'll stick to the plan. More or less.

same ol' brand new me

Looks like the days where I could drink merrily all night long and awaken feeling none-the-worse for wear are long gone. Christ, what a massive headache; spanning a little over a day. I've really got to stop making exceptions for taking the odd drink or three; and this even applies to Bailey's, woman's drink or not.

Cameron's was one big laze fest; the massive crawls notwithstanding. The frequent 'winter' showers just further reduced the average metabolic rate to 'Barely Active'. Plenty of food, coupled with an overdose of CTT. Oh yeah, and copious amounts of whiskey on the side. I'm not going to venture into idiocy that is the Malaysian driver. Instead, I rather delve on the crisp weather that still prevails in Cameron's; the sinful strawberry-based desserts at Rajuu's, and the friendly services provided by the Country Lodge. It always helps to be in the company of like-minded travel mates, and this round was no exception, the Anfield-Old Trafford verbose spats included.

My drinking resolution having taken a severe beating, the relationship version fared slightly better. Didn't whine, pine, whinge or cringe. Not outwardly, at least. A random message caught me by surprise, and threatened to turn my scheme on its head, but Glenfiddich provided a very welcome respite. Why I'm letting this crawl under my skin, god only knows. Or maybe I do, as well.

So yeah, the weekend getaway was an opportune interruption from my schoolgirl-esque lamentations and tantrums. I'm back, feeling wonky, drowsy and a tad bit silly. Above all, the cold, bone-chilling weather seems to have done my head a world of good.

When I find out what that 'good' is all about, you'll be the second to know.

all quiet on the cold front

Okay, I'm at a chilled state of mind now.

I'm chilling, mentally. I'm mentally chilled.

Or should it be 'chill' without the -ed?

Hmm, I digress.

Okay, yeah so after consulting Guruji, I decided to sweep everything off the table. No, not for a menage. Figuratively speaking.

I'll be apathetic to any gestures, whatever-like to any signals. I'll be cooler than ice, I'll be ice-cold.

So I'm going to stick my heads in the clouds over the weekends, warm my lard-protected innards with whiskey, and blow some flavouring to the clean, crisp air around me. And when I return, you can call me Mr Freeze. Iceman sounds better though. Hmm, I need to think about that one. Mr Freeze sounds frigid.

Back to the matter at hand. Regardless of the moniker, I won't give a flying fuck. Cause I'm chilled (chill?).

Disclaimer: Author reserves the right to change persona, outlook and approach due to sms-es, calls or personal contact over the next few days. He is, after all, infatuated. Totally.

poly-ticks

You know what, to hell with Malaysian politics.

It's a brimful of hypocrisy, lies, racism and injustice.

The power-hungry parasites will not only do their best to regain what was lost, but also cling desperately to what they still have. Their lackeys, be they the blue-clothes, the media, the black robes or even the blue bloods, will continue to serve them in this life and the next. Hooligans are feted about, while commoners are showered with acid-water and tear gas.

So, it's not really worth it. A complete waste of time, considering one in two knows where the country is heading under the rule of these kleptomaniacs.

Democracy, if not already dead, is definitely heading for an early grave.

eesh

Wednesday is turning out to be one of those gloomy, low-key days that often occur about twice a week. Considering it's the middle of the week, that's not too bad. Though, I was expecting this week to be quite a shoo-in to the long weekend. Ah well, something about being unable to eat a cake.

All things considered, I'd have to find someone else to occupy my time. Which isn't easy given my exquisite tastes (laugh, and be damned). Yeah, it's always an issue for me, getting rid of someone from my head. There have been one or two cases of extended hauntings, months after I decided to move on. That's just the way my brain works, I guess. I fall easily, take ages to dust myself off, and then willingly tumble down again. Hence, this overwhelming annoyance with my idiocy.

Funny, some might be under the impression that I've broken up again. That impression would be wrong, to say the least. I'm just being fucking childish about not getting my way. Of which, I've done nothing. I hint, therefore I expect a positive response. I gesture, so all attention should be heaped on me. Eesh, how do I stand myself, I do not know.

What next? Don't bloody know. I'll probably be all roses and butterflies sometime next weekend. But maybe I should stop playing these foolish games. Blah blah blah, should this and should that and shouldn't those. Should can take a walk for all I care. A very long walk.

Time for a smoke.

ever so rarely, i can be an idiot

I guess the current 'campaign' is heading nowhere; nowhere near where I want to be. I'm oscillating between knocking my head on the wall and knocking my head on the table. Either way, it's knock, knock and yeah, knock. In many ways, I should know better. I really should. Is it any wonder I have all these bite marks?

So now that I've ascertained that the wall in front of me is way tougher than the one they had in Berlin, it's back to the drawing board. Knock, knock and knock. I could easily avoided all this balderdash if I'd screwed my head on a little bit tighter. And been more sensible about things. I don't jump, I plunge. And plan out my moves after I'm below the surface.

Okay, that's the end of the self-recriminating rants. Onwards march, I reckon. First on the agenda, a clear head. Hmm, perhaps something else should be first. Alright then, first on the list, ermm, a make-over. Yeah, that sounds like what most self-help wannabes would regurgitate. Next, go out more often. The streak stands at 8 consecutive weeks; that's two months' worth of weekends spent polishing the bars, sweeping the dance floors and gargling my mouth with ultra-sweet fizzies. Which reminds me, I really need to find a healthier alternative to the Cokes and Ginger Ales I've been guzzling down; I'm thinking Soda Water. I'm sure it has minute amounts of sugar and trace calories. I hope. Third, and most importantly, fuck everything. I'm just doing it my way. Like Frankie said. Yeah.

Once I've done all that, and patted myself on the back, looking rather smug, then I'll go clear my head.

All which means there'll probably be a similar epiphany within the next couple of months.

Yeah.

capsquare, but in lower case

Found: the world's most expensive beer.

I kid you not. Headed down to CapSquare over the weekend and made this stunning discovery. Well, I was stunned. Firstly, by the fact that the much-hyped about clubbing locale was anything but hyper. It was 'd' to tha 'ed'; dead. The only outlet with a semblance of Saturday night normalcy was Red Square, which is apparently KL's pioneer vodka bar. Every club these days seems to claim a 'first'; first to be this, and first to have that. And most of the time, after experiencing the club for the first time, it's back to the first impression one gets when entering the joint - BFD.

Anyways, I digress. Due to the zombie-like atmosphere at Modesto's and Urban Attic, I hopped across the impractically-built pavement and waltzed up to the entrance. As usual, the door bitches were anything but helpful. After repeating my question for the second time, the magic number comes trickling out; RM 50 cover charge, one drink provided. I mean, are these people living in 2009, or still stuck in 2007?

And then they seek sympathy by talking about how the economic slump is affecting business. Keep up those ridiculous prices, and it won't just be the economy that's slumping, mate. I have to say, sometimes I reckon KL coughs out clubs at a faster rate than Dubai erects hotels. It's stupefying how more and more clubs are littering every nook and cranny in town. Almost all advertise some form of uniqueness, all end up serving the same old roti kosong air suam. You name it; winter bar, ice bar, fire bar, water fountains, pole dancing; gimmicks which eventually become a bore, after a couple of months.

And since we're on this matter, it's mighty annoying to find 'working girls' infiltrating some of the trendier clubs these days. Where they once operated in Hard Rock and Beach Club, now they've even penetrated TwentyOne. I doubt any decent chap is going to be overly-attracted to a person who's lazing at the bar, and who's been sipping from the same drink for the past two hours; emphasis is on 'decent'. All they do is take up valuable bar space, which is a priceless commodity in rather small joints.

And leopard print dresses? Major time warp alert.