For What It's Worth

no money, no honey

2009-10-20T10:19:00.008+08:00

I want to be rich.

Not filthy rich, but rich rich. Like not having to worry about bills and credit cards and such. Where a thousand dollar suit is something I'd get on a whim, without the usual repercussions (read: shoestring budget for the next six months). Where I'd fly the first available flight, and not wait three months for a cheap seat on AA. Where getting a bottle is not up in the air, rather, how many and which blend.

Get it?

Which begs the question: how? Options include

(1) Striking it big in Toto (I seem to be capping it at RM4)

(2) Finding a hidden stash of loot from a bank robbery (highly unlikely)

(3) Robbing a bank (too tiring)

(4) Finding a sugar mummy (at my age?)

(5) Working hard (can I really enjoy my money at 65?)

So how how how how how (with tone)?

A bit of help would go a long way, mind you. So don't feel shy, or hold back whatever spare millions you'd like to dispose of. My bank account is but a phone call away, and I accept all forms of currency.

Okay, maybe not Zimbabwean dollars.

inspired

2009-08-27T16:09:00.002+08:00

sick

2009-08-26T16:52:00.001+08:00

i tore my heart open, i saw myself shine

2009-08-24T15:16:00.018+08:00

My heart is steel; my heart is nothing but cold, hard steel (repeatedly chanted).

And what's brought upon this latest turn of events? I'm sick and tired, frankly, more so with me than anything else. I'm tired of being infatuated with people, sick of being enamoured of interests, fed up of attractions leading to deeper feelings.

Inevitably I end somewhere in between crashing and burning, and getting my fingers caught in the cookie jar. Regardless, both spell out one word: unrequited. Which is classified under 'Epic Fail', to borrow someone's oft-used phrase.

So I've had enough. I really have. How long more can one go on like this eh?

Admittedly, I tried steeling myself sometime back, endeavoured to harden my head and my heart against all feelings of affections of the loving kind. I confess, sigh, that I failed. Then. I don't know; maybe it was faith, or hope or even a lingering suspicion that I'd get another stab at the Last Chance Saloon. I don't think it'll come to be. I think I've been wasting precious time hoping for the impossible.

As it were, I had been chasing the dream. Never one to settle for anything not up to my fine tastes, that's me. Much to my detriment, in hindsight. But even with knowing the stars are beyond my reach, I still can't compromise. So, rather than lull myself into just taking anything that would come my way, I'm putting an end to this ridiculous delusional fantasy called love. Why does that sound so fucking melodramatic? Okay, let me rephrase that: this ridiculous delusional fantasy called emotions of the romantic nature. There, I'm more comfortable with that.

And I think my resolve is made stronger by, ahem, 'A Guide to Steel-Plating An Emotional Heart'. I really do see where I've been fucking up. After a while, love, lust, affections, attractions and god knows what else all merge to create one hell of a fucked up potpourri.

But yeah, I'll get by. Emotional freedom, that's what I want. Free from the tuggings of my heartstrings. Free from the contemplations in my brain. Free from all the despair, and disappointment and depression.

Just free.

i is back, i thinks

2009-08-19T16:54:00.006+08:00

I guess somewhere along the way, I've lost the mood to write. Either that, or I've been too busy. Honestly speaking, I'm leaning towards the former.

I don't know why, though. Guess I've just had less and less to rant about. Or maybe I've grown tired of mouthing (texting?) off. Not that I'm remotely concerned, mind you.

Okay, so what's new? Nothing of great interest, I can tell you. Oh yeah, football's back, so that's always good. Of course, the Toffees had to screw things up by getting thrashed. Looks like it's going to be a dreadful season, if they continue this way. Bloody embarrassing, to say the least.

Money is tight, again. Fuckssakes! And just when I thought things would turn a corner. Keep the faith, I tell myself. But it is fucking tiring, I kid you not. Two steps forward, five steps back. Like a mambo gone awry. Just hate scrapping through (by); at the end of the day, an empty wallet and emptier bank account. Eesh.

Okie, at least there's Bali and Saigon to look forward too, and a sponsored trip to Langkawi thrown in for good measure. Just hope to have enough resources to enjoy the getaways, and not have to scrounge around again. Hate having to save the pennies when travelling; just kills off the fun.

Sometimes, I think money does make the world go round. And round. And round.

stop politicising, I tell you.

2009-08-03T17:16:00.003+08:00

Why does the government keep barking out demands to "stop politicising [insert issue here]"?

I mean, they arrest hundreds of peaceful demonstrators, then state that the issue shouldn't be politicised. They detain politicians who oppose their despotic ways, and tell the public to stop politicising the matter.

For Chrissakes, anything remotely related to the government is fucking politics. ISA is bloody politics. The increase in oil and food prices is, you guessed it, goddamn politics.

I'm not sure about you, but when someone flies out of the window while being interrogated by corrupt anti-corruption goons, you can bet your last dollar politics is involved.

What, do they think we're fucking stoopid or something?

MMS=Malaysian Mega Sale?

2009-07-07T16:14:00.009+08:00

So the Sales are back.

Question: did they ever leave? If I recall correctly, there seemed to be a sale every single month since September last year. In various guises: Raya Sales, Christmas Sales, New Year Sales, Chinese New Year Sales, etc. So does the prefix 'Mega' imply that things will be really, really cheap? Or just another one of those gimmicks Malaysian retailers are so fond of?

But fair enough, off with the cynicism. And in with reality. Can we really afford to be splurging when times are rocky, at best? Yes, I refer to the economy, for those slowly crawling out of their comfortable moss-covered rocks. The Great Economic Slump which has hit almost every country, except Malaysia, if the media is to be believed. I think one can always gauge how bad times are by the paranoia displayed by the average executive. When people are hesitant to even take a valid MC for swine flu (or whatever the gov calls it), you know employers are wielding the axe handily. As The Verve put it so bitterly, "we're a slave to the money, then we die."

Back to the Sales. It appears Mastercard is waxing lyrical about 'generosity without splurging' or something closely related. Yeah, right. Let's see how 'generous' the banks are when they start hounding credit card users for late payments and overdue accounts. Even more incredulous is some banks offering Personal Loans for the shopping season. WTF???

So yeah, despite all the doom and gloom about the threat of a global economic holocaust (softened by the wool that's the AH1N1 outbreak), it's good to know that retail therapy is still being prescribed heartily. Disregard the fact that it is this very therapy which led us all to a mess which even the messianic Obama can't seem to untangle.

But enough of common sense. I'm already eyeing the clothes at Marks & Sparks (wink wink).

worked to death, beaten to death and only paid after death

2009-07-02T11:07:00.014+08:00

Okay, yet another Malaysia rant. Bear with me k? Cause I haven't done this in a long while.

I think the growing number of cases involving abused Indonesian maids is highly reflective of the current state of Malaysian society. In general, we've become so fucking absorbed in the rat race, and as a result, have become mightily arrogant. An arrogance that's befitting a collective herd of ignorant, self-centred, narcissistic hypocrites.

And before any of you start huffing and puffing and begin to experience nose-flaring, look at the myriad pictures of the poor abused souls in the local papers (who, incidentally, have stopped any mention of any further maid abuse cases). What on earth gives these fucking sadistic Malaysian sickos the right to treat people like that? And so what if it happens in Singapore, HK and the Middle East? Does it make it justifiable that it happens here too?

And in true Malaysian style, the entire ugly episode first gets distorted, then is promptly swept under the nearest tikar. From addressing the plight of the victims, Malaysians (led by the Man in the Street) started justifying these horrendous acts by highlighting how Indo maids (a) stole from them, (b) ran way, (c) spoke back, (d) fought back, or (e) all of the previous.

So essentially what these pompous pricks are telling is that it's okay to (a) beat the shit out of the maids, (b) pour boiling hot water over them, (c) tan them with an iron, (d) smash their faces into the wall and (e) all of the previous (bonus points for a abuse combo) because they deserve it.

Notice how these abuse cases almost exclusively involve Indonesians. Yet again, since they're perceived to be poorer, some Malaysians think they can treat them like sub-humans. Yet these same scumbags do not have the balls, eggs and whatever else to do the same with Filipinas, for example. Thus it all boils down to playing bully. Pick on those who are meek, and steer away from those who will fight back.

Has the problem been solved? Have the perps been convicted? An overwhelming no. Even better, our inept jokers in power have been busy boasting how Indonesia will suffer because of its ban on sending maids over. The cretin who call themselves 'media' here have been gleefully showcasing how Malaysia is the hub of maids, and how the Indonesian population will be on the losing end for not sending over thousands to the various 'concentration camps' here.

But you know what, this is the Malaysia everyone busy brags about. On one side, you have the white elephants that litter the streets and nooks and crannies in KL, the modern infrastructure, the glitzy clubs and vibrant restaurants. But beneath that facade, a far uglier face manifests itself. Social apathy, unchecked crime, animal cruelty, human cruelty and a host of other infestations.

The article below just goes to prove my point to a tee.

What about employer abuse?

       Submitted by pekwan on Friday, July 3rd, 2009    

                     Friday, July 3rd, 2009 03:47:00        

I don't mean to sound heartless, but some of these abuse cases are totally over-rated and have been brought up too many times.

Why do we, as Malaysians, care so much about Indonesians? We should be looking out for our own people.

So far, how many abuse cases of Indonesian maids are there - four or five a year?

Now, how many Indonesian maids run away from their employers who spent thousands of ringgit just to get them here? I'm sure it's more than 50 in a year.

Furthermore, the ones that do stay can't even do their jobs right. I mean, how difficult is it keeping a house clean and taking care of small children?

If you don't want to work, then why bother coming here?

Then, there are cases of maids abusing their employer's children. Why not expose those cases as well? Are the fates of Malaysian children not as important as that of migrant workers?

Aren't they "the future of our country"?

Why does the government not make a big deal of those things? Why not start an issue with the Indonesian government, as it has done with us?

The Indonesian government now wants to stop sending maids to Malaysia. I say it's proper. But is that going to work? I'm sure those people will find out a way to sneak into our country.

When a maid runs away from her employer, the employer has to pay a deportation fee. Not only has the employer lost thousands of ringgit in agency fees to get the maid, he or she now has to pay extra because of the maid's ill-behaviour. Why should we pay to send them back? Their government should be held responsible for them.

Issues like these make me so angry, especially when I read in the newspapers
of yet another abuse case reported.

If we are so sadistic and love to read about people getting abused, then report also on Malaysians who are getting abused.

I apologise for the tone of my letter, but I feel that's the only way I can get my point across.

Shazreeza AK
Shah Alam

Malaysia Boleh, no?

Switch the Channel: Desperado is on.

2009-07-02T10:29:00.011+08:00

It's really amazing to see how desperate Malaysians are to be in the world spotlight. If it were for something of substance or meaningful, then by all means, go ahead.

But reality reads: trivial, mundane, inconsequential. The things people here conjure up to cement their 15 minutes of fame borders between hilarity and incredulity.

Take this latest attempt by to swim across the English Channel. Why, oh why? To be the f irst Malaysian girl to do so, it appears. So initially it was First Malaysian, now it's First Malaysian [insert gender].

I mean, not to sound discouraging, but BFD.

Think about it, why hasn't there been any Malaysian who has attempted to swim along Sg Rajang? Or across the Straits of Malacca or the South China Sea? What's so earth-movingly spectacular about paddling through the Channel?

I reckon, maybe it's a subconscious form of inferiority complex. Since the Brits colonised Malaya centuries ago, some Malaysians feel the need to flick a finger back by, get this, conquering the Channel. Oh wow! Yeah.

And just to put things in perspective, Wiki quotes, "The total number of swims conducted under and ratified by the Channel Swimming Association to 2005: 982 successful crossings by 665 people. This includes twenty-four 2-way crossings and three 3-way crossings."

That's the country for you: plenty of chest thumping, thrash talking and brash bragging, little of everything else.

feeling of loss

2009-06-29T10:41:00.005+08:00

Not a good weekend. Losing a relative is never easy, especially someone who's always tried to help me along my career path. Vaya con dios, Uncle.

I think whenever there's a passing, I tend to feel most sorry for the ones left behind. In my naive mind, the dearly departed are headed for a place way better than this hellhole. Guess we all have to believe that is the case, or there's really nothing to live for then, is there?

On another note, got the second tatt touched up, looks awesome. Maybe I exaggerate, but I really like it. And when the first one finally heals, a bit of background and I'm done. Really.

I predict a really hectic week in the making, on a personal and emotional level.

And I'm going to quite two vices, before the year draws to a close. The stats don't look good.

desperately seeking Mr O. Self

2009-06-24T18:11:00.005+08:00

Gasp, nearly three weeks since my last post.

Totally unacceptable. Yet, I can't say I've had an overwhelming inclination to write something. Not so much a writer's block as well. Uninspired would be a tad more accurate. Have just been unable to get myself onto Blogspot and spurt out a few words.

So-so; that's how I'd describe things currently. Things inside me, things around me, things. Go with the flow, and such inane, corny cliches. After all, what's new, pussycat? Eh?

Still unsure where I'm heading with all this, or where I want to head. I'm just strolling along, checking out the rare fancies that catch my eye. Nothing substantial in that. But it's helping me move on, so that can't be that bad.

Unfortunately, I really can't find the old me. I think it's dead and gone. Okay, I had to slip that in. But in all seriousness (if one can even be serious about such things), I've 'misplaced' my comfy old persona. More like I killed it, and I'm now regretting it. It's funny how you try so hard to suppress something, only to realise how much you actually need it, and then find that it's gone. Out of the park, far far away. Yeah, something like that.

But never one to pine for what's done and dusted (yeah, right), I'm carrying on with this new, not-so-nice me. As long as I get through the days not contemplating what ifs and permutations in my thick skull, I'm happy.

Though I get this sneaky feeling, not for long. Being happy, that is.

sobriety sucks

2009-06-05T18:30:00.004+08:00

I'm gonna stop drinking for a while, indefinitely. Does that make bloody sense?

Back to the programme. Yeah, I know I've declared that many times over, the most recent being sometime in April or May. This time, though, it's gotta stick.

Gotta sort out some things, and I need to be fully sober to do so. Besides, there's only so much abuse my body can take, and it's time to give it a rest. Take it down a notch, and ease around. Something like that.

Can't wait to burn off the calories next week. Think perhaps I used the geisha a bit too much as an excuse not to workout. Well, no excuses next week, I promise.

Okay, gotta run now. Perhaps I'd better walk instead.

lost

2009-06-01T17:44:00.002+08:00

"Where do we go, where do we go now..."

Good question, can't think of a good answer.

But less time spent contemplating the answer is definitely a good thing.

Drink, drink, drink and be ill tonight, remember? And tomorrow night and the night after that, and after that and after that and ...

Watched Angels & Demons over the weekend; it's definitely better than The Da Vinci Code. As is the protagonist's hairdo.

Rome is truly a remarkable city, if you haven't already noticed already. Simply amazing. That's one place that's a given on my bucket list. And maybe watch a Roman derby. Who knows eh?

hello there

2009-05-28T17:31:00.002+08:00

Hmm, it's been quite a while since I last posted. Not that things have been maddeningly hectic; just couldn't cough up something worth writing.

Updates, you ask? Well, finally got inked. Love the design, loved the pain, and looking forward to the next one. Don't get me wrong, it wasn't painless; but my threshold for pain seems to have increased dramatically over the past few months. Which is good. I reckon the crisscrosses were far more painful than the needling, and even then, they merely stung, thanks to copious amounts of alcohol.

Barca gave Manure a 2-0 thrashing; a humbling lesson in football and grace. Great news. Hats off to the Catalans for emulating what Milan did in 2007 - thwarting the hordes from the EPL. On saying that, it'll be even greater news if Everton were to finally win a piece of silverware after umpteen years this Saturday. Fingers crossed. Maldini will play his last match this weekend; just one word - class. Absolute class. One would never find such a player in the EPL, that's for sure.

Love life is non-existent, surprise surprise. Even worse, more and more I find myself slipping away from my love (like?) interest; really need to cling on to something and haul myself back into the reckoning. Not that I was ever in the reckoning in the first place.

But hey, this is my piece of cyber property, so I'll delude myself as much as I want, thank you very much. So yeah, dammit! I need to start rubbing the twigs together and produce anything that resembles a flame, be it a minuscule spark or a wisp of smoke. Anything.

A laborious endeavour indeed.

Prometheus, where art thou?

are we clear now?

2009-05-21T17:32:00.002+08:00

Clarity under intoxication

I'm still trying to articulate my thoughts on that. I've been saying it quite often these past few weeks, without really explaining what I mean; all of which has left some people wondering if I've got full control of my mental faculties. More so when I'm trying to express it over a drink, or six.

Here goes. First the disclaimer; this epiphany-like condition only applies now; previous bouts (read: ten years ago) were purely an exercise in futility in trying to shove everything in my head down the drain. Needless to say, the only thing that went down the drain was the contents of my abused guts. Onwards to 2009 (hope this isn't the start of a ten-year cycle).

I seriously reckon over-thinking is a disorder. I mean, it just sends you (me) down this downhill slope right into Despair Zone. Myriad scenarios, situation, outcomes and permutations race around my brain, in some damaging Brownian motion. Then wham! bam! The collision. And the realisation that everything will end in abject failure. Which is not pleasant, in whatever manner imaginable.

But with fermented rye and barley and wheat and God knows whatever else is put in liquor, the fog parts, to reveal the dark clouds. Therein lies the clarity. No what-ifs, no questions up in the air, no will-it-work-outs helter-skeltering about in this thick-skull. And for that moment in comforting intoxication, I know everything will come to naught. No buts, no maybes, just a stake-driven Nyet.

After all, what can be more welcome than the absolute truth, boiled in whiskey and garnished with ginger ale?

And the next morning, when everything is one smorgasbord of a mess, the carousel starts again.

Clarity under intoxication - now do you get it?

the world through a frosted mug

2009-05-19T17:34:00.003+08:00

Why do I drink?

Why do you drink?

I don't mean having a sip or two, or a shot or three. I mean good ol' intoxication-induced drinking. The type where you stare blankly at the bill, unsure if you can't believe how much you've spent, or how much you've consumed. That's what I mean by 'drink'.

So yeah, why do you and I and anyone else who staggers away from a bar drink?

Which leads to a more profound question - does it matter?

And the answer is no, it doesn't.

Cause nothing really matters, to me (fade song).

where have all the days gone...?

2009-05-18T17:36:00.002+08:00

How swiftly the weekend vanishes.

Hit the sack at 3AM, and next thing you know, the alarm's blaring at 7 on Monday morning. I know, time and tide wait for no man, but they could at least waltz by at a slower pace, couldn't they? Very inconsiderate of them.
One thing productive from the weekend, other than the bucket loads of sweat I oozed, is that I've more or less settled on my work of art. Have to run it by one or two 'advisers' and see what they think. But I'm quite pleased with the proposed piece, I must say.

On another note, I kinda like being 'convolutedly ambivalent'; it has a rather calming effect on my inner chakras. Fair enough, there's no such thing as 'convolutedly' but the meaning is pretty clear, no? Admittedly, I do get stirred up once in a while (with 'while' being rather frequent), but a couple of bitch slap and People's Elbows sees the restless feelings held down temporarily.

Which is why booze is definitely a humongous no-no for me. Sober, things are quite manageable. Sloshed, and out come the little demons for a bit of playground time, see-sawing and swinging about.

Oh, and I've really got to cut down on the smokes, like, totally. Been receiving lots of complaint messages from Mr Lungs and Mrs Heart. And I just hope situation down South doesn't take a turn for the worse. No, really.

And hey, note, no whining here this time around.

there are four jokers in a deck, y'know

2009-05-15T12:41:00.012+08:00

First of all, I know what 'joker in the pack' means; someone who is unpredictable yah-dee-dah.

Now that I've highlighted my literary knowledge, I can move on to what I actually what I wanted to say. Every now and then, I get sick and tired of being a joker. Not in the pack, but in everything. Or, more accurately, being taken for a joker. After a while, who takes you seriously eh? You're expected to provide the laughs, the lawak bodoh, the antidote to everyone else's gloom.

Laugh a little less, and it's an immediate "something's wrong with him/ her". Crack one joke less, "something bothering you?" It's bemusing how easily people take others at face value. Get drunk once, and you're a drunkard for life. Sounds familiar to most of us, I'm sure.

I am entitled to a bad day or two, surprise surprise. Unbelievable, but even jesters toss their hats away and slump down on the chair, depressed or dismayed or upset or just plain saddened. And that's definitely hard to fathom for some, by the look of things.

Then again, question: do I give a damn?

Answer: Vehement, expletive-filled NO!

three nights in Bangkok and I'm none the wiser

2009-05-14T17:32:00.004+08:00

So I'm back from Bangkok.

No use in whining and moaning; all roads lead back home, whether I like it or not. Just have to get on with things and look forward to the next getaway.

I find the word 'getaway' more spot-on than 'holiday' or 'vacation'. A momentary distraction to get away from the mess that I've created. Would it make sense if I said I was running away from myself? The only thinking I had to do was decide where to go, what to eat etc. And it was liberating for an all-too brief span of time. Nothing on this convoluted mind to paint a dark picture. Shopping was great, food was delectable (as usual) while the partying (albeit slightly muted) was pleasantly distracting. Though I must say, with all honesty, I mildly regret not doing one or two things in particular. Next time, definitely.

I know, I usually post the ins-and-outs of my trip. But things change. So this time, around I'm not reviewing the hotel, and the food and all the good things about Bangkok (which far outweigh KL). I wasn't keen on coming back, at least, not that soon. Enough of that, anyways.

They keep coming back. Think it's a name of a low-budget horror flick or something. Yeah, but they do. Just when I think I'm safely beyond their grasp, they just reach out and grab me, refusing to let go. I struggle and twist and turn, and I succeed, for a while. Before the whole dance starts again. I'm sure of the outcome, which will be inevitable failure; self-fulfilling prophecy and all.

I mean, I shouldn't kid myself eh?

round and round the mulberry bush

2009-05-08T17:36:00.011+08:00

I think hectic barely describes today. Frantic, maybe. Or even helter skelter. Tomorrow's going to be even more so, I reckon.

At this very moment, I'm itching to head downtown for a bit of wining and grinding. Which will mean a late night out, and barely enough sleep for the flight tomorrow. Any sensible person would head home early to start packing and get enough mileage in slumberland; operative phrase being 'sensible person'. Somehow sensible and me haven't been seeing eye-to-eye for several weeks now.

I may be deluding myself, but I think, I think, I've lost a respectable two kilos over the past two weeks or so. If that's indeed the case, then woo-hooh! I'm not going to say it's due to the heavy drinking; that'd really make me delusional. Probably the fact that I haven't been supping late at night. Remember all that jazz about eat right, live right? Yeah, one out of two ain't half bad, mum.

For once, I'm going to stay away from the padkapaos. I'm serious. Okay, maybe I'll have one serving. Just one, mind you. And definitely no beers to chase the food down. Fingers crossed.

On a totally random out-of-the-air note, caring less had made me less, erm, depressing. Yes, that's not a grammatical error. Whatever fucking goes.

Okay, back to the post. Think a ten-minute nap, followed by some coffee, and I'll probably head home.

are we human or are we Dancer?

2009-05-06T17:50:00.000+08:00

I think I'm a rather good dancer.

In the club, that is.

Yeah, there used to be moments when I wasn't inclined to move my arse off the stool as I knocked back shot after shot of whiskey.

But somehow the 'old' old me has managed to emerge from the thorns and shrubs and bushes that have enveloped me over the past ten years or so.

This XO me that used to head straight to the dance floor instead of the nearest spot on the bar. And it feels good, just moving and grooving (do they still use this word?) to the sound of the music. Five minutes on the elliptical, and I'm struggling to stay on my feet. Two hours on the dance floor, and I'm hoping it's not the last call for the night.

Maybe there's still some youngish blood running through my cholesterol-clogged veins; maybe I still have the tar-covered heart of a 20-year old. Who knows eh?

What I do know is that it feels liberating just prancing about without a care in my head; every dark page just flies out the window the moment the notes starts caressing my brain.

So yeah, just dance. And dance.

damages pending

2009-05-04T17:48:00.001+08:00

Five days, and I haven't touched a drop of alcohol. Woo-hoo!

Thursday was a real bitch, considering I was so blood tempted. Sat myself down in Starbucks and OD-ed on caffeine instead.

Which isn't really a healthy alternative, but a safer alternative nevertheless. And even in Club 9 and Zouk and Envie and Twenty One, the temptation was driving me up the wall, but somehow I got through.

So here I am, sober as a judge, with not so much of a twinge of longing for drinks. Not yet, anyways.

The last straw was the doctor gently chiding me for my rate of consumption. And a cute doctor at that. So how could I go against her wishes eh? (wink wink)

But yeah, the damage to my body has been overwhelmingly painful, and that's putting it mildly. Probably over-drank Wednesday last week; there were angry welts all over my back, and rashes littered my arms and hands. Add to that the numerous cuts and bruises and swellings and I think it's a good thing I stopped while I was ahead. And we're not even going to talk about the damage inside my head.

I dance to forget, I drink to remember, and everything else just passes by.

So yeah, it's back to ginger ale and soda water for me. In no way have I exorcised the gremlins in my head (some have returned from the dead), neither have I addressed the issue at hand. But in a way, the resignation that I'll not get what I want has made me calmer, oddly enough.

The old me's dead and gone.

Not really. But such is life, eh?

sing when you're drinking

2009-04-29T17:33:00.003+08:00

It's been ages since I last posted; more than a week constitutes ages in blogland, I reckon. Just didn't have the mood, the drive, the mental capacity to write anything beyond the darkest shade of black. Which would have bored most of you, I'm sure. Oh no, not another morose post, I would have heard you sigh. So does that mean I'm in a better mood now? Hmm, by the merest iota of difference, yes.

Some credit has to go to the Famous Grouse. Yes, that scotch bird who looks out furtively over every bar shelf. And it's not a bad drink, by any means. One of the more under-rated drinks, if there ever was one. Whether with soda, coke or ginger ale, it goes down relatively smoothly. Then again, after five shots, everything goes down smoothly.

I wouldn't say I've fallen off the wagon, but I'd say I've missed getting sloshed and having my brain cells die in the rushing flood that is booze. And momentarily submerging all the demons in the swirling mixture of malt and barley and rye and God knows what else. The fact that sobriety is constrained to the day is even more liberating, for some convoluted reason.

So yeah, only time will tell how long the drunken debauchery will last, but while it's alive and kicking, then all I can say is "kampai".

Here's a completely random piece of text; a verse from The Smiths. Can't find the video for the song, though.

Loved and lost
And some may say
When usually it’s nothing
Surely you’re happy
It should be this way ?
I said "no"
And then I shot myself
So, drink, drink, drink
And be ill tonight

one-two combo

2009-04-20T18:20:00.000+08:00

I am calm.

Surprisingly so.No more confusion, no more drama.

Everything's been forcibly put in perspective. Which is what should have been done in the first place. There is no one else to blame, no circumstances to bemoan. There's just me.

Time to grow up. Time to grow out of this cocoon of debility that I've allowed to wrap me in. Time to stamp out the little imps creating mischief in my brain. Time to bring the misplaced affectivities under control. Time for action.

But above all, time for a cigarette.

i like girls, they like me

2009-04-17T17:38:00.003+08:00

I just realised, I've been listening to two songs over and over and over again for the past two hours. Yeah, they're catchy and bouncy and danceable and all that, but still...

Weirdo alert!

On top of that, I spent another two hours people-watching down at Starbucks, black, white, Puerto Rican, Chinese etc. Some sort of a pseudo-spacing out session. I hardly touched the magazines I'd greedily plucked off the rack; was too engrossed looking at people, and through them, to some far away corner where I re-examined all my schemes and plans. I lie, there was just one. Yeah, yeah, yawn yawn, blah, blah.

TGI Friday, huh? Nothing more than another round of cigarettes, loud music, sardine cans and aching muscles. But you know what, there's really nothing else to kill time with once the sun sets. A movie; yet again? Stay in; right. So we scour the night, revelling in the cover of the dark. I think clubbing on a Friday night given; the only variables are the venue, and the crowd. Make that 'company', two and three and all that.

You know what, sometimes it's difficult to see where tantrums end, and realisation begins. Like, seriously. So at this moment in time, am I throwing a tantrum, or am I wisening up? My problem is I often oscillate between the two, at the wrong moments. I'm oblivious to being taken for granted when it's blatantly happens, yet I'm petulant when there is no slight. That's more one ingredient to the boiling pot which is my confused state of mind. I inevitably get annoyed with beings who remain confused for long periods of time, so I guess I'm displaying a small degree of favouritism towards myself. Just a small degree, mind you.

And guess what, there is no such remedy as 'just chill'. Who 'just chills'? No one that I know of. Everyone says it, but come on, honestly? Unless one has a fatalistic approach to life and surrenders everything to fate or destiny or such, I reckon there's a reason for horns on the bull.

So enjoy the weekend, get laid, get drunk, dance till you drop. Yeah, whatever.

pick me up and lift me down

2009-04-16T17:44:00.000+08:00

Not an auspicious start to Thursday. Some results go your way, some don't. Today, they didn't. Ah well, there's always the penultimate round.

The only consolation? It's Friday tomorrow. What the connection is, don't ask me. I'm just stating the obvious.

"Look baby, I'm a heartbreaker, I'm a heartbreaker".

Okay, I confess, I'm confused. Which is why some conversations don't have a point. It's not that I'm being wishy-washy about things; I just don't know what I want. Not at the moment. And honestly speaking, I'm comfortable with being confused; gives me a certain blanket of acceptability to behave unadult-like now and then. But seriously, who cares right? Just go out, have fun, chill about, socialise around, everything's easy-peasy. It should be. Trick is not to over-think things. In fact, it's better not thinking at all. Go with the flow, Joe.

Good thing is, I'm looking forward to another round of clubbing. It's mind-numbingly pleasurable, I tell you. I doubt I'm going to be able to practise corny pick-up lines. Question: do guys still use pick-up lines these days? Do dodgy men go up to women and wax lyrical about stolen stars and fallen angels? Or is it more a case of familiarity breeds conversation? You sit down next to a person long enough in the night, and channels open up. There's something about pick-up protocol in The Game, but my memory fails me. Or it could be that I never read that particular chapter; the chapter on 'scoring' in the club.

You know what, I've got to get myself a cookie jar. And fill it up with delicious cookies of all shapes, sizes and ingredients. Hmm, that would be something constructive which takes up my time.

Yeah.

bangkok dangerous

2009-04-13T17:42:00.004+08:00

I just had to. The irony was too tempting to be ignored.

On saying that, I'm feeling a tad bit antsy over the situation in Bangkok, just a tad. Hopefully, there'll be no need to postpone, or even cancel, my trip. I'm hoping the spirit of Buddha will prevail upon the good senses of the Thais, and they'll resolve their political mess before Wesak. Otherwise, I'll have to sort out the refund mess with Air Asia.

Some sort of a deja vu, this whole incident. The 2006 army coup occurred just a couple of months before my most recent visit there; luckily, it was more of a cordial and festival-like atmosphere.

This time around, things look pretty nasty, what with the Redshirts bent on provoking the powerful military. Still no sign from the Palace as to where their support lay. It doesn't help that the former owner of Man City is openly calling for a revolution; based on the revolution in Man City, I don't think it'll be create that much of an impact.

I think the one overriding lesson to be learnt here is that mob rule begets mob rule. Yellowshirts, Redshirts, Blueshirts, it doesn't matter. All it takes is precedence, and everyone starts getting delusions that wearing a certain coloured T-shirt and demonstrating around town will topple a government and bring about a new one.

Democracy, and the ballot box, may not be the solution to every political, economic and social woe, but it's the best system as yet. It's just the implementation of the system that's creating room for discord and dissatisfaction. All that this turmoil will only achieve is the total loss of income from tourists, like moi; estimated to stand at around THB 2 billion (correct me on the figure). Ultimately, it's a lose-lose situation for everybody involved, from the roadside hawker all the way up to the aristocrats.

And the many loyal tourists who make their annual visit to the Land of the Buddhas.

So yeah, fingers crossed, spirits appeased, coconuts shattered.

the gods must be crazy, to send such gifts

2009-04-10T17:45:00.004+08:00

God is benevolent. God is giving.

You don't believe me? Take a walk around town; admire the blue skies, treasure the green trees. Give thanks for His Gifts to Mankind, for they are in abundance. In the sky, around us, in the clubs. Eh, what's that, you ask quizzically. In the club? Yah yah, you heard right.

Even in the clubs, divine treasures are aplenty. Spend one weeknight clubbing away, and you'll nod in agreement the next time we discuss this matter. And if you're a woman, you've more reason to get down on your knees. For among the mere mortals, between the throngs of the common males, walk God's Gifts. Solely for women. Yes, capital 'G's.

They are not just flesh and bone, no siree. They are Adonis personified, the Achilles' of the modern age, immortal Casanovas. Looking at them leaves you in awe. Their black greasy hair, combed slickly to the back. Some sport ponytails, some have sworn off hair. Others parade a straightened mane, strands of silky threads that do not ruffle easily. The fairer they are, the more majestic the walk, the higher the tilt of the chin.

A number wear sunglasses, even in the dark, for such is the intensity of their stare that you might swoon from ecstasy. They don't walk, they swagger, perhaps stagger.

And if you happen to be brushed aside or knocked against, give thanks, you've been Touched. If they deign you worthy, then they will grace you with their eloquent repartee. For they are men of few words, known. Since they're GGWs, they know your heart's desire, even if you have no inkling of it. You may shirk away from banter, but they feel your attraction towards them. Which woman will spurn the chance to be grabbed by a heavenly being, only God knows.

And after the revelry, the GGWs depart the club alone. But do not even think for a second that they have met with failure. Nay, au contraire, it is the women who have failed to convince the GGWs of their worthiness of being allowed to walk by the side of these magnificent creatures. Believe not the fishwife tales that speak ill of them; nothing but wagging tongues of lesser men. The GGWs bear their burden with great angst, for every woman that slips through their greasy palms is a woman deprived of delectation.

But fear not, daughters of Eve. These noble beings will return the following weekend. And the following weekend, and the following weekend, and the fol...I think you understand.

So ladies, the next time you hit the floor, seek after these Gifts. Watch them walking towards you, and step aside.

Step aside all the way to the other side of the club.

gimme the night

2009-04-09T17:48:00.001+08:00

I was sitting down with a homie yesterday, doing the usual PJ Tea Party circuit. We went through the all the compulsory topics - politics, crime, football, relationships; before we climbed aboard the time capsule and headed back to the hedonistic days of the 90s.

This time around, it wasn't about who-did-what at school, or who-said-what. It was more a 'review' of the many nights spent gallivanting about, painting the town red and brown and any other colour that defines puke. And despite all the holes in the memory and the depleted brain cells that hold the grey matter together, two things stuck out, like a not-so-sore thumb.

One was the fact that we had patronised almost every pub/ club that existed back in those days. Some serious nights out they were. Our tours had taken us from the streets of Telawi, to Sultan Ismail, up and around Tun Razak and almost everything in Bandar Utama/ Damansara Utama. PJ was a given, considering there were only two places of note, DV8 and Waikiki. Just roll-calling the places reads like a where's where. Hard Rock, Jump, Boom Boom, Renaissance, Baze (and all its manisfestations), Spoon's, Spike's, Uno's, Rio's, Twelve SI, Emporium and its predecessor, Modesto's (every outlet around town), good old Brannigan's - the list just goes on and on. I mean, at one point or another, we had popped in every watering hole along Telawi, left, right and centre.

Okay, I know you're going "big fucking deal, so what?" Well, the fact that we weren't working is one; the other is when oh when did we sleep? Maybe that explains the constant eyebags that haunt me to this day.

The second recall was darker; we were running through the list of synthetic organics that we'd ingested during that era. Yes, it was an era. A time when roadblocks were next-to-none; when the crowd almost everywhere was heterogeneous; when one could smoke essentially anywhere under the Sun. But yeah, it's a small wonder my body has been able to expel all the toxins accumulated over the past 15 years or so; I've ingested more than my share of rubbish. Blame it on the times, the age or the crowd. Whichever way, it's a good thing I outgrew it rapidly. No, I don't mean size-wise.

I guess all's well that ends well. Personally, the itch to knock back a couple of shots has subsided. After all, I use to knock a bottle of cheap ass Balailayka every night for months. And if that doesn't kill you, then rejoice, nothing else will.

And as for The Others, well, all I can say is Puff! Vanished the Magic Dragon.

i really should rate this post 18+

2009-04-07T17:41:00.003+08:00

Wow, we are already two days into the new week, and I'm still recovering from the weekend that was. The super long nights (I don't recall crawling into bed anytime before 5AM) have really made it very, very difficult to wake up for work. Really felt it this morning especially; what's in your head, zombie. I hope the power nap (felt like 15 minutes) helps later in the day; do need to do a spot of cross-skiing (that's elliptical trainer to those not in the know).

Just a quick note: Mist is definitely the new Bangsar. No, it's just one building. But the crowd, well, it was just one flashback after another. Faces last seen at Modesto's or Big Willy's or Gasworks. Which puts the club in perspective, a homing beacon for the Bangsar diaspora long dispersed for the past decade, a homecoming of the prodigal children. And now that you know, doI need not mention the demographics of the patrons? The music oscillates between great and grating. Drinks are expensive, but I guess that's the only way to keep out the pariahs. And finally, las chicas there will leave you misty eyed. Hot Peri-peri all the way.

I was sitting down with some fellow wise men (pardon the presumption) for nasi lemak last night; oddly enough, our conversation steered towards the subject of sex. Philosophically, of course. Or, we'd like to think it was philosophical, and not downright perverty (copyrighted word alert).

Anyways, where was I, yeah, sex. Specifically, the hardware needed to perform the action. Too technical? How about sticks and pits? Better? Good. So basically, over the years, I've read some literature on the 'erotic arts'; mainly Chinese and Indian (in English, of course). And it's very apparent that Eastern eroticism (henceforth Ee) emphasises more on technique and spirituality for orgasmic satisfaction, rather than the specs of the tools involved.

Think about it, I doubt it's mentioned anywhere in the Kama Sutra that for best enjoyment, the two key figures are 36 D and 12 inches. Neither does Ee stress again and again on methods of elongating appendages and ballooning up mammaries. All they espouse, in a nutshell, is learn how to blow (breathe that is, breathe) and you'll be a bedroom Eros or Nymph.

Admittedly, some societies who practise Ee take things to the extreme; tiger penises and rhino balls and antler horns are not going to make things jiggy in the bedroom. Many wannabe Romeos in the Orient have contributed to the drastic reduction in a number of fauna species. Stop fucking kidding yourself. Cheaper alternative, fool, Viagra.

For all the sexual liberation brought on by Western erotica, it's obvious that a second, more discrete phenomenon has followed. The need to supersize. Now seriously, does anyone really want to be the next Dolly? The singer, not the sheep. Or perhaps, the modern Long Dong Silver? And if these names sound Greek to you, then obviously you missed out on the greatest of decades, mate.

But like I was saying, what's so erotic about plasticky (c.w.a) sandbags or a vericose garden hose? I mean, really.

wii-ing around in the universe

2009-04-02T17:40:00.002+08:00

I'm going to sound like I've just stepped out of the Stone Age, but Nintendo Wii is really cool.

There. Raise your eyebrows as much as you want.

I had an all-too-brief go at Star Wars yesterday, and it was quite exhilarating swinging the remote around, and watching the lightsabre slice through the enemy on-screen. The fact that my arm was aching after some 5 minutes of slashing, and thrusting and parrying added to the realism of the experience. The interface wasn't that great, but the graphics were impressive. Pity there wasn't any blood splashing around ala Kill Bill; that would have been uber cool.

And for a brief moment, I was entertaining the thought of actually getting a Wii console; the price tag did more than enough to stop me dead in my tracks. A thousand seven hundred bloody ringgit. Woah! Easy, Darth Vader. Then, once the euphoria of having executed a jumping-slash-like manoeuvre was totally flushed from my system, I got to thinking, am I really going to stay at home and play every night? Or even every weeknight? I think not. All honesty, I reckon I'm more inclined to get a N96 with that amount of money, with plenty of change to spare. But if the price were more in the region of RM 1000, then perhaps.

On a related matter, I remember many years ago (we're talking in the mid-80s here), almost anyone who had watched the Star Wars trilogy harboured secret aspirations to be a Jedi. I mean, what's there not to like (in the mind of an eight or nine-year old): cool weapon, black ninja-like outfit, potent hand movement and agility beyond human capability.

Fast forward a quarter of a century, and all I can say is Jedis are wusses. Really. Come on, think about it. They have this constant constipated look on their faces (the precursor to the Clive Owen look), they can't display emotions (even in bed), they can't procreate (which probably explains the previous point), and they always have to clasp their hands together and nod sagely in front of a green gremlin-like creature. And their fashion options are pretty damn limited; one can easily place them on a camel, if you get my drift.

And frankly speaking, does anyone really give a damn about the balance between good and evil and all that jazz? After watching countless good vs evil flicks (home and away), I've come to the conclusion that good means drinking orange juice in a cafe, and evil is drinking whiskey in a pub.

So yeah, watching Star Wars these days (all six of them), you just hope Vader had just finished off whining Luke. I know I enjoyed watching Vindoo get vindalooed by Anakin 'I'm-so-torn-apart' Skywalker. Given, some Jedis were quite bearable - Qui-Go Jin and Obi-Wan (their idiocy in buying son but not mother still defies logic); but in terms of the bigger picture, I didn't shed a tear when the Republic/ Empire went on their backstabbing (literally) Jedi pogrom.

I must reiterate, I don't dislike the Jedis, I just find them a tad bit overbearing and pretentious. Which obviously made it easier for the dark side (the perennial villain) to pull the wool over their heads. I mean, for how long did they expect to go on blaming everything that was wrong with the galaxy on the darker cousin of the qi-cosmic energy ray-like-midi-chlorian thingy that's the force? Somebody attacked Endor, blame the dark side. Somebody kidnapped the princess, blame the dark side. Somebody stole my sandwich, blame the dark side. I'm suffering from constipation, let's hear it now, altogether now - Blame the Dark Side.

But I reckon the Jedis forgot the cardinal rule of all lifeforms - once you go black, you'll never go back.

peering over the fence

2009-03-31T18:15:00.003+08:00

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

2009-03-30T17:44:00.000+08:00

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

2009-03-27T17:31:00.003+08:00

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

2009-03-26T18:01:00.002+08:00

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

2009-03-20T17:45:00.004+08:00

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?

2009-03-17T17:48:00.002+08:00

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

2009-03-16T17:47:00.004+08:00

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

2009-03-12T17:44:00.001+08:00

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

2009-03-10T17:42:00.001+08:00

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

2009-03-06T18:00:00.000+08:00

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

2009-03-06T12:50:00.008+08:00

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

2009-03-04T18:52:00.012+08:00

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

2009-03-03T17:42:00.019+08:00

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

2009-03-02T13:12:00.006+08:00

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.

it ain't half hard, m'aam

2009-02-27T17:48:00.016+08:00

Apparently, there are four levels of erections (don't laugh). I'm serious, I'm quoting an expert from the Asia Pacific Sexual Health and Overall Wellness organisation. Besides, we all know how important erections are (I hear you chortle), so it's good to be informed.

So yeah back to the matter in hand (no pun intended). The four degrees of hardness are:

Tofu: it's large but not hard

Peeled banana: it’s not hard enough for penetration

Unpeeled banana: it’s hard enough for penetration but not completely

Cucumber: it’s completely hard and fully rigid

I'm sure those of us with appendages can agree that we want cucumbers. I'm not to sure about the unpeeled bananas though; some tend to look quite sturdy indeed, unless they were crushed. Tofu is plain traumatic, thank God for Viagra and Cialis and the various powdered penises sold by your local Chinese medicine hall (no, I do not condone the killing of wildlife merely for the sake of an erection; a myth at that too).

These eyebrow-raising analogies do, however, shed some very interesting light on a phrase commonly used in the English language; I reckon being 'cool as a cucumber' has taken a whole new different meaning.

and then there were none

2009-02-24T08:41:00.003+08:00

Sometimes, I wonder if it's worth playing all these mind games.

Is it really beneficial to chart your moves, to analyse every action and plan for the next step? Are feelings nothing more than mere chess pieces, to be moved and captured with the sole intention of triumphing in the end? And what is this triumph? What do you get out of this, other than the opportunity to bask in the egotistical afterglow of some self-damaging contest? Where's the honesty? And what about the axiom of expressing one's true emotions? Measly pawns that are sacrificed to achieve what is inevitably a hollow victory.

And yet, there's the question of risk. How far is one prepared to go in order to 'seal the deal'? What if only one hand is clapping at the wind? There is no rewind button, no 'Previous' icon to click on. What's said will remain said, and no amount of backtracking will change that. How far will you go? How far will I go? The awkwardness if faced with a resolute 'No'; the deafening silence that follows; the tension that forms a perpetual wall between the protagonists; situations that create hesitation in the most daring of gamblers.

I reckon the risk of rejection (or should I say, fear?) is inversely proportionate to the degrees of separation between two people. The more layers there are, the more inclined one is to spilling the beans. Direct contact (close friend, colleague) brings the biggest risk. Can you face someone every day, knowing he or she sees no future with you? Would I be able to sit down and have coffee with a group of friends, knowing one of them is privy to my inner feelings, and is not reciprocating them? Take a minute to think it through, before spewing out oft-used phrases like "just do it" or "you gotta do what you gotta do" or even "go with the flow".

The two main weapons missing from most people's armoury (and definitely mine) are confidence and a thick hide. The former to express yourself, the latter to survive potentially damaging rejection, both psychologically and emotionally. I can only speak for myself when I say it only takes a few minutes to swiftly unravel what has been carefully nurtured and protected over the years. To avoid that, you and I wait and see. We play a waiting game, collecting positive signs and explicit signals, accumulating them until there is no doubt whatsoever that we'll receive an affirmative response to our propositions. You yearn for a gentle gesture, I anticipate a revealing word; anything that resembles a carrot to which we can pursue with renewed hope and youthful zing.

But enough of these purposeless laments, these needless groans and moans that will eventually be quite grating even to me. I'm shrugging off the dusts of disappointment that litter my mind; I'm putting events into perspective. I'm reaffirming my commitment to ambivalence, which is comforting in some sadistic form. Or is it masochistic?

After a while, who cares.

voting is wasteful

2009-02-18T17:54:00.004+08:00

What's the value of one vote? How much is it worth? Here, one vote entitles you to:

RM 5 million
RM 50 (if you're living in Les Estates)
Professionally touched-up photographs (in the nude, of course)
A priceless collection of Malaysiana superfrogus
A second wife
A free, two year stay at Kamunting Holiday Resort, with complimentary meals
A personal entourage outside your residence/ office, complete with banners and placards
A cocktail party with Molotov served all night long
Absolution from all crimes past, present and future
A free one day tour of The Blue Station, and the chance to revel in police hospitality
And, an open invitation to experience local culture, complete with machetes and metal rods

turbo boost and leather jackets

2009-02-17T17:52:00.001+08:00

What's this I hear, a modern, souped up Knight Rider is about to hit the TV channels?

Apparently there was a KR made-for-TV movie sometime last week. And based on those who watched it, KITT should have really rolled on towards the sunset and not reversed. It's quite sad to watch 80's cultural icons being rehashed and revamped to suit modern tastes. I reckon series' like KR, A-Team, Airwolf and such should be preserved as some sort of national heritage, and never be repackaged. In fact series' shouldn't be allowed to be made into movies. The most obvious flop to bomb out is Miami Vice. That's one flick that should be retitled 'How to Keep Moustaches and Goatees'.

I've no issues when it comes to cartoons, though. Who wouldn't want to watch their childhood heroes come to life. Think Transformers. Yet even then, fuck-ups do happen. Here's something to jog your memory: He-Man, Alvin and the Chipmunks, and Dungeons & Dragons (a major source of consternation on my part).

Hmm, so what would I like to see brought to life? The list is long, I can say that. Off the top of my head:

Robotech
Jem and The Holograms (don't ask)
My Little Pony (I said don't ask)
Visionaries
Thundercats
Samurai X (okay, I'm allowed one anime)
Johnny Quest
Voltron

Like I said, it's quite long.

it had to be valentine's day, didn't it?

2009-02-13T17:59:00.006+08:00

Oddest thing, I can't seem to recall even one memorable Valentine's throughout my life. A good one, that is. I've had a couple of utterly horrible ones over the years (15 and counting). But never one which really justified the exorbitant prices paid on the day. Just one of those inane things, I guess, like never having flown or gone to the beach before. Am I bothered? Not really.

Okay, so here's the plan; which is by no means a walk in the park. Since it's been said that everything comes in threes, I've decided to have one more love affair. Which implies that I'm disregarding earlier relationships. Yeah, sorry. So strike two, and I'm batting at base (or whichever baseball term used to describe one last throw of the dice). One more crash, and it's the highway.

Now I just have to find a party to my love affair. See, i told you it wasn't easy.

Anyways, to those celebrating their love or feelings or whatever it is they celebrate on 14 Feb, Happy Valentine's Day.

And for those who aren't, whiskey, cigarettes and a dance floor.

Rotten Rambutans: Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam II

2009-02-06T17:44:00.003+08:00

I was going to say, the only thing good about this sequel is the lead actress. I was going to. But I couldn't. The movie is just too disjointed, far-fetched and farcical to be saved by a gorgeous face. I reckon there was a major brain fade when number two was being thought up. How else can one explain the down-the-well slide this sequel experiences, when episode one was a high-flyer? Such a disappointment, and the fact that I sacrificed valuable snooze time to catch this it makes things even more wtf-inducing.

First clanger, a nonsensical usage of flashbacks. The first twenty minutes or so can be classified as - present, flashback 1958, flashback 1960s, flashback 1970s, flashback prior to present, flashback to periods unknown, flashback to present. The movie just kept flashing, I tell you. Then there's the not-so-plausible event occurrence. How on earth does Mr Ponty prepare to leave the village which currently houses his infant child and his deceased wife's best mate, without knowing of their presence there? Made more illogical considering best friend's father is some village wise man. And by the fact that assassins run into the afore-mentioned Mr Ponty, on the same day he's heading back to see his woman. Like they say in Malay, tak masuk akal (literally doesn't enter mind).

Next, the almost obsession-like fascination with Indonesian kampungs. How easy it appears to kidnap a child and hop over to Sumatera (or perhaps Riau islands) for a little bit of R&R. Besides the fact that the kampungs looks like they're stuck in a time warp, the disturbing apathy the villagers display towards our shouting and screaming protagonists (in the middle of town) is bemusing. Everyone looks like they were teleported from the Malacca Sultanate, without a sign of technological advancements such as TVs, phones or even radios. A really surreal village indeed.

Yet again, abuse of special effects and constipated wailing. More, in fact. Ponty rides a horse in one scene, flies in another, and walks in yet another. And after a while, the change in costume and appearance is thought-provoking. Why transform from a lovely maiden in kebaya (I think) to a hag with excess powder and Shinto-esque robes? There's no logical explanation here, and I doubt there ever will be. The rules of possession (one spirit, one body) is blatantly ignored, while the kungfu-like action is sadly misplaced.

A real pity, Ponty's fate. From a character sympathised by many, she becomes a banshee suffering from PMS, flying around without an inkling of what she wants in the afterlife. Well, she does want her child back, but not knowing who her child was is quite befuddling. Yet she accurately identifies the infant descended from her unwitting murderer. And to cap off a bad night out, this model Indonesian village, made up of cowardly busybodies, sits right smack on an earthquake fault line. The death toll from this devastating disaster is absolutely mind blowing - two. Both outsiders, mind you.

What's worse, if that were possible, is that this poor effort of a sequel is plagued by horrible editing. Scenes just keep getting cut off before one is able to absorb or even make sense of what's going on. A minor annoyance which festered into major irritation. Even with the lovely MK, PHSM 2 is beyond redemption. Which is a massive anticlimax. It barely deserves a 1.5/10; the 1.0 coming from the biased fact that I liked number one. Poor acting, stereotypical casting and predictable dialogue all conspire to ruin the movie; they're aided by a story with more holes than cheese.

The only engaging part of the movie centres around the kuda kepang, which provides an insight into this dance which blends folklore, animism and the supernatural.

One can only hope that ponty baby is finally enjoying the peace she craved for. And that part three doesn't haunt the silver screen.

democracy? what's that?

2009-02-05T18:41:00.001+08:00

I picked up The Star this morning, and instantly regretted it; overwhelming disgust assaulted my still-blurry senses. There they were, a pack of scoundrels, grinning idiotically without an ounce of integrity; despicable rodents jumping ship. Only in Malaysia can political turncoats prevail, and thrive.

For that, we can thank BN - the very epitome of hypocrisy.

I was planning to write a long rant about their betrayal of elector trust in Perak; operative verb being 'was'. I don't see the any reason to smear my posts by further mentioning them, so for all I care, Uncle Charlie's kite's up there.

So yeah, first Sabah, now Perak, God knows where's next.

Definitely the death knell of democracy here, or what remains of it.

SOS to the US: please send us an Obama. On the double.

Rotten Rambutans: Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam

2009-02-04T17:38:00.004+08:00

First of all, I must state: if it weren't for a certain somebody acting in this movie, I would have never continued watching it in its entirety. I was spellbound, pun perhaps intended, the moment I saw the heroine (you-know-who). That is, before she became capable of putting people under her spell in an evil way.

But yeah, back to the point of this post. Sometimes, and definitely in this case, sequels throw away all the good work done in the first issue. Especially when it comes to horror flicks. One cringes at the list of shame - Blair Witch Project 2, Ghostbusters 2 onwards, The Ring 2, Hannibal, Halloween 2, The Hills Have Eyes 2; get the idea? Let the dead rest, and let the undead fade into the night, I say. I'll explain why, with regards to ponty baby, in my review of the sequel in the very near future.

Back to the Banshee, Scent of the Tuberose, or so I'm led to understand.
So, what's there to like about this movie, you may ask. Well, quite a bit, I say. Firstly, Maya Karin. Then there's the Ponty who's, wait a minute, Maya Karin as well. Okay, there's more. The plot, while not exactly original, is simple and not confusing (for now). Woman is wronged, woman seeks revenge, woman is avenged. However, along the story, the Ponty does elicit genuine sympathy for her plight; after all, when human, she had everything going for her, until some moron decided to trip her.

The setting, circa 1958, is quite plausible since most people were still living in kampungs and riding bicycles back then. Personally, the timeline shouldn't have jumped several decades at the latter stages. Modernity robs the storyline of its rustic eeriness. Yet, trust the movie makers to compensate by ridding the present of handphones, laptops, civilisation and the fact that there are 24 hour eateries littered across the country these days. Yeah, I know it's still Kampung Paku Laris (literally Hot-selling Nails Village), but come on lah.

Where were we? Ah, yes, PHSM suffers from a common malaise that plagues almost every big budget fare made in Bolehland. The abuse of special effects. Think Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon stunts, executed with lesser perfection. It becomes so obvious FX and CGI (see, I do have some tech sense) form an integral part of the haunting, as do wiring and harnesses. A pity, cause a pontianak walking along a path or perched up a tree creates enough fear by herself, without the need for a shimmering silhouette, and blood-red eyes. And the wailing is atrocious.

Okay, the positives. Like I said briefly earlier, the kampung setting adds to the atmosphere, a village ripe for the taking. I would have knocked back several more years off the timeline, but I guess nobody wanted to see the vestiges of Japanese rule. The display of culture and dance is to be commended, though over-emphasised at times. The acting from some of the established stars is good, but the others fail to ignite even the slightest reason to suggest they can act. Oh, a massive plus point for PHSM is the theme song; I simply had to have it on my playlist. The lyrics spell clearly the relationship between the primadonna-ponty and the villain of the piece; it's not as one-dimensional as it is on-screen.

To be fair, the respective characters of both protagonists are well developed. There's the woman in love, the wronged woman, the vengeful woman, the spurned suitor, the obsessive stalker, the jealous rival and the repentant villain. Quite a tapestry of emotions, well acted out.

All in all, I'd give PHSM a Rotten Rambutans rating of 5/10. Not quite the ultimate horror scare of the decade but highly watchable and more than slightly intriguing. Oh, and because you-know-who's in it (which should be worth at least 10 points).

sobriety is relative

2009-02-03T18:02:00.002+08:00

Ever since I fell in love again, life has been nothing but a bed of roses framed by a star-filled canvass.
Yeah right! Ah well, at least there's still one in a million chance...
Hmm, this turn of events (also known as subject of infatuation) shows that I've progressed from tall blondes (farewell Maria, it's game, set and match).

Back to serious business (matter of relativity, of course). Okay, I'll begrudgingly admit, Hartamas isn't that bad a place to jolly about. Two consecutive nights there, and I'll say this much: it has its attractions. In terms of sights and space; the latter referring to, of course, the relative ample free parking available during the earlier part of the night. And the clubbing hive of Hartamas is undoubtedly Supper Club. Sit down at the mamak opposite (next to 7-Eleven) and you'll nod in agreement. Really.

Thus far, I'm pleased with my resolve. Barring certain idiots who have tried spiking my drinks, I've kept away from alcoholic beverages with relative ease. True, it takes more effort to loosen up the tongue and body movement, but slowly and surely, I'm getting the hang of it. So maybe I'll treat myself to a binge sometime in December this year. If only I could say the same of cigarettes.

Then again, I said I was quitting drinks, I didn't say I was becoming a saint.

a story best left untitled

2009-01-29T18:20:00.001+08:00

She stares vacantly at the rainy skies, her demeanour belying her emotions. Her feelings reproach her; her thoughts swirling mists of deluded fantasies, lanced with reality and recognition. A battle rages, and sense falls by the wayside. The screaming epiphanies, the gentle discernment, they should have nudged her towards the horizon. Yet she turns her back on them. Her choice resolute. In her mind she wields a blade so sharp, thrusting through a wall of crystal, driven deep to hurt, to end all hurt; so wither the petals, so succumbs the plant. She feels strangely liberated, the freedom to roam with wild abandon. She pauses for the slightest of time; she still has one last ride in her. Her doubt doesn't linger, hers is a self-fulfilling prophecy. She knows the folly of her choice; it won't end well, of course, but such is life. Hinc illae lacrimae.

drunken ox in a china shop

2009-01-28T17:37:00.000+08:00

CNY has come, and gone. Ya ya, I know it lasts for 15 days, but for those who don't actually celebrate the festival, it's over.

Funny how future financial plans are always scheduled for after CNY, and not so much in tandem with the Gregorian New Year. Really, think about it. Whether it's finding a new job or starting a business endeavour, almost everyone seems to set post-CNY as the starting point for expected prosperity. I guess that's another indicator of how multi-cultural Malaysians are, despite the government's best efforts to polarise the different ethnicities.

Still with CNY musings, it's been one DVD after another for the past three or so days. I reckon I've watched more movies in 72 hours than most do in a year. The roll call: Slumdog Millionaire (bloody fantastic), Outlander (bloody crap), The Good Shepherd (quite engaging), Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam (bite me, please, ponty baby), Rec (freaky) and Prince Caspian (decent battle scenes). I would have watched more, but almost all the DVD shops (including my regular one) were closed. Next on my list: Valkyrie, Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam 2, Puteri Gunung Ledang, Histeria (hattrick of Malay shows?), A Wednesday, Gran Torino and Changeling.

I'm so in love with someone from PHSM, I tell you.

Back to reality. Got a healthy dose of clubbing over the weekend. I've got to find an alternative to alcoholic beverages; one that doesn't screw up my digestive juices. Two Citrus Presses later, and I could feel the acid in my stomach swirling. Coke and Ginger Ale are way too sugary, I realised (finally?), while I definitely can't be sipping coffee throughout the night, can I? I'm thinking mocktails, but not every club serves them. And no, I won't be caught dead drinking a Bloody Mary or Shirley Temple. Bailey's, I don't mind. A Drinker's Dilemma.

The Battle of the Bulge resumes, for the twenty-second time. This time, it's six-pack or bust. Hmm, one unintended pun too many there.

money can buy everything, almost

2009-01-20T17:52:00.001+08:00

So money isn't everything in football, after all. The much-dramaticised saga of Kaka's potential transfer to Manchester City has ended with the Brazilian displaying his commitment and loyalty to AC Milan. Traits which are sadly missing in most modern footballers these days.

Since the rise of the EPL, more and more players have been stooping to selling themselves to the highest bidder in England; popular mercenaries who kiss the badge of their respective teams on Saturday, and demand a transfer to the Premier League on the following day. And just when the cynic in most fans started to mouth 'I told you so', Kaka reinforced a belief many thought was dead - there's more to football than just money.

So I guess it's goodbye, and good riddance to the 108 million quid. And hopefully, CR7 as well.

somebody told me

2009-01-19T17:34:00.001+08:00

An insightful weekend, by all means. It's incongruous how I spied upon the inner workings of my emotions over Chinese tea and cigs. Spied, or should I use 'revealed'? Mere pedantry; it's now inconsequential. Yeah, definitely helps talking, and talking, and talking; I reckon for 6 and a half hours or so. Sometimes I don't fancy being told I'm wrong; there are moments when I dislike being right. This time, I looked forward to being wrong, I couldn't be fucked to be right. Being open really helps in grasping clarity of thought and action; no strings attached, no hidden agenda. I'll get by with a l'il help from my friends.

Well, I want to believe the signals and signs and gestures and everything else. Of course I do. But believing and reality are sometimes poles apart; and bring about painful repercussions when confused with one another. I should know, I've been culpable of several disastrous mix-ups over the years, when I was way younger. Every gesture is thoroughly analysed to the point of being completely remoulded from the original act. You erect a magnificent castle beyond the clouds, only to find out you're barking up the wrong tree.

So you learn from your cock-ups. You 'collect' these gestures, these actions; and you store them in your treasure chest. You gently cup every word, every sentence and put it away safely. And once your treasure chest is overflowing, that's when you know it's time to cash in, to run the final mile. You know you're safe, the hook has landed, you stuck it in. It might have taken an extra year, but it's worth it. But there's a catch. Like points accumulated, they expire. So you toil and keep filling the chest, but what's at the bottom has dissipated into thin air; your interest's feelings have waned with each passing month and now he/she thinks you're not interested, or has outgrown the sweet emotions he/she felt for you. And all you're left with is a treasure chest full of dusty memories.

Okay, so how do I relate this to myself? I'm not sure; I think I got carried away with the analogies and forgot what my point was. Wait, I know. I need to have a cut-off point, a point in time when I decide to just rush in headlong instead of loitering by the sidelines, analysing and permutating. Come to think of it, I've been in a couple of relationships which have lasted more than 11 years, collectively. It's time to shake things up, and follow the path least travelled. The moment I overcome my debilitating fear of humiliation. Which is, like, never.

ang pows and oranges

2009-01-16T17:51:00.007+08:00

One more week to Chinese New Year.

And the malls are showing signs of its fast-nearing approach. Throngs of people, masses of bodies. And noisy car parks, inundated with blaring horn and toxic fumes.

I must say, like all Malaysian festivals, CNY is a very merry occasion, full of colour and tradition. From mandarin oranges to firecrackers, CNY is more than just gambling and ang pows. If only people would appreciate the finer aspects of the celebration and be less repulsive as they shop.

Like being more polite, and less rude. By giving way, rather than snatching at everything. By gently walking by, instead of barrelling past. And by being more considerate, and less obnoxious.

So yeah, hopefully, people have learnt subtle lesson from all the chaos caused by the collapse of the world economy. Everyone wants to get a good deal, or buy an item at a knocked-down price, or get freebies. But not many are willing to think of others, instead of their plain old selfish selves.

Then again, who are we kidding right?

the little twitch at the back of my mind

2009-01-14T18:52:00.001+08:00

Exactly two weeks into 2009, and already I've started the new year on the backfoot. Nothing but one issue after another, on a daily basis. Mentally-sapping would be slightly understating current state of affairs. All of a sudden, relatively, 2008 doesn't seem that much of a disappointment.

Sleep has been hard to come by; there's been plenty of bedsheet-rustling, and not of the pleasurable kind. Almost impossible to fall asleep without some degree of vigorous tossing and turning. Can't recall the last time I had a solid 7-hour sleep session. Think it must have been during the time when I had the flu; piriton always sends me into dreamless slumber.

These days, I feel like there's a dark cloud hovering over me, shadowing my every move. Every time something good happens, the cloud erupts and throws a yang to temper the yin. Akin to finding a thousand bucks, only to spend it on unforeseen liabilities a couple of days later. Or losing a bucket load of calories on the treadmill, only to end up piling it up all again in one seating of banana leaf or Baskins Robbins.

Or maybe it's all my own doing, or undoing, which ever way one looks at it. Perhaps I'm at it again, gripping my shield and wielding my sword, off to fight some other's battle. Perhaps I'm being a Bush, getting involved in some conflict far away from home. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

Then again, I've never been one to sit down idly and watch others struggle, without leaping into action. Okay, maybe not leap; slowly arise, stretch and then join in the fray. Though what will eventually happen is that I'll get bogged down in the muck of things, while the initial protagonists climb out to safety. It baffles me, to say the least.

Okay, happy thoughts.

brain fade

2009-01-12T17:38:00.001+08:00

Would you believe it, I've got a blogger's block? Who would have imagined eh? I'm struggling to write this post, that's for sure. The keys are not flowing, the flow disjointed. I blame it on the Monday blues, though I've never had difficulties posting entries on the first day of the week. Guess there's always a first.

Okay, no more Frangi's on Fridays. It's not at all productive, and quite effort consuming after a while. Across the road, 21 seems promising, offers more potential. Or maybe Laundry, if access is granted (smirk). Savanh Too tends to have a disappointing turnout during weekends; if only there actually were more patrons than staff there, I'd park myself there more often.

Nope, still don't feel the words flowing. Have I finally run out of topics to write? (Dramatic music). Or is it due to the fact that I'm trying to find the killer word that I'm over-taxing the grey matter? That's a distinct possibility. Doesn't help that the late evening finds me at my literary worst. How does one muster the strength to key-in tens of letters to an empty screen after having a long and taxing day? There seems to be quite a number of questions in this post.

Alright, I promise to return with a vengeance, eventually .

have morons, will boycott

2009-01-07T18:17:00.002+08:00

Here's something taken from The Star:

KUALA LUMPUR: More than 2,000 Muslim restaurants in Malaysia will remove Coca-Cola from their menus as part of a boycott of American products in protest against Israel's bombardment of Gaza, officials said Wednesday.American companies are being targeted because of the US Government's support of Israel, which is carrying out a military offensive on Gaza that is says is aimed at stopping rocket attacks from the Hamas-controlled territory.

The nationwide boycott will be launched Friday by several Muslim groups after they seek God's blessings at Friday prayers, said Ma'mor Osman, secretary-general of the Malaysian Muslim Consumers Association which is leading the campaign.In addition to Coca-Cola, he said they have identified some 100 other products ranging from food to beauty and clothing such as Starbucks, Colgate, McDonald's and Maybelline.

I reckon we should boycott these 2000 or so eateries; note how they're very quick to boycott US goods, yet have still not reduced the prices of food sold, despite the plunge in oil prices. I mean, if there ever was a blatant example of hypocrisy, these jokers are it.

Hence the term, pulling a fast one. So I say boycott all these restaurants until the price of Milo Ais drops to below RM 1.20 and a plate of nasi kandar costs less than RM 5.

Are you with me?

the bug bites again

2009-01-07T13:48:00.002+08:00

There's something very strange going on at home. Sometime deep into the night, the power trips and there's no electricity. It's been happening since Sunday night, as far as I know, and only occurs at extremely late hours. I'm not sure about the first two nights, but last night the lights went out at around 4.45AM. And it kept going off despite the power switch being turned on each time. I think it only stabilised at around 6ish. Really weird, I tell you.

A case of a poltergeist perhaps? A long-departed spirit of some TNB staff maybe? Whatever the cause, it's bloody irritating; I've been beleaguered with restless sleep for days now, what with the weather being all hot and humid. Don't be fooled by the occasional downpour, we're moving slowly but surely into the dreaded hot season.

I have this sudden craving to visit Laos, for yet another strange reason unknown. I've no idea why, just thought I'd check out Vientiane, and maybe Cambodia if I've the time, and more importantly, the money. All I have to do is wait for Airasia (yes, them again) to drop its fares and it's off to Indochina I go. However, I'll need to do some background research first (enter Wikitravel) cause climate is a big factor; the difference between a wonderful holiday and a miserable one. With the latest developments in my financial state of affairs, though, I don't foresee going anytime within the next three months (CNY would have been a perfect time to go, if circumstances were kinder).

Ah well, good things come to those who wait. I've already identified the hotel I want to stay at; the same one Hunter S. Thompson stayed at after the fall of Saigon. I'm a real sucker for colonial-style hotels; be it French, English or Dutch. Hence one of the things on my to-do list is spend several nights in the E&O in Penang.

Back to my travel plans (which I hope are not mere castles in the sky), I wonder how much it'll cost to do a tour of Vientiane, Luang Prabang, Siem Reap and Phnom Penh. Of course, being used to relative comforts will help expand the expenditure by quite a bit, but then again, why on Earth would I want to lay on some straw mattress in some dingy-looking insect-infested motel eh? I'm a child of the modern age; I need my spring mattress, duvet, hot water, cable TV and room service. I would also like to include Hanoi in my travel itinerary, but principles prevent me from doing so. There are some things I can let slide, and there are some things I will not turn a blind eye to; Vietnam comes under the latter.

So if anyone out there has any useful info on Laos (and I really mean useful), your two cents would be most appreciated. And please don't start by telling me it's safer to drink bottled water; that applies to almost every country in Asia. And yes, I will take charcoal tablets (activated carbon to the pedant).

Enter 2009 (splutter splutter)

2009-01-05T13:24:00.001+08:00

And thus another year begins.

Pity it began on the wrong foot, personally that is. Being broke by the 1st of January is no cause for celebration, by any stretch of the imagination. Being broke because one's money got stolen makes things even worse. Ah well, maybe it's some sort of cosmic metaphysical interplay. Previously, the trend had been to start the new year rich and end it broke; maybe it'll be the other way round this time, which would mean that I'd be loaded come Christmas 2009 onwards.

Then there's the question of resolutions. I'm beginning to resent the word, probably the most over-used word in the month of December, every year. Who really cares about what you've set out to do or not do, at the end of the day? Resolutions just make good fodder for idle chatter and nothing more.

On a more 'serious' note, I've decided to give up drink, indefinitely. Why? I don't know, can't really distinguish a glass of whiskey coke from a cup of coffee, they all taste the same to me. And when one doesn't get a kick from drinking (and I don't mean tipsy), then there really is no point in contributing to the bartenders' pension fund, is there? I also plan to cut down on the cancer sticks somewhat drastically, and that's a necessity. I reckon 10-12 ciggies a day aren't too bad, for starters. And who knows, maybe I'll only light up a couple a day as the year draws to a close. Dare to hope, I say.

So yeah, 2009 is well and truly upon us, yet I don't exactly feel like jumping up and down. Maybe I'll feel more chirpy as the weeks walk on by, or if I get a sudden financial windfall (Go Toto!). Something in the region of a couple of million quid won't be too shabby, not at all.

2009 Resolutions v1

2008-12-22T13:18:00.005+08:00

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

2008-12-18T13:46:00.002+08:00

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

2008-12-17T17:59:00.005+08:00

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

2008-12-15T17:39:00.001+08:00

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

2008-12-11T18:44:00.003+08:00

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

2008-12-09T13:12:00.002+08:00

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.

2008-12-05T12:35:00.004+08:00

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...

2008-12-03T17:35:00.000+08:00

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.

a tale of two cities

2008-11-27T17:36:00.004+08:00

Mumbai - bloodied and bruised

The home of Bollywood is still reeling from gun battles at several major buildings; the death toll rising every hour. All thanks to a bunch of despicable pariahs. A group of snivelling cowards who have caused despair and grief in one of the most densely-populated cities in the world; sick individuals who mouth off holy verses yet hide behind women and children.

All of which makes one wonder if there really is a higher being after all. One can't help but feel sick in the stomach knowing such deplorable men were created by God. One shudders with disgust knowing that these scum were, at one time of their respective lives, conceived in the womb of a mother.

Hopefully, just hopefully, the Indian government wipes them off the face of the planet; not just them, but each and every single person associated with them. To hell with justice and the courts, I reckon; each scoundrel should be tied up with explosives and blown up. Oh, and for good measure, televise it throughout the world, YouTube included; that should send a message to all the other terrorists prowling around Asia and the Middle East.

Bangkok - chaotic and paralysed

Closer to home, the gridlock that is Thai politics shows no signs of abating, in fact, it seems to be heading to a potentially blood-spilling showdown. The antagonists, pro and and anti-government forces, appear to be gearing up for one last Cup final; just who comes out as the winner is anybody's guess.

The joker in the pack remains the Army. Whoever garners military support has one hand on the cup. However, events over the past few weeks look to have wavered the generals' stance. Where once they leaned towards the anti-government rabble, now they appear non-too happy about the massive disruptions the Thaksin-haters have brought upon Bangkok.

And in a time when economies are looking around desperately to salvage any semblance of normalcy, our neighbours have contrived to shoot themselves in the foot, and not for the first time. December has always been the busiest period for tourism; Bangkok now looks set to suffer the ignominy of having half-filled hotels and a mere trickle of hardcore tourists visiting it. I don't know the exact figures in terms of potential losses from a drop in tourism, but they are sure to be in the billions.

The only glimmer of light is the fact that Phuket has remained relatively trouble free throughout this latest conflict, as have the other main tourist spots like Krabi, Koh Samui and Chiang Mai. When an eventual solution to this mess is realised, the repercussions of this battle of wills between two recalcitrant parties might be even more long-lasting than the 2004 tsunami.

game, set and match?

2008-11-26T17:34:00.004+08:00

The Rules of the Game has come into my possession. [Insert megalomaniacal laughter here]

The book that trumps all other self-help books.

The book that gives the reader insight into the secret art of picking-up people.

The book that promises to turn even the dullest of country bumpkins into a suave, smooth-talking ladies' man.

I'm more than skeptical, I might even say incredulous. Yet, I'm also curious. There's this nagging itch at the back of my mind nudging me towards the first page. I lay the blame on first-hand testimonials and an intriguing book cover. At first glance, The Rules of the Game comes across as another one of those mumbo-jumbo dating aids that start off being best sellers, and end up in the bargain bin some six months later. And it appears its predecessor, The Game, was highly successful, or so Amazon tells me. Then again, almost every book on Amazon seems to be a best seller.

So am I going to get started on The Rules? Perhaps. It should make an, erm, interesting read. Something to while my time away at the cafe or Starbucks. Though I will probably have to spread my palm over the front cover; I reckon one of the Rules will be to not be seen in public reading a book on the rules of dating. If it isn't, then it ought to be inserted the later editions.

Prejudices aside, I have a strong feeling that this book is going to be just another Who Moved My Cheese - boring and self-indulgent.

Or it could just be the next best thing after the Dummies series.

I wait with anticipation.

what's next; aerobics?

2008-11-24T17:51:00.000+08:00

While the world waddles forth, Malaysia skips backwards. In a tumultuous economic climate, where companies are winding up by the dozens, we shamefacedly pronounce that things are as rosy as ever here. And to show that Malaysia is really immune from the plague spreading terror among the world markets, certain 'people' have decided to focus their precious time and effort on more pressing matters that affect national security and the well-being of a huge slice of society - the scourge of tomboys and yoga.

Question: Can people get any stupider?
Answer: Apparently they can.

The only good thing that I can see coming out of this is a huge drop in electricity tariffs. Why? Cause we're firmly set on reliving the Dark Ages.

Hilarious, but sadly true.

laugh, cry, then laugh again

2008-11-13T13:03:00.003+08:00

We're often told that laughter is the best medicine.

While not always the cure, laughter does go a long way to make one forget about one's despair, even if for an iota of time.

So, seeing as the weather is gloomy at best today, here's you dose.

KOTA BARU: Kelantan Umno liaison chairman Tan Sri Annuar Musa has urged Malaysians not to get carried away with Barrack Obama, as “we have our own leaders to admire and our issues to resolve. I also prefer if people could wear T-shirts bearing Datuk Seri Najib Tun Razak, soon to be our next Prime Minister and Umno president,” he said

To get a full version of this side splitter, hop over to The Star.

'Laugh, and the world laughs with you. Cry, and we'll hand you tissue.'

how the mighty fall

2008-11-12T17:31:00.002+08:00

Oh, what a wonderful time to be a consumer in Malaysia.

Prices just seem to be dropping all around us, from clothes to FMCGs to plane tickets. All thanks to the economic recession plaguing the US. It's quite gratifying, truth be told, to read about corporation after corporation winding up due their insatiable gluttony for profit, profit and more profit. I doubt many average Joes will shed even a tear for the dearly departed in Wall Street, which includes Lehmann Brothers, AIG and Bear Stearns. More will follow, for sure, all victims of of their own financial gluttony.

And what's even more satisfying is the perpetual fall of oil prices. What had, at one time been US$140 per barrel is now below US$59. And there's no sight of the bottom. Will oil eventually cost US$1 per barrel in the near future? Definitely rubs mud in the faces of analysts who predicted US$200 as the magical figure come 2009.

One can only salute Air Asia for scrapping the immensely unpopular fuel surcharge from the price of tickets. A much appreciated move, even if it's more due to pragmatic economics rather than sincere goodwill. Once again, MAS is on the backfoot. Maintain the surcharge, and lose business. Remove it, and profits drop. They deserve nothing more, I reckon.

And then we have the cutthroat mamak restaurateurs who have been maintaining their inflated prices even in the wake of the collapse of oil prices. As it were, they spouted a myriad of excuses when raising their prices (too expensive to transport milk, flour, their families etc); now they're singing about why they can't lower prices.

I, for one, am not going to buy into that mumbo-jumbo about how they're dropping prices by up to 20 or 30 sen. Technically, the prices should be way lower than even before the price of petrol rose, sometime last year. Raising the price of Milo Ais by 50 sen, then reducing it by 10 sen still sees a net increment of 40 sen. So is the new price of Milo Ais really reflective of current market forces, or just another piece of wool pulled over the public's eyes?

It's always mamak restaurants who are quick to increase food prices, and even quicker to justify them. While I do appreciate mamak sessions, I think it's high time we stopped putting up with their crap. I'm loath to use the word 'boycott', but yeah, something of the kind. Start small, and avoid the mamak chains; this includes the Pelitas, the Nasi Kandar Kayus and the Tanjungs. The roadside dudes are okay, they rarely, if ever, raise prices and still sell roti canai, for example, at well below a ringgit.

Let these greedy bastards really feel the pinch of having empty restaurants, and then we'll see how they price their ware.

To paraphrase Jackie Chan, "when the buying stops, the prices drop".

Quantum of Solace, or so it seems

2008-11-06T17:32:00.003+08:00

Martini, shaken not stirred.

No, you're not going to hear that line in the latest Bond flick, Quantum of Solace. Though I now know how his poison is concocted, thanks to an eager beaver bartender.

That, and the fact that 007's suits have improved tremendously since he first blazed his way across the silver screen. And I have to admit, Daniel Craig does do justice to his character's extensive wardrobe. Look out for the shoes especially.

The movie, now that I've stopped veering off, is so-so. In my opinion, that is. But that's more due to the fact that as I age (gracefully), I'm more attracted to movies where the hero actually gets beaten up once in a while. Realism is what I'm talking about. I think anyone still worshipping Bond's playboy-esque mannerism and sexual conquests has really got to take a look at the calendar once in a while. Gone are the days of Bond comes, Bond screws, Bond kills. And yeah, not a single bullet wound? Lucky lucky.

The action is good, though too fast-paced even for rapid-eye-movement abilities. Luckily the pace slows down with Olga Stillcantspellhername. Here, you look forward to John Woo's slow-mo effect, drinking in every sweet detail. Don't bank on her acting skills though, I think Ursula Andress was the last Bond girl to actually offer glimpses of acting.

On the other hand, credit must be given to Daniel Craig. He's managed to mould Bond to suit his persona. Connery was macho, Moore humourous, Dalton broody, and Brosnan suave. Lazenby was, well, Lazenby. Craig, as in Casino Royale, is all raw and psychotic. Which is a change from the usual 007 fare. Good or bad, time will tell. Evidence is, CR was a hit, and QoS looks to follow suit.

And the villains are finally 3-dimensional, thankfully. Anyone who professes Blofeld had substance should look the word up in the Oxford D. I find the villain to be more important than the hero in action movies, what with the glut in comic superheroes around town. Robert Carlyle was fabulous in The World is Not Enough, as was Sean 'Boromir ' Bean in Goldeneye. Craziest of all was undoubtedly Christopher Walken. Pure psycho power.

If you do watch Quantum of Solace in a cinema in Malaysia, look out for the translation of the movie title. 'Dunia Tenang dalam Kesengsaraan'??

Messrs Ti and Thum, please stand up.

hurrah for Obama

2008-11-05T17:58:00.002+08:00

If there is one thing we can infer from the just-concluded Presidential Election in the US, it's that Malaysia has regressed further backwards in terms of politics and governance. It further strengthens the common notion that the ruling politicians are nothing more redneck, moonshine-drinking bigots whose brains are divided into two distinct lobes; one that only recognises the word 'race' and the other that is fixated on 'religion'. I think, more so there than anywhere else, the American elections have highlighted once and for all the rotten hypocrisy that prevails here.

America, a country which gave birth to infamous groups like the KKK and various dubious cults, has shown the world that race and religion is not a prerequisite for any individual with the lofty aim of becoming President. Not anymore, at least. Unfortunately, it's a whole different ballgame here. The core of Malaysian politics is entwined tightly around creed and faith. And judging by the way things are going, there's not much light at the end of the tunnel. All that interests the governing parties is staying in power and hoarding masses of wealth; everything else is secondary. And the only way they're able to continue their wicked ways peacefully is by harping on...yes, you guessed it.

It takes one to be incredibly well-endowed with bountiful layers of epidermis to boastfully spew out the 'Truly Asia' misnomer.

Just an example: only in Malaysia can changing a road sign become a racial issue. Seriously. Only here can a multilingual road sign be construed as a threat to the national language. Yet these same idiots were oddly quiet when the equally-idiotic city hall officials were going around erecting road signs in both the national language AND Arabic; they claimed it was for tourists. Right.

Why on God's given Earth would a bunch of Arab tourists be doing in the middle of a residential area? Looking for homemade kebab perhaps? Only the KL City Hall can provide an insight to this blatant waste of public funds.

If they aren't on one of their notoriously long lunch breaks, that is.

what's pricier than petrol?

2008-11-03T17:57:00.002+08:00

Imagine this, you walk into a pub with a couple of friends, park yourself at a table, and order a bottle of Jack Daniel's or Chivas Regal. The usual Q&A about mixers, and you're soon downing the first shot of the day. The waiter comes up with the bill, and your eyes nearly pop out; they would have popped out had your blood vessels not expanded due to the alcohol. Two hundred and fifty bloody ringgit for a bloody bottle of whiskey at a bloody small pub. A blatant case of how things are inflated, if the price is anything to go by.

Personally, I don't think any pub should price their liquor bottles above RM 200. Even that's a tad extravagant; RM 180 is a more comfortable maximum point. But we'll take petrol prices into consideration (Malaysia's No. 1 excuse for exorbitantly-priced goods) and add twenty to the ceiling price. And if we're talking about clubs, a cap of RM 350 is painful, but bearable.

All things considered, it amazes me how the smaller pubs in Klang Valley charge with impunity bottled liquor; some have even been known to bill customers up to RM 280 for a cheap ass Black Label. Now, I'm sure many will nod rather hesitantly when I say "If you can't afford it, don't bloody drink". Yet, at the same time, I can understand one's need to get a bottle and sip peacefully at the whiskey coke or vodka lime without having to wave your arms furiously after every empty glass. More so in a packed joint; waiters are at a premium, for some strange reason. It's almost as though they're skilled in blending in with the patrons, to the point of onlookers being unable to differentiate between a drunk and a person serving a drunk.

I tend to lean towards the school of thought that bottles should only be opened in clubs and not mere pubs and bars. I find it rather pretentious when a person arranges a bottles of Jim Beam, four cans of Coke, the ice bucket and one glass in front of himself in some obscure joint in the corner of some equally obscure neighbourhood. It's a bit hard to decide if it's sad, or it's pathetic.

Sadly pathetic, perhaps?

Haunting Halloween

2008-10-31T13:12:00.013+08:00

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

2008-10-30T17:44:00.002+08:00

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

2008-10-29T09:26:00.003+08:00

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.

2008-10-28T10:06:00.000+08:00

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

2008-10-21T18:38:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-20T10:49:00.002+08:00

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

2008-10-17T18:11:00.004+08:00

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

2008-10-16T17:40:00.004+08:00

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

2008-10-15T17:41:00.002+08:00

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

2008-10-14T17:33:00.005+08:00

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

2008-10-13T13:51:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-09T17:42:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-08T17:27:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-08T15:33:00.002+08:00

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)

2008-10-07T13:02:00.003+08:00

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

2008-10-06T17:39:00.002+08:00

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.

festivities, and cold shivers down the spine

2008-09-30T13:25:00.004+08:00

I never knew there was such a thing as blogosphere SWF. Single White Female. I'm sure some of you are going, 'what on earth is a Single White Female?' Well, the term comes from a psychological thriller of the same name, starring Bridget Fonda. Watch it, and you will never say 'imitation is the best form of flattery' again. Yeah, well back to my revelation. After being alerted about the possible existence of a blog mimic and being quite skeptical, I hooked onto the link and gasp! A carbon copy of the original blog (not mine), from the same layout to the exact tags/ categories to the near identical style of writing. A doppelganger, no less. Now that's something you don't just bump into on any given day. I would say freaky, but that'd be too flippant. What's even more disturbing is that I've met the acquaintance of this blogfax. All I can say is see no evil, read no evil.

It's Raya tomorrow, and I'm quite disappointed that no sturdy plans have presented themselves to me. Fraser's is now off, thanks to, get this, broken telephone lines. Somethings never cease to amaze me. Even more so considering it involves the Development Board of the former colonial hill station. Broken bloody telephone lines, hrrmmpphhh. Plan B hasn't been conceived; I'm hesitant to use 'yet'. I think it'll be a total waste of time spending five days in KL doing nothing. And there won't be much to do anyways. And it's plain silly for me to drive outstation alone. Really.

Speaking of travelling, there are certain 'comforting' sights and structures that soothes my nerves when driving around, lost and clueless with nightfall well into its zenith. Imagine you're driving along a poorly lit trunk road (they're always poorly lit, mind you), growing more and more doubtful by the minute that you took the correct turn. The hotel you're looking for is nowhere in sight; neither is the huge landmark that says you're on the correct path. I must reiterate, this isn't some Hitchcock thriller, all in black and white. These things really happen. How many of us have sufficient testosterone to just park the car by the side of the road, and see out the night, preferably while in Sandman land? What's that? I can't hear you. Thought as much.

So what brings comfort in these dark moments? What makes you feel at ease, knowing there is civilisation up ahead. Well, in no particular order:

7-Eleven: I believe any place without a 7E isn't up to modern civilisation standards. The 24 hour convenience shop offers more than Slurpees and Maggi Cup Noodles; it offers the chance to converse with another fellow human being. And to stock up on Red Bull Less Sugar.

24 hour Petrol Station: Safety. There's nothing more uplifting after driving clueless for hours than a brightly lit, well maintained Petronas or Shell station. The opportunity to relieve one's self, besides topping up the tank. And chances are, if they're operational around the clock, the volume of traffic is quite steady. Note that this occurrence is highly unlikely, considering most kiosks along trunk roads still use the ancient analog pumps.

Mamak/ restaurant: Hallelujah. Teh tarik kurang manis, and nasi goreng tambah pedas. A vibrant mamak or a well-populated restaurant brings hope that you won't end up pontianak or babalung fodder. A warm meal emanates a comforting glow from within your stomach, while allowing you to listen to incessant banter other than that of a radio DJ. Should be noted that a heavy meal at these sanctuaries might send you on a desperate search for a toilet some two hours later, or turn your eyelids to lead.

Mosque/ church/ temple: Divine help. I was once lost (literally, that is) up in Fraser's, along, get this, Jalan Ampang. After what seemed an eternity (that's 20 minutes, real time), a white dog appeared and led us stragglers (we started out as adventurers) to a temple, before promptly lifting his leg nonchalantly, all in a day's work. Now that's what I call 'help from above.' Of course, it could have just been the dog using the same route as us. But you had to have been there to fully appreciate this moment.

I'm pretty damn sure there are several other places that are equally as reassuring. Hospitals can go either way, as do police stations and creepy standalone hotels and resthouses. To be avoided at all costs - cemeteries, abandoned houses, kampungs, rivers, forests of any kind, plantations of any crop, junctions and sleepy hollows. And most definitely avoid post-midnight visits to washrooms in highway rest stops. Malam Boleh Jalan* will take on a whole new dimension.

Have a pleasant Raya and enjoy the holidays.

(*Night can go)

that's the way love went

2008-09-29T16:56:00.006+08:00

I reckon PD is one of those places where you need good travelling company, much like Fraser's or Pangkor. There isn't much to do in what was formerly Malaysia's most visited beach. The sands have long turned a dirty brown, the water a murky grey. Swimming in the PD waters is really a lottery to some; I won't be surprised if prolonged exposure to the seawater there, heavily laced with toxins, causes genetic mutations or hormonal imbalances. I recall, painfully, many years back when I was sitting on what seemed like the cleanest patch of beach sand and enjoying the sights and sights. I remember gently scratching my back, and then really getting into it. It was the longest itch, lasting close to a month. Some of my amigos were worse off; one guy had what seemed like smallpox on his back for almost three months. Apparently the perpetrators were sand mites, something most of us have never heard off, let alone experienced.

But anyways, I spend too much time indulging in nostalgia. After K-Fat did a number on us, we decided to go regardless. We booked PD Marina Resort, and it was bloody cheap. RM 100 for a two-bedroom apartment. What a steal! Until we approached the resort. We felt robbed all of a sudden. Run down, dirty and unkempt; we kept hoping we were mistaken about the place and that the actual place was located along the road. No such luck. I drove past, and kept driving. We decided to check out other options; true to proceedings ten years ago. Enter Ancasa Suites. A decent enough place. Ok, decent is a bit unfair, it was pleasant. It had the expensive look to it, and the ambience was more than satisfactory. I let the two heroes do the talking; they managed to sweet talk the girl at the reception into giving us weekday, off peak rates. The unit was most impressive; the room-keeping less so. Slow and constrained within the box. But complain I shall not, for the view more than made up for the service. The Straits lay open, with it's deceptively emerald appearance dazzling in the sun. Nothing like taking in the view, with a cigarette and whiskey in hand. At 1 in the afternoon.

The rest of the day pretty much went according to plan. Food at the pasar malam was bloody cheap. We pigged out, unashamedly. I felt the cholesterol levels skyrocket as I dipped the yummy lemang into the rendang, before shoving it into my mouth. The satay was meaty, the putu piring sweet, while the kuey teow sucked big time. All washed down with Jim and ale. Supper, which occurred after the Merseyside derby, comprised ayam percik and more lemang. Stuffed piglets, that's how we felt like. The next day, we heroically tried to burn off all the calories by walking up to the Tanjung Tuan lighthouse. I personally died about 15 times before we crawled up to the cliff, drank the view and headed down. But the scenery was amazing, and I'm not one for ooh-ing and aah-ing over panoramic phenomena. Spending only 5 minutes at the lighthouse still makes me wonder if it was worth the 30 minute walk up, through the forest reserve. It was. Will I do it again? No, thank you.

I must say, it was quite an enjoyable trip. Slow and relaxing, without any concrete plans. We were next to the beach, we had a swimming pool in the apartment premises, yet the only time we got wet was when we sweated bucket loads trekking. We didn't come home hungover; which allowed us to ronda-ronda more, I guess. We definitely have to address the lack of female participants, something which hopefully will not repeat during the next 'adventure'.

Hopefully.

fuel pumps; petrol not included

2008-09-26T16:44:00.004+08:00

Define irony.

Price of petrol drops, the fuel pump in my car does a number.

In hindsight, it's a good thing I didn't fill 'er up on Wednesday; the petrol tank will have to be drained completely in order to replace the fuel pump. I don't know which was more deflating, knowing I'd have to spend around RM 100++ to remedy the situation, or spending close to four bloody hours in the MidValley carpark, with its sauna-like atmospheric air, mixed with the sweet smells of exhaust fumes and burning rubber. I contemplated taking a mechanic's course, at least ten times last night. Things definitely didn't take a turn for the better, when the mechanic suggested the petrol tank was empty. I was indignant initially, I'd like to think of myself as above those hare-brained drivers who have no inkling of their car's petrol content. I knew the fuel needle was just about above the 'E'; I pointed that out rather defensively to the chap, though he did retort by saying that I could have been running on petrol fumes. Embarrassing moment, number 326. Half an hour later, I felt fully vindicated when the car still didn't start after being filled with RM 10 worth of government-subsidised petrol. To cut a long story relatively shorter, the car is being nursed in the workshop, I've been car-less for the past 6 hours or so, and bound to be less wealthy. Ah well, seven years of fine service, the occasional hiccup is understandable. Good thing this happened before PD and Raya. That would have been a major bummer.

Speaking of which, I'm hoping and praying (and hoping again) that the roads down south will be clear tomorrow. There's nothing more pissing off than a two hour crawl in what's usually a one hour leisure drive. Stupid Malaysian Drivers is an oft-repeated verbal documentary in most social circles; rumour has it that the sequel, Brainless Malaysian Drivers, is making its way to the nearest mamak near you. One can almost taste the desperation in Priscilla Patrick's hoarse voice as she implores (to the point of begging) drivers to continue on their way instead of closely observing two stalled cars on the emergency lane...on the opposite side of the road. Personally I can attest to this irritating Malaysian trait. I pulled up to the side of Federal Highway to take something from my booth. As it happened, an acquaintance passed me by and stopped in front of my car. We got to chatting; the location left a bit to be desired. Lo and behold, a crawl developed after less than five minutes into our conversation. We were both amazed at this blatant display of stupidity. Amazing, I tell you. So we acted out a charade of arguing with one another and inspecting each other's car. We received propositions from no less than four tow-truckers, all of whom weren't too pleased that our cars were in perfect running condition. But yeah, Malaysian drivers.

Here's a slight rib tickler: How many Malaysian politicians can you trust? Just one, but that's because he's dead.

Well, I thought it's funny. So there.

Pinhole-glasses

2008-09-23T14:38:00.005+08:00

A couple of days back, I was doing my usual tour of 'duty' in one of the local eateries, more commonly known as mamak, when someone brought up the topic of pinhole glasses. Now for those of you in the dark, pinhole glasses work on the same principle as pinhole cameras. The opaque plastic lens contains pinhole-sized perforations that allow only the narrowest rays of light to enter the eye. I did some further research on the matter, and stumbled upon a website that provides all the information one requires when contemplating pinhole-glasses.

What I like about www.pinhole-glasses-direct.com is its easy-to-understand description of pinhole glasses and their capabilities. It doesn't exactly gloss over the benefits and unique selling points of the product, unlike certain other 'informative' websites I've come across. It has a science textbook feel to it, with pages dedicated to the science underlying pinhole glasses and how they work. The pages on common eye defects make for some pretty good reading, with several important facts given prominence throughout the text. I was especially interested in the 'pinhole-glasses vs eye-glasses' page.

While the site does espouse a pretty strong case for pinhole-glasses, I'm not to convinced that pinhole-eyeglasses are sound alternatives to conventional eyeglasses. In fact, while this revolutionary product is said to improve vision and rectify defects, I haven't read any medical reports or findings that suggest pinhole-eyeglasses as remedies for patients with eye problems. However, on saying that, personally I'm convinced that the glasses do aid in preventing effects caused by constant exposure to monitors and screens. The 'testimonials' page is bountiful with satisfied customers, though I'd be more persuaded by recommendations by ophthalmologists and opticians.

And for those interested in purchasing a pair or two, the site offers attractive promotional prices and discounts to make it worth your while. So if you feel the urge to check out pinhole-glasses, look no further, and head on down to www.pinhole-glasses-direct.com