i had a catchy title, but i forgot what is was

What an utterly catatonic Sunday. I spent a total of 10 and a half hours being comatose in front of the idiot box. Quite an accomplishment, I must say; considering that I even declined invitations to Sunday tea (a weekly routine that hasn't been broken for ages). The fact that I started my TV marathon at 10 in the morning really puts things in perspective, with a two hour break for a nap. Sometimes I just amaze myself, I tell you. I reckon something must be scratching at the back of my mind, hence the need for an activity-free Sunday. I just wasn't in the mood to go out, or converse or even smoke. Suprising would be a mild description.

What I've gotta do is not follow a routine. I realised on Friday that weekends are slowly but surely beginning to have a noticeable pattern to them, starting with Fun Friday and culminating in Sleep-in Sunday. Saturdays are either spent recuperating from the previous day, or pondering on where 'da party at'. And considering that drinking/ clubbing is more or less confined to Backyard and Cavell's, the need to shatter any semblance of a regiment has now become a priority, a top one at that.

On saying that, my bank account is now beginning to show symptoms of substance abuse. Or should I say, ATM abuse. I can't really pinpoint where the ringgit went, though the extensive car service over the weekend would account for a sizeable chunk of cash. Roughly, I've spent close to RM 1300 on my car alone, from engine oil to motor insurance. A necessity, by any stretch, but an incredibly costly one as well. Guess the fuel rebate should go someway in resuscitating my bank balance.

The next page: I watched Perfect Stranger last night. It wasn't too bad, to be honest. An intriguing plot, and several twists and turns were sufficient to keep me hooked. But throughout the movie, I could feel a compounding sense of irritation whenever Halle Berry appeared on screen. She just irritates me, I tell you. I can't tell, however, if it's from her mediocre acting or mere appearance. A combination of both, at the expense of being uncertain. One can't help but root for the villain to dispose of her. Well, it didn't happen in Gothika, definitely not in X-Men and disappointingly enough, not last night.

Sigh. One can hope, right?

NB: I've decided to use Arial for the month of September, keeping in line with the need to be more spontaneous.

Matthew Bartholomew Chronicles: To Kill or Cure

Satisfying.

After waiting for almost a year, picking up Susanna Gregory's 13th edition of the Matthew Bartholomew series was not disappointing. Some series have a tendency to be repetitive and utterly predictable after the third or fourth edition. Not this one. Yes, it is a whodunit, so the process and story flow is more or less similar througout, and to be expected. But the plots are devilishly ingenious whilst the characters are slowly developed over the course of the adventures.

For a while, I thought I'd be a tad bit bored of Bartholomew and co, having lain off the series since The Tarnished Chalice. But I was pleasantly mistaken; the scholars of Cambridge got a grip on me once again the moment I turned to page one. And by the end of the book, I was glad to have spent an entire evening reading and uncovering the villain. To be honest, there are several scenes that seem to drag on for no particular reason, but when the chase starts, the hunt is on. And it remains a hunt right to the end, when the heroic physician and 'big-boned' monk face their adversary in a do-or-die standoff.

So yeah, a well-spent RM 30, and a restless anticipation for book 14.

a weekender wallowing

So Merdeka has come and gone.
Unsurprisingly enough, it was neither spectacular nor grand. Quite a damper actually, the celebrations, that is. Fireworks and parades (yawn) in Dataran Merdeka (formerly known as Victory Avenue) on Saturday and Sunday, but that was it. Besides, would anyone really want to spend a humid evening, rubbing shoulders with country bumpkins, Mat Rempits and snatch thieves? Most likely not.

I was suprised, however, that celebrations were quite loud in Cavell's. A birthday party, both for the country and man. The crowd was pleasingly boisterous, which livened up a potentially boring event (the countdown). And this place seemingly gets more packed as the hours roll by. Strange one, that.

Sunday was more subdued, but interesting. A match in PJ Hilton, followed by a drink in Backyard. It was good to spend some time with a certain sibling who's flying off (yes, three of four reached the hallowed soil of Britannia). Maybe age is catching up, maybe I'm more sentimental. Sometimes I'm plagued with regret for not having fraternised more with my siblings; time is a cruel reminder of moments lost. There isn't a week that goes by when I'm not filled with sadness for not having played more with Snoop's; yet another drop in this ocean of regret. Such is life, eh?

Oh no, just when I thought I'd haul myself to gym, a pressing matter has come up. Tea at the bloody-overpriced Lotus. Why do I always do this, get sidetracked from the thrill of pumping muscles and sweating profusely? Dammit! (No, that wasn't a smirk, I tell you).