festivities, and cold shivers down the spine

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

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

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.