I Came, I Saw ... And Forgot Where I Conquered

This Is Africa

2010-06-20T11:20:00.007+08:00

... not.

A few months ago, I boldly (or to be more apt, naively) predicted that African teams will finally shine in the motherland. Sadly, this adds yet another notch to my (thankfully not too long) inglorious list of failed predictions.

Africa can go suck ape balls, from their recent World Cup showing.

Yes, we're not even halfway through the midway point of World Cup 2010 and already I'm making a counter-prediction to my earlier prediction: no African team will make it to the quarters. They are just THAT abysmal.

Granted, injuries to Drogba and Essien didn't really help the cause of the Ivorians nor the Ghanaians respectively, but football is, to borrow an oft-used cliche, a team sport after all. At every match, 11 men take to the field. A star player may contribute greatly to a team's morale and overall gameplay to a certain extent, yes, but when a team becomes dependent on 1 or 2 individuals to play football, then it isn't a proper team. At competition levels that of the World Cup, such teams will, in the wise words of Turkish in Snatch, be proper fucked.

Unimpressive, sub-par, wasteful and lack of focus. These would be my choice of superlatives to describe African teams at this World Cup. A sad state of affairs, given that about more than a decade ago, Pele bravely predicted that it would not be long before an African team lifts the World Cup. At the rate they're going, they can't even lift their dicks in a Viagra storm in the next millenium.

Enough verbal lynching for a day. Moving on to other World Cup matters.

We're into the 2nd week of the tourney and how do I rate this World Cup thus far? Hmm, on a scale of 1 to 10, I'd give it a 5. It hasn't been a terrible one. There are some games that gives you the jitters and dramas. And then there are those that put you right to sleep from the 10th minute onwards.

However, there's just something missing. A feeling that something has not clicked yet. I can't put a finger to it yet but it's like ... waiting for 4 years to fuck Megan Fox. And then she finally says yes, let's get it on.

But as the 2 of you enter the hotel lift to go up to your penthouse suite for what you hope would be the night of your life ... you find out that the room smells funky, the bed has some stains on it and Megan has saggy tits (which you had never realised watching Transformers coz of the wonders of push-ups). The sex is still good, but you then realised that she doesn't moan / scream as much as you'd hoped for and she doesn't have that much moves as you'd hoped she had. You also realise, just as you're halfway giving her a good doggie-bangin', that you're a bit tired from work, you're a bit gassy (must've been that stale peanuts you had earlier at the bar) and Megan has a bit of orange skin peel butt.

In short, you realise that sex with Megan Fox is ... just like sex with any other girl. Except the whole novelty of the experience and being able to immortalise yourself to your mates that you've nailed a Hollywood hottie. In short, reality falls short of fantasy.

Such has been the World Cup thus far. A series of normal football games. Where's the heady drama, the thrilling mother of comebacks, the brawls, the controversies, the spectacular saves, the physics-defying goals and the brilliant solo performances that we've all hoped for? Where's the fantasy football we've all been waiting these 4 long years for?

Yet to come. I hope.

So far, only Maradona & his rock-star team has thrilled with footballing fluidity and swashbuckling swagger (not forgetting providing the most entertaining of sound bites day in and day out with comments such as Pele should go back to the museum, that South Koreans play taekwondo and not football and that all French are arrogant pricks). Only Diego could pull off putting together a team of magicians, earning their respect and getting them to play the type of football purists pay to watch. And in the midst of all that, asking those who didn't like him to "suck it and keep on sucking". Pure class.

So far, only the plucky North Koreans (and the ridiculously good odds Asian bookies gave for that game against Brazil) has got me at the edge of my seat and cheering with passion as the mysterious Commie boys from Pyongyang refused to wilt or bow down to the footballing Gods from South America.

So far, only the USA, in true Hollywood-Mighty Ducks-blockbuster-feel-good-Rocky Balboa-American-sports-movie-style, has given us a thrilling game of fight-from-the-death (2-0 down in the first half), unlikely comeback (clawed back 2 goals in 45 minutes of attacking fury), hope (pulling back on level terms from 2-0 down gave the Yanks hopes that they might even win it with 110% effort), delirium (in the dying stages of the game when they put in what surely must be a deserving winner), heartbreak and refereeing controversy (when that perfectly fine winning goal was disallowed for a little jostle in the box) all in 90 minutes of sheer drama against Slovenia.

Apart from the above, the World Cup has been just moderate. Spain, Germany, ALL African teams, Italy, England and France have all been disappointing.

But the most disappointing of the lot is the much-hyped England. The 3 Lions. I have a confession to make. I secretly support them. Yes, the team I always support at every World Cup is Portugal (no team ever since the golden generation of Figo, Sa Pinto, Joao Pinto, Nuno Gomes, Dani, Vitor Baia & Abel Xabier has impressed me that much) but ever since spending 3 years of my tertiary years in the blistering cold and perpetual rain of Newcastle, my heart is partially tattoo-ed with St. George's image. Factor in my undying loyalty to Chelsea F.C. and it's a no brainer which is country has sort of become my adopted country (since it will be a cold day in Hell with Satan in a winter jacket before the Malaysian Tigers will EVER even set foot in a World Cup campaign) in this World Cup.

So when Gerrard led the boys in white out for the first time against USA last Saturday night, and when God Save The Queen was being played ... I was overwhelmed with emotions. Hairs on the back of my neck stood as the pantheon of EPL gods like Terry, Lamps, Ashley Cole, Rooney & Gerrard took to the field.

And then Robert Green happened. Frustration after frustration. They just couldn't overcome that howler. Then came the next game. And it was clear to see that this was a broken English team. 1966 is a long time ago. But it'd be a longer time to come before the English can be worthy of winning the coveted World Cup.

It wasn't just the sub-standard performance against the Algerians that got me bothered. It was, shockingly, the fact that this team was regressing under the regime of one of the most brilliant and well-respected figure in the footballing world, Fabio Capello.

Then it dawned on me. England's dismal performances were not in spite of Capello, but because of him. Now I know a lot of footballing purists, armchair managers and Capello cock-suckers (i.e. people who just blindly hail everything Capello does as right because in their minds he's a genius who could get away with anything) might vehemently disagree with my assessment. But do hear me out.

Capello is a brilliant guy. Smart, wily and very organised in thought and in strategies. Capello is also a famed disciplinarian who puts most army drill sergeants to shame with his no-nonsense approach and my-way-or-the-highway methods. Capello has had great achievements and successes at club level to command the respect of players and coaching staff. He is also Italian (that is a plus point as winning at all costs seem to be imbedded in every footballing Italian's DNA)

So surely he must be the right (or only) person capable of whipping the multi-millionaire prima donna English stars into a fighting, winning outfit, right? No.

Capello has apparently failed to do so. The English team do not look like a team - they are still merely individuals playing for a common cause. Judging from their body language, Capello apparently has failed to nurture a team spirit and camaraderie amongst the stars. Capello has apparently failed to break down club loyalties in the dressing room. Capello also failed to find the right system for the attacking trio of Lamps, Stevie G and Roo to operate at their deadliest.

The English psyche is a weird one. Being too nice with them loses the manager respect. Being too basic in strategies result in them playing the old kick-and-run and spraying long balls a la Wimbledon style. However, being too strict with them turns them into spoilt rich kids sulking and playing with no passion or drive. Being too tactical with them stifles their play and prevents them from being as explosive as they are at club level.

Capello is guilty on the last 2 counts. He came, he laid down the law ... and they obviously they didn't bothered. I sense a simmering sense of revolt brewing under English skin. But we need discipline and authority to prevent those superstars and their egos from running the dressing room, don't we? Yes, we do. But at the end of the day, they're all grown men. Men needs respect. If you lay down the law too hard and without earning their respect in the process, in the long run such repressed men will rebel. What more with jocks and pampered superstars who are used to being treated as demigods at their respective clubs.

Ferguson and Mourinho are 2 clear examples of strict disciplinarians who have found success with their respective teams. The difference between them and Capello is that the players genuinely like them and respect them. Sir Alex can give you a tongue-lashing so bad you'd wish to crawl back into your mother's womb, but he is also a genuinely caring father figure to most of his charges. The players know that at the back of their mind, come what may, Fergie is a "father" to all who will fight to protect the best interest of his "children".

As for Jose, forget his "I'm-the-bossman" image he exudes to the world. Forget his arrogant, Special One attitude he shows to the camera. That's Jose the showman. The real Jose, i.e. Jose the manager, is a different person. Players have come out in interviews speaking glowingly about Jose the man. Apparently, he is a great friend to most of his players. He eats with them, jokes with them and truly understands their day-to-day problems and tribulations. He keeps a firm but silent authority over them. Jose's style is the "big brother" approach. The players all look to him as the big brother they admire and want to be when they grow up. He is also charming and has excellent EQ. Hence, wherever he goes, he builds relationships with players and they want to play well for him. Just ask the weeping Drogba (when he left Chelsea) and Materazzi (when he left Inter).

The similarity between both Fergie and Mourinho is thus: cultivating a relationship with the players. Players are humans. With feelings and thoughts. Capello apparently has failed to realise that. He is managing his players as if he was playing Championship Manager on a PC game.

That's his problem. The English players fear him, but they do not respect him. Hence they can't give the proverbial 110% effort.

I know this damning analysis totally contradicts my earlier post about the World Cup (written 6 months ago) about Capello being the chosen one to turn the English into world-beaters. Well, thankfully I'm not one to stubbornly stick to a wrong view even when all signs point to the contrary.

There is such a thing as overkill. And this time, Capello may have done it with his over-emphasis on strict adherence to the law he lays down, disciplince and almost dictator-like approach to being the English boss. It has backfired. England are on the brink now. Let's just hope they forget that damn Italian and play instead for their pride and country.

Well, enough English bashing for a day. Let's hope that my next update on the World Cup 2010 will be on a more glowing note. For now, I would just like to say ... come on World Cup!! Come to life, goddamnit!! Come on Africa!! Let's see some Waka Waka.

p.s. - Can someone ban those damn vuvuzelas? I don't fuckin' care if that is "African culture". It sounds like there's an angry mob of flies perpetually around the stadium and it's irritating the shit out of me.

What a Guy Wants

2010-02-12T15:51:00.003+08:00

So I was driving back to Penang with Gary & Soong early this morning and amongst the many topics we spoke about was the conundrum that is Taylor.

No, not the talentless "Look - at - my - 6 - packs - coz - there's - nothing - to - look - for - on - my - face" Lautner. We're talkin' bout a certain lil' miss country cutie who's fame is Swiftly rising like a meteorite if only meteorites rose upwards rather than crash downwards. ...Ok, admittedly that's lame but try waking up at 5am after having 3 hours plus of sleep and driving up to Penang from KL at 6 in the morning. But I digress...

So anyway, these days it's almost impossible to turn on the radio / music channels on TV without hearing one of her catchy, acoustic-driven pop beats belting out odes to puppy love, finding her Romeo or being 15. She's everywhere, this 21 year old Pennsylvanian beauty. And lately, she's even bagged a couple of Grammy's to prove her musical worth.

But what is it really, that makes up the success that is Taylor Swift? Objectively speaking, she's only got an average voice, not very powerful and nothing really unique. Her music is just your typical country-influenced fused with teenybopper beats which is a throwback to the 90's saccharine pop hits a la Hansons or Moffats et al.

In the looks department, she's certainly blessed with sweet and pleasant features, considerable height and a healthy waist-to-hip-ratio. But again, nothing outstanding. She's not extremely drop-dead supermodel gorgeous, neither is she fucktabuliciously (I think I'm gonna trademark this word) vixeny hot. She's your typical shy girl-next-door whom you'd probably have noticed more if she wore something other than her jeans and tshirt more often.

Yet there she goes selling hits faster than a bread man can give out loaves at a Rwandan refugee camp. Tween boys adore her, teen guys are in love with her, adult males enjoy her as a secret guilty pleasure and middle aged men ... well, you get the drift.

Then it struck me. And the puzzle is solved. Taylor Swift is where she is today because she epitomizes ultimately, like the title suggests, what a guy ultimately wants in a girl. Disclaimer: This only applies to straight men. So gays & faggots ... wait a minute, I don't think homos read this blog anyway. Again, I digress...

So Taylor got me, Soong and Gary into discussing about girl types. And from our talk, (well to be honest it was mostly me doing the talking but they didn't object to these views and silence is agreement so I take it they agree) we managed to distill into a simple principle which quite simply summarizes how most guys view and react to different women types.

So hear ye, hear ye, women of the world (here I go again unashamedly assuming that I am indeed speaking to the world when all I'm actually doing is typing into the abyss of a text box in a relatively unknown blog). Wonder no more about what your sons, husbands, brothers, uncles, fuck buddies, boyfriends and best friends truly want from you. What you are about to hear is so simple yet so profound. So outwardly chauvinistic yet so inwardly gospel that Jesus would come down and say "Amen" if he could. It's so universal that you should commit it to heart and use it as a guide to understanding men.

Yes, us guys are so easy to decipher. Compared to the zillions of books and literature out there purporting to "teach" and/or "illuminate" a guy as to what women really want (I think that list is still endless as at today), us guys are as simple as simple goes.

So here goes. In one sentence. Or maybe a few.

Disclaimer (again): Very chauvinistic views below. If you're a feminist or just prude, I suggest you stop reading and go burn some bras or write nasty letters to John Terry.

In an ideal world, a guy wants to meet and pick-up (preferably at a pub or bar) a Megan Fox, bring her home, engage in a mindless, from the front-door-to-the-room-to-the-coffee-table-at-the-window-in-the-shower romp with her that will leave him breathless and his furniture broken all night. He'd say goodbye in the morning, exchange digits and then call her up again every now and then when the horny bug bites. Others who fall in this category would include most Japanese porn idols, Korean group the Wonder Girls, Monica Belluchi, Shakira, FHM cover girls, Cheryl Cole and many many more you can find on sites like gutteruncensored and so forth.

This guy would at the same time set his sights to be officially the boyfriend of the intimidating, previously-thought-of-as-untouchable beauty like Giselle Bundchen whom the man would've pined for for a long time and, if he's that lucky, obtain her through grit, determination, hard work ... and sometimes dirty tricks and subterfuge. She will be his trophy girlfriend and grace many a social event with the man. She will boost his ego and progress his status in his circle of contacts. They will go on expensive holidays and have many postcard-perfect pictures to account for. In time, the man will tire of her tantrums, bratty antics and high-maintenance nature. The last straw will come when her tits start sagging or the next young model comes along. They will have a bad break-up, but the man would be happy to bid good riddance to her.

The same man would want to then have serious relationships with an interesting beauty with brains like Rachel McAdams, whom he'd have interesting dates, great conversations and do fun stuff with. He'd love her companionship, cherish their fights and enjoy the challenges she continually will bring in terms of emotions and demands. They may pick up a new sport together, discover an unknown love for some hobby or go to Sweden together to romantically save baby seals from being clubbed. But, being with her can be tiring and draining. Finally, he'll grudgingly call it quits with her when things takes its toll and she has to move on because of career, a better guy or too many fights. More likely than not, he would be devastated when it ends. But life goes on and this will leave a bittersweet memory in his mind and she will be the new yardstick he'd use to compare other women that will walk into his life with. Alternate sub-branches of this category would include fun-and-impulsive Katy Perry, free-spirited boho Sienna Miller, ambitious and confident Emma Watson and career-driven diva like Beyonce.

Finally, when all the dust is settled and the man wants to finally be a man, start a family and think of serious stuff ... he'd look for a Taylor Swift. He'd want a sweet, girl-next-doorsy type who is secretly intelligent, capable, can cook, sew, maybe repair TV and yet look hot when she dresses up. She'd adore him, let him wear the pants and play the role of a loving wife who'd raise his kids for him while he's working his ass off for the family.

She must be strong yet at the same time vulnerable. Tough yet at the same time need his protection. Deep down, our caveman protector genes are still lying dormant but strong. Every man wants to be a He-Man. Every man wants to feel like a lion guarding his den. A girl with Taylor's vulnerability just invokes this primitive trait in a man and makes him wanna protect her and tell her "everything's gonna be OK..."

He'd want to come home after a long, tired day of work to see her wearing an oversized tshirt, dorky glasses, curly hair tied into a messy ponytail singing "...she wears short skirts, I wear tshirts, she's cheer captain and I'm on the bleachers..." Ok, maybe the last bit was just me watching "You Belong With Me" too many times but you should get the drift.

And that's the reason why Taylor is such a phenomenon. She epitomises sub-consciously what a man really wants at the end of the day. Geekily-cute one moment (see You Belong With Me), to artistically vulnerable (see Teardrops on My Guitar) to ethereally beautiful (see Love Story). Taylor Swift is the complete package. Add in good looks and talent. And you have a no contest. Miley Cyrus may have more fans screaming till they pass out at a concert and more guys masturbating to her videos and pics ... but ultimately it's Taylor Swift that every guy wants to hold lovingly in their arms ... and bring home to meet the parents.

Heck, right after the VMAs she's got me wanting to give Kanye West a facial realignment if I ever meet him in person.

In short, it is Taylor Swift, and not Kellogs Frosties, that brings out the tiger in you.

p.s. - Since this is around Valentine's Day and all, let me just put on record that I think I've found ... my very own Taylor Swift. ;) 5th Valentine's Day and growing...

The Very Long Series of Recaps - Prologue

2009-11-29T12:05:00.006+08:00

The year is winding to an end. Pretty soon we'd be in December (like in 2 days time) and then before ya know it, Christmas will roll by and then it's New Year's Eve and zoom ... bye-bye 2009. If I made a ringgit for each time I said "fuckin' hell time is passin' by way too fast", today I'd be running my own budget airline company saying everyone can fly.

But seriously. I can't say it often enough. Especially now that we're nearing the conclusion to yet another year. Yet another carving etched on the tree of life. A cruel reminder of our own inevitable vulnerability. Blink and there goes life passing you by.

2009 sure felt like it zoomed by with the pedal to the floor and 'Carry On My Wayward Son' blaring through the soundsystem. You never truly comprehend the speediness of things until you approach the end of the year and see Christmas decorations being strung up in shopping complexes to make you go "already?!"

2009 has also been my most unproductive year, blogging-wise. I used to do a post a week when this blog first started up and when I was in the midst of studying law. The frequency then slowly dwindled to probably a post a month when I began my pupillage and took my first steps into the working world, and finally in 2009, probably once in a really blue moon.

Ironically, in a day and age where blogging has suddenly overtaken masturbation as the national pastime, where the very young and very old and very ex-Prime Minister-who-just-doesn't-know-that-its-over-when-its-over alike have been bitten by the blogging bug, mine seemed to be dwindling into the twilight.

And so, with 2009 coming and very-soon-to-be-going, this blog has seen little, if not no, action. Which isn't a good thing really. Coz this blog has sort of been like a diary to me. Well, an open-book sort. Whilst I never really wrote day-to-day stuff or shared feelings or other sissy-like emo deep shit here, I realised that this blog became a platform for me to air my commentaries and views on things and stuff throughout the years. Therefore, this blog has sort of become an "album" which freeze-frames certain states of mind at certain times.

And so, in not wanting to let 2009 become a "void" when it comes to the overall "album" of my life, for as long as I blog at least, I shall be posting a series of recaps - very condensed, summarized, compacted bite-sized snippets of important stuff which has made 2009 what it is to me - over the next few days. Before 2009 ends. Hence the title. Today's post is just the recap.

Every few days once - if time permits - there will be a post that will capture a moment, or moments, of 2009 worth noting to me. Pictures will be used for events which I couldn't be arsed to write about.

Next up: My Vietnam Trip of December 2008. Yes, I know it's been a year since the trip but this is my blog so ... suck it?

Stay tuned.

Can't Wait For Summer 2010...

2009-10-17T10:13:00.007+08:00

This is a VERY football-centric post. So if 22 grown men in shorts chasing a ball up and down a field isn't your cup of chai latte, then I suggest you take your golf clubs, cricket bats and tennis rackets and go play by yourself in the corner.

If you're someone who breathes, lives and sleeps footie, then please block out your calendars for July 2010, get a giant TV, stock up on beer & chips and tell your wives / girlfriends to go take a girlie break to Bali or somewhere during that time. And oh, be prepared to be ignored. For a month.

Dilys, this goes for you too. Unless of course, you want to join me in watching the greatest show on Earth from start to finish. You're more than welcomed too. But please brush up on your offside rule first.

Ladies and gents, I am putting fingers to keyboards here on this beautiful Saturday morning for a good reason. It's only October 2009 but the qualifiers are already coming to the breath-taking finish line. Avid fans will tell you that World Cup fever really starts about a year before the main event. Coz this is the crucial period where teams from all over the world jostle for that all-important spot amongst 31 other teams. This is also the time where fans get to see how their favourite teams start shaping up and make bold predictions of who will be powerhouses or whipping boys.

At this point in time, most teams have secured their passages to Africa already. There's just the matter of the play-offs left (the stage where teams who didn't make the original cut are given a final reprieve to book their place by taking on another fellow second-chancer in a 2-legged game).

The developments thus far are making me shiver with anticipation. The teams, personalities and elements involved are giving me a very strong feeling that this will be the World Cup that people will talk about in time to pass. Possibly the best ever. At least as far as I can remember (my first real World Cup memory began in 1990. I was 8) I wasn't so fortunate to witness the greatness of the '86 edition or those glory years where Pele introduced the world to the concept of samba magic (well, there's a million clips of those classic days on youtube but I guess watching clips of legendary matches is like masturbating to porn compared to banging Megan Fox).

So in a way, 2010 may possibly be the classic of our era. Believe you me.

Why are you so cocksure, I hear you ask. 2006 was an ok-ok only affair and 2002 was, although colourful and entertaining, better remembered for being the World Cup of upsets and people killing themselves from losing entire life savings in bettings (hey, the World Cup was in Asia, the motherland of bookies, waddya expect). So what's so special about 2010?

Allow me.

Perrenial "This is Gonna Be Our Year" Team Looking Like ... It's Gonna Be Their Year

Ok, every time a major tournament rolls by, trust the English media to have you believe that the 3 Lions are going to be represented by the spirit of Geoff Hurst, the 6 million dollar man, Superman, Neo, He-Man or God himself. They whip up frenzy, euphoria and expectation to such ridiculously high levels that you'd start wondering whether the English media is run by Geordies.

And very consistently, the English team will fall when the odds are stacked. Penalty shootout misses, star players seeing red at crucial moments (see Becks in '98 and Roo in '06) or tactical naivety will somehow invariably deny the English once more of being champions. And then the next tournament comes and everyone forgets about the last failure and once again talk about "this being our year".

Well, this may actually be their year. Finally, after all those years of promiscuous Swedes, clueless Englishmen and more clueless Englishmen being in charge of team affairs, the FA has gotten it right with the appointment of the no-nonsense, championship material, drill-seargant Fabio Capello. If anyone could whip England's pampered millionaires into a team capable of reaching its maximum potential, I would put my money on it being the man who, if he was born in a different era, should be leading armies to war and honour.

Also, it is undeniable that a team powered by the enigmatic Rooney, marshalled by the man-giant Terry and dictated by the plays of Lampard & Gerrard, is world-class. If Ashley Cole, Gareth Barry, Aaron Lennon, Rio Ferdinand and Gabriel Agbonlahor (yes, he is my favourite English player) could keep it together, then touching the coveted Jules Rimet trophy may not be too far away. Don't forget other matchwinners too in the form of Becks, Defoe, Owen or Joe Cole. Capello has his work cut out though: he needs to solve the 'keeper problem, get a proper right back and find a natural target man who can develop telepathic understanding with Rooney (Darren Bent, anyone?).

Afrikaan Pride and Pawaaaarrrr!

Pele had many years ago predicted that an African team would lift the World Cup soon. That was in 1994. It hasn't happened yet. But this may be an interesting World Cup to put that theory to water.

They say that frenetic fans may sometimes be the "12th man" capable of lifting a team to extraordinary feats beyond the limits of the players' capabilities. If that is the case, then the fervour and passion that will follow all African teams throughout the motherland, the cradle of humanity ... will surely give teams like Ivory Coast and Ghana the 12th, 13th and even 14th men.

Make no mistake about it, home ground has its advantages. Ask Sun Tzu. African teams will feel at home with the climate, conditions, weather and culture. Heck, they would want to prove something to the rest of their brethrens and slaughter some whities at home.

Couple that with the technical abilities & standard of African players who are now constant fixtures in any major team in Europe, and blessed with their natural physique and pure power, there is that faint glimmer of hope that a team of "brothas" may just upset the traditional giants and push the competition to the max.

My money is on Ivory Coast upsetting the formbook and breaking a few European hearts. Ok I may be biased (due to my Chelsea loyalty) but in Didier Drogba, the Ivorians possess arguably the strongest footballer on the planet. With passion, skills, play-acting ability and an eye for goal in similar bucketloads, this is the Drog's last chance saloon to make an international mark (he is 31 years old). Ably supported by equally powerful and experience countrymen like Boka, the Toure brothers, Eboue, Kone, Zokora and supplemented by fellow strikers like Dindane, Kalou and Keita ... the Elephants are the African team to look out for. Also, watch out for the rise of Gervinho, the understudy of Drogba. I predict that he will make a name for himself, if given the chance to play.

Spanish Armada still sailing...

Used to the "chokers" tag which they used to share with Holland, and Portugal the Spanish team has in previous years flattered to deceive. Immensely talented yet they somehow always seem to get knocked out by technically more disciplined teams like the Germans, the Swedes or the Danish.

Not anymore. They have (I hope) buried the "almost men" tag by winning a major tourney last year, albeit its only the Euro. But that win would've given the Spanish a burst of self-belief that on their day, they can beat anybody. And I wouldn't be surprised if they did, if the team is anything to go by.

2 of the world's most feared strikers are playing together - Messrs Fernando Torres & David Villa. As if that was not enough, this time they have the peaking-in-form Barca duo of Xavi and Iniesta marshalling the midfield. The fact that a talent as precocious as Fabregas still can't muscle his way into the top 11 speaks volumes of their strength in depth. If Sergio Ramos & co. can keep St.Iker's penalty area safe, the Spanish are the team to watch.

Korea. No, not the Southern pussies. I'm talkin' bout Nukin' North, baby

The reclusive, misunderstood communist community will have representation at this World Cup in the form of the footie men from Pyongyang. That's right, good ole fashioned commie pride will be on display come summer 2010. That's if they don't blow their Southern neighbours up and get internationally banned from all sporting events first in the interim...

But whatever it is, their inclusion will really make people sit up and take notice. Here's a nation steeped in old school communism, where the players probably haven't watched a single EPL match before (I may be seriously ignorant here but that's how I picture communist regimes to be), coming before billions of watchful eyes ... to do their country proud. What a historic moment.

I will be supporting them fully. If the world's recent recession and anti-capitalist sentiments it brings is anything to go by, I'm betting that the plucky North Koreans will be everyone's favourite 2nd team ... if anything just to stick the middle finger up at the moneybags nations with their cash-rich leagues and hi tech sports facilities.

It'd be interesting if at some point they get paired up with the USA ... I think it'd make a great premise for Rambo 5.

Dunga's Samba?

A World Cup is never complete without the boys in yellow. And they have never missed - or failed to light up - a World Cup before (or as far as my aforesaid World Cup memory serves).

This time round its the pragmatic Dunga (captain of that team who hoisted the World Cup in '94 being powered by the fantabulous Bebeto and Romario) who is in charge of whipping the traditionally gifted Brazillians into a championship winning team. The anticipation of watching Kaka, Luis Fabiano, Maicon, Luisao, Alex, Nilmar and Adriano (if he's fit) try to outplay all teams with the beautiful game to the Finals would be a spectacular feat to watch. However, while they will always be traditional favourites ... my hunch is that they will be pipped to the title by...

Diego & the El Locos

So the Argies almost did not make it. So the Argies have recently come under heavy criticism by fans and press alike for being talented yet highly inconsistent, indiscipline and erratic. Yet amidst all this madness, there's this sense of magic lingering about this bunch of talented players. Just like their manager.

Maradona has recently been accused of a lot of things, amongst them being tactically clueless and a bit of a prima donna. Ok, he is so diva he'd make Whitney Houston seem like someone who'd serve food to the homeless and play with sick kids.

Yet there's always something about Diego that makes people continue to want to watch him. Even if just to see what this mad genius will do next. There's no denying too that he has that bit of luck. And magic. That when combined ... may just turn out to be that X-Factor that separates the winner from the rest.

All hyperbole aside, you can't deny that with a squad boasting the likes of the world's most skillful player Messi, Zanetti, Milito, Demichelis, Mascherano, the resurrected Veron, Angel Di Maria, Aimar, Higuain, Tevez, the new Maradona aka Aguero and the 'called up after a decade Palermo', there's no questioning the quality of their play.

But what really makes me think that they might just knick it ... is the fact that they almost did not qualify. Coming back from the death to prove doubters wrong can be a very strong motivating factor. The more religious or new age among them will even take it as a sign of "divine intervention" or its their "destiny" to win it. It's like how a man who comes battling back to life after a major heart attack / stroke / cancer will be determined to live life the fullest. I think Argentina will be out to just do that.

Heck, I am hereby laying down a prediction - Argentina to win the World Cup. With Palermo to score the winning goal. And with Messi to bring God's hand full circle with a cheeky lil punch into goal in a crucial semifinal ... against England. Now that's what I'd call a great World Cup.

CONCLUSION

In short, no one had better disturb me in the month of July 2010. Coz I got a feeling (wooo wooooo) that many nights in that month will be a good night.

Cowgate & Independence Day

2009-09-05T18:49:00.004+08:00

So Malaysia celebrated her 52nd birthday recently.

On August 31st 1957, 52 years ago, Malaysia gained her independence from the British. We were officially rid of the colonial masters and the sons and daughters of this country could from that day on, proudly call this land their own ...

... well, at least that's the garbage we were force-fed to digest during history lessons in school.

52 years is a long span of time. A lifespan to some, and certainly enough time to nurture several generations into a bright young country capable, with its vast natural resources and multitude of talens, of carving a name for itself in the international scene. Yet the passage of time has now become a stark reminder of the fuckin' waste of opportunity and resources we Malaysians had to endure under wasteful hands.

And on Independence Day, I personally felt no shred of love or pride for this fuckin' shithole of a country I'm in. To answer why that is so would be stating the bleeding obvious but fuck it, I'm in a mood for a good rant.

Our economy is hoarded by a select group of filthy cronies and the country's coffers are the personal piggy banks for fat government cats. Our level of education has been tumbling down a shameful hill whilst crime rates and corruption stats are shooting through the roof unrelentingly. Mediocracy is encouraged and shameless political patronage the norm. On a social level, little has changed in terms of our mentality, culture and civic consciousness from the days of being a 3rd world country.

The list goes on. And it's long.

However, if there is one area which sticks out like a sore thumb among the already bloodied and bruised body parts mangled together into a sorry walking corpse we call a country, it would have to be race relations. Let's make no bones about it and call a spade a spade.

Race relations in this country is at its worse at the moment. If unchecked, the current slippery slide we're on is soon to bring us down to a shuddering thud sooner than we can say "muhibbah".

As a stark reminder of how fucked up it's become, on the eve of Merdeka (for non-Malaysians out there, Merdeka literally translates as Independence, and it's currently one of the most overused catchphrases thrown about by the government spin doctors to sweep everything under the carpet for one day every year where we all smile and link hands and pretend everything is just hunky-dory), a bunch of Malays from this predominantly Malay area called Section 23 in Shah Alam decided to make a huge protest over the state govt's proposed relocation of a Hindu temple to their area ... by chanting racist slogans and parading a severed head of a cow before stepping on it in all their Malay glory and pride.

Cows are considered sacred animals in Hindu religion, beliefs and culture. Therefore, protesting against a Hindu temple by shamelessly exploiting the severed head of an animal considered sacred to the Hindus is just plain going overboard.

Such an act would be akin to Hindus bringing the severed head of a pig and throwing the damn thing into a mosque. Or taking a giant potrait of the prophet Muhammad and having a mass peeing competition on it.

If the above were to happen, all Hell would've broken loose and the majority of Malays in this country would be having Hindu soup and Tamil-meat rendang for breakfast. To top it all off, the protestors, and their family, friends, lawyers and anyone remotely associated with them would be rounded up, roughed up, assaulted, abused, punched, kicked by a full battalion of FRU and police force complete with tear gas, water canons and batons, and then shoved into jail using the ISA with the keys thrown away.

But none of the above happened after Cowgate scandal. Top government officials gave several "slaps on the wrists" by issuing press statements saying that the protesters shouldn't have done that, the issue should have been discussed amicably, bla bla bla. Lots of double talk but no action. All, pardon the pun, bullshit.

Thus far, no substantial or severe action have been taken against the cow-murderers. I was told that during the incident, several policemen and FRU members who were there on patrol just stood by and let the parade stroll by. No prizes for guessing which race is predominant in the police force and FRU.

The Home Minister came out several days later in apparent support of the protestors, saying that people should be given the opportunity to voice their dissatisfaction "peacefully". What a load of fuckin' shit.

This is the same Home Minister under the same government run by the same fuckin' mafiasos called UMNO who has continually persecuted and clamped down violently and unnecessarily on peaceful protests, candlelight vigils and citizen's march for democracy when the issues are pointed against them. The same group of people who have mass arrested opposition protesters, lobbyists and civil rights movement members in the so-called interests of "national security" and "protecting the sensitivities of the majority" have suddenly decided that it's OK to protest and fan the flames of racial fires with a direct attack on another religion?

FUCK UMNO.

This smacks of downright "2 sets of rules for 2 groups of people". This smacks of open corruption and abuse of the highest degree. This smacks of a facist movement that's been given far too much room and far too much tolerance from the good people of this country. They rape, pillage and plunder our wealth under the guise of "an elected government" and this is what they're returning to us?!

Is it any surprise then as to who are the real culprits behind Cowgate? Is it any surprise who are the real culprits behind all the apparent racial tiffs, disputes and aggravations all this while? Hell no.

Divide and conquer was a strategy used by our colonial masters to exert control over the natives of our land aeons ago. Apparently this policy has never been repealed and/or replaced, but merely changed ownership.

In this sense, we have not actually found any independence. We have now just transferred our servientship from the British to UMNO warlords of today. And this is what pisses most Malaysians off. Whilst the British divided, conquered and raped our lands for the benefit of England, they did bring many benefits to our society, i.e. in the form of education, legal system, police force, system of governance, infrastructures, roads and generally the ways of being civilised. Under UMNO, we are having a watered down, degenerate, broken down system for all of the above. Nothing works in this country.

So if I am going to be under the thumb of anyone, in the circumstance, give me the British any day. At least I'd know it was a give-and-take scenario. Fair trade. With UMNO, there is no such thing as fair. Or trade. It's their way or the highway.

And these bastards sons of bitches will stop at nothing to let this system remain. This includes dumbing down their own race, the Malays, to ensure that they perpetually have a reservoir of dumb-fucked, uneducated, underprivilleged racist village dinkums who will continue to fuck, multiply and make up the majority whilst giving them unquestioning loyalty and votes to ensure that UMNO will continue defending their rights from the government-created boogeymen, a.k.a the Indians and the Chinese.

Simultaenously, they will continually create small racial "fires" like Cowgate, threatening to close down Chinese schools, keris-kissing and keris-wielding show of bravados as a subtle way to remind us "minorities" once in a while as to who's the boss and who really calls the shots in this country.

At the same time, a select few sell-out Chinese and Indians (read: MIC, MCA, Gerakan and all other non-Malay UMNO ball-carriers) continually "play their part" to look like they represent the Chinese and Indian interests whilst they rape the economy raw and celebrate their excesses with their UMNO buddies in the comfort of ill-gotten luxury homes, downing shots, smokin' up fat Havanas and screwing hot illegal Uzbek whores let through by close-eyed Customs officers.

Oh, what a wonderful country we live in.

Fuck you all to a fiery murderous death in the pits of Hell, you racist bastards.

28 Weeks Later

2009-07-26T17:17:00.003+08:00

If you thought this post was about a horror movie featuring virus-ravaged man-eating zombies tearing through civilisation like a sumo wrestler at a buffet line, you thought wrong.

The title above is slightly more literal.

It's been 28 weeks ... since my last post. Yes, 210 freakin' days. 7 whoppin' months. More than half a year. However you choose to define or quantify it, it's a damn hell a lot of time.

In fact, this post almost didn't happen as I struggled to remember my login password. Seeing the text box and all those fonts like "New Post" and "Dashboard" feels so alien and deja vu at the same time.

I guess blogging is like a habit. Once you've gone cold turkey for a while, there is a mixed sensation of awkwardnss and familiarity that hits you in the face when you relapse. Like being handed a nice cold, bottle after a couple of years at a Buddhist monastery.

Being out of action from blogging this long didn't happen by choice. Rather, it' a combo of a numerous factors. Growing up, getting bogged down by life, time escaping way too quickly and personal laziness all played its part in the coma this blog has suffered.

2009 has truly been a test of fortitude, work-wise. A colleague of mine (who grew to become one of my closest buddies at work too) left the firm recently. He was my teammate and a stalwart in my department. He's gone back to his hometown in Sibu in anticipation of his wedding in a couple of months time.

So besides having to adjust to working life without this colourful character being around anymore, I had to shoulder his responsibilities, matters and files. And hell it's a lot.

This burden, in addition to my own increasing workload and general spike in new litigation (especially recovery side) industry-wide, resulted in very frequent intense periods of work where I felt like I was swimming upstream in shit creek with a broken paddle.

To be fair it wasn't only me who had to endure this transition period. My boss has been looking extra frazzled throughout this period of time, desperately keeping the ship afloat and being a mother of two at the same time - that's no mean feat. So are my secretaries, who are also swamped. See, at the beginning of the year my boss had set out numerous targets for our department to achieve. We were on the 'growth chart', I was told, and we were aggresively launching an expansion campaign.

The workload we took in was based on this game plan. My colleague's resignation, which happened sometime in March, forced a lot of plans to be changed and strategies revamped. You can't fault him though, for charting a new course in his life and progressing.

So instead of expanding, we're now trying to survive and keep up with all our expanding files and clients. We took in a new lawyer, but she left after a month due to personal reasons. We then took in another, but he's left for a 1 month break to Australia. It's a turbulent period.

So here I am, battle-weary but still surviving. Right now we're in damage control / survival mode. Just gotta try not to let too many files explode, dodge as many minefields from opponents and judges, ensure as many deadlines are met as possible and PR the clients into accepting that "hey, shit happens sometimes but stay with us, it's just a minor blip, it's gonna be alright".

Fingers crossed, I think we're doing quite an OK job so far - given the circumstance we're in.

Hence, the lack of time (and interest) to blog. When your work involves drafting, typing and stringing words and sentences endlessly, the last thing you need at the end of a long hard day is typing another word. It's probably like how a prostitute doesn't fuck in her spare time. Or at least something like that.

Back to my work situation - it's weird, but amidst all the chaos of missed deadlines, rushing to complete overdue submissions and juggling several matters at one go, I sorta enjoy it.

I may even have blogged about this feeling before (I'm too lazy to check) but I always silently curse and moan and whinge (sometimes not too silently) whenever I'm knee-deep in crap and I have to shovel shitload of work in order to reach the escape hatch.

But once that particular nasty piece of work is cleared, a sick sense of achievement glows from within. I'd even look back at the past week of sleep-deprived nights and millions of massacred brain cells and foolishly think to myself, "hey, it's not so bad after all. in fact, it's kind of fun"...

... only to have to eat back those words the next moment when yet another mother-of-a piece of work announces itself on my (metaphorical) doorstep and says "knock knock". Before I can say "who's there", a whole platoon of uninvited deadlines, meetings, urgent stuff to clear, affidavits and submissions come rushing in and there I am ... once again ...

... standing knee-deep in crap with a shovel and the escape hatch buried a couple of feet too deep for my liking. Cue to the whole moaning and cursing and whingeing. Repeat process.

So yeah, that wraps up my working life in 2009 thus far. It's fucked but so is life. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Or was it the other way around? Don't know don't care.

2009 has been an interesting year too. We were told the world was about to enter into the greatest depression since the Great Depression. We were told the global economy was going to plunge so deep we'd be back to the Dark Ages in no time at all.

But we were told many things before, like how the world was square, how the world would end in the new millenium and many more. But just like all other negative shit, the doom has not arrived. True, we are feeling the pinch of tightening of belts and economies worldwide stalling. Unemployment has risen and share markets have tumbled too. But not at the scale and magnitude which has been forecasted.

Even if it did, I say it's a good thing. It's natural that life moves in a cycle. In a cycle, there's always an up and there's always a down. Nothing remains unchanged forever. Change is good. My take is that we've been up for a while now. And people are beginning to get complacent, greedy and take things for granted.

Maybe sometimes all we need is a good slap for a wake-up call. Maybe sometimes when the hard drive is filled with too much viruses, spyware and adware, all it takes is a good reformat to put things back to where it belongs.

A recession is good because in one fell swoop, it brings many corporate giants to their knees and many tycoons down to earth. At one go, it weeds away all the redundant motherfuckers and make people sit up and actually get their asses moving. There will be collateral damage of course - people starving to death, banks going bust and homelessness on the rise. But that's a necesary evil. Those who survive the recession would have learnt a valuable lesson and intrinsic values such as hard work, saving money and being prudent would have been force-fed into the core values of many.

I say let's bring on the recession. No wait, I think humanity is in need of more than just a good ole recession. I think the recession could do with a lil' help of a bubonic plague, some major world wars and natural disasters as a way of course-correcting itself.

And hopefully, after all the carnage, destruction and death ... what will emerge will be a lesser populated world filled with hardy, tough and appreciative of life survivors.

So until my next post (hopefully not in December), cheers to the H1N1, terrorist bombings, killings, economic recessions and natural disasters.

We look forward to a second bigger wave.

A Partridge in A Pear Tree...

2008-12-25T16:48:00.003+08:00

Seasons greetings and many happy wishes.

Hope all of you are doing well and enjoying the merry-making and food-gorging at this time of the year. I know I have.

As you would’ve guessed, yes, I’m back in Penang. Christmas isn’t Christmas until you’re home. Smelling the familiar smell of roast chicken cooking in mum’s broken down microwave. Watching the familiar Christmas shows in the ole living room. Attending the same Christmas Eve mass and singing the same bloody songs year after year.

It’s comforting. It’s repetitive. It’s Christmas.

This time, my bro’s celebrating with us after a 3 year absence when he was studying in UK. 3 years before that I was absent in UK. So it had been 6 years since the whole family was at full quorum at Christmas time. We’ve got full-lineup this time - with the exception of my grandpa who passed away last year – and additional 2 being my brother’s girlfriend and Dilys, who joined in the festivities. In the Ong family, festivities essentially mean EAT EAT EAT.

Ok, it’s Christmas Day as I type this. Can’t blog too much. We’re about to have Christmas dinner. Home cooked grub cooked up by my Gordon Ramsay-wannabe brother.

So with that, I’ll just leave ya wit some festive pics. Which actually started a week ago when my grandma, mum and aunt came down to KL to do some Christmas shopping. Enjoy.

An illegal immigrant a.k.a Pendatang Haram says YES WE CAN

2008-11-08T01:09:00.002+08:00

Congratulations, Mr.President.

The people of the United States of America spoke. And in choosing its 44th President, the message could never have been any louder. Or clearer.

And so history was written.

For the many generations to come (if we, mankind, would even last that long), Barrack Obama's victory in securing a seat in the Oval Office heralds the beginning of what I hope would be a new dawn for equality amongst men.

It was Tuesday morning (in Malaysia) when the ground-breaking news first came through. Being connected through the worldwide web meant that the butterfly effect was instantaenous. A heartbeat halfway across the world could be shared by millions of strangers in an age where collective consciousness is but a few years away. And so, as majority of Americans of all race, creed and colour exploded in esctasy, so too did Malaysians who believed in what Obama represented.

I smiled with a beaming sense of optimism at my workplace.

It is not because I know who Obama is. It is not because I know what he stands for. It is not because I believe in the changes he has promised to make. Heck, I can't even tell you a single point from his manifesto or pledge. As a non-American, I should have no real direct interest in the outcome whether McCain or Obama wins.

But as a citizen of the free world, it was important that Obama won. More importantly, as a Malaysian living through this fucked up mess of a political system I'm stuck in, Obama's win was crucial.

Dilys asked me, "I know I'm gonna get a long lecture from you later, but why is everyone on my Facebook going Obama, obama, obama ... ? He's not even our President"

Well, I didn't lecture her. But allow me to share what I told her.

First and foremost, I have nothing but deepest respect in the way McCain threw in the towel. Anyone who heard his speech conceding defeat knows that the American political system is one which tries its level best to practice fair competition.

Today it may be a Republican. Tomorrow a Democrat. They fight tooth and nails and blast each others' campaign to smithereens. But at the end of the day, they know it's over when it's over. They smile and shake hands. They go back and lick their wounds and move on. They learn from the defeat and aim to get back at the next round when the gloves are off once more. They do not treat it personally. This is political maturity.

This is a concept completely foreign to a country like Malaysia. Where Opposition members or anyone sharing their views are treated as enemies meant to be destroyed. Where political survival means sliding as low as you can go on the limbo rock of shame and debauchery. Where you throw trumped up charges and try to morally stain a political leader to finish off his career.

Malaysians should learn a thing or two from the American elections. Unless you can't teach a bunch of old dogs new tricks. Then we the citizens should seriously think about putting these canines to sleep by shutting down the kennel at the next elections. But I digress...

... back to Obama...

Obama's win comes like a sledgehammer right on the forehead of racists bastards like Ahmad Ismail, Syed Hamid Albar, Najib, Hishamuddin "Keris", majority of UMNOPutras and every other 'bodoh sombong' Melayu out there who still insists on playing the race card and shoving Malay Supremacy notions down our throats as if it were rice.

Not too long ago, blacks were brought over to America as slaves. To pick cottons, do manual labour and generally get whipped around by fuckin' white bastards who actually subscribe to the notion of Caucasian supremacy. But times change. So do people.

And today, we see that a person who shares ethnicity with slaves of the past can rise to the top of the food chain and indeed lead a country. Not just any country but a world superpower. A country which consists of people of all colours; brown, yellow, black, red, blue and green ... and oh, whites too.

This essentially means that the majority of Caucasians, the successors from their racists predescesors, have evolved to such an extent that the colour of a person's skin matters little, if not none.

Such hope in humanity is instantly dissipated when I then turn my attention back to Malaysia. Here we have one race constantly on the rabid defensive, always on alert and livid that the other races are trying to question their rights and supremacy. Here we have one race ready to resort to any means to keep in place a blatantly unjust system that is inequal, breeds cronyism and encourages corruption.

Here we have one race bent on interpreting history to suit self-serving claims of "this land belongs to me so you illegal immigrants better be thankful I'm throwing you a bone".

Of course I qualify my aforesaid paragraphs by stating that thankfully there are still a substantial (and growing) number of this race which are equally as disgusted as I am at the manner the "leaders" of their race rape this country for their own aims.

Well, fuck you.

With Barrack Obama's win, Malaysians have lost the right to critizise America. For how can pirates cry foul when their ships get robbed?

The road is still long and 90 degrees steep when it comes to a non-supreme immigrant race like my own trying to climb to the top in any field based on merit alone. In Malaysia, it matters not that you have the most remarkable talent, best brain, greatest idea or biggest heart ... if you're not born into a particular race or religion, your options are limited. Sad, but true.

But hope is a funny thing. A couple of years back no one would've dreamed the day would come when the foundations of evil, more commonly known as the ruling government, would be shaken and stirred to the point of losing 5 of its States to the Opposition. Well, it has happened.

And now, Obama gives us hope that maybe ... someday maybe ... our dreams of being in a country where the best of the best leads, regardless of gender, race, religion, sexual orientation or favourite football team, might just be able to see the light of the day.

But until that day comes, we can all just watch from this part of the world as America once again soars while the world can just stare in admiration.

God Bless America. And Obama.

Musings from the Island

2008-10-25T17:42:00.003+08:00

Olla.

It's been a while. Last post was couple of months back. Which is the equivalent of centuries in blogging years.

So much has passed. So much has happened. So many 'blog-worthy' news, of varying degrees from funny to serious, which could've made for a good post, has come and gone. Anwar. Sept 16. The Olympics. ISA. Raja Petra Kamaruddin. Teresa Kok. American debt market meltdown. Ahmad Ismail. Pak Lah's resignation. Pendatang harams. Hari Raya. New EPL season beginning. Hull City. Abu Dhabi. The never-ending sitcom that is St. James' Park.

I missed 'em all.

The thing about blogging is you need to actually GET YOUR ASS DOWN and start typing the moment something springs to mind. Those eccentric writers who keep a pen and notepad at the bedside, to jot down those fleeting moments of inspiration when it hits, probably got it right.

Oh well. It's a good thing I don't blog for a living then.

Speaking of making a living, times are pretty tough. And if the forecasts of financial analysts are anything to go by, the worst has yet to come. Credit crunch, Wall Street meltdown, sub-prime crisis and global recession seem to be words you read on a regular basis in papers everyday. Except if you're an Utusan reader. Then you'd be more used to reading articles of assasinations of politicians. But that's a different story.

People are now starting to tighten the purse strings and belts globally, saving more and making sure their cupboards are well stocked up for the rainy days that are to come. Those fortunate ones at least. For the unlucky many who were caught smack in the middle of the eye of the financial storm, entire life savings can disappear faster than a coin in David Blaine's hands.

Many countries are gearing themselves to face the onslaught. Most governments worldwide are concentrating on rescuing their respective economies.

But here in Malaysia, the bubble has yet to burst. Here in Bolehland the government is still 5th gear in denial mode and oblivious to the impending doom. For people used to playing strategy games like C&C, Warcraft or Starcraft, it's akin to our government running the country with the fog of war still on. They simply aren't doing enough to insulate the citizens for when the domino effect would be felt here.

All day, all night, attention is solely on 2 things only: realpoliticks and survival. The country got hit by political fever in March this year. The country has yet to recover from it. Power-grabbing, tussling, tumbling over greedily to grab their share of the pie before it shrinks seem to be the only agenda our politicians have. As a result, we're constantly being bombarded with news of politicans and their gamemanship over one another.

To put it simply, Malaysia is one fuckin' giant chess board for a game that doesn't seem to able to end.

Frankly, we're sick of it. I speak for myself and I'm sure many more who want this government to just get on with the job. I might have written something along this lines before in my previous post(s) so apologies if I'm droning on.

So if members of either camp (the Crumbling Despotic Empire a.k.a. BN, or the Can't-Sort-Itself-Out-Pretenders-To-The-Throne a.k.a. Pakatan Rakyat) are reading this (I'm being over-optimistic aren't I?), please stop.

Stop the games and unleash your finishing moves already. It has to end so that whoever wins can begin the serious work of RUNNING THE FUCKING COUNTRY.

I have personal shoutouts to a few individuals which I'd like to get off my chest at the moment so take heed:

Anwar Ibrahim

No one forced you to choose Sept 16. Heck, no one even forced you to take over the government immediately. You publicly proclaimed such lofty ambitions. You took the citizens on a ride to Hopesville. You exploited our innermost desire to see a total annihilation of a disease-ridden government. And you failed to deliver. That's the truth of the matter. No one buys your 1,001 justifications on why it didn't happen. You had a goal. You did not reach it. You failed. Bottomline and truth hurts. Deal with it.

So the question on most lips are, what next. By all means hold your real cards close to your chest and refrain from making public anymore personal desires if you must, but your supporters and the Pakatan Rakyat need to have a clear game plan. As a leader, you lead. You need to have a blueprint and a course set in a particular direction so that everyone who shares your ideals can work towards it.

As a leader you need to point to a direction and LEAD US THERE. Would hordes of Egyptians have followed this bloke called Moses across a parted sea if he couldn't make up his mind where he was going? It's tough to be a leader coz you need to be the one making the decisions, no matter how unpopular or painful they may be. That is why there are so few leaders and too many followers.

Raja Petra, more affectionately known as RPK, would like to know that he has not launched his full artilleries at Najib & Co. for nothing. He would like to know that he's not languishing in ISA for no good reason. In fact, all the people who've put their political limbs out on the chopping block on your account are waiting. Waiting for you to deliver. Waiting for you to EARN the right to be called the next Prime Minister.

How you do it is another matter. We leave the execution to your wiles and politicking. That's your job. But it isn't too much to demand to know where the fuck you're taking us next. So Anwar, are you ready to actually lead? We gave you our seal of approval at Permatang Pauh, now start proving us right.

Ahmad Ismail

I'm an immigrant and proud of it.

Going by your definition of an 'immigrant', yes I am. And millions of others who have poured our sweat, blood and tears into making Malaysia what it is today. This fuckin' country was built on the bent backs of immigrants.

My great great grandfather fathered his son on Malaysian soil, who in turn fathered his son, who fathered his son, who fathered his son, also on Malaysian soil. They bleed Malaysian blood, breathe Malaysian air and IS FUCKIN' MALAYSIAN.

Of course by ethnicity I'm Chinese. But that's where the similarities with my ancestors in China end. China is not my country. Heck, I can't even fuckin' speak Mandarin.

So to ironically have someone like you, a fuckin' Mamak (of Indian Muslim heritage) call me and my Malaysian Indian brethrens immigrants, is like a slap in the face. Thank goodness majority of the Malays I know are not as bigoted and racist like the motherfucker you are. Thank goodness majority of the Malays I know readily acknowledge that they too, are in essence immigrants. And that the only REAL bumiputras or non-immigrants are the natives of this piece of land we share as home: the orang Asli's.

But we know you're just a fuckin' pawn in the dangerous racial game calculated to incite an incident so that your paymasters may turn Kamunting into a fuckin' carnival. Thank goodness level headed 'immigrants' are not as gullible as their fathers were back in 1969 and to fall into your trap of resorting to violence.

Ahmad Ismail you lousy parasitic scum of Penang (I'm ashamed to have barking mongrels like you associated to my home State), go to sleep bitch. Continue carrying the heavy gonads of your racist generals a little while longer. Your likes will become politically extint soon. You have failed to do what that 'immigrant' statement intended to do. You have failed as pawn. You are a sad excuse for a human.

To the people Ahmad Ismail takes his orders from

I won't name names. Why disturb a sleeping dog named ISA when I can stay behind the fence and throw sticks and stones at it? You know who you are and you know who I am addressing.

Your time is up. You have failed the people and you have failed country. Where countries like Singapore are ready to admit the onslaught of a recession and focus on the essentials, you still can't decide who wants to be made king from amongst your ranks.

Heck, even the outgoing king has a couple of tricks up his sleeves yet to pull coz everyone clearly knows the next piece to be made king is carries with him a heavy baggage and a history tainted worse than a woman's used period pad. You also have an ex-king who just doesn't know that it ends when it ends. Please go enjoy your retirement and keep baking your breads. Leave the running of the show to the next generation.

We're getting sick of you lot. The best way to stave off any challenge from Anwar is to show us that you can put internal politics beneath you, keep the opposition at bay and concentrate on really saving the country. But I suppose that is a tall order to make. And you will die a natural slow death at the hands of a country which is slowly waking up to the notion of democracy.

What a sad state of affairs we're in.

Now let me go eat some economy rice...

Hodgepodge

2008-08-04T00:47:00.002+08:00

Thesaurus: hodgepodge

noun
A collection of various things: assortment, conglomeration, gallimaufry, jumble, medley, mélange, miscellany, mishmash, mixed bag, mixture, olio, patchwork, potpourri, salmagundi, variety. Slang grab bag
The noun has 2 meanings:
Meaning #1: a motley assortment of things
Synonyms: odds and ends, oddments, melange, farrago, ragbag, mishmash, mingle-mangle, hotchpotch, omnium-gatherum
Meaning #2: a theory or argument made up of miscellaneous or incongruous ideas
Synonyms: patchwork, jumble

[Source: http://www.answers.com/topic/hodgepodge]

So it’s been more than a month since my last post.

A lot has happened in the very brief 4 weeks or so that just zoomed by. Malaysian politics has shown what a difference a day makes, with dynamics and changes occurring faster than a deck of cards in the hands of a magician. Blink and you’ll miss another stat dec getting withdrawn.

With so much to say yet so little time to write, I’ve decided that today’s posting will depart from my usual long-rants or nonsensical essays which I’m fonder of. It’s now 11.56pm on Sunday night and tomorrow (which is a mere few minutes away) brings yet another week of work. So something’s gotta give. Hence. Shorter. Posts.

Without further ado, I bring to you the hodgepodge of stuff that’s been happenin’ around me lately, loosely grouped together in related categories. Enjoy.

Of Sodo Mee’s & C4’s

Someone must’ve invented the time machine already. Coz it feels like 1998 again for most Malaysians. I’m sure a certain Anwar Ibrahim feels it too.

I shall not delve into the nitty-gritty of the latest butt-fuckin’ scandal enveloping the country at the moment. Like a bad case of déjà vu, the whole “did he, did he not” pantomime being played out by the top brass, the cops, the judiciary, the prime-minister-in-waiting and a certain cheeky little bugger who claimed to have gotten buggered have become fodder for the conspiracy theorists in all of us.

Coupled with the blatant abuse of power in the Hollywood-esque manner in which balaclava-clad policemen arrested Anwar and the subsequent fallout – talks of riot, rumours of demonstrations and fucking road blocks that causes massive jams … is enough to make any Malaysian citizen’s blood boil.

On the other end of the spectrum is the whole C4-Mongolian-statutory declaration-missing PI drama threatening to unravel the political career of anointed Prime Minister in waiting and you have a battle royale unfolding before our very eyes day in day out.

To cap it all up you have the picture-perfect union of the newly formed Pakatan Rakyat shattering to pieces in the public eye as PAS openly flirts with the whore that is UMNO that is trying to seduce its political enemy into its ill-gotten cash-filled mattress bed.

Spectacular stuff if you’re a budding suspense novelist or movie producer, but it’s fuckin’ bloody annoying when you’re an actual tax-paying citizen of this fuckin’ country who just wants the bloody government to start GOVERNING.

Cmon people. There’s only so much politicking, backstabbing, maneouvering and outlandish one-ups one can take before declaring that enough is enough. I think I speak for the majority in saying that we’re sick of all the politics. The economy is disintegrating, crime is soaring and societal ties eroding. Stop the bullshit and get to work in building the country.

Chelsea Invasion

About a couple of weeks back I heard Chelsea was coming to town. Not really keen at first as I anticipated a reserve team waltzing in to milk cash from the lapping Malaysian public. I didn’t wanna waste money watching unknown youngsters in Blue trashing the shit out of our pathetic boys in yellow.

But thereafter I found out the first team was coming. Stars like Lamps, Terry, Ballack, Joe Cole and Cech would all be coming down. And more. So of course the Blue blood running in my veins were getting all excited.

I wanted to go. Yet the ticket prices was exhorbitant. Couldn’t make up my mind. And then the surprise came…

… out of the blues (pun intended) Dilys whipped out 2 grandstand tickets for the Chelsea game.

I was ecstatic. She’s the best. Really.

So I took ½ day leave on the 29th of July 2008 and went for the game. Here are some of the pics (I'm too lazy to write bout the game. They won 2-0. Malaysia sucked and they played at half pace. There):

long line to go in at 6pm in the evening (game starts at 8.45pm)

my well-travelled jersey of almost 10 years already

random scenes of the crowd, pre-match

friends who came to the game as well, Syed, me, Pa'in, Ashraf & Fira

line up before match began

match in action. i don't own one of those high-tech super zoom fancy camera so you just gotta make do with the shitty quality and no pictures of the game itself.

me and dilys

the ONLY proper shot i had. and it's deco. a sign of his importance to the new season? we'll see.

me and dilys - post-game

In a nutshell, it was a brilliant outing. Loved the atmosphere, got to see my idols in person (although not up close) and had a memorable first live match in Malaysia with Dilys. The game itself was a bore though, with Chelsea on “warm up” mode while the Malaysian national team was on … well, their usual mode.

Battle of the Bulge Part 2

To the eager and avid readers wanting to know what happened after my previous Battle of the Bulge Part 1 post, here’s the update:

My follow up medical report was a success. Cholesterol lowered, liver showed good signs of improvement and colon in the clear. Doctor was impressed and told me to keep it up. On a physical note, a couple of people did mention that I lost some weight, amongst them was my rival-cum-housemate Syed, although grudgingly.

So it worked. The exercise, sensible eating and controlled intake of alchohol paid off. Although I am not (yet) a walking statue like John Terry, I would say it was quite a success.

On the flip side, recent weeks have seen me losing interest in the battle once more. Perhaps the good medical report should not have been brought to my attention. Soon as I heard my health was back on track, the gluttony and beer-fest began. Floodgates opened and soon exercise ground to a complete halt.

I’m spiraling back into slouch-land, I must admit.

But no more. I have resolved to begin my 2nd crack at fitness this year. My somewhat success in the first battle has given me the urge to go on and to BETTER my previous achievement. The last time, I gained great ground in terms of my health but not so much physically (the 6 packs was nowhere to be seen). This time, in addition to keeping fitness and health in the pink, I intend to make it show physically. At least more than the last time.

And in addition to my previous fat-bustin’ reasons to succeed, I have a new reason this time:

190 baht. Or RM19.

That’s right. 19 bucks is gonna make sure my 2nd battle against the bulge will prove more successful than before. What is 19 bucks? This:

Dilys went to Bangkok on a shopping trip recently and got me a cute green tshirt. Unfortunately, it’s one size too small for me. For now. I intend to wear the above tshirt and make it look BAGGY by the end of my 2nd battle.

So let the battle begin. Shall be updating my progress in no time.

Beerbeer.com

This is an advert to an awesome blog written by friends of mine: Min Jie (who is the husband to one of Dilys’ best friends, Paighee) and his cousin Kenny (a fellow Penangite I met in KL courtesy of Min Jie).

This blog rocks. With a name like beerbeer, you can expect the blog to have you reaching out for an ice-cold one from the fridge … I know it did for me. I swear.

So go www.beerbeer.org if you, like me, think beer is the nectar of the Gods. Fuck pretentious shit like wine. Beer should be made the official drink of Malaysia.

I’m No Pedophile

Many moons ago, it used to be the running joke amongst friends that I was a closet pedophile. Why? Coz of my non-stop raving of how Emma Watson will one day grow up to be a bona fide hottie with a cute tooshie. Who’s she?

She’s that cute lil witch from Harry Potter, Hermione Grainger. Back when she was still a kid, I already knew she had what it takes to become one of Britain’s most gorgeous birds. And they called me a pedophile for that. Screw you and check this pics out:

My has she grown. Hotter than before. Now stop salivating and apologize. I was right all along. And her hotness proves that I have an eye for talent. And I’m NOT a pedophile.

The Dark Knight

No words would do justice to this masterpiece of modern cinema. In many years to come, this movie will take its rightful place alongside gargantuan greats like The Godfather, Fight Club and Cool Runnings…but till then … go shoot yourself if you allow yourself to miss this absolute gem of a movie.

p.s. – I’m not kiddin’ about Cool Runnings. Jamaica. Bobsledding. The late John Candy and 4 rasta brothas. What’s not to like?!

Rockin' On...

2008-07-04T23:57:00.003+08:00

Once upon a time there was a boy. A boy who thought he'd grow up to be a rockstar. Or rap-rock star. Just star would do, actually.

Well this boy also had, at different points of his impressionable youth, dreams of being a star footballer, famous writer, actor, composer, high flying lawyer, scriptwriter, rebel leader and masked vigilante ... in no particular order. This boy had many dreams. Like all of us.

Then he grew up.

And almost all of his dreams vanished, one by one, to be replaced by getting real, being financially stable and basically being an adult. Except the lawyer one. Which he found out wasn't all that great after all. And he isn't such a high flying one at that too.

So for a long time this boy kept all those long-lost aspirations, dreams and childhood fantasies in a lil box in the corner of his mind. Souvenirs. He'd occassionaly open the box up and relive those moments fleetingly. Nostalgia would bathe him in a warm sort of glow and he'd smile to himself like how babies do after you tickle their tummy.

Until last Friday.

The box was opened. And the boy found out that the spirit of rock & roll never dies.

*snap back to reality*

Last Friday was the KL Bar Charity Night 2008. For a couple of years the KL Bar ran the KL Bar Idol competition on that night, which was a contest to find the most talented of singers amongst lawyers. In doing so, they raised money for charity too. Basically, the singer who manages to raise the most cash on that night, gets crowned champ.

So this year, KL Bar decided on a change. Instead of havin' another KL Bar Idol singfest, they decided to have a rock band slug-fest.

And so the Battle of the Bands 2008 was born.

Emails and notifications were circulated around. They were inviting bands to take part. My colleague, Ashraf, had been talkin' to me bout his jamming sessions with his friends where he plays drums. My other colleague, Kelvin, plays the guitar and he's been known to whip out his old strings for a strum or two whenever the opportunity to perform presents itself.

As for me ... well, it's been a long time since I performed.

Many years have passed since I first started cuttin' my teeth as front-man for a college-days band called WTF. If you're going 'what the fuck', you got it. It was a rap-rock band led by an old friend and guitar maestro, Kelvyn Yeang. He brought the band together and we had many great nights sellin' our souls to the demons of rock at dodgy jamming studios. Occasionally, we'd get to strut our stuff in crazy gigs in the underground rock scene of Penang.

I would later on venture into the hip-hop scene by forming a rap crew with long-time collaborater and friend, Ayam. We were the 3 Star Freakz and we performed at hip-hop gigs and underground concerts. We eventually sold out and were "rappers for hire", performing at events and stupid exhibitions for a bit of pockey money.

But no matter the genre and crowd, the one thing that never changes is the buzz I got after each and every performance. Standing in front of a crowd with the mic in hand and adrenaline pumped, the feeling is indescribable. The feeling of being able to let rip a profane-laced rap verse or growl your way into a rock chorus makes you feel more alive than you'll ever feel. The glare of the spotlight, the cheers and the sea of bodies groovin' to music you're making is just out of this world. Sportsmen talk about the sort of "high" they get from exercising. I get a "performing high" from being able to entertain.

I've been missing that feeling lately. It's been around 3 years or more since my last stage appearance. I was rusty but the itch was there. The itch to perform never goes away, no matter how hard you scratch at it.

The itch made me suggest to Ashraf to form a band and just give the competition a shot. He must've gotten the same itch too, and so did Kelvin, coz before we could even change our minds, he had emailed the organisers with our application.

No turning back. We hadn't played together before. We don't know each others' playing capabilities and we didn't even know what songs we were gonna play. With 2 weeks left to the competition, we hadn't even jammed yet. But fuck em all, coz this is what rock is all about.

Rock is ... fuckin' everythin' conventional aside and hopin' God sorts em out. Rock is all 100% attitude.

Ashraf recruited 2 more of his outside friends - Pain and Azad, who were fuckin' brilliant musicians, to make up our 5-piece band. The lineup was complete. With Ashraf on drums, Kelvin & Azad on guitars, Pain on bass and me on the mic, we were ready to put up a show to remember.

Christening ourselves "Will Sing For Petrol" we busted our butts off the final week for the competition. We jammed into the wee hours of the morning every day for about 4 days. And we were ready to go. Or sort of.

Come Friday night, 27 June 2008, the place was buzzin'. Lotsa my friends who heard I was participating turned up. My entire firm (or most of the happenin' ones) turned up. The partnership was damn supportive, collecting donations from the firm in bids to boost our chances of winning.

The crowd was at a healthy level. People jostled and pushed for space. I like thick crowds. The place was Savanth Too, Mont Kiara. Nice decor, decent space, swanky designs. Drinks a bit watered down but who gives a fuck, I was there for one purpose only, and that was to put on a good show and make try to relive my youth.

We were quite worried bout the other bands, and we had reasons to. Out of the 5 bands competing, 2 of em comprised of veteran musicians who'd been playing at KL Bar functions previously. We've heard them play before. And they were awesome. The other one was a purportedly underground frenzy band who'd been playing together for 10 years, according to one of em who bragged to Ashraf. There was only one other newbie, and even they sounded really good during soundcheck, albeit quite Canto-rockish.

We swallowed hard and just hoped to have a good time.

Curtain call, and soon it was showtime.

We knew we couldn't match the other bands in terms of technicality, they were far superior. We knew we couldn't match the other bands in terms of cohesiveness of sound, they were far tighter in their sets.

The only area which we had a level chance of beating em at was in the entertainment quotient of our act. And so we chose crowd-friendly tunes and tried our best to charm the crowd with wit, showmanship and pure vigour. I think we did not bad in those department.

We kicked off with "Mr.Brightside" by the Killers and it worked in gettin' heads bobbin' to its frantic beats and infectious chorus. We segued into the 90's tinged American pop-rock favourite "Till I Hear It From You" by Gin Blossoms. Quite a few people loved that song (the original version) and the nostalgia sort of helped cover the fact that it wasn't one of our better performances for that particular song. We still had people singing along though. We ended our 3-song set with the jazzy and chilled-out "Sunday Morning" by Maroon 5. I personally liked this one best. Notwithstanding that I had only properly learnt this song 2 weeks back, I must say the band's rendition of this song was quite strong. It was nice to see people actually groovin' on the dancefloor to this sexy number.

The crowd support was tremendous. Our firm colleagues doubled as "crazed groupies" and they managed to be one of the most boisterous crowds that night. Many kudos to them for losing their voices shouting and cheering each time I waved to the crowd. Many other friends from other firms also supported us and gave us the chance to feel like rockstars, if only for a night. Even my housemates Syed and Wilson turned up for moral support. And Myron and Fuan, if only for the ending part.

Dilys too, supported me in every way she could, including bringin along with her an entire group ex-ZICO colleagues she still kept in touch with.

As the night wore on, the other bands played. They were fantastic, music-wise. We just hoped we entertained enough to move the neutrals to our favour. Every band has their hardcore support. It was the neutrals who would decide the takings of the night.

We were seriously happy just to get the chance to play, and played we did. We were happy with our performance and the crowd reaction. And that was what mattered. Anything else would've been a bonus. But what a bonus it was.

The moment came. The announcement was made.

Much to our own surprise, we WON. Unbelievably, we staggered up the stage for an encore. Ashraf was wasted. And so was Kelvin, who could barely have kept his eyes open. We took another 10minutes to tune the borrowed guitars coz Pain & Azad had kept their own instruments in the car (not expecting to have to do an encore).

The encore was pretty shite. My voice was gone (from all the shouting and 1 week's cumulative worth of practice), guitars sounded funny and Ashraf's timing was all over the place (no thanks to alchohol). But we still played with gusto and enjoyed ourselves tremendously. We played Sunday Morning again. This time, we really soaked in the moment. The winning moment. The pay off from our hard 2 week's worth of practice.

We felt like rock stars for that brief Friday night. We dedicate our win to the generous donations from the firm, the crowd and everyone who supported us. We're not delusional, the win was not our efforts only. If this was a straight competition with musicians as judges, we wouldn't even make the top 3, in my honest opinion. But we did what we could do given the circumstance and won. Deservedly.

Personally, I was glad I took the opportunity to step back into old shoes and give the rock scene a try once more. I am glad to discover I still had the rocker in me, even if a somewhat subdued version.

It was great fun.

And it won't be the last time you hear of Will Sing For Petrol.

Watch this space.

;)

Dearest Prime Minister...

2008-06-05T01:11:00.004+08:00

------ THIS POST HAS BEEN REMOVED BY THE AUTHOR --------

EDIT:

So apparently this post has been making its rounds. In a major way.

Couple of days after I put up this post, I was informed by Dilys that she had received a forwarded mail from an old acquaintance with an email thread containing ... this post. In all its cut-and-pasted glory.

Not long after, I received another one of those long-ass forwarded mail thread. With MY OWN POST. Thread started by someone I don't even know. The post even popped up as one of the comments in an article on Malaysia-Today.

Part of me was flattered. I mean, cmon. You know you must be sayin' somethin' right when one of your blog entries turns into one of those widely circulated forwarded mails and you receive back the same mail from different circle of friends. Many times over. Heck, a colleague of mine even told me that she got this post as a forwarded mail from the HR Manager of our firm.

On the OTHER hand, it was a bit scary too. In majority of the forwarded mails, people praised the writing and the content. That's fine. Thank you, guys. But it also came with an omnimous line stating "apparently this mail has been published on the Prime Minister's website". Now, we all know how "accurate" forwarded mail contents can be. Heck, I don't even know whether a website exists for our Prime Minister. All the same, the possibility of it being true is quite a thought indeed.

People were also commenting on this post and how it has spoke on behalf of all angry Malaysians out there. It became sort of an opposition-tinged post. And it was pickin' up momentum.

Hence why it is removed.

To set the record straight, the removal of this post has NOTHING to do with me gettin' scared of any criminal / punitive / political repercussion the post might bring. No. Because this post was not in any way defamatory. This post was not in any way seditious. This post was not in any way politically-motivated by any party nor harboured any hidden agendas towards any individuals. No.

This post was the direct result of an angry rant by a Malaysian citizen who needed to clear some shit off his chest. This post was the result of this angry Malaysian putting his uncensored, honest-to-God (if He exists) pissed-off emotions into one venomous body of text. This post was the result of such text being channelled to the only free medium of expression a Malaysian can get his hands on.

So as such, I'm not apologising to anyone nor any party for what I've blogged about. I still stand by my stance and opinion therein. Including all the profanites. Oh I loved them. Each and every one of em.

The only reason for its removal is the very reason which brought me pride as a writer. It became too widely circulated. We all know the powers of the Internet. We all know how viral emails can be. If a person sends to 10 friends, and the 10 friends send to another 10, and so forth ... you do not need a Maths doctorate from MIT to guess the conclusion of how many people would've read such a mail in no time.

This wouldn't be a bad thing at all if the purpose of such article was to bring fame or infamy to the author. This wouldn't be a problem too if the intent of the author was to spark controversy or profit from results of such bad rep.

But it WOULD be a problem if the author is in a profession where professional integrity is as important as how the public perceives whether you have it or don't. It WOULD be a problem if many of the author's friends from the profession, and even members of the profession whom the author does not even know, have read the post and are all talkin' about it.

See, there's this lil thing called the Legal Profession Act. And in it, there's this lil provision which basically allows for its members to get into serious trouble if the aforesaid member does anything to "bring the profession into disrepute". What constitutes "disrepute" is wide and subjective. Hence the danger. ANYTHING can fall in that category under the "right" circumstances.

So yeah. I'm not takin' any chances. I'm not rich nor famous enough to tell the profession to screw itself with the gavel of the Judge ... yet. I need to put food on the table and this profession has been treatin' me kindly ... for now. I like my firm, my boss and my colleagues. So why potentially throw away all that for 15 minutes of cyberfame which may be deemed to have brought "disrepute" to the profession if certain powerful people were to arm-twist certain people in the profession to view it as such? I know I'm being paranoid.

But screw it. Prevention is better than cure.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why this post has been removed.

If you really really want to read it (if you haven't already), email me personally. If you ain't got my email address, then you're not close enough for me to share it with anyway.

Have a good day folks.

--------------- END --------------------

Battle of the Bulge - The Awakening

2008-03-27T00:37:00.002+08:00

You know you’re in trouble when your younger brother whom you used to crack fat jokes at tells you that he can’t wear your clothes now – because it’s too loose.

Yes, the younger brother whom I’ve tortured / taunted his entire growing up life with porky insinuations, overweight innuendo’s and food jokes have turned the tables around, it seems.

See, the Brother Formerly Known As Fatty went to UK last year to do his Bar exams. 3 months into the course and he proclaimed to the family that he’s on this stringent diet and that he works out harder than Madonna everyday.

Either he became a believer of the sweat-your-stress-away doctrine to cope with the rigours of the BVC or there were cute chicks there that he was trying to impress (probably a combination of both). Or maybe he found part-time work as a ‘Before’ and ‘After’ model for slimming products. Whatever the motivation, it worked.

How could someone like this:

Look like this now:

Pictures of him were proudly mailed back from time to time to impress the folks (who had been equally guilty of heaping humpty dumpty jokes on this poor bugger) and as periodic taunts to me.

It did not help a single bit that corresponding in the reverse with his weight loss was my “growth spurt”. More like a growing spud. Ever since I ventured fully into the working world, I’ve become your typical a modern day warrior decked in armour of shirts and tie and tailored pants and shiny black shoes, carrying weapons like pens and tag-in-cards and watches and handphones. An office gladiator, a slave to time, whatever. A rose by any other name, who cares.

Bottomline is, I’m part of the swelling figures that populate the unhealthy living charts of yuppies in the big city. Junk/fast food, lack of proper sleep, no exercise, sedentary working lifestyle and constant exposure to exhaust fumes, cigarette smokes, alchohol (copious amounts of) and all the other sins of the city.

I am the poster-child for the urban zombie.

With neither the time nor outlet nor motivation to maintain a proper workout schedule or eat nutritiously, I quickly found myself piling on the pounds. And then some more. As a kid I used to daydream of growing up to look like Sampson (the muscle-bound hero with flowing locks from the Bible). Now I’m closer to Simpson. Homer, that is.

Well, it’s all about to change.

Yes, I know, you’ve all probably heard it all before. Or said it so yourself. I’m gonna diet / exercise / live healthily / change my lifestyle / commit to better health / become a marathon runner from today / tomorrow / next week onwards. Tick whichever is appropriate. Few months (or most of the time, weeks) down the road and you’re happily making your way back to Fatland. Sounds familiar? It does for me.

See, I’ve always had a yo-yo relationship with my weight. A couple of days of vigorous activities / lack of food and I can shed faster than an English sheepdog in a desert. Similarly, a couple of gorging sessions at a buffet or a weekend of glutton-marathon and I’d balloon faster than the Goodyear blimp.

Previously when I had two good working knees and still played football, I was at equilibrium. Neither fat nor thin. I put on, I lose weight. Pretty standard. However, as my footballing career was ended by horrific ligament injuries (one of which remains unoperated on till date), coupled with slowing metabolism (age-related) and increase in salary (corresponds with increase in food spending power) and you see why the scales have tipped the way they have.

Recently tried to go on many a foolish attempts at keeping fit or the pounds away. I have to shamefully admit that these recent attempts were half-hearted or not consistent. Hence, the place I find myself in today.

However, I still believe it’s all about to change, as mentioned earlier.

This time it’s different. And I’ll tell you why.

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No.1 – Vanity

This is my – and I’m sure EVERYONE out there’s – permanent reason to keep fit. When you’re bombarded by zero-fat, rock-hard abs celebs on TV, billboards, magazines and everywhere around you, the perception of what looks good and what doesn’t start to count. Call me shallow but this world is all about looks, baby. Fuck political-correctness but there’s a VERY strong reason why fashion designers and photographers CONTINUALLY use trim, lean and good-looking people to sell products. Because they do and the fatties don’t. It’s a hard truth of life so to all fellow fatties out there, just live with it and suck it.

So yeah, I’m part of today’s image-conscious superficial world. Bite me. One of the main reasons I need, or want, to keep myself from joining the Fat Parade is because I need, and want, to look good. Simple as that. I wanna be able to make fun of fat people without having the mirror flashed at me each time I do so.

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No.2 – Feelin’ the Heat from the Recently Fit Brother

Refer to the first few paragraphs above and you’d know why there’s NO WAY in Hell I’d allow the used-to-be-porkchop beat me at the fat jokes and name-calling. Yu Shin, if you’re reading this, wipe that smirk off your previously fat face and start runnnin’ … coz if you stop, you’d see me zooming by waving a donut at your face.

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No. 3 – The Housemate Rivalry

My housemate Syed has been a very good friend of mine since Secondary School. One of the many reasons we’ve clicked until today is because we both share an unhealthy common trait – we crave and relish healthy competition, or rivalry, with each other. Ask Dilys and she’d tell you we sometimes argue and bicker worse than married couples. We just love taking part in something common and then competing to see who can “better” the other one in it. Be it girls, one-liners, Pro-Evolution Soccer 6 on the Playstation or simply who can eat faster, we are constantly “fighting” with each other. The area of keeping lean is one of them. I used to make fun of him in my leaner days. Now he’s taken on the tormentor role as he’s fitter than me. So yeah, we’ve sort of made a challenge to see who can lose weight the fastest. I’d be damned if I let that cocky gay bastard win.

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No. 4 – Medical Checkup Report

This is perhaps one of the most serious – and motivating – reasons of all. Recently did a full blood picture test. Not good. Bad cholesterol is high while the good one is low. Liver is fucked (no thanks to my cheap liquor bingeing days) and my colon isn’t healthy. Doctor said I have to be careful as these symptoms are direct gateways to bigger shit like stroke, heart attacks, liver failure, cancer and other shit. Suddenly, I feel vulnerable. Life’s too short and there’s so much I want to do. Fuck people who says “we’re all gonna die one day so who cares”. Well guess what, I AIN’T READY TO GO JUST YET.

So yeah, I’m on a special mission to “rehabilitate” those organs of mine which are under threat. Detox, internal cleansing and the whole works. But what’s long term is maintaining a good diet and healthy lifestyle. This time I’m fightin’ the fats not for looks, rivalry or impression anymore, it’s for my life. And the right to breathe, eat, fuck, laugh and fart longer. A lean body is the only way to grow old alive. You don’t really see fat centenarians and the likes, do you?

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No. 5 – It’s in the Genes

Some people are unfortunate to be born in a family of heavy-bones or bulky frames. They are consigned to a life of being big – if not fat – together with their family members. It’s scripted in their DNA makeup. Fortunately, I’m not one of them. I should be ashamed of myself. My dad is pushing 60 and he still has 6 packs and can outrun me twice the distance. Disciplined jogger and serial exerciser, when he was my age he probably had like 0.5% body fat and could carry off wearing a Y-front trunks without looking like a jellyfish in a net. So I’m really an embarrassment to his genes. Lookin at younger pics of me and my bro, we were stick thin. That shows that our genes are by default “thin” genes. To be at my size today, I have committed a sin to my genes. Fortunately, at 26 it ain’t too late. I still have time to turn it around. And thanks to my genes, I have a helping hand in this battle already.

To sum up, I have 5 solid reasons to Battle the Bulge ready at hand. Let me give it the 6th.

Fat-Bustin’ Reason No. 6 – Public Declaration.

By declarin’ such an intent publicly here, I’ve thrown down the gauntlet down and opened myself to ridicule should I fail in my fit bid. Therefore, for those who know me personally and readin’ this, do remind me of my commitment to fight the flab every once in a while and please keep the high caloried, yummy food away from me. If I seem to be turning down one drinking or makan sessions too many, hope you understand. Nothing personal, I’ve got a score to settle with my Fat Demons.

Let the good fight begin.

I shall be updating my progress once in a while here. So hopefully in time, you’d be readin’ the blog belonging to a bronze God with rock hard abs and pecs of steel.

Ok, who am I kiddin’ … just being fit will do. But seriously, when you do see me in future and gushing the usual “Wow, how come you look so fit these days” … remember, you read it here first.

Die for nothin'... or live for somethin'...

2008-03-17T00:25:00.003+08:00

Well, there's only so much one could blog about politics.

Ever since Saturday, Malaysians at all levels and walks of life have taken to a new hobby - armchair politics. The spectacular damage inflicted upon the ruling government had stirred up the imagination of millions and suddenly everyone's giving their 2 cents worth on what went wrong and who should step down.

It's a good thing, really. In the past, many couldn't even give two fucks who the Menteri Besar of Selangor was or what a State Assembly is. Now, everyone's trying to guess what the next twist in the "who will the Sultan appoint" game of MB-ships be. The commentators have all come out of the woodworks and suddenly everyone's runnin' their mouths like they have PhD's in political science.

Whilst this stimulates growth, encourages analytical thinking and promotes the idea of reformation, you get the feeling that a break every once in a while.

And hence this post.

Needing a break from all the politico-talk and disseminations I've been digesting of late, I've decided to put up a post on a subject I've been wanting to talk about since weeks ago.

In fact, it's more a tribute of sorts. A movie review on one of the greater, if not greatest, action movies I've witnessed in a long time. A very long time.

I'd like to dedicate this post to one man.

Him:

John "Motherfuckin'-hard-as-nails-rip-your-throat-with-bare-hands" Rambo.

Unless you've been livin' under a rock of chick flicks or pretentious artsy films, then you would by now of course, be bowing to the greatness that is Rambo 4. If films were gods and the cinema its pantheon, standing proud and stoic in its main arena would be John Rambo.

I swear that no action film in recent history could light a match next to this shoot-and-rip-em-up of a film. The effect of this film is equivalent to getting a dozen shots of adrenaline right to the heart and chugging down a whole cannister of concentrated testosterone liquid after chewing a couple of macho pills laced with glass splinters and thumbtacks.

When John Rambo finishes, any self-respecting member of the male species would be asking where the nearest gun shop is. The buzz I got outta that film lasted the entire day so much so that when the parking machine was just a couple seconds slow in returning back my parking ticket, I felt like ripping the damn thing out with my bare hands, chewing it into a metallic pulp and then spitting it out to the floor with a loud thud.

Enough of the superlatives and on the plot.

Wait a minute, it's a Rambo film. The plot basically revolves around him minding his own damn business catching snakes in some remote village in Vietnam. And oh, he also rides a boat up and down a danger-filled river in his spare time.

In comes a group of church missionaries out to bring aid and songs and food to this rebel village up in Myanmar. They ask Rambo, no wait it's John now as stated by man himself, to take em there. John refuses. They send a pretty blonde to ask. John refuses. They send the same blonde to ask him in the rain with wet clothes on this time.

In the next scene, he's taking them upriver. They encounter some pirates. The pirates encounter grisly deaths when they ruffle John up the wrong way.

He drops them off. They get ambushed by the bunch of mean-ass, sadistic military whose sole purpose in life, as how the film potrays, is to torture, maim and kill as many children, women and oppressed villagers they can lay their filthy hands on. The church group gets kidnapped after a gruesome attack on the village which leaves the entire place razed and bodies stacking up like cattles at an arboteur.

Then in comes a bunch of rag-tag mercenaries paid to rescue the church group. John of course tags along. That's about as far as plot devices go. Coz from that point onwards (slightly before midway through the film), it's carnage after destruction which John solemnly wrecks in his quest to save the church group.

"Die for nothing or live for something" was one of the more poignant speeches he made. I say speech coz John rarely mumbled more than a word or two whenever he spoke. I think he uttered less than 20 lines throughout.

You couldn't have asked for more in an action movie. Heads exploding, body parts flying left right and everywhere. The action was gritty and real. No clean gunshot wounds or trickling blood from a knife slash. In this film, blood sprays with the intensity of a garden hose and body parts are dismembered so much that you'd think a Texas chainsaw massacre was about to happen.

Yet it was not cheesy at all. At the hands of a lesser mortal, it would've been. But Sly Stallone manages to pull it off. Only he could take such a hardcore vehicle and turn it into something so noble and pure. Age has caught up with him and he was noticeably larger than the previous Rambo instalments, but with age comes experience, better quality and terrific fighting scenes.

The finale was magnificient. Around 15 minutes of non-stop maximum carnage where John gets his hand on a big ass anti-aircraft artillery and uses it to wipe out an entire platoon of military bastards. It was pure gore porn.

You go John.

If I were to pick a fault in this otherwise masterpiece, it'd be the length of it. With such a great performance, the film could have done better with maybe 45 more minutes of John giving the militants a dose of Hell-on-Earth. It would've satisfied the bloodlust of the most depraved and psychotic of us.

So good was the film that I went to watch it twice. On the big screen. And I would have done a 3rd round if there were more people who wanted to go. It's that kind of film where a blog post does no justice to it. You have to watch it yourself. To feel your heart pumping to the beat of machine gun. To feel your muscles tightening and fist clenching when John rips out a man's trachea with his bare hands. Or when he disembowels a paedophile Commander with his trusty knife.

The ending was beautiful. No words. No speeches. No Hollywood-esque explanation on good and bad. Just John surveying the collateral damage he had dished out on the army. And John walking home. Literally. See, Rambo 1 started with him coming back from Vietnam ... walking alone in his blue jeans and long hair ... as a villain in the eyes of the public. We all know what happened then.

In Rambo 4, he went back in the exact same way. Blue jeans, tousled hair in the wind and walking the long lonely road to his family home. But this time, a hero. It was a sweet closure to a great franchise. It was the best way to retire this legend. Full of grace. And utmost respect. With a hint that tells you that whenever the world needs a hero, whenever society needs someone who can cut through the bullshit and rip out the balls of anyone who deserves it ... John will be there. Waiting.

John Rambo is and should be the film that unites all real men out there. It is a wake up call to the growing bunch of pussy-whipped Metrosexual, effeminate culture sweeping through society to become real men once again. Fuck that yoga shit and talking your feelings and shit. Rambo is a throwback to the good ole days where men drank straight from the barrel and hunted boars and roasted them over huge fires and farted whenever they wanted to. Days where men were men, shaved with their hunting blades and knew how to smack their women whenever they went out of line.

Ahhh, heck. I know it's impossible to go back to the good ole days today in this increasingly feminist and annoying world. But every once in a while, a gem of a film like this comes along and kicks you in the nuts ... and even as you squirm in utter pain ... you are thankful for that kick coz it reminds you of why you had them in the first place.

Long live Rambo.

Do You Like Them Apples Now, BN? IF YOU SMEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL ...

2008-03-09T10:45:00.004+08:00

It was a feeling I've never felt before.

Complete and utter elation combined with a sense of awe and anticipation. Standing at the cusp of something new. They did it. We did it.

Penang has been won. Never in my 26 years could I have predicted such a resounding victory. The Empire of BN has been destroyed. Total OWNAGE by the Opposition, who are now, the STATE GOVERNMENT OF PENANG.

Shortly after I finished writing my emotion-filled last post (see below), the phone calls started coming in. Unconfirmed sources were whispering of a giant-killing feat in the making. SMSes and frantic calls from people at polling stations and journalist friends indicated that EVERY single Gerakan-MCA-MIC candidate had taken a throrough beating.

It was too good to be true. I initially dismissed it as probably over-enthusiasm and exaggerated hearsay. Cmon, the people have been dissatisfied and pissed off in the past, yet come every election the BN machinery still remains strong.

I would've been satisfied with a major dent in Parliament and reducing the ruling State government's majority to a slim lead. That would have been a powerful message to the oppresors of our intent to take Penang back. We would then be able to build from there and by the time the next elections roll by, we'd be ready to take the State.

I was wrong. By a whole term. Coz Penangites obviously were ready to be taken NOW. I had predicted winds of change and a few shocks. Never would I have imagined the extent of the shocks.

The vitriol, hate and venom permeating my last post must've been in the collective psyche of the entire Penang as the coalition of DAP-PKR-PAS swept clean the state. UMNO now forms the opposition and we'll see how they are gonna unsheath their keris when surrounded by knives, parangs and wushu swords.

As the night wore on, more shocks were to be delivered. Big guns like Sharizat, Samy Vellu, Koh Tsu Koon, Zainuddin Maidin and more fell like flies after a good dose of Ridsect. We heard confirmation of PAS retaining Kelantan and that Perak and Kedah were neck-to-neck. Shock victories in the Federal Territories and Selangor were heard too.

The whole night I was on a high. Adrenaline pumped, phone buzzed every few seconds with calls and SMSes. There was something magical in the air last night and I could never forget it. Neighbours were out of their houses busy discussing and sharing the collective triumphant spirit. The atmosphere was even more powerful and united than during Chinese New Year.

By around 9-something, as local television channels were still lagging behind in their "live" election updates (what's new), unofficial word on the street was that the deal was sealed. On Monday, we would have a new State government. The feeling is still indescribable. I was almost overwhelmed to tears. My long drive in the middle of the night in the rain back from KL to lend two drops of Rocket-infused water has resulted in a wave that came crashing on the island, sweeping everything in sight.

There was now rumours of rioting breaking out in mainland Penang and fear-monger driven messages about a tense situation all over Penang. I couldn't care less. Left the house at around 11, much to the protests of parents fearing for my safety, to celebrate the victory with a mamak session with a couple of friends. Nasi kandar never tasted this good before. There were no riots. It was all unfounded hearsay.

With Penang now secured, I came home and stayed tuned on other results. Kedah fell as well. And the biggest shock to come was that so did Perak and Selangor too. Effectively, this meant that the entire West Coast of Peninsula Malaysia has told the government to go fuck themselves. WEST SIDE TILL WE DIE, NIGGAS!! It is not surprising to note that Perak, Penang and Selangor has the highest concentration of Chinese votes, urban votes and people who are very attuned to worldly issues.

Selangor, to me, was a major shock. It was one of the richest states in Malaysia, very advanced and the bastion of modern Malays. It was the government's crown jewel and the unofficial "capital" among other states. It fell to the Opposition. Kuala Lumpur, the captial of fuckin' Malaysia, fell to the Opposition too as they nabbed 10 out of 13 Parliament seats.

This was a complete failure for the government. None had realistically expected the government to fall - coz that would need the leaders doing something really ridiculous like raping a live pig on national TV or declaring Malaysia as a Christian state -but the fact that 5 State seats, with 3 of them being the main heartbeat of the country's economy in the form of Perak, Selangor and Penang, falling to Opposition hands, was the biggest reflection of what the citizens wanted.

And we've shown them that we wanted a change.

The party or candidate did not matter anymore as relative unknowns gunned the scalps of prominent BN leaders. In the words of The Rock, IT DOESN'T MATTER ... if you put a dog under DAP banner against someone from BN, the dog would win. PKR could even field a Bangladeshi worker who can't speak English / BM against an UMNO bigwig and they'd still win. The mood was such that IT DOESN'T MATTER what the government pledges and promises in the run up to the elections. Everyone just wanted to give a protest vote.

The decision had already been made days and months and years ago. The decision was made when UMNO in their arrogance decided to stupidly threaten the Chinese with Malay dominance, what with all the keris-kissing and warnings of May 13. The decision was made when they threatened our religious freedom and freedom of expression. The decision was made when they arbitrarily attacked and violently shut down peaceful street marches and protests. The decision was made when stories of massive corruption and wastages of funds running into hundreds of billions surfaced. The decision was made when it was an open secret that the Abduallah administration thrives on nepotism, cronyism, dictatorship and wanton disregard for merit.

The Penang Chinese, and now Selangor and Perak Chinese, has done what it did in 1969 when it quietly stuck it to the government at the polls. With the emergence of PKR, the Malays now have a party whom they can relate to in voicing their anger and dissatisfaction that the NEP, special rights and privilleges of bumiputras are mere facades that do not reach the grassroots, squeezed dry by a select few in UMNO inner circle. I applaud the Malays of this country who have finally woken up from the lies UMNO tells you and are brave enough to give PAS / PKR your support.

The results speak for itself.

From here on, it's clear. Pak Lah, be a man and step down. It's clear the rakyat doesn't want you. Go out now. Go home and sleep on a proper bed rather than in Parliament, during Cabinet meetings and so forth.

For DAP and PKR, here's my take on what you should do:

DO NOT rest on your laurels. Now that you've won, show what you are capable of. Honour your pledges. Get organised and work together. These should be your game plan:

PKR - should mould itself and concentrate on being a party that can represent and protect the interests of Malays WHILST being equals to the Chinese and Indians. Do not be fooled by your victory this round as the Malays are not really against UMNO but against a select few from UMNO. Once these deadwood are removed, the past track record and credentials of UMNO may be tempting to most Malays if PKR does not offer a substitute or better party as an alternative. Thus, your multi-racial strategy to smash-and-grab at this elections should be fine-tuned. Tweak it to become more Malay-based but without the racial overtones and without stepping on non-Malay rights. Govern Selangor well and distribute wealth equally. Simply put, pool your resources together to become a BETTER UMNO and an EQUAL PARTNER to DAP. People may talk shit bout Anwar but I believe in him, you have a leader who is relevant, charismatic and intellectual enough to guide you through these formative years.

DAP - you have Penang, which is a hidden jewel with ridiculously high potential. Follow the footsteps of the great Lim Chong Eu who swept Penang with Gerakan in 1969. Build the state. You have in Penang, a State with capable and talented people with high potential. Attract them back from the capital by catching up with development. Continue boosting tourism and expand service-based economy and foreign investments. Shed your Opposition mentality and get yourself organised. Strength comes from within and it's now time for Lim Kit Siang and the old guns to STOP killing off talented DAP leaders from rising because of wanting to create your own mini dynasties. Your weakness is your in-fighting. Sort it out. Manage Penang on merits and give everyone an equal chance to shine. That means cutting off dirty Chinese businessmen who exploit bumiputra privilleges too. Do not cut off talented or able people who worked for the previous government. Gerakan and MCA has a lot of very honourable, hardworking and talented people who are out of a job or in a limbo thanks to their parties losing. Absorb them in. Show them you care and incorporate them into your folds. You will reap the rewards of their gratitude and ability to recognie talent regardless of personality or political affiliations. Work closely with PKR and DO NOT EVER backstab them.

PAS - You are doing right already. Contrary to media potrayal, a lot of Kelantanese Chinese I know love you. Keep up with your respect for other races and governing Kelantan and now Kedah with the tenets of Islam. You have the people's blessings. Just remain relevant and keep your respect for PKR and DAP on national issues.

Let's hope the tripartite coalition of PAS-PKR-DAP can build from here. You need each other. Symbiosis is well and alive alongside democracy.

Today it's 5 States. Let's hope to keep ALL 5 and get 3 more at the next elections. And the next one ... the GOVERNMENT. These are interesting times we are living in...

It's Reached Fever Pitch and we Await Fervently

2008-03-08T19:06:00.004+08:00

It’s 7.02pm and the skies have been pouring.

March 8 2008. It’s the day of reckoning. The day the country went to the polls.

It was my first time participating in and exercising my rights in the General Elections.

In as close as a few minutes or hours time, results would’ve slowly trickled in. Right now all across the country, Election Commission members are frantically counting and tabulating the votes. Right now across all party headquarters, candidates are sweating under unbearable tension and wondering what fate has in store. Right now across all polling centres, unseen hands are making last-minute manipulation of postal, phantom and spoilt votes to achieve tactical superiority where the competition is slim.

Right now all we can do is wait. For the voting has closed and dye been cast.

Winds of change have been blowing strong in the build up to this election so much so that every criticism I wanted to level, every accusation, every diss and every single commentary I wanted to levy on certain quarters … have been done so. In full force.

You see, for the first time in history we are experiencing the closest we can get to “free speech”. Sure, the mass media – whether in print, video or audio – are still the puppets of the government, blanketing everything opposition-based and sucking powerful cocks and pussies under the guise of journalism. But irregardless, the advent and explosion of the Internet – and blogs especially, has somewhat negated the unfuckingly high odds. Even if for a bit.

So yes, we in this generation have been lucky that the ugly, corrupt and true side of certain parties and individuals have been given the “Soi Lek-Lingam treatment” thanks to the Net. So much so that whatever I write here would be “heard that, bought the tshirt and came back”. My appreciation goes out to superb illuminators of truth like blogs, Malaysiakini and youtube.

Many, like me, are disillusioned by the current spate of events. Perhaps it’s in my blood. After all, I’m a Penangite. The fever was at pandemic levels back in the island. How I wish I could’ve been back to absorb the revolutionary atmosphere, attend the energetic ceramahs and engage in kopitiam talk with every walk of Penang life.

Life in KL is somewhat different. First up, I noticed urban folk here are not that politically-driven. You have the dissidents and the passionate ones but they are few and far in between. Majority know that the current setup needs a good shaking yet are too lazy / couldn’t be bothered / apathetic to current affairs.

I’m proud that my constant “campaigning” and whinning has resulted in Dilys and her friend Sue registering to be on the electoral roll late last year. More glad I am when told that they shot 2 rockets each into space today.

Yet everywhere I go, eligible, young, intellectual people from my generation aren’t even registered to vote. Some cited reasons such as “all parties also crooked lar” whilst others stated “we don’t have strong Opposition, why waste time”.

Pardon the language but fuck y’all.

A struggle doesn’t happen over night and even if the Opposition is weak it is largely because they have not enough support, funds or manpower to match the Government in that sense. It’s like piting a poor gladiator with a wooden sword and sandals against the reigning champ armed with the finest of armour holding a machine gun. And you complain that you can’t support the challenger because “he is not strong”. Opposition parties don’t get “strong” on their own accord. They need to continually grow. If they’re not strong, it’s our duty to make em.

And yes, all parties are crooked – when in power. The question is what level of crookedness you would tolerate. We have seen the crookedness of the government that doesn’t want the crooked bridge. But we have not seen the Opposition’s as they’ve NEVER been in power. Ever heard of giving everyone an equal chance?

Some unregistered voters even have the hypocritical audacity to say that “I choose not to exercise this right as a sign of protest”.

Protest against what? The system? Well fuck me but that’s like a bitch-slap to the struggles and sacrifices of entire generations before us who fought, died and believed in the notion of democracy. It is a spit at the faces of entire generations who have gone through hell and back just so that we have the right to collectively be responsible for those who shape things around us.
Don’t hate the system if the players are crap. Fence-sitters always play a crucial role in deciding a highly contested tie. So while you’re there smugly sitting at home in your “protest”, be proud that you have contributed shit-all to your own cause. Don’t ever complain about rising prices, social issues or anything at all coz you have just removed your rights to complain. A student who “protests” against the system by not taking the exams cannot then expect the school to graduate him or even acknowledge his existence.

Face it – you’re IN the system whether you like it or not. Saying you’re “protesting” the system is similar to losers who can’t take the heat of life’s trials and tribulations and decide to kill themselves. Suicide is a form of “protest” to life.

So it’s time you dropped the “protester stance”, suck your shit up and do your bit if you feel for a change. And don’t give me shit about I don’t “love my country enough” to vote. Coz guess what, NEITHER DO I. But I believe in being control of things around you. Being able to do something for a change. Even if it means just ticking an “X” in a box. It empowers. I don’t give a fuck about the country going downhill. But I sure as Hell wouldn’t want it to go there while I didn’t do anything about it.

But at the end of the day (literally), it’s too late now. I’m just hoping that the winds of change translate into a tsunami of votes. It’s time we shook things up.

It really is time.

We know that in the 50 odd years since independence, a single party has always clung on to power like a baby to a mother’s tits. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. We know all the games the government plays. We know the tricks they can pull and the depths they are willing to descend to in ensuring status quo. Yet we have ALWAYS been unable to do anything about it.

To cut things short, the rosy bed or roses that the media has force-fed into public consciousness are no more than thorns, rotting flowers and more thorns. We complained about colonialisation and the British ‘divide-and-rule’ policy in the past. Fast forward 50 years to today and you have the exact same system in place. It is called Barisan Nasional. The tripartite circus of MCA-MIC-UMNO tries to paint a picture of equal representation of the 3 major ethnic groups of the country but we all know what a lousy wayang kulit show it all is and that UMNO pwns everything in sight.

The only way to break such a situation is by a phenomenal Opposition victory today. Regardless of whether it’s from PAS / PKR / DAP or a dog standing as a candidate. Lots of people who are angry at the government have told me that they will support the Opposition in Parliament but not in the State seats as an Opposition state will not get federal backing, cause an economic downturn and so forth. Such thinking is the cause of us never being able to get out of this vicious cycle.

People ask: what if the Opposition wins? Won’t they be the same, or worse? Will things really get better?

Truth is, I don’t have the answer to the above. But I do know the phenomenon called the ripple effect. IF the Opposition takes power, the whole dynamics of the country changes. The media blanket lifts. There will be enlightenment and progress amongst the Malays. Better lot for the Indians and a freer market for the Chinese. Dirty policies removed. Drastic change becomes inevitable. Freedom of speech and respect for the individual and the right to profess religions will be recognized.

Even if the Opposition thereafter screws up and the next election comes BN takes back control, their dominance will have already been tainted for 5 years. Their smokescreen would have been lifted and the country will then be able to see for themselves for what they are. BN would already be wary that defeat IS possible. They would still be corrupt, but less. They would work that little much harder and be that little more transparent in hopes of not losing again. In short, they have no choice but to at least buck up.

We want to put such fear into them. We need such fear as a kick up the collective backsides of UMNO, MCA, MIC, Gerakan & Co. If the Opposition is to be used as a tool to create a better BN, a better country, then so be it.

I’m not pro-BN or pro-Opposition. I’m pro change. We should all be. Civilisations can only rise if the previous one is destroyed.

Destruction breeds creation and you cannot have rebirth without death. It’s time to bring in the Grim Reaper and tell BN to REST IN PEACE. It’s time to nail the coffin shut and tell them GO TO SLEEP B*TCH since the leader is already a master at it.

Let’s hope we have voted for a change. Be it PAS / PKR / DAP / Independent Candidate with Durian Sign, let’s hope they are all in to deny more than just 2/3 majority to the group of ingrates in power. Rock the boat and mutiny our way to a better tomorrow. Let this be the catalyst for change.

It’s time we show the government the middle finger.

And I hope the results show that we did.

...guess NOT

2008-03-08T18:09:00.002+08:00

Ah heck, who am I kidding. I just can’t bring myself to end this blog.

(And no, Gary, it’s not because of you saying Chelsea’s better than Liverpool coz that’s just stating the obvious.)

Truth be told, I did try to quit blogging. Really. Wasn’t gonna delete previous stuff I wrote, no doubt. But I made conscious efforts to just ignore the blog after my last post. Wasn’t hard to do that considering the very minimal time I spend in front of the laptop these days … but each time I receive email notifications of new comments, I just HAD to pop by to read it.

The words of encouragement following my last post were really inspiring. Even to a cynical fucker like me, it was heartwarming to read those comments. Thanks, guys. Just the thought of knowing that you aren’t just shouting into a void in cyberspace gives you a purpose to write on. Even if whatever I say manages to get just a single head nodding in agreement, that’s more than satisfactory enough.

And then it dawned on me that I had so many things left to say (yeah, nothing new for people who know me personally). It further dawned on me that my passion for crafting words still burns brightly and that to quit writing would be akin to Edison saying no to pussy and a videocam.

At 26, I am still in the infancy of adulthood. Still learning, still groping in the dark and still fucking up every once in a while. Yet here I am, standing at the centre point of my 2nd decade in existence able to look back at the good, the bad and the downright silly times with comical hindsight. All the experiences, lessons and plethora of emotions have wisened (I hope) and moulded me to who I am today. And this ain’t even the end yet.

We’re still changing, evolving and moving. Inevitably, many things have yet to come to pass which might make greater memories in the distant future. Therefore my story is not quite told yet. If this blog is a book I’m just at the middle phase of the plot – where major characters have been introduced, main plot lines laid with conflicts, temptations and dilemmas abundant. The conclusion is yet to be written and how the characters will turn out, still a mystery. Therefore, to end this blog now would be as premature as a schoolboy on Lindsay Lohan.

Perhaps a change of direction in writing style to accommodate my current lifestyle, yes. Perhaps shorter posts, yes. Perhaps less social commentary and more personal stuff, yes. But to quit writing at this point, hell no.

And so the U-turn.

Won’t be quittin’ this blog after all. To those frequent visitors, your VIP passes will be mailed out to you soon. Thanks for the support and I love y’all (only if you’re female and hot). To those who still pop by here either out of curiousity, interest or vouyeristic impulses, carry on. I will still be spewing forth usual doses of wit, shit and verbal arsenic at various people, institutions and stuff when the fancy strikes. To those who can’t stand no-holds-barred opinions, subversive elements or just my face for that matter, why are you here? Just admit it, no matter how many fish in the sea, it’d be so empty without me.

So yeah. I’m back.

p.s. the font change is a sign of this blog's reinvention and my commitment to change.

Curtain Call...

2008-02-09T17:47:00.000+08:00

First up, Happy Deepavali, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Thaipusam and Gong Xi Fa Cai I wish to y'all. Yeah, you know your blog's in trouble when there's more than 4 seasonal greetings in one sentence.

When I first blogged I wrote somethin' like 3-4 posts a week. Then after wrappin' up my studies it became like once a week. And then 2 weeks per entry. You know how it goes... Time is the biggest thief in the world. It robs you of something that can never be replaced nor covered by any form of insurance. It eats away bits and pieces of your life. Gone forever. And there's nothin' you can do about it.

So yeah, I found myself having to be a motherfuckin' economist of late. Where every action / energy / time expended must result in an outcome of some benefit. Or I try to at least. Heck even lazing around has become a carefully planned activity meant to 'recharge' the batteries for the next thing waiting to be accomplished.

Hence, blogging became a luxury I could ill-afford. Add to the fact that there's no such thing as 'collecting all your thoughts / rants / interesting stuff' and then blogging it at one go when you have time'. No way. Coz by the time you wanna blog bout something that happened not so recently, the mood is no more there, the fiery passion to translate those thoughts to print died out ... and you just ... couldn't be bothered to blog anymore.

The death knell of this blog has been tolling in the background for quite a while already. I feel it. Many a time I have been close to rollin' up the carpet and callin' time on this good ole blog. I mean, havin' a dusty blog stuck in cyberspace forever just doesn't sit well with me. I need a sense of closure at least. I wouldn't want someone to chance upon this blog many years from now and think 'What the fuck happened to him' with a blog that's left hanging like a half-snapped thread. It's like watching a movie that ends midway through with no sequel in store. That's just downright frustrating. This blog doesn't deserve such a fate. That's not how I want to leave my blogging legacy.

This blog has served me well for close to 3 years already. I've marked many landmark moments and given an insight into the things that maketh my mind here. Naked, stripped bare of political correctness and bleeding the truth. Or what I perceive the truth to be. Many facets and snippets of my life, my thoughts and contempreanous feelings have been captured in this place that has allowed me to express who I am with nary a care for who the fuck's judgin' me or not.

It's been a great blogging journey and a fulfiling one at that. This 'cyberspace-sometimes-forum-sometimes-punching-bag-sometimes-article-collection-diary' has seen good and bad times with me. And has served me well.

But is it already time? No one can blog forever, let's not kid ourselves. Not even 'celebrity' bloggers like Kenny Sia - who depends on the blog for a considerable chunk of his commercial living - can keep it up forever. Even the Beatles break up, championship winning teams get disbanded and the greatest of sitcoms have their tearful finales. It's just the way life is. The circle of birth and death are interlocked and inevitable. When there's a beginning there's an end in the perpetual cycle of yin and yang. Ok that got quite carried away but you get the drift...

So the question is; is it time for this blog to close? Have I squeezed whatever creative juices I have dry and is it time to move on yet? Has this blog achieved its purpose and if yes, is it necessarily time, in Andrea Borcelli's words, to say goodbye?

With those questions, thoughts of 'killing off' this blog flirted in my mind like a temptress on a red hot night. I mean, if you just don't have time to maintain a blog anymore, the least you could do in respect of its memory is to give it a decent end and just close it, right? Sort of like putting your beloved dog to sleep when the vet says that it will ease the suffering.

With a heavy heart I ponder on the direction this blog is taking ... or rather the lack thereof. So as my hands are rested on the lever to bring down the dusty curtains on the Yu Jian show... I wonder ... is it time ...

Remember, remember the whole of December...

2007-12-20T01:57:00.000+08:00

… and much of November, October and September too.

Riots, protests, tear gas, water cannon, police brutality, mass arrests, alleged ethnic cleansing and people taking to the streets in defiance.

If you’re thinking Pakistan, Myanmar or some war-torn Arab town, you’re wrong. Coz it’s all happenin’ right here in our very own backyard. Yeaps, we now have locally produced street violence and civil unrest that can rival those of foreign countries. Malaysia Boleh.

Sparking off from the lawyers’ ‘Walk for Justice’ sometime in September, it’s been almost a-riot-a-week in good ole Bolehland for the past few months as hordes of people from different ethnic groups and beliefs seem to be taking turns to the streets to vent displeasure and disdain towards authorities.

The government’s theme song for this season must surely be Britney’s “Oops, I Did it Again” coz each time they get wind of a planned demonstration, they never fail to fuck up in terms of how they respond to it. On purpose or out of sheer incompetence, I don’t know. But as sure as corruption in the cabinet, they consistently make things worse. Battalions of FRU, riot trucks and large water cannons are without failed deployed in what surely must be their way of implying arrogance and might over otherwise peaceful protests.

They wantonly set up road blocks and intensify police presence almost everywhere to bring us back to the good ole days of Kempetai’s and communist resurgence. And then you have the aftermath. Mass arrests, ridiculous charges and bullshit spewed forth from the government spin doctors who must now surely be working overtime on a weekly basis.

I won’t be wasting time here going into details of what’s been happenin’ lately as you’d probably already have heard em a million times over. From the BERSIH mass demonstrations, HINDRAF march, to the ridiculous arrests of lawyers wanting to celebrate their civil rights, the list goes on. It’s all on Youtube. Don’t forget also to check out the plethora of unminced articles of critical blogs from Ahiruddin Atan, Patrick Teoh, Jeff Ooi, Lim Kit Siang, Malik Imtiaz and Malaysiakini, amongst many others, for your ‘unadulterated’ version of things that’s REALLY happening in Malaysia.

Forget the local press coz they’re as good as olden day Chinese eunuchs waxing lyrical about despot emperors. Local media are mere mouthpieces of the government which has lost every ounce of my respect for their highly slanted and fictitious reporting.

And the shit that comes out of the mouth of our Minister in the Prime Minister’s Dept, that Nazri fucker … oh my God, someone please shoot him. Justifications upon lame excuses, the government is constantly reminding us that they won’t hestitate to take “stern action” as they deem any gathering of more than 5 people with thoughts which are diametrically opposed to theirs a “threat to national security”.

National security my balls. Where were those strong words when pro-government groups misbehave and run amok like louts? Where were the police, FRU and Ministers currently running their mouths at when Khairy Jamaluddin a.k.a. the First Son In Law together with his uneducated bunch of Ramli burger-flippin’, grass-smokin’, niece-and-sister-shagging UMNO-Rempits demonstrating in front of the US Embassy for a cause which doesn’t even concern that of the nation?! Where were they? Probably busy counting how much that month’s kickbacks were.

You know you’re in deep shit and there’s no winning when the country runs on two systems. I guess the Petronas Twin Towers should’ve been an indication already of the dualistic nature of our country’s psyche.

Two laws. One for the man on the street and one for the man who knows someone whose uncle’s sister’s goat has a seat at the UMNO assembly. Two faces. One a Mr.Clean who advocates saying NO and TAK NAK to corruption and anything morally wrong, and the other for when he’s in the company of equally corrupt Napoleon underlings as they twirl their rhetoric moustaches whilst giving each other blowjobs between snorts of the white stuff. Two classes. You have the immigrants who are “allowed” to reside and make a living here as long as they bow down to those with “special rights”. And you have those with the “special rights”.

Apartheid, anyone? Why go all the way to Africa or South America to experience racial disintegration or corruption at its finest? Why, we’ve got it all here in ready-made packs. Just add water and watch it grow.

I’m writing all this because I’ve had enough. At the risk of this post being lost in the sea of millions of other disgruntled and more popular blogs, I still need to pen, or rather clickety-clack, these words down. Coz this is seriously getting too much. The state we’re in. Fuckin’ fed up with this shit. Another day, another protest. Another opportunity for the government to exert police brutality and justify the existence of detention-without-trial (read: ISA). For us eking out a living in the capital, another disruption to daily life. Roadblocks to “screen troublemakers” in and out of KL. What a fuckin’ joke. Massive jams. Late to work. Change of plans. Breakdown of public transportation. The list goes on.

I don’t blame the protestors at all. Nor the people who march / rally / riot and cause the powers-that-be to up in arms and flex corruption-fed muscles coz people don’t just wake up and decide, “Hmm, I’m quite free today. What should I do? Oh, I think I’ll protest / riot. That’d be fun”.

As much as I like anarchy / violence, I am level-headed enough to appreciate the benefits of peace in a civilized society. I’m sure many like-minded people out there share exactly the same sentiments. So when people are willing to risk life, limb and liberty to angrily support a cause / stand up to a perceived threat, the question should be: what is the cause of all these? What can be so manifestly wrong that justifies such reactions?

Yes. Simple questions with simple answers. Yet they continually feed us with bullsh1t bout things being perfectly alright and expect us to believe it.

Things are seriously wrong. And that’s the cold hard facts. Without a doubt, the government has failed us. Big time. All the people sitting in comfy chairs crafted by shadowy figures who put them there for vested interests have taken the mickey out of us for far too long. People complain about our previous leader being corrupt, authoritarian and being responsible for every lil bump or scratch these days.

I say this government is not only no better, it’s far WORSE. I’d rather have an openly corrupt and power hungry bastard who at least keeps things under control and rules with an iron fist. In an ideal world, he should be given the boot of course. But we’re not in one and under these circumstances, he’s the better of all evils. He benefits from sitting at the top, just like how every other goddamn leader out there does, but at least he keeps the ship sailing and we somehow stumble along.

But the current one has given a new definition to the word hopeless. With subordinates running riot, religious extremists given leeway to oppress and pull everyone back into Arabic caves of the dark ages, corruption being at its peak, internal squabbles like dogs fighting for pieces of bones … we’re witnessing a meltdown in control. We’re witnessing a total failure of administration and the decline of a country that, given its geographical blessings, natural resources and multitude of cultures, should rightly be leading the pack in this part of the world. Forget even Singapore, it’s a no contest these days. Only a hypocritical, brainwashed backwater buffalo-brained simpleton would disagree that the city state has gone so far ahead of us that we’re now left with competing with the likes of Indonesia. And might very well lose at that too.

We’re a shell of what we used to be and a ghost of what we ought to be. Civilisations naturally progress, we regress. Dramatically. Ask any man on the street and 11 times out of 10, he’d tell you what a sh1t-hole we’ve dug ourselves into. Chances are you might come across someone who would chastise you for such “opposition-like thoughts”. Chances are he’d tell you all that in broken English, with an unintelligible slur, in a dumb-but-arrogant-holier-than-thou manner and chances are he’s a government servant.

Sad but true. You know things have really gone to the dogs when uneducated / illiterate / so-called “common folks” can tell you that we’re proper fucked with alarming accuracy. It doesn’t take an expert in sociology or politics to point all the above out. Anyone can. And that answers my earlier question of why things have led to this stage. When things reach a certain point, nature dictates that change will occur. Water turns to vapor at boiling point. It turns solid at freezing point.

We’re at “we’re sick of all these bullshit and it’s time for an overhaul” point.

Things are changing. Times are. People are. The only ones who want status quo to remain are those who are benefiting from all the nonsense we’re in, namely the corrupted, scandal-filled, dirty, bullying mafias in suits and name tags. Using the police and ISA as arsenal and utilizing overused and abused terms like “preserving peace and unity” shamelessly as shields, they oppress and hoodwink the grassroots into giving them further mandate to overstay their welcome.

Well, the time has come. Like I said, many have reached the point where they’ve had enough of crap. They’re spitting it back. Standing up to the bullies requires courage and a whole lot of balls. But when you’ve got nothing to lose, where things can’t go any worse and when people are pushed to the corner, they snap. Many are waking up to this notion. And many are beginning to see the reasons behind the endless walks, marches and protests.

I used to be, like many, sitting on the fence. You know, accepting that things aren’t perfect and gotten used to the notion that slight corruption, lobbying and nepotism here and there are part and parcel of any political setup. But of late, increasingly annoying and disheartening nationwide failures, scandals and mal-administration has rattled the fence and pushed me off it. I’m standing on the left and I see a huge number of people falling off from fences too. We’re all looking at the other side, where the grass is greener but reserved for people with special privileges to step on it. Won’t be long before there’s too many of us overcrowding this side that the fence shall break and we step, soil and piss on the lawns of injustice over there.

You can block off all routes into KL, you can have 20 thousand FRU vans patrolling the streets and your army of tear-gas equipped, baton-wielding minions to do your bidding, but I do not foresee any backing down by the people. In fact, all this has increased the number of protests / “illegal gatherings” and walks. Underestimate the power of the mob at your peril. Things will escalate. And I shudder to think that I’d one day these predictions will come true. I quote a line from V for Vendetta, “people should not be afraid of their government, it is the government who should be afraid of them”.

HINDRAF, BERSIH, Bar Council or whatever movement out there fighting the good cause and lobbying for peace, I salute you. I may not agree with your ideologies or causes – heck I even personally find HINDRAF’s memorandum to Queen E and the suit against the British government a huge joke. However, I recognize the dire straits that have pushed them to the brink of desperation. I recognize their rights to voice that displeasure. I recognize their freedom of movement and expression.

Likewise, I totally abhor the current stance taken by the current cowards, I mean party, in power. I’m sick of their constant using of the “for the interest of the majority” argument to strike down and kill off their rivals. I relish the opportunity to see them fall in the next elections. I await with bated breath to see them brought to their knees and gasp for air.

It’s a fool’s dream to have those sort of thoughts because there are many who are dissatisfied yet misguided to think that they are the better of two evils. A lot out there are disgruntled yet will still stick with the current failed crops for fear of not wanting to “rock the boat”.

Well, fuck this shit if they feel that way. I’m ready to rock, rumble and capsize this ship. Power to the people and stick it up to the pot-bellied, moustached Man with the keris.

Soul Food in a Bowl - Hokkien Mee

2007-11-06T00:04:00.000+08:00

It was a dark and stormy night…

… ok, it wasn’t exactly that stormy or really too dark. Just the slight evening drizzle we’ve been getting these days. And it was dinner time.

As we drove out from my condo in search of something to chow on a Sunday night, the perennial question popped up: what to eat.

Always a problem for us, deciding on what to eat. It’s not that we’re fussy eaters. Quite the opposite in my case, actually. I love food so much that I can’t decide. Anything sounds good and just about everything is fine. Except for tauhu, taukua, tau fu fa and anything soya-related. But let’s save that for another post.

Moving on.

After throwing about a few ideas here and there, debating over food places in the car, we decided to just pop over to the hawker centre at SS2 where choices are aplenty and we can then decide when we’re there.

Didn’t help that the hawker centre was akin to a 100 metre long medley of endless variety of tantalizing hawker fare on both sides.

With so much to choose yet so lazy to decide, my instincts drove me towards the Hokkien Mee stall. I guess the bold letters emblazoned “Penang Prawn Mee” kinda helped as well.

Ahh, the prawn mee. More affectionately known to us Penangites as Hokkien Mee. Apparently in this part of the world, the name Hokkien Mee refers to a blackish, starchy mee which is NOTHING similar to what we call Hokkien Mee. The people here refer to what I call Hokkien Mee as prawn mee. Why the distinction? Don’t know, don’t care. For the uninitiated, here’s pictures to help you:

PENANG HOKKIEN MEE

KL HOKKIEN MEE

When my humble bowl of yellow mee and beehoon soaked in prawn-flavoured chilli soup with a slice of hardboiled egg, slices of prawn and pork and garnished with crisp deep fried shallots arrived, I knew the order couldn’t go wrong. Not in a million years.

To be honest, the one I had wasn’t that great. The soup was not waterish and the prawn trimmings were miniscule, to put it mildly. And I went home with a slight case of stomache upset, which speaks volumes of its preparation, or the lack thereof.

Yet I was satisfied. Just like how I felt thousands of times before after each and every bowl of Hokkien Mee. It filled me up pleasantly. It was a kind of fullness that wasn’t physical. More of a warm feeling somewhere between your tummy and your heart which makes you go “ahhhhh” like an old man sipping Boh tea.

That’s the beauty of us Hokkien Mee connoisseurs. Hokkien Mee is beautiful because it just is Hokkien Mee.

If you’re a wine-expert, chances are you are picky and only drink the finest from the grapevines of whichever French faggot-sounding valley. If you love sushi you’d probably only eat the freshest slice of salmon rolled in posh Jap restaurants. If you’re a steak lover you probably wouldn’t touch anything other than perfectly charboiled to a medium rare perfected t-bone with homemade steak sauce at some reputable steak house. You get the drift, I’m sure.

But there’s no such distinction of quality for us Hokkien Mee fans. Whichever particular bowl that plonks itself in front of you, no matter how shitty, can still have that familiar satisfying Hokkien Mee feeling because it is more than just a mee. Of course we can tell the difference between a REALLY good bowl and a half-baked one, but all the same, we’d still be satisfied with the half-baked one. That’s the power of Hokkien Mee.

Perhaps I’m looking too much into a bowl of prawn-flavoured soup noodles, but Hokkien Mee IS my soul food. It’s up there in my list along with nasi kandar and KFC. Many people will quickly hail laksa, char koay teow or nasi kandar as the food that defines and reminds them of Penang.

For me, it’s Hokkien Mee.

The familiarity of the smell as it assails the nosestrills is unmistakeable. Every slurp of every mouthful brings back memories of my childhood in Penang. Was first introduced to this humble delicacy as early as I could remember. When grandma used to take care of me, evening times were spent looking forward to waiting for that familiar honking sound.

This old guy would come in his kapchai motorbike honking his trademark call. The Hokkien Mee Man comes a calling. Housewives would ready their coins (I think back then it was still RM1.00 a bowl) and bring out their own bowls. The Hokkien Mee Man would stop in front of houses and sell his wares. It was damn old school, standing there watching him masterfully fill bowls with steaming hot Hokkien Mee that seemed all the more delicious under the hot afternoon sun at tea-time. Grandma and me always had a bowl each.

Hokkien Mee wasn’t just for tea. It was my regular breakfast as well. Mum has a habit of buying breakfast for me. She still does, when I go back to Penang. And amongst the more regular food she brings home from her morning market rounds would be … you guessed it, Hokkien Mee. A bowl of the lovely noodles became synonymous with sleepy weekends, reading the newspaper and having a hot cup of coffee. Oh yes, did I mention the Hokkien Mee goes splendidly well with a hot cup of Joe?

I even have Hokkien Mee for dinner and lunch sometimes. Or sometimes late at night for supper when we’d decide we can’t possibly have mamak for every post-clubbing or snooker session. Enter the Hokkien Mee. Convenient. Cheap. Extremely splendid.

It’s soul food, I repeat again.

So yes, you can pardon me if Hokkien Mee plays such an important role in my life. Like my previous post about going back to Penang shows, I’m a sucker for sentimentality and anything that takes me down memory lane. I’m a familiarity whore and an addict for the little things in life that remind you of a time where life used to be just a little bit more simple.

Yes, Hokkien Mee is the symbol of simplicity and how some things can feel just so right in such basic form. Fuck escargot, waghyu beef, elaborately designed fusion food and all that artsy shit. Gimme a bowl of down-to-Earth good ole Hokkien Mee anyday.

Hokkien Mee harks to the days of carefree living and enjoying life in its simplicity. Each time I indulge in a bowl, wherever I am and whatever I’m doing, I go back to those days. Even if just those few minutes, it can really soothe the soul. Bad days, worse weather and indecisiveness of your food choice.

Nothing a bowl of Hokkien Mee can’t solve.

So if the day comes when you see some guy hit jackpot and become the next tycoon because he manages to capture the old school charm of Hokkien Mee and introduces it to the masses, it’ll probably be me. Until then, this is an ode to an oft-unsung hero of Penang food and the Claude Makelele of food, Hokkien Mee.

Damn typing all that has made me hungry… now if only there’s some Hokkien Mee in the kitchen …

"Houston, We Have a Problem"

2007-10-25T00:30:00.000+08:00

So have you guys heard about this guy who went up a spaceship and pretended to be an astronaut for a few days ?

You mean that idiot from Malaysia? Yeah him.

Dr.Sheik-whatever-his-name-Muzaffar. I have nothing personal against that dude. In fact, many thinks he looks like the spitting image of my metrosexual, previously-introduced-to-this-blog housemate, Syed. A bigger sized and more gayish version. Ok amend that, just bigger size.

Anyways, as I was saying, I have nothing against him. Like millions of kids out there, he probably spent many nights awake, gazing at the stars, wishing he could be roaming the endless expanses of space ... saving hot princesses from fat mutant gangsters and avoiding the Death Star.

Ahhh, space. The final frontier. Every boy's childhood dream.

However, not every boy gets that dream fulfilled. And even much less of them get to have that dream fulfilled by the government forking out RM100 million to pay for it. Malaysia Boleh.

RM100 million. Just for one guy to go up to space, experience zero gravity for a couple of days and come back down. You have needy orphans, derelict beggars, street sex workers, vagrants, misplaced indigenous people and those hardcore poor living way below the poverty line waiting for a helping hand ... but fuck it, let's blow a hundred mill on a guy to "put Malaysia's mark in space".

Dumb fucks. Space is such a been there done that thing. Nothing novel or great about "being able to reach there" anymore. As long as you've gots the dough, they've gots the technology.

We didn't find no cure for cancer nor AIDS. We didn't find any long-term solution to our social ills and deteriorating levels of education. Heck we can't even get a decent conversation going about religion / race among different ethnic groups before calls for "keris to be bathed in Chinese blood" will invariably be heard.

And yet, we choose to feel proud because we hailed for a space taxi and sent one of our own up there. Malaysia Boleh.

Cue to the cock-sucking media lapping it up like dogs to a bone. Misplaced national pride with chest-beating and Negaraku-singing propaganda by the government covered every inch of front pages and news bulletins for days on end. For a few days we were treated to "history in the making" by getting prime time coverage about how a ketupat floats in space.

Forget all the boring stuff like, you know, alarming crime rates, inflating inflation, gross unsolved sex crime murders, rampant car-jackings, kidnappings, incest, corruption, video scandals, breakdown of the judiciary, abuse of power by religious raiding teams and the unveiling of illegal mansions by corrupt councillors. Who cares.

We have an ASTRONAUT IN SPACE. YAY!! *cue to ridiculous kompang-gendang*

He's not even an astronaut, for fuck's sake. For all the overworked PR bullshit by local spin doctors, he is by all accounts, a "space tourist". A statement from NASA says so. And yet many Malaysians still insists that he MUST be an astronaut since they saw his gay smile in a spacesuit.

Newsflash: the Americans once sent a chimpanzee to space in a spacesuit. Can't remember when. Oh, I'm sure the chimp's dad sitting in a cage in some zoo must be proudly telling the gorilla next door, "you see that. my boy's an astronaut".

It's so typical of Malaysians.

Appearances and looks are all that matters. If I were to put a monkey in an expensive suit, a songkok and a tie and put him behind a desk with a nice tag hanging outside the door saying "Headmaster"...

... an American would probably look around to find where the hidden cameras are at ...

... an European would probably start a protest on grounds of animal abuse ...

... a Vietnamese would probably say "ok, dinner's sorted for today"...

... a Chinese would probably catch the bloody monkey and sell it to a circus or TV station ...

... and a Malaysian would probably say "Seelaaaamat pagii.... cikgu...." [translation: Good morning, teacher]

I am disgraced at being a Malaysian.

But hey, who am I or what can I say? Our "astronaut" has now landed, the trumpets and fanfare continues. They just announced plans to send a SECOND one to space, squeezing more drops of your sweat translated into income tax along the way, no doubt.

Heck, they should just send Sammy Vellu up there. At least he'd probably install a couple of toll booths, overcharge and make us some money.

When a person spends a fortune on getting the most expensive patch of grass to adorn a 4 feet patch in front of his house while his horses are dying, the fields are dry, chickens diseased and wife sleeping with the next door farmer, you know somethin's fuckin' wrong.

Fuck Malaysia and the space programme.

Houston ... we REALLY have a problem.

Balik Kampung

2007-10-15T13:22:00.000+08:00

There’s no place like home, they say. I couldn’t agree more.

The Raya hols came upon us this weekend. Selamat Hari Raya, my Muslim friends. Or as they say in other places of the world, Happy Eid Mubarak.

Been a month and a half since I was back in Penang. So of course, there was never a doubt where I’d be during the Raya weekend.

Many had warned me of the stupidity of choosing to go home at this time. The famed traffic mess on our highways during festive occasions usually make a 4 hour drive to Penang extend to around 8. And that’s if you’re lucky. Thousands upon thousands of revelers would be making their mass exodus from the capital - where they make a living, to their respective kampungs – where they, like Chris Daughtry, call home.

People had been taking off throughout the week, traveling at odd hours to beat the jam. I didn’t have the luxury of taking off, so I traveled on the eve of Raya. Friday afternoon. My office had declared a half day public holiday.

At 2pm, after pickin’ up fellow Penangites Syn Hun and my housemate Wilson, I made the drive home. We were traveling back at a time where people predicted traffic would be at its worse.

However, taking a leaf out of my experience when I traveled back at the ‘supposedly’ worst time to travel during the Chinese New Year break, we went anyway. We took the gamble that everyone would think the same and avoid traveling at this time, thus making the peak periods un-peak. Savvy?

And it paid off. Highway was surprisingly clear when a friend who was on the same highway at 4am the same day told me it was bumper-to-bumper northwards.

We strolled into the familiar Penang bridge at around 3 and ½ hours from the time we left KL. We had even stopped along the way for a meal break. Very smooth traffic. Beautiful weather. At the material time. Penang never looked so welcoming.

And so it was, days of never-ending eating, hanging out, sleeping and couch-potatoing. I was the epitome of at least 2 of the 7 deadly sins, sloth and gluttony. Ate enough seafood and gastronomically sinful meals to shoot my cholestorel levels out the roof. Watched enough E! to know that Jessica Alba got tonsil-poked by a monkey before during a snogging scene with the said primate.

Spent most of my time with the family in the daytime – doing chores, chatting wit the folks, visiting grandma and playing with the dogs. Night times were dedicated to catchin up with buddies. Snooker, hitting the arcades, Guinness-drinkin sessions, mamaks and ronda-ing Leith Street. Life was simple and laidback again.
Soon it’d be time to pack up and head back to reality. To the grindhouse and hustle of bustle of KL.

I guess my monthly sojourns back to the beloved island are like retreats of sorts. KL is the place I make my bread and butter. Where I am independent. Fend for myself, face my own problems and sort my own things. It’s a place where being an adult is not just a term – but a reluctant reality in all sense of the word.

Penang, on the other hand, gives me a chance to relive my childhood. I come back and am treated like a king at home. Mum does my laundry, cooks good food, we go out and feast and I don’t have to think about anything at all, apart from where I want to go lepak next.

I’d be rejuvenated, recharged and relaxed … not to mention bursting from the seams. And then I’d head back to KL with renewed vigour and energy to tackle life. It’s kind of a sanctuary.

Penang keeps me grounded. As soon as I am tempted to embrace the typical KLite lifestyle, e.g. Hartamas-style-al-fresco-dining, or indulge in the glitzy materialistic world that is KL, a 60-cents a plate roti canai at a roadside mamak with greasy floor and rats running freely in the back reminds me of my roots.

As soon as I get used to the touch-and-go life of swipe cards and fast lanes, Penang reminds me that I came from narrow roads and practical lawless driving. No matter how many designer togs and labels I see plastered all over plastic underaged hotties at the Curve every weekend, a stroll around the jetty area of old school Penang reminds me that there are still people who squat in shabby conditions of dilapidated Colonial buildings littered around town.

Making a living in the capital has reinforced my love for the island. Has made me appreciate the old world charm that Penang has to offer even more. The stingy, kiasu, price-haggling Island mentality. The stubborn clinging on to a previous era. The melting cultural pot of diversity and endless celebrations. The speaking of a butchered-and-modified Hokkien dialect unique only to the island.

The sense of identity a Penangite feels cannot be found in any other State, I strongly feel. The only true place where I felt that muhibah-ness or multiculturalness exist is Penang. I grew up side by side many Malays and Indians. One of my best friends is an Indian living in the hardcore Sg Pinang area. My current housemate is Malay. Race has never been an issue in my life before. Because of our close proximity and island mentality, most Chinese, Indians and Malays mix freely on the island

Or used to.

Slowly but surely, the nationwide race-relations deterioration is seeping into Penang. Nowadays I see majority of youths group around their own race around the island. Thanks to major fuck ups involving the handling of religion, race and economy by the current government, we are now forced to be more aware of the colour of our skins.

It’s sad to see things turn out this way today. Especially more so in the capital, segregation and suspicion runs deep. Now it’s gotten me extra pissed to see that Penang is undergoing the effects of having one of the most fucked up and corrupted government we’ve ever seen.

And that’s why I urge all islanders … do your part in the coming elections. Come back and make our voices be heard. Come the next elections, I will once again be braving the jam. I will drive for 12 hours if I have to … so that I can go to the polling booth … with 300 men … stand my ground … and scream … “THIS …. IS …. PENAAAAAAAANG!!!”

Ok lar not so dramatic but you get my drift.

:D

Alright, gotta go. Don’t wanna let another minute of sloth-and-gluttony go to waste.

Today In History - The Lingamgate Scandal

2007-09-27T00:17:00.000+08:00

Today marks a momentous day in history.

At least as far as I'm concerned. And maybe the legal profession, in general.

Today marks the cranking of the mechanisms of change. Change which has long and badly been overdue. It is still too early to say whether this machine would later on malfunction and collapse as countless of our country's previous movements for reforms dramatically has, but fuck it, I say. Today we stood up and were counted. And that's all that matters. The first step. In the right direction.

Every revolution starts from but a single step. And today we took just that. By the thousands.

What am I talking about? It was an event that made me break my self-imposed blogging exile for the month of September (see post below) to capture this day in words lest my memory fails and the freshness of the event goes stale.

By the way it is 2.02am now and I am assisting in a full trial at Shah Alam High Court tomorrow. This is how special today is. An event worth sacrificing precious sleep for.

For the uninitiated, I was proudly part of the 2,000 or so lawyers who took to the streets. Literally. It was a protest march which sought to inform those holding the highest seats of power in the country that we're calling bullshit what it is - bullshit. And that we're sick of it.

It was dubbed the 'Walk for Justice', in light of the dark cloud of controversy swirling around this country's upper echeleons like emission from the broken down engine of a Rapid KL.

Ok, lemme rewind this a bit.

And give a lil recap for those REALLY uninitated and/or foreign readers (yeah, I'm indulging in a lil' self-fellatio by assuming that this blog has readers from out of Malaysia too, bite me).

Sometime about last week, this prominent lawyer called VK Lingam was implicated in a scandal which rocked the root of this country's judiciary. Hence, the title - Lingamgate. In case you wonderin', no, it didn't have anything to do with sex, drugs or a particular minister's fondness for C4 explosives.

Instead, it was a videotape of this Lingam dude animatedly talking on the phone. The identity of the other person on the other line forms the very interesting crux of this whole debacle. Lingam was allegedly 'strategising' with this mystery man (let's call him Mr.X) on various matters of concern, most notably and inter alia brokering the appointment of judges, the fixing up of certain people and the discussion on shady deals involving the top brass of this country.

Although still officially unproven at this stage, the identity of Mr.X is a foregone conclusion for many. Given the nature of the conversation, the specifics of the topic and the rough timeline it took place, all fingers pointed to the current Chief Justice Ahmad Fairuz Sheikh Abdul Halim ("CJ"). Basically he's the Big Daddy of all Judges in Malaysia and the NUMERO UNO for the country's judiciary. Yeaps, Lingam was allegedly discussing with the then-Chief Judge-Fairuz, on how he plans his meteoric rise to be. Lo and behold, he's the current CJ now.

Whilst it is but an open secret that this country was built, not on rock-n-roll, but corruption, nepotism and you-scratch-my-back-I-scratch-your-uncle's-backside, the video struck right to the heart of matter as Lingam carelessly discussed with Mr.X how he could influence the top dogs of the country to grant favours and appointments, amongst others. They also discussed things like who's in who's camp, and how many 'soldiers' they need to fight their battle, and so forth.

The long and short of it, the video confirmed what majority of us knew all along - that justice is truly a commodity in Malaysia. That can be bought, exchanged, bartered and so forth. On a willing seller, willing buyer basis. If a senior lawyer could wield such power to move members of the judiciary like chess pieces, then what hope is there for the layman on the street?

So whilst many (and I know there are still a number of them out there) naive lawyers strive to uphold the law passionately and truly believe that the system rewards the righteous, we have powerful douchebags in our midst picking-and-mashing his judges like marshmallows at a candy shop.

[to see the video, just type "VK Lingam" in Google, youtube or any other popular file-sharing software]

Now, if someone were to announce during a huge communal gathering that you fucked his neighbour's goat, slit his throat and then bathed in its blood thereafter, when you were in fact all the while reading Bible stories to your kids at home, what would you do?

I don't know bout you, but personally, I'd VEHEMENTLY and publicly deny it, lodge a police report against the said complainant and/or beat the shit out of him. Or his neighbour's goat. If any.

The point is, if you're not guilty and you know it, you would sure as Hell DENY IT.

But what did our CJ aka the alleged Mr.X do? He shut up. Kept his bloody mouth sealed for 2 whole days while the country awaited for his response. And then he released a statement to this website called Malaysiakini through his secretary that he had 'no comments'.

At best, this spelled bloody guilty and at worse, dodgy.

And then you have this de facto Law Minister of this country, also Minister in the Prime Minister's Department Mohd Nazri Aziz, telling the press that Fairuz had 'contacted him' to deny his involvement in the video.

Contacted him? When press further on why the CJ could not deny it himself, Nazri said "I am his minister. I am the minister in charge of legal affairs, he is clever enough to know that the reporters will ask me for a response"

see : http://www.malaysianbar.org.my/content/view/11321/2/

NAZRI

Err, yes Nazri but I think even a 1st year law student could tell you the doctrine of SEPARATION OF POWERS. The 3 organs of the government that are supposed to be independent of each other includes the Executive (where Nazri sits) and the Judiciary (where the CJ is).

If the video wasn't bad enough, this stance taken by the CJ and Nazri went on to prove that the judiciary is indeed a mere sub-branch of the ever-growing Executive arm of the country. That the HEAD of the Judiciary now answers to a mere Minister in the Executive and relies on him to make denials or admissions speaks volume of the integrity of this country.

So this was the straw that broke the camel's back.

This country has seen many judicial boo-boo's. From the crisis in 1988 involving Tun Salleh Abbas to the countless other dubious appointments and blatant 'bought' decisions over the years, it would be an understatement to say that a toilet flushes more consistently than our judiciary getting things right. Incompetence is one thing. Pure corruption is another.

And so, the calls for reform was rung clear.

The Bar Council held an emergency meeting last Saturday. Enough was enough. We were going to protest. And the march was born. The calls were rung for lawyers to congregate in numbers at the Palace of Justice (where the Court of Appeal and Federal Court - highest Court in the land - sits). We were to march from the Palace all the way up to the Prime Minister's Office a.k.a. the Death Star itself.

Why?

To hand over a memorandum. 2 memorandums actually. To call for a Royal Commission inquiry into the videotape and an overhaul of the judiciary, amongst others. Lingamgate presented an opportunity to voice out and show our dissent. An opportunity to make a statement.

What's the point in marching, many asked? "No use. The government's so bloody dirty, you think they care bout a bunch of lawyers marching ah?"

True. The march does not have any LITERAL purpose. It actually takes only one despatch boy or an email to send over a simple memo. But on a deeper level, the march is but a statement to the powers that be. A publicity stunt, if you please. A shout to say 'LOOK HERE. WE'RE PISSED AND YOU BETTER LISTEN'.

So on a bright Wednesday morning, I didn't turn up for work. Me, together with half my firm, were at the scene of the march, decked in black and white. It was a fun and cordial atmosphere. Met up with friends and socialised around. Even before the march had begun, the government pulled up some tricks up its sleeves. It blocked certain roads so that the 7 buses which the Bar Council chartered to ferry lawyers from KL to Putrajaya could not go through.

But who cares. The lawyers alighted the bus and bravely marched approx 5 km to the march site to the loud raptures of cheers and applauses. Banners were strung, slogans were chanted. The boisterous crowd swelled and I had a time of my life soaking it all in. There were a number of opposition members who turned up to give their support but kudos to them for not displaying even a single party flag or emblem to politicise the matter.

Soon, the march began. Twas quite a distance, but it felt like a carnival. Cars honking for support, lawyers chanting for justice and some of us scoping out the hot chicks in the crowd as the clueless and hapless droves of policemen and Federal Reserve Units looked on like the dumb-but-arrogant-and-lazy bastards they are.

It was a peaceful march. But a glance at the paranoia that swept the police force - who came ready with water canons, riot shields, helicopters and the whole works - made you think you were in some Hollywood movie.

We must have disappointed them, as I know there'd be most of them who would've loved nothing but to hammer at rioters. There were rumours that some policemen even tried to rile up lawyers by insulting them, but we kept our cool, and integrity intact. We ain't dumb, fuckin' pigs. And this ain't Terengganu, bitch.

No flag burning, no Molotov cocktail-throwing or cop-bashing. Just a relentless march to the PM's place. At the spot, there were more riot police. And they barricaded the entrance. Only a handful of the Bar Council honchos were allowed passage. The rest of us camped outside chanting and making our voices heard. A police helicopter hovered. Some waved at it while many showed the middle finger.

Then, as if to test our resolve, the sky broke.

Rain poured down and the wind lashed. Many ran for cover. Some decided to call it a day and headed back to office / to the cafeteria. A select few of us stood. It was a great feeling. Being soaked from head to toe. Toes swimming inside my shoes. Underwear drenched. Bitter cold snapping at our skin about 20% - or less - of the original marchers stood our ground. And the chants became even louder.

We were having a ball. It was a superb moment. Perhaps the sight of some hot chicks in wet white shirts helped ... but I digress.

In the end, we called it a day. Reluctantly trudged inside dripping like a fish out of water. Went down for some grub at the cafeteria and back to the office soaked but satisfied. The memorandum was handed over. The march, successful.

For a more accurate reporting of the march, go to either http://www.niamah.blogspot.com/ or http://www.jeffooi.com/.

When all is said and done, it was a march well worth it. I'm betting my last dollar that NOTHING will come out of the Lingamgate scandal - as far as the CJ, or state of affairs of the judiciary, is concerned. As usual, investigations will prove inconclusive. Things will be swept under the carpet. And amidst all the keris-wielding threats and whispers of May 13, we will once again be asked to "get out of the country if we don't like it here".

Fuck it.

But there is still a chance. Slim, miniscule but still a chance. That the opposite might just happen. That something will spur out of this. That the very root of this power monopoly that these crooked guns hold will begin to sway. And I would like to think that this march opened the eyes of many. This march did something. No matter how small. It was a statement. Hope is what keeps dreams alive. And to bang on hope is better than to lie down in defeat.

20 years from now my kids might probably be reading about the 2007 judiciary crisis. They would read about how the lawyers marched in the sun and waited in the pouring rain for justice to be reminded to those who have forgotten how it looks like. And I could proudly tell them ...

that I was there....

... even if it was to check out hot chicks in wet white shirts.

[Edit at 12.20am 28.9.2007. Went into work today and was told by my colleague - and fellow marchee Eng Boon - that our pics were on Rocky's blog. Rocky of the infamous Rocky's Bru. Just realised that in the midst of all the hullaballoo, I didn't even bring my camera and hence, no pic of me. But thanks to Mr.Rocky, here's a snap of me and my colleagues slightly before the march began]

source: http://rockybru.blogspot.com/

Ada macam Che Guevara kah the hero in Argentinean-coloured tie? Hehehe

... just hold on ...

2007-09-12T00:45:00.000+08:00

... a lil more.

So many things have happened in such a short span of time. Out of breath. Lack of rest. Just got back from two trips. One was back to the sunny comforts of home called Penang. The other was a helluva mad rush - but satisfyingly good - weekend at Kuantan for my firm's Annual trip. Both resulted in me looking like burnt charcoal.

Sandwiched between all that fun is the dreaded capital W - O - R - K !!

Talk about timing. Most of my files that were asleep for the past few lazy months of June, July and August ... decided to rumble into life. And so, the mad rush begins.

So no time for a proper post. Yet.

And yet I've so much to write. I wanna talk about Penang. I wanna talk about Kuantan. I wanna talk about Merdeka and how much I "love" my country of 50 years (of stinkin' shit and counting).

And I'm sure you guys know I don't do half-arsed "dear diary today I chipped a fingernail ok byebye" posts, right? So yeah, that's gonna be a problem you see.

I'm only human. With 24/7 just like you, you and you. So somethin's gotta give. For now it's the blog.

Will be back VERY soon.

Ok, kiddin'. Probbly AFTER September. Then I'll put up one mega duper super Transformertron blockbuster Expecto Patronus bonanza of a post incorporating my Penang getaway, Kuantan madness (with loadsa pics, Photobucket willing) and perhaps Dilys' big day (coming up in a coupla days).

So stay tuned ...

... be back in a bit.

Till then ... eat your vegetables and don't forget to wash behind the ears.

Before You Know It ...

2007-08-14T21:52:00.000+08:00

... blink and the weekend's gone by.

It scares me sometimes to see time racing by so fast. Well, I guess if you're stuck on Monday / Tuesday, this speed at which the days peel off from the calendar wouldn't be such a bad thing after all. But on the flip side, before you can give thanks to the omnipotent one that it's Friday already ... Sunday night comes a-calling like a bad nightmare.

Fuck.

Haven't you experienced it before? I know I have ... on a weekly basis. Come Friday the mood will be 'anticipatory'. Work seems to move in second gear as you're mentally tellin' it to roll the fuck over to next week. Your mind dances with thoughts of how you'd spend the weekend. Sleep more. Go shopping. Take a swim. Give the house a lil spring cleaning. Catch up with friends. Go drinkin'. Eat leisurely. Laugh a bit more. Unwind. The list goes on.

Friday night comes and you let your hair down. As you flip your head back, it's Saturday already. Don't be wastin' no time flippin' it down again though, coz Sunday will smack you right in the face before you could realise where Saturday went to.

And then comes Monday.

Is it just me or does time REALLY seem to move faster than before? Has time gone through evolution as well and is now catching up - or overtaking - us? Or is it has got to do with technology which is constantly updating itself at an alarming rate?

For a while I put it down to 'growing up'. You know, I figured when we were kids there were less things to do. Less chores, responsibilities and shit to look out for. Concepts like 'timetables' and 'schedules' had no meaning to you. There wasn't a need for you to constantly 'plan out your daily programme' nor run through your mental 'must-do' list every morning when you wake up.

In addition to that, you were also easier to please and amuse. You looked forward to the simple things in life like running around the field or racing downhill with the neighbourhood kids on your trusty mountain-bike without worrying about too much shit.

You could lose yourself and be completely immersed in whatever you did as your parents did all the thinking for you. Where your next meal's gonna come from. When to pay the bills. How much to budget for your living expenses. It's all sorted. You just worried about whether or not it'd rain and spoil your lil trip down the river to catch some guppies.

As such, days seem to last a lil longer and a year REALLY felt like eternity before passing on to the next. Auld Lang Syne and New Year celebrations had some meaning. Now, the years pass so fast I sometimes find myself forgetting that I'm in 2007 already. If you put it in context, it's been 8 years since I left high school. 8 FREAKIN' YEARS! Dang.

Somehow I don't remember it being that long. The past 8 years seemed to have meshed together like a long music video. Life when I was younger was like a proper TV series. You waited for the glorious 30 minutes once a week. Every week. One at a time. It's probably take half a year or more before you went to the next season. Now in the days where you can probably download entire seasons of TV shows off the Net and marathon the damn thing in a couple of days ... we seem to have less of time.

So yeah, that must be it. As we grow up, life accelerates.

But then awhile ago my grandma had this exact discussion with me. She reckons the days go by like the Devil in the night. I'd put it down to being senile if it was other old folks, but here was a woman who could remember the gifts I had given her 5 Christmases ago and at the same time discuss whether Britney Spears has really lost it. So no, she's as sharp as a tack.

If my grandma, whom for all purposes had stopped working for the past 30 years or so, and is an idle housewife with no kids to take care of these days, could feel the changing nature of time these days ... then I guess it must be true.

It could even be the double-edged sword of advancements in humanity. We all know laziness is the muthafuckin' mother of all inventions, rite? Well, inventions are a pain in the ass in that it gives you the illusion that you're actually SAVING time by using it. Things that are supposed to cut time by gazillion times like instantaenous communication (email), info-at-your-fingertips (the Net) and other shit has actually RAISED the bar of expectation higher.

So whilst it is true that you could now revert to your client in Saudi Arabia by today, as opposed to a few days through snail mail of yesteryears, you now multiply all that saved time by 20 more clients. ALL expecting faster and faster reverting time. See what a joke inventions are?

So yeah, maybe that's the partial cause of this speeding up of time too. The amount of time you save from today's technology is not on par with the increased stress, workload and expectation these things bring. So in essence, you LOSE MORE TIME.

Well, whatever it is, I think it sucks.

This whole speeding up of the days thingy just serve to remind us that the clock is tickin' and it ain't stoppin' for no one. It's been officially 9 months since I joined the current firm I'm in. How'd it happen so fast? There's still some wet spot behind me ears! Rewind, rewind.

The faster days pass by, the nearer we get to the coffin. Or close enough to it. I don't wanna reach there so fast. To quote Robbie Williams, "I ain't scared of dying I just don't want to". There's still so much to do.

And if that ain't enough, the amount of friends / people I know who are gettin' married or engaged adds more to the woe. I mean, cmon, it used to be not very long ago where the constant things in my daily discussions with friends used to be 'who clubs where' or 'which chick could be 1-night-standed without breakin' ya wallet'. Well now it's all about where so-and-so is gettin' married and who's buyin' which house and shit.

I mean ... WHOA. Sometimes I feel like I wanna just yell time-out and smack everyone to a halt a bit.

We need more time.

Then you also hear about friends opening up their own companies, doing their own shit and generally making shit loads of money through businesses. And then you wonder when will your 5 years of professional training and the obscene chunk of money thrown thereto start to pay off coz you're still having to wait for monthly paychecks which would take forever to accumulate into something worth counting.

So there. We need more time!!

Time to live life, time to make money, time to relax and just time to slooooooooooowly grow and enjoy each step of the journey. At the rate I'm going by the time I start balding and have a creak in my joints, I'd be sittin' there wondering 'what the hell just happened?'. And then the Grim Reaper / St. Peter / Monkey God will smirkily say, "Life happened, that's what" and laugh at my face.

If I could choose any superpower in the world, it'd be the ability to PAUSE time. Maybe Adam Sandler's magic remote in Click ain't such a bad idea after all.

We need more time.

Or perhaps I should instead adopt the current trend which is fast gaining popularity in Europe, the art of slow living. It's called Slow Movement. Here check it out :

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slow_Movement

It's basically a philosophy which advocates the conscious "slowing down" of pace of living. Taking your own sweet time to slowly chew on food, take slow walks, slowly enjoy your scenery and coast through life at your own slow pace, although its primary aim is the defense of organic food, agricultural richness and going back to basics, i.e. the simpler things in life.

Sigh.

Try tellin' it to my bosses and they'd slowly show you the way to the nearest exit. I don't know much about the other professions but the legal fraternity is one which rewards bending backwards to suck your own balls if it means pleasing the client and frowning upon taking charge and telling the client who's REALLY the expert.

Edit: As I'm typing this, a colleague of mine just got home from work. The time is 12.35am right now. Now you know why all lawyers look like they could murder anyone at any time?

So yeah, until society moves as a whole towards the Slow Movement, or when Hell freezes over, whichever first, I doubt it'll take off.

We need more time.

So to cap it off, there's really no point to my post. Just another waste of time rant from a 25 year-old boy who still hasn't got used to the concept of time passing so fast yet. And also not used to the concept of handling so much on his plate while seeing his youth ... AND life ... slip away.

Know what sucks? I'll probably come around to getting used to it - as how life has always been - and finally accept who I am and the role I've been given to play. Heck I'd probably even cherish it and finally be truly comfortable...

... and then I'd wake up and it's time to take my grandkids out for a walk.

You just can't win with time. Your fuckin' friend AND foe at the same time.

Incidentally, it felt like I just updated my blog a couple of days ago but hey, a look at the date of my last post shows it is now ALMOST a month since I last blogged.

Sigh...

So don't blame me for the lack of updates these days. Blame time. Or the lack thereof.

Okay peepz, gotta go before I wake up into next month ... and remember ... time waits for no man. Or woman. Or person, in this politically-correct age. So shoo off and stop readin' blogs coz it wastes time.

The One with the New Housemates

2007-07-15T14:16:00.000+08:00

It’s been a while, and I’ve been busy.

Couldn’t be arsed to come up with a decent excuse as to why I’ve not been blogging frequently anymore, honestly. There’s only so many lies I can think of. :D

Many things have come and gone since my last post bout the “bocor fiasco”. Since then, the government’s been shooting itself in the foot so frequently that this country’s beginning to look like a landmine victim.

IGP (the Guvnor’ of our police force, basically) investigated by the Anti-Corruption Agency (ACA) for allegedly accepting bribes to free gangsters. ACA top brass investigated for accepting bribes. Gangsters ruling the roost in Sarawak. Headline Mongolian-murder-trial implicating country’s number 2 and several members of the police force. Drug abuse skyrocketing. Crime rates soaring. Racial tension mounting. Extremists spreading like wildfire. Amidst all this the numero uno is unaffectedly playing hokey-pokey with his new wife. Brilliant.

Malaysia Boleh.

We’re almost turning into Gotham City. But hell, it’s gonna take more than just Batman to turn this shit around.

All I gotta say: Election’s coming up, folks. Do your damn part and stick it up to the man (or lazy, uneducated men with keris) with an “X”.

Ok, before I turn away some of my other non-political readers (shame on you) from reading, I’ll stop here. And get back to more interesting things: me.

:D

I’ve seen some really huge movements (literally) over the past few months.

On the work front, things are perfect. Couldn’t have planned it better myself if I had the ability to write my own script to life. Environment’s really crazy. Most of my colleagues are lunatic, out-going, fun-loving, shit-talking bunch of motherfuckers. Just like me. I’ve settled in, found my groove and am contented.

Well, I still do fuck up every once in a while (ok make that MOST of the while), procrastinate when I can (and when I shouldn't) and contribute majority-wise to the sexual harassment quotient of the firm, but hey, it’s all cool. My boss is damn understanding and down-to-earth, work load is manageable these days while most girls either (a) enjoy the harassment or (b) sexually harass back, so yeah, no impending threat of getting fired there.

So back to the movements I mentioned 3 paragraphs ago.

Sometime around (early) May, the chief tenant announced that since the condo’s annual tenancy was expiring, they were thinking of lookin’ for another place with cheaper rent. All of us agreed that Dataran Prima (the condo we’re living in) was a perfect place, so we’d just have to look around for another unit within the same condo.

To be honest, I didn’t really wanna move. I like my unit. It’s got a good vibe all around. Some would call it positive ‘chi’, some would say its ‘feng shui’ is good and Myron would probably say ‘the Force is strong in this condo’. Whatever it is, I like it.

So after some scouting around, considering and discussion, I did the obvious and decided to stay on. The chief tenant (and her boyfriend) together with the one in the middle room decided to move 9 floors down (I’m on 19th) for a cheaper unit.

I stayed.

But I can’t be livin’ alone in a 3 bedroom-ed, 1,600square feet condo alone now, could I? So a couple of SMS-es, postings on Klue website, Friendster bulletins and emails later, I began my search for housemates.

And just like a reality show, the contestants were gradually reduced until there were left only two: Syed and Wilson.

Both of whom happened to be my old friends as well.

They’ve now moved in. Moved in their shit a couple of weeks back. And we’re just beginning to populate the house with furniture and other essentials. See the previous chief tenant had everything – sofa set, table, fridge, etc. so much so that I didn’t buy anything for the house at all – except for stuff in my room. So when they left, the house was empty – except for my room.

So now I’ve got no choice but to actually begin buying furniture and do the whole ‘moving to a new place’ works – a good 8 months after I initially moved in.

So without further ado, let me introduce the Housemates to you out there. In case I suddenly disappear and can’t be traced, go look for these fuckers below. We just bought a cleaver so go check if that one’s gone too. It’ll probably in their rooms, together with pieces of me.

Housemate #1 - Syed

Older readers of this blog – and those from my immediate Penang circle of friends – would recognize this gay fuck. Self-proclaimed womanizing metrosexual who claims to love God but hate ALL religion. Works in a high paying job in a GLC bank in the heart of KL. Is an avid fan of Sharapova yet plays penis – I mean tennis – with a sexually-suspect “tennis partner” almost everyday. We go way back to secondary school days. He can brag and act like a Casanova today but I was there when he was still wet behind the ears and couldn’t find a clitoris in a vagina storm.

Housemate # 2 - Wilson

An old friend from my Uni days. Mr.Popular with a 1,001 commitments. So popular that he could run for elections any day – that’s if he remember to turn up. Chain-smoking, hardcore kopi-O addict nice guy with a penchant for promising the moon (and genuinely believing he could) when he can’t even find a piece of rock. Doesn’t always turn up, on time or at all, but will be the most dependable one people turn to when everyone else leaves.

Housemate # 3 – Chip

Real name : Corn Plant. Can grow to be a motherfucking tree reaching 7-8 feet in height. Now still a lil bugger. Got him off the racks of IKEA. He is the emblem of solidity and strength on my balcony. Don’t let the size fool ya. This one’s a tough cookie.

Housemate # 4 – Cash

Real name : Money plant. Also from the racks of IKEA. Wild and crazy fella that grows in uncontrollable ways. The symbol of fluidity and carefree on our balcony. A good contrast to Chip.

Housemate # 5 – Java

Real name : Jawa palm plant. Dilys’ baby. From IKEA as well. Can grow to amazing width and majestic stature with the right care. Is pretty at the same time as solid. The symbol of nurturing and protection. Definitely a chick type of plant.

Housemate # 6 – Mother Sucker

Sucks like a MILF. Hence the name. This lil SHARP terror packs quite a punch. Just ask the cobwebs and dust under my cupboards and furniture. Compact, durable and reasonably priced too. Stylish and I love its colour. Am just waiting for it to one day transform and start fighting Syed’s PS2 who’s out to conquer the world. :D

-------------------------------

So there ya have it, folks. The cast of my condo. It’s gonna be a daunting new era, with many changes and efforts to make a condo a home. But it sure as hell’s gonna be interesting. Like a new episode beginning in the sitcom of life. The One With the New Housemates.

More updates to come.

Oops, they did it again

2007-05-20T17:08:00.000+08:00

Yeap, they've done it again.

Opened their mouths wide and stuffed it with their stinking feet. Proving once more to the world what a laughable circus-act the Malaysian Parliament, and government, really can be.

The word of the moment is ‘bocor’ (English translation: leak).

If you’re Malaysian, you should’ve already heard of that infamous ‘bocor’ incident at least close to a million times by now, not forgetting cracking and/or hearing someone crack a joke of that incident maybe another two million times.

Also, you would’ve probably followed the fall-out from that incident, where bungling phases of justification, defending the undefensible and finally putting up an apology-as-sincere-as-a-prostitute-in-church-pew was put up by the wise leaders of our country with as much tact and grace of an elephant at a ballet recital.

So what’s that incident?

For the benefit of the non-Malaysians reading this right now, a quick summary:

On 9th May 2007, during a session in our Lower House of Parliament (Dewan Rakyat), some opposition Members of Parliament (from DAP) made remarks about the leaking (“bocor”) roof in Parliament (which is another whole shameful story altogether, which I’ll write about next time) and the safety hazards it posed to the MPs and journalists alike.

As is the case whenever the opposition raises any issue (whether valid or not), a big commotion ensues with government MPs jostling and competing with each other to see whose tongue can lick deepest up the asses of their party’s top brass by shouting, name-calling and hurling childish personal attacks on whoever is raising that query.

Now, the opposition members in this country are not saints either, and so as we have come to accept as ‘business as usual’, a whole circus devoid of intellect nor depth unfolded with monkeys from both sides of the fence pulling the hairs off each others’ backs using the leaking roof, a.k.a the “bocor” incident as the vehicle.

At the climax of this stand-up comedy which was fast turning into a kindergarten brawl, two government party apes in suits disguised as MPs, namely Datuk Bung Mokhtar Radin of Kinabatangan (hereinafter referred to as “Bung”) and Datuk Mohd Said Yusof of Jasin (hereinafter referred to as “Said”) decided to up the retarded ante one notch higher by cracking the following:

"Mana bocor, Batu Gajah pun tiap-tiap bulan pun bocor juga."

(Translation: "Where is the leak? Batu Gajah MP (Miss Fong Po Kuan, DAP) also leaks every month” (in direct reference to a woman’s monthly period discharge, in case you’re wondering).

[For those of you who want to hear it for yourself, go to Youtube. Type ‘bocor’ in its search engine and it should be the first video on your hits]

Oh wow, that’s so funny. Har har. Oh, it’s so witty and spontaneous too. Wow, someone please get these two jokers a slot in Saturday Night Live.

Apparently it was Bung who uttered it first, thereafter echoed by Said, in the manner of how stray dogs start barking for no apparent reason upon hearing another’s bark. Some other degenerate government party MPs were howling with approval at such display of maturity and speech befitting of an elected representative of the citizens.

My heart goes out to people living in Kinabatangan and Jasin. Really.

If you thought that was the joke, then you’ve just bought the hook. No, the ‘bocor’ incident was merely the set-up for the punchline that was to follow.

After a barrage of protests and calls for disciplinary action, NO ACTION was taken against them. They were let off scot-free. It was really comforting to know that discriminatory remarks like that, which would have gotten schoolboys a good public caning if uttered at a classroom, are given different levels of appropriateness when it involves members of our esteemed Parliament. Wow, I’m sure citizens everywhere can sleep peacefully in their beds tonight knowing that in this country you can get away with murder as long as you are in the right camp.

When the media got wind of it, as expected, women all over the country went up in arms. Women and equal rights groups all over the country were busy organising protests, open letters to Parliament and baying for blood.

The shocker came at how several other government party MPs who bore witness to such gutter-talk came out in defense of these two pigs. Senseless excuses like “it was just a joke”, “the media has blown it out of proportion”, “they meant no harm” and many more logic-defying cover-ups were thrown at us. A lot of these came from people in powerful positions, mind you, which is a sad reminder of how tragically, this country is flushing down the drain.

There was even one Minister, who holds a very powerful position in the government, who had the stupendous nerve to imply that “it should be taken with a sense of humour”. What Batu Gajah MP should do is to send a packet of tampons to each of them during the next Parliamentary sitting and ask him to plug the Parliament roof leak with it, since they equate it as such. Then we’d see how much sense of humour the country has.

After a whole week of pressure, and with them apologizing and then retracting their apologies (God knows why), they finally held a meeting with YB Dato Seri Shahrizat Binti Abdul Jalil, the Minister of Women, Family and Community Development. Emerging from the meeting, they each gave a very reluctant apology, something to the effect of: “I-don’t-see-what’s-the-big-fuss-and-this-issue-is-clearly-an-attempt-by-the-opposition-to-attack-the-government-and-even-though-I-think-I’m-right-as-I-always-am,-I’m-just-gonna-mutter-a-hesitant-apology-just-to-shut-you-people-up” [actual apology may differ from this but the gist of it remains].

And thus, the whole incident comes to a close. Or at least how the government wants it to seem. I don’t know whether these two monkeys got a good dose of internal bollocking for creating such a ruckuss so near to the General Election, but what’s really a key point to note is the government’s impassive, and for the most lacklustre, approach to this issue in the eyes of the public.

Clearly the leadership of this country knew what went on in Parliament. Clearly the leadership of this country knew the implications of shooting a scathing personal attack on a fellow member of Parliament by equating a leaking roof with an ill-timed and uncouth reference to a woman’s monthly discharge. Clearly the leadership of this country knows the concept of accountability and credibility. Clearly the leadership of this country knows that for every action there must be an equal and opposite reaction.

They clearly knew all that and did clearly NOTHING.

It shouldn’t have to come to close to two weeks before an apology is reluctantly mouthed by these two baboons. It shouldn’t have needed the protests, endless columns and articles in the papers and that meeting with the Minister of Women, Family and Community Development. It shouldn’t be the case that when a member of the ruling party behaves like an animal in Parliament, insulting the very essence of womanhood, they are let off without any disciplinary action.

What any accountable, truthful and dependable leadership should have done is to do the right thing without bias for party lines and/or connections. As a collective whole, the government and the party that these two jokers came from should have raised their hands and give an earnest apology for the remarks. Swiftly, the leadership should then mete out a deterrent punishment, be it removing them from their posts or giving them the boot from the party. It’s a painful pill to swallow but it’s the least any fair government should do.

By letting them go, it proves to the world the concept of cronyism and blind party loyalty still exists and hampers the administration of justice. There will be no equality when there are two sets of rules for the same community. It shatters whatever publicity drive that the government has initiated all this while, all the happy kampung visiting, helping housewives chop garlic and many more PR stunts.

All those amount to nothing as we see the leadership grapple like a little child lost when just two of their MPs made a boo-boo in Parliament. We see how ineffective our elected men can be when they can’t even keep the mouths of their lowlife MPs in check.

The ‘bocor’ incident may have been but an ill-timed joke at the wrong time and the wrong place, but more importantly it is a telling and depressing sign of how our leadership would react in a situation. It is the truest indicator of the current political climate in this country where everyone’s running the ship and none is running it at the same time.

Rest In Peace, Ah Kong

2007-05-06T03:19:00.000+08:00

Last weekend I was back in Penang.

Last weekend my grandfather passed away.

Ah Kong, as he is known to both me and my bro, and Harry Lim Seng Lim to the rest of the world, died peacefully on Friday afternoon, 27th April 2007. He was 86.

I had just finished clearing my stuff when the news reached me. Was about to leave office before lunchtime. Tuesday and Wednesday were gonna be public holidays, so I took a half day on Friday and the whole of Monday off to make it a long weekend. Was planning to do some serious relaxing, unwinding and much needed island rejuvenation in good ole Penang.

Then came the call from my mum about my grandfather.

She was calm when conveying the news to me. I was calm when receiving the news. I guess with his age and condition, it wasn’t a big surprise anymore. It was just a matter of when. Apparently he had the kind of death everyone would wish for. Fully conscious up till the last few moments of his life, he had taken one or two deep breaths, closed his eyes and passed off. No struggling, no pain. What a peaceful way to go. He didn’t kick the bucket, he gently tipped it over.

He’d been in a nursing home for the last couple of years. Was involved in a serious accident years back as he was crossing the road at a busy shopping complex and was mowed down by a speeding motorcycle. The rider and his pillon were young punks wet behind the ears. Probably lost control of their speed and the vehicle as well.

Ever since the accident, my grandpa had never been the same. It was a miracle he even survived. Broken neck, collarbone, shin, foot, hips, cracked spine and the whole works. At his age, doctors said his chances of gaining consciousness would be slim.

Being the fighter he was, he did. Against the odds, he recovered, but not fully. He was never fully recovered. I guess at a certain age, our body loses its ability to regenerate and/or repair cells, tissues and bones.

The spinal injury meant that his lower torso was almost paralysed, motor movements weakened and he had suffered slight concussion, which accelerated the advent of Alzheimer’s. His legs had become weakened and he could not walk without being guided.

And so, we were unable to give him the necessary care needed for someone of his condition and he was thus enrolled into a nursing home. He made remarkable progress though, and in his final years, was able to prop himself up without help and even take a couple of slow steps. But the memory didn’t do too well. The accident had affected his short term memory ability. He could recall childhood names and places, yet doesn’t recall recent events, places and faces.

It was a pitiful condition, sitting whatever remains of your life away in a home, unable to move freely and with memory fading. I guess the peaceful passing was indeed the most fitting end to his life.

The funeral was a quick and went relatively smoothly. Friends and relatives smattered with members of the church my grandpa belongs to (Assembly of God, or AOG in short) came. It was a Christian funeral followed by cremation. Hymns were sung, prayers were offered. People come, people go. Before I knew it, Ah Kong was going up in flames.

My mum was really appreciative at how supportive and helpful AOG was. The undertaker, who was from that church, took care of the A to Z’s of the funeral. Church members came in droves to offer heartfelt prayers and unending support. My mum was slightly surprised and warmly touched as she is a Catholic, much accustomed to the snobbish Catholic way where everything was traditional, cold and lacking the human touch.

As for me, I couldn’t care less. Catholic, Protestants, whatever-lics, they were all Christians.

But I must admit that the funeral had opened my eyes to a couple of observations. One, you never know the value of friendship or relations until someone croaks. It’s really easy to hang around and join in the parade when someone’s celebrating and throwing out free food, fun and drinks. But it’s another story when you’re being asked to sacrifice time and convenience to be there for support and strength. That’s where sincerity shows.

Second, I was never the type to quite understand what the whole fuss is about the whole mourning ritual. You know, the person’s dead. Lifeless. Motionless. He can’t hear, see, smell or feel no more. And here you all are, singing songs, praises and giving flowers and crap for days on end. I mean, why?

Then it struck me that funerals aren’t for the dead as much as it is for the living. A funeral’s true aim is to appease the living. That’s right. The dead can’t appreciate the finely carved ornaments on his coffin or the beautifully ethereal lily sitting at the corner, but the living can. The funeral is thus a sort of ‘closure’. And event to wrap things up for the recently departed so that in the minds of the living, they can close the book.

Death can come quite suddenly. And when suddenly someone is yanked right from your life, it can all come crashing down dizzily. Some people get disoriented and the passing just doesn’t sink in yet. So a funeral’s main purpose is to systematically allow you to accept the fact that someone’s dead, grieve, moan, cry, heal and move on … all at one go.

It allows people to come as one to form a support net for the living to bounce right back and get on with the nitty gritty. As with births, achievements, job promotions, new cars and stuff, the social creatures that we are demands an occasion where a ritual can be performed to understand an event better.

Lastly, a funeral is a timely reminder for the living that death is waiting. Engrossed in our daily grind and lost in the facts and figures of work, we sometimes forget that the Grim Reaper awaits. Funerals are mini alarm bells to remind you of your own mortality and that of those around you. And just like alarm bells, you may hit the snooze button and go back to sleep … but who knows how many times you can do that before the snooze runs out and you’ve overslept?

So each time you’re gently reminded with the passing of someone dear, appreciate the fact that you are still here to attend his/her funeral. Appreciate the fact that there is still hope. No matter how bad you’ve screwed up or things you’ve not done, know that as long as you’re around, you can turn things around. It’s never too late to cherish and celebrate someone you love, someone you care about or someone that deserves just that one phone call just to say that you care.

Death is but a heartbeat away. Cherish every beat as if it was your last.

Rest in Peace, Ah Kong.

My Tribute to Ah Kong:

I’ve talked quite a bit about how he died, so now allow me to talk a bit about how he lived.

My grandpa was one of a kind. Boyish and cheeky till his last days, he had a twinkle in his eyes and a passion for living rivaled by none. Forever brimming with optimism and mischief, he was more than just a grandfather to me and my brother.

Here was a man so unconventional that he refuses to believe his age is anything older than 20. Up till the ripe old age of baldness, wrinkly skin and false teeth, he was still hiking up Penang Hill, meeting up friends in shopping complexes, cycling around the island, going for salsa and cha-cha classes, volunteering at the spastic centre teaching handicapped children how to swim, singing in Indonesian cabarets and also being the full time tormentor, babysitter, guardian, ‘enemy’ and grandfather to both me and my brother all rolled into one.

We had an unconventional relationship with him. When I hear of friends with traditional grandfathers who were proper, strict, uptight, rigid, demanded good table manners and respect bordering on madness, I smile with content knowing that I would go home from school to cursing, arguing, monkeying around, horseplaying and subjecting my grandfather to a million and one of my youthful pranks and shenanigans. He would readily partake in me and my brothers’ many adventures, ‘fights’ and banters. He was the ‘test subject’ whenever me and my brother created a drink from dirt, random food and anything else we could find in our failed bid to become MacGuyver. He was also responsible for ensuring that my brother had his lunch and bath everyday after kindergarten when all that bastard ever did was strip naked, smear a half-eaten banana on the wall and eat it, take his food under the table like a dog and then start vandalizing our house walls with his crayons. The things my grandpa had to go through would put most men into the asylum. But I guess you couldn’t really turn someone who is already mad, mad.

He was like a friend. He was also our enemy at times. And our co-conspirator against our mum sometimes when we all got into trouble under his care.

Let’s just say he never grew up. He was the one who taught me how to climb my room window and somersault to my bed when I was 4. He taught me how to break fall on hard cement floor at 6. He taught me how to play football and cycle. He was the one who taught me how to kick other boys at the knee whenever I had to fight in kindergarten, resulting in sending one Sikh boy flying into the drain before. When the Sikh boy’s father went to complain to my grandpa, he hypocritically sounded aghast and said he’d punish me at home. At home, he congratulated me and taught me other fighting moves.

I learnt my first few cuss and swear words from him. He taught me flowery language that would make prude people cover their ears. He entertained us for years with his war-time stories about how he escaped the Japanese Occupation during their invasion of Malaya by smearing coal on his face and jumping onto moving trains, hiding amongst doctors to avoid torture and basically helping to build the Bridge of the River Kwai in Thailand. How much of those daredevil war stories were true leaves much to imagination, but to us, he was an Indiana Jones.

He also lavished us with his million and one tales, of how during his youth, he was a welterweight boxer who knocked out Caucasian soldiers before, how he won singing competitions, how he wooed girls and women, how he played truant in school, how he learnt to speak Japanese, Siamese and Tamil and many more. He also sang non-stop. Every moment that he is not talking, arguing, eating, sleeping, cycling, joking or jesting, he would definitely be singing. Oh, singing was his passion. Amongst Candy Man, Guantanamera, cowboy songs, Siamese and Hokkien songs, his personal favourite was Three Coins in the Fountain. [note: the song playing in the background IS the infamous Three Coins in the Fountain, dedicated to him].

He played such a prominent role in our life. Allowing us to be rough-tough, boisterous, mischevious and generally explore our youths fully, yet keeping a silent eye on us, Ah Kong had shaped us into who we are. If anyone wants to know where I acquired my fluency with words, foul language, penchant for excuses, mischief, sarcasm, passion for singing, love for women and instinct to cheat, all credit goes to Harry Lim. My brother and I used to nickname him ‘Lau Kau’ (translation : Old Monkey) for his antics with us. He loved that name. Perhaps he shared a similar fascination for Monkey God as me?

Bottomline is, here is a man who had done absolutely nothing morally and principally right for me and my brother, yet did so much to shape us into the practical, pragmatic, fun-loving, laidback, well-adjusted and confident fuckers that we are today. We would not change even a single thing from our history with Ah Kong. Turn back time and offer us a professor, billionaire, celebrity or any other person for a grandfather, yet we would still pick this one over any of them. Coz he ain’t just a character, he’s a few characters rolled into one.

Here’s one to you, Ah Kong. Better save some virgins up in Heaven for me. I’ll be there when my time’s up. Till then, peace be the journey and say wassup to Monkey God for me.

Lat Chiu Pan Mee

2007-03-18T23:50:00.000+08:00

We’ve all heard of Penang and its food.

Its reputation of being THE centre of all things sinful and yummy is not unfounded. As a true born and bred Penangite, I can attest to the veracity of that statement. Nowhere else beats us when it comes to food. Period.

Many a great debate has been sparked with many food lovers from different states going home with their tails between their legs when it comes to challenging our island’s iconic status as Food Paradise.

However, as a connoisseur of all kinds of food, I must say that I recently discovered a type of food in KL which Penang has no answer to.

Yup, you heard right. Even the King of Food Places has its weak spots.

Lat Chiu Pan Mee’s the name, and fantastic’s the taste.

Traditionally, Pan Mee is a type of noodle-y dish which you can’t really find in Penang. It’s quite common in KL and the Klang Valley (I don't know bout other parts of Malaysia so I stand corrected) and it’s usually sort of bland and not very mouth-watering. Not the sort of food that an islander with a tongue that is more at home with soury assam laksa, spicy nasi kandar and oily-and-rich char koay teow would choose.

However, there’s this one infamous shop in the heart of the capital’s slums that has taken the boring Pan Mee dish, given it a spicy twist and turned it into a trademark dish that’s now become legendary among the urban folk of KL.

I was first introduced to it by my colleagues, who warned me that you needed to wait for at least half an hour before the pan mee comes - that's on a good day. IF your’re lucky. And IF you come out before the usual lunch time. And IF you actually get a seat.

It's THAAAAAAAAAAAAAT famous.

The shop’s somewhere near the Chow Kit area. I’m very bad with KL geography at the moment so you gotta excuse me. All I know is you turn right from Jalan Raja Laut, get on to Jalan Tuanku (or is it Tunku) Abdul Rahman and turn left into some side road that leads to some really old school, ghetto flats and other shops.

The shop’s called Kin Kin.

It’s a damn old skool place. It won’t win any awards for appearance nor atmosphere but heck when they serve food as good as they do, I don’t mind eating from inside a dumpster.

Masters at work.

View from the inside. Check out the ghetto lookin flats opposite.

Anyways.

What separates this Pan Mee from the regular Pan Mees out there, as you can guess from the name, is the Lat Chiu. Lat Chiu = chilli in Cantonese. Now the Cantonese are not famed for their spicy food so I was a bit surprised at this twist to the regular Pan Mee. But believe me, after you’ve tried Lat Chiu Pan Mee, normal Pan Mee wouldn’t do.

So after my first session, we make it a point to go every once in a while coz it’s that addictive.

When last Saturday rolled around and Dilys announced that we’re going to KL for her firm’s medical checkup, my mind instantly went to : Lat Chiu Pan Mee.

I’ve been raving bout it to her and she’s yet to sample this delicacy. Shame on her, been living in PJ all her life and she hasn’t tried it. Anyways…

For the uninitiated, here’s a sample of how to enjoy your Lat Chiu Pan Mee.

YJ's GUIDE TO THOROUGHLY ENJOYING YOUR LAT CHIU PAN MEE

The servings are unusually small for KL standards, coupled with the fact that it's so damn tasty, it's a given that you HAVE to order AT LEAST 2 bowls. Minimum.

Bak eu phok is a common feature for most chinese fried dishes. It's essentially the fat of the pig fried till aromatic and crispy. It usually comes with the oil which gives all chinese dishes it's superb taste. You MUST put a lot of this into your Pan Mee otherwise no kick. I'm sorry to all the Muslim readers but you don't know what you're missing. You really don't. It's heaven.

This the shit we're talkin' about. Chilli fried in oil so much so that its wondrous, spicy juices have fused into a semi-liquid state that will tantalise the tastebuds and burn through your stomache walls. Actually, my consumption of it (one whole chilli mini bowl) was considered quite pathetic by some of the regulars there. I saw one woman eating pan mee that looked like it was dipped in women's period. :D

This is the key to Lat Chiu Pan Mee's greatness. Mix everything, the bak eu phok, chilli and the semi-cooked egg into one gastronomical bowl of heaven.

That's about it. Proceed to next bowl.

It's fantastic I tell you. I always leave this shop feeling satisfied, a burning in the stomache, reddish lips, tingling tongue and slightly sleepy.

I think the reason for my love of this pan mee lies in its unique chilli.

You see, in Penang it’s a ritual for us to find some really nasty, hardcore to the bones type of spicy food to satisfy our cravings and at the same time torture ourselves. I think we’re all secret sadists, we islanders.

There is this legendary roadside roti canai stall in Transfer Road where upon request, you can enjoy your roti canai with their trademark ‘kuah pedas’ (translation: hot curry), which will REALLY burn your insides. It’s so thick that it looks like a cross between diesel and congealed Irish stew and it doesn’t just spice up your food, it burns. All the way down to the stomache. You know the after-effect from downing a few shots of vodka in a row? Well, take that, multiply it by a few times and imagine it lingering for the WHOLE day. That’s how power the kuah pedas was.

Anyway, I think I’ve found my kuah pedas equivalent in Lat Chiu Pan Mee’s chilli. Boy, do not underestimate it. Packs quite a powerful punch. It’s lingering factor is probably not as strong as the kuah pedas, but it still makes its presence known hours after. If you’ve had enough of it.

I admit that I probably didn’t have as much ‘lat chiu’ as how a real man or Penangite should, but I guess staying in KL has sorta pussified my spicy-tolerance. A couple more training rounds in Lat Chiu Pan Mee should do the trick.

Damn … blogging about it now makes me hungry.

So peeps, what are you waiting for? Go out there and grab it while you can. Or before I do.

:D

p.s. – Even Dilys agrees that it’s good.

And The Award Goes To...

2007-03-06T07:25:00.000+08:00

So the Academy Awards just went by.

Heard it was a good one this year, red carpet and all that glitters. Didn’t get to watch it though.

As expected, Helen Mirren’s portrayal of Queen E bagged her an Oscar, and so did Forest Whitaker’s stellar outing as Idi Amin. Scorcese finally got his long-awaited accolade from the Academy for his artistic plagiarizing of Infernal Affairs.

But the result that took the cake … and most of the world by storm, was when they announced the Film of the Year.

The Departed.

What a surprise. Horrors of horrors. It caused a complete upset by robbing the title from the movie which everyone was predicting would bag the Award home and dry.

“How could it be?! What tragedy…” was surely on everyone’s lips as the whole world must know by now that the BEST film of the year … no scratch that, easily BEST film of the decade … is Ghost Rider.

How can a brilliant masterpiece that is 120minutes worth of a guy with a flaming skull riding a flaming bike running over things and people NOT bag film-making honour of the highest degree?!

I mean, cmon … when you look at Nicholas Cage go through his vast array of emotional range from dumb-looking-i-just-lost-my-pet-rabbit anguished look to his dumber-looking-i-just-lost-my-pet-rabbit anguished look … you just have to wonder how much he must have worked to get where he is today. What with all the balding and having a face that only a blind mother would love.

Let’s not even get into the breakneck pace of the film that goes from boring to slightly boring to less boring to utterly boring to ARE YOU KIDDIN’ ME. All the while with the highest quality of dialogue and with characters spouting most profound lines you’d EVER see on the silver screen every few seconds.

I mean, when the baddest mofo in fiction, I mean the DEVIL himself, ruler of the underworld and harbinger of all things evil and cool … tells Ghost Rider that play time is up and it’s turn for him to give him back the superpowers that he bestowed upon him in the first place, Nic Cage replies, with all the grandeur of a seasoned thespian, “No … I’m gonna take this curse … *mumble mumble* … and turn it against you … *dumb-looking-i-just-lost-my-pet-rabbit stare*…” and the Devil, in a manner of a wuss who just received a wedgie, yells, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo” and then stomps his walking stick on the ground and disappears …

… I mean, wow. I was about to give a standing ovation. It’s moments like these that I will remember when I’m lying on my deathbed many years from now.

Let’s not even go into the villains. Oh boy were they scary. A pale, baby-faced Goth called Blackheart in black trenchcoat, his sultry-looking Goth friend with the wet-haired look, a rasta-hairstyled Chicano bad boy and a baby Nazi-punk looking guy with dust all over him. Wow, I mean, I was half-expecting them to ask me to join the black parade or tell me that this ain’t the scene, it’s a goddamn arms race. I didn't know they were opening up auditions for the new All-American Rejects.

And then we have the carefully thought out and detailed manner in which Ghost Rider disperses them off one by one. It took him approximately 6 seconds each, give or take, but not before they put up a hell of a resistance like … err … screaming “nooooooo”, burning, getting sucked into a fiery tornado or boiling underwater. I mean, wow, how did they even thought of all that?! Just brilliant.

The plot, however, was the one thing that elevated this soon-to-be-cult classic from “incinerator-worthy-trash” to “let’s all hunt the producer down and flog him to death”. It involves the abovementioned Devil, who could practically stop diseases and cause inexplicable instantaneous death at the drop of a hat, yet cannot control his wayward son. Enter the Rider. Apparently he creates a bunch of them from time to time to do his bidding when all he could’ve done was say … I don’t know … CAUSE FIRE AND BRIMSTONE TO RAIN HIS ENEMIES TO DEATH?!

But that wouldn’t be so fun, would it?

Hence, his grand scheme of things which involves killing someone’s father and hoping that the grieving son will do his bidding like a loyal lap dog thereafter. I’m sure, like me, many other viewers must’ve gasped in surprise at the twist ending when Ghost Rider actually turned good and stood up against the Devil. Oh man, eat your heart out Sixth Sense.

Oh, and there’s also this fantastic sub-plot which involves a horny, cleavage-busting latino falling in love with pre-Ghost Rider, running away from home at his suggestion only to see him ride off without saying goodbye or an explanation, meet him like 10 years later, have him stood her out on a date which he had asked for, see him turn into a burning skull, see him get his best friend killed and she, nearly too, only to fall realistically in his arms at the end like a giddy school girl.

But of course not before appearing in a token-chick-saves-the-day scene which involves shooting a couple of times into a bad guy that has just sucked the power of over 200 over dead souls and buying enough time for Ghost Rider to do a token-last-minute-idea-that-the-bad-guy-never-anticipated-which-results-in-his-downfall move. I’m sure feminists worldwide will be beaming with pride at such a great role model for young latino females worldwide.

If ever those of you fortunate enough to catch the other masterpiece called Pathfinder was wondering if any movie could ever match its brilliance, look no further than Ghost Rider. It really stands amongst the pantheon of greats which includes gems like Daredevil, Elektra and Catwoman.

If you haven’t seen Ghost Rider, go out now and please beg, borrow or steal … for a piece of shit to suck on when you finally watch this film to fool your brain into thinking that “the stink’s probably coming from the shit”.

I’ll end this post with yet another quotable quote from i-just-lost-my-pet-rabbit-Cage … “I’m the only man who can walk on both worlds…”

Question is, Nic, which world wants you?

Do Not Adjust Your Monitor - I Really AM Blogging

2007-03-01T00:53:00.000+08:00

How hard can it be for one to :

1) Open an Internet Explorer browser, if it’s not already running, and go to www.blogger.com;

2) Tap a few keys into LOGIN box followed by a few more strokes in the PASSWORD box;

3) Click ‘Create Post’; and

4) Type away.

Very hard apparently. Well, for me at least.

I used to look around at ‘dead’ blogs (read: blogs that have been callously abandoned after the author has satisfied his / her urge to ‘have a blog’ and decides it’s time to let his / her cyber notepad gather dust) and think to myself, “jeez, these lazy bastards annoy the Hell outta me. What’s so hard about maintaining something that needs only a couple of minutes every few days or so?”

Hi, my name is Ong Yu Jian and I’m a lazy bastard-holic.

It is hard, trust me. I hate to pull the whole “work’s killing me” card but I’m afraid I speaketh the trutheth and nothing buteth the trutheth when I say : work + active blogging = pigs flying, skies raining blood, Msian govt having real leaders ... you get the drift

It’s not so much about not having time to blog per se. No one’s THAT busy. If in between refereeing all the in-fighting in his party, raising Hell in Parliament, going through his dossier of a “1,001 things your local government MP doesn’t want you to know” everyday, picking at social, political and economical flaws with fine toothcombs and being a member of Parliament himself, Lim Kit Siang can blog – I think anyone should be able to.

The problem with me lies more in : time, interest and blogger’s block.

See, when you are livin’ alone in a capital that is perpetually on fast forward, having to do everything for yourself - from washing undergarments to buying sugar, working in a job that kills more brain cells per second than a good hit from a white powdery line, coupled with expectations, juggling a love life, fast-fading social life, following Heroes, Naruto and Lost on nightly basis and then trying to get some Q time for yourself – you know, to reflect on life, practice some kung fu kinda thing (ok I’m lying, I don’t practice kung fu, kung fu practices Yu Jian :D ) - you find that compartmentalizing your life becomes second nature.

I’m Darwin’s theory of evolution in motion.

If in the past I used to have 2 hour lengthy suppers at the mamak talking bout nothing with a bunch of equally lame-ass laidbackers, this new lifestyle has transformed me into someone who drives to places whilst holding a teleconversation, listening to traffic reports on the radio and having a meal all at the same time.

My mind automatically runs a checklist of things to do with every frazzled step I take. I plan what I’ll do at work as I shit, brush teeth while taking a pee and take 10 minute naps at the end of lunchtimes.

Yeah, such is the life eh? Tyler Durden will be smirking.

I am Jian’s Walking Slave to Conformity. Go to school. Go through the motions. Study, get a degree. Drop your dreams and fantasies. Get a decent job. Drive a boneshaker fuel-economic trash so that you’ll save money. Buy IKEA furniture coz it fits your budget and a modern solution to home living. Work. Work. Sleep. Work. Work. Repeat previous steps till life fades.

And you’d think I’d have time to BLOG?

Hence, it leads us to the second problem: interest. Or the lack of it, in my case. When you don’t have the similar drive and/or derive a previous enjoyment from doing a particular activity, you lose interest in it. When you don’t invest time to “harvest” an interest, it doesn’t bear fruit.

This materializes in me sitting in front of the comp to blog – and trust me, it’s happened close to more than a dozen times since my last post – only to find out that I ain’t got the drive to go on. There’s no Rocky theme song tingling my spine in the background. No oomph-inducing jolt of adrenaline to spur me to write.

This in turn, leads to the blogger’s block: I have nothing to write. Each time I look at my previous entry dated 1st January 2007 and go “what a long time ago. There’s just so many things that has happened in between, you can’t possibly write everything you wanna write so you might as well just give up”

And I would. Just give up. I’ll switch to IMDB or Soccernet, chat on MSN, grab a drink, read a book – anything except typing them words into the white box of Create a Post page. Coz I don’t have a bloody topic to blog about. Or more appropriately, when you’ve been out of action for so long, you just don’t know how to jump back into the fray. It feels awkward. Like you’ve lost the flow. The momentum’s gone.

I’ve reached a point where I am the perfect blogging embodiment of Newton’s law of “a body in motion tends to stay in motion; a body at rest tends to stay at rest” – just the “tends to stay at rest bit”.

I’ve reached equilibrium. There is no movement. No sound. No posting. Only silence deafening this place called my blog. I am a heartbeat away from blogging death. When you’ve run out of time, you’ve lost the interest and suffering from chronic blogger’s block, you can’t just jump into a blog and start blogging.

It’s like a footballer who hasn’t kicked a ball in years being suddenly asked to captain a team on the brink of a cup final. You just can’t do it.

Unless …

*cue to dramatic music stirring*

… you warm up. Stretch a little. Run on the spot. Jog a short distance. Get the heart rate pumping and get those muscles flexing.

Grab a ball and do some tapping. Tip tap tip tap. Juggle it on your head, to the back of your skull, all the way down your arms to the tip, flip and catch it between the calves and Achilles heel.

Move those muscles that’s been dormant for so long. Get it moving. And just like the druids of the claw from Warcraft …

“I’m awake I’m awake”.

You heed the summons. And you’re back. All you needed was a lil familiar moves to remind you of the old you. Like Jay-Z freestylin’ acapella for a couple of bars to bring out the young Hova. A lil familiarity breeds confidence. And you’ve got your groove back.

Stop tapping the ball, dribble it a couple of paces, feint left feint right, drop a shoulder, do a 360 spin, leave a defender trailing and let loose a screamer.

The net bulges. Goalkeeper curses. The crowd cheers, you’re mobbed by teammates and you’re back. That Rocky theme blares in the background again. All that was needed was a little thing called WARMING UP.

Which is what I’m doing with this post which basically says

NOTHING.

If you’ve read this far and wondering when the fuck I’ll talk about something coherent or recount events or shit, the answer’s : not today. Nopes, you’ve just witnessed my warm up.

And in Arnold's words, "I'll be baarcckkk"

Christmas Chronicles

2007-01-01T14:15:00.000+08:00

* blardey long-ass post ahead. do not read unless you're on holiday...no wait, if you're on holiday, STOP READING THIS SHIT, GET OUT AND ENJOY YOUR FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM ... ok. you HAVE been warned *

Dec 22nd 2006, 11am - Smells Like Xmas Spirit

... can you hear the jingle of the bells?

... hmmm ... the parties, the brightly lit decorations adorning shopping malls, people humming familiar tunes in public places, hotels jacking up their dining prices ...

... yup, I guess Christmas is here after all.

And so, while Santa busies himself getting ready for the 24th; packin' the toys, polishing the sleigh, cleaning up reindeer droppings, double-checkin' his naughty or nice list and molesting lil kids along the way ... so have I in preparing for the holidays and upcoming New Year.

First stop : My home in cyberspace. It's about time for an update.

Ahh, it feels good to be able to blog again. To feel your fingers glide freely across the keyboard to magically conjure phrases and sentences unfettered by what you can or cannot say. Been missin' that for quite a while. Ohh, speaking of Santas, I was him recently.

Yup, at our firm's Christmas party recently, the mantle of Santa Claus was passed on to me - whether I liked it or not. Last year, I was told, it was a colleague of mine from Penang. I guess they were looking for someone from the North Pole, but having failed at that, decided that, oh heck ... someone from the North will do.

So you could picture my 'enthusiasm' at having a paper bag containing a 5 year old costume that's never been washed and only taken out once every year handed over to me by a conniving and 'sweet' colleague who gingerly told me, "Don't worry, nothing one lar. All you gotta do is hand out toys, I promise". Being the newbie that I am, and with my Penang kia laidback and fun reputation on the line, I said, "Sure".

Shoulda suspected something amiss when she said all that with a smile that spelt out "sucker" in bold. I was subsequently tipped off that the firm's tradition involved EVERYONE taking turns sitting on Santa's lap telling him whether they've been naughty or nice.

Whilst some of the babes there made the task seem not too bad, a reality check on the amount of not-so-young, not-so-light, not-really-Pussycat Dolls-material characters in the firm ... brought a few shivers down my spine.

It was held at a parnter's place. Bloody huge mansion. Reminded me of those cop drama's in the 80's where the boss' home was always this huge villa with swimming pool, fancy garden and the whole works - where the final shootout will invariably take place. Yes, it was somethin' like that.

The spread - food and drinks - was superb. A succulent roast lamb was devoured sinfully by those who came early ... and when enough people turned up, a beeline formed at the buffet spread where pasta, roast chicken, lasagne & a whole load more food and delicious desserts were spread out.

We ate and drank and ate and ate and drank and ... you get the picture. Then it was time. Had a transformation to make. What made it worse was that there were kids there. Like REAL kids who actually thought Santa Claus was REAL. And that he had REALLY arrived. From the toilet. Kids are so guilible.

And I had to get into the whole role-playing thing to keep their innocent illusions alive. It was nice though, seeing the wide-eyed look of pure amusement of the lil ones as I tried my best to muster a hearty belly laugh. Speaking of bellies, I had to do improvise on my Santa outfit which frankly resembled a campy bathing suit. A-hah, I spotted soft cushion. And thus, my squarish beer belly was formed. I then heard the whistles and calls from outside requesting for Santa's appearance.

Apparently it wasn't just enough to walk out as Santa Claus. I had to ride my imaginary sleigh out. So I summoned Rudolph, who was either a very sporting or Brokeback-ish colleague, who duly obliged to bend over and asked me to ride him. Right. And so we proceeded to the whole Santa's grotto act where I had to give out our 10-bucks-a-person gift exchanges to "children" who must sit on my lap.

Wasn't so bad after all. Thankfully, most of the ones I was trying to avoid weren't too keen on sitting on the lap of a guy young enough to be their son - or grandson, in one of them's case. I also realised then that most girls were still ... sorta conservative, compared to the parties I've seen in UK. Maybe the drinks weren't flowing that much. Or maybe they were afraid the torchlight in my pants would light up. :D I don't know.

But the guys ... I suspect there might be a smattering of closet gays in the firm. I was molested, attempted to be French kissed, became an i-Gallop and treated like a stripper's pole by a few of them - who did it in the name of "the christmas spirit". Wow, never knew Santa did it for so many men...

Moving on.

The night ended kinda early. And sober, for most. I was a bit surprised. It was a Christmas party, hello??!! There were drinks on free-flow. And yet, people behaved. Strange, these KL-ites. Things are a bit different in Penang. I remember last Chinese New Year we had lunch followed by drinks ... and drinks ... and drinks ... if I'm not wrong a bottle of Macallan, 6 bottles of red and 2 bottles of white between 4 and a half people (half because one of em was knocked
out halfway through) and the drinkin' didn't stopped until night ... where I ... wait, I can't remember anymore. I can just hazily recall that I woke up in a car next to a sleeping colleague of mine. How or when we made our way to the car 2 blocks away from the drinking place is still a mystery till today.

Yes, in Penang when you drank, you drunk.

December 22nd 2006, 2.30pm - Homeward Bound

So back to Christmas. I'll be going home soon. In about a few hours actually. Took today off. Cleaned up my room, had an enjoyable breakfast and packed my stuff ... now sitting in the room, enjoying the cool breeze and ready to go. Just waiting for Dilys to let me know when she can get off from work. Then we'd pick Gary up and make the drive back to the Pearl of the Orient.

Pearl my ass.

I recently got a forwarded mail stating that there's a new danger lurking in Penang's highways these days. Mat Rempits are turning up in gangs terrorising cars and robbing people as and when they like. It's rampant on the mainland.

For the uninitiated, Mat Rempits = motorcycle punks who waste their youth and life away by participating in illegal races and huge convoys to show who's bike has got the loudest "RANGGGGG".

Fuck em.

They're also almost always drug addicts, lousy bums, mental retards, unkempt, 5th World apes from a particular segment of society. Recently, they've become a topic of discussion in Parliament ... god save us ... when a particular "hot shot young politician" suggested we "embrace the Mat Rempit culture" and legalise their activities so that they serve the nation better.

Fuck him.

To that "hot shot", I think I speak for a majority of clear-thinking youths with plain common sense in saying that you should get a head check and shut your fucking mouth before it gets you in worst shit than you already are in. There'll come a day when daddy-in-law won't be able to bail you out anymore.

They make a big deal out of the triad culture in schools. They go all out to weed out gangsterism in Indian areas, citing that they're a menace to society. But Mat Rempits? Why, they're gonna be national treasure soon. They're gonna be yet another great Malaysian experiment. Like the fabled Rakan Muda programme.

Well, all I can say is - I hope the Mat Rempits try it on my car. I'll send them to purgatory faster than a jihad bomber can fuck his 88 virgins in Heaven. Seriously, I urge all of you out there. Don't cower in fear and bow down to these fuckers on 2 wheels. If they ride near your car wielding a parang asking you to stop, you STOP ... them. From living. Introduce your tyres to the back of their skulls. Most of em don't wear helmets anyway so you can do the whole nation a
favour by squeezing one irritating pimple out of the face of this country.

The only GOOD Mat Rempit is a DEAD Mat Rempit.

You can quote me on that.

To the 3 Kings & Co, 4 Wheels & Associates and Even & Partners, where are you when you're needed? It's time to get back to your old ways. On Mat Rempits.

Ok ok it's Christmas time. Stop gettin' worked up on a bunch of scum.

It was a relatively smooth ride home. Left Petaling Jaya about 7-ish. After a quick meal wif Gary at Ming Tien, picked Dilys up and away we went. The highway was quite good - no clog-ups, bottlenecks or accidents along the way. We were sorta worried initially coz Dilys had heard over the radio that traffic at Penang Bridge was at a standstill earlier in the day due to a massive accident of some kind. No car could come in and none could go out.

The island had been cut off. The good traffic report folks at hitz.fm even recommended postponing any plans to go to Penang for that night.

Not me.

Nothing was gonna delay my long-awaited homecoming trip anymore. We just threw caution to the wind and sped as fast as we could. Surprisingly the 4 hour ride felt easy. Drove all the way, with just a stop for a drink, without dozing off. I even joked that I could've driven all the way to Thailand and still would be fresh.

Must've been the kopi-o extra hyper kao I had at Ming Tien. I swear it's the best damn thickest coffee I've ever had in my life. In Gary's words, "Dude, that's scary. That shit looks like Marmite". It was closer to diesel. Any more thicker and it would've been a solid piece of coffee rock. It was like a stim pack shot right into my system.

And so I was home. Owen (the dog) was ecstatic. Shepherd (the other dog) was his usual friendly, mad self. Soon as I exited off the Coastal Highway, narrow roads, daredevil bikes and cars driving at snails-pace but snaking their way as if their grandfather owned the roads greeted me.

Ahhh, it felt good to be home.

23rd December 2006 - The Eve of the Eve

And so the mad rush to complete our last minute Christmas shopping continues (it had started frantically in KL a week ago). Checked out the much-hyped about Queensbay Mall which recently opened. Boasting its flagship Jusco, it brought TGIF, Gap, Forever 21 (coming soon), Skin Food, etc (why do I even know this stuff?!) to Penang. Basically, it felt very 'The Curve'-ish. Except that it was only half-opened, parking was still free, certain parts were still under construction and the crowd weren't exactly ... Gurney, if you get my drift. I'm just waiting to see how long before it'd turn into another KOMTAR. Or One- Stop. Or BJC.

But hey, at least their Christmas decor wasn't too bad.

Met up wit a couple of old friends who are still island-bound and holding the fort. Most notably Sasi and Ayam from the crew (check out my previous post to know bout The Crew) which was all good. Ayam still loved pink and has a new-found love for Chuck Norris while Sasi is still bling-in' it up to his reputation as the Prince of the Ghettos of Sg Pinang.

He was a bit less boisterous this time round thanks to a slight girl problem he's facing. But since we're on this subject, I'll just take a moment to dish out a tip or two for the benefit of all guys out there. Ok wait, maybe I'm not the right person since I've been outta The Game for quite a long time - so lemme get my friend, and part-time contribubtor to my blog, the Don to speak instead.

The Don: If a girl already has a boyfriend and still lets you get jiggy wit her on the first date, then in Nelly Furtado's words, she's a "Promiscuous Girl". Please drop any illusions of love or committment you may be harbouring coz this one's strictly a "wham-bam-thank-you-maam" candidate. Don't fall for that "Oh, I'm not usually like this, you're special" act coz truth is - you are bein' played like a guitar by Slash. What's worse than this is ALLOWING her to dump you after you've gotten comfy and close. That's like allowing salt to be poured into an open wound before adding in kerosene and setting it alight. Say no to emotions. Keep the arrangement simple - I fuck you, you fuck me back, outside the bedroom I don't know who the fuck you are. So guys, you have been warned.

Wow, Don ... that was a bit too harsh don't ya think? But yeah, gotta agree wit your message. And to Sasi - I stand by my advice, which was fully sanctioned by the Don too. Back to Christmas.

At night, we checked out Pesta (god, it's been like 15 thousand years since I've been there?) coz my dad has some involvement in an exhibition of exotic animals and snakes there. It was alright. The variety of reptiles were good but I was sorta appalled by the conditions they were in. Smelly, stinky cages. And they even had an arctic fox. For god's sake, what's wrong with this picture?!

Nothing's wrong with this picture. It's the fox's CURRENT LOCATION that's wrong. The seventh layer of Hell, also known as Malaysia. Bloody tropical climate where the humidity is not only suffocating, it chokes you like how a British serial killer would to a prostitute. How a creature named after the coldest region on Earth be allowed into Malaysia is beyond me.

Asked my dad about this, and apparently the owner of ALL the animals in the exhibition claims he has the proper permit to keep those animals and not to worry coz everything's LEGAL. Good ole Malaysia, eh? A lil gift here and there and I'm sure you can even bring in Siberian tigers as "house pets".

Anyways, I kinda had mix feelings about this exhibition. Just like pet shops, whenever I walk into them I feel really excited coz I love animals, but I get sad too coz I love animals. Know what I mean? I look at their faces and think of the freedom they'd never have. They're permanently displayed like items. People walk in and out and some of them yearn the human touch so much that they try to scratch their way out of the glass panel that's separating them from real affection and cuddles. Some of them will never experience love. They grow up, grow out of their "cute" appeal and become rejects. Making way for the newer kids on the block. Everyone ooh-ing and aah-ing over that "cute lil 2months old pekinese", forgetting they ever existed.

And how about those who are 'lucky' enough to be bought? I wouldn't use the word 'lucky' too liberally coz it doesn't always end up as a happy story as soon as they're taken out from the shop. Nopes, some owners buy on whim. Some buy coz their bratty lil kids who know shit bout pets demand a cute doggy from daddy. Some buy em now only to realise that pets, like humans, aren't perfect - some will get sick, grow up quite ugly and don't behave the way those humans want them to - and the owners get sick of them. Some owners buy pets when they're busy, live in an apartment and generally aren't ready to provide a loving home and adequate space and care for the pets. Those pets suffer. Some get thrown out onto the streets, breeding and creating generations of those street dogs out there that are tortured, abused, starving and shunned by humans.

So yeah, I kinda get depressed at petshops. And that exhibition too. The look on the arctic fox's face was pitiful. I don't blame him. For him, the marmosets, the snakes and even the wallaby ... a square box with a bunch of hastily thrown in hay is NOT natural. They need space. They need freedom. I was tempted to release the bunch of them and shout "Go now, my children. You are all FREEEEEE" but decided not to in case I'd have to spend Christmas in a psychiatric ward with a medical file opened on me titled "Ace Ventura Syndrome".

But hey, I can't be a hypocrite. I did enjoy playing with Jack (a loveable monkey) who's as mischevious as a ... monkey. And an unnamed wallaby who loves boxing with your hands. I even got a couple of pics with him and a huge ass albino python. Will post it up when the guy who took our photos email it to me.

Twas a tiring day. And so, The Eve of the Eve rolled into... The Eve.

December 24th 2006 - It Isn't Christmas Till It Happens In Your Heart

It was a restful and lazy day. We'd bought all our gifts and so, just hung around enjoying ASTRO (yes, for people like me renting a room in a condo, the luxury of having cable TV is elusive), getting a haircut and highlighting the patches on my head that was turning grey.

I read the papers and splashed (pun not intended) all over the headlines were reports of the "worst flooding in 100 years" in some parts of Malaysia. Johor, Melaka and some other areas I can't really recall were the worst hit. Apparently 3 days of whipping downpour gave those affected areas a dose similar to 3 months of rain. Rivers overflowed, crocodiles were on the loose (I'm not making this up) and houses were swallowed by the raging waters. Thousands were made homeless, a couple of unfortunate ones died and many more stranded in a natural disaster that put the nation on high alert.

Two years ago it was the tsunami. Apparently Mother Nature loves being a wet blanket (again, no pun intended) by putting a dampener on festive spirits. As I sat in my living room reading the papers, enjoying my coffee in the hot, baking sun of Penang, I felt sorry for those who would not be able to celebrate Christmas this year.

And it's not like we can do anything about it. Yes, donations can pour in, people can generously give cash and essentials, but those can only alleviate the pain. Houses that are lost takes years to be rebuilt, lives cannot be compensated and the memories in treasured items and objects washed away by the flood waters can never be replaced. The flood sort of reminds me that no matter how big we become (status-wise), how rich we are or how great we think we've planned our lives - anything can happen.

I won't go into the religious hoola-balloo about God testing us or it's a sign from above that we're sinning ... coz I ain't much of a religious person, but let's just say every once in a while when something like this happens, it sorts of pulls you back into the right perspective. If you've been too stressed up over some trivial matter, if you've been bickering over some wounded ego, killing yourself over some stupid project at work, not talking to your friend coz of some wrongful exchange of words - take a step back. And chill. Think of how stupid your puny problems and shit seem compared to what's happening to your fellow men down south.

Sometimes it takes an incident like this to remind us that we are NOT the centre of the universe. And when something bad happens - it is NOT the end of the world. It could get A LOT WORSE.

With that, I was thankful that here I was - back home in Penang - on the Eve of Christmas about to celebrate this occassion with the people I love - my family and Dilys and friends. Earlier, a niggling thought of "what are we gonna do on Christmas Eve night" had been bugging me. Since this is gonna be the first Christmas I spend together with Dilys, I thought that I MUST make it something happening. Otherwise I'd get moody. But then this flood thing has given me peace. An inner calm that says, it doesn't matter.

And indeed when it didn't matter, things went perfect ... well at least to me.

My mum made TWO whole superb Christmas roast - with yummy fillings. We had it with tossed garden salad and some delicious fried mee that my Grandma cooked for us. It was nothing fancy.

Just a simple family meal to celebrate the occassion. Downed with the Christmas present Dilys got for my parents - a bottle of Blues Brothers Red Wine - was quite good actually. Despite its lower alchohol content, it tasted sweet. The food was abundant and nice. Ate till my stomache could not take in anymore. We laughed, we drank, we ate and we were merry. This was bliss.

And then it was time. For the first time in centuries, I decided to go to Christmas Midnight Mass. It would drag on for 2 hours, my mum said ... knowing my impatience for sermons or anything religious-y. But this time it was different. Something about Christmas which made me more tolerant. I just wanted to go.

To listen to the off-key singing of Christmas songs by the congregation, to be at a place where the true spirit of Christmas was - the celebration of Christ's birth, and to see goodwill among strangers for that one special day in the year.

Felt a bit awkward after a long absence from Church. Oh sorry, it's now a Cathedral. That's how long I've been away. The service was indeed as long as my mum warned me alright. Tipped over 2 hours. By the time mass ended, it was almost 1am. Christmas was an hour old. But it was good. We proceeded to my Grandma's place where our family custom of exchanging of presents took place. This year we had a new addition to the gift-exchanging roster. Dilys got into the thick of the action, and so tradition was kept and fortified by a newcomer. When my brother returns from UK next year, the group would be bigger. And hopefully with each year, there'd be more additions. Long live Christmas.

A couple of my friends had invited me to go clubbing. To get drunk. To meet at Sega's. Can't believe I turned all of them down for church. A home-made meal with the family. Exchanging of presents under the Christmas tree. I wouldn't have changed a single bit of how I spent my Christmas Eve. It was simple. And beautiful.

December 25th 2006 - Twas The Night Before Christmas ...

... and all was silent in the house. Nothing stirred, not even a church mouse ... ok, it was actually really early Christmas morning ... around 3am. All was quiet all was all silent. I crept slowly out of bed, hoping to catch Santa in action. I heard footsteps walking into the dead of the night. And as swift as the wind, vanished like the moonlight... Shit, I had just missed him. Rushed to the Christmas tree, eager to see what he had given me. Alas, to my dismay, there was nothing I could see. Saddened at the absence of my gift, I trudged back into bed. Only to see a figure there sleeping, peacefully like the dead. Silly me, I smiled for then I realised suddenly. That my gift had been here all along, snoring like a bumblebee ...

Merry Christmas y'all.

December 25th 2006 - Joy To The World, A King Is Born ... and no, this time I'm not referring to myself.

Christmas day. Still full from the gluttony of yesterday. Had a light lunch of tomyum fried rice which my mum made (if there's ever any wonder where I got my cooking genes from, look no further). Was delicious, but tried not to overdo it in lieu of our Christmas dinner. Oh, I didn't mention? Another round of stomache-filling session will commence in the evening. Penang Swimming Club's Christmas Buffet Dinner. This time with other relatives and some friends.

But before that, a visit to Gurney with Dilys and Sasi. Window-shopped, shopped and Dilys had her nails done. French manicure, costs RM25. If you ask me, paying 25 bucks for some painting on your fingernails is daylight robbery. Thank God us guys don't have to go through crap like that. It looks nice, no doubt. But for that kinda money, I'd rather spend it on FOOD. Real stuff, you know. The basic needs? Oh well...

So Christmas evening rolled by and it was time for our Dinner. Parents, grandmother and aunt went to fetch my brother's girlfriend (his representative to the dinner since his fat ass was partying the Christmas away at Blackpool) while me, Dilys and Sasi drove there ourselves. Met up with my uncle and his daughter (my cousin) who brought along her ex-colleague, and his wife, from Australia (she's a PR there).

It was kinda weird coz none of us knew this Aussie couple. But thankfully, we had the best ice-breaker in town, Sasi. Soon, he was chatting to that couple like a tourist guide out to make a quick buck.

The food was nothing to shout about. Some stuff were alright, but others were just ... bleargh. There weren't much choices too. But there were still enough ok stuff, like the lamb, beef and roast chicken ... and some good cold cuts, for me and Sasi to compete in a chow-down. To my, and I'm sure most people's, horror, he won. That skinny sonova... can REALLY eat. While I threw in the towel at round 4, he went on. And on. Either I've lost my old buffet touch ... or we have found a new challenger to Soong. I'd like to see him take on the undisputed, heavyweight eater title-holder the Great Soong. A titanic showdown it'll be.

The night ended pretty so-so, strangers to the table and crappy food notwithstanding. It wasn't the greatest meal on Earth, but I was contented. I guess the flood thing was still affecting me. Coz I was thinking ... to be in a position where I could complain about bad food, awkward company and stuff ... means that I am really blessed. Coz if these trivial things are the only things to complain of, then it means I really have nothing much to complain about. And that means I'm one lucky bastard, no matter how much I whine and complain sometimes.

I am. And that is the best feeling in the world. I'm guessin' if you're reading this or have read up to this point, you're not far from me. To have the luxury of reading a blog means you have a comp, you have internet connection, you have time, you have the liberty to do an activity of your choice, you are educated, you are not blind, you are not retarded and your house isn't flooded. So if you happen to be in a foul mood, irritated, crappy or just down in the dumps ... please take a second to realise that it just takes any one of those things mentioned above to go missing ... and you would not be able to do even a simple thing like reading a blog.

So may the spirit and goodwill of Christmas be with all of you. And let's all appreciate the smaller things in life. Let's all give thanks to the things we never gave a damn about. And let's all just celebrate the fact that we can celebrate. Christmas is a celebration of life. So have a good one y'all.

December 26th 2006 - The Long And Winding Road Home Away From Home

So we bid farewell to a wonderful Christmas and to Penang ... for now. Work starts tomorrow and I hestitantly pack my bags for my trip back to the capital. A quick pit-stop to refuel ourselves with cendol and assam laksa ...

... bought some famous Tambun biscuits to be given as gifts ... and we're off.

Waved to Penang Bridge as we eased into the North-South Highway. With the radio on and Dilys chattering away at the side ... sun poking at my eyes ... we made the 4 hour trip home.

December 30th 2006 - As We Move Into 2007 ...

As you can see, it's taken me this long to compile this volumnious post. Hope you have enjoyed it. Hope it has somewhat satisfied your urge to know what's been going on in another's life. And if this post doesn't win the Longest Single Post Blogspot Awards ... then I don't know what will. It's 1.37am as I type this. We're 2 days away from the New Year.

I'm sure everyone's busy making up their resolutions by now. Unveiling new organisers and putting up brand new calendars as we box away our old shit and put 2006 into the Archives section. Well, I have but a single resolution only this year: To survive January, February and March ... or until my boss comes back from her maternity leave (she's expected to pop anytime soon). I've looked at my schedule for January ... and it doesn't look good. There'd be some weeks where I am fully booked for Court every day. Different matters that involves different preparation and tedious shit. Outstation trips and then there's manning the fort (my dept actually) with just another colleague (one year my senior) when my boss delivers.

So yeah, survival is at the topmost of my wants for 2007.

But just to get into the mood of things ... let's see ... my resolutions would have to be : good health (I'm in Homer Simpson-fitness level at the moment), improving my skills as a lawyer (I'm currently Level Noob), save enough to reach my financial goal (you gotta be kiddin' if you think I'd type that down here), finish writing either my epic fantasy novel / that mafia novel / football story (that has been FOREVER in-the-process) and to be a Better Man - son, brother, boyfriend, friend, stranger and citizen (ok that last one was a joke ... as long as things don't change I'm sadly devoid of any citizen-ish sentiments) ...

Ok let's check back this post one year from now and see how many of those I've achieved.

Till then, HAPPY NEW YEAR peeps!! Have a good one y'all.

p.s. - I'm aware that it's already 2007 now and it's taken me a FEW FREAKING days just to get this post up. Thanks to the earthquake at Taiwan, I am one of the millions affected. Couldn't get photobucket to load AT ALL. And by some strange fluke of a miracle, it only finally did on New Year's Day. Hey, 2007's lookin' good already. Hope you guys had a smashin' time last nite. I did. But I'm too lazy to blog bout it. Plus, I'm guessin' Dilys would be. So kindly divert to her blog in a couple of days if you interested to know how the fireworks at the Curve was. See yaaaa--!!!

This Blog Is Officially On ...

2006-11-19T12:37:00.000+08:00

OR...

until at least I stop looking like...

...THIS

Ok, well maybe not as bad as the last pic suggests but oh wells, you get the picture.

For those unaware, I've gone down to KL to work. Yups, relocated to the big city to cut my teeth, so to speak.

Hence, the deadness of the blog you're reading. Apologies for the lack of posts, but now I start to emphatise with people whose blogs sometimes go into long hiatus or hibernation.

Moving down to KL has been a real experience. The moving in, settling down, orientating myself to a totally new lifestyle, new commitments and new environment ... challenging is an understatement.

The hours are long and standard expected totally a higher notch than what you'd require in lazy Penang. Thus, part of my training here entails having to shed my 'relax, everything can be postponed' mentality. No way here, Jose.

Competition is keen and you could feel a sense of urgency in the way everyone operates. Like mice on steroids perpetually running on a treadmill, people move about tenaciously in their everyday lives, chasing the big city dream.

It's very tempting to dismiss this whole futile exercise as 'killing yourself slowly' or 'wasting your life away' and 'not appreciating the simpler things in life'. But at the end of the day, it takes a lot of elbow grease to bring about any change. Life's tough. It's a fact.

The sooner we realise it the better. That's why I ain't complaining. Well, not too much, I hope. :D

In the last few weeks, I've been wakin' up before the sun comes up and leaving the office only after 8 or 9pm. Those are the normal hours it seems. Sometimes if the situation requires, I have to stay back to get the job done. Even if it means staying back till after 12 and having to deliver the work to your bosses' home in the wee hours of the dead of the night. If it's gotta be done, it's gotta be done.

But the funny thing is, we humans are inclined towards a twisted sense of self-torture it seems. I would curse my luck and stew with pissed off emotions as I trudge through piles of work. Yet the next day, I'd smile with content thinking bout the achievements I've made because of going through shit. It's weird.

No pain, no gain, to quote the popular adage.

Oh wells, it's a new challenge. Tough as Hell, but hey, if there was a time in my life that I have the energy to take it all on my shoulders, it's now. And I'm plunging headlong into it.

Which brings me to the conclusion of my long, round-the-mulberry-bush rant ... the change in this blog's direction. I'd love to continue writing funny, crappy, thought-provoking articles as I've previously done before ... but I guess I'm no more a student or a chambee where time is abundant.

I'd still post updates once in a while, but not as frequent or long. You know, after drafting crap, writing letters and cracking your mind to come up with submissions and stuff everyday ... your brain just DOESN'T want to think anymore than what is 1 + 1.

Therefore, readers, you're more than welcome to drop by once in a while to find out what's been up, snippets of life in KL from my point of view, certain interesting things that happen occasionally and such ... but do excuse this writer if it takes few weeks or more before a post occurs.

:D

So for the moment, I'm back in Penang (the reason I could come up with this post coz I don't seem to have the time to blog in KL) for a short respite (just the weekend), to catch up on friends, the arcades, proper food and Q time with the family. And also to bring some of the other stuff which I couldn't bring the first time I moved down. Boarding the bus back to KL in a few hours time.

Oh, and also, to all my fellow islanders who are, like me, plying their trade in the big city. Please let me know when you intend to go back to Penang so that we can make the homebound trip together. It's more economical ... and fun, to carpool our way up and split costs. So do let me know. My next trip would probably be during the Christmas / New Year weekend, pending approval for my leave. So do let me know if you're intending for the same.

To those peeps in KL whom I've promised to meet / hang-out / lepak with ... my apologies for being unavailable thus far. Do give me a time out and I'll try to arrange something when I can finally breathe. Hehe.

Lastly, for those well-wishers tellin' me to 'hang in there' and 'not give up', no thanks in part to my usual drama rants ... haha ... chill, folks. I'm actually ok. Sorta enjoying this kinda high pressured life here. So no worries, it'll take four fat ladies to sing before I actually throw the towel in. :D

Last thoughts (no seriously, it's really the LAST one) before I go, with reference to a political assembly held recently ... some of you so-called 'educated' people disgust me. Your stand about asking us to shut up from mentioning or seeking clarification of certain sensitive things reek of bullshit and cowardice. Stop playing to the gallery and reminding us that your numbers are larger. Fuck you. All of you.

Ok, I've vented enough. See you guys soon.

COMING SOON: Exclusive pix of my new room, snaps of my office (IF I remember to) and more ...

Boys Will Be Boys

2006-10-26T20:08:00.000+08:00

What happens when you put a successful events management consultant-cum-entrepeuner, a 2nd year practising lawyer, a 1st year practising lawyer and a warehouse consultant-cum-waiter together?

You get a real-life version of the popular cliche "boys will ALWAYS be boys".

There's something about old friends that bring out a side of you which had long been suppressed under "memories" of your teenage days. I was just making a mental note to myself a few months back at a PFS Reunion Dinner how some men never grow up when I caught a bunch of grey-haired, wrinkled guys laughing like hyenas, making dirty jokes and misbehaving themselves with a glint of boyish mischief as if they were still at the back of a classroom. Mind you, all of them are now successful figures in their respective fields ... doctors, lawyers, engineers, businessmen, politicians ... majority of them are even Datuks.

Yet somehow, all the years seem to have melted and they were momentarily brought back to the days of old when Johan was still Jo and not Datuk Johan and Rama was called Butterfly instead of Dr.Ramachandran. Pretences dropped, all the fake niceties and guarded behaviour one would expect in a social environment thrown out the window as these "kids" rekindled old friendships with glee.

Yesterday I had a slight preview of the said syndrome when me and some old friends "hung out" like we used to a long, long time ago. You see, I still do hang out with the likes of Sasi, maybe Soong, sometimes Ayam, Myron and Syn Hun when I'm down in KL and maybe Zack, when he's not busy building his business empire. But it would be more like a couple of hours, a meal here, a meal there, maybe a snooker game or two, DOTA for a bit or a drinking session as and when our timetable allows.

But yesterday was different.

Knowing I'd be moving down to KL to pursue my legal career in a matter of days, knowing I'd be moving on to a new phase of life which won't realistically stop until I've hit financial gold, knowing that come 1st November 2006 it's gonna be a brand new step towards The Making Of : Yu Jian - The Top Legal Eagle, knowing that come next Wednesday my life will revolve 75% around Messrs Raja, Darryl & Loh and finally, knowing that I'd be leaving behind my Penang life, my Penang friends and my Penang fun, it somehow got me into 'nostalgia mode'.

It so happened that it was the second day of Raya, public holiday. Sasi was not working. So was Ayam. And in a long time (3 years perhaps?!) Zack had a free day. We met up at Gurney, hung out, checked out cute lil teen chicks (the Dirty Old Man syndrome starts young, folks) and wondering why during our time the girls weren't this slutty, spent time at the arcades (feeding machines token after countless tokens on Virtua Striker, Ninja Assault, Time Crisis II, Strikers 3 and a few others), heckling Sasi into approaching girls just like we did in Forms 2 to 5, catching a real stupid movie (Open Season ... yes 4 guys watching a cartoon, how stupid could you get), making a fool of ourselves inside the cinema, hangin' out after the movie, daring Sasi for countless rounds of 'stalking-and-getting to know whichever cute girl with the fine ass/big boobs' he fancied and then stuffing our faces silly with superb hawker fare at Gurney Drive.

It wasn't planned and it was a blast. We just hung out like time didn't matter and enjoyed ourselves. It's probably gonna be a long time before we get to do that again. It was like Form 3 all over again.

During our college days, we were at our prime. Clubbing every week, gettin' drunk on cheap vodka at the beach, doin' stupid things, drunken-haze racing with random drunk strangers on the road, partyin' every other day, having 'adventures' with slutty college (and sometimes high school) chicks and misadventures with their boyfriends. Ahh, yesterday. All our troubles seemed so far away.

You see, it struck me yesterday that the old friends we make can never be replaced. Sure, life is just beginning and we'd meet and make friends with probably thousands of other people. But it ain't the same. We would go out and "network" with corporate peers. We would join "social groups" to expand our circle of contacts. We would "mingle with the right people" and "be seen at the right places".

We'd probably "invest time" in activities like golf, drinking, KTV, socialising and business trips with superiors and clients as "career advancing exercises". We'd appear at birthdays, weddings, funerals, annual dinners, Christmas parties, cocktail parties, launches, seminars and trips where "bosses" and "potential business associates" would be present.

All that mumbo-jumbo aside, we'd not be making any real friends.

Perhaps some of us may be lucky and in those rare instances, discover like-minded colleagues who would fall into the category of "friends" or "brothers", but that is very unlikely. The real friends we have are those we have made in our school / college days. Those are the friends whom we seek not for any ladder-climbing purpose, vested financial interest, political advancement or career-boosting opportunity. No.

The old friends we have CAN give us all of the above, but most of all, we seek them out for pure fun, camaraderie, companionship, laughter and above all, when we want to just be ourselves. Those are the people we seek when we need to unwind, destress, gossip, support, insult, make crude jokes with, talk shit, get drunk, reveal stupid ambitions to and feel comfortable just doing nothing with. Those are the people who can be so different from us, yet so similar. Those are friends.

Everyone should have a few friends like that. A clique. A crew. A group. A gang. A bunch of loony individuals with their own lives, characters and shit ... yet somehow will find a way to be part of a whole. I understand that it's harder for girls to relate to what I'm sayin' coz the physiological make-up of the female psyche makes it hard for more than 3 girls to be "real friends". You know, the jealousy, sensitivity and shit would mean girls have LOTS of "friends" but very few "to-die-for-sisters-from-different-mothers".

And also, girls aren't as tribal as men are. They don't feel the need to be part of a rowdy, boisterous gang that goes around havin fun and picking fights with others. But still, a girl should still have her "one, two or three really close friends". Coz when you hit the working world, baby, chances of finding REAL friends are slimmer than a toothpick.

So as an ode to "my crew", the bunch of miscasted misfits I've assembled as I stumbled through life, some old members from school days, one even from kindergarten, and some only recently ... here's a toast to you freaks. Someone once commented that they've never seen a bunch of friends as different as us before. It feels almost scripted and cliched. We're like Ocean's Eleven minus the good looks and Las Vegas.

So without further ado, here's Yu Jian's Eight. *cue to the snazzy beats of Elvis vs JXL's A Lil Less Conversation if your browser doesn't load my background music*

ZACK The Voice. Probably the first among us to make a billion ... or die trying. The big Daddy in the Penang events scene, the sneakiest, shrewdest, used-to-be-sidewalk amateur magician that will rob you with a joke and an announcement. The epitome of Cina towkay at its finest, Zack takes to business of any kind like a fish to water. If sunlight can be bought, Zack's probably sellin' it. Loves the vices like Virgin Mary loves Jesus - gambles like a bookie, eats like a glutton and frequent visitor of KTVs and staunch supporter of the People's Republic of China. ;)

SOONG. Just SOONG. He needs no nickname because his name already is one. 'Doing a Soong' has become a normal catchphrase for us thanks to this boy wonder and his IQ-challenged quirks. Secret genius in disguise (a really GREAT one), Soong is the master of any video / computer game. Used to stutter when he speaks but is now an emcee. A true friend who will guard your back - if he doesn't get the wrong back by mistake. Eats like a starving refugee and has mood swings like a roller-coaster. Underdogs of the underdogs, Soong is an inspiring figure, proving to anyone that nothing is as stupid as it looks. Go Soong.

SYED the New Age Malay (Borak). Speaks like a 16th Century French aristocrat with the flamboyance of a gay Latino. Claims to love the simple, rural life he came from - yet lavishing in the bright lights of KL like a cabaret hooker. Perfect gentleman that has sent many hot-flushed Malay girls' hearts fluttering, Syed has all the moves and grooves to lambada a goat into bed. Sensitive, poetic and metrosexual banker who has his own definition of Islam (which involves copious amounts of alchohol to reach spirituality), Good listener and confidante - juz watch out for his famous "I'll meet you guys tonight definitely" disappearing acts.

SASI the Crazed One. Life of the party, loudest mouth in Sungai Pinang, the indisputable motor-mouth who revels in disturbing strangers (preference: malay girls in tudung). Comes from the ghettos of Penang, this Ronaldinho-lookalike Ingga (Indian Nigga y'all) is a Henry-wannabe soccer star, ex-motorcycle champ of the P.Ramlee Rd intersection, driver from Hell, sometimes moody-other times crazy, video-game addicted, only Indian we know who doesn't drink or smoke yet gets drunk on Peelfresh. Highly dependable, highly combustible friend who spices up everyone's life with his antics - and mum's lamb curries.

SYN HUN the Enigma. Highly intellectual, philosophical, Seinfeld-loving braniac of our group who could reel off datas and stats like a Pentium 8 on meth. Speaks with more articulation, gramatically perfect English and slower than Ross (from FRIENDS), Syn Hun is the level headed voice of conscience of this group. Doesn't buy unoriginal DVDs or CDs, he's a serial law-abider whom you can turn to for honest, unminced opinions. Real Madrid-obsessed, F1-fanatic, baseball-watching eccentric guy who refuses to lower his standards for anyone with enough cockiness to match.

MYRON the Pragmatist. Most laidback, chilled out, don't-give-a-fuck dude you could ever find. The creative one in the group, with an obsession for entertainment, this budding movie-maker proves that still waters run deep. Looks like he couldn't give a damn but when push comes to shove, this Manchester United diehard Portuguese-descendant lad can work it out better than Beyonce. A true realist, his life motto must be: Shut the hell up, watch your back and work your ass off coz life is all about the fight. Recently quit smoking and is a recovering alchoholic.

AYAM the Peasant. One-of-a-kind joker who is equally intelligent as he is lame. A great friend who loves the simple life and his girlfriend, this Bagan Ajam anti-establishment idealist is a Guinness drinking, Bob Marley-loving, cina bangkai music-listening, passionate lawyer who looks like he could be in a faggot Taiwanese boyband. Loves to wear pink and constantly attracting members of the same sex, this multi-talented peasant is also an ill rapper, lyricist and my gig performance partner in crime who is equally humourous as he is bad tempered.

GOIK the Grifter. A true son of BM who has Night Crawler-like tendencies and a penchant for smelling, or creating, a grift. This *cough* lawyer is as straight as a sickle and is the ultimate street-smart Wiggle kid who lets "things that happen in somewhere STAY THERE". Put him in Survivor and he'd even win, or steal, the grand prize for the next two seasons. The eBay guru who taught the Brits a thing or two about getting conned, this Gateau is a passionate rebel at heart who has a theory about skin colour's co-relation to intelligence and is also a nifty futsaller and foosball champ.

There's probably more, but they're not so closely connected to the rest to be included. I've also limited it to this eight only coz these are the remaining jokers whom I still meet up and keep in touch with, and also because at some point in time, they had all participated in our rite-of-passage drinking shenanigans at the beach.

And also, I've decided not to put some of my very close female friends in coz this one's entirely dedicated to the boys. Maybe I'll make another post one day of the chicks who are my friends and whom I haven't banged / attempted to. Will be quite a short post. :D

So until we're all back again at Crown Prince beach, with an icebox in tow, PSC-obtained cheap beers all chilled and trustry Ferrari putih for some after-drinkin' joy-ride and a Soong's puking container for our Lord of the Drinks session ... adios fellas.

Gonna miss you guys.

I Heed The Call

2006-10-14T00:01:00.000+08:00

I am a lawyer.

No, seriously. It is finally done. The studies, the practical training, the EVERYTHING.

If stepping into my Pre-Law A-Levels Class in IPG was the beginning, then having my Master officially robe me before a Judge in the High Court of Penang on 6th October 2006 was the end. Finito.

6 long years have been worth it.

Now whenever I have to fill in those pesky application forms, I can proudly write “lawyer” under the occupation column. Well, personal glory aside, I have learnt to take pride in this old profession, and in the process, come to love it.

Many people may have many reasons for choosing this profession. Some were forced by parents, some were forced by circumstances (every family member being lawyers) and some simply because Law looked like one of the easiest subjects to take during college days.

(This can be seen from personal experience, whereby out of the entire 30 odd students who walked into IPG with me at the start of our legal education back in year 2000, only about 5-6 of us are ACTUAL practicing lawyers today.)

As for me, it wasn’t really that clear when I first chose to study it. Apart from the fact that it was perhaps the only professional field of study which I had the slightest hint of interest in, there was no real “burning desire” to serve in the interest of justice. Give me a mic or a stage and I’d be up there before you could shout go. Till today, I still harbour aspirations of fame and celebrity status … though it gets weaker with each step I take deeper into law.

However, looking back, all the signs were there from the start. I had unknowingly been “reasoning” my way through life, “mitigating” myself out of trouble and “negotiating” through my youthful shenanigans. Others would be interested in cars, or the outdoors, or sports or the latest gadgets but as for me, I loved nothing more than a good debate, quarrel or settling disputes.

I had the raw materials. Legal studies transmuted them into the goods.

So without much ado, I bring to you, a couple of pics from my Call Day. October 6th 2006.

(from L to R): Pop, Grandma, Me & Mum

Me & Aru (My Master)

Mr.Khoo(Aru's Master, therefore MY Grandmaster), Me & Aru

Grandma, Dilys, Me, Evon (my bro's gf, who was representing him), Mum & Pop

Dilys & ME (ENOUGH of the height jokes already)

Me, Ayam & Goik (both lawyers too) - The Three Geordie Muskeeters ... Wilson, hurry up

Soong (the Accountant) & Me - one of my OLDEST best friends ... and the infamous Soong of my stories

Sam, Me, Diana & Jennifer - my so-called 'angels' at the office & treasured colleagues

Me & Sasi - one of my NEWEST best friends, Time Crisis-Player 1, Henry-wannabe

Well, that's one chapter finished.

It wasn’t always easy and there were lots of times where I questioned the meaning of it all. Questions about whether this is what I truly want from life – being stuck in a profession often associated with lies, deception, trickery and corruption. Stuck in a thankless profession where everyone looked at you with the same level of suspicion often reserved for conmen. Stuck in a profession where it was bloody easy to get suck into the cesspool and almost damn impossible to walk the righteous path.

Is this what I really want from life?

Yes.

Because above and beyond the public’s perception of the law, I have come to understood its hidden beauty and importance in our society. I don’t blame people for having such a morally dim view of lawyers, it’s just the way it is. It’s just the role we play. It’s the role the media portrays us to be and it’s how people just want to quickly categorise someone as the ‘bad guys’.

Take soldiers for example. Leaders decide to wage war. For greed, pride, anger, ambition, religion, whatever. They give the orders. Soldiers follow. They have absolutely nothing personal against whoever or wherever they’re waging war at. They’re just following instructions. But guess who gets the brunt of resistance? Who gets ambushed, attacked, shot at, maimed, torched, kidnapped, tortured, flogged and killed by opposing forces? SOLDIERS.

It’s the same for lawyers. People squabble. People fight. People cheat each other of each other’s money. Husbands want to divorce estranged wives. Battered wives want a piece of husband’s kingdom. Companies have large disagreements and want to see the other companies get wound up. Everyday a dispute is created and people want an end to it.

They hire our services. “Go make the other side pay for it dearly”, “I don’t care how much it costs, just teach that bastard a lesson”, “I don’t care what you do, just delay it for as long as you can”, “Don’t tell me what is wrong, just fix it for me” are but the common requests we get on a daily basis.

And hence we do our jobs. Sometimes with our guilty conscience stacked so high we feel like walking on stilts. Sometimes we just go through the motions, sick and jaded of it. Yet ALL the time, we still do our jobs. Because there are mouths to be fed. Lives that depend on us. We, like everyone else, need to find a living.

Because if we don’t do our jobs, problems won’t just go away. The generations-old feud won’t resolve itself just because there are no lawyers to take it to Court. Hatred won’t just disappear and in fact, there will be even more chaos. Without a sense of closure to a matter, people will somehow attain “justice” according their own interpretations, through whatever means they can, even fatal. Therefore, notwithstanding its capacity for corruption and abuse, the law IS actually a necessary evil.

So with this in mind, we get our hands dirty and we fight like cats and dogs, putting emotions and friendships with our peers aside. We have been engaged to do a service, and we give it our best. We drag out skeletons, shit and what-nots from the other side’s closet. Likewise, we try to prevent as much of your sordid secrets from being exposed.

Through these dirty (but necessary) series of battles, truths get exposed and even if a party has lost, they can at least be satisfied that they’ve exhausted every possible chance to win it. Of course, nothing in life is perfect. A lot of times money is still God and truths can be bought. Justice may be elusive but hey, we’re the closest you can get to it.

In an imperfect system in an imperfect world, who else would you trust to do the dirty work and become the “bad guys” while you sit in your self-righteous bubble of ignorance than us - the reviled and hated lawyers?

With this new understanding, I have actually started to relish this role I’ve been given. I’ve found peace with my profession. And I’ve started to love it. Let those who hate us FEAR US. And let those who need us be FEARLESS as we, the ones who walk between the light and darkness, fight for justice.

So will I be the bastion of light, beacon of truth and upholder of justice, like how all goody two shoes superheroes should be?

Or should I walk the scorched lands in search of innocent souls to suck while I ooze evil coolness?

Neither. I’m just a lawyer.

Food Loft

2006-09-25T00:27:00.000+08:00

So there we were on a Saturday night, with the much too familiar question right on our lips – where to eat?

Don’t get me wrong, in the country’s food capital of Penang, there’s practically a food outlet of some kind at every single turn throughout the island. I kid you not. However, almost 90% of Penang’s food fame comes entirely from its hawker fare.

Char koay teow, laksa, nasi kandar, hokkien mee, curry mee, fried oyster, cendol, ais kacang, lok lok, nasi lemak, roti of all kinds, teh tarik, banana leaf, bah kut teh, chicken rice, dim sum and much, much more.

However, when it comes to cosy, up-market eateries with nice environment and good food, we are left wanting. Places like Souled Out, La Bodega’s, Chillis and all those glitzy eateries at the Curve, which are more familiar with folks from KL, are sorely missing up here.

In Penang, it’s either hawker or fast food. That’s all hunky-dory if you go out seeking to satiate your hunger over a hearty meal. But what if you’re in the mood for a bit of celebrating? Like a friend or relatives birthday? A reunion between old friends? A place to treat a colleague to a farewell dinner? A nice place to impress that new date of yours?

A sprinkling of fine dining restaurants can be found, but those places could literally eat a huge chunk off your month’s wages. Don’t even talk about hotel food. Overpriced and totally crap.

You could find a few nice eateries like the ones mentioned above in the Gurney, Pulau Tikus and Tanjung Bungah area, but chances are the next time you return a couple of weeks or months later, it’s closed or turned into something else. Yup, that’s our famous Penang ‘kiam-siap’ness, as one would say (kiam-siap = stingy in Hokkien), where unwillingness to spend means owners of eateries going belly up faster than our bellies can fill.

Thus, it came to our pleasant surprise when we settled on having a one-week post-birthday dinner for Dilys at Food Loft, 4th Floor, Gurney Plaza.

It was a splendid place. Damn superb. This blog has rarely (in fact, never) seen a restaurant review before so this one will be the exception.

It’s actually been around for a while already, few months old I was told, but due to the lack of publicity and being hidden in the not-so-easily sighted corners of Gurney Plaza meant that it was my first time there.

Beautiful, cosy and it has a really jovial atmosphere. Normally posh places have a sort of prim and proper, stiff feel to it. This one had the open, relaxed feel of a Starbucks or Sega, combined with the class of a hotel fine dining place.

It is concept dining, as there are no traditional waiters to come take your order and such. There’s a corner where an eclectic mix of fusion food are huddled together in rows, Japanese, Nyonya, Chinese, Thai, Western, Italian and more to cater to every tastebud. Every diner is given a sort of “card” with a bar code, and you walk around the stalls and “shop” for your food. Make an order, they scan your card and you are given an order receipt.

The décor and atmosphere alone is worth whatever price they were to charge us.

And shocked we were at the prices. It was extremely reasonable. Take my order, for example. Succulent roasted lamb shank with mash potatoes, garden vegetables and fragrant buttered rice … for only RM19.90. Holy smokes, the prices there are even cheaper than places like Secret Recipe and the likes.

And then there’s the view.

Oh, the view. We had a table by the corner of the place, next to the window facing the sea. The night lights and Gurney Drive foodstalls below provided excellent scenery. I’ll let the pictures do the talking.

The food was superb. Most of us had Western stuff. Dilys satiated her Newcastle craving partially by opting for the traditional English fish n chips. Not breaded like 99.9% of fish n chips here, but a proper battered haddock. Damn superb. Too bad it wasn’t garnished with vinegar. Otherwise it would’ve been perfect.

My mum had sirloin steak which she claimed was a lil rubbery while my dad had some roasted chicken which tasted awesome. And then we rounded it up with a choclate fondue with fruits. What a great meal.

So there ya have it. Anyone in Penang thinkin’ of a nice, cosy place to hang out with great food and superb environment, you know where to go.

Apologies from the Pope...

2006-09-20T11:01:00.000+08:00

So I'm back. To updating my blog, that is.

Lotsa things been happenin'. Travelling to and fro Penang and KL (refer to previous post), meetin' up with old friends (just a handful) and trying to chill at the same time.

Ohh, Dilys' birthday just passed. Sept 17. Had a couple of nights out celebratin' with her friends, family and me. But I guess she'll be bloggin' about it soon so I'm gonna pass that one. *lazy smile*

Well, in fact, most stuff about what we've been doing, how we've been keeping and the accompanying pictures will all be done in good time. Once we've settled down and all.

The thing which drove me to sit my ass down in front of a borrowed laptop after breakfast on a beautiful Wednesday morning ... is the Pope.

Or rather what HE said.

In this age and time, democracy has allowed us to be very vocal with our thoughts. We've gotten used to shooting our mouths from the hips without much thought beforehand. Sometimes the thought process is totally bypassed as words just jump out of our vocal chords independently. Hence, many foot-in-the-mouth situations occur. Saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Saying the wrong things to wrong people.

We've all had our moments. Moments which we embarrasingly try to block out from our memories. Moments where we wished the Earth would swallow us up. Pope Benedict recently had one where he "accidentally" quoted some ancient stuff from some ancient text which, consequently, caused many Muslims around the world to get extremely offended.

However, democracy has also brought out another ugly facet of the human psyche called 'hypocrisy'. You know, the one where you chastise someone like a pastor from the pulpit for having premarital sex ... and then go home to bang your underaged stepdaughter? Yeah, you know what I'm talkin' about. Double standards seem to be the flavour of our times.

With regards to the Pope's ill-timed, off-coloured comment, I am amused at the wonderful hypocrisy that unfolded like a carefully prepared row of domino tiles in the aftermath. One by one, Muslim leaders, non-leaders and other extremist made their cameos in condemning his statement as highly offensive to Muslims and calls for various types of punishment, from sanctions to embargo on the Vatican to demands of a grovelling apology, were angrily called for.

"...The Pope has gone too far. He's trying to disrupt peace. He's attacking our religion. Jihad. Death to Westerners. Christianity is the devil. We should not tolerate any more Western propaganda..."

Suddenly, they've all gone so politically-correct.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't majority of them responsible for spreading propaganda like "Islam being under attack in modern times" and "the West is trying to de-Islamise the world" and 1,001 other inflammatory, incitable nonsense?

Right.

So the message is: it's OK for extremist Muslims to be hostile, talk shit bout other religions and basically spread the "it's Allah or Hell" propaganda and cause terror and bomb people ...

... but it's a BIG NO NO NO for the Pope to make ONE comment which, if you look at it carefully, was not even his since it was plagiarised from some other ancient dude.

Hmmm ... what a world we live in, eh?

Ooh, and then I turned the papers today and see a transcript of what happened at the Dewan Rakyat yesterday. Apparently, a lot of MPs found it fit to discuss how the Pope's statement has hurt the Muslim world and how they should all fight for him to apologize and all. Which was fine and dandy but for the simple fact that he ALREADY DID ... TWICE. Making their passionate discussion a lil, how should I say, pointless?

All at taxpayers' expense. Great. So the people who represent the various constituencies we live in are more interested in raising an issue that's already been solved and ignoring more pressing shit like our rising crime rate and rampant drug problems right in front of our doorsteps. I feel so blessed and safe.

If democracy breeds idiocracy, scientists should use Malaysian Parliament as a research hub.

However, Pope Benedict, what you said was wrong. It was politically incorrect, sensitive and hurtful. You deserve all the criticisms you've been getting. From a neutral point of view, and especially in this age where religious tensions are as volatile as dynamite sticks, the Head of Christianity should know better than to speak without thinking twice, or thrice.

But that's no excuse for the over-exaggerated fallout that's unfolding. I am in no way trying to undermine Islam, as I'm sure many moderate Muslim friends of mine would agree too, but this has gone too far. To the fucked up militants who vow death to Christians just because of that statement, then may the Devil fuck your souls inside out. To the fucked up Christians who purposely start shit in the Father's name, whether you're a Pope or not, may the Devil fuck your souls too.

Coz at the end of the day, just like what you're reading now, it's only words. Learn to live with it, as how democracy was meant to be.

Extremism has no place in our world today. Go fight for something worth it. Build a career. Spend time with your family. Enjoy all the colours and smells of life. Read a good book. Take a holiday. Watch a good movie like Undercover Brother or something. Fuck a hot babe.

Life's too short as it already is. Don't add more crap to it. Let's all fuck what the Pope said, fuck what the others are saying about what the Pope said, and fuck all the he say she say bullshit.

Peace.

2006-09-13T19:09:00.000+08:00

SEPTEMBER 11.

9/11 will be a date I'll never forget. Auspicious and momentous. If you're thinkin' planes and burning towers and a certain Osama, nopes. That's not why the date is so important to me.

September 11 2006 marks the day I submit my papers to be admitted into the Malaysian Bar as an advocate and solicitor. Uh-huh, after 9 months of hacking it out as a chambering pupil, the journey ends. And now I get to be a proper lawyer. Black robes and all.

Well, not exactly NOW, coz even though chambering has ended, I've yet to complete 'filing my papers', to use the legal jargon. Basically, I've gotta do a lotta paperwork, serving documents here and there and then get a date where the Court is free to officially annoint me.

Probably in about a month or so, as these things usually take time.

So at the moment, I'm free from the trudgery of 9 to 5. Free from deadlines and dates to attend Court. Temporarily, of course. Still, a brief respite before I plunge headlong into the profession.

Went to KL a few days ago to do the abovementioned filing and serving of documents. Am back in Penang for the Penang High Court and Penang Bar Committee bit, with Dilys in tow.

Since she's done with her chambering as well and now that we're both in the same boat, we're takin' this 3 week break to hang out, chill, do mini trips round the country and basically bum around for what would probably be the last ever phase in our working lives.

Speaking of Dilys, somethin' happened recently. Yesterday, in fact.

She got robbed, had her possessions damaged and got herself molested repeatedly by 2 pairs of hands ... and all in front of me. All I could was absolutely NOTHING.

Shocking?

In fact, all I did was stand there ... and laugh, as she got repeatedly assaulted ...

...

... by two racoons.

At a pet shop.

Gave you a heart attack there didn't I?

They were SOOOOOOOOO adorable. Two cute, mischevious, naughty lil racoons whose hands automatically jut out to steal / molest / grab anything or anyone that comes too close. They would open watches, feel your pockets and wipe their dirty hands on your trousers if you stood next to their cage. VERY CUTE. The pair were going for RM8K at this pet shop somewhere around the area.

Anyways, just a lil update. Will be back with more stories from our break. Gotta run. Dinner time. Ciao ciao.