Saturday, 23 December 2006

2006 – A Year of New

I would to say that 2006 is the best year in recent memory for me. It’s probably due to the fact that I can remember most of what I did. The year started off all right I guess. I moved out, had a makeover (I just threw out my old clothes and bought new ones, nothing drastic) and gained a tonne of confidence. It had its bumps and high points but it is probably the first year in recent memory where it’ll end as well as it started. Previous years always start off difficult, gradually becoming all right in the middle and segues back to its original craptastic start. But I’m happy to report that I will be ending the year with a small bang, nothing fancy, just a feeling of triumph that I managed to get through 2006 without much fuss.

This year is extra special because of these things:


I finally pried myself from all the Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman stuff and decided that I needed to expand my reading. I am slowly venturing to other genres, in particular religion and world issues, and the occasional mystery/thriller. You will never see me reading a book with Fabio on the cover however. I’d rather put my head in a blender. With peas.

Football (Soccer for you people who think that running with a ball in your arms constitutes football)

I’ve always liked football. I used to follow the local league, back in the day when they actually could kick a ball without it having a soporific effect like it is currently. It was reignited with the World Cup in Germany. I supported Germany for the simple and rather bizarre reason that my favourite Teutonic band at that time was Rammstein. I actually stayed up, got up at obscene hours and jumped for joy when the Germans won. Italy may have won but Germany has left me with a new-found fervour and a generous serving of sleep depravation.

Manchester United friggin’ rule by the way.


I saw Slayer in October. My journey as a metalhead is complete as far as I’m concerned. I managed to headbang with a bunch of like-minded bespectacled metalheads, suffering the pain of stomping my feet on the cold, hard floor and swinging my head as though it was a windmill made the RM300 I paid for the ticket the best RM300 I ever spent. And I finally got myself some guitar lessons after mulling it for almost forever. Marc Antoine better watch out, give me a couple of years and I’ll be playing in sold-out arenas. But in the mean time, can someone tune my guitar? And here's my top 10 metal songs of 2006!


Bin Siew and Irwin, if you’re both reading this, thanks for all the late night (and morning) jaunts to the beautiful lake in Putrajaya and all over Kuala Lumpur. Let’s not forget to do that again before we get too old to drink Red Bull, eat instant noodles on the way, the ever useful mosquito repellents (cigarettes) and having the best chats ever in the history of the world. All of that under the brilliant night sky and a view that was magnificent and awe-inspiring that made our contemplations, dissertations and figuring out life’s conundrums some of the best times of my life. And here's a holler to Fill who proved that it is possible to go fast in a Kancil and headbang to Fear Factory while looking like complete dolts. Precious days those were.

And probably the most important thing that happened to me:

My never-ending quest to better myself as a human being and most importantly, a better Chris. I feel more alive, like I’ve broken down the walls that kept me from being me. I may give in to histrionics once in a while and embark on warped ramblings about the perplexing nature of rabbits and their twitchy noses but the Chris that’s now in this world is definitely way better than the Chris last year. And he’ll keep getting better. I really hope so. (What’s with all the talking in the 3rd person anyway?)

So as the year draws to an end, I can only hope for 2007 to equal 2006, because honestly, it was a blast and if it does top 2006, I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: I dedicate this to all my friends, family and especially to anyone who reads this. Have a blessed new year and I shall see you when I see you. 2007 here I come!

Tuesday, 19 December 2006

I I yai yai!

How this shindig works:

Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you”. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog. I was tagged by the venerable Lia and effervescent Syar.

Since I’m still working on a blog post on food, I’ll do a “6 weird things I do” instead.

  1. Well, maybe just one will do. I love onions, be it raw (think Mel Gibson in that Lethal Weapon movie where he was naked for most of the time) or overcooked.
  2. I don’t read lyrics. Firstly, it’s because I don’t want to get the booklet all smudged therefore after a while it will develop fungal growth which really sucks. Secondly, and rather embarrassingly, I can’t seem to understand them.
  3. I can speed-read. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to be able to recall what I’ve read so it makes my speed-read feat pretty much useless.
  4. I can spend hours looking at books and music CDs. I will pace up and down, flip and flap a book, then not buy anything.
  5. I am incredibly parsimonious. I will walk for hours, visit countless stores, heckle and query till the cows come home just to find the best price for anything. I’m like Chris Rock’s father in Everybody Hates Chris. I know the price for a lot of things.
  6. Whenever I’m by myself, I tend to walk very fast. I will actually scan the area I’m traversing, and pick out the best route. When I’m driving by myself however, I like to go as slow as possible.

I had to really think of things that I haven’t already told you guys. It was fun, and I think it’s why I’m a sucker for memes, I feel like a little boy with a set of Legos.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: Since I can't really think of anyone to bequeath this meme to I'll just wish anyone who wants to do this all the best. Till then, have a nice week!

Wednesday, 13 December 2006

I’m fashion road-kill

When I was younger (think much spikier hair, window-pane-like glasses, chubbier cheeks that resemble a hungry Canadian squirrel and much, much bigger trousers), fashion was something as alien as a pink loving man. It was a lot simpler then. Men and fashion were not synonymous. The only thing that remained the same was how bad men were when it came to differentiating cotton and snake leather. But now it seems that men are coming out of the other closet, pun intended, and at this moment are embracing the joys of faux chic couture.

My philosophy for buying clothes when I was a wee lad was very simple: Expensive = Quality. Of course, growing up then for me meant that I was to board a manically driven minibus to good ole Globe Silk Store (which is now known as That Cheap Cheap Place) for the latest RM5 (!) tee which at that time was pretty expensive for a strapping young lad like me. And they weren’t in my favourite colours too.

I would say my fashion sense is that of an octopus trying to wear a one-armed sweater. If the fashion police did exist, I would be on their Most Wanted list for ever. I do all right in the “getting the right coloured tee along with the trousers” department but either than that I’m absolutely horrible in trying something new. Take for instance, East India clothes. I like their line because it’s simple yet classy. But for the life of me, I don’t think I could ever slip on a shirt made from the finest coconut husk from Panama and trousers made from cotton indigenous to the plains of Mongolia.

I want to look Bohemian, not try and be one.

There’s an emerging trend in the male front and that is to wear light colours, which is more popularly known as pastel in the couture world. I call it girly. Flail your arms wildly. Strike me down with a bastard sword, go ahead. I don’t care. I’m very happy wearing a collared tee, three-quarter trousers and slip on my trusty Camel sandals. And if I feel like being inconspicuous, I’ll put on a cap. Simple, no? You can call me old-fashion when it comes to fashion, but I know I’m only conforming to my own personal style god.

Who you may ask? Why, Me of course you silly kitten!

As I was growing up and being constantly fed with images of cool people with cool clothes only made me wish I was rich enough to buy one of them. But then I realised it’s not worth it. Personally, splurging on clothes is a mini sin for me. Take this for example: Would a guy who doesn’t really give a damn about his clothes buy a Timberland t-shirt that costs RM400 just because he can afford it? Or would he pay a visit to good ole Petaling Street and get the same t-shirt but with the label spelt as Timbarbland instead? I don’t get fashion but I do get the people. They’re nutters.

So, what is the true definition of being stylish? Is it as simple as being you? So which is right, do the clothes make a person or does the person make the clothes? Whatever it is I’m still wearing my sandals and faux Hawaiian shirt. I look quite Bohemian.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: I don’t get Malaysian fashion shows. A good number of people don’t even know how to pronounce some of the labels let alone wanting to buy them. FCUK anyone?

Monday, 4 December 2006

I don’t know why but I feel compelled to write this

caveat – This is a “What I Did Today” kind of a blog.

I didn’t want to go. I thought it would be mind-numbingly boring with old men in suits far too big for their shrunken shoulders would come up to me and inquire, “Are you in search of a house? Then come right over here. Yee haw!”

Property showcases, to me, are one of the dreariest things one can do on a Saturday afternoon. Besides having to take your Aunt Mildred to the dairy farm of course. The layout was awful. It created sort of a mini congestion of bodies. People would bump into me while looking at pretty pictures that everyone knows for a fact doesn’t translate to real life. They would peer into see-through glass, with their noses dangerously inches away from the display. A person would come up to me and ask, “Hello, are you looking for a house?” The activity itself isn’t much to talk about but considering that I looked like a Chinaman who just got his gold necklace from the nearby jewellery store with his RM5 sandals I thought I would be safe from these wretched salespeople with eager smiles. Wrong I was. One after another, a smiling model with rather nice curves would greet and pass me brochures with far too many words for someone who hasn’t had his coffee.

In another hall of the convention centre, there was an education fair dubiously called FACON (I said this aloud in puzzlement and a lot of frowns stared back at me), which featured a mix of local and international institutes of higher learning all vying for attention of kids who have just finished their exams and wish to further their studies. I thought what the heck, maybe when I’m more stable in life I’ll take up another degree. I’ve been to my fair share of education fairs in my younger days and people would drag me off to a little table with high chairs telling you that their course is the best in the world. Now that I’m older and considerably wiser I don’t give a damn. I managed to stump quite a number of councillors that day with my quick observations and charmed them (them being women, the men—pfft) with witty one-liners.

It turned out to be one of the most pleasant pleasantly surprised days. It all boils down to, naturally, a girl. She was pretty all right: nose small and angular, a hearty laugh that would make any grandmother be proud of, and possessed something that to me, is the defining factor when it comes to women I’m attracted to—that special something. Yes, yes, I can see you guys and lovely gals slightly bemused and irritated even that I’m on one of my illustrious loopy ramblings. I apologise but let’s continue the story. I initially was approached by this tiny human being, a girl who reached my chest and smiled at my navel. I inquired her about the availability of Mass Communication in her college. A smile at my navel again and she led me to the obligatory tiny table with high chairs. I waited for a bit and soaked in the noisy ambience, remembering the days when I was a wee lad fresh from secondary school. Damn I was dorky. Then she arrived.

It’s these little trinkets of niceness that makes me grateful to be alive and the person that I am. It’s moments like these that transcend all the ugly happenings in my life, giving that much needed rush of joyfulness. I won’t go further simply because it’s one of those one-time moments where the more I try to remember it, the faster I forget the experience and I don’t want that. The mind is a terrible thing to play with.

The thing that drives me mad is always the post-meeting analysis whereby I would stare into nothingness for minutes on end, flagellating my poor mind with the whip of remembrance. I would talk to myself, curse myself, soothe myself, and then sigh, sigh the sigh of someone who wished he could have just a little bit more. A smidgen. A tiny speck. The tiniest of morsels. Just so that I can close my mind and remember what it was like.

I’m so there at the next FACON.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: Good things happen at the most unsuspecting times. I would like to have more of these.

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