Monday, 29 October 2007

I wonder who wears the trousers now

don't I look pretty?

Gender equality is a myth. Egalitarianism is something that your grandma heard on the radio and thought it was used to bake cakes. There’s no way that a woman can do things better than a man. It is preposterous. Inconceivable. So I issue this clarion call to all you feminists to gather your expensive bras to go ahead and burn them because I just don’t give a rabbit’s fluffy behind. Just be topless when you burn them. He, he, he.

Looks like I’ve just managed to stir up some controversy, eh? (Please say I did.)

If I’ve said once then I’ve said it a thousand times: I believe in peace and harmony. I believe in yin-and-yang like Lillian Too does in her choice of hair-dye colours, which by the way, is matched in its infinite horribleness by her own female offspring. I am of the school of thought where things should be done with care, respect and precision. I truly believe that jobs need to be done by the right person. I don’t care if you’re a guy with effeminate features or you’re a butch girl with bellbottoms, get the job done and get the job done well.

House husbands. These two words used to illicit giggles from bemused quarters. Who would expect a burly man hanging his wife’s undergarments? Would a man do grocery shopping with a baby in the trolley? And what about the tampons that he has to get for the missus? Would he suffer the looks and giggles? Back in the day it would have taken a man his all just to block out the comments and keep himself from becoming into the Incredible Hulk and start going on a rampage. But now it seems that is okay, normal even, for a man to give up being a man and become a father to his child. So where’s the harm in that?

Are these men brave? Yes, they certainly are. But is their bravery true in the sense of the word? Not really. The way I see it, it is about choice. They choose to stay at home because they know that the missus is able to provide for the family better than he could (or it could be something more implicit, I can’t be sure). If this choice raises eyebrows at dinner parties then so be it, there’s no harm done.

To me, it’s nothing to be ashamed of if the missus earns more than you do and the children need a parent to take care of them of their early years, then so be it. What’s important is that everyone is happy and comfortable with it. It doesn’t matter who pays the bills because the government doesn’t recognise gender or marital status when money is concerned.

I grew up with 3 strong, ebullient (when they weren’t screaming at me, naturally) and brilliant women. They’re independent and certainly are able to take care of themselves and others. I remember my mom teaching me to respect women and that they are not your personal maid that you can boss around. My sisters still continue to bash me whenever I make a rude comment. I kid you not.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that it’s okay to be a macho man who hangs his wife’s undies. Just make sure he doesn’t hang his friend’s wife’s undies.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Wearing a sari takes a lot of hard work, yo.

Friday, 19 October 2007

Boys and girls

I used to like watching a show called Child of Our Time. The children featured on the show were cute, cuddly and made me feel all warm inside. Of course, watching CSI (mainly for the women), Lost (only for Evangeline Lilly, she’s da bomb) and Grey’s Anatomy (used to, I hate the current storyline) makes me feel warm, too. If you know what I mean. He he. All right, fine, I’ll get on with the actual topic. People can be so impatient.

What makes a girl a girl and a boy a boy? Is it to do with upbringing? If a girl plays with boys’ toys is all right but heaven forbid if a boy plays dress up. It’s unnatural. Boys are boys and girls can be boy-like provided she wears pink outfits and takes an instant liking to Hilary Duff.

It’s weird to think that people actually equate that if a boy is surrounded by females, he will grow up to be slightly effeminate, or worse, a (please don’t say that G-word) homosexual. To me, that’s utter bollocks. I grew up with three women and look how I turned out. I eat so fast my food digests as I eat, I fart in public places (surreptitiously and skilfully executed, of course), I burp loudly and proudly after eating a hearty meal and I swear because I don’t give two shits. Or a fuck. Take your pick. If you want a better example, Tom “I like to buy medical equipments to check up on my baby” Cruise. He was also raised by women as well and he is in no way as hell a sissy. Scientology may be a hoot of a “religion” but it’s not the reason he’s such a macho chap.

It seems that being a homosexual and open about it constitutes bravery, self-confidence and all-round champ. Like, duh. They like people of the same gender. Hello! I for one have always maintained that you don’t have to be straight to be my friend. I could not care less whether or not you like men’s butts; just don’t touch mine and we’re all dandy.

If I have a daughter I’d like her to be feminine but also be able to kick some guy’s family jewels if he ever touches her inappropriately. As for my son, I hope he’ll be able to bash the guy even further for hurting his sister in any form. But if fate has it that either one of them prefers their own gender, then I’ll support them (I’ve watched Brokeback Mountain). I just want them to be happy. I admit my parents did project their wrongdoings unto me and my sisters therefore hoping for us to not turn out like them. They forgot one important thing: we aren’t them. It is this so obvious element that has left them confounded, unable to understand us properly and ultimately is the reason why I’m a rather strapping young lad.

You wouldn’t catch me wearing pink, though.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Guys, please bring stop turning up your collars. You remind me of dogs who keep biting their own tails.

Monday, 15 October 2007

Isn’t Hello polite enough? / Save me

This blog post has two stories, since my blogging brain is currently undergoing massive overhaul. Bare with me, please. Thanks.

The second week of work has come and gone like a bat out of hell. Or worse, a Jerry Springer show. On Monday, I came in hoping to do some work. Anything at all. But it was wishful thinking. Again, I was reduced to looking as though I was handling a million clients but in actual fact I was reading a gossip blog. Yes, I have been turned into a slobbering, gossip-crazy nut. As far as gaining information on the company and other whatnots, I literally have to drop eaves just to find out basically anything at all.

A typical work day would have this scenario: I ask the team a question regarding the work I’m supposed to be doing. Their reply, well, since you haven’t gotten all your access IDs to the system, showing it to you right now is akin to showing a baby how to arm wrestle. With a crocodile. A shrug of the shoulders and I’m once again left to my own devices.

This is the first time I feel like a total con. I feel like I’m deceiving my colleagues but I know it isn’t true. But all the same, I feel guilty. Even my boss is nonchalant about my being about as useful as an orange in a ketchup factory. After all, he only joined the company a few weeks earlier than me and he still doesn’t have all the necessary access authorisations.

Everyone tells me the same thing: enjoy your “honeymoon” while you can because once you have work, there’s nothing else but work. You’re going to be cranky. You’re going to be scolded at. Heck, you may get your ear pulled if you keep committing the same mistake over and over again. But I know it’ll be worth it.

I really do.

PS: I got screwed from the big boss in UK all because I said Hello instead of sounding like a smarmy salesman. Where’s the justice?

Save me

The building fa├žade was orange; unlike the customary pristine white you’d normally associate buildings of this nature. The open-air carpark provided scant shade for my untinted 14-year-old car so by the time for us to leave, it would be hot enough to bake a cake. I no shit you.

Hospitals don’t scare me. They intrigue me. Morbid, aren’t I? Let me explain. I have never been one to be afraid of death, because if there’s something more terrible than death, it has to be Indian sweets, which takes the sweet to a whole new level.

A not-so-close relation to the family had fallen ill recently and my family decided to pay the person in question a visit. This being a private hospital in a rather upscale area, the amenities were equally upscale.

When I reached the ward where the ill person was, in another room was a premature baby born only the day before I came. If you look carefully enough, you could make out the baby’s tiny, tiny hand.

I’m not religious, but I said a small prayer to the gods above that they let this child grow up to be a nice person. Or at least a better driver in the next, oh. 20 years from now.

As I left the hospital, I couldn’t help but think of my own mortality. I workout almost other every day and I try as much as possible to avoid eating them “unhealthy” food. The discipline it takes to make me stop eating the vastly improving Malaysian food culture could make Shaolin monks green with envy.

The main point I’m trying to make is this: do I want to be bed-ridden for the rest of my life or do I want to go out before everything starts to fail?

At this point in time, I just want to be healthy and happy. And I think I’m doing a great job of it.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: You know you’re very old when your 10-year-old cousin says, “Who’s this man?”

Saturday, 6 October 2007

Geerow is geerow!

What do you get when you try to cross the road with a hammer?

I have not a single friggin’ clue. But I do know this:

It feels awfully good to earn your own money. Yes, ladies and old folks, I am officially off the jobless list.

In addition, this is the inevitable “first week on the new job” post. I must say, this is probably the best “first week on the job” week I’ve ever had. So far, I have done nothing. And I mean, nothing. And I find it disturbing. It seems that due to the fact that I joined on last minute thing, my IDs to enter the various systems in the office haven’t been set up properly. So I’m stuck surfing and chatting. Only a few times I was shown the work that I would be doing in the coming months. But I think I’ve settled in pretty well, I interact well with my team and others (I hope so).

I really, really wish I could say more but the more I try to come up with something, the less I get. But fret not, for I shall spill all the sordid details as time goes by. So, in the mean time, be happy, people. For there's nothing like being happy in a not-so-happy world.

This is Chris, signing off.


PS: The colleague that sits behind me keeps saying zero as “gee-row,” which is driving me up the wall. It’s ze-ro, gosh darnit!!