Saturday, 25 September 2010

The biggest loosah will be BIG.

Watching TV these days is a tedious affair. Shows of yesteryear were witty without trying hard, edgy but still conservative enough so that your parents and you can watch through an uncomfortable scene together, but most importantly, they were good simply because they were done with real passion. Now shows just want to hit you with wave after wave of in-your-face skits where you'll gasp, close your mouth, say OMG a bazillion times, then nod your head in utter agreement.

"Reality" shows are in a lone category; it's called scripted (hence the cleverly-placed quotes). In the beginning it probably would've been real but now not so. Things are predictable, you just know things will pan out a certain way; the vampy skank will sleep with the good boy who will then feel guilty and tell his girlfriend, break-up ensues = more drama OMG!

There won't be any vampy skanks or naive good boys in this show, though. No, you're going to get lots of skin. But not the kind you think you know. Or that kind. Or want to think. The Biggest Loser Asia (The B.L.A) has just kicked off its second season with a big splash (caused by a single person, I kid you not) by being bigger (I'm on a roll!) and smarter than before. So what's my verdict? After watching just half of the show (I wanted to watch something else*) I reckon I have a fairly good idea of the tone for this season. I will try to recap what I saw, I can't promise verbatim but I'll give you the gist of it. You know, the big picture.

The start of the show sees the trainers, a fit as heck Aussie chick and a horse jockey (what, he's pretty darn slim and slender), who will be screening potential Losers. They visit 5 South-East Asian countries and screen various people of varied shapes and sizes (nope, not going to make this even remotely witty). Part of the screening involved getting to know the people, much like American Idol without the clinically insane. What I don't get is the Aussie trainer's predilection for asking potential contestants to do jump squats. She does know that people of a portly disposition will exert more pressure on their spine by doing such exercises?

The people who attended were rather mild mannered, and frankly, have characteristics of a sausage. There's this guy from Jakarta who says whenever I put my mind on something, I will make it happen. Funny, still fat. A black woman who came via Hong Kong blames (more or less) her dead brother for her weight gain while a Thai woman said some things but there was too much tom yam in the mix speech. The Singaporeans have rather strong Singaporean accents (that's just the Chinese, the rest have it stronger) but as usual fall flat with textbook kiasu personalities (yeah, Malaysia vs Singapore proudness still alive, yo!).

16 hopefuls were chosen and here we go. The contestants were made to perform their first challenge immediately after arriving at their base of operations. Guess who made a fuss first? A Malaysian, naturally (!). But who will be their host, their own Ryan Seacrest, the person that will be their bridge to the outside. We have been graced by the one and only Marion "Look at me I'm just as epileptic as Giuliana Rancic" Caunter. I swear, her movements are a carbon-copy of Giuliana's, right down to the E.T. smile and seizure-like gestures. She is an imitator; not a single presentation skill of hers feels natural. And instead of wearing a track suit to support the contestants, she wears a shoulderless dress that really smacks the faces of the people running about.

I wonder why some of these say they have the willpower of giants yet are dwarfed when faced with a 5lbs pink dumbbbell. I used to be a chubster myself. I was the fat guy in the group. Incessant teasing about weight was dished out (see, I pun when I don't even realise it) constantly to my face. I hurt. I never wanted to be out of breath after running a minute or be rejected because I wear 38-inch trousers. But I've turned my body the other way round all by myself. I guess some people need more motivation than others. The show has me divided: on one hand, I commend and salute the contestants for braving themselves and baring their all to the world. I am not a fan of the methods employed, though; tough love and brutal exercises don't gel with me. 

The keys to losing weight: diet, exercise and, most important of all, discipline. All must be adhered to otherwise you will fall by wayside. Stop thinking that just one slice of cake, another glass of Coke and you're on the treadmill the next will be enough because it isn't. You are cheating yourself. When you cheat yourself, then you deserve to be in the rut you put yourself in. Once you've schooled yourself properly then you can allow yourself the occasional pancake slathered with jam. I can understand the hopefulness of this show. It really does want to help people. Anyone who wants to lead a healthy lifestyle gets a good pat on the back from me.

Pass me another biscuit, please. I'm famished...


This is Chris, signing off. 

* - Chelsea LOST!!!

P.S. All the best to the contestants. I really do wish them good luck. Marion, please, please, please stop aping Giuliana. You are tremendously terrible.

Monday, 20 September 2010

He. He. He.

Credit to the person who created this. This is just utter brilliance.
This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Berba's second goal was just sublime. Pure class. Champion.

Sunday, 12 September 2010

You've got the bag. But you've not got the class.

The woman with the big, bright red Louis Vuitton bag was looking at a book. A book for children. About snakes. Its cover was that of a cartoon snake that resembled the snake from the Jungle Book. Why would she pick that book out of a thousand others remains a mystery. Her child took one look and ran away.

Then she yelled in Mandarin. It voice was piercing, like two cats quarreling at night over who gets the little dead rat. Her child came towards her, yelled back, mom grabbed his arm, more yelling and off they went. They continued to talk at the top of their lungs. My inability to understand Mandarin came in handy after all. But the annoying decibels coming out of their mouths was grating all the same.

The sudden increase in the middle class has given rise of the wannabes from every imaginable nook and cranny, specifically the Chinese race. It is used to be that the Chinese would adopt English names, mispronounce it and look all smarmy about it. Then it morphed to creating names by combining existing names or changing the spelling of it. Still mispronouncing it, though. Then, as luxury brands started asserting themselves in the market, the Chinese took to them like vultures to a dead horse.

So take those two things and you have the new breed of Chinesedom: Chinese-er. Yes, I made that up. Imagine, if you will, a Chinese person who is more Chinese than ever. It's funny that as the world is becoming more accessible the Chinese as a whole are regressing. Yes, they embrace Western culture with open arms that haven't been shaved in ages yet they have not a clue to differentiating the two. They take what they see, if attractive, keep, throw the rest. It is precisely this reckless abandonment of the senses that bewilders me.

The thinking hasn't matured much, they equate luxury as the benchmark they have to live up to. It would be a travesty if they didn't keep up with the Chans. Immature thoughts of beauty still taints their minds, big eyes and pasty-white skin is beautiful. If a girl is not stick thin, then they're fat (chubby doesn't exist in their dictionary). Males have to have their hairs in asymmetrical styles are the norm these days. Of course, looking like your pet schnauzer makes the bond between man and pest stronger, right? 

Chinese males are increasingly becoming less male and resembling their sisters. If they had any. Shudder. This androgyny is seriously starting to alarm me. Where have the real men gone to? These girly boys run on the treadmill for 20 minutes at a speed my grandma walks and they're panting for breath. Skinny jeans can be found in the drawers next to their slim fit singlets. It seems that having legs where they appear to be like chopsticks are a-okay. I used to be wary of shaking a girl's hand because my grip is firm but these pansies are worse, like flaccid carrots. Whatever happened to the likes of Chow Yuen Fatt? He was cool as can be. Now, now we have girls like Jay Chou as their inspiration.

The style here is heavily borrowed from the Taiwanese, which they borrow heavily from the Japanese whom we all know borrow massively from the West. So what we have is a style that is bastardised to high heaven. There is no identity specific to them. What they see on TV is bible to them. Music videos, or as they're called MTVs by these troglodytes, sends them into a fit, wanting to copy the style right away. I go back to the woman and her Louis Vuitton bag; it doesn't immediately make you classy, it makes you oblivious. It further proves the fact that people are sheep, powerless slaves to what the media glorifies.

Do the clothes maketh the person? Or does the person maketh the clothes?

Try telling that to the woman. I wonder what she will yell if the book was on schnauzers.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. This angry post was brought to you by a guy who doesn't wear skinny jeans. Or jeans of any kind for that matter.

Monday, 6 September 2010

The only interesting thing that happened, nothing.

Please check back again. Brain under construction.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Seriously, brain under construction. For real.