Crotch-22

LCCT sucks.

The country's Low Cost Carrier Terminal has been a blessing from the skies, pun intended, for a lot of people who never thought they could fly to China so many times within 6 months. 

The thing about it is that it takes the Low Cost part and translates it to Low Mentality. From the way in which the public transport is setup to the way it looks, the low part of the name is taken rather seriously. The same also somewhat applies to security. The whole experience feels like I'm in a South American prison; line up, environment around me is dim and dank, reach counter and girl behind counter is about as polite as a rat entering your home at 0339, then boarding into a plane vast enough for a sheet of glass to pass through. Of course, I'd have to go through security. First, I get screened. Then, it beeps. Without any consent or words for that matter, I am pulled to the side, get frisked rapidly by a pimply, sweaty-smelling young man and I'm on my way. Duration? 8 seconds. I think. Was my dignity damaged? No. Did I feel violated? No. I don't give it much thought because if I did, I wouldn't be flying in the first place.

It's a necessary evil. But compare it to what the Yanks have to go through with their innocuous-sounding TSA (Transportation Security Administration) ours seems like a damp squid. The TSA has been getting a lot of coverage lately especially after the tragic events of 9/11 where security became the sacred word. New measures have taken place with regards to security and I'm pretty sure you know what they are. Everything is scrutinised when you fly.

I've been reading a fair amount of personal accounts of the TSA and it did bother me slightly. Being Asian, touching others' skin makes me uncomfortable. When I'm in the train even a slight brush with open skin delivers a tiny quiver. So I took that feeling and multiplied it by a thousand-fold to imagine what the people had gone through. Pleasant can never be associated with it.

Now we have "enhanced pat downs" which sound absolutely dirty. It's like an old perverted man with a stronger dose of Viagra. Guess what? I can now touch your crotch and then some. All this because a boy with terrorist links decided to have his butt be the centre point of an explosive plane ride. (I've always known that my underwear had special powers but it stopped short at being explosive.) Bras and underwear? I've to check them, sir/miss. Oh, what's this? Ah, genitals only. Next! That's what you get if you don't choose door number one: indeterminate level of radiation to x-ray your clothes and then voila! a nice picture of your supple body in all its naked glory. 

The furore has divided everyone, even the old lady who had her boobs pointing upwards back in the day but are now in danger of mopping the floor, doesn't feel all too thrilled knowing a young girl with ponytails is going to grope her for dangerous items. Yes, the only dangerous thing is her having a heart attack. There are stories from the TSA officers themselves. Sounds pitiful, I admit. But do they deserve it? Think about this: if you hate your job, quit. I for one believe that if the job sucks, quit. If you wake up with hatred towards your cereal in the morning before you go to work, quit. Yes, the American economy is in the dumps right now but you complaining about how nasty touching or viewing scrotums and vaginas all day doesn't make for compelling cases for sympathy. In fact, it's tantamount to stupidity. Stay and be subjected to virulent name-calling, snide jibes from friends and knowing that you have to do what you've been told to or you can leave and nobody will look down on you.

It's a very fine line that's being tread on now. If you don't the checks and if something happens you can bet your x-rayed arse that the TSA will be pilloried to no end. For adults, I think we have to just bite our lips and hope it gets done promptly with no issues. But I don't agree that you have to frisk children and old folk with the same fervour. It demeans them. Yes, I know, looks can be deceiving, but, really? C'mon, this isn't Gitmo, it's an airport.

If I were in their position, I'd just comply with it. Not because I'm subservient or I don't know my rights, I just comply because I just want to get to my destination and that's that. If someone wants to feel me up, go right ahead. Want to wank to my pert Asian tush? Wank away! It'll be great if they could review the processes and fine tune them to be less invasive instead of saying, hey, let's shove this camera down their throats to be extra cautious. Security isn't meant to strike fear into people. When that happens, the terrorists have indeed won.

LCCT doesn't seem that sucky after all.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. I wouldn't mind wearing armoured undies. Happy flying all!

Forgive and forget. Who came up with this crap?

When someone does you wrong, what do you want? Will an apology suffice? How about a simple yet profound word, sorry? Will that right the wrong?

What happens if the wrongdoer is someone you hold dear to your heart? 

Forgiving someone is a noble act indeed. What about forgetting the incident? Are you capable of purging the offending memory from heart and soul? So many questions, so many different answers. If you're a happy-go-lucky person, you'd just shrug your shoulders and move on. If you are one of those people that don't shrug shoulders but just do an Eeyore, you are holy. Or are you the type that hold grudges, only letting go when divine retribution has been mete out to the person who made you cry?

As I get older (and impossibly handsomer), I no longer am bothered by things that would have sent me into bloodlust. I look at the situation, assess its causality threads and hammer a decisive nail into the coffin of consequence. Sometimes, a surreptitious uttering of fuckinguglydonkey in the general direction of said mammal will put the world back on its axis.

The verdict depends on the crime. Cross me lightly, I'd drop it then and there. No point even reminiscing it. Do me wrongly badly, we have a issue here. If malice was part of the plan then we need to talk it out. Face to face. No hiding behind the keyboard. I think people are becoming less and less responsible and seriously lacking a ball or two. 

A good friend of mine once said to me, "Why are you apologising? We're friends and friends don't say sorry to each other." To which I replied, "Fuck you, just accept my apology, damnit." Just because we're friends doesn't mean thank you, sorry or whatever should be omitted. Things like that should never be a tacit agreement, they should be used when they have to be used. With family we tend to take for granted those words. It's like a thorn in our side if we have to say sorry to them. But we have to. It's the right thing to do. Say it and move forward.

Forgive and forget is over-rated.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Emma Watson in HP7 made me wish I had a wand. Wait, I think I do...

P.P.S Apologies for the change in design again. The last one made my PC dribble like an incontinent cat in heat. Let's just forgive and forget?

I do it because.

But, it really sucks doing it.

Here I am, 945PM the clock shows. It's a Saturday night. A friggin' Saturday night. I'm behind two computers, yes, one for this blog and the other is for work. Work on a Saturday night? Blimey!

This shouldn't be that surprising to those working in my line. It's not uncommon for system administrators to perform their work when all are out partying or stuffing their silly faces with pastries. This is necessary to avoid you, yes, YOU, the person who is out partying or maybe stuffing your face with a silly pastry from making a complaint as to why you can't seem to key in your timesheet when you really should have done so on Friday.

I don't complain. Much. It's part of the job. I do it because I have to. Do I want to?

I'm still here.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. Harry Potter next week! Emma Watson, wait for me!

What goes fast, faster and FASTER?

The day was tiring. And I didn't even do anything. Funny, eh? You're more tired doing nothing. I guess that's what happens when you're bored and lazy at work. My mind was a blur of thoughts during the journey home. Where am I heading to in my career? Things have slowed considerably the last few months. I no longer look forward to going to work. But that's another story altogether. I just wanted to get home, eat my mom's food and sleep.

I start the car as usual, came out of the parking bay, and with rapt attention maneuver the car through the haphazardly parked cars. There's a hill that's on the way home so I press on the accelerator harder but the response was about as exciting as a tepid jolt from an electric eel. Homeward bound, I thought of nothing else. The car moved slowly up the hill. Usual stuff since it came back from the nearby mechanic's some time ago. Once we cleared the apex of the hill, I took my foot off the accelerator, as I usually do when descending this hill. A weird feeling came to me, this is really odd, my foot's off the accelerator but is the car, what in the world?, accelerating?

What followed next was probably the most surreal driving experience as the car was speeding up on the highway. I did my best to keep things under control, breaking now and then to slow down the car (it's an automatic), and telling my sisters that everything's under control. I've always said that there's no point in having panicky people so it was quite a challenge to keep the car from not hitting the front car whilst telling them it's just a minor problem. For 8 minutes I tried to find a way to stop the car in the safest way possible. As we approached our neighbouring housing area I quickly made the decision to stop the car at the side of the road. Relief came all over me. Danger had been averted. Though, it could have been so much different if it weren't for the calmness of everyone.

The car's all right now, we had it repaired the next day. It wasn't a near-death type of experience (it nearly became a inside a ditch type of experience) but it could have easily been if it weren't for the subconscious mind. I thought of a lot things; keeping the car steady, the safety of my sisters, other motorists, our car, my mom, my RM, my life, the car's repair bill, it all came to me in one go. The mind is truly capable of a lot of things. I'm glad it thought of the right things at the right time.

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. In other, happier news, Liverpool beat Chelsea!

Life, as we know it.

I reckon Katherine Heigl should really play other types of roles other than being the atypical ditzy blonde who just wants to be loved.

It was fun the first time around. Now, not so. Why? Because this is the 53rd time. Find another role already.

Her latest cinematic jaunt, Life As We Know It, sees her playing a hot blonde who can't seem to get a decent date who along with Josh Duhamel have been entrusted with taking care of their best pals' daughter after they perish in a fatal accident. Their first reaction was to offload the child to a relative which was a pointless exercise since the parents were the only decent human beings in the family. The relatives? Losers. Heigl and Duhamel now have to set aside their mutual dislike for each other for the sake of the little cretin. In due time, they fall for each other, yet, smother their feelings. For the baby's sake, of course. Then by the 100th minute, they admit to each other and voila!

Instant family created.

If only life was that easy. What struck me about this movie was that the baby was not the central figure, it was the couple's bumbling attempt at raising the girl and eventually falling in love. Sure, they did things for the girl but she was made to be an accessory rather than being the driving factor in the grand scheme of things. But, then again, this is popcorn fare, not an indie drama that would've probably left me in tears. 

Contrary to popular belief, I love children. Abhorrence is reserved for those I find vexatious or resemble little trolls. It made me think of the day I become a parent and nominating my closest, most trustworthy pal to be the godfather of my child. (Man, he's going to flip when he finds out.) As for me, if I'm made godfather, I'd be honoured, too. In fact, I can imagine these things:

1. Shock. Yes, I'd be shocked and speechless. 
2. Disbelief. Me? ME?
3. Fear. Will I be a great godfather? Oh, shit, I hope I don't drop the baby.
4. Like. Will I even like the baby? What happens if it looks like a troll? (No disrespect to the parents but some children have turned out looking...different.)

But the movie raises one important question: raising a child is one thing, but someone else's? Your best pal's one and only child? In the movie, the two protagonists take little Sophie under their care because they are indebted to parents because the parents helped them. Sounds like repaying a favour, doesn't it? In all honesty, I don't know what I would do if I were in that situation. My concern is how am I going to love a child that's not mine. For the life of me, I don't see how I ever could.

Life, as we know it, is never easy.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S. It was an all right. Red was all right as well. Helen Mirren with a giant machinegun is a sight to behold, indeed.