Tarzan, you rock.

Seriously, people, hanging above 17 metres above the ground can either be the most exciting thing in the world or it could terrify the bejesus out of you.

This was a two-in-one thing.

Yesterday, 220510, was the official date of Chris Hangs on to Dear Life at Skytrex, located somewhere not near Kuala Lumpur city centre at all. (If you have GPS, please use it, you'll thank me profusely when it saves you and your friends from taking 10 U-turns and second exits.) It was a humid afternoon as it had rained, hard, earlier in the morning. This was a blessing as you'll find out. After regrouping with friends and ex-colleagues we all proceeded to gear up and be briefed on the horrors we were going to face.

The tutorial was easy, the guide explaining slowly and clearly on how to not die. With the harness slightly constricting my thighs, I went first and did the first of what would be the most terrifying set of obstacles I've ever done. (Now, I don't really remember all the obstacles as I was a) battling dehydration b) trying to put out the fires in my arms c) trying to not curse at every tree d) ensuring that my glasses stayed on my face) First up, a climb up a 3-storey high ladder. Pretty easy after the a while but the PVC pipes being your steps doesn't give off much confidence. Next, if I remember correctly, was a short flying fox to two obstacles. These obstacles turned out to be the most difficult and the most annoying.

It has to be said that smarmy college kids make the best stewards. As much as I wanted to hit them in the head for being jackasses, their nonchalance propelled me to get through the obstacles as fast as possible. One kid, in a nasally know-it-all tone of voice, repeatedly said, "Sir, it's like walking, one foot then the other." This obstacle in particular had pipes dangling where a misstep would certainly call your harness into action and immense embarrassment to ensue. He will do well in life, I'm sure.

Subsequent obstacles proved to be less annoying but no less taxing on the body. My arms were on fire as I used more upper body strength to haul my carcass-like body. Since I have about as much grace as a sumo wrestler on thin ice going the flying fox was a breeze, literally, as my heavier weight proved to be like a bullet speeding across the terrain. A bullet made of papier-mâché. I envisaged myself gliding through the canopy, the wind on my face, and landing beautifully on the tarp. It never happened. I kept spinning and my landings were all brutal as I hit full on the trees to stop myself. Lets just say the resulting sounds could be heard on a different continent.

Then there are some obstacles where you have to go through what look to be nets. Nets designed to ensnare wild animals. I felt like a trapped, endangered animal being roped in for a documentary on National Geographic. Zigzag obstacles were prevalent and, boy, did it annoy me. I had to ensure my hands didn't get cut off as I pulled myself forward (I know, I know, I'm supposed to not put my hand in front of the carrot binder thing), watch my balance and tried to keep my glasses from visiting the ground.

At the last big obstacle, a long flying fox, I breathed in, exhaled and told myself I'm Bear Grylls. That was before I hit the tree with a loud bang and an even louder curse. As the first to finish, I felt a ginormous sense of accomplishment. If it weren't for my gym training, I would be in a much worse condition. Calloused hands are cool. My glasses were safe. My crown jewels were intact. My ego still solid but body bruised.

Bring on the extreme trail!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: A massive dedication goes to Ronnie James Dio. Thank you for shaping heavy metal. Without your voice, I wouldn't be here, really. R.I.P, Metal God.

And in another 10 years I'll be 36. Whoopee!

Happy 2010!

Raise your hand if you thought the celebrations were a little on the quiet side. In fact, some of it was quite a drab. Funny isn't it? I would have thought that since this is a new decade people would go apeshit and usher it with much aplomb and plenty of excitement.

I didn't feel shit.

I guess people were a) too damn drunk from Christmas, b) saving up money for a new sofa set, c) not fucking bothered at all. I am in none of the above. I ushered in 2010 by helping to sell bowls of Nyonya Laksa (the picture will make you want a bowl right this instant, I guarantee it) and being with the family. It was great, mom was very happy and so was I. Next year, though, I'm thinking of something else...

So far, it's been a quiet start to the year. After all, my year will only start on the 4th of January, the day I begin my new route on my journey to become filthy rich. The days prior to it I will be helping out with the household chores and catching up on my reading.

Since you people are most interested in my resolutions, I won't make the wait any more painful that it is, so, take this!

1. Make 2010 better than 2009.
2. Save money so that I can have more vacations.
3. Drive at 80-90 km/h as it'll save petrol == save money. So I can have more vacations.
4. Go up in rank. Or, at the very least, get a pay raise (I prefer pay raise, though, because I want to have more vacations).
5. Attend another concert, preferably here and not in Singapore.
6. Be kinder to children. But if they insist on being asinine even when I've given them ample warning, I will throw them a beat down.
7. Be kinder to old people. However, if they act like righteous SOBs then a can of whoop ass will and truly be unleashed upon their sorry arses. (Bill, you're one of them oldies but will I be kinder? Lets see how it goes...)
   
8. Learn to do my workouts in 45-minutes bursts, with little to no rest in between sets so that I can be in and out of the gym in a jiffy.
   
9. Spend less on unnecessary things i.e. junk food, fast food, etc. (Take that Akka, Bill and RM!)
10. Get a smartphone so that I can do all that touchscreen thingamajig.
    

There you have it! It was only five resolutions at first but I'm being generous so I came up with another five. It's just finished raining and you know what this means: D

Damn nice to sleep now!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: There's an 11th resolution but it's dedicated to one special girl in my life. She knows what it is.

I wouldn't mind having buttguns!

Last Saturday was a movie marathon so here's a quick and dirty movie update (cos I don't have anything constructive to blog about):

Ninja Assassin

By jove, Rain is superb. I can't believe I just said that. Really, the rather unhandsome one (ya, ya, he's good-looking and tall and cute and whatnot but his long hair makes him pretty in this so get off your high horse, k?) delivers an adroit if not smart-alecky performance as he says lines drier than an undried bacalao that's a 100-years-old. Storyline is a no-brainer; you go in, have a good time and try not to squirm every time a body part gets severed from its owner, blood gloriously splattered all over the place. And, ladies, yes, he does have a killer body.

You may now scream in delight.

Astro Boy

I went in the theatre hoping that it'll be good (because I didn't want to watch that* movie) as I have never watched the cartoon. Thankfully, I was pleasantly entertained. There are a few gripes, though, chiefly Nicolas "I'm an overly paid actor because I look mopey" Cage whose soporific voice did not convey the sense of loss and hope of Dr. Tenma. There was also a lack of urgency, especially later in the movie when Astro Boy had to battle the evil President Stone. But then again, watching Ninja Assassin before this does make you somewhat bloodthirsty.

A Christmas Carol

Let it be known that apart from the first Ace Ventura and The Mask, I have not enjoyed another Jim Carrey movie. Yes, I enjoyed the movie only because of the story as well as the phenomenal graphics. Carrey was surprisingly good while the supporting cast were not short on talent, too. Speaking of the graphics, golly, the detail on every single object is just mindblowing. And to add to its near-realism, some of the character design and sequences actually, GASP!!!, made me startled like a little boy accidentally seeing his grandparents kissing after a game of Solitaire (huh???).

Three movies in a day, wow, that's a record! Have a productive week ahead, folks!

I know I won't!

This is Chris, singing off.

PS: I love my

* = New Moon, pfft!!!

Red Devils are amongst us!

Football.

This one word alone conjures a wide spectrum of feelings: excitement, passion, commitment, anger, disbelief, pride, and even love.

Yes, 22 men chasing after a ball on a field can do that to a person.

As many of you should know by now, I support Manchester United (MUnited), arguably the greatest club in the world (thank you very much). And on 18th July 2009, I witnessed them in the flesh (albeit a good 500 metres away) plying their trade against the Malaysian national team. It was an all right match; MUnited played their usual game on 10% effort whereas the Malaysians played as though their heads were attached to a bomb. Everybody knew that MUnited held back a lot so as to not embarrass the host nation but we caught glimpses of the genius of the players. But guess what? We actually played well! Kudos goes to the curi ayam dude wearing number 17.

The day started out hazy and although it was not blistering hot it was the humidity that totally drove everyone bonkers. Sweat trickled down my forehead and unto my feet. Every pore opened up like someone forgetting to turn off the tap. The people with me didn't fare much better as they had to battle their own bursting dams. We cheered every time someone warmed. We cheered even louder when the match began and I remember losing it when Michael Owen (quite the diminutive this fella) scored the winning goal 5 minutes before time.

It was bloody sensational.

Of course, not everyone will understand. You either get it or you don't. Come football season you'll notice a lot of sleep deprived faces, people with tempers flying about (attributed to their team losing i.e. Liverpool falling spectacularly to MUnited!), maybe even a brawl or two when rival teams clash over who has the better free-kick style. I just hope that my future partner is understanding enough and while I would love to spend as much time with her as possible there comes a time a man has to do what a man needs to do.

Buy a gift for her and dinner.

But that's how it is. Football is intangible yet completely full of feel. Most of all, football fucking rules! Here's to the upcoming season!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: To all the peeps who came along for the ride, Angie and et al, thanks for sharing this experience. Next one will be even better, I'm sure of it. Glory, Glory Manchester United!

Devil horns and bhangra. Who knew it could be good?

Music makes the world go round.

I thought it was because it was spinning on its own axis?

Wise-ass remark aside, music has left an incredibly profound impact on my life. I grew up listening to classical and oldies courtesy of my dad while I was forced to listen to my sisters' favourite 80's and 90's pop. Of course, you now know me as the most unmetal-looking metalhead.

So is it a funny image if I were to tell you that this metalhead actually enjoyed fusion music last night? Let me be more specific: this metalhead enjoyed local fusion music that combined bhangra and modern sensibilities? Oh, I also forgot bagpipes. The Diplomats of Drum performed at The Curve and I was there with my friends. I've always had a thing for live performances, especially if it involves instruments and not 5 pretty boys lip-synching and dancing in tandem to standard beats. No, this was something special. After a lifeless demonstration on Capoeira which had exponents performing windmills on each other, came the main attraction.

I didn't know what to expect so I sat on my high stool and waited. The wait, humidity and smoky surrounding was worth it. Remember all the Bollywood movies you've watched? Remember the music? The unmistakable rhythm of the drum beat? Now hold that sound and add in guitar riffs, flutes, a didgeridoo and massive amounts of melody and you'll probably get a whiff of what the music is. If you're having a tough time then it's only understandable. It's not like this kind of music gets played on the airwaves at all. When it comes to local bands I will be wary always as a good chunk are just bad imitators of their influence.

But not this band.

The only downside of an otherwise brilliant performance was the audience. It has to be said that Malaysians are idiots, morons and general dumbasses when it comes to live performances. The people just sat on their seats, drinking and smoking, while the band kept urging them to get on their feet and wave their hands. What's the reason for our ineptitude and lassitude? "We're a shy people, we don't do that sort of thing." No wonder Singapore still gets all the action. C'mon! You have a great band who plays great music and there you are nodding gently. There I was, unleashing the devil horn on one hand while the other clutched a Heineken* looking like a poseur. But I didn't give a right damn as I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

Ginormous kudos and devil horns to the Diplomats and their Drums. You've made me a fan.

This is Chris, signing off.

* = Did I really look that red? Damnit, I still can't drink for nuts.

PS: I wonder if the Diplomats wouldn't mind having me doing vocals...

It was the pimple that did it.

How was your Valentine's?

Good?

Bad?

Or was it just another day?

I guess most of you know by now that I'm not one to "celebrate" such things (here's my post on Valentine's, in case you've forgotten), since they're so highly commercialised to the point of ad nauseam. What? Do I really need to buy a dozen roses to prove my love? Do I need to feed her one of my meatballs (not that kind of meatball) to show that I care for her wellbeing? Why do I need to prove anything at all when I view that every day with her as my partner is enough?

I guess I'm being my normal cantankerous self. After all, why would a guy in a relationship rant about Valentine's anyway? No, I'm a single guy who happened to spend 14th February with 3 other singletons. But it wasn't all lugubrious or laden with emo-like temper tantrums. It was FUN and quite filling, too.

The day started pretty well, dropped my family off at my aunt's place, drove to the increasingly saccharine-filled shopping centre known simply as The Curve. The sun was blazing and while I was sweating profusely, not-so-decently clad girls could be seen clutching, clinging or hanging on to dear life to their beloved. Quite a number of girls in groups (more like packs of marauding wolves) without partners could be seen as well. Cue armpit sweat stains on shirt upon face-to-face with a chick. Went to the gym, blasted out one exercise after another and finally went on to meet my friends. When everyone arrived, pandemonium broke out; no, we didn't exactly torture innocent bystanders with our wit, but our brazen ways got the better of us and we burst out laughing at basically everything, at decibels more commonly heard at rock concerts, from food not reaching the mouth (guilty party here) and to the most golden of observations:

All breasts are tender.*

That outing further proves my point that when good company with good chemistry coupled with good food (albeit bloody expensive!) are at hand, good times are a sure bet. Sure, it would've been great to have been with a significant other on Valentine's but I absolutely have no complaints about spending it with my friends.

Here's to the next outing, guys.

* = My Russian friend said this gem in the most deadpan of voices when our friend's meal of chicken breast with fancy cherries arrived. It was a massive LOL moment.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: If you're puzzled (or slightly put-off) with the title, it goes like so: there was this rather fetching girl who kept looking at me whilst me and my friends were lining up to have our super pricey dinner. Even my friend noticed it. Turns out she was looking at me, however, it wasn't my face, but the large pimple on my chest.

Life can be so cruel.

If you're going to dance in the club, wear shoes.

Cats should never be allowed to dance with hardcore kids.

The day that I get married, there will be dancing.

Just don't expect me to bust a move.

Such an intrepid pronouncement can only mean one thing: I tried to dance, or at best, boogey, the other night. At a club. Someplace I normally avoid like a bad case of stinky tofu. My 'dance moves' can be best described as a cross between a fish out of water and a person who just underwent hip replacement surgery. A professional dancer would probably hyperventilate at the mere sight of me swinging my hips to the beat. And speaking about beats, I'm still partially deaf from all the club music. How do people do this week in, week out? Shouldn't they be wearing hearing aids by now?

But why was I in a club in the first place, on my own volition no less? Because my company just had its annual dinner and yours truly was also part of the organising committee. (Massive credit should go to the other three members for they were fantastic to work with. You know who you are.) Company outings tend to be a case of jack-in-the-box, you never really know what might pop out. And on that night, what popped out may even be too hair-raising even for the seasoned party-goers. It was so surreal, so much so I thought to myself that this is like a warped episode of The Office (the original one), replete with me and my friends acting like total dunces.

It's kind of strange watching your colleagues, especially your seniors, letting it all loose and I mean that in the nicest way possible. Earlier in the day they were busy fine-tuning the memory settings of a particularly lousy system but now they're trying to get as much food and drink. Managers who have the most sedated countenances ever were shouting and heckling and toasting like there was no financial crisis put the younger ones in their place. Heck, even the nerdier (for lack of a better word) persons were unlading the crazies on the dancefloor.

Goes to show that even the sturdiest can have a loose screw. Or two. Or three.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I can't do the limbo rock for nuts.

2009 better be kind to me.

Ho, ho, ho!

How's everyone been? Man, I'm still so stuffed from stuffing my face from the last five days, I feel like a bloated octopus with my tentacles wrapped around a big pipe.

Hmm...

Anyways, Christmas was good. Took my little cousins out and it must be said that seeing them with their big smiles made the absatively horrid traffic jams seem a breeze. ('cept for one stretch where we got stuck for about 10 minutes, moving centimetre by centimetre very painfully slow, and with the sun blazing it sort of baked my legs.) Since my own childhood wasn't exactly the rosiest, this is the best I can do to make up time for all the non-happenings during those bleak years. And I now banish any notion that I was a heavy eater back when I was the village pudgy boy. My cousins ate more and faster than I ever did when I was their age. And they're like friggin' sticks! That talk back! Argh!

It must be said that the commercialisation of Christmas and other religious celebrations has become something so big that the other races have joined in the fun to cash in the bonanza. Heck, the other races are more excited than those who actually celebrate their respective celebration. Take my office for example: the Christians in my office were generally laidback leading up to Christmas, while most regarded Christmas as a welcome break from the exigencies of work. But my Big Boss, a staunch Buddhist, was the merriest of us all; he played Christmas carols, old Christmas ditties to even techno versions. I've never heard Little Drummer Boy with so much bass in my life.

In less than a month's time, the Chinese will celebrate their New Year. The cycle will repeat itself again. I'll take my family out again, get stuck in traffic jams and smile all the way. Because being with the family beats being in the office, tinkering away at systems and diagnostics and such.

The new year is fast approaching and as I leave 2008, I can't help but wonder, how the hell did I survive all the shit and nastiness of it all? But I'm also grateful that I managed to get through all the muck and grit, and in the end, emerged (rather scathed, I must say) with invaluable experience and wisdom.

Here's to a fruitful and less migraine-inducing 2009. Have a good week ahead!

This Chris, signing off.

PS: Happy New Year to all!

I'm Framing Armageddon

Actually, I'm not.

It's the title of a song I'm currently playing every chance I get. It just screams metal.

Work is boring; same ole, same ole. I go in, clock in my times and I'm outta there. It's wonderful. Really.

I shall leave you now, but I'll be back next week with something.

I hope.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Google's Chrome is badass!

Oh my Fishing Gawd, we're Champions!

To take the day off or not, that was the question I asked myself. Mind you, making such decisions requires planning. So I sent in my leave form and said to my boss, “Gimme the day off or I’ll tell the rest that you enjoy watching…the stock market when you’re actually supposed to be doing work! Muahaha!”

Actually, I didn’t, but you get the idea.

The match was at 2.30 (Holy cow!!!) a.m. therefore it was imperative that I meet my friend at the not-so-trendy area of Sri Hartamas much earlier to get ourselves seats and most importantly, a good parking spot because neither of us wanted to pay to park our cars when we could just park at the side of the road, free of charge but with a much higher chance of being robbed. Yes, we’re stingy buggers. The agreed place to meet was called Souled Out, a rather clever play on words if I may say so. The atmosphere was, to put it mildly, f-2-da-c-king choking. Cigarette smoke enveloped the entire top floor where I found my friend who had managed to secure a small but strategic spot. There were numerous times where I was actually gasping for fresh air, but because this was the match of the year, I was bolted to my chair—and every second thereafter was torturous. (See what men are willing to endure for their passion.) Heck, I reckon a few of my nose hairs are singed from trying to block out the despicable smoke from entering my already poor lungs. But it was well worth it; my favourite team won but not before the opposition and a certain Ronaldo gave me the frights (there was more than one fright!) of my life. Fortunately, my constitution was up to the mark otherwise I would’ve passed out like a little girl at a Miley Cyrus concert. (Damn, I really don’t like that girl.)

On my way back home, I reminisced about my time watching the match. It was absolute fun and to watch it with a fellow (he’s a bit a more hardcore than I am) supporter of the best football club on the planet, Manchester United, was even better. But I just couldn’t shake off the feeling of how people could do this late night sojourns, week after week. I’m a fairly fit guy, but I was knackered after eating my third slice of pizza.

It got me thinking, do these kids (and dire wannabes) know what they’re doing to their bodies, and ultimately, their future as old cretins? Smoking and drinking from start to finish without so much as a pause. They laughed, cheered and jeered with a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of beer in the other. And that’s just for starters. I see them doing it with not a care for the world. It makes me sad that it’s these same people that will either suffer a disease or two or, heaven forbid, end up being healthier than I am. Which would suck tremendous amounts of orange juice. (I’m trying to cut down on my swearing, hence the euphemisms.)

I guess I’m too much of a prude when it comes to these things. My colleagues (not you!) find it very odd that I can sleep early, get up early and read a book. On a weekend. My friends know me too well to call me up for any sojourn that involves the words Clubbing and Alcohol. I will reiterate this again: I do not mind participating, provided it’s not every week and that there is a very valid reason as to why I have to fork out a lot of money where it could be put to better use. Like, for instance, buying rice.

Getting up at 1 a.m. to watch a football match takes a lot out of me. Literally. My wallet’s kind of thin now. I think I need sleep. Winnie the Pooh bolster, here I come!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: It’s almost June! Time flies fast when you’re underpaid, overworked, and generally bored with watching American Idol.

The day Chris went to court and the week of oddity and non-torment

No, I wasn’t under arrest because I accidentally pushed an old lady down a flight stairs.

It was an old man. Hah!

Jokes aside, I went to court for the first time in my life to settle a few family matters last Tuesday. (On Monday, I went to the dentist’s five years since my last visit. The dentist said my teeth were nice!) Again, nope, none of my relatives are dishonest enough to commit CBU. It’s funny that when you say you have to go to court, people would either assume you’re going there to:

a) Free an incarcerated cousin who was at the wrong place and time or

b) You’ve been charged with possession of some funny-looking toys. And I don’t mean the children variety.

Funny how much Law & Order re-runs can affect the mind.

Located at the other side of the world where I live, the journey to court took approximately an hour. My family and I arrived two and a half hour early. The case itself? Let’s just say that my warm-ups take longer (read: not that long at all!). It was that short! Only my sister was required to be present in front of the assistant to the judge person, and there I was with my mom, all dressed up nicely and smelling of food (the cafeteria food was horrendously pungent). All the worry, all the doubt and all the sleepiness (we all woke up at 5 a.m. to beat the dreadful morning rush) was gone in three minutes. By then I was hungry and strangely craving for a burger.

While waiting for our lawyer, I dozed off. In a really small and smelly chair. If you must know, I’m training myself to doze on command. I did wake up sporadically to shift my position lest I want my neck to be in a 44 degree angle for the rest of the day. I also saw my first prisoners. They were chained with the police were escorting them. Behind them all, were the families of the accused, solemn and silent. It was at that point that I said to myself, luckily I have a job.

As were heading home, when things look like they were getting brighter, (the weather certainly did) we got into a massive traffic jam. Fate sure does have a wicked sense a humour.

Went back to work on Wednesday, and while everything seemed familiar, they also seemed out of place. For example, the laptop where I do my work. The keys were all there, none of them missing (why would they go missing in the first place?) but hitting them felt weird. I’ve been working almost non-stop since the New Year, covering all the public holidays since. So to take two days off and coming back felt irregular.

Thursday came and just as I was about to finally settle down and get back into the (torturous) groove of work, I was hastily called into training. As one by one the initial participants pulled out, others (the ones with not much work, hehe) were called into the board room to replace them. Since the training lasted two days, out of 3 days I was in the office, I only did a day’s worth of work. Those who attended got free lunch (read: fast food, urghs) and two days of non-work. Our 10-minute breaks were actually 15-minute breaks. We laughed and joked even though the trainer was a very nice old woman but I knew that if we were overly enthusiastic we would suffer the wrath of a nefarious sorceress. I must lay off the fantasy books, I know.

And what was the training all about?

Professionalism.

It was a very tiring week, what with me driving all over the damn country and then getting work done and clearing some more family matters. The only thing that could make it better would be a date with Kristen Bell.

Yeah, right! Have a great weekend, y’all!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Manchester United better win it tonight. Or else I’m going to be really, really upset next week.

Fuck

62.

Nope, that is not the number of children I want to have by the time I’m 30. That’s the score I got for the exam. The one that I failed on Monday morning. Passing mark? A not too distant 70. I needed eight more. A measly eight and I would’ve been a certified CONsultant. Fo sho, as they say. Lady Luck didn’t smile on me. I think she was on leave.

You know what’s worst than failing? Being monstrously hungry and dreadfully sleepy and, of course, failing. To further compound my wretched start to the day, my glasses decided to break while I was midway into the exam. It broke by itself, I swear. I started chuckling. The other people thought I was mad. They probably they thought I was an asshole for disrupting their concentration. I sincerely apologise. After getting over the fact that I didn’t get the highest marks I so dreamt about, and to console myself, I headed for lunch. I had spaghetti Napolitano, which essentially was spaghetti with ugly meatballs and even uglier mixed vegetables. The three sad-looking meatballs were surprisingly all right. They were so hot they burned my tongue. On the way back, the train decided to stop having air-conditioning. Someone’s shoes smelled really bad. I missed the feeder bus by a whisker. I had to wait 45 minutes for the next one in the stifling heat. Someone’s armpits smelled really bad. In the evening, Mother Nature decided to throw in her own brand of misery by turning on the heavenly sprinklers (an awful analogy, I know) just as I was about to go for a jog.

I'm gonna make cellophane tape on glasses sexy.

I can take the studying bit, and really I have no other choice since I’m already in it for life, but it’s the paying-for-the-re-sit that’s a major bummer. It ain’t cheap; it’s someone’s pay and a bit more. Maybe I can get my future employer to pay for it. Or at least subsidise it a little. I’m well worth it. I think.

Anyhow, here’s a big congratulations to the Cookie Man (have a safe journey back to Slovenia! I know you’re not reading this, but what the heck) and to my dear friend, Fill, for finally getting something good after enduring a tumultuous time the last couple of months. It’s nice to hear good news when you’re feeling like shit.

In hindsight, I think I did the very best I could. As disappointed as I am, honestly, getting a 62 is pretty darn good considering some of the questions just boggled me silly. Better luck the next time, was the invigilator’s words. He’s right. By the time I’m done posting this, I’ll most probably be finally unpacking my bag, sorting out my notes and preparing for the next round, which will be in a month’s time. I hope to get a job as well, hoping that any potential employers wouldn’t mind hiring a hardworking yet still uncertified dude.

In the mean time, I think I’m going for some retail therapy.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Never, ever, study at 1 a.m. and then getting up later at 5 a.m. to study again on the day of your exam. It be bad, yo.

It’s the smart fish that will eat all the fish!

Celine Dion, I hate your songs.

Or to be more exact, I hate singing your songs. Everyone knows that to sing your songs is like having me cook a 5-course French dinner. Impossible. No way in hell. And I had to do it, four times. Count ‘em: four friggin’ times! My metalness has seriously been damaged. But it was all done in the name of landing a job.

I truly and wholly abhor personality tests so last Saturday’s interview for the position of Risk Management Trainee with almost 100 other candidates was really my idea of a fun-filled morning. And it didn’t help better my mood when they blasted Enya and her usual ethereal whispers were all of a sudden magnified fifty-fold, creating cacophony of sorts in my ears. I didn’t bother double-checking my answers, I just wrote the first things that came to mind. Most of it was drivel, something I don’t under normal circumstances but I couldn’t care less already. By the time everyone finished writing, I sagged into my seat and listened to the emcee go on and on about something that sounded like “Financials Pranner.” I left the building, thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into?

I got a call on Monday saying that I was shortlisted for the second round of the interview to be held on the next two days.

Day 1

I was early and slightly sweaty. Another dude was there so it was good to talk to someone instead of staring at the ceiling waiting for the other vict…I mean, candidates, to arrive. Eventually when all the candidates were seated I had on my right someone who looked like a pirated DVD seller who’s a fellow Manchester United fan (7 goals beeyotches!) while on my left was a slightly dweeby-looking, fellow unemployed bugger. We got on pretty splendidly. After exchanging pleasantries it was time to get things rolling and what better way to kick-start events was with the mother of all horrors: we had to sing. And sing we did, to Celine Dion’s I’m Alive. I wanted to drive hot pokers into my ears. We were then separated into two groups. My group, thankfully, were made of like-minded buffoons with a few wallflowers. There was a guy with the stature of a giraffe, a typical Chinese guy who doesn’t give a shit and speaks his mind, and a full-time part-timer who I think I would work pretty well with if he gets the job. Collectively we called ourselves Ocean’s 12. It wasn’t the most original name we could come up with but I was too darn tired to think of a snappier one. After lunch, we had to sing again. This time it was I Can See Clearly Now, the Jimmy Cliff cover from the movie Cool Runnings. Please, rip my ears out! Another test followed and I’ll spare you guys the boring details of it, so I left for home, thinking, what the hell have I gotten myself into.

Day 2

Argh! Celine! Dion! Again! No! This time it was the theme she did for the Olympics. if that wasn’t bad enough, we had to another song! Thankfully, it wasn’t a Celine number but I think this takes home the prize for the most excruciating karaoke I’ve ever done, Survivor’s Eye of the Tiger. I wanted to die then and there. The next test—the final one to sell myself and to clinch the deal—was where I fumbled, and I did so with the grace of a falling hippo. By the end of it, most of us guys sort of “bonded”. I use it lightly therefore any snide remarks of holding hands and having slight gay tendencies shall be thrown out the window right this very instant. If we were to be selected and be put into the same team, I reckon that we would make an awesome team. Alas, I don’t think many of them will take up the offer if they do get it. Heck, I’m not even sure if I’ll take it.

One thing is for sure though, I will never ever sing a Celine Dion song.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I almost forgot, to close off the 2-day interview, we all gathered and formed the ugliest oval in the history of mankind, and limply held each other's arms. We all looked like constipated chickens. But anyhow, the closing song? Diana Ross’s One Shining Moment. I wanted to murder people.

If the moon and the sun were balls and aligned so that they would…

Last Saturday’s newspaper had a revelation. According to one article bearing the title, “Beware the moon for it will conflate with the sun under its iniquitous bosom,” it said that due to the lunar eclipse one should be wary. It also mentioned that the moon would be very moody (kind of like a woman, eh?) thus will rays of badness. I thought it was a load of rubbish.

That day I had an uneasy feeling. I was knackered. I had no idea why. And besides, I had already gone to the warehouse sale on books (argh! I saw a number of the books I had bought a few weeks earlier at half the freaking price!) where my mind went wild and my wallet suffered anorexia. So what could I possibly want?

Hot dogs.

Not the variant where the wiener is no longer than my pinky finger (which is long but you, um, get the idea) but the ones at the world’s biggest emporium for chairs and butt massagers, IKEA*. I had to fetch my sister from the train station and it was off we go. On the road leading to the station, I trailed this beat-up junk of a car, no faster than a speeding tortoise, with a table strapped to its boot. Now, any person with the intelligence of a six-year-old knows that you have to really strap it in lest if falls off whilst you drive. In fact, that same kid will tell you’re being a total oaf for doing such a thing. What are the chances of it coming loose? Well, if you were me on that soon-to-be horrible day then the chance will occur and it will be right in front of my face. I managed to brake in time and swerve my car a little otherwise I would have been obliged to call a carpenter to extricate pieces of wood sticking out of my car. Or worse.

Next up, as I was heading to the shopping mall, the road that I normally take has potholes and more potholes. I always manage to avoid them. That day, no such thing. Thankfully, none of my wheels came off. After having our butts jarred by the uncomfortable thumps to its soft nature, it was time to act like sharks on the hunt: finding an elusive parking spot at 3 p.m. on a Sunday afternoon. (I’ll tell you guys about Malaysian shopping habits soon.) Round and round we went, like hammerhead sharks going in circles to find their prey. Every time a spot opened itself I would put pedal to the metal only to find that another person had spotted it and duly parked their car faster than you can say Bugger. After what seemed like eternity, we decided that we should just go home. According to my sister, we didn’t need to pay for the ticket since the machine spat it out saying payment wasn’t necessary. However, when I put the ticket into the ticket-eating machine I saw the words, “Please pay the damn ticket you fool,” I knew we had been punked. It ended with me reversing the car and people stared at me as though I had brought a chicken with H5N1.

Oh, and I broke the toilet handle at a restaurant where I ate a spaghetti bolognaise which in turn burned my tongue.

Bad luck struck me like a porcupine skewering a hapless lizard that fell onto its deadly spikes. It was that bad. You see, while I may not believe in the study of numbers that should govern my life or that feng shui can predict whether or not my future wife would be a homicidal maniac with a penknife, that day left me pondering over the article’s—I say this with a straight face—“power”. Did I unleash the terror simply by glossing over the words? Or was this the Big Guy’s way of compounding my wretched week? Whatever it was, it worked.

But you know what? Those incidents were a wake up call to me to stop being all depressed and crappy. By the time I complete this post, I should have already sent more than a dozen or so applications. I shall carpe diem!

Until the next depression that is.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: * I don’t about you guys, but I can’t spell IKEA as Ikea. I feel…odd.

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.

Other Blog updated!

22 Hours

All right, if I had stayed up just for another 2 hours it would have been the second time in my life I’ve been awake for 24 hours straight. It’s kind of funny to think that the human body can only handle so little abuse before it turns around and says “Asshole” to you.

So what made me stay up for 22 hours?

Firstly is of course, work. Got up at 7, yawned a bajillion times and rolled on bed till I generated enough heat to light up my house. Took a wonderfully refreshing bath, ate heart breakfast and I was off to work at 8.30. Work was slow and little and by 7.30 p.m. I was off. And if there’s one thing I hate more than having to drive through a jam in the morning is driving through a jam when I want to get back home. Argh! Got back, took a quick shower, ate some pizza and I thought I’d watch some Bones before I set on out again. But lo and behold, it was some other freaking show instead. Bugger! When I come back late on Fridays I still manage to watch about 30 minutes of the show but when I get back early it’s some other show! Argh!

9.45 p.m. came and I got a call from Fill saying he’ll be in Sri Hartamas (this place used to be so the bomb but now it has gone to the dogs, literally) in 20 minutes with Ray. I hurriedly packed my bag and headed off. And if you didn’t know this already, well, now you know; I don’t like to drive at night. Simple reason: I have crappy night vision. Maybe I should get my eyes checked I know but am too darn lazy to do so. Anyhow, I managed to get there in one piece though I cursed profusely at a many drivers. Some people should be shot in the ass.

And after all the shit I had to go through, the week finally came to an end when I saw my friends. It’s so nice to sit back, be under the stars and sipping bloody expensive drinks (RM1.50 for teh-o-ais limau is friggin’ pricey okay) together with like-minded friends. And it is as if that I see myself enjoying this more so than previous times. Maybe it’s because me and my friends are no longer the impressionable college kids or the fact that we’re actually now responsible adults in this big bad world. We’re (hopefully) wiser, more learned and nuttier than ever. With our very own, hard-earned money.

There we were listening to rock tunes in the hopes of conver... I mean, introducing a friend who wants to know more. I’ve said it a million times and I’ll say it again, rock isn’t something that can be appreciated over 1 hour’s worth of songs. You can’t expect to differentiate stoner rock from grunge just like that. It takes lots and lots of listens as well as experience. But it was great seeing her head bopping head to the tunes I honestly thought she wouldn’t be able to handle. She proved me wrong. I was pleasantly surprised to see her ever smiling face and the sincerity in actually wanting to know more from someone who’s quite in the know but who is constantly learning. I was honoured and humbled.

The three of us chatted and chatted till when it was time to depart (she had a business engagement to attend to in the morning while I had to be back by 3 a.m., you’ll know why), I honestly wanted the night to go on just a bit more. It really was a case of having a really great time that seemed to end just as it began. Thankfully, I’ll have more of that when I get back from my stint in Singapore for training. Yay!

I got back and waited for 3.30 a.m. to come. Rukun Tetangga (Neighbourhood Watch) is something I have always wanted to avoid doing. It’s not like I don’t have the spirit of communal responsibility but rather, I’d rather spend my nights catching up on my reading and music and not going round and round 2 blocks looking out for surreptitious thieves hiding in bushes. But when I finally did do it, I felt different. There I was, in some ways, protecting not only my family but also others from the possibility of a break-in or worse. Plus the night air was simply invigorating compared to the toxic fumes I smell day in day out. By the end of my shift I was exhausted but I felt good knowing that I did something beneficial for many.

So there you have it. 22 hours of yawns and laughter, having a blast with great friends and the feeling that I made my family and neighbours’ lives a bit safer. It’s definitely something to be proud of.

I know I am.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: To Fill and Ray: The minute I get back, the minute I set foot on Malaysian soil, that night itself we’ll have another rock update session (that is, if I don’t pass out when I see my bed). Until then, take care y’all!

Of Kimonos and Slitty Eyes...

Last Saturday was wicked, went down to the nearby Jaya Jusco at 7am to collect the latest Harry Potter book and i must say, this has to be the most shocking book of the series. Just when you thought you had it all figured out, BAM! J.K. Rowling smashes all your detective work into pulp of uselessness and then you clutch your head and say to yourself,"Damn".

That day also marked my first ever excursion to Bon Odori, a Japanese festival celebrating something i still do not know. Even the Japs there didn't know too. I first caught wind of its existence from a friend of mine way back when i was doing my diploma. He was known as Happy Chai and was a complete dimwit. And a nutter for anything Japanese. He asked me one day:

Happy Chai: Hey Clis, wanna go to Pon O Dolly?
I thought it was an invitation for a play of an obscene take on Hello Dolly.
Me: Huh?
A Friend: It's Bon Odori you dork.
Happy Chai: I said Pon O Dolly mah. Anyway, it is a Japaneese festiwal. Sure lot of chick wan. Come la.
Me: No thanks man. I've got errands to do. Err, you have fun. La.
Happy Chai: *crestfallen look* Okei.

Fast forward to last Saturday and voila! I'm driving on the Federal Highway heading towards Shah Alam. Went me and my family finally got into the stadium, i braced myself, for i was about to enter the realm of J-Pop, girls in tight uniforms and even tighter skirts, girls with pigtails the length of a pillar, boys trying to look cool with ludicrously spiky hair while possessing squeaky voices and for the penultimate, Raw Food. As i was making my way round the food stalls, i kept an eye out for any of my friends and of the many girls there. Of the former, i only saw one while the latter, well, my eyes were very much satisfied. My hunger however got angry. Not because i didn't do anything to quell but rather, the food sucked. Big time. Maybe it was because of the hands of unskilled Malaysians who were handling the makings of the food. Even the tea with 16 different types of tea leaves that cost me 5 bucks tasted like water with a pinch of salt. I dropped my RM5 omelette(managed to grab a small bite though) onto the grass and i threw away the rest of my RM5 noodles cos it sucked bad.

The atmosphere at the stadium end of the festival was bursting with life. All around me girls were giggling. I was ogling. The stage(which was in the middle of field) in which the performers will perform on was being set up and Japanese opera wailed from out the speakers like a banshee demanding for better sushi. After a while, a most un-Japanese thing happened; Avril Lavigne was now being blasted. WTF came to me faster than you can say "Kumbawa!".

By the time the official launch came most of the people had already congregated near the stadium to witness the performances. Then when the announcers said to take part in the dances, the people really took it to heart cos when the first move was performed, the crowd started to follow. Many of them laughed at themselves and their friends for executing the wrong moves. I laughed at them instead. The crowd got really worked when the second dance came on, it was more vibrant and fun. I thought surely a moshpit was gonna erupt soon. I got smelly armpits instead.

We left the place at around 8pm as we didn't want to get caught in the massive jam that was bound to occur later. As we were leaving, a group of old timers who called themselves The Hokkaido Soba Lovers Club serenaded the crowd with a special rendition of Rasa Sayang. It was more like Rasa Malang.

Beside the food being absolutely worthless, the whole festival was good. I personally didn't learn much other than i shouldn't eat RM5 omelettes while standing up. With chopsticks nonetheless.

I can't wait for next year.

Chris signing off...

PS: Jessica Alba >>>>>>>>>>>>>>> All the chicks at Bon Odori put together.

Week of Hell

Wow, it's been a long time since i've updated, sorry y'all. Got caught up with work last week and then my lappie containing ALL my precious files went byebye and i spent the whole of Thursday going back and forth between my lappie and desktop, transfering file after file which funnily went cuckoo too the week before.

It seems that the only time my utterly insipid coll... *ahem*, excuse me, university college, is teeming with life and sheer tension is during any project submission be it group based or individual. The blood, the sweat, the tears all literally flowed on 11 July for it was the due date for submitting quite possibly the most FUCKED UP project ever in my 3 years at APIIT. Or is it UCTI?

I know better than to do things last minute, especially when it involves a project that is divided into two parts: Research in the first sem and for the second sem, Coding. The Research part, i'm okay. I don't mind poring thru research paper after research paper and then dissecting the appropriate information for my documentation. What i don't fucking like is creating diagrams detailing how a user is going to log into my system AND then justifying why i did so. I already did the damn diagrams so just fucking accept it for crying out loud! It's like telling someone that i crossed the road safely, yet he/she doesn't believe me because i didn't inform them to look at me when i was crossing. And i especially hate being told that the way i created thediagram is actually wrong. On the day of submission nonetheless. They got it good, they're the ones who actually had a whole friggin' sem on how to create those diagrams. I had 3 days. 3 sleepless nights. 3 goddamn, terribly exhausting and mentally draining days. The worse for now has come to pass and now i'm awaiting Armageddon of Projects.

So in the end, i managed to pass up my project at 7.15pm. Luckily the pretty lady put me and my friends as passed up at 7. I had to use whatever that was left of my consciousness and my non-existant charm to put us at 7. I now owe her a bottle of Ribena as thanks. Shucks.

For those of you know what coding is like, then you'll excuse me when i say this, I FUCKING HATE IT. Never did like it and i never will. I guess i just don't have the brain for it. I'm more of a 'What and Why' guy when it comes to projects. I come up with the project's soul; the title, objectives, scope and anything related to the core of it. I'm not however a guy who can create web pages using Dreamweaver or even *gasp* Frontpage. It's not hard i know but i'm just not interested. So when i dubbed this project as the Most Fucked Up Ever, i really mean it. I will suffer tremendously in the upcoming months trying to bust my ass and sanity in creating the website. And not to mention my Final Year Project which is turning out to be the Mutha of Fucked Up projects. If i don't even get it to work say in the 2 months, i'll be Fucked Guy numero uno.

Wish me luck, please?

Chris signing off...

PS: I make no apologies for using quite a lot of the F-word(which is the best English word EVER). Believe me, if i were to tell you this verbally, you'd have a cringed look on your face. Permanently.