Last week was, man, a week to remember.
What a traumatising week.
Training had been so-so. What I had intended to do ended up being half-baked. Strangely enough, it was doing an unplanned training for biceps that gave me the boost and pump I had been chasing. Oh, well. Shit happens.
But that was only the beginning.
Running at full tilt down the busy streets in the Golden Triangle of Kuala Lumpur must've been a sight to behold. I reckon you'd do the same if you've realised that your wallet is missing. Tearing through the Suria KLCC mall was no fun. It was crowded and people had seemed to contrive in a highly secretive and tacit way to block my way at every turn I took. My family was with me and I told them what happened and they helped by enquiring with the mall's security for help.
My mind was racing through thoughts of my IC is going to be used in drug-related crime, I'd have to cancel all my cards and worst still was having to buy a new wallet as the wallet I had lost was pretty darn nice. While the family checked with security I ran back to the gym as there was the last place I had seen my wallet. But, I knew it wasn't there because I remember distinctively I took it out to keep back the gym card. Yet, I still ran as fast as I could, hoping for a miracle.
You know how things happen for a reason? Well, stopping to catch my breath, I was approached by this gangly Indian fellow. Of course, I became wary as I was in an area (I took the shortcuts I knew which meant I went through secluded areas) where thievery had been reported. Panting, short of breath I looked at him, thinking he was lost or asking for the time. It was neither.
Indian Fellow: Sir, you are _____
Me: What??! (I was preparing to run away)
Indian Fellow: Sir, you have a very lucky face and _____
Me: (Off sprinting) What the fuck! Fuck you, man!
Traffic was relatively well-behaved so it was all right for me to criss-cross in between cars. After running for what seemed like for eternity, with lactic acid building up and muscles aching after punishing my body earlier, I felt my mobile phone ringing. I looked up to the sky, yelled silently, and answered.
If the relief emanated from me was tangible it would have been the size of a (mini) bus. The call was from the bank, informing me that the mall security had my wallet and they were asking me if I wanted to block it, just in case. From there, I called my family about it and told them I'd see them soon. Walking back to the mall, I was in a stupor. A mixture of alleviation and anger simmered in me, how on earth could I have been so careless. Crossing the roads, with beads of sweat trickling down my face, making my way turtle-like as my legs had turned to mush, I was hit a realization. I literally stopped and stood still for a while. My mind played back everything and came to the part where I encountered the Indian fellow.
What did he mean when he said those things? How could he have known I was in dire straits? Was he the kind soul that found the wallet and returned everything? I immediately dismissed him as some good-for-nothing vagabond for proclaiming me as lucky as, at that time, had lost my identity. With even more langurous movements from my legs, I willed myself to walk quickly and reclaim what was lost.
Things always happen for a reason. Sometimes you don't realise it at first but when you do, it'll strike home. Whether or not you believe in miracles or the equivalent it's entirely up to you.
As for me, on that day, I believed.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. To the person who found it and did what you did, you have my eternal gratitude.
Monday, 18 April 2011
Saturday, 9 April 2011
Great minds think alike. Greater minds don't dress alike.
I'll be as brutally honest as I can be: I absolutely, friggin' abhor couples who wear the same outfits. It is not cute. It is not clever. It is not something to be proud of. In fact, you and your equally sloth-minded partner should bury your heads in shame.
Matching outfits only work if both are blind.
I see this trend infecting young and old. The young tend to have upturned collars and wear shorts. The old wear something similar but may share the same set of dentures. Why do they do it? They say ignorance is bliss and if that's the case these yobs are as guilty as Charlie Sheen.
The only time couples are allowed to even wear the same outfit is if it's for an event that requires them to be dressed in uniform. Apart from that, lay off the matching leotards and sequined blazers. Please, do not harm the children.
You wouldn't catch me and my girl wearing the same outfits. Never, I tell you.
Now, where did I leave that blouse...
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Big news coming soon. Real soon.
Matching outfits only work if both are blind.
I see this trend infecting young and old. The young tend to have upturned collars and wear shorts. The old wear something similar but may share the same set of dentures. Why do they do it? They say ignorance is bliss and if that's the case these yobs are as guilty as Charlie Sheen.
The only time couples are allowed to even wear the same outfit is if it's for an event that requires them to be dressed in uniform. Apart from that, lay off the matching leotards and sequined blazers. Please, do not harm the children.
You wouldn't catch me and my girl wearing the same outfits. Never, I tell you.
Now, where did I leave that blouse...
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Big news coming soon. Real soon.
Friday, 1 April 2011
Wow. It's been a while, eh?
What up, minions?
Oh, how time flies when your brain is nothing more than mush. I make no apologies for the absence, I just could not think of any worthwhile thing to say.
There is light, though. The brain is now "on" and I've a couple of things lined up in the coming weeks. Interesting times are abound, my friend.
But I must leave for now and return to my lair and meditate.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. This post was brought to you by Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood.
Oh, how time flies when your brain is nothing more than mush. I make no apologies for the absence, I just could not think of any worthwhile thing to say.
There is light, though. The brain is now "on" and I've a couple of things lined up in the coming weeks. Interesting times are abound, my friend.
But I must leave for now and return to my lair and meditate.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. This post was brought to you by Charlie Sheen's Tiger Blood.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Japan, I heart you.
I may have yet to visit you but I'm sure I will some day. Till then my heart goes out to all who have perished, surviving and living.
The land of the rising sun shall arise again.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Funny how the Whites of the good ole US of A haven't had 101 concerts in support of this tragedy.
P.P.S. Where's Bono, by the way?
The land of the rising sun shall arise again.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Funny how the Whites of the good ole US of A haven't had 101 concerts in support of this tragedy.
P.P.S. Where's Bono, by the way?
Sunday, 6 March 2011
White supremacy does exist.
People either look at me like I am a leper or I have unsightly boils all over my body when I order food. Even the auntie at the mixed rice shop gets unhappy when I ask for less rice as though I have committed an unpardonable sin. But nothing beats the look of utter contempt I get when ordering black coffee from you know where. Conversely, when a wizened old man with a belly the size of Singapore comes in his short shorts and knee-high white socks questions what's in an ice-blended banana chocolate drink the same server will instantly stand upright and flash a smile worthy of being in a cheap Kodak pictorial for midgets.
Yes, I know I have spoken of the above in the past but I am revisiting this with a wider spectrum. Recently, after being acquired by hillbillies with better suits, the company I am in now has seen it fit that we should abandon our comfortable ways and embrace Americana. In an oily, greasy, cholesterol-packed way typical of their jumbo burgers, naturally. You see, partner (said in an accent that would make Jeff Bridges' character in True Grit nod in respect), the way has been set and the way shall be met. I don't know whether it was a lackadaisical almost bordering on whimsical err of character on some boss's part or the deadlines to accomplish certain tasks were given at such notice it threw everyone out of balance. Whatever the reasons are, the ball to get things rolling has started rolling, all right, but it's rolling at a pace that is flipping the panic buttons of some people with the Eject button being last resort lest they be crushed under the weight of (unjust) expectation.
Asians have always been subservient to the wishes of the Whites, not West. People mistake the West as being the all-conquering but it is the Whites that still hold the trump card even when they don't know they have the trump card. You see, we Asians have been pandering and wanting to be like the Westerners for so long that everyone has become inured, numb from all the kowtowing and ball-licking of our forefathers that it's business as usual for the Asians to slog the night away trying to solve an issue. You want to go home at 5:30PM? Sure, go right ahead. But don't forget to look down and have tunnel vision because the stares of incredulity of going home on the dot will be thrown at you like daggers in the night. But, it it's in the UK or US, pray, tell me why we're still here? To the pub we go, amigos!
However, not all is gloomy. After decades of being mocked at for being dog-eating, infatuated with concubines and guilty of promoting rice bowls as apparatuses for haircuts China is now turning the tables on the Whites. Now it seems the Whites are very keen on expanding their businesses into the former Communist-loving country of a gazillion chicken feet dishes. India doesn't count because Indians are still universally looked down upon.
We have to be realistic, of course. The time of White supremacy is slowly coming to an end. A balance of power will emerge and things will be for the better. I am confident of it. Change won't come overnight. I might be able to see its birth but I doubt I'll see it growing up.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. For all of us who tirelessly make the lives of Whites easier, I raise my glass of cold water to you and salute. You deserve it.
Yes, I know I have spoken of the above in the past but I am revisiting this with a wider spectrum. Recently, after being acquired by hillbillies with better suits, the company I am in now has seen it fit that we should abandon our comfortable ways and embrace Americana. In an oily, greasy, cholesterol-packed way typical of their jumbo burgers, naturally. You see, partner (said in an accent that would make Jeff Bridges' character in True Grit nod in respect), the way has been set and the way shall be met. I don't know whether it was a lackadaisical almost bordering on whimsical err of character on some boss's part or the deadlines to accomplish certain tasks were given at such notice it threw everyone out of balance. Whatever the reasons are, the ball to get things rolling has started rolling, all right, but it's rolling at a pace that is flipping the panic buttons of some people with the Eject button being last resort lest they be crushed under the weight of (unjust) expectation.
Asians have always been subservient to the wishes of the Whites, not West. People mistake the West as being the all-conquering but it is the Whites that still hold the trump card even when they don't know they have the trump card. You see, we Asians have been pandering and wanting to be like the Westerners for so long that everyone has become inured, numb from all the kowtowing and ball-licking of our forefathers that it's business as usual for the Asians to slog the night away trying to solve an issue. You want to go home at 5:30PM? Sure, go right ahead. But don't forget to look down and have tunnel vision because the stares of incredulity of going home on the dot will be thrown at you like daggers in the night. But, it it's in the UK or US, pray, tell me why we're still here? To the pub we go, amigos!
However, not all is gloomy. After decades of being mocked at for being dog-eating, infatuated with concubines and guilty of promoting rice bowls as apparatuses for haircuts China is now turning the tables on the Whites. Now it seems the Whites are very keen on expanding their businesses into the former Communist-loving country of a gazillion chicken feet dishes. India doesn't count because Indians are still universally looked down upon.
We have to be realistic, of course. The time of White supremacy is slowly coming to an end. A balance of power will emerge and things will be for the better. I am confident of it. Change won't come overnight. I might be able to see its birth but I doubt I'll see it growing up.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. For all of us who tirelessly make the lives of Whites easier, I raise my glass of cold water to you and salute. You deserve it.
Thursday, 3 March 2011
Learn to walk, fool!
The weather was, if I'm being honest here, absolutely hot.
Wait, make that absolutely, mindbogglingly, friggin' hot.
The 3 days in Singapore proved to be a colossal marathon session that I didn't even sign up for. There are a lot of things that irk but nothing irked me more* in Singapore than the damn people's walking sense. Yes, walking sense. I was bumped, smashed, knocked, by people of all ages. Yes, even a child would walk right into me but thankfully I averted my course in the nick of time because the child's trajectory was heading straight to the nebula that is my crotch.
One of the biggest pet peeves has to be people walking whilst reading. I know reading is good for you but have some common sense. When you're intensely reading the latest gossip surrounding that Bieber thing you inadvertently walk right into my path. I swerve to the side, shoot you a scowl worthy of being called Scottish, yet you walk on by reading about that Bieber thing.
I don't get it when people walk up the escalator when the staircase is empty and is yours to frolic about if it pleases you. No, you expect me to move aside, with nary a polite muttering of Excuse Me and you have the courtesy to hit me from behind with your large buttocks. Use the stairs, moron. Your hamstrings and glutes would look better, too.
Of course, this also happens in Malaysia. Sometimes it's worse, you get teenagers giggling and taking up the entire walk path and they're walking at a pace of 1 step per eternity. Don't get me started with the Middle Easterners who are here. They are absolutely the worst. They can see you coming a mile way yet they still contrive to either block your path or walk right into you. Yes, I know your country spoils you rotten as hell but when you're abroad and on someone's turf you show some respect. All that oil will run out and you will be left with sand and mega buildings with the only inhabitants being cockroaches. Wait, that's the same thing. Nevermind.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Anyway, the idiots in Singapore couldn't tarnish the wonderfulness of the trip. Singapore maybe the most artificial country I've been thus far but it's the best artificial country. Kudos to kiasunism!
Wait, make that absolutely, mindbogglingly, friggin' hot.
The 3 days in Singapore proved to be a colossal marathon session that I didn't even sign up for. There are a lot of things that irk but nothing irked me more* in Singapore than the damn people's walking sense. Yes, walking sense. I was bumped, smashed, knocked, by people of all ages. Yes, even a child would walk right into me but thankfully I averted my course in the nick of time because the child's trajectory was heading straight to the nebula that is my crotch.
One of the biggest pet peeves has to be people walking whilst reading. I know reading is good for you but have some common sense. When you're intensely reading the latest gossip surrounding that Bieber thing you inadvertently walk right into my path. I swerve to the side, shoot you a scowl worthy of being called Scottish, yet you walk on by reading about that Bieber thing.
I don't get it when people walk up the escalator when the staircase is empty and is yours to frolic about if it pleases you. No, you expect me to move aside, with nary a polite muttering of Excuse Me and you have the courtesy to hit me from behind with your large buttocks. Use the stairs, moron. Your hamstrings and glutes would look better, too.
Of course, this also happens in Malaysia. Sometimes it's worse, you get teenagers giggling and taking up the entire walk path and they're walking at a pace of 1 step per eternity. Don't get me started with the Middle Easterners who are here. They are absolutely the worst. They can see you coming a mile way yet they still contrive to either block your path or walk right into you. Yes, I know your country spoils you rotten as hell but when you're abroad and on someone's turf you show some respect. All that oil will run out and you will be left with sand and mega buildings with the only inhabitants being cockroaches. Wait, that's the same thing. Nevermind.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Anyway, the idiots in Singapore couldn't tarnish the wonderfulness of the trip. Singapore maybe the most artificial country I've been thus far but it's the best artificial country. Kudos to kiasunism!
Monday, 21 February 2011
The beginning of the end?
This could be the beginning of the end, folks.
Or, it could not be.
Stay beautiful, beautiful people.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. I have a craving for ice-cream.
Or, it could not be.
Stay beautiful, beautiful people.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. I have a craving for ice-cream.
Monday, 14 February 2011
Monday, 7 February 2011
Me man, you woman. We all idiot.
Men drive better than women.
There, I've said it. It's the most commonly uttered sexist remark that will illicit chortles of derisive sniggers from men and bra-burning pickets of consternation from women. Yet, it's also somewhat universally agreed.
Recently, a scandal erupted from the good ole country of England that brought men and women together, vilifying respected gentlemen over a horrific sexist remark mentioned in broad daylight. (Apparently, if it's pitch black nobody notices.)
The offence: two middle-aged men, were surreptitiously recorded by a dastardly being, say to each other that the female linesman (yes, I know it's a misnomer) could do well with a little education. Nope, not a tertiary course in baking, but in football lore. Those in the footballing circle swiftly condemned the offenders, branding their remarks as from the Stone Age, totally unacceptable in today's climate that is striving for egalitarian societies where both genders (and those in-between) can prosper in harmony and sip on margaritas on a sunny day.
In short, they were pilloried for being men.
It wasn't the first time such comments were spewed forth from their mouths. In fact, more evidence has surfaced that it has happened before. Here's the thing: it was said in a private, tête-à-tête environment, expressed off-air with no intention of it making its way into the public's ears. Does that make it less bad? Of course not. However, they were framed. Caught in the act. Somebody must have received a really bad Christmas pudding from either of them or both to unleash the career-killer recordings.
Yet, when women call us men Neanderthals we have to accept it lest we be branded something worse. (I've thought of what is worse than Neanderthals but none come to mind.) Do I agree with what they said? Tough one. If the linesman was a male, the two men would've called him something accordingly but since it was a female the comments were so. Heck, if I had gone over to the local coffee shop I would've heard the same thing, in several languages at once, even.
We are inherently racist and having sexist thoughts come together to form an ugly side of humanity. In the office, if the pretty girl you work with gets the promotion you've been after you would probably comment on her gender. Your friends would do the same. The same goes the other way. The mind will pick the gender and then the race thus a volley of an obscene kind gets hurtled out from the mouth.
Raise your hand if you've not even thought of a sexist-based comment. Thought so.
Of course I knew you'd say that. I am man, after all.
This is manly Chris, signing off.
P.S. It may come across that I am defending the two geezers. Yes, I am. Not their remarks but the fact that they have been criminalised because of their private affairs by people with grudges against them. Would you be happy if someone records your words?
There, I've said it. It's the most commonly uttered sexist remark that will illicit chortles of derisive sniggers from men and bra-burning pickets of consternation from women. Yet, it's also somewhat universally agreed.
Recently, a scandal erupted from the good ole country of England that brought men and women together, vilifying respected gentlemen over a horrific sexist remark mentioned in broad daylight. (Apparently, if it's pitch black nobody notices.)
The offence: two middle-aged men, were surreptitiously recorded by a dastardly being, say to each other that the female linesman (yes, I know it's a misnomer) could do well with a little education. Nope, not a tertiary course in baking, but in football lore. Those in the footballing circle swiftly condemned the offenders, branding their remarks as from the Stone Age, totally unacceptable in today's climate that is striving for egalitarian societies where both genders (and those in-between) can prosper in harmony and sip on margaritas on a sunny day.
In short, they were pilloried for being men.
It wasn't the first time such comments were spewed forth from their mouths. In fact, more evidence has surfaced that it has happened before. Here's the thing: it was said in a private, tête-à-tête environment, expressed off-air with no intention of it making its way into the public's ears. Does that make it less bad? Of course not. However, they were framed. Caught in the act. Somebody must have received a really bad Christmas pudding from either of them or both to unleash the career-killer recordings.
Yet, when women call us men Neanderthals we have to accept it lest we be branded something worse. (I've thought of what is worse than Neanderthals but none come to mind.) Do I agree with what they said? Tough one. If the linesman was a male, the two men would've called him something accordingly but since it was a female the comments were so. Heck, if I had gone over to the local coffee shop I would've heard the same thing, in several languages at once, even.
We are inherently racist and having sexist thoughts come together to form an ugly side of humanity. In the office, if the pretty girl you work with gets the promotion you've been after you would probably comment on her gender. Your friends would do the same. The same goes the other way. The mind will pick the gender and then the race thus a volley of an obscene kind gets hurtled out from the mouth.
Raise your hand if you've not even thought of a sexist-based comment. Thought so.
Of course I knew you'd say that. I am man, after all.
This is manly Chris, signing off.
P.S. It may come across that I am defending the two geezers. Yes, I am. Not their remarks but the fact that they have been criminalised because of their private affairs by people with grudges against them. Would you be happy if someone records your words?
Sunday, 30 January 2011
The Green Hornet
30 days into the new year and we already have a winner.
The winner of the Worst Movie award of 2011.
Seth Rogen's The Green Hornet is put simply, absolute trash. I had absolutely no expectations for this movie at all. My reluctance to watch at first stemmed from two reasons: Seth Rogen and Jay Chou. In the end, I was vindicated categorically for the former while pleasantly surprised and was coloured impressed by the latter. Only the most infinitesimal of reasons why I would pay for the movie tickets was because of Christoph 'The Inglorius Basterd' Waltz. Ever since he terrorised Brad Pitt and co in four different languages, I thought, this can't be that bad.
It wasn't bad. It was an abomination.
Dialogue and how its presented don't really bother me all that much, truth be told, when it comes to the movies I watch. If I'm going to watch a movie where the nature of its story and its dialogue are the key to the success of it, then, I would pay attention. After all, you don't watch Daniel Day-Lewis and expect him to spew obscenities in an American accent now, do you? I genuinely thought that the dialogue in this "reimagined" Green Hornet would be decent. Instead, all I hear from the increasingly, excruciatingly noxious Rogen are: "shit", "bitch", "Yo", and "SHIT!" The dialogue of his and one Evan Goldberg resembles that of chatters of 12-year-old boys who've discovered porn for the first time and are wondering why their little brothers down there are all a tingle. I cannot fathom the person's rationale, or rather, sanity, when giving the final green (pun intended tremendously) light to this atrocity. The script reeks of juvenile meanderings, where big booms and silly jokes try to mask its soulless existence. I wish I could describe further but doing so would make me more livid so I'll leave it with this:
Even my 6-year-old cousin speaks more sense than the entire movie.
The story is simple and follows a very linear path and I will try to summarise it as best as I can because I'm getting of weary remembering this anathema of the year. Rogen's character, Brit Reid, has just lost his father due to a fatal bee sting. He inherits the father's newspaper empire but as we are educated right at the beginning of the movie is that Brit is a curly-haired yob with a penchant for toy figurines. Brit is a toothless, smarmy, incorrigible, imbecile that spends his days bumming around his father's palace of a home so when he's entrusted with running the newspaper, he flees like the dingbat he is. After befriending, Kato, played by a rather good Jay Chou, they both bond together over seemingly nothing at all and start their misguided heroic adventures. Soon, they make a name for themselves and keep on their shenanigans with Brit instructing his newspaper team to run stories of the Green Hornet. We are are then introduced a dry-looking yet still ditzy Cameron Diaz whose character's name eludes me now so I'll just call her Chesire Cat who is hired as the personal assistant to Brit. Brit tells her to ramp up the notoriety of the Green Hornet to spur his obsessive compulsive behaviour of stroking his own balls. Of course, the self-proclaimed gangsta of all gangstas is none other than Waltz himself, playing Chudnofsky with the same look and expressions as his dastardly portrayal of Col. Hans Landa but none of the panache. This is probably due to the aforesaid twaddle of a script. In the end, there's the inevitable showdown where after nearly 2 hours is revealed and my hatred is complete. Any surprises? No. Was I willing to tear down the cinema with my bare hands? You bet.
Swimming in the sea of movideom dross, it was left to the Asian to somehow keep this fast sinking sampan afloat, Jay 'My smile and scowl are one' Chou, playing Kato, made famous by a certain Bruce Lee. Even with his haltering command of English, he at least saved some dignity to proceedings. He was actually likeable albeit with a scowl thicker than miso soup.
I want to believe that Rogen wanted to pay homage to this somewhat forgotten title but to do it in the manner he did, is not only besmirching its legacy, it leaves a terribly awful taste in the choices of Hollywood these days. I cannot in good faith recommend this if you view dialogue and script in slight regard.
Seth Rogen, grow up.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Happy Chinese New Year to all. Have a great one.
The winner of the Worst Movie award of 2011.
Seth Rogen's The Green Hornet is put simply, absolute trash. I had absolutely no expectations for this movie at all. My reluctance to watch at first stemmed from two reasons: Seth Rogen and Jay Chou. In the end, I was vindicated categorically for the former while pleasantly surprised and was coloured impressed by the latter. Only the most infinitesimal of reasons why I would pay for the movie tickets was because of Christoph 'The Inglorius Basterd' Waltz. Ever since he terrorised Brad Pitt and co in four different languages, I thought, this can't be that bad.
It wasn't bad. It was an abomination.
Dialogue and how its presented don't really bother me all that much, truth be told, when it comes to the movies I watch. If I'm going to watch a movie where the nature of its story and its dialogue are the key to the success of it, then, I would pay attention. After all, you don't watch Daniel Day-Lewis and expect him to spew obscenities in an American accent now, do you? I genuinely thought that the dialogue in this "reimagined" Green Hornet would be decent. Instead, all I hear from the increasingly, excruciatingly noxious Rogen are: "shit", "bitch", "Yo", and "SHIT!" The dialogue of his and one Evan Goldberg resembles that of chatters of 12-year-old boys who've discovered porn for the first time and are wondering why their little brothers down there are all a tingle. I cannot fathom the person's rationale, or rather, sanity, when giving the final green (pun intended tremendously) light to this atrocity. The script reeks of juvenile meanderings, where big booms and silly jokes try to mask its soulless existence. I wish I could describe further but doing so would make me more livid so I'll leave it with this:
Even my 6-year-old cousin speaks more sense than the entire movie.
The story is simple and follows a very linear path and I will try to summarise it as best as I can because I'm getting of weary remembering this anathema of the year. Rogen's character, Brit Reid, has just lost his father due to a fatal bee sting. He inherits the father's newspaper empire but as we are educated right at the beginning of the movie is that Brit is a curly-haired yob with a penchant for toy figurines. Brit is a toothless, smarmy, incorrigible, imbecile that spends his days bumming around his father's palace of a home so when he's entrusted with running the newspaper, he flees like the dingbat he is. After befriending, Kato, played by a rather good Jay Chou, they both bond together over seemingly nothing at all and start their misguided heroic adventures. Soon, they make a name for themselves and keep on their shenanigans with Brit instructing his newspaper team to run stories of the Green Hornet. We are are then introduced a dry-looking yet still ditzy Cameron Diaz whose character's name eludes me now so I'll just call her Chesire Cat who is hired as the personal assistant to Brit. Brit tells her to ramp up the notoriety of the Green Hornet to spur his obsessive compulsive behaviour of stroking his own balls. Of course, the self-proclaimed gangsta of all gangstas is none other than Waltz himself, playing Chudnofsky with the same look and expressions as his dastardly portrayal of Col. Hans Landa but none of the panache. This is probably due to the aforesaid twaddle of a script. In the end, there's the inevitable showdown where after nearly 2 hours is revealed and my hatred is complete. Any surprises? No. Was I willing to tear down the cinema with my bare hands? You bet.
Swimming in the sea of movideom dross, it was left to the Asian to somehow keep this fast sinking sampan afloat, Jay 'My smile and scowl are one' Chou, playing Kato, made famous by a certain Bruce Lee. Even with his haltering command of English, he at least saved some dignity to proceedings. He was actually likeable albeit with a scowl thicker than miso soup.
I want to believe that Rogen wanted to pay homage to this somewhat forgotten title but to do it in the manner he did, is not only besmirching its legacy, it leaves a terribly awful taste in the choices of Hollywood these days. I cannot in good faith recommend this if you view dialogue and script in slight regard.
Seth Rogen, grow up.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Happy Chinese New Year to all. Have a great one.
Monday, 24 January 2011
Taking a break from blogging...
So here's a rather fetching picture of a rather splendid team:
Enjoy the week, people.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. I really have nothing in mind this week. Not even a tiny morsel of an idea. Am I getting old?
Enjoy the week, people.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. I really have nothing in mind this week. Not even a tiny morsel of an idea. Am I getting old?
Sunday, 16 January 2011
You talking to me? Wait, now I see your message.
Lunch time is sanctimonious. When the clock strikes 12 it also strikes the tummy. Pangs of hunger start to bang on the sides of your stomach causing you to click on the Send button of your work's email program. Thankfully, you've taken out your boss's email address just before the accident. Explaining to him why things transpired the way they did during his absence would just be a killjoy.
Scores of hungry buggers start to stream out of their respective office. All of them thinking of where to gorge themselves silly on carbs and wonder why they feel so darn sleepy by 2pm. While waiting for the food to arrive everyone starts whipping out their phones. One would be checking the stock market, another would be loading up Angry Birds while another pair would compare versions and what they can do with jailbreak software. And there is me. Waiting for the food. Looking at other tables and noticing the same thing. People on their phones. People not talking to each other. They only time they do is when they want ketchup.
What happened to good old gossip? What about the news that the receptionist is actually a man? Have we sacrificed being gregarious by swapping communicating with one another by peering intently into a 3" screen? I find it rude that you start playing a game right in front of me and others when you could actually have decent conversations. Maybe it's because I don't have one of them phones that can allow you to be on an IM or surf the Internet so I can't do the same. But when I'm with people, especially people I work with, I want to have chats. They can be about anything at all. It doesn't matter what the topic is as long as there are voices in the air and not the clickity-clickity sounds of the onboard keypad.
So next time you whip out your phone, please, spare a thought to that someone who doesn't have the phone to check his emails. Just don't send him an instant message.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Blog posts will be a bit short till further notice. This is because I've rediscovered the joys of gaming. Tee hee.
Scores of hungry buggers start to stream out of their respective office. All of them thinking of where to gorge themselves silly on carbs and wonder why they feel so darn sleepy by 2pm. While waiting for the food to arrive everyone starts whipping out their phones. One would be checking the stock market, another would be loading up Angry Birds while another pair would compare versions and what they can do with jailbreak software. And there is me. Waiting for the food. Looking at other tables and noticing the same thing. People on their phones. People not talking to each other. They only time they do is when they want ketchup.
What happened to good old gossip? What about the news that the receptionist is actually a man? Have we sacrificed being gregarious by swapping communicating with one another by peering intently into a 3" screen? I find it rude that you start playing a game right in front of me and others when you could actually have decent conversations. Maybe it's because I don't have one of them phones that can allow you to be on an IM or surf the Internet so I can't do the same. But when I'm with people, especially people I work with, I want to have chats. They can be about anything at all. It doesn't matter what the topic is as long as there are voices in the air and not the clickity-clickity sounds of the onboard keypad.
So next time you whip out your phone, please, spare a thought to that someone who doesn't have the phone to check his emails. Just don't send him an instant message.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Blog posts will be a bit short till further notice. This is because I've rediscovered the joys of gaming. Tee hee.
Tuesday, 11 January 2011
Death Penalty - It's the right thing to use.
I am, by all accounts, a misanthrope.
Going to work at 0600, I curse at all the silly drivers. I get into the train I curse at all the idiots who make a mad dash thinking their little spring will propel them into the coach but instead end up getting crush in between the doors.Whenever I see idiocy I call it out. People would say, why do you care? The truth is:
I don't.
So why do I still make a fuss? It's something inbred in me. Can't change, but I want to. Sometimes I wish physical pain be inflicted on the imbeciles who cross my path. Is it a good trait? Of course not. However, as part of an ongoing mission to be a better human being I now count to 1 (tried going up to 3 but I lost patience), take a deep breath and sigh. Walking away is the prefered choice these days. I am giving my all to be a better person, hoping to eradicate the bad attributes that attached themselves onto my psyche. But there's one that will probably stay with me infinitely.
I support the death penalty.
Raping of minors/elderly. Mass murder. These two, two me, are the unpardonable sins of humankind. What reason could the perpetrators give that would exonerate them? None. Why should these monsters be put in a cell, wasting taxpayer's money and space, when a needle will settle the score? Killing is wrong according to this here site. They have some salient points but they're all applicable to cases where there's a lot of circumstantial evidence and where the benefit of doubt can cloud judgement. I am for the death penalty for cases where there is 100% certainty he/she committed the atrocity.
The punishment should fit the crime, so goes the adage. I wholeheartedly concur.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Further to the post above, I believe you know what I would do to the assailant.
Going to work at 0600, I curse at all the silly drivers. I get into the train I curse at all the idiots who make a mad dash thinking their little spring will propel them into the coach but instead end up getting crush in between the doors.Whenever I see idiocy I call it out. People would say, why do you care? The truth is:
I don't.
So why do I still make a fuss? It's something inbred in me. Can't change, but I want to. Sometimes I wish physical pain be inflicted on the imbeciles who cross my path. Is it a good trait? Of course not. However, as part of an ongoing mission to be a better human being I now count to 1 (tried going up to 3 but I lost patience), take a deep breath and sigh. Walking away is the prefered choice these days. I am giving my all to be a better person, hoping to eradicate the bad attributes that attached themselves onto my psyche. But there's one that will probably stay with me infinitely.
I support the death penalty.
Raping of minors/elderly. Mass murder. These two, two me, are the unpardonable sins of humankind. What reason could the perpetrators give that would exonerate them? None. Why should these monsters be put in a cell, wasting taxpayer's money and space, when a needle will settle the score? Killing is wrong according to this here site. They have some salient points but they're all applicable to cases where there's a lot of circumstantial evidence and where the benefit of doubt can cloud judgement. I am for the death penalty for cases where there is 100% certainty he/she committed the atrocity.
The punishment should fit the crime, so goes the adage. I wholeheartedly concur.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Further to the post above, I believe you know what I would do to the assailant.
Sunday, 2 January 2011
2011. The year of rabbit heads, bigger guns and a potentially new environment.
Happy New Year, everyone! Yes, 2010 is a now a distant memory.
What was supposed to be a grand celebration turned out to be as exciting as watching a limpid soufflé rise. 2011 arrived in a whimper. Besides the pretty firework display, the other bang came with our buck as a feast fit for 10 was charged between 4.
All in all, this was me and my buds preferred choice to usher in 2011.
I've always had resolutions but they never had MUST-DO attached to it. I reckon that if I had done so I would be buggered madly if didn't achieve them. So they're there and I will do my best to fulfil them. Therefore, without any more ado, here they are in no particular order:
Reading the latest from Anthony Bourdain (look to your right for the book's title) and a few chapters in he mentions that he thought he was the Big Daddy. He readily admits he wasn't. While he could have gone into working at highly prestigious kitchens and work with great chefs, instead, he chose to work at third- or fourth- tier establishments. It's funny that it's because of his 'poor' choices that now he is famous. One can never know for certain if a move in career is going to be the best or worst decision. This brings me nicely to the last resolution:
2011 promises to be a big year. Let's see if it does. Good luck to you, too.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Work resumes tomorrow. The wheel turns again. Fuck.
What was supposed to be a grand celebration turned out to be as exciting as watching a limpid soufflé rise. 2011 arrived in a whimper. Besides the pretty firework display, the other bang came with our buck as a feast fit for 10 was charged between 4.
All in all, this was me and my buds preferred choice to usher in 2011.
I've always had resolutions but they never had MUST-DO attached to it. I reckon that if I had done so I would be buggered madly if didn't achieve them. So they're there and I will do my best to fulfil them. Therefore, without any more ado, here they are in no particular order:
- Re-evaluate my career's progression. I have a sneaky suspicion a most radical outcome will be achieved this year. Watch this space.
- Backing off on the heavy weights. While I will want to continue and see if I can get a 150kg deadlift single by mid-year, I want to incorporate a cooling period where lighter weights with higher repetitions are employed. This is to preserve the body as heavy loads tax the central nervous system greatly and in due course gravity may even bring me 'down'.
- Spending my money wisely. 2010 was a wallet-busting year. I tend to go on shopping blitzes and that's when my credit card will see a lot of action. This year I will rein in as much as I can, purchasing goods only when deemed necessary.
- Short temper needs a kick in the arse.
Reading the latest from Anthony Bourdain (look to your right for the book's title) and a few chapters in he mentions that he thought he was the Big Daddy. He readily admits he wasn't. While he could have gone into working at highly prestigious kitchens and work with great chefs, instead, he chose to work at third- or fourth- tier establishments. It's funny that it's because of his 'poor' choices that now he is famous. One can never know for certain if a move in career is going to be the best or worst decision. This brings me nicely to the last resolution:
- Take big risks.
2011 promises to be a big year. Let's see if it does. Good luck to you, too.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Work resumes tomorrow. The wheel turns again. Fuck.
Sunday, 26 December 2010
2010 - A Look Back, Part 3
Merry Christmas, everyone. Hope you had a blast.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the much-awaited, eagerly anticipated, oh-I-can't-hold-my-pee third and final post of 2010 is here. Keep holding that pee, this is going to be a while.
Me
After the tumult that happened towards the end of last year what with me ending my association with my first "real" job post 2010 was going to be the year. Yes and hell no. Yes, because people finally know me for me.
On the professional front, I no longer feel trepidation was up against senior ranked individuals, in fact, I view them as equals. When people throw flaming emails at me I don't baulk and back down, no, I throw it back, adding a little acid to burn the edges a little quicker.
Patience and anger can come together at the same time, believe you me. For instance, I don't mind looking for a parking lot during peak hours but if I see a douche taking forever to get out of the bay, I will utter certain words that if printed here would scare off nuns from Jamaica.
RM
Me is not complete without RM. Quite possibly the toughest mineral known to humankind, my RM has been the cornerstone of the success of 2010. Naturally, we have had our ups and downs but we've managed to pull through every time. And that's just our body weight. Adverse times were dealt with pouts and the deafening silence of indignation but in the end we'd overcome them with love and a small tub of green tea ice-cream.
All in all, 2010 is meaningless without her. Thank you, RM.
This was not a lacklustre year. Heck, the lustre has been pretty good (and downright pricey). What can I expect of 2011? That's another tale to be told.
Someday.
Hope your 2010 was a grand blast and here's a warm welcome to 2011.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Okay, all right, it'll be told next week. It's so hard being so well-loved by all of you.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes, the much-awaited, eagerly anticipated, oh-I-can't-hold-my-pee third and final post of 2010 is here. Keep holding that pee, this is going to be a while.
Me
After the tumult that happened towards the end of last year what with me ending my association with my first "real" job post 2010 was going to be the year. Yes and hell no. Yes, because people finally know me for me.
On the professional front, I no longer feel trepidation was up against senior ranked individuals, in fact, I view them as equals. When people throw flaming emails at me I don't baulk and back down, no, I throw it back, adding a little acid to burn the edges a little quicker.
Patience and anger can come together at the same time, believe you me. For instance, I don't mind looking for a parking lot during peak hours but if I see a douche taking forever to get out of the bay, I will utter certain words that if printed here would scare off nuns from Jamaica.
RM
Me is not complete without RM. Quite possibly the toughest mineral known to humankind, my RM has been the cornerstone of the success of 2010. Naturally, we have had our ups and downs but we've managed to pull through every time. And that's just our body weight. Adverse times were dealt with pouts and the deafening silence of indignation but in the end we'd overcome them with love and a small tub of green tea ice-cream.
All in all, 2010 is meaningless without her. Thank you, RM.
This was not a lacklustre year. Heck, the lustre has been pretty good (and downright pricey). What can I expect of 2011? That's another tale to be told.
Someday.
Hope your 2010 was a grand blast and here's a warm welcome to 2011.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Okay, all right, it'll be told next week. It's so hard being so well-loved by all of you.
Sunday, 19 December 2010
2010 - A Look Back, Part 2
First up, TRON: Legacy put me to sleep. Not even the delectable Olivia Wilde and her absurd bob could've kept me awake. Was it a bad movie? Nah. Was it good? Nah. I'll leave it at that.
As promised, here's part 2 of Chris's 2010.
Friends
I'm glad to know I can still call a few people whom I know won't hang up on me thinking I'm trying to sell them Amway. I try to leave a lasting impression (it helps when asking if they know of any vacancy somewhere) wherever I am. Glad I've made some pretty good acquaintances this year.
Fashion
Over the years, I've always maintained to be a rugged individual. A man's man. A shorts and tee guy. Give me a suit and I'll give it back to you. My Caribbean-inspired shirt will rock the house down. Urm. Yo.
Not anymore.
Gone are the vagabond stylings of my past. In comes designer articles that could feed entire villages for a week. And that's just the belts. There are some things I think I will graduate to in a long time to come:
Hobbies/Likes/Being a dude
Basically, this is me being a dude. I guess the most significant hobby/like/whatever of the year has to be horology or to be more precise, watches. I still know no nuts about a lot of things but I'm slowly becoming more knowledgeable. Or at the very least, not so dumb-sounding when up against seasoned watcheroos.
Next week will be the third and final 2010 retrospective. In the meantime, stay naughty.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Santa doesn't exist. Ho. Ho. Ho.
As promised, here's part 2 of Chris's 2010.
Friends
I'm glad to know I can still call a few people whom I know won't hang up on me thinking I'm trying to sell them Amway. I try to leave a lasting impression (it helps when asking if they know of any vacancy somewhere) wherever I am. Glad I've made some pretty good acquaintances this year.
Fashion
Over the years, I've always maintained to be a rugged individual. A man's man. A shorts and tee guy. Give me a suit and I'll give it back to you. My Caribbean-inspired shirt will rock the house down. Urm. Yo.
Not anymore.
Gone are the vagabond stylings of my past. In comes designer articles that could feed entire villages for a week. And that's just the belts. There are some things I think I will graduate to in a long time to come:
- Undies
- Socks
- Ties
- Handkerchiefs
- Combs
Hobbies/Likes/Being a dude
Basically, this is me being a dude. I guess the most significant hobby/like/whatever of the year has to be horology or to be more precise, watches. I still know no nuts about a lot of things but I'm slowly becoming more knowledgeable. Or at the very least, not so dumb-sounding when up against seasoned watcheroos.
Next week will be the third and final 2010 retrospective. In the meantime, stay naughty.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Santa doesn't exist. Ho. Ho. Ho.
Sunday, 12 December 2010
2010 - A Look Back, Part 1
It's been a good year.
Because I don't really remember 2009 nor the one before that. 2007 and before? I went through all of that? I must've coasted by those years because the memory sure is fuzzy right now. In all seriousness, this year has been a good one. So starting with this entry I'm going to recap (to the best of my recollection, naturally) various aspects and events of what has transpired the last 12 months. In no particular order except what came to mind first:
Work
I've changed two positions this year. The first was a highly promising and exciting post that made transformed me from a lackey doing support work to a big-time Charlie undergoing projects and helping to sell the company. Could it have gotten better?
They told me all of that after I resigned.
Then the second opportunity came and immediately I was taken by the prospect of being the boss. Who could say no to that, right? Turns out I was going to be the boss, the lackey and general garbage collector. Did I hit the jackpot? You bet your Irish bailout money I am.
Truth be told, there was a tiny chance of striking it the third time.
Final judgement to come next year. Stay tuned.
Food
Angus beef? Absolutely and delightfully delicious. Wagyu beef? Wow. Who knew cow fat could taste so good and make me, the Phil Heath-wannabe, eat it knowing it packs an enormous amount of calories? Or what about having balaclava in Melbourne, thinking its name is cool but it's sweeter than eating a spoonful of sugar? Those are some of the firsts of mine and certainly won't be the last time. I've become more open and ready to eat and try anything at least once in my life.
It's been a wonderful gastronomical ride and I can't wait to sample more.
Though, I think I'd rather down a spoonful of sugar than have another go at balaclava.
Music
The current most liked song is Linkin Park's Waiting for the End. A week ago if you told me that I would've taken a spatula and hit you on the head 3 times and wish for a new spatula. Have I gone to the dark side? Or is this precursor to something more sinister?
Fuck no.
I guess I'm slowly starting to be more receptive to other genres besides my beloved heavy metal. I've always been open but I find that I no longer am excited by the latest br00tal as heck death metal band who can play at 260bpm in every damn song.
What's next? Justin Bieber? Kill me if that ever happens!
Training
As you most of you know, I am a gym freak. From being a lard of tub to a tub of hot, the past year has been a brutal year. But having said that I reckon I still am about a year or so from achieving my ultimate goal. I've accomplished two things this year: 110kg deadlift and 300kg leg press. Not bad for a guy who couldn't walk properly 3 years ago.
Look out for part 2 next week where I will discuss friends, fashion and what's it like to be a ballet dancer.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Note to self, no tutus next year.
Because I don't really remember 2009 nor the one before that. 2007 and before? I went through all of that? I must've coasted by those years because the memory sure is fuzzy right now. In all seriousness, this year has been a good one. So starting with this entry I'm going to recap (to the best of my recollection, naturally) various aspects and events of what has transpired the last 12 months. In no particular order except what came to mind first:
Work
I've changed two positions this year. The first was a highly promising and exciting post that made transformed me from a lackey doing support work to a big-time Charlie undergoing projects and helping to sell the company. Could it have gotten better?
They told me all of that after I resigned.
Then the second opportunity came and immediately I was taken by the prospect of being the boss. Who could say no to that, right? Turns out I was going to be the boss, the lackey and general garbage collector. Did I hit the jackpot? You bet your Irish bailout money I am.
Truth be told, there was a tiny chance of striking it the third time.
Final judgement to come next year. Stay tuned.
Food
Angus beef? Absolutely and delightfully delicious. Wagyu beef? Wow. Who knew cow fat could taste so good and make me, the Phil Heath-wannabe, eat it knowing it packs an enormous amount of calories? Or what about having balaclava in Melbourne, thinking its name is cool but it's sweeter than eating a spoonful of sugar? Those are some of the firsts of mine and certainly won't be the last time. I've become more open and ready to eat and try anything at least once in my life.
It's been a wonderful gastronomical ride and I can't wait to sample more.
Though, I think I'd rather down a spoonful of sugar than have another go at balaclava.
Music
The current most liked song is Linkin Park's Waiting for the End. A week ago if you told me that I would've taken a spatula and hit you on the head 3 times and wish for a new spatula. Have I gone to the dark side? Or is this precursor to something more sinister?
Fuck no.
I guess I'm slowly starting to be more receptive to other genres besides my beloved heavy metal. I've always been open but I find that I no longer am excited by the latest br00tal as heck death metal band who can play at 260bpm in every damn song.
What's next? Justin Bieber? Kill me if that ever happens!
Training
As you most of you know, I am a gym freak. From being a lard of tub to a tub of hot, the past year has been a brutal year. But having said that I reckon I still am about a year or so from achieving my ultimate goal. I've accomplished two things this year: 110kg deadlift and 300kg leg press. Not bad for a guy who couldn't walk properly 3 years ago.
Look out for part 2 next week where I will discuss friends, fashion and what's it like to be a ballet dancer.
This is Chris, signing off.
P.S. Note to self, no tutus next year.
Sunday, 5 December 2010
Honestly? Don't be too honest.
I won't lie to you. I'm a really nice person once you get to know me.
All right, all right, another lie but a soft one.
I'm not a totally honest person. There have been times when my frankness in some situations have let me down, I admit. I can be brutally honest when it comes to criticising certain things, people's way of going about their business, people's parking skills ("WTF! Argh! C'mon, asshole, I need to pee!), people's way of doing their work ("WTF! I told him to stop the system not kill it!").
At work, it's better to be upfront right from the get-go when you've erred so that it can be rectified soon without it descending into a potential bureaucratic nightmare more so if you've got a lead that kowtows at every damn whimsical request. But when the matter is close to heart they are tougher because it involves emotions that if you were to let it loose in the boardroom might cost you that pair of Bally shoes you've been eyeing.
It kills me every bloody time someone says they are the most honest person yet when honesty comes by their way they'll get into defensive mode and start the pointing accusatory finger you of being unfair, like you've stolen their teddybear away, threatening to disembowel it of its cotton insides. This are insecure individuals that masquerade behind their persona of no-nonsense when their sense if full of non. Yes, if you can decipher what I've just said then you are definitely brighter than me.
I appreciate honesty, I really do. It's good to know your mistakes or how you've been to others as it will improve relations and makes one a better person. But if the honest remark is borne out of something you have a personal vendetta against and you tell me you don't like it? Shove it. Shove it where the sun doesn't shine and if still does it, shove it some more. There comes a time when shutting your mouth is the best possible thing you could do.
Sometimes lying is the best form of honesty.
P.S. It'd be darn great if you could read people's faces and their body language just like how Tim Roth does it in Lie to Me. It sure is a useful talent when playing poker, that's for sure. Po-po-po-ker face, anyone?
P.P.S Upon completion of this post I realised that this can be related to Wikileaks. The same as above applies. It's just better to not know.
All right, all right, another lie but a soft one.
I'm not a totally honest person. There have been times when my frankness in some situations have let me down, I admit. I can be brutally honest when it comes to criticising certain things, people's way of going about their business, people's parking skills ("WTF! Argh! C'mon, asshole, I need to pee!), people's way of doing their work ("WTF! I told him to stop the system not kill it!").
At work, it's better to be upfront right from the get-go when you've erred so that it can be rectified soon without it descending into a potential bureaucratic nightmare more so if you've got a lead that kowtows at every damn whimsical request. But when the matter is close to heart they are tougher because it involves emotions that if you were to let it loose in the boardroom might cost you that pair of Bally shoes you've been eyeing.
It kills me every bloody time someone says they are the most honest person yet when honesty comes by their way they'll get into defensive mode and start the pointing accusatory finger you of being unfair, like you've stolen their teddybear away, threatening to disembowel it of its cotton insides. This are insecure individuals that masquerade behind their persona of no-nonsense when their sense if full of non. Yes, if you can decipher what I've just said then you are definitely brighter than me.
I appreciate honesty, I really do. It's good to know your mistakes or how you've been to others as it will improve relations and makes one a better person. But if the honest remark is borne out of something you have a personal vendetta against and you tell me you don't like it? Shove it. Shove it where the sun doesn't shine and if still does it, shove it some more. There comes a time when shutting your mouth is the best possible thing you could do.
Sometimes lying is the best form of honesty.
P.S. It'd be darn great if you could read people's faces and their body language just like how Tim Roth does it in Lie to Me. It sure is a useful talent when playing poker, that's for sure. Po-po-po-ker face, anyone?
P.P.S Upon completion of this post I realised that this can be related to Wikileaks. The same as above applies. It's just better to not know.
Sunday, 28 November 2010
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!
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!
Sunday, 21 November 2010
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?
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?
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