It's been a while, no?

Wow, time has passed real quick. For one, I no longer am the emo bugger that used to well-up at the mere mention of "Family", "Malaysia", "Food". (I do well-up if I see my family's picture. Or when I see Malaysian food.) Last post of mine was in July. July! My goodness, I used to get all pissy and agitated if I didn't post something by the week and here I am, posting something 4 months later.

But, better late than never, right?

The reasons why I haven't been blogging:

• Work - Ever since I started work in Singapore, my once mundane work life is no more. 
• Gym - Lifting weights + After working hours + Late dinners = Massive mushy brain. 
• My English is crap - One of my favourite things in the world is to read. Sadly, and painfully to admit, reading has taken a back seat. A back seat all the way back of Chris's Bus of Things to Do. The free time that I had was either taken up by the PS3 or watching Arrested Development. However, I am happy to say that I am picking up books again and reading them. Yes, reading! And not just looking at the cover and wishing I was reading them but actual reading! With my eyes! Okay, enough of the abuse of !. Seriously, though, I find that my having not reading has deteriorated my English. When I read, I would check the grammar, the punctuations, and so on. Heck, even on Facebook I cringe whenever I post something as innocuous as a one-liner as it will inconceivably be grammatically wrong. I am happy to announce that I am starting to pick up reading again and it's a joy. Not to mention my grammar has somewhat been saved from the sharks of imbecility. 

I don't know when my next post will be but I hope it won't be four months down the road. I wish everyone well and stay beautiful!

This is Chris, signing off. 

P.S. Yes, I've actually had to dumb-down my English here in Singapore. Can you believe that?

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.

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!

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?

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.

Crotch-22

LCCT sucks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

LCCT doesn't seem that sucky after all.

This is Chris, signing off. 

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

Forgive and forget. Who came up with this crap?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Forgive and forget is over-rated.

This is Chris, signing off.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is Chris, signing off. 

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

I want to privatise world peace.

Can one man save the world? Can one man be the saviour for all us? Can he protect all of us when we are in dire straits?

No.

No one person can bring the world together. Yes, that includes you James Cameron. Peace comes when all of us come together and forget the boundaries history had set for us. Scoff all you want, but Star Trek did have a really good message: peace comes when people are united one roof, regardless of creed and beliefs. Among the humans, of course, screw them aliens with odd foreheads.

Society gladly accepts falsehoods and whatnots because we have become slaves to our own creation: convenience. We are lazy. We have become inured by events that it longer shocks us that wars have killed mothers and babies. A gasp at the headlines and it's off to Prada for the new bag mom wants. The miasma is thickening and will blanket our eyes and senses if we do not fight back.

Funny how Iron Man 2 has this effect me.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: The movie was much better than I expected. The action sequences were fast and rather in your face but begged for more. Acting? Please, you've got a special ensemble and they delivered in spades. Mickey Rourke sure did look weird in his costume. 

Date Night sounds better than training your dragon.

To be honest, I didn't expect much from the two movies. How to Train Your Dragon is your typical coming of age movie where not quite developed Viking boy becomes the talk of the mountaintop after learning the ways of training (read: enslaving) dragons. Turns out dragons make good pets. But I recommend watching it for the CGI and effects. Absolutely top-notch. Way better than Clash of the Tits. Titans. Oops.

But it's Date Night that surprised me the most. It won't set your world on fire, no, but if you're in a relationship or you're married, this is a partnership that doesn't have any cracks in it. It's nice to watch a couple who know where they are yet still yearn to do more--in this case--their marriage. Tina Fey and Steve Carell have good chemistry, though, I get the feeling they're just reprising their famous roles from 30 Rock and The Office respectively. I also liked that they still manage to find fun, the juvenile type, and not pretend to fit in.

You hear too many stories of cheating spouses and you think, what the fuck went wrong? I can only hope my own future wife and I will have a life together that's filled with fun and laughter.

Minus people chasing us with guns for stealing a reservation.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: For some reason only known by 10 different kinds of dragons, for the life of me, I couldn't finish what I initially set forth to write. Writer's block? I guess so. Darn.

Rudeness and decorum are like jelly beans. You never know what you're going to get.

Kids these days are a clever bunch. Take my little cousins; they are not bratty in the sense that they do not roll on the floor when they don't get their favourite toys nor do they scream and shot like some primate not sucking on teat. They are, however, savvy in certain areas and are quite logical in their thinking. They've also developed a rather strong pecuniary sense as evident in their refusal in lending me 10 cents.

The little blighters.

But the best part about them? They're not rude. I can tolerate to a certain extent some rudeness but when you cross the line, you will be reprimanded and admonished. Sure, there have been times where they have answered me in a brusque manner but it wasn't out of spite. It's just their character and how they have been brought up.

Growing up, I was told to say my Thank You's and to respect elders. Failing to do so would have resulted in ears being turned the opposite direction and not allowed to revert back till after dinner. My father was adamant that we were polite to others and displayed civility at all times. Any antics would be punishable by some of, well, punishment. Of course, at that time, it wasn't fun at all as I needed to project to constantly be on my best behaviour whenever Dad was around, especially if we were in the company of his fellows. But I guess all that has done a lot to me now. I open doors for women and men alike, (though, strangely enough, I never let people cross the road when I'm driving, instead I'll speed up hoping for the idiots to jump out of my way) you know. 

The working world is prime example of how diverse (and downright shitty) people can be*. You get to meet and work with people who have little to no bedside manners, are indignant in the face of work (these are usually the mofos who are constantly bitching and yammering they have so much work but are just lying custards who surf all day and are on the phone), shameless sycophantic to the bosses, and the list goes on. Why are these people the way they are? Weren't they loved? Did they get their teddybears yanked away by the school bully? Why are they such a pain in the proverbial behind? And why do they end up getting the promotion I wanted?!

People are shaped by their upbringing, no doubt about that (I've mentioned something similar to this in another post, but I'm lazy to trudge through the archives) but there are several instances that do not conform to that. I know some people who are the nicest bunch you could ever ask for with devil spawn for children. I swear, if I had a holy rotan (rattan, cane, whip, you get the point) I'd unleash it upon them, smiting them righteously while gleefully giggling. 

But that's life for you. To those who are smug and cocky and conniving and who have attained high positions through crooked means, good for you. And for those who are good and nice and polite, well, time to change!

This is Chris, signing off. Politely.

PS: I can be rude when I want to, yes sirree. But I choose not to. Because I'm nice. Provided you treat me nice.

* = At first I wanted to put college world but then I remembered that everyone in college were either trying hard to impress or trying to be the dorkiest. I succeeded in both. Quite superbly, thank you very much.

Arrows, hearts and oranges. Which of these don't match?

No long post from me. Just a simple wish of a blessed and pleasant Chinese New Year to all my friends and family. Remember to toss that yee sang higher than a tall building.

And to that special someone, Happy Valentine's Day.

Be nice.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: What? You actually thought this is going to be short post? Puh-leez! Well, the way I see it, Chinese New Year has become less about the celebration but more of an obligation. and another reason to parade one's latest Coach acquisition (by the way, Coach is becoming far too common as every Afro-haired auntie has one thus sullying its exclusivity somewhat). I see it with the rest of the major celebrations. Heck, Christmas is no longer about the birth of Christ, but how much wine and terrible fruit cake one can consume in a single dinner. Since Valentine's Day also falls on the same day as the first day of the lunar new year, it somehow has received precedence as every nook and cranny of the shopping centre I'm so fortunate to have below my work building has sprung a jewellery shop of some kind touting "Best Deals in Town!" when, really, their deals are crap. Nothing says love like a RM100,000 bracelet that looks like lint from your bellybutton.

Have a great holiday, my lovely bunions!

When mouth is quicker than mind, you're screwed.

You know that feeling you get when you've said or done something you really meant for 5 seconds but you're now regretting it?

Welcome to regret.

Most of you know that I don't believe in regrets as it makes the mind dwell on unpleasant things when you could be relaxing on the beach with bikini-clad women running up and down the beach. But sometimes I wished I never did or I should've done things in a different way. It's happened to me many a time and it will happen again.

Human behaviour is such that we cannot never fathom the true feelings of someone even if you know the person like the back of your pretty hand. It's just not possible, the most is 99% accuracy because that remaining 1% can either make it or break it.

The mind is wondrous thing, a truly mysterious and magnificent thing. But when your mouth is quicker than your mind can process thoughts, you're screwed.

This is Chris, signing off.

P.S: This post was written in one of my foul moods quite awhile ago. The event that triggered this is long forgotten. 

P.P.S: Never bottoms-up 5 glasses of red wine. Just don't.

1 down, 11 more.

The end of this month is nigh and it sure as heck couldn't come any quicker. 2010 sure has been a lacklustre year thus far, aye? Maybe it's just me. Maybe it's just you. Oh, well.

Quick recap this year: new job, new surroundings (well, I've been to the place many a time but never as an employed personnel), new faces and, of course, new expenses (!). So far, the new place has been pretty good; have learnt new things in my first 4 weeks than I did at the old place. Even made a booboo, too (try saying that fast, I dare you).

The office: it's so quiet here it's as though work makes everyone silent like a little lamb. People are generally friendly and will give you a small smile that says "yes, you're cute". Work-load is still hit-and-miss, sometimes busy, sometimes freer than a free bird. It'll take me six months or so to learn the ropes of this place fully but I hope to do it in less than time so that I can get promoted and then move on to another place, woohoo! All right, that last sentence is crazy talk but I'm sitting here in the office* wishing it was Christmas and naked Santarinas are bobbing up and down. It's also colourless; very drabby and grim hues surround me. In a nutshell, I've come here to work. Mingling is a way distant second.

The work place: not to be confused with my office place, the place where I work is terribly dull, yet another shopping centre catered to the masses. Whilst KLCC had some "soul", here in Gardens it's all plastic and sterile. But if there's one good thing is that it's a lot more convenient as I can get groceries and such at decent prices, which, as you all know gets a big smile from me.

The people: as I've said, they're friendly and generally will talk to you if you talk to them first. Team-mates are good and very helpful. But I reckon it is only for now because I'm still quite new to the environment. Also, I'm helping to mentor two new girls. They're fresh from the oven and have not worked before. Me, teacher? Why, yes!

Significant things that happened in January:

• Learnt to drive at a much slower pace than I never imagined to save on petrol cost.
• Watched a movie in a Gold class cinema. (Huhu, my wallet is thin now.)
• I've become more organised and structured in my work. (I hope.)
• I've become a mentor! (If you know me well, you would know that I am the king of analogies. I believe analogies make memorising things, especially dreary subjects, a lot easier. I just hope the two girls remember what I've said, though!)
• I'm actually looking forward to working. GASP!

What February would bring:

• More work.
• More work
• More work
• Great time with the family during Chinese New Year
• Valentine's Day special...GASP!!! More on this when it happens.

How has your January been? Good, I hope. As always, stay beautiful and see you next week!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I want a mace that can twirl twirl one!

* - Well, I started writing in the office.

Legion, Haiti and Gold Class. What do they have in common?

The line was longer than a mile-long snake. As I looked at my watch to check the time, I knew that any longer a wait will make me miss any chance of getting a good seat (or any) so I made a decision.

Gold class it is.

To be honest, I had forgotten how much the price of a single ticket was. The girl at the counter reminded me and then some. After I had booked two tickets. Come show time, me and my girl went into the cinema which could hold less than 40 people and were instantly struck by the coldness. The seats were huge and had swallowed her whole. While the movie Legion was playing I could not help but wonder, how the hell did this happen? The cost could've fed me 2 weeks worth of lunches. And to think there are people willing to pay such prices every week! Crazy! Paying such lucrative prices had its advantages, though; less idiots, zero potential for seat shaking (if it ever happens I would've flipped because there was so much leg room!) and the aforementioned comfortable seats. She and I agreed that this will be a treat and that only the "good" movies shall be enjoyed in such manner. Fun as it may sound to you and me but here we are throwing silly money when there are parts of the world fighting to survive.

We all know what has happened to Haiti and its people. Probably because every Z-list American celebrity and non-stars are shoving pleas of please help Haiti when they themselves are still shopping at Coach and Armani looking at bags that could feed an entire village for some time. Hope for Haiti sounds like a noble institution, doesn't it? It's a sham and most of the celebrities who took part in it were looking to promote their wares. Why the fuck go about on the phone asking normal people who earn normal salaries to donate their normally-earned money when you the bloody celebrity who gets an obscene amount of cash to be in front of cameras can donate more? Why don't they just shut up and donate a significant amount each? Singing won't bring food or medical aid, no, actually going there to give them such items does. The power of music  is undeniable, I stand by that statement with arms wide open, but in this case it's just a way of getting attention so that people will buy the artist's next album. By the way, pledging and will are two very different things, corporations please take note.

Legion was interesting. Well, the interesting parts were interesting but overall it was a mess. Convoluted and not well-thought out, it falls flat in delivering its, I reckon so, message that we're all fucking up this world of ours. I won't get into much detail because I'm lazy and writing film reviews should be left to this man but I'll add my 2 cents: watch this movie if you want to have a nice time and you want to forget about work. If you're looking for good-versus-evil type of intellectualism please read Nietzsche or Calvin and Hobbes.

It's funny that the people of Haiti and so many like them are thanking God that they're alive when their lives have been destroyed and turned into despair. I wonder who their dead relatives are sending their thanks to?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Old women with vampiric teeth crawling on the ceiling and spewing profanity after profanity is actually pretty darn freaky.

Men are pussies.

Sweat trickled from my face and unto the floor, creating a small puddle. The smell in the gym was musty and faintly reeked of cabbage. I had set the weight on the floor, slowly catching my breath and psyching myself for the lift. As I was about to lift the two 50-pounder dumbbells, I heard a cry. Not a cry for help, no, but a cry that sounded like a mixture of pain and a dog whimpering. I looked up, trying to locate the human who emitted the cry. I could see a small group of men surrounding this middle-aged man. He was panting, grunting and telling his friends that he could not do another repetition. But his friends would have none of that and kept urging him "one more time, champ!" A snort was let loose, a small derisive chuckle, too. With all his might, the man tried one more time and out came the loudest cry of all. Everybody stopped dead in their tracks (interestingly enough, only 3 women fell off their treadmills) and stretched their necks to see what had happened. The old man laid on his back, face buried in his hands and pleading for no more.

A downright sissy, he was!

Truth be told, men are pussies. They swagger and they holler like they're some big time charlie but when told to lift a weight they'll drop on their knees, begging for the nightmare to stop when it hasn't even begun yet! I see this all the time in the gym, the posing and the look of utter arrogance and Nike gloves protecting their baby-smooth hands from the rigours of lifting 5-pounders. It's odd to note that these must weave a tale whenever they're amongst their mates. There's this one old man in the gym that is clearly an attention whore and yelps whenever he feels a yelp is necessary. Retard.

But this self-emasculating doesn't happen in the gym, it also happens everywhere. You see guys with upturn collars and sunglasses in shopping centres and you for sure that he's a douchebag (if you're one of them and you're reading this, you're a douchebag). Inferiority complex is alive and well, my friends, and it's in the form of clumsy attire and even clumsier behaviour. Having their egos bashed in is not something jerks want to happen but once in a while a good kicking to the groin (not literal!) would shake things up a little. Especially those who pontificate or are preachy bastards with charisma only like-minded snakes can only tolerate. 

Yet, the douchebags go up in life yet the honest joes get the short end of the proverbial stick. Life's fair? Pfft, not in this plane of existence. If the Big Guy above has plans for all honest people, I would love to know.

I guess there's an ultimate plan for all of us. But I'll be damned if I don't achieve what I want.

This is Chris, signing off. 

PS: Is it just me or has this year's January been a slow month?

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 want to be the President of the United States when I grow up.

Because, seriously, after 9 months, I'm bound to get something, right? It could be an MTV award (what the heck for, anyway?), maybe I'll get a hamper consisting of healthy stuff like organic manuka honey with placenta (WTF???) and various herbs with names only people of tribal ancestry are able to enunciate it perfectly.

Or I'll could be awarded the Nobel Peace prize.

Seriously, Obama winning the Nobel Peace is like giving me the keys to the Playboy mansion. Wait, scrap that. In all honesty, when I saw the news I just went, "Heh?" and continued checking out Facebook.

C'mon, we all know he's good but is he that good? We fete him as though he was some sort of the second coming of Christ. But he still has a long way to go before any of us can call him anything but a visionary.

Alfred Nobel must be turning in his grave right now.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Then what about people who are really doing something about world peace? I can't name names but Obama is certainly no where in the top 100.

Weird and me go hand-in-hand like butter on bread. And sometimes corn.

You know, sometimes a single word is able to encompass a person's nature so well it can be quite eerily uncanny. Like, for example, George W Bush. The words idiot, dumbass, Dubya, any one of those can be used on him and people will go, "Ahhhhh. True. Pass me the mash potatoes, thanks."

I've been labelled all sorts of derogatory terms growing up and even till now I am still receiving sobriquets of all sorts. But the one title that has been a part of my structure, my being, me, has to be Weird. You can call me strange, peculiar, odd, amazingly fooking hot (to those who've watched District 9, you know what I'm talking about), Weird has and will always most likely be the first thing people will associate me with. Besides new titles such as lovable, adorable, macho, etc of course but lets save those for another post...

As some of you might know, growing up I was always the one kid who didn't seem to fit in any where. Whenever festive season came about I would be placed with my cousins and when they played I was either not invited or I acted diffidently to their (reluctant) invitations. While now I consider myself the dark horse of the family during those times, I was able to assimilate myself to any situation that presented itself so it wasn't a case of that fat kid being antisocial. As such, I've always been comfortable doing things on my own. I find it cathartic; I can eat at my own pace, walk as fast or slow as I want to, scratch my bum when an itch came about, all that can be done without having to worry about someone else beside me. I never considered myself as being a loner, and I certainly don't think that was in any way weird.

I have the tendency to spout utterly random, inane things at times. Family and friends know this fact very well; they either think I'm talking to myself or that one of my screws is loose yet again. Such things are triggered by just about anything at all; it could be a word that I can put a pun or something I've watched in cinemas and is applicable to my daily life. And if I've a friend who can help me make the nonsense even more fun, the more inane I can get. (Thanks be to Frorinder Singgins. Really.)

Waffle Girl said that all people are weird in their own way. Yes and no. They're only thought of to be weird only if they have a certain foible or idiosyncrasy that is deemed anomalous to the norm. What's normal is weird and vice versa. It's just a matter of perception and the general acceptance of what is normal that sometimes confounds people. But that's how life is: one big pile of weird.

So, the next time you call someone weird, be sure that they are weird. For all you know, you're the weird one.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Sandra Bullock is aging mightily well, no?

Just because you want it badly doesn't mean you deserve it.

Some people are spoilt rotten.

I am talking about people who want things they cannot get. And these are adults with sensible sensibilities we're talking about here. They desire things they think they want but actually they don't. Desire is confused with actual need.

I am a person who doesn't give in to temptation easily. However, when I do I end up not regretting, but rather, feel a little embarrassed. Take the new pair of working shoes I just bought. They cost me RM250. I already have another pair of shoes that cost just as much. Do I need two of them? I think so. And therein lies the problem: I think I need them. I could've just lived my life with just that initial pair but I chose to purchase the new pair on nothing more than a spur of the moment whim. This here is Desire. (But I have to say that them shoes are pretty friggin' comfortable.)

Or take one of life's most consequential yet potentially most hurtful conundrum: Relationships. It can disappoint you like no other. Be that as it may, it can be the most fulfilling and wondrous thing a person will ever experience.

I wonder how on earth can some people get together with just the snap of the fingers. Did something set off in their unconscious mind that told them, yes, lets get together! Why was it so simple for them and not others? I know one story where one party really and truly liked another with all the might in the world but each time disappointment was met as there was little to no response. (Granted, the pursuer is rather hopeless in the game thus didn't realise that maybe a little more perception would've been beneficiary to the cause, but, lets not dwell on that.) Despite all the setbacks, the person hasn't given up and gets back up each time. Any normal, sane person would've (in fact, should've) given up after the third strike. But not this person. Don't know how to give up, the person said. A veritable never-give-up attitude is strong in this one, doesn't understand the meaning of surrender.

Commendable but still rather myopic, aye?

The question this person has to answer is this: is your heart and mind the same? Are they both in synergy? Guys have a tendency to use their other head to think so getting it right is paramount. Most importantly, do you want the other person because you think you want or do you genuinely, with all your heart, know that all the pain, tears and suffering of the pursuit is all worth it?* These are questions that need to be addressed and answered otherwise there's no point in pursuing in the first place.

Last question: how do you know that the right decision isn't the wrong one? Think about it, people, do we really need what we feel we want?

I know what I need. How about you?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Am posting this early as I'll be off on official work-related holiday. Whatever that means. Have a nice weekend, everyone!

* - The answer may surprise a lot of people. Maybe it won't.