Supernova are Superstupid

Firstly I have to congratulate Magni for delivering outstanding performances every week. He was by far the most old-school of them all and it showed in his overall outlook. Toby, I love his original song and some of the renditions that he did. I just dislike his nasally voice and honestly, he wouldn’t have suited them anyway. Dilana was a disappointment and that’s all I can say.

Lukas is one of the most conceited human beings to ever wield a microphone. There’s no denying that the diminutive Canadian has talent to a certain degree (he has after all, hoodwinked Supernova and the people who voted for him. That’s talent) but his arrogance coupled with the fact that he has the eloquence of a child in need of a massive smack to the face just makes me pissed. I’m also sad because people are equating that attitude and having a certain look is what makes rock stars. Sad people you all are. Just look at all the women who clamour about stage, they have the look that they just want to get laid by Tommy Lee who by the way acted like he had difficulty in coming up with meaningful comments thus resorted to the old and tired phrase of “You’re so awesome”. Thank God it’s all over now. Gilby surprised me. I have never heard his name prior to this. Of course the mere mention of Guns & Roses only conjures two names, Slash and Axl Rose, so it’s not surprising that he isn’t as famous. I would have thought that him being more on the old-school wagon he would have dismissed the fag that is Lukas who is about as rock as Click Five. Clearly I was mistaken. Of all the contestants, Lukas is the only one who did not improve. He obstinately continued with his singing style even though you can hardly call it singing in the first place.

Lukas is in essence, an emo singer rather than a rocker. He has the look, the sound and the lyrics for it. Besides Kiss, makeup in rock is just plain silly. Eye-liner is not rock. Wearing sparkly clothes is not rock. Singing like a constipated person who badly needs a dump is not rock. Lukas IS NOT rock.

I believe it was Tommy Lee’s decision to have Lukas. If you recall back the earlier shows, he was on Lukas’s side right from the start. Only Newsted had proper ears. But I have to say that it was the “fans” that are to be blamed. It was their votes that kept him in the top most of the time when it was evident that he was nothing but a poser. Again, it was looks and the illusion that Lukas brought the rock that won him the gig. Goes to show what the state of rock is right now which is downright pathetic and saddening. To the people who voted for that scum, thank you all for being such witless “rockers”!

Clearly Supernova chose that shit for a simple reason: they think he might be able to push sales of their soon-to-be shitty album. I for one have lost respect for them. I’m even disappointed in Jason. He should have continued to jibe Lukas for singing like a frog with a throat infection. Maybe, just maybe, the outcome would have been different.

So cheers to them, they’re one less band to like now. Supernova’s gain is certainly their lost.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: This diatribe was brought to you with liberal doses of reality and old-school rock.

Let’s watch some TV!

So there I was on my plastic yet comfy Ikea chair, wielding the remote control like a light sabre, changing channels like I was about to slash an imbecile into two when I stopped at the Discovery Channel. The topic: HOT ANIMAL SEX. Hoo yeah!

Seriously speaking, the idiot box is currently undergoing its biggest revolution and it’s called “Good Shows That Do Not Suck Like Seinfeld”. C’mon, I don’t get people and their fascination with the bland, whiny, and smarmy Jerry Seinfeld. The guy with the frizzy hair and incontinent-ish body movements is a hell lot funnier than him. The fat guy with the lowest self-esteem in the world is funnier than him while the woman with the frizzy hair is just forgettable. And guess what? Astro* is showing it till the end of the friggin’ year! Argh! Anyhow, this post isn’t a diatribe about some 90’s comedy, it’s about the shows that are currently shown on terrestrial television.

I present to you, Chris’s Favourite Non-Astro Shows.

First up, My Name is Earl. This show is so funny. It’s about this contemptible yet lovable buffoon Earl played to perfection by Jason Lee, who won the lottery but after a few minutes was hit by a car and loses the ticket. It was at this point in time that he saw an episode of Carson Daly’s talk show talking about karma. He then writes a whole list of bad things he’s done in the past and is going to correct all of them. Being a big believer in karma I fell in love with the show instantly. Its satire is so ludicrous that it makes sense. It’s so over the top that it stays grounded in reality. It’s like a morals class, what goes around comes around. And by the way, that Latina lady is so hot she made my nachos sizzle (That was very bad with a capital D).

Next up is Bones. My Friday nights used to be terrible. Shows were terrible and I didn’t really want to watch yet another repeat of World’s Most Amazing Videos. So when this show finally arrived on our shores, I was glad that my Fridays won’t be crappy anymore. I like Emily Deschanel. I like the way she delivers her lines, it is devoid of any emotion and is spoken entirely as matter of fact. Though I have to say that I prefer her sister’s (the girl from Elf, the only Will Ferrell movie I like) rather deliberate and eccentric way of acting (and unconventional looks too). I’m being picky so bah. The repartee between her and former evil turned sappy Barry Manilow lovin’ vampire is quite fun. I for one do not want to see them getting together. Remember when Niles got together with Daphne? Disastrous. Or when Mulder and Scully decided to do it after chasing their 53684184th alien? File that under BAD!

And last but certainly not least, Ghost Whisperer. Inane title aside, there are only 2 reasons why any sane, very straight guy would ever watch this show. Firstly, Jennifer Love Hewitt. Ridiculous and bloody hideous hairstyle aside it’s still Jennifer Love Hewitt. Secondly, Jennifer Love Hewitt’s décolletage and they way in which she helps ghosts while wearing gravity defying, boob jiggling tops. If I was the husband, I’d have to administer CPR to myself whenever those jugs pass me by. The show however is hopeless and repetitious. Thank you to those for creating Medium, while not as sexy as the aforementioned Ghost Whisperer, it’s a lot darker and actually quite creepy. That Arquette lady has the same horrendous hairstyle as Hewitt though. Sigh, bad taste is contagious. (Ghost Whisperer has finished its run here in Malaysia. I can’t wait for the second season! Honest! Pigs do fly!)

So there you have it. Some of my favourite shows that most people won’t watch because they’re stuck watching yet another lame reality programme. Anyhow, I’m off to watch this little show called Arrested Development. Hopefully I’ll be able to do the chicken dance soon. Till then, happy couch potato-ing!

Chris is signing off. For now…

* = Astro is the country’s leading cable operator. They suck massive donkey balls.

PS: I prefer to watch a good TV show than go to a noisy club and party with people I don’t know.

Of revelations and apparent dorkiness

It was an evening of miscommunication and forgetfulness. It started off all right, my friend—let’s call him Tall Dude—said he could be there early. He wasn’t. When asked where the other friend is, Tall Dude lets loose a choked laugh so loud it was actually heard by a school of one-eyed fish off the Straits of Malacca. Other friend turned out to be in another shopping mall. Whee. Yet another friend, Noraa, is on his way so there was no reason whatsoever we could miss him. So Tall Dude SMSes other shopping mall friend, Rowan, that we’ll be in Coffee Bean. Unfortunately Tall Dude forgot to say which shopping mall. Another round of apologies and I’ll-pay-for-your-frap later, 5 guys (I came with a friend, Irwin) finally got together and had a chat. From our proposed meeting of 7.30 p.m. I checked my watch and saw that it was 8.30 p.m.

And if you women are still wondering whether or not us males gossip, I solemnly swear that yes, we do gossip. It’s just that we tend to call it “topics for conversations that might leave us shocked, surprised, disgusted, happy, angry or whatever”. So imagine the shock and disbelief on the faces of the 4 other guys when Noraa said that one of our old college buddies—let’s call him Fish Head—is actually a womaniser. Or to pimp it further, Playah. This is the same guy that collects life-size Transformers toys that have to be shipped back to Malaysia from Hong Kong because his suitcase couldn’t fit. But then again his suitcase was already filled with smaller Transformers toys to begin with. Oh, and he already has a girlfriend back in his hometown. They’ve been together for 2 years now if I remember correctly. Funny how time makes the balls hornier.

We then started to dissect the information. How could this still immature, imbecilic and not very handsome (like the 5 of us resembled Adonis) punk could end up getting more action than most guys. After a lengthy discussion where I snorted my drink twice in a row, and many curses later, we came to the conclusion that he is one Big-time Fucker. Not so much of the fact that he is able to pick up girls, but rather the fact that girls actually think he’s worth the effort. To further boil our innards he goes after the young ones, 18 to 19. These young and naïve girls are idolising him! This punk who got so drunk at my birthday party I had to drag his ass to the toilet otherwise he would have peed on the pavement with his pants on. I may not look like much but at least my dorkiness isn’t as apparent as Fish Head’s. Is this a case of “some guys have all the luck” or have girls around the world find immaturity and childishness a turn-on?

At one birthday party held on the same week, there were some interesting revelations. Again the subject of banging the hot chick came about. Of course I couldn’t relate to them so I just smiled and dropped a comment or two. Most of the guys there were talking about how horny some chicks were or that one chick actually thought that they were the Messiahs of Pleasurable Intercourse. And there I was thinking about which book I was going to read later when I get back. Life can be pretty funny at times.

I am a one woman kind of guy. I expect the same from my future partner. My loyalty towards her is the one thing I can safely guarantee (but then again, if Jessica Alba were to ask me to dump her I’d do it. Tee hee. ). Personally I think that it’s okay to flirt albeit mildly when you’re in a relationship. Heck I wouldn’t even mind if she hangs out with some of my guy friends. I just need to know who the bugger is and all other necessary details (but then again I might just go ballistic and murder my friend, I’ll let you guys know when that time comes). I’ve said once and I’ve said it a million times, a relationship is about trust, respect, communication and love. Without them it is merely to get into each other’s pants.

I may be too straight. I may even be considered a monk (minus the colourful prayer beads). You can call me old-fashioned and prudent but I’ll take that any time. I don’t mind. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to finish reading a very informative book. It’s entitled “How to Pick Up Girls Using Transformers”.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: Fish Head, if you’re reading this, no offence dude. I still love you. But damnit, you’re one fucking asshole.

Donate lor

An old woman sleeps on the cold steel. People pass by her with pity on their faces but continue walking on. A man who has lost both his legs pleads to the passers-by for a small token. Children with smudged cheeks and frizzed hair ask you if you want to buy tissue paper. A barefoot monk comes up to you, silently, he holds up colourful beads and is hoping that you buy a few. You say no in the coldest voice you never knew you had and he walks away, sighing, hoping that the next person he asks won’t be as cruel as you were.

Those are some of the scenes you can see whenever you go out to the city. It is terribly saddening to see such things, especially for a tourist, because even though we are on our way to being a developed country, penury still exists despite efforts to put an end to it. It makes you wonder what happened to these people. Where was the love?

People with their expensive mobile phones and chic jeans just don’t give a damn. Women with their fake tans and eyebrows pull at their boyfriend’s sleeve because she saw a pretty dress that costs as much as feeding an entire village in some remote mountainous area in Pahang. Businessmen with their tailor-made suits from Italy and heavy metal briefcases are not worried that some poor old man with crutches isn’t going to eat his dinner tonight. They’re more worried that the stock market might plunge into more uncertainty or worse, chaos, thus costing them a chance to buy another Porsche they’ve been eyeing.

If we say we are a caring society then where’s the proof? A politician who helps the people by planting trees at a new housing area does not count as “helping out”, mind. It’s just a publicity stunt so that he can use the fame to buy another condo at some upmarket establishment. Funny, no?

This may come across as a bit heartless but I become cold and stern whenever I encounter mendicants. It’s not that I want to be callous but ever since there have been reports debating the authenticity of such people my donating hand rarely comes out now. I give them a look of sympathy, smile faintly, say sorry and walk away.

Every single day in the newspapers you read about people being abandoned; fathers abusing their children and wives, grandmothers and grandfathers fending for themselves because of their ungrateful children who have left them in the lurch. But do WE do anything? Once in a while you’ll read about someone donating a large of money or helping some of these poor souls find a new home. What have we become? Why are we not doing more? And why is it that politicians are still making empty promises and the consequences of their lies are being made to suffer by the people they “wanted to help”?

They say that donating even the smallest amount could mean a world of a difference. I can safely say that I’ve done my fair share of donating though I try to avoid doing so. I’m not proud saying it but at least I’m honest about it. But rest assured as I gain a foothold in this world, I’ll be there lending my hands, legs and brain to make things better. I promise (If I do renege on my words, you people have licence to shoot me in the butt).

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: To the girl who came up to me for donation and said “Don’t look at me like that la. You’re scaring me.” I sincerely apologize but I was eating an awfully made egg sandwich.

Aiyah, I know the ending already lor!

Damnit.

You queue for ages. You buy yourself some popcorn and a soft drink. You’re a bit early. You need to pee. You wash then dry yourself. People are jostling to get in to the somewhat lit hall. It’s rather packed. The chairs smell a little. The odour is familiar, in a bad way. You’re reminded of sweat that’s been left to dry in the blazing sun. When you sit, the chair creaks under your weight even though you know for a fact that you had shed some weight. The cup holder is broken. You sigh, hold your cup, and then check to see if you’ve silenced your mobile phone. It’s almost the maximum volume. You decide that for 2 hours, you don’t want to be disturbed and turn it off. After obligatory advertisements of tampons and various beer companies all extolling the virtues of drinking fermented wheat you now are staring at a giant chicken breast that’s piping hot from the oven. A sudden craving develops. Maybe you’ll get a quick bite later after the show. Then, the lights go down. Slowly, and gently, the hall darkens until the only thing you can see is the green sign with the word ‘KELUAR’. Finally, the show is about to begin. Darn, you knew that you should’ve ordered a large pack of popcorn. Oh well, on to the show.

Suddenly, as the reel starts to unravel the scene, you hear faintly but surely a sound. In the darkness, your ears pick up every single note then it stops. A voice suddenly utters, “HALLO! I in the cinema la! I watching movie ler. Aiya call you later la. Ah, BYE!”

Watching a movie in Malaysian theatres is like predicting the traffic on the Federal Highway. You never know what you’re going to get. If you’re lucky, you’ll get to watch the movie without hiccups or any disturbances. But we all know that’s some fairy tale just like how ‘efficient’ RapidKL is at off-peak hours. So let’s start by analyzing the kind of moviegoer one can expect to encounter (only) here in Malaysia:

• The ‘idiot who conveniently forgets to turn on silent mode and instead treats us to an annoying ring tone when the show starts to get really good’. What happen to common sense? Heck, what happened to having any sense in that stupid head? These people should be shot.
• The ‘idiot who keeps eating and eating and eating’. If you want to know why popcorn is named such, sit next to a dude who ordered a large pack of it.
• The ‘idiot who talks real loud during real quiet moments to explain the storyline in one of the local dialects’. I remember watching The Chronicles of Narnia when suddenly from the back I could hear an old woman explaining what had happened to her family. It was in Cantonese. It was loud. It was so loud that she drowned some parts of the dialogue to explain to her obviously not bright child what was going on. I wanted to rip her throat. But since I didn’t want to go prison and be called Ah Moi, I opted for the equally brutal option of “Shut up la!” It didn’t work.
• The ‘idiot who has some form of Alzheimer’s in his legs’. Stop the leg masturbation! I know that seeing a giant décolletage shot of Angelina Jolie is driving you insane but that doesn’t mean you can shake your legs to stifle the primal urges.
• The ‘couple who seem to be more interested in exploring each other rather than watching a good movie’. I know the two of you are in love and bla bla but could you keep the lovey lovey to a minimum? It’s okay to lean on your partner or cuddle each other, but for the sake of decency, stop doing more than that when I’m beside you two!

Watching a movie to me is something that doesn’t mean you’re watching it by yourself. What’s the point of watching a movie if you’re going to be asking questions every so often or worse, not give a damn about the other patrons who clearly understand the scenes that are unfolding right in front of your eyes? Why do you even bother watching when all you want to do is chat?

Some people are just plain idiots.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: Stop munching popcorn with your mouth bloody wide open la!

Censorship: A necessary evil or the righteous path to uprightness?

Just the other day as I was walking in a crowded shopping mall, I saw a bunch of school children in a corner. They were no more than 13 years old and wearing ridiculously made-for-adults clothes. There was laughter and jokes and they looked as though they couldn’t even tell the difference between a goat and a lamb. They reminded me of my days when I was their age. I didn’t care about petrol prices, escalating prices of lattes at Starbucks nor did I know that The Da Vinci Code was actually fiction.

But then again, I don’t remember using the F-word, C-word, or P-word when describing my day at school. I was initially shocked but not really surprised to hear this pretty girl uttering so many foul words when talking to her friends. And she wasn’t even trying to hush it up a little, it was loud enough that its echoes actually travelled to another shopping mall.

It seems that it is fashionable or the ‘in thing’ to call one another “bitch” when you’re 11 and UPSR is only a year away. I was still using “Babi (Pig in Bahasa Melayu) and I thought I was as vulgar as can be.

So the big question is of course, how did they come to learn such words? The ‘who’ doesn’t really matter since you can still be taught to cuss and swear in a remote island of the coast of Johor (Singapore, naturally, denies this). I highly doubt that their English teacher has been teaching them inappropriate content during Grammar lessons, I can tell you that because I would have known.

I remember buying a Pantera CD which I was thoroughly enjoying it and I was just about to headbang when a bleep—which lasted less than a nanosecond—stopped me in my tracks. For crying out loud, there’s no way a Hilary Duff fan is going to listen to this and start learning words he or she doesn’t already know. Just listen to any rap album these days and you’d have to bleep the entire thing. Heck, rap CDs should be covered with a giant sticker that reads, “PARENTS, YOUR CHILD IS ABOUT TO LISTEN TO SOME REALLY INTERESTING STUFF HERE. (HEHE) HAVE A NICE DAY.”

Hypocrisy and double standards are lovely things.

It used to be the obvious that gets censored but even “Hell” and “Damnit” are considered to be insidious to the ears of our young and highly impressionable children. It’s so silly to think that by bleeping out the aforesaid words that our children will be spared by the “evil” of it. The minute they step out of the house and into the shopping mall chances are they’ll be rattling off cuss word after cuss word without so much as batting an eyelid.

And what about a peck on the cheek? That’s acceptable as long as there’s no tongue licking the side of the face. Hugging is all right only if they do it briefly. Any longer than 3 seconds is deemed inappropriate and is punishable by watching Sesame Street for the rest of your life. Showing affection to your loved ones is a bad, bad thing here apparently.

I really believe education is the key to the ultimate door of maturity. By keeping it under lock and key (pun intended), you’re merely halting the inevitable. For crying out loud, children as young as 8 know what MSN Messenger is all about and they chat about things I only knew when I was 14 (and I thought I was so cool back then). So maybe it’s time that WE grow up first before we tell our children to act like us.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: “Don’t forget, naughty children will go to Hell. Hahahaha!”

You guys should use that line, it’ll make ANY kid polite and all. And of course, mortally afraid of you.

Oh well… NEXT!

All right people, settle down. Never believe the rumours. Yes, no matter how plausible it all may sound, they’re just rumours. I wasn’t abducted by aliens from the planet Oldskoolrock. Neither was I kidnapped by the reformed Malaysian Mafia led by Rempit Lord, Mat Motorakukenahentamolehseekorkucing. You could say I was detained for awhile. Not by the police. Not by any clandestine cult that wants to rid the world of rappers (damn I wish they existed). And certainly NOT by a rabid girl who’s been stalking me ever since this blog came out (L).

I was detained by me.

Hehehe. Okay okay, I apologize for the rather silly suspense driven drivel.

Honestly speaking, I’ve just resigned my position as Imaginative Provision Administrator*. (I’m paranoid. Sorry.)

Yes, after almost 2 months of going to work at 9-ish and coming back at about 9-ish, I’ve decided that the life of an imaginative person isn’t what I thought I could cut my teeth into. I did a few events; some big, some small but all not really hitting the mark of excellence I had set upon myself. Truth be told, I didn’t really expect big things. I went in, tried my luck, didn’t make much of an impact, realized it, they realized it, and out I went.

I had a blast and the knowledge gained certainly has made me wiser and more experienced. The only thing I want to do now is to actually attend events rather than trying to manage them. Some things should be left to the experts.

So as the last day of my work was slowly about to come, I became severely uncomfortable. Damn, now I wish I had done a better job, I thought. But a more realistic side of me said, LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!

I’m quite the emotional especially when it comes to ‘endings’. I don’t cry for macho’s sake but I do feel sad whenever I have to say “Goodbye” especially to the people who’ve been kind and extremely patient with me. I made mistakes and learned from them though I still committed the same ones due to the pressure.

Before I could officially leave, I had to sign a few papers saying I won’t do this yadda yadda, I won’t do that yadda yadda. Once that was done, I looked around the office one last time and walked out. As soon as I stepped out the door, I felt my whole body became lighter and that the air was somewhat fresher, more invigorating. It was literally catharsis. And I must say that I’ve had a blast. I feel like I’m ready for almost anything.

I’m currently jobless and loving every single second of it. But I know that all good things must come to an end. I’m in the midst of plotting my next move. It’ll be dastardly sinister. It’ll be something that will people talking about it for years to come. I just wish I knew what it was I’m going to do.

So until the next time, take care all you beautiful people (yes, YOU) and keep tuning in to this page, I’ll be back…

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: * = obviously this isn’t the real title but if you copy this blog post and paste it to Word, use the thesaurus function and from the list I’m sure can figure out the exact title. I have faith in you.

Drivin' Mr. Chris

Okay… here goes. (Takes a deep breath) I hate driving. I hate Malaysian drivers. I hate the road transport system. I hate traffic jams. I hate people who brake for no reason. I hate people who do not use their indicators. I hate people who think their steering wheel is a toy thus swerving it from right to left, to one lane to another because it’s fun to see me scream and swerving my own car from right to left, to one lane to another. But most of all, I HATE DRIVING!!! (Didn’t I mention that earlier?)

Phew…

All righty then. Looks like I’ve finally got that out of my system. I’ve refrained from making a blog post regarding the ever popular Malaysian folk story that is the Chronicles of Malaysian Driving: The Idiots, Idiots and Idiots. Every Mamat, Muthu, Mee, has given their 1 cent on the subject matter. Mostly it’s all a rehash of someone’s story. I’ve read articles from women who think men are idiots while the men think the women folk should not drive at all. Look, I could not care less if the driver is a Datuk or a woman in labour, bad driving IS bad driving.

Naturally my views at first on women drivers skewed towards as inferior to us males. But now it is not so. Both genders are now equal in overall terribleness.

But now it seems a new trend one has emerged, one that is so insidious in its implications that I fear it will become true in a few years’ time… men driving worse than women. It’s an alarming trend no doubt, one that blows louder than any air horn ever invented. I’ve seen men do things with their steering wheel that has left confounded and disappointed in the male species, even my mother drives than better them (and that is saying a FRIGGIN’ LOT).

I would rate myself as an “OK La” driver. I go fast occasionally (pffft). I cut lanes yes but I know when and where to do it. Some men nowadays just don’t know how to use the steering wheels now. Women drivers on the other hand, are the worst on the road yet the best when caught in a deadlock. I’ve never seen a woman use her steering wheel as a weapon of mass frustration. Old men in particular have an affinity to drift to other lanes of which most of the times happen to be the one I’m in. And what’s with the parking these days? I’m absolutely crap at parking but the angles some drivers leave their car just leave me perplexed.

I’m terrified of driving in the parking bay of shopping malls. Many a time I become disoriented and mightily pissed because some people think it is okie dokey to go 100 km/h. For goodness sake people, Hello! You’re in a bloody parking lot! What’s the rush of driving at breakneck speeds? And is it possible for the parking authorities to put up the NO ENTRY signs before I enter them by mistake?

We are blessed to have a road system that is one of the best in the world. The facilities are top notch and of world standard, we have the technology to keep it running optimally, the means to maintain the integrity and all but we tend to miss the turning because the sign post was blocked by a tree.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: I’d KILL to even touch a Bugatti Veyron let alone drive one. Preferably on the Autobahn in Germany. OMFG.

22 Hours

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

So what made me stay up for 22 hours?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I know I am.

Chris is signing off. For now…

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

Rockstar: Supernova = SuperBLEH

Oh my. Oh my dear, dear Rock Gods. The ignominy of having self professed 'Rockers' butchering, maiming and ultimately shaming, the purity that is Rock. Never have I heard such horrid vocals. The first Rockstar was rock solid (pun so intended). It had the likes of Jordis, Ty, Deanna (the most rocking babe of them all) and of course, Marty Casey and JD Fortune who took the show to whole new heights.

Performance after performance, I cringed and sighed and wished that someone, anybody, would save me from my aural hell. Thankfully, came this South African hobbit chick, Dilana, who saved me from the assault of mediocrity. Her rendition of that Nirvana song left me smiling and wiping a tear because it was so darn good. Then came the other hobbit chick, me forgets the name, but she was as equally good as the South African, though with much better *ahem* merchandise. ALL the men were abysmal save for one who sounded like a slightly less nasally Gavin DeGraw. And even then that wasn't 'real' rock.

And what about Supernova themselves? I don't care about the guitarist even though he was in the monstrous machine that was Guns & Roses while Tommy Lee looks like an old man trying to look young. Jason Newsted who in my opinion, is the most criminally underrated bassist in metal and rock today, is erratic in his comments and is strangely rather restrained here. Dave Navarro is of course, the prettiest man to ever exist. Brooke Burke is as interesting as mint molasses still provides the eye candy.

I for one, really and sincerely hope that this boring and disappointing line-up will surprise me. Because if they don't, I'll be forced to watch GASP! Rock Unite!

Chris is signing off. For now...

PS: I really like that Storm Large (yes, it's her real name). She's pretty and has pipes to go with it though it was one dimensional. Ah ha.

Pressure, what pressure?

Tonight’s the night. It’s do or die. It’s 4 friggin’ a.m. Eyes are watery and tired from staring at the computer screen. Another 3 minutes and I’ve set a new personal record of 10 hours straight staring at the dang monitor. Just one more line. Just one more adjustment.... here…

Just… one… more…

Phew, how I so not miss that. The long hours, the coffee consumed could have wiped out the entire stock of Starbucks, the stale perspiration and depravation of anything that is sane. That’s how college life treats you. You’re studying for something that you may not even remember after you have submitted the hard-copy at precisely 6:59 p.m., just before the 7 p.m. submission time.

I for one haven’t been pressured till I wanted to explode. There were times when I was about to reach that level but thankfully it never did come true. I don’t know whether it was because of my nature to start things early or was it just plain me, but I managed to do things without putting off till the last minute. Well, almost.

Funnily enough when the last minute does arrive, my world does a 180 and I’ll become nutty. Not like deranged nutty and I want to kill rabbits but more of a guy who has lost hope in all things that are pure and good.

So, do I work well under pressure? I can’t really say for sure but it’s a given that my work ethics is that of a workhorse. I’ll slog and slog till the very last minute until I know for a fact that I’ve managed to produce a volume of work that satisfies me.

But does that make me hardworking? Or better yet, a workaholic? Maybe it’s in my blood, my parents are the kind that once they’ve set their minds then that’s that. No amount of threats to their hair will make them budge. And I’ve inherited some of it. Some being that I know when to go all the way and when just to stop otherwise I’d be frothing at the mouth.

It’s been 3 weeks into my first real job and I have to say, it’s been quite the experience. Thankfully this job comes with great people, something I’m sort of good at (creative writing though is it any good, I’ll leave it to my boss to decide) and my office is like 10 minutes away from home.

Ahh, who could ask for more?

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: I hope Germany wins! Bummeln Sie weg von Ihnen Italiener!

Service with a smile? Pfft. It’s a myth I tell you.

As I was walking into my favourite coffeehouse, I was greeted by the pretty employee with her hair tied up neatly and on her head was a cap slightly bigger than her body. For a moment I thought she was the most beautiful creature ever. I was immediately taken aback, her smile and that voice of hers when she said sublimely, “Hello Sir! May I take your order?” left me enthralled. For the first time in my life someone actually called me “Sir” even though I was obviously a pugnacious and unscrupulous looking boy of 17. I’m now 22 and I still look pugnacious and unscrupulous as ever. Heck I still find it odd when someone calls me “Sir”.

Walk into anywhere these days and you’ll be greeted with pleasant salutations, sometimes it’ll come from all four corners of the world that it can be quite giddying if you’ve been accustomed to solemn stares and unhappy mutterings of “Hello”. What has been the norm in western countries is now becoming something of great significance here.

Of course, I’ve had my fair share of ignominy from supposed customer service. For some strange reason I’ve been given the cold shoulder many a time just because I was dressed like a tauke (minus the singlet and the unbelievably tight shorts). I didn’t display my armpit hair to them. I wasn’t rude to them in any way. Since they equate three-quarter pants and a plain tee as a country bumpkin, they took to treat me with 3rd rate service. Without the smile naturally. It’s not that I want to be treated like a king but I sure as heck don’t want to be treated like a court jester either.

I know there are customers from Hell. I wholeheartedly agree that these people should be given a lesson in humility and learn to eat humble pie as part of their daily diet. Of course the moment when a tourist comes in through the door, every one drops what they’re holding and blitzes to help him. All one can make out from the hubbub is the happy faces and the loud boisterous belly laughs reverberating as our people treat the tourist like he was the saviour of mankind. All of this fawning for them foreigners is commonplace and so is the snubbing the minute they see a fellow countryman.

What irks me so much is that people tend to associate customer service with saying “Thank You”, “Please come again!” etc. This is utter bollocks. I remember once I was kept waiting for my order that in the end I didn’t have the strength (or the pissed-offness) left to complain. Not because I wasn’t thoroughly satisfied with the service itself, but it was more of the attitude and the way in which I was treated. But when I was down south, I was profusely apologised to even though I had only waited for about a minute or so.

It’s so easy to compare each other but it’s so hard to acknowledge the imperfections.

I for one don’t see a renaissance for Malaysian customer service. Not in the near future that is or during my lifetime. It ultimately boils down to education. Not from the teachers in school but from the parents. If the parents do not teach their children to say “Thank You” and “Please” the minute that they are able to speak then no amount of common sense in that child will make them say it when they’re older.

Being polite doesn’t mean shit if you’re not polite in the first place.

Chris is signing off. For now la, haiya…

PS: I don’t expect to be treated like royalty but it’ll be nice once in a while. After all, the customer is always right.

Life is like a box of chilies. It gets hotter and hotter.

All right, as most of you already know, I’ve put my bumming days behind me and am in the world where men and women make important decisions everyday. Most do it for the love of the money. Others do it for the love of the game.

I do it because I don’t know what the hell I want to do.

Well, not exactly don’t know as opposed to not sure. Right now I wish I was back home; playing Baldur’s Gate 2 and listening to Marc Antoine (oh my he rules). But I can’t. I can’t because I’ve signed on a piece of paper saying I’m an Imaginative Service Administrator* (formerly Imaginative Author*) for an occasion administration^ (^ = you can never be too careful, especially in the working world) company. I’m being paid to do something I like yet not fully understanding the ropes and what it’s all about. This is all due to the fact that this is my:

1. first ‘real’ job (as some of you know, I was trained for a bit to sell land(which is another blog entry altogether))
2. first week on the job

So forgive me if I do anything wrong. I’m not going to blame neither my age nor my puny intelligence for the mistakes I’ve committed and future ones. The blame belongs to my inexperience. After all, no one goes in their first job knowing everything.

Well the big question is of course, what’s an IT graduate doing in an event management company as their Imaginative Service Administrator? The answer is really simple; because I answered their ad for the position, went for an interview, did something for them to see whether or not I’m worthy, and went to another interview and voila! I’m sitting at my desk at 9 a.m. and go home at around 8 p.m. And that’s on a good day.

Since I’m normally drained of energy (and life ugh) whenever I come back from work, the last thing I want to do is look at another computer screen trying my very best to come up with another creative work, I’ve decided to make Sunday my “Must Write a Blog Entry” day. As well as “Must Do 12 Pushups” day. And not forgetting “Must Catch Up on Shows I Didn’t Get to Watch” day.

Sigh, I miss being responsibly irresponsible.

So give me some time to truly digest all this. I’m still from college and boy do I miss it so. The good and bad. The hard and easy times. The girls.

After all, the money will do nicely as a treat mechanism aye?

Chris signing off. For now…

PS: Hey guys, if any of you are free, come to me office la. I miss you all.

* = obviously the actual title has been given another name to protect me just in case any slanderous comments crop up and I might get summoned to court. Which is not good to say the least.

I'm bringing home the cake

Ah, to be young and care-free. To be able to spend money and not worry.

Those days are long gone for me. As some of you have known, I have joined the rat race that is called Working Life. It's pretty good, which is surprising considering the job and its requirements. Suffice to say, I'm going to be tired out of my sweet bum but the experience of it will leave me feeling all good inside. I hope.

O right, I've been given the evil eye of Do Your Bloody Work Now or Die By a Thousand Spoons Death! by my dear boss. Take care y'all.

Chris is signing off. For now...

PS: I won't belanja any of you.

X-cited no more

I remember watching the cartoon version religiously. After all, which kid could pass up a cartoon based on the comic book of comicdom? And when news came that a movie adaptation was in the works, I was more excited than a pair of frisky goldfish that after 5 seconds of swimming forgot to be frisky. Why, it's X Men of course. And here's my crappy review of the latest and final instalment of the series.

Seeing actors like Hugh Jackman @ “I have really big muscles”, Ian McKellen @ “Frodo! Stop looking under my cloak!” and Patrick Stewart @ “Stop calling me Jean Luc!” bringing the characters to life on the big screen was simply magical. Both the aforementioned English thespians delivered the goods and more. Halle Barry @ “I wish I was never in Catwoman” proves once again why I don’t like her. She’s pretty and sexy, no problems there but her acting just doesn’t seem to justify her status or her Oscar award. Her thin African accent in the first movie was hopeless and it’s now completely gone (Arnold’s been in America for over 20 years and he stills pronounces California like he was a barmy Austrian). Kelsey Grammer @ “I’m not Frasier anymore!” looks like he’s having a blast as everyone’s favourite blue fur ball, Beast, and it shows in his scenes. Famke Janssen @ “I kill with my thighs” looks a tad haggard here but her mile long legs are still drop dead gorgeous. But the show really belongs to Jackman. I would liked to have seen more emotion either than ‘extremely pissed’ and ‘very sad’ but he managed to keep the whole thing albeit barely.

I don’t really blame the actors for the lack of soul. The script is riddled with hokey lines and an uninspiring plot. It’s like Coke and Pepsi fighting each other but before the real fight begins they’ve both run out of gas. Here’s hoping the Wolverine spin-off will be much, much better.

And there’s Tom Cruise’s money maker, Mission Impossible III. I went it with no expectations whatsoever and I’m glad to report that I came out thoroughly bored and pissed. Yay! The trademark JJ Abrams storytelling technique really suits Tom’s burning desire to be in every frame. As we all know, Mr Abrams enjoys having a motley crew of highly individualistic and spirited merry men. But Mr Cruise must have vetoed and asked that the rest serve as fanboys and cheerleaders while he goes about trampling China’s rooftops. You’re not even bothered to remember their names. The actress playing the wife is pretty and enjoys helping people and wants to have hot sex with her hubby in the medicine closet. The big black guy provides the laughs by being the big black guy. The Irish boy looks like he still couldn’t believe it that he’s in a very expensive film (think boy in candy store the size of a football field). There’s the Asian chick that is so skinny, Mr Cruise’s grin actually weighs more. There’s the dude from the Matrix who is basically Morpheus without the happy blue pill (or was it red?). Finally and certainly least, the overweight villain who’s completely wasted here and who doesn’t even get to die an exciting death.

I guess I’ll just have to watch V for Vendetta again for something that actually is good.

Chris is signing off. For now….
PS: This blog will self-destru… BAH!

5 things you think you know about me

All right, I’ve run out of topics to write. My brain has for some strange reason been put on ‘Temporarily Out of Stuff to Write’. Therefore, since I can’t really think of anything to comment, I might as well write about things that I know very intimately.

After all, this is my blog.

So I present to you, the 5 things you think you know about me and the truth behind it all.

1. People think I’m mean and violent.
It’s the face. It has to be it. The non-existent smile. The eyes that could rip a bear into two. The stone face I put on when I don’t want people disturb me (especially sales people). I like my fair share of violence but only in the movies and games. I don’t really bash kids you know.

2. People think I only listen to metal and rock.
Look, I can listen to metal and rock the whole day. I’ve been doing so for the past 8 years. But that doesn’t mean I’m totally ignorant to other genres. In fact, I can identify songs and artistes way better than some of my friends who claim to listen or in the know. Pffft.

3. People think I’m the supreme master of the English language.
I do admit that my command of the language is above average to say the least, but that doesn’t mean I know the meaning to every single word. I recognize a lot of words but their meaning eludes me most of the time so much so that even after repeated checks with the trusted dictionary, I’ll forget in seconds. To those who understood completely all the V’s that were spouted in V for Vendetta, I bow to thee.

4. People think I can eat like a bloody pig (or cow for a kosher version).
I may have the physicality of a bear but that doesn’t mean that my stomach is able to hold 3 persons’ worth of food. Take for example the genial old lady at my college’s canteen. It’s like she thinks I’m lying whenever I ask her to lessen the amount of rice she puts on my plate. It could have fed a whole village in Western Vietnam for crying out loud!

5. People tend to think I joke a lot.
When I’m sad, people will question me to no end as to why I am in such a predicament. Or when I get mad and angry people tend to think that I’m having man-period. Look here buddy, comedians and jokers can be the most serious people in the world simply because we’re also human. The funny bone can’t be tickled all the time you know.

And as a bonus, I present to you another thing you think you know about me.

6. I’m afraid of stairs, ladders and escalators.
I always like to walk as though I am the ultimate ruler of the world. What this actually means is that I try to look as cool and macho as possible. Me being the egoist, I tend to look forward and walk as though I had smelled a smelly sock. But the embarrassing truth is that I’m pretty clumsy when I encounter steps of any kind. It’s like gravity wants to play a cruel joke and conspires with vertigo to make me feel as though I might fall off the very first step of a staircase.

But at least I have nice legs to show off. Tee hee.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: If an escalator brings you up, then a descendalator should in fact, bring you down?

Love at first BLAH

I remember the first time I ever laid eyes on her. It was just after I had moved out and after saving my money for a future that came earlier than expected I decided that a little soul searching would do me good. So there I was, walking silently and minding my own business when all of a sudden, I stopped outside a brightly lit shop. She was there, like she was expecting me. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. I went nearer.

Her body was encased in the finest black gown. Her face was clear and animated. Her voice was a perfect sonata. It was after all, love at first sight.

For she is my iPOD nano.

To me, the saying “Love at first sight” is something I’ve never actually experienced though there have been times where it has come real close. Like for example, the first time ever I stepped into a real metal shop. No offence to the auntie’s shop at Campbell Complex but this shop here in Singapore was of the highest order. Seeing so many metal CDs almost brought tears to my eyes. Or like the time when I saw a real Ferrari Enzo here in Malaysia Admittedly, I was never a fan of the car. I thought it was too birdy looking. Then when I saw it, I was immediately mesmerized. I was speechless. I even touched it but just a little for fear of scratching it with my short fingernails. And then when the owner powered its engine, the unmistakeable roar resonated in the sky. Now every time I see or hear a tricked out car, I chuckle softly knowing that I’ve witnessed one of the best cars ever in the history of humankind.

But when it comes to applying that saying to people, I have yet to know its true meaning. What I thought was ‘Love at first sight’ was actually ‘Like at first sight’ or the slightly embarrassing, ‘Lust at first sight’. This is especially true when it comes to my encounters with girls. More often than not, I seem to have a knack for saying some of the stupidest and inane things ever to be unleashed unto unsuspecting females. In my mind, I think what I am saying is always witty and smart and that girls would think that, “Hey, this guy’s pretty cool.” But their facial expressions tell me that I should’ve kept my mouth shut and instead go find a cure for ‘putting the foot in the mouth’ syndrome.

Shit.

There comes a time when 9 out of 10 times you’ll most likely to meet people you’ll probably forget you knew existed in mere seconds. But like lightning on a clear, blue sky there’ll be this one person who you meet for the first time and go, “Wow.” It is in this kind of situation that I truly am hopeless and afraid of. Besides feeling absolutely gob smacked, my brain will be scrambling to find the words and when I do my mouth will naturally spew out the wrong ones.

So after many, many (highly embarrassing) attempts at trying to be a suave and smooth Casanova, I’m leaving all my hopes on Fate. While Fate has undoubtedly been rather hard on me the last few times, I’m hoping that now I’ll have Lady Luck by my side.

After all, with so many ‘ladies’ behind my back, what could go wrong eh?

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: I miss having intelligent conversations with pretty girls who (eerily) have the same likes as me.

Wow, it’s been a while eh?

Recently I had the opportunity to join a really big company that would have given me the chance to prove my quality. It didn’t require me to troubleshoot problems relating to “How do I turn on my computer?” but rather, it entailed me to call complete strangers from a list of leads in order for me to present to them an investment opportunity like no other in the market today. Phew.

It was the perfect job.

But I declined it.

For starters, I suck when it comes to sales. I can’t even ‘sell’ myself let alone try and sell a concept to someone who could be a long lost uncle. Sure I thought it’d be a walk in the park. After all, what’s so hard about picking up the phone, dialling some numbers and then sweet talk the fellow into booking an appointment? There are ways and boy, there are ways. If the person can’t agree on the time, then it’s up to me to set a date. If the person feels that it’s a scam then I’ll to reassure him that I’m not selling anything but merely showing him an opportunity. Heck, some of the boys even trade tactics on how to coerce prospective clients. So there I was—for a day—trying my best to sound like professional who’s been in the business for years.

I had no problems with making the calls. I had no problems when it came to learning the ways on how to close a deal. I also had no problems when it came to working under a bloody strict yet downright pretty boss. Yet I walked away from an opportunity of a lifetime.

The problem that I did have was ME.

I don’t know how to explain it. I tried explaining it to my best friends and family but I ended up confounding myself. You know the feeling that you get when you try something new and almost in an instant you feel that, “Nah, this ain’t right for me.” Granted, I experienced it for only a day but to me I felt that it was enough to make a wise (hopefully) decision to walk away from a job that could potentially be the most rewarding experience of my life.

Was it the stress? Was it the cold calls I had to make? Was it because I was a coward and I didn’t want to face my fears?

Or was it simply because I listened to my heart and made a decision based on pure instinct?

Yes I wanted money. Yes I wanted the fame (I imagined I was being congratulated by the big boss himself). But above it all, I want to have a good lifestyle. But I will not go about it by sacrificing the most important things in my life: my beliefs, principles and integrity. You can call me anything you want; a quitter, a loser, a person who can’t take the heat. I left because I wanted to. I’m out of a game I know I won’t be able to play well. Not at this point in time anyway.

I have no regrets whatsoever. I feel that I’ve become more learned and wiser. I left on my own terms and no one can deny me that fact.

Chris is signing off. For now…

PS: I thank everyone who I met during my extremely brief stint. You know who you are.

There’s something in them mountains I tell you…

It is 3.45 friggin’ a.m. I should be sleeping. I should be counting sheep. But I can’t. Not now. You see, I’ve just finally watched that darn cowboy movie. You know the one with two of Hollywood’s most promising young actors? It was also directed by that soft spoken Taiwanese who gave us that Chinese movie where the people could fly and young maidens could inflict serious damage to the auspicious jade balls of men. And guess what, it’s about 2 gay men and their forbidden love. No, it’s not Queer Eye for the Straight Cowboy, it is Brokeback Mountain!

And guess what? I kinda like it.

All right, we all know this movie and if you don’t, it’s either you’re ignorant about current cinema or you have taken shelter somewhere on a remote island to get away from the avian flu and petrol raises. So there’s really no need for me to tell you what it is about.

Heath Ledger while adroit at portraying his character’s emotions doesn’t really articulate his words well. It’s bad enough that the words come out from clenched teeth from a mouth that opens at a fraction, he even mumbles them. Jake on the other hand, played the jilted (and apparently, under sexed as well) “woman” quite well. And when he told off his father-in-law, I was rooting for him all the way.

Everybody’s favourite Disney princess, Anne Hathaway, makes an appearance as Jake Glylidunnohowtospellhisnameenhaal’s wife. In her desperate attempt to shake away her bubbly and bumbling image, she does what every actress who wants to be taken as a serious actress, by going topless. Yet again. Her other partial nude act was in Havoc. Albeit briefly, we do get a cameo of Ms. Hathaway’s boobs. While I commend her for taking on more serious roles, I can’t help but feel that she’s trying way too hard. The other actress (I don’t really care for her) was all right la.

So is the fuss about it justified? In a way, yes. 2 cowboys in the early 60’s fall in love while herding sheep in the mountains. You just don’ get it more exciting than that. Really. I won’t say more simply because it’s a movie that has to be watched in order to fully understand its story. Telling you will make it as though it is simply a gay movie, when in truth, it’s more than that. And yes, I got slightly freaked when a particular love scene took place. Let’s just say nothing will be able to top that for a long time.

To all the guys who plan to watch it, do so with a very open mind. Otherwise you’ll turn it off as soon as you see the two protagonists embracing one another.

Chris is signing off, Yeehaw!

PS: “I wish I knew how to quit you.” Dang, what a cool line.

I kinda like shopping. Ehehe.

You guys remember my hypermarket post? Well, for those who’ve forgotten (tsk tsk), here’s a short recap: I am the kind of hypermarket person that gets in, grabs what I need then goes to the payment counter that doesn’t have a mile long queue, and leaves the building. Simple no?

Well, it too applies to my shopping habits. I get in, go to the stores that have the things that I need, pay the exact amount if possible (I’m not a big fan of shillings in my pockets so I’ll try to get rid of them whenever the opportunity arises.) then finally leave with the loot. Simple no?

Well, not anymore.

Shopping is really fun now.

Okay, before any of you females start looking up to the skies and saying prayers of ecstasy because of my sudden declaration, I must reveal that I have always enjoyed my shopping excursions. There’s nothing like opening the wrapping of an album or when you finally get to put on that maroon shirt with little pandas on it.

It’s just that I don’t do window shopping well. I don’t see the need for me to gawk at clothes which I’ll never buy let alone buy. I’m pragmatic when it comes to my choice of clothes, which means mostly black tees and three-quarter pants for most of my outings. “Don’t fix it if it ain’t broke,” that’s what I say.

To know the true Malaysian, just plunk yourself at a shopping mall and observe away! Rich or poor, horribly dressed or barely there, whenever there’s a SALE sign, you’ll find that it brings out the best and worst of people. Many a time I’ve seen neatly dressed women massacring the bargain bin in search of the elusive size M and the poor sales girl who has to refold the whole bin again for the bajillionth time.

You see, I have the utmost respect for sales persons. I know it’s not easy when you have to serve customers, especially us Malaysians who can be disgustingly rude at times that it makes you wonder whether the education system isn’t doing much for manners or they were raised by demons. But for the love of everything that is doe eyed and cute, stop following me while I peruse the underwear section! If I need help, I will let you know. I will not steal that RM10 box of boxers!

Ever noticed that there are now more men shopping? Or rather, men in pairs. These duos tend to dress alike even. You get the rugged ones who’ll dress in my style looking at men stuff (i.e. women) and of course, the metrosexual or the happy-to-shop-with-a-stubble-and-wearing-tight-jeans-to-emphasize-the-bumsexuals. Ugh, I’m not against men wanting to be over the top stylish but c’mon, a whole suit of pink? Oh my lordy.

So where do I like to shop? Mid Valley is the only place where the rich and the not-so-rich can gather and be really merry while chewing (free of bird flu) chicken drumsticks. KLCC is by far the swankiest mall ever with more and more teens wanting to show off their smoking skills and their dress sense which is akin to a bear trying to wear an apron. 1 Utama is like a marathon in a mall. All you do is walk from one shop to the other in 30 minutes and realize that the shop you’re looking for is at another corner, 20 minutes extra. BSC is where you can find white men who tend to wear shorts that are 2 sizes small and tees that don’t really cover their bellies. Oh, you get the picture right?

So if you see a lumbering guy with a cap, a black tee and three-quarter pants, stop him for it might be me. If not, I’m the guy with the maroon shirt with little pandas on it.

Chris is signing off, for now…

PS: To Chinese families who bring their dogs along with them, STOP IT!

Oh my gosh begosh! I have to change my lifestyle!

30 friggin fucken cents. Who would have thought that such a tiny amount could cause so much uproar? I remember the days of when I could pump in RM30 worth of petrol and it would be enough to get me from there to there, 5 times to and fro. And I’d still have enough to buy me a bowl of good ole cendol half way across town. But those days are long gone.

Gone are my days of speeding recklessly because seeing that petrol meter go down instantly every time I accelerate just tugs at my frugal heart. But every single time I want to just cruise on the roads, there’ll always be some punk or grandma lurking somewhere with a top speed of 60km/h on the bloody fast lane. If you can’t handle it, don’t be on that lane asshole!

It is an odd world we live in when people’s hearts don’t skip a heartbeat when it comes to buying a RM2000 handphone but they’ll baulk at the poor char kuey teow seller’s announcement that due to the rising cost of cockles, he has to raise the price of one plate of the blackened, grease filled goodness from RM3.50 to an incredulously overpriced RM3.80. And these are the same people who don’t even know how to use the dictionary when SMS-ing!

But the real champions of this whole issue have to be the youths. Or to be more precise, the dumb and ignorant youths. They do not seem to be bothered in the slightest while the rich bratty ones don’t even give a damn. A typical Paris Hilton remark would be: “I’ll just have to ask daddy for more. I think another 500 bucks will do. Hehehe.” So what, right?

You all know the saying, “Practice what you preach” right? Then how about we let some of the big shots with their equally big tummies to do away with their chauffeur driven big cars and take the bus to go to their functions. This is the kind of an impression that might make the hoi polloi follow suit. I’ve been advocating public transport ever since I sat in my first Mini Bus. During those glorious (and bloody dangerous) days, I used to jostle with everyone; other kids, adults and a couple of grandmas so that I could get in. Who needed air-conditioning when you had the wind at 150km/h blowing in your face?

It’s been a while since the petrol increase and yes, I am one of those who have taken measures to curb any wastage or any unnecessary expenditure. From being a rather stingy bugger I am now a fully fledged stingy bugger.

So what’s next? Will I start recycling my bath water for later use? Will I use paper fans to fan myself vigorously? Will I start eating bread and butter and cheap jam for the rest of my life?

Man, I need to get me a job.

Chris is signing off, for now…

PS: Job hopping is all right. Just don’t do job skipping.

PPS: Sorry for the incoherent feel of the post.

I like reality shows because they're sooo real

So-called reality shows either irk me to no end or leave me in total suspense. I wouldn’t say I’m a supporter, but rather a person curious to see what people are really capable of. And since I am unemployed and I have the TV all to myself, I’ve been watching quite a number of these shows lately. And from my observation, I can sum up the traits or the necessary ingredients of a reality show into these:

• A host that is both friendly and frank and supportive of the contestants. And they MUST to look hot.

• Every reality show MUST have the well-liked or all-rounder good guy/gal that appeals to both genders. This person will then be cheered on and even if he/she makes a boo boo, they’ll be forgiven in an instant because they’re so darn nice.

• Every reality show MUST have its she-bitch and he-bitch that will appeal (or in many cases, disgust) to both genders. These people will also have a proclivity toward being overly egotistical and they think they’re right all the time. For them to eat humble pie is like trying to reduce the gas in Pepsi.

So far, I find myself enjoying America’s Next Top Model mainly because of the very beautiful and terrifically babelicious, Tyra Banks. Sure she keeps saying the same things over and over again and her expressions are one-dimensional but damn the woman looks good. But the main attraction is of course, the would-be models. Some of them are so dumb it makes me miserable. Even the non-blondes are dumber. I’ve slapped my forehead in frustration so many times just by watching this bloody show. And those effeminate men can really bitch eh?

Next up is a mix bag of some of the shows I’ve watched. Project Runway is farking boring and it’s just one of those shows where I’ll watch for 5 minutes and I’ll turn off the telly and then proceed to bash my head against the wall. Made to Order is one of my favourites. It’s not really a reality show in the sense of it but it is realer than most. Seeing that dude with the funky hairdo create some of the most aesthetically pleasing foods is simply amazing. We all know who won Rockstar: INXS but watching the re-runs of it still makes me jump and yell at some of the performances. Dave Navarro I have to say is the prettiest man I’ve ever laid eyes on. Also it has made me more aware of the roots of rock music. And by the way, I can’t wait for Marty to release his own album. I want to hear “Trees” damnit!

And since this is a blog about bitching and ranting, I’m going to focus my attention on the cream of the crappytastic crop. Not long ago, one of the local TV stations came up with a show called Malaysia’s Most Beladyful. Oops, I meant Malaysia’s Most Beautiful. The concept was this; after choosing women who represent the following type: egotistical, bitchy and whiny bout every thing, angelic, voluptuous, dumb, arrogant, adorable… they will then have to go through tests, obstacles, period and other whatevers, and then finally be crowned The Most Beladyful. Sorry! Beautiful, damn. Its premise while on paper sounds interesting, just exposed the ugly side to some of the participants. And I hear there’s another season coming. Oh my.

With the proliferation of more reality shows, it makes me wonder, what will come out next? Malaysia’s Best Farmer? The Rotiman Cometh? Project Pasar Malam? What is the world coming to?

I guess I have to tune in next week.

Chris is signing off, for now…

PS: The new season of Yankee Idol is not that all exciting. Simon should really lay off the tight tops. Protruding man nipples are gross. The girls are much nicer to look at though. Yay!

Ah, Valentine’s Day. What more can I say?*

* = Quite a lot actually.

So how did last February 14th go for you? I hope it went well. Mine certainly did. I managed to sell off some of my CDs and I had a great dinner with my family. So what’s so great? The fact that it had no meaning to me whatsoever either than me spending it with my family. I had no date. I’m still single and so loving it. Whee!

All right, I’m going to be all slightly Scroogy but I’ll tell you this, Valentine’s Day is just another day of my life. I didn’t shit heart shaped turds. I wasn’t serenaded by a fat, moustached and violin wielding Italian while I ate my chicken chop for lunch. I didn’t get any mysterious calls or smses from equally mysterious strangers. The last time I ever had Valentine’s as a day to remember and to a certain extent, a reason for celebrating it, was with this girl who I couldn’t see often let alone go on dates with. But I remember it being special because someone actually liked me enough and decided that, well, loving this bloke was worth it.

To me Valentine’s is the day where couples celebrate their love for each other on a more visible and grandeur way. For the singletons, it’s just another day. It’s gone completely berserk with everyone wanting a piece of the heart shaped money bag. Think about this: your partner will make you pay for not remembering it. How could you? Valentine’s is so commercialized that even Lillian Too (the horribly dyed hair lady and together with her daughter who has equally has horribly dyed hair.) has come up with heart shaped jades the size of small hills to enhance the energy of that special room of your house. Hint of its benefits: wink wink. Ah ha, ah ha.

There’s no way in hell I would spend 300 bucks on roses that will die the next day. I’d rather take that money and invest it in property. Call me anything you want, but I’ll call myself pragmatic.

And as cliché as it sounds, to me, every day is a cause to celebrate my love for my partner and I don’t need no one to remind me.

It’s also much cheaper to do so. He he.

Chris is signing off, for now…

PS: CSI is back! Yay! And Lost is coming soon too! Whee! (Completely unrelated but what the heck, it’s my blog. :))

To move forward, is to not look back

Surely by looking back, you might feel a sense of intense trepidation. You’ve always thought you’d leave the roost once you’re old enough. Once you’re stable and secure. But that normally happens in the movies. What really happens is that you don’t know what’s in store for you. You might feel that you might not make it when the time comes for you to jump. You’ve an anchor tied to your legs, keeping you firmly where you are. But then one day you’re thrust a knife. You see an island of hope and freedom but at the same time you rub eyes, thinking whether it is an illusion or not. But deep down inside of you, you know that it’s much better than being tied still. You have to grow. You have to prove to yourself that you can be better than you already are.

So you take the knife, you cut the rope that holds the anchor. For a while you think, maybe I’ve should’ve waited. Maybe what I’m doing now will lead me to my downfall. But not cutting the rope when you had the chance is like taking the knife and stabbing yourself in the back.

Chris is signing off, for now…

PS: Did you know that you could get yourself a fridge, a washing machine and a television for only RM1900?

I'm grabbing life by the balls

Sometimes fate deals out a card that will either make you want to break down and wish for the Apocalypse or you could do the most logical and sane thing, carry on and prove that fate's just a horrid old beeyatch. Sure life will be one helluva bumpy ride ala Kuala Lumpur potholes of death because of the many obstacles that will be faced but I'm going out with all guns blazing.

Therefore, I bid you all adieu for the moment while jump start a new chapter in my life. This is by no means the end of my blogging, it's just something temporary which will render me unable to update as much as I want to. I'm gonna miss reading many of you comments and your respective blogs (I'm directing this at Richard, Jingy, and especially to the dynamic duo of Syar and Nadia, these have been great to me and they're really awesome writers who inspire to me write more). I will miss it dearly. But once I get settled down, when the sea calms and its water is as cool and serene as before the storm, I will return...

Chris is signing off, for now...

TONG TE TE CHANG! TONG TE TE CHANG!

*caveat: if you’re the type that is easily offended when someone pokes fun at lanterns, fireworks, waxed ducks, bak kwa and other things related to Chinese New Year (CNY), PLEASE, PLEASE, READ ON.

As those of you who know my being rather Scroogy when it comes to celebrations of any sort, this year I’m going to try to be less Scroogy. Let’s see, for me Christmas is about seeing girls wearing skimpy dresses and far too short skirts (it happens in churches here WITHOUT FAIL. Practically tradition it is.). Hari Raya is all about eating far too much ketupat and rending and other meaty meats (i.e. NOT lamb :P) while watching Siti Nurhaliza (I like her) belt yet another Raya song. Whereas for Deepavali, it’s about eating with hands (I’m quite proficient unlike some of my friends who tend to shove their hand instead of the food. Seeing them wince in pain is so much fun.), and devouring as much vegetarian chicken as humanly possible. But for me, CNY is all about the red packets and seeing girls in skimpy dresses and far too short skirts and going through it sulky and wishing I was somewhere far, far away from it.

I grew up not knowing what the hullabaloo was all about. I see red packets, I go delirious. That’s it. And not forgetting the massive feast the day before which is given the rather portentous title of Reunion Dinner. It’s where all the brothers, sisters, cousins, grandparents and relatives gather to eat more food than is normally eaten. My memories of CNY are always the same: me being left by myself because none of my cousins could understand me, aunties trying to outdo each other’s bouffant and overall auntieness, uncles boasting and guffawing at the top of their lungs about absolutely nothing while the grandfather calls me up to his room, surreptitiously opens his cupboard and gives me extra ang pow.

While it may seem that my CNYs are all right but to be very frank, I hate it. Seriously, I couldn’t give a shit. It’s not like Confucius is going to appear out of thin air and say, “You bad boy. No play the filewoks! No olanges!” or the ever glib businesswoman Lillian Too with the extremely awful dyed hair (She looks like a burnt mangosteen.) is going to personally espouse the virtues of some green stone which can make your house more feng shuied. I’m not bothered by it. To me, it’s just another day. The only difference is that I have to wear red instead of my customary black (groan, red makes me look like an over-ripe tomato.), I have to be nice to people I have no clue who they are even though they know me.

I tend to have a crummy and dreadful time at my dad’s side whereas at my mom’s I will ALWAYS have a ball of a time. You won’t find any faux pas nonsense; it’s all about the family. Everyone is genuinely happy to see one another. And the food, bah! It’s way better here. This post may come across as bitter, angry or even sacrilegious.

Chris signing off…

PS: Have a great Chinese New Year to those who celebrate it. And don’t eat too much olanges ya. ;)

Chris’s Weird Weirds

Syar has bequeath onto me a most pernicious and salacious mission that I simply cannot refuse. It’s called a meme, a term that may seem ambiguous at first but when you keep repeating it loudly over and over and over again, makes perfect sense. It involves me digging very deep into the very being of well, me. So without further ado (and other cryptic messages), I present to you: Chris’s Weird Weirds.

1. Weird habit: This is really, really hard. As those of you who know me, my idiosyncrasies are far and wide and downright bizarre. But I would have to say that my weirdest habit is that I can read a book, magazine etc, listen to music (really loud and heavy stuff) and once in a while I’ll throw in a couple of push-ups. At the same time. Don’t ask me how I do it because I just do it.

2. Weird aversion: Oh my. This is one tricky as heck weird theme. I have literally tonnes of aversions. I guess my biggest aversion would be anchovies and dried prawns. And cockles (or in its more popular known name: kerang). For the life me, I can’t devour those blighters. I’ll spend ages carefully removing any anchovy from my plate of nasi lemak. The same goes for the dried prawns. Yucks.

3. Weird anatomy: Hahaha! Now this weird theme is really hilarious. I guess it would have to be my feet. I wear size 11 shoes, sometimes 12 depending on the cutting. What is weird is that I’m only 5’8 and stocky and I have shoes that are reminiscent of Ronald McDonald’s. Think a bouncer with dorky glasses.

4. Weird sayings: Yet another tricky one. There are quite a number of things I love to say especially lines from movies, music or whatever. I usually change some of the words to enhance so to speak. Unfortunately, I only use them when I remember to but at this point in time, I don’t recall any of hand. Some of my favourites (the ones I DO remember): Holy cow of God! Oh my Godness!

5. Weird posse: I wouldn’t say that the posse I associate with is weird; it’s me that’s the weird bit. He he. It’s mainly because I tend to hang out with people who are either criminally insane or slightly demented.

In hindsight, I’m pretty sure my mind will change and the list above will be different slightly or radically. But I think the above represent me best at present condition. Thanks for reading.

Chris signing off…

PS: To my good (and highly demented) friend, Richard I bequeath onto thee to write your own meme. Go go!

Kids are wonderful

It's a magical thing when kids think you're cool. Seriously, being cool in their eyes is well, cool. Kids being kids will hate you once you make them pissed. Of course, you have to be a complete jerk to accomplish such a feat.

I'll be the first to admit that children under 12 scare the bejesus out of me simply because I’ve not a clue on how to handle them. Do I play along and go "Goo goo bah!" or do I be the meanie with a perpetual stern look? Not too long ago, I figured it out. Finally, I now know the secret. The secret to make kids believe that you're one of them. I’m in the inner sanctum of Kiddom. All I had to do was just talk to them. Of course, talk to them about their likes and dislikes and not how one does detects a face using algorithms from Laplace, Sobel and Canny.

After much time spent with my wee free cousins, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m not the ogre I thought I was. Sure I do feel like smacking overly rude and downright stubborn children who after repeated threats of bodily harm, continue to wreck your beautifully trimmed bonsai trees. Or trying to see whether or not lil Jack the terrier has worms in its tummy, with a machete no less. I gush (ugh, this is so unChris) whenever I see babies and kids. Provided they're cute and not bugging the heck out of me.

In their eyes, adults are just bigger people with even bigger wallets. They see us older folk as a means to fuel their passion of cheap plastic toys made in Taiping, contraband like fireworks the size of my shoes (11) and sweets so sweet I swear diabetics will run away for dear life. But it's all good really. To see their smiles, the laughter, the pure joy of it and its innocence, is simply priceless.

The greatest achievement so far for me was when I made friends with this little girl who upon seeing me beat my cousin at rock, paper and scissors, announced that she can beat me. Me being the obliging guy, proceeded to beat her senseless. Her incredulous look every time she lost left in me stitches. She even sat on my lap at one point. And I found out later on that she's actually a really shy, quiet girl and doesn't take to anyone easily.

That's when I realized that the world is not that bad a place when there's such happiness and purity.

Chris signing off...

PS: I can tolerate naughtiness to a certain extent but if it happens to be the spawn of some cacodemon, then that's a different story...

Catharsis Overkill: The Concluding Chapter of Chris's College-capades

I love the word “catharsis”. It makes me sound smarter whenever I say it. On 23rd December 2005, I felt the full release of the emotional baggage I’ve carried for 3 years.

On that day, it was the last exam ever for most of us. For my stream, it was the easiest paper ever. For the rest, it was their hardest paper ever. (My abuse of the word “ever” does not stop here by the way). It did help that we had some *coughhelpintheformoftheactualquestionscough* tips before the exam. It was like activating cheat codes in a game, fun as heck but it makes you feel like a loser for not trying your best. I left the exam hall victorious but it was nothing meritorious about it.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve watched far too much American shows where every time there’s a gathering or whatever you call it, feelings and actions of all kinds will be displayed. Oddly enough, none of that happened. This is may be due to the Asian culture of ours, it could be because that APIITians are just unemotional automatons who’re hell-bent in creating the ultimate program. There was not a single person who mimicked a waterfall of tears. There weren’t any embraces that would have put bears hugging bears to shame. Strangely, there was more of the manly man type of hug where the dudes involved will embrace by grabbing each other’s hand while the other hand pats the back and saying things such as, ‘Macha all the best ya’, ‘Dude all the best ya’, ‘Yo Mafaka you, take care ya hear me?’ The women folk of course did the air kissing of each other’s cheeks. Smiles and lots of camera flashes bore witness to the unspectacular and tepid end to our tertiary education.

Since it was only 1pm and most of us were quite hungry even though our dear college threw us a farewell party (it was more like “Get the Heck Outta Here Lah” farewell), we headed to good ole McD’s for lunch. After devouring my fries, Big Mac (which was bloody hell tinier than the last time I ate it (which was about 2 years ago)) in about 2 minutes, I spent the next hour or so sitting next to my dear friend who shall be known as Amritsar. As we were in the middle of a group of unemployed and uncertain of graduating people, we chatted about gory movies, how much we’re actually terrified of them and intermittently talking to the rest. I could hear from her side tales of someone’s brother’s cousin’s sister’s friend’s uncle who knows another uncle’s friends from somewhere who did something and in the end, in true Bollywood fashion, they all lived happily ever after. My side was mostly tales of how Singaporeans treated them poorly and how spacious the taxis were. And not forgetting how the chicks dressed. Ooo.

As I was driving back home, wonky feelings started to creep out slowly. It was like a cross between of relief and sadness. Relief because of obvious reasons while sadness for well, even more obvious reasons. Let me put it this way: Last day of college = last day I’ll probably see some of these people. Call me sentimental. Call me sappy (but not the Richard Clayderman kind of sappy yes?). The memories will be cherished. It will be reminisced whenever I and my friends get together. We’ll laugh. We’ll cry. We’ll sigh. We’ll smile. But most importantly, I’m glad and proud I went through the many dimensions of hell together with my friends cos honestly, it was well worth the trip.

Chris signing off…

PS: O right, this is going to be my last college based post for the time being. Hope you all enjoyed reading.

The only constant in life is... Change

Inevitably, as everything in life undergoes entropy of some sort (this does not apply to the Rolling Stones apparently), so do mere mortals such as myself. Hair will start to fall, teeth soon after and a most unpleasant pot belly will erupt out of nowhere.

So with the new year in my mind (and of the fact that I am sitting here in Starbucks all by myself, dead bored and watching people order their lattes and fraps while trying to look as hip as possible while sipping their drinks. I have absolutely nothing to do for the next 3 hours or so really) I thought, what the heck, let's do a Queer Eye for the Straight Blog on my blog of course!

A change is necessary, no doubt. I'm unemployed (Teehee) and I haven't thought about anything else besides wanting to shoot pink bunnies. Just kidding bout the bunny thing, maybe I'll catch up on my reading and of course, my never ending metal (the music kind, not the metallury one OK) eductaion. So I hope to land meself a job by next month, save as much as I can and God-willing, get a small place for myself.

So until the next post, take care and have a nice weekend.

Chris signing off...

PS: Green tea fraps are teh bomb.