There’s far too much fish in this town!

This is crazy, I thought to myself. I was hungry and I would have killed for a nice cup of cold ice-blended coffee and a nice plate of spaghetti bolognaise. But the only thing this bloody town had was keropok lekor or fish paste thing (FPT) stalls. And there was lots of it. (I and my friends tried coming up with a more fitting name for it. We ended up calling it “things that make the roofs of our mouths hurt like a bitch.” Suffice to say, this name is too long.) Each side of the road there were FPT stalls and not one single Starbucks. Not even a CoffeeBean outlet (yikes). You know you’re a city person when you crave over-priced coffee.

The town was Cherating and I was there with my friends, Fillit and Sardine.

I’ve known Fillit for 5 years now and while this may have Elton John written all over it, we hit it off right from the get-go. I like to call him the black version of me. The brudda from anotha mutha. We’ve been through a lot together, good and bad (hello little cretin of madness!), yet till this day we remain a solid duo. Just ask our lecturers. I’m sure they will have some nice things to say about us. I’ve known Sardine for sometime now but it was a Hi! and Bye! relationship in college with the occasional, “Man, this college sucks,” talk. So it was nice to talk to her about things I wouldn’t have even thought about when we were college. At the end of the trip, I think we can call safely upgrade our status to good friends as opposed to college mates. Lizards, anyone?

The blackest coffee I’ve ever drank in my life. And that was the worst spaghetti I’ve ever had in my life.

Given that we’re true blue city slickers, it really showed wherever we went. I looked every bit like a tourist—right down to the three-quarter pants and benign smile—while the other two were more or less touristy-looking. Since we abandoned our humility back in KL, we went about town like we were rock stars. Everywhere we went people would give us funny looks, not sure as to how to treat us. We spoke impeccable English (well, just me, tee hee!) but when I and Fillit opened our mouths to speak in Malay, the locals would speak to us nicer.

I’m not really a beach-lovin’ person on account of me being slightly phobic about water. But put me at the foot of a really tall mountain and give me a tiny flask of water and off I’ll go to the peak. The scenery at Cherating, however, was simply majestic. Blue water could be seen for miles while the sand was fine and soft to walk on. The only thing that tarnished the experience was the amount of litter strewn everywhere. Empty cigarette packets and even a discarded slipper were seen. People can be so fucking stupid.

If only all mornings could look like this.

At night, looking up to the stars whilst getting bitten, scratched, and prodded by various insects was quite an enjoyable experience. Stargazing, seemingly a rather frivolous and neck-hurting affair, can be very compelling, soothing even. In our case, we literally talked about everything under the moon. While we couldn’t see each other's face, you could feel our respective feelings. Whenever we saw a shooting star we would make a wish, praying, hoping, that our wishes may come true. I don’t know about the other two but I really did make wishes. What you want in life and when you can’t get it will always drive you nuts. Sometimes even paranoid. But if you’re patient enough, who knows, you might just have your wish realised.

While the other two used this trip to get away from work and all its shittiness, my reasons were purely to have fun and be away from my computer, books and my other comforts. You could say that I wanted to reboot my mind. I did just that, and boy do I feel so much better now. So, to my best bud Fillit and Sardine, it was one of the most relaxing outings of mine and here’s to the next trip.

Let’s just lay off the fish, shall we?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: There’s no tmas in Chris!

PPS: My heart goes out to those who lost their lives in the Virginia Tech incident. R.I.P

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

Celine Dion, I hate your songs.

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

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

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

Day 1

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

Day 2

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

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

This is Chris, signing off.

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

Clubbing + Chris = Natural Disaster

As many of you know, I’m not particularly fond of clubbing. I don’t see the point of being in a dimly lit room, surrounded by half drunken chicks gyrating in front of me…hmm, let me rephrase that, I don’t like drunken chicks that are not pretty gyrating in front me. Ah, Much better. Where was I? Oh yes, I’m more of a person who values my hearing and my kidneys so being in a club is akin to putting a quiet golfer in a room filled with screaming football mad fans. I hate golf by the way (though I kind of like Michelle Wie’s legs. They go on for ever…). Where was I again? Oh my, my sincerest apologies. It’s just that I feel there’s so much more to life than being subjected to things that clashes with your morals, ethics, and sanity or whatever. This is a lifestyle. I’m not taking anything away from how one chooses to have fun but I do have the right to say that I’d rather be in a jazz bar and hopefully see a jazz band play some really good music. Sounds rather boring to you but it is oh so delightful to me.

So what made me to be this way? Is it my inherent dorkiness? Why am I blasé to the craze? Maybe I have to thank my dad, who essentially incarcerated me from going to these kinds of places during my teens. Of course when you have a tyrant for a ruler there’s nothing much a plebeian can do, right? But I think I have to really thank my innate parsimonious nature. Or as we say it here in Malaysia, Kedekut sial!

Let us do some math shall we:

Petrol for going to such a place = RM10, I tend to take wrong turns;
Parking fees = RM10;
Cover charge = RM35;
A pint of beer = RM20, I don’t want to spend a night with Timmy and Tommy.

All in all, the total is almost RM75! And that’s only a conservative account. There’s also the matter of supper or rather food to eat after someone pukes their dinner. So, you see, it’s a painful ordeal for me to whip out my wallet and fork that amount of money when I could be enjoying a classic rock album with a cup of coffee which would set me back only half of that amount.

I’m more of a homebody. I prefer to listen to music, read a good book and then get my 8-hour beauty sleep. If there’s a good show on the telly or a nice DVD then I’ll watch it. Why is it so hard for people to understand that this is who I really am? I know for a fact that I’m more of an outside person looking inside. Most importantly, I know me. And I prefer my hedonism with a bit more sophistication, thank you very much. A club with near-inebriated girls just strikes me as the perfect place to NOT have intelligent conversations.

Maybe a few years down the road I may end up eating my very own words. I could be seen clubbing with a couple of babes on each side of me till the wee hours every week. Who knows, right?

Now, where did I put my exclusive and extremely hard to get into, book club membership card?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Girls who go clubbing yet have the intelligence to blow my socks away are hot. Girls who club and display the intelligence of solid wood are NOT hot.

You CAN be Nerdy/Geeky and Cool at the SAME time

Bill Gates. Filthy rich mofo. He lied, tricked and grinned his way to the pinnacle of pinnacles. Back when his competitors were still thinking in 8-bit terms his thoughts were in 128-bit. And guess what, he even dropped out of college. I mean, wow, dude! If I’d dropped out of college I would have ended up selling Portuguese egg tarts, fake Rolexes and savoury biscuits in Petaling Street. Yet, the only thing in common between me and Mr. Gates is this:

We are nerds.

We’re fascinated with things that make our lives simpler and more enjoyable. We are the reason why we have technology. While that may sound arrogant it is the truth. What the consumers want, we giveth. Nerds are so fascinated with the world that they forget the most important aspect that could alter their lives completely: that they’re actually a part of it too. Nerds are the people you want when your computer crashes. You want a nerd to tell you that your bank account has been terminated. You want a nerd to tell you that hey, your dog’s dead, I ran him over with my new radio-controlled Hummer. Why do you want a nerd for all the above you may ask? Simple! It’s because in the first case, you can shout at the nerd to hasten and repair your computer unless you want your boss all over your ass. Second case is that you can pound his sorry face with your bank book. And lastly, you can destroy his toy, trample on it and then trample him.

That was too much of me. I went overboard with the rhetoric and I sincerely apologise. But what I did was to illustrate that nerds help the world spin and are oft looked down. Why? Because it’s terribly easy to tease and mock them.

I am also a geek. I love computers even though I couldn’t be bothered with keeping up with the latest in technology these days, they end up being obsolete by the time I’m done reading the last paragraph anyway. I talk about Gundam from time to time and note how beautiful some of the models are. I gush over the latest McFarlane toys like a school kid seeing cleavage (hmm, I still do gush…).

And I still wear glasses when some of my contemporaries have gone the way of contacts (sounds kind of lame but I do love my Adidas glasses and I couldn’t be bothered with all the hassle wearing contacts entails). I wear dorky cargo pants when I go to the market. I couldn’t be bothered with making my hair stand so high as though I was aiming to skewer a lizard which decided to plummet unto my unintentional death-trap. Most of my working shirts are branded (cheap brands tend leave very tough stains) but always bought during sale. The only thing I’m willing to spend a lot is on footwear. There’s nothing like wearing a pair of good running shoes.

I am proud to be a nerd. But I also am a proud nerd that knows some bit of fashion and more often than when to put down the striped pink bicycle shorts. Nerds around the world, UNITE!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Nerdy girls are strangely attractive.

PPS: All right, I looked up the etymology of both Nerd and Geek and suffice it to say (I even looked this up) I'm going to add on a couple of things to the post, so, please check back again.* It's one of those things where you think you know but actually don't. TTFN.

* Thanks to Lia for pointing it out to me.

Addendum: After going through a research of sorts involving lots of Wikipedia's resources, I've come to the conclusion that a Nerd and a Geek are totally two different things. Personally, a nerd is someone who is really into something whereas a geek has a more practical approach to his hobbies. Of course, there are other factors to the equation but for the sake of simplicity, that's my take.

I sound like a dork now.
Have a great weekened, yo!

What’s so super about the supernatural?

I wish I had these two to help me. If only they were girls, though...

My legs were thanking me for not putting them in agony any longer. I had walked for almost 5 hours straight, with a few breaks in between. It was a humid day, my sweat drying up as fast as they came. The clock struck 12. It was midnight yet I still was not sleepy. The hotel room was black all over except for the little crack of light emanating from the bathroom. Eventually as I laid my head on the pillow or rather the cover since the insides bore a strong similarity to the consistency of air, my eyes could no longer open and sleep soon swept over me.

Cars could be heard outside as my room faced the highway and at 3 a.m. what were these people doing? I paid no more attention to the hullabaloo outside and closed my eyes. I was on my back, dreaming of nothing when something vague came into view. This was a dream that turned real. It was an apparition, female from the features I could barely make out, and it was on top of me, slowly trying to drain my vitality. My whole body was enfeebled, my arms held back by invisible hands and I was desperate to scream. I prayed to God, asking Him to help me. I yelled “Get off of me!” with all the strength I could muster but it came out in a hoarse croak. I fought for life. My life. I didn’t want to die in a cheap hotel! With this new willpower came vigour and I opened my eyes. For a split second I saw the apparition for what it was and shouted, “Go away!” I was in a cold sweat. I thanked God and reluctantly went back to sleep, exhausted and afraid.

The next night—at the same time—the apparition came back again and this time it invited its friends along to torture me. Visions of people with nooses around their necks in pallid drapes forced me to wake up before they could conjure any more sickening and terrifying things. Even then they did not stop. They still came to me in my dreams. Each time I closed my eyes they got nearer and nearer. I had no choice but to wake up and call out to my mom and sisters. After making sure that it wasn’t anything more than a Sixth Sense moment, I went back to sleep where strangely yet extremely thankful that the torment was over.

The above re-telling is true. I don’t really make it a habit of telling people that I was attacked by a ghost one night but this was the first time I actually felt something in a hotel room. Normally you hear stories about a haunted hotel and one of its rooms had a lady who killed herself after finding out her lover is actually a she, doesn’t strike me as something that should be told to patrons. Bad for business. Really, if you were to tell people that you’ve seen ghosts or experienced the paranormal, you either find yourself talking to no one or you’ll get someone saying, “I know how you feel.” Then they run away.

Now, I’m not one to disbelieve such phenomena. I just don’t feel the need to dwell on it. There are things in this world that science may never know of its origins, history and on the whole, what the hell it is. The paranormal does exist. It has to. They exist because we make them exist. Ah, I tried to sound all knowing and mystic at the same time, no?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Have any of you guys experienced any paranormal happenings? Share them!

PPS: To marz: this happened in Singapore the last time I met you. So, my advice is, don't stay in cheap Singaporean hotels!

Who wants to buy a post title? I sell for cheap one. Don't worry.

Have you ever participated in one of those business talks with various speakers all chanting motivational slogans at the top of their lungs? Have you realised how silly they look, especially those who don’t look like the sort who can actually motivate someone let alone sell something? Or did you hear how loud that lady, who given the right make-up and proper push-up bra, laughs as though her funny bone had been rudely yanked out of her body and then bashed on her head?

I have.

And it was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever been a witness—and reluctantly—a participant to.

A jamboree such as this will always feature people from all walks of life. More than half of them will be annoying. There was, of course, the obligatory funny man, or as we say in Malaysia, in reference to someone who makes people giggle and titter like silly sorority girls, Joker (said in the most Chinaman of ways and you’ll get the idea of how annoying it really is). Every sentence, every innocuous-looking explanation of the product’s benefits becomes fodder for this irrepressible, and most of the time, unfunny individual. There was of course the quiet one who would devour your soul if you so much as look at him wrongly. The rest were older men who range from the almost senile to the I’m older than I really look and it’s all thanks to this revolutionary and patented yodel. At another one of these brainwashi…enlightening sessions, lamps of all shapes and sizes were on proud display. They emitted pungent smells that made my eyes water. Older people peered into the displays with upturned noses and looked at the lamps with such serious expressions you think they were going to buy a castle.

I never felt so young in my life.

These people are the kind that devours marketing books like their lives depended on it. And rightly so. Back in my days of trying to sell land in a country where people have a fascination for playing games on ice, each and every person in the sordid organisation was a disciple of the School of Robert Kiyosaki. Everyone, from the low-level struggler to the grubby bigwigs, all could spout Kiyosaki epithets better than they can recite the national anthem.

I’m not a business-minded person even though my grandfather was quite a successful businessman in his own right. What does that have to do with anything is still a mystery but I have a theory that the business acumen my granddad possessed didn’t get pass down to his grandchildren. Probably the only thing I inherited was his notorious parsimony: terribly generous to no one, not even his own flesh-and-blood. I consider myself a smart consumer, for example, if I want a pair of shoes I’ll go to one shop after another, looking for the best price.

I don’t need rah-rah or effervescent cheerleaders (though they may help in ahem, other departments, *wink wink*) to get me motivated for money. Just show me how can I rake in the dough and I’m off. Network marketing. MLM. Call it what you will but it’s a tough trade and truly only the strongest survive. I’m a survivor but this is one thing I don’t think I’ll ever get the knack of it. (I’ll keep you guys updated, nonetheless.) As for now, I’m off to sell some whitening cream product thingy to that old lady down the road. She’s been winking at me for no apparent reason.

Maybe it's the pink bicycle shorts of mine?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: No pink bicycle shorts were harmed during the making of this post.

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

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

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

Hot dogs.

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

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

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

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

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

Until the next depression that is.

This is Chris, signing off.

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

Will the third time be the charm?

Last year, at this exact moment, I was bumming my eye sockets out. It’s been 3 months since college had ended without so much as a farewell party: no wearing of funny hats, no one getting drunk and having their pictures uploaded to various college sites stating “This is how Malaysians do it yo!” and certainly not one morsel of tasty Malaysian food i.e. McDonald’s, KFC. The very last day of college all we had was stale curry puffs and even staler Coke. The Big Plan right after college was terribly simple: bum for a couple of months, do the things that I wanted to do and then after all the fun was had, it was time to grow up and be a man. Not just any man, but a Working Man.

This is what really happened:

• The first month was awesome. Total freedom!
• The second month was getting kind of boring. Oh well, bring on the hula hoops and let’s party!
• The third month—the month that I’m in exactly a year ago—enough’s enough! I need a JOB!

Fast forward a little and bam, I got my first taste of the working world. After nearly five months of mind-numbing bumming, I and my good friend, Fill, landed ourselves a job! And what better way than to start it off by having a pretty lady as our future boss as well. The job seemed simple enough: call up people, get them to buy the damned land and bam! ka-ching! I left after one day.

Not too long ago, I mentioned that I had landed myself a job. It was similar to my first experience: call up people, get them to sign up for the damned thing and bam! ka-ching-a-ching! I left after two weeks.

I didn’t despair, in fact, I had a backup. It promised an experience like no other. I was gung-ho and I knew I had to nail the interview otherwise I’d be bumming once again. I did. I felt fantastic. On the day the second interview came I was anxious as heck. Normally I would be calm and collected but seeing a dozen or so other candidates there made my heart beat fast and hard. Damn! I have to really nail this! And when the interviewer unveiled what I was supposed to do, what I will have to do once I got accepted, left me flabbergasted and disappointed. I was mortified to the point of wanting to just walk away from it. She did mention sales but she didn’t say it would be this!

This is what sales can do to a person who utterly abhors it.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve said it before that sales and salespeople are everywhere, in many forms and is a must for the world to keep on spinning lest Al Gore decides to lose some weight. I respect it greatly and those who commit themselves to it. But for the life of me, the more I delve into the nether regions of it, the more I feel like jumping off a bridge for trying it again and again. You’d think people would learn from this kind of fault but not me. In fact, I’m actually contemplating about accepting the damn position! Any sane person would fuck it, I want no more of this shit. But not me. I’m a sucker for pain and punishment.

Honestly, I have not a clue about what I really want to do. I thought I thought I knew it but the reality is sinking in faster than you can say cuckoo. And you know what’s the most painful thing of all? Thinking I’m actually good, that I’m better some people because I have the look and the voice for certain jobs but the hurtful truth always punches me in the stomach.

Maybe I need to loosen or even break my comfort zone. After all, if you’ve never tried something, how are you to know it‘ll be bad or good? But after being bitten, dragged, ravaged, flogged twice by the sales bug, I should know better, right?

I hope I’ll make the right decision. Wish me luck.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I’m being all emo aren’t I? Fuck. I hate this feeling.

Sales Schwing

Sales.

The mere mention of the word gives you a very clear picture of what to expect. There’s no hidden message behind it. It’s just a sell-and-buy cycle, which in itself is so simple yet so freaking difficult to master. People in sales are incredibly egoistic, have haughty-looks Victorian aristocrats would be proud of, always on the lookout for a sucker and in dominion of the most sickening attribute of all: self-assurance of the highest order second only to perfidious politicians. (Politicians are essentially salespeople, only with an entourage the size any popstar would be the envy of.) They are eager and aggressive in getting an answer. Nothing short of an outright no will put them off. Even then they’ll lay low for awhile and bam! they’re at it again and even then…argh!

In short, salespeople are one of the most important people in any society. In fact, make that every society.

You know that shirt you’ve always wanted? Sure it was marketing that puts out the advertisement or the brochures or whatnots but who sells it to you? Not the GM, he’s too busy getting his toes trimmed by a buxom blonde named Tawnee. It’s the salesperson that explains, no, tells you that you need it. You think for a minute that hey, I do need it. Then when you get back you realise that you’ve not only bought the wrong size shirt, it’s in a colour and pattern even Stevie Wonder would tell you it’s hideous.

I would say I’m a fairly good presenter. I pepper my explanations with inane anecdotes together with a benevolent face and manner. I do not subscribe to the dogma of being serious all the time. But picking up the phone, and calling up people who wouldn’t even give a second to talk to a junior salespunk like me takes some serious balls.

I’m pretty much the world’s lousiest salesman at the moment. I can’t grasp the seemingly uncomplicated concept of manipulating a potential client nor do I possess the guile essential to trick someone into buying my product even though he or she may not have a need for it. When I was in training (thanks for the lunches) I was taught to lie, cheat, deceive and my absolute favourite, manipulate any situation to gain any advantage. A profit doesn’t have to be right or wrong, as long as it brings in the dough.

Honestly, I don’t think I will last long in this industry. I’ll go my own distance just to see how far I can go before my eventual fall. I’m a simple guy with a very simple philosophy: I’ll buy whatever the hell I want, when I want it and you’re not going to persuade me otherwise. Sure, you can make suggestions. Feel free to do so. Go ahead. But if you so much as even have the audacity to speak your mind and tell me that my choice is not good and that yours is better, then better get ready to run as fast and far as your puny legs can take you.

You can call me a quitter. A non-achiever who throws in the towel, handkerchief, and silk shirt when things get a little too hot to handle. At least I can say that I’ve tried, given it a shot, did my best, oh you didn’t live up to our expectations, oh really? walk away with my head held high and get the pay I’m due.

People always say that practise makes perfect. But sometimes even with all the best preparations in the world from the best in the business doesn’t mean shit if you don’t like it one bit.

I really don’t.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: If the above ramblings seem exaggerated or ludicrous then maybe it is. I cannot guarantee that everything that has been said as entirely truthful. But nevertheless, trust me on this. I’m still a salesguy after all.

Other blog updated. Read!

PPS: I'm now officially jobless. Again. I will never ever do sales again.

Happy Chinese New Year everyone!

PPS: Due to the holidays my brain is inexplicably incapable of producing quality posts therefore I shall return next week with another Chris-worthy post. Till then, have a great week y'all!

Hello! May I be your salesguy*?

Due to the fact that I am now employed (finally!), I am now unable to properly construct sentences that will leave you gasping for more, wishing that it will never end. In other words, readable material.

But fear not, I have the weekends. Well, some of it, anyway. What I can say now is that the pay is peanuts but the commission is fantastic (according to my employers but I don't give a toss, more on this soon) and I have a real working man's sling bag to complete the whole professional look. Unfortunately, my potential clients will not get to see my lovely bag but rather, will instead get to hear my manly and mellifluous voice telling them why they should do business with me, a boy who has no sales experience whatsoever but is still trying his luck selling things.

Life's pretty cool, eh?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Do anyone want to buy something from me? I sell for cheap cheap one. No worries.

* = it was originally salesMAN but since I don't feel like part of the sales shtick yet I'm calling myself salesGUY instead. Only time will tell.

Men are expensive

Damn…Damn….damn, damn!

I so want a Ferrari Enzo. The lines are just so amazing. If there’s one car that can make me abandon self-worth and humility (which I have), it’s that car. I also want to take up photography. There’s something about holding a camera and directing your family or friends in order to take a picture that may or may not turn the way you want it to. I would also like to have an expensive and expansive sound system therefore my dream system is a Marantz but realistically the most I think I’d be able to afford is Bose is which more than enough. I’d love a Kerry King BC Rich Warlock and a pair of Marshall amps. I’d also love a 42’’ LCD screen with the latest DVD player (preferably one that plays all formats, screw format wars!). But I just can’t afford it.

A guy can always dream right?

Developing an interest in something at times can occur in many ways and forms, intentionally or purely coincidental. Like for instance my interest in automobiles. I grew up knowing zilch about the mechanics of cars. I only knew that certain shapes are ugly for a car. Beyond the aesthetics I was like a woman, only I drive much, much better. What sparked my interest was when I went to Sepang for a few local competitions (not F1, I’m not a fan of that at all). I saw cars modified beyond their original look and made to perform well above the initial specifications. After awhile I got the hang of it, the screeching tyres, the billowing smoke, the smouldering heat, the scantily clad girls in reflective clothing, the whole shebang.

Enthusiasm is most contagious especially when the person who exudes it is very passionate and isn’t afraid to ask questions. And you never know when or where you might contract it. Like the time I accompanied my good friend Irwin (no more commenting ah?) to Singapore. We stayed with a friend of his, Imelda, and friends of his dropped by. From the bedroom I could hear loud voices and even louder laughter. I came out and was greeted to Marz and Lawful (dude, if you’re reading this, all the best in the States). After exchanging pleasantries, the party resumed their discussion on cameras and such. So me being the only person there who knew nuts about cameras just sat there and listened to their highly animated talk about apertures, bodies (hmm, bodies) and lenses. Damn, these people are good. The next day, us manly men went out for lunch and headed to Singapore's premier IT mall to find Lawful’s camera. We scoured many shops searching for the best camera within his budget. Looking at all the cameras, the lenses and what you can do with them made me wish I had more money (don't we all?). In the end, Lawful ended up getting a beautiful Sony camera and began snapping away the minute we set foot in Imelda’s place. From then on I’ve been having lofty thoughts about getting myself a DSLR (Nikon!) and start snapping away.

Women have equally expensive hobbies as well but I'll save that thought for another post. Women love to shop and shop till they drop whereas men tend to buy expensive goods to satisfy unfulfilled childhood fantasy. I know I’m living the childhood I always wanted albeit with the occasional beer in hand. I know that as I get older priorities will take over the way I spend my salary. Bills and more bills will obviously take precedence.

Sometimes being a guy can be so hard. But sometimes, sometimes it’s just so fun.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I don’t think I’d ever get into RC (radio-controlled) cars. It seems so…dorky. (You, yes, you, I’m calling it dorky!) Sandman for life!

PPS: How's the new look? Is it too bright or too red or too something? Let me know! Thanks!

PPPS: Here's the previous colour scheme and you'll know what my friend's comment means.

Them black buttons scare me now…

The best children's book ever.

How’s everyone’s year been so far? I hope it’s been good. As for mine, it started off pretty all right. As usual, I did not celebrate it. Why? Simple, it’s just another day in my life. I do not see the need to surround myself with people who are sweaty and have the look of someone who’s just celebrating the New Year just because it’s an excuse to get drunk and party till the break of dawn.

Truth be told, I wasn’t invited to any New Year party celebration thingy and frankly, I didn’t care. I was sober and guess what, I saved money. Yep, parsimony indeed rules.

A few days later I went to the local bookstore to take advantage of the 20% discount card I had. Even though I have a backlog of about a small library to finish off, I decided that such an opportunity shan’t be wasted. I saw the new Terry Pratchett book and decided to give it a pass and focus on other books (I did buy it a few days later). I remember distinctly to look out for Neil Gaiman’s Coraline, which came highly recommended by Marz, who has proclaimed that she will never, ever, read this to her children. Neil Gaiman + frightening as heck (the Lemony Snicket blurb on the cover is so apt) + Dave McKean (who’s illustrative work is abstract and creepy to say the least) = why the hell it took me so long to get it?

As soon as I got home, I tore off the plastic wrapping of the book and read the first chapter. In typical Gaiman style, he sets the setting early on and it being a children’s book (though which parent would want their child to read this at an early age is beyond my understanding) isn’t as “deep” as his more mature works. This makes it even all the more enthralling. I won’t go into detail but in summary the story revolves around a girl who discovers a secret room, finds creepy versions of her parents, with black buttons for eyes, who seemingly to genuinely love her, something her real parents show a lack thereof. (A review will be up soon, I hope, so keep your eyes open for the update.)

The story got me thinking of a parents’ love. My life isn’t what I had hoped for but it’s my life nonetheless. People who know me on more a personal note, know that I have another face behind the one I show them and others. Initially, this surprised them, because they only ever see the other side of me: highly animated when talking about anything, daft about most things, and relatively capricious that when I tell them my real self, they find it hard to believe.

Just the other day, while I was waiting for my turn at the post office, I saw this little boy sitting quietly, looking at people with a happy face, including me. For a moment I felt weird, normally little children would be frightened at the mere sight of me, but this lad was practically beaming. It’s one of those moments where I forget to be this pseudo, wannabe, macho, subscriber of upturned collar guy.

I have vowed that—while I didn’t get the childhood that all children deserve—I will try my best to give my children (I say children because I’ve always dreamed of four children, two boys and two girls though with inflation and escalating costs I’m thinking very hard about even wanting to get married let alone have children) the childhood they deserve. I’m only 22. I have the world ahead of me. Youth is by my side, as many have pointed that out to me. So why am I thinking about the age in which people start to lose their hair and see their waistlines expand perilously?

Maybe it’s because I’m older and slightly wiser. And perhaps, perhaps, knowing what I want in my life.

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: I definitely will read Coraline to my children.

This ain’t another New Year’s Resolutions folks

Actually this is Things That Chris Will Do to Improve Himself and Banish the Bad Things He Does So That He Can Make Another List Like This to Annoy People Around the World By Not Calling This A New Year Resolutions List When in Fact, Is a New Year Resolutions List Masquerading As Something Else Just to Annoy You.

But in truth, what this really is an attempt to do things that will hopefully improve myself. To better myself. To become an exemplary citizen of this green Earth. It’s…ah, it’s a bloody list!

Before I go further, I would like to say that it’s feels great to be back blogging. When the earthquake hit and caused the big ruckus that it did all I could say was Ugh. I decided to take an even longer break from World Wide Web and I must say it felt pretty weird not checking my mail for more than 7 days (it’s now almost two weeks). Papers reported that some bloggers were so upset that they could barely post a sentence let alone a whole article so much so it made them feel that their life has lost its meaning. What a bunch of nutters I say. Go read a book. Watch TV. Take up gardening. Talk to people face-to-face for a change. There’s more to life than an Internet connection.

So let’s go back to the topic. Why do people create a list just before the clock ticks its last tick of the year on the eve of a new one? Is it because people are doing it so I’m going to do it because it’s ala mode? Is it because you want to tell your friends that hey, I have a list and you don’t, nyeh nyeh nyeh! Or is it a genuine case that you feel in order not to repeat the mistakes that you’ve committed the year before, a checklist of sorts will help to not repeat them?

I do it because I’m bored to death and Oprah is espousing spiritual twaddle. Again.

So here is Chris’s New Year Resolutions That Really, Please, Isn’t a New Year Resolutions List (told you I’d annoy you):

1. Get a better job.

I’d liked that. Really.

2. Improve my guitar skills.

I still can’t seem to tune my bloody guitar! And it’s been 5 months already!

3. Run for more than five minutes and not pass out.

The current time is 4 minutes. Ah, the ignominy!

4. Stop my mouth from spewing out rubbish.

I remember reading an interview with Deftones once and one of the band members said to the singer, “Your mouth is like a shit making machine. You keep talking shit.” I think that pretty much sums it all up. Think first you dolt!

5. Write better.

Damnit, I’d do anything to write like some of you guys.

6. Finally get me some Mandarin lessons.

China girls, beware! And all you Mandarin-speaking, peace-sign lovin’, silly dressing gals out there too!

7. Get me Neil Gaiman’s Sandman graphic novels.

I’m eyeing the obscenely huge, tome-like, 20-episodes-in-1 bonanza that would cost me a quarter of my pay. Actually, what I mean to say is, get me the rest. Behold!

8. Listen to more jazz, preferably guitar-based ones.

I have to let my Marc Antoine CDs rest. They’ve been spinning non-stop. Trumpets, saxophones and other instruments that require one to blow into them need not apply. That sounded somewhat disturbing…

9. Read AND understand better.

I love to read but I tend to do it fast as though the words might run away if I took my time to really understand them. Darn. I feel dumb now.

10. Attract more girls with my wit and charm.

LOL! (I’m not much a LOL! fan but I felt that that was appropriate.)

There you have it. A simple wish-list. Hope your 2007 will bring more luck and joy than previous years. Cheers y’all!

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: There’s going to be some changes to the design in the coming weeks so don’t be surprised to see a new colour scheme every now and then. Yee haw!

2006 – A Year of New

I would to say that 2006 is the best year in recent memory for me. It’s probably due to the fact that I can remember most of what I did. The year started off all right I guess. I moved out, had a makeover (I just threw out my old clothes and bought new ones, nothing drastic) and gained a tonne of confidence. It had its bumps and high points but it is probably the first year in recent memory where it’ll end as well as it started. Previous years always start off difficult, gradually becoming all right in the middle and segues back to its original craptastic start. But I’m happy to report that I will be ending the year with a small bang, nothing fancy, just a feeling of triumph that I managed to get through 2006 without much fuss.

This year is extra special because of these things:

Reading

I finally pried myself from all the Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman stuff and decided that I needed to expand my reading. I am slowly venturing to other genres, in particular religion and world issues, and the occasional mystery/thriller. You will never see me reading a book with Fabio on the cover however. I’d rather put my head in a blender. With peas.

Football (Soccer for you people who think that running with a ball in your arms constitutes football)

I’ve always liked football. I used to follow the local league, back in the day when they actually could kick a ball without it having a soporific effect like it is currently. It was reignited with the World Cup in Germany. I supported Germany for the simple and rather bizarre reason that my favourite Teutonic band at that time was Rammstein. I actually stayed up, got up at obscene hours and jumped for joy when the Germans won. Italy may have won but Germany has left me with a new-found fervour and a generous serving of sleep depravation.

Manchester United friggin’ rule by the way.

Music

I saw Slayer in October. My journey as a metalhead is complete as far as I’m concerned. I managed to headbang with a bunch of like-minded bespectacled metalheads, suffering the pain of stomping my feet on the cold, hard floor and swinging my head as though it was a windmill made the RM300 I paid for the ticket the best RM300 I ever spent. And I finally got myself some guitar lessons after mulling it for almost forever. Marc Antoine better watch out, give me a couple of years and I’ll be playing in sold-out arenas. But in the mean time, can someone tune my guitar? And here's my top 10 metal songs of 2006!

Road-trips

Bin Siew and Irwin, if you’re both reading this, thanks for all the late night (and morning) jaunts to the beautiful lake in Putrajaya and all over Kuala Lumpur. Let’s not forget to do that again before we get too old to drink Red Bull, eat instant noodles on the way, the ever useful mosquito repellents (cigarettes) and having the best chats ever in the history of the world. All of that under the brilliant night sky and a view that was magnificent and awe-inspiring that made our contemplations, dissertations and figuring out life’s conundrums some of the best times of my life. And here's a holler to Fill who proved that it is possible to go fast in a Kancil and headbang to Fear Factory while looking like complete dolts. Precious days those were.

And probably the most important thing that happened to me:

My never-ending quest to better myself as a human being and most importantly, a better Chris. I feel more alive, like I’ve broken down the walls that kept me from being me. I may give in to histrionics once in a while and embark on warped ramblings about the perplexing nature of rabbits and their twitchy noses but the Chris that’s now in this world is definitely way better than the Chris last year. And he’ll keep getting better. I really hope so. (What’s with all the talking in the 3^rd person anyway?)

So as the year draws to an end, I can only hope for 2007 to equal 2006, because honestly, it was a blast and if it does top 2006, I’ll be sure to tell you all about it.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: I dedicate this to all my friends, family and especially to anyone who reads this. Have a blessed new year and I shall see you when I see you. 2007 here I come!

I I yai yai!

How this shindig works:

Each player of this game starts with the “6 weird things about you”. People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog. I was tagged by the venerable Lia and effervescent Syar.

Since I’m still working on a blog post on food, I’ll do a “6 weird things I do” instead.

1. Well, maybe just one will do. I love onions, be it raw (think Mel Gibson in that Lethal Weapon movie where he was naked for most of the time) or overcooked.
2. I don’t read lyrics. Firstly, it’s because I don’t want to get the booklet all smudged therefore after a while it will develop fungal growth which really sucks. Secondly, and rather embarrassingly, I can’t seem to understand them.
3. I can speed-read. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to be able to recall what I’ve read so it makes my speed-read feat pretty much useless.
4. I can spend hours looking at books and music CDs. I will pace up and down, flip and flap a book, then not buy anything.
5. I am incredibly parsimonious. I will walk for hours, visit countless stores, heckle and query till the cows come home just to find the best price for anything. I’m like Chris Rock’s father in Everybody Hates Chris. I know the price for a lot of things.
6. Whenever I’m by myself, I tend to walk very fast. I will actually scan the area I’m traversing, and pick out the best route. When I’m driving by myself however, I like to go as slow as possible.

I had to really think of things that I haven’t already told you guys. It was fun, and I think it’s why I’m a sucker for memes, I feel like a little boy with a set of Legos.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: Since I can't really think of anyone to bequeath this meme to I'll just wish anyone who wants to do this all the best. Till then, have a nice week!

I’m fashion road-kill

When I was younger (think much spikier hair, window-pane-like glasses, chubbier cheeks that resemble a hungry Canadian squirrel and much, much bigger trousers), fashion was something as alien as a pink loving man. It was a lot simpler then. Men and fashion were not synonymous. The only thing that remained the same was how bad men were when it came to differentiating cotton and snake leather. But now it seems that men are coming out of the other closet, pun intended, and at this moment are embracing the joys of faux chic couture.

My philosophy for buying clothes when I was a wee lad was very simple: Expensive = Quality. Of course, growing up then for me meant that I was to board a manically driven minibus to good ole Globe Silk Store (which is now known as That Cheap Cheap Place) for the latest RM5 (!) tee which at that time was pretty expensive for a strapping young lad like me. And they weren’t in my favourite colours too.

I would say my fashion sense is that of an octopus trying to wear a one-armed sweater. If the fashion police did exist, I would be on their Most Wanted list for ever. I do all right in the “getting the right coloured tee along with the trousers” department but either than that I’m absolutely horrible in trying something new. Take for instance, East India clothes. I like their line because it’s simple yet classy. But for the life of me, I don’t think I could ever slip on a shirt made from the finest coconut husk from Panama and trousers made from cotton indigenous to the plains of Mongolia.

I want to look Bohemian, not try and be one.

There’s an emerging trend in the male front and that is to wear light colours, which is more popularly known as pastel in the couture world. I call it girly. Flail your arms wildly. Strike me down with a bastard sword, go ahead. I don’t care. I’m very happy wearing a collared tee, three-quarter trousers and slip on my trusty Camel sandals. And if I feel like being inconspicuous, I’ll put on a cap. Simple, no? You can call me old-fashion when it comes to fashion, but I know I’m only conforming to my own personal style god.

Who you may ask? Why, Me of course you silly kitten!

As I was growing up and being constantly fed with images of cool people with cool clothes only made me wish I was rich enough to buy one of them. But then I realised it’s not worth it. Personally, splurging on clothes is a mini sin for me. Take this for example: Would a guy who doesn’t really give a damn about his clothes buy a Timberland t-shirt that costs RM400 just because he can afford it? Or would he pay a visit to good ole Petaling Street and get the same t-shirt but with the label spelt as Timbarbland instead? I don’t get fashion but I do get the people. They’re nutters.

So, what is the true definition of being stylish? Is it as simple as being you? So which is right, do the clothes make a person or does the person make the clothes? Whatever it is I’m still wearing my sandals and faux Hawaiian shirt. I look quite Bohemian.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: I don’t get Malaysian fashion shows. A good number of people don’t even know how to pronounce some of the labels let alone wanting to buy them. FCUK anyone?

I don’t know why but I feel compelled to write this

caveat – This is a “What I Did Today” kind of a blog.

I didn’t want to go. I thought it would be mind-numbingly boring with old men in suits far too big for their shrunken shoulders would come up to me and inquire, “Are you in search of a house? Then come right over here. Yee haw!”

Property showcases, to me, are one of the dreariest things one can do on a Saturday afternoon. Besides having to take your Aunt Mildred to the dairy farm of course. The layout was awful. It created sort of a mini congestion of bodies. People would bump into me while looking at pretty pictures that everyone knows for a fact doesn’t translate to real life. They would peer into see-through glass, with their noses dangerously inches away from the display. A person would come up to me and ask, “Hello, are you looking for a house?” The activity itself isn’t much to talk about but considering that I looked like a Chinaman who just got his gold necklace from the nearby jewellery store with his RM5 sandals I thought I would be safe from these wretched salespeople with eager smiles. Wrong I was. One after another, a smiling model with rather nice curves would greet and pass me brochures with far too many words for someone who hasn’t had his coffee.

In another hall of the convention centre, there was an education fair dubiously called FACON (I said this aloud in puzzlement and a lot of frowns stared back at me), which featured a mix of local and international institutes of higher learning all vying for attention of kids who have just finished their exams and wish to further their studies. I thought what the heck, maybe when I’m more stable in life I’ll take up another degree. I’ve been to my fair share of education fairs in my younger days and people would drag me off to a little table with high chairs telling you that their course is the best in the world. Now that I’m older and considerably wiser I don’t give a damn. I managed to stump quite a number of councillors that day with my quick observations and charmed them (them being women, the men—pfft) with witty one-liners.

It turned out to be one of the most pleasant pleasantly surprised days. It all boils down to, naturally, a girl. She was pretty all right: nose small and angular, a hearty laugh that would make any grandmother be proud of, and possessed something that to me, is the defining factor when it comes to women I’m attracted to—that special something. Yes, yes, I can see you guys and lovely gals slightly bemused and irritated even that I’m on one of my illustrious loopy ramblings. I apologise but let’s continue the story. I initially was approached by this tiny human being, a girl who reached my chest and smiled at my navel. I inquired her about the availability of Mass Communication in her college. A smile at my navel again and she led me to the obligatory tiny table with high chairs. I waited for a bit and soaked in the noisy ambience, remembering the days when I was a wee lad fresh from secondary school. Damn I was dorky. Then she arrived.

It’s these little trinkets of niceness that makes me grateful to be alive and the person that I am. It’s moments like these that transcend all the ugly happenings in my life, giving that much needed rush of joyfulness. I won’t go further simply because it’s one of those one-time moments where the more I try to remember it, the faster I forget the experience and I don’t want that. The mind is a terrible thing to play with.

The thing that drives me mad is always the post-meeting analysis whereby I would stare into nothingness for minutes on end, flagellating my poor mind with the whip of remembrance. I would talk to myself, curse myself, soothe myself, and then sigh, sigh the sigh of someone who wished he could have just a little bit more. A smidgen. A tiny speck. The tiniest of morsels. Just so that I can close my mind and remember what it was like.

I’m so there at the next FACON.

Gute Nacht und Gutes Glück.

PS: Good things happen at the most unsuspecting times. I would like to have more of these.

Other Blog updated!