Certified drunk

‘You look very familiar’ I told someone during an open house function at Restoran Pucuk Ubi; after a long eye contact coupled with a lingering smile. It was closing time and people were leaving.

She stepped forward and said “Yes, I’m in your Friendster’s friend list”

I gave her a clueless expression. “Really? Which one?” I asked.
I know… I’m useless.

“Well, I was your junior in high school. Four years apart. You guys were the prefects, so most of us know your batch.”

“Okay…” I said, shuffling my memory bank in despair, knowing very well I needed more clues.

“We met in Miri recently, but you were drunk then. I sent you and Sam home… I don’t think you recall anything that night.” She offered another clue, right between the eyes.

Damn! Of all the things I want people to remember me by; drunk and hopeless!

But indeed I remember that night. We had a guys night out at one of Miri’s popular night spots called Cherrie Berries. Most of us went to college together back in 96.

One of us was driving but we had too much to drink all the same. So Sam called her to send himself and I home, because he wasn’t confident the designated driver can handle more than two destinations.

We made a quick pit stop at a 24 hour eatery. While everyone ‘reloaded’, I made a few ‘unloads’ at the sink. Not proud of it but it had to be done.

Anyway, I still couldn’t recall her name so I asked her straight “What’s your name again?”

“Tracy” she replied.

“Ah, Tracy Chapman! Yeah?” I indicated the artist that sings to mind.

“Yes” she said first. Then a quick “No”, setting the record straight.

“I know, just kidding. I like her songs” I explained.

We chatted for a short while because she and her friends had to leave early. She was in KL for her master's degree in education program during school holidays. We took one for the photo album before saying good night.

Relationship

is hard work...

it gets harder when you're expected of something you're not even aware of; no instructions, no requests, no hints, no signs, nada!

It consumes you exponentially...


You're expected to have extra sensory perceptions, to always be a step ahead. You thought you're doing fine. You only realize your little insufficiencies mean bad news when you're burried in a mudslide. And you struggle to claw your way out, the fear and anxiety drains your energy with suffocating speed...

I'm only human, throw me a frickin' bone or something. Gheez...

Come dine with me

I had lunch with two high school mates last Saturday at Nando’s Bangsar. As usual, the food was good there. Cynthia didn’t have much. She probably wasn’t as hungry as the other two guys at the table (that’ll be me and my friend). She only took half the time we did to be satisfied, leaving a lot more for my friend and I to clear up; like the municipal councils we were, or maybe it’s the guy thing…

While eating, I noticed at the corner of my eye, that she was watching me. I also sensed a light smile shining through. As self conscious as that made me feel, I kept my cool and continued eating, like I hadn’t notice.

A good moment later, I put down my fork and knife and said, “Ok, I’m done”

“Oh, do carry on, eat some more…” Cynthia requested.

“No, I can’t. I’m really full. That was a lot of food” I told her. And it really was. We ordered a meal deal for four persons. There were three of us and one of us just had half of her portion. My friend and I even had to agree to split the rest of the chicken so we wouldn’t have to waste on food. Even then there were still rice, potato salad, vegetable salad and a corn on the cob left.

“Oh, you should continue eating. I enjoy watching you eat” she explained.

“Huh! What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked her.

“Hehe… you should see him a few years back. He was really big! He loved to eat then, he still does now.” My friend added some spice to the scene. He was referring to my huge size three years ago. And he was right. I loved eating then and I still do now, only smarter.

All that made me think. It was about time I got to the bottom of this. I must know once and for all the reason people make that comment. True, I don’t get it every day but every time I do, it makes me wonder, and yeah, blush. As far as I’m concerned, I have never found it amusing to watch people eat. And don’t even get me started about people who eat with highly audible ‘munch’ sounds. ‘Chomp chomp, gulp gulp, aahhhhhh!’

I mean, I would understand the reaction if I was having dinner prepared by someone (in this case, they’re usually my aunts) and my ‘eating routine’ somehow translates to my deep appreciation toward the cook’s creative labor, age old tradition and undying passion. And trust me, the appreciation really goes deep; down my esophagus, into my stomach, through my rectum and all the way down the sewer. Sorry, too deep.

However, what we had was just fast food, good food nonetheless. And speaking of fast food, friends have told me they like the way I munch my McDonald’s burger, my KFC chicken and my oil laden fries!

Does it mean that they are impressed with someone who eats a great deal but still maintains a certain degree of composure, i.e. the ability to not look like a pig even if they are actually eating a pig’s worth?

Nah, too crude for me. I’m not that. Nevertheless, I've got "Wow! You can really eat" from a female stranger during wedding receptions, to which I only have "Oh yes, these are lovely." Quite embarrasing I must say too, trying not to look awkward and resemble the glowing-red butter prawns on my plate.

Or could it be that they genuinely admire the grace and poise that some carry over the table; something which does not necessarily result from an extensive knowledge on table manners and etiquettes. It is rather a natural act of eating with care and attention, triggered by self consciousness and the same decent behavior one expects from one’s table companions.

Hehe, sounds good to me!
But obviously there are many different reasons why some of us enjoy watching others eat. It all depends on the situation and the very person watching.

I was determined to interview her during the following hours of killing time at the mall before she flies back to Kuching. I sent the other friend home after lunch because he had important errands to run.

Unfortunately, I had such a good time killing time with her that I forgot about the whole eating thing. We went browsing at Ikea before she prematurely asked me to take her for shoes and bags shopping (Ladies, sound familiar?) As a good chauffeur, and butler, I obliged. Besides, time wasn’t on our side either. Delightfully, I was rewarded with a nice t-shirt in the end. Thanks so much Cyn!

So now I’m left with the question (and a nice T shirt) that has variable answers. Gosh, I’ll have to wait for another comment to come by. That means many eat out sessions and cash spent before one is dropped on the table, which by the way, has only been conveyed by the ladies thus far.

So, do you like watching people eat? Buy me dinner?

Six years later

I was driving out of Sunway Pyramid's new wing parking bays when I spotted a rather unusual looking car. It made me stop to get a few shots. The design is radical and strange but somehow it looked familiar. Many angles of it resemble those of many cars.

The front looks like a Suzuki Swift. The body looks like a German War vehicle and the rear drop looks like nothing I've seen before, somewhat chopped. I could see a butchered twin cabin Hilux pickup truck.

'What could have driven a person to modify a vehicle this way?' I asked myself. Whoever he is, he's got balls, chopped balls perhaps.

I went around to get several angles. Nice number...

It's got groovy doors, literally.

There was no other inscription on the car except this beside the tail light. WILLVI.

Hmm, could it be William's Perodua Myvi? Butchered and battered beyond recognition?

Nah, couldn't be. Myvi looks way nicer. It's a Willvi without a will, to die.

Update: And this is the car that reader Terry Justin was reminded of. A VW Kubelwagen. Thanks for the link Terry!

I browsed the internet and found out that it was actually Toyota's 2001 Concept car named Willvi.

Huh?! 2001? And I only know this six years later? No wonder it looked familiar. It's a legit car that rolled out of the assembly line.

And 2001 was the same year I rolled out of college, unemployed and in no mood to be bothered about cars, much less by intriguing but ugly ones.

Did I say ugly? Yeah, but by ugly I mean strange-looking and out of the norm. It's not the way graceful cars are supposed to look, not now, not six years ago. But that's good for some people. Those wanting to be different. To be noticed. And Willvi did just that.

Sarawak Calling

Coming real soon!





Calling all Sarawakians living in the Klang Valley. Check this out k...

In my pants

After constantly giving me hell, I have finally decided to upgrade my mode of communication. Seriously, I couldn’t take it anymore. It would quietly go into a dumb and mute mode, not allowing any calls and text messages, incoming and outgoing. It was always switched on but there was no way of telling if I was connected or otherwise unless I tried making calls, at which I usually fail. At first I thought it was the network operator’s problem but the incidents became a regular feature in my clueless connectivity. Heck, I couldn’t even call my operator!

Needless to say, people often end up frustrated at the other side. The only indication was when there’s a message saying that I have missed calls. Even then, messages are hard to come by. It almost seemed like they were held up at a buffer zone and will only arrive after I give it a few knocks on hard surfaces; even that required a bit of luck. Our relationship was turning violent and it was only reflecting on me, myself and I.

There were times when we saw eye to eye but that kind of erratic behavior was just not healthy for either of us. Inevitably, last week was the time to move on and be a better man.

So this is my ode to my new companion, my sixty five hundred classic.



There is something in my pants, but no one knows it.

It makes a small bulge, but packs quite a punch.

It is delicate to hold, but a pleasure to touch.

It is not my navigator, but I bring it everywhere I go.

It is metal and plastic black, but it can really glow.

It is a small fortune, but that is truly my worth.

It gives me tunes, me pictures, me videos and me love.

Brokeback encounter of the third kind

Once in a while things happen to me; as if the universe is determined to remind me of the years I’ve orbited the sun. And that I should once in a while act like it.

Today marks the ending of a week long suffering for my back. It snapped, again, last Monday after a two and a half hours drive back from Ipoh. The zero body warm up and muscle stretching before the drive tripped a hazardous reaction with the cramped space in my compact car. Beside me was my obese teenage cousin in the front passenger seat, his mother (my maternal aunt) sat behind him and her long legged teenage daughter, behind me. In another car was my other maternal aunt with her family.

My aunts have been reminding me of this road trip for some time and the AidilFitri holiday proved to be the best occasion to visit another aunt in Ulu Kinta’s 8’th Mile, Perak, better known as Tanjung Rambutan. Oh yes, the same Tajung Rambutan I called sanctuary many years ago after the bloody fall which temporarily cost me my balance.

The drive there on Friday was a breeze. Upon arriving we started the food binging. We weren’t celebrating Hari Raya but the food came all the same, as any huge family gathering would bring. Two nights (and several kilos) later, we drove back to KL after breakfast. The non-stop drive left my posture stiff for more than two hours. I felt okay upon arrival. Getting out of the car and unloading stuff gave no indication of the incoming misery. As everyone has settled down, I went to the refrigerator to get some snack. I bent down to reach for an apple and snap! I broke my back, almost.

It was hell for the first three days. As usual, getting out of bed was almost impossible. Work started on Wednesday and I looked like an old man, slouching severely every time I got off my seats; car and cubicles. One awkward move and it would feel like being shot with a taser in the back.

I took it to the dance floor on Friday and tried to move a little. They told me it’s good for a bad back. I managed just fine, albeit several more warning taser-like shots. “You dance sexy” was the only thing I get from a stranger, but that’ll do babe… that’ll do.

Life resumed normally come Saturday with one open house at 3pm, one blogger’s meet at 5pm and one NGO meeting at 8.30pm. It was a wholesome Saturday. Very productive I must say.

Sunday was spent resting and light browsing at the mall with friends.

It was a heck of a week and I deserve a brake. I dread the next break so I’ll take better care of my back, my sexy back.

O mark my ass

Ever watched a movie set during the French Napoleon period? If so, have you taken notice of the costumes?

I came across a French movie titled ‘1805, Riding with Napoleon’ weeks ago while waiting for the gang to pick me up to the clubs. It was a typical Napoleonic Era war movie, and so were the costumes. But the thing that caught my attention was one of the military’s costume that looked like this. (Captured from my tv screen)


And the rear view looked like this.


Ok, call me gay for scrutinizing the military men’s behinds, butt, there’s no stopping one’s fixation on the distinctive mark.

A bull’s eye mark on a red hot, butt hugging pair of pants. Now tell me you didn’t notice that!

One word. WHY?

They’re in the middle of war for Napoleon’s sake. Why make it so damn easy to mark their men? Were they told that ‘O’ marks the spot? Oh well, maybe it signified a ranking in the army then, a ranking so low one is forced to look down and behind.
I didn’t finish the movie so I plan to catch it on Astro Kirana either on 14, 18 or 26 October. Check your Ass-tro Guide if you plan to do the same.


P/s: Shall we leave it to them French for peculiar fashion statements, even in war?

Feeling lucky, Punk?

Incident 1:

Walking pass some shop lots, a Punjabi man approaches and says something very softly, almost whispering. You lean forward to listen closely to what he has to say. Being the good person that you are, you are guessing he could be lost, asking for directions.

And you hear “Very lucky face. You have a very lucky face”
You smile, instantly thanking him while quickly studying his appearance. A long sleeved white shirt and a pair of dark slacks, the typical office attire; carries a thick organizer. He tops it off with a distinctive turban.

At this point you get hints of fortune telling, and suspect it won’t be for free. So you politely decline and thank him, walking a steady pace for fear of a persistent service sales person.

Incident 2:

Years pass by and another Punjabi man approaches you while browsing the bed and bath section in the departmental store, turban and all.

He is rather soft spoken for his size but you lean forward to have a good listen nonetheless, because living in a helpful society, you can’t ignore a request for help before deciding if it is in your capacity to lend a hand. As soon as you hear “Lucky” wedged in his sentence, you instantly thank him, turn around and make a beeline to wherever you think he will not be heading next.

Incident 3:

More years pass by, specifically, two weeks ago.

You are seated on a plastic chair outside a car workshop, waiting for your car to get a full checkup. A Punjabi man approaches, carrying a suspicious soft spoken demeanor. You hear “very lucky face” and despite saying ‘no thanks’ and shaking your head, he went on and on with ‘very lucky face. Very good way of thinking. You have good fortunes. Small fee, I can tell you your future, plans and so on.”

You shake your head even more vigorously while saying ‘no thanks. I’m okay. Thank you’, because getting out of your seat and walking away would seem rude and offensive.

He finally gets the message and ends everything by offering a luxurious handshake, saying “good luck!”

You accept his kind gesture with a genuine smile, say a gratifying ‘thank you’ and as soon as he turns away, breathe a good sigh of relief; immensely glad that nothing unfortunate happened between you and the 'automatic fortune telling machine'.





Reflecting on all three incidents so far, you think to yourself, “why do they always come with a turban. Do they have fortune telling institutes or something?”

You blame all three incidents for this rather racist perception. You wonder why your fortunes sent you three different men from the same ethnic background, displaying the same demeanor; soft spoken, properly dressed and say ‘lucky’ way too many times.

You think to yourself ‘yeah, thanks, and that’s all I need to hear’.
It makes you wonder, if you look so lucky, why do strangers feel the need to tell you so? Or do you look so depressingly unlucky that you’ll buy any sweet word and foresight anyone tries to sell? With or without a turban.

Any luck with the answer?
Me neither.

Related picture from a random site.

A man's navigator

Woman: Is that your vibrating phone, or are you that happy to dance with me?

Man: Oh, it’s my navigator, telling me where to go. But don’t worry; I’m not entertaining it anytime soon.

Woman: Where do you plan to go?

Man: I don’t think you want to know, just yet.
.

.

Woman (felt it again): Ooh, what is your phone doing now?

Man: I don’t know. I left it on the table with the guys.

Eye on Kuala Lumpur

It’s erection was achieved in January 2007 but I only got the chance to check the landmark Eye on Malaysia last Thursday.

My solid reason came in the form of a bunch of a good friend’s family members on vacation in KL.

As we arrived at the Lake Titiwangsa ground at 9pm the air was full of festivities. The speakers were blaring with patriotic and tourism anthems accompanied by lasers beaming the night sky and video clips projected on several water curtains. The crowd was understandably small since it was only a Thursday night. Nevertheless, people kept on coming till 10.30pm, another half an hour before the venue closes. The wheel kept on turning.

The whole setup was a feast for the senses and I must say, I have to come back another night with a tripod for a delicious set of pictures.

In the meantime, here are my shots.

Lake Titiwangsa is just a huge stone's catapult away from the city center really.

Eye see you baby...

Waiting to board the gondolas. The ride lasts for 12 minutes, with the wheel turning clockwise and couner clockwise while filling up four gondolas each time.

A not-so-impressive night view of Kuala Lumpur.

I couldn't get the camera steady for a good shot. It was also slightly drizzling that night. Or maybe it's the height.

Looking at the center of the wheel. Pivoting in more ways than one.

Looks like a sketch.

Reflections...

More reflections...

The thumbnails make a nice image.

This Eye on Malaysia delightfully serves as an eye on Kuala Lumpur actually.

Of Sydney and Mawi

I was spending my Sunday night watching TV when a friend sent me a text message.

[Astro Ria, Mawi in Sydney] Dony texted.

I flipped the channel to check out Mawi’s tour with fans in Sydney. He was constantly yapping and the camera was focused on him most of the time. I guess that’s what you get when the star attraction is the visiting celebrity instead of the place he visits.

[So I take it you’re watching Mawi? Can’t stand him so I’ll just wait for your video] I replied.

[It’s my wife. She’s just excited to see familiar places we visited during our trip last week] he explained.

[Hehe… of course. The senses increase with knowledge and familiarity. It’s like suddenly noticing and hearing more about things you recently learned. I know that feeling. The coincidence is delightful] I reciprocate.

[Yup. And since I’ve been there myself, I know that some stuff Mawi is telling viewers are wrong]

[Mawi is never bright anyway]

[Agree, same goes with his fans, hehe…]




Okay, I know that was nasty. But people talk about other people all the time. Why, many of you would say posting this exchange of thoughts is not exactly smart of me either. Can’t please everyone can we.

Like it or not, less than tasty things are always said about us, upfront or from behind. And when you’re a public figure, it becomes relentless. It gets permanently written everywhere, again and again.

And for the three thousand seven hundred and twenty third time, Mawi can’t sing.

Navigate me to...

I was watching this Nokia 6110 ad the other day and thought that was another persuasion for me to get a new phone. Check out the ad by Nokia if you haven’t. It’s worth a third watch. Finally, a phone that tells you where to go, it says in the end.

When it comes to mobile phones, especially mine, I would be the most technologically challenged. Apart from expensive, those all-bundled-up-in-one phones seem too complicated and somewhat fragile. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind being given one, but to spend way more than a grand... it better be damn good.

Most people handling them for the first time will always treat them like newborn babies; with utmost care; delicate touch and gentle strokes only please. Thank you.

Is it necessary? Not really. They’re just expensively brand new. Drop them once and you could get a heart attack.

Mine? Heck I’ve dropped mine so many times that my friends say I do it on purpose just so I have an excuse to get a new phone.

The only navigational guide I have on my phone is the LED light. When I ask for direction, where to go, it gives me this…

Finally, a phone that tells me where to go.

Thanks phone, but I prefer you to stick to telling me the time.

Full moon

Reading the morning paper today I was rather surprised to stumble upon this article. “From love song to anthem” reads the title. It describes how Malaysia’s National anthem was born, in all its regality; rightfully the brainchild of a royal.


Funny how the politicians and powers that be, saw red over this when it was highlighted by a radio station in 2005 as posted in this link, http://www.malaysia-today.net/blog/2005/10/rais-minta-radio-era-henti-spekulasi.htm

They were issuing directives, warnings and measures in order to confine the facts within their imaginary boundaries. As I recall it was debated by the ministers and policy makers and some smart ass said it should not be discussed further for fear of confusion and disrespect.

And now that the record is set straight yet again, I can only guess how the ‘silencers’ would react. Or am I just so backwards? As in absolutely clueless about the fact that it's okay to discuss and highlight the origin of the anthem. Have they lifted the ban on playing both 'Mamula Moon' and 'Terang Bulan'? When?

Here's an interesting article by Shanon Shah about the controversies shrouding Negaraku, pre-Namawee of course.

This is not the moon. It's one of the lighting props used at the Rainforest World Music Festival 2007.

Heritage derailed

Old buildings and architectures demand attention and admiration. The curiosity and desire to experience the lifestyle of old never fail to linger a while, especially when it used to be a place called home to some, eventhough for just a few days. Such is the lure of old Kuala Lumpur Railway Station’s Heritage Hotel. (Another site here)

A friend checked in with his family a long time ago and he said it was ok for a two star rated hotel. It is listed as a budget hotel after all, and they are proud to be ‘Low Budget but High Quality’.

I have always wondered how it would be like to stay there for a night or two. So when the opportunity came I couldn’t resist finding out.

My elder sister was in town two weeks ago and somehow most of the economy class rooms in the vicinity of her assignment area, Bangsar, were fully occupied (It was summer holiday in the middle east, go figure). The health ministry only allowed her RM 160 for accommodation, see.

On our way to look for other options we passed by Heritage Hotel KL. The location was strategic; a straight forward route against the morning traffic rush. My sister checked in a twin room so I can accompany her for the night and send her to work in the morning.

I finally have the chance to experience and explore this piece of historical item.

Unfortunately, the reception was less than welcoming. The Chinese lady behind the counter gave an impression of a ‘mama san’ too proud to care. Short of chewing gum, her lazy eyes kinda said ‘...yeah, what do you want? Sure we got rooms. Take it or leave it, just make it quick…’ And the assisting migrant worker understood few English and Malay words. He could be Nepalese. The place almost felt like a crackpot whorehouse. It could be due to our late arrival, 11pm I guess. Perhaps they should put up an additional note saying, "Pleasant Smiles and Hospitality Rate applies after 11pm. Charged separately"

Nevertheless, my sister was too tired to give it a second thought and decided to just get a good night sleep. I told her we’ll check out first thing in the morning.

“I’m going out to have a look around this place” I told her. With my trusty Olympus I gingerly walked the timber corridors. The floor squeaks and squeals in most places. The old carpeting helped muffle the sound a little.

Outside it was drizzling and there were few wandering souls around. A red bucket sits shamelessly on a mouldy (how else would you describe it, when red turns green?) carpet floor, trying hard to keep the surrounding areas as dry as possible. Up above, the white paint on the ceiling peels off steadily with every drop of rain seeping from the roof, but not before changing color and getting heavily stained.

I examined the old school elevator; one with manually closed doors and exposed frames. It’s seen better days.

Then I went to the railway station. Empty and sad. The new Kuala Lumpur Sentral transportation hub buried this old hag for good it seems.

Pity, for all the charms, emotions, grandeur and romance Heritage Hotel projects in photographs and assumed status, it is in dying need of restoration proper. A complete makeover is in order, from the shady front desk to the mouldy floor space.

Bring it back. Back on track.







The staircase surrounding the elevator shaft. Pesky fingers of the living sure left an impression on the railings and poles. I hope they're still in the 'living zone'.

The station's corridor leading to the hotel.

A corner of the heritage.

The view from across. This building houses the headquarters of the Malaysian Railway Company, KTM Berhad.

An indication of the entrance.

The lounge, for reading, chit chatting or just wandering.

Another view from the third floor.

There's a hole in the ceiling, dear Eliza...

Don't kick the bucket, yet.

Charlie's Cafe.

Fixed!

It was a sad day when I found out that my Olympus mju (read: mew) 300 of 4 years failed on me last Sunday. It happened just when there was a perfect photo opportunity; I brought my camera but it just won’t activate. The sliding cap wouldn’t open all the way for the camera operation. I applied some force but nothing happened. There goes another great companion, I reflected. And with it, burns a grand and a little more.

I had to endure hours of anxiety and heartbreak before I could get home to my tools and do a simple diagnosis. And to rub it all in, the tool that I thought I had was no where to be found. I had to wait till Monday to buy a set of precision screwdrivers.

Here’s what I saw on Monday.

The activation mechanism was jammed. The switch holder’s latch/stopper had broken under pressure (maybe due to repeated depression in my pocket and/or travel luggage) and the whole setup was pushed back into the camera. After tinkering with it for several minutes, I learned that it could still operate if the holder was pulled up to its correct position. I figured if I could come up with a latch, preferably a thin metal to be fixed with the available screw, it could stop the holder from 'sinking' into the camera, and I could still save my private Ryan.

The solution came from an obsolete item; the sliding cover of a 3.5” diskette.

Like a miniature blacksmith I carved the desired shape; all the while beaming with confidence and knowledge that I could fix it.

(Cue Bob the builder's theme song: “Bob the builder, can he fix it? YES HE CAN!”)

After all was said and done, my mju was whole again. It slides and latches like new; that'll do, mju.

At times like these, the mastercard moment flashes on.

Price of a new camera, 1.5 grand, max, SAVED!

The satisfaction of revival, PRICELESS.

Next stop will be Olympus service center to get the switch holder replaced. That shouldn’t cost much since it is made of just plastic and metal parts and no electronic components.