one way down.

i wish i had a Camaro. i'd take that fucker out onto the open road and never come back home. figuratively speaking, of course. i always thought that i'd lead some form of nomadic lifestyle; travelling around with my family probably instilled the preparation mechanism to live like a modern urban gypsy. i don't have as much experience as my parents in living life on the (proverbial) run, but i'd like to think that i've gotten enough of a taste of it to appreciate it to the peak.

funnily enough, i've declined my father's offers to send me overseas to study. for starters, i genuinely feel guilty about spending his money on what i'd see as a paid vacation, and secondly, i just don't have the grades to cut it. thirdly, (i've said it a million times and for a million more) i really like it here in kl. but, just once in a while, it'd be nice to take the Landeater out onto the highway and just drive.

the problems are obligations. obligations to the life i'm supposed to lead, to the expectations that've bound their way onto me...wouldn't it be nice to pack it up and just fuck off once a month?... if i had a retreat home somewhere in the mountains of pahang where i could chill out and enjoy the hoots of the owls at night, while smoking a cigarette and plucking on my guitar? hell, yeah...it'd be good. i'd call some friends over and we'd have brewskies (okay, they'd have brewskies) and play chor tai dee 'til dawn. better yet, make all those friends girls and play strip chor tai dee.

damn.

but i'm stuck in the suburbs, wishing for the country life, with the country house, with the country wife. i bet...i bet that if i was there, i'd probably want the suburbs just as badly. then again, we don't have the "country" here that i'm thinking of. and i think that farming in malaysia is a lot less idyllic than it is in my head. the romantic notions of life in the country don't cut it here...driving by padi fields that we label as "breathtaking" is one thing...but not what, let's say, paul mccartney is doing in england. or not the ranch that matt mcconaughey has in texas. or george w., for that matter. no grilled steak and spaghetti-strapped blonde, no cows or antelopes roaming.

basically, nothing to really retire to (unless you want a beach house, which is a story for another day).

oh no. i can't escape the city. and i can't deny the city boy in me.

sigh. keep on trucking.

anyone know a good shrimp shack that i could visit along the coast? please?