Sunday, December 31, 2006

2006 and 99.4%.

I know the hands of the clock aren't striking 12. That's besides the point; the picture's up there purely for aesthetic reasons.

2006 is almost done and dusted, and 2007 is making its way up the canal.

To be honest, I don't see what the brouhaha over a new year is, besides a very valid excuse to drink and make merry...lots and lots of merry, if you catch my drift. And I know a few people who'll probably be making bucketloads of merry...good on you all, I say. The world needs more of you. Making merry should be the cornerstone of life.

Back to the point. It hasn't exactly been my year. In fact, since 2001, I haven't really had a year that I could truly call mine.

But 2007 feels good.

For starters, it's the Year of the Boar; my zodiac year. Secondly, it's the fated Year of the Ascension of the Tai. So it's got to be my year. It's just got to be. I shall ascend to new heights and slam everybody to bloody bewilderment at my newfound powers.

Either that or I'll just make ado with moving on to a whole new phase of my life.

To all of you revellers, have a good and safe one.




And to all you merry makers, let's make it all night.

Gambattei.

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

Resolutions.

Christmas came and went, and it took James Brown with it. The world is even more fucked than it is as a result.

Post-Christmas crowds have thronged to the Megamall. You can feel that the momentum is building towards something grand, and after the euphoric release that is the New Year, we're all going to be ready to submit to the daily dosage of drivel drawl once again.

2006 has been a good year. It would've been better if I'd done more (isn't that always the case?), but I can say that I'd buy a wine from 2006 twenty years in the future and feel good about it.

So without further Apu, my resolutions for '07.
  1. Eat less chicken. Visits to Hartz Chicken Buffet will be limited to weekends or public holidays, and not weekdays.
  2. Cuss less in public. Or at least in distinguished company. I've got to build up a clean, wholesome rep.
  3. Graduate. Come June, it would've been six years in HELP. Six.
  4. Work. That first paycheque is going towards a PS3 (to be bought in 2 years). Or paying back my father. But probably branching more to the PS3 side of things.
  5. Make new friends.
  6. Stop being honest with people, or, to at least watch not what I say, but how I say things, because people usually take it the wrong way and skewer me like a fresh kebab.
  7. Make my meal ticket to Australia happy. Because I truly do love her. And the opportunities she'd bring.
  8. Eat more ramen.
Hoooha.

Friday, December 22, 2006

Christmas Hiatus.

I'm not going away for Christmas...it's just that I'm incredibly lazy, and aching for Yuletide Joy to come my way. And for once, I've got the people to share it with.

So get off the Interweb this weekend, and spend some quality time with your friends and family. Drink responsibly (if you have to), and drive safely.

Have a great weekend.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

Put your money where your mouth is.

Here's to the culling of mediocrity.

I've managed to clear the two subjects that were the ultimate monkeys on my back. So, as from today, I'm free from the clutches of Advanced Business Statistics and Relationship Marketing. Now it's just another four more to go before I'm let into the wild again.

If all goes well, I can most probably submit my resume to companies from May onwards. If I pray hard enough (and depending on whose cock I'd have to suck), I can attempt to crack Ogilvy. Knowing my luck, it'd probably be a wave of one failed attempt after another...but we're all allowed to dream once in a while.

Better late than never, they said.

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

Toodles & Malie (Part II).

"Did I mention that you're a fucking idiot?", he asked me, whipping out a cigar from his marsupial pouch. He sliced the head, and proceeded to light the tip. A look of twisted satisfaction crept upon his face as he took a calculated puff.

"You'd already established that in our previous installment", I reminded him. I fumbled my way for the window controls and wound down the passenger window. The sounds of 3 a.m. made their way to the safety of the car.

"Did I? I don't think I made it clear enough. You know---"

"You talk a lot for a sexually confused rabbit."

"Oh, well, now. Don't diss the pouch. I told you, never diss the pouch."

"Did it just magically appear one day?"

"My mother is a fucking kangaroo, genius."

"If you're really a figment of my imagination, I think I've outdone myself."

"Oh, you'd be quick to give yourself credit. Wanker. You can't find the courage to even return to her house and talk to her. You're stuck here with me. And for fuck's sake, can you please move the car off the highway?" He offered me a puff of his Whitley.

"Makes my teeth yellow", I declined.

"Who're you trying to look good for? Your mother? Don't say I didn't warn you, but you've got this morbid fascination with girls who look like your mother. You fucking Oedipus." He took another puff, and tipped the cigar over the window. "I mean, face it. A girl that takes care of the mess you leave behind, I can understand. But a girl who's a ringer for the woman who did the job from the beginning? That's sick."

"Downright unacceptable to you?"

"Damn straight. Why don't you see me doing a kangaroo?"

"That's because you're about a tenth of its size."

"No, let me relate something to you. Unlike you, I'm not scared of doing anything, anyone, anytime, at any place. And do you know why?"

"Your life's mission is to multiply."

"Damn straight it is! You're a man, now. You have to lay claim to your territory and pee on it, so to speak. But it's just fucking sick to do that to someone who resembles the poor woman whose tits you were sucking on for the first time."

"You know what the problem is? The problem is that anybody who was listening in on this conversation would find it incredibly...what's the word...derivative...a chockful of bad humour, bad dialogue and understated drama that drags on and on."

"That's only because you have a full-on fancy for a bitch who looks like your mother, yet you lack the initiative to fully realize your dreams. It's pathetic, seeing how fucking perverted you are. But I suppose it's a good thing that you've got some restraint. Otherwise, I'd have to report you to the authorities and inherit your Motley Crue collection."

"To set the record straight, I don't have anything for my mother."

"Sure, you don't."

"And you're not getting my Crue collection."

"You're a feisty one."

"Look, I need a friend right now."

"You of all people know that I'm always a good sounding board for my brothers."

"But...?"

"I think you already have a plan of action, and all you want to do is just lay it down with me and carry it out because you just need to tell the fucking world about it. Don't you, you fucking repressed attention seeker?"

"I despise being called repressed."

"No, it's true. I told you. You're a fucking animal on the inside. You're like fucking Banner."

"I'm not anything remotely like the Hulk."

"'HULK SEE MAMA WANNA DO UGH UGH! HULK SMASH! HULK CRASH! HULK BANG!' Fuck it, you're a perfect example of a very ill, ill boy."

"May I remind the world that you're a talking rabbit?"

"Please, go ahead. It doesn't change the fact that I'm everything you want to be."

"Cigar-chomping, nihilistic, politcally incorrect, loudmouthed drunkard womanizer?"

"Oh, please. You flatterer!"

"Fuck you. I think I'd pass, thank you."

"You know what your problem is?"

"I only have one?"

"You're too fucking uptight. You live your life, trying to be proper, trying to be respectable. It's not going to help you at anytime. And when you die, you'd look back and say 'The Rabbit was fucking right'".

"I just want to be in a position to do the right thing. There's nothing wrong with that."

"You should learn how to fucking relax, my friend. Life isn't meant to be treaded lightly on. You have to go out and take the bull by the horns and milk his wife dry."

"Barnyard animals now?"

"Fuck you. You're so...white. So plain. Such a do-gooder. And for what? It doesn't get you anywhere. You should take after me more. I've been with you for so long, yet you never fucking learn."

"Maybe it's because I'm better than that?"

"What? A faggot?"

"You're not exactly a role model for the masses."

"Precisefuckingly! Individuality gets you attention. And you want attention, you little whore. You're a twat that's swelling for a spotlight, even if it's for a moment, even if it's in a deep, dark corner."

"I am better than you."

"Why? 'Cause you're a real man who has a penchant for doing girls who remind him of his mother? You're a freak. A fucking freak." Toodles looked around, and took another whiff.

He looked at me, only the way that a rabbit could, when his red, beady eyes staring me down. "Fucktard. Why're we still parked on the highway?"

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Monday, December 18, 2006

The Amazing Joy Buzzards.

I want to be a Joy Buzzard. I want to battle supernatural forces with my rock band as we travel the globe. I want to wear an amulet that holds the power of El Campeon, the great mythical Mexican luchadore. I want to be conveniently unaware that my talent agency, the Creative International Artists Agency, is really the CIA, and that my manager is a covert CIA agent who needs my band to get him into places....covertly.

I want to be all these. But most of all, I want to find these books online so that I can download them illegally.

Hail thee, Image Comics. You win again.

(If anyone stumbles upon the AJBs at a bookstore, please do tell me.)

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Toodles & Malie (Part I).

"Did you get her?", he asked, rubbing his eyes with his one good paw. He'd been asleep since I'd left my house and gone to yours. He yawned, and took a look around, noting his surroundings. And the fact that you weren't in the car.

"No", I replied.

"What happened?"

"I choked. I couldn't do it. It --- it just seemed that it wasn't worth it."

"You fuckwit".

"Yeah. Story of my life, no?"

"Story of your life, yes. God, you're a total retard. She's the fucking hottest ho' this side of the Valley, she was up and ready and hot and heavy and the best that you could do was fucking choke. Some fuckwit you turned out to be. I hope you churn out your fucking innards, you dumb motherfucker. 'Cause this is as halfwitted as that time with Julie".

Trust me to believe in the wisdom of a talking rabbit.

"Shut. The. Fuck. Up."

"No, look. You're an overweight, neanderthal loser, who's been closer to zero these last few months than any other time in your life. You have the opportunity to fuck your brains out with one fine dame of a woman, but instead, you get cold feet, and I bet that we're going back to the house now to jack off to Izumi porn whereas we could've gotten the girl and taken turns analling her."

"I wouldn't have shared her this time, Toodles."

"Really? You were a lot more generous the last time."

"I love this one."

"I would've done her bunny proud. I am a rabbit, you know".

"No, look, fuck you. I love this girl. I absolufuckinlutely do. You don't have any say in this".

"Oh, look who's in loooooove. Look who's gotten all sensitive and shit. You know, fuck that. You know that it's not going to work out. You know what you are."

"I'm not---"

"You know it. You're a fucking monster. You're a fucking freak. You're out of control."

"And you're a fucking talking rabbit but I don't have any problems with that."

"I might be a talking rabbit, but I probably would've given Firecrotch a far better time than you're giving me now."

"What do you know? You're a fucking rabbit."

"I know that in life, you've got to make choices that you're probably going to regret later. But it's better to live with regrets than without them. Ask yourself this, you fucking stoner...if you so weren't worked up over this bitch, we'd be having fun romping her. Now. Or at least I'd have some fun. God, you're such a fag."

"I'm going to kill myself."

"Boo fucking hoo."

"I'm going to kill you."

"Newsflash, moron. I'm a fucking figment of your overactive imagination."

"You're real, rabbit."

"Figment, you morose motherfucker."

"Look, I could probably spend my life feeling sorry for myself---"

"Which you always do".

"---or do something about my life---"

"Which you've never done".

"---or we could just sit here, reflect and wax lyrical about how I, once again, stayed true to my roots and decided to let things play out for themselves."

"We're parked on a highway. You're not very bright."

He was right.

I wasn't very bright.

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Saturday, December 16, 2006

Babyshambles.

I love Christmas. I'm going to draw a lot of flak for this, but I love the commercial spirit of it all. Money changes hands, there's an inflow everywhere you go...Christmas only comes second to Chinese New Year in terms of giving (and receiving). Purists may scoff at how Christmas has become less and less about the spiritual side of things, but in a way, I'm pretty sure children still want to know why Christmas is Christmas, and that's a start.

The imagery of it all, snowfall, the bells a-ringin', the reindeer, the candy canes...it might seem overly schmaltzy but it's good to fantasize about how perfect everything could be in one given moment.

Speaking of imagery, I've realized that I buy into good marketing/promotions. I've bought two packs of Jacob's Crax's (I'm guessing that they're similar to Arnott's Shapes) that I haven't opened yet. I also chanced upon Jacob's Bites (which I have consumed). RM 1 for a pack at Carrefour. They also taste rather decent.

There's a lot of Christmas cheer to be spread. The Yuletide Joy Plan seems a little behind this year, as there're not a lot of people I know that've lightened up to the prospect of the festivities and incoming New Year. I doubt that Scooby Snacks would do the trick, either...you can only attempt to turn frowns upside down for so long.

So, in order to make a few people happy (or at least to find some comfort in making myself an ass for a day), here's my attempt to mould some smiles, made courtesy by my (somewhat early) present.
* * * * * * * *
Yours truly at one and a half months. This might very well be the first picture of me.

Paolo mentioned that my father looked like something akin to a cool, womanizing sleaze. I say it's the shirt talking.

I look like Jason Statham here.

Pardon the slightly severed head.



Dishevelled, inebriated and loving every moment of it.

* * * * * * * *
Sorting through the albums of old photos I have, these stuck out the most. They've been decoloured with age and their hues have been softened. I look at the people in these photos with the realization that the world was truly unknown at that point in their lives...but they were probably also anticipating every moment of it.

Things didn't work out too well in the end, but going back gives me a warm and fuzzy one.




(Not like that, you sick fuck).

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

I knead you.

I like inside jokes. I like to be in on something that not more than 3 people would understand. It doesn't matter to me that the world beyond those 3 people would only look on in confusion, or even disgust; there're some things that're just too good to be explained. Likewise, I have this belief that 4 out of 10 people I know would truly understand what I rant about all the time. It's not so much the depth of the rant that would turn people off, as it is the subject matter.

Despite my best efforts, I've never really been able to fit in. Me and those 4 of 10. We don't know who we are in this jostle of a country, and we'll probably never find instant acceptance. Our peers don't really care about what we know. Ditto for the fucking kids whom you'd want to impart knowledge to --- there's no such thing as useless information.

The Rolling Stones are not explicitly a country band, despite having country nuances in their music. Not that they'd know who the Rolling Stones are. The same goes for World War II history, Al Green and Gummie Bears. Ninja Turles? G.I. Joe? There's a specific demographic that would be aware of most of these things: the minority.

I'm not saying that the country is full of simpletons; I'm quite convinced that we're all masters of our respective realms. I'm not saying that I should've been born in a prior era; that would probably have spared me from the debauchery and havoc I enjoy today. I'm just saying that it'd be nice to find more people a little bit like...well, me. If only because it'd be terribly funny, there'd never be a lack of conversation topics and because I'd be able to meet more people to share that ultimate sign of true friendship: the inside joke.

Tuesday, December 12, 2006

Carte blanche.

Bobby Drake was wrong: I still can't find it within myself to blame my parents for the way that everything's turned out. When you're given a bit of pocket money and free reign over your life, you either become incredibly disciplined and productive, or you fall into the trap of wanting material excess. It's not too difficult in figuring out which camp I belong to.

I could probably blame my father for not being here when I needed him most. He's admitted it to me on various occasions that he feels that he messed up, which led me to mess up. There was no father figure to look up to, because I was too young to look up to him (prior to the complicated aspects of the fiasco that was the marriage), and because there wasn't much of a man to look up to (during the overly dramatic bits of the fiasco).

I'm constantly worried about taking after my father. I'm not saying he's a bad example; he pulled himself and his family out of poverty and a zinc roofed kampung house into the cushy neighbourhood I'm in today --- singlehandedly. It's resilience and determination like that which deserves emulation from everyone. The problem is, despite his technical proficiency at his job and the accolades and awards he's received, he only latched onto his emotional quotient when he needed it the least.

My mother might be a little eccentric, but I can only blame my father for it. A certain part of me feels that he didn't really put his heart into it --- that I was more of a product of a passing thought than anything else. Did I save the marriage the first time round by simply being born? Probably --- the same can be said for most marriages.

My mother was probably happy as a cow in grass when we moved to New York. She'd relate to me later in the future over how a married couple should just consist of the basic nest, and not the extended family --- her wisdom to what would make a coupling work. The problem is, it wasn't what my father wanted.

His elder brother (let's call him the Kajang Uncle) had choked at the responsibility of having to care for my grandparents and my uncle (let's call him the Seputeh Uncle). At the same time, he had to see my aunt through law school in England and support his wife and child. I think my father still holds this against the K.U. and his wife; for not taking up the bare minimum duties of the eldest son in the family by taking care of the parents.

Heavy, no? It's all about tradition.

I suppose my father had the belief in me that I'd follow in his footsteps and be a decent (I use this term liberally in light of the circumstances), hard-working Chinaboy that I was (sometimes) raised to be. Instead, I had, and still have, the attention span of a goldfish, the appetite of a goat and I've been more demotivated by the world around me than Ron Jeremy would be if he shrunk.

Absolute power corrupts absolutely, no? As does unchecked, absolute freedom. It's always worst when you lose your resources to fund your unchecked, absolutely bummingly wonderful lifestyle. When the well's dry, you have to wait. And wait. And wait.

But was it all worth it? I'd still have to say yes. I hate people who'd think that years of slacking can't teach anyone anything. At the very least, it can teach someone that somethings can be done better with a little, just a fucking tad modicum little, of application and work. Also, life's simple pleasures probably mean more to me now than they did aeons ago.

The best I can do is to learn from all this and just float on, with the inkling to make myself a little different from the man who I owe the most to. Just a little.

Monday, December 11, 2006

Good news will find its way.

Despite my obvious repulsion to public displays of saccharine sweetness, it's good to know that some people aren't afraid of being tight. In all sincerity, the world needs more of you. You give a self-admitted cynic like me hope. And hope is hard to come by when you're an island in stormy seas. Or if you're waiting for a harvest in a time of drought.

Or if you've been plumped on lamb chops and chicken wings.

It's great to have thirty one flavours. You get to take your time to choose each one and then find the flavour that best represents you. It's an awful metaphor to use in life, though; we don't have the time or the patience to sit through a full taste test. We filter out the bad, filter in the good and judge accordingly to our criteria.

What we find to our liking in the end tends to be the most unexpected choice --- something that wasn't taken into consideration. It's akin to suddenly having the urge to make love to a midget just because she's there.

Bad example.

What we want and what we get, are always clearly two different things. But if your satisfaction's guaranteed, who's to say that you made a bad choice? Everybody loves a solution; everybody loves an efficient solution more. It's just that the fear of everything being established out of a need for convenience rears its ugly head every now and then. We all can't afford to take things slow, but I remember a time when it was just fun.

One day, you wake up and everybody around you is getting married. Your friends are content and those whom you'd never thought able of commiting have decided to take a plunge and hook up. But is that what you want? Is that where you're meant to be going to? To change the status quo because it's expected of you?

What's the point of submitting to pressure when the only thing you'd do is shortchange yourself? Egads. I'm scared of scamming myself, and I'm scared that the world has scammed me. Likewise, I'm scared of scamming other people unknowingly. I wish I could just flip the switch back, tinker and make some minor adjustments and alterations. Just a few. I could be selfish and decide to nitpick everything, but that'd be too much of a burden.

Sadly, there's no turning back. Even a creepy, eldritch Lovecraft-like device wouldn't be able to save me now.

Tomorrow is a certainty. And a tomorrow after that is just as certain as the last. And with the promise of a new tomorrow/new tomorrows, the promise of saccharine sweetness (for me) is exquisitely renewed and revisited.



My balls itch.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Drive.

There's a thin line between perserverence and obsession that I'm scared of crossing. A certain portion of my personality ignores the reality of a situation, and instead projects the best-case scenario, and as a result, I receive an extra dosage of motivation that usually leads to a bout of overachievement that was previously unseen, which may lead to an encounter with crushing humiliation which I would then tend to manage through expressing myself through composing morose songs and extended sleeping hours to neuter my consciousness.

With all this happening, I don't usually take a deep breath and ask myself what I'm trying to prove; I'm fully convinced that it's worth the effort. It usually is. That's the beauty of it.

I don't believe in lost causes. If you were stuck in a jungle for 2 days and had to take a crap, you'd probably have no qualms over using a banana leaf to wipe your ass. Likewise (forgive the previous irrelevant analogy), I believe in exploring every avenue to its nth because the nth is where we should always push ourselves to in numbing situations.

It might be nigh impractical, practically improbable and probably impossible, but (to paraphrase the Beach Boys), wouldn't it be nice?

I live for the promise. Simply because it shows that things aren't as meaningless as we make them out to be. It might be running a fool's errand, but it's always good to know that I'd be doing it the way I'd want to. Because I'd only be lying to myself by not being enticed by it.

The promise of it all. A teaser into the shape of things to come.

It sounds good. It looks good. It feels good.

If you want to fall, fall hard.

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

Two melons and a carrot.

There's a strange vibrancy within the seedy underbelly of Kuala Lumpur. I remember driving Lezel around Chow Kit one night and we stumbled upon a cavalcade of cross-dressers who had, in her opinion, "the most beautiful breasts ever". (She reckoned that they'd most certainly had some work done on themselves). It was tranny Heaven; the floodgates had opened and unleashed a force so potent upon the world that it called out to a caravan of cars, the passengers eyeing the prizes. I don't know the name of the particular stretch, but they were lined up to be counted.

It wasn't as lucid as Patpong, but it had its own gritty, rundown, ramshackled feel to it. The only thing missing were decayed brownstones and the girlboys lining up on fire escapes.

Don't take it the wrong way when I say this...but it was that good. It wasn't something that you'd see everyday (unless, of course, you saw it everday), and in terms of entertainment value, it was as high as watching a monkey sock a man in the balls with a potato sack full of loose change. I'd recommend stalking around Chow Kit to anyone who truly has nothing better to do at 3 in the morning on a weekend in Kuala Lumpur; just keep your car doors locked.

I'm not sure how people get through adolescence without questioning their sexuality at least once. And there might be some of us who're still in denial over what we really are on the inside. Be it that you're a girl trapped in a boy's body or vice versa, would you submit to the conventions of what would be considered proper, or would you do something about it?

My greatest fear would probably be discovering that my son was homosexual (call it a double standard, but I'd be alright with a lesbian daughter). I've sometimes wondered about what my father would think if I was gay. I've contemplated outing myself as a joke to see his reaction but he's known enough about my own activities to come to the conclusion that my ass is tighter than Fort Knox.

I'm relieved that I've never fallen prey to the need for rough love. But I think that I've bought into the misrepresented campiness of homosexuals to the point where I believe more in the parody than the reality of it all.

At the end of the day, there's nothing to judge; as cliched as it sounds, if your love's reciprocated, you've got half the battle won. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. You've got nothing to worry about.

Except for Jakim.

Tuesday, December 05, 2006

The superego can't save me.

I believe that there's a solution for every problem you face.

It's got nothing to do with being blindlingly optimistic; it's a fact of life. As long as we're not afraid of the means to getting the result, we have nothing to fear, and nothing to lose.

Penance?

Please.

There's always that niggling ethical dilemma...the conflict within doing what's right and doing whatever it takes. After taking a good, hard look at myself, I have to say that although I'm ethically sound, I've managed to dip my hand into the cookie jar a few times without anybody looking...and not feeling bad about it.

We should be proud of what we can get away with.

As long as we're careful.