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    Friday, January 31, 2003

    This is my first blog outside Kuala Lumpur. It is my conclusion that there is no difference between blogging in Kuala Lumpur and blogging outside Kuala Lumpur. I was hoping there’d be fireworks but sadly, there was none.

    Wednesday, January 29, 2003

    Tuesday was such a bust. I did absolutely nothing productive. I sat in front of the PC organising files and customising my desktop. (To say I was not productive is not entirely true since all my MP3s are now properly tagged and file names are renamed to the Universal MP3 File Naming Convention.)

    I think I am burning out. Or is it the Chinese New Year creeping up on me and making me lazy. I am in that mode when my response to everything ends with "...after Chinese New Year can?"

    I got a lot of phone calls today, as well as instant messages just because my name appeared in the newspaper. Once again proves that people only want to be my friend because I know celebrities. When the package looks this good on the outside, nobody cares what's on the inside.

    Funny thing happened today that got me rolling on the floor. Fellow blogger and writer-queen, Xmocha asks me for an interview for one of the magazines she writes for. The magazine is (get ready) "Health & Beauty."

    Yes, ladies and gentlemen. I am the epitome of health and beauty!

    My brief flirting with health and beauty broke the monotony of my day. Xmocha did more for me than she realised.

    I did make a new friend at a late dinner. He managed to tell a 20-minute story which could be told in 3 minutes. Anyone who can do that has a gift. I love gifted people. In this case, imagine watching "Schindler's List" in slow motion. Twice.

    When I got home, things started to roll. I managed to get some work done. It's now 4.58 am and I have to be up and perky in about three hours for a meeting and then for manual labour.

    At least I get to meet my favourite person later in the afternoon.

    (By the way, I declined the interview.)

    Tuesday, January 28, 2003

    I wonder what the world would be like if women were the physically stronger sex?

    We live in a man's world. It became a man's world because the criteria for gaining power back in the day was whether you could wrestle a wild boar and bring home its meat. Times have changed but the balance of power of hasn't. In today's environment, I strongly believe that women are the better and stronger sex. Not physically, but better and stronger in dealing with the world today; the world "today" made complicated by men. It has rendered men to be outdated.

    The "man" needs a major upgrade. I am talking about an upgrade more significant than the time you moved from Windows 3.11 to Windows 95. And I still know of some relics from the Stone Age who still thinks the woman's place is in the kitchen when we all know their place is both the kitchen and the bedroom.

    Now with my sexist Stone-Age comment out of my system, let's move on.

    There is really no good reason for a man to exist in today's world of modern technology and knowledge-economies. Women don't even need men to procreate. Well, women still need men. Men are still invited to the party, and at the same time not. For emotional support? A woman is infinitely better at providing emotional support than a man can. It's social conditioning (read: what your mother tells you) that has made us think that a woman needs a man. The only time a woman needs a man is when she is tired, or when she needs help moving.

    Women is wising up too. Recent studies show that divorce rate has gone up 238% in the past five years and 45% of women surveyed prefer to be single. This is up by 85% from the similar study in the previous year. Expect a high of 29 degrees and a low of 23 degrees with a 90% chance of precipitation. Humidity remains at 85%.

    Men are still around because women want them to be around. And we, men are around to make women feel like women and to make the man feel needed. Otherwise, a woman is an emotionally-charged man without a penis. See two women argue over the last pair of shoes on sale and you will see what I mean. All that scene needs is mud or baby oil while the women got at it and the male will be charging admission for the spectacle.

    This may sound strange coming from me, a Type 1 Alpha-Male. I love nothing more than my power tools.

    Imagine living in a world where it's a woman's world.

    Instead of "man and wife", it would be "woman and husband."

    Instead of "Take it like a man", it would be "Take it like a woman."

    Instead of "You go girl"...wait. It would still be "You go girl!" Somethings just never change.

    And there is nothing condescending about it.

    Women couples would rule the world. Everyone would want to be a lesbian. It would naturally be a more feminine world. Feminine, but not girly. Not everything will be in pink. And not every movie will be a chick-flick.

    There would be less corruption. Less political conflicts. There would be more compassion in the world. The harp would be the instrument of choice. And everything would be fat-free. Public toilets will be much cleaner. The world would be safer for children. "Full House" will still be on air. "Sex and the City" will be the longest running show in television history. Laws will be passed that requires a man to go down on a woman for more than 30 minutes before any penetration is allowed to take place, and a blowjob will be nothing more than a drying process you get at the hairdresser's after they wash your hair. Oh yes, PMS will be an acceptable legal defense in court whenever a woman is on trial for killing a man.

    The role of the man will be reduced to being nothing more but workers, or even better, pets. Men get fed and dressed up. Men will be told to get personality implants. And occassionally, if the woman feels like it, the penis gets utilised.

    Sure, in today's world, the man still prevail on top in every field except in the act of giving birth. But for every great male chef, fashion designer, or artist, there is a woman who motivates him. It would then be that “behind every great man is a greater woman.”

    Nature had it right from the start. The human race is a collective. Look at other large collectives such as the ants or bees. It’s the Queen Bee or Queen Ant that rules the colony. And the male ants work. Things get done. Look at the Borg... OK. That’s another thing altogether.

    I think this would be a great idea for a movie.

    Isn’t this great? I, a male, is male-bashing. Don’t you think I am sensitive? If you are impressed and would like to sleep with me, give me a call! (Invitation open to women only. You must not have been a man prior to being a woman. Preferably between the ages of 18-35. You must be hot.)

    Monday, January 27, 2003

    You: Hey! How’s your day so far?

    Me: Funny you should ask. Let me tell you about my day so far. I sent Psych Girl an email to ask her out to dinner tomorrow. I am not sure whether it is a good idea. Maybe I should ask her out for coffee first instead of a full meal. Dinner, at that. I could at least start with lunch. It’s less of a committal should things go south. All things considered, that’s the dullest part of the day.

    I got a haircut. Had to wait about 90 minutes to get one. And within that 90 minutes I managed to catch up on my news and current event as well as set the highest score for “Bejeweled” on my Palm.

    But wait! There’s more!

    I went to Synchrosound to pick up a cheque. Got the cheque and decided to go to the Maybank nearby. On the way there, a fucking dolt backs into the side of my car. I get a lovely dent on my already terribly abused car. I love my car. It is the only thing that has not failed me. I end up arguing with the putz and I miss depositing my cheque since the bank closes at 4pm.

    I go on with my business and drive off after getting some money off the guy. I drive by the Coffee Bean and almost as a reflex, I look in. That’s the Coffee Bean Ms XI and I have spent countless hours together reading or working on my notebook or just plain hanging out. Which is a stretch for me since I am a Starbucks guy.

    Shock horror, I see Ms XI there...alone. Thank God! She might have been waiting for that someone. At least I did not have to see it. Yes, I am in denial. I just drive on. I really wanted to see and her talk with her.

    I drive around the block. I bought her an MNG bag as a gift many months ago. There was something wrong with the zipper and we sent it back to MNG to get is repaired. I just got the fix a few weeks ago and I was not sure whether I wanted to give it to her, let alone how. And this seemed like the perfect reason.

    So I double park, leave the engine running, and walk up to her with the bag. She was surprised to see me. I think there was a moment of speechlessness on her part. Perhaps shock.

    Me: Hi.
    Her: Hi.
    Me: I’ve been wanting to return this to you.
    Her: Oh. Did you go by my house?
    Me: No. I was in the area and I saw you here.
    Her: Have a seat.
    Me: I can’t. The car is running and I better go.
    Her: Yeah. You better go then.
    Me: See ya.
    Her: Bye.
    Me: Bye.
    Her: Bye.
    Me: Later.

    I am not sure but she might have said the last “bye.”

    That 60-seconds of conversation seemed like an eternity. All I could see and hear was her. Everything else was a blur. And sweet Moses, she looked so hot! I am not sure whether I handled the situation well. But I did really wanted to sit and talk with her.

    Whatever the outcome, it would not have been good. Damned if she does, damned if she doesn’t.

    I drive home feeling the need to go skydiving without a parachute.

    I call Pam. She comforts. Minutes after we hang up, I get an SMS. Deep down inside, I was hoping that the SMS was from Ms XI. The SMS was from Pam: “Are you OK? Drive carefully.”

    I come home and write this whiny crap! I get an email from Psych Girl:

    Hi - thanks for the invite, but I have an extra class till 7 p.m. & I won't be good company after such a long day. Maybe some other time? It was nice seeing you on Sunday too. Take care. :)

    Now, all I want to do is swallow a lit firecracker.

    For the love of God, please do not ask me if I'm OK if you see me!

    And that’s how my day has been so far. How are things with you?
    I think I know what "dim sum" really means. It's Chinese for "Parts of the pig we can't sell but we sure as hell are going to overcharge you for it!"

    I had "dim sum" with Jackie this morning. I love "dim sum" but despite the myriad of colourful steamed pork by-products available, I order the same two or three “things” which are the “shu mai” dumplings which has prawns and pork, the “yam balls” which has pork, and the BBQ Pork (“cha siu pau”) which has, you guessed it, pork. In fact, I think even the fish balls have pork.

    I also love how we rationalise that the Chinese tea we drink when we have our “dim sum” will “wash away the oil and fat.” Right.

    And in other news, I am threading on dangerous ground by I blogging this. It might come back to bite me in the ass weeks or months from now if I do end up dating this person. Anyway, I had my date/meeting with Psych Girl later in the afternoon. My greatest fear happened! Her mother was there! But it isn’t as bad as it sounds.

    Psych Mom organises this flea market at Subang Parade and she was there hanging out. Psych Mom was quite understanding by not being in the way. But here’s the story.

    I met Psych Girl at my bookstore about three years ago. I thought she was interesting and was actually quite attracted to her. Then I met her mom who frequents the bookstore as well. She finds out that I was born in the year of the Pig and gets excited. That’s a first. She is a big Feng Shui person. As it turns out, Pigs and Rabbits (that’s Psych Girl’s sign as well as my ex-girlfriend, by the way) are a perfect match and Psych Mom was trying to hook me up with her daughter. Many words crossed my mind including but not limited to the following: Woman, In, Need, Of, and Psychotherapy. Which is ironic since Psych Girl has a Masters degree in Psychology. That was three years ago.

    Today, the parting question from Psych Mom was “When will I have my Pig son-in-law?”

    Whoa Nelly! And they say people change. Pah!

    Anyway, I might ask Psych Girl out again since I am still trying to get over the silent rejection of Starbucks Girl. Maybe she will psychoanalysise me and set me straight.

    Meanwhile, back at the barn, I went shopping at IKEA with Pam again. I should own IKEA stock.

    Now, here’s a question: What is the right pronunciation of “IKEA”?

    Is it “eye-key-ya” or “ee-kay-ya”?

    I’ve heard their radio ads going “ee-kay-ya” but most people pronounce “eye-key-ya.” It is one of those words that people daren’t correct the other person because they don’t really know how it’s pronounced in the first place.

    Sunday, January 26, 2003

    Once again, I've decided that manual labour is not the thing for me. Today's activities reinforced that conclusion. It's Pam's Moving Day. Amazingly, I woke up at 7 am on a Saturday. Which means, I get tired at about noon. It didn't help that I had McDonald's circulating in my system. After 2 pm, I would have gotten so tired that I won't be tired. I would then entered delirium and have no shame. We went out shopping and to eat and shopping. Did I mention we went shopping?

    It's a good thing Pam is a hoot to hang out with.

    To digress a bit because I was going through some of Pam's audio CDs while unpacking, one of my pet peeves were reignited. Here is a message to Chinese people everywhere:

    A music video is not called an MTV. If singer, Karen Mok has a video of her song, it is called a "music video", and not an MTV. I actually see credits for "MTV Director." MTV is a television network, owned by Viacom. In that respect, MTV is like Channel [V]. I will bitch-slap the person who says "Karen Mok has a Channel [V]."

    Repeat after me, "A music video is not an MTV."

    "A music video is not an MTV."

    "A music video is not an MTV."

    Saturday, January 25, 2003

    I just watched the latest episode of "Friends"; The One With Phoebe's Rats. There was a scene when Ross sees Rachel kissing another man. He is shocked and he has the look of helplessness on his face. For that one second, I could totally empathise with Ross. I find myself watching that scene over and over again. I am empathising fictitious characters played by bad actors. This is a sign that I may be losing it.
    Five days to the Chinese New Year. Somehow, I've managed to convince myself that my new year's resolution should kick in at the Chinese New Year and not the regular January 1 New Year. While the rule may apply to the rest of the civilised world, it does not apply to me. I'm special that way. Convincing myself was easy largely due to the fact that I've busted most of the resolutions I set out earlier in the year. For the most part of it, I have not even begun to set the ball rolling in order to achieve my goals. And given the deadlines, I do not realistically think I can make it.

    This year, I actually wrote my resolutions down. Well, technically, I typed it into a word processor since I have limited the act of writing to filling out immigration forms when I visit Singapore. It was a three-page document; single-spaced at 10-point font size. So, this is a subtantial document and not some fluff I wrote after watching "Oprah".

    I just reviewed what I wrote and I am ashamed that I'm already backsliding.

    I am sure this is not unique to me alone. There are probably millions out there in the same predicament who are likely to settle in the comfort zone and revert to the old ways. I want to stick to my resolutions but I am not sure how. I figured that there are two ways: I either lower my expectations for change OR I change my environment drastically to force that change. The first option is more comfortable. The latter may blow and suck ass.

    But what I've decided in the few minutes while writing this, I am going to compromise because I am a realist. And by "realist", I don't mean someone who uses the "Real Media Player." I will review my resolutions and fix them for the Chinese New Year. Great! I am all pumped already!
    Let's discuss the concept of the U-Turn. As defined by Merriam-Webster, the term U-Turn dates back to 1930 and its "a turn resembling the letter U; especially : a 180-degree turn made by a vehicle in a road." Given that it's 1930, I guess it applied to horses and other pre-auto modes of transport.

    "A turn resembling the letter U" only applies on left-hand drive vehicles. In other words, the U-Turn is an American thing and rightfully so, given that the first car was invented there. I am sure Henry Ford, inventor of the automobile, inadvertently invented the U-Turn as well when he ran out of road while giving his Ford a test drive and had to turn back.

    The U-Turn does not work outside North America where the rest of the world have right-hand drive vehicles. When we do what we'd call a U-Turn, we are actually making a "lower-case N-turn." Not a U-Turn.

    You will have to draw the turns out mentally. Or if you lack imagination, do it on a sheet of paper. The way our right-hand drive vehicles move forward is similar in stroke when we write the lower-case letter N. To see the U stroke, you will have to see it from the opposite perspective. But the point here relies on the stroke or movement of the vehicle; whether it is a U or a lower-case N.

    Therefore, I urge everyone to be proud of our right-hand drive vehicles and use the term "lower-case N-Turn" instead of "U-Turn" from now on. When the cops pull you over for making an illegal U-Turn, tell him that he is wrong. You did not make a U-Turn. It was a "lower-case N-Turn." Go on...I dare ya!

    Friday, January 24, 2003

    I've had a breakthrough. There I was sitting in front my DAW (Digital Audio Workstation, for those who don't know which is another way of saying "a PC with a cool sound card") working on a song. It was not going anywhere. All I had after three hours was just a piano part with no melody. I've been playing this piano part over and over again in a loop.

    I get a call. I answer the phone. It's Sue. I proceed to the couch to take the call. The piano part is still in repeat in the background. Talk on the phone for about 15 minutes. Hang up. I fall asleep on the couch. Piano loop still in the background. I am asleep...probably in a REM state. My subconcious has taken over the concious state. I start to notice little perfomance imperfections in the piano part. I am still asleep but fully aware of the piano part. Suddenly the song starts to write itself. Over and over again.

    I wake up from what appears to be a 45 minute nap. I go to my DAW and fix the problems I heard in the performance. However, all that technical fixing makes me lose the melody. I will be taking another nap for recall soon.

    The point of the story here is that we all should take more naps.
    Mission Aborted! Mission Aborted! I did not ask Starbucks Girl out. Too many people. Lost my nerve. Kinda lost that loving feeling as well. I did however, hang out briefly with a MALE friend. What a breakthrough!

    I think the coming Chinese New Year has something to do with my mood and spirit. I am not looking foward to it at all! I look forward to it in that time momentarily stands still for a few days. It's the only time of the year when Chinese people shuffle their priorities to downgrade doing business to make room for getting drunk and gambling. So I don't have to worry about people breathing down my neck for at least one day.

    As with most single people, it's the loneliest time of the year. I dread seeing relatives. The married ones will ask when I'm getting married. And I will make some lame excuse like "nobody wants me" when what I really want to say is to tell them to go stick a firecracker up their ass. [EDITED]

    And in other news, I got confirmation from Psych Girl for our "meeting" this Sunday. I am not sure whether I can call it a date. It has been almost three years. I don't know if I'll even recognise her. I will reserve comments for now until I see her.

    This weekend is moving day for Pam. I am the assistant logistics engineer. I am quite looking forward to it because I will get to use a power drill when we start setting up her place. There is something very primal about a man and power tools. For me, it's the ability to possibly destroy a perfectly good wall by raping it with a drill bit. I am sure that statement is giving Pam a lot of confidence.

    Bring it on!

    Pictures from left to right: Male friend looking confused, "Where's the 'any key'?"; Lovely Starbucks Girl (back profile); Lovely Starbucks Girl (front profile). (Side note: It is this writer's conclusion that the Canon Ixus 330's shutter speed isn't fast enough for this sort of sleath photography.)

    Wednesday, January 22, 2003

    This is the night where I had dinner with two new long-time friends: Syn Nee and Ivy. It was tonight that I've decided to start hanging out with more of my guy friends. I called a few after the dinner when I got home. It was about 11 and they were all asleep! Where have all the men gone!?!
    I am in love! Starbucks Girl just took off her cap and let her hair down! It was one of those Ally McBeal moments when all the ambient noise stops and everything is in slow motion. Everything else is a blur, but her. It's just her and the opening music to "Love's Theme" by Barry White and his Love Unlimited Orchestra. She looks amazing! I am coming back here tomorrow to ask her out. If she says "no", I am never coming back here again and will turn to tea at Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf for consolation.

    I couldn't whip my camera out quick enough and did not want to look like a stalker. So, all I got was a blurred side profile and the back of her head. Any day now, I'll be invited to join "Stalkers Anonymous."

    Yet another fine example of what happens when too much technology falls into the wrong hands.
    Starbucks Girl just asked if I wanted to try some coffee! I said "No thank you" and she asked whether I was sure. Wow! It was almost like a real conversation. I am sure she was only doing her job but sweet Moses, that was exciting.
    There is a hot girl who works at Starbucks@Mont Kiara. I wish I had the coffee beans to ask her out. I suddenly feel like Charlie Brown when he sees that little red-haired girl. She looks like Alanis Morrissette, oozing with the attitude and all. Unfortunately for me, I was going to go talk to her but a guy suddenly walks up to her and gives her a hug. She seems happy to see him. And I hear him saying that he will pick her up at 8 tonight at her place. Bummer. At least he did not give her a corny line like "I will pick you up latte."

    Well, I don't think it would have worked out anyway. I can't say "Let's go out for coffee", since she already works at Starbucks. And I'd be too nervous to make her coffee since my coffee probably sucks compared to Starbucks coffee. And worse of all, she'd see all the Starbucks coffee mugs I've stolen over the years. I'd never give up my mugs! Never!
    It was one of those days when I just did not feel productive.

    So, I had lunch with fellow slacker Sue today. (We slack but we work like dogs as well!) And by "lunch", she means, me going over to her place with food. At least she did not make me get pizza like the last time. It was possibly the worst pizza I've ever seen. There was actually an EGG on the pizza! Yes, some culinary genius at this pizza place cracked open an egg over a pizza before he stuck the thing into the oven. There are certain food/food groups that do not go on a pizza. Eggs are one of them, right up there with fruit and any form of beans.

    Which brings me to my beef with our local interpretation of food. You can only do so much to established configurations of food before you cross that line into adulteration. For instance, a pizza has to be tomato-based with cheese on top. Then add your meats. If you are not a meat eater, just go with a cheese pizza. Don't be putting cuttlefish on a non-tomato base "pizza"! It's not a pizza anymore! I digress.

    Anyway, we eat and watch four episodes of "Sex and the City" on DVD. I might be gay and not know it yet because I really like that show for its excellent writing and photography. The nudity has absolutely nothing to do with it. We kill about three hours and I head out to Planet Hollywood to "show face" at this press conference for Jai, a new singer. TV Woman is with me and introduce her to everyone as my cousin. I am trying to preempt the "Is she your girlfriend" line of questioning. However, I did get one dolt ask me where my "girlfriend" was right in front of TV Woman? He was referring to Ms X which got TV Woman all riled up since Ms X and TV Woman do NOT get along. Open can. Worms everywhere!

    I met up with a lot of old and new friends in the music business. Very kiss-ass kind of crowd. It was quite depressing to hear how badly the music industry is doing. Jai's album has been out for about one month and his single is on the radio charts. And yet, he has only moved shy of a thousand copies. Nora, who is almost like a veteran in the game who used to sell 100,000 copies, have only sold about 5000 units of her new album which she released in September 2002.

    Oh well.

    I meet Pam for dinner and play the role of her shopping buddy. We meet this guy we've been hanging out with. Let's call him G-Man. He has somewhat proven to be a nice and dependable person. The type who will always be there for you. There is a certain innocence in him that adds to his charm. I would not get him to paint the edges of my wall, but give the man a brush and some cleaning chemicals, and he will turn your bathroom into a clean room to make computer chips. Perhaps the twist is that he is discovering his bisexuality. He hasn't opened up to me about it. So, don't tell anyone.

    Anyway, we shop for a vacuum cleaner. It is one of the very few products you buy and you actually want it to suck!

    Not exactly the most exciting thing in the world but at least the company was great. If only you could see us. We are living the setup of a sitcom: A smart-ass straight single guy, a beautiful single lesbian, and an uncertain bisexual male. If you can't see the comedic potential in that, I really can't help you.

    Tuesday, January 21, 2003

    It has been such a tiring last few days. I feel my energy and my spirit falling. It almost seems like every aspect of me as a person is being pushed. Frankly, this sucks royal ass and I don't like it. It is a lot of work. And if you see me, don't go Oprah on me and say something like "What does not kill you will only make you stronger!" I will bitch-slap you back to the Stone Age.

    I've been reading reports on the economic outlook for 2003. Most companies worldwide have written off 2003 saying that it will be a bust and are just looking to 2004. Not many are expecting a recovery soon. What does that say about 2003? This is all George W. Bush's fault. Wish he'd just get it over with and bomb Iraq back to the Stone Age as well and get it over with. Saddam and the person who gave me that Oprah line can then arm-wrestle and see who wins the "Loser Of The Week" award.
    It is that time of the month for me when I ponder on the mystery called life by asking myself, "Why do they make ice cubes that look like tubes with a hole in the middle?" Should we be calling it "ice tubes" instead? I think about it. Perhaps the ice people were being considerate by making it easier for the ice-chewers to pick up the ice with a straw. But I think it's a more scientific reasoning: Ice-tubes have a larger surface area, hence able to cool the beverage faster than regular ice cubes. Then I realised how sad I was to even let such a trivial matter consume my thoughts for more than 30 seconds. I am almost embarrassed. (And yet I publish it for friends.)

    That's my problem. I think too much and for the wrong reasons. I think about things that do not deserved to be thought of. And by the time I get around to thinking about the stuff I should be thinking about, I would have run out on my thinking juice. Now I have to run out to the store and get more.

    Saturday, January 18, 2003

    The jungle in the afternoon. It's hot and humid. Short trees all around which shields the earth from the sun that not much other greenery survives on the ground. Suddenly there is a loud thud. They turn around and see this thorny green round hard melon-sized thing on the ground. Oga and Thor circle the botanical carcass. What is it? Is it an animal? A fruit? A seed? Something a dinosaur ate and decided to let it out of its digestive system through its prehistoric dino-ass?

    They attempt to pick it up but the sharp thorns deter them. Not to be intimidated by the menacing object, they strategise. After all, they wouldn't have discovered the flame-broiled burger if they had given up on fire so easily at their first encounter. So, employing the twelve-step problem-solving techniques of their forefathers, they club the thing! Twelve times! Eventually, the object splits open, and with that, the smell of a hundred butt cracks after a workout.

    Nature's design of this "fruit" begs that we do not apply our sensory of touch and smell to it. I am quite nature did not intend for us to eat it.

    What I'd like to know is at what point did we decide that something that looked and smelled they way it does, made us want to put the thing in our mouth to taste what it's like.

    To put it in perspective, imagine seeing a piece of feces on the ground. It looks bad. It smells funky. Then you go, "Fuckit! I am going to put it in my mouth and eat it anyway."

    After that, you round up your friends and get them to try it. And if that isn't enough, you start grading the crap and have ice cream flavoured after it.

    I don't get it. Since when did people acquire the taste of bodily waste discharged through the anus?

    Clay and I hate durians.

    Now, let's talk about cockles.

    I had lunch with TV Woman today. It was generally pleasant until she told me a little piece of unpleasant information that practically ripped my heart out from my chest. I will be over it in about 20 minutes. This is the same woman who, the day before, introduces me to her fellow thespians with an award-winning opening introduction: "This is the guy who said that he would sleep with you and would want to wake up with you the next day to have breakfast!"

    I suddenly felt I should be reporting to some welfare officer for deviant behaviour so they can put my photo at the post office to inform the public that I am in the neighbourhood. Anyway, that's that with the TV Woman. Other than that, it was your regular musical and special effects.
    I spent my a good part of my afternoon and the early evening waiting for my next appointment at Starbucks. I had my wireless Internet connection going (with my wireless card I got with Ms X, by the way) and it was like a three-hour orgasm. The Starbucks at Mont' Kiara is special. You will find beautiful people with their notebooks and PDAs surfing the web and going on about their business. It is like a startup garage with power cables running across the coffee shop and people going around looking for a power point. I love that energy.

    I also asked someone out today. Of course, being a new millenium kinda guy, I did it through email and she said "yes". However, right after she said "yes", I recalled why I did not bother asking her out in the first place. We met three years ago at a bookstore, which is a good sign because you would have immediately established the fact that this person can read and probably do simple calculations.

    It has been three years. People change. Let's see how it goes before I do a Chandler Bing and find something to complain about; such as the size of her head or why she has no neck. Neither applies to her. But believe me, my concerns are more realistic and practical. That's another blog altogether.

    There is one positive thing from all this sap I am going through.

    I've been writing a lot of sad slow songs. Which is a good thing since my publisher tells me that's the sort of thing the Chinese markets go for. In fact, most of my songs which have been recorded are the slower ones. So, there's that silver lining.

    I finally got a pre-release copy of Ferhad's new album. It is a great Malay-language album. And I am not saying this because I am one of the producers and songwriters for the album. It truly is a great album. So great in fact, I do not think the people here will get it. It's too clever. Even the cover has a certain style to it which I think might scare off the common folk who buys Malay albums. This one is more for the urban Malays and Chinese.

    But what excites me is that, when I listened to the final CD and read the liner notes, I got the same sensation and excitement when I first listened to Sheila Majid and Zainal Abidin back in the late 80s and early 90s. It has been awhile since we had a Malay album with class. This is one album I would be proud to be associated with. I am usually quite self-depreciating when it comes to my own work. It's not false modesty. I am just my own worst critic. However, I am very proud of this Ferhad album.

    I had Zainal Abidin in one of the songs I produced. You should have seen me at the recording session. I was a total geek fan when Zainal was in the room. I was suddenly reduced to an 16-year old with a goofy grin waiting for an autograph. And I was supposed to produce him and tell him how to sing! Thankfully, he is one of those singers that you don't have to say much to because they already have their own style.

    The album comes out on 21 January. Please get a copy at a store near you. It's Ferhad. "Katakan Saja" on Positive Tone/EMI.

    Friday, January 17, 2003

    Word Of The Day:

    phlegm • \FLEM\ • (noun)
    1 : thick mucus secreted in abnormal quantity especially in the nose and throat
    2 a: dull apathetic coldness or indifference b: intrepid coolness or calm fortitude

    Example sentence:
    Burt surveyed the accident scene with a lofty phlegm, maintaining the controlled detachment that served the journalist well when he had to report such grim news.

    Not to be used in this context: Elton John is phlegmboyant.
    Besides being on this blog-writing frenzy, I have also been reading the blogs of many others randomly. I am following some. It is quite fascinating. You will find the most boring people which makes my life look like a party at the Playboy Mansion. I guess that's why we blog. If our lifes were interesting, we'd be too busy living it rather than to sit in front of the computer telling strangers about it.

    There are two kinds of bloggers: The blogger and the blogger wanna-be. Either way you slice it, both categories of bloggers are not going to win social awards anytime soon. The blogger wanna-be, honestly, is just wasting disk space and 80% of their blogs are just mind-numbingly dumb. ("Hello. I saw a frog today!")

    On the flip side, you have the bloggers who find the act of blogging comparable to the act of sex. I think the pyschological term is called a "mind fuck" but don't quote me on that.

    Is the blog the modern day version of the diary or journal? The concept of a journal or diary is to document our thoughts and events for the day. But blogging puts the whole thing on a different level when we choose to have others read it. People who have never kept a journal or diary start to blog. There is no natural progression from paper to an electronic format.

    Why do we blog and tell people about it? And in the same breathe, say that it is private. Perhaps to update our friends on what is going on? Perhaps it is therapy and a form of release. Or perhaps we want to show others what interesting lifes we have. Or how funny we sad we sensitive and deep we are. Or maybe it's the flavour of the month like golf when Tiger Woods was da man or joining the gym or using your sunglasses as a hair accessory while at a club in the middle of the night. Give it a few months and there will be as many dead blogs as there are dead Geocities websites. (And Blogger will probably be part of Yahoo!.)

    But for now, we blog. We want others to see us lose control, speak our mind, and be vunerable but...hey, you can't judge me based on what I write because these are private thoughts!

    In the end, like everything in life, these blogs represent our needs as human beings to communicate and to reach out. As private as our thoughts are, deep down we hope someone reads them and can relate. We hope someone responds and say "Hey! It's OK. I know how you feel! You are not alone." That might be the hidden motivation.

    This literary voyeurism represents how sad we are as human beings and how little we have progressed. In this day of high communications technology, we still rely on a passive medium to communicate. We just can't tell the other person how we feel or what we think. Perhaps we are afraid of judgement and rejection. We want to communicate but we don't want to talk.

    One day soon, someone is going to ask "How are you doing? What's going on in your life?"

    The other person will say, "If you really want to know, check my blog."

    And we wonder why people don't talk anymore.
    Ferhad's new album "Katakan Saja" comes out on 21 January 2003. Get your copy! Buy original so I can get royalties. Thank you.

    Thursday, January 16, 2003

    I wonder how many blog entries start with "I had lunch today with....."?

    It is so trite. Instead, I will begin with...

    I had lunch yesterday with Clay at McDonald's at Mont Kiara. Clay is another great breakup buddy because she is very nice and more importantly, she is HOT. She posseses the qualities every superficial man would want in a woman. Since I am deep like the Nile, we are great friends.

    We overdosed on a particular potato product yesterday at McDonald's: The twister fries. That is some tasty potato! Try it. It might not do much to change your life or make you more money, but it will certainly bring out the inner beauty in you.

    So, Clay, world. World, meet Clay.

    By the way people, Clay is Batbabe.

    Wednesday, January 15, 2003

    Jini! Thanks for tea and your company this evening!
    My attention-deficit, spotlight-hogging but nonetheless lovely friend emailed me and told me that she was upset that I have not mentioned her name here. I don't mention names without permission. So let's call her "TV Woman". Anyway, TV Woman emailed me today. What a treat!

    Tuesday, January 14, 2003

    Call it divine intervention. I am very thankful for my new friend Pam. She helped me rediscover my love for jazz. I've been listening to electronica and dance music so much these past years. I was getting sick of music. Nothing excited me and I've heard it all before.

    So it is quite ironic (and rather obvious when you come to think of it) that I would find solace in jazz. Jazz was the first genre of music that made me passionate about music. This was when I was 16 years old. I am on a downloading frenzy and I'm rebuilding my jazz library I once had on cassette. And I am not talking Kenny G or Dave Koz. Screw that crap!

    The change in musical direction to the soundtrack of my life could not have come at a better time.

    I am not as agitated listening to Ella Fitzgerald when I am stuck in traffic.

    Right now, I am listening to Ella Fitzgerald singing "Someone To Watch Over Me" and this song should not have been recorded by any other singer after Ella finished the song.

    I have not slept in over 48 hours and the walls are starting to talk to me. I've just finished working on music for this beer advertisment. And I expect the client and ad agency to come back to me with changes up the ass since these people really know what they are doing and are very considerate.

    On a totally unrelated topic, I had thought I had very few guy friends and I could not relate to guys. I thought about it and realise that it is not true. I do have guy friends and could relate to them. The problem is that they are hardly around these days. All my close male friends are married. Yes, I am the only single one among my cohorts. And once they strap on that ball-and-chain combo, the dynamics of our friendship changes. We don't hang out much. And when we do, they usually tell me about their problems with the wife and then ask when I'm getting married.

    So, who's left? My female friends, whom are mostly single. That's not entirely a bad deal.

    However, Sue made an interesting observation about me over lunch the other day. She said that I was too nice a guy. What a bitch! Sure, I've heard that one before. It is usually the brush-off a woman gives you just to NOT sleep with you. But not when it is coming from Sue.

    I am too nice. I am sensitive...but not the crying type. I understand and am usually considerate of other people's feelings. I am quite expressive of my thoughts and feelings. In other words, I am an ugly woman with a penis.

    Once I make that connection with a woman, I cease to become a man. And therefore, can no longer be considered as a sex object. We can be on the same bed with her in my arms, and I will hear those five fucking words "It's nice to just hug!" OK. I guess they are just words....and not fucking words since it is anything but that.

    So, as part of my new year's resolution, I intend to be a dick and a total jerk. Look out world!
    I do not have orange juice and bacon in my fridge. I used to make sure I had them in stock since it was Ms X's favourite food. We'd eat and shoot the breeze. There was something about that kitchen that made us comfortable. Orange juice with a pinch of salt and bacon and eggs. But now, I don't have to worry about that anymore. I've not been cooking or using the kitchen much. And whatever I do eat, I do it with as minimal utensils as possible. Let's just say I've perfected the art of eating over the kitchen sink.

    It has been 11 days since we had that argument. Technically, the ball is in my court since she did call when her grandmother died. But of course, I had to be Clint Eastwood that day walk away from it. I am still contemplating on whether I handled the situation the same way Jesus or Captain Picard would have.

    Finally, checked my email and received an email from someone with a very similar name to the woman who broke my heart. I almost had a heart attack when I saw just the name. The email wasn't from her though. But it made me realise that I am still not over it.
    Why I get so much junk mail on penis enlargement? I am sure that others get this crap too. You know, the type of email you would not want to open in public because it includes a large image of a 12-inch schlong. You don't delete it right away. You wait for the image to download just so....

    Anyway, I was wondering why I don't get junk email on breast enhancement? Come to think of it, I don't think I've ever received any email peddling a boobjob. Frankly, it would be far more interesting for me to look at.

    Monday, January 13, 2003

    Happy new year, my yellow ass! 2003 is turning out to be quite a bust already. It is only 13 days into January and there is so much pain and sadness around. Most of my close friends are in some kind of emotional or relationship rut. I think I am still there. I lost a friend. Had to deal with a death. Had to watch a person deal with suicide. Then there's this whole other parallel universe involving lesbians, and people who think they are lesbians, and then the person who thinks she is not a lesbian turns out to be a guy who now wants a threesome. And a many people dealing with break-ups and post-relationships.

    I have one word to everyone dealing with this: Denial!

    It has seem to work well for me. However, I do not suggest you try that with your bills. I was in denial for a few months. Then I had no electricity at home. But on the other matters, like feelings and emotions, and sometimes on matters pertaining to your job, it might be helpful to subscribe to being in denial.

    This is how I figure. As long as I think things are OK, it will be OK. Isn't that how people become a God? If you think you are a God long enough, you will believe it too. And if you try hard enough, other people will think you are a God too. (Just because you think you are a God, don't try to fly or do some stupid crap like that. Only those who think they are Superman can fly. But don't think you are Superman.)

    Not discount my thinking just yet. Being in denial actually creates an emotional state. And this is an emotional state you can control. For instance, if you have broken up with your girlfriend, you just imagine that she is still your girlfriend and that everything is OK. Then proceed to drink great amounts of hard liquor of your choice until you are happy. See how it works.

    Eventually, you will do this enough that you will forget about your problems. It might largely be attributed to your decaying memory due to excessive alcohol abuse. But hey, just imagine everything is OK and things will be OK.

    This is the kind of crap you write when you miss someone too much. Where's that angel!

    Saturday, January 11, 2003

    I am thinking about getting a new phone since mine is acting weird on me. I have always been a fan of Nokia phones for their easy-to-use user interface and operating system. However, I do not like their recent designs. They look more like candy than a functional piece of communications device.

    Now we have phones with colour screens, a mini QWERTY keyboard, a digital camera, a digital assistant, plays MP3, plays audio clips as the ring tone. I will soon miss the days of the annoying but humble monophonic ring tone whenever someone in the cinema leaves his phone on and his cue to pick up the phone is a 30-second clip of Sheena Easton's "Telephone".

    Frankly, all this do not impress me. If the phone manufacturer wants to impress me, design a phone which needs to be recharged only once a year. All I want is a phone. I do not need something that will allow me to launch nuclear warhead while I track my UPS package, remotely flush my toilet at home, and play Snake III at the same time.
    I think it's official: My book writing career is over. The blog has taken over. I have lost the ability to write in length with a pen on paper. Instead I am able to peck rather quickly on a computer keyboard with a layout designed specifically to slow down the input by human beings.

    Thursday, January 09, 2003

    If I were a writer at Reuters, and I could not write my news stories, would they say I have "Reuter's Block"?

    Wednesday, January 08, 2003

    If I were a writer and I had a blog, I could call it "Writer's Blog".
    I would like to introduce a new phrase to the world. It's called "The Nap Of Death" (NOD). It is not a suicide ritual nor does it have anything to do with death. I call it that because I have been taking many of those and given my emotional state, it can't be very good for me. But I am sure you, my dear reader, have had many Naps Of Deaths yourself. It usually happens in the late afternoon. You sleep like a....well, like a sleepy person and you wake up at around six or seven in the evening. It may not be completely dark yet. You wake up flushed with loneliness and you are not sure where you are or whether it's the morning or night. It is at that moment you wish the phone would ring and your favourite person is calling to ask you out to dinner. The phone never rings. You get out of bed and you feel like you are a step closer to feeling the sadness Rose felt when Jack died after the Titanic sank. And that's why it's called the Nap Of Death.

    It is possibly the worst feeling in the world...right after the feeling you get when a person whom you thought is a good friend then one day turns around and betrays your trust knowing exactly how you feel about her and then having the nerve to tell you that she is seeing someone else at the same time and all you can do is wish that she would take a shower with a plugged-in toaster.

    I am sure we all think like that.
    I never thought I'd start an entry with these vanilla lines:

    I had dinner with Pam this evening.

    (Hah! And they say I do not have the ability to be boring!)

    People are asking "who is Pam" and why is there a picture of her in my blog.

    I met first met Pam at an event on 26 October 2002. I actually first noticed her on my way out from the restroom. Now, that setup itself is a romantic comedy waiting to happen. So, I was thinking, "Man, she is hot! But that nose ring is kinda scary." Fast forward an hour or so, we are sitting with a large group of musical people having dinner. She was with a friend whom I thought she was dating. The night passes and that's that.

    As fate would have it, I run into Pam a few weeks later at MidValley. We exchanged numbers and we met for breakfast a few days later. Not only did we have breakfast that day, we also did some grocery shopping. Now, that's something I don't normally do on the first date. It's more of a 15th date sorta thing.

    Anyway, we are getting along very well. I am thankful she is here to listen to my whiny crap. I am very thankful that she hasn't smacked me for endlessly having fun with her name. (Pamster. Pamcakes. Pamasonic. Pampers. Pamphlet. Pamelo. Pamolive. Pam Pilot.)

    I somehow relate better to women than to men. It has something to do with the fact that I was mostly raised by my mother and grandmother; not so much by my dad since his job required him to travel too much. So, it is good that I can spend time and talk with her about things and not have to worry about things going further since she has that whole penis embargo thing going on. Which is what I need right now. A dinner buddy. A movie buddy. A PDA-beam buddy.

    Pam is great. She is such a gem and a sweetheart. She writes well and knows how much RAM she has on her PC. And as a bonus, she laughs at my jokes. I am saying nice things because I know she is reading this. :-P

    When I die and I arrive at heaven's gates and the old white shiny guy guarding the gates says I could go back to Earth to the day I were born and I could chose whom I wanted to be born as, I'd say I want to be a bootilicious lipstick lesbian with huge boobs so I can date Pam.
    I got one comment on my scent observation. This person suggested the smell of sex. While it may seem like something obvious, would you really want to smell sex? I would think it would be sitting lonely on the display shelf next to the other non-mover scents such as "Pork (Fried)", "Pork (BBQ) and "Workout." Why would I want to smell sex if I am not having it? And can someone describe the smell of sex? (PS I love you SM! Don't be mad at my smart-ass stab. :-)

    Tuesday, January 07, 2003

    It seems like such a great idea. Why hasn't anyone made a scent that says "new". When we talk about air fresheners, we have scents like "mountain fresh" or "spring flowers". Why not a scent that says "new couch" or "new electronics"? C'mon, I want people to come into my home and say " got a new couch?" And not "Hey! You got a mountain in your living room?"

    I got new speakers for my home studio a few weeks ago. Made my studio smell like a million bucks. Now the smell of new electronics is fading. I wish I could just point and spray a bottle of "Electronics - Eau De Toilette" and make things smell new again. And wouldn't the scent of money be good too? If you can't have a million bucks, you could at least smell like a million bucks.

    So whadaya say Chanel?
    Too dramatic, you think?

    Monday, January 06, 2003

    I had to put this one up. It is such a hoot. It is also quite self-explanatory. I visited this spot a few months ago and it wasn't there anymore.
    I woke feeling surprisingly great today. I've been keeping busy and have my lunch and dinner dates filled for the rest of the week. I am calling it a preemptive strike on reality. I am prolonging denial by delaying the effects of reality. This way, I never have to face the truth and can settle in my little world thinking everything is alright. Of course, once my clothes are dry, I will have to take them out of the dryer.
    This is my buddy Pam. She is a new friend as opposed to an old friend. I met her sometime in late October 2002 and we are getting along splendidly. You can't tell from the picture, but she loves mango. Then again, who doesn't?
    I feel sadness.
    I don't know why but I really appreciate the music of Robbie Williams. I've always liked his stuff but now, I think this man is an underrated music genious. Short of sounding like a hippie, his music really speaks to me man! However, I am limiting my appreciation to a few songs: "She's The One", "Eternity" and "Better Man". Don't get me wrong! The other songs are great too. Then there's that new Christina Aguilera (of all people) song, "Beautiful" which sounds like a Robbie Williams song. It does something for me too. Not the same way what garlic does to me...but you get the idea.

    Sunday, January 05, 2003

    I just have to say it: I HATE THAT KETCHUP SONG. God, I hate everything about that song. Sure, everybody is humming it because it is so fucking annoying! And then there's the video: They look like drag queens with 20-foot steel pipes up their asses. It is as if someone pointed a large gun to their heads and made them sing and do that silly dance. Still, I listen to it when its played on radio just to annoy myself. Having said that, I could never write or produce something so sickeningly infectious even if I wanted to. And don't even get me started on Ja Rule's voice....
    I survived the weekend.
    It is five days into the new year and I still have not resolved my resolutions for the new year. Looks like I will have problems keeping them. I recently read that people who write their resolutions and make a pledge to keep them actually stand a 60% chance of keeping them. I kinda like the odds.

    One of my resolutions this year is to take more photos and write more about my life. I realised that I have very few pictures or documentation about my life. In fact, I do not even have pictures of my ex-girlfriend which I was dating for three years. Nor do I have recent pictures of my family or my grandmother. I got a digital camera last year and I use it mainly to take random shots of my toilet or rotting know, typical gross guy stuff. But I do not have any pictures of myself.

    The ultimate hint that I should have more pictures was when I installed Windows XP and there was that MY PICTURES folder that magically appeared when I installed XP. God (and by God I mean, Microsoft) is telling me something. So, this year, I am going to populate that folder and make God happy. God knows I've spent a great deal of time making the MY MUSIC folder busy.
    I think I am going through what I'd like to call IBS (Initial Blogger Syndrome). This is when the person spends 80% of his waking moment customising his blog site and choosing the right template. I am going through that phase now.
    I am not happy today. Today could possibly be the worst day of this year but I am sure there are many people out there just waiting to top that and ruin the rest of my year. Life is sometimes a bucket of piss. Then we die.

    Saturday, January 04, 2003

    I hesitated doing this. Do we really need yet another blog on the web? I keep a journal...which is a blank book. I started in August 2002 and was hoping to finish it so I can show it to my grandchildren in 30 years and show them what their grandpa was like back then, and what great penmanship I had. Then it occured to me, while I love to write, I actually did not like the physical act of writing. Needless to say, the thrill of writing wore off quickly. So, I made myself a snack.