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    Friday, February 28, 2003

    Pam "Funk Diva" P. makes a good point on my derivative of the word "Wolumn" from the word "Blog."

    As she so eloquently puts it...

    "if you analyse it, like you say, a blog is a web log, then technically, a web column should be a bolumn. if you still can't see it, let me break it down for you: b-log, from weB log; b-olumn from weB column."

    Bolumn it is.

    So much for my influence on the English language.

    Wednesday, February 26, 2003

    23 Feb 2003 was a very sad day for me. It was the Great Kettle Burnout. Well, it was bitter sweet since I did some recording that day. So excited about the recording that I forgot I was boiling water.

    This is the second kettle I've lost in the past 6 months. I think someone is telling me that I should get an electric kettle.

    Anyway, I got this kettle at IKEA for a silly RM70 or so. It is one of those beautiful but not practical or functional designs. First of all, look at the stupid cover that is supposed to whistle when the water is boiling. I have two of these covers. The first one melted (Exhibit 1) due to the heat. So pissed I was that I went back to IKEA to reappropriate another one (Exhibit 2). Could someone please tell IKEA that kettles are supposed to get hot and it would not be advisable to incorporate meltable material like plastics or cheese in their designs.

    The irony this time is that the kettle burnt out BUT not the cover! Go figure!

    After a few hours, I inspected the kettle carcass. Popped the cover and looked inside. I see this black "thing" which I believe, the scientific term is called "weird crap", in the kettle. I have no idea what it is. It looks like a moon rock.

    So, I mourn for my kettle. I am a kettle-less man. And since I do not have a cow, you could also extend it to say that I am a cattle-less kettle-less man. Rust in peace.
    I know I stated in my earlier blog that I will be talking about personal stuff. But you might be interested in this ditty.

    She called yesterday. She called today.

    She called for a reason...which I figure it was some stupid excuse to call. By her third call, she was talking to me like as if nothing had happened and there was no lost time between us.

    I sense that she wanted me to ask her out to dinner but I pre-empted by saying that I was busy. That’s a big big leap for me. And then the call got more personal. She started to get verbally cosy with me with pet names (which by the way, I hate now.) Then she started telling me how she missed some of the things we did.

    Then it dawned on me. She misses me! Muah ah ah ah ah!

    You know what? I feel great. I am actually a little happier. So, I am a sick little fuck. Eat me!

    She could be saying all this just for the heck of it. But I don’t care. I guess all I really wanted to know is that whether she felt anything I felt. I guess she did...perhaps not in my magnitude since I am after all, a flaming drama queen. At least now I can get on with my life and get back on track to do what I am supposed to do...revive disco! Just you wait!

    I reflect on this one episode of “Friends” when Monica broke up with her boyfriend Richard (played by Tom Selleck). Monica couldn’t get over it and she had not slept in a week. She spent her time making jam. Then her dad visits her one day and mentions that Richard was a wreck over the breakup. Monica was happier and she fell asleep.

    Tuesday, February 25, 2003

    I was doing some housekeeping on the memory (or as my dad would call it, digital film) of my digital camera. Just had to show these:

    These are my demo singers: YH and Ms. Pam "Funk Diva" P. Their vocals are on the MP3 files below. These two will have a significant impact on my future. The YH session was on 23 Feb 2003. Pam's 12 Feb 2003. You can see my "Flaming Moses" fried rice on the table. I call it that because once you take a bite, you'll go "Flaming Moses! Show me the toilet!" I wanted to call it "Fried Laxative" but it thought that didn't sound too appetising.

    Speaking of appetising, Pam and I cooked a few weeks ago (16 Feb). I had to take a picture because it was so pretty. I had to hold back some tears. That black thing on the right is my "Hypnotising Chicken." Pam cooked the other two dishes: Tofu which always makes me go "I Foo. You Foo. We all foo for tofu!"; and the standard issue dish at the table of any American in a Chinese restaurant in the US: Stir-fry broccoli beef. (You gotta say it with that Chinese accent to the full effect.) Against Pam's mocking, I had the ginger and spring onions on the side for that photo-for-the-menu touch.

    This is my grandmother. She is about 85. She is the coolest grandmother in the world. All the Cantonese bad words I know, I learn from her...and a few Hokkien ones as well. How cool is that? Everyone says I have her eyes. (Oww!)

    Monday, February 24, 2003

    I Know You Know
    I also need to add that this isn't me singing. It's a guy who can actually sing; evident by this song. It's not me. I repeat, it's not me. I tried to but I sucked.

    Please Believe Me
    This is the lovely Pam. Can you feel her pain?

    Stupid IKEA kettle. Whistle louder you stupid piece of crap!

    Sunday, February 23, 2003

    Thanks to my recent intensive foray in the world of advertising, I am meeting new interesting people. Not only from advertising but from people in its supporting industries; hopeful singers and actors. I will say this. The people I am meeting these days look a heck of a lot better than the people I met when I was in the IT industry. Very shiny people.

    One of the things I am learning is keeping my mouth shut and my face straight whenever these pretty people speak. It just cracks me up whenever someone says “I am trying to do something that has never been done before.” And when you ask them what and how. They draw a blank.

    Or my personal favourite.

    “I am going to be a big star. I am going to go international.”


    “I don’t know. I just know I was born to do this. I am destined to be a star.”

    Right. Moving along.

    These are the sort of people who will pose for unidentified photographers at social events just to have their pictures in magazines who want such pictures simply to fill space.

    These are the people who think Kuala Lumpur is the centre of the universe.

    These are the people who, for artistic integrity, will come up with a drum-and-bass album which they plan for international release although they are not sure how to do it. And then wonder why they ended selling only 50 copies, mostly to themselves to give to their friends.

    These are the people who speak with an accent even though they've never been out of the country. What's worse are those who go to Australia and then speak with a British accent. No wait, that's not the worst. The worst are those who speak with an unidentifiable accent cocktail, which appears to be a combination of 32 accents from around the world topped with bad grammar. I would love to see how this people speak to their mothers, grandmothers, and to that one uncle from Batu Gajah, Perak. I can just imagine grandma going...

    ”Ooi...what the properly...can or not?”

    Alright. Maybe not your grandmother.

    I now realise, dear God, I love myself and my "real" friends. I should be the last to judge. Some people say I'm weird or they "don't get me." Frankly, when people say that to me, I just think they need to watch more TV and expand their vocabulary.

    Listen people! This is Malaysia. We do not have a long history of the type of culture you are peddling. If you want to keep it real like you think you are, talk about Chinese opera or the Mak Yong. You are not in New York or Paris. We are a developing country with a population of 25 million. We are not there yet.

    People don't talk like that here. You are not cultured. You are just ridiculous and perhaps, ridiculously in the wrong place. Move to the US or Europe. Think about that when you are home eating your Maggi mee.
    I have this Braun electric toothbrush which I totally love. I can't imagine personal dental care without it. However, I can't help but wonder if my neighbours notice the buzzing sound coming from the bathroom whenever I use it. If I didn't know better, I'd think someone was using a vibrator in the bathroom. A vibrator and me. Now, that's a visual you would not want in your head.
    I'll be damned. It happened sooner than I thought. I wrote sometime ago that Blogger will one day be owned by Yahoo!. Well, I guess I was wrong. It's now owned by Google.
    This is week is “eat in” week. (I can hear a chorus of you people going “Yeah right. Whatever.”) With the help of the Food God, I am going to attempt to eat at home this week. I’ve eaten out almost every day since I started work in 1995. This has clearly affected my once-male-model body. Maybe I will eat out once or twice, if business calls for it. Not only am I going to eat in, I will also eat healthy.

    So, I went grocery shopping and filled my fridge with all sorts of healthy crap like fruits and low-fat yogurt. Now my fridge is actually living up to its purpose and is actually keeping food fresh. Yes, I actually have a fridge with food. This is full of excitation. I have fruits, some vegetation, and various meat products.

    Having said all this, I expect invitations to lunch and dinner to be at an all-time high because life is just that kind.

    Tuesday, February 18, 2003

    The term blog began from web log. The de facto definition of blog was characterised when some lonely person decided to post his or her daily journal on-line for the world to read. (Although, the original blog was not an on-line journal.) As with most web-based phenomenon (like ICQ and eBay), it was only a matter of time before a business would form based on that idea.

    Blogging gave rise to the concept of personal publishing and the corresponding push-button publishing jargon.

    However, in the personal publishing realm, there’s still tremendous potential in the application of push-button publishing. It goes beyond posting your life story or telling us what you had for dinner.

    John Barger coined the term blog in December 1997.

    Today, 18 February 2003, I would like to introduce the latest in personal publishing.

    I call it Wolumn.

    A wolumn is a web column in the same way a blog is a web log.

    You see where I am going?

    Yes. You heard it here first. Wolumn. Spread the word.
    Call me Mr Productive. I managed to attend a meeting. Produced and mixed music for a television commercial. Partially arranged another piece of music for a different commercial. And on top of all that, managed to hang out a bit with Pam for dinner and a quick lesson in butchering the Chinese language.

    So here I am. Blogging at 3.30 in the a.m. I was supposed to have recorded my first Chinese song demo with me, yes, me, singing. Yes, me singing! Do you know what’s more ridiculous than me singing? Me singing in Chinese!

    You can more or less guess how that exercise went given the fact that I am writing. It totally sucked royal ass. I couldn’t even get through the first verse. I got the lyrics in Chinese. Pam was kind enough not only to romanise the characters, but she also taught me how to read them. It’s only now I realise that speaking and singing are totally two different things from the brain-to-output point of view. What you think you are saying and what actually comes out from your mouth are vastly two different things.

    In conclusion, I am leaving the singing to singers! I will just stick to writing and producing. If you know anyone who sings, let me know.

    And in other news, Pam and I recorded three song demos, which sound almost like a finished product. I love it. If those songs do not get attention from the industry, either from a song or vocal standpoint, I am going to quit music and set up a Ramly burger stall. I am also in love with Pam’s voice, which I hear, is straight. So, that’s a good thing.

    Meanwhile, back at the ranch, I am now getting sucked into the world of music for commercials. I have not decided whether that is a good thing or not. I do know one thing though. People in advertising are idiots. (By the way, that’s item #3 on the “How To End Your Career In Advertising” list.) I also do know that I have more strangers coming to my apartment in the middle of the night to piss me off by asking me to make changes at the last minute. Also, women in advertising are shinier than regular people.

    May the Force be with you.

    Friday, February 14, 2003

    Funny thing happened on my way to work.

    I thought it was going to be one of those morning when I would get caught in traffic for at least one hour before I get to the part of the road where traffic clears up. I will then need another 30 minutes to get to the office.

    This time it was different. It took me two hours to get to the part of the road where traffic clears up.

    Like most people, I’d cuss and swear and bitch when I get caught in traffic. Compound that with bad drivers who cut me off or drivers who take their own sweet time to get in gear and move their sorry asses, I am ready to road-bully. In the following seconds, every road user ahead of me is a motherfucker.

    However, this time, I thought I’d be a little original and potent with my swearing.

    “Someone better die for this jam!”

    I plough through the traffic. I’ve gone through one CD by now. I see more people walking and weaving through the cars ahead. Police are asking people to move along.

    “Yeah people! You losers! Move along! Damn Malaysians!”

    Yes, there’s that accident. Despite my self-righteousness, I still take a quick look to see what the fuss was all about.

    I see an old car with an open hood on the road. The standard-issue broken-down car scene; complete with smoke coming out of the engine. How typical. Then I see it.

    I see a body on the ground. At least, the lower body; the bare legs. The upper body including the face was covered with newspapers held down with shoes.

    My wish came true.

    The disturbing part was not seeing a body on the ground. It was seeing the shoes and recognising them. I know those shoes. I made them for Ling almost eight years ago. I painted on the shoes and sold them to her for a dollar because someone told me I should not give shoes as gifts.

    I call Ling. She picks up the phone. I sigh with relief.

    “Hi Ling. Are you OK?”

    “Who is this?”

    “It’s me.”

    “Waaaah....I feel so special today. I don’t hear from you in three years and suddenly I get a call.”

    “Are you alright?”

    “Yes I am. Why the weird question out of the blue?”


    Suddenly I wonder where has Ling been all my life. I used to have a major crush on her. That’s why I painted the shoes for her. All my feelings from the past came flooding back.

    “Hey Ling. Wanna have dinner tonight? With me?”


    I pick her up for dinner that day. We ate at Chili’s at Bangsar. I would like to think I impressed her my ability to de-meat a buffalo wing in my mouth without using my fingers as if I had some magical powers. However, if I know women, she’d think I’m gross.

    We talked as if we had been in touch all these while. Within that three hours at Chili’s and after seven refills of my beverage, we updated each other. It was such a pleasant evening.

    I drive her home. I promise to call her tomorrow and perhaps we could do a movie the next day. She said she looks forward to it. And for the first time in my years of dating, we both kissed each other. It was not me kissing her or her kissing me. It was a synchronised instinct that made us move forward to kiss. Just like in the movies. I am not going to screw this up.

    And to think all this started with a traffic jam. I will never complain about traffic again.

    We say our goodbyes and she makes her way into her home. I wait to make sure she is safe in her house and then drive off. That should impress her.

    What would impress her more is that I call her in a few minutes to say goodnight. I hear women love this romantic crap. Or would I appear too desperate? What the heck. I’ll just call. After all, it’s only 11. She could use a pre-sleep chat.

    I call. Someone picks up the phone. Sounds familiar. It’s her mother. Crap. I hope I did not wake the whole house up.

    “Hello. Sorry for calling so late. May I speak with Ling please?”

    Silence. But it’s broken. “Who is this?”

    “’s her friend...err...Bob.”

    Yes. Lie to her. That’s the way to impress your future mother-in-law.

    Before I could finish that thought.

    “Ling died in a car accident this morning...”

    How could this be? I just spent the evening with her. Her mother does not believe me. Did I imagine the events of the evening?

    I drive back to Chili's. People there, at least the waiter who served us must have also seen her.

    "No sir. You were here alone. But you ordered for two."

    Thursday, February 13, 2003

    I'll be back. The man who commands the creatures of the wild will be back.

    Monday, February 10, 2003

    Dear non-paying reader of Yet Another Blog:

    Thank you for the calls I’ve been receiving from some of you to remind me that I’ve not been writing.

    As much as I appreciate it, too many people have been reading my blog. About 50 unique readers a day. Fifty, relative to the visitors to, is a small number. But when you put it in the context 50 people whom I don't know reading about me, it gets disturbingly creepy. Especially if that person was referred to by someone I do know.

    I can see it one day already. I will meet that person, say TV Woman's boyfriend, and he'd go, "Ahhh...I read your blog you emotional basket case. Don't touch me. It might be contagious."

    The shit hit the fan when two of these people turned out to be my sister and my business partner. Imagine the embarrassment. Heaven forbid should Jesus go on-line and discover my excessive use of the f-word in my writing.

    I ponder. Should I make my blog private and only let a selected few access it. Or should I just stop writing about the more personal stuff. Not wanting to deny my fusion of intellect and sarcastic wit to the rest of the world, I am opting for the latter. At the very least, I should at least get laid.

    Let’s face it. My blog isn’t my blog now is it? It’s not about me or my life. It is turning out to be more of a piece of entertainment; like a column. You expect my writing to make you laugh. Nobody gives a rat’s ass about how I feel. Nobody really cares if I’m constipated.

    Therefore, I’ve decided to remove the more personal stuff from my blog and just write useless fluff purely for entertainment purposes with hopes that one day, I will be able to charge you a super low subscription fee of US$9.90 a month just to enjoy my award-winning site. But wait, there’s more. If you sign up today, I will include a free “I Visited The Batdude Site And All I Got Was This Stupid Pop-Up Ad” T-shirt with your subscription. Sign up today!
    My neighbours can’t be too happy with me.

    I’ve been home mixing music all day since 2 pm. It is now 12.30 am. I did take an hour off for a nap of death and dinner. But I have at least another three hours to go.

    I am quite amazed that I’ve not had complaints yet. And the piece of music I am working on is heavy club stuff. It’s for a beer commercial and you can imagine how ridiculously ridiculous those commercials are. (Out of the blue, a horse walks through an elderly couple’s living room.) I am going to go to sleep with the bass drum reverberating in my head all night long. I just know it.

    Wednesday, February 05, 2003

    If there were a poll to find the most frequently used line in blogs, I am quite sure that this line would be in the top five along with "I hate my life", "I am so confused", and "Nobody loves me":

    I don’t know what to feel.

    In a disturbing turn of events, she called this afternoon while I was helping Jackie assemble furniture. (What is it about me that makes people think I am good with furniture and home furnishing?) I am not going to read too much into the phone call or it’s meaning, and just accept that it is work-related. She wanted someone on her show and I happened to know that someone very well. I kept the conversation short and SMSed her the phone number of the contact she wanted. I thought it was rather rude of me. Short of me saying, “Here’s the number. Go call him yourself.”

    And that was that.

    I was supposed to have dinner with Jackie this evening. And we decided that we’d take a nap and then go for dinner. She was going to call me to wake me up when she gets up. Great! That’s a great way to get over the Nap of Death. I wake up before that wake-up call and get an attack of the Nap of Death. It was then I felt bad for being curt to “her” this afternoon. After all, to truly get over a person, you have to be able to speak to that person and be OK about it, right? She called first. She made the first move. She is trying. It'd be rude if I did not reciprocate. I'd be small and petty. Yeah...I’m doing the right thing.

    This, right here, could be the defining moment of my downfall as a man. Like a dumbfuck, I call her.

    She sounded happy. After the usual pleasantries, she launched into her “The Month That Was...” and auto-updated me on her life. Damn...I was trying to find the cancel button to stop the information download but failed.

    I tried to end the conversation with sentences starting with “Anyway....” but it didn’t work. Not because I did not want to talk but because my damn phone was heating up and I could hear my earwax melting.

    She ended the conversation with “I’m hungarian.” (that’s audi-speak for “I’m hungry.”)

    “Then go eat.”


    “Yeah...I guess I will go out and get something.”

    I am now thinking maybe she wanted me to say “Let’s go get dinner together.” You think? Gosh...I really wanted to. But I really did not want to brush Jackie off. But lo and behold, loyalty to my friend was barren. She SMSed me to cancel on me because of a guy! Cebai!

    Just as well, reason to stay home and work.

    I don’t know what to feel. Should I be happy? Should I allow her back in my life? Should I wax my eyebrows?

    Hurry home Pam!

    Postscript: Do NOT ask how I am doing! I am doing just fine.

    Tuesday, February 04, 2003

    Woman: Do you know what’s worse than Chinese new year music?
    Man: The techno remix of Chinese new year music.
    Man & Woman: Ha ha ha ha ha.
    Woman: You are funny.
    Man: I know.

    I have food in the fridge.

    That’s a rare statement coming from me. In about two weeks, I will say “I have to clean out my fridge and throw out the expired crap I bought two weeks ago.”

    I went grocery shopping at Carrefour today. Granted, most of the food products I bought are of the “bomb shelter” variety; that is food that are either canned, highly preserved by cancer-causing agents, or both. I did get some vegetation, juice, and the some bite-sized remains of a slaughtered cow.

    It was a fairly pleasant experience this time. It wasn’t as crowded as it usually is. The roads have been pretty clear as well. I noticed a lot of things on the shelves that I did not notice before. Given my allergy to high concentration of Chinese-speaking people, (by this I mean, other people’s aunties and uncles who would go for seconds at the free food sample counter), I usually breeze in and out of the place.

    Quite an eye-opener for me as I took my time to comb each aisle. The first thing I noticed is how hot some moms look these days. It’s amazing that they can shoot out a couple of kids and still have the body a porn queen. You can quite easily spot these Greek Goddesses because they are the ones with the dorky-looking husbands. (Good looking men don’t do grocery shopping.)

    I also noticed how instant noodles at Carrefour are categorised by flavour and not by brand. How there is an expiration date on bottled water. What happens after the expiration date? How the aisle for animal food is sandwiched by the aisles for rice products and beverages. Heaven forbid should grandma bring home a bag of dog chow thinking it’s a bag of rice. Good rice is expensive. We get the small tomatoes on our shelves. I am sure Singapore gets all our good stuff. How some Malaysians still call it “salad” when it is “lettuce”. Don’t get me started on the “long pant” vs. “long pants”.

    I also have a question: What’s the difference between regular garlic and smoked garlic?

    The techno remixes of Chinese new year music was really getting to me. Why do they do that? Is Carrefour trying to get their customers out of the place? Why can’t they just play regular Chinese new year music that we have all learned to love over the years?
    Let me introduce the concept of the Pointing Device.

    Contemplate this. (*Glissing harp sounds*)

    Think of the buttons in an elevator. The button on the parking ticket dispenser at the entrance of parking lots that say "Push Here For Ticket". The rubbery rail you put your hand on while you ride up or down the escalator. Door knobs or door handles at high traffic areas, especially public restrooms.

    These are public contact points. Consider this for a moment: If we scan public areas with a Germ-O-Meter 3000™, we will find the highest concentration of bacteria, dirt, muck, and other gross crap at these public contact points. Thousands of people from all walks of life, touching everything from their food to their ass have touched these areas. Some dirty pervert may have just scratched his balls and picked his nose at the same time when he thought no one was looking and then pressed the button on the elevator. Yes, it happens!

    And no one cleans these public contact points. When was the last time you see someone Lysol the buttons on an elevator?

    To put it in a more scholarly way, it’s icky!

    Your pointing device could be anything that’s available. You could use the tip of a key. Or the pointed end of whatever you are carrying. Better yet, use somebody’s finger. The point here is to not use yours.

    I don’t think this is excessive compulsive behaviour. I am not suggesting that we walk around wearing rubber gloves (although that would not be such a bad idea if everybody else wore it for me.) This is an issue of personal and public hygiene. So, the next time you lay your fingers down to key in your PIN at an ATM, take a moment to muse over the fact that the previous ATM user may have masturbated with the very same hand and fingers used to get the ATM to take out some cash. In some remote cosmic way, it may have been you who gave him that handjob.

    Use a pointing device. Accept no substitutes.
    Three of my greatest homecoming fears did not materialise and I thank the good Lord for it! One, my fear, or rather, intolerance for traffic congestion on my way back to KL from Melaka. Traffic was good. Made it back to KL in good time. Weather was fair with partly cloudy skies. Setting off in the late night helped, I’m sure.

    Two, that my apartment complex is still standing. That one is a fear. I have this thing where I return home to a big pile of rubble which was formerly my apartment.

    Three...well, I’d rather not say because I might just jinx myself. Let’s just say it involves me walking in on people with keys to my apartment (which includes my dad, my sister, and my ex-girlfriend) to find them having sex on my bed for a cheap thrill. (Not my dad and my sister having sex! That would be too sick. I will stop now.)

    I was looking forward to coming back to the city but when I arrived, my feelings changed. Going back home to Melaka gave me a temporary sense of detachment from reality. I did not have to worry about anything. Basically, I was a bum with HBO. I perfected the art of eating and sleeping. It was almost like a sanctuary. I think it’s a good thing.

    Now, back in KL, I am almost back to where I left off just before I left last week Thursday. It is as if time stood still from the time I left KL to the time I returned. These past few days had no impact on my life. I did nothing. I accomplished nothing productive.

    I did on my return, however, discover a brand new strain of bacteria and some kind of overgrown fruit-fly- on-steroids when realised that I did not take out the trash before I left town last week.

    Anyway, back to my self-contemplation and self-pity. The first thing I felt was how much I still miss her. And that I still think of her. But like Pam said, “Get over it already!” I am getting so sick of myself over this matter. I wish there was a way I could administer little electric shocks to myself whenever my mind wanders and I start to think of her. That way, I will begin to associate discomfort (electric shocks = discomfort) with thinking of her. Therefore, my brain will subconsciously stop thinking of her. That just might do the trick.

    The second thing I felt and noticed was my drier-than-usual skin. I need to moisturise more.

    For now, I shall rest. And rest I shall. For tomorrow is another day. (It’s 4.07 am! Cut me some slack!)

    You know what...I am feeling saucy! I am going to ask Psych Girl out for a beverage tomorrow. And she is going to shoot me down!

    I can’t wait for Christmas!

    Sunday, February 02, 2003

    I am regretfully pleased to report the third phase of the ongoing oriental new year celebrations: The “being-at-home-to-entertain-your-parent’s-friends” phase. This is also when the parents will start putting up their adult children up for the “That’s My Boy” or “That’s My Girl” competition. I don’t think my sister and I will do our parents proud since we are not married while some of the competitors already have kids.

    And as with all phases of the new year celebrations, it also has room for everybody’s favourite year-long quiz show of “When Are You Getting Married?”

    Hey mom and dad! Your ONLY son who will carry on the family name has his own business and he produces music for famous people! (Which is another way for my parents to say “My son is an ungrateful unemployed bum who hates us so much he won’t give us a grandchild.”)

    Next week! Really!

    On a brighter note, I have managed to clear out my Inbox. I have zero unread messages. Yes! Bring out the champagne and let’s all sing songs in praise of me.
    Space shuttle Columbia disintegrated about 30 minutes ago. Is this new year off to a bitchin’ start or what?

    Many people probably would not realise this but what happens around us, no matter how trivial or how unrelated it seems, will affect us. Perhaps not directly but there is a ripple effect and the application of the Chaos Theory; how the significance of an event, no matter how small, will end up creating a larger more significant outcome. The famous example is how a butterfly fluttering its wings in China may end up creating a hurricane in the United States. (Which, by the way, is the reason why I named my production company “Chaos Music” and not for the obvious reason if you’ve seen my hair.)

    Could someone tag me something nice that’s happened to them this year so far?
    As expected, I did the expected of what’s expected during the Lunar new year: Visited the grandfather and the grandmother. The plus here is that I finally found out the Chinese characters to my name, courtesy of my grandfather.

    I’ve also come up with a standard response to the now ubiquitous “When are you getting married?” question.

    “Next week.”

    Other than that, it was your regular bore-fest with mandarin oranges.

    I was supposed to have visited my high school-college buddy in the evening for his new year party (read: illegal gambling, excessive booze, and preserved plums) but I did not. I ended up meeting up with Hotel Girl, a friend from Singapore. We had drinks at Harper’s, a quiet little bistro by the Melaka river. I may have discovered a new aroma which I shall call “Aquatic Vomit.”

    It was one of those conversations that refreshes my appreciation for the other friends I have. I re-realise just how much I enjoy conversation. And Hotel Girl is the poster-girl for the anti-conversationalist. You can only say “What’s new with you?” so many times before you want to slice your tongue into little bite-size tongettes to deep-fry.

    Anyway, just as we were about to leave, the sister of College Buddy walks in. Talk about your “Three’s Company” moment. That’s when I realised that I’ve lost my ability to bullshit and I couldn’t come up with an excuse why I wasn’t at College Buddy’s party. It didn’t help that she saw me with Hotel Girl since they don’t get along. (Long story.)

    Ex-girlfriend is visiting tomorrow. That should be interesting.
    This is my first blog from my PDA. I feel so passionate about this topic, I felt the need to blog it immediately, even if it means having to enter this text painfully using inane strokes on the PDA.

    I will sum up what's consuming me now in five words: I hate the Cheeky Girls.

    I saw their music video for "Touch My Bum". This song is so monumentally stupid and annoying that it makes the "Ketchup Song" sound like one of the lost Lennon/McCartney tracks. The lyrical hook goes like this:

    Touch my bum, This is life

    I feel sorry for these girls because I am sure they are just doing what they're told by their producer who told them they'd be stars if they both shagged him as part of the music production process. It sweetens the vocal cords. I can imagine guys on the street literally touching their bums and then telling them that this is life. Shame.

    For now, I will have to neutralise the effects of listening to the song with a 24-hour audio assault of classical music.

    Saturday, February 01, 2003

    It’s the first minute of the first day of the Chinese new year.

    The past few days have been quite... I can’t find the words. Finally did some drilling at Pam’s new place on Thursday. That didn’t sound right.

    We drilled holes in the walls so we could have curtains and other things that requires wall support. It was quite the exercise of my manliness handling a possible weapon of destruction. The power drill, the wall, and I were one! The fun does not stop. There’s still more to drill.

    I leave for Melaka on Fri-“tied up all the loose ends”-day. I spent the earlier part of the day running around getting things done. It is amazing how much work I got done in that one day.

    I arrive in Melaka in time for dinner. Dinner was interesting. I get felt up by my dinner date, Melaka Girl.

    Things are slower here. One city-second is equivalent to 5.5 small town-seconds. And the air composition has a higher carbon monoxide content that puts most out-of-towners in a coma. Motor skills are temporarily reduced to eating, sleeping, and channel-surfing.

    This Chinese New Year is probably the worst I’ve experienced so far. Everything looks rather depressed. The people. The weather. I am sure the thing on the minds of everyone is money. We are just going through the motions doing what we have to do just because it is Chinese New Year. I just can’t wait for 2003 to be over. Or for the US to bomb the hell out of Iraq. Just get it over with!

    My cousin, about eight years my junior shows up at the reunion dinner with a beautiful three-month new baby boy. This is the cousin who once stabbed me in my ear with a Q-tip. And he is now a father. It made me question myself and the expected role of the father I am supposed to take.

    I was quite sure everyone in the room were dying to ask me when I’d be getting married and when I’ll start a family. I was all set to blurt out my shocker “I’m gay!” but I didn’t know how to say “homosexual” in Cantonese. And even if I did say “gay” in Cantonese, I did not want grandma to ask what kind of “machinery” I was into. (You gotta know what “gay” is in Cantonese to get that last line.)

    With that fear of opening up that can of worms, I was actually staying away from the baby. Didn’t want my mom to add fuel to the fire.

    “Isn’t the baby cute? Don’t you want one?”

    “Sure mom. I’ll go look for some girl and knock her up just for you. Please allow 9-10 months for delivery.”

    On the flip side, Melaka Girl dropped by in the late afternoon. We flirted and got a little touchy-feely for awhile. I’ve known Melaka Girl for ages. But we hit it off when I got back to Malaysia in 1996. We never got together because she was my sister’s best friend and she was afraid that it might get weird. She got married exactly two years ago. Had a baby girl. Six months after that, she leaves the husband and she will be serving him divorce papers next week.

    Melaka Girl and I have talked about going out. Frankly, I only wanted to go out with her back then because I wanted to get into her pants. She is very cute in a “China” sort of way. Very “healthy”. Sadly, we could not really connect given our vastly different backgrounds. This was almost four-five years ago. She has a child now. That’s the flip side. I don’t think I’d get with her just to get into her pants. Though, dear Lord, she is still hot; mother or not!

    I find the whole situation ironic. My life is full of irony. I wonder if it has anything to do with the supplements of iron tablets I used to take.

    I also have a new love: “American Idol”! That show is a hoot!