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    Saturday, July 29, 2006

    Ignoramus: I like your music. It sounds very Indonesian.
    Me: You are an idiot. Go away.

    Don’t get me wrong. It is not that I have anything against Indonesian music. By and large, I am a fan.

    But I need to get it off my chest. Local Malay pop, in essence, is Indonesian. It must have started off this way. Otherwise, we’d be listening to dangdut, keroncong, and joget. Even that, I am not sure if it is really local. But Malay pop probably started from Indonesian pop. The only difference is, Malay pop started with Indon pop and stayed there. This was probably the 70s. It developed a little bit into the 80s when producers decided to have the singer sing the song three keys higher than what the singer can comfortably sing in.

    Then you fast forward to 2003. I am Malaysian Chinese. Like most urban Chinese in KL, I speak English. There was also a phase in my life when I thought I was black but that’s another story. I listen to Top 40 radio hits mostly from the US and the UK. But I also love good electronica, dance music, and jazz. I don’t listen much to Indonesian or Chinese music. As a music producer, I am influenced by mostly US producers and songwriters such as Quincy Jones, Pharrell, Desmond Child and many others. I hardly (which really means “never”) watch Astro Ria because it’s way up at channel 4 while I am usually hanging around channels 70, 71 and 72 for Star World, MTV, and Channel [V]. Sometimes I will watch the news too.

    You see, Indonesian music has had very little influence on me.

    Therefore, I am left to conclude that what Indonesian music is today, is modern pop music in Indonesian. What Malaysian music is today, is old Indonesian pop music in Malay. Why? Because if my music sounds Indonesian, it is only because the Indonesians and I have the same influences. I seriously doubt if the Indonesian producers and writers are listening to Malaysian music for inspiration. And you can tell. There are so many Indonesian tracks that almost borrow and sometimes rip off the music that comes out of the US and the UK. But why it works is because it is in the language of the masses. So it sounds new to the market.

    Yet our local singers want to sound Indonesian. That just doesn’t make sense. In essence, they want to copy a copy. Look further people.

    So, the next time you see me and want to make a comment about my music, go ahead and tell me that it sounds Indonesian and watch me bitch-slap you. Don’t. Do. It.

    Suddenly, I feel so much better and my life can go on again.

    Wednesday, July 26, 2006

    Besides having your someone give you a swift kick in your testicles, nothing sucks more ass than losing one’s wallet.

    I lost my wallet. Thankfully, I am one of those minimal wallet guys as opposed to guys with fat wallets which really double as their portable filing cabinet. I lost my MyKad, my driver’s license, my insurance card, my ATM card, my apartment proximity card and a wad of cash. No pictures of family and pets. No notes. No business plans. No condoms.

    Anyway, I spent the whole day today trying to replace the contents of the wallet. Made a police report last night, went to the bank, went to the Jabatan Pendaftaran place, went to JPJ. The whole process cost me RM65 and a lot of germ contact at the government offices. They really should clean the place more often and use brighter lighting.

    But the biggest surprise to me was how quick and relatively painless the whole process was. I was expecting a whole day of waiting which had me mentally preparing myself for a day of soul searching. Got my journal and iPod all ready. Never used them

    These people were quite pleasant and quick. Almost unbelievable. Especially the lady at the JPJ counter. I got my replacement license in less than two minutes. I am not kidding. She should get some kind of medal.

    The unexpected annoyance came from people who unwittingly asks "Where did you lose it?" when I tell them I lost my wallet. Once is OK. After the twentieth time someone asks you that question, you want to hit someone.

    Trust me. That is not the question you ask someone who loses something unless there is something you can do about it.

    The more appropriate question is "May I give you some money to make you feel better?" or for some people within physical parameters, the more appropriate question and subsequent required action is "May I give you oral pleasure?"

    Until then, the JPJ rocks!

    Wednesday, July 12, 2006

    This might seem like an ironic topic of conversation given my unique first name. I should talk. But let me indemnify myself by stating that my mother gave me this name. It is in my birth certificate. Besides, I have at least half a brain. I wouldn’t do this to myself if given a choice.

    There’s a Singaporean director who calls himself Oxide Pang. I am assuming Oxide was the name he gave himself instead of his mother giving it to him. Otherwise, Mrs. Pang is just cruel and explains a lot why his son does horror movies. But I am quite sure little Pang, besides not knowing what “oxide” means, wanted a name that stood out and wanted an X in his name.

    Then there’s this one that falls under the “it-has-to-be-true-because-it’s-so-ridiculous-that-no-one-could-make-this-up” category. Her name is Choosy, who introduces herself with “Hi. My name is Choosy but I am not choosy.”

    Then there’s Bamboo Chee.

    A few years ago, I worked with a Vergina. She said it was a loose combination of two of her favourite names: “Virginia” and “Gina”. I was going to suggest to her the combination of two words what befit her personality: “Fuckingmoron”.

    Also, there’s a Pansy.

    And a Handsome Lee.

    This is clearly a point that should be included in the checklist for identifying Type 2s and Type 3s.

    Monday, July 10, 2006

    Woohoo. Italy won. I hope they get the day off.
    Felicia: Are you watching the World Cup finals tonight?
    Me: Err..yes I guess. The TV will be on in the background while I work and I will probably give it a look when I hear my neighbours yell out “Goal!”.
    Felicia: Which team are you rooting for?
    Me: I don’t know.
    Felicia: How can you not have a team? It makes it more fun to watch when you are rooting for a team.

    Well, Felicia, you are right.

    However, I haven’t followed the World Cup much and I have decided which team’s players look cuter in shorts. So I ask the question every person would ask when deciding a team to support: What has that country done for me?

    I then proceed to make this list which immediately puts me in the pathetic category of human beings.

    French musicians (Deep Forest, Telepopmusik, Nadiya). +5 points
    Hot French women. +3 points
    Pretentious French culture. -3 points
    The French loaf and croissant. +3 points
    Making people around the world mispronounce “Jean”. -2 points.
    Pierre and Marie Curie, Louis Pasteur. +5 points

    NET POINTS: 11 points

    Italians who went to New York City to come up with pizza. +5 points
    Monica Bellucci. +5 points
    Not-so-attractive Italian women. -3 points
    Coffeeshops. +3 points
    Leonardo da Vinci. +3 points
    Italian pasta. +4 points
    The Mafia which inspired the Godfather movies and the Sopranos. +2 points

    NET POINTS: 19 points

    As pathetic as it may be, I am rooting for Italy. Viva Italy.

    Wednesday, July 05, 2006

    I am updating my blog because of guilt. Not because I actually have anything meaningful to say, but it is because of guilt. I feel guilty that the last update was weeks ago and my blog must have felt lonely and abandoned. It probably has self-esteem problems now thinking why it hasn’t been updated. It was probably wishing for an update.

    "Please God. Send a lightning bolt of inspiration and make Batdude update me. Just a simple text update would do. Clever Photoshop-ed pictures are not necessary. Just a few witty sentences would suffice. I can’t look another blog reader in the eye when they visit me and see that I have not been updated. I can’t stand that look of disappointment on their faces when they realise they have to find another site to visit or else they’d have to get back to work. Let me entertain them. Update me."

    Fortunately, I have a few things I need to get off my chest.

    I hear Malaysians are rude. Some survey by Reader’s Digest said so. Well, I do think Malaysians are rude to strangers. We are nice to people we know but we are generally rude to strangers or when the people we know whom we are usually nice to are not around. Then we might say rude things behind their back.

    Then there is this thing I have with the newspapers. More specifically, The Star. I lost all respect for The Star when they featured the story of Siti Nurhaliza’s relationship with Datuk K. Right there on the front page with a colour photo and all. For a moment there, I thought I had picked up the Malay papers. They may have finally found the cure for cancer but to the editors of the Malay papers, that piece of news will give way to something Siti or Mawi had done; whether true or not. Suddenly the local papers look like supermarket tabloids.

    And finally, why do Malaysians have this problem with detail. If you are going to dot your acronym or initials, DOT EACH LETTER YOU FUCKING IDIOT!

    It is
    and not

    See? The T isn’t dotted. Why? For the love of God, why?

    I am glad I finally got this off my chest. Carrying this around was giving me a hernia.

    In conclusion, Malaysians are rude, the local newspapers need to get their priorities right, dot your acronyms properly and never kick a fresh turd on a hot day.