In Books, I Find Solace

Books are good. They entertain, educate and give me comfort. A book is always there for me. It doesn't judge me or decide it doesn't like me.
A book doesn't irritate me and I can't irritate it. I can't bore a book, though a book can, sometimes, bore me.

My books are my friends. Scratch that. My books are my family. They give me solace in my dark moments. I read my Khalil Gibran, or at times, my Bible, when I need words of wisdom and comfort. I read Calvin and Hobbes or Tintin when I want to laugh or smile.
When I crave tales of adventure or derring-do, I leaf through the glossy pages of my Supermans, Batmans and other costumed crusaders. Or, if I'm feeling more old school, I read my Poirots or gingerly pick through the dog-eared pages of my Robin Hood, written in Old English.
Sometimes, when I feel like a good caper or courtroom thriller, I decide to go for the Jeffrey Archers or John Grishams. And then there are the classics. Harper Lee, JD Salinger, the Johns Irving and Steinbeck.
I have a book for every mood. For when I'm feeling light and breezy or dark and dismal. My books don't let me down.
With a book, familiarity does not breed contempt. And absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.
I know my books will never let me down.

Facts. Of A Sort.

Idle minds are the devil's playground. And it seems my mind is very often idle these days. So, in order to avoid Lucifer, Beelzebub and co moving in, I've taken to reading FACTS. (Facts to be pronounced with raised eyebrows, pulled down lower lip and exaggerated haughty voice. Why? Coz they are FACTS!)

I would describe these facts as useless, except that I'm sure that somewhere out there a sociologist/anthropologist/zoologist or whatever-ologist is creaming his panties over these esoteric grains of knowledge.

Here are said facts - in bold - with my humble opinion - not in bold, since it is supposed to be humble - attached.









The housefly regurgitates its food and eats it again.
A very useful ability. Gross, and bound to ensure a barren love life, but has anybody ever
heard of a housefly that died of hunger?





Some sailors believed that if there is a cat on a ship, it means it is a lucky trip.
Didn't they also believe that having a woman on a ship was considered unlucky? So what if it was a female cat?



Kareem Abdul-Jabbar was named Lew Alcindor when he was born.
Lew Alcindor just doesn't have the same ring to it. Say it after me now. Karrrrreeeeeem Abdoooooool Jabbbbbbbbbarrrrrrr...










Fingernails grow about 3 times faster than toenails.
Chew on that!




Cher wore braces as an adult.
And the Osmonds obviously didn't...




The Poison- Arrow frog can kill about 2,200 people.
May I add a few of my gruesome ex-bosses to your hitlist, Mr. Poison-Arrow Frog, sir?




Notaphily is someone who collects bank notes.
And a necrophilly is?




Richard Milhouse Nixon was the first US President whose name contains all the letters from the word "criminal". William Jefferson Clinton is the 2nd.
There's really nothing to add to this, is there?







The only insect that can turn its head 360 degrees is the praying mantis.
That ain't nuffink! Linda Blair can do that AND spit out a pint of green pea soup!




At Disneyland they have hundreds of wild domesticated cats running around the park. They never come out during the day because there's too many people, but the reason they're there is to catch the mice.
Okay, this is literally like something out of a...well, Disney cartoon!




An old law in Bellingham, Washington, made it illegal for a woman to take more than 3 steps backwards while dancing.
Something tells me the tango never made it big in Bellingham.

When Coca-Cola began to be sold in China, they used characters that would sound like "Coca-Cola" when spoken. Unfortunately, what they turned out to mean was "Bite the wax tadpole".
Is this Chinese code language for "suck my dick"?

The hundred billionth crayon made by Crayola was Periwinkle Blue.
There are more than a hundred billion crayons??? There's a colour called Periwinkle Blue???

Charlie Brown's father was a barber.
And Charlie Brown had, what? Three strands of hair? The irony is beautiful, innit?

In the movie "Toy Story", the carpet designs in Sid's hallway is the same as the carpet designs in "The Shining."

As if the idea of your toys coming alive at night isn't freaky enough by itself...

Clinophobia is the fear of beds.
Well, it could have been worse. Imagine if it was clitophobia.

Sigh...I'm getting neither funnier, nor wittier, am I?

Dreaming of change.

I'm beginning to grudgingly accept that all that psychobabble about dreams is true. About how dreams provide insights into the workings of our subconscious and all that jazz.
I've been having some very vivid dreams lately. They range from idiotically bizarre (playing football in a condominium construction site built in - get this - outer space!) to the poignant (mending bridges with a recently deceased, estranged aunt) to pretty fucking terrifying (can't remember the dream, thank goodness).
The dream I had last night though, is the one that really makes me wonder whether my subconscious mind is trying to tell me what my conscious mind refuses to accept.
This is what I dreamt about.
I'm driving a car up a steep, winding mountain road. On my left is a wall of rock. On my right, a sheer cliff with an endless drop. The road basically corkscrews its way up a mountain. It's dangerous and full of gravel. My car doesn't have traction.
Yet, I'm pressing on, full steam ahead. Tyres screech as they fight for purchase. My heart pounds away in fear as time and again I almost fly off the road.
I'm getting closer and closer to the top and I gun the accelerator even harder. Eventually, the expected happens. I lose control and veer off the cliff.
I plunge down into the murky depths. And I wake up. As I wake up, I realise that my last thought as I'm falling is not one of fear or terror. As I fall, I'm thinking that this was expected. That I knew I would fall from the moment I began the ascent.
That dream sums up my fears and insecurities pretty well actually. Let's face it. I'm doing very well, career-wise. In fact, I think it's fair to say that I've never been in better shape as a journalist.
The problem with that is that every mountain I climb, every small triumph I savour, is replaced by an even bigger mountain, an even greater challenge.
Before I came on the AFPF fellowship, the fear was whether or not I was only a reporter who could cut it in his own backyard. That I wasn't really as good as I imagined myself to be.
Coming here, I proved to myself - as well as to the folk back home - that I may actually be a half-decent journalist. Well and good. But now that I'm going home, it means that I'm going to have to take everything I've learned here, all the stuff that I've picked up and somehow try to apply it to a Malaysian setting.
I've got to go back and be an even better reporter than I am now. After all, that's the entire point of the fellowship, isn't it? The mere thought of it tires and depresses me. Won't there ever be a time when I won't need to prove myself to the world, and more importantly, to myself?
The nagging thought at the back of my mind though, is whether I'm actually doing any good at all. Whether my work is, even in a small way, changing the world.
That's all I want in life. I don't really care about money or fabulous things or whatever. I just want to, corny as it sounds, make the world a better place. Even if it's just one tiny little piece of it. I want to be remembered one day as somebody who made it just a wee bit brighter.
I was listening to Playing For Change's cover of Peter Gabriel's Biko in the car today. The song, about the martyred South African anti-apartheid activist, was one I've been listening to over and over since coming here.
I don't know why, but when I heard it today I got goosebumps all over my skin and tears just sprang to my eyes. I mean, think about how great a person has to be to inspire people to write and sing songs about him? How tremendous must his impact be for folk to still be recalling him more than 30 years after his death?
As a journalist and a writer, I have the opportunity to make an impact too. Most probably not the kind of impact the Steve Bikos or the Mahatma Ghandis of the world. But an impact nevertheless.
The question though is, am I doing so? Or am I so afraid of moving out of that cocoon of financial and career security that I want to challenge and change neither myself nor the world around me? If that's the case, wouldn't it mean that my life has been a wasted life? After all, what good's a life if a person has come into and left the world without making even a little bit of a dent in it? Surely as humans, as the stewards of this realm, we have been entrusted with greater responsibilities?
Even as I ask myself these questions, I know that I know what will happen in the future. I'll go back to Malaysia, surround myself with people, places and things comforting and familiar and slowly but surely slip back into the old routine.
I'll tell myself that all this idealism is not practical, that I'm a poor boy with aging parents and no silver spoon in sight. I'll tell myself that the responsibilities to family and self come before any notions of honour, nobility, glory or martyrdom.
Eventually, I'll euthanise myself into actually believing most if not all of it. And the only place where I'll face the truth is in my dreams.

All I Want To Do...is shag you silly.

<--- Would you throw these babes out of your bed?

If there were to be an award for dodgiest song ever, Heart's All I Want To Do would be right up there, along with Extreme's More Than Words.

Both these songs could definitely be voted as the official anthem/theme song of playas too. I'd have to say though, that All I Want To Do just about nicks it for sheer hypocrisy and blatant playa-ism.

But don't just take my word for it. Let's have a look at the lyrics of the song and then you can decide for yourself.

ALL I WANT TO DO

It was a rainy night

When he came into sight,

Standing by the road,

No umbrella, no coat.

So I pulled up alongside

And I offered him a ride.

He accepted with a smile,

So we drove for a while.

I didn't ask him his name,

This lonely boy in the rain.

Fate, tell me it's right,

Is this love at first sight?

Please don't make it wrong,

Just stay for the night.

Let's take this one verse at a time. First of all, what is she doing picking up strange men on rainy nights? Hasn't she watched enough slasher flicks to know better? This song could have just ended right here if she'd picked up the wrong man. You know..."He accepted with a smile, so we drove for a while....acckkk!!! Gurgle, gurgle, moan, moan, Kersplatttt!!!!"

Plus, she didn't ask him his name! Wtf?? You give a ride to somebody and don't even ask his name? And, love at first sight? C'mon. Call it like it is! It's lust at first sight. Ain't nothing wrong with that!

So we found this hotel,

It was a place I knew well

We made magic that night.

Oh, he did everything right

He brought the woman out of me,

So many times, easily

And in the morning when he woke all

I left him was a note

I told him

I am the flower you are the seed

We walked in the garden

We planted a tree

Don't try to find me,

Please don't you dare

Just live in my memory,

You'll always be there

My question is, how does she know that hotel well, hmmm? Sounds like she's paid more than one clandestine visit, hasn't she? And 'he brought out the woman in me so many times, easily"? Puh-leeze! He gave you multiple orgasms is what he did! And in the end, what did you do? Bailed out on him without even splitting the hotel bill. The guy can't even afford a car. You think he can afford to pay the bill? Poor dude. And she has the nerve to tell him not to look for her. Some people...

Then it happened one day,

We came round the same way

You can imagine his surprise

When he saw his own eyes

I said please, please understand

I'm in love with another man

And what he couldn't give me

Was the one little thing that you can

And now we get to the climax (no pun intended) of the matter. They meet again. And he sees the fruit of his loins. And what does she do? She tells him she's in love with another man and the only reason she shagged him was coz that dude either couldn't get it up or was shooting blanks. And all this comes after she's earlier said it was love at first sight and warbled chorus after chorus of how she wants to MAKE LOVE to him. She justifies it by saying she just wanted a kid. What about IVF or adoption? The Wilson sisters were reaaaaallly stretching it there, weren't they? Jeez. And to say that he gave her a 'little' thing was a low-blow. There's absolutely no need to do that to the boy's ego.

They should have just titled the song "I'm Horny and Need a Shag. Fertile Studs Apply Here."

Blogging

There seems to be a problem here. I find myself unable to write about deep, intelligent issues in the written equivalent of a sonorous baritone.
Don't get me wrong. I still think magnificent thoughts and come up with potentially world-changing ideas all the time. The problem is that all these wonderful pieces of inspiration usually come to me when i'm driving, taking a dump, in a state of extreme inebriation or in that hazy space between sleep and waking.
Once I am in front of the pc and looking down at the dust-lined (and God knows what else!)keyboard, all these marvellous schemes just drift away like gossamer spiderwebs torn apart by a stiff gale.
Oh well...I'll just write total rubbish then la. Like what I'm doing now. :P

The Goat-inator

WHen you've been friends with a person for close to two decades, you really know each other's sense of humour inside out.

Tareq and I have been childhood friends, being in the same school and after that neighbours too. Needless to say, we've taken shooting the bull and talking cock to a higher art form.

Our latest noteworthy episode was The Goat-inator.

It started because we were both bitching about how bad our salaries were and how much we needed to get out and make some decent money so we can enjoy the finer things in life.

As usual, Tareq came up with one of his brilliant suggestions (and I mean that in all honesty. His ideas are usually brilliant. It's just that we're too bloody lazy to follow up on them..).

This time it was to go into goat farming. As he told me (and as I confirmed later), Malaysia's goat supply only accounts for 25% of our need, which means it is a gold mine waiting to be tapped.

And so, we began to fantasise.

We will open a goat farm somewhere in Nilai or Seremban or something like that. And slowly, through sheer hard work, we would turn our business into a raging success.

We'd then broaden our scope and start taking over other goat farms. We'd first conquer Negeri Sembilan. Then The whole south and from there the rest of the country. Once every goat farm in the country belongs to us, we'd go international. (Don't ask for specifics on how we'd do it. it's just a fantasy, okay!)

So, eventually, we'd own every single goat farm in the world. And we'd own every single goat in the world. We'll be sitting pretty on a pile of money and all that jazz lah.

Meanwhile, (ooohhh... I've always wanted to use "meanwhile" in a story. It's so comic book-ish!) in another planet (or it could be an alternate future, take your pick), in which goats are the dominant species, we have been branded as the anti-Goat and the great satan for ou role in holding all the goats of the world in bondage.

Thus, a lone goat warrior is chosen to be sent back to our time (or is that to our planet?) to exterminate us and free all the goats of the world from bondage. This chosen one has the ability to shape shift and thus infiltrate our lives without us noticing.

He can not only alternate between all breeds of goat and sheep, but also assume the form of the various pak haji, Fred Durst, Lenin and various other goateed folk around in his bid to finish us off once and for all.

So the story went something like that la. I wonder why it seemed much funnier when Tareq and I were giggling about it. Now it just seems lame and pointless.....

Oh, and the Goat-inator's catchphrase would be "I'll be baaa-ck"

The Royal Bitch

My latest resolution is to not bitch anymore. Or rather, to no longer bitch about people who piss me off. How long this noble resolution is going to remain afloat, I really can't say, especially considering my lengthy history of failed resolutions and lengthier list of failed attempts at reviving failed resolutions.
Whether it is about the twat in the office whose been my nemesis since day one, the kid who made a careless comment that cut me really deep, the friend who irritated me deliberately and maliciously knowing that he was annoying me or the mother who forgot my birthday, I have resolved to not bitch about it.
I shall attempt to exude only good vibrations and earn good karma by being saintly and benign, turning the other cheek, doing unto others as I would want others to do unto me and all that jazz. You get the general idea la.
After all, when even my nearest and dearest start calling me The Royal Bitch, then I know that I've been ranting and raving way too often.
And so, I have resolved as of this moment to, whenever I feel the urge to bitch, merely satisfy myself with a martyred look, a face turned up to the heavens and the sorrowful voice saying, "God Bless Them."