176. Magic

Initially, this post was supposed to have been titled Broken and it would have been written as a mournful ode to all things crappy with the world and life in general, and how things seem only to be getting worse without ever getting any better. Not even an escalation of things, but just a gradual, layering of shit that keeps coming and coming, slowly...but surely...making us not really aware to the fact...numb perhaps...desensitised by the media hyperbole and the superficiality of society in general...now that was a mouthful...

Thankfully, I never got down to finishing it up...mainly because it won't be anything that you haven't heard before, just another voice adding to the neverending drivel of meaningless words that drift in and out of cyberspace....disembodied and puerile. There's that, but a more telling reason is that I just couldn't bring myself to do it, 'cos all of a sudden, the venom's disappeared, and replaced with that irritatingly funky feeling that comes to us now and then. That magic mojo has been kindled again...you betcha...

It started with that flick Slumdog Millionaire, bloody hell...just when I was getting in a depressive funk of smouldering brooding and mysterious stares into nothingness, that feel-good crap puts a smile on my voice, and gets me to actually want to break out in exuberant song and dance. Then, there's that thing with the books Stardust and World War Z that I somehow managed to read while on a working holiday to Bangkok. Fucking hell, I actually finished reading them for once. Both of them. In one night. That pretty much doubles my tally for the last year or so. What's happenin' man? Something just stirred, that kind of magic that opens a window to the favourite things close to our hearts. It's been so long since there's been any of that. From Gaiman's beautiful Tolkien-esque prose describing the wonderful and melancholic world of Faerie that lay beyond Wall in Stardust to the sheer raw terror of Brooks' World War Z...the best ever feeling a good yarn could evoke was, well, evoked...getting you lost in the landscape of your imagination, and enjoying ever damn second of it...

Then there was Watchmen, a film nobody I knew could stomach. How can you not love the Watchmen? I mean, how could you not??? It has everything in it, from a naked blue man with a swinging penis to a superhero who couldn't get it up. Surely that's the kind of shit you'd want to see on the big screen. Ah well, go figure. I thought it was great. Not perfect, but great nonetheless. Just seeing everyone else shaking their heads trying to figure out what the fuck was going on was worth the entire five trips I made to the cinema to watch it. And what do you know, even watching that rom-com flick Definitely, Maybe made me grin like the glue-sniffing friend I used to know back then. How could any sane male enjoy a show like that?

Needless to say, the entire transformation from a hater to a groover was completed upon seeing the trailer to Where The Wild Things Are and checking out The Arcade Fire play their majestic anthem Wake Up live at numerous gigs (even one with Mr Labyrinth himself, David Bowie!). Both I've touched on already in my previous post, but just needed to mention them again 'cos I'm a freaking geek that way. That trailer just makes you wanna weep in joy, and it's nothing like I've ever seen before, capturing the very essence of our childhood, at least mine anyway (as I remember it)...the wonder, the fear, the reckless abandonment...and the sheer gritty dirtiness of it all! Holy flying shit on a paper airplane Batman! I swear to you, in those very few seconds, I was transported back to the time when catching mama blackjacks and jumping off roofs was the norm...and that song, freaking hell, it was like hearing Where The Streets Have No Name again for the very first time, nothing could ever beat that amazing first time when you hear something you just know is special...hell yeah, there's so much life there, and it literally spills out both the music and lyrics, literally grabbing you and driving you awash with an exhiliration that's too infectious to ignore, that buzzing hope that makes you wanna change the world and run out and hug everyone...

Who knows if the film will be any good, the trailer has already done it's magic...and just like the opening credits of Watchmen, that sticks no matter when comes next.

Do yourself a favour and check out the trailer and song. You can thank me later. Love you all! I'm still buzzing at this hour, can't freaking sleep!

162. My Amplified Self

I am on the Facebook, now hear me roar...ROAARRRrrrr!!! Grrrr, aint I nasty and cool. Here me roar once more....ROOOOARRRRRR!!!! Yeah baby, ain't I so mean and growly and, um, roar-ry. You know it.

Check out my Facebook profile...I have conjured an amplified version of my self that is so blatantly cool that I'd pity the fool who wouldn't seek to befriend me.

Now lo and behold, for I have a list of 500 friends...30% of whom I wouldn't usually befriend under the best of circumstances (or even if a plague wiped out 99% of the world's population and these poor sods were all that was left), another 30% solely selected due to their attractiveness (which of course makes me a cooler person by virtue of knowing attractive people), another 30% would be people I vaguely know or knew from school or college who I don't actually give a shit about but still add nonetheless to show how popular I am, and perhaps the 10% or so left would be people I actually know who secretly hate me and only add me to their list to jack up their own friend numbers so they can seem cool themselves.

Ah...bliss...this virtual community of ours...behold all these cool and meaningless applications I add to show how happening I am...and check out how many things I have in common with a serial raper and paedophile...and look at how incredibly attractive I look in my photo-shopped snaps taken at flattering angles to hide my gut/double-shin/acne/sixth finger/third nipple.

I am so cool it hurts...so cool that I spend all time online feeding more juice into the amplified version of myself, telling everyone how I'm feeling on a daily basis in those cute little sentences that only makes me seem like that inbred one-eyed mutant retard from Harold and Kumar Escape From Guantanamo Bay. So cool that I have no actually physical contact with real humans, and alternate my time between Facebook and my imaginary friends in the World of Warcraft. So cool that I blatantly dish our personal tidbits about myself and shove all the events and parties I'm attending down the throats of complete strangers to show how utterly deep and popular I am, when in fact I have the personality of a flea and a pecker to match it.

Yeah, I'm cool, and you know it.

Dedicated to the amplified versions of all you 100 million active Facebook users out there.

146. Falling Slowly

Heard of the song Falling Slowly? No? Well you should. A really great song that, with an Oscar to boot for those doubters amongst you (though I’d probably have to qualify that by saying that the Oscars aren’t exactly consistent in awarding the truly great as opposed to the probably ok, case in point the snubs to Pan’s Labyrinth and Closer for best picture in recent years, and in the case of Pan’s Labyrinth, it didn't even get nominated in that category, and didn't win best foreign film either! Bloody hell).

Well anyway, yeah, Falling Slowly is a great song. And those who wrote it and performed seemed like genuinely nice people. Probably just like you and me, with hopes and dreams, and probably with some personal demons as well (who doesn’t have those, right?). Basically people who’ve been through shit, probably are going through it right now, but still hopeful of better things to come and maybe even turning things around for themselves.

Now, listening to some of the lyrics of the song, my mind can’t help but wander to the recent developments at Chelsea. Well we all know that Avram Grant is not a Jose Mourinho, that’s pretty darn apparent. Whilst Jose was a GQ model masquerading as a football manager, Avram's more akin to an Uncle Fester pretending to be a mental patient who thinks he's a football manager who dresses like a mortician. The only similarity is that they both play functional football which hardly makes for a spectacle for viewers. The only difference is, Jose mostly won when it counted (except for those heart wrenching losses to Liverpool).

Avram just doesn’t cut it. I’ve always had my doubts about him, and they were pretty much proven after watching Chelsea’s limp display against Spurs in the League Cup Final the other night.

What a truly wretched performance it was; they were out fought, out passed and out thought by the underdogs and deserved everything they got, which was nothing. Chelsea under Mourinho more or less performed the same way countless times, but they always managed to scrap by, through sheer strength of will. Chelsea under Avram seem to be pale imitators, basically directionless and plain lucky to go unbeaten so long (which is more or less attributable to the quality in the squad rather than any exceptional coaching).

Yeah, so Chelsea’s like that verse in the song, the bit about games that play themselves out, will never amount to anything other than they’re meant. Because that’s how exactly Chelsea are like now, playing meaningless games with themselves, deluding themselves that they’re more than they are. Chelsea are not a big club. True, they have the money and the players, but they don’t have the pedigree or football to back it. They don’t take the breath away like a Barcelona or a Milan. They don’t have that one genius that brings the fantasy that Roman so clearly wishes (sorry Joe Cole and Shaun Wright Philips, you’ve never been and never will be marquee players).

So on and on, they play this song and dance, Avram fooled Roman into thinking that he would bring fantasy football to Chelsea. Avram fools himself into thinking that he’s actually brought fantasy football to Chelsea. Terry and Lampard fool themselves every day into thinking that they’re untouchable to the team. And worse of all, I fool myself into thinking Chelsea will one day play with the flair of Gullit’s and Vialli’s teams with a winning difference.

So Chelsea are truly falling slowly, into a quagmire of dreariness. They fit in with the more downbeat aspects of the song, and have nothing of its hopefulness.

But even as I write this, Chelsea did manage a halfway decent performance away against Fulham. Scoring 4 goals away from home ain't too shabby it must be said.

And what of Arsenal? If there's one team I wouldn't mind taking the title this year it would be them, only for the fluid football they play. But alas, it looks like they're choking once more as they did a few years back. The sickening injury to Eduardo notwithstanding, Arsenal's young men have looked bereft of the ideas and the attacking innovation they wowed spectators with when they were in scintillating form throughout most of the season. The pressure of the juggernaught that is Manchester United is taking its toll no doubt. Let's just hope that the two leaders fall to bits and the Blues somehow rise from the ashes and take it. Though probably it would be best to see them end up trophyless, resulting in Avram getting the sack and Roman getting egg on his face, and all the rest of us rejoicing. Still, there's this bit in me that's always hopeful. But hope don't float, or does it?

109. Remember Me As A Time Of Day

From Explosions in the Sky.

It starts with a ripple, a steady stillness that gradually builds, and builds...layer upon layer, a perpetual simmering beneath the surface, a promise of a coming crescendo that never quite materialises...a still calmness tempered with fire...like watching gathering storm clouds in a distance over wide open fields...streaks of lightning flashing silently in a faraway sky somewhere miles away from where you are...

It's that happy memory of childhood that comes and goes, but never fades, all those times coming home after a long summer's day out with your best bud, your shirt slick with sweat, your shoes caked with mud, grinning inanely as the sun falls lazily behind you. It's having a fag with your pals during your teenage years at the beach, feeling that cool sea breeze in your hair, and talking about nothing in particular like it's the most important conversation you'd ever have (and maybe it is).

It's like hanging round a playground as that magic hour of dusk approaches, the sound of kids laughing and playing somewhere in the background, some guys finishing up their evening kickabout round the field, people doing their warm-down after finishing their lap round the neighbourhood block, all oblivious to the world 'cept that particular moment they're caught up in.

It's building a camp fire in the middle of nowhere and getting eaten by mosquitos but loving every second of it. It's waking up just before the sun rises and to be at a place where people gather before taking a long journey. It's all the things that are great in life, waking moments out of a dream.

99. Women

Now when it comes to chicks, I'm as clueless as the other guy as to understanding what they want. I guess it's because we're so different. It's not like I believe that men are from Mars or that women come from your anus (or was that supposed to be Venus?) or anything. Nor do I believe in making sweeping statements that men are creatures of reason whilst women are creatures of emotion. That's utter bollocks, I've known a great deal of men who weep like small children and who talk without thinking and who go off on bitchy episodes for no rhyme or reason. So no, that statement doesn't apply at all. 'Cause there are plenty of men who act like women. It's just that, well, men are different from women. And it's clear that men are superior to women in many, many ways.

Not that I'm a sexist or anything. No, nothing like that at all. Heck, I'm all for women getting to vote (just as long as it's worth only 25% of a man's vote) and getting equal pay (equal to 50% of what a guy earns that is) and all that. I'm just not for them being allowed to speak unless spoken to. It's obvious that in an ideal world, a woman should be seen and not heard. One day, and what a glorious day it'd be, society will be reshaped to follow the following hierarchy: Men = The Masters, Women = Those Who Serve The Masters. Imagine such a time. That's like finding a land of milk and honey all over again or having Christmas everyday. Utopia.

Think about it, the many lives that would've been saved if only mankind (notice it's mankind and not womankind? You did, didn't ya?) were smart enough to have put women in their rightful places much sooner. History has shown us that a great many wars would've been averted if only women understood that men were smarter and hence, obeyed their every command. If Helen of Troy had half the brains of a guy, she would've known enough to obey her husband and ignore her craving to get a piece of that pretty boy Paris. And such, the deaths of heroic warrior-men like Hector and Achilles would've been avoided. Think of all the things that they would've gone on to do had they lived, real important things that only men can do.

Ok, so maybe the Trojan War is the only war I can think of that was caused by a chick. And maybe it never happened at all in the first place, but let's not let such minor details get in the way shall we? What's important is that the entire thing was written up by Homer, who was a man. Yes, a man. Who the man? He the man. If you replace man with woman in that line, it wouldn't sound so nice. Who the woman? He the woman. I mean, that's so lame right. Ah, another bit of insurmountable proof that men are superior to women.

Oh yeah, I just thought of another thing. There would've never been a Darth Vader if not for a woman. We all know that all those cool Jedis died because Anakin displayed girly-like tendencies, like love and emotion, and allowed his manliness to be diluted because of a chick. Then again, Darth Vader was the king bad-ass of the universe. Especially when he chopped those pesky Jedi kids into bits (if only he didn't stop with them but continued with that bitch Jar Jar). A woman would've never done that. No, she'd let things like compassion and her maternal instincts get in the way of light-sabering a few defenseless kids into half for fun.

Here's another bit of conclusive evidence to make my case air-tight. Chuck Norris was a man. And we all know how bad-ass Chuck Norris is. He could like, make you his bitch by just looking at you and, ummm, punch through walls and stuff and roar real loud like a lion. Lions are cool. And everyone knows that all lions are male (those other over-sized cats without a mane don't count as real lions). Roarrrrr. Imagine if Chuck Norris was a woman. That'd be too horrible to think about right? A chick with a beard and mullet. Yeech. And if Chuck Norris was a woman, her name won't be Chuck Norris anymore. It'd be like Charlene Norris or something. That'd be so lame. We all know that guys' names are cooler than girls'. If Brad Pitt had a girl's name, it won't sound as manly as Brad Pitt you know. It'd be something like Doreen Pitt. And Doreen is a horrible name for a guy. So there, I've managed to make two points for the price of one. A girl wouldn't have been able to do that.

But seriously folks (not that I wasn't serious earlier, just that I'm more serious now), if there's one thing that any guy should know about when it comes to dealing with a woman is this: he who hesitates...masturbates...

Night y'all. Boy that was fun.

79. Halcyon Days

In Greek mythology, Alcyone was a demi-goddess, married to Ceyx, a king of Thessaly. She was the daughter of Aelous, King of the Winds. Her name itself meant Queen Who Wards Off Storms. Yet it was in a storm that she would face her greatest heartbreak.

Her love for her husband Ceyx was great and immeasurable, as the starlit heavens, and she was loathe to be ever parted from him, and him her. Yet there came a time when Ceyx had to make a long voyage across the sea, and Alcyone was much grieved to hear of this. She knew of the powerful winds that were upon the sea at that time of year, and pleaded Ceyx not to leave. Yet he was steadfast, for it was a journey he had to make. Then, she asked to be permitted to join him, for as long as they were together, they could endure anything.

This deeply moved Ceyx, but he would not risk her across such a long sea journey and parted that very night. And as fate would have it, scarcely had his voyage begun that the heavens opened and a fierce storm broke over the sea. The crew quivered with fear as they felt and saw the wrath of the gods, but Ceyx was unmoved and tranquil. His thoughts were only for his beloved Alcyone, and he rejoiced at her safety. And as the great waves broke upon his vessel, and as the waters closed upon him, her name was on his lips, and thus he perished and fell into the darkness yonder.

Alcyone was unaware of the tragedy that had befallen, and counted the days for the safe return of her husband. She prayed every day to the gods for his safe passage, and so touched was the goddess Juno by her plight that she made it known to her of her husband's dark fate, hoping that she would have peace at last.

But overcome with grief, Alcyone threw herself into the sea, for she would not live on without her love. Yet behold, the gods once again took pity upon her that as leapt into the seas, she was transformed into a halcyon bird, and united with her husband who was too transformed into the same bird.

And so their love endured, beyond death, and was everlasting so long as there were days left upon the world. And they bred on a floating nest when the waves of the sea came to be still for seven days in the winter, whence her father Aelous would rein in the wind and sea. And the calmness of sea during that time came to be known by sailors as halcyon days, and have since become regarded as days of peace and happiness, a symbol of tranquillity.

Thus for each of us, we have our own halcyon days, perhaps from those nostalgic summers of our youth, or those moments spent in the presence of our loved ones. They may or may not last, for such things are never meant too, but those memories will always remain till the end of days so long as we keep them in our hearts. J.M. Barrie, he who once wrote of a boy who would never grow up, once said that God gave us all memory so we would always have roses in December. And indeed, perhaps he's right.

61. Irreversible

A whole slew of politically charged films have been released the last two or three years or so, a sign of the times no doubt. Some, like the remake of the 60's thriller The Manchurian Candidate and the documentary Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room explored the notion of Corporate America as a vile entity with tentacles that reached into the very heart of the White House itself. Others, like Good Night, and Good Luck. offered a more introspective look into the time-held ideals of liberty and justice, and the ever-present threats to maintaining them, be it from external or internal forces (it also gives a hint of the rising influence of big business in television, foreshadowing the current state of the news media as it is now).

The common theme these films share is the idea that government, in all it's means and form, is not to be trusted. There is a warning here not to be idle, to guard against the bubble of complacency created by consumerism and the mass media, and look beyond what we're fed by those in power and those with vested interests. Most importantly, to not forget and ignore the key issues at hand.

Two films in particular, stand out.

The first film is Stephen Gaghan's politically charged thriller Syriana. Based on the memoirs of former CIA agent Stephen Bauer, the film is an intricately woven tale of oil companies, terrorists, spies and the unseen mechanism that fuels America's never ceasing quest to protect it's oil interests in the Gulf, at any cost. Stephen Gaghan coincidentally won an Oscar for his screenplay for Steven Soderbergh's Traffic, and this film very much follows a similar narrative and style. Tightly woven and extremely convulted, Syriana is nonetheless a compelling look into the inside world of politics and covert operations, and how the two serve each other.

The second film is the documentary Why We Fight. A deliberate and thoughtful look into the politics of war, it is a refreshing change of pace from Moore's frantic and, quite honestly, immature leftwing rant, Fahrenheit 911. Why We Fight mainly examines the close ties between big business (mainly the arms industry) and American foreign policy, and the answers are pretty disturbing.

Needless to say, by both films' chilling conclusions, we are forced to face with the hopelessly bleak future we have created for ourselves, and the implications of that future are extremely unsettling. It is a future born of accepting that we are willing to pay the ultimate price to consolidate our economic security.

And this brings me to Grave of the Fireflies, a film that reminds us of the costs we've paid, and that we'll continue to pay so long as we're willing to pay it.

THE GRAVE OF THE FIREFLIES

Grave of the Fireflies is a small film by any standards, focused solely on two protaganists, a boy and his little sister as they make their way through the wasteland of a countryside decimated by war. There isn't much of a plot to speak of, and the film's pacing is idyllic and at times, seemingly aimless. Dialogue is kept to a minimal, and when spoken, is mostly innocuous, with nothing profound shared nor learnt. It is also in the genre known mistakenly as anime, which is Japanese animation to you and me (quite why this particular genre is called anime when it is the French word for animation is anyone's guess, the Japanese themselves refer to it simply is animation). Most importanly though, it is a profoundly moving and important film, one that at once celebrates humanity in the face tragedy, and let's us, the viewer, come to terms with our own mortality. It is a presumptuous notion truly, but this film is one of the few that may indeed change our outlook on life and how we live it.

Mention the word anime and images of flying samurais and giant robots come to mind. And one would be mostly right to stereotype the genre as nothing but mindless entertainment with an abundance of graitutous sex and violence, supported by nonsensical plots that are nothing but an elaborate excuse to showcase all the above excesses.

But it is easy to forget that some of the most important animated films to come out during the 20th and 21st century have originated from Japan (Akira, Barefoot Gen, Princess Mononoke and Spirited Away spring to mind). And most have been by the master storytellers at Studio Ghibli.

Unknown mostly outside of it's native Japan, Grave of the Fireflies may be the pinnacle of Japanese animation. Tenderly crafted by the geniuses at Studio Ghibli, it represents not only the best animated film ever made, but quite possibly, as in this writer's mind, the greatest film ever made.

For those who will simple not watch a film for the mere fact that it is animated or in a medium unfamiliar to them, then they are truly missing out on a masterpiece. The realism of this film lies not in it's animation but in the emotions that the film evokes. It challenges the viewer to look beyond the images that are presented on screen and rather, to ideas that the images represent.

Roger Ebert, quite rightly so, has called this film is an emotional experience so powerful that it forces a rethinking of animation (you can view more on his insights on the film here). He was moved to the point of tears after viewing the film. A quick check on the net shows that many share the sentiment (read Amazon reviews here and IMDB reviews here).

Some may mistake this film as an anti-war film, especially with since it's set during the Second World War and tells a tale of two children orphaned by it. It is not anti-war, it is pro-life. It shows us what it means to live, and what it means to have hope and love. It also shows us how delicate life is, and the devastating effects of us losing our humanity.

There is something familiar about the film, something that we can relate to. It is because we know that the events depicted in this film could be happening this very minute. Forget that the characters are Japanese, but perhaps an Iraqi, or a Somalian, or maybe even somebody closer to home. It is a disquieting thought, but one that is too important to ignore.

Perhaps we should all really think of the consequences of our decisions, on why we fight and what we believe in. We can justifiably say that the Allies fought in the Second World War to overthrow an evil regime bent on exterminating a race of people. Yet, the Americans systematically fire-bombed Japan, purposely targeting the civilian population to terrorise them into submission. The bombings caused the deaths of 100,000 civilians, and Robert McNamara himself has admitted that if the US would have lost the world, he and General Cutris LeMay (who had planned the fire-bombing) would have been tried as a war criminal. After of which, they dropped two atomic bombs on a crippled nation.

It is easy to forget the human toll behind the numbers. The millions of lives lost during the countless wars fought. And more to be lost in the wars to come. We must never forget, for to forget is to compromise our own humanity, and if we lose our humanity, then we are truly lost.

We are but the offspring of our thought. Yet in deed, we repeat the same mistakes over and over. This is the human condition. And it is irreversible.

57. Decay

Ex-hippies from the 70's getting Wall Street jobs. You spend all your idealistic youth sticking it to the Man, only to sell out later. Become the thing you hated most. Just another suit feeding the fat cats way up, most likely helping yourself to the rich pickings while you were at it.

At day's end, you give yourself a pat on your back, mighty pleased with yourself for a good day's work. Smiling that Cheshire Cat smile. Who gives a shit about what you do. You're another Kenneth Lay in the making. Another Jeff Skilling. As long as the share values are up. Screw the masses. The little people. Like Eddie Vedder would say, it's evolution baby.

But hey, profit is the way of life ain't it? Let's not kid ourselves. Everything looks justifiable when you get that spanking new 5 series beemer. That palace in the sky. Hot babes just waiting to get their paws on you. Greed is good. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

It's not a question of conscience. It's a question of getting as much as you can, while you can. Do it with a straight face. Practice every day in the mirror. Just make do with hating what you see once in a while. Don't worry, that feeling won't stay. Convince yourself long enough, and you may actually start believing the righteousness of your way of life. That's not the question here.

To be a rock and not to roll? Now that is the question.

"All that is gold does not glitter, not all those who wander are lost;" - J.R.R. Tolkien

55. Milosevic

Farewell to bad rubbish. Responsible for more than 200,000 deaths during the Balkan conflict, the "Butcher of the Balkans" Slobodan Milosevic was found dead in his cell yesterday. He got off easy if you ask me.

If there were really any justice in the world, he should've been castrated and had his limbs amputated. Then they should've displayed that limbless, dickless sodding piece of shit to all the Balkan states he so terrorised and let the public use him as a punching bag. Of course, he'd have to be kept alive as long as possible to be tortured in the worst possible way so they can't really let it get too far.

And what kind of torture should he'd have to endure that would match his crimes? Well, a pulled fingernail now and then never killed anyone. And I kinda like what Adolf Hitler's punishment in hell was as imagined by the South Park creators (the whole daily pineapple up the ass routine). Only instead of pineapples, it should be durians. Additionally, he'd be forced to listen to endless Ricky Martin and Spice Girls songs. Now, that'd be just too cruel.

Below are some other people that have yet to be punished for crimes against humanity. There might hope yet for the world if we can get to them before they get away with that pesky "dying of natural causes" thingy.

Mass murderer and all-round looney, Saddam Hussein

Mass murderer and all-round dumbass, George Bush

Dumbass and all-round dodgy marksman, Dick Cheney

Elder of the two brothers ugly and all-round downright ugly, Gary Neville

Creator of Jar Jar and midi-chlorins and all-round no-necked douchebag, George Lucas

45. No Ordinary Morning

Right, it's 3.41 am now. And I'm wide awake. The reason could be that I'm possibly pondering the important issues facing the world today; poverty, rising oil prices, the Israel-Palestine conflict, Chelsea's recent defeat to Manchester McUnited at the Trafford Superdome. Only I'm not.

Instead I'm thinking, wouldn't it be nice to fiddle round with my blog's design a bit? Golly, it sure would!

It's good that I'm actually off from work for the rest of the week. Good because it enables me to spend time doing these sort of things. Work takes up so much of our time that we can't fully concentrate on the really, really truly important things in life. Like which background template should I go with for the re-design of my blog? Should it be the sparse minimalism of Minima Blue? Or should I go for the bold colours of Snapshot Tequila? Ahhh, choices, choices.

And besides, we all know how work is detrimental to releasing our artistic instincts (those of us who work as pornographers (bastards!) not withstanding of course). I should probably go on now on some anti-establishment rant about how we are selling our souls to the Man just to earn a buck or two. Only I won't. The Man pays my salary, of which funds the numerous vices I partake in, which in turn causes me reason to be happy, and being happy brings a smile to my face. You wouldn't want to see me not smiling now would you? Of course not.

Being on extended leave has also afforded me the luxury of spending inordinate amounts of time on the net, which in turn is surely contributing to the deterioration of my mental health. As yet, I haven't succumbed to doing what those little voices in my head are telling me to do, of which numerous overzealous wankers and obnoxious pricks I've had the displeasure of knowing should be ever grateful (don't be too happy, one can suppress those inner voices for only so long).

I've also managed to catch up on all those great series' (downloaded quite illegally I assure you) that are airing over in the States. So far, Prison Break and Surface look to be among the better ones. And of course Lost is still going strong and getting weirder by the episode. I'm just waiting to get totally disappointed to whatever explanation they have at the end for the entire thing. Until then, you can count on me to continue to tune in with the rest of the you mindless zombies.

Have also watched some films I downloaded (why buy pirated DVDs when there's such a thing called bittorrent eh?), Crash and Green Street Hooligans. Both excellent. Speaking of Crash, will definitely post something on it soon, only for the reason that I can tick racism off my list of topics to pretentiously rant about. Yes, us important bloggers keep a list.

Speaking of bloggers, if you were to visit Kenny Sia's site (which I recommend, the dude's freaking hilarious), you'd find his comments about a famous Singaporean blogger's rather infamous rant concerning her recent visit over here in Malaysia and on toilets for disabled persons. I won't elaborate on what she said, but she sure stirred up a hornet's nest, to the extent she's lost a sponsor or two on her site (which incidentally is very nice and pretty, with bright and happy photos of her scantily clad self plastered everywhere) because a famous Malaysian blogger took offense to what she said and kicked up a shit storm. Needless to say, she wasn't particularly pleased with the entire thing and had her say, just like how he had his. But after all that fuss, the both of them behaved as mature adults do and patched up their differences in a civil manner, thus making the world all bright and shiny once more. Well actually she told him to fuck off and he's been slagging her off ever since. But who gives a shit anyway?

Ok, just an observation here. Now as a blogger, we tell ourselves we have the bloody right to say anything we want 'cos it's our damn blog right? Of course, that's why most of us do it. To bitch, to rant, getting things off our chests. Whatever reasons for our blogging, be it self-gratification (without getting your hands all sticky) or harbouring delusions of grandeur (hoping that one day your blog would be famous and worshipped by millions on the net), it's our prerogative on what we post about.

Fair enough. But of course, when you give your comments with all the bravado in the world, you also have got to take as much as you dish out. Not everyone will agree with your opinion because not everyone shares your ideals and beliefs. It's not because you're right and they're wrong or vice versa (unless of course, they're disagreeing with me, which definitely makes them quite wrong and hopelessly stupid). It's because, well, they're different.

Now, they might post a comment on your blog telling you how great it is. Alternately, they might offer the opinion that your blog sucks major ass and that you're a complete idiot. Or even better, throw in some random derogatory statement or two that has nothing to do with what you posted. Man, shit happens. It's the freaking net for Pete's sake. Too many people with too many opinions and too much time. What's one to do?

Well, for one you could brush it off and ignore them, maintaining a dignified silence (in your mind at least) on the whole affair while everyone else thinks you're just been pussy-whipped to silence. Or, you can respond and defend yourself, which in turn will make everyone think you're an over-sensitive prick with body odour issues. Then again, if you're Peter Tan and Ameer Zulkifli, you can go ahead and make a police report like how they did over some seditious comments posted on their respective sites (www.petertan.com and www.brandmalaysia.com) some weeks back (you might recall that it made front-page news). On that, I don't really have much to say. To each their own.

Now on the other side, say you're the one reading the blogger's opinions. And say don't like what the person's going on about. You could choose to ignore it by not visiting the site which would save everyone the trouble of having to read your comments on how much you disagree but are actually really trying to say how much cooler you are compared to him/her. Or, if you think you're cooler than the writer, you could post a comment on how incredibly cool you are, making the rest of us just want to hunt you down and kill you. Slowly. Again, you could also take it to the next level and try to do what you can to attack the blogger, be it to the blogger's reputation or to his/her pockets (like in the case of the above Singaporean blogger).

Whatever you do, however you respond, it is your right to do so, just like how it is someone's right to express their opinions that so offended you in the first place. There's always a consequence for your actions, always expect it.

My opinion on the whole thing? I just think some people are more gifted than others, as always. Peace.

30. Such Is Life

"My father is a rich man,
He wears a rich man's cloak,
Gave me the keys to his kingdom coming,
Gave me a cup of gold.

He said I have many mansions,
And there are many rooms to see,
But I left by the back door,
And I threw away the key."
- U2, The First Time

If life were only that simple...I think most people, if given the choice, would keep those keys and give no thought at all to leaving by the back door...heck, I'm honest enough to admit that I would do so myself (I'd probably say: "Gee, thanks a lot dad, now that you've shown me the many rooms, can we see the things that go bling please?").

I guess we're all idealistic and hopeful to a certain extent, as long as it doesn't interfere too much with our quest for wealth or status that is. Well, I personally see nothing wrong in that. In fact, I do admire loads of people out there who've worked hard to get where they are and those who are striving to achieve their dreams. These guys just don't sit on their asses and complain how unfair or cruel the world is, you know the type, those walking around with a chip on their shoulder. Everything takes hard work, and if someone is more successful than the other, most of the time is because they've worked harder. And even if they didn't, and if their wealth is due to inheritance or luck, well, who can blame them eh? Just because one is born rich it doesn't make it a sin right?

I know that Gandhi once said that one of the greatest sins was wealth earned without hardwork, but hey, what's a guy to do? Just say no when his daddy makes him managing director of one of his companies? Of course not.

I know some of my friends who bitch and moan about some of our other successful friends who are either from rich families or somehow were lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. Well, I can't really understand why that is, I've always believe the measure of a person is how much that person's worth without all his or her wealth, be it rich or poor. Yeah, there is a general assumption that the richer they are, the bigger assholes they become. Not true I think, 'cos I know plenty of assholes who are poor.

What I hate most are people who are dishonest, I'm sure all of you can relate to this. I think we've all come across these sort before...those who come at you with smiling faces yet their always weighing you up and seeing if you're any use to them, or those who befriend you under false pretenses. Even worse, dishonest people who are posers. And luckily, and I'm ever grateful for that, my experiences with that sort have been kept to a minimal (on my count, the last time I've come to know such a person was round last year, and happily, by some fortunate twist of fate, our paths haven't crossed since...and not too sound hateful or anything, but good riddance to bad rubbish I say). I can actually count myself lucky that most of the people whom I can safely call friends are the coolest and most honest bunch of people one could know. Sure, they're not perfect, but neither am I. I think what works best is that we all understand each other, and never overstep our mark.

Shakespeare once said that friendship is constant in all things except for the affairs of love, yet I think I'd disagree on this point. I can safely say that I can trust my close friends even when it comes to that, I know they won't fuck me over just for some broad (and I've known it to happen too, where a so-called friend completely screwed up another friend's relationship by putting his nose in where it didn't belong). And I think that having that trust is good, because every relationship, be it friendship or romantic is built on that foundation. But once trust is lost, than it's not so easily gained (I think we've all seen both sides of that). It's so much more fulfilling to work hard for someone other than yourself, than you know you're truly blessed for you've found someone you're willing to put all that grit and effort for.

Right, back to what I was saying, I think that in the end, the choice that we invariably would make of choosing what we desire in terms of materiality as opposed to say, sprirituality, is not wrong, superficial as it is. Nothing sinful about it, as long as it doesn't involve us cheating, lying or stealing. Money can't buy happiness, but it's a start eh. I think fulfilment comes in when at the end of the day, you know you've put in the effort, and can enjoy the rewards, not on showing off or so you can undermine someone. The only one you have to prove yourself to is of course yourself. And I think it is the noblest of things that one can do is to strive hard to provide the best they possibly can for those they love.

Well, on the flipside, I also see nothing wrong with people who aren't so driven with the pursuit of financial success. Some people are more easily content than others, doesn't make it bad or a sign of weakness. I know that doesn't go with certain people, but hey, like I said, everyone's different. Some people are just more ambitious than others. In the end, I guess it's always up to what we want in life, and if we can be happy. It's always a bad sign if we just get by day to day, content only because we're too scared or lazy to do better, and it's also a bad sign that we're so engrossed with our great pursuit that we forget to live a little.

So to those of my chums who are going off for pastures anew abroad, I wish you guys all the best. Just remember to support the right EPL team when you're there eh. And those of you still sticking around busting your asses of on your present jobs, get rich or die trying, well no actually, but you get what I mean. To you from Tinuviel, you'll be achieving those goals of yours sooner than later, just have a bit of faith in your immense abilities. Just look how far you've gone already. And finally to you dwelling upon the white tower, it'll be only a matter of time before you realise those dreams you set to achieve. But you knew that already. Ah who are we if not for those dreams? Such is life.

27. Hope

Sometimes someone does or says something that'll hurt or disappoint the person they love most. That someone would of course immediately regret it and try to make amends, hoping that all that had happened would be forgiven and forgotten.

And most of the times it is, for forgiveness is but a few softly spoken words, usually said because it is so yearned by the wronging party.

Thing is, words are mere words, and never truth. Truth is in the heart, or how the heart changes. Whatever that's happened can never be undone, no matter what comes to pass after. It will always remain like a shadow that's fallen between them, a presence unspoken yet ever present.

And because of this, things can never be the same again, no matter how hard one tries. Perhaps time and space can mend such things, perhaps not. It is left to that who had wronged to keep trying, keep seeking true forgiveness, one that would clear those darks clouds and bring sunshine back as how it was before. Maybe it won't happen, maybe it will, but nonetheless one must try, try and hope, for the cost of losing is too great to bear, and the prize of succeeding is more precious than all the jewels in the world.

"Was it something I said that made you angry with me,
Made you dig a deep river to keep you from me?
Oh, the water is rushing, come to sweep me away
'Less I die of sorrow, I will cross it today.

I would build me a bridge a hundred meters long
To see the other side of what I did wrong.
Well you say you don't hate me, but I guess that I'm scared
That with a river between us, you'll no longer care.

I would build a boat, and paddle agaist all sorrow.
And if I sail down the river, I'll be back again tomorrow.
I would face cold death, run and leap to your side.
And if I fall in the river, I'll be warmed by your sight.

I would beg your forgiveness for the pain that I've fed
And I'd find the source of the river you've bled.
Then I'd close the gates of the dam I built there.
And never again will you have anything to fear.

Well I never knew that your tears ran so deep.
But when I'ved dammed those tears, I will kiss your sweet cheek.
I will hold you close 'till your tears finally cease.
And I'll sing you a lullaby and bring you peace."
- Marc Gunn, The Bridge

26. Play

No, I'm not talking about JLO's turd of a song here. I'm just feeling perplexed that's all. Hence this post. Seriously. I shit you not. Let me tell you why (a sign if ever of worse things to come, bail now to save yourself).

You see, I had a dream last night. Yes, a dream, ahhh, just saying it feels so blissful. A dream it was, and it brought with it a dawning, a realisation of a greater truth. Yes indeed, praise be. It was strange yet wonderful, whereupon all that was sought was found...

Yes, I had a dream...that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor's lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lo--err, hang on just one second...

Ok, so I didn't really have a dream. Sue me, I'm no MLK. It justs sounds way better than saying I've had an epiphany. You know the type, a sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of something. That'll just sound waaay too bogus even for one such as myself. Don't you know that only shallow and uninteresting people use seemingly deep and profound statements to sound all wise and important? Yes, true. Indeed a fact, it is. Shit you, I not.

Right. So I was talking about being perplexed. And I was talking about having a dream/epiphany/sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of something. Let's just say that a truth was revealed to me that tingled upon every single cell of my body and reverberated through the very marrow of my being. Alternatively, it could've been a case of too much gas.

It was the answer to why people do that thing that they do and just can't stop doing. You know, that thing. Correct, I'm talking about playing here. When I say play, I don't mean PS2 playing here or basketball playing here. Heck, I'm not even talking about playing with yourself here (yes, you do know who you are, please wipe those smirks off your faces). I mean play play. As in a game played by players and participated by playees. And as good 'ol Haley Joel Osment would say: And sometimes, they don't even know they're playing (notice how I smartly played around with the words here? Did you see??? By God, did you SEEEEEEE????!!!!!!! Yeeeeeee haaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwww!!!!!!!!!!!). I'm so freaking insane.

Long have I wondered why us homo sapiens feel compelled to play? Especially for us guys. Though not solely and exclusively a man's domain, playing seems more prevalent amongst the hairier of the species. And play meaning if a guy's already hooked himself up with some gal or, power to him, dude yet still feel compelled to check and perhaps sample the market for fresher goods.

And thus it was revealed to me. 'Cos it's just so damn fun. Guys hunt. Fact. It's in our genes. It's in our blood. Since the day when our ancestors clobbered that sabretooth tiger, we've always been one on the prowl, basking in the thrill of the hunt. Though dimmed by the feminist movement and political correctness, the Oprah-ness of our time if you will, it's in our natural instinct to do so. Some suppress it, some unleash it in sporadic bursts. While others, others embrace it and thus revel in it.

It's not an excuse or justification of why they play. It just is. Men will play till the final grain of the sand from the hourglass of time has fallen. When the sun goes down, d boyz come out to play...even at the risk of being found out by their mates and perhaps getting their asses dumped.

There are many types of playing, mind. Sometimes a play's not really a play. Sometimes it is, and sometimes, it could be. So when is a play really a play, and when is a play not a play but could perhaps eventually lead to a play? Let's consign those mysteries to the confines of the deep and dark bottomless abyss of never to be known questions, mortal men were not born to comprehend such deep and scary thoughts.

So do not judge, 'lest ye be judged yourself. Next time you see your pal grinding hips with some hot hoochie mama in a club even though he's six months engaged, think twice before you give him shit while sitting on that self-righteous horse of yours. Hey, it's pre-progammed in his genetic code, he can't bleeding help himself.

But I did say I was perplexed as well didn't I? Yes I was and I am and will continue to be. In men's nature it may be to play. And though knowing the cost, the price that would eventually will have to be paid (cause somehow, your chick will always find out, one way or another) why do they still do it? Is one night of humping worth losing something that could possibly be more precious than anything in the world? Screw the humping, it needn't go that far. It could be less, but with the intention of more. All roads lead to that eventually. Is it worth maybe suppressing that natural instinct in order to obtain something that could never be found even if one was to play till the end of one's days? A fair price to pay perhaps.

Sometimes the right path is the hardest path. But, it is the only path. Yeah, break me a fucking give already. Enough of all that cheesy shit. I think you catch my drift where I'm going with this. No judgement, just completely vexed with the whole thing. And I will continue to be, unless I'm visited by another dream/epiphany/sudden manifestation of the essence or meaning of something. But somehow, in this case, I just don't think it'd happen.

Dedicated to all the playees out there who're being played but don't know it, and to those who know it but willingly oblige...and to those players busy playing, and to those who want to play but can't, and most of all, to those who want to play but don't...

17. Matrimony

Just over the weekend, I attended a wedding dinner for my two close friends. Now I've known these two for a good 5 to 6 years, and were friends with them even before they met. You could say I played a part, however minute, in bringing them together.

They've been going strong for the past 5 years now, strong meaning they're one of those couples who look absolutely and totally in love with one another. And if you think you've seen lovey dovey, heck, you ain't seen nothing yet if you haven't met them. I'm talking mushy-cakes-honey-bunny-baby-sugar-puffs-flowery-candy-with-pink-mushrooms-dancing-on-top-of-rainbows here. Am sure it's nice enough for them, but to those watching, it's like getting a hole drilled in your skull and having melted marshmallows mixed with mapple syrup being pumped into your brain by the gallons.

But besides all that sugary stuff, they're one of those few couples that you can tell share a genuine and mutual respect for one another. And in times of trophy girlfriends and relationships based soley on financial concerns (as in, how much money does he have and how much of it can I get a hold of?), it's really refreshing to see.

So anyway, it came as no surprise when they finally got hitched, for if there was ever a match made in heaven, then it'd be them. And of course I was happy for them. Elated would be too big a word, but it's always nice to see two people who are so right for each other actually getting together. That was until they asked me to give a speech for their wedding nite, and all that moments of joy quickly transformed into heart-crushing horror.

What the heck do I know about making speeches? More so one concerning the union of two people in front of hundreds of their relatives and friends whom, most of them anyway, I don't know? Shit, I was the guy who in school used to read straight from his scribbled script whenever there was any public speaking to do during English 'cos I was too numbed by fear to actually look people in the eye (a pre-requsite for public speaking I've heard). Screw that, I couldn't even read from the script properly cause my bloody hands were too bloody shaky. In fact, my recollections of all the times I've had to speak in front of a group of people are like this: a rising and inescapable feeling of dread, followed by cold sweat that sent chills running down the spine, and then there's the stammering and mumbling, the clumsy prompting and gasping for air, and ending with a whimper with much disappointment and hidden smirks from those involved. Kinda like sex for the first time eh?

So of course, being the responsible adult that I am and a close friend of the bride and groom, I had to find every possible means to weasel myself out of it. Finding an excuse not to speak on your good friend's wedding night is not exactly good form you know, so I had to come up with a valid and water-tight reason. My first thought was that I had a throat affliction that rended me speechless, but since he actually asked me the day before the dinner, it was a long shot that I would suddenly come down with something like that. Since that was already a no go, I thought why attend the wedding in the first place? People miss their good friends' weddings all the time right? Well, apparently not I. It had better be for something credible and absolutely important and unavoidable. Something like attending the funeral of my long lost cousin Gurkha Al Khan from Urghamurgiskthan. But faking the death of a relative is even worse form, you save those for special ocassions only (like taking that a few days emergency leave after a long holiday you just don't want to end).

In the end, I was just too fear stricken to actually come up with anything and quickly found myself swept up with the pleasant turn of events (pleasant meaning being told that you are to speak on the joys and deeper meaning of the true love eternal between the bride and groom in front of five hundred strangers the day before the actual event). The last thing I know, I'm sitting at the reception hall two hours before the dinner, still trying to memorise whatever I was supposed to say. I didn't know how I got there, but I knew that it was too late to turn back now. I was this close from faking a seizure or sorts but thought the better of it when the groom locked me with his cold steely stare. Don't fuck it up, that stare told me. Ah joy of joys.

So, knowing that it was too late for me, like how Darth Vader knew that it was too late to save him and told Luke to bugger off as the Death Star was being blown to shit in the finale of Return of the Jedi, I decided if I had to go down, at least I'd go down in glory (like how Lord Vader took down that dastardly Emperor with him...shit, talking about the original trilogy always gets me so depressed...in light of the floating pieces of turd on celluloid that Lucas' given us with the new trilogy...Revenge of the Sith better be good, you money-grubbing fat no-neck bastard). But to do so, I had to find the inner strength that we all have within us. Hence, the unnumbered glasses of wine proved handy.

Thus with unnumbered glasses consumed, and inner strength discovered, and face glowing with enlightenment to prove it (it was more of a reddish glow actually), I was all set to go. My ying and my yang was centred. My spirit was at ease with my physical state. And I really had to puke. But nevermind that, puking can always come later. Yet it came out sooner that expected, as when I found myself on stage, with those five hundred people all stoked up by the groom's father's witty speech, those thousand beady eyes looking straight at you, at your very soul, I thought: Witty? Heck, I could do witty! That's when I actually puked out my entire speech. Puked in the sense that my speech came out in a mush of words that had no meaning in the English vocabulary. Sentences were strewn together that sounded like Klingon. New words were suddenly invented. And the founding fathers of excellence in public speaking, from Caeser to Hitler, from Gandhi to Bill Gates (at least the part of him that died when he screwed over Steve Jobs) stirred and wept in their graves. Now that's one for the history books.

So the valuable lesson that we've learnt from all of this? Screw if I know. All I know is that it's all so super when you're getting yourself sloshed and not so super anymore after you've reached your goal (see my previous post on this). But if there is one thing that I can take from the unspeakable chaos of the night, is this phrase that I read from somewhere before (sorry, can't remember where or from who) that's always stuck with me and that I included in my speech. I thought it especially fitting for my two friends. It concerns the nature of love and of true love. It goes somewhere along the lines of how some people tend to believe that love is borne out of long companionship and persevering courtship. And that perhaps it's true in a sense. That the more you spend time and experiences with someone, the more feelings can develop and grow. But that when it comes down to true love, that magical moment of fire and ice that envelops your body and heart in a rapture of passion, the same rules don't apply. True love is like the offspring of a spiritual affinity that is kindled with the mingling of lights from the souls of two people who meet for the first time. And if that affinity cannot be created in an instant, a moment, than it will not be created for years or even a lifetime. Great stuff eh, terribly romantic, can't say whether I believe it or not, but it sounds all so grand on paper.

So, there. Last word to my married friends who are about to fly off to live happily ever after Down Under. May you find shade and water or something like that (now that I know came from Robert Jordan's overrated Wheel of Time series). Bliss :)

15. Malaise

"Man, being reasonable, must get drunk; the best of life is but intoxication,"
- Lord Byron

"Always remember, that I have taken more out of alcohol than alcohol has given me,"
- Winston Churchill

"To alcohol! The cause of - and solution to - all of life's problems,"
- Homer Simpson

"Dude, you're seriously sloshed,"
- Some guy in a club last night

A brief respite from all things football, thank heavens for that. We can't all be Nick Hornby-like in our footie obsession eh (and what an unhealthy obsession it is considering he supports the Arse).

Right, it’s a Thursday afternoon, and a goodish Thursday it is, a public holiday and those things always come in handy when you're in need of a bleeding hangover to get over. Right now it feels like there's a tiny munchkin bashing a sledgehammer in my skull, he's a nasty bugger him; bash, bash, bash, he goes, evil 'lil git. I've lost all taste in my tongue, I'm suffering from blurred vision, and I'm close to typing like 3 words a minute here. I hear happy birds singing their happy songs yet there are no birds in sight. I'm stuck at some dingy corner at Starbucks, though I know for sure that there are no dingy corners in the Starbucks universe. I feel like the plane of existence has somehow shifted, and I've been thrown into some warped Lovercraftian alter reality where there are nasty tentacled things lurking in the nether regions of the earth, or wait, that could've been those twats circling round the bottle the whole night hoping to scum off some drinks.

Yes, yes, after yet another alcohol-fueled night of revelry and massive destruction of brain cells and the like, I had an epiphany of sorts. Ah, those divine and priceless moments of self-actualisation when the secrets to life as we know it is just one more drink from being revealed. Thus on and on we drink, in pursuit of knowledge that thus will ensure the preservation of the human race. Ah, yes, I'm talking shit now. I do realise that, but somehow, I'm unable to stop myself. Surreal man, it's like I'm floating out of my body right now and kinda hovering over this unshaven red-eyed dude typing with sloth-like ferocity on his laptop. It's kinda blissful really, like my pure subconscious mind has finally freed itself of it's decrepit host and is rejoicing in it's freedom away from the dastardly thoughts that inhabit the waking mind. As I observe my mortal coil below me, I feel like asking him the question that has plagued the minds of men since the dawn of time (or at least since the advent of alcohol), is the price you're paying now this very moment worth that fleeting moments of joy and bliss that you felt (or thought you felt) last night? And am having the sinking feeling that this won't be the last time I'd be asking that poor sod the very same question eh.

But nevermind that for a bit, there are some life lessons to be learnt. Not very relevant, but I have to somehow console my wasted self that last night wasn't all for naught. The lessons for today are:
1. Guys stand a better chance of hooking up with chicks if they're in the company of other chicks (preferably babes) themselves. It's always pathetic to see a bunch of guys standing round a table to themselves without a girl amongst them hoping to score. We all know that unless they look like the cast of Ocean's 11, it'll never happen. And is it just me or are there just too many single guys out there? What the heck happened to the three girls to every one guy ratio?
2. Guys should never ever, and I mean ever, dance with other guys in a circle on the dance floor or anywhere else in a club for that matter. It's just too pitiful. Even in my drunken state, I felt my heart weep tears of sorrow when I saw a bunch of hopeful looking dudes pulling off their dirty dancing moves, with each other, on the dance floor. Undoubtedly they were thinking that when the chicks got a load of them grinding each other they'd all go googoo gaga. Erm, nope. The opposite reaction is more likely. As in gag gag pukerama.
3. It's very rare indeed that girls who go out to clubs are looking to hook up with guys. They're either with their boyfriends, girlfriends, or just looking for a good night out. Alternatively, they may be looking for their next customer. When they're genuinely looking to hook up, it's always with a nice rich expat who one day they believe will take them away to some far off country with milk and honey to live a sitcom-like existence (laugh track playing in the background optional).
4. It's never the same getting high without trance music leading the way. Ah, PvD and Chicane...where art thou in clubs these days?
5. Alcohol drives men to turn miraculously into immortal warriors of heaven and earth who make all quiver in their presence. Well, at least they think so, right up till the point they get their asses kicked and thrown out of the club that is.
6. Drinking to drown your sorrow is a load of crap, it just multiplies it tenfold and leaves you to turn into a weeping emotional pulp. It's never a pretty sight.
7. Driving home when you're loaded is no way to go. Especially when you're going home alone.

One last thing, I would like to say sorry to an absent friend whom I miss very much. Sometimes people do stupid drinks when they're drunk eh, so be patient with them yes? It was just one of those nights. I think we're all allowed at least one or two moments of insanity when intoxicated.

And with that, this writer quietly rests his case for (or against? I can't remember) getting sloshed. Till next time, remember that the first drink's always with water, the second without, and third, ladies and gentlemen, the third tastes like water.

7. Halcyon

Right, when I was a kid living in the States, I used to do this crazy little thing that kids over there did during the summer, I went bee hunting. Now when I say bee hunting I mean it quite literally. We would go out armed with multiple jars (our pockets permitting) and stomp out through fields of those blooming summer flowers, searching for the biggest, fattest, and meanest bees around, and I mean those huge mama blackjack honey bees whose stung hurt like a sonoabitch.

Now don't ask me why I did, it was just something us kids did then (another thing that we used to do which you may find peculiar was a little something called roof-jumping, I'll leave it to you to figure that one out). Remember, this was a time without Gameboy, PS2 or Nokia Ngage (we had those big hulking Atari machines that displayed monochrome graphics and were absolutely crap). Those who wanted to "Get 'Em All" really had to go out and do it. No Pokemon or Tamagochi to woo and tide us over.

If I really dig deep enough, I can actually recall some vivid details: the feel of the brilliant summer sun blazing overhead, the thick smell of sunflowers and pollen filling the air, the vibrant colours of all kinds of flowers amongst (sometimes) waste-high shrubs and bushes, that familiar buzz of bees going about doing their thing, and most of all, the exhilarating feeling of catching that huge monster you've been eyeing for a bit. Most of the times, I went with my best friend over there (an Italian-American kid named Jared, maybe the most horny 9 year-old who ever existed). I guess it was ok too to go alone, but it was always better to have a buddy tagging along, if only for the reason you had someone to show off to.

So we'd usually go out round the afternoon, and not head back till just about when the sun went down. And always at the end of the day, we'd hunker down at some spot, pretty knackered by the day's toil, and the both of us would be grinning crazily as only children could. And of course, we'd compare who got the biggest catch. Heck, we even compared the number of times we got stung (bee stings were always displayed like a badge of honour, with the day's bragging rights going to those with the most). Then we'd head back, exhausted with the backs of our shirts slick with sweat, our shadows long as the sun slowly sank and that magical time of dusk came upon us, and we'd chat animatedly about nothing, asking each other irrelevant questions as kids did, all the while comforted with this great sense of fulfilment of a day well spent. I'd look at him and see this gleeful glow in his face that I knew was mirrored on mine as well. It was a glow that said: it doesn't get any better than this.

Now I don't know why this memory has suddenly crept up on me. Maybe it's because the shadow of another inevitable birthday approaching has been nagging the back of my mind for the past few weeks and somehow, unexpectedly running into someone very dear to me from my past today has managed to make it a non-issue. And in turn, that's triggered this long dormant memory. Whatever it is, it’s good to be reminded of these little things that brought such joy in our childhood, no matter how simple they seem. And though glossed-up they may be (cause we tend to look back at those years through rose-tinted glasses), those memories serve to remind us of things we may have forgotten, maybe the most important things. And it's not about getting that bigger car, that higher paycheck, that big screen plasma TV (nice!). But rather, those irreplaceable joys of certain moments in your life that are just perfect, and the people you spend it with.

But of course, that memory of bee hunting I have, precious as it is, is but a melancholy vista of my youth. I've long since lost contact with that childhood friend of mine, and I doubt that I'd be able to locate him again. The places we haunted perhaps no longer exist as I remember them, and maybe those wonderful summers can never quite be relived again as an adult as they were when you were a kid. Those were the halcyon days, and we each of us have them, blissful memories of days long since past. And sometimes, these memories tend to fade away, dulled by the realities of adulthood, and dimmed by more pressing responsibilities and commitments.

But you know what? No matter how improbable it sounds, and call it want you want, faith, hope, whatever, I believe with absolute certainty that one day, though I don't know how, I'll get those visit those same sunny hills with my best friend Jared, with that blazing sun greeting my face, and the scent of flowers filling my nostrils, and my ears will be ringing with the busy buzz of dozens of bees doing their thing. Those huge, mean mama blackjacks kind of course.

"God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December"
- J.M. Barrie, author and playwright

5. Closer

“And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me
Most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky”
- Irish folk singer Damien Rice

The movie Closer opens and closes with Damien Rice’s wistful and heartfelt song of loss and yearning The Blower’s Daughter, his wounded and cracking voice hauntingly complementing the first moments of the film where we are introduced to Natalie Portman’s character as she walks in a sea of grey and blue, her hair red and brilliant like autumn leaves. She is at once an enigma, floating obliviously through a crowd of the ordinary. In her, we see a vision of freedom that we all yearn but are sometimes afraid to seek. The closing scene mirrors the opening, as we see her again walking amongst an endless mass, the luminous amidst the commonplace, her hair is no longer red but startling black, but she is that same liberated person. We’ve come to the end, but her character is unchanged, she has come full-circle, and she is back where she began, in fact, you can alternate the beginning and ending and it wouldn't make a difference. In my mind, it is the most perfect beginning and ending committed to film.

It’s apt that the tagline for the movie is “If you believe in love at first sight, you never stop looking”. For she still seeks, as will some of us out there. She is hopeful, and she represents that idealistic and unending search for true love eternal. And like the characters in the film, there is a little of them that we can see in us; the restless romantic in Jude Law’s Dan, the fiendish but brutally honest Larry (played brilliantly by King Arthur’s Clive Owen, who also incidentally played Dan in Patrick Marber’s original play), the child-like yet sensual Alice (Natalie Portman in her best performance since Leon) and the haunted Anna (a very good Julia Roberts). The film visits these four characters at different points in their lives, offering a frank if brutal look into the nature of relationships, from the magical beginnings to it’s bitter ends, and in some cases, reconciliation.

There are no protagonists or antagonists in the film. Each of the characters has their redeeming qualities and flaws, just like how normal people do in real life. Larry at first seems the most likely to be pointed out as the antagonist of the tale. He is crude and ruthless. He has no qualms in humiliating the woman he loves and goes through deliciously wicked lengths to annihilate Jude Law’s character. Yet, he is the most truthful amongst the four in the sense that he never tells a lie. In fact, he is the only one who doesn’t lie in any of the film’s inter-crossing relationships. When he cheats on Anna, he confesses immediately out of guilt and his love for her (Anna only confesses her indiscretion when pushed by him). He pursues Anna for every graphic detail of her betrayal and thanks her (though quite obscenely) for her honesty. His intentions (no matter how cruel) are laid out for everyone to see. He is the opposite of Dan. Dan is a romantic. In the end, you get a feeling that he is doomed to be alone and forever yearning for lost love. Larry is a realist, and as such, knows how things work in the real world. He knows what Anna needs, and understands her more than Dan could possibly do. As such while Dan can only offer her an idealistic dream of love, it is Larry who can actually provide her with what she needs as opposed to what she wants.

In his relentless pursuit to win her back, Larry looks at first pathetic and pitiful. Yet in the end, he is steadfast and his resolve never wilts. He wins her, as you just know he would. Compare that to Dan, Dan wins nothing in the end. He breaks down in his confrontation with Larry. It is then when all cards are finally laid out on the table that Dan finally sees that he never really had a chance. He is a dreamer who believes that everything will work out because of love. But that is never the case, and because it doesn’t he just cannot accept it. He is helpless to do anything but break down. It is he, in the end, who is pathetic and pitiful. He has a final chance to redeem himself with the one person who is perfect for him, Alice. But he ruins it. For it is his nature to do so, he lives in a world where all relationships must be perfect. They never are. He learns this too late in the end. He, along with Anna, are the film’s two big losers.

In Anna’s case, her loss is not as apparent as Dan’s. She after all ends up back with Larry, a man who clearly loves her. It is apparent that he loves her more than she loves him. She feels safe and secure with him because of this. With Dan, she felt love, true love. Though the film never showed the reason why she left Dan to be with Larry again, one might speculate that Dan’s distrust of her after she had admitted to sleeping with Larry one final time (to win her freedom from him) would’ve caused a massive strain in their blossoming relationship. She knew that Dan’s love for her could never be same again and felt insecure because of it. So rather than risk being hurt, she returns to Larry, Larry who loves her dearly, Larry who would never hurt her. And with the choice that she makes, you feel that her fate is much worse than Dan’s, for she willingly gives up on her true love. She is willing to accept the security and comfort that Larry provides though she clearly does not love him as she loves Dan. She, like some of us, chooses the easy way out, but at what cost? In her final scene, she seemingly looks happy and content, but is it true happiness that she feels? Or has she just comforted herself in thinking that she is? Can anyone be really happy in a relationship? That’s the question the film asks us.

If Larry is the most honest of the characters, than Alice is the most emotionally honest of them all. Her love for Dan is pure and true. She never cheats when she’s with him, unlike the rest, who cheat on each other at some point or another. She is dedicated solely to him, and because of this, she needs Dan more than he needs her. In an ironic sort of way, her feelings for Dan mirror Larry’s feelings for Anna. Both love their partners more than they love them back. Both feel lost and helpless without the other. But the difference is that while Larry is willing to hurt the person he loves and destroy her one true chance of happiness, Alice is not. Instead, when Dan confesses to her his relationship with Anna, she flees out of his life, never to be seen again till he seeks her out. She doesn’t use sex as a vicious tool to wound the person she loves (until the very moment she realises that she doesn’t love him anymore that is). She does lie to Dan about her identity, but you get the feeling it’s only because when she first meets Dan, she is in fact somebody else entirely (when they first meet, she had just arrived in London from New York to escape her previous relationship). Jane is her true name, signifying her past. She only reveals it to Larry when she has again become a stripper (as she was in New York) after Dan leaves her. She can tell Larry her real name because Larry means nothing to her, unlike Dan. Jane as Alice is the one who finds love with Dan. This is again illustrated when Alice plans to take Dan back with her to New York, she would not show her passport to him (and thus, reveal her true name) because she wants to be his Alice, the woman that Dan fell initially in love with and vice versa. When she finally leaves Dan (something foreshadowed earlier when Alice reveals to him that she has never left anyone she still is in love with) and Dan asks her who she is, she answers that she doesn’t know. In fact, it seems that she has no true identity at all. Her life is shaped by love, and she only becomes a complete person when she loves and is loved by somebody in return. Finally, when we see her back in the New York, the ending has become the beginning, she is now somebody else, starting over again, seeking that one love that can make her whole again.

The film’s title is Closer yet by the film’s end, nobody is really closer to one another. Everyone is alone and lost in his or her own way, even Larry (think of it, is he really happy with Anna knowing that she could never really love him as much she did Dan?). Only Alice/Jane seems to have been left unscathed. But the only reason for that is that she is the only one capable of re-inventing herself and leaving the past behind. Her innocence is somehow preserved and she will not be haunted by the past, as Anna and Dan are doomed to be. She is also alone in the end, but hopeful. Will she ever find love? The film doesn't answer this but you can sense that she would do so eventually. Perhaps there are echoes in what we see in each of them that can be reflected to our own lives. Just how much are we willing to compromise to have a lasting relationship? Are we ready to wait for true love for the rest of our lives even though it may never come? And if we're not, can we ever be content in a relationship without it? Is it even in our nature to be content at all? And if not, is there any hope for us to ever be closer?

3. Absence

"WTF!

In Sweden a 13 year old girl gets brutally gang raped by 3 guys in their 20's who are refugees from a middle-estern country. They go to court and the guys say the girl was unconcious during the ordeal - the girl claims she was drugged. The court rules that because she was unconcious she couldn't fight back and therefore it is not considered rape - the guys are set free.

Is it just me or is this just fucking insane! What kind of a justice system is this?

I'm so infuriated I'm lost for words..."

Posted by my buddy Oliver. Reading his post (http://yelpo.blogspot.com/) , it kinda reminds of this incident that happened sometime back. This is a long rant, so be warned...

Ok, I have a friend who once got a girl drunk so he could have sex with her. When I say drunk, I mean flat-out catatonic road-kill holy shit that ain’t right lala-land drunk here. The undertaking didn’t take much, just take a sprinkling of sweet-talking, add lots of beer, a bit of whiskey here and there, and finally, some tequila shots thrown in for good measure (just to finish off the job). Flawless design really.

Right, so after a long heady night of boozing, and up to the point where she could pass for a dead trunk, he decided that it was a good time as any to take her back to his place. I guess the strenuous effort in getting her limp body into his car in the first place was just too much for him because he was pretty worn-out by the time he got there. So like the civil chap that he is, he used a, now wait for it, supermarket trolley that he kept at his place to cart her in (those darn things always come in handy, you never know when you have a unconscious chick to lug around). What happened then in his room is just too gory to detail (I still have recurring nightmares) so I’ll spare you any further psychological damage. But I can tell you that after he was done, he was even more knackered (bonking inanimate objects tend to do that, fact). So he used that handy supermarket trolley of his to cart her out back to his car and promptly sent her home. Let’s just say he doesn’t do one night stands (one hour stands were much tidier, no need to explain to his folks about the chick who’s spewing in the toilet). I guess you can call it a quick hump and dump.

Ok, before we go on, I’m sure there are many thoughts running through your mind. What a bastard! What happened next? Who in their right mind would cart a girl round in a supermarket trolley for heaven’s sake? More importantly, who the heck keeps a supermarket trolley at their homes in the first place? Well, I guess some things are just not meant to be known to man, like some ancient mystery just beyond the scope of comprehension, so close yet always unattainable. This is one of them. But that won’t stop us from lying awake in the early hours of morning, drenched in sweat and fearful in the dark as we ponder them. I mean, a supermarket trolley for Pete’s sake! What next, metro-sexual footballers? Erm, ok, let’s move on.

Well, I’m not even going to debate the rights and wrongs of his actions that night (and debating the rights may be a wee bit harder to do, let’s see, he did send her back didn’t he?). Let’s just safely assume that his deeds will not get him nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize. And it’s very convenient for someone, perhaps you over there, to say “My Lord! Baby Jesus weeps! Such abhorrently wicked and sinful deeds! I for one would never go to such low depths to bed a chick! Never!” Sure you won’t. Just like you don’t masturbate and don’t watch porn. Okay, maybe committing what is akin to date rape is not something any Ali, Abu or Ah Chong would do. But most guys would absolutely do just about anything else to get laid. Lie, cheat, steal, all sorts of stuff, let’s not kid ourselves. But that’s in no way justifying what he did. If you're rightfully giving the girl the benefit of doubt, we can safely say that he violated her without her consent. And if anyone would even think that she wanted it to happen because she allowed herself to get flat-out drunk, well power to you then. You’re the type of person who’d believe that women secretly want to be raped because they have breasts or wear skimpy outfits. Ok, back to my friend. It’s a moot point now if she really wanted him to bonk her or not. All I know is that he continued to have, shall we say, special relations with that same girl over the course of a few weeks or so after that infamous incident. But still, that supermarket trolley incident happened on their very first date together. What if she wasn’t really up to it and he indeed did force himself on her? Well, I guess he’ll be calling himself Betty to someone’s Butch in the local jailhouse this very moment. Instead, he got himself a short-lived and unfulfilling relationship with a girl based purely on him satisfying himself. As for the girl, well, God knows what.

Well, being his very close friend of his and all, of course I had to talk about what he did behind his back with another close friend of his (yes, it is what we simple-minded folk do, gossip and bitch). Typically, we took the moral high ground about the whole matter. You know, expressing our righteous indignation by asking how could he do such a thing. What was he thinking and blah, blah, blah. We even hammered him about it during one of our normal meaningless mamak sessions. Don’t you feel guilty? Don’t you know that you effectively raped her? How much fun could you have when she’s unconscious? Was it even enjoyable at all? Is a drunken woman even a good fu-ah, forget it, you get the point. He just shrugged his shoulders in that nonchalant manner of his. So what? He simply said he could tell that she wanted it. How? Well, through those damn signals that chicks are supposedly sending out to guys all the time every time they wished to get drunk, bonked, and presumably, shipped out in a supermarket trolley, not necessarily in that order. Considering that he described the act in graphic detail, and that she was quite comatose during the entire sordid episode, I didn’t quite buy it. But, nothing came of it, so I guess in the end, maybe he was right. But still, it got me thinking, more on his response than the actual act itself. So what? Interesting. She wanted it. Yes, maybe. That’s also what most convicted-rapists sincerely believed their victims wanted.

In the case of the rapists, there is no doubt that what did they did, coupled with their response to it clearly indicates that all is not right in their hearts. Something is clearly lacking there, something that makes them, for lack of a better word, good. So, if they’re not good, what are they then? Bad? Nasty? Naughty? Or something much more dramatic and extravagant (cue jarring evil music chord in the background) evil? Now, in no way am I labelling my friend, whom I’ve been close friends with for more than a decade and who I’ve concluded is not going to turn out to be the next Charles Manson anytime soon, as evil. That’s just too far-fetched. And I don’t have to be seated on my moral high horse and ask if those who are guilty of raping women and little kids are evil. The answer is plainly obvious. But there’s something about that response from my friend that in a way, as the response from unrepentant rapists, that disturbs me when I think about it.

Firstly, what the heck is evil anyway? Well, let’s safely omit Dr Evil-evil from Austin Powers from this discussion. How about Adolf Hitler-evil or Ida Amin-evil? Or something more contemporary, we can say Osama bin Ladin-evil and, arguably, George Bush Jr-evil (depending on where your political allegiances lie). Okay, maybe we should go right to the beginning, not any beginning mind, but THE beginning. When a little fella, let’s call him Big, Red and Horny, fell spectacularly from Number One’s grace and decidedly to take most, if not all, of mankind with him for an eternity of endless sunburns and damnation. Now, isn’t ‘ol Big, Red and Horny the pre-requisite of how we should judge evil by? Because he is evil personified ain’t he? And isn’t it through him that all evil originates in the hearts of men? But wait, if we are to believe the story of Creation, than isn’t God the creator of all things? He created the angels, he created men, he created the universe, and he definitely did create Big, Red and Horny. And if so, surely He created evil as well, right? So, therefore what does that make Him? Is the supposedly benevolent King of Heaven the source of evil? Compelling right? That’s precisely why many reject the notion of Creation, for it’s supposedly flaws. I mean, how can we believe in a God that created all the evil in the world? Not so actually.

A couple years back, I read a good article once questioning what evil really is (I forget the author’s name but will definitely post a link if I can remember!). The article was actually a very scholarly piece written as a commentary on the nature of evil as written by Tolkien in the Lord of the Rings and personified by the main antagonist of the tale, the Dark Lord Sauron. Now, for those few who are not acquainted with the book or the films, Sauron is this bad mother who has a flaming eye and an overall bad hangover in general from being continuously beaten by the good guys. So he comes up with this evil ring thingy so that he could submit the will of men, elves, dwarves, Republicans and Democrats under his rule. To do this, he is willing to stomp, main, disembowel and torture anyone and any nation that stands in his way. Kinda sounds like George Bush right? So anyway, it’s safe to say that Sauron is a big baddie, in the classical sense of the word. There’s absolutely no good about him, he’s that guy a chick would dread to take home for a one-night stand with cause it’s all penetration and no foreplay with him and you could tell that he doesn’t do it not because he doesn’t know that the chicks dig it, but because he takes pleasure in depriving you of pleasure.

Right, so the author of the article than proceeds to talk about in great length the nature of Sauron. That Sauron was actually once a servant to a greater lord called Morgoth, the ultimate Dark Lord one might say. Now Morgoth in his origin was actually a Valar, an angel-like being that fell from the grace of the Creator, sounds familiar? So Morgoth undertakes a long battle with the good Valar for control over the world and dominion over it’s dwellers, the merry elves, dwarves and men. And he recruits other like-minded beings to his cause, Sauron being one of them. Now, Sauron himself was an angel-like being that was created to serve the good, just like Morgoth. But in his desire for dominion and order, he too strayed from that path. Then there’s everyone’s favourite evil wizard, Saruman. Now Saruman was also initially an emissary of good, but fell down the wayside upon reasoning that he had to first subjugate the people before he could lead them to a higher plateau. See a trend yet? If I’ve completely lost you the moment I mentioned the word Valar than please raise your hands. Okay, that many eh. Actually, in non-geek terms, what the author was trying to illustrate that all the great evil of Tolkien’s works were originally good in their intent and purposes. But somehow, just like Anakin Skywalker, felt that the grass was greener on the other side. I mean, the chicks dig the bad ones right?

But what made planted the seed that could turn them evil in the first place? Was it because the Creator overlooked a tiny detail in his blueprint for creation and accidentally created evil personified to torment his children? Well, not exactly, the author argues. Evil, by definition, doesn’t really exist at all. What? What’s that you say? What do you mean it doesn’t exist? Explain Posh Spice then. Well, I will, in a minute.

Right, let me digress for a bit. Firstly, what is the definition of word cold? Isn’t cold explaining the state when there is no heat present? Cold is the absence of heat and quite simply, absolute zero is when there is absolutely no heat left. We only created the term to describe how we feel when heat is not there. How about darkness? What exactly is darkness but the absence of light? Darkness is a term used to describe a situation where no light is present. So what’s the point of all of this? Simple. If you look at it, evil is the same thing. Evil doesn’t really exist. Impossible you say? What about all the rape, murders and violence in the world? What about those slow working government bureaucrats that take two months to process your passport? What about those idiots who don’t turn off their mobiles in the cinema? Well, think of it for a moment. A common theme in all these offenders is that they act and behave that way because they are lacking something, something undeniably good. Let’s say it outright shall we? What they’re actually lacking is the presence of God in their hearts. And why is that so? Well, one thing that all of us share, besides our distaste for stale beer, is that we are born with free will. God gave it to all of us, and we can choose to accept the good in our hearts or reject it. Quite simple, by rejecting it, by shunning these qualities, thus we are termed evil, for what is evil but the absence of God? Evil isn’t like truth or love, for these are virtues that exists just like heat or light. Evil is simply a state when God is not present, like cold without heat or darkness without light.

Ok, so maybe I spewing some pseudo philosophical mumbo-jumbo, but alas, there could be some truth yet hidden beneath all the bullshit. Think of it, how could any rational man commit murder. Why do they call it cold-blooded murder in the first place? Well, the word cold explains it doesn’t it? There is an absence of a virtue like heat here. And, in this case, it’s the absence of any feelings of remorse and pity for the victim. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is when evil is allowed to thrive.