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Saturday, May 27, 2006

wooooh, dude.where' my plants? Posted by Picasa
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When The Well Runs Dry

Life is strange indeed. I’ve always been observant of people and human behaviour in general but ever since I’ve been afflicted with this nerve disorder I’ve come to appreciate how much being “normal” is worth.

I’ve also seen, time and time again. many people take their health, bodies, partner, heck - their whole lives for granted. They walk thru life with a La De Da attitude, thinking “yeah, right. Nothing bad will happen to me” I was like that once too.

Now that my body “jams up” whenever I’m in the same position for too long, how I envy “normal” people. What I wouldn’t give to be “normal” again. What you take for granted, the movements that you make without even thinking – I cannot do anymore.

That’s why I feel sad whenever I see people abusing themselves or others.

Recently I was in Sintok, Kedah, researching articles for the Star. Lincoln and I put up at his friend’s house in the staff quarters of Universiti Utara Malaysia. A friendly Malay couple where the husband is a student liaison officer for the university and the wife operates a stall at the canteen.

They welcomed us with open arms and shared their humble food and shelter with us. We slept in the hall at night. Thus we were flabbergasted to discover their 20 year old jobless son noisily re-arranging the flower pots at 3:00am in the morning.

We opened the main door to let him in and detected from his slurred speech and the sweet aroma that clung to him that he was extremely high on weed. He continued to bang and crash around the house for another good half an hour before falling asleep.

The next day, since they were Lincoln’s friends, I kept my trap shut while he quietly spoke with the lady of the house. She wept as she told him she knew about her son but felt powerless to do anything. Sad, isn’t it?

Closer to home, I visited an event company with Colin Jensen recently. It is run by a husband and wife team, and since it was a Sunday their two kids were in the office too.

While we were talking business with the husband, the wife gently interrupted and asked if he had broken anything in his office. He admitted he had broken a glass. She than said that she had suffered a glass cut to her foot and that she was worried the children would suffer the same fate, and questioned him as to why he had not told her about the broken glass so that she could clean it up
Now this is where the difference lies. Where I would have shown concern for my wife, at the very least apologizing to her (I’m so sorry, sweetheart’) and demanding to see her foot or offering to get her a plaster, our friend brushed it off gruffly.

I don’t know if he felt embarrassed to show concern in our presence. The fact is he blowed her off. So happened she’s a real looker, too. Nice body even after two kids. I know I would have respected him even more if he had taken the time to attend to her for five minutes. It takes effort to make relationships work.

There’s an old saying – we don’t appreciate the well until the water runs out. .
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Monday, May 22, 2006

The Pink Dress

Santa Maria! Madre de Dios! You guys no unnerstan da ingris? I’m not gonna write chapter 2 of the tigress story. Period. Following up with the last post on men weeping, I think Elliot Yamin of American Idol takes the cake. Here’s a whimsical feel good story sent to me by my buddy Clifford F. I don’t know who the original author is but I’ve tweaked it a little so it’s a lot less soppy. Don’t weep now…

The Pink Dress

There was this little girl sitting by herself in KLCC park.

Everyone passed by her and no one stopped to see why she looked so

Dressed in a worn pink dress, barefoot and dirty, the girl just sat and watched people go by.

She didn’t try to speak.

She never said a word.

Many people passed by her, but no one would stop.

In the evening, I decided to go back to the park out of curiosity to see if the little girl would still be there.

Yes, she was there, right in the very spot where she was earlier, and still with the same sad look in her eyes.

I decided to make my own move and walked over to the little girl.

As we all know, a park full of strange people is not a place for young child to play alone.

As I got closer I could see the back of the little girl's dress.

It was grotesquely shaped.

I figured that was the reason people just passed by and made no effort to speak to her.

Deformities are a low blow to our society and, heaven forbid if you make a step toward assisting someone who is different.

As I got closer, the little girl lowered her eyes slightly to avoid my intent stare.

As I approached her, I could see the shape of her back more clearly.

She was grotesquely shaped in a humped over form.

I smiled to let her know it was ok; I was there to talk.

I sat down beside her and opened with a simple, "Hello."

The little girl acted shocked, and stammered a "hi"; after a long stare into my eyes.

I smiled and she shyly smiled back.

I bought her ice cream and a burger. We talked until darkness fell and the park was completely empty.

I finally asked Angie, for that was her name, why she was so sad.

The little girl looked at me with a sad face and said, "Because, I'm different."

I immediately said, "That you are!" and smiled.

The little girl acted even sadder and said, "I know."

"Angie," I said, "you remind me of an angel, sweet and innocent."

She looked at me and smiled, then slowly she got to her feet and said, "Really?"

"Yes, you're like a little Guardian Angel sent to watch
over people walking by."

She nodded her head and smiled.

With that she opened the back of her pink dress and allowed her wings to spread, then she said "I am."

She said "I'm your Guardian Angel, Dave" with a twinkle in her eye.

I was speechless - sure I was seeing things.

She said, "For once you thought of someone other than yourself. My job here is done".

I got to my feet and said, "Wait, why did no one else stop to talk to you, Angie?"

She looked at me, smiled, and said, "You're the only one who would bother with a dirty, barefoot hunchbacked child" and then she was gone.

I sat there in the deserted park, thinking, for a long while.

So, when you think you're all you have, remember, your angel is always watching over you.

Like the story says, we all need someone.

And, every one of your friends is an Angel in their own way.

The value of a friend is measured in the heart.

I hope your Guardian Angel watches over you always.

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Wednesday, May 17, 2006

Real Men Don't Weep

Has anybody noticed how many men have started crying? Everybody seems to be getting in on the act. What would once of been the object of scorn, derision and a serious beating now reveals sensitivity and humanity, a man who is so in touch with his feelings that he feels pain.

Furthermore everyone appreciates such a guy so much they don’t even notice the snail tracks on his chin. But what is annoying is that these men are not crying for the right reasons. Are they bawling because another terrorist suicide bomber has exploded a school bus, killing all 50 kids on board? Are they weeping because another man insists on killing his fellow man? No way, they’re crying because they’ve been caught doing something naughty or, even more irritating, because they’ve won something.

Remember Paul Gascoigne in the 1990 World Cup? Gazza didn’t cry because England were heading for an early bath (they weren’t at the time) he cried because if England did make the final, his arse would be parked on a bench. How about Tom Hanks who washes the stage at the Oscars ceremony on a regular basis? Did he cry because winning another Oscar meant he had saved 300 lives in Burkina Faso? Of course not, he cried because he had won another useless object and his mantelpiece was getting so cramped he would have to move to a bigger house.

Nowadays crying in public doesn’t mean you’re a wet blanket, it means you’re a wonderful 21st century man with an inner self of tremendous complexity. Andre Agassi waters the centre court, Bob Hawke gets in on the act, Paul Merson does it when he explains an addiction Janis Joplin would have been proud of. How long will it be before men start crying not because they’ve won a chunk of metal but because some other mofo has?

Does this mean a guy should never cry? Of course not. I cried when my grandfather and later my grandmother passed away. John Cleese was in tears at the memorial service for Peter Cook. Cleese had lost a close friend (as opposed to gaining a frigging Oscar). Fine. It is proper to mourn our most painful losses but all these drippy dorks are cheapening our tears, innit?

The irony is that women have become much stronger over the years. It suits them. They compete with us and defeat us at work, they have a power breakfast in the morning, give birth during lunch and buy us dinner in the evening. They work out at least three times a week, raise a family, buy their own razors and look good multi-tasking.

But ­whilst women have moved up, taken life on and succeeded, we have begun to act more like our antiquated view of women and believe me, it does not look good.

Stop dudes. Don’t cry when you win (or lose) something. Don’t cry when she dumps you. Save those tears for some real pain. Pull yourselves together otherwise you’ll be shaving your armpits next.
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Sunday, May 14, 2006

dangerous, deadly and gorgeous all in 1 package Posted by Picasa
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Part 2

Heya, guys and dolls. I’ve had 56 requests for part 2 of the story on the tigress. Unfortunately the tigress does not approve of my “creative license”. This is a picture of what I looked like after she was done with me, so the story will have to remain as a stand alone at one chapter.

I can’t be arsed to upload all your comments as they are very similar so I’ll do a chinonee FAQ and we can all get on with our lives, ok?

1. yes the characters are real, with the exception of Gabriel, Haridas and white
guy. The story is fictional, of course.
2. I’m still very much alive. Duuuuh!
3. yes the tigress is gorgeous, but more importantly she’s gorgeous as a human being, not
just physically.
4. yes, I will publish her picture. Look above.
5. Vincent used a .22 because it was a close shot, almost point blank. He would have
upgraded to a .35, a .38 or even a .45 magnum if necessary.
6. Ah Loong Koh’s ride is a ’96 Fat Boy and Vincent’s is a ’04 Springer.
7. there are 30 chapters in total. Chapter 2 would have introduced the origin of a powerful
thai monk.
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Monday, May 08, 2006

A Suicide, An Execution And Two Harleys

The old man was sitting on a chair, staring out the window when he heard the “pip pip” sound as the electronic pass card was swiped across the lock to his room. The metal door opened and two orderlies entered. He ignored them and continued to stare out the window.

He heard them put his lunch on the table. “Happy Birthday, old man! We’ve included a piece of chocolate cake for dessert as today’s your birthday”. said one of the orderlies gruffly.

“Come on, Gabriel,” said the other one, “he’s got a name so don’t be rude”.”But he never responds to whatever we say – just stares out the bloody window. So old also can go cuckoo because of love” whined Gabriel.

“He’s in his late forties, and when someone you love rejects you, it hurts at any age” replied Haridas, as he touched the old man gently on the right shoulder and told him “Uncle Dave, the doctors have decided that you are not a danger to yourself or anyone else, so we will be moving you to the minimum security wing tomorrow”.

The door clanged shut and the old man refocused his thoughts. He had allowed his mind to go blank to escape their inane chatter. He looked out the window at the green grass, colourful flowers and the other inmates walking around in the compound. Some needed help to walk while others were in wheelchairs.

His thoughts invariably went back to her. His tigress. Born at 1:54 in the morning, she was a hunting tigress, the most dangerous and fearsome according to Feng Shui. He loved her dearly and completely. One day she turned around and told him she was done with him. Then she was gone.

A year later, he had received a card. She was going to marry some white guy. He arranged to meet the white guy, and told him “This is my name card. Treat her like a Princess, love her and cherish her. Hurt her and you’ll have to answer to me”

White guy called the cops. He tore his own shirt and made many false accusations against the old man, claiming he was violent and aggressive. The old man tried to explain that he was only talking, and trying to ensure that his beloved tigress was treated with the respect and love she deserved. The cops chose to believe white guy over him.

Now, it had finally sunk in – she didn’t want him. So he blocked everything and everybody out, because everything and everybody reminded him of her. His hand retrieved the object he had hidden under his right thigh when the orderlies had entered.

He scraped it vertically on the rough cement brick on the side of the window a couple of times, then brought it near his face for inspection. Gingerely he tested the sharp tip with his finger. Almost, but not quite done.

He faced the window, staring out and scraping the toothbrush handle slowly and purposefully. His logic was simple. He had given her his heart. She had rejected it. He simply had no more use for it.

Four months later two Harleys were parked in a hotel basement, next to a black BMW. Lounging on the bikes were Ah Loong Koh, the most feared and respected ganglord in the city and a young recruit eager to prove himself and gain acceptance into the group.

The lift pinged open and white guy emerged hand in hand with a young Chinese girl. They were laughing about some joke he had cracked. As they neared the car white guy took the clicker out of his pocket and unlocked the BMW with a “pick pock” sound.

Ah Loong nodded to his young protégé. Vincent reached inside his jacket and took out the .22. He coolly took aim and fired two shots. White guy reeled backwards and fell against the car, with one bullet hole neatly between the eyes and the other one through his heart, the trademark of a gangland execution. The sound of the Harleys revving up drowned out the girl’s hysterical screams.

“Old habits die hard. You broke your word. You betrayed the tigress and hurt her. Now you have paid the price”. muttered Ah Loong Koh under his breath to complete the transaction.

In the underworld, a man’s word is his bond. Ah Loong Koh spoke softly to his friend the old man: “I have kept my word, brother. I promised to protect your tigress till I die”.

He smiled at the memory of his friend the old man as a patrol car rushed past him on the opposide side of the road, helter-skelter in the direction of the hotel, lights flashing and siren blaring.

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The Sad Saga of Streamyx.

I live in an exclusive apartment building which has only 12 units. It is located in a cul-de-sac and therefore does not have any traffic passing through. The neighbours mind their own business and I have lots of privacy and peace as we are a gated community. There is a large, lush garden and I actually hear birds chirping when I wake up.

The downside? The building is lightning prone. My pc got fried for the fifth time last April the 13th. I lodged a report at the Kedai Telekom in State, PJ and paid my bill the next day. I took along my modem for them to inspect, which they did and declared it to be okay.

Thus began a saga which lasted twenty-one days. I would call everyday, and they would promise to elevate me “to the next level”. After a week of being internetless and suffering from serious withdrawal symptoms, I stormed into the Kedai Telekom and demanded service.

“Yup, our technicians will get in touch with you within twenty-four hours” they lied shamelessy to my face. More calls everyday. More promises to upgrade my complaint to the next level.

In the end I picked up a copy of the Star, and dialed the first computer repair guy listed in the classifieds. “What the problem?” he asked. “I can’t log on” I bawled like a petulant baby. “What the message?” he asked. “Error 678” I replied. “Your computer’s fried, man. I’ll be there in two hours”

So he was. One new modem, a new LAN card and RM240 poorer, I am back in business. I happily log on, with my tail wagging overtime. First thing I see is an email from TMNet – we are currently attending to your complaint – please email us the nature of your problem. . .
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