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| Pills... pills... pills... |
| 11.24.04 (7:01 pm) [edit] |
I'm almost done with the second batch of antibiotics. And I still don't feel fantastic. It seem to take more and more time to recover nowadays. I'm not particularly bothered by the constant hacking and wheezing, it's just that the flu really bog your brain down. Makes thinking almost impossible.
After a long day at the office yesterday, I drove home with the hope of getting some well needed rest. It was about 9pm when I reached a section of the highway which was particularly prone to jams due to the bottleneck there. So I minded my own business and drove carefully to negotiate the stop and go traffic.
At the front of me was a car. Now this was no ordinary car. In our local lingo, this was one of those Beng-cars, driven by Ah-Bengs. You know, the type of cars which are modified so extensively, you could have sworn it was a UFO. With enough lights to light up a small village in Timbuktu, this is one heck of a sore sight for the eyes. Anyways, to alleviate my boredom, I decided to play a stupid game, pinpoint the joker. Let's see, muffler size big enuf to suck in a household pet... check. Bumper skirtings which makes the car look like a hovercraft... check. Blue LED blinkers which flashes everytime he steps on the brakes... check. Waaakaka... what a joker.
Anyways, after being stuck in the jam for bout 5 minutes, I suddenly realized the UFO in front of me went really silent. It's blinding glow emanating from it then dimmed a little. Next thing I knew, it was backing up... towards MY CAR! Holy $#!t. Dumbfcuked, I hit the horn pronto to warn the retard that he was about to hit me. Too late. BANG. Shite.
The UFO made contact with my front bumper. Dazed, I got down to inspect the damage. The bumper caved in a little. As the alien Ah Beng got down from his UFO (equipped with dyed brown hair, thick gold chains and impossibly tight fitting jeans), he had a blank expression on his face. "So how dude?" I asked him. He just stared at me. I waved my hand in front of him. No response. "Dei... move you car-lar so I can see the damage" I then shouted at him. He finally snapped out of his trance-like state and immediately moved his UFO.
Suprisingly, the bumper snapped back to pretty good shape when he moved his vehicle (man, I love these modern polyutherene bumpers), but there were some damage to my number plate and some minor scratches. Ah Beng then told me that his UFO engine stalled just now which was why it backed into my car. I asked him why he didn't brake? He said... he didn't thought of tat. Bloody farketh* of an excuse; the bugger musta hav dozed off or something.
Anyways, he kept insisting there's hardly any damage so I should give it a rest. WTF? Alien Beng's trying to play cute wiv me?! I could have kicked his big fat shrink-wrapped butt into incoming traffic if I wanted. But, at that moment, I was feeling really tired, sick and weak, so I agreed not to make any further fuss out of it. So I got back into my car and drove home while he boarded his UFO and flew back to Planet Beng. The ironic thing is, the same thing happened to me about 5 months back but that was by some blur yet hot chick in a souped up Japanese import. Bloody bitch speed off after impact. But that is a story for another time... bleh. Dang... I'll need to DIY fix my my plate with some duct-tape this weekend.
Oh yeah... btw... if any of you see a UFO going by the number plate P** 6968... pls be very wary not to go too near it. U'll never know when it decides to give your ride a big wet smacker.
[i]*[b]farketh[/b] is copyrighted by viewtru.blogspot.com (eh... hope u dun mind me using this term ah... )[/i]
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| Gungho Grooms. |
| 11.21.04 (3:57 am) [edit] |
The flu bug bit me few days back. Bad. And as usual, I piled on the flu medication and several handfuls of paracetamol tablets. A welcomed side effect from all these is that I now sleep like a log. I don’t think a St. Helen size explosion could wake me from my slumber. Anyways, like I mentioned in my earlier blog entry, this month have been filled with wedding invitations. I received my 9th one last week.
An ex-classmate called me bout a fortnight ago, asking me to be the driver for his wedding ride. I agreed without thinking since he was a pretty close friend. Besides, Chinese weddings usually spare no expense when it comes to celebrations such as these. When we went to pick up the rented car yesterday, I smiled like the Cheshire Cat. It was a luxury sedan, equipped with a healthy V6 heart, full leather trimmings, and the works. It’s not everyday where I get to drive one of these babies. No way am I gonna let a slight fever and flu make me pass this offer… hehe.
Chinese weddings are elaborate, ritualistic and protocol filled events. It takes a huge part of the day before everything is done. Prayers, welcoming the quests, respecting the elders, more prayers, waiting for the proper time to visit the bride, ferrying between the groom and bride’s residence, tea ceremony, photography session, etc. Naturally, in my weaken state of health, I find it kinda hard to endure the whole thing under the hot sweltering afternoon weather. Luckily, there were some interesting events which took my mind off the dizziness I was experiencing.
In our Chinese custom, when the groom arrives at the bride’s residence, it isn’t as simple as sashaying in and bringing the bride back home. Oh, no. He has to go through a whole set of challenges set out by the bride’s party before he even gets to set eyes on her. Now these can range from cheeky to plain sadistic. Let’s just say that some of the challenges fit straight into an episode of Fear Factor. Examples? How does sushi with an obscene dollop of Japanese wasabi sounds? Or a sandwich stuffed with Malaysian bird chili (this is way way hotter than the Jalapeno peppers)? A plate of bittergourd? A bottle of some suspicious looking blended cocktail which have the consistency of bad yogurt?
Not exactly stuff for the weak stomached. The poor groom will have to down these things before he is allowed to meet the bride. Of course, the groom could ask for some backup from his posses, BUT, that would indirectly affect his credibility, and his sincerity. So most of the time, the groom will accept the challenges himself. I’m glad to report that I’ve yet to see any barfing from the many weddings I’ve attended. These ppl must have guts of steel… literally.
These are some of the things, which make Chinese weddings really different. The atmosphere is fantastic, and for a moment there, I forgot about the flu and fever I was having. Anyway, congratulations NK, wishing you a happy married life ahead!
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| Lost blogs... |
| 11.16.04 (5:09 pm) [edit] |
I'm pissed. I just realised this morning that all my posts dating from March this year and going all the way back to middle 2003 have been removed without any notification from tblog whatsoever :evil:
It's kinda sad that tblog decided to pull such a thing on their loyal blog contributors. Some of the entries I uploaded last year had special meanings to me, and now they are lost forever. This is just plain mean. What's the point of maintaining an online journal if the entries will be lost in a year?
:(
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| DepaRaya... |
| 11.15.04 (9:00 pm) [edit] |
Well, it has been an extended break for me. So happens that the Indian festival of lights and the Muslim New Year coincided just a day apart, so we over at this part of the world had a pretty long weekend. 5 days in fact. Man… I love this country… we seem to celebrate everything… haha.
So what the heck did I do over the past few days? I’ve been pampering myself. Actually, I’ve been pampering my tummy. No holds barred. I’m pretty sure my cholesterol level has sky-rocketed.
Over the course of 5 days, I had several helpings of double-cheeseburgers (but quadruple the cheese), hot dogs by the mamak stalls, half a dozen varieties of rotis/flat breads (roti planta (margarine), roti bawang (onion), roti pisang (banana), roti John (sunny side up egg on top), roti sardin (sardine), roti tisu (paper thin style)), several liters of cola and a mountain of fries. In between, I snacked on murukus (traditional Indian junk food), tapioca crisps and wasabi flavored crinkle cut chips.
Then there was the visit to the Taiwanese restaurant downtown where I binged on beefball noodles, barbequed pork ribs and a nice persimmon bubbly ice tea to wash the whole thing down. Oh yeah… not forgetting the numerous trips to the outskirts of town where I feasted on really fantastic stir-fried Indian noodles, the ever popular rice noodles in sour fish-stock called laksa and countless helpings of air bandung ([i]rose syrup drink with evaporated milk. A popular drink among Muslims to break fast[/i]) all while participating in nonsensical conversations bout nothing.
With my tummy satiated, it was natural to calm the mind down as well. To do that, I went up the highest point on this island, at 830 meters above sea level. The panaromic view up there haven't changed much. But it was much warmer nowadays. Did some photography up there. Will post some pics soon. (*updated)
The past few days were all about me. If the world ended during this time, I guess I couldn't have been bothered. Nothing else mattered… muahahaha…
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| Perfection. |
| 11.08.04 (9:58 pm) [edit] |
Society demands nothing but perfection. However, perfection is an unattainable quality. So why do we try so hard anyway?
Duh... :roll:
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| The Confrontation... |
| 11.07.04 (11:39 pm) [edit] |
[b]Garden scene with typical Bollywood music running in the background. Two silhouette comes into view; embracing each other.[/b]
[b]Anil[/b] : Divya…
[b]Divya[/b] : Hu Anil? [i](Yes Anil?)[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Divya, mujhe tumse such me pyar hai… mujhe tumse dil se pyar hai. [i](Divya… I really love you… I love you with all of my heart.)[/i]
[b]Divya[/b] : **Blush… playfully twirl ends of hair…** Anil... mujhe kucch kehna hai... kya yeh galat hai? [i](Anil... I… I… have something to say… is it wrong?)[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Divya… love ke liye kucch bhi karega. [i](Divya… I’d do anything for love… you r my moon… my star… yadda… yadda… yadda…)[/i]
[b]Divya[/b] : Oh Anil… you are my hunky hairy hero… [i]**flickers eyelashes**[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Of course… hum ho gaye aap ke. [i](I’m yours now… you can use me as your Indonesian maid if you like… I’m your toy boy to command…)[/i]
[b][i]**Loud stomping noise. A group of thugs appear with clubs and machete in hand**[/i][/b]
[b]Thug Leader[/b] : HOI! ANIL! AAP KAHAN HO? [i](Hoi… Anil… MONGOLOID RETARD! Show your sissy ass to the world!!!)[/i]
[i]**Divya hides behind Anil**[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Ju tuma? [i](Who the bloody ugly stinking kabloodle hell are you?)[/i]
[b]Thug Leader[/b] : Mere boss-man avashyakata patni pichhavada. [i](Stoopid mogrel… my big kahuna boss want his wife back…)[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Kya? Mein use kabhi muaf nahii karuungaa! ISA PRAKARA CHUP RAHO!!! [i](What? I can never forgive that toilet rag for what he did to Divya… SO SHUT UP!!!)[/i]
[b]Thug Leader[/b] : Tumhe murajhana… [i](You die then…)[/i]
[i]**Thug leader signals to machais (followers) to beat the crap out of Anil. Throws cigarette on the ground and walks away…**[/i]
[b]Divya[/b] : Mujhe kahde Anil… [i](I’m… I’m scared Anil… **pathetic look on face**)[/i]
[b]Anil[/b] : Divya… mujhe tumhare fikar hai… chale Jao… fir miltein hein... [i](Divya... things don’t look good... I care about you... go now... we’ll meet again soon…)[/i]
[b]Divya[/b] : Anil… [i]**Tears streaming down… slowly walks away…**[/i]
[i]**Anil preps self for Bollywood style burly-brawl...**[/i]
[b]End of Part 1.[/b]
Er... just something I wrote out of complete boredom. There might be some slight grammatical errors with the Hindi used (actually... there should be [b]HUGE[/b] errors since my command of the language is hopeless... hehe). If yes... pls do point them out :lol:
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| Batteries, rain and horroscopes. |
| 11.07.04 (5:07 am) [edit] |
Hmm… totally unpredictable weekend. Here I was, itching to do something since I was dead bored. So, I decided to drop by this new big@$$ auto-accessory shop down south of the island. Man and their autos; give them lotsa after-market auto parts to ogle over and their IQ level will drop all the way down to a single digit. Sorta like a little kid left to run amok in a toy store.
And so there I was, eye-balling all the shiny shiny bits and pieces which were on display. After going thru the catalogue, I decided to place an order for the polyutherane rear windshield spoiler. After plopping down some moolah for the deposit, I skipped back to my ride at the car park, beeming like an idiot who just struck the lottery. As I inserted the key and tried to crank the engine, the diagnostics lighted up like a Christmas tree. Then, everything went dead. Shite. This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I tried to crank the engine several more times before I decided the battery was hopelessly dead. It was kinda ironic since there were 2 workshops around that vicinity, but none were open as it was a Sunday. After plodding around, I decided to call a fren over to help me out. Half an hour later, he appeared with a pair of jumper cables. 3 lazy cranks and my ride was back running. Thanked him profusely and told him I owe him one.
Buzzed my regular mechanic and told him I needed a new batt pronto. An hour later, I was 150 bucks poorer. Ah… what the heck. I’m still bored. So I decided to go over to the mainland to loaf around. As I reached the bridge, I was greeted by a jam so long, I’m pretty sure it’ll take me at least 2 hours just to cross it. So I doubled back to pick up my moped bike instead. It took me a while to get home, but something told me it should be worth it. I was feeling damn smug as I crossed the bridge since I was whizzing by all the cars, which were jam-packed like sardines.
After a late dinner, it was time to go home. It rained. [i]Darn[/i]. It was heavy. [i]Double darn[/i]. I didn’t have my raincoat. **[i]Bang head against wall several times[/i]**. So here I was, riding my little moped, clad only in my white T and jeans, with 10km of road ahead of me, plus another 14km bridge to cross, rain pelting against face like bullets in the middle of the night. As I reached the bridge tollbooth, I scanned my bridge prepaid card across the scanner. The rain was bad, so I decided to throw my card into the compartment in front of my moped instead of dunking it back into my wallet. I gunned the throttle and tried to cover as much ground as quickly as possible.
About 5 minutes into the ride, I heard a clunk but I continued riding. Something later told me to put my hand into the compartment to look for my prepaid card. Nothing. SHITE. I stopped my moped by the side of the road and peered into the crevice where I dumped the card. There was a gaping hole in the compartment and I presumed the card fell out while I was riding. ARGGGGHHH! I still had about 50 bucks left in that prepaid card. And with the card lost, there goes my deposit for the card too since I needed to purchase a new replacement.
I got home wet, tired and feeling really crummy. After a warm bath, I plonked myself into the sofa and picked up the newspaper. As I went thru the horoscope segment, I couldn’t believe what I read, but I was certainly amused at the same time. It sounded something like this :
[i]“Today is your day. Everything will go as planned and fall into place exactly as you wanted. If this is the day to make important decisions, now’s the time. Make the most out of it.”[/i]
Yeah rite :?
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| Aunt Agony. |
| 11.01.04 (9:35 pm) [edit] |
The weekend issue of newspapers usually include a section whereby troubled individuals write in to get free advice from this so called psycho-expert. I occasionally read these, out of amusement and also to see if there’s anything relevant which I can benefit from. However, there are times whereby the letters which flood this column seems so trivial and absurd, you can’t help but feel obligated to punch the daylights out of the writers. I’m surprised how the columnist can stomach all the bull$#!t he/she receives. This is how I will handle the column should I receive such letters.
[i]Dear Aunt Agony,
You gotta help me. I’m young, beautiful, smart, charismatic and talented. However, ppl have been ignoring me. How rude! I try my best to help the less-fortunate colleagues around me by criticizing their way of dressing, speech, eating habits, the way they carry themselves; in hope that they will change and be more perfect, like me. **Giggle... giggle...** I’m doing them a favor by helping to point out their weaknesses. Everytime I sashay into their cubicles, they’ll avoid me like a plague. Hello…? Come-on, tats like so duh. I’m supposed to be well-liked, it’s my birth-right. I'm destined to be the GlamourGirl all girls aspire to be! **Ouch... I broke a nail. Darn...** Tell me Aunt Agony, why do ppl treat me this way? Are they trying to condescend me in any way? Why is the world such a mean place?
Prettypretty.[/i]
[b][i]Dear Prettypretty,
U’re lucky I work for the press and not in anyway related to you. If I was, I’ll spank your stuck-up @$$ all the way to Timbuktu. Get a life… bi@tch.[/i][/b]
[i]Dear Aunt Agony,
I’m troubled. I’m of mixed parentage and I look way more good-looking than any top-rated Bollywood actor, past or present. I have the body of a Greek-God, more hair on my chest than Chewbaca and the chiseled looks of a super stud. The problem I’m facing at the moment is that currently, there are 29 girls in my college who’re chasing after me. Tell me Aunt Agony, isn’t this such injustice? I am only one man. I try my very best to distribute my love all round but there is only that much I can do. I really need you to tell me how I can distribute my time between all of them and still have a good time. I’m a swinging single and I just wanna score as best as I can. Then again, with my superb good looks, that shouldn’t be a problem, no? Mind you, my daily grooming regimes, pedicure and manicures still need to take top priority. Oh Aunt Agony, show me how I can spread my love all round so all of womenkind can sample a little of the greatness impregnated within me. I will be most grateful.
6pack.[/i]
[b][i]Dear 6pack,
Remind me to drop by your place when I get home from work. I need to shove the whole kabloodle of bull you left on my floorstep down your friggin throat. Oh yeah, btw, Amitabh Bachchan says he’s insulted. There will be a group of Bollywood Mafias joining you for supper later. Enjoy :wink: [/i][/b]
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cmos
Complementary Metal Oxide Semiconductor. A process that uses both N- and P-channel devices in a complimentary fashion to achieve small geometries and low power consumption.
Also
coincidently the online nick of a very average bloke who at times can be a totally spaced-out blur sotong. Armed with his limited knowledge and talents, he embarks on a personal quest to understand, and hopefully survive this thingy called 'life'.
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