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| Quarterlife crisis... Phase 1 complete. |
| 01.30.05 (3:30 am) [edit] |
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It's done. I'm now officially a few grand poorer. I'm also now holding the keys to a flamin red 1999 Suzuki. Spent the whole afternoon cleaning the thing up. There's a whole lotta work which needs to be done to bring this negleted beast back to it's former glory. But I've got all the time in the world... hehe...
I feel like a 15 year old kid all over again... YEAH BABY!!!
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| Fark... fark... fark... |
| 01.27.05 (7:53 pm) [edit] |
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I drafted out a full page blog about an hour ago. So I hit to insert a stoopid emoticon; next thing I know, I lost the entire page. Farking crap shit kannehcibaitiuniasengpuki mak browser. I hope William Gates gets humped by 9 foot tall Arabian camel equipped with an equally impressive-sized reproductive tool.
Man... how I hate technology sometimes...
Will rewrite the farking thing again some other time... bleh...
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| Quarterlife crisis update... |
| 01.25.05 (10:30 pm) [edit] |
Due to my current financial status being strained in at least 7 different directions... my bank account isn't exactly in pinkish health. Which rules out completely any chance of getting a spanking new bike. Stooopid quarterlife crisis... **mumble... mumble...**
Which leaves me only one option; getting a used bike. I managed to source for one; it turns out an old aquintance decided to let go of his 5 year old 2 wheeler. He was willing to part with it for a sum which was within my reach. However, there was a catch; the bike have been left untouched for about half a year or so.
I went over to have a look anyway. I was expecting the worst, and I wasn't exactly wrong. There was a thick layer of dust covering the whole thing, the tires were pretty much bald/flat, and the bodywork showed signs of solar abuse (faded paintjob). Oh, the battery was dead as well. It took the combined effort of the both of us, and 45 full minutes to get the thing started via kickstarting. The engine made the most horrible noise and was vibrating like an epileptic horse.
But after 15 minutes or so, the engine settled down and I was able to get it out for a test ride. I absolutely loved it in spite of all the kinks. I'm still in negotiations with the seller so nothing is confirmed yet. But I did visit several workshops to get a rough quotation on how much work needs to be done to bring it back to ridable condition.
Here're some of the works which needs to be done :
i) New 'heart' (battery)
ii) Engine servicing, lube and tune up.
iii) New set of rubbers (front & back)
vi) Total brake fluid flush out.
v) New brake pedal + right leg peg.
vi) Clutch adjustment.
vii) Paintjob touchup.
viii) A whole lot of cleaning up!
Isk... the things I do sometimes... isk...
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| Who da bloodsucka? |
| 01.23.05 (6:19 pm) [edit] |
Here's the scenario in Malaysia. Donors line up to donate their precious liquid hemoglobin at blood banks across the country. These ppl should be commended for their generousity. Now, private hospitals get their supply of blood from these bloodbanks. The bloodbanks do not put a price on the packets of blood; save for a minimal charge, incured due to blood screening. However, private hospitals are known to be charging an arm and a limb to patients who receive blood transfusions at their permises. This is basically making money out of the generousity of the Malaysian blood donors. Which to me... seems like a totally despicable act.
Farking profit minded medical institutions... :?
[i]Currently listening to :
[b]Bjork - Pagan Poetry.[/b][/i]
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| Branding... body modification. |
| 01.19.05 (7:47 pm) [edit] |
I caught a really disturbing documentary last night on the discovery channel. It's titled Taboo, and this episode was mainly about body modifications.
The first 2 segments didn't faze me that much since it focuses only on tribal neck elongation and the forbidden japanese art of Horimono (full body tatoo). I was intrigued though, by how the Japanese performs the tatoo, using a stick like contraption with 2 dozen needles on one end. Imagine... twenty four times the pain of a normal tatoo needle!
There was a mention of the connection between the Yakuza and the Horimono. The wearers of Horimono take great pain to conceal them from the public to avoid being branded as outcasts. But from my point of view, the intricate art work of the full body tatoos were just mind blowing. The level of detail, color and symetry just goes to show how far both the tatoo artist and the human canvass take to ensure the result are worth the many years of pain and money involved.
The last segment of Taboo was the one which had my stomach churning. It introduced the viewers to the relatively new body modification art of branding. And I'm not talking about wearing designer apparel here. Turns out there is a small community of body modifiers who are taking their art to the next level by literally scarring themselves with red-hot iron.
Yes, it's quite similar in concept to branding cattle. We were soon introduced to this scrawny, punky looking caucasion kid who wants to get branded. He gave the body modifier the elaborate design he concocted up to be stenciled onto his arm. Mind you, this wasn't some small-sized design. The design covers most of the lower arm. We then see the body modifier firing up a blowtorch and a small square piece of stainless steel, clamped with a vise-grip, was heated up to a red hot temperature of 1000 degrees.
Once the kid was ready, the body modifier proceeded to sear the kid's skin with the red hot piece of steel. He immediately reacted with a muffled scream. At this point, I was at the point of almost barfing. It was really difficult to see the kid, under absolutely no anesthetic, squirming in his chair, and watching his flesh being charred on national tv. You can hear the sizzling and popping of the flesh as it made contact with the burning steel; not unlike the sound made when handling a bbq grill. The camera zoomed in so close; capturing every single minute detail; it was nauseating. The worst part of it was, the whole process took 5 hours to complete. This kid had balls of steel.
When the whole thing was over, the kid held up his arm, revealing a mess of burnt flesh, loads of swelling and something which looked like a badly etched tribal pattern. The kid is now scarred/branded for life. He looked pretty smug about it. Forgive my ignorance, but I still cannot understand why he decided to go through this whole horrendous ordeal.
Mabbe I never will. I need to puke now...
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| Kung Fu Night. |
| 01.17.05 (1:34 am) [edit] |
I was doing some house cleaning last Saturday when Chan gave me a call. He asked if I was interested in catching the Malam KungFu (KungFu Night) showcase at USM (a local university) later during the night. Martial arts... cool. I said yes without batting an eyelid.
I picked him up, and his buddy, and we found ourselves in the university compound at around 7.15pm. I had to pick up my own ticket since they only managed to scrunch up two.
7.45pm. Queue up to enter the main hall. Huge crowd.
We unfortunately got seats at the very corner of the hall (which explains the really bad photos). Jammed packed like sardins. If that wasn't bad enuf... the guy beside me had really bad B.O. Pick up some deodorant on your way home dude... phew!
As I went thru the agenda, I realized this was going to be one of those events filled with long boring speeches by bigass VIPs and sub-standard performance by university students. Shite. I was not wrong.
After a delay of 1 hour due to the bigass VIPs' 'punctuality', they were ushered in by a troupe of lion dancers.
45 minutes of trauma-inducing speeches later, the KungFu night finally begin.
The showcase opened with a performance by the University's Shaolin Kung Fu club. Ok display, but their inexperience was really obvious.
Next up was a Wushu performance. This was marginally better, with loads of twirlling of wooden staffs, Chinese broadswords, etc. The exponents looked pretty confident with their skills.
This was followed by a dance performance. Which seems to be a bastardization of modern dance, incorporating some lame martial art moves. Totally puke inducing. Bleh.
They then brought out the drum troupe consisting of 32 skin bashers. This managed to wake me up a little, but I felt the rhythm was a little repetitive. Ho-hum. But, the drumming was pretty tight.
I hit rock bottom when the taichi exponents came out. Shite... I know taichi is supposed to be slow and graceful. But these ppl make turtles look like speedy Gonzales. NEXT!!!
Finally! No more sub-standard crap from the students. The professional Ninjitsu outfit; Yasenshi Dojo Malaysia; finally made their appearance. And they kicked things off with a bang by deploying all the tricks they have in their bag. Curved blades, ropes, shurikens, smoke bombs... you name it, they demo-ed it during their entrance performance.
There was even a scene where a lone ninja brought down an entire mob by himself. Fantastic!
More demos. Yes, that's a kid holding up a melon on top of his head. And yes, the sensei is weilding a razor sharp katana in his hand. The boy survived the ordeal with his head intact. The melon didn't.
As if that wasn't convincing enuf, the sensei repeated the feat with another kid holding another melon on his abdomen. Nary a scratch. I sat there with my jaw wide open for several seconds. Facinating...
The Ninjitsu association then showed some samurai derived swordplay; first with wooden swords, then using real katanas. Amazing they didn't chop each other into sausage meat.
Next up, the Bantus Capoeira Malaysia made their presense felt. They immediately formed a circle, started pounding on the bongo, whacking on the weird bow like instrument, and off they went. Twirling, cartwheels, legs flying everywhere.
The capoeira students were ok. They were pretty good. But the crowd went bonkers when the Brazilian master himself (Rafael Barobosa) decided to show off some moves. And boy, was he good. He'll make a gymnast pee in his pants.
Anyways, there were still about 3 more events left, but we decided to leave early. And early meant 11.30pm. Yeah... stupid VIPs screwed up the scheduling. These pompous brats should be flogged for their pathetic punctuality. Bleh...
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| Mid... er... quarter-life crisis... |
| 01.09.05 (11:26 pm) [edit] |
I think I've hit a quarterlife crisis. I'm seriously thinking of getting a bike. Nope... not some namby pamby kapchai underbone which borders on being as irritating as some farking mosquito. I'm talking bout something bigger... something much faster... something which warrants me to get a proper full-face helmet...
Argggghhh... why o' testosterone... why?!?!
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| Midnight sketch... |
| 01.09.05 (12:29 am) [edit] |
I was staring at the ceiling at 1 in the morning yesterday. Then I saw a short stubby 2B pencil lying on the hall table. My hands suddenly had this itch to start doodling again. So there I was sketching like a little kid in kindergarden till mabbe 3 in the morning. Wish I had a HB pencil as well though... I couldn't put much detail with that soft little stubby 2B...
Here's the outcome (you can laugh your pants off now... :wink: ).
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| Oh muscles... where art thou muscles? |
| 01.04.05 (11:29 pm) [edit] |
I'm scrawny. Yeah... I eat like a horse but I'm still having problems putting on weight. Things ain't too bad nowadays (since aging slows down my metabolism a little) but I still have a ridiculous BMI count (Body Mass Index).
Few years back, I tried to do something about it. I enrolled into a gym. No... not one of those super exclusive fitness centers where everything and everyone looks like a million bucks. I enrolled myself into one of those open air smell-like-shite type o gym. No doubt the fees are cheap as heck... but the trauma I went thru juz ain't worth it.
I was hoping to pack on a few pounds and mabbe get to ogle at some chicks while I'm at it. So I skipped merrily to start my first lesson. Lo and behold... the place was devoid of any slender looking sweet young things. In it's place were towering monoliths with arms twice the size of my thighs. I was introduced to my trainer... Mr. X, another huge looking individual. I cringed at my own inadequacies. I felt like [i]pee wee herman[/i] at a Mr. Olympia competition.
Mr. X wasted no time and sent me off to the machines. I was agasht when I saw the place. Darn... these were some of the oldest and dirtiest looking equipment I've ever seen. Rust, sweat, grime... you name it, you'll find it there. I gingerly picked up one of the barbells. Phew... just holding it 2 feet away from my face was enough to make me nauseous.
If this wasn't enough to torment me, the sound of music in the gym was enough to send devil screaming back to hell. There was so much grunting and groaning going on in the enclosure, you can't even hear yourself think. Every bicep curl was followed by a loud "[b]UNGGHH...[/b]". An abdominal crunch is accompanied by a "[b]NGGGGHHHHRGGHHH...[/b]". A bench press will quickly be serenaded with a "[b]GNNNGGHHHAAARRRGGHHHH HHH!!![/b]". You get the picture. After each workout, the lumbering hulks will then walk towards the nearest mirror and start posing, admiring the heck out of themselves as though they were Greek Gods or something. Narcistic bunch of sluts... bleh.
It felt and sounded like the deck of a slave ship. And it sure worked that way too. I was forced to perform countless repetition of absurd exercises. It's no different from having a masked thug throwing a whip at you. "[b]ShhhwWwwHIPPP!! Row BITCH!!! ROW!!! MUaahahahHAHAHA!!![/b]" By the end of the 2 hour session, I was barely able pick myself up and sign out from the gym. The grunting and groaning went on in the background. Crazy buggers.
Anyways, in the end, I lasted a paltry 2 weeks at the place. But the horrifying images of hulks, sweat and tiny shorts was burned permanently into my brain. I now endulge in much much saner ways to keep fit. Oh... the horror... **[i]sniff... sniff... whimper...[/i]**
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| Two Zero Zero Five. |
| 01.03.05 (11:29 pm) [edit] |
This has got to be one of the more neglected blogs on the web. Haha... and I ain't making any excuses. I've been a lazy bugger lately. So bite me.
2005. A brand new year. New beginning. New hopes. New... bleh... whateva. I've made no resolutions whatsoever this year. Nada. Woohoo. Which is great coz I don't need to lift my lazy butt to work towards any of the nonsensical lists I used crank out. Whatever 2005 have in store for me, bring it on. Any obstacles which come my way had better watch out... or I'll sit on it like a blimp of a sumo wrestler resting his cellulite infested butt on some scrawny ol rat. Squishy heaven.
I went thru some of the entries I made over the past year. Most of it sounds like the writtings of a whinny pubescent high school student. Oh woe... Shite. Screw it. Time for a chance. Mabbe I should start a journal entitled the Memoirs of the Only Male PMS-ing Bitch. Zero to bitch in 2.9 seconds.
Some say the world is your oyster. I say the world is their oyster. Being average will get you nowhere. If average ppl had a leader... I would be their king. I blend is so well into the crowd, ppl won't even know I'm alive. Which is good coz if I don't exist... ppl can't piss me off. But conflict is the spice of life. So, to make life more interesting, I'll have to piss myself off.
Don't worry; you haven't lost your mind. If you think this entry doesn't make any sense... you're right... it doesn't. I'm just bitching about nothing to burn away the last 30 minutes before leaving the office :)
What a great way to start the new year eh :wink:
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With
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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