Late. Again.

Damn, it!!! I was late again today. For the second time this week.

I ask myself, why do I always get stuck behind some bloody moron who drives 10km/hr below the speed limit or takes about 10 seconds to react to a green light when I'm driving to work and back???

Worse thing is they all seem to take the term "stop sign" a little too literally.

Aren't you suppose to stop, but after you stop, you're suppose to go again??? Maybe the good people at the city council need to redesign the stop sign so that it should read "STOP - Then Go Again. Fast." My point here is not to complain about my commute. Lord knows, if you want to read about my drive to and from work, I've written plenty of mundane stuff about that here to fill you in on that. My reason for writing is that I have noticed something strange, almost eerie, about the people who get in my way and that they all drive Toyota Camrys.

I swear, this has never happened to me before. For a few times this month, and the months before this and without fail, every person who gets in my way, preventing me from getting to a parking spot with enough time to navigate through the parking spaces, prefers the Toyota Camry as their vehicle of choice. Even the lady that ran the red light and tried to hit me on Tuesday was driving a Toyota Camry. I do not intend to offend all Toyota Camry drivers out there. Why, my Becca is a Toyota herself and I love her much but I do realise that the odds are approximately one in eight that if you are reading this, you yourself drive a Toyota Camry.

Don't get me wrong, I have been informed that there are some good people who drive Toyota Camrys, including Eddie Van Halen and Nelson Mandela. And there is also Mr Ha, my neighbour and he's a good person. But seriously, I believe the cause of my problems goes much deeper than the simple fact that Toyota Camry people cannot drive. The obvious answer is that there is some sinister group of evil people whose sole mission in life is to make me spend more time in my car. For whatever reason, they want me to be late for work in the morning and late for my appointment at the fortress of servitude in the evenings.

I have yet to determined with any certainty which group is behind this. Or what purpose they have in delaying my traveling activities. Maybe God is showing me a sign. But whatever it is and whoever is behind this, the next damn Camry that gets in my way will definitely get the finger from me.

I swear.

I Bad

Someone told me that I am a bottom out, sleazy, evil person. And rightly so.

I am burdened with guilt right now. I did something I am not proud of. I accidentally knocked over my computer at work. You would think computer equipment would be manufactured to be able to sustain this kind of abuse, whether intentional or accidental, but you could be wrong. It seems that knocking a computer from its normal upright position to a sideways formation on office grade carpeting causes fairly severe problems.

Let's revisit the ominous event.

It was Friday afternoon, just before 5:00pm in fact. I was just about to get myself all geared up for a few rounds at the watering hole. When I innocently turned my chair and disaster struck. One small nudge from my foot was all that it took. Crash!!! I immediately stood. Checked the table. Shook it a bit but before I could shift the blame to said table, every dwarfs was now laughing at my clumsiness. I picked everything back up and things were working fine. Disaster averted. For about five minutes.

Then the Blue Screen of Death appeared - yes, thats what I heard from the IT boys. What I had was the 'blue screen of death'. I froze. The blue screen stared back at me, mocking me with its blueness. Help desk in Malaya was no help. They only assured me that they would get someone from our the IT department to check on it. But I work for a company with something like hundreds of employees globally, and some guy out in Sarawak with a knocked-over computer does not get top priority.

So here it is now, Monday morning. The computer is still telling me that there is an 'operating system not found'. The help desk guys tell me it's the hard drive. Nothing works. I am at someone else's computer until 10:00am. I'm scared, lonely, and confused. The people here are strange and unusual. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder. I'm only 5 or 10 feet from the comforting walls of my normal location, but it feels like I'm in a different world.

And once 10:00am gets here I will be thrust out into the unknown, no home, no computer, no phone, and I'm afraid of what might happen to me out there.

Black Hole Sun

I went out for a smoke at the lobby area of my office building just now and was surprised it was crowded. And everyone was staring at the sun.

"The end is near", said one of the cleaner leaving the scene mumbling.

I looked up and lo and behold, there was a distinct ring around the sun. A complete ring. One smartly dressed guy said something about the summer solstice while yet another young smartly dressed fellow said it could be the recent incessant rain we just experienced the past week. "It doesn't normally rain this much in June. Never! This is a sign!", he said. The scene had enough end times sooth sayers to start a nation wide emergency.

I saw the photo shop man from down the street adjusting his SLR's and so I took my camera and started clicking. But the most depressing comment I heard has got to be from Pakcik Talib - 60 something, married three times and the building chief security guard. Sitting on his chair, puffing away on his ERA, he was oblivious to all the noise and chattering. He had a haunting anxiety about him today which was unusual.

I was standing near him and asked what he thought. He looked at the crowd and said, "That's the black hole". I nodded and finally lit my Marlboro.

Black hole or not, what we all just saw, my fellow country men and women, was just the sun halo. A fairly common sight occurring when high thin clouds containing millions of tiny ice crystals cover much of the sky. I learned that in science class when I was 12.

Oh, by the way. Happy Solstice everyone.

Kopi

I skipped lunch today on account of this huge breakfast I had. It was a feast. Breakfast, lunch and three dinners put together. All that courtesy of a side kick who flew in from Perth yesterday.

And so, here I am, with a cup of kopi and left all to myself in my hole, while the rest of the dwarfs are out lunching. And so I decided a poem would be interesting. A poem about kopi.

Kopi, kopi,
Steaming fresh pot of kopi,
Could there be anything better than...
A fresh pot of kopi?

When it's Monday or Wednesday or Friday or a Tuesday morning and...
You're really feeling down and tired and stuff...
Because you think 7:00 am is a reasonable time to wake up
On the weekdays.
A fresh pot of kopi
Is especially good...

Kopi doesn't taste very good
When it's been sitting around for hours,
So I prefer when it's a...
Fresh pot of kopi.

Also I hate it when there's not enough kopi
Left in the pot to fill my cup
Then I have to brew more
And it takes like three minutes
And by the time I get around
To going back to the kopi maker
I've gotten stuck on the phone
And other people have drank
All the kopi I just brewed.

How very rude!!!

But today the stars aligned,
And when I went to the pantry...
to help myself to my second cup
There it was sitting on the heater thingy : Yessss, a fresh pot of kopi!!!

Silver Lining

I was in church on Sunday morning thanks to a few reminders from concerned individuals who noticed my absence the past few sabbath. I've run out of excuses and so by divine intervention I woke up early yesterday, put on my Sunday best and went. I don't know, but each time I do get my sorry, sinful ass to church, I feel blessed later. Not always but sometimes.

I'm listening to 'The pieces don't fit anymore - James Morrison'.

Like that ever works. I seem to have a knack for causing self-inflicted, unnecessary pain. And because I manage to successfully accomplish the inane, I suppose I'm the only one who can cure the pain - did I just fucking rhyme?

I would definitely prescribe masochism, for reasons beyond me. Because as I dwell and expose my super self to kryptonite, I feel inadequate and less proud. The moment I am left a helpless heap of brokenness, then I come to acknowledge a greater power. That which I neglect on happier times.

When it comes down to stripping, the good Lord really knows how to deal. But, hey!!! Seriously, why does the stick have to be so hard? But after all the drama, thanks to his sovereignty and grace, everything turns out just fine. Like a weird habit, I scratch irritations until they bleed so I'd stop scratching.

Bleeding, as the Goo Goo Dolls expertly expressed, makes you know you're alive.

Dream

I had a dream last night.

So here's what I remember of this crazy-ass dream :-

A female friend of mine (whose name, even in the dream, I could never remember and kept getting wrong) and I somehow ended up being captured.

There was this whole matriarchal society thing going on and we were escorted to this tall building in the center of what looked like a park.

You went up an elevator, and when you got off the elevator, there was some long hallways leading to common rooms, living quarters, etc.

There was this whole air of "combat" to it. When people greeted each other, there was this manner of exposing both hands to show that there were no weapons and that intentions were peaceful.

There seemed to be some sort of pretext that you might have to go engage in combat against the guy you just ate dinner with, if your name came up flagged on "The list".

There were some guys who seemed to be in charge, but I think they were just privileged captives as well. They were the ones who had "The list" on clipboards, and would read off the names of the people who were heading to the elevator to go up a couple floors.

"The list" included peoples names and their e-mail addresses. I kid you not. Names were circled in red grease-pencil if they were going off to...whatever awaited them (I never saw it, there was only an implication that there was something bad involved).

There were big floor-to-ceiling windows where you could look out over the park, and see the women playing outside and living a grand old life. The view looked a lot like you might expect to see looking out over the courtyard of a 1930s girls school, that sort of play.

The guys who were in charge seemed to be perfectly reasonable and helpful, just that they didn't appear to be in any threat of heading into the elevator any time soon.

I don't know what particular book or movie my brain scraped this story nugget out of, but it's definitely weird.

Or could it be that...Oooooooooohhh, shit!!!

BluePill

'Spam', all this while to me have been this food item produced by Hormel Foods Corp. Very tasty albeit a tad expensive compared to my favourite Fuling Xinsheng brand.

But a week ago, I was introduced to a whole new realm of Spam. Computer spam, that is. Spam or spamming, I was told and now learned, is the abuse of electronic messaging systems to send unsolicited bulk messages, which are generally undesired. Ordinarily I just ignore spam. I mean as in "I delete it before I even mentally consciously recognize it as spam". That's why I was kind of annoyed that after I got a particular spam, it took me a week to get another copy of what has to be one of the funniest images ever to be in a spam.

Classic stuff I tell you. I laughed for like ten minutes. Not often that a viagra spam invokes 'The Matrix' (Morpheus : I imagine that right now, you're feeling a bit like Alice. Hmm? Tumbling down the rabbit hole?, Neo : You could say that), and in such an appropriate manner, even if it does get the pill colors backwards.

Burger

Legend has it that in the awesome country (food only) of Bolehland, that a certain race are especially gifted in one area.

And that would be the creation of meat patties fried over a hot plate, a meat patty that does not hide the incredibly delicious filth that is fat and liver and lungs and whatnot in a burger, unlike the antics of McCapitalism.

And they are about the country, reaching out their wares to the underground population as a commune, that preaches against the foul deeds of the Yankee meat invasion.

Ramly burger.

Fuck MacDee's!!!

Thank You, Enche Ramly Moknin.

Ooohhh Haaaa!!!

Behold, it's the middle of the year already. That was fast wasn't it? Gawai is upon us again so here's to you and you and you.

Ooooohhhh Haaaaaaaa!!!!!

Ni petara Ala Taala, petara aki ini...

Kami ngangau, kami nesau, ngasoh ngabang, ngasoh ngundang berserimbai ba Ari Gawai tu...

Taja pia, anang datai puang,

Di pekat mai ai tuak ngasoh bagak,

Mai Stella kena muka licha,

Mai Heineken kena ngubat sida ke tabin,

Tang anang mai Stout laban ngasoh gaut,

Chap Kenyalang keno ko orang ngasoh butang,

Chap Tebu mantai ke pemeli diri empu,

Chap Ikan ngasoh ati gidan.

Ooooooohhhh Haaaaaaaa!!! Ooooooooohh Haaaaaa!!!!