Feeling Old

So yesterday was a big day for one of our friends, a day that (should) come along once in a lifetime. And in truth, a day that most of us didn't see coming for maybe another couple of years.

Not that I'm saying it's wrong or too soon or anything.

And someone said while we tip-toed at the back of the gathered crowd of family and friends, "Wow, I feel old."

He also said he was sad, which was met with a few incredulous looks, but then he asserted himself with the comment that said he didn't feel sad sad but rather happy sad so I guess all is well.

But yes, as I've mentioned before, I already found the girl I want to marry, and I'm happy for anyone and everyone who can say the same thing (or guys for girls, or whatever you fancy, you know). Watching a good friend of mine get married is really a new experience for me, especially since I rarely go to any weddings at all. I don't like the normal wedding food. But I guess this is an exception for a few reasons, eh?

All in all, a very enjoyable ceremony, though that in itself sounds weird. I'm not sure why. One of the highlights would have been the cake which seemed to be the epitomy of chocolate, while the low point might be the mystery of my socks being stained brown after walking shoe-less for a few hours...

But when is it really time to tie the knot?

Someone once said, "A man never really knows true happiness until he gets married, but by then it's too late." While I obviously take that with a pinch of salt, I guess that comment might be pertinent to some. Being married is, of course, an obvious commitment and one which can't be taken lightly. Unless you're a siliconed-chested pop-star who has a crush on one of her dancers I guess.

So we were talking and found out that most of us felt that the optimum time to get hitched was around the ripe old age of 25. Seeing as how most of us as 21 right now, maybe a year or two yonger, I guess that's reasonable. I'd have been with Khadi for close to a decade by then, but that's OK right? Hehe. Course, sometimes circumstances might retard or accelerate the date, but I won't really go into that...

So... married life. Not much else to say, really. I'll just leave you with the quote of the day from one lost girl in particular.

"You should be more like Naz, he doesn't make any comments!"

Which is almost as good as...

"...I was driving along the road and there was an old woman walking in front of me and I haunted her but she didn't hear me and..."

And followed closely by...

"You know, it just doesn't feel like one of our friends is married."

The above really isn't spectacular or anything, just something to think over, I guess. And I really didn't want to publicly state my reply to that!

So Many People, So Little Time...

I may have mentioned this before, and most of you who know me know this too.

I hate crowds.

No, no. Really. I hate crowds.

This is probably the single most determining factor in me not liking such festivities as clubbing and shopping.

I hate crowds.

Lately, this problem has grown worse, with the onset of the year-end holidays. Khadi wanting to go to town to get stuff or do something aggravates it as well, of course. Let me tell you how it's like.

Take a walk along Orchard Road, Singapore's pride and joy when shopping is the key to your existence. Oh wait, you can't. Can't walk, that is. Yes, there are too many people. Rain or shine, the streets will be packed. That's a guarantee. Zara, Mango, Tangs, Nike, Forever 21, Lee Hwa, Topshop, every single outlet on our little island seems to be packed with shoppers, which is a relief seeing the angry mob outside each shopping centre.

It's a well-known fact that Singaporeans can't resist the allure of a sale, and old saggy aunties with varicose veins can be seen sprinting during the worst weather when a random brochure of 10% off some trivial item is thrust into their jade-fingered hands.

One week to Christmas. You know what that means, don't you? Last-minute Christmas shopping. And even more "Christmas joy" in the central business district. This actually makes the whole situation worse. I know whoever set it up means well, but it's just not practical.

I'll take a moment from my babbling to explain myself.

Recently several booths or stall-thingies have been set up along Orchard Road. Now, that in itself isn't anything new, there have always been booths set up there, but rarely have so many been erected in such close proximity to one another. And labelled the "Nativity Village" if I recall correctly.

What exactly is the "Nativity Village"? Well it's a series of booths and stall, as you might have guessed already, set to the theme of Christmas. Now, that's alright, I suppose, but like I said, they make the problem of overcrowding in the area much, much worse. Firstly, the sidewalk isn't all that wide to begin with, and when half of it is taken up by these things... during peak hours... you can't even swing a cat in there.

That, and the whole idea is a little tarnished by the fact that little old women are playing "children" and pimply schoolkids are dressed as Greco-Roman soldiers, broom-helmet and all. Oh yeah, spectacles too. Can't forget the glasses!

Sigh, I hate crowds. At least I won't have to deal with the town crowd this weekend, seeing as how most of us will be busy with a common prior engagement.

And I do mean engagement, eh? Wink, wink. Nudge, nudge.

Hey Ladies

So this has been on my mind for quite some time. Something that most guys and girls do in public places. Riddle me this, ladies, what do you do in there?

I am, of course, speaking of public restrooms. The fact that you ladies spend an eternity in there while us guys walk in and out. I mean, you have to queue for crying out loud. What's taking so long? I do realise that some ladies are a little more "high-maintenance" than others, with them having to redo their eyeliner, foundation, etc etc every chance they get, but this still borders on the ridiculous.

Take guys, for instance. We find the lil' boys room, walk in, whip it out, take a whizz, zip up, (usually) flush, wash up, f*ck off. But our female counterparts seem to use the restrooms for other matters. It's a mystery I feel will never be solved. Especially when I try asking a girl what took them.

"Can't you see the queue?"

Indeed, I can. Which is why I'm asking you in the first place! The presence of a queue obviously means that there's more than one female in there who's taking her time. And this phenomenon looks like a global one. Certain towns in America have made it commonplace to install at least twice as many female restrooms as male ones in high-traffic areas, in an attempt to ease the congestion.

Yes, congestion, because that's what it is, a human gridlock. Reminds me of a petrol station giving away free car-washes, you see all sorts of models and makes crawling towards to scene, end-to-end. The slim and sporty ones, the old and vintage ones, the new and funky ones, the obviously too-big-to-attract-anything-but-an-eww ones too.

So I'm begging for someone to enlighten me here, what is it that causes the ladies' room to be the hot-spot in the majority of public places. And don't give me the crap about the queue. That's as useful as a c*ck-flavoured lollipop.

Meet the Parents, Part II

So, this past Sunday I traevelled all of 300 metres or so, by car, to Khadi's house. With my family. For the return leg of the first encounter. How'd it go?

Well, it went well, for the most part, I'm very happy to say. We got there more or less on time, and I looked supposedly dashing in that shirt I tend to wear for "important" events. At least that's what she told me.

I've been there before, several times, in fact. I've been there to eat, to take random stuff, take a look at a sick cat, even feed a toddler. Who I didn't even kick. But this time was different, of course. It was to Meet The Parents.

Although, that might sound a little redundant as it already took place. So yeah, the away leg, as it may. First leg was a success, now all we need to do is to stay steady...

Dinner was great, surprisingly. I'm not saying they're bad cooks; on the contrary, I've never tasted anything less than delicious spewing from their kitchen. But this time it was briyani. I don't do briyani. But it was alot better than expected, and a real smile eclipsed the half-cringe I had plastered all over my face when I took my first bite. She was, of course, staring at me the whole time, probably admiring how dazzling I looked, but I think I mentioned that already, eh?

But back to reality, the only downside would be that my bratty little sister behaved well, brattily, for lack of a better term. Now, she's someone who deserved to be kicked. Even the best efforts of Khadi's grandma, bribing her with kittens, could only garner a silent nod. Fazlee, of course, provided one of the highlights of the night when "confronted" by Khadi's grandma.

(Conversation in Malay)

Grandma: So, you're still schooling?
Fazlee: (Pause) Oh, yes. I'm studying in a polytechnic.
Grandma: Oh, I see, I see... Finished with your exams for now?
Fazlee: (Less brief pause)
Grandma: (Being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee Uh...
Grandma: (Still being grandmotherly silent)
Fazlee: What?

I guess it goes without saying that my brother needs to brush up on his Malay if he wants to speak to my future grandma-in-law...

So that's how it went really, nothing "bad" happening, alot of laughing filling in the gaps in between dinner and random chit-chat and cat-sightings. I must say, the fact that our moms hugged each other bodes well for the future, eh?

To Khadi: Love you babe.

Wrestling

I enjoy watching pro-wrestling. There, I said it.

Many people look down on wrestling fans, and I find that very irritating. Not as irritating as people who think they're wrestling fans, but don't know a damn thing about it. But I'll get to that another time.

"Why do you watch wrestling? Don't you know it's fake?"

Definitely the number one retort that anti-wrestling folks shoot at fans like me. Do you watch Friends? CSI? Prison Break? Sienfeld? Don't you know that's fake too? Yeah, we know wrestling is fake.

Not really.

Owne Hart really died. Eddie Guerrero really died. Granted, not due to wrestling per se, but take a look at Darren Drozdov, or "Droz", as he was known, who broke his neck in a match against D-Lo Brown a number of years ago, and has been paralysed since. Kenta Kobashi, a Japanese wrestler who made the "Burning Hammer" famous, has reputedly killed more than one person due to that very move. Which he still does on a regular basis, and is cheered by almost every Japanese wrestling fan.

I do dislike the over-dramatisation of that prevalent in wrestling today, however. This is especially relevant in WWE programming. Weddings and vampires? Oh come on.

But I love watching wrestling for the pure athleticism that's on show night after night. I remember the first time I saw a hurricunrana, and thought it was the most beautiful and impossible move ever done. Now, the era of 619's and Canadian Destroyers put others to shame.

My favourite wrestler is Bret Hart. Not was, but is. I used to feel so broken-hearted whenever he lost a match (back when I thought everything was legit). And with the screwjob in Montreal, it just reaffirmed my admiration for the man.

Wrestling has come a long way since I first started watching it, no doubt. From the time when a "Japanese" sumo wrestler was unstoppable and a balding man got stronger the more punches he took, to a trash-talking rapper, and the same balding man, but balder. Not too much, I guess.

But to the "point" of all this.

Some of you might know that the "dominant" brand of "sports entertainment" today is the WWE (formerly known as the WWF, formerly known as a WWWF). There's NWA-TNA too, but I won't go into that today. Those among who who are even more enlightened would also know that WWE has a few "shows" and those "shows" are Raw and Smackdown. (ECW, Heat, Velocity, etc wont be discussed today...).

What flashes across the screen before every WWE broadcast?

No, not titties.

The "Don't try this at home" segment. Now, apparently, some people can't read. Those of you who can read, take a look at this. Now, this isn't the first case of some idiotic kid hurting another equally idiotic kid because "they were trying to imitate what wrestlers do on TV."

So the Indonesian authorities have banned the broadcast of Smackdown in the region. Bullshit, you know?

If a kid hurts another kid because he or she is copying a wrestler, the first people who need to be shot are their parents. You let your kids watch things like this, deal with it. Or at least explain to them that the big man in tights isn't really tring to smash the other guy's skull with a chair. And that if you jump of a ladder, you get hurt.

Speaking of jumping off ladders and getting hurt and wrestling being "fake", take a look at this.

The second batch of people who should be shot, are of course, the Indonesian broadcasters who apparently have either (a) telecast a show with definite adult themes during prime-time or something or (b) editted out the "Dont try this at home" segments.

If they aren't guilty of those, of course, feel free to shoot the parents again.

Isn't it moronic, how the media are so quick to blame violent TV shows and video games for the behaviour of a few dumb kids? The Columbine High tragedy was almost attributed to the shooters listening to Manson and playing Grand Theft Auto. I listen to Manson and play Grand Theft Auto. You don't see me guns a-blazin, do ya? Baby kicking is another issue.

So why blame pro-wrestling? Studies have shown that the average Saturday morning cartoon has more instances of violence than a standard episode of Raw or Smackdown. Hard to believe? Well, listen to your own arguments.

"I used to watch wrestling, you know. But know it's so lame! All they do is talk and talk and ony fight for like five minutes."

Now watch Tom and Jerry or Road Runner or something and count the instances of "violent acts" that are shown on-screen. There we go.

Still, this little page of me venting my fustrations won't really affect anything in the long run, oh well.

So, I've come to the end of my rant, quite suddenly.

Here's Your Sign

So, I haven't written anything here for a long time, it seems, other than the odd one-liner here and there at the right side of your screen. I might attribute the lack of updates to studying for exams, but most of you know me better than that.

Today my rant will be about stupid people.

The "here's your sign" comedy routine has been said to have originated from comedian Bill Engvall, though I think that most people familiar with it might have heard it during a Jeff Foxworthy skit of some sort, maybe. The ideology behind the "sign" routine is simple, really.

Stupid people should be made to wear signs, so the rest of the world will know beforehand that they are dealing with such tards.

Now, I don't claim to be the smartest feller in the world, I don't even think I'm the smartest person among the people reading this or anything, but stupid people do annoy the hell out of me. I have a feeling I mentioned this before, so I'll not repeat the phone conversation about the use of foldable beds I once had with an outdoor retailer.

Anyway, I was skimming through our wonderfully named local tabloid The New Paper a couple of days ago and I found a few very "interesting" articles. The bulk of the people who should have the afore-mentioned signs stapled to their heads seem to work in or around the American airline industry.

Case 1: Young couple gets thrown out of an airplane because male had his head on female's lap before takeoff.

Case 2: Undercover US Air Marshall throws someone out of the bathroom becuase he enters less than a half-hour before landing. Rest of flight is made to have their hands on their heads for the remainder of the flight.

Case 3: Jewish man is thrown off a flight because he prays before takeoff.

Case 4: Young white mother is admonished for breast-feeding her child.

ROFLZOMGWTFLBBQLOL

To the (few) Americans reading this, are you all insane, paranoid or just stupid?

Forgive the question, I probably get the impression from your leader.

Anyway, other instances from the same paper that day itself include the story of a young Malaysian man who drowned after trying to save 2 people. Now, that might not seem too stupid, considering he'd also save 8 others before meeting his demise, but the whole situation is. You see, the "incident" happened at some sort of Civil Defence sort of thing, a training exercise as far as I can tell.

Ten people, needing to be saved, during training? And it falls upon the shoulders of one man to do it? He's not Superman, my dear northern neighbours. He's not even Lat. The concept of lifeguards, instructors and/or safe training escapes you, I gather.

Of course, the same country also built a bridge to nowhere recently, so I guess it's only natural. For those who don't know, Malaysia and Singapore are connected by two causeways, the first being the aptly-named "Causeway" and the second link equally originally titled, "The Second Link". Apparently Malaysian authorities took it upon themselves to create a third bridge of sorts, perhaps aiming to replace the "evil" Causeway which apparently hinders economic growth of the country depicted in such blockbusters as Entrapment and Zoolander (I really enjoyed Zoolander).

So they built a bridge. And then asked that Singapore comply and join it up from our end.

scoff
–verb (used without object)
1.
to speak derisively; mock; jeer (often fol. by at): If you can't do any better, don't scoff. Their efforts toward a peaceful settlement are not to be scoffed at. –verb (used with object)
2.
to mock at; deride. –noun
3.
an expression of mockery, derision, doubt, or derisive scorn; jeer.
4.
an object of mockery or derision

That's from dictionary.reference.com, very useful.

Suffice to say, they now have a half-bridge.

So I'll leave you pondering the profoundness of my ranting with this simple quote from my brother.

"Wow, dogs eat meat?"

Hair

Everyone has hair. If not on their heads, then on other parts of the body. And yes, I do realise that shaving is a viable option for some people (or couples...) but that's not my concern. At least not right now.

I've always had short hair. OK, there was a period of time where it grew to cover my eyes, but it was only for a few weeks. I like having short hair. Or at least non-long hair. Have a preference for a rather spiky look, which, admittedly, doesn't always come off the way I envision it but it usually works.

One time Khadi told me I had "sexy hair". But that was when it wasn't syled up at all, so... I dunno.

I like girls with long hair, more or less a prerequisite for me to look twice at them (or once, if at all). Only on rare occasions do I even think for a second that short hair actually works on a girl. The winner of one season of America's Next Top Model would be a good example for an exception to the rule. Zahrah, unfortunately, does not fall into that same category. As Erfen and a few others so eloquently put it, "You look like a very pretty boy."

In addition to the length of hair, curls and/or wavy hair adds more brownie points to the general look of a girl, in my humble opinon. I'm still trying to convince Khadi NOT to straighten her curly hair. If some of you don't know or remember, it was straight before this more glam look.

Fazlee had a pseudo-mullet. I stress had because he did the right thing and had it killed. For the past year or so, he hasn't had a haircut, other than trimming the back a little a few months back. He had even considered a hairband for a time, but decided against one because my sister's ones were "too girly". I'd hate to break it to you, dear brother, but our sister isn't exactly one for tomboyish looks. At least nowadays. Now he's got the "army" look.

Alot of people have a tendency to look semi-good with little or no hair. Francesco Totti and David Beckham don't look too bad. Michael Scofield from Prison Break or the guy from One Tree Hill don't look like complete retards either. I'm not saying Fazlee looks like a moron with his current hair (or lack thereof), but if he wanted the look, he could have looked at this.

Anyway, everyone has their own opinions on hair. Some like it long, other like it short. Light, dark, curly, straight. Dry, frizzy, slick, shiny, whatever. Make your own calls.

The Aftermath

They came, they saw, they... ate.

Went pretty good I guess, sandwiched between impulsive phonecalls from hyperactive aunts who are convinced that this meeting of the minds is a herald for a grand wedding sometime soon.

Well, it won't be sometime soon, but it'll be grand. Or so I'm told.

Anyway, they arrived under cover of darkness, bedecked in hues of gold and green. And a pen through a shirt-collar. A feast awaited and the guests dined atop the wood and marble. I hope they liked the murtabak.

Enough with the dramatics, it went well, if a bit one-sided. But then, what can I contribute to the conversation when the topic is of rumoured embezzlement and laundering within certain religious organisations? Was I supposed to just go "Hmm, yes. I see your point." or something?

Actually, that really was the bulk of my side of the talking, but still, laughter and smiles from your (not so) soon-to-be father-in-law on your first real meeting would be a good sign eh?

All good, and I'm still getting "So, how do your in-laws love you?" from all sides, and while the L-word wouldn't be suitably-placed in that context, at least it started off on the right foot.

Plus, I got a new cat (OK, kitten) though she's having some problems settling in...

Sleepers

In 1973, Woody Allen released "Sleeper", a love story about two people who hate each other, 200 years into the future.

"Sleeper" was also the name of a British band in the 1990's, a type of fish, a chokehold and a kind of railway car.

I'll focus on the last definition, tweaking it slightly.

As I mentioned before, I often make use of the generally excellent public transport system here in Singapore, with little or no complaint on most days, other than the odd maniacal cab-driver or late bus.

But, I get annoyed (very easily in most cases...) when someone infringes on my "personal space" in a bus or train. I don't usually have an aversion to human contact, and I'm not anti-social on most days, except for my urge to kick babies I guess.

Anyway, what irks me is how some people love to sleep on the bus or train (the bus, predominantly) and lean on you. Now, sleeping on a bus in itself isn't a bad thing. I used to sleep on buses everyday. But yeah, leaning.

It's inconsiderate, to say the least, when someone is trying to get from Point A to Point B and someone he/she is unfortunate enough to sit beside decides that their shoulder is doing a brilliant impersonation of their bedroom pillow.

Let's not even get started on those who drool too.

Here's what I tend to do when I get on a bus.

-Get a seat near the back doors.
-Sit by the window
-Keep an eye out for anyone who might sleep beside me and lean on me

If the third point (sadly) occurs in its entirety, I'd be forced to carry through with the sure-fire way of making sure they only rest on me once.

A good hard shove. Into the isle.

Works every time.

Try it!

Worlds Collide

4th Novemeber 2006.

This weekend.

Her folks and mine, or at least the possibility of a meeting.

Well, considering we've been together for five and a half years, and are "practically married" as some of you accuse, it's kinda weird that our parents have never met eh?

Khadi thinks her folks won't be too keen on coming, but you never know. I've met her dad once, never actually spoken to him. Her mom seems to like giving me food and comparing me to something which I won't repeat here for fear or ridicule.

My parents are (thankfully) very accepting of Khadi, though she insists that she does things to piss them off, and thus checks on her "status" with me and my sis from time to time (read: every chance she gets). She's also very motivated to be the "favourite" significant other, and it's really very funny, the way she compares some things.

Still, this weekend would probably be good. Lots of people, food, Prison Break, laughter, money exchanging hands, old friends meeting up for the first time in years in some cases.

If all else fails, I guess her dad could talk to my uncle about badminton...

So...

Hypothetical question/scenario here, give me your feedback.

A girl, who I'll call A, has been with her boyfriend, who I'll call H, for a while now. They seem really happy with one another, getting over their age gap, H sneaking into her home for some hanky panky and what-not now and then and again and again. Doing things that people in love do, you know?

So, anyway, A has a "good friend" who she's known for longer than she's known H. And as some of you might have already figured "The friend must be a guy." Yes, you're right. THE FRIEND is indeed a guy.

So, A and H, happy couple right? Wrong. Well, Right, but not totally, or something. Apparently H isn't happy that A is spending too much time with THE FRIEND or something along those lines.

Now, some of you might think "Wait a minute, he's bloody insecure and/or possessive!" but then you're probably a girl. Most guys would think that H has got a point. How'd you feel if your girl was hanging out with another guy alot, going out with him ("But we just go out to eat and stuff!"), taking a ride with him (car ride), etc. Just A and THE FRIEND, one on one.

Personally, I think that there are very few cases where a guy and girl can be totally, 100% platonic. In most cases, it's because the guy is already attached to someone he rates higher than the girl. That might sound crass and really crude, but hey, alot would agree (no offense to all my female friends though...).

It's natural for a guy to try and woo a girl. Look at the animal world. Males try to bang as many females as they can in as little time as possible. Females tend to sift through the crowd, looking for what's in their best interest. It's fact. Sad, but true.

Now, translate that to what's happening between A, H and THE FRIEND, and what do you get?

Yeah. A pretty f*cked up situation where the girl is all "don't worry, nothing's going to happen" and the guy is like "but I don't want you to see him alone anymore, I think he likes you" and THE FRIEND is probably like "holy shit, I think she likes me."

Feedback.

Dun Dun Dun

That was supposed to be dramatic music.

So, I haven't written here in a while...

I've been busy, you know? Lots of things to take care of and... well, not really. Lack of any real topic to be honest. Heh.

It's Hari Raya today. What's that? Well, for one thing, it's the day I get lots of cash.

Hari Raya Aidilfitri, today, is one of the two big events celebrated by Muslims across the world. There are others too, but I don't really know much about them so I'll just say two. Shush.

We've all been fasting for a month, as I mentioned earlier, and now, we riot!

I mean celebrate. Yeah, that's it.

Spent most of today visiting people, hugging grandma's, looking dashin, same old same old. Got me a nice wad of cash too. Pimpin ain't easy you know. Unrelated, but I felt it had to be said.

The Trainman

Today, like most everyday when I go to and from school, I took the train. Yeah, I don't drive. Working on it. But that isn't the point.

Singaporeans can be proud of their public transport system. At least, the MRT. I've been to Britain and Germany, where they boast "impressive" public trains for intra-city travel, and quite frankly... I'm sorry Europe, but you suck, for lack of a better word.

Well, maybe only in comparison to Singapore, at least. Now, I'm no patriot. I hate how Singapore is rather dull and routine. Life in Singapore is often mundane at best, and even "breaking news" is mediocre on a good day.

Good evening, Singapore. Our top story today, Prime Minister Lee Hsien Long visits Aljunied GRC. In other news, the national football team lost again to The Association of BLind Paraplegics...

But I digress. As I was saying, I was on the train today, and like most any day, a series of unfortunate events befell your friendly neighbourhood Naz.

Firstly, I was fleetfooted enough to procure myself a seat. Yay. No yay. On the right, a rather large woman. What kind of large? Well. The happily-coloured plastic seats are all joined, right? With those bum-shaped indentations to regulate passenger seating arrangements. She was intruding in my personal space.

If that wasn't enough, the guy on my left was a sleeper. Now, I once launched a rather long and fairly humourous tirade against "sleepers" on the bus and/or train (and I might revisit that in the future...), but this one takes the cake.

He looked like a bum. Dirty striped shirt, half-unbuttoned. Dirtier fingernails. Long fingernails. Patches of hair that were alternating between invisible and out-of-control. Shorts. Broken sandals. Veins.

Now, some of you might argue that "Hey Naz, you aren't quite the fashionista yourself!" but I don't smell of beer.

Which is what this charming fellow did. Very well. I hate the smell of beer. On people. Not wielding a glass. In public. In close proximity.

So in between Drew Carrey's sister and Mr Tiger Beer, I remained seated, because as much as it pained me (a combination of breath-holding and contorting of my extremities), the scene in front of me was one out of a porn flick. From HELL.

Two middle aged (and I'm being generous) Chinese men, holding the hands of two rather skinny Chinese girls. Against their fruit packages. Take a moment to envision that, folks. I had almost a full half-hour to try and not notice.

On a somewhat-related note, why is it that in Singapore, nearly every instance of Paedophilic Displays of Affection occur between members of our large Chinese community? Ok, I get that being the largest racial group would statistically increase the likelyhood of one such as myself catching an unwanted peepshow on the train, but that's just not right. I don't see some old Pak Cik or some old Indian fella doing the same thing. Oh well. No offence, Chinese dudes and dudettes, but is that why China has a billion people? Eh?

So, there I was. Stuck between a drunk and a soft place. Being mentally tortured by the twin visions of poor public porn. Sigh.

Some poor chap dropped his strangely heavy wallet on my shoe as well. And I was gracious enough to point out to the oblivious fellow. But we all knows good deeds are overrated anyway.

Sigh. Only on a Singapore train.

Home Away From Home

Alot of you reading this would be familiar with the experience of living away from home for an extended period of time. Guys, NS would have forced that upon you, and as for the rest, well, I dunno.

Khadi's in University. But she's been there for over a year now. Enrolled there, at least. But right now, at time of writing, she's in the University. Yeah, staying in a dorm/hall or whatever you want to call it.

It's a big step for her, since she's blatantly close to her family ("I think I'll miss my sister...") and being away from them for three or four days would be a major change. But, of course, she's in the same hall with "Her Besh Fren" Aisyah, so I guess it'll be easier, in that sense.

And, as Aisyah did so eloquently confess in her blog (Link on the right), the two of them are going to raise hell. So much for an education eh?

But I jest, I know the two of them will be studying hard, almost as hard as they party, of course. I can only wonder what will become of Wednesday nights when Khadi doesn't actually have to go home.

Not seeing her as much is going to be hard. I know, some people ask "Oh my god! You've been with her for five years and see her like every other day! Aren't you sick of her?"

And I say No. Hell, if you want to marry someone (and I do want to marry her so), you're going to see him/her everyday anyway. If you can't deal with that right now, you either aren't as mature or advanced (relationship-wise) as some others, or need to take a look at your relationship proper.

Note: I do realise there are folk who love each other enormously but don't talk to/see each other everyday and are quite adamant about their supremacy. To them, I say "Good for you." Everyone's entitled to my opinion.

But back to Khadi, I will miss her. Of course, I'll speak to her (several times) everyday and the wonders of modern technology allow me to deliver my sweet words of lurve to her every five minutes, or (more realistically) when I can think them up. And when she isn't too busy to read them. Hooray for romance.

Some people say (and repeat endlessly) that you don't know what you got till it's gone. Now, I abhor cliches, but this one is particularly poingant right now. It's her first night in the University Hall (other than candid sleepovers after a semi-wild night out...), and I'm sure it's a big test for her.

But I've got every faith in my girl, and she wants to learn to be independant, if only for a semester, and she'll be fine. Great. Study hard, party hard. As usual.

Ah well, Yo Momma is on, and we all know that spewing gibberish will always take a back seat to strangers badmouthing each other.

I keed.

But really, Yo Momma is on now.

Love you babe.

Jurassic Park and Me

Remember Jurassic Park? Yeah the movie that spawned two quite laughable sequels. The movie that sort of revolutionised special effects. The movie that scared me shitless when I was a kid.

You see, ever since I was a wee lad, I've always had a fancy for dinosaurs. I could name you the estimated height and length of nearly every "mainstream" dinosaur and tell you approximately when and where they lived. I could tell you the difference between a Brontosaurus and an Apatosaurus. Which dinosaur was theorised to have a trunk. Feathers.

Anyway, being a dino-loving kid, the opening of Jurassic Park naturally became a religious event for me, and I dragged my father to watch it, only because I was deemed too young to watch it on my own.

And I got scared. Shitless.

Now, don't get me wrong, JP isn't a horror movie per se, nor is it a light-hearted comedy. It's scarier than Evil Dead or Barney, but will never be Ju-On. But I don't really need to explain what the movie actually is, do I?

Anyway, what scared me the most about JP were the Velociraptors. Now, in my many (about 2) years of dino-research, I always envisioned raptors as cold-blooded killers, much like how they were portrayed in the movie, but not quite as cunning and... merciless.

When the guy gets ambushed by the group of raptors ("Clever girl...") I was amazed.

But when the two raptors stalked the kids in the kitchen, I was scared. (Shitless).

The next few months (seriously) saw Naz checking everywhere for raptors. Behind my bed. In my closet. Under the car. Waiting for me at the dinner table. I was one paranoid kid.

Course, back then I also thought that the raptors and other dinosaurs used in JP were real. Now, I knew dinosaurs had been extinct for millions of years. But I thought the technique they used in JP (extract dino blood from amber-preserved mosquito, copy and modiy dino-DNA, die gruesome death) actually worked and that was how they filmed the damn movie.

I grew wiser, of course, and like any other kid, got over my irrational fear.

It seems the movies do indeed induce mass hysteria sometimes though. Look at The Ring (the Japanese version, not the cheesy Hollywood remake). Till this day, hordes of people still scream and faint and run and cry and wail and generally panic everytime someone so much as flashes the opening scene of the cursed video.

Watch this.

Don't get me started on Ju-On (The Grudge, for those of you more Hollywood-inclined, though the only saving grace of the remake is Sarah Michelle Gellar). I was like, what? 17 when I caught it? And it creeped me out. I remember shampooing my hair a few days after catching it and freaking out when something knocked against my bathroom door (stupid cat).

Yeah, we've all been scared out of our minds due to some movie or other, and if you haven't, pity.

My list of favourite scary movies (not neccesarily in terms of scariness):
*Ju-On
*Signs
*The Village (At least the first half...)
*The Sixth Sense
*House of Wax (Gore, FTW)

I'd add Final Destination, Saw, and a few others, but they're not really horror, and even if they are, aren't really billed as such.

Ah well.

2 Dollar Dares

"Two bucks"
"What?"
"Go up to the police guy and ask him if his daily routine is as exciting as what we see on TV."

That was really the only "two bucks" dare I ever did.

The concept of the "two bucks" dares spawned from the semi-popular series Ed, when me and a few of my friends started daring each other to do idiotic things for a measly two dollars. Though most of the dares were not really serious, some, like what I mentioned before, actually happened.

Here's a list of some of the dares I can remember:

Tell that girl her skirt is unzipped
Ask the teacher why the anus is included in the diagram of sexual organs
Call your girlfriend (who is older than you) "Kakak" (Malay for big sister) Actually done!
Stand on the table and profess your undying love to a random person
Scream at a random person, in a public place, "NO I WILL NOT MARRY YOU!"

Childish and immature, I admit, but a sure bet for laughs. Oh the glory days of cheap thrills.

Alot of the best dares cropped up in (invariably) random conversations with my good friend Sajivan. Yes, the same Saj I pointed out that had split his head a few weeks ago (he did it again recently too). The Saj who was accused of having no less than, what? Fifteen girlfriends? Including mine? And my sister, of course.

Speaking of which:

Hoopy Frood says:
eh... wat has happened to your sis ah
nAz says:
?
Hoopy Frood says:
neva see her online anymore...
Hoopy Frood says:
heh
nAz says:
miss her?
Hoopy Frood says:
u cant begin to fathom how much
nAz says:
hahaa
Hoopy Frood says:
nAz says:
i'll send her your love
Hoopy Frood says:
haha...
nAz says:
im so going to copy and paste this...
Hoopy Frood says:
ure gonna tell khadi arent u...
nAz says:
of course
Hoopy Frood says:
maybe i shud have thot of tt before i tried to be witty

So, Saj, I didn't actually tell Khadi...

Hoopy Frood = Amazingly together guy

Credit: The Hitchiker's Guide to the Galaxy, one of the funniest things I've ever had the priveledge of reading (thanks to Saj). Though it took me to remind him of the phrase.

So, to all of you reading this, I dare you this.

Two Bucks.
(65) 6293 4388
Call that number, and ask what's the soup of the day.
PS: Only if I'm around to hear it!

Singapore Idle

Ramadhan (or Ramadan, if you prefer) is upon us!

For those of you not in the know, Ramadhan is the Muslim fasting month, where all Muslims (are supposed to) fast during the daylight hours. Of course, refraining from food and drink isn't the only thing. During the daylight hours, we can't

Eat
Drink
Swear
Have sex (some argue that contact with anyone of the opposite sex is also a no-no)
Smoke

Or permutations and combinations of the above.

Now, I'd like to think that I could lose a little weight this month, maybe even drop down to the (supposedly) slim figure that I miraculously had in early April, after a month in Thailand. I doubt that such a drastic change would take palce though, even if we're talking about the same amount of time here. In Thailand, I was on a diet of chocolate milk and prawns, with the occasional Pringles and daily soccer match under the Siamese sun. Now, I fast for about twelve hours a day, but then usually gorge myself afterwards.

Lets take a look at Naz's menu over the past three days.

Saturday: Buffet family lunch, various dishes. Big dinner, at the expense of a friend.
Sunday: Prata in the early morning, Indonesian buffet dinner
Monday: Khadi's home-made roti kirai in the morning, KFC and the rest of the roti Kirai for dinner.

Well, I can safely say that I'm full.

With the fasting month upon us, of course, expect an even lazier Naz till end-October. I'm hungry, come on!

And, after breaking our fast this day, most of Singapore tuned in to find out...

Hady Mirza is our new Singapore Idol.

Yipee?

In what is widely believed to be the final edition of the (so-called) hit show, Hady beats Jonathan in the Grand Finals. WHat makes it so grand, I dunno. Throughout the past few months, we have been treated to a mix of raw talent and piss-poor singing, more of the latter though. A performing monkey, an emo-wannabe, fake accents and camera-loving schoolgirls all caved in to the pressure, eventually making way for the final two, who many expected to go this far anyway.

So, what did we get? I'm not quite sure actually. Many people thought that Hady was indeed the more deserving winner, though those same people did also believe that "Taufiq already won the last one, so Jonathan will surely win this time." Racial Harmony at its best!

Of course, the sour point of the night was surely the "performance" of Taiwanese boy-band Energy. Three skinny guys. Who. Cannot. Sing. I mean, if you can mess up "Stand By Me", you need your tongue ripped out and fed to Drew Carrey or something. Seriously.

Oh well, it's all over, much to the squealing delight of Khadi and the financial dismay of my sister.

On a totally unrelated note:
A new meaning to soccer balls.

Headshot!

Camper. Artic. Chiong. Dust. Flashbang. USP. Headshot.

Some of you might know what the hell I'm talking about, and among those that do, some wouldn't really care too much. Counter-Strike, or CS, was at one point of time arguably the most popular multiplayer game in the world.

CS is a "mod" of the popular First-Person Shooter (FPS) Half-Life, released by Sierra and developed by Valve. To this day, there are still multitudes of mouse clickers who swear to it, and it has perhaps paved the way for the successes of games such as Battlefield, basically CS on an epic scale. With vehicles.

Personally, I prefered Day of Defeat (DoD) myself, though I was pretty good at CS at one point. Of course, I did play it for hours every day. Those were the days.

I piked it up again a few months back, playing with my brother via our wireless network at home, and now Khadi's picked it up too. And it looks like she'll be more addicted than me.

Ring, ring

"Hello?"

"Baby, can I ask you something?"

"Sure babe."

"Ok, which gun is the M249?"

Yeah, that was an actual conversation we had a while back.

CS has always had alot of good memories, for me, tied to it. It reminds me of days when I was just a young kid, without much to worry about except if I might see any girl on the bus on the way home from school. Days when we would go in a group of ten or more and spend the whole afternoon at the cybercafe. Or five of us taking on fifteen even younger kids who thought they had what it took. Playing CS in Sai-Yok Military Camp in Thailand where I totally owned all the senior officers ("Sir, that's how you should outflank the enemy during the mission tomorrow")

Course, everything's moved on since then. Gaming-wise and in other aspects of life. Most of my CS posse, I haven't spoken to them in months. One of them in particular, one of the most hardcore of the CS addicts, isn't with us anymore.

But everytime I hear Khadi talk about it (and Nadya now as well), I smile. Not very often can one say that when you hear your loved one talk about guns and blowing people's heads off.

"Baby now I'm very good already you know. I know where to camp all, I can buy weapons quickly and shoot and kill the whole team!"

Zig

Zig, unbeknownst to me when I came up with the name (more on that later), is the name of the ship in the old-school video game that spawned the "All Your Base Are Belong To Us" phenomenon. You know "he set us up the bomb" and other such classic lines that were borne out of a programmers laziness and/or incompetance in the art of translation.

But more importantly, Zig is the name of my cat. He's lazy. Very, very lazy. Short fur, big eyes, long-ish whiskers and a mostly black coat that wraps the feline version of a sloth. He has it good, as good a life a cat can ask for. This, a far cry from his humble beginnings.

I got Zig after he followed me and my sister home one day, and we decided to keep him because

i He was a cute cuddly little kitten
ii We like cute cuddly little kittens
iii He didn't seem to belong to anyone
iv He seemed to like my sister's shoelaces

So we bundled him up in a rather dank towel and fed him strawberry bars for the duration of our short walk home that evening, and he spent the night in a cardboard box with leftovers as his dinner. And he scared my other sister to bits because it appeared that although she had (and stil has) a strong enthusiasm for cats, the said enthusiasm was limited to cats of the cartoon variety.

And now, little Zig isn't all that little anymore. He spends the better part of the day on the couch, since he's too good for the floor. Seriously. I haven't seen that cat sleep on the floor for ages.

Picky with food too. He'll raise hell when he's hungry, but then refuse to eat those small biscuit-like cat food, only diving into the fishy canned kinds.

But I've always liked cats. Seems like I've always had at least one cat in my home since I was 9 or 10. At one point I had ten cats. At a time. Was pretty... furry. But I love cats, though I'm pretty sure I already mentioned that before.

I used to believe that I was under a curse, that I could keepc ats but they would die if I named them, because that was the trend for a long time. So for a long time I didn't even name my cats. That brings me to the question some people ask when I tell them the name of my cat.

If you do get a chance to look at him, you'll notice he has a funky looking tail. It's crooked a few centimetres before the end, and it's rather obviously crooked. I'm talking about a cat with a 90 degree kink in his tail. A zigzag tail. Get it? Good.

I've also found another cat near my place, a fat grey/white female. She seems stray, but incredibly clean and (obviously) well-fed since she's larger than a few of the dogs I've seen in my area. She seems to like me too, and follows me around when I place myself conveniently around her favourite hang-out, though I've yet to convince her to follow me all the way home. Yet.

But I'm happy with the cat I have, even if he moves less than a rock at times. I like how he surprises me with random jumping on my lap, sleeps at my feet (only if there's a soft rug) and does other little weird things that most cats do. But Zig is mine, andI'm glad he is.

The Original Zig

Seeing that again, I realise that the guy's name is Cats...

The Little Island... Off The Other Island

So I'm looking in the mirror this morning (not out of vanity, I want to shave) and realise I'm still a bit sunburnt. Well, I realise I'm still a bit sunburnt after thinking how dashingly handsome I am, of course.

I had gotten the brilliantly romantic idea of taking Khadi to Kusu Island last weekend, a little island (obviously) which is a sort of tourist attraction, but where few locals know about. Or so I was told.

After doing a bit of research of what to do there (laze at the beach and nibble at your partner), how to get there (get to Sentosa and nibble at your partner) and what to bring there (standard beach items and an appetite), I confidently took Khadi by the hand and dragged her to the former naval fortress of Sentosa.

There, after proclaiming at the ticket counter of my unique plans for the day, I realised I didn't do as much research on the place as I should have, because by the time we had wanted to go there, the only transport back woould be leaving in little over an hour.

And I don't know about you, but I didn't fancy being stranded on a somewhat deserted island known for only the turtles it attracts and the fact the it used to be a burial site for victims of cholera and other diseases.

I didn't really mind the reptiles, though Khadi was convinced that crocodiles patrolled any beach that didn't have a McDonald's within cycling distance, and that I would be pulled under un a death roll in due time.

So we had to settle for a "regular" beach at Sentosa, though it didn't go too badly. Tanjong Beach at Sentosa, which is widely regarded as the least cool beach on the island resort, isn't really bad at all. Clean waters, soft sand, few people, kayaking, beach volleyball and even rather not unsightly sunbathers.

There was, of course the afore-mentioned issue of getting sunburnt, since neither Khadi nor myself have ever thought to bring sun block in all our years of beach-frolicking. Oh well. At least it evened out my weird-looking tan from Thailand, a throwback from playing soccer in the scorching nothern sun every other day, wearing a singlet.

After we were done at the beach we headed for the Underwater World, though the actual beach stay was cut short because of imminent rain, and the Underwater World was the best indoor place we could think of nearby to seek refuge and still occupy our time (and 19 dollars each) without too much objection from either party. That and a rather skinny swimmer-type had taken up a spot behind our mat, and started suntanning wearing nothing but an even skinnier jock-strap thing. Yes, a guy. No, there are no pictures, you sick bastards.

The Underwater World wasn't too different from the many other times I've been there, though the alst must have been a number of years ago, but enjoying it with Khadi made me smile. Even more than nibbling a salty girlfriend. I even got to see her scream after a poor archer fish brushed past her arm while she was fiddling with a starfish.

"It's so soft! Come and touch it, come try! Where is - Eeeeee!"

Steve Irwin would have been proud.

After walking past a few nicely done exhibits, watching sea angels (a type of sea snail, I was told), jellyfish and crabs, we finished off the day watching the sharks nibble the divers who fed them. Good fun.

All in all, a very good day at Sentosa, in a good weekend. Integrated Resort or nor, Sentosa will always be Singapore's little overpriced and undervalued escape from the ustle and bustle of city life.

I Wonder

I was looking for the charger for my electric shaver. Then I realised it's missing. And I have no idea where I put it, it was just here one day, and gone the next. And no matter how hard I looked, lifting and opening and turning and searching every part of my room and its periphery, I could not find it. Not at all.

We lose many things over time, some thing more obvious and more hard-hitting than other trivial objects. I lost my wallet when I was eleven. True, only had two bucks in it, but it was pretty significant to me. I already talked about losing my grandpa. I lost my farecard once. I lost a rather large head-dress the day before a presentation once in school. I lost my iPod Shuffle stupidly.

Someone told me recently that I've changed from the guy that everyone knew and saw a couple of years ago. At first, I thought that was utter rubbish. I'm still Naz. I'm still me, the way I've always been and will always be.

Then I started thinking, maybe they we're right.

Who am I now? I look back at the way things were and I realise how I was wrong. But I can't really go back to the way everything was back then. It's lost, it's not me anymore.

Some might argue that I'd be doing myself a favour by going back. So I tried listening.

Alot of good that got me.

Everyone wishes for hindsight. I'm no different. Regret is not the predominant emotion that I'd like when looking back over the years. But loss is something everyone needs to accept anyway.

Even The Best Fall Down Sometimes

Crikey!

Did ya see that one go? Hoowee! That was a big 'un!

Khaki shorts, the same shirt and boots, the floppy dirty blonde hair and his unsatiable appetite for the wilds.

Gone in a freak accident.

Most of you would have heard or read about it by the time you read this, but for the rest, take a look at this.

For someone who spent nearly his entire career inches away from losing a hand, he went out in a weird way.

Whoever heard of someone stabbed in the heart by a stingray? In the eye by a swordfish, I've actually heard of that twicce, but not such a lethal strike. From a stingray. That's just not fair.

But then death is almost never fair, is it? Take a look at people like Eddie Guerrero and Aaliyah.

As mentioned in the link above, we lost a great icon in the world of wildlife, a father, and a hero to many.

Often imitated, never duplicated, Steve Irwin.

The Two Towers

No, this isn't about the second installment of the (kick-ass) Lord of the Rings trilogy. The following may or may not be a little offensive to a few readers, I'll be touching on a few sensitive issues.

We're now into the month of September, a month that will forever live in infamy. Everyone knows what happened in September 2001...

I recall the day, I remember watching the news as it happened. I was at home, flipping through channels when I caught the first crash, and much like many others, I thought "holy shit, that's bad flying." But then there was the others, and then the thinking shifted to "what the hell?"

And unfortunately for many caught in the tragedy, my second thought was all-too accurate. Watching "survivors" jump from heights I can't really look down from was painful and sickening. Listening to the tape conversation of the man on the plane, his last words to his wife on his answering machine (she was in the shower) was heart-wrenching. All the CS parodies (Terrorists win!) were a little excessive.

There's all the controversy and conspiracy surrounding this event till this day, of course. The Bush family was at one point known confidantes and allies with members closely linked to the attacks on the American people. The FBI and CIA reputedly received advanced warning from a plethora of sources, American and foreign, a long long time before the catastrophe. US airports had been accused of lax security for ages (and still are).

Pick up Michael Moore's book "Stupid White Men", a brilliant read where he takes an insightful (and funny and cynical) look at the American government, its people and their way of life. Of course, a good portoin of the book deals with the 9/11 incident and naturally most of it amounts to Bush-beating, but if you read it, you'll understand alot better than if I try to explain anything with my cumbersome methods.

But enough about 9/11, I'm actually more focused on the events that are more or les directly the result of the tragedy.

After 9/11, the "War on Terrorism" kicked off. Yipee. And the "Coalition Forces", which of course mainly consisted of the American troops and their (butt-kissing) British counterparts marched on to the Middle East. First, Afghanistan, then to Iraq, which they "liberated".

I really don't understand how you can justify war for peace. Especially when most of what you're doing is blowing up rural towns and settlements. Tit for tat? An eye for an eye? The invasion of Iraq, of course, was originally the noble intention of ridding Saddam Hussein of his Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD).

The above accusation, that the Iraqi dictator had in his possession WMD's, was in the end proven false, as stated by neutral Un representatives and inspectors, but being the PR-man that he is, President Bush changed the reason for going to war in mid-campaign, and the American soldiers were now on a mission to "liberate the pople".

Now, Saddam isn't a saint. He'll never be near the top of Santa's Christmas list. But if you want to do something, do it right. You're going to war and your own troops don't even know why the hell for. That's bulshit, pure and simple, ladies and gentlemen.

And even now, when Saddam has been "captured" and the Iraqi people have "elected their own government", you still have the Americans occupying the area. You still hear of dozens of young men killed everyday by some random grenade or land mine, or better yet, poor logisitcal planning by their own commanders which leads to their own troops firing at each other.

What the hell?

And you watch BBC, because CNN will never air these clips, and see crying Iraqi women, wailing because the Americans have (once again) bombed a wrong target, and hit a large building that is publicly known as a preschool, instead of some shady militia hideout.

Bravo.

Of course, the majority of Americans I know and talk to (online) aren't advocates of the war at all. Most of them agree, they are a proud and strong country led by a buffoon who can't spell or talk without a guide. I don't mean to bash them at all.

What say you, supporters of this war? What makes you any better than the ones who crashed the planes into the World Trade Centre in New York? What makes your killing of innocents justified, and theirs so despicable?

The Singaporeans that are reading this, switch to the Discovery Channel in between editions of Singapore Idol and the EPL. Watch "Inside 911" and other specials airing over the next few weeks, and cringe. And wonder, "What the hell?"

Crush, Kill, Destroy

For the avid PS2/WWE fan, the above title would be all-too familiar, the pseudo-rap/hip-hop track that had a tendency to overplay during the game, making you want to powerbomb your console. But do not fear, that's not what I'm going to write about today.

A number of years ago, there was a semi-popular song named "Crush", sung by some female vocalist who I can't really recall, where she croons about having a crush on someone.

"It's just... a little crush..."

Ok, don't flame me for remembering the lyrics. I was young and idiotic back then, and I still retain the ability to come up with random (and mostly useless) bits of information now and then.

Everyone has their crushes. Well, almost everyone. I remember the teacher in my primary school that was the reason most of the class came. To school. Remember the stand-in Geography teacher when I was about 14 that every other 14-year old in my school wanted to "get to know". I remember thinking Sarah Michelle Gellar was the hottest little thing in the planet. Even before Cruel Intentions.

Some of us get over the crushes, some last longer. Some just have this "infatuation" over someone else for maybe a litte over a day or week. Some others still swoon everytime he/she sees the object of their obsession.

There comes a point, of course, where a "crush" can be a tad too weird. Like how nearly every girl in my former school rushed to the bathroom to tidy their hair when a certain someone was rumoured to be walking in their direction. And yes, they did this in front of their bewildered and often annoyed boyfriends.

Or how I once got an E-Mail from a mystery person. It was a link to an external website, and it went along the lines of "Someone thinks you have a crush on her. Type in the name of your crush, and we'll tell you if it's the same someone!"

Yeah. Right.

I'm not dumb enough to fall for that! But I don't know who sent that though... Hmm...

Anyway, the point of my incessant rambling? Not too sure, as always. Just that this particular topic has come up a few times in recent conversations I've had. I'm not paranoid or insecure, I'm just like a ton of other guys out there. Wondering.

See Saw

"Do you want to play a game? Live or die, make your choice."

When that freaky clown mask on the telly rasps that to you, you just know that you're more than likely to be f*cked.

For those of you unfamiliar with the Saw movies, you could classify them as psychological thrillers, with more than a hint of gore, drama, violence, action, blood... you get the picture yeah?

Jigsaw, a brilliant sociopath, brings down his judgment on members of the public who he deems unworthy of life, those who do not seem to appreciate what they've been given and blessed with. A drug addict. A snitch. An adulterer. A stalker. A cop on the take. An ex-felon devolving back to his roots. He sets them up in sinister "games" where they have to make a terrible decision should they want to live. None more so than Amanda in Saw and Saw 2. In Saw 1, Amanda (a drug addict) is hooked up to a device, sort of a reverse bear trap, clamped to her jaws, and she has a certain amount of time to get it off before it... opens. Problem is, the only way to get it off is to get a key. Which is inside the stomach of someone else. On the floor. She's supplied with a scalpel.

Saw 3 was originally scheduled to open in July 2006, but, as som of you might realise, we've passed that month, and no, still no Jigsaw to terrorise unsuspecting victims. Apparently it got moved back to October 2006, which isn't too far off anyway, so that's alright I guess.

Check out the trailer

Well, I guess we have something to look forward to for Hari Raya, don't we?

And Khadi, we are definitely watching this.

The Building Blocks of Life

Long has the above-mentioned term been thrown about, and with the somewhat recent surge in the studies of life sciences, I guess that isn't too surprising.

But I'm not going to talk about DNA and intracellular structures, about chromosomes and how someone can be XXX and sterile.

Remember Lego? I do. I remember buying all sorts of Lego sets. Castles, airplanes, pod-racers, houses, police stations, boats and other random everyday imitations of life. Of course, they only lasted about two days at the most before being smashed so that Naz , designer extrodinaire would put together something breathtakingly unique. Like how I made this really cool "heliplane", which was, in effect, an aeroplane/helicopter hybrid. Clever, no? It has like rockets and solar panels and....

Anyway, why am I rambling about Lego? I'm not too sure, probably just came across this clip, and thought it was pretty funny.

Your friendly neighbourhood...Legoman?

So, Lego. Too bad I threw out all of mine.

Blood, Sweat and Smears

So, a couple of things happened today. Well, more than a couple, but I won't bore you with the way my rather (mostly) uneventful yet weird day went.

Firstly, I'm broke. No, that didn't happen today, it's just the result of an accumulation of a void in my wallet. Anyway, since my mother doesn't want to transfer the cash from my "other" bank account to the one I actually have access to, I'm a little stuck. And broke, but I think I mentioned that.

Mommy dearest suggested that since I was rather free today that I clean the windows, in exchange for some quick cash. And I thought, "Why the hell not?" I mean, yes, I was officially out of the Army a day before, but I guess regimental duties do exist in the house eh?

Before scooting off to work, she yelled that the window cleaning apparatus was somewhere in the (currently vacant) maid's room. Not too hard to understand, even for someone as, uh, lazy as me. Rummaging though the afore-mentioned room, though, I encountered a problem. That the instructions given to me by Mrs Majeed were...wrong. No window/glass cleaner in the room. Nope. Zilch. Nada.

I did, however, due to my own perseverance and determination, find a bottle of glass cleaner in my back yard. Yipee. I proceeded to clean the windows.

Then I noticed that the liquid I was using was rather murky and...well, smelled funky.

Shrugging it off, I just carried on with the sweet motivation of being paid.

Later on, I found out that a close friend of mine was in the hospital to receive stitches for a (supposedly not severe) head wound, a result of a meeting of a hockey stick and the head in question. (And I quote: Hockey stick and head results in blood not sparks)

Back to the windows and my glittering shine-job, I was to be disappointed that my expected earnings did not materialise.

Not a screw-job though, merely a... uh... slight misunderstanding on my part.

It seemed that the murky bottle of liquid I procured to clean the windows was not in fact glass cleaning liquid, but my mother's own mixture of chili, garlic and soapy water, a rather strange elixir to "keep the bugs away from the plants".

So yes, my bad.

I'll have to redo the windows again.

At least the bugs will stay away from the glass.

Kick the Baby!

For fans of South Park, the title of this post may be a little familiar. The sometimes-common (is that even possible?) activity of kicking Kyle's (I think) little brother through a window. Being half-Canadian, it was justified, according to the show.

But this post take a much more serious look into Kicking a Baby. It is a real problem. My problem. Yes, I admit.

Hello, I am Naz and I'm a kickbabyholic.

No, before the outrage spills over, I've never really kicked a baby, but I just have this urge to. Weird? Maybe. Am I alone? I have no frickin idea.

Not every baby, of course, just toddlers. Those who've learnt to walk, but can't quite do it right yet. The "babies" who hold on to a parent's hand as they stumble-run along the pavement, who's heads are still proportionally larger than their bodies, with fuzzy hair and animal-emblazoned clothes and little shoes that might go a-flying once a good connection is made between my foot and their head.

I am not a sadist. Or a child abuser.

I just want to volley the crap out of a toddler sometimes. Not as a stress reliever, not for some perverse sexual gratification, not to set the world record in baby-kicking (what is it?). I just want to do it. Just once.

Probably only ever get one chance, in all likelyhood...

But hey, don't hold this against me, I've never kicked a baby, so don't be afraid to like, parade them at volleyable height.

Really, I've never kicked a baby.

Yet.

This isn't me!

In Sickness and In Health

So I woke up this dreary morning sneezing. Well, I woke up after my phone beeped, then I sneezed. Rolled over in my queen-sized bed that houses one occupant, pushed aside the covers and pilows that have conspired to entwine themselves in my limbs during the night and sneezed. I hate being sick.

Not too many people know this, but there was a time last year where I was hospitalised for about ten days or so (might have been eleven) due to dengue fever. Gasp! Yes, dengue fever. The dengue fever. I think it got eventualy tracked down to some irresponsible old lady's house along my street, but of course, I wasn't alone in the hospital, I was warded up with my dad. Thank God the room had cable.

So he'd been in there for a few days when I started feeling woozy at work, so I reported sick to the Medical Officer (MO) in my camp, mentioned that I felt sore, headaches, fever, etc. Also made a point to say that my father had just been admitted for dengue. He saw fit to have a blood sample taken from me by a jittery army medic, and told me he'd call when the results came back.

I was admitted the next day, after my mom decided that me looking like crap and not being able to move much was a bad sign. Maybe it was just the latter.

Three days into my glorious stay in the hospital, I got a phone call from the MO.

"Is it Mohamed Nazreen? Yes, uh, your results, for the blood test ah, came back and... it's a positive for dengue fever."

"Umm, ok. I'm in the hospital now already."

"Oh."

So the next few days were hell, being so weak I could hardly threaten a child, the food being craptacular, and visitors waking me up whenever I finally got to sleep. Since I was watching ESPN at night.

It didn't, help, of course, that this happened right after the passing of my grandpa and my "separation" with Khadi (who did come to visit me).

Dengue sucketh. But thankfully, it subsided after a few days, though the staff at East Shore hospital took it upon themselves to keep me in there (alone now) for a few more days "just in case". Right. Just in case they needed more cash huh?

Anyway, a happy ending ensued, I got back together with Khadi, a full recovery befell me soon after, and now all I am plagued with is the occasional flu.

Ah-choo.

Who Needs the Flying Dutchman...

Let all who enter be warned, the following is almost entirely devoted to football aka soccer, and if you don't understand and/or are not interested, by no means are you forced to read my brilliant work.

Well, the first match of the 2006/07 English Premier League has just ended for Manchester United, and I for one am quite gleeful. Yes, gleeful. I don't usually throw that G word around that often, but this is an occasion befitting such superlatives.

It's been a long, long, long time since I've really enjoyed a proper game of football involving the side I've adored for most of my football-knowing years; this would probably the first one since the 2-0 win over Arsenal last season. Still, this one's special, it was at home, under much scrutiny, what with the "loss" of Ruud van Nistelrooy and the inability to land such names as Frank Ribery, Mahmadou Diarra, Fernando Torres, Michael Ballack and Owen Hargreaves.

I have a sore throat now, only because of my insistent yelling of "Ronaldo Ronaldo Ronaldo" everytime Rooney had space to move (and I do believe it was due to my verbal prodding he spotted the number 7 for United's third goal) and also my hooting after Paul Scholes turned back the clock to smack one against the upright in the first half. If this larynx had been in a better condition, I'd have berated the Orge/Prodigy after he attempted that rabona pass near the end of the game.

Still, a great performance, and as I said, I am one gleeful bored chap now. My sister is hogging the phone. Don't you just hate paedophiles? And no, I don't mean the ones lusting over Ellen Page.

So, just a recap, Man Utd 5-1 Fulham (Saha, own goal, Rooney, Ronaldo, Rooney).

Yipee, my faith in Old Trafford is restored.

For those of you who did not understand a word of the above, I pity you.

Movie Review: Hard Candy

Hard Candy, yeah. The movie everyone knows as "the one about paedophiles". Well, sorta.

Hard Candy could be classified as a suspense thriller, with a slight psychological edge to it perhaps? Basically only two characters, 14 year old Haley, and 32 year old Jeff.

Haley is an intelligent kid who meets phographer Jeff online, and eventually meets up with him, and on their first meeting, they wind up at his place, and then the first twist is thrown down to the audience. As many reviews outline, the director does a pretty good job in making you wonder who the real victim is in this tale.

Only problem is that the show feels like it's never going to end, though it's only a tad over 90 minutes. While watching this with the girlfriend, she was dying for the final whistle, and I was dead sure that there was going to be extra time.

Well, there are a few scenes that will make you cringe, though be warned! There is no nudity, sex or actual on screen violence that actually warrants the "adult" or M18 rating that's been slapped on the ticket. Only the content, the innudendo and the rather... err... gruesome castration scene that every guy dreads. Yes, castration.

So there's my quick review for this story about a kid who turns out to be more than she really is. My recommendation? If you really want to see her in a good flick, catch X3. Shadowcat does a way better job than Haley.

By Popular Demand

So...

I told someone about this place.

And by popular demand, here's the story of the best part of my life (cheesy, eh?)

I got to know her, well... six, almost seven years ago maybe? Man, time flies. By the good graces of the all-powerful IRC, Galaxynet's very own #tkmalay, under the watchful eye of Q, Kableguy (or was it Da_Ace?) and JerSeY^15 (?) started chatting on a regular basis.

That was in the good ol' days, when everyone of course rushed home after school and went online to type excessive rants into the chatbox, hoping to appear cool and collected in front of their peers, and more importantly, the opposite sex. What did I do? I'm not very sure, to be honest, other than the above.

I'm pretty sure she private messaged me first (cue for the kembangness), and we apparently hit it off (or she was faking interest, something I hear women do very well). So our little liasons in #tkmalay eventually evolved into me paging her (yes, paging.)

"So uh, yeah. You...asked me to page you...so this is me paging you"

OMG I was sooooo suave back then (/sarcasm)

Fast forward a little, one surprise movie at Suntec Centre, one trip together to a dance/cheerleading competition, one Evening of Music and Drama, and one all-important conversation with her good friend (online of course).

Me: Do I sound desperate?
Her: Well, you sound like you're in love.
Me: Uh...
Her: Look at it this way, she talks to you everyday, and she doesn't talk to her best friends nearly as much.

So came the plan, to page her and profess my adoration, my adulation, at the stroke of midnight, on her birthday. Nope. Didn't work. Ended up talking through the night, and after hanging up, I was no closer to sounding her than I had been at any point of my then litle screwy life.

Back to voice paging!

And then the little drama of the next day, leading to the first day of the rest of my life, the best part of it so far. (Insert big smiley face)

So there's the history of Khadi and Naz, we've been through alot, we've got a long way to go. I love her (you, I know you're gonna read this soon), and I mean it today, as much as I have ever, and as much as I will ever.

PS: Hard Candy kind of sucks.

Sentimentality

So I've been thinking of things I miss, the past few days.

Not just the standard "Oh I miss my girlfriend so much even though she's 5 minutes away" kind of thing either (But I do miss you, baby!)...

So, as people say, change is inevitable. People change. Things change. The only thing for certain is that nothing is for certain. Yadda yadda yadda.

But sometimes things change, or just...go away... and you never really get a chance to wonder why, or how, or what it would be like otherwise; most of us just take it for granted, "Oh yeah, it would have happened eventally" etc etc.

Next week I get back my Pink IC. After a long two years and four months (yes, not 2 years), I'll finally get a hold of the Identity Card where I look like some sort of freak. Well, more freakish I guess. Centre parting and all. Yeesh. Big part of me's happy, of course, who wouldn't be? Finally off and out of the Army, the place where young men are underpaid and overworked. Where we rush to wait and wait to rush. But I'll miss it I guess. Good memories too, I can't deny. (Quote from an army friend of mine who's still stuck there: You sick shit)

I'm on MSN now, wondering, what the hell happened to ICQ? It used to be the thing to be on. Everyone going "Do you use ICQ? Really? Me too!". With that little annoying little teletubby sound everytime someone messages you, and the tendency to receive dozens of mass messages asking you to "Update pls" or "Pass this around to help this homeless sick kid". Well, I guess I dont miss it that much after all.

I switch on the TV, and there is crap being broadcast. I'm not talking about the Wildboys being pooped on (that's hilarious) but idiotic wastes of time like ABC DJ and other sorry excuses for programming. Thank God I have cable. Oh wait, there' nothing on on cable either. Ugh. I'm sorry, if a Mediacorp executive is reading my Blog, for some reason, "Wake up your F*&king idea!" (there's another thing I'll miss about the Army). When's the last time we had good local ENGLISH shows to watch? Well, at least bearable ones? First few seasons of Growing Up? Under One Roof? PCK before he became half Singlish? Anyone recall that sitcom about the shopping centre called "Can I Help You?", that wasn't too bad.

Well, I've always hated ranting so - no. I lie. I'll go on, just one more thing.

Everytime I visit my grandma every fortnight or so I feel sad. I love her so so much, she's so important to me, and I'd do almost anything for her. But I feel for her, how alone she is. I remember tha day in February 2005, that night when I held her hand in the hospital as she tried so hard not to cry. I miss my grandpa. I miss how funny and old-fashioned he was, I miss how he insisted in thrusting 2 dollars into our hands when we were little, I miss his silly hat and big glasses. I miss how she used to fuss over him in the end, and how I took everything for granted before.

But I bet she misses him more.

Numero Uno

So, this is my very first post.

Why am I doing this? Who knows. The need for exporusre, for publicity, for recognition, gratification, am I just a showoff? Wanting to flaunt my (supposedly) keen grasp of the English Language? Nah.

I feel rusty anyway.

(And yes, I didn't know the meaning of "studious" at one point not long ago)

Dun dun dun.

So maybe I'll look at why I decided to do this, and hop onto the Bloggers' bandwagon.

Earlier I thought maybe it's just me being a tad full of myself, hoping everyone will go "Ooh" over Naz's new (?) Blog. Most of the people that know me pretty wel know that I do like to write, and that I can be a little uh..."action" eh?

But seriously, I'm just bored. Yeah, that's it. In between waiting for my school-mood to revive itself from the depths of wherever it's lurking, to finding a suitable job to keep me and my wallet (ie, Khadi's expenditure) occupied, I don't really have much to do.

Well yes, there's the magic tool of the computer and playstation to keep my busy for a few moments but....you know. Not very fulfilling eh?

So I guess that's why I'm doing this. Out of boredom. Maybe it'll develop into me wanting to take over the Internet. Maybe.

But for now, I'm bored.