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.