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.