Forlorn But Still Standing and Rambling (TAKE 2)

Below is the very first blog I wrote about KL. I composed it during my first two weeks here. As I was depressed, and horny, when I made this blog, my observations were quite speculative and skewed.

Now, after 1 year and 10 months, and after surviving through desolation and getting much hornier, it is about time for me to set the record straight.

To be fair to affected Malaysians (as if millions read it and cared), to correct my 3 readers' impression of KL, and to preempt in misleading the other 2 persons (my grandpa and grandma) who haven't read this blog, I am willingly putting corrective and explanatory notes.

On a serious note, something hit me while I was finishing this blog. I have been brainwashed all my life by the powerful Western culture that I lost my true identity as a Filipino. This has led me to mock and belittle my own heritage, as well as disrespect other cultures. I should be proud of my own culture. I should respect the other cultures.

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Forlorn (and Randy) but Still Standing and Rambling (Part1: Does Religion Dilute Humor?) Actually, the correct title should have been: Does Drinking Water (in particular Evian) Instead of Beer/Alcohol Dilute One's Humor? I dont know why I associated alcohol drinking with humor. This is a silly question indeed. I was out of my lucid interval when I made the blog.

Nevertheless, after seeing all the Mat Rempits, the Lepak-ers, Rajah Lawak Astro and Cicak Man, the apparent answer to the original question is NO.

My friend, please, permit me to ramble--- because to me, one of the best ways to lessen my desolation is by rambling.

KL is a beautiful and interesting city only if you're a tourist. (Now, as a full-fledged expat, I can say that KL is a good city to live in. In fact, it's generally a lot better here as compared to Manila. Although Manila is more interesting and has a wilder nightlife, KL is safer, peaceful, cleaner, greener and more peaceful.) It's a sweeping statement of course, but since you've unconsciously given me the green light to babble by continuing to read this, then I guess all you can do is affirm.

As I said, working in KL is not like lying on a hammock in Boracay while sipping buko juice. (Yes, because KL (in parts) is a cosmopolitan city and Boracay is an island paradise. There's no comparison! I was really babbling senselessly! )

Why?

First of all, Malaysia is a predominantly Muslim country. I have nothing against Muslims, (I even have a close Muslim friend - btw, this friend of mine is my classmate for 6 years. Now he is a CPA-Lawyer! Lucky bastard!) but they have a restrictive culture and religion, which to some extent supresses the party animal in you. (I qualify this because the restrictiveness of a culture or religion is relative. I was wrongfully using the liberated Western culture as the benchmark in determining how restrictive a culture can be. It was my colonial mentality at work.)

Merrymaking is regulated by Islam. On top of the no-no list is boozing. This means that if a Muslim would ever hang-out in a bar, he would be the one tugging a cup of hot tea. (most probably a bottle of mineral water or a glass of soda. But I have Malay friends who drink jugs and jugs of beer and alcohol!)

Nevertheless, as I go around bar hopping, the ones I always see are foreigners and the Chinese Malays. (Clarification: I haven't gone inside a KL bar yet. The farthest I've gone is only at the bars' outskirts because most of the bars I've seen in KL are open (I was referring to Beach CLub, Thai CLub and Uno Bar. You can see and hear the haggling from the sidewalks.) and you can see what's happening from the outside - I stayed at the Concorde in my first month here and most of the bars I saw are the ones along P. Ramlee. These bars are mostly frequented by caucasians, especially Beach Club).

I don't how whether "San Miguel" is the one mainly responsible for instilling Filipinos gallons of humor, but he and his relatives' absence may be the reason why Muslims lack the sense of humor we Filipinos possess. (I stand corrected. There's no correlation between humor and alcohol drinking, for if this is true, then the top beer consumers like the Czechs, Germans, and the Irish would be the most humorous people on earth. Come to think of it, it also depends on how you define humor.

But if we are going to define humor as the quality that makes something laughable or amusing, then I think Malay humor is more or less similar to Filipinos. Based on what I've observed, Filipinos and Malays share in general the same attitudes of being contented, complacent and happy-go-lucky. Their humor sprouts from these underlying attitudes. )

I guess the more plausible explanation is that Muslims thoroughly follow their strict religion. But don't get me wrong. I don't mean that the Muslims I work with here are all poker-faced, ill-humored and stiff. (The friendliest people in my office are the Malays. ) I'd also shared some laughters with them, but they're not exactly the same ones I've shared with my countrymen. Oh, how I miss my friends' green jokes! (What's generally lacking in Malay humor is the naughtiness. In a way, this affects the titillating factor of their humor. Censorship here is so strict and consistent that many Filipino show hosts, artists and song writers would be caned for indecency. There's nothing wrong with this. But sometimes unreasonable or excessive censorship backfires--it can scandalize a matter more or cause an adverse manifestation of sexual repression.

I have received green jokes though, but these don't circulate thru SMS or email as prevalent as in the Philippines.)

Laughter in the workplace relieves me from the stress which makes me prone to making the wrong decisions. But since the Muslims here are too religious and straight for me to invite in a night of revelry, now I'm left with the company of the Chinese and Indians.

Well, if I can't fit in with 50% of the Malaysians, (60%)I bet the best thing for me to do is to interact with the remaining 50%. (40%) Unfortunately, I think the latter is much more complicated! (Yes yes yo!)

One of the main reasons why I have more Chinese friends than Malay friends is because I love Ba Kut Teh!

Oh God please help me! :-D

A Tribute To My Kitty Cat

I've never known how wonderful it is to have a pet cat until I met my kitty.

I call my kitty, Clarebear.

She has the Meow Factor.

She is the prettiest and most alluring kitty I've seen in the "lorongs" of KL.

She has the most soothing meow. She has the sweetest purr. She has the sexiest grin. She has the most graceful prance.

She doesn't have a tail but she can definitely balance herself well. In fact, she's a very good dancer. You should see my kitty dance! You wouldn't believe how nimble my kitty can get when dancing.

She can be a bit stubborn and messy sometimes, but I forgive her! Her stubbornness and messiness seem to be cute. Stubborn and messy kitties are cure, aren't they? Good thing she doesn't habitually lick her paws like the other kitties.

She doesn't have long whiskers. Maybe this is why she is clumsy sometimes. But her clumsiness is also cute. Hmmm, everything about my kitty is cute.

But what I like most about my kitty is that she is smart and sensible.

Smart because despite being a kitty, she knows how to look to her right and left before crossing the street. Also, she might be a kitty in appearance, but she's a lioness in thinking.

Sensible because she acts based on reason and not on emotion (, except during her Pre-Meownstrual Syndrome. Good thing she hasn't scratched my face yet.) She understands my weaknesses. She understand her own weaknesses too.

I've been with my kitty for a year now.

We had a rocky start. We have had some catfights. I have hurt her. I have crashed. She has forgiven me. My love for my kitty has grown even stronger.

I love my kitty very much!

Ferrell and Heder Never Had It So Gay

Ferrell and Heder summoning the gay gods

Even if you are not a Saturday Night Live fan or you are not easily cracked up by the cheesy spoofs in Conan O’ Brien’s show, you would still love Blades of Glory. Even if you are not too gay to love figure-skating or not too perverted to yearn for this sport because of the numerous camel-toes, trust me and my fine taste, this movie will give you enough ass-bumps.

Some scenes are outrageously disturbing (in a funny way) that I don’t advise the viewers to bring along soda and popcorn. Most of us in the cinema were laughing our asses to death that my car key jumped from my pocket. Clarebear and I had to go back from Basement 3 to the cinema foyer, and ask the staff for my car key. Luckily they found it! Whew!

As this blog is a recommendation to watch the movie, I wouldn’t spoil your appetite by disclosing its plot and the funny scenes. But I would say that the “Bangin’ Scissors or Egg Breakers" (or whatever you want to call it) and the “Iron Lotus” finales in their winning routines are certified jaw-droppers/jaw-breakers. Hehehe, remember to open your eyes and cover your mouth when you watch these moves.

The contrasting farcical demeanor of Will Ferrell and that Napoleon Dynamite kid, Jon Heder, brings enough titillation to make you wet your pants.

Chazz Michael Michaels (Ferrell) is the fiery, brusque, raunchy and narcissistic figure-skater/sex-addict/porn-star.

Jimmy MacElroy ( Heder), the long time arch-nemesis of Chazz, is the cool, soft, limber yet overly-competitive character, who was painstakingly moulded by his foster father in becoming an “uberskater”, even way before his first pubes sprouted.

How did they end up skating as a pair and how were they able to merge their contradicting personalities and styles on ice? Well, don’t ask me! Watch the movie!

And by the way, here's a photo of my car key:

Thanks to the KLCC-TGV staff for returning it to me!

A Picture Paints A Thousand Words

I wanted to entitle this post as "A Picture is Worth a Thousand Words", but it sounded cliche. Ok, the current title's thought is just the same, but it is less used and it kinda makes me sing one of my all time favorite karaoke hits, Bread's "If". Lest that I start singing and mesmerizing you with my chilly voice, I will unplug my Magic Mic and commence my plopping.

Call it a Eureka moment or not, but as Archimedes’ law of displacement came into effect in the water basin within my “throne”, a great idea flashed like a halogen bulb. Pling! Since the general concept of my blog is about being crappy, why not put a photo of myself crapping?

After washing (I need to point this out for hygienic purposes), I hurriedly got my Canon Ixus 850IS 28mm lens camera (I bought it cheap in BB Plaza! 7.1MP and optical image stabilizer, nice ey?) and took some test photos of my throne and myself sitting on it. I reviewed the photos in my Dell XPS Intel Duo Core laptop and admired how sexy my legs are, despite them being hairy.

However, I remembered that the general color theme of my blog page is poopy-brown. I would destroy its color coordination if I put the picture of my blue throne in the header. So what came to my mind were the toilets of Shangri La and Concorde hotel. As far as I can recall, their toilets are somewhat in earth colors. But before driving down and having a toilet pictorial in these hotels, I suddenly remembered that I have another bathroom which I know has a different color.

I opened the door and smiled. I couldn’t remember being ecstatic over a toilet all my life! (except when I was riding on a bus to a far away province and I over drank this dairy product.) I retook photos…

…and the rest is history.

By only putting a picture of a toilet bowl in the header, one would know what this blog is all about. It is a fair warning of the crap they will have to encounter if they choose to continue browsing down. Some will even be reminded that they forgot to dump in the morning and that they have to go to the loo immediately. No need for me to put a foreword, a disclaimer or a caveat. The picture paints it all. And so does the hair on my legs.

Dead Birds

Dead birds. Creepy.

Hundreds of dead birds fell from the sky in an area in Australia. Tests say it's not caused by any virus or toxic chemicals. This might be an isolated case but it still scares me.

I saw a dead bird in my balcony two Decembers ago. It was a crow.

Head lying on a small pool of blood.

A few black feathers on the floor.

Felt nauseous upon seeing it.

Had been dead for days.

Rigor Mortis.

Blood had dried up.

Some kind of a disease? Someone shot it? Dogfight with another bird?

Why did it choose to die in my balcony, out of a thousand balconies in my neighborhood?

It haunted me. Was it an omen? I looked out for interpretations in the internet.

It took me 3 days to throw it away. Its head was stuck to the dried-up blood. I had to pull it like a bandage glued to a fresh wound. Or did I use the dustpan to wedge it off the floor? I could not remember. My head was spinning during the extraction. My heart was pounding. My stomach was cramping.

I did not give it a proper burial. I just stuffed it into a black bag and threw it in the refuse chamber.

A few days after, I noticed a smudge on the glass door leading to the balcony. And there was a tiny feather on the smudge. The crow crashed on the glass door. The impact killed it. That explained the head injury. The tiny feather was the black box.


I believe in signs. Dead birds, especially the black ones, signify something negative. I treated the omen as a warning. A few days after the seeing the dead crow, I experienced one of the darkest moments in my life. I almost took a u-turn to the netherworld. Everything turned out fine.

Who knows the real cause of the dead birds in Australia? Whatever it is, we should take it as warning---a big, big WARNING...

Crashed

I connect the dots of the golden city lights, and i form loneliness.

how can these terrestrial stars outshine my usually sunny disposition?

the cars skidding happily in the clear roads cause the heavy traffic of an emotion which i've never traversed for years.

how can lightness bring unbearable weight?

i flew while dragging someone's heart. i wounded the woman who has loved me unconditionally-- and the only one i have easily learned to love.

at this height, at this hour, behind shut windows, in this dark room, the view is serene.

i look at the starless sky.

i fly---

but I crash into the prison of a cage i myself made...

Let There Be Light...Stinking Shite!!!

Plop!

This is the sound of a thought, from its fragmented, crude and amorphous state, as it transforms and drops into the swampy world of ideas.

Yes! This is my shit, beings of the animal kingdom (yes, it includes your dog and cat) and other intelligent life forms outside this planet.

From the dark,winding and murky tunnels of my brain (and intestines), this shit is moulded. Its conception may not be immaculate, but it is divinely inspired(?).

Thus, I humbly implore you to relax and sit comfortably, as you partake in my ritual of "plopping". From the annals (no pun intended) of my receding memory or the innards of my myopic foresight, be shocked and be awed by my bowel movements!