Monday, June 25, 2012

Building A Wardrobe: The Evolution of Men


I had pants that short before. I was laughed at by my entire audit team.
Now I know I was just "fashion forward".

Not that many years ago, when the term "menswear" bring forth images of burly men cursing like a drunk sailor with a sea urchin up his arse, rather than men in techni-coloured coats and chinos, "building a wardrobe" literally meant going to your local hardware store to purchase nails and wooden planks to build a storage compartment for your clothes.

Nowadays, "building a wardrobe" means ensuring you have in your closet the latest fall fashion's turtleneck knitted sweater to match your suede trousers and accessorising with leather gloves and a gentleman's umbrella.

http://www.dailychilli.com/happenings/18802-sneak-peek-at-hams-fall-fashion-coming-soon

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Writing

Before you write, you have to decide if it is to be read between mouthfuls of chicken nuggets, or if it requires more than just fleeting focus and brief attention.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

The Five W's of An Angry Man


Who dafuq took the last piece of blardy cake?!

What dafuq?!

When dafuq will this be over?! Urgh...

Where dafuq did I leave my baseball bat?!

Why dafuq did I agree to do this?!

What Would You Do...

...if you could do one thing without needing to face and suffer its consequences?





(My answer in the first comment below)

Musicians Are The Happiest People In The World




Being on a stage in front of a hundred thousand fans, or strumming alone, or with your garage band, you sink into a world of your own, a place where you own everything that is there, and there is nothing there that needs your care, except the music that you play.

Isn't that the happiest place on earth, and this place where the people stay, this place where the people love, aren't they the happiest people in the world?

Sure, Kurt Cobain killed himself, and he was a musician, but did he pull the trigger while he was singing "About A Girl"?




No, the bullet pierced his head when there was no guitar in his hands. One simply cannot possibly manage a shotgun while playing the guitar.

I wish I was a musician, so I can join the ranks of the happiest people in the world.

Life of a Cubicle Dweller


Random cartoon from internet. Not sure who to credit it to.
Don't sue me for copyright infringement!

Tired from staring at the flickering screens of my office laptop, I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair.

When I reopened my eyes, the dotted panels of my ceiling stared back at me.

I did what all accountants are trained for years to do.

I started counting.

Not the dots. Even I am not that crazy yet.

I counted the panels that covered my cubicle.

When I was done with mine, I started counting the panels on my neighbour's ceiling.

He had more than mine.

Which means he has more cubicle space than mine.

Fuck my life.

Note:
When I raised this miscarriage of justice and inequitable corporate practice to Human Resources, they defended it by claiming my neighbour was slightly larger than me in terms of bodily size, and hence, the cubicle to body size ratio is a fairer measurement method, instead of just comparing the absolute size of the cubicles (or the number of ceiling panels).

Challenge accepted. I am ballooning myself to 100 kg.

Scott Adams, if you happen to pay a visit here, please Dilbertize this!

Jason Mraz Live In Malaysia 2012 - No More Guessing Games


October 15, 2003. Linkin Park had their first concert in Malaysia at Stadium Merdeka, Kuala Lumpur. The crowd consisted of people wearing jeans and t-shirts in varying degree of tatteredness.

The field was packed, from section to section. You could faint and still remain in an upright position, held by the sweaty swaying bodies of the people to your left, your right, your front, your back.

There were crowd control personnel there to "airlift" people who couldn't bear the jostling and pushing and the lack of oxygen. People were spraying water at the crowd, not to disperse them like what has been happening recently in the streets of the city, but to lower the atmospheric temperature in the audience.

This was at the height of Linkin Park's fame.

Fast forward close to a decade later, another concert was held at the same venue.

Jason Mraz's Tour Is A Four Letter Word came to town on Tuesday, bringing with him a group of talented musicians, including an incredibly adorable violinist, and arsenal of radio friendly songs and his amazing wordplay.

Right at the beginning, he got the crowd to their feet. Surprisingly, the fedora worshipping crowd sat back down in their seats after only the second song. Only a handful  of fans (nut jobs?) remained standing.

I consider myself a fan, although I am more inclined towards his earlier work. "The Remedy", "You and I Both" from "Waiting for My Rocket To Come", "I'm Yours" and "Details In The Fabric feat. James Morrison" from "We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things" were some of my favourite. Except for "Details In The Fabric", the other three songs were part of the night's set list, and garnered the biggest sing-along of the evening.

Well, if you consider humming as singing-along. For every person who is able to keep up with his admittedly wordy songs, there are probably ten others like me who butchers his songs and leave it as a mangled bloody corpse.

Occasionally, you will hear the screams of declaration of love by the ladies (and some men). Some have lungs that I personally believe surpasses even those of Mr. Mraz himself, judging by the ringing in my ears by the end of the night courtesy of a nice lady sitting right behind me.

Speaking of ambushes from behind, remember the people who politely sat down after the second song? One of them must have had their view blocked by my ample butt while I was standing, as I felt pieces of tissue paper raining  on me. A piece of paper even found its way lodged between my gelled up hair.

If Mr. Mraz was having any doubts that he was performing in Kuala Lumpur, one look at the passive ossified crowd would have served as a reminder.

Quirks of the typical Malaysian concert goer:
  • We have been conditioned that in whatever situation, whenever a chair presents itself, we will sit down politely, and will only stand when we are asked to.
  • We pay two hundred bucks to attend a concert only to be more than willing to view it through the small screens of our smart phones.
His brass section was impressive throughout the night. I wonder though, did they lose a bet that required them to all shave themselves bald, and hand over their hair to Mr. Mraz? He seemed to be having more hair that he can manage, while guys on the saxophone, flute, trumpets have domes as shiny as the instruments they play.

Curtain fell after a perfect delivery of his latest hit, "I Won't Give Up". It was a beautiful epilogue to a beautiful evening.

Lyric of the night, "It's like trying to guess, when the only answer is yes."

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

The Difference Between Religion & Race

This morning, a group chat room between my friends and I received an update that the babysitter in the case of a murdered baby in the park in my hometown has admitted to concocting the story that she was kidnapped by three men in the early mornings, which led to the disappearance, and ultimately, the death of the baby.

But that is not the point of this tale.

The update was sent by a friend, and another friend replied the following:

"That's ugly...I heard she is a Christian...Aiyah".

This comment received a lot of criticism and brickbats from another friend and myself, and the language used was pretty colorful. We were outraged at his insinuation that if she was of any other religion, or if she was without a religion, it would be less shocking to him (he is a Christian, by the way).

But again, that is not the point of this tale.

After getting an earful from us, our friend who made the "Christian" remark tried to explain himself by saying, "I never think that way of Buddhist or Muslim or Indians".

My friend, "Indian" is not a religion. "Indian" is a race. "Hindu" is a religion, "Indian" is not.

THAT is the point of this story.