05 July 2004 11:24 a.m. BAH. oh, okay, the Greeks deserved it. does anyone have a video of Cris crying? i don't, because of TV3's shitty programming and their timing from hell. i swear it's not sour grapes. why couldn't they show the closing ceremony and the teams in the tunnel and during the anthems and the end of the game and the complete award ceremony? why couldn't they fade out the sound first instead of clumsily segueing back to the studio where the 3 pundits look at the camera like deer caught in the headlights? and what the hell, man, am i the only one who doesn't want to see Sherkawi Jirim align his pencil with the edge of his notes before blinking owlishly at the camera and saying, "ya, begitulah blah blah blah bola sepak itulah bola sepak.*"? of course John Dykes does it differently. when he says, "right, well, that's it," it's less long-winded. and he has an interesting my major gripe is that local pundits keep summarising the action, which is stupid unless they watched a different game from that of the viewers (did they get a locker room view, hmm?). i know i want to hear opinions and analysis. dude should give the sportscaster schtick a rest. such is the bitterness of one who has neither 8TV nor a frequency-splitter. are they going for the World Cup next? OMGWTFBBQLOL OH NOEZ. p.s. - yeah, it was so meeeen of that twat with the flag. i thought it was funny until i saw the flag. yeah, we was made for each other. 2ge4 4eva aight. * "yes, well, right, that's it then blah blah blah and that's football for you." usually i have nothing to do with my brothers' friends', except maybe to tease them. that's because they're blurry concepts of personalities outside my cozy little universe. i do recognize them, though - i'm not that daft. so then, there's this one friend of brother #1 who's a constant companion for their wee hour mamak jaunts (in Kepong or Balakong and god knows where else... but not really). he's a damned paedophile who spends lots of time online (unlike me) and drives a souped up Putra with one of those rumbling muffler/exhaust things. let's call him P. actually, P's not a paedophile, i was just being mean. as i said, usually, i have nothing to do with them because they come over and pick up my brother and leave, but this morning, P came over to pick brother up so that they could go to that supercar fair thingy at Midvalley (you wanna see guys run through their range of 2 emotions?). he had to wait a while cos my brother's shite at getting ready in the morning hahahaha, so i invited him in he brought in the newspapers that were on the porch and handed me a ToyFare magazine and said, "here - there's a Living Dead guide inside." awww! TF is the literary equivalent of Ultimate Toys, but more wondrous; while LD is... what i got for my birthday last year. or was it 2 years back? dunno, i'm getting old. anyway, it turned out he's brought it over just for me! at least i think so. 2 years ago, H, J amd i went to Sarawak (east Malaysia, we're in the west). we bummed around its capital, Kuching, for about a week. on the second last day, we went strolling on the Waterfront Bazaar. WB is a bazaar on the front of the Kuching river, hence the imaginative name. WFB is made up of shops selling "antique" furniture and "native" art. sometimes it's authentic lah, but i don't know how to tell the difference. if you start from Merdeka Palace (the poshest hotel in Kuching, opposite Kuching Square, which also used to be a pick-up point [*nudge nudge wink wink] back in the days when my dad could fit into his hip-hugging bell-bottoms) and work your way up to the city centre, you'll find that the prices increase proportionately. this is what is known as a tourist trap. anybollocks, Ramsey Ong is an artist who had a gallery, located almost directly opposite the old Chinese Museum. as if those directions aren't enough, it's the one that says, "Ramsey Ong's Gallery". we went in because we were feeling artsy-fartsy and hoity-toity (we need some culture in our lives, dahlings), expecting the proprieters to be the same. well, they were artsy-fartsy. i guess not a lot of people go/went in there - a clear case of the forest and the trees. the gallery also showcases other Sarawakian artists' work - there was furniture and accessories and ethnic-type clothes, i.e. stuff like at Aseana, but not as pricey. they even had a guestbook made of recycled paper! so anyway, we could only afford the postcards with their Ramsey Ong reproductions. the man himself was there that day and had decided to play cashier. he's very nice, and kinda scatty, which fits that artist stereotype. so, he totaled up my purchase, which was less than my own estimate. i assumed that he had given me a discount because he was won over by my sparkling wit and personality. i paid and we went to the museum across the street. we were looking at the exhibits on Hakka culture when me, being me, decided to count out the total, just to be certain. it turned out that i had been undercharged by RM3 (80 cents, but can still buy a meal here you know). i waffled on it a bit ("it's only RM3... but it's not my RM3!") and finally went back to the gallery. he wasn't there but his friends had remained behind to tell me he had come to the same realisation as i did. they said he was terribly upset at himself, and had gone out to calm down (oo-er). i paid and left Kuching with a clear conscience. fast forward to 2 or 3 nights ago, at the Canadian High Commission's do for Canada Day. my dad met Mr. Ong and brought up the incident omg daaad!
hysterical? who, me?harem group of colleagues. Jamie's the nice, sensible one; John Beresford is the campy, bitchy one; Paul is the repressed, bitter, closeted one (ahaha); and then there's... uh, the other two.
even on a sundayand he introduced me to his single, Frederic Michalak lookalike friend.
why i'll always remember Ramsey Ongdad: hey, you're Ramsey Ong! *tells him of the Kuching incident*
RO: ya, i was so upset with myself!
dad: yalah, my daughter says you can't do maths.
omg daaaaaaaaaaaaad!!!
i said maths wasn't his strong point! i'm never going to be able to face him again.
useless fact #1 - there is a hybrid sterility gene in the common fruit fly called... Odysseus. the effect only shows up when 2 certain species are cross-bred.
useless fact #2 - upon watching Bridget Jones' Diary, mum commented that it was kinda like Legally Blonde. Colin Firth = older version of Luke Wilson's character? alriiight!
useless fact #3 - (Steve) Nash and (Manu) Ginobili are leaving their teams!!!
02 July 2004 3:46 p.m.maybe he was a disillusioned writer
this was a little before 3 p.m. - i was coming back from my brother's school and used the LDP highway in front of OU to get back to TTDI. i was driving past the overpass/fly-over when i saw a man standing on the little platform bit that juts out from the wall formed by those interlocking cement pieces that make up the fly-over.
me, being daft, felt sorry for an old man trying to cross the highway.
it was only when i was at the traffic light 50 meters away when that it occurred to me that maybe that wasn't his intention. i looked in the rear-view mirror - he was still there, calmly looking down at the passing traffic, the wind blowing his faded hair to and fro.
there was a road crew working further back, but i doubt that a supervisor would clamber up just to check on them...
right. so, if anyone, or anyone you know, has lost a fella in his late 40's or early 50's, who has wavy grey hair and was wearing a faded red and black checked shirt, and a pair of glasses with thick black frames, you know where to find him.
02 July 2004 1:30 p.m.let's see...
according to Jenny Turpish's quiz, i am a Wacky Emotional Destructive Leader. predictably, i liked the anarchy bit.
this makes me VERY VERY SAD - AndRiy ShevChenkO. i was looking for stuff on the player, and found this. i've heard a lot about the way singaporeans blog, but really... it's too cruel, even if she's a 15 year old.
ah, i see she has a design site with the betterer england, and an Owen layout. cool.
Andriy Shevchenko: is unmarried and tired of women calling his home, DK (Dynamo Kiev) training camp, etc ...
he says, "Don't make an idol of me. I haven't achieved anything yet."
i had more luck looking for Rui Costa though. him and the missus are so sweet together.
yes, Suze, his face is bloody long, like Figo's and Ruud's and Raul's and the rest of those horse-faced mopers.
here we come to the real reason for my post - i'm playing hookey from work again. it doesn't actually count if you feel ill, does it? i'm all sniffly and feeling sorry for myself. that should teach me to set the aircon to its coldest temperature, but i'm here in front of the pc, so it means i must fall over from a splitting headache like the last time before i learn my lesson.
i think i'll just blame a friend who's definitely ill - Miss Turkey, ahahaha. was that too subtle? she sent me an sms last night, so this is the first case of a human-to-human virus transmitted through handphones. so ends today's epidemiology class where you learnt "Handphones: Viable or Vectors?"
01 July 2004 6:11 p.m.opinions
Jet's drummer (Chris Chester) and Ruud look very much alike. ... well, maybe if you closed your eyes.
happy birthday, Ruud!
i don't want Ruud to go to Real Madrid. if he goes, then the top-heaviest team in the world will become a monster, and we all know what happens after that.
of course the ground moved as you took that penalty - it was the hearts of ten thousand footie fans beating in unison, reverberating through the earth.
you know what stupid is? stupid is opening your e-mail to find a message saying "see american beheading!" or something, and clicking on the link (i bet there's a link) and watching the said video. and then you go blubbering to the newspapers about how traumatised you are after viewing it, and throw in some shit about the cruelty that man is capable of.
fuck you, you moron. why the hell'd you watch it for? why d'you need to see someone die in order to "get in touch with your compassionate side"? what's wrong with you? what's wrong with us? fucking masochisic, blood-thirsty, voyeuristic shitheads.
01 July 2004 5:59 p.m.whoops
whenever i get too cocky for whatever reason, life kicks my teeth in in its own inimitable way. today, it was a letter from the varsity that stated if i didn't pay up, i wouldn't get to attend the convocation ceremony. i have no problem with my scroll and exam results being witheld, but i want my parents to see me up on that stage dammit.
worry does things to you - your food becomes tasteless, you feel cold and trembly and it's not because of the Costa-Figo hug the morning before, and you can't concentrate on anything but, "i must pay the bill!"
or maybe it's just me.
there are Type A personalities, and then there are Types AA. that's prolly where i belong. i'd also say that it matches my bra cup size, but it doesn't.
i've paid up already, aight. the bank people in TTDI are so nice, they took the trouble to explain stuff to clueless ol' me. i do "daft" pretty well, but i wasn't acting this time, hur hur hur.
(it's not a hidden side, this is all a part of me. there's much to be said for faceting.)
did you know The Distillers did the theme song for the Spiderman 2 videogame? when i heard it. i got so many goosebumps i thought i would end up permanently bumpy (that's no fun). Brody Dalle's voice is a chainsaw and a loaded gun, all coated in honey. and that smile... i hope she sleeves herself - she would look cooler than she already is.
note: comparisons will be drawn to Courtney Love, but they don't have to be inevitabilites.
great, now i have to decide between their debut (Coral Fang) and Velvet Revolver's debut (Contraband). if i flipped a coin, it would land in a crack in the pavement.
there are a few abbreviations to my name, but most malaysians are particularly taken with "Angie". another one is "Angel". now i'm associated with The Rolling Stones and Shaggy.
no one's ever called me "Ange" before, so congratulations, Suze! it sounds like "Inge", which makes me sound more Nordic than i ever will be, short of a body transplant.
it also sounds like "anger". go, me! Metallica should be paying me royalties for St. Anger (inspirational muse role et al.), and i'd get to say, "don't make me angry - you wouldn't like me when i'm angry."
01 July 2004 4:58 a.m.salkjdlsdlk a.k.a Portugal-Holland
Cris Ronaldo!
Maniche!
Jorge Andrade! (*gasp*)
Ruud hugging Cris!
i wish that would happen on my birthday.
Cris and his little boy grin - awww!
Rui Costa wrapping Figo in a long, heartfelt embrace!
*froths at the mouth*
30 June 2004 11:02 p.m.who's the nutter now?
i think one of the office staff is possibly schizophrenic, or maybe he was a hard-core huffer. whatever the reason, he hangs around the department corridor, talking and laughing to himself, only he looks at passers-by like they're supposed to understand what he's on about.
it's unnerving, but i think he's harmless. the problem is that i've greeted him before, and now he thinks i'm his friend or something. sometimes i want to shake him till his teeth rattle and ask him what the hell is so funny.
i saw a poster that made me want to commit vandalism - it was promoting the inaugural forum on THE SECRETS OF FINDING A PARTNER. i don't think it meant a business or research partner. how stupid is that?
and yet, it's deviously clever - single people would attend it and meet other single people. they might hit it off, and get married (or not), and have children, thereby populating the world with more sad, single people.
does Cris Ronaldo get a trophy for being the sexiest pin-up in Portugal (as voted by the Portuguese Association of Gays)?
dude, the more i write, the more there is to write down. Kim pointed me to adidas and their "impossible is nothing" ads. Kaka lists prayer as one of his favourite things (awww), and he looks like Vincent Kartheiser from Angel in the interview!
addendum - i never thought Milan Baros was worth looking at until he grew his hair out and fell into a vat of baby oil. good grief... good meat, let's eat. indeed.
i'm not done yet! i was junking around when i found the guy who might possibly, probably, hopefully be the Montague in Starcrossed - Gael García Bernal. i hope i'm right, i think i'm right.