29 January 2007 3:06 p.m. so here i am, having slept half the day away. i wish i could go to the lab, but i'm sick, but evidently not ill enough to stay away from the internet, although you could argue that it doesn't need any brain power at all. oh sure, i could look up articles online, but this guilt will never end. in between hacking up the contents of my nasal passage, i've managed to read some books and watch, erm, two movies, in the same manner i blog, i.e. brain - in neutral. Julian Barnes looks like a leaner Stephen Fry to me. how can you think of Stephen Fry without wanting to write your own V speech (yes, i know, done to death already), because he is... V. i think dad needs to read The Pedant in The Kitchen more than i do. Stephen Fry's website - The Adventures of Mr Stephen Fry. "The Adventures of..." . have i found my (other) soul mate? no, i don't fancy the lime green. are you allowed only one soul mate? what a rip-off. i can claim to be one of the (few?) people who've read I, Lucifer before it was announced that it would be made into a movie, potentially involving Ewan McGregor, Jude Law and Daniel Craig (!!?). i suppose Law will appear as Lucifer, haha. i thought it was clever that the protagonist is named Duncan Glenn, while the author's name is Glen Duncan. anywho, the title The Death of An Ordinary Man (also by Glen Duncan) reminded me of The Diary of A Nobody, but the story is more akin to that of The Machinist (what's with all the "The" titles eh, eh? The Lords of The Rings, anyone?), right down to the anti-climatic revelation in the end, but that's probably just me. if Duncan ended it as the reader expected, then he'd be predictable. however, since the alternative kind of disappoints you because you didn't think of it, there's no way for the author to win. so you put it down as a good read and don't fuss so much about it. then you go and watch The Prestige, lord it over those who didn't or couldn't recognised David Bowie, and go around telling everyone who will listen that Christian Bale, with his scornful eyes and toothless yet disgustingly sexy smirk, makes Hugh Jackman look like a peevish little old woman. promise. you know it's a winner when Yvette the PhD candidate walks in on you muttering apologies to Chris Cornell as he hectors you through your headphones on Revelations (since i'm so broken down/why don't you fix me?). welcome back, Mr Dragon Voice.* *not referring, of course, to the manga of the same name by Yuriko Nishiyama - more eye candy than Harlem Beat was, i believe. Muse played in Singapore, liek, 2 weeks ago, and they're due to perform in KL next month. why did they schedule 2 shows in neighbouring countries so far apart? what are they doing in between? are they walking down Orchard Road right this minute, attempting anonymity? ... do you think they're HERE ALREADY? "we're just regular tourists, you know. being touristy. watch the cheekbones, you might cut yourself on them." girlfriend24's cousin managed to get tickets for her and bro24, you know. it's always to people who don't know the words wot get to gloat. sometimes, when i miss Enfant Terrible really really much, i think of getting a takeaway from American Chilis (to fill out the hollow emptiness on the inside interior of me). but then i remember that i've never seen anyone alone there, so i buy a useless trinket instead to try and soothe the yawing loneliness in my heart. sometimes, if you wake up really really and walk the streets of downtown KL, you can see the old, the decrepit and the homeless lining up outside a soup kitchen that's been set up in the most unlikely of places - a barbecued meat franchise. sometimes, you walk up to the faculty and discover, along the way, someone has left a whole box of rotten bananas for the local monkey troupe. and they've been eaten that very evening. and you go home and read that some beauty-care expert has used rotten bananas and avocados to condition her hair. sometimes, you wonder how female students in UM are expected to toe the dress-code line (no trousers of any sort? ... okay. cue the people running around in their underwear, hurhurhur) when the authorities have built a pavement one foot above the road level. we all know there's only one physically disabled lecturer in the whole varsity, and it's Dr Isobel, and she gets privileged parking anyway. sometimes, you wonder if it's worth it to have friends because after you've told them about your exciting day at work*, there's nothing left for you to blog. * there is no such thing, which is probably in accord of the Pratchett Law of Inverse Proportion, which states that the more fun you'e having doing something, the likelier it is you're goofing off. "doctor, i've got all these weird little red bumps on my skin and i've scratched them and they're not going away!" do i get a membership card? or do i have to join up the little red dots on my limbs to see if they form a super-sekrit hidden message? why aren't there choco-flavoured steroid pills, eh, eh??? I DON'T HAVE ENOUGH LONG-SLEEVED TOPS. i can't help it. despite the bleary eyes, reeling and stumbling from my room for lack of WRITING PAPERS IS FUN (article searches aside). there, i've said it. as i xeroxed a paper in the library at lunch time, a thought occurred to me - do people have quickies in the discussion rooms located in the back of the building? i don't think i want to know the answer. in the second and final part of my exciting day at the "workplace", i had to go to the bank. and i needed a new passbook. enter the Teller. as he scanned my details, he said, "are you from east malaysia?" (does this happen everywhere? are there people who visit banks in east malaysia and get asked, "are you from... *Perlis?" *northern-most state of peninsula malaysia. ... why do we even bother with the east and west bits anyway?) "ah well," he said, undeterred. "you're left-handed, aren't you?" "how did you know?" i said, starting to feel suspicious. "i know la," he answered smugly. "it's the way you sign your signature. speaking of, i need you to sign here to compare them." (i bet he saw me fill out the deposit slip!) after i returned the slip of paper to him, he glanced at it AND SAID, "you know, you could try making it look more like a treble clef." (my signature is a take on Robbie Williams' when he was still with Take That. reach for the stars, eh wot? what's a treble clef?) "do you study music???" "oh, i love Muse." "yeah? nah. my favourite song is Sing For Absolution. you know, some of their songs are so hard to play, like, Uno, for instance. in fact, Unintended* is my favourite song to play!" *one of those "you could have, should have been mine forever" songs. "you're cheating, that's a slow one!" "well, it's not as if i've never tried to play Muscle Museum, okay?" "i like Screenager. why haven't you taken part in those band competitions on tv?" his eyes took on a forlorn, but defiant cast. "my band... they're scattered everywhere now. there's no one left but me." (poor baby!) "what about busking at KLCC?" his lip curled in disdain. "i would wipe the floor with those amateurs! ... say, do you know how they make the bass sound really low and growly? you see... ." Le OMG i bet he's real fun at parties. when i note to self: NEVER try girlie things on in the presence of my mother. or anyone else's mother that i know. that should cover it. this precipitated an onslaught of "try this one. and this one. oh, and this!" and, "wow, this is just like dressing up a doll! here, this one too." fortunately, all the dresses were too big/loose/mature/all three for me, so we walked out empty-handed. never again, you hear? UNfortunately, this has triggered some sort of compulsive mania, with her insisting i start buying girlie things because i "will need them when i begin working" and "am i going to dress in t-shirts and jeans forever?" (what's wrong with that anyway?) i mean, liek, get a grip. just because i don't talk about it doesn't mean i don't think about it. here is my leading female role model, rapidly losing her influence on me because she appears less concerned about my two brothers' whereabouts ("they're boys, no one's going to rape them." YEAH RIGHT.), whereas i thoroughly disappoint her because i'm not feminine enough. i can so be feminine, but the wind always blows my hair in to my face and people are always trying to peek up my short skirt and long jacket. this won't be the best time to tell her i want to set up a fruit picking business. p.s. before i forget - how are all y'all bebots over there? are j00 lookin' fine in the sunshine? did i say that right? ashes in my eyes i think i can be excused for typing this down, because i can always blame the medication (and the doctor was kind enough to check my lymph nodes for any further infection). so, there's this anime called Kyou Kara Maou. two of the characters are called Gwendal von Voltaire and Anissinia von Karbelnikoff (ooh, posh). Gwendal is one of those textbook romance hunks who stalks about, glowering and looking smoking hot (in green, no less!) as he tries to run the country while avoiding the mad scientist Anissinia, who considers him as her favourite lab rat. anyway, in the course of my "research", i came across a figure-skating pair named, wait for it, Marina Anissina and Gwendal Peizerat. coincidence? I DON'T THINK SO. p.s. - how do you know when Hari Raya Aidiladha/Eid-ul-Fitr is over? when shopping malls take down the green and yellow decorations and bring out the snowmen and fairy lights (picture taken last year)! what, no mistletoe?
another day, another snit: more wankery
mentalistic
sometimes
living up to my name
"let's have a look. hm... you have a bit of eczema."
"no!"
"YES. you might have some allergies."
"and i can't stop scratching."
"well, i'm going to prescribe a steroid pill, one anti-histamine for daytime and another for night, and! a! steroid! cream!"
to the dork sidefoot food, mum nagging at me for sitting on the floor and ruining my back, and the fact that my negligible social life is dwindling ever further...
is this getting old?"you're stalking me, aren't you?" "... me too~! are you going to their concert in february?"
my most horrifying experiencewas being dragged around accompanied my mother on her boutique-raiding rounds, i made the mistake of voluntarily trying on one (one!!!) slightly skimpy, black and white lacy type dress-thing (do they make nighties with princess waists anyway?) just to see what it'd look like.
penance: so lame, it's not even funny
mouth full of glass
tissues squish underfoot
