When nerd-friendly music videos (or actually videos with any kind of story line and clothes my mom would approve of) are back in the vogue, you know the tuneful adorable boy and girlbands of the 90s are about to stage a mass-comeback. When Miss Twain and Miss Carey wannabes actually get on Hot lists, you know the 90s are back. When an acoustic guitar leads in, the 90s are back. When the sounds of a piano are discernible behind the trash ass DJ-shit, heck yea the 90s are back.

Hurrah for good-looking, brainless bands with tunes you can dance to with a brush and your sister ten years younger. This fan of M2M and N’Sync had already whetted her appetite when Take That’s  Rule The World played during the Stardust credits. And when you have a country singer serving up straighforward lyrics and straighforward tunes with a large helping of straightforward videos on top, my somewhat embarrassed self wants to split its cocoon.

Oh yeah. When I heard You Belong With Me, I went : So true! Saw the video and went: Aww, SO TRUE!! Notice the crazy fangirl personality. Yup. As much as I admire the genius of Grizzly Bear, The Cure and Elvis Costello, I still fall for 4-5-1 progressions in 90s pop. In the same way, as much as I acknowledge how a great personality and witty humour are vitally attractive, I’d readily fuck Jonathan Rhys Meyers at the first opportunity. The body is weak, as the Bible says.

And when one waxes lyrical about acknowledged soppy tunes when one is supposed to study for one’s finals, you should get the fucking point and play along.

 

Reading: Charles Bukowski’s Notes of a Dirty Old Man.

Listening to: Taylor Swift’s You Belong With Me for the something-teenth time since 12am today GMT +8.

P.S. Want my rum.

I know I only posted Cost the First. But it’s been a while since I last posted, so:

a. I forgot.

b. I could not be bothered.

c. I lost my scholarship.

Hence, Cost the Second and Last:

It is useless hard work. Endless picking up after people, countless ass-kissing efforts and a CGPA of 3.6 because of a lousy mugging paper. That 3.6 only qualifies you for a 50% scholarship (but only at branch campuses). Which, as I told Miss H of SBS this afternoon, proves that by law, they are stupider than KL Campus kids. Fuck them and fuck TARC.

So I’m paying my fees. I am determined to be zen, or be Psycoe this semester, but letting go is not as easy as thought. The zen has left me twice since June, but otherwise I feel like Karen Carpenter. Top of the world.

This is not so much about money, but more to the cost of living and breathing and on the whole, putting up with two years (thus far and two more to go) in a mediocre, half-assed college. Given that when mentioned in conversations, the word TARC brings to face a similar expression as a garbage truck; the blasted place has some quirky, refreshing aspects, to wit, I will soon elaborate.

The cost of living in TARC:

Cost the First. Playing the reject card. This is not a new experience since I have been doing this all my learning life. However, in school there were very few group projects and no breaks in between classes, so there was really no need to socialise so much. Heck, you didn’t need friends if you could watch your own back, right? Maybe then, but in TARC?

Not bloody likely. My expectations have been low for the past two years. From the first semester, I played the expendable card well. I joined different groups for different projects, as opposed to others, who had, within the first two weeks, formed fragile alliances. Luckily, the mainly Chinese speaking members took solace in the fact that I was aware of my  position. Hence, most appointed an unofficial interpreter who would be present in group discussions. Here, my brain saved me, as I did help them bag fair scores. By the second semester, there were some projects where more creative control was put in students’ hands. When I stupidly assumed I would retain at least half of the same groups, one after another apologetically told me to shove off (here I REALLY hold no grudge) as they were doing their projects in Mandarin. This language I have the first ten numbers, body anatomy and choice swear words down, the usual shit. So this time I was really useless. Another group, fairly successful, I must say, had rejected a male member, perhaps for his inherent ability to say the wrong things at the wrong time (which could be , like, ‘uncool’) or his apparently wide-eyed, childlike exterior.

I also had the good fortune to receive a subsequent reject of the same group. This time a female who I detested as much as they did. My good fortune continued in a similar pattern, until, miracle of miracles, I actually belonged to a stable group by the start of my second year (and fourth sem). Needless to say, I had not had fun in quite a while and this provided fresh respite.

This muhibbah ensemble consisted of two boys ( Chinese and Malay) and two girls (Indian and Pasembor). One of the members claims to have left said group on own accord, but I highly doubt that took place without some internal encouragement. This gathering lasted one semester and a bit before and combination of personal and professional problems threatened to break it. We have also had another reject (so blasely rejected I actually felt a tinge of compassion) from that group but only for a project last semester. See the pattern? The Year 1 feeling has never actually left me.

Since then, the best I can say is that it has been an on-off thing. I am now in my last diploma sem, the sixth. Two members are now (bless them) in the throes of young love and understandably, have new areas of concentration. As I face the last semester before most of the class will not continue to advanced diploma, I pause and ponder, How would it feel to be a reject of rejects?

This article caught my eye. I particularly like the last paragraph and I sincerely hope (should their values and writing not change) that I will work with this logical and honourable group of people soon.

http://www.sott.net/articles/show/173084-Sickening-Pro-Israel-Rally-Attended-by-Big-Time-NY-Dems-Descends-into-Calls-for-Wiping-Out-Palestinians

On January 11, an estimated 10,000 people rallied in front of the Israeli consulate in midtown New York in support of Israel’s attack on the Gaza Strip. The rally, which was organized by UJA-Federation of New York and the Jewish Community Relations Council of New York in cooperation with the Conference of Presidents of Major American Jewish Organizations, featured speeches by New York’s most senior lawmakers. While the crowd was riled to righteous anger by speeches about Hamas evildoers, the event was a festive affair that began and ended with singing and joyous dancing.

Sen. Chuck Schumer highlighted Israel’s supposed humanitarian methods of warfare by pointing to its text messaging of certain Gaza Strip residents urging them to vacate their homes before Israeli forces bombed them. “What other country would do that?” Schumer shouted from the podium. Gov. David Paterson appeared on stage wearing one of the red hats distributed to demonstrators as symbols of the red alerts some residents of Israel endure when Palestinian groups fire rockets their way. Paterson cited the many Qasam rockets that have fallen on Israel as a justification for the country’s operations in Gaza, a military assault that has resulted in over 800 casualties and thousands of injuries.

Then Paterson highlighted the anti-Semitism that has followed in the wake of Israel’s attack on Gaza, highlighting the beating of a teen-age girl in France. “This kind of anger and hatred spreads like a disease,” Paterson said, “and one thing I’ve always pointed out is there’s no place for hate in the Empire State.”

But hatred was plentiful at the rally Paterson addressed. Right in front of the stage, a man held a banner reading, “Islam Is A Death Cult.” Rally attendees described the people of Gaza to me as a “cancer,” called for Israel to “wipe them all out,” insisting, “They are forcing us to kill their children in order to defend our own children.” A young woman told me, “Those who die are suffering God’s wrath.” “They are not distinguishing between civilians and military, so why should we?” said a member of the group of messianic Orthodox Jewish Chabad-Lubavitch group that flocked to the rally.

No one I spoke to could seem to find any circumstance in which they would begin to question Israel’s war. No number of civilian deaths, no displays of extreme suffering — nothing could deter their enthusiasm for attacking one of the most vulnerable populations in the world with the world’s most advanced weaponry. There are no limits, no matter what Israel does, no matter how it does it.

The rally made me think of a passage in “The Holocaust Is Over, We Must Rise From Its Ashes,” a powerful new book by former Israeli Knesset speaker and Jewish National Fund chairman Avraham Burg:

“If you are a bad person, a whining enemy or a strong-arm occupier, you are not my brother, even if you are circumcised, observe the Sabbath, and do mitzvahs. If your scarf covers every hair on your head for modesty, you give alms and do charity, but what is under your scarf is dedicated to the sanctity of Jewish land, taking precedence over the sanctity of human life, whosoever’s life that is, then your are not my sister. You might be my enemy. A good Arab or a righteous gentile will be a brother or sister to me. A wicked man, even of Jewish descent, is my adversary, and I would stand on the other side of the barricade and fight him to the end.”

Ah. Life has sucked this past year and threatens to suck on for God knows how long. I have got a 0.2% chance of getting a full-tuition scholarship to UNSW and so am stuck here for the rest of the next two years. A big hairy “but” is around the corner, though. I might spend my 20th birthday in London and should I stay sober, will hop on Eurorail to have a truly wonderful entrance party into my 20s.

Yes. The Little Distractions. Three, to be exact.

 

1. Skandar Keynes lookalike in Wangsa Maju area.

2. Johny Lee Miller lookalike who’s also a sports science student and gym instructor (I’ve got over the last instructor) in college.

3. Terribly fit member of the college waterpolo team who does not need to resemble anybody to get me fantasising.

Adios and have not updated because do not like to rant about sucky life.

Short post. The other day a friend said that F&N and apple juice made her extra horny. There’s a cheap and readily available aphrodisiac for you guys to ponder

PS: The friend concerned please correct me if I’m wrong.

Most people only heard of Kimya Dawson after Juno. Me, I preferred Antsy Pants. Here’s a song by them you can sing to your kids. It’s called Tree Hugger. Figure out the meaning yourselves.

[Chorus:]
The flower said
“i wish i was a tree”
The tree said
“i wish i could be
A different kind of tree
The cat wished
That it was a bee
The turtle wished
That it could fly
Really high into the sky
Over rooftops and then dive
Deep into the sea

And in the sea there is a fish
A fish that has a secret wish
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it
And in the sea there is a fish
A fish that has a secret wish
A wish to be a big cactus
With a pink flower on it

And the flower
Would be its offering
Of love to the desert
And the desert
So dry and lonely
That the creatures all
Appreciate the effort

And the rattlesnake said
I wish i had hands so
I could hug you like a man
And then the cactus said
Don’t you understand
My skin is covered
With sharp spikes
That’ll stab you
Like a thousand knives
A hug would be nice
But hug my flower
With your eyes

(chorus)

(repeat 1st verse)

And the flower
Would be its offering
Of love to the desert
And the desert
So dry and lonely
That the creatures all
Appreciate the effort

My mum was just ironing my formal clothes for my English presentation tomorrow five minutes ago.

Mum: Your pants pocket got hole. And your white pants are very stained.

I: Yea, but I know. Wore that to church and you guys didn’t notice. So it’s still okay.

Mum: (Scoffs) …… Aiyo, what’s this hole?

I: I know.

Mum: PLEASE go shopping. 

I laugh.

Mum: for clothes.

I laugh louder.

Mum: and shoes….not books please.

I: God, I should chronicle this.

 

And so I have.

Last Sunday, my family were at MidValley (again). My mum stopped at Guardian for some girly stuff, and I stayed, outside, buat bodoh like normal. So hey, I see simpering girly-girls with halfwit boyfriends (who paid, poor buggers) leaving the store all huggy-huggy. Amidst this wave of heterosexual  PDA, I see two VERY weird guys leave. One is the Malaysian Napoleon Dynamite (big geeky glasses, somewhat pathetic case of acne) while the other looks like one of Carrie or Charlotte’s gay fashion designer friends. Ok, I kinda see gay in my mind as one very male partner and one very female one. Just had to mention this as it is the first geek-pondan pairing I’ve seen. As I watched incredulously with puke waiting to leave my mouth, girl-guy slung his arm around guy-guy and sauntered off towards Yoshinoya. When I mentioned this to my mum, she asked how I knew they were gay? Come-fucking-on! Don’t get me wrong, I am totally oblivious and don’t care of the existence of homosexuals, just don’t do it blatantly in front of me. I wish I could set Maddox on them

With apologies to P, only certain people can be seen smoking in public. Sunday I was at Maybank MidValley and I saw this sporty Chinese couple smoking away unconcernedly. I would’ve snapped them right there is the lady hadn’t already been looking at me. Get this: they were OLD, but still fit and both had this nice crop of white hair, something both WoLF and I crave for in our old age. Seriously, if you put those guys on cigar ads, I’d take it up. These veterans represent:

1. Longevity= Hah, who says smoking kills? Pfft.

2. Coolness= Still fit, stylish and smoking at that age. Scrawny teenage Die Hard wannabes can go ….die.

Later, I watched  Ah Long Pte Ltd  at Best Denki and decided that, besides the couple, Fann Wong with a tiger tattoo on her back, smoking after sex…..yeap, I wouldn’t mind that on an ad.

Chears!

PS. If you watch Thank You For Smoking, you’ll get me when you watch the scene where the characters played by Rob Lowe and Aaron Eckhart discuss how best to promote smoking via a futuristic movie starring Catherine Zeta-Jones and Brad Pitt. XD