Honesty, The Best Policy.

Seriously. Somebody finally listened to the greatness of green
(photo courtesy of Kubuk)

Let's see what's been taking my fancy for the past few days ... sleep, lethargy, the computer, the stupid internet connection, the UGS New Year's Eve gathering. And War and Peace.

Brian's kitty is so dangerous cute! Who gave it the name Twinkles?

One by one, in detail:

Sleep. I seem to be doing less and less of it, which is ironic, because i had a severe shortage before and during the SPM. A few days have passed with me dizzy and irritated, unable to concentrate on whatever i'm doing.

Lethargy. I don't care about most things. No purpose, nothing to look forward to. I can't even understand what makes blogging so fun ages ago. Well, Utopia does count, but its not entirely soul satisfying. I need something more. Judo? Going to church and organizing stuff? Hmm.

The Computer. I've been lately spending a lot of time in Utopia and NFSMW beating blacklist rival after blacklist rival. I've not been spending time cleaning my room, writing short stories or thought provoking (mine, not yours) essays, or even working on my multiple writing projects.

The stupid internet connection. Murphy's Law hold true. Just when you think nothing can stop you from instant connection, a quake in Taiwan dispells all notions of an untouchable super highway.

I am very bored. Bored enough to compose manually focused shots in my garden.

The New Year Eve's UGS Gathering. It'll definitely be fun, but the lack of communication is making it hard to organize effectively. My phone bill has shot through the roof, and the said quake is so very messing things up. On the bright side the blog still functions well, although most guys i know don't go online due to uber lag. (I am exaggerating, but you can't deny even the graphics on this blog sometimes fail to load)

War and Peace. So strange, the name. Like Love and Sex. Or Macaroni and Cheeseballs. I first thought it'd be as tough to crack as The Water Babies (one of the few books i started and did not finish), but it is breathtaking in its sharp perception of human behaviour. And there's also Edith Wharton's The Age Of Innocence, a love story to beat all love stories (exclude Romeo and Juliet. And Sepet - oh i am so biased).

At any rate, you guys should all read Jylene's operating instructions, and Kubuk's review of the year 2006 from his point of view! So controversially honest it made me smile.

Standing on head makes frown into smile, but head is upside down. Have a smiley day.

Merry Christmas!

Going to first mass, st thom tomorrow - merry christmas everyone!

Kiran Desai's The Inheritance Of Loss

Loss is a word. Not an action; a feeling in shades of darkness. To say Kiran Desai's Man Booker Prize winning effort deals about loss is an understatement. The book itself gives new definition to word loss: all the characters lose something: the setting loses, their culture loses. In between highlighting the various guises loss can take Desai manages to slip in themes of globilization and white dominance, of loneliness as an unwanted foreigner.

The story opens with a teenager, Sai, living with her grandfather Jemubhai the Retired Judge, his dog, Mutt, and a cook. They sit around, the mist encroaching, nothing to do, looking forward to ... what? Nothing.

And on silent feet rebels approach their house, their aim the Judge's cache of hunting guns.

For a novel that opens so promisingly like a love story set in a period of insurgency Desai's novel quickly moves to state its purpose: I am here to tell about LOSS. Let us take a look at these case studies....

Yes, the content is like that of a text book.

Sai is in love with Gyan, her math tutor, and Desai's beautiful prose narrate their meetings with such innocence it pains the heart - awkward attempts to relate to each other, for the most part.

"Kiss me!" he pleaded.

"No," she said, delighted and terrified.
She would hold herself ransom.
Oh, but she had never been able to stand suspense.
A fine drizzle spelled an ellipsis on the tin roof....
Moments clocked by precisely, and finally she couldn't bear it - she closed her eyes and felt the terrified measure of his lips on hers, trying to match one shape with the other.

Each of the characters in The Inheritance Of Loss are scarred by the West and by white dominion. Jemubhai wants to fit in so much he creates within himself a class of cultured man hated by both Indians and the English, and so haunts him till his retirement his sins against his family. Sai's parents are killed in Russia, the cook's son, Biju, is lonely and poor in America, praying for a green card while forced to leave his ideals by cooking beef -'Indian cow holy, American cow is not holy'. Perhaps the single most telling paragraph of this theme is through Sai:

... cake was better than laddoos, fork spoon knife better than hands, sipping the blood of christ and consuming a wafer of his body was more civilised than garlanding a phallic symbol with marigolds. English was better than Hindi.

The book is a sad thing. The love story ultimately fails to find happiness, Biju does not find success in his endeavours, people are killed by the dozens in the insurgency, most of the soldiers 'living like Rambo'. There may arguably be no climax, but there is a turning point - when the Judge's dog is kidnapped (or was it dognapped, hmm) he is forced to repent for his sins, praying to a God, any God, whom he has cast away as an agnostic.

You have been warned. The novel reads like a case study, exploring themes, not concluding some, just exposing the characters in their pity and loss. I should have probably saved the money to buy something more useful, like a hundred bags of toilet rolls, rather than to read the slow slide to the starkness of the human condition. It doesn't hit you in the face with its majesty of a conclusion (Lord of The Flies or Lord of The Rings) but it does show you how eccentric these Man Booker Prize judges can be.

Go off and save money for the next Harry Potter.

Okay, My Turn.

It seems everyone's done their fair bit of advertising, and i guess it's only fair that i pitch in on Sam's, Kenny's, even Wingz good heartedness.

Undergroundsquare is a deep underground chamber for refugees like me and my friends. We come from all sorts of backgrounds ... being headbutting footballers, rappers rapists, and other nonsensical God Fearing Varmin.

*Stares*

Okay, no lah. We're a bunch of crap spewing teenagers who gather and share things with each other, the forum being the main medium of communication. There's also a blog, where i helped out a little with the layout and overall look (too black, yes?). It's a mode of relaxation we do online - some people chat, but chatting is only good if there are nice people to talk to ... in UGS there's a never ending supply of things to talk about, people to talk to, jokes to crack, games to play, and *gasps* even little nuggets of wisdom that somehow finds its way into nonsensical arguments.

Come over and bask in the fun. *i sound like a hippy* You know you want to.

To Kill A Mockingbird

It's been years that people have been pressing me to read this book. To Kill A Mockingbird is a classic beyond classics, a story that lives long beyond the era the author wrote it. But do i like it? Hmm. That one bears thinking.

The story is from the perspective of Jean 'Scout' Louise Finch, born to a family of 'background' (one concept prone to mention by her Aunt Alexandra, but one she cannot understand). Harper Lee peppers her main character with such wit, and her opinions are with such alacrity, it is at once impossible to imagine such an insightful eight-year old, and at the same time entirely acceptable (my, what quick kids they breed in the Deep South, you hear yourself mumble).

Her father, Atticus Finch, brings along a load of trouble when he takes on the case of Tom Robinson - a negroe who is brought to court on the charge or raping a white girl. While the case is certainly the main core of the narrative, Harper Lee weaves in two subplots (or more, but i can only think of two) and these do not help in any way the presentation of the story itself. The first is that of Boo Radley, a neighbour of the Finches that provokes such mystery as he's never seen outside. Ever. Naturally kids get curious and go poking about his property - Jem (Scout's brother) and Dill, a friend who comes over every summer, thinks of tiresome ways to find out how Boo Radley looks like. The second is that of old Mrs Henry Lafeyette Dubose, a monster of a spinster. Jem and Scout are forced to read to her after Jem wrecks her garden in a fit of rage, and it turns out they helped her overcome her morphine addiction, although a woman like that doesn't earn much sympathy with all the 'Nigger-lover!' yelling she does.

I guess the only reason Harper Lee put those subplots in was to pound in the message 'look at it from the other man's point of view!' again and again. It stays throughout the climax at the courthouse and the extremely long-winded conclusion, where Lee, thinking it isn't enough, takes the time to pound it between our ears again. And in the end my impression of the novel is diluted.

It is funny, laugh-out-loud so. It is startling in its moments of genius, where the author's wisdom seeps through.

After Atticus unwittingly reveals himself to be have one time been the deadest shot in Maycomb by sniping the head off a mad dog, Scout asks Miss Maudie why he never revealed it to them:

"Maybe if i can tell you," said Miss Maudie, "If your father's anything, he's civilised at heart. Marksmanship's a gift of God, a talent - oh, you have to practise to make it perfect, but shootin's different from playing the piano or the like. I think maybe he put his gun down when he realized God had given him an unfair advantage over most living things. I guess he decided he wouldn't shoot till he had to, and he had to today.

"Look's like he'd be proud of it," i said.

"People in their right minds never take pride in their talents." said Ms Maudie.

The tension builds up and it'll make you scream in outrage at the unfairness of it all, of how they believe in democracy, yet descriminate against certain classes. But in my list, it wouldn't be at the very top. I reserve that for Lord Of The Flies, awe-inducing in its conception.

It won the Pulitzer Prize. Libraians, better read people than me, i should say, think it is The Book Everyone Must Read Before They Die. Is it? You read it to find out.

Photo Mackerel

I couldn't resist when i saw the Ad outside Bangsar Village.

I almost look like a gigolo. Heh.

Festive cheer and booyah all those secular end-of-year holiday placenames. *Throws a snowball and runs off gleefully.*

Chow.

Back from KL into the Grey World

Before i start off i have to say sorry to Amanda and Paul and Wen qi.

Amanda because i couldn't help out in the children's christmas party.
Paul because i can't go choir with you.
And Wen Qi for appearing all depressed and about to give up blogging for good.

Yes, i've lately been losing interest. Its as if the SPM sapped every ounce of creative energy available and twisted it on me. I don't write, i don't feel like blogging in my personal blog. What for? Who gives a damn? Why should they care what i think and what goes on in my life?

I know, scary stuff.

Anyway, apart from the asylum-looking picture of my bedroom door from the corridor (i've been reading Silence Of The Lambs, by the way, and bear with me for a moment, but all i think of is Hannibal Lecter cooking someone's liver) i have to say that getting down to write this post is very difficult.

But not that hard once i've started.

Let's see. KL was fun. I find trips where i don't look forward to anything tend to surprise me and this is one of those. Lovely, lovely tralalalala. Bring out the mistletoe. Everyday was one shopping complex, the first being KLCC. Spent time in Kinokuniya, bought Ptolemy's Gate, and then finished the book while eating at Madam Kwan's, shopping for jeans and in the perfume section.

The second day allowed me to buy Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell, and it was a good thing too, but i didn't read much because i was hunting for a camera, with my dad. Sungei Wang can be frightfully annoying especially if you can't tell which part is BB Plaza and which is not. Dang. Still. Got the camera - Exilim EX-Z700.

Look at the camera. Not the person.

The third was horrible. Spent the day in Sogo completely doing nothing. Clothes, perfumes, handbags. Not interested. Finished the 1000 page book in the various departments. Aaargh! Spoilt what would have been perfect armchair fodder.

After that i lost hope of finishing my reads. And you can see why.

A lot of books. Yes. See the blue one near the bottom? That's War And Peace. Something i've been dreading. And looking forward too. It'll be tough to plough through, but i bet it'll be rewarding, since i had to cavass three bookstores to look for it. What is wrong with Time and MPH outlets away from Mid Valley? Only want to stock Lolita and The Inheritance of Loss? Ish. Brainless zombies behind the counter.

And. Oh yeah. DO NOT BUY DEATH NOTE! Costs twenty eight ringgit and totally lives up to the tag 'letdown'. Bought the first volume to see how Shonen Jump Manga work. How it smells how it feels how the pages crinkle against the skin. It sucks. Download it and don't let the word volume fool you. C'mon lah! It's 5 episodes between the covers! Even the daredevil graphic novel i flipped through in MPH was 200 pages thick! In colour! With a proper plot! Hmm. Should've have bought Hannibal Rising or something.

Good bookses. Bad bookses.

After that we all moved in with a family friend for the remainder of the week. Aunty Nellie cooks the greatest food, Brian made us laughed with his spot on accents (i'll post them up when i can get Odeo to work), Celine made us laughed too with her chattering on about Boas. Ahh. This is heaven. Good friends, good food, back just after i got sick (no green hair yet, need to bleach. Haiz). Then Kenny Sia on the same flight back, blogging about Jayden. Well. What a holiday.

Merry christmas everyone!

Green Packing

I'm heading off to KL tomorrow, which means many things. It means i'll have to pack. It means not beating Izzy in Need For Speed Most Wanted (hey, there are people playing Mario out there, why're you looking at me as if i'm some kind of outdated weirdo?). It means leaving the forum to Kenny (who has trips and has problems) and Sam. It means finally getting down to the messy task of dying my hair green.

Yes, you heard me right. Don't look so surprised. Its something i've decided after form 3, and i'm going through with it (Flying Sheep, if you're reading this - you must dye your head blue as per our deal! Hmm. Not as if i'd have any chance of seeing you ^.^)

It's old stuff, really. My family are not at all surprised, since they've known what to expect for two years. They didn't even talk me out of it! (pinches self, nope - not dreaming). I wanted to see how people would react to me, and i bet the occasions a granma points in my direction and tells her grandkids never to follow that uncouth youth (it's rude to point, isn't it?) would be nice to blog about.

Yes, i'm taking a big risk here. Imagine me in the church congregation, sticking out like a sore thumb. Hmm.

But it should be fun. Else i'd be black for the rest of my life. Or bald.

And let's not go there.

Arashi

Got this from Abigail's frenster profile. She posted a shoutout recently.

"Shakespeare once said parting is such as sweet sorrow. I think he used the wrong adjective"


How true.

What i was doing on the first night after the SPM:

Oh, playing Dawn of War. Andrew wants to know what it's like, so here's a screenie of our match:

The SPM

You know how they say that a long wait just gives way to an anticlimax? Like a man imprisoned for 40 years, living on cigarettes and a carved picture of his wife gets out and then proceeds to ... figure out what to do. There's so many things. He could jump off a cliff. Or kiss a random woman. Or run in front of a car on the Autobahn and see if it bounces off his incredible outer shell.

Of course it doesn't. He ends up dead, in jail again, or dead. Which is why i chose to watch Casino Royale. But that's beside the point.

The first few days leading up to the spm was torture. I needed all the help i could get - support from Wen Qi with her its not too bad... is it? smses, to Abigail's last minute inspiring bible verses, to flipping through an old diary i wrote in early form 3, when the pmr was looming over the horizon. Gee, i sounder so ... young then. Like unwashed cloth hanging out to dry and catching the breeze from a nearby sulphuric acid spewing factory. And you know what i realize? A simple:


A load of things are running through my head now. I'll be planning to devoting my entire first week to UGS alone, seeing as the forum needs both its admins back for a rehaul and strategic direction. Plus the UGS blog. You members reading this listen up! We're not dying! In fact the stuff happening there are spreading in directions unseen by Kenny and i.

The rest of my holidays? I dunno yet. I'll be drafting a list of objectives tomorrow, after i clean up my room (you guys should see the papers everywhere! And the piles of notes i scribbled while studying! Urrgh!). I was thinking of reading shakespeare and listening to at least Mozart's entire oeuvre. Or Prokofiev. Or Vivaldi. Or at least every piano concerto i can get my hands on. That would be interesting.

Other than that? Playing DoW/halo and reading and coding, trying to be a more cultured (yeah right, who you're kidding?) person and finishing my latest project, most of you should know that usually means a novel. Plus now i have a free hand to join church activities, and play judo till i'm sore!

Maybe it wasn't such an anticlimax after all. Beyond gated hell lies paradise.

PS: An actual sms from Garrick the day before the SPM started:

Ced, what subject tomorrow? What time finish?

Ish.