What's Become of You?

You know when you were little, and you always wondered how you'd be when you grew up? You'd touch your chin (or other parts of your anatomy) and think when will the beard (pubes) grow? And how weird will it be when it does? And then you'd see how the grown ups were pretty strong, and they could run for hours or lift a huge-ass TV (the CRTs we had back in the day, not the LCDs of today). And you see them kick a ball half way across the field, or hit the ball over 200m with a driver, and you'd think 'when will I ever get to do that?'

And before you know it, you're already doing that. All of that.

Yet it doesn't feel the same.

You don't feel as great a twentysomething as you once thought twentysomethings were. When you were a kid, people your age now seemed more responsible, more matured, more... grown up (for lack of a better word).

But that's probably just because what you thought back then wasn't realistic (you were a kid after all).

But what if the child you--the you from when you were six or nine or 15--could see you now today? What if he or she could come over to this point in time and look at you and see you and talk to you. Would they be impressed? Would they be ashamed? Would they be shocked? What would they have to say? What would they ask?

I'm writing this on the back of realizing I had just snubbed my parents twice in the space of three days to read a book. I can paint it any which way I want--I needed some quiet, I needed 'me' time, the book was important (it wasn't), and so on and so forth--but the bottom line is I chose a book over family.

What would 12-year-old me say to this? I think he'd say--no, I think he'd scream--"What the fuck were you thinking? A book?! Kalau konsert ke apa ke takpe gak!" But he is a wuss. So it would most probably be a very nervous "But why would you do that..? And for a book..? I can understand if it was something more important, but..." He immediately hates me because at this age, he thinks it isn't cool reading books (hates school) and working in a bank-that's-not-quite-a-bank (dreams of being an architect). I tell him I also recently started a regime of oatmeal for breakfast every day, and that I have grown used to 'kurang manis' tea and coffee, and sometimes even have them without sugar at all. And I almost never take Coke, unless I'm in a cinema because it washes down the popcorn. And I know this comes as a shock to him because he loves Coke, and thinks old people are a bit weird with their tasteless drinks and kencing manis worries ("How does tea with too much sugar lead to amputating your foot?"). I can see him begin to question his own being. As if he couldn't believe he'll fall to the Dark Side. I tell him I can now tee off further than Papa, but he is unmoved. He wouldn't believe I am him, or that he will turn into me, although deep down inside his heart of hearts, he knows. He knows.

The 19-year-old me is excessively happy. He is optimistic about everything and for some reason I don't like him. I want to burst his bubble by letting him know what will transpire, but refrain, knowing that that's the most carefree, jumping around meadows throwing flowers in his head, cheesy happiness he would experience for quite a while (and I'm being modest here). To my surprise (or should I have expected this?) he doesn't ask. No questions about the future. Is he too cocky, or is he taking things for granted? Or does he really believe in the whole 'forever and ever' thing? So I tell him everything except how his love life pans out. He will love eighties music--the cheesy, sappy, low self esteem power ballads and glam rock especially. He will start to like sayur more than ever, especially terung for some reason. He will like oatmeal (without sugar) and have his coffee or tea black only and of course kurang manis. He will have simple wants, but in this world dominated by sophistication and poyo, his requests for minimalism would ironically make him look like the demanding diva he oh-so-wants to avoid being likened to. He will almost never find a watch he likes because they all have stupid fancy bezels and useless stopwatches and dual time and three small clockfaces on the clockface proper, and he also will--in due time--develop a hatred for watches whose second hand does not 'tick-tock' (those annoying ones that go round continuously). He will swallow his words and do many things he thought he wouldn't--like trying weed or smokes or gambling or going to a club or keeping his hair long. He tells me "If that's how it pans out--and you seem pretty fine--then I guess okay la kan?" I want to say he will eventually hate everyone around him who is as in-your-face happy and smug as he is right now but the words don't come out. This one he should discover himself.

Seven-year-old me would just keep quiet and nod. He knows where he stands in the world--a timid Darjah Satu student who's way out of his depth in school, who's afraid of the hundreds of faces around him chatting and laughing and crying and playing, and who is very socially awkward. He's learned that shutting the hell up and listening to others is the best course of action for every situation, every time. All his enthusiasm of being able to interact, to learn and whatnot--it's all gone. So he'd nod, and he'll answer 90% of your questions with a nod or a shake of the head, but all the while stare at you with his big round eyes, barely blinking. Which is why he would just nod away as I tell him I am him, and I have done certain things his teachers told him not to, and that I read a book instead of going out with the parents. Ah, there it is, he furrowed his eyebrow at me! He disapproves, yet stays quiet. I do not know if this says more about him or about me or how he turned into me.

The me in Form Five is much more confident, if only because of a very illuminating experience (and relations) he had throughout the year. At the sight of me, he would probably say "Bahah!" in a way that you couldn't tell if it was a laugh, a smirk or a scoff. He has done much growing up and is very similar to me. Most people wouldn't know if he was being sarcastic or serious. His face will always be stern yet it could probably be a freaking musical in his head. I want to ask him why he never took up poker, but then I realize of course I know the answer. I spare him certain details, for fear of him cheating--I don't want him to know he didn't end up an architect. I only tell him I studied to America ("WHAT? How the hell do you practice here kalau macam tu?") and I have a pretty decent job with a pretty decent pay ("Well, baru start kan... Can't expect to be doing much, can you?") and that we moved to PJ ("Ya ke? PJ? Okay") and that I spent a shit load of time and money in my four years abroad buying shoes--lots of them--and books--lots of that too ("What's with the shoes, weh? And... are they the classics--did I get into that somehow? Or Tom Clancy kinda thing or just any books or flavour of the month novels? Because I read as slow as shit and you know that"). And I say I can't help but buy all the award winning books because I feel they are important enough to warrant a read. And then I'd also tell him I still read as slow as shit but I buy more books a year then I can read anyway so my backlog only ever gets longer. ("Wouldn't that be such a waste, though?"). And I'd do the "Bahah!" thing, and he'd smile knowingly. I tell him I never bother with contact lenses because I'd rather sleep for five more minutes, and he raises an eyebrow ("Some things don't change, eh?"). I see that he's been fidgeting and uneasy the whole time, and I know he's dying to ask the more pertinent questions (he is sixteen, after all), and I answer them one by one. I can tell I have his attention, and his interest because now he is smiling (which he rarely does) and his smile shows teeth too. But I also tell him he'll fuck things up pretty bad too, so don't get his hopes too high, and he bites his lip and shrugs it off ("Win some, lose some."). I like him. He's very idealistic. It's sad to know that so much of this has disappeared due to burn out or due to conforming with everyone else. He doesn't know what I'm talking about, though. Because he only thinks of at most four things--only four, and nothing comes after them or could replace them. He only sees what's in front of him--never beyond that. So he's not that grown up yet.

A nine-year-old me would obviously freak out if I told him what's become of me. But this is only because he was caught peeping under a girl's skirt (she was standing on the desk beside him, yelling out at the class), and was warned by his teacher that any other funny business from him would result in severe punishment which he could never bear (perhaps being sent to the head mistress' office to be asked "Apa nak jadi dengan kamu ni?") and that he was being blackmailed 'duit Milo' on a daily basis by his 'friends' who would threaten to tell the teacher about the time he taught them about the birds and the bees and how men can actually do it with other men and what the words 'lancap' and 'fuck' meant. He lived in fear for much of that year. He was subdued. But he read his first book! It was The Raja Bahrin Story and he absolutely loved it. He then read two more proper novels by the end of the year--the best he'd do for a few years--so he obviously has the highest regard for my mini library. At least this one was impressed, even if only a little. I won't let him ask me any questions because I know the only thing that bothered me in 1997 was why people cared so much about the death of a divorced former princess, who wasn't even that pretty and had short hair.

As usual, I save the best for last. Now is the me from two years ago. This is the hardest because the difference isn't so drastic that we're two different people, yet it's far enough for him to want to know how his current decisions will pan out. In his present state he is numb and depressed and has lost all his joy. He cares not so much for logic or reality so he immediately believes I am who I am and asks me "Does it get any better?" and I stay quiet for a bit, wet my lip, breathe in through clenched teeth and say "Only slightly, to be honest". His forehead immediately shows at least five folds. My god, and he's barely 21. I want to pat him on the back, or ruffle his hair and say it's not that bad, but I feel that self-bromance is a little too weird for me to handle so I keep my distance. We still wear the same pair of glasses, although mine has some of its paint peeling off. He's probably secretly very happy that they'd last a few more years, and that despite the peeling paint, it doesn't rust. At least I think so. I wonder if he judges me for that. I decide he doesn't. He may have been an asshole to many, but he's not a complete and comprehensive one. He knows the longer he wears them the cheaper their cost per year will be. And then he'll stick it to the contact lens snobs. Which is ironic because that's pretty assholic too. But this is him, in a nutshell. His motives are never clear, and almost never 'correct'. I ask him if he has any questions, but he shakes his head and lets out a meek "No". He doesn't care for knowing what will be. I titillate him by asking if he wants to know what my job is like, or how the new house is, but he is too pragmatic and he only says in return "I'm sure it's all fine" because he knows what the parents will and will not accept and what I will and will not accept. So out of frustration, I tell him I got Mama's car ("It's even under my name now, ha!") and he shoots a stare at me and says "Really? That thing can still work?" so I tell him it's a little rough around the edges, gear changes aren't the smoothest ever, but it's alright, and he says "Ah, well, take good care of it. Jaga baik-baik. It could last you quite some time, that car". I want to tell him he'll be fine. Hell, I'm here, surely he should be optimistic about something? He is unhappy but I don't want to talk about it because I know when I bring it up he'll roll his eyes and say under his breath "Macam la kau tak tau, en?" But I ask anyway. I ask him if he was so depressed why doesn't he talk about it? He says it's pointless and a waste of time, especially since no one could help, and he had a degree to complete, and that every time he complained, someone else would have a worse/more dramatic story to tell, effectively 'stealing his thunder', so why even bother. So I ask him then, of all the bridges in Pittsburgh he crosses every day, how come he never jumped off any, if he was so depressed, if he was so sad, so heartbroken, so lonely? He smiles weakly and says "Because that would be too easy".

And this is where the twist happens--because twists only happen at the end. I am always the one with knowledge of the what will be--they were always privileged to hear I had to say. But suddenly the tables have been turned and Future Me appears. Now I'm the one with the lump in my throat, thinking 'Oh, shit, what am I gonna be?' as I suppress a shiver and take his hand. He tells me despite all the conclusions I made about the other mes, I'm just as "not grown up" as them. Because this was supposed to be about what they would think or say but I have somehow made it all about me.

Let's Get Grammar-y and Shit

Simple one first.

Deadline
The closing date. The submission date. The last moment for you to do something. Hence 'dead'. Please don't misuse this again.

Dateline
That city/date combination at the beginning of news reports. Ever heard of those? No? Well, you know those annoying toilet paper things your parents waste RM1.00 on every day to read pointless stuff on? It's the stuff printed on that thing. And in the days before news was reported by jane24 or @ahmadT (follow me!) who could be anywhere in the world sitting smugly with a cup of coffee watching a Skype feed of a riot instead of being on-site, real news was reported by a real person with the city's name and reporting date stamp at the beginning. The city's name would all be in capital letters, so you'd have to be quite oblivious (or stupid, really) to not notice this. It sort of goes like this.

KUALA LUMPUR, DEC 17---Yours truly attended Ruth Sahanaya's 25th anniversary concert tonight...

In case you still couldn't notice it, I made it bold, underlined it, italicised it, and even used a different font. Here it is again, unchanged, for your comparison.

KUALA LUMPUR, DEC 17---Yours truly attended Ruth Sahanaya's 25th anniversary concert tonight...

Simple. Also, don't confuse this with the International Date Line, which is the line that separates one day from another, somewhere near Samoa. Crossing this line westward sends you one day forward; eastward sends you one day back.

Now here's an interesting one: Why is it never a "ten-years plan"?

I honestly don't know what the rule is called but I should have this line in bold so you'll know this is the next thing
As a noun (if you don't know what that is, please print this page if you can, crumple it up, and go fuck yourself), numbers stick to the normal rule. No hyphens. Pluralise if it's more than one. Simple. It gets complicated when you use numbers to describe something, like a 'ten-year plan'.

She is eighteen years old.
That's her twenty-year-old brother.

For some reason, in the second case, all three words (or however many it takes to form the phrase) are joined together to form an adjective of sorts. And for some godforsaken reason, you don't have to pluralise--nay, you are forbidden from pluralising! (I did the whole font, underline, bold thing again, so you know I mean business).

Another common misconception of the need for a hyphen would be in the word 'long-term'. Or was that 'long term'? See what I did there? Ha! Anyway, same thing as above, really.

Results will be noticeable in the long term.
This is why it's a called long-term programme.

Rules for hyphenation go much deeper than this, but you'll rarely use it anyway, so I can't be bothered. Apparently adjectivising (is that even a word?) any word that has an -ed suffix requires a hyphen. Hot-headed, for one. But of course we couldn't give a rat's ass, so we can cross that bridge when we get there.

And how do we substitute?

Substitute Crisco for butter
Does that mean I'm using Crisco instead of butter? Or vice versa? Sometimes it sounds like the former is right. Sometimes, it's the latter.

It's the former. You substitute something new/better for something old/not as good. But you change something old/broken for something new/better. So be careful when using "substitute". As a follower of soccerball, I--just as many others--have been corrupted by years of ill-informed punditry and commentary about who goes off the field and is replaced by who.

Substitute A for B: A comes on for B
Substitute A with/by B: B comes on for A
Change A for B: B comes on for A
Replace A with B: B comes on for A

Next up, the difference 'a' makes.

A few & Few
Let's take this sentence as an example:

We've had (a) few problems.

Is that a complaint or is that brushing it off in a rather 'meh' manner? Let's see, then.

"A few" sort of means "many" but with a slight extra to it, as if there were more than is desired, but toned down. It's just an annoyingly modest way of saying "many" without explicitly saying it. Expanded, this sentence can sound more positive or negative, depending on the context:

We've had a few problems but we're fine.
We've had a few problems so we're in the shit.

Here, the number of problems is more than the speaker would wish. There emphasis on the amount of problems, but the speaker is holding back to be modest. Try substituting "many" for "a few" (hey, we're already applying shit we learned!).

The opposite is true for "few" (without the preceding 'a'); the connotation to this is that the number is less than is desired. Here's the sentence, expanded:

We've had few problems--it's okay, really.

In this case, the number is so small it's negligible. Here's an easy tip to help you out. Just add "quite" and/or "very" and it'll all make sense.

We've had quite a few problems but we're fine.
We've had very few problems--it's nice, really.

This also sometimes applies to "(a) little", by the way.

Why is it like this? Well, I suppose these are like 'its' and 'it's'. It could all have been much less ambiguous. It'd surely have saved millions of teachers having to remind their kids a bajillion times "Apostrophe 'it's', only for 'it is'! Non-apostrophe 'its', only for self reference!"

A similar case is evident in Bahasa Melayu (or Bahasa Malaysia, who gives a shit anymore?) by having the passive voice prefix di- and having the preposition (kata sendi) di. A million signboards out there are wrongwrongwrong! because the geniuses entrusted with this task don't know the difference: Di Larang Buang Sampah; Dapatkan Disini!

But to be fair, way back in the days when people started to actually give a shit about all these rules, they probably weren't as well connected or as well informed as we are now; many must not have gotten the memo. They probably only had candlelight at night--or in the day, if they lived in caves. I don't know. Also, back then people in different areas would obviously have very different understandings (think British-American spelling discrepancy). Yet look at what they've done. Credit to them--no, bow down, doff your cap, worship and peluk-cium them if possible--for what they accomplished. We have so much these days--the internet, the smart-ass phones, the fancy computers, Google and all that jazz (and also all that jizz, badum-pish!)--but honestly, how many times have you Googled about language or grammar? I did some these past two weeks, but only because of work (Ampersand or 'and'? To hyphen or not?). Nowadays, despite having all the help we can get, we've only sped up the fucking up of all their effort.

It's sad, really.

Einstein, Newton and Pascal Play Hide and Seek

Einstein counts; Pascal runs away; and Newton draws a 1m × 1m box around himself.

Einstein immediately yells "Aha! I have found you Newton!"

But Newton calmly says "No, my friend. You have found one Newton per square meter. Thus you have found Pascal!"

Gotta love geeky jokes :D

Seey Yoy Tomorroy Noight At Stay-dium Poot-chrah, Bookit Juhleel!

FAO radio deejays and/or the idiots who are in charge of the hiring and firing of them

Why are there only three types of deejays?

First you have the anchorman-esque guy who speaks fluently and clearly and who would most certainly be the voice of the next public service message. Ross, I think, from Light & Easy or LightFM or whatever they're called now, is the best example. My current pet peeve, apart from the excruciatingly annoying Delicia Waffle ad, is his thing about his friends Lai Ming (sounds like the Chinese girls school tepi KLCC) and an Indian boy and how they were like the poster boys for muhibbah and how this whole 1Malaysia bullshit was how we were and how we still can be. As far as I'm concerned, all I take out of that is that "we're not". But anyway, deejays like him are fine, especially for a station like Light. He may sound boring, he may even sound like your dad--but sometimes you need simplicity. None of that energy or chaos. Just a relaxing (or boring, if you're that cynical) voice to transition you into the next song. I guess he appeals to the demographic. For fuck's sake, they play "Tie A Yellow Ribbon Round The Old Oak Tree". Paham-paham ah kan.

Next up is the annoying twentysomething hipster. They exude coolness and are (sometimes) funny, but, true to the "never went full retard" philosophy of appeal, have a ridiculous fear or vulnerability, gaining them your sympathy or at least an "awwh". These are the ones with a little too much energy, and try so hard to be funny. Sometimes, maybe they even try a little too hard and it gets very lame. They will scream and laugh and be giggling like a 14-year old girl, whether or not they're a guy or girl. Sometimes, their mengada-ness is actually annoying, when they in fact tried to be endearing. I suppose most radio deejays are like this. Perhaps, with a bit of censorship and editing, this paragraph could be a job ad for radio stations? I'm not saying that just because they don't appeal to me, they fail at doing their jobs. No. I'm pretty far away from your average twentysomething. If I have to have the radio, I'll only tune in to Mix or Light. If they can both conspire to disappoint me, then it's Traxx. But alas, I digress. I can understand that you want to appeal to the biggest chunk of the segment and whatnot. But none of them are household names, nor are they rockstars of their industry. Perhaps a change to spice things up?

I know I said three, but I kind of forgot about the third type. In fact, I just realized that my beef is actually with the idiots who record advertisements. And coincidentally At The Beginning just started playing (fuck you, Anastasia's an awesome flick), so let's rewind shall we?

FAO radio advertisement voices and/or the idiots who are in charge of the hiring and firing of them

These are the true culprits. Why do they sound Australian? No. Ows-tryl-yun. Seriously. Why can't a Malaysian radio station  pronounce Malaysian names properly? I went to see David Foster & Friends, which was awesome. But the day before the show, I heard an ad for the customary free tickets contest. Yet the voice was Australian. No. Ows-tryl-yun. "Seey yoy tomorroy noight at Stay-dium Poot-chrah, Bookit Juhleel!" he said. Juhleel. Fuck me, are we all that crazy for Mat Sallehs that even an annoyingly thick Aussie accent is what we need? It's not like it was one-off. We've had these Aussie-sounding ads for years now. I doubt Australia enjoys listening to someone with a Glaswegian or Ah Beng accent for all their goings on. Get rid, please. Go scout any public speaking class/contest and pay him/her for your ads. Apa susah sangat?

If they don't sound Australian--no, Ows-tryl-yun--idiots in ads (adiots?) will try as best as is possible to conform to a Malaysian stereotype. You have the Ah Beng ("Eh, we same-same la, Boss. I oso do like dat wan! Chree time you know!"). You can just imagine him picking his gold tooth with his three inch-long pinkie fingernail as he persuades you to buy godknowswhat. Then you have the Macha, whose every W vill be a V (see what I did there?), or was that V becomes W? And their every word that ends in T or D will have it amplified. Like a qalqalah. Go ask your Muslim friend what that means. An Arab-speaker might know this, too. Is tajwid Arabic grammar, then? Or is it just for reading the Quran? If you do know, drop me a line. Anyway. I'm surprised there isn't a conservative "tak baik lah" Minah Tudung option. Perhaps they are confined to Era only. That would make sense, I guess. But what would I know about Era.

Last, but not least, would be the musical ads. Of course radio is for your aural pleasure only, so you make the best of sounds. And music is catchy. Listen to radio for two hours and rate the musical ads you hear. Before you're done, you've probably cut your ears off, then shot yourself to end the misery. Off the top of my head, the current 'favourites' are Delicia Waffles, Sunwhite Rice and newcomer Poslaju. Delicia uses an original composition (at least I think so), but they score no points for originality, and overachieve when it comes to annoyingness:

I love my waffles, Delicia waffles. I love em with ice cream, I love em with honey. They're yummy yummy yummy... !@#$^%&^&*()(*&%%$ ...waffle-waffle-waffle... waffle-waffle-waffle... waffle-waffle-waffle

Gardenia used to have such a simple and nice ad for their bread. Then they fucked it up with a fancy-schmancy guitar riff and whatnot and have a full song about....bread. No one gives a shit. They buy it, sapu peanut butter, telan. And now they have Delicia, which must mean they thought the bread ad was a success. Maybe (and I shudder at the thought)... it was. Now, if you haven't ripped an ear off yet, Sunwhite Rice will definitely make you do it. Seriously:

Mommmmmmmmy loves the Sunwhite Rice, Sunwhite Rice, Sunwhite Rice
Mommmmmmmmy loves the Sunwhite Rice, AAA for quality!

Going to the tune of London Bridge, this abomination of an ad is sung by a Chinese girl who--if you've heard it many enough times--sounds like she knows how stupid it is, but is simply acting professionally to get the job done to get paid. It is that bad. I'll let you judge the Poslaju ad yourselves. They can't even get the syllables right, for fuck's sake.

Remember the days of "755-2525! 755-2525! Pizza Hut Special Delivery"? They don't make 'em like they used to, I guess.

This is Malaysia. At the end of every sentence we add lah and kan and meh or mah and of course, doh. Regardless of whether or not it's English or Malay we try to speak, it kind of sounds the same at times. Obviously there'll be a bias towards one language but you get the point. But for all the rojakness of our language and the sheer stupidity of the people, come the fuck on--we can't be that dumb to only be attracted to the stereotype? Or annoying songs and jingles?


Why?

And So It Has Begun

Work, that is.

You see, despite being a central bank scholar for five years, I never quite knew what the fuck we do. All I knew was that we're a bank that's not quite a bank. And all the time we're told great things are expected of us because historically the scholars tend to do better. Right. No pressure then.

There is almost no point in my degree. My four years in university in Pittsburgh--yes. But the degree? Not really. It's been three months since I've joined this 9-to-6 rat race, and I can't quite think of anything from my classes that is reflected in any of my work. But my Excel and Powerpoint skillz (yes, that's with a 'Z'), knowledge of funky 'new' business models (which have been around for years in USA), and of esurance ads ("Technology when you want them, people when you don't")--all of which I garnered through four years in the Steel City--has somehow helped me as I slave away in my cubicle. Also, the cubicle. It's kinked. It can fit six people per island. Not very cubish at all.

But anyway, work isn't as bad as people say. And I say this despite having seven (7) supervisors who can, at any time of the day, call me to menghadap and discuss whatever or just to pass me something due besok before lunch please. They are all sat around me from my one o'clock all the way counterclockwise to my four o'clock. It's a pain at times, but I have to say getting praised for a job well done, or just doing it efficiently or improving on the current process--well it just gives you a sense of satisfaction. And I enjoy this. Somewhat.

My only beef with the workplace comes in the form of the kiasus who can't shut up about their KPIs, as well as broken Engrish. The former first. Anyone who's a fresh grad will not know shit, no matter how high their CGPA, or how classy their British degree is. Even someone who with a shitload of experience will not know the machinations of a new organization. This is a simple fact that any 14-year old can tell you. So why are we banging on about how it's unfair that we can't get high ratings and whatnot? Wait your turn, work your way up. Even if you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth your dad's penis probably put it there. Or your mom's gyne; it doesn't just appear from nowhere. Again, this is a simple fact that any 14-year old can tell you. Fine, maybe not the gyne part but you get my point. If you really are that good, prove it. And that requires time. You don't just have to show that you're awesome. You also have to show that you're not an idiot either. Sure, you did good last week. But will you do the same this week? And next? Really, just shut up and deal with it.

My biggest achievement during my first month was to get someone to say 'expedite' correctly, instead of expedeet. What was good about it (at least I thought so) was the manner in which I did so. I just kept saying it right until said person finally said it right. It made me happy. My lips may not have moved, but I was smiling from ear to ear on the inside. Previously, I have always been the better one; I had a certain authority about me when it came to speaking the language, despite mistakes of my own every now and then. However, in an office where you're the most junior member (and youngest, at that) and you have to deal with people who are mothers and grandfathers and whatnot, how do you say oh that's wrong, it should be this instead? Actually that sounded quite good/okay. Funny how I never thought of that before. But that's one small battle. I can only say I've made a substantial contribution to the war once I rid the office/department/organization from saying 'develop' as 'devlep'. That's the Big One. The Holy Grail. Anyway. That's only pronunciation. There's also grammar (haih), misuse of my beloved apostrophe, and of course the lack of use of the page break in Word.

Okay, that last one isn't English per se. But still. When printing stuff, it should be in Arial 12. But for the warga emas, they kind of want it in Arial 14, double-spaced. And what happens when you increase the font size and spacing? The charts get fucked up, and the title is the last line of the page and that's just not pretty or befitting of something from our department/organization innit. Had these geniuses embraced the wonder of the page break--it's Alt+Enter in Word, UPA--the lives of so many people would be made much easier, blood pressure levels won't be so high, and well, thing would be better.

Unsolved Mysteries

 

I see this logo every day (at least when I'm in Malaysia). And ever since I first saw it God knows how many years ago, I have always wondered why the hell the white N has a taller spine than the red one. Why? That extra white space up there just pisses me off. When I see it, my eyes are immediately attracted to it. It looks like a red N in a white H. I have no qualms with the right 'leg' being thicker; the red and white parts are the same. I have no issue with the white N/H's legs touching each other, effectively isolating the blue bit in the middle away from the rest of its peers. Just that stupid white spot up top.

And it taunts me. It mocks me. "I'm here. No matter how much you disagree with me. You don't know why I'm like this. And you'll just have to deal with it." I don't know about the rest of the world, but here in Malaysia, the paint industry's advertizing is pretty aggressive so that N-in-an-H is pretty much ubiquitous. I doubt it's a household name, but I'm sure most people would know what it is. So not only do I see it everywhere, I think about it sometimes. Which means I think of that white spot. And it's come to a point where all it says to me is a simple, short and sweet "Fuck off" because it knows what I'm thinking.

I may or may not have made my peace with this stupid eyesore. But I guess I actually like this relationship between man and irritating logo anomaly. Obviously holding a grudge against something that only exists in your head is a tad bit off the mark, but to be fair, I would prefer the more colorful story. In this new house of ours, everything looks new and somewhat ... lifeless. It has no history, no mark, nothing. It's like a hotel--pretty, but emotionless. Then I dropped a bottle of thinner on the floor and it ate into the varnish and I now have a weird spot that's a million times more of an eyesore than the afore-mentioned white spot. Even when touched up, you could still see a puke-like stain. And suddenly this room feels like my own. So, back to the point: weird is more interesting than normal.

Some things are best left unsaid. Or unknown. Even if you can find out. Easily. You can Google it, use Yahoo! Answers or Ask Jeeves or whatever. Or just use facebook or whichever online forum you subscribe to and get 99 assholic/annoying/takde kaitan/useless/piece-of-shit answers before someone actually points you in the right direction. Things that are unknown to us always hold a certain mystique. Like the Moon. Or the sea (bed). Or Area 51. Aliens. Yet the truth has two sides--we also have the unknowns that serve only to sakitkan hati. The ones that are always there bugging you. Little things too insignificant for you to give two shits about. Yet annoyingly persistent, like an irritating gnat. Or this white spot. But is it a bad thing? Should we spend any and all of our free time finding out the silly little things we've always wanted to know?

You see, someday someone's gonna tell me something like "Oh, the logo is supposed to look like a siput, that's why it's like that" for instance, and everything about the logo will make sense to me. And suddenly my old pal the white spot doesn't exist anymore. He's there. But I won't see him. Nor will I hear him. I don't want that, somehow.

Ignorance is bliss in cases like this. So why ruin a good thing.

Free Range Meat Idiots

Back in the day when we were kids (the mid 90s, perhaps), no one really gave a rat's ass about where your food came from. Okay, maybe they did. But not to the extent that they questioned anything more. In Malaysia, especially--asalkan halal, it's all good. But people around the world 'progressed'. Or became 'progressive'. Or whatever. And then they decided that animals must now be treated like humans. While I agree that we should treat them ethically and with care, I feel that some may have gone a bit too far. It's almost as if they want their farmers to raise hippie cows and chickens.

I can understand giving them certain basic rights whilst in captivity. I can understand the need to feed them proper food. I can understand not making them sleep in their own shit. I can understand banning the use of steroids or other substances to enhance their growth. And I can most certainly understand the hike in the price when you incur all these additional (yet necessary) costs.

What I don't understand is the idiots out there (the very same ones who blow the "love our animals" or "free range only!" horn) who complain about how they can't eat beef anymore because it's fucking RM18 per kg. 

It's kind of your fault, bruv.

Quote of the Week

When suggesting a massage gift card as a birthday gift for a friend, her (you know who you are) response was:

"she won't like it. she wont let anyone touch her period."

A comma is there to make sure your sentence is grammatically perfect for a very good reason. What makes it funnier is that she can type the word 'period' but yet she can't type a comma.

Cheers :D

Acronyms

If you were on facebook or Tw@tter or whatever during the last year or so--or probably even longer than that--you may have received a message such as SHJ or HB, SHR MZB! or even MC or MX! or probably HNY or GXFC. Quite some time ago I'd have ended the preceding sentence with "... from the many idiots whom you call your friends, whether by choice or not". In fact, I kind of already did by saying that. Anyway, the point here is that people are beginning to take acronyms a little too far.

Useless, meaningless phrases like WTF or ATM or BRB are, IMO, a necessary evil. They convey nothing; no emotion or anything. LOL, on the other hand, is a contradiction by definition. "Laugh out loud" (not online, as some people might think) isn't quite laughing, nor is it loud. Sure, it should be all in capital letters, but nowadays who does, really? Why send three letters to represent anything that can range from a snicker all the way to laughing until you get belly cramps? Sending an insipid lol in reply to something that made you laugh (or even smile) is just poor form.

But I digress. The lollers outnumber us; and fighting them is fighting a losing battle. But that's something we can agree to disagree seeing as to how it's not that big of a deal. The issue, then, is when you wish someone "happy birthday" with just two letters. Two. Maybe three, if you add an exclamation mark. Come on, whoever the hell he or she is, it's his/her day. It only comes once a bloody year. You can't take the effort (and time, for those of you yang berkira) to say something in full? The same goes for Hari Raya or Christmas or new year's or whatever the hell else. HMD? She fucking gave birth to you, and all you can say is HM-motherfucking-D? Even the simplest of smileys are two characters long, for fuck's sake. And with all your qwerty and touchscreen phones, or your tablets or netbooks or whatever the hell you take along with you, what's the deal? Apa susah sangat? MZB, is that how you ask for forgiveness?

I know this is petty; that it shouldn't bother me that much. But seriously, it's the little things in life isn't it? Think about it. First it's this, tomorrow it's something else, next week another, and so on and so forth. I'm actually beginning to understand what it is people mean when they say they can't bear to bring up their kids in such a terrible place. Ctrl+Tab a few times until you get to your facebook or Tw@tter tab and skim it through. Missing apostrophes, trolling or winding up for the bloody fun of it, bad or lack of punctuation, checking in wherever the hell you are, the whole 'fail', 'win' and 'epic' bullshit, or simply sentences you'd think were written by retards. We weren't brought up like that. We make these silly mistakes knowing what's right. But how will the next generation fare? Think about how you were taught in school, and how your family spoke at home. Now try putting yourself in your parent's shoes. We had skema, by-the-book authorities, who pretty much practiced what they preached. I highly doubt the same can be said today.

Again, those are all little things we can live with. But when you factor in the way everything else is changing--music, prices, society's attitudes; hell, even the way we live our lives--you just get the feeling that it's not going to be a very fun place for your kids to grow up in.

Required Hate of the Day: Idiots Who Take Forever to Get In/Out of Elevators (or Lifts).

When you press the button to call the lift (or elevator), after a delay of about a second or so, it comes up to your floor. This delay is expected. Yet it's meaningless, even if you were in a rush because you know it has to start up and whatnot.

And then there are times when the lift doesn't come to you directly. It stops somewhere along the way. Fine, you think, it's just a couple of seconds since apa lah susahnya nak keluar/masuk lif kan? Door opens, walk through, door closes. Even if you had something to carry or you were on a mobility buggy, it won't take that much longer. So that's another few seconds then, no biggie.

But then there are those very rare times--perhaps more than two standard deviations away from the norm--when you have something really heavy to carry or you get something stuck, then maybe, just maybe, it'll take a few minutes. But these things only happen like, what, once a week? Once a month?

This building doesn't have ADA-friendly ramps, so no one with a buggy lives/comes here. It's mostly students, who obviously (like me) wake up 30 minutes before class and are therefore in a hurry to get to campus. Also on the college student thing, we don't have rush hours--some have their first class at 8:30AM, some have 'em at 1:30PM--so there should never be that scene where someone else keeps rushing in just when the door is about to close. You have the odd drug dealer, who would obviously want to get the fuck out of the place as soon as possible. All the old people and/or their office-clinics are on the ground floor so they never use the lifts (or elevators). There's never been a trash bag too big, or laundry too much that it takes you forever and a fucking day to shove it in the elevator (or lift) or drag it out of. These instances are not isolated to early/late in the semester when people move in/out--it happens far too often and is spread out too evenly for a possible seasonal/period effect--but even for moving in/out we have a freight elevator (or lift) for furniture.

You'd think the elevators (or lifts) would come to you really quick. You'd think.

So why is it then that, every so often, you find yourself pressing the button on your eighth floor, then staring at the display and seeing it go 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6...6... 7... 8... *ding*? It's not just the sixth floor (that's just an example, not singling you out or anything). It's every godforsaken floor, for fuck's sake. And it's not just this building. I'm pretty sure everyone has similar experiences elsewhere.

Why?

It's not that hard, you know, this elevator (or lift) thing. It takes about six seconds from when it starts to decelerate, open its doors, you getting out/in, you pressing the button, door closes and for it to start accelerating again. Noobs don't even need hand-eye or hand-leg coordination unlike escalators. You just walk. That's something you learn even before you learn how to speak.

So tell me, why do we wait ages for an idiot on another floor? Or, better yet if you're one of those idiots reading this, what do you do that takes you so long? You know what, the wait is annoying enough as it is, but continually thinking how you idiots get in/out of a lift (or elevator) is so much more irritating than it should ever be.