Work It, Dawg!

Go, little dog, go! And after that, a couple of sit-ups would do the trick. How could anyone hate dogs. hmm?

BlackBerry? More Like BleaughBerry!

Ah yes... my first post in... I don't know how long. Down to business, I'm sick and tired of seeing BlackBerries everywhere! I can understand if you're the big kahuna or even just an ordinary employee in some major company whom everybody is looking for 24/7. But, high schoolers and college students??? No fucking way! What the hell is wrong with their parents? They don't use it for anything else other than chatting / updating their status on Facebook. That's really pathetic. Ah yes, status. I despise people who buys stuff just to swagger their status. Buying BlackBerries to show the world that you're higher than the crowd just shows that you're compensating for something. People can be so ludicrous sometimes. All I'm saying is people should not buy such an expensive device if they aren't going to OR able to use it to its full potential. Status seekers and people who doesn't understand the value of money (as in its not their own so fuck it!). Those are the kinds of BlackBerry users that I look down on.

Welcome to the Land of Copycats

Let's say that there's this hypothetical country where most of the people are always in need of entertainment however shallow or unoriginal it may be. Let's further assume that you got hold of a script, a leading man, and several supporting actresses. You also got a budget that's just enough for everything. So you went on to shoot the movie and finished after two weeks of shooting ('cos if it takes longer than that, you'd have to cut back on the editing guys, thus postponing your long awaited vacation to Europe). 

Now all you need is a poster to promote the movie. You've thought of hiring some moderately creative graphic designers, but nah, those guys are always overrated. Thanks to the undemanding and lenient nature of the hypothetical people, that really isn't a big deal. Using all of your wits and creativity, you managed to Google a perfect Hollywood movie poster that's not that widely used. So you decided to steal inspire yourself and copy adopt it as your own. You don't really feel bad about it, as you've done this before for as long as you can remember. 'Cos in this accommodating hypothetical society, you're allowed to do it as long as you want.

Touchstone Pictures, give 'em hell!

The Soap Opera Special - Season 1

1 The apocalyptic news.
Conveyed in a 'by the way' tone sugar coated with an innocent smile that has been clinging on every single hopeful imagination for the past year or so.

2 The crack.
Ever so faint, yet agonizingly loud at the same time. You try to listen to it, but you're listening to silence. You know its fucking real, though. Every fucking crack on your soul.

3 The spontaneous combustion.
You start feeling warm and nothing else. That cold glass you're holding, not a single chill. Then a surge of heat comes in. You can feel it inside. You want it to go away. You beg it to go away. Fat chance, asshole. The heat is now your new best friend, better get used to it.

4 The rubbing. (As in rubbing it in...)
The news, the crack, the heat, those are just hors d'oeuvres, my friend. Then the stories sweeps in... narrated, once again with the brilliantly concealed iniquitous smile. Dear God, those stories. A tale worthy of praises and awards ('mesmerizing and gripping' - The Times). No details left unsaid. Every single word slices and dices their way through your soul (or what's left of it). You wonder how could a person be so oblivious.

5 The endorsement.
Here comes the fun part. You are in f-u-c-k-i-n-g p-a-i-n but guess what, you still manage to give her your best smile. You give your approval. You endorse her newfound Romeo. Even after you arrived home later that night, the "I'm happy as long as you're happy" bullshit slips out your mouth, leaving a painful stabbing feeling in your gut. The classic cliffhanger for a soap opera, the nastiest sensation crafted by God.

To think that you came all the way down there with a bad case of the flu, a bag full of hopes and a fully functioning heart. Yes, Ms. Morissette, it is Ironic. Yes Mr. Boyd, it is a Sick Sad Little World. Cheers, Aristotle. May you rest in peace. Cue 'What a Wonderful World' and fade out.

Note:
Some of you will understand, some of you won't. If you don't understand, be grateful. If you do, hang in there. Somebody someday will stop all this nonsense.

The Perfect Soundtrack For...

Acoustic guitars, gentle rythms, sensible drum beats, the occasional piano notes and an everyday voice: the perfect recipe for an easy listening album. Jack Johnson's style is so undemanding that you'd be listening through his newest album without a single touch of hesitation. 'Sleep Through the Static' is the perfect soundtrack for:
1. Sunday driving.
2. After-hours in the office waiting for the rain to stop, cursing silently on your God given lack of skill to multi-task which naturally makes you extremely focused on one job while at the same time disregarding everything else including bringing your raincoat to work since you're using the friggin motorcycle that day.
3. The long and winding drive home after going on a what-you-hoped-was-a date date with the perfect illustration of God's creation you've secretly fallen in love with for a long time just to be ditched after an hour of apparently-it-wasn't-a-fucking-date date and all the while vowing to yourself not fall down that same old well again though you desperately wished every single call coming out of your cellphone to be from her (while most of it was from work, why God, why!?).
4. Writing down a suspiciously detailed blog entry (mixed with 'Continuum', 'Saturday Nights & Sunday Mornings', and 'Parachutes').

Details are meant to be impartial to any of the writer's or his colleagues' past experience.

... or are they?

The Time (Or Lack Thereof) of Our Lives

My first blog in weeks. Time has definitely become a luxury lately. Wake up, go to work, sleep, repeat. The vicious cycle of the market research work force (and many other out there, I'm sure). Life outside the office is close to non-existent. The same goes for the pay. Why am I here, I wonder from time to time. Beats the hell out of me. All I know is that this particular job is a natural predator for social lives and relationships (even for the ones you're not in yet and hope to be in). I don't hate my job. But I detest the time demands.

A Day To Remember

"In a better world I would have kissed her over the ice trays and that would have been the end of all our troubles. But you know exactly what kind of world we live in. It ain't no fucking Middle-earth. I just nodded my head, said, See you around, ____, and drove home."

Yunior
The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao

happy validation day everybody!

Think Adidas, Think Batik

Just when you thought tradition can't be cool, the good people at Adidas shows you how it's properly done. The newest addition to their ever growing Materials of the World project uses intricate designs inspired by none other than INDONESIAN Batik. Batik is actually a method of dying exquisite decorative features on fabrics. It's a well known tradition handed down over generations that unfortunately has been subjected to lots of imitation and copyright disputes by neighboring countries. (Get your own tradition, pirates!)

History aside, three products will be introduced: Metro Attitude Hi sneakers, track jacket, and cap. You can find out more about them here.







Facts: Indonesians mostly use Batik to formal parties, semi-formal parties, especially weddings. They are also used as government official and school uniforms. Batik was introduced to the world by Soeharto in a UN conference back in the 70s.

Thanks to Hamdun for sharing the info.

What the?

Missed this one, eh, Google?


click on the pictures for a better view.

Buck You!

... and buck you too, Fush!

One Leash, Please!

Brain Damaged

I just found out that goldfish have a memory span of only 3 seconds. Must be hard for them. They're like, "I'm gonna swim over to that little rock ornament over there and... Whoa, look at that nice rock ornament over there, maybe I'll... Hey, what's that? Wow, what a nice rock ornament... ." This goes on and on for 6-8 years until eventually they die of old age. (Or until they simply forget to breathe).

Speaking of brain disorders, I also happen to have one... or two... okay three. The first one is that I forget appointments, birthdays, daily activities that should be a routine, even names. That's normal, you say? Well, yeah, come to think about it, forgetfulness is such a common memory problem. Everyone tends to have one from time to time. I just wish that mine doesn't have to take place on a daily basis.

The second one is a part of my defense mechanism. Or at least I hope it is. Remember that Aussie girl from Lost who had several days of her life completely wiped out from her memory? Mine is something like that. How shall I put this into words? It's fairly easy for me to blank over bad memories. Like that time when... um... when... . Well, you get the point.

Now this last one is really annoying and not to mention dangerous. I almost crashed once because of it. Imagine this, you're driving a good distance from the car in front of you. Suddenly the car slows down. You noticed the blazing red brake lights. You noticed that car going to a halt. You can even start to read those tiny numbers at the bottom of the license plate. But somehow you fail to see the magnitude of putting your feet on the brake pad. The oh so vital infos from the retina reached your brain alright, but that's it, rendering you oblivious to what's about to happen. Suddenly your brain kicks in and all the infos came knocking down. You hit the brakes harder than you think possible leaving a trail of tiremarks behind. You manage to avoid the collision, barely. This rarely happens but when it does, dear God help me.

Well, sucks to be me, ain't it? But at least my memory's good enough to write a blog or something. Hey, look at that nice rock ornament!

What Vacation?

At long last I'm back! Phew, it's been a while! I blame my previous slower than snail ISP. I subscribed to a new one this morning and it's [pause for effect] blinding fast! Finally, a connection with nitrous oxide.

Greetings From Batam

I am currently in Batam, whiling away all my free time before I have to wake up every morning to commute in concert with everyone else who refuse to be jobless. Got a decent room at a peculiarly named hotel (Planet Holiday, go figure!) with an internet connection. A free broadband internet connection. It's faster than my internet connection back home (which is like comparing a Daihatsu to a Ferrari). I really don't need the olympic size pool, the natural spa, or the fitness center ('cos I'm fit as it is... NOT!), just give me an internet connection and you'll summon the jolly 'ol geek within. I'll be going to Singapore via ferry first thing tomorrow morning. Dunno what I can do there though, what with the thunderstorms on the forecast and lack of... liquidity. But if you play nice, I promise to bring you home chocolates. ;)

Economics Does Not Make a Better Man Out of Me

It took 3 years for me to realize that economics is not my forte. Graphic designing is my forte, along with computers, photography, and hopefully, marketing (an idea still in the making). You might be wondering, "why did you enroll in that friggin faculty, you dumbass?" Well, boys and girls, years ago when I was in high school, my economics grade was way better than average and although I'm starting to get good at computers, I was majoring in social sciences, sad for me. My graphic design skills were virtually non existent (papa graphic and mama design just started dating in my last highschool year. Their son was born sometime during my second year of college. Took em long enough...). Anyway, I did the most logical thing that I can think of back then, I signed up to the best economics school in the country (Back then, my university was the best in it's class. Now... it's just the same-o, lame-o, crap-o). Hey, don't give me that look! If you're in my position, you'd probably do the same thing.

Where was I? Oh yeah, my early college days. Those average grades kept falling and falling from the first year. Luckily on the second year of college, fate introduced me to the very wonderful world of,... you've guessed it, graphic design! You should've seen my first design. Truthfully it's just three cliparts mashed-up for no particular reason. It was the worst graphic design in history, but it was also the start of something big (*still crossing my fingers...*). Computer and photography skills also went up several notches. Again, the realization came just a tad too late. I went through my third year and cross over the closing line for changing faculties just like that. So, here I am, a graphic designer / IT specialist wannabe / photographer extraordinaire trapped in the world of economics for my sixth year. This week I'll be presenting my final research to three very faculty members and going through that comprehension test to finally get out of this God-forsaken faculty. My advise for all you good people out there: find your dreams before you hit the ground, then run like hell!

Six years of wasteful opportunity costs. F**k em. Now let's get this over with.

Me, That Old Guy, and That Girl

In my country, people often view native girls hanging out with expatriates (we call them bule here, pronounced boo-lay, perhaps not that different with 'haole') as hookers. Of course, this is not always the case, but the basic rules to tell apart the hookers from the non hookers are as follows:
1. Usually the expat is far older than the hooker. Like... 15-20 years older... .
2. Hookers wears skimpy dresses (courtesy of the expatriates).
3. Most importantly, only a handful of hookers are fluent in English, as they don't need to take an English Proficiency Test to apply for their job. They may understand basic English, but they sure aren't ace conversationalists.

Those rules will apparently be put to the test later in this blog.

By the by, I'm writing this in Starbucks. Sitting on a sofa in front of me is a 'bule' and his hooky (sounded sweet in my head, thought I'd give it a try here). She's sitting next to my sofa. Here's how it happened. I was waiting for my ex, we were supposed to have dinner tonight. But she's available after 6, so I went to Starbucks and settled down on a three sofa table accompanied by a glass of frappe. I took out my trusty Macbook, put on my iPod, and started to revise my final paper. All's well for an hour. Took a gander at my watch, got half an hour left.

Out of nowhere, this 40 something bule came to me and asked if the sofa in front of me is taken. Half listening to Daughtry, I gave him a nod. To my bewilderment, Instead of pulling the sofa to another table, he sat there and motioned her young (20ish) lady friend wearing a short-short-short miniskirt to sit on the sofa next to me... . The place was empty for God's sake! Does he have to sit here at my table? My mind was stuck between "crap, do these guys know me?" and "awkward... awkward... awkward...". I tried to ignore them at first, hoping that they'd somehow have the decency to move those sofas a bit. But noooo... they're comfortable sitting there and chatting while I'm here, writing my blog to keep my sanity... and while I'm at it, I thought, I might as well make good use out of this situation.

Now, I refuse to engage in any conversation with them because then it would be harder for me to leave. But I still have my iPod on. So, first order of business, turn the volume down so I can eavesdrop on this lovely couple (all in the name of studying human behaviour, of course... and entertainment :D). Beg your pardon, Anna Molly, let me turn you down a little.

Bule: "... dress. But you look good in that."
Hooky: "Yes, I like. Thank you."
Bule: "You're welcome."

1 minute pause

Bule: "You should eat more, you look so thin."
Hooky: "I not thin, I eat much."
Bule: "Oh, really? But you look so thin. Do you exercise?"
Hooky: "Yes,... I run."
Bule: "Oh, you jog! That's nice. That's healthy."
Hooky: "Yes, nice. You run?"
Bule: "Me? Well, not as often as I should. But, yes, sometimes."
Hooky: nods dully
Bule: "Do you mind if we go back to our room after the movie?"
Hooky: "...Yes, is okay."
Bule: "Oh, we should be going, the movie's about to start!"

they both got up, and took off... just when things are starting to get juicy!

Well, there goes my afternoon with two complete strangers. It's been... quite educational... not to mention entertaining. Life lessons in a coffee house.

Communicraving

As a certified nerd, I surf the web 4 maybe 5 times a day with varied periods of online time. Here's what I always open lately in my browser. Gmail, YahooMail, Blogger, and the post-cyberculture internet social network service known as Friendster (haven't got the time to update to MySpace). Maybe it's because I have the pleasure of free time at home lately that I'm starting to crave for communication from the outside world. Even a misaddressed email would leave a grin on my face. That sounded a bit pathetic, so before you switch to pitying mode, let me assure you that I am not at all deprived of human contact. I go out with my friends at least twice a week. So, yes, I am sane and normal. To help asure you of my sanity, I took a personality disorder test. I have a low tendancy of any personality disorders out there according to these results.

But I'm still craving for cybercommunication. A possible theory that could explain this conundrum is the doppelgänger theory which stated that in the not so distant future, humans will lead two separate lives. The first one is the ones we see every day. The old man sitting beside you in the bus, the girl you saw helping an old lady cross the street, the dog (yes, dog) you played with last week in front of the coffee shop. The second one is when he/she/it goes home and connects to the web. The old man becomes that very attractive young woman you met on some chatroom, the girl becomes a gold-digging nympho, the dog becomes a dog with a longer tail (dogs will be able to go online in the future but still lack those imagination skills). Similar to dissociative identity disorder or split personality, if you will. The subject grows more and more distant from the other identity until the identities completely disregards each others presence.

In my problem, my other half (literally), the one that took over everytime I go to the net, is lacking communication with the outside world. He (or she?) doesn't acknowledge my daily life at all. He doesn't know when I'm having lunch with the guys, he doesn't know when I meet up with my thesis counselor, he doesn't even know when I watched TV with mom and dad 10 minutes ago. But wait! I'm writing this blog online! Doesn't that mean that I'm him? Then who am I? What? Why? Huh?

That is of course a theory I made up completely for the sake of this blog (it was good while it lasted though, aint it?). Well, I'm still looking forward for an email, a comment on my blog, or even a short short short friendster message. Drop me a line... pretty please... .

25 and Living the Good Life

I have a cousin who lives in New Zealand. He's 25 (at least I think he's 25...) and works as a building consultant. He was in Jakarta for 2 weeks and went back to NZ last Tuesday. He's smart and according to my lady friends, quite handsome. Last Saturday night my family took him out to diner. In one of the many conversations, I found out that he already has his own car. A '95 Honda Accord Maestro. It's an old car, I'll give you that, but he bought it with his own money, nevertheless. He's a couple of years older than me but he already has the pink slip to his car? That forced me to think hard about my life. I'll graduate next month (after years and years of endless anticipation) and work for two more years in some company and then continue to take my masters. By that time I'll be a bit over 25 and I don't think I'd be able to buy me a car of my own with all my savings. Well, maybe a very old and rusty corolla or sumthin under 20 million rupiahs. Credit, of course. You expect me to pay cash?

Can You Get a 70 Cents Haircut?

Well, can ya'? Oh, it's not just a haircut. You can also ask for the barber to shave yer Robinson Crusoe beard. You'll also get a cup of icy cold mineral water, a warm towel, and a 3 minutes massage. The whole package for just 6000 rupiahs (about 70 cents), no additional charge at all. Too good to be true? You bet! Maybe the owner's got a bad case of philanthropy.

I've become a regular at that particular barbershop, but everytime I went there, the rock-bottom price never ceased to amaze me. Granted, the shop itself is not particularly comfortable. No windows, no doors, just a 4 x 4 room with two barber seats. Air conditioning is virtually non-exsistent, except for the warm summer breeze and the cloud of dust from the occasional traffic. The shop also has a very dominant oriental ambience, you can easily find chinese ornaments hanging on the wall and on the ceiling (maybe the head barber / owner has some chinese heritage in him, but he sure didn't look like one). The towel was warmed inside a rice-cooker (no score there for healthiness and subtlety, but full points for originality... and humor). But hey! For 6000 rupiahs, who am I to complain.

But the most important part from every visit to a barbershop is and will always be, the result (i.e., how cool my hair looks after barbering). And I can tell you this, the barbers there have never let me down. Except for the time when the barber accidentally cuts my chin and neck. But still... 6000 rupiahs man! It can't get any cheaper than that!

If you guys wanna try, head out to Pondok Kelapa Raya and look for the little pink shop with lots of people queueing (one of them will probably be me...). I always forgot the name of the shop though, sorry.

Most Expensive Minute!

Ladies and Gentlemen, that was the most expensive minute of my life! Rp 2000,00 is just ain't worth it.