Thursday, February 28, 2002

I believe that every morning from 7.45am to 8.00am, there will exist a period of time where if you floor the accelerator, you will be able to make your way from your house to your workplace without getting blocked by slower vehicles or stopped by traffic lights. The Law of Probability demands it! Well, it might not ( haven't been checking lately ), but the theory is sound. Maybe you don't have to travel at lightspeed ( the roads of Georgetown make that a little bit too difficult to accomplish, especially with morning market traffic ), but fast enough that you beat the lights and cut ridiculously slow vehicles. Basically, you'll be the top dog on the road.

This is an experiment I tend to try every morning, and today caught the end tail of the fast period after the roundabout at Gurney Drive. There is something spiritual about blowing past two traffic lights consecutively, swerving across lanes to cut swift-moving cars, slamming on the brakes just before a corner and then accelerating past it ( just like how they taught me in Need For Speed 5: Porsche Unleashed ), doing a curvy under-construction road at just under 100km/h and finally going all the way to 130km/h when I reach the broad stretch of road outside Crown Prince Hotel. All right, maybe that wasn't really THAT fast, but it was fun enough.

That little trip, however, was nothing compared to CoolChique's little stunt at the same Gurney Drive roundabout today after work. Travelling along the outer part of the roundabout, heading for the third turning from the one she left in the middle of afterwork traffic is liable to get someone killed. Crazy girl.

And this is Nicholas Prose at Macallum Heights, signing off from Hazardous Driving: Death Is Just Another km/h Away.

Note:
To de Simoniac: No game tonight. I cannot run a session when I have no voice.
I HAVE NO VOICE AND I MUST... discuss project details with my team members. Yes, The Voice has ultimately faded away. No amount of coercing or sweets can persuade anybody to tell me that I sound like James Earl Jones. People tell me that I sound like a sick frog instead. Croaking, like.

It's fascinating how I'm not dead yet though. My sore throats are usually harbingers of fevers, flus, headaches and the all-important 'I don't feel well at all' syndrome. But I actually feel quite good. Apart from the fact that it hurts when I talk, and even if I talk, croaky sounds come out. This lack of sickness must be due to the extremely early nights I've been having ( 11pm ), along with the vulgar amount of water I have been consuming.

Okay, so maybe I do feel a little sick. Doesn't help that the sun outside is SO hot. Or maybe it does. Sweating makes me feel better. The interminable air-conditioners make me feel sicker.

*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*croak*

Wednesday, February 27, 2002

The sore throat... the sore throat is killing me...

Sure, it may make me sound all low and sexy, but my girlfriend's not here, so that's all a little pointless. I mean, what else am I going to do with The Voice? Go amuse friend Sue and let her amuse me with her 'recently-developed too' low voice ( she actually sounds the same though )? Or maybe go approach the security expert Gregory North in my department and make indecent proposals towards him. Sigh, it's all SO meaningless when she ain't here.

Add a nasty cough to the sore throat, and this speak-in-pain ordeal is not worth the low voice. To complicate matters, I can feel a flu coming on. If this gets any worse, I can expect a fever ( and a medical leave, along with a day spent watching Buffy Season 1 DVDs ) tomorrow. The agony, the agony...

Actually, from a certain perspective, I sound less low and sexy, and more like a man possessed, given that the painful throat has slowed down my speech considerably, allowing me more time to think twice thrice about what I'm going to say. This results in me actually sounding intelligent for once. Whoa.
I am the Lord of Dreamland, and my subjects clamour for me.
Farewell, cruel world!
( at least until after lunch, when my manager will rudely awaken me by kicking my chair )
The sore throat is over. Some minute traces left, perhaps. But gone otherwise. However, this ugly ulcer growing on my bottom gums has blossomed, and along with this raised body temperature I'm experiencing in this air-conditioned place ( they've turned on the mains ), I'm just about dying. My colleague told me that he's feeling sick after drinking the pantry water. In my hazy mind, only two things are possible:

1. The company is poisoning us. I get it worst cause I've been drinking water like there's no tomorrow since yesterday.
2. The ladies who maintain the pantry somehow didn't wash their hands properly before handling the water supply.

Tuesday, February 26, 2002

Chap Goh Meh. Them cracker-playing folks are lucky I've forgiven them their transgressions. There will be NO bloody Chap Goh Meh.

Poor Nael still hasn't found Georgie. My heart goes out to him. It's bad to lose a loved one. It always is. I'm hoping that Georgie comes home. Nael's sadness spreads. CoolChique is going to go throw oranges. Apparently, a fun thing to do. Me, I'm doing what the Simoniac is doing. I'm staying at home. My girlfriend's in the States, so I'll be spending the night studying Tibetan geography and the words of Charles Manson. Well, not really. I'll probably be watching my Buffy DVDs.

Well, at any rate, Happy Chinese Valentine's Day to all you people who are celebrating. At least, that's what it is supposed to be.
They have shut off the main air-conditioner in my office.

In this warm environment, strange ideas are filling my mind. My little mug ( Visit Malaysia Year 1990 ) is telling me how much it will enjoy life more if only my saliva weren't that thick. Apparently I leave a whole patch of slime on the part where my lips touch the mug everytime I drink. To a certain extent, that's true. I have to watch off a persistent film of saliva everytime I clean my mug. This is probably due to my current sore throat and ulcer ( painful it is ). Don't worry, little mug. We will recover soon, and then it's back to coffee, yes you and me, darling. Cause coffee is aqua vitae, the water of life.

Monday, February 25, 2002

Alert:

Nael has lost his cat. I'm not sure how many people in the Subang Jaya vicinity reads this ( probably one - Nael himself ), but be a nice person and join the hunt for Georgie if you can.
It's another one of those days. Thirst overwhelming has resulted in some form of sore throat. It's horrible. It feels like my throat is going to jump out of my neck. And thus my father boils for me some herbal mixture, which includes the weird leafy thingy which the Simoniac once brought to my house, promising me that it will cure me of ANY ailment. To his credit, it did cure me of the fever/flu/whatever lethal sickness I was down with at the time. But it sure was Bitterness Country for me.

This herbal drink which my father brewed, however, is not bitter. In fact, sans brown sugar ( or any kind of sweetening, for the matter ), it tastes wonderful. And then my fussy little sister decided that the drink would be enhanced by brown sugar. Now it tastes a little campfirey. As in, like something which I once ate at a campfire, but can't really place what. Or does it taste ember-ish? Bah, as long as it helps. This is a point which I would like to point out here, especially to the Simoniac:

"One need not suffer needlessly to get well."

Of course, a masochist like the Simoniac will probably disagree. But I cannot ignore the fact that that leafy thingy he brought over last time was effective. Oh well.
I'm so thirsty, I'm finishing Penang's water supply here. Consequently, I'm getting bloated. Very bloated. I feel like a Goodyear Blimp now. Goodbye David Boreanaz physique, hello Jabba the Hutt. It's tragic that I religiously avoid sinfully delicious and weight-adding food for economy rice with vegetables, vegetables and vegetables only to be defeated by... water.

Yes, water, aqua vitae. Fattening me up. Bloating me up. Goodyear... Goodyear... Ever seen anyone explode due to drinking too much water? At least the blood and the guts will be diluted with the excess water. Theoretically. That will be a lot for the cleaning lady to mop later.

Sunday, February 24, 2002

And so, it has come to pass that the inscrutable Wei Yi has left for Australia to pursue her masters degree. Her studies will last approximately a year and a half, after which she'll come back a very sophisticated young lady, with maybe strangely coloured hair, a different kind of dressing ( "Wei Yi? She's the toast of Melbourne, mate." ), a strange Aussie accent and a big hunky Australian boyfriend who'll be able to plaster BOTH me and the Simoniac into the wall with one swing of his arm. All this is, of course, tentative.

At the other end of the world we have my friend William McDarke, who's happily drunk in Scotland. Notice how much he's enjoying himself. Unlike Miss Wei Yi, he might never come back. Not until he's sick of the whisky there, that is. And of the British-born Indian girls, and of the attention his male multi-national friends are giving him, and of those warm and ever-cuddly sheep wandering around his university grounds...

[ Note: The astute will note that the picture of Mr. McDarke was under the category Beat_Deadline. That's when they get drunk the most. Apparently, a drunken stupor helps with beating deadlines. ]

Saturday, February 23, 2002

Simon Says

Prose says, Simon Says.

Interestingly, having a name like Simon gives you some advantages in life. A game of Simon Says can get waaay out of hand, for example:

"Simon says, remove your left stocking."
"Simon says, loosen your belt buckle."
"Simon says, unzip your pants."
"Simon says, take off your singlet."

And so on and on and on it goes. If the girl/guy(?) in question allows, of course.

If you pay a visit to the blog Simon Says, you might not see stuff like the above example. But you'll probably get to witness some deep insights into life. Especially if the author in question continues surviving near-death experiences.

Friday, February 22, 2002

Everybody, welcome CoolChique as she begins her very illustrious blogging career. Illustrious, I say, because she'll probably put sunshine into your life ( while I just pile up the shitload like nobody's business ). Here's a tip: For suicidal thoughts / homicidal rants / issues regarding defecation, this is the place for you. To be bubbly, go there.
Er... I made it back home in one piece. Not much of a big achievement, really. I make it back in one piece almost everyday. There was that time when I accidentally bit off too big a fingernail along with some skin, but I munched on that piece on the drive back, so I guess I was still in one piece. The logs of shit which I expel into my office's toiletbowl ( "THEY FLOAT DOWN THERE! THEY ALLLLLLLLLLLL FLOAT DOWN THERE!" ) does not count as separate pieces of me - they're known as body wastes, and are therefore officially no longer recognized as a part of me anymore.

Well, what I heard before I blogged off on the last blog was some rumbling noise. I guess it must have been thunder, cause it showered a little on my way back. On my way back, along the way which lay Gurney Plaza, where a whole army of underaged teenagers were wandering around. According to my recalcitrant yet roughly adorable little sister ( who was part of that army ), some male Taiwanese artiste dropped by. Judging from the aimless crowd milling around in the rain as I passed by that traffic-surrounded place, that singer should be the kind who sings pop songs of the teenage variety. Probably the N'Sync equivalent of Taiwan or something. Not that I have anything against N'Sync or your average teenage teenybopping singer, mind you.

There is something about dead walking corpses which brings out a feeling of isolation in me. The idea of zombies - the Night of the Living Dead kind, not the voodoo version - triggers this panicky sensation that suddenly, I am alone in this world. I'm not really sure, but it could be because if flesh-eating zombies can exist in this world, then anyone can be a zombie. Be it in the manner where you get chomped on and infected, or you just die and you will come back later seeking the warm succulent flesh of the living, or maybe even exposure to some virus.

It also brings forth exceptionally protective feelings of my loved ones - I suddenly feel like bundling them all into a bunker with enough food, supplies and resources to last forever and let the world take care of itself, we'll continue living in Vault 13 by our own, thank you. It's either that or don't have loved ones, cause in a world where almost everyone else is out to rip out your throat ( due to hunger or whatever primal will that drives the corpse forward ), having someone beside you is more often than not a liability. Humans come with too much emotional baggage. I mean, can you shoot your father in the head if he turns into a zombie? Or, how will you feel if you come home someday and suddenly find your kids munching on your wife's kidneys? What kind of trauma will that cause you? Where will you put the bullet - into the brains of the walking corpses once, and probably still, you love? Or into yours to spare yourself the misery?

Issues like these I never want to get into. Seriously.

But just for kicks, surf over to the All Flesh Must Be Eaten site, the website of the popular zombie roleplaying game of the same name. Or skip forward to the fiction section of the site and read some pretty good ( and some rather depressing ) zombie stories.

They're just stories, you say. But if you really manage to get into the tales, they can be pretty absorbing. Like now. At a little after 8pm. In my almost deserted office. One huge empty paper factory. One huge IT building. Too little people inside. Darkness outside. Just the kind of atmosphere that breeds zombies. I'll blog more later... if nothing untoward happens.

Shit, what the hell was that?
Everyday is another one of those days. Your program stops working after synching with your team's modules, the sun decides to appear in full glory the day you decide to wear your nice but very very black Body Glove shirt, the frogs are raining, the band's not playing... I could probably write country western songs if I embellished my life just a little bit. Well, maybe a bit more than a little bit, but hey, the base is there.

At any rate, today promises to be a rather debuggy day as I will attempt to solve The Mystery of the Non-Working Program after lunch has resolved later at 2pm. It's a messy affair, one which will probably tax the brain and patience of the team member who's responsible for the slip-up.

In the Star Online today, we have Tears of the Black Tiger, a Thai Western. I bet my Desperandrew idea will probably kick its ass, but I don't have the resources to make that into a movie, and so that Black Tiger flick will probably reign as Southeast Asia's latest Western.

Oh, more BBQ Twisties from Sue. That's very nice of her thank you ma'am can I have more please? But nooo, I must resist! Else fat will gain, and with gained fat comes gained weight, and that is, in a sense, not good. Considering the fact that my stomach is mysteriously bloated as it is. A mystery, yes, one to be solved at a later date.

And now, it's off to the Land of Nod, where I will allow my mind to wander for a few precious minutes before lunchtime is resolved.

Thursday, February 21, 2002

It's another happy day in the Land of the Morose, and I, Prose, am your host for this lunch hour show. Firstly, I would like to draw your attention to the newly-added commenting system at the bottom of every post. Clicking on the link allows you to pen your thoughts about my thoughts / rants / whatever, thus giving me some feedback about whatever I write. I should have gotten down to reading up about comment-posting earlier, but it somehow slipped my mind until today.

In the news today:
  • 20:02 20-02-2002 marked a palindromy second in our mundanes lives. Some USM lecturer got his baby girl born on that hour, and he along with his wife was very happy about it. What I didn't know was that the number 'two' is also 'yi' in Chinese, meaning easy. Take note, guys. This lecturer's lovely daughter is gonna be real easy when she grows up.

    Those who abide by the dd/mm/yyyy format get to enjoy three sets of 2002s, while those who live by the mm/dd/yyyy date format also gets their palindrome time ( 20:02 02-20-2002 ), but unfortunately no triple 2002s. God I love numbers.

  • More than 370 poor souls got incinerated when about half a dozen carriages of a train burst into flames. This happened in Egypt. Coincidentally, I was reading Lovecraft's Imprisoned with the Pharaohs last night, a story about Harry Houdini being trapped under the Great Sphinx in Egypt. It's scary how these things happen - I started collecting Ghost Rider last time, and the series died off. I sometimes feel like a harbinger of doom or something. My deepest sympathies goes out to all those poor souls who perished. It's when when the cultists go "I'm burning! I'm burning!" in Blood, but this is ghastly. Tragically so.

  • Friend Sue informed me that Mamee - that deliciously salty instant noodle wannabe snack - now comes in a cheesy flavour too apart from the normal ones. She was also nice enough to give me a small packet of BBQ Twisties, which states 'For Sale In MALAYSIA ONLY' quite clearly on the front.
And that's all for the depressing news of the hour ( except for the Mamee/Twisties freebie thingy ). This is your host Prose signing off, and be sure to tune in later to see if I have enough time to bitch about my teamleader changing my table columns AGAIN. Which come to think of it, I probably won't. There's been more than enough bitching about ever-changing table columns - I'll probably get into this again if some big change REALLY happens.

Wednesday, February 20, 2002

Note: Internet charges are still at 2.5 cents a minute. My bad.

But the rest of the rant about the increase of local charges is still valid, damnit!
What is it about some people that they fail to understand that when you see a colleague of yours napping during lunchtime, DO NOT FARKING WAKE HIM UP unless it's after lunch hour. I don't care if you're back from your half day leave, taken by people like you to keep people like me up last night. I don't care if you actually made it to work, cause for all I care you could have crashed into a tree on the way here and ended your miserable life in a flaming fireball of death ( in view of current events, definitely a good thing ).

But if you feel that you just have to wake me up by snapping your fingers right next to my ear when I am napping... the next time you feel inclined to inform me that you're alive and well in this manner, consider yourself informed that I will take measures to remedy that "living" condition of yours to something less annoying, preferably "dead".

I knew this day was going to go down the drain from the moment the firecrackers started last night.

Farking. Inconsiderate. Morons.
The artificial foggy morning of Georgetown greeted me when I opened my door today. The war was over, but the smoke was still in the cold dawn air. All was peaceful, all was tranquil. It was the morning after, and gone away was all the noise, inconsideration and intolerance. So there will be no blood spilt later on - I tend not to hold grudges.

On the other hand, those bastards at Telekom and their crony Leo Moggie must die. This injustice towards the people of Malaysia has gone on for way too long, from initially revoking the flat rate for Internet to now - FARKING INCREASED RATES FOR LOCAL CALLS AND PHONE LINE RENTAL FEE. And what do they give us in return? Cheaper outstation and international phone rates.

Well HELLO? Is anybody not seeing this? Those farks are LEECHING the nation. They're filling their own personal coffers at the cost of the country's development. I have no idea absolutely what those fools are talking about when they say that it will help with development. Sure, now I can make calls to my family in the kampungs, thus breaching the distance between rural and urban areas. If ONLY I had anyone to call in the kampungs - I've been born and bred in towns. Those bastards must think that everyone is comes from kampungs - haven't they heard of URBAN FOLKS? We're really getting shafted here. Especially since using the Internet incurs LOCAL PHONE CHARGES BY THE FARKING MINUTE.

At this rate telecommunications is going, Malaysia will NEVER achieve Vision 2020, unless that vision involves the sole monopolizing telecommunication company getting richer off the people, and bastards like Public Enemy No. 1 Leo Moggie feeding off everything like a big fat parasite.

Anyone who says that this helps the country's telecommunications development at all is seeing the little picture. I look at the future, and I see even HIGHER rates if this gross injustice is left unchecked. If they want to help rural areas develop, just LOWER outstation calls damnit. It's not like Telekom is getting any poorer - almost EVERY home in the country has a phone.

The country hangs drug dealers because the drugs they sell are detrimental to the nation. We should also hang those at Telekom and that asshole Leo Moggie too, because the actions they're taking is detrimental to the nation's development.

Tuesday, February 19, 2002

If they can't sleep, no one else can. That's what my skygod-worshipping neighbours are out to prove tonight with lots of fireworks, firecrackers and general inconsideration for the peace of mind of non-skygod-worshipping folks. Oh, for a minigun and a rocket launcher! I could have shown them all that the screams of the dying and the roar of guns can also be noisy, and that blood, like angpows and crackers, is red too. I have work tomorrow, damnit.

Oooh... Bloody Chap Goh Meh this year... when the waters of Gurney Drive will run RED with the blood of infidels and inconsiderate morons alike.
Timing is everything.

It doesn't help at all that the deadline for my project is this week. Or the fact that starting this week, we're not encouraged to stay back late - quite the opposite, actually. In fact, we'll need to get a special access card if we wish to work after 9pm or on weekends.

On this the week of my deadline.

FARKING JAVA! FARKING SWING! *swings a cup of java and breaks it on the wall*
YOU BUG-FARKERS! BYTE CLASS AND THROW AN EXCEPTION!

Monday, February 18, 2002

As the ever-charming Pei Ling commented through half-lidded eyes to me today, "So sleepy."

And thus, those two words summarized THE MONDAY AFTER that not-so-illustrious one week holiday, by last Wednesday which I was already wishing that I could go back to work. Do not be mistaken - workaholic I'm not. But of late, neither am I as slothful as before back in those lazy sunny days of secondary school, or more recently both my university and post-university days. Ironically, I feel aimless these days. There's no driving force in my life - I feel that I'm merely just going through the motions of life mechanically - eat, sleep, defeacate, wash, repeat. Yet somehow, there's this THING - this... this preternatural drive to just do something.

Note: Nike fans do it. I do something.

Someday, this subconscious need to do something with my life will culminate in... something. One can only hold back so much undetermined unwarranted drive before one actually gets driven to do something.

But for now, Pei Ling probably has everything wrapped up in one sentence: "So sleepy."

Tuesday, February 12, 2002

Happy Chinese New Year to all you Chinese out there.

It's past 9pm at my flats, and we're currently experiencing a demo of a world war outside my place. I thought fireworks and firecrackers were banned - I thought wrong. It's the Gulf War all over again as Moontravellers ( or their modern counterparts ) and Pop-pops ignite all over the flats area. Yes, I suppose some people would find it kind of merry, but personally I think we can do without those crackers which explode too close to my window.

Yes, it's Chinese New Year, and a noticeably hotter one too. Just uncomfortable has turned to searing - if it weren't for the nice breeze now blowing around the place, I think I would be holed up in the bathroom with cold water running all over my body. It's that hot. But with the breeze and the fan now, things are pretty much kosher. Which, for Chinese New Year ( aka hottest celebration of the year ), is surprising. I guess God must have gotten sick of Satan down there giving the world a preview of how Hell would be like and turned on some giant fan in the sky.

Anyway, Chinese New Year isn't that grand, but I do get 2 public holidays and 3 forced offdays. Also, I get to watch the last 20 minutes or so of a movie called Max Knight: Ultra Spy which costars that black-haired girl from Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World. I thought it was particularly memorable, given that there's this entire action sequence which actually used the Half-Life engine. We have those damned aliens, Gordon Freeman sans his face ( the hero's face instead ), the rocket launcher and one of the scifi guns ( the one with blue lightning - don't ask me, I played Half-Life with the keyboard and thought it was impossible ). I wish I caught the whole movie, cause with the dancing girls and all, it would have been entertaining.

Friday, February 08, 2002

Lunchtime on the Friday just before I get an entire week off for Chinese New Year ( not wholly my idea - the company wants to save some money ), and here I am again, typing away on my computer while the entire place has virtually emptied itself save for the odd soul who never goes out for lunch anyway. I'm not sure how I feel about being ditched like that - one of the guys I usually have lunch with has left the company a long time ago, the other guy's department ordered pizza and the girl is apparently on diet. Shows how well I choose my lunchmates. Damnit, I should have settled for eating alone like I used to back in Motorola last time.

I guess it's good that I don't really give a damn about Chinese New Year - if this were Christmas, it would have been really depressing. As it stands, everybody can go to hell in the same handbasket. Me, I'm going to kick back, relax and read what Shin Shion wrote again about the guy next to him who collapsed.

How come the most exciting thing which happened to me this week was Star World continuing their screening of Angel again?

Monday, February 04, 2002

THOUGHT OF THE DAY:
If those bastards change another column in the tables, I swear there'll be free-flowing blood for everybody in this company.
As retrenchment looms over the horizon, I am... filled with this really funny urge to kill my manager.

Now, to begin with, this isn't that rare an occurence as one might think so. Homicidal tendencies towards one's superiors tend to crop up every now and then, especially when said superiors may be superior in rank but inferior in nature. I'm sure that at least once in our pleasant lives there appears one buffoon of assholic temperament who's not only higher in rank than us, but also actually in charge of us. Actually it's rather frequent, which may explain why there are so many 'Hit Your Manager - Release Stress!' Flash .exes floating around the Internet.

Bear in mind that my urge to immolate / dismember my manager has absolutely nothing to do with my possible lack of employment in the coming months. Oh no, retrenchment is a choice made by higher management, the kind you would like to throw off a very high building. I feel like killing him because...

I don't know. It's just this really funny urge to kill him. An urge, you know. Apparently an unexplainable one. I must look into this phenomenon.

In brief:
  • Friend Sue is taking an examination today. Best of luck to her.
  • Friend Gregory North paid his car loan today.
  • Girlfriend is cramming her head with device drivers. The poor thing.