What doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work.

Question: How do we know when we are old?

Answer: We know we are old when we wake and find that almost everything hurts – and what doesn’t hurt, doesn’t work anymore.

—

About 15 years ago I recall laughing my head off when I had read this somewhere. It isn’t so funny anymore now, I assure you.

Patriot, or not?

When I was much younger and too innocent to know that a hard-on didn’t necessarily mean I needed to pee (circa 1970, when I was 8), we went to school and were taught everything in English. Yes, this included a very confused but much younger Bangkai (i.e. me); Thiru, the ebullient son of the kacang putih man; Chee Keong, the affable hardware merchant’s son; Rashid the obnoxious offspring of a diplomat; Jamilah, the Standard Two heart-throb; and even Rozario, the son of a prominent Eurasian lawyer. In short, everybody was taught everything in English. Of course, at the time, English was not yet a bad word.

As a result, everybody spoke English. So, what’s the problem?

Nothing Has Changed

If the newspapers are to be believed, then, I must also believe that a woman (it was reported) had stabbed her husband in the chest because he had come home late from watching the Manchester United-Malaysia game recently.

She did what!

First off, I don’t think anybody deserves this fate – not even a Manchester United fan. But that’s another story.

The Stranger

Many believe that I have lost my faith in the human race. I have, on occasion, been prone to believe this as well. After having seen the deserving get whacked into pitiful submission while the unscrupulous get the world handed to them on a silver platter once too often, something inside is bound to break – even if just a little. Repeat the process often enough, your world-view simply changes into something quite hideous.

CSI Kelana Jaya

I have a confession: I’m s sucker when it comes to polite requests. Couch a request in polite language and intone it just right, I’ll be your slave for life! Recently, I have found this soft-spot for polite requests to be a liability.

My former boss called me up recently and asked (very politely) if I could look into a few things for him at the office (my former office). True to form, I complied even though I was no longer an employee. Hey! The man asked me nicely, OK?

Rose Fatimah

These days, I hang out for quite a bit at a training provider located in Danau Kota. The strategy is simple: if they see me often enough, they’ll hopefully assign me to a training job or two. The good news is that it seems to be working. The better news is that Danau Kota is dead smack next to Taman Ibukota – the place where I grew up and learnt the things I should and also a few things I shouldn’t have as well. So, it’s sort of a trip down memory lane.

Good News, Bad News

Bad news: the recession is still around (I think).

Good news: it hasn’t managed to kill me (yet).

Recently I stuck my head in the sand and when I emerged to have a quick look around, I found that there were hordes of people out there who were shaking their collective defiant fists at the big, bad recession. Huh? Did I miss a meeting?

I guess I must have!

No, Not In A Shy Way

I have to go away for awhile, but I’ll leave you with this video from YouTube.

I know this is not Sinatra, but towards the end of the video there are snippets in which Mr Williams’ expressions are just priceless.

This is my way of saying thanks to the people who have come here and made my life all the richer for the experience. This song goes to Higashi-san, Dry Humour, Puteri Kamaliah, Kak Teh, De Minimis, Tommy Yew, Pok Deng, Elviza, Kassim Ahmad, Embun, Salmongkol, Mamasita, A Voice, Pak Tuo, Galing68, Dak Ah Bau, Iftinanz, Jordan, Theta, the-plague, Andrea Whatever, Cakapaje and of course, Mat Salo.

P*ssing In My Pants

In the days when I used t climb into the ring, I always thought that for every fight, I’d be able to last the regulation five three-minute rounds – that I’d still be vertically erect by the time they rang the final bell. More often than not (usually by the middle of the second round) I’d be praying that one of my seconds would throw in the towel and end my misery. They never did, the idiots! So, I’d soldier on – occasionally checking to see if I were already dead – until my opponent had had enough of me stopping his blows with my face and other parts of my body. That ought to teach him!

Pausing to Punctuate: Semi-colons

The semi-colon (;) has to be one of the most confounding punctuation marks in the English language. An early strategy of mine – in the days when I lacked the motivation to look-up any rules – had been to avoid using them altogether. A full stop, or so I thought, would have done the same job equally well. So, what business did I have making life more difficult than it already was by messing about with semi-colons? Why take the trunk road when you could take the PLUS highway and break existing speed-limit laws in relative comfort?