wow wj. You really rock. 'tis truly be a momentous occasion. Brain's too muggy right now to write anything wittyly funny. Wittyly. Is there even such a word?? wfxgrzzz.
'gratz to cm and ray and the rest for having a brush with a Gary Neville, that annoying stalwart right-back of Man Utd. I hope you feel edified by breathing the pulmonary wastes that exudes from his blessed nostrils. Those lungs are more efficient, mind you, so there'll be a higher carbon dioxide content. That light headedness you feel might not be edifying-ness but just plain lack of oxygen. dang I wish I was in Manchester...
Speaking of football, click here to see the most nooby, most pwned goalkeeper in the history of football. Fer sure. Seriously. If I was that goalkeeper I'd retire from football on the spot due to sheer embarrasment. And if I didn't, the fans would probably have my head. You can almost see the cogwheels of his brain go into panic overdrive mode, and hear him cursing in German.
"sHaisZA!!!"
I can only sympathise with the poor joe. Wait for it to load, it's worth it, and forgive the German ya.
It's back!!! What is? The proton saga, dear people. Yes, good ol' WCR 8671 is back. Sudah kembali. Fan chor. Sorry, no tamil here, my muhibah spirit not that strong. So to all my inachis and tambis and anes and machas out there, forgive me, indian-style. Which means either a feast involving half the world or a co-ordinated dance and song with a quarter of the world as backup dancers in a wide open field with a tree in the middle for the two main character to prance around.
I've always wondered where they find these beautiful open fields. They ALWAYS have just ONE tree planted right in the middle. ALWAYS. Do all indian movies use the same open field? Did all the hindu film producers get together one day and say, "ok" (remember to insert indian accent here. Or translate to tamil) "we'll put our money together and buy a hill. Then we'll plant just ONE palm tree in the middle. No no, just one, and it MUST be a palm tree." Forget the fact that palm trees don't usually grow on wide open fields, it MUST be a palm tree. Hm. That monologue sounded a LOT funnier in my head. Just think Russell Peters ok? Yes, I can hear you laughing now...
My tamil vocabulary consists of all of ONE word (For some reason all the "ones" in this post are in bold). "Sapede!" which means, "eat!". Big surprise huh? hahaha. Oh, and "ingaporinge," which, to this day, I am not sure whether it's a proper tamil word or it's just a phrase I used whenever I was making fun of my indian friends. Cause it sounds like what a random indian guy would say to another random indian guy. "DEY! ingaporinge?!" "Sapede!" See? Sounds like a full conversation right there.
Back to the silver proton saga that's been pockmarked with rust stains from last century and has random bits of plastic falling off. Just today, the rain guard on the passenger's side flew off while I was driving for no apparent reason. It just flew off! But as a whole it's in one piece now (well it was in one piece before this, just a severely dented one piece). For those of you who have no idea to what it is I'm referring too, scroll down to the blog titled "oops". Full explanation there, with appropriate action sequences and macabre reflections on life.
So er yes. It's back, rickety, squeaky, bumpy as ever, but it's back and it's moving. In a straight line. As long as I keep hold on the steering wheel. Now I have a sense of closure over the entire incident.
Peace washes over me. Without any hindi music or backup dancers.
Black people can run. No, really, they can. And I mean really run. Like, really really really run. I've always wondered why that by just being black, it meant that you can either run or sing the bejeezes out of anyone else. Or play basketball, but that's another matter.
Back to running.
I was watching the women's 3000m steeplechase final in the Commonwealth games. Is that how you spell Commonwealth? Well since I've spelt it that way, that's the way it is now. And guess what? A black woman from Uganda won. Big surprise, woo hoo. Rewind a little bit. There was about 1km left in the run, there was this sole Aussie woman who was keeping pace with her, with the rest of the chasing pack a good 50m behind already. Being in Melbourne, the crowd was going wild.
"AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE OI! OI! OI!" Ever heard that cheer? Freaking irritating. Sorry my friends down under, it just is! Speaking of down under, how does it feel to be constantly referred to as "being down under"? I mean, don't people usually use that term to mean being sick or feeling bad? And doesn't mean usually mean that you're not a nice person? English is funny. So does being in OZ naturally mean you'll develop a mean mood or fall sick constantly? Looking at Tim, I'd say the former is true. Owright enough about da engrand.
But yeah, the crowd was going wild as the Aussie runner kept pace with ms Ugandian. Effort and strain and concentration was etched all over her face. The Ugandian looked like she couldn't be bothered. Suddenly, in the last 500m, the Ugandian just went into overdrive. As if she just decided to stop giving the Aussie any hope, as if she decided to stop fooling around with the runner and her home crowd support. She was like a car on NOS. She finished a good 50-60 metres ahead of the Aussie. And what does she do once she's won?
She gets on her knees, says a prayer, and does another few laps. ????? Didn't she just run 3 kilometres? Wahlaoeh. All the runners who came in after her either doubled over, sat down or collapsed to the ground, chest heaving, faces painted with the sorrow of defeat and the distress of keeping up with a black woman. And then they see this Ugandian running a few more laps just for fun. Probably to mock them as well. If I were one of those runners, I'd quit right there and then. Explains why I'll never be there.
While we're on the topic of Ugandians, I heard this joke once.
Idi Amin (cruel dictator of Uganda at the time) was having a conference with his generals. "I am going to declare that from this day forth, Uganda will be known as Uganda Idi. Any protests?" This being a dictatorship, the generals broke forth into applause and congratulated Idi Amin on his brilliant idea, saying that he deserved it anyway. All except one. "What's your problem?" Idi Amin said, indicating the one general that wasn't sucking up to him. "Well..." he began, "The people of Cyprus are known as Cypriots..."
geddit geddit? HAHAHA I laughed my jaws loose and my buccinators cramped when I did. To not spoil it for you, I'll leave you to figure that one out yerselves. hoHO.
Torn indeed. Kudos to Tim for digging up obscure videos like these. I see Perth isn't exactly the most exciting place in the world.
If idle hands are the devil's workshop, then Tim's manufactured a whole horde of underworldly fiends who probably look somewhat like this, led by a balrog or two and backup-ed by hellish, giant angry-looking-skull mounted on the front, decaying-human-head- flinging-catapults, waiting to be unleashed onto a certain female acquaintance of his.
Ahem. I digress. So, yes, torn. Enjoy~!
Funny, yes? Laughed my head off.
Mimes full of expression aside, I learnt something new today.
NEVER STIR FRY FOOD WITHOUT A SHIRT ON.
Trust me. Never ever ever do it. You could have timed every single squeal of pain that came from my kitchen today to each pop/crackle coming from the frying pan.
I tell you, my harrison's sulcus-ed chest will never look nor feel the same, scarred and violated as it has been by many happy impish splashing droplets of hot oil. wargh.
It's a wee bit small, but click on the image and read the text in the yellow box.
WHAT THE CRAP???
This page confronted me as I was trying to blog yesterday.
For all you lazy buggers who don't want to wait for the picture to load, here's what it says.
"This blog has been locked by Blogger's spam-protection robots. You will not be able to publish your posts, but will be able to save them as drafts. Save your post as a draft or click here to for more about what's going on and how to get your blog unlocked".
So apparently my blog looks like a spam blog. That's such an insult to my creative literary genius don't you think. A spam blog?? I mean, haven't you all been entertained? Don't my writings inspire moments of poignancy, make you reflect about life and the wonders of the universe, trigger outbursts of laughter and tickle your ribs, the soles of your feet and occasionally the underarm axillary regions? If it hasn't I have failed miserably, and have got an immensely oversized out of porpotion view of my own writing. Which I don't think I do.
Indeed.
Well after some slight trepidation on my part, a few drops of cold sweat and a hastily-sent response to Blogger.com, I got this in my email this morning.
*deep sigh of relief*
Eh they were threatening to delete my blog k. Oh well, it's back anyway, right back here to entertain you!
I could not believe my eyes when I saw it. My jaw hung loose at the mandibular joints. My brain fried a few synapses. I was bug-eyed, pupils fully dilated, an expression of complete incredulity smeared all over my face like so much peanut butter. Ok, I'm jumping the gun a bit. Lemme rewind to add some context to these four random sentences that would otherwise make completely no sense.
I took my granddad to the hospital. Nothing serious, nothing serious, he just had some weird thing growing on his left index finger. The orthopedic christened it a benign giant cell tumour of the synovial sheath. It makes little sense to me, and I'm supposed to be studying. hmmm...
SO anyway, after setting an appointment for the benign giant cell tumour of the synovial sheath to be removed, I asked my granddad to wait by the hospital entrance as I, as all good grandsons do, went and brought the car right to his feet. So tum te tum de dum, as I drove the car to where I had asked him to wait, the incidences described in the first four sentences took place.
My granddad, all 80-odd years old, was chatting up some white-haired, tired-looking, pyjama-wearing, probably as old as him if not older, auntie!! Probably someone's grandmom, who's grandson, like me, had asked her to wait while he dutifully brought the car round.
Yes, the patriach of the family, the oldest living Wong male this side of the universe was FLIRTING. And as my granddad got into the car, he turned back to the old lady he was talking to and jovially waved to her. She waved back. I drove off, in a half-shock, half-blur, totally speechless state, barely conscious enough to shift the gears and balance the clutch.
OH MY DEAR GOODNESS WHAT THE HEAVEN EARTH AND HELL????
It was the most, and I mean THE most surreal sight I have ever seen in my short 22-going-on-23 year old life. Though I doubt I will ever see something more odd or surreal, should I ever live till I become the patriach and oldest living male of the Wong family this side of the universe (which is a scary thought by the way *shudder*). It was just... weeeiiirrrrdddddd...
Yeye (that's cantonese for father's father you uneducated uncouth monolingual barbarian aka American wahahahhaa chilling lah brudderrr...) got some skilllzz!! With a Z. Spelt that way. I've got to get down to work, a freaking lot I gotta live up to~!!!
No, not mine. Psycho K, that good, albiet few-screws-lose, caffiene junkie friend of mine, is 24!!! She's also known by other people as Karen. But I think psycho K suits her better. What else can you name a person who mixes coffee powder with coke, then reacts to your obvious look of shocking disgust with the most earnest, innocent, wide-eyed "what, it's nice what..." ?? I mean besides insane, demented, crazy, mentally ill etc etc, that is. Psycho K just has a ring to it that Demented K or Mentally Ill K doesn't have.
*confetti and streamers and honkers*
Everyone, surf on over to IAMPSYCHO.com and wish her a very happy, very crazy, very psychotic birthday.
So to that constant source of wisdom, intolerable wit, pre-exam examinations and mind-boggling conversations about life, the universe, and everything from old english to poisonous green yellow-banded somalian tree-frogs;
May the sun always shine upon your face, May the wind always be upon your back, and may the wings of destiny carry you into the heavens to dance with the stars.
Uhm she's all the way in Glasgow, so I've got no pics to share, but there are plenty on her blog. If you can't get into iampsycho.com, you can try cokehead.com.
"Boy (yes my dad calls me boy) come here. I wanna talk to you" "yah pa?"
*long boring conversation about finances and flight and accomodation arrangements commence*
"How long is your flight to Canada?" "uhm... website said about 30 hours" "30 hours?" "yah pa, 30 hours" "hm... don't come back lah k" "huh? what do you mean" "I mean don't come back until after you're done" *speechless* "what...? Then what about the long summer holidays and all that?" "No point for you to come back. Just stay there for the whole 2 years. Don't waste time and money coming back. Go work in a hospital in the states or something." "Then what about after I graduate? Do I come back then?" "hmmm... that one see how lah. We decide then" "..."
If speechlessness could be expressed in words (then it can't be called speechless, now can it?) I would express it in giant font-72 caps, bold-ed and italic-ed.
Oh how they love me. I think my dad sees me as a long term investment for his retirement, cunning finacial planner that he is.
I think something like this goes on in his accounting-minded head.
[pay for son to do medicine + pay for usmle] - money - flight ticket back home during holidays = force him to work in hospitals overseas
work in overseas hospitals x son's innate social skills = connections with overseas surgeons.
connections with overseas surgeons = ease of surgery posting + [son's desperation to earn money x son's inability to afford more than one meal a week]2 = graduate as surgeon faster
graduate as surgeon faster = higher pay + son's filial piety = better retirement for me (QED)
(Remember to apply the BODMAS rule)
At this point he throws his head back in evil maniacal laughter and lightning bolts flash in the background accompanied by eerie organ music.
Surf on over to bananasarah.blogspot.com to read about her perfect-pitched, mata-memukau life. Check out her pic man. It's like... "loooOOoooKkk into my eeEEyyyYYeEEeSSssss..."
Too bad she's as html nooby as me and therefore has the same template. urk.
