Day Two of Project 365 and A Very Busy Day

So it's day numero dos of Project 365. I think this picture accurately describes my day:

They the glass is always half-empty, but the Starbucks cup is always 3/4 empty. Very odd.

This was taken at Starbucks in the Gardens, just after my first interview for the day. Note the pretty-much empty cup, the sweat beads.

The sweat beads are the ones that describe how I feel about the work for the day (coverfeaturenewsroundupgossipspottedcheckitoutOKAYokayIcandothis). It is a cup of Toffee Orange frapp, by the way. Too, too sweet but delicious. And the fact that it is COFFEE it quite encapsulates how my brains run. The same way cars need petrol, my BRAINs need COFFEE. It's just the way of the world.

Take away my coffee and you have absolute pandemonium. I may become a zombie and chew your arm off, then polish off your kidney for dessert. Don't say I didn't warn you.

But yeah so today was mad hectic. Had three interviews back to back and then 3 stories to write when I got into office. Also got to worry about video content now, but that is more kill-two-birds-with-one-DVDcamcorder.

I like it though. I thrive on being busy and bustling and stressed out. Makes me feel really good when it is done and I can Facebook in peace. Err you didn't read that.

Anyhoos, yeah so here is Day Two's pic. Hmm I may be jumping guns a little but I think this is one project I may actually keep.

Day 1 of Project 365

Project 365


A project V intro-ed to me, which, despite all laziness and attempts to imitate a sloth, I will try so hard my nose bleeds to keep to it. So here is the picture I chose for Day 1.

"It's elementary, dear Watson. The writer staring at us is a Nutjob."

Two 'posters' which I stuck to my cubicle after I cleared my desk for the New Year of work. Not actually posters but the canibalised parts of a folder the PR people gave me. Hahaha. I cut out only the RDJr parts la of coz. The one with Rachel McAdams I buang edy sorry.

Reason I chose the photo: Just trying to psyche me up for work... it being first day at work for 2010 and all. And I am currently a member for life at the RDJr Club of Crazed Fans. One of our life-long goals is the adoration of RDJr and the chanting of spells to keep him alive forever and ever and ever and eveeeerrrr. I mean, if 2009 was the year of celebrity death, then 2010 must be the year of celebrity immortality.

Muahahahahaha. MUAHAHAHAHAHA. MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

But here is another picture I took on the way to the LRT of a very pretty bird actually. But somehow when I snapped this the eyes turned out really, really weird. Kind of like a zombie bird. So since I am currently also obsessed with zombies (it will pass, I am not THAT big a fan of rotting meat walkign towards me wanting to eat my brains, but I am obsessed now because L4D2 is awesome and Zombieland is amazing and Plants VS Zombies is the best game ever created.)

Zombie bird ya'll. Flee. Run. Scarper. You know. Do all that.

Yeah so that's it for today's update. More tomorrow!

The Five Most IRRITATING Types of LRT Takers,
by Pauline Wong

The Spread-Legged Citizens of Wide Open

Typical Physical Profile: Male, of varying ages, usually less than 3 feet tall and incredibly eager to overcompensate by occupying as much seat as humanly possible.

Typical Psychological Profile: Suffers from ribald jokes of being small, tiny, miniscule, microscopic or minute on a regular basis, is deeply traumatized for life and hence must take two seats with one leg, fill two spots with one body, and possibly wear two shoes for one foot (for extra height).

Standard Operating Procedure: Sits slumped on the seat, legs spread wide open enough to knock into your knees and provide enough visual feasts to unwanted and unwelcomed displays of male anatomy. Also, often digs elbows into next person, a task learnt with great aplomb from:

The Elbow Digger, Inside a Train, D-I-G-G-I-N-G

Typical Physical Profile: Male and female of a usually past-it age. Average height. SHARP, sharp elbows. Jaw thrust out, sits absolutely rigid in seat.

Typical Psychological Profile: Inconsideration is his/her middle name. Had tragic childhood experiences of never being able to fill the spaces between life and love; hence feels the need to fill space between your sides and his/her side with healing power of ELBOLOGY. Digs into your side with every action, due to a need to feel connected constantly.

Standard Operating Procedure: Taking out phone from pocket? Dig. Looking for something in bag? Poke. Sitting around daydreaming like the rest of us during a 40-minute journey? Must sit with elbows sticking out. Does not respond to repeated hisses of irritation or to annoyed shifting-in-seat.

The Motor Mouth Monster

Typical Physical Profile: Male and female of all ages. Does not have specific nor distinct physical characteristics other than a very very very very active mouth and volumes that defy sound barriers.

Typical Psychological Profile: While it is safe to say that it gets awfully dreadful sitting in the train alone, none of the drudgery of LRT can excuse the Motor Mouth. This person talks at the top of his/her voice, past even the all-out rock melodies of 30 Seconds to Mars and the screeching of the LRT. Often dulcet, definitely unctuous, this voice is the one you cannot escape, come earplugs or earphones. He/she has opinions on everything from Najib to Never-neverland and can’t. stop. talking. Possibly suffers from severe self-love, brought about by deprived childhood. Person sitting next to this Monster Mouth is the one with the glazed eyes, flushed cheeks and KILLMENOW look. Note: Nobody talks in the LRT because it is a time for contemplative reflection on the day’s work.

Standard Operating Procedure: IgottohavethisbagItellyouthisismydreambesidesopeningashopsellingshoesandbagsIalsowantedttocelebrateNewYear’sEvebutareyoudoinganythinglaterOMGIhatemybossandheissuchaprickandAvatarissuchagoodmoviebutIwishIsawitin3DDidyouhearaboutSarahyesterdayatworkshecriedbecauseherboyfrienddumpedherandshe*DEEPBREATH*couldnottakethepressureandthensheOMGdidyourealiseIhavejustbeentalkingforthelasthalfhournonstopHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.


The BAG Lady

Typical Physical Profile: Have no idea. Bag’s too big to see past and identify the perpetrator’s physical profile.

Typical Psychological Profile: The female version of the Spread-Legged. Uses enormous bag to occupy more space than necessary, and does not bother to carry it in a less obtrusive way. After all, her psychologist told her the world is hers. Hers alone. There is no one behind, infront, next to or around her because she spent her life with an overbearing mother, and she is beyond that now. She also has a phobia of not having enough space to put her bowling equipment in her bag, and constantly needs to feel secure by carrying her garden tools with her at all times, just in case.

Standard Operating Procedure: GIANORMOUS bag, placed exactly where IT will poke, prod, obstruct and potentially disembowel anyone who comes in contact with IT.

Couple’s Retreat: Tale of Two Morons

Typical Physical Profile: Also have no idea. They are too glued together to be identified separately. Can be determined to be male and female but this is not a hard and fast rule. However, they can be found at entrances/exits of the train, locked in heated embrace and blocking the entrance/exit.

Typical Psychological Profile: Love is in the air. Love is in the train. Love is where the heart is. Love is also when they successfully make another’s life just that little bit harder by blocking the exits as the doors DING DONG to a close. Deprived? No. Enlightened and loving.

Standard Operating Procedure: Nearest exit? Check. Place bodies strategically to obstruct disembarking passengers, even though train is empty? Check. Gag-inducing kisses and canoodles? Check. Irate writer of a youth newspaper whose life is made harder when she is blocked from exiting and is SMASHED by train doors on her attempt to land at Wangsa Maju? Check. Oh isn’t this fun, darling?

On the first day of Christmas

my true love gave to me: a pile of brown, erm, excrement.

Because that is what dogs do, and Maya is just like any other dog except that her fur is an alien extension sent to Earth to scruffy-fy me to death.

But that aside.

I found myself kneeling at the church pews

... my knees slipping on the wood because I have on a pair of trousers made of a butter-smooth material. It's a Christmas midnight mass, and you can already tell I am a prude with no life: I attend church in the middle of the night and then go home to blog about at 2.30am in the morning. No wild parties Sir, I promise. No booze for me either.

But I find myself thanking Him that I made it through the year - 2009 was a year of such new, amazing, incredible experiences for me I shall be a bit sorry it has to end. I have 5 days left on it, and I plan to waste it entirely on movies and sleep.

I also found myself praying to Him that I will fall in love with a person I have not met, and then perhaps put bygones as bygones, and move on. Pray also that my family is safe, and secure, and above all else, happy. And we are happy. Mostly poor, sometimes unwise and foolish, but happy.

(I think He listens, you know. It's just that He's got this lousy-ass secretary who gives Him his messages a few years too late. So hard to find good help these days.)

But listen to me. Getting all sentimental. I blame the silent night. Family asleep upstairs. The Internet all to myself.

2009 -

I made mistakes I regret till today.

I made choices I probably will not regret for the rest of my life. I also made choices I will regret for the rest of my life.

I suceeded in many areas, I failed in equally as many. I lived through expereinces that come once in a lifetime, I missed opportunities equally as rare.

I did so many things right and wrong this year. I grew up a little, regressed a little. Fell back on old habits and got rid of some. Said the right thing and said the wrong. Put on some weight and lost some. Ahem.

Told as much truth as I could, lied also when I had to.

Helped out a few people, stabbed some in the back too.

Took some sound beatings, relished some victories.

Learn a lot, and lost a lot.

Loved and then lost it, only to have it flare up every so often when the nights are quiet.

Some things made clear, some things made murkier.

It WAS some year.


2010-

I want to fall in love; have my hands held, my feet swept and my heart stolen. I want to move on, forget, accept and stop praying for things that can never be. I want to feel special, and I want to see me reflected in someone else's eyes exactly as I am. I want to be loved for me.

I want my Mom to be okay. I want her to be healthy, and safe, and happy. More than that, I want to be able to help her be all those things.

No matter what I want to keep the friendships I have alive, and kicking, and as mad as it is right now.

I need my job to be okay.

I want to grow up and be less stupid.

I would like to say I want to be rich, but that would be pushing it because I am already asking God for Perfection. Heh.

And the night is melting into morning.

so I have to be in bed, asleep. My eyes are closing.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

And they sent me a cap. A Red Canon Cap

to of course, take the sting out of waiting a billion hours for them to come to a decision of whose picture was the best, after a catastrophic muck-up with their server systems. That was delightful. A most wonderful compensation for the hours of my life I will never ever get back. I think I will wear that RED CANON CAP everywhere from now on because I totally love it.

I thought I had lost sarcasm, but it turns out losing my precious life-minutes can have strange effects on the Sarcasmic Hormone. Increases and all that.

So okay because you guys been holding your breaths for an update (ha ha, wah, I am such an a$$) here is what's been going on:

'Change is Imminent!'

posted a colleague on Facebook. And change IS imminent. Both at work and in my personal life.

Both have to do with money problems, and both are inescapable and currently unsolvable. At least, in my position, both situations have had me helpless and floundering about awaiting orders. Both situations also involve heads that are figuratively decapitated and currently not doing what heads do - which is to LEAD, and DIRECT.

Both have also had me terribly worried and wondering: What's next?

(I noticed I just typed out the previous sentence in 'house' style of caps after a ':'. Proof that work has officially made me mad)

An odd fascination with Baked Goods

in the form of butter cookies, a fruit cake and two butter cakes. Baked over the past weekend or so and so far, devoured with gusto by non-discerning family members who clearly possess too much love for me to have much in the way of good tastebuds.

Mommy being the Number One culprit of Eating What's Not That Great Because I Love the Baker.

But my butter cake and butter cookies are good, even my own tastebuds agree. And we all know how my tastebuds have the tendency to be reliable, but slightly prone to emotional attachments. Trust me. The most horrible thing (now that I think it over) I ever ate as a child (those horrific waxy chocolates made of wax and erm, chocolate) is something I still enjoy ten years down the road.

But by Jove, those cheap chocos are god-awful beyond imagining. But I like 'em.

Back to my baking yeah so the fruit cake was a bit disastrous. Edible, but disastrous. It's kinda finishing. Mainly because Mommy eats them and says they are good.

Again, I love Mommy. It's like I painted a horrible painting of two decapitated cows (which were intended to be two cute dogs) and have my Mommy hang it on the wall proudly.

And I need to say this again, because I am endlessly lame: I love Mommy.

A Sleuth or Two

To start my Wednesday morning, with a small telling-off for going for a 'fun' assignment. I think I don't have much to say about that, but I rather feel that it's best if Editorial wasn't quite so lean. But LEAN is an understatement. EMACIATED, I think, is better.

So the sleuth, it's Robert Downey Jr. in Sherlock Holmes, and I rather think it was a fantastic effort even though director Guy Richie is dodgy at best. The actors made the movie work in such a fun way I enjoyed the movie thoroughly, even though RDJr had a strange and inconsistent British accent.

(Work on it, Rob ol' boy, and when you've got the Queen's English down to a pat, you come down here and I will 'pat' you down aights? It's a date hunny. Call me.)

It also is an incredibly entertaining movie to watch with a huge gang of friends. Good friends who don't kick your chair or talk through the movie la. Select your cinema pals carefully, folks, and you're set for life.

Anyway. Great production, classy fight scenes, all-out rolicking romp and an amazingly nifty soundtrack provided by none other than Hans Zimmer. Nice one Mr Zimmer.

Let's kidnap RDJr and make sweet music with him tied up and gagged and gorgeously helpless on the floor with NO SHIRT ON. That's crucial, you know. Let's say it again. NO SHIRT - DAMN, NO CLOTHES ON.

(sorry, but I had to just take this oppportunity to present to the world what a bleedin' lech I am inside)

So yeah. I suspect some incredibly gag-inducing gay/yaoi fanfiction will soon be written by crazy girls all over the world (and who knows, maybe a crazy BOY), because the chemistry between Jude Law's Watson and RDJr's Holmes is sizzlingly-worthy of an olden-day Hollywood bro-mance.

You know. Two straight guys who are like, 'tight' and are like, loyal to each other and like, tough but vulnerable with each other and like -

WTF Pauline you need to stop talking/writing/thinking.

Yeah, go watch it and don't let my lech ways stop you.

A beautiful gift from someone I thought no longer loves me

Materialistic sounding though it is, it takes a Swatch to make me see that maybe my brother does still love me (and my sis) very, very much after all. Not because its a Swatch (and I've wanted one forever) but because he knew I wanted one forever.

I guess I am confused. And I guess I need to learn that family really means sacrifice and not being calculative. Sacrifice I know, but calculative maybe I am still a bit in the dark. Maybe I should stop listening to people who tell me what it isn't fair or that isn't right.

Because in family, fair isn't a word that applies. It's family for gard's sake. And families eat your crappy baked goods and then say its delicious.

I need to love my family more. Because my family IS, really, ALL I have. Besides good friends la. But my friends are mad, they belong to a different category altogether.

So yeah.

I am on leave tomorrow. I am still in office, it's 6.20pm (I looked at my new Swatch to find that out) and it's getting pretty dark. It may rain, I dunno, but I am reluctant to leave because it's going to be so crowded in the train. I think I am going to wait a while la.

So I am going to load some YouTube videos, because I can and because pretty much everyone has left (and the bosses are away too) and I am going to re-watch Up or something. Then tonight, I am going to sleep like tomorrow I don't have to go to work.

Eh wait. Tomorrow I don't have to go to work.

Ooooh.

Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend

There are two things I love this time of year.

Much the same stuff, which I like all year round, I like food and new promotions. Christmas, in all it's ho-ho-ho, is awesome. I don't care much for family gatherings (except those that involve my Dino's cooking and my mom laughing) but I do love how various restaurants and shops have promotions and sales like it was going out of style - and it always seem extra cheap this time of year to get drunk, too.

And this year, my favourite restaurant promotion is Starbuck's Christmas Blend brewed coffee. It is a work of Barista art, and can only come from the bowels of the world's most resilient coffee chain - STARBUCKs.

And I get 20% off la, since I work with ______ mah. (sorry la, confidential mah)

For roughly 8 bucks a grande cup, it isn't cheap. But it IS the most awesomest cuppa coffee I ever had - stronger than an Americano, sweeter than an Expresso, richer than a Double Expresso, and ever so much tastier than the crap produced in Nescafe machines. I have no problem with Nescafe, by the way, but let's face it: it IS crap.

But you won't hear me knocking it, coz its caffeine and I LOVE CAFFEINE.

So in tribute to one of my fav celebrations and the GLORY THAT IS THE NEWLY BORN Starbucks Cup O' Christmas Blend. (you tot I would say Jesus, didn't u? didn't u?? HAH!)

Ahem.

So here goes:

Starbucks Night

Starbucks Blend,
Christmas Blend,
All is nice,
All is hot.
Round yon' Venti and Grande and Tall,
Holy Christmas, it's thirty-percent off,
Sip in heavenly peace,
Sip in heavenly peace.

Hark the Starbucks XMas Blend

Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend,
Glory to the Venti Cup,
Piece of cake, behold it comes,
Offspring of a Baker's touch,
Strong they make the coffee taste,
Packs a punch when much in haste,
With th'angelic hosts proclaim,
Cups are born in Starbucksland,
Hark the Starbucks Christmas Blend,
Glory to the Venti Cup.


We Three Cups

We three cups of Starbucks are,
Bearing beans we traversed afar,
Steam and presses, cream and sugar,
following yonder (bari)star.

O cup of wonder, cup of life,
Shine with fragrant coffee bright,
Westward-leading still proceeding
Guide us to thy perfect light.

Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer

Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer,
Had some very tired eyes,
And if you ever saw him,
you would even say it blows.

All of the other reindeers,
used to laugh and call him lame,
They never let poor Rudolph,
Join in any drinking games.

Then one groggy Christmas Eve,
Santa said to him,
Rudolph with your eyes so sore,
You can raid my coffee-store!

Then all of the reindeer loved him,
As they shouted out COFFEE,
Rudolph the Caffeined Reindeer,
you'll go down in history!

There are two conclusions in which you can draw.

First, I am stark raving mad.

Second, you feel the urge to call Starbucks to have them hire me.

Go fo the second. Thanks. Ciaaooo.

(UPDATE: Upon insistence by V-dearest, I TRADEMARK these songs. They belong to Pauline, also known fondly as Whales, and they were written while under the influence of a dangerous new drug called Starbucks Christmas Blend)

By the virtue of God

and a very generous Singaporean PR company, I found myself in the presence of my favourite author and inside possibly one of THE best public transportation systems in the world (or at least this part of South-East Asia).

Behold!

Neil Gaiman drew me a RAT. One of THE top ten moments of my miserable, unfulfilled life. XP

He also signed off that he loved me. Possibly because I buy his books and continue to contribute to his already immense personal wealth.

And here he is with his GF, Amanda Palmer (of the Dresden Dolls). Shitty angle because I was too star-struck to ask for a picture with them.

A picture of Amanda during a VERY good one-time only private gig at the Chambers, Arts House Singapore.

And now, to the proper update: Pictures that I took during my trip; not much inside the Arts House itself, but that's because one does not take pictures like a friggin' tourist inside the building that once used to be the Parliament. The Arts House is an amazingly historical place and also very sombre, a perfectly fitting place for a Writer's Festival.

Okay, so I was put into Ibis Hotel (not Peninsula, THOSE guys overbooked themselves) which is very pleasant and perfectly nice. As you can see, I started making it a mess from the get-go.

From the table of the little cafe at the Parliament area itself where I had my first meal in Singapore.

The front of the Arts House

More Arts House. Yawn. Sorry la. Pictures not so good coz I was too busy trying not to look like a gap-mouthed tourist.

People crossing the pedestrian walkways. Very, very nice walkways indeed and cars RESPECT YOU. HEAR THAT, MALAYSIAN DRIVERS?

Apperantly, Singaporeans are very serious about 'catch cheating spouse'.

The very beautiful St. Joseph's Church; I went for Saturday evening mass and got properly caught in the rain after. Damn fun.

Orchard Street! With X Mas decor edy!




More Orchard Street!

A slightly artsy picture of what also I forgot edy. Haha.

I wish I could put up more, but it's raining now and I need to complete my chores.

Let me just leave you with this:

My trip to Singapore was amazing. I saw how the other half lives. Their MRT is beyond efficient, their buses reliable and not LATE AND POORLY MAINTAINed and their people, civilised. No random spitting on the ground. No vandalised busstops.

Sure, their food can't hold a candle to what we have in Malaysia (no country in the world can, IMHO) and their people tend to be a tad hurried. I also got the feeling the GOVERNMENT IS WATCHING ME which in a sense was disconcerting.

But we have a lot to learn, us Malaysians, or at least THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL have a lot to learn. How can you fuck up public transport here so badly when really, KL isn't even bigger than Singapore?

I also envy how they pay a lot of emphasis to arts, and can hold water with big names like Neil Gaiman. Don't see him coming to KL now, eh?

I love my country (but not it's government). I love the food. I love many aspects of life in Malaysia. But we can do and be so much more if THE DAMN BARISAN NASIONAL would just get their heads out from whatever dark hole they've been in and DO SOMETHING GOOD.

That would be a nice complement to the fantastic satay, nasi lemak, bak kut teh, tose, and char kuey teow.

But my fingers are too tired to type out the blow-by-blow account of Singapore Day 1,2, 3 and 4, so you'll just have to wait for Parte Two; coming soon.

Ciao ya'll.