CSI: Never watched a single espisode

I Couldn’t Do It:

Confession of a crime-fiction lover who can’t and never did watch a single episode of CSI.

I have loved crime-fiction all my life. Okay, probably not the first six or seven years, when I started life drooling, crawling and schooling and trying to figure out how to spell giraf. Mmm…its giraph, right? Geraff? You know, that animal with long freakin’ necks?

Anyway, the issue I want to talk about today it the fact that I have never watched a full single episode of that damned and popular CSI* series, that bore many spin-offs and wannabes. Okay, the ambulance is ready; you can pick up those fainted gals.

Yes, I never did watch one. Never watched any of the versions, whether it’s CSI: Miami, Vegas or Salt Lake City or whatever. I tried, but by the tenth minute, my fingers itched, and automatically clicked on the remote control to the Cartoon Network. Yes, I learn more about life, existence, eternity, the earth, the universe, and how to catch a mouse in Cartoon Network. You can’t get it anywhere else.

When I told this to a gal, again through online chat, she was shocked! She said she doesn’t know me anymore. She looked like she may distance herself and start working on the manuscript (sure New York Times and News Straits Times Best seller) entitled, “Dazed and Confused: How a Woman Continues The Struggle In Her Life And Face The Society After Learning That A Pal Of Hers Has Never Watched A Single Episode Of CSI.

That’s a definite Pulitzer, I tell ya.

Anyway, that’s a fact. Even Linda, my fiancée, loves CSI, much to my annoyance. The other day, after watching two Clint Eastwood films back to back, I asked, “Do you now, accept Swami Eastwoodandha as your saviour?” There was an almost (I think) approving smile in her face. Then, I continued, “Do you denounce American Idol, CSI_”

I don’t want to continue that, except to tell you that there is still pain in my left arm. I need to take a rest from typing for a while…hang on…

Aside: I would soon be living with a gal who loves JCo donuts, American Idol, and CSI. Sheesh, the sacrifices I have to make. Am sorry, Clint-ji, I will try to do something. End of aside.

Anyway, despite all that, not watching CSI is definitely strange for someone who grew up reading and watching and loving crime fiction. The one name that triggered it all has to be Sherlock Holmes. I was ten when I chanced upon this abridged version of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.

I was hooked immediately. I wanted to be him, so much so that I exchanged something for a stolen (from school lab) magnifying glass from my cousin (Attention Sekolah Kebangsaan Seri Bali Cha’ah, he is now hiding in Singapore…I can name him in private if you promise to put me under Witness Protection Program). I was using the magnifying glass on anything, and to my delight, despite the fact that it makes stuff look bigger; it can also be used to kill insects under sunlight. Wooohooo!

Okay, so I was hooked. I was reading more detective tales as I grew up, and in my twenties picked up on the works of Raymond Chandler and Mickey Spillane. I read on serious, but funny crime tales by Elmore Leonard, and I wanted to write a crime fiction myself. In fact, I’d downright say that crime fiction has been the root for my to become a writer. Hey, I wrote a Holmes pastiche when I was thirteen or something. And thinking about the quality of those writings…I mean at that age, with that zeal…I am glad that I lost the papers.

In the meantime, my movie-watching habit was going into that direction as well. You have to admit, all the main stars must, one time or another, appeared in a crime thriller or appeared as a cop. Imagine, one of the best actor of all time, Al Pacino, a purveyor of stage plays, a Shakespearean nut appeared in many crime fiction/cop drama/thrillers. Think about it, Serpico, Sea of Love, Heat, Scarface, Carlito’s Ways, Donnie Brasco, The Recruit , 88 Minutes, and coming soon, Righteous Kill among others. And what are the The Godfather movies, without crime.

And some of my favourite films were of crime genre. From my Swamiji’s Dirty Harry movies, to the mesmerising 1930s-50s Noir films, and 70s offering like Serpico, French Connection, paranoia political crime movies like All The President’s Men, The China Syndrome, Parallax View, Fort Apache, The Bronx, moving on to Heat, LA Confidential and much more. All crime, and most had forensic stuff in it.

And at that time (I still do) I wanted to write crime fiction and I bought books that can help me. I have books on weapons (guns and rifles) and, of course, on forensics. My younger brother then was a cop and we had long late nights discussing crimes and forensics stuff (aided by certain Scottish Beverage).

So, there it was, forensics and crime scene investigation has been part of crime fiction staple, not the main part. And suddenly, what has been the brain of a single fictional character (yes, Holmes) is now show about a unit.

I can’t criticise the show, since I haven’t watched it in full. I may, one day. But having been reading up on it, and having it seen as just one of the element required in crime fiction story telling, I guess I treated it as a well, sub-subject. It’s like always having broccoli as a side dish to your T-bone steak, and suddenly you are looking at it as the main course. No way!

So, I am glad I got it off the chest. Now, I’ve got to get this right. Geeraff. Giraff. Griaph. Gruff. I …just…can’t…do…it….gareff?

*CSI, I believe, stands for Crime Scene Investigation. Or Crime Situation Interrogation. Or One Of The Series For Has-Been Actors and Wannabe Semi-stars Who Just Overacts Like It’s Freakin’ The Godfather or Somethin’

Election 2008

Election 2008

I just got back from my cousin’s wedding back in Kluang, Johore. The fun part was meeting all the other cousins, uncles, aunties, schoolteachers, and, of course, those bastard who bullied you in school. Okay, the last one was not fun, and thank god I didn’t see one.

Getting together, naturally our conversation centred on one issue that has been THE talk of town the last month or so. Yes, the heated discussion zeroed in the inevitable, the all-important, the mesmerising Aftrican Cheese cake!

Haha, got you. Of course, we all talked about the recent election, though the conversation on the mystery of the African cheese cake would have been intriguing as well, except that the it might involve severe violence*

Naturally, everyone was happy with the blows received by the ruling party. It was about time, they say. Words like “arrogance”, “complacency”, “transparency” and “hair transplant” were frequently bandied about and are still ringing in my hear. I thought it was my alarm clock.

Anyway, the election was sure one of the most interesting that has happened in Malaysia since the independence almost 51 one yeas ago. Other interesting things, of course, involves the ’64 separation of Singapore, the very sad ’69 riot, the ’97 financial crisis and a certain clinging-on-seat-minister with a hairpiece/transplant so frightening he should be rated 18SG so as to keep away from scaring little children.

What was so sure about this election is this: Majority of Rakyat (people) are angry! They are unhappy! They are so pissed with the government they voted a young inexperienced candidate over an experienced minister, unseated a party president from the seat that I thought was actually glued to his ass so long that it was part of his body. And yes, the crème de la crème (creampie on ruling party’s face) was that the people elected the dude who shot the Lingam clip! I mean they choose him despite his complete lack cinematographic artistry! Can you beat that?

There were repressed anger, suppressed dissatisfactions amongst many, and it doesn’t involve one race alone. Everyone was unhappy. It took one peaceful assembly by an non-governmental organisation called Hindraf (Hindu Rights Action Force, though it need not necessarily involve Hindus, it can be Catholics, Muslim and if they can take tear gas and water cannon, Scientologists) to break loose the unspoken bond between these unhappy lot. Many Chinese and Malay folks sympathised with the Hindraf supporters. Many of them, in fact, related to some of the issues highlighted by Hindraf.

In fact, there were many non-governmental group gatherings, intended to be peaceful, but was broken up with tear gas and water canon, like the Hindraf gatherings, by police because these groups are so dangerous they might poke the innocent bystanders eyes with their placards and car keys.

Actually, the peaceful gathering is beginning to be accepted as new culture in Malaysia. When Lim Guan Eng, that dude from DAP, took over as the chief minister in Penang Island, he said something to the effect that it pissed the UMNO members. The members made peaceful assembly, which was quickly broken up by police with tear gas and water canon. Oh, sorry, the cops did not do that.

Then, there was another held in Perak, because Lim’s dad said something that amounted to disrespect to the Perak Sultan. There was a peaceful gathering again, accusing Lim senior of being rude to the Sultan. Hah! Our dutiful cops arrived and dispersed them with tear gas and water canon.

Oh shit, I am wrong again. So much for journalistic integrity. I should know that water gas and tear gas comes with instruction “To be used only against parties not affiliated with the ruling party”. I shoulda checked the fact first.

So many things happened the last four years, after the election in 2004. All those promises, those kept and broken. All those statements, the truth and the lies. But along the way, one thing remained true. No matter which country you are, which party is rulling the nation, the politicians are, and have always been unintentionally funny. From the funny way they talk, walk, behaving like Dodo’s right before their exctinction through some foreign news agencies. Politicians always ranked next to lawyers in terms of being butt of many jokes. But the ranking need to be revieweds, as most lawyers become politicians anyway.

And so, as I said, this is an interesting election. There are lot more twist and turn to happen down the road, in a year or so. I mean, things can also be so messy that it might require poor Uncle Sam to interfere by first bombing the shit out of KL Tower which has for more than a decade served the Malaysian people with….I mean….errr….hummmm..

Okay, it gave many free meals to journalists high up several hundreds of feet with 360 view of KL city. Now, that is service, dude! Anyway, my point is, we are going to see a completely different Malaysia now. It is now a new era for us Malaysia. And there sure gonna be bigger budget for tear gas canisters for the cops.

Okay, we wouldn’t want that. Malaysia has dealt with issues diplomatically and I am one of those few who still believe in the art of diplomacy (though it hardly worked with my fiancé, especially when it comes to some stupid donuts).

Now, all I can ask for from these new elected officials, ruling party or not, is to work together. Set aside your differences, and sit down and look at the Rakyat’s plight. Sure, the ruling party may drive bigger cars and have posh homes, but leave those differences to the ACA people to sort out. You guys just sit down and think about serving the people, ‘kay.

*Uncle A: I tell ya it involves cheese made from moose’s milk.

Cousin C: Haha, he calls a cow, Moo, so childish (Uncle A knocks a teeth out of Cousin C).

Reign Of Donut Terror!

What is it with this fascination for JCo Donut! Why are people crazy about it? Why are there long queues each time I pass by that place?

It's just baked flour with flavour, and for inexplicable reason, has a hole in it. What is it trying to tell us? Or is there some intellectual underpinning, alluding the hole to the very existence of human fabric...

Bullshit.

It's some pastry stuff that, women especially, love and regret for having too much indulgence in.

But why are people going emotional about it? I'll give you an example:

Once, during a press function, we journalists were give Jco donut as door-gift (howzat, donut as door gift, what's next? Coffee as door gift? We are not American cops, for Eastwood's sake).

I brought it back to office, and offered them to my colleagues, since I am about as interested in donuts as would a cat in broccoli.

Then, while chatting online with a friend, I mentioned my generous gesture (I am tremendously generous with things I don't want).

That's it! She exploded, throwing written-fits, and I could almost feel virtual hands coming out to strangle me. The only thing she didn't do is send a B2 bomber to my house.

(Aside. She is in my Friendster and Facebook and her name rhymes with Fellini. End of aside)

I thought I should bitch about it to my fiancée, Linda. I mean, what kind of behaviour is that? Completely childish, and preposterously over the top.

Guess what? Linda did the same, albeit with more rights to cause foot related injury to my rear. If we were married, I'd be spending longer hours on the sofa for giving away those damned donuts.

In no less than a week, as fate would have it (I have to deal with the Maker with this, soon), Linda and I was in Pavillion, where JCo donut outlet is.

And as fate would have it again (I hate this dude Fate, why would he have it all the time? What is It, by the way that he is having?) both of us passed by, and the force of evil made Linda gravitate towards the outlet. Outside there was type of queue that once broke many windows in McDonalds outlet in Singapore (Singaporeans know what I am talking about - it involves verbally challenged cat).

And so, we happened to have some appointment that time, and the queue was too long. But I felt, in the name of relationship, why not make some sacrifice and join the queue. For her.

We actually joined the queue, but laziness and the need to attend the next appointment, mostly for the former, we had to leave. I literally had to drag her out.

Linda was lost. She was not there. Going up the escalator, I had to pacify her. She was making this weird whining noise, almost to tears.

It was freaky, almost surrealistic. Remember the climax of the movie Apocalypse Now, where Brando whispers, "The horror...the horror...the horror."

Well here, while I was hugging her, pacifying her, I heard, "The Almond...the custard...the chocolate." You people! What have you done to my girl?!

I told her that donuts are evil, satanic, anti-Christ. Of course, alarmed that she was, being a devout Catholic, she said, "Shut up!"

Also, I noticed that the donut fever seemed to have affected women a lot. Queueing outside Jco was many excited women, and men, with vacant stares, almost zombified next to their wives/girlfriends. Yes, you could see these guys, who usually looked like life has been sucked out of them in Ladies shoe shops.

Speaking of shoes, why are gals so crazy about shoes? I mean, if it is not like when a hot gal passes by, we guys go "Whoa, dude. Check out her pair of shoes!" No! Usually we go, "Whoa mama, dude, check out those pairs of gazoombas!*"

And I have witnessed some pretty heaty bargaining going on in discount shoe stores. I mean, if you want to punish someone for some serious crime, put him or her in a discount shoe store as a sales clerk.

Sorry for the digression.

The point is, this craze for donuts must stop. I mean no offence to JCo who are merely there to serve mankind by making shitload of money, but making ladies, especially, go nuts (no pun intended) over donuts is too much.

And guys, be brave, put your foot down and get out of those damned queue. I mean...wait a minute. What's that I hear? Hark! The unmistakable sound of stampede made by thousands of ladies shoes, with their owners in it. I gotta get outta here!



*Pair of gazoombas could mean pair of eyes, ears, or nostrils. Depend on usage. Just verify with a local ENT specialist. What were you thinking?

The Colour Of Food

I am not what you’d call a fat guy. Nope. But I do have a belly big enough to qualify as a temple priest. Hang on. It’s not that big. Maybe just nice for a politician.

Each time I make a trip back home, or if my parents come up here to KL, anxiety would strike me. It’s that bad, because my mom would be making comments on my weight.

And it happened this time around. Even my dad got it. His waist size got two inches larger. All his life he had been a 30 and now its 32. Shocking!!! And the attention was later turned on me.

So, that’s it. I got to go on diet. This is actually a sequel. Diet Pt 13, may be. So, for help I did what an independent, intelligent, resourceful guy would do, search the internet.

After deliberating many cliché ridden advises, I came across this:

“In the USDA Dietary Guidelines for Americans 2005, it calls for Americans to eat more dark green and orange vegetables. Use lunchtime as an opportunity to get those veggie servings with the inclusion of a simple salad of, say, green leaf lettuce and shredded carrot.”

Haha. Bloody Americans. Always with their obese problem. I am not an obese but this sounds like a good advice. Dark green and orange vegetable, huh?

ARE YOU FREAKIN’ KIDDING ME????

How the hell would I know dark green and orange vegetable? I am colour blind, for Picasso’s sake. For all you know I might be crunching on purple vege and some Alien from outerspace would come avenging the death of its uncle.

There are so many diet schemes out there, for e.g. Vege diet, Protein diet, Atkins diet, Olsen twin’s diet(also known as third world diet) and Diet Coke. So many choices.

Also, I noted that most diet plans are meant for women. I mean, come on. We too are afflicted with that problem. So, I did more research (I need more funds here for research) and came up with this:

Weight Loss Advice for Men
Be sensible about alcohol.
You don't have to give up

Take some regular exercise.
You don't have to jog your butt off

Eat less red meat.
You don't have to eat lentils

Eat less fast food
Home cooked food isn't necessarily slow food


And the advice ended with this statement:

"Don't wait until you're in the ER to find out about your cholesterol and blood pressure. You may not survive that long."

Makes you feel good, doesn't it?

But the advice looks sound. Simple. Very traditional. So, I am going to start today. I am going to follow what the above said, especially the one in italics.

My Looks ...a.k.a who cares.

A dear lady friend of mine, whom I met over the Internet (not chat, email)and who has not met me in person was curious as to how I looked like.

That’s true. Not many know how I looked like. I have been asked that question before. For example, queries like, “Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

Now how would I describe myself?

I will start with my head. There is a head all right, unless someone angers me indefinitely. I lose if so fast that it bounces of the wall and comes back to me and back to my neck – in tact. Haha.

Excuse my feeble attempt at humour. Firstly, I would say that I am balding – at an exceedingly alarming rate. Secondly, I hate it! But I can’t help it. My dear father is balding. So are my uncles. But then there are so many attractive bald men. For example, there is Sean Connery. And then, err, Sean Connery. Hold a minute, there is someone else. Oh dear! I mean, there’s Connery and then. Faugh!.

It should also come to your attention that I have a very high forehead. Yes, I know. It has come to my knowledge that high foreheads are often attributed to extremely intelligent people like Albert Einstein. I was proud of it, until someone informed me that I have a high forehead because I am balding. Confound it!

Now, comes the favourite part of my body. My eyebrows. Nothing exceptional about them, though. But herein lies the greatest talent I posses – the ability to raise one of them individually. It started when I was trying to imitate Connery doing Bond. And then, it became a habit, and the habit included the dying hair follicles.

My eyes. Ah, there have been many description about them. I personally liked to view them as a pair of eyes belonging to a scientist or a astronomer – keen and intuitive. If, of course, you would excuse for the fact that they are my eyes and were viewed by themselves. How odd. I asked a colleague of mine, “what do you think of my eyes?” This colleague, his colours drained out as if fearing for his dear life, remarked, “Dude, I am straight. Stay away from me.” How odd? He never looked crooked to me, poor chap.

Next, comes my nose. Disregarding the cliché, may I say that I have an aquiline nose? I asked your permission to allow me to say that since till this day I do not have a darn clue what aquiline means.

In all fairness, I should say that I hate my lips. Apart from the fact that they are thick and actually do not qualify the wordy ‘pouty’, they have serve no function accept to open and shut when necessary. Also, the fact that I can’t whistle without missing note annoys me a lot. But then, how much has it contributed to the mankind, with exception of Milli Vanili is beyond me.

My ears used to resemble a car with doors opened on both sides. But as I aged, it ceased to look like that. It now looks like a car with doors open on both sides, when parked in a very tight spot.

I shall go ahead with the rest of my body. I am normally middle-sized. When I am not normal, it stays middle-sized. But suffice to say, my waist size have, thus far, only moved to and fro between 33” and 34”. I am neither hairy nor do I have bare chest. It reminds me of the line Connery utters about bare-chested Japanese men in You Only Live Twice : “Birdsh don’t make nesht on bare Ttttreee”. The scriptwriter must have had too many Sakis when he wrote that line.

My posterior, however, is the greatest disappointment of all. An old friend of mine remarked that it reminded him of “the North-South highway”. God bless him.

I generally have a gait of a bear trying to imitate a panther. It happens when I walk briskly. My love for cat somehow influenced my physical movement. Yes, I can be graceful especially when begging for food.

That’s all you readers will have to know about me. Further information could be found in that SPECIAL book in the police headquarters in Bukit Aman. Right now, I have to dash off as I hear scream suspicious of that of a siren.

I thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

Killing Time in Airport

Okay, here's my contribution for September issue of Asian Airlines and Aerospace. Very useful.


Killing Time In Airport

You are in a transit. You have another three hours before your next flight. What do you do? Who do you call? Ghostbusters?

Fret not, I have all the right stuff you can do to kill time. If these steps do not help, well, I suggest the most common and inevitable measure – sleep on the benches.

So, first things first, how do you deal with the stress? Head to the nearest bar and have a glass of beer? Are you crazy? Do you how much a glass of beer costs in airport lounges?

Well, I checked howto.com and it says that you should go to the gym. Well, I know its not much fun, but at least you can get tired enough to sleep on the bench.

What if the airport has no gym? Well, don’t look at me; I didn’t suggest the gym thing. The same site says that you can ‘power-walk’ around the entire airport. “Store luggage in terminal lockers, lace up those walking shoes and get the blood pumping,” the site says. How appropriate! And watch out for that “Wet Floor” sign.

Next, the helpful site says that bored passengers can “Surf the Web and answer e-mail at an Internet kiosk to make the time fly. Keep in mind that, in some airports, you'll be charged for the time you spend online.”

Always remember to spend wisely. We don’t want to see you scrounging for money because you hocked your return ticket. The Internet can be addictive, especially the chat rooms

Next, one can purchase souvenirs and presents for friends and family at the airport's gift shops and retail stores. The most popular souvenirs have always been chocolates. The reason is simple; if you get hungry you can eat them yourself. Don’t worry about the empty box, when you present them to your loved ones don’t forget to quote Forrest Gump.

“Get a shoeshine,” says the site, though it did not state what to do if you are wearing sandals. Shine your legs? The site says that many larger airports feature hallway shine specialists to buff and polish your shoes. If the airport doesn’t have such facilities you can do it yourself. What did you say? No wax of your own? Now, you know what else to bring along during your trips, don’t you?

Next comes the best part. The site asks you to enjoy a drink in the airport bar if there is one. “In US airports,” it says, “the day's big sporting event will probably be blaring on the television.” That is in the US. In other countries, the shows themselves are the reason why we should stick to the bar and drown our sorrows with a bartender who probably does not speak our language.

The seventh step is to have a good book. This is my favourite time killing measure. Make sure it’s a good book. You can scrounge the bookstores in the airport, but I warn you, you don’t usually get what you want. Sure, the bestsellers will always be there. But for readers like me, who prefer books written by authors who p[probably died fifty years ago, it can be tough. So, bring your own book. If not, bring books belonging to other people. Make sure you get their permission first though.

The site also gave an ultimate, “Keep your eye on a clock at all times, and check the departure screens regularly to ensure that you do not miss your flight.” This is provided you are not at the bar or reading a book. One can’t be doing too many things at the same time.

I hope these tips are useful. In fact, I am killing my time right now writing this piece.

Wait a minute…gosh darn! I think my flight just took off!

New Bond

This is crazy. Go to google news and type James Bond and there will be rumours on just about everyone else being tested to play James Bond. Gad. What's happening to this world?

Being a big Bond fan (my friends know how big, that's why most have played safe by staying away and issuing restraining order) I have often been asked about that: Who do you think that should be the new Bond?

I have two names: Clive Owen and Hugh Jackman. But Owen, like the third Bond, Timothy Dalton, might take the job too seriously. So, I am not sure about him. Jackman will be good. Plus, he has the market, especially over here in Asia. People know him from X-Men and Swordfish. Even his flop, Van Helsing, did big business in this region.

But all these argument are dead on water since we start getting so many news about this feller and that feller going for audition.

So, I thought and thought about it. Lets get radical. Lets think of someone nobody would have thought of.

Here it is:

Larry Mullen Jr.

"Who?" You may ask.

And say, "What are you, a f******* owl?" Haha. Okay, sorry. Stole that line from the movie Heat.

Larry is the drummer for the superband U2. I am a big fan. So are millions all around the world. Look at him. What do you think?

I think I am nuts. But back in 1961, many thought of the same of Bond producers when they took in a blue-collarish Scotsman named Connery.

Just think about it.

Movie marathon for weekend

What a weekend!!!!!!!!!

This must be the weekend I saw most movies. Anyway, I have no time to write the reviews for my movie site, so I will write mini-reviews. Here we go:

Fantastic Four:
Great fun. A very balanced script. Everything is in, the humour, the pathos, the action and the delight of superpowers. Chiklis and Evans excel - one suffering and the other having fun. The others are okay too, especially the delicious Alba. CG not overdone. Don't mind sequels.

The Island:
Interesting premise. But halfway, I kinda got sleepy. On one side Michael Bay (the director) wanted to please the critics, and the other, he wants to please the hardcore audiences he had always pleased. So, in between what seemed to be legitimately good story, there's running, explosion, fighting, shooting and more running. McGreggor is very good in what seems to be the usual Tom Cruise role (hero on the run and later gets back at the big organisation he is running away from; see The Firm, MI, Minority Report, WOTW).

Stealth:
absolute f****** waste of time. I messaged someone saying that it is not even worthy of a Pirated DVD. Jamie Foxx is wasted. He is not suited for this kind of role. The technology does not impress. The Talon aircrafts looks like the one Eastwood stole in Firefox. The stealth aircraft does not even do stealth operations. What the F***!

The other flicks I watched on DVDs.

The Mad Max movies:
I watched all three over a week period. Mad Max is okay, a bit dull. Nothing great to be recognised as a cult favourite. I guess it was the other movies that made this one respectable. The one I saw was relooped with American voices, so dubbing was bad. Like the Spaghetti Western movies.

The Road Warrior was good. Damned good fun. Mel Gibson get to do a bit of acting here, and you can see why he is perfect as action hero. The film is often said to be the source of influence for many good and bad post-apocalyptic sci-fi. I'd credit that to Escape From New York too.

Beyond Thunderdome is good, but inferior to Road Warrior. Tina Turner looks delicious. But the ending is all fuzzy. She just leaves and the movie finishes. Huh?

Laws of Attraction:
I watches this for one person only: Pierce Brosnan. He is great at comedies and nobody, not even Bond movies, tested him at that talent. He shines here. Finally shows how versatile he can be and this genre - romantic comedy - is easy as he had had the practice in TV (you know which show). Julianne Moore is good too. Nice movie, but not the one I want to revisit over and over again.

The Fogs of War:
Actually saw this last week, not on weekend. Documentary on Robert MacNamara, former secretary of defence for JFK and LBJ. Powerful. Very moving, with MacNamara (now in his 80s) narrating. Sometimes very honest, and very open, and sometimes not. But we are made aware of how stupid and emotional human being can be and how much it can cost in terms of lives. He talks how he was involved in Cuban missile crisis and the Vietnam war, as well as his other gigs like in the Ford Motor company and world bank. Great piece of work.

Got to write the full reviews for my site.

Flying Trivia

This one was written for the August issue of Asian Airlines & Aerospace magazine. The magazine is not out, so the one folk or two who're reading my blog will be the first to encounter it.


Flying Trivia

There are a lot of things we take for granted, or don’t care about when on a flight. For instance, who controls the aircraft? If your answer was the captain, you would be right. You were expecting a different answer weren’t you? Well, there are some things everyone knows and others no one may know. Here, we offer answers so some frequently pondered upon questions.

Most of the answers were found in seniorindia.com (your guess is as good as mine). Some of the answers are informative, some are valuable, and others actually made the writer contemplate moving into a tiny cave in the Himalayas.

If you have queries during a flight, whom do you ask?

Of course, soul searching and questioning yourself is good for existential reasons, but when it concerns important biological functions (the location of the lavatory), you need to seek the assistance of those in the know. The people in the know here would be the flight attendants.

An inflight supervisor coordinates the work of all flight attendants and usually looks after passengers in the First Class compartment. If you happen to find yourself in the first class cabin, raise of glass of champagne in a toast for us.

Before take off

What exactly should you NOT take into an aircraft?

Of course, the usual culprits include knives, daggers, swords, firearms and babies. Okay, I was kidding about the last one, unless of course, they happen to be armed and dangerous. We all know the security paranoia that’s permeating the industry, so it is not tough to know which things can go in and which can’t. Here are some of the goods considered to be dangerous: explosives, compressed or toxic gases, flammable liquids, easily ignitable or self-ignitable solids, substances that develop flammable gases on contact with water, oxidising, poisonous, infectious or corrosive substances, or magnetising materials.

According to the site, exempted from this list are life-support articles like heart pacemakers containing radioactive materials like a plutonium battery or other items such as smoking materials carried on your person, medicinal and toilet articles (without aerosols).

There is also the issue of using electronic equipment. This is not a problem, unless they interfere with the aircraft’s electronic system. Imagine an aircraft touching down in Timbuktu instead of Singapore’s Changi International Airport just because you were using your Nokia 6680 mobile phone. You know how dependent pilots are to all those electronics gadgets in the cockpit. You can, of course, use cassette recorders, pocket calculators and electric razors. Like Sean Connery’s character says in the movie The Rock, “You can’t cut my b***s with a trimmer, can you.”

And, if you are not sure, ask the authorities at the airport before boarding an aircraft. If you get wide-eyed, terrified responses, you’ll know what to do or not.

There, alas, remains the question of pets. If you can’t live without your kitty, it is high time to consider getting her married off. Just kidding. You can always freeze them cryogenically and thaw them when you get to your destination. Again, I am just kidding.

Jokes aside, according to the site, domestic pets can travel safely in the temperature controlled and well-lit aircraft. But you must ensure that secure crates or pet boxes are used before booking them into the aircraft. The site says that if you think your pet should “travel with you in the cabin, it may be possible under certain conditions: Your pet must be well-trained and healthy, and not too large.” I am not sure what this means exactly; maybe the cat you are carrying is supposed to know which button to press to call the attendant, and know how to use the lavatory as an added bonus. In any case, we hope you understand what we are talking about. Also, don’t forget to inform your neighbour – he/she might be allergic to cats.

What’s out there?

Once you get to your aircraft and take a seat and look out of the window you will notice something – the lack of clouds. This is probably due to the fact that the aircraft has not taken off yet. What you will see is a flurry of activity involving containers, pallet loaders, tankers, catering vehicles, cleaning vehicles and a black cat crossing the path of your plane (think Matrix and déjà vu at this point and start looking for Agents). All the activity, aside from the cat, revolves around the loading of cargo as well as food and fuel. The containers and pallets are loaded beneath and sometimes in the cabin.

Those flying in winter will notice the aircraft being sprayed with liquid. Don’t be alarmed; it’s not for the mosquitoes. It is a de-icer, an environmentally friendly mixture of hot water and glycol. According to the website, the hot water removes any snow, frost and ice clinging to the outside of the aircraft, and the glycol forms a thin protective film to prevent re-freezing so that all moving parts stay mobile and surfaces remain aerodynamically 'clean', guaranteeing maximum aerodynamic efficiency during take off and further flight.

Here is a crucial question concerning a life-threatening moment: Can one use the aircraft toilet just before take off?

When the plane is parked on the runway, why not! Unless you plan on taking some time and the plane is ready to take off. Imagine the mess if the plane begins to taxi and actually takes off. You don’t even want to imagine what you’d look like when you eventually emerge.

Now, why do those flaps and rudders move just before take off?

I used to imagine some kid in the cockpit going, “yippee!” and playing with all those switches. That’s why I thought the flaps and the rudders flipped about before take off. Well, as usual, I was wrong. It’s the cockpit crew running a final check to ensure that the rudder and flaps are in perfect working condition. You should start worrying if you hear a loud “oops!” from the cockpit.

Why are some flights delayed during take off?

Those living in KL, Bangkok and Manila will know the answer to this question. It’s the bloody traffic. This may actually be the first instance where the word ‘bloody’ has been used in this magazine, but there is always a first time and it did seem appropriate.

Airports and the air traffic control are struggling to keep pace with the increase in air traffic. The situation is further aggravated by military and VIP flights. I do hope air traffic control personnel are well compensated for their high stress jobs.

Flight delays also result from bad weather, unscheduled repairs or lack of punctuality on a previous flight that may have utilized the same aircraft. There is also the possibility that the pilots ate something, which disagreed with them for lunch.

Fear of flying

Your flight is a relaxed one. You are having your fifth or sixth whiskey on the rocks when some turbulence is followed by news that sobers you up instantly: “An engine has failed!”

The first thing to do is of course, pray. The next thing to do is panic. But you really should not worry. Remember when you were young, and your favourite goldfish died of too much fresh air? Well, your dad would have told you, “Don’t worry, there is always another.”

This is exactly the same situation; there is always another engine. Which is why there are no single engine aircraft. If there were, we would strictly advice you to avoid them. If one of the engines of a twin-jet aircraft fails, the other can still provide enough power to continue the flight safely

What if both engines fail? Well, then we hope and pray for a miracle. Actually, the aircraft will generally be able to safely glide to the nearest airport. There is however, nothing wrong is saying a prayer or two and keeping your fingers crossed as an added measure.

We’ve already seen that the weather can delay flights. What if the bad weather occurs during a flight? Do we then do the opposite of the Indian Rain Dance?

Fear not. Your pilot will consult air traffic control and steer a course around it to spare passengers the discomfort of turbulence. Usually, lightning presents no threat to the aircraft as seniorindian.com noted that since the cabin is made of metal and forms a so-called Taraday cage, it could afford perfect protection for everyone on board. The cage acts as a protective screen shielding the occupants from the external electric field generated by lightning.

Speaking of lightning, what about turbulence? What the heck is turbulence? And what the heck does heck mean anyway?

We shall ignore the last question go directly to the first question, which will provide an answer to the second question.

Here’s what wikipedia has to offer in terms of a definition:

In fluid dynamics, turbulence or turbulent flow is a flow regime characterised by low momentum diffusion, high momentum convection, and rapid variation of pressure and velocity in space and time. Flow that is not turbulent is called laminar flow. The (dimensionless) Reynolds number characterises whether flow conditions lead to laminar or turbulent flow.

If you are confused, you are not alone.

Lets get back to seniorindian.com, which simplifies matters greatly: “Turbulence is not only encountered in cloud-bands and stormy weather; it occasionally occurs in perfectly clear air. Clear Air Turbulence (CAT) builds up at altitudes of ten to fifteen km at the edge of 'jetstreams’. One can find these long narrow air-streams gusting at 100 to 500 km per hour over the Atlantic. CAT is often unpredictable, it occurs without warning and generally lasts only a few seconds or minutes. The jolts can be quite violent, however.”

You should therefore be very careful when you choose to pick your teeth.

Can turbulence the aircraft’s wings to snap, like what happens when hungry writers are faced with a platter of sizzling Buffalo wings?

According to seniorindian.com, the answer is a resounding NO. It would appear that the wingtips of a Boeing 747, for example, can be bent about eight metres above and four metres below their normal position before there is even the faintest theoretical danger of rupture. Even the worst turbulence encountered could not cause that kind of deformation. The engine vibrations seen during turbulence are also well within design tolerances. Stress and strain ratings in aircraft constructions are based on extensive air turbulence studies at all atmospheric levels. Furthermore, regular inspections are made to check that even in the unlikely event of a critical load, neither the airframe nor the wings sustain any damage.

Thank the gods and the stars above for seniorindia.com. Next time you see the wing bending about eight metres or so, don’t panic. If it bends more than eight metres, it’s time to stop gawking and start praying.

That’s all for now. There are probably more things you may wish know and do not know or simply do not wish to know about flying. We may come back discuss these matters from time to time, especially if this writer returns without having experienced any panic attacks on a flight. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed and watch that black cat.

Normal Blogging

I realise now that whatever I have been inputting in this blog is wrong. This is not a freakin' blog. Its a...

Damn, I don't know what it is. So, today, I am going to blog like any other normal bloggers.

Let me start.

Woke up in the wrong side of the morning today. Its not my fault, someone rearranged the bed.

I felt depressed. I don't know why. Maybe I ran out of toothpaste. Yes, I have to steal my housemate's. Thank god for he has been sleeping very soundly. Well, very soundly, for the snoring sound from his room have apparently woke up the next door baby.

But what was on my mind when I was brusing my teeth and gum. Yes, it was M. Why? Why did she have to do that? Of all the guys in the world, she has to choose him. The man stinks! He has no class. No style. Nothing.

Oh, its weighs heavy on my heart. M shouldn't have done that. I know her market is down, but it doesn't mean that she has to work with crappy film directors.

I spat out some of the blood and was glad to see it was red even though I am colour blind.

Got to get going. Work is waiting for you. And so are the bills.

The newspaper did not improve my feeling for the day. Sigh. The new bombing in London, thank god, did not kill anyone.

And for Umno assembly someone was selling some kinda oil and errr...paste made from an arabic lizard. He even brought the lizard along in case the people want to know. Gad, I mean, who would want to see that. What if the lizard goes berserk, gets stuck in the hall's sound system and completely distort the PM's speech. Instead of "I want corruption to stop". "Why must seduction stop!"

Ah, the thought of that makes me want to jump out of the window. But my office is too high and you can't open the windows. I hate lizards. I hate reptiles of any kind, unless they are in Spielberg's movies.

I shall blog later. Sigh. And how in hell do you make lizard paste?

Tell it to Brother Bailvan Bairavan

Yes, you have all read or perhaps even wrote to many agony columns. I felt that the blog would be lively if I have one of my own. An agony column. But wait, I won’t do it. I have zero knowledge of human psychology and the most I can offer to the sufferers (especially if they are hot babes) is a shoulder to cry on.

To take on this arduous task, I looked around and finally found the right candidate, Brother Bailvan Bairavan (BBB). Besides his burly feature, Bairavan is a caring person and is the right person for this column. Besides, I owe him some money. We shall now go on air. I will read the letters, and BBB will offer the solutions or advice, or even some cookies to calm you down.


BBB That’s right, you yellow bellied scumbag. Now, lets get back to the business. Read your first letter for today.

Me Here’s one:
Dear BBB, my name is A (though my friends teasingly call me Idiot). I fell in love with B (whose real name I cannot reveal unless you don’t mind stupid names like Bolinda). B is not in love with me. In fact, B is in love with my dog, Aristotle, which, last week, ran away with my neigbour’s cat. Oh, dear BBB, what can I do? I can't peel the onion properly these days and the stress is too much for my family that my mom OD’ed on caffeine the other day because we can’t have onion in our cooking.

B Listen, you twit. I don’t give a rats’ ass about your B or your dog, but I think it is against any religion for a cat to get hitched with a freakin’ dog. You freakin’ buzzard (ed. cleaned up version of you F***king B****rd)! And get a freakin’ onion peeler or something. Get this bugger outta here!

Me That was very helpful, BBB. Thanks. Next letter:
Dear BBB. In case you can’t see me, I am a girl, age 18. If you do see me, I am sorry I lied. Otherwise, things are okay at home except that I find increasingly annoyed with my brother’s addiction to Eminem. He listens to it day and night. I can’t stand it, especially the song Stan.

BBB Dear girl age 18. It just so happens that I like Emimen too, mohahahahah. And you know what, I think you are weak. I think you are jealous that your brother got better taste than you. And I suggest you take your Britney Spears CDs and shove it up you know where.

Me. Take it easy, BBB. You shouldn’t impose on , aaaaarrgh! What the hell is that? Okay, okay. I’m okay. I’ll read the next letter:
Dear BBB. I have a good relationship with my boyfriend, Max. Everything is fine. We have dinner together almost everyday. He is nice, kind, gentle and caring. A perfect boyfriend. But…but…he hasn't proposed to me yet. He never talked about marriage. What am I to do? The problem troubled me so much that I find myself constantly driving in reverse gear. Please help me, BBB.

BBB That’s easy, girl. Put the freakin’ gear back to one. What the hell did they teach you in driving school, huh?

Me Errr, BBB, she’s talking about her boyfriend. Remember? The Proposal?

BBB Yeah, right. Here’s the deal girl. If he ain’t approachin’ you, why not the freakin’ hell approach him instead. It gives you more power ain’t it, instead of whining like a little girl. Neneneneneneee! Come here, I want to pull your ponytail.

Me Haha! That’s err…funny, BBB. What you really meant was probably different, right?

BBB What’s the matter? I run the show, bub.

Me Yeah. But you know. You got HELP this people, not make the situation worst. Your right wing attitude….aaaaaarrrgh, somebody help meeeeeeeeeeeeee……….

Thus endeth BBB’s short career...unless someone got budget for sequel.