Run baby run

There are many wondrous things that gets one going, "How the hell do {something} ?". One of my current curiosities is literally a lot more down to earth - how the hell do women run in heels?

A few of my lady colleagues wear heels to work and not all of them do it consistently except for one from next door. There are times when I would be observing at her feet (there are more to see than the feet but let's not go there), wondering how the heck could she walk so fast while balanced on a small triangle of contact to the ground with the heels elevated.

I once put my feet onto a pair of my mom's when I was much younger out of curiosity and the feeling was like a constant sensation of sliding forwards. Suffice to say my balance was crappy on them, so walking a few steps wasn't easy, let alone pacing.

On the tele and the cinema we watch women running in heels all the time but seeing it with your own eyes is not something that is easy to believe. A slight slip or twist of the steps would send them hurtling forwards and possibly sprain the ankle, yet they do so like athletes in sneakers or jogging shoes. I earnestly hope nothing like that would happen, but aside from admiring how some women actually look good on them, there's always a little feeling of uneasiness that I can't shake, magnified by the height of their heels above ground.

I once joked that they're good to throw at dogs but how about outrunning them? Her reply was in a matter-factly manner - 'can'.

"I can even chase the bus", she added.

I really didn't know what to say to that.

Grinning randomly

I rarely recommend books to people for the reason that we all have our own preferences and I happen to be quite picky when it comes to books. I like books which are proven winners, that by default wouldn't disappoint for the reason that they cost in the country. The Lord of the Rings is one of those literature masterpieces that got me into Middle Earth frenzy. That said, I didn't read a single one of Harry Potter books because I was strongly partial towards Frodo & Friends. Harry fans can go ahead and flame me, but if the first movie - The Philosopher's Stone - is an indicator of what the Wizard Boy's world is all about then I'll gladly pass; it's nowhere near the epic level of storytelling that Mr Tolkien (bless him) had and whilst both stories had mumbo jumbos thrown in, the Rings Trilogy (as it is called now) is focused on the people, their history and heroic qualities whilst at the same time talking about their deepest insecurities and flaws. All that done with less focus on magic, hence a lot less 'cheating'.

I've only read some autobiographies in my life, the most recent being those by Liverpool players past and present for the reason that I was out of books to read (what irony). As mentioned, being picky meant that I needed something that would capture my attention and imagination, coupled with good storytelling and sense of humour. The first one that I did was earlier this year when I got Steven Gerrard's (ISBN-13: 978-0553817331) book. True to most autobiographies, it charted much of his life until then, a recipient of the MBE, from the time when he was a young 'un all the way the pinnacle of football as one of the best player of this generation.  Some of the more interesting parts regarding the book (as per all the autobios of players I've read so far) are their relationships with their families, friends, teammates and the manager. Some trademark cheeky humour thrown in, it was an enjoyable read though not thoroughly thought provoking.

"What sound? I heard nothing".

That was left to the vice captain Jamie Carragher (ISBN-13: 978-0552157421), which I finished about two weeks ago. That was a little more entertaining for the fact that he's a lot more forthcoming about his thoughts on matters. I'm not saying Gerrard's a pussycat (Gennaro Gattuso would agree with you), just that Carragher was a lot more direct about his opinion on past players and the club presently. There were even a chapter dedicated to the current regime at Anfield in which he commented about the political struggle between the manager and the owners. Knowing which side his bread was buttered, Carra stood on the fence and played a diplomat, deciding not to get involved in something that wasn't his arena.

If there's any Liverpool or any sportsman autobiography that I enjoyed so much so far, it had to be Robbie Fowler's (# ISBN-13: 978-0330437639). I'm 3/4s in and he was even more brutally honest than his two juniors but what made it special was his brand of humour, which was like a iron fist in a velvet glove. It strikes you as harsh at times but my association with the Scousers on RAWK meant that I see the funny side to his jokes and delighted in it. I can't remember the last time I grinned so much like a madman in the train whilst reading, and then randomly grinned like a madman off the train because of how funny some of the passages were. His was what I'd call honest, self-depreciating look at his own life.

If there's anybody I'd like to read after this, it'll be Bill Shankly's, the legendary Scotsman who built the foundation of which the dynasty of Liverpool Football Club would then rule English & European football for the next two decades. Here's an excerpt typed out by a dedicated Liverpool fan from Singapore from (if all people) George Best's book, about Bill Shankly. You'd wonder at what sort of mojo this man has got if even a Manchester United legend had a whole chapter written about him.

Taken from RAWK by Ladylala from George Best's autobiography (to update the book name ISBN):

Not sure how many of you have read the book 'The Best of Times', but apparently it's a pretty old book, published back in 1994. But because it's a non-Liverpool book, I would think not many would have read it... I found this book in the library yesterday, and I don't know why, somehow I actually flipped through the pages and found this chapter titled "Shanks".

There were some priceless stories in this chapter about Shanks, so eventually I borrowed the book, and thought I'd share it with you guys...

This might be long, because I typed the entire chapter out!

But it's worth a read, if you all haven't heard the stories before. And if you've the time...

I confess I don't know much about Best and Shankly because I'm not that old, but I do know both of them were legends for their respective clubs. And the stories I've heard about Shankly have always been nothing short of amazing...

Ok here goes:
------------------------------------------------------------------
Apart from the derby matches against Manchester City the really important game of the season for me was against Liverpool. I was always one for the big occasion and they didn't come much bigger in the domestic football calendar than United against Liverpool.

For a start, you had two of the greatest post-war managers of British football pitting their wits against each other. Matt Busby and Bill Shankly both achieved a rare status reserved for the truly great by becoming legends in their own time. They were both great motivators and had that rarest of ability to spot talent. It was Shankly who spotted the potential of Ray Clemence and Kevin Keegan when they were playing Fourth Division football with Scunthorpe United. It was Matt Busby who thrust me into the United first team just after my seventeenth birthday and who signed a scrawny kid with terrible eyesight called Norbert Stiles.

It was a clash of the Titans every time the two clubs met. At United we could boast a team bristling with internationals. Likewise Liverpool. In the mid-sixties their players were household names: Ian St John, Chris Lawler, Ron Yeats, Ian Callaghan, Peter Thompson, Tony Hateley and Roger Hunt, who was a member of England's World Cup-winning team of 1966. The atmosphere when the teams met was electric. When the Liverpool Kop sang 'You'll Never Walk Alone', I'd look up from the pitch and see them swaying in time to their singing, which had the force and emotion of a massed cathedral choir.

Bill Shankly, like Matt Busby, was a canny Scot who was never lost for words. I liked him a great deal and I know he liked me. I respected his knowledge of the game and loved his keen wit, which was as sharp as legend has it. It was Shanks who, on hearing Denis Law remark that he enjoyed coming to Anfield because 'you always get a lovely cup of tea', turned to Denis and said, 'Aye, Denis son, but that's all you'll get when you come here. A cup of tea!'

After a game against Liverpool at Old Trafford in 1965, Shanks asked how I was coping with life. I was only nineteen at the time. I said things were fine with First Division football, but I was unsure about how to handle the constant media attention.

'Fame, son,' Shanks told me, 'is the price you pay for doing your job well.'

A few years later I was to understand the full implications of his words. It seemed every time I met Shanks he would come out with at least one piece of worldly wisdom or humour. When I was about to renegotiate a contract at Old Trafford and intimated that I would be looking for a considerable rise in basic pay, Shanks gave me a long hard look. 'George, son, some advice,' he said. 'Don't be too demanding, because it's a sad fact of life that genius is born and not paid.'

He went on to tell me the story of the Liverpool full back Gerry Byrne, who, having won a place in the England team, felt he was worth considerably more than his new contract was offering. However, the way Shanks saw it, Gerry was paid for what he did for Liverpool. The fact that he had made the England team had nothing to do with what he was paid at Anfield and therefore it did not merit a rise in his wages. Gerry argued that international status was proof he had become a better player with his club.

'I may be wrong on other points, boss,' Gerry said, pressing his point. 'But I am right on this one, aren't I?'

'So what if you are?' Shanks told him. 'Even a broken clock is right twice in a day.'

Following a game against Southampton at Anfield, a young reporter from the Southern Evening Echo collared Shanks to ask him what he thought about a young Southampton winger called Mick Channon. Shanks was polite and told the reporter he thought the young Channon was a very good winger indeed.

'Would you say he's as good a player as Stan Matthews?' the reporter asked.

'Oh, aye,' Shankly said earnestly. 'As a player he's definitely on par with Stan Matthews.'

The reporter thanked Shanks for his time and turned away, scribbling the quote into his notebook. Suddenly, Shanks reached out and caught the young man by the arm. 'This Channon is as good a player as Stan Matthews,' he said, 'but what you have to remember is that Stan is sixty-five now.'

-----------------------------
In 1967, we arrived at Anfield to play Liverpool and as I glanced out of the window of the coach I saw Bill Shankly standing at the main entrance. I was the first player to alight from the coach and when I reached the entrance Bill shook my hand warmly. 'Good to see you again, George,' he said. 'You're looking well, son.'

This was unusual for him, and knowing Shanks to be a wily old fox, I decided to hang around to try to find out what he was up to. As each of the United players entered Anfield, Shanks shook his hand, welcomed him and told him how good he looked. Eventually, Bobby Charlton, a born worrier, came up to Shanks.

'Bobby, son. Good to see you,' Shanks said, shaking his hand. 'But by God, if ever there was a man who looked ill, it's you, Bobby!'

Bobby's face went as colourless as an icicle. 'Ill? I look ill?' he repeated, running the fingers of his right hand over his forehead and down his right cheek. He was visibly shaken,

'Aye, Bobby, son. You look like you're sickening for something. If I were you I'd see a doctor as soon as you set foot back in Manchester.' Shanks patted Bobby on the back and took off down the corridor, leaving him trembling in the foyer.

In the dressing room, Bobby was conspicious by his absence and, ominously, there was a delay in announcing the team. We sat around kicking our heels, no one daring to get changed in case Matt Busby had a tactical plan which meant leaving one of us out. The thought of getting changed only to be told to put your clothes back on because you're not in the team is a player's nightmare.

Eventually Matt Busby entered the dressing room with Jimmy Murphy and told us they had reshuffled the team which had beaten West Ham the previous week. Bobby Charlton was unavailable. He'd suddenly been taken ill.
-----------------------------------------
The following season we were back at Anfield and Shanks was up to his old tricks. As the United party made their way down the corridor to the away changing room, he appeared from his office. 'Guess what, boys?' he said, brandishing a little orange ticket. 'I've had a go on the tickets that give the time when the away team will score. And it says here, in a fortnight!' With that, he disappeared back into his office.

We lost that encounter 2-0 and after the game I was chatting to Liverpool's Ray Clemence, who revealed to me another piece of Shankly kidology.

Prior to the game, Shankly had received the United team sheet and he incorporated it into his team talk. His intention was to run us down and, in so doing, boost the confidence of his own players. 'Alex Stepney,' Shanks began. 'A flapper of a goalkeeper. Hands like a Teflon frying pan - non-stick. Right back, Shay Brennan. Slow on the turn, give him a roasting. Left back is Tony Dunne. Even slower than Brennan. He goes on an overlap at twenty past three and doesn't come back until a quarter to four. Right half, Nobby Stiles. A dirty little -beep-. Kick him twice as hard as he kicks you and you'll have no trouble with him.'

'Bill Foulkes, a big, cumbersome centre half who can't direct his headers. He had a head like a sheriff's badge, so play on him. Paddy Crerand. Slower than steam rising off a dog turd. You'll bypass him easily.'

The Liverpool players felt as if they were growing in stature with his every word. 'David Sadler,' Shanks continued. 'Wouldn't get a place in our reserves. And finally, John Aston. A chicken, hit him once and you'll never hear from him again. As the manager finished his demolition job on United, Emlyn Hyghes raised his hand. 'That's all very well, boss,' he said, 'but you haven't mentioned George Best, Denis Law or Bobby Charlton.' Shanks turned on him. 'You mean to tell me we can't beat a team that has only three players in it?' he said, glowering.

Laughing at yourself

One form of humour that I enjoy the most is self-depreciation ie. making fun of one ownself. We are all full of flaws that they can be made into currency for funny anecdotes and stories, especially if it is about something everybody could relate to it. One might like to make fun of their perceived lack of physical attributes or unnatural liking for things people normally don't or the mess they have gotten into.

To me self-depreciating humour is honest. It shows that the person who made it (or on the receiving end) accepted that some things are they are and aren't going to let it become a hindrance. When you are making a joke about yourself you are telling others that 'yes I am as human as you are', perhaps helping to put the others at ease as he or she is just as imperfect as they are.

People react to things they cannot change their own ways, either by complaining, ranting or crying about it. Others chose to shrug and let bygones be bygones, whilst some chose to laugh about it. In most cases it's a good source of amusing story to impress or entertain people with.

I can recall a time when a family friend was warning us to be careful about what they eat as part of his recollection of a recent trip to the Middle Kingdom - he had a bad stomach upset from the journey, having to squeeze cheese in the cold weather. The biggest laughter came when his wife put a hand on the shoulder asking if he's all right, in which he responded with "Don't touch me" - he reenacted the scene by putting both palms up and face deadpan. Everybody who listened were in tears.

Yes, we were laughing at his misfortune but a large part of humour comes from the fact that we have all been in that situation before some time in our lives. The fact that he could joke about it makes it all the funnier. The idea that you aren't the only one suffering from problems of such is 'comforting' or creates a level field that helps one from becoming overly defensive from such embarassment.

"I'm sorry ma'am but it's not a stomach ache that you're having".

I picked up this brand of humour mostly from British football forum of RAWK. The people in Britain seemed to revel in laughing at their own misfortunes, living proof of people who made lemonade when life handed them lemons. Some stories that they put in there were not only hillariously funny, told good-naturedly either as a rant or just story-telling.

The Kop End recently had a match versus archnemesis Manchester United following a defeat to a freak goal that had the goalkeeper diving to catch a beach ball that strayed onto the pitch instead of the actual match ball. Obviously it became the biggest news in English football for a while. The Manchester United supporters were already looking to do the same thing when they visit Anfield to taunt the opposition but had the beach balls confiscated. And guess what, The Kop inflated plenty of their own beach balls and threw it onto the pitch. This to me is a classic example of 'so what?', in the context of a setback - they aren't deflated by it and are undefeated as fans. All feedback (I've read) regarding the Kop raining beach balls onto the hallowed turf has been accepted positively.

There are caveats in telling such jokes though. It is always important to know the audience. People who don't appreciate it won't, regardless of how well you tell it. Some aren't very receptive of the idea of depreciating one self, considering it as a weakness by being so happy about it. I know it sounds narrow minded but there are merits to that kind of stance though it's a little extreme IMO.

And there's the important bit of flair to consider. Not everybody is a good storyteller and not everybody can tell something which would normally be unacceptable in a presentable way. Imagine if the family friend above happen to be lousy at story telling and ended up making the story sound like he has got no control over his bodily functions - the end result wouldn't be funny and probably stamp him with a weirdo mark on the forehead.

I've written a few pieces on a forum that I frequent that is close enough to what can be called a self-depreciating story just to entertain myself and those who bother to read. Those who did get the joke appreciated it whilst others wondered what was it all about.

Suffice to say there is a need for practice before I'm capable of telling so like those chaps at the British Isle but as they say, practice makes perfect.

--

The Plumber In Me
18 April 2006

Two days ago I discovered that the kitchen sink faucet knob was broken (Whatever you call it). Upon inspection, found out that the inside plastic mould was broken. It's still usable though, but the thing is wobbly every time you turn it and will eventually break anyway. So, the mission:

• to replace the faulty faucet
• to replace the fluoroscent lamp

The lamp had 'expired' for a long while, just didn't go and fix it because it wasn't really important.

Went to Giant Hypermarket immediately on my way back today, saw faucets, electrical goods etc all in one hypermarket.

It's a convenient life this.

Bought all the usual stuff - fluroscent tube lamp, a kitchen sink faucet and a towel.

Well, needed new towels anyway.

Got home and started about the first job and the 'hardest' one - the faucet. Needed to finish it all before I go to bath as I'd definitely end up sweaty.

Now, recalling my studies back in school in the subject of Living Skills, the first thing to do before doing any sort of plumbing is to turn of the main water valve.

"I know it's here somewhere, saw it a few times, turned it off before too", I muttered as I searched around the cabinets.

Found one. Funny, it doesn't twist fully as it used to but I was sure this was the one. Turned the thing to 'off'.

All right, the fun part - dismantling the faucet. The pointy-part-thing came out easily. The twisting of the whole pipe was hard, but with some force it began to turn. Got easier and easier until I noticed - water was leaking.

"Heck. I turned the valve off already".

The more I turned the more it leaked, so I went back to the valve and turned the thing clockwise until it can no longer move.

Still leaking.

Hmmm...

"Even if it leaks the pressure is likely to be quite low now, it'll flow down the sink", I thought as I made the final twist.

A few seconds later I found out the truth:

"WRONG VALVE!!!" I shouted. A strong jet of water sprayed fiercely into my face feeling like I was face to face with a garden hose. Tried to force the thing back in to get some thinking time but it was just too strong.

The only redeeming part was that I have yet to have my bath and I was naked except for towel covering my lower body.

Soaked.

The kitchen was getting wet and I must think fast and it was what I did - took a water hose, plugged the thing in and let it flow into the sink.

It worked.

Called my brother who onced did all the DIY in the house to ask about where the REAL valve is. He's in East Malaysia.

"Where's the main water valve?"

"Which one? You're breaking up".

"Valve, the water valve".

"Water what?"

"VALVE, WATER VALVE, MAIN VALVE!".

"Oh valve. Which one?".

"THE KITCHEN SINK!".

"Check the cabinet... should be under the sink. What's up?".

"Faucet broken. Needed to fix it".

"Broken? Isn't that metal?"

"No, plastic".

"I thought it was metal".

"No".

"So how's it there".

"About the same".

"Any mails for me?".

"Your SBL". He had a freelance contractor thing back then.

"How goes the place?".

"Tell you what, talk to you later. I'm wet here".

To be frank, I wasn't in the mood to talk then.

Found the valve, turned it off and there... the water finally stopped.

The rest was normal as I fixed the faucet in with slight problems. The metal connector from the wall was somewhat old, so some bit of the inside sorta cracked.

Great.

Took me four tries to get it to seal properly.

My housemate came back, "What happened back there?".

"The faucet was broken".

Knowing me well, she didn't ask anymore questions.

Five minutes later, all was good again.

Fixed the faucet and we have running water again.

Water all over the floor. Towel wet. Drenched kitchen mat. Some cuts to the hand from the window.

Water all over the floor.

I can now rest assure that brushing my teeth in the morning is now guaranteed for the rest of my days living in this house.

What Is Pain?

6 December 2005

The grammatical mistakes aside, perhaps it's good to look at things in perspective.

Ask ten people and you may get ten different answers to the question above. Each and everyone of us had felt pain throughout our lives, knowing full well the sensation that borders on both being uncomfortable and downright torture.

It doesn't happen too often though - sometimes it's physical, sometimes is mental, sometimes it's emotional. Everybody feels it once in a while, each of different magnitudes and causes.

For instance, imagine a drive home from work one evening. You've just had a good dinner at the nearby eatery to celebrate an occassion, maybe just to pamper oneself once in a while. Whatever the reason, you just know you wanna go home and sink into that soft and welcoming bed of yours.

The cruise was as normal as it can be as you enjoy the nice music from your favourite channel on the radio. One after another, you sang to your heart's desire, sometimes bordering on the scream just to let it all off. The quiet hum of the cool air-conditioner adds to the ambience.

You enter another highway from the busy intersection, paid the toll and continued on for the next 2 km of journey before you could call it a day at home. But for a short pause at the automated toll collection gate, it went well for a bit before you were stopped abruptly due to some congestion ahead.

"Well, this must be one of those stalled cars again". Your experience told you that it will be slow but you will at least be moving so you patiently sit through the jam, listening on to the lovely voice of the DJ you so hope to meet one day.

Half an hour passed and you have barely passed 1km. For some unknown reason, the jam was unusually bad along that stretch of highway. That stalled car you expected to see 15 minutes ago had yet to appear. It was stop for 30 seconds, move another 2 metres, then another 30 seconds of stop, then for another 2 more metres. Rinse, repeat.

Your left leg, placed firmly on the clutch began to hurt at the sole but that was something you live with, no problems. It's not everyday that the stretch of highway get unsually jammed like this.

It was that sensation in the bladder that worries you. For the past 15 minutes it had been slowly crawling towards [Empty Me] level and you know, unless a dramatic improvement in traffic flow happens, you may need to dramatically flow the urine, somewhere. Rather, forced to.

You kept your mind away from the heavy feeling the bladder as you inched towards the road ahead, wondering if this isn't about a stalled car - more of a congestion the part of the intersection ahead.

Two lanes of cars are trying to squeeze into one to go northwards, plus another two more from the direction of the south, both squeezing further into two lanes as it passes in front of the mall you pass by everyday to and fro the office. Constructions of ramps and elevated intersections are being done, so a reduction in traffic flow is expected but this one was TOO MUCH!

Your expression of listening to Destiny's Child became , graduating into before slowly going into and ending up as , and as the very uncomfortable feeling in your bladder, squeezed by the zipper and belt became, painful.

I repeat, painful.
Painful.

An hour had passed and you've just reached the last 800 metres before the turning into your housing estate and traffic was at last, beginning to flow, albeit ultra slowly. The only difference is that it moves, instead of stop, hop, stop, stop, crawl, stop stop stop, crawl, stop - it became, stop, hop, stop, crawl, crawl, stop, stop, stop, crawl, stop.

Talk about progress.

And as you turn into the four lane-shrunk-into-two-because-of-construction-work km, you saw what was, the true reason for the problem.

2 km worth of traffic jam from the City (traffic City and Satellite Township merge at the toll plaza) + 2 km of traffic from the new township westwards + all the traffic going out the Mines (mall) was caused, by, a stalled bus, at one of the two ONLY lanes heading that direction. Oh, add the unusual amount of queue-cutting people from four directions.

That highway, called SILK is the only one going directly to Cheras, a densely populated suburb of KL.

Imagine a bus, reducing that two lanes of road into one.

You breathed heavily and prayed hard as sweat streamed down your temple, trying hard to relax as the bladder cries out for release, the pain becoming more and more pronounced by the second, the closer you get to home.

The second you made it through, you drove like a maniac down the highway and made a quick left turn into the housing estate, still managing to practice much patience as you negotiate the turns to avoid possible problems of knocking down dogs, and worst, people.

You reached home and shouted "Hosanna to the highest!!" as you parked the car and made your way out to get into the house. You stood up and felt the whole lower abdomen protesting in pain from an hour worth of stretching and contracting to keep the urine in.

Walking like a cowboy who'd just rode for 6 hours non-stop, you made your way, still, to the room to change and prepare for shower, before limping towards the bathroom.

The first sensation of letting the water flow out from the bladder was... heavenly. Never before have you felt so grateful that God gave you strong muscles in that area. Some credits to the DJ for playing songs with lots of drums and rolling ocean sounds.

As it empties, you looked up and grinned to yourself, knowing how it could have been worst : carrying a great bag of urine AND a major stomachache.

You knew you were the winner that day.

So what is pain?

Lost in time

Ever had one of those days when you're simply numb? You know you are there but you know you are not either. The experience is quite surreal to say the least. There are two extremes, one illustrated on the day that disappeared for me, vanishing down time as one of those days that I simply do not remember. Perhaps I had a lucid dream that stretched into the day, ending only when I went back to sleep again that night. I wasn't too bothered by that particular occurrence of being here and nowhere at the same time seeing that the day that followed was a Friday leading into the weekend, which was most welcomed.

Today was one of the opposite side of the spectrum, where I know I am there and yet I was away. In simple terms it's almost like chatting on MSN Live Messenger with the 'Away' status active, a prove that I am present yet it showed that I'm not.

I had Carragher's autobiography to entertain me on the way to work this morning, his story about the fans' shenanigans in Japan had me grinning, much to the amusement of some of the people sitting nearby (and hopefully getting them curious about Liverpool in the process). I have always liked to read whilst waiting for something, be it the local daily or a good book. Was in 'panic' about what to do after finishing my friend's Angels & Demons as I was picky about the quality of reading; imagine committing the time and money to a book only to find it deflating in the middle of the story - there are times when I had to soldier through just because it would be unfair to judge an entire book based on one half of it, possibly missing a rousing ending at the end. The only major disappointment I had was with James Clavell's Gai-jin which was pretty forgettable amongst the masterpieces of Shogun, Noble House and Tai-pan. Fortunately for me his thickest (and most expensive) book, Whirlwind was a lot more interesting than I thought.

Getting the 9.10 release codenamed Karmic Koala of Ubuntu Linux had me purring like cat for the last couple of weeks due to its stability and bugfix from the disappointing 9.04 Jaunty Jackalope to the point that the OS actually perform and look sexy. There were minor problems with all releases of software but were quickly fixed by the community or through workarounds that soon became part of the knowledge accumulating in this brain of mind.

Liverpool drawing 2-2 against Birmingham at home against the backdrop of an already dire start to the season didn't affect me much though it was somewhat disappointing that last season's momentum never sustained but that's life. I followed this club for twenty years now - being disappointed is a part of life I have learned to accept, especially for something of little importance (at least to me) like this.

Towards noon time after a rather heavy conversation of sorts with a friend was when I felt the day drifting away as if I arrived in the future before the mind did. Lunch wasn't much of a fanfare - how could you at LG1 of the office - though I had some of my favourites on the plate such as kangkung in belacan as well as fried chicken. I bit into the morsels of food and found that I didn't really mind the atmosphere that much - being a smoking area et al - or the noise and the people walking by queuing up to get their lunch. Had a joke with the manager though I realised that my (IMO) quick wit was slower than it usually is.

Perhaps I was sleepy although I was sure I slept before midnight and woke up with enough rest, and yet as I struggled through with the VMWare installation, my mind was already pretty much elsewhere.

vmware-config.pl
(compilation messages)
(EULA)
...

I was adrift.

For once it felt like I was separated from the body, watching my body obey as I told it what to do. The occasional walks out of the room for a toilet or support call were done as with no thoughts occuring in the mind, just the body doing what it should.

Readers of this blog know that I have plenty to talk and think about, the questions are deep in nature, bordering on the controversial considering how spiritual we are in this country. My ex-girlfriend often said the one thing that people can't see is my mood - she could never guess what was actually in my mind from the face alone and often times from interaction either.

I feel that I'm an honest person. I try to avoid using lies to the point of causing myself problems. I lie pretty badly - one could tell that I'm fibbing so I do it very rarely, even a white lie. I like to be frank with people though I have learned to be honest 'enough' - using logic and sequence to tell something correctly, whilst allowing the other to either be satisfied with what they can tell or being misled with their own impatient judgment of a matter. At the end of the day, I did not lie and I did not mislead anybody.

I interacted and joked with my colleagues today as we discussed matters, from the price of airline tickets to the assignment of appointments for different products the company were carrying. My supervisor was giving me a heads up on what I was going to be picking up as well as some other unrelated matters. While I listened and I understood what he said, it registered in my mind as it should be I wasn't sure if I was really listening. See the weird thing there? It was as if he was talking to my physical person and I was observing myself listening to him.

I have always pride myself to be able to compartmentalise things depending on how important they are and looking at things from many angles without emotional influence but this was one that was taken in an absolutely numb manner. I know I should either be happy that I'm taking up something new or shake my head against it but I was simply away. I accepted what was spoken like an automaton, responding in the most mechanical of manners about my vague knowledge about the product.

"No Joe, this is Laura. Who is this Michelle? Hello? Hello?!".

I continued reading Carra on my way back, line by line, his thoughts about the current ownership problem at Anfield by revealing some intimate details of the ongoings that was sports news for weeks in the UK and world football and yet, whilst I remembered most of the things written including the very text his Blue mate Seddo sent regarding the issue, I find that I was not as immersed in it as I was in the morning. I was more conscious about the empty seats next to me, the set of train that brought some of us away from Sentral, the attractive woman sitting across from me and the slamming of the moving door on the end of the coach I was in due to faulty lock, than I was of Carragher regarding Benitez. I read but I did not read.

I stepped off the train at almost exactly 7.00 pm to the grey clouds that promised rain for the evening, wondering if I actually lived through this day as who I am, thinking that the best thing to happen would be to go back for a good shower, a dinner, a short writing session (this) and then bed to let the mind rest and regroup tomorrow.

I told my friend this morning - never regret a decision taken. I seemed to have forgotten how it felt to be asked the same question.
 

Whoa!

Was just listening to the radio on my way out for lunch and a song got my attention. The singer was lamenting about her lover who is always absent. The laid back and mellow mood of the song was so 'alien', standing out like a sore thumb amongst the rock & roll, emo music that saturates the airwaves that it would seem inappropriate at all.

Came home googling for 'Bitterheart' and surprise, surprise - she's one of our own! OMG! At first I thought someone at the radio station had a nostalgic moment and put on a 60s-styled song. I thought it was a master touch as it certainly got me listening, as well as curious. I've always liked the slow music of the olden days for the relaxing mood that they bring, especially from the somewhat muffled speakers of old radio.

Zee Avi - Bitterheart

Truth is relative

We all believe in many things - we as humans are the only creature on earth with a belief system, ranging from religion to philosophy. I don't place science as a belief system simply because it does not assume something unless it can be proven though some atheist like to twist this most basic tenet to suit their anti-God beliefs (the irony). Atheism is simply the belief that there is no god(s) - it absolutely does not translate to science.

Anyway, we are told, taught, informed of many things throughout our lives. Our first most important influences are the family, followed by our friends (and their friends), then school teachers, onwards to other people throughout our lives.

There things that happens to be true because they are - if you have one apple and you took one away, that leaves no apple. It's a fact. The Earth revolves around a sun in approximately 365 days. Gravity make things fall downwards.

Natural Law of the Universe - it's just the truth.

Then comes things that we perceive as true, most of the time, because it normally is - if one eats, it's because he's hungry. Most of the time, if not always, it's true. If the sky is filled with dark clouds, it most probably means it would rain some time soon, if not later. A man will die if he gets shot in the head but we have stories of people defying that inevitability.

Rule of the Thumb - things that follow a pattern that are not necessarily correct but most of time, are.

And my favourite and pretty much everybody's too, things that we think is true but is inconclusive because there is no way of knowing unless one is there when it happened. Truth pieced together from evidence that could have many different intepretations depending on what one's background, bias, prejudice, knowledge, upbringing etc.

It is this third category of 'truth' that we debate voraciously about, sing songs to, go to war over or starve to death to defend - things that cannot be proven to be truth but taken as truth because one believes in it.

From a scientific angle, it's utterly illogical. Why would one abandon the concept of 'survival of the fittest' to help the weak and needy? If someone is dead, it's because they died, end of story.

If anything, the above pretty much sums up life for humanity - the journey to discover the meaning of life itself. When life no longer have any meaning, people die. Reason becomes nothing, so existence becomes irrelevant.

Why are we here? No one can seriously answer beyond how it happened. We turn to the teachings of prophets, wise men and even lunatics to establish the reason to why one exists - even in this we differ in intepretation to the point where there is no one version that is better than the other.

It never ceases to amuse me whenever I hear anybody who using the 'authority of God' to justify their actions, regardless of whether I share the same faith as that person or not.

This position of mine has its roots in the problem of a person's ability to tell relative truths. For instance, if a person is on trial to answer to the charges of having committed a crime, his answers will depend on what he believe is true - if he lied, he's going to hell (in some cases he's probably already halfway there due to the crime itself); maybe he thinks the court or authorities have no jurisdiction over him because God 'mandates' him to or even because he was taking justice into his own hands.

So many combination of variables shaped by so many different kinds of environmental influnences - if we were all born the same, brought up the same then we can follow one clear and simple rule then things would be many, many times easier.

However, the fact is, truth is subjective.

I simply do not believe in 'God said so'. To be honest, if God were that easy to dissect and completely described in just the Torah, New Testament and the Koran, then we're overestimating our abilities to the point of being utterly arrogant - the direct opposite of what these holy scriptures are teaching us.

Millons, if not billions, of people lived through the ages at different eras in relative to these holy texts and it is absolutely impossible for every single one of them to have learned the same thing and arrived at the same conclusion. I need only find one proof of this and the argument is made baseless.

If you were born into a Jewish family, you are more likely than not be brought up a Jew, believe in the Torah and proclaim it to be the absolute truth. What if he were born Hindu or Muslim? Would that mean the truth from the Torah is now false? Says who? And how do you prove that? 'Because God said so' is a lousy, if not ridiculous response. 'Because the holy texts said God said so'. Ok, so who wrote the books? '... it is inspired truth'. By? 'By God'. Says who? 'The holy texts'. And who transcribed them? 'People inspired by God'. Ah, so how did we know God inspired them? 'Because God said so, in the book'.

Ok.

I am in no way saying that the teachings in the holy books are false - rather I am questioning that the holy books are the only truth there is about the Universe, more so about God. When one fervently puts his own beliefs above others as the only truth, that is when I stop listening.

If anything I'm more spiritual than I am religious. Whilst being brought a Catholic, I am actually closer to that of a non-denominational now than I was in the past after being exposed to different type of cultures and people from different backgrounds. I still believe that abortion is wrong though and that the salvation of the human soul is not by faith alone, but I don't think that's the whole picture. I'm willing to bet that not a single one even the most fervent Catholics would be guaranteed a place in Heaven for following the New Testament to the letter. If there's a 'heaven' that is. If that is what 'heaven' actually is supposed to mean.

I don't argue there is no God though - I would argue that an omnipotent Creator exists because it is necessary. I could even argue this point using scientific methods but would ultimately be futile - the argument, not the idea that God exists - simply because there is no way to prove it. It's technically not possible because no one can quantify God like we can Creation, so there is no scope to measure God to. We can only do so through evidence of his existence in Creation. I am of the belief that this is true because I think it is true based on what I believe - via evidence - that God exists and is necessary for existence.

Politics is one other topic apart from belief system that fall into this category. Growing up during the Cold War would probably have some believing in the American propaganda of democracy crucifying communism as evil. Those who don't bother to actually learn about what communism stands would view the Soviet Union as a bunch of godless people who are waging war against the world to subdue humanity in a hegemony.

I'm not defending communism by the way. I certainly don't agree with the 'opiate for the masses' idea but there are times I do think that it applies perfectly to groups who believe that they were carrying out atrocities against their neighbours in the name of God.

"What good is democracy to an empty stomach?", a statesman once quoted. "War is not about who is right, but who is left", a play of words that signify that winning a war doesn't justify the victor's position. "History is written by the victors", is another oft-quoted line. "A government is ruled by those who are present", meaning that the composition of the authorities make up the government.

Churchill once commented that all forms of governance are crap, with democracy being the least lousiest of them all. Whilst it opens up the nation's administration to the representative - the people - it also allows some of the undesirable elements to take root; extremism, bigotry, intolerance. Not a single government in the world is immune to this. Even in dictatorships you have people below him or her whom would be more than happy to take over when the opportunity arises, be it in a legal or non-legal manner.

And politics being what it is - the art of public relationships and persuasion - can never be ascertained as absolutely true unless one is directly involved in it. One's bias will immediately push him or her towards one end of the spectrum with little room in the middle for compromise - that party is either the best there is or absolutely untrustworthy. Being the game played with the people's mind and hearts, rumours are without doubt one of the main medium of dissemination of truth, half-truths and outright lies - depending on how good the person who are responsible for this dissemination of information, one might not be able to tell the difference, so they rely on their prejudice and and set minds to do so, inevitably if not accidentally, bringing about the wrong conclusion in relative to the actual truth.

I have always loved to quote the following to illustrate the reason not to take everything you read, see or hear at face value:

If a lie is repeated enough, it will become true.
If a story is repeated enough, it might eventually end up different in the end.

So personally, I have been picking splinters off my backside from sitting on the fence and adopting a pretty useful method in dealing with things like these - I'll believe it when I see it.

So the next time somebody shrugs quietly in dismissing what is an opinion in contrary to their own beliefs, be it physically or meta-physically, think again. While it's not wrong to stand at the position of disagreement, it is wrong to consider oneself non-disagreeable.

Especially when you can't prove it.

What matters more?

I often ask the question above from many angles, especially when it comes to discussing about something that is as important as in law & regulations.

First of all, be it the book of Genesis or not, humanity were created with this thing called 'freedom of choice'. A person can choose to do whatever he wants regardless of what others think for the reason that it is a personal choice. Whilst the atheists would consider this an anti-thesis of having an omnipotent Creator with control over the our lives, the fact remains that we are free to do whatever we want. God could've just stopped Adam from consuming the Forbidden Fruit and stop all the madness from unfurling since He knows what would happen yet Adam ate it anyway, for the reason that God gave him and honoured one of the most important gifts that defines humanity - freedom of will.

Without freewill, we will all be wearing the same clothes, eat the same things, say the same things, believe in the same things - a society of robots bereft of sentient AI will display this characteristic. Music will be a waste of time since they cause one to devote precious mental faculties to listening and admiring something intangible. Design of houses would be that of boxes bearing the colours of their material because beauty doesn't translate to function. Fashion doesn't exist - wasting precious fabric is unacceptable.

To me law & regulations were gazetted with the idea that they will keep society in order by encouraging goodwill amongst its citizens while deterring unwanted behaviour and at the same time ensure that everybody is treated with respect and fairness. They were created to ensure personal responsibility over the practice of free will in what is considered universally accepted norms of rights.

You are free to murder anybody you want. Just remember that the laws of the country that you commit this act might require you to die in exchange for this action. And do not forget about the lifelong grief and anger of the people important to the person you are murdering as well as the disappointment and the tears falling from those of your own as the executioner pulls the lever to open the trapdoor below you.

Are you willing to be responsible for the above? If you're not, don't do it.

Long story short, Beyonce's recently banned concert because some quarters thought she won't be able to stay within 'acceptable moral boundaries' when performing made me wonder which is more important - looking the part or doing the part?

'Pre-empting sin'. Beyonce's (rather well endowed) cleavage would cause the society to engage in sex between unmarried people, her suggestive dancing causing men to get lusty and rape women, her steamy songs causing women to go slutty.

I would like to know if the above aren't already happening without Beyonce herself stepping onto our shores. Why not ban the Internet since it's porn haven? How about imposing nation-wide curfews to make sure that nobody unmarried can meet and possibly have any chance of going to bed together?

I'm greatly insulted to branded as stupid to the point that I would become immoral from watching and listening to Beyonce (or any other musical artistes out there). Men would be fascinated with breasts as long as they exist, women would forever make love to men until the end of times, children will forever be produced regardless of whether a sexy artiste struts her stuff on the stage or not.

Boobs, the bane of humanity.

If I were to become immoral it would be because I chose to, not because somebody told me to.

Stepping through the door

I will be the first to admit that I suck at giving advice in regards to making choices. Unless the options are far different from another in terms of pros and cons, I'm clueless on what to recommend. This only apply to things that are important though, especially decisions that can have life-changing consequences. Dilemma over what colour of a car to get or wearing what to the party next week will get quick, straight answers from me simply because they are that - subjective and not the very least, important.

A friend recently looked to change her job because of career reasons; she was simply not doing what she should be doing at this stage of life in relation to her profession, creating what she described as an atmosphere of dissatisfaction and in some aspects, job insecurity. When offered jobs at two different places, she asked me what I thought about them in comparison to the current work.

To be honest I must be as frustrating as hell to not be able to give clear answers for the reason that I believe this is one decision that she had to do herself. Personally I felt the urge to just get her to accept the new job and forget the past but common sense cautioned me on doing so for the reason that I would be stepping away from one thing that I have always told others not to do - predicting the future.

What if the new job turned out worst than what it is right now?
What if the current job took a turn for the better and went on from strength to strength?

There's always the calm before a storm.
Or the golden sky at the end of the storm.
Or a storm in a teacup.

Whilst I know I cannot be responsible for a decision taken by others, I know it can just as much be my fault for pushing the issue.

I was gloomed for a moment of time for the reason that being in knowledge of friends in such predicaments can sometimes be related to some that I myself have been through. I know how uncomfortable the feeling of being unsure about something so important can eat into one's mood. Whilst we should all be professional when it comes to discharging our duties, only those with hearts made of cold, lifeless steel can carry on without being affected in any way.

And not a single one of us were born with cold, lifeless steel hearts.

All the best at your new job, mon amie.