Wednesday, February 27, 2008


"Look at your nails," I grabbed Jesse's grubby little hands, "so dirty!" I pulled the boy onto my lap and grabbed a nailclipper, ready to make quick work of his Dracula talons. "NoOoOoo!!!" he shrieked, breaking away from my clutches, his face pale with fear.

"Daddy's not gonna hurt you, silly," I told him sincerely. But he was having none of that, folding his arms behind his back.

When he was about 3, I caught him playing with a nailclipper. I grabbed it from him and gave him a lecture that he could comprehend. "It's very dangerous," I explained. And then I had to go and add, "you could cut yourself and there'll be blood everywhere."

I tend to over express myself sometimes.

It looks like I must have driven the fear of clipping nails in his young heart and from the looks of things, he may very well need therapy in the future. In the meantime, we'll have to cut his nails in his sleep and risk having him wake up screaming. It's either that or let them grow so long that they snap right off. At this stage, the second option sounds quite appealing.

Monday, February 25, 2008

Lim Kit Siang vs. Chee Cheong Fun

Haha. Okay, so the title is a little sensationalist but it pretty much sums up my first encounter with the man.

The year was 1988 (or thereabouts, I can't rightly remember). It was teatime on a weekday and I was just stepping out of my house to buy Chee Cheong Fun when I noticed a commotion down the street. A crowd was building along Harrison Street, Taiping where I lived.

"Cheebye!" I called out to my neighbour. His real name was Chee Wai, but I was 17 at the time and at that age, it was entertaining to make fun of people's names. "What the hell's going on?" I enquired, seeing as to how he was making a beeline towards the DAP office near our homes.

"Lim Kit Siang is out of prison!" he called back to me, "let's go!".

"Nah," I scoffed, "Today, I'm voting for Chee Cheong Fun." I was always more epicural than political. *sigh*

That night, I discovered that Lim Kit Siang has been in prison for some ISA charge. I also found that the man had been going in and out of Kamunting through the course of his political career. The selfish bastard that I was, I could never understand why anyone would risk jail for their beliefs. But like I said, I was 17 at the time and not too bright.

Today I have grown to respect Lim Kit Siang and his colleagues in the Opposition, if not for their person, then at the very least, their tenacity to keep fighting. The rewards have been a few, and yet they soldier on. So I thought, on this occasion of our 12th Election, I'd like to dedicate this song to Lim Kit Siang and the rest of you Opposition fellas out there:
ROCKETMAN - Elton John

She packed my bags last night, preflight
Zero hour, nine a.m.
And I'm gonna be high
As a kite by then

I miss the earth so much
I miss my wife
It's lonely out in space
On such a timeless flight

And I think it's gonna be a long, long, time
'Til touchdown brings me 'round again to find
I'm not the man they think I am at home
Ah, no no no...
I'm a rocket man
Rocket man
Burnin' out his fuse
Up here alone

Mars ain't the kind of place
To raise your kids
In fact, it's cold as hell
And there's no one there to raise them
If you did

And all this science
I don't understand
It's just my job
Five days a week
A Rocket Man
Rocket Man
I think it's quite the appropriate song for the Rocketman himself. Just so you know some of us appreciate. :)

I figured I should link it here cos it's a really wonderful song. Three versions: Kate Bush's, voted the best cover version of all times; a really weird one by William Shatner, and of course the original.

Friday, February 22, 2008

New Heroes

"I wanna be chowsinjji," Jesse proudly proclaims.

No more Spiderman. No more Superman. Now my boy wants to be Stephen Chow instead. And it's all Mommy's fault.

Mae decided she might want our son to be a little more interested in sports, seeing as how her Husband is a couch potato. And so she decided to start him on a diet of footbal TV. It's all very annoying to me, since I dun watch very much football. As far as I am concerned, there is nothing remotely entertaining about 20 over grown men chasing after a ball.

And so I negotiate a win-win deal.

"How about we watch football with a little more entertainment value?"

We've been watching Shaolin Soccer. A lot. Like two times a day, everyday. With any luck, maybe my little banana-boy will pick up a little Cantonese. Any more luck than that and Mae will pick up some Cantonese too. :)

Monday, February 18, 2008


On Friday I lost my mobile phone.

I was sitting at the Caffe Cino outlet in KL Hilton discussing work. The damn phone must have fallen out my of pocket as I sat there on the sofa. I left the place and realised this as soon after I drove out of the parking lot. I immediately turned back, parked my car and ran up to the place. Needless to say, the phone was gone.

I enquired at the establishment but no one had reported a lost and found mobile phone. I made calls but no one answered. At one point someone did, but did not speak. Instead I was treated to a surround sound of the inside of someone's pocket.

So there. My phone was gone and quite possibly, someone in Hilton had found it but had decided to keep it. I'd expect this at Rumah Tumpangan Kiew Kiew (not that I ever go to someplace named Rumah Tumpang Kiew Kiew), but this was the Hilton, dammit.

But perhaps my expectation of the establishment is unrealistic. After all, the tone and manner of the place did take a dip when their famous heiress spent a few nights in the slammer. Heh.

The phone was a Nokia 6280. It's pretty worn out. But I cherish it, simply for the fact that it took plenty of pictures, many of which are still inside the phone. So... um... if you happen to spot any pictures of me with Cecelia Cheung or Gillian Chung on the internet, please destroy them. Do NOT forward to Mae!!!

Seriously though, I have pictures of my family in there. *sigh* I actually sent an SMS to my phone to appeal to the finder to mail my memory card back to me. But I am not hopeful, cos you can't expect a dishonest person to do the right thing, can you?

BTW, some of you might wanna SMS me your numbers.

Thursday, February 14, 2008


This year, we didn't go home to Taiping for the Chinese New Year. Since Grandma's passing, her sons and daughters decided that they will no longer convene in Taiping for the reunion, but will instead do their own thing. It's a crying shame, but I suppose this is the natural progression of things.

This year, Mom made the trip down here instead. My brother-in-law booked us at a Chinese restaurant and it was a reunion of his family, ours and my stepmom's. As dinners with our family go, the food was great and the conversations excellent. Yet I can't help but miss our reunions in Taiping with Mom's siblings and my cousins.

Our family is a motley crue of the craziest people you would ever see. They're funny, loud and they all love food.

Reunions start early in Taiping. By 3pm, everyone's home. Most of us would gather in the kitchen and there would be plenty of washing, cutting, cooking, cleaning, tasting and other stuff you do in the kitchen. And our home would be thick with camaradarie and laughter. So much so, some of us just came into the kitchen for the fun of it. So much so, our poor neighbour next door would peek his head into our kitchen and remarked how much he wished he were part of the family. That was our tradition.

Too bad Grandma's gone. I suppose now we'll have to make our own traditions. Maybe next year I'll make everyone come to the house and wash and cut and cook and clean.

Wednesday, February 13, 2008

Angry Boy

"Today, I'm very angry," my little boy tells me last night in bed. He was probably upset that he had soiled his diaper, and that I had told him off about it.

"Who are you angry with?" I asked.

"I'm angry with Kakak," he answers spitefully, redirecting his anger to our maid, Anie. "Well, you can't be angry with Kakak," I advised, "not if you want her to wash your bum-bum."

As Anie was dealing with him, she enquired about his temperament, "Jesse is angry with Kakak?"

"Nooooo," he answers in the sweetest little voice. "Jesse is angry with Mommy," explained the little politician, in the most matter-of-fact tone that a four-year-old can muster. However, all that time the boy didn't know that Mommy was within earshot.

"What!?!?" Mae's blood-curdling voiced boom from inside our bedroom. "Why are you angry with Mommy?"

With that Mommy's faithful little subject scurried into the room before the Queen. He stood there looking most apologetic, as he wracked his brain for a good save. And then it came, "because Mommy always makes the floor wet."

Mae is always making a mess of our bathroom, and I once unwittingly told the boy so. The little rascal had stored this, and probably other tasty bits of information to be used to negotiate his release in sticky situations. And while the boy gets Her Majesty's royal pardon, Daddy gets a boot to the head for releasing sensitive information to the child. Hehheh.

Monday, February 4, 2008

Passport Photo

It occured to me that I will never have a nice passport photo. Given my track record with the damn thing, you'd think it was against the natural order of universe for me to get a decent passport photo.

Last Tuesday, as I sat before the photographer, I thought to myself that maybe this year I'd have a better shot seeing that I didn't have to wake up at 5am to queue up at the Immigration office. Yes, our governmental processes used to be much more of a pain in the ass that it is now, but I digress. And so, I flashed the cameraman my best snarl (For some reason, it just feels wrong to be all smiley and cheerful for official photos).

Needless to say, it was another crappy photo. I look old, tired and guilty. If I were ever hauled into the interrogation room of a foreign country under the suspicion of smuggling child pornography, I'm gonna be in deep trouble. (No, you bastards, I will not scan and publish it here.)

The past years were no better. In my last passport, I look like a refugee from the killing fields who had accidentally stepped on a land mine. But at least I looked young then. Heck, I WAS young then.

Going back further, even my childhood passport was not spared. I got my first travel document at the age of 8. In it, I looked like the bargain bin special of a fledging third world child sex ring.

In retrospect, I probably should have gotten the photographer to reshoot but that would probably be another exercise in futility. Maybe I just ought to smile more for these official photographs. Oh well.

Friday, February 1, 2008

Project Codename: Cicakgirl

James & Maya Karin

It's Maya Karin. In red leather. And all over me. Which explains the shit-eating grin on my face. Took awhile for Mae to slap it out of my system. Hahahaha.

Seriously though, it was all work and I'm happy to add that Maya is as lovely in person as she in on screen - unless you only watch the scary bits in Pontianak Harum Sundal Malam. Very down-to-earth, and very nice. Despite me poking a camera in her face the entire time. :)