Adult Entertainment

Okay, so the title is sensationalist, but the subject matter isn't all that far off.

Recently, Maddie's kindie threw their year-end concert. My little girl's class 3-year-olds sang "It's a Small World". Leading up the the big day, she had been rehearsing industriously - singing her harmony part during mealtime, bathtime, playtime and even potty time. It was the cutest thing, and we were certain it would be a cute little performance.

Then came the big day. When Maddie entered the stage with the rest of her classmates, we realised this was gonna be something else altogether. Firstly, it wasn't a familiar version of the song. This one had that pumped up thumpity-thump base going. Our little girl was dressed in a midriff-baring, spaghetti-strapped, sequined little black number.

And that was pretty much the theme for the whole affair. Little girls in all their revealing, sequined dresses, while most of the boys dressed like waiters at a karaoke joint. Somewhere in the program was a Bruno Mars song, and there was another class dancing to David Guetta. It was all very adult. In fact, if I didn't know any better, I would have thought this was some Kelab Malam Kanak-Kanak somewhere. Heheh.

Maybe I'm old fashion, but shouldn't kids do more kiddy things like dress up as little animals, bugs or plants singing cute kiddy songs, like "I've been working on the railroad"?

Okay, maybe not that one. That's a nursery rhyme about Dinah whom, I'm sure, is some two-timing slut who decided to rendezvous illicitly with another man in her kitchen. *tsk *tsk

Incidentally, Maddie was fabulous all the same. I think the kid's got entertainment in her blood. ;)

Calling Alvin!

I've been thinking; how is it that there are so many Chinese guys out there named Alvin? It boggles the mind.

I know no less than 10 Alvins - in all their many permutations of the name. There is the original Alvin. And then there's Alwin and Alwyn. And Elvin, of course. I also know an Alvern. And perhaps the most unique of them all, Alwynt. (I swear I'm not making this up.)

Somewhere along the Chinese anthropology, we decided that good ol' Ah Fook, Ah Keong and Ah Beng are just not cool enough. And so Chinese parents went looking for cool name to tag onto their kids. And we probably got some of these names from the Bible (the Christian names, as we used to call them), and a whole lot from Hollywood and other popular culture.

Which brings us right back to the question, where in the world did Alvin come from? As far as I know, I never read about an Alvin in biblical times. If he did indeed exist, he sure as heck didn't do anything important enough to be mentioned. Which leaves us with pop culture. There are only two Alvins that I'm aware of. There's Alvin the chipmunk, and Alvin Stardust who sang one sappy hit song in the 80s.

Surely your parents didn't name you after a chipmunk, did they? And who listens to Alvin Stardust anyway?

So Alvin, can you ask your parents?

Reprise, Repeat, Repulsor

I haven't blogged in ages and I figured I should. Aside from being a nice reminder of things that happened in our lives, it's also pretty therapeutic. And Lord knows I need therapy from time to time. Comes with the whole territory of being Hainanese. Heh.

Anyway, it's been over six years of blogging now. Or semi-blogging, as the case may be. Jesse's going to Primary 1 next year. Maddie turns 1 this Sunday. I'm pushing 40. And Mae is 25. (It's statements like this last one that ensures I get to turn 40.)

At this stage, if you've read this far, you'd realise I'm just rambling. Sort of a freestyle riffing. There is probably a point to this post, but it might take awhile getting there. It probably has to do with growing old and getting verbose. A few more years, I'll be recounting war stories and their many reruns from a rocking chair.

So yeah, this one's about growing old, and growing up.

I look back at the last six years of blogging and I don't recognise the blogger. I've grown awfully cynical and perhaps even somewhat bitter. I don't marvel at too many things these days. And people don't surprise me any more. I've grown to hate more things than I love. Because with age and experience, comes the ability to see through all kinds of bullshit. You know, the kind that suspends your disbelief in anything, allowing you to be happy and well-adjusted.

Growing old sucks. Cos you can't find the time to watch a movie at the cinemas. No wonder I'm bitter.

I need to watch Iron Man 2 before I self-destruct.

Maddie's 16-Day Milestone Report

Day 1: Subject Madeleine is soft and squishy. Limbs and extremities look frail and fragile. Will probably snap under little effort. Must handle with care. Umbilical cord withering away, but still attached. Subject appears to need no constant nutrition, finding adequate sustenance from a short stint at subject's maternal mammary gland.

Day 2: Subject is excreting a dark, sticky matter from its posterior. This product is assumed to be Meconium. An assumption will be adequate at present time for the purpose of this report, due to this researcher's refusal to perform a taste and smell test.

Day 3: Subject has begun consuming and requiring a larger intake of subsistence. Its current diet of Colostrum, a concentrated nutritional lactative product, will soon be replaced by a higher volume dairy product. The Meconium production appears to be ceasing, much to the olfactory delight of the research team. Subject, however, has taken a slight yellow appearance on the epidermis. Subject will undergo a daily exposure of natural ultraviolet rays.

Day 6: Natural UV Therapy had paid off. Tests at the Damansara Specialist Hospital measures subject Madeleine's bilirubin level at 9.8mg/dl, a safe level. Subject has begun to respond to visual and auditory stimulus.

Day 9: Limbs and extremities have gotten firmer. Subject has also demonstrated increased strength, as well as increased suction power, as evident during feedings. However, it must be noted that subject's suction prowess is estimated on the basis of facial convolutions expressed by subject Madeleine's maternal lactation unit (also referred to as Mae).

Day 11: Subject's umbilical cord has dislodge from the main unit. Upon visual inspection, said umbilical matter is dried and withered, displaying a dark brownish-red transluscency similar to the processed combusted porcine aliment usually available during the Lunar new year festival. However, inhalation tests offer no such similarity, producing a pungent and putrid result. The research team has concluded that the unbilical matter is best disposed as biohazard and not safe for consumption, nor as accessorial ornaments.

Day 13: Registered at the National Registrar. Subject Madeleine will now fall under the purview of the Federal Government. However, subject will still be required to report to her parental units for all matters pertaining to cultivation and nurturing.

Day 16: Subject has begun to respond kinesthetically to stimulus. Her oral emissions in times of hunger are registering higher decibel levels oftentimes shattering the concentration of the maternal lactation unit. Otherwise, subject displays a calm, quiet demeanour, befitting of assumption regarding the female of her species. It must be noted that this assumption has oft been faulty with the researcher's own experiences with the female of the species.

This concludes the 16-Day Milestone Report on Subject Madeleine. In the final summary, the subject has shown remarkable growth and positive development. It's parental units, however, though positive in outlook, are showing signs of fatigue and weariness, but that is typical is studies like this.

Brotherly Love

On Saturday, we lost Jesse's jacket at the supermarket. The boy taking it off and putting on again, just for the fun of it and somewhere along the way, we must have dropped it.

On the way home, when the reality that his favourite jacket was gone hit him, he started wailing. And quite melodramatically, too. (He gets it from his mother, I swear). To further dramatise his loss, he starts imagining things.

"A baby took my jacket," he sobbed. "I don't like the baby anymore!"

We were a little disturbed that perhaps he might be laying some blame on his little unborn sister in Mommy's tummy. I had read that kids tend to feel threatened by a new sibling.

"You don't like our baby anymore?" I asked our son in the saddest tone of voice I could muster.

"No! It was another baby!" he protested, his crying now toned down a couple of notches. "Baby Madeleine is a good baby," he added assuringly and earnestly, "I love our baby very much."

It was heartwarming to hear that our little boy can have so much love for his little unborn sister. It was like the way we had loved him while we waited for his arrival. It might be a little too soon to tell, but I think they're gonna get along fine.

And incidentally, Big Brother has also decided that his baby sister is going to be named Madeleine because he's convinced that the name is wonderful for her. :) More on that soon.

Bad Moon Rising

I was reading in the papers today about a sudden appearance of thousands of mudskippers in Gurney Drive. Apparently, some experts think that this is an indication of the cleanliness of the beaches in Gurney.

GEORGE TOWN: Penang’s famed Gurney Drive has a new slippery attraction for locals and tourists – thousands of spotted brown mudskippers can be seen flipping and hopping around the 100m-long mudflat just beyond the embankment wall over the past several months. The presence of the amphibious fish is believed to be a telling sign of the cleanliness-level in the coastline.

So, thousands of these little buggers are here cos it's so clean? Or is there, perhaps, another reason? How about the 400 dead turtles washed up on Bangladesh's beaches just last week?

Dhaka, Feb 10 (APP): Thousands of dead sea turtles are found being washed ashore along the coastal lines from Cox’s Bazar to St Martin’s island in the Bay of Bengal with bruises all over their bodies. The mass circulation Daily Star, quoting locals in Cox’s Bazar reported Tuesday, over 400 female dead turtles have floated ashore over the last two weeks alone. Experts say that these turtles meet their death as they travel the stretch of nearly 120 kilometres from Sonadia Island in Cox’s Bazar to St Martin’s island to lay eggs on the shore.

And it doesn't end there. Hawaii's got some stuff up their beaches too. Although it's a monthly affair, it's a little creepy that suddenly 700 jellyfishes are washed ashore.

HONOLULU - Officials closed Hanauma Bay on Wednesday morning because of the monthly influx of box jellyfish that washed onto Oahu's south shore beaches. About 700 jellyfish were found on Waikiki Beach with another 100 on Ala Moana Beach Park, according to the city's Ocean Safety and Lifeguard Services Division.

I dunno about you, but I'm starting to think that perhaps our seafood is trying to tell us something. Philippines's got a phenomenon too with dolphins.

Manila, Feb 10 (Xinhua) More than 100 dolphins were found stranded at the coast of a northern Philippine town early Tuesday, the local media reported.

It doesn't end there. Dead whale in France! And this was just 2 days ago.

CHERBOURG (AFP) — A French fisherman found the corpse of a humpback whale caught up in his net, excited conservationists said Monday, noting that the species is extremely rare in Channel waters. "It's a historic moment for the region. You could count the number of humpback sightings off France over the past two centuries on your fingers," said Gerard Muger, of the Cotentin Whale Studies Group in Normandy.

And just 2 weeks back, hundreds of live fighting conch shells wash ashore in Florida.

It looked like an amazing phenomenon on Bonita Beach, but it was really just a quirk of nature. Hundreds of live fighting conch shells washed up on the sand this morning. Many were flapping their hard, dark foot as if signaling for help. The shells lined the beach along the dry sand and the wet sand just above the water line while even more rolled in the shallow surf just inches from the beach. “I’ve never seen it like this,” said Paul Salay of Bonita Springs, who said he regularly visits the beach.

I got a bad feeling somethings going down. It's too much of a coincidence for these things to be happening within just two weeks. I remember reading reports of marine life being washed ashore just before the Boxing Day Tsunami of '04, and I'm thinking that perhaps these events over the last couple of weeks may be some kind of warning sign.

I'm staying the hell away from beaches.

There's A Moral In Here Somewhere

All that's been going on reminds me of a story.

Three buddies decide to go on a trek into the jungles of the Amazon. Like all testosterone-charged, hot-blooded males, the boys ignore all advice against their risky enterprise, scoffing at all tales of caution. However, like all good stories, the arrogant boys get their comeuppance. In the deep jungles of the Amazon, the guys find themselves in the clutches of a tribe of vicious Cannibals.

"You have to give us a fighting chance," pleaded the boys to their captors. The chief of the Cannibals considered a moment, agreed. After all, here was a man who liked to play with his food.

"Since it is the 21st birthday of my only daughter, I will let you off if you pass one simple test," said the chief. "If all of your three penises can measure up to 21 inches and beyond," explained the chief, "I will set you free."

"Okay, let's do this," said the first strapping lad as he confidently whipped out a whopper from his pants. 12 inches of meat, and the guys were off to a good start. The Cannibals were disheartened to see their catch slipping from their clutches. The second guy came in at a modest 7 inches, and their spirits were lifted, for surely their friend can manage more than 2 inches. However when the third fellow undid his pants, to the horror of his mates, therein laid a tiny little weiner. The Cannibals cheered at the prospect of a hearty dinner that night.

"Wait, wait," protested the third guy, "measure it!" The chief Cannibal came down from his throne and took to the task himself. To his disappointment, the last fellow measured exactly 2 inches, giving the boys a total of 21 inches. Begrudgingly, he set the three friends free.

"Thank God for those Penis Enlargement spams I have been receiving," said the first guy as they made their way back to civilisation, "otherwise, I surely wouldn't have managed 12 inches."

"I may not have 12 but I'll bet my 7 inches played a big role in saving our skins," said the second fellow, as the boys gloated about their good fortune.

"But we'd surely be dead by now," added the last fellow most earnestly, "if I wasn't having an erection."

I have never really had the stomach for politics because it all boils down to power and how much people hate sharing it.

C'mon people, play nice.

Old Man';s Ass

I'm not a terribly brand-conscious person when it comes to fashion and apparel. For that matter, as many who know me will testify, I'm not terribly fashion-conscious too. But, that's another story for another day.

Today, we discuss jeans.

Now, for as long as I have lived, Levi's are the preferred choice for jeans - or at least that's the propaganda I have been exposed to. Levi's are better. Levi's are well made. Levi's last longer. Levi's makes your ass look better, even for fat guys like me. It comes to a point where you don't even fight it anymore.

Until last weekend. Last weekend I decided to go against the grain. Let the lemmings wear their Levi's, I thought to myself. Me, I was gonna revolutionise my wardrobe. And so I strutted to Malaysia's favourite surplus store, F.O.S., grabbed a pair of jeans off the rack and headed for the fitting room.

I put on the new RM 39.90 jeans and whaddya know, I looked mighty fine (by my own limited standards, of course). I turned around to check out the back in the mirror when my whole world goes to hell.

There in the mirror staring back at me, was my ass, thirty years into the future. To get an idea what that looks like, go check out some 60-year old guy's butt and you'll know. Y'know the ones whose cheeks sag like a bulldog's.

Who the hell makes jeans like that?

I was so traumatised that all the way home, I has to seek constant validation from Mae on the age of my ass. "No, you don't have an old man's ass". "Are you sure?" "Yessssss-lah!"

Man. I'm never tucking in my shirt ever again.

Spidermania

Jesse is a big fan of Spiderman. Ever since I pointed the billboards out to Jesse, the boy had been smitten with the webslinger. And since Daddy too is a fan, the boy has a growing collection of Spidey merchandise.

To date, Jesse's got a Spidey bag, a Spidey tumbler, pencil sharpener, stationery, stickers, a soft toy, Spidey undies, slippers, the works! And he's really into it too. Reading the books, watching the movie. He can even sing the first verse of the Spiderman song.

"Honey, I think it's time we got the boy his very own Spidey suit," I suggest. And a couple of weeks back, we found our way to Petaling Street where we got him the suits - the regular red and blue one, and the hot and spicy black one. And we even picked up a couple of masks for him.

The boy loves his suits but for some strange reason, he never wants to put them on.

"No, no," he'd protest. "Too big," he'd add, along with a host of other feeble excuses just not to wear it. He's also against the idea of me putting on his Spiderman masks. He'd bow his head so as not to look me in the face and he'd go, "Daddy, take out!"

*sigh* Weird kid. Still trying to figure him out.

Till Death Do We Part

A couple of days ago, a neighbour in Block B of my apartment building jumped off the balcony of his fourth floor unit. Neighbours say he came home, got into a shouting match with his wife and decided he has had enough.

"Sometimes when you nag me, I just wanna slit my wrist and end it all," I told Mae once. Of course I was being an asshole at the time for saying that, but maybe a small part of me meant it.

I hate confrontations with the wife. And I think a lot of men share this sentiment. Having the wife nag you incessantly can really be a fate worse than death. This, I mean as a figure of speech, but unfortunately some men take it literally.

When we married, I imagined a life of bliss and eternal happiness - Mae whispering sweet nothings in my ear, smiling sweetly with every word that proceeds from her mouth. And then reality bites you in the ass.

It takes a lot to make a marriage work. When a husband and a wife get into a shouting match, here's an advice for the guys: shut up, or you'll just make things worse. As for the girls, hey, you too can shut up. Try it, it works.

Anyway, the couple were in their early 30s. I'm pretty sure whatever the wife might have said, she'll probably regret it all her life. As for the guy, if he had just turned around and gave the wife a big fat hug instead, perhaps things may have turned out very differently.

Sick But Not Quite

I can't decide if I'm sick or not.

I slept all evening yesterday and I pretty much slept all morning today. And I still feel like shit. But other than that, I don't have any other symptoms. No sore throat. No runny nose. No cough. Heck, not even a fever. Sure the nose feels a little congested and the bones ache a little but nothing I can really pinpoint.

Everybody tells me I should go see a doctor.

Problem with that is, most General Practitioners give you medication to heal your symptoms. Unless you have a fever - then they might prescribe some anti-biotics. If I went to the doctor, she'll probably charge me 60 bucks, speak to me in a condescending tone about getting some rest and give me some feel-like-shit pills.

I have feel-like-shit pills at home. They're called Panadol. They don't cost RM60 and I can wash it down with beer if I like. All this while the wife lovingly strokes my hair as she feeds me chocolate ice-cream. Hurray for DIY doctoring. :)

Veins of the Vain

Of late, my little monkeyboy has become very conscious of the way he looks. Jesse is quite the vain little fella. These days, he makes a stand on what he'd like to wear. Or at least he tries.

In a recent episode, Roma had attempted to put on a blue jersey on the boy. He protested violently, kicking and screaming, and resisting. "Black shirt," he decrees amidst the sobs. "Black shirt," he cried, indicating that he'd much rather wear his black little rocker t-shirt rather than any goody-two-shoes baby-blue tee. He also determines what colour pants he'd like to wear for the day, and what shoes to match the ensemble.

Of course there are the good days when we pick out exactly what he wants to wear. That's when the boy will strut around the house proclaiming proudly, "So handsome." Or when he's feeling a little whimsical, then it's, "So cute."

Yes, his mother's veins of vanity courses through his own. :) Then again, his need to be beautiful could very well stem from my side of the family. Most likely my dad - his gramps.

Dad wears boots all the time cos it adds two inches to his stature. He also wears slims shirts and slim pants because is offers him a svelte silhouette. To further enhance its effect, he wears them black.

And then there's his hair which is always perfect styled. Also perfectly dyed. Midnight black. Heh.

Dad's also a firm believer of cologne, gallons of it - just in case, I assume, should he ever bump into a blind person who may not be able to appreciate his beauty visually, they can still do so... erm... olfactorily.

With influences like these, it's pretty clear to see where things might be headed for Jesse. By next year, I fully expect the boy to ask for cash to do his own shopping.

Baby Love

baby-friendly

Jesse's got a little sister.

She's small, plasticky (and quite icky, thanks to the millions of kids who have had their paws all over her) and sits in a shelf in the far corner of Toys 'r Us, 1 Utama. And every time big brother comes to visit, he'll make his way to her shelf, pick her up and cuddle her. And ocassionally when he spots a little stroller close at hand, he'll even take her for a stroll around the place.

And whenever it was time to go home, he'd reluctantly part ways with her. "Bye-bye, baby," he'd whisper to her gently as he planted a loving little kiss on her forehead. (Euww... I know, I know! Icky.)

Still, it's quite a sight, his devotion to her.

I used to fear that Jesse would get jealous should Mae and I ever have another. But perhaps my fears are unfounded after all. And perhaps it's time to fire up the ol' oven. Hehheh...

The Way to a Man's Heart

gimme! gimme!

Men (the ones of the masculine persuasion, anyway) are simple creatures. We are easy to please. So easy, that I have no reservation whatsoever to speak for my brethren:

Men love fried chicken.

It's not exactly the great big secret of the universe, or the meaning of life, but it does come pretty damn close. The thing is, women know this. But for reasons that elude me, when a woman transitions in her life to become a mother or a wife, she conveniently forgets. Allow me to illustrate.

My mother was in town only recently. "James loves steamed chicken," she tells Mae. "He does?" Mae reconfirms with Mom. "I love fried chicken," I yell from across the room, disturbed by the conversation that was taking place before me. "Yah, he loves steamed chicken."

Isn't it amazing how mother knows best? That was just barely a month ago.

A couple of weeks ago I call home. "We're having rendang chicken," Mae tells me. "Why can't we ever have fried chicken?" "But you love rendang chicken," she rationalises. You can never really talk to a woman.

Still, miracles do happen.

Monday night, Mae made fried chicken. And that night, as I clocked up my cholesterol count, I fell in love with my wife all over again. Isn't it any wonder that the physical manifestations of love closely resembles a mild cardiac arrest?

The Science of Chinese Mothers

I remember vividly during one of our Ante-Natal classes before Jesse came about. Dr. Musa, a Pediatrician popular amongst many parents, was addressing the class.

"You Chinese mothers are obsessed with water," he said, venting out in frustration at how the Chinese always insist on feeding their babies water. "There's water in his milk," he reasoned, half pleading in his last ditched attempt to talk some sense into the predominantly Chinese crowd.

I shook my head in pity. Poor Dr. Musa fails to understand that the Laws of the Universe will suspend itself for the Chinese Mother. Allow me to present my short thesis on Water & the Science of Chinese Mothers.

WATER & THE SCIENCE OF CHINESE MOTHERS

Chemistry
The chemical composition of water is dynamically altered when combined with any powdered beverage, especially baby milk formula. Under such a circumstance, water no longer retains its property as a radical and is rendered ineffective as a hydrating agent. The effects are similar in any instances where good flavour is added to water. The opposite is true when bad flavour, such as the bitterness of Chinese herbs, are combined with water. As a conclusion, any water that taste good can never be considered water by the Chinese mother, while anything that is crappy is still water.

Physics
Exposed to extreme cold temperatures of 0°Celcius and below, thermodynamics dictates that water transforms, abandoning its liquid characteristic to attain its new solid form of ice. Consumed into the human body and exposed to body temperatures of 37°Celcius beyond the melting point of ice however, does not transform this new substance back into water. Therefore it should be rejected any notion that suggests the consumption of ice is equal to the consumption of water. Water in any form that may be fun can never be considered water by the Chinese mother.

Biology
The Chinese human body is composed of more than 70% water, and therefore no consumption of water may be adequate for the Chinese infant or child. The ideal balance for the Chinese child would be a biological composition of 99% water and 1% child. Water in any quantity less than overly-abundant can never be considered sufficient.

In the interest of your general well-being and to ensure a continued supply of sex at home, the Chinese father must quickly embrace The Science of Chinese Mothers. Coming next, The Intellect of Chinese Mothers-In-Law, a short thesis that debunks the myth than any medical or nutritional degree may surpass the wisdom of the average Chinese Mother-In-Law.

This has been a community message brought to you by loopymeals.blogspot.com and could very well be the last!

A Shitty Encounter

OK, this one is really gonna gross you out. I hate walking into a public toilet to find someone's shit still in the toilet bowl. It pisses me off royally.

So anyway, Sunday I was at the spanking new Digital Mall in Sec 14, PJ when I decided to take a whizz. I walk into the cubicle nearest to the toilet entrance and readied myself to do my deed, when lo and behold, inside the sparkling white ceramic bowl was the biggest pile of turd I had ever seen.

Instinctively, I headed for the door to choose another cubicle, but being the nice guy that I was, I decided to flush the john before I left. Simply because it was the decent thing to do.

I pulled the lever and watched a flood of water spiral into the bowl. Meanwhile I position myself for a quick escape should the water suddenly flood over in case there was a blockage. But no, the water flowed smoothly and rapidly and trickled to a stop, the bubbling and splashing now slowing. As I waited to see the result of my community service, I began rationalised to myself that there was no more a need to use another cubicle since this one was now clean.

But no. This was no ordinary pile of shit. This is shit from hell. Not only did it not flush away, it remained intact and in the exact same position I had first discovered it. It did not even crumble under the pressure of the water as regular shit usually does.

I looked at it, bewildered. The pieces were long and thick. While ordinary mortals' excrement resembled one of those large sausages, this one had the girth of a large cucumber. So large that it would have taken a large asshole to expel this gargantuan dump.

Who was the perpetrator? And for crying out loud, what in hell did he eat!? Did he suffer any injury to his ass at such a momentous task? Will his feces still be there next week? How will the cleaners clean this up?

Questions that keep me up at nights.