mash potato

Third time lucky? Maybe?
Last night, we had Thai in Fulham. I met Mr. Lampard for the second time. The first time I saw him was in a club, many months ago, also in Fulham. But I guess that didn't count because I didn't know who he was then. Friend: 'Omigod, that's Frank Lampard!' Me: 'Frank who?'

And last night, when the restaurant manager came up to our table and said, 'Guess which footballer is dining with us tonight?' I, frantically in the most composed manner went: 'Who? Frank?' Not that I really gave a damn right? (Though my dinner companions might think otherwise). We were bouncing off the honour from one person to another, of asking the man himself for permission to have a picture taken with him. And just when we decided to bestow the honour on A, he left with his entourage.

Oh well. Maybe next time. I've envisioned it. It'll be, Me: 'Hi, Frank. Fera. A fan.' Frank: 'Hi Fera. Pleased to meet you. Can I get you anything to drink?'

Three time's a charm baby.


Shaken or stirred?
I'm with you James. I don't give a damn.

I don't give a damn about a lot of things these days. About work, especially. People at work are just a bunch of suckers. They talk and talk and probe and probe, thinking they're the shit, when they don't know shit. They think they look sharp in their thousand dollar suit, when honey, have you considered tummy tuck? They crack audit jokes on the daily and throw high-fives when they guess the correct IFRSs and yet they wonder why they're still single.

For many months, I've been worried about wanting to be exceptional at work, but day by day I begin to realise that I've got the concept entirely wrong.

When people put twice the effort, I do a little bit more. Is that dedication or mere stupidity? When managers ask me to stay a little late, I say yes, and then run home and bitch and whine. Now is that commitment or mere stupidity? When clients treat me like shit, I say 'I understand', apologise and run to the loo and cry. Now, this is simply pure stupidity.

It is a very competitive environment, no doubt. And this competitiveness, healthy or not, is unfortunately inherent in the job culture. You either take part in it, or you lose out.

After a while taking this journey, only now I ask, 'What's in it for me?' All I see so far is me feeding to people's expectation, but doing nothing for my own gratification. But I'll need to get back to you on this one.

And then I begin to analyse the very nature of this thing I signed up for. I personally find it difficult (I'm not saying it is impossible, so many people have done it) to focus all your energy at work and excel, when you've got exams and other technicalities to focus on. To me, there has got to be a trade-off somewhere, which then begs the question. Which of the two do I want to excel at to compensate for the slack in the other - work or exams? The answer is, wrong question. There is no such choice. Noone is at liberty to make such choice. If you have happened to make that choice, you're on the road to doomsville.

So after much deliberation I have decided to not worry about being exceptional at what I do. All I should worry about is being good at what I do. Because while being exceptional is relative, being good is a stand-alone measuring factor. I don't have to be compared to the next person to know that I am good at what I do. Being good is absolute.

Anyway..
This is the bomb diggity yo! Tony toni toné!

do the limbo

All rise.

At many points tonight I felt like I was dragged to the stand, sat before a myriad of indifferent, yet pretentiously compassionate listeners, impatiently waiting for an answer. My answer. It seems like they can no longer live on speculations they've made about me. I've been wronged apparently for not divulging enough. From how I see it, they don't want to hear the things I have to say, they want to hear something else. And at every point where I was posed the array of questions - I remember the prosecutor, arms folded, tousled hair, cynical smile - my only response was: 'I don't know. I don't know.'

I have never been more honest. So help me God. All I have to say is stick to your speculations, they're probably just as good as mine.

Adjourned.

*

My mind often escapes my body. It drifts so far away that sometimes I confuse myself with the real and unreal. This morning after a few minutes of putting my brain on the treadmill with Sudoku, my thoughts just drifted away. To a place by the beach, under the stars - I remember hot chocolate and vanilla latte. And I remember the stars aligning in an odd way. And out of nowhere, came four gentlemen to serenade, and I didn't even have to lift a finger. And I remember the sounds of the waves hitting the rocks and I remember not minding the silence between us at all. Man, that felt real.

And that's when I realised I had two '4's in a row. Damn!

*

Last night I took a walk down the infamous Westbourne Terrace. Infamous in my eyes, for its sweet-sounding traffic noises it makes at 2 a.m, the yellow leaves on the sidewalk, and that infamous lady pedestrian who loves to walk her dog in the mornings and who should really start wearing a bra. Especially in the mornings.

It was one of those walks with no destination. The last time I did this was in February. It's just my way of putting things in perspective you see. But that is what I tell people. What it really is, is just my way of satisfying my penchant for melodrama. Well, same difference.

It's a much needed walk I'd say. Especially when your life's been handed a big, fat nudge lately. And that can mean a good thing.

Ok, so let's take stock, shall we? If this goes here, and that gets pushed back there, and this stays, and if I give that a choice, and bla the bla.... By the end of it, nothing much came out of it. Except for the revelation that comparing myself now to what I was then would be like putting a plastic bowl of kerang and a bed of fresh oysters on a silver platter side by side. Now, that's perspective.

you damn right!

Hahahahahahaha....Ok that was not because I find the joke below funny, but it is just that I find it in-your-face-take-that-now-how-do-you-like-that perfect for fellow auditors. Sorry, been having my off weeks at work lately.

At the end of the year, the auditors sent an inspector to audit the books of a synagogue. While he was checking the books he turned to the Rabbi and said:"I notice you buy a lot of candles. What do you do with the candle drippings?" "Good question", noted the Rabbi. "We save them up and send them back to the candle makers, and every now and then they send us a free box of candles."

"Oh", replied the auditor, somewhat disappointed that his unusual question had a practical answer. But on he went, in his obnoxious way:

"What about all these biscuit purchases? What do you do with the crumbs?"

"Ah, yes", replied the Rabbi, realising that the inspector was trying to trap him with an unanswerable question. "We collect them and send them back to the manufacturers, and every now and then they send a free box of holy biscuits."

"I see!" replied the auditor, thinking hard about how he could fluster the know-it-all Rabbi. "Well, Rabbi", he went on, "What do you do with all the leftover foreskins from the circumcisions you perform?"

"Here, too, we do not waste", answered the Rabbi. "What we do is save up all the foreskins and send them to the auditors, and about once a year they send us a complete dick."

Now, who'd be an auditor?

Frankenstein in Love

I'd like so much to write about my trip back home to KL recently, but I've only been chasing time since I got back. Plus, too many things happened and there's too many things to tell and I'm struggling as it is trying to pin heads and tails to what happened.

We went to see Frankenstein in Love in KLPac on Halloween. I'll tell you in a word what I think about it: Dry.

I don't know if I should blame the morbidity of the story itself, or the delivery of that story. This play is about...erm...umm...see it's only been a week and I can't remember much of it already - goes to tell a lot about it. I remember saying to myself that it was as 'good' as watching TV. I wasn't sure who the cast was acting for - the audience, or themselves? Were they trying to tell us a story, or merely reading the script out really, really well - with facial expressions and good intonations and everything? But what are you trying to tell me? The only thing which stood out was this extra who looked really scary and stayed in a weird position for a long time, and I thought that was impressive. Other than that, I cringed most times at Melissa Maureen's acting. And the after-effect is not what I normally feel after catching a play here in London. But then again, I may not be comparing like with like. Mad props to the lighting and make-up though!

The only good thing about the play is that Rashid Salleh was in it. He took off his shirt several times and boy, did he not look bad at all? But somehow, this time around, not so interested. ;)