Once in a while things happen to me; as if the universe is determined to remind me of the years I’ve orbited the sun. And that I should once in a while act like it.
Today marks the ending of a week long suffering for my back. It snapped, again, last Monday after a two and a half hours drive back from Ipoh. The zero body warm up and muscle stretching before the drive tripped a hazardous reaction with the cramped space in my compact car. Beside me was my obese teenage cousin in the front passenger seat, his mother (my maternal aunt) sat behind him and her long legged teenage daughter, behind me. In another car was my other maternal aunt with her family.
My aunts have been reminding me of this road trip for some time and the AidilFitri holiday proved to be the best occasion to visit another aunt in Ulu Kinta’s 8’th Mile, Perak, better known as Tanjung Rambutan. Oh yes, the same Tajung Rambutan I called sanctuary many years ago after the bloody fall which temporarily cost me my balance.
The drive there on Friday was a breeze. Upon arriving we started the food binging. We weren’t celebrating Hari Raya but the food came all the same, as any huge family gathering would bring. Two nights (and several kilos) later, we drove back to KL after breakfast. The non-stop drive left my posture stiff for more than two hours. I felt okay upon arrival. Getting out of the car and unloading stuff gave no indication of the incoming misery. As everyone has settled down, I went to the refrigerator to get some snack. I bent down to reach for an apple and snap! I broke my back, almost.
It was hell for the first three days. As usual, getting out of bed was almost impossible. Work started on Wednesday and I looked like an old man, slouching severely every time I got off my seats; car and cubicles. One awkward move and it would feel like being shot with a taser in the back.
I took it to the dance floor on Friday and tried to move a little. They told me it’s good for a bad back. I managed just fine, albeit several more warning taser-like shots. “You dance sexy” was the only thing I get from a stranger, but that’ll do babe… that’ll do.
Life resumed normally come Saturday with one open house at 3pm, one blogger’s meet at 5pm and one NGO meeting at 8.30pm. It was a wholesome Saturday. Very productive I must say.
Sunday was spent resting and light browsing at the mall with friends.
It was a heck of a week and I deserve a brake. I dread the next break so I’ll take better care of my back, my sexy back.
Monday, October 22, 2007
Friday, October 12, 2007
O mark my ass
Ever watched a movie set during the French Napoleon period? If so, have you taken notice of the costumes?
I came across a French movie titled ‘1805, Riding with Napoleon’ weeks ago while waiting for the gang to pick me up to the clubs. It was a typical Napoleonic Era war movie, and so were the costumes. But the thing that caught my attention was one of the military’s costume that looked like this. (Captured from my tv screen)
And the rear view looked like this.
Ok, call me gay for scrutinizing the military men’s behinds, butt, there’s no stopping one’s fixation on the distinctive mark.
A bull’s eye mark on a red hot, butt hugging pair of pants. Now tell me you didn’t notice that!
One word. WHY?
They’re in the middle of war for Napoleon’s sake. Why make it so damn easy to mark their men? Were they told that ‘O’ marks the spot? Oh well, maybe it signified a ranking in the army then, a ranking so low one is forced to look down and behind.
I didn’t finish the movie so I plan to catch it on Astro Kirana either on 14, 18 or 26 October. Check your Ass-tro Guide if you plan to do the same.
P/s: Shall we leave it to them French for peculiar fashion statements, even in war?
I came across a French movie titled ‘1805, Riding with Napoleon’ weeks ago while waiting for the gang to pick me up to the clubs. It was a typical Napoleonic Era war movie, and so were the costumes. But the thing that caught my attention was one of the military’s costume that looked like this. (Captured from my tv screen)
And the rear view looked like this. 
Ok, call me gay for scrutinizing the military men’s behinds, butt, there’s no stopping one’s fixation on the distinctive mark.
A bull’s eye mark on a red hot, butt hugging pair of pants. Now tell me you didn’t notice that!
One word. WHY?
They’re in the middle of war for Napoleon’s sake. Why make it so damn easy to mark their men? Were they told that ‘O’ marks the spot? Oh well, maybe it signified a ranking in the army then, a ranking so low one is forced to look down and behind.
I didn’t finish the movie so I plan to catch it on Astro Kirana either on 14, 18 or 26 October. Check your Ass-tro Guide if you plan to do the same. P/s: Shall we leave it to them French for peculiar fashion statements, even in war?
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Feeling lucky, Punk?
Incident 1:
Walking pass some shop lots, a Punjabi man approaches and says something very softly, almost whispering. You lean forward to listen closely to what he has to say. Being the good person that you are, you are guessing he could be lost, asking for directions.
And you hear “Very lucky face. You have a very lucky face”
You smile, instantly thanking him while quickly studying his appearance. A long sleeved white shirt and a pair of dark slacks, the typical office attire; carries a thick organizer. He tops it off with a distinctive turban.
At this point you get hints of fortune telling, and suspect it won’t be for free. So you politely decline and thank him, walking a steady pace for fear of a persistent service sales person.
Incident 2:
Years pass by and another Punjabi man approaches you while browsing the bed and bath section in the departmental store, turban and all.
He is rather soft spoken for his size but you lean forward to have a good listen nonetheless, because living in a helpful society, you can’t ignore a request for help before deciding if it is in your capacity to lend a hand. As soon as you hear “Lucky” wedged in his sentence, you instantly thank him, turn around and make a beeline to wherever you think he will not be heading next.
Incident 3:
More years pass by, specifically, two weeks ago.
You are seated on a plastic chair outside a car workshop, waiting for your car to get a full checkup. A Punjabi man approaches, carrying a suspicious soft spoken demeanor. You hear “very lucky face” and despite saying ‘no thanks’ and shaking your head, he went on and on with ‘very lucky face. Very good way of thinking. You have good fortunes. Small fee, I can tell you your future, plans and so on.”
You shake your head even more vigorously while saying ‘no thanks. I’m okay. Thank you’, because getting out of your seat and walking away would seem rude and offensive.
He finally gets the message and ends everything by offering a luxurious handshake, saying “good luck!”
You accept his kind gesture with a genuine smile, say a gratifying ‘thank you’ and as soon as he turns away, breathe a good sigh of relief; immensely glad that nothing unfortunate happened between you and the 'automatic fortune telling machine'.
Reflecting on all three incidents so far, you think to yourself, “why do they always come with a turban. Do they have fortune telling institutes or something?”
You blame all three incidents for this rather racist perception. You wonder why your fortunes sent you three different men from the same ethnic background, displaying the same demeanor; soft spoken, properly dressed and say ‘lucky’ way too many times.
You think to yourself ‘yeah, thanks, and that’s all I need to hear’.
It makes you wonder, if you look so lucky, why do strangers feel the need to tell you so? Or do you look so depressingly unlucky that you’ll buy any sweet word and foresight anyone tries to sell? With or without a turban.
Any luck with the answer?
Me neither.
Walking pass some shop lots, a Punjabi man approaches and says something very softly, almost whispering. You lean forward to listen closely to what he has to say. Being the good person that you are, you are guessing he could be lost, asking for directions.
And you hear “Very lucky face. You have a very lucky face”
You smile, instantly thanking him while quickly studying his appearance. A long sleeved white shirt and a pair of dark slacks, the typical office attire; carries a thick organizer. He tops it off with a distinctive turban.
At this point you get hints of fortune telling, and suspect it won’t be for free. So you politely decline and thank him, walking a steady pace for fear of a persistent service sales person.
Incident 2:
Years pass by and another Punjabi man approaches you while browsing the bed and bath section in the departmental store, turban and all.
He is rather soft spoken for his size but you lean forward to have a good listen nonetheless, because living in a helpful society, you can’t ignore a request for help before deciding if it is in your capacity to lend a hand. As soon as you hear “Lucky” wedged in his sentence, you instantly thank him, turn around and make a beeline to wherever you think he will not be heading next.
Incident 3:
More years pass by, specifically, two weeks ago.
You are seated on a plastic chair outside a car workshop, waiting for your car to get a full checkup. A Punjabi man approaches, carrying a suspicious soft spoken demeanor. You hear “very lucky face” and despite saying ‘no thanks’ and shaking your head, he went on and on with ‘very lucky face. Very good way of thinking. You have good fortunes. Small fee, I can tell you your future, plans and so on.”
You shake your head even more vigorously while saying ‘no thanks. I’m okay. Thank you’, because getting out of your seat and walking away would seem rude and offensive.
He finally gets the message and ends everything by offering a luxurious handshake, saying “good luck!”
You accept his kind gesture with a genuine smile, say a gratifying ‘thank you’ and as soon as he turns away, breathe a good sigh of relief; immensely glad that nothing unfortunate happened between you and the 'automatic fortune telling machine'.
Reflecting on all three incidents so far, you think to yourself, “why do they always come with a turban. Do they have fortune telling institutes or something?”
You blame all three incidents for this rather racist perception. You wonder why your fortunes sent you three different men from the same ethnic background, displaying the same demeanor; soft spoken, properly dressed and say ‘lucky’ way too many times.
You think to yourself ‘yeah, thanks, and that’s all I need to hear’.
It makes you wonder, if you look so lucky, why do strangers feel the need to tell you so? Or do you look so depressingly unlucky that you’ll buy any sweet word and foresight anyone tries to sell? With or without a turban.
Any luck with the answer?
Me neither.
Related picture from a random site.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)