Dumdee badum chang.

I have been a fan of Double Take, a local jazz duo for a long time now, though I've only managed to buy their CD early this year.

Being a writer now has its perks (definitely) as I get to pitch to my editors who I want to interview (as long as I get the contact myself). So I guess you could say that when I interviewed Mia Palencia, it was for personal gain.



There's no use telling you about how good she is, and how she's doing the country proud (I sound like a shameless mother). I can't buy you all CDs so here's a video clip of her singing Dreams at MPH Mid Valley.


recorded with the Sony Ericsson Z610i that I'm reviewing.

If you're interested to hear more, just leave me a message and I'll send you an mp3 or something ya? =)

Tap-Tap-Tap

Currently the monsoon season in Malaysia, I am seldom out without my big Nikon umbrella.

Today was the same.

While walking across my condo lobby just about 15 minutes ago (I had just gotten back from work), it crossed my mind that blind people often have a walking stick, or if they couldn't afford it, an umbrella which they used to guide them.

"But how did this fascinating tool work?", I thought to myself and immediately put the experiment to action; I closed my eyes and tried to tap my way to the elevator, swinging my umbrella around dangerously and hitting pillars and god knows what else.

So there I was, a tap-tapping, when I realised that I might be walking towards the pool.

Opening my eyes quickly I found that I was not standing at the edge of the pool, but in front of a man whose jaws were hanging, I believe, from shock, disbelief and amusement.

I also believe I heard him snicker as I walk hurriedly pass him.

The shame -_-;

Papa don't preach!

This is Madonna and Robert Downey Jr. on Saturday Night Live waaaaaaaaay back in the 80s.

I think it's a key rule for any GOOD performer to be able to laugh at themselves. There's definitely always someone somewhere laughing at them.


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Last night, I was doing one of my real journalist things again - I worked LATE.

I covered the Malaysia International Fashion Week and drank wine and mingled with pretty people dressed in pretty clothes and ugly people dressed in ugly clothes.



I saw local celebrities (at least I think they were, don't know much about the local entertainment industry) and designers and pretty and gay (happy, really) models.

The people whom I DID recognise were Jimmy Choo, Bernard Chandran and his wife, Camelia, Stephanie Chai and some other people of which I can't recall now, so I guess they're not as popular? Or maybe I'm just not so aware.

Anyhoo, like a real journalist I took notes, observed who came and who went, and made urgent phone calls back to the office to update my editors.

Like a real journalist too, I trudged around the whole night in my heels (didn't help that it hurt after HALF AN HOUR), AND THEN, I took the last train home.



As all real journalists do, I konked out within an hour of reaching home.



P/S 1: More photos will be uploaded soon.

P/S 2: Bonus points for Moobs who not only came to the train station to walk me home, but even brought my Crocs so that I could turn off journalist mode.

P/S 3: I watched Happy Feet today. AB-SO-LUTE-LY Luuurrved It.

I edit you. I EDIT YOU!!!

Now that that's out of the system (well, not quite but what can you do right), there's something I've been meaning to enquire about.

Does anyone know anything about child sponsoring? Like which organisation is reliable, easily contacted and what kind of sponsoring there is, how much it usually is etc.

Or refer me to the website of one which you think is good.

I think it's about time I looked at the bigger picture when it comes to charity.


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Christmas is almost here!




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Yesterday's events were bizarrely interesting.

I saw a security guard backing away from a teensy weensy toddler of about 2 years old. She was tottering unsteadily towards him and he was taking slow steps backwards as the little girl's mom and I watched in amusement.

And while I was at Kinokuniya's information counter, there was a skinny chinese guy with a bible in hand who loudly proclaimed God's words and read verses from the bible. In between there were spurts of Bahasa Malaysia and hand gestures. The angmoh guy standing in front of him was much amused.




Much later when I was on the LRT going home, the guy sitting besides me was typing ONE emo message throughout my entire 35 minute journey. He hadn't even sent it by the time I got off. Being quite kaypoh, I peeked. It went something like this:




"I have never known happiness til I met you. So just leave me and let me live in this world filled with destruction and agony. I am truly, truly dissapointed. I don't think I will ever know happiness again."

Just a hypothesis: Dramas were derived from human beings.

Lollipop Lollipop Oh Lolli Lolli Lolli

Meet my new baby!



*love*

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Last Friday was not too good a day.

Moobs and I had had a row the night before, and me being the spoilt little poor girl threw a tantrum, cried my brains out and didn't get to bed til about 2am.

The next morning, I woke up with a throbbing migraine but being firm with my position of being pissed from the night before - although I had gotten over it (women are complicated beings), I refused to take sick leave, stuffed my pocket with Panadol and went to work.

The rest of the day was a blur of processing press statements by opposition leaders (of which, if i may add, i did wonderfully), listening to a colleague's friend's mom telling me why i should get health insurance (i am not insured at all) and then getting back to the office to find out that my stories were spiked (deleted. thrown away. killed off).

5pm came and I thought 'Hey, Ms. Cranky Pants. You can go home and get your well deserved rest now. Have a good weekend you gorgeous thing."

But it rained like it was going to flood the world.

So I waited it out and when it went down to a drizzle about 5.45pm, I armed myself with my huge Nikon umbrella and walked out to the main street to catch a cab as I usually do.

There were no cabs. I stood there for ONE WHOLE HOUR and there was NOT A SINGLE CAB THAT BLOODY STOPPED. I ended up calling Moobs (we had made peace by then) and he headed out to catch a cab from our apartment and pick me up.

Knowing that it would be quite a wait (raining = traffic jam), I sat on the stairs of a pedestrian bridge feeling very sorry for myself (tears in my eyes and all that jazz).



Three indian schoolgirls who had just finished school were waiting there too for their ride home.



At first they looked at me suspiciously as if I was going to steal their school bag or something.

After they decided that I was harmless, one of them approached me.

"Aunty, what is the time?"

There were no survivors that day.

le journaliste professionnel

Today I feel like a REAL journalist.

Nope, I didn't go to some high profile event with important people.

Neither did I rush to the scene of a tragedy.

I got in the office early, checked the schedule for my day's assignments and read the front page news.

After a quick breakfast (because real journalists don't have time for long ones) at the cafeteria, I rushed story after story (which are only for a youth pullout, but that's besides the point).

In between editing the stories, I called and emailed some political people some questions for another story (for news) and told them to get back to me pronto because real journalists need to get their stories out on tight deadlines.

I continued typing furiously away.

AND THEN I ordered McDonalds and threw everything into a feeding bag and hung it around my neck, because as you know, real journalists don't have time to have long lunches.

Type type type type call people check email check data verify names shout across the office at editor and slam my mouse (because it wasn't working).

And then I panicked because the offstone buzzer went off (sad to say I usually don't stay late enough to hear it) and anxiously look over editor's shoulders as the story is being proofed.

Got home at 8pm (because real journalists never get to go home early) and tomorrow morning I've got an 830am assignment at some far away place (well, I don't drive).

I feel thinner already - just like a real journalist. =D

If I wasn't so bitchy

How many of you go 'oh my god, did you see that guy/woman/kid/cow?!' (not in a positive context) sometimes when you're out.

You might be refering to a number of things, for example:
> A woman clothed in neon colours (which I personally think are only meant for traffic police jackets and Kylie Minogue in the 80s)
> Or animal prints
> Or a good looking guy with a so-so looking girl (and vice versa)
> Or a bunch of giggling fools giggling
> Or someone who is just offensive to your sight, just because.

If you're the blurter of such comments, it is quite likely that you're probably the ass of the same jokes as well.

And precisely because you're worried that people say the same things about you, you're going to be extra cautious about how you present yourself.

So you know, you really shouldn't say too much. I know I do, and like the 2/3 of the female population in the world, I feel a need to 'look good'.

Maybe that's why the female species takes longer to get dressed. Guys just don't care what another guy thinks about them or says about them.

So women who care less are better women. And metrosexuals are just confused.

You know, if we weren't so bitchy half the time, we wouldn't have to worry so much about wrinkle creams.



Note: This writer has had a spurt of testosterone and though still very much a woman (just had a peek down the neck of my shirt), the writer has gained the manly (beats chest) ability to say it as it is (rude and crude).
Despite that, the writer would also like to note that sensitivity has been forfeited as it is nigh impossible to cultivate when manliness is present.
Hence, with all my current manliness, what I am saying is: it's not you, it's me. So please don't get offended.

Satu Dua Empat Enam.. Kaunter Sepuluh.

I've been wanting to go to Singapore for yonks but was waiting for 'the right time'.

My last visit there was when I was in Form 4 (17 years old). It was a Leo Club forum and all I saw of Singapore was the hotel I stayed in and Sentosa's water world.

So the right time is finally here, Moob's sister is coming back from Australia this November and will be stopping there for a couple of days. Yay. Must go get passport done (Yes, I do realise that I am 24 and without passport, something quite unheard of in modern days. Like women with hairy armpits.)

Being my day off today, I headed down to the immigration department in Pusat Bandar Damansara armed with my I.C (original and photocopied), birth certificate (original and photocopied), two passport photos and an application form.



We got there 9.20am. My queue number was 1246. It was 1149 when I was issued that. I was called to the counter at precisely 11.20am.



Counter lady, "Oh, you're from Sarawak? Your passport will take two to three months to process. We need to send it back to Sarawak for approval lah."

*eye twitches*

My head says, "Can I bribe you?"

Mouth says, "Okay."

Heart - *sigh*

Merv, Alli, Mich: you guys want to come and smuggle me over? I'll lose weight so that I can fit in your suitcase.

See you next year Singapore.

BOH Ummph!

I went to BOH tea plantations in Cameron Highlands early October, courtesy of the company who were rebranding and had to do it far away from KL. =D

So while the boyfriend is cooking dinner now *gloats*, what better to do than to fool around with photoshop and post a couple of pictures here.


On the windy, winding, steep, narrow, dangerous, very dangerous 1 1/2 hour ride up these mountains, my head sang 'Here she comes around the mountain' in between prayers for Jesus to forgive me should the bus topple over into the chasm far, far down where I could only get a glimpse of tree tops.

After a four long bus ride, we arrived in the evening in time to buka puasa at the hotel and for a karaoke session later (no pictures because well..no pictures).



I went back to my room after karaoke about 12am, but stayed up channel flicking because I was too scared to sleep (I dozed off about 630am and got up about 7am).

(A girl said that 'something' was on top of her in the middle of the night, and that she couldn't move. *shivers*)

We had breakfast and went on another dangerous bus trip to the BOH Plantations (It's actually quite safe. I'm just kind of paranoid. Kind of.)



Met with the first lady of BOH, Caroline Russell and following that, some experiential learning guy came and emotionally blackmailed us by asking us to close our eyes and do the therapy-lying-down-on-the-chair stuff.

I peeked. The girl next to me cried. O_O

Oh, we were also asked to sit by the hills on tree stumps and write poetry and after that, we discussed tea leaves.




We then took a break beside rolling hills and such.



Wah, many mountains ah!



Wah, mountains very green ah!



Okay, mockery aside, I did quite enjoy the whole 'being close to nature' thing. The haze in this region was at its prime then and the clean, outdoor air-conditioned air felt pretty damn good (never been out of this region so I've never experienced colder climates. Deprived, I know.

So you tourist-ey people who want to be forced to be one with nature, Cameron Highlands with its Strawberry Farms, Flower Farms and Honey Bee Farms and Money Farms is a good place to visit. No terrorist is going to bomb this place for sure.