Word of the day: "macerate"...

... which is exactly how I feel today.

Die Another Day was... well. My first impression was that it's the kind of flick that I would find utterly, totally ridiculous if it didn't have the BOND franchise going for it.

Obvious plotholes:

a) After a rather cool, if overdone, opening sequence displaying torture with scorpions, ice, fire, and beating, his hirsute body is TOTALLY UNMARKED, as is his face. Guess even the standards of North Korean torturers, like everything else in the Hermit Kingdom, is falling to seed.

b) Didn't anyone notice the tracks or engine sound of the invisible (but really sharp-looking) Aston Martin Vanquish?

c) If they REALLY wanted to set up James Bond, why the hell would they engineer his release from the North Korean prison? The only reason he was traded was because the Americans believed he had cracked and was, in M's words: "haemorrhaging information". Although a semi-plausible explanation was that they wanted to spring their henchman (the guy with the "expensive acne")....

d) Standard Bond cliche: I counted at least five opportunities for the bad guys to waste Bond.

e) If the North Koreans REALLY had depleted uranium tank-busting guns, they wouldn't NEED an Ion Cannon.

f) Hovercrafts DO set landmines off. You think air doesn't exert a downward pressure? That many kilopascals of convective force would crush a steel can, and you think it won't set off an anti-tank mine?

I could think of others, but these are the most obvious one that spring to mind.

Also noted with amusement that the Korean general, as played by Kenneth Tsang, says EXACTLY the same line as his equivalent character in Replacement Killers: "My son is dead."

And he's been in at least several other Hong Kong flicks as the triad/general/big boss thirsting for vengeance after his son was slain. Either that, or as the tough but secretly heart-of-gold police commissioner overseeing his maverick underlings (as in Rush Hour 2 or one of the many many Lucky Stars/female cops HK flicks of the 80s). The stereotyping of Asian actors continues apace - nowadays when you need an Asian ganglord/warlord in a Western flick, he's your man!

Yet another Asian actor headed for stereotyped casting is Rick Yune (the guy with the diamonds embedded in his face) - whose last few roles have also been the "brutal Asian punk" - (Fast & The Furious, The Fence). I still remember that amusing scene where he is depicted as coming from a upper-class Asian family in California whose tranquility as they eat in dinner is interrupted by a SWAT team breaking into the dining room to haul him away. It even his patriarchal father slapping him out of shame.

"SWAT came into mah house! Diz-respected mah family!" (If you've seen it, you've seen it; if you haven't you haven't)

I actually had figured out who I was going to meet for the movie just after typing that last blog entry, so the need to look around vaguely was obviated. My first instinct was to go "oh fuck! THAT bastard!". But that was just a visceral reaction; I don't really hate the guy - just that he gets on my nerves. Still, it wasn't a bad thing to meet up with him, and a few other fellow Melbourne friends were there, whom I hadn't seen in a long time. They were all working in the same corporate law firm; doing underwriting and equity work.

Embarrassing moment - there were three girls and two guys there when I met them for a drink just before the movie. All of them looked reasonably young, and reasonably employed.

Me: (after usual pleasantries) "... so I hear you're working in your cousin's law firm now, right? Wah.. good to be related to the boss, man."

Moment of silence.

One of the girls there, a rather pensive-looking one, said: ".. erm. Yup. I'm the cousin."

D-oh!

Damn these young entrepeneurial types!

Good to have your own law firm though. Although the glamour is on the litigation crap as evinced in numerous American TV series, and America's ongoing obsession with suing anything that moves, the real money's in the donkey paperwork; conveyancing, S&P, agreements-drafting, regulatory stuff, the whole lot. Law had tempted me at one point as it was an interesting way of living off my writing:) Also, although techincally illegal, lawyers can make good money by rolling over their client accounts (viz: lawyers are usually conduits for cash, particularly in housing sales. While the interest from these accounts is, stricly speaking, supposed to be passed on to their clients.. well. It's hard to keep track when a lawyer has about 30 clients' house sale payments stored in one overall client A/C...)

Ultimately, I found myself enjoying Die Another Day, despite the cheesy psycho-megalomaniac-billionaire, the ion cannon, the rather lacklustre special effects, and the usual lame-ass lines. ("You're so good.. only when you're bad." Or something like that. My mental slate was effaced by the sheer corniness of the line.). It was good to turn my brain off and watch the explosions.

I had dinner at a very nice restaurant just outside KLCC. It was one of those posh expatriate restaurants where even the few Asians there spoke with accents. As I dined, I couldn't help but shake the feeling that, even though we're 'sovereign' nations, in many, more subtle ways, we're still being colonised. Only the colonials now aren't poncey British East India company compradors smooking cheroots and wearing safari hats; they're smart, young executives working out of multinationals, often with Ivy League or Oxbridge accents. They earn tax-free US or British-pound denominated salaries; they're provided with luxurious apartments (or even houses, for upper management); their schooling and daily expenses are often subsidised or paid for entirely, and, of course, they make free rein with our women:)

I once watched a documentary depicting the obscene lifestyles of expatriates in Singapore; what struck me was how uniformly the males found it great; while the females were more ambivalent. The only theme of pathos I noted was of course, homesickness, and a certain wariness at having to mingle so much among their own community, or amongst the traitorous filth (*sorry, was unable to resist. heh*) who've betrayed their cultural heritage for Western decadence - ie. banana-scholar-types. This was partly out of necessity and partly out of tendency.

A telling phrase: "It seems that it's easier to hang around the Singaporeans who've gone abroad and come back with an accent."

In my previous job, one of my employer's clients was an international school. We handled their payroll account. The kindergarden teacher got paid about 11,000RM a month (no joke), AND was provided apartment in Mont Kiara (somewhat equivalent to The Bayshore or Laguna View).

Some of them talked about the depression and resentment they felt when they returned to their home countries; in Singapore, or Hong Kong, or KL, they were high-flying angmoh/gwailo/mat salleh bigwigs with astronomical spending power, while back in London or New York; they're just another executive. The women aren't flinging themselves at their feet anymore. The food tastes blander. (an actual complaint). There's no longer the luxury condo with all the amenities paid for. And so on.

My friend in Hong Kong once told me that the major investment banks actually give their associates (one rank above entry level - analyst) an IDD allowance ranging around a few hundred USD a month.

The males went on to describe the rounds of barbeques, the nights at Clarke Quay or Bangsar - but also noted that the work tended to be a lot harder and for more brutal hours - particularly for lower and mid-level executives. This of course jars with the fact that when working at Bangsar; I often noted hordes of angmohs sitting around the pubs and cafes around 2pm onwards just chilling the day away - but most of them had their own little businesses. Usually owning those self-same cafes or restaurants.

The women were interesting. One woman who was full of nothing but praise, was the wife of this MNC's regional manager, who was provided a huge house somewhere near Mount Pleasant, free power, free water, free phonecalls, a maid, education, etc - I can see why she's just overflowing with joy. *sardonically* She went on and on about the quality of the Filipino maids, the safety from crime, the relaxing lifestyle spent taking tea at the American Club with her friends; but I guess that's the same of any Asian tai tai as well.

But the rest said that they often felt trapped, and amongst a culture that, however enlightened it tries to be, was ultimately chauvinistic and male-oriented, and more unashamedly so than even back in the West. Some noted that marriages or relationships with their fellow expats rarely seemed to last, partly because expats tend to move on after a while to different assignments, while others said that it was hard to trust their males who were being constantly tempted by, I quote, "willing Asian b-*bleep*-ches."

And the most amusing interview was with this octagenarian guy who was with the old British colonial civil service, still drawing a pension and residing in Singapore, and, in his words (paraphrased): "Singapore's become a more Western and modern country, no doubt about it, but it's.. lost its true spirit. It's now indistinguishable from any American city apart from race... they've become more venal, less trustworthy... (and I'm sure the old Chinese rubber barons and Indian chettiars were paragons of virtue)... the coolies by the harbour, the smell of old Chinatown, the polite bootblacks at the Raffles club, playing cricket at the Padang... that's the lost spirit of Singapore." . HAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAH. I almost expected him to mention how good it was to hunt tigers in Sembawang or beat down recalcitrant sultans.

*grins viciously at being able to slip into crazed-xenophobic-nationalist mode once in awhile*

Still, as I ate at that restaurant, I wonder if that high-flying yuppie lifestyle is what I really want. Sometimes I think I hunger for it, to be seated in a multi-ethnic table at some posh club, sipping martinis, smoking cigars, chattering in accents, laughing in cultured tones at the intermission during a performance of Vivaldi at the Philharmonic. I have friends living this kind of life in New York, Hong Kong, London. Interestingly enough, Asian expats don't get a particularly juicier deal abroad (unless you're a Japanese senior exec in a Japanese MNC based offshore) Butt But then again, upon deeper reflection, I realise it's just a transient hunger, like so many, and while it may overwhelm me on occasion, in the final analysis, I'm happier to be what I am.

Oddly enough, the multi-ethnic groups all seemed to be comprised of Malays and Indians and angmohs; hardly any Chinese at these tables.

Ah well: "If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."

Once, I was going to a bar with my colleague, and as we drank furtively, he said, "When I graduated, and tried to get into the financial industry, I always had these fantasies of becoming some high-powered investment banker, leading the cool yuppie life. Well, here we are now, smoking cheap cigarettes (we had bought the small pack to share between us), eating finger foods because we can't afford main courses (the bar-restaurant's prices were insanely extortionate), sharing a beer between us (because alcohol is expensive), and working in a local investment bank (as opposed to some cool multinational one), constantly worrying about our next paycheque and our antiquated systems and feeble bonuses. doing middle-office work in our cubicles all day (instead of jet-setting around the world to meet high-powered clients for billion dollar deals). It's like the diet version of the investment banking life."

Was asked to go to a nativity play. Me, at the birth of Christ. Heh.

At home now, on a Saturday afternoon. Two nights ago, an event occurred that was filled with point and counterpoint; as I shall narrate herewith.

We'd completed moving all our documents and files to the new office; the only thing remaining was the desks and PCs. In a fit of mad jubilation, myself and a couple of colleagues decided to indulge in a little libation of celebration. Given that we were in a somewhat insane mood, but still painfully frugal, we decided to drive to a shopping center, pick up a few bottles of Belgian beer, and seek celebration in some open space.

As me and my colleague drove, we somehow whipped ourselves up into a frenzy of conversation, alternately brooding and exultant, both self-mocking ourselves for our cheapskate loser lives, and somehow glorying in the sheer absurdity of driving to a shopping center for beers when pubs were all over the place.

We arrived, and parked. Buying the beers was hastily accomplished; and we even had the foresight to purchase a can opener which we labelled as the department can-opener for any such future adventures.

All the while, we were constantly berating ourselves for being such losers.

Anyway, we suddenly realised that the beers were disgustingly warm. Now, while warm beer may be a delicacy in Anglia; we were of the more Visigoth persuasion that beers should be chilled to a Kelvin's breadth of absolute zero. And so, we decided to quest for ice.

This quest lead us to Carrefour, Jusco, Isetan, and various other department stores for two hours; only to be painfully rebuffed each time. At one point, we were steered to the fish department, where the lady asked us painfully - "Do you need ice for packing fish or drinks?" She stared pointendly at our heavy plastic bag with bottles.

Finally, we gave up, and decided to exeunt to the obvious solution; the nearest 7-11. As we entered the shopping center car park, my friend suddenly asked me, "Do you remember where we parked?"

Panic-stricken, I looked at him and shook my head. Generally, I try to scribble down on a piece of paper where I'm parking, particularly in some of those gargantuan shopping center car parks Malaysian shopping centers have (KLCC, a veritable labyrinth). However, when someone else is driving, I usually switch off my brain, which is one reason why I have such an appalling sense of direction.


After wandering blindly in the mines of Moria for a time, I noticed that some of the security guards were patrolling the car park in these club cars (similar to golf buggies, but without a roof - used in some holiday resorts to convey guests and luggage to their outlying chalets). we flagged one down, and the kind security guard, who was clearly acquainted with the concept of lost-and-wandering-village-idiot-parkers, promptly drove us around the car park to find our missing car. With an portable ticket scanner, he ascertained the exact point through which we had entered, and was able to backtrack from there to find our car. Technology rules! Although it was mildly humiliating to be seated at the back of the club car puttering around the parking lot, with people watching in faint amusement as our heads scanned the rows of cars on either side...

"Luckily we didn't wear our staff tags."

After this misadventure, we hied straight away to the nearest 7-11. We picked up a huge bag of ice, and proceeded to a darkened car park lot near Maybank. Realising that we had to figure a solution to pack the beer in ice, we hurled the ice bag against the pavement, shattering the solid block into a more fragmented conglomerate, ripped open a couple of holes, and painstakingly stuffed a few beers into the morass. All the while, a couple of motorbikers parked nearby watched our antics in amusement.

We then drove to a nearby coffee shop, met up with the rest of our colleagues (who were in a fair choler about our extremely long hiatus), and had a pretty good meal to celebrate our Exodus. However, all that frenzy about ice soon proved unnecessary because the nice coffee shop owner offered to put up the rest of the beers in her fridge, while half of them were sticking out of a massive bag of ice like tentpoles, all the while dripping melting water on the floor.

DOH!

After that, we drove to a nearby parking lot (lots of them, empty and wide and quiet, in central KL), and just.. sat. And drank. And smoked. And talked. One of my colleagues, watching the stars, quietly remarked on how he was an astronomy buff when younger, but how the increasing pollution over KL soon occluded any view he head of them. And... then we all talked. About our lives. And futility. And perspective. And how we are stardust; when our bodies die, and the atoms that made us return to the soil, and when the Earth itself implodes, those atoms that were once us will be cast into the universe, only to become part of the grand confluence of fusion as a new star is born. And we'll be part of that new star. We'll all be stardust.

And it was a perfect moment, a perfect, beautiful moment, speaking of love, loss, anguish, life, and all its little foibles, and its brief, brief spark against the immeasurable eons of Time - and how that made it all the more precious. How our incandescent fragments of existence were all the more to be cherished for their insignifcance, for the time allotted to us, for the moments that we have.

And, as another colleague said, even if we don't leave anything behind other than DNA or a record in some archive somewhere.. we *lived*. And that, really is all that matters, sitting here, underneath a car park, forgetting the daily routine and toil, forgetting all that insignifcant chase of economic well-being or career success or even seeking a family and a stable life.. it all doesn't matter. Against the now. Against.. being alive.

Just then, my cousin called, and I had to scoot off to meet him, and a couple of our friends who had just arrived from Melbourne.

That, was the painful counterpoint. To be with hollow people, listening to them talk about their miserable, pathetic social lives, discussing pecadilloes and empty jokes, hollow masks covering festering silences of shallow emptiness; laughing because it's the polite thing to do, never thinking beyond the next moment of social gathering or physical gratification. The hypocritical politeness; the trite laughs, the terrible, horrible void where their souls should be, with nothing but an empty sense of adolescent self-worth and familial expectation and social interaction.

Which is worse? Having the choice, to be what you are, and somehow choosing it, knowing, at the end of the day, you made some stupid series of small mistakes that culminated in becoming.. what you are? Or is it a mark of pride? To have consciously forged your own path, wil we, nil we, and to have become thus as a result of one's actions? "I made my choice a long time ago. I won't demean myself by turning back now." "Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven."

Or what about never having a chance to be other than to become what you are? Never standing a chance? To be fore-ordained, without any prayer of success from the beginning? "We've got to believe in free will because we have no other choice!"

Diabolus enim et alii d�mones a Deo quidem natur� creati sunt boni, sed ipsi per se facti sunt mali." ("the Devil and the other demons were created by God good in their nature but they by themselves have made themselves evil.") No matter what Catholic theology says, IS THIS TRUE?

I've given my life to a set of obsessions I'm no longer sure are noble; I might be willing to trade in my patented eccentricities for a normal life if there was anything about a normal life I could stand.

Last night, I went for a jazz performance with my father and sister in some upmarket bar in central KL. Why I went, I don't know, but maybe it was the prospect of free food and drink. I was exhausted; I'd spent the whole day at work finishing up the moving off our office paraphernalia with my colleagues - testing LAN points, moving desks, reorganizing our massive collection of files..... and following that, I had to rush down to meet my father. *shrugs* I guess it wasn't so bad; they had a great Japanese bass guitarist, and the band played several fascinating remakes of Norwegian Wood.

And today, it looks like another hectic day; this December, a lot of friends from overseas have started coming home for holidays or graduation, and I'm trying my best to catch up with those I can for late night suppers, without collapsing in fatigue the day after at work.

Other pending projects - trying to figure out how to transfer files from my sister's laptop to my HD. Realised that I haven't got a USB cable (and I'd deactivated the USB ports on my PC anyway in BIOS to save system resource space), a parallel cable, OR a serial transfer cable. Realised also that Win XP only supports serial transfers out of the box, which means damned long waiting time while I transfer the 600 or so photos from my sister's HD. It doesn't even support parallel cable transfer!

(Note, I'm lazy to plug in a network card into my PC, and even lazier to go get cable.)

And there was a disgusting lack of freeware file transfer programs on the Internet, and the few file transfer programs I *did* find did not seem to have any cracks written for them. I am appalled at the warez industry's lack of completeness in this matter.

Comments to Gabriel:

a) Whether Jesus was a Jew or not is subject to much theological debate throughout the ages. He was certainly steeped in the racial heritage and the religious culture and customs that constitutes Jewish society at the time. But let's not get into the whole "son of God" vs "son of Man" thing now.

b) I only have 3 Dragon Warrior books.

c) The question should be a compelling one for you. *evenly*

d) We evolved an intellect to help us shape the natural world to our whim. Hence, us using our intellect to extend our lives is simply an extension of evolution, in a way - only that evolution is now self-directed and conscious. Please also bear in mind that the use of the terms 'artificial' and 'natural' are semantic ones with no real meaning; in a way, we 'naturally' evolved intellect, and our use of science and physical technology is a 'natural' extension of that capability.

e) Social studies was amusing, because I *really* believed that entrepot trade made such a huge difference to Singaporean welfare for the longest time.

f) Writing assessment books is EASY. I was offered a job editing them for some MOE-linked body. Was tempted, but decided that I had *some* dignity.

g) Don't diss the Victorian era. It was perfectly fun if you were a white, upper-crust British aristocrat with hordes of servants at your disposal and your well-trained bloodhounds coursing the manor for game and nights spent playing whist at the Pall Mall or the Capitol with your fellow, bowler-hat clad aristocrats. GO read Sherlock Holmes again:)

h) Why don't you try putting up some fanatic Christian arguments against stem cell research or some Jainist teachings advocating against hurting plants? ALL religion is irrational and fundamentally flawed; why pick on Islam?

I actually take the view that if history went a few creaky ways (say, with Martel being beaten by the Saracens at Poitiers by abd Al-Rahman, leading to an explosion of Islam across Western Europe in the 8th century), Christianity may very well be the backward, hokey religion in an oppressed, obscure part of the world (say, Eastern Europe, or even a very backward, primarily wilderness America). A religion which inspires suicidal martyrs who cry "Deo Gratia" or "Body and blood of Christ!" instead of "Allah u akhbar", while Islam become the major enlightened religion of the developed world bloc. A superstate based around the Middle East? Could have happened.

Islam just happens to be the primary religion of a backward, oppressed part of the world. If Christianity filled that role, you'd have fanatics silencing moderation by insisting that people with astigmatism be chased out of churches (Leviticus 21:18-21); or that people working overtime on Sunday should be stoned to death (Exodus 35:2). Please remember that it is the condition of being economically and educationally backward that creates the need for simple, moralistic, religious answers; a need which becomes a self-perpetuating cycle of social stagnation. Any primitive religious stricture which promises salvation for doing good and damnation for doing evil, can fill in the void.

Except Buddhism; which is the ONLY religion that argues explicitly for moderation and contemplation, without any "kill the infidel" crap.

i) Re: 'no worries' - clearly Australian.

j) Andrew - it was the only watch strap I could find at the time. The compass was not a deliberate choice. Still, I take your point.

Managed to pick up Robin Hobb's Fool's Errand - in softcover version. The whole "release extortionately-priced hardcover for up to a year before the cheaper softcover" practice is DAMNED bloody irritating. Because that means I have to wait at least another six months before I can pick up Murder in LaMut, Legends of Dune, Golden Fool, Way of the Weasel and Night Watch. Am presently going back to fantasy-lite/scifi-lite for a while - at least until A Feast For Crows or more SF Masterworks books come onto the market. Or until someone recommends a good current-affairs book; just finished Judith Miller's "Germs: Biological Weapons and America's Secret War, and right now I wish I could build a hermeticaly sealed bunker in my room and never leave. Only consolation is that making bioweapons is easy; distributing it as a weapon is the comparatively hard part.

Picked up Robert Heinlein's Friday - cool, genetically enhanced courier babe. Where the hell can I find such types hanging out?:) As someone once noted, "it wouldn't be a Heinlein novel if the characters didn't live life to the fullest; fighting, eating, fucking and killing as if this was their last day on Earth."

"I want to mention one of the obvious symptoms (of a sick culture): Violence. Muggings. Sniping. Arson. Bombing. Terrorism of any sort. Riots of course - but I suspect that little incidents of violence, pecking away at people day after day, damage a culture even more than riots that flare up and then die down. I guess that's all for now. Oh, conscription and slavery and arbitrary compulsion of all sorts and imprisonment without bail and without speedy trial - but those things are obvious; all the histories list them."

"Friday, I think you have missed the most alarming symptom of all."

"I have? Are you going to tell me? Or am I going to have to grope around in the dark for it?"

"Mmm. This once I shall tell you. But go back and search for it. Examine it. Sick cultures show a complex of symptoms such as you have named... but a dying culture invariably exhibits personal rudeness. Bad manners. Lack of consideration for others in minor matters. A loss of politeness, of gentle manners, is more significant than is a riot."

"Really?"

"Pfui. I should have forced you to dig it out yourself; then you would know it. This symptom is especially serious in that an individual displaying it never thinks of it as a sign of ill health but as proof of his/her strength."

Off to go catch some Chinese movie in the afternoon with friend from PWC - this month's batch of Golden Village passes FINALLY came in.

This friend I'm heading out with claims that auditors can tell other auditors upon first glance. It's something to do with the choice of shirts, the way they look at you, and the way they insist on separate bills, according to him.

Tonight, will be off visiting a coterie of my fellow happy nerds lately come down from Melbourne. It should be a pleasant sojourn. Can brush up on my Warcraft III skills.

[Agagooga saith:

The social studies now ain't yer mama's social studies!

And all the Victorian men maintained their stiff upper lip with frigid wives while they got VD in the red light district.

Fanatic Christian arguments against stem cell research or some Jainist teachings advocating against hurting plants is much MUCH rarer than the teachings of deluded Islamic radicals. The scary thing is, many Muslims follow the teachings of Mr Abu Bakar Bashir and his ilk. Not many Christians believe in faith healing.

Virtual history is debatable, but I think some aspects of Islam resulted in its current state, rather than the vagaries of History. And the Old Testament's not followed to the letter anymore. It wasn't even in the 1st Century.]