“Albyyy darling can you do me a favor?”
“Er, yes, since you did write me a testimonial…”
“Hey can you add this person on MSN?”
“Er, why?”
“Just add him, to see if he’s online.”
“I’m not going to add him just to see if he blocked you…”
“Aiyah, just add him, then block him…”
“I don’t block people. Besides, he might Google me and since I am easily Googled, it will ruin my reputation. You know I’m famous, riiight? Just make a new email address and add him!”

It’s true, I have noone on my block list. However people have added me with unfamiliar email addresses. I have never seen them online. Does this mean that someone suspected me of blocking them, and then asked their friend to add me?

So I went to see Afdlin Shauki‘s Why You Still Fat?. It was a good laugh. He hit hard at certain new pop stars, taking oppurtunity to show that he could sing. At least he could sing well.

Towards the middle some jokes got a bit obscure, and I laughed not because of the brilliant snideness but because of his facial expressions, in a way, like Rob Schneider. However, he still fell flat when trying to fit George W. Bush in a joke.

His modified-lyric songs were hilarious, and the highlight of the show, for me, was the ending, where he wrote a song about Lord Of The Rings: The Two Towers… to the tune of Queen – Bohemian Rhapsody! (I’m not a fan of LOTR but Bohemian Rhapsody is my current favorite rock song.) Pacai, the accompanying guitarist, transposed it lower to something easier for Afdlin to sing, but still, it was a difficult song to sing, as he followed the phrasing and tune to the dot. He ‘forgot‘ the lyrics a few times, stopping comedically. (DJCS reports that in previous performances, he sang the song straight in one go; perhaps his fumbling wasn’t an act, but he covered up damn well!)

This further compels me to properly transpose the piano bits to guitar; I’ve only figured out certain verses.

I went down to the office cafeteria for breakfast, eager to make myself some toast, when I noticed that the familiar Toastmaster 3000 was gone! In its place was a regular two-slotted bread toaster.

The Toastmaster 3000 (yes I’m making the name up) was a wonder of technology and innovation. It had two dials; one for speed, the other for heat, measured in British Thermal Units (BTU). Ooo wow golly gee! It’s sophisticated because it doesn’t measure in Fahrenheit or Celsius! Someone out there knew what these knobs meant, and fiddled with them, but I… I was just happy to place the bread on the loading tray, that would load it onto a slow conveyor belt which would heat it using hot lamps and hot metal filaments underneath. It would then land on a tray underneath. Voila! Toasted bread, not much of a wait!

If it wasn’t toasted enough, I could load it in again!

(I wish I took a picture of it when it was still there. *sniff*)

Now, all that was left was a regular toaster, with just a dial knob for time. It was set at its maximum, 5 minutes. I didn’t know what time to set it to, so I placed two bread slices and waited for five minutes. Oh wait, I pressed down the loading mechanism to activate it, too. 😛

By probably the fourth minute, steam was coming out! It was like boiling water! Whoever was using it before me was probably trying to match the color of his/her toast with the color of his/her coffee.

The cafeteria dude understood, so he threw it away and let me try again.

I set it to two minutes. Just nice. One minute (the minimum) was alright, too.

I wonder though, who set it to five minutes before this. What would he/she do with it? It would make the perfect prank for people who don’t fiddle with knobs. Hmmm.

I have discovered that even when sleeping a solid 9 hours, I’d still feel sleepy the next morning. Why?

I don’t know if it’s biorhythm, but sleeping even at 4am I’d still feel alright the next day. I’d have to wake up at 6am, giving only 2 hours of sleep. Or maybe it was too short a time to sleep and then feel sleep-deprived. Sleeping at 3am however made me feel shitty; 1am too, but not 2am for some reason. Heck, 11pm wasn’t right either.

I then realized that, quite simply, sleeping at odd hours would give me that sleep-deprived feeling. Sleep at 10pm, 12 midnight, 2am or 4am, and everything would be alright, for some strange reason.

The Internet is too slow for me to research what sleep does to your biological clock, so for now I’ll just claim that what I say is the ultimate truth, and all of you should sleep at 10pm.

Isn’t that the wonder of blogging? This is like an article but without any basis in research.

Balls.

I was reading the I am a Japanese School Teacher editorials and reading about how he was subject to Kancho, a disturbing Japanese schoolkid pasttime where anime-infested kids would simulate Naruto and try to stick their fingers up other guys’ butts (and grab crotches). There I was, thinking how sick it was, when I realized something.

Back when we were 13, we used to grab crotches. (I don’t know if this practice still continues 8 years later…)

It was in Form 1 and Form 2 (ages 13 and 14) that we’d have this pasttime. For some reason, when school ended, we’d all run down this slope to exit the school premises. Yes, run. On the way, we’d try to grab each other’s balls.

We didn’t grab each other’s balls while standing still, during recess, during class, or any other period. We only grabbed balls when running down the slope. It was the thrill of the chase. It wasn’t a punishable offense!

We didn’t find pleasure in feeling the balls, nor did we linger.

We’d plan beforehand in class to grab this other guy’s balls. Knowing his class would end a bit later, we’d stake out somewhere at the beginning of the slope. He’d be strolling casually, unaware, when boom! Four guys would run out, and he’d run like a chicken. Now he wasn’t shouting in fear. It was fun. The way he went “oyyy! AAA my balls!” while laughing red-facedly meant that he would not report us.

One particular Chinese guy had the best reaction. He’d retort with, “haaa, tomorrow you watch ouuut, I’ll grab your balllrrrllls.” (extra roll of the tongue on the pronunciation of balls.) Although he wasn’t fat, he’d go, “don’t touch my breaaasts” almost gay-ly. Like Rob Schneider in Hot Chick.

The best times were when we double-faced bastards catch up with one guy, just to have him shout, “eh, grab his balls instead lah!” We then turned on our leader. His “OH SHIIIT!“, the expression that followed (since he was nerdy) and running up the slope was super comical. Eventually, he became a popular target.

And no, we never grabbed balls of guys we didn’t know.

Quiet unassuming guys in our gang got it too. Sometimes, after getting grabbed, the guy would retaliate by lashing out to a random attacker. I didn’t get it quite as much, maybe because I knew how to curl, or because I successfully became a right hand man’s right hand man.

It was our way of building camaderie.

Girls had similiar games, like smacking each other’s chests.

There was also bonggol, also known as ragging, tiang, lauk, tempek, one-two, three-four, corner, and other names. It would usually be the victim’s birthday, and we’d crowd around him, singing happy birthday, then throwing flour and eggs at him. The female version involved water. Of course, the flour and eggs were reserved for especially popular people, or people whose birthdays were at the end of the school year. For everyday bonggols, a group of friends would grab the guy, and they’d kick and punch the guy’s back. It might not even have to be the guy’s birthday. We may even skip the birthday song and go straight to the war cry of “BONGGOL!!!”

Again, this was not punishable, because after all that we’d all be smiling and laughing, victim included. We’d never bonggol anybody we didn’t know. To start a bonggol session, he’d have to be a friend; however, if you knew the guy’s name, that would be enough to allow you to legitimately join in the fun.

The best memory I had of this was when my unpopular prefect friend (he wasn’t hated, he was just famous for having a rigid straight posture) was bonggol-ed on his birthday. His class was across the school football field, and I could hear two classes being dismissed, then bonggolling him. Yeah, we heard his birthday song, and wanted in on the fun. So being the good sport that he was, he stood at the intersection, cleaning his glasses, where the rest of us whose class ended later could meet up with him and greet him.

Apparently, my sister was popular enough to have to bring clothes to change on the day before, her birthday, and the day after her birthday. The canteen must’ve sold loads of mineral water bottles those three days.

I wanna watch The Island. People say it’s good.

You know, the one where it’s the future and rich people pay to be cloned? And then when they get into accidents, they can get spare parts from the clones? Problem is, they have emotions too, and then one day they break out of the island, and the clones mix with the originals. It makes you wonder, are you you, or are you the clone? And…

Wait, what am I talking about? I haven’t watched the movie.

At least five people who start the sentence with, “Hey, I watched The Island. It was damn good! Bla bla bla synopsis.” Yes that many people have told me the synopsis without me asking. Nobody went, “Hey, I watched The Island full stop.”

It must be either a really good movie, or there was a subliminal message planted in it that makes people want to tell you about it. See? I’m even telling you the synopsis. I’ve been told the story enough times already.

So yeah, I must watch it, so when friends go, “Hey on Wednesday I watched The Island and you know what? It’s awesome, it’s about…” I could go, “Yeah! I watched it already.”

Then again, I could say “Yeah! I watched it already.” without actually watching the movie. Now, if only I was good at pretending I watched the movie when they go, “Hey remember that part? Did you notice that…”