Karma-Chameleon

An old friend suggested I write about Karma. Being a husband with a daughter coming soon in less that a month's time, I felt it provided the perfect setting to reflect on the terrifying concept of Karma.

If the Karma concept holds true, then the circle of life is basically a bad version of a horrific non-stop revolving door. Especially to those who lived their lives tending to stray as far away as the straight line as possible.

If the Karma concept holds true, then these are what I can expect:

1. My daughter will meet a guy at a club. He will be highlighting the fact that he works in advertising. She will be impressed. He will pull out his mobile and show her pictures of his nephew. She will gush with affection and assume he is a successful, cool yet sensitive bloke. While showing the pics on his phone, he will then ask her to guess how to spell his name. She will guess it wrong, and he will show her the correct spelling on his phone. Then she will ultimately be conned into giving her phone number, since he's got his phone out already anyway. They will date for 2-3 weeks and he won't call her again, ever. Bastard.

2. My daughter will meet a guy and date him for 2 weeks. After which he will invite her for a road trip up north with his group of friends for new years eve. He will end up getting pissed at the party, and his friends will leave him to sit on a chair facing a big dumpster while they have their post party supper at a mamak stall somewhere since he's too schlonked to eat. He will be a jackass for the rest of the trip. Upon returning to KL, he won;t call her again, ever. Bastard.

3. My daughter will fall for a guy and give him her fullest attention and care. He will be okay for the first few weeks, after which she will try to take it to another level and shower him with gifts and her undivided attention. He will get freaked out and won't call her again, ever. Bastard.

4. She will reconnect with an old friend from school, date him and have an open relationship, after being too giving from the last one. After a couple of months, he fails to show any sign of commitment and thinks the relationship is making the original friendship awkward. He will leave things open ended, and not call her again, ever. Bastard.

But then again, if the Karma concept holds true, the best I can do is pray and hope that some things do repeat itself:

1. She will ultimately learn to be stronger, smarter, wiser (there's a difference okay!) and kinder from all the crap

2. She may realise that an old friend is also her soul mate.

3. She'll meet a guy who'd sell his drum set and his car just to be married to her

So, while we always think that the Karma concept deserves the middle finger, it could also turn out not so bad in the end.

Hey, getting there is half the fun ain't it? Who am I to deprive her of that?

Bastard.

The Dynamics Of Sleazy Malay Businessmen

I was having dinner with The Wife in Bangsar tonight, tucked away at a table for 2.

Soon after ordering, a pair of twentysomethings sat at the table for 4 which was next to ours. One in a tudung, albeit her skinny jeans, hugging white blouse and "Haven't I seen you on YouTube at the stairwell scene?' face.

The other, which was a tad more interesting, was in your typical tight "designer" Guess? dress which obviously was more appropriate for marketing yourself on a bar countertop at Barbarran's back in 2001 than going to work in, which I assume was what she would attest to.

Anyways, I took a coupla glances before turning my attention to the over crispy garlic bread that The Wife had ordered, and more interested in what drama happened at her office for the day.

10 minutes later, 2 guys walked in, and stopped at our neighbor's. Initial scans revealed to me that they probably stopped at the wrong table as the Tittilating Twosome obviously had absolutely nothing in common with the Dynamic Dunces that were standing there.

And then I saw them.

Chunky man-bracelets. Vertically striped white and blue shirt with white collars. White pants. Poor excuse of a 5 o'clock shadow. Semi-mullet hair (just the back portion, long enough to reach their collars).

Malay businessmen!

Dinner appointment with the Tittilating Twosome, no doubt. I wonder what the wives were cooking at home. Loud hello's were exchanged, and they made themselves audibly comfortable next to ours, much to The Wife's discomfort.

With barely any effort required to eavesdrop, I heard nearly every word of their conversation. How was Jakarta? Pergi tak ajak...Eh, let's plan a trip again together this time! Oohh you ordered that Pasta? Just like the one we had in Italy eh? Mi Amore! (in thick Malay slang). Eh, cukup ke tempat ni? Alah...boleh tarik kerusi karang.

Uh-oh...

True enough, 2 other guests from the Principality Of Poyo-ness arrived, armed with the standard issue business powertools i.e. superphones, man-bracelet, bad combination of attire etc.

By this time, it had turned into a sleaze circus. "I saved the best seat for you BRO", says Italian Guy, patting the hottest real estate in town, which happens to be the seat next to "I'm NOT from Kampung Baru!" gal, who was digging in to her Mi Amore! pasta, giggling in the attention being showered.

Mullet-head slid in and fit like a glove and announced his entrance with a few jokes about how he got lost getting there, which erupted the whole table with nervous, anxious, over-compensating-due-to-horniness laughter.

These 4 men were in their mid to late thirties. Obviously married, and loved giving attention to young girls as much as they crave on getting some. Middle management. Dato' ass kissers no doubt, and pulling rank whenever they can. Probably saved up for an E46 3 series (coz the pussies love em!) while their wives are left to fend off daily traffic with their Avanzas or Myvis.

Which led me and The Wife to start breaking down the unmistakable dynamics of the Sleazy Malay Businessmen Posse.

You see, there are specific positions to each SMBP. Each one essential to the successful puntering of unsuspecting (or usually willing) Sapa Bilang Gadis Melayu Tak Menawan.

Usually there are 4 key positions to be filled up:

1. The Fixer - The Fixer is usually the least good looking of the lot. Personable, easy going, and harmless enough for girls to get to know him. The Fixer connects with females fairly easily, using his bad jokes, semi-gay persona to gain contacts, trust and ultimately, the appointment. Fixers usually comes early. To assess and warm up the crowd. Usually starts with loser comments like "Pasta! Just like the one I had in Italy! Mi Amore!". The Fixer is the bridge and the key to a successful night of tongue wagging and ego boosts.

2. The Nice Guy - Usually the first guy to be introduced by The Fixer to the victims. Nice Guy sometimes has a middle parting hair, does not wear a power tie, has a firm handshake even with females, and is polite. Nice Guy solidifies that the crowd to be will be of good company and discerning taste. Nice Guy also completes the fantasy that rich businessmen can also be nice businessmen, and oh please let him be single so I can quit my job at Topshop and be a trophy wife.

3. The Bad Guy - Dresses better than the first 2, sits with his legs wider apart and drinks beer straight from the bottle. Laughs ever so slightly and mostly maintains intense eye contact when a lady is talking. To someone else. Always thinks he's being looked at so Bad Guy fidgets with his phone a lot. Reading imaginary messages sent to him by that singer he just dumped. Shares photos of nude celebrities on his phone to his buddies, claiming how he conned them into posing post coital at a nearby 5 star hotel. Bad Guy will usually pique the interest of the untamed hearts of his unsuspecting (or again, 100% willing) sacrificial lambs. This is the guy that can screw you silly at Concorde and make it home in time with some fruits for dessert and time to watch Tom Tom Bak with his 2 kids.

4. The Silent Killah - Silent Killah moves in mysterious ways in the crowd. He who talks the least, is the most capable to unleash the beast....when the time comes. Usually the best dressed in the crowd. Probably speaks better English. Sometimes you can hardly hear the extra "s" in any of his sentences (refer to previous blog). Sits quitely at the table, as the less he speaks, the more handsome he is perceived to be. Usually earns a bit more that the Tyrannical Trio, to the point that it's borderline smug. Smug enough to project that he could or should be somewhere much more important, but has unselfishly graced this special occassion to turn up the class. Confident to the point that he is willing to show pictures of his cute kids on his iPhone, and still imply that he wants to sleep with you after dessert with the flinch of his presumably deep set eyes. TSK also usually picks up the tab, and while doing so, listens intently for gasps of awe as he charges it to his Maybankard Gold Credit Card (not long before I'm Platinum!). Usually loses out to Bad Guy at first dibs, but silent enough to attack for sloppy seconds unbeknownst to the rest of the Posse.

So there you have it, my take on the dynamics of my misguided peopleS. Yes, with an extra S.

And after paying the bill for our dinner, we left the Sleaze Circus to proceed into the night, with each performer dazzling each other, with the hopes of ending up with something tighter, fitter, louder,richer for the night. I hope they would at least tapau something for the missus and kids back home.

How to be a Malay businessman

Sometimes I feel a bit out of place in meetings. Most times, I try my best to blend in so as to not offend or even make the other party feel awkward. Most people would feel out of place in a circle or in front of a foreign audience.

I on the other hand, sometimes find it difficult to blend into my own kind.

So today, I decided to sit down and go through the changes that I may need to consider to extricate myself from who I think I am, and delve into the makings of the ultimate Malay businessman.

Step 1: Grow a moustache, or simply shave my moustache and grow a pubic like goatee.

Step 2: Get a phone carrier that attaches to my belt. The bulkier the better.

Step 3: Invest in a silver bracelet. The chunkier the better.

Step 4: Pluralise words whenever I can. Example - "May I helps you?"

Step 5: Use a brown belt with black leather shoes

Step 6: Wear torquise colored shiny slacks and match them with pastel colored shirts

Step 7: Buy another handphone

Step 8: Use ultra cool colored lanyards for my security pass

Step 9: Keep a golf set in the trunk of my car - always

Step 10: Set my ring tone to the latest Maroon 5 hit

I guess that's all for stage 1 of my transformation required. The second phase of my transformation will go deep into communication language, semantics and intonation and not to forget physical gestures.

Stay tuned.\

Tipping Points

There's a business/marketing/advertising jargon that we like to call the "Tipping Point". It's that pivotal something that either turns an opinion, creates a decision, or alters perception to either win, lose, open, close, like, dislike something.

My obeservations of Tipping Points in KLCC over the weekend are as follows:

a. Guy in KLCC carrying a Gucci shopping bag : Cool

b. Guys in a group in KLCC carrying Gucci shoppingbags : Gay

a. Girl in short shorts and flats in Chinoz : Rich gal having Sunday brunch

b. Girl in short shorts and stilettos in Chinoz : Sugar daddied slut

a. Guy in Bottega Venetta giving helpful comments to female partner : Schmuck

b. Guy in Bottega Venetta giving understanding nod to other guys on the sofa : Comrade

a. Guy who helps carry girlfriend's 8 shopping bags : Valiant

b. Guy who helps carry girlfriend's handbag : Pansy fool

a. Guy having Double Espresso at Starbucks with 3 hot girls : Stud

b. Guy sipping on Vanilla Surprise with whipped cream with 3 hot girls : Sistah

a. Guy with Man U jersey on : Supporter

b. Guy with Man u jersey AND Man U cap on : Dork

a. Guy in shirt and tie with one handphone : Businessman

b. Guy in shirt and tie with 2 handphones : Malay businessman having an affair / affairs

So remember guys n gals, you might wanna be mindful of sending out the wrong kinda message to the audience of the brand that is you.

Let's Get Involved!

I was on my ceramic throne today (i.e. toilet bowl for you simpletons) reading a copy of my wife's I'm Pregnant! magazine. The article was about what to expect during labour. I learnt a great many thing there, on the crapper. Among them was the ever famous "you men think you have it easy!" subject of labor pains and contractions.

In my foolish determination to be a an A-grade caring partner to a 6 month pregnant woman, I wanted to be extremely supportive when that moment will eventually arrive. In order to do that, I obviously have to learn as much as I can about what she will or may go through.

Birthing contractions get closer and closer as the baby is nearing the time for it to be born. Contractions can last for 2-3 minutes each time.

And then I had an epiphany.

2-3 minutes and an explosion of audibly wretched moments later, I emerged out of the toilet (sanitized of course), as the most sensitively understanding and caring husband and birthing partner in the whole world.

Self Conscious Self Conscience

Have u ever had the feeling of being your self conscience's self conscience? I think I have a pretty symbiotic relationship with mine. Sometimes, I question my self conscience so much that the idiot has to take time off to get back to me on certain things.

"I don't think you should stay here for the night. It'll get messy. Best to politely call it a night and head back home."

"Are you kidding me? Aren't you tired of our left hand already?"

"Well...Umm...I..wait...I guess.....you're right, dude. Holy shit dude, what was I thinking?!. Onward!"

Sometimes it feels like my self conscience is losing confidence in his abilities. He sometimes feels like I should do this, but then again, he leaves it up to me. Nowadays, he even goes as low as being impressed by my foolish actions.

"Dude I can't believe you're actually smoking in the car! Like, she's gonna kill you! And you're not the least bit worried! You're so awesome."

Some days, he goes a bit overboard.

"Look, I know it's probably not right of me to suggest this, but since most of the staff are out for meetings, you think it's okay if we surf some porn?"

Have you ever toyed with the idea that we could actually be our conscience's conscience in an alternate yet parallel universe where he is the actual person?

And if so, have I failed to keep my guy on the right path? Or did he fail me first?

What do you think?

"Dude. Honestly? I have no idea. But for just once could you please shut the f*ck up?! Get outta my head, will ya?"

Surf's Up

"Corruption doth appear in land and sea because of the evil which men's hands have done so that He may make them taste a part of that which they have done in order that they may return to the right path." - The Holy Quran 30:41

Wave after wave of biblical-proportioned shite is upon us, dear mankind.

There was the wave of terror, violence and paranoia of 9/11

There was the devouring tsunami of Boxing Day

And now the Financial Tsunami that are drowing us in our own earthly riches.

But who gives a toss right? Because it's apparently more interesting to know whether Muhyiddin gets enough seats to contest. And apparently it's more exciting to find out if Norman Hakim really shagged that 20 year old slut and took 45 minutes to actually get dressed with time to kill for a fag and a cuddle before opening the doors for the religious cops.

Ignorance is bliss, no? Only if you know whats going on and choose to be ignorant.

For me, I know enough to know that shit has hit the fan and sliced into enough tiny projectiles to be redistributed evenly across the whole room to know that I choose to not know what to do about it.

And like a respected business partner I know used to always say, "If you don't know what to do even when someone tells you how to do it, just sit around all day and twiddle your thumbs. At least you're not screwing up something".

How did we get into such a mess? Man is a destroyer in nature. Even when we build things, we always tend to be the one responsible for its destruction. We built the concept of finance and the financial institution and globalization and economic necessity. And that's where I believe our downfall is.

We have turned means into necessity.

The creation of money were a means of transaction to get what we need and want. Back in the day, getting what you want could either mean feeding and cleaning out cow dung for 3 years before you enjoy a good steak, or spearing a fanged beast for a new pair of leather kicks.

Since then, we've fucked around with it so much that it gets transacted, invisibly, between god-knows-where to hell-should-i-know-who. And before you're even sure you had it to begin with, someone tells you that you've just lost it all. Then you really start thinking about spearing someone.

So what's next, then?

In true cheerleading fashion some may chant "Bring It On!" and shake our pom-poms in the air.

For some, it will be a call to roll up their sleeves, grit on a toothpick and say "Wow, that was a great party. Now help me clean up this shit".

Some will say "Oops. Yeah, shouldnt've done that. Tee-hee-hee"

Most in Malaysian Politics will say "Kita Okkkkk...! 5% for next year! Even if Singapore and Australia are announcing negative or 0%. And so what if the whole of Iceland is bust. By the way, Mawi nak kahwin kat stadium youuuuu!!"

But I really, really, really hope...that most of us will start to realise that when they say "Damn it to hell!" in the movies, it literally means nearly everything worldly that we have or are trying to achieve in our lives. For damning us to hell, they will.

"And others have confessed their faults, they have mingled a good deed and an evil one; perhaps Allah will turn to them (mercifully); surely Allah is Forgiving, Merciful." (Qur'an 9:102)

Good night, god bless, and don't be too hard on yourselves. We're all screwed at the moment. But at least be that guy that knows he's screwed, rather than the guy who's always tricked into picking up the bar of soap. Every single time.