Cross Ramblings

I Hired a Contract Killer

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 22 Apr 2010 02:19:00 +0000

Celebrating the "I have no life so I have watched over 50 films so far this year!!!" milestone that I've reached yesterday, I thought it would be nice to write something about my 51st film: I Hired a Contract Killer, a film that - as sufficiently described in the title - is about a guy who hired a contract killer .... to kill himself. Joy!

This is my second English-language Kaurismaki's films out of the six that I've seen thus far and I learned that I prefer his dialogues to be delivered in his native Finnish language (read: unrecognizable gibberish speech). There just seems to be much more droll and hilariousness packed in the monotone one-note Finnish dialect.

The first 30 minutes or so of this film is excellent, especially because I've thought about and even written a short story about a guy planning on a suicide and yet fails to do so. Heh, surprise, surprise. The rest of this short movie (a mere 75 minutes) unfortunately seems a bit stretched, although not without its sprinkles of golden comedy moments.

The wooden speech and determined expression of the protagonist nicely complement his unexpected romantic flair. All the characters in Kaurismaki's films are so lovable! All in all, I've seen better Kaurismaki's films, although any Kaurismaki's films are truly better than a lot of films out there.

The miserable Henri

Determined to take his own life

Enjoying the great things in life for the first time:
boozy whiskey and smokey cigarettes.

Unto the next Kaurismaki's films!!!

a (Bread) Basket Case

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 16:02:00 +0000

I write this entry with my dried wrinkled old lady kind of hands. A side effect that would occur if you wash your hands as often as I am. I washed them religiously because I have a phobia over the gorific condition of Indonesian paper bills, which is unfortunate since I have to be in physical contact with them quite often at work. In order to write effectively, I have utilized a large paper clip to keep my bangs from disturbing my 10/20 vision. Yes, it's only a 10/20 because my left eye is constantly twitching at the moment, something is wrong with left soft lens. I tried to take it off and put it back on, but it still is uncomfortable. I neither have my glasses nor the soft lens case with me, so I guess it would look as if I'm trying to flirt with every becak and bemo drivers that I definitely would honk on my way home.

You might ask, why do I still write with all of these preventive conditions? That's because today is Thursday and my To Do List has notified me that on Thursday I have to write something ... anything on this blog. Yes, with this entry, I have officially written at least (or should I say precisely) once a week in the last 3 weeks. Hooray Self! With such milestone, I'm giving self a pat on the back and a permit to wolf down some tasty fatty ice cream tonight.

Speaking of the act of wolfing down (nice segue, eh), last Saturday, mother and I went to a decent restaurant to wolf down some excellent meat and they served us a bread basket while we wait. It had 1 focaccia, 2 sesame breadsticks and 2 poppy seed breadsticks (cheapskate!). After we sent the focaccia to a visit down our digestive systems, my focus was transfixed to the poppy seed breadstick and how there were so many poppy seeds on the breadstick! They were like the bountiful stars in the sky, and I just had to ... just had to peel all of them off of the breadstick. Mother was actually sweeping the leftover breadcrumbs off from the table cloth as I was doing this, so the cleanfreak side of her was horrified on my doing, "Meme, don't make a mess!". "Ow, on the contrary mother, mess is not my intention. I'm actually purifying this innocent breadstick from the ugly black poppy seeds that has prevented us from seeing the beautiful, glossy, clean surface of this perfectly baked breadstick!". Mother's face as I could hazily remember was wearing something along this expression: -____________-

Anyway, after I'm done with the mission, and admiring the beautiful glossy clean surface of the breadstick, I saw the candle right next to the bread basket, and I asked mother, "Mother, what would it be like if I place the tip of this breadstick to the flaming candle?". Mother's reply was short, "Just don't!". Unfortunately, the inquisitive side of me had to find out the answer or else I would get a terrible heartburn. Several seconds later, the tip of the breadstick started to blackened, followed with the arrival of a distinguished smell to mother's olfactory sensory reception, which immediately got post-mailed to her neural system and processed and categorized in her panicky brain as quite an alarming situation that she hastily commanded her voice generator agent to deliver the following message: "Abort, abort, my looney crazy daughter, do you want us to get kicked out of this restaurant?!?".

I laughed out loud and stopped my experiment. The smell still lingered and I asked mother jokingly, "Mother, do you know what this smell reminds me of?". Mother answered in a deadpan manner, "Your homemade caramel popcorn?". "Ouch!" I was going to joke and say it reminded me of all of my baking experiment, but it's no longer funny if the zinger doesn't come from myself! I guess I totally deserved it.

A yoke to bear

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 04 Feb 2010 04:05:00 +0000

My hair, my effing hair. A bastard creature whose goal in life is to torture and humiliate me, to slam me down to the abyss of self loathing. The beast is happiest and liveliest when a visual recorder is being pointed to its direction. Aware that its present state is going to be immortalized, it is quick in action, doing one of its 101 complicated dance moves with the sole aim to become as unruly and hideous as possible, just in time before the click click click sound is traversing to my eardrums. Any hair product won't do, it is practically immunized from all these self-claimed beast tamer products available on earth. Every picture of me is a sad testament of how I have lost another battle with the monster nesting on top of my head. Oh well, everyone has his own yoke to bear. I'll just have to accept the fact that mine has chosen to locate itself at a strategic spot ... with prime visibility.

P.S: Yes, I am exaggerating. Of course I don't hate myself or my hair ... much.

Kasih Tak Sampai

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 13:08:00 +0000

When I think about my Bobo, I always remember the little story she loved to tell to every willing ears.

So there I was, accompanying my little grandchild to his first day at the kindergarten, and he was not afraid one bit! Instead, he squeezed my hand so tight, marched boldly forward to the classroom while screaming at the top of his lung, This is my Bobo! This is my Bobo!

She would chuckle and shake her head, looking as happy and proud as she could be and deep down, I always wished that the grandchild in her story had been me instead.

When I think about my Bobo, I remember fondly about the candy jar in her car and the cellophane filled candy in her purse, consistently maintained at a certain quantity and variety. Parking assistants and beggars on the street always sincerely thanked her for the extra something she gave. And everyone knew my Bobo was the to go to person when you want your candy fix!

When I think about my Bobo, I remember her big wood drawer with that weird pattern brass knobs and the amazingly fresh fragrant that attacked me every time I opened it. The secret ... she had never thrown off her soap wraps and would put them in between her folded clothes instead. My mom still does that even now.

As much as I love these little memories, I wish I could have known her better. I'm in the middle of scanning old pictures from the 60s and 70s and it made me miss her terribly and worse, it made me feel as if I don't know her at all. But then, I found, at the back of mini mom and mini aunt's picture, a song lyrics hand written by her, .

A quick Google trip and a stop at Sukolaras, I am now listening to the song, chuckling and shaking my head. If I could only have one wish now, it would be to go back in time and see my 30-something emo Bobo singing along to the song passionately, wholeheartedly.

:)

Just another drive to work

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Sat, 09 Jan 2010 03:01:00 +0000

If you happened to drive along the Dharmahusada street on this lovely Saturday morning and heard a sudden high pitched shrieking voice, thy shall not worry, you have not just made a flatbread out of a wandering cat. It was in fact the voice of yours truly, jamming along Jack White on the electric guitar part of Seven Nation Army. A cup of bold robusta, a great short story by S.J. Perelman, and a rocking White Stripes album to accompany the drive to the office, I can't think of any better way to start your Saturday. Oh wait, how about not driving to the office?

It is an unfortunate turn of event, but for once, the natural order of the universe has been disturbed and I need to act as the bread winner while mother is chilling at home on Saturday. I know exactly what you think, how dare she! OK, warning peeps, Black Math is playing, here comes the head bopping. Truth to be told, mother is not exactly just chilling at home. After our trip to NZ, that ingrate Sus Siti has decided to take a vacation herself. Again, I know exactly what you think, how dare she! I'm just kidding, you're an A plus Sus Siti, come back soon? Honest to blog, I'd rather go to the office than replace her duties at home, so I need to suck it and stop griping the rest of this day. After all, isn't it just a wonderful day today? Sure indeed, and I will be stuck at work. OK, seriously, stop griping! And since the car in front of you just splits to two, stop bopping as well.

Maybe I could go out and take pictures after work. Office ends early on Saturday, 3pm-ish, I could venture the interesting town of Surabaya and meet the various characters in it. Sounds like a plan ... or I could just pray for a hefty rain which would inhibit outdoor activity and force me to switch to plan B: wrap myself with a blanket at home. Hmmm, state of dormancy. OK, red light, time to take the air electric guitar out from the compartment. Steady, you don't want the street vendor to think that you want to buy the whole bulk of whatever he's selling.

I could make pizza after work and watch a marathon of good movies for the whole night, the whole Saturday night. OMG, have I just wept while mouthing the words of I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself? And I'm one minute away from the office. Come back good happy mood, I desperately need you! Oh, uhm, hello office mates, nice to meet y'all, I have news for you, you're all fired. Good bye and Happy Saturday to you!

Wednesday

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 07 Jan 2010 01:12:00 +0000

It's cloudy with a chance of rain here in Surabaya and that's just the way I like it. I woke up this morning with Beth Rowley's You've Got Me Wrapped Me Around Your Little Finger playing in the loop inside my still mushy brain and it really set the mood of my day. Yes, it is going to be a mellow yellow Wednesday in the peyo universe and I welcome it with open arms after the crazy hyper kinetic Tuesday.

That was the optimist me this morning. Unfortunately, a few hours of work has sentenced mellow peyo to hell. The extreme noise pollution, the constant swirl of people, and the general tenseness of never ending problems really have the wonderful effect of driving my head to the wall.

At home after work, I popped a bottle of Storm, not the best beer in the world, but it is the best beer I could get my hands on living in Surabaya. Feeling warm and fuzzy, I set off against the raining darkness to the nearest Mall to acquire my comfort food, KFC chickens and McD fries and chocolate sundae.

Yes, it is peyo's night of indulgence! Accompanied by Up in the Air, I devoured all those food with pure abandonment. Of course by the time the movie was over and I have licked the last chocolate of the sundae, the alcohol effect started to wear off, the reasoning conveniently started to have the edge in the constant struggle against the id, and the food I have eaten started to feel like a cardboard box.

Never mind, life is all about balance. Yin and Yang, the good and the bad, the healthy wise choice and the stupid but at-the-time satisfying choice. In other words, I'm scheduling next Wednesday night for the same program.

Fast and Loose, Cajun Style!

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 04:10:00 +0000

I've been doing some thinking and from now on, I will change the way I write. It's going to be fast and loose, useless and incoherent, pointless and frequent.

Because a year from now, I would like to have the option to read, laugh, and mock the thoughts of my foolish past self. Should be a good fit with my goal this year, which is to live life rather than contemplate on life. Less thinking and more stupid thing.

A lower standard and a higher output, and when the lower standard becomes too high, I'll lower my standard again. There would of course come time when I couldn't lower it anymore and that's when the 4 months blogging hiatus is inevitable. But hey, that's still next week's problem! Let's not worry about the future and embrace the present. Yay!

I feel old. But not very wise.

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Mon, 04 Jan 2010 02:10:00 +0000

It is the sentiment voiced out by Jenny in An Education. It also seems suited to describe how I feel in the beginning of this 2010.

I had a marathon of film watching to celebrate the end of the holiday, and the following are things I learn from it:
> 2012 may very well be the apocalypse for the human kind and so I need to stock up on seeds and take some internships with some local farmers (Collapse)
> Cardio is important, so does seatbelt (Zombieland)
> My taste is definitely reared to the oldies. I adore John Hurt but cringe at the sight of Jason Priestley (Love and Death on Long Island)
> I am able to stay awake while watching 3D, provided it costs $500 millions or so (Avatar)
> My crush on Robert Downey Jr. may have dissipated (Sherlock Holmes)

I accidentally found my journal and realized that the last entry was dated back on January 2009. I suck. This bare blog turns out to be a more reliable record of my life than the journal, so let's try to scribble some notes here and then. I know ... SAD.

Oh, I went to New Zealand, so I might post something about it ... heh.

On How to Survive a Bad Hair Cut

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 22 Oct 2009 06:14:00 +0000

I had a haircut yesterday. It must have been pretty bad since mother changed her stance on my hair style from the previous intense dislike to an honest pity and empathy. For a good hour or two, she went on and on about how stupid the hair stylist is, and since it was she who suggested me to have a haircut at that place, she was in a full guilt mood. All I could think of was how can I squeeze out this guilt of her to my full advantage. People, I am now one step closer to my around the world trip, yay!

It was also such a fun time to listen to her attempts to make me feel better about my hair:

Mom: Me, try to sweep your bangs to the side. You look like an idiot with your bangs on the front.
Me: Uhm, thanks mother, but I don't think the haircut permits me to do that.

Mom: You know Me, you could have your elementary school haircut right now, and looks exactly the same.
Me: Okay, let me get this right, are you trying to tell me that I look like how I was in my elementary school years, which was 15-20 years ago? The time when you made me have that super short boyish cut? Mother, ... I think you may be right.

I'm somewhat surprised that I am not as distressed about my haircut as much as my mother is. One reason is probably because I have now resigned to the fact that I would never have a good haircut. That and also I am in a reminiscing mood lately and the bad haircut reminds me of the worst hairdo that I've ever had, which also happens to coincide with the most vivid memory I have of my grandmother a.k.a my dearest Bobo.

Bobo is the only grandparent I've ever known, but her enormous personality and character drains me from the the need of getting acquainted with my other grandparents. She was such a dominant and prominent figure, someone who I simultaneously love, revere, fear, and admire. A true beauty, a collector of tons of friends and fans, an independent and free willed being, a lover of life, and a survivor of a hard knock life.

Of course when I was a child, my feeling of her was less complex and more singularly defined by fear. Bobo believed in the fear system to discipline the young spoiled kids, and as a young spoiled kid, I was only permitted to know her as a stern evil grandma whose delight was to spank me whenever I do something wrong in her eyes. A suggestion to visit Bobo's house would usually followed by my intense groan of angst and a mental preparation note of list of things to do and not to do to remain alive and bruiseless after the visit. Do compliment her dishes regardless whether you like it or not, do sit straight, do not forget to kiss Bobo in both cheeks, and do not ever ever say that you want to go home.

Funny, I don't even have any recollection of Bobo spanking me. I do have a memory of mother hitting me so hard with a long plastic ruler. The ruler became 2 shorter versions of itself and I ended up crying so hard, not because of the physical pain, which wasn't that much, but more for feeling pity for my poor unloved self. Yet still, I can't conjure up any memory of Bobo doing any physical harms upon me.

Anyway, back to the glorious ugly hairstyle. It was my ninth birthday, and a party was to be held at Kentucky Fried Chicken that evening. My relatives and my school friends and teachers were going to be there. I don't think I was particularly excited about it. Never much a fan of party even when I was a kid. I remember it to be a Sunday, Bobo visited our house after church, and she decided that my hair needed to be a little bit on the glamorous side for the party. So I was told to sit in front of her, facing the TV, while she skillfully combed and parted my hair to 20-30 small square areas. For each section, she would fold my hair to the back and tied them with a rubber band, not a hair band mind you, but the regular industrial rubber band. In short, she was giving me a temporary perm. I was too afraid to refuse, and my cry of help look to my mother was only replied with a knowing and sorry look.

The nap I was told to have by Bobo that afternoon was full of discomfort, the only way I would not feel any crushing pain on my skull was if I placed my face on the pillow, and sadly that position could not last long since one still requires some breathing to remain alive.

Finally, an hour and a half to the party, those rubber bands were one by one yanked away from my head. Along with the process were the extraction of many strands of my hair and several drops of tears induced by the pain.

The result was a jumble of unruly curly hair on top of my head, pointing to every possible directions. After a few puffing and shaping movements by Bobo, I finally looked somewhat presentable and if I wanted to, I would have been able to blend in real well to the gathering of housewives in our neighborhood. To add to my misery, mother put a decorative hair clip on top of my puffy hair, the hair clip has, glued on top of it, a mini rattan hat with a circling of red ribbon and a few flowers on the right side. To finish it of, she smeared a bright red lipstick on my lips.

When we arrived at KFC, I almost cried when I realized that my curly puffy hair, my small hat, and my cherry red lips made me not unlike the clown of my own birthday party, sans the rainbow hair color thankfully, mine was still uniformly black. I was doing the whole emo thing, hating the world and everything that lived in it, but then I caught the look of my Bobo, a wee bit tired, but full of smile and laughter, what a beautiful sight that was. The young me could not articulate the warm feeling that I immediately felt afterward. Looking back, it must have been a glimpse of understanding that there were more important things in this world than how my hair looks, and that Bobo's well intention and the resulted happiness for contributing to her granddaughter's birthday party was more important than anything else at that moment. That's when I said to heck with it, put on my smile, and went on with the party. And that's also why I would go on with life and wouldn't kill myself after every bad haircut that I have and would have in the future.

P.S: Not looking at the mirror helps as well.

Lebaran Break!

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 02:08:00 +0000

Time to list down my accomplishment while holed up at home this Lebaran:

Movies:
> Aruitemo, aruitemo
> Adventureland
> The Boat that Rocked
> Rachel Getting Married
> Zodiac

Comedy:
> George Carlin - Back In Town
> George Carlin - Complaints and Grievances
> George Carlin - Life Is Worth Losing
> George Carlin - It's Bad For Ya

Books:
> The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism (Naomi Klein)
> The Periodic Table (Primo Levi)
> Housekeeping: A Novel (Marilynne Robinson)

Music:
> The Kinks, The Kinks, The Kinks!!!

Icy & Warm Treats:
> Chocolate Ovaltine Sherbet
> Orange & Passion Fruit Sorbet
> Glazed Lemon Bread

I want my break back!

The Chronicle of Peyo's Pineapple Upside Down Cake

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Tue, 08 Sep 2009 08:19:00 +0000

First of all, let me clarify that although the title of this post indicate a unique chronicle of this thing called Pineapple Upside Down Cake, in truth, the subject can really be replaced with an X variable, where X is any baking goodies that I have put into existence in this world. (*)

Having clarified that, let me begin the tale. It begins with a moment of boredom at work, followed by the act of browsing the army of sites and blogs that I have kept handy for this very reason. Since I was feeling hungry and trying to refuse the impulse of junk food consumption (always a losing war), I tried to suppress the hunger pangs by looking around some food blogs (now you see why). My favorite food blog has always been simplyrecipes, and while I was there, I found the recipe for this Pineapple Upside Down Cake. There were many comments on it which registered to mind as a worthy recipe to try.

On the weekly grocery to Bonnet (the bestest grocery store ever), self would usually boldly march ahead and buy the ingredients for the cake using only her memory as guidance. Self ended up buying a Pineapple.

Next would be the brewing step. During this step I would brew enough will and motivation to actually move self's behind from the comfort of bed and bake the cake. This step varies in length and duration, sometimes it would take weeks or months or years, but for this particular instance, the process was accelerated to only a mere week, all thanks to the help of dearest mother and her progressively vile questioning as to why there is a pineapple inside her fridge and would someone please do anything with it before it gets rotten?!?

It was Saturday evening, the weather seemed permissible for baking, I checked the recipe again and realized that I was still lacking few necessary ingredients. Another drive to Bonnet was a must. The trip left me tired and in need of rest. I spent the night watching movie with friends and decided to hit the bed early to prepare for the long day ahead.

Sunday morning, skipping church, I felt happy and energized. I went down to the kitchen, played Lou Reed and started preparing all of the ingredients. This is probably my most favorite part of the process, I love listening to the music while doing busywork. My mind would drift back and forth between the music, the lyrics, and how many mL 3/4 cup is. This works best in the kitchen and doesn't work at all at work, what's with the yelling from the next desk asking me to turn down the crappy music.

Once I get to the part of cutting the pineapple, I realized that the fellow has decided to give up waiting on me and move on with its decomposition process. Need to hide evidence from mother!!, was all I could think of. And thus, self again bought a pineapple at Bonnet. Returning home, mother was already back from church. I tip toed my way to place the pineapple in the fridge and was thankfully not caught in the act. Success!!

Not long after, mother ordered me to drive her around to do some errands. That's mother, never knowing the definition of rest, her joy comes when she can cross an item from her never ending to do list.

After errands, lunch, a nap and a movie, I finally ready to make the cake. It's Grace Potter and the Nocturnals time now, what a great voice. The caramel making process was fun and bubbly and after few whisk, mix and blend, I dumped everything in the pan, shoved it in the oven, and squatted in front of the oven, eagerly try to notice every tiny bit details of the cake's progress to bloom and its color transformation to the beautiful golden brown.

About 15 minutes later, realizing that my static squatting position didn't exactly look elegant nor lady like (instead, chimpanze like), I dragged a chair, sat next to the oven, and tried my best to glue my inquisitive staring to what looks like a jumble of letters in my book. During this time is when I noticed how gigantic the cake is and how it doesn't bode well with the fact that our household occupants are not particularly fond of dessert. I hope the cake turns out good, cause I sure need to give this thing to other people, I prayed. Yes, I pray a sincere prayer too sometimes.

As I placed the pineapple upside down cake to the plate and observed the gloriously amber colored caramel topping, I felt horrified knowing that this is going to be one obscenely sweet cake. I sliced a small slice and gave father and mother a test.

Me: Is it good, papa?
Father: Good! *with the nod of approval that I love*
Me: Mother?
Mother: Uhm, how exactly does this cake suppose to taste like?
Me: Well mother, my assumption is ... exactly as you taste it.
Mother: It's ... good. Very moist ... and sweet. Like the cakes at the hotel.
Me: You mean the ones that you dislike because you can smell and taste the milk? The ones that you are afraid to eat because of the huge sugar, butter, and dairy content in it? (**)
Mother: Yeah *grin*
Me: Right, I tried to tone down the sweetness, but it's also still way too sweet for me to.

Total household consumption roughly amounted to 2 small slices and a bite. We ended up distributed the rest to my 2 aunts, a friend, and Bik Yah and the gang.

Bik Yah then said, Goodness, why did you bake the cake if you're not going to eat it. You might as well had a nap. An astute point as always. Who knows? It's possibly just to witness those magical moment when the ugly dough turns into a beautiful cake. Or, it's just an excuse so I can hum a few songs in the kitchen.

(*): The formula in the beginning isn't complete. There is an exception to the rule when X = Y, where Y is my Achilles heels, my Kryptonite, also called the sinfully awesomelicious chocolate chip cookies.

(**): Mother may claim that she doesn't like dessert or any dairy products, but she sure can chug down ice cream or any chocolate dessert.

Brought to you by Telkom Vision Internet

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Mon, 13 Jul 2009 14:55:00 +0000

Thank you dear Telkom Vision Internet for your quirky internet connection. Your funky modem hasn't stopped blinking accompanying my lonely night. Lonely because your internet has decided to take some rest tonight, just like in the past week or two. What was I thinking really. Such fool I was to even think that your main job is to provide me, your paying customer, with a stable and - if it's not too much to ask - a somewhat fast connection.

But hey, at the very least, sometimes, when you're in the right mood, you would bless me with a burst of connection to the whole wide world.

"Oh, thank you Telkom Vision Internet!".
"Indeed, you should be really grateful, human. But three minutes is enough! Now back to your job of admiring the interpretive dance of my modem light."

Negotiation would not do. I tried to bargain a connection on the evening while he could rest during morning, afternoon, and night, but I guess it just doesn't fit his sleeping schedule. I was so desperate, I even tried to scare him with a possible destruction of his property. I looked sternly at his modem while transmitting strong signals of desire to crash and burn the damn thing. He called my bluff and also reprimanded me for calling his modem 'a damn thing'.

Having watched Oprah, I know that in this stressful situation, I should take deep long breaths. So I did. Deep long inhale, deep long exhale. After a couple deep breathings, it seemed that my little Zen time has shown its result. An enlightenment. Yes people, I'm that good. It is very obvious now that it is just tough love afterall. This wise and knowing Telkom Vision Internet has decided that I have wasted too much of my precious time in this world doing useless activities and he actually cares enough to put a stop to this. Graciously, he cut me off from my means to slack off, all for the better good of yours truly.

And so here I am now being productive. Only because of him that I am now writing a thoughtful post to my bare blog. Such rarity. And after this, I would spend the night by learning some life lessons from the movie(s), and I think I shall help the income of that little pastry shop by consuming its calorie laden pastry. And maybe, I would for once put more attention to my health and bid goodnight a little bit earlier. So there you have it, thanks to Telkom Vision Internet, instead of spending the night away checking my facebook and various useless blogs, I will create a piece of literature, dwell in the philosophy of life, give the much needed boost to the economy, and take better care of my health.

(Uhm, something doesn't feel quite right, but I don't know what that is. Maybe I should spend more time to meditate on this, but my movie is waiting, so maybe next time ... and oh, the internet is up anyway.)

Pak San

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Mon, 06 Jul 2009 06:42:00 +0000

'Pak San doesn't walk. He runs.', my aunt observed.

And all of us nodded in unison.

Pak San was 59 years of age, but he didn't look any older than 45. Inhabitating a small figure and possessing a super human agility, Pak San did everything fast and efficient and still managed to give running commentaries to whatever conversation we had. Sometimes he even did it in Chinese. This, of course, annoyed my late grandma terribly. Here were her grandchildren, all clueless in their own grandmother tongue, and yet this driver could speak it oh so effortlessly.

Pak San had worked for my aunt for 18 years. He was my aunt's Bik Yah. Someone who had worked too long and known us too well, that he had grown to care about us, and us about him. Care enough that we would accommodate his all-knowing attitude and his quirky acts. In short, he was part of our extended family.

It was tragic and suddened. Two motorcycle riders did thoughtless acts. Double-lane crossing on his part, a fast and careless riding on another. They performed brain operation twice on him to reduce the blood cloth, but it was too late and too little. My aunt couldn't hold the tears, her eyes were swollen for days.

We all visited him at the hospital. He was already in a deep comma. They placed him in a ward of people who were just waiting for their time to exit the stage. 'At this point, there is nothing else that we can do. We hope you, family members and friends, can accompany the patient in his last moment', the doctor said. There were some painful moaning in the room, some crying, but mainly just blank hopeless stares. At one moment, there was quietness in the room before it was broken with the laughs of the young staff interns. Apparently someone just delivered one funny joke. I felt suffocated. I hate hospital.

After 5 days of comma, Pak San left all of us. 'At least he didn't feel any pain', we tried to cheer each other up. He was buried the next day, and life goes on for the rest of us.

I received an SMS a few days after, 'Thanks for the mangoes. They are very sweet. I'm eating them now while sobbing a bit remembering Pak San, hiks ...'.

My aunt is quite the jokester, and the visual of my aunt crying while eating mangoes made my mother and I smiled and saddened both at the same time.

Rest in peace, Pak San, and thank you for everything.

Foundation

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Fri, 12 Jun 2009 03:02:00 +0000

Me: Wow, JK and Wiranto don't look good in this poster. They look abnormally dark.

Mom: Yeah, you're right. Most probably color profiling problem during the printing process.

Me: And not to mention a bad Photoshop work.

Mom: They seem to have some sort of brick-ish red blush applied to them.

Me: I can't believe they approved to have these posters planted across the city, and worse, the whole nation!

Mom: Compare it with the SBY and Boediono poster over there.

Me: Great smiles with pleasing light brown skin color.

Mom: I think they applied some foundation before they have their photos taken.

Me: Maybe that's the key to win the election.

Mom: What?

Me: Foundation.

Mom: I hope so.

My mom rocks!

E!

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 11 Jun 2009 04:55:00 +0000

Mom: So, are you sure we're going to make it?

Me: Mother, we're 3 minutes away from the gas station. I'm 100% sure we'll make it.

Mom: I've never been in this situation before. The needle is pointing at E! You know what it means? The gas tank is empty!

Me: Relax mother, the red warning light hasn't blinked at all. I've been in a situation where the red light blinked probably 3 or more times before I managed to fill the gas.

Mom: What? You waited until the red light blinked 3 times? Wouldn't the car just die after 3 blinks? I really can't understand you and your sisters. Always wait to do stuff until the last minute!

Me: Mother, you should be happy that I've been in this kind of situation. You know, it is often in this kind of situation that I remember God and regain my faith.

Mom: Haha, very funny. Seriously though, I never could do stuff at the last minute, I will be too worried about it, it will consume all my thoughts, and I will end up doing it at once so I could move on to do better things.

Me: But mother, don't you see, it's all your fault.

Mom: What? How could it be my fault?

Me: You know the saying ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree. And with the 100% rate of this laziness trait appearing at your daughters, it is obvious that the root of the problem is in the parents.

Mom: But, I'm exactly the opposite of you and your sisters!

Me: Well, it's father's fault then. And assuming that it's not genetic, you two were the one who raised us up during our formative years. So, genetically or environmentally, the blame is still on you, my dear mother.

Mom: Sigh ...

And here's one reason why I don't think I'm ready for motherhood, ... the fruits don't fall far from the tree!

McFlurry

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Wed, 10 Jun 2009 04:45:00 +0000

SMS exchange I had with Yun last night ...

Yun: Say, do you have a pregnant cousin? I swear I saw someone that looked exactly like you but pregnant.

Me: Well, to be honest, I sometime tape a pillow on my stomach and go and eat as much junk food as I want. It makes me feel protected from the judging eyes.

Me: Last time I did this was when I wanted some McFlurry. I had the Coffee Crunch McFlurry, but it was disappointingly not good, so I finished it on the spot, and ordered the classic Oreo McFlurry. Hmm, gotta love some McFlurry.

Me: Btw, did you see the preggie me with a guy or not? Cause I usually go solo on my mission, and also the obvious fact that I don't have a boyfriend ...

Me: And to answer your question, no, there is no preggie cousin that I know of.

an hour later ...

Yun: Are you high on McFlurry?

*end of SMS exchange*

There was no reply from me since I was already asleep by that time, by 9:12pm according to the sms log. Sometimes, I do get why I don't have many friends.

Rants we have plenty!

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Tue, 19 May 2009 02:11:00 +0000

A twenty something story high building, only 2 out of 4 working elevators, the lady was not happy.

Oh my God, how long do we have to wait!

This is ridiculous! Ridiculous!

Great, great, one elevator finally is here but it fills up to the max at once. Us three can't get in! This is absurd! Absurd!

While performing her passionate monologue to the reluctant audience, she managed to get an eye contact with the unlucky building officer and decided that inserting a dialogue would be the perfect variation needed for her play.

Unhappy Lady: Hey officer, why aren't the 2 elevators working? This is unacceptable! Unacceptable!

Hapless Officer: I'm really sorry mam, the two elevators stopped working this morning, we're trying to fix them asap. My apology for the inconvenience.

Unhappy Lady: Inconvenience! You bet this is an inconvenience! *grumble, babble, mumble*

OK, I was wrong, the officer wasn't that hapless afterall since he managed to exit the stage safely not long after. Us, however, had to hear her further whining and moaning for another good 5 minutes or so. But, finally, thank goodness, the other elevator arrived ...

At last! At last! But, my oh my, how horrendous! This is not a regular elevator. This is a freight elevator! And an ugly one at that!

Yuck! I can smell the smoke in here! Disgusting! Disgusting!

The lady seemed to enjoy repeating her adjectives. I told myself to be patient since it would be over soon, but I never thought that soon was 5 seconds later ...

Hey, this is our floor. Let's go! Come on, let's go! Quick, quick! , she informed the supporting casts of obeying husband and son.

The closing of the elevator door was the closing of the curtain of her play and with that I sighed a sigh of relief. But what a quick ride it was for her. I checked what floor we were at and I was in disbelief. Ground floor? She stopped at the Ground floor? We were at the Lower Ground floor, and she only needed to go to the Ground floor? That's one freaking floor away! Oh my goodness lady, you could have burned less calorie by taking the stairs! Instead you spent a gazillion calories spewing all kinds of complaints and forced us to be the audience of your soapbox rants!

Unbelievable! Just unbelievable!

Women are impossible

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Sat, 16 May 2009 13:49:00 +0000

It's quite impossible to understand women, heck, not even ourselves are up to the task. So, props to Woody for the relentless effort to try to understand us, or some might say, to resist being dumped :)

One of my favorite Woody skit ever!

Why I want world peace

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 14 May 2009 02:17:00 +0000

... and lots of money ;P

Saayeh khosh formations in Southern Iran

photo by Sizif

Wisdom Extraction - The purpose of existence

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Wed, 13 May 2009 03:07:00 +0000

They were the two rotten scoundrel ones. One of them has started to emerge from its underground hiding and perform steady attacks to the neighbouring land, and while the other one still remains in its hiding, the clairvoyant has spoken of a future bloodbath, the next Great War, unless I, the god of this kingdom, the architect of the land, be quick in my action and stop these seething rebellious acts before things go awry.

Who am I kidding. I am no god, not even of my own property. I just have to accept whatever God, the intelligent designer of this world, has for me. But does God really exist? If He exists, why does He let suffering in this world? Because, really, what is the purpose of existence of wisdom teeth? They don't add any wisdom to the beholder, and I certainly do not find any use for them in other aspects, be it aesthetically or functionally.

Maybe, the evolution team has it right all along? World is just a coincidence, a big bang followed with an evolution through time using the sheer guidance of survival of the fittest. It sure does explain why the useless wisdom teeth exist in the human body. Why, it's just a leftover from the previous less perfect version of human! Since it's not an intelligent design and rather, an evolution, there bounds to be some imperfect parts here and there. Say, how many teeth does a monkey have? Do they have wisdom teeth at all? Hmm, I may need to contact Stephen Jay Gould and talk to him about getting some funding for a research on this subject.

As I was heavy in my meaningless thoughts, pretending as if my wandering mind would result in the undeniable evidence that will end the never ending debate of evolution vs. intelligent design, the doctor gave a last check to see whether my anesthesia was already in full effect, and asked me the following powerful question, "Are you ready?".

Then, it suddenly hit me, everything makes sense now. The purpose of existence of wisdom teeth. Eureka! I believe that the reason why wisdom teeth exist, and more often than not imperfectly, is so that we can remember God. He created wisdom teeth for the sake of the modern generation, the spoiled generation with not enough real misery and suffering happening in their daily lives. The omniscient God has foreseen this and therefore during the creation of human some few millennium to million years ago created these troublesome wisdom teeth as a device of reminder and wake up call for the wayward son.

Because no matter how much I think in my leisure time about the big grand questions of life: is the world deterministic or coincidence, is it an intelligent design or evolution, is there an afterlife and heaven and hell, in the end, when I saw that clunky pliers getting closer and closer to my mouth and I started hearing that dreaded voice of dental machinery that captures the voice of 1001 horrendous dreams, I immediately called upon God and asked how He's doing and would it be so much of a trouble if He could direct His attention to His long lost child at the moment and make sure that the doctor doesn't mess up this tiny operation and for the anesthesia to work its magic for as long as it can, 5 days preferably.

So, I braced myself and replied, "OK, Doc, let's begin."

And then I ended my prayer just like how they always taught me, "Thank you God and let your will be done ... although surely your will and mine are the same at this moment. Amen."

Truth Not Found

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Mon, 11 May 2009 01:35:00 +0000

I guess I'm looking for truth at the wrong place.

Hypocrite

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Sat, 09 May 2009 15:35:00 +0000

I was assaulted by the bold and offensive aroma of excessive hairspray, spiky (prickly) hair, skinny jeans, jazz hands, and pointy shoes and I felt nauseated. But then I wonder whether the nausea was due to my repulsion of the shallowness of these people or because I was jealous of their excellent and socially commended appearance. Giving it some further thoughts, I ended up repulsed myself for being jealous of people that I find repulsive. So, today I learn that it is much more fun to be an obtuse hypocrite rather than a hyper-conscious one.

Mango and Fringe

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Fri, 08 May 2009 02:59:00 +0000

In the past wretched weeks, a persistent unwelcomed problems have decided to visit and play pranks with our telephone lines. The service guy, always the same unlucky fellow, will come, go up to either or both our roof and our fence, and find that yet again, there is a new cable, forever different from the last blasted culprit, that has been ruined by the vile duet of the mighty wind and the fierce force of the limbs of our mango tree.

The mango tree has been a fixed stature on our front yard since my memory permits me to remember. No mango tastes better than our mango, and I have a witness to back up my claim. The parking guy on our street, who, comes the harvest season, always equipped his repeated visits to our yard with a long stick and a burlap bag, will attest the satisfying quality of our mangoes.

And Monday arrived. The poor hated Monday was blessed to receive one less verbal beating and profanity attack than the usual portion it receives. It puzzled me how I didn't grumble and babble and give everyone the anti social look on that day until I finally realized, around mid-day, that it was most probably due to the large amount of gorgeous rays that came forth and enlightened all of the sad gloomy people in our building. On further thoughts, there was probably only one sad gloomy person in the building.

"Mother darling, what a beautiful day we have here! I don't think we've had such bright and shiny day for months! Is it because the rainy season has bid his farewell?" I, for once, initiated a weather conversation with mother. Without turning her eyes from her work, mother replied briskly, "No, silly head, I asked our employees to cut down some of the mango branches last Saturday!"

Obviously, a good worker like me would not go to the office on Saturday. It's a matter of keeping the productivity level high. So, I was a bit shocked by the news. Shocked and feeling quiet stupid for not noticing the ample space that replaced what once was a fraternity of bullying mango branches.

First came sadness, a long standing witness of my life, a mute observant of all my bad judgments and bad decisions since childhood is gone before its natural time. Yet, it really felt as if a layer of fuzzy dark screen that distorts my point of view of the world has been lifted away, and I could finally see the world as a brighter, cheerier and happier place. The mundane activities no longer repulsed me as much, and I felt more positive about life than I ever allow myself to be.

"Bring it on life, here's one person that is ready to milk everything life has to offer!", I said while shaking my right fist up in the air.

Then of course, I started to feel the sting of heat that comes as a package with the gorgeous rays. I realized that without the protection of our mango tree, we've become a greenhouse , a fish in a bowl placed in the middle of the street of a blazing hot tropical city with no sunscreen protection to prevent us from getting agitated and hot headed.

Naturally, I started to complain incessantly about how hot it is, and how the full blast AC directed at me doesn't do its trick, and how things doesn't look as bright and wonderful anymore as it is hot and Hot and HOT!!!

So, the curtain of darkness has been drawn again, and peyo is back to her natural habitat.

Home sweet home.

So, the question now is should I cut my fringe? Maybe it could do the job of holding the curtain withdrawn than a mere few hours. Maybe I should.

Report on the Battle between Peyo and the fierce Flu-o-Squad

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Wed, 08 Apr 2009 04:17:00 +0000

Greetings internet world.

I have resurrected from my deep long blog hibernation to report on the battle between Peyo and the fierce Flu-o-Squad.

Fear not, since I am happy to report that at this moment, our beloved Peyo has finally gained some important inches at the battle ground and close to finally win this exhausting battle. This mentally and physically consuming battle has been ongoing for more than a week, and both sides have gone back and forth on attacks using their most powerful and advanced weapons. At one point in time, Peyo was badly injured when the Flu-o-Squad has released all of their most powerful weapons, and caused our dear Peyo to suffer from fever, headache, endless cough, runny nose, and extreme tiredness. Thankfully, Peyo has managed to find the potent weapon to make the Flu-o-Squad retreat back to their homeland.

After utilizing various available weapons, Peyo would like to use this blog as a medium to share to the good people of internet on the effectiveness of weapons to attack the Flu-o-Squad:

1) Those traditional tiny Chinese black pills
Comment: Consuming this medication brings the memory of childhood where mother would shove upon us all variation of Chinese herbs and medications. Such sweet memories. That is all I can say about these pills though since they do not provide any effective attacks on the Flu-o-Squad.
Grade: D

2) Cough Suppressant Drops
Comment: I like the taste of the drops, but it will only give you a temporary relief (5 minutes max) before the Flu-o-Squad realizes that it's just a fake attack and come with an even more powerful force to avenge you.
Grade: D

3) Adem Sari - A delicious fruity drink to release the heat from your body (description copied from indonesianfoodmart.com)
Comment: I love Adem Sari. But honey, you're out of your league on this game. Still, I have a sweet spot for the product, so I'm going to be an easy grader this time.
Grade: B

4) A concoction of drugs that contained some form of morphine provided by my family doctor
Comment: I was in cloud 9 accompanied by dancing bears, and would have been a happy camper if that damn cough would stop bothering me.
Grade: C

5) OBHerbal - Some cheap cough syrup drugs that was highly praised by my auntie and cousin
Comment: It tasted and looked like some factory waste. Gave me a pseudo relief for a day, and that's it.
Grade: FAILED - Because taste is also important people.

6) Kaempferia galanga + Honey (a.k.a kencur + madu)
Comment: Giving pity on my mother who seemed exasperated by the sound of my horrible coughs, one of the customers recommended this traditional medicine to combat the Flu-o-Squad. Result: mother is still exasperated.
Grade: D

7) A concoction of drugs that contained some form of morphine provided by my employee's doctor
Comment: Hoping that I have some luck with a different doctor, I visited my employee's doctor. Oddly enough, he has the same first name as my family doctor. Unlucky enough, his prescription is at the same effectiveness level as my family doctor's.
Grade: C

Editorial Note: Seriously, how long is this list going to be????
Peyo: Hang in there, it's almost done!

8) Lemon Juice + Salt + Sweet Soy Sauce + Hot Water
Comment: Undeterred by the failure of kencur + honey mixture, I finally agreed to swallow this traditional medication. It tasted funky, but in a Peyo approved way, and it did resulted in some productive coughs (I could get rid some of those yucky phlegm, ewww ..) but not as much as I would risk a heartburn by consuming this very acid mixture again.
Grade: B

9) Rhinos - some colorful capsules that are pleasing for the eyes
Comment: I had runny nose, I popped one capsule of Rhinos, runny nose problem disappears. It's the modern day version of miracle.
Grade: A

10) Decolsin - some ordinary unassuming cough medicine
Comment: Play the soundtrack of victory, here's the winning medicine. It's a cheap medicine and it does the job.
Grade: A + (it causes drowsiness, so I have an excuse to doze off while at work, hoorah!)

Note: In order to reduce the length of the list, I have not included the variation of antibiotics that I've taken.

Some alternative medications that I have not tried:
- Going to Ponari
- Eating a gallon of ice cream

I hope this list is useful for all of you, the good people of internet.

Now excuse me while I take a nap during my work hour using the excuse that Decolsin has conveniently provided for me.

Pawned!

noreply@blogger.com (peyo) — Thu, 19 Feb 2009 06:26:00 +0000

In our line of business, and I assume just like in other line of business in Indonesia, our clients usually have duration of payments ranging from 1 week - 2 months.

Well, one of our smaller client showed up today to pay his debt. We teased him a bit for being late with the payment. We stopped immediately though after he informed us that he paid us using the money he got from the pawnshop. He used his motorbike as the collateral.

Apparently, his wife had to go to the hospital for 5 days and he had to pay 2.5 millions for the hospital bill. This completely affected his financial situation. You see, he has no savings. I bet most of the lower class people in Indonesia don't have any savings for the rainy days.

How much is the interest?, I asked. It's 50.000 per month per 1 million borrowed. That's 5 percent per month and 60% per year, assuming it's not using the compound interest system, and gosh, I really hope not.

The current interest rate in Indonesia is, if I'm not mistaken, 8.75% per year. Banks don't touch micro loan though, and I'm sure the complicated bureaucracy doesn't motivate the small loaners. I believe most lower class people either go to pawnshop or loan sharks for their cash needs. If they're lucky, they have a wealthy enough relative to go to. Hopefully, the relative won't be too greedy and charge them with high interest.

We lend money for our employees with no interest. Most of them would borrow money when it is time to renew the contract of their house, to pay for the school admission, to pay the hospital bill for their parents, the list goes on and on. They always break even or run negative with their balance book, never a surplus.

Aside from the civil employees, I don't think there is any retirement plan in Indonesia. Not for the lower class for sure. I think they would work until they die, or they would hope that their children would be able to support them at the old age. Is that why they have many children even if they are not economically well off?

How many times do I see a husband, a wife, and their 2 children traveling on one motorbike? Sometimes it's even 3 children. What would happen if their children grow bigger and they still can't afford a car? How would they go for leisure? Could they afford to pay their school tuition? Could they afford college? I heard education costs a fortune nowadays.

What a life.