post-(non)drunk post

Current books read: A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby - music in ear: Scissor Sisters - watched dvd: Disney's Sport Spass Superstars

Some people are just not meant to be some things. My friend's brother for example. He got a really bad taste, so we decided that he wasn't born to be a designer, a decorator, or anywhere near a stylist. He has a damn good negogiating skills though. He's a diplomat. Not a very important one, but still, a good-to-look-up-to diplomat.

I, clearly wasn't born to become an athlete. I sucked in almost every sport I've tried out. Basketball? Suck at that one. Swimming? Too fucking hairy and don't have intention to ken-doll-ify myself. Tennis? Suck at this one too. Softball? Also insert suck-related phrase here.

Squash? I tried it once, but I lost 9-0 9-0 9-0 and 9-0 9-2 9-0 to a nice guy who supposed to be my so-called trainer, not butcher. Bowling? During some tens of games that I've played, I scored over 100 three times only, I think, and over 110 only once. Badminton? I can be a really good player in this one, had the rules stated that nets were not a fucking necessity.

What else have I tried .. hmm .. Volleyball? A good ball controller, but lack of strategy. I hallucinatively believe that I will rock in Beach Volleyball, though, eventhough I don't have all the bulging biceps, triceps, and pecs. Chess? Once check-mated by a friend in less than 10 steps, and it traumatized me.

I did got a tons of compliments from my PE teacher and classmates in my second year of junior high for jumping the highest at high jump, running the fastest in 100 m sprint, being the most flexible and foldable student in gymnastics, and scoring the highest in all first-mid, second-mid, and final tests. And he's not the pervert one of three of our three PE teachers. So I guess I will be OK doing tracks or gymnast.

But during last weekend only, I reckoned that I also was not born to be one of .... those people. Stick with me to hear the story.

Saturday. ca. 4pm.

I was just finished doing leg exercise at my gym and was ready to stretch my legs on my bed when...

Not me: Hey, you wanna go out tonight?
Me: Go out? (with a very audible worriedness)
NM: Yeah. A friend of mine from Madrid came and I kinda obliged to him showing the city around because he did it all the time when I visited Madrid. So?
M: Urgh... OK ...

I kinda wanted to go out, though. Because honestly, I rarely go out and once in like two fucking years won't hurt, right?

Saturday. ca. 7pm. 1st Bar.

NM: A bottle of [one of the beers that I have never heard of. It's Italian].
Madrid Guy: Beck's Gold.
M: Your best non-alcoholic cocktail drink.
Bartender or whatsnot: That'd be Ipanema.
M: Sounds great. [eventhough I don't really know what the hell is that]. I'll take it.

M [not out loud, bitterly]: I can't believe they will charge us 5 Euros for some cut lime, ice and ginger ale..

NM, M, and MG: yadda, yadda, yadda ... [having fun]

The bar was great though. I love their new decor kinda. They are having this sorta Beach Party theme for a month during summer. And it was nice. But since I wasn't planning to step on sands and have some sticking to my sweaty feet, it threw me off a bit stepping on those little sands.

Saturday. ca. 9pm. Hamburger Hafen.

We were walking around, reaching even Speicherstadt and Hafen City to show MG around. It's fun, interesting sight, awesome weather, but my legs hurt like hell.

Saturday. ca. 10pm. Hamburger Dom.

Hamburger Dom is always fun. But apparently, tonight was a quite special night. (1) It seems that there are more tourists then ever. (2) There are some a lot of Junggeseller Abschied (eng.: Bachelor Farewell) groups. (3) And also for the bride-to-be's. It was super funny to watch and see.

We were having another drink. MG ordered another Beck's, NM ordered Cola (he's driving), I ordered a baby-beer (Malzbier), or that's how the waiter called it.

And finally, visiting Dom means that another some kilometers walking..

Saturday. ca. 11:30pm. 2nd Bar.

I couldn't sit up straight (please, no pun here) on the bar bench. My legs totally hurts.

NM: Two Beck's Gold, please.
M: Spezi. (Yay! I love Spezi.) [But next time, I will wiggle the car keys in front of the bartender, so that he thought that I'm the one who's driving, without the sudden judgmental look what had this guy just done? Ordering a Spezi in my bar. Or perhaps it's only me thinking that he's judgmental. Hohhohoho..]

The bar was actually great though. The music was awesome. We didn't dance, but the dancing crowd is pleasing to watch. There was this point where we order the second drink, and of course M and NM ordered another alky. Me? I'm happy with bitter lemon. :) MG asked of course, why I don't drink. And I explained the fact of me being a moslem, and I don't like the smell anyway.

And then the funniest thing happened. The DJ played 'I Will Survive'. So I was like, teased them both, clapping hands, singing along, you know.. the usual stuff. Especially in the bridge part. The La-la.. La-la-la-laa la-la-la-la-la-la .. so on. The instrumental part. I mean, come on! It's the best part of the song, anyway. And MG said something like, "Wow.. I didn't know that they use Vodka for Bitter Lemon here in Germany."

The preceding paragraph proved that I don't need alcohol to act crazy.

Sunday. 3:00am. 3rd Bar.

I don't like this bar. Let's just don't talk about it.

[I didn't realize that this post will get this long .... ]

Sunday. 5:00am. Fischmarkt.

I can barely walk. First, I'm not wearing my walking shoes, walking sandals, or whatsoever. I was wearing my 'sexy-professor-vibe' sandals. Yeah, they are still there and have that 'sexy-professor-vibe' alright. :) The sandals that I was wearing, broke once in Jakarta, and I was so afraid that I will break it here, and can't find some man with a humongous talent to repair it eventhough he's only sitting on the sidewalk.

At least that was how my sister told me when she had the sandals repaired.

Second, I could barely stay awake. Because I don't usually spend a day without sleeping for more than 8 hours.

Third, my stomach was unbelivably very gassy, due to all the soda in my drinks. And you know what you want to do when you have a really gassy stomach right? You know, similar to that thing that someone probably do before they perform some kind of a supposedly traditional performance in some so-called competition in order to make them somewhat better from the gassy feeling.

Fourth, I haven't pooed on Saturday. So go figure..

Sunday. Some minutes before 8am. NM's place.

I successfully collapsed on his couch. The part of my stomach needing some attention? We cleared that up (pun intended) at Fischmarkt in a public loo.

Moral of the story: so you know that song by Alicia Bridges? How does it go?

Oh ... I love the nightlife. I got to boogie. On the disco' roooouuuuuund oh yeeeeeeah ...

Yeah, I'm not cool since I wasn't born to be one of those people.

High Fidelity vs High Fidelity

Current book read: A Long Way Down by Nick Hornby - watched dvd: High Fidelity, The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen

You know. If there were ever a T-Shirt with a sablon saying "I'm the newest biggest fan of Nick Hornby" on it, I will buy it right this second. I will buy it, and I will wear it like every day of the week until my afterglow is over. No, I won't wear it directly, of course. I will first cut off its sleeves first, like what I did to almost all my T-Shirts this summer, and then wear it.

Good Lord. Nick Hornby is awesome! He's an awesome writer! I mean, take High Fidelity, for example. The hero, Rob Fleming, (A) Does not resemble me. (B) Can not be someone I look up to, at least for now. (C) Does not remind me of any guy that I know. (D) Is really not the type of guy with whom I am usually friends with. But (E) Is so compelling, so that you will not feel sorry for yourself even after hearing him laments about his recent broke up with Laura.

The guy is so specifically characterized, until you'll say that, "I can't believe that there is a character so specific like Rob in a work of literature." The specific character make the guy real. And then sometimes you will see a bit of yourself in him. And then a bit of your friends. And finally, maybe Rob represents how men are. Or in this case, Hornby is so genius, so that he could draw what represents men in Rob. Breathtakingly genius.

Because of the five things that I thought Rob was, I lost so many times in the book. Sometimes I didn't know what I was reading. This is specifically, because I am not a Rob-musical kinda person. I'm not. And I won't be. I mean, my music? Blah. It's a mixture of a top 40 pop, musicals, and musical films, for God sakes. But I'm enjoying it. If I were friends with Rob, I would have eaten his rotten insults of my music. I'm not saying music taste, because clearly, I have no taste.

But seriously. Guys. GUYS! Read the book. Read. The. Book. You will not regret it. At least if you have countless commuting hours like I do, it will keep you company.

Now off to the movie.

The movie ... why did I need the movie? Hmm. Basically, I'm not the type of guy who after reading a book, I want to watch the movie to compare it, or vice versa. But sometimes I want to see how it translates. And this time, because I lost so many times during reading the book, I needed some directions.

There are some good news and bad news about the movie. The bad news is that, Rob is too clean, slick, cute, perfect looking. I know Hornby likes Cusack, but I'm not really. The redirection from London to Chicago sucks. And some of the Hollywoodification were too much.

The good news is, I LOVE Dick character. Love him. Now HE can be a good friend of mine. Gosh. And of course there is this thing.

You know, I loathe German productions. Especially their reality series. I hate all those all-time-favourite singles thrown into every moments literally. For example, take a house makeover series. And after some dreadful steps, the house is finally finished. The family who lived there will see it for the first time. In order to make them surprised, the producers put blindfolds on them and told them to open it after they were told to do so.

What happened then? The producer then abruptly throw a song like "One Moment in Time" when the family sees the new house for the first time, for believing that this was a one moment in the family's time. So fucking lame.

In High Fidelity, there are a LOT of chances for this lamity (if there is such a word) to happen. Throw a song here and there just because it fits literally. But no. Guess this is what makes them Hollywood, though. They saved it until the last time. The very fucking last time. We were just fed and fed and fed about the almighty song, and when it's there ...............

it's emotional.

So, yes. I was watching a boy movie. Based from a book that can make all the chick-lits writer wish that they could have had at least 5% of Hornby's talent. And it's not sad ending-y. But I cried.

HAH! No more tears and serious stuff and life-slash-future-related entertainment on Fridays. I'd better get me some Harry Potter.

Have a nice weekend!

today's one liner

Big Brother All-Stars: Awright people, nothing to see here, shoo, shoo, let's go home and have a cold bath, nothing interesting to see here..

today's one two liner

All jokes and dramas aside, the boys and the girls of ITB Choir (or is it ITB Students Choir, you guys?) snatched two golds and two silvers at the World Choir Games and made me real proud of 'em.

Congratz, guys...

project project runway. season one. episode eight. the explanation.

Current books read: A Long Way Down - another Nick Hornby's masterpiece - music in ear: Don't Feel Like Dancing by Scissor Sisters. Yay!

Achtung: Of course this post will contain spoilers of the first season. Who're you kidding?!

OK. I kinda have to admit it. Perhaps it's not the single best episode in reality TV ever made. Perhaps it owes everything to other episodes preceding it. But really, watching it the first time, I can really see every emotions of the competitions worn on the shoulders by every contestant on this episode.

Jay McCarroll.

Jay kept his character throughout this competition. Especially in this episode. He was so exhillirating, amusing, funny, cleverly witty. Typical Jay. Augusta Gloop? Oh. My. Gaw! ....

Nah, I lost it. I gotta see it again and refill myself with the euphoria. BRB! :)

PS: Miss Universe is so deadly boring! Even after I skipped a lot of stuff there, it was still. Hmph.

today's one liner

This Big Brother All-Stars episode that I just watched, episode 7, kicks some serious other Big Brother episodes' asses!!

today's one liner

Now, this is the proof that Ken Jennings deserved all that 2.5 millions that he cashed from Jeopardy!.

today's one liner

I'm really curious to know how did Kayne feel last night.

project runway. season one. episode eight.

A must-see episode for every reality TV fan. MUST! SEE! I got so euphoric just now, so follow-ups can be expected tomorrow or some days later.

Have a nice weekend.

transcript, schmranscript

Talking about transcript nowadays ...

Now take a look at this transcribing job. Gosh it made my heart beat faster, and made me miss Jed Bartlet.

No comments are allowed. I have excused politics out of my dinner table quite a while ago.

Miss Indonesia 2006 and Her Broken English

Current watched internet clip: Miss Indonesia 2006 early interview in Miss Universe 2006 errr.. Pageant

I don't mean to be rude, but I believe that this video, of Miss Indonesia being asked some daily life questions on sequins and ruffles (the questions not the miss), can turn straight guys gay. In order to turn them back straight, I attach her picture below.

I mean, come on! In 10 years ag(o)..?! My admire.. admirer is Mother Theresa?! Damp instead of them (Twice!)?! And the biggest shocker is .. Indonesia is a beautiful city?!

Quoting Joey, "That's it? Boy, you're lucky you're hot.."

Honestly, Miss, I would like to be on the same queue line with your fans. I would like to root you to snatch the title. Or if it is too much to ask, I would be more than willing to let you represent the face of my country. Beautiful, kind-hearted, sexy, good intentions, which I believe those things are you.

But the interview video is not the only thing you are offering me to root you as a representative for my country, right? Right?

So here's the deal. You have a team, right Miss? Ask your team to study who Verona Pooth nee Feldbusch is. On a second thought, you're half german, right? You must have known Mrs. Pooth, then.. If not, or it's too hazy, here's an article of her in german Wikipedia. Don't tell me you don't understand what's on it. Come on, now!

Tell your team that you have to turn this language malfunction to your benefit. At least now people are talking about your english rather than your I-can't-believe-she-struts-in-front-of-millions-in-a-swimsuit kinda thing. Be cute and irresistable and famous because you are making mistake exactly like other humans. Just like Verona. And I'm sure you will get more publicity than Janet Jackson. Prolly not, but a good shot anyway.

The reason I'm telling you this, is because I reside now temporarily in Germany and I know a lot (A LOT) of Indonesians who live in Germany surviving only with their broken german (I'm one of them, I must say), and my german friends think we are adorable. So there you go.

Remember: (1) There is no such thing as bad publicity. (2) a little flirt would have never hurt. (3) Even an english native speaker can have a language malfunction and survive the turmoil. Just watch the clip. So, cheer up!

So go out there, kick some ass and break a leg. But I hope you know what I mean by that last three words in the preceding sentence.

Now it's up to you, Miss, to think whether I'm being seriously sarcastic or being sarcastically serious. After all, you have the resource. You won a contest whose criteria is Brain, Beauty and Behaviour, for crying out loud. Or is it possible to win it by only having two out of three?

I'll be watching you to find out the answer by knocking on wood three times. Knock-knock-knock.

We're settled.

PS: This post is written mainly to support a gal that I know. I'm not sure if she still knows me, though. :) She's kinda having a rough time now because of a post like this.

morning post

Yesterday was hell. Well, at least I was having about an hour and a half superbly great time with drinking coffee .. umm .. caramel chocolate with a British guy. But apart from that, was hell. Horrible.

I learned my lesson, though. Sometimes, it is a good idea to spend the whole night wide awake. But perhaps it's not a good idea to spend it by digesting one full season of Sex and the City, because in the morning you will get Carrie-d away. What a sad pun.

It's also not a good idea to not spending the next day in a kinda hazy state because you're so sleepy, and then not eating for the whole day. During the day, I only had: a bite (bite!) of apple pie. Some glass of water. Of course, I can't live without water. A long-glass of hot Chocolate Caramel. A cracker. A bit of chocolate bread.

It left me with a spinning head at around 8 pm. So I arrived home two hours later by screaming, "You know that I didn't sleep last night, right? And guess what? I didn't eat at all during the day."

So there was I 20% awaken, 120% hungry, 90% tired, 22 pm in the night.

I think I wanted to get sick yesterday. It's subconsciously in my head when I need attention. I knoooww it's the most uncool thing to do. And I won't do it again. EVER! Now I know what's going on with the survivors.

Anyway, guys and girls, kick some ass in China!

sex and the city and i

Current books read: High Fidelity by Nick Hornby which had to wait for some days because of other activities - watched dvd: Sex and the City, season 6, disc 1-2-3-4-5

After I figured out that lots of people I mean LOTS of people in my circle are working overtime and some must stay until the wee hours this week, last night I suddenly had the mood to can not sleep. And it was successful. So successful so that I had to turn on the TV for company (and of course there's nothing there), and jam some DVDs into their players.

So I caught up with Carrie Bradshaw's Love Story a.k.a. Sex and the City. Season 6. The whole season. In one night. Guess how that made me feel now. Right..

But I kept thinking. In this era, where religion can be chosen from Hinduism to Hedonist, from Scientology to Oprah to Jedi-ism, when will Sex and the City will also be considered as one?

Oh God, no. I'm not having a Carrie Bradshaw moment here. Posing a question and then post it in their journal. :) No, no. Not me.

But don't you think it made sense? My sister already said to me one time, "I'm trying to pull a Carrie Bradshaw today. Do I succeed?" She's talking about the fashion. It must have been heard somewhere, "Well, Carrie said that ... " or "What would Carrie do?". Hmm..

But anyway. Sex and the City. Yes. I still can't project when what is being talked in that series can be applied in Indonesia. Or has it been?

For a start, dating game in Indonesia is being played on a completely different field. The procedure will be foreign, and what is seen in movies will seem .. bland, for me. Yes, bland, not blatant. And then it doesn't include sex. I know there's a lot of damn's because of that. And it includes a lot of Saturday nights. Which is tiring and boxing. And guess what, sometimes, it includes a lot of parents. WTF??!

So, Sex and the City, in Indonesia? Not in a million years. Just kidding. Maybe in a hundred. Well at least when I'm aware of Indonesian dating games. In the meantime, I have to catch up with Indonesia.

Gosh getting really drowzy now. Perhaps I should start the date with my pillow.

Cheers!

honestly, i don't know which i'm rooting for

Dirk is for France. Andreas is for Italy. Jürgen is for France. Geget is for Italy. Hammo is for France. Barney is for Italy. Harlie is for France. Philip is for Italy. (I guess) Rama is for France. Tanti is for Italy.

I was for Italy last Wednesday. I was for France later last Wednesday. I was for Italy Thursday. I was for France yesterday. Now I don't know which team I am for.

May the best team win, and let's take a sip of that drink to finish it.

Prost!

Update: Ew! What's up with Zidane?? I'm so for Italy.

Update (2): Err.. so congratz Andreas, Geget, Barney, Philip, and Tanti. :)

Update (3): Kottke has an interesting entry on this.

Update (4): Mazeratti denies, lip readers/translators can not be relied on.

i'd like to have a hair in my conversation, please

Current books read: High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. Gosh! It's amazing.. - expected TV program: Wimbledon Gentlemen's final

I have a feeling that people were born along with the hair that their hate. Hair is like your older sister, I think. You were born with it. You can change it if you don't like it. You like it shortly after you change it, but it won't stay long, and you know that you stuck with it for the rest of your life.

Last night on the ride, I caught a reflection of myself in Jürgen's car. And I blurbed out "Ich will Welle auf mein Haar..". Translations: I want curls on my hair. And he was like, "Then you can have mine, and I'll take yours." And I was like, "Seriously?!" Because I kinda like his hair. "Yeah! Because I really wanna have a straight black hair like yours. My hair is so shitty." And so on.

Mind you, this is the second time that I exchanged conversation like this with a friend. Some 6 or 7 or so years ago, I had a secret admiration to my housemate's hair. But I never tell. And then he once went to a barbershop and had a cut similar to mine. And I told myself, "See, that's the hair I'd like to have. Not this ugly one."

We were having dinner and the conversation went more or less like this.

Me: Hey, great new hair.
Not me: Yeah. Cut it this afternoon. Not quite the model I wanted though.
Me: Who're you kidding? It's great, regardless.
Not me: I don't like it. I actually trying to cut it like yours though. But I think our hair type is different, and I so want to have a hair like you.
Me: *speechless*

It's the way it is.

On that note, I won't miss this for the world. Let me repeat. FOR THE WORLD.

Have a nice sluggish weekend.

obsession, n. see Dreamgirls

Current books read: High Fidelity by Nick Hornby. Eventhough I'm not a music kinda person, love it, love it, LOVE IT!! - dvd watched: The Awful Truth, Hable con Ella

It's gotta be obsession, right. I am obsessed, right? I mean how else can you explain this behaviour.

My firefox opens three sites everytime I load it. Bloglines, gmail, and Wikipedia, english edition. And while waiting them open I keep pressing control+T, that's keyboard shortcut to open a new tab, and then type youtube.com and hit enter. After a while I type dream, hit down arrow, hit tab, and then hit spacebar, making sure that I wouldn't miss any Dreamgirls' latest trailer. If any.

What's that? Yeah I can hear you clearly. Obsessed, right? Problem is, it's still around 6 and a half months to go. Mensch.

Anyway, on the other side of the world, Wimbledon almost has its Traumfinale for the ladies' singles. I still hope that top 2 seeded players in Gentlemen's singles will reach the final. It will be very interesting to see the match.

On another side of the world, I still don't know if I'm gonna watch both last two World Cup matches. OK, if there is nothing to do, I'll watch. :)

Anyway, do you know what is better than gathering with some tens of thousands football fan and watching the game? It is scouring the city trying not to watch the game. We (almost) did it! And it's (almost) possible. And it's also (almost) so much fun. And of course I (almost) want to do it again.

Oh, by the way, the book that I am currently reading is awesome. AWESOME. I think it is more or less like Almost Famous the movie, but much better.

Sigh.. Have a nice weekend. I will. Tomorrow there's a birthday celebration, Saturday and Sunday there will be finals here and there.

melancholy on steroids

Current books read: High Fidelity by Nick Hornby

Judged by three (once) best friends of mine basing their judgment on Personality Plus by Florence Littauer, I came out as a sanguine-melancholic lad. I'd like to leave the sanguine side at home for today, and tag along the melancholic for the rest of the day.

I think people should know when to stop. They sometimes should just stop dreaming, reaching, doing stuff that is making them less preferable, or simply the stuff that they don't like or even like. I should stop. I should stop doing some things. Things which are kinda stupid and will eat me out for instance.

For a start. I should stop mumbling when talking to other people. I should say things clearly everytime I think of something and talking like I was in an interview. Or the days I had my presentations. Or the day I would win the Oscar. Gosh. It's impossible to win an Oscar if I kept mumbling. Imagine how the captions on websites will look like. "I think it's a great honor to [inaudible for 45 seconds]". Duh?

The reason for mumbling is that I care too much to what other people think about the things that I said. I should stop that. I should stop negotiating my own brain to think the best policy when it comes to communicating with people. Last night during a bus ride, there was a loaded guy who asked a cute girl he doesn't know, whether she watches football. The girl answered with a simple, "Absolutely not. I don't care about football even just a pint of it." And they ended up with having a good time on the bus with each other. And by time, I mean conversation and keep your dirty thoughts in the bottom drawer of the bathroom closet, please.

If she were me, or if I were her, I would have negotiated myself to answer the question that would make me look interested in the conversation. It may be kinda fake. But I just want the person to like me. Typical sanguine. I should stop doing that as well. Correction. I have stopped doing that. Now one of the concrete things to do is telling what I thought inside.

I should stop trying and give up talking in British accent. It's making me tired. Not tired of talking in such a way, but tired of repeating what I said. It's because (a) people are not so familiar with British accent, or (b) my accent sucks. I mean my pseudo-accent. I'm leaning towards b, though. But it's kinda difficult to drop. I like talking in British accent. I like the challenge to not speaking in American accent eventhough it is deadly difficult. I can talk all night saying "Monica daalin.." and so on. But I would NEVER EVER talk English in Indonesian accent. EVER.

I should also stop thinking that I am special. Come to think of it, I know for a fact that everyone is special. Each person is special in their own way. If the whole world is made up of special people, doesn't that mean that we are all ordinary?

And finally, I think I should stop writing post-emotional-breakdown, or private and subjective, or non-sensible entries like this. That means

finale .. o-o .. finale .. o-o-o-o ..

Current books read: Shopaholic and Sister by Sophie Kinsella. Not so good - expected TV program: Wimbledon matches - watched dvd: The Awful Truth season 2

Honestly, I kinda saw it coming. I mean, come on .. there were no fighting spirits in their (English and Brazil) last matches. English got lucky twice, and Brazil played all matches far below expectation.

Do I want France and Portugal to advance? Hell no. I hate France and cocky C. Ronaldo. Gosh. But come to think of it, this will turn out to be a great final after all. So one of two of this season's villains will advance, and (hopefully) will face Germany in the final.

And let's just support what's left wholeheartedly so that the good guys win the battle.

Eventhough a source close to mine (not to the guys) said that Germany 11 is not the most humble team there is either. Heheheh..

what a great weekend!

This weekend just couldn't get any better than this!


Huahahhahahahahaaaa...!!

I can still remember how I and some people around me tried to hold things up when the commentator said, "This is the first time in this competition that the boys are behind their opponent.."

I couldn't hear what the commentator said after Klose even things up.

When Lehmann saved the fourth 11 meter shot, I will always remember that emotion.

Lehmann is Le Man.. oh what a bad pun to write since I don't know how to write or read French.

Have a nice weekend, boys and girls..