Only When They Need Me

Just a few days ago while I was at some weekly organization just minding my own business, a woman I know of came up to me to say hi. In any ordinary circumstance I would just be at ease and smile back politely.

Trouble was, although I sort of knew who she was, it had been years since we last greeted one another. Believe me when I tell you that even though I tried to say hi to her each time I bumped into her at the weekly meet, all I got was a dumbfounded stare in return. I doubt she even knew who I was, let alone my name.

But what transpired that day was somewhat different, almost surreal. She came up, mentioned my name and proceeded to inquire regarding my well-being and how work was. She made a big, glaring mistake :-

People who claim to know me well DO NOT ask me questions about the nature of my work, the location of my current office and most certainly what college I graduated from. Not especially since I've been with my present company for the past half a year and college graduation is old story to my ears.

So I grew curious and pondered silently, wondering what the hell she was actually after. People you are not closely associated with don't just suddenly come up to you for no apparent reason. Hell no. Life has taught me that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Everything has an agenda lurking behind it. Sensing something amiss, I decided to play along, feigning interest and giving her the most convincing smile I could offer while keeping my guard on DEFCON 1. I kept a straight face throughout the whole ordeal without my thoughts ever betraying my facial expressions.

After answering that I now specialized as a web designer for the umpteenth time, the real talks got underway. According to her, she was very "happy" to see me again (sure, everyone's "happy" when they want me for something) and that a particular branch in our organization badly needed volunteers, and how she would appreciate it if I could make good use of myself there, probably handing me an Interceptor body armor vest and expecting me to entertain their offsprings by being live ballistic target practice.

That coming from a lady who just walks past me week after week without even acknowledging me as her son's friend. One who can stand a few inches away from me yet never saying hi, and is now talking to me as though we've just had our last memorable conversation as good friends last Wednesday over at her house for family dinner. But the truth is sorely lacking and far from it. And now here she is, cooking up some unconvincing sob story just to enlist me in. But the Force is only persuasive to weak minds. The burning question was just how she could instantaneously remember my name like cheesecake that quickly. There had to be a mole somewhere.

I glanced over to my friend standing nearby, conducting paper material business from the makeshift booth. He was quite acquainted with this lady, I was sure about that, and the mysterious pieces to this whole fracas fell in their respective places straight away. He must've mentioned my name while talking to her a little while ago, and when I walked down that dusty tarred road, she hurriedly made her way towards me, and with my name temporarily imprinted in her brain, tried to chat me up, with "insincerity" written all over her face.

Come on, you can do better than that. What a douchebag, seriously.

I told her as honestly as I could that I would really look into her proposal, but made it clear that I strictly do not negotiate with terrorists. That is my policy. Just kidding. Rather, I told her as-a-matter-of-fact that there would be no promises whether or not I would be available, since now I'm pretty much tied down with college and the assignments that come with it plus projects from work.

Which kinda brings me into the next scenario that I would like to emphasize on: Please do not ask me to do your website. Or any graphical/multimedia art for that matter.

It's not that I'm trying to be cold here or something. No, I'm fine really if you want to be friends with me and ask me out for tea. But sometimes you just have to know when and where to draw the line between work and play. It's a bit tiring to see history forever repeating itself once more - someone suggests a gung-ho, bombastic idea for "some project", and they insist on throwing in a hell lot of irrelevant stuff like videos, mp3 songlists and eye-candy Flash animations in it. The reason? Just to impress the crowd. But they never kind of figure out the fact that someone, not them, is going to have to suffer for all those cheap talks and ideas.

That person is yours truly. And judging by how things go, the formula and storyline is alway going to be the same - In the beginning, things are fine. Promises are made and smiles are aplenty. To top it all off, they immediately promise you a rag-tag team of artists and web gurus to assist you in the project. Soon, the figure drops from ten individuals to only two, with those quitting citing tiredness, busyness and having to take care of the occasional sick cat at home.

Unsurprisingly, not long after you'll be the only one left and will be forced to put on a trick-and-pony show all by yourself. Fine. So you arrange for an emergency meeting to gather ideas in order to spearhead this project. At the end of the day, no one turns up.

So you curse and scream but you still need to rush the deadline by the end of the month or there's gonna be hell to pay and tons of lecturing sessions to attend. One side of your brain struggles to finish the promotional website while the other side tries to complete the animation job at hand.

I'm pretty much sure even the process of dying wasn't this complicated and stressful.

There are a few lessons to be learned here from the above fictional and mock scenario :-

01: ALWAYS DO THE DIRTY JOB YOURSELF
I just can't seem to stress this enough. When you have an idea, first consider if it is feasible and practical. No one wants to haul his or her ass doing something they didn't vote for in the first place. You suggest it, you do it.

02: KISS - KEEP IT SIMPLE, STUPID!
I honestly don't have all the time in the world to listen and act according to everyone's whims and fancies. That includes what you feel and think has got to be in the presentation. I don't get paid big bucks for your information to do this. Nor do I relish doing this because "I love to do it". No I don't. It's a waste of my time off from work. At least someone pays me at work, no matter how tough the scenario is.

03: SWEET WORDS DO NOT WORK ANYMORE
No amount of persuasion is gonna sway me from this. No. Too many times I've been fooled into doing something for free, and in the end all I get is more work to do because they somehow develop this mentality that I'm the only remaining designer guy alive on earth and thus have grown too attached to it. I still don't understand why the rest can just decline so easily and get off scot-free.

04: "BROTHERHOOD" EXISTS FOR A REASON
One of the meanest thing that a person can do to another is to drop all sense of brotherhood and leave the other to drown in the muck. It sucks, and just shows how selfish the former can be. My advice: go grab yourself a copy of a pirated war movie DVD (any war will do) and learn the lessons of teamwork and the brotherhood of war.

05: KNOW WHEN TO DRAW THE LINE
My lecturer taught me a phrase that still sticks in my mind til this day - do not volunteer for someone else. Somewhat related to Lesson #01, but on a much more general term. This also includes knowing when to stop offering ideas for animation sequences that are not feasible and just highly impossible to create on a standard desktop PC, running semi-professional software. Please do not volunteer, force and layout the groundwork requirements for something that you won't probably even lend a hand to complete.

EPILOGUE
I politely declined for the moment, yet I was careful to arrange my words. To put it simply; I won't really have time to indulge in this kind of mumbo-jumbo anymore. I said my goodbye and promptly left, wondering if my name would disappear from her mind as quickly as she'd memorized it, and have things going back to the point where she'll not "know" who I am anymore. Life can be so strange.

The Mystery Of Vertical-Scrolling Games

I'm sure many of you born during the 80s have fond memories of playing the Micro Genius home entertainment system - one of the earliest home-based console systems. The games are usually in catridge format and some boast of games up to 1001 in a single package.

One of the games I've spent quite a lot of time in are the vertical-scrolling ones. And over the years of playing them, I noticed something strange and repetitive about these kind of games, like as though they have a strange conspiring connection amongst them :-


01: There's always some badass megalomaniac bent on ruling the world.
Yep, and he has an almost endless supply of fighter jet pilots, tank battalions and turret gunners to do his evil bidding. His headquarters is nothing short of impressive and laden full of powerful guns. But no matter how great there's bound to be a hero who will manage to crack the code and destroy his lair.

02: There are a lot of suicidal evil pilots and tank crew who don't mind shooting at people they don't know.
Indeed. They make up the bulk of the cannon fodder that the hero (in this case it's you) will encounter along the journey. These nameless, mindless henchmen who spend years training to fly planes and do not hesitate to shoot at heroes that are destined to win over them. They usually comprise of useless individuals who can't even shoot straight. All these poor sods get in appreciation for their service with the villain boss is a lousy, cheapskate plane that explodes instantly by a single shot to it, guaranteeing no chance of survival.

03: You never run out of missiles or ammunition
Good news heroes and enemy pilots alike - you are all blessed with a never-ending supply of rockets and tracer magazines to shoot the heck out of one another. Your guns will never overheat from the constant firing, and missiles just magically appear on your wingtips after a few seconds, ready to lock on the next target.

04: There's always an enemy plane full of power-ups to aid you
Nothing can be dumber than a evil megalomaniac who approves of power-up plane blueprints. No bad guy in his right mind would ever so generously provide assistance to the hero in the form of fighter jet arsenal add-ons so that he can pit the big boss' downfall. Surely even the enemy pilot of the power-up plane would see the rationalé of this whole dumbass operation as illustrated below :-

Enemy Pilot: But boss, why are you even sending me out in a plane full of powerful weaponry meant to be picked up by the hero after he destroys my jet and kills me?

Evil Boss: I don't care, just go! Go I tell you!

Enemy Pilot: You idiot! No wonder we'll never win this game for eternity! It's because of idiots like you who keep on supplying heroes with powerful guns that we keep on losing the war!

05: Every pilot flies at the same altitude
Isn't it amazing that planes, meant to fight third-dimension wars by harnessing the advantages of altitude, can all just fly on a fixed agreed height, both hero and enemy jets. This is the dumbest thing since having the bad boss approving of planes carrying power-ups to assist the hero in his quest. Adding to the insult is just how even tanks on the ground can manage to shoot planes in the air.

06: The government does not care for you
Curiously enough you never seem to start missions with fully powerful planes, but instead have to slowly gather power-ups via the suicidal enemy pilots. This would seem to make me think that the government does not actually care enough for my welfare to provide me with enough firepower and ensure my own survival as I take on the boss' henchmen.

07: Everyone's shots looks exactly the same
The ubiquitous, round-shaped orange pellet that travels with fairly fast speed across the screen is both amusing and deadly. Amusing because it defines the defacto trademark of all vertical-scrolling games, and deadly because somehow or the other the enemy seems to always have a better and faster firing rate compared to you.

08: You are reincarnated twice per token
Strange, yes. Getting killed is often a tidy process in vertical-scrolling games with little or no debris from destroyed vehicles. Everybody just kind of vaporises into thin air, and no one mourns for dead buddies. If you get killed, an exact clone of you will arrive at the scene in less than three seconds after your original self has just died, and you are given five seconds' worth of indestructability period. Nevermind that the whole journey from the plane carrier situated somewhere in the vast Pacific ocean to Alaska takes some time. Your replacement duplicate will always be on time.

09: You never have to go for toilet breaks
Fighting this war must be taking a strain on every pilot, yet you do not have to stop to piss, shit, rest, sleep, or even eat. You just fly, and fly, and knock enemy planes out of the sky, and fly some more while awaiting the boss for that particular scenario. It's a sick routine that would make even the sanest pilot mad.

10: The background music never goes away
While you're busy fighting, there is always an irritating soundtrack playing in the background in the sky, presumably to boost your yamato damaishii. Someone, or a few musicians high up in the clouds somewhere actually have the decency to follow you around for every stage, complete with bass guitars, drums and electronic keyboards and mash up electronica music that repeats over and over til it reaches a sickening crescendo.

11: The boss blinks when hit
It must be me, or it's a cool new kind of technology. But I seriously cannot comprehend just why level bosses are all equipped with vehicles that actually blink when your shots find its mark. What exactly is the secret behind this? And to make things even stranger you (as the hero) can get time off after the destruction of the level boss while someone meticulously calculates your medals and kill ratio and finally gives you a bonus. During that process, no enemy is cruel enough to take precise aims at your jet to destroy you.

12: There is always a sub-mini boss
A prevalent disease amongst some vertical-scrolling games. You finally destroy the level's boss, only to find out that a smaller plane is hidden within the big plane that you've just obliterated. It will subsequently transform into a robot and spray even more orange pellets at you. You, on the other hand, can never get the luxury of having a cool transforming plane, and your vehicle seems inferior compared to what the level bosses are using to kill you.

13: The most you can get is a partner
Not more than that, although the world can offer more than just two pilots fighting for freedom. I mean, if you send all the good guys at once ala Independence Day, the war can be over soon am I not correct? But nooo, the government has to send just two against two million. I really suspect by now the government does not care whether I return back alive or die fighting.

14: You still have time for souvenirs and medals
The nice part of this war is that you can destroy houses, buildings, and other public amenities to reveal medals and cash items to pick up for points. Some of the medals are even as big as the plane that you are piloting. Trouble is, how is it even possible to acquire them by just "flying over" the items? Next tell me how in the world can a small plane actually carry thousands of medals in its cargo bay without the slightest hint of getting bogged down?

15: You win in the end as usual
It will be conveniently revealed to you in the form of a message outside your cockpit - Final Level. This is to tell you that you've struggled hard through the entire journey, and that you're coming close to the end. You are brainwashed to believe that you will emerge victorious, even though the fact is that you're now Clone No.10, with the previous ones having died in fiery plane dogfights. And in the end, you do win the war, but at a price of a few more tokens if you are a lousy pilot. The boss will be destroyed along with the remmants of his army, and the world will be a safe place once again. Until the next token slides in, that is...


I admit that I still do occasionally play re-runs of these games. Just for old times' sake, and to get a kick out of laughing at the illogical things I've just presented out. The 80s were indeed a golden age for video games.

Thirty Minutes Over KL

It was a hot day indeed. Taking shelter beneath the LRT station's roof might have shielded me from the sun's death rays, but not quite completely immune from the hot air that swirled around the enclosure; choking, suffocating all of us into a slow and painful death.

It was five-thirty, and rush hour was just beginning. As usual the train arrived after a few minutes' worth of waiting. To pass the time, one must either stare blankly at the snarling traffic down below or attempt to read something simply because the boredom will drive any sane person off the edge.

The doors of the train opened, and I stepped in along with thousands of other mindless drones, the million-mile stare the only common trait we shared. Finding an empty seat was a matter of pure luck and just how much you were willing to spill the other fellow's guts in order to attain that precious place to rest your ass. I was lucky enough to find one without having to resort to kiling anyone this time around.

Suddenly, my nose picked up a strange smell. It wasn't dog poo nor having a dead rat stuck to the soles of your shoes, but something more alarming. It was a cross between rotten eggs and Jay Chou (yes the smell was that bad).

Frantically my eyes started scanning the immediate perimeter of the train, expecting a mass stampede soon ala Resident Evil when the scientists discover the deadly T-Virus present in the air and merrily turning humans into zombies. It could only be me you know, detecting this foul odor in the air. The fact that the train's air-conditioner disperses the terrific stench evenly only makes things worse.

Sure enough, the two Malay ladies sitted across me started to shield their noses with their fingers. Somehow the way one of them momentarily cupped her whole palm over her nose reminded me of a fighter pilot jet caught 50,000 feet above sea level with no ammunition and fuel left. Maybe it's only me.

The source was eventually traced back to a tall, lanky fellow just right beside me! I kinda solved the foul (no pun intended) mystery and it terrified me to know he was only probably five inches to my right. He wasn't exactly a sloppy individual; in fact he was dressed so sartly in his work attire that if you put a clothes peg over your nose he would just be any other normal man. Tall, dark, handsome, and stinks to high hell. And to think that I forgot to lug along my Desert Storm-era gas mask. Of all the days, I tell myself.

He continued to be the source of our torment and misery as the train went past KL city and he continued to waft out poison fumes. A number of them originally standing a few feet away from him started to move to the adjacent carriage, all the while staring daggers at him. I stayed put, shocked and paralysed from the odor enveloping me. Pudu station. Great, maybe he'll leave by the next one or two stops, I tell myself. More people moved away from ground zero. It's amazing that everyone held on to their lunches so well.

Cheras station. Still he did not budge even a bit. Those nearest to him have already turned green from severe lack of fresh oxygen. Slowly and painfully I turned to see if he was actually decomposing. Perhaps that might explain that smell. One girl threw up. I think she had scrambled eggs for lunch, or maybe that's part of her digestive system heaved up along with the puke. I don't know.

Bandar Tun Razak. Mr. Smell-O was still firmly in his seat, probably smirking to himself at the sight of the body count rising. I managed not to pass out by regulating my breathing pattern and making full use of my nostril hair, acting as a filter in those desperate moments. I thought of writing a final letter to tell my mum and dad how much I love them.

A guy about three feet away from me developed boils all over his face due to the long exposure to the acrid chemically-charged air. It was undeniably horrible as those pus-filled abscesses blew up in clusters, spilling onto the floor. I think he died shortly later. Poor bastard.

And at the Sg. Besi terminal, when nearly 90% of the whole train's population was near-dead, he finally got up and left, leaving a trail of death and destruction along the way down the escalator as more innocent civillians just dropped dead like flies. I passed out shortly after.

That was the second time I was so close to cashing in my chips, the first time being at Pangkor. I hope not to meet that evil-smelling guy again as long as I live. God knows how many of my brain cells have died in that traumatic incident. Note to self: remember to carry gas mask always, come rain or shine. Add body deodorant to first-aid kit for spraying all future smelly suckers til they reek of something unlike Jay Chou anymore.

Failing which, as a last desperate measure, please insert claymore into offending individual's available orifice and detonate it. Death should be instantaneous.

TRIVIA
01: The title is a play on the movie (and book of the same name) Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo.

Happy Birthday JDream!

Indeed, happy birthday. I've made the 24th milestone today, very proud of myself and extremely blessed to have an armada of caring friends by my side. These are the only sentimental sentences I'd like to say in case someone comes up to me and punches me for being too overly-melodramatic.

So how was it this time around?

Marvellous, lovely. Just some of the words used to describe the BBQ event held at Shearn's house.

It was pretty much a private and invitations-only affair. Not demanded by me, of course but by the organizer of this whole merry memorable fracas. So, well you can't totally blame me for this moolah of not being invited. Seriously.

Halfway through the event, after we all decided to give the BBQ-roasting affair a rest and wolf down the few tonnes of food we'd just burnt, a tragic accident happened. One of our friends, a girl, had her left toe almost severed when one of the guys got so piss drunk he (culprit will not be named to keep you guys in suspense) took the bread knife and started to hack at her feet. For what reasons we will never be sure. Blood sprayed like the Niagara Falls as we tried to shove in Curlex to stop the bleeding.

See picture below for a grisly detail look at her bloody feet :-

Saturday, Bloody Saturday indeed. We washed her feet and patched her up as best as we could while waiting for the Medivac chopper to arrive. Yep, those Vietnam war-era ones with a crew chief manning the miniguns on the right side opening.

The last thing we did before going off was to go for a dip in the pool to wash the blood off ourselves. Midnight dips are pretty nice especially if you've just been through hellish BBQ infernos.

Thus and so was what exactly happened yesterday. Word for word. Blood for blood.

So what else is in conjunction with my birthday? Well for starters back in 1942 this marks the beginning of the Battle of Guadalcanal. Highly important campaign, this. Makes me proud. Go get 'em Marines!

Who shares the same birthday as I do? Let's see - it's both David Duchovny of the X-Files fame and also Charlize Theron, famous for her role in Monster. Makes me proud as well.

It's been a great fiesta that night. Indeed.