Monday, April 16, 2007

The Trashing - No pun intended

Last Wednesday, my wife and I went to a small Establishment called O’Maolidhia’s Bar (it’s a hard word to pronounce, I know) to watch the United v Roma match. We’re not Irish but that’s the only place we could watch a soccer game. Adelaide is a predominantly cricket town and the only people here who watch soccer are either British or Asians. My wife is half-Chinese half Aussie so I guess that explains why’d she bother to join me all the way to the O Bar.

The pre-game atmosphere was really tense. Manchester United got its arse kicked on the first leg of the match. To make things worse, Gary Neville, Paul Scholes and Louis Saha missed the second match. There was a lot of expectation but given the latest match stats, it seemed kind of hard for united to win the match. To ease up the tension, we ordered some food at the bar: smoked ham, French fries, boiled eggs, Yorkie chocolate bar and two extra large Guiness. Not the ideal meal per any nutritionist standard, but who cares about idealism when two European football titans are about to clash?

Our pre-game admonition was proven wrong as United began to bombard the Roman defense. First goal seemed like a strike of luck, but after goal no.3 we knew that we were about to see some bloodbath…a story that we will pass on to our children and grandchildren.

The O’Maolidhia’s crowd was very lively and we had the chants just like what we might expect to listen at the Trafford’s End. One of my favorite chant goes like this (sing the words to the tunes of Glory, glory hallelujah)

Totti, Totti, what a helluva way to die
Totti, Totti, what a helluva way to die
Totti, Totti, what a helluva way to die
And he ain’t gonna score no more…

I definitely sung this song for a million times that night.

At the end of the match my wife was so drunk (as she made a promise to grab a pint after each goal - united scored 7 goals that night), I had to carry her on my shoulders and brought her to the taxi. Driving was out of the question. She was muttering gibberish all the way home and by the time we got home, the first I did is I tucked her to bed right away.

But just as I was about to go to bed myself, I heard this sound of rumble from her belly. Like the thunder in a tornado cloud that says YOU ARE TOTALLY FUCKED. Two seconds later she sprayed a shower of vomit four feet across the bed and suddenly there were bits of undigested Yorkie Bar all over the sheets.

The funny thing is that instead of getting that nauseous feeling when you see pukes, my mind went directly into the Field Manual of Happy Marriage. I did a mental search on the issue of throwing up in bed, but by the Testicles of Hercules, I had no such luck. The book dedicated an entire chapter to sexual dysfunction, child rearing and filling your tax return but it didn’t have anything to say about vomits.

I have this crazy ass theory that no matter how homophobic or misogynic a pirate can be, there’s always a combat medic inside of him waiting to come up. And did my crazy theory come to life that night. Instead of throwing tantrum (like I used to do whenever my nieces did it), I calmly pull her out of the “crime scene”, sat her on the nearby couch, and changed her out of her soiled clothes. Once I got it done, I handed her a bottle of water. I then replaced the soiled sheets with a new one and carried her back to the now-tidy bed.

I got this whole process done in less than 5 minutes.

What happened next is I just sat down next to her, expecting to see a second wave of puke attack. But times went on and nothing happened so I began to recall my rather sensational feat of arms. To tell you the truth, it was all instinctive.

About five minutes after the lull, I decided to get some sleep but as I was about to dim the lights, my wife reached up her fingers, tapped me in the shoulder and said, "thank ee, brohm." She looked so weak and tired and cranky she said it with a quivering, heartbreaking tone. And then then she fell asleep with such a comfortable sigh as if she knew that no matter what happened, a self-proclaimed pirate like me would take a good care of her.

HOLY SHIT, DO I EVER LOSE FAITH IN MARRIAGE.

Posted by Continuum at 1:25 PM | | Comments

Tuesday, February 27, 2007

Even Pirates have their own low-points

I’ll have to make a confession here. 2003 was really a shitty year for me. It all started when I decided to save this girl’s ass from my close friends who were trying to cast a pelet spell on her. It was a heroic act from my perspective but from that of my friends’, it was high treason. In less than two hours since they figured who backstabbed them, I got myself degraded from THE pious Methodist into public enemy #1.

I took the initial brunt quite easily. I was born and raised a Methodist. I know what it's like to hang out with nasty people. But I was helpless in the long run. The class began to question my loyalty (not that I ever swore one). The crowd would disperse everytime I entered the classroom. I was the last pick in the draft. What's worse is that this girl didn't even bother to talk to me.

Then there was this physics teacher called Ramzah Ram. Everytime he entered the class, we'd get a pop quiz about GLBB or Hukum Newton. Fuck Newton! I don't care about a guy who's already been dead for more than 300 years, no matter how smart he was. I don't care about the acceleration and the mechanics of a speeding car. I want a speeding car to run over physics teachers. Anyway, the pop quiz became so frequent that eventually it just lost the surprise element. Now physics wouldn't be so bad had I have a friend to help me out. But as I said earlier, I was now the outcast.

Have I told y'all about AFI? I can tell at least 1000 wrongness about this show but my dad was all into this North Sumatran pride thing that instead of watching football, I had to spend most of my Saturady nights listening to *THAT* Feri asshole. Not that watching football would make my life easier. My favorite team, Manchester United, was having a losing streak back then. United had spent millions of hard cash at the transfer market but for what? Abso-fucking-lutely nothing. They should have just spent that money on building an ass-kicking machine so the members of the team could stand in line to get their asses kicked. It would have done the same thing as letting them get their asses kicked against another team.

But the nastiest thing about the ordeal is that I was single. Now, every once and awhile some dipshits would appear on TV and say how cool it is to be single and enjoying life and all that crap. LIE. I was single for 17 years and there's nothing cute about it. If you consider sitting at the far end of KFc, eating combo 1 all by yourself is cool....maybe...

So yeah, as I said the word " shitty" can't even begin to describe my life back in 2003.
About 3000 kilometers from where I lived, there existed a girl by the name Meeka Elizabeth. I'm not at liberty to tell you how life was treating her at that point of time, but here's a picture that might help.




















We didn't know each other back then. I didn't know that she even existed. Neither did she have the slightest clue about me. Back then my life revolved around depression. Her life was all about candles and Hello Kitty flip-flops. I had a Nokia 3210. She had braces. My biggest dream was to get into H.I UGM. Her biggest dream was...I don't know. But I'm sure I wasn't part of it.

I'm always intrigued by this idea. Two human beings who were both unaware of each other's existence, not knowing that someday in a most bizarre twist of fate would be united in the most unlikely place.

Anyway, back to my story. Isn't it amazing to see how much you can accomplish in 4 years. At the begining of 2004, I began to reclaimed my grounds (thanks to those free Kartu As free SMS). I became the first owner of AGT in the whole island. In 2005, I succesfully got out of that cursed walls of Highschool. And not only did I graduate with flying grades but I also literally pissed at the principal's office (as a final fuck-you gesture). And the coolest part about my graduation is that I was the only one who got out with a Purple Heart. If you look at my yearbook, I'm the only person who gets to wear an eye patch. And that eye patch was fairly earned in combat. I was destined to be a pirate.

And what an ass-kicking pirate have I become. Here's badass picture of myself being a pirate.






















As for that petite girl in the picture above, she finally evolved into this striking beauty.





















You may be thinking, what has become of my friends. Well, one of them is still cleaning up (and probably losing his hard-fought high school diploma as well) after that massive Batavian flood some weeks ago. The other guy who thought I was a traitor is now getting F's at med.school. I wouldn't be too surprised if ten years from now he gets his ass indicted for malpractice.

As for that ungrateful girl whose ass I saved from the fiery cauldron of hell...well, I haven't heard/spoken to her for years. But a friend once told me that she's now taking afternoon classes at law school and is trying to crash diet. Which is a useless activity to undertake, if you ask me...since everyone knows that law school graduates will turn into fat, disgusting slobs anyway.

So kids, my digression notwithstanding, you know what's the moral of this story -- if there is one? When life becomes a serial of shitty events, don't become a pussy and run away. Instead, look at him in the face, raise you middle finger and say, "FUCK YOU, BITCH!!!" And say that out loud. You'll find yourselves at ease in no time.

As much as I hate to end a post with a cliche but I have to say this: EVERY CLOUD REALLY HAS ITS SILVER LINING. Seriously. No matter how shitty life is, just hang tough for a while because eventually you'll bump into a beautiful, Southern Belle. Hell...at least it works that way for me.

Posted by Continuum at 9:36 AM | | Comments

Monday, January 15, 2007

An Explanation

I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I figure the only way to eradicate stupidity from this country is by replacing Planned Parenthood with vasectomy. After all that’s been said and done by this generation, we really can’t afford to have another generation of morons. Indonesia is too great of a country to be run by a breed of idiots.

The other night I received a question from a friend in response to my eulogy at Prince Charming’s funeral. He asked me if Prince Charming was really dead. At first I didn’t bother to answer the question because I figured it was some kind of joke.

But earlier this morning another friend asked me if my middle name was really Constable. And for the first time it occurred to me that there were so many people out there who took my words on their literal meaning.

So to avoid further inquiries (and to vent my anger), I’m going to take this opportunity to explain myself. Right now I should be completing my 50-page paperwork on Intermediate Sonar Course, but I don’t want to take risk. I simply can’t sit here while there are so many stupid people out there.

Here’s the thing about the eulogy. It’s a metaphor. That’s my subtle way of saying that my glorious kicking ass-taking names days are now over and I’m scared shitless of leaving them behind but as much as I dread it, at the end I will have to accept it because being mortal man myself, I’m subject to the power of Times.

I could’ve used those words above but I didn’t. I love subtlety and you should’ve been wise enough to get my glaring point.

But you didn’t.

Which proves my initial theory that you, Sir, are a moron and are qualified to receive a vasectomy.

Anyway, this nasty ordeal was triggered by a random visit to a bookstore. Normally when I go to a bookstore, my feet would instinctively lead me to the comic book or console game section. Or when the opportunity arises, to the adult magazine section.

But last week, my feet decided to do something highly unconventional. They lead me to the maternity section. I honest to God didn’t plan anything about it, but suddenly I found myself surrounded by books, which had pictures of breastfeeding mothers on them.

The scariest part of the ordeal was that I actually read those books. I even went to the point of taking notes of things that I thought would be crucial for a pregnant mom. The whole time I thinking, “I wonder if she knows about these stuff?”

Make no mistake about it. It’s not like I suddenly dread the whole thing. In fact I feel really honored to know that someone actually looks beyond my monstrous outward appearance and my dirty mouth and see my inner virtue (whatever they are). If you are raised on a Christian family, you’ll know how much of an honor it is to be dubbed a godparent. I think that’s the highest form of trust you can ever endow to another person.

But as much as I feel honored, I can’t hide the fact that in a way, it really makes me realize that a certain phase of my life is over. A life – one like mine – has emerged and now it will be my responsibility to make sure she doesn’t stray off.My goddaughter.

Replace the word “my” with your name and you’ll know what I mean. Isn’t it funny that these two words can bring both joy and fright at the same time?

And when I read the last few entries in my journal, the outcome is even scarier. Words such as work, job-interview, bills, paycheck, tenants and deadline are now all over it.Two years ago – just two years ago – my greatest concern was that my mom would buy me the wrong game CD. Now my greatest concern is that I won’t be able to pay my bills in time.

Sure I can still go to a gaming store but this time the games would be better for my kid, or else people would call me childish. I can still sulk and make people cook my food and do my laundry, but this time I better not do it to my mom.

That’s what I mean by losing my privileges.

If you wonder why I take so much pain to explain this for over and over again, the reason is because I love life. My blog would probably say the otherwise. My choice of words (eradicate, vasectomy, pure breed, stupidity, embrace genocide) might signify me as a bitter and hate-filled man, but in reality I’m an ordinary guy who just couldn’t be more grateful for what he has.

I love my parents although they are divorced. At least they still have the sensibility to call me every once in a while and provide me with some financial aid when I’m in need. I love my sisters although at times they can be such a major nuisance. I love my computer although he tends to crash at the most inappropriate times. I love religion although it can be really stupid sometimes. I mean, where else can I get an unlimited source of divine comedy? I love my job although the pay is equivalent to a slave’s. I love my old regiment although it never won any futsal match.

I love all these things and by God, I do not wish to say goodbye to them.

But eventually I will have to do so.

Posted by Continuum at 10:00 AM | | Comments

Monday, January 08, 2007

Home life

It hasn’t been a week since New Year but I already have two difficult questions that trouble my mind. Where the hell is that goddamn plane? Last year we spent at least 2 billion IDR on our national defense budget, but we still can’t have a radar that works? WTF?

Yes, the "WTF" above is my second question. See, it has a question mark, which indicates that the three-letter abbreviation is indeed, a question.

Here’s a news from the home front. My morally correct uncle spent Christmas with us in Adelaide. Although we were only together for a short span of time (as he later went to Brisbane to celebrate new year), we did have some long conversation.

As I had predicted earlier, he tried to convince me that it’s wrong for me to share quarters with my gal while we’re not married. The conversation got nowhere as the same points were being repeated, only with different words. He made his point but I don’t think I should listen to it. We’re in love. We’re both of consenting age. We both have a job and we pay for the rent ourselves.

Seeing that we couldn’t reach an agreement, my uncle then asked me, "So this girl, what is she like?"

Now isn’t this strange that the last thing you want to know about a person is THE person itself? Back home, we have the concept of bibit-bebet-bobot. My uncle wasn’t born into a feudal society, but I have every reason to belief that he (and most people of his generation) has got himself so dragged into this outlandish mindset.

What’s her ethnicity? (For him ethnicity comes before nationality). What kind of church does she attend? Is she one of those Pentecostals? Where does her parents work? How much do they earn? How much does she earn? What’s her political alignment?

I have no interest for these external things. Let’s just say I have reached the limits of where trivial facts can lead me. After all, it’s neither her conviction nor her size that got me into her in the first place. Except for eyes, maybe. Now those are killers.

What a girl is like stems from her character. And here’s where I find something interesting about her.

I have come to realize that in spite of all the differences in terms of outward appearance, there are only two kinds of girls in this world. The first kind is girls that will make guys do destructive things, such as waging war at impossible odds, inciting a rebellion when the economy is perfectly balanced and building 1000 candi overnight.

Throughout history we have met so many women from this particular group. Queen Jezebel, Helen of Troy, Dayang Sumbi, Ken Dedes, Elizabeth Taylor, my old high school crush (who successfully turned me into a suicidal right-back) and that redhead slut whose identity I prefer not to disclose.

But on the other hand, we have girls that make guys feel…umm…domesticated. My girl falls into this category.

What is she like? She’s the kind of girl that makes me want to stay indoors although the Mancunian Derby is on, and everyone knows I should be chanting gibberish and winning 15 dollars at Rydell’s Tavern.

She’s the kind of girl that makes me want to spend all Sunday making cornbread. She’s the kind of girl that enables me to endure a 3 hours Veronica Mars marathon on DVD. She’s the kind of girl that helps me re-appreciate the value of spending two consecutive hours at Snakes and Ladders. She’s the kind of girl that makes me want to just sit in the couch with her, looking at old albums from the 90s, even though everyone agrees that those times could be better spent somewhere else.

I should’ve been at work. I should’ve taken extra classes to improve my grades. I should’ve gone to Rydell’s and win some easy money. I should’ve written boring letters to my folks. But instead of doing those, I spend most of my time watching rented movies with my baby. I didn’t get all my chores done but there’s never been a single second of regret in my life. My time with her is pretty much well wasted.

That’s what she is like.

Posted by Continuum at 12:44 PM | | Comments

Friday, December 22, 2006

Mother's day? Sounds more like Morons Day Out to me.

This is how the women in my hometown celebrate mother’s day.

While women from various part of the world took a day break from all their menial chores, women in my hometown decided to march to the Mayor’s office and support polygamy. Now, I'd say those women were lucky I was stuck with my bullshit job in Adelaide when this stupidity transpired, because had I been home, I'd machine-gun every last one of them.

I guess I’m old enough to remember the days when women were powerful creatures, not merely a brainless piece of curvy meat.

Take my Ma for example. She doesn’t have the quality of Helen of Troy. She doesn’t launch a thousand ships, start a war or incite a rebellion. But she has a superb psychological power. She can make me go to church or do the dishes simply by staring at me.

And instead of bitching at things, she gets them done.

But I guess my mom is a rare and almost extinct breed. I mean, when you look around these days jobs that are traditionally viewed as woman’s job are now done (and mastered) by men. You know there’s something wrong with womanhood when the best cook, hairdresser and fashion designers are men.

And hence we are doomed with this quagmire. Since women can no longer do the simplest task such as disciplining their own children, the government has to take every “unacceptable” thing off the TV. Since women can no longer keep their husbands indoors, this country is going to start promoting polygamy.

But the biggest joke of all was that they said God himself permitted polygamy. Man, if I could get a dollar for every stupidity that is masqueraded as god’s will, I’d be as rich as god.

As it is necessary to affix the right ideas into words, I’m going to ask a simple question: who says polygamy is actually God’s will? I’m not going to offend people by naming names, but you get the idea.

Now just for the sake of honesty, we don’t have any external evidence for believing that as the word of God, other than the man’s saying. He said that it was revealed into him. How do we know it was revealed to him? By the saying of other people who heard it from other people who heard it from other people who didn’t witness the event firsthand and were too dumb to ask for an evidence.

And we, the people of 21st century, have to take it blindly without asking questions or else we are going to suffer in hell for eternity.

It is hearsay upon hearsay and with that kind of logic, I can also say that I am God’s chosen one and this writing of mine is the Word of God himself that must be strictly obeyed.

Perhaps your numskullery have prevented you from understanding my point, so let me re-phrase it.

Have we become so insecure with life that we have to live it by a set of outlandish rules that were composed by and common to nomadic men of the 7th century?

It’s your call, girls.

Posted by Continuum at 11:50 AM | | Comments

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

It's been A year

Okay, first things first: I don’t die. That’s wonderful. I didn’t get hit by some drunk drivers on my way home, I didn’t get drowned at the pool and my food wasn’t poisonous. Today I can officially say, "You know what, I've been with her for a year now."

My gal was still asleep when I left for my bullshit work (and lord knows she is so pretty when she’s asleep) I left a card and a mixed CD of songs that she likes next to her pillow. I have been secretly working on this CD for a week and I really hope she likes it. The only time my boss allows me to use the phone is at lunch break so I guess I’ll have to wait for another two hours just to hear from her.

Here’s the serious part. Last night I got a rather discomforting phone call from my uncle Anton. Keep in mind that the whole conversation was really said in English. This uncle of mine is an English teacher and he never misses a chance to speak the language with me. Here’s how the conversation goes:

U: I heard that now you’re living with your girlfriend?

Me: No…not a girlfriend

U: What’s that?

Me: She’s not a girlfriend – she’s my fiancée. That’s one step up the hierarchy.

U: I see. How did that happen?

Me: She just finished school and she’s been thinking about pursuing a modeling career. In the mean time, we figured it’d be better if we could share some quarter and expenses as well. Why do you ask?

U: I talked to your dad and he said you two had been together for a while now…

Me: And?

U: And…I know this is not my business, but we’re still Indonesian, you know?

Me: What are you suggesting?

U: I suggest the two of you get married.

Have I changed that much? Have things changed that much? I remember the days when my life was all about Gunbound, the A-word, Frestea dingin, last night’s score and surat izin pulang. But at what point do “marriage”, “career” and “tax-return” become an integral part of the conversation? I remember the days when I could just call my mom from a friend’s house and say, “Ma, 'ntar sore aku terlambat pulang…mau main PS dulu.” But last week my excuse was, “Ma, natal ini aku ‘gak bisa pulang…kerjaan numpuk!!” Have I finally reached the age where “work” has become an acceptable excuse?

You decide.

Anyway, as much as I feel uncomfortable with this whole aging thing, I can’t deny the fact that I love to settle down. My grades and paychecks are pure bullshit, but when my baby is around, somehow this personal hell of mine is a lot more bearable.

Speaking of settling down, here’s a super sweet song that I also put on the mixed CD. As always, I’m forcing y’all imbeciles at gunpoint to download this song. Hit the download button, tools!!!

http://www.sendspace.com/file/fs9h1c

Posted by Continuum at 12:09 PM | | Comments

Friday, December 08, 2006

Stupidity just married the Law

Now that we have successfully forced Lativi to cancel Smackdown, the real question we should all ask ourselves is, "WHY STOP THERE?"

Why stop there? We have stopped huge corporations like Playboy and WWE on their tracks. Our casualty rate is very low. We only got one dead, several injured kids and some burned tires. So why stop there? Who knows, maybe with these power we can do greater things?

Between now and another major sex scandal, it seems that the legislative has too much spare time. So why don’t we all pay them a visit and give them something to do? Why don’t we all march to Senayan and give them another law proposal?

How about a law that bans fat people from walking the streets? You may say, "But that’s a very insipid law? Do we really need a law for every thing?" Well guess what, fools! Laws are supposed to be insipid – at least the ones that come from DPR RI.

Besides, have I told you that fat people is very dangerous to public safety? Forget the half-measures of Smackdown. That’s for kids who can’t read subtitles. Forget Playboy magazine. That’s for men who can’t get a girl in real life. But fat people? It affects people at every level of society.

At least, it almost killed me the other day.

You see, I was driving a friend’s car when I saw this fat lady. To say this hideous creature a "lady" is really a crime against humanity and is punishable by death. But I’m stuck with that word because obviously the dictionary still can’t tell the difference between Keira Knightley and Pretty Asmara.

So yeah…I was driving slow and easy when they hideous monster suddenly appeared out of nowhere right in front of my windshield. The sight was so unbearable I had to cover my eyes with both my hands. I almost died out of fright. Death would be good for me because then I’d turn into a ghost and haunt this fat bitch. But instead of that, I drove my friend’s car into a curb and I almost crashed the nearby bystanders.

It didn’t happen thanks to the car’s ABS. But think of it had it been gone the other way. Innocent people would’ve been killed. I would’ve been put to jail and served for a life-sentence. My friend’s car would’ve been impounded. All these just because we allow such a distraction as fat people to walk the streets. I’m lucky it didn’t happen. But I’m sure that in many parts of the world, people just don’t have my luck. I’m sure every time a road kill happens, a fat person is involved. It just goes by default.

While we are still there, have I mentioned that fat people is equally dangerous for our mentality? I mean, what’s so cool about fat? Every now and then I see fat people on TV who say they love to be fat, that big is beautiful and all that shit. No, you dumbfucks! If big is beautiful, slimming Tea and fitness center would be out of business. Positive thinking is a pile of disgusting horse shit taken straight from Donald Trump’s ass. Thinking that you’re beautiful does NOT make you beautiful.

Oh and by the way, please!!! What is it between fat people and tank-tops? There is a reason tank-tops don’t have XL size and that is so YOU DON’T WEAR THEM. Jeez, I can’t believe people are this stupid.

So, what do say, folks? Do we really want our loved ones and TV screens to be endangered by these fat people? It’s about damn time to march to Senayan.

Finally, I can’t end this post without addressing stupidity that has seemed to be an inseparable part of this country. It seems to me that I can’t live a day and watch my TV without seeing another major outbreak of stupidity. Just when I thought it’s safe to play outside now that the whole anti-Bush thing was over, came anti-Smackdown.

Am I the only person who pays attention to the demographic issue here? When I see the parents of the Smackdown victims, it seems to me that they all come from the Ibu Rumah Tangga demographic section. They say they can’t accompany their children when they watch TV. So what the fuck can they do? They live in rural areas and their daytime activity is gossiping. Life is practically over for them once the clock hits 6 PM. But they still can’t take care of their own children?

You can’t make your kids go to bed by 10 PM? You can’t take the TV’s remote from a 9-year-old kid and you still have the guts to call yourself a parent?

And since these moronic parents can’t take care of their own kids, can’t supervise and can’t teach the difference between right and wrong, all this country can do is pass a law for every thing objectionable. Like that fat people thing I mentioned above.

Posted by Continuum at 10:07 AM | | Comments