The Umpteenth Journal Attempt

Got this month's Golf Digest pay, and promptly blew it on comics and that Beach Boys/Brian Wilson DVD, haha. The DVD was like I thought it would be, very value for money. Two documentaries on one disc equals several hours of insightful viewing. Lots of neat vintage footage of Beach Boys concert footage from their dorky striped shirt-wearing early days to their older incarnation as men with very big beards. Cracked up at seeing Brian being interviewed from beneath the bedsheets, without his shirt on. (Considering that footage was sometime in his overweight recluse period, I hope his shirt was the only thing missing...*shudder*) Now that I think about it, Brian Wilson was sort of like the Michael Jackson of his time. He had an abusive dad, he formed a band with his brothers, he had a singing voice like a squealing girl, he was considered a musical genius, he acted like a child way into adulthood, he eventually let everything go to shit by going insane...sounds familiar, doesn't it?

But luckily Brian has managed to get his act back together and will perform the legendary unreleased album Smile on tour this year. After decades of rabid speculation on how the album was originally supposed to turn out, it could very likely be anti-climactic given the insane expectations. Sort of like Wolverine's Origin: you speculate about it for years, and when it eventually happens, it's like "That's it?!" It's inevitable that a good portion of the fans will be disappointed. But the thing with Smile, at least compared to Origin, is that it's by the person who was responsible for it in the first place. Whereas Origin was more like Marvel saying, "Hey Paul Jenkins, you wanna come up with Wolverine's origin before the movie does it and make a lot of money?"

Whatever the final reaction, the main thing is that quality music will be played and the whole Smile saga will have some sort of closure. Though then again, it could turn out to be another Let It Be...Naked, which will have people going, "Are you sure that's how it was meant to be?". Ah, well. Some people just can't be pleased. I'll definitely be buying the inevitable Smile: Live In Concert CD, since I obviously can't attend the gigs. Sniff sniff.

I don't know what I'm doing, going without sleep for the second time in a row. I had some sleep in the car, but that still wasn't enough to make me feel like I can keep all senses going into the next day. I think I was going to get some work done; I even took another shower. But right now I'm too knackered to even think straight. Though apparently not too knackered to fill in a blog entry. Got to get my priorities straight...

I think I just had an IRC chat with someone on the brink of suicide. Not a random, faceless someone, but a person I actually know and have met. A friend, you could say. Anyway, when - out of the blue - you get a message board post that more or less amounts to a farewell note, and the author of said note happens to be still in the land of the living and you can get in touch with them, wouldn't you try to talk them out of it? Common sense dictates that we not rule out the possibility of it all being a prank, the over-exaggerated effect of negative emotions, or just a plain old attention-seeking attempt. And I would be supremely pissed off if it turned out that my efforts to help were taken for granted. Consider me seriously lacking a sense of humour, but if that were the case, then I wouldn't be all hugs and joke cursing like in a typical episode of Punk'd or Candid Camera. Suicide is no laughing matter.

But I can live with being wrong or the victim of a hoax. I can't live if I knew I had the chance to stop something senseless and didn't take it. The Helpful Masochist strikes again.

So to that someone, if you're reading: if you were for real, then I'm sorry if I doubted you. Glad you're still amongst the living, and I hope I managed to help pull you back from the brink. But if you were just screwing me around...well I'm glad you're not really suicidal, and I hope you enjoyed a laugh at my expense. Laughter is important for living. My friendship, however, is not. If you didn't need it before, then you sure as hell don't need it now. Enjoy your life.

Given the short amount of time between this post and the last, you may assume that I have not had any sleep, thus negating yet another of my recent plans. I was up late finishing up those bastard Music Listings, and when I was finally done, the Chelsea-Liverpool match was on TV, so I went straight to watching that. Turns out Liverpool won (woo-hoo!), and instead of just going to bed, I thought I might try to get some more work done. I think I've figured it out: I'm still feeling residue from the buzz I got by finishing the last installment of work, so it's like I'm buzzing to get the rest over with. Liverpool's victory was a tasty bonus.

Speaking of the match, well I can't say Liverpool outplayed Chelsea. Definitely not the strongest starting line-up you could imagine: captain Steven Gerrard injured and sitting in as Sky Sports guest commentator instead of being on the bench with his mates; dodgy Jerzy Dudek in goal, only because Chris Kirkland broke his finger and will be out for two months, injury-prone bastard; Stephane Henchoz at right back, probably because Igor Biscan has been half-decent at centre back and the regular right backs are all crocked (and Jon Otsemobor didn't even get on the bench); Djimi Traore at left back instead of John-Arne Riise, never a good sign; Emile Heskey starting up front, presumably due to his goal against Yeovil in the FA Cup, when he got off the subs bench; and Bruno Cheyrou. 'Nuff said. Michael Owen was on the bench, but all he did was just grin on the touchline and didn't get to make his long-awaited comeback.

To be fair, it looked like Chelsea were having a stinker themselves. Hernan Crespo got injured in the 10th minute and had to be taken off. I hoped that was a good sign, and it turned out that it was, as their strikeforce was practically useless for most the game, with Adrian Mutu getting caught offside loads of times. Neither side had many clear chances. But then the unthinkable happened: Henchoz hit a long pass from the back, Heskey - facing his own goal - chested the ball down to Cheyrou, spun around and ran for the wing, Cheyrou passed it back to Heskey and ran goalwards, Heskey put in a cross that John Terry couldn't block, and Cheyrou put it in the net. Fancy that: two players often considered two of the most useless, combining for what would eventually be the winning goal, which in turn became Liverpool's first win at Stamford Bridge in almost 14 years.

To be honest, I'm not that much of a hater of Cheyrou, Heskey and even Gerard Houllier, unlike most Liverpool fans I know. Sure, I get pissed off when the team loses and certain players perform like hicks at the local field. But I dunno why, I just can't seem to hate them with a vengeance. I can only hope that the players will come good in the end and the team gets back on its feet. So it was pretty heartening to see Cheyrou and Heskey bringing the goods.

After the goal, nothing much happened in terms of Liverpool goalscoring opportunities. Elsewhere though, it was heart-stopping. Dudek got injured and had to be replaced by Patrice Luzi, who had never played in the Premiership before. Of all the matches in which to throw in an inexperienced substitute goalie...and sure enough, it would've been 1-1 if Mutu wasn't having a stinker of a match and hit the post, with Luzi stranded. Luckily Luzi fared better on the following attack, though it can't be a good sign that two out of the three main 'keepers could screw up at any moment when they're on the pitch.

Speaking of Mutu, he managed to get El-Hadji Diouf sent off in the most bizarre manner: they had an argument, and as Mutu was walking away, he sort of got his foot tangled up with Diouf's, but the linesman thought that Diouf tripped him up on purpose. So the ref gave him a second yellow card, and he was off. D'oh. Well at least the midfield's reserves at pretty good: Vladimir Smicer? Anthony Le Tallec? Take your pick.

Naturally, 10 men meant being bombarded for the remainder of the match. But since Chelsea were sucking badly, even Traore managed to come up smelling like roses with a couple of very timely interceptions. Four minutes of added time had me biting my nails, but when the whistle went, I was dead chuffed. I'm sure the team, and GH especially, were too. On to the next match, and they'd better not screw up, otherwise all this will have been for naught...

And thus concludes today's football commentary. Back to work...if said commentary hasn't sapped all my energy and creativity, that is. Think I'll take a rest...and maybe put the Renewed Work Ethic back in its grave...

First time I've stayed home all day since Saturday. Celebration time, woo-hoo! (I am so sad.) Today's routine consisted of the usual: answering e-mail, approving Friendster requests (make that request; not many people on the internet want to be my friend, haha), and trying to get some work done. It looks like the renewed work ethic at the beginning of this year has faded already, after reaching a grand old age of seven days. Renewed Work Ethic, I hardly knew ye.

Also had to deal with a debt collector who called looking for Ario. Is it so inconceivable for those idiots that the guy they're looking for stayed here for a while (and registered his credit card using this address) and then left for parts unknown without leaving a forwarding address, so I have no bloody idea of how to contact him? To be fair, if I were in the debt collector's shoes, I might think it was all bull too. But here are three things in my defence: 1. I had no obligation to lie; 2. I'm crap at lying; 3. Even if I were forced to lie, I would've come up with a better story than that. So that was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, you debt collecting bastards.

I spent last night in my own room for the first time in months. Recently, if I didn't sleep in Hanief's room (where the AC is and is currently unoccupied since he got married and moved to Singapore), I usually settled for the couch in the recreation area. Why did I move back? Looks like my favourite blanket wasn't compatible with the sheets and got all this white fuzz stuck on them. And the fact that the arse cushions of the sofa keep slipping out from under the back cushions - when they're supposed to be placed under the back cushions - was starting to irritate the latent obsessive-compulsive in me.

So I was back to my old bed, in my old room at the front of the house. Having grown accustomed to the couch and Hanief's comfy double bed, I'd forgotten how my single bed with the thin mattress felt like. Not so good, to be honest. Usually sleeping isn't that hard for me, but that's mostly because I wear myself out and just drop off. But this time, I was forcing myself to sleep early (see previous post). Given the almost-unfamiliar confines, I had a bloody time trying to fall asleep. It didn't help that I suddenly got to thinking about who I was going to take to a wedding invitation this Saturday. I've never asked anyone of a non-girlfriend status to accompany me to a wedding before, so if I was going to do so now, I was going to do it right. Criteria? Reasonably attractive (of course), single (hate those complications), basically someone I can tolerate being with for the better part of a night without wanting to slug her with baseball bat and doesn't feel embarrassed being seen with me. I had an idea of who I wanted to ask, but wasn't sure if she'd be up to it. So as I pondered this, somewhere along the way I fell asleep.

A few hours later, I got up. I'd almost forgotten what it was like to have the morning sun shine on my face and get awoken by the sounds of main street traffic 25 metres (give or take) from my ear. Anyway, all this made it near impossible to go back to bed, so I went about the usual at-home routine. Checked my mail, chatted, tried getting work done. Oh, and I also got around to calling my prospective wedding date.

"Hi, it's me. Are you busy Saturday night? Boyfriend or anything?"
"Er, no. But I do have a friend's birthday party. Why?"
"I've got a wedding to attend, but it's more like a friend of my ex, and I won't necessarily know anyone else there, so I'd rather have some along for the ride."
"Haha. Well if you don't minding taking me to the birthday party after that..."
"Ah, no problem. See you Saturday then."

That went well. Don't know if that had anything to do with getting a good night's sleep, but I sub-consciously think it does. Elsewhere, I finally got my grubby mitts on the Jet CD Dhitri bought for me in Singapore, and proceeded to shriek along to 'Are You Gonna Be My Girl?' with Halief during the drive home. Rock and roll, bay-beeeee...

Oops, look at the time. Good night then, and here's hoping tomorrow's another fruitful day.

As you can see from the last post, I didn't get any sleep until 7-ish in the morning, and woke up at 1 feeling rather lousy. That does it then: cut down on the staying up until morning. Which is why this post won't be as long as usual as I adjust to this new schedule. Besides, nothing much happened today. Fixed Dad's internet connection (though I don't know what was wrong in the first place), taught him how to set the delivery method to "No mail" in his mailing lists, and set up a system that will enable me to know if he's offline for sure so I don't accidentally cut him off when he's sending e-mails as I turn off my computer. To be more specific, we now communicate via Yahoo Messenger. It might be a bit superfluous, especially considering I'm just one floor above him in this house. But what's the point of technology if it can't make things more convenient? So now I don't have to guess if he's really online even though the connection's still active (he usually goes to bed early), his e-mail drafts don't go kaput when he clicks Send, and we get to save more electricity. Everybody wins. Now all I have to do is cut down on those day-long downloads...

I have not had any sleep, so it's possible I churned out the previous post without much thought. In a Homer Simpson-style "D'oh!" moment, I just remembered that other people (maybe not many, but there will be others) will actually read this blog and I might come off as some jerk who makes light of other people's problems, even after they've entrusted their secrets to me. I'd just like to say if anyone asks for my help and advice, I will do my best. It's the least I can do. So if you're reading this, know how to get in touch with me and need my advice, please feel free to ask. Bear in mind that I might tell you to stop whining and do something constructive, but just consider that a form of tough love. Hope that clears things up.

Again, this is the blog for the previous day. To be honest, I could just alter the date from the "Post Options" box, but for some reason it just doesn't seem right. (Is worrying about blog integrity symptomatic of a severe lack of anything better to do? Hmmm...) The late entry is because I got home at around 10, then ended up on the phone for the best part of two hours, and then I got stuck chatting on IRC for a few hours. None of this is helpful when you're trying to think of what to write, and it's not as if I can just go, "Can't talk now, gotta write in my blog!" Well actually I could, but I want to make it look like I'm not that big of a geek. Not that I'm saying bloggers are all geeks, mind you. Spoken like a true geek in denial, hahahaha...

Today was the second time I've left the house this year. Better chain me up, Pa! Otherwise you won't see your son again, hee hee! Ahem.

Anyway, today was Fitri's birthday party, at an apartment in Taman Rasuna which she borrowed for the day. She didn't invite me directly; Ale sent a text, and as it turns out, he too got the invite from a third party. After mulling it over, I decided to go. Usually I have reservations about going without a direct invitation, but they said there was gonna be pizza, dammit! Pizza and DVDs, and many bottles of soft drinks! So we ended up watching American Wedding and Undercover Brother. Films that require a minimum of brain activity are ideal when you're watching with friends, and that is what these were. Luckily they weren't that bad, good for several chuckles. Pizza, soda and low-I.Q. entertainment: now that's a party, hahaha.

On the way home with Maggie hitching a ride, we stopped by Aquarius to buy the Red Hot Chili Peppers' Greatest Hits on CD. I'd already bought it on tape and was always going to buy it on CD eventually, but my tape mysteriously vanished and I wasn't done listening, so that plan went ahead of schedule. Picked up Halief from a shoot site nearby, and for the remainder of the ride Maggie filled me in on all sorts of campus-related intrigue. What can I say? To gossip is human, huhuhuhuh. In fact, the IRC chat session I had prior to writing this blog consisted mostly of several guys in their early twenties gossiping like a bunch of teenage girls. It might not be dignified, but it sure is fun.

Before chatting, I was on the phone with a friend who just got back from her New Year's holiday. This wasn't just any friend, in the sense that there was quite a bit of history (mostly on my part), but eventually we've ended up in a consultant-consultee type of relationship, with me as the consultant. For some reason, she calls me just about everyday (sometimes more than once a day) and tells me everything. For another reason, I listen to her go on and on endlessly and even occasionally offer any advice I can think of, whether she wants to hear it or not.

Being a listener, let alone a good one (which isn't quite me, to be honest; I tend to have attention lapses mid-rant), isn't really an easy task. Not that I don't want to listen to other people's problems, but it gets tiring when people prattle on endlessly. And yet I still listen, instead of just telling them to get their bloody act together and do something more worthwhile than spend hours on the phone listening to me tell them to get their act together. Maybe I actually do want to do my best to help people. Or maybe I get some sick sense of satisfaction from feeling like I'm needed, even if it's only as some glorified answering machine. If both are the case, then you could probably say I'm a helpful masochist.