BEHIND EVERY GREAT MAN, IS A WOMAN TRYING TO HANG ON

It never ceases to surprise me how one can be watching Discovery or Animal Planet or some such infotainment channel everyday, and still be surprised by the, well, discovery of another little known fact. And when one is in the office or at home, having a Really Bad Block, it's the aimless wanderings of one's mouse, clicking, clicking until you find something that completely blows your mind - or at least elicit a raised eyebrow.

For instance, did you know that there's a sport in Estonia called "wife-carrying"? That's right. WSJ reported recnetly that Estonians excelled in this obstacle sport of sorts,where a man carries his "wife" and runs around a 278-yard oval track, which has a three -foot-deep water trough and two hurdles of wooden logs. This bizarre activity was actually started in Finland in the 19th century, when marauding gangs would make off with women from neighbouring villages. Now the Finns are losing out to the Estonians, and the rivalry is getting fiercer.

"The best way for a man to carry a woman is to dangle her upside down over his back, with her thighs squeezing his neck and her arms around his torso," says world champ Margo Uusorg.

Brings new meaning to "to have and to hold"!

THE MILK HAS SPILT

Silicon.com today reported an interview with BSA in response to our government's proposal to the software/music business people to cut prices to curb piracy. Expectedly, Ajay Advani, chair of BSA, said that "People have to understand that morally and ethically it is wrong to use pirated software". Well, it's also wrong to steal and rape - you think the thief or rapist does not understand that? It's not a matter of mental comprehension. It's a matter of doing it without people finding out (and sometimes, people don't even care if they're found out).

Appealing to the morals of a couple of thousand existing and world-be murderers and rapists has spawned new sectors in behavourial sciences over the last century. How long would it take to change the mindsets of a few million errant home users of pirated software?

While I agree that dropping prices isn't economically sound, the hard truth is that due to technological advances (and access to these advances), prices HAVE to come down. Technology will continue to progress and until someone makes an international decree regulating or banning software conversion wares, CD burners and ANY form of file-swapping, backed by relentless enforcement bodies resembling armies of officers bearing down on citizens in their offices and in their homes, declaring some sort of martial law restricting forever the free use of such technology, not unlike movies about large, evil fuel empires trying to oppress the development of alternative fuels. The milk is spilt and it's gone past the carpet. The expensive production fees, the US$10 million monthly salaries, the elaborate marketing and advertising campaigns, the profit margins, will all have to be rethought.

The gravy train has run its course.

AM I A SHAM?

Yesterday, while browsing a writers' egroup I co-manage called Word Up!, I chanced upon a posting by friend Bernice Low which was in response to another member's rant on the realities of getting published in a newspaper in Malaysia. One of the points, in fact the first, she brought up, hit the nail right on the head. It was that most writers endure the "I am a sham" syndrome, and that is what I still feel today despite having been published many times. From an unknown trade magazine which I thought nobody criticised because nobody read, I realised the overwhelming need for more credible 'validation', that what I had chosen to do for life here bore some purpose.

And then the direction of my career got sidelined, when after 3.5 years writing business articles, I could take a step on the management ladder and proceed to Features Editor at PC World Malaysia simply because the position was open. I took it, and a series of other editing jobs after that when I decided to take a leap of curiosity into the dotcom fray. During the three years, I seldom had a chance to write anything worthwhile because my time was mostly spent cleaning up after writers and making sure they got paid. Two years ago, I decided that I had enough and became a free agent. I began writing earnestly again, developing my craft in IT reporting, feature and review writing, while exploring other forms when a chance surfaced a year ago for me to write about sex and relationships in MSN Malaysia's women's channel.

Some time back, a prominent local journalist said that a 'real' writer must have been published in mainstream media, and those who have not (i.e. those who were only published online), were merely wannabes. This of course created an uproar in our little underground writing community, because many wrote for online magazines and news sources (there were no blogs then, or more like they weren't called blogs but the odd online journal). Today, that writer is a prominent blogger, who is in fact known more for his blogs than his printed columns.

The thing here is, even having been published in mass media print, I still feel like a fraud. That's why when I read what Bernice said about most writers enduring the syndrome, I was both surprised and relieved. Not that it completely expelled my self-doubt because I DO still have a lot of honing to do, but it has cleared away a fair amount - enough for me to take pride in my work seriously!

KIASUISM: NOT JUST SINGAPOREAN

As much as I do not want to dislike certain things or people for the sake of disliking, it's only human to have prejudices. When I was in Singapore working from '93-94, I learnt the hard way that a majority of the people there did not really like me, simply because I was Malaysian. Of course, first impressions are always shallow. A few months into my stay, my Singaporean friends had learnt to accept that not all Malaysians were lowly peasants trying to make a living in their country (yes, that's enough reason for them to "look us down"). As much as they would deny it, Singaporeans are human too.

Another thing that I learnt first-hand was that Singaporeans were innately afraid of losing out, and this 'trait/curse' was even proudly marketed as an an adjective that's inherently Singaporean. For instance, if one were to line-up an hour for free coffee, one would be called kiasu, Hokkien for "scared to lose", a term synomymous with being Singaporean. What seemed strange to me though, was that from experience, kiasuism wasn't just Singaporean, even before I found out that they had 'bragging' rights to it. Malaysians too, would line up an hour for free coffee - a fact again evidenced this morning at Starbucks KL Plaza.

My hubby, a good sort at heart, thought it a good idea as part of his company's "Customer Partner Experience" initiative to launch a 'guerilla'-type marketing exercise here at the heart of Bukit Bintang. The effort was actually to 'surprise' unsuspecting Starbucks patrons/Microsoft users (direct or indirect) by offering to pay for their beverages. All the customer needed to do was to reveal, when asked, if (s)he did indeed use Microsoft products (a fact some would no doubt shrug of as another sneaky attempt by the world's richest corporation to garner favour). Even if they did not, the point was to "make their day" - not something people do a lot of these days, especially to strangers. And to this end, Malaysians demonstrated just how Singaporean they could be.

Some guys from Berjaya from the building came down for their usual coffee, and upon discovering this 'promotion', called MOST of their colleagues down from the office, DURING working hours (it was about 11am) and some 45 cups of coffee were given out to about 30 people. Yes, some of them even took two, all these young, nice-looking ladies, clothed in duds that suggested that they COULD afford a RM10 grande, a few aunties of course (and aunties are the high priestesses of kiasuism), a few well-dressed men in ties - and the cleaning lady, who had no idea what Microsoft was. I will upload a photo later on as my hubby has the camera. Yup, caught all these kiasu people on camera, some clutching 2-3 frappuccinos - grande, no less. Some of them actually shirked away, not wanting to have their naked avarice frozen in time.

Seeing this, my hubby, crestfallen and angry at the same time, corrected the situation with the barristas and about 5-6 other Berjaya latecomers who thought they could stroll in leisurely for their free coffees, were firmly turned away. An aunty in red, saw red, and unperturbed, she called her manager down to question why she could not get her coffee free. Upon confirming that it was not a Berjaya Employee Appreciation Day at Starbucks, the two left, quite unhappily.

Suffice to say, this display of basic greed was not only shocking, but frankly a little unnerving. These may be the same people who tsk at the "kampung" behaviour of their rural brethren who tarpow food back from weddings. And yet here they are, in the heart of Malaysian civilisation, behaving as though their lives depended on that free frappuccino.

"Free one wor, you dowan ah?"

The next time YOU decry how afraid of losing out Singaporeans are, remember this day. I just hope noone else took pictures.

THE ALLURE OF ROTIBOY

Each time I take the train to KLCC, the moment I am near the entrance, I am assailed by the delicious smells of Rotiboy's famous, well, Rotiboy. About a month or two old at KLCC, this devilishly simple yet seductive food of the masses manages to ruin my low carbo diet each and every time. And if the smells don't draw you, the perpetual queues will.

Today, I bought ten just to give out to my hubby's colleagues, RM1.50 buns of pure ecstacy.

But the alluring thing about Rotiboy goes beyond its culinary delights. As mentioned, it's the sheer simplicity of this generous yet humble serving of flour, butter, caramel and what I suspect is a bit of coffee powder. The perfect blend of crispy on the outside, soft and warm in the inside, the aromatic sweet smell, coupled with the savoury baked taste - you must have eaten a LOT of bread and butter to come up with this potent concoction that's seduced so many Malaysian commuters. Whoever's behind this, kudos! You deserve every bite of your success!

For those who have yet to experience the simple yet wonderful Rotiboy, drop by at KLCC's LRT entrance, Wisma Central or Low Yat Plaza. As for the directions - your nose will guide you!

TEACH BY EXAMPLE

Yesterday evening, my hubby and I were engaged in a serious discussion about some rules and principles in the Tan house. Now that our daughter is of age to peer curiously at your private parts were you to walk around naked, we thought that considerable time should be spent determining some "house rules", going beyond "don't open the fridge" or "don't talk to strangers."

I thought it pertinent to note that we must teach by example. Reflecting on my own upbringing, which I dare say was completely devoid of such purposeful thought and planning because my parents were busy simply trying to make ends meet, I had always given the proper respect to my parents, for being parents. They were teachers, but they themselves never regarded the profession with more than the required enthusiasm to do their jobs well enough to be compensated every end of the month. In fact, they told my sister and me that there were better things to be in the world than teachers, and that we were not to even consider the vocation because of its mediocre returns.

As such, my sis and I thought very little of our parents' professions. It was a means to an end, the end being our educations, and our futures. And this, I believe, made an impact on me, this very traditional method of coaxing you into doing well. "Study hard because we worked hard for you, we suffered for you". It was very pressurising on us, especially on my sister who had a knack for doing well in her studies (I was more concerned with growing up ;)). All this care not to waste our parents' hard-earned money drove us to excel, and excel we did.

It was the same for Lokes, although not as blatantly. His parents, I believe, are the best sort of inlaws one could have ever asked for, and to top that, they were fantastically liberal parents as well. My mother-in-law told me that she never pressured her sons to do well. Of course, a standard, responsible amount of discipline was meted out but it was always with an understanding hand. Today, both sons are doing very well.

It's really an exacting science, this parenting thing. On one hand you want to make sure you direct your child on the right path, and on the other, you don't want to push. But if you don't, what if she slacks, for children are naturally curious and may stray. As they become older, their sphere of incoming influence also becomes wider, and there are many things one cannot control. However, I believe that what one can control, is oneself.

Last night, Lokes and I pledged that we will lead by example. Do what I say, AND do what I do. There will be mistakes, and there will be times we will go astray. But becoming better people ourselves, we will become better parents, in that our children will grow to respect and love us not because thye have to, not because we tell them to, but because others respect and/or love us.

Easier said than done, yea? I guess we will just have to try. And the first thing to do, is to STOP walking around the house naked!

YESTERDAY'S DUDS AND TOMORROW'S TECHNOLOGY

It's been a helluva week, and it's only Wednesday.

Yesterday, I discovered that I had only two pieces of wearable clothing for work purposes. An hour to a meeting with 3com for my first assignment as Content Editor for Citrineone, a PR/content agency, a new contract I recently picked up to pad up my cash-strapped savings account, this horrific revelation resulted in 20 minutes of frantic rummaging, yielding a moldy pair of black pants that had not seen "the light of day", as the Chinese like to say, for quite some time. This is what happens when you quit the rat race and opt to be a stay-at-home mom-cum-writer. You forget certain necessities, like clothes you wear out in public. After the tech briefing, I made a mental note to shop, something I hated to do because I am 20 kilos overweight, making trying on stuff a depressing exercise.

A memo to all SoHo freelancers who live in shorts: Be wary of turning into a fashion hermit. Be sure to allocate some time and money to buy some proper threads for that emergency.

A memo to cubicle dwellers and corporate-ladder climbers: Please excuse that fat lady you see in yesterday's duds.

On the other hand, I just equipped my home office with a spanking new speed demon: a P4 3.06GHz dream machine with a Gigabyte dualbios motherboard with onboard every-damn0thing, 1 gig of DDr 266Mhz RAM and the ATI Radeon 9700 (could not afford the 9800 because it's about RM1,000 more), as well as the latest Samsung combo drive and a 19-inch Philips flat screen monitor. It's so beautiful we got the iCute Blue Light Special casing so we could show its innards off. This beauty has four fans, not including one inbuilt fan on the mobo. And all this for the love of gaming. I can't be sure but I honestly improved in my Age of Mythology rankings with the 2Ghz+ increase in speed. I'm not kidding!

The damage?RM4, 110, not including the chip (got that free). Not bad. Not bad at all...

FAREWELL, CANNY

Today I had lunch with a good friend of mine, Lisa Ong. Both from Ipoh and both acquaintances of Canny Ong, may she rest in peace, we inevitably brought the subject up. I shared with her my ponderings of why this case was given so much mileage by the papers. I posted on Word Up! my thoughts on the matter, offering some insight from knowing Canny for but a fraction of my teenage life. I brought up thoughts on Noor Suzaily, the Malay student who was raped and murdered a year ago by an errant bus driver who was mentally unstable. I brought up the 14-year old who was abducted from Bukit Bintang and raped just days after Canny's tragedy. I brought up the factory worker who was also kidnapped and raped by people she knew, a week after Canny. What about these people? Why did it take Canny's case to make everyone sit up, read/petition/cry/feel something? Was it because she was beautiful? Was it because she was married to an American? Was it because it happend in Bangsar Shopping Complex, a supposed 'high-class' shopping centre full of ridiculously expensive stuff so no shifty, dodgy persons would think to lurk around in its carpark? Or is it because of the tragedy of it all, that it was a crime of chance that happened to a girl who came home to see her ailing father, that evil did not discriminate, that its products were also subscribers of chance?

And what's even more puzzling is the amount of speculation of "what truly happened". Not to vilify Canny but let's just say that if you knew her, you would have cause to question the circumstances surrounding her death. But I can see no way these questions could arise from out of the blue. People are certainly persistent in not believing in the dastardly hand of fate when it decides to be cruel. Canny was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. And yes, it can happen to you. Accept it. Deal with it. As my friend Bernice puts it: it's better to be paranoid than dead.

To that end, I made myself a 'flail' - a bunch of old house keys, a pepper spray, a pen knife and a bangle to sort of tie it to my wrist. One swing in the face and there will be no face. And then I spray.

Thanks Canny, for making us smarter. May the sweet release of death bring everlasting peace to your soul.

BLOGGING FOR GLORY

Someone said that bloggers are attention whores - who isn't? Why do women like to shop? So that they can look their best. Why do they want to look their best? Because they want admiration and awe (read: attention), and if possible, even evoke a little bit of jealousy. Now I believe that a woman is truly beautiful ONLY if another woman thinks she is - because women are naturally catty! I know I am :)

But this isn't what I wanted to say. What I wanted to report was that - drumroll - I've been selected to be a beta-tester for Project Petaling St!! Yay! Well, I'm charged with blogging for a purpose (not that I don't have enough but I'm the sort who needs to throw her hat over the fence to get REALLY going) to test out their content feeding engine, just to see if it can withstand the traffic. A nobel feat indeed. And one that *hopefully* will get more traffic to my site :D. Attention! Gimme attention!

Anyway, back to beautiful women. Just yesterday, my hubby, and several other hot-blooded men spending a quiet afternoon at Starbucks in Bukit Damansara, were treated to a sight that trascended words and expensive, pretentious coffee - for a minute, that is. This Malay (think she is, not sure) goddess with honey coloured skin and breasts that were not at all gross in a white embroidered low-cut Lycra blouse and a sheer flair shirt that you could see through, especially because she was very nicely tanned and wore a white thong, came in, bought an espresso to go, and in what seemed like a slow fluid motion, swished through the glass doors of the cafe in her stilleto sandals (against the light) and away from our lives. It was as if time stood still. As a woman, I was both awe-struck, struck dumb and suddenly felt myself very ugly.

My hubby later came in the car with our lattes and asked if I saw the apparition in white. I said I did, and he gave me a long hug.

Ah well. You can't win 'em all.