Why Malaysian food taste better?

Answer: External forces.

The sight of rats as big as cats running around,

The sight of the waiter’s thumb in your soup,

The sight of a man digging the edges between his toes for ‘treasures’

makes Malaysian food ohlalaa

P/S: I censored their faces cause I don’t want people to go like, “HEY THATS MY FATHER!!!”.

Utada – Exodus

The queen of J-pop has released a English album recently, entitled Utada -Exodus. Here is the songlist(*Right click on the link to download sample*):-
01. Opening
02. Devil Inside
03. Exodus ’04
04. The Workout
05. Easy Breezy
06. Tippy Toe
07. Hotel Lobby
08. Animato
09. Crossover Interlude
10. Kremlin Dusk
11. You Make Me Want To Be A Man
12. Wonder ‘Bout
13. Let Me Give You My Love
14. About Me

This is an album that only diehard Utada fans will love. All the song did not strike an impression to me of becoming a billboard 100 hits. Most of them are not even karaoke friendly.

As conclusion, don’t waste your money on original for this album.

Download
This is a Bittorent seed for Utada – Exodus. The size of the file is 72MB and there are currenly 20 seeds.

George, God here …

“George?”

“Yes?”

“This is God here …”

“Hi, God. What can I do for you?”

“I want you to stop this Iraq thing, George.”

“But you told me to do it, God!”

“No I didn’t, George …”

“But you did! You spoke to me through Karl, Rumsey and Dick and all
those other really clever guys!”

“How did you know it was me talking, George?”

“Instinct, God. I just knew it!”

“Do you really think I’d want you to unleash all this horror and
bloodshed on another lot of human beings?”

“But they’re Muslims! They don’t believe in You, God!”

“But, George, they do believe in me. Jews, Christians and Moslems all
worship the same Me! Didn’t you do comparative theology at school,
George?”

“No, of course not! You think I’m some sort of peace-waving
dope-headed liberal faggot-lover, God?”

“No, of course not, George, but I expect you to know something about
the people you’re bombing.”

“Oh, come on! I know it’s right to bomb those oily rag-heads until
there’s not one left to wipe a wrench on!”

“How do you know that, George?”

“Cause You tell me that’s what I should do, God.”

“George, I do not tell you to do that!”

“But I hear You, God! You speak to me! You tell me what to do! You
tell me what is Right and what is Wrong! That’s why I don’t need to
listen to any soft-baked, mealy-mouthed liberal Kerry-pickers!”

“George, you’re deluding yourself.”

“God! How can you say that? I got some of the most powerful people on
this planet down on their knees every day in the White House just
a-praying to You! Now are you gonna tell me You ain’t listening?
Because if You ain’t listening, God, that’s Your problem – not mine!”

“George, of course I’m listening – it’s you who is not listening to
Me!”

“And I’ll tell you why! ‘Cause You ain’t addressing me right.”

“What d’you mean, you jumped-up little Ivy League draft-dodger?”

“If you’re so ‘omniscient’, God, you oughta know that you gotta go
through Karl Rove, John Ashcroft, Rumsey and Dick … those fellas
know what they’re talking about! I can’t listen to just any deity who
can pick up the phone!”

“But, I’m God, George!”

“Does Karl say you are?”

“But why do you believe Karl?”

“Because my gut tells me he’s right!”

“Listen, you ignorant little pinch-eyed Billy Graham convert! Can’t
you get it into your head that I’m God and I’m telling you to stop all
this ‘pre-emptive strike’ nonsense! Stop destroying Iraq! Stop
supporting that monster Sharon! Stop picking a fight with the only
other human beings on the planet that believe in Me! You’re leading
the world into unbelievable chaos and horror!”

“That’s enough, God! That’s just the sort of defeatist crap that I
won’t allow in the White House! Get out of here!”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing this, George.”

“Well you better start believing, God, because this is the new
reality. Don’tcha know that a recent Gallup poll shows that 42% of
Americans identify themselves as ‘born again’? That cuts across
Republicans and Democrats, rich and poor, white and black! This is a
real political power base, God, and you’d better believe it!”

“Look, all I’m asking is for you to show a little compassion to your
fellow human beings!”

“I’m not going to debate this with you, God! You’re beginning to sound
like you belong to the reality-based community!”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Well by the ‘reality-based community’, we mean people who believe
that solutions emerge from their judicious study of discernible
reality.” “Sounds fair enough…”

“But, as one of my advisors told Ron Suskind of the Wall Street
Journal: ‘The reality-based community is not the way the world really
works any more. We’re an empire now and, when we act, we create our
own reality. And while you’re studying that reality – judiciously, as
you will – we’ll act again, creating other new ealities, which you
can study too, and that’s how things will sort out. We’re history’s
actors . . . and you, all of you, will be left to just study what we
do’.”

“You mean…you don’t give a damn, George?”

“I mean You speak through me, God, not the other way round! Is that
clear?”

“Yes, Mr President.”

This article is written by Terry Jones, and was published in The Guardian, UK

P.S. Vote for Kerry or Bush after you see their moves here

P0ppy Garden, Kuala Lumpur

Poppy Garden, located below Passion is one of the hottest nightspot in town and a house of ill repute.

Where else can you find a girl grinding her thighs on a guy’s groin in public?

Well, overall Poppy Garden is a place to be. Great crowd, good music and less alcohol overdosed ladies and men puking all over the place.

There were plenty of girls too. So many until I went home smelling of girl’s perfume. If I have a wife at home, she would have beaten me up.

ivN gathered couple of his friends for a drinking session there. First, it was only couple of beers. Then a bottle of whisky came. Everyone managed to finish the bottle. After that, it was an alcohol-fuelled party.

It was fun getting to know some new people there. However, due to the loud music, we had hard time hearing what other people were saying. Ping had one of his moments with a girl..

Natalie: Hi I didn’t get your name!
Ping: I’m Ping.
(Loud music)
Natalie: What? Bitch?
Ping: …….
ivN: His name is Ping la, not Bitch.
Natalie: oh so sorry!!


Actually they were sharing a drink…

PassedOutBen was in action again. He passed out on the sofa for half an hour. Too bad we didn’t have cream or a marker pen.

No doubt I enjoyed the place even though they played R&B. I’ll give the place 8/10!

More pictures @ http://trancemission.sstwo.net/2004/10/poppy-garden.html

Just a Boy Named Joy

English is the world’s language of business, but people with Asian
names often find something is added in the translation” Nury Vittachi said.

Read her little tale about Names and identites:-
“I HATE MY NAME. I always have and expect I always will. Asian names
(such as my girlish one) are a burden in an English-dominated world.
That’s why we often change them. We like to re-brand ourselves by
flicking through English dictionaries.

In my home town, Hong Kong, examples literally abound. Meet Anorak
Chen, Sicky Tang, Green Show, Pubic Ha, Chocolate Lin, Alien Lee,
Twinkie To, Ivan Ho, Piano Chow. These are all real people. In my
younger days, I used to eat at the McDonald’s in Tsim Sha Tsui,
Kowloon, served by staff whose personal names were Army, Incredible
and Normal.

Sometimes Asians have stunningly unsuitable names. I hadn’t the
courage to tell He Man and Truly Man–two girls from Kowloon–that
their names lacked femininity.

Sometimes names are ideal. The official appointed in mainland China to
deal with music copyright was a Mr. Song. And a garage employee in
Hong Kong carries the name To Bar, pronounced “Tow Bar.”

The habit of adopting memorable English names doesn’t just apply to
China, of course. In the Philippines, Resurrection De Jesus is a
personal name (and a lot to live up to). In India, people often have
English names summing up their jobs. Reader Noel Rands told me of a
friend named Yasmin Sodabottlepopbottleopenerwallah. That’s her real,
legal name. If she ever gets to be India’s premier, we’ll never be
able to fit her into REVIEW headlines. This alone should surely
disqualify her from standing.

My personal name (the full version is Nuryana) is an Islamic one that
unfortunately sounds extremely feminine in English-speaking
communities. I spent my entire childhood listed on the girls’ register
at various schools, and for the last 20 years have received mail
addressed to “Ms. Vittachi.” In the past few days, I have met a
Bangladeshi man named Joy and a Chinese chap named Penny who live
similarly miserable lives.

Yet one can’t just abandon one’s name. The underlying meanings of
people’s names are believed to shape the lives of the people who carry
them. My name and my brother’s were chosen with the help of an
Indonesian mystic and spiritual leader. My name means “illuminator”
and my brother Adil’s name means “justice.” Since I grew up to become
a journalist and my brother became a lawyer, this is clear proof of
one thing: God has a fine sense of irony. Lawyers? Justice?

Also, there’s a belief in Asia that if your name changes by itself
(for example, if a nickname becomes more commonly used than your given
name), then your actual character will be fundamentally altered.

Some people have tried to comfort me by pointing out that as the
influence of China grows, Asian names will stop standing out like sore
thumbs. Don’t believe it. The vast majority of Chinese family names
are a single syllable like Ho or To or So, so things will be worse for
people with mile-long Indian or Sri Lankan names like Maharajapuram
Kanagaratnum. And what about people in Bangkok (which in Thai is
Krungthepmahanakorn) who also sometimes have many letters in their
names?

For this writer, “Chinese-ification” has been an interesting
experience. Cantonese accents change some standard English sounds. At
the shop near the REVIEW office where I buy my breakfast, the staff
have been struggling with my name for months. The first month: “Noo
Ree.” Second month: “Noo Wee.” Third month: “Loo Wee.” Fourth month:
“Lewis.” Now, staff politely addressed me as “Louise.” I don’t object.
Louise is a nice name, though it’s not really “me.”

But since my name has changed, does this mean my fundamental character
is changing? Am I no longer an illuminator, but a French female? I
don’t notice any change in my dress sense, but if I start hankering
for Chanel-scented Gauloises, I’ll let you know.”

Note: This story is taken from Far Eastern Economic Review ,Issue cover-dated October 28, 2004.

Lessons learnt during tragedy

I got this from Janet. My condolences to Citizen Nades.

Hi all,

Those who read the Sun newspaper would know Citizen Nades. He recently lost his daughter in a car accident. Below is the article he wrote in the Sun newspaper few days later.

Columnists :: Citizen Nades – By R. Nadeswaran

THIS scribe has never believed in using his tools and the space provided for any personal agenda. On the rare occasion it was used for something he went through some 20 years ago, his interests were declared.

Otherwise, it has been and will continue to be issues that affect society as a whole.

This week is no exception but is related to the personal trauma and anguish I have gone through for the past five days.

As I write this, I had just sent off the parents of Kughanesan Mageswaran, who too was killed with my daughter Sumitra in the accident early Saturday morning.

Kughanesan was driving while Sumitra was seated behind him.

Personal grief, someone once told me, tends to give one a different perspective of things.

Close to 2am on Saturday, as the police Land Rover arrived at the Universiti Malaya Medical Centre with a body bag, I was hoping against hope and saying a prayer that it would not be that of hers.

Like a man lost in a desert seeking an oasis, I asked:

Ini dari accident di mana?” (Which accident is this?)

Jalan Selangor, Encik.” (Selangor Street, Mr.)

India?” (Indian?)

Ya.” (yes)

Perempuan?” (female?)

Ya.” (yes)

Boleh saya naik cam muka dia?” (May I identify the body?)

He helped me on to the vehicle and followed me with a torch. I opened the body bag to see the blood-stained, lifeless face of Sumitra.

The policeman helped me down and led me to a seat to do my crying.

I have on several occasions talked about inconsiderate and crooked policemen.

Here was a man who was not obliged to help me, but went out of the way to do it.

He could have told me to wait until the investigating officer arrived and go to the mortuary to do the needful the next morning.

No.

He understood the plight of a father who lost someone close to him.

That was lesson No: 1.

As I drove home to break the news to the family, I called friends who were close to us.

As the family huddled together and shared the grief, they turned up.

By dawn, a small crowd had gathered and words of comfort and their handshakes and hugs gave some solace. Each offered to help in their own way.

Despite the unearthly hours, they were there when you needed them most — lesson No: 2.

At the mortuary a few hours later came lesson No: 3. The pathologist on duty said there were four bodies in the morgue.

“I have already got a call. I’ll do your daughter’s first,” he told me.

Just, then another pathologist walked in and said he would work on the other accident victim.

An hour later, the first pathologist pulled me a aside and comforted me: “She had no chance. It was instant death.”

As the clerk on duty was doing the needful, I pointed out an error in a document, to which he replied: “Thank you for pointing it out. If we don’t rectify it, you’ll have problems when applying for the death certificate.”

At the police station, the bleary-eyed investigating officer who had been on duty since eight the previous night, went out of the way to understand the anguish I was going through.

“I know what you are going through,” he said. “But just give us a short statement on how you came to be notified of her death,” he said.

Having done so, he apologised for having to make me go through the procedures, explaining why he needed such information.

I brought Sumitra home just after noon.

Lesson No: 4 — Friends, relatives and people I had not met before, offered me their shoulders to cry on.

Lesson No: 5 came on early Sunday morning before the funeral proper.

A middle-aged Pak Cik, in his baju Melayu and sarong, perhaps after his subuh prayers, walked up to me outside the house.

I never met him before and I never even asked his name.

He talked about her death (he said he had read it in the newspapers) and the role of the Almighty. I felt relieved. Here was a stranger, whose heart went out to me. The racial and religious barriers one often talks about seemed non-existent.

Grief, I have learnt, transcends all barriers.

As I said earlier, it tends to change perspectives.

Were my earlier views reinforced by other strong opinions and beliefs?

I don’t have an answer. But I can only ask this: Why should people be nice and kind only when tragedy strikes?

Why can’t these good traits be contagious on everyone and in everyday life?

I don’t have answers either. But the only consolation we all can take is that such brotherliness, a trait we treasured in our days in the kampungs and villages, has not been forgotten.

It is still there, but it takes a little jolt to keep it alive as we get caught in the rat race.

Malaysian: The greatest credit card fraudster in the world?

As we all know that Malaysia’s Credit card is not accepted by a lot of internet shopping portal and web money transfer service namely PayPal. This is because credit card fraud is rampant in our country. I don’t know whether we should be proud or ashame of this but apparently Malaysia’s credit card fraudsters are the best or to be more precise, “the most creative” in the world. On Sunday, News Strait Time (NST) published an article about a new method that our credit card fraudsters are using now.

According to report, the fraudsters nowadays are not merely professional criminal but also inventors. They are like the high-tech thieves we see in the movies. The fraudsters are now using two new devices to steal credit card number. These two devices are so new and rare that the police have not come out with a name for it. The first device is something akin to digital voice recorder (DVR). The fraudster use it to tap phone lines and another is to transfer the data via SMS,the police call it “”wire-tapping transmitter”.

This is how the devices work:” With the DVR, the fraudsters connect the device to the merchant’s telephone line, which sends data to the bank. So any transaction conducted by the merchant is copied by the DVR, which can run for nine hours. If you only have the DVR, someone will have to come and get the device to download the data to a computer. With the wire-tapping transmitter, no one has to collect the device. As it is SMS-ing the data to a phone, the fraudster could be relaxing on a beach somewhere getting all the data,” This new method can steal in between 100 to 1000 accounts daily, depending on the traffic rate.

Next time if you are thinking of paying with your credit card, please do check whether they have additional devices attached to the machine.