Unanswered

The applause at the Mutua Madrilena Masters in Madrid, Spain, was drowned out by the volume of whining about the horrible, nasty blue clay coming from sterling examples such as Rafael Nadal and Novak Djokovic.

Now that the dust has settled (ahem), I'm curious: did the ladies play on another surface at the WTA Masters Open in Madrid? Because I don't recall reading about Victoria Azarenka vowing never ever ever to return to play on that slippery-ass blue stuff ever again. Nor do I remember Serena Williams complaining that it's only a matter of time before players get hurt.

All I remember is Roger Federer the eventual men's winner posing, somewhat bemusedly, with Will Smith and the latter's suit from Men in Black 2.

System purge required

I watched The Avengers. Developed a compulsion. This link is not helping:

The best bit in Thor 

It's like cat videos, but a million times better.

Perception

Sometimes, I wonder if we've fallen into a relationship rut and whether Enfant Terrible sees me as just someone who's there.

Then we watch Thor and he tries to block my view of Chris Hemsworth strutting around and practically bursting out of those black Levi's and I know it's all good.

Oh, honey, put that away; you're gonna have someone's eye out. (Image from fanpop)

Life as we know it

Strange but true:

Malaysians spend countless hours on "social networking" in the hopes of meeting that One True Person with whom they want to spend their life with.

This, in comparison to setting aside about 30 minutes each March/April to figure out how they've spent their earnings over the last fiscal year (assuming you're simple like me). 

These people will actually find someone to communicate with, and soon prepare self and same for a breathlessly awaited visit/gift from The One.

They are also only too happy to help The One/gift from The One enter the country by paying the customs tax/what-have-you that the evil Customs Department has arbitrarily imposed on the diamond ring/laptop/collector's item animal/The One to the tune of thousands, if not tens of thousands of their own hard-earned money.

This, instead of the final tax amount payable to their own country, which is paltry by comparison.

Of course, the promised item/One doesn't show up ever because it was all a scam. The swindle will make the newspapers again, and I will have to read that instead of some delicious gossip involving a naked celebrity and delectable items of food.

And please let's not go into the whole promised 200% ROI and mystical medium lottery numbers thing. There wouldn't be enough internet to go around.

I find it incredible that there really are people (women) out there who are so lonely and/or have such low self-esteem that they fall for this bullshit. I feel sorry for them and I'm angry that they've been brought up in such a way that they perceive such "romancing" to be right and true.

I'm naive, of course, but I believe that there would be fewer victims if more people just held the view that "my money is mine, and you can make your own bloody bread/bed, thank you very much".

Anticipation

GOOD GOD, YOU PEOPLE, WHAT DO YOU MEAN "SOON"?

Yes, Loki, I know everyone's hating on you, but that's what haters do.

Is it too much to ask to see Tom Hiddleston rock that pimp stick like a motherfuckin' pimp next weekend?

April Fool's Day, you say?

I am mucking around with a Samsung Galaxy Tab 7.7 whatsit at telco provider Digi while waiting for Enfant Terrible to decide on a smart phone. The Tab is fun to mess with and I liked it, although the idea that countless people and their greasy fingers have preceded me now makes me queasy. I've opened its Polaris Office feature and have typed "Dude i made a new doc" when the sales girl comes over.

Sales girl: Hi, can I help you?
Me: So, can I email myself and open the file on a Windows PC and work on it like a regular file?
SG: Ya, the file is in .doc format.
Me: My god, what a stupid question that was.
SG: And you can also make calls on it too.
Me: NO WAY. I mean, oh yes, of course... Er, I'll be going over to that corner now.

Travel tips: Grooming

The only thing you're allowed to neglect when you go on a beach holiday in Koh Samui is your internet habit. Other than that, you owe it to yourself and the pictures you will take to take care of yourself.

This sign at Big Buddha temple says, "No matter how big (important) you are in life, you will always be smaller than your coffin."

Suburban deathtrap

The last time she counted, my neighbour had 13 cats. I believe none are spayed/neutered, which means she'll probably wind up with more in the next few months.

Naturally, the range in which they roam overlaps with our conventional human boundaries. This means we have to check under our cars to ensure we don't inadvertently run over a snoozing kitty. We also have to scrutinise sandy patches very carefully before stepping on them, lest we stumble into the litter box of the week.

Currently, our front porch has been claimed by a white and grey cat that spends its afternoons guarding it behind closed eyes. To ensure no intruders sneak up on it, it wedges itself securely into a dustpan in the corner, shielding its face with one paw to protect itself from shrapnel. Or something.

Come evening, it uncoils itself, stretches, and stalks off to capture a hapless feeding bowl.

I suppose it's also understandable that a family of shrews would find the numerous plants in our garden reassuringly tall, and appear with clockwork punctuality every morning to frolic and mock the cats that have to stay indoors.

That said, the areas away from the houses look like a veritable animal kill zone. You can't go 2 weeks without seeing a cat or shrew that has been run over by a motorist. Often, the cats look like someone's pet (can't say the same for the shrews).

I don't have pets, but surely it isn't that much trouble to take your foot off the gas just that little bit, or neuter/spay your pets to reduce the carnage on our roads?

Respite

Last year, Enfant Terrible and I planned a week-long getaway for next week. At the time, the motivation wasn't due to year-end work pressure; rather, the flight was cheap.

As I wind up work for this week, I can't help feeling that a break is an excellent idea, mainly because the following has been occurring with greater frequency lately:

#1
Mum (calling from the market): Eh, wanna buy rib-eye steak ah?
Me: Whatever for... up to you lah, it's not my money anyways, hehe.
Mum: Aiyah, I buy lah; you cook. Heheh.

#2
Bro2: Eh, you going holiday next week issit?
Me: Yeah.
Bro2: Wah, so nice ah holiday... EH, means next week no cooking ah??? WHAT WILL WE EAT?
Me: That is not my fucking problem!

#3
Corporate Client Handler*: Hi, could you edit this [few thousand word] PDF** document?
Me: Apologies, but I'm handling 2 private clients at the moment (ooh, look at you, gurl), so I won't be able to accept anything more this week.
CCH: BUT... There aren't any other editors who can do this T____T

* For want of a better term
** You use annotation software, and it's like working in PhotoShop or GIMP, but with words.

Familiar territory

You start to recognise specific people when you've lived in a neighbourhood as long as I have (about damn time, too). 

In my case, I notice those who are out exercising. There's Brisk-walk guy, who always walks the same route around the same block and who has probably lost 10 kilos since I first saw him. We've gone from eyeing one another suspiciously to exchanging nods, hellos, and, "How many rounds oredi ah?"

Bald guy puts in regular appearances at the park. He gets the required exercise time practically every day but, for some reason, still has a pot belly.

There are the Dog walkers, who carry out their chore looking blank yet po-faced. Civic conscious exhortations notwithstanding, I have never seen these people with trowels or plastic bags (unlike Terry the muscle-bound neighbour).

The person I like seeing best is the Nutter. I was driving home when I saw him for the first time. Lanky, loose-limbed, and looking decidedly Caucasian, he was bounding up the road like a kid released from school. In the driving rain.

Jeremy Wariner in a pose a la Francois (Image: Exposay)