Hate Mail

I officially hate Network Ten, or Channel Ten. I'm sure if it was any other network, I'd have pissed on their guts as well.

I have been following Rock Star Inxs. For those who don't know, it's a reality TV show in the likes of American Idol except this is a competition to find the perfect frontman for Inxs. Tonight was going to be the Australian airing of the final showdown episode - the part where you find out who wins the million bucks in Survivor, the part where you find out who got the most votes... so in this case, I get to find out who wins.

And the perfect spoiler was on Channel Ten 4 hours before the episode was aired on Australian Television. The bloody news had the picture of the winner and the news reporter telling it all matter of factly. Yes, they probably were the first to report the news of the new Inxs frontman but I was covering my ears and hurling in disbelief.

You see, down under our time zones are different and in LA, the verdict had been out almost 12 hours ago and trust the news to pick up on that... People get shot for spoiling the ending and I am so ready to kick some Network Ten's arse. I hate them. I hate them. I hate them. They are officially boycotted!

I hate them.

Shock & Awe

You probably know what I am on about. That asian postmodern cliche. The functional questions of superstition and customs made for blogging fodder - what should my take be?

He's my brother but we are world's apart. We hardly exchanged more than two full sentences. And even then it was as deep a connection as a hello and goodbye. It's the busy business man's wedding and there's a lot of public relations to be had. I found myself laughing and bemusing over weird and wonderful things. Like how they shouted "fatt" (prosperity) for the camera. Imagine how all their mouths would be wide open with the perfect teeth smile. Still he looked good today. The bride was quite sensational. Quite a big sister in her own right - commanding off the "sabo" and delinquent behaviour of twenty somethings. I guess the alchohol did bring it home for her. Now I believe my brother's met his own match.

My dad wasn't impressed at the staged entertainment at the expense of the couple over some lewd suggestive consumption of fruits. Not at all. In fact he kept saying how much he wouldn't do that, that it wasn't something he'd do, that it was a young persons' thing, that he would never ever do that. That being the bride chewing off a banana hung off the waist of the groom. You get the rest of the picture. I must say it was quite controlled. He should have seen some of the antics I have been personally involved in. Maybe that might draw some unexpected respect I never had. Maybe.

It was shock and awe, really. The awe of the "final countdown" themed first course dance of the waiters. The shock of the awesome emcees and justice of peace mispronouncinng words and hijacking the grammatical rules...

"Lady and Gentelmen, prease clap for welcome of our newly welded couple..."

Stilll gets me after all these years.

Then there's the one bored kid at wedding dinners who will lead a pipe piper full of kids into a frenzy of digicam war of the worlds, knocking off the waterfall backdrop and spitting woodchips onto the carpet. Mum's friends who are just grateful and happy to be invited. Our favourite relatives asking the same questions of when it's going to be your turn. Like it's so clinical diagnostic waiting for the nurse to call my bloody name so I can go cut something in me to stop me from giving birth.

Now why did I think of that?

Twenty too many cognac shots later, the brother was at the top of his voice, with my dad fighting alongside his frontline. I guess there was a rhythm only both of them understood. Even though this son moved out in rebellion years ago, he's come a prodigal way through the same language and syntax that's up my dad's alley. I mean, even this boy's friends were carbon copies of the ones my dad knew. There was a ruckus that worked its way up the kinship. Part of me was mildly jealous. But I was too tired to bother. I've got my own life now.

I'm just glad that it's over. There was less than what I had expected. Apparently, being unmarried, I couldn't get too involved in the frontlines of the wedding processional. And in the same stroke of cultural genius, I saved myself from parting with a stack of cash for the red stash. Ain't it great, this bachelor life?

Time Shift Channel

I have to say it. It's that same feeling. Doesn't change much. Cos the folks haven't changed much.

Like tonight my sis insisted on the micro-level management that could potentially have retarding effects. So much that she had to wake up an elderly tired sleeping grandmother just to prove her point. To me, it's a fish tank analogy. Exhibit A. Maybe I'm disfunctional but I got the point already. Wish she would let me just iron my shirt.

I am at a loss of words to use. Mostly the salad kentang in me finds a dire lack of interculture vocabulary thesaurus. Mostly I slip into the easy beats but when the accident on the computer occured I found my tongue tied without words to use for my defence - that it was an accident. Somehow I fel transported back to the delinquent juvenile days of fighting over stupid game scores and snack attacks. At least tonight the furor did not quite proceed into full blown glory. Thank God some of us have grown up, well, all of us, granted.

The wedding! Now where am I going to find a stack of cash for the red stash?

Lease

This lease has taken more time than the life it is meant to release. Last night, part two of the equation came. Playing the blame game has left me quite exhausted and sometimes my instinct is to run away. Not to escape the noise but to keep the distractions away. Doesn't that just sound selfish? I guess there is a primal instinct within that will only make sense to me.

I left for the sea early that morning but the wind was too cold to even think. So much so it's confusing the preferences and constructs that led my feet to some unknown place. The tall grass and intrusive shroud was more than just a walk in the park. I had to clear my head. I had to feed it right. Feed it right with the right stuff.

My aches and mistakes have started to wear off and I think I am ready to jump back onto the treadmill again. Except it isn't literally so. I need some rhythm back in my life. So why am I trying so hard? Honestly, that question is so overrated.