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I sit and wait

does an angel contemplate my fate

Today, half-wet, half-conscious, half-alive.

Thankz to this gif, I could laugh for seconds.

Mr. Watt and Mr. Knott

Mr. Will Knott got a phone call one late night. He was half asleep and a little vexed when he said

“Hello. Who’s this?”

“Watt.” answered Mr. Watt on the other end.

“What’s your name?” repeated Knott.

“Watt’s my name.” said Mr. Watt, started to annoyed as well.

“Yes! I asked you what your name was!”

“I’ve told you before. Twice. Am I speaking to Mr. John Smith?”

“No. This is Knott.”

“Ok. May I know your name, please?”

“Will Knott!”

“That’s it!” said both of them as they hung up the phone and scowled, deeply annoyed.

I guess we all agree to think things (or people) through, don’t we? Things may not be as what they seem to be. I really want you to remember that.

Reruns

About three years ago, the cast of Friends said goodbye to each other, to the most successful sitcom ever existed, to a whole world of fans, and to me, though indirectly. “Friends” is my favorite TV series of all time. I can watch and rewatch it for like zillions of times and still find it funny every time.

Now that Friends only live in reruns, for me it’s always here. It is my friend thru my hard and happy times. It has been my best friend for all these years. There’s nothing I would rather do than sitting on a comfortable chair, turn on the DVD—or VCD back then, and have an episode or two from the old jokes to cheer me up.

I am a big fan, a loyal fan of the six, Ross Geller (David Schwimmer), Rachel Karen Green (Jennifer Aniston), Chandler Muriel Bing (Matthew Perry), Monica Geller (Courtney Cox Arquette), Phoebe Buffay (Lisa Kudrow), and of course, Joseph “Joey” Francis Tribbiani (Matt le Blanc). For them, and for millions of grateful fans, I dedicate this post to, remembering once again, how the story ended.

Two days previously, I found my old piece of VCD. The phrase “The Last One” was written on it. It contained forty minutes of the last episode of Friends. And, as I had done so hundred of times before, I put the disc on and watched—once again—how Gunther confessed his unspoken love to Rachel, how Chandler and Monica were shocked to their brains when Erica delivered not only one baby, but two; how Ross finally realized Rachel was meant to be with him; how Phoebe still came out the word “Phalangie”; how Joey and Chandler were forced to bust the foosball table open to save the chick and duck jr.; and how Rachel got off the plane in the end.

As bittersweet as it had been, I still remembered the time I watched the Finale with the two other crazy fans like me—my older brother and my little sis. It’s funny, as I recalled I was having a row with my brother—actually, we are never not having one. But when I got the finale disc right in front of his eyes, all problems were forgotten, all awkwardness was subsided. Friends shut us off. Kept us silent and only shouted and yelled at the right time.

There are scenes from Friends I can’t just take off my mind. Every time I remember any of them, I beam and I smile. Every time someone tells me some dialogues from Friends, I interrupt him and finish the whole sentence. It’s great having something good and cheerful inside of you. Inside of me. I’m so thankful for Friends and for me to have ever learnt about it.

The story inspired me more than everything I’ve ever known. And it got better. It made me laugh.

Oh, how very clear I remember this one.

Rachel was going to be flying soon, and Ross was having less and less time to chase her and tell her about his feeling every second. But as he had arrived at JFK, he was confused about the flight’s schedule, wondering if he’d somehow mixed it up. So he phoned Monica to ask for the correct information details. But apparently Monica was too excited about her new babies…

Erica was one of Monica’s new born child whose name was derived from her real mother—Erica.

Despite Monica’s unconscious vexatious playing-with-cute-babies-noise-and-sound attempt, she filled Ross with the information eventually, from which he learned that he and Phoebe were at the wrong airport. Rachel was at Newark airport, one hour away from him.

But after so many funny and ridiculous ways, Rachel’s flight was delayed and Ross was able to meet her just before she took off. But she went on anyway, leaving Ross and his heart shattered, refused to believe what had just happened.

Ross came back home without Rachel.

It was after some funny stupid so-not-romantic message on Ross’s phone, we knew that Rachel got off the plane…

I remember I laughed for minutes for that unexpected joke. Man! They were brilliant.

But then, all was said and done. After everything, the show had to end…

… either happily ever after or not, there will always be a rerun.

And so will my life.

Recently, I experience reruns everyday. All for the same boring day I can’t even remember. Doing things as a routine, doing things exactly as planned. I would really like to alter my ways of living.

I figure if I need to live more differently, I may as well start to do things differently. So I promise myself to do one thing new everyday. And it starts now. For today, I will post an entry I never think of.

Earth Day
(I know, I am a couple of days too late. but whatever. It’s for good sake.)

Do you love the earth you’re living? If you do, then you should at least take one day out of three hundred and sixty five, and remember it as the Earth Day. Then on this day, you are not to damage the earth by any means, like throwing garbage everywhere, smoking, or not turning off the light when you don’t need it.

It would do you no harm to look into these websites and learn what you ave to do to support the Earth Day.

http://www.worldchanging.com/planet/

http://events.yahoo.com/earthday07/

Read how badly damaged our earth is now. Here :

http://www.earthdayenergyfast.org/

See? We can make a difference, I can make a difference. Why don’t we?

Happy Earth Day 2007!

Well, sort of… two days ago…


That’s it, I think. One different thing I did for today.

Cuz I don’t wanna live in reruns no more.

I just wanna… run.

My Last Post

Bad News, World. Approximately 6 hours ago, my doctor told me that I’ve been unconsciously suffering from a fatal disease called Psychocentipedioreo Syndrome. It’s extremely rare and incurable. My Doctor said that I’m dying, that I only had exactly 24 hours left to live.

My Doctor

If you have no idea, Psychocentipedioreo Syndrome is a psychological disease caused by the brutal side effect of having too much phobia of Centipedes. Centiphobe. (OYG, I can't believe I put this picture below.. *trembling* *shaking*)

This side effect makes you exceedingly hungry for Oreo, that black and white sandwich. The sufferer—in this case = I, will have an insatiable hunger for Oreo until the moment he—or I die. But that’s not the worst part. This side effect also changes one’s psychological behaviour so that he will find a way to end his life, or to commit suicide in the end. This psychological disorder shall end only by the time the he dies. It is very rare and it’s incurable, like I said.

So I still have about 18 hours left. I will use the remaining time to complete my deepest desires of which list I have prepared below. And I would like to pay my respect to my unfinished blog. And so this… is my last post.

It’s funny, knowing you’ll be dead by the end of the day really inspires you to do so many things you haven’t done before, or things you didn’t have guts to do before. I’ve prepared my last to-do-list, in which I have written a lot of unordinary activities I wouldn’t even dream of doing yesterday.

TOP TEN THINGS I WANNA DO BEFORE I DIE

10. Buy some pajamas, finally.

9. Fly up, up and above the sky.

8. Dancing in the moonlight, walking in the moonlight, drinking in the moonlight, watching the moonlight, drinking some more in the moonlight, puking in the moonlight, and passing out in the moonlight.

7. Calling for JK Rowling, Emailing JK Rowling, Nudging JK Rowling in msn, Having the book shipped to Medan, Persuading Fed Ex to fly it on the VVVVIP plane, and Finishing Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows over a night.

6. Watch Lost season 2 and 3, Heroes, 24, Prison Break, and re-re-rewatch Friends again.

5. Finally watch the one movie I don’t even like, “300”, and then obsess about it. Go to some random roof and yell out “SPARTAAAAAA!”

4. Confess my true secret identity and my double life as a CIA black-ops AGENT to Jacq, the girl I love and adore, but then figure out that she’s half a lizard and half a cow—so I leave her and dump her in the end. (wakakakaka)

3. Regret my decision for dumping her, and begin to prepare a suicide.

2. Write a suicide note on Microsoft Word 98 home edition.

Hm. This letter may be hard to write. Perhaps I need an assistant. Fetching help…

1. Finish this blog, then Execute suicide.


But before, I should probably pick one specific way to end my life. So I created a list (AGAIN???) of how is the best way to kill yourself. Kids, Don’t try this at home! (Cuz your mama would probably be watching you… try this somewhere else…)

TOP TEN WAYS TO KILL YOURSELF

10. Swallow a tin of BAYGON, the tin included. If you can’t find BAYGON anywhere, you can improvise with Carbon Monoxide instead. And by the way… good luck finding it.

9. The hot move, burn yourself. Use kerosene.

8. Poop to death. Languishing in a toilet is really a sophisticated thing to do.

7. Ask Lord Voldemort when the last time he took a shower.

6. The classic move, use a rope. Watch Lord of the Rings while you’re doing it.

5. Read this blog over and over and over and over again. If nothing happens to you, repeat this instruction again.

4. Get married.

3. Write a blog exactly like this. If you can’t do that, bang your head to your keyboard.

2. Get on board the flight 815 from Australia to America, get crashed and get lost. Go and find a hatch. Blow it open. Push the button. And then ask :

1. Go and study in Virginia Tech University. Meet our old fellow Cho Seung-Hui, and ask for some tips about shooting 33 people before shooting yourself. And oh yeah, learn how to use a gun.

Good Bye, World.

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In case you’re a big retarded or you’re Forrest Gump, then you should know that I’ve been tagged by Charmayne. This blog isn’t going to be closed, I ain’t going to kill off myself, and I sure didn’t suffer from some myriapodic disease.

Nothing in those lists above is TRUE, except my true love confession, and the lizard thing. And I didn’t mean to motivate any of you to commit suicide. Just to be clear. I am not responsible for any deaths occurred after this blog is published, except—of course—my own death.

I am not trying to raise racial issues by mentioning the Virginia tragedy. On the contrarie, I am very sorry about what happened. The tragedy also cost a life of an Indonesia citizen over there.

And now I am tagging 5 more people Jacq, Yeek Chia, Lucy, Lomar, and A Bye. The tagged one should write an entry about the same topic. What would you write, what would you say, what would you do if it’s your last post? Then, after you’re done, tag five more people.

Have a nice laugh—I mean, day.
ROTFLMAO

Oh, Boy!

Last night I had a very memorable dream—two very memorable dreams, and actually it’s not “last night”. It’s already morning. As I recall, it was around five to seven o’clock.

These dreams were about the two things from the top of my wishlist. One, of course. It was Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the book (which funnily enough, turned out to be a US version of it. I had never owned a US version of HP, besides the translated version). The book was also funny. It contained the second-last chapter on the very first page, and by reading it, I sure was spoiled all the way. And the plot twist was odd too, I mean, Bellatrix turned in and helped Harry fight Voldemort? Where did that come from?

It’s funny to see that I’m finally dreaming something (or two things) I love. This is so rare. Usually, I don’t get happy dreams, and I seldom have nightmares either. They’re just weird dreams. Maybe these were too.

The second dream was more personal. I dreamed of having a perfect girlfriend. So cliché huh? Well, not exactly. I mean, she had red hair and probably wearing red shirt too, totally my type. But there was a burden inside me. I didn’t know what it was, but I could fight it. We ended up together at the end and I was pretty upset when the dream was over and I had to face my boring reality :(

The crazy thing was, this dream resided in me this whole day. After hours and hours, I still could remember it vividly. And it has changed my emotion a little bit at a time.

I don’t know… Maybe I am longing for what I want. What I want. Seems really important now. I really want to make myself happy now. I really need to be happy now. And the first step to do that is to fulfill what I want most.

Funny, how a dream can make you do things. People change. Perhaps I’d better do so too.

Underneath my pillow

So last night, as I was planning to—finally—get some sleep, there was an unexpected surprise waiting for me in my bedroom. My room appeared as usual as it had always been, but when I reached my pillow (actually not reached, but lay my head on it) I felt like there was something concealed beneath it. So I sat up straight and turned around and looked down. There was a cable coming out from under the pillow, lain helplessly like a dead fake snake. I recognized it at once. It was my cell phone charger. I grabbed it out and wondered vaguely who had put it there.

While I was pulling the cable out, there was another cable following. It was white. Thicker than before, and with stripes on it. I was hazily familiar with it. And then curiously, I lifted the pillow to reveal what was beneath it. To my surprise—and laughter—and confusion, I found an iron hidden there, its sharp edge pointed up against my head. Wew.. Who on earth put it there, and why?

Hahaha…

Since when do people hide weird things under their pillow? If they were love letters, diary, or stashes of porn ; OK, that might still make sense. But if they are to randomize what to hide there… that might be a problem.

I wonder what would happen if people begin to think that keeping weird things underneath their pillows. What would they hide?

This, maybe?

Well… for a suicide type like me, maybe that’s a good idea. I probably just have to worry about it leaking and soaking my bed with poison. (but not too worry about me accidentally drink it in my sleep)

But let say Baygon is far too cliché (cliché…? Lolz), I can only think of one other thing people would hide under their bed…

I can’t remember when the last time I hid my Elisha Cuthbert under my pillow… :))

Old Tom Hanks Parody

This is something I've been dying to find and re-look for. One funny parody about Tom Hanks.

I first found out about this on July 27, 2005. Quite a long time ago. Posted on Mugglenet a few days after Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince was released. It contained the most vital spoiler of book 6. And by that time, not everyone had finished reading the book. But as I had, I could safely opened it and laughed for the sake of ... whatever.

And now, after two years, some research and some time wasted, I finally am able to share it with you.

This picture (.GIF) is 1000 x 1000 in size, so it might take some time to load, but if you're patient enough, you'll be able to see it too.

This is the link. Click here.

Live Life as a celebrity

Hey guys. So here’s the thing. I was surfing thru the net and I found this.

It seems like I’m a long lost celebrity who suffers from amnesia, or at least I was. I’ve been living a fake life as a guy called Bambang Superone, practically a psycho who called himself a soliloquist (whatever that means). But why did no one tell me before, my mum, my dad, or someone… that I’m an Asian celebrity named Ben Affleck? Well, it’s a funny name for a Chinese, but I ain’t complaining.

Ok. I’ll take a deep breath for one second.

*inhaling oxygen—and carbon monoxide, accidentally*

*close eyes and lean back*

*lose balance and pass out*

*head banging the floor*





Two hours later…

(continue typing as if nothing had happened)
But what if that really happened to me? What if I was an amnesia-ous celebrity who also is a soliloquist? A soliloquial celebrity. Hm.. That works for me :P



And if it’s really happening, would I have experienced a normal life? Would I still be falling in love for the same girl I was falling to?

But a celebrity usually means “having it all”, would I be a pampered boy who couldn’t face his world on his own? Would I be a pathetic lame sissy if somebody I had liked turned me away? Crying and blaming myself and everybody else?

Wait! I already am all of that.

But hey, celebrity or not, girls and women are no different. They are difficult and even worse than me. I should know better.

Happyness

What happen when the greatest actor ever role in the best movie script which was inspired by an amazing real life story?

Well, you’d get the greatest movie ever.

If you have watched The Pursuit of Happyness and read my previous post, you will possibly notice two things :

1. That my title there—Happyness, wasn’t incorrectly spelled, and that I mistyped it a few days ago.

2. That you know what I’m talking about.

Even before I watched this movie, I had already thought a lot about my happiness—or happyness, whatever. People define and redefine the word very often. Every now and then, people say, “Hey, I’m happy!” ; “I’ve never been happier.” ; or “This is the happiest day of my life.” but that’s the only word to describe their feelings at the very moment, isn’t it?

Well, I’m talking about a constant happiness, the one when you have it, you will have it for good. Does that thing even exist?

The Happiness described in Chris Gardner’s life was an all time one. It was a very difficult happiness. Chris Gardner even had to struggle for it. One hell of a struggle. He had to experience jail time, had to lose his wife, lose his house, had to live in a church, or inside subway’s toilet room, had to pay $600 of taxes when he only owned $23 left on his account, had to lose his friend over $14, had to chase several people for stealing his scanners—which he was intending to get rid of, had to be a bitch during his no-salary-internship but have no time to bitch about it, had to run away from a taxi driver for not being able to pay the fare, and the worst of it was that he had a child to take care of.

But when he finally got it, the job, the goal, the hope for a steady life, it was the happyness I’m talking about.

Being Happy is not made for me. But yet I’ve searched and searched for it, hoping that it would visit me eventually, and then stay for a little while.

My idea of happiness is having a great job, one that I love for sure, and having someone there by my side loving me even at my worst. In this realistic world, happiness is a vague thing to find. Formless and indistinct, it is sealed tidily beneath one thousand of silver silk lines, having disguised indistinguishably.

If you wish to find it, somehow, you must have a key—a key of knowledge of what it is and where it’s well hidden. Chris knew the key, or he thought he did. It was the internship. But even if he had only a tiny piece of hope, he held on to it. The odd of him being selected as the apprentice was even slimmer each day, but he held on to it. From the twenty interns applied, only one was chosen. And with Chris situation at that moment, it was almost impossible. But he made it, when his chance was even lower than 2%.

How the hell could a man succeed with those possibilities? Call me a pessimist, but if it is lower than 2%, that means over 98% are failures.

That means 98 people fail out of 100. There were 19 people failed the internship. Chris was the winner, so his story was being told. It was great and all. But please, wake up! This is the real world. Where are the other 98 stories?

This is one of the 98.

I define happiness as this.

A state of being permanently contented, a state of having everything in order, a time when all troubles omitted, a place where all the sorrow has been lifted off, and a moment when all this above really happen once and for all.

Yeah, I agree with you. Almost unattainable, isn’t it? So why bother?

Because believe it or not, we all think that we have the key.

I may not aware of my key. But I do know what I want. A few days ago, I accidentally listened to this song, and its lyrics surprised me whimsically—or what’s the right word for this…? Ah ya—capriciously.

Come on hold my hand
I wanna contact the living

I wanna feel the warmth of you, I wanna feel accompanied. I wanna feel safe and not alone.

I sit and talk to god
but he just laughs at my plans
my head speaks some language
I don’t understand

But I don’t know how to do that. I don’t see myself in the right path. I can not translate the language and not any gods going to help me.

I just wanna feel
real love
feel the home that I live in

Again, the warmth, the love, the happy place. It’s all come down to one thing. Hope.

cuz I’ve got too much life
running through my veins
going to waste

That is probably the reason why we—I keep searching for our each happiness.

I don’t wanna die
but I ain’t keen on living either
scared myself to death
that’s why I keep on running

Have you ever lost faith of who you are and what you’re here for? That you don’t belong to the world? —impersonating Will Smith : “That part of my life, is called, Everyday.”

I just wanna feel
real love
feel the love that I live in
I got too much love
running through my veins
to go to waste

So I have to find myself a key, huh? That simple? So you know, when there’s someone around me who says, “Happiness is just around the corner.”…

I just wanna feel
real love and the love ever after
there’s a hole in my soul
you can see it in my face
it’s a real big place

I cannot give it up.

… I’d ask, “Which corner?”