Well, I've finally done it. I've decided to move on. Shrug off my bachelorhood and all its privilieges and welcome myself to the realm of family-hood. I shall think as a bachelor no more, instead i shall think like a man with family. No longer will I rent a room like what I have been doing since i graduated from junior high. Nowadays I rent a 'rumah-petak' which is one step closer to a 'rumah'.
You see 'rumah petak' is just like rumah except that it is inhumanely small. The livingroom is 1,6 x 2,8 meters, only one bedroom which is 2 x 2,5 meters, a very small kitchen and equally mini bathroom. That's it. It's definetely not built for those with claustrophobia.
And it will be in that very place that I will learn what starting a family is all about.
Monday, March 07, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
That Thing That Grows on My Scalp
Every strand of my hair seems to have a mind of their own. And worse yet, it also appears that the concept of uniformity is also alien to them. Therefore lest i exercise some disciplinary measures, with the help of a barber or a trainee hairstylist, they tend to grow in whichever individual direction they so choose.
Their resistance to order became apparent during my last years of junior highschool. A few years later it turned into a full scale anarchy. Thus began my arduous battle with this particular part of my anatomy. My campaign began by visiting a Maduranese barber down the street. My years of observation tells me that this Maduranese fellows apply the most direct approach in the realm of hair-cutting. They nod at you and gesture toward the chair, wrap some cloth around you and without bothering to ask what particular hairstyle you fancy, they began to work on your head. In less than ten minutes everything is all over. Your hair is shorter and the barber a few thousands rupiahs richer. However it just so happen that there was an army barrack in the immediate vicinity and those army guys had been regular patron of the establishment. Thus, due to the barber's lack of communication skill I sported an army recruit look for several years.
I should probably warn you that Maduranese hair-cutting is not for the faint-hearted...nor the hygienic. There is a phase in this hair-cutting process in which the barber will trim the edges of your scalp. In doing so, instead of using Gillette safety razor that, above all, ensure our safety, they opt to use old fashioned butterfly knife, a razor-sharp, blood-chilling butterfly knife. First they wet the edges with a brush which is previously soaked in soapy water then in swift but devilishly firm movements they perform their skill with the knife. You can feel the cold steel grit against your neck skin and your mind tactlessly remind you that one wrong move can sever the arteries around your neck.
It is in this particular phase that I picture my self as a captured spy at the mercy of his interogator. My hand clenched and my mouth shut. The evil contra-espionage officer is torturing me with his knife trying to obtain precious information, which i would gladly give if i know what it is. This dreadful process takes about three minutes and i'm always glad everytime it's over.
However, after several years I found the tension was getting to my nerve so I decided to visit a 'salon'. Compared to the Maduranese barber, this is Shangri-la. The place was nicely clean and the attendants were absolutely charming and helpful. They used scissors most of the time and much to my relief, Gillette safety razor. In addition to all that I have to admit that being treated by the opposite member of my sex is actually nice. Sadly, things begin to change when my girlfriend found out that I had been frequenting a salon. She expressed her dislike that I chose to be a regular in a salon that, rumor had it, provided 'extra' services. Actually that explained why most of its clients were males of working age.
After a heated argument, which she won, of course, she decided to take this matter into her own hand and the following month she took me to another salon. I was about to protest when I immediately found out why she took me there. The salon was run by a man who tried really hard to look like a woman. He was doing a good job actually. If he wore make up i would not be able tell. Well, the problem was, I was never really comfortable being around these people. Call me shallow and homophobic but despite the decent haircut, i never went back.
Just when I thought that I'm losing the battle, I spotted a training salon offering haircuts for an extremely reasonable price. A training salon is where the apprentices and trainees practise their newly acquired skills to the poor souls who are willing to risk a week of bad-hair days. In the end, I thought what the heck! If something went wrong I could always go for the Buddhist monk look. So I went in.
The trainee looked nervous as I sat down. In the first ten minutes she had more trouble with the wire of her clipper than my hair. After a while she calmed down and were able, or so it seemed, to concentrate at the important matter. You see, when I took off my glasses, the world becomes blurry so i had no idea what she was doing. however, I found my self hissing prayers everytime her clippers buzzed way too close to my ears. Half an hour later she didn't seem to make any progress and i caught her staring at my head for a few moments as if trying to figure out what to do. Furthermore, much to my dismay, she excused hersef. I put on my glasses and was immediately shocked with what i saw.
Back when I was a kid I used to go to the ricefields near my house. After a night of rainstorm I usually found that the paddies were in a hell of disarray. The neat linings was all gone and the paddies scattered in various different direction. That was what I saw happened to my hair. Oh well..the monk look it is. This is the price of being too thrifty. I should've gone to the actual salon, rather than the training version of it.
However, it turned that the poor trainee went to summon the aid of her supervisor because she obviously thought that my hair was beyond redemption. So help came and with professional calmness the supervisor began his rescue efforts. Like many other rescue attempts, this one also attracted spectators. Before long other trainees began to flock in and watch thir supervisor performed a miracle. They made comments, ask questions, and made some suggestions and the supervisor responded in a patient, teacherly way. I guess that is how it feels to be a frog in a dissecting table.
Sadly, that was my last experiment to salvage my hair. From then on, everytime I sit on the barber/hairstylist/trainee-hairstylist's chair, I always say " Satu senti. Rata"
Their resistance to order became apparent during my last years of junior highschool. A few years later it turned into a full scale anarchy. Thus began my arduous battle with this particular part of my anatomy. My campaign began by visiting a Maduranese barber down the street. My years of observation tells me that this Maduranese fellows apply the most direct approach in the realm of hair-cutting. They nod at you and gesture toward the chair, wrap some cloth around you and without bothering to ask what particular hairstyle you fancy, they began to work on your head. In less than ten minutes everything is all over. Your hair is shorter and the barber a few thousands rupiahs richer. However it just so happen that there was an army barrack in the immediate vicinity and those army guys had been regular patron of the establishment. Thus, due to the barber's lack of communication skill I sported an army recruit look for several years.
I should probably warn you that Maduranese hair-cutting is not for the faint-hearted...nor the hygienic. There is a phase in this hair-cutting process in which the barber will trim the edges of your scalp. In doing so, instead of using Gillette safety razor that, above all, ensure our safety, they opt to use old fashioned butterfly knife, a razor-sharp, blood-chilling butterfly knife. First they wet the edges with a brush which is previously soaked in soapy water then in swift but devilishly firm movements they perform their skill with the knife. You can feel the cold steel grit against your neck skin and your mind tactlessly remind you that one wrong move can sever the arteries around your neck.
It is in this particular phase that I picture my self as a captured spy at the mercy of his interogator. My hand clenched and my mouth shut. The evil contra-espionage officer is torturing me with his knife trying to obtain precious information, which i would gladly give if i know what it is. This dreadful process takes about three minutes and i'm always glad everytime it's over.
However, after several years I found the tension was getting to my nerve so I decided to visit a 'salon'. Compared to the Maduranese barber, this is Shangri-la. The place was nicely clean and the attendants were absolutely charming and helpful. They used scissors most of the time and much to my relief, Gillette safety razor. In addition to all that I have to admit that being treated by the opposite member of my sex is actually nice. Sadly, things begin to change when my girlfriend found out that I had been frequenting a salon. She expressed her dislike that I chose to be a regular in a salon that, rumor had it, provided 'extra' services. Actually that explained why most of its clients were males of working age.
After a heated argument, which she won, of course, she decided to take this matter into her own hand and the following month she took me to another salon. I was about to protest when I immediately found out why she took me there. The salon was run by a man who tried really hard to look like a woman. He was doing a good job actually. If he wore make up i would not be able tell. Well, the problem was, I was never really comfortable being around these people. Call me shallow and homophobic but despite the decent haircut, i never went back.
Just when I thought that I'm losing the battle, I spotted a training salon offering haircuts for an extremely reasonable price. A training salon is where the apprentices and trainees practise their newly acquired skills to the poor souls who are willing to risk a week of bad-hair days. In the end, I thought what the heck! If something went wrong I could always go for the Buddhist monk look. So I went in.
The trainee looked nervous as I sat down. In the first ten minutes she had more trouble with the wire of her clipper than my hair. After a while she calmed down and were able, or so it seemed, to concentrate at the important matter. You see, when I took off my glasses, the world becomes blurry so i had no idea what she was doing. however, I found my self hissing prayers everytime her clippers buzzed way too close to my ears. Half an hour later she didn't seem to make any progress and i caught her staring at my head for a few moments as if trying to figure out what to do. Furthermore, much to my dismay, she excused hersef. I put on my glasses and was immediately shocked with what i saw.
Back when I was a kid I used to go to the ricefields near my house. After a night of rainstorm I usually found that the paddies were in a hell of disarray. The neat linings was all gone and the paddies scattered in various different direction. That was what I saw happened to my hair. Oh well..the monk look it is. This is the price of being too thrifty. I should've gone to the actual salon, rather than the training version of it.
However, it turned that the poor trainee went to summon the aid of her supervisor because she obviously thought that my hair was beyond redemption. So help came and with professional calmness the supervisor began his rescue efforts. Like many other rescue attempts, this one also attracted spectators. Before long other trainees began to flock in and watch thir supervisor performed a miracle. They made comments, ask questions, and made some suggestions and the supervisor responded in a patient, teacherly way. I guess that is how it feels to be a frog in a dissecting table.
Sadly, that was my last experiment to salvage my hair. From then on, everytime I sit on the barber/hairstylist/trainee-hairstylist's chair, I always say " Satu senti. Rata"
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Hope and Expectation
There's nothing wrong with hope and expectation, really. They are inherently stored in our default system. The problem is that the process of hoping and expecting is both excruciating and tiring. So if you can't stand hoping and expecting, don't. Save your energy for things you can have, already have and those you take for granted.
However, there's a catch to it. Once you've given up hope and stop expecting you will lead a dull and uninteresting life. Your life will be uneventful because you also stop taking risks. There will be no surprises. The good news is you have less chance of getting hurt.
So if you think you will be able to grit your teeth and endure the pain everytime your expectation fails to materialize, go for it. Nurture your hope and build up your expectation. But if you think the pain is not worth all the while, stop hoping and expecting and welcome to a dull but depression-free life.
However, there's a catch to it. Once you've given up hope and stop expecting you will lead a dull and uninteresting life. Your life will be uneventful because you also stop taking risks. There will be no surprises. The good news is you have less chance of getting hurt.
So if you think you will be able to grit your teeth and endure the pain everytime your expectation fails to materialize, go for it. Nurture your hope and build up your expectation. But if you think the pain is not worth all the while, stop hoping and expecting and welcome to a dull but depression-free life.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Maybe
Maybe I should pierce every possible part of my anatomy,
and then dye my hair with every possible color known to man,
and then tattoo whatever part still left exposed from the piercings,
and grow my hair long,
and get drunk,
and then get stoned,
and clobber people,
and get clobbered,
and hang my self from the ceiling,
or better yet crucify my self,
and have somebody burn my cross,
or maybe i should learn to love sincerely, without agenda,
and learn how to behave properly when someone loves me in return,
and devote my self to religion,
and detach my self from all worldly affairs,
and then maybe..just maybe, i will know what i really want.
and then dye my hair with every possible color known to man,
and then tattoo whatever part still left exposed from the piercings,
and grow my hair long,
and get drunk,
and then get stoned,
and clobber people,
and get clobbered,
and hang my self from the ceiling,
or better yet crucify my self,
and have somebody burn my cross,
or maybe i should learn to love sincerely, without agenda,
and learn how to behave properly when someone loves me in return,
and devote my self to religion,
and detach my self from all worldly affairs,
and then maybe..just maybe, i will know what i really want.
Monday, February 14, 2005
Kindergarten Teachers
When a friend asked me which female with what occupation that i want to marry the most, i would answer 'a kindergarten teacher'. Well, i have to admit that it's not as kinky as nurses, secreatries, or, even better, flight attendants, but I have my own reasons.
Aside from the common assumptions that kindergarten teachers are good with kids, unbelievably patient(you have to be when your job involves 20 or more hollering little imps), and caring, the best reason for marrying a kindergarten teacher is that you get the opportunity to sit down next to one of her students and whisper to him,"Man, you won't BELIEVE what your teacher did to me last night!".
Aside from the common assumptions that kindergarten teachers are good with kids, unbelievably patient(you have to be when your job involves 20 or more hollering little imps), and caring, the best reason for marrying a kindergarten teacher is that you get the opportunity to sit down next to one of her students and whisper to him,"Man, you won't BELIEVE what your teacher did to me last night!".
Saturday, February 12, 2005
That Sleepy Smile Of Hers
It's 5 o'clock in the morning. Why was i already up at this odd hour? The answer, my dear friend, is because i was staying at my future in law's house. You don't really want to wake up at 9 if you're in my position, right? As i make my way to the bathroom i noticed that my fiancee's door was half open. After throwing caution to all wind direction i risked a peek in.
There she was. Still asleep. Curled up under the blanket, only her head was visible. You know i was always firm in my conviction that women look much, much better without make up and there i was looking at one more evidence. The worry-less expression, the messed hair. I've seen her in various shade of lipstick and other war paints, but nothing came even close to this. Cute as a teddy bear and innocent as kindergarten kids.
Then she woke up. Upon realizing i was at the door, she gave me a sleepy smile. Eyes half shut as the corners of her mouth curved slightly upward.
The impact on me was what can only be desribed as a rush of sugar to the head. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweetness of the moment. Only with a biblical scale of self control was i able to restrain my self from jumping in next to her and, well, express my self.
There she was. Still asleep. Curled up under the blanket, only her head was visible. You know i was always firm in my conviction that women look much, much better without make up and there i was looking at one more evidence. The worry-less expression, the messed hair. I've seen her in various shade of lipstick and other war paints, but nothing came even close to this. Cute as a teddy bear and innocent as kindergarten kids.
Then she woke up. Upon realizing i was at the door, she gave me a sleepy smile. Eyes half shut as the corners of her mouth curved slightly upward.
The impact on me was what can only be desribed as a rush of sugar to the head. I was suddenly overwhelmed by the sweetness of the moment. Only with a biblical scale of self control was i able to restrain my self from jumping in next to her and, well, express my self.
A Rainy Saturday
I wake up at 9 to the light drumming of rain against my corrugated tin roof. Oh my..good morning, Jakarta! A rainy day, eh? Correct that, a rainy SATURDAY! The day my Jakarta slows down a couple of beats. Nothing to worry about. Just cave in my snug cardboard-walled room, snuggle in my ever-so-comfy matress, and watch that heap of date-movies I bought previous week.
Checked the cellphones; two messages. One from my girlfriend, nope, fiance..heheh. It's funny how in nine out of ten messages she always includes 'udah maem blom?'. I guess she cares about my feeding habit more than I do. Second message..my boss. Uh-oh. This can't be good.
Yep, now i'm walking to my office. Unbelievable, gotta work overtime on a cloudy saturday and i'm already an hour late. So much for my lazy day. Crossing the Pejambon street to Borobudur. Relax, man. At least it has stopped raining.
You know that life has such a poor sense of irony. I hardly finished thinking about the word 'raining' when it actually rains. Heavily. I take out my umbrella but my Rp. 10.000,- umbrella i bought from a street vendor is defenseless against heaven's fierce onslaught. Within minutes i'm drenched from thigh down. And this poor excuse for an umbrella is leaking too. I should've gone for that Rp. 25.000,- but sturdier and larger one. I shouldn't have cared that it only came in electrifying pink and horribly screaming yellow. My backpack is already wet.
Office is a large room in the 8th floor of PAIK building. 300 meters to go. You can make it, man. Think about when all this is over and you're back in your room. Oh yeah, i forgot that to get there i have to wade accross ankle-deep pool of water. This is just getting better and better.
Man, did i tell you how i hate rain?
Checked the cellphones; two messages. One from my girlfriend, nope, fiance..heheh. It's funny how in nine out of ten messages she always includes 'udah maem blom?'. I guess she cares about my feeding habit more than I do. Second message..my boss. Uh-oh. This can't be good.
Yep, now i'm walking to my office. Unbelievable, gotta work overtime on a cloudy saturday and i'm already an hour late. So much for my lazy day. Crossing the Pejambon street to Borobudur. Relax, man. At least it has stopped raining.
You know that life has such a poor sense of irony. I hardly finished thinking about the word 'raining' when it actually rains. Heavily. I take out my umbrella but my Rp. 10.000,- umbrella i bought from a street vendor is defenseless against heaven's fierce onslaught. Within minutes i'm drenched from thigh down. And this poor excuse for an umbrella is leaking too. I should've gone for that Rp. 25.000,- but sturdier and larger one. I shouldn't have cared that it only came in electrifying pink and horribly screaming yellow. My backpack is already wet.
Office is a large room in the 8th floor of PAIK building. 300 meters to go. You can make it, man. Think about when all this is over and you're back in your room. Oh yeah, i forgot that to get there i have to wade accross ankle-deep pool of water. This is just getting better and better.
Man, did i tell you how i hate rain?
Friday, February 11, 2005
The Vow
Years ago, lonely and desperate,
I made a pact with God.
"Show me a woman who has even the tiniest crush on me,
and i will give her my all"
And then you walked in,
and i will keep my end of the bargain.
I made a pact with God.
"Show me a woman who has even the tiniest crush on me,
and i will give her my all"
And then you walked in,
and i will keep my end of the bargain.
Jantung Nitor
Awan-awan bali kuliah pas lagi mlaku nang wetane nggone Yu Suyar ndilalah inyong nemu jantung. Jan-jane tah wis pirang-pirang dina inyong nggatekna kawit esih gemantung anangaring wit gedang."Ketone enak temen kae jantung", mbatine inyong. Eh pancen dhasare jodho, dina kuwe si jantung wis nlesep nang pagere embuh sapa.
Gandheng ora nana sapa-sapa tur ya enyong wis kencot banget, jantung kuwe banjur tek titor. Diarani nggragas ya emen. Terus enyong mampir maring warunge Yu Suyar, tuku bawang-brambang telungatus, lombok abang limangatus, kemiri rongatus (mung netuk rong blindhi, jan larang banget!), ampas kelapa limangatus, karo tempe limang iji.
Tekan ngumah ora nana sapa-sapa. Niliki sega esih ana, mau esuk berarti ana sing adang. Ya uwis, tek olah dhewek. Ganti klambi sedhela terus ngonceti jantung. Ketone tah gedhe ning nek kulit sing abang-abang wis diguwangi paling kari sekepel. Bar dionceti terus diparo terus digodog. karo ngenteni mateng inyong nggawe bumbune. Bawang brambang karo lombok diuleg, ditambahi kemiri terus diuyaih. Kabeh mau diuleg nganti alus.
Jantung sing wis mateng banjur dirajang-rajang. Tumpangna wajan anangaring kompor terus dilengani sethithik. Lenga wis panas bumbu dilebokna, dioasrang-asreng sedhela terus rajangan jantung dilebokna. Jan ambune enak temenan. Bareng ketone wis kalis disanteni. Wis kaya kuwe, kari ngenteni mateng.
Jangane jantung mateng, inyong banjur nggoreng tempe karo nyambel trasi.
Eh ya ndilalah inyong krungu ana swara montor teka. lha kiye..jurig-jurige pada teka. Eh temenan, adhi-adhiku pada bali. "Masak apa rika, Lik? Ambune tekan njaba" sing siji moni. "Wah ora kaya kakange enyong" ujare sing sijine maning bareng wis ndeleng ana jangan karo tempe. Loro-lorone banjur njokot piring. "Anu apa kuwe" sing ragil takon karo ngudek jangan. "Jantung", semaurku" anu nitor neng wetane Yu Suyar".
Bareng ngerti nek jantung kuwe olih nitor, ora nana sing gelem. Ya uwis, tek pangan dewek.
Gandheng ora nana sapa-sapa tur ya enyong wis kencot banget, jantung kuwe banjur tek titor. Diarani nggragas ya emen. Terus enyong mampir maring warunge Yu Suyar, tuku bawang-brambang telungatus, lombok abang limangatus, kemiri rongatus (mung netuk rong blindhi, jan larang banget!), ampas kelapa limangatus, karo tempe limang iji.
Tekan ngumah ora nana sapa-sapa. Niliki sega esih ana, mau esuk berarti ana sing adang. Ya uwis, tek olah dhewek. Ganti klambi sedhela terus ngonceti jantung. Ketone tah gedhe ning nek kulit sing abang-abang wis diguwangi paling kari sekepel. Bar dionceti terus diparo terus digodog. karo ngenteni mateng inyong nggawe bumbune. Bawang brambang karo lombok diuleg, ditambahi kemiri terus diuyaih. Kabeh mau diuleg nganti alus.
Jantung sing wis mateng banjur dirajang-rajang. Tumpangna wajan anangaring kompor terus dilengani sethithik. Lenga wis panas bumbu dilebokna, dioasrang-asreng sedhela terus rajangan jantung dilebokna. Jan ambune enak temenan. Bareng ketone wis kalis disanteni. Wis kaya kuwe, kari ngenteni mateng.
Jangane jantung mateng, inyong banjur nggoreng tempe karo nyambel trasi.
Eh ya ndilalah inyong krungu ana swara montor teka. lha kiye..jurig-jurige pada teka. Eh temenan, adhi-adhiku pada bali. "Masak apa rika, Lik? Ambune tekan njaba" sing siji moni. "Wah ora kaya kakange enyong" ujare sing sijine maning bareng wis ndeleng ana jangan karo tempe. Loro-lorone banjur njokot piring. "Anu apa kuwe" sing ragil takon karo ngudek jangan. "Jantung", semaurku" anu nitor neng wetane Yu Suyar".
Bareng ngerti nek jantung kuwe olih nitor, ora nana sing gelem. Ya uwis, tek pangan dewek.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
Lousy Defense
"She's just a friend!"
"Yes. I enjoy her company"
"No. I've never even met her. We had a strict agreement about NOT seeing each other in person"
"Yes. I do think about her sometimes. But it's different."
"Look, she's not any different from Rendy or Wahyudi. They are my friends. And so is she. We talk a lot. That's all"
"Well, of course she's female."
"Yes, i know things like that could happen. But it's not happening to me. That's what matters, am i right?"
"Look, you're making me feel like a monster here. She is a mature woman. She knows i have you, from the very beginning. She knows what she is doing. Whatever she feels for me is her department. Not mine."
"Yes, I could have prevented that. But how should i know that was THAT?"
"How do you define 'cheating' anyway?"
"Yes. I enjoy her company"
"No. I've never even met her. We had a strict agreement about NOT seeing each other in person"
"Yes. I do think about her sometimes. But it's different."
"Look, she's not any different from Rendy or Wahyudi. They are my friends. And so is she. We talk a lot. That's all"
"Well, of course she's female."
"Yes, i know things like that could happen. But it's not happening to me. That's what matters, am i right?"
"Look, you're making me feel like a monster here. She is a mature woman. She knows i have you, from the very beginning. She knows what she is doing. Whatever she feels for me is her department. Not mine."
"Yes, I could have prevented that. But how should i know that was THAT?"
"How do you define 'cheating' anyway?"
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
You'll Never Walk Alone
My love affair with Liverpool FC began on a fateful night sometime in 1985. My father woke me up in the middle of the night to watch the Champions Cup Final in Heysel Stadium, Belgium. A bit of information for all of you non-football fans, Champions Cup is the holy grail of European Football. It is pursued by the elite clubs of every nation in Europe. Anyway, that night Liverpool was up against the Italian giant, Juventus. I don't remember much about the match, but i remember a Juventus player executed a perfect penalty kick that turned to be the only goal of the match. Liverpool lost, but somehow my fascination for the club grew.
In the following years i tried to gather every scrap of information, mainly from second-hand newspapers as my family never subscribed any and back then TV live matches were somewhat of a rarity, i could get about the Merseyside Club. I learnt that that night 38 Italian fans and one Belgian died in a post match clash and Liverpool was banned from entering continental competition for several years.
I missed the days of Ian Rush, Peter Beardsley and John Barnes and the glory days when they won the English Premiere League. However, i was with them when Michael Owen, Steven Gerrard, Jamie Redknapp, Patrick Berger and the industrious Gary McAllister brought the club to near-glories. The days when SCTV and TV7 provides live matches on weekly basis and www.soccernet.com bring the latest news.
What i like about Liverpool is that they are more 'human' than any other clubs I know. Manchester United, Arsenal, Bayern Muenchen, Ac Milan, Juventus and Real Madrid are superclubs in that they can afford to have the most talented players in the world and they rarely lost. I mean if you watch them play, you know that they will eventually win the game so it's just a question of how the goals happen. But with a club as inconsistent as Liverpool, you never know. They lost 0-1 to Division II Burnley, yet they won againts the undefeatable champion Arsenal 2-1 at Anfield. For me, every Liverpool match is a potential thriller. I would stay awake reviewing the should haves, the would haves and the if onlys long after they lost a match, or reminsicing every glorious moments when they won.
I'll never forget the classic 2001 UEFA Cup Final match between Liverpool and Deportivo Alaves, deemed by most people as they greatest final match ever. Liverpool was the favorite to win the cup compared to the Spanish minnow and it seemed that the judgement was justified when they took a 2 goal lead with only 20 minute on the clock. The Spaniards however reminded them that the match was not yet over when they scored a goal just before half-time. Yet, the odd was back in Liverpool's favor when they widened the gap by scoring another goal. 3-1 to Liverpool. Alaves grabbed a lifeline 30 minutes from time following a mistake in Liverpool defence. Liverpool yet again extend their lead 15 minutes from the end of normal time. 4-2. However, the minnows turned mighty as they clawed back into match and scored two goals in 5 minutes to deny a normal time finish. The drama continued to extra time. The two finalists attacked each other with gusto, then 3 minutes from the end of extra time it happened. Following Gary McAllister's freekick an Alaves defender deflected the ball into his own net. Liverpool won under the golden goal rule. I can still remember the commentator on TV said "Not like this!" It is indeed a great pity that a valiant club such as Alaves lost because of an own goal.
The year of 2001 is a the closest Liverpool get to glory for 90s Liverpool fans such as myself. That year in addition to the UEFA Cup, they won the FA Cup, and finished 2nd in the premier league that enabled the to qualify for Champions' League. However, everything seemed to be going downhill from there. I watched their lacklustre performance as they were clobbered by Arsenal, MU, Southampton, Middlesborough. I watched them thrown out of competitions in early stages having beaten by lesser clubs like Watford or Swiss' FC Basel. One of my darkest day is when i found out that Michael Owen was tranferred to Real Madrid.
Liverpool today is a struggling club even to finish in the top 4. And this months they just suffered 3 losses in a row for the first time in 6 years. However my heart is with them. To me Liverpool is more than a football club. It reminds me how life actually works. That no matter you get trundled, trampled upon and clobbered, life goes on and eventually you will realize that glory is just around the corner.
In the following years i tried to gather every scrap of information, mainly from second-hand newspapers as my family never subscribed any and back then TV live matches were somewhat of a rarity, i could get about the Merseyside Club. I learnt that that night 38 Italian fans and one Belgian died in a post match clash and Liverpool was banned from entering continental competition for several years.
I missed the days of Ian Rush, Peter Beardsley and John Barnes and the glory days when they won the English Premiere League. However, i was with them when Michael Owen, Steven Gerrard, Jamie Redknapp, Patrick Berger and the industrious Gary McAllister brought the club to near-glories. The days when SCTV and TV7 provides live matches on weekly basis and www.soccernet.com bring the latest news.
What i like about Liverpool is that they are more 'human' than any other clubs I know. Manchester United, Arsenal, Bayern Muenchen, Ac Milan, Juventus and Real Madrid are superclubs in that they can afford to have the most talented players in the world and they rarely lost. I mean if you watch them play, you know that they will eventually win the game so it's just a question of how the goals happen. But with a club as inconsistent as Liverpool, you never know. They lost 0-1 to Division II Burnley, yet they won againts the undefeatable champion Arsenal 2-1 at Anfield. For me, every Liverpool match is a potential thriller. I would stay awake reviewing the should haves, the would haves and the if onlys long after they lost a match, or reminsicing every glorious moments when they won.
I'll never forget the classic 2001 UEFA Cup Final match between Liverpool and Deportivo Alaves, deemed by most people as they greatest final match ever. Liverpool was the favorite to win the cup compared to the Spanish minnow and it seemed that the judgement was justified when they took a 2 goal lead with only 20 minute on the clock. The Spaniards however reminded them that the match was not yet over when they scored a goal just before half-time. Yet, the odd was back in Liverpool's favor when they widened the gap by scoring another goal. 3-1 to Liverpool. Alaves grabbed a lifeline 30 minutes from time following a mistake in Liverpool defence. Liverpool yet again extend their lead 15 minutes from the end of normal time. 4-2. However, the minnows turned mighty as they clawed back into match and scored two goals in 5 minutes to deny a normal time finish. The drama continued to extra time. The two finalists attacked each other with gusto, then 3 minutes from the end of extra time it happened. Following Gary McAllister's freekick an Alaves defender deflected the ball into his own net. Liverpool won under the golden goal rule. I can still remember the commentator on TV said "Not like this!" It is indeed a great pity that a valiant club such as Alaves lost because of an own goal.
The year of 2001 is a the closest Liverpool get to glory for 90s Liverpool fans such as myself. That year in addition to the UEFA Cup, they won the FA Cup, and finished 2nd in the premier league that enabled the to qualify for Champions' League. However, everything seemed to be going downhill from there. I watched their lacklustre performance as they were clobbered by Arsenal, MU, Southampton, Middlesborough. I watched them thrown out of competitions in early stages having beaten by lesser clubs like Watford or Swiss' FC Basel. One of my darkest day is when i found out that Michael Owen was tranferred to Real Madrid.
Liverpool today is a struggling club even to finish in the top 4. And this months they just suffered 3 losses in a row for the first time in 6 years. However my heart is with them. To me Liverpool is more than a football club. It reminds me how life actually works. That no matter you get trundled, trampled upon and clobbered, life goes on and eventually you will realize that glory is just around the corner.
Monday, January 24, 2005
The Rain
During my chat with a certain female individual several days ago, she told me how she loves rain. Apparently it is her custom to take a stroll outside whenever it rains. She furthermore told me that she loved the way each drop of rain falls over her body. Then, she said that she felt liberated. Although i failed to recognise the corelation between being wet and liberated i kept my fingers tied. To each his own. However, if somehow that is the case then it would be much easier for Ceylon's Eelam Tamil, Philipines' MNLF and Palestinian PLO to quit making bombs, simply drop their weapons, soak themselves in the rain and have themselves liberated.
Call me dull and insensitive but to me rain is nothing more than heaven's way to remind us that they too can be annoying sometimes. You are on your way to a very important meeting, you have spent the entire morning preparing the papers and selecting what tie to wear. As you walk merrily under the dubious grey sky, little drops of heaven begin pouring in. An individual drop here and there at first. Seconds later it begins its full scale assault, leaving no dry spot unwetted. Now what are your options? Running and scrambling for shelter? Even if it so happen that you brought an umbrella with you, you cannot avoid not getting wet. Speaking of umbrellas, here's a good argument. If human being was destined to actually enjoy rain, they wouldn't have invented umbrellas and raincoats in the first place. Or roofs, for that matter.
Thus, what i have come to realize is that what mankind actually enjoy is being OUT of rain's way. Rain is simply a breathtaking spectacle when you watch it from the warmth and comfort for your room with a mug of hot cappucino in hand. Rains makes heavenly music on your roof as you snuggle under your blanket.
However, if you'd rather be out there feeling heaven's poor sense of humor firsthand, be my guess. Soak thyself and be liberated!
Call me dull and insensitive but to me rain is nothing more than heaven's way to remind us that they too can be annoying sometimes. You are on your way to a very important meeting, you have spent the entire morning preparing the papers and selecting what tie to wear. As you walk merrily under the dubious grey sky, little drops of heaven begin pouring in. An individual drop here and there at first. Seconds later it begins its full scale assault, leaving no dry spot unwetted. Now what are your options? Running and scrambling for shelter? Even if it so happen that you brought an umbrella with you, you cannot avoid not getting wet. Speaking of umbrellas, here's a good argument. If human being was destined to actually enjoy rain, they wouldn't have invented umbrellas and raincoats in the first place. Or roofs, for that matter.
Thus, what i have come to realize is that what mankind actually enjoy is being OUT of rain's way. Rain is simply a breathtaking spectacle when you watch it from the warmth and comfort for your room with a mug of hot cappucino in hand. Rains makes heavenly music on your roof as you snuggle under your blanket.
However, if you'd rather be out there feeling heaven's poor sense of humor firsthand, be my guess. Soak thyself and be liberated!
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
Riding in Car With Boys
I was anticipating a quiet and comfy ride as I boarded the executive class train-car of Purwojaya, leaving from Gambir for Cilacap. However, a quick assesment of other passengers told me that apparently there were at least three kids sharing the same car. Immediately I realize that ‘quiet and comfy’ had just gone out the window.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like children. I enjoy the way they stare at you like you are a Martian. I love the cooing and the wobbly walk. I’m just not very fond of their banshee-like shrieking.
It’s not their fault, really. They are just much too young and inexperienced to grasp the concept of ‘public nuisance’ and they still have limited vocabulary range and grammatical understanding so whenever they cannot convey something in proper diction or grammar, they howl. Their parents, on the other hand, are very much aware of those concepts and quite capable of using proper rules of linguistics so they always try to put an end to the shriekings by hook and sometimes crook. I have seen this done so many times that I manage to categorize the approaches used by those poor parents to silence their children.
First, and the most widely used, is the authority approach. “We’re the parents and you will shut up when we tell you to shut up”. This and a fair amounts of buttock pinching usually do the trick. Too much pinching, however will result in the increase of noise-level. Verbal threats like “Wait till we get home!” or “No more cookies for you!” rarely work. The second approach is the diversion. Parents try to divert the crying children’s attention by pointing to another direction and said “Look! A cow!” It is safer, however, to point OUTSIDE. Pointing somewhere inside the car and saying the aforementioned phrase is not advised. If this doesn’t work however, they usually use the same technique but with a more fascinating animal. Their last resort of parents in favor of this approach will be to make funny face and voices. Other than ridiculous, it is also useless. The third and final approach is to succumb to the crying children’s demand. Give them what they want. Milk, candy, sweets, cookies, everything. This the most effective but ego bruising at the same times.
My observation also tells me that parents make all that efforts for a single motive. They are not disturbed by the noise because after several years of parenthood they became immune to it. They are more concerned by the thought that other people will consider them as a ‘bad’ parents as to not to be able to control their own offsprings. Hmm..maybe I was wrong with my earlier assumption. Maybe those ungrateful brats DO understand the conceptions of public nuisances and furthermore use that angle to force their parents to do their biddings. The controllers become the controllees. These evil geniuses come up with this barbaric extortion scheme with their ability to produce high-pitched wailings to demand stuffs from their forsaken parents who in order to avoid being branded as ‘bad’ parents will have no other choice but to comply. Brilliant.
So let’s get back to my would-be-unpleasant situation. The first child sat right in front of my and was busy staring at the moving landscape. Must have been a pretty fascinating sight for one so young. Somebody should tell him that it was the train that moved. Not the landscape. The second child was across the aisle and was asleep. I couldn’t see what the third was doing because she was seated a few rows back. All is quiet in the western front. But not for long.
The train barely passed Bekasi when the child across the aisle decided that it was time to wake up. Upon finding himself in a strange environment which was nothing like, I imagine, his colorful room with cut-out cartoon characters hanging above his bed, he started to howl his head off. His parents frantically tried to calm him down with the diversion tactique, pointing to every possible directions and saying many irrelevant words, from ‘a tree’ to ‘a whale’. Cookies and chocolate offers ensued but the wailing kid just wouldn’t budge. I can’t help but wonder whether there was a telephatic relationship among children because the first kid’s screaming immediately triggered the child sitting right in front of me. He stopped watching the running trees and began to cry in earnest. Louder too. In matter of minutes the third child happily joined the chorus and was accompanied by another one further back, I must have missed him during the headcount. All hell broke loose is much too mild to describe this erratic scene. Four high spirited children in a united effort to break the world record for noise level and four set of busy parents trying various tricks to prevent them. It was like being at Limp Bizkit concert, only less entertaining.
Two years later, their soul-numbing wailings still had not subdued and people were getting restless. I had to hand it to the kids for their stamina and tenacity. A young woman made some suggestions to the second child’s parents but his mother was quick to point out that the matter was being handled. Finally the defeated father took his screaming spawn out of the comparment. I never know what he did but a few moments later the kid returned and was very quiet. This method was followed by three other fathers and soon we had our much needed silence. However, I know for a fact that these kids were merely recharging their battery for another, more brutal, assault. And as always, I was right.
Don’t get me wrong, I do like children. I enjoy the way they stare at you like you are a Martian. I love the cooing and the wobbly walk. I’m just not very fond of their banshee-like shrieking.
It’s not their fault, really. They are just much too young and inexperienced to grasp the concept of ‘public nuisance’ and they still have limited vocabulary range and grammatical understanding so whenever they cannot convey something in proper diction or grammar, they howl. Their parents, on the other hand, are very much aware of those concepts and quite capable of using proper rules of linguistics so they always try to put an end to the shriekings by hook and sometimes crook. I have seen this done so many times that I manage to categorize the approaches used by those poor parents to silence their children.
First, and the most widely used, is the authority approach. “We’re the parents and you will shut up when we tell you to shut up”. This and a fair amounts of buttock pinching usually do the trick. Too much pinching, however will result in the increase of noise-level. Verbal threats like “Wait till we get home!” or “No more cookies for you!” rarely work. The second approach is the diversion. Parents try to divert the crying children’s attention by pointing to another direction and said “Look! A cow!” It is safer, however, to point OUTSIDE. Pointing somewhere inside the car and saying the aforementioned phrase is not advised. If this doesn’t work however, they usually use the same technique but with a more fascinating animal. Their last resort of parents in favor of this approach will be to make funny face and voices. Other than ridiculous, it is also useless. The third and final approach is to succumb to the crying children’s demand. Give them what they want. Milk, candy, sweets, cookies, everything. This the most effective but ego bruising at the same times.
My observation also tells me that parents make all that efforts for a single motive. They are not disturbed by the noise because after several years of parenthood they became immune to it. They are more concerned by the thought that other people will consider them as a ‘bad’ parents as to not to be able to control their own offsprings. Hmm..maybe I was wrong with my earlier assumption. Maybe those ungrateful brats DO understand the conceptions of public nuisances and furthermore use that angle to force their parents to do their biddings. The controllers become the controllees. These evil geniuses come up with this barbaric extortion scheme with their ability to produce high-pitched wailings to demand stuffs from their forsaken parents who in order to avoid being branded as ‘bad’ parents will have no other choice but to comply. Brilliant.
So let’s get back to my would-be-unpleasant situation. The first child sat right in front of my and was busy staring at the moving landscape. Must have been a pretty fascinating sight for one so young. Somebody should tell him that it was the train that moved. Not the landscape. The second child was across the aisle and was asleep. I couldn’t see what the third was doing because she was seated a few rows back. All is quiet in the western front. But not for long.
The train barely passed Bekasi when the child across the aisle decided that it was time to wake up. Upon finding himself in a strange environment which was nothing like, I imagine, his colorful room with cut-out cartoon characters hanging above his bed, he started to howl his head off. His parents frantically tried to calm him down with the diversion tactique, pointing to every possible directions and saying many irrelevant words, from ‘a tree’ to ‘a whale’. Cookies and chocolate offers ensued but the wailing kid just wouldn’t budge. I can’t help but wonder whether there was a telephatic relationship among children because the first kid’s screaming immediately triggered the child sitting right in front of me. He stopped watching the running trees and began to cry in earnest. Louder too. In matter of minutes the third child happily joined the chorus and was accompanied by another one further back, I must have missed him during the headcount. All hell broke loose is much too mild to describe this erratic scene. Four high spirited children in a united effort to break the world record for noise level and four set of busy parents trying various tricks to prevent them. It was like being at Limp Bizkit concert, only less entertaining.
Two years later, their soul-numbing wailings still had not subdued and people were getting restless. I had to hand it to the kids for their stamina and tenacity. A young woman made some suggestions to the second child’s parents but his mother was quick to point out that the matter was being handled. Finally the defeated father took his screaming spawn out of the comparment. I never know what he did but a few moments later the kid returned and was very quiet. This method was followed by three other fathers and soon we had our much needed silence. However, I know for a fact that these kids were merely recharging their battery for another, more brutal, assault. And as always, I was right.
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Morning Thoughts
Uh, okay. It's 7.30. Where am i? Oh, the Kill Bill movie poster. I'm in my own room. Is it weekend? No, i don't think so. What day is it? Monday? Tuesday? Nevermind. Gotta get up. Gotta get up.
Clock icon on the LCD of my cellphone. Must have missed both daily alarms. The 5.15 'subuhan dulu tuyul!' and 5.30 'tangi, su!'. This is totally absurd. With the office only 20 minutes away on foot who needs to get up at 5.15?
Scattered DVDs on the floor. Oh yeah, i watched the Fight Club for the umpteenth times last night. Tyler Durden. Self improvement is masturbation. Wow. What kind of person would come up with a line like that? A deep-seated philosopher? A deranged psycho?
Peanuts packages and beer cans. My housemates must have been here last night. The thoughtless slobs. I should come over and wreck their rooms for a change. See how they like it.
An empty bottle of rum. Cheap 250 ml Mansion House Tangerang-made rum. A far cry from those drunk by the wooden-legged hook-armed sailors of Treasure Islands. I don't remember getting drunk.
This pillow feels sooo good! Is it raining outside? They should cancel work when it rains. Darn! Somebody 'borrowed' my umbrella. How can i get it back? How can i get to work?
Ratih's picture smiling at me from the night table. Night table? What night table? It's the cardboard box that came with the DVD. Put a table cloth on it. Voila. Night table. Oh dear love, i can still smell the scent of your skin.
Shit! It's 7.45. Did it take THAT long to think all these thoughts? Gotta get up. Gotta get up.
Gotta get a life.
Clock icon on the LCD of my cellphone. Must have missed both daily alarms. The 5.15 'subuhan dulu tuyul!' and 5.30 'tangi, su!'. This is totally absurd. With the office only 20 minutes away on foot who needs to get up at 5.15?
Scattered DVDs on the floor. Oh yeah, i watched the Fight Club for the umpteenth times last night. Tyler Durden. Self improvement is masturbation. Wow. What kind of person would come up with a line like that? A deep-seated philosopher? A deranged psycho?
Peanuts packages and beer cans. My housemates must have been here last night. The thoughtless slobs. I should come over and wreck their rooms for a change. See how they like it.
An empty bottle of rum. Cheap 250 ml Mansion House Tangerang-made rum. A far cry from those drunk by the wooden-legged hook-armed sailors of Treasure Islands. I don't remember getting drunk.
This pillow feels sooo good! Is it raining outside? They should cancel work when it rains. Darn! Somebody 'borrowed' my umbrella. How can i get it back? How can i get to work?
Ratih's picture smiling at me from the night table. Night table? What night table? It's the cardboard box that came with the DVD. Put a table cloth on it. Voila. Night table. Oh dear love, i can still smell the scent of your skin.
Shit! It's 7.45. Did it take THAT long to think all these thoughts? Gotta get up. Gotta get up.
Gotta get a life.
Thursday, November 04, 2004
E-mail to Holiday: The Smells of My Childhood
Holiday,
Smell of my childhood, are you kidding? You are talking to a nostalgic freak. I take refuge in the past anytime I cannot cope with the present. You know, back then the worst thing that can happen to you when you screw up is getting scolded, having to survive prolonged lectures of ethic, good manners, and we-are-working-hard-to-raise-you-is-this-how-you-repay-us? and/or, in worst cases, being grounded. But when I really think about it, it WAS pretty scary as well back then.
When I really put my mind into it, I can still smell my old elementary school classroom; the smell of chalk, blackboard, walls or even the familiar smell of fear when you realized that you forgot to do your homework and the teacher was walking down your isle to check. The contracting stomach; the cold sweat; the whatamigonnados. I remember the scent of newly purchased, newly opened text book. The mouth-wathering smell of orange-scented rubber eraser. The leathery smell of new shoes that I insist on putting on before I went to bed. The smell of freshly ironed white cotton shirt that felt warm when you put it on. The carbol disinfectant of the lavatory.
I remember the sweet, sweet smell of grass carried by the warm afternoon breeze down at the soccer pitch. The sour metal smell of the goalposts; plasticky smell of the net. In fact I still refresh my memory of that smell whenever I get a chance. a couple of months ago when I went home, I visited the old soccer pitch. As there’s nobody playing, I parked my motorcycle and walked to one of the goalposts, steel-grey where the white paint had been. Yeah, it’s still the same smell. I sat down and lit a cigarette. Inhaled deeply, eyes closed. The little kid within me played with flashes of goals scored, tackles made, goals denied, saves made, the post-match lumps and bruises, the victories, the losses.
I remember the smell of hurriedly prepared breakfasts. Tempe goreng, oseng-oseng kacang panjang, telur dadar, kerupuk kolong. I remember the smell of plastic raincoat I hid under as my father took me to school on his motorcycle on rainy days. I remember that in the minuscule universe of plastic raincoat all I can do was looking down at the dark grey asphalt road blurring fast below . I remember guessing where I was and peeked outside to confirm. I remember the smell of rain and the wet playground. I remember the colorful umbrellas in front of the classroom doors. Some poor souls was scolded by their mothers later that day for forgetting to bring their umbrellas back home.
I remember the salty scent of seaborne wind. The taste of sea-water. The smell of its vapor as I tried to dry myself after an hour of conducting the ultimate sin of swimming without adult supervision. I remember the shrimps I used as bait. I remember the Jerukan fish that I once caught; it’s a fish that smells, strangely enough, like lime. Everything about it is sea-smelling. The sand castle, the tiny crabs, the fishing boats scattered in rows across the beach. I remember the foul-smelling salted fish processing site. I remember the thick smell of terasi and petis in my Cina-Bagan friend’s house.
I remember the smell of roasted corn, of pink cotton candy, of bakso, of cheap and hardly fizzy drinks when my parents took my brothers and I to Alun-Alun (some sort of city square) on Saturday nights. Very rare Saturday nights. I remember the Bentoel biru that my father smoked. I remember the ‘gembus’(a donut shaped fried cake made from singkong—only available in Banyumas) vendor near the wayang kulit show.
Yeah, when I’m alone. Late, late at night. I can still smell them.
Yours truly,
Grim
Smell of my childhood, are you kidding? You are talking to a nostalgic freak. I take refuge in the past anytime I cannot cope with the present. You know, back then the worst thing that can happen to you when you screw up is getting scolded, having to survive prolonged lectures of ethic, good manners, and we-are-working-hard-to-raise-you-is-this-how-you-repay-us? and/or, in worst cases, being grounded. But when I really think about it, it WAS pretty scary as well back then.
When I really put my mind into it, I can still smell my old elementary school classroom; the smell of chalk, blackboard, walls or even the familiar smell of fear when you realized that you forgot to do your homework and the teacher was walking down your isle to check. The contracting stomach; the cold sweat; the whatamigonnados. I remember the scent of newly purchased, newly opened text book. The mouth-wathering smell of orange-scented rubber eraser. The leathery smell of new shoes that I insist on putting on before I went to bed. The smell of freshly ironed white cotton shirt that felt warm when you put it on. The carbol disinfectant of the lavatory.
I remember the sweet, sweet smell of grass carried by the warm afternoon breeze down at the soccer pitch. The sour metal smell of the goalposts; plasticky smell of the net. In fact I still refresh my memory of that smell whenever I get a chance. a couple of months ago when I went home, I visited the old soccer pitch. As there’s nobody playing, I parked my motorcycle and walked to one of the goalposts, steel-grey where the white paint had been. Yeah, it’s still the same smell. I sat down and lit a cigarette. Inhaled deeply, eyes closed. The little kid within me played with flashes of goals scored, tackles made, goals denied, saves made, the post-match lumps and bruises, the victories, the losses.
I remember the smell of hurriedly prepared breakfasts. Tempe goreng, oseng-oseng kacang panjang, telur dadar, kerupuk kolong. I remember the smell of plastic raincoat I hid under as my father took me to school on his motorcycle on rainy days. I remember that in the minuscule universe of plastic raincoat all I can do was looking down at the dark grey asphalt road blurring fast below . I remember guessing where I was and peeked outside to confirm. I remember the smell of rain and the wet playground. I remember the colorful umbrellas in front of the classroom doors. Some poor souls was scolded by their mothers later that day for forgetting to bring their umbrellas back home.
I remember the salty scent of seaborne wind. The taste of sea-water. The smell of its vapor as I tried to dry myself after an hour of conducting the ultimate sin of swimming without adult supervision. I remember the shrimps I used as bait. I remember the Jerukan fish that I once caught; it’s a fish that smells, strangely enough, like lime. Everything about it is sea-smelling. The sand castle, the tiny crabs, the fishing boats scattered in rows across the beach. I remember the foul-smelling salted fish processing site. I remember the thick smell of terasi and petis in my Cina-Bagan friend’s house.
I remember the smell of roasted corn, of pink cotton candy, of bakso, of cheap and hardly fizzy drinks when my parents took my brothers and I to Alun-Alun (some sort of city square) on Saturday nights. Very rare Saturday nights. I remember the Bentoel biru that my father smoked. I remember the ‘gembus’(a donut shaped fried cake made from singkong—only available in Banyumas) vendor near the wayang kulit show.
Yeah, when I’m alone. Late, late at night. I can still smell them.
Yours truly,
Grim
Friday, October 29, 2004
merindukanmu adalah lagu
merindukanmu adalah lagu
mengangankanmu adalah nafas
menyentuhmu adalah tarian
mencintaimu adalah hidup
mengangankanmu adalah nafas
menyentuhmu adalah tarian
mencintaimu adalah hidup
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Se7en
Review:
It's dark. It's gloomy. And if you can find any other synonims for dark or gloomy, it's all of them. The lightest color is off-white which is almost every wall, visible only if somebody switch the light on. Dark brown is the chosen color of every furniture, again if there is enough light to see them with. The apartments definetely needs repainting and the tennants seem to be very fond of 10-watts light bulbs, not a watt brighter. The weather doesn't help much either. It comes in two modes only; raining and cloudy with light drizzle.
And in this dark, dark city (the fact that it strongly resembles New York is hardly surprising) Somerset(Freeman),a veteran detective 7 days away from retirement pairs with a hotheaded new arrival Mills(Pitts) bubbling with high ideals to follow trails of a psychopatic murderer. Sounds like the basic plot of your everyday psycho-thriller, eh? Well, as you go along, this movie will take you to a higher ground.
The first of the ensuing murders is that of an obese man, tied in ankles and wrists, sitting face down in a plate of spaghetti. The murderer had force-fed him to death. Behind the refrigerator, the word 'gluttony' is written in grease. The second crime scene presents the body of a rich defense lawyer who was forced to cut off a pound of his own flesh and was left to bleed to death. Upon seeing the word 'greed' written in blood on the floor, something clicks in the mind of the well-educated, well-read Somerset. He knows that they must expect more dead bodies related to the remainder the seven deadly sins; sloth, lust, pride, envy and wrath.
Seven is the only psycho thriller i know where the acts of violence do not happen in the movie. It happens in your head. You are given the pictures of what had happened, it is up to you to imagine HOW it had happened. Don't expect any portrayal of running victims banging on doors in dark alleys screaming for help or a psycho scalps his victim's head while the latter is having dinner. Instead, you will see some of the goriest things a human do to another. It is disturbing, however, to imagine what kind of minds actually come up with these things.
The plotline is way above average and the ending...can't say anything about the ending. It is one of those things that will disturb you for days.
I've seen 'Kiss The Girls" and i have to say when it comes to old, reserved, wise and grim personality, Morgan Freeman is your man. In Seven he played flawlessly as a seasoned detective whose life and the lives around him has worn him down. While Pitt really believes that they will eventually catch the psycho, Freeman knows that what they do is literally follow his trail and pick up the pieces of evidences which someday just might be useful. This movie literally belongs to him. Brad Pitt however plays the standard explosive young cop eager 'to make a difference'. Freeman is the brain, Pitt is the muscle. Gwyneth Paltrow is pitifully underused. The psycho? I'm not gonna say anything about him. It's a neat surprise..and well cast too...
All in all, it is a smart thriller that doesn't aim to startle its audience everytime it gets a chance. You'll leave the theathre with something to think about.
It's 8 out of 10.
It's dark. It's gloomy. And if you can find any other synonims for dark or gloomy, it's all of them. The lightest color is off-white which is almost every wall, visible only if somebody switch the light on. Dark brown is the chosen color of every furniture, again if there is enough light to see them with. The apartments definetely needs repainting and the tennants seem to be very fond of 10-watts light bulbs, not a watt brighter. The weather doesn't help much either. It comes in two modes only; raining and cloudy with light drizzle.
And in this dark, dark city (the fact that it strongly resembles New York is hardly surprising) Somerset(Freeman),a veteran detective 7 days away from retirement pairs with a hotheaded new arrival Mills(Pitts) bubbling with high ideals to follow trails of a psychopatic murderer. Sounds like the basic plot of your everyday psycho-thriller, eh? Well, as you go along, this movie will take you to a higher ground.
The first of the ensuing murders is that of an obese man, tied in ankles and wrists, sitting face down in a plate of spaghetti. The murderer had force-fed him to death. Behind the refrigerator, the word 'gluttony' is written in grease. The second crime scene presents the body of a rich defense lawyer who was forced to cut off a pound of his own flesh and was left to bleed to death. Upon seeing the word 'greed' written in blood on the floor, something clicks in the mind of the well-educated, well-read Somerset. He knows that they must expect more dead bodies related to the remainder the seven deadly sins; sloth, lust, pride, envy and wrath.
Seven is the only psycho thriller i know where the acts of violence do not happen in the movie. It happens in your head. You are given the pictures of what had happened, it is up to you to imagine HOW it had happened. Don't expect any portrayal of running victims banging on doors in dark alleys screaming for help or a psycho scalps his victim's head while the latter is having dinner. Instead, you will see some of the goriest things a human do to another. It is disturbing, however, to imagine what kind of minds actually come up with these things.
The plotline is way above average and the ending...can't say anything about the ending. It is one of those things that will disturb you for days.
I've seen 'Kiss The Girls" and i have to say when it comes to old, reserved, wise and grim personality, Morgan Freeman is your man. In Seven he played flawlessly as a seasoned detective whose life and the lives around him has worn him down. While Pitt really believes that they will eventually catch the psycho, Freeman knows that what they do is literally follow his trail and pick up the pieces of evidences which someday just might be useful. This movie literally belongs to him. Brad Pitt however plays the standard explosive young cop eager 'to make a difference'. Freeman is the brain, Pitt is the muscle. Gwyneth Paltrow is pitifully underused. The psycho? I'm not gonna say anything about him. It's a neat surprise..and well cast too...
All in all, it is a smart thriller that doesn't aim to startle its audience everytime it gets a chance. You'll leave the theathre with something to think about.
It's 8 out of 10.
Wednesday, August 04, 2004
Champions World Series: Liverpool 2 - AS Roma 1
Gosh! i woke up just as Chris Kennedy, the referee, blew the half time whistle. I cursed myself for missing the first half actions. Now i had 15 minutes to made my self some coffee, take a quick bath and prepare myself for the second half.
I did so and was in front of the TV promptly as the ref signalled the beginning of the second 45 minutes of football match between Liverpool and AS Roma. From the commentator, i learnt that the halftime score was 1-1. AS Roma opened the score and was promptly retaliated by Liverpool's new signing Djibril Cisse.
Liverpool turned up with their usual lacklustre performance that made me wonder why i root for this club at the first place. It was all about deep defending and occasional counterattack.Riise and Murphy made sporadic runs at the left and right flank respectively but the crosses never found the right customer. It was Roma who came close to scoring at 55th minute. Panucci drove a fleeting cross from the left and Candela hit the post from less than 6 yards. Panucci had another go at the hour mark when his curved shot hit the bar with Dudek at no man's land. The rebound fell to Candela but he couldn't quite connect. This time Dudek was right where all Liverpool fans around the world wanted him to be. In response to this battery, Murphy fired a freekick a mile high.
It was beginning to look like a bad day at the office for Michael Owen who had been prowling harmlessly at the front without firing a single shot, until the 85th minute. Following a Liverpool counter-attack, Roma's defender clearance rebounded off Liverpool midfielder Dietmar Hamman and the ball fell right into the path of the last man you want to see unmarked in the box . Yep, Michael Owen. Calm as a coma, the Liverpool man fired a thunderous shot with surgical precision past the goalkeeper. The poor man didn't stand a chance whatsoever.
The goal sparked a new life to the match. In the last 5 minutes Roma players besieged the Anfield boys. They came close to equalizing several times but Liverpool fought tooth and nail to secure the victory and the Kops got what they came there to see. Final score: Liverpool 2 - AS Roma 1.
I did so and was in front of the TV promptly as the ref signalled the beginning of the second 45 minutes of football match between Liverpool and AS Roma. From the commentator, i learnt that the halftime score was 1-1. AS Roma opened the score and was promptly retaliated by Liverpool's new signing Djibril Cisse.
Liverpool turned up with their usual lacklustre performance that made me wonder why i root for this club at the first place. It was all about deep defending and occasional counterattack.Riise and Murphy made sporadic runs at the left and right flank respectively but the crosses never found the right customer. It was Roma who came close to scoring at 55th minute. Panucci drove a fleeting cross from the left and Candela hit the post from less than 6 yards. Panucci had another go at the hour mark when his curved shot hit the bar with Dudek at no man's land. The rebound fell to Candela but he couldn't quite connect. This time Dudek was right where all Liverpool fans around the world wanted him to be. In response to this battery, Murphy fired a freekick a mile high.
It was beginning to look like a bad day at the office for Michael Owen who had been prowling harmlessly at the front without firing a single shot, until the 85th minute. Following a Liverpool counter-attack, Roma's defender clearance rebounded off Liverpool midfielder Dietmar Hamman and the ball fell right into the path of the last man you want to see unmarked in the box . Yep, Michael Owen. Calm as a coma, the Liverpool man fired a thunderous shot with surgical precision past the goalkeeper. The poor man didn't stand a chance whatsoever.
The goal sparked a new life to the match. In the last 5 minutes Roma players besieged the Anfield boys. They came close to equalizing several times but Liverpool fought tooth and nail to secure the victory and the Kops got what they came there to see. Final score: Liverpool 2 - AS Roma 1.
Tuesday, August 03, 2004
Kasbon
Aaaah..akhirnya aku kasbon lagi. Pengeluaranku banyak banget bulan ini (sigh!). Mana banyak kondangan lagi...
Darn! Darn! Darn! Baru Jum'at kemaren aku terima tunjangan, sekarang udah harus kasbon..boro-boro bisa nabung! Gaji? jangan tanya soal gaji. Sampai Juni 2006 aku nggak akan terima gaji..udah kepotong pinjaman BRI.
Bapak, Ibu..akhirnya aku turuti jejakmu..kasbon lagi..kasbon lagi...
PS: saya berjanji mulai saat ini akan menjadi pengelola keuangan yang baik..setidaknya untuk diri sendiri..
Darn! Darn! Darn! Baru Jum'at kemaren aku terima tunjangan, sekarang udah harus kasbon..boro-boro bisa nabung! Gaji? jangan tanya soal gaji. Sampai Juni 2006 aku nggak akan terima gaji..udah kepotong pinjaman BRI.
Bapak, Ibu..akhirnya aku turuti jejakmu..kasbon lagi..kasbon lagi...
PS: saya berjanji mulai saat ini akan menjadi pengelola keuangan yang baik..setidaknya untuk diri sendiri..
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