continued from here.

OK... I cheated a little. I composed this at the laundromat this morning before checking the comment section. I will use those for the next section. Thank you for leaving them.

You can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted.
For those of you who want to play "catch-up" here are the previous sections in sequence.

As is the case with most Malay funerals, the remains of the deceased had to be buried within 24 hours and the fisherman was buried in the early afternoon. However, unlike most funerals in other parts of the country the village always held a kenduri after the burial. Tents were erected on the padang that hosted a huge community potluck. People brought their best dishes to the event and rolled out mats under the shelter of the tents to partake in this picnic peculiar. It was said this tradition was yet another that found its roots in the old pirate days. Because of the various ethnic, cultural and religious traditions that co-existed there, the kenduri provided a common opportunity to celebrate the life of the recently deceased.

Mina had spent the rest of the morning cooking up a batch of keladi (tapioca fritters) which were a specialty of her grandmother. It helped take her mind away from the confusing events of the night before. She donned a baju kurong for the event mostly so she would not offend the local sensibilities. Due to a travel snafu she had barely made it to her grandmother’s funeral and was forced to attend it in her travel clothes consisting of a white shirt and jeans. The kurong was the attire of choice also because of the comfort afforded by the loose fitting traditional garment.
By the time Mina arrived at the kenduri, everyone was adding their dishes to the 2 long tables set up in the center. She made her contribution to the meal at one of the tables and was invited to join Mr. Osman on his mat. Although generally men and women sat seperately, this was not a hard and fast rule in the village.

There were no formalities at these gatherings except for the signal to begin eating. This was usually provided by the family of the deceased who took the first helpings of the food that everyone had contributed. There was never a rush for the food tables and as Mina had observed a week earlier there seemed to be a certain casual synchronicity to the whole affair.

Mina had already begun to eat when Mr. Osman returned with his plate piled high. He sat down looked at her and chuckled. “I met Mr. Kee Cheong, the fish broker at the table. He said if funerals happened in the village at this rate… we would never get any work done. The dead are going to put us all out of business!”

Mina giggled politely at his joke. She knew full well that this event was not to mourn the dead but to appreciate their lives and even to poke a little fun at them. As she ate Mina marveled and took delight in watching the subtle quirky customs of the funeral kenduri unfold.

The village folk would eat and mill about in a seemingly random fashion. Inevitably they would make their way to where the deceased family sat. Condolences had already been offered at the funeral so this was a time to share stories and enquire about future plans. It was about moving on. There was always a group of no more than three people sitting and chatting with the young widow and her 2 young children. By custom, 2 fisherman baskets were situated close to where they sat. One was empty and the other usually filled with something edible that was the dead person’s favorite. In this cas,e the second basket was filled with the mangosteen fruit.

“It’s a good thing for us Kamal liked mangosteens more than your chicken porridge, Mr. Chong. I would have liked to have seen you try pouring the porridge into that basket… … the widow would be sitting in a padang of porridge by now!”

There was a round of laughter by everyone within earshot and without missing a beat, Mr Chong who was sitting on the next mat came back with, “You can thank his wife. She threatened to leave him if he came into my shop to eat my porridge more than 2 times a week!” Of course this sparked yet another round of laughter.

Mina laughed along but kept her eyes on the widow and the children. Once the brief and casual chit-chat was done the 3 “visitors” wished the widow well, walked over and picked a fruit from one of the baskets and dropped a cash donation into the empty one. The donations were given to defray the cost of the funeral leaving more than enough to support a living for a year. Mina had already decided to donate the donations she had received the week before to the clinic in the village.

Within moments, like a strange dance yet another set of “visitors” took the place of the departing group on the mat with the widow and her family.

Mr. Chong suddenly said, “I think he’s going to do it.”

“Who is it?” enquired Mr, Osman not turning his head to look behind.
“Lim. He’s going to be the first one.” shot back Cheong.

“The carpenter?” quizzed Mr. Osman who had his back turned to the view.

“No, his son.”

“Well, they did go to school together. They’ve known each other since they were children.”

Everyone took a discreet glance at where the widow sat. Staring would be rude and disrespectful. Young Lim stood patiently out of eye-sight behind the widow. Out of the 2 others who had “visited” with him earlier, he was the only one who had not cracked open the fruit and eaten it yet. As soon as the current visitors got up to leave he placed the fruit beside the widow. By doing so he was announcing that he was prepared to “shelter” her from this point on. This gesture given to a widow, as was the case here, was also a proposition of intent on the part of the giver. That after a suitable span of time for mourning, usually no less than a year, she would place a broom outside her front door to indicate her readiness to be courted.

“That didn’t take long at all.” Mused Mina. “I didn’t receive my first one for at least 2 hours last week.”

“And I was the first.” Said Mr. Osman proudly. “By the end of the day you received at least 12 starfruit.”

Not letting the opportunity go Chong said, “So, you are planning on taking a third wife then, Osman!”

“Miss Mina is a western educated independent woman, Chong. I think she may have her own plans that do not include the waning virility of an old uneducated man!” came the quick retort from Osman.

Mina quickly followed up with, “Mr. Osman, you may be surprised by what my real plans could be. In 2 months I may be sitting where the widow sits now.” This of course ignited yet another round of laughter and good natured ribbing. This also made everyone around feel more comfortable with Mina and many thereafter began conversing with her.

Once their plates were free of food, Osman leaned over, “Miss Mina, I will be visiting the family now. Will you honor me with your company?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you. But, the honor will be mine” They stood up and strolled in a direction away from the widow. That was part and parcel of the choreography of this quirky village custom – one’s destination should always appear to be a happy casual accident.

As they engaged in this promenade, they stopped to chit-chat with other groups of folk. Finding themselves relatively alone at one point Mr. Osman slyly mentioned, “The widow is expecting another child, you know.”

“Yes, I think she would be about 4 months now.”

Osman looked at her impressed. “You have been trained well to notice that under her baju kurong. I only mentioned it because… perhaps this could be the topic of conversation between you and the widow when we visit. You could give her some of your expert advice.”

“Execellent suggestion… as always, Mr. Osman.” She smiled at Osman’s gesture to help her save face by avoiding awkward silences during the visit with the widow.

“Pardon my asking… have your plans changed?”

Mina looked at the old man and smiled. “I’m afraid not. I will be leaving in a few days.”

Osman paused for a moment, then smiled and asked, “Then time is of the essence. Later this evening, after the kenduri… if you wouldn’t mind… the other arrangers and I would like to speak with you.”

“About what?”

“A proposition… a business proposition.”

“Of course, Mr. Osman… of course.”

By the time they reached their destination there was a pile of at least 20 mangosteens next to the widow. Mina was hardly surprised. As they sat to visit, the widow who appeared so plain and unassuming from a distance was positively radiant up close. Mina could not help but admire how beautiful she was in her simplicity. She was indeed a worthy catch. By evenings end there was a pile of fruit had grown to 65… half of them from married men.

continued here...


now you've read it... spew forth - |

continued from here.

Once again to reiterate... what you are reading are straight drafts... raw with no edits...
warts, open sores and all! LOL! As it unfolds for me... .. it's unfolding to you. And depending on if the flow continues there could be yet one more section before the weekend is up. You can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted. For those of you who want to play "catch-up" here are the previous sections in sequence.
Contributers to this section:
And yet anxiety gripped her... lelly

She knew it would end... cosima

She lifted her smoldering eyes... mustang

She knew it would end as she succumbed to him… at least that’s what she kept telling herself as their tongues intertwined while locked in a tight embrace. It sent an electrifying tingle that coursed throughout her entire being. Then he brought his hands up to hold the sides of her face as he began kissing her hard, desperately… almost violently. All she could do was attempt to validate his fervent actions with equal responses. He suddenly pulled away from her and gazed at her face. His hands then loosened and tenderly slid down her cheek as if to validate that she was indeed real.

She lifted her smoldering eyes to meet his and saw what she had first seen on the stone path outside the bathhouse. He drew her close to him and nestled his face into the side of her neck. He held her with a gentleness she had never ever experienced before and yet anxiety gripped her because of the newness of this sensation. This was unlike any sensual experience she had ever had.

He began to slide down to his knees, his chin dislodging the knot of her sarong and releasing its hold on her falling away down to the plank flooring. She stood there naked as the weight of his body finally rested on his knees. His arms wrapped around her as he buried his face into the curve of her right hip. She brought her hands to his head and slowly ran her fingers through his hair.

She looked down and realized that he was sobbing. She began to feel the tentativeness of confusion begin to overtake what until this point was a mounting sexual desire. He tilted his head up and looked at her. She was totally taken aback and mesmerized by the gratitude glowing from his eyes. He then stood up and backed away from her never for a moment taking his eyes off her.

“I’m sorry… I just had to know… I had to know that you are real.” With that he turned and left the room.

From outside the window she heard the voices of children singing an old Malay folk ditty, only slower… it almost sounded like a dirge.

Di mana dia, anak kambing saya,
Anak kambing saya main di tepi bendang,
Di mana dia, cinta hati saya,
Cinta hati saya yang berjalan lenggang,

She gathered up her sarong, quickly tied it and hurried to the window to look out. She saw nothing as the singing began fading into the distance. She made her way outside and walked around the house several times to see where he had gone but was only greeted by the serene sounds of the evening.

She finally sat on the verandah in the back trying to make sense of what had transpired. Her mind was racing at a fevered pitch. Nothing was making sense… nothing at all. Soon, overcome by exhaustion she curled up in her grandfather’s rattan chair and drifted off to sleep. As she lay there sleeping a figure of a woman stood by her side and pulled a sheet over Mina to insulate her from the cool night air.

She awoke to the sounds of a lorry out front and a male voice calling out. “Miss Mina! Miss Mina…”

She stumbled out of the rattan chair and managed to formulate a response. “Just a moment! I’ll be out in a minute!” She made her way in and slipped on a blouse over her sarong in a hastened attempt to conform to the modest propriety of the village. When she walked out the front door she was greeted by Mr. Osman.

“Good morning, Miss Mina. I hope we did not wake you.”

“No, no, I was just… Good Morning, Mr Osman.”
“Where do you want these materials to be delivered?”

“Around to where the kitchen is… in the back.”

Mr. Osman tuned to the driver of the lorry and the 2 men who rode in the back. “Around to the back of the house, gentleman!”

As the men began unloading and carrying assorted materials to the back Mina walked down to Mr. Osman.

“Mr. Osman, is it possible to find someone to rebuild the kitchen.”

“What happened to the person you said you had?”

“That just didn’t work out.”

“Miss Mina, everyone is involved with the funeral today… but I’m sure I will have someone here tomorrow morning to begin the work.”

“That will be fine… Thank You. Also please provide me with a list of expenses together with that for my Grandmother’s funeral last week. And once again I want to thank you deeply for making all those arrangements.”

“Oh, there will be no bill for any of this, Miss Mina. This is the very least we can do for your grandmother for all she has done for us over the years.”

“But… “

“Miss Mina, if you insist on paying us… the entire village will be deeply insulted. It would be a great disrespect to us… and an insult to the memory of your grandmother.”

Mina knew that this was firm and no amount if insistence would change his mind. All she could muster was a humble thank you. The lorry had now been emptied of its contents and the men were ready to head back.

“We will go now Miss Mina. We will see you at the funeral this afternoon, yes? If not the funeral… perhaps the kenduri after.”

Funerals were a community event and Mina knew that her presence would act as a gesture of thanks to the village for pitching in for her grandmother’s funeral just the week before.

“I will be at the kenduri.”

“Of course.” Came Osman’s gracious reply.

Just as he turned to head to the truck Mina interjected.

“Mr. Osman, is there a family living nearby… a family with children?”

“Children?” A glint flashed in the old man’s eye. “Things are as they were from your last visit 7 years ago, Miss Mina. Other than your grandparents property no one lives between here and the village.”

“What about up the road?”

“The next town is 20 miles away.” He was about to leave when he stopped again and turned to her. “Please forgive me for asking… yesterday in the village… what did you see?” Mina looked at Osman with a slight frown on her brow. Seeing this he quickly made an attempt to clarify. “Outside the coffee shop… across in the padang.”

“Children. They were playing tops.”

“Huh. Children… playing tops. Very good. Very good.” He chuckled to himself and hurriedly got into the passenger side of the old lorry. “I will see you at the kenduri later!” The vehicle drove down the road back toward the village in a rising trail of dust.

continued here...


now you've read it... spew forth - |

Continued from this post which was a continuation of this post which all began with this post. And here's a post on why I'm doing this (though that really shouldn't matter) with a mini-rant and other crap.

Did more writing so, I'm posting. From this point on you can leave your 5 word sentence starter with every completed section posted. It's coming pretty fast and frurious so there may be more sections as the weekend rolls along. (So, I'm altering the rules... but, hey... it's my process.)

Contributers to this section...

"here at the right time but wrong place or right place but the wrong time" – kfarmer
"tripping over her own ego" – jade ed girl
"Osmun hurried to the padang..." apj

Mina spent the rest of the day busy with her chores of sorting and packing. She had already engaged in this process for the last 5 days and was no longer prone to mull over the preciousness of every other item her grandparents had owned. On a couple of occasions she thought she heard someone outside… but when she went to look there was no one around.

By 4 in the afternoon she had pretty much given up on ‘him-who-has-no-name’ actually turning up. This was the little joke moniker she had privately bestowed on him as she was walking back from the village earlier in the day. She chuckled a little while thinking to herself that he probably ran on typical village time. The only events that ran on time in the village were births and funerals. Everything else was sort of an interpretive dance of life. After all he did say “in the afternoon” and didn’t specify which. She also reasoned to herself that everyone the village knew everyone else and each others’ business. Chances are he was helping out with arrangements for the recently deceased fisherman during which he ran into Mr. Osman who probably told him that the materials were only being delivered the next day.

Feeling a little spent from all that sorting and packing she decided to slip into her sarong and take a nap. As she lay on her side she spotted her grandmother’s workbag that she had placed beside the bed the night before. It was an old fashioned leather doctor’s case that stood upright and opened from the top. She remembered that there was a certain mystical prestige that was attached to it. On any ordinary day her grandmother was Mak Cik (aunty) to everyone in the village. One those days that she carried the bag she was always addressed as Puan (lady). It was a phenomenon she first took notice of at the age of 9 when she first followed and witnessed her grandmother delivering a baby. She remembered also the sense of awe and pride she felt knowing that her Nenek helped to coax life into this world.

She lay on her front, positioned herself on the edge of the bed, opened the bag and looked inside. She took delight and marveled at the simplicity of the instruments… also noting how little they had really changed over time. She decided almost immediately that this would be one of the few items she would keep and take with her when she left for London in a couple of weeks. After all, it was her grandmother’s position as the village mid-wife that inspired her in pursuing a career as ObGyn. The soft breeze wafting through the window soon lulled her into the land of dreams.

When she awoke she first noticed the colors of dusk beginning to envelop the sky outside. She lolled in bed for a while enjoying the low buzz of being half awake as thoughts floated in and out of her still dreamy state. Some of them involved the new life she was embarking on in London. Some were memories of past lovers. And yet some involved the decision of what to have for dinner. Soon enough she decided that dinner would be some fresh fruit from the trees in the garden. Besides she was still satiated from a late lunch.

She walked through the small orchard outside with a basket in one hand and a kerosene lamp in another as the dusk began to give way to the night. She picked a couple of bananas and a starfruit then made her way along the stone pathway to bathhouse which was situated a respectable distance away from the house and closer to the jungle stream that bordered the 3 acre property. This was a half roofless structure measuring ten by ten feet built on top of a flattened granite rock. 4 wooden 8 foot walls provided the bather’s privacy. On the roofless end stood 2 large clay jars, 4 feet high with an equal radius. One was fed by a bamboo spout that siphoned water from the stream and was in a constant state of overflow that drained down the slight gradient of the granite floor toward a hole in the corner out back toward the stream. The other jar was used to catch rainwater. The covered half was the dry area where one hung up towels and changed in and out of clothes.

Mina hung up her lamp, pulled out her bottle of shampoo from her basket, and made her way to the jar that caught rainwater. Once her hair was shampooed and rinsed she reached for the bar of soap from the basket. The fresh cold stream water felt great against her skin as she stood bathing in the moonlight. The moonbeams lit everything with an ethereal blue glow. As she poured the last bucket to rinse off she felt a presence outside. She turned to look at the door she had left opened and saw him standing outside watching her.

How long had he been there she wondered. Without drying herself she quickly slipped back into her sarong, picked up her basket and walked out. Once outside they stood there for several moments looking at each other not more than 10 feet apart. She was not afraid but there was a propriety that had been breeched and yet there seemed to be no courtesy of any apology forthcoming. The whimsy in his eyes from the morning had now been replaced with intensity. She realized that he probably saw the same in hers and decided to make her way past him back to the house as quickly as she could. As she drew nearer she suddenly became aware that the intensity in his eyes possessed a vulnerability that she had only ever known in the eyes of a new born facing the first moments of life.

As she walked past him she felt his hand on her bare shoulder. It was a firm yet gentle touch of a man that transformed the slight annoyance she first felt inside into a stirring desire. It was the kind of touch she had forgotten a man was capable of… the kind of touch that belonged to a more innocent and pure age. She stopped, turned and looked at him, her mind reeling. From the quagmire of this situation she wasn’t sure if here was the right time but wrong place or right place but the wrong time. Should she brush him off or respond to the warmth mounting within her? She turned to look at his hand on her shoulder… then back into his eyes. He withdrew his hand. She turned to walk away before her own eyes betrayed her further. She knew full well if she looked back the primal within would win.

The walk back to the house seemed like an eternity as half thoughts added to the confusion caused by the desire of her body clashing up against the rationale of her mind. They were from different worlds yet from the same beginnings of the village. He was decidedly uneducated yet possessed a quick an uncanny intelligence that was innate and could never be schooled. Her future lay elsewhere yet why should she deprive herself of the moment. Both relief and regret hit her simultaneously as she reached the door of the back verandah. As she closed the door to lock out the night she saw him still standing in the moonlight where she left him.

She headed for the safety of her room and slipped out of her now wet sarong. She dried herself off, found a replacement sarong and slipped into it. As she secured the knot to secure it she felt the gentle touch of his hand caress the softness of her belly. She swung around and their lips met as the last cogent thought slipped fleetingly out of her mind. This is safe as she would be leaving for another life in a few days.

continued here...


now you've read it... spew forth - |

Continued from this post.

I may add to this as the weekend rolls along.
Contributers to this section.
(The) subtle movement caught her eye.... apj

From the quagmire of this.......kien
The village children stopped playing…lolly

again she hear the flute... sol

she needed the fresh air....lime

she was a good bitch... ssm

A subtle movement caught her eye as Mina strolled through the open pasar or market of the village. It almost seemed as if everyone stiffened ever so slightly at the sight of her. She was used to this. Even though she was born in the village she was always considered an outsider. Her father had died suddenly after her birth and her mother moved back to the city soon after to begin a new life. The 8 weeks she spent every year with her father’s parents until she was 17 hardly qualified her as a true resident. Although she had a deep affection for the place she never dared call it home.

She headed to a local coffee shop to meet with a certain Mr. Osman who was one of the local “arrangers” in the village. He was one of an exclusive group of 5 elders who were part legal advisors, part brokers, part negotiators, and part mediators. Each one of these individuals had a direct family line to the first 5 settlers in the area. Local lore had it that the original 5 were captains of rival pirate vessels who formed a collective to more efficiently ply their “trades” in these waters.

On the padang (field) across the street from the coffee shop a small group of children were gleefully engaged in a game of “gasing” or tops. The object of the game was to strike the top of your opponent out of the circle drawn in the dirt and of course to spin the longest. Mina stopped outside the coffee shop to watch for a bit marveling at the level of skill these children had already attained. It was also a curious delight for her to know that there were still places in the world where children still played these sort of games outside.

In the musty but pleasant coffee shop Mr. Osman, a slight gentleman with a kindly face rose from his usual table to greet Mina as she entered.

“What’s news?” He greeted her, extending his hand lightly touching hers then bringing it back to touch his chest… the traditional Malay handshake. They exchanged pleasantries and he invited her to sit with him.

“The storm last night blew off the roof off the kitchen…”

“How unfortunate… are you OK?”

“I’m fine thank you. I have a list here of materials for the repairs and… “

“Please give it to me.” Osman looked at the list impressed by the detail. “Yes, it does seem like it’s all there. I’ll arrange for everything.”

“Thank You Mr. Osman. You are most kind.”

“The materials will be delivered this afternoon. I’m afraid however that work may only be able to begin tomorrow. A fishing boat did not return this morning and most of the men are still out searching…”

“The storm last night?”

“Yes, but we are hopeful. Here in the village most of our men learned to swim before they could crawl. In fact, your grandmother use to say that they were swimming in the womb and only stopped to be born!” The old man chuckled.

“Oh, I will not be needing help to build.”

The old man stopped laughing and looked at her quizzically. “Are you planning to build it yourself Miss Mina? A western education has certainly made you very resourceful.”

Mina couldn’t help but laugh. “No, no… someone has already offered to build it for me.”

“I see. Of course… someone from the village?”

“I think so.”

“What is his name?” She was about to answer when an Indian man walked into the coffee shop. “Excuse me, Miss Mina…” Then, calling to the man. “Yes, Mr Sami…”

As he walked over the Indian man shared a look of dread with the Chinese owner of the coffee shop. He then whispered something into Osman’s ear. Mina also noticed the absence of gleeful laughter from the children outside. The village children stopped playing and seemed to be staring at something down the road.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Mina… I’m afraid there is some bad news.”

“What’s wrong?” Instinctively she blurted, “The boat?”

“Yes, unfortunately we lost one of our own in the storm last night.” They all made their way to the front of the coffee shop as a quiet procession of men accompanied a stretcher carrying a covered body. “Miss Mina, due to the circumstance your materials can only be delivered tomorrow.”

“Of course. I understand.”

“Pardon me, arrangements have to be made.” With that the old man walked out and joined the procession.

Once it passed, Mina looked across to the padang where the children seemed to resume their game where they left off. They continued to play with glee as if this was an everyday occurrence. She found this a little peculiar but passed it off and headed back home.

As she walked down the road, Chong, the owner of the coffee shop looked out at the padang then to Mr. Sami. “Sami, did you see her look across to the padang?”

“I did.”

“Let’s make sure Mr. Osman is informed of this.”

continued here.


now you've read it... spew forth - |

... but don't expect much from me until after the weekend.

You have a good one!

now you've read it... spew forth - |

... and I'm a little slammed... so 5-3-1 will be up sometime later in the day. Y'all come back now! :)
(this is my 10th try to post... hope it takes)

now you've read it... spew forth - |

Life sort of intruded today... but there is a good chance I'll be back next week. Have a good one!


now you've read it... spew forth - |

6 AM - Leave your 5 word sentence starter in the comments and I'll attempt to use them in the next section of the story.

If you haven't been by since the AM yesterday... I added to "untitled 5-3-1 b"... check it out 2 posts down.

Come back in the AM tomorrow to see how it developed. Thanks fort your input. Cheers!

If you are new to my latest insanity... go to this post.

EDIT: I just got back from the laundromat to find that my jungle webs thing got cancelled. Made a call and they found the screwup and have since reinstated it but it will be a couple of hours before it will be fully up.

So Solitaire is giving up blogging. Not sure why but I'll support her decision. Now go over to her place and wish her well.

The day is turning out busier than I thought it would... but I'll still attempt a section of the 5-3-1 project for uploading tomorrow.

This also means that HNT this evening is going to be iffy at best... I'll know a little later.


now you've read it... spew forth - |

... of the 5-3-1 project? Because I learned years ago that it's actually the insane projects that keep me strangely grounded. Why is it insane? Because being a playwright the form that I have chosen this project to be created in is simply alien to me... and it's the challenge of this "discomfort zone" that I'm totally digging. (yes, I'm a pretty strange individual.)

One may argue that playwriting is writing. Tis true... but the rules and techniques are different. Short stories and novels require setting down the character's thoughts and uber description. With play and screen-writing those elements are kept to a minimum... and often (especially in playwriting) totally negated... simply because it's designed to be played.

This is why I often roll my eyes when someone makes a statement like... "I hated the movie... it's just not like the book." Of course not! They are 2 different forms, people! That would be like comparing Michaelangelo's pieta to one by Van Gogh... different forms... or attempting to READ A MOVIE and WATCH A BOOK! Am I saying all movie adaptations are successful? Hardly. However, many do succeed as just plain good movies. Whenever someone makes a statement like that they just look like a pseudo - snob. O.K.... mini rant over. Next!

The other exciting aspect is that I have no fucking clue where this is heading... storywise, that is. So, my own discovery of the piece will only precede yours by only a few hours. Also, so as not to stymie the flow there is very little editing... so, you'll also be privy to bad spelling, klunky grammer, etc. So, let's see where it goes together!
Terra Naomi's concert last night was a wonderful break. This girl is talented and going places. Besides, she is also a very sweet person. It was especially sweet that she actually remembered me by name... even though we first met over 3 years ago when she played the Rogue. Our table consisted of SSM, Katie, Jag and his bevy of babes... and me. We volunteered to dog-sit her Elliot while she played. Of course, being a little dog, SSM and I almost instantaneously decided that it is the kind of dog that gay guys would have. So, we got a picture taken to further perpetuate the rumor that we are a gay couple. LOL! If blogger wasn't being a bugger today... you would actually see the picture. Perhaps later in the day I'll create a short slideshow of pictures from last night.

EDIT: 1 - Enjoy the slideshow.

EDIT: 2 - I did some writing today and have added to "untitled 5-3-1 b". Look for the "EDIT" on the post below.

EDIT: 3 - Sugasm & 39! Woot Woot to Mel!


now you've read it... spew forth - |

continued from this post.

But something made her turn to look as she leaned up against closed the door inside. A window shutter had blown open with the wind. She walked over to shut it. She turned to return to the bedroom when she nearly tripped over something on the floor… her grandmother’s workbag. Within was everything a village mid-wife would ever need. As she picked it up she wondered how she had missed it on her way to shut the window.

Back in the bedroom she laid it beside the bed. She would deal with it along with the rest of the packing in the morning. Mina stretched out on the bed, loosened the knot of her sarong and the steady rhythm of the rain outside soon lulled her back into a deep sleep.

As she lay sleeping, the wind blew the shutters of the bedroom window open. And again, the melody of the flute could be heard faintly playing through the pounding sound of the rain. A female silhouette in the corner sitting in the shadows calmly stood up, and made her way over to the window. and seemed to address someone outside. “Not yet. The choice must be hers.” she whispered. Then, gently she closed and secured the shutters.

It was just before dawn when the rain ceased. The sudden absence of sound was what woke Mina. It was going to be another long day of packing and sorting that made her decide to get up and begin her morning routine.

20 minutes later, dressed in her favorite jeans and a baggy t-shirt she stood sipping the rich local coffee blend on the verandah surveying the damage. Half the atap roof on the outside kitchen had been torn off by the storm. Here was yet one more thing for her to deal with and time was already a premium.

She barely had a week left. There were bills to settle from the funeral the week before, legalities to take care of, the sale of the property and of course the packing before she had to leave for the city. Then there was a week’s grace period before she flew to London to begin her new position at a prestigious Harley Street clinic. Time was of the essence and this just added yet another wrinkle to everything.

“It’s going to be tough trying to sell a place like this with a roof like that.” A male voice piped up from behind the damaged hut. Mina tilted her head to the side to see who it was when he walked from behind the damage into view. “Begging your pardon, did I startle you?”

“No.” Mina collected her thoughts quickly. “Do you want to buy the place?” She was sizing him up. He was of average build, about 35, straight black hair that hung down to his shoulders.

“Are you joking? Didn’t the canning factory make a generous offer on the property?” His eyes never wavered from examining the ripped up roof as he continued to speak. “The village is small. News travels faster here than a fish being chased by a water-snake. If you are selling it to them... there would be no point fixing this. They would just tear it down to put up their factory.”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

“Hmmm… I could never buy this place. I wouldn’t buy this place with this kind of damage.”

She noticed a slight swagger to his gait as he slowly walked around still inspecting the damage.

“With the right materials… I could finish it in 2 days.”

Mina felt her heart leap a little when she heard this. This would certainly bring everything back on schedule. “How much will you charge me for the work?”

“What makes you think I want to work on this?” He continued assessing the damage and she said nothing. Finally he looked at her and smirked. “You are a city girl… you can afford me.”

There was a certain logic to this that made her smile.

“And meals.” He quickly added. “I want meals with the job… 3 meals a day! Do you cook?” His eyes seemed to glow with a whimsy when he spoke. Before she could answer he interjected. “Do you cook as well as your grandmother?”

“I know most of her recepies.”

He frowned, scratched his head, and then smiled. “Then even your worse could be quite good.” She stifled a chuckle at this. “Very well, I will do it. There is a list on the chair behind you of what will be needed… and where you can get them in the village. When I return in the afternoon… if everything is here… I will start work.” With that he sauntered down the side of the house.

It suddenly struck her that she had forgotten to ask his name. “Wait!” She hurried to the end of the verandah and poked her head around the corner but there was no sight of him. Well, he would be back in the afternoon… she could ask him then.


She picked up the list and looked at it. She was a little surprised by the detail it went into including how to transport the material and from whom the said transport could be hired from. What really struck her though was the handwriting. It was charmingly quaint… almost from a different era. Yet, this was the same quality she loved about her grandparent’s house and the village. It was infused by the slower, gentler and friendlier pace and feel of a bygone time. Until recently, the knock on the door by the progress of the modern world had successfully been kept at bay.

Her curiosity then shifted back to what she thought she had seen in the dark hours of the morning. When she reached the bamboo grove she looked around but there was no path. The morning sun was still low on the horizon, but shafts of sunlight began breaking through as if the jungle had held it prisoner through the night. Mina decided to head into the village, about a mile away to make arrangements for the purchase and delivery of the materials on the list.

The village itself was unique to most of the outside world. It consisted of 2 distinct halves… the inland half and the seaside half. In her grandparents youth each half were actually 2 different villages connected by a mile of jungle road. The seaside half was called Pasir Putih (White Sands) and the inland half was Pasir Hitam (Black Sands). Over 2 generations homes were built along the connecting road and the villages eventually merged. There were other villages and towns with the same names in the country but these 2 were quite unlike the others.

Legend had it that Pasir Putih began it’s existence as a pirate port where the spoils were initially delivered. Once unloaded the boats would then sail through a complex network of waterways in the mangrove swamps nearby to be hidden from the possible incursion of the Sultan’s Fleet. On the odd occasion that any authorities did turn up, none of the evidence could ever be found as the booty had already been hidden and fenced in Pasir Hitam - up the road where the “respectable” people lived.

So a symbiosis had always existed between both villages. This also explained the population mix of both Pasirs. Unlike most villages in the country which were primarily ethnic spacific, these Pasirs consisted of an easy and equal mix of Malays, Chinese and Indians who had lived in respectful harmony with each other for close to 4 centuries. Piracy was hardly an ethnically exclusive profession. In fact, no family that had lived in the village for the past 4 generations could claim any form of racial purity as “mixed unions” were not uncommon here. Although her race was official listed as Malay, Mina could connect her blood line to each of the races in the village including to that of the Portuguese and Dutch who use to ply these waters in the 17th and 18th centuries in search of the spice trade. So much so, the race riots that gripped the capital and other parts of the country in 1969 was a curious befuddlement to the citizens of both Pasirs.

continued here.

Thank you again to the contributers for this section:

But something made her turn...
And again, came the melody....
When she reached the bamboo...
His eyes seemed to glow…
Her dreams guided her feet…
If only I knew then... the melody censor

I didn't use all of them but I just may at a future time. "5-3-1 c" will be posted 6 PM Wednesday for your 5 word sentence starters. If you have no clue what I'm talking about...
click here for part 1.

  1. At 6 AM (Pacific time) on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I will upload a post simply titled 5-3-1.
  2. 5 - When posted YOU get to contribute a "5 word start to a sentence" toward the first sentance to the next part. For instance in this section the first 5 words were...
    But something made her turn ... I will use the first entry via comment to begin the next part.
  3. 3 - I will use at least 3 other contributions of "5 word start to a sentence" for that part in the story.
  4. 1 - One page is the minimum I will be allowed to complete that day and will be posted by the next morning (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.)


now you've read it... spew forth - |

6 PM - Leave your 5 word sentence starter in the comments and I'll attempt to use them in the next section of the story. Because this is the first... and things still need tweaking... I'll also be utilizing some that came with my early morning post.

Come back in the AM tomorrow to see how it developed. Thanks fort your input. Cheers!

If you are new to my latest insanity... go to this post.


now you've read it... spew forth - |

If you are in and around this area... Terra Naomi is playing Club Fred tonight at 8 PM. Terra is a wonderfully talented singer/songwriter... who played the Rogue about 3 years ago.

You can check out her website or her myspace page for more info and samples of her music... or even buy a cd! You can even check out her "virtual summer tour" via YouTube.

So, if you're in the area... I'll see you there tonight!

I will be posting 5-3-1 at 6 PM... and starting Wednesday I'll post for sentence starters at 6 AM just so folks across the pond can get in on this next indulgence of mine. "What the hell is he talking about?" Read the post below.


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It sounded like a flute lilting in the night air. She had heard it when she was a girl on her annual visits to the village where her grandparents lived. It was the same sound that haunted and fasinated her when she was a child. A sound that she had never told anybody about. She had not thought about it in years yet here it was again. She slid out of bed; secured the sarong tight across her chest and slowly made her way to the window. As it did when she was a child, the sound always faded by the time she got to the window in the room.

The fresh green smell of the jungle clung lightly in the cool night air as she looked out. The moon was at half but provided enough to illuminate the bamboo grove that grew about 50 yards behind the wooden stilted house. Beyond that the jungle still waited as it did when she was a girl. In her early youth it also marked the line she was strictly forbidden to venture past by her doting grandparents.

"Mina... "” her grandmother would gently instruct, "... you can play anywhere but don't go past the bamboo. Understand?"” It usually happened whenever her grandmother caught her looking in that particular direction. It usually happened when she was helping to free the seeds from the pungent petai pod that was magically transformed into a tasty sambal for the evening'’s dinner. It usually happened in the open kitchen at the back of the house, below the back verandah, where she spent many an afternoon learning the family recipes.

In the dark she quietly made her way through the house onto the verandah at the back. She stood looking out at the bamboo grove enjoying the light breeze cool her body. Her eyes trailed along the 20 foot covered walkway that led to the open kitchen where that promise was made to her grandmother so many years ago. She had crossed many lines in her 30 years on this earth but never this one. Her promise was still intact.

The sides of her full lips curled at the thought of some of the lines she did cross. Some of them happened when she s a teenager growing up in the city. Most were crossed when she left for college halfway across the world in San Francisco. She remembered how she rationalized crossing those lines simply because it was "safe"” to do so, even though many were considered reckless even by western standards. She had crossed those lines simply because she was far enough away from home to avoid family scandal or disgrace. A slight sadness overcame her as she wondered how much of her own cultural values and heritage had been compromised, lost or eroded by crossing those lines. Still, there was nothing to be ashamed of, and as she had decided at a very early age, there was little time in this short life to waste on regrets.

Just then, the bamboo grove disappeared into the blackness of night as a dark cloud passed blocking the light of the moon. She closed her eyes, tilted her head back slightly and drew in a deep breath. "Rain..."” she thought to herself as she caught the smell of heady dampness in the air.

She turned to go back in but then she heard it again. Ever so softly she thought she heard the sound of that mysterious flute. She had always heard it when she still had sleep in her eyes. Never when she was fully awake like she was now. She strained her ears to listen but was rudely interrupted by a flash of lightning and a clap of thunder. Big fat drops of rain began to fall obliterating any chance of determining the direction of the sound.

A series of flashes lit up the night sky followed by rolling thunder. In this sudden burst she thought she saw what she had never seen before... a foot path leading into the bamboo grove. She waited for more flashes to confirm that she actually did see what she thought she saw moments ago. Another flash... but it was no longer there. She rationalized that it was probably her imagination and returned indoors as the rain began to come down heavy outside.

untitled 5-3-1 continues here

This is a new creative project I'm attempting. One in which you can contribute to as well. Here is how it will work.

  1. At 6 PM (Pacific time) on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays I will upload a post simply titled 5-3-1.
  2. 5 - When posted YOU get to contribute a "5 word start to a sentence" toward the first sentance to the next part. For instance in this section the first 5 words were... It sounded like a flute... I will use the first entry via comment to begin the next part.
  3. 3 - I will use at least 3 other contributions of "5 word start to a sentence" for that part in the story.
  4. 1 - One page is the minimum I will be allowed to complete that day and will be posted by the next morning (Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.)
That's pretty much it. I really don't know where this is going. My challenge to myself is to see how much I can flesh out using this method. If you want to try this for yourself... go ahead... let me know. Perhaps we can eventually compile this into some kind of short story anthology down the line.

* Picture of the Kampung House from this site.

Edit: Monday - 8:02 AM
Appreciate the submissions in the comment section... but it's not 6 PM yet! OK... perhaps this needs some tweaking. I will post something at 6 PM for submissions... then starting Wednesday I will post for submissions at 6 AM so that folks across the pond can participate. I will use the 2 already submitted in the next section.


now you've read it... spew forth - |

Yep, I am going down to the coffeeshop with the truck. (Yet another sign of my pending insanity.) If I had a bicycle (hint, hint)... I wouldn't have to use the truck. But alas... I have no bicycle (hint, hint)... yet.

Oh, it's 6:29 AM and it's already 90 degrees. The air does not carry the odor of death and decay... like it will when the heat hits later in the day. I actually heard someone say yesterday, "If I died today... I would have to ask the devil for a blanket." Yet another day to accomplish things early and hole up in the cool darkness of my office.

O.K. i just clicked the song I embeded on this post... and it's really improved my attitude. Now I will easy samba myself to the bathroom then head for some ice-coffee. "Sonho Meu... Sonho Meu..."

more later...
EDIT: 12:37 - LATER
Got back from the coffeeshop, made bacon & eggs for Mum, cut up the watermelon for the fridge, had a fruit cocktail for brunch and am now holed up in the cool of the office.

Just for fun I watched a program on PBSHD on "string theory". Yeah... woo hoo... exciting stuff. I love how these programs put things on a pedestrian level so that most luddites (like me) can feel that they actually grasp the concept... and in so doing feel intellegent. Yeah, my esteem level now is at an all time high because I now feel like an uber-brainac. Sure... just around the corner will arise a situation when that esteem bubble will pop just as soon as some practical everyday thing will stump me. But for now... I'm a brainac. (To help keep this going... please don't ask me to explain string theory to you anytime soon, OK? Just keep enabling my delusion for the moment.) It's enough that right now... I understand it... I think.
Plan for the afternoon... hmmmm. Perhaps I'll watch more PBS and get to believe that I am the reincarnation of Einstein... or watch a movie... or do as little as possible. Any and all of that could happen.

There very well could be an update later. Don't wait up though.

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So, I was awoken at 3:30 AM by the dogs barking. Went out to shush them... left the door open to allow the cooler air of the morning in... then hit the sack again.

Awoke at 8 PM... did the usual morning routine then set out for the coffeeshop. Most of the usual gang had already left to beat the heat. It was already hitting the 90's at 9 ish in the AM. After the usual ice-coffee called SSM and swung over to pick him up.

We headed to Big Lots! We were on the hunt for a VGA cable. Did we find it? Nope, but we got caught up in the frenzy of some other items on sale. This is one of our favorite things to do. Truth be told, we both shop like women... seriously, we can't pass a bargain up. Doesn't matter if we needed it or not... if it's on sale, chances are it's going to end up in our shopping cart. Each of us got away with about $50 worth of stuff... then walked to Circuit City for the VGA cable.

On the way home, I stopped to get a bucket of KFC as I had decided while driving that this was to be a non-cooking day. Dropped SSM at his batcave and was heading home when... the temp meter on the truck just pinged to "hotter than hell".

I was only 2 blocks away from home... but the truck obviously decided that it was time to shut down. I skillfully maneuvered it into the 7-11 parking lot but was thwarted into actually rolling into a parking bay by a heated driver in a hurry. So, now the truck is in the middle of the parking lot being a total hindrance to any traffic flow.

Luckily some friends came by and helped push it into a parking bay. Popped the hood and of course the radiator was steaming over. Figured I'd wait for it to cool... add some coolant and I would be able to head back home. All this done and half an hour later... it still wouldn't start. The temp meter indicated it was cool... so, what's the problem?

I begin to check the fuses. Ahhh... the ignition fuse is blown. I call SSM who kindly comes over to help. We head to the auto-shop, get the fuses, 40 amps... pop it in... it starts up then dies. I had bought 2... and it blew both! Damn! Head back to the auto-shop. They are out of 40 amp fuses... I get their last two 60 amp fuses. Pop one in. Start it up... it blows. Double Damn! Pop in the second fuse... decide to make sure that everything, radio, cooler, etc is turned off.

Mind you all of this took place over a span of 2 hours on an asphalt parking lot in 109 degree temperature. They are expecting it to hit 113 today!

Turn the key... and it starts up. I head off home like a bat out of hell. SSM follows behind just in case the truck has plans of it's own.

I get home, walk into the the shower stand under it for 10 minutes... which is why I look like a wet dog in the picture. I think I'll be doing a lot of this today. Thank you SSM for the rescue! Who cares if people suspect that we are a gay couple? Haven't they heard of friendship? You're indeed a friend in need... and a damn fine person to hang with!

Here is another heat related post from last year... which may be just a tad more entertaining than this one.

Stay cool!

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It is so freaking hot outside! They are touting it to be 106 today around these parts and then we will have to look forward to 110 on Sunday and Monday! It's getting so that my window air-conditioner unit in my tiny office almost becomes ineffective by 4 ish in the PM... the hottest part of the day!

Really, it's enough to drive a guy to drink... in the cool of a darkened bar that is. But alcohol would not help the situation... and they frown on you and get a little irate after the 4th club soda.

I wouldn't mind it so much if it would just cool down in the evening (like it usually does around here in the Summer)... but it was 84 at 4 AM this morning! Even the ice-coffee this morning at the coffeeshop didn't do a thing for me.

I got most of my chores accomplished by 12:30. This included the weekly jaunt to the laundromat which is conveniently situated next to the pizza palor. So, it's a Hawaian Pizza with garlic and jalapenos for us today... it's too hot even to cook. Though I do have a couple of watermelons to cut up and put into the fridge. Still, even the thought of walking into the kitchen to accomplish that tires me out.

Bets are already being taken on if we'll beat the record with this latest spell that doesn't look like it's ending anytime soon. If I didn't have to find a "Mom-sitter" I would be so on the road to San Francisco right now. But the drivers on the road are cranky and reckless so one would be taking a mortality risk by just venturing out.

Still, one has to be thankful just to be alive, huh?

EDIT: 1:36 PM
He started with one red paperclip... kept on trading it and now he has a house! Check it out here!

Need some brain games? Go here!

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Other Friday post... go one down!

Still not pissed enough at anything this week to warrent a change from my Lenny Bruce stance on the phrase... Fuck You. (If you are not going to the link the short version is: Fuck You is actually a really nice thing to wish someone... if you don't like them it really should be UNFUCK YOU!)

I posted this pic... just cuz I thought it was funny... and it's real! (OK, I cheated and added my bird flip to it via photoshop.)

Anyway, with my stance on the whole FUCK YOU FRIDAY phenom... I've been grappling with the right term for the greeting. So, after much deliberation (sleepless nights, I tell ya) I've decided it will be...


I think that's a fine, fine thing to wish someone, don't you?

Click the finger below to find out why I'm flipping it!

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... some extra blogging could very well happen. (Really, it could.) If it does... the edits will appear on this post. Then of course there is also Fuck You Friday... which will be a separate post entirely. But for now, here is the...

(I'm adding a selection from the soundtrack... just to give you more of a flavor of the movie.)

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weekend movie selection

O.K. lets just get past the title already. If you are looking for an all out sex romp... this isn't it. However, if you are looking for a sexy romantic comedy... rent this. O.K. the title "Woman On Top" does address a sex position... but it's not a sex movie. See, the protagonist Isabella (Penelope Cruz) was born with a condition causing motion sickness unless she is... in the drivers seat *so to speak)... and sex is one minor facet with this... er ... unfortunate condition.

Apart from the fact that the story is told from the point of view of a contemporary fable... my other favorite aspect is that this is a FOOD MOVIE! (OK... there is this chilie pepper scene that's pretty damn steamy... but it's not a sex movie dammit!) Well, the plot does set her up as a culinary genius who runs away to San Francisco after she walks in on her husband cheating on her. (He got a little tired of her being... in the driver's seat.) So, there's lots of food in this movie... and a great Brazilian soundtrack that may just get you samba-ing down the street or doing the bossa-nova in the dark. (How may times do I have to tell you... this is not a sex movie!) It's a light, good natured romp of a movie that doesn't pretend to be anything than what it is... light frothy fun. (Hey, I saw you smirk at "frothy"... just get your minds out of the gutter!)

Here is a quote from the movie:
Toninho: Isabella, I swear on my mother's grave, you are the only woman I ever loved.
Isabella: Your mother is still alive.
Toninho: That's not the point.
If you've turned on the soundtrack... have you broken out into an easy samba yet? I have... and I'm in my sarong. ::coo coo kachoo::

EDIT: 12:43 AM
(Told you it could happen.) Last week a friend at the coffee shop asked me :

FRIEND: So, you as someone who came to this country to improve your situation... do you think it was a mistake or....

ME: Not at all. But what you're really asking me is if I see with what's happening... is if I think this is the fall of the "Roman Empire"...


ME: Yes. But, I don't think that it's neccessarily a bad thing.

Cheers and have a Great Weekend!

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Just call me "Tuan" from this point on. LOL! Sarongs and piths still rule.... and is catching on too!

For more sarongs and piths... the ladies (who also HNT'd this week) in this shot can be found here and here.

A rascally poser can be found here.

And for a pithless sarong... check on the lovely Keda here.!

It's sweeping the world, I tell ya!


(thinking of joining my pith revolution? There are some with great prices on this page - and they're real deal too.)


now you've read it... spew forth - |

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As some of you know.... I've been hermitizing of late. This generally means that I hole up in my abode and there is very little socializing. If you've ever heard Mose Allison's "Your Mind is on Vacation" you'll know what I'm talking about. (yeah, I've added the song on this post to facilitate you hearing it.)

So, it's come to the point when the hermitizing has to just gotta stop! Now it's time to really gear up and forge on forward. All this sitting around just ain't getting me anywhere. So, bear with me on this one.
ITEM: Missed opportunity: I really hate it when you present someone with the opportunity... they don't run with it and instead let it sit there and languish.
ITEM: Addiction to a paycheck: Why are so many people stuck in jobs that they hate? Sure, I understand the need to pay the bills... but shouldn't one move on eventually to something one feels passionate about?
ITEM: Starting over: Why does it always feel this way no matter the accomplishments one has achieved?
ITEM: dependence: Why are so many dependent on so few to make a living... and why does one put up with it despite the fact that one is miserable doing it?
ITEM: Why is honesty so tough? Why don't people just say what they mean instead of beating around the bush and spewing forward bullshit that really amounts to nothing?
ITEM: Talk is cheap: Why bitch about it? If you ain't gonna get off your ass to do something about it... just SHUT UP!
O.K.... the roads are safe to travel again. I'm over it. Indulgence over. Cya for HNT.

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As I have a bunch of graphic work to finish off first. Cya later. :)
EDIT: 7:39 AM
Here's something to chew on while you're waiting. CYBERQUE!

How it works?
  • We set a date, times, etc. For instance if we in California begin at noon... it'll be 4PM in the East and 8 PM across the pond.
  • We all organize a BBQ of our own... perhaps with some other bloggers who live in the area.
  • We'll set up 2 dishes or drinks common to all the BBQ's.
  • Set up a webcam and Skypecast it so we can all "visit" each other.
  • Partay!
Interested? Comment and let me know.

EDIT: 3:16 PM
This is all I have for now. Click the pic for further details on this show! I may get a wild hair and blog more later.

now you've read it... spew forth - |

And my ex-brother-in-law delivered them 2 days ago. A box of old letters and pictures - from before and during the marriage years. (Also known as "the age of confusion".) No regrets though... we're still good friends.

Anyway, the point here is PICTURES! (Kien, you've got to see some of these - including the famous "Windjammer" shot!) This means the return of PICTURE DAZE!

Come back later in the AM and a story will follow. ::snigger::

Working title: BLOOD & ROMANCE

EDIT: Later in the AM (perhaps in Hawaii)

Consider this a mini-Picture Daze episode.


In the 18th year of his life, a certain someone (namely me) had struck up a casual friendship with this very pretty girl. He was out for much more than casual. For days and days he plotted and schemed to find some opening that would impress her to go out with him. (Why he just didn't simply ask is still a mystery.) Though to his defense, in his perception, SHE was the most "normal" girl he had ever been attracted to and he undoubtedly felt that this alone warranted a slick, diabolical and special ploy.

One day SHE announced that her "young rotary club" was organizing a blood drive on such and such a date at such and such a place. SHE also made it a point to explain that SHE was indeed "in-charge" of making this drive a success.

Bingo! There was the opening he was waiting for. He reasoned that helping her score points with her club would also score him points with her. So, he canvassed all his friends into turning up at the appointed time and the appointed place with the promise of free beer.

Now understand:
  1. There wasn't a age limit on drinking in Malaysia at the time.
  2. 18 year old guys are always on the look-out for free beer.
  3. Blood drives in those days often served beer as a "fluid replenishment" after the donation.
On the day of the event he turned up with 12 of his buddies. SHE beamed when he walked through the door with his beer seeking crew at 11 AM. In an act of poetic gallantry, he volunteered to be the first. (Yes, that's when the picture above was taken.) To show her appreciation SHE sat on the bed chatting with him while a quart of his life fluids were being siphoned off. This of course made him feel that he had sufficiently impressed her... to actually ask her out after this noble event was over.

A nurse came by and pulled out the needle from his arm and was told to lie for a few minutes before heading to the drink tables. SHE left his bedside and continued to be the wonderful blood drive hostess. Within 2 minutes the nurse came by and told him that he could proceed to the drink table.

He slowly got up, flashed a gallant smile to her across the room and began walking to the drink table. Suddenly, there were gasps and muffled screams in the room. He looked around in a fit of daring-do to see where his rescue efforts were needed. Did someone faint? What was the trouble here? He was alert and ready to step into action... when his observant eye noticed that the gaspers and muffled screamers were pointing at him with the dread of death in their eyes. He also noticed a moist stickiness at his fingertips.

He looked at his arm to see that it was covered in the crimson goo called blood. In fact, there was a trail that looked like something out of the goriest Hammer movie... leading from the bed to where he now stood. From the area where the needle use to be in his arm... a small fountain was squirting out the red stuff at a steady pace.

The nursing staff descended upon him like hyenas to carrion. They sat him down at a table and cleaned him up and placed a new band-aid and gauze on the tiny wound. He was instructed to keep his arm bent while the blood coagulated. He did as he was instructed with as much machismo and grace as he could muster... as the recent panic was being quelled in the room by HER.

SHE calmly pointed him out to the panic stricken as an example and reassurance that all was well. SHE smiled sweetly at him as she did this. In his mind, all was not lost and he gallantly smiled back. However, instead of her sweet face all he saw were colored lights being sucked into an endless swirling vortex and an ever heightened ringing was mounting in his head.

Then it all went blank for him. He passed out and in slow motion fell out of his chair on to the hard cement floor... breaking the bloodclot and spraying even more blood around the room, sending anyone who was there to donate, out into the street never more to return. (This of course was retold in great comic detail by his sensitive and thoughtful friends who never let an opportunity go by at relating the story in mixed company of this uber-pathetic romantic maneuver.)

Yeah... so much for impressing her.

It all ended well though... because she did eventually go out with him (as evidenced by the picture) and all was well with the world again. (And yes... simply asking did do the trick.)

p.s. Kien's weekly Music Monday is up with one of my favorites!

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Found this on Big Dipper's blog... thought I'd share it here. Enjoy.

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Click here for appropriate music for this post... also happens to be the first audio link I posted. It will open up in a new window so you can come back here to read.

Well, here it is... the 400th post. I actually went through my blog. My first post kind of set the tone. The squirrel post really got my engine going. There were not one... but two wanker posts about absinthe.

It's been a fun ride. It's changed and evolved from a small pod of friends wasting time, old friends reconnected and expanded to new friends from all over the world. Thank you all! I won't belabor this... yeah, watch that crazy slide show of images I've posted - selected from these 400 posts.

There is something that we attempted last Summer that didn't quite pan out - a CYBERQUE! I'm thinking of attempting it again. It's basically a BBQ that is connected via webcam internationally. You will of course need a webcam and a Skype account for this to work. Let me know if you're up for it and I'll set a date and get it going and post details.

Thanks again and Cheers!

EDIT: I'll probably be leaving this post up over the weekend and see you all again on Monday. If you want to check out something new... my friend Jag has set up a new blog... go over there and show him da love! :)

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So, here it is... 1 post to the 400th. I'm wondering what I'll actually do for this? Need to figure out some kind of party post. Well, I guess you'll just have to come back and see, won't you?

Anyway, for now here is the...
weekend movie selection

Such A Long Journey is adapted from the novel of the same title by Indian born Canadian writer Rohinton Mistry and follows the life of protagonist Gustad Noble circa 1971. To even attempt to outline the plot of this film would be futile. This is a multi-layered, intellegent and compelling story that captures the grace and compassion of a clerk living in India while the madness of life swirls around him. It is both funny and poignant and deftly weaves the complexities of life into a unified whole.

Starring Roshan Seth and the late Om Puri whom you also probably saw in both "Gandhi" and "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom." A truly sublime movie with powerful and quiet performances from all involved. Another strength is an unflinching look at life in India from a very local perspective... treat yourself to an experience that will continue to reveberate for days after you watch it. One of those grand small films that deserves more.

And yes, it is in english and is available for rent from netflix.


now you've read it... spew forth - |

Yep, I'm 2 away to my 400th post... I think that willbe happening on Saturday. Perhaps I'll throw a little party right here on my blog. A little tired tonight to make any sense here at the moment... but sometime in the AM I'll at least post the weekend movie selection and join TequilaGirl and gang with Fuck You Friday... just for the heck of it!

EDIT: 7:04 AM


I decided to participate this week in the spirit of an old Lenny Bruce routine. In it he explains that the word "Fuck" is actually a nice thing and folks have got it all wrong. That "Fuck You" would actually be a NICE thing to wish someone else. Come on... wouldn't you rather be fucking right now? If you really wanted to be nasty to someone one should actually say "UNFUCK YOU". That would curse the person into NOT getting any. So, within the context and spirit of Lenny Bruce...


Click this finger to find out!

CODE: (copy & paste... replace ( with < ) this one goes to MG's blog
(a href="" target="_blank")(img src="" alt="0" height="89" width="100" /)(/a)

CODE: (copy & paste... replace ( with < ) this one goes to TequilaGirl's blog
(a href="" target="_blank")(img src="" alt="0" height="89" width="100" /)(/a)

Come back later in the day for more including the weekend movie selection!

now you've read it... spew forth - |

My favorite lounge-wear is the sarong - taste I acquired in the land of my birth.

I began wearing them to bed from the age of 7... and continue to do so. There is a certain freedom and comfort to a well worn sarong that's very liberating.

And a woman in a sarong... WOOF... don't get me started... cuz it does, will and always has!

Today the sarong is perfectly accessorized with one of my newly acquired piths - the Wolesley. (thinking of joining my pith revolution? There are some with great prices on this page - and the real deal too.)


Oh and kowboi is doing a flip-side here.

Go see that Maverick from Montana for more glorious half-nekkidness.

EDIT: Here is the stat for my 40,000th visitor (... now just 3 more to my 400th post!

Domain Name
IP Address
81.158.122.# (British Telecommunications)
British Telecommunications
Continent : Europe
Country : United Kingdom (Facts)
State/Region : Staffordshire
City : Saint Helens
Lat/Long : 53.45, -2.7333 (Map)


now you've read it... spew forth - |

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