The Umpteenth Journal Attempt (Version III)

Yesterday was a usual day at the office. Didn’t do much, was just waiting for this week’s American Idol results. (Yay, Katharine! Woo! Woo! Woo.)

Along comes Jamie Aditya, dropping by unannounced. This is quite a regular occurance at my office, by the way - random people from the entertainment biz in general dropping by, not necessarily Jamie Aditya. Anyway, you may know him from his days as one of the first Indonesian MTV VJs, and to date one of the only ones who was actually funny and you didn’t want to punch his lights out whenever he appeared on screen. At the moment he’s the host of Sync Or Swim on the Discovery Travel & Living channel, and is about to finish up his album, which he brought along for us to have a sneak preview. Sounds pretty neat, think eclectic funk but sort of left field. Melodic, but not something that’s instantly accessible. What’s certain is that it’s not the sort of music usually found on the independent label that’s slated to distribute it.

Anyway, he shows up, and heads to the editorial staff’s workspace. The senior editor introduces us all one by one. When it comes to my turn, he says, "This is Hasief."

In that split-second between introduction and handshake, I think of saying something to show my appreciation without sounding too arse-licker. "The legend!"? No. "I like your work."? Too much of a mouthful. "Jamie anak nakal, Jamie anak nakal! Be careful your life, OK?"? Yeah, like he hasn’t heard that one before.

As I try to come up with something cool and witty, Jamie looks bemused and asks, "Hashish?"

Story of my friggin’ life. I end up saying nothing.

You’ve got to see D’Girlz Begins.

I saw it a couple of days ago, at a press screening. Actually I wasn’t interested in the movie, I just wanted a shot at getting a free prize from the raffle. Apparently so were the several hundred other media people who also attended. No harm in sitting through the movie if it meant we could end up going home with a laptop, an iPod, a digital camera or a flash disk.

So the movie started. In a nutshell, it’s about a young policewoman who goes undercover at an arts institute in order to contact the daughter of a witness-in-hiding who could help bring down a notorious drug lord. Of course, the notorious drug lord won’t go down without a fight.

So far, so-so. This isn’t the first Indonesian movie that’s tried to take a stab at action. The flick starts with a bunch of thugs trying to control a bunch of babies (presumably smuggled) in a house. After that…

To be honest, words can’t do this justice. This is a film that will leave you speechless and unable to stop talking at the same time. This movie is what you get when a tampon company sets up a competition for three winners with no acting experience (and apparently, no ability either) to star in a film that is in reality a flimsy excuse for product placement alongside more seasoned pros who are obviously in it solely for the money, helmed by a washed-up soap opera star turned first-time director who has delusions of Tarantino and Rodriguez.

This is billed as an action-comedy. You’ll definitely laugh, alright. Not because it’s actually funny, mind you - at least not the parts that are meant to be funny - but because it’s so horrible it’s hilarious. The plot is so pretentiously incomprehensible it might as well be an avant-garde art flick. Absolutely nothing makes sense, and no one attached to the movie manages to keep their dignity intact. Especially not we who watched it until the very end, hoping to win something. I won nothing, but even if I did, it wouldn’t have wiped away the sense of violation.

To be honest, I can’t remember much. I’ve tried to block out all memories of it, apart from hilariously appropriate scenes of product placement by the movie’s sponsors Softex, such as the junkyard brawl with a large, pink Softex banner in the background, or the part where one of the girls, in the middle of taking care of her friends who were drugged, is reminded that her period blood is seeping through her jeans and is offered two choices of Softex. If the Softex people thought this would be a great way to promote their product, then they’ve not only shot themselves in the foot, they’ve dropped a hydrogen bomb on it.

And don’t get me started on director Tengku Firmansyah’s narcissism getting the better of him as he also portrays a silent trigger-happy hitman who finally breaks his silence when confronted with a cop who just happened to be his best friend and fellow shoeshiner when they were kids. As his pal’s about to arrest him, he suggests they have a duel for old times’ sake. Does his cop pal do his duty and arrest the murderer? Like hell he does.

I haven’t watched many Indonesian movies in my lifetime, but so far that’s been the worst, by light years. In fact, it may very well be the worst Indonesian movie in history, period. It’s so horrendous it’s destined to be a cult classic. Check it out now, because it’s not going to be in theatres for long. Bring along your friends, so everyone can cringe and laugh together.

I really need to lighten up, don’t I?

Woke up two days ago, reached out for my phone to check for calls and messages. Not that I usually get that many calls and messages, but hey, you never know. The phone was where I left it the previous night, but something was wrong. At least, I thought something was wrong, unless the appearance of the words "SIM Card rejected" constitutes normalcy. After trying the SIM card in another phone without any luck and consulting with my provider’s customer service, I was assured that, yes, something was wrong with it. Off to the nearest service centre I went.

From the get-go, I was informed that my SIM card was dead and needed replacement. I asked about the cause of death, and the woman behind the counter said it could’ve been caused by magnets or overcharging the phone. I recall neither charging my phone nor placing it near any magnetic sources the previous night, but oh well, what can you do? At least the replacement card was free of charge.

Of course, nothing is ever totally free. Case in point: the damage meant that all data on the card was lost, including all the phone numbers and text messages on it. Now, this is actually the second time this has happened to me, but in both cases I wasn’t too bothered. The first time was in late December ‘02, when I got a replacement card after my phone had mysteriously vanished from the house. (Long story.) I hadn’t even got around to refilling the phone book memory when the card got damaged and I had to replace it for the second time in a week, so in that aspect, it wasn’t that big of a drag to have lost all the card’s contents due to a malfunction.

And then there was this incident. Again, it wasn’t as much as a problem as it could’ve been, because the handset I’m using now has quite a lot of memory on its own. I’ve been using it for almost a year now, and had moved quite a lot of numbers from the card’s memory to the phone, though I had not moved all of them, thinking I’d get around to it sometime in the future. A normal error, I think. Still, I think most of the numbers I usually call had already been moved. I was more pissed off at losing a text message announcing the birth of my nephew, which I’d kept in my inbox since October 5th, 2003.

Speaking of inbox messages, in the handset’s memory are some left that were sent by people whose names had been eradicated, including from a number of people I’d had fond memories of in the past, but hadn’t been in touch with for a while. I’d considered re-entering their names in the address book, but after thinking it over, there’s a reason why I hadn’t been in touch with those certain people. The opportunities always been there, but I’ve just never chosen to pursue it.

I guess you could call it resentment. It’s not something I’m proud of, and I wish I could be a better person by not resenting them. Alas, right now there’s nothing that could make me re-focus all my energy into something positive, or at least forget that my best efforts and intentions under the circumstances have been treated with the utmost shoddiness on a number of occasions. Forgive and forget don’t exist in my dictionary in some cases. Some people might as well be dead to me; I seem to be dead to them anyway, so it all works out. I don’t owe them anything. They can remain an anonymous message and phone number for all I care.

Silly old neanderthal me finally figured out how to post pictures on this blog. Still working out the kinks, as you can see from my maiden attempt at it, in which the placement of several photos is slightly out of sync. I’ll try and fix it somewhere down the line.

Incidentally, the reason I chose that particular post is because yesterday was the two month anniversary of it. Plus last night I met someone who told me they’d actually read the story and got excited, so what better time than now? Enjoy.

I was going to post a blog at the start of last week, as I think the previous weekend was quite eventful, but I was been busy with work the whole week, was out of town for the weekend, and have only now been able to write. Naturally, I’ve forgotten most of what I wanted to write about from two weekends ago.

I do remember that I shaved my moustache, mostly because I was feeling itchy under my nose. Actually you couldn’t really call it a moustache, it was just a patch of sparse facial hair that had accumulated due to a brief period of non-shaving. I can’t really grow a proper moustache and accompanying beard, so my aspirations of having the ’70s-era Beach Boys look will remain unfulfilled. I can’t even grow my hair long; apparently when one tries to do that, there’s a transitional period where it just looks like weird crap before eventually growing out - I can’t seem to get past the transitional weird crap phase, and end up cutting it all off due to indignation.

I think it’s a heriditary thing. I remember once seeing my dad and his two older brothers, years ago when they were both alive, sitting together in a line. These were the two eldest of five siblings, with my dad the youngest. Physically, you’d have to look hard to find some resemblence between my dad and his elder brothers, but there’d be one giveaway: the receding hairlines. I still have a decent amount of hair around the front, but I’ve a feeling I’ll be going all Lex Luthor in a few years. Actually, my mother and her siblings have (and in some cases, had) an abundance of growth on their heads, so you’d think it would all balance out. Sadly, it seems all I got from my mother was unruly hair, whereas Halief - my younger brother - has great hair. So I got shafted in the hair department on both sides.

Speaking of hair loss, two weekends ago I attended a wedding between two high school friends of mine, Rastha and Meity. Their hair’s fine, which is more than I can say of some people who were also present at the ceremony. And they’re younger than me! Genetics can be cruel sometimes.

Anyway, Rastha and Meity’s story is an interesting one. They took the long way around; they weren’t high school sweethearts who stuck together all through college and eventually decided to take the plunge, of which there have also been several examples. They did hang around the same crowd, though; heck, Meity even went out with several of Rastha’s friends from the crowd. Years after leaving high school, the same crowd more or less stuck together, and eventually around last year or so, apparently Rastha and Meity realised what they’d been looking for had really been in front of them this whole time. I think there’s a lesson to found here. You never know who you’re going to end up shagging for the rest of your life? Maybe.

After that weekend, I can’t really remember what I was up to. Deadline time, for certain. A minimal amount of sleep per day, due to my early morning leaving-for-work routine being complemented by a leaving-the-office-at-1 a.m. habit. Ah yes, now I remember: in between trying to squeeze out every inch of creativity and productivity from my being, I recall a feeling of being left behind by my peers, namely the people I went to high school and university with. There’s the marriage thing, of course. Some are expecting their first child, some already have theirs, some are even awaiting the next arrival. Even being content with being single until you’ve find what you’re looking for can’t block out the feeling that you’re standing still.

And then there’s the mailing list where my university friends interact. After being pretty much dormant for a couple of months, recent political events in Australia and East Timor have jumpstarted it into life again, with everyone bringing out the big theories and throwing in their two cents.

Except me. I don’t even have a penny to contribute, let alone two cents. I can barely make a word out of what they’re saying. So much for six years’ worth of higher education and my contribution to the continuing advancement of International Relations Studies. I estimate I must have slept about 20 percent of my time in university; I might as well have spent it all on sleep, considering my love life pretty much sucked too.

Ah, the angst! The deep thoughts! Surely a holiday was in order, to stop me from jumping out the window! Well, yes. Yes, it was. And it was what I got, actually: I went to Solo and Yogyakarta for the Easter weekend (not to celebrate, obviously). Though to be honest, it wasn’t exactly a vacation. And I was especially dreading having to travel over 12 hours by bus in each direction.

But as it turns out, it was pretty fun, especially considering whom I was going with: Pure Saturday, The Brandals, C’mon Lennon, Sore and Tika, basically some of the best acts in Indonesian music today. Plus I had the advantage of actually knowing a lot of the people on the bus, so the long ride didn’t suck as much. Being able to sleep anywhere also helped a lot. You might be surprised to know that there wasn’t much happening in terms of rock & roll debauchery; it was more like an indie pop & rock field trip, like you used to do back in school. Memories include arriving in Yogya at around 3 a.m. and having to hijack the bus because there was no eateries within walking distance that were still open at that hour; me getting shocked into waking up due to both my calves exploding with cramp, me pulling a muscle near my ribs due to said shock awakening, and me not being to walk for about half an hour, with the pain still felt today; and me plus David Tarigan, Iyo, Adhi and Udhie from Pure Saturday, Uga from C’mon Lennon, Ade from Sore and Tonny from The Brandals playing some pop trivia quiz in which participants had to name musicians and bands based on the first letter of their names. Fun stuff, it made the long trip back to Jakarta seem to go by faster than the other way around.

So right now I should be feeling relaxed and refreshed, no? Like hell I am. Pleasure is temporary. Depression is too, though it feels like it lasts longer than pleasure, at least in my case. I really have to get a better hobby.

Today’s horoscope, courtesy of Friendster (with commentary from yours truly in parentheses):

The Bottom Line: Take what you’ve earned and squirrel it away for a rainy day. Keep living plainly.

(Great, now they tell me.)

In Detail: You’re quite an able swimmer in the channels of communication. Whether the waters are rough or smooth, warm or a little bit icy and with a nip that makes other folks’ toes curl, you plunge on in and, with elegant strokes and a regular ‘left right left right’ breathing pattern, make it to the other side. Once you’re there, you’ll be glad to see that all your messages have been received. Great!

(Now I know this is bollocks. I can’t swim, literally. And apparently I’m not that good at it in a metaphorical communication-channels context, either.)