I Am a Kok

The other day I was rushing for class and left my keys in the bike. Looked high and low in the school and even had to tompang one of the office staff on her own motorcycle to look for a locksmith to make a duplicate key for my bike. Only to realise in the end that the security guys at the school kept the keys for me at the security post. So paiseh. Kok right?

Sinema Indonesia!

So it gets kinda boring here sometimes and I've unconsiously taken to making up names of imaginary B-grade movies in my very limited Indonesian like:

Orang Dinding! (The People in the Walls!)

Malam Untuk Ayam-Ayam Yang Kurang Kepala! (The Night of the Headless Chickens!)

and of course the classic

Hidup Orang Mati!!! (The Living Dead)

I Hang With Ex-Drug Addicts Turned Cooks

So I've been eating almost every night at this restaurant called Resto Kowloon (what'd I just say? Bahasa Indonesia's just so efficient. Why say "Restaurant" when you can just say "Resto"?).
Anyway, the manager and cook are Indonesian Chinese and everytime I go there, the manager sits opposite me blabbering in bahasa Indonesia. Every. Single. Fucking. Night. And he's like so eager to like 'help' me out. Like the other day he mentioned that he's also a manager at this local gym and suggested that I should go visit it sometime (which I stupidly did, only to find out that its in this damn getto area), then when I mention that I'm thinking of renting a bike he says he knows a guy. And then later in a conversation I just mention that I'm thinking about going home and he offers to book the air ticket for me over the phone. And it doesn't stop there. The other night he looked into my pack of cigarette pack and when he sees that there're not that many left he asks me if I want to buy some more. And after I buy the cigarettes, he starts to help me peel off the plastic wrapping. I mean. Thanks man but can you just leave me the fuck alone? Maybe I'd like to KEEP THE FUCKING WRAPPING ON for the moment so that the cigarettes stay fresh? What the fuck is wrong with him?

In any case, I still go back to this Resto every night cos the food's pretty decent. And the cook is one bad ass motherfucker. He's pretty cool. Tells me about how he used to do all sorts of hard drugs in the past but he's quit now. And then he tells me shit like how much girls cost for one night around here and where to get them (and laughs when I say I want them for free - they go for Rp300,000 in case anyone's interested). And he really looks like last time everyday smoke heroin like that. Damn thin, skin white white. Like last time those army drug addict like that.

Anyway, the other night, in one of our Teochew/Indonesian/Bad English/Gesticulating conversations, I ask him where he learnt to cook and then he starts talking about Chinese cooking, brings out all his Chinese cook books to show me. Then I ask him how he gets all his special ingredients for his cooking. And of course, the conversation leads to how he gets the most difficult to find ingredient of all - P. O. R. K. Then he tells me that he's kinda got a stash lying around and (in a low voice) if I want some tau yiu teh ka (for Fiona's benefit, pork trotters in soy sauce), he can arrange it for me.

I try to play it cool but my "maybe" comes out a bit too quickly and a sly grin spreads across his face. He says come in tomorrow at about 7pm and he'll have the merchandise ready.

Next day I show up and my mate Ari and his wife are already having dinner at the restaurant. I nod at the ah beng cook and he goes into the kitchen immediately. The waiter brings me the menu but I just say "he's taking care of it". Ari and his wife look at me in puzzlement and I go "he's gonna make pork for me. You guys can have some if you want." At this point, Ari's got this look of jealousy mixed with greed on his face. He stops eating his food and just waits. Ten minutes later the waiter serves up the most beautiful bowl of tau yiu teh ka I've ever seen in my life. Ari says he'll only have a nibble and ends up taking like five pieces, all the while murmuring "its really good".

It was fucking good. And I consider it a major achievement to be able to get an Indonesian Chinese cook to make pork for me after only about two weeks here.

Next time I need my pork fix, I know where to go.

Roland Sands. Respect.

I love the bikes this guy makes. When I grow up, I wanna be just like him.

Check it out ---> www.rolandsands.com

Who killed Lee Chee Chew? (This is good. I promise you.)

Although this happened I think more than half a year back, I feel like I have to put this down in writing because I'm so damn proud of myself. It's a bit long but I just feel the need to recount this blow by blow so that I remember it for all time.

Everyone knows Lee Chee Chew right? The guy who does the "Chew On It" comic strip on The Sunday Times. This has got to be the WORSE comic strip I have ever seen in my fucking life man. I mean it's so fucking lame that I find myself looking forward to reading his crap every Sunday just to see how lame he can be. And he never lets me down too.

Anyway, Chee Chew (you don't mind if I call you that do you?) starts this blog sometime towards the end of last year also called "Chew On It!" (so fucking imaginative hor?) On his blog is, of course, more of his twaddle. Things like "oh.. some of you might have noticed that I did a new series of MRT posters, here are of the drafts that didn't quite make it past the censors" or something like that and then he attaches a picture of the actual poster (this one has a picture of an MRT attendant helping a kid to retrieve a soft toy that he's apparently dropped on the track. It says something like "don't climb onto the MRT tracks" or something like that.) Then he attaches another poster which is supposed to be the "too whacky for the average Singaporean" version which shows the MRT attendant spearing the soft toy, with the soft toy bleeding red blood. Soooo fucking funny.

He's got another one where he shows snapshots of a TV commercial (he probably waited painstagingly by the TV for the ad to snap them) where he points out an inconsistency in the frames. ("See, in one of the pictures, the construction worker's legs are dangling from the edge of the pipe, in the next scene, you can't see his legs! So strange hor?"). Gimme a fucking break.

I couldn't believe that there could be such a boh liao guy. Strangely enough, as with his weekly strips, I found myself checking his blog constantly, waiting for the next bout of crap that would emerge, just to see how lame this guy could be. What made it better was that he got "fan mail" (mostly from 11 year old kids) writing things like "wah Chee Chew, your strips are the funniest! Keep it up!" or "bwahahahaha! Who would notice that that TV commercial was not consistent?!" or something like that. Parents, if your kids write shit like that and find Lee Chee Chew funny, consider adoption cos your genes are no good.

Anyway, apparently I'm not the only one who thinks Chee Chew is a kok cos one day I see this entry where he says that people have been sending emails to tell him things like "your comics need to be funnier". He then proceeds to post a couple of pictures of "Peanuts" strips (the one with Charlie Brown and Snoopy" and basically starts going like "see? other people's comics are also not funny what". I see this I buay tahan. So I send in a comment to say that he should leave his other fellow comic artists alone, especially when they are already dead. I tell him that the fact is that his comics are just not funny and beating up other people's comic strips isn't going to help. Somewhere in there I think I politely tell him to get a life.

One hour after I post the comment, I find that it's gone. Suspecting that he might have deleted it, I post it again, adding that I'm re-posting the comment because either it got lost in the system or Chee Chew deleted it himself out of contrition.

Coupla days later, figuring that I'll just keep resending the comments, Chee Chew posts a new entry saying something like "ok Mr Jimbo (that's me!) and Mr So-and-so (I can't remember his name now-apparently someone else wanted in on the action), this is my blog ok and I can say whatever I want and criticise whoever I want. If you don't like my comics, fine. But you don't have to keep attacking me with your rude comments in my blog" (that is actually a pretty accurate reproduction of what he wrote - fucking kok right?) Anyway, smelling blood, I add in another comment saying that sure he's free to write whatever he wants but his readers are also free to make whatever comments they want. Everyone gets criticism so he should just fucking suck it up and stop being a crybaby.

The results were hilarious. Two days later he deletes all the entries and comments on his blog and closes down his blog. You can check it out at chewonitcomics.blogspot.com - Notice that he's removed the option for people to comment. 'Nuff said. I see that and I'm like whoa this guy is even kok-er than I thought. A few critical comments and he can't take it. Loser. Anyway, at least the remnants of his blog are left, which is fine by me because its gonna remain on the net as a monument to his kok-ness and my triumph. (Even his goodbye comments are kok - what "decimated their beloved pets"? Since when were we talking about pets?) Hahahahahah!!

I know I know. I'm damn boh liao. But I can't describe how shiok it was to take that fucker down!! Its kinda like I was able to touch someone's life from far away. Like remote control. It confirmed what I had always suspected - that Lee Chee Chew is a kokanathan.

Chee Chew, you are a loser and a kok. Hope you're reading this.

Update - 1 February 2007

I'm afraid Chee Chew's deleted even the kok goodbye message he left on his blog. In case you were wondering, it went something like "Ok folks, its been a good two and a half months but I'm afraid the mayhem (i.e., the two or three messages I left on his blog) has gotten too much for me to handle. I don't know why people hate me so much. (Here's the part I don't get) It's as if I decimated their beloved pets. Well, I'm going off to cry in my room now. Maybe later I'll take out my dress and put on some make-up and walk around the streets like the poofter I am. That always seems to cheer me up. Ok. Stay cool always guys. This is Lee Chee Chew signing off."

Well at least the header to his blog is still around so there is at least some monument of his kokness that will remain on the net. But he'll probably delete that too (maybe he hasn't realised that there is an option to delete your blog). When that happens, this will be the only memory of my triumph. Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

I think he's also deleted his previous site with all his cartoons. Maybe he too paiseh already. But nevermind. There's such thing as Internet Archive which can let you see webpages that other people deleted for instance because of their paisehness. Just click here and you can see samples of Lee Chee Chew's works. But its just not the same as his blog. These are merely bland. Whereas his blog was really kok!

Anyway, this is fuckingbs signing off. Stay cool always guys.

I Watch MotoGP With Middle Aged Indonesian Uncles and Auntie

Two weeks in a row I've been braving the mosquitoes in my hostel lobby to watch MotoGP. Both times I've been accompanied by a small group of Indonesian uncles and one auntie who seem to share my enthusiasm for the sport. Apparently MotoGP is pretty big around here and they all love Valentino Rossi. They even know that his nickname is "The Doctor". This is like the first time in a long while I've actually felt useful because I translate the English commentory for everyone. And throughout the race I have exchanges with this uncle in my very poor bahasa Indonesia, enthusiastic hand gestures and shouts of "YAAAA! Rossiii!" whenever Rossi overtakes someone. It's good fun.

Saturday's was a "crrACKing race" as the brit commentator guy likes to say. And poor Colin Edwards. He started in pole and had huge headstart from the pack. Quite possibly his only chance to win a race in MotoGP this season or at least finish on the podium. He leads throughout the race with Nicky Hayden juuuust out of overtaking range. Then, on one of the last laps, Nicky gets the lead but Edwards manages to wrestle it back from him. And then, like maybe 100m from the finish line, Nicky tries an overtaking move again and destabilises Edwards, who promptly crashes. When Edwards gets up, he's like 5m away from the finish line. But of course, about ten bikes have zoomed past him. Imagine. All that hard work, and wrenching the lead back from Hayden, only to crash out and finish like what? Fourth from the back? Ouch.

Rossi rode a brave race having fractured one of the bones in his right hand in an earlier practice session. He started right at the end but fought his way up to finish 8. I'm happy. I hope he is too.

MotoGP is also helping me to improve my bahasa Indonesia. Like after Edwards wiped out and the bikes all went past him, the uncle says "Rossi juga masuk ya?" Which, after some gesticulating, I realised meant "Rossi's placing got bumped up too because Edwards crashed out right?". I was like "oooooh ya". Bahasa Indonesia. Such an economical language.

Poor Colin Edwards. Life sucks.

I Rent a Gay Bike

So I'm getting sick and tired of walking around the city sweating like a cheebye pig. My homie Ari here says he knows a place where I can rent a bike. So we go to the local ang moh bar (every town in southeast asia has one) and get some beers before walking over to the store next door to get my bike.

If I learnt anything by buying my bike in Singapore from the cheebye AS Phoon*, its that you should never buy bikes because they look good. You should just buy the bike that everyone else rides. Sure you won't impress the chicks but at least you get to work on time everyday. So I choose a bright red Honda Supra 125. Basically its the kinda bike that the more adventurous aunties in Singapore go on to do their Sunday marketing, minus the basket. It looks fucking gay but almost everyone here rides one. According to my new friend at the university, here, in the Land of the Weedy Motorcycles, a 125cc Kawasaki Ninja, is a status symbol. Apparently if you ride a Ninja to school, you're the equivalent of that bastard rich kid in college who drove that cool sports convertible and got all the chicks.

Anyway, happily liqoured up, I get on the bike, kick it into first and rev the tits off the thing. Unfortunately I find out too late that with these auntie bikes, you kick the pedal down to get the gear up which is entirely opposite from your average motorcycle in Singapore. So I keep putting the sucker into the wrong gear and because there is no clutch to give you the option of slowly easing the gears in, I'm lurching down the street like a rutting antelope in heat.

Happily, I get back to my hostel in one piece. Today at lessons I learnt that the locals call this kinda bike a "bebek" or duck because, well, it looks like one. MV Agusta Brutale it is not.

* AS Phoon is a chain of motorcycle shops in Singapore. Their speciality is dishonest salesman. For a low low price of $3800, you can get fucked in the backside twice by their trainee dishonest salesman who will tell you that their Honda SPs can win the 125cc world championship but alas today they forgot to charge the battery so it can't start properly. Nevertheless, if it could, it would beat the balls off Mika Kallio and it'll be perfectly fine when you collect the bike. Of course, when you collect the bike, you realise that the battery is fine. But nothing else is. I am dedicating my life to destroying this sorry excuse for a motorcycle dealer. I will not rest until each and every salesperson there, especially Mark (you know who you are you cheebye motherfucker), is dead.

I Buy Bedsheets at the Mall

So the other day when I moved into the hostel they tell me that the hostel room does not come with bedsheets and if I want them I need to pay "bedsheet rental". What the fuck is that right? Maybe they want to charge for the toilet paper too?

Anyway, not wanting to be ripped off, I go to the neighbourhood mall to get myself some bedsheets. I go to the "home" section of the mall and there's this young salesman guy hovering like two feet away and won't go away. I barely lay my hand on one of the packages of bedsheets and he's like "oh let me help you". Relax dude, you're not going to get a tip even if you follow me home and make the fucking bed for me.

Since the manufacturers of the bedsheets have neglected to state on the packaging what size the bedsheets are, I say to the guy (in Indonesian mind you), "this one for single?" Blank look. Try again. "This one, for one person?" (emphasise on "one"). Blank look. Slightly embarassed smile. Repeat. "This one for single? For sleeping one person? You have bedcover for one person? Single?" Stupid smile, and then he says they don't have any.

So. This whole fucking departmental store only sells queen sized bedsheets. What the fuck man. Anyway, I take a closer look at the pack and it says that the bedsheet is 2m by 1m. Another one says 2m by 1.2m. Guess those must be the singles. So I pick out the least obiang one and pay for it at the cashier.

Then I think "waitaminute, I need a blanket too". So, against my better judgement, I mime tucking myself into bed under a blanket before going to bed and say "blanket" in loud slow tones. I get blank look and then embarassed smile, and then, "no. No blanket here." Right then, I look up at the top of the shelves and, whaddaya know! Blankets! Fucking idiot. Don't know what I'm saying just say don't know lah. This guy's sales strategy is "if you don't know what the customer is saying, just say you don't have it". No wonder the country is in poverty.

Anyway, the blankets were too expensive. The next morning, I went to hostel front desk and told them I'd rent the fucking bedcovers and blankets. Cheebye.

I Go Swimming Pool for Swim in Water

So I decided to go to the local public swimming pool yesterday for a swim. Big fucking mistake man. There's algae in the pool. Like icky green scum at the bottom of the pool and especially in the corners. Oh did I mention also inside the holes in the tiles where big chunks have broken off? Wow.

You know when you kick off the side of the pool, you expect to feel the tiles kinda squeek against your feet because they're underwater? Like when you slide your finger against a squeeky clean porcelain plate? In this pool when you kick off the sides, it feels kinda slimy. And if you're unlucky, bits of algae get under your toenails. Niiiice.

And there's like shitloads of people in the pool. Like they were having some kind of swimming training for teenagers there. So every lap or so I would ram smack into someone. Ow. And there's lots of people just hanging around in the pool, enjoying the feeling of the cool putrid water. So its kinda like negotiating an obstacle course. They should make an olympic event out of this. Maybe call it the "people slalom".

Went back to my hostel room and scrubbed myself under the shower for half an hour. Had to resist the urge to pry out my nails to wash under them properly. Hey I can still see a green speck under one of my finger nails. Still... not... clean......

I I-S L-E-A-R-N I-N-D-O-N-E-S-I-A L-A-N-G-U-A-G-E

So here I am in Indonesia learning a language I thought I would only ever use when rubbing defeats in other people's faces when we beat them at soccer in primary school. Just six months back I would never have imagined that I would be in this country for more than a week and in a place other than a beach resort having lots of alcohol, sex, sunshine and seafood (seems like lots of good things in life start with 'S' - such as "Suzuki GSX-R1000"). Anyway, I'm in Indonesia. At the moment, being eaten alive by mosquitos while I sit in the lobby of my hostel writing this because they don't have internet connections in the rooms.

After a week of lessons, I'm starting to realise that there's a trick to bahasa Indonesia grammar. First, you think about what you want to say in English, then, you think of how NOT to say it in English and you get the bahasa Indonesia version. Like "what colour is the car?"becomes "car colour what?" Piece of cake. And then the second rule of thumb is that you gotta imagine that you're talking like a caveman. Like in bahasa Indonesia, "me Tarzan, you Jane" makes perfect grammatical sense because they don't have uh.. what're they called? connecting words? Attributes? like "am"or "are", etc... in bahasa Indonesia.

Easy? My lan jiao ah easy. Everyday my brain does somersaults trying to arrange sentences wrongly in English and then translate the words into bahasa Indonesia. But I think I'm getting there.