What's In A Name?

Click here.

"In an effort to brand itself as “progressive” and “egalitarian”, and move away from feudalistic connotations, the party has introduced new descriptions for its organisational structure. The supreme council (majlis pimpinan tertinggi) is now replaced with central leadership committee (majlis pimpinan pusat) while “bahagian” or division has been superseded by “cabang”, and “cawangan” or branch will be referred to as “ranting”."

Central leadership committee?

Anybody else thinking of Lenin's Council of Commissars?

PKR, you do not sound 'progressive' or 'egalitarian', you just sound out of touch with reality.

Yes, this smacks of Socialist 'egalitarian' rebranding, ladies and gents.

And before I get flamed as a crackpot Commie-basher, here're my arguments. So finish reading before you click the Comments link.

A committee, by definition, is a group of ordinary party members who get together in order to accomplish a particular goal or target.

Ostensibly, this implies that the members of the Committee are, in fact, just your everyday, run of the mill PKR party members.

So, by rebranding the Supreme Council a Central Leadership Committee, the party's saying, "Hey, we're democratic! Look! Our leaders are normal people! Just like you! And you! And you, the homeless unemployed guy who lives off his brother smoking pot over there! Yes, you too!"

I disagree with this.

Why pretend that a group of leaders that are higher ranked (and by extension, more valuable) than the other members of the party are 'the same as everyone else'?

Why pretend that the men (and women) who contribute most to the party are the exact same as the ones who join it for the glamour of being part of 'the Opposition' or, worse, the money?

I say keep the title 'Supreme Council.'

I believe that Parties are not run by Committees.

Scratch that, Parties CANNOT be run by committees.

Parties are run by councils, with a clear hierarchy and a leader that leads with integrity, with a clear succession plan to an intelligent, competent successor. There is no cooperation in leadership.

Cooperative Leadership does not and cannot exist. It is an oxymoron.

And the 'Feudalistic connotations' of the term Sepreme Council? People, the Supreme Council, i.e. the notion of an enlightened form of organised leadership is not FEUDAL at all! It is the absolute base of the modern Government! The idea of a 'Leadership Committee' is the perverted version of this noble ideal! Why are we equating the single greatest breakthrough in human governing systems with something that is ancient and 'bad'? This makes no sense.

Look.

PKR's supreme council is (mostly?) made up of competent, intelligent individuals, and I, for one, respect who they are and what they have to offer to Malaysian politics.

And so they deserve to be recognised as maybe a little better than all of us for what they have achieved as the main opposition to the admittedly slightly wayward ruling party we have now.

PKR has never been led by a committee. PKR is what it is today because of a council, a team, the leaders, men with vision, a wise group of elders and not-so-elders, and there is no point calling them otherwise. To do so would be an insult.

Calling them a 'committee' will just draw derision from Malaysians sick of these half-assed attempts to 'democratise' PKR's image (which I personally think is too democratic already). We want good government, not fancy committees. The most democratic titles in the world will not get you anywhere when the economy crashes, GLCs go bankrupt, the crude oil runs out and pop stars are falling left and right.

PKR's leadership has given much to us all, and even I, who privately lean towards the ruling coalition (they can be saved, people!) ungrudgingly admit this. They deserve to be treated as such.

Call a spade a spade, ladies and gentlemen. After all it's done for you, it's the least you could do.

Quickie Pt 2

My UK trip (originally planned for 28th June -12th July) has just been cancelled, due to the big swine flu scare.

And I'm understandably disappointed.

I spend much time cursing unnamed things, trying to find some way to spend an extra two weeks in Malaysia.

But then, the next day (i.e. Today) I get a call from Ms Parvin from the Yayasan Bumiputera Scholarship Whatchamajigger, and she says she wants to schedule a face-to-face interview for me on the 3rd of July, Friday.

Whoa.

And it turns out our tickets can be held for a year, meaning that we'll be going in September after Raya, in the Fall when it's not so tourist-y.

Double Whoa.

Which just goes to show you kids.

Things'll pretty much almost always end up going your way.

Now to see how long this optimism will last.

I'm gonna go read a book and try not to kill myself over my terrible Malay language skills.

Quickie Pt. 1.

Quick update on what could have possibly been the best weekend I've had all year.

And regular readers of this blog (which number in the high 0.005s) will know that this is a rare occurence for me, as I almost never put up posts recounting my increasingly-mundane exploits.

Anyway.

Awesome weekend.

Why? Consider the following.

Friday.

1. Came back on Friday after squash with Suman, so got the exercise quota of the weeekend filled (Ha. Ha.).
2. Dinner with Mommy at Pasta Zanmai in OneUtama, which had surprisingly well-prepared pasta. Bloody hell, teh japanese are cooking better spaghetti than the Italians, why is that?

Saturday.

1. Went out to buy prom suit with Mom. Yes. I'm a mommy's boy. Sue me.
2. Found and bought the suit from Zara. A two-button this time, thank god. If I show up at a prom in a business suit again i'd be forced to go into the Himalayas and be inducted into a monastery.
3. Came home, watched an awesome qualifying session, where Mr. Vettel snatched pole in a fantastic lap.
4. Did P3. yes. Don't laugh. = D
5. Noticed that downloading speed had quadrupled and downloaded The Pixies and Robert Plant & Alison Krauss tracks, and... That's it. Right. Cough.

Sunday.

1. Woke up and got my Dad to send me to The Gardens, like I'm some freaking fourteen year old, gahhh! Happy the Car is busted, and the road tax is dead, so it was either be chauffered like a dick or drive an effing Kia Naza Ria minivan around. And that ain't happening.
2. Met up with Sheril. = )
3. Watched a movie, whose name shall not be mentioned here.
4. Bumped into Hairul, MABA, Stab, Jijul, Min and basically half of Sapphire in MPH while i was with Sheril.
5. Had a Big Mac after she left. (Sooooo good.)
6. Watched Turkish GP. Which was kinda sucky. And I vowed to Kesh that if, in the last 10 laps, Vettel and Webber did something stupid and crashed or something I would cut my... Legs off. Thankfully, I can still... Walk. Race ended Button, Webber, Vettel.
7. Got back to college at 11.30pm.
8. Was so hungry I had lemon biscuits dipped in Mamee 'Buntu Pedas Terer' broth. which wasn't bad. Haha.
9. Called her, and went to bed.

And that was my weekend. Plus this morning, I got up at like. 8.14. And rushedrushedrushed to Aizan's class, pushed the door open, panting like a bastard, and started yelling 'IMSORRYMISSAIZANSORRYSORRY' to an empty class.

Class was cancelled.

She'a at a seminar, says Kammy-who-just-woke-up-cause-Aiman-called-her.

Great.

Anyway.

That was my weekend, with a little epilogue.

How was yours? = )

At Long Last, Ladies And Gentlemen, MANK Has Pulled Itself Out Of The Craphole That Is P25.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it is true.

P25 (a.k.a. The-chalet-of-sin, Satan's-butthole, That-place-that-smells-a-bit-funny, What-the-hell's-rotting-in-here?, That-place-where-that-Singhfella-selling-credit-lives and I-miss-Nazrin-cause-he's-clean.)

Has.

Been.

CLEANED!!!

ZOMG!!!

Yes. And just so you're sure that that wasn't a typo, here it is again.

P25 has been CLEANED.

ZOMGG!!!

Definition, ladies and gentlemen, of Cleaned:

transitive verb

a: to make clean: as (1): to rid of dirt, impurities, or extraneous matter (2) : to rid of corruption clean up city hall>


Yes. We have stroven(sic) to rid ourselves and the chalet of dirt, impurities, or extraneous matter, and we have gloriously succeeded!


Details of the Great Chalet Delousing, May 2009:

Personnel Involved :

• Aiman Arif bin Mohd. Caezar.
• Keshminder Singh a/l Bhupinderjeet Singh.

Time Elapsed Between Start and Finish :

4 Hours (240 minutes, 144 kilominutes, 864 kiloseconds)

Equipment :

1. Two brooms (one pinched from P26. Thanks, guys. = D )
   
2. Old Tshirt.
3. Mr. Muscle cleaning fluid
4. Five (5) trash bags (all eventually filled completely)

Things We Had To Deal With:

1. Solid congealed fat & egg stuck on the toaster-oven grilling pan.
2. At least 10 pieces soiled crockery.
3. Gecko crap on the windowsill.
4. Massive amounts of paper waste.
5. 3-week-old Instant Noodles.
6. 2-week old Mee Goreng Mamak Bungkus (which kinda smelled like Assam).
7. 3 month old styrofoam & cardboard packaging, originally intended for chalet speakers.
8. Cobwebs under tables.
9. Coca-Cola stains everywhere.
10. >7 pairs assorted soiled socks (eventually thrown into a bucket filled with detergent + water, to be sorted later.).

WOOOOT!

I am typing this in a crapless, spotless common room!

I'm so happy.

= )

-contented sigh-

...


...


...


Twenty bucks says this'll last 2 days.

My Sleeping Patterns... Noooo!!! Gimme Baaaaack!!!

Once again, I have slept through the whole goddamn afternoon.

From 4-8.45, I pissed away the precious hours, minutes, seconds in blissful, restful sleep.

This is the like. Third day running.

My sleep patterns are officially destroyed.

I'm sleeping at an average of 4 a.m.

And waking up two minutes before class starts.

As a result, i have been late for morning classes for the last few eternities or so.

All this with Econs AS in a week.

...

Mrs. Foord's having her open house thing now.

I'll go tomorrow.

I took my contacts out already, i'll be damned if people see me in my glasses.

...

Dayum. 6 hours to kill beofre i'm sleepy again.

Sigh.

I'm gonna look for something productive to do.

Don't Read This Post. Whoops. Too Late.

Outline for my plan to take over the world.

1. Train an army of bunnies.

· Kidnap Herman's bunny.

· Put it on a strict diet & exercise regimen.

· Commence indoctrination

- Obtain projector (Available at admin)

- Obtain video montage of violent when-bunnies-attack footage (must ask Ubee.)

- Tape bunny's eyes open and strap 'im to a chair.

- Force him to watch the video while selected Jonas Bros. & Paris Hilton 'hits' are blaring in the background.

- With any luck, such a regimen will turn the bunny's brain into some sort of mushy, easily-mouldable substance.

· Continue indoctrination program for 9 months.

· Obtain female rabbit.

· Breed.

· Repeat until an 'army' of bunnies is obtained (with 'army' defined as >7 bunnies).

· Make cute little henchman costumes for the vicious, bloodthirsty bunnies.

· Train bunnies to form formidable-looking squares of troops and make 'em salute me as their Almighty And Supreme Leader.

· Make them march past me and look upon me in awe as I yell angrily at nothing in particular.

· I might skip the square moustache, though.

2. Use bunnies to hold KYUEM ransom by controlling key strategic points.

a. Resource Centre (he who has the knowledge hath the power. Or something to that effect)

b. Cafe (spike the water to zombify the students)

c. Dining Hall (as above)

d. New Block (excellent sentry point to guard the College entrance)

e. Academic 1. (Reduce teachers to state of caffeine withdrawal by removing coffee machine in lounge)

3. Kill some IELTS teachers as sign of me being serious. (too many of 'em anyway)

4. Set up satellite video uplink with Khazanah CEO.

5. Deliver following speech (whilst fiendishly stroking a fluffy uniform-clad rabbit on my lap).

"My dear, foolish Mr. Mokhtar. I have in my custody a dozen of your finest scholars. They're all here: Mr. Kumar, Ms. Low, Ms. Foong. Mr. Saadon. Ms. Ilham. Mr. Nazer. Your entire brain trust, your only hopes... Will be forever dashed. Unless (pause for dramatic effect) you give me... (Camera zooms in on my face).

A Nokia N97. (Ba-Dum-Bummmm!!!)

... Or maybe an HTC Touch HD. Either one. Make sure it's black, though. The silver one makes me look gay. (resume evil-genius voice). So, Mr. Mokhtar. Do we have an agreement? And just to show that I'm serious... (Bunny kills a scholar by forcibly jamming a carrot up his... nose. And into his brain.) You have 30 minutes. Goodbye, Mr. Mokhtar. (Screen goes blank)"

6. Await reply.

7. CEO will agree.

8. I will get a new phone.

9. Aiman wins.

10. = )

THE END.

This has been an Aiman-Typing-While-Effing-Stoned production. No rights reserved. Any and all resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental.

Screw You, Karma!! Haha! .. .. No, Not Really, No.. Aww, Sorry, Baby. No, Don't Cry, C'mere. *hug*

Note: Read the post before this. I'll be damned if my sudden flux of blogposts will affect the readership of my semi-interesting semi-series. Semi.

So there I was, feeling satisfied but slightly queasy, like one does after eating too much too fast, having finished a particularly long chapter on the role of militarism in the outbreak of WWI, when Afeez comes in and says (translated form the original Perlinese),

“Aiman, let us depart for the cafe and together we shall procure nourishment and thence satiate our empty bellies.”

To which I said; “Yes.”.

Walkwalkwalk to the cafe.

We’re outside the cafe. I push the door. It rattles. I am gobsmacked. I remember that it’s a pull-open door.

I pull the door. It opens. Afeez goes in first.

Lisa and Syiqin are there. Yay. Company. Homosexual connotations of having dinner alone with a guy may now be thrown out of the window.

Ordering now. Nasi Goreng Paprik. RM4.50 (it’s a steal!) Yum.

So we sit with them. Afeez, Lisa, Syiqin and I, at a table.

Syiqin’s looking like she just woke up. Which I found out was true.

Small talk ensued. I joined in, feeling fine, feeling good.

The food arrived.

Munchmunchmunch.

Dinner’s over.

I commented on the amount of coffee I drink and the growth in the flab around my waist. Syiqin gives me the evil eye. So does Lisa. Afeez laughs.

And so, the topic naturally turns to gossip.

Who’s taking who to the prom. Who’s into who. Why’s he not replying. Is she pregnant. You know. Regular stuff.

But.

I felt strangely detached from the whole thing. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but tonight i was so. Detached. Like none of what they were talking about applied to me. Which was true. But the gossip they were swapping was (dare I say it) juicy. Yes. Juicy as it comes. But I wasn’t interested. I couldn’t seem to feel he empathy, the anger, the envy or the lust that such gossip would normally induce in a teenager. Was I going nuts?

..

The whole episode reminded of Cempaka. I was a social retard then. I am not ashamed to admit it. The retardation I faced then still affects me here and now. People there would talk. I would listen. People would get in trouble, form their (more often than not grossly exaggerated) stories, tell them with pride and bravado, and I would listen. Listen. That’s what I did and still do.

Never in the action, never the one people talk about, never the one whose name appears after the immortal phrase, “Didja hear about...?”, but the one who sits back and takes notes, watching people, wishing he had the balls to do half the shit they were talking about, but at the same time dreading to hear, “That exactly what blank did last week.”.

But I didn’t feel that tonight.

No.

What could it mean?

Does it mean anything at all?

..

The detachment I felt tonight has signified that I am over it.

I am now secure enough to listen to gossip and not be jealous that I am not the object of it.
(Yes, the fact that I was at one point jealous of not being talked about is immensely pathetic, I am aware of that, thank you.)

I am now secure in my own identity.

And best of all, dear reader(s);

I no longer need to live in other people’s conversations.

..

Does that make me mature?

Hell. I’d like to hope so.

(Next week: Reanalysis of Gossip-detachment Phenomena: is he full of sh*t? Stay tuned!)