Stop eating fruits, stop eating vegetables, it's doing something bad to you. Fruits and vegetables will seduce you, like a woman

Some final impressions of Kuala Lumpur. My cab for the airport leaves in a few hours, and I've spent the day doing some last minute shopping and now just hanging out at a café with the laptop and a lemon ice tea, watching people walk by. I'm actually sitting outside, on a roofed patio, so no AC but plenty of fans around.

Began my day with the usual killer breakfast. Perfectly scrambled eggs, beef bacon, a waffle and heaps and heaps of fresh fruit.

The remains of the fruit table at breakfast after my meal
I did another walk through Sungei Wang. Now, there are a lot of shopping malls in downtown Kuala Lumpur. Not be missed are Plaza Low Yat for electronics, Suria KLCC at Petronas Towers for just about any kind of shopping (but especially for the huge bookstore on the top level) and Pavilion if you want designer brands and those Japanese pastries. I haven't even checked out a few, like the even more upscale Starhill Gallery.

The best one though was Sungei Wang. It's a warren of stores and small restaurants, that gets more interesting the higher you get. On the top floor you can get a tshirt or a top for 10 ringit, about 20 kronor, as long as you don't try it on. There was a big arcade hall, with rows of old school fighting games, most of them completely incomprehensible. Young men hunched over the games or standing around, smoking, their hairdos like something out of manga. This is where they go to kill digital things when they don't find that graphics card they were hunting for at Low Yat.

The best store by far, for me at least, was street wear store Echo Park, which was also in a couple of other malls that I've been to. I now have a membership card there for some obscure reason that I really wasn't able to figure out from what the guy working there told me.

Lunch today consisted of fried dumplings, one serving with veggies and one with mystery meat. When I ordered the ten dumplings the waitress looked at me, confused, and said "Is all?". I nodded yes, is all. She made a face and walked away.

This reminded me of the Mexican place where my brother, my parents and I ate somewhere in the middle of nowhere in the US back in 2005, where the staff seemed to mock us in Spanish when we only ordered one dish each. Around us, 300 pound Mexicans that had tables full of food. So I looked around at this place too, and noticed tiny Malaysians with three or even four dishes each, with rice on the side, and here I had only ordered two. The dumplings arrived, with a side of chili sauce you could strip paint off boats with. There was also a small dish of thin yellow slices that smelled slightly lemony. Turned out it was pickled ginger that made the chili sauce taste like water by comparison. I had to eat an ice cream afterwards, and my tongue is still sore. I ate the stuff four hours ago.

Evil in food form in the middle above the plate

Then I took yet another walk to Low Yat, where I picked up some more electronics plus a killer action figure to soothe my inner not tech-geek.

Bob wasn't sure the makeover had gone all that well
As I walked out a guy passed me on a moped wearing a Darth Vader helmet. Literally. A shiny black Darth Vader helmet. He was too fast so I didn't have time to get the camera. Then the bizarreness continued as I walked past a sign advertising STD Calls. Is that the really bad version of a booty call? I tried to take a pic but the store manager came storming out, shouting at me, so I walked away. Last thing I needed was to be wrestled to the ground by someone advertising STDs...

And then I got to confuse three young Muslim men. Over the past few days quite a lot of Muslims have nodded at me or said hello. 'tis the beard. Now three twenty something men walked by, looked at me, and then one turned around and said "I'm sorry, you are Muslim?"

"No", I replied, to which he said "So sorry for bothering you." I smiled, said "No problem", and then "As-Salamu Alaykum". They all stared at me and then walked away. Win.

To be well-informed is to have the world at your fingers

Things learned in the last 48 hours:
- Cape Reinga, the northernmost point of New Zealand, is frikkin' windy. I had trouble walking straight at times.

- Just because you have an SUV doesn't mean you can drive around on a beach any which way you want.

"Honey? I need to tell you something about your new car..."

- Toyota RAV4s are extremely popular in New Zealand for some reason. On the drive from my brother's place to the airport, which took maybe 30 minutes, I counted ten.

- There's a city outside Kuala Lumpur called Cyberjaya. Only in Asia would a place have the word "cyber" in its name. Its apparently a semi-failed attempt at creating an Asian Silicon Valley.

- Mopeds are popular in Malaysia. On the highway. Preferably with two people on.

- Keeping speed limits is a big deal in New Zealand. My taxi from KLIA into Kuala Lumpur did 100 kph on a 60 kph road. Marvelous.

And I don't know what is more scary. That the taxi driver had a 2 Unlimited ring tone on one of his four cell phones, or that I knew it was 2 Unlimited.

Quotes from my brother overheard in the last 48 hours:
- I have a feeling we're supposed to turn left. Or right.
At a T intersection in Whangarei

- It's very uncommon to see a road sign with distance stated on it in New Zealand.
As we're passing a sign that says "Auckland 164 km"

- Damn you!
After we have passed signs that say "Auckland 163 km" and 161 and 158 and 157 and 152. I was in tears.

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!

I figured I would reinforce the view that I'm a Cthulhian cultist (check the comments here) and post this (I would have embedded it if only Google Maps allowed me to do so in the fashion I wanted).

Once again this proves that the boys over at Google aren't quite right in the head, and therefore lovable.

E iti noa ana, na te aroha

Second day in Auckland, and I woke up at 0445. This was partly because of jetlag, and partly because of the fact that I had three beers with the mussels yesterday. After two and a half months without a drop of alcohol, I felt those three beers quite a bit when we got home last night. I always have trouble going back to sleep the day after I've consumed alcohol. I gave up trying to sleep at 0630, got up and spent a little more than an hour on the couch, reading John Ajvide Lindkvist's "Människohamn" (great stuff) until my hosts woke up.

I took the bus with my brother's fiancee this morning. She was off to work, and I rode along to go to the Auckland War Memorial Museum, which is less warlike than it sounds. Sure, they had some stuff about both World Wars and a lot of Maori weapons on display, but on the whole it was focused on Maori culture and arts, with a lot of side exhibits, including the unavoidable natural history museum dinosaurs. A nice mix.

The best part was the Maori Cultural Experience, which is a fancy way of saying we got to see some traditional Maori rituals, performed live. Lots of singing and dancing, various games involving sticks and staffs, and of course the haka. Very impressive, even though it was only three warriors performing with four women supporting. I wouldn't want to try and stand my ground against say a dozen or so Maori warriors. According to the guide, a well performed haka before a battle sometimes meant there was no battle, because the enemy were so scared of the Maori they just left the field.

Bob was so embarrassed by his friends, that he did his best to escape
But no matter how hard he flapped his arms, he couldn't take off

After the museum I walked around downtown Auckland for a few hours, did some shopping and just enjoyed the fact that I'm on vacation. Found some gifts for Mah Girl. On the way back to the apartment I went to Eve's, a sort of café that has all sorts of interesting cakes and pastries, and bought some stuff for dessert for tonight. Mmmm, unnecessary...

I've seen quite a few street racing cars here in Auckland. You know the type, monstrosities that are just as much about making the right sound as being able to go fast. Often with a twenty-something man behind the wheel, who is just as much about looking just so as being able to drive the car. My brother told me that a law has been passed whereby the police can stop someone if they have a street racey car and they either race the engine so it sounds loud, or if they do basically anything to draw attention to the fact that they're not a normal driver in a normal car. The owner of the car, regardless of if he was driving or not, gets a warning when this happens. The second time it happens, the police seize the car and crush it. That's right. Crush it.

That's one of the funniest things I've heard, ever. Can you imagine how one of those twenty-somethings would feel when he gets his pride and joy back as a one ton metal cube, where you can just make out the remnants of the chromed rims and a warped outline of a flame pattern? Hilarious.

And as a further side note. There's a wireless connection in the apartment complex here called Die Eier von Satan. Me thinkest there liveth a TOOL fan here.

Alcohol is the answer... What was the question?

Back in 2003, I went to the Hultsfred festival with three friends. I had the accommodations, Ape number 1 and Ape number 2 had access to a car, and Jake the Cake just tagged along.

We stayed with the parents of a friend, which we had done a few times before and a few times since. Its one of the best festival accommodations ever. They have two rooms in the basement with six beds, we get access to a shower and a massive breakfast. I'm not much of a festival person, so it has suited me perfectly.

The first night we were on the festival grounds, The Cake and I decided to walk back to the house around 1 am. We tracked down the Apes, and told them we were leaving. No problem, they said, we'll stay and party some more. I explained how they should walk to get back. Out the main entrance to the road, then left, then right at the crossroads and walk to the gas station. The house is right behind the gas station. Not exactly rocket science.

In the morning Ape number 1 hugged me and almost cried at the sight of the breakfast table. Then they explained that they had walked around for about an hour without finding the house. Turns out they had walked out the wrong entrance, and while they had followed the directions after that to the tee, they were thoroughly lost. Eventually they hailed a taxi, and managed to persuade the driver to get them to the gas station for practically no money at all.

The next evening, the same thing repeated itself. We decided to go back, they decided to stay and get drunk. Or rather more drunk. In the morning Ape number 1 showed me text messages he had gotten from Ape number 2 during the night. They said, among other things “Var am I?”, which is a nice combo of Swedish and English, and various misspelled variations on the theme “I'm walking and don't know where I am” and “I don't recognize these houses”.

Ape number 2 filled in the details. The ones he remembered that is. Ape number 1 had left to go to the house. Ape number 2 once again walked out the wrong entrance, and then managed to get even more lost than the night before. Eventually he came to a straight road and decided this was the road that led to the crossroads, where he was supposed to turn towards the gas station. So he walked. And walked and walked and walked. Until he came to this sign:


See, he had walked six kilometers out of Hultsfred, along a road that cuts through a forest. Not a single house in sight. No lights, no nothing. Just darkness, trees and the road. And that sign.

We laughed so hard we cried. He does too. Nowadays. Not back then.

Grown ups are quirky creatures, full of quirks and secrets

My day, in short.

Woke up. Had myself a turbo morning. Went to work. Had meetings from eight until four. Lunch during a meeting. A chicken sallad. Wrote a Change Request for our statistics system. Finished a Commercial Description for a new project. Took the train home. Finished The Terror by Dan Simmons. Excellent, excellent book. Noticed the girl had cleaned the entire apartment. Squeaky. Fucking. Clean. Smile. Ate hamburger. Watched The Others. Scary-ass movie. Cuddled in the couch. Watched Eddie Izzard's Circle. Laughed. Soon sleep. A good day.

This calls for a delicate blend of psychology and extreme violence

Very Metal, to quote Vyvyan Basterd.

Thanks to Matthias for the link. You metal nerd, you.

One of television’s great contributions is that it brought murder back into the home, where it belongs

I like TV. I especially like TV when it comes in series form in a dvd box.

We're ten episodes into the second season of the West Wing. I think we've seen six episodes today. This is what passes for vacation for me, and I absolutely adore it.

However, I couldn't stomach another episode today. Instead, we turned to comedian Jeff Dunham's Comedy Central special that we recorded while we were away at my parents' place. Why? Because I needed the break, I needed comedy instead of intense drama, and I needed to disconnect for a while.

Because there is TV and there is TV. There is stuff that I can watch without any kind of emotional attachment besides the smile on my face, and then there's stuff that I can't watch without getting tears in my eyes when they pluck at the right (or wrong) emotional strings. West Wing falls into the latter category, as does Six Feet Under, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip and a few others.

I'm not saying I dislike it. Not at all. I'm just saying that sometimes, a smile is the best thing there is.

(and did it work? Yeah, kind of, though Dunham isn't as funny as I would have liked...)

Guns don't kill people. Ninjas do

Merry X-mas, y'all.

An important question

I could survive for 57 seconds chained to a bunk bed with a velociraptor

Created by Bunk Beds.net

There are two types of people that go around beardless; boys and women, and I am neither

I thought I might try to write something clever and profound (or at least something I would find so), but I'm too tired, so I'll leave you with this.

Quite shocking that I like that site, right?

Thanks, Eva, for the link.

The Norwegian Blue prefers keeping on its back

A colleague called me today as I was on my way home from work and started the conversation with:

“This is kind of an odd question, and I thought of you…” Presto! Instant attention.

“You know all sorts of odd people…” There was a degree of hesitation to his voice, as if he was about to ask me something very strange. I do know some odd people, and may be categorized as odd myself, at least by some, but I think that some people I work with tend to exaggerate the oddness of my social circles.

And then, came The Question.

“Do you know someone that owns a parrot?”

Ehm…crazy person says what. What?!

A parrot. A known associate of bearded metalheadz everywhere

Why would I know someone that owns a parrot? To me, parrots are the pets of old ladies, who feed them nuts and say “Who’s a pretty girl?”. Wait. Maybe that does fit some of my friends…

Thinking about it now, I’m kind of flattered. He had a problem and figured I knew someone who had the solution to that problem. I choose to see myself as a facilitator here, someone who does know a lot of people, as opposed to someone who specifically would know someone with a parrot.

Yarr, mateys!

There is great truth in Alphonse Karr's remark that modern men are ugly because they do not wear their beards

I’ve been known to terrify small children. Not on purpose, no no, I’m a really nice guy, but the mere sight of me has driven children to tears on occasion. My theories have included that my general attitude towards the miniature people shines through, or that it’s The Beard.

Today it was The Beard.

I was walking up towards the line at the grocery store when a man and his son came walking from the left, to get in line in front of me. No problem there, I was several meters away and crawling along at my usual pace. Which is to say most of the store could have moved in, in front of me. And it’s a big frackin’ store.

So the guy takes his place in line in front of me, while his son stops and just stares at me. You know the kind of look. People in horror movies faced with a massive man wearing a hockey mask and wielding a bloody machete get that look. Then the kid turns and runs.

The father notices and chases after him, looking back over his shoulder at me and says:
“It’s your beard.”

OK. So people in grocery stores faced with a massive man wearing a bloody…I mean impressive beard get that look. Obviously.

He comes back with the little Oompa-Loompa cradled in his arms and says:
“He’s afraid of priests.”

Let me stop for a moment here and inform y’all that we’re not talking about Bostonian priests. No black vestments and priest collar for me. Oh no. They were Muslims, so it was all about The Beard.

Yes. It is bigger than my head.

The father spent a few minutes trying to get his son to realize I wasn’t a priest. We shook hands (helped a little), I smiled (didn’t help) and I told the Loompa my name (maybe that helped).

In the end, the kid stood staring at me while his father paid for their groceries. Then they went on their way. I see a psychologist’s couch in that kid’s future. And a shaved chin.

If this is paradise, I've been screwed.

Knock knock.
Who's there?
Me. I kill you.