The X Factor: My Story

In my previous entry, I talked about some of the things mentioned about people with names beginning with X. As promised, my personal opinion about the so-called 'secrets in (my) name:

Dramatic, responsible, positive.

Dramatic, yes; responsible, maybe; positive, never! Gargh! Why would anyone want to be insulted like that? Positive people make me sick. See the world for what it really is, not through some freaking rose-coloured glass! A positive person will tell you life is wonderful. I will tell you life sucks, deal with it. The way I see it, if you are positive, you never see the disasters heading your way. If you are pessimistic, you think about all the negative things that could possibly happen and work to prevent them from happening; and when something good unexpectedly comes along, you'll be pleasantly surprised.

X definitely has a sense of the dramatic - maybe even of the Greek tragedy. With your theatrical flair, it's hard not to notice you.

I am a drama queen, that's for sure. But I don't know about the last part.

You are an original, and your outlook is one of a kind, always trying to find a better method. You are prone to do everything in excess.

When you work, you work too hard; and when you play, the same. You also love too hard. Whatever you're given to do, you do it well and with passion.

I guess this part is true. I do have an annoying tendency to go to extremes. When I'm happy, I'll be really happy. When I'm sad, it'd break your heart just to look at my condition. But I don't think anyone can ever say I'm prone to work too hard.

X will never force an outlook upon others. You will not take the leadership role unless you feel that nobody else can do it as well as you. You assess the situation first, then jump in if necessary. You're responsible. Failure is unacceptable

Hah. I've been trying to force people to vote me as King of the World for ages; no one else can possibly do a better job than me. So much for not forcing my outlook upon others. Seriously though, while I would not force people to believe what I believe, I still love a good debate and would argue my point till I run out of arguments or till my opponent dies of old age. And yes, failure is unacceptable for anyone in my life. By failure, I do not mean in examinations; I mean, failure to live up to the standards. You can be a better person if you'd only stop being a moron and do what I say, haha.

You need to have a lot to do and must be surrounded with love and people and even pets. You are not a fly-by-night.

Hmmm. I really can't agree with this. Even Tasha has said I'm very disconnected. Sometimes, I love being around people. Sometimes I just really need people to leave me alone. There needs to be a balance, no? But I guess it'd be a bit odd to live without the love and adoration I'm so used to getting from my fans. And I do love Shmoosh (hamster) too much to leave her behind.

X's positive attitude is contagious - especially when you fight causes. Others will rally around you when you take on the unfortunate.

How many times must I deny ever being positive?!

You're grateful. You help others, and others come to your rescue. Like an injured lion with a thorn in its paw, you can lick a wound longer than most

Yes, I'm grateful. I remember nice things people do for me for a long time. A little kindness goes a long way. And I'd hold grudges for a much longer time too, if I didn't have such a bad memory capacity.

X colours: Beige, navy blue, purple, yellow

Urgh. I like certain shades of purple. But the other colours are just so not me. I like black, silver, light pink, azure. Shades of blue are nice but navy blue is so.....boring

X love compatibility guide:

Sure things: F J L P Q U V W
Possibilities: C H N X
Avoid: A B D E G I K M O R S T Y Z

Hey, Kosovo's name is in the "Sure Things" category!!! I think this love compatibility thingy is definitely true. Now all I need to do is get him to read this book! And know my name. And know I exist. This is getting sad, man.

Suggested occupations for the typical X: Comedian, explorer, geologist, inventor, navigator, photographer, preacher, zoo keeper

Very funny. First it says I need to be surrounded by love and fluffy stupid things and I'm not a fly-by-night, then suddenly I'm supposed to be an explorer, geologist and navigator. Wouldn't these occupations take me far away from home? And I really don't know which is more of a career suicide for me: preacher or zoo keeper?

Movie Marathon

I never knew you could get exhausted by doing nothing at all. I was out today with the girls, AT and EC (apparently, they think they are under the witness protection program and asked for their identity to be withheld). We had lunch, watched 3 movies and then had dinner. Livin' it up, right? No! I feel so lethargic from sitting on my ass all day long. I think I'm getting old.



The first movie we watched was 'The Invasion'. I love Nicole Kidman (despite the bad acting in 'Bewitched'). I hate Daniel Craig (I haven't quite forgiven him for parting me with Pierce Brosnan). Nicole Kidman, as always, looked amazing in the movie, radiating classic beauty. Basically, it's a horror/sci-fi/thriller (?) about aliens taking over human bodies. As far as story-lines go, this one isn't going to win any awards soon. But it kept me interested throughout the movie. My friend AT was using her cardigan to cover her face because she was so freaked out. However, I can think of several better endings: a) Carol (Nicole Kidman) could've shot Ben (Daniel Craig) to death and realize eventually that he wasn't infected but it was her drug-induced paranoia that caused delusions, or b) Carol could've been making breakfast (the final scene) and then gone to the washroom to find the latex/dead skin cell thing (people who are infected shed this after they fall asleep). Wicked, huh?



Then, we watched 'Hairspray'. Oh, God, but I hated it. AT was so excited because she thinks Zac Efron is cute (she obviously hasn't read my blog entry about High School Musical). I found everyone in the show annoying. The opening song was SO disgustingly sweet and sugary that I almost puked lollipops and cotton candy. There were some amusing lines though I can't recall them now (I'm shedding brain cells at the same rate a President of a certain country says something stupid. I should be concerned). I think one of them was when Corny was promoting hairspray and he referred to a girl's hairdo: "I think you need a stiffy". Will someone PLEASE tell me I wasn't the only one who immediately wanted to cover the ears of innocent children?! I don't know why they'd cast John Travolta for anything else than a publicity stunt. His voice was deep and gruff; he looked like a man; he's not fooling anyone alright. I think even Miss J (America's Next Top Models) is more convincing as a woman. Don't even get me started on the lead character Tracy. Urgh. ARGH. DO NOT RUN AROUND AND SKIP AROUND IF YOU ARE ABOVE 13, FOR GOD'S SAKE. If I really did know someone like that in real life, who sings perched atop a garbage truck, I'd punch her lights out. Then we'll see what so wonderful about the sky, the birds and sunshine. The beginning sucked. The ending sucked. Everything sucked.



Next up was 'Rush Hour 3' (I know, I know, where have I been, pre-historic, yadda yadda). It was quite funny but it feels a bit old (after Rush Hour 1 and 2). It's like, been there, done that, teach the old dog some new tricks already! The Yu/Mi part was funny and the bloopers too, I guess, especially when Jackie Chan said "Cheese!" when he was supposed to say "Freeze!". But don't you guys think it's weird that he speaks in Japanese to Kenji? I mean, Kenji was sent to an orphanage in China and he thought he'd fit in better if he taught all the children there to speak fluent Japanese? It would make more sense for him to speak in Chinese. And why did George (the French cab-driver) argue with his wife in French-accented English? Wouldn't it be easier to argue in French or did they want to be polite and allow those in their company to follow the argument? Speaking of George, where did he find a gun to shoot the guy in the end? Plus, if he was following them, he sure didn't do a good job of helping them when they had to fight off a group of hitmen with machine guns. But my opinions might be biased; I like Jackie Chan.

I'd love to elaborate more but I don't want to give away the plot to those of you who haven't watched it yet. While we're still on the topic of watching movies, I noticed a peculiar habit among cinema-goers: they like paying RM10 so they can narrate the entire story to their friend and hear the sounds of their voices. Ei, friend, you don't want to watch, other people want to watch ok-eh? Lu mau cakap lu balik lumah cakap puas-puas. Surround sound in the cinema takes on a whole new meaning these days. Some people even up the ante by having a phone conversation smack in the middle of a crucial scene. Imagine this: the hero is seconds away from dying a horrible death (as opposed to a wonderful death?). Your heart skips a beat. The train/gun/ticking bomb is about to hit him/be fired/explode. Then suddenly, "An-neh, ye na dei?" (Or something like that. I can't speak Tamil, I wouldn't know any better. Disclaimer: I'm not being racist, I've really had this experience).

Then there are other people who bring their kids to cinemas, all 55 of them (I'm guessing the number based on the matematical formula of dividing the sound frequency by the number of times I tell myself never to have kids multiplied by parents wouldn't give a rat's ass when their kids pull at other people's hair). No one is stopping you from having kids (though if it were up to ME.....) but for God's sake, control them! If you haven't gone to the same parenting school my parents attended (where they learn the technique of freezing their children mid-action with an eyebrow raise just a fraction of a milimetre), then keep the children at home. Or better yet, take them to a circus. The clowns would traumatize them so much that you'd be lucky if you ever heard them make another sound again.

After almost being cryogenically frozen and risk being found in such an unglamourous state for revival, our movie marathon finally ended and we went for dinner. It was lots of fun though, we should do this more often (go out, I mean, not watch a succession of non-brilliant movies).

Pink Vans and Sumo Wrestlers

I am driving. At night. It's quiet. Dark. Without realizing it, I am driving into the woods. The tall trees block out almost all light. It is so dark that I cannot even see what's in front. I am terrified that I will drive off a cliff because I really cannot see anything. It is a bumpy ride, so I assume that the ground is uneven (either that or I've been driving over a few dead bodies).

Trees everywhere. I am afraid to look because I might see something horrific. Suddenly, I am not in the vehicle anymore. I am walking. No longer in the woods; the clearing actually. But it is still very dark. I see light in the short distance. I walk towards it, constantly looking back. I am almost numb with fear.

Then I see it. And I stop short, stop breathing. The source of the light is a spotlight. My vehicle (I now see it has been a four-wheel drive all along) is turning in psychotic circles within the circle of light. There is no driver.

I break into a run away from the four-wheel drive. I notice another movement within my peripheral vision. I turn my head to see what it is. A pink van, with Chinese characters written along its side. The thought of approaching the driver for help was in its embriotic stage of developing in my head before I realize the driver has spotted me. He drives towards me, with a mad glint in his eyes. He looks angry.

Instinctively, I start to run. As fast as my legs can carry me. I still cannot see far ahead; it is still dark. I see two friends and stop, pleading with them to help me. Both of them look past me with a weird expression, like they can hear me but cannot respond because they are under a spell.

Before I know it, I am tackled to the ground by the driver of the van. He is a huge guy, both in height and width. He looks like a cross between a Hawaiian fire dancer and a Japanese sumo wrestler. It would have been funny if it is not for the look in his eyes.






You all know where this is going, right? I'm going to end it with "And I wake up to realize it is just a nightmare" like I am still in Standard Two. Well, it was just a nightmare but it seemed so real that I am currently typing in the dark, too terrified to get out of bed to turn the lights on because I am at home alone. But you've probably already guessed it as soon as I said "I am driving".

And then you people wonder why I don't sleep, geez.

The X Factor

I know I haven't been blogging lately. Writer's block, I guess. The assignments and tests probably have a part in it as well. Anyway, I was browsing through this book called 'The Secrets in Your Name' by Sandra McKenzie. Basically, you're supposed to look up the alphabet your name starts with (excluding surname). Here's what she had to say about people whose names begin with 'X':

Dramatic, responsible, positive.

X definitely has a sense of the dramatic - maybe even of the Greek tragedy. With your theatrical flair, it's hard not to notice you.

You are an original, and your outlook is one of a kind, always trying to find a better method. You are prone to do everything in excess.

When you work, you work too hard; and when you play, the same. You also love too hard. Whatever you're given to do, you do it well and with passion.

X will never force an outlook upon others. You will not take the leadership role unless you feel that nobody else can do it as well as you. You assess the situation first, then jump in if necessary. You're responsible. Failure is unacceptable.

You need to have a lot to do and must be surrounded with love and people and even pets. You are not a fly-by-night.

X's positive attitude is contagious - especially when you fight causes. Others will rally around you when you take on the unfortunate.

You're grateful. You help others, and others come to your rescue. Like an injured lion with a thorn in its paw, you can lick a wound longer than most.

X colours: Beige, navy blue, purple, yellow

X love compatibility guide:

Sure things: F J L P Q U V W
Possibilities: C H N X
Avoid: A B D E G I K M O R S T Y Z

Suggested occupations for the typical X: Comedian, explorer, geologist, inventor, navigator, photographer, preacher, zoo keeper

I know you people will have a lot to say about this (keep the insults coming in, guys, much appreciated, haha) so I'll just let you comment first. In my next entry, I will discuss how I feel about the so-called secrets in my name and its accuracy.

Here's a photo for everyone to print, laminate and carry around in your wallet (because life would be meaningless without me):


Sorry for the grainy image. It's Nokia's fault. Seriously though, my hair. This length or shorter?

How I Spent My Weekend (The Non-Kristine Version)

Before you begin, read Kristine's delusions about what happened yesterday (Saturday) and today on her blog entry.

Now, let's move on to what REALLY happened:

I woke up at an insane hour (11.30 a.m.) on Saturday morning to get ready to travel to Kristine's house in Ampang. The plan was for my dad to drop me off at Kelana Jaya LRT station so that I could take the LRT to the Jelatek station where Kris would pick me up (Let's suspend disbelief for now. I know the Malaysian public transport system is a conspiracy against me).

We were supposed to attend the Lions Club of Taman Tun annual charity dinner. As we guessed it would end late, Kris managed to persuade (read: psychologically abuse) me to crash at her place for the night.

Now, I was very reluctant because Kris lives near a cemetary. One of her hobbies include telling me about her dad's ability to "I see dead people" à la Haley Joel Osment. The supernatural apparitions in her spooky tales ranged from a boy who likes to hang out in her toilet to full-fledged scary old people glaring in silence.

I was scared.

No, I was terrified.

Damn imagination of mine!

So back to Saturday. My dad only needed a glance in my direction to decide that he would drive me to Ampang. I was lugging around a heavy backpack that probably gave me hernia, a dress in a plastic cover (dry clean-only, non-iron number, why, FCUK, why!?) and a small handbag which contained my valuables. Here's the catch: my dad had no idea where we're heading.

We were lost. We went to Cheras, Ampang, Kuala Lumpur City Centre, everywhere. Kris' instructions over the phone were futile. After about an hour past the time I was expected to arrive, we finally spotted Kris' car.

I went for lunch with them at Ampang Point. Walked around for a while. Bought some things. Then we headed back to Kris' house. At about 5 p.m., we headed to Flamingo Hotel, this time with Kris at the wheel. Her brother offered deeply unsettling advice on my way out: You better wear a helmet.

Haha, right? Wrong. Her brother was not exaggerating. I had always thought my driving was pretty bad, until I saw Kris drive. It was not a lack of skill, it was a lack of confidence. She didn't dare to turn, she didn't dare to drive in the rain, she didn't dare to reverse, she didn't dare to park, etc.

And oh, by the way, her so-called perfect parking was this:

I'll just leave some of the more boring details out. But I'll say this: Kris looked fantastic with her make-up on (courtesy of me. I tell you, that girl probably can't tell the difference between lipstick and eye liner) and her pretty red dress. Good-looking bad driver.

After the dinner (and after the traumatic incident with the stupid RM3 coins-only parking meter), we headed to McDonald's to eat properly this time, without the 'I'm a lady and I can survive on gulps of air' crap we've been pulling all night. Kris, being Kris, missed a turning. Instead of doing the logical thing, which would have been to do a three-point turn, she instead took me on an extended tour of the neighbourhood.

After she had wasted my youth, we reached McDonald's. Another parking dilemma. Then, Kris freaked out because she couldn't find her bag. After more moments of wasted youth, she pulled it from the backseat with a dopey grin. That dopey grin probably saved her life. I could have strangled her to death on the spot if she looked even half a percent less adorable. We looked like dumbasses in our formal dresses ordering McNuggets. For a night, we became people we'd secretly smirk at under normal circumstances.

We headed back to her house a little past midnight. The street was dark. I forgot to mention: Kris does not have automatic gates so she made me open and close the gates. It's not the opening and closing that I minded so much; it's the locking/unlocking process and the fact that Kris was driving the car that was directly behind me. I was putting my life at risk, man.

Anyway, Kris and her brother had fun scaring the shit out of me the entire night.

"Oooh, who's that boy behind you?"

"WooooooOOOOOoooOOOOOOoooooooo."

"You know what they say. Those things can fly through walls."

Gargh. Don't you just love these two? When I finally managed to drift off into sweet slumber, Jessy (Kris' dog) woke me up. Now, I'm a light sleeper so even the sound of Jessy licking the neck/hat thing she had on was enough to make me sit up in bed. I peered over at Jessy and she peered right back at me.

"Go to sleep, Jessy," I told her sleepily.

Ever the defiant one, she continued peering at me. Giving up, I plopped my head on the pillow (which Kris' brother supposedly uses to wipe his armpits) and tried to salvage what was left of my sleep. I woke up a few times and asked Kris if she wants the 'blanket'. Kris, being Kris, woke me in the middle of the night for this intellectually-stimulating Nobel prize-winning conversation:

Kris: Anyway.........

(I waited for about 5 seconds)

Xing: Anyway what?

Kris: Nothing.

Xing: (*a bit miffed at having my sleep disturbed) What? You can't just say 'anyway' and then 'nothing'.

Kris: Er...I had a dream. Lion Eric was giving out ice creams at the dinner. Do you want one?

I didn't even bother to answer. I would have glared but I would have wasted a glare in the darkness, just like I've wasted my youth on Kris. So I slept. And woke up at like, 8 something... On a Sunday morning... I don't know who I am anymore.

We went for breakfast. Her mum sent me to the Jelatek LRT station (my dad told me to take the LRT; I think he learnt his lesson after yesterday). So LRT. All by myself!!! First time in my life! My God, this year has been a year of triumphs, first I took the bus by myself and now the LRT! Hah, Ferdinand Magellan ain't got nothing on me! A guy even asked for my number, weird right? What an adventure!

Unrelated updates:

• I've been driving to Glenmarie, Klang and around PJ. My driving is getting pretty good. I mean, good as in like, Xing-level, not normal-human-being-level. I'm the one who almost gave the driving instructor a heart attack remember? Kris, jealous much?
  
  
• Almost finishing 'I Know This Much Is True'. I'm crazy about the book. I think it's even better than 'She's Come Undone'. I've cried only about a hundred times while reading it. It's a pretty intense read emotionally though.

Happifying

Short post today because I'm swamped with work. Tutorials for Finance and Banking as well as Accounting. Test for Commercial Law on Tuesday. Management Individual Case Analysis due on Friday. I'm talking about this as if you people care, haha.

So anyway, I'd love it if you have anything you'd like me to blog about or any ideas you'd like to share. Due credit will be given, of course. You'd be famous, at least to everyone who reads my blog (an exciting total of 2!!!).

Quite a lot of my friends have been feeling pretty down lately so here's a list of inexpensive methods to cheer yourself up:

1) Sing in the shower - Or karaoke your way into the neighbourhood (Un)'Wanted' list.

2) Eat - Men will come and go but a lovely pint of Baskin Robbins ice cream doesn't mind if you have an expanding waistline.

3) Read - Fashion magazines. Supermodel beauty secrets. Time magazine. Ikea catalogues. Romance novels (ergh, but whatever floats your boat). As long as you're happy.

4) Sleep - Pretty self-explanatory isn't it?

5) Dance - I'm serious. Dumb as it sounds, it works. Gather some friends. Dance stupidly on the sidewalk. Who cares? Otherwise, turn the music up and dance alone, sexy.

Let me know if it helps. Back to work now.

Makeover Magic with Muaz (3M)

Subject: Muaz

Project: Make him look presentable (or at least, non-Muazie)

For as long as I can remember, Muaz's unkempt hair has been the butt of our jokes. Phrases like "fumes", "snip snip" (complete with sign language) and "ew" comes to mind when Tasha and I think of his hair.

But thanks to months of nagging, psychological abuse, master manipulation and threats, we finally managed to persuade Muaz to let us give him a makeover!

So Tasha and I woke up at an insane hour on the first day of our break, all excited in spite of ourselves. Muaz happily shows up almost an hour late; you could tell from Tasha's expression that she was ready to rip the hair right off his head and save him a haircut. But in light of his initial reluctance to let us anywhere near his hair (not that we wanted to get anywhere near it anyway) and his current co-operation, Tasha cut him some slack.

We headed on to One Utama where we struggled to make sense of the directory. Failing miserably, we decided to just walk around. The first salon we spotted was called Russell (if I'm not mistaken). The tagline was 'be inspired', which Muaz immediately labelled as 'gay'.

But the condition of his hair required urgent attention, hence, we decided to take a leap of faith and barged right in. After the wash, a hair stylist approached. In his 40s or 50s. Receding hairline. Dyed red in the front. Possibly homosexual, though I must note that this is pure assumption on my part. Let's call him Miss Snooty.

Tasha and I told him that he should cut Muaz's hair shorter, but not too short, just enough to make him look neat. Muaz, who was being a regular pain in the ass, interjected unhelpfully at regular intervals that he wanted it long. Miss Snooty, in the haughtiest voice I've ever heard a human being use, said impatiently "Long or short? Long or short? If I cut long, I won't cut it again when you want it short. You decide." (Here, he looked pointedly at Muaz, ignoring his two amazing fashion consultants and style experts)

Obviously, Tasha and I both fell silent, slightly miffed at the whole queensie bitch outburst. Muaz, who was being oh-so-tactful, kept saying everything was 'gay'. "This car is so gay, that model is so gay, the ceiling is so gay, the floor is so gay". I think the hairstylist took it a wee bit too personally and proceeded to victimize Muaz's hair.

Before this, Tricia had said that Muaz's hair could not possibly have turned out worse than it already was but Miss Snooty made her eat her words, alright. Miss Snooty proved once and for all that hairstyles, no matter how horrid in its current state, can always be worse when left in the hands of a pissed-off-possibly-gay-hairstylist.

Tasha and I looked at each other, burst out laughing our heads off, but mustered all our strength left to bite our tongues until we had coughed up the exorbitant fee of RM45 (a ridiculous amount because nobody pays someone to make them look even more terrible; if anything, he should have paid Muaz). As soon as we left the salon, we sat Muaz down at a nearby bench, laughed at him for another 5 minutes or so, before we decided to tell him in the most compassionate way we could:

Tasha: Muaz (*laughs*), there is ONE thing I have to say about what's wrong with your hair.

Xing : EVERYTHING.

Okay, so maybe it wasn't very compassionate, but at least we were honest. I can't describe the haircut in any way that can bring it justice but I'll try anyway. It was like a Beetle-esque 60s look. The back was not straight (slanted upwards). There was too much volume at the back, the sides, everywhere. Basically, it looked like Muaz was wearing a mop on his head. Yes, it was THAT bad, but thank God only Tasha and I witnessed that traumatizing scene.

Muaz was so stressed he had to go for a smoke and a caffeine fix (expresso shot, no less). But after some persuasion, we managed to convince him to give it another try. After wandering around, we saw another hair salon called 'Infinity'. We checked out the prices: RM20-junior stylist, RM30-senior stylist and RM45-top stylist.

Since at that point, it seemed like nothing short of a miracle could make Muaz's hair look normal, we decided the RM45 was a worthy investment. So another round of washing. The shampoo boy was friendly and tolerated our psycho babble. Loga spotted us and came in to ask the shampoo boy if he was sure he didn't want to wear gloves while handling Muaz's hair.

The hairstylist Damien (who is pretty cute albeit in a 'lala' sort of way) was super nice. He asked us what we wanted and we told him to correct the back, shave off the sideburns-but-not-quite-thingies that Muaz had and just basically, make him look good! Damien was so professional, he snipped away really fast but sure of what he was doing. Muaz kept moving around but the hairstylist was patient and had a smile throughout.

The result: wonderful, amazing transformation. Muaz actually looked great. I told him, "Muaz, now when people spot you from afar, they won't run away". Seriously, bad -> worse -> great! I love his new hairstyle. He actually bought hairstyling gel that cost RM50 so we're hoping he'll maintain his new look.

Then we took him shopping. Wh, FCUK, Topman, Wild Channel, everywhere. We picked out (and made him buy) a 'cool as fcuk' white shirt, another white shirt, two black shirts, black knee-length shorts, cream knee-length shorts, Topshop jeans and sun shades. Maybe I missed something out; we bought so many things I couldn't even keep track. We even went to check out Calvin Klein boxers for him.

He spent about Rm1000 on everything, including the failed haircut attempt and the amazing hair of the century change-your-life haircut. We were way ahead of ourselves, even wanting to make him buy body lotion and shaving foam. The only times we rested our poor feet were when we sat outside Zara to gossip (excluding Muaz), a short break at Starbucks and lunch at A&W.

I'd love to post his before and after pictures, but he wouldn't let me take any of him with the 'urghifying' haircut. I've got some of his 'afters'. I'll ask for his permission and if he allows, I'll post it here. In the meantime, here are some photos:

Long gash on my shoulder.

See the dark patches? Those are bruises...on my fingers. How weird is that?

Another huge bruise on my leg. Injured.

My new kesayangan Fendi sunglasses.

Tasha and I. You okay with this, Tasha? Or you want me to crop you out? Damn small, cannot see anything lah!

High School Musical

(Picture Source: http://billboard.com/)

Quite a few friends have been giving High School Musical rave reviews. I never came around to watching it because I avoid movie cliches like this on principle. But I fell into the trap of boredom and ended up wasting an hour and a half of my life. Li, Tasha and Kris (there were a few others who tried to trick me but I've forgotten the culprits), any movie recommendation made by either one of you will never be taken seriously ever again.

Let's see, apart from the entire cast over-acting and Vanessa Hudgens' squeaky, I'm-so-cute, sugary, pretencious voice (obviously, I won't be in a hurry to join the fan club), the storyline is an assault on intelligence and stretches the limits of imagination a wee bit too far. Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for Disney cartoons, but High School Musical could be mistaken as a conspiracy to drive all angsty teenagers to suicide.

High School Musical vs. Reality

1. In reality, basketball players are not that short. Especially STAR players. When Troy (played by Zac Efron) was standing next to Gabriella (played by Vanessa Hudgens), he wasn't much taller than she was.
   
   
2. In reality, if a star athlete breaks into a song-and-dance routine in the middle of practice, the team would drag him out and beat the shit out of him before calling him something homophobic and/or derragatory like 'faggot', not sing and dance along like it's the most natural thing on earth.
   
   
3. In reality, a self-declared 'genius' would not look that good. At least not at such a young age; it's once they get a fat paycheck when they can invest in correcting their physical shortcomings. Of course, once in awhile, there are some hot geniuses, so I'll give Disney the benefit of the doubt this time.
   
   
4. In reality, there are a lot more fat people. Have you noticed that in the entire show, there is only one fat girl (The geek who likes to breakdance, apparently. Puke bucket, anyone?), excluding the drama teacher? Disney is either oblivious to the obesity epidemic in America or has chosen to ignore it. I don't know which is worse.
   
   
5. In reality, people don't go to parties to read. Now, I missed the first few minutes so I don't know if Disney has offered an explanation for why Gabriella was reading at a New Year's party. But what kind of person goes to a party and reads in the semi-darkness (and still have 20/20 vision)? An annoying kind, that's what. Speaking of which, I don't think singing karaoke is at the top of the agenda for a party. I would expect alcohol, drugs, orgies even, but definitely not karaoke.
   
   
6. In reality, people don't have lame conversations like this:
   
   Gabriella: It was so cool.
   Troy: I know. Completely.
   
   Er...guys. English much? Then again, in the real world, most people puncuate their sentences with an assortment of quality swear words, so I guess I'll cut Disney some slack for not being realistic with this one.
   
   
7. In reality, a sidekick does not necessarily have to be a black person (in reference to Chad and the black girl geek whose name I don't remember). In fact, if I'm not mistaken, most star basketball players are black. Maybe they were trying to be politically correct and show no racial discrimination. Pffft.
   
   
8. In reality, teachers are not stupid. They would have figured out that the geeks hacked the school system. And it would not have been a happy ending where everyone sings and dances. They would have all gone to detention and Gabriella would have been suspended for two weeks.
   
   
9. In reality, the star basketball player cannot be the son of the coach. Otherwise, everyone else on the team would have hated his guts and probably submit a written complaint about nepotism.
   
   
10. In reality, romances are not all sugar and hearts. Disney needs to stop forcing the "happily ever after" ending down our throats. It has taught a whole generation of youngsters to expect happiness when the real world just keeps pounding at optimism, tearing us apart until we become jaded and weary. Okay, a bit depressing. Sorry, people.
    

However, I must admit that the basketball coach/Troy's father is hot. Rawr. And there was one song which didn't make me cringe from the lameness. I can't remember the title but it's the part when the basketball player admited he liked to bake, the geek said she liked hip hop and the skaterboy claimed to like playing the cello. Another flop by Disney.

And if one more person tells me Zac Efron is drop dead gorgeous, I'll punch them.