sonic

The day when @javierpaloh left SORE. Very unfortunate of course, because I really like his fragile voice that completes SORE's quixotic lyrics and sound.
In this blog post: White Shoes and the Couples Company, Bengbeng and Trisno, PAS Band.

Imogen Heap said, "Mmm what you say?": Democracy in Language

“Why is American English hard to pronounce? Most language is pronounced as what is verbally stated. But not English, and French,” said an old southerner to me. First, due to their national pride, it is ironic that American English and French have something in common. Second, grammatical rules vary around the world just like how they govern the countries. So, if you mix two languages into one act of speech only bilinguals of those languages will understand your meaning.

You could think in Indonesian and tried to express it in English just like what Putri Indonesia 2010 did. Or, you could think in Indonesian and, being more strategic, uttered it in a mixed speech between English and Sundanese, like what the Director of University of Indonesia did. Or maybe you could mix Betawi language with Indonesian in your thesis, like what Seno Gumira used as an example in his “Bahasa Ilmiah” article, “Menurut pendapat ogut…”

Of course, mixing languages is not a crime; moreover, now multiculturalism is highly accepted around the globe. Pride of originality rises and we all believe that it is our right to use language system as how we want. We, Indonesians, all agree blindly (and have no intention to change it) that the language we use in everydayness differs highly in our writings. The language that Cak Tarno Institute members speak in Barel is different than what they tweet (even twitter is not formal!). The condition is different with English; there is no course for “formal” English and “non-formal” English. When you utter what you learned in English lesson, you won’t look as clueless as a new bule in the J-Town.

Why is it not bothering? Language is what we use every day to communicate (doh!). Because of this dependent interaction between the subject and language, its use is democratic. Really, there is no International Tribunal on language crime; English has different variations: Singlish, Indian-English, American English, Australian English; Javanese has seven formality levels (ngoko, ngoko andhap, madhya, madhyantara, kromo, kromo inggil, bagongan, kedhaton); and even our KBBI (Kamus Besar Bahasa Indonesia) and other dictionaries keep on changing (and I hate media that uses new technological terms such as tetikus). It is very amazing isn’t it that language has no governmental body yet it strives and blooms based on the convergence of its speakers’ interest without detrimental harm. It’s like the most natural act of democracy, without leaders.

But, is it really without leaders? Like in good governance, limitation to language democracy lies in its harm towards others. And “harm” here means when the meaning is not channeled and its detrimental effects. I personally believe that your flexibility to democratize language depends highly on: your audience, the function of your speech, and who you are (why are you the one who has the right to say that, not others).

First, your audience. When figures as UI Director and Putri Indonesia feel they have the right to modify language (intentionally or not), they have to make sure all of the audience understand their meaning. In the last UI graduation, did all audience understand Sundanese? No. Did all audience understand English? No. And how about a mixed speech of those two? Amazing. In identity level, did all audience want the director to highlight his origin? No. It’s like Batik, kebaya, all Javanese attribute, and Suharto in smaller scale or Soekarno with Peci (inspired by Modern Turkish movement), or generalization to use “Assalamu alaikum” or “Salam Sejahtera” to open all events. When you say those two greetings, automatically there are many religious greetings you do not mention. In this instance itself, we see how tolerance towards your own identity backlashes greater group of people.

Second, function of your speech. Did the UI Director tried to make a joke as anecdote in 2010 graduation speech? Did it appear only as a joke or in the whole speech? Let’s see what Seno Gumira wrote as an example in “Bahasa!”, TEMPO August 30 – September 5 2010 edition:

““Kalo kite-kite melejit di luarnye langit sono noh nyang same aje cepetnya ame caye mentari, ntu ruang angkase bakalan ngerut ampe abis, padahal waktu bakalan kegeber omber kagak abis-abis; lantes nyang kite namain barang, kalo emang ade, ntu barang bakalan jadi gede banget kagak ade batasenye…” Mereka yang hanya mendengar bahasa Betawi melalui lenong mungkin mengira ini salah satu lawakan Bokir, padahal ini terjemahan bebas dari nukilan teori relativitas Einstein,” Seno Gumira Ajidarma.

Really, I’m sorry for being born in Jakarta and do not immerse myself with Javanese, Floresian (my parents’) or Betawi language. Because of so called modern exposure through television, the broadcasted tone of that quotation is funny. Blame me, I am guilty for not equally explore all Indonesian dialects. Through a short verbal speech, how did I know that the UI Director was not joking? As an audience, should they laugh or wrinkle their forehead as a sign of seriousness? And if the audience laughed, would it be demeaning because it extended the “funny” stereotype? Usually we use a dialect to make our audience smile, like when Obama said “Nasi Gorenk!” or shouted “Sate, sate!” in his interview with Putra Nababan. It is satisfying that a man we think “more superior” could speak one or two words in our language, it gives a sense of “coming from the same origin”.

Thank God, Obama just said one, two, or three words in Indonesian with a clear function: as an anecdote. But what was in the mind of UI Director when he used mixed language? To convey that they come from the same origin? Of course not, not all audience are Sundanese. To make the audience laugh? No. Because they did not even understand what he was talking about (meanwhile “nasi gorenk” and “sate” are accepted nationally). To formalize a stereotype that Sundanese is funny? I doubt that. So why did he mix the language to make a great encouraging sendoff for the fresh grads who are probably threatened with rare job fields out there? Is a mixed language encouraging? Encourage you to learn Sundanese, I think.

Or maybe what we fear to say the most, he just celebrated ignorance in the name of multiculturalism. It is okay for not being excellent in English, because hey, language is democratic. Was “democratic” even in the head of UI Director? Or maybe language is not important, (Just like how academic snobs looking at the study of literature, humanities, arts, and culture)? This brings us to the third point, which is who you are. UI director is the head of all faculties and self discipline in UI and were encouraging his students to be discipline in their study and life (ain’t this is the difference between institutionalized education and education of life?). In democracy, we know the word ”understand”, but for a rather big name as UI Director, why should we “understand” your difficulty in speaking English? Did you pass you English lesson in flying colors? Why should a large audience who pays your salary open a Sundanese-Indonesian dictionary? We put high respect, hence high expectation that you are the one who can “understand” us.

And now I sound like an old lady.

Youth

Life has made a funny hit on me recently. Even my mom started to dream about me and my bf getting engaged (sorry Mom, not in my slightest dream). And now, she’s always tick-tocking my peaceful life, creating a woman-made time bomb. So after a Sunday shopping ritual with her, I decided not to go home but hung out with my friends then stayed at my room.

And while waiting for my friends getting their oh-so-expensive-and-fancy hair straightening and pedicure, I got myself a cup of frozen yoghurt. I grabbed a mature men magazine at first because Don Draper was the cover then I got bored and picked a teen magazine.

Udah lama banget ga baca majalah ginian. Despite of its miss-matched message (on feminism, consumerism, hence patriarchal system), teen magazines give you various and fresh information about teen. Doh! And I stumbled upon this particular blog address. I am a bloghopper and I always save new interesting blog address in my iPod. This particular blog, apparently, makes me want to adopt her a.k.a the writer. She is so adorable, honest, and explorative. Really, this girl might be a public enemy in her college or I don’t know what, she is a kind of girl whom you will totally hate (karena sirik) or love.

So, from this blog I found out that she wrote a book. I bought the book several days later (I never classified books like teenlit as cheesy or Roro Mendut as intellect, try to stay grounded) and read it in two hours straight. I read it in the office car en route to a place. Salah banjet! After I finished it, my eyes became glassy. And I thought further, “Dang crazy teenager. She got me learning about my heart and love life” which was a slap, HEY, my love life is not so different than a 21 year old’s!

Alright, I have a theory. If you want a kid, and you want your kid to be like A, B, and C it means that you are not done with yourself and you want to create someone new to accomplish your ideas. Morale: DO NOT have kids when you still feel that way. And I looked at this girl's writing, I want to have a daughter like her. OR… I am not satisfied with myself right now.

Girlfriend has a character, you know. And after several clicks of links related to her blog, I found her mom’s blog: yang bikin gw makin nangis. Her mom is fantastic. Her education system must be very good because she has a rebellious, self-assured, and responsible product. Before you get lost in my paragraphs, here are the links, chains of my glassy eyes.

Cosmo Girl – Casseybunn – "Letters, Stories, and Dream" (kalo mau sok-sok a la Beatles, ini kalo disingkat jadi LSD hehe) – Live, Love, and Me – this post.

I do not comment on her book, but you can see through her character despite the short fragmented diary-like story. She's got a lot to explore. Me too, and you too.

infatuation

You are my clay
I mold you as I may
I walk you near the Notre Dame and away
Through the red cherries mistletoe and snow array
I want you as my Christmas gift
Or found you sold in a thrift
Then we chime our conversation under the sun ray
Oh my, this mind clout, don’t leave me in decay

I Want Don Draper Full Treatment

As you can see on my sidebar, I am mad for Mad Men. And, let's be clear, for mundane reasons: the costumes and Don Draper (vintage clothes and men!). But the story line is also maddening because it feels just like a tinge when you watched it, but what you know is you're already flooded with your own tears or blood after watching each episode. Kudos for January Jones for portraying unbearable lightness of being perfectly.

Now, it's been too long since the third season - finale of Mad Men. I thought it was THE end. But this nymag article just made my day. Can't wait to see Sterling Draper Cooper Pryce MADvertising agency with the dapper Mr. Draper in it.

And below are Mad Men’s spurious comic-strip origins from Vanity Fair

"It’s a little known fact—so little-known as to be essentially untrue—that the popular AMC series Mad Men is based on an obscure comic strip from the early 1960s. The strip, Those Madison Avenue Men!, was an almost painful attempt to exploit its era’s Zeitgeist and never quite caught on. At its peak, in the spring of 1961, it was syndicated in only eight newspapers; it would run for a mere 43 weeks before being canceled. The final straw may have been a week’s worth of off-color strips in which the characters pitched a hypothetical Thalidomide account. (The comic’s creators would have no better luck with their subsequent strip, the civil-rights-themed Li’l Martin, before finally hitting it big with Heathcliff.)"








and...Mad Men creator and executive producer's desk (from Vanity Fair)

jacket whore

... ay em.

lesbleu

I bought the batik materials from JACC, Inacraft, and traditional markets in Bali and Balikpapan. White necklace above is from a small stall at Double Six, Bali.

Batik dresses and jackets are designed by the talented Ms. Myra and Ms. Myra =)

daughter

The year was struggling. It was a June with steady raindrops. Mornings would be full of heat then rain would wash down the street bringing down people from the office district to their home. People would mock at the sky. That year was a tip of something, said my mom. People all over the country felt a big energy at their core. They knew they’re going to be big. At the same time, middle age austerity pulling out what’s left for them. Canonic fundamentalists were going wild like dogs biting down the last creature found in the forest. Like vampires grooming out the last human on earth (yes, that year was also a come back year for vampires after Stroker’s Dracula).

The year was the year when old generation remembered what they saw in their youth circa 70’s. Sephia movies starred with thighs, legs, cleavages. Oh yes, they remembered it clearly. The then women leading stars now all covered up. Old, balding, fat stomached men condoned what they saw in the past, while their faces were the epitome of sleaziness.

The year was in a heat. Skirts were getting shorter and God’s payback was stronger. When suicide bombers were crucified, and so were people whose sextape was leaked. The year was the year when people wanted to do the best at everything. The best in combatting terrorism, the best in letting the outlaws grow in the name of democracy, the best in being pious, the best in sentencing corruptors, the best in not being caught up for corruption.

The year was when pancake and crepes all wrapped up into a branded high-class delicacy. Mom used to make me those for breakfast. She is the best. But, I am glad that she is not good at everything. At least, she is not the best at “inspecting” my rooms.

My father, however, was the The Best. He worships God five times a day, he fasts all days in Ramadans, he is also the best at collecting nude pictures, the best at beating Mom when he’s mad, and the best at cheating from my Mom.

He is the best at everything. Just like that year.

for(-give)

How do you forgive?

Is forgive equal to give? To give the person a second chance? To wish the person happiness? Is "forgive" = for (you to) give? Is forgiveness the purest form of giving? Because we expect nothing, even the value at our end is negative. Is forgiveness a humanity challenge? Is that a chance to show our deity human form that we can give although they hurt us?

How. do. you. forgive.

What would Jesus do? What would Oprah do? What would Zooey Deschanel do? What would Buddha do? What would you do?

If the easiest way to forgive is to forget, I want an amnesia right now.

lunch convo

We talked about relationshiz. It means, your relationship when it looks like a shizzz. I asked my girl friend, “Have you ever had a crush on somebody else while you’re in exclusive relationship with your current bf?” She said, ”I’ve never had guts to start exploring my curiosity over some guys if I knew that wouldn’t end up well. And since I’m in a relationship now, I just know, those crushes won’t end well.”

-Pak Sapardi, kami tidak mau jadi Hujan Bulan Juni-

photo intro

Three photo sets I captured from last February's trip:

1. politique

2. pinka candita

3. sexiest tomb : Oscar Wilde's

just because

I stab you with another face everytime you talk
And your eyes become someone else’s
I pictured that sax man sharing his joints with me
Your mumbles are stripped with the environmentalist speech
Our silences are merriment with the joker
In my mind.
That is the farthest I can go

bir hakiem

Fast and crowded, the underground metro crept to an open air. From here a light-swamped metropolitan city life sat its sheet under an early sunset. I hiked from Line 4 Odeon and stopped at Bir Hakiem. Unlike three days ago in a row, Paris was all dry and sunny. As if it understood I would make my biggest pilgrimage that day.

Swooshing, I followed the herds exiting metro gate. There, first thing under my sight was Ares Hotel. Its marbled floor and huge white flower pots popped an automatic comparison with the hostel I stayed in. Full off all-over-the world bratz who sacrificed their breakfast with cereal, orange juice, and hard bread for the sake of midnight heavy make ups and mini skirt cross cultural mating session. In the name of Perseus, I almost swapped my card to stay in Ares just for one night.

But of course, I didn’t. I walked through concretes until carousel light bulbs were in front of my eyes. And in front of it, on Champs de Mars greenery, there stood the Eiffel tower. For French speaking mass around me, clad in thick winter outfit, walking on that pavement was just like another step on their boring city. Here, I instantly had Monas in my mind. And it was. All big, stern, ugly, and grey that tower was.

Not until horses in Carousel de la Tour Eiffel started to move and accordion tunes flowed with it. And lights emerged in each bones of the tower structure. Sky as its background, was orange and purple blended, like a summer night in winter. Tourists around me, mostly Spanish speaking, shared that moment with their spouses, partner, family, and acquaintances. While I hugged Vincent deeply. He was my friend’s bad ass Nikon. I was alone on Parisian street.

Going back from there, I rode from Bir Hakiem until Line 6 finished at its last stop at Charles de Gaulle Etoile and spent a while in Arc de Triomphe, although I could’ve just taken Line 6 straightly to Lumiere. I prolonged my way back to the hostel because I wanted to see this city with you in my mind. On that journey, I played Anda with the Joints and SORE. It was just perfect. And, what do you do on a particularly perfect moment? You tweet, of course. And this was my tweet:

“walked back from arc the triomphe with SORE and Anda in my iPod. the only thing missing was my guy.” 6:58 AM Feb 17th via TweetDeck

And then I wondered what did you do back then. Were you asleep or working. Did you also walk with me in your thought. Then I knew you were not. I was all alone on Parisian street, even in my mind.


Three days after 2010 Valentine's Day

ticket(s)

Act 1
Scene 1

(A sunny day. A couple celebrates their third anniversary and passes by Bunderan HI. It is a bright day with all Bunderan HI water hoses working, sparking a complete round to the sky. Suddenly a cop stops the car and said the bf didn’t flash the car sign lamp)

She : Don’t give them money. Ask for the ticket.

(Bf climbs down and the cop escorts him to their checkpoint. Gf doesn’t believe that he will go for the ticket, so she also go out and leave the car. After a few word and half an hour battles with the cops, they get into the car again)

She : Good that we didn’t pay and got the ticket
Him : Honey, if you’d just let me give my joker innocent face, we could’ve escaped that. And if you hadn’t interrupted, I could have just paid them 20k rupiahs. And they gave us the red ticket, not the blue one. It means that we should go to the court.
She : No. Ticket is good.

(Then they have their anniversary lunch)

Act 2, Scene 1 and Act 3, Scene 1

(Two days later and three days later gf rides with two different people and both of them get stopped by cops. Gf doesn’t do anything knowing the “get me a ticket negotiation” puts heaps of heat on her head, hence double briberies)

Act 4
Scene 1

Him : Let’s meet up. I’m going to give you the ticket receipt and please come to the court on behalf of me.
She : WTH? (putting this into her mind: being a law abiding citizen is a turn off)

termites

Green leaves dangling scarcely from evenly planted trees. Legendary statues leading us to all corners of the world. Vienna, Canada, Monaco, and we saw Florida.

“I tell ya, this is looks a lot like Florida golf course. I thought the warehouse will be located somewhere shabbier,” said a person behind me.

In fact, this is not shabby at all. We entered a real estate empire. It made us see grand skins but felt like as if it was a typical Jakarta bus terminal without shelter.

As I let sunshine sipping on my skin, we reached Paris. The cluster. We stopped at a house that looked new but was not taken care of. Another person who rode with us knocked his forefinger to the door panel.

“Should watch for termites, this kind of woods,” he said. “In my old house, we planted a big cow head outside. It attracts big red ants, which will scare termites. And it worked. Traditional wisdom is magical, too bad we set it aside.”

“Yes, but you will get butches of red ants,” I said while frowning my head thinking what if a big cow head was buried deeply in my front yard.

“No, you won’t. The ants won’t come up,” he replied.

After we finished our business there, I went home. I showered, washed my hair, and just dried it with a towel. Then I slouched in my mom’s bed. Mom was looking for our Kartu Keluarga, and dug for some more items. After she finished, she looked disappointed,

“All of your life stories are gone. I wrote about your growth from the very first day I saw you until when you’re about six year old. Hand written. And it’s all gone. Also your brothers’,” she said.

I lied flat on my stomach and buried my face into mom’s pillow, with my wet hair touching some air. “Why, Mom?” I tried to be nor disappointed or mad.

“Termites ate them,” mom said lightly.

We should plant a big cow head. Or just write a blog instead. It’s termite-free. I should’ve had typed those stories and saved it electronically.

“But Mom, do you still have those cassettes with my crying in both side A and B?”

Oh, please don’t let all my life gone by termites.

possess

"Sendhil Mullainathan, a Harvard economist, points out that there is often a big gap between what people say they’d like to save and what they end up saving. Saving, he argues, is often “what didn’t happen”—the accumulation of decisions not to consume. Consumption, by contrast, is an active decision to buy something. One product he is testing in India involves collaborating with banking agents to sell “savings cards” in shops, so that saving becomes an active purchase and can compete with other impulse buys. With luck these kinds of innovations can help the poor use their own savings to make life just a little more predictable," from The Economist.

Indeed, our desire to buy an object is as if we will accomplish the final objective of buying that object. i.e: when we buy books, the instant emotion is knowledge fulfillment although we haven't read that book. The act of buying reflects our instinct to possess, which is active, covering our desire to complete ourselves passively. And the innovation above tricks our psyche to actively save money. While saving in the bank feels more passive as we lost our possession to numbers in bank statement. We people like to possess.

paris pola

tidbits 1: karaoke is political

When you do karaoke with late 1960s and early 1970s born people and mostly men, sing heavy metal rock songs: Metallica, Deep Purple, or the most attainable ones (reachable by pop vocal range): KISS especially “Beth”, Rolling Stones, or Queen. In the most desperate times, pick The Beatles. Where there are more women, choose The Tremeloes kinda songs or early Celine Dions. More choices are melancholic songs with a bit of guitar riffs and endless desperate rising part, i.e. Air Supply’s “Making Love Out of nothing at All” or Meatloaf’s confusing song “I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)”.

With late 1970s and early 1980s, sing Indonesian band songs in their golden years: 1990s of course. Like the first café band ever recorded: Java Jive, “Kau Yang Terindah”, “Gadis Malam”, or Protonema, Kahitna, GIGI, and Dewa when Dhani was sane. Mid 1980s have preferences of singer songwriter genre Jason, Jack, John; pop punks, J-Rocks, or challenging solo vocalists such as Mariah Carey and Michael Jackson. To put some jokes in it, choose Warna’s “Ada Cinta”, or Nicky Astria’s and fellows songs. To put some local groove, ME’S “Inikah Cinta” and Titi Kamal’s “Jablay”. I don’t sing current Indonesian pop chart, even Kuburan and other current trending bands are too bad to become jokes in karaoke room.

Choose your songs based on your audience and they will like you and think you like the same songs as them.

Aqua

I made Aqua’s selling drop, at least by three populations. Why? Because I told my friends that I asked my bf to open his mouth to put a medium (not small, not big) 500 ml Aqua bottle or a banana in it. So he can feel what a BJ feels like. I mean, it’s such a chore and I don’t understand that anybody could enjoy their jaw open and up and shoving something that also functions as a urinal channel, for one hour.

And my friends will never touch Aqua again without thinking of my bf and his buggle boe.

There I said it.

And I feel so sorry because Aqua has this program “Satu untuk Sepuluh” and WASH for people in Nusa Tenggara Timur.

I’m half Flores and I’m so sorry, Aqua. But, I think guys should know about the effort their sexual partner makes. Next time I will bring him on a waxing experience. Ha!

no middleman

Amount of money and time I should’ve paid if I had used a middleman to renew my passport (assumption):
IDR 575k (275 k for passport fee and 300k for the middleman), 3 days

Amount of money and time I spent without middleman:

1.Form Submission (Monday)

Taxi (Bekasi-Immigration office in Jakarta): 90k
Form : 0k (free of charge)
(But, the) Folder costs: 5k
Hours waiting: 8 hours
Submitting the form: 1 minute
Taxi (immigration office-Plaza Senayan): 25k

2.Picture taking, fingerprinting, etc (Wednesday, Day 1)

Day(s) after form submission: 2
Wake up time: 5.30 AM
Taxi (kost – immigration office): 25k
Arrival time at the immigration): 6.30 AM
Hours waiting before the immigration’s open at 8 AM: 1.30 hours
Time they told us that their online system was down: 8.30 AM
Taxi (immigration office –my office): 40k

3.Picture Taking, fingerprinting (Thursday, Day 2)

Wake up time: 5.30 AM
Taxi (kost – immigration office): 25k
Arrival time (Got the second turn): 6.30 AM
Hours waiting before the immigration’s open at 8 AM: 1.30 hours
Fee: 275k
Picture taking, fingerprinting, and payment done: 9.30 AM
Taxi (immigration office –my office): 40k
Arrived at the office: 10.30 AM

4.Passport Collecting (Wednesday, the week after)

They said my passport would be done on Tuesday and my feeling told me it couldn’t be, so I came on Wednesday.
Wake up time: 6 AM
Taxi (kost – immigration office): 25k
Arrival Time: 7 AM
Hours waiting before the immigration’s open at 8 AM: 1 hour
Time they told me my passport was still in process: 8.30
(my feeling was right, and it’s Wednesday!)
Taxi (immigration office – my office): 40k
Arrived at the office: 9.15 AM

I just calculated the cost at my end: 590k, 1 week and 3 days
Assumed cost I should’ve paid if I had used a middleman: 575k, 3 days

Ha!

(And I haven’t got my passport yet, so the cost would sum up at least for one more day)

It’s tiring being a law-abiding citizen.

power struggle

Bf’s favorite radio channels are the one where Bittersherry’s bf works and the one that doesn’t broadcast any ad, with nonstop jazz and pop songs. He tunes into those radios every weekend. That means in all our dates with me, as a person with ears, included in the car. He doesn’t play his iPod. And thank God he doesn’t do that because his iPod only consists of Rockstar Supernova contestants’ numbers.

One Saturday, I bought this Java Jazz deluxe pack CD. Indra lesmana, Gilang Ramadhan, AS Mates, Donny Suhendra, and Dewa Budjana finally come up with their new album “Joy Joy Joy” after a long hiatus. I thought, bf is pretty tired of those radio channels too. I thought, I am giving us a new music flavor of the night. I thought 29 year old guys are all grown up. I thought this and that. And, I slipped in Joy Joy Joy CD A in the middle of Metallica’s “Master of Puppets” right when it shouts “MASTER voom voom MASTER,” Master yes we get it you adrenaline-d macho men.

Java Jazz’ “Exit Permit” reached its fifth second when my bf pulled out my poor CD out and said, “Hey, be patient. The song will be over soon. Then you’ll have your turn.” I was sick with that particular rock radio and that night was their oh listen, Request Night. And I was pretty mad that he thought I did not know how long that Metallica’s number last. You might think the last drumbeat is when the song ends. We all know it’s wrong. Dream Theater and Metallica’s songs are like multiple orgasms. You thought U’ve reached the climax but there are many stages after that in one song, often with different genres, melody, timbre, texture and rhythms.

Fine, he could do that and I could do what I do best: silent treatment. I took my iPod and listened to random songs my iPod played and it played “Half of My Heart” by John Mayer and Taylor Swift. Suhweet. Bf then pulled my earphones. I put them on again. He then increased the radio’s volume. And then I started humming. And my iPod was very smart; it played totally different kind of songs than that stupid screaming Metallica. It played, “I’m Easy”, “Kissing a Fool”, songs by Los Indios Trabajaras. One more thing that my bf didn’t know was I study best with loud music. In this case, that loud stupid Metallica is my catalyst to listen to my iPod better. Then of course, he did not turn off the radio.

And that my friends, is how silly a simple thing can be. Based on this article, there are five stages in a committed relationship; Romance, Disillusionment, Power Struggle, Stability, Commitment. Each stage has its own period. But, my Power Struggle stage keeps on showing and in my case, it is infinite. I was in my fourth song when “Master of Puppets” ended (slight exaggeration here). Finally, I said, ”The song would finish soon huh? Like, tomorrow?” And the power struggle stage continued. But really, who likes plain vanulla relationship?

it's beginning to look a lot like christmas

It's Christmas time and I know not everybody has the privilege to attend Christmas eve mass in the cathedral then waited for their bf to finish Sholat Maghrib at Istiqlal. Here's what it feels like, please take a piece of its warmth =)



Jakarta's cathedral seen from Istiqlal pavement



Cathedral's gate



Christmas eve mass with Indonesia National Police' Protection.


After that, bf's almost 30 birthday dinner:






Both: Bebek Bengil Restaurant




nephew #3



nephew #2 with his glow in the dark pumpkin pajamas



nephew #2 with his future diet


Hope your holiday be fuzzed with love and warmth, y'all!

uniform

In uniform, I see you in function and form. I don’t really see your face. I don’t see your hair. Just like when most people think Asians or African American or Indians or Aborigins or Arabs share the same face between them. Or when we see orangutans or macaques, they have similar faces the first time we see them. When they clad you in short skirts and skimpy shirt with your hair done that people call you sales promotion girl, I want you to please, smile, and serve me. When you put on your student uniform I want you to adhere with the school system. I don’t see your eyebrows, your eyes, let alone your personalities. For me, this is why some people have fetish in uniform. We, the lookers, are the subjects who determine your function. I don’t want you to talk back, god forbid give me ideas. You have to fulfill what your uniform represents. It’s all about the persons not in uniforms.

This is why I don't like uniform.

active listener

I found this article when flipping through websites during my morning green tea before work ritual, “Feeling Grumpy is ‘good for you’”. And I love the phrase “annoying happy types” they use there. It basically says:

“An Australian psychology expert who has been studying emotions has found being grumpy makes us think more clearly.
In contrast to those annoying happy types, miserable people are better at decision-making and less gullible, his experiments showed.
While cheerfulness fosters creativity, gloominess breeds attentiveness and careful thinking, Professor Joe Forgas told Australian Science Magazine”.

It’s like, wow someone feels me. Disclaimer: I’m not saying I am attentive and thinking carefully, but I am gloomy in general. Happy, in appearance at least, is not something that comes easy for my 25 years living. I have curved down lips. Not flat, not up. Lips, which I recall from some scientific facial research, belong to persons who age sadly. In my normal state of expression, my lips are curved down, I look barky. Bf keeps telling me to smile, like everyday. I know I have wide angled smiley lips, and it looks slightly better than the normal state (One has to know what one’s got). But, it is hard to stage.

Anyway, I try. I changed my blog background from black to this I-don’t-know-what-variant-of-green-is, my twitter background is a happy purple with soft flowers, and my emo suicidal mood has changed drastically recently, not that I ever had it but you know what I mean. I rant fewer; I create dark surreal poems full with metaphors scarcely, the obvious one is black is no longer my favorite wardrobe color. It all comes with effort. Oh, and smileys in texts, there you go. An effort.

Do not think that I made the effort to change my branding. No. More practical reason for me is to become a less of an active listener. In my whole life, people talk to me more than I talk to them. And perhaps, not happy face (interpreted as serious by overly verbose persons) and attentiveness play some roles here.

Has this reduced my attractive active listener characteristic? No. A large number of my YM conversations still consist of me saying “trus?”, “and?”, “why?”, and just a bit of my counterpart asking ”how about you?” five lines before the conversations end. And I say “trus?”, etc in a full conscious, fabricated, so you will be satisfied with this yours truly active listener.

Being an active listener (really, one has to know what one’s got or perhaps the only thing that one’s got) is well, interesting. Some people even ask me to conclude and giving them inputs. Sometimes, I feel like analyzing a discourse using Laclau and Mouffe discourse analysis theory, and should write a thesis upon a love story. I feel honored and doing something useful, and scientific.

When an active listener counterpart keep being a verbose counterpart in his/her life and shutting down their opposite chatter, their position is not equal with the others. I see you, yes you chatty persons, as people who come, talk, and leave without paying a shrink fee. In contrast, the always be active listener is also a dumb. Should have a right portion for everything, right? Hence, my effort. Meanwhile, talkative people*, pay up your shrink fee. I kid I kid, you know I love you *lots of smileys* ohhh, and XOXO.

*Talkative people do not always appear happy. Lots of them are masked in black rock n roll gloomy weed-full face.

sniff

Luncheon with rose-bouquet-tea in a blue china, poached egg, breakfast sausage, savory waffles, and grapefruit slices. This accompanied by conversation on rose dripping boughs or about the new wallpaper; a stained blue Victorian which looks perfectly worn out. Nah, that’s just in my Anne of Green Gables induced fantasy. My lunch yesterday unlikely came with a practical tip (from an often-sniffed-by-the-pregnant-wife-husband) of how to get rid of cigarette stink from your body. This accompanied by a bowl of cap cay and pineapple et orange juice.

So, here we go:

1. Smoke in open air; smoke stink will stay bolder in an indoor room, most likely if you’re sweating. So, try not to sweat while smoking. Wind also helps ‘sweeping’ the smoke away, thus open air.

2. Wash your mouth with cookies, water, and then some peppermint candy after that. Food helps a lot to reduce the smoke stink.

3. Also clean your nostrils, either with tissue or water. Brown nicotine residue usually stays there because sometimes you also exhale the smoke through your nose.

4. No smoking in a room, car, or any other places that easily invite the pregnant wife’s sniffing cyborg ability.

5. Shower. Duh.

This is so random, I know.

my typical morning

Me: we turn right at Bunderan HI

Taxi driver: Oh, you mean Cokroaminoto street

yawn (some drivers say Cokroaminoto street some say Sutan Syahrir street some say Imam Bonjol, all I know is the street lays right to Nikko Hotel) So, by not negating or approving, I said…

Me: We turn right to the street beside Nikko Hotel

Taxi driver: yes. It IS Cokroaminoto (some drivers would say, “Yes, like what I said, it IS Sultan Syahrir-or Imam Bonjol-)

Time for me to google or simply ask, so I wouldn’t have mornings so typical anymore.

so...

I have two relationship journals
the first one tells my boyfriend’s bad behavior
the second one glorifies our shunned glittery times
I will reveal the first one if we broke up
The second one will be our reminder at our 40th anniversary.
Only one third of this information is true.

wishful thinking

It was a chill night. Bf just got back from his business trip and for some reason I didn’t speak to him at all. Me and silence do not correlate to each other, seeing this bf drove his car further from my place. “Why are you so silent?” I knew where this conversation leads to. With a good ladylike manner I answered, “Nothing.” Ha. Then, he drove rather far away.

“We can go to Taman Menteng,” I said.

Abandoning my wish, he strolled through road to Erasmus Huis. I remembered our favorite place near there, Trattoria. Okay perhaps he wanted a comfy place to talk and a good pizza plus free after dine in baileys! Yaiyy! Wrong. He parked his car beside a large vacant land.

“What do you want from this relationship?” he asked

Why so serious? I’m so tired I wanna go home. Should I answer?

“Ha? Uh? What?”

“Why do you still want to be with me?” He asked again, try to clarify, but I think those two questions had different meanings.

Why did you ask ?

“Why….?”

“Just answer. Please.”

Then he got out from the car, lighted his cig and reached for a small bendable bench, put it on the grass beside my door, and sat there. From up here (his car is a minivan), he was literally on my knee.

Okay, here we go. What a tricky question, such a prick. Why am I still with you? Umm, what will girls say? because…I feel comfortable with you, I need laughs, you need me, definitely. I like to share…you know…our needs. Be prepared for the best and the worst. The worst would be he’s breaking up with me with that typical passive aggressive question and the best would be he’s proposing me. Hey, he was (at least seemed like) kneeling!

“…Because I like spending time with you…”

“For how long?”

How do I know, damn. I wanna go home yada yada yada, let’s kiss and make up. To make this fast (I always believe, when it hurts and lame, better do it quick), I jerked this off.

“For…ever…”

“In what form?”

Oh, here we go when men become complicated. This is tricky. In what form my butt! Are you talking about what kind of social contract? I wanna go home. I f I said, I’m okay with any form, he’ll think I’m not taking us seriously. If I said marriage, God forbid, he would successfully trap me to say it first.

“In what form, I don’t know,” rolling my eyes, exhausted.

“Well, listen,” he stepped on his cig butt and put a serious melancholic face.

Here we go here we go, he’s gonna say it. What will I say..um…perhaps, Oh baby, what a sweet of you, but I’m not ready.

“Honey, I love spending time with you. But, to take it to forever, some things need fixing. Like you, would you please speak in a more soft intonation (referring to the unmentioned catfight) and not cornering me around, more importantly, do not always ask W H Y?”

But, WHY? What’s wrong with why?

“Wh…y?”

He continued, “If I said something, would you please don’t ask WHY and just enjoy whatever ride we’re having?”

I remembered EQ Puradiredja’s tweet, “Nothin' you can do about it.. Its too strong to be denied. Don't you try to understand it.. Just relax and enjoy the ride.. :)” Alrite honey, I got it I got it. Could we just go home, My Name is Earl DVDs are waiting. Dang, the long ride was just for a very simple proposition and suggestion.

“Ok.”

There you go, no engaged lady for that night. I was just having a wishful thinking. But at least I know, he’s in a better mood and giving soft cheekkisses. He played OASIS Live Acoustic Playlist before, and now he intentionally hit the Tony Bennett duet playlist. I preferred OASIS better so I could sing along with it, but Tony Bennett duo showed he’s having beautiful butterflies in his head. Much better. Hey, nothing is better than a guy who’s recovering from a bad mood. They’re as soft as sheepskin.

love

Flaky cotton candy hay

Blue pink yellow and none of them is grey

Like a charm in life, I want you to stay


Some lollipops are blinding my way

I get bored and fell black as the ashtray


But, poppies will bloom, at least every May

And, you, my baby, will not be a passé

Ov . June 29th 2009

capitalism

Politics is personal, and business is not. That what makes business atmosphere is more tolerant than politics. Chinese businessmen would make sure that their product is Halal, Moslem realtor would build Chinese mini garden, Christian rattan maker would make special packages for Idul Fitri parcels. The end desire would be money, but the experience in taking humility of our own labels, namely religion, skin, and nationality to serve others would form up the melting pot ambience. The chance to open the minds for the sake of money is a priceless experience that none economic system can foster, except capitalism. Where in capitalism we shed the labels that seemingly formed by our cultures, which we cannot even see the clear reason except clearly for ego booster and identity to differentiate us from the others. Further, in which people are to trust others based on meritocracy rather than identities that have sipped into our skin becoming a subconscious rage to be defended, with no real evidence.

charles darwin

Darwin's masterpieces:

“On the Origin of Species” (1859), “The Descent of Man and Selection in Relation to Sex” (1871) and “The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals” (1872).

On the "Origin" : Darwin presented extensive and compelling evidence that all living beings — including humans — have evolved from a common ancestor, and that natural selection is the chief force driving evolutionary change.

On the "Descent of Man": "Sexual selection was an additional force, responsible for spectacular features like the tail feathers of peacocks that are useless for (or even detrimental to) survival but essential for seduction," Charles Darwin.

On the "Expression":


Illustration by Thomas Porostocky; Photographs by University of Cambridge
In “The Expression of the Emotions in Animals and Men,” Darwin traced connections between humans and animals in the muscles used to express emotions such as grief and terror.

Historian Richard Milner said, “Everyone should find his own Darwin. The man was so large. He was a zoologist, a botanist, an explorer, a travel writer, a philosopher, an abolitionist, a doting father, a radical intellectual revolutionary with an utterly conservative and blemish-free lifestyle. He revolutionized every field he touched, and he was trained in none of them.”

www.nytimes.com

rug

nymag.com

mirror

nymag.com

kebaya

There is no connection between kebaya and Kartini Day. Never. Yet, I posed politely every year as a child to win Walkin in Kebaya competitions. Therefore, I am digging to see why Kebaya has been a symbol for Kartini Day for quite a long time. IMHO, Kebaya DOES compliment women’s body. With its tight lines, boobs squeezer top, super wrapper sarong, and kitten heels, you can just imagine any man would love to rip that off you in the middle of paddy field. Kebaya DOES compliment women trait to be lean with mother-like or virgin-like, or even soft, weak, poke-able figures. Kebaya DOES compliment woman’s body to be sexy (remember, tight tight tight) yet mysterious (tight and closed). Kebaya DOES compliment every man’s dream about how Indonesian women should be. To wear a Kebaya, we should have a perfect body minus fat gulp on the back of the hand, in our biceps and triceps, even on our upper back. No fat on our hips or thighs. Unless, it is not the noble Javanese woman that you picture, it’s the mbok-mbok. To wear a kebaya, we should walk one inch at a time unless you will stumble. To wear a Kebaya properly, you should tidy up your hair, at least with French twist or a bun, with small flower.

If you want to connect a Kebaya with new order culture, there you have it.
But, if you want to connect Kebaya with Kartini, there is no such connection, other than Kartini wore Kebaya as it was a mass product for women clothing in Jepara years ago.

Happy kartini Day. Burn that Kebaya down. I’ve never liked Kebaya, anyway.

blahgirls.com

John Mayer's Diary Found