I Hired a Contract Killer

Celebrating the "I have no life so I have watched over 50 films so far this year!!!" milestone that I've reached yesterday, I thought it would be nice to write something about my 51st film: I Hired a Contract Killer, a film that - as sufficiently described in the title - is about a guy who hired a contract killer .... to kill himself. Joy!

This is my second English-language Kaurismaki's films out of the six that I've seen thus far and I learned that I prefer his dialogues to be delivered in his native Finnish language (read: unrecognizable gibberish speech). There just seems to be much more droll and hilariousness packed in the monotone one-note Finnish dialect.

The first 30 minutes or so of this film is excellent, especially because I've thought about and even written a short story about a guy planning on a suicide and yet fails to do so. Heh, surprise, surprise. The rest of this short movie (a mere 75 minutes) unfortunately seems a bit stretched, although not without its sprinkles of golden comedy moments.

The wooden speech and determined expression of the protagonist nicely complement his unexpected romantic flair. All the characters in Kaurismaki's films are so lovable! All in all, I've seen better Kaurismaki's films, although any Kaurismaki's films are truly better than a lot of films out there.

The miserable Henri

Determined to take his own life

Enjoying the great things in life for the first time:
boozy whiskey and smokey cigarettes.

Unto the next Kaurismaki's films!!!

a (Bread) Basket Case

I write this entry with my dried wrinkled old lady kind of hands. A side effect that would occur if you wash your hands as often as I am. I washed them religiously because I have a phobia over the gorific condition of Indonesian paper bills, which is unfortunate since I have to be in physical contact with them quite often at work. In order to write effectively, I have utilized a large paper clip to keep my bangs from disturbing my 10/20 vision. Yes, it's only a 10/20 because my left eye is constantly twitching at the moment, something is wrong with left soft lens. I tried to take it off and put it back on, but it still is uncomfortable. I neither have my glasses nor the soft lens case with me, so I guess it would look as if I'm trying to flirt with every becak and bemo drivers that I definitely would honk on my way home.

You might ask, why do I still write with all of these preventive conditions? That's because today is Thursday and my To Do List has notified me that on Thursday I have to write something ... anything on this blog. Yes, with this entry, I have officially written at least (or should I say precisely) once a week in the last 3 weeks. Hooray Self! With such milestone, I'm giving self a pat on the back and a permit to wolf down some tasty fatty ice cream tonight.

Speaking of the act of wolfing down (nice segue, eh), last Saturday, mother and I went to a decent restaurant to wolf down some excellent meat and they served us a bread basket while we wait. It had 1 focaccia, 2 sesame breadsticks and 2 poppy seed breadsticks (cheapskate!). After we sent the focaccia to a visit down our digestive systems, my focus was transfixed to the poppy seed breadstick and how there were so many poppy seeds on the breadstick! They were like the bountiful stars in the sky, and I just had to ... just had to peel all of them off of the breadstick. Mother was actually sweeping the leftover breadcrumbs off from the table cloth as I was doing this, so the cleanfreak side of her was horrified on my doing, "Meme, don't make a mess!". "Ow, on the contrary mother, mess is not my intention. I'm actually purifying this innocent breadstick from the ugly black poppy seeds that has prevented us from seeing the beautiful, glossy, clean surface of this perfectly baked breadstick!". Mother's face as I could hazily remember was wearing something along this expression: -____________-

Anyway, after I'm done with the mission, and admiring the beautiful glossy clean surface of the breadstick, I saw the candle right next to the bread basket, and I asked mother, "Mother, what would it be like if I place the tip of this breadstick to the flaming candle?". Mother's reply was short, "Just don't!". Unfortunately, the inquisitive side of me had to find out the answer or else I would get a terrible heartburn. Several seconds later, the tip of the breadstick started to blackened, followed with the arrival of a distinguished smell to mother's olfactory sensory reception, which immediately got post-mailed to her neural system and processed and categorized in her panicky brain as quite an alarming situation that she hastily commanded her voice generator agent to deliver the following message: "Abort, abort, my looney crazy daughter, do you want us to get kicked out of this restaurant?!?".

I laughed out loud and stopped my experiment. The smell still lingered and I asked mother jokingly, "Mother, do you know what this smell reminds me of?". Mother answered in a deadpan manner, "Your homemade caramel popcorn?". "Ouch!" I was going to joke and say it reminded me of all of my baking experiment, but it's no longer funny if the zinger doesn't come from myself! I guess I totally deserved it.

A yoke to bear

My hair, my effing hair. A bastard creature whose goal in life is to torture and humiliate me, to slam me down to the abyss of self loathing. The beast is happiest and liveliest when a visual recorder is being pointed to its direction. Aware that its present state is going to be immortalized, it is quick in action, doing one of its 101 complicated dance moves with the sole aim to become as unruly and hideous as possible, just in time before the click click click sound is traversing to my eardrums. Any hair product won't do, it is practically immunized from all these self-claimed beast tamer products available on earth. Every picture of me is a sad testament of how I have lost another battle with the monster nesting on top of my head. Oh well, everyone has his own yoke to bear. I'll just have to accept the fact that mine has chosen to locate itself at a strategic spot ... with prime visibility.



P.S: Yes, I am exaggerating. Of course I don't hate myself or my hair ... much.

Kasih Tak Sampai

When I think about my Bobo, I always remember the little story she loved to tell to every willing ears.

So there I was, accompanying my little grandchild to his first day at the kindergarten, and he was not afraid one bit! Instead, he squeezed my hand so tight, marched boldly forward to the classroom while screaming at the top of his lung, This is my Bobo! This is my Bobo!

She would chuckle and shake her head, looking as happy and proud as she could be and deep down, I always wished that the grandchild in her story had been me instead.

When I think about my Bobo, I remember fondly about the candy jar in her car and the cellophane filled candy in her purse, consistently maintained at a certain quantity and variety. Parking assistants and beggars on the street always sincerely thanked her for the extra something she gave. And everyone knew my Bobo was the to go to person when you want your candy fix!

When I think about my Bobo, I remember her big wood drawer with that weird pattern brass knobs and the amazingly fresh fragrant that attacked me every time I opened it. The secret ... she had never thrown off her soap wraps and would put them in between her folded clothes instead. My mom still does that even now.

As much as I love these little memories, I wish I could have known her better. I'm in the middle of scanning old pictures from the 60s and 70s and it made me miss her terribly and worse, it made me feel as if I don't know her at all. But then, I found, at the back of mini mom and mini aunt's picture, a song lyrics hand written by her, .


A quick Google trip and a stop at Sukolaras, I am now listening to the song, chuckling and shaking my head. If I could only have one wish now, it would be to go back in time and see my 30-something emo Bobo singing along to the song passionately, wholeheartedly.

:)

Just another drive to work

If you happened to drive along the Dharmahusada street on this lovely Saturday morning and heard a sudden high pitched shrieking voice, thy shall not worry, you have not just made a flatbread out of a wandering cat. It was in fact the voice of yours truly, jamming along Jack White on the electric guitar part of Seven Nation Army. A cup of bold robusta, a great short story by S.J. Perelman, and a rocking White Stripes album to accompany the drive to the office, I can't think of any better way to start your Saturday. Oh wait, how about not driving to the office?

It is an unfortunate turn of event, but for once, the natural order of the universe has been disturbed and I need to act as the bread winner while mother is chilling at home on Saturday. I know exactly what you think, how dare she! OK, warning peeps, Black Math is playing, here comes the head bopping. Truth to be told, mother is not exactly just chilling at home. After our trip to NZ, that ingrate Sus Siti has decided to take a vacation herself. Again, I know exactly what you think, how dare she! I'm just kidding, you're an A plus Sus Siti, come back soon? Honest to blog, I'd rather go to the office than replace her duties at home, so I need to suck it and stop griping the rest of this day. After all, isn't it just a wonderful day today? Sure indeed, and I will be stuck at work. OK, seriously, stop griping! And since the car in front of you just splits to two, stop bopping as well.

Maybe I could go out and take pictures after work. Office ends early on Saturday, 3pm-ish, I could venture the interesting town of Surabaya and meet the various characters in it. Sounds like a plan ... or I could just pray for a hefty rain which would inhibit outdoor activity and force me to switch to plan B: wrap myself with a blanket at home. Hmmm, state of dormancy. OK, red light, time to take the air electric guitar out from the compartment. Steady, you don't want the street vendor to think that you want to buy the whole bulk of whatever he's selling.

I could make pizza after work and watch a marathon of good movies for the whole night, the whole Saturday night. OMG, have I just wept while mouthing the words of I Just Don't Know What to Do with Myself? And I'm one minute away from the office. Come back good happy mood, I desperately need you! Oh, uhm, hello office mates, nice to meet y'all, I have news for you, you're all fired. Good bye and Happy Saturday to you!

Wednesday

It's cloudy with a chance of rain here in Surabaya and that's just the way I like it. I woke up this morning with Beth Rowley's You've Got Me Wrapped Me Around Your Little Finger playing in the loop inside my still mushy brain and it really set the mood of my day. Yes, it is going to be a mellow yellow Wednesday in the peyo universe and I welcome it with open arms after the crazy hyper kinetic Tuesday.

That was the optimist me this morning. Unfortunately, a few hours of work has sentenced mellow peyo to hell. The extreme noise pollution, the constant swirl of people, and the general tenseness of never ending problems really have the wonderful effect of driving my head to the wall.

At home after work, I popped a bottle of Storm, not the best beer in the world, but it is the best beer I could get my hands on living in Surabaya. Feeling warm and fuzzy, I set off against the raining darkness to the nearest Mall to acquire my comfort food, KFC chickens and McD fries and chocolate sundae.

Yes, it is peyo's night of indulgence! Accompanied by Up in the Air, I devoured all those food with pure abandonment. Of course by the time the movie was over and I have licked the last chocolate of the sundae, the alcohol effect started to wear off, the reasoning conveniently started to have the edge in the constant struggle against the id, and the food I have eaten started to feel like a cardboard box.

Never mind, life is all about balance. Yin and Yang, the good and the bad, the healthy wise choice and the stupid but at-the-time satisfying choice. In other words, I'm scheduling next Wednesday night for the same program.