On ageing in 2011

Who gave anyone the right over my ageing? Who dare govern me in such a way? Bastards. I want names! I’ll decide how old I’ll be from now on. – Chris Aaron, 5:34pm, December 31st, 2010.

Be All You Can Be. Or Beethoven Will Frown Upon You.

Three years ago an American company called Shelby SuperCars – the SS as I like to think of them – rolled out the Ultimate Aero S…omething Or Another to claim the production car top speed record previously held by the Bugatti Veyron by just 3mph.

Just over a month ago, Bugatti promptly responded with the Veyron Super Sport.

Justly, the Veyron smashed the American’s face in; doing 267mph; 11mph more than the then Bush administration could come up with at the time.

Personally, I never really got what all the fuss was about because the SS never really had the Veyron on anything to start with. So it did 3mph more than the original land speed record set by the Veyron, but that’s just a town’s capture compared to seizure of Europe that Bugatti boasts.

In no other car can you go from a show at The Palais Garnier to a salt flat drag strip without so much as a blip. You simply do not turn up to chauffeur a member of the Japanese Imperial Family looking like a ragamuffin with wheels on.

You arrive in style, with your Bugatti Veyron, fit to say, “Jesus, fancy a ride in my new wheels? It’s got Hermès leather interior, Burnmester sound system, electronically adjustable everything, satellite navigation, and should there be need, a thousand horsepower under the bonnet.”

Simply having the SS build something with a million horsepower, no panache, a prayer for handling and wishful thinking for comfort, all wrapped up in what looks like construction scaffolding doesn’t make you better.

Leaving the topic of the Bugatti Veyron the greatest car ever made behind – because it just is – I’m led nicely to what really felt like addressing today.

If you set out today to build say, a dog house, would you in your mind set out to build the best dog house you know and will learn to build? Or just a combination of what was not originally meant to be a roof, four and a half walls, and some paint that says, ‘Beethov’ above the entrance?

In doing so, you’ll know very well that Beethoven isn’t going to be impressed when he sets his eyes on this arrangement. And he’s going to notice a couple of things about you as soon as he’s handed the keys to his new place. 1. You’re a shit craftsman, 2. You don’t love him enough to try harder, 3. He’ll know never again to give you all his hard-earned puppy money in return for your services of any kind.

In knowing so, what was it that would’ve compelled you to make it like so in the first place?

This is, as I’ve come to realise, man’s greatest downfall yet. Why do we speak without conviction? Why do we pursue without ambition or commitment? Why do we attempt anything knowing that it won’t be as good as it really could be?

If you’re going to do anything at all, do it with everything you’ve got. Do it to your heart’s content. Doesn’t matter if you fail or it turns out to be less than less than perfect. At least you’ll know that Beethoven got the best house he could have gotten from you, and he’ll appreciate it.

And he’ll come back to you for the remodel he’ll need in his puppy kitchen because he knows you’ll put in the same effort you did on your last job, which pleased him because it was the best.

Equally, I’d pay two million Euros – if I had two million Euros – for a Bugatti Veyron because it is the best a road legal car can be at going really fast. I’d also give away the function of my left leg for a lifetime with Kate Beckinsale because she’s the best thing god’s ever given man.

Adversely, I hate Protons and Peroduas. I can’t help but sense that their products were conceived during a corporate brainstorming session where fat, greedy blokes designed on screwing over the nation for a couple of quick bucks. Absent of inspired genius, no divine intervention and certainly no desire of leaving a legacy behind via the production of one really great/ proper car.

So if giving it your all – be it for the creation of a dog house, writing a blog article or loving someone – results in yours and everyone else’s long-term all-round happiness, why is it that we continue to be complete halfwits and do shit jobs on every bit of roadwork, science project, government initiative and so on? Knowing very well that there’ll sooner or later be a sad puppy that no longer loves you nor trusts you with any more of his puppy money.

Undeterred by fact or logic, it continues to speak

Do you sometimes find your lips moving quicker than your brain has time to process? Well, if you have, you’re a victim of this disease. If you haven’t, you’re just as much a victim. And a liar. And most likely fat.

Now, I say fat because the lot of you reading this are most likely, and for the moment, people I personally know. People I’ve possibly encountered over the course of say, the year or so. Over an e-conversation with a friend just a day ago, we’d run into a terrible realization concerning the state of the nation’s physical well-being, and to put it simply, we’ve all gone fat.

Both of us came to agree that we’ve seen too large a number of people we’ve known from before, turn incredibly portly over the last couple of years. And considering that we’re still in our mid 20’s, the aforementioned must have taken place sometime during our college years.

Horizontally blessed, said friend had personally encountered no such thing. He’s one of the lucky ones I guess. The fatties have even come up with a name for this; they call him “High metabolic rate”.

I on the other hand was a real person, much like most other Malaysians, not so blessed; McDonald’s lunches were synonymous with a McDeluxe waist; vague exercise routines resulted in a similarly vague sex life. Such were the cards most chubs were dealt.

At this point, I can think of at least six different literary directions I could choose to continue; how fat the Malaysian public is becoming, how our recent horizontal waist exploits may be a sign of the end of an economic recession and what have you. But all this only sees me once again getting sucked into that same vacuum that compelled me to tell this girl I met on FaceSter that I worked for NASA, but only on freelance, because the Russians like to keep their best assets to themselves.

What I would rather have been on about sometime before I called everyone fat, is the capacity for man to speak before knowing what’s best said.

Like when you’re asked how your day was at the end of it, do you just go with the “Oh, it was alright” option? Or does your mind stop to think of all the things that happened in the day, then consciously deciding to answer with the specifics of how you were in heated debate with a colleague over the possibility of Robert Pattinson’s hair surviving a family of pygmy marmosets.

Not that it’s a bad thing to go with the automated response, but such is the state of our, or least my, intellect. Why is it that we do this? What first suggested that the rest of us should trace these steps? Is it a vicious cycle? How do stop it? How can we prevent the next person from calling someone else fat, thus possibly emotionally scaring said fatty for life, leaving him or her a spasm in his right eye every time he or she looks his or herself in the mirror?

Which is something I find myself doing battle with most these days. When to speak, when to laugh, when to shrug off silly comments. And I’m not talking about simple mannerisms, but just above that. The bit that makes you, you. The bit that defines your character. Are you the alpha? Or the joker? Or the background man?

Well, sucky bit is that I can answer none of the above posed questions. Instead, I’ve taken it upon myself to be about 30% more conscious of the things I say or do. That will in turn hopefully result in 30% more people I run in to get to look themselves in the mirror without so much as an eye-twitch. 30% more people have the confidence to look a girl in the eye and say, ‘Damn right, I’m worth your time’. 30% more people learn that they too can be like this 30% more of the time, and in turn result in their own 30%s.

I’m going to hate growing old

I’ve always been the sort of person that gets things done when they need be done. I find it incredibly difficult to leave things to a later date or for someone else to address. It’s a meticulous habit than I’ve learnt to deal with. And I’m quite certain that you’ve, at one point of the other in your life, felt that way, be it in a little less compulsive fashion.

I’m convinced that you, at one time or the other have had that same incessant voice in your head telling you to do all the things you don’t necessarily need to, but end up doing anyways.

For instance, waking up in the morning leaves me with a compelling desire to have a scratch around the gentlemen’s area. Finding bird excrement on my car makes me want to have the whole thing washed, only after having the assailant shot. And of course there’s the iron will of Zeus in me that aches to have a hysterical laugh at a friend who’s just tripped and fell down the stairs.

So you can somewhat imagine my shock surprise when I woke up one morning, looked in the mirror and found that a 30Kg blob has somehow cohabitated with what used to be my mid-section. How could I have let this happen? The last time something like this happened it was almost 10 years ago and I made pretty damn sure to get rid of it hastily with a strict assault on the beast. But again? How could it have slipped my defenses?

The blob is a sneaky creature. It needs neither attention nor nurturing to nourish itself and find harbor.

The wake of this realization must also have something to do with how everyone has been on my tail recently about how Bob – as it’s affectionately been named – tends to take the lead before me everywhere I go, stealing somewhat the limelight of my fashionably late entrances.

Regardless, as the man I was raised to be, there was a problem at hand and something had to be done about it. So about three months ago, I began my campaign to evict Bob. I would run every Monday to Thursday after work for an hour, with the addition of some time with the weights on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and take the rest of the week off. On top of this, I’ve also made a conscious decision to stay off fizzy drinks, give up the burger and fries for a Subway sandwich on most days and of course, refrain from kicking back the pints when there’s really no occasion to do so.

Suffice to say, the results 3 months later have been pretty impressive. The only problem is that this time, Bob’s exile is taking a bit more effort than it used to. Simply because these days, I need a good stretch before I head out for a run. Not that it’s a problem or anything, but the realization that I didn’t need to stretch at all a couple of years ago, and do need a good warm up now puts the fear of aging in me.

What I am inevitably and have been painstakingly trying to deflect is the realization that time will be the death of me.

I fear growing old. I can’t stand to think that one day, all my ideas, thoughts and feelings, let alone my physical state, will be dated. And even if it isn’t hitting me all that hard just yet, god I’m going to hate when it does.

My new respect for Kleinman

In catching up on my education of the wildlife – well it is earth day after all – , I stumbled upon an article on the internets about Honey Badgers. Undoubtedly the most fascinating creatures I’ve ever read of. I came across a paragraph in the article on what would later appear to me as a typical day of awesomeness in the life of a Honey Badger. It read:

“In a 2002 National Geographic documentary titled “Snake killers: Honey badgers of the Kalahari”, a badger named Kleinman was documented stealing a meal out of a puff adder’s mouth and casually eating the meal in front of the hissing snake.

“After the meal, Kleinman began to hunt the puff adder, the species being one of the badger’s preferred venomous snakes. He managed to kill the snake and began eating it, but then collapsed on the dead snake as he had been bitten during the struggle.

“After about two hours he surprisingly awoke. Once his paralysis had subsided, the badger continued with his meal and then resumed his journey.”

I’ve never, ever, come across a piece of literature so agonizingly terrifying yet so brilliantly hilarious all at once. Honey Badgers gave garnered a new respect from me that’s for sure.

Life isn’t all that short

I’ve recently been denied. And like all things human and scum, here I am returning to my roots. Yes, it’s been almost a year now since my last post and I think it’s time to fire up this ship again. Hopefully on a more regular basis this time around, because I have a schedule now and schedules permit organization, which in turn allows for repetition, as I’ve recently discovered.

That aside, here’s a thought. I spent an evening over red wine with a lady friend who after a glass kept on insisting that life was too short and that we should make the most of it while we still could. And I, after waking up the next morning with a fork in my head for a headache, couldn’t agree to disagree any more.

Life isn’t all that short if we’re being honest. I can barely remember the last time I cut my hair, let alone what I had for dinner last night. I can’t remember what my favourite pants were a year ago and I seem to have lost any and all recollection of what my first date with a real person was like.

And in looking forward, the day’s end seems miles away while the working week an eternity.

Maybe all this entails a moldy memory of a person aging, but insight tells me that there’s a slight chance that some of these may have clicked with you as well. We just can’t remember that far back sometimes, well because it’s often too long ago.

Unless of course it’s of certain significance, like your wedding or the birth of your first child. You remember these things because you burn it into your skull that this happened on that date. Even still, some of us tend to forget, but that’s just because you’re possibly the penis-bearing sort.

The point I’m trying to poke at here is that life isn’t all that short. It’s quite sufficient actually. You’re born, you spend years doing absolutely nothing but playing in the sun or wherever’s fun. Then you go to school to have more fun, then college for completely, unrestricted fun, and then you go to work.

In hindsight however, life isn’t all that long either. It is long enough for one to enjoy an entire life spent forgetting every inch of what you recall and looking forward to your next memory to fill it with.

One theory is that, life’s only short when you’re caught up doing something that’s utterly useless to your existence. Like being in real-estate when all you really want to do is drive fast cars.

A second theory suggests that in being human, ‘enough’ is never enough. We’re fussy. We complain. We always want more. We’re unappreciative of what we’ve had and have and therefore left feeling like we didn’t have it at all. Greedy sons of bitches are what we are.

Personally, I believe life is long. Presumably, this means I get to do what I want. I’m a sports writer, particularly able in the field of Formula One and motoring in general. I wish to be a full-blown Formula One or motoring journalist one day. Maybe it’ll happen, and maybe it won’t. I hear Prime Ministers get paid pretty well in this country too.

The point I’m trying to make I guess is that time is precious yet plentiful. Do with it what you can while you can and maybe you’ll get by till the next Friday come around.

The Grinch takes a bow..

Right now, I’m looking through the hall window at my neighbours Daihatsu Charade and thinking to myself, “Thank god I’ve got one myself”. My father bought me that car, and how I’ve run out of superlatives describing how good it goes. Without trying to be overly ambitious in my appraisal of the Charade, I can’t help but to think of furry rabbits and dancing ponies to say about it. It’s durable, efficient and an absolute joy to drive. Faults, if any, were brought on only by my own misuse and neglect.

The Charade boasts a highly economical, reliable, and sturdy, normally aspirated 1000cc (993cc if we’re being politically correct) engine that drive the little front wheels all over town. Not the best power to weight ratio, but after spending countless hours with a calculator trying to get your budget for the month down to the cent, you’ll appreciate a job well done by Daihatsu. If more power is your fancy, options include a 1-liter turbo, a 1.3-liter and a 1.6-liter as a retrofit, made available for that little extra pony power.

Inside the car now and it’s ample cabin space for everyone. The Daihatsu Charade was definitely built with more than a degree of comfort in mind. Unlike the Perodua Kelisa and the Perodua Kancil (both equally unimaginative in style and lacking in comfort, nothing I would consciously be involved with in any case), the Charade boasts a conveniently designed interior. The dash and its components are all well organized and fitted to a snap, the seats are as you would expect most 15 to 20 year old car seats to be and the air conditioning, just right, upon proper maintenance of course.

Forget about the facts and figures. What I must stress on the most is that the Charade belongs to a very small and unique group of cars that are simply, honest. Honest in every sense of the word. Honest in the sense that, you feel every inch of the steering with nothing lost in translation, from steering input to the throttle response. A dream of a car to own and drive, and it has been a privilege to do so myself for the past 5 years. Odd how this is actually getting tougher to write. I didn’t think I would get so caught up with a car like this… Nevertheless..

Never suffering a breakdown or a failure of any sort that was unexpected, the only time the car ever cut off on the road was due to an electrical failure, caused by a negligent previous owner without any regard for proper car maintenance, and it happen on our way to get it fixed too by a proper mechanic. Other than that minor chink, nothing, 5 years of no issue other than regular maintenance stuff, clutch, brakes etc…

My last drive with the good ol’ Charade wasn’t a long one, but rather a ride of acknowledging the geniues of its construction. I thought back to all my experiences with the Charade and all the places it took me. And with this being a public forum, a lot of the things I did in that car I can’t mention, or else I’d be in a lot of trouble. But to the women who were there with me on those experiences, you know what I’m talking about. Of course, those weren’t everything.

They say a man loves his drive the most when he’s alone. I’ve had some of the best drives and times of my life in that car. I don’t know for sure what was it exactly that was so appealing about driving the Charade, apart from the ‘honest’ characteristic of it. But wait, I think it has to do with that ‘honest’ bit again.

Yeah, it does, thinking about it. I guess it’s just the feel of being in such a raw place without all the techno mumbo-jumbo aesthetics to remind you of what a material world we’ve grown accustomed to. Yeah, that sounds more like it. Maybe it’s because you sit so low to the ground. Maybe it’s because you hear that little 3-cylinder engine roaring to go right in front of you. Maybe it’s because you can rely on the fact that all that there is to driving this car is to drive it. No stupid on-board computers telling you what you can or cannot do, or what you should or shouldn’t do. None of that nonsense, all you have to do is drive it and it drives like you want it. Maybe that’s why I’ve had some of the best experience of my life so far in that car, because I was able to, the car let me.

My final words for the Charade are chosen with careful thought and consideration without being overly biased towards it – “Righteously satisfying”. With this I say goodbye to my own. The ‘Grinch’ as I’ve nicknamed accordingly because of the colour being green. 5 years of memories and taking me places and I must say goodbye now. If I was in a more financially allowing state, I would have definitely kept it. But unfortunately, “Now isn’t the time fella, you go on and give someone else the experience of their life now.”

That was indeed rather tough to write. I’m surprised by how caught up with it I am. All well worth it I’m sure.

The one inside, he’s like The Stig of all things literary..

Well I do apologize to those who actually have an interest in these things, but I have been away on business so to speak. I’ve been kept busy learning how to write better actually. Thing is, I’ve never been to a school where they teach you how to write specifically, so it’s something I’ve had to work hard for recently to try and get better at it.

Reason being that I’ve finally landed a job that requires me to just write, yes, thank you. But what worries me the most is that, when I do look back to my previous writings, I can’t help but to think of them in the same context of a box of Jujubes.

I have devised a plan however. So what I’ve been doing, apart from spending countless hours on PS3, is reading, and a then more of that. For the first time in my life, I actually have a preferred writer whom I admire and respect thoroughly. This is all new to me honestly, I’ve always been the kind of person who would flip out at the sight of a fresh book forced on you to be read because your aunt just bought it for you and she expects a thorough discussion on its contents in a week’s time. Traumatizing..

Well I can’t say if there’s been any improvement apart from an increased/ improved vocabulary, which is a good thing of course. My guess is, the only way to gauge this would be to try and hold on to my new job as best I can I think. I really want to; I love the idea of getting paid to just write. If anything, I believe that writing is the most uncommonly natural thing that comes to me, apart from music. No special classes or special interests in reading at a young age and zero toleration for literary nonsense, I would then have none of it.

But what I do remember, particularly back in high school, is a knack for submitting the most ridiculous essays imaginable for exams and such, just because I could. I can vaguely remember sitting in my chair, being handed a topic to write on, and then losing myself in the moment and minutes later, funny is made.

I had a theory back in high school that any language class taken in high school would solely be a test of ones grammar and nothing more, because that is the point of a language class in high school, isn’t it? To ensure that you can speak fluently and with proper grammar, right? I mean, I had my doubts about high school teachers actually taking an initiative in trying to teach students something that stemmed outside the realms of their designated salaries. The bulk of it comes down to the silly ways of our educational structure as seen fit by our somewhat primitive government.

Learning this so early in life left me with an interesting idea. So long as I stayed grammatically and somewhat politically correct, I could write about anything I bloody well wanted to write about. So anything from the reasoning of a burnout on the King’s lawn, to werewolves with stigmatic experiences were some of the things you would expect from an essay written by Christopher Aaron back in high school. Unfortunately, this must change now.

I’ve found that reading helps and through that I’ve read that reading helps also. And what I’ve realized now is that, although I can’t and won’t be a judge of my own writing capacity, I’ve found myself with a new voice. You know that voice inside your head, the one that doesn’t speak when you speak and doesn’t stop speaking when you stop speaking? That’s the one.

Previously, I’ve noticed my ‘mind voice’ to be that of a younger person, a bit more casual, and slightly cool. Oddly enough, these days, I do believe an Englishman has taken up residence within. He sounds much more ‘proper’ and intellectual in a way. I feel more ‘knowing’ with him around.

Well, at the least, something has changed ever since I’ve made a conscious attempt at getting better at this writing thing. I just feel an overwhelming desire to be ‘able’ in all I do. I think that’s a good thing. Otherwise, it’s like spending a holiday away in a foreign land and realizing you didn’t pack enough clothes or money. What will you do then? I guess it’s always just better to prepare and occasionally prepare more than you would be required to.

Hocus Focus.

Hocus Focus
- The art of complete concentration without concentration.

It’s a line I came up with a few days ago whilst trying to analyze my driving of an RC (Radio Control) car. Don’t laugh now, those things have better acceleration than most Ferrari’s you see on our roads.

I believe Hocus Focus to be something most people find themselves on when indulging completely in something they honestly like. Maybe I’m not explaining it right, but it’s this trance like state where you let loose and let your body begin to work in complete unison with your mind without too much else happening. Hence, Hocus Focus.
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My effort towards the release of Syu Ki. Heres my 64 characters.

June 19th marks the 64th birthday of Aung San Syu Ki. If you don’t know about her, you should. 

Heres a little about what the campaign is about and what you can do:

A coalition of campaign groups is launching a major new publicity campaign to put pressure on the Burmese junta to release Aung San Suu Kyi (ASSK) before the planned Burmese elections. They would like high- profile individuals and groups to write a 64-word message for Aung San Suu Kyi’s 64^th birthday on June 19^th.  The message will be posted on a new website called “64 words for Aung San Suu Kyi” (www.64forsuu.org) throughout the next month. If you wish to help, you can: 

- Write a 64-word message for the website 
- Record a 64-word you-tube video (with a song, statement, image etc)
- Twitter 64 characters 
(- or ask your friends and colleagues to join this effort!)

Heres a little about who Aung San Syu Ki is:

On May 18th Aung San Suu Kyi was put on trial, charged with breaching the terms of her house arrest after an American man, John Yettaw, swam to her house and refused to leave. The regime is using the visit as an opportunity to extend her detention, which was expected to expire this month. Her trial is ongoing and she could face a further five years in detention. The United Nations Working Group on Arbitrary Detention has issued opinions affirming that the detention of Aung San Suu Kyi dating back to 2003 is arbitrary, unjustified, and in contravention of Burma’s own law
 
In 1990, Aung San Suu Kyi led her party to win 82% of parliamentary seats in national elections in Burma, despite being placed under house arrest. She has been in and out of detention ever since. She was held under house arrest from 1989-1995, and again from 2000-2002. She was again arrested in May 2003 after the Depayin massacre, during which up to 100 of her supporters were beaten to death by the regime’s militia. Aung San Suu Kyi remains under house arrest in Rangoon. Her phone line has been cut, her post is intercepted and National League for Democracy volunteers providing security at her compound were removed in December 2004.
 
She has won numerous international awards, including the Nobel Peace Prize, the Sakharov Prize from the European Parliament and the United States Presidential Medal of Freedom. She has called on people around the world to join the struggle for freedom in Burma, saying “Please use your liberty to promote ours.”

My 64 characters can be found in the title of this post and on my Twitter site @Chris_Aaron. Wheres yours?