I'm Not Asleep, My Eyes Are Just Closed

(Dean and Sam doing a Mulder and Scully) I watched the latest episode Night Shifter yesterday and I have got to say that, in American speak, it was totally awesome. Now, because I am not the most eloquent of writers and because my brain is half-man, I shall put my points across in a list. What I like about Supernatural so far: 1. The two brothers. Yum mee, keep those two brothers coming. Especially Dean. 2. The fact that Sam and Dean constantly take the mickey out of each other. 3. Dean's one liners. "I don't do shorts, sweetheart." 4. Dean, because he is so hot. 5. The fight scenes where they use everything they've got: guns, crossbows, knives, bare knuckles, head butts. 6. The things they hunt: demons, murderous ghosts, vengeful spirits, vampires, satanic preachers, backswood crazies, telekinetic murderers. 7. The beautiful, haunting cinematography. 8. For making classic rock cool again. 9. Sam's 'guilty conscience for surfing internet porn'. 10. A

Music 1. Patience - TAKE THAT 2. Rehab - AMY WINEHOUSE . Scary woman, who despite her anorexic appearance, looks like she can beat you up in a darkened London alley any time. Powerful voice, catchy song. 3. Carry On My Wayward Son - KANSAS . You gotta blame Supernatural for this revival in classic rock. A shame I threw away my Yngwie Malmstein and Deep Purple songs. It would have been so good. 4. Highway to Hell - AC/DC . Ditto. 5. Bones - THE KILLERS . Rousing chorus, a hint of over-the-topness. You gotta love The Kilers. 6. Smack That - AKON . I don't really like rap or its ilk or the proponents of its genre who go about thinking their God's gift and saying "I'm hard me, I got shot nine times," and making it obligatory to have all sorts of naked ladies dance provocatively around them while they themselves are dressed in several layers of clothes. Hey,man, if you want to show that you've got balls, why don't you take off your clothes as well, huh? Anywa

Two weeks ago, I saw the saxophonist from The Zutons out shopping with a friend in Liverpool's town centre. Last Friday, I saw Ronan Keating on the plane I boarded to go to Dublin. The only reason I saw him was because he was wearing huge, Nicole Richie type sunglasses in the plane and I thought, "Who's the poser in the glasses?" and turned to look at him properly. I whispered this discovery to my sister who said, "Why don't you ask for his autograph?" "What?! I'm not a fan. I hate his songs," I said indignantly. In Dublin, my sister was hoping to spot Bono. She's been a massive fan of U2 since she was in her early teens (she's thirty one now). The last time she was in Dublin about five years ago, she spent two days wandering outside Bono's house on the off chance he might be home and she could, I guess, scream and faint at the sight of him. However, we were not there to spot celebrities but to see my brother, his wife and thei

How do I love Dean? Let me count the ways. 1. Gorgeous, melt-inducing smile 2. Sexy, come-hither eyes 3. Razor sharp cheekbones 4. 100% pure Texan beef. Yum. Tonight, I will be at my sister’s place in London, the last stop of my journey before I finally leave England for good. Civilisation at last, as my sister has a broadband connection and a working computer. I can finally watch the two Supernatural episodes I have missed so far. But being the technologically challenged person that I am, I have to watch it on the small screen of YouTube. Still, it’s better than nothing and I can moon over Jensen/Dean in private while my sister and her husband are at work. Aaaaaah…… happiness. I don’t think all this ready access to the internet will lessen the length of my fevered discussions about Dean with my sister Maryam. Lately, our phone conversations have consisted mainly of this: Me: Dean is hot. Heh heh heh. Maryam: So hot. Hee hee hee. (Pause as we both think about Dean’s hotness). Me: Remem

Goodbye Harrison. You have been good to me. You were my freedom. You were my burden. But most importantly, with you, I could go places. You were my boy racer. You were empowerment. But now I must bid you farewell, for where I go, you cannot follow. You cost too much. And you need fixing. Today, I give you to a Londoner, who is desperate for something like you. I hope she gains as much joy from you as I did. Goodbye Harrison Ford. You were my Focus. (Tear trickles down cheek). The end.

This is a rather novel experience for me. From being the one who reportedly caused my mother the least trouble, I have moved in the span of two months, into being the enemy of the state. I am almost proud of that achievement except for the fact that this whole situation is causing my mother grief. I would also feel more guilty if I thought that this was all my fault, rather than something my mother blew out of all proportion. Seriously, I have a sneaking suspicion that my mother secretly enjoys all this drama. Maybe part of my mum’s shock and anger is the fact that I’ve actually stood up for myself. Although I think the fact that I acted like a loony when I was last back didn’t help either. (I pretended that I was an alien from outer space and that the Zouk club in KL was the mothership – I know it sounds crazy, but it was an outlet for my feelings in order for me to not go off the rails for real). I have always been the quiet one, the neutral, the observer, the one who kept sane when

Films I’m looking forward to see in 2007: a) The Last King of Scotland – The first reason is because it looks quite good and interesting. Secondly, because James McAvoy is in it. Okay, actually the first reason is because James McAvoy is in it. I find him compelling to watch. I can’t quite take my eyes off him when he’s on screen. Much to my shame, I never knew he was Scottish until I saw him on T4 speaking in a heavy Glaswegian accent. Who knew? I first saw him playing the louche tabloid reporter in political thriller, State of Play, a few years ago alongside John Simm and Bill Nighy (another two excellent actors). He was a supporting actor but nevertheless made an impression. He has been on British television quite a bit since starring in a modern take of a Shakespeare play and in Shameless, a popular show on Channel 4 where he yet again speaks in an English accent, hence all of us being fooled into thinking he is an Englishman. International audiences may be more familiar with him

I watched Terminator 3: Rise of the Machines on one of the terrestrial channels last night. (We had to return our borrowed digital TV, boo hoo). I am a science fiction buff but part of the reason I didn’t go watch T3 at the cinema was because I saw Nick Stahl in the trailer and thought, “No way can that be John Connor – the leader of the resistance.” You must remember that I was about thirteen when Terminator 2 came out and I fell madly in love with Edward Furlong, the actor who played John Connor then. Of course, I don’t fancy him anymore (I have another man in my life now, haw haw) but teen crushes don’t die completely so I was bitterly disappointed that the replacement for Edward Furlong’s sculpted cheekbones was some snub-nosed short arse who looked like he should be in a high school movie. Sigh. I was, however, very unfair on Nick Stahl because he didn’t pull off such a bad job in T3. Admittedly Edward Furlong wasn’t that great an actor in T2, but then again it wasn’t his acting s

Today, we said goodbye to our yuppie dream house location in the marina and move to a former council tower block in Everton. It is my fault really, since my decision to return to Malaysia has left my flatmate without a… err, flatmate. Finding another flatmate was not a viable option for her, so instead of paying for the whole of the 2 bedroom flat we had lived in, she decided to move to a smaller place which was £225 cheaper. Her new 1 bed flat is in a rather hideous 15 storey tower block in a rather dilapidated part of the city. I used to pass this block on my way to my friends’ place in another tower block further down the road and at that time, it was an abandoned council property. In the intervening years it has been bought by a developer and done up all modern with a gym, sauna, wooden flooring and secure parking to attract the upwardly mobile young professionals. It’s not a bad place but it does feel like a rather isolating environment. The marina area used to be a rather dreary

Just because I felt I needed something to smile about. Yum. Yum. Yummy. Oh and check out my other sister's blog on Freedom for Mama's Girls . It has an interesting recipe for an alternative roti telur. Also she's more artistically inclined so you'll find less rubbish and maudlin ramblings than you do here.

The day after And here it comes: The Guilt. You feel like an ungrateful, arrogant, wretch of a devil-child for having raged at your mother so furiously. And on the web, as well, which is rather unfair because it doesn’t give her a chance to defend herself. And you think how badly she would feel that she is the last to know about how you feel about her. But you know you can’t be honest with her. You’ve tried that before and it only hurt her and made her doubt her abilities as a mother. Some words you just can’t take back. There are many things you don’t want to see in life and one of them is seeing your mother cry because of the things you’ve said. The thing is, I know I had it good. I couldn’t have had a mother who cared and gave up more for her kids than mine did. She could easily have said, “Sod you, you little punk,” and tossed me out on my sorry ass. She could easily have not gotten up at 4am every morning to make her children breakfast as well as lunch so we had something good ins

I had another argument with my mother. There seems to be a lot of those these days. I won’t go into the details of it because it is too tedious but God, did she do my head in. She knew which buttons to push. It’s ironic that, considering that she complained to me not one month ago that I am the only one of her five children that she still could not figure out. Yesterday she contradicted herself. Yesterday she contradicted me. Yesterday she poured cold water on my ambitions. Yesterday she had me fail before I even tried. There have been a lot of yesterdays all my life but it was what she said yesterday that made me feel angry and resentful towards her. My mother is a doomsayer. She is a worrier and she is paranoid. She predicts more catastrophes than Nostradamus. But my mother is not a bad mother. Nor is she a bad person. But I wish, I just wish, that for once she would say to me, “Great idea! Let’s give it a go,” or be enthusiastic about what I want to do instead of pouring her doubts

Sometimes I feel like I should obsess over something a bit more respectable, like reading my textbooks for instance, or jogging or raising funds for orphan kids. Alas, such respectability is beyond me now for my body houses a shallow mind, so I get excited over TV shows and an actor. (A hot actor, mind you). But then again, why is it not valid to enormously appreciate such things? The amount of work that goes into producing a good television series is surely nothing to sniff at, while acting convincingly is not as easy as it seems. Just look at the number of bad actors there are out there. Of course, obsessing over things is made easier nowadays with more young people with disposable incomes, the internet providing us with endless facts and figures about our latest obsession, as well as connecting us with fellow obsessees all over the world. Knowing people with similar interests validates your obsession and makes you feel less guilty over it. Plus having somebody scream in a girly-mann