on the Problems with Stupid People

Q. Why are studious and learned men soonest bald?
A. It proceeds from a weakness of the spirits, or because warmth of digestion cause phlegm to abound in them.
~Aristotle's Book of Problems


It’s all been a very strange month. Then again, most months are strange and July is probably no more stranger than June.

I did my usual newswrap for the month of July on the other blog - I’m trying to get the more decent people to read that one and not read this crap. My particular fond of reckless flirting and restless libido is apparently not suitable for the commons. I seem to be offensive of bad taste.

The primary problem with living in a free world is that, free people are free to be stupid. Left to their own device, mere mortals tend to do the least reasonable. I’ve long thought that explains the inexplicable need for a Supernatural Being - to keep track of their stupidity and set the rules straight.

In a free world, stupid people are free to whinge their grief and speak their non-beliefs. They don’t even have to do it with proper grammar or spelling and were never meant to be at all accurate. Stupid people can’t handle the truth and the burden of proof lies within the smarter ones.
In my intellectual arrogance, I’d say that a free world, is a world of hassle.

Free world allows stupid people to argue their best against the blessed few with the the least reasonable of all arguments. Most times, stupid people predictably lost. The free world is known for their abundance of mediocrity. That’s just lousy math –sore losers are Darwinian hindsights, gotta live with it.

My smarter friends remind me not to write stupid things. The good reasons behind this kind advice escapes me. I’m sure they meant well. They probably just don’t want me to sound (too) stupid.

Except that, of course, most people can’t help sounding stupid, despite the kindest of intentions and noblest of titles. The free world works in a funny way.

In fact the most difficult thing about living in a free world is how to live with the stupid ones among us.

Night all.

on Death and Things Unseen

Inasmuch as ill-deeds spring up as a spontaneous crop, they are easy to learn.
~Don Quixote

For many years, I wanted to believe in a world JJ Abrams created. Alternate reality and parallel existence where randomness was mere contextual perception. Freak occurrence and belligerent fate. A world Vincent Vega would’ve hated. A world where people in the tropics got chased by rabid polar bears, meteorites fell from the sky and struck the fat rich bastards and a baby gozilla ran amok in Babylon.
World where love keeps babies and sex is always good. Dorothy going Oz

In the JJ Abrams world, villains keep an office in the gleaming white, fresh coated twin towers in Manhattan. I thought that was brutal but so were the holy books. There’s a book I’m reading at the moment, a memoir of Death. Death had a terrible childhood with Sin and Satan, quite literally the pair from Hell and it’s a good read. I’d probably read it again at some point to get it better.

If only villains were that simple and you can blame all shits on bad childhood.

In the Diary of the Madman, he learned his madness into oblivion and goes gaga in the end. The face of the swirling mad as eloquently put by Edvard Munch. I thought the other world could just be as scary. The picture didn’t look very kind. One of my favorite book ever is Glen Duncan’s I, Lucifer. The story of Lucifer in London. You can read it in the past pages. They’re funnier on the other side.

The first time i referred to it was when London was bombed.

Abrams talked of Ralph Steadman did a lot of those pictures. All fear and loathing. The beatniks breeding on the lowbrows.

Michael Jackson died. If only all villains were just trippy.

In one episode of Fringe (spoiler alert), one later very dead prospective villain whispered his distinguishing character: faith. Very Bin Laden-ish, I thought.
Blind faith is always an acceptable explanation for the absurd.
Again, much like the holy books.

Some while ago, me and three good friends went to Lake Toba in North Sumatera. Right there in the middle of the hole from the biggest explosion in the 25 million years of creation. The steep surrounding cliffs immersed us in darkness still with a full moon fixture and we took some magic mushroom. We made angels in the sand. My most gorgeous girlfriend pointed to the stars and we fucked til exhaustion but we were hardly villains. Not all of us had bad shit in the younger days.

We were visiting the alternate universe – one where people eat other people on a stone slab just a thousand years ago. Hardly villainy in its historical context.

Being a villain is probably really, not that easy.
The proverbial Joker with bad teeth is always dead in the end.

The crazy thing about it is that they actually happen in the so-called real world. People were put away in hard to name islands for all eternity and morons slammed planes into buildings. Morons with wheeled suitcases of TNT for breakfast for no good reason and faulty academics prescribed nonsense for comfort.It amazingly happens.

Hardly villainy in its historical context.

Not the most popular thought, I know.
I only try to make sense what happened.

on the Week Less Like Any Other

Q. Why do those that drink and laugh much, shed most tears?
A. Because that while they drink and laugh without measure the air which is drawn in doth not pass out through the windpipe, and so with force is directed and sent to the eyes, and by their pores passing out, doth expel the humours of the eyes; which humour being expelled, brings tears.
~Aristotle’s Book of Problems

Needless to say, the week was out of whack in many ways. My fever was much better tho I couldn't really say the same with my head - it was going all over the place.

Vivian was mighty upset at me. I was out clubbing on the Thursday night - Centro, campus night, the place was swarmed with scantily dressed twenty year olds - and she suspected that i was out with a certain someone she didn't like very much.
I wasn't - Young Jedi was with me and i only felt like some loud music - but Vi wasn't really up for any explanation.

Then the Ritz was bombed.

I think she was in the gym when it happened. The guys lounged up in my house in the morning, none of us could get to the office with the roads blocked and all - my office is literally next door to the Marriot and the whole area was cordoned off by security personnels picking up bodyparts and random gatherers taking pictures and Vi somehow thought i probably died in the blast.

Of course, i didn't. I wasn't even in the office.

I had my phones off and i wasn't online for most of Friday and Saturday so she probably didn't know that i was alive. I spoke to Andre, who spoke to her, and thus i was informed that she was alive if slightly panicked. Vi was probably upset because she couldn't go to her hair dresser.

Maybe she was upset of the bombs.

All of us were upset with the bombs.

I packed my books and a couple of t shirts and the rubber toys for the dog and went up to the villa to get away from all things awful. Someone suggested that I was probably clinically depressed - avoiding social contacts and extreme mood swings with a crippling lack of focus on everything important. The last few weeks have been trying. The bombs next door didn't help and going away for a bit was prolly what i needed. The dog needed some time out, too. He was depressed with the maids gone and me leaving him alone in the house during the week. He chewed my sandals.

The President came on telly and uttered something stupid. Even more stupid than i gave him credit for. The TV shows dead people. Decapitated heads and various other body parts at random. Presumably it was a matter of public interest. The pictures bother me. The words bother me. The lost lives bother me. It was all too bothersome and i wasn't interested anymore.

The pool in the villa was fresh water and the dog took a swimming course. He seemed to enjoy the cold water. He was oblivious to all things not food and play. Just as well, his is a small head. I don't think he can process bombs yet. Not at his age.

Vi's back to the apartment now. She was still very upset and was incorrigible last time we spoke. Everyone else is just plain upset. I couldn't be bothered to answer calls or make any. Things are just too out of whack at the moment.

Will write more later, i hope you're all okay. My deepest condolences to those who were hurt and the families of those who perished.

on Copyrights

I wanted to do a magazine but no publishers would take it. Meh.

Things I Learned on Twitter Today

- Megan Fox is (probably) a man. I'm still having a hard time coping with this but it's all over twitter yesterday.

- Metro TV has a picture of dead Michael Jackson and think that he "appears dead". I was so annoyed with this last one I wrote another long rant on the station. Indonesians are not stupid. (Really??)

- I probably have dengue fever again (this i learned not from twitter but from a visit to the hospital yesterday).

Quickie Thursday

I noticed that my posts are getting longer and longer and I no longer write about boobs. It’s probably less interesting to some these days. I need to get back to writing the usual ADD adjusted portion of Treespotting it seems.

I wrote a longish piece on Indonesian election - problems with the Executive powers, my experience in prison and a flashback to the 80s when MJ was black and cool – all in one piece.
I thought it was an excellent exercise in hyperwondering minds.
Nobody likes it.

Also gave away free tips on using Blackberry for private conversation.


I used to write only about boobs and lesbian ninjas, but nothing recent. I also once done tips for Blogging Effectively. I hope you clicked. For the newbies, here's a Treespotting FAQ to get you oriented.

Some people thought I was mad from reading my stuff alone.

I met plenty stark raving mad people who never to stop to take notes, you should be happy.

I’ll write about boobs later but we can keep the troops happy and share the love. I’m down with an ugly fever and this is a scheduled broadcast. You can go back to work now.

Notes on Election Date (Part II)

The story so far: this morning, me and two friends and a large dog set out to test drive a custom souped Wrangler Rubicon on the Election Day in Jakarta. 150 million plus Indonesian voted today in some 400,000 polling stations across the country. We went to visit 11 within the greater Jakarta and tried to get my dog registered to vote. Also Michael Jackson was buried yesterday.

I wonder how much a database with names and details of voters is worth to direct marketers. The files are on sale already. I don’t like multilevel marketers much. They’re stinky. Is anyone looking into this?

This Jeep is taller and higher from other SUVs I’ve tried. The dog doesn’t like it much trying to get in – he’s usually very eager to jump into cars.

Soetiyoso – the previous Governor of Jakarta – wore shades into the voting both.

The Governor and family voted in Menteng, in a park sandwiched between Vice Presidential estate and the residence of the US Ambassador. There were more security people and journos than voters.

My attempt at getting Verbal registered was firmly rebuffed by people with guns. We need to find a less conspicuous voting station.

Pundits are still talking about polls and exit polls. I’ve had it and wrote a special piece for people at Metro TV and TV One. There’s also a book called Interface – the President of the USA had a brain transplant and had poll results plugged in directly into his brain - by Neal Stephenson. Read it.

Security around Menteng was tight, we were checked three times getting into three different places. Our very own portable bomb sniffer in the back was decidedly excited by his these exercises but generally well behaved. Wait til he gets out of the moving car.

Verbal wanted to run and scared off exactly one voter. She’s 107 with faulty sights and thought she saw demons. We left Menteng for less conspicuous neighborhood.

The car eats potholes and speed bump with crushing efficiency so it works fine in wild. In the maggoty rat alleys of Jakarta however, it’s a bitch to maneuver. It doesn’t run fast either and the massive tires are noisy on highways so I’m indifferent about the driving experience. It’s wonderfully comfortable though.

Finally had a definitive answer for the dog. He’s not old enough, maybe in 2014. Thank vote officers in Kelapa Gading somewhere.

3pm. All polls showed a comfortable lead for SBY. None of the opponents were willing to concede. Why do have to be so bitter about it? Losing gracefully is frequently more important than winning aggressively for viewing voters. Live with it and talk to Dr. Phil if you have to but keep the uglies off the screen.

I had the lab result back on my suspiciously low trombosit level and needed to stop for medication. We went to Chirpy’s and the dog was let loose in the spacious garden. He couldn’t stop moonwalking on the lawn and created a right mess by jumping into the pool.

Chirpy’s girlfriend turned up and told us she voted for Megawati-Prabowo ticket. I fed her left shoe to the dog. The dog was now completely happy.

TV One threw a party at Bidakara and none of us were invited but we went anyway in order to be properly nosy. Nothing interesting but people were chatty and gossipy today. Went to Gran Melia to have coffee, the concierge happily look after the dog and Vi changed (again) in the loo.

Despite all the discouragement, I called the girl from the other night (we’ve to sort out the naming convention around here soon, it’s getting messy). I’m never good with phones and I wasn’t even sure what I said but she was laughing and happy and we have a date. Vi was now furious.

Back on the highway and attempt a speed test with the car. Sis had a Chrysler minivan for a few years and the Rubicon reminds me a lot of that. The gray interior and the lazy push though the car is very obviously more powerful than almost anything else I’ve tried of this size. The old Cherokee is no match for this one.

President SBY held a QnA session with reporters on election. First time I’ve ever heard of such things happening though the reporters were being predictably useless and asked nothing of substance (eg. “What do you think of the election result so far?” Duh! He won by a fucking mile.)

We’re now home and the dog is dogged out. I’m tired and I’ve a high fever and I think the drugs gave me funnies. Congratulations Indonesia.

Night all.

on Rodents and Optimus Prime

You guys know I love robots and I'm like lists.

Here's a giant robot doing a list. Optimus Prime doing  the “Top Ten Things That Sound cool When Spoken By A Giant Robot”- from the Letterman Show.




I almost never do video but this is a pretty cool one. Optimus Prime likes rodents, too (squirrel more specifically).

(thanks @gueamu for the link)

a Series of Notes on Election Date

Rahma Sarita from TV One got into Jusuf Kalla’s dining room and asked if the grandchildren were to vote. Kalla pointed it out that they’re toddlers.

TVOne notched it up further on the scale of tackyness with a patriotic rendition of the song, Final Countdown to start their election coverage.

9am. TV One is officially a JK Wiranto channel.

Maids asked for suggestion on voting. I told them not to dabble to the left. It is not wise for the working class to be educated in socialism and gleam its revolutionary ideas.

I gave them a copy of Das Kapital, the most boring of all books.

Checked my local voting booths and everything looked in order. The dog was overly excited by the adventure in democracy and was not at his best behavior but still hugely popular with the kids there. We’re going to try to get him registered to vote.

Vivian: “Sir, that dog over there is registered to vote here, perhaps you could check if he’s on the list?”
Officer: “Err… and his name is?”
We ran.

The rear seats are large and comfortable – I could have my laptop open and bleed on HSDPA modem. The four cabin screens are set to the terrestrial channels. All murky but we got the audio alright. I asked Chirpy why someone spends $10,000 on an audio video set in a Jeep designed for offroading. Verbal is lodged in the back and looked like he enjoys himself.

10.05am. Exit polls show SBY hovers at 50%. We’re heading for Pondok Indah to spot rich people vote.
The road is deserted. The car is comfortable and well sound proofed and Chirpy is playing with its robust torque. Doors and windows are electronic with manual override. You can take the door off and I was promised that I could try that but later in the day. We feared if the door refused to snap back we’ll be in deep shit.

Heard from the Blackberry – a victory party at the Ritz tonight.

11am. President SBY said he timed his vote so journos and pundits could vote – apparently he voted too early last election and missed the photo ops. The media coached him well.

Breakfast stop in Pondok Indah and costume changes for responsible voters. Vivian wondered if cleavage is permissible. We’re listening to Motley Crue and eating choco pops and all completely sober.Sudjiwo Tedjo called other channels with exit polls (Metro TV is the only one) - "Jahannam"

More to come.

on Michael Jackson, Indonesian Election and Presidential Powers

That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
~Kubla Khan, Samuel Taylor Coleridge


I was supposed to leave on Monday but a number of things prevented me from going so on Tuesday night, we lodged in a very comfortable living room in Kemang for a relax night of conversations and snacks. We haven’t had our movie nights for a while and with the election break, most Council members are in town so a few of us assembled. The Jedis are creatures of comfort and gossips.

With nothing better to do Mad Cousin invited a few of our regularly eclectic group of friends to his lair in Kemang to watch Michael Jackson funeral and exchange election gossips – a few of us work directly and non directly with all three candidates and on call. It was full moon, too.

The Freaks dragged the piano out to the garden again. Monkeys howled and Vi danced to the Man in the Mirror. It was hilarious but you really have to see it in person. Mad Cousin had a copy of Motown DVD box of something and with it, the video of Michael Jackson performing Billy Jean solo with a live crowd. Nobody else could’ve pulled it off. It was bizarre and yet sensationally cool at the same time like only Michael Jackson could.

A close friend of ours works on the deep end of the JK-Wiranto campaign and I asked if his bosses seriously suspect a systematic election fraud by the ruling regime. I was wearing an old red CCCP t-shirt with bright yellow sickle and hammer emblazoned on my chest. He diplomatically avoided a direct answer but felt compelled to strongly argue for transparency. We’re talking tens of millions here, presumably? He was vague about the numbers.

The thing about this election is nobody seems to know anything so they have to point the finger at the next one. It’s a stupid election.

Vivian suggested that Indonesia has serious trust issues that it needs to resolve. If you think managing 260 million souls is an easy job, try counting 176 million. Nobody will ever get it right but the parties need to stop blaming each other. It makes pathetic campaigns. She suggested they sing Heal the World and wave like the Jackson Family and Brooke Shields on tv. Grumpy and Chubby staged a moonwalk competition and the dog busily learned along.

Mr. Scribe who earlier went to SBY’s private compound in Cikeas reported that the President was praying with his closest advisors. The same at Jusuf Kalla’s residence. The President recently said something about ‘threats of black magic’ on the upcoming election. Praying seemed to be the apt thing.

I asked if anyone got a quote on Michael Jackson but nobody was apparently ‘briefed’ on the subject.

President Obama said Michael Jackson is “A crossover racial figure who created 'comfort level' for African American public figures”. He must’ve choked to hear Al Sharpton earlier. I’m not sure if Obama realized that some people – those across the oceans – often look up to America only for people like Michael Jackson. If not for the pop culture we would've thought you’re a bunch of war mongering gorillas.

Humphrey – an Australian with fluency in Jakarta’s dirtiest slangs – suggested my comment was racist but we pulled the Al Sharpton comment back and argued for half an hour if it was racist in tone and words and whether it was at all comparable to my own statement. I think manicured political correctness is an ill of society trying too hard to put comfort to its pains.He thought i was being pedantic.

I draw the lines at little kids, however so I preferred to keep Michael Jackson out of this conversation but some of our guys were wildly offended. Grumpy – the definitive moonwalker – took it as an insult and we were once again subjected to the video of Michael Jackson doing Billy Jean at Motown. Again, it was an insanely brilliant solo performance – Michael Jackson with nobody else on stage pulled it even better than his massive ensemble in the later days. All glitter with the funny pants and the single glove, a little menacing but very childlike. Anda used to do a great blues rendition of Billy Jean but none of us had seen him recently. We reckoned there should be a Jacko night at the pub. Guitar Freak reminded us from his drunken stupor that Van Halen did the solo on Beat It and played it on the beat up amps.

Our factious groups of ruling mediocrity and street revolutionary continued quarrelling deep into the funeral proceeding and were awed by the open highways of Los Angeles. For Jakarta urbanites, moving traffic is a conceptual aspiration. The Mediocres prefers to keep doing what they’re doing, even if it’s not working. At least Indonesians are not killing each others, he said.

All of our foreign guests nodded in agreement. Having war criminals on your badge really isn’t very marketable internationally. The Fighters want to turn everything upside down and start over. There was a shouting competition. The piano was wet. My favourite Michael Jackson song was Who Is It, Mad Cousin took Billy Jean, Man in the Mirror was popular and Vivian’s was Smooth Criminal.

I think we were all in agreement that the Government really is running a pathetically sad and chaotic election and it is a valid issue. The problem is they’re not being subtle and it got ugly too quickly. The threat of postponing the election put the Constitutional Court in a corner and some compromise was introduced. In being so vehemently stubborn, SBY – the presidential candidate – missed a good opportunity to show his sense of leadership and SBY – The President of the Nation – twisted the nation into the murky water of the Court’s judicial powers. Indonesians can now vote using their ID.

One of the Freaks threatened to report me to the officials for trying my dog registered to vote but I sadly announced that despite his best behavior and obvious pedigree, Verbal will not be voting tomorrow since he is obviously not old enough.

SBY's very own high powered machination runs the campaign so brilliantly well, they forgot that Mr. Yudhoyono is, first and foremost, a sitting President and not a candidate with wannabe powers. That gnomish dude doesn’t look like he could run an election.The President should've been in charge.

The mess in KPU makes consultants very rich but does it really bode well for Demokrat as a party, or his bigger, supposedly majority controlling coalition? Chirpy thinks that the privatization of politics is inevitable for Indonesia. The media make tons of money out of the corporate sponsored presidential debates but nobody bothered to ever ask where do the money go – Election Committee was reportedly low on cash. I wondered if the funeral-memorial service made a profit (update: they might)

Michael Jackson died, that’s what happened. Vivian said from Facebook that Jacko is now officially the most popular person on the plannet, more friends than President Obama. Personally I think the Fighters camp ran two very shabby campaigns. They were willing to get dirty but even the most brutal attacks were fronted with such recklessness the street revolutionaries never gained any momentum at all. They were all set to loose from the beginning with the faulty goods.I admit that Wiranto on the ticket makes it a deal breaker but Golkar should at least make it to a run off election. It is unlikely that they would - we'll know in six hours or so.

The economy isn’t what it is and the President’s machineries run on promises – not records. The job couldn’t have been simpler for the opponents and yet, they successfully fucked ruin it.

This government prosecuted and jailed a mother of two for some allegedly malicious email message just a month ago and it wasn’t even a campaign issue.

Little Chavez said that they feared that direct mingling might be seen as bad form of exercising political influence – in their parlance, ‘executive interference’. I thought those are exactly the very essence of politics. When mothers are at harm and the nation is at risk, leaders showed anonymous masses how to move and where to go. When a vicious conspiracy is at large dismantling the KPK, the integrity of the candidates are being directly questioned and someone ought to make it an issue. Those are a valid and perfectly responsible political issues. Voters are smart and they need to hear these assurances.

Instead, the campaigns danced through jargons and meaningless bickering for months only to blame it on polls and committees and neoliberals. It’s a disgrace.

Vivian rummaged through old wardrobes and found white gloves and we were served chocolate fondue with big fat strawberries. She told the others what happened with Jacko from the other night in Citos. Chirpy wanted to know what really happened back then and how the story got so far. Collectively the Jedi thought it was a bad idea to get involved and i had that glowing feeling of prosecution for a brief moment.We're all troubles, some of us wrote the rules and some of us got caught. It was hard being Michael Jackson but the guy was being a complete prick the other night. The Council wants me to look the other way. They were all genuine in intention but the conspiratorial suggestions were too intimidating to be a sincere effort. Vivian was just jealous.Maybe Michael Jackson just never grew up. He wanted to be 13 forever. Some of us would want to live forever. Most of us just wouldn't want to remember the ugly parts.I don't make sense much but my attorney advised me to be prudent in disclosure pertaining to this particular incident.I'm also getting tired. Where Michael Jackson goes, this is probably the best one i found. Of course he was strange, he was only human.

The late night polls said that SBY should beat a minimum 55% and the country will be in a new episode by noon. The world’s largest moslem country is holding a historical election with a thunderous question mark in the air and even the campaigners didn’t seem to care that much anymore.We watched the big bright full moon and howled. The girls danced again, this time with gloves on. The piano was now wet.

Michael Jackson died, that’s what happened. I asked KaniaSW on Twitter about the relentless Michael Jackson fever on Metro TV and she said they deliver what the audience wants. I was tempted but found this excellent piece from Jim Selman and he said it better. He says the Michael Jackson fever in the media to result in “governance by polling, media by pundits, and a society of spectators that becomes increasingly self-referential and disconnected from "reality”.

I’m need to sleep. Happy Wednesday people!

on Moms and Daughters

I had a strange night. It feels strange.

I was in a meeting in Citos and stopped by the pub just for a quick drink. The meet was a work meet and it was tiring and boring and I needed to wind down and stayed a little longer than I thought I would.

Then she turned up.

You see, a little while ago I dated girls. Pretty girls and beautiful girls and generally, nice girls. Life turns to shit and I probably had the shittiest time of my life. I have since swore to date rodents instead.

I’ve been true to my words and largely stayed away from girls for all these time. Nothing happened and really, nothing should happen cause I have not been doing much. I wanted a quiet life for myself. Life’s crazy enough without me getting involved with things and I was pretty happy with things – however bitter.

Until today.

She had a new hair and she put on some weight and she looked awesome. I’ve always had a soft spot and we’ve had our share of good times for a while but I haven’t seen her for a long while and it was a genuinely pleasant surprise. I was there with a large crowd and she was there with a large crowd and nothing improper happened. Her mother was there and I made light conversation and I think we got on pretty well.

She had a date. A dude in Michael Jackson hat and hairdo, two decades late and looking like a garden variety freako. He does sing along with some hopelessly shit band somewhere and thought about landing a record deal in Jakarta. A noble dream indeed. She was a VIP ticket for the place he wants to be.I quipped this and she laughed it out.

She changed a lot since I saw her last. Definitely looking better if the hair was completely different, now cropped to just the shoulders and new earrings. She told me the shirt she had on was as a sponsored item and she would’ve taken it off if she wasn’t legally bound to wear it.

I now have my hair long and she convinced her mother that I was a good boy back in the good old days. I told her I was writing something and would be very interested to have her do it. I’ve always wanted her to do it but the Jedi Council didn’t like her much so we went to different names. Now that I was seduced and completely charmed, I couldn’t resist.

In any case, she showed me the new tattoos. One has a little angel on it, a little sad but still fresh in colors. I babbled some nonsense or another and ordered drinks. She asked if had ever been to prison and I told her that i had times behind the uncomfortable doors. She hated her time but now she knows what it means. I laughed and she kissed me on the cheek. We sat on the bar at the centre of a whole of what’s left in the mall’s Monday night crowd. I promised her a bottle of tequila for the next time she’s in. I heard you can get all sorts of things in Jakarta prison these days, I’m sure a bottle of tequila wouldn’t be any problem. By the time you find yourself in prison, a bottle of tequila would be the very least of all your problems. I couldn't even imagine what fucked up shit could be happening.

Like I said, she just turned up. It would’ve all been forgotten, gone, scratched, left and very well removed. Untold.Until she turned up.

I remember once we were in a club somewhere and I was with Candi and we ran into each other. She also just had a new tattoo back then and she made a point by giving me a private viewing. Candi didn’t like one bit but I thought it was a laugh. She’s a lot of fun, she’s very pretty, very talented and I think she’s a wonderful person. She had her faults, but we all do.

She was now accompanied by several minders, one of them very obviously gay and the poor sod was sent to fetch her Blackberry in the bag. She showed us her video, I thought it was very well done and well, breathtaking. I’ve heard her voice and seen her perform since she was 14 or something – I know what I know. I still think she was breathtaking. I was probably mumbling about a thousand other things, some interesting but mostly they’re absolutely utter rubbish. The rest of the time I was only trying to compose myself. I didn’t even know how that happened. She turned up, as unlikely as it was, at 1am.

This whole time this happened, I was sitting literally on the bar, facing the whole of everyone with her sitting in front of me. I was not even aware that she had a fucking ‘date’ around. She had apparently left her table and took a place on the other side of the bar where I was more than happy to entertain her. I had no idea that some poor bastard in a Michael Jackson attire was standing there staring at me like an asteroid slummed motherfucker. Her mother was sitting with us, I was merely being polite to a dear friend.

The said poor bastard of course, couldn’t refuse and decided to come and step into our conversation – someone ought to tell this guy Jacko’s dead, really – and generally doing his best to look offended. He was polite and minimally mannered and asked for some private time with her ‘date’. We were conversing in English and I was thinking in English and I didn’t really get his accented Indonesian right but I politely excused the young man to spend whatever time he deemed necessary with his little Barbie. She had told me earlier that they have just met him the other week and kissed him while she was really drunk. She wanted my advice on how to best rid of him. The whole thing was getting weird, very quickly. I told her that it’s a good career move for him and it’s probably expensive. She asked if I could get her home safely and I told her that I’ve a driver outside. She lives a few blocks down so it’s really no trouble and if I get to piss on Jacko on the way, why not.

The young man and woman pulled themselves into a corner with the place watching in veiled suspense and I made light conversation with the mother. She was mother like all mothers are. Sweet and loving. She wants only the best for her daughter. Girls are mad, you can’t blame the mother. I made her tea and attempted a polite conversation. My attempt at being nice was this time interrupted by the yelling couple in the middle. She walked back, obviously angry and asked me, very loudly, to make sure that herself and her mother would get home okay. I gladly assured the girl and the mother both that I would do my very best to make sure they get home alright. Jacko was getting on my nerve big time and he had a funny stare that really made me think of the whole perverse thing with little kids. I could not find, for the life of me, find one shred of reason in life to not dislike him with all my existence. I didn’t like him a lot.

The little angel, however, was a comforting presence and she kept my calm. She explained to him, spelling it out to him for the whole crowd to chip in, that she would not be going home with him. The angel had made up her mind and she, with her mother, would find someone else to take her home and she no longer required his service. If it was a little awkward, I thought she was being superbly capable of handling the situation. Say what you will about the pretty ones but they know best about handling the wacky ones.

I wildly anticipated the outcome her public statement and eagerly speculated on the probable response of the person dressed like Michael Jackson a week after his death. He slanted his eyes a little bit, with just the right kind of rehearsed smile – which he probably had all things considered.

I knew very well that I was probably expected to wee out in fear and dread of some possibly apocalyptic outcome to see that expression but I couldn’t contain myself and I burst out laughing. The whole thing was just too funny for me. The man, chivalrously advanced her case and speeched out, “This girl came with me and she will now come home with me.” He was superb and I almost applauded in awe.

Then the whole thing went kinda mental. Like I said, me and her, we’ve known each other since she was 14 and I’d say that I know a thing or two about her. Malls, films, tvs, tabloids, pubs, clubs, restaurants, banks, bookshops, atms and everywhere else. She had done them all. This girl had more in her relatively short life than most of you had in all of your long, proud and eventful lives. She just got out of prison.

I think she, and her sober and caring mother, was alone responsible to make whatever decision she should make about her going home. Jacko or no Jacko.

The girl in the very short pants leaped from her seat and loudly repeated the sentence. I wasn’t sure what she said, but she seemed to be saying that she would go home with whomever she wished as the scene went from weird to weirder.The conversations on the different ends were getting hard to follow and only mad men know what to do then.

Her mother looked awful worried. I’ve seen that look before in mothers. Probably my own mother at some point when I pictured her saddened and at ends of what godawfulthings that her son was doing. She didn’t look angry or sad or disappointed. She whispered prayers and asked for God. I couldn’t look into those eyes and not see love. She only wished for the best for her daughter. She whispered that they needed a very certain thing to happen in order to survive. Time costs money. A lot of money.

We blame mothers a lot. We think they were the greedy ones. We prosecute them for daughters marrying at young age. We blame them for the suffering of their own little ones as if we all live in tabloid moments. We hold mothers to lofty ideals where things are very likely to break. It’s okay for fathers to fuck around but mothers ought to be nice and gentle like all mothers do.

Well, it ain’t busy being mothers. I had a shitty childhood days but it’s not my mother’s fault. Dad left when I was about four or so and God knows it’s not easy raising a son like me. It’s a wonder that I managed in any case. I know mom tried her best in an impossible job.

Her mother broke into tears. Literally. It was all very dramatic and at this point we were sincerely concerned about making a scene.

I was suddenly the man of the moment: Jacko was staring at me funnily, angel trying hard to keep him on the safe end of the pub and her mother, sobbing tears with the whole frigging place trying to not looking at us.

I asked for her mother's permission to return her daughter in safety and end the drama, deciding firmly that it was probably time Jacko heard his very own translated obit out loud. I spare you the details but in the end, he was read the riot act properly and stashed in a cab that would allegedly take him to Bandung or something. It was a Blue Bird taxi and we keep the number so nothing bad could happen to him. He wouldn’t be going around claiming he’s dead because he was not but he was sure not looking like Jacko anymore. I wanted to keep his stupid hat but couldn’t think of why I would so I don’t.

I called home to get a few young Jedis to help us with logistics and we dispersed home. I walked her to her car and I probably asked her out. Then we kissed.

This is all very weird at the moment and I should just go to sleep.

Just a little note to all of you crazy fucking weirdos out there: some people just don’t like you.

That really superhot cute little girl in short pants, revealing top, villainous tattoo and seductivist legs is just not into you. Improbable, but it happens. The point being, you don’t have to be such fucking weirdo about it. It freaks all of us out when you do.

Some people will like you, others will hate you but the rest of them will really just leave you alone.
Be happy with your own life. Life sucks less when you’re being nice.

Good night all.


PS: If you're a little sad dude in Bandung dressed up like Michael Jackson and you think this story is not a fiction then you know where to find me. I didn't tell you about the CCTV we have in place and i could do a YouTube video prank that I - and a whole lot of other people - think very funny. Mr. Brightside is being nice and and you should be grateful.
Other than that, please, fuck off.

For everyone else, this is a banal fiction, the illustrious imaginary world of treespotting.

Welcome to my world.

on SBY: "Lanjutkan Apa?"

A lot of things piss me off lately - but this one is more annoying than others.

Election in two days in Indonesia, and the alternatives bother me.

This is why i don't think SBY can do the job.

My regular treespotting will be back later, i now really need to work and sort out tickets and stuff.

on Stories

I'm really, really stuck with something at the moment so i can't blog much.

I'm travelling again this week so that's even less blogging or twitting. Which is a shame since i have so much to tell, really.

Meanwhile, there's a swine flu pandemic, North Korea playing with dangerous toys, Iran can't agree with their election and Indonesia about to hold one next Wednesday, the day after Michael Jackson funeral. Exciting times.

I also did minimum damage this week by not only staying in but staying in without phones. I've tons of things to do, books to read and films to watch. Also the dog is learning to speak.

Most recently we had wild trolls around here but i suspect she's gone now. She had not been sighted ever since and we can all move on.

((-- a few people asked what brought such a strong response and i could only say, I have no idea. To my knowing, people go cuckoo over all sorts of things. This most recent specimen seemed to have mistaken me for some ill ending acquaintanceship that took place in some imaginary cosmically parallel world. I made attempts to understand but it gets freakier every time. I don't know him beyond the blog pages and a few disturbing emails and honestly, i'd rather never having to know. She definitively needs some happy pill. I tried to be polite, probably up to the point where she sent me Psalm 23:4, Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. That's roughly when i reached for garlic. It's tragic that i seem to attract the crazy ones.--))


 Anyhow, so i figure you may want to go and read old stories for a while.