Parliament Idol XII

Or Parlimen Fantasia XII, whichever rocks the biggest possible boat.

Tough call, really. Five more years of old guard neo-feudalism, or five rough-and-tumble years under a new crew with no experience in steering the ship?

Makes no difference to me. I'll be stuck with the same people that picked Daniel Lee.

Lots has been said about the infamous son-in-law, most of it bad. I feel the same way about him. For me, it's his smug goateed mug. Something about it just compels me to dislike him. His race, religion and affiliations are completely irrelevant. In fact, those aspects cease to exist every time he wears one of his photo-op expressions. Only the repeated whispers of a sibilant voice remain:

Must • Hate • His • Face...

I don't understand it myself. It defies logic or reason. And I do have other pressing matters to attend to. How do I put it? I feel that he's like Mawi, only with more hair - or Sanjaya, only with less hair.

There's always one in each season of a talent show.

Frittering Away at Silverfish Books

"Im sorry I missed the launch at the Annexe," I said.

"Oh, it's OK," Amir Muhammad assured me, adding that the crowd was so huge that day (about two hundred strong) it spilled out into the surrounding area. That made me sorrier to have missed it. Must've been quite a spectacle.

It didn't seem fair to miss an event I pimped, so I made up for it by attending the reading of New Malaysian Essays 1 at Silverfish Books by Amir and the other contributors. I also thought I would even help out a little by getting more than just one copy.

I'd arrived late and hungry, pausing briefly to take in the eclectic range of materiel on the shelves. Treasures, each and every one. Upon seeing me the lady manning the counter directed me to the tiny reading room at the end of the bookstore. Brian Yap was wrapping up his performance.

Instead of grabbing a seat, I made a beeline for the table where all the snacks were and nicked a banana fritter from a plate. Ah, sweet, sour crunchy succour.

Was it just me, or had I just committed a huge social faux pas? Raman's look certainly said so. There were disapproving glances from a few members of the small audience, who had to make do with a basket of various chips.

Screw politeness. I'm hungry.

I reached for another. These were damn good for bananas that aren't sweet. Aminuddin Mahmud began reading his contribution, a well-researched and entertaining academic paper on the power of branding around the mamak franchise.

Then Amir rose from his place and took a fritter and a cup of tea. That made me feel better. But I was already going for fritter #4. These were damn good. They haven't even gotten soggy yet.

It was Saharil Hasrin Sanin's turn. According to Amir, he is famous for his short stories (each about half a page long) that still manage to speak volumes. He'd asked for something for this book, and ended up with a 52-page contribution titled Teroris Bahasa, a brilliant and funny memoir-slash-monologue-slash-debate against the policing of language. References to "pert English knockers" raised titters among the crowd, which included a couple of Caucasian women.

'Tis a day for faux pas, it seems, I mused, munching on my fifth fritter.

There were also choice words about another contributor, Burhan Baki who is currently at Aberdeen. "But he has a brilliant piece in this book," Amir concluded. "Real genius. And he's at Aberdeen." Something about that last bit made the crowd chuckle.

Did he just make Aberdeen sound naughty?

I got three copies of the book, which coincidentally read EN-EM-EE 1 when abbreviated - which is how the mainstream (read: government-regulated) publishing scene sees Amir nowadays. I can tell you that it is money well-spent - with or without the autographs.

There was no sixth fritter. I had plans to dine at Sri Nirwana Maju after the event. Unfortunately, I was feeling full before I could polish off the last bit of rice. Maybe I should have stopped at three.

A Visual Feast

A hazard of reviewing a book you bought yourself and actually liked is that the review will never be published, not do the book justice, or both. Thank goodness I liked this one enough to keep it.

---

More or less of the same

Anthony Bourdain certainly has a way with words, as well as with food. Of course, being the bold soul that he is, there’s always another medium he wants to experiment with

first published in The Star, 02 February 2008


When I managed to get my hands on an unwrapped copy, I eagerly went through the pages. Why were they so thick, I wondered. Then, as I encountered page after page after page of pictures, I understood. It didn't help my disappointment, though.

Why, Tony, why? I mean, you used to ... write! You know, making words with a pen or word processor? What's with this glossy Technicolor travel scrapbook? You don't even cook anymore! What went wrong?

To the uninitiated, "Tony" is Anthony Bourdain, that acerbic, trash-talking chef who made a splash in the entertainment biz with his book Kitchen Confidential.

He's currently the host of the travel/food show No Reservations, who has traded his sauté pan for a word processor, occasionally writing articles for food-related publications in between his travels and appearances on other food-related shows.

His latest book, No Reservations: Around the World on an Empty Stomach, is a collection of snapshots from the series of the same name.

Many of the pictures have appeared on the show's web site; the article on his Beirut show (rudely interrupted by the Hizbollah-triggered Israeli invasion of Lebanon) was published earlier on salon.com. It is a departure from his previous works, which he acknowledges and apologises for.

Sorry, Tony. It'll be a while before I can forgive you.

We are introduced to the members of the filming crew, before being taken on a whirlwind tour of the best and worst places of the series. There's even a list of addresses, which includes "The Place Under The Big Tree" (a steamed fish head eatery in Sungai Besi).

Rounding up all that is a travel tip section, food pictures, and a list of essentials for the typical travel show host.

Even though light on words, the commentary still retains its edge. The placement of some pictures also hint at the darker side of his personality.

In one photo he's holding a piglet with a strange smile on his face and a gleam in his eye. On the opposite page is a breakfast platter with eggs, sausage and bacon. "No piglets were harmed in this production." Yeah, right.

Another example of his wit is a helpful tip on finding the absolutely best place for your favourite food: start a flame war in a food forum.

Local fans would be pleased to know Bourdain has nothing but nice words for Malaysia (in addition to neighbouring Indonesia and Singapore).

The Malaysian episode of No Reservations, he enthuses, was among the nicest in the series. He also has nothing but praise for the durian. Who could hate a gwailo like that?

That being said, he is neither shy nor evasive about the things and places he doesn't like. Uzbekistan wasn't particularly pleasant while Iceland was boring. Then there was this one nasty meal he had in Namibia. Graphic examples of hazards encountered while filming (mosquito bites and mysterious welts) have a section of their own, as well as a small sample of bathrooms he and his crew have visited.

For those who appreciate the kind of writing Anthony Bourdain does, this book is a disappointment – at first, anyway. The pictures are nice, as are the captions, commentaries and whatever writing is available.

But, somehow, it still feels ...incomplete. He has voiced his doubts (in another book) about his ability to translate the beauty and sensory wonders he's experienced into words.

No Reservations (the book and the series) feels more like a personal project than a profit-making venture. For all his bluster, sarcasm and profligate use of the f-word, Bourdain's a pretty honest, friendly and sentimental guy.

And, of course, he loves food, and the people who make it. He may have left the kitchen, but his heart's still there.

Never mind that half the material has already been published. If anything, it gives a much clearer picture of Bourdain and his new life’s mission.

So clear in fact, a friend of mine actually felt inspired to follow in his footsteps. Looking at a picture of Bourdain, smiling beatifically with the ruins of Machu Picchu behind him, I couldn't blame her. He looks like he's having the time of his life.

---

No Reservations

Around the World on an Empty Stomach

Anthony Bourdain
Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
288 pages
Non-Fiction
ISBN: 978-0-7475-9412-3

Happy Third, Readings

Saturday, 26 January 2008

I was feeling rather drained at the end of this week, and logic dictated that I should just plant my feet into a pot of soil on the balcony, sprout leaves and photosynthesise. But I couldn't pass up the session of Readings that celebrated its third anniversary.

Many of the regulars where there: Leon, Chet, Dr Shanmugam, Mr and Mrs Ted Mahsun, a few of Sharon Bakar's friends, Animah Kosai and daughter and Readings' own technician, Reza. Luminaries who graced the event included Seksan, owner of the venue, Eric Forbes of MPH Publishing, columnist Daphne Lee, the controversial Amir Muhammad, Shahril Nizam and Jerome Kugan, whom I last saw at La Bodega, KL. Eugene a.ka. Dreamer Idiot, Philipp the Eternal Wanderer and Kenny Mah were glaringly absent, though. And I kind of miss Sharanya Manivannan.

Had a chat with Eric about books and favourite reads (why do I get the feeling I was being interviewed?) Lainie Yeoh sported a stitched wound from an encounter with a snatch thief; the rest of us should be fortunate to encounter them on newsprint. I mistook Catalina Rembuyan for Liyana Yusof (a behemoth of a boo-boo!). Hope she wasn't too offended. Photographer Sufian got much of it on film.

(Ooh, watch me drop names like bad habits - a habit I should also drop, I think.)

But I was late for this month's session. When I stepped into the hall, Shi-Li Kow was reading a funny story from the anthology News From Home, about a deceased pet cat who became the biggest thing since that papaya they said had Lord Ganesh's face.

"...all the aunties, passers-by made offerings to the cat for the next big number ...someone even built one the little red huts (like the ones for the datuks) over Patches' grave... even the DBKL lorry drivers were getting into the act... Don't you miss Malaysia?"

— Shi-Li Kow, describing the only "vision, 2020"
Malaysians are really interested in

Bernice Chauly, one of the Readings' founding mothers, read some pieces from her published collection of poems, The Book of Sins. I swear I've heard some of them before at a previous session last year.

Our own Prince of Darkness, Tunku Halim gave us a peek of his collection of horror stories, Gravedigger's Kiss. And he was, like, sitting next to me during the second half of the Readings. I was beside myself, wondering, "Hey, maybe they aren't all that elitist after all!" - in spite of his feelings about a review of 44 Cemetary Road in The Star a while back.

The other contributor to News From Home, Chua Kok Yee had the audience in stitches with a modern and hilarious yarn about that monster called Progress - and its reluctant sidekick, Intolerance - who spare no one and nothing, not even fairy tales like the Three Little Pigs.

"...you see, we had to make some changes. We had to make the switch to kittens to avoid offending countries where their religion does not allow pigs ...China's OK. They love pigs - I mean, they love to eat pigs, but..."

— Chua Kok Yee, taking a subtle swipe
at censorship and fanaticism

Writer and creative writing guru Chuah Guat Eng (who tutored Sharon once) illustrated the use of language as a weapon with excerpts from her new book The Old House and Other Stories: Penang Hokkien to set up a kill, and Manglish to disarm, or making light conversation. Her rationales for that were quite convincing. I think I should start paying attention to what my parents say from now on.

Gerald Chuah, journalist and Sly Stallone/Rocky Balboa uber-fan came up to the mic to read and ended up giving a dissertation-slash-pep talk on the never-say-die attitude of the underdog, which inspired his book, In the Eye of the Tiger. Although it was a somewhat refreshing and inspiring deviation from the open-your-book-and-read performance expected of in Readings, he was nervous and repeating himself a few times, talking about - instead of reading from the book, and it was nearly six.

"This is Readings, dammit," I mentally fumed, "not a book talk at the Booker Room! Quit quoting Rocky and freaking read something, or I'm kicking you off the podium!"

I was surprised to hear what Rehman Rashid had to say about his book. The excerpt of the review was so inspiring, uplifting and positive. It didn't sound like Rehman Rashid at all.

Did I mention that there a cake-cutting ceremony? Up till now I've never wished a non-person a happy birthday before. First time for everything, I suppose. Books by some of the readers were also on sale. Didn't feel like buying anything, though.

I will be sure to catch Readings' fourth anniversary.

Books, Wind And Water

Finally found the long-awaited download of the infinitely better version of the Will.I.Am "hit". How did they record all that with straight faces? Right now it's the tenth replay of the file. And. I. Still. Can't. Turn. It. Off.

Don't help me.

"Hello!" went the young lady's enthusiastic greeting. "Are you here for the book talk? This way, please."

I've come to expect some sort of audience at book talks, so you could imagine my shock and dismay to find less than ten people in the Booker Room today: Sharon Bakar, feng shui expert and new author Jason Fong and his two guests, Julie of MPH (the enthusiastic young lady) and myself. A far far cry from the rock-concert crowd during the last Authors' Hi-Tea.

I guess keywords like "book" and "feng shui" aren't exactly crowd-pullers.

Sharon invited me in, and did a double-take when she realised who I was. I was introduced as a friend and blogger. It's an honour to be called a friend, but I didn't really feel like a blogger today. It's like being at a press conference where you're the only journalist.

The show, however, went on.

Fong answered many of Sharon's questions on the science of geomancy, which he backed up with scientific facts. Some of the revelations included the role of running water and granite in causing cancer and other maladies, plus the secret to "Mr Genting" Lim Goh Tong's wealth. We also found out just how difficult it was for the author to take pictures for his book; there was some mention of battling bad weather and traipsing around rooftops for the perfect shot.

Lillian Too, the self-proclaimed Queen of Afflictions was also mentioned, albeit in a less flattering manner. One of Fong's guests - a colleague and traditional feng shui practitioner - dismissed the famously prescribed placings of statuettes, wind chimes and ornaments for more luck and money. "Those things don't work," he scoffed, "and your house will end up looking like an animal farm." We laughed.

I am skeptical of the whole feng shui thing, but never in doubt of the psychological impact it has to those who believe it - something agreed upon to some extent by the rest of the assembly. The talk adjourned about an hour later, after a presentation by Fong's colleague about how the sixty-four transformations of the ba gua - the foundation of the I Jing (Book of Changes) - came about.

After the guests left, there was some talk about another banned-books controversy. The Internal Security Ministry is offended because these books feature bearded men who claim G*d talks to them. I suppose I couldn't fault the Ministry for enforcing such rigid standards (the people there have bills to pay, too), but if that's the case they should also pull publications featuring Nik Aziz Nik Mat, Abubakar Bashir, Osama bin Laden, and to a lesser extent, Pat Robertson, Shoko Asahara and George W Bush.

Then again, what do I know, anyway?

Never Felt Safer, Part II

I don't know which revelation about this is the most unsettling:

• People are surfing the Internet for threats at the Internal Security Ministry.
• Untried, naive and gullible country bumpkins are probably surfing the Internet for threats at the Internal Security Ministry.
• The possibility of untried, naive and gullible country bumpkins being employed at the Internal Security Ministry.
• Surfing the Internet (during office hours) is considered a legitimate full-time job at the Internal Security Ministry.

Oh yeah. I feel, like, really safe.

On the other hand, that sounds like a plum job. I wonder if they're hiring.

Never Felt Safer

Ah, nothing warms the cockles, mussels and oysters of your heart than the knowledge that you can count on our beloved government to take drastic action against depraved homicidal lawbreakers.

Like begging depraved homicidal lawbreakers to release their captives and repent for fear of the collective fury of over twenty million indignant souls. Or installing more electronic eyes as deterrents.

Wow, like, I feel safe already.

If such "drastic" measures actually work, there wouldn't be any depraved homicidal lawbreakers, lecherous kleptomaniacal charlatans or depraved suicidal speed-limit-breakers to begin with. It just goes to show just how much (or how little) criminals think of our authorities - or our anger at their hijinks.

But I just have to wonder: What manner of madness or cunning could compel men to sink to such unfathomable depths? Where and when did all this begin?