Gomo kelate gomo

31 October 2010

Keluarga saya asal dari Kelantan walaupun saya lahir di KL dan tak pernah tinggal di Kelantan. Kali terakhir saya balik Kelantan untuk melawat keluarga ialah pada tahun 1991. Majoriti keluarga saya di belah Kelantan sudah berhijrah ke KL.

Saya adalah salah seorang ahli MASWAPEM, iaitu persatuan berdaftar untuk ahli keluarga keturunan Tuan Haji Awang Kemachi (1864-1924) dan Wan Puteh Mentuan yang berasal dari Kelantan. Saya merupakan salah seorang keturunan Awang Kemachi yang menghadiri perjumpaan pertama untuk membincangkan penubuhan persatuan tersebut pada tahun 2006. Ketika MASWAPEM belum ditubuhkan secara rasmi, saya memegang jawatan sebagai setiausaha sementara, yang bertanggungjawab menguruskan database keluarga Awang Kemachi dan Wan Puteh yang sekarang sudah menjangkau 8 keturunan. Saya juga bertanggungjawab menghebahkan mesyuarat dan aktiviti keluarga kepada ahli persatuan.

Pada tahun 2007, oleh kerana kesibukan kerja maka saya pun menarik diri daripada jawatankuasa MASWAPEM itu. MASWAPEM sekarang mempunyai ahli yang ramai. Tahniah kepada ahli keluarga yang rajin menjejak para waris yang masih hidup di seluruh negara. Siap ada blog sekali…kekeke…

Ada beberapa pengalaman menarik apabila saya menguruskan database MASWAPEM dulu. Antaranya ialah apabila melihat nama orang-orang terkenal yang rupa-rupanya ada hubungan keluarga dengan saya. Yang paling saya tak boleh lupa ialah melihat nama seorang ex-girlfriend saya dalam list itu, cehhh rupa-rupanya second cousin aku…kekekeke…

Tahniah diucapkan kepada MASWAPEM kerana telah berjaya menubuhkan KAKPEM Bhd (Koperasi Keluarga Awang Puteh Malaysia Berhad). Kalau ada masa nanti saya akan cuba bergiat aktif dalam koperasi keluarga ini. Untuk masa ini, saya rasa elok lah pakcik-pakcik dan makcik-makcik yang lebih senior mentadbir koperasi tersebut. Semoga duit koperasi dan keuntungan perniagaan milik koperasi dapat dimanfaatkan dengan baik, dan digunakan untuk membantu saudara-saudara kita yang lebih memerlukan (terutama di Kelantan).

Anyway, oleh kerana saya ada bau bau bacang dengan Kelantan, jadi bola malam tadi sudah tentu saya sokong Kelantan. Lepas first half NS mendahului 1-0, saya pun dah malas nak tengok sampai habis, terus pergi ke bilik dengan anggapan NS akan menang. Terkejut beruk saya bila tengok berita tengah malam beritahu Kelantan menang 2-1. What a pleasant surprise. Penyokong Kelantan boleh lah pergi celebrate, tapi please behave yer…jangan jadi huru hara macam selalu…kekeke…

Saya sebenarnya tak adalah mempunyai hubungan rapat dengan Kelantan sehingga boleh mengaku anak Kelantan. Semua saudara yang saya kenal di Kelantan pun kini dah bermastautin di KL, jadi kalau saya balik kampung pun, tak kenal siapa2 dah. Saya juga tak bercakap dengan accent Kelantan dalam kehidupan seharian. Saya punya hometown ialah KL, saya adalah KL boy walaupun Kelantan tetap di hati saya.

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Maturity

30 October 2010


Keputusan OMK 2010

29 October 2010

Dipetik daripada http://persama.org.my/

______________________________________

Keputusan penuh pemenang-pemenang bagi menerima Hadiah Tempat Pertama, Kedua dan Ketiga (Kategori Individu dan Berpasukan) bagi setiap Peringkat (Bongsu, Muda, Sulong), Hadiah Saguhati serta Sijil Sanjungan Kehormat OMK 2010 adalah seperti berikut:

Senarai nama pemenang (senarai berkumpulan, hadiah saguhati dan sijil sanjungan kehormat) adalah disusun mengikut abjad. Keputusan adalah muktamad.

PERSAMA ingin mengucapkan syabas dan tahniah kepada semua sekolah/kolej dan peserta yang telah berjaya. Bagi yang kurang berjaya, jangan putus asa, terus berusaha dan mungkin boleh mencuba lagi tahun hadapan. PERSAMA juga ingin mengucapkan berbanyak terima kasih kepada semua pihak yang telah terlibat dalam menjayakan OMK 2010 ini. Adalah diharapkan kerjasama dan sokongan yang padu dapat terus diberikan pada masa akan datang demi perkembangan prestasi para pelajar dalam bidang Matematik khasnya.


Dunhill

28 October 2010

1. cuba cari nombor 68

2. cuba cari nama perempuan

kekeke sapa paham angkat tangan


Monty Python funeral service

25 October 2010

John Cleese’s eulogy for fellow Python, Graham Chapman:

Graham Chapman, co-author of the ‘Parrot Sketch,’ is no more.

He has ceased to be, bereft of life, he rests in peace, he has kicked the bucket, hopped the twig, bit the dust, snuffed it, breathed his last, and gone to meet the Great Head of Light Entertainment in the sky, and I guess that we’re all thinking how sad it is that a man of such talent, such capability and kindness, of such intelligence should now be so suddenly spirited away at the age of only forty-eight, before he’d achieved many of the things of which he was capable, and before he’d had enough fun.

Well, I feel that I should say, “Nonsense. Good riddance to him, the freeloading bastard! I hope he fries.”

And the reason I think I should say this is, he would never forgive me if I didn’t, if I threw away this opportunity to shock you all on his behalf. Anything for him but mindless good taste. I could hear him whispering in my ear last night as I was writing this:

“Alright, Cleese, you’re very proud of being the first person to ever say ‘shit’ on television. If this service is really for me, just for starters, I want you to be the first person ever at a British memorial service to say ‘fuck’!”

– copied from http://www.eulogyspeech.net/

NB: this is a real funeral service, not a Monty Python sketch.


Bisnesman2 yang pernah kujumpai

23 October 2010

Disclaimer: Nama bisnesman2 dirahsiakan untuk melindungi identiti sebenar mereka. Mana-mana persamaan dengan yang hidup atau yang sudah mati adalah DISENGAJAKAN.

Bisnesman A

Bila cakap pasal bisnes:

“Kompeni aku dengan partner aku, kitorang ingat nak beli kapal. Kapal ni harga juta-juta. Tu sebab kitorang tengah nak buat loan juta-juta, nak beli kapal. Kapal ni bisnes juta-juta beb, sekali angkut barang dapat untung RM 100 ribu. Kitorang nak bisnes juta-juta, jadi ni tengah buat proposal juta-juta untuk nak buat loan juta-juta dari bank untuk beli kapal yang harganya juta-juta”

Hakikatnya:

“Apa aku buat sekarang? Hehehe…sekarang ni aku jual kad prepaid je…”

Bisnesman B

Bila cakap pasal bisnes:

“Aku plan nak bisnes besar-besar ni bal, nak eksport bahan mentah ke seluruh dunia, ke Russia, US, Eropah, Middle East. Ada pakcik aku punya kawan ni, dia ada kontek supplier kat satu negara ni, dia ajak aku jadi partner. Ni bisnes juta-juta ni bal, seminggu boleh buat sales 10 juta no hal punyer. Kitorang ni memang plan nak pegi global, nak buat JV dengan partner local guna kawan2 pakcik aku ni.”

Hakikatnya:

“Eh bal, mintak pinjam RM500 boleh tak, aku perlu cash sikit la buat belanja. Nanti next month aku bayar, promise.”

Bisnesman C

Bila cakap pasal bisnes:

“Kitorang plan nak buat satu group usahawan yang besar, sampai kitorang plan nak ada koperasi sendiri dengan ahli yang ramai. Kitorang memang nak bergerak dalam kumpulan, lepas ni group kitorang plan nak bukak cawangan kat setiap daerah kat Malaysia, pastu setiap daerah tu ada ketua, lepas tu cawangan daerah ni akan ditadbir oleh ketua setiap negeri, lepas tu ketua setiap negeri ni akan jadi lembaga pengarah peringkat Malaysia pulak. Kitorang nak jadi kumpulan network terunggul untuk businessman melayu kat malaysia ni, so bisnes2 yang under kitorang boleh buat JV ke, ape ke. Sebab tu kitorang buat group ni, kitorang nak buat macam2 aktiviti untuk network bisnesman2 under kitorang.”

Hakikatnya:

Bal: “Setakat ni berapa orang dah ada dalam group korang?”.

Bisnesman C: “So far ada la 4 orang, campur adik ipar aku kat Segamat tu 5 orang. Tapi kitorang nak go national”.

Bisnesman D

Bila cakap pasal bisnes:

“Kitorang ni memang berpengalaman buat training. Macam-macam jenis training ada. Satu malaysia kitorang dah pernah buat training, cakap je negeri mana, kitorang dah penah masuk. Network kitorang ni satu malaysia.”

Hakikatnya:

Bal: “Satu Malaysia dah pegi eh? Melaka dah penah pegi?”

Bisnesman D: “Pernah, dulu kami bagi training IT dekat Pejabat Perikanan Daerah Ulu Bertam.”

Bal: “Berapa orang datang training tu.”

Bisnesman D: “Ade la dalam 7 orang”.

Bal (di dalam hati): “Hebat network satu malaysia korang”.

Bisnesman E

Bila cakap pasal bisnes:

“Aku tengah tunggu proposal ni, untuk supply barang dekat kerajaan. Projek besar ni bro, maybe 150 juta. Minggu lepas pun aku hantar proposal jugak, projek besar, cover satu malaysia. Nanti aku tengah prepare proposal projek lagi satu ni, lebih kurang berapa puluh juta gak la nilai dia.”

Hakikatnya:

(3 tahun selepas itu) “proposal itu…proposal ini…proposal juta-juta…proposal kementerian itu….proposal kementerian ini…proposal proposal…akulah mat proposal…bal pinjam seribu boleh tak? bulan depan aku bayar balik…”

______________________________

Kesimpulannya:

1. Jangan jadi mat proposal

2. Bisnes = buat kerja

3. Man man lah kalau nak cerita bisnes dengan aku…ingat aku bodoh ke cannot see through the bullshit

4. Kalau bisnes kecik buat cara bisnes kecik

5. Elakkan menjadi:

Ktung ktang saja lebih


Why Women Aren’t Funny

23 October 2010

http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2007/01/hitchens200701?currentPage=all

Why Women Aren’t Funny

What makes the female so much deadlier than the male? With assists from Fran Lebowitz, Nora Ephron, and a recent Stanford-medical-school study, the author investigates the reasons for the humor gap.

by Christopher Hitchens

January 2007

Be your gender what it may, you will certainly have heard the following from a female friend who is enumerating the charms of a new (male) squeeze: “He’s really quite cute, and he’s kind to my friends, and he knows all kinds of stuff, and he’s so funny … ” (If you yourself are a guy, and you know the man in question, you will often have said to yourself, “Funny? He wouldn’t know a joke if it came served on a bed of lettuce with sauce béarnaise.”) However, there is something that you absolutely never hear from a male friend who is hymning his latest (female) love interest: “She’s a real honey, has a life of her own … [interlude for attributes that are none of your business] … and, man, does she ever make ’em laugh.”

Now, why is this? Why is it the case?, I mean. Why are women, who have the whole male world at their mercy, not funny? Please do not pretend not to know what I am talking about.

All right—try it the other way (as the bishop said to the barmaid). Why are men, taken on average and as a whole, funnier than women? Well, for one thing, they had damn well better be. The chief task in life that a man has to perform is that of impressing the opposite sex, and Mother Nature (as we laughingly call her) is not so kind to men. In fact, she equips many fellows with very little armament for the struggle. An average man has just one, outside chance: he had better be able to make the lady laugh. Making them laugh has been one of the crucial preoccupations of my life. If you can stimulate her to laughter—I am talking about that real, out-loud, head-back, mouth-open-to-expose-the-full-horseshoe-of-lovely-teeth, involuntary, full, and deep-throated mirth; the kind that is accompanied by a shocked surprise and a slight (no, make that a loud) peal of delight—well, then, you have at least caused her to loosen up and to change her expression. I shall not elaborate further.

Women have no corresponding need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift. Indeed, we now have all the joy of a scientific study, which illuminates the difference. At the Stanford University School of Medicine (a place, as it happens, where I once underwent an absolutely hilarious procedure with a sigmoidoscope), the grim-faced researchers showed 10 men and 10 women a sample of 70 black-and-white cartoons and got them to rate the gags on a “funniness scale.” To annex for a moment the fall-about language of the report as it was summarized in Biotech Week:

The researchers found that men and women share much of the same humor-response system; both use to a similar degree the part of the brain responsible for semantic knowledge and juxtaposition and the part involved in language processing. But they also found that some brain regions were activated more in women. These included the left prefrontal cortex, suggesting a greater emphasis on language and executive processing in women, and the nucleus accumbens … which is part of the mesolimbic reward center.

This has all the charm and address of the learned Professor Scully’s attempt to define a smile, as cited by Richard Usborne in his treatise on P. G. Wodehouse: “the drawing back and slight lifting of the corners of the mouth, which partially uncover the teeth; the curving of the naso-labial furrows … ” But have no fear—it gets worse:

“Women appeared to have less expectation of a reward, which in this case was the punch line of the cartoon,” said the report’s author, Dr. Allan Reiss. “So when they got to the joke’s punch line, they were more pleased about it.” The report also found that “women were quicker at identifying material they considered unfunny.”

Slower to get it, more pleased when they do, and swift to locate the unfunny—for this we need the Stanford University School of Medicine? And remember, this is women when confronted with humor. Is it any wonder that they are backward in generating it?

This is not to say that women are humorless, or cannot make great wits and comedians. And if they did not operate on the humor wavelength, there would be scant point in half killing oneself in the attempt to make them writhe and scream (uproariously). Wit, after all, is the unfailing symptom of intelligence. Men will laugh at almost anything, often precisely because it is—or they are—extremely stupid. Women aren’t like that. And the wits and comics among them are formidable beyond compare: Dorothy Parker, Nora Ephron, Fran Lebowitz, Ellen DeGeneres. (Though ask yourself, was Dorothy Parker ever really funny?) Greatly daring—or so I thought—I resolved to call up Ms. Lebowitz and Ms. Ephron to try out my theories. Fran responded: “The cultural values are male; for a woman to say a man is funny is the equivalent of a man saying that a woman is pretty. Also, humor is largely aggressive and pre-emptive, and what’s more male than that?” Ms. Ephron did not disagree. She did, however, in what I thought was a slightly feline way, accuse me of plagiarizing a rant by Jerry Lewis that said much the same thing. (I have only once seen Lewis in action, in The King of Comedy, where it was really Sandra Bernhard who was funny.)

In any case, my argument doesn’t say that there are no decent women comedians. There are more terrible female comedians than there are terrible male comedians, but there are some impressive ladies out there. Most of them, though, when you come to review the situation, are hefty or dykey or Jewish, or some combo of the three. When Roseanne stands up and tells biker jokes and invites people who don’t dig her shtick to suck her dick—know what I am saying? And the Sapphic faction may have its own reasons for wanting what I want—the sweet surrender of female laughter. While Jewish humor, boiling as it is with angst and self-deprecation, is almost masculine by definition.

Substitute the term “self-defecation” (which I actually heard being used inadvertently once) and almost all men will laugh right away, if only to pass the time. Probe a little deeper, though, and you will see what Nietzsche meant when he described a witticism as an epitaph on the death of a feeling. Male humor prefers the laugh to be at someone’s expense, and understands that life is quite possibly a joke to begin with—and often a joke in extremely poor taste. Humor is part of the armor-plate with which to resist what is already farcical enough. (Perhaps not by coincidence, battered as they are by motherfucking nature, men tend to refer to life itself as a bitch.) Whereas women, bless their tender hearts, would prefer that life be fair, and even sweet, rather than the sordid mess it actually is. Jokes about calamitous visits to the doctor or the shrink or the bathroom, or the venting of sexual frustration on furry domestic animals, are a male province. It must have been a man who originated the phrase “funny like a heart attack.” In all the millions of cartoons that feature a patient listening glum-faced to a physician (“There’s no cure. There isn’t even a race for a cure”), do you remember even one where the patient is a woman? I thought as much.

Precisely because humor is a sign of intelligence (and many women believe, or were taught by their mothers, that they become threatening to men if they appear too bright), it could be that in some way men do not want women to be funny. They want them as an audience, not as rivals. And there is a huge, brimming reservoir of male unease, which it would be too easy for women to exploit. (Men can tell jokes about what happened to John Wayne Bobbitt, but they don’t want women doing so.) Men have prostate glands, hysterically enough, and these have a tendency to give out, along with their hearts and, it has to be said, their dicks. This is funny only in male company. For some reason, women do not find their own physical decay and absurdity to be so riotously amusing, which is why we admire Lucille Ball and Helen Fielding, who do see the funny side of it. But this is so rare as to be like Dr. Johnson’s comparison of a woman preaching to a dog walking on its hind legs: the surprise is that it is done at all.

The plain fact is that the physical structure of the human being is a joke in itself: a flat, crude, unanswerable disproof of any nonsense about “intelligent design.” The reproductive and eliminating functions (the closeness of which is the origin of all obscenity) were obviously wired together in hell by some subcommittee that was giggling cruelly as it went about its work. (“Think they’d wear this? Well, they’re gonna have to.”) The resulting confusion is the source of perhaps 50 percent of all humor. Filth. That’s what the customers want, as we occasional stand-up performers all know. Filth, and plenty of it. Filth in lavish, heaping quantities. And there’s another principle that helps exclude the fair sex. “Men obviously like gross stuff,” says Fran Lebowitz. “Why? Because it’s childish.” Keep your eye on that last word. Women’s appetite for talk about that fine product known as Depend is limited. So is their relish for gags about premature ejaculation. (“Premature for whom?” as a friend of mine indignantly demands to know.) But “child” is the key word. For women, reproduction is, if not the only thing, certainly the main thing. Apart from giving them a very different attitude to filth and embarrassment, it also imbues them with the kind of seriousness and solemnity at which men can only goggle. This womanly seriousness was well caught by Rudyard Kipling in his poem “The Female of the Species.” After cleverly noticing that with the male “mirth obscene diverts his anger”—which is true of most work on that great masculine equivalent to childbirth, which is warfare—Kipling insists:

But the Woman that God gave him,
every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue,
armed and engined for the same,
And to serve that single issue,
lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be
deadlier than the male.

The word “issue” there, which we so pathetically misuse, is restored to its proper meaning of childbirth. As Kipling continues:

She who faces Death by torture for
each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must
not swerve for fact or jest.

Men are overawed, not to say terrified, by the ability of women to produce babies. (Asked by a lady intellectual to summarize the differences between the sexes, another bishop responded, “Madam, I cannot conceive.”) It gives women an unchallengeable authority. And one of the earliest origins of humor that we know about is its role in the mockery of authority. Irony itself has been called “the glory of slaves.” So you could argue that when men get together to be funny and do not expect women to be there, or in on the joke, they are really playing truant and implicitly conceding who is really the boss.

The ancient annual festivities of Saturnalia, where the slaves would play master, were a temporary release from bossdom. A whole tranche of subversive male humor likewise depends on the notion that women are not really the boss, but are mere objects and victims. Kipling saw through this:

So it comes that Man, the coward,
when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council,
dare not leave a place for her.

In other words, for women the question of funniness is essentially a secondary one. They are innately aware of a higher calling that is no laughing matter. Whereas with a man you may freely say of him that he is lousy in the sack, or a bad driver, or an inefficient worker, and still wound him less deeply than you would if you accused him of being deficient in the humor department.

If I am correct about this, which I am, then the explanation for the superior funniness of men is much the same as for the inferior funniness of women. Men have to pretend, to themselves as well as to women, that they are not the servants and supplicants. Women, cunning minxes that they are, have to affect not to be the potentates. This is the unspoken compromise. H. L. Mencken described as “the greatest single discovery ever made by man” the realization “that babies have human fathers, and are not put into their mother’s bodies by the gods.” You may well wonder what people were thinking before that realization hit, but we do know of a society in Melanesia where the connection was not made until quite recently. I suppose that the reasoning went: everybody does that thing the entire time, there being little else to do, but not every woman becomes pregnant. Anyway, after a certain stage women came to the conclusion that men were actually necessary, and the old form of matriarchy came to a close. (Mencken speculates that this is why the first kings ascended the throne clutching their batons or scepters as if holding on for grim death.) People in this precarious position do not enjoy being laughed at, and it would not have taken women long to work out that female humor would be the most upsetting of all.

Childbearing and rearing are the double root of all this, as Kipling guessed. As every father knows, the placenta is made up of brain cells, which migrate southward during pregnancy and take the sense of humor along with them. And when the bundle is finally delivered, the funny side is not always immediately back in view. Is there anything so utterly lacking in humor as a mother discussing her new child? She is unboreable on the subject. Even the mothers of other fledglings have to drive their fingernails into their palms and wiggle their toes, just to prevent themselves from fainting dead away at the sheer tedium of it. And as the little ones burgeon and thrive, do you find that their mothers enjoy jests at their expense? I thought not.

Humor, if we are to be serious about it, arises from the ineluctable fact that we are all born into a losing struggle. Those who risk agony and death to bring children into this fiasco simply can’t afford to be too frivolous. (And there just aren’t that many episiotomy jokes, even in the male repertoire.) I am certain that this is also partly why, in all cultures, it is females who are the rank-and-file mainstay of religion, which in turn is the official enemy of all humor. One tiny snuffle that turns into a wheeze, one little cut that goes septic, one pathetically small coffin, and the woman’s universe is left in ashes and ruin. Try being funny about that, if you like. Oscar Wilde was the only person ever to make a decent joke about the death of an infant, and that infant was fictional, and Wilde was (although twice a father) a queer. And because fear is the mother of superstition, and because they are partly ruled in any case by the moon and the tides, women also fall more heavily for dreams, for supposedly significant dates like birthdays and anniversaries, for romantic love, crystals and stones, lockets and relics, and other things that men know are fit mainly for mockery and limericks. Good grief! Is there anything less funny than hearing a woman relate a dream she’s just had? (“And then Quentin was there somehow. And so were you, in a strange sort of way. And it was all so peaceful.” Peaceful?)

For men, it is a tragedy that the two things they prize the most—women and humor—should be so antithetical. But without tragedy there could be no comedy. My beloved said to me, when I told her I was going to have to address this melancholy topic, that I should cheer up because “women get funnier as they get older.”

Observation suggests to me that this might indeed be true, but, excuse me, isn’t that rather a long time to have to wait?

Christopher Hitchens is a Vanity Fair contributing editor.


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