Small, Small World

It's a small world after-all

It’s a small world, you don’t have to live in it particularly long to learn that yourself. There’s a theory that, in the whole world, there are only 500 real people (the cast; all the rest, the theory suggests, are extras) and what is more, they all know each other.

In reality, the world is made of thousands upon thousands of groups of about 500 people, trying to avoid each other, and discovering each other in the same unlikely teashop in Vancouver.

It’s not even coincidence. It’s just the way the world works, with no regard for individuals or for propriety. (Excerpt from Neil Gaiman's Anansi Boys)



You laugh off the miracles of the small world theory when the chance meeting is agreeable to you. The particular college lecturer than you had a fetish on, is seen having yam cha, under the protective shade of a Caribbean infused setting of a ‘Mamak’ stall, 370 kilometres away from where it’s more likely to see him. You exchange pleasantries, express undisguised shock, quiz on the others’ current interest/status/, promise future dealings, then depart because you just cannot hold that smile on your face any longer.


Then there are times, when the theory just serves to chill your bones dry.

On the way home, to meet my brother, idling his Singapore’s National day, my father and I received an excited call from him. He said that he had just won a lucky draw, earlier in the afternoon, and all that was to be done is to go to the office of the ‘Marketing Company’ to collect the prize. My father frowned when he saw the company’s calling card (just a torn shard indelibly stamped), but he was propelled by my brother’s brimming enthusiasm. Once we got that however, the greeting we received was extraordinary, all the employees stood to greet us, and the ‘boss’ got straight to business, not wanting to waste time. Unfortunately for him, his meaning was lost upon us. We sat dumb founded for a long time trying to catch his words. He spoke so rapidly that I was breathing all his held breath. Seeing how we weren’t buying anything, his second-hand made an appearance.

That fresh scar, coursing the length of his face, drench amply with iodine, gave him away. I saw him in the emergency ward, just a few days ago, complaining that he was unduly beaten up while we was doing ‘business’. Unable to contain myself, and seeing that my time was running out; since my brother was getting tempted by the ‘chance’ of winning a RM 100 000 ++ car by just pitching in RM 3000 to participate in a bigger ‘lucky draw’, I contemplated ways to alert poor father, who was by then shaking his head clouded with worry.

Speaking/ whispering to him would alert those baddies that something was amiss, so for once my mobile turned handy, and I tersely imparted that the only way was to walk away…..

So, the theory does come in handy. Wonder if they would consider it making it a law, just like Murphy’s. But first, we have to meet, share experience, conclude it’s doesn’t occur in isolation, then vote!



Current Music: Bob Marley's No Woman, No Cry

iGallop

Yeah, baby!

TV tax ridden UK certainly induces one thing, a heightened hunger for the couch potato culture which entails absolute authority of the remote control. Hence, it certainly does make an impression when one of the first adverts you see features 3 Ryder Gals.

No, no, no horses. But for better effect, hot pants and sports bras. 3 gals with virginally white outfits, including the cowboy hats and knee length boots. The perfect exercising gear, eh?

So while 3 cowgirls bob up-down and side-to-side in futuristic exercise room (sorry, not the prairie or the barn), you cannot help but snigger at the mere suggestion.

Taunted to promote taut adductors (that’s the inner thigh muscles girls!), hips and even the abdominal muscles without conscious effort, it also helps to enhance your posture, balance and strength. All the God-given benefits of Hippotherapy. Ask anyone and they will tell you that trotting with iGallop promises more.

The advert worked. It certainly stopped me at my tracks. I mean what happened to that OCD stricken censorship board that makes movies/shows look like they intended for 2 people to move towards each other then suddenly move apart?

Many are afflicted with wonderment, and with that comes divine creativity.

Ever wondered why the advert featured girls rather than guys. No self respecting guy would sit on that thing. It will surely hurt. The seats need modification, perhaps an indention?

I will sit on it! Only if it’s iGallopU.

There’s more, but I’ve made a pledge not to disclose explicit material, verbally or visually on my site.


But, on the hindsight, what ever comes out of the idiot box, I will take it. It’s good to be home!


Current music: Ronan Keating’s The Way You Make Me Feel