Georgetterox

When Titiek Puspa  popularizes herself by requesting everybody to call her Tante, I just mock my lips cynically.

O Ma’am, you deserve to be my grandma rather than becoming my tante.

You’re an old woman.

As Vina Panduwinata  asked everybody to call her Mama Ina, I laugh indeed.

Having a son must’ve been not enough to call her Mama, so everybody that’s not her children should call her Mama, too.

And why should it be Mama Ina, her name’s Vina, isn’t it?

What’s wrong with her first letter?

Then when Elvy Sukaesih  sovereigns her fans to call her Ummi, my stomach gets cramped of disgust.

Ummi is a noble name for muslim women, but why does the Madame shake her hips at the front of those men who crazy about a music that could drive people lazy?

But when Emilia Contessa  comes as a juror of a singing contest at tv and asked the participants to call her Bunda, I really get sick.

Who da hell are you asking for being called Bunda? You’re not even their mom!

And the weird is, when all celebs wanna be called Tante, Mama, Ummi, and Bunda, nobody wants to be called “Mpok”..!

Except probably Maridjan  who demands all the people to call him Mbah.

I realized, being a celeb in this country insists them to aware that anytime they must be ready to be replaced by the younger debutants.

That’s why they prepare themselves by the nicknames that sound younger such as Tante, Mama, or even worse, Mbak.

Hetty Koes Endang  used to ask often to be called Mbak, but the high hair-do on her head that always covered in veil can’t avoid her from old impression, so she links herself by asking to be called Bunda, too.

Compare to Dolly Parton  at the US, she’s been a grandma but they still calls her Dolly, not Mommy Dolly, even Mrs Parton.

So why do the celebs never be called Bu?

Why ain’t there Bu Titiek, Bu Vina, Bu Elvy, Bu Emilia, nor Bu Hetty?

What’s wrong by calling them Bu? They’ve been mothers anyway.

If they really wanna adopted all the people by asking them to be called Mama, Bunda, or Ummi, so they have to be called Mpok, Mbok, even Emak.

Coz we’re Indonesians, no need to act like Western or Semit.

Then my fellas answer, “Vic, would you like your kids to call you Mpok?”

I say, “No way. I want Mama.”

“Well you don’t want them to call you Mpok, either, then why are you severeigning the celebs to will to be called Mpok?”

I reply him, “Well, I’m not a celeb anyway..”

Have you ever been caught in the act, hanging around in the grocery, in Bermuda short and T-shirt?

Well, this lady has. Once upon a time, she was going to a grocery, shopping for food.

She offered some, shopped a lot.

She was meanie to parking attendants, she wasn’t nice enough for giving them tips, so she didn’t wanna have them help her carrying her 25-kgs-purchase into her car that she parked by herself at the park.

Then the motorists  who hung on at the park just shat up by watching the lone-struggling-lady, by talking about her among themselves.

She looked at them, and she caught an old man who was sitting on a motorbike, and probably was talking around about her, too.

Suddenly she recognized him, and she jumped into her car and got away from that place.

This lady, my aunt actually, told me about this, wondering.

OK, she remembered now, that man was a boss at the place where husband was retired from. Said my aunt, “What the hell was he doing there?

If I never knew him, I must’ve thought that he’s a motorist!”

I said, “Maybe he’s hanging out. There are a lot of birds in sale right there, maybe he’s hunting one.

Wait a minute, why were you just wearing T-shirt and Bermuda short?”

She just goggled at me, “Then what should I wear? A bride gown?”

“I wonder that he didn’t think that you were selling chili in the outfit.”

“I wasn’t selling chili, I was the buyer!” she said.

I disagree. Though we just wanna buy chili or fishes, we should dress up.

The pretty shirt, not a T one. The pants, not a Bermuda short.

Use make up, though it’s just a thin powder and lipgloss.

Shame if we meet some relations, they’ll think that we’re selling chili.

And for men, behave one, don’t be like my uncle’s ex boss.

He was actually a director, but just coz he hung out on a motor, we’ll think that he’s a motorist! (read: tukang ojek!)

                

“We’ll meet nobody, Vic,” said my aunt disagree to my law.

Who knows then? We never know what will happen to us on the street.

Especially today is season of motor gank, probably there’ll be a chaos.

Coz it’s been genetic in my family, if there’s a chaos, then we’ll stay tune at that place for watching it.

So imagine if suddenly there comes tv reporters with their cameras, then accidentally they shoot our face. Then unexpectedly we show up on tv, just in T shirt and Bermuda short.

And we’re recognized by the last people whom we don’t want to see us in skanky situations: Our neighbour, our boss, our mom-in-law, our ex.. and they just comment, “Gosh, why does that person look like shit?!”

I enjoy talking.

In very happening conversation, such as Jennifer Lopez’s pregnancy  (finally! After you dumped Puff Daddy, Cris, and Ben, finally Marc can impregnate you, too, Jen!).

And also very unhappening conversation, such as predicting when the dollar value in rupiah will reach 2000, so we don’t need to wait for discount season to buy Rotelli.

But I really hate unobjection conversation. Such as, the weather.

So, just because now is winter, then I often get greeting in a conversation, “Hi, Vic. How are you?”

This is standard. Usually I reply, “Cool.”

The answers will be variable, this one’s usually for the questioners who often go hedon with me.

But I can also answer, “I’m OK,” if the questioner is the boss or someone who potentially pay me bonus.

But the next question will be lazifiable if it sounds like this,

“Does it rain at Bandung, now?”

And obviously there’s nothing I can say lazily except, “Yes, it does.”

Why lazy? Because the questioner’s usually stupid.

We always knows that Bandung is cold and it rains a lot, and he still asks if it rains there.

Well then so what if it rains? It ain’t my fault, the raindancer wasn’t me.

But then actually the questioner never blames me, coz then he’ll say,

“It rains at Jakarta, too. And so it is at Bogor.”

And then?

Are you trying to tell me that it’s raining everywhere now?

Are you trying to offer me to work as an umbrella rental?

Once I tried another alternative to prevent the conversation from becoming boring.

If I was asked if it rains at Bandung or not, I replied, “No.”

Though I had just trapped in flood at Cipaganti.

But the questioner’s response is always wonder,

“Really? It rains at Jakarta. Especially more at Bogor.”

Geez!

If I say, “Yes, it rains,” he still ask to rain together at Jakarta.

If I refuse the rain, he’ll insist that it rains now.

What da hell do we care if it rains or not now?

Is it coz it prevents people from out of the house?

D’ya know that ever since it rained, possibility of people for catching a cold and relapse of asthma increases? And d’ya know, where will the sick people run to? Me.

Who’s gonna be luck here coz lots of money? Me.

If it rains at Jakarta, and it doesn’t at the other cities, maybe Lord really tells Michael to make rain at Jakarta, but not at the other place, probably for energy saving.

So why d’ya have to mind about my no answer?

The problem ain’t about insisting if it rains or not, but it’s about the objection of the question.

“Why must you ask about rain?

Don’t you have any other questions?”

We often get confused in making conversations.

Whether we don’t know what to talk about, but because we insist for platitude, then we just talk about the weather. It sounds like we run out of topics.

It’s so out-of-date of us.

I tell ya, if ya don’t know what da hell to talk about, then don’t talk about rain.

It’s so boring of you. You’d rather not talk at all.

Trust me, a silent person still rocks much more, than a.. shallow.

Stiletto is the woman’s cruelest best friend.

While stiletto is the woman’s best friend, besides lipstick, diamond,  and restroom.

Damn that a lot of women are injured due to stilettos.

Just count up, how many of your girlfriends injured coz their stiletto breaks while they’re stepping?

And it seems as the winter comes, it suffers me up.

Today, it rains a lot over the town, draw flood everywhere.

The trishaw that I rode had to stop, coz it was time for me to hail down at the road direct to my house. Nothing I could do except dashing against the road that soaked of the flood.

The water rushed into my stiletto shoes. Good, great. They must’ve been ruined now.

“Stiletto can’t be worn in rain.”

“Impossible, Vic,” said my sista, Steen, 45, as I told her about my ruined stiletto.

“Stiletto is used for people who go working by car, not those who go by trishaws like you.

If you ride a car, you can stop at a lobby with a canopy-front, so it’ll protect you from rain.

If you ride a trishaw, you gotta be ready to stop in every field, including in the middle of hard rain.”

But I don’t accept that.

Why must we give up to the rain that makes us can’t use stiletto in the middle of it?

She speeches that the rain is created by God and stiletto is created by human.

So we as human has to give up. Don’t wear stiletto to your office if it’s raining.

“But use the others, such as sandals..”

I tell her that my patient won’t trust me if the doctor wears sandals.

“We deal our customers by our brains, not our shoewears,” she said, like assuring old principle that people is appreciated due to their minds, not due to their performances.

“You read Cosmo, have you already forgotten it?”

Finally I ask her if she wears sandals in the winter today and saves her stilettos at home.

“Of course not. My client won’t trust their investments on me, if I lobby them in sandals!

I’ll lose a lot of grands, Vic,” she said. She works at a Japanese foundation, by the way.

Finally she explains, “I keep wearing stiletto at the office.

But when I leave the office, I reveal out my sandals  from my bag, then I wear them.

So I walk out the office in my sandals and I’ll catch up the busway.

Who’s afraid of the rain anyway?”

Does she leave her stilettos at the office?

“None, please. The clepto will steal them. I prefer saving them inside my bag.

Along with the make-ups, the hair-brushes, and rendang for your brother-in-law at home..!

But you can’t let yourself meets your client at the busway.

‘Hey, Mbak, you’re going with busway, too, aren’t you? Oh Gosh, you wear sandals..?!’”