You bastards.
You evil fucking trollops. If you'd met me four years ago this bile would be whimpers and simpers, but no. This is the Khaiser 2.0.
This Khai knows how to hate.
How you managed to climb up the corporate ladder is beyond anyone's guess. I swear, there is voodoo involved.
You're all witches, aren't you? You go home on broomsticks and piss potions of potent powers.
I've been having a tough time trying to comprehend it, and I still don't, but I do know this.
I am filled with fucking hate. And one day, you'll see the 'creative manifestation of my ad idea'.
It involves hungry sewer rats, a habitrail, a chainsaw, some restraints and a piece of cheese. I stole it from Bret Eaton Ellis' 'American Psycho' and trust me when I say it'll be beautiful.
...I need to get out more. Or possibly get laid.
Thursday, June 30, 2005
What's Going On With the Damn Movie?
This may (or may not) be the question popping up in your heads when it comes to that magnum opus I've been babbling on about for what seems like eternity:
What's going on with the damn movie?
Well, there's been a sort of epiphany, which I will describe to you in 12 Simple Steps because most of you buggers don't like reading long paragraphs:
(1) I've written a script with 110 scenes, 20 cast members, 10 crew members and 15 locations.
(2) To make this movie happen, I need a full team working and coordinated.
(3) To address this issue, I called in a producer.
(4) The problem is, for reasons I have not yet uncovered, the producer's tasks since I went to England and back had not been realized.
(5) No cast & crew meeting was planned, no water tight schedule, no confirmations.
(6) Upon returning, I tried to cover all this, but with my day job and the album, I was killing myself.
(7) This is why I needed a producer. To ensure I didn't drop dead.
(8) To ensure I do not die at the tender age of 25, I've re-examined the script.
(9) After painful introspection, I realized that I may be in over my head.
(10) This is too much work for one man.
(11) Ergo, the script for Celup will be kept on hold till further notice.
(12) But, by hook or by crook, I'm shooting a film this year.
I've gone back to basics, as it were, and asked myself, "what is physically and monetarily possible at this moment in time?" It looks like the only person I have to trust on this is myself, and until such time as I find willing, talented and loyal peeps to be my cast & crew of freaks I'm gonna stick to what works best.
Spontaneity.
Remember the moment of inspiration at 4am? I wrote a 15 page script. 2 cast members. 1 location.
The KSFM Short Films thingey is on the 25th of July. I'm gonna shoot this fucker this Sunday, edit it at night and submit the bastard.
I need to keep shooting. Need to amass cast & crew of the young & gifted variety. Need to get my chops.
I'm gonna keep shooting and shooting and shooting until I've got everything that it takes to make a feature length movie and no force on this fucking planet is gonna stop me. A director needs a pool of talent. A director needs to lead. I haven't got that many people that believe in me yet, but there will be, and the show must fucking go on.
Believe me when I say I take this movie making thing very fucking seriously.
What's going on with the damn movie?
Well, there's been a sort of epiphany, which I will describe to you in 12 Simple Steps because most of you buggers don't like reading long paragraphs:
(1) I've written a script with 110 scenes, 20 cast members, 10 crew members and 15 locations.
(2) To make this movie happen, I need a full team working and coordinated.
(3) To address this issue, I called in a producer.
(4) The problem is, for reasons I have not yet uncovered, the producer's tasks since I went to England and back had not been realized.
(5) No cast & crew meeting was planned, no water tight schedule, no confirmations.
(6) Upon returning, I tried to cover all this, but with my day job and the album, I was killing myself.
(7) This is why I needed a producer. To ensure I didn't drop dead.
(8) To ensure I do not die at the tender age of 25, I've re-examined the script.
(9) After painful introspection, I realized that I may be in over my head.
(10) This is too much work for one man.
(11) Ergo, the script for Celup will be kept on hold till further notice.
(12) But, by hook or by crook, I'm shooting a film this year.
I've gone back to basics, as it were, and asked myself, "what is physically and monetarily possible at this moment in time?" It looks like the only person I have to trust on this is myself, and until such time as I find willing, talented and loyal peeps to be my cast & crew of freaks I'm gonna stick to what works best.
Spontaneity.
Remember the moment of inspiration at 4am? I wrote a 15 page script. 2 cast members. 1 location.
The KSFM Short Films thingey is on the 25th of July. I'm gonna shoot this fucker this Sunday, edit it at night and submit the bastard.
I need to keep shooting. Need to amass cast & crew of the young & gifted variety. Need to get my chops.
I'm gonna keep shooting and shooting and shooting until I've got everything that it takes to make a feature length movie and no force on this fucking planet is gonna stop me. A director needs a pool of talent. A director needs to lead. I haven't got that many people that believe in me yet, but there will be, and the show must fucking go on.
Believe me when I say I take this movie making thing very fucking seriously.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
Inspiration...
...comes at the oddest fucking times.
I remember the copywriting workshop I went to, where the speaker told us that if you get an idea, write it down then and there or it'll be gone forever. If you're driving, stop the car. If you're sleeping, wake the fuck up.
Last night I woke the fuck up.
I was actually incredibly exhausted. Work was... infuriating, and after that I went to meet the former Godslacker of Concord College to chit-chat and catch up, but by 10pm I was dead in the water, made my way home and tried to get some sleep.
Then the Edster calls up in need of some emergency assistance. Not one to turn down a friend, the Khaiser jumped out of bed and leapt to the rescue.
Then the Khaiser realized he was still in his boxers, and leapt into the wardrobe.
So, after aiding the dude and chilling with him and Izuwan for a bit I got home around 1am and leapt back into bed for some rest.
And then it hit me.
I leapt right out and realized I've been doing a lot of leaping that evening. Then I pulled out my laptop and two and a half hours later I had a 14 page short film.
Whether I shoot this short film or not is an open question. I was thinking, in the back of my head, that since the KSFM short films thing is coming up I might as well do a Nicotine and shoot something in a day and edit it the next and send it off. If anything, it might be a good gauge for acting capabilities in my cast and gives me a chance to put that camera into use.
The end of submission date for KSFM is July 4th. Let's see what happens till then. As for my feature length, I'll get back to you on that storyline in my multi-tasking world.
I swear, sometimes I feel like Windows XP - it thinks it can multi-task like a motherfucker but sooner or later the bastard's gonna crash.
On a seperate note, Kinokuniya's RM10 voucher deal on comic books ends at the end of the month. Buy a comic over RM50, get a RM10 voucher (which can only be used till the end of the month). To top that, they've also got 20% off ALL issues of Warren Ellis' 'Transmetropolitan'. I have six comic book trade paperbacks in my bag right now (Transmetropolitan Vol. 4 & 5, Joss Whedon's Fray, Brian Azarello's 100 Bullets Vol.2 and Grant Morrison's The Mystery Play), and I've also got RM50 worth of vouchers.
Now I understand the madness at the MNG sale at Mid Valley (I hear a girl out there screaming 'SALE! Aaarghh!!!!' as she reads this).
I remember the copywriting workshop I went to, where the speaker told us that if you get an idea, write it down then and there or it'll be gone forever. If you're driving, stop the car. If you're sleeping, wake the fuck up.
Last night I woke the fuck up.
I was actually incredibly exhausted. Work was... infuriating, and after that I went to meet the former Godslacker of Concord College to chit-chat and catch up, but by 10pm I was dead in the water, made my way home and tried to get some sleep.
Then the Edster calls up in need of some emergency assistance. Not one to turn down a friend, the Khaiser jumped out of bed and leapt to the rescue.
Then the Khaiser realized he was still in his boxers, and leapt into the wardrobe.
So, after aiding the dude and chilling with him and Izuwan for a bit I got home around 1am and leapt back into bed for some rest.
And then it hit me.
I leapt right out and realized I've been doing a lot of leaping that evening. Then I pulled out my laptop and two and a half hours later I had a 14 page short film.
Whether I shoot this short film or not is an open question. I was thinking, in the back of my head, that since the KSFM short films thing is coming up I might as well do a Nicotine and shoot something in a day and edit it the next and send it off. If anything, it might be a good gauge for acting capabilities in my cast and gives me a chance to put that camera into use.
The end of submission date for KSFM is July 4th. Let's see what happens till then. As for my feature length, I'll get back to you on that storyline in my multi-tasking world.
I swear, sometimes I feel like Windows XP - it thinks it can multi-task like a motherfucker but sooner or later the bastard's gonna crash.
On a seperate note, Kinokuniya's RM10 voucher deal on comic books ends at the end of the month. Buy a comic over RM50, get a RM10 voucher (which can only be used till the end of the month). To top that, they've also got 20% off ALL issues of Warren Ellis' 'Transmetropolitan'. I have six comic book trade paperbacks in my bag right now (Transmetropolitan Vol. 4 & 5, Joss Whedon's Fray, Brian Azarello's 100 Bullets Vol.2 and Grant Morrison's The Mystery Play), and I've also got RM50 worth of vouchers.
Now I understand the madness at the MNG sale at Mid Valley (I hear a girl out there screaming 'SALE! Aaarghh!!!!' as she reads this).
Thursday, June 23, 2005
We Wantsssit...
...and we gotsssit.
Finally, after much delibaration I chose, and bought, the Canon XM2.
If anything, it all came down to a test run. Almost in a complete reversal, the Sony guy was suddenly incredibly blur and the Canon girl was incredibly bright and good natured. I kept fooling around with the Sony but no matter what I did the images came out incredibly... flat. At least, on the TV screen. It wasn't enough to persuade me and the camera was pretty big and bulky.
The Canon, on the other hand, was incredibly vibrant and detailed. Pretty simple to handle and a lot more inconspicuous for those moments where I steal shots without asking permission. Plus, Sony haven't been picking up our calls. At least, that's what I've been told.
As for the movie itself, well, I'm still thinking about it and trying to decide what's the next best course of action. I really don't want to lose the faith of all those that have eagerly signed on for this, not to mention the big man himself, Jalaludin Hassan, but worse comes to worse I'd rather kill it whilst it's still in the womb rather than murder it as it crawls.
That was disgusting. I take that back.
But won't delete it because I want you to think I'm disturbed. Moobles.
A few thoughts are running through my head as to how I can save this sinking ship. A lot of the spontaneity that I usually call upon to make this little movies and ideas work is sadly lacking, so maybe that's something I need to bring back. Either way, I need to slow down my workload just a tad before I burn out and turn to nasty flaky crispy bits.
I like swords.
Finally, after much delibaration I chose, and bought, the Canon XM2.
If anything, it all came down to a test run. Almost in a complete reversal, the Sony guy was suddenly incredibly blur and the Canon girl was incredibly bright and good natured. I kept fooling around with the Sony but no matter what I did the images came out incredibly... flat. At least, on the TV screen. It wasn't enough to persuade me and the camera was pretty big and bulky.
The Canon, on the other hand, was incredibly vibrant and detailed. Pretty simple to handle and a lot more inconspicuous for those moments where I steal shots without asking permission. Plus, Sony haven't been picking up our calls. At least, that's what I've been told.
As for the movie itself, well, I'm still thinking about it and trying to decide what's the next best course of action. I really don't want to lose the faith of all those that have eagerly signed on for this, not to mention the big man himself, Jalaludin Hassan, but worse comes to worse I'd rather kill it whilst it's still in the womb rather than murder it as it crawls.
That was disgusting. I take that back.
But won't delete it because I want you to think I'm disturbed. Moobles.
A few thoughts are running through my head as to how I can save this sinking ship. A lot of the spontaneity that I usually call upon to make this little movies and ideas work is sadly lacking, so maybe that's something I need to bring back. Either way, I need to slow down my workload just a tad before I burn out and turn to nasty flaky crispy bits.
I like swords.
These Worries Are VERY Real
Will this movie get made? I'm not so sure at the moment.
There's this depressing, sinking feeling deep in my stomach that maybe, just maybe, I'm a little over my head. I can't really put my finger on what's worrying me exactly, but it is worrying. The thought of it all last night was giving me a frickin' migraine.
...is there an 'e' at the end of that? I'm not so sure. Still fucked at the moment.
But yeah. I'm worried. One of my main worries is the dissapearance of my producer, Ariff.
Ariff, I know you read this occasionally, where the fuck you at?! Pick up the phone, jackass!
I was hoping Ariff would be able to cover all the stuff that needs to be done over the past and upcoming week (along with the period I was in England) so that we could shoot by now. At the moment, I don't have anyone to bounce any ideas off. I have no wing-man. This troubles me, and my confidence in this movie is rapidly dwindling down to the point of paranoid negative thoughts. What kind of thoughts? Here're a few:
(a) The cast and crew have not been prepped. At all. Some are waiting. Others are wondering how serious I am about all this.
(b) We're behind schedule.
(c) Contracts. Lack of.
(d) What if this script is a hunking pile of shit?
(e) What if it this movie doesn't get sold or shown anywhere?
(f) What the fuck am I doing?
The thing is, I keep myself intensely busy. Supremely busy. And not just on one thing. From the moment I wake up, it's a large amount of hours working the advertising gig (which is now in office-politics hell) followed by the Y2k album (and a deadline that's getting closer and closer) and this movie (which I spend nights in front of a laptop on my bed trying to fight my need to sleep so I can finish up the schedule and all other pre-pro planning crap) as well as the FYI Entertainment stuff (got a whole bunch of stuff to design and I'm nowhere near finishing it).
With all this going on, I need some serious help if I'm going to make this movie. I don't want another 'Much Ado' scenario.
Ok. NOW what the fuck is he talking about?
My first play was called 'Much Ado'. Myself and my friends had taken over the CUSU Drama Society and after many meetings and talks, I realized that's all it was. Talk. Nothing was getting done, and if a play was going to be put on, then where's the fucking script?
So I wrote the script in two days: a re-write of Shakespeare's 'Much Ado About Nothing' with a flurry of jokes, most of which were stolen from either Kevin Smith or Trey Parker/Matt Stone material. Then auditions. Then rehearsals. Set designs. Flyer designs. Posters. Programmes. Logistics. Health and safety officials. Promotion. Organization. 95% of all that crap was done myself.
And it almost killed me.
This was during my uni days, and I didn't attend a single lecture during this period. I worked my fingers to the fucking bone to get that fucking play done and in the end I was proud, but I was also very, very tired and a lot of the other aspects of my life were affected because of that.
In my second play I delegated a bit more, but not enough. In the end my co-director (who was actually more of my sounding board and muse), who we shall call American Badass Dave, told me a simple piece of advice,
"Dude, you need to delegate and take charge. You can't be doing all this shit by yourself."
Something along those lines, but that's the gist of it. I'm sure there was a 'dude' somewhere in the sentence.
I don't want to have to do all this shit myself. If I have to, I will. But I'm seriously considering either rewriting the script YET AGAIN to make the scope of it a lot smaller in terms of cast and crew and locations ('Swimming With Sharks' only had 3 main characters and 2 main locations. Why didn't I do that?).
Ariff, if you're reading this, pick up the phone, dammit.
There's this depressing, sinking feeling deep in my stomach that maybe, just maybe, I'm a little over my head. I can't really put my finger on what's worrying me exactly, but it is worrying. The thought of it all last night was giving me a frickin' migraine.
...is there an 'e' at the end of that? I'm not so sure. Still fucked at the moment.
But yeah. I'm worried. One of my main worries is the dissapearance of my producer, Ariff.
Ariff, I know you read this occasionally, where the fuck you at?! Pick up the phone, jackass!
I was hoping Ariff would be able to cover all the stuff that needs to be done over the past and upcoming week (along with the period I was in England) so that we could shoot by now. At the moment, I don't have anyone to bounce any ideas off. I have no wing-man. This troubles me, and my confidence in this movie is rapidly dwindling down to the point of paranoid negative thoughts. What kind of thoughts? Here're a few:
(a) The cast and crew have not been prepped. At all. Some are waiting. Others are wondering how serious I am about all this.
(b) We're behind schedule.
(c) Contracts. Lack of.
(d) What if this script is a hunking pile of shit?
(e) What if it this movie doesn't get sold or shown anywhere?
(f) What the fuck am I doing?
The thing is, I keep myself intensely busy. Supremely busy. And not just on one thing. From the moment I wake up, it's a large amount of hours working the advertising gig (which is now in office-politics hell) followed by the Y2k album (and a deadline that's getting closer and closer) and this movie (which I spend nights in front of a laptop on my bed trying to fight my need to sleep so I can finish up the schedule and all other pre-pro planning crap) as well as the FYI Entertainment stuff (got a whole bunch of stuff to design and I'm nowhere near finishing it).
With all this going on, I need some serious help if I'm going to make this movie. I don't want another 'Much Ado' scenario.
Ok. NOW what the fuck is he talking about?
My first play was called 'Much Ado'. Myself and my friends had taken over the CUSU Drama Society and after many meetings and talks, I realized that's all it was. Talk. Nothing was getting done, and if a play was going to be put on, then where's the fucking script?
So I wrote the script in two days: a re-write of Shakespeare's 'Much Ado About Nothing' with a flurry of jokes, most of which were stolen from either Kevin Smith or Trey Parker/Matt Stone material. Then auditions. Then rehearsals. Set designs. Flyer designs. Posters. Programmes. Logistics. Health and safety officials. Promotion. Organization. 95% of all that crap was done myself.
And it almost killed me.
This was during my uni days, and I didn't attend a single lecture during this period. I worked my fingers to the fucking bone to get that fucking play done and in the end I was proud, but I was also very, very tired and a lot of the other aspects of my life were affected because of that.
In my second play I delegated a bit more, but not enough. In the end my co-director (who was actually more of my sounding board and muse), who we shall call American Badass Dave, told me a simple piece of advice,
"Dude, you need to delegate and take charge. You can't be doing all this shit by yourself."
Something along those lines, but that's the gist of it. I'm sure there was a 'dude' somewhere in the sentence.
I don't want to have to do all this shit myself. If I have to, I will. But I'm seriously considering either rewriting the script YET AGAIN to make the scope of it a lot smaller in terms of cast and crew and locations ('Swimming With Sharks' only had 3 main characters and 2 main locations. Why didn't I do that?).
Ariff, if you're reading this, pick up the phone, dammit.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Another Day
Another day of coming in late.
Another day of office politics.
Another day of dumb ass deadlines.
Another day feeling lethargic as hell, spending RM20 on salad and coffee because anything below that price would be intensely fattening and quite frankly, I'm sick of people asking when the baby's due.
Another day sat in front of my shitty little OS8 iMac blogging, piles of work by my side on my desk but my brains too dead to even begin thinking of 'Buy Now!' headlines.
Another day spent trying to keep my eyes off some colleague's tits. Do women wear floral bras and tight white t-shirts on purpose? Do they want you to stare at the designs and make you wonder whether that's a rosebud or a nipple.
Another day wondering what else I have to get done during this week. And the next. And the next.
And strangely enough, deep down I know I enjoy all this. Even though it's killing me.
I wouldn't want another day of lying about in my bedroom, thinking up mass amounts of ideas and never following through.
I wouldn't want another day arguing with my parents.
I wouldn't want another day with nothing to do.
Another day of office politics.
Another day of dumb ass deadlines.
Another day feeling lethargic as hell, spending RM20 on salad and coffee because anything below that price would be intensely fattening and quite frankly, I'm sick of people asking when the baby's due.
Another day sat in front of my shitty little OS8 iMac blogging, piles of work by my side on my desk but my brains too dead to even begin thinking of 'Buy Now!' headlines.
Another day spent trying to keep my eyes off some colleague's tits. Do women wear floral bras and tight white t-shirts on purpose? Do they want you to stare at the designs and make you wonder whether that's a rosebud or a nipple.
Another day wondering what else I have to get done during this week. And the next. And the next.
And strangely enough, deep down I know I enjoy all this. Even though it's killing me.
I wouldn't want another day of lying about in my bedroom, thinking up mass amounts of ideas and never following through.
I wouldn't want another day arguing with my parents.
I wouldn't want another day with nothing to do.
Monday, June 20, 2005
Almost Time...
...and I'm more than a little nervous, worried, anxious and concerned.
The schedule hasn't been completely finalized. Rehearsals haven't begun. Not all locations confirmed. And worst of all...
No camera yet.
I've decided to push the first day of shooting to 2nd July and see how things go from there. Haven't had a chance to go through all this stuff with my producer yet, but yes. I'm not confident enough that everything's prepared.
I also wouldn't mind, once getting the camera, to test it out by shooting a short film to include in the KSFM thing, if anything to see how the damn camera ticks.
If we get an effing camera.
Thing is, that's not the main thing that's worrying me. My biggest fear in all this is, quite simply, can I pull this off?
I think the fact that I have no confirmed third parties is effecting me somewhat. By third parties, I mean people I owe to get this movie done, either monetarily or by some of promise. If, let's say, Sony we're sponsoring the camera, in my mind I'd be telling myself, "I have to make this movie or Sony's going to kill me". Or maybe a cinema's booked at a certain date from now and money's been put down.
But then that get's me thinking: wasn't I making this movie for myself? Wasn't that the whole idea? Do I need to convince myself that I'm making this for someone due to some promise and to go back on it would mean I could get sued or lose a friend? That's kinda stupid, now that I think about it.
But the fact that there's so much pre-production planning going on gets me more and more worried. There's a lot of stuff to get prepared for me to shoot this movie, and I don't want to go into the production and screwing up royally.
And I've been having more and more worries about the script. The story I'm telling in this movie is very personal, but what if that's clouded my judgement so much that I can't tell whether it's any good? It's like working on a document you've proof-read five times before, and by the sixth time it's all just black letters on white paper.
Maybe it needs to be a bit more spontaneous. I need to get back into the mindset of 'just shoot the fucker' again. I want this movie to be as good as I can make it, just get it done and rejoice in the fact that I made a movie.
It's just the whole 'depending on others' thing that's freaking me out. I'm dependent on my cast and crew to make this movie because it's the biggest thing I'll ever shoot so far.
Don't tell the cast, but I'm scared.
...
...shit. Some of the cast and crew read this blog, don't they?
The schedule hasn't been completely finalized. Rehearsals haven't begun. Not all locations confirmed. And worst of all...
No camera yet.
I've decided to push the first day of shooting to 2nd July and see how things go from there. Haven't had a chance to go through all this stuff with my producer yet, but yes. I'm not confident enough that everything's prepared.
I also wouldn't mind, once getting the camera, to test it out by shooting a short film to include in the KSFM thing, if anything to see how the damn camera ticks.
If we get an effing camera.
Thing is, that's not the main thing that's worrying me. My biggest fear in all this is, quite simply, can I pull this off?
I think the fact that I have no confirmed third parties is effecting me somewhat. By third parties, I mean people I owe to get this movie done, either monetarily or by some of promise. If, let's say, Sony we're sponsoring the camera, in my mind I'd be telling myself, "I have to make this movie or Sony's going to kill me". Or maybe a cinema's booked at a certain date from now and money's been put down.
But then that get's me thinking: wasn't I making this movie for myself? Wasn't that the whole idea? Do I need to convince myself that I'm making this for someone due to some promise and to go back on it would mean I could get sued or lose a friend? That's kinda stupid, now that I think about it.
But the fact that there's so much pre-production planning going on gets me more and more worried. There's a lot of stuff to get prepared for me to shoot this movie, and I don't want to go into the production and screwing up royally.
And I've been having more and more worries about the script. The story I'm telling in this movie is very personal, but what if that's clouded my judgement so much that I can't tell whether it's any good? It's like working on a document you've proof-read five times before, and by the sixth time it's all just black letters on white paper.
Maybe it needs to be a bit more spontaneous. I need to get back into the mindset of 'just shoot the fucker' again. I want this movie to be as good as I can make it, just get it done and rejoice in the fact that I made a movie.
It's just the whole 'depending on others' thing that's freaking me out. I'm dependent on my cast and crew to make this movie because it's the biggest thing I'll ever shoot so far.
Don't tell the cast, but I'm scared.
...
...shit. Some of the cast and crew read this blog, don't they?
Today I'm Officially 25 Years Old...
...and being the busy beaver I've been, I almost forgot it was my birthday this week.
It was my mother that reminded me last Friday. I just got back and she popped in and asked, "so what do you wanna do for your birthday?"
"What birthday?"
"You're birthday's coming up."
"Is it?"
I had to check the calendar on my mobile before I believed her.
I find it weird though that I completely forgot my birthday was this month. I'd like to think I wasn't keeping track of the dates, but I was. I truly forgot my birthday was coming up and this was the first time I've ever done that. I'm usually all psyched, "hehe... another way to dupe my parents into buying something via the cunning use of age whilst others buy drinks for me in my honour..."
Except in Malaysia, the culture is that the birthday boy is the one that buys drinks for all those that attend his birthday. A bit odd that. It's almost like paying your friends to turn up.
However, even with my indifference in age change it still feels good to get gifts, especially when you're not expecting them. My girlfriend got me a nice brown leather-ish bag (it could be PVC, I'm not sure) which is brill 'cos my backpack is dying a slow painful death. And tonight, I'm meeting my parents for dinner at KLCC.
Apart from that, I dunno what else to do. Possibly call all my friends out to the Loft on Friday. All the fuckers that don't turn up will no longer have an excuse. My parents have been asking whether I'd like to set up a dinner thing with a bunch of friends on Saturday but in truth, I don't think I have the time for that.
Things are getting hectic. And I'm getting haggard.
It was my mother that reminded me last Friday. I just got back and she popped in and asked, "so what do you wanna do for your birthday?"
"What birthday?"
"You're birthday's coming up."
"Is it?"
I had to check the calendar on my mobile before I believed her.
I find it weird though that I completely forgot my birthday was this month. I'd like to think I wasn't keeping track of the dates, but I was. I truly forgot my birthday was coming up and this was the first time I've ever done that. I'm usually all psyched, "hehe... another way to dupe my parents into buying something via the cunning use of age whilst others buy drinks for me in my honour..."
Except in Malaysia, the culture is that the birthday boy is the one that buys drinks for all those that attend his birthday. A bit odd that. It's almost like paying your friends to turn up.
However, even with my indifference in age change it still feels good to get gifts, especially when you're not expecting them. My girlfriend got me a nice brown leather-ish bag (it could be PVC, I'm not sure) which is brill 'cos my backpack is dying a slow painful death. And tonight, I'm meeting my parents for dinner at KLCC.
Apart from that, I dunno what else to do. Possibly call all my friends out to the Loft on Friday. All the fuckers that don't turn up will no longer have an excuse. My parents have been asking whether I'd like to set up a dinner thing with a bunch of friends on Saturday but in truth, I don't think I have the time for that.
Things are getting hectic. And I'm getting haggard.
Friday, June 17, 2005
Shrieking Women & Winking Men
One of the funnier sides of advertising which I haven't partaken to enough to get used to the absurdity of it all is the casting process.
The production company assigned for the TV commercial (otherwise known as TVC's by those in the industry who can't be fucked to use too many syllables) contacts a talent agency for possible models/actors/actresses that may be right for the parts we need in the TVC. They call up all those in their catalogue that might fit the bill. Emphasis on might because some times we're stumped as to how some of their selections got picked as potentials.
But that's not the funny bit. No, the funny bit is the casting videos.
After they've made their selections, they send us a video tape. On the tape are the potential talents. They tell us a bit about themselves, give us a profile shot, and then they begin to act.
Now, with TVC's the main thing the talents are tested on are the key scenes and expressions. Sometimes they're also asked to act a range of emotions to show their 'scope'.
Hehehe.
A month or two ago we were treated to a video of various men between the ages of 21-25, and you have seen nothing until you've watched video after video of various people doing their renditions of 'happy', 'sad', 'angry' and 'scared'. If it wasn't unethical I'd upload it for a laugh. Then came the kicker. The part required the character to smile and wink at the camera.
Imagine watching endless videos of men smiling and winking at you, non-stop, in many varied ways. And they're doing it very badly.
Today was a bit more of a treat: a video tape full of female models. Yum.
First their headshots as they said a little bit about themselves. Then their profiles. Then the full body shot, and almost all of them were dressed to show of their lovely abs and accentuate all their... bouncy, bumpy bits... ahem.
But the acting was the real treat: woman after woman, hands in the air as if hanging off a ledge, screaming their asses off as if they were going to die.
I felt like I was watching a snuff film.
There were screamers, squealers, whiners, yellers, all of them calling out for God to save them from whatever imagined ordeal they were in. I could sell this footage on the net and somebody out there would definitely pay the money to whack off to screaming women.
The weirdest thing about it though is that it's completely impersonal. Here were a bunch of ladies between the ages of 20-27 trying to make a career looking beautiful only to be judged by a room full of men and women making comments about them as if they were pieces of meat.
AD PERSON 1: That one's too skinny.
AD PERSON 2: What about her?
AD PERSON 1: She's got no ass.
AD PERSON 3: Is that supposed to be screaming?
AD PERSON 4: Shit. Gap tooth.
AD PERSON 2: We could put a cap on.
AD PERSON 1: Fuck it. Next.
Tape forwarded to the next girl.
AD PERSON 1: Whoah...!
AD PERSON 3: That's quite impressive.
AD PERSON 2: She looks too Chinese.
AD PERSON 3: So?
AD PERSON 2: They want someone more Pan-Asian.
AD PERSON 1: Pan-Asian my ass! Did you see that rack?
AD PERSON 4: She must be chilly.
AD PERSON 1: Thank you, Lord, for thou art merciful.
AD PERSON 2: She can scream pretty well.
AD PERSON 1: Oh, I'll make her scream. I'll make her squeal like two pigs on a honeymoon.
Boardroom goes deadly quiet.
AD PERSON 1: I have issues.
Advertising. One of the few jobs where you have to treat objects like women.
...
...wait. That's not right.
The production company assigned for the TV commercial (otherwise known as TVC's by those in the industry who can't be fucked to use too many syllables) contacts a talent agency for possible models/actors/actresses that may be right for the parts we need in the TVC. They call up all those in their catalogue that might fit the bill. Emphasis on might because some times we're stumped as to how some of their selections got picked as potentials.
But that's not the funny bit. No, the funny bit is the casting videos.
After they've made their selections, they send us a video tape. On the tape are the potential talents. They tell us a bit about themselves, give us a profile shot, and then they begin to act.
Now, with TVC's the main thing the talents are tested on are the key scenes and expressions. Sometimes they're also asked to act a range of emotions to show their 'scope'.
Hehehe.
A month or two ago we were treated to a video of various men between the ages of 21-25, and you have seen nothing until you've watched video after video of various people doing their renditions of 'happy', 'sad', 'angry' and 'scared'. If it wasn't unethical I'd upload it for a laugh. Then came the kicker. The part required the character to smile and wink at the camera.
Imagine watching endless videos of men smiling and winking at you, non-stop, in many varied ways. And they're doing it very badly.
Today was a bit more of a treat: a video tape full of female models. Yum.
First their headshots as they said a little bit about themselves. Then their profiles. Then the full body shot, and almost all of them were dressed to show of their lovely abs and accentuate all their... bouncy, bumpy bits... ahem.
But the acting was the real treat: woman after woman, hands in the air as if hanging off a ledge, screaming their asses off as if they were going to die.
I felt like I was watching a snuff film.
There were screamers, squealers, whiners, yellers, all of them calling out for God to save them from whatever imagined ordeal they were in. I could sell this footage on the net and somebody out there would definitely pay the money to whack off to screaming women.
The weirdest thing about it though is that it's completely impersonal. Here were a bunch of ladies between the ages of 20-27 trying to make a career looking beautiful only to be judged by a room full of men and women making comments about them as if they were pieces of meat.
AD PERSON 1: That one's too skinny.
AD PERSON 2: What about her?
AD PERSON 1: She's got no ass.
AD PERSON 3: Is that supposed to be screaming?
AD PERSON 4: Shit. Gap tooth.
AD PERSON 2: We could put a cap on.
AD PERSON 1: Fuck it. Next.
Tape forwarded to the next girl.
AD PERSON 1: Whoah...!
AD PERSON 3: That's quite impressive.
AD PERSON 2: She looks too Chinese.
AD PERSON 3: So?
AD PERSON 2: They want someone more Pan-Asian.
AD PERSON 1: Pan-Asian my ass! Did you see that rack?
AD PERSON 4: She must be chilly.
AD PERSON 1: Thank you, Lord, for thou art merciful.
AD PERSON 2: She can scream pretty well.
AD PERSON 1: Oh, I'll make her scream. I'll make her squeal like two pigs on a honeymoon.
Boardroom goes deadly quiet.
AD PERSON 1: I have issues.
Advertising. One of the few jobs where you have to treat objects like women.
...
...wait. That's not right.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
I'm Back
The second I got into the office yesterday for my first day of work after the holidays I was swamped. From 9.30am to 10.30pm I worked non-stop, running around like a headless chicken and taking short, tiny 5 minute breaks. Mental, yet somehow satisfying.
What wasn't satisfying, though, was the shit I have to sometimes put up with. I almost forgot how stupid some of these people can be. Not only is a good chunk of the work due by lunch time, a whole bunch of other stupid shit happened, such as:
(1) A job request I got where I was told "...the objective of this video is to gizz out the 3 minutes video montage..." That's an actual quote. They want me to "gizz out" a video. How does one gizz out a video? What is this gizz? Are they thinking the same 'gizz' I'm thinking, or am I just a pervert? Wait. Don't answer that.
(2) They locked us in. Literally. They locked all exits from my floor in the middle of the night. If there weren't any stairs to the floor above we'd have been fucked.
(3) the big kahuna of stupidity. I was being rushed to write some copy that needed to be translated overnight. The translator was on standby. I rushed out the copy and sent it out at 10.30pm before leaving the office. I then left for jamming and came back today knackered. About 20 minutes ago I get a call from the AAD, telling me that the e-mail wasn't received.
Let me rephrase: 16 HOURS after the e-mail was sent, now only she realizes the e-mail wasn't received. She then says she didn't receive it either. I tell her that's bullshit and make her check her inbox. I also re-send the e-mail with the original date and time still on it, pissed that this stupid bitch is trying to accuse me of not sending the e-mail. The more I thought about it, I got even more pissed. Why? Because she then tells me the first batch sent for translation (which I sent around 7pm yesterday) has just been sent back to us translated, and this new batch I just sent out will be back soon, possibly within the hour. Now, either (a) the translator's been arsing about since 7pm yesterday or the more obvious: (b) she didn't send the first batch out for translation until just recently, and that's when she spoke to the translator and realized they didn't receive the e-mail. And this is the same bitch that's been rushing us.
I swear if she keeps acting like a bitch I'm gonna slap her like a bitch. To quote Ron Burgundy, "hit her in the uvula!"
What wasn't satisfying, though, was the shit I have to sometimes put up with. I almost forgot how stupid some of these people can be. Not only is a good chunk of the work due by lunch time, a whole bunch of other stupid shit happened, such as:
(1) A job request I got where I was told "...the objective of this video is to gizz out the 3 minutes video montage..." That's an actual quote. They want me to "gizz out" a video. How does one gizz out a video? What is this gizz? Are they thinking the same 'gizz' I'm thinking, or am I just a pervert? Wait. Don't answer that.
(2) They locked us in. Literally. They locked all exits from my floor in the middle of the night. If there weren't any stairs to the floor above we'd have been fucked.
(3) the big kahuna of stupidity. I was being rushed to write some copy that needed to be translated overnight. The translator was on standby. I rushed out the copy and sent it out at 10.30pm before leaving the office. I then left for jamming and came back today knackered. About 20 minutes ago I get a call from the AAD, telling me that the e-mail wasn't received.
Let me rephrase: 16 HOURS after the e-mail was sent, now only she realizes the e-mail wasn't received. She then says she didn't receive it either. I tell her that's bullshit and make her check her inbox. I also re-send the e-mail with the original date and time still on it, pissed that this stupid bitch is trying to accuse me of not sending the e-mail. The more I thought about it, I got even more pissed. Why? Because she then tells me the first batch sent for translation (which I sent around 7pm yesterday) has just been sent back to us translated, and this new batch I just sent out will be back soon, possibly within the hour. Now, either (a) the translator's been arsing about since 7pm yesterday or the more obvious: (b) she didn't send the first batch out for translation until just recently, and that's when she spoke to the translator and realized they didn't receive the e-mail. And this is the same bitch that's been rushing us.
I swear if she keeps acting like a bitch I'm gonna slap her like a bitch. To quote Ron Burgundy, "hit her in the uvula!"
Actual Quote from Man Method about the 'Celup' Script
"It's like a teenager who doesn't want to clean his room...
If you're a teenager who doesn't want to want to clean his room, then it's perfect for you.
If you're a teenager who's naturally clean, or remember being a teenager with a dirty room, then you're ok with it.
But if you don't remember being a teenager at all, well, then it's not going to resonate at all."
I can live with that.
If you're a teenager who doesn't want to want to clean his room, then it's perfect for you.
If you're a teenager who's naturally clean, or remember being a teenager with a dirty room, then you're ok with it.
But if you don't remember being a teenager at all, well, then it's not going to resonate at all."
I can live with that.
Back on the Production Trail...
So I met up with Ariff Akhir to see what the status is and discover that he's been busy on other movies. One is called 'Dry Bungholes Are Grande'.
I think he's lying.
But it does appear that Jalaludin Hassan is in like Flynt for the movie. He'll (hopefully) be joining us right after shooting 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'. As for the rest of the cast, I've just finalized the schedule and I'll be contacting everyone for to confirm. We're also supposed to have a big meet n' greet this Sunday before the first day of filming next Saturday (not the coming one).
And still no word from Sony. Ariff thinks their avoiding his calls. I suggested he claim to be the person's father, or maybe her baby's daddy. He said the receptionist wouldn't buy that.
But what do we do about the camera now, then? I guess I'm going to have to buy it. If Sony dick us around too much I might just end up buying the Canon, even though their shop clerk pissed me off. God, what is up with all these companies? Soon I'll be making my way to JVC or something next...
Hey, I wonder what JVC got?
One quick google search later...
Nothing worth buying.
I think he's lying.
But it does appear that Jalaludin Hassan is in like Flynt for the movie. He'll (hopefully) be joining us right after shooting 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'. As for the rest of the cast, I've just finalized the schedule and I'll be contacting everyone for to confirm. We're also supposed to have a big meet n' greet this Sunday before the first day of filming next Saturday (not the coming one).
And still no word from Sony. Ariff thinks their avoiding his calls. I suggested he claim to be the person's father, or maybe her baby's daddy. He said the receptionist wouldn't buy that.
But what do we do about the camera now, then? I guess I'm going to have to buy it. If Sony dick us around too much I might just end up buying the Canon, even though their shop clerk pissed me off. God, what is up with all these companies? Soon I'll be making my way to JVC or something next...
Hey, I wonder what JVC got?
One quick google search later...
Nothing worth buying.
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
London Calling Pt. V: Closure
We were also supposed to meet Amy so that Man Meth' could pass her camera to her. We sat down at 1001 and talked about movies and travels. It was around the time when we were talking about 'Lost In Translation' when Man Method said,
"Can't you relate to 'Lost In Translation' more now that you've been spending some alone time in London? There's nothing wrong with the country your in, but all your wandering and wondering is a direct result of you being alone in the city. That's why I now make it a point to only travel to countries where I've got a friend."
This isn't the exact quote, but you get the idea. The reason why I bring this up will be explained later.
Amy arrived and I hung about in Shoreditch with them till about 1ish to catch my 2.25pm train to Derby for the Download Festival in Donnington, a moment I had been waiting for for quite awhile. At last I'd be able to check out one of the heaviest bands in the world, Black Sabbath, live before my very eyes, together with the GnR/STP amalgam that is Velvet Revolver, the 'love-metal' of HIM, the bone-crunching riffing of Anthrax and the hillarious silliness of Bowling For Soup.
That's not all. There was also the Snicker's Bowl, where some of the greatest legends in skating would be ripping it up: Tony Alva, Steve Cabalero and the 'Holmes' himself, Christian Hosoi. There was also the Napster stage, markets, merch and booze. This was to be a truly rocking weekend.
My only worry was my inability to get any form of accomodation. All the B&B's and hotels were fully booked. Worst case scenario I'll just sleep at the train station, I thought.
Two hours on a train and twenty minutes on a bus, and I was there:
I was alone. And I'd rather spend my time with one friend doing nothing as opposed to standing in a field freezing my bollocks off surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people I didn't know.
The thought depressed the shit out of me. Sure, there was Anthrax, HIM, Velvet Revolver, fucking BLACK SABBATH, but the experience was nowhere near as good as it could have been had I been accompanied by just one like-minded fellow.
Did I really want to spend my last night in England feeling depressed at one of the biggest rock festivals I'd ever be privy to? did I really want to sleep in a train station? There was nothing wrong with the place, everything was fine. It's just not as enjoyable when you're alone.
And that pretty much sums up my entire holiday in a nutshell: the time's I spent with my friends were the best moments of the holiday, and they only accounted for 4 or 5 days of the entire 10, and for the rest of the trip I felt alone and depressed. It made me realize that (for me at least) it's not the geographical location that makes a place truly great, it's the company you keep. And at that moment I missed my job, my hectic-fucking-schedule, my crazy bands and my wonderful girlfriend. I missed my car, teh ais and food that gave me the shits something chronic. I-Missed-Malaysia. And that's a pretty weird statement, coming from me.
I rushed out of Donington, got on the first train back to London, called up Man Meth' and explained the situation. I then had a lot more fun than I could have ever possibly had at the gig. Man Method greeted me with a smile that said two things:
1. Great to see ya.
2. Told you so, Dumbfuck McGee!
We then made our way out into the night accompanied by Shy and his friend (whose name I think was Amika, or something along those lines), and what did we find?
Huge re-prints of key panels from the three Sin City stories that have been adapted for the movie adorned the walls together with papier mache models of key characters. I think the place was called 'Jaguar Handbag' or something (Man Meth'll probably correct that) and even though they were playing the theme tune to 'Bonanza' and other 'great' hits that weren't so great, I was having a blast, chilling with my friends and laughing the night away.
After that we hit up some other place (which I can't remember), danced like loons and got schooled big time by some afro dude in a suit who proceeded to bust a move like something out of 'You Got Served'. In fact, we did get served, Voltron-style.
Some bagels, some sleep and some coffee later, I was packing up my bags, boarding a plane, flicking in-flight movie channels between 'Constantine', 'Robots' and 'Gangster', going through immigration, and coming out of the KLIA, a smile slowly creeping as I took it all in. I was back in Malaysia. I was home. And I was glad.
The trip had it's downsides, but it also had some great moments, and more than anything it was a valuable lesson. I finally felt a sense of closure over the whole London/KL thing. There isn't a doubt in my mind now. Sure, I love London, I love the atmosphere, I love the people and the places and the beans and chips and the friends I have there, but I've made my home in KL now, and I'm all the better for it. London is the past and it's never going to be the same as way back when. This is Khai 2.0, new and improved, with a new location, mission and waistline. So bye-bye, London. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
And chips.
...
...that was bad.
"Can't you relate to 'Lost In Translation' more now that you've been spending some alone time in London? There's nothing wrong with the country your in, but all your wandering and wondering is a direct result of you being alone in the city. That's why I now make it a point to only travel to countries where I've got a friend."
This isn't the exact quote, but you get the idea. The reason why I bring this up will be explained later.
Amy arrived and I hung about in Shoreditch with them till about 1ish to catch my 2.25pm train to Derby for the Download Festival in Donnington, a moment I had been waiting for for quite awhile. At last I'd be able to check out one of the heaviest bands in the world, Black Sabbath, live before my very eyes, together with the GnR/STP amalgam that is Velvet Revolver, the 'love-metal' of HIM, the bone-crunching riffing of Anthrax and the hillarious silliness of Bowling For Soup.
That's not all. There was also the Snicker's Bowl, where some of the greatest legends in skating would be ripping it up: Tony Alva, Steve Cabalero and the 'Holmes' himself, Christian Hosoi. There was also the Napster stage, markets, merch and booze. This was to be a truly rocking weekend.
My only worry was my inability to get any form of accomodation. All the B&B's and hotels were fully booked. Worst case scenario I'll just sleep at the train station, I thought.
Two hours on a train and twenty minutes on a bus, and I was there:
I was alone. And I'd rather spend my time with one friend doing nothing as opposed to standing in a field freezing my bollocks off surrounded by hundreds of thousands of people I didn't know.
The thought depressed the shit out of me. Sure, there was Anthrax, HIM, Velvet Revolver, fucking BLACK SABBATH, but the experience was nowhere near as good as it could have been had I been accompanied by just one like-minded fellow.
Did I really want to spend my last night in England feeling depressed at one of the biggest rock festivals I'd ever be privy to? did I really want to sleep in a train station? There was nothing wrong with the place, everything was fine. It's just not as enjoyable when you're alone.
And that pretty much sums up my entire holiday in a nutshell: the time's I spent with my friends were the best moments of the holiday, and they only accounted for 4 or 5 days of the entire 10, and for the rest of the trip I felt alone and depressed. It made me realize that (for me at least) it's not the geographical location that makes a place truly great, it's the company you keep. And at that moment I missed my job, my hectic-fucking-schedule, my crazy bands and my wonderful girlfriend. I missed my car, teh ais and food that gave me the shits something chronic. I-Missed-Malaysia. And that's a pretty weird statement, coming from me.
I rushed out of Donington, got on the first train back to London, called up Man Meth' and explained the situation. I then had a lot more fun than I could have ever possibly had at the gig. Man Method greeted me with a smile that said two things:
1. Great to see ya.
2. Told you so, Dumbfuck McGee!
We then made our way out into the night accompanied by Shy and his friend (whose name I think was Amika, or something along those lines), and what did we find?
Huge re-prints of key panels from the three Sin City stories that have been adapted for the movie adorned the walls together with papier mache models of key characters. I think the place was called 'Jaguar Handbag' or something (Man Meth'll probably correct that) and even though they were playing the theme tune to 'Bonanza' and other 'great' hits that weren't so great, I was having a blast, chilling with my friends and laughing the night away.
After that we hit up some other place (which I can't remember), danced like loons and got schooled big time by some afro dude in a suit who proceeded to bust a move like something out of 'You Got Served'. In fact, we did get served, Voltron-style.
Some bagels, some sleep and some coffee later, I was packing up my bags, boarding a plane, flicking in-flight movie channels between 'Constantine', 'Robots' and 'Gangster', going through immigration, and coming out of the KLIA, a smile slowly creeping as I took it all in. I was back in Malaysia. I was home. And I was glad.
The trip had it's downsides, but it also had some great moments, and more than anything it was a valuable lesson. I finally felt a sense of closure over the whole London/KL thing. There isn't a doubt in my mind now. Sure, I love London, I love the atmosphere, I love the people and the places and the beans and chips and the friends I have there, but I've made my home in KL now, and I'm all the better for it. London is the past and it's never going to be the same as way back when. This is Khai 2.0, new and improved, with a new location, mission and waistline. So bye-bye, London. So long, and thanks for all the fish.
And chips.
...
...that was bad.
Friday, June 10, 2005
London Calling Pt. IV: Randoms & Revelations
You see that bright blue sky? It's gone. It's buggered off and left me here with cloudy weather and the need of my fleece jacket. As always, I've been wandering about aimlessly doing nothing much except, well, wandernig abotu aimlessly, occasionally meeting friends. Walking about alone and wasting time in cafe's makes you think, though. Makes you think about many things, such as this:
The other day (I can't remember which) I was riding the central line trying to get to somewhere when a homeless man boarded with an empty cup, coughed to gain everyone's attention, and announced in a manner befitting a gentleman,
"Good afternoon, everyone, it's been a lovely couple of days, the weather's been brilliant and I hope you are all having a pleasant day. I apologise for disturbing you all but if any of you have any spare change for me that I may get a bite to eat and a place to stay for the night I would be much obliged. Thank you."
Of course, no one gave and I had no change, but it got me thinking: this homeless man, who has no form of income and lives on the streets getting by whatever way he can still had his manners. In fact, this man with no job had more manners than most CEO's and company directors in Malaysia. If you brought this man to a restaurant I'm sure he'd have perfect table manners, whereas most men driven around in Mercedes' in Malaysia eat with their mouths open in front of senior delegates of the UN.
Makes you wonder. And now, back to the plot.
I wkoe up at around 3pm today, sleeping in and chilling out. After an absolutely disgusting vegetarian breakfast panini sandwich I called up Man Method in the hope of spending the night in Shoreditch getting my groove on only to discover the poor man's suffering from the same symptoms I suffered from less than a fortnight ago: fever and vomitus. I paid him a visit and the fifty quid I owed him for getting my Donington festival ticket, bought my train ticket to the fest and met up with Naren for drinks, only to discover the poor man's got an intensely bad back and the dude was suffering in the pub (which, incidentally, was a very nice pub but I can't remember the name).
Then, the randomness. I was stood on the corner near Picadilly Circus station looking down Shaftesbury Avenue wondering whether I should visit the Casino for all times when some random walked up to me asking for a cigarette. I obliged.
"Where you from?" the random asked. I told him. He then asked if I had any plans tonight and whether I'd like to join him and his friends for drinks at a Mash-Up club.
I thought, "Why not?"
I followed the guy whose name was Michael who claimed he was from Oregon, working in both an accounting firm and film company. we then met up with his female friends Amber and Flora where I discover (a) they're still in high-school and (b) Michael's not American. He's from Clapham.
That explains the accent.
We then went to some bar called the Marketplace and I excused myself to an alleyway to pee when I thought to myself,
"Do I really want to spend my night drinking with some guy who blatantly lied to me abotu where he comes from and could be lying to me about other things as he gets into some high-school girls knickers?"
Not much of a question really. I fucked off.
On the walk back I began wondering why I thought London was my home all those years ago. Sure, I like the place, but I prefered the company of my friends more, and the only dude who keeps in constant contact is Man Method. Take away the friends and leave London as is and I feel incredibly lonely. I miss my friends, my girlfriend, even my job. And as much as I like how friendly people are in England, the random-Michael kinda put a damper on that, watching him whisper behind Amber and Flora's back about how "it's on" tonight. I may be thinking paranoid, but there's a good chance a con was afoot. Either way, I find it hard to trust someone who lies about where their from. Why would he do that?
And why Oregon?
The other day (I can't remember which) I was riding the central line trying to get to somewhere when a homeless man boarded with an empty cup, coughed to gain everyone's attention, and announced in a manner befitting a gentleman,
"Good afternoon, everyone, it's been a lovely couple of days, the weather's been brilliant and I hope you are all having a pleasant day. I apologise for disturbing you all but if any of you have any spare change for me that I may get a bite to eat and a place to stay for the night I would be much obliged. Thank you."
Of course, no one gave and I had no change, but it got me thinking: this homeless man, who has no form of income and lives on the streets getting by whatever way he can still had his manners. In fact, this man with no job had more manners than most CEO's and company directors in Malaysia. If you brought this man to a restaurant I'm sure he'd have perfect table manners, whereas most men driven around in Mercedes' in Malaysia eat with their mouths open in front of senior delegates of the UN.
Makes you wonder. And now, back to the plot.
I wkoe up at around 3pm today, sleeping in and chilling out. After an absolutely disgusting vegetarian breakfast panini sandwich I called up Man Method in the hope of spending the night in Shoreditch getting my groove on only to discover the poor man's suffering from the same symptoms I suffered from less than a fortnight ago: fever and vomitus. I paid him a visit and the fifty quid I owed him for getting my Donington festival ticket, bought my train ticket to the fest and met up with Naren for drinks, only to discover the poor man's got an intensely bad back and the dude was suffering in the pub (which, incidentally, was a very nice pub but I can't remember the name).
Then, the randomness. I was stood on the corner near Picadilly Circus station looking down Shaftesbury Avenue wondering whether I should visit the Casino for all times when some random walked up to me asking for a cigarette. I obliged.
"Where you from?" the random asked. I told him. He then asked if I had any plans tonight and whether I'd like to join him and his friends for drinks at a Mash-Up club.
I thought, "Why not?"
I followed the guy whose name was Michael who claimed he was from Oregon, working in both an accounting firm and film company. we then met up with his female friends Amber and Flora where I discover (a) they're still in high-school and (b) Michael's not American. He's from Clapham.
That explains the accent.
We then went to some bar called the Marketplace and I excused myself to an alleyway to pee when I thought to myself,
"Do I really want to spend my night drinking with some guy who blatantly lied to me abotu where he comes from and could be lying to me about other things as he gets into some high-school girls knickers?"
Not much of a question really. I fucked off.
On the walk back I began wondering why I thought London was my home all those years ago. Sure, I like the place, but I prefered the company of my friends more, and the only dude who keeps in constant contact is Man Method. Take away the friends and leave London as is and I feel incredibly lonely. I miss my friends, my girlfriend, even my job. And as much as I like how friendly people are in England, the random-Michael kinda put a damper on that, watching him whisper behind Amber and Flora's back about how "it's on" tonight. I may be thinking paranoid, but there's a good chance a con was afoot. Either way, I find it hard to trust someone who lies about where their from. Why would he do that?
And why Oregon?
London Calling Pt. III: Greetings From Edgware Road
For some reason unbeknownst to me, I suddenly have a wireless internet connection in the flat we've rented. My only guess is that one of the other flats has switched on their internet connection and I'm getting a borrowed signal.
A slow, borrowed signal. I'd feel bad about it, but I'm not that nice.
And what do I do on these nights alone in the living room with full control of the TV? I watch random semi-porn. I'm amazed that these channels exist. There's no longer a need for random chat up-lines where you have to use your imagination. Punters call in and give instructions and the girls do them on TV. I find it very, very wrong and yet I can't help having a quick peek to see what's going on. It's either I do that or check out Big Brother.
As you can see, night-times are boring. I checked out an indie club earlier and was unfortunately bored shitless. Right now I'm watching an episode of Red Dwarf right around the time they introduced a different Kochanski and everything went to hell. And where the fuck is Rimmer?
Bored out of my wits at the indie club made me think of my whole trip in general and why I don't reckon London is home anymore. Because my crew ain't here.
After years in Malaysia, I'd made new friends and formed close bonds. My whole crew from way back when I was in uni, or even when I was living on 38 Basing Hill in Golders Green.
Memory lane didn't seem as memorious as I thought I'd be. It was just a place.
Geographical location doesn't make much difference besides weather conditions and exchange rates. It's your friends, family, whoever's closest to you that makes home.
That doesn't mean I'm not having a good time, though. Went shopping with my dad today (DVD's galore), then went out for dinner with Zana, my ex from way back when. Tomorrow it's party time with Man Method, followed by a train trip to Donington to check out Sabbath. That's got me kinda freaked, though. The earliest train back from the gig is at 6 in the morning. Where the hell am I gonna stay?
Time for sleeps, me-thinks. Sleeps and chills. Maybe a DVD. Nights.
A slow, borrowed signal. I'd feel bad about it, but I'm not that nice.
And what do I do on these nights alone in the living room with full control of the TV? I watch random semi-porn. I'm amazed that these channels exist. There's no longer a need for random chat up-lines where you have to use your imagination. Punters call in and give instructions and the girls do them on TV. I find it very, very wrong and yet I can't help having a quick peek to see what's going on. It's either I do that or check out Big Brother.
As you can see, night-times are boring. I checked out an indie club earlier and was unfortunately bored shitless. Right now I'm watching an episode of Red Dwarf right around the time they introduced a different Kochanski and everything went to hell. And where the fuck is Rimmer?
Bored out of my wits at the indie club made me think of my whole trip in general and why I don't reckon London is home anymore. Because my crew ain't here.
After years in Malaysia, I'd made new friends and formed close bonds. My whole crew from way back when I was in uni, or even when I was living on 38 Basing Hill in Golders Green.
Memory lane didn't seem as memorious as I thought I'd be. It was just a place.
Geographical location doesn't make much difference besides weather conditions and exchange rates. It's your friends, family, whoever's closest to you that makes home.
That doesn't mean I'm not having a good time, though. Went shopping with my dad today (DVD's galore), then went out for dinner with Zana, my ex from way back when. Tomorrow it's party time with Man Method, followed by a train trip to Donington to check out Sabbath. That's got me kinda freaked, though. The earliest train back from the gig is at 6 in the morning. Where the hell am I gonna stay?
Time for sleeps, me-thinks. Sleeps and chills. Maybe a DVD. Nights.
Wednesday, June 8, 2005
London Calling Pt. II: Aimless Walks & Other Silliness
Right now I'm at Camden Town in a Nero Cafe, pissed that WiFi in London is (a) hard to fucking find, (b) a bitch to log on to and (c) charged. That's right. I had to use my credit card to upload this fucking blog so y'all better be frickin' grateful.
But it hasn't all been walking and drinking and walking and drinking and staggering. Two days ago I followed my parents to Stratford-Upon-Avon (birthplace of Big Willie Shakespeare) and Bourton-On-The-Water (birthplace of someone not as important). My bro was having a whale of a time. Me? I just soaked it up. Another place to walk, with far less cars and Arab tourists. If you notice the first picture from the left on the second row, that's a sign from the cinema at Big Willie's birthplace. 'Star Warts III'. I guess Big Willie Shakes don't dig the force.
The weather was also on the couldy side, as you can tell, but yesterday and today have been anything but blue skies. Of course, that doesn't mean it's hot. It's kinda like the Egypt syndrome. Step out under the sun and you'll feel warm, get under shade and you'll freeze your bollocks off (unless you're from England, in which case you won't feel a damn thing).
Reading the play now made me wonder whether I was a lot funnier back in those days or just having more fun. A complete bastardization of Big Willie's 'Much Ado About Nothing', it featured dick and fart jokes galore. Example (as hinted earlier):
WATCHMAN#2: Why does that guy keep talking in that Shakesperean prose?
WATCHMAN#1: Hey, Shakespeare can do some crazy shit to you. I knew this one guy, he knew every single line of every single play of Shakespeare, every verse, ever sonnet.
WATCHMAN#2: What happened to him?
WATHCMAN#1: He died of internal haemorhage.
WATCHMAN#2: He died of an internal haemorhage from reading too much Shakespeare?
WATCHMAN#1: No, he died of an internal haemorhage after being fucked up the ass with a 15 inch strap on dildo.
Gimme a break, it was a university crowd.
Then I went to Man Method's to chill out and watch endless episodes of the Simpsons and Johnathan Creek (which I'm beginning to dig) as his 21 year old Eastern European cleaner tidied his room. In Malaysia, we get old biddy's from Indonesia. In England, they get cute 21 year old Eastern European's. The sheer inequality.
There's also this weird unwritten rule between me and Man Method: whenever one of us is visiting the other's country, the visitor inadvertedly (and willingly) becomes the other's house-bitch. When I was at Man Method's place, I made the tea. When he was in KL, he opened the gate and door for me when I came home from work.
Not sure what to do next. Might visit my old schools in the Goldersgreen/Hendon/Mill Hill area, then maybe meet up with Izzy tonight and Zana tomorrow for dinner. Then it's party time with Man Method on Friday, followed by the Download festival on Saturday. Then Sunday I'll be back home.
Did I just call KL 'home'? Weird.
But it hasn't all been walking and drinking and walking and drinking and staggering. Two days ago I followed my parents to Stratford-Upon-Avon (birthplace of Big Willie Shakespeare) and Bourton-On-The-Water (birthplace of someone not as important). My bro was having a whale of a time. Me? I just soaked it up. Another place to walk, with far less cars and Arab tourists. If you notice the first picture from the left on the second row, that's a sign from the cinema at Big Willie's birthplace. 'Star Warts III'. I guess Big Willie Shakes don't dig the force.
The weather was also on the couldy side, as you can tell, but yesterday and today have been anything but blue skies. Of course, that doesn't mean it's hot. It's kinda like the Egypt syndrome. Step out under the sun and you'll feel warm, get under shade and you'll freeze your bollocks off (unless you're from England, in which case you won't feel a damn thing).
Reading the play now made me wonder whether I was a lot funnier back in those days or just having more fun. A complete bastardization of Big Willie's 'Much Ado About Nothing', it featured dick and fart jokes galore. Example (as hinted earlier):
WATCHMAN#2: Why does that guy keep talking in that Shakesperean prose?
WATCHMAN#1: Hey, Shakespeare can do some crazy shit to you. I knew this one guy, he knew every single line of every single play of Shakespeare, every verse, ever sonnet.
WATCHMAN#2: What happened to him?
WATHCMAN#1: He died of internal haemorhage.
WATCHMAN#2: He died of an internal haemorhage from reading too much Shakespeare?
WATCHMAN#1: No, he died of an internal haemorhage after being fucked up the ass with a 15 inch strap on dildo.
Gimme a break, it was a university crowd.
Then I went to Man Method's to chill out and watch endless episodes of the Simpsons and Johnathan Creek (which I'm beginning to dig) as his 21 year old Eastern European cleaner tidied his room. In Malaysia, we get old biddy's from Indonesia. In England, they get cute 21 year old Eastern European's. The sheer inequality.
There's also this weird unwritten rule between me and Man Method: whenever one of us is visiting the other's country, the visitor inadvertedly (and willingly) becomes the other's house-bitch. When I was at Man Method's place, I made the tea. When he was in KL, he opened the gate and door for me when I came home from work.
Not sure what to do next. Might visit my old schools in the Goldersgreen/Hendon/Mill Hill area, then maybe meet up with Izzy tonight and Zana tomorrow for dinner. Then it's party time with Man Method on Friday, followed by the Download festival on Saturday. Then Sunday I'll be back home.
Did I just call KL 'home'? Weird.
Sunday, June 5, 2005
London Calling Pt. I: The Roof is on Fire
I woke up this morning in an odd yoga position on an uncomfortable blue sofa freezing my feet off as someone had his head permanently lodged in the dustbin whilst he puked. Surrounding the floor of the apartment were various patrons to the NYE roof party the night before, a wild and
windy new years party 6 months after the actual New Years Eve. Why? Because that's how Man Method does things.
Four days ago I was on a Malaysian Airlines 747 on my way to the UK, squished in an uncomfortable chair trying to eat a steak with a plastic fork and knife in the midst of air turbulence. By the end of it I was left with broken cutlery and steak juice all over my pillow and clothes. I spent the rest of the 12 hour flight awake and bright eyed watching Hitch and reading Dan Brown's 'Angels and Demons' (which I finished just before we landed).
With me on the flight was Naren (pictured right), who got a job offer in Leeds (I think). Throughout the flight we talked, mainly about the intense rudeness of the airline staff, which I found odd.
Example? I pressed the button to call a stewardess. Meanwhile, Naren was reading some finance book and listening to the in-flight radio, flicking through channels on the controller. The stewardess came, snatched (not took, snatched) Naren's controller, switched off the
'call-stewardess' light, and was about to fuck off.
"Excuse me," I said, "I was the one that called for a stewardess."
"What you want?" was her reply in a tone I was only accustomed to in hawker stalls (Don't worry. If you're not Malaysian, I'm sure they'll treat you like Gods). When we landed I was intensely glad I didn't have to go through anymore of that shit.
The entire taxi ride to the flat my parents rented out near Edgware Road I stared out the the window, taking in the sight of England. This trip felt different somehow. It felt less like coming back to a familiar place, more like I was a tourist. A real tourist. I truly felt quite
alienated when I finally landed, and felt so the whole time I've been here up until I reached Man Method's party.
Ah, yes. Man Method's parties have now become stuff of legend, upping himself everytime. This time, not only did his crew bring the speakers, amps and decks, they also brought out halogen lamps for lighting and a tent.
Yes. A tent. To house the amp in case it rained.
Throughout the whole set up we all helped out. I was on lighting duty. They had a bunch of coloured gels which we put on boxes to project on the walls.
They also made good helmets. Not in a practical sense, of course, but they do look rather fetching.
Unfortunately, some of the neighbours weren't digging the vibe. Before you knew it, a man from the council was at the party, requesting the music be turned down and eventually switched off completely. By 4.00am the last survivors were in Man Method's bedroom, trying to find new methods of sleeping with available space.
When I woke up it was 6.00am and made my way to the greasy spoon opposite for beans and egg on toast. Now everyone's asleep again. Except me. Fuck, I might as well be. If it weren't for the photos, this would be a pretty crap post. What do you expect? I had an hour of sleep
and I've been partying on a roof all night.
windy new years party 6 months after the actual New Years Eve. Why? Because that's how Man Method does things.
Four days ago I was on a Malaysian Airlines 747 on my way to the UK, squished in an uncomfortable chair trying to eat a steak with a plastic fork and knife in the midst of air turbulence. By the end of it I was left with broken cutlery and steak juice all over my pillow and clothes. I spent the rest of the 12 hour flight awake and bright eyed watching Hitch and reading Dan Brown's 'Angels and Demons' (which I finished just before we landed).
With me on the flight was Naren (pictured right), who got a job offer in Leeds (I think). Throughout the flight we talked, mainly about the intense rudeness of the airline staff, which I found odd.
Example? I pressed the button to call a stewardess. Meanwhile, Naren was reading some finance book and listening to the in-flight radio, flicking through channels on the controller. The stewardess came, snatched (not took, snatched) Naren's controller, switched off the
'call-stewardess' light, and was about to fuck off.
"Excuse me," I said, "I was the one that called for a stewardess."
"What you want?" was her reply in a tone I was only accustomed to in hawker stalls (Don't worry. If you're not Malaysian, I'm sure they'll treat you like Gods). When we landed I was intensely glad I didn't have to go through anymore of that shit.
The entire taxi ride to the flat my parents rented out near Edgware Road I stared out the the window, taking in the sight of England. This trip felt different somehow. It felt less like coming back to a familiar place, more like I was a tourist. A real tourist. I truly felt quite
alienated when I finally landed, and felt so the whole time I've been here up until I reached Man Method's party.
Ah, yes. Man Method's parties have now become stuff of legend, upping himself everytime. This time, not only did his crew bring the speakers, amps and decks, they also brought out halogen lamps for lighting and a tent.
Yes. A tent. To house the amp in case it rained.
Throughout the whole set up we all helped out. I was on lighting duty. They had a bunch of coloured gels which we put on boxes to project on the walls.
They also made good helmets. Not in a practical sense, of course, but they do look rather fetching.
Unfortunately, some of the neighbours weren't digging the vibe. Before you knew it, a man from the council was at the party, requesting the music be turned down and eventually switched off completely. By 4.00am the last survivors were in Man Method's bedroom, trying to find new methods of sleeping with available space.
When I woke up it was 6.00am and made my way to the greasy spoon opposite for beans and egg on toast. Now everyone's asleep again. Except me. Fuck, I might as well be. If it weren't for the photos, this would be a pretty crap post. What do you expect? I had an hour of sleep
and I've been partying on a roof all night.
Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Better Now
Thankfully, the fever has come down and it's not denggi after all. Probably a viral fever or something. The surprised look on the doctor's face confirmed it.
"Your fever's gone down completely!" she exclaimed.
The miracle of modern medicine and dumpling soup. Personally, I reckon it was all over-exertion, exhaustion, stress and lack of sleep. Saiful said I was going to burn myself out. He wasn't too far off.
So yesterday I snuggled up in bed in a cold sweat watching Old Boy (demented & twisted) whilst my ever-loving girlfriend brought cookies and mineral water. Even though we didn't speak much (as I was asleep most of the time) I absolutely loved her company. For some reason I sleep much better knowing she's next to me.
Now I'm back in the office, everyone's been going through hell during the ten or so hours I've been away and it looks like I'll be jumping in with them soon. The 'Sure' deo I bought is NOT working, godammit, and I'm wondering whether my armpits are genetically different from regular people. Perhaps Man Method was right. Meth Crystals. Or shaving my pits.
Should I shave my pits? Does that make it better or worse?
Tonight is the big one, the meeting with Jalaludin Hassan (whose name I may have been spelling wrong this whole time because I have no idea how many 'l's are in his first name) and we'll find out how much the man costs. Then it's packing up time, followed by a good night's sleep before boarding a 747 to Heathrow.
I'm working on a wallpaper now to piss off my colleagues whilst I have time. It'll feature me, Big Ben and a slogan somewhere along the lines of "I'm here. You're not. Have a nice day."
"Your fever's gone down completely!" she exclaimed.
The miracle of modern medicine and dumpling soup. Personally, I reckon it was all over-exertion, exhaustion, stress and lack of sleep. Saiful said I was going to burn myself out. He wasn't too far off.
So yesterday I snuggled up in bed in a cold sweat watching Old Boy (demented & twisted) whilst my ever-loving girlfriend brought cookies and mineral water. Even though we didn't speak much (as I was asleep most of the time) I absolutely loved her company. For some reason I sleep much better knowing she's next to me.
Now I'm back in the office, everyone's been going through hell during the ten or so hours I've been away and it looks like I'll be jumping in with them soon. The 'Sure' deo I bought is NOT working, godammit, and I'm wondering whether my armpits are genetically different from regular people. Perhaps Man Method was right. Meth Crystals. Or shaving my pits.
Should I shave my pits? Does that make it better or worse?
Tonight is the big one, the meeting with Jalaludin Hassan (whose name I may have been spelling wrong this whole time because I have no idea how many 'l's are in his first name) and we'll find out how much the man costs. Then it's packing up time, followed by a good night's sleep before boarding a 747 to Heathrow.
I'm working on a wallpaper now to piss off my colleagues whilst I have time. It'll feature me, Big Ben and a slogan somewhere along the lines of "I'm here. You're not. Have a nice day."
Things to Do in London When You're on Leave
In no particular order. Further proof I am an Anglophile at heart. Either that or a Brit-poseur.
1. Meet Me Mates
This is imperative. There's no point in me going down to Londonwithout meeting all my old friends. There's the ol' uni drama gang, for one. Magnus has unearthed all the old scripts and promo posters which I'll be posting up once I get 'em. Then there's the childhood friends. Should be a nice round of nostalgia.
2. Visit Past Schools
Bear in mind, this does not include Concord. I've always wanted to revisit Mill Hill and Hendon Prep. Especially Hendon Prep. God, the place must be tiny now that I'm all growns up.
3. Check Out Goldersgreen
My old haunt. I've heard news on the grapevine that the place has changed considerably. They added a Starbucks. I just hope they didn't demolish one of the lovely bagel bakeries in order to do so.
4. Eat Chips in Pitta Bread, Beans On Toast, Fry Ups and Canelloni
Chips in pitta bread with mayo and ketchup were a prime source of carbo-energy when all I had in my wallet was less than two quid. Beans on toast were the next prime source when I didn't even have two quid. Fry ups I miss, as the definition of an 'English breakfast' in this country seems to consist of a spoonfull of baked beans, two pieces of toast and weiner-dogs. As for the canelloni, the one place I know in KL that does it does it bad.
5. Drink Tea
As much as I've been Malaysian-ized, I could do with ten days of teawithout copious amounts of condensed milk. I want semi-skimmed, godammit! Green tops, I say! GREEN TOPS!
6. Walk
No walking is done in this country. None at all. Hell, I skate on my deck to get from point A to point B inside my office (which has led to many almost-accidents). But London, that's different. Walk walk walk. Maybe the belly will go down. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
7. Forbidden Planet
Comic books. Toys. DVD's. 'Nuff said.
8. DVD Shopping
So far on the list: Clerks X, La Haine, Ed Wood, Spinal Tap, Buffy season 7, Braindead, Idle Hands, Orgazmo and Baseketball. All movies I can't get here and all I've seen before with the exception of La Haine and Buffy. I feel my wallet lightening considerably at the mere thought.
9. Check out the London Eye
When it first came out, I despised it. It felt like something Malaysia would do, building a huge modern monstrosity in the middle of the city, made even worse by the fact that London is by far a more historical city thn KL. I really couldn't fathom why they'd build it. Now I'm really curious about the view. I wonder if there's a smoking booth?
10. Watch movies
At last. Uncensored movies without any bad subtitles. Hitchikers Guide, Sin City and any arthouse flicks on are definitely on the agenda.
11. Chinatown
There's a tiny little restaurant called Tai Ka Lok. The duck rice is kick ass. For some reason, all the ducks here are skinny, whereas the Tai Ka Lok ducks are juicy and plump. Not helping the belly, but at least I'll be walking. Walking all the way to...
12. Ed's Diner
Reservoir Dog and coffee n' butterscoth milkshake with a side order of atomic fries, please.
13. Check out Staki's
Or whatever it's called now. A casino somewhere near Euston (I think). Then again, why the fuck would I want to go there, it's not like I've ever won. But then, with that in mind the odds of me winning now are considerably higher, therefore... aargh! Cancel it from the list! The hunger strikes back...!
14. Check out a play/musical
All those years near the West End and the only musicals I went to were Grease, Oliver and Starlight Express. And one play on the trial of Oscar Wilde.
15. Wander the streets of Soho
In search of action, adventure... and something perverse and twisted to write about in this blog.
16. Go to Full Tilt@Electric Ballroom
Head. Bang.
17. Ozzfest
Head. Bang. More.
18. Party with Man Method
Head. Bop. Feet. Shuffle.
19. Get Wasted
Bit obvious, that.
20. Go to Denmark Street
Guitars. Lots of guitars.
21. Chill
The most important one, in my book. I need the chill out time, soak up the atmosphere by some cafe reading a comic book, smoking cigarettes and blogging my balls off. Is there WiFi in cafe's in England? Or do I need to go to a cyber cafe?
Less than 24 hours to go. Ole, ole ole ole...
1. Meet Me Mates
This is imperative. There's no point in me going down to Londonwithout meeting all my old friends. There's the ol' uni drama gang, for one. Magnus has unearthed all the old scripts and promo posters which I'll be posting up once I get 'em. Then there's the childhood friends. Should be a nice round of nostalgia.
2. Visit Past Schools
Bear in mind, this does not include Concord. I've always wanted to revisit Mill Hill and Hendon Prep. Especially Hendon Prep. God, the place must be tiny now that I'm all growns up.
3. Check Out Goldersgreen
My old haunt. I've heard news on the grapevine that the place has changed considerably. They added a Starbucks. I just hope they didn't demolish one of the lovely bagel bakeries in order to do so.
4. Eat Chips in Pitta Bread, Beans On Toast, Fry Ups and Canelloni
Chips in pitta bread with mayo and ketchup were a prime source of carbo-energy when all I had in my wallet was less than two quid. Beans on toast were the next prime source when I didn't even have two quid. Fry ups I miss, as the definition of an 'English breakfast' in this country seems to consist of a spoonfull of baked beans, two pieces of toast and weiner-dogs. As for the canelloni, the one place I know in KL that does it does it bad.
5. Drink Tea
As much as I've been Malaysian-ized, I could do with ten days of teawithout copious amounts of condensed milk. I want semi-skimmed, godammit! Green tops, I say! GREEN TOPS!
6. Walk
No walking is done in this country. None at all. Hell, I skate on my deck to get from point A to point B inside my office (which has led to many almost-accidents). But London, that's different. Walk walk walk. Maybe the belly will go down. Or maybe that's just wishful thinking.
7. Forbidden Planet
Comic books. Toys. DVD's. 'Nuff said.
8. DVD Shopping
So far on the list: Clerks X, La Haine, Ed Wood, Spinal Tap, Buffy season 7, Braindead, Idle Hands, Orgazmo and Baseketball. All movies I can't get here and all I've seen before with the exception of La Haine and Buffy. I feel my wallet lightening considerably at the mere thought.
9. Check out the London Eye
When it first came out, I despised it. It felt like something Malaysia would do, building a huge modern monstrosity in the middle of the city, made even worse by the fact that London is by far a more historical city thn KL. I really couldn't fathom why they'd build it. Now I'm really curious about the view. I wonder if there's a smoking booth?
10. Watch movies
At last. Uncensored movies without any bad subtitles. Hitchikers Guide, Sin City and any arthouse flicks on are definitely on the agenda.
11. Chinatown
There's a tiny little restaurant called Tai Ka Lok. The duck rice is kick ass. For some reason, all the ducks here are skinny, whereas the Tai Ka Lok ducks are juicy and plump. Not helping the belly, but at least I'll be walking. Walking all the way to...
12. Ed's Diner
Reservoir Dog and coffee n' butterscoth milkshake with a side order of atomic fries, please.
13. Check out Staki's
Or whatever it's called now. A casino somewhere near Euston (I think). Then again, why the fuck would I want to go there, it's not like I've ever won. But then, with that in mind the odds of me winning now are considerably higher, therefore... aargh! Cancel it from the list! The hunger strikes back...!
14. Check out a play/musical
All those years near the West End and the only musicals I went to were Grease, Oliver and Starlight Express. And one play on the trial of Oscar Wilde.
15. Wander the streets of Soho
In search of action, adventure... and something perverse and twisted to write about in this blog.
16. Go to Full Tilt@Electric Ballroom
Head. Bang.
17. Ozzfest
Head. Bang. More.
18. Party with Man Method
Head. Bop. Feet. Shuffle.
19. Get Wasted
Bit obvious, that.
20. Go to Denmark Street
Guitars. Lots of guitars.
21. Chill
The most important one, in my book. I need the chill out time, soak up the atmosphere by some cafe reading a comic book, smoking cigarettes and blogging my balls off. Is there WiFi in cafe's in England? Or do I need to go to a cyber cafe?
Less than 24 hours to go. Ole, ole ole ole...
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