Identity Crisis Pt.III - Lines

I woke up at 5am to get my IC done. I then decided maybe a few minutes more sleep would do me good. I then woke up at 7am.

The streets of KL were still empty and the sun was only just peeking through the skyline. I planned to get there, queue up, get my number, go to work and come back to pick up my IC.

Easier said than done.

The JPN office at Maju Junction is on the 6th floor of the carpark. The queue went from the JPN office, zig-zagged throughout the entire carpark, then went down two more floors. This was going to be a fun morning.

After about an hour and a half I was on the 6th floor with a lot more zig-zags to go. Another hour and a half went past and I was halfway through the carpark. My dad called to see how I was, then asked if I wanted him to bring me a drink or something.

This is why I was putting myself through this hell because when my dad came over he was the polar opposite of the day before, looking happy (and, dare I say it, proud) and bringing me 100 plus and bread buns. I still don't understand why this whole 'getting an IC before the end of the year' is such a big deal to him. It's a real mountain-molehill situation. Whatever it is, at least he's happy.

As for me, being stuck in a queue for 5 and a half hours isn't exactly my idea of a swell morning. Especially when I ran out of cigarettes, the press came and some government minister popped over as a PR initiative.

The whole time that fucker was there in his bush jacket with hordes of PA's, cameramen and reporters surrounding him as he said hello to those in line, I prayed he'd come over to talk to me.

"Hi there, young man, how long have you been queueing up here?"

"Since 7 in the morning."

"Tsk tsk tsk... see what happens when you leave things to the last minute?"

And then I'd bitch-slap him. Right on national TV.

I now have no feeling in my legs and a number. I'm number 4128. When I was there they were on number 3289. The guy behind the counter said to come back at 8pm which meant having to reschedule my rehearsal with Y2k, much to the annoyance of the band and, less importantly, the guy running the studio.

Now, for those overseas who are curious about the new, technology based identification card here in Malaysia, let me let you in on what I've learnt so far:

1. The card not only holds your personal details, but also any criminal records, your health status, drivers license details & passport details.


2. The card can also be used as a switch card for transactions and a Touch n' Go (Touch n' Go cards are what's used to pay toll gates on roads).


3. All the information is safe. According to the cheap and tacky poster hung up on the government office's wall.

Try introducing that in England.

Identity Crisis Pt.II - The Incoherent Rant Version

I gotta warn ya. This is gonna be a rant.

So I went to the Identity Card (IC) place today and, cut a long story short, couldn't get it today.

I'm not too bugged about not being able to get my IC though. To be honest, I couldn't give a flying fuck-o-la about the stupid fucking card. 1.1 million other Malaysians obviously feel the same way or just can't be arsed. I don't really care about the IC. I think it's a waste of my fucking time to queue up in an un-airconditioned area for a whole day to get a piece of fucking plastic with a poorly taken portrait photo of me on it. Also, I just checked the papers and it says that if the IC is done in 2006 there will be a charge... of RM$38.

Big. Fucking. Whoopee.
What I am bugged about is my parents' point of view concerning the obtainment of an identification card.

I just called up my parents to let them know I won't be home tonight (under the guise that I'm working late... hah!) and told my dad that I couldn't get my IC today. He then told me off rather sternly, stating that he is dissapointed in me.

Dissapointed in me. Because I didn't get a piece of fucking plastic. I'msorry. I thought I explained in my painstakingly presented powerpoint presentation that I-AM-INCREDIBLY-FUCKING-BUSY-! Bad enough I have to put up with a hundred physical ailments and a mind that's going to mush, bad enough I'm exhausted running about like a headless chicken, hardly sleeping and juggling a hundred and one tasks all at thesame FUCKING time, I am now a fucking dissapointment because I didn't get my IC done?! I'm SORRY! I'm just trying to earn my monthly wage whilst at the same time lay the groundwork for my upcoming business which, if not done properly, will leave me penniless in three fucking months whilst trying, hard as I try, to achieve my own personal goals and fucking ambitions so excuuuuuse me for not thinking that a stupid piece of cheap plastic with a useless electronic chip in it by order of Big-fucking-Brother isn't on the top of my fucking 'To Do' list!!!

...fuck.

This stupid little IC is becoming the bane of my fucking existence. I've got a thousand things on my mind and this, this is the FUCKING straw breaking this camel's FUCKING back.

You know what I say? FUCK identification cards. Fuck 'em up their stupid fucking asses and if you don't like it you can get down on your knees and lick the stink nuggets off the rim of my fucking asshole.

I need a chill pill.

I also need spelling lessons. I can't believe I spelt 'disappointment' wrong so many times. And Im a payd kopiritter. Heh.

Identity Crisis

My brain is mushy. I do not like it when I have a mushy brain. It feels like peas squished on the back of a fork like my headmaster used to do in prep school when he'd sit with the students and tell us off for eating peas with a spoon. Mushy pea brain. That is me.

The mushy brain is a product of many things, lack of sleep and exhaustion being the primary reason. Every night's been a late one, I've still got loads of mixing to do for the Y2k album, scenes to shoot for the movie (and only two weeks to edit before the submission deadline), I've got a gig coming up this Saturday (like you'll come... pah...) at Hartamas Square as part of some New Years Eve celebration and trying to organize rehearsals for both my bands around my already packed schedule is insanity by itself, the little wrist injury I got from shooting the action sequence is still acting up, my left arm is completely fucked and has been since my last gig (I'm not sure why. I think I tore my bicep. Even pulling the handbrake is sheer agony) and my parents have been giving me early morning shit-storms on a daily basis because I stillhaven't done my MyKad IC.

Yes. I still haven't done my IC.

For those across the pond, Malaysia has Identification Cards. Every Malaysian has one. And they've been trying to renew it to this new, fancy, electronic card. The cards have a chip in it, just like ATM cards, and they can store all kinds of wonderfully personal information about you in these tiny chips.

Yes, it is very Orwellian. We all have numbers. I have a number. And soon I'll have a chip too. Police will be able to scan my card and instantly know everything they want to know about me.

Electronic identification cards and yet we still don't have the flying car. Science fiction lied to us.

What I find interesting is the difference in opinion between those that have been brought up all their life with the idea of identification cards and those that haven't. Most (if not all) my friends in England reacted very negatively when they saw I had an identification card. Totalitarian, they called it. 1984.

My friends in Malaysia, on the other hand, think the English are stupid for not taking up the identification card. "How will people know who you are?" they ask, "how do you prove your identity?"

My common reply is usually, "why should you have to prove your identity?"

And when you think of it, the West isn't much different. America has an equivalent hidden under another name: 'Social Security Number'. Even in England you have a number: 'National Insurance Number'. How much or how little information is stored behind these numbers, I don't know. But then again, even if you forget the number, there's also your driving license. Your picture's on it, together with your name, date of birth, address, etc.

We all have numbers. We all have a piece of paper laminated with a passport sized portrait photo and our particulars. It's only a matter of time before those eye-scanners from Minority Report become a reality. The keyboard-free computer interface fetured in the movie not only already exists but is being used by advertising companies around the world (I know this because the suppliers came over and showed it to us. It really is quite cool). The fear of government in this country is very real, but maybe because their actions are much more transparent. I sincerely believe that it's no better in the West, they just have better spin doctors (for the ignorant, no, I'm not talking about the band).

Look around you. Orwell was right. Every item you own has a barcode, a number, a reference tag. Your name is just one of the millions floating through cyberspace under e-mails, receipts, bank transactions, chat rooms, registrations, etc. Face facts. Wake up and smell the coffee. In the words of Mr. Lebowski, "Condolences! The bums LOST!"

Phew.

That went completely off tangent. First coffee of the day. Not much sleep.

Brain not so mushy now, though.

The Clock Is Ticking...

The one character scene I haven't got yet will feature my parents and is to be shot in my house, as is the final shot of the movie. I intended to shoot this scene this Saturday.

We're moving house this Saturday.

I still haven't sorted out a whole bunch of the pick-up shots as well as the animation. I need all this to edit the movie and I need to get a rough, watchable cut done by the entry deadline for the Singapore International Film Festival.

the entry deadline is January 15th.

Bearing in mind there are still songs to record for the soundtrack.

Shiite Bin Ajaib.

Like everything else in my life, I'm cutting things very fucking close indeed.

Humans Suck. Kong Rules.

I really wanted this movie to be the ultimate 2005 film. I really did. But it didn't do it for me. Not as much as I wanted it to. Why?

Because of those goddamn humans.

Kong was great. Kong was wonderful. Andy Serkis once again brings life to a CG character like no other. You feel for him, you care for him and understand him. It's understandable why so many girls went to see this movie and bawled their eyes out when Kong dies.

But Kong's only in the movie for half of its running time, and this is a three hour flick so we have to put up with the humans.

Those damn dirty humans.

That was my problem with the movie. I couldn't relate, feel and more than anything care for these poor excuses of life. Carl Denham, is a grade A exploitative asshole. Jack Driscoll is dull. Hayes and Jimmy? Who gives a flying fuck about Hayes and Jimmy. All these characters, and you don't give one iota as to whether they live or die, yet you follow them as they're chased by dinosaurs and fucked up bugs. How are you supposed to feel the thrill and suspense when you don't give a damn whether they get squished?

And the girl, Anne. What a goddamn tease. Make Kong smile, tell Kong no. Cuddle up to Kong, then get ready to leg it the second a human is in sight. And what does she do when Kong plummets to his doom? What is the first thing she does? Hug Jack. A tease, I tell you! Kong deserved better!

Godammit. Looks like Episode III was the best blockbuster of the year for me. Bring on 2006.

3 Months and Counting

So.

Yup.

I've officially resigned.

Eddy did it first and posted about his resignation first and had a cooler title for his post. However, my tardiness is not due to being over-worked or laziness.

I took longer to resign because when push comes to shove if I have to be in a big international company there's no other company I'd rather be in than Grey.

Yes, I bitch about it, talk smack about it, I complain about my stupid hours and stupid jobs and stupid clients, but I have a great team, a bunch of real cool friends here and I learnt a lot.

But I do have to focus. Hopping from one thing to another, juggling my advertising job with my music and filmmaking and my attempts at a social life have left me incredibly exhausted and lacking in brain juice.

I want my brain juice.

When I passed my letter to the head of HR her first words were,

"What's wrong?"

And I honestly told her "nothing". Whilst working in this company can be a drab and sometimes it's dull and sometimes it's downright infuriating I can still persevere here.

IF I wasn't doing the other stuff.

I know there are some at the office who may be dissapointed with me, but a man's gotta do what a man's gotta do.

(Where is that line from? Anyone who knows shall receive a cookie.)

So in three months I'll be saying goodbye to Grey. Goodbye shitty windows 98 PC, goodbye drab white walls, goodbye idiotic and poorly written job requisitions, goodbye Wisma-bloody-Genting...

...and most of all, goodbye to all the great people I've worked with and all the good times we shared.

...

There, that's enough of that emo business. Click here for some hot beaver action.

I Am My Own Grandpa

I'm sat at Starbucks and they've been playing some compilation CD which is beginning to get on my nerves. I have nothing against Cat Stevens (sorry, Yusof Islam) singing about the Love Train and I fucking love Harry Belafonte, but a country song with "I'm my own grandpa..." as the chorus is taking the biscuit a bit too fucking much. "...It sounds funny, I know..." No shit, Sherlock.

Moving on...

I told my immediate superior about my intentions of leaving last night before leaving the office. I'd been meaning to for the past week, but I've been shit-scared of doing it for a number of reasons. The main one? Because he's a friend. If he was just a boss I'd have no problem with walking in and telling him "sorry, dude, I quit". But he's a friend. We were a team. It almost felt like I was breaking up a band (and the last time I did that, let's just say things got very emotional. In a non-angry sort of way).

He made some fair points. Particular concerning my upcoming bonus. The annoying thing is, the bonus will come in March. I have a three months notice, which means I won't be out of the office till late June or early July. That's the rub. I really feel I deserve the bonus, or at least a bump up to 'Copywriter' as opposed to 'Junior Copywriter' (a title which stopped me from asking for namecards for about a year to save face when I meet clients) with an increment.

But it's too long a wait. He asked me to think about it over the weekend, to at least think about waiting till the bonus before leaving since there's a good chance the company might be mean and, upon hearing of my intention to leave, take the bonus away. Makes sense. Why pay someone who's leaving?

Dammit.

Right now I'm fucking tired and nursing a cold. I've got to go to a gig soon. Both Y2k and Triple 6 Poser are playing, and if you're reading this on a Saturday then I assume that means you're not coming (sob sob and other such silliness).

I may have also inadvertedly insulted a distribution company I was hoping I could send my movie to for their consideration. Nice going, Guber.

Now their playing a song about a girl who "swallowed the cow to catch the goat she swallowed the goat to catch the dog she swallowed the dog to catch the cat she swallowed the cat to catch the spider that wriggled and jiggled and tickled inside her she swallowed the spider to catch the fly I don't know why she swallowed the fly... I think she'll die".

I. Am. Deadly. Fucking. Serious.

Caffeine Killa

So here I am. In Starbucks. Drinking fucking coffee again.

For the past week I may have had maybe three glasses of water. Every other form of liquid that has passed my lips has been coffee. Coffee coffee coffee. I make it in the office, I order it at Coffee Bean, I drink it at mamak stalls.

And if it's not coffee it's some other caffeine/sugar-overdosed beverage.

And I wonder why I'm so jittery.

My body feels like it's about to explode. Every nerve ending shake-shake-shaking away. I'm trying to type faster than I think and my fingers I trying to press the keys faster than I type. Madness, sheer madness.

But this is the only way I can keep awake enough to do all the things that needs doin'. I've been rehearsing every night since Tuesday, alternating between Triple 6 Poser and Y2k, for the upcoming gig. Tonight's Triple 6 again. I've got twenty minutes to get to Paul's Place to rehearse. From here, no sweat. My body is driving my car faster than my car wishes to.

And I still haven't mustered up the guts to let my group head know what my plans are for the upcoming year. Truth is I'm scared. Whilst I feel the company hasn't exactly been treating me nice, I like the people in my team. They're great friends. Just today my group head picked up a copy of Astonishing X-Men for me whilst he was in Kinokuniya.

"Thanks, boss! By the way, I'm leaving."

Not very nice.

It's tomorrow or nothing. Gotta do it tomorrow. Then at least I have three days of holiday to chill out and, if he gets mad, he's got three days to chill out too.

Ah, the madness of my life.

The Shoreditch Connection

I like the sound of that. 'The Shoreditch Connection'. Sounds like a gangster movie. And, funnily enough, that's what the 'Connection's been doing in the UK, shooting the gangster scenes. It may seem weird, having a movie about piracy in Malaysia but not feature any Triads, but I have a perfectly good rationale for this:

(a) It suits the story

(b) I did not want to go the 'funny Triad' route often used by Malaysian movies, and probably wouldn't get away with the 'seriously scary Triad'

(c) If I offend East End gangsters in England, what have I got to worry about? They're in England. If I offend a bunch of Triads in Malaysia I'm a dead man.

So Man Method of the Shoreditch Connection called last night whilst I was in a meeting with Y2k's clothes sponsors. All UK footage is done and now all I've gotta do is e-mail the FedEx details and wire him the money for sending it over.

Phew.

With that in the can, 92% of the movie's footage is done. I've just got one more scene and a whole bunch of pick-ups. Then I can concentrate on editing and figuring out the 'non-footage' stuff: animation, etc.

Looks like I'll be shooting over Christmas. Fun.

Feedback on the trailer from the Shoreditch Connection was positive. What got me the most chuffed was when Man Meth' told me what Adam, the director and D.O.P., said about the trailer:

"This guy can edit."

Considering the dude's pretty professional about his own shoots and the fact that he doesn't know me, that's probably the best comment I've gotten thus far.

(No, your comments are just as heart-warming. If it wasn't for all of your positive feedback, I probably wouldn't be going through with my 'game-plan'. I love you all, and wish I could have your babies.)

Completion is coming close and thank God for that. The submissions for the Singapore International Film Festival is January 15th. I need to at least get a watchable cut done by then. I just hope they don't ask for a 35mm transfer. How the fuck am I going to do that?

After the Hope Comes the Rub

So over the weekend I was shooting: Tony's scene on Saturday (an incredibly quirky performance) and the girlfriend scene on Sunday (with newcomer Sarah) followed by make-up and night scenes after that.

I won't go too much into details because I'm sure most of you guys don't read the length production diary part (mostly due to my often dry recap of the events), so I'll keep it simple: on Saturday we had no DOP so my girlfriend took camera duties; in the scenes most serious moment, Tony could not help laughing for over seven takes because I looked 'funny'; Sarah was incredibly nervous (probably the most nervous person on set) but did her best; we only had an hour and a half to shoot the cafe scene so I did all my scenes in one tight close-up with no re-takes or coverage; the catering bill came up to over 260 bucks; during the night scene we ad-libbed a possible new ending involving a 'berhenti' sign and there's a good chance those bastard crows that shit all over Taman Tun will be making an appearance in the movie.

There. That's it in a nutshell.

During yesterday's production, over dinner (go to the new Mosin in Taman Tun next to Pizza Hut and order a Mumtaj naan. It rocks balls) I decided to ask (CENSORED TO PROTECT THE INNOCENT AND SHALL BE REFERRED TO AS 'DEEP THROAT') about the process of getting a telemovie or TV show done. They were already in the industry so they should be packed with information. The knowledge I received from this discussion was not as positive as I hoped.

"You need to get 'hours' from the TV station," said Deep Throat.

"'Hours'?" I asked, "What do you mean by 'hours'?"

"'Hours'," replied Deep Throat, "as in the hours on TV. Let's say you want to make a telemovie. Telemovie's are an hour long, so you need an hour from the TV station."

"How do I get these 'hours'?"

(PART OF TRANSCRIPTION MISSING DUE TO THE FACT THAT THE WRITER'S A PUSSY. HE DOESN'T WANT TO GET INTO TROUBLE WITH WHAT WAS PREVIOUSLY WRITTEN HERE.)

"Or you could buy hours from another production company."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes production companies already have hours from a TV station, but they don't have enough budget to make anything, so you can buy off their hours and stick 'Produced in Association With...' in the credits."

"How much would it cost to buy the hours off another company?"

"About RM$7-10,000."

Hmmm...

"How difficult is it to get hours from the TV company?"

(MORE BITS TAKEN OUT FOR FEAR OF BEING ATTACKED BY PEOPLE IN THE INDUSTRY WITH POINTED STICKS.)

I Need the Services of a Young Lady This Weekend

Seriously. I do.

After finding what I thought would be the ideal person to act for the 'whiny girlfriend' scene on Sunday (and by ideal, I mean she volunteered without me asking which is too rare an occurence to just disregard), it turns out she can't make it due to a last minute work thingey.

I hate these last minute work thingeys.

She's trying to find a replacement as we speak, but I'm worried and nervous. I can only get the location, Cravings cafe in Hartamas, for this Sunday for a small window of time. Otherwise, I'm screwed and I really need this scene.

Shiite.

The good news is she likes the script and seems really keen on trying to find me a 16 year old for the role. We shall see what happens.

In other news, I'm still here at the goddamn editing suite. I've relinquished all power of the edit to my colleague with myself as the second opinion, which is working out better for all parties concerned. I just wish I wasn't here so I can sleep. I've been needing much sleep. My doctor gave me some stronger sleeping pills but I haven't had a chance to try them out because I've been going to bed so late I didn't want the pills to fuck up my chances of waking up early, only to wake up late anyway.

One day... one day I shall be doing this full time instead of juggling my multiple tasks like horny hands in a titfest extravaganza.

Ciplak: Day 10 & 11 - Production

Day 10 sucked the balls of Zeus.

This does not mean that the performances that I shot sucked. Far from it. Rauf's reshoots of the 'T-Fresh scene' (the obligatory ammusing hip-hop wannabe) were great, full of energy and hillarious. And Ahmad's scenes were faultless (apart from all the times he kept looking at the camera).

But that was only meant to be ten percent of what I wanted to shoot. I had a whole bunch of footage to shoot on that day and those two scenes would amount to about two minutes of screen time in the finished product.

I was supposed to shoot the first half of the 'chase sequence'.

My original intention was to shoot half of it on Day 10 and the rest on Day 11, intercutting the two because it would be too troublesome getting the whole cast in one place for two days. So I planned to shoot close-ups and reaction shots of the guys chasing me on Day 10 and me being chased on Day 11 at the carpark at Pusat Sains, which is usually dead empty on Sundays.

I guess it was my own blatant stupidity to not expect it to rain during monsoon season.

And rain it did. Huge streams of chubby rain as if horses grew wings and were flying in flocks above us, peeing simultaneously with much glee. Which is probably an apt description because to say I was quite pissed off on Day 10 would be a huge understatement.





Day 11, in comparison, rocked much of the skills of cat ('catskills', geddit?). We started off by shooting the scene where Ben & CK of Ben's Bitches fame as DVD pirates selling their wares until they get busted. Based on their insane live shows I knew I could trust them to ad-lib it through so I didn't bother scripting it and I got quite a number of hillarious lines, although there were a couple references to 'Sepet' which I'm not sure whether I'll keep in or not.




To shoot the scene, I asked the permission of the owner of a kedai runcit near my house who I've known since I was a kid. We set up a table and pulled out a bunch of DVD's from my collection. Some people thought we were actually selling them.
After that it drizzled for a bit but that soon subsided so we went to the carpark at pusat sains for the chase sequence.





The chase sequence basically involves me, Paul, a Proton Wira and a trusty skateboard. Chase chase chase, pop a few tricks, get hit by the car and run over it to escape, car crashes into trees.

Simple enough.

The skateboard is actually quite an invaluable tool when shooting on the DIY tip. Like this:
Lets say you wanted to shoot someone driving. But you can't afford to get a rig to hook up the camera to the car, you can't afford a lorry to put the car on and you don't have the woodshop skills to make your own rig. Just get a guy who skates, get him to hold on to the car and film it. Voila! Tracking shot.

A car is also very helpful. You want to shoot someone running but don't want any shake? Drive the car next to the guy who's running and film him from the car. Done n' done.

The stunts, on the other hand, were a bit tricky.






I'm not sure if the shots will work in the edit. I took a whole bunch of shots at various angles, a bunch of takes, whole load of close ups... hopefully it all cuts together. For the bit where I run over the car, I didn't realize my own weight (yes, I am a bit on the tubby) and left a couple of huge dents on the roof of Ahmad's car. Saiful beat them back into shape.

Then I injured my wrist somewhere along the way climbing over which hurt like fuckery. Thankfully, it was Paul's turn to act as my stunt double.

We got a bunch of shots of Paul from the waist down skating and pulling some tricks: ollies, nollies, kickflips and shuvit tailgrabs. Should come out ok.

With these scenes in the can I have about 80% of the footage needed for the whole movie. Bearing in mind that only 80% of the movie is actual footage. The rest is animation and other such things. That's a whole other headache I'll figure out in pre-pro.

Later on... last night...


Couldn't sleep so I decided to stay up till 4.00am cutting the trailer.

And I'm happy.

I cut it to the tune of Triple 6 Poser's "Another Lie" and Soft Touch's "Listen 2 What U C" as well as the acoustic part of Y2k's "Lara" and it looks pretty damn cool. Just gotta fix up the sound and colours and I'll upload it.

And now I'm fucking tired.

Back From the DBKL

So I called up the DBKL and asked about my car after lunch. They said it was there, it'd cost RM$355 and I'd have to bring either my ownership documents of the car or my insurance policy.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity. Fuck.

I explained that the car was under my father's name and I'd rather not involve him. He said I could get a letter from a lawyer or something (I didn't really understand this bit, my Malay not being too good) and I told him I wouldn't really know how to go about doing that.

"Hold on," he replied, "talk to the boss."

I explained my situation, how I didn't want to trouble my dad (read: I didn't want my dad to find out for fear of castration) and that I really needed the car.

"Answer me this," said the boss, "can you pay RM$155 right now?"

RM$155? I thought it was RM$355.

"Sure. Yes."

"Ok. Pop on over."

I got the details: my little car was towed to an area called 'Jinjang', notorious for it's Chinese-gangland-ghetto-ness. This should be fun. I called a cab and made my way, all the while wondering about this money business. Did he really say RM$155? Or was it still RM$355? I don't have RM$355. Was this RM$155 some under-the-counter shit? I couldn't care less. I just wanted my car back.

I got to the place and could see my car in the lot: my lil' red Kelisa, my Rosalinda.

I walked over to the police hut (taking off my shoes as I did so). The boss was sat behind the table, a huge 'healthy' (by Asian definition) man, intimidating. The other cops were sat around watching a Filipino soap opera. I filled out the forms, all the while wondering about the whole money issue. Why was it RM$355 if done officially and RM$155 when I had none of the documents to prove the car was mine, save for my car keys?

I gave him the forms and one of the cops shut the door. "This must be it", I thought, "this must be when they ask me for some 'tea money'". On the TV, some guy on a beach threatened a girl that he could get her to stop talking in two ways: cutting her tongue or kissing her.

I never enjoyed the process of bribing cops. I'd bribed cops in the past, my dad's bribed in the past, hell, every human being I know who drives a car in this country has bribed a cop. But it always freaked me out. The cops here aren't buff, muscular cops. But they ain't no Wiggum. If they ever made a 'Training Day' style movie about Malaysian cops I bet you the Malay cop would beat Denzel's ass any day screaming "King Kong tak ada tahi atas aku!!!".

The boss turned to the others, then to me... and gave me a receipt.

Eh?

"Go pay the fine and fees at the building across the street then come back."

...okay.

Maybe there was some guys there that I was supposed to give it to. I walked over to find an official counter for the payment of summons' and other such city council fines. The lady took my receipt, asked for RM$155, I paid her and she gave me another receipt to give to the boss.

Aha. Now I understand. This is the official payment. Now I've got to make the unofficial payment. I walked over to the cop hut, gave the boss the receipt... and he stamped it.

"There you go. Car's outside."

On the TV, the chick chose the kiss as opposed to having her tongue cut.

Aaarghhh!!!

FuckshitassbitchcockuckermotherfuckerFFFFFUUUCCCCKKKK!!!!!

My car got towed. At least, I hope my car got towed. The idea of a car thief stealing a Kelisa at noon just seems silly.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.

I parked it at the side of the road for a couple of hours 'cos I knew I'd be late for work and finding parking would add another half hour to my journey time. I figured I'd park it by the office then find proper parking during lunch.

I went down to where my car was parked and instead I find an old lorry.

Godammit all.

I just called up the city council but they haven't received any cars by my description yet. I'm hoping when I call later it's there. If not, I'm fucked. Royally fucked. Supremely fucked. The payments are almost done on that fucking car. Fuck.

Then there's the whole hassle of going to the city council to pick up my fucking car and speeding things up will probably require bribery on top of the amount I've gotta pay anyway.

Motherfucking fuckery of epic fucking pro-fucking-portions.

I just don't want to involve my dad on this one. I'm already getting a lot of heat as it is with my hectic lifestyle and relaxed clothing choices for work and my refusal to renew my Identification Card to the fancy new chip ones until the absolute last minute (I hate the idea of IC cards to begin with) and my late hours and later waking hours. I've been accused of being abnormal by my parents. I don't need to be accused of being a road-dick too.

Ahhh... fuck me. Fuck me with large pointy objects that would cause pain to the most resiliant of choir boys. This is not a great way to start the day. Fuck all this, I'm going to Coffee Bean and treating myself to an overpriced sandwich.

FUCK.

Snippety Snip

Robert Rodriguez once said (in his book 'Rebel Without A Crew') that editing is his favourite part of filmmaking because it's when you take all those little pieces you have and put it together. You're seeing the film form before your very eyes and the choice of shot, the slightest tweak, the adding or subtracting of a second can make a huge difference. I was watching the extras disc from the original Star Wars trilogy box set and they showed a comparison between the first cut, which was all masters followed by coverage, and the final cut they made where the pace was dictated by the edit, not the actors. I like that. And especially with non-linear editing, the process is a whole lot faster.

Faster or not, it still took me about five or six hours to transfer all the footage I needed for the Dragon Red video and edit it. I actually had a lot more footage, but they were all in VCD format so first I'd have to copy the files then convert them into avi to edit it. Took about half an hour to an hour each VCD so I only used the three best ones I had then combined that with the footage I took of them at a gig and during their rehearsals. The video's for the launch, but Adam (the vocalist) says he also wants to do a proper video and wants me to edit it.

But at least that's out of the way now. Fun as it is, I really want to clear up as much as I can so I can concentrate on my damn movie. Then again, editing other people's stuff usually opens up some new technique or trick I'll discover and I'll end up using that on my movie.

Almost There...

Phew.

Effing finally, after months and months of toiling (read most of the year) I finished the Y2k album last night.

Almost.

There are two things left that need to be done on my side: (a) record Landslide's vocals for his guest appearance on our hip-hop song (yes, we have a hip-hop song on our punk album. Gotta problem with that?) and (b) make any tweaks that the rest of the bandmates notice.

See, this whole week starting from last Saturday the only music to pass my ears has been the Y2k album, scrutinizing as much as I can. Sunday was spent listening to the fucking kick non-stop trying to fix the EQ on the bugger. And last night, just before rehearsals for our gig this Saturday, I passed a copy to the rest of the bandmates with a possible order and told them,

"Listen to it. Repeatedly. Write down anything you feel needs tweaking. I'm gonna listen to some other fucking music for a change."

After that I slipped in Dragon Red's debut album, 'Holocaust', into the car CD player and listened. Twenty minutes in I wished we had better equipment to record our album. If you see the Dragon Red album in stores, pick it up. It's good.

Tomorrow we have our band meeting to determine all the final details on the album before sending it off for mastering. Bearing in mind that's all just for the recording. We still need to figure out the CD cover design, details to put inside the cover, printing costs, 'tulen' stickers (a holographic sticker to prove it's an original copy even though pirates own the technology to make bootlegs of these stickers making their existence somewhat redundant), barcode registration, promotional materials, distribution, press, marketing, performing acts of fellatio and cunnilingus upon radio DJ's to get them to play our single and, last but not least, the launch and a tour.

Goddamn that's a lot of work.

On the bright side, at least I can now concentrate on my other creative endeavours, namely 'Ciplak', which still has a long way to go. There's the rest of the scenes to shoot, the action sequence, animated sequences, the trailer, promotional materials, press, festivals to submit, a premiere, etc. I also have about a night and a half to edit a Dragon Red music video from about 11 hours of footage. And there's that other thing. What's it called? Oh yeah, the day job.

...

Bright side my ass.