Don't Look Back In Anger

So, what can I say about this foul year of our lord, two thousand and nine?

I look back at my experiences and the experiences of my friends and I see a lot of pain and grief and strife. There have been so many deaths of great public figures as well as people my friends hold dear. There have been business fuck ups, relationship breakdowns, family feuds and a general negativity for most of the year. Perhaps it's a lunar thing, perhaps it just so happens that the majority of my circle of friends and I were destined to be shafted in the arse for the better part of this year.

The thing is, even though a lot of crap has happened this year of immense fucking proportions, I'm glad it all happened. Why? Because of the transformative effect of emotional buggery. I like to think that everything that happened this year happened for a reason, and the sheer gargantuan attack it took on was God/Karma/Life's way of getting my attention - "Buck up, you fucktard! Changes need to be made and if you're not gonna do them I'm gonna fuck you up well and good my friend until you get the picture!"

Needless to say, I hope I got the picture.

Since the days of the falling out with the Angry Fat Man, I've been different. Things have been restrained and left to rot deep inside. In it's wake, I ended up hurting a lot of people and myself and I was on a crash course to nowhere. So I thank the crap that's happened, the glorious crap that it is, because without it I would never have bettered myself.

And through the fires the phoenix dies and is born again (and by phoenix, I mean the mythical creature, not Jean Grey going apeshit). As the final quarter of the year came around things picked up quite substantially.

1. I lost a ton of weight.

Mid-2009 on the set of 'Healthy Paranoia'

Late 2009 and for some reason looking like I need to poop

2. I was a part of 15Malaysia and walked the red carpet at the Pusan International Film Festival.

3. I performed stand-up comedy for the first time.

4. I performed in a play for the first time since 1999.

5. I took part in a photo exhibition for the first time.

6. Things with the band are better than ever and the recording process is really picking up speed now.

The recording set-up in the Hub, early 2009

The recording set-up in the Hub, December 2009

And lastly (and most importantly), new friends have been found, old friends have been rediscovered, friendships have evolved and friends in general have been the light of my life as the year ends. If there's anything that helped me through the year and has kept a smile on my face throughout these past months, it's the people around me, those wonderful friends of mine that are beyond cool.

You know who you peeps are. This post is for you. Have a good one tonight and bring on 2010.

It's a celebration, bitches.

Snap! Has the Power. I Do Not.

I am sat at Wak Chai's whilst it pours down outside. The TV is playing some random Hindi movie featuring a bearded, mullet-haired hero who's collars are constantly out and over his suit jacket who's pining over some girl in front of a fire after serenading her in the woods whilst she shut her ears for fear that she would get moist in the lower regions and dance the dance of love.

I have my laptop, my tobacco, my shiny Zippo lighter and my Powershot S90. I also haven't a clue what to do besides thinking of various ways of castrating TNB heads with various blunt instruments, aided by the poisonous thumb of the mighty platypus.

Earlier today I got up earlier than expected after not being able to sleep the night before and decided to do a bunch of chores in preparation for my TVC shoot tomorrow. Chores completed, I headed back to The Hub in the hope of laying down some guitar tracks for the upcoming Sixers album.

As I opened up the gate, my neighbor called out for me from his window.

"The power's out!" he said.

"Again?!" I replied.

"I've already called TNB," he continued, "and they said that one of the cables is on fire. they're trying to fix it now."

Annoyed, I grabbed my laptop and headed out.

This isn't the first time this has happened, and I'm not talking about a period of months. This is the third time this week that the power has died. And it's not even the entire block - just The Hub, the house on the right and the three houses on the left. Everyone else gets to enjoy the wonders of electricity.

The last time it happened I found myself searching with the light of my mobile phone for a candle and candle holder. In the end all I had was a scented apple shaped candle from the Lucky Shot shoot and a Guinness glass.

Then, out of sheer boredom, I started doing long shutter photography under candle light.

Now? Now I find myself blogging, wondering whether I should do what Namewee did - call up TNB, get them to come over, give them a piece of my mind and film the whole damn thing.

This is absurd. I just bought a bunch of meat yesterday that's sitting in the freezer and if it goes bad I'm gonna be pissed. This is my Hub, dammit. I needs my power.

Perhaps I should just have my own power supply. Perhaps I should get a few hamsters and put them on wheels with dynamos.

Perhaps I should get out of here and see if the power's back.

Light Me Up

We were somewhere around Bukit Bintang, opposite the Bentley's music store, when the rain began to trickle.




Davina had been feeling lethargic for quite some time and Mien was doing her best to keep her energy up with constant pokes. The photography session had been going ok so far, but I still wasn't finished with Davina and hadn't even started on Mien yet. We decided to wait it out for a while, as well as give Davina a chance to catch a few winks before continuing.

This was to be a long night indeed.

A while back the Dorian gave me a buzz, asking if I'd like to have some of my photographs put up for an exhibition Candid Photography and SparkyDawgz were doing to promote the upcoming play 'A Light in KL City' by EMP. Now, I never really considered myself a photographer, but the Dorian was insistent and I thought, "why not?"

So, with my new/second-hand Sigma 24-70 at hand, I went off with Shirin to recce some places. My idea was to take portraits of different girls in the city illuminated by their own light source - a laptop, a phone, whatever.

Strangely, I ended up not using any of these locations because it was only after I shot Mien and Davina that I realized the exhibition theme wasn't "A Light in KL City" but "Portraits of Light". Bugger. Regardless, the rest of the pics have also been taken outdoors but not as far out into the city as Mien and Davina's. For Nazneen and Shirin I went a lot closer to home - Taman Tun.

So yeah. If you're curious to see what kind of photographs I'd do on assignment, pop on down to the exhibition, which will also feature pics by Candid Photography and SparkyDawgz.

And you know what? Whilst you're at it you might as well get tickets for the play, too.

Synopsis: In downtown Kuala Lumpur, in an old hotel on the corner, a light is being snuffed out. When the day comes to a close and dawn rises, the hotel will be closed and the jack-hammers will come down. Now, the many characters who live there must find a way to break out, because when the hotel comes down, they can either go down with it and be lost as well or find the light within themselves to guide them.


A Light in KL City tells the story of the things we throw away- old buildings, history… people; this is the story of those who have been cast out and left behind in the city, forgotten by the future. People we shouldn’t throw away.

The play and exhibition runs from 22nd to 27th of December at KLPac. Come on down.

Kids Say The Darndest Things

So I was at the Guitar Store getting Sheila (my Telecaster bought in Sydney) and Danni (my Danelectro) serviced for the Rollin' Sixers recording sessions, when I overheard some people discussing music.

They were within the 18 to 21 range, either in college or just out, with rock star dreams in their eyes. The one leading the conversation spoke with the cockiness and self assurance of any kid in their late teens/early twenties out to impress his peers. In this case, the subject matter was of music.

I sat at the sofa, waiting for my guitar, unable to help myself from overhearing. For the most part, the kid was talking out of his ass, explaining the 'truth' about record labels and music trends based on sociological and political influences, citing the history of music, describing the ins and outs of how bands were signed back in the seventies compared to now, etcetera et-frickin'-cetera.

In short, I felt like Woody Allen at the movie queue in 'Annie Hall'.





The thing is, the conversation these kids were having was amusing me. Sure, I felt old for feeling it, but it was funny listening to this kid wax lyrical as if he knew what he was talking about. It didn't bother me that much.

That is, until he started preaching about how great Lady Gaga is.

Yes, that's right. Lady-Fucking-Gaga. The ugly skank who'd very much like to ride your disco stick.

The kid started talking about how Lady Gaga was one of the greatest musicians working in pop music today. He started saying how much he hopes Lady Gaga doesn't sell out and become too pop. He started saying how hot she was.

I started clenching my hand into a fist.

Then the other kids joined in to also confess their adoration and admiration of the great musical genius that is Lady Gaga. "Lady Gaga is fuckin' rock n' roll!" said one and they all high-five'd each other in agreement.

Believe me, it took every ounce of strength within me to not drop some science on these fuckin' gromlets and school their skinny asses. Either that or club them like baby seals, skin them and sell the pelt to other sick individuals.

I couldn't believe my ears as they continued going gaga over Gaga. This is what these kids love? This is what they think rock n' roll is? The ring leader had just been going on about how Michael Jackson was an innovator and now he's talking about Lady Gaga with the same amount of fucking admiration? What the fuck has happened with this world? Was crack legalized in schools at some point and I heard nothing about it?

I couldn't take any more. If I stuck around any longer I probably would have shoved a P Bass into each of their asses. I quickly grabbed one of the Fender Highway One Strats and went straight into the testing room as the leader explained the Jewishness of Gene Simmons and how it has helped Kiss become rich and successful.

And the clincher? When my guitar was done they were just leaving, but not before the leader played back some of the music his band had been recording for the other gromlets to listen to and played it back on the speakers of his phone.

And after listening to a few riffs I concluded that the future of music is well and truly going down the drain for inglorious rat basterds to swim in whilst chewing on putrid ball sack remnants.

Once More Into the Breach, Dear Friends...

When I was 14 and had to choose what extra subjects I was going to do for my GCSE's on top of the core subjects I decided to choose something I'd personally be interested in. And so it was that I picked art, creative design technology and drama.

In my early days I used to love to draw and it was my passion in drawing that allowed me to be accepted into the art class but now that I was doing it as a GCSE the rules changed - I was very much of the comic book background but now that I was studying it I had to learn art as whole and was constantly criticized by my teacher for my two dimensional Stan Lee inspired drawings. Even when I was sketching Salvador Dali at an art exhibition it still came across as two dimensional in my lecturers eyes. And painting? Bugger that. I was never good at painting. I liked pencils and pens and these new crafts just didn't compute.

Creative design technology was another subject where I wasn't wholly competent in. Whilst I had the creativity, knowledge of physics and the illustrative skills to design something, making it was another matter entirely. I had great designs, beautiful blueprints, intelligent and original machinations... and yet I couldn't even saw a piece of wood in half properly. In the end, my lowest grade of all during GCSE's was this subject.

Drama was something else, though. From an early age I was fascinated with film and acting - studying drama was the closest I could get to that field when it came to my GCSE's. A lot of the class was made up of kids who took the subject just to get an easy pass but I enjoyed every minute of it. I remember how often we'd all end up doing mostly comedy based sketches when given our own free reign to create something and I'll never forget our first full on performance of 'Sweeney Todd' (minus the singing since none of us could hold a note to save our lives).

When I was in university there was a drama society, and again I joined for the same reasons - closest I could get to the process of filmmaking. There would be actors and lights and writing and directing, hell, the only thing missing was the damn camera. In the first year we performed a comedy the director wrote which involved me running about in just my boxers for the entire third act and having water poured all over me, foot trodden on and smacked across the face by all the girls my character sleeps with in the play. In my second and third year I wrote and directed instead and it would be the first time I'd write something full length, first adapting Shakespeare's "Much Ado About Nothing" into a Kevin Smith inspired R-rated comedy and moving the story of "Alice in Wonderland" to a university student housing where the Cheshire Cat is a playa, the Mad Hatter, March Hare and Doormouse are drunken rugby players and the White Rabbit is a hot part-time waitress dressed in Playboy bunny mode.

Anything to get the punters in.

I bring this all up because since that last play I hadn't been involved in theatre at all. The entire time I've been back in Malaysia for good I've concentrated on the filmmaking side that I'd always wanted to pursue. I had acted a couple of times, yes, but only on screen where everything's split up.

Then, a few months ago, the Dorian rang. His friend, Ines, was doing a play as part of her finals and was looking for actors so he suggested me using, of all things, my cameo in Ghost Season 2 as my audition tape.

The play was called 'Potential For Violence' by Alex Broun and she needed someone to play The Man - a politician who is abducted by The Boy and tortured throughout the play, played by Ollie Johanan.

I scanned through the script and saw that my lines didn't really start till halfway through the second scene and I didn't have any major monologues in comparison to The Boy who had pages of speeches to memorize. I figured this should be fun. Never really thought about the whole 'torture' aspect much, though.

Not till rehearsals.

Throughout the entire play I'd have my hands tied behind my back. For the first two scenes I'd be blindfolded and for the first scene even gagged. By the second scene I'm blindfolded and tied, lead up a chair where a noose is tied around my neck and then pushed off.

Really should've thought this through, huh?

Regardless, it was a great experience. I'd almost forgotten after all these years how different theatre acting is, especially since I'm tied up and usually in one position throughout each scene. I remember video-ing the first scene where I'm blindfolded, gagged and tied to a chair and even though I was really feeling the moment and the scene when I watched the playback I realized that to the back row I'd look incredibly stiff. Body language, projection, legs apart, nipples out, roar - all the things one usually tries to subdue in favor of realism when acting for the screen, especially during close-ups. But we have no close-ups here. No close ups, no cutaways, no stunt men, no re-takes.

And as stressful and tiring and painful to the body as it was, I loved every minute of it.

For all those that came, thanks for watching. To the directors, thanks for having me. And to Ollie, thanks for being a great actor to work opposite. Fingers crossed I'll get to 'tread the boards' again.

My nipples could do with more exercise.

Chicks Who Suck and the Literature They Come From

'Twilight' has well and truly fucked us all.

I was walking around Borders with the Tamagotchi, randomly looking around the numerous sections of the bookstore, when we found ourselves walking past the 'romance' section, curious to see what was currently thought of as romantic literature. We had hoped to find some humorous Mills & Boon illustrations of muscular highwaymen and countesses with heaving bossoms, but instead we discovered something quite disturbing.

Today's romantic fantasy is all about vampires. And I'm quite sure that it's got something to do with the popularity of the Twilight series in pop culture. But not only that, it's crossed over to all forms of romantic literature. These aren't just gothic romance novels, this is something a lot more mind-numbing.

Let us examine, shall we?

Exhibit A: Twilight Fall

Description: Immortal Darkyn Lord Valentin Jaus and landscape artist Liling Harper are two lost souls. Brought together by fate, bound together by passion, Valentin and Liling find solace in each other’s arms. But the ties that bind them are deeper—and more dangerous—than either of them can possibly imagine…

I just love that opening line. The juxtaposition of an Immortal Darkyn, probably a higher order of vampire type blood sucky people, a great race who lives amongst the shadows... and he falls in love for a glorified gardener.

Exhibit B: The Devil's Due

Description: "Trust me or die…" That’s the choice Morgan Kingsley, exorcist, is given by the gorgeous rogue demon who’s gotten inside her. The truth is, Morgan has dozens of reasons not to trust anyone, from the violence that torched her house and killed her father to a love life that’s left her questioning her relationship with her erstwhile boyfriend, Brian. But Lugh, a king among demons, won’t take no for an answer. He’s prying into her body, her mind, even her sex life. And he’s just pulled Morgan into a power struggle that could have devastating consequences for both the human and demon worlds.

So... she's a female exorcist with trust issues stemming from daddy issues... and she has a demon 'inside' her. Who's prying on her sex life with Brian, the erstwhile boyfriend.

I'm really struggling to take this seriously as a great work of fiction.

Exhibit C: Sex and the Single Vampire

Description: If Allie doesn't find a ghost soon, her short career as a "Summoner" with United Psychical Research Association will be a thing of the past, so naturally she is delighted to find what she thinks is the tortured spirit of a gorgeous, naked, wounded man.

Is this romantic literature or horror porn?

Incidentally, the same author has published other books with titles more inane than the last, such as:-

And my personal favourite:

It's on the New York Times frickin' bestseller list! It must be good!

Exhibit D: Nice Girls Don't Have Fangs

Description: Jane Jameson’s mama said there’d be days like this. Fired as the children’s librarian in Half Moon Hollow, Kentucky; broken-down car late at night. But mama didn’t think about the possibility of Jane getting shot by a deer hunter and left for dead. Or being made the undead by Gabriel Nightengale so she’d have a second chance at, well, life. Adjusting to life without chocolate and sunbathing—never mind a job—has its challenges, but sexy Gabriel is one major perk. If only she can figure out how to tell her parents about her new liquid diet. And who is trying to frame her for murder?

First off, what kind of self respecting vampire would call themselves 'Gabriel Nightengale'? Secondly, after being turned into a vampire, would your primary worries be chocolate and sunbathing? Thirdly, what's up with the murder-framing sub-plot?

And finally, who the fuck reads this drivel?

Exhibit E: Undead and Un-something-or-other

An entire series of these. An entire-frickin'-series. And what's it all about? Well, here's the description from the first of the series, 'Undead and Unwed':

Betsy Taylor--former model, newly unemployed secretary, 30, and still single--wakes up after being flattened by a small SUV in a tacky coffin wearing cheap knock-off shoes. Her mother is glad she is back, albeit as a vampire, but her stepmother is enraged that Betsy has reclaimed her designer-shoe collection. With a wealthy best friend and a newly acquired doctor pal who is not susceptible to her formidable allure, she sets out to right wrongs but is abducted by Nostro, a tacky 500-year-old vampire who rules the undead roost. It seems that Betsy is an anomaly: a vampire who doesn't burn in sunlight, can fight the urge to feed, and is not repulsed by religious articles, all of which may make her the prophesied Queen of the Vampires. Teaming up with gorgeous vampire Eric Sinclair, who is in her opinion a major pervert, she takes on Nostro and his minions.


You know you're reading chick-lit when, even in death, shoes are the most important thing to point out.

Exhibit F: Succubus in New York

Description: Love is a tough game when you're in the succubus business - and Lily's been left mourning the departure of her dashing PI, Nathan. But being one of Satan's Chosen has its perks, and she and her stylishly-shod cohorts throw themselves back into soul-collecting with a vengeance - until they realise that someone in the ranks of the Hierarchy of Hell is gunning for their downfall. Meanwhile, Lily's best friend's demon boyfriend is kidnapped, the girls hire Nathan to help find him, and Lily's tropical vacation fling is back on the scene, determined to win her, and the assassins are closing in. Hell ain't all it's cracked up to be, sometimes...


So, in a nutshell, it's Sex in the City... except all the men the women shag die.

I really don't know what to say about all these. In essence, most of them are the same chick-lit style romance books one would expect to find in the 'romance' section except all the women are vampires. The only major difference is adding 'avoid sunlight' to the other major problems women seem to go through which, from the evidence of these books, consists entirely on footwear, chocolate and the Right Man.

The romantic vampire story is no longer in the exclusive domain of goth literature - Bridget Jones has been bitten by the vampires... but apart from that, nothing changes.

Inglorious Rat Basterds

I thought I was rid of it.

Sincerely, I thought I was. After the crazy rat hunt that ended with me showing the rat the way out to the back garden, I thought I was done with the rat for good. Finally, there was peace and quiet, no scurrying of tiny feet, no random rat droppings found all around.

A few days later, I heard him whilst I was sleeping. He was trying to get into my dustbin by my desk. I turned and switched on the light to see him on the ground, staring at me. I stared back. We had a moment, a single silent moment.

In a tiny squeak, the rat said "fuck me dead!" and ran off under the piano.

I spoke to the rat once again. I reasoned with him. I asked him nicely.

"Please, stop bugging me. I just want to go to sleep. If you quit bugging me I won't bug you. You do your thing, I'll do mine and everything will be alright."

The rat was silent. I think it got the message and I finally got to sleep.

Thinking all was fine once again I carried on with my business as the days progressed. Then one evening the Voxel peeps popped over. I was to help them do some voice overs for an animatic. I was in the midst of setting up my mic when I turned and saw him. There he fucking was again!

"Shhh," I told everyone, "be vewy, vewy quiet..."

The rat saw me and ran into my shoe cabinet. I gave chase, looked inside and saw to my dismay that there was a hole in the wall and it scurried in.

Bastard. That's how you got in, eh?

I closed up the shoe cabinet and carried on with the evening's plans. Finally, everything seemed to be alright.

Until last Saturday.

I had smelled it before, but it had gotten stronger. The scent. The odour. Essence of Rat. And on Saturday it was stronger than it had ever been. Either the rat had died or it was pissed off at me for locking him up in the shoe cabinet and then proceeded to piss everywhere. It could be anything. Regardless, I couldn't sleep at the Hub that night. The stench was overbearing. Spring cleaning was in order.

As Sunday rolled around I headed straight to the Hub and promptly took out all the cleaning products and began moving cabinets and drawers to check the small slits between them and the walls to see if the Rat had committed suicide behind them. Nothing. Dammit.

I then checked the shoe cabinet. Many of my friends had suggested ways of blocking up the hole, ranging from putty to tin foil to mirrors in an attempt to confuse him. I checked the shoe cabinet, started wiping about the area to get rid of any rat pee or poo...

...and discovered there was no hole at all.

What looked like a hole in the wall was actually an old rolled up poster that, at the angle I last saw it, looked like it was part of the wall. The rat must have hidden inside the poster when I gave chase and had somehow escaped. Bastard. I cleared up the shoe cabinet, sprayed and cleansed it and chucked the poster in my dustbin.

As I was clearing up the other areas I started sweeping around the piano when my instincts told me to sniff the  area. I did, and the scent was much stronger. Shit, now I have to move the frickin' piano. After much pushing and pulling I managed to do so and there the basterd was, dead as Dillinger.

I find it odd that of all the areas behind the piano it could die, it chose the spot next to the handiplast adhesive strips.

About 10cm away from the rat were remnants of the ancient rat poison that was scattered here and there in nooks and crannies, and the most probable cause of death. I grabbed the dead rat with a plastic bag and disposed of it properly before giving the entire area a good mopping.

However, the scent was still somewhere in the house, even after disposing of the rat corpse. I carried on cleaning up and followed my nose, all the way to my dustbin. Perhaps it was the poster, perhaps it had pissed all over it and rubbed its armpits on the corners. I brought the dustbin outside, tipped the contents as there was much dust that I wanted to sweep up and put in a proper bag for disposal...

...and out popped another frickin' basterd rat!

So there were two rats. Two of them scurrying about, either independent of each other or working as a team, both confusing the fuck out of me.

I disposed of the second corpse and carried on cleaning up, getting rid of any remnants of eau de Rat. Finally, the Hub was comfortable. Finally, the Hub felt right. Finally, the Hub smelt like how it was supposed to smell...

...of man sweat, cigarettes and remnants of burnt toast. Ahh...