justin_guber - @ 20six.co.uk

I play with myself to many people in public

I am a silly bunny.

I'm playing a gig organized by Shelley (pictured right) on the 20th, all by myself, just me n my guitar, and I just e-mailed Shelly asking about the details. Then I click on her blog for shits n giggles and there it is. So yeah. Click on the pic to find out the details. Somewhere in BB. It's also got an open mic thing, methinks, so ch-ch-check it out.

9.11.04 05:41

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Guess who's back in the motherfuckin' house...

...with a fat dick for your motherfuckin' mouth.

Yeah.

so I'm back, all ye unfaithful. Actually, I've been back for awhile, but the network hadn't been set-up yet. Then, when it was set up, I got a shit load of work.

But all is good now. I'm in the new office, which is... different. Bigger in places, smaller in others. At this very moment one of my colleagues is redesigning our work area to make it more kickass. The corridors to and fro different departments are long, and I have brought my trusty board to skate hither and tither. Someone else brought a Razor scooter, which makes far less noise with its rubber wheels, but at least my board doesn't look as pansy.

Things I've learnt in the new office: the number one thing to do in the event of a fire, as stated by the plaques ordaining the lifts, is to, and I quote:

"Shout FIRE FIRE FIRE."

Later on in point eight you are then told not to panic. Right.

Our lifts sound like ticking bombs and we can't smoke anywhere in the building, and there aren't many eateries nearby. This Wisma Genting place ain't exactly easy on the wallet when it comes to food. Or parking.

But the clubs are a block to my right, and the malls are a block to my left. The roads have been empty this whole week thanks to Raya (Eid) and all is well.

Almost.

I did something bad the other day. I corrupted my girlfriend once again. I introduced her to South Park.

The fact that she had never heard of South Park and managed to stay oblivious to it is in itself an astounding feat and a true testament of her purity. The fact that I sat her down and made her sit through 'Uncle Fucka' and 'Kyle's Mom's a Bitch' are testament of my corrupting capabilities.

Raya (Eid) was alright, surprisingly. Caught up on a lot of sleep and calories. Ketupat. Lemang. Oreos. Yeah. Went to Az's open house and was finally told that practically every post is me complaining about work. Heh. Will try my best to contain my pain and instead spout limericks of cheese and badger-fondling.

The gig is coming up. The gig is tomorrow. The gig is called Songwriter's Avenue, and the details are below:

Songwriters Avenue, organised by Shelley Leong
Featured performers: Khai, Broken Scar & Zalila Lee. Shelley will also do a short performance.
Open mic will feature many new faces
Venue: Le Benardin (upstairs lounge), Changkat Bukit Bintang
Date: 20th November 2004, Saturday, 9.30pm start

No entry fee, boys and girls. Be there or be... well... somewhere else besides there. Which is quite obvious, really. Yeah. Hmmm. I will go now.

Or not.

19.11.04 09:27

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Hello.

And how are we this afternoon?

There. That's the extent of my politeness. Back to the hardcore udder fondling.

So I played Shelley's Songwriters Avenue gig which was, for want of a better word, absolutely terrifying and immensely enjoyable at the same time.

Kinda like watching The Exorcist without the trauma associated with first viewing it at the tender age of 5. A lot of horror movies were watched at that age. Halloween I & II. The Omen trilogy. And a really disturbing one involving Victorian era Britain, a young child and a penny farthing bicycle.

But back to the gig.

Moments before leaving to go to the gig, I was in my room in Taman Tun, rushing out lyrics for a song I just wrote about one of my ex's after deciding that whilst everyone would want me to play 'Can't Get It Up', I'd rather try something new. Besides, the song doesn't sound half as good without a band and I often screw up the lyrics, there being so many.

I zoomed off in my car with my cheap Santa Cruz acoustic and Laney amp and parked in BB, only to discover I had quite a way to walk before I'd arrive at the venue. No matter. I got to Le Bernadin's, and holy shit was it a nice venue.

A high ceiling with french tiles on the roof, tasteful matching furniture and the huge head of buddha adorned the place, and it was intensely chilled to the max. The wood made for good acoustics and all the other hullabaloo nonsense that sound afficionados would wax lyrical about. A quick soundcheck with the others, and it was time to wait for the gig to start. In the meantime, we were treated to a three course meal, where I had some weird duck thing which was quite nice for starters, a black pepper steak (medium rare, taste the blood) and strawberries. Everyone else had creme brulee for dessert. I don't see what all the fuss is about.

Waiting for the gig to start, I must've smoked a whole pack of cigarettes, nervously fidgeting and wondering what the fuck I've landed myself into. I was sharing the stage with songwriters who could actually sing and had been doing so for quite awhile. Whereas I always had the backing of a band. Screwed up somewhere? No-one will notice amidst the drums and distortion.

They'll notice here.

Kevin (Broken Scar) was playing. Zal was playing. These two have great voices and well composed songs. I have verse-chorus-verse songs and almost all of them are in the key of G 'cos I can't sing in any other key (except E occasionally).

Then the crowd came in. Holy fuck that's a lot of people. The butterflies in my stomach got their decks out and decided to kickflip the shit out of my bowels. It was finally time to play...

...and it was alright, actually.

...

What?

...oh, you thought I'd describe the rest of the night? Fuck no. Weren't you there?

That's no excuse. Haven't you heard of planes?!

I may upload one or two of the new songs up here for a week or something. Not much webspace. Got the tapes from Az. Gonna copy it and scrutinize my performance Cowell-style.

Sunday? Went to an open house at Aza's, chilled out with my girl (and finished off South Park) and went to rehearse with the new line up. Needs work, but I think we'll get there.

...sorry. I know. It's not as interesting as previous posts.

I'm trying, you know? But it's a really lazy day today, I'm trying not to talk of work (after Debbie reprimanded me), and... and...

WAHHH!!!!!!!!!

22.11.04 08:07

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Constantine... the action figure.

No doubt most of you have read my rantings on Keanu Reeves as Hellblazer John Constantine. I must admit, I am curious. All the test screenings seem to be positive, but then again, I haven't read a test screening review from someone who actually reads the comic book it's based on.

And true to form in any Hollywood movie, there will be tie-ins. A video game is in the works, as is this figurine of the Keanu Constantine fighting demons super-heroic stylee.

Oh, well. At least it's not 'I Know What You Did Last Raya'.

22.11.04 08:10

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"Yeah, can I get your order?"

"Yeah, can I get a reservoir dog and a coffee n' butterscotch milkshake?"
Whilst I am now no longer insanely missing the streets of London as much as I did when I first arrived to my mommaland, there are still quite a few things I long for. Student prices at the union pub. Leicester Square. BBC2 and Channel 4. All very British. But there's one thing I miss about London that is as un-British as can be in a land of all things British.

Ed's Easy Diner.

Goz introduced me to the place. He introduced me to a lot of other things too. He'd always call asking whether I wanted to check out some weird-ass show, like Shockheaded Peter or the UK premier of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, which is another story I'll write about one day for it is funny and you shall laugh.

Unless I wrote it already. My brain is dung. Nonetheless, I shall continue about Ed's.

Right slap bang in the middle of Soho are not one, but two Ed's Easy Diner's: a slice of Americana plonked into the land of fish & chips.

It had all the stereotypical fifties pap you'd ever want: rollerskating waitresses, 20p jukeboxes, booths, shakes, the works, and I've always been a huge fan of fifties Americana. I fell in love with it the second I heard rock n' roll in it's pure, unadulterated original form when I bought the soundtrack to 'Lipstick on your collar'. Bak to the Future part I also had a profound impact on my love for all things Americana. Happy Day's too. I love the Brunswick design, I love the jukeboxes, I love the fact that here was what was in essence a bar, but the beers have been replaced by super-thick milkshakes.

One of the main reasons I popped down there was for the hotdogs. It was the only place I knew where I could get a 100% beef hotdog. Whilst I'm not the most strongly devout of Muslims, I have always told myself that no matter what happens, I'll never eat pork. At least I wouldn't have broken that rule.

But what a fine hotdog it was. My usual order would be a 'Reservoir Dog': one beef hotdog covered in a chilli minced meat kinda thing, topped with cheese.

Oh, hells yeah.

That would be topped off by a milkshake, which I'd never be able to finish. Their milkshakes were a meal in itself: thick pint sized motherfuckers in a metal glass. You'd have to go through the bastards with a spoon and I loved it, especially my favourite mix - coffee & butterscotch.

Shit, I'm drooling.

I'd bring my girlfriend at the time to the Trocadero one for a bite almost everytime she came down, then maybe hit up the bar next door which served kickass strawberry daquiris (she ordered them, honest).

So here's to Ed's Easy Diner. It may be more expensive than McD's, but after 'Super Size Me' are you really gonna complain?

22.11.04 09:07

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Hello, Mr. Suity-Man,

and how are you today?

One of the things you'll notice in any advertising agency is the very obvious distinction between the suits and the creatives.
The suits are the servicing folk, the ones that go to see the clients and do all the dull work such as strategic planning, budgeting and, the most infuriating of all, managing the clients, creatives, production managers & printers expectations at the same time. They are known to often attempt to be creative, with often disastrous results. They are also prone to try and please everyone, which also leads to dire consequences of the 'Threes Company' variety. After all, there's only so much pole you can suck before you get confused whose knob your cleansing. At least they get paid well for it. Obviously, as their name suggests, they wear suits and ties a lot to work.

The creatives on the other hand are the artsy types. The most common definition of a young creative in an advertising agency is 'young adult who believes him or herself to be an artist, but would rather get paid than suffer the indignation of being a broke bastard whose only claim to fame is a write-up in KLue magazine'. It's true. At least for the young ones, anyway. We writers wish we were writing novels, the designers wish they were doing fashion and art galleries. Once they get into the 5 figure bracket, though, they really couldn't give two shits. Creatives often try to exude their creativeness with their lifestyle and the way they dress, so don't be surprised to find jackasses in jeans, t-shirts with 'clever' slogans, oddly cut pants and strange shoes.

The reason I bring this up, and in particular, the dress sense of the two, is because today, I did the unthinkable.

I came to work in a suit.

I must admit, though, as suits go, it's not the most suity of suits. I've got my super-thin 50's tie on, a white Marks n' Sparks shirt, a grey 2-piece single breasted G2000 suit (which I bought a long time ago for some dinner and haven't worn for quite awhile) and, the creme de la creme, my vintage two tone black/white shoes. Unfortunately their not wing tips but black caps. Ah, well, who's complaining?

No-one's complaining. But they sure are commenting. So far, since I came in to work half an hour ago, 5 people have asked me whether I have an interview, 4 have asked me where I'm going, 3 have asked what's wrong with me and 2 have commented whether or not the outfit was aesthetically pleasing, with positive results. Only 1 has noticed it's retro, and has been calling me Frank 'Khairil' Sinatra.

Where's my hat when I need it? (hint, Saj, hint)...

The suit is no longer the every day de rigeur. It stopped being de rigeur in the sixties. And I don't even know what de rigeur means. I'm sure I'm using it correctly, though. Sounds like a member of the Wu Tang Clan: Dah Rigga, younger sibbling of dah Rza.

But somewhere along the way suits become symbolic of hoity-toity money-grubbing straight-laced church on Sunday son's gonna be a lawyer and daughter's gonna get married to one white picket fence New Straits Times reading cup-o-tea drinking two up two down pornography is obscene and how dare you say the f-word type people.

Why?

There are many, many wonderful things about the suit. It doesn't just have to be el corporate. It can go swing, jazzy, bluesy, retro, seventies (hmm, might stay away from that), eighties (big shoulder pads) and punk rock. It does not have to be the standard Sparksman Shop cut, godammit.

Stylo a bit. Represent the suit. 'Cos there's only so many clever slogans and designs you can put on a tee.

24.11.04 03:54

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The root of my toothache...

...is the subject of today's post. Otherwise itwouldn't be in the title, would it? That's logic, that is.

So yeah. I was on leave on Friday, and made my way to the dentist to find out what the fuck was wrong with my teeth this time.

You see, after the surgery of removing my wisdom teeth, and after all the excruciating pain for a week, things were back to normal. Well, except for the fact that I had a huge gaping hole where my wisdom tooth used to be and food kept getting trapped in it. But apart from that, all was well.

Then it wasn't. There was a new pain. Everytime food would get stuck in, my tongue would perform miraculous contortions to get the fucker out of such a deep damn hole (yes, ladies, my tongue is that good... heh...). But once I'd get the fucker out, I could no longer drink without causing excruciating pain in that part of my mouth.

The dentist looked inside.

"Nothing wrong here," he said, "just a bit of food stuck in there, but apart from that it's healing well. Let me just clean that up..."

With his little dental tool, he squirted some cold water into the wound. What followed was a searing lightning bolt of pain from the bottom of my jaw all the way to the right side of my brain. I jumped out like a man possessed by evil spirit's.

...well, evil spirit's that did a lot of jumping. Like frogs. Evil ones.

The dentist was shocked. "It's just water! It shouldn't cause any pain... oh. I think I know what's wrong."

You see, now that the wisdom tooth was gone, that part of my gums was a bit on the loose side, exposing the other tooth. The cold water seeped in and hit the root of the fucker, making the nerve go, "motherfucker, are you out of yo' damn mind?!"

It still hurts too. At least I got free painkillers. Sweet. I'm beginning to rely on these fuckers too much. 400mg Ibuprofen pills. Just take two and chill. Ahhh...

I'd write about the rest of the weekend, but I have rehearsals to get to. Time to rock my balls off.

Well, not literally.

I hope.

28.11.04 14:43

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Negatives...

...are often very un-positive.

I don't like negative comments much. I doubt many do. I tend to physically react to negative comments. My body becomes lethargic and tired. My brain can no longer focus on anything except the comment.

Or, in my case last night, comments.

Yes, that's right, boy's and girls. Someone told the old Justin Guber that he was, in not so many words, crap at his job.

Ain't it fun.

The fact that nobody has had any complaint about me prior to this is quite ammusing. Only one believes I am shi-ite. And not in a Muslim fundamentalist way.

Trying to work after that was a fucking nightmare, I'll tell you right now. Dodgy dodgy dodgy. Me no like.

Me come back when there's something I do like.

30.11.04 03:38

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Pimpin' Legless Armless Headless Hoes...

So awhile back I discovered another facet of the incredibly seedy and hushed up sex life of Malaysians: the pimp calling card.

What's a pimp calling card? Well, it's a calling card for you to call a pimp, who'll hook you up with any one of their fine hizzoes fr' shizzoe. Seriously. I've collected three so far, which I shall scan one day when I find the time to prove to you how serious these pimps are, offering free delivery to the KL & PJ area from 10pm to 5am.

Once a friend of mine even asked the guy who gave us the cards as to how the transactions work. Apparently, you give them a call, they pop around your house with 5 girls, you pick one, pay, and get jiggy.

And they say Malaysia's not that developed.

So one day I get another of these pimp cards, or so I thought. The card read:

MEN'S SEXTOYS
Free Delivery KL & PJ

I got this a while back, and never thought much of it, except for the burning question: what exactly does 'men's sextoys' mean? Is he referring to the girls as sex toys? Or are the sex toys men? What's going on?

Below the card was a website: www.geocities.com/manheaven01. Today curiosity got the better of me and I typed it into my browser.

(Actually, it was less curiosity and more of the fact that MySpace won't fucking load up. Yes, I just got a MySpace account. Sue me.)

After a few seconds, the following image popped up:
Aha. He was being literal.

Below the picture was the following:

SATISFACTORY SEX TOYS!

Re-live that first time with little miss lucky. Realistic feel and so succulently and pleasingly tight, just like a young virgin. Slide in and feel the slippery love tunnel squeeze down on you as the magic vibes start to purr and bring you to a shuddering climax.

Just what dreams are made of! Guaranteed to give you, ever ready hours of pleasure, time and time again virgin pussy is a new vibrating pussy made from a material that feels soft and moist just like the real thing.

Imagine the sensation as you thrust into a tight vagina and feel the pulsing vibes grip your penis the pulsing variable speed control allows you to stay in control until you explode with orgasmic pleasure!

Quick question: Would you fuck a piece of plastic that was made to look and feel like a woman, except the head, arms and legs were missing? Can't you just give me a box with a hole and let me use my imagination? In fact, what's wrong with my hand, or a piece of liver with a slit that's been put in the microwave for 10 seconds? This is beyond Boxing Helena.

Still, the fact that I got a calling card for it is kinda amusing. All over the world, shady people in overcoats are approaching passers-by trying to sell them crack, hoes, guns and Magic: the Gathering cards, and here in Malaysia, somewhere out there a middle aged Chinese guy is walking up to people in dark corners asking,

"Psst... hey, you! Yeah, you! Wanna fuck a vibrating torso?"

30.11.04 04:26

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I'll Surf Any Site That Moves!

Effing finally! The internet problem in the office has been solved! Fuckers took long enough to fix it.

So what have I been doing, now the internet's back on track? Why, surfing like a mo-fo, of course. Been trying to figure out the big deal with this MySpace thing. I can see the benefits of it: combining Friendster, 20six, mp3.com, hotmail and everything else in between.

But once again, I have the same problem I had on Friendster. My inability to make friends on-line.

I find the whole practice very uncomforting. Sending a message to someone I've never met in my entire life makes me feel like I'm intruding. But I don't feel intruded upon if someone sends me a message. It's strange.

Another uncomfortable situation is my current workstation at work. I have just realized how open and exposed I am. It makes typing this post feel like I'm sending secret plans for the death star to rebel bases. Everyone passes by behind me, occasionally bumping into me thanks to the pillar behind me causing a rather narrow passageway, and everyone passes by in front of me.

And they're looking. And staring. And looking. And watching me. I can see it in their beady little eyes, they're watching me.

I also smell kinda rank today. The deo's not working again. Why the fuck did God invent armpits in the first place?!

30.11.04 11:48

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