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CATEGORIES ::
> Blah! > Movies, Music, Guitars & Comics > Fiction
BLOOD, SWEAT N' TEARS ::
> Y2k > Ciplak
ONLINE PRESENCE ::
> MySpace > Flickr
FRIENDS' BLOGS ::
> Albert > Az > Cynthia > Debbie > Eddy > Effigy > Izuwan > Jordan > Kevin > Pete Teo > Rina > Shelley
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...and I don't like it. There's something seriously wrong with all this. First off, apologies to all of you who were taken aback by the whole password bullshit. I didn't like it either and finally figured out how to fix it. But now my site looks completely different. If you could see the interface for blogging on 20six now you too would be shocked. Everything's all blue and la-di-da-di, it's annoying. It looks like something you'd find on a damn Apple computer. I liked the old look, the boxy look, the 'almost-German-in-it's-straightforwardness' look. This, this is bollocks of the nth degree. Although, it has to be said, it may make things better. I'm still trying to get my head around the new system, but if it can do what I think it can I can come up with a much more controlled layout, html-et-al. Y'all will just have to stick with me now as we go through the teething problems. Why'd they have to change it? It was so simple before... Godammit! Godammitgodammitgodammitgodammit! Fuck! Shit! Ass! Bitch! Minge! Quim! And other such utterances! Loud noises!!! LOUD NOISES!!!! No, that did not make me feel better. I have just returned from trying to become a licensed film producer and distributor. And to do so is more infuriating than anything I have ever encountered. Firstly, I have to fill in two forms, both RM$2 each. No biggie there. Then, I have to start up a Sdn Bhd company (or PLC, as you english speaking people would say) with a minimum paid up capital of RM$50,000. That's right. RM$50,000. With a fucking company secretary and all that other bollocks. All this after I've just received my company, FYI Films, as sole proprietorship. Fuck. Beans. Then, I have to pay a deposit of RM$1000 for each license together with a total monthly fee of RM$500. All this, for the privilege of legally producing and distributing my movie by myself. Bearing in mind the cost of the movie was roughly RM$10,000, including the purchase of a decent 3CCD camera. Fuck. BEANS. And they say they want to help the local film industry. How exactly does this make it easier for me to show my fucking movie!? How, in the name of all things bright and fucking beautiful does this insanely ludicrous form of registration aid me in any fucking way?! (Although, it has to be said, the guy I talked to was really nice and helpful. But still not helpful enough to loan me RM$50,000). Grunt. Grunt. Grunt. Ok. Calm now. ... NO. I'm not calm. I'm reaching the furthest depths of my sanity to stop me from going to the hardware store in Uptown and buying a crossbow to go all medieval on people's asses. Add to this the fact that I've had one hour of sleep so far because my mom wanted to drag me to some goddamn 'free' massage table bollocks (that, for some insane reason, involves singing) which was obviously a con to get people to buy these stupid RM$8,000 beds and I've got work to do till 2am tonight and Citibank's legal department is on my fucking ass like a rash. Yes. Citibank. You warned me, and it happened. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if I was still in Grey, but since I left I've skipped my monthly payments seeing that I need every penny I can scrape, beg and borrow just to feed me, my car and my nicotine addiction. I've got the money coming soon, but not soon enough. Now their legal department is on my ass. Just great. And I tried to call back and I can't get through. Fuck. Beans. Indeed. Tomorrow I meet with the GSC people about the screening. I fear this may turn into the non-screening. Keep your fingers crossed for me people. I am having a truly horrific day. Bean-fuckery. So. I have calmed down. After the debacle that was my attempt to try and register with FINAS, I went to GSC on Friday with a feeling of dread. What if they won't screen my film unless I sort out this FINAS bollocks? As it turned out, the GSC people are the nicest I've met in any industry in quite a while. When I told them what happened on Thursday, they quickly started calling up other local filmmakers whose movies they'd shown and tried to find out a number of solutions to help me out. Apparently, I don't have to be registered with FINAS as a producer, so long as I'm a member of PPFM (no, I have no idea what it stands for). The rub, however, is that to register with PPFM I have to be affiliated with a company that is registered with FINAS. It's all very confusing, isn't it? I swear once this is all over I'm writing a book. Although it'll probably just be all the entries from this blog about Ciplak compiled (and probably censored). In which case, you guys are getting a free sneak preview. Come to the gig on Saturday! It shall rock big brass balls! So here's a new layout I did up just to test whether the HTML editor on 20six is the shiznit or just plain shit. So far, so-so. Just need to tweak the layout according to the size of the damn ads that have to appear, regardless. I also need to sort out that damn links sidebar. It starts from the bottom for some inexplicable reason. More changes shall come. Gig went ok, if it wasn't for the damn weather. When Y2k went on stage it was still pissing down. Somehow our punk rock slowed the rain (I think). Only major complaint I had (and I'm sure Henry would feel the same) was the amps: goddamn Peavey amps. I hate 'em. Hate 'em, hate 'em hate 'em. They only have one sound: 80's metal. Pisses me off to no end. Thanks to all those that came. Oh, and Albert? If you're reading this, send over whatever pics you took! I wanna see! My photography pales in comparison to you! Wrote this yesterday but didn't get a chance to post it till now: As of this moment, I am 26 years, 3 hours and 13 minutes old. I'm writing this at home, in bed, in the hopes of posting it later today when I'm on-line. My fingers, palms and arms ache, all simultaneously, from practising too much on my guitar which you can blame on the current playlist in my car which includes, amongst other things, 'Master of Puppets' by Metallica, Satriani's 'Satch Boogie', Stevie Ray Vaughan's 'Texas Flood' and other guitarists that I could never possibly dream of playing at the same speed with the same tone and same amount of soul. You see, I've been listening to these carpal tunnel syndrome inducing bands for the past few weeks which has made me put the metronome on my computer at 160-180 BPM's in a vain attempt to play all my exercises and scales at this speed which hasn't helped matters much. I've also been practising the solo for AC/DC's 'Shook Me All Night Long' like a dog so that we could play it last weekend at the French Fest thing. Two days before the gig all the bends in the solo ripped the usual hardened skin on the tips of my fingers right off (most guitarists' finger tips are devoid of sensation after a couple years), leaving me with fresh, virginal skin which is NOT the best thing to have when you play guitar. Needless to say, any 'rock' faces I may have pulled during the solo was not me trying to look cool (and it's very doubtful that pulling near-orgasmic faces whilst playing guitar could ever be construed as truly cool) but a visual representation of the absolute agony I was enduring trying to bend those fucking strings. And I still fucked it up. But enough about the guitar (it hurts my fingers just to fuckin' type, godammit!) and back to the whole '26' thing. Yes. It's my birthday. I'm 26 years old. What does that mean? It means I've passed the halfway line. I'm no longer in the 18-25 demographic where maturity is optional. I'm no longer an almost-adult by any scale of measurement. Do I feel more like an adult? Hard to say. I'm sat in boxer shorts and an old Beastie Boys t-shirt from the 'In The Round' tour and I don't own a pair of 'sensible' trousers that fit. The fact that my waistline is constantly growing is a sure sign of adulthood (my mother always used to say that after 21 you no longer grow vertically but horizontally) but I do not have sensible hair, my jeans sag and I won't be caught dead with my shirt tucked in. I run my own business now, true, but it's a business of music and movies. Some people worry a lot about age. I don't think I do. I become more experienced over time, true, but I remember when I was a kid and making a vow not to forget what fun it is thinking and acting like a child, and I'd like to think I'm still a jackass. Albeit a more responsible one. I don't know. All I do know is I'm busy. Busy as a bee. Bee-like. Working with no pay (yet) which has it's own rewards but enough pains to sometimes make you forget what the rewards actually are. Sometimes I miss the clockwork timing of the monthly pay cheque and the free time on the internet I used to have back in my old job. Remember how I used to blog a whole lot more back then? Now I hardly ever have time to check my e-mail, and instead of my usual rants and random links to disturbing ferret-love any of you readers who still log in are instead treated to pictures (you know what they say - 'a picture speaks a thousand words' - so technically I've given you fuckers a novel). Then I remember all the other crap that goes with the regular job and thank God I've got enough support to keep me going through these rough start-up months. It's tiring, true, it's working me to the bone, but there's a light at the end of the tunnel. (Either that or evil pilot fish are playing tricks with me.) (...what are pilot fish doing in the tunnel?) (How the fuck should I know? Can we get out of these goddamn brackets and get back to the plot?) (What plot?) (Fuck off! I'm writing!) (Ooohh... sorry, Mr. Grisham...) (Fucking Gemini split personality...) What was the reason for all this? This rambling and writing of random thoughts? Just to ramble I guess. It's been so long since I wrote a paragraph on this blog and I miss it. (You miss typing your mental vomit so that random perverts searching for 'Japanese Love Monkeys' and accidentally stumble upon your blog can spend five minutes reading it and wondering how lonely you must be deep inside?) (Fuck off, bitch-dick!) (...) (...what the FUCK is a bitch-dick?) So I've finally fixed my layout somewhat. Still not happy with a couple of things. Namely, the fact that the paragraphs in posts are all justified. I never set the code to be justified, it just justified it by itself. Why does 20six feel the need to justify me? Spammers have also been cramming up my guestbook something fierce, a matter that I must fix somehow. OR 20six could fix it. Whatever. As some of you may or may not know, yesterday was my 26th birthday which was spent, well, relaxing and not doing work of any kind. Woke up at 1pm, went over to my girlfriend's place, chilled out for a bit, watched Omen (so-so), then went home and watched Minority Report again whilst my girlfriend masaged my arms and wrists and finally, after she left, fiddled around with guitar, bought some junk food and watched Oh, Brother Where Art Thou? Good day. Today, it's back to work. Got a bit more mixing to do with that first band I've been recording, then a meeting for a music video job. Things are going relatively smoothly. But the mind is still wary. There could be coyotes. Or pilot fish. Why in the name of fuck do I feel like crying? Could it be the contents of the book? The story of Marty's life, my favourite director, laid out in peaks and throughs? Possibly. Although I don't think it's so incredible that it would lead one to tears. Could it be because of something that happened this morning? Possibly. But what happened this morning is not something one writes about and posts on-line for the whole world to read. Not unless you have a penchant for writing poetry about the 'cool embrace of death' whilst singing lead vocals in a very bad emo/screamo/post-hardcore emotional band lacking in any of the talent the American counterparts seem to manage to pull off (at least for the purposes of record sales). Could it be from reading Martin Scorcese's relationship with his parents, friends and colleagues? Or have I said too much? All I do know is that I spent the whole of yesterday relaxing, writing a song which I reckon (although some may disagree) sounds like a cross between Deep Purple's 'Black Night' and Metallica's 'Master of Puppets', followed by a very nice birthday dinner at Itallianies. And today I feel like bawling my eyes out. How fucking emo is that? |
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