justin_guber - @ 20six.co.uk

Y2k in London pt. I

It was sometime in the late afternoon at our terminal in the Bahrain airport, when we ran into trouble. They were never told that there was a group from Malaysia going to London to perform, and this did not sit well with them. Somewhere behind me an African with a curious looking passport was being hassled.
"Why are you going to London?" asked the Hazamat looking customs official.
"I can go wherever I want," said the Big Boi-looking African, "it is my business where I go!"
He was pulled to the side. We were pulled to another side. Myself and my bandmates, two people from the organizing comittee of the Global Battle of the Bands in Malaysia (otherwise known as GBOB), numerous people from Astro and two winners of a competition to follow us to the show - a young Chinese man, his first time flying out of the country, and the Silent Cancer of the first runner ups, Revenge. We had our papers, we had our visas, there was no reason for stopping us, but Hazamat would not allow it. Not until he had heard it straight from the horses mouth.
One month ago my band Y2k won the GBOB. It was totally unexpected, to say the least. We thought we hadn't performed as best we could, but somehow the gods of rock looked kindly towards us, and gave us safe passage to London to compete in the finals. Or so we thought.
Hazamat looked through our letter of invitation from the London office of the GBOB. He dialled the number and got his confirmation, cursing to himself as he did so.
"Ask them why they didn't fax us!" said his colleague. But it was too late. They had to let us pass, onto the plane where we would have to endure cramped seats and recycled air for another eight hours and where I would also end up spilling water all over my crotch and snore uncontrollably.
I realize I sound negative. This is not the mood becoming of someone who lady luck has decided to deem worthy of going to another country to play a gig, and not just any country. The land where I once lived, and studied, and did silly things. Now I was going back to rock out with my cock out, so why should I be so negative?
Because of the water.
I am typing this from the Generator Hostel on Tavistock Place. The weather in London is cold, even colder with the wind-chill. Our room is a tiny closet with bunk beds, green and blue walls and a very large number over the door resembling a prison cell-block. I am not a number. I am Y2k.
But even this doesn't bug me. What bugs me is the water. Namely, hot water.
Or, as is the case with us, the lack of.
Yes, there is no hot water, and no one in this hostel, not one of the hundreds here, have taken a proper, comfortable shower. Those that have, have not enjoyed it. Like my guitarist, Hermano Grande. He braved the cold, freezing shower at 5.30am, unable to sleep, numbing himself with the negative degrees of celcius just so that he could cleanse himself. I opted for scrubbing just my armpits, itself a difficult and painful endeavour. And don't get me started on the nether regions.
We have no hot water and are surrounded by frenchmen. God help us.

3.12.07 17:23

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Y2k in London: Pt II

I have less than seven minutes left on the internet terminal with extortionate prices at the St. Giles hotel near Tottenham Court Road, so we shall make this post quite brief:
Checked into dodgy youth hostel called the Generator that hadn't had hot water for a month and froze our buttocks off as the guard shushed us whilst we smoked outside. Proceeded to play at Camden Underworld and got into super finals at Electric Ballroom. Directors of GBOB Malaysia put us up in St. Giles hotel, where hot water is in abundance. Made friends with people of many countries and pissed off a sassy black lady when she ran into my cigarette. Caught up with old friends such as Ramteen who I have known since I was twelve. Snored like a baby Godzilla. Didn't win the super finals, but fuck it, we got to play at the Electric Ballroom and had a blast. Tonight, I go to Kul's place to stay for my remaining nights and we shall paint the town red down the east end. Tonight is when it happens.
Tonight, we dine... in Brick Lane.
Possibly.

7.12.07 17:00

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2008: Like 2007, but older.

I wasn't even looking at the time. I didn't have too. As soon as midnight rolled around to usher in the brand spanking new year the fireworks set off with a bang into the night sky and crowds outside whooped and cheered and shouted and yelled in merriment.
Not me.
I've been very pensive, of late. I've never like the months between September and February as it is usually the time of the year when I'm at my most negative.
The worst period of this was probably in the winter months between 2000 and 2001. Winter in London means the sun rises late and sets early, and I always seemed to fall asleep just as the sun came up and wake up just as it went down, leaving me a vampire, roaming the night, pensive. The lack of sun, the loneliness and the events that unfolded during that time (which shall not be mentioned to protect the innocent, including myself) left me an emo wreck, listening to the Deftones' "White Pony" album on repeat within the confines of my room.
Here, the sun is bright and shinning, but I find myself, over the past few months, following a similar routine. I don't sleep till 4am, sometimes as late/early as 6.30am, and I find myself waking up later and later.
On the final day of the year 2007, I woke up at 4.30pm. I slept earlier that day at 7am.
2007 was quite the sporadic year, as far as blog entries went. The posts were few and far between and usually took the form of some kind of pimping of whatever endeavor I was involved in at the time. Was this because I was busy? Perhaps. For the first half of the year, perhaps. But I've been busier. At the height of my blog entries, I was working an advertising job whilst also recording an album and shooting a movie. That was almost three years ago.
The truth is, I didn't know what to write. The reason I have this blog is not just to pimp out my increasing number of endeavors, but to write what's on my mind. I'd find a comfy place to plug in my wifi card in my (now ancient) laptop and type away, lost in the realm of words, the keyboard my conduit.
But the places are not comfy anymore, and the words aren't coming to me. The mind is in a maze and the heart is in knots. Things are wibbly-wobbly indeed.
I hope it's not the same for you.
...
...great fucking way to start the first post in this blog for 2008, huh? Pray for something weird to come my way. Like a herd of wilderbeast or something. Go on. Do it for daddy.

31.12.07 21:03

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