Saturday, June 28, 2008

Ten Sixty Six And All Of That

Welcome to the Shieldwall fellow fyrdsmen.
Chin up. Stand firm. Parry and thrust.
You're suffering from both constipation and hayfever.
Your hauberk armour is hanging wet and heavy on your shoulders.
Your Spangenhelm helmet is digging into your nasal bridge.
Your kite-shield’s rough wooden surface is skinning your knuckles.
As we all know, The Battle of Hastings
didn’t actually take place in Hastings at all.
As we all know, the area surrounding
Senlac Ridge came to be known as Battle.
And not the other way around.
Long, fierce and bloody-beyond-belief
they began fighting at dawn on October 14th
and fought for as long as the daylight lasted.
And then they fought some more.
Neither side willing to concede.
The Anglo-Saxons refusing to yield.
The Normans refusing to give up the ghost.
The sandy stream transformed into a sanguine lake.
But don’t believe everything you read on a Bayeaux embroidery.
Tall dark and and handsome, King Harold Godwinson
was only identifiable from tattoos found upon his torso.
He was beheaded and gelded. Though not in that order.
And there was likely no arrow in his eye.
Whilst the king’s body was carried from theatre
and buried beneath stones in an unknown location,
the corpses of the 5,000 Englishmen who’d died in his name
were left to rot in the open-air for the next 10 years.
As a warning. As a deterrent. Like so much cheap manure.
The wyrds remain wholly inexorable.
The wyrds go ever as they will.
Where’s a Russian linesman when you need one?

Monday, June 23, 2008

SUMMER COMMA DONNA

Oh hey there sweet-thaaaaaaaaang...





















It's been awhile, no?














But we've got our whole LIVES ahead of us...














What matters is the here and now.





















And the colour ORANGE.





















And relieving yourself of negative thoughts like the unfounded concern that your favourite orange dress may in fact be...red??

So let's blow off 5th period sex-ed and just BE...

















We could educate eachother and talk in Australian!

Or hardcore make-out in the BOILER ROOM.

Like our dear old friends Jordan Catalano and Angela Chase.

They who were cute sometimes...
















And then 30 seconds or so after this classic push the hair behind the ears move, Jordan got fed up because 15 year old Angela wouldn't put out after two whole weeks of making out.





















Which is more than I can say for Jared Leto's band 30 Seconds to Mars (having never heard them but assuming they're lame just because and having heard they're lame from my friend Georgia who was also repulsed by Jared Leto's soulful rambling about a deeply spiritual journey recording in like, 5 different countries, including one called AFRICA.)

Anyways...Jared Leto is a weirdo.
















And for future reference, I'm not really into this kind of underwear because they are Donald Duckish and look like diapers and make me think of the time my rack was used as a place for tears and while there is nothing wrong with boys crying (it's actually kind of cool when they do), in requesting my rack as THE place to purge salty waves had me feeling like I'd been asleep for 9 months and I didn't know my place in the world.





















Especially since as a teen, I was way less scared about getting knocked up (read: not at all scared, never even crossed my mind) and then I grew up and remembered how things work and it's true what they say.












And now it's time for a friendly reminder that if you go joyriding without your seatbelt on...
















Make sure you check the transmission now and again (like maybe after every time you cruise without a seatbelt.)





















And even if you play it safe, don't play it silly because some lecherous leprechauns have been known to lurk in the midst of latex (and lambskin and also in and around pulling out) so even Cautious Christophers and Christophettes have a responsibility to check it out, d'accord??

Point is, globetrotting and jet-setting with the jet-set is really doing a number on me.






















Yesterday, for example, I travelled with my Travel Scrabble to 4 different time zones (read: cafés) before I found one that wasn't going to give me jet lag (read: close before midnight) and ordered your standard Colombian roast (eventhough African Red Bush tea provides much more room for jokes about rugs matching curtains) and I was with my old friend Jonas who flew in from exotic Comox, British COLUMBIA just for the occasion (read: he was already here for his graduation ceremony last week and decided to stay the summer and we didn't feel like drinking, we felt like thinking.)

It was a terrible game overall (eventhough I got triple word score on T-O-Q-U-E) and we didn't even finish it, we just got mad.





















But that is the cool thing about Travel Scrabble, you can close it up and save it for a rainy day and there are plenty of those in this town.

Today, for example.

I happen to love the rain if it's not too cold out although I wish my steady boy were around on days like these because then it would be at least 6 times more fun.





















Alright team, see you whenever for another prologue that is really nothing more than bullshitting about nothing and do you ever get the feeling that your life is a never-ending prologue that will never give way to the main event??

As my sister's steady boy Russell said last week, "Do you guys actually READ prologues, you guys??"

I'M DOOMED!

Sunday, June 22, 2008

The Buddha’s Noble 12-Bar Path

Strap it on and turn it up to 11.
Pluck it, slapp it, popp it and tapp it.
Like a snake charmer with an electric boa-contrictor.
Like a matador with a 4-string medium gauge wild bull.
Like Siegfried and Roy with a woodgrain-finished white tiger.
She tames the beast. Oh boy, she tames it but good.
Wrestles it into submission. Shows it just who’s boss.
Rest in peace Torakusu Yamaha. Your child is in safe hands.


The Chandeliers at MySpace

Saturday, June 14, 2008

The Smelling Of The Greasepaint. The Roaring Of The Crowd.

Over the past 4 weeks
I’ve developed something of a routine.
Between curtain-up and my first entrance,
stage-right, I like to make myself
a cup of fairtrade gold blend tea
and sit on my own in the basement, listening
to the crackling ripples of laughter over the intercom.
After my first exit, stage-left, I push through the
double set of heavy doors marked; “Push This Door Only”
and follow the signs for; “Toilets, Studio Bar, Cloakroom”.
Whilst waiting for my second entrance, stage-right,
I find time to plan my escape route in the event of a fire.
Our designated Assembly Point is Trafalgar Square;
beneath 1st Viscount Nelson’s Corinthian Column
and across approximately 6 lanes of fast-moving traffic.
In the gap between my second exit, stage-right,
and my third entrance, stage-left,
I return Understage to collect a bunch of flowers
and a pair of sunglasses that I bought from
a Premium Outlet Mall in Cabazon, California.
Leisurely re-ascending the 10 concrete steps,
I push through the spring-loaded door marked;
“Private, Authorized Personnel Only”
and tippy-toe through the crossover and vomitory
back to the airlock between off-stage right and the thoroughfare.
Past the photograph of Samuel Barclay Beckett (1970).
Past the photographs of Alan Bates (1962) and Brendan Behan (1952).
Past the photograph of Sir Obi-Wan "Ben" Kenobi CBE (1960).
Inbetween my third exit, stage-right,
and my fourth and final entrance, stage-right,
I undress and lay down on the rough dark blue carpet
to pull some sit-ups in my American Apparel underpants
and my UNIQLO vest. My record is 161 (during a Thursday matinee).
After my fourth and final exit, stage-right,
I pull my clothes back on, tuck myself in,
and fasten my belt using the Flash Gordonesque buckle
I bought from a hipster store in Williamsburg NYC NYC.
I return the flowers to their vase of water downstairs.
I return the sunglasses to the prop-table.
All this helps kill a little more time.
Whilst waiting backstage for my curtain-call,
I’ve been known to skin a rabbit or two.
Sometimes I turn an imperial unit of base metal into gold.
Sometimes I fold a thousand multi-coloured origami cranes.
Sometimes I memorize Pi to its 722nd decimal place.
Mostly I remotely update my social networking status.
On a good night we can be in the pub by a quarter past nine.

Thursday, June 5, 2008

FREE NASCAR BIKINIS: GUARANTEED SKEEZ MAGNETS.

My steady told me yesterday that when he was at Urban Outfitters yesterday, Macy Gray was in front of him yesterday in line at Urban Outfitters.





















I hadn't really thought about her much in recent days but her memory reminded me of the Gangstarr remix of I've Committed Murder she did with Mos Def that I used to really like to listen to with my ex-roommate Alliy while tooling around Palermo in a white Jaguar convertible practicing Italian in the year 2004...


































Today I found out Macy Gray played at Time Supper Club last night so I guess he was not lying about seeing her in line at Urban Outfitters.

Friday I will be out of ville and missing Mariah Carey's husband Nick Cannon's appearance at Time Supper Club.





















Not that I would be there anyway. Not that I have ever been there. Not that there is anything wrong with going there. Not that I'm just jealous because I don't have a Blackberry...but I did spend a dollar on a tasty snack on Tuesday afternoon that probably made me the woman I am today.

















More importantly, it was brought to my attention that the package notification left in my mailbox a week ago that was not addressed to me, was in code addressed to me in that it was addressed to M. Carey. One time I wrote my steady a letter and put Mariah Carey as my name on the envelope.





















On an envelope, it's no big whoop but a fake name on a package you need to pick up at the post office is another story. Seriously. My boy gave me the tracking number just in case they didn't get the joke and I went to the post office with all my ID and proof of address and a sense of humour to boot and they didn't think that it was funny and they said that I need a letter from the sender explaining who the package was intended for and why it doesn't say my name on it and why it says Mariah Carey instead and then maybe they will give it to me if the letter makes sense??





















Post office bro must have been more of a hardcore Celine Dion fan because I know I was looking a little under the weather, but he didn't even HALF smile at the mention of Mariah Carey as loosely related to me...






















Because Mariah Carey IS related to me...and my million dollar insured legs that were walking long before Rihanna started menstruating and (not)dating Shia Laboeuf.












































I'm working Saturday night so I'll miss my girl Pam Anderson's appearance at Opera.









































But Sunday I'm actually for real going to Buonanotte to hang with Samantha Ronson and Lindsay Lohan, who I actually for real think are in love.






















I'm not actually going to sup them. I wouldn't know what to say. Plus, I respect their privacy.




















I wonder what Lindsay Lohan says when Sam Ronson answers the phone. I wonder if she says "SUP." like I do...

On second thought, there's no question.

They DEFINITELY be like "SUP."

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Requiem

Re-useable bag

Headhunter Shopping Bags starring Les Dennis

He's Not The Gay Messiah, He's Just A Very Naughty Boy!

There’s late. There’s fashionably late.
And then, it’s fair to say, there’s us two.
I’ve come hotfoot direct from theatreland.
Took my bow and jumped straight in a black cab.
Rendezvoused at Waterloo station’s platform 18.
Caught the delayed 21.36 all the way to Hampton Court.
We take our seats in the historic open-air courtyard
just in time for the closing song of a 2-hour setlist.
Cultural duties fulfilled, the locals are shuffling away in droves;
clutching pacamacs and wicker Fortnum & Mason hampers.
They can’t be waiting around for any falsely-tabbed encores.
It’s a school night afterall, and they’ve got
Poggenpohl kitchens and miniature daschunds
and Eastern European home-help to get back for.
Some might call it folly, yes, but it’s not like I’m here
to see Rufus McGarrigle Wainwright perform live for the first time.
And besides which, and more to the point, the tickets were free.
I first saw Rufus play live on the eve of my 30th birthday.
As time’s arrow ticked unbendingly towards midnight,
I stood next to Leonard Cohen’s only daughter
on the well-worn floor of The Bowery’s CBGB club,
and watched Rufus sing ‘Moon Over Miami’, in French,
with his sister Martha. I didn’t pay on that occasion either.
For Miss Milla Mouse, Rufus McGarrigle Wainwright
reminds her of that summer she spent living in New York.
The summer she spent out in Greenpoint
with the transvestite and the 2 puddycats.
She first saw Rufus McGarrigle Wainwright play live
in the basement of a lesbian-and-gay bookstore
just north of Manhattan's Meatpacking District.
Afterwards, he signed her shirt while she smoked a cigarette.
She wore that shirt every day for the next week.
Rufus's affected vocal warble has certainly grown on me over the years.
Tonight, his grand piano doesn’t look at all out of place
beneath the Tudor rose and the Beaufort portcullis.
This, afterall, is a royal palace used to entertainers.
Like Rufus, King Henry VIII grew up surrounded by music.
So much so, that by the tender age of 10, he had
developed into an accomplished multi-instrumentalist.
Henry VIII could play the harp, the viola and the drums.
Though he didn’t write ‘Greensleeves’, as some might have you believe.

Rufus & Martha singing 'Nuits De Miami' in Amsterdam

Adidas tweaks footy campaign



The year Chelsea narrowly miss out on everything. Shame.

Look to the sky



Designs for our office walls

Grand Union wanted some wall designs for the new office.
The one mandatory was that the design has to be created from one continuous line.
Obviously we came up with Lizards Vs Kittens:








120 f.p.s.

Backy =/= Jacky

domo... Yukie chan neh... hooo~! XD too much Hard Gay. okay. forgive me for not updating my blog. but i have solid reasons! 1st accident! 2nd final exam! both of them not good enough?? well 3rd im lazy =p after exam i wanted to blog, so much to blog but then i forgot due to unforeseen circumstances (dota, Perfect World(PW), movie ...etc etc). came back KL and continue PW.... just like what my MSN pm "play like mama not around" "play hard". PW everyday, from day to night till my eyes got tired =.= and i realize that i played too much hehe. so besides playing decided to blog. the bad news is i didnt bring my pc back. im using my sis lappy. so all the pics not with me right now. awww soli la. you sure will say "dont know how to use tumbdrive ar!". tell you what both of my tumbdrive not with me k. 1 with kevin, i dont know what he doing with it, another 1 with CW. the good news --> i still have some pics in my hp. so i see what i cant find la =)

talking bout PW, guess who i met in the game. pang han's bro. i was like wth! at 1st i dont know bout him and pang han until i saw his friendster friend list. what a small world.

update bout myself a little bit.... currently on holiday until 15 june 2008, shoulder getting better but still cant really do sport T.T i wan futsal.... no change in height, maybe..even after accident =p

p/s : who's up for Seventeen's Roxy Summer Splash, do let me know asap, i have a few tickets to give away. for details --> http://www.seventeen.com.my/ssplash08/